During the next few hours, Dick engaged in a grim and desperate game of hide-and-seek with the outlaws. On several occasions he escaped death narrowly. He turned hither and thither, like a hunted animal, only to find his path barred by one or more of his enemies. Finally, in a last despairing effort to save himself, he struck off toward a high hill, on the crest of which were lofty rocks and towering pinnacles—broken and jagged slabs of granite. Here he would make his stand. Even though surrounded, he would have a chance to ward off attack. If necessary, he would remain here all day and make another break for freedom with the coming of darkness.
Climbing up, he reached the natural fortress and breathed a sigh of relief. He had neither food nor water. From a bush, which grew in a crevice in the rocks, he gathered fuel with which to start a fire. Then he sat down to wait.
In all his experience, he had never suffered more than upon this occasion. His stomach gnawed with hunger. He shook from exhaustion. Bareheaded, moccasins almost cut from his feet, clothing soiled and tattered, hands and face scratched—his appearance beggared description. His cheeks were hollow, while his eyes shone with a feverish, almost insane light.
After two hours of inaction, squatting miserably in front of his fire, he began to wonder if, after all, the outlaws had not abandoned the chase. In an effort to find out, he slipped gingerly over his barricade and scrambled down to the ledge below. He could command a good view here. His eyes roved the surrounding woodland. Everywhere he looked—but he could see no one. The silence was intense, deep, a sort of rhythmical beat pulsating through dead space under the vast dome of the sky.
His heart leaping with joy, he decided to quit his post and resume his journey. But something made him hesitate. An almost indiscernible movement along the slope below attracted his attention. He ducked quickly. A bullet whistled over his head. Angry and disappointed, he climbed back to the safety of the rocks.
How he would ever manage to endure the long and tedious wait for the coming of night, he did not know. The strain was so great that he decided more than once to walk boldly out and give himself up. Even death was preferable to this. Time after time, he rose and with bloodshot eyes stared out toward the west—to the broad, green expanse of the Pacific. If only Corporal Rand or Toma knew of his trouble, they would come to him. Sometimes, sitting moodily, chin resting in his hands, he thought of Sandy back at Settlement Mountain and wished that he were with him. Why had he been so eager to come in pursuit of the pack-train?
Night came as slowly as a limping beggar to a gate. Shadows deepened. Strange silhouettes appeared along the slope. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees below. The sounds of the forest were buried in the evening’s hush.
One hour more—and he would make his final break for safety. Impatiently, he rose and began pacing back and forth in the narrow, confining space, swinging his numb arms against his shivering body.
Suddenly, Dick’s hand went to his automatic in a quick, convulsive movement. But he did not draw his gun. Instead, he grinned sheepishly, staring at the dusky face which peered up from below.
“Hello,” he sang out.
The Indian girl smiled and clambered up to the perch beside him. She spoke in Cree:
“They did not see me come. I will help you. Does monsieur know where he is?”
With the few Indian words at his disposal, Dick endeavored to explain his case. He admitted that he had become confused. He could see the ocean, but it was still a long way off. In an attempt to escape his pursuers, he had been forced to travel in the wrong direction. How far was he now from her home?
“You are very close,” replied the girl. “If it were not for the heavy woodland just over there, in the light you would be able to see it.”
“How did you find out I was here?” queried Dick.
“From your enemies,” the girl answered unhesitatingly. “One of them came to my father’s house a short time ago and asked for food. I overheard him tell my father that you had sought concealment on this hill. So I came at once to help you, monsieur.”
“Where are the outlaws now?”
“One is hiding in the tree below, waiting for you to come out. Very soon this one will be joined by the man who went to see my father. Three others have gone down to the coast to intercept you, should you escape.”
“Did I understand you to say that your home is not very far from here?”
“Yes, monsieur. Less than two miles.”
Two miles! Dick’s mouth set in a grim, hard line. All day long he had been scrambling, struggling, fighting his way through trees and underbrush, over tortuous rocks—and yet had proceeded no farther than that. The thought galled him, made him feel a little foolish.
The girl spoke again. In her excitement, she spoke so rapidly now that he found it almost impossible to understand her. However, there was one word she emphasized, frequently reiterated. The boat! She would lead him thither. Monsieur would row the boat. She knew exactly where to find it. His escape would be certain. They must hurry before the other outlaw came back.
“She intends to accompany me all the way to the coast,” thought Dick, a flush of embarrassment suffusing his cheeks.
He attempted to voice a protest, exhausting his complete stock of words in an endeavor to make her understand. But to no avail. She repeated the word, pointing away to the south.
“The boat is three miles from here. I will take you there,” she explained to him.
The fugitive scratched his head in perplexity. What did she mean? A boat three miles away. Why, there wasn’t even water over there. The ocean lay to the west—ten or twelve miles distant. The thing was absurd, preposterous!
Then, suddenly, there came to him a glimmering of the truth. He thought he knew now. She referred, no doubt, to some sort of navigable stream, along the shore of which was moored a boat, belonging to her father.
With a nod to the girl that he understood and was ready to start, he jumped quickly to the level surface of the rocks above, took her hand and helped her down to the ledge. From there they set out through the rapidly gathering darkness. An hour later, without mishap, they pushed their way through the pines to the edge of a wide stream, where, sure enough, they found the boat. Hurriedly, Dick made ready for his departure. Arctic night had fallen. Above them, through a rift in the heavy clouds, a few faint stars were visible.
He turned for a last look at the little Indian girl who had brought him there. A few yards away she proceeded through the pines and presently her dark silhouette became lost to view. With a slight constriction of the throat, Dick swung about and pushed off, his pulses quickening again at the thought of the danger which might lay ahead. In two hours he had floated along the swift current and had entered a narrow arm of the sea.
Thus far he had drifted leisurely along, every sense alert, endeavoring to make as little noise as possible. If he could negotiate a mile or two from shore he would feel comparatively safe. After that there was little likelihood that the outlaws would ever overtake him. Paddling north, he would enter the inlet. He hoped he would arrive in time to warn Corporal Rand and Toma.
As the minutes went by, hope grew in his breast. Conditions, he perceived, were ideal for his escape—almost complete darkness and a stretch of smooth water ahead. Every little while he paused to look around in apprehension. Once, with a quick start, he thought he had heard something. Paddle raised, he permitted the boat to drift for a moment or two, panic in his heart. But the sound was not repeated.
Pursuit, he felt, would come from behind; the outlaws might secure boats somewhere and attempt to overtake him. Looking for pursuit from the shore, he was wholly unprepared for what actually happened. A little later, just as he had begun to believe that he was out of danger, unexpectedly through the velvety gloom that had settled about him, ahead—not behind—there loomed a shape, a dark smear across his troubled vision.
It was so close that escape seemed absolutely out of the question. Notwithstanding this, Dick turned and started back. Frantically his paddle cut the water for ten or fifteen yards, then a guttural voice rang out and immediately the night became a medley of sound; rifles cracked forth, oars splashed, vivid spurts of red flame flashed through the dark, while all around him the water hissed and sputtered where struck the lead from Murky’s murderous crew.
A bullet whistled close to his ear. Another tore through the loose sleeve of his coat. At this juncture, he dropped his paddle, and, in an effort to retrieve it, nearly capsized. As he came back to a sitting position, his craft rocking perilously, a small piece of wood, torn from the side of the boat, struck him full in the mouth. Dazed, he put up one hand to his face, feeling the warm blood trickling down through his fingers.
In desperation, Dick abandoned all hope of escape, deciding to sell his life as dearly as possible. Revolver in hand, he crouched in the stem. The outlaws’ boat was closer now, sweeping down upon him at top speed. He had barely time to empty his revolver at the oncoming craft before it crashed into him. They had deliberately run him down. He was in the icy water now, coughing, choking, attempting to dodge the bullets of the half-breeds by diving under the surface.
It would be more difficult to see him now. He would fight to the last. Thank God, he could swim!
Strong arms raised him up and carried him tenderly along the beach as one might have carried a child. Anxious eyes peered down at the placid face; voices, subdued and solicitous, murmured around him. Near at hand, the river fretted against its shores, its gurgling song more melancholy than the plaintive dirge of the pines.
Wading ashore, following his last encounter with the outlaws, Dick had collapsed, and, when found later by the rescue party, lay with his feet in the water and his arms flung out above his head. At first, they had believed him dead. No senseless, inanimate thing cast up by the sea, ever presented a more bedraggled appearance. The stubborn spark of life, which still glowed feebly within him, was not manifest. Corporal Rand, who had elected to carry him back to the shelter of trees, where Toma had already kindled a fire, could have sworn that his young friend had fought his last fight.
The sound of firing had carried to the inlet, and had been the cause of much concern and conjecture on the part of Dick’s companions. Both surmised that the youthful adventurer was in trouble and they had come expecting to find him in some tight corner, hotly besieged, yet valiantly holding his own. They were wholly unprepared and not a little mystified, when after a painstaking search, they finally stumbled upon his body.
Neither could explain how Dick had come there nor exactly what had happened to him. The nearest approach to a reasonable solution was that Dick in some unaccountable manner had been knocked unconscious and then thrown into the water—left there by the outlaws to drown. The cold plunge had partly revived him and he had contrived somehow to swim or crawl ashore.
“I doubt if he’ll live,” Rand’s voice was sepulchral.
For hours they employed restorative measures. Toma went back to the warehouse to fetch a blanket. They chafed his limbs; built up a huge bonfire; worked desperately over him. Just before morning Dick lay in a comatose state, his pulse more steady, his condition considerably improved. Faint color began to tinge his cheeks. After a time, his eyes opened dazedly and with much wrinkling and puckering of his brow he endeavored to fill in his gaps of memory.
Wraiths and shadows of once familiar things drifted across his mental vision. Through the darkness and obscurity of his mind, not in orderly sequence, but in a provoking, mysterious fashion, there flashed haphazardly half-familiar scenes of the past.
Toma, stooping to smooth back the rumpled hair, glanced sombrely at the policeman opposite.
“You think him better?” he demanded in a strained, cracked voice.
“Much better,” answered the corporal.
“I glad to hear that. You think pretty soon we be able to move him over to warehouse?”
“Perhaps—but not yet. He’s still too dazed and weak. He needs rest and quiet. But he’s doing nicely.”,
They left him while they went to prepare breakfast. When Toma returned to the place where the patient lay, he was greeted with a wan smile of recognition. The Indian lad cried out jubilantly. Hearing him, Rand rushed over.
“Thank the good Lord you’re coming round,” he cried out. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am.”
They made Dick a light broth and towards noon he was feeling so well he was able to sit up. Always there was one of the two near him. They were compelled to make frequent trips to and from the warehouse. In addition to caring for Dick, they had the prisoners to look after. On the previous night, before starting out, they had bound the four men hand and foot. There were now extra meals to prepare, increasing responsibility. The larder required replenishing. During his spare time, Toma went out to hunt for rabbits and ptarmigan.
Shortly before two o’clock, the policeman, who had been busy gathering fuel for the fire, came over and sat down by Dick’s side.
“Do you feel strong enough now to tell me all about it?” he asked. “How did you get here? How many of the outlaws were in the party which attacked you?”
“Before I do that,” Dick spoke up, rubbing one shaky hand across his forehead, “I want to warn you, corporal, that those packers may return. They were planning to rescue Murky and the others and to murder you and Toma. It’s queer they haven’t already come. You must be very careful.”
“Are you quite sure about this, Dick?”
“Yes,” the other answered. “An ambuscade! A treacherous, cowardly thing! They planned to secrete themselves in the brush and take pot-shot at you. Later, when they had released Murky and the prisoners, they intended to go south with the fur.”
Then Dick recounted his adventures. When he had finished, the corporal exclaimed:
“You’ve certainly had your share of trouble. It must have been a terrible ordeal.”
He rose hesitatingly to his feet.
“Will you think that I am inconsiderate if I leave you for a time alone?”
“Why, no,” quickly responded the invalid. “I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.”
“You see,” Rand hesitated, “after what you’ve told me, I feel a little apprehensive. I must go over and warn Toma. The warehouse will be the point of danger.”
Dick smiled weakly. “Certainly, go ahead. It’s the only thing to do.”
Rand threw more wood on the fire and departed. It was nearly two hours before he returned. The moment Dick saw him, he noted immediately that a marked change had come over the policeman. He was more lighthearted than before. He smiled frequently. He joked and laughed, regaling Dick with stories of the service—amusing anecdotes and breathless escapades. While he was preparing lunch, he looked up and grinned across at Dick.
“I suppose you’ll be sorry when this thing is over and we return to Fort Good Faith?”
Dick laughed outright. “Well, not exactly, although I wouldn’t have missed the experience for anything. By the way, corporal, how much of the fur did you recover?”
“All of it.”
“That’s fine. Then all that remains to be done is to capture the four packers and the sailor. Do you think we’ll be able to do that?”
“Yes,” smiled Rand, “I have two young but very capable assistants. Tomorrow you’ll be on your feet again, while Toma is feeling as fit as a fiddle.”
“Toma is wonderful,” said Dick. “You can always rely on him. I don’t believe he knows what fear means.”
“You’re right,” approved the other. “He’d make an exceptionally good scout, a splendid partner for Malemute Slade. He may get the chance too. When the Inspector receives my report, there’ll be several persons I know who’ll receive laudatory mention.”
Dick gazed dreamily into the fire.
“Then they may send Toma to the training barracks at Regina this winter?”
“Yes, very probably—and another young man, too, if he cares to go along.”
“You mean me?” gasped Dick, blinking suddenly, a queer tugging at his heart.
“Well, it’s within the realm of reason,” Rand looked up mischievously. “But are you sure you haven’t had enough of this sort of thing?”
“No, corporal, I’d like to go.”
“It isn’t an easy life,” Rand informed him. “The pay is small. One never knows what tomorrow may bring forth. Your greatest reward will be the satisfaction of knowing that you have strived to do your duty. If I were you, I’d think long and seriously before I took the step.”
“But you took it. Do you mean to say that you regret your move? Would you change places with someone else?”
The corporal’s face had become very sober. He too stared dreamily into the fire. In the steel-gray eyes was a look Dick had never seen before. There was a catch in the policeman’s voice when he spoke again:
“It’s too late to think about that now. I’ve crossed my Rubicon. It was my own choice—but I’m not sorry. I think I’ve run the gamut of human emotion. I’ve experienced every phase of physical suffering. On the other hand, there have been times when the mere joy of living paramounted every other thing. The rugged life that we lead gets into the blood. Even if I should return to civilization, I doubt very much whether I would ever be happy or satisfied.”
Dick smiled reminiscently.
“That reminds me of what Sergeant Richardson told me about a year ago, just before he received his promotion. He said that there were times when he gloried in the service; at other times he positively hated it. When he first came to this region, the Inspector sent him out to arrest an Eskimo murderer. It took him eight months. In all that time never once did he see the face of a white man. The memory of that exploit still haunts him. He weighed a hundred and seventy-eight pounds when he set out on that trip and one hundred and fifty when he returned with his prisoner. All that remained of his uniform was his service hat. His hair and beard were so long that he looked like a wild man. Habit was so strong that when the Inspector addressed him, he answered in Eskimo.”
Corporal Rand laughed, but made no comment.
Not long afterward, Toma appeared. His usually expressionless face radiated good nature. He too seemed to be very happy. He sat down in front of the fire, pulled an harmonica out of his pocket and commenced to play. Rand leaned back against a convenient tree trunk and filled and lit his pipe. As time passed, Dick began to wonder if it were good policy to leave the prisoners so long alone. Under no circumstances, ought they to trust Murky.
“Will the prisoners be all right, corporal?” Dick finally blurted out. “Isn’t there danger that one of them may become untied?”
Rand shook his head complacently and winked covertly at Toma.
“There! I’ve caught you, corporal. Something has happened. Have the prisoners already escaped?”
“No, they still here,” Toma denied the allegation.
Dick was not convinced. Although the high spirits of his two companions belied the supposition, he could not help feeling that something was amiss. The more he thought about it, the more perplexed he became. It was not like Corporal Rand to be so careless. Surely experience had taught him better than this.
“Corporal,” said Dick, “I think you must be keeping something from me. What is it?”
The policeman feigned annoyance.
“You’re mistaken. I can’t remember that I’ve ever given you cause to say that.”
The invalid flushed and averted his gaze. He had been sitting up, wrapped in blankets, his shoulders resting against a tree. Just then he felt sheepish and wished that he had held his tongue. He was depressed. But his mood changed suddenly—first to amazement, then to joy. He raised one trembling hand and rubbed his eyes. One long, glad cry rang from his lips:
“Sandy!”
Dick’s eyes were shining as Sandy strode up.
“The last person on earth I expected to see!” he shouted. “When did you get here?”
“A few hours ago,” replied Sandy, releasing Dick’s hand and standing up to look curiously about him. “Corporal Rand was over at the warehouse when we arrived.”
“We!” exclaimed Dick.
“Yes. Do you think I came alone? Sergeant Richardson and I left Settlement Mountain a week ago, and I want to tell you we’ve made quick time.”
“But what did you do with your prisoners?”
“Took them back to Wandley’s post. Had ’em locked up. While we were there we saw Pearly. He’s very much improved.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Dick. “Well, how did you like the trip? I suppose you had difficulty in finding the entrance to Blind Man’s Pass.”
“We were afraid we would, but fortunately everything turned out all right. You see, Dick, there hasn’t been a heavy snow storm since that day we started out with Pearly. We were able to follow your tracks most of the way. The only place, where we had any trouble at all, was just east of that long ravine. Here the wind had drifted in your trail. We were delayed several hours before we found it again—about a mile farther on.”
“I’m anxious to see Sergeant Richardson. How is he?”
“As fit as ever.”
There ensued a short interval of silence. Sandy gazed down at his chum, sympathy and commiseration in his eyes.
“I guess you’ve had a pretty tough time of it. Do you think you’ll be able to be around soon? Over at the warehouse, Toma told me all about your experiences.”
At the memory, Dick’s face shadowed.
“I wouldn’t care to go through it all again. I’m glad you weren’t here, Sandy. You might not have been so fortunate.”
Sandy grinned to himself. “Well, we’ve had a few exciting moments ourselves. Early this morning we discovered the packers. I suppose Rand told you.”
“Packers! What do you mean? Both the corporal and Toma have been as secretive as clams. But once or twice I almost caught them. Tell me about it, Sandy.”
The young Scotchman pulled forward a block of wood and sat down.
“It isn’t a very long story, Dick. I think our meeting with the packers was as much a surprise to us as it was to them. You see, all day yesterday we had been hurrying along, anxious to get down here to the coast. We were not sure where we would find you. Sergeant Richardson was always looking for the smoke of a campfire. When we were still ten or twelve miles back along the trail, every chance he got he’d climb some hill and scan the surrounding country with his field-glasses.
“We passed several cabins, but he thought it would be better not to make inquiries there. Last night, just before we made camp, he shinned up a tall tree and looked everywhere. He thought he could see the distant glow of a fire, but he was not sure. This morning we rose early. It was still dark when we started out. Sergeant Richardson was in the lead. When daylight came, I remember he turned to tell me that we were not more than four miles from the ocean.”
Sandy paused and smiled reminiscently.
“Not long after that we smelled smoke. It was faint, yet one could detect the odor. The sergeant said:
“‘We’re pretty close to them now, Sandy. When we find the source of this smoke, I think we’ll find them.’
“A little farther on, we saw a blue spiral, twisting and curling up among the trees. We were very close now. Naturally, I was very anxious to see you all again, and started forward on a run, but the sergeant overtook me, seizing me by the collar. He yanked me into the bush.
“‘Don’t be a fool!’ he said.
“I thought he was unduly cautious. He warned me to be quiet, to follow him. We advanced toward that smoke spiral as stealthily as a couple of Bengal tigers. I’m here to tell you, Dick, that I’m mighty glad now that we did.
“I guess you can imagine our surprise. Not you at all—not any of you! Instead four dirty half-breeds and a queer-looking duffer of a white man. I was disappointed. I didn’t have the least idea who they were, and supposed, of course, that we would leave them and proceed on our journey. I recall plucking at the sergeant’s sleeve and whispering something about hurrying along on our way.
“But for some reason, Richardson was suspicious. He instructed me to remain there while he crawled closer. The men were eating their breakfast and talking amongst themselves. Richardson wanted to hear what they said.
“I was annoyed over the delay. I wasn’t the least bit interested in those half-breeds.
“‘We’re just wasting valuable time,’ I told myself.
“After a time, a rabbit hopped up close to where I was sitting and I became interested in him. I had just chucked a piece of bark at him, when I heard a sudden commotion. Someone was talking in a loud voice.
“It was the sergeant. There he stood with a gun in his hands, bawling out orders. The half-breeds and the funny duffer in the gray cap were huddled in front of him like a flock of frightened sheep.
“Even then it didn’t occur to me that they were Murky’s packers. I guess I was a little bewildered. The thing had happened so suddenly. I heard Richardson calling me.
“It was the white man who told us the story. He said he was sick of the whole business and was ready to quit. He said he hadn’t done anything wrong anyway, but even if he had, he preferred jail to another day in that wilderness. He was only a common sailor, he told us, and would be mighty glad to get back to his ship. Until just recently, neither he nor any of the other sailors knew that the fur had been stolen. Captain Reynolds, master of the yacht, had told them a very plausible story and they had believed it.”
Sandy paused again.
“There isn’t much more to tell. We reached the warehouse less than an hour later, where we found Corporal Rand and his prisoners. Maybe you think I wasn’t glad.”
Dick looked up into his chum’s face and smiled.
“I’m glad too. This surely came as a surprise to me. It won’t be long now until we can return to Fort Good Faith.”
Sandy rose to his feet. He stretched his arms above his head, yawning lazily. Suddenly his hands dropped and he stared in surprise.
“Look, Dick! Here comes Sergeant Richardson. He’s bringing all the prisoners.”
Murky Nichols was a changed man. His spirit had been broken. No longer he assumed his defiant attitude, his blustering, cock-sure manner. His sins had found him out. He had been caught in the toils of the long-reaching arm of the police.
Whenever he was spoken to, he answered in monosyllables. For the most part, he sat brooding, eyes downcast, tormented by his thoughts. A short time before the police party prepared for its departure, he stirred from his lethargy and beckoned to Sergeant Richardson.
“There’s a few things I’d like to tell yuh. I know what yuh all think—that I’ve always been a bad egg an’ a crook. Yuh believe I’ve been runnin’ stolen fur through to the coast here fer a good many years. But that ain’t the truth.”
“What is the truth?” inquired Richardson.
“First, Sergeant, I’d like tuh ask yuh a question. How long do yuh think it’s been since I found out about the pass?”
“I can’t imagine, Murky. Tell me.”
“Eight years,” replied the outlaw. “It was eight years ago that I found it.”
“Youfound it?”
“Yeh,” drawled Nichols. “It was me. I was prospectin’ then an’, whether yuh believe it or not. I’d always been honest—never done a wrong thing. It was in the spring o’ the year. I’d been havin’ some hard luck the previous summer, pannin’ gold up along the Lobstick River. I was broke all the followin’ winter an’ when spring come Wandley staked me to a grubstake fer another try at gettin’ back what I’d lost.
“Durin’ the winter I had talked with an ol’ Indian, who used to live on Settlement River. He told me that about twenty years before a white prospector had made a big strike in the foothills west o’ Settlement Mountain. I decided to go there, though as a usual thing I don’t put much stock in these yarns o’ the Nitchies.
“So jus’ before the first big thaw, I slips out there, while the frost is still in the ground an’ builds me a small shack. Mebbe yuh saw it—a little way back from the ravine that yuh come into before reachin’ the pass. Well, I prospected through that country an’ one day I struck it rich. Nothin’ very big, sergeant, but it looked good to me then. I had nearly two thousand in gold by midsummer. I was able to square my account with Wandley, an’ I had a nice little nest egg to keep me goin’.
“One day, lookin’ for new pockets, I slipped down into the ravine an’ begins to follow it up. I kept movin’ westward an’ after a while I reached the end an’ saw that big crevice in the rock. Bein’ kind o’ curious, I walked through an’ came out into the pass.”
The gloomy face of the big prospector brightened perceptibly. He paused, mumbling to himself. Just then he was living in the past.
“At first, I couldn’t hardly believe what I seen. Here was a big valley in the very heart o’ the mountains. I remembered the ol’ Nitchie yarn about Blind Man’s Pass. I began wonderin’ if this was it. I made up my mind that it wouldn’t do no harm to investigate. I spent two weeks out there an’ finally when I went back to Wandley’s, I had a secret. I knew that ’most everybody would be glad to hear the good news.
“The first man I see at Wandley’s is O’Connell. He’s been busy all summer freightin’ supplies. I guess he’d about cornered ever’ available pack-horse in the country. Him an’ Hart, ’count o’ the bad condition of the trails, wasn’t makin’ very good headway. O’Connell tells me he has thousands o’ pounds to take out, an’ no way to do it. He has a big shipment ready to send ’round to the coast but don’t durst tackle it.
“‘Which way yuh going?’ I asks.
“‘Yellowhead Pass,’ he answers.
“‘Kind o’ long trip,’ I says.
“‘Yeh, it sure is,’ O’Connell shoot back. ‘An’ I dread it. The trails down that way is mighty near impassable.’
“It was jus’ on the tip o’ my tongue to tell him about my discovery, when somethin’ makes me change my mind. There’d be nothin’ in it fer me if I tells what I knew, an’ besides I figgered I ought to be paid fer all the trouble I’d been put to. So I says to him:
“‘O’Connell, what’ll yuh give me if I take that stuff through fer yuh?’
“He didn’t answer right away, ’cause he thought I was jokin’. He winked at Wandley an’ laughed.
“‘Yuh wouldn’t get very far,’ he tells me.
“‘Mebbe not,’ I says to him, ‘but I’m willin’ to take the chance. Jus’ name your price.’
“‘If yuh really mean it,’ O’Connell gasps, ‘yuh can have the whole blamed contract an’ good luck to yuh. The summer rains have made the trails so bad that I won’t be able to get through fer another month.’
“We talked an’ figgered fer a while an’ finally I gets the contract. I’m to get nine hundred dollars an’ keep seven hundred fer myself. I could tell by the way he acted that he thought he’d beat me pretty bad in the deal. So did everybody else. They was all laughin’ up their sleeves, thinkin’ about what a fool I had made o’ myself. Wandley calls me to one side.
“‘Murky,’ he says, ‘yuh jus’ made a hasty contract. Yuh better change your mind before it’s too late. You’ll lose all the money yuh made up in the hills this summer an’ mebbe a lot more besides. O’Connell knows he can’t make a cent on that west coast shipment, an’ you’re playin’ right in his hands. Yuh better see him now before he leaves an’ tell him you’ve changed your mind.’
“‘What would you like to bet I can’t make it?’ I asks him.
“‘You may be able to make it, but you’ll lose money. Don’t try it, Murky. Yuh ain’t no packer to begin with. It stands to reason that if O’Connell is afraid o’ it, it’s no good.’
“I thanked him, but I stuck to the contract in spite of what everybody said. I bought some pack-horses an’ O’Connell lent me five o’ his. My greatest trouble was to find packers I could trust to keep their mouths shut about the pass. You see, I wanted to keep that a secret. It took me nearly two weeks to get my crew together an’ load up the stuff.
“In order to deceive everybody,” Murky resumed after a short pause, “we started out in broad daylight over the regular trail leading to the Yellowhead. They all jeered at us when we left Wandley’s. Two days out, we left the trail, circled back, an’ then one dark night slipped down into the ravine an’ entered the pass.”
At this point, Sergeant Richardson interrupted the narrator.
“To whom was the shipment consigned?” he asked.
“To a free trader named Bentley,” Nichols promptly replied. “He was jus’ opening up a new tradin’ post in the Goose Lake country.”
“Well,” Murky continued, “we made a quick trip. I was able to pay my packers almost double what they generally got. Comin’ back, we took plenty o’ time so as to make it appear that we had gone by the Yellowhead route. But even at that, we was weeks ahead o’ the schedule. O’Connell nearly fell out o’ his skin. He didn’t know what to say an’ neither did Wandley. O’Connell offered me other contracts an’ fer two years I made some easy money. Then one day he comes to me, an’ by the look on his face, I could see somethin’ was up.
“‘Look here, Murky,’ he says, ‘there’s somethin’ wrong about all this. I’ve been watchin’ yuh. Yuh ain’t been takin’ none o’ the stuff through the Yellowhead. What yuh been doin’ with it?’
“‘I don’t know as that’s any o’ your business,’ I comes back. ‘As long as the shipments reaches their destination, yuh ain’t got no kick.’
“‘Yuh’ve found a shorter route,’ accused O’Connell.
“‘Well, what if I have?’
“‘It ain’t fair to the shipper,’ he says. ‘Suppose it leaks out that he’s payin’ all this extra mileage. What’ll happen to me?’
“‘It don’t never need to leak out,’ I said.
“But O’Connell is hot-headed, an’ he informs me that he’s through. He goes away in a huff, an’ I don’t see him again fer nearly a week. Then he comes over an’ tries to make a dicker with me.
“‘How much cash money will yuh take to show me your route?’ he says, fingerin’ a roll o’ bills. ‘This thing has gone far enough.’
“‘I ain’t in the markey today,’ I told him a little huffy. ‘Yuh can do your own west coast packin’ over any route that yuh like. I won’t even listen to yuh.’
“He offered me fifteen hundred dollars but I refused. Finally he goes away, an’ fer nearly a year packs his own stuff through the Yellowhead, nursin’ a sore spot in his chest. In a way, it was kind o’ hard on me too. It had got so that I depended on the money I received from him fer the work I did. After a while, my capital dwindled down to jus’ a few hundred dollars. I could see I had to go back to work.
“Along about that time, a Nitchie breaks into the warehouse at Fort Point o’ Call an’ steal a lot of valuable fur. One o’ my packers heard it. The thief was a friend o’ his. He had the stuff cached up in the foothills but was afraid to move it for fear he’d get caught.”
Murky ceased speaking and sat for several minutes deep in thought. Then he turned upon Sergeant Richardson.
“Yuh see, I was gettin’ kind o’ desperate, sergeant. This was a big temptation. My money was runnin’ low. I thought it over fer a long time an’ finally made a dicker with the thief. I agreed to take the fur off his hands an’ dispose of it, gettin’ one-third o’ the money fer my trouble.
“We didn’t have no difficulty at all takin’ the fur through the pass, an’ less than three weeks later I had the money it brought safe in my pocket. The man what bought the fur was a free trader who had been in on some shady deals before, an’ I knew he’d keep his mouth shut.
“I guess the money sort o’ turned my head. It was all so easy an’ simple, that I encouraged the half-breed to try his luck again. The second time we was successful. Then I went into the business wholesale. I got my packers to steal too. Ever’ man I hired was a crook. I needed a good confederate so I made a proposition to La Qua an’ he accepted it. Pretty soon I had agents all over the country.
“My business grew like a snowball rollin’ down hill. It seemed like I couldn’t stop it. I laid my plans so well, it was pretty hard fer yuh fellows to catch me. I made friends with Hart an’ O’Connell again, agreein’ to take out their shipments at a reduced rate. When they accepted my offer, they didn’t know I was usin’ them as a sort o’ screen to hide my real work—to keep yuh mounties guessin’.
“In the last two years I’ve made close to two hundred thousand dollars. I was takin’ out stolen fur on such a big scale that it didn’t seem wise to sell to the free traders any longer. It was too dangerous. So I went to Seattle an’ made arrangements with Captain Reynolds to come up here with his yacht several times durin’ the year. I built the wharf an’ warehouse. I think ever’thing would be all right today if—if—”
“Yes,” encouraged the policeman. “If—”
“If it hadn’t been fer Daddy McInness,” Nichols concluded.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Corporal Rand cut in. “We’ve been suspicious of you for a long time, Murky. The death of Daddy Mclnness merely brought matters to a head. Murder is a terrible thing, Nichols.”
At mention of the word, the prospector went suddenly deathly white.
“I didn’t kill him!” he croaked. “Before God, I tell yuh—”
The sentence ended in a groan. Murky turned his head guiltily and looked into the slowly dying fire. For a long time he sat, eyes fixed sombrely on the darkening mass. It was symbolic of his own case—charred hopes and the ashes of defeat, where once had burned brightly the consuming flames of avarice.
Months later, at Fort Good Faith, Dick and Sandy sat in the trading room engaged in a game of cribbage, when Factor MacClaren strode over to their table, carrying in one hand a month’s old copy of an Edmonton newspaper. He interrupted the game by spreading out the paper between them, and turning the pages until he came to the particular item he had just read.
“I knew you boys would be interested,” he said, indicating the place at the bottom of the column. “Yesterday when the mail came in, I looked over this copy of the Bulletin, but missed it somehow. Read it.”
“All right, Dick,” commanded Sandy, “read it aloud.”