Dick Kent had no reason to doubt that Toma’s stealthily imparted information concerning the true identity of Bill Watson was correct. The man had been sent by Govereau. His story of the long trek from Twin Brothers Creek was a deliberate falsehood intended to deceive Dick and his friends. He was here as a spy to carry out certain instructions from Govereau, the accomplishment of which would probably result disastrously to their expedition.
In a few minutes following Toma’s whispered warning, Dick thought swiftly. Their safety and the success of their plans depended upon immediate action. Something had to be done before Watson became aware that anyone suspected him.
The first step, of course, was to discover some way to acquaint Sandy and Raoul with the stranger’s duplicity. This, of course, must be accomplished secretly, and in a manner that would not arouse Watson’s slightest suspicion.
“If only on some pretext I could get the two of them outside,” thought Dick, “the rest would be easy. Four of us would have no difficulty in taking him prisoner. We would bind him hand and foot and then Raoul could keep him here several days while Sandy, Toma and I continued our journey with the dog team.”
Annette entered from the adjoining room at Raoul’s summons and began removing the dishes from the table, in preparation for the meal for Watson, Toma and Dick. Watson now occupied a chair at one side of the room, and sat directly facing Sandy. Raoul had moved forward and was assisting his sister with her task, while Toma, like a restless spirit, remained unseated, occasionally changing his position from sheer nervousness.
“I ain’t had very much to eat today,” Watson informed them, producing an evil-smelling pipe and lighting it with the stub of a match. “Been too busy mushing to think about it. Trail heavy all the way, too.”
A strained silence followed. It was evident that Watson intended to make himself perfectly at home, for, a moment later, he stretched out his burly legs, and, to Dick’s disgust, spat on the floor.
“Where you fellows bound for?” he demanded suddenly of Sandy.
“Nowhere in particular,” replied the young Scotchman non-committally. “Where are you going?”
Watson’s face darkened with a scowl.
“I ain’t a goin’ to tell neither if that’s the way you feel about it. Guess you never was taught no manners, young man.”
Sandy turned his head slightly and winked covertly at Dick.
“No offense intended, I’m sure.”
The man from Govereau’s camp grunted something under his breath.
“Little boys ain’t got no business on the trail anyway,” he began again, this time in a scoffing tone that caused an angry red to mount suddenly in Sandy’s cheeks.
In his restless moving about, changing positions often, Toma had presently come to a pause close to Sandy and now stood absently tossing a small object in his hand, his gaze directed toward Annette and Raoul, who were completing preparations for supper. Looking at him, no one would have suspected that any thought, out of the ordinary, lay at the back of the young half-breed’s mind. His face was expressionless, yet as Dick watched him, there flashed from them unexpectedly a look that could not be mistaken.
It was as if Toma had sent him some sort of a signal. What was its meaning Dick could not possibly imagine until, apparently by accident, the small object, which looked like a brass buckle, fell from the guide’s hand and rolled under Sandy’s chair. As he stepped forward and stooped to get it, Dick knew from the expression on Sandy’s face that he, too, had been warned.
“Supper all ready,” Raoul announced.
Watson bounded to his feet and was the first to reach the table. Without waiting for further permission he pulled out a chair and slumped into it. Dick followed more leisurely, with Toma bringing up the rear. As they approached directly behind Watson’s chair, Toma’s hand shot out, poking Dick in the ribs. Half-turning, the recipient of the blow emitted a startled gasp as he perceived Toma’s long arms steal out and encircle the unsuspecting guest.
Watson and the chair swayed backward, then toppled over, striking the floor with a resounding crash. The heavy, powerful form rolled to one side, endeavoring to break the iron grip of the young half-breed. For a tense second Dick stood inactive, then leaped to his friend’s assistance. Attempting to pinion Watson’s arms, to his horror Dick saw their opponent had actually succeeded in pulling a dangerous looking automatic from his pocket and was grimly endeavoring to use it.
Dick seized Watson’s wrist in his two hands, putting forth his last ounce of strength in an effort to force the gun from the man’s grasp. In quick succession three ear-splitting reports rang out. Annette screamed. After that Dick was not quite sure what was taking place during that confused wild scramble on the floor until he felt the heavy body under him relax and a voice triumphantly proclaim:
“Well, I guess that ought to settle him for a while.”
With perspiration trickling down into his eyes, Dick looked up. Raoul stood with a small stick of wood in his hands and close beside him Sandy, a look of triumph on his face, each surveying their now helpless foe.
“You didn’t hit him half hard enough, Raoul,” Sandy protested. “It was a good thing for him that I didn’t have that club, myself. I might have killed him.”
“Hit ’em plenty hard,” Raoul confessed, tossing the stick back toward the fireplace. “Tie him up easy now. I go get rope.”
Dick and Toma rose to their feet and a moment later Raoul returned with a rope. Bound hand and foot, Watson was lifted bodily and carried across the room, where he was deposited not unkindly in the selfsame bunk occupied by Sandy on the previous night. Dick breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m glad that’s over with,” he declared thankfully. “All things considered, we’ve been pretty lucky so far. We’ve beaten Govereau at every turn.”
“Beaten but not licked,” Sandy reminded him. “I’ll have to admit right here that he’s a mighty tough customer. It’s a good thing Toma saw this man, Watson, before. Otherwise things might have turned out differently.”
“We must get an early start in the morning,” said Dick, as he moved back toward the supper table. “I’d hate to meet any more visitors from Govereau’s camp. If Raoul is willing, I’ll pay him tonight for the team of huskies. What do you think would be a fair price for them, Toma?”
“Raoul say he willing to sell for two hundred dollars,” answered the guide. “That very cheap for good team like that.”
“I’ll make it two hundred and fifty. The additional amount wouldn’t begin to pay him for all the kindness he has shown us.”
As he spoke, Dick reached in his pocket and pulled out the roll of bills Factor MacLean had given him on the day of their departure from Fort du Lac, and, counting out the sum mentioned, passed it over to Raoul.
“I hope I’m not cheating you.”
“You buy best dog team in the country,” Toma stated enthusiastically. “Mounted police use ’em last winter to carry mail. Govereau go fast to catch us now.”
“How long will it take us to reach mounted police headquarters?” inquired Sandy.
“Three, four day if nothing happen,” their guide answered. “First day snow too heavy to make trail good. After that mebbe get better.”
A short time later, a low groan from Watson attested to the fact that that gentleman was slowly regaining consciousness. After considerable tossing and rolling about, their captive finally opened his eyes and presently called for a drink of water.
“Feeling better now?” Dick inquired solicitously, when he complied with the request.
“Yeah, I’m feeling better,” came Watson’s smothered retort as he glared up angrily at his questioner. “I’m feelin’ a blamed sight better than you’ll be feelin’ in another day or two, I can tell you that.”
“You brought it all on yourself,” Dick reminded him. “You had no business coming here to play the part of a spy, in the first place. If you got hurt, it’s your own fault. All I’m sorry about is that the unpleasant little blow you received on top of your head wasn’t given to the man who sent you.”
“What do you mean?” bluffed Watson.
“I guess you know what I mean,” Dick spoke coldly, “and please get the idea out of your mind that we don’t know who you are, and where you came from.”
“Where did I come from?” their prisoner blustered.
“From Govereau.”
“Well, what are you gonna do about it?”
There was defiance in Watson’s voice.
“If you mean, what are we going to do with you,” Dick answered, “I might as well tell you that we haven’t decided yet. A good deal depends upon the way you behave yourself.”
“We’re thinking seriously of taking you outside and putting a bullet in you,” chimed in Sandy.
“Yuh better not, if you know what’s best for you,” stormed Watson. “If yuh try that, Govereau’ll come down here and make mince-meat out of yuh.”
“He might walk into the same kind of trap you did,” grinned Sandy.
“Where is Govereau now?” asked Dick, shaking his head at Sandy in an effort to check the useless controversy. “If you answer my questions truthfully, we’ll let you off a whole lot easier than we would otherwise. We might even be induced to give you something to eat.”
“He ain’t very far from here.”
“How far?”
“About two miles away. We’re camped in the heavy timber jus’ back from the river.”
“How did he find out that we are stopping here for the present with Raoul?”
“One of our men seen a dog team come up here early yesterday morning. Govereau thought it might be you, so he sent me over to find out.”
“Is that all he told you to do?”
For a few minutes Watson lay, staring about him, apparently quite oblivious of his surroundings. He paid no attention to the last question put to him. Finally he turned his head, his gaze meeting Dick’s squarely.
“You fellows are in a mighty bad position, if you want to know it,” he suddenly blurted out. “There ain’t one chance in ten thousand that you’ll ever get through alive. Your only hope is to go back to the place you come from.”
“I’m not asking you for advice,” said Dick angrily.
“Jes’ the same, I’m tellin’ yuh. I wouldn’t take the whole of upper Canada to be a standin’ in your shoes just now. You’re only a kid an’ don’t realize how bad a mess you’re in.”
Sandy strode forward and put a hand on Dick’s shoulder.
“No use to bother with him, Dick,” he exclaimed in disgust. “We’re just wasting time. He’d keep us talking here all night. Our best plan is to get out of here as quickly as possible. Govereau may be along any time to find out what has happened to him.”
“I think same, too,” Toma cut in. “What you say I hitch up huskies, and we start right away?”
Dick glanced from one to the other.
“I guess you’re right. We can’t any more than lose our way in the dark, and we’ve been lost before.”
“But what are we going to do with him?” Sandy wondered, pointing at their prisoner.
“We’ll have to leave him here with Raoul,” Dick replied. Then he turned to Toma’s friend.
“Do you object?” he asked. “You can release him sometime tomorrow. That will give us a chance to be well on our way before Govereau learns what has become of us.”
Raoul nodded his head, grinning.
“All right, me keep ’em big fellow in bed. Bye an’ bye feed him with spoon like little baby. How you like that?” he asked, turning to Watson.
The only reply from the man in the bunk was a snort of rage as he twisted to one side and glared helplessly about him.
The lonely journey through the dark proved to be not nearly as difficult as Dick had expected. An hour after their departure from Toma’s cabin, the little party emerged from the shelter of spruce and pine, skirting the river, and drove forth upon a comparatively open prairie, piled high with drifts.
Here the snow had been packed down by the wind and the huskies were able to trot across its surface without breaking through. They went forward at such a brisk pace that Dick, running behind, was forced to admit, breathlessly, to Toma:
“I can’t keep this up all night. Can’t you slow down once in a while, and give me a chance to catch my breath?”
“We all ride now,” the guide answered, motioning Dick to a place on the sled in front of Sandy, who, because of his weakened condition, had been riding most of the time since they had left the cabin.
A moment later, sitting at his friend’s feet, Dick was conscious of a new experience. He had never ridden behind a team of huskies before.
“This is wonderful,” he remarked as the dogs sprang forward at Toma’s sharp word of command. “How easy they pull us, Sandy. If we keep on at this rate, it won’t take us long to reach mounted police headquarters.”
Toma, who was standing behind, with one hand on the gee-pole, laughed good-naturedly over Dick’s enthusiasm.
“They go fast tonight,” he admitted, “but mebbe tomorrow we come to soft snow in woods. No go fast then.”
Somewhere, close at hand, there broke forth a weird, unearthly noise, a sound that echoed across the stillness, causing both Dick and Sandy to sit up very straight, hearts thumping excitedly.
“What was that?” they demanded in chorus.
“Wolves,” came the ready response. “We see plenty of wolves from now on. Rabbits very few this year and wolves always hungry.”
“Well, I don’t want ’em to feed on me,” shivered Sandy. “What would we do if they should happen along and suddenly decide to make a meal on us?”
“Shoot,” answered Dick, one hand stealing back in the sled to make sure that in the hurry of their departure they had not forgotten their rifles.
“They not come yet,” Toma reassured them. “Bye ’n’ bye weather get more cold, snow more deep, wolves more hungry. Then we watch out. No travel like this at night then. Me ’fraid wolves too.”
Dick laughed. “I’m glad to hear that there’s something you’re really afraid of, Toma. I’d begun to think that nothing could frighten you.”
Another howl from the wolf pack, and Sandy’s mittened hand was pawing at Dick’s shoulder.
“Honestly, Dick, I don’t like this. Just listen to that! Isn’t it awful? Toma, are you sure they won’t come over here and try to gobble us up?”
“Plenty sure,” answered the guide.
Sandy slouched back in his seat again, not entirely convinced in his own mind that Toma was right.
“I hope so,” he grumbled, “but why in the dickens did the rabbits have to get scarce this year. I suppose they heard we were coming along and just to make our bad luck complete, hopped off to another part of the country. I wonder why the wolves didn’t follow them, Toma?”
“Wolves no follow rabbits ’cause rabbits all dead,” patiently explained the half-breed.
“Who killed ’em?” Sandy wanted to know.
Toma’s whip cracked forth over the boys’ heads, and the huskies sprang forward with redoubled effort.
“Rabbits no get killed—they sick an’ die,” he answered. “When you live in this country long time you find out queer thing. Ever’ six, seven years see many rabbits—like mosquitos in spring. Wolves an’ coyotes all very fat then. Almost step on rabbits when you walk through woods. When rabbits many like that, one fellow him get sick, bye ’n’ bye another rabbit him sick, too. Pretty soon no rabbits left—all dead. No tell you why.”
Following this explanation, Sandy lapsed into silence for many moments. There was no sound at all except that made by the pattering feet of the huskies, and the crunching of the sled under them. A belated moon had risen slowly from the distant horizon, and in its pure, white light, the boys could now discern objects, which a few hours before had remained hidden. Looking about him, Dick saw that the comparatively open space around them extended southward for many miles, a vast, snow-covered field, dotted here and there with small patches of poplar.
They were passing one of these tree clumps a short time later when, plainly discernible, not more than fifty or a hundred yards to their right, Dick perceived the huge body of a wolf gliding quickly along, almost abreast of them. The boy’s startled exclamation drew the attention of Sandy and Toma.
“Follow us like that all night, mebbe,” Toma stated indifferently, “he no come any closer. He ’fraid us like we ’fraid him.”
“He doesn’t appear to be very frightened,” came Sandy’s dry comment, “and if he comes one step nearer, I’m going to teach him a few manners.”
“No,” said Dick, “we’ve got to save our ammunition. We may need it badly a little later on. Besides, I doubt very much whether one wolf would dare to attack us. It’s a full pack that I’d be afraid of.”
“If there were more than one,” rejoined Sandy, peering fearfully across at the subject of their conversation, “I think I’d be inclined to pull this blanket over my head. I simply wouldn’t want to see ’em.”
Dick’s amused laugh was broken short by a sudden snarling from the huskies. This continued until Toma cracked his whip and shouted out a sharp word of command.
“No like ’em wolves either,” he explained. “You promise no be afraid if I tell you something.”
“Certainly,” answered Dick. “What is it?”
“You look on other side.”
Sandy and Dick, following directions, drew in a quick breath of alarm. Two more wolves, equally as large as the one on their right, trotted along unconcernedly across the drifts, their furry forms plainly distinguishable in the moonlight.
“Lord help us!” exclaimed Sandy, with no thought of irreverence.
“Can you beat that?” Dick wanted to know.
“No see wolves any more when morning comes,” Toma attempted to cheer them. “You wait.”
After that the hours seemed interminable. Both Dick and Sandy had forgotten about the novelty of their ride. Intermittently Toma’s whip cracked; the huskies moved on; there was no sound except the slight noise of their progress across the field of white. On either side trotted the wolves, three dark shapes, moving like ghosts, never once quickening or slackening pace. It was with a sigh of relief that Dick finally perceived the first faint glow of morning across the eastern sky.
“We stop pretty soon and have something to eat,” announced Toma, breaking the long silence.
And a few minutes later, when they drew up before a small log cabin, standing at the edge of a narrow sheltering woodland, their companions of the night—the three wolves—were nowhere in sight.
“What I tell you,” their guide reminded them.
“Right, as usual,” grumblingly admitted Sandy. “But tell me, Toma, whose place is this?”
“Another friend—him live here,” answered Toma. “We have breakfast, sleep two, three hours, then go on some more. No like to travel night.”
It took but a few moments to unhitch and feed the huskies. Dick looked on with interest as Toma threw each one of the dogs its ration of frozen fish. Then the three boys strode forward toward the cabin, upon the door of which the young half-breed knocked loudly. But no answer ensued.
“Guess him gone away,” Toma stated, and pushed open the door. “He no care if we stay here for little while. Mebbe out on trap line.”
After a fire was started in the fireplace, Dick and Toma proceeded to get breakfast, while Sandy carried in armloads of wood from the big pile outside. They ate in front of a crackling flame, joking and laughing amongst themselves.
“With the help of the huskies,” exulted Sandy, “we’ll soon leave Pierre Govereau so far behind he’ll never catch up. Won’t he be wild when he hears how we’ve outwitted him?”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I were you,” Dick cautioned. “Govereau isn’t the only man we’ll have to fear either. You know Henderson has accomplices all along the line.”
So it proved.
In spite of their good intentions, their determination to sleep only a few hours, it was morning of the following day when Dick and Sandy awoke to find their new team gone and Toma hunting around in the underbrush some distance from camp.
The dogs were gone, and that was all there was to it, Dick decided a moment later, after a shouted conference with Toma. They would have to go on on foot. It was discouraging, but it made Dick more determined than ever.
“We’ll never get to the fort now,” Sandy grumbled.
“Well, we’re a darn sight closer than we were,” Dick tried to be cheerful.
They watched Toma circling the camp, looking for tracks. Presently he came in.
“Some fella steal dogs all right. Mebbe Henderson’s men; mebbe just plain thief. Who know?”
“Well, they’re gone anyway, and it’s up to us to make the best of it,” Dick resigned himself. “It’ll be slow work hauling this sled.”
Toma had nothing more to say. His only answer was to slip the breast band of a dog harness over one shoulder and start the sled. Dick and Sandy followed his lead and presently they were mushing slowly out on the trail.
It was exceedingly tiresome business, and within an hour all were leg weary. The snow had begun to thaw a little, and was soggy underfoot. The sled runners cut down deeply, making it exceedingly hard pulling, even with so light a load as they had.
Long before noon they were resting frequently. And it was with great thankfulness that they at last made camp.
“Phew! That was a stiff jaunt,” Dick panted, lying flat on his back, even his iron endurance tested to the utmost. Sandy was too winded to reply. Toma alone seemed to make no note of it. Long since the boys had ceased being surprised at any of Toma’s feats of muscular endurance.
They were about ready to dine on cold baked beans and coffee, when Toma called their attention to a movement ahead of them from the direction of Fort Dunwoody. It proved to be a man and a dog team.
“Honestly, we’re going to meet somebody!” Sandy exclaimed incredulously. For days they had seen few save enemies.
“Well, maybe this isn’t a friend,” said Dick, dubiously.
Toma studied the man intently as he drew nearer. Finally they could hear the cries of the driver to his dogs and the occasional cracking of his long whip. It was a white man; they could tell even at that distance by the tail to tail hitch of the dogs. Most of the Indians drove in fan formation, each dog attached to separate tugs of varying lengths.
The stranger stopped some distance from them, and came on more slowly. Evidently, he himself was not too certain whether or not he was meeting a hostile party.
They hailed each other.
“I’m Corporal Richardson of the Mounted,” called the lone driver of the dog team. “Who are you?”
“Hurrah!” cheered Sandy.
“Dick Kent and Sandy McClaren with a guide from Fort du Lac,” Dick called back through cupped palms.
The policeman seemed satisfied. Cracking his whip over the dogs, he speedily joined the young travelers.
Corporal Richardson was dressed in a heavy fur coat and parka. When near the campfire he pulled open his great coat, disclosing the scarlet of his uniform coat. He listened attentively to Dick’s story of their adventures, and he seemed favorably impressed with both Dick and Sandy, though at first he was somewhat suspicious of Toma.
“I left Fort Dunwoody a week ago,” the policeman told them, his steely eyes unwavering. “We’ve been hearing rumors of Bear Henderson’s outbreak, and I was sent up here to clear some of these trails. Of course Henderson is rather foolish to think he can whip the Mounted and the Hudson’s Bay Company, but he’s made rather a good try at it already. Last report we had he’d burned two trading posts, and had captured three more. Mackenzie’s Landing has fallen to him, I understand. They say his next move is Fort du Lac.”
Dick and Sandy gasped at the revelations of the policeman.
“Didn’t you know about the capture of Fort Good Faith, and the imprisonment of Walter MacClaren, my friend’s uncle?” Dick asked.
“We did not,” replied Corporal Richardson. “That is news. But of course Henderson has made a lot of moves we know nothing of. I suppose you’re after help. It was nervy of you young fellows to break through Henderson’s lines. You know he isn’t letting any one in or out of the far north. A man’s life isn’t worth a cent who isn’t hand in glove with the outlaw. I’m detailed to scout the trail to Mackenzie’s Landing—clear things up there if possible. I wish I could go with you fellows, but you’ll have to go on alone and talk to the Inspector. I doubt if you get help right away. Every officer is out on the trail now, except the bare few that guard the post. It looks like reserves might be called out in spite of the fact that we don’t like to do it.”
“Then you think we may even have to go on to Fort Good Faith alone?” Dick spoke concernedly.
“Oh, no, but you may have to wait for a constable.”
“But we can’t wait!” Dick cried desperately. “We’ve been delayed a week as it is. Sandy’s uncle must have help.”
Corporal Richardson sympathized with them, but he said he would not build up false hopes. “I suggest you ask the Inspector for a special deputization. In times like these every man will be forced into the service who isn’t an enemy of the crown.”
Dick and Sandy thrilled at this possibility. To think of being for even a brief period a member of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police was almost beyond their dreams.
“I’ll have to be mushing,” announced the policeman. “Too bad you lost your dogs. I passed a team about ten miles back. I thought the driver looked rather sneaky. It’s pretty hard to describe ordinary huskies. All I remember unusual about the team was that the leader, an exceptionally big fellow, limped with his left forefoot. Not much, just a little.”
“That’s our team, sure enough!” Dick cried. “Remember, Sandy, how that leader limped?”
“I wish we could catch up with the fellow,” Sandy gritted.
“It’s too late now,” Corporal Richardson shook his head. “I wish I could split my team with you, but you see I’ve only four and with two I’d be slowed up considerably. What you’d better do is leave your sled, and take what you need by shoulder pack. If——”
Corporal Richardson did not finish the sentence. He seemed to start, and his eyes widened. His hand flew to his chest. Across the snow came the ringing crack of a distant rifle. The mounted policeman dropped upon one elbow, as his startled companions hastened to him.
Dick shook his fist at the hills in the direction the shot seemed to have come from.
“I guess I’m hit pretty bad,” the corporal revived and whispered. Toma had thrown up the sled as a sort of barricade, if any more shots were fired, and Dick and Sandy commenced administering first aid to the wounded policeman. The bullet had struck under the shoulder blade at the back, and had come out the right side.
“It’s a nasty wound,” Dick said grimly—“maybe a lung is touched.”
“Rather lucky for you fellows at that,” the corporal smiled gamely. “Now you can use my dog team to tote me back to the fort.”
“Do you have any idea who shot you?” Dick asked.
“One of Henderson’s men without a doubt,” was the faint reply, “the country’s alive with them. But we’ll beat ’em yet.”
Dick grimly agreed with him.
Strangely enough, no more shots were fired. Dick judged the reason for this was that a single man had attacked them and had lost courage after seeing he had drawn blood in a party too strong for him. Yet he could not be sure. At any moment they might expect the sharpshooter lurking in the wooded hills to drop one of them. If they were to move on to the fort they could not remain sheltered from attack.
The limp body of the corporal was speedily transferred to his sled, after some of the packs had been thrown aside. Dick picked up the gee-pole, Toma took the lead, and Sandy cracked the long whip.
“Mush!”
They were off, the dogs yelping eagerly down the back trail, overjoyed at hitting the home trail so soon.
For nearly an hour they advanced at a fast rate of speed, Sandy and Dick changing off advance guard with Toma. Then they entered a long ravine, crested with spruce and jackpine. As yet no sign of the man who had shot the corporal appeared. Then, without warning, from the brow of the ravine, puffed the smoke of a rifle. A bullet fanned Dick’s cheek, and he paused and fired at the distant smoke at the top of the ravine.
“Mush! Mush!” shouted Sandy to the dogs, cracking the long whip.
The dogs responded nobly, drawing the sled, carrying the wounded officer, so fast that the boys could hardly keep up.
Again the hidden rifle cracked from the top of the ravine. This time one dog gave a sharp yelp, leaped into the air and fell kicking his last in a tangle of harness.
“He’s killed a dog!” cried Dick angrily. “Quick, get him out of the harness so we can go on.”
The three remaining huskies were growling and snarling in a mess, and it was some minutes before Sandy and Toma could straighten them out, cut the dead dog from his harness and start on again. Meanwhile Dick emptied his rifle at the brow of the ravine, taking a chance on hitting whoever was skulking there with such deadly intent.
On their way again, the fast moving sled proved an elusive target for the sharpshooter. He shot three times without effect. Swiftly they neared a point where the ravine widened out into a low walled valley, which was almost barren of vegetation. Once on this clear space they would be safe, for there was no cover within rifle range for the man who was dogging them.
Dick and Sandy were almost on the point of giving a shout of triumph when the hidden rifle cracked again and another dog dropped in the harness. The sled stopped, and once more the excited dogs got themselves in a bad mix-up. At the mercy of the mysterious and deadly rifle, the boys attacked the tangled harness and dogs.
Scarcely had they cut loose the fallen dog when the rifle sounded again and the lead dog dropped to his haunches, failing to rise again. Dick put the dog out of misery with a shot from his rifle, then turned to Toma and Sandy.
“We’ve got to get that fellow out of his nest. He’s playing with us. As soon as he finishes with the dogs he’ll start in on us. We might as well die fighting. Follow me.” Dick wheeled and started up the hill, firing his rifle as he went, Sandy and Toma not far behind.
The man on the rim of the ravine seemed taken by surprise. His shots went wild. Only one came close, and that tore through Sandy’s mackinaw.
Shouting at the top of their voices, the boys reached the top of the ravine. A running figure was just disappearing over a knoll ahead of them. Dick paused a moment, levelled his rifle and fired quickly. The figure, some hundred yards distant, leaped high, as if hit, and ran on limping. Toma and Sandy also fired, but did not hit. They ran on after the man a little way, then fearing to leave the wounded officer too long alone, they hurried back, certain they had routed the sharpshooter.
“We’re lucky,” Dick said, as they trotted down the slope of the ravine, “—not a scratch and he was sure shooting close.”
“I kind of wish I was in Corporal Richardson’s place when I think of going on with one dog,” Sandy changed the subject, making light of his narrow escape. “Means we’ve got to buckle into the harness again.”
Toma paused as they reached the sled. They could see him looking up at the sky.
“Heap snow come soon,” the imperturbable weather prophet announced. “Make um wolves hungry.”
Dick and Sandy did not think seriously of Toma’s prophecy, for they were intent on the hard work ahead, and already were stepping into the places vacated by the dead dogs.
Again they toiled out on the trail to Fort Dunwoody, hauling the wounded man, who was muttering to himself now in a delirious state brought on by rising fever.
In an hour it had begun to snow, but the boys kept on. Thicker and thicker fell the soft, white flakes, until they could see no more than twenty feet ahead. It was a wet snow, and made pulling the sled harder than ever. The runners seemed to drag like lead upon the aching shoulders of the three. They were glad when darkness fell and they were forced to camp.
“We’re in for an all-night snow storm, I guess,” Dick observed, as the fire he was trying to start went out for a third time, and he had to enlist the aid of Toma.
“I’d like to sleep for a week,” said Sandy, from where he was trying to make the wounded officer more comfortable. “That falling snow is just like a bedtime story that really does put a fellow to sleep.”
They rolled into their sleeping bags as soon as they had appeased their appetites, not troubling to keep watch. All night the snow fell, and in the morning they awakened almost smothered with the wet drifts. The world was all fresh and white like a new blanket, but they had not taken ten steps before they knew they would make little progress that day.
“If a crust would only freeze over the snow we could get along faster,” Dick bewailed.
Corporal Richardson seemed a little better after the night’s rest. His fever had gone down and an examination of the wound showed it to be coming along as well as could be expected. He was very weak, however, from loss of blood.
“Where are we?” the officer asked Dick.
“About fifty miles north of Fort Dunwoody with only one dog,” Dick replied. “You were unconscious yesterday during the scrap we had with the same fellow who hit you.”
“Yes, I seemed to have had delirium,” replied the corporal. “I imagined I heard shooting.”
“Well, you didn’t need your imagination to hear that yesterday,” Dick assured him.
“It’ll be a wonder if you get through,” the officer said, “better leave me along the trail somewhere. There’s an abandoned cabin a few miles this side of Badge Lake. You’ll strike it if you follow the long ridge. Put me off there with some grub and then have Inspector Dawson send a man out after me.”
“No, we couldn’t do anything like that,” Dick returned firmly. “In your condition you need medical care as soon as you can get it. As long as we can stand you’re going to stay on this sled.”
As if to bear out Dick’s words, the officer fainted dead away.
Alarmed, Dick put a cup of melted snow to the pale lips. The corporal had just aroused enough to drink when a sound from across the snow startled Dick so that he spilled the water.
“Listen to that!” ejaculated Sandy.
“I heard it,” Dick replied.
Long, weird, mournful, the howl of a wolf rose and fell in the distance. It was the hunger cry of the most savage denizen of the northland wilds. Deep snow had made hunting hard for the wolves, and they were beginning to take notice of the man prey of the land.
“Him hungry,” grunted Toma.
They set off on the trail once more. A half mile they struggled along with the sled, when another wolf howled from a different quarter. This time the cry was answered.
“Wolves come together for big hunt,” Toma explained, with his usual absence of emotion.
“Here’s hoping they don’t pick on us,” Sandy remarked.
Dick was silent. His face was haggard. The troubles of the trail were weighing heavily on his sturdy shoulders, and this new danger of the northland taxed his courage to the utmost. Yet he did not falter. Instead, his words were cheerful, though they came from drawn lips.
“I guess we have a few shots left in our rifles,” said Dick meaningly. “Those wolves better not come too close.”
“Few shots is right,” Sandy came back dishearteningly. “Dick, do you know we have only about ten shots left for each of the rifles? And we had the hard luck to unload Corporal Richardson’s ammunition when we put him on the sled. All he has is a belt full of revolver cartridges.”
Dick’s hands clenched on the strap with which he was helping pull the sled. “Makes no difference, Sandy. After we’ve escaped all these human wolves that have been after us, I guess we can handle the animals all right.” But he was not quite so sure as he tried to make Sandy believe.
“Wolves eat um dead dogs back trail,” Toma called from the rear of the sled, where he was following up after a stiff job of breaking trail.
All afternoon the cries of the gathering pack could be heard, now near, now far. Once it seemed they were all around them. Then the boys redoubled their efforts on the heavy sled.
“We ought to pull into that cabin the corporal mentioned before long,” Dick said worriedly, as he changed places with Sandy.
“I don’t know about that,” Sandy replied. “The corporal was probably estimating the distance if we made time with a good dog team—but we haven’t gone more than five miles today.”
They made no stop for a mid-day meal, chewing raw bacon while toiling on the trail. The fear of the wolves had entered their hearts yet they would not let one another feel that fear by any spoken word.
Near nightfall they were certain the wolves were trailing them, and they could not hide it from one another. Far in the rear they could hear the hunting cry of the pack, and it was blood-curdling.
While the sun still shone over the western skyline, the first of the wolf pack appeared behind, and the boys knew that they were in for trouble.
The leader of the wolves was old and wise. For a time he held the pack of nearly thirty gaunt, gray wolves out of rifle range, waiting for dark. But hunger could not be denied. The less wise of the pack forged ahead, and the rifles of the three boys spoke with deadly effect.
Dick’s toll was three wolves before he emptied his magazine. Sandy shot one and thought he had killed another, but the animal seemed only stunned, and after a minute leaped up and came on again at a swinging lope, to be dropped by a shot from Dick, who had reloaded.