"This same winter. Avic cousin wife fix 'em plenty. Avic bring 'em to post. Much travel better than trade-barter from store, so not sell. When we go?"
The sergeant did not press the inquiry at the moment. There was a long, long winter ahead of them in which he hoped the whole truth would out.
Several practical reasons decided his next move. He put both of the accused natives under open arrest. Cell room at police quarters was at a premium and food of the sort the natives required was difficult to prepare in a white man's kitchen. The health of the prisoners, which must be his concern until the court had passed on their guilt, was certain to be better if they lived under native conditions. Friends and relatives were more than ready to take them in for sustenance allowance he granted each. After making them understand that they were not to leave camp under penalty of his wrath, he turned them loose—a parole, it may be said here, that was not broken.
The happiest weeks in Russell Seymour's memory were those that immediately followed. With his lone constable bedfast, his presence at or near headquarters was required unless some dire emergency rose. For once, he thanked his lucky stars that nothing happened to break the joyous monotony.
For a week, Moira, in her role of nurse, spent most of her days at the post. While she was kindness itself to La Marr and anticipated most of his wants, there was no doubt that her real interest was in the sergeant. A close friendship sprang up as they found many interests in common and exchanged life stories with endless detail. At that, each had their mental reservations. Nothing the girl said, for instance, threw any light on her real reason for making her unseasonable and unexpected northward dash. And his lips never hinted that he was hopelessly in love.
In holding back, however, the girl had every advantage over the man. She did not need word of mouth to tell her the state of his feelings. Indeed, her worry was over the promptness of her own heart, as she confided to Emma Morrow. Was propinquity disturbing her judgment, and isolation distorting her viewpoint? She feared a mistake that might make them both unhappy in the future. With a tact that at times made her feel cruel both to him and herself, she held the situation level with the spirit of friendship.
Her attitude was made easy by the more active wooing of Harry Karmack. The handsome factor was not held back by any sense of poverty, which is felt perforce by anyone who had little but his police pay, a far from princely dole. Karmack was as persistent as circumstances and Moira would permit; quite too impetuous, in fact, for the comfort of one whose interests were divided.
For a time, the girl was put to it to keep the two apart. When they both "made" Mission House at the same time, she felt that she was spending the evening in a TNT factory. While the men never actually clashed physically, she felt certain that only Seymour's military discipline kept them apart. At last, she was forced to put them on schedule, giving each two evenings a week, but with understanding that they were not to come even on their assigned nights unless she previously sent them word. The need for such an expedient could scarcely arise "Outside," but she saw no other way out of the difficulty in Armistice, unless she was ready to undertake a "for-better-or-worse" decision. And out of this situation grew Russell Seymour's greatest despair.
The first of his evenings arrived, but no summons from the Irish beauty. The next afternoon, with Mrs. Morrow, she dropped in at police headquarters to cheer the convalescing constable. She chose a time when she must have known the sergeant was afield exercising the police team of malamutes. Also, according to La Marr, she had not been indisposed the previous evening.
A second of Seymour's scheduled visits passed into the discard of time with no word from her, and then a third. Being an exponent of direct action, Seymour decided to learn the reason for this sudden change which, to him, was unexplainable. He made certain she had not started on her daily snow-shoe sprint about the camp, an exercise of which she was fond and at which, for a girl, something of an expert. Mid-afternoon, he presented himself at Mission House. Luke Morrow admitted him; carried his request for an interview.