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We can't reckon these things. Anyway he never saw his wife again. He never saw his baby girl. And he never saw Hervey Garstaing till weeks ago he came under the label of Nicol right along here to set the story of murder into his book of life. He's there in that store-house and he's been dead weeks. Only the rottenness in him hasn't broke out because of the weed. Anyway he's dead.
Those good looks, which, backed by the subtle tongue of the seducer, had been sufficient to attract the weak vessel of a foolish woman's heart from the path of virtue that had been marked out for it. Oh, yes. Steve recognized that ghastly, lifeless face. And just for one moment he hoped that as Death secured its stranglehold the dead creature had recognized his. He wondered. "Garstaing!
Oh, yes, it had needed but one flash of inspiration to warn him of this thing, and his concern was that this beautiful white woman, Keeko, was a link in the chain of the conspiracy with which he was surrounded. He saw the hand of Lorson Harris in it, guiding, prompting, from that office he knew so well in Seal Bay. Hervey Garstaing was his tool.
Ross were in the back seat, and their two daughters were facing them. Hervey Garstaing was driving, and Nita Allenwood was sitting beside him. It was all just as it had been earlier in the evening when he had seen them set out for Deadwater. Oh, yes. It was all the same with just a shade of difference. Nita was sitting close very close to the teamster.
Maybe he was looking down into the depths of the basket which held the little white pappoose back there in his home. It was good to look at the little pappoose when there was trouble at the back of a father's eyes. It made the trouble much better. How he hated the white man, Hervey Garstaing. For once Julyman's instincts were at fault.
The whole thing was well planned, and Garstaing took no sort of chances. He got away with nearly fifty thousand dollars of Indian money, and, so far, hasn't left a trace. We don't know to this day if he made north, south, east, or west. All we know are these two letters, that they got away in a 'jumper' and team, and that Nita and the kiddie were with him."
He, too, rose from his seat. "You best take a copy of the story," he said, as Steve moved towards the door. "Anyway I'll need the original later." He was talking because the other compelled him to talk. And because he had that in his mind which made it impossible for him to remain silent. Steve opened the door and peered out. The night was brilliantly star-lit. Garstaing was close behind him.
There could be no doubt as to that to which the man had sunk. It was the simple logic of such a career as his. A man reduced to haunting Mallard's in his endeavour to escape the law must inevitably sink lower and lower. Garstaing was a Northern man. Sooner or later the Northern wilderness would claim him. The next step would be the embrace of Lorson Harris.
The dead body of Garstaing lay huddled aside, ruthlessly flung where it could least obtrude itself and interfere with the labours upon which he was engaged. Its presence was no matter of concern. It lay there held safe from decay by the power of the drug which had robbed it of life.
It was a simple official order to place himself entirely at the disposal of Major Hervey Garstaing, the Indian Agent of the Allowa Indian Reserve who was receiving full instructions from the Indian Commissioner at Ottawa on a matter which came under his department. He read the letter through twice. He was about to read it for a third time, but laid it aside.
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