THE OUTLAWS’ CABIN
He could hear voices now and the hurried trampling of feet. Once a husky
howled. From the open door of another building—evidently a stable—there
flickered the light of several lanterns. The stable, about fifty yards
on the north side of the house, was the center of unusual activity. Here
men called to each other in guttural Cree amid the confusion of barking
dogs and the nickering of ponies. Back and forth between the stable and
the cabin the outlaws continually hurried. Dick knew what it all meant.
La Qua was preparing for his departure, to take with him the cache of
stolen fur.
As he stood watching and waiting, a daring plan leaped into his mind.
His breath caught at the very thought of it—to walk boldly up and mingle
with the outlaws. They, in the general excitement and confusion, would
probably let him pass unnoticed. As long as he kept away from the
tell-tale lights of the lanterns or the lamps in the cabin, he would
probably be safe enough.
At any rate, he decided to do it. Thoughts of Sergeant Richardson
spurred him on. No effort or sacrifice would be too great. It was little
enough to do for the man who had befriended him on so many previous
occasions.
He walked boldly forth, swung in behind a tall figure hurrying toward
the stable. Half way there, he stopped, glancing furtively about. He
tip-toed over to the window on the side of the cabin opposite the door
and looked within.
For a moment his breath caught. He was both startled and amazed at what
he saw. The room, near the far end, was stacked with bales of fur
reaching to a height of nearly five feet. Thousands of dollars were
represented here. Wonderful black and cross-fox pelts! Rich-looking,
unplucked beaver! Lynx, marten, mink—even the glistening coat of bruin
himself, the least valuable of all. There were furs so valuable, so
precious, that a single bale would have been more than sufficient to
purchase a king’s ransom.
A steady file of men entered and departed. Each carried away a heavy
burden. Standing over them, La Qua threatened and gesticulated fearful
lest a moment might be wasted. It was evident that the outlaw was
thoroughly frightened and intended to rush through the work as quickly
as possible.
Dick’s gaze turned from the cache to the opposite end of the room in the
hope that he might see Sergeant Richardson. But, although he craned his
neck in the effort, he could discern nothing. He had decided to slip
around to another side of the dwelling, when the sound of footsteps came
from the darkness beyond. Instinctively, he flattened himself against
the wall of the cabin. The steps came closer. A vague form! A start of
surprise—Rand!
The policeman did not see him at once, but Dick drew his attention by
whistling softly and very soon the two stood close together gripping
each other’s hands.
“Lucky you’ve come,” whispered Dick. “Just take a peep inside.”
“I don’t believe that Richardson’s here,” said Corporal Rand when he had
stepped back. “As I came out to the clearing, I thought I saw two of the
outlaws carrying something between them. Possibly the sergeant. I had no
way of stealing up on them without being detected. So I decided to come
on here and await their arrival.”
“If it is Richardson, do you think we can get him away from the
outlaws?”
“We can try.”
“What plan would you suggest?”
“Wait until La Qua has taken out all of the fur and the pack-train is
ready to start. They’ll be compelled to leave Richardson here under
guard. Our chance will come then.”
Two powerful breeds appeared at the door soon after, carrying the
prostrate form of Sergeant Richardson. They dropped him, none too
gently, on the floor close to the fire-place. The prisoner’s limbs were
bound. He was unconscious, his face ghastly white except where a small
stream of blood trickled down from his forehead.
Sudden rage seared Dick’s mind. His friendship for the police sergeant
was great and he resented the malicious attack upon him. He could hardly
contain himself as the packers left their work and advanced in a curious
group, only to be driven back again by the cursing, perspiring La Qua.
Then as a vent for his outraged feelings, the outlaw kicked the
unconscious man in the ribs.
At sight of this gross treatment, Rand started forward, scarcely able to
suppress his cry of rage. He checked himself, but one hand gripped
Dick’s arm, fingers digging into the flesh.
“I could almost kill him for that!” he snarled.
The cache diminished quickly. All that remained of the bulky pile in a
few minutes more were a few scattered bales, lying on the floor at the
far end of the room. Corporal Rand and Dick were waiting impatiently for
the completion of the task, when suddenly the policeman’s sharp intake
of breath drew the other’s attention.
“Shades of Lucifer!” gasped the corporal. “Look at that!”
At first Dick did not understand, but presently he saw the cause of the
corporal’s excitement. A low cry of admiration escaped his own lips.
“Why—why, it’s Toma! The nerve of him! Can you imagine anything more
foolhardy?”
Toma it was—Toma, sober and unconcerned as ever. In the guise of a
packer, he had joined the other half-breeds and Indians. He followed
closely behind two strapping natives, picked up a bale of fur and walked
out with it. Twice more in the next few minutes he repeated this
performance. On his third trip, however, all the fur had been removed.
La Qua and a somewhat short and corpulent half-breed of indeterminate
age were the only occupants of the room. These two looked up, as if
resenting Toma’s intrusion. Then they sprang back, hands high in the
air, as a dangerous-looking automatic seemed to leap into the young
guide’s hand. Calmly, Toma ordered the two men back against the wall and
disarmed them.
Dick followed Rand and the two stormed through the door, revolvers in
readiness. They called out to Toma not to shoot. The corporal yanked
down a coil of rope from a peg on the wall and proceeded to bind the
outlaws, at the same time ordering Dick to bolt and lock the door, then
to release Richardson.
La Qua was pale with fury, swearing vengeance upon the police.
“Yuh can’t get away with this,” he snarled. “You’ll pay good an’ plenty.
Jus’ remember that.”
“I’m willing to answer for my conduct here,” laughed Rand. “I’m not
frightened.”
Toma and Rand dragged the bodies across the floor, concealing them
behind a pile of blankets. Then they turned to examine the sergeant.
His injuries were not serious. Already he showed signs of returning
consciousness. Rand brought water and bathed and dressed the wound with
a skill and precision that struck Dick’s admiration.
Someone pounded on the door. Drawing his revolver, the policeman hurried
over, shot the bolt, swung open the door, concealing himself behind it.
A tall, fierce-visaged man stepped into the room, demanding harshly:
“Who locked this door? Where’s La Qua? The boys are ready to start.”
Instantly he perceived that he had committed a blunder. Dick and Toma he
had never seen before. Slightly puzzled, he took one step forward, when
he felt the steel muzzle of Rand’s revolver poking him in the ribs.
“Stand right where you are,” said the corporal pleasantly. “Glad you
came in. Permit me to relieve you of your hardware.”
One glance into the steady eyes, a look at the familiar uniform, and the
intruder saw the futility of resistance. Yet there was bluster in his
voice.
“What does this mean?”
“It means that the fun’s over,” Rand stated evenly. “Stand right where
you are! So the pack-train’s ready to start?”
The prisoner made no reply. Tall, sullen, resentful—unflinchingly he met
the cool gray eyes of the mounted policeman.
“Come, speak up! I mean business!” Rand shoved his revolver into the
man’s ribs again. There was nothing pleasant about his voice now.
“They’re ready tuh start if yuh want to know,” begrudgingly answered the
outlaw.
“Are you heading straight for the pass?”
Again the hesitation. Again the revolver fondling the man’s ribs.
“Yep.”
“All right,” said Rand, cooly deliberate. “You can go out and tell them
to start. Tell them La Qua is ready.”
The prisoner stared.
“Go out. Yuh mean that?”
“Yes, but not alone. I’ll go with you. I’ll be standing right behind you
when you give them those orders. But before we go, you might as well
understand that there’s to be no trickery. No treachery. It might prove
fatal.”
Rand opened the door, making a gesture with one arm.
“Out of here—and watch your step! I’ll have my gun on you every minute!”
The door closed softly. The sound of retreating footsteps, a pregnant
silence—a period of waiting which seemed interminable. Then the door
opened again and Rand and the prisoner appeared. In the eyes of the
policeman there sparkled a triumphant light. He turned to Dick with a
smile.
“They’ve gone. Never suspected anything. Told them that La Qua and our
friend here would follow at their leisure. Bring me the rest of that
rope, Toma.”
They trussed the man and dragged him back to the far corner of the room
to keep company with La Qua. Again they stood in front of Richardson,
who lay with half-closed eyes. He had not yet recovered consciousness.
Rand spoke quickly:
“We haven’t a minute to lose. Every moment counts. Toma, I’m going to
ask you to remain here to guard these prisoners while I hurry on after
the pack-train. You, Dick, will return to Sandy and conduct him here. As
soon as you do that, Sandy will relieve Toma. In another hour or two,
Richardson will be able to sit up. It won’t be long before he recovers
completely. You and Toma are to follow and overtake me. I may need your
help. Think you’ll be able to follow our tracks, Toma?”
“No trouble do that,” nodded the guide. “We find ’em all right.”
Dick found Sandy without much difficulty. His chum was shivering from
the cold. Also he had grown impatient and resentful, as his first words
indicated.
“Well, did you finally consent to come back and let me know how things
are? I was just getting ready to leave this place. Surely, the corporal
didn’t expect me to stay here all night.”
“I’m sorry, Sandy,” placated Dick. “We couldn’t get here any sooner. Too
bad you’re cold.” His voice rose animatedly. “And good news! We’ve found
Richardson and have taken three prisoners—one of them La Qua. Rand is
following the pack-train in the direction of the pass. We must hurry.”
“Whew! Good work! I suppose you’re one of the heroes.”
“No such luck,” Dick replied. “I didn’t do a thing. All the credit is
due Rand and Toma. Both were wonderful. I’ll tell you about it sometime.
But now we must hurry. Toma and I are to follow Rand. You’re to remain
with Richardson and the prisoners in the cabin.”
“Suits me,” Sandy’s teeth chattered. “Hope it’s warm over there. I’ve
caught a chill. Anyway, good luck to you, Dick. When do you think you’ll
be back?”
“Don’t know. It’s a long way to the coast. Hundreds of miles, I guess.”
“The coast!” almost shrieked Sandy.
“Yes,” returned Dick a little proudly, “we’re going straight through to
the Pacific!”