“Exactly! He worked the same scheme on us,” Sandy cut in. “Say! What’s the matter with you, Toma?”
The injured boy raised his hand, commanding silence.
“Listen,” he said. “I think I hear somebody come up the stairs.”
Dick ran to the door and opened it. In the hallway outside was the young half-breed boy, whom Mr. Scott employed in various capacities.
“Yes, yes, Meschel, what is it?”
The boy’s eyes were round and staring.
“Mr. Scott here?” he cried. “Tell Mr. Scott to come quick. Fellow downstairs very drunk, try to break in through the window.”
“Who was he?” demanded the factor, who now stood immediately behind Dick. “But never mind, Meschel, I’ll be right down.”
He followed the half-breed below. Dick and Sandy joined him.
“Mr. Scott,” said Dick, “I think Meschel must be dreaming. Who would break in at this time of day? They don’t need to. All they have to do is to walk in through the front door.”
“So it would seem,” smiled the factor, “but after the many surprises we’ve received in the last few days, I’m prepared for anything. What window did they try to break in, Meschel?”
“Window at the back where you have your office,” the half-breed replied promptly. “Two women come in an’ buy some cloth an’ right after I hear some noise that seem like it come from your office. Just as soon as I open the door, a man standing in front of the window outside, put down the screen an’ run away. Screen lying on ground now. You see that for yourself.”
It was just as Meschel had told them. Making their way into the little office, the factor, Dick and Sandy stood looking at the evidence of the marauder’s recent visit.
The factor turned to Meschel. “You must have seen who it was.”
“Not sure because I was very much scare.”
“Come now, Meschel, you know better than that. If he stood just in front of the window facing you, you could easily identify him. You’ve already told me that he was drunk. If you had that much eye for detail, surely you can give me a description of him.”
The half-breed blinked and a slow flush of embarrassment mounted his swarthy face.
“Yes, Mr. Scott, I know who it was. But I’m ’fraid tell you because you go make that fellow trouble an’ afterward sometime he come kill me.”
A slight frown of perplexity appeared upon the factor’s thoughtful brow.
“What’s that, Meschel? You know who it is and won’t tell me? You’re afraid of the consequences?”
“I tell you,” whimpered Meschel, “but I am very much ’fraid. Pierre Mekewai—that’s the fellow I see.”
Mr. Scott swallowed heavily, commenced pacing back and forth. His face was touched with pallor. He stopped before Dick and Sandy.
“Frazer’s work! Now what do you suppose he was up to?”
The disclosure acted upon Dick like a cold shower. He stood with lips pressed, staring at the screen outside. Near him, Sandy clenched his fists convulsively.
“Mr. Scott,” asked Dick at length, “have you any way to bar the windows? It may be Frazer’s intention to burn down the post.”
“Not in broad daylight, surely. No, I think that more likely what they were after were the company’s books. Another thing, as Frazer knows, we often keep money in this room, valuable papers and accounts. It would be a serious loss to this post if we should lose them. All the records dealing with transactions with our fur customers are here. However, your suggestion to bar the windows is a good one. I’ll send for the blacksmith at once.”
“From now on,” said Dick, “we’d better keep close watch day and night.”
The factor nodded. “Two night watchmen armed with rifles. You and Sandy can help me during the day.”
It was well that these precautions were taken. That same night, two Indians, hired for the positions for night watchmen, repulsed three efforts on the part of Frazer’s men to gain admittance. So persistent were these attempts to enter the post, that Dick began to believe that something even of more value than the company’s records were at stake. At ten o’clock on the following morning, he and Mr. Scott were discussing this phase of it, when a young half-breed bolted through the open door of the trading room, shouting wildly.
“Fire, Meester Scott! The warehouse eet ees burn! Come queek!”
The factor tore around the end of the counter, his eyes blazing like two lamps.
“My God!” he cried. “The fur! Thousands of dollars worth waiting for shipment.” He raced to the door. “Come on!” he shouted.
The boys followed closely behind the racing form of the factor. They could see the fire now. Dense volumes of smoke curled up from the eaves of the building. As yet, no flame was discernible but the smoke was thick. They had almost reached the burning building, when suddenly Dick stopped. Through his mind there had flashed an appalling thought. The trading post was unguarded. Everyone had rushed to the fire. Hadn’t the warehouse been purposely set on fire with this end in view? For a moment, he watched Sandy and the factor racing on, then turned quickly and sprinted back to the trading room.
Purposely leaving the door open behind him, revolver in hand, he concealed himself behind the counter and waited. Through the door and open windows there came to him the frenzied shouts of the fire fighters. Even in the trading room he could detect the rancid smell of smoke. He wondered if he had been foolish in coming here when his assistance was so urgently required back there at the warehouse. He crouched low, his thought a conflicting whirl. Once he half started to his feet, deciding that his suspicions were groundless and that he must hurry to the aid of his comrades. But again he thought better of it and stooped still lower, breathlessly waiting.
A step sounded outside. Whispering voices, then the stealthy movement of feet across the floor. He gripped his revolver convulsively. He dare not look up for fear that he might be discovered. He did not wish to confront them yet. What were they here for? Why had they made those repeated attempts to break in?
The door of the factor’s office opened and closed. He could hear muffled voices in there, the faint shuffling of feet, the creaking of what sounded like a drawer. Stealthy as a cat, he rose to an upright position, tip-toed around the counter and, with desperate caution, made his way over to the door of the factor’s office. His hand stole tremblingly to the knob. Just before he closed over it, he heard a husky voice.
“Quick! Someone may come back any moment. It’s here! You take one and I’ll take the other.”
Steeling himself for the ordeal, Dick turned the knob and kicked the door open. A wicked, pock-marked face, with wolfish fangs bared, confronted him. Behind Henri Mekewai stood the figure of Donald Frazer.
“Make one move,” said Dick in a voice of deathly calm, “and I’ll blow your brains out.”
The renegade Indian snarled like a cornered beast. Frazer’s first spasm of fear was followed by a low cry of rage. His unsteady, sinister eyes squinted into Dick’s, then with a lightning motion his hand flashed toward his belt.
The room roared with the explosion. Frazer’s revolver clattered to the floor. He held up a bleeding hand, like one scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses.
“Next time,” Dick growled, “I won’t be so easy on you. Move back to the wall, Mekewai, if you make another move like that, I’ll shoot you where you stand. Stand back!”
Wincing with pain, the former factor hurriedly obeyed. The Indian followed him. As they did so, Dick’s gaze flashed to the open roll-top desk and on that instant his eyes popped.
There on the flat surface in front of him were two large leather pokes—prospector’s pokes, bulging with gold. At sight of them, his heart leaped. He was so startled and astonished at seeing them there, that for a period he was off guard. Perceiving the momentary laxing of vigilance, the Indian dove headlong, straight toward Dick, who, recovering his presence of mind, tried to slip to one side and fire at the same time. The revolver exploded harmlessly, the bullet crashing into the wall opposite. Hurled back through the door, Dick landed in a heap just inside the trading room, Mekewai on top of him. But even then, Dick had not lost the instinct of self-preservation. His opponent’s head was just above him and he struck out boldly with his clubbed weapon. Mekewai groaned, went limp and slipped to one side. Dick scrambled to his knees just in time to dive furiously for the speeding form of Frazer, who had bounded through the open office door.
It was a glancing tackle, yet it was almost sufficient to knock Frazer from the perpendicular. Crashing up against the wall, the fleeing man inadvertently dropped one of the pokes and was trying to reach it when Dick made a second lunge for him.
Almost cornered, Frazer leaped frantically straight over Dick’s head and darted for the door. A bullet whistled after him, missing him by a scant two inches.
Dick groped to his feet, stepped over the prostrate heap on the floor and stumbled back into the little office, where he picked up Frazer’s revolver. Then returning quickly, he got the poke Frazer had dropped, slipped both revolver and gold under the counter in the trading room and was just stooping down to examine the unconscious prisoner, when the door of the loft opened and Toma, his face flushed with excitement, staggered toward him.
“Dick,” he trembled, “What happen? You shoot this man—you——”
“Toma, get back to bed,” Dick interrupted whirling about, confronting his chum. “Don’t worry—everything all right—now. Frazer and Mekewai—I—I tried to capture both of them and—and Frazer got away. My fault too. I was careless.”
“Why they come?” the young Indian demanded, steadying himself by holding on to the counter.
“Gold! In the office, Toma. Frazer had it concealed there.”
Dick’s chum stood and stared incredulously.
“They get ’em?” he croaked.
“Part of it.”
Then, without explaining further, Dick strode over, procured a rope from the company’s stock and commenced binding up his unconscious prisoner.
Toma walked nervously to the door and peered out.
“No go back to bed,” he stated. “I stay up. Dick, you run get Sandy an’ try follow Frazer. Tell ’em factor I am here all alone to watch Mekewai an’ gold. Soon as factor get back here, then I go to bed.”
There was less smoke drifting in through the door now, an indication that the fire at the warehouse might be under control. But it would be some time before Scott, Meschel and Sandy returned. No doubt, they and others had taken a good deal of the fur from the warehouse to a safe distance outside. Dick was very anxious to know how the fight with the fire was progressing. Yet, he feared to leave the trading room, even for a moment, while the wounded Indian and gold were still there. Indeed, Dick half expected that Frazer would return with the second Mekewai brother and probably Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum. In such an event, Toma would be no match for them. By the same token, it was doubtful whether the combined efforts of himself and Toma would be sufficient to repulse them.
“You better go quick,” insisted Toma.
Dick turned beseeching eyes toward his valiant comrade.
“Toma, I can’t do it. I’m afraid. The minute I go through that door, they’ll be down upon you like a pack of wolves. Four against one—what chance would you have?”
Toma had started to protest, when Dick caught sight of an ominous glint of metal less than a hundred yards away. Without further adieu, he sprang forward and slammed the door, bolted and locked it. Then from the front window, he and Toma looked out toward the place where the former had seen the stealthy movement.
“Over behind that brush! Look!”
The young Indian drew in his breath sharply.
“I see ’em three men, Wolf, McCallum an’ Frazer.”
Alert, Dick stepped back. “Look out, Toma,” he jerked. “They may fire. What do you say we route them out of there? They don’t know yet that we’ve seen them. If you’ll stand guard here, I’ll run up to the loft and fetch our rifles.”
When Dick returned, Toma was still standing there.
“Have they gone yet?” he inquired.
“No.”
The boys fired three rounds at the screen of willows and presently the skulkers broke and fled precipitously. To Dick’s amazement, Toma continued to discharge his rifle.
“What’s the idea?” he snapped. “You can’t hit them now. Isn’t one chance in a thousand that a stray bullet will get to them.”
“That not why I shoot,” Toma informed him cooly. “Factor, Sandy, they hear noise. They come back.”
Dick grinned. “Yes, that is a good way to summon them. If the factor hears that, he’ll go frantic.”
And in truth the boys did not have long to wait. They heard voices outside, then, before they had time to open it, loud pounding on the door.
“Good gracious, Dick, what is going on here?” the factor shouted as he came into the room, quickly followed by Sandy and Meschel.
“Cracky!” Sandy’s eyes popped. “What’s that?” He stood staring at the now groaning form of Henri Mekewai.
“Frazer was here in your absence. So was that scum you see lying on the floor. There’s a secret compartment in the wall of your office and two pokes of gold were concealed there. I walked in upon them just as they were taking it from its hiding place. I was so surprised at seeing the gold that, even though I had them covered, I was off guard for a moment and the Indian leaped upon me.”
“And you shot him!” gasped Sandy.
“No, I struck him over the head when we tumbled to the floor. Previously, I had wounded Frazer in the hand when he tried to reach for his gun. During my struggle with Henri, Frazer seized the two pokes and started to rush by me. I grabbed for him and nearly upset him. He dropped one of the pokes, but in spite of all I could do, he escaped with the other.”
“But who were you shooting at just before we came?”
“Frazer and the two prospectors. They were returning to get the other poke. Did you succeed in saving most of the fur?”
“Some of it was badly scorched and ruined,” the factor informed him. “However, the fire is out now. I have placed Langley, the blacksmith, and two half-breeds in charge. The fire is of very mysterious origin. It broke out among the bales of fur in the back of the building. I believe now it was the work of an incendiary. No doubt, Frazer started it. When Sandy’s uncle drove him away from the post, he probably took one of the keys of the warehouse with him. Today when no one was looking, either he or one of his accomplices boldly entered, started the fire, then came out and locked the door.”
“There’s no question but what Frazer set the fire,” said Dick grimly. “I suspected it from the first. I followed you and Sandy almost to the warehouse, when it suddenly occurred to me that we had left the door to the trading room open and the place unprotected.” He paused and looked earnestly up into the factor’s face. “Can’t you see,” he went on, “that it was all of a prearranged plan? Unsuccessful in his efforts to get into your office, Frazer hit upon the very clever idea of firing the warehouse, knowing that all of us would rush out to the scene of the fire, leaving this place wholly unguarded.”
Mr. Scott thumped his two hands together and looked at Dick admiringly.
“You’re right. If it hadn’t been for you, they’d have succeeded.”
“You mean, they almost succeeded in spite of me. Don’t forget they got one of those pokes.”
The factor moved forward. “Show me the place where the gold was hid. You spoke of a secret compartment. I want to see it.”
Dick led the way into the little office and pointed at the gaping hole in the wall. When closed, the door of the compartment fitted so nicely into its place that, standing three feet away, it was almost impossible to tell where it was. To complete the deception, a calendar had been hung down over it from a nail in the wall.
“And you didn’t know a thing about that cabinet?” Surprised, Dick turned upon the factor.
“No, it’s a revelation to me.”
“I wonder from whom he stole the gold.”
Mr. Scott shook his head. “I can’t imagine. It’s all a mystery to me. In spite of the fact that I’ve been working here for nearly three years, I must confess to a complete ignorance of Frazer’s nefarious schemes. I always suspected, however, that he was dishonest and I had almost proved to my satisfaction that he was stealing from the company. It was no surprise to me, therefore, when Mr. MacClaren came over from Fort Good Faith to audit the books.”
Sandy had grown restless and impatient.
“Where’s the gold?” he demanded.
“Come on,” said Dick, leading the way, “and I’ll show you that too.”
Returning to the trading room, he stepped behind the counter, stooped and lifted up for their inspection both poke and gun.
“Do you suppose they’ll come back for it?” the factor inquired nervously.
“Of course they will. They won’t be satisfied with half of it. Just before you came over from the warehouse, they were preparing to rush the post.”
“What will be their next ruse,” puzzled Sandy.
“I don’t know but you may depend on it, they’ll think of some scheme. Frazer is a dangerous opponent. There is only one way that I can see to put a stop to this.”
“How?” Sandy and Scott inquired in one breath.
“Just this,” Dick gestured emphatically. “Assume the offensive ourselves. Instead of waiting for him to carry the fight into our territory, let’s go down and make it interesting for him.”
“Now I think you talk sense,” Toma’s eyes snapped.
“We’ll do it,” Sandy exclaimed excitedly.
“Right now,” Toma appended.
“You bet!” Sandy began dancing up and down. “I have an idea. We’ll recruit a little party and start out. There’s Langley, the blacksmith, and those two half-breeds down at the warehouse, Toma, Dick and myself. That makes six in all. Six against four.”
“Seven,” corrected a vibrant, musical voice.
Startled, every person in the room turned sharply and looked in the direction from which the voice had come. Dick gasped and reached out toward the counter for support.
There in the doorway stood Corporal Rand!
Corporal Rand immediately took charge.
“Now,” he said, “tell me all about it.”
He listened gravely to the story the boys told, while he sat there near the open doorway, through which there poured the hot sun of early afternoon. Bronzed and weather-beaten was the corporal, but hard as nails, a steel spring in action.
“Making merry in my absence, eh?” His eyes glinted as he spoke. “Where can I find these men?”
“You might find a few of them over at the Mekewai tepee,” replied Dick. “I do not know whether Frazer will be there or not. Toma says that the former factor occupies a cabin somewhere near the Old Mission road.”
“I’ll slip over to the tepee,” announced the policeman as calmly as if he spoke of entering the adjoining room. “If Wolf Brennan and McCallum are away with Frazer, I may be able to pick up the other Mekewai boy.”
“May I go with you?” asked Dick eagerly.
To Dick’s great disappointment, the corporal shook his head.
“No, I’ll go alone,” he smiled. “You can stay here and rest on your oars. I think you’ve done enough for one day, Dick, old chap. I may call upon you later. Now if you’ll tell me where I can find this Mekewai tepee, I’ll be ever so much obliged to you.”
“Turn down the bank to your right when you get to the boat landing,” instructed Dick. “It’s the fourth tepee.”
Corporal Rand rose, yawned and walked over to where Henry Mekewai lay trussed up on the floor. To Dick’s surprise, he spoke to him.
“Where’s your brother?” he demanded.
The Indian’s ugly, repulsive face twisted into a snarl at the sound of the voice. He did not know it was the policeman that spoke to him. His eyes, averted, gazed at the wall beside him.
“Where’s your brother?” persisted the quiet voice.
Henri Mekewai turned his head surlily and looked up. He started visibly. In common with other natives of that vast northern territory, he possessed an almost superstitious dread of anyone wearing that flaming red coat. Sudden terror leaped into his eyes.
“Where’s your brother?” the corporal asked for the third and last time.
“My brother he——” the Indian paused and moistened his dry lips.
“Yes, go on.”
“My brother in our tepee, I think. I not sure.”
“Where are Brennan and McCallum?”
“Find ’em in tepee,” answered the Indian like a parrot.
“Do they stay with you?”
“Yes.”
“And where does Frazer stay?”
“He stay in cabin two mile from Half Way House. Pretty close to Old Mission trail.”
Corporal Rand turned away.
“You’d better lock him up in a room somewhere,” he instructed Dick. “Take off these bonds. I may talk to him again later when I come back.”
Without further word, the policeman spun on his heel and clanked out, spurs rattling, his body very straight and trim and pleasing to the eye. He was absent just twenty minutes, by Dick’s watch. When he returned, two figures preceded him—Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum, a somewhat worried looking pair. They came shame-facedly into the room, slinking like two whipped curs. Gone was their blustering courage and cocksureness. Rand motioned them over to one side of the room a little disdainfully.
“Don’t try to move,” he ordered, “if you know what’s good for you. Mr. Scott, is the other prisoner locked up?”
“Yes, Corporal.”
“Do you think you can find a place for these two men?”
“In the office. The windows are barred.”
The policeman beckoned to the two prisoners, then strode forward and opened the door.
“Get in there,” he commanded.
Wolf Brennan and his partner lost no time in doing as they were told. The door was locked behind them.
“Now, Dick.”
“Yes, Corporal Rand,” Dick stepped forward.
“I’ll want you and Sandy to accompany me. We’ll get an early supper and leave here around seven o’clock. I think I know where Frazer’s cabin is. I propose to swing completely around it and come in from the opposite side. That will mean about six miles of steady tramping.”
“Why not go straight there?” asked Sandy.
“Because they may be on the lookout for us. They may be watching the road leading from the post. I want to surprise them.”
The corporal sat down in a chair while the three boys crowded around him.
“We’re all mighty glad you got back,” Sandy broke forth eagerly. “You certainly came at an opportune time. How did you manage to get here so quickly?”
“Because I didn’t go as far as I expected to,” Rand smiled. “It’s rather a long story, Sandy, and I don’t intend to burden you with it now. My destination, as you may remember, was Caribou Lake. However, I got no further than the lower waters of the Half Way River. I was drifting along one day, half asleep, when I saw a canoe approaching. The occupant of the little craft proved to be Jim Maynard, an old friend of mine. Jim is a trapper and prospector and has been working all winter up in the region of Caribou Lake. When I told him I was going up to Miller’s cabin, he seemed surprised. ‘You won’t find him there,’ he told me. He explained to me that he had visited at Miller’s cabin just two days before the latter left by dog team for the south. I asked if Miller had told him his destination. He replied that he had, Miller, it appeared, was going out to Fort Laird.”
“But he never got there,” Sandy interrupted.
“No, he never got there. Something happened to him en route. He might have lost his way in a storm and both he and his dogs perished.”
“So the mystery is still a mystery.”
The policeman nodded. “Time probably will solve it. Some day, I expect, a lone traveller wandering through the vast wilderness space south of Caribou Lake will run across his bleached skeleton. The north has many secrets,” he went on, half to himself, “many of which will never be solved.”
“I wish we could solve this mystery that surrounds Frazer,” put in Dick. “He had a good deal of gold hidden here, corporal. First we discover the place where he had it concealed in the basement, now we find the secret compartment in the little room. Of course, it is stolen gold. But from whom did he steal it?”
“Gold in the basement!” the policeman stared at Dick. “You didn’t mention that. So he had it there too?”
Dick nodded. “Very cleverly concealed just like it was in the office. Only in the cellar, instead of having a secret niche in the wall, he took up a portion of the plank flooring, dug a pit and hid it in there in burlap sacks.”
“Burlap sacks!” Rand looked incredulous. “That is very unusual. How do you know he had it in burlap sacks?”
“Because I saw them,” and Dick narrated the incidents of the night the Mekewai brothers broke into the trading room and descended to the cellar.
“You are really sure that they carried this gold in burlap sacks?”
“Yes, Corporal.”
“And you say the sacks were nearly full?”
“Why, yes,” Dick looked puzzled, wondering what the policeman was driving at.
“But how do you know it was gold they carried in those burlap sacks?”
“We didn’t, of course. We merely surmised that. It was something very valuable or they wouldn’t have been so anxious to get it.”
“I grant you that. But did you ever stop to consider how much a sack of gold, one of the heaviest metals, would weigh? And didn’t it ever occur to you that if a man had gold enough to fill a burlap sack, he’d be wealthy enough to afford a container a little more durable and dependable than burlap?”
“Why, I never thought of that,” Dick scratched his head.
“The inference is, that it wasn’t gold. Only a fool would put so precious a metal in burlap sacks.”
“Yes, that seems reasonable,” Dick smiled sheepishly. “But if it wasn’t gold, what was it?”
Corporal Rand laughed heartily.
“Now, my boy, you’re asking me a very difficult question. If we can find what they did with those sacks, I might be able to tell you.”
“I know what they did with those sacks,” Dick informed him.
“Very well, please tell me.”
“They buried them.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“We overheard one of the Mekewai boys tell Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum that they had buried the sacks in a safe place.”
“In a safe place,” mused the policeman aloud.
“Yes,” Sandy corroborated his chum, “those were the very words he used.”
Corporal Rand sat for a moment immersed in thought. Then suddenly he started to his feet.
“I think I’ll go in and have a talk with Henri Mekewai,” he said.
When Corporal Rand came out of the room in which Henri Mekewai was imprisoned, the boys met him in the hall outside.
“What luck?” asked Sandy.
“Not a word out of him,” Rand growled a little testily. “Couldn’t get him to admit that he had even taken the sacks out of the cellar. Claims that he knows nothing about it. I tried to frighten him, but it’s no use. The only way to get to the bottom of this is to find Frazer himself and force a confession.”
“It will soon be time now to start after him,” Sandy looked at his watch. “Ten minutes to six now. Supper is waiting for us in the dining room.”
“When we go, shall we take our rifles,” asked Dick.
“No, just our revolvers.”
On the way to the supper table, Toma swung in behind Corporal Rand, his face utterly disconsolate. Looking at him, one might have thought that he had just lost his nearest and dearest friend. His lower lip quivered. Unshed tears stood in his eyes. In the dining room, when Rand drew out his chair to sit down, Toma stood near him gulping.
“Corporal Rand.”
“Yes, Toma,”—kindly.
“Corporal Rand, I feel ’em much better now.”
The policeman turned his head and surveyed the drawn, haggard face.
“You certainly don’t look it. You ought to be in bed.”
“Tomorrow,” smiled the young Indian, “I take ’em off bandages.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Toma.”
A deep sigh. “Corporal Rand, I feel plenty strong go along you, Dick an’ Sandy.”
The policeman shook his head as he reached over and patted the young man’s arm.
“Like to have you, Toma. If you hadn’t been wounded. I’d say yes. You’re really in no condition to go.”
To the surprise of everyone, Toma swung on his heel and walked out of the room. Sandy’s face clouded.
“Poor devil!” he exclaimed. “That upset him so much he won’t even eat his supper.”
“It is hard on him,” sympathized Dick, looking down at his plate. “The minute you brought up the matter, Toma set his heart on accompanying us. It is a terrible blow to him. He loves action and wants to be in at the finish.”
“I appreciate all that, but you must remember that if he overtaxes himself, a thing which he is very apt to do, it is liable to cause complications. He still has a slight fever. Tell that by looking at him. Eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. No, boys, for his own sake, I can’t permit him to go.”
Not long afterward, Corporal Rand and the two boys left the trading post, hurrying away through the woods. They had slipped off so quietly and unobtrusively that few persons were aware of their going. Rand set the pace, walking with long, easy strides. Through dense thickets of alders, through the shadowed coolness of fir and balsam, across rippling green meadows of luxuriant grass, they made their way. Except now and then for a low order respecting their route, the policeman did not talk. Only the noises of the forest and the steady beat of their footsteps could be heard. Sandy was nervous and continually consulted his watch.
“Eight o’clock,” he finally announced to Dick. “Ought to be getting there pretty soon.”
On and on they tramped. Rand never hesitated. He seemed to be sure of his route. Dick knew they were swinging around in a wide arc, yet he marvelled at the policeman’s sense of location. When they plunged through the trees out to the Old Mission road, for the first time since their departure, he raised his hand commanding them to stop.
“We’re very close to their cabin now,” he explained in a low voice. “Straight north,” he pointed, “about three hundred yards. We will separate here and attempt to make our approach from three directions. Dick and I will start out, Dick to the right and I to the left and come upon them, if possible, coincident with your approach from the north, Sandy. You have the shortest distance to go, therefore you must proceed slowly. I hope to corner them in the cabin.”
The corporal paused. “Now is there anything you’d like to ask me?”
The boys shook their heads.
“Very well then, we’ll start. Don’t shoot unless it is absolutely necessary. Good luck!”
They separated in silence. Down the road Dick hurried, watchful as a lynx. The sunlight streamed aslant, a glare in his eyes, bright gold where it touched the leaves of the poplar. Swerving abruptly to his right when he had gone a distance of about two hundred yards, he darted in among the trees, zig-zagging to avoid clumps of underbrush, his right hand resting lightly on his hip close to the butt of his revolver. He made little sound as he advanced, and was actually preparing for a final sprint up to the cabin when, less than thirty feet straight ahead, he caught a flashing glimpse of a human figure.
Breathless, he stopped short, swung in behind a large tree and stood there trembling. To his ears there came the faint trampling of feet. A voice cracked across the stillness.
Suddenly, his heart almost stopped beating. They had halted just within the clump of bushes ahead, as though they had sensed his presence. Had they seen him? Fearful now, he yanked out his revolver, crouched closer to the tree and waited. Frazer’s harsh tones broke forth anew.
“I don’t care what you say, Pierre, it isn’t safe here. Sooner or later, someone may happen upon it.”
“I dig ’em down deep,” the Indian reassured him.
“Can’t help it. Too close to the post. Hundred places you might have chosen better than this. I tell you, someone is apt to stumble upon it.”
“You ’fraid,” accused the Indian.
Frazer’s voice rose angrily. “Yes, I am afraid, you black cut-throat, and you ought to be afraid too. Tonight we’ll dig it up and——”
“Ssh!” cautioned the Indian. “I think I hear something.”
Dick had heard something too—a slight crackling in the brush behind him and a little off to his right. A shiver of apprehension coursed down along his spine. Dizzy with weakness, he shrank still closer to the tree. Just then Pierre Mekewai plunged forward, his quick Indian eyes catching sight of Dick’s protruding arm. Firing from his hip, he darted back to cover. The bullet sliced the bark of the balsam. Dick heard the sound of running footsteps. A full half-minute passed.
“Stop!” commanded a voice some distance away, followed by the crack of a gun.
His heart pumping, Dick bounded from behind the tree, into the underbrush, believing that both Frazer and the Indian had fled. Too late he discovered his mistake. A blinding flash almost in his face, a sharp pain in his left arm, the distorted picture of the white fear-struck face of Frazer!
Carried forward by his own momentum, he collided with his opponent, striking up the arm that still held the smoking weapon. Grappling, they went down. The struggle was short and spirited.
“I’ve got you!” rumbled Dick, his hands fastened like leeches upon the other’s wrists. “Drop that gun!”
He was still holding Frazer when the policeman came running up. The corporal purloined the revolvers of both vanquished and victor. He assisted Dick to his feet.
“Good boy!” he breathed. “Hurt badly?”
Before Dick had time to answer, Sandy joined them.
“You’re wounded!” shouted the newcomer. “Can’t you see, you’re wounded.”
“Just a scratch,” Dick smiled feebly. “A mere flesh wound, Sandy. Corporal Rand, will you twist on a tourniquet? I’m sorry that Mekewai got away. It was my fault. I think I was too hasty.”
“You’re good,” grinned Rand. “I’ll take a little of the responsibility of Mekewai’s escape myself. When he went past me, I called to him to stop.”
“Then you shot at him,” guessed Dick. “That was your revolver I heard.”
“Yes, he’s wounded.”
The policeman stepped forward and prodded Frazer with his foot.
“Get up!” he ordered savagely.
When the former factor had groped to an upright position, Corporal Rand turned upon Sandy.
“Watch him,” he instructed, “while I look after Dick’s arm.”
The policeman worked hurriedly and in a manner that left no doubt in the minds of his onlookers that he knew his business. He had just stepped back to relieve Sandy when, through the screen of trees ahead, two figures hove into view. Perceiving them, Dick exclaimed softly under his breath.
“Bless, me, if he didn’t come along after all,” gasped Corporal Rand. “The rascal!”
Hands clawing the air, Pierre Mekewai, savage and vindictive-looking even in defeat, marched toward them. Ten paces behind, equally savage and vindictive-looking, came the Indian’s captor—a young man with a bandage wound around his head!
“By cripes!” Sandy broke the stillness. “By Golly, it’s the first time that Toma ever disobeyed an order.”
Corporal Rand tried to look severe, bit his lips, then presently threw back his head and laughed.
In the cabin, recently occupied by Donald Frazer, they found the poke. It was the mate to the one Dick had picked up off the floor of the trading room at Half Way House earlier in the day. Frazer’s face fell when Corporal Rand pulled it out of the pack lying in the corner.
“Gold—sure enough!” the policeman’s eyes sparkled. “You made a big haul from somewhere, didn’t you, Frazer?”
The prisoner ignored the thrust.
“I came by it honestly.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“It’s mine and I’m going to have it. You can turn over that other poke too. Walter MacClaren’s fault I didn’t take it all with me in the first place. He had no right to drive me away from Half Way House at the point of a gun. There isn’t a court in the land that wouldn’t exonerate me of the charges you’ll bring against me.”
Corporal Rand laughed sarcastically.