"Not much," replied Buller. "The day after you left, one of the Indians tore in at midnight with the news. He said that he and his partner, the murdered man, had been met by Charley Seguis while running their trap-line, and that Charley had drawn the other aside in private conversation. Half an hour later, there had been sudden words, followed by blows, and, before Johnny could defend himself, Seguis had stabbed him. What they had been talking about the Indian didn't know, for Charley had hurried off immediately after the murder."
"What direction did he take?" asked McTavish.
"The rumor declared that he went north, toward Beaver Lake."
"No. So far as he knew, Johnny had never seen Charley Seguis before."
"Well, boys, I'm off in the morning after him. The factor is particularly keen for having him brought in right away. He also wants to know what I have done with all the furs that he claims have disappeared from this district during the last year." Donald's tone was contemptuous.
"I didn't know any had disappeared," said Buller, in amazement.
"Nor me! I tink dat Feetzpatreeck ees gone crazy in hees old age," added Cardepie, with a snort.
"Well, whatever it is, he claims the Company has lost twenty thousand pounds, and that I'm to blame for it," said Donald.
"There's something wrong here, Mac," remarked Duller, decisively. "This isn't all accident, and, if you say so, I'll go with you to-morrow."
"It's awfully good of you, John, but I think I'll tackle it alone." And McTavish wearily rose from the table.
The next morning, he again took the trail, but this time alone. On his feet were the light moose-webbed snowshoes; from head to heel, he was clad in white caribou such as the Indian hunters affect, and on his _capote_ he bore the branching antlers that were left there as a decoy for the wary animals. With a long whip in one hand and his rifle held easily in the other, he strode beside the straining dog-train. In the east, the frost-mist hung low like a fog. In the south, the sun, which barely showed itself above the horizon each day, was commencing to engrave faint tree shadows on the snow. The west was purplish gray, but the north was unrelenting iron. There was no beaten path to guide him now, and sometimes the trees were so closely set as barely to permit the passage of the sledge. On the new snow could be seen the dainty tracks of ermine, and beside them the cleanly indented marks of a fox. There were triplicate clusters of impressions, showing where the hare had passed, and occasionally the huge, splayed imprints of a caribou. But, though the life of the wild creatures was teeming at this season, there was no sound in all the leagues of forest, except the sharp crack of some freezing tree-trunk and the noise of Donald's own passage.