A RED BLOB
Burnnel, Emery and Rat MacGregor’s wife set a hard pace. They led Dick
and Sandy far afield and it was seldom that the boys ever came in sight
of them. It was plain that the prospectors intended to force their
horses to the limit in an attempt to overtake the fleeing recluse.
The trail led south. It was a well known trail, much travelled,
especially in the Spring and Fall of the year. Then, to the boys’
amazement, the outlaws suddenly left it, striking off southeastward
through a country infrequently visited. For a long time Dick and Sandy
could find no reasonable explanation for this, but, finally, the younger
of the two boys, brooding over the strange conduct of the outlaws,
offered an opinion.
They were crossing a broad meadow at the time, exerting their ponies to
renewed effort. Through the thick, waving grass ahead, almost waist
high, was the faint track made by Burnnel’s party.
“I know now,” Sandy’s voice was excited. “I’ve solved the mystery.”
“What mystery?”
“The reason why they went this way. It’s a shortcut, Dick. The main
trail, if you happen to remember, turns straight east about fifty miles
south of here. Burnnel and Emery figure that they can head Creel off by
coming this way.”
“You must be right, Sandy. But I wonder if they’ve stopped to consider
that they have a river to cross. It’s a wide one, too, nearly a quarter
of a mile, I should say. Do you suppose they can swim the horses?”
“Dangerous, but they must intend to try it. It will be interesting to
watch them. If they can make it, so can we.”
“We ought to arrive at the river some time this afternoon. Hope they
don’t see us coming. We must be fairly close to them right now.”
Crossing the meadow, they entered a grove of poplar, through which they
made their way more slowly, emerging, at length, to another meadow,
somewhat smaller than the one they had previously crossed. Here they
paused. On the far side, several miles away, they saw three tiny specks,
which they knew was Burnnel’s party. Not wishing to approach any closer,
they rode back to the poplars again, dismounted, staked out their horses
and prepared their midday meal. At the end of an hour, when they resumed
their journey, they knew there would be little danger of drawing within
sight of the outlaws.
So they pushed on steadily. They left the meadow behind and entered a
woodland, which grew thicker as they advanced. The dim trail ahead
became more difficult to follow. Finally, they lost it altogether, but a
few hours later the trees thinned out and straight ahead of them, a
shining, glistening ribbon in the sun, they saw the broad expanse of the
Hay River.
They staked out their ponies, and set out on foot to reconnoitre. For
several hundred yards they followed the course of the valley, but could
find no trace of the outlaws. However, continuing eastward, they were
rewarded by the sight of a thin column of smoke, drifting lazily up
through the trees. The outlaws had made camp a few hundred yards below
on the bank of the river. Just now they were engaged, so the boys
surmised, in the preparation of a meal.
Dick and Sandy crept closer. Nerves taut, they wormed their way ahead.
Then Dick touched Sandy’s arm.
“Look!” he whispered.
Burnnel and Emery were squatting in front of the fire, indolently
smoking their pipes, while MacGregor’s wife busied herself in gathering
wood, laying out the camp utensils and in other ways making herself
generally useful.
“Lazy brutes!” sneered Sandy. “They don’t seem to be in much of a hurry.
Do you suppose they’ll attempt to ford the river this afternoon?”
“Yes, I think so. In spite of their indolence now, they’re anxious to
get on.”
“No use staying here,” Sandy spoke again. “We’d better get back to our
ponies. We’ll bring them over to the top of the ridge, where I think
they’ll be safe enough. There’s little danger that those lazy beggars
will climb the slope again.”
In returning to their horses, they chose to circle around the outlaws’
camp, went down to the bank of the river and moved slowly along,
conscious of a cool breeze and the close proximity of the water. They
were hot and tired and the water looked inviting. Close to the bank it
was clear as liquid glass. Here and there were the shadows of whitefish
and Northern trout. At the bottom of the river was white sand. Every few
yards or so, projecting up through this white sand, were smooth,
brownish-colored rocks that were surrounded by innumerable tiny eddies.
In the interest of the moment, the boys almost forgot the grim business
in which they were engaged. Both had an overwhelming desire to linger
here. It was a peaceful, quiet spot. Sandy turned and smiled upon his
chum.
“That water,” he remarked, “looks cool.”
He wiped his perspiring brow.
“I know what you’re thinking,” laughed Dick. “You’d like to strip and
plunge in, wouldn’t you? I wish we could.”
Sandy stopped and commenced fanning himself with his hat.
“Why not? It will do us both good. We’d be safe enough, I’m sure. They
can’t possibly see us from here.”
Dick was tempted. He looked down at the water. A trout flashed up from
the cold, clear stream. Only for a moment did he hesitate.
“All right. Come on.”
They threw off their clothes, racing with each other to see who would be
the first to dive in. Sandy won. Both boys commenced swimming about,
diving, floating, frolicking in the water to their hearts’ content. So
absorbed were they in the refreshing sport, that they became oblivious
of the passing of time. Had not Sandy chanced to glance across the
river, it is probable that they might have forgotten about their
responsibilities for at least another hour or two.
But in that glance, the young Scotchman had seen something that quickly
brought him back to the world of realities. He sprang ashore, calling to
Dick excitedly.
“Look, Dick! What do you make of that?” One glistening wet arm was flung
out in front of him.
On the opposite side, a few rods up from the water, Dick saw a blob of
red—something that looked very much like a large strip of flannel,
caught against the darker background of green.
“A red cloth,” answered Dick, only slightly interested. “Wonder who left
it there?”
“It moves! It moves!”
In spite of the nearness of Burnnel’s party, Sandy almost shouted out
the words.
Both boys stared, as if under some queer mesmeric spell. They watched
the red blob move along the line of brush and disappear with magic
abruptness. It came back again, however, in a very few minutes—only in a
different place. Again it remained perfectly stationary, then fluttered
behind a rock. In its second re-appearance, it moved toward the brink of
the river and, suddenly, instead of being merely a red blob,
mysteriously it formed itself into the unmistakable outline of a human
figure.
“Some one in a red mackinaw,” declared Sandy, laughing.
“In a police tunic, you mean,” Dick corrected him, commencing to hurry
into his clothes.
“What! A mounted policeman?”
“Exactly that. Why, you can see his broad-rimmed hat and heavy
top-boots.”