  Dick Kent had plenty of time that night to think about the crude joke Mr. Frazer, the factor at Half Way House, had played upon them. The factor must have known full well that the mammoth skeleton of the dinosaur could not be conveyed easily up the river on an ordinary raft. He must have known, too, of the utter impossibility of packing the huge creature over the thirteen portages that are to be found between the island of the granite shaft and the trading post, three hundred miles up the river. Given sufficient leisure to think the matter over, Dick decided that he did not blame Sandy one bit for the anger and bitterness that Frazer’s trickery had aroused. The young Scotchman had eaten his supper in a huff and later had retired to his blankets in a manner that was, to say the very least, thoroughly hostile and unfriendly. His actions indicated very plainly that he, for one, didn’t consider this business of the dinosaur as the sort of joke that could pass unnoticed or unforgiven, or that could be laughed down or yet dismissed with a shrug. It rankled and cut deep. Some day Mr. Frazer would hear about it. Dick turned his eyes toward the campfire and watched the shadows creeping up to the bright circle its glimmering light made. He lay quite still, listening to the monotonous beat of the water around the shore of the island. He was dimly aware of the tall granite slab that thrust up its pointed head in cold disdain of the lowly trees under it. Far away somewhere a loon called out mockingly and derisively to its mate. Sandy woke on the following morning in a better humor. Over a hot cup of tea and a crisp rasher of bacon, he apologized for his behavior on the previous night. “I had no reason to be angry with you, Dick,” he stated contritely. “But you irritated me because you took it all so good-naturedly. It can’t be denied that the joke is on us, but you surely know that he went too far with it. He never should have permitted us to start out. Our time is worth something and we paid the factor a good stiff price for our grubstake. Then there are all those cumbersome tools we brought along—rock chisels, pickaxes, hatchets and what not. We paid for them out of our own hard-earned money. A very expensive practical joke, if you ask me.” In the act of raising a cup of steaming beverage to his lips, Toma paused and his dark eyes fell upon Sandy’s face. “Mebbe not so much joke like you think. Mebbe Mr. Frazer him not want us to stay at Half Way House any longer. Mebbe he think your Uncle Walter send us fellows down to spy on him an’ he no like that.” Both Dick and Sandy started. They had never looked at the situation from quite that angle. The young Indian’s statement had induced a new train of thought. Come to think of it, why had Sandy’s uncle, Mr. Walter MacClaren, factor at Fort Good Faith and superintendent for the Hudson Bay Company for all that vast northern territory, sent them over to Half Way House in the first place? Sandy looked at Dick searchingly for another moment, then broke forth: “Gee, I never thought about that. Toma, you’re too deep for us. I can begin to see now.” Dick pursed his lips, scowling slightly. “Mr. MacClaren said that the hunting was good up around Half Way House and that we’d enjoy our summer’s vacation there. He didn’t tell us that he was suspicious of Mr. Frazer. Naturally he wouldn’t. He wanted us to find that out for ourselves. Sandy,” he glanced eagerly across at his chum, “as far as you know, has Mr. Frazer a reputation for being much of a practical joker?” Sandy put down his cup and proceeded to pour out his second helping of tea. “No, I’ve never heard that he was. And certainly he doesn’t look the part. I wouldn’t call him frivolous. My impression of him has always been that he is inclined to be sort of taciturn, reserved and fairly uncommunicative.” At this juncture, Toma again broke into the discussion. “He not look like man that see anything to laugh about ever. I no like that fellow very much. I no like them friends he keep alla time hanging around the post. Look like bad men to me.” On many occasions previously during their sojourn in the North, the two boys had come to place a good deal of reliance on the young Indian’s snap judgment. He had an almost uncanny ability to read character and of finding hidden traits, both good and bad, in the persons with whom he came in contact. Seldom did he err. “He’s referring to Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum,” said Sandy. “Well, I don’t know as one could call them Frazer’s friends.” “I see Mr. Frazer talk with them many times,” Toma wagged his head. “When I come close they hush up—don’t talk any more. An’ one time I see a light in Mr. Frazer’s room late, ’bout two o’clock, I think. An’ there through the window I see ’em. Wolf Brennan, McCallum, Frazer an’ two Indians I do not know.” “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” demanded Dick. That was the way with Toma—ever reticent. His uncommunicativeness often became a source of despair to his two chums. “You no ask me.” “But how did we know?” glared Sandy. “We weren’t up at two o’clock that night.” “I no tell you that,” Toma explained, “because I think mebbe you no want to hear bad things about Mr. Frazer.” “You cherub!” Sandy snorted. “Sandy,” questioned Dick, “how does Mr. Frazer stand with the company?” Sandy stirred the oatmeal, sugar and bacon grease together in what was to Dick an unappetizing mess. “Uncle Walter never told me.” “But haven’t you heard?” Dick persisted. “No, I haven’t,” Sandy commenced to eat his favorite dish. “Uncle Walter never tells me anything about his business. He’s as close-mouthed as the average Scotchman, I guess.” “There are some ways in which you do not resemble him in the least,” pointed out Dick, winking at Toma. No more was said on the subject then. As soon as they had washed their breakfast dishes, Dick and Sandy went over for another view of the dinosaur, while Toma set out to explore the island. The dinosaur, in the bright morning sunlight, seemed to be as ugly and repellent as it had been in the evening’s shadows on the night before. Again they were awed by its presence. It seemed inconceivable that anything so huge and ugly had ever walked upon the earth. “How’d you like to meet one of those things alive?” asked Sandy. “Not for me. A bullet would probably flatten out on its scaly hide. At the best, it would feel like no more than a pin-prick. And Mr. Frazer told us we could bring that thing back on a raft. He must have known better, because he was here two years ago and saw it with his own eyes.” “Of course, he knew better,” growled Sandy. The bushes parted behind them. First Toma’s head was thrust through and then his body. He motioned to them eagerly. “Come on,” he said. “I show you something. Come quick!” They turned and followed him, finding it difficult to keep pace with him, so quickly did he go. They came presently to a fringe of willows not far from the western shore of the lake. The young Indian motioned them to be seated. “Watch out there in the lake,” he commanded them. “Pretty soon you see something. Keep very quiet. No talk now.” Both waited expectantly. Out ahead of them the lake rippled and sparkled. Suddenly a canoe glided within their range of vision—a canoe containing two occupants. Their paddles dipping in unison, the two men sat very straight, one in, the center and one in the stern, two mackinaw coated figures, two bearded white men whom the boys recognized instantly. In the excitement of the moment, Sandy jabbed his elbow in Dick’s ribs. “Cracky!” he blurted out. “What’s up now? Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum! They’re coming here.” But in this Sandy was mistaken. The canoe did not pause, did not waver. It swept in fairly close to the island then, as if it had suddenly changed its mind, it swerved sharply and continued on its course. The two men sat like statues until they were thirty or forty yards away. Then Wolf Brennan craned his thick, bull-like neck and looked back. Even at that distance the boys caught the expression that distorted the man’s coarse features. A leer, a mocking, unfriendly grin, a diabolical, fiendish sneer! Abruptly he turned and the paddle, gripped in his huge ape-like hands, glinted in the sunlight as it smote the gleaming water. |
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