led but one significant fact, and
that corroborated Etzooah's story. Two days before he had undoubtedly
come into camp and had taken meat and fish from their slender store.
Exerting the prerogative of the head of the family, he had declined to
tell them what he wanted it for, and the women recited the fact to
Stonor as a grievance. It was a vastly relieved Etzooah that Stonor left
among his relatives. The fear of being carried off among the white men
remained with him until he saw the policeman out of sight. Stonor had
warned him to say nothing of what had happened down-river.

Stonor rejoined Clare and Mary, and they continued up-stream. Stonor had
now to tell Clare what he had learned. She was waiting for it. In her
anxious face there was only solicitude for him, no suspicion that the
affair concerned herself. He had wished to wait until night, but he saw
that he could not travel all day in silence with her. No use beating
about the bush either; she was an intelligent being and worthy of
hearing the truth.

"Clare," he began, avoiding her eyes, "you know I told you how I found
your husband's body in the river, but I did not tell you--I merely
wished to spare you something horrible--that it was much mutilated by
being thrown against the rocks, especially the face."

She paled. "How did you know then--how did we know that it was he?" she
asked, with a catch in her breath.

"You appeared to recognize it. You cried out his name before you
fainted. 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 the
river two days ago. The story is undoubtedly true. There were details he
could not have invented."

There was a silence. When he dared look at her, he saw with relief that
she was not so greatly affected as he had feared. She was still thinking
of him, Stonor.

"Martin," she murmured, deprecatingly, "there's no use pretending. I
don'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?" she
said 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 they
came down