"Hi, there!" he said.
There was no reply. He mounted the wagon, touched the dead man's
shoulder, and then, with one hand, loosened the waistcoat and felt the
heart. It was still. He examined the body. There was no wound. He peered
into the face, and saw the distortion there. "Dead--dead!" he said in an
awed voice.
The husband of Louise was dead. How he died, in one sense, did not
matter. Louise's husband was dead; he would torture her no more. Louise
was free!
Slowly he got down from the wagon, vaguely wondering what to do, so had
the tragedy confused his brain for the moment. As he did so, he was
conscious of another wagon and horses a few yards away.
"Who goes there?" called the voice of the newcomer.
"A friend," answered Orlando mechanically. Presently the new-comer sprang
down from his wagon and came over to Orlando.
"What is it, Mr. Guise?" he asked. "What's the trouble? . . . Who's
that?" he added, pointing to the dead body.
"It's Mazarine. He's dead," answered Orlando quietly.
"Oh, good God!" said the other.
He was an insurance agent of the town of Askatoon, who, that very
evening, had heard Orlando threaten the Master of Tralee--that if ever he
passed him or met him, and Mazarine did not get out of the way, it would
be the worse for him. Well, here in the trail were Orlando and Mazarine
--and Mazarine was dead!
"Good God!" the new-comer repeated.
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