THE INVALID
Strong arms raised him up and carried him tenderly along the beach as
one might have carried a child. Anxious eyes peered down at the placid
face; voices, subdued and solicitous, murmured around him. Near at hand,
the river fretted against its shores, its gurgling song more melancholy
than the plaintive dirge of the pines.
Wading ashore, following his last encounter with the outlaws, Dick had
collapsed, and, when found later by the rescue party, lay with his feet
in the water and his arms flung out above his head. At first, they had
believed him dead. No senseless, inanimate thing cast up by the sea,
ever presented a more bedraggled appearance. The stubborn spark of life,
which still glowed feebly within him, was not manifest. Corporal Rand,
who had elected to carry him back to the shelter of trees, where Toma
had already kindled a fire, could have sworn that his young friend had
fought his last fight.
The sound of firing had carried to the inlet, and had been the cause of
much concern and conjecture on the part of Dick’s companions. Both
surmised that the youthful adventurer was in trouble and they had come
expecting to find him in some tight corner, hotly besieged, yet
valiantly holding his own. They were wholly unprepared and not a little
mystified, when after a painstaking search, they finally stumbled upon
his body.
Neither could explain how Dick had come there nor exactly what had
happened to him. The nearest approach to a reasonable solution was that
Dick in some unaccountable manner had been knocked unconscious and then
thrown into the water—left there by the outlaws to drown. The cold
plunge had partly revived him and he had contrived somehow to swim or
crawl ashore.
“I doubt if he’ll live,” Rand’s voice was sepulchral.
For hours they employed restorative measures. Toma went back to the
warehouse to fetch a blanket. They chafed his limbs; built up a huge
bonfire; worked desperately over him. Just before morning Dick lay in a
comatose state, his pulse more steady, his condition considerably
improved. Faint color began to tinge his cheeks. After a time, his eyes
opened dazedly and with much wrinkling and puckering of his brow he
endeavored to fill in his gaps of memory.
Wraiths and shadows of once familiar things drifted across his mental
vision. Through the darkness and obscurity of his mind, not in orderly
sequence, but in a provoking, mysterious fashion, there flashed
haphazardly half-familiar scenes of the past.
Toma, stooping to smooth back the rumpled hair, glanced sombrely at the
policeman opposite.
“You think him better?” he demanded in a strained, cracked voice.
“Much better,” answered the corporal.
“I glad to hear that. You think pretty soon we be able to move him over
to warehouse?”
“Perhaps—but not yet. He’s still too dazed and weak. He needs rest and
quiet. But he’s doing nicely.”,
They left him while they went to prepare breakfast. When Toma returned
to the place where the patient lay, he was greeted with a wan smile of
recognition. The Indian lad cried out jubilantly. Hearing him, Rand
rushed over.
“Thank the good Lord you’re coming round,” he cried out. “I can’t begin
to tell you how happy I am.”
They made Dick a light broth and towards noon he was feeling so well he
was able to sit up. Always there was one of the two near him. They were
compelled to make frequent trips to and from the warehouse. In addition
to caring for Dick, they had the prisoners to look after. On the
previous night, before starting out, they had bound the four men hand
and foot. There were now extra meals to prepare, increasing
responsibility. The larder required replenishing. During his spare time,
Toma went out to hunt for rabbits and ptarmigan.
Shortly before two o’clock, the policeman, who had been busy gathering
fuel for the fire, came over and sat down by Dick’s side.
“Do you feel strong enough now to tell me all about it?” he asked. “How
did you get here? How many of the outlaws were in the party which
attacked you?”
“Before I do that,” Dick spoke up, rubbing one shaky hand across his
forehead, “I want to warn you, corporal, that those packers may return.
They were planning to rescue Murky and the others and to murder you and
Toma. It’s queer they haven’t already come. You must be very careful.”
“Are you quite sure about this, Dick?”
“Yes,” the other answered. “An ambuscade! A treacherous, cowardly thing!
They planned to secrete themselves in the brush and take pot-shot at
you. Later, when they had released Murky and the prisoners, they
intended to go south with the fur.”
Then Dick recounted his adventures. When he had finished, the corporal
exclaimed:
“You’ve certainly had your share of trouble. It must have been a
terrible ordeal.”
He rose hesitatingly to his feet.
“Will you think that I am inconsiderate if I leave you for a time
alone?”
“Why, no,” quickly responded the invalid. “I’m all right. Don’t worry
about me.”
“You see,” Rand hesitated, “after what you’ve told me, I feel a little
apprehensive. I must go over and warn Toma. The warehouse will be the
point of danger.”
Dick smiled weakly. “Certainly, go ahead. It’s the only thing to do.”
Rand threw more wood on the fire and departed. It was nearly two hours
before he returned. The moment Dick saw him, he noted immediately that a
marked change had come over the policeman. He was more lighthearted than
before. He smiled frequently. He joked and laughed, regaling Dick with
stories of the service—amusing anecdotes and breathless escapades. While
he was preparing lunch, he looked up and grinned across at Dick.
“I suppose you’ll be sorry when this thing is over and we return to Fort
Good Faith?”
Dick laughed outright. “Well, not exactly, although I wouldn’t have
missed the experience for anything. By the way, corporal, how much of
the fur did you recover?”
“All of it.”
“That’s fine. Then all that remains to be done is to capture the four
packers and the sailor. Do you think we’ll be able to do that?”
“Yes,” smiled Rand, “I have two young but very capable assistants.
Tomorrow you’ll be on your feet again, while Toma is feeling as fit as a
fiddle.”
“Toma is wonderful,” said Dick. “You can always rely on him. I don’t
believe he knows what fear means.”
“You’re right,” approved the other. “He’d make an exceptionally good
scout, a splendid partner for Malemute Slade. He may get the chance too.
When the Inspector receives my report, there’ll be several persons I
know who’ll receive laudatory mention.”
Dick gazed dreamily into the fire.
“Then they may send Toma to the training barracks at Regina this
winter?”
“Yes, very probably—and another young man, too, if he cares to go
along.”
“You mean me?” gasped Dick, blinking suddenly, a queer tugging at his
heart.
“Well, it’s within the realm of reason,” Rand looked up mischievously.
“But are you sure you haven’t had enough of this sort of thing?”
“No, corporal, I’d like to go.”
“It isn’t an easy life,” Rand informed him. “The pay is small. One never
knows what tomorrow may bring forth. Your greatest reward will be the
satisfaction of knowing that you have strived to do your duty. If I were
you, I’d think long and seriously before I took the step.”
“But you took it. Do you mean to say that you regret your move? Would
you change places with someone else?”
The corporal’s face had become very sober. He too stared dreamily into
the fire. In the steel-gray eyes was a look Dick had never seen before.
There was a catch in the policeman’s voice when he spoke again:
“It’s too late to think about that now. I’ve crossed my Rubicon. It was
my own choice—but I’m not sorry. I think I’ve run the gamut of human
emotion. I’ve experienced every phase of physical suffering. On the
other hand, there have been times when the mere joy of living
paramounted every other thing. The rugged life that we lead gets into
the blood. Even if I should return to civilization, I doubt very much
whether I would ever be happy or satisfied.”
Dick smiled reminiscently.
“That reminds me of what Sergeant Richardson told me about a year ago,
just before he received his promotion. He said that there were times
when he gloried in the service; at other times he positively hated it.
When he first came to this region, the Inspector sent him out to arrest
an Eskimo murderer. It took him eight months. In all that time never
once did he see the face of a white man. The memory of that exploit
still haunts him. He weighed a hundred and seventy-eight pounds when he
set out on that trip and one hundred and fifty when he returned with his
prisoner. All that remained of his uniform was his service hat. His hair
and beard were so long that he looked like a wild man. Habit was so
strong that when the Inspector addressed him, he answered in Eskimo.”
Corporal Rand laughed, but made no comment.
Not long afterward, Toma appeared. His usually expressionless face
radiated good nature. He too seemed to be very happy. He sat down in
front of the fire, pulled an harmonica out of his pocket and commenced
to play. Rand leaned back against a convenient tree trunk and filled and
lit his pipe. As time passed, Dick began to wonder if it were good
policy to leave the prisoners so long alone. Under no circumstances,
ought they to trust Murky.
“Will the prisoners be all right, corporal?” Dick finally blurted out.
“Isn’t there danger that one of them may become untied?”
Rand shook his head complacently and winked covertly at Toma.
“There! I’ve caught you, corporal. Something has happened. Have the
prisoners already escaped?”
“No, they still here,” Toma denied the allegation.
Dick was not convinced. Although the high spirits of his two companions
belied the supposition, he could not help feeling that something was
amiss. The more he thought about it, the more perplexed he became. It
was not like Corporal Rand to be so careless. Surely experience had
taught him better than this.
“Corporal,” said Dick, “I think you must be keeping something from me.
What is it?”
The policeman feigned annoyance.
“You’re mistaken. I can’t remember that I’ve ever given you cause to say
that.”
The invalid flushed and averted his gaze. He had been sitting up,
wrapped in blankets, his shoulders resting against a tree. Just then he
felt sheepish and wished that he had held his tongue. He was depressed.
But his mood changed suddenly—first to amazement, then to joy. He raised
one trembling hand and rubbed his eyes. One long, glad cry rang from his
lips:
“Sandy!”