  “I’d like to go over there,” said Dick, “but if we do, Burnnel and Emery will be sure to see us. We don’t want that to happen. Our best plan is to wait until after we ford the river. Then, if he hasn’t already left the vicinity, we’ll find out who he is.” “I know one thing,” Sandy declared confidently, “and that is he’s not from the Mackenzie River detachment.” “I’m not so sure. It may be our old friend, Sergeant Richardson.” “But that territory, over there across the Hay, is patrolled by men from the Peace River Detachment,” Sandy objected. Dick rose quickly to his feet, hugging himself in sheer ecstasy. “I have it! I have it!” he cried. “You’re right! He’s from the Peace River Detachment. They received my wire. I’m willing to bet on it. It’s someone after Creel.” For a time Sandy caught the infection of the other’s enthusiasm but, after mature deliberation, he became more serious again. “No; you’re wrong. The police haven’t had time to come up from Peace River Crossing since you wired them.” “This man might have been on patrol somewhere between here and the Crossing. They probably got in touch with him; wired back, I mean. Sent him out on Creel’s trail.” “A possibility, of course. I wonder if we couldn’t signal to him?” The suggestion interested Dick for a time. Then caution warned him that it was not a very good plan after all. It might lead to complications. “No, we’d better let things remain as they are. Whatever we do, we mustn’t let Emery and Burnnel know that we are here.” “Very well, then,” Sandy agreed, “we’ll go back to our ponies. It shouldn’t be long now before the outlaws commence to ford the river.” Cheered and invigorated, they made their way up the slope, and not long afterward came to the place where they had picketed the ponies. Saddling and bridling their rugged little mounts, they rode slowly along the ridge to a point above the outlaws’ camp. Again they tethered out their horses and sat down to wait. It was more than an hour later before the outlaws attempted to cross. The sound of splashing came up from below, punctuated now and again by sharp voices of the two men. The boys bounded to their feet and scrambled down the steep embankment. Arriving at the abandoned camp, they observed that Burnnel’s party were already more than a quarter of the distance across the stream. The ponies were swimming bravely, while the two prospectors and “Rat” MacGregor’s wife could be seen in the water beside them, clinging to the pommels of the saddles. It was an exciting ordeal and the boys watched the progress of the party breathlessly. Soon they had reached the center of the river, fighting valiantly. Now they were being carried along by the swift central current. Gradually, however, they neared the opposite shore. They made their landing safely, a few minutes later, nearly a mile downstream. They clambered up the slippery bank, shook then like rats, and soon afterward disappeared from view. The boys waited for nearly an hour, before they made any effort to follow. Then, leading their horses down, they, too, plunged into the icy stream. Exultant and happy, ten minutes later they waded ashore and paused to dry their dripping garments in the hot sun, near the edge of the river. “Now,” grinned Dick, “we’ll look for that policeman.” They mounted their horses and proceeded on their way. But, although they kept the river within view, they could find no trace of the red-coated figure they had seen only two hours before. He had vanished mysteriously. Fearing that they had proceeded too far down along the course of the stream, they turned back, mounting the slope. Twilight had fallen. The boys were baffled and discouraged. When they made camp for the night, neither had much to say. After supper they sat gloomily, looking out across the valley. “I’m afraid we’ve lost out all around,” complained Dick. “We may have some difficulty in finding Burnnel’s party now. I wish we had left the policeman to his own devices and had gone on after them.” Sandy struck irritably at the mosquitos swarming about him. “Think I’ll start a smudge,” he growled. Dick rose to his feet. “While you kindle the fire, I’ll go along the slope and get an arm-load of moss.” Suiting the action to the word, he started away, walking leisurely. He had gone less than fifty yards, when he drew back, startled. Unless his eyes had deceived him, he had seen something—a movement in the brush. Trembling, he took up a position in the deep shadows, close to a willow copse, straining his eyes through the obscurity. “Might be a deer,” he thought. He had really not expected to see a man. Yet a man it was. Creel! Dick blinked. The old recluse stood limned in the darkening twilight, scarcely twenty feet away. His attitude was that of a hunted beast. His long hair fell over his eyes in straggly disorder, giving him the appearance of a madman. His long beard fluttered lightly in the breeze. Dick’s heart leaped. Creel was coming straight toward him. Cold sweat beaded Dick’s brow. He was shaking as if from the ague. Nearer and nearer came Creel. Only a few feet away now—almost upon him! Then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, the recluse paused. Dick could hear his labored breathing. Some intuitive sense had warned the man of impending danger. For a full minute he remained perfectly still, his gaze darting from right to left. He took one step forward cautiously. A second step. Again he paused. He was so close now, that Dick could almost reach out his hand and touch him. The young man’s mind was awhirl, dizzy with conflicting impulses. His quarry within his grasp, and yet he hesitated. Why, he did not know. The recluse took one more step and in that instant caught sight of the crouching form. He attempted to turn, one hand struggling at his belt. Dick lunged forward, catching Creel around the knees, bearing him down. The struggle was short but spirited. “No use,” panted Dick, “I’ve got you!” Creel’s struggles subsided. “What do you want with me?” choked the captive, as Dick pinioned his arms. “The police are looking for you, Creel,” the other breathed in his ear. “The game’s up. You’ll have to come along with me.” Securing the other’s revolver, Dick rose to his feet. “Come on now,” he ordered, “Get up!” He drove Creel ahead of him to the place where he and Sandy had made camp. In the dim light, Sandy saw the approaching shadows, but as yet was unaware of the presence of a third person. “Did you bring the moss?” he inquired petulantly. “What kept you so long?” “Sandy,” Dick’s voice quavered, “come here!” The young Scotchman put down the branch, which he had been breaking into short lengths, and strode forward. His astonishment was unbounded. “Creel!” he exclaimed. “Where did you find him, Dick?” “Out there,” Dick pointed. Then, turning upon the old recluse: “Hand over the contents of that poke,” he ordered, pressing his revolver close to the man’s chest. Creel backed away. “I haven’t it,” he whined. “It’s gone—gone! Release me, I tell you. I haven’t it.” “You had it,” said Dick. “What did you do with it?” “They took it,” answered Creel, his voice rising almost to a scream. “Who?” “Burnnel and Emery. That woman.” “Where did you meet them?” “Back there,” the recluse waved one arm. “I came on them unexpectedly.” He shook in his agitation. “Wasn’t even thinking about them. I—I— The policeman— He was following me. Ever since last night.” The story seemed plausible, yet in order to make sure that their captive spoke the truth, they searched his pockets, which proved to be almost as bare as their own. “Did they take your money too?” Dick demanded. “Yes.” “Where are they camped now?” “About a mile from here. They turned me loose less than an hour ago.” “Creel,” said Sandy, “there’s one thing I wish you’d explain. What are you doing here so far from the trail?” “Trying to get away from that policeman,” came the answer. “I was on my way south to Peace River Crossing, when I met him on the trail. He had me cornered. He was sitting there on his horse, waiting for me. I could see that. But I gave him the slip. I dropped off my horse and ducked into the thick timber on the left side of the trail. I ran. I was sure that I could get away from him. I knew that no horse could follow me there. But he kept on my trail, and several times that night and today, I caught sight of him following me.” Sandy’s voice broke the next interval of silence. “What’s to be done now?” “I’m going over to the outlaws’ camp,” declared Dick with grim decision. “But what will we do with Creel?” “You can stay here and watch him.” Sandy caught his breath. “Do you mean to say you’d tackle ’em all alone, Dick? A terrible risk! They’d be sure to get you.” “No, they’ll be too surprised to do anything. They won’t expect me.” Sandy put one trembling hand to his face. “I—I hate to think of it. You’d be all right if only Toma were with you. But alone—” He paused, choking. “I’ll set out right away,” said Dick, “and you needn’t worry, Sandy. I’ll promise to be careful. I won’t take any more chances than necessary. Perhaps I’ll find them asleep.” He turned to go. Sandy sprang after him, seizing his arm. “If anything happens to you, Dick, I’ll—I’ll feel that it’s all my fault. But don’t forget that I’m with you. If—if they should happen to take you prisoner, I’ll manage your release somehow.” “I know you will, Sandy,”—in a smothered voice. “Good-bye, Dick.” “Good-bye.” Dick stumbled forward through the shadows, his heart beating wildly. A mile to Burnnel’s camp. Not far! He’d move cautiously. He mustn’t fail now. Victory was in their hands. The shadows were very dark along the ridge, and far below came the murmur of the river. From its darkened perch, an owl hooted dismally. |
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