“But there’s been a woman in the kitchen,” he added. “In and out again, with snow on her feet. She wore arctic overboots, whoever she is.”
“That’s her!” exclaimed Luke Watt weakly.
He got out of bed and put on trousers and coat over his nightshirt and thrust his feet into slippers. He shivered and sat down on the edge of the bed. His eyes of no particular color were miserable with dread.
“Take a look in the stable,” he whispered. “See if my trottin’ mare’s there.”
The trapper went out to the stable, by way of the kitchen and the shed. The stall was empty. The harness had gone from its pegs. There were fresh tracks of hoofs and runners in the snow in front of the stable door.
“She must of tied the bells,” he said. “She seems to know what she’s about, whatever it is. And I wonder what it is?”
He went back to Watt and the deputy-sheriff with the news that the trotting mare was gone from the stable, harness and pung and all.
Luke Watt turned a tragic, despairing and murderous gaze on Mr. Wallace. “You fool!” he cried, hysterically. “Why couldn’t you keep yer silly mouth shut! You told her how ye’d come to pinch me, an’ how I hadn’t a chance to git clear—an’ so she’s up an’ lit out with all the money! That’s what she’s done! Lit out with every dollar!”
With that explosion the storekeeper sank back across the bed and covered his face with his hands. The deputy-sheriff and the trapper exchanged embarrassed glances.
“He’s lying,” whispered Wallace. “He’s tryin’ to fool you, Dan. There ain’t a woman in the world would do a trick like that on her husband; and Mrs. Watt couldn’t even if she wanted to.”