Part 33 (1/2)

There was no answer, and Sewell stood up. ”We don't know what has happened, boys. Perhaps we never shall; but it seems to me one thing is certain--it wasn't murder.”

There was a little murmur of concurrence, and then Sewell made a gesture.

”It's getting dark, and we're most of us very wet,” he said. ”One or two of you cut a few fir boughs, and we'll make a litter.”

It was done, and in another few minutes a line of wet and silent men plodded behind their comrades who carried Trooper Probyn up the climbing trail.

XX

ACCESSORIES

Esmond was not at the outpost when the messengers reached it, nor was the corporal there, and it was two troopers to whom the miners delivered the dead lad. This fact, however, appeared to afford Sewell a certain satisfaction, and he and Tomlinson went back with Ingleby through the growing darkness to Leger's shanty. It was once more raining hard when they reached it, and when Hetty had set a kettle of coffee before them they sat steaming in the little log-walled room with the door shut. Each of them was aware that there was a good deal to be said, and in all probability little time in which to say it; but the subject was difficult, and Hetty had cleared the table when Sewell turned to Tomlinson.

”There's a plant in this country whose leaves the Indians believe are efficacious in stopping blood,” he said. ”I wonder if you could tell me where to find it?”

Tomlinson looked up with evident astonishment.

”If there is, I never heard of it,” he answered. ”I've no use for worrying 'bout any plants just now.”

Then he glanced round at the faces of the rest, and his eyes rested a moment upon Hetty. ”I'm in a tight place, but you don't believe I did the thing?”

”Of course not!” said Hetty, with a little flash in her eyes. ”Why don't you answer him, some of you?”

Ingleby would have spoken, but Sewell held up his hand. ”I'm not sure you know how tight the place is, Tomlinson. If you'll listen I'll try to show you.”

He spoke for two or three minutes, and even Ingleby, who had long looked up to him as a man of brilliant ability, was a trifle astonished at the ac.u.men which marked every point of the tersely logical exposition. It apparently left no loophole for doubt as to who had killed Trooper Probyn, and once or twice Leger moved uneasily. There was, however, a little incredulous smile in Hetty's eyes.

”Now,” said Sewell incisively, ”have you anything to tell us?”

Tomlinson sat gazing at them stupidly, with the veins on his bronzed forehead swollen, and a dusky hue in his face. Ingleby was troubled as he watched him, and Leger leaned forward in his seat as though in a state of tense expectancy, but still the faint smile flickered in Hetty's eyes. For almost a minute they could hear the wailing of the pines and the rain falling on the roof. Then Tomlinson spoke.

”I fired once--at a deer. That's all,” he said.

Ingleby was conscious at once of a certain sense of shame and an intense relief, for he recognized the truth in the miner's voice, and Sewell had set out with relentless effectiveness the view the prosecution might be expected to take. The latter laughed as he glanced at Hetty.

”You would not have believed he did it if I had talked for hours?” he asked.

”No,” said Hetty simply.

Sewell made her a little inclination, and then turned to the rest with a smile.

”We have only reason to guide us, and we argue clumsily,” he said.

”Women, we are told, have none--in their case it apparently isn't necessary. They were made differently. Insight, it seems, goes along with the charity that believes no evil.”

It was not evident that Hetty quite understood him, for she sat looking at the fire with hands crossed in her lap, and Sewell turned to Tomlinson.

”I think the boys would believe you, as we do, but that, after all, scarcely goes very far. We have Esmond and the corporal to consider, and they are certainly not troubled with instinctive perceptions or any excess of charity. What is more to the purpose, they wouldn't try you here.”