“Bad man scare him, maybe,” said the half-breed, sinking back into his former position.
“Jed Warren didn’t look like a chap who could be easily frightened,” answered Erskine, with a negative shake of his head. “It’s a most unfortunate affair—a mystery that the Northwest Mounted Police are going to solve in mighty short order.”
The explosive force with which the sergeant uttered these words seemed to have the effect of jerking Teddy Banes to his feet. He began to pace slowly to and fro, his gaunt shadow trailing fantastically over the floor and walls of the sturdy log cabin.
“He is not the first who has crossed the United States border and never come back,” he exclaimed, “and——”
“Aye, that’s so,” agreed the military-looking sergeant, “but, somehow, I can’t believe it of Warren. He should have reported here at least a week ago.”
“For sure,” grunted Banes.
“Of course a good many things could happen to a trooper in a vast country like this, but a man of his intelligence ought certainly to have been able to get some word to the post.”
Teddy Banes came to a halt in front of one of the windows and gazed reflectively out into the black, gloomy night. Borne over the air, blending in with the sighing breeze and faint whisperings of grasses and leaves, came the musical chirping of crickets, or the occasional cry of some nocturnal bird.
“Guess we never know,” he said, laconically.
Sergeant Erskine made no reply, but an uplifting of his eyebrows and a sudden tightening of his lips indicated that he did not agree with Teddy Banes’ views.