Dick Kent on Special Duty 10

Dick Kent on Special Duty 10

Rand scowled. He saw the uselessness of further questioning. Though

Creel might be aware of Frischette’s treachery, it was evident that he

had no intention of attempting to obtain revenge upon him. To

incriminate his confederate, would be to incriminate himself. Both would

go to jail. Creel was wise enough to see that.

 

“Perhaps,” said Rand grimly, “you’ll have more to tell us when we bring

your friend, Frischette, back and obtain possession of that poke. You

could save yourself a lot of trouble by giving me a confession now.”

 

“I have nothing to confess,” Creel declared obdurately. “I do not

understand Frischette’s disappearance. But even if you do find him and

bring him back, you’ll learn nothing of value. Frischette is my friend

and I know that he is not Dewberry’s murderer, that he is innocent of

all wrong.”

 

The policeman rose to his feet, walked over and looked down at the old

recluse.

 

“I didn’t say that Frischette murdered Dewberry. I’m convinced that

MacGregor did that, just as much as I’m convinced that either you or

Frischette secured the money and poke that belonged to the murdered

man.”

 

Thus openly accused, Creel shrank back. His hands trembled. Yet, in a

moment, the weakness had passed. Again, unflinchingly, he met the gaze

of the man opposite.

 

“You are mistaken,” he declared in a clear, steady voice. “You will find

that you are mistaken. Events will bear me out.”

 

Rand suddenly drew back. Footsteps sounded outside. Voices, scarcely

distinguishable, floated to their ears. More scuffling of feet, and then

the door opened. Dick, Sandy and Toma darted to their feet, staring

wildly at the two newcomers:

 

Creel’s assailants of the night before!

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER IX

UNEXPECTED NEWS

 

 

For a full minute no one spoke.

 

It was a question who was the more astonished—the prospectors or the

three boys. Corporal Rand turned his head as the two men entered and

regarded them steadily. Creel had half-started from his chair, then

quickly sat down again, while a queer smile puckered the corners of his

mouth. If Dick had expected that Creel’s assailants of the previous

night would show fear at sight of the mounted policeman he was greatly

mistaken. To his surprise the big man nodded in a friendly way toward

the corporal, then advanced to confer with him.

 

“This sure is a piece of luck,” he exclaimed, extending a grimed and

hairy hand, which Rand totally ignored. “I hadn’t expected to find yuh

here. Most allers when yuh want a policeman, there ain’t one within

fifty miles.”

 

This statement, apparently, did not wholly please Rand, for he scowled

lightly, his sharp blue eyes full upon the other.

 

“What business have you with the police?” he demanded.

 

“It ain’t nothin’ that concerns us,” the little man cut in, in his

attempt to smile looking more repulsive and ferocious than ever. “It’s

like this, constable—”

 

“I’m a corporal,” interrupted Rand severely.

 

“A’ right, corporal. As I jes’ started out tuh say Burnnel an’ me—that’s

him there. He’s my pardner—is a hoofin’ it along on our way to Deer Lick

Springs, when sudden like, in a little clearin’ in the brush ’long side

the trail, we comes upon the body of a man.”

 

The prospector paused, rubbing his chin with the sleeve of his coat.

 

“He was dead, corporal,” he went on, “—dead as a dead crow he was, sir,

a lyin’ there all stiff an’ cold with a bullet through his head.

 

“Fer more ’n a minute Burnnel an’ me we couldn’t speak, we was that

surprised, corporal.”

 

“My pardner has told yuh right,” the big man hastened to confirm the

other’s story. “He’s back there now, jes’ like we found him.”

 

During the short announcement by the two men, Rand’s __EXPRESSION__ had

grown severe, as was always the case when he was thinking deeply or when

he had suddenly been made aware of some new and unexpected happening. A

deep pucker showed between his eyes. He motioned the partners to be

seated, produced a notebook and fountain pen.

 

“Now just a moment,” he began, glancing sharply across at the two tale

bearers. “Answer my questions as I put them to you. First of all, just

where did you find this body? How far from here?”

 

Burnnel scratched his head.

 

“Le’s see—I reckon, corporal, ’bout twenty miles from here, southeast on

the trail tuh Deer Lick Springs. It was on the right side o’ the trail,

wa’n’t it Emery?”

 

“It was,” Emery corroborated the other.

 

“On the right side o’ the trail,” continued Burnnel, “close to a willow

thicket.”

 

“In what position was the body?” Rand next inquired.

 

“The man was a lyin’ stretched out a little on his left side, one arm

throwed up like this:” The speaker imitated the position of the body by

putting his head forward on the table and extending his arm. “It was

like that, wa’n’t it, Emery?”

 

Again he turned toward the little man.

 

“It was,” came the ready rejoinder.

 

“And you say there was the mark of a bullet on the man’s forehead?”

 

“Yep,” Burnnel answered, “an’ a revolver in the hand what was

outstretched.”

 

“In other words,” Rand’s tone was incisive, “it looked like suicide.”

 

Both the men nodded emphatically.

 

“Yeah, that’s what it was. Suicide. An’ it happened not very long afore

we had come. Yuh could see that.”

 

The policeman tapped softly on the back of his hand with his fountain

pen. For several minutes he did not speak, then—

 

“You say you didn’t disturb the body?”

 

“No,” answered the little man, “we didn’t touch him.”

 

“Did you, by any chance, examine the contents of his pockets?”

 

The big man flushed under the direct scrutiny, while his partner, Emery,

suddenly became interested in the fringe of his mackinaw jacket.

 

“Well, yes,” drawled the big man. “Yuh see,” he attempted to defend

their actions, “Emery an’ me thought that mebbe we could find a letter

or suthin’ in his pockets what would tell who the fellow was.”

 

“Quite right,” approved Rand. “And what did you find?”

 

“Nothin’,” stated Emery.

 

“Nothin’,” echoed his partner.

 

“Absolutely nothing?” Rand’s eyes seemed to bore into them.

 

The partners exchanged furtive, doubtful glances. Then the face of Emery

darkened with a sudden resolve, and he thrust one hand in his pocket and

brought forth—to the boys’ unutterable amazement—a small moose-hide

pouch, scarcely more than two inches in width and three inches in

length—a small poke, identical to the one Dick had held in his own hands

less than twenty-four hours before. Seeing it, Dick had taken in his

breath sharply, while Sandy and Toma rose excitedly to their feet and

crowded forward.

 

“You found that?” asked Rand, wholly unmoved.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Let’s see it.”

 

Emery tossed it over and it fell in Rand’s lap. The corporal picked it

up and examined it closely. He untied the cord at the top and opened it.

He thrust two fingers inside.

 

“Empty,” he said.

 

“Yeah. Empty.”

 

Both Burnnel and Emery wagged their heads. Corporal Rand favored them

with a keen, searching look.

 

“You’re sure about that. You didn’t take out its contents?”

 

The partners denied the implication stoutly. Their denials and

protestations were so emphatic, that neither Corporal Rand nor the boys

could believe that they spoke anything but the truth.

 

“And this was all you found?” Rand continued his questioning.

 

“Nothin’ else,” grunted the big man. “There wasn’t even a pocket knife

or a comb or a watch, or anything like that. His pockets was absolutely

empty.”

 

The sight of the moose-hide pouch had produced a strange effect upon

Dick. His eyes kept returning again and again to the mysterious object

Rand still held carelessly in one hand. Improbable as it seemed, Dick

could not shake off the belief that the poke was the same one that had