CHAPTER XI
THE MYSTERY
Next morning, when they had been on the river for about three hours,they came upon their friend Etzooah, he of the famous hair, stillhunting along shore in his canoe, but this time without the little boy.Stonor hailed him with pleasure; for of all the Kakisa Indians only thisone had acted towards them like a man and a brother.
But the policeman was doomed to disappointment. When they overtookEtzooah they saw that the red man's open, friendly look had changed. Heturned a hard, wary eye on them, just like all the other Kakisas. Stonorguessed that he must have visited his people in the interim, and havebeen filled up with their nonsensical tales. Affecting to notice nochange, Stonor said:
"We are going to spell here. Will you eat with us?"
No Indian was ever known to refuse a meal. Etzooah landed without aword, and sat apart waiting for it to be prepared. He made no offer tohelp, but merely sat watching them out of his inscrutable, beady eyes.Stonor, hoping to find him with better dispositions after he had filledup, let him alone.
Throughout the meal Etzooah said nothing except to answer Stonor'squestions in monosyllables. He denied having been up to Ahcunazie'svillage. Stonor was struck by the fact that he made no inquiryrespecting his friend Imbrie. Stonor himself did not like to bring upthe subject of Imbrie in Clare's hearing. Altogether baffled by theman's changed air, he finally said:
"Mary, translate this just as I give it to you.--When the policeman comedown the river he meet Etzooah. He is glad to see Etzooah. He say, hereis a good man. Etzooah give the policeman good talk. They part friends.But when the policeman come back up the river Etzooah is changed. He isnot glad to see the policeman. He gives him black looks. Why is that?Has anyone spoken evil of the policeman to Etzooah? He is ready toanswer. He asks this in friendship."
But it was all wasted on the Indian. He shrugged, and said with bland,unrelenting gaze: "Etzooah not changed. Etzooah glad to see thepoliceman come back."
When they had finished eating, Clare, guessing that Stonor could talkmore freely if she were out of hearing, strolled away to a littledistance and sat down to do some mending.
Stonor said to Etzooah through Mary: "I have bad news for you."
The Indian said: "You not find White Medicine Man?"
"He is dead."
Etzooah's jaw dropped. He stared at Stonor queerly. "What for you tellme that?" he demanded.
The style of the question nonplussed Stonor for the moment. "Why do Itell you? You said you were his friend."
Etzooah veiled his eyes. "So--he dead," he said stolidly. "I sorry forthat."
Now it was perfectly clear to Stonor that while the man's firstexclamation had been honest and involuntary, his later words werecalculated. There was no trace of sorrow in his tones. It was all verypuzzling.
"I think he must have been crazy," Stonor went on. "He shoved off in hiscanoe, and let the current carry him down. Then he shot himself."
Etzooah still studied Stonor like a man searching for ulterior motives.Clearly he did not believe what he was being told. "Why you think that?The falls never tell."
"His body didn't go over the falls. It caught on a log-jam in therapids."
"I know that log-jam. How you know his body there?"
"I brought it ashore. Mary helped me."
Etzooah smiled in a superior way.
Stonor, exasperated, turned to Mary. "Make it clear to him that I amtelling the truth if it takes half-an-hour." He turned away and filledhis pipe.
Mary presumably found the means of convincing the doubter. Etzooah losthis mask. His mouth dropped open; he stared at Stonor with wild eyes; ayellowish tint crept into the ruddy copper of his skin. This agitationwas wholly disproportionate to what Mary was telling him. Stonorwondered afresh. Etzooah stammered out a question.
Mary said in her impassive way: "Etzooah say how we know that was theWhite Medicine Man's body?"
"Was there any other man there?" said Stonor.
When this was repeated to the Indian he clapped his hands to his head."Non! Non!" he muttered.
Stonor indicated Clare. "She said it was Imbrie's body. She was hiswife."
Etzooah stared stupidly at Clare.
Suddenly he started to rise.
Mary said: "He say he got go now."
Stonor laid a heavy hand on the Indian's shoulder. "Sit down! Not untilthis matter is explained. Perhaps the man did not kill himself. Perhapshe was murdered."
Etzooah seemed beside himself with terror.
"Ask him what he's afraid of?"
"He say he sick in his mind because his friend is dead."
"Nonsense! This is not grief, but terror. Tell him I want the truth now.I asked as a friend at first: now I ask in the name of the law."
Etzooah suddenly rolled away on the ground out of Stonor's reach. Then,springing to his feet with incredible swiftness, he cut for the water'sedge. But Mary stuck out her leg in his path and he came to earth with athud. Stonor secured him. Clare from where she sat looked up withstartled eyes.
"For the last time I ask you what you know about this matter," saidStonor sternly. "If you refuse to answer, I'll carry you outside and putyou in the white man's jail."
Etzooah answered sullenly.
"He say he know not'ing," said Mary.
"Get the tracking-line, and help me tie his hands and feet."
When Etzooah saw that Stonor really meant to do what he said, hecollapsed.
"He say he tell now," said Mary.
Etzooah spoke rapidly and tremblingly to Mary. Little doubt now that hewas telling the truth, thought Stonor, watching him. The effect of hiscommunication on the stolid Mary was startling in the extreme. Shestarted back, and the same look of panic terror appeared in her eyes.She was unable to speak.
"For God's sake, what's the matter with you all?" cried Stonor.
Mary moistened her dry lips. She faltered: "He say--he say he so scarewhen you say you find Imbrie's body five sleeps ago because--because twosleeps ago Imbrie spell wit' him beside the river."
It was the turn of Stonor's jaw to drop, and his eyes to stare."But--but this is nonsense!" he cried.
Clare could no longer contain her curiosity. "What is the matter,Martin?" she asked.
"Some red-skin mumbo-jumbo," he answered angrily. "I'll soon get to thebottom of it."
Lowering his voice, he said to Mary: "Have him tell me exactly whathappened two sleeps ago."
Mary translated as Etzooah spoke. "Two sleeps ago. The sun was half-wayto the middle of the sky. I spell down river near the rapids on thepoint where the tepee-poles are. I see White Medicine Man come paddlingup. I moch surprise see him all alone because I know you gone down tosee him. I call to him. He come on shore to me."
"What kind of a canoe?" asked Stonor.
"Kakisa canoe. Got willow-branches in it, for cause Eembrie sit on hisknees and paddle, not like Kakisa."
This was a convincing detail. Little beads of perspiration sprang out onStonor's brow.
Etzooah went on: "We talk----"
"Could he speak Kakisa?"
"No. We talk by signs. He know some Kakisa words. I teach him that. Isay to him Red-coat and White girl gone down river to see you. You notsee them? How is that? Eembrie laugh: say: 'I see them, but they not seeme. Red-coat want to get me I guess, so I run away.' Eembrie say: 'Don'you tell Red-coat you see me.' That is why I not want tell. I mean noharm. Eembrie is my friend. I not want police to get him."
Stonor scarcely heard the last words. His world was tumbling around hisears. But Etzooah's and Mary's sly, scared glances in his face broughthim to himself. "Anything more?" he asked harshly.
Etzooah hastened on: "Eembrie moch in a hurry. Not want spell. Say hecome away so quick got no grub but duck him shoot. I got not'ing butlittle rabbit, but I say, come to my camp, got plenty dry meat, dryfish. So we paddle up river till the sun is near gone under. Eembrie nottalk much. Eembrie not want come to my camp. Not want my wife, mybrot'er, my children see h
im. My camp little way from river. Eembriewait beside the river. I go bring him dry meat, dry fish, matches and ahatchet. Eembrie go up river. That is all."
The story had a convincing ring. So far as it went Stonor could scarcelydoubt it, though there was much else that needed to be explained. Itpricked the bubble of his brief happiness. How was he going to tellClare? He had much ado to keep his face under the Indians' curiousglances. They naturally were ascribing their terrors to him. This ideacaused him to smile grimly.
"What kind of a gun did Imbrie have?" he asked.
Etzooah replied through Mary that he had not seen Imbrie's gun, that itwas probably covered by his blankets.
Stonor seemed to be pondering deeply on what he had heard. As a matterof fact, conscious only of the hurt he had received, he was incapable ofconsecutive thought. The damnable question reiterated itself. "How am Igoing to tell Clare?" Even now she was waiting with her eyes upon himfor some word. He dared not look at her.
He was roused by hearing Etzooah and Mary talking together in scaredvoices.
"What does Etzooah say?" he demanded.
Mary faltered: "He say Eembrie got ver' strong medicine. Him not staydead."
"That is nonsense. You saw the body. Could a man without a face come tolife?"
She asked Etzooah timidly if Imbrie's face was all right.
"Well, what does he say?" Stonor demanded with a scornful smile.
"He say Eembrie's face smooth lak a baby's," Mary replied with downcasteyes.
"If Etzooah's story is true it was another man's body that we buried,"said Stonor dejectedly.
He saw by the dogged expression on both red faces that they would nothave this. They insisted on the supernatural explanation. In a way theyloved the mystery that scared them half out of their wits.
"What man's body was that?" asked Etzooah, challengingly.
And Stonor could not answer. Etzooah insisted that no other man had gonedown the river, certainly no white man. Stonor knew from the conditionof the portage trail that no one had come up from below that season.There remained the possibility that Imbrie had brought in a companionwith him, but everything in his shack had been designed for a singleoccupant; moreover the diary gave the lie to this supposition. Etzooahsaid that he had been to Imbrie's shack the previous fall, and there wasno other man there then. There were moments when the bewilderedpoliceman was almost forced to fall back on the supernaturalexplanation.
It would never do for him, though, to betray bewilderment; not only thetwo Indians, but Clare, looked to him for guidance. He must not think ofthe wreck of his own hopes, but only of what must be done next. He rosestiffly, and gave Mary the word to pack up. At any rate his duty wasclear. The fleeing Imbrie held the key to the mystery, and he must becaptured--Imbrie, Clare's husband, and now a possible murderer!
"Martin, tell me what's the matter," Clare said again, as he held thedug-out for her to get in.
"I'll tell you as soon as I get rid of this Indian," he said, with aseasy an air as he could muster.
He ordered Etzooah to take him to his camp, as he wished to search it,and to question his family. The Indian stolidly prepared to obey.
It was at no great distance up-stream. It consisted of three tepeeshidden from the river, a Kakisa custom dating from the days when theyhad warlike enemies. The tepees were occupied by Etzooah's immediatefamily, and the households respectively of his brother and hisbrother-in-law.
The search and the examination revealed but one significant fact, andthat corroborated Etzooah's story. Two days before he had undoubtedlycome into camp and had taken meat and fish from their slender store.Exerting the prerogative of the head of the family, he had declined totell them what he wanted it for, and the women recited the fact toStonor as a grievance. It was a vastly relieved Etzooah that Stonor leftamong his relatives. The fear of being carried off among the white menremained with him until he saw the policeman out of sight. Stonor hadwarned him to say nothing of what had happened down-river.
Stonor rejoined Clare and Mary, and they continued up-stream. Stonor hadnow to tell Clare what he had learned. She was waiting for it. In heranxious face there was only solicitude for him, no suspicion that theaffair concerned herself. He had wished to wait until night, but he sawthat he could not travel all day in silence with her. No use beatingabout the bush either; she was an intelligent being and worthy ofhearing the truth.
"Clare," he began, avoiding her eyes, "you know I told you how I foundyour husband's body in the river, but I did not tell you--I merelywished to spare you something horrible--that it was much mutilated bybeing thrown against the rocks, especially the face."
She paled. "How did you know then--how did we know that it was he?" sheasked, with a catch in her breath.
"You appeared to recognize it. You cried out his name before youfainted. I thought there must be certain marks known to you."
"Well?"
"It appears we were mistaken. It must have been the body of another man.According to the story the Indian has just told, Imbrie went up theriver two days ago. The story is undoubtedly true. There were details hecould not have invented."
There was a silence. When he dared look at her, he saw with relief thatshe was not so greatly affected as he had feared. She was still thinkingof him, Stonor.
"Martin," she murmured, deprecatingly, "there's no use pretending. Idon't seem to feel it much except through you. You are so distressed.For myself it all seems--so unreal."
He nodded. "That's natural."
She continued to study his face. "Martin, there's worse behind?" shesaid suddenly.
He looked away.
"You suspect that this man ... my husband ... whom I do not know ...that other man ... murder, perhaps?"
He nodded.
She covered her face with her hands. But only for a moment. When theycame down she could still smile at him.
"Martin, do not look so, or I shall hate myself for having brought allthis on you."
"That's silly," he said gruffly.
She did not misunderstand the gruffness. "Do not torment yourself so.It's a horrible situation, unspeakably horrible. But it's none of ourmaking. We can face it. I can, if I am sure you will always--be myfriend--even though we are parted."
He raised his head. After all she was the comforter. "You make meashamed," he said. "Of course we can face it!"
"Perhaps I can help you. I must try to remember now. We must work at itlike a problem that does not concern us especially."
"Have you the diary?" he asked suddenly. "That's essential now."
"Did I have it?"
"In the side pocket of your coat."
"It's not there now. It's not among my things. I haven't seen itsince--I came to myself."
He concealed his disappointment. "Oh, well, if it was left in the shackit will be safe there. I'm sure no Indian would go within fifty miles ofthe spot now."
"Have you any idea who the dead man could have been?"
"Not the slightest. It's a black mystery."