Well, here in the trail were Orlando and Mazarine
--and Mazarine was dead!
"Good God!" the new-comer repeated. Scarsdale was his name.
Then Orlando explained. "It's not what you think," he said. Then he
told the story--such as there was to tell--of what had happened during
the last few moments.
Scarsdale climbed up into the wagon, struck a light, looked at the body
of Mazarine, at his face, and then lifted up the beard and examined the
neck. There were finger-marks in the flesh.
"So, that's it," he said. "Strangled! He seems to have took it easy,
sittin' there like that," he added as he climbed down.
"I don't understand it," remarked Orlando. "As you say, it's weird, his
sitting there like that with the reins in his hands. I don't understand
it!"
"I saw you getting down from the wagon," remarked Scarsdale meaningly.
"Say, do you really believe--?" began Orlando without agitation, but
with a sudden sense of his own false position.
"It ain't a matter of belief," the other declared.
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