  Cool air rose from the river, driving before it long, grey streamers of mist. Up through the trees it spread, close to the ground, dense as smoke. Across the sandbar, well up on the bank above, in the deep shadow of the balsam, a bright fire etched in bold relief the faces of Corporal Rand and the three boys. They made a complete circle around the fire and were conversing eagerly. Just now it was Sandy who held the center of interest. “Something underhanded going on at Half Way House,” he explained to the corporal. “I think that Uncle Walter is suspicious of Factor Frazer. I don’t know exactly what the trouble is, but I think it has something to do with the way Mr. Frazer has been keeping his accounts. You see, Uncle Walter is Chief Factor for this district and audits the books of all the trading posts. He acted very mysterious when he asked us to go over to Half Way House. Didn’t he, Dick?” “Yes, he did,” Dick corroborated his chum. “It looks to me,” Sandy went on, “as if Mr. Frazer suspected that we were spies sent by my uncle and took the method he did to get rid of us.” “Seems very likely,” smiled the policeman. “Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum were at the post when we left,” continued Sandy. “After what has happened, we can draw only one conclusion, that these two men are paid emissaries of Frazer’s. I suspect he wants to keep us out here until he has had time to cover up some sort of deviltry.” Corporal Rand rose and gazed down into the fire. “It would seem so, Sandy. Something deeply mysterious afoot there. Probably another case for the police to solve. I’ve never known it to fail. No sooner do we hear of an important case and start working upon it, than something else crops up. We’ve done nothing but patrol duty until this Miller case came to our attention. I start out upon this case when I learn of this business at Half Way House. Probably before I get back from Caribou Lake, there will be a murder or two added to the growing list of crimes.” “Do you plan to have us accompany you to Caribou Lake?” Dick asked. “When I met you out here this afternoon, that was my intention. But now that I’ve talked with you and heard your story I’ve changed my mind. It’s more important that you should go on to Half Way House. By travelling as fast as you can, you should make it in four more days.” “What will we do when we get there?” asked Dick. “That’s up to you,” Corporal Rand spoke grimly. “You handled the Dewberry case very nicely. I’m really in no position to advise you or help you in any way because I don’t know what’s wrong there. If I were you though, the minute I arrived I’d confront Frazer and demand an explanation. I’d mention Wolf Brennan and McCallum too. Make it plain that you intend to take up the matter with the police.” “Do you believe there is a chance that he may confess?” asked Sandy incredulously. “No, I don’t. But there is a chance that your accusations may sweep him off his guard, that he will blurt out something that will give you a clue to the mystery.” “I never thought of that,” said Dick. “I’ll divide my grubstake with you,” Rand went on. “I haven’t much, but you’re welcome to half of it. I can give you tea, rice, a little sugar, part of a slab of bacon and about ten pounds of flour.” “You may run yourself short,” Dick hesitated. “No,” smiled Rand. “I can look after myself.” “Now that we’ve met you, I hate to separate so soon.” “It can’t be helped,” smiled the policeman. “And that reminds me that it’s getting late. We must hurry to bed if we expect to make an early start tomorrow.” Following a good breakfast the next morning, the boys loaded their canoe, shook hands with the corporal and, just at six o’clock by Rand’s watch, the two canoes floated out into the river, separated and began speeding on their respective ways. All day the boys worked like Trojans. In spite of a delay of over an hour at one portage, they managed to travel over forty miles before they stopped at dusk to make camp. The second day was more or less a repetition of the first and, on the afternoon of the third day since their meeting with Corporal Rand, they drew up at the boat landing at Half Way House, tired but exultant. They walked up along the well-beaten path toward the trading post, the cynosure of curious eyes. And indeed, this was not to be wondered at. Their appearance resembled scarecrows more than human beings. They were ragged from head to foot. Their faces were burned a deep brown from the exposure to sun and wind. As they made their way past a row of cabins, the company’s warehouse and finally to the store itself, Toma’s abbreviated trousers caused a good deal of merriment among lounging groups of Indians and half-breeds. Though they were exultant, they were also grim. Dick’s eyes were hard as he led his two companions through those tittering groups. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides and, reaching the entrance he flung open the door and strode defiantly in. Toma and Sandy followed, their manner belligerent. Behind the counter, busily occupied in rearranging merchandise on the shelves, the factor, Mr. Donald Frazer had not noticed their entrance. When he did look around, his face paled. “Y—y—you!” he trembled. Three pairs of glaring, unfriendly eyes bored into the wavering optics of the man behind the counter. As yet, not one of the boys had spoken. A deep and ominous silence settled over the room. “We’re back!” Dick cleared his throat. “So I perceive,” the factor attempted to make light of the matter, but his effort at jocularity proved a dismal failure. “We’re back,” Dick repeated, his voice harsh and cold, “and we demand an accounting. You’re a miserable snake, Frazer, and you have a lot to answer for. Before we report this matter to the police, perhaps you’d like to do a little explaining on your own account.” The factor’s right hand reached out and he grasped the counter for support. He tried to speak, but in his fear and great agitation, the words would not come. A queer rumbling in his throat, his jaw muscles twitching, his face white, he stood there helplessly staring at the three determined figures confronting him. “Didn’t expect us back, did you?” almost snarled Dick. “Had an idea that we’d starve out there, didn’t you? Thought that your friends, Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum, would settle our hash for good and all, didn’t you? Well, we’re back. What do you propose to do about it?” Frazer’s face distorted queerly and he protested angrily. “What sort of a plot are you trying to lay at my door?” he wheezed. “Brennan and McCallum—I don’t understand you. What have they to do with me? If you had trouble with them, it was not of my making.” “Don’t try to deny that you didn’t send them. You did.” At this juncture Sandy completely lost his temper. In a flash, he had bounded over the counter, seizing Frazer by the throat. “You wretch!” he shouted, shaking the factor as a cat might shake a mouse. “You wretch! Don’t lie to us! You sent us out there to the island of the dinosaur for no other reason than to get rid of us. And then,” Sandy shrieked “you instructed those two miserable rats to follow us to make sure we didn’t get back.” The factor was a powerful man and Sandy’s advantage was only temporary. Frazer flung him off, stepped back and his fist crashed into Sandy’s face sending him reeling back, where he toppled and fell over a packing case. The resounding impact of his fall was sufficiently heavy to shake the room. Dick and Toma cried out angrily and they, too, leaped over the barrier. Retreating before them, Frazer sped down along the space behind the counter, reached up in one of the shelves and whipped out a revolver, just as Dick made a lurch for him. “Stand back!” he cried, breathing hard. An inner door flew open. There came the sound of running footsteps. Dick turned in time to see, to his unutterable astonishment, the commanding figure of Sandy’s uncle, Mr. Walter MacClaren. |
|
