“Why not? I don’t think I would have any scruples about that. Remember you are dealing with a crook.”
“Are we?” argued Dick. “What makes you so sure? We have proved nothing against him. Neither has Corporal Rand. He may be entirely innocent.”
Sandy lifted his shoulders in a gesture of impatience.
“I’m afraid you’d make a poor detective. You’re too honest, too cautious.” He paused, looked up and grinned. “Can you picture a case-hardened police officer or the average sleuth passing up such an opportunity? Candidly now?”
Dick was forced to admit that his chum was right. “I’ll grant you,” he smiled, “that no one, working on a case like this, ought to have trouble with his conscience.”
“No, he shouldn’t. As long as we are in the business, we might as well conduct ourselves like real detectives.”
“All right, you can have your way this time. We’ll follow Frischette. We’ll even pry open the box if you say so.”
A shadow flickered across Sandy’s forehead.
“But supposing the box is locked. There’s a possibility that hadn’t occurred to me. We’d be in a difficult position, wouldn’t we, if we broke it open and found that there was nothing there to incriminate him? Frischette would see that the box had been tampered with. He’d guess that one of us, you, Toma or I, had opened it, or possibly he might suspect Fontaine or Le Sueur.”
“If the box is locked,” reasoned Dick, “there is a key to open it.”
“Yes—and he probably carries it around his neck. Fine chance we’d have getting it from him.”
Their whispered conversation was interrupted at this juncture by the creak of a door opening, and the sound of footsteps along the floor. Startled, the boys looked up, just as Frischette came into the room where they were, the box under his arm. He had come sooner than they had expected. Again the boys noticed his strange behaviour. Some sudden impulse induced Dick to accost him.
“Mr. Frischette, may I trouble you for a moment.” He attempted to control the quaver in his voice. “We—Sandy, Toma and I—have been wondering about our bill. If you don’t mind, we’d like to pay you.”
Frischette’s face recovered some of its former cheerfulness.
“Ah, monsieurs, surely you are not to go so soon. Did you not tell me zat you stay here for three, four day yet. I will be ver’ sorry ef you go now.”
“But we have no intention of going now,” Dick enlightened him. “We merely wish to pay you in advance.”
The Frenchman’s dark face brightened. He watched Dick reach in his pocket and pull forth a huge roll of bills. At sight of it, his eyes gleamed and sparkled with envy.
“If you weesh, monsieur. But et ees not necessary. Ze amount ees twenty dollars for ze three of you.”
Dick fondled the heavy roll, slowly peeling off the required amount. He was watching the roadhouse keeper and noticed with satisfaction the effect the money had upon him. To his surprise, Frischette said:
“Ees not monsieur leetle careless to carry roun’ so ver’ much money? Are you not afraid zat thief will take et or else you lose et from your pocket?”
Dick pooh-poohed the idea, laughed, and with a sly look at Sandy, thrust the roll carelessly in the inside pocket of his coat. Frischette followed every move. His eyes seemed to burn into Dick’s pockets. A look of greed so transformed his features that for a time Dick could scarcely believe that this was the genial, obliging host of the previous afternoon.
When he had received the twenty dollars, Frischette had found it necessary to put down the square box, containing his treasure. He had placed it on the table at his elbow with his right arm flung out across it. Not once did he move from this position. While Dick was carrying out his part of the prearranged plan, Sandy also was busy. He moved to the opposite side of the table, in order to get a better view of the box. What he wanted to find out was whether or not it was locked.
Not until Frischette was in the act of picking up the box, preparing to go, was Sandy able to determine about the lock. A key would not be necessary. The small but formidable-looking chest could easily be opened. Sandy smiled to himself.
All that remained to be done now, he reasoned, was to follow Frischette and learn where he kept his treasure. Then, when the opportunity arose, they would ransack the box. It would not take long to solve the mystery surrounding Dewberry’s priceless poke.
To follow a man through Arctic twilight, to slink from tree to tree and cover to cover, to keep hid always and make very little sound—is not an easy accomplishment. At least, the three boys found that it was not. They stole stealthily along about fifty yards behind Frischette, attempting to keep within that distance, neither advancing too quickly nor too slowly.
The wood they had entered was exceedingly dense, in places almost impassable. Underbrush grew so thick that it choked out even the grass. So thick indeed was the undergrowth, through which Frischette hurried, that it was utterly impossible always to keep within sight of him. Now and again they would see his hurrying form, only to lose it a moment later. Sometimes the crackling of the underbrush would reveal his whereabouts. At other times the boys would be in doubt as to where he was, and would come to the conclusion that perhaps they had lost him. Then they would hesitate about pressing on for fear that they might walk boldly out in plain view of him.
Yet always they contrived to pick up his trail, either by finding his footprints or by hearing some slight sound ahead. As they continued their pursuit, their astonishment grew. Why did the Frenchman seek out a hiding place so far from the house? Had his greed completely unseated his mind? Already, Dick estimated, they had come at least two miles, and yet Frischette showed no sign of stopping. He was walking at a furious pace now, his nimble legs darting along over the uncarpeted forest path. He hugged his treasure-box to him and fairly plunged through thicket and across the open spaces, occasionally muttering to himself.
To the boys’ amazement, the chase ended abruptly. They had come out to a small clearing in which stood a cabin. Frischette’s fingers stole to his lips and a peculiarly soft, bird-like whistle sounded through the forest. Then the Frenchman remained standing where he was until the door opened and a slouching figure emerged.
At sight of the occupant of the cabin, the boys gasped in wonder. Never before had they seen so unusual a person. He was bent and old, and hobbled as he walked, in one hand a cane to guide him. His head was hatless, covered with a thick, straggling crop of hair, some of which fluttered into his face and over his shoulders. His beard was long and heavy—of a peculiar reddish tinge, streaked with gray.
He approached Frischette, pausing a few feet from him, and looked up at his visitor with eyes that peeped out from the shadowed depressions between his beard and eyebrows like two black beads. The Frenchman was the first to speak:
“I bring back ze box again, M’sieur Creel. You will take et an’ watch over et. You are a faithful guardian, my friend. I weesh to compliment you. Ever’zing ees here: ze money, ze treasure—ever’zing.”
The stranger spoke in a voice so low that, from their hiding place, the boys could make out but a few words. Frischette spoke again:
“Et ees tonight.”
The old man shook his head vigorously, gesturing with his hands. The Frenchman raised his voice: “Et ees tonight, I tell you. You will do as I say.”
This time they heard the protest:
“No, no; I cannot come. Tonight I have other work. I cannot be there. I refuse to do as you wish, Frischette, even for the sake of gain.”
The Frenchman’s face grew suddenly crimson with fury. He stooped and picked up a club, advancing threateningly.
“I see ’bout that,” he fairly shouted. “I see ’bout that pretty queek. You try fail me, m’sieur, I make you sorry.”
The other did not blink. He faced his antagonist calmly, scornfully, presently breaking into an amused chuckle.
“You couldn’t hurt a fly. You are a coward, Frischette. I, an old man, have far more courage than you.”
The road-house keeper’s sudden flare of fury quickly burned out. He dropped his club and stepped back several paces, hugging his treasure to him. Before the unwavering gaze of the old man he was helpless, and possibly a little afraid. He glanced about sullenly.
“All right, et ees your own broth you brew, monsieur. I shall keep ze box. Et ees all mine. Do you hear? Et ees mine.”
“Faugh! A bluff! You wouldn’t dare. I ask you to try it.”
The Frenchman clutched the box still more tightly.
“Et ees mine,” he persisted stubbornly.
“You try it,” warned the other.
“No more will I come to you,” Frischette informed him. “We are through. I shall keep ze box.”
“Fool!” cried the other in vexation, beginning to relent “I suppose that I must humor you always. Very well, it shall be as you say. I give you my promise. But it will cost you a pretty penny this time.”
Suddenly they began to barter.
“Half,” said the Frenchman.
“Two-thirds,” insisted the man with the beard.
Frischette gave vent to a shriek of anguish.
“Two-thirds,” he howled. “What? Are you crazy? I will not leesen to zat. Et ees outrageous, m’sieur.”
Sandy poked Dick cautiously in the ribs.
“Both mad!” he announced. “Can you make anything out of that gibberish? What are they talking about?”
“I’ll confess,” Dick whispered, “that I’m at a loss to know.”
In the end, the two conspirators came to an agreement
“One-half it shall be,” they heard the old man mutter.
Having won his point, Frischette beamed. He thrust the box into the other’s hands.
“Take et, m’sieur. I am sorry ef I speak cross. We must be friends. We must understand each other. En a ver’ few weeks we go to Edmonton an’ we shall be rich, m’sieur.”
Creel grumbled something through his beard, seized the box with eager hands and half-turned as if to depart.
“Tonight then?”
“Yes, tonight.”
The boys scrambled back quickly, for Frischette was beginning his journey homeward. A moment later, from the deep shadow of a heavy thicket, they watched him pass. He was shaking his head and talking to himself in a complaining undertone. Not long afterward he had disappeared in the tangle of greenery, and over the woodland there settled a deep and impressive silence. Dick looked at Sandy and Toma and smiled.
“The farther we go into this thing, the stranger and more perplexing it becomes. I wonder who that man is? In what way is he associated with Frischette? Why is he guarding the box? Now what do you suppose they were arguing about?”
“I can’t imagine,” answered Sandy. “What do you think, Toma?”
The Indian youth rose and broke off a twig from a branch above his head.
“I think him bad fellow just like Frischette.”
“Yes,” agreed Sandy, “probably his accomplice.”
“It doesn’t look as if we would open that box now,” grimaced Dick.
“Not unless we overpower the old man.”
Dick too arose, glancing back at the cabin.
“I’d like to think it over before we attempt it. Possibly some plan may occur to us tomorrow. At present we’d better go back to the road-house before Frischette becomes suspicious. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he attempts to relieve me of that roll tonight.”
“I can agree with you there,” said Sandy. “Did you notice his eyes when you pulled it from your pocket?”
“Yes.” Dick smiled at the memory.
They started back along the trail, for a time walking in silence. Presently, however, Sandy turned toward Dick, his face thoughtful.
“Supposing,” he inquired, “that Frischette really does attempt the robbery tonight. What will we do? Let him have the money? Or do you want to catch him in the act?”
“We’ll let him have it.”
“But there’s nearly sixty dollars of our money. I’m not so rich that—”
“We’ll get it back somehow, Sandy,” Dick interrupted. “The police will see to that. I’ve marked the bills so that we can identify them.”
“Good!”
“We’d better remain awake, all of us,” continued Dick. “I’ll take the lower bunk in the corner near the door. You can sleep in the upper one. Toma can occupy the lower bunk next to mine. Just before we retire, while Frischette is still in the room, I’ll remove my coat and throw it over the back of a chair.”
“We’ll all keep perfectly still,” said Sandy, “when he enters the room. Remember, Toma, that you are not to make any effort to stop him.”
The young Indian nodded:
“Yes, I understand. Me do nothing.”
Later, when they had retired for the night, they were in an excited frame of mind. Had they been ever so tired, it is doubtful whether they would have been able to relax for sleep. Dick lay, facing the doorway, so that he could command a view of the entire room. Frischette’s sleeping apartment, almost directly opposite, opened on to the large bunk-hall they occupied. If the Frenchman planned to take the roll, it would be necessary for him to pass through the doorway, directly across from Dick, and steal stealthily along the row of bunks to the chair, over which Dick had carelessly flung his coat.
The bunk-hall was shrouded in a partial darkness. Outside the night was clear, and a half-moon rode through a sky sprinkled with stars. To the ears of the boys, as they lay quietly awaiting the Frenchman’s coming, there floated through the open windows the droning sounds of the forest. An owl hooted from some leafy canopy. The weird, mournful cries of a night-bird, skimming along the tree tops, could be heard distinctly. The curtain, draping the window on the west side of the room, fluttered softly as it caught the rippling, nocturnal breeze.
As time passed, Dick became conscious of an increasing nervous tension and restlessness. He found it difficult to lay still. He turned from side to side. The strain upon his eyes from watching the door so continuously had caused a blur to appear before them, and only with difficulty could he make out the various objects in the room. Time and time again, he imagined he could hear a slight sound coming from Frischette’s apartment. Yet, as he lay there and the door did not open, he realized that he must have been mistaken.
At length he decided that the road-house keeper would make no effort to come that night. Reasoning thus, he lay very still, his eyes closed, drowsiness stealing over him. Through his mind there flashed confused pictures of the day’s happenings. In imagination, he was threading a woodland path, following the fleeing form of a man, who clutched to him a mysterious wooden box. Again he saw the angry, distorted face of Frischette, who was standing there, one arm raised threateningly above the stooped form and uncovered head of Creel—the queer old recluse.
Tossing restlessly, his eyes came back to the door, and suddenly his nerves grew taut. The door, he perceived, was now slightly ajar. It was opening slowly. A few inches at a time it swung back, and at length a muffled form stood framed in the doorway, then moved noiselessly nearer. Unerringly, it padded across the floor, straight towards Dick’s bunk. It paused near the chair, scarcely four feet from where Dick lay.
With difficulty, Dick suppressed a cry. The skulking, shadowy form was not that of Frischette—but Creel! Creel, a horrible, repellent figure in the half-darkness. Long, straggling locks of hair fell over his eyes, while the heavy beard formed a mask for his repulsive face. Dick could almost imagine that he could see Creel’s deep-set eyes shining from their sockets. They were like those of a cat.
Previously it had been agreed between the three boys that in the event of Frischette entering the room and attempting to steal the money, no effort would be made to prevent him. Now Creel, and not Frischette, was about to commit the crime. For some unknown reason Dick felt that he could not lay there inactive. Resentment and anger suddenly burned within him. As Creel cautiously lifted up his coat, Dick found himself sitting bolt upright, and, to his amazement, heard himself shout out: “Drop that coat if you don’t wish to get in trouble. Drop it, I say!”
Creel started so quickly, dropped the coat so suddenly, that the chair overturned and crashed to the floor. There came the sound of moccasined feet pattering away! Dick had sprung from his bunk, as had also Sandy and Toma. For a time confusion and excitement reigned. Frischette appeared in the doorway, and upon his heels came Fontaine and Le Sueur, rubbing their eyes.
“What ees ze matter?” Frischette inquired in a frightened voice. “What has happen?”
“Someone came in here a moment ago,” cried Dick angrily, “and tried to steal my money. I tell you, Frischette, the thief is in this house!”
Not until the following morning did the boys have a chance to discuss the happenings of the previous night. Over the breakfast table, Dick was the cynosure of two hostile pair of eyes—those of Sandy and Toma. It was quite evident that Dick’s chums were not satisfied with the outcome of the night’s adventures. Sandy, in particular, could scarcely contain himself. He kept glowering at his friend over his coffee and bacon, and Dick could see that a lecture was forthcoming. However, Sandy did not get his chance until nearly an hour later, when the three boys left the dining room for a turn in the open air. Scarcely were they outside, when Sandy broke forth petulantly:
“Look here, Dick, I must say that you followed out our agreement to the letter. What did you mean by crying out like that, after it had been decided to let Frischette walk away with the money?”
“But it wasn’t Frischette,” Dick defended himself.
“Wasn’t Frischette. What do you mean? Of course, it was Frischette. I saw him with my own eyes.”
“It was Creel.”
“Creel!”
“Yes, that fellow who took the box from the Frenchman yesterday.”
Sandy whistled softly.
“So that’s their game. Creel is Frischette’s confederate. I can see it all now.”
“That’s the way I have it all figured out too. Frischette is the man who plans all the robberies and Creel is the one who executes them.”
Dick paused and leaned against the trunk of a huge jack-pine, contemplatively regarding his two chums.
“It means we have two persons instead of one to deal with. The treasure-box they keep between them. Each probably has an equal interest in it. I wish there was some way we could get hold of it.”
“Mebbe that not be so very hard,” Toma suddenly interjected. “One night we go over to Creel’s cabin an’ find it sure. I think I know how we get it without much trouble.”
“How?” demanded Sandy.
“You remember yesterday when Frischette come close to Creel’s cabin he stop in the brush an’ make ’em noise for him to come out. Well, one of us do same like that while other two hide close to cabin. When Creel come out, thinking it Frischette, good chance go get box. What you say?”
“A good plan, certainly,” criticised Dick, “only how are we going to imitate that peculiar, mysterious whistle. I’m sure I couldn’t.”
“I couldn’t either,” declared Sandy.
Toma put two fingers to his mouth and blew softly. It was an excellent imitation of the sound the boys had heard on the previous day, and both Dick and Sandy clapped their hands in delight.
“You’re good!” Sandy exclaimed. “I’m proud of you. How can you manage to do it, after hearing it only once?”
“I hear it many times,” flushed the young Indian. “You see, there is bird that hide deep in the woods that make ’em call like that. Frischette, jus’ like me, try make sound like that bird.”
“We’ll go tonight,” exulted Dick.
The other two nodded in agreement.
“Ten o’clock will be a good time,” Sandy suggested. “Dick and I will enter the cabin, while you, Toma, practice your wiles upon the thieving Mr. Creel. Lead him away from the cabin as far as you can, so that we’ll have plenty of time to look around. We may have some trouble in finding the place where he has hid the box.”
The boys had worked themselves up to a high pitch of excitement long before the time appointed for setting out on their night’s adventure. In order not to arouse Frischette’s suspicions, should he discover their absence, they had informed him that they were planning to go over to Lake Grassy Point, a distance of about eight miles, and visit the Indian encampment there. Fontaine and Le Sueur, they explained, would accompany them too, and he, Frischette, must not worry if they were late in getting back.
To their surprise, the arrangement met with the Frenchman’s immediate approval.
“Et ees good you go,” he told them. “You young fellow get ver’ tired stay one place all ze time.” Then he sighed regretfully. “Ver’ often I weesh I might be young too. Always go, always have good time. Et ees ze great fun, monsieurs.”
Dick’s brow contracted thoughtfully. Did Frischette contemplate a visit to Creel himself? Had the Frenchman a plan of his own?
“Just our luck,” Dick told Sandy a few minutes later, “if the old rascal decides to visit Creel tonight. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble already.”
The young Scotchman slapped irritably at a mosquito that had lit upon his arm.
“Yes, it was necessary to take Fontaine and Le Sueur more or less into our confidence. That’s one phase of the thing I don’t like. Those two friends of Toma’s know we’re up to something. All I hope is, that they’ll have sense enough to keep their mouths shut. If Frischette ever gets an inkling that we’re watching him, the game’s up.”
“But Fontaine and Le Sueur haven’t the least idea what we purpose to do,” said Dick. “Neither one of them knows that we’re spying upon Frischette.”
“Yes, but they’ll think it’s queer that we’re deceiving him. They’ll wonder why we have lied to him, want them to go to the encampment while we remain behind.”
“You don’t need to worry about that, Sandy. You may depend upon it that Toma has made our proposed actions seem very plausible.”
Sandy grinned.
“Toma probably has told them a wonderful story. I’ll agree with you there. He certainly possesses a keen imagination.”
Dick consulted his watch.
“It’s twenty minutes past nine now. I think, Sandy, we’d better go back to the house and find Toma and the others. It’ll be time to start before long.”
They hurried along the path, and a few minutes later entered the house, where they were joined by Toma and his two friends. Soon afterward, Frischette strode into the room, carrying his coat and hat.
“I go with you a leetle way,” he announced. “All day long I work in ze kitchen, where et ees hot. I think ze night air mebbe make me feel good.”
Dick glanced sharply across at Sandy, keen disappointment depicted in his gaze. The Frenchman’s announcement had taken him completely by surprise. The situation was awkward.
“Why not come all the way to the encampment with us,” invited Dick. “We’ll be glad to have you.”
Frischette threw up his hands in a gesture of dismay.
“All zat way! Empossible! Et ees too far, monsieur. I am too tired. Eight miles there an’ back an’ ze brush tangle in my poor tired legs. No, I will go only a ver’ short way.”
So Frischette, much to the boys’ disappointment, accompanied them. He chatted as they walked, continually gesturing, often stopping abruptly in his tracks to point out some inconsequential object.
Never before had Dick been given so excellent an opportunity to study the man. He was slightly amused at the Frenchman’s queer antics. He would become intensely enthusiastic over the merest trifles—a bright flower, a sparkling stone, a gnarled, misshapen tree.
A person of moods and impulses, Dick decided, watching him. Sometimes he wondered if Frischette were not assuming a certain behavior for their special benefit. What was his real purpose in coming with them? Certainly it was not because he really wanted the exercise and fresh air. More likely, he intended to go over to visit Creel.
Their course to Grassy Point Lake led them in the general direction of Creel’s cabin. When the Frenchman bade them adieu and turned back, Dick estimated that they had still about two miles farther to go before they would be directly opposite the abiding place of the mysterious recluse. Realizing this, his previous conviction that Frischette was really going there became shaken. Perhaps, after all, the road-house keeper had told the truth, was actually going back as he said.
Even if the man planned to strike off obliquely through the woods to Creel’s, hope of obtaining possession of the box was not altogether lost. They might still turn the trick that same night, if only they hurried. By running part of the way, they would arrive at the cabin sufficiently in advance of Frischette to achieve their purpose. With this thought in mind, Dick, after waving a friendly farewell to the unsuspecting Frenchman, led the party forward quickly until a turn in the trail obscured their movements. Then, breaking into a run, he darted along the shadowy forest path, motioning the others to follow.
Ten minutes later, the three boys drew away from Fontaine and Le Sueur, striking off at right angle with the dim trail to Grassy Point Lake, and continued their hurried course straight in the direction of the lonely cabin. As they proceeded on their way, excitement, caused by the thought of their coming adventure, grew upon them. They were shaky and nervous when they finally drew up in front of a thick screen of underbrush, less than sixty yards from the house. Dick motioned to Toma.
“Hurry around toward the front of the cabin,” he whispered tersely, “and give your bird-call.”
“Sure you all ready?” inquired the young Indian.
“Yes, all ready.”
“I go then.”
Without further word, Toma slunk forward, skirted the line of underbrush and presently disappeared from view.
Dick and Sandy waited breathlessly. Thus far, no sound had come to them. The forest was pervaded by a silence so deep and oppressive that the two boys, waiting for Toma’s mysterious call, could hear the thumping of their own hearts. They had crept forward through the dense thicket to a point where, though still concealed themselves, they could see the cabin plainly. In the sombre northern twilight its every detail stood clearly revealed—the low, grass-grown sod roof, the tiny window and the crude, rough door.
The boys found it difficult to restrain their gathering impatience. What was Toma doing? Chafing over the delay, they crouched low, their gaze sweeping the tiny clearing ahead. On Dick’s forehead beads of perspiration gathered slowly, while the palms of his hands were moist and warm.
“Can’t imagine what’s happened to him,” Sandy croaked in Dick’s ear. “What’s he waiting for? What’s got into him, anyway? First thing we know, Frischette’ll be here—and it’ll be too late.”
Dick did not reply. Just then he thought he had heard a slight sound in the brush, directly in front of the house. Excitedly, he reached forward and seized Sandy’s right arm.
“Ssh!” he whispered. “Keep still. Just look over there.”
Following his friend’s instructions, Sandy looked and immediately his mouth gaped open, and he emitted a startled gasp.
Two men plunged out into the open—rough, desperate, evil-looking men, who made their way stealthily forward. Each carried a knife and revolver at his belt. One was tall and sinewy, the other short and thin. The tall man proceeded ahead with long awkward strides, while the little man at his side pranced along, like a small boy attempting to keep pace with his elder.
Of the two, the face of the smaller man was, if such a thing were possible, more sinister, malevolent and wicked than that of the other. His features were twisted in an expression that was both horrible and repellent. It was as if he had been overcome by some violent emotion: rage that hungered for revenge, or cruelty inflamed by avarice. In all their experience, the boys had never encountered a more terrifying pair. The very sight of them caused Dick and Sandy to shiver and draw back in a sudden panic.
“Ho-hope they don’t come this way,” shuddered Sandy.
“Toma saw them before we did,” whispered Dick. “That’s why he didn’t attempt that call. Who do you suppose they are?”
In terror, Sandy shook his head.
“Keep down,” he trembled, “or they may see us.”
Dick grew suddenly tense. The two men had reached the door of the cabin, and for a brief moment stood undecided. Then the tall man raised a gnarled hand and struck the door so violently and unexpectedly that Sandy and Dick both jumped back, as if they, instead of the rough pine barrier, had received the full impact of that mighty blow.
The echo had scarcely subsided, when the tall man struck again.
“Open up! Open up!” he thundered. “Creel, open up this yere door.”
The door swung back on its rusty hinges, and then the boys saw Creel framed in the aperture. But it was a different Creel than the man they had seen previously. He looked much older. The stoop to his shoulders was more noticeable. A pathetic figure now, a terror-struck human derelict. At the very best he could offer but feeble resistance to these two terrible fellows, who had come storming and raging upon him.
“Guess yuh know what we’ve come fer, Creel,” the little man snarled. “Yuh can guess, can’t yuh? Quick now, an’ bring it out. We’re in a hurry, I tell yuh. Quick!”
Creel made the fatal mistake of pretending he did not know what the other was talking about. He raised a trembling hand.
“If you’ll explain a little more clearly, gentlemen, what you want I’ll—”
The sentence was not completed. The tall man reached out with one arm and caught Creel about the neck. Scarcely seeming to exert himself, he lifted him completely off his feet, holding him dangling—head pressed back against the frame of the door. For a brief moment the body of the recluse remained pinioned there, then was suddenly released and fell with a muffled thud across the threshold.
Dick and Sandy, who had been silent witnesses of the drama unrolling before their eyes, caught their breath in anger. Much as they despised and feared Creel, the unwarranted brutality of the tall man caused them to experience a feeling of sympathy for the helpless old recluse. Dick’s hand flashed to the revolver at his belt, and he had half-started to his feet, when Sandy drew him back.
“Don’t be foolish, Dick,” he trembled. “Keep out of this. We can accomplish more by remaining right here where we are. Look!”
Creel had stumbled dazedly to his feet, gripping the door for support.
“Now,” declared the little man grimly, “I guess yuh understand. Bring it out.”
Creel staggered inside and appeared, a short time later, carrying the box. Both men made a grab for it, but the smaller was the quicker of the two. He flung open the lid of the small treasure-chest and both he and his companion pawed through it excitedly, their faces distorted with greed.
Dick and Sandy, who were watching events with wide-open eyes, were wholly unprepared for the next step in the little drama. In a sudden fury of disappointment, the little man raised the box and sent it crashing to the floor. His expression was awful to behold, his eyes like two bright coals of fire. Nor did his companion contain himself much better. With an oath, he spurned the box at his feet, sending it flying within the room. His cheeks were livid.
“It ain’t here, Emery!” he almost screamed. “It ain’t here! That squaw lied to us. We’re done for. MacGregor got it after all!”
But the other was not so easily discouraged.
“It is here!” he fairly howled in his rage.
With a lightning motion, he turned upon Creel, advancing with outstretched hands—hands that looked like the talons of some huge bird; hands that worked convulsively as they floated toward Creel’s throat. Before the little man’s advance, the old recluse tottered back, throwing up his arms in a defensive gesture.
“I’ll give yuh jus’ two minutes tuh bring out that poke,” the words came screaming at him. “Yuh got it. I know yuh got it. If yuh don’t want to make food fer the crows, yuh better trot it out.”
“Gentlemen—” began Creel, his voice deathly calm.
The little man’s right hand flashed out and for the second time Creel measured his length across the threshold. This time, however, he did not rise. In falling, his head had struck the sharp edge of the doorway, rendering him unconscious. Without even as much as a glance at him, the two men stepped over his prostrate body and disappeared into the room. For a space of nearly five minutes they remained inside, while Dick and Sandy sat in a sort of stupor and blankly regarded each other.
Then abruptly, Creel’s assailants re-appeared and from their expression and behavior, the boys realized instantly that the search had been successful. The big man guffawed loudly as he pushed Creel’s body to one side with his foot and stepped out into the pale light of that Arctic summer night.
“We got it,” gloated the little man. “That was a stroke o’ luck, pardner. The squaw was right. We got it!”
As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a small object and fondled it in his hands. Again the loud guffaw rang out, penetrating the silence. Chattering and exulting, the pair made their way through the lush grass that overran the clearing. Then, suddenly, they stopped. At the edge of the clearing there had sprung up a frail but defiant figure.
“Stop!” cried a voice. “Put ’em hands up or I shoot you quick.”
Creel’s assailants, looking straight at the muzzle of Toma’s revolver, had no other alternative. Their hands went high. Dick thought the pair looked very foolish standing there. And he could hear very plainly their astonished, burning oaths. He and Sandy leaped to their feet and hurried to Toma’s assistance. They came up from behind and, with a nod to their chum, quickly disarmed the murderous pair. But though they searched everywhere, they could not find the poke. Dick paused in consternation.
“Big fellow got it in his hand,” said Toma.
“Give it to me,” Dick turned upon the outlaw.
The big man’s eyes gleamed with hatred, but with Toma’s revolver threatening him, he was forced to obey.
“Take it,” he growled out an oath. “But I bet yuh don’t keep it long, stranger. Yuh won’t never get away with it. Jus’ mark my words.”
Dick stepped back, laughing.
“That remains to be seen,” he answered the outlaw. “You fellows can go now. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave this neighborhood as quickly as you can. I have the description of both of you and will notify the mounted police of this night’s affair.”
The partners struck off through the underbrush, calling out their taunts. It was not long before silence came again. The three boys stood in a little circle, looking at each other. Now that the tension had relaxed, they were all more or less bewildered. Dick still had the small poke in his hand, and as yet had scarcely deigned to give it a second glance. Suddenly, Sandy’s voice rang out:
“Well, if you ask me, this is a peculiar night’s business. I’m almost stunned. We’re indebted to Toma for the way everything has turned out. Let’s see what’s in that poke, Dick. Why don’t you open it?”
Dick looked down at the small object in his hand. He turned it over and over thoughtfully.
“No,” he said, “you can open it, Sandy. I’m too shaky.”
With the poke held firmly between two fingers, he reached out to hand it to his chum. But in that moment a strange thing happened. A crackling of brush, a lightning leap forward, a snarl like that of a beast—and the thing was whisked from his fingers as it dangled there in the air. Then a figure darted past them and disappeared in the darkness of the forest beyond.
The three chums gaped at each other.
“Who was that?” gasped Dick.
Toma was the first to speak.
“I see ’em,” he spoke dolefully. “It was Frischette.”
Sandy rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t know what to make of this. Frischette has the poke now. In a way I’m glad that he has. It’s better for us, Dick. I’d hate to have another encounter with those two prospectors. Wonder what Frischette will say to us when we return to the road-house.”
“Don’t worry,” said Dick, “we’ve seen the last of him. He won’t come back.”
“You mean he’ll leave everything?”
“Yes, that’s my opinion. I don’t know what the poke contains but it must be something of immense value. Just stop a moment to reason it all out, Sandy. First of all, the poke belonged to Dewberry. MacGregor tried to get it, but was thwarted in his purpose either by Frischette or Creel. Creel had it in his possession until those two prospectors came along and took it away from him. Now it’s in Frischette’s hands again. If he returns to the road-house, he’ll be afraid that we’ll get it away from him. After what happened tonight, he’ll take no chances. He’ll not even consider his partner, Creel. He has a fortune in his hands and will attempt to keep it.”
“What’s to be done now?” asked Sandy. “Do you think we ought to set out in pursuit of Frischette?”
For a time Dick stood undecided.
“No,” he answered, “we haven’t time. Tomorrow Corporal Rand will return to Fort Good Faith. He has asked us to meet him there. We’ll have to follow his instructions: Go back tonight.”
“But what about Creel? We can’t leave him here.”
“That’s right. Let me see,” Dick scratched his head in perplexity.
“Tell you what we do,” Toma suddenly broke forth. “One of us stay here look after Creel an’ other two go back to Fort Good Faith. If you like, I stay here myself while you, Sandy, you, Dick, go on see Corporal Rand. After while I get Fontaine an’ Le Sueur to help me. Soon they come back from Grassy Point Lake.”