And out ahead, unarmed, and under "open" arrest, had mushed the murderer himself, breaking trail toward his own doom. Often in the whirling snow, Olespe had been beyond his captor's sight. But never had he wavered from the most feasible course to Armistice; always had he been busily making camp when the dogs and their official driver caught up at the appointed night-stop. No white man could have been entrusted with such "fatigue duty" under like circumstances. Three weeks of such opportunity for remorse must have been too much.
But Seymour was not thinking now of this recent ordeal.
The case of Olespe, except for the formalities of coroner's inquest, commitment and trial was settled. The plight of his unhappy constable held the pity of the sergeant, always considerate.
"I'm not blaming you, Charley," he assured. "Until you've been up here a few years, all Eskimos look right much alike."
"Can't I start after the real Avic at once," pleaded the constable. "I'll make no second mistake."
La Marr was as eager as a hound held in leash after its nose has rubbed the scent. But he could not, just then, bring himself to confess his over-sleeping.
Seymour did not answer at once, but set about taking off his heavy trail clothes and getting into the uniform of command. He was a large built man, but lean of the last ounce of superfluous flesh owing to the long patrols that he never shirked.
The scarlet tunic became him. Across the breast of it showed lines of vari-colored ribbons, for his service in France had been as valorous as vigorous. He had gone into the war from his Yukon post and, almost directly after the armistice, back into the Northwest Territories to establish one of the new stations of the Mounted in the Eskimo country.
The green constable chafed under the silence, but he did not make the mistake of thinking it due to slow thinking. With Seymour many had erred in that direction to their sorrow. The sergeant certainly was slow in speech, but when he spoke he said something. He might seem tardy in action, but once started he was as active as a polar bear after a seal.
"No hurry about taking after this Avic," he said at last. "Likely he'll not travel far this double-thermometer weather." The reference was to a jocular fable of the region that to get the temperature one had to hitch two thermometers together. "At worst he can't get clear away—no one ever does, except when old man Death catches him first. We'll hold our inquest, then I'll issue a warrant."