  The vessel came to anchor not far from the landing wharf. The throb of her engines ceased. Immaculate in fresh paint—a dull gray—she rode prettily in the water. Her graceful lines resembled those of a yacht. It was evident that she had been built for speed. Slung out over port and starboard, were two small boats, one of which, judging from the plaintive creaking of ropes, was about to be lowered. The three watched her for a while, endeavoring to make out some of the figures on board. “She must be days ahead of her schedule,” surmised Rand. “The outlaws would never have cached the fur along the line if they had known she was coming in so soon. What’s that?” They heard rather than saw the oncoming figure—someone trampling along through the brush. Then the newcomer broke into the clearing and for the first time his form stood revealed. Dick’s throat contracted. He shrank back against the thicket, reaching out for support. A faintly audible exclamation rose to his lips. “Murky Nichols!” The silence that fell over the little party was so deep, so breathless that they could hear the thicket rustling in the faint breeze. Corporal Rand stared at Dick, and that young man returned the gaze with an expression that was indescribable. Toma whispered hoarsely: “How him get here? I thought he go back to Fort Good Faith.” “Apparently not!” Rand gritted from between set teeth. “A ruse, a trick—he’s full of them. One never knows what Nichols is planning, or where he is likely to be at any stated time. He bobs up everywhere. It has always been difficult to follow his movements. He’s here now. It’s something I hadn’t bargained for.” The lanky, indolent figure slumped past the warehouse, heading for the wharf. A gray felt hat was pulled down over his forehead, the brim almost resting upon his shaggy eyebrows. Reaching his objective, he pulled a knife and plug of tobacco from his pocket and lazily sliced off a generous hunk. Having completed this important operation, he glanced up, slowly raised his arm and began signalling the vessel. There sounded the creaking of hawsers, then a low splash as the boat hit the water. Two men, one of them in a blue cap and uniform, rowed for the shore. They reached the landing wharf, clambering up with the assistance of Murky. Although they could see everything that happened, Rand and the two boys were unable to catch more than a low murmur of sound coming from the conspirators. Once the voice of the man in uniform rose appreciably, but even then they could not catch what was said. “I’d give my right arm to be able to sit under that wharf and listen to them,” Rand whispered eagerly. “What you think them fellows do?” Toma wished to know. “Can’t imagine. Something’s up. I wonder why Murky didn’t bring along his pack-train. What’s the reason for the delay?” Scarcely had the words left the policeman’s mouth, when he jumped back, nerves taut, eyes shining. A perfect bedlam of sound arose. It drifted across to them through the trees, disturbing the stillness, the calm of the forest’s solitude. They could hear the voices of men, the whinnying of ponies, the guttural shouts of packers, the swishing and snapping of underbrush. Dick seized Toma’s arm and held it in a vise-like grip. In a sort of stupor, he noticed that Rand was filling a rifle-clip with cartridges. The pack-train came into view at the edge of the clearing—ten horses, four dog teams and six men. They gathered about the warehouse, a confused mass of horses, dogs and men, seeming to hesitate, in reality waiting for a signal from Nichols. It was a crucial moment. Dick knew that the time had come for action, yet the thought terrified him. What chance had they against so many? Not counting Nichols, there were six of the outlaws and probably as many more sailors aboard the yacht. Chills, like tiny currents of ice, coursed down Dick’s spine. The policeman seemed to sense Dick’s feelings, almost to read his thoughts. He reached over and patted the younger man affectionately on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Dick, we’ll come out all right. Just keep cool. You’ve been anxious to join the Royal Mounted—now show me the stuff you’re made of. You too, Toma.” “Yes sir, corporal, I stick by you when we make ’em big fight. You just tell ’em Toma what to do.” “What’s our first move?” asked Dick. “Do you intend to meet the outlaws face to face? Aren’t there too many for us?” “The best way to defeat a gang like this is to capture its leader. That’s what I propose to do now. Murky Nichols is the man I want. He’s the directing force here, the brains behind every move. The others are mere chessmen. He’s the player. I intend to walk right over in the presence of every one of his men and take him prisoner.” “What!” gasped Dick. “I can do it.” Rand’s voice was calm. It was a breathless, incredible thing that Rand proposed. A desperate plan indeed—seemingly foolhardy! It required bravery of the deepest brand—nerves of steel and a courage that would never falter. “You can’t make it,” almost whimpered Dick. “A bullet will bring you down before you go fifty yards.” “I don’t think so,” the corporal answered, only a slight tremor in his voice. “There’s a psychology about this thing, Dick, that neither you nor I understand. At first, they’ll be too startled to do anything. By the time they have recovered from their surprise, they won’t be able to shoot without endangering the lives of Nichols and the two sailors. At any rate, I’m willing to take the chance.” “It isn’t fair!” Dick protested hotly. “Why should you run all the risks alone? Corporal Rand, I won’t permit it. If you’re going to walk over there, I’m going with you.” The suspicion of a twinkle showed in Rand’s unwavering gray eyes. But his voice was stern. “Who’s in command here?” “Yes, I know,” argued Dick. “But just the same—” “You and Toma will stay here. That’s final. By doing that, you can serve me better than by going along with me.” “How?” “In various ways. I could tell you better if I knew exactly what is going to happen. I may not capture Nichols at all; he may capture me. If he does, there is the chance that you may be able to rescue me. It may be that I am wrong too about the outlaws being too astonished to fire at me while I am crossing the clearing. If I am wrong, you may be able to draw their fire and give me a chance to escape.” Without once faltering, Corporal Rand struck boldly out into the clearing and headed straight for the wharf. His course would take him about forty yards west of the warehouse on the side opposite the door. The outlaws completely encircled the building. Dick thought at first that it was their purpose to unload the furs, placing them in the building, but on second thought, he realized that this would not be the case. With the yacht riding at anchor in the inlet, it stood to reason that the furs would be placed on the landing wharf, thereby saving a second handling. In fact, the corporal had proceeded scarcely twenty feet on his way, when Murky raised one arm as a signal for the pack-train to come closer. Fortunately, no one had as yet noticed the policeman. Dick was rapidly losing control of his nerves. The tension was terrible. He experienced a feeling similar to that of being smothered under a blanket. His gaze was fairly riveted on the retreating figure. Every step that the corporal took positively hurt him. He closed his eyes for a moment. He felt dizzy and weak. He could hear Toma’s breathing—choking and asthmatic. He reached out and grabbed convulsively for a branch that drooped down in front of him. A wail of terror issued from his lips. A crash, a puff of smoke! Corporal Rand stumbled a little, as if his toe had caught in some obstruction underfoot. Dick saw Murky wheel in surprise, his hand fumbling at his belt, face white and tense. But Rand had already pulled his gun and though still thirty feet away, he had the drop on his opponent. Murky’s hand and those of the two sailors went up, clawing the air. A few more steps, and Rand stood amongst them. Murky shrieked out something in Cree, which resulted in immediate confusion around the warehouse. Packers sprang to their ponies, whips cracked—hurried calls and frenzied oaths. Figures darted back and forth as though daft. Presently out of the confusion came some semblance of order. The pack-train started away in full retreat—a retreat that was almost a rout. Dick knew now what Murky’s command had been: Unable to save himself, only one chance was left him—to send away the pack-train, to get rid of the tell-tale evidence. Occupied as he was, Corporal Rand was powerless to prevent it. The packers had drawn their guns and were herding the ponies across the clearing, shouting hoarsely at the top of their lungs. Dick saw Toma leap past him, rifle held in readiness. For a split-second he stood undecided, then he too turned and rushed frantically away to head off the retreating party. Panting, they circled around to the far side of the clearing, just as the head of the column entered the woods. Toma’s rifle spurted fire and Dick followed his example. The rout became a stampede. Ponies broke away from their packers and rushed away at a mad gallop. Dog teams snarled and fought. Taken completely by surprise, the outlaws huddled together, firing volley after volley at the place where the boys lay concealed. From that time on, at least as far as Dick was concerned, things became blurred, hazy—unreal. Bullets flew in the brush everywhere. The pack-train had stampeded, but the outlaws still remained. Most of Murky’s adherents had now taken to cover and were offering a most stubborn resistance. It was plain that Dick and Toma had failed in their efforts. There came suddenly a lull in the firing. In a choked, excited voice, Dick spoke to Toma: “This is a terrible mess. We haven’t succeeded in accomplishing anything. First thing we know, one of these outlaws will get a pot-shot at Rand—and then all will be over.” “Corporal no fool,” Toma replied. “Things not so bad what you think. Here come policeman now.” It was true. With the prisoners walking ahead of him, Rand came straight toward the place of the recent skirmish. This was the reason why the firing had ceased. The outlaws were waiting for Murky. As the policeman and his three prisoners came directly opposite Dick heard Rand giving orders. Then Nichols called out in a trembling voice: “Come out of it, boys. It’s all over. Come out, I tell yuh. If any o’ yuh shoot, I’m a dead man!” One or two at a time, the outlaws came out, dropped their guns and moved forward to Murky’s side, hands held high. Seeing the turn affairs had taken, Dick and Toma also lost no time in joining the group. “Well, Murky, I guess it’s all over,” Rand stated evenly. “We haven’t seized your fur yet, but that won’t take long. Have you anything to say for yourself?” “Nothin’ at all, corporal,” Nichols answered insolently. “But mebbe we ain’t through yet—you an’ me.” Rand ignored the threat. “You can dispatch two of your men to overtake the stampeded ponies and find the dog teams. Toma will go along with them.” Murky issued the orders, but the young guide stepped forward and exclaimed: “Men not all here, corporal. First time over at warehouse I count six packers. Only four here.” Dick confirmed Toma’s statement. “That’s right. There were six. I counted them myself. We’d better be careful.” “Is this true, Murky?” Rand scowled. “Yep.” “Where are they?” “How should I know? I wasn’t here. Yuh oughta know that.” “You’ll be responsible if anything happens,” warned the policeman. Not long afterward, Toma and two of the outlaws went out in search of the stampeded ponies, while Rand and Dick took the remaining men—with the exception of the uniformed sailor and Murky—and locked them in the warehouse. Then Rand turned to the officer in charge of the yacht: “You’d better order your vessel in, captain.” “I’ll try, but I don’t know whether they’ll come,” trembled the sailor. “They’ll save themselves a lot of trouble if they do. I have the name and description of your vessel. Remember you’re dealing with the Canadian government now.” But the captain was right. Signalling from the wharf proved of no avail. There came derisive shouts from the men aboard, and not long afterward the sailors hoisted the anchor and the yacht steamed out of the inlet. |
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