AT THE CAMP OF THE _HOOCH_-RUNNERS
The late winter dawn had not yet broken when the little camp on the
outskirts of the Indian village was struck and two dog teams drawing
lightly loaded toboggans slipped silently into the timber. When out of
sight and sound of the village the two outfits parted.
Connie Morgan, accompanied by an Indian named Ton-Kan, swung his great
lead-dog, Leloo, to the eastward, crossed the river, and struck out on
the trail of the free trader; while 'Merican Joe with Pierre Bonnet
Rouge, the Indian who had told them of the free trader's plans, headed
north-west in the direction of Fort Norman.
It was nearly noon six days later that they shoved open the door of the
trading post and greeted McTavish, the big bewhiskered Scotchman who was
the Hudson's Bay Company's factor.
"What are ye doin' back here--you? An' where is the lad that was with
ye? An' you, Pierre Bonnet Rouge, where is the rest of your band? An'
don't ye ken ye're two weeks ahead of time for the tradin'?"
"_Oui, M's'u,_" answered the Indian. "But man say----"
He was interrupted by 'Merican Joe who had been fumbling through his
pockets and now produced the note Connie had hastily scribbled upon a
leaf of his notebook.
McTavish carried the scrap of paper to the heavily frosted window and
read it through slowly. Then he read it again, as he combed at his beard
with his fingers. Finally, he laid the paper upon the counter and
glanced toward a man who sat with his chair tilted back against the
bales of goods beyond the roaring stove.
"Here's something for ye, Dan," he rumbled. "Ye was growlin' about
fightin' them ice _bourdillons_, here's a job t'will take ye well off
the river."
"What's that?" asked Dan McKeever--_Inspector_ Dan McKeever, _now_, of N
Division, Royal Northwest Mounted Police. "It better be somethin'
important if it takes me off the river, 'cause I'm due back at Fort
Fitzgerald in a month."
"It's important, all right," answered McTavish, "an lucky it is ye're
here. That's one good thing the rough ice done, anyhow. For, if it
hadn't wore out your dogs you'd be'n gone this three days. D'ye mind I
told ye I'd heard they was a free trader over in the Coppermine country?
Well, there's two of 'em, an' they're workin' south. They're right now
somewheres south of the big lake. They've run onto the Dog Ribs over
near Ste. Therese, an' they're tradin' em _hooch_!"
"Who says so?" asked the Inspector, eying the two Indians doubtfully.
"These two. Pierre Bonnet Rouge I have known for a good many years. He's
a good Indian. An' this other--he come in a while back with his pardner
from over on the Yukon side. His pardner is a white man, an' about as
likely a lookin' lad as I've seen. He's over there now on the trail of
the free traders an' aimin' to stand between them 'an the Indians till
someone comes with authority to arrest them."
"Who is this party, an' what's he doin' over in that country himself?"
"He's just a lad. An' him an' his pardner, here, are trappin'. Name's
Morgan, an----"
Big Dan McKeever's two feet hit the floor with a bang, and he strode
rapidly forward. "_Morgan_, did you say? _Connie Morgan?_"
'Merican Joe nodded vehemently. "Yes, him Connie Mo'gan! Him wan
_skookum tillicum_."
The big inspector's fist smote the counter and he grinned happily. "I'll
say he's _skookum tillicum_!" he cried. "But what in the name of Pat
Feeney is he doin' over here? I heard he'd gone outside."
"D'ye know him?" asked McTavish, in surprise.
"_Know him!_ Know him, did you say? I do know him, an' love him! An' I'd
rather see him than the Angel Gabriel, this minute!"
"Me, too," laughed McTavish, "I ain't ready for the angels, yet!"
"Angels, or no angels, there's a kid that's a _man_! An' his daddy, Sam
Morgan, before him was a man! Didn't the kid serve a year with me over
in B Division? Sure, Mac, I've told you about the time he arrested
Inspector Cartwright for a whiskey runner, an'----"
McTavish interrupted. "Yes, yes, I mind! An' didn't he fetch in
Notorious Bishop, whilst all the rest of you was tearin' out the bone
out in the hills a-huntin' him?"
"That's the kid that done it! An' there's a whole lot more he done, too.
You don't need to worry none about yer Injuns as long as that kid's on
the job."
"But, ye're goin' to hurry over there, ain't you? I hate to think of the
lad there alone. There's two of them traders, an' if they're peddlin'
_hooch_, they ain't goin' to care much what they do to keep from gittin'
caught."
Dan McKeever grinned. "You don't need to worry about him. That kid will
out-guess any free trader, or any other crook that ever was born. He's
handled 'em red hot--one at a time, an' in bunches. The more they is of
'em, the better he likes 'em! Didn't he round up Bill Cosgrieve an' his
Cameron Creek gang? An' didn't he bring in four of the orneriest cusses
that ever lived when they busted the Hart River _cache_? An' he done it
alone! Everyone's got brains, Mac, an' most of us learns to use 'em--in
a way. But, that kid--he starts in figurin' where fellers like us leaves
off!"
"But this case is different, Dan," objected the factor. "He was in the
Mounted then. But what can he do now? He ain't got the authority!"
McKeever regarded the Scotchman with an almost pitying glance. "Mac, you
don't know that kid. But don't you go losin' no sleep over how much
authority he ain't got. 'Cause, when the time comes to use it, he'll
have the authority, all right--if he has to appoint himself
Commissioner! An' when it comes right down to cases, man to man, there's
times when a six-gun has got more authority to it than all the
commissions in the world."
"But they're two to one against him----"
"Yes, an' the kid could shoot patterns in the both of 'em while they was
fumblin' to draw, if he had to. But the chances is there won't be a shot
fired one way or another. He'll jest naturally out-guess 'em an' ease
'em along, painless an' onsuspectin' until he turns 'em over to me, with
the evidence all done up in a package, you might say, ready to hand to
the judge."
McTavish smote his thigh with his open palm. "By the great horn spoon,
I'll go along an' see it done!" he cried. "We'll take my dogs an' by the
time we get back yours will be in shape again. My trader can run the
post, an' I'll bring in them Dog Ribs with me to do their tradin'."
The Indian, Ton-Kan, who accompanied Connie proved to be a good man on
the trail. In fact, the boy wondered, as he followed with the dog team,
if the Indian did not show just a little too much eagerness. Connie knew
something of Indians, and he knew that very few of them possessed the
zeal to exert themselves for the good of the tribe. Their attitude in
regard to the troubles of others was the attitude of 'Merican Joe when
he had shrugged and asked, "W'at you care?" Pierre Bonnet Rouge, Connie
knew to be an exception, and this man might be too, but as he understood
no word of either English or jargon, and Connie knew nothing of the Dog
Rib dialect, the boy decided to take no chances, but to keep close watch
on the Indian's movements when the time for action came.
In the afternoon of the second day Connie exchanged places with the
Indian, he himself taking the lead and letting Ton-Kan follow with the
dogs. The boy figured that if the trader had expected to be back at the
village in six days, his camp could not be more than two days away,
travelling light. That would allow him one day to pack his outfit for
the trail, and three days to reach the Indian village travelling heavy.
Therefore, he slowed the pace and proceeded cautiously.
Connie's experience as an officer of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police
had taught him something of the law, and of the value of securing
evidence. He knew that if he himself could succeed in buying liquor from
the free traders he would have evidence against them under the Northwest
Territories Act upon two counts: having liquor in possession in
prohibited territory, and selling liquor in prohibited territory. But
what he wanted most was to get them under the Indian Act for supplying
liquor to Indians, and it was for this purpose he had brought Ton-Kan
along. The boy had formulated no plan beyond the first step, which was
to have the Indian slip into the traders' camp and purchase some liquor
in payment for which he would give a beautiful fox skin, which skin had
been carefully and cunningly marked the night before by himself and
Pierre Bonnet Rouge. With the liquor as evidence in his possession his
course would be determined entirely by circumstances.
The early darkness was just beginning to fall when, topping a ridge,
Connie caught the faint glimmer of a light at the edge of a spruce
thicket beyond a strip of open tundra. Drawing back behind the ridge
Connie motioned to the Indian to swing the dogs into a thick clump of
stunted trees where they were soon unharnessed and tied. Loosening the
pack Connie produced the fox skin while the Indian lighted a fire. A few
moments later the boy held out the skin, pointed toward the camp of the
free traders, and uttered the single word "_hooch_."
Notwithstanding the Indian's evident eagerness to reach the trader's
camp, he hesitated and made signs indicating that he desired to eat
supper first--and Connie's suspicion of him immediately strengthened.
The boy shook his head, and reluctantly Ton-Kan obeyed, but not without
a longing look toward the grub pack.
When he had disappeared over the ridge Connie hastily bolted some
bannocks and a cold leg of rabbit. Then he fed the dogs, looked to his
service revolver which he carried carefully concealed beneath his
mackinaw, slipped Leloo's leash, and moved silently out on to the trail
of the Indian. Skirting the tundra, he kept in the scrub, and as he
worked his way cautiously toward the light he noted with satisfaction
that his own trail would excite no suspicion among the network of
snowshoe tracks that the free traders had made in visiting their rabbit
snares. In the fast gathering darkness the boy concealed himself in a
bunch of willows which commanded a view of the door and window of the
tiny cabin that lay half-buried in the snow. It was an old cabin
evidently, rechinked by the free traders. The light shone dully through
the little square window pane of greased paper. The Indian had already
been admitted and Connie could see dim shadows move across the pane. The
great wolf-dog crept close and, throwing his arm about the animal's
neck, the boy cuddled close against the warm shaggy coat. A few minutes
later the door opened and Ton-Kan reappeared. Immediately it slammed
shut, and Connie could dimly make out that the Indian was fastening on
his snowshoes. Presently he stood erect and, as the boy had expected,
instead of striking out for camp across the open tundra, he gave a
hurried glance about him and plunged into the timber.
Instantly the boy was on his feet. "I thought so, Leloo," he grinned.
"I thought he was awfully anxious to get that _hooch_. And when he
wanted to wait and eat supper first, I knew that he figured on pulling
out and wanted a full belly to travel on."
"He won't travel very far nor very fast," muttered the boy, as he
circled the little clearing. "Because it's a cinch he didn't get
anything to eat out of those birds--they'd take the fox skin for the
_hooch_, and they're not giving away grub." Leloo walked beside him,
ears erect, and every now and then as they glanced into the boy's face,
the smouldering yellow eyes seemed to flash understanding.
Darkness had settled in earnest, and it was no easy task to pick up the
trail in the scrub among the crisscrossed trails of the free traders,
especially as the boy did not dare to strike a light. He had carefully
studied the Indian's tracks as he had mushed along behind the dogs until
he knew every detail of their impression, but in the darkness all trails
looked alike. Time and again he stooped and with his face close to the
snow, examined the tracks. Time and again he picked up the trail only to
lose it a moment later. Then Leloo took a hand in the game. Connie's
attention was drawn to the dog by a low whine, and stopping he found the
great animal sniffing the fresh trail. "Good old dog!" whispered the
boy, patting the great head. Understanding what was wanted the wolf-dog
bounded off on the trail, but Connie called him back. "If I only dared!"
he exclaimed under his breath. "You'd run him down in five minutes--but
when you did--what then?" The boy shuddered at the recollection of the
stricken caribou and the swift silent rush with which the great silvered
brute had launched himself upon them. "I'm afraid you wouldn't savvy the
difference," he grinned, "and I don't want old Ton-Kan cut plumb in two.
If you'd only throw him down and hold him, or tree him like you did the
_loup cervier_, we'd have him in a hurry--and some time I'm going to
train you to do it." A sudden thought struck the boy as he met the
glance of the glowing yellow eyes. "If I had something to tie you with,
I'd start the training right now," he exclaimed. A hasty search of his
pockets produced a length of the heavy line that he and 'Merican Joe
used for fishing through the ice.
It was but the work of a moment to secure the line about the neck of
the wolf-dog and lead him to the spot where he had nosed out the
Indian's trail. With a low whine of understanding the great beast struck
straight into the timber, the confusion of tracks that had thrown Connie
completely off in the darkness, offering no obstacle whatever to the
keen-scented dog. As Connie had anticipated, Ton-Kan did not travel far
before stopping to sample the contents of the bottle. A half-hour after
the boy took the trail he pulled the straining Leloo to a stand and
peered through the scrub toward a spot at the edge of a thick windfall
where the Indian squatted beside a tiny fire. Holding Leloo close in,
Connie silently worked his way to within twenty feet of where the Indian
sat, bottle in hand, beside his little fire. The man drank from the
bottle, replaced the cork, rose to his feet, and with a grunt of
satisfaction, rubbed his stomach with his mittened hand. Then he
carefully placed the bottle in the snow, and moved toward a small dead
spruce to procure firewood. It was but the work of a moment for Connie
to secure the bottle, and at the sound Ton-Kan whirled to find himself
confronted by the smiling boy. With an exclamation of rage the Indian
sprang to recover his bottle, and the next instant drew back in terror
at sight of Leloo who had stepped in front of the boy, the hair of his
huge ruff a-quiver, the delicately pointed nose wrinkled to expose the
gleaming white fangs, and the yellow eyes glowing like live coals.
"Thought you'd kind of slip one over on me, did you?" smiled the boy as
he made signs for the Indian to follow, and headed for the sled. "You
did drink part of the evidence, but we've got enough left to hold those
birds for a while--and I'm going to get more."
The boy led the way back to the sled with Ton-Kan following dejectedly,
and while the Indian ate his supper, Connie did some rapid thinking. The
meal over he took the Indian's blankets from the sled and, together with
a two days' supply of grub, made them into a pack, which he handed to
Ton-Kan and motioned for him to hit the back trail. At first the Indian
feigned not to understand, then he protested that he was tired, but the
boy was unmoved. When Ton-Kan flatly refused to leave camp Connie drew
his watch from his pocket, held up three fingers, meaningly, and called
Leloo to his side. One glance at the great white wolf-dog with his
bristling ruff settled the argument, and with a grunt of fear, the
Indian snatched up his pack and struck out on the back trail with an
alacrity that belied any thought of weariness. Alone in the camp the boy
grinned into the embers of the little fire. "The next question," he
muttered to himself, "is where do I go from here? Getting rid of Ton-Kan
gets the odds down to two to one against me, but what will I do? I
haven't got any right to arrest 'em. I can't stay here, because they'll
be hitting the back trail for the Indian camp in the morning, and the
first thing they'll do will be to run on to my trail. Then they'll
figure the Mounted is on to them and they'll beat it, and make a clean
get-away. That would keep the _hooch_ away from this bunch of Indians,
but they'd trade it to the next bunch they came to. I ain't going to let
'em get away! I started out to get 'em and I will get 'em, somehow.
Guess the best way would be to go straight to the shack and figure out
what to do when I get there." Suiting the action to the word, the boy
carefully cached the bottle of liquor and packed his outfit. Then he
harnessed his dogs. When it came the turn of the leader, he whistled
for Leloo, but the great wolf-dog was not to be found. With a sudden
fear in his heart, the boy glanced toward the back trail. Had the great
brute understood that Connie and the Indian were at outs and had he
struck out on the trail to settle the matter in his own way? Swiftly the
boy fastened on his snowshoes, and overturning the sled to hold the
other dogs, he headed back along the trail. He had gone but a few steps,
however, before he halted and pushing the cap from his ears, listened.
From a high ridge to the northward, in the opposite direction from that
taken by the Indian, came the long howl of a great grey caribou-wolf,
and a moment later came an answering call--the weird blood-chilling,
terrible cry of the big white wolf-dog. And then Connie returned to his
outfit, for he knew that that night Leloo would run with the hunt-pack.