  Creel was the first to confess. Sitting in the office of the commandant, in the presence of Inspector Cameron, Corporal Rand, Reynold Carson and Dick, he poured out his story. Confronted by Carson, who identified him as being one of the men to whom he had sold Dewberry’s secret, Creel saw that only the truth could help him. His deep-set eyes glowed dully. He moistened his lips. “It’s true,” he began. “Frischette and me robbed Dewberry. Took his money and his poke. For months, we’d been waiting our chance. Dewberry stopped at the road-house several times, but nearly always it was during the middle of the day. Usually he’d hit our place about noon and stay not more than an hour. He preferred to go on and spend the night with Meade, who was his friend.” The sun, shining in through the window, bothered the old recluse and he hitched back his chair. Not until he became comfortable again did he resume: “Our chance come finally. Dewberry, delayed in a storm, drifted in one afternoon late—about four o’clock. He hadn’t time to make Meade’s that night. It was a cold day and miserable. A blizzard out. You could scarcely see ahead o’ you. I was surprised when Frischette come over and notified me that Dewberry was there. I hadn’t expected to stir out of my cabin. I didn’t want to walk back through the storm with him, but Frischette said it was the best time for our plan, that we’d have to strike that night if we ever intended to. After while I agreed and we walked over and I hid in Frischette’s room. “Neither one of us had any idea that that man MacGregor was playing the same sort o’ game as us. He was stopping at Frenchie’s that night, along with a lot of others, and, of course, we thought nothing of it. You see, we was sure that we was the only ones ‘in’ on the secret. We had got the dope from the kid and had made our plans.” “Was a part of your plan to kill Dewberry?” Inspector Cameron interrupted. Creel nodded. “Wasn’t any other way our plan would work out. We simply had to do it. We was compelled to put Dewberry out of the way, else he’d sound the alarm and prevent us from getting into his cabin at Peace River Crossing. “About nine o’clock Frischette come into the room where I was, bringing my supper. Then the two of us sat there talking. We had decided that it wasn’t much use to try to do anything until along about midnight. So we waited there in the dark. When the bunk-hall began to get a little quiet we stopped talking ourselves for fear we might keep someone awake. It was exactly twelve by my watch, when we stole out of that room.” Creel paused reflectively, his eyes half closed. He remained motionless and silent so long that Dick began to wonder if the man had lost his power of speech. Suddenly he sat up straight in his chair and continued: “We was both in our stocking-feet and we moved as quiet as ghosts between the rows of sleepers. Nobody could have heard us. Men was snoring all around us. It was dark in the room, almost black, but we knew exactly where to go. All the details had been planned out in advance. Yet, as I said before, we hadn’t figured on MacGregor, and on that account we nearly got tripped up. We didn’t know nothing about him until we was directly over him.” Again Cameron interrupted: “Directly over him? What do you mean? Had you made a mistake and gone to MacGregor’s bunk instead?” “No! No!” the old recluse spoke impatiently. “He was on his knees, stooping over Dewberry, with the poke and money in his hands. Dewberry was dead! “MacGregor hadn’t even heard us come up. I was carrying a knife in my right hand and I pushed it against his throat. I whispered that if he made a sound I’d kill him. In fact, I thought I would anyway. I was so frightened I could hardly stand on my feet. But if I was frightened, MacGregor was worse than that. He was frozen like a block of ice. I don’t think he had more than strength enough to hand over the poke and the roll of bills. After that we took him back into the kitchen and told him we would give him his life if he’d promise to leave the place at once and make no effort to get back the poke.” “He was glad of the chance, I guess,” a smile twisted Creel’s lips. “We were pretty sure that we’d never see him again. We weren’t afraid that he’d squeal, because he was the one that had committed the murder. Our hands was clean. Things had worked out better than we could have planned ourselves.” “You didn’t worry?” asked Cameron. “Yes, we did worry—some. We knew that MacGregor wouldn’t say a word about us unless he was placed under arrest for the murder. We didn’t think you was going to get him, and you wouldn’t either if it hadn’t been for Fontaine. We had no idea that Fontaine knew anything about MacGregor until he blabbed out that he had seen MacGregor dope a drink he was mixing for the prospector. We could have killed the kid for that, but if we had, you’d have known right away that we was the ones that had done it and was implicated in some way in the other murder. There wasn’t a thing for us to do but just sit and wait. “We didn’t have to wait very long either. MacGregor gets himself killed in a scrap with the police. And lo and behold!—the ‘Rat’s’ wife won’t talk. She wouldn’t tell you a thing and she knew everything. You can bet MacGregor told his wife all about us. But why didn’t she squeal? She could have got revenge on us good and proper. She had us right where she wanted us. When she wouldn’t give evidence, we knew what was in that lady’s mind then and there: She was planning to get back that poke!” “Have you any more to say for yourself?” asked the inspector, following a long interval of silence. “No, sir, not a thing.” “If you don’t mind,” said Rand, addressing his superior, “I’d like to ask him a question.” “Very well, corporal.” “What was in the poke the evening Emery and Burnnel came to your cabin?” Creel’s laugh sounded like the cackle of a madman. “A rusty nail and a piece of broken string, taken from an old alarm clock. That’s what I call a clever piece of work. It was my idea. Frischette didn’t know a thing about it. It fooled everybody. I buried Dewberry’s keys in a hole I dug in the cellar. When I got the chance, I came back and dug them up. It was the same day that you went over to investigate about Frischette. You thought he had committed suicide.” “Well, wasn’t I right?” “No.” “If he didn’t commit suicide, what happened to him?” “The squaw shot him—MacGregor’s wife.” One might have thought that Rand had been shot himself. He jumped. It was several moments before he fully recovered from his surprise. “How do you know that MacGregor’s wife shot him?” “She told me so herself.” “When?” “The night her and Emery and Burnnel took the keys away from me, that night across the Hay River. Flew into a rage and spilled everything. I guess she’d have shot me too, but Burnnel wouldn’t let her.” “If what you say is true, how can you account for the note I found in Frischette’s pocket?” “She made Frischette write it before she shot him. Then she came back to my cabin and searched everywhere for the keys. They were there, but she couldn’t find them. My place looked like a wreck. After that she met Burnnel and Emery who had come back to try to get the poke again. The next morning she stayed out there in the woods while them two prospectors went over to see you.” “And did she stay in the woods until the afternoon of the next day?” “That’s exactly what she did.” Corporal Rand turned to Inspector Cameron. “I guess that’s all, sir. I’d suggest that you verify the prisoner’s last few statements by questioning Mrs. MacGregor herself and Burnnel and Emery. However, I believe that they are true. Shall I take Carson and Creel to their cells, sir?” The commandant nodded absent-mindedly, waved one arm in a gesture of dismissal. Dick started to file out with the others, when he heard Cameron calling his name. Turning sharply upon his heel, he strode back to the inspector’s desk and saluted. “Dick, you young rascal,” began the mounted police official, “I’ve been wanting to have a talk with you for a long time. You see, I have received a letter concerning you and Toma. It came from the Commissioner of the Canadian Royal North West Mounted at Ottawa.” “I received a letter from him, too,” said Dick, “about a year ago. In this letter he said that he had considered favorably my application to join the mounted police, and that I should hold myself in readiness to report at the barracks at Regina.” “And you’ve heard nothing from him since?” “Not a word, sir.” “Didn’t you ever think that this was a little strange?” “Well—er—” Dick flushed. “As a matter of fact, inspector, I’ve been so busy—we’ve all been so busy—that I haven’t had much time to bother my head about it.” Inspector Cameron laughed and nudged Dick slyly. “Would you care to hear a paragraph or two from the letter that I received?” “Yes, sir. That is, if you’d care to read it, sir.” “I do wish to read it. Here it is.” Cameron picked up a typewritten sheet on the desk in front of him. “Now prepare yourself for a shock.” “Regarding your request,” read the commandant, “that Recruits Kent and Toma should be retained at your detachment for special police service, I wish to say that although such an arrangement is not usual and often not advisable, we have decided to make a concession to you in this particular case.” “Great Scott!” exclaimed Dick. “So you see it was my fault that you didn’t go to Regina. You boys are too valuable to lose.” Dick’s face beamed like the sun. He felt that some great force underneath him had lifted him up and that now he was being whirled around and around the room in a rose-tinted cloud. He couldn’t speak because he was so happy. “Don’t stand there looking like a ninny. Compose yourself, my boy. Here’s your first month’s salary check. Here’s another one for Toma. Came direct from the paymaster at Ottawa. I haven’t one for Sandy because he didn’t put in his application. You tell him he’d better—if he wants to work for me. And while you’re telling him that, you might slip this bit of paper into his pocket with my compliments. Drawn from my own personal account.” Dick recalled afterward that he had thanked the inspector, but he never could quite remember how he had gotten out of the room. He often wondered if he hadn’t floated out in triumph and in regal state on that rose-tinted cloud. |
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