A MIDNIGHT RAID.
Dick did not sleep well that night. Though he was not willing to admit
it even to himself, Wolf Brennan’s threatening letter had upset him. He
lay for a long time on his bed in the loft over the trading room, his
mind active and restless. Close at hand, he could hear the even
breathing of Sandy and Toma and, through the open window, there was
borne to him the soughing of the wind in the pines. It was a clear June
night of half darkness and only partially stilled woodland noises. Birds
still peeped sleepily in the trees, the little denizens of the forest
spaces still moved about as they had during the brighter hours of day.
Lying there, Dick was aware of a myriad night sounds. The staunch old
log building, built nearly eighty years before by members of the
Honorable, the Hudson’s Bay Company, creaked and groaned in the brisk
night wind. Something was flapping up there on the roof. Was that a bird
that made that peculiar pecking noise just under the eaves? Trying
desperately to sleep, Dick succeeded only in becoming more and more
awake with each passing moment.
In despair, finally, he swung his legs over his bunk, reached for his
clothes and commenced to dress.
“I’ll go outside,” he thought, “and walk around for a while. The
exercise may make me sleepy.”
He slipped quietly down the stairway and thence outside. Walking
briskly, he turned his steps toward the river and, upon reaching the
boat landing, sat down with his back against one of the pilings,
watching the water eddying along under him.
Along the shore for nearly a quarter of a mile, both up and down stream,
were the brown, skin tepees of the post population. About them the
stillness of night had descended. From the inverted, cone-like top of
one of them, smoke issued. Dick sat and watched it speculatively. The
members of that household were up early. Probably someone sick. Through
the translucent walls he could see the faint reflection of a fire
within.
Must be someone sick, he mused. An Indian child perhaps. A papoose
suffering an attack of colic. Once he thought he heard a child’s
plaintive whimper.
The flap was drawn aside and a figure emerged. Behind the first figure
came a second. Dick drew in his breath sharply, slid along the rough
planking and concealed himself behind a flat-bottomed boat which had
been drawn up on the pier for caulking. Lying flat on his stomach, he
raised his head and peeped over the top.
The Indians, who had brought the letter from Wolf Brennan, were making
their way along the shore. They walked after the manner of men who knew
where they were going. Reaching a point just opposite the boat landing,
they swung sharply to the left, taking the path that led up along the
warehouse to the trading post.
Dick’s heart thumped excitedly as he rose soon afterward and commenced
following them. He went leisurely. He endeavored to keep himself
concealed as much as possible by walking, not along the path, but
through the bushes that grew on either side of it. For two hundred yards
he stalked his quarry, finally bringing up in a clump of willows not
sixty feet from the trading room. Lying concealed, his eyes were glued
upon the forms of the two prowlers, who had strolled boldly up to the
building itself.
Dick’s mind raced. What was the intention of those two midnight raiders?
What were they up to? Had they designs upon the life of Mr. Scott, the
new incumbent? Was this to be the first in a long series of reprisals
aimed at Mr. MacClaren and the Hudson’s Bay Company by a disgruntled
former factor and his insidious crew?
Now that it was too late, Dick regretted his folly in coming out of
doors without first taking the precaution to arm himself. In case the
two men broke into the trading room—and that seemed to be their
intention—what could he do to prevent further depredations? Two against
one, and they were armed. He was no match for either one of them
physically. To make matters still worse, he recalled that he had left
the door, leading to the loft, unlocked. If the Indians succeeded in
forcing the door of the trading room, they would have easy access to
Factor Scott’s room, which adjoined the hall at the top of the stairs
just across from the space that the boys occupied.
Almost desperate because of his helplessness, it suddenly occurred to
Dick that probably the best way to prevent the Indians’ entrance would
be to call out sharply, attracting attention to himself. Such a move
might cost him his life, but on the other hand, it might arouse the
sleeping occupants of the post. In the very act of inflating his lungs
another plan popped into his head.
Why not, he asked himself, follow the two Indians inside? In a flash,
there had come to him a mental picture of the revolver Donald Frazer had
returned to the shelf behind the counter yesterday afternoon. If the
Indians went up the stairway, he would rush in, seize the weapon and
could probably reach the factor’s room in time.
His body bent forward almost at right angles, he slipped out from behind
his place of concealment and very cautiously commenced working his way
forward. He was within thirty paces of the trading room door by the time
the two Indians had forced the lock and had gained admittance. When the
door closed behind them, he sprinted lightly across, not to the door but
to the window. The interior space was dark and shadowy, yet he could
make out the two forms hesitating near the counter. To their left was
the door leading to the loft. Twenty feet to their right was another
door leading to the cellar. To Dick’s great astonishment, instead of
making their way to the stairway, they turned in the opposite direction,
tip-toed across the floor, flung open the door and descended below.
No unexpected move on their part could have surprised him more. What did
they expect to find in the basement? Dick had been there often and knew
what it contained—packing cases, boxes, rolls of wrapping paper, yes,
and—suddenly Dick grinned. He thought he knew now. All his panic over
nothing. Petty thievery, not murder, was the motive behind the Indians’
forced entrance. Liquor was what they had come for. The Indians’ love of
fire-water had led them here.
Realizing this, his tension relaxed. He decided not to go in to get the
revolver after all. He’d wait until they reappeared—that would be safer.
He’d keep hid. If he opened the door and stepped upon the trading room
floor, no matter how quiet his footsteps, they would be sure to be
heard. The loss of the liquor would be little compared to the risk he
took. He’d have the goods on them anyway. Tomorrow the factor could
swear out a warrant and place them under arrest.
“No,” decided Dick, “I’ll wait and bide my time.”
He had not long to wait. The cellar door opened and the two prowlers
appeared, carrying two burlap sacks, bulging with what looked like
bottles, and so heavy that the two stalwart natives bent under their
load.
Dick slipped around the corner of the trading room, flattened himself
against the side of the building and waited tensely. He heard the outer
door creak lightly. He heard light footsteps pattering across the ground
outside, gradually growing less distinct as they paced off the distance
to the warehouse. As Dick peeped out around his corner, they passed the
warehouse and disappeared from view.
Dick hurried inside, bounded up the stairway and knocked loudly at the
factor’s door.
“Who’s there?” inquired a sleepy voice.
“It is I—Dick Kent, Mr. Scott. I’d like to see you.”
The creaking of a bed, the sound of footsteps moving across the floor,
and the door swung open.
“Hello, Dick. Come on in. What’s the trouble?”
“Mr. Scott,” announced Dick breathlessly, following the other inside,
“I’ve just been a witness to a bit of thieving. Two Indians broke into
the trading room and made their way to the cellar where they stole
something. I thing it was liquor. They came out carrying burlap sacks
full of what looked like bottles.”
“Do you think you could identify the two thieves?” asked Mr. Scott,
motioning Dick to a chair.
“Yes, I can. I can even take you to their tepee. Rough looking
characters. No doubt, you know them well.”
“Pierre and Henri Mekewai,” guessed the factor. “They’re about the
roughest looking pair that hang around the post.”
“I don’t know their names,” replied Dick, “but as I told you, I can
identify them. I saw them come out of the tepee and followed them up
here.”
The new factor’s eyes widened and he regarded Dick in some surprise.
“You saw them come out of their tepee?” he blurted. “What were you doing
outside at this time of the night?”
“Oh, I assure you, I wasn’t up to any mischief,” smiled Dick. “Restless
and couldn’t sleep. Thought that if I went out and walked around a while
I could come back and get a little rest.”
The factor proceeded to dress.
“If you’ll wait just a minute,” he instructed, “we’ll go down and
investigate. I shouldn’t wonder but what you are right about the liquor.
That’s an Indian’s old trick. It’s a frequent occurrence. Don’t know why
we keep the stuff. It’s only a temptation to many a poor devil who seems
powerless to resist it.”
Mr. Scott continued to chat amiably while he pulled on his clothes. A
few minutes later, he led the way to the basement. Reaching the bottom
of the flight of stairs, he struck a match and lighted a candle that
stood on a shelf. Dick following close behind him, he walked straight
over to a pile of cases in the far corner, stooped down and began
examining them carefully.
“I happen to know just how much there is here, so it won’t take long to
determine the extent of our loss,” Mr. Scott pointed out.
Dick held the candle while the factor took inventory. At the end of five
minutes he straightened up, looked at Dick searchingly, then bent down
and made a second examination.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dick.
“Can’t understand it. It seems to be all here.”
“What! All of it?”
“Yes, all of it. Every case and every bottle. Nothing missing.”
Dick whistled in surprise.
“If that’s true, they’ve taken something else.”
“But there’s nothing else down here in this cellar that anyone could
possibly want. I mean, nothing of value.”
“Are you sure?” gasped Dick.
“Absolutely.”
“But I tell you, they came up the cellarway carrying two burlap
sacks—sacks full of something. I saw them with my own eyes, Mr. Scott. I
wasn’t dreaming. I tell you they took something.”
The factor scratched his head, continuing to stare at Dick, an
expression of wonderment in his eyes.
“That beats me. Don’t know what to make of it.”
Wondering and still perplexed, they ascended to the upper floor.