HALF WAY HOUSE.
Cool air rose from the river, driving before it long, grey streamers of
mist. Up through the trees it spread, close to the ground, dense as
smoke. Across the sandbar, well up on the bank above, in the deep shadow
of the balsam, a bright fire etched in bold relief the faces of Corporal
Rand and the three boys. They made a complete circle around the fire and
were conversing eagerly. Just now it was Sandy who held the center of
interest.
“Something underhanded going on at Half Way House,” he explained to the
corporal. “I think that Uncle Walter is suspicious of Factor Frazer. I
don’t know exactly what the trouble is, but I think it has something to
do with the way Mr. Frazer has been keeping his accounts. You see, Uncle
Walter is Chief Factor for this district and audits the books of all the
trading posts. He acted very mysterious when he asked us to go over to
Half Way House. Didn’t he, Dick?”
“Yes, he did,” Dick corroborated his chum.
“It looks to me,” Sandy went on, “as if Mr. Frazer suspected that we
were spies sent by my uncle and took the method he did to get rid of
us.”
“Seems very likely,” smiled the policeman.
“Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum were at the post when we left,”
continued Sandy. “After what has happened, we can draw only one
conclusion, that these two men are paid emissaries of Frazer’s. I
suspect he wants to keep us out here until he has had time to cover up
some sort of deviltry.”
Corporal Rand rose and gazed down into the fire.
“It would seem so, Sandy. Something deeply mysterious afoot there.
Probably another case for the police to solve. I’ve never known it to
fail. No sooner do we hear of an important case and start working upon
it, than something else crops up. We’ve done nothing but patrol duty
until this Miller case came to our attention. I start out upon this case
when I learn of this business at Half Way House. Probably before I get
back from Caribou Lake, there will be a murder or two added to the
growing list of crimes.”
“Do you plan to have us accompany you to Caribou Lake?” Dick asked.
“When I met you out here this afternoon, that was my intention. But now
that I’ve talked with you and heard your story I’ve changed my mind.
It’s more important that you should go on to Half Way House. By
travelling as fast as you can, you should make it in four more days.”
“What will we do when we get there?” asked Dick.
“That’s up to you,” Corporal Rand spoke grimly. “You handled the
Dewberry case very nicely. I’m really in no position to advise you or
help you in any way because I don’t know what’s wrong there. If I were
you though, the minute I arrived I’d confront Frazer and demand an
explanation. I’d mention Wolf Brennan and McCallum too. Make it plain
that you intend to take up the matter with the police.”
“Do you believe there is a chance that he may confess?” asked Sandy
incredulously.
“No, I don’t. But there is a chance that your accusations may sweep him
off his guard, that he will blurt out something that will give you a
clue to the mystery.”
“I never thought of that,” said Dick.
“I’ll divide my grubstake with you,” Rand went on. “I haven’t much, but
you’re welcome to half of it. I can give you tea, rice, a little sugar,
part of a slab of bacon and about ten pounds of flour.”
“You may run yourself short,” Dick hesitated.
“No,” smiled Rand. “I can look after myself.”
“Now that we’ve met you, I hate to separate so soon.”
“It can’t be helped,” smiled the policeman. “And that reminds me that
it’s getting late. We must hurry to bed if we expect to make an early
start tomorrow.”
Following a good breakfast the next morning, the boys loaded their
canoe, shook hands with the corporal and, just at six o’clock by Rand’s
watch, the two canoes floated out into the river, separated and began
speeding on their respective ways. All day the boys worked like Trojans.
In spite of a delay of over an hour at one portage, they managed to
travel over forty miles before they stopped at dusk to make camp.
The second day was more or less a repetition of the first and, on the
afternoon of the third day since their meeting with Corporal Rand, they
drew up at the boat landing at Half Way House, tired but exultant.
They walked up along the well-beaten path toward the trading post, the
cynosure of curious eyes. And indeed, this was not to be wondered at.
Their appearance resembled scarecrows more than human beings. They were
ragged from head to foot. Their faces were burned a deep brown from the
exposure to sun and wind. As they made their way past a row of cabins,
the company’s warehouse and finally to the store itself, Toma’s
abbreviated trousers caused a good deal of merriment among lounging
groups of Indians and half-breeds.
Though they were exultant, they were also grim. Dick’s eyes were hard as
he led his two companions through those tittering groups. His hands were
clenched tightly at his sides and, reaching the entrance he flung open
the door and strode defiantly in. Toma and Sandy followed, their manner
belligerent.
Behind the counter, busily occupied in rearranging merchandise on the
shelves, the factor, Mr. Donald Frazer had not noticed their entrance.
When he did look around, his face paled.
“Y—y—you!” he trembled.
Three pairs of glaring, unfriendly eyes bored into the wavering optics
of the man behind the counter. As yet, not one of the boys had spoken. A
deep and ominous silence settled over the room.
“We’re back!” Dick cleared his throat.
“So I perceive,” the factor attempted to make light of the matter, but
his effort at jocularity proved a dismal failure.
“We’re back,” Dick repeated, his voice harsh and cold, “and we demand an
accounting. You’re a miserable snake, Frazer, and you have a lot to
answer for. Before we report this matter to the police, perhaps you’d
like to do a little explaining on your own account.”
The factor’s right hand reached out and he grasped the counter for
support. He tried to speak, but in his fear and great agitation, the
words would not come. A queer rumbling in his throat, his jaw muscles
twitching, his face white, he stood there helplessly staring at the
three determined figures confronting him.
“Didn’t expect us back, did you?” almost snarled Dick. “Had an idea that
we’d starve out there, didn’t you? Thought that your friends, Wolf
Brennan and Toby McCallum, would settle our hash for good and all,
didn’t you? Well, we’re back. What do you propose to do about it?”
Frazer’s face distorted queerly and he protested angrily.
“What sort of a plot are you trying to lay at my door?” he wheezed.
“Brennan and McCallum—I don’t understand you. What have they to do with
me? If you had trouble with them, it was not of my making.”
“Don’t try to deny that you didn’t send them. You did.”
At this juncture Sandy completely lost his temper. In a flash, he had
bounded over the counter, seizing Frazer by the throat.
“You wretch!” he shouted, shaking the factor as a cat might shake a
mouse. “You wretch! Don’t lie to us! You sent us out there to the island
of the dinosaur for no other reason than to get rid of us. And then,”
Sandy shrieked “you instructed those two miserable rats to follow us to
make sure we didn’t get back.”
The factor was a powerful man and Sandy’s advantage was only temporary.
Frazer flung him off, stepped back and his fist crashed into Sandy’s
face sending him reeling back, where he toppled and fell over a packing
case. The resounding impact of his fall was sufficiently heavy to shake
the room. Dick and Toma cried out angrily and they, too, leaped over the
barrier. Retreating before them, Frazer sped down along the space behind
the counter, reached up in one of the shelves and whipped out a
revolver, just as Dick made a lurch for him.
“Stand back!” he cried, breathing hard.
An inner door flew open. There came the sound of running footsteps. Dick
turned in time to see, to his unutterable astonishment, the commanding
figure of Sandy’s uncle, Mr. Walter MacClaren.