FURTHER STRANGE PROCEEDINGS
The sun was dropping behind the wooded hills and only the golden rim of
it peeped above the tree-tops when they set out. Before long the
purple dusk came creeping in from the east where clouds were banking in
the sky.
Kendrick expected to be back by daylight or at latest by noon next day.
As they paddled up stream against a strong current his thoughts were
busy with the events of the past few weeks, particularly those of the
last four days. He marvelled at their kaleidoscopic nature. It seemed
ages ago that he had fought a fist battle with this stalky,
good-natured chap whose muscular shoulders were swinging in rhythm with
his own; yet it was only a month. Now here they were, miles from
civilization, heading into the night-obscured depths of the wilderness
on an adventure of unknown hazard.
And this girl with the wonderful eyes and wonderful hair, wonderful wit
and vivacity, wonderful--diamond ring on her engagement finger!
"Steady, 'bo, steady!" warned McCorquodale. "Take y'r time. We got a
lot o' this to do."
Their eyes were growing accustomed to the semi-darkness of the wooded
aisle through which the deep Wolverine River raced with a symphony of
water sounds. The stream was easy of navigation all the way to the
rapids below Kinogama Falls and it was a case of paddling without
pause. Kendrick and Cristy had gone as far as the deserted lumber camp
on their first day's jaunt in Svenson's canoe; they had been all over
the place, little dreaming that so shortly it was to be occupied by
these doubtful characters, or that he was to return to the spot on an
errand of such consequence.
Not far from the portage at the foot of the rapids there was an old
logging road, if they could but find it in the dark. The last mile
could be covered more quickly by this route than by following the tump
trail past the rapids, and it would lead them straight to the camp.
The moon would not be up until after midnight and the tote road
promised a more noiseless approach for the preliminary reconnoitring
that was necessary to carry out the detective's plan.
It was McCorquodale's suggestion that they creep down on the camp and,
if possible, get Stiles away first. After that they would go after
Weiler. If they waited until the four men were asleep or were lucky
enough to catch their man far enough away from the others to permit of
capturing him without too much commotion, it ought to be feasible to
carry him into the woods. There, as the detective put it, they could
"frighten the gizzard out of him" and learn the meaning of his trip to
Sparrow Lake and what Rives was up to; also they would make him tell
what he knew about Nickleby's dealings with Red McIvor. At any rate
they ought to be able to learn enough to decide on a definite course of
action in rounding up the bootleggers. To McCorquodale it was a
gratifying prospect. Lead him to it!
The night was exceptionally still, without a breath of air stirring the
forest. In the deep hush that brooded over the wilderness small sounds
held sway that ordinarily would have been submerged in the paean of the
wind in the firs--the whisper of the Wolverine where it swept, deep and
strong; its strident chatter to a fling of gravel at occasional bends
in the stream; its sucking snarl over a sunken boulder. The movements
and whistlings of owls and bats in the dark, moss-clung corridors on
either side were quite distinct; so were the whines and snorts of
weasels and other small animals, noisy in the underbrush. And
undertoning all other sounds, unceasing, like a hidden menace, rose the
drone of insect life--the _hm-m-m-m-m-m-m_ of the muskeg swarms.
After perhaps an hour and a half of hard paddling they reached the
little lake which marked the junction of Indian Creek with the
Wolverine. Beyond this point the stream narrowed and navigation became
more difficult. As the shores began to widen out at the forks
Kendrick, whose eyes long since had become focused to the twilight of
the stars, saw that McCorquodale had thrown up his hand and was
motioning for him to cease paddling. At the same time his ear caught a
new sound--a chant of voices rapidly growing louder.
Cautioning silence, McCorquodale swung the nose of the canoe abruptly
towards the right bank and they slid noiselessly into the deeper
shadows, where the detective caught hold of an overhanging branch and
held the canoe stationary. Presently Phil was able to recognize the
familiar words of an old _voyageur_ chantey, a paddling song of the
French-Canadian rivermen:
"_En roulant, ma boulé, roulant;
En roulant, ma bo-u-lé._"
With paddles swinging in unison to the rhythm came four men in a large
Indian canoe, speeding with the current down the centre of Indian
creek. Peering from their concealment, Kendrick and the detective
could discern the blacker outlines of the craft and its occupants as it
sped forth from the gloom of the forest into the starlit area of the
tiny lake. The great canoe was low in the water; for heaped in the
centre of it was what was evidently a pile of freight, with two men in
front and two behind. The steersman swung the prow around and on they
went up the Wolverine without a pause in the sweep of the paddles or
the swing of the song:
"_Rouli roulant, ma boulé, roulant,
En roulant, ma boulé, roulant,
En roulant, ma bo-u-lé._"
"French half-breeds," guessed Kendrick when the singing modulated in
distance, "and they're heading for the lumber camp. What do you make
out of that?"
"Looks like this 'Red' party them guys was talkin' about last night had
hit camp. I'll lay even money them fellas has been down to the station
fer another shipment o' booze," asserted McCorquodale. "We gotta do
some careful gumshoein', old man. Them birds is feelin' their oats."
From the junction of the two streams it was only a matter of four or
five miles to the foot of the rapids, and after a while they could hear
the distant roar of the water. Paddling cautiously now and keeping
well within the deeper shadows close to shore, they finally reached the
spot where the tote road debouched on the river and without mishap
disembarked and hauled the canoe out of sight into the bushes. In
following the lumber trail there was the danger that they might meet
some of the men from the camp; but after a whispered colloquy they
decided it was a risk which had to be run. Since the old tote road had
received its last "swamping out" it had accumulated enough underbrush,
saplings and fallen limbs in spots to afford emergency concealment of a
sort.
They had gone but a short distance into the woods, however, before both
of them stopped abruptly and listened to a strange sound which carried
to them eerily in the quiet night with all the mystery of the
unaccountable. It was like the beat of a distant drum, a hollow tattoo
that came and went at regular intervals:
_Rumma-tumma-tum-tum . . . tum-tum!_
_RUM-tummaty-tum-tum . . . tum-tum!_
"What is that?" said Kendrick in a low voice.
"It's a new one on me," muttered McCorquodale in an awed tone.
"Sounds like an Indian drum. Listen. There it is again."
As they advanced the intermittent drumming increased in volume.
Presently above the trees they could see a glow in the sky. The
reflection of what seemed to be a huge bonfire grew so strong that they
left the logging trail for fear of discovery and stole forward
cautiously through the woods.
_Rappa-tappa-tap-tap . . . tap-tap!_
_RAP-tappety-tap-tap . . . tap-tap!_
A medley of many voices rose in a weird chant which struck across the
night like the wall of some stricken victim of the _loup garou_. It
fell away abruptly and the drumming noise renewed.
Turning sharply to the right to get well away from the tote road,
Kendrick and his companion crept at last to the edge of the clearing
and took refuge in a hollow where a fallen tree hid them completely.
From behind this shelter they peered forth upon a strange scene.
In front of the bunk house, cook shanty, stables, sealer's shanty and
other low log buildings that once had been a lumber-camp, was an open
space, about two acres in extent, lighted up like day by a bonfire at
each end. In the centre, alongside a stump, his figure boldly revealed
by the firelight, stood a man with dishevelled hair and a stubby growth
of black whisker. He wore the corduroys and Strathcona boots of a
shantyman; about his waist was a bright red scarf. Inverted upon the
stump was an empty wooden box and in each hand he flourished an empty
whisky bottle.
Seated upon the ground in a semi-circle were nine of the roughest
looking men Phil ever had seen, each with a piece of broken pine box
across his knees and a whisky bottle or a short stick in either hand.
Some of them were undoubtedly half-breeds, swarthy of skin and very
unkempt; some bore the scars of knife wounds on their faces--riff-raff
of the cities mixed with the off-scourings of railway and lumber camps.
The whole motley crew were in various stages of drunkenness and it was
evident that the whisky-traders' song they were singing appealed to
them as about the funniest and most musical thing they ever had
enjoyed, for each man tried to outdo his neighbor in the vim which he
put into his efforts. The leader by the stump had cursed them into
realization of the grave importance of pounding the accompaniment in
proper unison, and after much practice had got them into some semblance
of accord.
"Now fer the last time, fellers!" he shouted, and away they went:
"Rum fer Injuns when they come!
Rum fer the beggars when they go!
That's the trick, my grizzled lads,
To catch the cash and snare the foe!"
_Racka-tacka-tack-tack . . . tack-tack!_
_RACK-tackety-tack-tack . . . tack-tack!_
"This aint goin' to be no cinch, 'bo," came McCorquodale's serious
whisper in Kendrick's ear. "This mob's come in durin' the afternoon.
We better get back an' pick up a gang o' our own--some o' them guineas
from the railroad. Then we can clean this bunch up in proper shape."
"Wait," muttered Kendrick. "What are they doing now?"
One of the men was digging a hole while two others picked up a small
log which they presently up-ended in the hole, tramping the earth about
it firmly. The individual who acted as master of ceremonies gazed
expectantly towards the bunk house where a heavily built man with sandy
hair and whiskers had put in an appearance and was waving his hand.
"There's Red and Weiler!"
"Keep quiet!" commanded Phil.
Corduroys had mounted the stump and was addressing the boisterous
crowd. Apparently he was looked upon as something of a wag, for he was
interrupted frequently by laughter. His voice carried distinctly.
"Gents an' fel--ler citizens," he began, striking an oratorical
attitude, "we now comes to the next num--ber on the program, the which
is costin' a lot o' cold coin. Fif--ty thous--and dollars, gents, is
what it costs to have the Perfessor put on his little stunt. Fif--ty
thous--and dollars! We calls it 'The Double-Cross an' the Get-Away.'
The Perfessor has double-crossed our friend an' worthy leader, Red
McIvor, an' refuses to say where he has buried the hidden treasure.
Instead of fifty thousand good bucks, he hands over a wad o' phoney
bills. Instead o' fifty thousand genooine plunks we will now perceed
to have fifty thousand dollars' worth o' fun--the Perfessor's treat,
gents. He will now demonstrate his get-away. He is an insect an' to
the insects he goes from here. He has stung us an' it is now his turn
to git stung. I have grea--at pleasure in callin' upon the Perfessor."
As he finished speaking there issued from the log shanty a struggling
group. Dragging between them in no gentle fashion a kicking, screaming
prisoner, came Red McIvor and the German. They kicked him forward into
the arms of the waiting men at the post, to which he was bound quickly
from feet to waist. The firelight played upon the prisoner's distorted
features as he begged them to let him go. His pleadings were greeted
with shouts of laughter.
Kendrick clutched McCorquodale's arm in sudden excitement.
"By the eternal, it's Hughey Podmore!" he gasped in disbelief.
"They've caught Podmore with that bogus money on him! That's what he
means."
"There's Stiles--the one they're bringin' out now," whispered
McCorquodale, pointing to a second prisoner who was being hustled out
to witness the performance. His hands were tied behind his back and
the man who had him in charge shoved him roughly to a sitting posture
and pointed towards the post.
Kendrick's face was tense at he watched. His eyes smouldered with cold
fire.