As often as he asked himself this question, the corporal found his thoughts reverting to his cousin. Had Dick Bracknell, having married Rolf Gargrave’s daughter, deliberately planned the murder of the millionaire? His heart revolted at the thought, but he could not escape from it. Dick had been hard pressed. He was already a fugitive from justice when he had arrived in the North and, so far as the corporal knew, that arrival had been a secret one. He would be quite unknown—even to Rolf Gargrave. No one would suspect him, and the plan he had chosen was itself so novel, that but for the Indians noticing his absence from the camp, and carrying the sticks of dynamite back to Chief Louis, it must have escaped detection.
The more the corporal thought of it, the more black seemed the case against his cousin. Rolf Gargrave was a clever man, and powerful, and he had had his own plans for his daughter. Dick Bracknell must have known that when he heard how Joy had been trapped into marriage, he would be very wrathful, and calculating on the father’s intervention he must have decided to get rid of him, in the hope of sooner or later trading upon Joy’s inexperience of the world. One day, whilst he was reflecting on the problem, unable to touch certainty anywhere, a thought occurred to him, and when Chief Louis entered the tepee he promptly asked a question—
“Louis, when was it that the stranger called at your camp for guides to help him to find Rolf Gargrave? I mean what time of the year was it?”
The chief considered for a moment. Then he answered gravely. “It was two moons before ze ice break up.”
“You are sure?” asked the corporal.
“Certain!”
“That would be March or a little later,” said the corporal thoughtfully. “And Dick fled from England about Christmas. If he came straight through he might do it comfortably.”
“Dick! Who ees dat?” asked the chief quickly.
“He is the one man I know who may have been interested in Rolf Gargrave’s death. You may have heard of him? He is known in the North as Koona Dick!”
“I hav’ not him seen, unless he vas ze stranger mans who come to my camp dat day. But of him I hav’ heard. He is bad mans, he want shooting. He sell whiskey—mooch whiskey, to ze Porcupine Sticks, an’ dey fight till seven be dead in ze snow. Also he take their catch of fur for ze whiskey, an’ when ze winter it come, dey freeze, an’ ze babes die. Yes, of him, I have heard, an’ he is very bad mans. So he is ze mans dat come to my lodges dat day, an’ dat blow up ze trail for Rolf Gargrave so dat he die.”