Stonor went ashore at Ahcunazie’s village, searched every tepee, and questioned the inhabitants down to the very children. The result was nil. The Indians one and all denied that Imbrie had come back up the river. Stonor was convinced that they were lying. He said nothing of what had happened down at the falls, though the young Kakisa, Ahteeah, displayed no little curiosity on his own account.

They went on, making the best time they could against the current. Clare wielded a third paddle now. The river was no less beautiful; the brown flood moved with the same grace between the dark pines; but they had changed. They scarcely noticed it. When they talked it was to discuss the problem that faced them in businesslike voices. Like the Kakisas they searched the shores now, but they were looking for two-legged game. What other Indians they met on the river likewise denied having seen Imbrie.

Stonor had in mind the fact that the devoted Kakisas could hide Imbrie in any one of a thousand places along the shores. It was impossible for him to make a thorough search single-handed, nor did he feel justified in remaining on the river with Clare. His plan was to return to Fort Enterprise as quickly as possible, making the best search he could by the way, and, after obtaining assistance, to return. In the end, unless he got out, the river would be like a trap for Imbrie. It was quite likely that he understood this, and was even now struggling to get away as far as possible.

On the morning of the tenth day after leaving Imbrie’s shack they arrived at the Horse Track, and Ahchoogah’s village. Their coming was hailed with the same noisy excitement, in which there was no trace of a welcome. Stonor instantly sought out the head man, and abruptly demanded to know when Imbrie had returned, and where he had gone. Ahchoogah, with the most perfect air of surprise, denied all knowledge of the White Medicine Man, and in his turn sought to question Stonor as to what had happened. It was possible, of course, that Ahchoogah’s innocence was real, but he had the air of an accomplished liar. He could not quite conceal the satisfaction he took in his own fine acting.

Stonor posted Clare at the door of the shack, whence she could overlook the entire village, with instructions to raise an alarm if she saw anybody trying to escape. Meanwhile, with Mary, he made his usual search among the tepees, questioning all the people. Nothing resulted from this, but on his rounds he was greatly elated to discover among the canoes lying in the little river the one with the peculiar notches cut in the bow-thwart. So he was still on his man’s track! He said nothing to any one of his find.

He set himself to puzzle out in which direction Imbrie would likely next have turned. Certainly not to Fort Enterprise; that would be sticking his head in the lion’s mouth. It was possible Ahchoogah might have concealed him in the surrounding bush, but Stonor doubted that, for they knew that the policeman must soon be back, and their instinct would be to get the man safely out of his way. There remained the third Kakisa village at Swan Lake, seventy miles up the river, but in that case, why should he not have gone on in the canoe? However, Stonor learned from Mary that it was customary for the Kakisas to ride to Swan Lake. While it was three days’ paddle up-stream it could be ridden in a day. In fact, everything pointed to Swan Lake. If Imbrie was trying to get out of the country altogether the upper Swan provided the only route in this direction. Stonor decided to take the time to pay a little surprise visit to the village there.

Stonor announced at large that he was returning to Fort Enterprise that same day. Ahchoogah’s anxiety to speed his departure further assured him that he was on the right track. Collecting their horses and packing up, they were ready for the trail about five that afternoon. The Indians were more cordial in bidding them farewell than they had been in welcoming them. There was a suspicious note of “good riddance” in it.

After an hour’s riding they came to the first good grass, a charming little “prairie” beside the stream that Clare had christened Meander. Stonor dismounted, and the two women, reining up, looked at him in surprise, for they had eaten just before leaving the Indian village, and the horses were quite fresh, of course.

“Would you and Mary be afraid to stay here all night without me?” he asked Clare.

“Not if it is necessary,” she answered promptly. “That is, if you are not going into danger,” she added.

He laughed. “Danger! Not the slightest! I think I know where Imbrie is. I’m going after him.”

Clare’s eyes widened. “I thought you had given him up for the present.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you back there, but I found his canoe among the others.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the Kakisa village at Swan Lake.”

He saw Mary’s expression change slightly, and took encouragement therefrom. Mary, he knew, divided between her loyalty to Clare and her allegiance to her own people, was in a difficult position. Stonor was very sure, though, that he could depend on her to stand by Clare.

“Haven’t you come far out of your way?” Clare asked.

“Not so far as you might think. We’ve been travelling south the last few miles. By crossing the Meander here and heading east through the bush I’ll hit the Swan River in four miles or so. I’ll be out of the bush long before dark. I’ve heard there’s a short-cut trail somewhere, if I only knew where to find it.”

He said this purposely within Mary’s hearing. She spoke up: “Other side this little prairie where the ford is. There the trail begins.”

Stonor was not a little touched by this. “Good for you, Mary!” he said simply. “I shan’t forget it. You’ve saved me a struggle through the bush.”

Mary only looked inscrutable. One had to take her feelings for granted.

“When will you be back?” Clare asked.

“By land it’s about ninety miles’ round trip. As I must ride the same horse the whole way, say three or four to-morrow afternoon. I won’t take Miles Aroon, he’s too valuable to risk. I’ll ride the bay. If anything should delay me Tole Grampierre is due to arrive from the post day after to-morrow.”

They made camp beside the ford that Mary pointed out. Clare waved Stonor out of sight with a smile. His mind was at ease about her, for he knew of no dangers that could threaten her there, if her fears created none.

The side trail was little-used and rough, and he was forced to proceed at a slow walk: the roughest trail, however, is infinitely better than the untrodden bush. This part of the country had been burned over years before, and the timber was poplar and fairly open. Long before dark he came into the main trail between the two Indian villages. This was well-travelled and hard, and he needed to take no further thought about picking his way; the horse attended to that. For the most part the going was so good he had to hold his beast in, to keep him from tiring too quickly. He saw the river only at intervals on his right hand in its wide sweeps back and forth through its shallow valley.

He spelled for his supper, and darkness came on. Stonor loved travelling at night, and the unknown trail added a zest to this ride. The night world was as quiet as a room. Where one can see less one feels more. The scents of night hung heavy on the still air; the pungency of poplar, the mellowness of balsam, the bland smell of river-water that makes the skin tingle with desire to bathe, the delicate acidity of grass that caused his horse to whicker. The trail alternated pretty regularly between wooded ridges, where the stones caused him to slacken his pace, and long traverses of the turfy river-bottoms, where he could give his horse his head. Twice during the night he picketed his horse in the grass, and took a short nap himself. At dawn, from the last ridge, he saw the pale expanse of Swan Lake stretching to the horizon, and at sun-up he rode among the tepees of the Kakisa village.

It was built on the edge of the firm ground bordering the lake, though the lake itself was still half a mile distant across a wet meadow. Swan Lake was not a true lake, but merely a widening of the river where it filled a depression among its low hills. With its flat, reedy shores it had more the characteristics of a prairie slough. As in the last village, the tepees were raised in a double row alongside a small stream which made its way across the meadow to the lake. In the middle of their village the stream rippled over shallows, and here they had placed stepping-stones for their convenience in crossing. Below it was sluggish and deep, and here they kept their canoes. These Kakisas used both dug-outs, for the lake, and bark-canoes for the river. The main body of the lake stretched to the west and south: off to Stonor’s right it gradually narrowed down to the ordinary dimensions of the river.

When Stonor reined up alongside the little stream not a soul was stirring outside the tepees. He had at least succeeded in taking them by surprise. The first man who stuck his head out, aroused by the dogs, was, to his astonishment, white. But when Stonor got a good look at him he could scarcely credit his eyes. It was none other than Hooliam, the handsome young blackguard he had deported from Carcajou Point two months before. Seeing the policeman, Hooliam hastily made to withdraw his head, but Stonor ordered him out in no uncertain terms. He obeyed with his inimitable insolent grin.

Stonor dismounted, letting his reins hang. The well-trained horse stood where he left him. “What are you doing here?” the policeman demanded.

“Just travelling,” drawled Hooliam. “Any objection?”

“I’ll take up your case later. First I want the white man Ernest Imbrie. Which tepee is he in?”

Hooliam stared, and a peculiar grin wreathed itself around his lips. “I’ve seen no white man here,” he said. “Except myself. They call me a white man.” He spoke English without a trace of the red man’s clipped idiom.

Stonor’s glance of scorn was significant. It meant: “What are you doing in the tepees, then?”

But the other was quite unabashed. “I’ll get Myengeen for you,” he said, turning to go.

He seemed a bit too eager. Stonor laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You stay where you are.”

Meanwhile the little Kakisas had begun to appear from the tepees, the men hanging back bashfully, the women and children peering from under flaps and under the edges of the tepees, with scared eyes.

“I want Myengeen,” said Stonor to the nearest man.

All heads turned to a figure crossing the stream. Stonor waited for him, keeping an eye on Hooliam meanwhile. The individual who approached was a little larger than the average of the Kakisas; well-favoured, and with a great shock of blue-black hair hanging to his neck. He was quite sprucely dressed in store clothes. His close-set eyes and extremely short upper lip gave him a perpetual sneer. He had the walled look of a bold child caught in mischief. He came up to Stonor and offered his hand with a defiant air, saying: “How!”

Stonor shook hands with him, affecting not to notice the signs of truculence. The other Indians, encouraged by the presence of their head man, drew closer.

“I want Ernest Imbrie,” Stonor said sternly. “Where is he?”

Myengeen could speak no English, but the spoken name and the tone were significant enough. He fell back a step, and scowled at Stonor as if he suspected him of a desire to make fun of him. Then his eyes went involuntarily to Hooliam. Stonor, following his glance, was struck by the odd, self-conscious leer on Hooliam’s comely face. Suddenly it flashed on him that this was his man. His face went blank with astonishment. The supposed Hooliam laughed outright.

“Is this Imbrie??” cried Stonor.

Myengeen nodded sullenly.

Hooliam said something in Kakisa that caused the surrounding Indians to grin covertly.

And in truth there was a comic aspect to Stonor’s dismay. His brain was whirling. This hardy young villain married to the exquisite Clare! This the saviour of the Indians! This the high-minded gentleman whose diary Clare had read to him! It was inexplicable. Yet Stonor suddenly remembered Hooliam’s curiosity concerning the reports that were in circulation about the White Medicine Man; this was understandable now. But how could Clare have so stooped ? Well, it must be left to time to unravel.

He pulled himself together. “So you’re Imbrie,” he said grimly.

“That was my dad’s name,” was the impudent reply.

“I’ll have to trouble you to take a journey with me.”

“What’s the charge?”

“Oh, we merely want to look into your doings up here.”

“You have no right to arrest me without some evidence of wrong-doing.”

“Well, I’m going to arrest you anyhow, and take my chances of proving something on you.”

Hooliam scowled and pulled at his lip.

Stonor thought: “You’d give a lot to know how much I know, my man!”

Myengeen addressed Imbrie. Stonor watched him narrowly. He could only understand one word, the man’s name, “Eembrie,” but Myengeen’s whole attitude to the other was significant. There was respect in it; admiration, not unmixed with awe. Stonor wondered afresh. Clearly there could be no doubt this was their White Medicine Man.

Imbrie said to Stonor, with his cynical laugh: “I suppose you want to know what he’s saying. I don’t understand it all. I’m just learning their lingo. But he’s offering me the homage of the tribe or something like that.”

“It’s more than you deserve,” thought Stonor. Aloud he said: “Imbrie, if you do what I tell you you can ride as you are. But if you want to make trouble I’ll have to tie you up. So take your choice.”

“Oh, I don’t hanker after any hempen bracelets,” said Imbrie. “What do you want of me?”

“First of all order somebody to bring out all your gear and spread it on the ground.”

“That’s not much,” said Imbrie. By word and by sign he communicated the order to one of the Kakisas. It seemed to Stonor that something was reserved.

The Indian disappeared in the tepee and presently returned with Imbrie’s “bed,” that is to say, a pair of heavy blankets and a small, grimy pillow, and Imbrie’s hatchet.

“That’s all I brought,” said Imbrie, “except a little dried moose-meat, and that’s eaten up.”

“I want your gun,” said Stonor.

“Didn’t bring any.”

“Then what are you wearing a cartridge-belt for?” Imbrie shrugged airily.

“Produce your gun, or I’ll tie you up, and search for it myself.”

Imbrie spoke, and the Kakisa disappeared again, returning with a revolver, which he handed to Stonor. Stonor was careful not to betray the grim satisfaction he experienced at the sight of it. It was of thirty-eight calibre, the same as the bullet that reposed in his pocket. While not conclusive, perhaps, this was strong evidence. Since he had seen this man he had lost his dread of bringing the crime home to him. He wished to convict him now. He dropped the revolver in his side pocket, and held out his hand for the ammunition-belt, which was handed over.

“Now get a horse,” he said.

Myengeen objected with violent shakes of the head.

“He says he’s got no horses to hand over,” said Imbrie, grinning.

“Make him understand that I will give a receipt for the horse. If it is not returned the company will pay in trade.”

“No spare horses,” he says.

“Let him give you the horse you came on.”

“I walked.”

Stonor did not believe this for a moment. “Very well then, you can walk back,” he said coolly.

Imbrie thought better of this. He entered into a colloquy with Myengeen which eventually resulted in a horse being caught and led up and saddled. Stonor gave a receipt for it as promised. Myengeen handled the bit of paper fearfully.

“Now mount!” said Stonor.

“Aren’t you going to let me have my breakfast?”

“We’ll spell beside the trail.”

Myengeen became visibly excited and began to harangue Imbrie in a fiery style, with sidelong looks at the policeman. Stonor out of the tail of his eye saw answering scowls gather on the faces of the other Indians as they listened. Myengeen’s gestures were significant; with a sweep of his arm he called attention to the number of his followers, and then pointed to Stonor, who was but one.

Imbrie said with a sneering laugh: “He’s telling me that I have only to say the word, and you’ll never take me.”

“Rubbish!” said Stonor coolly. “Men do not oppose the police.”

They could not understand the words, but the tone intimidated them. Their eyes bolted as he looked sternly from man to man. He saw that look of angry pain come into their eyes that he knew in their race. It was not that they did not wish to defy him, but they dared not, and they knew they dared not.

“Oh, I’m helping you out, old man,” said Imbrie, with airy impudence. “I’m telling them I don’t mind going with you, because you’ve got nothing in the world against me. I’m going to give them some good advice now. Listen.”

He did indeed address Myengeen earnestly at some length. Stonor could not guess what he was saying, for he used no gestures. He saw that it was true Imbrie was unpractised in their tongue, for he spoke with difficulty, hesitating for words, and they had to pay close attention to get his meaning. Myengeen listened with a face as inscrutable as Imbrie’s own. At the end he nodded with an expression of approval, and bent a queer look on Stonor that the trooper was unable to fathom.

Imbrie then tied his bed behind his saddle and swung himself on the horse. Stonor signed to him to start first, and they trotted out from among the tepees. Stonor sat stiffly with the butt of his gun on his thigh, and disdained to look around. The instant they got in motion a wailing sound swept from tepee to tepee. Stonor wondered greatly at the hold this fellow had obtained over the simple people; even the Kakisas, it seemed to him, should have been able to see that he was no good.

They trotted smartly over the first ridge and out of sight. A long, grassy bottom followed. When they had put what Stonor considered a safe distance between them and the village, he called a halt. Picketing the horses, and building a fire, he set about preparing their simple meal. Imbrie seemed willing enough to do his share of unpacking, fetching wood and water, etc.; indeed in his cynical way he was almost good-natured.

As they sat over their meal he said tauntingly: “Why are you afraid to tell me what the charge is against me?”

Stonor had no intention of letting out what he knew. He figured that Imbrie’s mind was probably perfectly at ease regarding the murder always supposing there had been a murder because he could not possibly guess that the body had not been carried over the falls. He retorted: “If your conscience is easy, what do you care what charge is made?”

“Naturally I want to know why I’m obliged to upset all my plans to make this journey.”

“There is no charge yet.”

“But when you bring me in you’ll have to make some kind of a charge.”

“Oh, I suppose they’ll merely ask you to explain your business up here.”

“And if I stand on my rights as a free man, and refuse to tell my business?”

Stonor shrugged. “That’s not up to me. I shan’t be the one to question you.”

“Is it a crime to live alone?”

“No. But why did you run away when I came to see you?”

“I didn’t run away.”

“Don’t know what you call it, then. When you saw us coming you hid in a tree.”

“Who was us?” asked Imbrie, with a leer.

Stonor could not bring himself to name Clare’s name to the man. “I think you know,” he said quietly. “When night came you fell or jumped out of the tree, and took to the bush. Later you attempted to sneak into the house ”

“Well, it was my own house, wasn’t it?”

“Sure, that’s what puzzles me. What were you afraid of? Then when the Indian woman screamed you lit out for the beach, and beat it up the river.”

“Well, was that a crime?”

“No, only a suspicious circumstance. Frankly, now, don’t you consider yourself a suspicious character?”

“Oh, it’s your business to suspect everybody!”

“Well, when I first met you, why did you lie to me concerning your identity?”

“I didn’t lie. I just kept the truth to myself.”

“You told me your name was Hooliam.”

“Can’t a man have more than one baptismal name?”

“Is it Ernest William, or William Ernest?” asked Stonor mockingly.

“I shan’t tell you. I shan’t tell you anything about myself until I know what I’m wanted for. I suppose that’s my right, isn’t it?”

“Sure!” said Stonor good-naturedly. “Anything you like. Travellers must be saying something to each other.”

But Imbrie was not content to let the matter drop. There was a little gnawing anxiety somewhere. He burst out: “And have I got to put myself to the trouble of taking this long journey, just because you’re too thick-witted to understand my perfectly natural motives?”

“Put it that way if you like,” said Stonor, grinning. “The police are thick sometimes in dealing with clever fellows like you.”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I came up to this country because I choose to live alone. My reasons are my own affair. I’m not wanted by the police of this or any other country. But I don’t choose to be spied on and followed up. That’s why I got out of the way.”

“Did you live alone down there?” asked Stonor casually.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there was that lady who left Carcajou Point with you.”

“Oh, that was just a temporary affair,” said Imbrie, with a leer.

Stonor, thinking of Clare, could have struck him for it. With an effort he swallowed his rage. “Did you never have any visitors?” he asked coolly.

Imbrie favoured him with a lightning glance. “What put that idea into your head?”

Stonor lied in the good cause. “One of the Indians said you had a visitor.”

“When?”

“Just a few days before we went down.”

“What kind of visitor?”

“A man much like yourself,” said Stonor.

Imbrie lost his grin for the moment. “It’s a lie,” he said thickly.

“Oh, well, it’s no crime to have a visitor,” said Stonor smoothly.

Imbrie saw his mistake, and quickly commanded himself. He laughed easily. “Just my way,” he said. “I’m cracked on the subject of living alone.”

They had to spell at short intervals during the day, for Stonor’s horse was growing very tired. Whenever they halted they began to fence with words in much the same way, each trying to discover the other’s weak joint without letting down his own guard. It seemed to Stonor that, under his cynical insolence, his prisoner was growing ever more anxious.

On one occasion Imbrie said with a careless air: “Did you see the big falls when you were down the river?”

“No,” said Stonor instantly.

“Very fine sight.”

It occurred to Stonor that a certain amount of curiosity on his part would appear natural. “What are they like?”

Imbrie looked at him through slightly narrowed lids. “Big horse-shoe effect. The water falls all around in a sort of half-circle, and there are tremendous rocks below. The water falls on the rocks.”

This description sounded purposely misleading. The place, of course, was not like that at all. Stonor thought: “What does he tell me that for? Living there all that time, it isn’t possible he hasn’t seen the falls. In his diary he mentioned going there.” Suddenly the explanation came to him. “I know! He’s trying to tempt me to call him a liar, and then he’ll know I’ve been there.”

“Must be great!” he said offhand.

During the last spell Imbrie slept part of the time. Stonor dared not close his eyes, though he needed sleep sorely. He sat smoking and watching Imbrie, trying to speculate on what lay behind that smooth, comely mask.

“It’s like a book I read once,” he thought. “A man had two natures in him, one good, one bad. At one time the good nature would have the upper hand; at another time the bad. He was like two entirely different people. A case of double personality, they called it. It must be something like that with this man. Clare married the good man in him, and the bad turned up later. No doubt that was why she left him. Then the good man reappeared, and she felt she had done him a wrong. It explains everything.”

But a theory may work too perfectly to fit the haphazard facts of life. There was still the dead man to be explained. And a theory, however perfect, did not bring him any nearer to solving the personal problems concerned. What was one to do with a man who was at once sane and irresponsible? He could give up Clare like a man, he told himself, if it were necessary to her happiness; but to give her up to this ! He jumped up and shook himself with the gesture that was becoming habitual. He could not allow himself to dwell on that subject; frenzy lay that way.