With a snort of disgust, he strode forward again to meet the waiting figure. There was no turning back now. The thing to do was to swallow his disappointment and endeavor to make the best of it.
In a few minutes more he had approached to within twenty feet of the man. His moccasins crunched lightly over the snow, but the blinding glare of sun in his eyes, together with the dazzling reflection of millions of white crystals underfoot, made it difficult to see. He heard a voice announce:
“Ah, et eez ze Corporal Richardson himself. I bid you ze welcome, monsieur. You come to ze house. You come——”
The words trailed off suddenly, culminating in an exclamation of surprise. Dick stopped.
“My mistake. Et ees not ze good Corporal Richardson at all. Mon Dieu! A boy!”
A prickling sensation ran up and down Dick’s spine. He could see more clearly now, and one good look at the man in front of him was more than sufficient. Who could mistake those snapping eyes, or that tall, lithe, athletic figure? It was the messenger of the night before—the man who had brought the forged letter to Corporal Richardson!
During the first few minutes of bewilderment and surprise, Dick found it impossible to think clearly, but as this feeling wore off, there flashed through his mind the thought that perhaps this messenger of Henderson had not yet discovered his true identity. The man had seen him only once. Dick presented an entirely different appearance now than he had on the evening before in the poorly lighted room at the post.
“What ees your name, monsieur?” demanded the Frenchman.
“Corporal Rand,” Dick lied deliberately. “Recently from the mounted police training school at Regina. This is the first time I’ve ever been sent out on actual service. I arrived at Fort Good Faith a few hours ago to relieve Corporal Richardson, but I discovered he had left under instructions just a few minutes before for a place called Run River.”
The Frenchman, to judge from the relieved expression on his face, actually believed the story.