Dick Kent on Special Duty 20

Dick Kent on Special Duty 20

CHAPTER XVIII

A RED BLOB

 

 

Burnnel, Emery and Rat MacGregor’s wife set a hard pace. They led Dick

and Sandy far afield and it was seldom that the boys ever came in sight

of them. It was plain that the prospectors intended to force their

horses to the limit in an attempt to overtake the fleeing recluse.

 

The trail led south. It was a well known trail, much travelled,

especially in the Spring and Fall of the year. Then, to the boys’

amazement, the outlaws suddenly left it, striking off southeastward

through a country infrequently visited. For a long time Dick and Sandy

could find no reasonable explanation for this, but, finally, the younger

of the two boys, brooding over the strange conduct of the outlaws,

offered an opinion.

 

They were crossing a broad meadow at the time, exerting their ponies to

renewed effort. Through the thick, waving grass ahead, almost waist

high, was the faint track made by Burnnel’s party.

 

“I know now,” Sandy’s voice was excited. “I’ve solved the mystery.”

 

“What mystery?”

 

“The reason why they went this way. It’s a shortcut, Dick. The main

trail, if you happen to remember, turns straight east about fifty miles

south of here. Burnnel and Emery figure that they can head Creel off by

coming this way.”

 

“You must be right, Sandy. But I wonder if they’ve stopped to consider

that they have a river to cross. It’s a wide one, too, nearly a quarter

of a mile, I should say. Do you suppose they can swim the horses?”

 

“Dangerous, but they must intend to try it. It will be interesting to

watch them. If they can make it, so can we.”

 

“We ought to arrive at the river some time this afternoon. Hope they

don’t see us coming. We must be fairly close to them right now.”

 

Crossing the meadow, they entered a grove of poplar, through which they

made their way more slowly, emerging, at length, to another meadow,

somewhat smaller than the one they had previously crossed. Here they

paused. On the far side, several miles away, they saw three tiny specks,

which they knew was Burnnel’s party. Not wishing to approach any closer,

they rode back to the poplars again, dismounted, staked out their horses

and prepared their midday meal. At the end of an hour, when they resumed

their journey, they knew there would be little danger of drawing within

sight of the outlaws.

 

So they pushed on steadily. They left the meadow behind and entered a

woodland, which grew thicker as they advanced. The dim trail ahead

became more difficult to follow. Finally, they lost it altogether, but a

few hours later the trees thinned out and straight ahead of them, a

shining, glistening ribbon in the sun, they saw the broad expanse of the

Hay River.

 

They staked out their ponies, and set out on foot to reconnoitre. For

several hundred yards they followed the course of the valley, but could

find no trace of the outlaws. However, continuing eastward, they were

rewarded by the sight of a thin column of smoke, drifting lazily up

through the trees. The outlaws had made camp a few hundred yards below

on the bank of the river. Just now they were engaged, so the boys

surmised, in the preparation of a meal.

 

Dick and Sandy crept closer. Nerves taut, they wormed their way ahead.

Then Dick touched Sandy’s arm.

 

“Look!” he whispered.

 

Burnnel and Emery were squatting in front of the fire, indolently

smoking their pipes, while MacGregor’s wife busied herself in gathering

wood, laying out the camp utensils and in other ways making herself

generally useful.

 

“Lazy brutes!” sneered Sandy. “They don’t seem to be in much of a hurry.

Do you suppose they’ll attempt to ford the river this afternoon?”

 

“Yes, I think so. In spite of their indolence now, they’re anxious to

get on.”

 

“No use staying here,” Sandy spoke again. “We’d better get back to our

ponies. We’ll bring them over to the top of the ridge, where I think

they’ll be safe enough. There’s little danger that those lazy beggars

will climb the slope again.”

 

In returning to their horses, they chose to circle around the outlaws’

camp, went down to the bank of the river and moved slowly along,

conscious of a cool breeze and the close proximity of the water. They

were hot and tired and the water looked inviting. Close to the bank it

was clear as liquid glass. Here and there were the shadows of whitefish

and Northern trout. At the bottom of the river was white sand. Every few

yards or so, projecting up through this white sand, were smooth,

brownish-colored rocks that were surrounded by innumerable tiny eddies.

 

In the interest of the moment, the boys almost forgot the grim business

in which they were engaged. Both had an overwhelming desire to linger

here. It was a peaceful, quiet spot. Sandy turned and smiled upon his

chum.

 

“That water,” he remarked, “looks cool.”

 

He wiped his perspiring brow.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” laughed Dick. “You’d like to strip and

plunge in, wouldn’t you? I wish we could.”

 

Sandy stopped and commenced fanning himself with his hat.

 

“Why not? It will do us both good. We’d be safe enough, I’m sure. They

can’t possibly see us from here.”

 

Dick was tempted. He looked down at the water. A trout flashed up from

the cold, clear stream. Only for a moment did he hesitate.

 

“All right. Come on.”

 

They threw off their clothes, racing with each other to see who would be

the first to dive in. Sandy won. Both boys commenced swimming about,

diving, floating, frolicking in the water to their hearts’ content. So

absorbed were they in the refreshing sport, that they became oblivious

of the passing of time. Had not Sandy chanced to glance across the

river, it is probable that they might have forgotten about their

responsibilities for at least another hour or two.

 

But in that glance, the young Scotchman had seen something that quickly

brought him back to the world of realities. He sprang ashore, calling to

Dick excitedly.

 

“Look, Dick! What do you make of that?” One glistening wet arm was flung

out in front of him.

 

On the opposite side, a few rods up from the water, Dick saw a blob of

red—something that looked very much like a large strip of flannel,

caught against the darker background of green.

 

“A red cloth,” answered Dick, only slightly interested. “Wonder who left

it there?”

 

“It moves! It moves!”

 

In spite of the nearness of Burnnel’s party, Sandy almost shouted out

the words.

 

Both boys stared, as if under some queer mesmeric spell. They watched

the red blob move along the line of brush and disappear with magic

abruptness. It came back again, however, in a very few minutes—only in a

different place. Again it remained perfectly stationary, then fluttered

behind a rock. In its second re-appearance, it moved toward the brink of

the river and, suddenly, instead of being merely a red blob,

mysteriously it formed itself into the unmistakable outline of a human

figure.

 

“Some one in a red mackinaw,” declared Sandy, laughing.

 

“In a police tunic, you mean,” Dick corrected him, commencing to hurry

into his clothes.

 

“What! A mounted policeman?”

 

“Exactly that. Why, you can see his broad-rimmed hat and heavy

top-boots.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIX

ACROSS HAY RIVER

 

 

“I’d like to go over there,” said Dick, “but if we do, Burnnel and Emery

will be sure to see us. We don’t want that to happen. Our best plan is

to wait until after we ford the river. Then, if he hasn’t already left

the vicinity, we’ll find out who he is.”

 

“I know one thing,” Sandy declared confidently, “and that is he’s not

from the Mackenzie River detachment.”

 

“I’m not so sure. It may be our old friend, Sergeant Richardson.”

 

“But that territory, over there across the Hay, is patrolled by men from

the Peace River Detachment,” Sandy objected.

 

Dick rose quickly to his feet, hugging himself in sheer ecstasy.

 

“I have it! I have it!” he cried. “You’re right! He’s from the Peace

River Detachment. They received my wire. I’m willing to bet on it. It’s

someone after Creel.”

 

For a time Sandy caught the infection of the other’s enthusiasm but,

after mature deliberation, he became more serious again.

 

“No; you’re wrong. The police haven’t had time to come up from Peace

River Crossing since you wired them.”

 

“This man might have been on patrol somewhere between here and the

Crossing. They probably got in touch with him; wired back, I mean. Sent

him out on Creel’s trail.”

 

“A possibility, of course. I wonder if we couldn’t signal to him?”

 

The suggestion interested Dick for a time. Then caution warned him that

it was not a very good plan after all. It might lead to complications.

 

“No, we’d better let things remain as they are. Whatever we do, we

mustn’t let Emery and Burnnel know that we are here.”

 

“Very well, then,” Sandy agreed, “we’ll go back to our ponies. It

shouldn’t be long now before the outlaws commence to ford the river.”

 

Cheered and invigorated, they made their way up the slope, and not long

afterward came to the place where they had picketed the ponies. Saddling

and bridling their rugged little mounts, they rode slowly along the

ridge to a point above the outlaws’ camp. Again they tethered out their

horses and sat down to wait. It was more than an hour later before the

outlaws attempted to cross. The sound of splashing came up from below,

punctuated now and again by sharp voices of the two men.