  Corporal Rand returned with his half-breed prisoner shortly after dark. The man was sulky and refused to talk. Brought before Murky Nichols by the mounted policeman, one might have thought from his actions and demeanor that he had never before set eyes upon the prospector. He stood absolutely unmoved in the presence of the person he had attempted to murder only a few hours before. Rand’s voice rang out sharply: “Here is the prisoner. Is he the man who attempted to stab you?” In order to cover his confusion, Nichols rubbed his eyes with one large hairy hand. His face was slightly pale and he rested his weight first on one leg and then on the other. “Well, corporal, I can’t exactly say,” he spoke hesitatingly. “He might be the one an’ again he mightn’t. He does look sort o’ familiar, but I see so many Nitchies ’round here. I couldn’t exactly swear to it.” Corporal Rand smiled a little grimly. “There were quite a number of people present in this room when the attempt upon your life was made. It shouldn’t be very difficult to find out whether or not this man is the right one.” Nichols started forward with an exclamation of surprise. He was staring at the prisoner now with an intentness that seemed scarcely to be assumed. Excitedly, he turned towards Rand. “By golly, I know now, corporal, where I seen him before,” he declared in a loud and animated voice. “Up at the first portage on the Moose River. He was workin’ there as a packer last summer when I come through. I don’t think he’s the man we’re looking fer atall.” The mounted policeman turned his head ever so slightly and winked covertly at Dick, who, in company with Sandy and Toma, stood a few feet away, silent spectator in the interesting tableau. “You really don’t think he’s the man, then?” “No, he ain’t,” Murky spoke positively. “When I stop to think about that little affair this afternoon, an’ try to get a picture in my mind o’ the pesky breed what made fer to knife me, there’s one thing that stands out. He was a tall man—not short like this breed. I’m tall myself, an’ I remember when I jumped back to clear myself o’ the knife, I looked straight acrost in his eyes. Now, it stands to reason, corporal, that I couldn’t o’ done that if it had o’ been this feller here. I’d o’ looked straight over this man’s head, now wouldn’t I?” With difficulty, Dick suppressed a laugh. Murky Nichols was noted for his tall stature. Long and lanky, he stood well over six feet and four inches in height. The half-breed was stockily built and inclined to be short. The top of his head reached no higher than the point of Murky’s protruding chin. “Now that your memory has revived,” Corporal Rand spoke sarcastically, “we may be able to make better progress.” Dick strode forward with the intention of drawing the mounted policeman’s attention to one detail of the case that had evidently been overlooked. If the half-breed, who confronted Nichols, was not the person who had attempted to stab him, how would it be possible to explain that person’s hasty exit from the trading room immediately following the attack? Also, as Dick was well aware, the prisoner was the same man who had received the roll of bills from Murky earlier in the day. Dick paused in amazement. Before he could reach the policeman’s side, he saw Rand stoop forward and commence to unlock the prisoner’s hand-cuffs. Then, wonderingly, he watched the corporal move back and permit the astonished half-breed to go free. His voice broke the startled silence of the room: “You’re at liberty to go now.” “Sorry to cause yuh all this trouble,” Nichols apologised. “But you’re doing the right thing, corporal. He ain’t the man what tried to knife me.” The policeman favored Murky with one swift appraising glance, nodded absently and walked over and took Dick’s arm. Although he did not speak, the light pressure of the corporal’s fingers told Dick that the policeman wished to see him. With a mumbled apology to Sandy, Dick led the way to his own room. When he had drawn up a chair for his guest, he came immediately to the subject uppermost in his mind. “I can’t understand—” he began. The policeman held up one hand in an impatient gesture. “You’re about to tell me that I have made a very serious blunder, aren’t you, Dick?” “We-well,” stammered that young man, “you can hardly blame me, corporal. The man you just released is guilty. I didn’t see him when he attempted to stab Murky, but I did see him when he escaped. In spite of what Nichols told you, he did recognize the breed. Murky lied. He’s the same one who received the roll of bills.” Corporal Rand grinned as he looked across at Dick’s puzzled, serious face. “I’m well aware of that,” he said calmly. “I too am sure that the half-breed was Murky’s assailant. But I had a good reason for releasing him.” “If you don’t mind my asking, what reason?” For a moment Rand did not reply. Apparently, he had become absorbed in his own thoughts. He had relaxed in his chair, his head bent forward, his eyes studying the tips of his brightly polished boots. “Ever since I captured the half-breed this afternoon,” he spoke finally, “I have been thinking that very little is to be gained by holding him in custody. Nichols will not prefer a charge against him because he’s afraid the fellow may squeal. The half-breed himself, realizing the danger of his position, and who is really more clever than I had at first supposed, is attempting to save himself by keeping silent. Even if we subjected him to a severe grilling, I doubt very much whether we could get anything out of him. It seems to me that the best way to deal with the situation is to accept Murky’s assertion that we have captured the wrong man.” “But I should think that by letting the half-breed go, you’d lose a chance to find out in what way Murky and the breed are associated.” “No, I don’t think so,” replied the corporal. “On the contrary, I’m quite sure we can find out more now that I have set the half-breed free. I’m playing right into Murky’s hands. He’s laughing up his sleeve at this very moment at the way he thinks he’s fooled the mounted police. He’ll be inclined to be a little careless. We can look for immediate developments.” “What developments?” asked Dick. “Murky’s first move will be to attempt to patch up his differences with his former assailant. The half-breed’s motive for attacking Nichols can easily be explained—money! No doubt, Murky had failed to live up to an agreement.” The policeman paused to fill his pipe. “By watching the two of them, we will be pretty sure to find out something,” he continued. “If I’m not badly mistaken, we will be able to secure evidence against them within the next two or three days. I intend to keep a close tab on the pair from now on.” Dick stirred uneasily in his seat. There was a question he wanted to ask, but he did not wish to appear too eager. During a lull in the conversation, however, he finally managed to pluck up sufficient courage. “When would you like to have us start for the west coast?” he inquired. “Have you seen Sandy and Toma?” “Yes.” “What did they say?” “They’re as eager to go as I am,” replied Dick. Corporal Rand drummed on the arm of his chair. “I can see no reason why you shouldn’t start right away,” he declared. “The only difficulty is that you will be compelled to take supplies for the trip, and just now pack-horses would be inadvisable. A dog team would be better, but there’s no snow.” “We were talking about that,” Dick put in eagerly. “Why couldn’t we travel on foot to Fort Wonderly and buy our team and supplies there?” “A capital idea!” approved Rand. “Can we start in the morning?” Dick asked impetuously. “Yes.” Dick jumped up, his eyes shining, and strode forward and grasped the corporal’s hand. “Sandy and Toma will be tickled pink!” he cried enthusiastically. “And what about yourself?” smiled Rand. Dick flushed to the roots of his hair. He grinned sheepishly. “Why—why, I’m pleased, of course. Who wouldn’t be with a chance like that. I can hardly wait until we start, corporal.” He grew suddenly more serious. “Have you any further instructions to give us before we go?” Corporal Rand shook his head. “There is nothing except what I have already told you,” he replied. “You know the route. There are any number of trails leading south to the Yellowhead Pass. After you have gone through the pass and have turned north, you’ll find only one trail, very rough and difficult, which will take you in a northwesterly direction to Fort Pennington. From there your course will be straight west to the Pacific.” “And there—on the coast, I mean—our real work will commence,” Dick smiled in anticipation. Corporal Rand regarded the statement with approval. “Work is the right name for it,” he assured him. “I haven’t the least doubt but that you’ll all become discouraged long before you find the cache. In fact, you may never find it. You’ll encounter dangers and difficulties on every hand.” “Do you think the cache will be guarded?” asked Dick. “Almost sure to be,” Rand replied. “Probably by some Indian or half-breed. You’ll be compelled to move cautiously. If I were you, I wouldn’t take too many chances. No telling what sort of a mess you’ll get in, if you aren’t incessantly on the alert.” Dick would have liked to ask the policeman a few more questions, but decided not to as he observed the other sleepily consulting his watch. The hour was getting late. The sounds from the trading room, which a short time before could be heard faintly, had now entirely ceased. The place had become enveloped in a deep and slumberous silence. Corporal Rand suppressed a yawn, rose slowly to his feet. “It’s time we were both in bed,” he announced. “If either one of us expects to get anything accomplished tomorrow, it will be necessary to secure some sleep. I’ve had a rather hard day myself.” With a friendly nod and a smile, he turned and walked out of the room. Dick stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment, a happy expression on his face. Rand’s figure continued down the hallway. A few feet farther on was the corporal’s room. Dick stepped back to re-enter his own chamber, when, to his surprise, he perceived that the policeman did not even pause in front of his own door, but went on instead to the end of the hallway and immediately disappeared through a door which opened to the yard outside. “He’s gone out to see if his horse is bedded down for the night,” thought Dick. For some reason he could not himself explain, Dick stood in his own doorway, awaiting the corporal’s return. The minutes passed by. A quarter of an hour elapsed—and still no sign of the mounted policeman. Growing impatient, Dick commenced pacing back and forth along the hallway. Presently, moved by an unexplained impulse, he dashed into his room, seized his cap and followed in the footsteps of Rand. It was exceedingly dark outside. A heavy mist moistened his face as he stared through the enveloping gloom. He groped forward until he had found the path that led to the stable, then hurried along it, wondering what had happened to detain the corporal. Forty or fifty yards from the house he stopped short in consternation. From his right came the sound of voices. Hesitating for a brief moment, he struck forth again in the direction of the sound, walking on tiptoes, his pulses pounding. Quite unexpectedly, there loomed before him the dark shape of the company’s warehouse. It was a large, square building, constructed entirely of logs. Here he came to an abrupt pause and crouched down close to the wall, trembling at his own audacity. Immediately around the corner from him were two men, talking in guarded tones. Dick listened intently. “Yuh can do this thing a hull lot better than I can,” drawled the voice of Murky Nichols. “Yuh gotta fix it up somehow jes’ as soon as yuh possibly can. Tomorrow mornin’ ain’t none too soon, La Qua, ’cause there ain’t no tellin’ what that danged breed’ll be up to next.” “Yuh mean yuh want me to get him outta the way?” “If there ain’t no other way—yes!” calmly answered Murky. “We can’t afford to take no more chances with him. I gotta know he’s gonna get right down to business an’ no more foolin’. Yuh can tell him we’ll give him fifty dollars more fer the next bunch o’ pelts he brings down. I won’t go a dime higher ’an that an’ if he squawks I’m givin’ yuh permission to pick him off any time.” “Should o’ done that long time ago,” growled the other. “Yuh can’t trust him. Yuh ain’t the only one he’s nearly got with that blamed knife o’ his. He nearly killed one o’ my best packers less ’an a week ago in a scrap over a card game. I tell yuh, I hate to have him around.” “Jes’ the same, he comes in pretty handy,” Murky Nichols declared. “Take the case of Daddy McInnes, fer example. None o’ yuh fellers would o’ dared to do what he done. Both you an’ Bremner was in the party guardin’ the pass when the ol’ man came through.” “I was the first one who seen him,” protested the other hotly. “It was me what told this breed, Testola, to go after him.” “Mebbe so, but yuh wouldn’t o’ done it yourself.” Dick’s eyes had widened with understanding and horror. He crouched low, scarcely daring to breathe. A feeling of nausea was followed by a surge of anger and disgust. The two men were vicious and evil—absolutely heartless. At first, he had not recognized the voice of Murky’s companion, but a certain quality in the tone, a peculiar inflection, stirred presently his groping memory. It was the voice of the red-bearded man—the person who had attempted to stop him on the trail! A short silence was broken by Nichols’ question: “When do yuh expect to be ready to send the next shipment?” “It’s about ready now,” came the quick answer. “I was thinkin’ o’ sendin’ it through tomorrow night. If we do, I’m gonna start from the same place I did last time—the little shack near the foot o’ Settlement Mountain. We’ll have eight pack-horses, belonging’ tuh Fred Hart, an’ five o’ our own.” “Has Hart got much stuff this time?” inquired Murky. “’Bout three thousand pounds. The rest o’ the shipment belongs to us.” Dick rose cautiously to his feet and commenced to beat a panicky retreat. It would never do to be caught eavesdropping. If he fell into Murky’s hands at that moment, his life would be forfeit. Careful as he was, it seemed to Dick that his footsteps must have been heard plainly. A moment later this feeling became a certainty. There came to his ears a startled, anxious exclamation from one of the men. “Did yuh hear that?” “It must have been the wind,” reassured the other. His heart beating wildly, Dick dropped to the ground and wormed his way forward on his hands and knees. A few yards farther on, he sprang to his feet again and bolted away in the direction of the house. Suddenly there appeared immediately ahead the shadowy figure of a man. Dick stopped short in his tracks, shaking in every limb. His retreat was cut off! |
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