Toma, Sandy and Dick, following several years of interesting adventures in the North, had become greatly attached to each other. They were three inseparables, who had learned to take the trials and hardships of wilderness life as a matter of common experience. In spite of many hard knocks, they were still as eager to embark upon new adventures as in the days when Dick and Sandy were newcomers to that remote and inhospitable land.
Dick lost no time in rejoining his two chums. With a friendly nod to Corporal Rand, he darted through the crowd and administered a resounding whack on the backs of Sandy and Toma.
“Well, you’ve returned at last,” he greeted them joyfully. “Did you have any luck?”
Sandy turned eagerly.
“You bet! We shot two moose,” and the young Scotchman immediately commenced a somewhat rambling and disconnected account of their experiences.
At its conclusion, Dick feigned scepticism, winked broadly at Toma.
“Pah! The whole thing sounds fishy to me. I don’t believe you shot anything. If you actually killed a moose it was because the poor thing fell down and broke a leg. At two hundred yards a blind man with a bow and arrow could out-shoot you.”
“All right, wait and see. An Indian packer is bringing over our two moose tomorrow.”
“How much did you pay him for them?”
In attempting to evade Sandy’s friendly upper-cut, Dick stepped back just in time to be knocked flat by a person hurrying across the room. From his position on the floor, he looked up to see the man spring to the door, open it, and dart outside.
It was the half-breed, who had received the roll of money from Murky Nichols!
An excited shout from Sandy drew Dick’s attention as he clambered to his feet. At the opposite end of the trading room a gesticulating, wildly vociferous crowd had gathered about the drooping figure of Murky Nichols. The face of the prospector was deathly pale, as he stood, one hand clutching the counter, the other gripping firmly a long-bladed hunting knife, which he held up for the inspection of the crowd.
The scarlet-coated form of Corporal Rand advanced through the milling throng and a moment later, just as the three boys came hurrying up, the policeman helped Nichols to a chair.
“What happened, Murky?” he demanded.
“Some breed tried to knife me,” choked the frightened man, holding on to the chair for support.
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” wheezed Murky. “Never seen him before. He came up while I was a standin’ over there an’ first thing I knowed he made a slash at me.”
Nichols trembled as he spoke, drawing attention to the wide slit in his mackinaw shirt just below his left arm-pit.
“This is where the knife caught me when I jumped back. Good thing I did or he’d o’ got me sure.”
“Did he hurt you at all?” inquired Rand.
“Nothing but a scratch.”
“You were lucky. You say you didn’t know the breed?”
A slight hesitation on the part of the prospector was noted probably by only two persons in the room—Dick and Corporal Rand.
“First time I ever set eyes on him, corporal.”
“Did he speak to you or did you speak to him before he drew the knife?”
“No,” Murky stated emphatically.
“Very queer the man should attack you without provocation,” mused Rand. “You’re absolutely sure you never saw him before?”
A slow flush mounted to Nichols’ weather-tanned brow and for a split-second his eyes evaded the questioner.
“Hang it, corporal,” he spoke testily, “ain’t I been tellin’ yuh. Don’t even know what he looks like—it all happened so sudden. If he should come walkin’ in here in ten minutes from now I ain’t so sure I’d recognize him. The feller must be crazy.”
“It certainly looks queer!” Rand’s cool, unwavering gaze met that of the prospector. “Usually there’s a motive for an attack of this kind. As a general thing, a man doesn’t attempt to stab another unless he has some real or fancied grievance.”
“He’s crazy, I tell yuh,” persisted Nichols.
Rand turned away.
“I’ll see what I can do. I intend to take the breed in custody. I ought to be able to run him down in a few hours. Then we can question him.”
The corporal turned without a moment’s hesitation and hurried away. He was gone almost before Dick could collect his scattered wits and remark to Sandy:
“There! I intended to tell him something, but it’s too late now.”
“You might be able to catch him at the stable,” said the quick-witted Sandy, seizing Dick’s arm. “Come on!”
The three boys pushed their way through the crowd, but a jam in front of the door delayed them. Like themselves, everyone, so it seemed, wanted to get out. They were caught in a drifting, struggling current of over-curious half-breeds, were jolted back and forth and, when they finally emerged, panting and dishevelled, to the yard outside, they perceived to their chagrin that Rand had already mounted his horse and was speeding away.
“Just my luck!” Dick sputtered. “There he goes. I might have given him information that would have saved him a lot of time.”
“What information?” demanded a person almost at his elbow.
Neither Sandy nor Toma had spoken. Dick wheeled quickly and looked up into a pair of steel-gray eyes, at a coarse, brutal face. The man’s rough garb was that of a prospector or trapper. None of the boys had ever seen him before.
“What information?” he repeated insolently.
Dick met the other’s appraising gaze without flinching.
“I wasn’t speaking to you, sir.”
“That’s all right, I’m speaking to yuh. I asked yuh what I consider is a decent, friendly question. Yuh don’t need to try any o’ your high an’ haughty manner with me.”
Dick completely ignored the insult, despite the fact that it was difficult to suppress the surge of anger that rose within him. He was fighting mad and his fists clenched involuntarily, yet he turned to Sandy and contrived, though the effort was difficult, to speak calmly:
“Let’s walk down along the river.”
Sandy’s face fell as he swung into step beside his friend, his right arm linked into Toma’s. As they struck off to the left, they were followed by the baleful, mocking glare of Dick’s newly discovered enemy.
Out of ear-shot, Sandy broke forth:
“Dick, I’m almost ashamed of you. Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Walk away like that. It looks cowardly. I never saw you do a thing like that before.”
“I don’t know why I did it,” Dick confessed, “except that I had a hunch that if I let him pick a fight with me, I’d—I’d—well, I can’t explain it. Something seemed to warn me to keep away from him.”
“You mean, you were afraid of him.”
“No, not that!” Dick retorted hotly. “I’d like to go back even now and ‘mix-it’ with him.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I’ve tried to explain to you, Sandy. I have a feeling that it woul‘d be foolhardy. Something more than a mere quarrel or a fight is involved. That man, whoever he is, had some secret purpose in view when he accosted me just now. I don’t know what that purpose is, but I do know I’m not going to take any chances.”
For a few moments they walked on in silence.
“I can forget about it if you can,” remarked Sandy a little dryly.
Dick laughed good-naturedly.
“I don’t think I’ll have any trouble doing that,” he responded quickly. “There’s too much else to think about. And that reminds me that I have some big news for you and Toma. How would you like to take a trip out to the coast this winter?”
Sandy stopped short in his tracks.
“To the coast!” he exclaimed. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. Corporal Rand told me about it today. He brought a letter from our old friend, Sergeant Richardson.”
Without further preliminary, Dick launched into the story. Toma and Sandy listened with bated breath while Dick gave them the particulars of the theory which had been advanced by the mounted police respecting the alleged operations of Murky Nichols. Blind Man’s Pass, the murder of Daddy McInnes, the double cache of stolen fur and finally the proposed expedition to the west coast to be undertaken by the boys themselves—all became subjects of absorbing interest and speculation.
“As I understand it,” Sandy broke forth enthusiastically, “Sergeant Richardson is sending us out to the coast because he believes we can find the cache.”
“Yes,” answered Dick. “It’s an important undertaking, and we ought to be proud that the police have faith in our ability. Of course, we would never have been given the chance if Inspector Cameron wasn’t so short of men.”
“We make ’em mounted police glad they give us chance to go,” cut in Toma. “If cache anywhere along coast, we find it.”
“We certainly will,” said Sandy.
Walking leisurely along the banks of the river, the boys made their plans. So interested had they become, so absorbed in the contemplation of the proposed journey, that they found themselves presently out of sight of the trading post. They were crossing a narrow gulch, when Dick stopped short, glancing about him.
“No use going any farther,” he declared laughingly. “Let’s return to the post.”
Sandy took note of their surroundings and he too broke forth into an amused chuckle.
“Can you beat that!” he exclaimed. “We’ve been sauntering along not paying the least bit of attention. I had no idea we’d gone so far. We’re five miles from Fort Good Faith. A hundred yards on the other side of this gulch is where Run River trail crosses the river.”
As Sandy spoke, he turned back and led the way to the top of the gulch. Spruce and poplar grew thickly along the trail ahead. A light snow of a few days before, sifting down through the trees, had only partially covered the heavy carpet of dry leaves and grass.
“It will be several weeks yet before winter sets in in earnest,” observed Dick. “I hope the mounted police give us instructions to leave for the west coast before it does come. If we travel light, we’ll reach the Yellowhead Pass long before the extremely cold weather arrives.”
“Not snow enough,” Toma shook his head disapprovingly. “No use start out until catch ’em plenty snow for dog team. Mebbe no get snow for five, six days yet.”
“Nonsense!” Sandy looked up at the overcast sky with a critical but approving gaze. “It’s cloudy right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if it started to snow this afternoon.”
“Too warm,” Toma objected. “Wind blow southwest. Tomorrow chinook make like summer. Mebbe it rain, but no snow.”
“You might as well keep quiet, Sandy,” grinned Dick. “Toma is a better weather prophet than you are. He’s seldom wrong.”
“Just the same, I think there’s a storm brewing,” stubbornly persisted the young Scotchman. “This is the second week in October. Last year at this time there was seven inches of snow on the ground and the weather was ten below zero.”
“Don’t worry about it. I look at it this way: if the police are ready, we’ll be ready too. Let the chinook come. We’ll start out on foot and buy our grub-stake and dog team at Fort Wonderly, one hundred miles south of here.”
“Good idea! You’re talking sense now, Dick. Well—for the love of Pete!”
Sandy’s abrupt exclamation was caused by the sudden appearance on the trail ahead of four men. One of them they recognized instantly. It was the person who had attempted to pick a quarrel with Dick. Startled for a moment, the boys drew back to the side of the trail.
“Don’t say a word,” cautioned Dick in a low voice. “If they attempt to start trouble, try to keep away from them. We’re no match for them. Besides, they’re armed and we aren’t.”
Pretending a nonchalance they did not feel, the three boys strode forward again until they came abreast of the oncoming and ominous quartette. In the lead, Dick edged over to the side of the trail, hoping that no attempt would be made to prevent their passing. He was now within three feet of the nearest of the party, and had almost begun to believe that nothing would happen, when the four men spread out quickly, completely barring their progress. Dick looked across at two gray eyes that glinted evilly.
“Guess yuh better stop a while, sonny,” sneered the voice of the white man. “Feel like answerin’ that question now?”
“I haven’t any question to answer,” retorted Dick, looking straight at his tormentor, and then at the three half-breeds, a villainous-appearing trio, who stood ready and eager to leap forward at the first word of command.
The white man stepped forward and confronted Dick, one arm raised threateningly.
“Yuh better do some quick thinkin’ afore I whale the tar outta yuh. Are yuh gonna answer that question or not?”
In the short interval in which he stood there undecided, a daring plan leaped into Dick’s mind. He would feign submission. He would agree to answer the question. Then when the time came—
“All—all right,” stammered Dick, simulating terror. “Wh-what do you want?”
“Yuh know blamed well what I want. Back there at the post ’bout an hour er two ago, you wuz figgerin’ on givin’ that danged mountie a whole earful o’ information. I heerd yuh tellin’ these young friends o’ yourn. Out with it!”
The arm was raised again and Dick shrank back, his eyes blinking.
“Don’t strike me and I’ll tell you,” he trembled. “I’ll tell everything. I promise I will.”
Dick’s antagonist chuckled in triumph. It tickled his vanity to perceive how easily he was winning his case. He had his victim almost frightened out of his wits. This young stripling who stood before him hadn’t the backbone of an eel. His arm dropped and he slouched forward, completely off guard, and leered into Dick’s face.
It was the opportunity that Dick had been looking for. Crack! The blow was a smashing one and wholly unexpected. The white man’s feet skidded out from under him; his heavy frame struck the ground with a resounding impact. Before the half-breeds had time to recover from their astonishment, three fleeting forms shot through the opening and took the turn in the trail, running at top speed.
A few moments later a bullet whizzed harmlessly over their heads. The boys redoubled their efforts. A second turn in the trail revealed a straggling party of Indians returning from the post. At sight of them, Sandy let out a whoop of joy. Help was at hand. The danger was over. Panting like three small locomotives, they sat down on a log and waved a cheerful greeting as the Indians passed by.
When the last straggler had disappeared from view, Sandy turned and smiled at his chum. There was approval and admiration in his eyes.
“Step over here and let me shake your hand. Wow! I’ll bet that fellow is still wondering if it was really a tree that struck him. I’ll give you all the credit this time, Dick. There’s no denying the fact: You certainly answered his question!”
Corporal Rand returned with his half-breed prisoner shortly after dark. The man was sulky and refused to talk. Brought before Murky Nichols by the mounted policeman, one might have thought from his actions and demeanor that he had never before set eyes upon the prospector. He stood absolutely unmoved in the presence of the person he had attempted to murder only a few hours before. Rand’s voice rang out sharply:
“Here is the prisoner. Is he the man who attempted to stab you?”
In order to cover his confusion, Nichols rubbed his eyes with one large hairy hand. His face was slightly pale and he rested his weight first on one leg and then on the other.
“Well, corporal, I can’t exactly say,” he spoke hesitatingly. “He might be the one an’ again he mightn’t. He does look sort o’ familiar, but I see so many Nitchies ’round here. I couldn’t exactly swear to it.”
Corporal Rand smiled a little grimly.
“There were quite a number of people present in this room when the attempt upon your life was made. It shouldn’t be very difficult to find out whether or not this man is the right one.”
Nichols started forward with an exclamation of surprise. He was staring at the prisoner now with an intentness that seemed scarcely to be assumed. Excitedly, he turned towards Rand.
“By golly, I know now, corporal, where I seen him before,” he declared in a loud and animated voice. “Up at the first portage on the Moose River. He was workin’ there as a packer last summer when I come through. I don’t think he’s the man we’re looking fer atall.”
The mounted policeman turned his head ever so slightly and winked covertly at Dick, who, in company with Sandy and Toma, stood a few feet away, silent spectator in the interesting tableau.
“You really don’t think he’s the man, then?”
“No, he ain’t,” Murky spoke positively. “When I stop to think about that little affair this afternoon, an’ try to get a picture in my mind o’ the pesky breed what made fer to knife me, there’s one thing that stands out. He was a tall man—not short like this breed. I’m tall myself, an’ I remember when I jumped back to clear myself o’ the knife, I looked straight acrost in his eyes. Now, it stands to reason, corporal, that I couldn’t o’ done that if it had o’ been this feller here. I’d o’ looked straight over this man’s head, now wouldn’t I?”
With difficulty, Dick suppressed a laugh. Murky Nichols was noted for his tall stature. Long and lanky, he stood well over six feet and four inches in height. The half-breed was stockily built and inclined to be short. The top of his head reached no higher than the point of Murky’s protruding chin.
“Now that your memory has revived,” Corporal Rand spoke sarcastically, “we may be able to make better progress.”
Dick strode forward with the intention of drawing the mounted policeman’s attention to one detail of the case that had evidently been overlooked. If the half-breed, who confronted Nichols, was not the person who had attempted to stab him, how would it be possible to explain that person’s hasty exit from the trading room immediately following the attack? Also, as Dick was well aware, the prisoner was the same man who had received the roll of bills from Murky earlier in the day.
Dick paused in amazement. Before he could reach the policeman’s side, he saw Rand stoop forward and commence to unlock the prisoner’s hand-cuffs. Then, wonderingly, he watched the corporal move back and permit the astonished half-breed to go free. His voice broke the startled silence of the room:
“You’re at liberty to go now.”
“Sorry to cause yuh all this trouble,” Nichols apologised. “But you’re doing the right thing, corporal. He ain’t the man what tried to knife me.”
The policeman favored Murky with one swift appraising glance, nodded absently and walked over and took Dick’s arm. Although he did not speak, the light pressure of the corporal’s fingers told Dick that the policeman wished to see him. With a mumbled apology to Sandy, Dick led the way to his own room. When he had drawn up a chair for his guest, he came immediately to the subject uppermost in his mind.
“I can’t understand—” he began.
The policeman held up one hand in an impatient gesture.
“You’re about to tell me that I have made a very serious blunder, aren’t you, Dick?”
“We-well,” stammered that young man, “you can hardly blame me, corporal. The man you just released is guilty. I didn’t see him when he attempted to stab Murky, but I did see him when he escaped. In spite of what Nichols told you, he did recognize the breed. Murky lied. He’s the same one who received the roll of bills.”
Corporal Rand grinned as he looked across at Dick’s puzzled, serious face.
“I’m well aware of that,” he said calmly. “I too am sure that the half-breed was Murky’s assailant. But I had a good reason for releasing him.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what reason?”
For a moment Rand did not reply. Apparently, he had become absorbed in his own thoughts. He had relaxed in his chair, his head bent forward, his eyes studying the tips of his brightly polished boots.
“Ever since I captured the half-breed this afternoon,” he spoke finally, “I have been thinking that very little is to be gained by holding him in custody. Nichols will not prefer a charge against him because he’s afraid the fellow may squeal. The half-breed himself, realizing the danger of his position, and who is really more clever than I had at first supposed, is attempting to save himself by keeping silent. Even if we subjected him to a severe grilling, I doubt very much whether we could get anything out of him. It seems to me that the best way to deal with the situation is to accept Murky’s assertion that we have captured the wrong man.”
“But I should think that by letting the half-breed go, you’d lose a chance to find out in what way Murky and the breed are associated.”
“No, I don’t think so,” replied the corporal. “On the contrary, I’m quite sure we can find out more now that I have set the half-breed free. I’m playing right into Murky’s hands. He’s laughing up his sleeve at this very moment at the way he thinks he’s fooled the mounted police. He’ll be inclined to be a little careless. We can look for immediate developments.”
“What developments?” asked Dick.
“Murky’s first move will be to attempt to patch up his differences with his former assailant. The half-breed’s motive for attacking Nichols can easily be explained—money! No doubt, Murky had failed to live up to an agreement.”
The policeman paused to fill his pipe.
“By watching the two of them, we will be pretty sure to find out something,” he continued. “If I’m not badly mistaken, we will be able to secure evidence against them within the next two or three days. I intend to keep a close tab on the pair from now on.”
Dick stirred uneasily in his seat. There was a question he wanted to ask, but he did not wish to appear too eager. During a lull in the conversation, however, he finally managed to pluck up sufficient courage.
“When would you like to have us start for the west coast?” he inquired.
“Have you seen Sandy and Toma?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“They’re as eager to go as I am,” replied Dick.
Corporal Rand drummed on the arm of his chair.
“I can see no reason why you shouldn’t start right away,” he declared. “The only difficulty is that you will be compelled to take supplies for the trip, and just now pack-horses would be inadvisable. A dog team would be better, but there’s no snow.”
“We were talking about that,” Dick put in eagerly. “Why couldn’t we travel on foot to Fort Wonderly and buy our team and supplies there?”
“A capital idea!” approved Rand.
“Can we start in the morning?” Dick asked impetuously.
“Yes.”
Dick jumped up, his eyes shining, and strode forward and grasped the corporal’s hand.
“Sandy and Toma will be tickled pink!” he cried enthusiastically.
“And what about yourself?” smiled Rand.
Dick flushed to the roots of his hair. He grinned sheepishly.
“Why—why, I’m pleased, of course. Who wouldn’t be with a chance like that. I can hardly wait until we start, corporal.”
He grew suddenly more serious.
“Have you any further instructions to give us before we go?”
Corporal Rand shook his head.
“There is nothing except what I have already told you,” he replied. “You know the route. There are any number of trails leading south to the Yellowhead Pass. After you have gone through the pass and have turned north, you’ll find only one trail, very rough and difficult, which will take you in a northwesterly direction to Fort Pennington. From there your course will be straight west to the Pacific.”
“And there—on the coast, I mean—our real work will commence,” Dick smiled in anticipation.
Corporal Rand regarded the statement with approval.
“Workis the right name for it,” he assured him. “I haven’t the least doubt but that you’ll all become discouraged long before you find the cache. In fact, you may never find it. You’ll encounter dangers and difficulties on every hand.”
“Do you think the cache will be guarded?” asked Dick.
“Almost sure to be,” Rand replied. “Probably by some Indian or half-breed. You’ll be compelled to move cautiously. If I were you, I wouldn’t take too many chances. No telling what sort of a mess you’ll get in, if you aren’t incessantly on the alert.”
Dick would have liked to ask the policeman a few more questions, but decided not to as he observed the other sleepily consulting his watch. The hour was getting late. The sounds from the trading room, which a short time before could be heard faintly, had now entirely ceased. The place had become enveloped in a deep and slumberous silence.
Corporal Rand suppressed a yawn, rose slowly to his feet.
“It’s time we were both in bed,” he announced. “If either one of us expects to get anything accomplished tomorrow, it will be necessary to secure some sleep. I’ve had a rather hard day myself.”
With a friendly nod and a smile, he turned and walked out of the room. Dick stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment, a happy expression on his face. Rand’s figure continued down the hallway. A few feet farther on was the corporal’s room. Dick stepped back to re-enter his own chamber, when, to his surprise, he perceived that the policeman did not even pause in front of his own door, but went on instead to the end of the hallway and immediately disappeared through a door which opened to the yard outside.
“He’s gone out to see if his horse is bedded down for the night,” thought Dick.
For some reason he could not himself explain, Dick stood in his own doorway, awaiting the corporal’s return. The minutes passed by. A quarter of an hour elapsed—and still no sign of the mounted policeman. Growing impatient, Dick commenced pacing back and forth along the hallway. Presently, moved by an unexplained impulse, he dashed into his room, seized his cap and followed in the footsteps of Rand.
It was exceedingly dark outside. A heavy mist moistened his face as he stared through the enveloping gloom. He groped forward until he had found the path that led to the stable, then hurried along it, wondering what had happened to detain the corporal.
Forty or fifty yards from the house he stopped short in consternation. From his right came the sound of voices. Hesitating for a brief moment, he struck forth again in the direction of the sound, walking on tiptoes, his pulses pounding. Quite unexpectedly, there loomed before him the dark shape of the company’s warehouse. It was a large, square building, constructed entirely of logs. Here he came to an abrupt pause and crouched down close to the wall, trembling at his own audacity.
Immediately around the corner from him were two men, talking in guarded tones. Dick listened intently.
“Yuh can do this thing a hull lot better than I can,” drawled the voice of Murky Nichols. “Yuh gotta fix it up somehow jes’ as soon as yuh possibly can. Tomorrow mornin’ ain’t none too soon, La Qua, ’cause there ain’t no tellin’ what that danged breed’ll be up to next.”
“Yuh mean yuh want me to get him outta the way?”
“If there ain’t no other way—yes!” calmly answered Murky. “We can’t afford to take no more chances with him. I gotta know he’s gonna get right down to business an’ no more foolin’. Yuh can tell him we’ll give him fifty dollars more fer the next bunch o’ pelts he brings down. I won’t go a dime higher ’an that an’ if he squawks I’m givin’ yuh permission to pick him off any time.”
“Should o’ done that long time ago,” growled the other. “Yuh can’t trust him. Yuh ain’t the only one he’s nearly got with that blamed knife o’ his. He nearly killed one o’ my best packers less ’an a week ago in a scrap over a card game. I tell yuh, I hate to have him around.”
“Jes’ the same, he comes in pretty handy,” Murky Nichols declared. “Take the case of Daddy McInnes, fer example. None o’ yuh fellers would o’ dared to do what he done. Both you an’ Bremner was in the party guardin’ the pass when the ol’ man came through.”
“I was the first one who seen him,” protested the other hotly. “It was me what told this breed, Testola, to go after him.”
“Mebbe so, but yuh wouldn’t o’ done it yourself.”
Dick’s eyes had widened with understanding and horror. He crouched low, scarcely daring to breathe. A feeling of nausea was followed by a surge of anger and disgust. The two men were vicious and evil—absolutely heartless. At first, he had not recognized the voice of Murky’s companion, but a certain quality in the tone, a peculiar inflection, stirred presently his groping memory. It was the voice of the red-bearded man—the person who had attempted to stop him on the trail!
A short silence was broken by Nichols’ question:
“When do yuh expect to be ready to send the next shipment?”
“It’s about ready now,” came the quick answer. “I was thinkin’ o’ sendin’ it through tomorrow night. If we do, I’m gonna start from the same place I did last time—the little shack near the foot o’ Settlement Mountain. We’ll have eight pack-horses, belonging’ tuh Fred Hart, an’ five o’ our own.”
“Has Hart got much stuff this time?” inquired Murky.
“’Bout three thousand pounds. The rest o’ the shipment belongs to us.”
Dick rose cautiously to his feet and commenced to beat a panicky retreat. It would never do to be caught eavesdropping. If he fell into Murky’s hands at that moment, his life would be forfeit.
Careful as he was, it seemed to Dick that his footsteps must have been heard plainly. A moment later this feeling became a certainty. There came to his ears a startled, anxious exclamation from one of the men.
“Did yuh hear that?”
“It must have been the wind,” reassured the other.
His heart beating wildly, Dick dropped to the ground and wormed his way forward on his hands and knees. A few yards farther on, he sprang to his feet again and bolted away in the direction of the house. Suddenly there appeared immediately ahead the shadowy figure of a man. Dick stopped short in his tracks, shaking in every limb.
His retreat was cut off!
“Is that you, Dick?”
The voice was Corporal Rand’s. Dick’s sigh of relief was more like an explosive gasp. He tottered forward a few steps and grasped the sleeve of the policeman’s coat, clinging there like a person who had found a friendly haven in the center of a whirlpool. Gradually he recovered his self-possession.
“Did you see them too?” he asked.
“See whom?” demanded the corporal, whispering. “What do you mean? What are you doing out here? I thought I’d left you in bed.”
“I’ll explain,” answered Dick, “but first we’d better go to my room. We’re not safe here.”
Entering the house a few moments later, they made their way in silence along the hallway and entered Dick’s room. Here the light from the oil lamp, which stood on the table, seemed very bright and cheerful to their eyes, which had become accustomed to the intense darkness outside. Rand started forward in surprise.
“Good Heavens, my boy, you’re as white as a ghost! What’s happened? What were you doing outside?”
“You were gone so long I followed you,” explained Dick. “What detained you?”
“Went out to the stable to look after my horse. I put hay in the manger and then gave him a sheaf of oats. I curried and bedded him down. Of course, it took a little time.”
“And you didn’t hear voices—”
“No,” Rand replied, “I didn’t hear anything out-of-the-ordinary until after I had left the stable and heard you running.”
“I started out for the stable myself,” said Dick, “but in the darkness I took the wrong path, the one toward the warehouse. I heard someone talking and I thought it was you at first, but as I came closer I made out the voices of Murky Nichols and a man named La Qua. I have some startling information to give you, corporal.”
“Good boy! What is it, Dick?”
“The outlaws are sending a pack-train through Blind Man’s Pass tomorrow night.”
Rand became visibly excited. A look of amazement swept over his face, then, to Dick’s surprise, he moved forward quickly and blew out the light.
“A light here may arouse their suspicions if they’re still outside. We’ll sit in the dark for a while. But go on, Dick—I’m interested. What else did you overhear?”
“The pack-train will set out from the vicinity of Settlement Mountain—wherever that is. There’s a small cabin there. La Qua said there would be thirteen horses in the train. They’re taking through a little freight for Hart, about three thousand pounds. The rest of the stuff belongs to Murky and his confederates.”
Corporal Rand whistled softly.
“It’s our chance. You’re a jewel, Dick! Information like this is what we’ve been looking for for months,” exulted the mounted policeman. “I happen to know where Settlement Mountain is. Thirty miles from here. Between Big Lake and the Settlement House River.”
The mounted policeman struck a match in order to consult his watch.
“It’s nearly one o’clock now,” he declared. “No sleep for me tonight. Your information has upset all my plans, Dick, and yours too. Just as soon as I think the coast is clear, I’m going to steal out, saddle my horse and ride over to see Sergeant Richardson.”
“What about our trip to the west coast?” Dick asked. “Wouldn’t it be foolish for us to go by way of the Yellowhead Pass now that there’s a chance to follow Murky’s pack-train and discover the much shorter route through Blind Man’s Pass?”
“Yes, it certainly would,” agreed the corporal. “That’s why I just said that your information has upset all our plans. We must make new ones right away to fit the circumstances. Also it will be necessary for us to move hurriedly and secretly. Instead of sending you south tomorrow morning—or this morning, to be exact—I’m going to ask the three of you to start as quickly as possible for the Big Lake country, which is almost due west of here. You’d better pick out three fast ponies and head straight for Wandley’s post—you know where that is?”
Dick had often heard of Wandley’s post, although he had never been there himself. Wandley was a free trader, well known in the North, having for many years conducted a thriving trade with the Indians. His store or trading post was situated a few miles south of Big Lake.
“Yes,” said Dick in answer to Rand’s question, “I know where it is. I met Wandley himself about a year ago. It’s about twenty-five miles over there, and you follow the Settlement House River trail.”
“Right!”
Rand stepped closer to Dick and spoke in an undertone:
“Sometime before noon today, Constable Pearly—the new man I told you about—will be at Wandley’s. I’ll give you a message for him. This message will explain who you are and why I have sent you. The four of you, Constable Pearly, Sandy, Toma and yourself will continue along the Settlement House trail until you come to a bend in the river. At this point you’ll leave the trail, strike straight off through the woods and make camp at the lower end of the bend just above the river. Here you will remain in concealment until Sergeant Richardson and I join you—sometime before dark.”
“What will we do then?” Dick asked a little breathlessly.
“That will depend—” the corporal hesitated, “upon circumstances and Sergeant Richardson. He will be in command—not I. But I imagine, at least it is very reasonable to suppose, that we’ll start at once for the outlaws’ rendezvous, their meeting place near the foot of Settlement Mountain.”
“But won’t it spoil everything if the outlaws see us?” put in Dick.
“Of course! It’s exactly what we don’t want to happen. We’ll be compelled to move very carefully. Our only chance of finding Blind Man’s Pass will be to follow La Qua and his pack-train at a safe distance. We mustn’t be seen.”
“I suppose you’ll arrest La Qua and his men as soon as they get to the pass?”
“Possibly. I think a better plan would be to follow them straight through to the coast—to the big cache they must have there. That is a suggestion I’m going to make to Sergeant Richardson.”
Dick’s face fell. He was keenly disappointed. The trip to the west coast, the search for the cache of stolen fur, had suddenly, because of this new development, gone glimmering. Constable Pearly and Corporal Rand would probably be the ones now chosen for this task. There was too much at stake, the danger attending the task of following the outlaws was too great to permit of any bungling. Here was a job that required older heads and more experience.
“I guess that lets us out,” said Dick disconsolately. “Sergeant Richardson wouldn’t hear of Sandy, Toma and I going out there alone—following the pack-train, I mean.”
Corporal Rand took Dick’s arm and gave it a friendly squeeze.
“I’m afraid not. But don’t feel badly about it, Dick, we may have other important work for you. If I happen to be the one chosen to trail along after La Qua, I’ll speak to the sergeant about you and the chances are that he may consent to the three of you accompanying me. I’ll promise to do all I can.”
“That will be splendid of you,” Dick blurted out. “All of us will appreciate your kindness. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t try,” laughed the policeman. “Everything will be all right, I assure you. Where are your two friends sleeping?”
“They’re bunking in the room next to the factor’s,” answered Dick. “Shall I go and wake them?”