  The next morning, after the departure of Donald Frazer, Harold Scott, Frazer’s assistant, was placed in charge of the company’s post at Half Way House. Having made the appointment, Sandy’s uncle issued final instructions and then prepared for an immediate departure for Fort Good Faith. “I’d just as soon you’d stay here for a week or two,” he told the boys. “There is a bare possibility that Frazer may return to cause trouble. Mr. Scott may require your help.” This request on the part of Mr. MacClaren met with general approval, for none of them believed that Frazer’s real perfidy had yet been uncovered. Something deeper and more mysterious was afoot. Frazer’s attempt to rob the company was not, they reasoned, his only crime. He was mixed up in other and more sinister affairs. Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum were, undoubtedly, part of the gang who were operating under Frazer’s directions. “Where do you suppose Frazer will go?” Sandy inquired of Dick soon after Mr. MacClaren’s leave taking. “Do you think that he is really establishing a new trading post at Caribou Lake?” “No, I don’t,” Dick replied. “I think that was a fabrication, pure and simple. There wouldn’t be enough money in it for him. That is a very sparsely inhabited district. Few Indians trap there during the winter and I doubt very much whether the fur trade would warrant the establishment of a post.” “That’s what I’ve always heard. The country is rugged and hilly, better adapted to mining and prospecting than to trapping.” “Exactly. Frazer has no intention of engaging in trade there. You could tell when he said it, that it was a lie. He has other projects in mind.” “All I know is,” put in Sandy, “that anyone that would associate with characters like Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum can’t be very honest himself.” “Where do you suppose he got the gold to cover his shortage?” Dick mused. “Probably stole it. That’s Uncle Walter’s belief too. It’s another case of robbing Peter to pay Paul.” Dick and Sandy were sitting on a bench outside the trading room while this discussion was going on. It was a lovely morning and after the rigorous activities of their experience down river, it seemed good merely to sit there basking in the sun. Some distance away, Toma sauntered about among the idling groups of Indians and half-breeds who came here to trade. Presently, he came strolling up with that shrewd gleam in his eyes that denoted some new discovery. Dick looked up and smiled as he approached. “What’s on your mind now, Toma?” Without preamble, the young Indian plunged into his subject. “You remember them two fellow, Indian boys, I tell you ’bout I see in that room one night with Toby McCallum, Wolf Brennan an’ Mr. Frazer?” Dick scratched his head. “Let me see. You mean that time when you saw the light burning in Frazer’s room at two o’clock in the morning?” “Yes. Them two fellow here.” “Here at the post?” inquired Sandy, straightening up in his seat. “Yes.” “What are they doing?” “They just hang ’round. Do nothing like us. I find out they have tepee down near the river.” “Well, what about it?” demanded Dick. “They have a right to stay there if they want to, haven’t they?” Toma grinned. “That just the trouble. Why they want to stay here now that their friend, Mr. Frazer, go ’way? They very good friend Mr. Frazer, you think they like go ’long too.” “Perhaps they’ll follow later,” surmised Sandy. “Mebbe so. But I think I know why they stay here.” “Why?” asked Dick. “’Cause Mr. Frazer tell ’em to. Mr. Frazer talk with them two fellow just before he go. I see him do that. I see they very careful nobody hear what they say too.” Dick felt a momentary quickening of his pulses. “Good boy! No one could ever accuse you of being slow-witted. I know what’s on your mind now. You believe that these two Indians have been left behind purposely—that they’ll be up to some mischief before long.” “Yes, Dick, them very bad fellow. Other Indians say that. Like drink alla time an’ get in trouble.” Toma scowled and took a seat on the bench beside Sandy. For one full moment no one spoke. “There are two reasons why Frazer instructed those two Indians to remain here. Either they intend to cause Scott all the trouble they can or they are waiting for the arrival of Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum,” said Dick. “We’ll keep an eye on them,” stated Sandy darkly. “We might possibly learn something to our advantage.” Toma turned his head. “There they are now,” he said. Two Indians came down the path toward the trading room, walking one behind the other. Both were sinister looking men, Dick thought. He wondered if they were intending to enter the store to make some purchase or whether the object of their visit was to appraise himself and his two chums. He bent his head toward Sandy and whispered in a low voice. “Slip into the trading room and see what they do.” The young Scotchman rose, stretched himself languidly, imitated a yawn and lounged through the open door. The two Indians followed him in. Dick winked at Toma, produced his hunting knife and began whittling on a stick. For five minutes they waited. At the end of that time the Indians came out, one of them carrying a package under his arm. Just outside the door, looking about them for a moment idly, they took a seat on the bench near Dick and Toma. The action was wholly unexpected and Dick was taken unawares. Were the two Indians giving them a secret appraisal? Was there an ulterior motive behind this seemingly trivial act? To add to his surprise, one of the two men addressed him. “You come up the river yesterday?” he asked. “Yes,” answered Dick. “River more high than last year,” said the Indian conversationally. “I believe it is,” Dick nodded. “You come back prospecting trip, eh?” Dick shook his head. “No, we weren’t prospecting.” “How you like ’em new factor?” came the next question. “Mr. Scott is a very nice fellow,” replied Dick, half smiling to himself. “Mr. Frazer fine fellow too.” Dick looked startled. “I’m—I’m glad you like him,” he stammered. “You no like him?” persisted the Indian. “Why do you ask me that question?” Dick wanted to know. The Indian did not answer. “You call ’em your name Dick Kent?” “Yes.” The Indian rolled a cigarette and lighted it, inhaling the smoke deeply, puffing with satisfaction. Sandy came out and, perceiving his seat occupied, stood leaning lazily against the door frame. An interval of silence, then Dick’s questioner fumbled in his pocket and drew forth a slip of white paper which he handed over with a slight bow. “What’s this?” Dick asked. “That am letter for you. By an’ by you read.” The Indian rose to his feet beckoning to his companion. “By an’ by you read,” he repeated. “Who is this letter from?” “I not know that.” A slight frown settled between the native’s eyes. “But who gave it to you?” persisted Dick. “Fellow come up river this morning gave it to me. Tell ’em me give it to you. Tell ’em me you read it by an’ by. “But don’t you know this man’s name?” “Fellow name—” the Indian hesitated, “fellow say his name John Clark. By an’ by you read letter.” The speaker smiled a sort of twisted smile, took his companion by the arm and hurriedly made his departure. Puzzled, Dick looked down at the letter in his hands. Then he glanced up at Sandy. He gulped. Who was John Clark? He had never heard of him. “For goodness sake, don’t keep me in suspense!” It was Sandy’s voice. “Open the letter.” Dick complied hurriedly. Sandy left his position by the door and slumped in the seat beside him. A bit of a white paper fluttered in Dick’s hands. He read in a choked voice:
“So that’s it!” Sandy exclaimed excitedly. “A threat,” said Dick. “Wolf come an’ shoot you, Dick,” grinned Toma. “That fellow mad all over. While you got chance, you better run away.” Dick laughed. Yet, in spite of his laughter, he did not feel very happy at that moment. Wolf Brennan was a desperate character. The Wolf felt that he had a grievance and would try to settle his score. |
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