Dick Kent on Special Duty 12

Dick Kent on Special Duty 12

Rand did a peculiar thing. He stared at Dick for a moment in absolute

silence, then turned without a word and walked back into the stable and

led out his horse. Not until he had sprung into the saddle did he trust

himself to speak.

 

“I’m going back. I ought to be jerked back there by the nape of my neck.

What have I been dreaming of? Dick, I’ll take off my hat to you. It’s a

fortunate thing that one of us, at least, has not been wholly deprived

of the faculty of sober reasoning.” He smiled grimly. “If this ever got

to Cameron’s ears, I’d be fined six months’ pay.”

 

“But I may be wrong,” Dick flushed at the other’s compliment.

 

“Right or wrong, we can’t afford to take any chances. In any event, I’m

going back before Emery and Burnnel slip out of my hands.”

 

And, in an incredibly short space of time, he was gone. A turn in the

woodland path shut him from view. But, even long after he had gone, Dick

and Sandy stood looking down the trail, across which laggard twilight

had flung its darkling banners. Sandy broke into an amused chuckle.

 

“That’s one on the corporal. He won’t be in a very pleasant frame of

mind for the remainder of the evening, will he?”

 

Dick scowled.

 

“You must remember, Sandy, that we all make mistakes. Rand’s oversight

is excusable. He’s been working on this case day and night for the last

six months. He’s tired out, and sometimes so sleepy that he can hardly

stick in the saddle.”

 

“Yes, that’s right.” The laugh died on the young Scotchman’s lips. “He’s

had a lot to contend with. And perhaps he hasn’t made a mistake after

all. Frischette may have committed suicide. The note might not have been

forced from him. Who can say?”

 

“Yes,” said Dick, “who can say? Why don’t you put on your thinking cap,

Sandy, and find a motive for Frischette’s act?”

 

“That’s a bargain. We’ll find the motive. We’ll go over the details

carefully in our minds and try to come to some conclusion.”

 

Sandy grinned. “And tomorrow morning we’ll compare notes.”

 

They were interrupted at this juncture by the appearance of Toma. They

could see at once, from that young man’s __EXPRESSION__, that something

unusual had happened. His face, sober at all times, was unusually gray

and depressed. As he came forward quickly, he kept glancing from one to

the other interrogatively.

 

“Have you seen ’em fellow Creel?” he asked anxiously.

 

“Why, no, Toma,” Dick answered. “What makes you ask that?”

 

“Little while ago,” the young Indian enlightened them, “I think mebbe I

change bandage on that fellow’s head. I look everywhere. I no find.”

 

“Come to think about it,” Sandy made the assertion, “I haven’t seen him

myself since lunch.”

 

Toma’s face darkened.

 

“I ’fraid mebbe he run away.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI

FINDING A MOTIVE

 

 

The disappearance of Creel caused the boys a lot of worry. He had left

the road-house without a word to anyone and had slipped away without

being seen. It occurred to Dick to question Fontaine and Le Sueur, in

the hope that they might be able to throw some light on the matter. But

neither of the two young half-breeds could supply any information.

 

“He must have gone back to his cabin,” guessed Sandy. “He’s a queer old

duffer in some ways, and probably prefers to be alone. No doubt, we’ll

find him there.”

 

But such did not prove to be the case. Creel’s cabin was empty. When the

boys entered, the place was strangely silent and eerie. It was so dark

within, that at first they could see nothing. It was damp and musty, and

their footsteps echoed cheerlessly through the gloom.

 

“Strike a match,” said Dick, “and we’ll see if you can find a candle.

Although he isn’t here, I’d like to look around a bit.”

 

The boys fumbled in their pockets. No one had a match, apparently, but

finally Toma found a broken stub of one and a tiny glare flickered

through the room. In its light, Sandy discovered a short piece of candle

on a soap box near the fireplace and carried it triumphantly over to

Toma before the match sputtered out.

 

It was well that the boys had decided to look around before pursuing

their investigations further. The room was in complete disorder.

Confusion was everywhere. Toma, who had been the last person to leave it

on the previous day, was astonished at the change which had been brought

about there.

 

“What you think about that?” he exclaimed excitedly. “Yesterday, when I

leave this place, everything all right. Somebody him come an’ make

trouble here.”

 

“Creel must have come back,” Sandy decided. “I wonder where he went to

from here?”

 

“That seems hardly likely,” Dick spoke up. “Everything here belongs to

Creel and he wouldn’t be apt to throw things about like this. It isn’t

at all reasonable, Sandy. Even if he was planning to leave this place

for good, he wouldn’t do this thing, unless he had suddenly gone mad.”

 

“Yes, that’s right. Just look at things! It’s more reasonable to think

that someone came here with a grudge against Creel and proceeded to do

as much damage as possible.”

 

The boys spent a few more minutes in looking about. A tall cupboard, at

one end of the room, had been completely emptied. Its contents—parcels,

packages, cans of fruit and an occasional dish or granite plate—had been

swept to the floor. Chairs had been overturned. A small trap-door,

entering upon a tiny cellar below the rough, board floor, gaped open.

Looking at it, Dick came to a sudden conclusion.

 

“Do you know what I think?” he began hurriedly. “This isn’t a case of

wanton revenge. There’s a reason behind it all. In Creel’s absence some

person has been ransacking this place in the hope of finding something

of value.”

 

“You guess right that time,” Toma nodded. “That’s what it look like.

Somebody, not Creel, come here. Mebbe he look for box, where Creel keep

all his money.”

 

Sandy turned upon the young Indian.

 

“By the way, Toma, what became of that box, the night we left here and

you took Creel over to the road-house?”

 

“He take box with him.”

 

“Whoever came here,” reasoned Dick, “must have thought that Creel’s

treasure had been left behind.”

 

Sandy scratched his head.

 

“Look here, Dick, do you think it _was_ the box? Was it the money he

came after? Why not that mysterious poke?”

 

Dick slapped his chum on the back.

 

“You have it,” he exulted. “We’re getting closer now.”

 

“And the plot thickens,” grinned Sandy.

 

“A few more tangled threads,” Dick answered, smiling. “Perhaps we’d

better give up. This case is too deep and complicated for us. We haven’t

the ability to solve it.”

 

“I quite agree with you. Not one of us is a Sherlock Holmes or an expert

from Scotland Yard. We’re out of our natural element.”

 

“Just the same,” Dick’s enthusiasm was contagious, “we’ll have lots of

fun in trying to figure it all out.”

 

“What we do about Creel?” Toma wanted to know.

 

In their interest in the new development, Dick and Sandy had completely

forgotten about the old recluse until thus reminded. Where had he gone,

and what was his purpose in going?

 

“No use in trying to do anything more about him tonight,” Dick came to

the obvious conclusion. “It would be foolish to start out now to look

for him. We don’t know which way he has gone.”

 

“Perfectly true,” said Sandy. “He has given us the slip and, even in

broad daylight, we’ll probably have plenty of trouble in picking up his

trail. We’ve been careless. I dread to think of what Corporal Rand will

say, when he hears the news.”

 

Dick righted an overturned bench and sat down upon it.

 

“Let’s rest here for a moment and then go back to the road-house.”

 

Toma, who had been carrying the candle about in his hand, moved forward

and placed it upon the table. Sandy drew up a chair. A short silence

ensued. Outside they could hear the plaintive whispering of the pines,

the rustling of leaves near the open window.

 

Suddenly, Sandy sat up very straight on the bench, then leaned forward

eagerly, his merry blue eyes now serious.

 

“I’ve just had a real inspiration,” he announced. “Incidentally, I’ve

fulfilled my part of our agreement. I’ve found the motive for Frischette’s suicide.”