  He could hear voices now and the hurried trampling of feet. Once a husky howled. From the open door of another building—evidently a stable—there flickered the light of several lanterns. The stable, about fifty yards on the north side of the house, was the center of unusual activity. Here men called to each other in guttural Cree amid the confusion of barking dogs and the nickering of ponies. Back and forth between the stable and the cabin the outlaws continually hurried. Dick knew what it all meant. La Qua was preparing for his departure, to take with him the cache of stolen fur. As he stood watching and waiting, a daring plan leaped into his mind. His breath caught at the very thought of it—to walk boldly up and mingle with the outlaws. They, in the general excitement and confusion, would probably let him pass unnoticed. As long as he kept away from the tell-tale lights of the lanterns or the lamps in the cabin, he would probably be safe enough. At any rate, he decided to do it. Thoughts of Sergeant Richardson spurred him on. No effort or sacrifice would be too great. It was little enough to do for the man who had befriended him on so many previous occasions. He walked boldly forth, swung in behind a tall figure hurrying toward the stable. Half way there, he stopped, glancing furtively about. He tip-toed over to the window on the side of the cabin opposite the door and looked within. For a moment his breath caught. He was both startled and amazed at what he saw. The room, near the far end, was stacked with bales of fur reaching to a height of nearly five feet. Thousands of dollars were represented here. Wonderful black and cross-fox pelts! Rich-looking, unplucked beaver! Lynx, marten, mink—even the glistening coat of bruin himself, the least valuable of all. There were furs so valuable, so precious, that a single bale would have been more than sufficient to purchase a king’s ransom. A steady file of men entered and departed. Each carried away a heavy burden. Standing over them, La Qua threatened and gesticulated fearful lest a moment might be wasted. It was evident that the outlaw was thoroughly frightened and intended to rush through the work as quickly as possible. Dick’s gaze turned from the cache to the opposite end of the room in the hope that he might see Sergeant Richardson. But, although he craned his neck in the effort, he could discern nothing. He had decided to slip around to another side of the dwelling, when the sound of footsteps came from the darkness beyond. Instinctively, he flattened himself against the wall of the cabin. The steps came closer. A vague form! A start of surprise—Rand! The policeman did not see him at once, but Dick drew his attention by whistling softly and very soon the two stood close together gripping each other’s hands. “Lucky you’ve come,” whispered Dick. “Just take a peep inside.” “I don’t believe that Richardson’s here,” said Corporal Rand when he had stepped back. “As I came out to the clearing, I thought I saw two of the outlaws carrying something between them. Possibly the sergeant. I had no way of stealing up on them without being detected. So I decided to come on here and await their arrival.” “If it is Richardson, do you think we can get him away from the outlaws?” “We can try.” “What plan would you suggest?” “Wait until La Qua has taken out all of the fur and the pack-train is ready to start. They’ll be compelled to leave Richardson here under guard. Our chance will come then.” Two powerful breeds appeared at the door soon after, carrying the prostrate form of Sergeant Richardson. They dropped him, none too gently, on the floor close to the fire-place. The prisoner’s limbs were bound. He was unconscious, his face ghastly white except where a small stream of blood trickled down from his forehead. Sudden rage seared Dick’s mind. His friendship for the police sergeant was great and he resented the malicious attack upon him. He could hardly contain himself as the packers left their work and advanced in a curious group, only to be driven back again by the cursing, perspiring La Qua. Then as a vent for his outraged feelings, the outlaw kicked the unconscious man in the ribs. At sight of this gross treatment, Rand started forward, scarcely able to suppress his cry of rage. He checked himself, but one hand gripped Dick’s arm, fingers digging into the flesh. “I could almost kill him for that!” he snarled. The cache diminished quickly. All that remained of the bulky pile in a few minutes more were a few scattered bales, lying on the floor at the far end of the room. Corporal Rand and Dick were waiting impatiently for the completion of the task, when suddenly the policeman’s sharp intake of breath drew the other’s attention. “Shades of Lucifer!” gasped the corporal. “Look at that!” At first Dick did not understand, but presently he saw the cause of the corporal’s excitement. A low cry of admiration escaped his own lips. “Why—why, it’s Toma! The nerve of him! Can you imagine anything more foolhardy?” Toma it was—Toma, sober and unconcerned as ever. In the guise of a packer, he had joined the other half-breeds and Indians. He followed closely behind two strapping natives, picked up a bale of fur and walked out with it. Twice more in the next few minutes he repeated this performance. On his third trip, however, all the fur had been removed. La Qua and a somewhat short and corpulent half-breed of indeterminate age were the only occupants of the room. These two looked up, as if resenting Toma’s intrusion. Then they sprang back, hands high in the air, as a dangerous-looking automatic seemed to leap into the young guide’s hand. Calmly, Toma ordered the two men back against the wall and disarmed them. Dick followed Rand and the two stormed through the door, revolvers in readiness. They called out to Toma not to shoot. The corporal yanked down a coil of rope from a peg on the wall and proceeded to bind the outlaws, at the same time ordering Dick to bolt and lock the door, then to release Richardson. La Qua was pale with fury, swearing vengeance upon the police. “Yuh can’t get away with this,” he snarled. “You’ll pay good an’ plenty. Jus’ remember that.” “I’m willing to answer for my conduct here,” laughed Rand. “I’m not frightened.” Toma and Rand dragged the bodies across the floor, concealing them behind a pile of blankets. Then they turned to examine the sergeant. His injuries were not serious. Already he showed signs of returning consciousness. Rand brought water and bathed and dressed the wound with a skill and precision that struck Dick’s admiration. Someone pounded on the door. Drawing his revolver, the policeman hurried over, shot the bolt, swung open the door, concealing himself behind it. A tall, fierce-visaged man stepped into the room, demanding harshly: “Who locked this door? Where’s La Qua? The boys are ready to start.” Instantly he perceived that he had committed a blunder. Dick and Toma he had never seen before. Slightly puzzled, he took one step forward, when he felt the steel muzzle of Rand’s revolver poking him in the ribs. “Stand right where you are,” said the corporal pleasantly. “Glad you came in. Permit me to relieve you of your hardware.” One glance into the steady eyes, a look at the familiar uniform, and the intruder saw the futility of resistance. Yet there was bluster in his voice. “What does this mean?” “It means that the fun’s over,” Rand stated evenly. “Stand right where you are! So the pack-train’s ready to start?” The prisoner made no reply. Tall, sullen, resentful—unflinchingly he met the cool gray eyes of the mounted policeman. “Come, speak up! I mean business!” Rand shoved his revolver into the man’s ribs again. There was nothing pleasant about his voice now. “They’re ready tuh start if yuh want to know,” begrudgingly answered the outlaw. “Are you heading straight for the pass?” Again the hesitation. Again the revolver fondling the man’s ribs. “Yep.” “All right,” said Rand, cooly deliberate. “You can go out and tell them to start. Tell them La Qua is ready.” The prisoner stared. “Go out. Yuh mean that?” “Yes, but not alone. I’ll go with you. I’ll be standing right behind you when you give them those orders. But before we go, you might as well understand that there’s to be no trickery. No treachery. It might prove fatal.” Rand opened the door, making a gesture with one arm. “Out of here—and watch your step! I’ll have my gun on you every minute!” The door closed softly. The sound of retreating footsteps, a pregnant silence—a period of waiting which seemed interminable. Then the door opened again and Rand and the prisoner appeared. In the eyes of the policeman there sparkled a triumphant light. He turned to Dick with a smile. “They’ve gone. Never suspected anything. Told them that La Qua and our friend here would follow at their leisure. Bring me the rest of that rope, Toma.” They trussed the man and dragged him back to the far corner of the room to keep company with La Qua. Again they stood in front of Richardson, who lay with half-closed eyes. He had not yet recovered consciousness. Rand spoke quickly: “We haven’t a minute to lose. Every moment counts. Toma, I’m going to ask you to remain here to guard these prisoners while I hurry on after the pack-train. You, Dick, will return to Sandy and conduct him here. As soon as you do that, Sandy will relieve Toma. In another hour or two, Richardson will be able to sit up. It won’t be long before he recovers completely. You and Toma are to follow and overtake me. I may need your help. Think you’ll be able to follow our tracks, Toma?” “No trouble do that,” nodded the guide. “We find ’em all right.” Dick found Sandy without much difficulty. His chum was shivering from the cold. Also he had grown impatient and resentful, as his first words indicated. “Well, did you finally consent to come back and let me know how things are? I was just getting ready to leave this place. Surely, the corporal didn’t expect me to stay here all night.” “I’m sorry, Sandy,” placated Dick. “We couldn’t get here any sooner. Too bad you’re cold.” His voice rose animatedly. “And good news! We’ve found Richardson and have taken three prisoners—one of them La Qua. Rand is following the pack-train in the direction of the pass. We must hurry.” “Whew! Good work! I suppose you’re one of the heroes.” “No such luck,” Dick replied. “I didn’t do a thing. All the credit is due Rand and Toma. Both were wonderful. I’ll tell you about it sometime. But now we must hurry. Toma and I are to follow Rand. You’re to remain with Richardson and the prisoners in the cabin.” “Suits me,” Sandy’s teeth chattered. “Hope it’s warm over there. I’ve caught a chill. Anyway, good luck to you, Dick. When do you think you’ll be back?” “Don’t know. It’s a long way to the coast. Hundreds of miles, I guess.” “The coast!” almost shrieked Sandy. “Yes,” returned Dick a little proudly, “we’re going straight through to the Pacific!” |
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