  For the second time since coming to the room, Corporal Rand strode to the door and opened it. “I must be nervous today,” he declared. “I pop up here every few minutes like a jack-in-the-box. Somehow, I can’t get over the feeling that there was really someone prowling about the hallway a short time ago.” “I didn’t hear anything,” reassured Dick. “Possibly I am mistaken. There are times when a thing like that will lay hold of you, and you don’t seem to be able to shake it off.” “I’ve often experienced the same feeling,” confessed Dick. “It isn’t very pleasant.” Closing the door, the mounted policeman helped himself to a glass of water from a pitcher that stood on the table. “I’ve given you a brief outline of Richardson’s theory,” he stated, “but I’m afraid I haven’t made everything quite clear. Are there any questions you’d like to ask?” “Yes—about Hart and O’Connell,” Dick responded quickly. “According to what you have said, these men have given Nichols money. After listening to your story, that part of it doesn’t seem reasonable. If Murky uses their outfits to transport stolen goods to the coast through Blind Man’s Pass, I should think he’d be under obligation to them, that he’d pay them money instead of their paying him.” “So it would seem,” Corporal Rand smiled approvingly. “That was my contention. I claimed it was the one weak spot in Richardson’s theory—but, of course, the explanation is simple enough. “Hart and O’Connell’s are freighters. They go everywhere. They have almost a monopoly on the transportation business. They have the government mail contract from here to Edmonton. Occasionally, perhaps not more than once or twice a year, they have business that takes them to the west coast—across Dominion Range. As you know this is a long and roundabout trip, requiring weeks, sometimes months for its completion. Consequently the transportation rates to the west coast are high. No one realizes this condition of affairs any better than Nichols. He takes advantage of it for his own gain. He draws up an agreement with the two packers to handle all the west-coast business himself, charging a very nominal rate for this service, and killing two birds with one stone. You can see how diabolical, how very clever the arrangement is. The freight that goes through Blind Man’s Pass is a mixed shipment. Part of it is stolen fur, the other part is merchandise which the original shipper has entrusted to the care of Hart or O’Connell. “The scheme works beautifully,” smiled Rand. “Both parties to the transaction reap a lovely profit. Hart or O’Connell charge the shipper the same price that he would have to pay if his merchandise went all the way round to the west coast through the Yellowhead Pass. Murky can smile up his sleeve too, because all expense of taking out his contraband falls upon the willing shoulders of the two packers.” “I never heard of anything so clever,” declared Dick. “Of course, Hart and O’Connell are aware of the existence of Blind Man’s Pass. You don’t suppose they know where it is themselves?” “No, that’s Murky’s own secret. Otherwise the packers would never have entered into such an agreement.” “I can see it all very clearly now,” said Dick, “and I’m anxious to know in what way I can be of help.” Corporal Rand hesitated for a moment before making a reply. He sat in the chair opposite and regarded Dick with appraising eyes. “We haven’t definitely decided just what we are going to do ourselves, but we intend to use you in some capacity. I’m waiting now to hear from Sergeant Richardson. However, unless something unforseen occurs, I imagine our program will be something like this: Malemute Slade will continue in his search for the pass; Constable Pearly—a new man just recently transferred here from the Peace River Detachment—will be detailed to keep close tab on Hart and O’Connell, while Sergeant Richardson and myself will study every movement of the two half-breeds and Murky. “It may take weeks, possibly months, before we’ll be able to accomplish much. We are compelled to move very, very cautiously. If Nichols discovers our interest in his affairs, we’ll lose our only chance of getting him. He’s as slippery as an eel, and as crafty as a fox. I don’t believe there is another person in the North with a wider acquaintance, or a more thorough knowledge of conditions.” “But wouldn’t Hart and O’Connell squeal if Murky should refuse to take any more of their shipments through Blind Man’s Pass?” “In the first place they won’t dare to, because the shippers will hear of it and refuse to give the packers another dollar’s worth of business. Remember Hart and O’Connell have been reaping a golden harvest at the shippers’ expense. In the second place, even if they do squeal, we’ll have no direct evidence against Nichols.” “How then do you propose to catch Murky?” “There are several ways: One would be to find the pass ourselves and then wait for Murky to come through; another would be to follow a west-coast shipment from the time it leaves the hands of Hart and O’Connell; still another, to locate Murky’s cache of stolen fur, and awaiting the next shipment through Blind Man’s Pass.” “You really think Murky has such a cache?” “If our theory is correct, he must have. In all likelihood, he has two of them.” “Two of them!” gasped Dick. “What makes you think that?” “It stands to reason that he has. In fact, it’s quite obvious. The stolen fur must be stored somewhere before it is shipped. When it reaches the coast, it must be stored again.” “Why not sold?” “There’s only one place to sell it—at the Hudson’s Bay Company’s post at Fort Pennington—and Murky isn’t foolish enough to take that risk.” “You mean,” asked Dick in amazement, “that he’d continue to—that he’s been hiding it out there on the coast year after year, making no attempt to sell it?” “Yes and no! We believe he hides it out there all right. But we’re pretty sure that he sells some of it occasionally. We do know that two years ago last summer he went to Seattle. He was away about six months. When he returned he was rolling in money and told a very interesting story about a legacy he had received from a brother, recently deceased. We believed the yarn then—but we don’t now! In fact,” Rand spoke sarcastically, “we’re somewhat inclined to the opinion that while he was there he met one or two unscrupulous gentlemen who offered to accompany him up the coast for the fun and profit to be derived.” “I shouldn’t wonder,” laughed Dick. “He probably hasn’t sold any of the fur since then. I think that when you go out there, you’ll find that Richardson’s theory is correct. There’ll be a big cache—” “When I go out there?” interrupted Dick, staring in astonishment at the policeman. “Yes—you, Sandy and Toma. Surely, you’d be willing to do that much for us, Dick. Sergeant Richardson said that you’d jump at the chance.” “But—but—” “We’re so sure that you’ll find the cache, that we’re willing to pay all the expenses of the trip—and a liberal reward in the bargain. What do you say?” “Say!” choked Dick. “I can’t say enough. What I want to know is—do you really mean it?” “I was never more serious in my life.” Dick rose to his feet and paced agitatedly back and forth. His heart had jumped a few wild beats before he could compose himself sufficiently to make another effort to speak. “When do you want us to start?” he asked. “As soon as it can possibly be arranged. Toma knows the route to the Yellowhead Pass; but after that you’ll have to chart your own course. We can depend on you then?” “So far as I’m concerned—yes. I won’t presume to speak for Sandy and Toma, yet I’m pretty sure they’ll go.” A few minutes later, Corporal Rand and Dick returned to the trading room, which was crowded. Stalwart, dusky half-breed trappers, eager to purchase supplies for impending excursions to favorite trapping grounds, pushed and elbowed their way through the throng awaiting their opportunity to confer with Factor MacClaren. Indian women, resplendent in bright shawls, bright-faced children from the Catholic Mission, here and there the dark, expressionless face and sinewy form of Cree hunters and rivermen from the south—all of this queer blend of humanity jostled forth and back, chattering excitedly. At one side of the room, surrounded by an admiring group, a tall, lanky half-breed youth was playing a violin. Glancing that way, Dick’s eyes lighted up as he perceived the familiar figures of his two friends, Sandy MacClaren, the factor’s nephew, and John Toma, the young Indian guide. Toma, Sandy and Dick, following several years of interesting adventures in the North, had become greatly attached to each other. They were three inseparables, who had learned to take the trials and hardships of wilderness life as a matter of common experience. In spite of many hard knocks, they were still as eager to embark upon new adventures as in the days when Dick and Sandy were newcomers to that remote and inhospitable land. Dick lost no time in rejoining his two chums. With a friendly nod to Corporal Rand, he darted through the crowd and administered a resounding whack on the backs of Sandy and Toma. “Well, you’ve returned at last,” he greeted them joyfully. “Did you have any luck?” Sandy turned eagerly. “You bet! We shot two moose,” and the young Scotchman immediately commenced a somewhat rambling and disconnected account of their experiences. At its conclusion, Dick feigned scepticism, winked broadly at Toma. “Pah! The whole thing sounds fishy to me. I don’t believe you shot anything. If you actually killed a moose it was because the poor thing fell down and broke a leg. At two hundred yards a blind man with a bow and arrow could out-shoot you.” “All right, wait and see. An Indian packer is bringing over our two moose tomorrow.” “How much did you pay him for them?” In attempting to evade Sandy’s friendly upper-cut, Dick stepped back just in time to be knocked flat by a person hurrying across the room. From his position on the floor, he looked up to see the man spring to the door, open it, and dart outside. It was the half-breed, who had received the roll of money from Murky Nichols! |
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