I
The Deputy-Sheriff of Nipsiwaska County had spent half an hour at the
telephone. In the backwoods the telephone wires go everywhere. In
that half-hour every settlement, every river-crossing, every
lumber-camp, and most of the wide-scattered pioneer cabins had been
warned of the flight of the thief, Dan Black, nicknamed Black Dan, and
how, in the effort to secure his escape, he had shot and wounded the
Deputy-Sheriff's big black dog whose cleverness on the trail he had
such cause to dread. As Tug Blackstock, the Deputy-Sheriff, came out
of the booth he asked after Jim.
"Oh, Black Dan's bullet broke no bones that time," replied the village
doctor, who had tended the dog's wound as carefully as if his patient
had been the Deputy himself. "It's a biggish hole, but Jim'll be all
right in a few days, never fear."
Blackstock looked relieved.
"Ye don't seem to be worryin' much about Black Dan's gittin' away,
Tug," grumbled Long Jackson, who was not unnaturally sore over the loss
of his money.
"No, I ain't worryin' much," agreed the Deputy, with a confident grin,
"now I know Jim ain't goin' to lose a leg. As for Black Dan's gittin'
away, well, I've got me own notions about that. I've 'phoned all over
the three counties, and given warnin' to every place he kin stop for a
bite or a bed. He can't cross the river to get over the Border, for
I've sent word to hev every bridge an' ferry watched. Black Dan's
cunnin' enough to know I'd do jest that, first thing, so he won't waste
his time tryin' the river. He'll strike right back into the big
timber, countin' on the start he's got of us, now he's put Jim out of
the game. But I guess I kin trail him myself--now I know what I'm
trailin'--pretty nigh as well as Jim could. I've took note of his
tracks, and there ain't another pair o' boots in Brine's Rip Mills like
them he's wearin'."
"And when air ye goin' to start?" demanded Long Jackson, still inclined
to be resentful.
"Right now," replied Blackstock cheerfully, "soon as ye kin git guns
and stuff some crackers an' cheese into yer pockets. I'll want you to
come along, MacDonald, an' you, Long, an' Saunders, an' Big Andy, as my
posse. Meet me in fifteen minutes at the store an' I'll hev Zeb Smith
swear ye in for the job. If Black Dan wants to do any shootin', it's
jest as well to hev every thin' regular."
There were not a few others among the mill-hands and the villagers who
had lost by Black Dan's cunning pilferings, and who would gladly have
joined in the hunt. In the backwoods not even a murderer--unless his
victim has been a woman or a child--is hunted down with so much zest as
a thief. But the Deputy did not like too much volunteer assistance,
and was apt to suppress it with scant ceremony. So his choice of a
posse was accepted without protest or comment, and the chosen four
slipped off to get their guns.
As Tug Blackstock had foreseen, the trail of the fugitive was easily
picked up. Confident in his powers as a runaway, Black Dan's sole
object, at first, had been to gain as much lead as possible over the
expected pursuit, and he had run straight ahead, leaving a trail which
any one of Blackstock's posse--with the exception, perhaps, of Big
Andy--could have followed with almost the speed and precision of the
Deputy himself.
There had been no attempt at concealment. About five miles back,
however, in the heavy woods beyond the head of the Lake, it appeared
that the fugitive had dropped into a walk and begun to go more
circumspectly. The trail now grew so obscure that the other woodsmen
would have had difficulty in deciphering it at all, and they were
amazed at the ease and confidence with which Blackstock followed it up,
hardly diminishing his stride.
"Tug is sure some trailer," commented Jackson, his good humour now
quite restored by the progress they were making.
"_Jim_ couldn't 'a' done no better himself," declared Big Andy, the
Oromocto man.
And just then Blackstock came abruptly to a halt, and held up his hand
for his followers to stop.
"Steady, boys. Stop right where ye are, an' don't step out o' yer
tracks," he commanded.
The four stood rigid, and began searching the ground all about them
with keen, initiated eyes.
"Oh, I've got him, so fur, all right," continued Blackstock, pointing
to a particularly clear and heavy impression of a boot-sole close
behind his own feet. "But here it stops. It don't appear to go any
further."
He knelt down to examine the footprint.
"P'raps he's doubled back on his tracks, to throw us off," suggested
Saunders, who was himself an expert on the trails of all the wild
creatures.
"No," replied Blackstock, "I've watched out for that sharp."
"P'raps he's give a big jump to one side or t'other, to break his
trail," said MacDonald.
"No," said Blackstock with decision, "nor that neither, Mac. This here
print is even. Ef he'd jumped to one side or the other, it would be
dug in on that side, and ef he'd jumped forrard, it would be hard down
at the toe. It fair beats me!"
Stepping carefully, foot by foot, he examined the ground minutely over
a half circle of a dozen yards to his front. He sent out his
followers--all but Big Andy, who, being no trailer, was bidden to stand
fast--to either side and to the rear, crawling like ferrets and
interrogating every grass tuft, in vain. The trail had simply stopped
with that one footprint. It was as if Black Dan had dissolved into a
miasma, and floated off.
At last Blackstock called the party in, and around the solitary
footprint they all sat down and smoked. One after another they made
suggestions, but each suggestion had its futility revealed and sealed
by a stony stare from Blackstock, and was no more befriended by its
author.
At last Blackstock rose to his feet, and gave a hitch to his belt.
"I don't mind tellin' ye, boys," said he, "it beats me fair. But _one_
thing's plain enough, Black Dan ain't _here_, an' he ain't likely to
come here lookin' for us. Spread out now, an' we'll work on ahead, an'
see ef we can't pick up somethin'. You, Big Andy, you keep right along
behind me. There's an explanation to _everything_--an' we'll find this
out afore along, or my name's Dinnis."
Over the next three or four hundred yards, however, nothing of
significance was discovered by any of the party. Then, breaking
through a dense screen of branches, Blackstock came upon the face of a
rocky knoll, so steep, at that point, that hands and feet together
would be needed to climb it. Casting his eyes upwards, he saw what
looked like the entrance to a little cave.
A whistle brought the rest of the party to his side. A cave always
holds possibilities, if nothing else. Blackstock spread his men out
again, at intervals of three or four paces, and all went cautiously up
the steep, converging on the entrance. Blackstock, in the centre,
shielding himself behind a knob of rock, peered in.
The place was empty. It was hardly a cave, indeed, being little more
than a shallow recess beneath an overhanging ledge. But it was well
sheltered by a great branch which stretched upwards across the opening.
Blackstock sniffed critically.
"A bear's den," he announced, stepping in and scrutinizing the floor.
The floor was naked rock, scantily littered with dead leaves and twigs.
These, Blackstock concluded, had been recently disturbed, but he could
find no clue to what had disturbed them. From the further side,
however--to Blackstock's right--a palpable trail, worn clear of moss
and herbage, led off by a narrow ledge across the face of the knoll.
Half a dozen paces further on the rock ended in a stretch of stiff
soil. Here the trail declared itself. It was unmistakably that of a
bear, and unmistakably, also, a fresh trail.
Waving the rest to stop where they were, Blackstock followed the clear
trail down from the knoll, and for a couple of hundred yards along the
level, going very slowly, and searching it hawk-eyed for some sign
other than that of bear. At length he returned, looking slightly
crestfallen.
"Nawthin' at all but bear," he announced in an injured voice. "But
that bear seems to have been in a bit of a hurry, as if he was gittin'
out o' somebody's way--Black Dan's way, it's dollars to doughnuts. But
where was Black Dan, that's what I want to know?"
"Ef _you_ don't know, Tug," said MacDonald, "who _kin_ know?"
"Jim!" said the Deputy, rubbing his lean chin and biting off a big
"chaw" of "black-jack."
"Jim's sure some dawg," agreed MacDonald. "That was the only fool
thing I ever know'd ye to do, Tug--sendin' Jim after Black Dan that
way."
Blackstock swore, softly and intensely, though he was a man not given
to that form of self-expression.
"Boys," said he, "I used to fancy myself quite a lot. But now I begin
to think Nipsiwaska County'd better be gittin' a noo Deputy. I ain't
no manner o' good."
The men looked at him in frank astonishment. He had never before been
seen in this mood of self-depreciation.
"Aw, shucks," exclaimed Long Jackson presently, "there ain't a man from
here to the St. Lawrence as kin _tech_ ye, an' ye know it, Tug. Quit
yer jollyin' now. I believe ye've got somethin' up yer sleeve, only ye
won't say so."
At this expression of unbounded confidence Blackstock braced up visibly.
"Well, boys, there's one thing I _kin_ do," said he. "I'm goin' back
to git Jim, ef I hev to fetch him in a wheelbarrow. We'll find out
what he thinks o' the situation. I'll take Saunders an' Big Andy with
me. You, Long, an' Mac, you stop on here an' lay low an' see what
turns up. But don't go mussin' up the trails."