  Guided by the sound at the side of the trail, Dick bounded forward to Sandy’s assistance. In his excitement, he ran straight into a small sapling with a force that shook the breath from his body. Dazed, he struck forward again, tearing his face and hands in a thicket of saskatoon. Desperately, he struggled on. Faintly outlined in the gloom ahead, he saw two struggling forms. He drove straight toward them, striking Sandy’s opponent with a jarring impact. The three went to the ground in a squirming heap. The half-breed, who was fighting for his life, struck out with arms and legs like a madman. As Dick’s unguarded left arm swung across his adversary’s face, the outlaw sank his teeth into it, hanging there very much after the manner of a bull dog. A blow in the pit of Sandy’s stomach had put that young man temporarily out of commission. He lay groaning a few feet away. It was this sound—more than the excruciating pain he suffered himself—that finally induced Dick to shake his arm free and scramble dizzily to his knees. But he got no further. The half-breed’s manacled wrists brought down with all the strength and force of which he was capable, transferred the temporary advantage. Dick sat down with a grunt, many brilliant, multi-colored lights popping before his eyes. The outlaw pushed himself back, turned on his side and rose hastily to his feet. He had gone only a few yards, however, when Dick, somewhat recovered from the effects of the blow, sprang up in hot pursuit. The race was of short duration. A few moments later, Dick had seized the stocky runner by the nape of the neck and had jerked him to a sudden halt. “Guess you’ll be ready to go back now,” gritted Dick. “Any more of your funny tricks and I won’t be responsible for what happens. Come on, now—get going!” Sandy joined them a moment later. With the prisoner between them, they soon reached the trail. Toma and the two policemen came hurrying up. “So he didn’t get away after all!” Sergeant Richardson exclaimed thankfully. “I’m mighty glad of that. But it’s my own fault. I should have known better than to give him this chance.” “Either one of you hurt?” Rand inquired anxiously. “No,” Dick replied. “We were shaken up a bit—all of us. But we’re ready to go on now.” “Corporal Rand will take charge of the prisoner,” Richardson instructed. “I’ll lead the way alone.” They pushed on again, following closely and silently the tall figure of the police sergeant. Without incident, they travelled another quarter of a mile. Each minute was bringing them closer and closer to the outlaws’ encampment. Unknown dangers lay ahead. Dick’s heart beat quickly at the thought of what might presently transpire. A short time afterward Richardson called a halt. He hurried back to confer with Corporal Rand. Then he came forward to where Dick sat and announced briefly: “Settlement Mountain just ahead. Two hundred yards from the outlaws’ cabin. Dismount quickly, tie your horses somewhere near here in the underbrush. Then come back for further orders.” The three boys complied hastily. When they returned, the sergeant spoke again: “Corporal Rand and I are going forward to investigate. We’ll leave the prisoner here with you. Under no circumstances are any of you to follow us. Remain here. We’ll be back as soon as possible.” Another long wait. The boys stared out fearfully through the darkness. Their pulses pounded with excitement. Impatiently, they paced back and forth, scarcely able to endure the suspense. When finally they heard footsteps approaching, they breathed relievedly. It was Corporal Rand. He too was excited. When he spoke, his voice was husky with some deep emotion. “Richardson’s gone!” he panted. It was a verbal thunderbolt. The boys jumped. “What’s that?” Dick and Sandy gasped out in unison. “Gone, I tell you!” Rand whispered hoarsely. “Gone as completely as if the earth had swallowed him up. I think they’ve got him. We were walking along—the sergeant about thirty feet in advance of me—when the thing happened.” It seemed incredible. A feeling of horror swept over Dick, while Sandy stood, shaking like a leaf. A poignant, miserable silence ensued. “But—but di—did you look for him?” stammered Dick. “Yes. I looked everywhere. In the darkness, I could see nothing. I dare not call out for fear the outlaws might be close at hand. Richardson probably walked straight into the arms of one of La Qua’s sentries, was struck over the head and then dumped bodily into some thicket. It was a good thing for me that Richardson had the flashlight. I think I would have been tempted to use it.” “Good heavens! What are we going to do?” Sandy had recovered the use of his vocal organs and now poured out his plaint—a sort of wail that rang softly through the forest’s stillness. “First Pearly and now Richardson!” groaned Dick. “There! There!” Rand attempted to comfort them. “It’s a hard blow, I’ll admit, but we’ll contrive to get out of this scrape somehow. You boys will have to help me. I must rely on you. I can’t very well go on with this thing alone. Are you with me?” “We are!” Dick and Sandy sang out in chorus. “And you, Toma?” “You bet! Fight ’em all same like mad wolf.” “That’s the spirit. The first thing to do is to find out what has become of Richardson.” The five minutes which passed before Rand spoke again seemed like an eternity to the three young adventurers. “Sandy will stay here with the prisoner and the ponies. If he attempts another break for liberty, shoot him on the spot.” The trembling young Scotchman made no reply. “Did you hear me, Sandy?” “Yes, sir.” “You’ll do as I say?” “Yes, sir.” “All right. Now—with regard to my plan: With the exception of Toma, we’re all heavily armed. Toma, you will take the half-breed’s rifle. The three of us will set out at once for the outlaws’ cabin, which is situated about two hundred yards straight ahead of us. Toma will circle around to the left, Dick to the right, while I will proceed directly along this trail to the place where Richardson disappeared. Neither one of you will fire a shot unless cornered—or in self-defense. What I want to do first of all is to try to find Richardson. If he hasn’t been taken to the cabin, he won’t be very far from the place I saw him last. Naturally, he’ll be heavily guarded. In some way we must secure his release.” Rand ceased speaking. An unearthly hush had settled around them. Dick was shaking as if from the ague. Terror gripped him. Thankful he was that the darkness shadowed his face. He realized that his cheeks must be ghastly white. In spite of the cold, drops of moisture had gathered on his forehead. He seemed to be burning up. Like Sandy, he had temporarily lost the use of his tongue. “Any questions to ask?” tersed Rand. “N-n—no,” Dick heard himself stammering. “Very well then, we’ll start. Remember—no shooting unless it is absolutely necessary.” They separated forthwith. Almost immediately Dick was on his way. He moved cautiously and very slowly. His terror, the choking fear of a few moments ago, had gone. It was relief to move his limbs. He had become himself once more, determined to give the very best he had—to meet danger calmly. Off to his left he saw the twinkling lights of the cabin. He was getting closer now; he must be still more careful, more deliberate in his movements. Perhaps the faintest sound would betray him. Haunting the deepest shadows, he stole furtively along, treading softly through the snow—crouching here—hurrying forward there; in one place, that seemed more exposed to view, creeping forward on hands and knees. He brought up suddenly, so startled that he nearly emitted a shriek. He stood perfectly still, his breath catching in his throat. Straight ahead, scarcely ten feet away, he saw the silhouette of one of La Qua’s sentries. The man was alone, a rifle slung carelessly over the crook of his left arm. He paced silently back and forth, occasionally turning his head in the direction of the cabin. After a moment’s deliberation, Dick decided to steal past the sentry. At all cost, he must go on to the cabin. Inch at a time, he wormed his way ahead, contriving to keep a screen of underbrush between him and his enemy. Once the sharp crackling of a twig caused his heart to leap in apprehension. His hands shook. His breath seemed to burn in his throat. Instinct told him to turn precipitously and take to his heels. With difficulty was he able to steel himself for the ordeal. He was so close to the sentry now that he actually believed he could hear the man’s deep breathing. For one tense moment he waited, shrinking back in the shadows, not daring to move. The sentry had turned his head and was looking straight in his direction. Dick thought that he could see the other’s eyes, shining like those of a cat in the darkness. Then abruptly his heart almost stopped beating. For the first time he became aware of another presence. He perceived now the reason why he had not previously seen the second outlaw. This person, short in stature—unmistakably an Indian—had stood with his back against a large spruce, seeming to form a part of the trunk of the tree. But he had stepped forward now, his body limned in the half-light, and had stolen over to the right, disappearing behind the thicket in which Dick himself stood concealed. Dick was fully conscious of the peril of his position. The Indian was probably stalking him, as a tiger stalks its prey. Not a moment was to be lost. He placed one foot gingerly in front of him and started away, quickening his pace after he had placed a few yards between himself and the sentry. A very much frightened and trembling young man moved out to the edge of the clearing which encircled the cabin. What ought he to do now? |
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