The sergeant watched her a moment. How brave, how resourceful she was! Then he turned and focused his gaze on an overturned boot that lay near the improvised clothes horse.
This was a right boot, according to the sole of it. Staring at him from the outer edge of that sole was a peculiar plate, presumably to counteract the wear of some foot lameness or a peculiarity of gait. As plainly as if it had been articulate, this told him; "The man who wears me killed Bart Caswell!"
CHAPTER XXV
CLUTCH OF THE BREED
Making her way down Glacier Creek, giving no attention to the working Siwashes and receiving none from them, Moira O'Malley wondered what discovery this enigma of the Mounted had held back from her. She did not resent particularly his lack of confidence, feeling that she had not earned it. That he seemed to disbelieve what the klootchmen had told her of the continued presence of the white and near-white spoilers at once troubled and gratified her. She hated to think that the Indian women would mislead her; but she did want the slayer of her cousin's sweetheart captured and punished. Hope of that seemed built on the Thursday morning absence of either Kluger or his partner.
At the start of this requested exit, the girl did not hurry, but ambled along squaw fashion. Once across the creek and out of sight of the upper diggings, she meant to take to the brush. The Glacier natives would see her no more until Seymour came for her. That he would come for her—that he would be able to come for her, she did not doubt. From the moment she had seen him stride into the tent of Bonnemort as if he owned it, she had felt certain of his ultimate success.
She reached the creek and was about to climb to the foot log when she heard some one start across it from the other side. Raising the eyes which she had held downcast throughout the walk from the tent, she saw, with a tremor of alarm, that Bonnemort had beaten her to the improvised bridge. She sidled away from the log's end and seemed intent on watching the stream. Of course, the up-risen breed would be above noticing a squaw drudge, but she preferred to take no unnecessary chances.
With eyes steadily averted, she waited. The heavy steps drew nearer as the big man set his feet on the flattened surface. Then suddenly, they ceased. He had halted at the end of the log.
"Look up here, you klootch!"
The tone was that of a request, but it brought to the girl a sudden chill of terror. She dared not look up, yet scarcely dared she refuse.