They moved to a better camping-place on the mainland. Major Egerton could rough it as well as any youngster in the service, but as a matter of principle he always carried a folding bed, table, and chair in his outfit. These simple articles made a great impression on the natives. When the Major’s tent was pitched, and the table and chair set up inside, the effect of a court of justice was immediately created, even in the remotest wilderness.

Next morning they all gathered in his tent. The Major sat at the table with Coulter, his orderly and general factotum, sitting on a box at his left with pen and note-book before him. Stonor stood at the Major’s right. The two prisoners stood facing the table, with Lambert keeping an eye on them. Clare sat in the place of honour on the Major’s cot against the side of the tent. Tole and Ancose squatted on their heels just inside the door.

“I’ll start with the woman,” said the Major. Addressing her directly, he said sternly: “It is my duty to tell you that anything you may say here can be used against you later, and it is therefore your privilege to refuse to answer. At the same time a refusal to answer naturally suggests the fear of incriminating yourself, so think well before you refuse. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah, you speak good English. That simplifies matters. First, what is your name?”

“Annie Alexander.”

“Married?”

“No, sir.”

“Age?”

“Forty-four.”

“Hm! You don’t look it. What is your relation to the other prisoner here?”

“No relation, just a friend.”

“Ah? Where do you come from?”

The woman hesitated.

Imbrie murmured: “Winnipeg.”

“Be silent!” cried the Major. “Sergeant Lambert, take that man out, and keep him out of earshot until I call you.”

It was done.

“How long have you been in this country?”

“Since Spring May.”

“How did you come in?”

“By way of Caribou Lake and the Crossing.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“By what means did you travel?”

“I got passage on a york boat up the rivers, and across Caribou Lake. From the lake a freighter took me on his load across the long portage to the Crossing.”

“Ancose,” said the Major, “you watch the prisoner outside, and ask Sergeant Lambert to step here.”

Meanwhile he went on with his questions. “How did you travel from the Crossing?”

“I built a little raft and floated down the Spirit River to Carcajou Point.”

Lambert came in.

“Lambert,” said the Major, “this woman claims to have come over the portage to the Crossing in May with a freighter and to have built a raft there and floated down the river. Can you verify her story?”

“No, sir, never saw her before.”

“Is it possible for her to have done such a thing?”

“Possible, sir,” said Lambert cautiously, “but not likely. It’s part of my business to keep track of all who come and go. There are not enough travellers to make that difficult. Such an extraordinary thing as a woman travelling alone on a raft would have been the talk of the country. If I might ask her a question, sir ?”

The Major signed to him to do so.

“What was the name of the freighter who brought you over the portage?”

“I don’t know his whole name. Men called him Jack.”

Lambert shrugged. “There’s many a Jack, sir.”

“Of course. Let it go for the present.” To the woman he said: “What was your object in making this long journey alone?”

“Doctor Imbrie wrote to me to come and live with him. He had nobody to take care of his house and all that.”

“I see. What do you mean by saying he was your friend?” The Major asked this with an uneasy glance in Clare’s direction.

“Just my friend,” answered the woman, with a hint of defiance. “I took care of him when he was little.”

“Ah, his nurse. When did you get the letter from him?”

“In March.”

“Where was it sent from?”

“Fort Enterprise.”

“Sergeant Stonor, can you testify as to that?”

“I can testify that it is not true, sir. It was a matter of common knowledge at the post that Doctor Imbrie neither received nor sent any letters. We wondered at it. Furthermore, the only word received from him all winter was in January.”

The Major turned to the woman. “According to that you are telling an untruth about the letter,” he said sternly. “Do you wish to change your statement?”

She sullenly shook her head.

The Major shrugged and went on. “Was Doctor Imbrie waiting for you at Carcajou Point?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why didn’t you meet at Fort Enterprise, where there was a good trail to Swan River?”

“He didn’t feel like explaining things to the white men there. He likes to keep to himself.”

“Where did you go from Carcajou Point?”

“We bought horses from the Beaver Indians and rode overland to Swan Lake.”

“Bought horses?” said the Major quickly. “How did Doctor Imbrie get to Carcajou in the first place?”

She corrected herself. “I mean he bought extra horses for me, and for the outfit.”

“And you rode to Swan Lake on your way back to his place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you go to his place?”

“No, sir, I got sick at Swan Lake and he had to leave me.”

“But if you were sick you needed a doctor, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t very sick, I just couldn’t travel, that was all.”

“But why did he have to leave you?”

“He had business at his place.”

“Business? There was no one there but himself.”

The woman merely shrugged.

Major Egerton waved his hand in Clare’s direction. “Do you know this lady?”

“Yes, sir. It’s Doctor Imbrie’s wife.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw them married.”

“Where was that?”

“I won’t answer that at present.”

The Major turned to Clare apologetically. “Please excuse me if I must ask a painful question or two.”

Clare nodded reassuringly.

“Why had Doctor Imbrie left his wife?”

The woman’s eyes sparkled with resentment. “He didn’t leave her. She left him. She ”

“That will do!” ordered the Major.

But the woman raised her voice. “She threw up the fact of his having red blood to him though she knew it well enough when she married him. He was all cut up about it. That was why he came up here.”

The Major, slightly embarrassed, turned to Stonor. “Will you question her?” he asked testily. “You are better informed as to the whole circumstances.”

“If I might hear the man’s story first, sir?”

“Very well. Send for him. What is the charge against the woman?”

“Shooting with intent to kill, sir.”

“Enter that, Coulter. Whom did she shoot at?”

“At me, sir. On two occasions.”

“Ah! An officer in the performance of his duty. Amend the charge, Coulter. Please relate the circumstances.”

Stonor did so.

“Have you anything to say in regard to that?” the Major asked the woman.

She shook her head.

By this time Imbrie was again facing the tribunal. At Stonor’s request the woman was allowed to remain in the tent during his examination. After stating the usual formula as to his rights, the Major started questioning him.

“Your name?”

“Ernest Imbrie, M.D.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Place of birth?”

“Winnipeg.”

“Father’s name?”

“John Imbrie.”

“His occupation?”

“Farmer.”

The Major raised his eyebrows. “In Winnipeg?”

“He lived off the income of his farms.”

“Ah! Strange I never heard the name in Winnipeg. Do you wish to give any further information about your antecedents?”

“Not at present, sir.”

“You have Indian blood in your veins?”

“Yes, sir, my grandmother was an Indian. I never saw her.”

“How long have you been in this district?”

“A year, sir.”

“How did you come here?”

“I got employment with a crew of boatmen at Miwasa Landing. I travelled with them as far as Great Buffalo Lake. There I bought a canoe from the Indians and came up the Swan River to the Great Falls and built me a shack.”

“You were alone then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did this woman come to join you?”

“I sent for her to keep my house for me.”

“How did you get word to her?”

Imbrie blandly evaded the trap. “I sent a letter out privately to be passed along by the Indians what they call moccasin telegraph.”

“Ah! Why did you choose that method?”

“Because I wished to keep my affairs to myself. I had heard of the curiosity of the white men at Fort Enterprise concerning my movements, and I did not care to gratify it.”

“Very well. Now, when you started back with her, did she go home with you?”

“No, sir. She was taken sick at Swan Lake, and I had to leave her there.”

“How did you come to leave her if she was sick?”

“She was not very sick. Her leg swelled up and she couldn’t travel, that was all.”

Stonor signed to the Major that he wished to ask a question, and the Major bade him go ahead.

“Tell us exactly what was the matter with her, as a doctor, I mean.”

“You wouldn’t understand if I did tell you.”

The Major rapped smartly on the table. “Impudence will do you no good, my man! Answer the Sergeant’s question!”

“I decline to do so.”

Stonor said: “I have established the point I wished to make, sir. He can’t answer it.”

Major Egerton proceeded: “Well, why didn’t you wait for her until she got well?”

“I had to make a garden at home.”

“You travelled three hundred miles down the river and back again to make a garden!”

“We have to eat through the winter.”

“Stonor, was there a garden started at Imbrie’s place?”

“Yes, sir, but it had been started weeks before. The potatoes were already several inches high.”

Imbrie said: “I planted the potatoes before I left.”

“Well, leave the garden for the present.” The Major indicated Clare. “You know this lady?”

“I should hope so.”

“Confine your answers to plain statements, please. Who is she?”

“My wife.”

“Have you any proof of that?”

“She says so. She ought to know.”

The Major addressed Clare. “Is it true that you have said you were his wife?”

“I cannot tell you of my own knowledge, sir. Sergeant Stonor has told me that before I lost my memory I told him I was Ernest Imbrie’s wife.”

The Major bowed and returned his attention to Imbrie. “When and where were you married?”

“I decline to answer.”

The excellent Major, who was not noted for his patience with the evil-doer, turned an alarming colour, yet he still sought to reason with the man. “The answer to that question could not possibly injure you under any circumstances.”

“Just the same, I decline to answer. You said it was my right.”

With no little difficulty the Major still held himself in. “I am asking,” he said, “for information which will enable me to return this lady to her friends until her memory is restored.”

“I decline to give it,” said Imbrie hardily. His face expressed a pleased vanity in being able, as he thought, to wield the whip-hand over the red-coats.

The little Major exploded. “You damned scoundrel!” he cried. “I’d like to wring your neck!”

“Put that down, please,” Imbrie said to the clerk with ineffable conceit.

The Major put his hands behind his back and stamped up and down the four paces that comprised the length of his tent. “Stonor, I wonder I wonder that you took the patience to bring him to last night!” he stammered. “Go on and question him if you want. I haven’t the patience.”

“Very well, sir. Imbrie, when I was taking you and this lady back to Fort Enterprise, why did you carry her off?”

“She was my wife. I wanted her. Anything strange in that?”

“No. But when we came to you at your place, why did you run away from us?”

“I hadn’t had a good look at her then. I thought it best to keep out of the way.”

“Why weren’t you willing to come to the post and let the whole thing be explained?”

Imbrie’s face suddenly turned dark with rage. He burst out, scarcely coherently: “I’ll tell you that! And you can all digest it! A fat chance I’d have had among you! A fat chance I have now of getting a fair hearing! If she came all this way to find me, it’s clear she wanted to make up, isn’t it? Yet when she saw me, she turned away. She’d been travelling with you too long. You’d put your spell on her. You said she’d lost her memory. Bunk! Looks more like hypnotism to me. You wanted her for yourself. That’s the whole explanation of this case. You’ve got nothing on me. You only want to railroad me so that the way will be clear for you with her. Why, when I was bound up they made love to each other before my very face. Isn’t that true?”

“I am not under examination just now,” said Stonor coldly.

“Answer me as a man, isn’t it true?”

“No, it’s a damned lie!”

“Well, if it had been me, I would!” cried the little Major.

Sergeant Lambert concealed a large smile behind his large hand.

Stonor, outwardly unmoved, said: “May I ask the woman one more question, sir, before I lay a charge against the man?”

“Certainly.”

Stonor addressed the woman. “You say you are unmarried?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing with a wedding-ring?”

“It’s my mother’s ring. She gave it to me when she died.”

“Tole,” said Stonor, “take that ring off and hand it to me.” To the Major he added in explanation: “Wedding-rings usually have the initials of the contracting parties and the date.”

“Of course!”

The ring was removed and handed to Stonor.

Examining it he said: “There is an inscription here, sir. It is: ’J.I. to A.A., March 3rd, 1886.’ It stands to reason this woman’s mother was married long before 1886.”

“She was married twice,” muttered the woman.

Stonor laughed.

“What do you make of it, Sergeant?” asked the Major.

“John Imbrie to Annie Alexander.”

“Then you suspect ?”

“That this woman is the man’s mother, sir. It first occurred to me last night.”

“By George! there is a certain likeness.”

All those in the tent stared at the two prisoners in astonishment. The couple bore it with sullen inscrutability.

“I am now ready to make a charge against the man, sir.”

The Major sat down. “What is the charge?”

“Murder.”

Imbrie must have had this possibility in mind, for his face never changed a muscle. The woman, however, was frankly taken by surprise. She flung up her manacled hands involuntarily; a sharp cry escaped her.

“It’s a lie!”

“Whom did he murder?”

“A man unknown to me, sir.”

“Where was the deed committed?”

“At or near the shack above the Great Falls.”

The woman’s inscrutability was gone. She watched Stonor and waited for his evidence in an agony of apprehension.

“Did you find the body?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Under what circumstances?”

“It had been thrown in the rapids, sir, in the expectation that it would be carried over the falls. Instead, however, it lodged in a log-jam above the falls. As I was walking along the shore I saw a foot sticking out of the water. I brought the body ashore ”

“You brought the body ashore out of the rapids above the falls ?”

“Yes, sir. A woman I had with me, Mary Moosa, helped me.”

“Describe the victim.”

“A young man, sir, that is to say, under thirty. In stature about the same as the prisoner, and of the same complexion. What remained of his clothes suggested a man of refinement.”

“But his face?”

“It was unrecognizable, sir.”

A dreadful low cry broke from the half-breed woman. Her manacled hands went to her face, her body rocked forward from the waist.

The man rapped out a command to her in the Indian tongue to get a grip on herself. She tried to obey, straightening up, and taking down her hands. Her face showed a ghastly yellow pallor.

“What proof have you of murder?” asked the Major.

“There was no water in the dead man’s lungs, sir, showing that he was dead before his body entered the water. There was a bullet-hole through his heart. I found the bullet itself lodged in the front of his spine. It was thirty-eight calibre, a revolver bullet. This man carried a thirty-eight revolver. I took it from him. I sent revolver and bullet out by Tole Grampierre.”

Lambert spoke up: “They are in my possession, sir.”

The breed woman seemed about to collapse. Imbrie, who had given no sign of being affected by Stonor’s recital, now said with a more conciliatory air than he had yet shown:

“If you please, sir, she is overcome by the trooper’s horrible story. Will you let her go outside for a moment to recover herself?”

“Very well,” said the good-natured Major, “watch her, Lambert.”

As the woman passed him Imbrie whispered to her in the Indian tongue: “Throw your locket in the river.”

Stonor, on the alert for a trick of some kind, overheard. “No, you don’t!” he said, stepping forward.

The woman made a sudden dive for the door, but Lambert seized her. She struggled like a mad thing, but the tall sergeant’s arms closed around her like a vice. Meanwhile Stonor essayed to unclasp the chain around her neck. The two breeds guarded Imbrie to keep him from interfering.

Stonor got the locket off at last, and opened it with his thumb nail. The woman suddenly ceased to struggle, and sagged in Lambert’s arms. An exclamation escaped from Stonor, and he glanced sharply into Imbrie’s face. Within the locket on one side was a tinted photograph of the heads of two little boys, oddly alike. On the other side was an inscription in the neat Spencerian characters of twenty years before: “Ernest and William Imbrie,” and a date.

Stonor handed the locket over to the Major without speaking. “Ha!” cried the latter. “So that is the explanation. There were two of them!”