THREE NEW RECRUITS
One bright spring morning Corporal Rand arrived at Fort Good Faith. It
was somewhat off his regular route, but he had a purpose in mind. There
were three young men there he very much wished to see. One of them was
Dick Kent, the second, Sandy MacClaren, a nephew of the factor, and the
third, a young Indian, named Toma. On many occasions previously the
three boys had given unsparingly of their services. The police needed
their help now.
Working on the Dewberry case, Corporal Rand had suddenly remembered
about the boys and had decided to call upon them for assistance. They
could help him in clearing up the mystery. All three were unknown to
Frischette. They might be able to secure valuable information he
couldn’t obtain himself. So, immediately after his arrival, he summoned
the three boys and made known his plans.
“I would suggest,” he concluded, “that the three of you, masquerading as
young prospectors, drop into Frischette’s place and remain there several
days on some pretext or other. You can say that you’re waiting for
supplies, coming in by pack-train from Fort Good Faith. Cultivate
Frischette’s acquaintance. Make friends with Fontaine, the half-breed
boy in his service. See how much information you can pick up about
Dewberry and ‘Rat’ MacGregor.”
“But do you really believe,” Dick asked, “that Frischette knows any more
about the murder than he has already given out to you?”
“I’m not sure.” Corporal Rand pursed his lips. “But one thing is slowly
dawning upon me.”
“What?” asked Sandy breathlessly.
“That MacGregor’s wife was right, that MacGregor didn’t take Dewberry’s
money, or the small poke he had around his neck.”
“But if he didn’t take it, who did?” Dick inquired.
“Frischette himself might have taken it.”
“Surely MacGregor had something to do with it,” argued Sandy.
Corporal Rand rose and walked slowly across the floor to a little table,
where he helped himself to a glass of water. He turned and regarded the
boys thoughtfully.
“Here is a supposition that may throw a little light on what actually
occurred. ‘Rat’ MacGregor, as we have reason to believe, was the first
person to have designs upon Dewberry. He planned the robbery. He drugged
his victim. Evidently murder did not enter into his calculations. When
all was still in the room, MacGregor crept over to Dewberry’s bunk to
commit the robbery.
“In some way his plans went wrong. Perhaps the drug had not proved
sufficiently potent. While taking the money and poke, let us say,
Dewberry woke up. Perhaps Dewberry made some slight exclamation or
sound, which terrified MacGregor and which also might have aroused some
other sleeper in that room. In desperation, we will assume, MacGregor
murdered Dewberry, but is surprised in the act by this other person who
had awakened. Just for the sake of my theory, we will say that that
person was Frischette, that in some way he got the ‘drop’ on MacGregor,
compelling him to hand over the money and poke and then forcing him to
leave the place immediately.”
“Yes, that is plausible,” agreed Dick. “But why Frischette? There were
other persons in the room beside him. Why do you think that Frischette
may be the guilty one?”
“Because Frischette is planning to leave the country. He claims that he
had made a lot of money up here, and is now giving his business to the
boy, Fontaine, for a small consideration. That in itself is suspicious.
Frischette’s determination to go ‘outside’ surprised me because I
remember that, less than a year ago, he confided to me his intention to
build three new road-houses here in the North.”
“When is he planning to leave?” asked Sandy.
Corporal Rand smiled reminiscently.
“He expected to go this week, but he has changed his mind since my last
talk with him. As a personal favor to me, he has consented to postpone
his journey until this little mystery has been cleared up.”
“But do you think that Frischette is aware that you suspect him of the
theft?”
“No, I believe not. I merely told him that he would be of invaluable
assistance to me in solving this case, and that the mounted police would
be deeply indebted to him if he would consent to remain here for a few
weeks longer.”
Dick and Sandy both laughed.
“I’ll bet he’s worried stiff,” grinned the latter, “that is, if he’s
really the thief. By the way, corporal, how much money did this Dewberry
have in his possession at the time of the murder?”
“There’s no way of determining the exact amount,” Rand answered.
“Probably several hundred dollars in cash.”
“I wouldn’t think that that would be sufficient bait to tempt
MacGregor.”
“There was the poke. Don’t forget that.”
“But you said it was a small one. Perhaps there wasn’t more than a few
hundred dollars in nuggets and gold dust.”
“I’m not sure that it was gold.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, it was a very small poke. That much I know. It was almost too
small for a prospector’s pouch. As you have suggested, if it contained
nuggets, there would scarcely be a fortune there—hardly enough to tempt
MacGregor. MacGregor would never have taken the chance he did for the
small amount involved. He was naturally a coward, a sneaking human rat,
and only a big stake could have induced him to gather sufficient courage
to make the effort. After reasoning it all out, I have come to the
conclusion that MacGregor must have known what that poke contained:
Something infinitely more valuable than gold.”
“More valuable!” exclaimed Dick.
“Yes. Why not? Precious stones—or a secret of some sort worth thousands
of dollars.”
Sandy sat up, clutching the sides of his chair.
“I’ll say this is getting interesting. You’re arousing my curiosity,
corporal. I love a mystery.”
“Well, you have one here,” smiled Rand. “The morning after the murder I
came to the conclusion that it would not be a very difficult case.
However, it seems that I was wrong. Apparently, ‘Rat’ MacGregor is not
the only person involved. Before we sift this thing to the bottom, we
may discover that many persons are implicated. It is one of the most
mysterious, unusual cases with which I have ever had to deal.”
“How do you purpose to work it all out?”
“I’m almost wholly at a loss to know. I haven’t a great deal to go on.
It occurred to me that you boys might be able to pick up information
that I couldn’t get myself. You may be able to find a clew. In the
meantime, I’m going over to Crooked Stick River—the place where Dewberry
came from just before the murder—and question some of the people there.
Perhaps Dewberry had a friend or two in whom he confided. Certain it is
that the contents of that poke has been seen by someone. Otherwise, to
use a well known expression, MacGregor never would have been ‘tipped
off.’”
“Don’t you suppose that Dewberry might have told MacGregor about his
secret?” asked Dick.
“Scarcely likely. MacGregor was hardly the type of person in whom one
would confide. He was a notorious character here in the North. He had a
very unsavory reputation. At various times he had been implicated in
certain questionable undertakings, and once had served a term in jail.”
“You think, then, that MacGregor had been following Dewberry?”
“Yes, awaiting his opportunity. He’d learned of the secret. But I’m
positive that Dewberry gave him no information at all.”
Thus far Toma, naturally reticent, had taken no part in the
conversation. He sat rigid in his chair, eyes wide with interest,
nothing escaping him. Suddenly he drawled forth:
“When you want us go over this fellow Frischette’s place?” he asked.
“Tomorrow, if you will,” answered the corporal. “Arrange to stay there
for three or four days. Then come back here to meet me.”
“I know this young fellow, Fontaine, you talk about,” Toma informed
them. “One time we pretty good friends. We go to school one time at
Mission. If he know anything, me pretty sure him tell Toma.”
“Good!” exclaimed Corporal Rand. “I’m glad to hear that, Toma. Your
friendship with Fontaine may be the means of solving this mystery. If
Frischette is implicated, Fontaine must be aware of it.”
The policeman rose to his feet again.
“Well, I guess you understand what’s to be done. If you’ll excuse me,
I’ll hurry away now. I want to see Inspector Cameron for a few minutes
before I go on to the Crooked Stick.”
He turned and shook hands with each of the boys in turn.
“Well, good luck to you. I hope you’ll like your new role of police
detectives. When you return, you’ll probably find me here awaiting you.”
On the evening of the following day, the three boys, dressed for the
part, arrived at Frischette’s road-house. It had been a warm afternoon
and the boys were weary as they rode up to the well known stopping place
and slowly dismounted. Sandy paused to wipe the perspiration from his
face.
“We’re here—” he announced, “mosquitos and all.” He looked curiously
about him. “So this is the famous stopping-place. I’ve often heard of
it. It’s one of the largest road-houses north of the Peace River. They
say that Frischette is an interesting character. He’s lived in the North
a good many years.”
Sandy’s observations were cut short by the appearance of two young
half-breeds, who sauntered over in their direction. Toma gave vent to an
exclamation, dropped the reins over his pony’s head and advanced quickly
to meet them.
“One of them must be Fontaine,” guessed Sandy.
“But he knows them both,” observed Dick.
Immediately Toma and his two friends approached and introductions took
place.
“This him fellow,” Toma was explicit, “my friend, Pierre Fontaine. This
other fellow, also my friend, Martin Le Sueur. He come long way this
morning to be with Pierre. Mebbe after while they be partners an’ buy
Frischette’s business.”
Both Le Sueur and Fontaine spoke very little English, so the
conversation that ensued, a lively one, was carried on in Cree. While it
was taking place, the boys put up their ponies and walked back in the
direction of the hostelry. No sooner had they entered, than Frischette,
with his usual hospitality, came forward to bid them welcome. As he did
so, Dick gave him the benefit of a close scrutiny.
He was a little man, dark, vivacious—typically French. Yet his lively
features showed the unmistakable Indian strain of his mixed origin. He
conducted the boys to the dining room, talking as he went.
“Very hungry you must be, monsieurs. Sit down for a moment. We have
plenty to eat here. I myself will serve you. Baked whitefish from ze
water only an hour. Brown bread which I bake with my own hands. Then
there ees coffee an’ a sweet pastry, monsieurs.”
“I was hungry, but I’m famished now after hearing all that,” Sandy
declared. “You are very generous, Mr. Frischette.”
“Et ees nothing.” The Frenchman waved his arms deprecatingly. “I like et
you come here once in a while during thees lonesome summer to make ze
company. I am glad to learn that you are friends of thees ver’ good boy,
Fontaine.”
Their welcome had been so whole-hearted and spontaneous that Dick did
not, even for a moment, believe that Frischette’s manner was assumed. In
spite of himself, he was drawn toward the vivacious, hospitable
Frenchman. A capital host! It was difficult to see how Corporal Rand
could harbor suspicion against such a person. The genial road-house
keeper had none of the characteristics nor any of the appearances of a
criminal.
That was Dick’s first impression of the man. Nor did he stand alone in
this respect. Sandy, too, had been impressed favorably. Just before
retiring for the night, the young Scotchman whispered in his chum’s ear:
“Look here, Dick, if you want my honest opinion, I think we’ve come on a
wild goose chase. I believe Corporal Rand is wrong. After seeing and
talking with this man Frischette, I’m absolutely certain that he’s
innocent. Someone else is the guilty person.”
“I can’t help thinking that too,” Dick replied. “If looks and actions
are not deceiving, Frischette is innocent. I doubt if he knows any more
about the case than he’s already told Rand. Just the same, we’ll remain
here and follow the corporal’s instructions.”
“Just wasting time,” grumbled Sandy.
Suddenly, they were aware of a presence near them. Both looked up
quickly and a little guiltily, expecting to see Frischette himself.
Instead it was Toma—Toma, a curious expression on his face, the light of
excitement in his eyes.
“Sandy, Dick,” he announced breathlessly, “you come with me. I find out
something important to tell you!”