“Wait until I go. First of all, I’d like to be sure about the ponies. Unless you have them, you’ll never be able to get over to Wandley’s in time to meet Pearly.”
“Sandy and I have a pony each,” Dick assured him. “They’re out in the stable now with four others, which belong to Factor MacClaren. We’ll pick out one of Mr. MacClaren’s horses for Toma. If you say the word, we can saddle-up and be away from here in less than fifteen minutes.”
“That’s the spirit!” Corporal Rand declared. “However, it will not be necessary for you to start as soon as that. I think you’d better remain for about three-quarters of an hour after I leave. It might be a good idea to take emergency rations and an extra blanket or two. In eight or ten hours there may be a decided change in the temperature. It is always best to be prepared.”
The mounted policeman tip-toed softly over to the table, struck a match and re-lit the lamp.
“Now, Dick,” he spoke hurriedly, “I’m going to leave you. In a very few minutes I’ll be hitting the trail. I want you to remember everything I’ve told you—but above all, be cautious and careful. When the time comes, wake Sandy and Toma and make as little noise as possible. Unless it is absolutely necessary, don’t disturb Factor MacClaren.” He turned and held out his hand. “Good-bye, and good luck to you!”
“Good-bye,” said Dick, accompanying the corporal as far as the door. “I hope everything goes well with you.”
A moment later, the door had closed behind the trim, athletic figure and Dick was left with his mind whirling confusedly. The events of the night, incident following incident so closely, formed a chaotic picture, which passed in review before his weary eyes. With difficulty, he stifled a yawn at the same time looking a wee bit covetously at the clean, white bed at the far side of the room.
“I’ll wait here for ten or fifteen minutes before I steal over to wake Toma and Sandy. Gee, I’m so tired I don’t even dare to sit down.”
He began a restless pacing back and forth across the room, occasionally glancing up at the little clock that stood on a shelf near the door. The minutes seemed interminable. A cold sweat broke out upon his face, his hands twitched nervously.
“Still five minutes more,” sighed the impatient young man. “This suspense is terrible. I hope—”
A slight noise in the hallway outside riveted his attention. He swung about on his heel, took a few steps forward, then stood stock still, shaking with excitement. It seemed as if some ghostly hand was opening the door. Slowly, a few inches at a time, it swung on its hinges, and presently the bearded, uncouth face of Murky Nichols appeared through the aperture.
“Stayin’ up kind o’ late, ain’t yuh?” he drawled out in an insinuating voice.
Dick’s two hands went up to his chin. He made a gesture of pain.
“I’ve been up all night with this pesky toothache,” he said a little shakily. “Nothing that I can do has seemed to help very much.”
Murky pushed his way into the room, his evil mouth twisted into a sneer. At the same time, Dick dropped back, edging his way over near the table, where his rifle stood. Murky’s voice broke an interval of silence.
“I shore feel sorry for yuh, young feller,” he grimaced. “Toothache ain’t no fun. Ain’t anything I can do, is there?”
“No,” answered Dick, “it will stop aching presently, I hope. Thank you, just the same.”
As he spoke, he glanced furtively at the clock. It was now twenty minutes after one—time to wake Sandy and Toma. In less than half an hour they were due to start for the Wandley post. His problem now was to get rid of Nichols. On some pretext or other he must induce Murky to leave the room. But how?
Dick groaned inwardly as the prospector yanked forward a chair and sat down. All the while his black, penetrating eyes were studying him closely. His manner and expression showed only too plainly that he was not in the least deceived by Dick’s lie.
“If I can’t help yuh, I can keep yuh company,” he remarked, his thin lips curling up at the corners in a faint indication of a smile.
“O, no, that won’t be necessary,” Dick hastened to tell him. “You must be tired yourself. It has stopped paining me a little now and I think I’ll pop into bed. You’d better go to your own room, Murky.”
With exasperating slowness, Nichols fumbled in a pocket for tobacco and pipe. He stretched out his long legs at the end of a few minutes, puffing contentedly. Evidently, he had no intention of moving just then.
Dick glanced at the clock again. He had grown desperate—and angry. Back and forth he paced, one hand held to his chin, trying to think of some way in which he might outwit the imperturbable prospector. Anger, finally, overcame his caution and he stopped short in front of the lanky, indolent form.
“I’ll have to ask you to get out,” he heard himself saying. “I’m going to bed.”
Nichols looked up into Dick’s indignant face, grinned exasperatingly, and rose lazily to his feet.
“Well, all right, if yuh say so. I jes’ happened to see your light under the door an’ I thought I’d drop in. Feel kind o’ nervous myself after what happened this afternoon. Don’t care atall ’bout goin’ tuh bed. Guess I’ll walk up an’ down the hall fer a while.”
Still grinning, he opened the door and went out. That he actually intended to remain in the hallway for a time, there could be no doubt. His suspicions had become aroused and he had shown by his actions that he was frankly skeptical of Dick’s story. Standing guard outside, he had his youthful suspect almost as completely under surveillance as if he had remained in the room.
Dick bolted and locked his door and made ready for his departure. Then he blew out the light and sat down on the edge of the bed—waiting! Tears of rage and exasperation welled into his eyes. They were delayed now—and no immediate prospect of a start. How long would Nichols keep watch in the hallway? Dick gritted his teeth and swore vengeance upon the wily outlaw.
The wind, rattling at the window, suddenly gave him an idea. The window! Funny he hadn’t thought about that before! It would be a simple task to raise the sash and slip around the building to Sandy’s and Toma’s room. Once there he would tap lightly on the pane outside until Toma, ever a restless sleeper, would come to admit him.
A grim smile played around the corners of his mouth as he thought about Murky standing guard just outside his door to prevent his escape. He was half-chuckling to himself as he tugged at the sash there in the darkness. It went up with only a slight squeak, and Dick slipped through the opening with a wildly exultant heart.
Hurrying around the house, a few moments later he stood just outside the sleeping boys’ window. With his bared knuckles, he wrapped softly on a square of glass, continuing intermittently until a shadow appeared on the opposite side, and a sleepy voice demanded to know what was the matter.
“Open up!” Dick called softly.
Toma complied willingly enough, and it was not long before Dick stood within the room.
Whispering a word of warning to the young Indian guide, he pulled a blanket from the bed and threw it down in front of the door. Then he lit the lamp. In night attire, rubbing his eyes sleepily, Toma regarded his friend in wonderment. What sort of trick was this? Dick’s and Sandy’s pranks were well known to him, and, judging from the broad smile that quickly lit up his usually mobile features, it was apparent that he believed that Sandy was to be made the victim of another practical joke. However, Dick hurriedly disillusioned him.
“No fooling this time, Toma,” he whispered into the Indian’s ear. “It may be a life or death matter. The police want our help. We haven’t a minute to lose.”
“What we do?” asked Toma.
“We’re to carry a message to Constable Pearly at Wandley’s post. It is nearly two in the morning now. We must get there before noon.”
“How we go so fast like that?” Toma wanted to know.
“Ponies,” answered Dick. “Wake Sandy up while I gather together a few things we may need. If Sandy starts talking before he is fully awake, shove a pillow in his mouth. Get busy! We’ll have to hurry!”
CHAPTER VII
WANDLEY’S POST
The boys reached Wandley’s Post shortly after twelve o’clock and just in time to intercept Constable Pearly, who had arrived early and was saddling up in preparation for his departure. Their ponies covered with mud and lather, Dick and his two companions dashed into the compound and came to an abrupt halt not twenty feet from the policeman himself, who had come rushing to the door of the stable at the first sound of clattering hoofs.
Dick stumbled from his mount and limped forward with the message in his hands.
“From Corporal Rand at Fort Good Faith,” he explained, presenting the letter. “I’m Dick Kent. These are my two friends, Sandy MacClaren and John Toma. At Corporal Rand’s request we rode over from Fort Good Faith this morning.”
The corporal acknowledged the introduction with a friendly smile and a hand-clasp for each of the three mud-bespattered messengers. Then he tore up the envelope. As he read its contents, a slight frown settled and overspread his face.
“This is important news. Thanks very much for bringing it over. I see that the three of you are to go with me.”
“Yes; that’s what we understood,” Dick replied.
Pearly rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“It’s only a few miles from here to our destination. You’ll have plenty of time to rest and get something to eat before we start.”
Sandy greeted this declaration with an exclamation of approval. The boys were ravenously hungry and so stiff and sore that they could scarcely walk. Loss of sleep and the hard ride from Fort Good Faith had worn Dick’s endurance to a shred. He was nearly tottering as he reached out for the bridle-reins of his pony and led the fagged and foot-sore little beast through the open door of the stable.
A few minutes later, having cared for their tired mounts, they accompanied Constable Pearly to Wandley’s trading room. Just outside the door, Dick, happening to glance through the window, drew back suddenly with a cry of surprise. Seated at one of the tables was the burly figure of La Qua, and immediately opposite, their heads bent forward in discussion, were the two half-breeds who had played such a conspicuous part in the affairs of the previous day. Dick seized Pearly’s arm, just as the latter reached for the latch-string.
“We can’t go in there, constable,” he declared excitedly, his voice hoarse and tremulous. “Quick! Let’s get away from here. If we step inside, it’ll spoil everything.”
In spite of Sandy’s remonstrances and the policeman’s puzzled and questioning look, Dick hurriedly led the way back to the compound before he could be induced to offer a single word of explanation.
“It’s La Qua,” he broke forth eagerly, “the man who will be in charge of the pack-train Murky is sending over to Blind Man’s Pass tonight. He was sitting in there at one of the tables. He’s already suspicious of me, and it would never do to meet him again now.”
“Are you sure it’s La Qua?” Pearly wished to know.
Dick nodded his head emphatically.
“Yes, I am sure. He was over at Good Faith yesterday—in fact, until one o’clock this morning—consulting with Murky Nichols. One of the two men with him is the half-breed Corporal Rand arrested for attempting to stab Nichols.”
“Stab Nichols!” Pearly’s face lit up with sudden interest. “I hadn’t heard about it. When did this happen?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Dick replied. “I thought perhaps Rand had mentioned it to you in his letter.”
“No,” answered Pearly, “he had too many other things to tell me. Most of his message was taken up with instructions which we are to follow as soon as we leave this post.”
Sandy’s dispirited face clouded still more as the moments passed. Unable longer to withstand the gnawing demands of his stomach, he stepped forward and demanded:
“What about something to eat? Just because that blamed outlaw is sitting in there, is no reason why we should all go hungry. Constable Pearly, isn’t there something you can suggest?”
“Certainly,” smiled the constable, “I can easily arrange that. But first we’d better find a more suitable hiding place than this.”
“What about the loft in the stable?” proposed Dick.
“As good a place as any,” Pearly decided, glancing across at Sandy’s wan and disconsolate features.
“I’ll hustle back to the trading room and purchase a few things for you to eat. While I’m doing that, the three of you can go up to the loft.”
The boys entered the barn and climbed the rickety ladder to the floor above. Crossing over to a large pile of hay, they flung themselves down to await the constable’s return. It was not long before he reappeared.
With a sigh of intense satisfaction, Sandy reached out for the packages Pearly had handed over and began dividing their contents.
“I had a good look at this man, La Qua, and the three half-breeds,” the policeman informed them. “From what little of their conversation I was able to overhear, it is evident that they are about to leave Wandley’s. They’ll probably proceed at once to Settlement Mountain.”
“Will they follow the same trail as we will?” asked Dick.
Constable Pearly nodded. “Yes, there’s only one route which leads off in that direction. They will go directly past the bend in the river, where we are to await the coming of Richardson and Rand. Our best plan is to remain here until La Qua and his two men leave. Then we can follow them leisurely. As I said before, we have only a few miles to go. I think we’d better not take our horses with us. I’ll make arrangements with Wandley himself to have them looked after.”
Pearly excused himself, and a short time later the boys could hear his measured tread across the frozen ground outside.
“He’ll keep a sharp eye on La Qua,” decided Sandy. “I don’t imagine the outlaw will stay here very long if they are really planning to set out with the pack-train tonight.”
“Constable Pearly him pretty good policeman,” said Toma.
“Yes, he’s the new man from the Peace River detachment,” Dick explained. “Corporal Rand spoke highly of him.”
Sandy yawned and stretched out his legs. Since eating, it was quite apparent that he felt much better. Eyes twinkling, he looked across at Dick.
“I’m beginning to feel like a new man myself. I’ll be ready to start any time. I honestly believe, Dick, that I’m going to enjoy this adventure almost as much as I would the trip to the coast. Hope nothing happens to prevent a change in the outlaws’ plans to start for the pass tonight.”
“I don’t believe anything is likely to occur now,” responded Dick. “La Qua seems to be very anxious to return to Settlement Mountain. I’ll be very much surprised if the pack-train doesn’t leave there soon after dark.”
The boys were so busily engaged in discussing the proposed trip that they did not hear Constable Pearly when he stole silently up the ladder and emerged to the loft. Dick turned quickly at the policeman’s approach, then started in surprise. The constable’s face was grave, his manner a little furtive. A slight frown had etched more deeply the lines in his forehead. As he came over to where the three boys sat, he raised a finger to his lips.
“I can’t understand it,” he whispered. “The two half-breeds have gone! But that isn’t all! Murky Nichols rode up to the door of the trading room a few minutes ago, and he and La Qua are conferring now just outside. I wonder what it means?”
Dick’s face fell. Here was an unlooked-for turn of events. A feeling of disappointment swept over him. So Murky had become alarmed and had left Fort Good Faith as soon as he had discovered that he, Dick, had eluded him. Was he here to instruct La Qua not to send the pack-train of stolen fur through the pass?
In as few words as possible, Dick informed Pearly of the incidents of the previous night, describing Murky’s suspicious attitude when he had forced his way into Dick’s room.
“Do you think,” he concluded, “that Nichols has come expressly for the purpose of warning La Qua?”
The constable folded his arms and stood for a short time, his brow wrinkled in thought.
“It is hard to guess what will be the outcome of this visit,” he answered finally, “or to know definitely Murky’s purpose. But it is easy to see that he came here on some matter of extreme importance. His horse nearly dropped from exhaustion as he rode in. Its flanks were steaming wet, spattered with mud, while under its belly were two horrible welts which the brute had inflicted with his spurs. At any other time, I would have arrested Murky on the spot for cruelty to a poor dumb animal.”
As he spoke, Pearly’s eyes flashed with indignation.
“He’s driven furiously all the way from Fort Good Faith,” he went on. “He would never have done that unless the occasion warranted the effort.”
“I guess we’d better remain in hiding,” trembled Sandy. “Do you think we’ll be safe here, constable?”
A ghost of a smile played across the policeman’s weather-tanned features.
“If you mean ‘safe from detection’—I doubt it. Sooner or later some one is certain to enter this loft and will find you here. Murky may lead his horse into the stable at any moment.”
“Even if he does, he may not come to the loft,” reasoned Dick. “There is plenty of hay piled up in the stable below.”
“But what about your ponies? Wouldn’t he recognize them?”
Dick and Sandy gasped in unison. Toma bounded to his feet with a guttural exclamation of dismay.
“Nichols be sure know ponies right away,” he declared excitedly.
“What do you think we’d better do?” Sandy quavered.
“Get your horses out of the stable as quickly as possible,” Pearly replied. “This young man here”—indicating Toma—“can give me a hand. Come on! We’ll have to hurry. You two,” motioning Dick and Sandy to remain seated, “will remain here. I’ll let you know just as soon as the coast is clear. I may possibly find another hiding place.”
“They’ll take them out through the back door,” said Dick.
A noise below, followed by the creaking of a door, indicated to the boys that Constable Pearly and Toma were taking out the ponies. Soon after another sound came from the front of the building. Almost immediately, Dick heard someone walking across the stable floor and the gruff voices of La Qua and Nichols.
Although they listened intently, neither Dick nor Sandy could hear any of the conversation. The rumbling tones died away presently. A tense moment had passed. Sandy rose and tip-toed across the loft, endeavoring to peep out through a narrow slit between the logs. He was about to turn to come back, when he became visibly excited, motioning frantically to his chum.
“La Qua has taken out his horse!” he whispered breathlessly to Dick, as soon as the other had joined him.
“Is Murky going with him?” asked Dick.
Sandy stepped back to permit the other to look through the tiny aperture.
“No,” he answered. “From the look of it, Murky intends to remain here. La Qua is probably going on to Settlement Mountain.”
Dick caught sight of a fleeting roan, upon which was astride the slouching, unkempt figure of La Qua. Then abruptly he was startled by the sound of the door of the stable creaking open again, and a few moments later, heavy steps upon the ladder, leading to the loft.
For one brief moment, Dick’s heart leaped to his throat. Had Murky Nichols learned of their presence there? Or was it Constable Pearly and Toma? He and Sandy stood shaking with suppressed excitement, their eyes riveted on the trap-door. Both breathed a sigh of relief as the flushed face of the mounted policeman appeared through the opening. Behind him, came Toma. Dick and Sandy rushed forward excitedly to meet them.
“Do you think La Qua is going on to Settlement Mountain?” Dick asked.
The constable paused to brush the dust from his tunic. A thoughtful expression shadowed his face.
“This thing is getting more and more complicated,” he finally broke forth. “I don’t know what to make of it. If La Qua has really gone on to Settlement Mountain in anticipation of the trip tonight, I can’t understand why Nichols did not accompany him.”
“Perhaps he is here to watch our movements,” said Dick. “He may have heard of our arrival.”
Pearly compressed his lips and looked searchingly at the three boys.
“Did any one see you when you rode up?” he demanded.
Sandy and Dick both shook their heads, but Toma—it was quite apparent—had important information to impart.
“I see ’em two fellows walk away from compound just when we ride up,” came his startling revelation. “Me no sure, but I think mebbe one fellow him white man.”
“Where did they go?” snapped Pearly.
“Don’t know,” answered the young Indian guide. “When we get close I see ’em no more. Mebbe they walk around building and go in trading room.”
A deep silence followed this last statement. Pearly regarded Dick with questioning eyes. Sandy rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Do you suppose that it was La Qua and one of the half-breeds, and that they recognized us?”
The constable made an impatient gesture.
“This is all conjecture and will get us nowhere. We have no way of determining whether the outlaws know you are here or not. The thing to do is to assume that they haven’t seen you, and lay our plans accordingly. Toma and I have staked out the ponies about a hundred yards from here in a shallow coulee that slopes down to the shore of Settlement House River. Your next move will be to get over there without Murky seeing you.”
“But what will we do with the ponies now?” Sandy interposed.
“I’m coming to that. As I previously informed you, I had intended to ask Wandley to look after them. That is out of the question now with Nichols here. They must remain hidden from his inquisitive eyes—kept out of sight entirely. The only thing I can think of just now is to take them with us to the meeting place near the bend of the river.”
The constable paused for a brief moment before he resumed:
“Please listen to me closely. I’m going back to the trading room and strike up an acquaintance with our friend, Mr. Nichols. I’ll engage him in conversation for ten or fifteen minutes. That will give you plenty of time to make your way to the coulee undetected. Wait for five or six minutes after I go before you leave the loft.”
“When we get to the coulee,” inquired Dick, “we’re to wait for you. Is that the understanding?”
“Yes,” nodded Pearly, turning to go, “I’ll rejoin you there in half an hour. I’ll ride my own horse over.”
Without further word, the policeman disappeared through the opening again, much to the amusement of Sandy.
“He must be tired climbing up and down that ladder,” he grinned. “Is this the fourth or the fifth time he’s been up here?”
“This is no joking matter,” Dick reproved him. “Sandy, I’ve left my watch at home. Have you got yours?”
“Yes,” answered Sandy, feeling in his pocket.
“Better hold it in your hand until the time comes for us to slip away from here.”
Sandy followed out the suggestion with alacrity. Silence fell over the little party, a silence so deep that Dick could have sworn that he could hear the faint ticking of his chum’s watch. An interminable period seemed to have passed before Sandy raised his arm.
“Time to go!” he whispered eagerly.
CHAPTER VIII
THE AMBUSCADE
Toma led the way to the coulee where the ponies were picketed. On the road thither they had met no one, and were in consequence in high spirits as they pushed forward through the trees, entered the draw, and came finally to the screen of thicket beyond which the horses munched contentedly on the dry grass covering the space around them.
Dick noted with deep concern that the wind had veered round more to the north and that the weather had become appreciably cooler. As yet there was no hint of a storm. Scarcely a cloud could be seen across the blue expanse of sky.
Sandy drew his coat more tightly about him and sat down in the shelter of a small thicket, while Dick and Toma began a restless pacing back and forth in the cleared space near the ponies. They were thus occupied when the sound of clattering hoofs heralded the approach of Constable Pearly.
A moment later he drew up in front of them, smiling down cheerily.
“I guess we might as well start,” he declared.
“As soon as you boys have saddled up, we’ll strike off along the Settlement River trail. We have plenty of time and can proceed slowly.”
The boys hastened to obey. Presently they drew away from the coulee, keeping well within the shelter of spruce and jack-pine bordering the river. A few hundred yards farther on they picked up the faint thread of a trail, which soon brought them to the main travelled road. Here, two abreast, Constable Pearly and Toma in the lead, they jaunted leisurely along.
Conversation lagged. For some unknown reason, the little party rode under a cloud of dejection. Pearly’s face had become set and stern; Sandy slumped in his saddle; Toma’s eyes wandered furtively from side to side; while Dick himself was obsessed by a sense of foreboding. This feeling persisted as they continued slowly on their way. Strive as he would against it, he could not shake off the thought of impending disaster. It was as if the gray spectre of some great trouble followed in their rear.
Dick wondered if this unpleasant phantasm had come as the result of his nervous strain and lack of sleep, or if it was really a warning. Ought he to tell Constable Pearly? Pressing his heels against his pony’s flanks, he cantered up behind the policeman for the purpose of doing so, but on second thought decided against it. Pearly would probably laugh at him and with just cause, for his fears were groundless. It was folly even to think about it. He must endeavor to get a better grip of himself.
A moment later, he wished he had acted upon his first impulse. The constable suddenly threw his hands high in the air and dropped from his saddle. The reverberating report of a rifle, a puff of smoke from the side of the trail, the fleeting glimpse of someone hurtling away through the underbrush—all were vivid impressions, indelibly traced across Dick’s mind. With a snort of fear, his horse had thrown himself back so abruptly that its rider had nearly become unseated. Dick sprang to the ground just as Toma, who had already dismounted, stooped over Pearly’s prostrate form.
“Is he dead!” gasped Dick.
Sandy rode up, his cheeks ashen with horror, a revolver gripped in one trembling hand.
“The half-breed!” he faltered. “The same man who tried to stab Nichols. I saw him!”
“The yellow, despicable cur!”
As he spoke, Dick placed two hands gently under the constable’s broad shoulders, and supporting the wounded man’s head against his own body, raised the limp, but still breathing, form to a more upright position.
“He may be mortally wounded,” he declared in a stricken voice. “We must do something quickly. We’ll have to take him back to Wandley’s post.”
Toma quickly unbuttoned the policeman’s tunic. A red stain colored the cloth beneath. With his hunting knife, the young guide slit open the shirt and undergarment, revealing the wound itself—a dangerous one, a few inches below the right arm-pit.
As Dick well knew, every member of the mounted police force was required to carry a first-aid kit. Acting upon this knowledge, he and Toma hurriedly went through the stricken man’s pockets until they discovered the object of their search. Absorbent cotton, bandages, adhesive tape and a small bottle of disinfectant were yanked out of the container and placed in handy proximity. Toma began the work of dressing the wound with the calm deliberateness of an experienced surgeon. At the end of a few minutes he straightened up, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Mebbe by do that we help save his life,” he murmured hopefully. “Next thing—how we get him back to Wandley’s? Constable Pearly him too big to tie on horse. What you think?”
The boys looked from one to the other in dismay. How indeed, was this imperative task to be accomplished. Dick thrust his hands disconsolately in his pockets, unable to think of any adequate plan. Sandy dismounted and strode forward.
“Do you suppose that we could place him on one of the smaller ponies,” he suggested, “and support him by riding on either side—three horses abreast? It seems to be the only way. We could link our arms in his and drive carefully.”
Dick and Toma remained thoughtful for a moment, considering Sandy’s plan.
“It may work,” Dick decided. “At any rate, we must do something quickly.”
To raise the limp and heavy figure to the saddle proved to be a difficult task. The ponies snorted and swung back. Dick was almost in despair before they finally succeeded in getting the wounded man in place and had made a start for Wandley’s post. He rode on one side of the policeman and Toma on the other. Long before they had traversed the first few hundred yards, their arms ached from the burden. Also some difficulty was experienced in keeping the ponies together.
In places, where the trail narrowed down to a mere foot-path, they were compelled to break the close formation. At such times, one of the boys would be compelled to dismount and support the figure from the ground until the road again grew wider.
Altogether, it was a sorry and dejected group that made its way back over the selfsame route they had come only a few minutes before. In the twinkling of an eye, the carefully laid plans of Corporal Rand had miscarried. Their hopes had gone glimmering. Murky Nichols had shown his hand. One of Dick’s greatest worries just now was that the crafty outlaw himself would soon witness their arrival at the post.
Moving along carefully, their arms and shoulders aching from the strain put upon them, they came at last within sight of Wandley’s. As they emerged upon the small prairie, at the far side of which the post was situated, they came directly in the path of a sharp “northwester.” The smiling sky of an hour previous had become leaden with menace. Dun, metal-colored clouds scudded before the wind. The horizon, black and threatening, indicated only too plainly the approach of a storm.
They rode up to the door of the trading room in a dispirited silence. A curious group gathered about them. Anxiously, Dick scanned the unfamiliar faces, expecting to see that of Murky Nichols. But the outlaw was not there. Willing hands assisted them in lifting Pearly down from his precarious seat and help carry him within. The solicitous figure of Wandley himself presently pushed forward through the crowd.
“Mon Dieu! What has happened?” cried a voice.
“A policeman!” gasped Wandley, his good-humored face suddenly gray with concern. “Who shot him?”
Sandy mumbled something under his breath. Dick turned his head and looked up appealingly into the horrified eyes of the free trader.
“Will you help us out, Mr. Wandley? Constable Pearly’s condition is serious.”
Wandley took in the situation at a glance. He was a man of action. In an incredibly short space he had placed a room at the policeman’s disposal, and in various ways assisted in making him comfortable. A short time later, the three boys followed Wandley to the trading room, where they told the story of the ambuscade.
The free trader listened with rapt attention. A stolid, heavy-set man, known throughout the North for his honesty and sincerity of purpose, he showed by his manner and expression unmistakably what he thought of the outrage.
“Who do you suppose could have been guilty of such a dastardly attack?” he asked at the conclusion of the boys’ recital. “Did you see the person who fired the shot?”
Sandy was about to tell Wandley of his suspicions, when Dick silenced him with a look. Other persons were within hearing and might carry the information to Nichols.
“No,” he lied deliberately, “we haven’t the faintest idea. Sandy, here, thought he caught a glimpse of a person running in the underbrush shortly after the shot was fired. But we have no knowledge of his identity.”
Wandley turned sympathetic eyes upon his three informants.
“I’ll see that everything possible is done for Pearly,” he promised them. “I’m sending over to the Indian village for a native doctor who has often proved to be very good in cases of this kind.”
The boys thanked the free trader and turned to go. They still had time to reach the bend in the river before the coming of Sergeant Richardson and Corporal Rand. Their own ponies were waiting outside. At the door, moved by a sudden impulse, Dick pressed Sandy’s arm significantly, then hurried back to Wandley’s side.
“May I have a word with you for a moment?” he inquired meaningly.
The free trader started back in surprise.
“Why certainly. What is it?”
Motioning the other to follow, he led the way to an inner room, which served as Wandley’s office.
“Now what’s the trouble, my boy?” he asked.
Dick stood awkwardly, cap in hand, a little confused, a little doubtful whether, after all, it would be good policy to ask the question now uppermost in his mind. Wandley seemed to sense the young man’s difficulty. He patted Dick’s arm.
“Don’t be afraid to speak up, if it is anything of importance,” he said reassuringly. “You can trust me absolutely.”
Dick smiled across at the grizzled, earnest face.
“All right, Mr. Wandley, there is something I want to know.”
“What is it?”
“Did you see Murky Nichols here an hour or two ago, when he arrived here at the post?”
“Yes,” Wandley unhesitatingly replied. “He rode in here like a dozen furies shortly after one o’clock. But he’s gone now.”
“So he’s really gone?” Dick breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes,” answered the free trader, wondering what his young interrogator was driving at.
“How long since he left?” came the next question.
“Not more than fifteen or twenty minutes ago. He was hardly out of sight before you came in with Pearly.”
“Which trail did he take?”
“The one to Fort Good Faith.”
Dick stepped forward and pressed the huge hand of the free trader.
“Thank you very much. I’ll explain sometime, Mr. Wandley, but I’ll have to hurry now. We’ll stop in to see you on our return.”
Saying which, Dick hurried through the door, crossed the trading room and quickly rejoined his two friends outside.
CHAPTER IX
THE MEETING PLACE
Faint flecks of snow were falling as they took the first turn in the trail at top speed. The wind had increased in velocity. It had become a gale that bent the tops of the spruce and poplar, driving down a fine icy sleet through the trees. Toma raised anxious eyes to the lowering sky and presently shrieked out above the roar of the approaching storm:
“Big blizzard come pretty soon. How far we go before we get to bend in river?”
“It’s only a short distance,” Dick answered, yelling at the top of his voice.
At a brisk canter, they passed the place of the recent ambuscade, soon afterward following the trail across an open meadow in the very teeth of the storm. For a moment a white, driving curtain of snow almost suffocated them. Only with difficulty could they drive their ponies into it.
“We’re licked!” shouted Sandy. “I dread to think of waiting for anyone in this blizzard. The pack-train will never be able to start tonight.”
When they had gained the woodland again, it was almost impossible to make out their surroundings clearly. Overhead was a gray impenetrable blur. Within the shelter of the trees, when Dick, straining his eyes against the whirling particles of snow, endeavored to get his bearings, he could see scarcely fifty yards ahead. Somewhere off to the right was Settlement House River. Judging from the distance they had already come, they must be close to their destination right now.
Dick drew up his horse sharply, calling a halt. His two chums came closer.
“I think we’ve gone far enough,” was Sandy’s opinion, as they sat huddled on their tired mounts, looking into each other’s apprehensive eyes. “My suggestion is to leave the trail here and strike off to the right in the direction of the river. What do you think, Toma?”
The guide did not immediately reply. His face was calm and expressionless. There was no outward manifestation of his secret, inner emotions. Just then he was not thinking of the bend in the river at all. Indeed, he had become so absorbed in his own thoughts that he was scarcely conscious even of the presence of his two companions. At that particular moment his mind was concentrated on a matter of extreme importance. He gazed sombrely at the trail at their feet, across which, plainly visible in the freshly fallen snow, were the imprints of moccasined feet.
Only a few minutes before someone had passed that way. The quick mind of the guide reverted to the shooting of Constable Pearly. From ambush, a man had deliberately shot down the mounted policeman. Were these tracks, which he saw now, made by that selfsame man? Was the half-breed planning a second attack?
Toma did not wish to alarm Dick and Sandy needlessly. Yet he was possessed of a feeling—intuitive perhaps—that the near presence of the man boded no good to them. If it was the same person who had wounded Constable Pearly, it was reasonable to suppose that he would not hesitate to draw a gun upon them.
It was a predicament indeed—and one fraught with danger. The footprints led away in the same direction that Sandy now proposed to go. It would be foolhardy for the three of them to take a chance. Turning the problem over and over in his mind, Toma came to a decision.
“No use all three ride over an’ try find ’em place where we meet Sergeant Richardson. What you say I go alone? Sandy, you Dick stay here in shelter of bush. No take ’em me very long. If I find bend, I come back pretty quick an’ let you know.”
The young guide’s proposal did not meet with the instant approval that he had expected.
“No,” growled Sandy, “we can all go. What’s the use of staying here?”