  Strong arms raised him up and carried him tenderly along the beach as one might have carried a child. Anxious eyes peered down at the placid face; voices, subdued and solicitous, murmured around him. Near at hand, the river fretted against its shores, its gurgling song more melancholy than the plaintive dirge of the pines. Wading ashore, following his last encounter with the outlaws, Dick had collapsed, and, when found later by the rescue party, lay with his feet in the water and his arms flung out above his head. At first, they had believed him dead. No senseless, inanimate thing cast up by the sea, ever presented a more bedraggled appearance. The stubborn spark of life, which still glowed feebly within him, was not manifest. Corporal Rand, who had elected to carry him back to the shelter of trees, where Toma had already kindled a fire, could have sworn that his young friend had fought his last fight. The sound of firing had carried to the inlet, and had been the cause of much concern and conjecture on the part of Dick’s companions. Both surmised that the youthful adventurer was in trouble and they had come expecting to find him in some tight corner, hotly besieged, yet valiantly holding his own. They were wholly unprepared and not a little mystified, when after a painstaking search, they finally stumbled upon his body. Neither could explain how Dick had come there nor exactly what had happened to him. The nearest approach to a reasonable solution was that Dick in some unaccountable manner had been knocked unconscious and then thrown into the water—left there by the outlaws to drown. The cold plunge had partly revived him and he had contrived somehow to swim or crawl ashore. “I doubt if he’ll live,” Rand’s voice was sepulchral. For hours they employed restorative measures. Toma went back to the warehouse to fetch a blanket. They chafed his limbs; built up a huge bonfire; worked desperately over him. Just before morning Dick lay in a comatose state, his pulse more steady, his condition considerably improved. Faint color began to tinge his cheeks. After a time, his eyes opened dazedly and with much wrinkling and puckering of his brow he endeavored to fill in his gaps of memory. Wraiths and shadows of once familiar things drifted across his mental vision. Through the darkness and obscurity of his mind, not in orderly sequence, but in a provoking, mysterious fashion, there flashed haphazardly half-familiar scenes of the past. Toma, stooping to smooth back the rumpled hair, glanced sombrely at the policeman opposite. “You think him better?” he demanded in a strained, cracked voice. “Much better,” answered the corporal. “I glad to hear that. You think pretty soon we be able to move him over to warehouse?” “Perhaps—but not yet. He’s still too dazed and weak. He needs rest and quiet. But he’s doing nicely.”, They left him while they went to prepare breakfast. When Toma returned to the place where the patient lay, he was greeted with a wan smile of recognition. The Indian lad cried out jubilantly. Hearing him, Rand rushed over. “Thank the good Lord you’re coming round,” he cried out. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am.” They made Dick a light broth and towards noon he was feeling so well he was able to sit up. Always there was one of the two near him. They were compelled to make frequent trips to and from the warehouse. In addition to caring for Dick, they had the prisoners to look after. On the previous night, before starting out, they had bound the four men hand and foot. There were now extra meals to prepare, increasing responsibility. The larder required replenishing. During his spare time, Toma went out to hunt for rabbits and ptarmigan. Shortly before two o’clock, the policeman, who had been busy gathering fuel for the fire, came over and sat down by Dick’s side. “Do you feel strong enough now to tell me all about it?” he asked. “How did you get here? How many of the outlaws were in the party which attacked you?” “Before I do that,” Dick spoke up, rubbing one shaky hand across his forehead, “I want to warn you, corporal, that those packers may return. They were planning to rescue Murky and the others and to murder you and Toma. It’s queer they haven’t already come. You must be very careful.” “Are you quite sure about this, Dick?” “Yes,” the other answered. “An ambuscade! A treacherous, cowardly thing! They planned to secrete themselves in the brush and take pot-shot at you. Later, when they had released Murky and the prisoners, they intended to go south with the fur.” Then Dick recounted his adventures. When he had finished, the corporal exclaimed: “You’ve certainly had your share of trouble. It must have been a terrible ordeal.” He rose hesitatingly to his feet. “Will you think that I am inconsiderate if I leave you for a time alone?” “Why, no,” quickly responded the invalid. “I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.” “You see,” Rand hesitated, “after what you’ve told me, I feel a little apprehensive. I must go over and warn Toma. The warehouse will be the point of danger.” Dick smiled weakly. “Certainly, go ahead. It’s the only thing to do.” Rand threw more wood on the fire and departed. It was nearly two hours before he returned. The moment Dick saw him, he noted immediately that a marked change had come over the policeman. He was more lighthearted than before. He smiled frequently. He joked and laughed, regaling Dick with stories of the service—amusing anecdotes and breathless escapades. While he was preparing lunch, he looked up and grinned across at Dick. “I suppose you’ll be sorry when this thing is over and we return to Fort Good Faith?” Dick laughed outright. “Well, not exactly, although I wouldn’t have missed the experience for anything. By the way, corporal, how much of the fur did you recover?” “All of it.” “That’s fine. Then all that remains to be done is to capture the four packers and the sailor. Do you think we’ll be able to do that?” “Yes,” smiled Rand, “I have two young but very capable assistants. Tomorrow you’ll be on your feet again, while Toma is feeling as fit as a fiddle.” “Toma is wonderful,” said Dick. “You can always rely on him. I don’t believe he knows what fear means.” “You’re right,” approved the other. “He’d make an exceptionally good scout, a splendid partner for Malemute Slade. He may get the chance too. When the Inspector receives my report, there’ll be several persons I know who’ll receive laudatory mention.” Dick gazed dreamily into the fire. “Then they may send Toma to the training barracks at Regina this winter?” “Yes, very probably—and another young man, too, if he cares to go along.” “You mean me?” gasped Dick, blinking suddenly, a queer tugging at his heart. “Well, it’s within the realm of reason,” Rand looked up mischievously. “But are you sure you haven’t had enough of this sort of thing?” “No, corporal, I’d like to go.” “It isn’t an easy life,” Rand informed him. “The pay is small. One never knows what tomorrow may bring forth. Your greatest reward will be the satisfaction of knowing that you have strived to do your duty. If I were you, I’d think long and seriously before I took the step.” “But you took it. Do you mean to say that you regret your move? Would you change places with someone else?” The corporal’s face had become very sober. He too stared dreamily into the fire. In the steel-gray eyes was a look Dick had never seen before. There was a catch in the policeman’s voice when he spoke again: “It’s too late to think about that now. I’ve crossed my Rubicon. It was my own choice—but I’m not sorry. I think I’ve run the gamut of human emotion. I’ve experienced every phase of physical suffering. On the other hand, there have been times when the mere joy of living paramounted every other thing. The rugged life that we lead gets into the blood. Even if I should return to civilization, I doubt very much whether I would ever be happy or satisfied.” Dick smiled reminiscently. “That reminds me of what Sergeant Richardson told me about a year ago, just before he received his promotion. He said that there were times when he gloried in the service; at other times he positively hated it. When he first came to this region, the Inspector sent him out to arrest an Eskimo murderer. It took him eight months. In all that time never once did he see the face of a white man. The memory of that exploit still haunts him. He weighed a hundred and seventy-eight pounds when he set out on that trip and one hundred and fifty when he returned with his prisoner. All that remained of his uniform was his service hat. His hair and beard were so long that he looked like a wild man. Habit was so strong that when the Inspector addressed him, he answered in Eskimo.” Corporal Rand laughed, but made no comment. Not long afterward, Toma appeared. His usually expressionless face radiated good nature. He too seemed to be very happy. He sat down in front of the fire, pulled an harmonica out of his pocket and commenced to play. Rand leaned back against a convenient tree trunk and filled and lit his pipe. As time passed, Dick began to wonder if it were good policy to leave the prisoners so long alone. Under no circumstances, ought they to trust Murky. “Will the prisoners be all right, corporal?” Dick finally blurted out. “Isn’t there danger that one of them may become untied?” Rand shook his head complacently and winked covertly at Toma. “There! I’ve caught you, corporal. Something has happened. Have the prisoners already escaped?” “No, they still here,” Toma denied the allegation. Dick was not convinced. Although the high spirits of his two companions belied the supposition, he could not help feeling that something was amiss. The more he thought about it, the more perplexed he became. It was not like Corporal Rand to be so careless. Surely experience had taught him better than this. “Corporal,” said Dick, “I think you must be keeping something from me. What is it?” The policeman feigned annoyance. “You’re mistaken. I can’t remember that I’ve ever given you cause to say that.” The invalid flushed and averted his gaze. He had been sitting up, wrapped in blankets, his shoulders resting against a tree. Just then he felt sheepish and wished that he had held his tongue. He was depressed. But his mood changed suddenly—first to amazement, then to joy. He raised one trembling hand and rubbed his eyes. One long, glad cry rang from his lips: “Sandy!” |
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