The three men sat in dumb silence, each of them looking blankly ahead. Thea sobbed silently, her head still on the table.
It was Trond who spoke first. “What does that have to do with the horse, though? How did the horse get into the paddock?”
They were rhetorical questions. He was thinking out loud. But Rolf misunderstood, and asked Thea if she knew of anything about the horse.
She looked up and said, “I saw a tall man leading a horse last night.” She pointed outside. “Before the wolves.”
Rolf translated.
“A tall man?” the constable repeated. “Leading a horse, she says?”
“Smith is a damn sight taller than six foot,” Trond said.
The constable had taken his notebook back out and was scribbling furiously. “Ask her what time,” he said.
Rolf asked her and Thea considered, she told Rolf.
“She says it was late, after ten or eleven. She was done with her chores and readying for bed.”
“It makes no sense,” Trond said.
“Ask her was it Smith leading the horse.”
She couldn’t say who it was, she only saw from a distance and through the darkness. She repeated that it was a tall man, that he led the horse by the bridle past the trough, where the horse was left.
There was a moment of confused silence before Rolf said, “He was looking to stir up a commotion. That horse was bait for the wolves.”
The constable looked at Trond, “By God, the old man’s right. Why else would he do it?”
Trond stood and walked to the door and looked out the window. He’d been in the woods for a long time, he’d solved his share of problems. More than a few of his crewmembers had been sent off the parcel for one misdeed or another, some of those had ended up in the hoosegow. But this was a full-fledged crime if Thea told true. There was a goddamn lawman in his mess hall to attest to it. He had a dead horse butchered; he had a young lady defiled. Things were entirely beyond his experience now. He turned back to the group. “What do we do?”
The constable rose. “I’ll bring Jacque and the girl before the magistrate first thing in the morning. They’ll give their testimony. We’ll put a warrant on the watch salesman Smith. He’ll be charged and sought. We’ll offer a reward for his capture.”
Trond walked back to the table. “If Smith is smart he’ll be gone, to Canada or Chicago or goddamn Mexico.”
“Then we’ll find him in Mexico, Trond.”
“What about my horse?”
Rolf said, “Your horse ain’t quite as important as it was a few minutes ago, chief.” He turned his attention to Thea. “The constable is going to bring you before Curtis Mayfair in the morning. You’ll have to travel to town and make a testimony. You can’t use your Bible to tell the story. You’ll need to tell them what happened in your own words. I’ll go with you.”
“Tell her to get some rest,” the constable said. “Tell her we’ll leave with the light.”
They rode the foreman’s sleigh up the ice road: Thea, the barn boss, and Rolf on the wooden bench, Trond himself at the reins, one of the Percherons harnessed and stepping lively. The morning was warm even before the light, and the horse proved it with his gait. Before they began the long descent into Gunflint, going over the ice road’s last rise, the sun broke over Lake Superior. The trees on either side of the road sagged under the dripping snow and the winter birds were out, their song more evidence of the thaw.
When they were still a mile outside town they passed a farmer mending his fence a stone’s throw off the road. A sorry herd of six gaunt Holsteins stood behind him in a small pasture cut from the woods and still pocked with pine stumps. The farmer looked up and waved as if to hurry them along. He had a long beard and hair and like many of the men Thea saw, he bore the scars of frostbite. The farmer took a step toward them and waved his hammer at them and shouted, “Trespassers!” and pounded the packed snow with his sorry boot.
Trond turned to Jacque and Rolf and smiled. “That’s Rune Evensen,” he said. “Poor fellow’s been touched by more than this cold season, I’m afraid.”
Thea had been watching the farmer, and when she heard him shout in Norwegian and then Trond announce his name, she turned quickly to look again. Evensen was her uncle’s name.
Thea kept watching him as the road curved and began its last plunge into Gunflint. The morning and their errand had been confounding enough without the revelation of a man named Evensen. Now she was as distraught as she’d been during her first hour in this place. Unable to help herself, she turned to Rolf and said, “Sir, I beg your pardon, but did the foreman say that farmer’s name was Evensen?”
Rolf only nodded affirmatively.
“Sir, my uncle’s name is Evensen.”
“Your uncle?” Rolf asked. He was of course not privy to any knowledge of Thea’s situation. Nor did he much care. He was sympathetic about what had happened to her, he felt some pride in his role in helping to uncover the extent of the watch salesman’s crime, he may have even felt a moment’s relief in being spared a day on one end of a double-bitted saw. Even still, he was already dreading the prospect of a day in the magistrate’s chambers. He’d spent too much time in courthouses for his liking. “What about your uncle?”
The tone of his voice was stern and suggestive of silence, so Thea said no more, only rode the rest of the way to Gunflint more befuddled than ever.
The constable had left an hour ahead of them, and they met him now outside the livery stable. He looked harried. He carried his saddlebag over his shoulder.
“Mayfair will see us in his chambers straightaway,” he told Trond as the two men shook hands. “Stable your horse, then meet us at the courthouse. I’ll bring your charge with me.”
Trond leaned toward the constable. “Go gently with the lass,” he said.
“We’ve business, Trond.”
“She’s scared, that’s all I mean to say.”
The constable looked at her climbing from the sleigh. “It’ll be Mayfair’s inquest, but I’ll vouch for her nerves.” He shook hands with Rolf and Jacque and motioned for the group to follow him.
Mayfair’s office was on the Lighthouse Road. Though only eight years old, the building was already growing shabby. The dirt road was funneling snowmelt down to the lake, and their boots sucked at the mud with each step.
Mayfair sat behind his desk. He wore a flannel shirt and wool scarf. When he stood to greet them, he had a viola in one hand and a polishing rag in the other. There was a spittoon next to his high-backed chair, and he spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into it. His pants, Thea now saw, had enormous pockets on the knees. The camp clerk in the wanigan had a greater air of respectability than the magistrate did. Except for the dozen calfskin-bound books on the shelf behind him, these chambers looked a lot like the company store.
There were five captain’s chairs arranged before his desk, and he motioned for them to sit down. He sat down himself, but not before adding to the spittoon.
The constable spoke first. “Your honor, these are the witnesses in the case of Arrowhead County versus the watch salesman Joshua Smith.” He consulted his notebook. “Jacque Chadel, the barn boss up on the Burnt Wood River Camp.” He motioned at Jacque, who doffed his cap but said nothing. “This here’s Thea Eide. And this here’s Rolf Johnson. He’ll be helping us translate the girl’s testimony.” The constable flipped the pages of his notebook as he stepped behind the witnesses.
“Your honor, the night before last one of the horses up on the Burnt Wood River Camp was led into the paddock for no apparent reason. We surmise it was to lure the wolves and cause a commotion. The horse had to be put down yesterday morn. During my investigation, it came to light that Joshua Smith molested the girl here. The suspect fled sometime the night before last.