DICK MAKES A SUGGESTION
A very serious but elated young man, no other than Dick himself, strode
into the room occupied by Corporal Richardson and proceeded to put on
the scarlet and gold uniform of the Royal North West Mounted Police. At
that particular moment his mind was in a whirl of conflicting emotions.
He still possessed a somewhat hazy idea of what was expected of him,
although he knew that when the time came Richardson would give him
complete and painstaking instructions.
That he was embarking upon an important and mysterious errand, there
could be no doubt, and it thrilled him to know that the mounted
policeman had sufficient confidence in his ability to give him this
chance to be of real service. As he pulled on the blue breeches with the
wide yellow stripe and later the scarlet tunic, resplendent with braid
and shining brass buttons, he made a solemn resolution to be worthy of
the trust imposed in him.
“Sandy will laugh when he sees me,” he told Corporal Richardson, “and I
must say that I feel awkward and out of place.”
“It fits you remarkably well,” smiled the corporal, “considering how
much heavier I am. I think I’m inclined to be proud of your appearance,
and perhaps just a little bit jealous.”
“When do you want me to start?” Dick asked. “In about an hour. But
first, there are a number of things I want to discuss with you. So, if
you’ll just sit down in that chair over there and listen attentively,
I’m sure there’ll be no question about the ultimate success of our
plan.”
“As I explained to you before,” continued Corporal Richardson, “the
French-Canadian messenger, who came here last night with the forged
letter, is an agent or emissary of a band of crooks. Who these crooks
are, I’m not altogether sure. My belief is that they’re the fur thieves
Malemute Slade and I have been trailing for the last three weeks.”
Sitting very still and rigid in his chair, Dick followed closely every
word spoken. Richardson’s face had become serious, even stern in its
expression.
“I’ve nothing very tangible to go on, of course, but during the past few
hours I’ve given a good deal of thought to this case. I’m convinced of
one thing. I’m positive that the fur thieves and Henderson’s gang are
one and the same. I believe it was Henderson who sent the messenger last
night. Henderson is the author of this strategy or hoax, just as surely
as he is the person directly behind the effort to secure possession of
your lost gold mine.”
“You really think so?” Dick interrupted.
“Yes.”
For a short interval the mounted policeman sat without speaking. The
room had become almost intolerably silent. Turning towards the window,
Dick looked out across a vast snow field, dotted here and there with the
dark green of spruce and jackpine.
“And now,” suddenly resumed Richardson, “we’ve come to the very serious
part of this whole business. I must confess to you that I’m worried
and—you may be surprised at this admission—afraid!”
“Afraid!” Dick gasped. “Why, corporal, I can’t believe that anything
would ever frighten you.”
“Something has,” confessed Richardson, “and right now I’m frightened so
badly that I’m almost inclined to tell you to take off that uniform and
go and hunt up your friend, Sandy, for a game of cards.”
Dick started to laugh, but a second look at the brooding, troubled eyes
of the man opposite, choked his untimely mirth.
“This is a serious moment for you, my boy, and I’ll tell you why. The
message received last night was sent to me for a purpose. For reasons,
as yet not quite clear to us, my presence at Fort Good Faith constitutes
a hindrance to certain plans of Henderson. Henderson wants me to clear
out—to go away. Why?”
“I’m sure I can’t answer that question,” said Dick.
“Neither can I; but I’ve a pretty fair hunch. Fort Good Faith is on the
only direct, open, well-travelled trail, leading south to civilization.
Henderson, let us say, has a valuable shipment of stolen fur. He wants
to dispose of it. He’s in a hurry to get it south before the spring
thaw. Every day that he is forced to wait, is time and money lost. He’s
anxious to start right away, sending out his fur by dog teams, but he
can’t do that because I’m here at Fort Good Faith and will be sure to
seize his shipment.”
“Whew!” whistled Dick. “How did you ever contrive to figure that all
out? It sounds very plausible.”
“Nevertheless,” said Corporal Richardson, “it’s entirely supposition and
may be absolutely wrong. I’m hoping that it’s right, because if it
isn’t, the only other motive that I can think of for inducing me to go
to Run River is a very sinister one.”
“What is it?” asked Dick.
“A trap for me to fall into. Somewhere between here and Run River an
ambush—a slinking half-breed or Indian lying in wait to pop me off. A
score of mounted policemen have gone that way. It’s an old trick. That’s
why I’m shivering clear down to the bottom of my feet for fear that I
may be sending you out to your death. Before God, I wish I had detected
that forgery before I ordered Slade to set out in pursuit of the
scar-faced Indian.”
Dick caught at the side of his chair, his cheeks deathly pale. The room
seemed to be spinning around in a sort of dark haze, through which he
could see the distorted face of Corporal Richardson opposite. When he
had recovered somewhat, he observed that the mounted policeman had
sprung to his feet and was pacing abstractedly back and forth.
“I can’t—I can’t do it, Dick,” he was muttering. “It isn’t fair.
No—there must be some other way.”
“But I want to go,” Dick insisted. “I’ll take good care of myself and
I’m sure nothing will happen. Anyhow, I’m convinced that your first
guess was right, that Henderson and the fur thieves are planning to send
that shipment.”
“And, on the other hand,” pointed out Corporal Richardson, “both guesses
may be right. It would be a feather in Henderson’s cap if he could
dispose of the furs and have me put out of the way at one and the same
time.”
For several moments the two stood, facing each other, both deep in
thought. Suddenly, Dick’s face lighted and he clapped his hands together
gleefully.
“Corporal Richardson, I think possibly I may have hit upon a rather
sensible plan,” he cried out enthusiastically. “Why not follow the trail
to Run River only a short distance, then strike off in an entirely
different direction, make a wide detour, and come back here to the post.
Henderson will naturally suppose that I have gone on to Run River. If
your first supposition is correct, the dog teams with the fur will start
to move down this way at once. If your second guess is right, I won’t
run into an ambush because I won’t be travelling where they expect me to
go.”
“Good!” exclaimed Richardson. “Dick, you’re a young man after my own
heart. Why in the Dickens didn’t I think of that myself.”
“You’ve done well enough for one day as it is,” Dick rejoined. “All I
hope is that you won’t have any trouble capturing the men with the fur
shipments. Aren’t they apt to put up a fight?”
“I expect that,” answered the corporal, “but I’ll have Sandy, young Toma
and Mr. MacClaren to give me a hand if necessary.”
Breakfast, a few minutes more of preparation, and Dick and the mounted
policeman, the latter now clothed in ordinary civilian garb, slipped
quietly out of the room and hurried down a long hall in the direction of
the side entrance. As they went, the corporal was speaking in hushed
undertones:
“It’s just as well that Sandy doesn’t see you before you go. We haven’t
time now for explanations or further delays. Good luck, and God be with
you.”
They paused for a single hand-clasp before Dick turned to close the door
after him, which action Corporal Richardson prevented by sticking out
his foot.
“Straight ahead until you cross the river, then take the first trail to
your right,” he called out. “Be careful!”
“Good-bye,” said Dick without turning his head.
His eyes were moist and a sticky lump reposed in his throat. Chin out,
arms swinging at his side, who, indeed, might detect anything amiss
here? The trail was ahead, a glimmering stretch of snow, dazzling in the
early morning light. Behind him were friends, comfort and a good fire.
Dick plodded on.