THE RETURN TO CAMP
Two courses of action were open to Dick, yet which one to follow, he did
not know. They had found Corporal Rand, but just what were they going to
do with him? It was a difficult problem to solve, Dick thought. The
corporal was in serious plight and required medical attention. It was a
fortunate thing that they had found him. It was a fortunate thing, too,
that Dr. Brady was in the vicinity and would be able to attend him. But
the problem—and it was not easy to decide—was whether to bring Dr. Brady
here to the village, or to take Corporal Rand over to the physician,
when he and Toma returned that afternoon.
He decided finally in favor of the latter course. They would take Rand
with them. Surely if he were wrapped warmly in blankets and placed in
the empty sleigh, he could endure the cold, would be safe and
comfortable.
Then suddenly he remembered that he needed that sleigh upon his return.
That morning he had unloaded it for the purpose of pursuing the Indian
thief. Either he must secure another one here at the village, together
with a team of huskies, or abandon his plan.
To his great joy and happiness, therefore, upon making inquiry, he and
Toma were informed that not only would the chief gladly sell them a team
and sleigh, but also would lend them three of his best drivers, men who
could absolutely be depended upon to help them on their journey to
Keechewan. More than that—an act of generosity, which struck both boys
almost dumb with gratitude—he would present them with caribou meat and a
goodly supply of frozen fish for the dogs.
In the end, Dick purchased two dog teams and sledges in place of one.
They left the village just as the sun slipped down below the rim of the
valley and abrupt Arctic night drew on. Across the lonely face of the
hills, they speeded on their way. The Northern Lights hissed and cracked
above their heads. About them beat the trembling pulse of a vast and
impenetrable silence.
It was after midnight when they reached their destination, shouting and
happy, storming down upon the row of chilly white tents. Their furious
halloos soon brought Sandy and Dr. Brady shivering outside.
“That you, Dick?” called out Sandy’s anxious voice. “Who’s with you?”
“Friends,” came the jubilant answer. “Stir up the fires, Sandy, we’re
almost famished. No!—Come over here, you and Dr. Brady. I have a
surprise for you.”
“What’s that?”
Sandy and the physician looked down at the sleeping form, then across at
Dick and Toma in perplexity.
“Guess.”
“The Indian with the boots. You’ve half-killed him.”
“Wrong. Guess again.”
“One of our former dog drivers—probably Fontaine,” said Dr. Brady.
“No. You’re not right either. I’ll give you one more chance.”
“Look here,” Sandy growled impatiently. “Enough of this. You’re not a
child any more. Who is it?”
“The man who owns the boots.”
“The Indian owns the boots,” exclaimed Sandy triumphantly. “I guessed
right after all.”
“No, you didn’t. The Indian don’t own the boots. He stole them.”
“Pshaw! I know now,” sudden light dawned upon the young Scotchman.
“It’s—it’s a mounted policeman.”
“You’re right. Corporal Rand.”
Breathlessly, Sandy leaned forward over the sledge. A parka concealed
the sleeper’s face. Blankets, many thick folds, enwrapped him. None of
the features was visible. Yet Sandy had seen enough to convince him that
this man was not Rand.
“I don’t see why you should try to deceive me, Dick,” remonstrated
Sandy. “That isn’t the corporal at all. Too thin. Don’t attempt to fool
me.”
“It is the corporal,” insisted Dick. “But he’s changed a lot. I met him
face to face, and at first didn’t even recognize him. He must have had a
terrible time. He was picked up two days ago by an Indian hunter, where
he’d fallen in the snow. His feet were badly frozen.”
“What did he say to you?”
“Well, not much. You see, Sandy, he didn’t know me. He’s out of his
head. I brought him over here so that Dr. Brady can help him. We’ll have
to take him along with us.”
“We’d better not disturb him tonight,” Dr. Brady cut in. “I wonder if it
will be possible, when you unhitch that team of dogs, to push this
sledge inside one of the tents. He might wake up if you attempt to lift
him up. In the morning, I’ll make my examination.”
“A good idea,” said Dick, moving forward to unharness the team.
Sandy followed him excitedly and touched his shoulder as he stooped
forward. He pointed one arm in the direction of the other sleighs and
dog teams, where the forms of men were seen hurrying here and there
through the half-light.
“What’s all that?” he demanded. “Two extra teams and more men! I see
you’ve recovered the mail sledge. Who are those fellows, Dick?”
“Those,” answered Dick, happily, “are our new drivers. And the teams and
sledges I purchased over at the Indian village, where we captured the
thief.”
“What Indian village do you mean?”
“It’s up in the hills to the westward, that chain of hills you saw on
this side of the Wapiti. They run parallel with the river. We followed
the tracks of the thief all the way there, and overtook him just as he
pulled up at the village. He’s a renegade member of that tribe and the
chief will punish him. He’s the same man who stole Corporal Rand’s boots
and revolver.”
Sandy straightened up, glaring about him angrily.
“Too bad we didn’t find that out before.”
“It’s a good thing for that Indian that we didn’t.”
“I think I’d have shot him,” Sandy bristled, “although shooting’s too
good for him. He ought to be flayed alive, tortured, the way they used
to do.”
Fires were quickly re-kindled, and a lunch prepared. It was nearly two
o’clock before everyone finally retired and the camp became hushed in
sleep.
On the following morning the sun had already risen, when Toma, the first
to awake, crawled wearily from his blankets into the bitter air of forty
below and proceeded to arouse his comrades. Immediately there began
again the monotonous routine of building fires and preparing breakfast,
assembling the dogs, and making ready for the day’s journey. But on this
occasion, there was in evidence much more spirit and enthusiasm than at
any time during the preceding two weeks. Dick was reminded of the day
they had left the Mackenzie. Now and again one might hear the cheery
whistle or laugh of one of the drivers. During breakfast, conversation
flourished, and, after the meal, there took place a keen rivalry as to
who would be the first to harness his team and take his place at the
head of the column.
By mutual arrangement, it fell to the lot of Sandy to drive the team
which conveyed Corporal Rand. Dr. Brady had completed his examination
earlier in the morning.
“It is a pitiable case,” he told the boys. “Rand’s condition was caused
by hardships, privations, hunger and exposure. He has a wonderful
constitution, or he would never have been able to endure the half of it.
I don’t wonder that his mind has become unhinged. Yet, I haven’t the
least doubt but he’ll recover his memory and his reasoning powers as his
health improves.”
“So you really think he’ll get better?”
“Yes. I don’t believe there is any question about that. But he’ll never
be able to take his place again in the ranks of the mounted.”
A deep silence followed this statement. Both Dick’s and Sandy’s face
fell.
“What’s that? You really mean that, doctor? Will have to give up his
duties—— Won’t——”
Dick left the sentence incompleted as he turned beseechingly to the
physician.
“No, he’ll never be able to resume his duties,” Brady answered gravely.
“But why?” argued Sandy. “You just said that he’d recover, would get
well again. You said——”
“But I never said that he’d ever walk again,” the doctor reminded him.
“His feet—terrible! Frozen, bruised and cut. I may possibly have to
amputate them. Even if I don’t, they’ll never be right again. But,” and
the doctor looked from one grave face to the other, “we can be mighty
thankful that his life has been spared, that with proper care and
attention, he’ll soon recover his full mental and physical powers.”
Dick turned his head to hide the tears that had come unbidden to his
eyes. Sandy kicked disconsolately into a drift of snow, his gaze
searching the ground. Both boys left immediately to take their places
within the line of waiting teams and sledges.
“I still insist that we ought to go back and string up that Indian who
stole Corporal Rand’s boots,” Sandy declared savagely as he and Dick
parted, the former to go to the invalid’s side, the latter to the mail
sledge. “The way I feel now, I could gladly tear that sneaking thief
limb from limb.”
“Mush! Mush!” The words floated down along the waiting line. “Mush,
boys, mush!”
A creaking of sledges, the cracking of whips, a shout here and there—and
they were away, an orderly column which, after the first forty or fifty
yards, gathered momentum until it had gained its maximum of speed, then
settled down to a steady, unchanging pace.
Whatever enjoyment the others might have had at the commencement of that
exhilarating ride, it was not shared by Dick. For him the day, which had
begun so propitiously, was entirely spoiled. Dr. Brady’s assertion had
wrung his heart. Time and time again, he turned his head and glanced
back at Sandy’s sledge to the helpless form lying there, and sighed
bitterly.
“He may never walk again,” the sentence haunted him. “A pitiable case!
He’ll never be able to take his place again in the ranks of the
mounted.”
He wondered what Cameron would say when the news had been brought to
him. And Sergeant Richardson—what would he say? Rand! One of the
noblest, bravest spirits that had ever come into that land of noble and
brave spirits. No longer a policeman? That seemed incomprehensible. Rand
in civilian clothes? Dick snorted at the mere suggestion. To think of
the service at all, was to think of Rand. Rand might have his feet
frozen, yea, and his arms too, and his body hopelessly crushed; yet,
notwithstanding this, in spirit, in reality, in fact, he would still be
a policeman, and nothing else. A mounted policeman. A scarlet-coated,
high-booted, undaunted and courageous soul.
He was still brooding over this when they pulled up at the noon hour,
hilarious and joyful. They had made a record run that morning, in spite
of the late start. Drivers shouted at each other as they stepped from
the back of their sledges and dropped their whips. Dick moved
automatically, and he, too, dropped his whip. But he did not shout. He
did not even smile.
“Hello, Dick.”
“Hello.”
“We made good time, didn’t we?” The voice was that of Dr. Brady.
“I guess we did.”
“Hope this keeps up.”
“Yes.”
“Good gracious, boy,” exclaimed Brady in alarm, “you look—why you look
positively ill.”
“I—I guess I’m tired,” said Dick.
“Well, a good sleep for you tonight. I’ll prescribe it. You’ve been
worrying too much lately. It isn’t good for you. Yet here I’ve come,
blundering ass that I am, to sprinkle a few more gray hairs in your
young head.”
“I thrive on responsibility,” Dick smiled a little, “so you’d better
trot it out. What’s wrong? Did you lose your medicine case?”
Dr. Brady laughed.
“Sometimes I almost wish that I could lose it. No, this worry isn’t
related to so trivial a thing as a mere medicine case. It’s more
important than that. I’m not fooling now, Dick. I’m in earnest. I’ve
been thinking——”
“And the more you think, the worse you feel,” interrupted Dick, a little
bitterly.
“Come now, that’s not very kind of you.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Dick flushed. “I was referring to—to—— Oh,
hang it all, doctor, I’m all upset about Rand.”