THE AMBUSCADE
Toma led the way to the coulee where the ponies were picketed. On the
road thither they had met no one, and were in consequence in high
spirits as they pushed forward through the trees, entered the draw, and
came finally to the screen of thicket beyond which the horses munched
contentedly on the dry grass covering the space around them.
Dick noted with deep concern that the wind had veered round more to the
north and that the weather had become appreciably cooler. As yet there
was no hint of a storm. Scarcely a cloud could be seen across the blue
expanse of sky.
Sandy drew his coat more tightly about him and sat down in the shelter
of a small thicket, while Dick and Toma began a restless pacing back and
forth in the cleared space near the ponies. They were thus occupied when
the sound of clattering hoofs heralded the approach of Constable Pearly.
A moment later he drew up in front of them, smiling down cheerily.
“I guess we might as well start,” he declared.
“As soon as you boys have saddled up, we’ll strike off along the
Settlement River trail. We have plenty of time and can proceed slowly.”
The boys hastened to obey. Presently they drew away from the coulee,
keeping well within the shelter of spruce and jack-pine bordering the
river. A few hundred yards farther on they picked up the faint thread of
a trail, which soon brought them to the main travelled road. Here, two
abreast, Constable Pearly and Toma in the lead, they jaunted leisurely
along.
Conversation lagged. For some unknown reason, the little party rode
under a cloud of dejection. Pearly’s face had become set and stern;
Sandy slumped in his saddle; Toma’s eyes wandered furtively from side to
side; while Dick himself was obsessed by a sense of foreboding. This
feeling persisted as they continued slowly on their way. Strive as he
would against it, he could not shake off the thought of impending
disaster. It was as if the gray spectre of some great trouble followed
in their rear.
Dick wondered if this unpleasant phantasm had come as the result of his
nervous strain and lack of sleep, or if it was really a warning. Ought
he to tell Constable Pearly? Pressing his heels against his pony’s
flanks, he cantered up behind the policeman for the purpose of doing so,
but on second thought decided against it. Pearly would probably laugh at
him and with just cause, for his fears were groundless. It was folly
even to think about it. He must endeavor to get a better grip of
himself.
A moment later, he wished he had acted upon his first impulse. The
constable suddenly threw his hands high in the air and dropped from his
saddle. The reverberating report of a rifle, a puff of smoke from the
side of the trail, the fleeting glimpse of someone hurtling away through
the underbrush—all were vivid impressions, indelibly traced across
Dick’s mind. With a snort of fear, his horse had thrown himself back so
abruptly that its rider had nearly become unseated. Dick sprang to the
ground just as Toma, who had already dismounted, stooped over Pearly’s
prostrate form.
“Is he dead!” gasped Dick.
Sandy rode up, his cheeks ashen with horror, a revolver gripped in one
trembling hand.
“The half-breed!” he faltered. “The same man who tried to stab Nichols.
I saw him!”
“The yellow, despicable cur!”
As he spoke, Dick placed two hands gently under the constable’s broad
shoulders, and supporting the wounded man’s head against his own body,
raised the limp, but still breathing, form to a more upright position.
“He may be mortally wounded,” he declared in a stricken voice. “We must
do something quickly. We’ll have to take him back to Wandley’s post.”
Toma quickly unbuttoned the policeman’s tunic. A red stain colored the
cloth beneath. With his hunting knife, the young guide slit open the
shirt and undergarment, revealing the wound itself—a dangerous one, a
few inches below the right arm-pit.
As Dick well knew, every member of the mounted police force was required
to carry a first-aid kit. Acting upon this knowledge, he and Toma
hurriedly went through the stricken man’s pockets until they discovered
the object of their search. Absorbent cotton, bandages, adhesive tape
and a small bottle of disinfectant were yanked out of the container and
placed in handy proximity. Toma began the work of dressing the wound
with the calm deliberateness of an experienced surgeon. At the end of a
few minutes he straightened up, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Mebbe by do that we help save his life,” he murmured hopefully. “Next
thing—how we get him back to Wandley’s? Constable Pearly him too big to
tie on horse. What you think?”
The boys looked from one to the other in dismay. How indeed, was this
imperative task to be accomplished. Dick thrust his hands disconsolately
in his pockets, unable to think of any adequate plan. Sandy dismounted
and strode forward.
“Do you suppose that we could place him on one of the smaller ponies,”
he suggested, “and support him by riding on either side—three horses
abreast? It seems to be the only way. We could link our arms in his and
drive carefully.”
Dick and Toma remained thoughtful for a moment, considering Sandy’s
plan.
“It may work,” Dick decided. “At any rate, we must do something
quickly.”
To raise the limp and heavy figure to the saddle proved to be a
difficult task. The ponies snorted and swung back. Dick was almost in
despair before they finally succeeded in getting the wounded man in
place and had made a start for Wandley’s post. He rode on one side of
the policeman and Toma on the other. Long before they had traversed the
first few hundred yards, their arms ached from the burden. Also some
difficulty was experienced in keeping the ponies together.
In places, where the trail narrowed down to a mere foot-path, they were
compelled to break the close formation. At such times, one of the boys
would be compelled to dismount and support the figure from the ground
until the road again grew wider.
Altogether, it was a sorry and dejected group that made its way back
over the selfsame route they had come only a few minutes before. In the
twinkling of an eye, the carefully laid plans of Corporal Rand had
miscarried. Their hopes had gone glimmering. Murky Nichols had shown his
hand. One of Dick’s greatest worries just now was that the crafty outlaw
himself would soon witness their arrival at the post.
Moving along carefully, their arms and shoulders aching from the strain
put upon them, they came at last within sight of Wandley’s. As they
emerged upon the small prairie, at the far side of which the post was
situated, they came directly in the path of a sharp “northwester.” The
smiling sky of an hour previous had become leaden with menace. Dun,
metal-colored clouds scudded before the wind. The horizon, black and
threatening, indicated only too plainly the approach of a storm.
They rode up to the door of the trading room in a dispirited silence. A
curious group gathered about them. Anxiously, Dick scanned the
unfamiliar faces, expecting to see that of Murky Nichols. But the outlaw
was not there. Willing hands assisted them in lifting Pearly down from
his precarious seat and help carry him within. The solicitous figure of
Wandley himself presently pushed forward through the crowd.
“Mon Dieu! What has happened?” cried a voice.
“A policeman!” gasped Wandley, his good-humored face suddenly gray with
concern. “Who shot him?”
Sandy mumbled something under his breath. Dick turned his head and
looked up appealingly into the horrified eyes of the free trader.
“Will you help us out, Mr. Wandley? Constable Pearly’s condition is
serious.”
Wandley took in the situation at a glance. He was a man of action. In an
incredibly short space he had placed a room at the policeman’s disposal,
and in various ways assisted in making him comfortable. A short time
later, the three boys followed Wandley to the trading room, where they
told the story of the ambuscade.
The free trader listened with rapt attention. A stolid, heavy-set man,
known throughout the North for his honesty and sincerity of purpose, he
showed by his manner and expression unmistakably what he thought of the
outrage.
“Who do you suppose could have been guilty of such a dastardly attack?”
he asked at the conclusion of the boys’ recital. “Did you see the person
who fired the shot?”
Sandy was about to tell Wandley of his suspicions, when Dick silenced
him with a look. Other persons were within hearing and might carry the
information to Nichols.
“No,” he lied deliberately, “we haven’t the faintest idea. Sandy, here,
thought he caught a glimpse of a person running in the underbrush
shortly after the shot was fired. But we have no knowledge of his
identity.”
Wandley turned sympathetic eyes upon his three informants.
“I’ll see that everything possible is done for Pearly,” he promised
them. “I’m sending over to the Indian village for a native doctor who
has often proved to be very good in cases of this kind.”
The boys thanked the free trader and turned to go. They still had time
to reach the bend in the river before the coming of Sergeant Richardson
and Corporal Rand. Their own ponies were waiting outside. At the door,
moved by a sudden impulse, Dick pressed Sandy’s arm significantly, then
hurried back to Wandley’s side.
“May I have a word with you for a moment?” he inquired meaningly.
The free trader started back in surprise.
“Why certainly. What is it?”
Motioning the other to follow, he led the way to an inner room, which
served as Wandley’s office.
“Now what’s the trouble, my boy?” he asked.
Dick stood awkwardly, cap in hand, a little confused, a little doubtful
whether, after all, it would be good policy to ask the question now
uppermost in his mind. Wandley seemed to sense the young man’s
difficulty. He patted Dick’s arm.
“Don’t be afraid to speak up, if it is anything of importance,” he said
reassuringly. “You can trust me absolutely.”
Dick smiled across at the grizzled, earnest face.
“All right, Mr. Wandley, there is something I want to know.”
“What is it?”
“Did you see Murky Nichols here an hour or two ago, when he arrived here
at the post?”
“Yes,” Wandley unhesitatingly replied. “He rode in here like a dozen
furies shortly after one o’clock. But he’s gone now.”
“So he’s really gone?” Dick breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes,” answered the free trader, wondering what his young interrogator
was driving at.
“How long since he left?” came the next question.
“Not more than fifteen or twenty minutes ago. He was hardly out of sight
before you came in with Pearly.”
“Which trail did he take?”
“The one to Fort Good Faith.”
Dick stepped forward and pressed the huge hand of the free trader.
“Thank you very much. I’ll explain sometime, Mr. Wandley, but I’ll have
to hurry now. We’ll stop in to see you on our return.”
Saying which, Dick hurried through the door, crossed the trading room
and quickly rejoined his two friends outside.