  Though only a short distance away, Burnnel’s camp proved to be hard to find. It was darker than usual that night, owing to the fact that the sky was overcast. It is doubtful if Dick would have discovered the camp at all, had he not, after nearly an hour of beating futilely about in the underbrush, been attracted by the dull red glow of a dying campfire. Stealing upon his enemies with a quaking heart, he had soon advanced within the circle of light made by the glowing red embers. Near the fire were stretched the forms of the two prospectors, while thirty or forty feet away lay the woman. The camp slumbered. Conditions could not have been more favorable for Dick’s project. It would be easy to walk over, gun in hand, and awaken the sleepers. Neither of them would have the least opportunity to offer resistance. “It’s dead easy,” Dick argued with himself. “I can’t fail. It’s all as easy as A, B, C.” Yet he hesitated. He had planned his approach and knew exactly what he was going to do and say. But, somehow, it was easier to think about it than to act. Once or twice he started determinedly forward, but as quickly checked himself. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” he breathed. “Any minute they may awake, and yet I’m standing here.” He was nervous and shaky; his cheeks and hands were deathly cold. His right hand gripped his revolver so tightly that the bones in his fingers ached. A stricture in his throat made breathing difficult. For the second time, he took a step forward. The fire was slowly dying out. Its subdued glow was less bright than when he had arrived. If he didn’t act promptly he’d be forced to accomplish his purpose in the darkness and run the risk of failure. He was less than twenty paces from the sleeping forms. Moving very slowly, it would take less than two minutes to reach the sleeping men. He realized that to hurry over might be fatal to his plans. The faintest sound might betray him. He mustn’t snap a single dry twig or brush too hurriedly through the tall grass. He couldn’t afford to fail now. He negotiated the distance without mishap. Heart in his throat, he stood with his back toward the fire. Immediately in front of him lay the two unsuspecting outlaws. Burnnel snored peacefully, while Emery, lying on his right side, one arm flung out, might have been dead, for all the sound he made resting quietly there. Dick, preparing to shout out to awaken them, checked himself in time. A cold sweat broke out upon his body. An obstacle had presented itself. When he aroused Burnnel and Emery, he would awaken the woman too, and he was too far away from MacGregor’s wife to prevent her escape. Or, what would be more disconcerting or fatal still, she might suddenly determine to come to the outlaws’ rescue. No doubt she was armed. Dick’s heart beat wildly against his ribs and a lump rose in his throat, choking him. What was he going to do? He considered waking the woman first, being as quiet as possible, then coming back for the two prospectors. But he dismissed this idea almost as quickly as it had come. Better, far better to start with the outlaws. He dismissed his original plan of shouting out. That would never do. No; he would prod them quietly with his foot until they woke up. A distance of several feet separated the two sleepers. He stepped between them. Burnnel lay flat on his back. Dick stooped over and jerked the big prospector’s gun from its holster, expecting of course, that the man would awake. To his surprise Burnnel slept on. So he turned his attention to Emery. Dick now had a gun in either hand. It gave him more confidence. Emery stirred, as he prodded him with his foot. He continued until the wiry little man sat up, rubbing his eyes. “A word out of you,” said Dick softly, “and I’ll blow your brains out. Hand over your gun, butt forward.” Emery obeyed. Dick thrust the revolver in his own holster, an awkward proceeding because he was compelled to keep his opponent covered. “Now,” said Dick, “wake up Burnnel and do it quietly. Get busy!” Emery, who evidently was thoroughly frightened, rolled over and shook his partner. The big fellow half-awoke, perceived who was shaking him, thrust out one huge arm petulantly and pushed the little man back with considerable violence. “Shoot me or not,” snarled Emery, “yuh kin wake him yourself.” “Wake him up!” Dick’s voice carried a menace. This time Emery succeeded. But the big man was noisy and profane, even after his sleep-stained eyes had caught the glint of Dick’s weapon. “Keep quiet!” ordered Dick, almost beside himself with fear. “Keep quiet! If you don’t I’ll drill you through and through. Give me the contents of that poke!” The campfire glowed an angry red. In its ghostly light the two prospectors turned out their pockets, defiantly. Dick recovered his own money, watch and the huge roll of bills, belonging to Creel, Toma’s jack-knife, Sandy’s pocket-compass, and two keys on a ring. The articles were so many and varied that he soon perceived that he would not have room for them about his person. So he compelled Emery to tie them up in a bundle, flung over his own coat for the purpose. But where was the treasure? Nonplussed, Dick stared from one to the other. “Where’s the contents of Dewberry’s poke?” Emery gave Dick a look of unutterable surprise—and almost choked. Burnnel laughed scornfully. “We ain’t got it.” “What have you done with it?” “Ain’t never had it,” said Emery, choking with laughter. “You lie!” exclaimed Dick hotly. “Creel told me that you took it away from him.” “No, you’re wrong, pardner. If Creel told yuh that, he was spoofin’ yuh. We ain’t never even seen him.” “If that’s true,” said Dick, white to the lips, “how did you manage to get Creel’s roll?” Neither of the outlaws attempted to reply. Emery hung his head guiltily. Burnnel’s face was averted. Further questioning proved futile. Both men persisted that they had taken nothing from Creel except his money. Angrily, Dick drove them ahead of him to where the woman lay, still sleeping, and aroused her. Then, forcing the three to saddle and lead their ponies, they made their way back to Dick and Sandy’s camp. On his way back, Dick felt that he had been robbed of a complete victory. His achievement in capturing the outlaws single-handed was darkened by the knowledge that in some unaccountable way Burnnel and Emery had contrived to hide Dewberry’s much-sought treasure. He decided that when morning came he would make a more careful search. It was possible that he had overlooked its hiding place. It occurred to him that it might be in one of the saddle-packs, or sewed up in the outlaws’ garments. At any rate, he would leave no stone unturned until he had fully satisfied himself that Creel had lied to him. Sandy’s joy and astonishment over the safe and successful return of his chum were unbounded. He clapped Dick on the back, shouting out his approval. “If we’re only careful now,” he cried, “we’ll soon reach the end of our adventures. We’ve won. Won’t Corporal Rand and Toma be pleased when we return with all these prisoners.” For the remainder of that night neither of the two boys slept. They took turn in replenishing the fire and guarding the prisoners. Dick had become more cheerful and was confident that when morning came they would find the mysterious treasure, which had been responsible for so much trouble and tragedy and waste of human life. Yet, when morning came, they were destined to be disappointed again. They found nothing. Burnnel and Emery watching them, sneered openly. Creel seemed perplexed. Noticing his expression, Sandy questioned him. “Why did you lie to us about the contents of that poke?” “I didn’t lie to you,” Creel retorted. “They’ve done something with it, you may depend upon that.” “Don’t bother, Sandy,” Dick exclaimed in exasperation, “you’re just wasting time. We might as well start back. Corporal Rand will know what to do.” So, a few minutes later, they set out on their return journey. They were forced to travel more slowly than they had come, owing to the fact that, on the previous day, while attempting to evade the police, Creel had abandoned his horse. The boys forced the outlaws to take turn and turn about walking. On the evening of the first day they were treated to a pleasant surprise. Sitting around the campfire, enjoying their evening meal, the party was suddenly made aware of the presence of a stranger. He had come up silently and unnoticed. Presently he stood before them, a trim, natty figure, the bright crimson of his police tunic contrasting sharply with the deep green around him. The policeman smiled at their quick start. “I’m Constable Wyatt, of the Peace River Detachment,” he announced. The boys sprang to their feet and hurried forward to greet the constable. “I’m Dick Kent and this is Sandy MacClaren,” Dick explained to him. “We have been helping Corporal Rand, who has been working on the Dewberry case.” The policeman smiled. “Well, you’ve been more lucky or clever than I have. From all appearances, you’ve made a coup. I see you have Creel, the man they wired about.” “I sent the telegram for Corporal Rand,” said Dick a trifle proudly. “I almost had my hands on him on several different occasions. Perhaps I would have taken him eventually if you hadn’t. Who are these others?” “Burnnel and Emery, two prospectors, and she,” Dick pointed, “is ‘Rat’ MacGregor’s wife. All of them are mixed up in the case, constable. We had reason to believe that Creel had Dewberry’s treasure. Creel claims that Burnnel and Emery took it away from him. Whether or not this is true, we have been unable to determine. We can’t find it.” And in a few words Dick related their experience of the previous night. “You say you’ve made a very careful search?” asked Wyatt. “Yes.” “The only thing that I can think of,” hazarded the police constable, “is that Burnnel and Emery hid the treasure somewhere near their camp before they retired for the night.” “That’s possible,” said Dick. “It didn’t occur to me. Of course, they wouldn’t tell us if they had.” “Naturally not,” Wyatt smiled grimly. On the following morning they reached the trail and the first habitation they had seen for many, many miles. Here they were able to procure another horse, and thereafter they moved forward more quickly. The next day, threading their way along through the cool forest spaces, a turn in the trail revealed two approaching horsemen. Dick and Sandy rose in their stirrups and waved their hats wildly. The two horsemen were Corporal Rand and Toma. |
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