  Swinging their arms against their bodies, and walking up and down along the river bank, from time to time the boys shouted out words of encouragement. Time dragged monotonously. Hours seemed to have passed before they heard again from the mounted policemen. Faintly at first, then louder as it approached, they heard the scraping of the raft. Human voices sounded eerily out of the gloom. A thrill of excitement coursed along Dick’s spine. The suspense was nerve-breaking. He had become almost as limp as a rag, when finally he discerned a dark shape ahead and the raft pushed in closer to shore. A few minutes later, using the long poles which had served them so well in crossing, Sergeant Richardson and Corporal Rand vaulted across the intervening space separating them from the beach. It was a happy re-union. The three boys had not seen Sergeant Richardson for months. They wrung the policeman’s hand, then escorted him and his companion back to the campfire. “Where’s Pearly?” demanded Corporal Rand, looking about him. “Wounded,” replied Dick. “We’ve had a terrible time, corporal. Murky Nichols followed us to Wandley’s post, where he conferred with La Qua. La Qua went on to Settlement Mountain alone, first sending ahead the two half-breeds who were with him. While Pearly and the three of us were journeying along the trail on the way here, Pearly was shot down from ambush. We were compelled to take him back to Wandley’s. The man who shot him was the same person you arrested yesterday—the one who attempted to stab Nichols. He’s in this vicinity right now. Less than two hours ago, when Toma was reconnoitering in an effort to find this place, he fired at him several times. Toma managed to escape injury and made things so hot for him that he was compelled to seek shelter along the slope of the river.” The young guide’s eyes had widened perceptibly and he stared unbelievingly at his chum. “How you find out about that?” he blurted. Sergeant Richardson ignored the interruption. “Did Murky Nichols see you when you left Fort Good Faith?” Dick flushed under the searching scrutiny. “I don’t think he saw us, but he found out about our departure right after we left.” Then Dick turned to Corporal Rand. “It wasn’t altogether my fault, corporal. In less than ten minutes after you went out of my room, the door opened and Murky Nichols came in. He seemed suspicious and asked me what I was doing up at that hour. I pleaded a toothache and was finally forced to ask him to leave. He took up a position in the hall outside. It was easy to see that he did not believe my story and intended to watch me. I was compelled to slip out of the window and go around and wake Sandy and Toma. We were very quiet and I do not believe that he had any intimation of the trick we had played upon him until an hour or two after we’d gone.” Neither Richardson nor Rand had anything to say. Dick felt that their silence was in itself condemnatory. “I did the very best I could.” His voice shook a little. “Corporal Rand, I endeavored to follow out your instructions. If I have spoiled your plan, I’m sorry.” Dick turned his head to hide the tears which had suddenly welled into his eyes. Then he felt a strong comforting hand on his shoulder. “Forget it, Dick. It’s not your fault,” Corporal Rand declared consolingly. “You have all done remarkably well,” Sergeant Richardson congratulated them. “I’m proud of you. In the person of Murky Nichols we have one of the cleverest, shrewdest outlaws in this North country. He was your opponent today. You must remember that. He’s not very easily outwitted.” “How badly is Pearly wounded?” asked Rand. “Quite seriously, I think,” Sandy answered. “He was unconscious and lost a good deal of blood before we could get him back to the post. Wandley is doing all that is possible for him.” “Are you going to push on to Settlement Mountain tonight?” Dick inquired, addressing Sergeant Richardson. “Or do you think that no attempt will be made to start for the pass?” “It’s hard to say. Personally, I’m inclined to believe that they will.” “But this storm!” gasped Sandy. “I doubt if that will make a great deal of difference. I’m convinced now that they have a huge cache in their cabin at Settlement Mountain. They’ll be compelled to do one of two things—either remove their fur to another place of safety, or follow their original plan to take it through Blind Man’s Pass. They’ll be forced to act quickly. They’re in a difficult predicament and know it. From what you have already told me, it is easy to see what has happened.” The others were hanging upon the sergeant’s words. He had ceased speaking for a moment and had stepped closer to the fire, his handsome upright figure outlined clearly against the background beyond. Corporal Rand addressed his superior: “Exactly what do you mean, sergeant?” “It is all clear enough,” Richardson spoke again. “Nichols’ suspicions have become aroused. When he found out that you three boys had left Fort Good Faith and had started north for Wandley’s, he surmised at once what was afoot. Arriving at Wandley’s and finding Pearly there, very naturally still further alarmed him. Fortunately for him, his confederate, La Qua, had not yet gone on to Settlement Mountain. “Now put yourself in his place,” he went on after a short pause. “What was to be done? A cache of stolen fur worth thousands of dollars in a cabin only a few miles away awaiting shipment—and the police aware of this fact! He would suppose naturally that Pearly intended to go immediately to seize the cache. In desperation, he ordered La Qua to send the two half-breeds ahead with instructions to ambush the police party. La Qua himself hurried on to Settlement Mountain.” “Your theory seems reasonable enough,” said Corporal Rand. “But now that the outlaws know that Pearly is out of the way, do you suppose that they will do anything tonight?” “La Qua doesn’t know this. Even if he did, it would be folly on his part to take chances. Something must be done with the cache at once.” “So you really intend to start?” asked Sandy. “Yes. Right away. Neither the corporal nor myself have had anything to eat since this noon, but we dare not stop now.” Toma, who had gone out to gather brush for the fire, suddenly darted back within the circle of light, a startled cry on his lips. “Quick!” he faltered. “Get to cover! I jus’ see ’em someone!” Toma’s warning came in the nick of time. Motioning to the boys to drop back away from the campfire, Sergeant Richardson and Corporal Rand struck off hurriedly. With Sandy at his side, Dick found himself a moment later stumbling through snow more than ankle-deep. They could hear the sound of hurrying forms, a sharp word of command—then silence! They brought up before a willow copse, thick and almost impassable. Here they crouched low, waiting developments. “It must be the half-breed again,” Dick whispered hoarsely. “It’s a good thing we scattered when we did. Anyone near the campfire would make a splendid target.” He turned and looked back toward the place they had just vacated. A bright glare of firelight cast its reflection through a wide circle of pitchy darkness, producing an eerie effect. The trees looked stark and gaunt at the outer fringe of the circle. The place, which a few moments before had been alive with the human forms of his companions, was now totally deserted. They waited breathlessly. The commotion, following Toma’s announcement, had died away. Deep and forbidding seemed the solitude of the forest. Dick wondered what had become of the two policemen and Toma. He half expected to hear the disconcerting crack of a revolver. The minutes passed slowly. The snow fell softly now—huge white flakes floating through the air like particles of fluff. Sandy stamped his feet impatiently, then pulled his parka farther down so that it muffled his face. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another,” he lamented. “If that half-breed has come back to bother us, he may get more than he has bargained for.” Dick looked up sharply. A sudden tramping of feet and the crackling of underbrush, warned him of someone’s approach. For a split-second his heart caught with excitement. Was the half-breed himself coming their way? Then his mouth gaped open in amazement. Within the circle of light there appeared abruptly three forms, two of which the boys quickly recognized—Richardson and Rand. They half-carried, half-dragged between them a struggling protesting creature—none other than the half-breed himself! The boys hurried forward. As they came up to where the policemen and their prisoner stood, they observed that the half-breed’s wrists had been manacled. Over his prominent cheekbone, close to his left eye, was a large welt he had received in his encounter with the guardians of the law. Corporal Rand’s uniform was slightly dishevelled. A button had been torn from his coat. He was bleeding from a cut on one cheek. “Here’s one of Murky’s friends that won’t give us so much trouble in the future,” Sergeant Richardson stated evenly. “He’ll not be released this time either,” the corporal said with conviction. “How did you manage to capture him so quickly?” Sandy inquired wonderingly. “I kept him occupied,” the sergeant replied, “while Corporal Rand stole up on him from behind. Rand got him after a short struggle.” “We’ll have to take him along with us, I suppose,” said Dick. “It can’t be helped,” Rand answered. “Hadn’t we better start, sergeant?” Richardson brushed the snow from his fur jacket. “Yes. At once. Dick,” he instructed, “you can saddle your ponies right away. We’ll use them in breaking trail.” The boys offered the two policemen the use of their mounts but the offer was rejected. “You’ll be tired enough as it is,” Corporal Rand pointed out. “Dick here hasn’t had a wink of sleep in the past twenty-four hours.” The party set out shortly afterward, moving quickly through the darkness. They reached the Settlement River trail without mishap. Not a word was spoken. Silently they trekked on. In spite of the importance of their undertaking, the travelling had become so monotonous that Dick nodded in the saddle. The crunch, crunch, crunch of the ponies’ hoofs was slowly lulling him to sleep. Had his horse not stumbled occasionally over some obstruction in the trail, it is probable he might have fallen from his seat. On one of these occasions, shaken back to consciousness when on the verge of dropping off into sound sleep, he heard the voice of Sergeant Richardson. “Just a moment, boys, until I get my bearings.” They checked their forward progress at once. Instructing Sandy to look after the prisoner, the two policemen came up to the head of the column, conversing in low tones. “We leave the trail here somewhere,” Richardson announced. “There used to be a tiny foot-path that wound away through the trees to our left. This is the one the outlaws must use in going to and from Settlement Mountain.” “Like hunting for a needle in a haystack,” Dick heard Rand remark. “Have you a flashlight, sergeant?” A faint flicker of light appeared and the two men started up the trail, their eyes searching the ground. Dick would have pushed on after them but Toma, who was in the lead, restrained him. “They want us to stay here,” he whispered. “Come back jus’ so soon find ’em pack-trail.” The curious eyes of the boys followed the retreating figures. Now and again, like a large fire-fly, the small electric torch flashed out. It appeared, disappeared, re-appeared, lending reality to the illusion. How long they watched there, Dick could not say. He was nodding again when the two returned. “We found it,” said Sergeant Richardson. “Follow us. Sandy, keep a good watch of the prisoner.” The party came to a halt again at the juncture of the two trails. The one which threaded its way on their left, led more or less directly to Settlement Mountain. They were now only a mile from their objective. A thrill of suppressed excitement permeated each member of the party. Dick shook off his drowsiness and now sat alert, every sense keyed to the highest pitch. The policemen continued in the lead, walking forward at a brisk rate. Toma half-swung in the saddle and asked Dick in a subdued whisper: “You think we find ’em outlaws pretty soon?” Dick answered hesitatingly: “Yes, I think so, Toma. It isn’t very far now. Too bad you haven’t your rifle.” A sudden commotion behind drew their attention. Sandy cried out in a tremulous voice as he slid from the saddle. A moment later he was rushing wildly away through the darkness. The snapping of dry branches, the crackling of underbrush was succeeded by a weird, unearthly shout. “The prisoner has escaped!” Dick exclaimed breathlessly. |
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