“Dead man!” snapped the Sergeant. “What did he look like?”
“He was short and stout with a black beard and bushy, black eyebrows,” replied Tom, “and had on a suit of harp seal trimmed with blue fox.”
The Sergeant whistled. “Boys,” he cried, slapping Tom on the back. “You’re lucky kids! Not many can get lost and make a thousand dollars by doing it!”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Tom puzzled.
“Mean!” cried Sergeant Manley. “Why, that dead man’s Jacquet. You’ve won a thousand dollars by finding him. Come on, lead us to him.”
Now that the snow had ceased to fall it was easy to retrace their footsteps, and in a few minutes the party was once more approaching the dead man.
“It’s Pierre all right!” declared the Sergeant, as he glanced at the dead man.
“Aye, there’s nae doot o’ it,” agreed Campbell. “Mon, but ’tis a fit endin’ he met.”
“Can’t take him back to the Fort,” commented the Sergeant, half to himself. “Can’t bury him. Guess we’ll have to leave him. Campbell, search his clothes for anything that will identify him.”
Rapidly the private went through the pockets of the dead outlaw, turning the body over as nonchalantly as though it were a log, and presently he straightened up.