“You have guessed correctly, Captain Morrison. Donald Frazer, the former factor here, has been arrested for complicity in the murder of Conroy Miller, a prospector. The motive was robbery. With the exception of the two young men you might have noticed in one of the canoes, all the others in the party were implicated.”
Captain Morrison stalked to the rail and looked down at the scene of activity below. His mouth twitched and he wiped his perspiring face with a shaky hand.
“Good Heavens! I never would have suspected—it is hard to believe—Frazer! The last person on earth I’d associate with such a crime.”
“That’s true,” Mr. Scott admitted. “He’s changed a lot in the last two or three years. Gambling and drinking led up to it. He was pressed for money, had appropriated funds belonging to the company.”
“Weren’t two of those prisoners Toby McCallum and Wolf Brennan? Seems to me I recognized them.”
“That’s who they were. The others were Henri and Pierre Mekewai, two Indians.”
“Never heard of the Indians, but Toby McCallum and Wolf Brennan I know well. Very unscrupulous, both of them. At one time, about ten years ago, they worked under me. I was on the Athabasca then. My run was from Gruard to Athabasca Landing. Lazy, impertinent, light fingered. I had the devil’s own time with them. Finally forced to dismiss them from my employ.”
“How far do you run up the river?” Dick asked, hoping to change the subject.
“I go as far as Big Rock Lake. During high water, occasionally I go down Big Rock River which flows into the Peace.”
Dick started. “You mean to say, Captain, that in high water you can run your steamer clear from here to Peace River Crossing?”
“Quite right, my boy. A month ago I could have done it quite easily. But not now. Under the present arrangement, all the supplies for these northern posts in this immediate territory, are freighted across country from Peace to Big Rock Lake. Costs the company a pile of money, too. If the cost wasn’t so prohibitive, we would deepen the channel in Big Rock River.”
At this juncture, Morrison was called away to supervise the work of unloading cargo stored in the hold. Dick and Mr. Scott watched the proceedings for a time, then turned and retraced their steps to the post.
“You don’t know how hard it was to tell Captain Morrison about Frazer,” confided the latter. “He and Frazer were pretty close friends at one time, I believe. I’ve often heard the former factor speak of him in rather laudatory terms.”
“It was quite a shock to him. You could see that. By the way, when does Captain Morrison make the return trip to Big Rock Lake?”
“Early tomorrow morning. He always ties up here for the night. All afternoon they’ll be loading cordwood which, as you know, they use for fuel. Also, I have nearly two hundred bales of fur ready for shipment.”
So, as was his usual custom, the grizzled pilot of the North’s great waterways remained at Half Way House for the night. Dick spent the afternoon in a futile wandering about, still pondering over the problem of the dinosaur. The captain’s statement, that in the spring, when water was high, his steamer could proceed as far south as Peace River Crossing, filled him with unbounded joy. If only he could think of some way—some plan by which he could bring the fossil from the Lake of Many Islands to Half Way House, his perplexity would be at an end.
“It can’t be impossible,” he kept repeating to himself over and over in a monotonous, mournful undertone. “I simply must think of some way before the boys return.”
But how? Almost within his reach, that remaining barrier of three hundred miles of wilderness held him from his goal. The thought was maddening. Restless as a sprite, he paced back and forth between the post and the river at least twenty times. Again he considered Mr. Scott’s suggestion regarding a scow. Wasn’t there some way of pushing or hauling such an unwieldy craft through the rapids opposite the portages? For a time, he seriously considered the advisability of a gasoline motor in the scow.
Of all the plans that had come into his mind, the last seemed most feasible. Yet, it had its drawbacks too. In the first place, he didn’t have a motor or the gasoline with which to run it. It would cost a lot of money and a good deal of time would elapse before he could even hope to try out his plan. In case that it should prove to be impracticable, he would be out a good sum of money and no nearer a workable solution.
After supper, he sat in the dining room, still pondering the question. He could hear Captain Morrison and Mr. Scott conversing in low tones at the opposite side of the room. Now and again, a word or phrase came to him. Tonight Captain Morrison was in a reminiscent mood and he regaled his host with many tales of a long lifetime spent in the northern Canadian wilderness. His voice droned on and on happily. Occasionally he lapsed into thoughtful silences, industriously sucking his pipe. The room was pleasantly warm and Dick felt tired and sleepy.
He rose lazily to his feet and went to a window and looked out. He was standing close to Captain Morrison now and could hear every word that was being said. In spite of himself, he became interested.
“In 1904, I think it was,” Morrison paused for a moment, puffing at his pipe. “Yes, 1904. I was running on this river same as I am now. A different steamer though, theLady Marian. Trim little vessel she was and, at that time, the fastest boat that ever headed into these northern waters. She was new and spick as a pin. I was proud of her. I wasn’t a bit ashamed when that distinguished party of Hudson’s Bay officials, I was telling you about, came out here from London, England on their round of inspection.
“There were a couple of Lords and an Earl or two in that party. I picked them up at Big Rock Lake and steamed up here for Half Way House in one of the worst storms I have ever seen. It had rained steady for six days. River flowing like a torrent. Drift bumping up against us every few minutes. So nasty outside that not one of the party could come out on deck. Thermometer dropping every hour. That was in April, too—the tail end of the month. My second trip since the ice went out. Near Painter’s Ferry I was standing in the bow, watching the drift, when I heard someone come up behind me and felt a hand on my arm. I turned, and so help me Bob, if it wasn’t the commissioner himself.
“‘When do we arrive at Half Way House?’ he asked me.
“‘In about six more hours,’ I told him.
“He nodded to me, pinched my arm in a friendly way and went below. I kept watching the drift until the dark came. All the time the storm was increasing. The rain turned into a wet, blinding snow. It kept getting colder every minute. I was afraid of the drift and slowed down until I was barely drifting with the current.
“With the engines quiet and the darkness growing more and more intense, I began to see that I could never make Half Way House in six hours. So I went below and explained my difficulties. The commissioner was a very grave man and a little impatient at the delay.
“‘Why don’t you put on a little more steam?’ he asked me.
“‘I’m afraid of crashing into the drift,’ I told him.
“He hesitated, twirled the ends of his waxed mustache and turned to the rest of the party.
“‘Are you gentlemen willing to take the risk?’ he inquired. ‘If you are, I’ll give the captain here instructions to go ahead more quickly.’
“There wasn’t a dissenting voice. They were all anxious, it seemed, to get on to their destination. I went down and gave the engineer his orders.
“‘Full steam ahead,’ I said a little angrily. ‘Give her all you’ve got. The commissioner and his party are in a hurry to get to Half Way House.’
“Soon after, when I went to the deck, theLady Marianwas thundering under my feet like a huge locomotive. We drove straight into a head wind, a furious storm of sleet and snow. It kept me busy trying to figure out where I was. Every little while, I was compelled to take soundings. The minutes and the hours slipped on. The night was black as a crow’s wing. Snow piling up in drifts along the deck—slippery as ice. Still no sight of Half Way House. I couldn’t see a light twinkling. I was certain that we must be close upon it by that time and finally I rang orders to the engineer to slow down and, a few minutes later, to stop altogether.
“Nearly frozen, I stood there like a lost child gazing out through the storm. One thing that worried me was the rate of speed we were drifting. I had never seen the current so swift here before. It literally boiled around us. When the steamer went forward again, the velocity of the current increased. Then two miles farther on, it became steadier, less precipitous.
“For a long time I stood out there on the deck, shivering, weary, disgusted, unable to account for the phenomenon. I knew the river like you gentlemen know a book. I had never run into anything like that before. Between Painter’s Ferry and Half Way House, such a current simply did not exist. Then suddenly, like a clap out of a blue sky, it struck me all at once. I got so blamed mad that I felt like jumping overboard. For the first time in all my life, I had committed an unpardonable error.”
“What was it?” asked Dick, unable to contain himself any longer.
With maddening deliberateness, the old river man silently filled and relighted his pipe. He turned toward his young questioner and grinned broadly.
“In the terrific storm and darkness,” he explained, “I had run completely past Half Way House and down an uncharted stretch of river six miles past the first portage. All things considered, I was mighty fortunate. If it had been a few weeks later, I would have run slap-dash into the rocks there at the portage.”
“Did you go back to Half Way House that same night?”
Captain Morrison laughed and shook his head.
“No, that’s the best part of it. It hurt like blazes to go below and tell that distinguished party what a fool I had made of myself. But instead of becoming angry, as I had supposed they would, they had a good laugh over it and instructed me to pull in a little closer to shore where we wouldn’t drag anchor, and stop for the night.
“The next morning was beautiful. The wind had changed into the west and one could feel the faint stirrings of a regular chinook. I was getting ready to turn back, when the commissioner came on deck, all rosy and smiling, and asked me how I had spent the night.
“‘Fine,’ I told him.
“‘Have you got a good head of steam?’
“‘Yes, sir,’ I answered. ‘I can take you back to the trading post in a little over an hour and a quarter.’
“I had stepped forward to give my orders to my engineer, when he called me back.
“‘Have you ever been this far down the river before?’ he asked me.
“I told him that I had not. I explained to him that there were no trading posts further down the river and that navigation was impossible except during high flood.
“‘The lower part of the river has never been charted then?’ he said.
“I shook my head.
“‘Very well then, Captain Morrison, we’ll go on down the river and chart it. We’ll stop at Half Way House on our return.’”
Dick suddenly strode forward and placed an eager, trembling hand on the broad shoulders of the river pilot.
“And did you really chart the river?” he asked in a queer, tense voice.
“Yes, that’s what we did,” the other replied promptly. “We were away two weeks. Went three hundred and fifty miles by actual count.”
Dick suddenly threw his hat in the air.
“Whoopee!” he shouted,
“Captain Morrison,” said Dick, shaking the pilot’s hand, “I can’t begin to tell you how thankful I am that I remained here tonight and listened to that interesting account of your experiences. It has solved a great problem for me.”
“What problem? I don’t understand. How have I helped you?” Captain Morrison’s questions came like staccato explosions.
“Did you ever hear of the dinosaur in the Lake of Many Islands?” Dick asked.
The river man rubbed his forehead thoughtfully,
“No, I don’t believe that I have. Is there a dinosaur there?”
“On the island of the granite shaft,” explained Dick. “A huge skeleton of a dinosaur, or what has been described as a dinosaur, a big skeleton weighing tons. At Mr. Scott’s suggestion, I’m writing out to the Canadian Geographical Society to see if they will be interested in buying it, or at least, finding a purchaser. My great problem was to discover how to get the thing out of there if I did succeed in selling it. I’ve been studying over it for weeks. Until you came here tonight, I had no idea that it was possible to descend the river in a steamer even in high water.”
“You didn’t!” gasped the captain.
“No, I didn’t. None of us did.”
“I thought that nearly every one knew that the river had been charted,” mused the old pilot. “I have the chart in my possession right now. In the morning, if you will accompany me to the steamer, I’ll show it to you.”
“Splendid,” enthused Dick. “Now comes the next difficulty. Do you think the Hudson’s Bay Company would consider a proposal to transport the skeleton from the Lake of Many Islands to Peace River Crossing?”
“Why not?” the captain looked at Dick in surprise. “We carry thousands of dollars worth of freight every year for private individuals.”
“When would be the best time to go up there for it?” came Dick’s next question.
“That depends a good deal upon the season. Ordinarily, I should say, the latter part of April or the first part of May. Certainly not until the snow has all melted and the first spring rains have come.”
“If I can find a purchaser, can I depend upon yours or some other steamer to do the work for me. The reason I’m asking you this is because I’d hate to enter into any sort of contract and then discover at the last minute that you were too busy to make the trip.”
“That difficulty can be solved easily. Let me know just as soon as you have completed arrangements with the society and I’ll charter a steamer for you.”
“Thank you, Captain Morrison. That’s very good of you. I’ll write a letter tonight and will send it out to the Canadian Geographical Society in the mail that you are taking with you tomorrow. Even allowing for delays, I ought to hear from them within two months. If the answer is favorable, I’ll get in touch with you just as soon as I can.”
“Very well, Dick, I’ll expect to hear from you. Now, if I’m not too inquisitive, do you think that such an undertaking as the one you propose will be a profitable venture on your part?”
“I really don’t know,” came the startling answer. “To be perfectly frank with you, I don’t care if I don’t make a single penny.”
Captain Morrison’s eyes popped.
“What’s that? You don’t care? You—you——”
Factor Scott’s amused laugh broke across the room.
“Look here, Dick,” he expostulated, “in fairness to the captain, you ought to give him your real reason for wanting to fetch out the dinosaur.”
“All right, Mr. Scott, I will.”
Dick pulled forward a chair and sat down.
“If you have just a moment or two more to spare, I’ll tell you. For a long time now it had been a sore point with me. A number of weeks ago, at the instance of Mr. Frazer, I went up there to the island of the dinosaur, accompanied by my two friends, Sandy MacClaren and John Toma—the two young men you saw yesterday with Corporal Rand. Mr. Frazer had promised us quite a large sum of money if we would bring the skeleton back to Half Way House. Not until we arrived at the island and saw how large the dinosaur was, did we learn that the expedition was planned by the factor merely to get us out of the way. It was a fool’s errand. It made us all feel silly. Quite a few people, who have heard about it, had a good laugh at our expense. I can take a joke as well as the next one, but this joke was too raw to suit me, or my chums either. We had paid out quite a large sum of money for tools and grubstake and were forced to endure untold, almost unbelievable hardships.”
Captain Morrison’s eyes shadowed.
“Atrocious!” he pronounced. “I don’t blame you in the least for feeling as you do.”
Soon afterward, Dick bade good-night to Factor Scott and the genial river pilot and retired to his room in the loft to write his letter to the Canadian Geographical Society. On the following morning, he was up bright and early and, after a hurried breakfast, went down to the landing wharf, his epistle in hand.
Captain Morrison greeted him cheerily.
“Good morning, young man, you’re abroad early. Were you afraid I’d pull anchor before you had time to mail that precious letter? Bet you didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
Dick flushed under the steady gaze.
“In strict confidence, I didn’t sleep very much, but I guess it was more than a wink. I feel rested, anyway—and happy, too.”
The captain yanked his blue cap farther down over his eyes and bellowed out an order. A sailor, standing idly near the gangplank, jumped as if he had been shot.
“Got to watch them every minute,” grumbled the captain. “By the way, I told you to come over and see that chart. If you’ll come with me to the cabin, I’ll give you a peep at it. Rather proud of that chart. Made under very unusual circumstances. Has the sanction and approval of the highest officials of the Hudson’s Bay Company.”
For nearly an hour Dick remained aboard with the captain, studying the chart and listening to the account of that memorable journey down the river. When the time came for him to go ashore, he shook hands with his benefactor, thanking him once more.
“I never would have solved the problem if it hadn’t been for you,” he declared earnestly, squeezing the pilot’s rough hand. “You can’t realize how happy it has made me.”
“Even happier than the satisfaction of knowing you helped to bring those crooks to justice?” inquired the other slyly.
Dick smiled modestly. “No, I wouldn’t say that. What I mean is that everything has worked out so nicely. The slate is almost wiped clean. Somehow it seemed that our job wasn’t fully completed until we had settled the fate of that dinosaur.”
Captain Morrison laughed, shook hands again and Dick hurried down the gangplank just as the steamer’s whistle shrieked out its warning. He turned to wave a last good-bye then thoughtfully made his way up to the post.
“Never saw such a change in anyone in my life,” commented the factor as Dick breezed through the open door. “Your smile would warm the heart of a stone.”
“That’s just the way I feel,” chuckled the young man. “All I have to do now is enjoy a well-earned vacation while I’m waiting for Sandy and Toma.”
“I bet you can hardly wait until they come. They’ll be as pleased as punch when you tell them the news.”
However, during the next few days, in which he had plenty of time to think it all over, Dick decided that he would say absolutely nothing about the dinosaur for the present. Instead, he would keep that for a surprise until he had received word from the Canadian Geographical Society. By so doing, if the society’s letter was unfavorable toward the project, no one would be disappointed except himself.
Nevertheless, he counted the days, almost the hours, while he waited for his chums’ return. When the thirteenth day came and passed, little lines of worry and impatience began to etch his smooth, brown forehead. On the fourteenth day, he had grown so restless that he found it utterly impossible to remain in one place more than a few minutes at a time. He walked around the post like a lost soul. What was keeping them? Had the prisoners escaped? Through his mind there flashed in review a hundred scenes of lurid, sanguinary combat, through which he could follow the sinister, gliding form of two Mekewai brothers—triumphant at last. So vividly did his troubled imagination conjure up these fantastic horrors, that he could actually see Sandy, Corporal Rand and Toma lying prone and lifeless in the shadow of the sentinel trees along the gloomy, woodland trail to Fort Mackenzie.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, almost crazed by his obsessions, he wandered back toward the trading room, then suddenly stopped short as if transfixed. Coming out of the woods, less than a hundred yards away, were two well-known figures—two laughing and noisy young men.
A thrill of joy coursed through him.
“Hello, Dick!” they both shouted as their friend bounded forward to meet them.
By the time he had joined them, Sandy and Toma had slipped off their shoulder-packs, heedlessly letting them fall to the ground.
“Fooled you, didn’t we?” cried the former. “Instead of returning by Painter’s Ferry, we struck straight across country. Had a glorious time. Toma shot a moose.”
“How did the prisoners behave?” Dick demanded.
“Everything went just like clock-work,” replied Sandy. “No trouble at all. The Mekewais were docile as two lambs. We both had the satisfaction of seeing the lot of them thrown into iron cells, where they’ll remain until the day of the trial. When that time comes, we’ll be the Crown’s chief witnesses. Inspector Cameron asked me to tell you that.”
“We’ll all be ready,” smiled Dick.
“Inspector Cameron sent his very kindest regards to you,” continued the young man. “He says that we’re getting better and better all the time. Here’s your check, Dick.”
“Thank you,” said the recipient of the money, glancing at the bit of paper while he flushed with pride and pleasure.
“And that isn’t all,” Sandy hurried on. “I almost forgot to tell you an important bit of news. The story of Miller’s strike at Caribou Lake has precipitated a gold rush. Hundreds of prospectors are on their way there and a few already staked out claims. The police think that there’ll be an important camp established near Miller’s claim before the summer is over. Constable Perry left two days after our arrival, to go up there and keep order. The chances are that he’ll be stationed there permanently.”
“Too bad that Miller isn’t there himself,” said Dick. “If his life hadn’t been cut short, he might have lived to become very, very wealthy.”
“That’s true,” Sandy’s face shadowed a little.
Toma turned radiantly upon Dick.
“What you do alla time we be gone?” he asked curiously. “Sandy an’ me tell each other that you get so lonesome that——”
Interrupting him, Dick put aside the implications with a lordly gesture.
“Not a bit of it. Never had a more interesting time in my life.”
“You didn’t even miss us!” gasped Sandy.
Dick flushed as he stooped to pick up the forgotten shoulder-packs.
“Sandy,” he reproved him, “sometimes I think you talk too much. Come on now, Factor Scott will be waiting for you.”
Two months later at Fort Good Faith, Dick received a letter which caused him to exclaim excitedly and then call out in an eager voice to Sandy, who stood just across the room conversing with a half-breed trapper from Willing River.
“Sandy, come here!”
Dick’s chum swung obediently on his heel and hurried over.
“Yes, Dick. What’s up now?”
“A letter about the dinosaur,” explained Dick. “Arrived here just now from the Canadian Geographical Society.”
Sandy’s expression changed suddenly from eagerness to surprise.
“Our dinosaur up there at the Lake of Many Islands!” he gasped.
Dick nodded. “The very same.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve been corresponding with the Canadian Geographical Society about that mountain of bones?” inquired the other wonderingly.
“Yes, Sandy, that’s what I’ve been doing.”
The next question was a very natural one:
“But why?”
“To prove the old saying that the man who laughs last laughs best,” answered Dick enigmatically.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean just this: Up until the time we encountered the dinosaur, we never tackled any task we didn’t successfully finish. But that dinosaur stuck us. We didn’t know how we’d get the brute out of the country. We lost a certain amount of prestige when we set out upon that undertaking. It made us look like fools. With the exception of Corporal Rand, everybody had a good laugh over it.”
“But it was our first experience of the kind,” Sandy expostulated. “We knew nothing about fossil hunting. Except in a hazy way, we didn’t even know what a dinosaur was. The mistake was natural. I’ll admit that the joke was on us, but almost anyone else, even an older person, might have been taken in by it.”
“True enough, Sandy.” Dick’s hand rested lightly on his friend’s shoulder. “Still I think you’ll agree with me that if we succeed in getting the dinosaur away from the island, we can feel more like facing the world again.”
“Well, what have you done about it? What does the letter say?”
Dick handed over the sheet of paper.
“Read it,” he said.
Ottawa, Canada,August 2nd, 1923.Mr. Richard Kent,Fort Good Faith,N. W. T.Dear Sir:In reply to your letter, dated June 27th, I wish to say that our society is very much interested in your proposal and early next spring will undertake the preliminary work of exhuming, crating and shipping the fossil you have described. Our representative, Mr. Claymore, has been instructed to proceed at once to Fort Good Faith, where he will arrive about September 1st to take up with you more fully the project of transporting the dinosaur from Half Way River to the end-of-steel at Peace River Crossing.Yours very truly,(Signed)L. P. Graham,Secretary for the Society.
Ottawa, Canada,August 2nd, 1923.
Mr. Richard Kent,Fort Good Faith,N. W. T.Dear Sir:
Mr. Richard Kent,
Fort Good Faith,
N. W. T.
Dear Sir:
In reply to your letter, dated June 27th, I wish to say that our society is very much interested in your proposal and early next spring will undertake the preliminary work of exhuming, crating and shipping the fossil you have described. Our representative, Mr. Claymore, has been instructed to proceed at once to Fort Good Faith, where he will arrive about September 1st to take up with you more fully the project of transporting the dinosaur from Half Way River to the end-of-steel at Peace River Crossing.
Yours very truly,(Signed)L. P. Graham,Secretary for the Society.
Sandy glanced up when he had finished reading, thoughtfully folded the letter and handed it back to his chum.
“I suppose you know what you’re doing, Dick. Made all your plans?”
Dick nodded emphatically. “Yes, down to the last detail.”
“Taking Toma and me with you?”—a slight frown and an assumed air of great indifference.
“You bet I am,” grinned Dick. “You ought to know that without asking. You and Toma are to furnish the brains for my working party.”
THE END