IN THE HOUSE OF THE MESSENGER
It was a trying ordeal. Never before, in all Dick’s experience, had time
seemed to pass so slowly as it did upon that fateful afternoon. The
messenger had thrown aside all further attempts at conversation. Head
bent forward, fingers locked, he feigned a drowsiness, which did not
fool Dick in the least. Phillip, on the other hand, had grown restless,
continually fidgeting about, or pacing up and down the room like a caged
lion.
Occasionally Dick would catch a glimpse of a furtive, frightened glance
cast in his direction. The younger La Lond, less adept in the school of
deception, could not conceal his real feelings.
“Have you many traps out this winter?” Dick inquired, looking across at
Phillip.
The other mumbled something in reply and went on with his pacing.
Evidently, he had no desire to commit himself. In the cabin were no
evidences of traps or trapping, and Dick would have been willing to
swear on oath that the brothers La Lond not only did not possess such a
thing as a trap-line, but had other and more profitable ways of making a
living.
To all appearances, the two brothers lived a life of ease and
indulgence. The room was nicely furnished, the cupboards were stocked
with food, two bottles of Hudson’s Bay Company’s rum peeped from behind
an inadequate curtain. But the thing which struck Dick’s gaze most
forcibly of all, was a queer-looking object which stood near the
fireplace. It was a sort of rack, cleverly constructed out of wood, upon
which fairly bristled a miniature arsenal of guns, rifles, knives and
belts—the last bulging with cartridges.
Time and time again, Dick’s eyes returned to a fascinated scrutiny of
that rack. There were weapons enough here to supply a small army. Deadly
looking revolvers and automatics, shot-guns, 45 and 30-30 caliber
repeating rifles, with here and there a long-bladed knife to add
interest to the general effect.
On the floor, close to the rack, were several packing cases, as yet
unopened, which probably contained a more complete supply of ammunition.
The brothers La Lond might boast of possessing a different weapon for
almost every day of the month. So complete were their requirements in
this respect, that Dick very quickly jumped to the conclusion that no
two men could possibly find use for them all. It was much more
reasonable to believe that others, beside the two brothers, had an
interest in them, and that this cabin was used as a meeting place—if not
for Henderson’s gang itself—for another band equally as bad.
“I’m about as safe here,” Dick grimaced to himself, “as I would be
sitting on a case of nitroglycerine. The best thing for me is to get
away from here as quickly as possible.”
From under his lowered brows, Baptiste La Lond, still feigning sleep,
was secretly watching him. Dick felt the scrutiny through some intuitive
sense, and became more and more uncomfortable. Another worry was caused
by the younger La Lond, who, during his restless pacing to and fro,
often passed behind Dick’s chair. It would be very easy, Dick thought,
for Phillip to spring forward and pinion his arms behind him. In fact,
chancing to look across at the former messenger he intercepted a signal,
a sly wink which might, had Dick been less on guard, easily have passed
unnoticed. Dick turned almost completely around, just as Phillip came
stealthily forward, preparing for a spring.
“When are we going to visit the trap-line, Phillip?” Dick inquired
mockingly.
Phillip stopped suddenly, his face red with anger and embarrassment. He
turned and beat a hasty retreat, glowering from his corner as Dick rose
and moved back his chair.
Then, as never before, Dick realized fully the seriousness of his
position. Not for one moment could he relax his vigilance. His life
itself depended upon extreme caution and, when it became necessary,
swift action. But even by exercising the utmost care, sooner or later a
little slip on his part might give the treacherous brothers the
advantage they craved.
Dick rose to his feet, finally, and addressed the still drowsing
messenger.
“La Lond,” he stated in a clear, steady voice, “I’ve decided to go at
once. I’m afraid it will be impossible for me to neglect my duty. It is
too late in the afternoon to go back to Fort Good Faith, but I think
I’ll continue on my patrol, returning to the post late tomorrow
afternoon or the morning following.”
Baptiste, apparently, was sleeping with one ear open. Almost immediately
he sprang to an upright position.
“No! No, monsieur!” he protested, waving his arms wildly about. “You
must not go, I beg of you. Stop here for a time longer, monsieur.”
But Dick shook his head.
“I must go,” he declared firmly.
“But think, monsieur, eet will be veree late by ze time you get back to
Fort Good Faith.”
“I’ll not go there tonight, as I just explained to you, and probably not
tomorrow. I must finish my patrol.”
La Lond’s eyes blinked.
“Where do you go then?” he asked, evidently much relieved.
“That is a matter I have not yet decided,” answered Dick. “I’m not very
well acquainted with the country hereabouts, and I’ve been wondering if
you’ll be kind enough to direct me to the nearest dwelling.”
“Yes, certainly, monsieur, I will be veree glad.”
His sudden great eagerness to assist him did not escape Dick’s
attention. He knew very well what Baptiste would say, and he had no
intention of following any suggestions of the bandit as to where he
should go. It was easy to guess where the wily messenger would send
him—to Henderson’s camp probably, or, if not there, to the house of some
other crook in the outlaw’s employ.
“I have a friend who live seex miles from here,” said La Lond. “Ze trail
ees veree easy to his house. You must go zere.”
“All right, I’ll do as you say,” agreed Dick, “but first you must be
very careful in directing me so that I do not get lost.”
“Et ees easy to tell, monsieur. You will not get lost,” the messenger
shrugged his shoulders expressively. “Two mile down ze leetle creek to
ze first turn to ze right, zen four mile straight ahead to my friend’s
house. Not possibly can you miss et, monsieur.”
“So that is where Henderson is camped,” exulted Dick to himself. “The
information may be valuable to Corporal Richardson.”
“Thank you very much,” he said to Baptiste.
“Et ees nothing,” La Lond blinked wickedly.
Phillip had suddenly come to life again and was treading soft-footed
across the floor. From the corner of one eye, Dick watched him. Then
Baptiste shuffled farther to one side, probably with the intention of
preventing Dick from observing his brother’s sly movements. Not to be
outdone in this clumsy fashion, Dick took a step in the opposite
direction, just in time to see Phillip approach the fireplace and the
rack of guns close by.
“You will find ze place without difficulty,” declared Baptiste in a loud
voice, attempting to attract attention to himself. “I tell you,
monsieur, my friend he ees veree good host. So joll-ee, so kind,
monsieur. You will not regret.”
Dick whipped his revolver from his holster and sprang back just in time.
“Put down that gun,” he shouted to Phillip. “Put it down, I say!”
Phillip’s weapon clattered to the floor, and his hands clawed at the
empty air above his head. At that particular moment he was a very much
frightened and surprised young man. His cheeks were white as the drifts
of snow outside. Baptiste turned, his face crimson with fury.
“Fool! Fool!” he screamed, rushing forward and cuffing the shivering
culprit about the face and head. Then he turned apologetically to Dick.
“Pardon, monsieur,” he whimpered. “Mon Dieu! I am stricken! Ze boy ees
mad. Perhaps you notice et before, monsieur. I intend to tell you ze
truth when first you came, but there ees always ze shame an’ ze pride.
You understand me, monsieur.”
“Yes, I understand you,” Dick replied coldly. “Believe me, I’ll know
exactly what to expect from you in future. One false move from either
one of you, and I won’t hesitate about using this nice little plaything
here in my hands. Stand aside!”
Baptiste obeyed quickly as Dick backed slowly to the door, opened it and
went quickly out. His pulses were pounding and his hand trembled as he
returned the gun to its holster.
“Close shave!” he muttered to himself. “I guess I was pretty lucky that
time.”
At a dog trot, he hurried along the foot-path, leading to the creek.