COMPLICATION ASTOUNDING
As is the silken kerchief to the Latin garroter, so is the Ugiuk-line
to the Eskimo bent upon strangulation. Strong reason had Sergeant
Seymour of the Mounted to realize the possibilities in the clutch of
the stout cord made from the skin of a bearded seal.
Although he had made no mention of the fact in Karmack's quarters,
when the trader pronounced warning that the out-of-hand Eskimos soon
would be clutching for the throats of the wearers of the scarlet,
already had they clutched at his. The vivid memory of his narrow
escape had brought his involuntary shudder at sight of the sinister
drape about O'Malley's throat.
On the farthest-North night of his last patrol, he had elected to
sleep in a deserted igloo on the skirts of a village rather than
suffer the stifle of an occupied one. After midnight he had awakened
from a strangling sensation to find himself in the hands of two
stalwart assailants. The knot of a similar seal-hide line was
gripping his throat. He had thrown off the pair only by an effort so
supreme as to leave him too weak to follow them through the snow
tunnel into the storm. Probably he never would know their identity
or be able more than to guess at their motive as one of fancied
revenge.
Seymour did not speak of this now as they stood in the hut of
tragedy. No more did he mention the news that slowly was filtering
through the North that Corporal Doak, Three River detachment of the
Royal Mounted, and Factor Bender of the Hudson's Bay company post had
been slain in a brutal and treacherous manner. To spread alarm was
no part of his policy. But over at the post was the Ugiuk-line that
had been used on him and in his mind was a vivid idea of its practice
in Eskimo hands.
From these--the fearsome souvenir and the shuddering memory--he
suspected that the O'Malley case was not as open-and-shut as it
seemed. For him, mystery stalked the crime, one that would not be
solved by the apprehension of Avic, the Eskimo.
Silently, he completed his immediate investigation of the crime. Two
points stood out to confirm the suspicion born of his intimate
knowledge of the Eskimo garroting methods. Upon the _corpus delicti_
there was absolutely no mark except the sinister purple rim about the
throat and a blood spot beneath the skin where the knot in the seal
line had taken strangle hold. In the hut there was no sign of a
struggle such as he had put forth to save himself in the igloo, not a
dent in the earthen floor or a skin rug out of place. Yet, as he
well knew, O'Malley was a powerful youth and of fighting stock!
"Let's have the facts--such as you know." The sergeant turned
suddenly to Karmack.
"Dear eyes, I should say you shall have them--every one," returned
the trader eagerly.
Despite certain mannerisms and his unusual--for the
outlands--fastidiousness of dress, Karmack was straightforward and
exceedingly matter of fact.
Word from native sources, it seemed, had reached the trading
company's store several days before that Avic was in from his trap
line with fox pelts "worth a fortune," according to Eskimo standards.
He had borrowed this hut in which they now stood in the outskirts of
the town from a relative and had sent the native for the makings of a
"party," or _potlatch_. The hunter himself had not appeared in camp
or sent any direct word to Karmack that he had fox skins for sale.
He had no debit on the books of the Arctic company, so the reasonable
supposition of his aloofness was that he meant to drive a hard
bargain.
Skilled in barter with the natives, Karmack said he had countered by
betraying no interest in the arrival of the aloof hunter. He had
felt confident that, given time, Avic would run short of funds for
entertaining and market his catch at a reasonable figure. But, at
length, had come disturbing rumors over his native "grape-vine."
Avic had heard, the rumor went, that the Moravian Mission has
established a new trade store at Wolf Lake, near the big river--the
mighty Mackenzie. He was excited by tales of high prices paid there
and was planning to migrate to that market with his prizes.
"It was then," continued Karmack, "that I told O'Malley to mush over
to see this bird and talk him into a good humor. The young chap had
developed a knack at sign-language barter, although he knew little
Eskimo; I was busy on a bale of furs at the store. He was just to
persuade Avic to come into the post where we'd come to some
satisfactory agreement as to price for whatever the 'Skim's traps had
yielded.
"By gar, sir, two hours passed and Oliver did not come back, nor was
there any sign of the hunter. The mission shouldn't have taken him
half an hour, for all in the name of reason that the native could
have wanted was for us to come to him with an invitation. I began to
get anxious and started out to see what was what. Meeting La Marr
out front, I asked him to come along with me, still with no
apprehension. We found what you yourself have seen--exactly that and
nothing more."
He paused for a moment with his emotion, then: "Holy smoke, man, if I
had known what would eventuate, I'd never have sent him but gone
myself. They're afraid of me, these confounded huskies, and I'd
grown to love that boy as a brother!"
"What do you know about O'Malley, Karmack--how he came into the
territories--what he'd done in the provinces--all that sort of
thing?" Seymour asked the disjointed question seemingly satisfied
with the other's preliminary statement.
The trader was silent a moment, thinking.
"Not a great deal, come to think of it," he said, before his
hesitation had become pronounced. "A tight-mouthed lad, Oliver, when
it came to his own affairs. He hails from Ottawa and was sent out by
the president of the Arctic Trading Company. Brought a letter from
the big chief telling me to make a trader out of him, if possible.
Evidently his people have money or influence. Perhaps there's some
politics in it. I don't really know, old bean."
"Hadn't been in any jam down below, had he?"
"Oh, rather not--not that sort at all. May have seen a bit of
Montreal or Quebec and perhaps had crossed the home bridge to Hull,
where it's a trifle damp, you know, but nothing serious, I'm certain.
The big chief never would have sent me a blighter."
The sergeant asked for the victim's next of kin and who should be
notified.
"Oliver never spoke of his family," answered the factor. "Had a
picture or two on the packing box he used for a bureau, but we never
discussed them. Said to notify the head office if anything went
wrong with him. Dear eyes, the lad was peculiar in some ways. You'd
think----"
The sergeant's interest seemed not to lie in the trader's thoughts.
He had two inquests on his hands, to say nothing of the capture of
Avic of the foxes. For the moment forgotten was the fact that he had
promised Constable La Marr this detail. Moreover, there remained
that suspicion, born from his own narrow escape from the Ugiuk-line,
that there was more behind the murder than appeared on the surface.
He led the way from the hut; waited until La Marr had affixed another
police seal on the door, then moved ahead into the main trail, a
sled-wide path which camp traffic kept beaten down between the banks
of snow.
A shout from down-trail startled them. From out of the increasing
dusk, bells jangling, bushed tails waving like banners, dashed a dog
team dragging a light sled. Wondering, they flattened against the
snow to give gangway. The arrival of a strange team at that time of
year was an event.
The sled was braked to a halt a few yards down the trail. A tall
driver, slim despite an envelopment of furs, sprang from the basket
and waited for them to come up.
"I thought I recognized a uniform in passing--and I need direction."
The voice sounded clear as a bell on the evening frost and
unmistakably feminine. Moreover, it carried none of the accent
peculiar to the half-breed mission-trained women who spoke English.
They looked closer into a face of pure white and eyes that might have
been brushed into the pallor with a sooty finger.
A white woman in Armistice--a young and comely girl of their own
race! Think how incredible it must seem to three who had settled
down to an October-April winter of isolation.
"I'm Sergeant Seymour, of the Mounted, in charge of this detachment,"
offered the policeman, for once speeding his speech. "Who're you
looking for, ma'am?"
"I must find Oliver O'Malley's fur trading store.
"And who might be seeking our young trader?" The sergeant kept from
his voice any hint of the dread that had clutched him.
"I'm Moira O'Malley of British Columbia--his sister."
This astounding complication left the three men speechless, glad for
the dusk that helped mask the consternation that must be written on
their faces.