THE STOLEN HUSKIES
The dogs were gone, and that was all there was to it, Dick decided a
moment later, after a shouted conference with Toma. They would have to
go on on foot. It was discouraging, but it made Dick more determined
than ever.
“We’ll never get to the fort now,” Sandy grumbled.
“Well, we’re a darn sight closer than we were,” Dick tried to be
cheerful.
They watched Toma circling the camp, looking for tracks. Presently he
came in.
“Some fella steal dogs all right. Mebbe Henderson’s men; mebbe just
plain thief. Who know?”
“Well, they’re gone anyway, and it’s up to us to make the best of it,”
Dick resigned himself. “It’ll be slow work hauling this sled.”
Toma had nothing more to say. His only answer was to slip the breast
band of a dog harness over one shoulder and start the sled. Dick and
Sandy followed his lead and presently they were mushing slowly out on
the trail.
It was exceedingly tiresome business, and within an hour all were leg
weary. The snow had begun to thaw a little, and was soggy underfoot. The
sled runners cut down deeply, making it exceedingly hard pulling, even
with so light a load as they had.
Long before noon they were resting frequently. And it was with great
thankfulness that they at last made camp.
“Phew! That was a stiff jaunt,” Dick panted, lying flat on his back,
even his iron endurance tested to the utmost. Sandy was too winded to
reply. Toma alone seemed to make no note of it. Long since the boys had
ceased being surprised at any of Toma’s feats of muscular endurance.
They were about ready to dine on cold baked beans and coffee, when Toma
called their attention to a movement ahead of them from the direction of
Fort Dunwoody. It proved to be a man and a dog team.
“Honestly, we’re going to meet somebody!” Sandy exclaimed incredulously.
For days they had seen few save enemies.
“Well, maybe this isn’t a friend,” said Dick, dubiously.
Toma studied the man intently as he drew nearer. Finally they could hear
the cries of the driver to his dogs and the occasional cracking of his
long whip. It was a white man; they could tell even at that distance by
the tail to tail hitch of the dogs. Most of the Indians drove in fan
formation, each dog attached to separate tugs of varying lengths.
The stranger stopped some distance from them, and came on more slowly.
Evidently, he himself was not too certain whether or not he was meeting
a hostile party.
They hailed each other.
“I’m Corporal Richardson of the Mounted,” called the lone driver of the
dog team. “Who are you?”
“Hurrah!” cheered Sandy.
“Dick Kent and Sandy McClaren with a guide from Fort du Lac,” Dick
called back through cupped palms.
The policeman seemed satisfied. Cracking his whip over the dogs, he
speedily joined the young travelers.
Corporal Richardson was dressed in a heavy fur coat and parka. When near
the campfire he pulled open his great coat, disclosing the scarlet of
his uniform coat. He listened attentively to Dick’s story of their
adventures, and he seemed favorably impressed with both Dick and Sandy,
though at first he was somewhat suspicious of Toma.
“I left Fort Dunwoody a week ago,” the policeman told them, his steely
eyes unwavering. “We’ve been hearing rumors of Bear Henderson’s
outbreak, and I was sent up here to clear some of these trails. Of
course Henderson is rather foolish to think he can whip the Mounted and
the Hudson’s Bay Company, but he’s made rather a good try at it already.
Last report we had he’d burned two trading posts, and had captured three
more. Mackenzie’s Landing has fallen to him, I understand. They say his
next move is Fort du Lac.”
Dick and Sandy gasped at the revelations of the policeman.
“Didn’t you know about the capture of Fort Good Faith, and the
imprisonment of Walter MacClaren, my friend’s uncle?” Dick asked.
“We did not,” replied Corporal Richardson. “That is news. But of course
Henderson has made a lot of moves we know nothing of. I suppose you’re
after help. It was nervy of you young fellows to break through
Henderson’s lines. You know he isn’t letting any one in or out of the
far north. A man’s life isn’t worth a cent who isn’t hand in glove with
the outlaw. I’m detailed to scout the trail to Mackenzie’s Landing—clear
things up there if possible. I wish I could go with you fellows, but
you’ll have to go on alone and talk to the Inspector. I doubt if you get
help right away. Every officer is out on the trail now, except the bare
few that guard the post. It looks like reserves might be called out in
spite of the fact that we don’t like to do it.”
“Then you think we may even have to go on to Fort Good Faith alone?”
Dick spoke concernedly.
“Oh, no, but you may have to wait for a constable.”
“But we can’t wait!” Dick cried desperately. “We’ve been delayed a week
as it is. Sandy’s uncle must have help.”
Corporal Richardson sympathized with them, but he said he would not
build up false hopes. “I suggest you ask the Inspector for a special
deputization. In times like these every man will be forced into the
service who isn’t an enemy of the crown.”
Dick and Sandy thrilled at this possibility. To think of being for even
a brief period a member of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police was almost
beyond their dreams.
“I’ll have to be mushing,” announced the policeman. “Too bad you lost
your dogs. I passed a team about ten miles back. I thought the driver
looked rather sneaky. It’s pretty hard to describe ordinary huskies. All
I remember unusual about the team was that the leader, an exceptionally
big fellow, limped with his left forefoot. Not much, just a little.”
“That’s our team, sure enough!” Dick cried. “Remember, Sandy, how that
leader limped?”
“I wish we could catch up with the fellow,” Sandy gritted.
“It’s too late now,” Corporal Richardson shook his head. “I wish I could
split my team with you, but you see I’ve only four and with two I’d be
slowed up considerably. What you’d better do is leave your sled, and
take what you need by shoulder pack. If——”
Corporal Richardson did not finish the sentence. He seemed to start, and
his eyes widened. His hand flew to his chest. Across the snow came the
ringing crack of a distant rifle. The mounted policeman dropped upon one
elbow, as his startled companions hastened to him.
Dick shook his fist at the hills in the direction the shot seemed to
have come from.
“I guess I’m hit pretty bad,” the corporal revived and whispered. Toma
had thrown up the sled as a sort of barricade, if any more shots were
fired, and Dick and Sandy commenced administering first aid to the
wounded policeman. The bullet had struck under the shoulder blade at the
back, and had come out the right side.
“It’s a nasty wound,” Dick said grimly—“maybe a lung is touched.”
“Rather lucky for you fellows at that,” the corporal smiled gamely. “Now
you can use my dog team to tote me back to the fort.”
“Do you have any idea who shot you?” Dick asked.
“One of Henderson’s men without a doubt,” was the faint reply, “the
country’s alive with them. But we’ll beat ’em yet.”
Dick grimly agreed with him.
Strangely enough, no more shots were fired. Dick judged the reason for
this was that a single man had attacked them and had lost courage after
seeing he had drawn blood in a party too strong for him. Yet he could
not be sure. At any moment they might expect the sharpshooter lurking in
the wooded hills to drop one of them. If they were to move on to the
fort they could not remain sheltered from attack.
The limp body of the corporal was speedily transferred to his sled,
after some of the packs had been thrown aside. Dick picked up the
gee-pole, Toma took the lead, and Sandy cracked the long whip.
“Mush!”
They were off, the dogs yelping eagerly down the back trail, overjoyed
at hitting the home trail so soon.
For nearly an hour they advanced at a fast rate of speed, Sandy and Dick
changing off advance guard with Toma. Then they entered a long ravine,
crested with spruce and jackpine. As yet no sign of the man who had shot
the corporal appeared. Then, without warning, from the brow of the
ravine, puffed the smoke of a rifle. A bullet fanned Dick’s cheek, and
he paused and fired at the distant smoke at the top of the ravine.
“Mush! Mush!” shouted Sandy to the dogs, cracking the long whip.
The dogs responded nobly, drawing the sled, carrying the wounded
officer, so fast that the boys could hardly keep up.
Again the hidden rifle cracked from the top of the ravine. This time one
dog gave a sharp yelp, leaped into the air and fell kicking his last in
a tangle of harness.
“He’s killed a dog!” cried Dick angrily. “Quick, get him out of the
harness so we can go on.”
The three remaining huskies were growling and snarling in a mess, and it
was some minutes before Sandy and Toma could straighten them out, cut
the dead dog from his harness and start on again. Meanwhile Dick emptied
his rifle at the brow of the ravine, taking a chance on hitting whoever
was skulking there with such deadly intent.
On their way again, the fast moving sled proved an elusive target for
the sharpshooter. He shot three times without effect. Swiftly they
neared a point where the ravine widened out into a low walled valley,
which was almost barren of vegetation. Once on this clear space they
would be safe, for there was no cover within rifle range for the man who
was dogging them.
Dick and Sandy were almost on the point of giving a shout of triumph
when the hidden rifle cracked again and another dog dropped in the
harness. The sled stopped, and once more the excited dogs got themselves
in a bad mix-up. At the mercy of the mysterious and deadly rifle, the
boys attacked the tangled harness and dogs.