TOMA’S SCAR.
Corporal Rand met the three boys just outside the trading room. He, too,
breathed deeply of the cool, sweet air, his eyes shining with relief.
“Well,” he announced smiling, “the worst is over. Five prisoners in safe
custody and everyone of them has confessed. The Mekewai brothers were
more reticent than the other three, but I have enough evidence to hang
them all. Another case has gone down in the police records.”
“Perhaps if we had known,” grinned Sandy, “we might not have come at
all. What about it, Toma?”
The young Indian moved over and sat down on the bench, his thoughtful,
dark eyes turned toward the fringe of poplar and balsam that ran in a
zig-zag line around the natural clearing that harbored the white, log
building of the great fur company. For a moment he did not speak.
“I think I come anyway,” he answered finally. “I like alla time plenty
move around. Plenty excitement, too, once in a while.”
“Well you got the excitement,” grunted Sandy. “Enough to do for a long
time. You can be thankful that this job is finished.”
“Mebbe not so thankful like you think,” Toma retorted evasively.
Corporal Rand looked up in surprise.
“You must like fighting better than I do,” he smiled. “In my line of
duty I’m forced into it sometimes, but just between you and me, I’d
prefer staying out. Now tell us, Toma, why you’re not glad that our
troubles are all over.”
“I am glad,” the young Indian objected. “Pretty hard for me I try to
make you understand. Mebbe you no feel like I feel. What you say if bad
fellow come up, sneaking like coyote, an’ make ’em scar on your head
that stay there till you die? How you like it stay all night in woods
alla same dead man? Make me more mad than ever I feel before. I like do
to that Mekewai fellow just what he do to me. No chance now. No chance I
ever fight that man again. Tomorrow, next day mebbe, all these bad
fellows you take away to Mackenzie Barracks an’ I no see ’em any more.”
It was a long speech for Toma. Dick and Sandy looked at him in
astonishment while Corporal Rand moved over, sat down beside him and in
a friendly way, threw one arm over his heaving shoulders.
“I understand what you mean,” he said kindly. “But you mustn’t forget
that this Henri Mekewai will be punished for all his misdeeds. He has
many crimes to answer for. You mustn’t feel that way about it. You
helped to capture him, Toma, and that is surely revenge enough.”
“But he no carry scar on his head,” the young Indian pointed out.
“True enough. But he carries other scars that one can’t see. His heart
and soul are scarred with wickedness and, no doubt, he will be compelled
to pay the life penalty.”
Knowing something of the Indian’s point of view, in his own mind, Dick
did not blame Toma for the stand he took. An eye for an eye and a tooth
for a tooth. It had been bred in Toma, was the product of generations of
savage, relentless ancestors—part of the Indian’s code.
“I didn’t know you were so blood-thirsty, Toma,” Sandy poked fun at him.
“You mustn’t think of such things.”
Toma averted his eyes, flushing under the criticism.
“I think alla time about that scar,” he said.
The policeman drummed thoughtfully on the bench for a moment, then again
he addressed the young man beside him.
“Yes, Toma, you must forget. If you’ll promise me to overlook this
slight, I’ll give you and Sandy a chance to earn a little extra police
pay during the next two weeks. Tomorrow I will be compelled to take my
five prisoners back to the Mackenzie River Barracks. You and Sandy can
render me valuable aid by accompanying my party. I hate to take any
chance of losing them now. One can’t be too careful. They are dangerous
criminals, desperate men all, and would take the first chance offered
them for a break for liberty.”
The young Indian’s eyes brightened.
“Thank you, Corporal, I like that very much.”
“Two weeks at full police pay. I’m giving you and Sandy this chance
because on the last occasion it was Dick who helped me.”
“That’s splendid of you, Corporal,” Sandy’s face was beaming. “I’d like
to hear what Inspector Cameron says when we bring them in. Aren’t you
jealous, Dick?”
Dick laughed. “No, Sandy, the arrangements suits me perfectly. The
experiences of the past few days have been so vigorous that I am ready
to take a short vacation. I shall wait here till you return.”
The mounted policeman rose preparatory to entering the trading post.
“Very well, then, that is the understanding. You, Toma, and Sandy are to
accompany me. We’ll leave here at six o’clock, journeying up the river
in two canoes as far as Painter’s Ferry, where we will disembark and
proceed eastward overland to the Mackenzie River Trail. When we reach
Moose Lake, I think I can arrange for horses to take us the remainder of
the way. I left my own mount at Painter’s Ferry.”
“How long do you think it will take us to make the trip?” Sandy asked
eagerly.
“About seven days. I’ve made it in five on a hurried patrol, but with
the prisoners, of course, we’ll not be able to travel quite so fast.”
“I can expect Sandy and Toma back here then in about twelve or fourteen
days?” Dick asked anxiously.
“Yes, it will take about that long. I suppose, Dick, that you will put
in your time fishing.”
When Dick shook his head, Sandy broke out into a roar of merriment.
“Dick’s had all the fishing he wants in one summer,” he explained to the
corporal. “When we were down river, just after leaving the island of the
dinosaur, we lost all our grub and had to fish or go hungry.”
Corporal Rand smiled. “I had almost forgotten. Well, anyway, I’m not
worrying about Dick being utterly bored anywhere. He’ll find plenty to
keep him busy.”
Bright and early on the following morning, Corporal Rand led out the
five prisoners in preparation for their departure. All arrangements had
been completed. At the river, drawn up alongside the landing wharf, were
two large canoes, packed with grub for the journey to Painter’s Ferry.
It had been arranged that four men would go in each canoe, Donald
Frazer, Wolf Brennan, Pierre Mekewai and Corporal Rand in one, Henri
Mekewai, Toby McCallum, Sandy and Toma in the other. The prisoners were
to furnish the motive power for the two crafts. Not only would this keep
them out of mischief, but it would give their guards a better
opportunity to watch for any attempt at treachery. As a further
precaution, no rifles were to be taken. Sandy and Toma carried revolvers
in holsters strapped under their left armpits with coats worn over them.
An inquisitive, jabbering crowd followed them to the boat landing. Upon
their arrival there, Corporal Rand ordered the prisoners to their
respective canoes, and while this command was being carried out, a most
unusual thing happened. Instead of stepping into the canoe, Henri
Mekewai, the last one to move forward to take his place, suddenly
lurched forward and leaped straight into the river.
The action was totally unexpected. By the time Dick and the Corporal had
sprung to the end of the wharf, the Indian was thirty feet away, his
long arms cutting the water with quick powerful strokes. A sudden
splash, and he had negotiated the swift inshore current, where he
half-raised from the water, took a deep breath and dove out of sight.
While Dick stood dazed by the quickness of it all, he heard a quick
pattering of feet behind him and turned his head just in time to see
Toma executing a graceful, running leap that carried him flying through
the air and into the river a full twenty feet from the wharf.
His next vivid impression was of Corporal Rand. Revolver in hand, the
policeman stepped into the nearest canoe, calling out as he did so:
“Sandy, Dick—watch the other boat while I go out and fetch Mekewai!”
Then to the three prisoners: “Your paddles, men, and hurry! I’ll shoot
the first one who doesn’t do his duty. Now—!”
The craft shot forward. One eye on the prisoner, Dick watched the
progress, excitement tugging at his heart. He was sure now that Henri
Mekewai had made his escape. On various occasions, he had witnessed
remarkable feats of endurance and prowess of Indian swimmers. He feared
that Toma had no chance to overtake his enemy. Out there in the current,
he could see two bobbing heads about forty feet apart. Two bobbing heads
sweeping quickly down the stream.
“Look, Dick!” Sandy shouted. “Toma is gaining! He’ll catch him yet
before the canoe gets there. Look, look, Dick!”
A cold shiver suddenly struck its icy fingers through Dick’s chest. For
a moment he doubted the evidence of his senses. For the first time, he
noticed something that previously had escaped his attention. As Toma
raised one arm in a desperate forward stroke, in the bright sun he
caught the glint of steel.
He could see more easily now. Toma was swimming with a knife grasped
firmly in his right hand. Like a flash, there came to Dick a horrible
realization. The young Indian was planning his revenge! An eye for an
eye and a tooth for a tooth. The memory of that insidious attack in the
woods near the Mission Trail apparently burned in his mind with undimmed
fury. An insult and injury never to be forgotten!
Sick at heart, the two silent watchers on the wharf, half turned and
gazed solemnly into each other’s tense, set faces.
“Once an Indian, always an Indian,” blurted Sandy. “I’m afraid Toma is
going to break _his_ promise to Corporal Rand.”