  Toma led the way to the coulee where the ponies were picketed. On the road thither they had met no one, and were in consequence in high spirits as they pushed forward through the trees, entered the draw, and came finally to the screen of thicket beyond which the horses munched contentedly on the dry grass covering the space around them. Dick noted with deep concern that the wind had veered round more to the north and that the weather had become appreciably cooler. As yet there was no hint of a storm. Scarcely a cloud could be seen across the blue expanse of sky. Sandy drew his coat more tightly about him and sat down in the shelter of a small thicket, while Dick and Toma began a restless pacing back and forth in the cleared space near the ponies. They were thus occupied when the sound of clattering hoofs heralded the approach of Constable Pearly. A moment later he drew up in front of them, smiling down cheerily. “I guess we might as well start,” he declared. “As soon as you boys have saddled up, we’ll strike off along the Settlement River trail. We have plenty of time and can proceed slowly.” The boys hastened to obey. Presently they drew away from the coulee, keeping well within the shelter of spruce and jack-pine bordering the river. A few hundred yards farther on they picked up the faint thread of a trail, which soon brought them to the main travelled road. Here, two abreast, Constable Pearly and Toma in the lead, they jaunted leisurely along. Conversation lagged. For some unknown reason, the little party rode under a cloud of dejection. Pearly’s face had become set and stern; Sandy slumped in his saddle; Toma’s eyes wandered furtively from side to side; while Dick himself was obsessed by a sense of foreboding. This feeling persisted as they continued slowly on their way. Strive as he would against it, he could not shake off the thought of impending disaster. It was as if the gray spectre of some great trouble followed in their rear. Dick wondered if this unpleasant phantasm had come as the result of his nervous strain and lack of sleep, or if it was really a warning. Ought he to tell Constable Pearly? Pressing his heels against his pony’s flanks, he cantered up behind the policeman for the purpose of doing so, but on second thought decided against it. Pearly would probably laugh at him and with just cause, for his fears were groundless. It was folly even to think about it. He must endeavor to get a better grip of himself. A moment later, he wished he had acted upon his first impulse. The constable suddenly threw his hands high in the air and dropped from his saddle. The reverberating report of a rifle, a puff of smoke from the side of the trail, the fleeting glimpse of someone hurtling away through the underbrush—all were vivid impressions, indelibly traced across Dick’s mind. With a snort of fear, his horse had thrown himself back so abruptly that its rider had nearly become unseated. Dick sprang to the ground just as Toma, who had already dismounted, stooped over Pearly’s prostrate form. “Is he dead!” gasped Dick. Sandy rode up, his cheeks ashen with horror, a revolver gripped in one trembling hand. “The half-breed!” he faltered. “The same man who tried to stab Nichols. I saw him!” “The yellow, despicable cur!” As he spoke, Dick placed two hands gently under the constable’s broad shoulders, and supporting the wounded man’s head against his own body, raised the limp, but still breathing, form to a more upright position. “He may be mortally wounded,” he declared in a stricken voice. “We must do something quickly. We’ll have to take him back to Wandley’s post.” Toma quickly unbuttoned the policeman’s tunic. A red stain colored the cloth beneath. With his hunting knife, the young guide slit open the shirt and undergarment, revealing the wound itself—a dangerous one, a few inches below the right arm-pit. As Dick well knew, every member of the mounted police force was required to carry a first-aid kit. Acting upon this knowledge, he and Toma hurriedly went through the stricken man’s pockets until they discovered the object of their search. Absorbent cotton, bandages, adhesive tape and a small bottle of disinfectant were yanked out of the container and placed in handy proximity. Toma began the work of dressing the wound with the calm deliberateness of an experienced surgeon. At the end of a few minutes he straightened up, breathing a sigh of relief. “Mebbe by do that we help save his life,” he murmured hopefully. “Next thing—how we get him back to Wandley’s? Constable Pearly him too big to tie on horse. What you think?” The boys looked from one to the other in dismay. How indeed, was this imperative task to be accomplished. Dick thrust his hands disconsolately in his pockets, unable to think of any adequate plan. Sandy dismounted and strode forward. “Do you suppose that we could place him on one of the smaller ponies,” he suggested, “and support him by riding on either side—three horses abreast? It seems to be the only way. We could link our arms in his and drive carefully.” Dick and Toma remained thoughtful for a moment, considering Sandy’s plan. “It may work,” Dick decided. “At any rate, we must do something quickly.” To raise the limp and heavy figure to the saddle proved to be a difficult task. The ponies snorted and swung back. Dick was almost in despair before they finally succeeded in getting the wounded man in place and had made a start for Wandley’s post. He rode on one side of the policeman and Toma on the other. Long before they had traversed the first few hundred yards, their arms ached from the burden. Also some difficulty was experienced in keeping the ponies together. In places, where the trail narrowed down to a mere foot-path, they were compelled to break the close formation. At such times, one of the boys would be compelled to dismount and support the figure from the ground until the road again grew wider. Altogether, it was a sorry and dejected group that made its way back over the selfsame route they had come only a few minutes before. In the twinkling of an eye, the carefully laid plans of Corporal Rand had miscarried. Their hopes had gone glimmering. Murky Nichols had shown his hand. One of Dick’s greatest worries just now was that the crafty outlaw himself would soon witness their arrival at the post. Moving along carefully, their arms and shoulders aching from the strain put upon them, they came at last within sight of Wandley’s. As they emerged upon the small prairie, at the far side of which the post was situated, they came directly in the path of a sharp “northwester.” The smiling sky of an hour previous had become leaden with menace. Dun, metal-colored clouds scudded before the wind. The horizon, black and threatening, indicated only too plainly the approach of a storm. They rode up to the door of the trading room in a dispirited silence. A curious group gathered about them. Anxiously, Dick scanned the unfamiliar faces, expecting to see that of Murky Nichols. But the outlaw was not there. Willing hands assisted them in lifting Pearly down from his precarious seat and help carry him within. The solicitous figure of Wandley himself presently pushed forward through the crowd. “Mon Dieu! What has happened?” cried a voice. “A policeman!” gasped Wandley, his good-humored face suddenly gray with concern. “Who shot him?” Sandy mumbled something under his breath. Dick turned his head and looked up appealingly into the horrified eyes of the free trader. “Will you help us out, Mr. Wandley? Constable Pearly’s condition is serious.” Wandley took in the situation at a glance. He was a man of action. In an incredibly short space he had placed a room at the policeman’s disposal, and in various ways assisted in making him comfortable. A short time later, the three boys followed Wandley to the trading room, where they told the story of the ambuscade. The free trader listened with rapt attention. A stolid, heavy-set man, known throughout the North for his honesty and sincerity of purpose, he showed by his manner and expression unmistakably what he thought of the outrage. “Who do you suppose could have been guilty of such a dastardly attack?” he asked at the conclusion of the boys’ recital. “Did you see the person who fired the shot?” Sandy was about to tell Wandley of his suspicions, when Dick silenced him with a look. Other persons were within hearing and might carry the information to Nichols. “No,” he lied deliberately, “we haven’t the faintest idea. Sandy, here, thought he caught a glimpse of a person running in the underbrush shortly after the shot was fired. But we have no knowledge of his identity.” Wandley turned sympathetic eyes upon his three informants. “I’ll see that everything possible is done for Pearly,” he promised them. “I’m sending over to the Indian village for a native doctor who has often proved to be very good in cases of this kind.” The boys thanked the free trader and turned to go. They still had time to reach the bend in the river before the coming of Sergeant Richardson and Corporal Rand. Their own ponies were waiting outside. At the door, moved by a sudden impulse, Dick pressed Sandy’s arm significantly, then hurried back to Wandley’s side. “May I have a word with you for a moment?” he inquired meaningly. The free trader started back in surprise. “Why certainly. What is it?” Motioning the other to follow, he led the way to an inner room, which served as Wandley’s office. “Now what’s the trouble, my boy?” he asked. Dick stood awkwardly, cap in hand, a little confused, a little doubtful whether, after all, it would be good policy to ask the question now uppermost in his mind. Wandley seemed to sense the young man’s difficulty. He patted Dick’s arm. “Don’t be afraid to speak up, if it is anything of importance,” he said reassuringly. “You can trust me absolutely.” Dick smiled across at the grizzled, earnest face. “All right, Mr. Wandley, there is something I want to know.” “What is it?” “Did you see Murky Nichols here an hour or two ago, when he arrived here at the post?” “Yes,” Wandley unhesitatingly replied. “He rode in here like a dozen furies shortly after one o’clock. But he’s gone now.” “So he’s really gone?” Dick breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes,” answered the free trader, wondering what his young interrogator was driving at. “How long since he left?” came the next question. “Not more than fifteen or twenty minutes ago. He was hardly out of sight before you came in with Pearly.” “Which trail did he take?” “The one to Fort Good Faith.” Dick stepped forward and pressed the huge hand of the free trader. “Thank you very much. I’ll explain sometime, Mr. Wandley, but I’ll have to hurry now. We’ll stop in to see you on our return.” Saying which, Dick hurried through the door, crossed the trading room and quickly rejoined his two friends outside. |
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