When Seymour stood erect, he saw he was head and shoulders above the bramble screen, in plain view and easy range of the tragedy scene. Doubtless in the very spot which he occupied, the murderer had stood erect to fling a taunt or shout a false warning at the approaching horseman; then he had shot before the other could act.
The circumstances of the crime reproduced to his own satisfaction, Seymour squandered a moment in studying his partner of the trail, his scrutiny unsuspected by the fair object thereof.
Ruth Duperow stood uncovered, her hat hanging from the horn of her saddle. The sun played upon the unmeshed waves of her silver-gold hair, bringing out unnumbered glints. She was taller than he had thought, almost as tall as her cousin, Moira. Her face was buried in hands that rested on the saddle seat, her poise slumped and heavy with grief.
"Poor youngling," mused the sergeant in deep sympathy. "She's taking it hard. These gentlemen crooks sure raise Ned with the ladies. Knowing that her uncle was a missionary, this Bart would not be at loss what trumps to lead. Reckon his blossoming out in my scarlet just topped the bill. Must have cut quite a figure in life, this Bart Caswell—or whatever his real name was. Handsome dog, too. No resemblance to me." He turned away with the hope that someone else would have the job of telling her the murdered man himself was a criminal.
Regaining his horse, Seymour mounted, minded to follow the hoof-print trail for a way. This was child's play; Kaw attended to it, leaving the sergeant free to peer ahead. Meantime, his mind was busy revolving the surprising facts with which chance had equipped him.
He saw no need for mental doubt over the stage robbery. The uniform in which Bart was clad unquestionably was the dressier of the two he had enclosed in the bag and shipped to Gold. The "E" Division had a new tailor, a mistake had been made in stitching on the insignia and trace of the change remained on the sleeve. Even had there been other members of the Force in the district, he would have sworn to that uniform. He had not a doubt that the handsome deceiver of Cousin Ruth either had held up the stage single handed or had participated in the crime.
He could not agree with Ruth Duperow that the road agent, or agents, had mistaken the express vehicle for one of the passenger coaches in use on this difficult line. That did not stand the test of reason, any more than did a supposition that the robbery had been for the sake of obtaining the uniform of a mounted police officer. No one possibly could have known that such a rig was in transit. At best, the authority which any spurious wearer might command, must be of brief duration for the owner could be counted on to follow his clothes. The risk was not worth the fleeting advantage.
The sergeant did not have to argue himself into a conviction that he must seek elsewhere for the purpose of the holdup. Some other shipment—just what, he meant to find out—that was coveted and worth taking chances to secure must have been expected. He believed that, in examining his loot, the robber-murderer had come upon the uniform and had decided to use it in some other bold stroke without the law.
The sergeant could not withhold admiration for the daring which the man who called himself Caswell had shown in his last hours of life. To put on the trusted and feared uniform, to declare himself the representative of Dominion authority and to undertake the solution of his own crime was a coup as clever and novel as it was impudent. Had the culprit stopped there, he might have made a clean get-away with whatever else of loot the stage carried. Seymour concluded that the prize which had made him resort to murder must be of great value. He did not overlook the possibility that Bart might have been slain by a pal dissatisfied with the division of the spoils. But, in view of hints dropped by Ruth, he was inclined to believe that this morning's slaying had no connection with the B.C.X. crime. The girl, after all, was his best source of information.
Just as he was about to turn back and question her further, the horse tracks he was following broke from the bush into the switchback trail and were lost. At once he swung Kaw around for the return canter. Shortly he overtook his own pack cayuse faithfully plodding in pursuit, and took the animal under halter, that it might not become confused at the crossroads.