But it was all wasted on the Indian. He shrugged, and said with bland, unrelenting gaze: “Etzooah not changed. Etzooah glad to see the policeman come back.”
When they had finished eating, Clare, guessing that Stonor could talk more freely if she were out of hearing, strolled away to a little distance and sat down to do some mending.
Stonor said to Etzooah through Mary: “I have bad news for you.”
The Indian said: “You not find White Medicine Man?”
“He is dead.”
Etzooah’s jaw dropped. He stared at Stonor queerly. “What for you tell me that?” he demanded.
The style of the question nonplussed Stonor for the moment. “Why do I tell you? You said you were his friend.”
Etzooah veiled his eyes. “So—he dead,” he said stolidly. “I sorry for that.”
Now it was perfectly clear to Stonor that while the man’s first exclamation had been honest and involuntary, his later words were calculated. There was no trace of sorrow in his tones. It was all very puzzling.
“I think he must have been crazy,” Stonor went on. “He shoved off in his canoe, and let the current carry him down. Then he shot himself.”