“Yes,” stormed Rand, “that young scoundrel concocted a devil’s mess indeed. He’s the one that ought to be hanged for Dewberry’s murder.”
“But why?” Dick asked innocently.
“Why? Can’t you see. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. He copied the contents of the note-book and gave it to Emery and MacGregor.”
CHAPTER XXIV
CARSON’S SON
Several weeks had passed. They were back in the North Country again—all except Wyatt. Outside the door of the trading room at Fort Good Faith, Sandy and Toma were bidding Corporal Rand and Dick good-bye, and wishing devoutly that they too might have been permitted to accompany the policeman on this—the last stage of a memorable journey.
Dick had been more than fortunate, they considered, in receiving official sanction to be in at the finish. He had earned this privilege, to be sure, but for that matter, hadn’t they? For weeks now they had been pursuing what had at first appeared to be a phantom. The phantom had taken form. The mystery had been uncovered. Step by step, day by day, slowly and inexorably events had moved to an ultimate end. The guilty were about to be punished. A few more things to do, then—
“Hang it all,” thought Sandy, “the real work is over anyway. I’ve done my part. They can’t say I haven’t. This case is run to earth. What little excitement remains, Dick is welcome to. Toma and I both need a rest.”
Thus philosophically dismissing the matter, he and Toma went fishing; and Corporal Rand and Dick made their way on horseback to the foothills, arriving at the Carson cabin one evening before dusk.
Mrs. Carson met them at the door. She smiled her greeting and led the way into the house. A sort of motherly person, Dick thought.
“I hadn’t expected anyone at this time of the year,” she told them laughing, at the same time brushing back a dark wisp of hair that had fallen over her kindly forehead. “I’m afraid you’ll find everything in disorder. We’ve been drying saskatoons for the winter. Mr. Carson is in the kitchen helping now. He’ll come right in.”