Ottwell Binns - The Lady of North Star

“She stood just here,” he murmured thoughtfully. “There’s the mark of her rifle-stock in the snow, and those deeper tracks show that she stood waiting a little time. Then when Koona Dick came, she – But did she?”

As he broke off and asked himself the question he remembered Joy Gargrave’s face as he had first seen it when he entered the dining room at the lodge. It had not looked like the face of a girl who had quite recently shot a man, and though he recalled it with that look of terror which it had worn when he had first seen it, and again with that troubled look in the eyes when he had explained that Koona Dick was the criminal that he sought, he felt that his reasoning and his reading of the trail must somehow be at fault.

He stood considering the matter for a minute or two, glancing now and again to the place where Koona Dick had lain, and the frown which had came upon his face deepened. Then he recalled the note which he had picked up on the previous night and the frown lightened a little.

“Of course!” he whispered to himself, “she discovered its loss and came out here to look for it.”

But had she shot the man whom he had hoped to make his prisoner, the man who unquestionably had written that note to her? He could not decide, and as it was too cold to stand still for long together, he began to walk in a rather wide circle round the scene of the tragedy. Then he made a fresh discovery. On the other side of the path he found other footprints in the snow, and, following the track, reached a point where the person who had made them had quite evidently come to a standstill behind a clump of bushes. Corporal Bracknell looked through the screen of small branches, and once more found himself in full view of the place where Koona Dick had fallen.

The frown on his face deepened once more. He carefully examined the footmarks behind the bushes, and decided that they were at least some hours old. Probably they had been made the night before, and it was at least possible that the individual who had made them had witnessed the tragedy which had taken place.

He began to follow the footmarks from the point at which they left the bushes, and had gone but a little way when he found that the trail was crossed by another almost at right angles, a trail much more deeply marked and the first sight of which told him that either the person who had made it was of very heavy build, or had been bearing a considerable burden.

Perplexed beyond measure he stared at this new trail, then he looked round. The tall spruce alone met his eye. The profound silence of the primeval North was over all. There was no sound of life anywhere.

“And yet,” he murmured to himself, “there were quite a lot of people here last night. What were they all doing?”

Scarcely had the words slipped from him when he heard some one cough in the shadow of the wood, a little to the left of him. At once his bearing became alert. Moving silently from tree to tree in the direction from which the sound had come, he reached a point which gave him a view of an open glade. In the middle of the glade a girl was standing looking down at the snow. He recognized her instantly. It was his hostess, Joy Gargrave.

A minute or two passed and then the girl began to move down the glade quickly. He waited until she was out of sight, and himself walked to the middle of the glade where Joy had stood looking down at the snow. Instantly he saw what had held her eyes. A dog team had been halted there. The marks of the runners were visible in the snow, even the places where the dogs had waited, half-filled with new snow, were quite clear. His practised eyes read the signs without trouble. The team had entered the glade, had apparently waited there a little time, and then had turned and departed in the direction followed by his hostess. Impulsively, he turned to follow also, but as he did so, caught sight of footmarks debouching from the trees in a direct line to the place where the sled had been halted. They were deeply marked, and as he recognized instantly were the same as those which he had been following, when the sound of the cough had attracted his attention. The person who had made them had followed a devious path, making for the glade.

He frowned to himself. The mystery was growing deeper. But as no solution of the affair offered itself to his mind, after a little delay he began to follow the sled tracks down the glade, noting that side by side with them, were the fresh tracks made by Joy Gargrave’s moccasined feet.

The glade led out into the main road from the river to the house, and the sled-tracks turned towards the river, and then were lost in the hard-packed snow of the road. But as the sled had manifestly turned in the direction of the river, Corporal Bracknell also turned that way, walking quickly and keeping a sharp look-out on either hand for any indication of the sled having turned aside.

To or three minutes’ quick walking brought him in sight of the frozen river, and at the top of the bank, seated on a fallen tree, he perceived Joy Gargrave.

Her back was towards him, and her bent head and hunched-up shoulders were eloquent of dejection. He moved towards her quietly, and as he drew nearer a flutter of white caught his eye. It was the corner of a handkerchief which the girl was holding to her face, and apparently she was crying. A quick sympathy moved him as he stepped up to her, the snow deadening his steps.

“Miss Gargrave, you are in trouble. I wonder if I can be of any assistance?”

Startled by the sound of his voice, the girl looked up, and for one fleeting moment he had a vision of the beautiful face, tear-stained, and of the blue eyes full of trouble. Then the face was hidden in the handkerchief again, and a succession of sobs was the only answer vouchsafed to him. He stood for a little while in silence, looking down at the shaking shoulders. His own eyes filled with sympathetic concern, then he spoke again.

“Please, Miss Gargrave. Let me help. I am sure your trouble is very grave.”

At that she looked up again, her face expressive of deep misery.

“I am in deepest trouble,” she said brokenly, “I do not think that you or any one else can be of help to me.”

“Tell me,” he urged. “At least let me try.”

She sat for a moment in thought, her eyes veiled by the long lashes, then she lifted her head and looked at him as if she would measure his quality. Then she broke, out impulsively.

“Yes,” she cried, “I will trust you, I will tell you all. Perhaps you can help me, at least you can give me advice.”

“Then let us walk,” he said quickly. “You will freeze if you sit there long.”

He offered her his hand, and as she took it, their eyes met, and in the corporal’s there flashed a new light, and as he turned and fell into step at her side his heart was beating tumultuously, and his blood was running as if heated with a generous wine.

JOY GARGRAVE did not begin her story immediately. For a full two minutes they walked on, environed by the solemn pinewoods, and enveloped in the strange, white silence of the North. The corporal waited, and at last the girl spoke.

“You wonder why I was sitting on the bank, crying?”

“Yes,” he replied frankly. “I am wondering why you should do that, though I may tell you that I already have an idea.”

“You already have an idea?” the girl’s tones, as she echoed his question, betrayed surprise.

“Yes,” he answered, and thrusting a hand inside his fur parka, he produced the note which he had found, and held it towards her. He saw from her face that she recognized it, and he continued slowly: “You see, I found this last night – not far from the place where Koona Dick was lying. I did not know to whom it had been written; and if I had known, I am afraid duty would have compelled me to read it. If I am not mistaken, it was written to you; at any rate it bears your Christian name.”