“You mean ’em bows and arrows? All right, you get ’em fish-line.”
Dick handed it to him. With his hunting knife the young Indian set to work, cutting and fashioning the bows, while Dick and Sandy sharpened some straight sticks for arrows. Under Toma’s instructions, they tufted one end of each arrow with some tough, fibrous bark the young Indian found for them. In a little less than twenty minutes they were ready. Walking at a distance of about one hundred yards apart and, still moving south, they commenced to hunt.
Dick was not very hopeful. The first bird he saw, a bird that resembled a king-fisher, he shot at and missed. Five minutes later, his heart landed up in his throat as a rabbit scurried into his path and, for the second time he bent his bow and again he missed. He missed a squirrel that ran up a tree in front of him. Recovering his arrows each time, he took five shots at the squirrel and in the end lost sight of it. Every minute he was becoming more discouraged and more hungry. The arrows never went just where he expected. Usually, he was a foot or two wide of his mark, whether that mark was moving or stationary. After what seemed like an hour, he pressed over more to his right to discover if either of the others had had any better luck. There he found Sandy.
“How are you getting on?” he inquired eagerly.
Sandy turned his head. No need to ask him how he had fared. The discouraged lines in his face told the story. His words confirmed it.
“Dick, I’ve seen two rabbits and three grouse and I failed to get any of them. Think I’m too excited and eager. What did you get?”
“Nothing!” Dick’s eyes were tragic.
The young Scotchman averted his face.
“Cripes!” he choked.
When he turned toward Dick again the latter experienced a momentary feeling of utter discouragement and despair. Slow starvation—had it come to that? He noticed how gaunt and drawn his chum’s face was.
“Every minute that we have to spare, we must practice with these bows and arrows, Sandy,” Dick told him. “It’s our only salvation. In time we’ll grow expert in their use. I had a chance once to take up archery and now I wish I had.”
They heard a shout near at hand. The bushes parted and Toma plunged forward to join them. Toma was carrying something. What was it? Staring, Sandy suddenly let out a whoop and bounded forward to meet him.
“A porcupine!” he shouted. “Dick, Dick, come here! A porcupine and two rabbits! Thank God for that.”
Dick merely stood there, gasping—doubting the evidence of his own senses. A queer feeling swept through him. It was not merely joy at the successful outcome of their hunt, but a feeling of relief, of tension relaxed. The future did not look quite so dark now. With food they could make it. Good old Toma! Faithful ever, a wonderful help in time of stress or emergency.
All the boys contended that they had never tasted anything so good as that porcupine, which they roasted, Indian fashion, over the fire. When they had eaten they were actually happy. For nearly an hour Toma instructed them in the use of their bows and arrows. Then they sat down to decide what to do next.
“I don’t know what would be the best plan,” puzzled Dick, “keep on as we’re doing or retrace our steps to the river. What would you boys suggest?”
“Go back to the river,” answered Toma unhesitatingly.
“But why?” asked Dick.
“Follow the river,” explained Toma, “an’ then no chance we get lost. Bad to get lost now without grub, blankets. Pretty soon all our clothes wear out. What we do then?”
“Yes, that’s true,” agreed Dick. “There’s no danger of getting lost if we follow the river. The only thing I was thinking of, will we find as much game in the river valley as we will up here?”
“Not much difference,” returned Toma. “Hunting pretty much the same everywhere. It’s like what you call ’em—luck. If we lucky we see many things to shoot. If not see ’em, no luck. ’Nother thing, by an’ by, fishing get good again.”
Seeing the wisdom in all that Toma had said, they returned to the river valley without discussing the matter further. After partaking of the porcupine they had become more optimistic and were determined now to push on to their destination more hurriedly. It was agreed that not only would they walk all that night, but part of the next day before they made camp. They had still some of the roasted porcupine and rabbit, so it would not be necessary to stop long for lunch.
An hour later, breaking through a willow thicket, they perceived the slope leading to the river, descended it and continued along the shore. Occasionally, while they were marching, Dick and Sandy would test their marksmanship by firing at some object ahead, picking up the arrow again when they reached it. The interminable twilight of the Arctic made this possible and it was not long before each of the boys began to note a decided improvement in his marksmanship.
The feet of the three adventurers grew more sore and swollen through the passing of the hours. Yet they pushed doggedly on. They had walked so much that the action had become mechanical. Sometimes they plodded ahead with eyes half-closed, nearly asleep. The twilight faded and the day sprang forth. The gray morning mist lifted from the river. A hot sun threw its slanting rays across the strip of white sand along which the boys were proceeding.
Suddenly, Toma who was in the lead, stopped quickly, called sharply to his two chums and pointed ahead.
“Look!” he shouted.
On their side of the river, less than a quarter of a mile away, gently eddying among the tops of the spruce and balsam, were thin spirals of smoke.
“A campfire!” shrieked Sandy in wonder. “Oh boy, we’re in luck! Maybe we can get help—a canoe or a gun.”
Unmindful of his great weariness and tortured feet, he had started out on a dead run, when Dick called to him sharply.
“Just a minute, Sandy. Not so fast. It may be Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum.”
Sandy stopped dead in his tracks.
“What’s that? Are you mad? If they had come up the river, we’d have seen them.”
“I’m not so sure. They might have passed us while we slept, or yesterday when we were in the woods after that experience with the wild man. One can never be too sure, Sandy. Our best plan is not to rush that camp, to make sure who they are before we let ourselves be seen.”
“That is right, Dick,” agreed Toma. “Brennan an’ McCallum very bad; also very clever fellow. No tell just where they may be now.”
Sandy, quick to see the wisdom propounded by his two friends, nodded in agreement while he waited for them to come up. They left the flat, sandy shore, where they could easily be seen, and proceeded thereafter through the jack-pine and willows farther up along the slope. Inside of twenty minutes they had approached to within a short distance of the place where the smoke was ascending.
At first they could see no one. They waited in a breathless inactivity. The brush was very thick and, from where they crouched, the boys could see only the light streamers of smoke drifting up from among a heavy copse of willow. Indeed, to determine who might be sitting around the campfire, the boys soon saw that it would be necessary to creep even closer. This they did not care to do for fear that the sound of their light movement might be detected. If only one of the campers would rise up behind that brush. For ten long minutes they waited, undecided whether to take the chance or not, For ten long minutes they watched the smoke rising, curling and eddying up through the trees. Putting his hands to his lips, Dick rose stealthily and tiptoed forward another twenty feet, this time more to the right. Then through a narrow opening in the thicket he caught sight of a kneeling form which he recognized instantly. It was McCallum! And as McCallum put up a hand and leaned to one side to evade a momentary puff of smoke from the fire, he saw Wolf Brennan and another man. The third person sat in such a position that Dick caught only his profile and so did not immediately recognize him.
Even when this third person did present a better view, Dick pondered over his identity. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Where had he seen him? A repulsive looking man, heavily bearded with deep-set, staring eyes. His flannel shirt, open at the neck, revealed a hairy, bear-like chest. The man was huge and muscular. One more look, then Dick sat down, gasping. A slow flush mounted his cheeks. He knew now. It was the wild man!
CHAPTER X.
TOMA’S DARING PLAN.
“Can’t be!” gasped Sandy.
“I tell you it is! The wild man. With McCallum and Brennan.”
The young Scotchman sank down to a sitting position, staring across at Dick. Just then he had no words to voice his astonishment. But not so Toma.
“What’s that you tell ’em Sandy an’ me? This fellow look like crazy man now wear clothes? Sit there an’ talk McCallum an’ Brennan like he got some sense after all?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“No believe.”
“Slip over there then and see for yourself. It’s true, Toma. He looks different now, but it’s the same person undoubtedly.”
The young Indian still shook his head in unbelief as he crawled forward to the place Dick had recently vacated. For several minutes he crouched there, his eyes on the three men, then cautiously returned.
“Am I right?” demanded Dick.
“You say right. It is that fellow. He no more crazy than you an’ me. He look like wild man, that’s all. I think mebbe Wolf Brennan tell him come over dress like that to make us big scare.”
“That’s what I think.”
Sandy caught at Dick’s arm.
“Well,” he said nervously, “let’s get away from here before we’re discovered.”
Dick did not reply. His face was serious, absorbed. He was thinking deeply.
“Let’s get out of here,” Sandy insisted. “Remember, Dick, they’re armed and we aren’t.”
“Just a moment, Sandy. It’s just occurred to me that these men must have a canoe or craft of some kind. I’ve been wondering if it wouldn’t be possible to get it away from them a little later when they fall asleep. If we can successfully put such a plan into effect, it won’t take us long to get to Half Way House.”
Toma emphatically nodded his head.
“Yes, if they got canoe, we try get it.”
Sandy brightened visibly.
“I’m willing to take the chance,” he said. “This constant walking has begun to tell upon us all. We have still a long way to go. Yes, I’m willing to take the chance,” he repeated eagerly.
It was hot where the three boys sat. The sun, now directly overhead, beat down upon them with fierce, penetrating insistence. Not a breath of wind stirred along the river valley. Dick wiped away the beads of moisture that stood out upon his face and commenced fanning himself with his broad-rimmed hat.
“First of all we must find out for certain whether they have a canoe,” he pointed out. “If they have, it’s probably hid in the brush near the river. We must try to find out exactly where it is.”
Sandy nodded his head.
“Do you suppose there is any chance that the three of them will take a nap?” he inquired.
“Extremely likely,” rejoined Dick. “From what I can make out, they’re preparing their mid-day meal now. After they have eaten, they’ll do either one of two things, embark on their journey again immediately or sit around and rest for an hour or two. I’m very much inclined to the latter view. Unlike ourselves, they’re in no hurry to return to Half Way House. They’ve been sent out here to watch us. No doubt, they think that after the scare we received yesterday, we’re still up in the woods.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Sandy half grinned.
“You think we better try get gun as well as canoe?” Toma asked.
“That depends a good deal upon circumstances. I mean, we’ll get one if we can do it without taking too much of a chance.”
“You suggest waiting here then until we find out what they’re going to do?”
Dick nodded. “We’re as safe here as anywhere.”
“Let’s creep a little closer,” suggested Toma.
“No, we’d better stay here. In these bushes they can’t see us. If we’re quiet, they can’t hear us either.”
During the interval of deep silence that followed, they could hear quite distinctly the voices of the three men. Occasionally, too, there came to their ears the rattle of a kettle or the clatter of a spoon. The ascending streamers of smoke thinned gradually and finally disappeared. Now and again, Wolf Brennan’s harsh laugh fell across the quiet air.
The minutes slipped by. Dick began to wonder if they would never cease talking. The drone of their voices continued on unintermittingly, for an hour or more, before the sequestered camp became quiet. Not until then did Dick turn and motion to his companions.
“Now’s our chance,” he whispered. “Toma, you and Sandy follow me down along the shore of the river and we’ll try to find that canoe. We must take our time. In case they hear us we’ll make a break for the trees and climb the slope.”
Moving slowly, cautiously, Dick led the way down to the river. They were glad when they reached the belt of white sand. Their footsteps could not be heard here. They proceeded about fifty yards, to a point just below the place where the three men were camped. Though they looked up along the bank eagerly, they had seen no trace of the outlaws’ craft. But presently, Toma moved closer to Dick, nudging him in the elbow.
“I see it,” he breathed.
“Where?”
The young Indian pointed. “Right there,” he said.
Dick’s heart nearly stood still. The canoe was farther up the bank than he had expected. The three men had carried it within thirty feet of the place where they had built their fire. Its graceful lines standing out sharply against the background of green brush—never had the boys looked upon anything they wanted so much and yet which seemed so unattainable. Even if Wolf Brennan and his two unprepossessing companions were sleeping soundly, how could they ever contrive to creep up there unheard, pick up the canoe and make their way back to the river?
It would be a terrible risk. Careful though they might be, it would be almost impossible to secure the prize without arousing the sleepers. Disheartened, the boys crouched down close to the bank.
“Guess we’ll have to give it up,” murmured Sandy, “We’ll lose our lives in the attempt.”
Dick groaned. “And when they wake up, they’ll start up the river again and we’ll probably never have another chance.”
As he spoke, he looked at Toma and noticed a sudden sparkle of determination in the young Indian’s eyes. Toma had become excited, restless. His hands moved along the edge of the bank nervously.
“Tell you what we do,” he proposed. “I have plan. Listen, Dick. You two fellows stay here. Keep down close to bank so they no see you. While you do that I circle round through the trees an’ come down on them from above, making loud noise. Pretty soon I wake ’em up. I try keep hid. By an’ by, them fellows think mebbe it’s a bear an’ come up an’ try find it. Soon they do that, you, Sandy run up quick, get canoe.”
“And leave you in the lurch,” protested Sandy. “I guess not. You’ll get a bullet for your pains.”
Toma shook his head. “No ’fraid of that. I keep plenty hid alla time. Pretty soon them fellows give up an’ go back to camp.”
“But what will you do?” inquired Dick.
“I keep right on till I come to bend in river. You an’ Sandy be watch, look for me alla time an’ soon I come down to shore you paddle in an’ pick me up.”
Dick’s face grew instantly grave.
“The plan might or might not work,” he decided. “Supposing, Toma, that only one or two of them leave camp. How do you know they’ll all follow you?”
“I not know that,” the young Indian admitted. “But pretty good chance they all come when I make noise.”
“But if only two should follow you, what will we do?” persisted Dick.
“Mebbe you get chance to get canoe anyway. If one fellow stay at camp, he very much like to know what other two fellow do, what you call ’em, he be excite. He keep look up that way. Then mebbe you an’ Sandy creep up close behind him with club an’ knock him down.”
Dick’s breath caught. He and Sandy were staring questioningly and a little wildly into each other’s eyes.
Toma persisted. “What you say ’bout that?”
“I couldn’t do it, Dick,” Sandy exploded. “There’s something sneaky and cowardly about creeping up and knocking a man down with a club. I just can’t do it. I can’t!”
“He try same by you,” the young Indian scowled. “What for you not do it to him?”
“If we had a rope,” said Dick, “we might grab him and tie him up.”
Toma’s face fell. “Why we talk ’bout that now? Mebbe all three follow me. It’s only chance I see to get canoe.”
“All right,” Dick suddenly came to a decision. “We’ll risk it. We’ve delayed long enough now. Get busy, Toma, and carry out your plan just as you’ve told it to us.”
The Indian’s sober features lighted into a broad smile. Swinging about without further preliminary, he broke into a dog-trot, then, twenty yards further down the shore, turned and began making his way up the steep embankment. The boys watched him for a while, whereupon they turned and looked at each other, their cheeks flushed with excitement. Dick reached over quickly and laid his right hand on Sandy’s shaking shoulder.
“We’re in for it now,” he said.
CHAPTER XI.
A CANOE AT LAST.
The first intimation Dick and Sandy had that Toma had arrived opposite the outlaws’ camp was when they saw Wolf Brennan spring to his feet, rifle in hand, and call sharply to his two friends. Immediately after that, a crackling in the brush, made by Toma, came to their ears.
“A moose!” shouted Wolf Brennan, pointing.
The other two, disturbed from their slumbers, scrambled to a place beside Brennan, their attitudes that of tense watching.
Breathless with excitement, Dick wondered if Toma’s ruse would work. The three men stood there immobile as three statues. The crackling noise up along the slope continued. Finally, when the boys had begun to believe that the outlaws were too clever for them, Wolf Brennan turned upon his two compatriots, growling:
“Toby, yuh stay here while me and Willison take a run up there tuh see what’s up. All ready, Willison, grab your gun.”
Willison obeyed implicitly, following Wolf Brennan up along the slope to the first ridge on the ascent. Toby McCallum, one hand against a tree, stood and watched them depart. Dick nudged Sandy.
“Now!” he whispered tersely. “You drag down the canoe while I attend to McCallum.”
They clambered up the low embankment, moving swiftly and quietly. Reaching the canoe, Sandy paused while Dick gathering momentum, leaped straight over a low barricade of scraggy brush and hurled himself straight at his adversary.
Turning in time to see Dick leaping for him, McCallum instinctively raised one arm to ward off the attack. However, this defensive action came too late. With all his weight behind it, Dick struck McCallum in a flying tackle just above the knees. The outlaw crashed down like a sack of wheat. He was somewhat stunned by the impact of the fall, but, even then, tried to reach out for his rifle, lying on the ground barely two feet away.
In the meantime, perceiving both Dick and McCallum struggling on the ground, locked in each other’s arms, Sandy dropped the bow of the canoe and hurried to the rescue. Just as Dick succeeded in pinioning McCallum’s arms under him, Sandy caught up the outlaw’s gun.
“Quick, Dick!” he shouted. “I’ve got it.”
Dick released his hold and staggered to his feet.
“Glad you came, Sandy,” he panted. “McCallum, lay right there,” he ordered savagely, “if you know what’s good for you.”
While Sandy covered their prisoner, Dick stooped and unbuckled the cartridge belt from around McCallum’s waist, placed it about his own, then took the rifle from Sandy’s trembling hands.
“Hurry, Sandy!” he blurted. “Go over and pull down that canoe. I’ll watch McCallum here until you’re ready.”
The prospector’s face was livid with rage and humiliation as Sandy departed. Suddenly, to Dick’s surprise, he opened his mouth and shouted at the top of his voice. It was a warning, clarion call that echoed and re-echoed through that quiet forest place.
Dick’s cheeks blanched. “Yell all you like,” he told McCallum. “We’ll get away just the same.”
From his position there on the ground, the outlaw glared up, his face crimson with fury, and broke into a torrent of abusive oaths.
“Yuh’ll pay for this,” he snarled. “Yuh ain’t got safe back tuh Half Way House yet. It’ll take a hull lot more than one canoe and one rifle tuh get yuh there. Remember that.”
“Yes, I’ll remember it,” said Dick tensely, “and I’ll be on the lookout for you too.”
“Yuh better,” growled the other.
Dick did not reply. Out of the corner of one eye he was watching Sandy’s progress toward the shore. The moment the canoe slid across the belt of yellow sand, he addressed himself to McCallum.
“If you get off the ground before I reach the river, I’ll take a pot-shot at you,” he threatened. “We’re desperate—and I mean business. Just try it if you like.”
Evidently McCallum took Dick at his word, for he did not so much as move a muscle as Dick sped down to the shore where Sandy awaited him. He jumped into the canoe and Sandy pushed off. Putting down his rifle, he seized one of the oars and began paddling frantically. The canoe rocked and swayed as it darted over the water. Spray dashed up around them. They swept into the central channel, desperately bucking the swift current. It was a race against death. Any moment now Wolf Brennan would return and commence firing from shore. In the glare of the sun, the river roared about them. They paddled as they had never paddled before. The shoreline gradually receded. On and on they swept. Perspiration poured out upon their foreheads and trickled into their eyes. Their breath struggled in their throats.
Zip! A bullet whistled between them and spat viciously into the water. Crack! A puff of smoke from shore, and Dick’s paddle leaped out of his hands, punctured by a speeding pellet of destruction.
With a quick, convulsive movement of his arm, Dick retrieved his paddle and as he did so he caught a glimpse of three figures running along the shore.
“Make for the opposite side!” he screeched to Sandy. “We must get out of rifle range.”
“But Toma—” faltered Sandy.
“He’ll look after himself. Quick, Sandy!” His own paddle clove the water again just as a third bullet whistled above their heads.
In a few minutes more their danger perceptibly decreased. The fire from the two on shore was now going more wide of its mark. Soon it ceased altogether. They were close to the opposite shore now, still paddling desperately.
“Dick, I can’t stand this pace much longer,” Sandy gasped
“All right, ease up. We’ll run ashore for a minute or two.”
When Sandy had grunted his approval, Dick turned the bow of the canoe sharply and the light, graceful craft grated upon the white sand and came to a full stop.
“Good gracious, Dick,” Sandy gurgled, springing out, “that was a close call. I’m afraid they’re going to capture Toma.”
Dick shook his head. “Not that boy. He’s too clever for them,” he replied, still breathing heavily.
“But how will we ever manage to pick him up again?” blurted the young Scotchman.
“Have to await our chance. Toma will keep an eye on us. He’ll make his way along the opposite shore. When he thinks the time is propitious, he’ll give us a signal.”
“I hope so,” said Sandy prayerfully. “If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”
“True. But don’t worry about him. He’s clever, as you ought to know by now. I haven’t the least fear that Brennan will ever succeed in capturing him.”
“What do you propose to do now?” asked Sandy.
Dick pursed his lips. “When we are rested, we’ll paddle along this side of the river slowly so that Toma will have plenty of time to keep up with us. We’ll go up the river a mile or two and then stop for the night. We’ll build a fire close to the shore so that Toma will know just where we are, what we are doing. We’ll have to take turns sleeping tonight. I don’t think there is any danger that Brennan’s party will build a raft and come over, yet it will be wise to be on our guard. Now that they know we have a rifle, they’ll think twice before they try a stunt like that.”
The remainder of the afternoon passed uneventfully. They saw no more of Brennan and his friends, neither did they catch a glimpse of Toma. Just before dusk they disembarked in a sheltered spot and by means of the fire stone soon had a blazing campfire near the shore. While Dick watched it and gathered more drift-wood and dry branches, Sandy took the rifle and went up along the slope in search of game. Within twenty minutes he came back carrying a rabbit.
“Wish Toma was here to enjoy it with us,” he stated a little sorrowfully. “Dick, I’m terribly afraid that something has happened to him. I try to make myself believe that he’s safe, but the feeling still persists.”
Dick laughed away Sandy’s fears while he prepared supper and later as they gathered brush for a high bon-fire. The fire would keep them warm that night, Dick explained. Also it would be a beacon to let Toma know just where they were.
“We’ll keep it burning brightly until morning,” he told Sandy. “What part of the night would you like to keep watch?” he inquired.
“From now until a little after midnight,” replied Sandy.
So it was decided. A pale dusk covered the earth when Dick stretched out by the fire and went to sleep, but it was much darker than usual when he was awakened by his weary chum and notified that it was his turn to stand guard.
“Keep the fire going good, Dick,” Sandy instructed sleepily. “It’s chilly and I’d like to have an unbroken sleep.”
The young Scotchman was slumbering deeply, curled up alongside the comforting blaze, by the time Dick had returned with his first arm-load of wood. The older boy smiled as he looked down at him. What an eventful day it had been, he mused. No wonder Sandy was so tired. The difficulties and hardships of the past week had tested strength, endurance and nerve to the utmost. They couldn’t go on indefinitely like this. The hard pace had begun to tell. By the look of him, Sandy couldn’t stand much more of it. His cheeks were sunken and there were deep hollows under his eyes.
The young leader sighed and sat down with his back to the fire, his gaze wandering. Up overhead the clouds seemed to be gathering for rain. Through a narrow rift shone a handful of brilliant stars and a white half-circle of moon. Down below, glinting mysteriously, was the wide path of the river. Tonight its song was as mournful as the weird music of an Indian lullabye.
Dick continued to sit there half musing, half dreaming, until suddenly down near the shore he heard a loud splash. He bolted to his feet and ran for his rifle. Wolf Brennan—was his first thought. Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum! They had made a raft and come over after all!
He caught the rifle to him, when a muffled figure staggered up over the bank, shaking himself like a dog that had been thrown into a mill-pond—shaking and blowing and shivering, and beating his arms to quicken the circulation in his body.
Dick gave one short, sharp cry, dropped his rifle and darted forward, arms outstretched.
“Toma! Toma!” he called.
CHAPTER XII.
THE MEETING ON THE RIVER.
When Sandy awoke on the following morning, his joy was unbounded. Taking one look at Toma, he gasped and daubed frantically at his sleep-stained eyes. Both the young Indian and Dick laughed at the young Scotchman’s astonishment.
“How did you get here?” asked Sandy, finding his voice.
“I swim across the river,” grinned Toma.
“What’s that! Across the river!” Sandy’s eyes grew wide.
“Yes, that’s what I do. River cold and swift, but me, I think pretty sure I make it.”
“He arrived here in the middle of the night,” explained Dick. “It was about an hour after you woke me up to relieve you for guard duty.”
Sandy looked out at the river that swirled and rolled along northward. At the point where Toma had crossed, it was over half a mile wide. Its waters were swift and as cold as ice. A remarkable feat even for an expert.
All the boys were happy and in high spirits when they embarked in the canoe an hour later and resumed their journey upstream. Though it was hard work to paddle incessantly against the strong current, it was nevertheless a welcome relief after the days they had spent in travelling on foot. All day they sweated at their task. They were miles away from Wolf Brennan and his party by the time that night fell. They were turning in towards shore to make camp, when Toma, who was sitting in the bow, suddenly sang out:
“Canoe! Canoe! I see ’em canoe!”
Instantly Dick and Sandy straightened up, their eyes almost staring from their heads.
“Where?” they demanded in one voice.
“Oh, I see it now!” Sandy shouted. “Hold into mid-stream Toma, so we’ll meet him. Small canoe. Just one man. Wonder who it is?”
The canoe and its lone occupant drifted toward them. Closer and closer it came. The man, industriously plying his paddle, took form. Dick’s heart leaped and he suddenly went weak all over. He recognized the garb of that lonely traveller. No mistaking that broad-brimmed hat and scarlet coat. A mounted policeman! All of the boys had become so breathlessly interested in trying to determine the identity of the occupant of the canoe that he was within two hundred yards of them before any of them spoke again. Then, suddenly Dick raised his paddle and waved a frantic, hilarious greeting.
“Corporal Rand!” he shrieked.
The policeman had never received a more spontaneous and noisy welcome. The three chums howled and shrieked. They rent the air with their huzzas. In the stern, Sandy laughingly reached out, caught the prow of Rand’s canoe and both crafts floated down stream nearly fifty yards while they exchanged greetings. Then, as if moved by a common impulse they swerved to the left and presently disembarked at the edge of a sand-bar projecting out from shore.
“I never expected to meet any of you here,” stated the corporal, pulling up his canoe. “Thought you were all over at Fort Good Faith. In fact, I sent a letter over there less than a week ago, asking you to meet me at Half Way House.”
“You did?” gasped Dick and Sandy.
“Yes, and I was disappointed when you didn’t show up.”
Dick’s expression was one of amazement.
“Didn’t Factor Frazer tell you where we had gone?” he demanded.
“Why no. Did he know?”
“Certainly he knew.” There was an angry quaver in Dick’s voice. “He was the one that sent us up here.”
“Did you let him know that you expected us from Fort Good Faith?” inquired Sandy.
The corporal nodded.
“And he said nothing?”
“Not a word.”
In jerky, angry sentences, Dick told Corporal Rand of the dinosaur and of the incidents leading up to their journey to the island of the granite shaft. Out of breath at last, he paused and Sandy took up the narrative where he left off, relating in the minutest detail everything that had happened subsequent to their departure from the island. Rand listened without once asking a question or making a comment. Even after Sandy had finished, he sat silent and thoughtful, the toe of one boot tracing patterns in the sand.
“Why don’t you laugh?” asked Sandy.
Corporal Rand straightened up. “Laugh? What for?”
“Why, at the beautiful joke Factor Frazer played upon us.”
Corporal Rand’s brows knit and his mouth tightened.
“It doesn’t impress me as being particularly amusing.”
“What do you make of it all?”
The policeman raised his eyes toward the young Scotchman and half smiled.
“I’ll be perfectly frank. I haven’t the least idea.”
“Can you imagine what we have done to incur their enmity—Factor Frazer’s, Wolf Brennan’s and Toby McCallum’s?”
“No.”
“When I first saw you, do you know what I thought?” inquired the young leader of the trio.
“No. What did you think, Dick?”
“I thought perhaps you had guessed that we were in trouble and had come to our rescue.”
Corporal Rand shook his head. “No, I am on patrol duty.”
“But why did you wish to meet us at Half Way House?” persisted Dick.
“That’s a different story. The police have another little job for you.”
“What is it?” the boys inquired in unison.
“Wanted you to go over to Caribou Lake to investigate a rumor.”
The three boys gathered more closely around the policeman.
“What rumor?” asked Dick.
Corporal Rand rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“It concerns a certain Conroy Miller, a prospector who has been working up in that section. Miller has not been heard from since last fall. He sent word down to Ford Laird by an Indian that he proposed to trap all winter in the vicinity of Caribou Lake, where he had staked out a few mining claims, and asked Factor Goodwin to send out a quantity of supplies. On the first of December last year the Indian, who had brought in the message, and several companions with dog teams, took the supplies out to Miller and afterward returned, reporting that Miller had received them and wished to thank the factor for his kindly co-operation.
“Well, a few weeks ago a trapper, a German named Lutz, reported to the Fort McKenzie detachment that he had passed through the Caribou Lake region and had stopped at Miller’s cabin. He reported that the cabin was well stocked with provisions but that no one was there. In fact, there was every evidence that the cabin had not been tenanted for months. Dishes were on the table just as Miller had left them. In one corner of the room was a quantity of green fur and a pile of traps. Dust had settled everywhere, proving conclusively that Miller had not been at home for a long time.”
Corporal Rand paused for a moment, then resumed.
“Lutz, who is an honorable fellow in every way, became frightened, jumped to the conclusion that Miller had met with an accident and searched the vicinity in an attempt to find the prospector’s body. Unsuccessful in this, he proceeded straight to McKenzie Barracks and reported the matter to us.”
“Are you on your way there now?” Dick cut in.
“Yes. I wanted you boys to go along to help search for the body. When you failed to meet me at Half Way House, I started on alone.”
“You hold to the Lutz theory then, that he met with an accident while trapping?” interrogated Sandy.
“We have come to no definite conclusions yet. We may find his body there and we may not. If we don’t, I propose to follow up another lead, that he has met with foul play.”
“Foul play?” cried Dick.
“Yes, it is possible. There are many rumors floating around about him. Nothing tangible yet. However, there is one thing we have made a note of. On April third, an Indian named Henri Karek claims he met Miller on the trail between Thunder River and Lynx Lake. He stated further that Miller was in the best of health and carried a good grub supply. His destination, he told the Indian, was Fort Laird.”
“Wonder if the Indian really met him,” mused Dick.
“He met someone by the name of Miller,” replied the corporal, “but whether it was our man or not is a debatable question. Since then other stories have been circulated, most of them, I fear, without foundation. If it was really Conroy Miller that Karek met on the trail, he never reached his destination. That much I have found out by making inquiries at Fort Laird.”
The corporal paused abruptly, regarding the boys through half closed lids. Dick wondered what he was thinking about.
“How long since you left the dinosaur’s island?” the policeman suddenly inquired.
“Just two weeks ago today,” Sandy replied.
“You’ve had an unusual experience. Went hungry, didn’t you? Looks as if you’d been living on a diet of fish and no mistake. Honestly, Dick, I believe you’ve lost ten pounds.”
“I think I have,” came the unconcerned rejoinder.
“Wolf and McCallum will have to answer for this some day, but I don’t want to do anything now. We’ll give them plenty of rope and see if they won’t eventually hang themselves. Now about that pseudo-wildman you spoke of, I can’t seem to place him—unless it’s old Bill Willison, an eccentric trapper who used to live in the vicinity of Fort Laird.”
“That’s who it is!” Dick exclaimed. “I remember now. They called him Willison.”
“Too bad he’s fallen into their net. He’s not a vicious character and would harm no one if left alone. The old man is as rugged as the hills and they say as old as Methuselah. If he has joined Brennan’s party, it was under compulsion. Of that I feel sure. No doubt, the canoe you have belongs to him.”
“Does the old man wander around sometimes just dressed in furs and without any shoes or moccasins?”
Rand laughed. “Yes. The other clothes you saw him in, he wears only when he goes to a trading post for supplies. In his own natural habitat, old Willison is almost as wild as he looks.”
“Then Brennan and McCallum sent him to frighten us?” asked Sandy.
“Undoubtedly.”
Toma edged closer, waiting for a chance to break into the conversation. Corporal Rand noted his look.
“Yes, Toma, what is it?” he asked kindly.
The young Indian put his hand to his stomach and grinned.
“If you got some tea, corporal,” he hinted, “I like ’em get your kettle and put some water over the fire. No taste tea for over two weeks.”
“Just fish and rabbits,” grunted Sandy.
“And don’t forget the clams and porcupine,” appended Dick.