“This is a very curious case, Mr. Carew,” he said, speaking in dry and legal tones. “It resolves itself into two issues. In the first place, the locket may have been empty when your father wore it. In the second place it may have contained something. But if we take the latter for granted, what became of the contents? It is extremely unlikely that the Indian could have found the spring, or, indeed, suspected that the bit of gold was hollow.”
“Which goes to prove,” put in Captain Rudstone, “that the trinket has been restored to Mr. Carew in the same condition in which it was torn from his father’s body. The redskin prized it merely as a glittering adornment to his barbaric necklace.”
“I agree with you,” said I, “and I think it is time we closed so trivial a discussion. Justice has been done and I am satisfied.”
With that I thrust the locket deep into my pocket.
“There is another thing,” said Captain Rudstone; “why did the Indian fire on us? He may have been scouting in advance of a hostile force.”
“I do not think we are in any danger,” I replied. “Indeed, I can offer a solution to the mystery. After my father’s death the murderer was sought for, but his own tribe spirited him away, and I believe he fled to the far West. His relatives declared at the time that he had gone crazy on account of a blow on the head, and believed he had a mission to kill white men. This was likely true. And now, after a lapse of five years, the fellow wandered back to this neighborhood and fired on us at sight.”
Such was my earnest conviction, and for the most part the rest agreed with me. But Tom Arnold was inclined to be skeptical, and shook his head gravely.
“You may be right, my boy,” he said, “but I’m a cautious man, and I don’t think overmuch of your argument. Leastways, the chances are even that your dead Indian belonged to the party who took Fort Royal, and that the whole body is marching on Fort Charter. So off we go for a rapid march, and let every man put his best foot forward.”
“Under any circumstances,” I replied, “whether we are in danger or not, we ought to reach the fort as soon as possible, and at the best we can’t make it before midnight.”
So a little later we were traveling south again, surmounting by the aid of snowshoes, all the rugged difficulties of the wintry wilderness. Flora was strapped on the sledge as before, and we had left the dead Indian—for whose fate I felt not the least compunction—lying where he had fallen.