  In the cabin, recently occupied by Donald Frazer, they found the poke. It was the mate to the one Dick had picked up off the floor of the trading room at Half Way House earlier in the day. Frazer’s face fell when Corporal Rand pulled it out of the pack lying in the corner. “Gold—sure enough!” the policeman’s eyes sparkled. “You made a big haul from somewhere, didn’t you, Frazer?” The prisoner ignored the thrust. “I came by it honestly.” “Glad to hear that.” “It’s mine and I’m going to have it. You can turn over that other poke too. Walter MacClaren’s fault I didn’t take it all with me in the first place. He had no right to drive me away from Half Way House at the point of a gun. There isn’t a court in the land that wouldn’t exonerate me of the charges you’ll bring against me.” Corporal Rand laughed sarcastically. “You talk like a fool.” “We’ll see,” growled Frazer. “I’ve a right to fight for my own. No man can keep from me by force what rightfully belongs to me.” “Are you referring now to the gold?” “Yes.” “You really have the nerve to stand there and make an assertion like that?” snapped the corporal “It was stolen and you know it.” “You can’t prove it.” “Oh yes, I can. Not very difficult either. The proof is less than a hundred yards away.” Donald Frazer went deathly pale. “What’s that—hundred yards—you, you—do you know what you’re talking about?” “Yes,” grimly smiled the policeman. “I do. If you don’t believe me, we’ll go there together and dig it up.” Frazer staggered back as if from a blow. Every vestige of color drained from his cheeks. In terror his hands went up clutching his throat. “You—you know!” The sound that issued from his lips was a low breath of agony. “Yes, I know. A horrible crime! You, Brennan, McCallum and the two Indians will have to answer for it, Frazer. Bit by bit, these boys here have unearthed the evidence that will hang you as assuredly as I’m standing here. Miller’s murder will not go unavenged.” Frazer crumpled like a leaf and would have fallen had not Sandy caught him. Dick whirled upon the mounted policeman at the mention of the missing prospector’s name, for a full minute not able to speak. He, too, was trembling violently over the very unexpectedness of the revelation. “Miller!” he cried, when he had found his voice. “The man from Caribou Lake! How do you know that?” “By putting two and two together, Dick,” Corporal Rand answered unhesitatingly. “To you boys belong most of the credit. The evidence I had was inconsequential until it was added to what you had unearthed yourselves.” “I don’t think I quite understand,” puzzled Dick. “Very well then, let’s review the case. Let’s start with Miller, the prospector. At Caribou Lake last fall, Miller made a very rich strike. Before the freeze-up, he had taken out over thirty thousand dollars worth of gold. He remained at his claim all winter, rigging up windlasses, trapping in his spare time, preparing for the active resumption of work in the spring. Late in March, he suddenly decided that he needed more equipment and tools. When Jim Langley visited Miller at Caribou Lake on March twenty-third, the latter explained to his friend that he was setting out for Fort Laird on the twenty-fifth, just two days later. Miller showed Langley two pokes filled with gold—the gold he had mined the previous fall—and told Langley that he was taking it with him. “From that point, we almost lose trace of Miller. Setting out by dog team from Caribou Lake, he failed to arrive at his destination. The last seen of him was on April third, between Thunder River and Lynx Lake, by an Indian named Henri Karek. The prospector was in good health and had plenty of grub, the Indian claimed. “I do not know whether you remember or not, but between April third and April tenth we had one of the warmest chinooks we have ever experienced so early in the year. The trails were running water and most of the snow in the open melted. From Lynx Lake to Fort Laird, a distance of eighty-five miles, there is a lot of open country and two small rivers, which flood badly during the wet season. Now on the other hand, between Lynx Lake and Half Way House, a distance of a hundred and twenty miles, there are no rivers at all and the trail threads its way through heavy forests that protect the snow.” Corporal Rand paused. “Do you follow me?” he asked. Dick and Sandy nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, Corporal. Please go on.” “That chinook will explain why Miller didn’t continue on his way to Fort Laird. Swollen rivers to cross, poor trail. Remember he had a sledge and dog team.” “So he changed his mind and came on to Half Way House,” Sandy interrupted. “Naturally he would,” the policeman replied. “Put yourself in his place. Wouldn’t you have done the same?” “Yes.” “And don’t forget he had two large pokes of gold. Deducing that he came on to Half Way House, what happened? Well, for one thing, he was robbed. It is something more than mere coincidence that Frazer has, or I should say, had two pokes of gold in his possession. The gold was hidden in a secret place. Isn’t that true?” Corporal Rand addressed Dick. “Yes, it’s quite true.” “Now we’ve come to your discovery of the pit in the cellar. What was in this pit? More gold? No. Furs? Possibly, but not very likely. One need not keep fur so carefully hid. Mr. Frazer, with perfect impunity and no fear of detection, could have kept stolen fur in the company’s warehouse. So, by elimination and deduction, we arrive gradually at a startling conclusion, namely that the contents of that pit—something that was kept in two burlap sacks—was even of more importance to Mr. Frazer than the gold.” “How did you make that out?” Sandy again interrupted. “I’ll prove it to you. When Mr. MacClaren discharged Frazer and drove him away from the post at the point of a gun, there were two things that the latter was unable to take away with him: the gold hid in the office and the sacks concealed in the pit. If the gold had been of more value to Frazer than the contents of the pit, he’d have tried to get the gold first, wouldn’t he?” “Yes, he would,” agreed Sandy. “But instead of trying to get the gold first, he sent the Mekewai brothers to procure the two sacks. Why?” “Yes, yes, why?” blurted Sandy. “Because he was terribly afraid that in his absence someone would stumble upon what he had hidden in the cellar.” “I can’t make it out,” Sandy scratched his head. “Can you, Dick?” “Yes,” Dick whispered through white lips. “I understand now. God help the man that did it. Don’t ask, Sandy—don’t ask. It’s too unutterably horrible. For your own peace of mind, it is better that you should never know.” |
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