A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE
Corporal Rand returned with his half-breed prisoner shortly after dark.
The man was sulky and refused to talk. Brought before Murky Nichols by
the mounted policeman, one might have thought from his actions and
demeanor that he had never before set eyes upon the prospector. He stood
absolutely unmoved in the presence of the person he had attempted to
murder only a few hours before. Rand’s voice rang out sharply:
“Here is the prisoner. Is he the man who attempted to stab you?”
In order to cover his confusion, Nichols rubbed his eyes with one large
hairy hand. His face was slightly pale and he rested his weight first on
one leg and then on the other.
“Well, corporal, I can’t exactly say,” he spoke hesitatingly. “He might
be the one an’ again he mightn’t. He does look sort o’ familiar, but I
see so many Nitchies ’round here. I couldn’t exactly swear to it.”
Corporal Rand smiled a little grimly.
“There were quite a number of people present in this room when the
attempt upon your life was made. It shouldn’t be very difficult to find
out whether or not this man is the right one.”
Nichols started forward with an exclamation of surprise. He was staring
at the prisoner now with an intentness that seemed scarcely to be
assumed. Excitedly, he turned towards Rand.
“By golly, I know now, corporal, where I seen him before,” he declared
in a loud and animated voice. “Up at the first portage on the Moose
River. He was workin’ there as a packer last summer when I come through.
I don’t think he’s the man we’re looking fer atall.”
The mounted policeman turned his head ever so slightly and winked
covertly at Dick, who, in company with Sandy and Toma, stood a few feet
away, silent spectator in the interesting tableau.
“You really don’t think he’s the man, then?”
“No, he ain’t,” Murky spoke positively. “When I stop to think about that
little affair this afternoon, an’ try to get a picture in my mind o’ the
pesky breed what made fer to knife me, there’s one thing that stands
out. He was a tall man—not short like this breed. I’m tall myself, an’ I
remember when I jumped back to clear myself o’ the knife, I looked
straight acrost in his eyes. Now, it stands to reason, corporal, that I
couldn’t o’ done that if it had o’ been this feller here. I’d o’ looked
straight over this man’s head, now wouldn’t I?”
With difficulty, Dick suppressed a laugh. Murky Nichols was noted for
his tall stature. Long and lanky, he stood well over six feet and four
inches in height. The half-breed was stockily built and inclined to be
short. The top of his head reached no higher than the point of Murky’s
protruding chin.
“Now that your memory has revived,” Corporal Rand spoke sarcastically,
“we may be able to make better progress.”
Dick strode forward with the intention of drawing the mounted
policeman’s attention to one detail of the case that had evidently been
overlooked. If the half-breed, who confronted Nichols, was not the
person who had attempted to stab him, how would it be possible to
explain that person’s hasty exit from the trading room immediately
following the attack? Also, as Dick was well aware, the prisoner was the
same man who had received the roll of bills from Murky earlier in the
day.
Dick paused in amazement. Before he could reach the policeman’s side, he
saw Rand stoop forward and commence to unlock the prisoner’s hand-cuffs.
Then, wonderingly, he watched the corporal move back and permit the
astonished half-breed to go free. His voice broke the startled silence
of the room:
“You’re at liberty to go now.”
“Sorry to cause yuh all this trouble,” Nichols apologised. “But you’re
doing the right thing, corporal. He ain’t the man what tried to knife
me.”
The policeman favored Murky with one swift appraising glance, nodded
absently and walked over and took Dick’s arm. Although he did not speak,
the light pressure of the corporal’s fingers told Dick that the
policeman wished to see him. With a mumbled apology to Sandy, Dick led
the way to his own room. When he had drawn up a chair for his guest, he
came immediately to the subject uppermost in his mind.
“I can’t understand—” he began.
The policeman held up one hand in an impatient gesture.
“You’re about to tell me that I have made a very serious blunder, aren’t
you, Dick?”
“We-well,” stammered that young man, “you can hardly blame me, corporal.
The man you just released is guilty. I didn’t see him when he attempted
to stab Murky, but I did see him when he escaped. In spite of what
Nichols told you, he did recognize the breed. Murky lied. He’s the same
one who received the roll of bills.”
Corporal Rand grinned as he looked across at Dick’s puzzled, serious
face.
“I’m well aware of that,” he said calmly. “I too am sure that the
half-breed was Murky’s assailant. But I had a good reason for releasing
him.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what reason?”
For a moment Rand did not reply. Apparently, he had become absorbed in
his own thoughts. He had relaxed in his chair, his head bent forward,
his eyes studying the tips of his brightly polished boots.
“Ever since I captured the half-breed this afternoon,” he spoke finally,
“I have been thinking that very little is to be gained by holding him in
custody. Nichols will not prefer a charge against him because he’s
afraid the fellow may squeal. The half-breed himself, realizing the
danger of his position, and who is really more clever than I had at
first supposed, is attempting to save himself by keeping silent. Even if
we subjected him to a severe grilling, I doubt very much whether we
could get anything out of him. It seems to me that the best way to deal
with the situation is to accept Murky’s assertion that we have captured
the wrong man.”
“But I should think that by letting the half-breed go, you’d lose a
chance to find out in what way Murky and the breed are associated.”
“No, I don’t think so,” replied the corporal. “On the contrary, I’m
quite sure we can find out more now that I have set the half-breed free.
I’m playing right into Murky’s hands. He’s laughing up his sleeve at
this very moment at the way he thinks he’s fooled the mounted police.
He’ll be inclined to be a little careless. We can look for immediate
developments.”
“What developments?” asked Dick.
“Murky’s first move will be to attempt to patch up his differences with
his former assailant. The half-breed’s motive for attacking Nichols can
easily be explained—money! No doubt, Murky had failed to live up to an
agreement.”
The policeman paused to fill his pipe.
“By watching the two of them, we will be pretty sure to find out
something,” he continued. “If I’m not badly mistaken, we will be able to
secure evidence against them within the next two or three days. I intend
to keep a close tab on the pair from now on.”
Dick stirred uneasily in his seat. There was a question he wanted to
ask, but he did not wish to appear too eager. During a lull in the
conversation, however, he finally managed to pluck up sufficient
courage.
“When would you like to have us start for the west coast?” he inquired.
“Have you seen Sandy and Toma?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“They’re as eager to go as I am,” replied Dick.
Corporal Rand drummed on the arm of his chair.
“I can see no reason why you shouldn’t start right away,” he declared.
“The only difficulty is that you will be compelled to take supplies for
the trip, and just now pack-horses would be inadvisable. A dog team
would be better, but there’s no snow.”
“We were talking about that,” Dick put in eagerly. “Why couldn’t we
travel on foot to Fort Wonderly and buy our team and supplies there?”
“A capital idea!” approved Rand.
“Can we start in the morning?” Dick asked impetuously.
“Yes.”
Dick jumped up, his eyes shining, and strode forward and grasped the
corporal’s hand.
“Sandy and Toma will be tickled pink!” he cried enthusiastically.
“And what about yourself?” smiled Rand.
Dick flushed to the roots of his hair. He grinned sheepishly.
“Why—why, I’m pleased, of course. Who wouldn’t be with a chance like
that. I can hardly wait until we start, corporal.”
He grew suddenly more serious.
“Have you any further instructions to give us before we go?”
Corporal Rand shook his head.
“There is nothing except what I have already told you,” he replied. “You
know the route. There are any number of trails leading south to the
Yellowhead Pass. After you have gone through the pass and have turned
north, you’ll find only one trail, very rough and difficult, which will
take you in a northwesterly direction to Fort Pennington. From there
your course will be straight west to the Pacific.”
“And there—on the coast, I mean—our real work will commence,” Dick
smiled in anticipation.
Corporal Rand regarded the statement with approval.
“_Work_ is the right name for it,” he assured him. “I haven’t the least
doubt but that you’ll all become discouraged long before you find the
cache. In fact, you may never find it. You’ll encounter dangers and
difficulties on every hand.”
“Do you think the cache will be guarded?” asked Dick.
“Almost sure to be,” Rand replied. “Probably by some Indian or
half-breed. You’ll be compelled to move cautiously. If I were you, I
wouldn’t take too many chances. No telling what sort of a mess you’ll
get in, if you aren’t incessantly on the alert.”
Dick would have liked to ask the policeman a few more questions, but
decided not to as he observed the other sleepily consulting his watch.
The hour was getting late. The sounds from the trading room, which a
short time before could be heard faintly, had now entirely ceased. The
place had become enveloped in a deep and slumberous silence.
Corporal Rand suppressed a yawn, rose slowly to his feet.
“It’s time we were both in bed,” he announced. “If either one of us
expects to get anything accomplished tomorrow, it will be necessary to
secure some sleep. I’ve had a rather hard day myself.”
With a friendly nod and a smile, he turned and walked out of the room.
Dick stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment, a happy
expression on his face. Rand’s figure continued down the hallway. A few
feet farther on was the corporal’s room. Dick stepped back to re-enter
his own chamber, when, to his surprise, he perceived that the policeman
did not even pause in front of his own door, but went on instead to the
end of the hallway and immediately disappeared through a door which
opened to the yard outside.
“He’s gone out to see if his horse is bedded down for the night,”
thought Dick.
For some reason he could not himself explain, Dick stood in his own
doorway, awaiting the corporal’s return. The minutes passed by. A
quarter of an hour elapsed—and still no sign of the mounted policeman.
Growing impatient, Dick commenced pacing back and forth along the
hallway. Presently, moved by an unexplained impulse, he dashed into his
room, seized his cap and followed in the footsteps of Rand.
It was exceedingly dark outside. A heavy mist moistened his face as he
stared through the enveloping gloom. He groped forward until he had
found the path that led to the stable, then hurried along it, wondering
what had happened to detain the corporal.
Forty or fifty yards from the house he stopped short in consternation.
From his right came the sound of voices. Hesitating for a brief moment,
he struck forth again in the direction of the sound, walking on tiptoes,
his pulses pounding. Quite unexpectedly, there loomed before him the
dark shape of the company’s warehouse. It was a large, square building,
constructed entirely of logs. Here he came to an abrupt pause and
crouched down close to the wall, trembling at his own audacity.
Immediately around the corner from him were two men, talking in guarded
tones. Dick listened intently.
“Yuh can do this thing a hull lot better than I can,” drawled the voice
of Murky Nichols. “Yuh gotta fix it up somehow jes’ as soon as yuh
possibly can. Tomorrow mornin’ ain’t none too soon, La Qua, ’cause there
ain’t no tellin’ what that danged breed’ll be up to next.”
“Yuh mean yuh want me to get him outta the way?”
“If there ain’t no other way—yes!” calmly answered Murky. “We can’t
afford to take no more chances with him. I gotta know he’s gonna get
right down to business an’ no more foolin’. Yuh can tell him we’ll give
him fifty dollars more fer the next bunch o’ pelts he brings down. I
won’t go a dime higher ’an that an’ if he squawks I’m givin’ yuh
permission to pick him off any time.”
“Should o’ done that long time ago,” growled the other. “Yuh can’t trust
him. Yuh ain’t the only one he’s nearly got with that blamed knife o’
his. He nearly killed one o’ my best packers less ’an a week ago in a
scrap over a card game. I tell yuh, I hate to have him around.”
“Jes’ the same, he comes in pretty handy,” Murky Nichols declared. “Take
the case of Daddy McInnes, fer example. None o’ yuh fellers would o’
dared to do what he done. Both you an’ Bremner was in the party guardin’
the pass when the ol’ man came through.”
“I was the first one who seen him,” protested the other hotly. “It was
me what told this breed, Testola, to go after him.”
“Mebbe so, but yuh wouldn’t o’ done it yourself.”
Dick’s eyes had widened with understanding and horror. He crouched low,
scarcely daring to breathe. A feeling of nausea was followed by a surge
of anger and disgust. The two men were vicious and evil—absolutely
heartless. At first, he had not recognized the voice of Murky’s
companion, but a certain quality in the tone, a peculiar inflection,
stirred presently his groping memory. It was the voice of the
red-bearded man—the person who had attempted to stop him on the trail!
A short silence was broken by Nichols’ question:
“When do yuh expect to be ready to send the next shipment?”
“It’s about ready now,” came the quick answer. “I was thinkin’ o’
sendin’ it through tomorrow night. If we do, I’m gonna start from the
same place I did last time—the little shack near the foot o’ Settlement
Mountain. We’ll have eight pack-horses, belonging’ tuh Fred Hart, an’
five o’ our own.”
“Has Hart got much stuff this time?” inquired Murky.
“’Bout three thousand pounds. The rest o’ the shipment belongs to us.”
Dick rose cautiously to his feet and commenced to beat a panicky
retreat. It would never do to be caught eavesdropping. If he fell into
Murky’s hands at that moment, his life would be forfeit.
Careful as he was, it seemed to Dick that his footsteps must have been
heard plainly. A moment later this feeling became a certainty. There
came to his ears a startled, anxious exclamation from one of the men.
“Did yuh hear that?”
“It must have been the wind,” reassured the other.
His heart beating wildly, Dick dropped to the ground and wormed his way
forward on his hands and knees. A few yards farther on, he sprang to his
feet again and bolted away in the direction of the house. Suddenly there
appeared immediately ahead the shadowy figure of a man. Dick stopped
short in his tracks, shaking in every limb.
His retreat was cut off!