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DICK KENT, FUR TRADER
[Illustration: Dick, happening to glance through the window, drew back
suddenly with a cry of surprise. (Page 70)]
DICK KENT, FUR TRADER
by
MILTON RICHARDS
Author of
“Dick Kent with the Mounted Police”
“Dick Kent in the Far North”
“Dick Kent with the Eskimos”
“Dick Kent and the Malemute Mail”
[Illustration: Logo]
The Saalfield Publishing Company
Akron, Ohio New York
Copyright MCMXXVII
The Saalfield Publishing Company
Made in the United States of America
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I Blind Man’s Pass 3
II Dick Plays the Part of a Spy 13
III Sergeant Richardson’s Theory 24
IV Two Encounters in One Day 33
V A Midnight Conference 44
VI Murky Takes a Hand 56
VII Wandley’s Post 69
VIII The Ambuscade 82
IX The Meeting Place 91
X The First Prisoner 105
XI An Unexpected Setback 116
XII The Outlaws’ Cabin 124
XIII A Scout returns 133
XIV Following the Pack-train 142
XV The Corporal Upbraids Himself 152
XVI Murky Nichols! 162
XVII Dick Goes to the Rescue 172
XVIII A Dusky Friend 181
XIX A Game of Hide-and-seek 190
XX The Invalid 198
XXI Campfire Smoke 207
XXII Murky’s Confession 213
XXIII Back at Fort Good Faith 222
DICK KENT, FUR TRADER
CHAPTER I
BLIND MAN’S PASS
Dick Kent, bronzed by exposure to wind and sun, leaned over the rough
pine table in the trading room of Factor MacClaren at Fort Good Faith
and listened intently to the conversation being carried on at that
particular moment between Murky Nichols, prospector and gentleman of
parts, and Corporal Rand of the Mackenzie River detachment of the Royal
North West Mounted Police. On the paper in front of them, torn from a
convenient packing case, were a number of irregular lines, dots and
scrawls, which had been placed there with the aid of the stub of a lead
pencil, held awkwardly in the hands of the big prospector.
“I want to show yuh,” Nichols explained eagerly, “jus’ where I think ol’
Daddy McInnes crossed the Dominion Range. He travelled east an’ then
south until he got to Placer Lake, goin’ through what the Indians call
Blind Man’s Pass. There ain’t no other way he could o’ got through, sick
an’ worn out like he was. That pass must come out on this side of the
range somewhere near where yuh picked up his body.”
Corporal Rand drummed softly on the table and regarded Murky’s animated
face with thoughtful interest.
“Sounds reasonable,” he commented. “In fact, that’s exactly the way I
had it figured out myself. Blind Man’s Pass must be something more than
a myth—a mere Indian legend. McInnes got through some way, travelling
along a fairly well defined, not too difficult trail. No man can walk
over Dominion Range, neither can he crawl under it. Yet McInnes came
through. I have conclusive proof of that. But where is Blind Man’s
Pass?”
“It’s there somewhere,” Nichols declared doggedly.
“Certainly. I agree with you, Murky.” The mounted policeman took the
pencil from the prospector’s hand and drew a straight line near the
center of the map. “This line,” he pointed out—Dick thought a little
impatiently—“represents a distance of thirty miles. The country is
rough, broken, almost inaccessible along its entire length. Somewhere
within that thirty miles is a narrow opening, probably not more than
fifty, a hundred or two hundred feet wide, which forms one end of what
is called Blind Man’s Pass. Now how are you going to find it? There are
a thousand different openings, all more or less alike. Attempt to follow
any one of them, and you end up against a solid rock wall. You go back
and start all over again somewhere else—and with the same result. I
spent two weeks out there, going through the same stupid performance day
after day. Only infinite patience or fool’s luck will lead you to the
right opening.”
So interested had Dick Kent become that presently he crowded closer to
the two men and began staring at the paper himself. Exactly what were
they trying to do? What were they talking about? Who was McInnes, and
why all this bother about a fabled trail through the mountains no one
seemed to know anything about? He was interrupted in his train of
thought by the next statement of the mounted policeman:
“McInnes had been dead more than a week when I found him. You could see
the poor devil had been half-starved and had suffered every sort of
hardship and privation. How he had managed to stagger along with that
heavy load is more than I can imagine.”
“Too bad ol’ Daddy has passed,” Murky sighed regretfully. “I ’member
seeing him one time ’bout three years ago over in the Goose Lake
country. Might’ fine ol’ man he was, an’ a good trapper, folks said.
Never failed to bring in a good catch ever’ spring—mostly fox, marten
an’ beaver—an’ he got top prices ’cause he knew how to cure his fur—all
prime, A-Number-1 stuff it was. He had a knack, almost amountin’ to
genius for locatin’ black and cross fox an’ then gettin’ ’em to walk
plump into his traps.” Nichols paused to gaze reminiscently out of the
window and to smile to himself. “Couldn’t beat him that particular way,
no, sir. A big catch ever’ year—fortune for most men; yet Daddy allers
complained that he wa’n’t gettin’ nothin’ atall, that he was either
gonna quit or cross the Dominion Range, where trappin’ was a hull lot
better.”
“You’re right about the black fox skins,” remarked Corporal Rand,
pushing the paper aside. “In the pack I found beside the body, there
were eight of the shiniest, loveliest black pelts I’ve ever looked
upon.”
“An’ he came through Blind Man’s Pass,” mused Murky. “The clever ol’
coot. Too bad he didn’t live to tell about it.”
Dick had edged still closer. His eyes were shining with interest. He
reached over and touched the sleeve of the corporal’s scarlet tunic.
“Pardon me, Corporal Rand—but I’ve been eavesdropping. You don’t mind, I
hope.”
The mounted policeman turned quickly and smiled into the eager face.
“Certainly not, you’re welcome to any information or nonsense you may
have heard. Isn’t that the truth, Murky?”
“It sure is.”
“And may I ask you a question?” Dick persisted.
“Yes,” smiled Rand.
“What is Blind Man’s Pass?”
“A reality or a legend—I’m not sure which. Outside of Daddy McInnes I’d
say it was a legend. We used to laugh at the old tales about it. The
Indians claimed that years and years ago one of their ancestors had
discovered a long, narrow pass or defile that cut Dominion range
somewhere due west of here. In 1895 a party of mounted police explorers
investigated the story by making a very careful, painstaking search
through all the country lying between Cauldron Lake and Summit River.
Nothing came of it. The party decided that the tale was a myth. Blind
Man’s Pass was, until a few weeks ago, a bye-word among all the white
men living in this section.”
Corporal Rand paused and favored Dick with a most engaging smile.
“And what about Daddy McInnes?” the young man inquired.
“I’ll give you the bald facts and you can draw your own conclusions. A
little over a year ago Daddy McInnes left us. For years it had been his
ambition to trap on the other side of the Dominion Range in what is
commonly known as the Caribou Hills country. As the crow flies, Caribou
Hills are less than three hundred miles away. It wouldn’t have been much
of a journey if McInnes could have gone straight there, crossing the
mountains. But, of course, he couldn’t. He chose instead the more
sensible and longer route by way of the Yellowhead Pass, which, as you
know, is many hundred miles south of here. It took Daddy the greater
part of one summer to make the trip.”
Corporal Rand rose slowly to his feet and walked over to a window,
gazing somberly out across a bleak, snow-streaked meadow that extended
west and north to meet the encroaching woodland. He swung about
presently, and continued:
“But Daddy came back. What motive prompted him, I have no way of finding
out. All I know is that he did come back—but not by the Yellowhead
route! I came upon his dead body less than a week ago. It was lying in a
sheltered spot near a little knoll, less than a hundred yards from the
banks of Run River. It was easy to determine the cause of his death. He
died of starvation and exposure. McInnes is an old, old man and this
last trip had proved too much for him.”
“And you don’t think that he had contrived somehow to cross over the
range?” queried Dick.
“Absolutely, utterly impossible.”
“If he didn’t come by the Yellowhead route, or cross the mountains—”
“The only possible solution is Blind Man’s Pass,” interrupted Corporal
Rand.
“But you can’t find it.”
“I haven’t yet. But I have every hope that we will in a very short time.
The best scout and woodsman who ever enlisted in a service of the R. N.
W. M. P. is out there now looking for it—a man called Malemute Slade.”
“Malemute Slade!” shouted Dick, clapping his hands in glee. “Why,
corporal, I know him. He’s a friend of mine.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I knew that Slade was well acquainted with
Factor MacClaren’s nephew, Sandy. Are you by any chance the Dick Kent,
who accompanied Sandy last summer to Thunder River in search of a gold
mine?”
“Yes,” answered Dick.
Corporal Rand laughed as he extended his hand.
“I guess that we’ll shake on that. The mounted police haven’t forgotten
the incident. Time and time again, before a crackling fire, when we
happened to meet on patrol, Sergeant Richardson entertained me with the
history of your exploits.”
“We had a lot of trouble with the Henderson gang,” stated Dick.
“So I heard. Fortunately they’re wiped out. They were the worst band of
outlaws that ever infested the North. By the way, what ever became of
that young Indian lad, Toma, who used to accompany you on so many of
your expeditions?”
“He’s out with Sandy right now on a hunting trip,” Dick replied. “I’m
expecting them back today.”
Murky Nichols rose lazily, yawned, and stretched himself to his full
length.
“Well, I guess I’ll toddle along,” he announced. “Hope yuh find that
pass, corporal.”
With a friendly nod to Dick in passing, Nichols strode over to the
counter before which a small group of half-breed men, women and children
chatted volubly.
No sooner had the prospector passed out of hearing, than Rand turned
eagerly to Dick:
“Ever meet Murky before?”
“No,” answered Dick in surprise, “but I’ve heard of him.”
“Queer character,” mused Rand, half to himself. “Sometimes bears
watching.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dick, a little startled.
“Murky’s intentions are the best in the world, but his sense of right
and wrong is considerably clouded. Also, you may or may not have heard,
Nichols has the reputation of being the laziest mortal on earth and one
of the shrewdest. He has money but seldom works. For months past I’ve
been trying to find the key that will open the secret to Murky’s
checkered past.”
Slightly annoyed at Rand’s garrulity, Dick looked up sharply. Well he
knew that no self-respecting member of the force became so confidential
in so short a time with a comparative stranger. For the most part, the
men of the Royal Mounted were reserved, dignified and aloof. It was none
of Dick’s business what sort of a man Murky was.
“What bothers me,” Corporal Rand hastened on, “is why Nichols should be
so interested in Blind Man’s Pass. This is the third time he’s troubled
himself to seek me out and pester me with questions.”
“It’s an interesting topic,” said Dick. “I don’t know as I blame him
very much. Don’t forget, corporal, that I’ve just been bothering you
with questions myself.”
“But you’re different.”
“You’ve known Nichols longer than you’ve known me,” Dick shot back,
somewhat testily.
“All right, Dick,” grinned the corporal, “I’ll accept your reprimand.
And, come to think of it, I’ve got a note for you. It may possibly
explain why I do not hesitate about taking you into my confidence.”
“A note!” gasped Dick.
“Yes, it’s self-explanatory.”
Dick received the missive and opened it, considerably perplexed. He read
quickly:
“Dear Richard:
I’ll be very grateful to you for any assistance you may be able to
render to the bearer of this note, Corporal William Rand, of the
Mackenzie River detachment. Corporal Rand will instruct you in certain
matters of extreme importance. Please trust him implicitly in
everything.
Please convey my very best wishes to Mr. MacClaren and your two young
cronies, Sandy and Toma.
Sincerely,
Henry C. Richardson,
Sergeant R. N. W. M. P.”
When Dick had finished reading the letter, he looked across at Corporal
Rand with new understanding in his eyes.
“I’ll help, of course. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Sergeant
Richardson.”
“That’s splendid of you.”
The mounted policeman moved closer and spoke in a low tone.
“Sit down at that table and pick up that old magazine. Pretend you’re
reading. Watch Nichols. In ten or fifteen minutes two half breeds will
enter this room and will probably walk over and engage Murky in
conversation. You won’t be able to hear a thing they say, but I want you
to notice particularly whether or not any money passes between them.”
Dick had scarcely recovered from his astonishment, when Corporal Rand
turned with quick, military precision and walked swiftly out of the
room.