THE CORPORAL UPBRAIDS HIMSELF
During the ensuing consultation there appeared to be a diversity of
opinion. Toma thought that they ought to retrace their steps in an
attempt to find out where the outlaws had turned off the trail, while
Dick still held to the belief that the pack-train must be somewhere
ahead. As for Rand, he did not immediately declare himself. Sitting on
the rock, his chin resting in his hands, he was immersed in deep
thought. Nearly ten minutes elapsed before he looked up and addressed
his two companions.
“I might as well be perfectly frank. I’m stuck. I must confess that I
don’t know where the pack-train is. It may be behind or it may be ahead.
If they—the outlaws—are ahead, I will say they’ve been moving faster
than at any time since we left Settlement Mountain.”
Dick stood impatiently, hands on hips, one moccasined foot tracing
patterns and queer hieroglyphics in the soft snow at the side of the
trail. Toma’s face was inscrutable. What lay behind his mask-like
features no one might guess. Another interval of silence—of inactivity.
Finally Rand rose to his feet.
“We’ll go on,” came his decision. “I doubt if we’ll find them ahead, but
we can search for the cabin in which the furs are stored. The cache must
be there somewhere.”
Later in the day, they came out upon a tree-covered plain close to the
Pacific. They camped within a thick shelter of pines, rolled in their
blankets, and on the following morning inaugurated a careful,
painstaking search.
Weary and discouraged, almost out of food, at the end of the second day
they found themselves on the south side of a tiny inlet.
“We seem to be getting nowhere,” Rand confessed. “I believe now that if
there is a cache, it’s farther back from the coast. We’ll skirt this
inlet and then return inland to see if by any chance we can find a trace
of the pack-train.”
Doggedly, in silence, the boys trailed along after Rand. Half an hour
later they broke through a tangle of underbrush to a clearing beyond.
Their hearts leaped with joy. Built out from the shore was a crudely
constructed landing wharf, fashioned entirely from pine and spruce
timbers with a covering of hewed poles. Close to the wharf—and what
struck their attention still more forcibly—stood a large log building
without windows—and with only one door. It was a warehouse—nothing else!
Probably the cache itself!
“Hurray!” shouted Dick, as he broke into a run. “We’ve found it!”
They brought up before the door of the building, panting breathlessly.
The door was padlocked. In feverish haste, Toma secured a couple of
sharp rocks and commenced hammering upon the clasp. Rand was smiling now
for the first time in many hours. When the efforts of Toma had been
rewarded, he stepped forward and yanked open the barrier.
“Murky Nichols has been storing fur in here for the past three or four
years,” he told the boys. “This will be the largest cache of stolen fur
ever seized by the police. It will mark the end of a series of lawless
depredations by the cleverest gang of crooks that has ever operated in
the North.”
When he had ceased speaking, the corporal stepped inside. The place was
dank, dark, evil-smelling. It was impossible to see anything. Standing
just behind him, Toma struck a match. The tiny flame flared up, but
failed to light the mysterious, dark recesses of the room. Dick and Toma
alternated in lighting matches. They pushed their way farther into the
darkness, groping about like ghouls in some subterranean passage.
Moisture had sprung out upon Dick’s forehead. He was trembling and hot.
Each tiny taper carried them farther and farther on their round of
exploration. Finally, Corporal Rand stopped short and threw up his hands
in an exasperated gesture.
“Shades of a purple skunk!” he cried out angrily. “There’s nothing here!
Pshaw! The place is as clean and bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.”
The disappointment succeeding this announcement was keen. Dick’s
shoulders slumped and his head drooped as he turned dejectedly and made
his way back to the door. Toma was the only one who had anything to say.
“I tell you something, corporal. Mebbe no fur here now, but all same
Murky Nichols use this place to make ’em cache. I know that.”
“How do you know it?” growled Dick.
“I tell by smell,” answered the guide.
“He’s right,” broke forth the corporal. “Fur has been stored here. I can
detect a familiar odor myself.”
“But how do you explain it?” asked Dick. “You were under the impression
that Nichols had a two-year supply of stolen fur here. What has become
of it?”
“Unfortunately, I’m no wizard,” Rand answered a little testily, “or I
might be able to answer your question. All I know is that Nichols has
been shipping fur for the last three or four years. As I told you once
before, we believe that a large shipment was taken from here to Seattle
by someone, who either purchased the fur in good faith or who is a
confederate of Murky’s. Perhaps this person comes up here oftener than
we surmised. It may be that he has just recently cleaned out this cache
and will return later for the fur now being brought here by pack-train.
Of only one thing am I reasonably sure, and that is that this is the
place where Nichols sends his shipments.”
“If we wait here, pretty soon pack-train will come. What you think?”
Toma raised questioning eyes to the mounted policeman.
“Yes,” said Rand, “the pack-train will come here. We can’t miss it.”
“But what I don’t understand,” Dick spoke hesitatingly, “is why the
outlaws haven’t arrived days ago. They were ahead of us when we started.
Now we’re ahead of them. How do you explain it, corporal?”
“I can think of only one explanation. The boat from Seattle may not be
due here for a week or two. In the interim, the outlaws are putting up
somewhere along the trail, where there are better facilities for feeding
the men and caring for the dogs and ponies. We must have passed them in
the dark.”
“What will we do?” asked Dick. “Go back and try to find them or stay
here?”
Rand made his decision promptly. “We might as well stay here. They’ll
have to come sooner or later. All we can do now is to wait.”
Considerably cheered, the three walked out of the building and made
their way over to the landing wharf. As they stood there, a
disconcerting thought occurred to Dick.
“The outlaws will be sure to see our tracks around the warehouse when
they come with the fur,” he pointed out.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Rand. “They don’t know yet that they’ve
been followed by the police. I doubt if they have a single suspicion.
However, when we go back, we’d better repair the damage to the lock and
door.”
Standing there, Dick half-expected to see at any moment a vessel round
the heavily wooded point and come steaming toward them. He thought about
the boat from Seattle. Wouldn’t it be great sport if the ship would
arrive ahead of its schedule? If this happened, would they drop anchor
in the deep waters of the inlet and wait for the coming of the outlaws?
What action would Rand take? Would he attempt to capture the vessel, or
would he fall back out of sight to lay in concealment until the arrival
of the pack-train?
The first light of oncoming dawn struck Dick’s eyes on the following
morning when he peeped out from between his Hudson’s Bay blankets. It
was really still too early to get up and it provoked him to find that he
had awakened so soon. Neither Toma nor the corporal would be astir for
another two hours. What had aroused him? He sat up impatiently, tucked
the blankets around his feet. Then he heard a voice:
“What a fool I am. I must be suffering from a mental relapse. What is
the matter with me? A blind bat! A nincompoop! Honestly, I need a
guardian.”
The assertions were made with such deliberateness, with such sincerity,
that Dick grinned in spite of himself. He turned his head quickly in the
direction of Rand’s bed and discovered that person sitting up like
himself, and staring moodily out through the thick obstruction of trees.
Rand’s back was towards him. Apparently, the policeman believed that his
remarks had fallen upon heedless ears. Naturally he supposed that the
boys still slept.
“What’s wrong, corporal?” pleasantly inquired the eavesdropper.
Rand started and half-turned. His manner was a little sheepish, like
that of a boy caught in some foolish prank.
“So you heard me?” Rand turned completely around and grinned. “Well,
anyway, you know now what I think of myself. When you have finished
dressing, Dick, come and clout me over the head. You have my permission.
I’ve been guilty of blithering idiocy. How I ever contrived to persuade
the R. N. W. M. P. to take me into the service will always remain an
unsolved mystery.”
Dick laughed outright. “I don’t think you do yourself justice, corporal.
What makes you say that?”
“My conscience hurts me. I’m an ass. When I awoke about twenty minutes
ago, it suddenly dawned on me how completely we’ve been fooled.”
“By whom?” inquired Dick, wondering if the policeman had taken leave of
his senses.
“By the outlaws.”
“You mean when they gave us the slip?”
“Yes. That’s it exactly.”
“That wasn’t your fault. We’ve been careful enough.”
Corporal Rand threw back his blankets and commenced to dress.
“Do you remember, Dick,” he resumed, “when we passed the first trapper’s
shack on the trail this side of Dominion Range, and Toma called our
attention to the three ponies?”
Dick nodded.
“You may recall,” Rand went on, “that the presence of the ponies there
puzzled me. Subsequently the thing was repeated at other trappers’
cabins along the route we were travelling. Now, as I look back upon it
all, I’m ashamed of my stupidity, I should have known right away what
was taking place.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
“The ponies were part of the pack-train. The furs were unloaded at
various places along the line. As the pack-train progressed, it became
smaller, until, finally, nothing was left of it. That explains many
things. It explains why we have been unable to overtake the outlaws.
Murky’s precious shipment is scattered along the trail over a distance
of twenty miles.”
“What a trick!” Dick exclaimed. “Pretty clever ruse, wasn’t it? The
outlaws must have known all the time that we were following them. It
took a genius to think of a plan like that.”
“I don’t believe they knew we were following them,” stated the corporal.
“It’s probably the usual procedure, inaugurated by Murky himself.
Nichols does not feel safe with all of his eggs in one basket. He
doesn’t believe in taking unnecessary risks. The trappers who live along
the trail, where we saw the ponies, are probably in his employ—really
not trappers at all. They guard the caches of stolen fur.”
Rand paused for a moment, then continued:
“Do you remember, Dick, how many of those trappers’ shacks there were
where we saw ponies?”
“Three,” answered Dick quickly.
“But we went past several where we saw none. Do you recall whether there
were dogs around these places?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Rand mumbled something which Dick did not catch. Then—
“Well, I’ve come to this conclusion: Those five or six places harbour
the outlaws—all of them, every member of the pack-train. I’m convinced
that if we went back there tomorrow we’d also find the fur.”
“If Murky has five or six separate caches, why did he build the
warehouse?”
“Couldn’t very well get along without it. Consider his position. The
boat from Seattle may on occasion be two or three days late. What is to
be done with the fur? It is too valuable to be piled up on the landing
wharf in all kinds of weather. The warehouse would be—”
Corporal Rand did not complete the sentence. Dick had jumped to his feet
and was waving his arms about wildly.
“There it comes! There it comes!” he shouted. “The boat! It has entered
the inlet. Look, corporal!”