Dick Kent on Special Duty 22
He was nervous and shaky; his cheeks and hands were deathly cold. His
right hand gripped his revolver so tightly that the bones in his fingers
ached. A stricture in his throat made breathing difficult. For the
second time, he took a step forward. The fire was slowly dying out. Its
subdued glow was less bright than when he had arrived. If he didn’t act
promptly he’d be forced to accomplish his purpose in the darkness and
run the risk of failure.
He was less than twenty paces from the sleeping forms. Moving very
slowly, it would take less than two minutes to reach the sleeping men.
He realized that to hurry over might be fatal to his plans. The faintest
sound might betray him. He mustn’t snap a single dry twig or brush too
hurriedly through the tall grass. He couldn’t afford to fail now.
He negotiated the distance without mishap. Heart in his throat, he stood
with his back toward the fire. Immediately in front of him lay the two
unsuspecting outlaws. Burnnel snored peacefully, while Emery, lying on
his right side, one arm flung out, might have been dead, for all the
sound he made resting quietly there.
Dick, preparing to shout out to awaken them, checked himself in time. A
cold sweat broke out upon his body. An obstacle had presented itself.
When he aroused Burnnel and Emery, he would awaken the woman too, and he
was too far away from MacGregor’s wife to prevent her escape. Or, what
would be more disconcerting or fatal still, she might suddenly determine
to come to the outlaws’ rescue. No doubt she was armed. Dick’s heart
beat wildly against his ribs and a lump rose in his throat, choking him.
What was he going to do?
He considered waking the woman first, being as quiet as possible, then
coming back for the two prospectors. But he dismissed this idea almost
as quickly as it had come. Better, far better to start with the outlaws.
He dismissed his original plan of shouting out. That would never do. No;
he would prod them quietly with his foot until they woke up.
A distance of several feet separated the two sleepers. He stepped
between them. Burnnel lay flat on his back. Dick stooped over and jerked
the big prospector’s gun from its holster, expecting of course, that the
man would awake. To his surprise Burnnel slept on. So he turned his
attention to Emery.
Dick now had a gun in either hand. It gave him more confidence. Emery
stirred, as he prodded him with his foot. He continued until the wiry
little man sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“A word out of you,” said Dick softly, “and I’ll blow your brains out.
Hand over your gun, butt forward.”
Emery obeyed. Dick thrust the revolver in his own holster, an awkward
proceeding because he was compelled to keep his opponent covered.
“Now,” said Dick, “wake up Burnnel and do it quietly. Get busy!”
Emery, who evidently was thoroughly frightened, rolled over and shook
his partner. The big fellow half-awoke, perceived who was shaking him,
thrust out one huge arm petulantly and pushed the little man back with
considerable violence.
“Shoot me or not,” snarled Emery, “yuh kin wake him yourself.”
“Wake him up!” Dick’s voice carried a menace.
This time Emery succeeded. But the big man was noisy and profane, even
after his sleep-stained eyes had caught the glint of Dick’s weapon.
“Keep quiet!” ordered Dick, almost beside himself with fear. “Keep
quiet! If you don’t I’ll drill you through and through. Give me the
contents of that poke!”
The campfire glowed an angry red. In its ghostly light the two
prospectors turned out their pockets, defiantly. Dick recovered his own
money, watch and the huge roll of bills, belonging to Creel, Toma’s
jack-knife, Sandy’s pocket-compass, and two keys on a ring. The articles
were so many and varied that he soon perceived that he would not have
room for them about his person. So he compelled Emery to tie them up in
a bundle, flung over his own coat for the purpose. But where was the
treasure? Nonplussed, Dick stared from one to the other.
“Where’s the contents of Dewberry’s poke?” Emery gave Dick a look of
unutterable surprise—and almost choked. Burnnel laughed scornfully.
“We ain’t got it.”
“What have you done with it?”
“Ain’t never had it,” said Emery, choking with laughter.
“You lie!” exclaimed Dick hotly. “Creel told me that you took it away
from him.”
“No, you’re wrong, pardner. If Creel told yuh that, he was spoofin’ yuh.
We ain’t never even seen him.”
“If that’s true,” said Dick, white to the lips, “how did you manage to
get Creel’s roll?”
Neither of the outlaws attempted to reply. Emery hung his head guiltily.
Burnnel’s face was averted. Further questioning proved futile. Both men
persisted that they had taken nothing from Creel except his money.
Angrily, Dick drove them ahead of him to where the woman lay, still
sleeping, and aroused her. Then, forcing the three to saddle and lead
their ponies, they made their way back to Dick and Sandy’s camp.
On his way back, Dick felt that he had been robbed of a complete
victory. His achievement in capturing the outlaws single-handed was
darkened by the knowledge that in some unaccountable way Burnnel and
Emery had contrived to hide Dewberry’s much-sought treasure. He decided
that when morning came he would make a more careful search. It was
possible that he had overlooked its hiding place. It occurred to him
that it might be in one of the saddle-packs, or sewed up in the outlaws’
garments. At any rate, he would leave no stone unturned until he had
fully satisfied himself that Creel had lied to him.
Sandy’s joy and astonishment over the safe and successful return of his
chum were unbounded. He clapped Dick on the back, shouting out his
approval.
“If we’re only careful now,” he cried, “we’ll soon reach the end of our
adventures. We’ve won. Won’t Corporal Rand and Toma be pleased when we
return with all these prisoners.”
For the remainder of that night neither of the two boys slept. They took
turn in replenishing the fire and guarding the prisoners. Dick had
become more cheerful and was confident that when morning came they would
find the mysterious treasure, which had been responsible for so much
trouble and tragedy and waste of human life.
Yet, when morning came, they were destined to be disappointed again.
They found nothing. Burnnel and Emery watching them, sneered openly.
Creel seemed perplexed. Noticing his __EXPRESSION__, Sandy questioned him.
“Why did you lie to us about the contents of that poke?”
“I didn’t lie to you,” Creel retorted. “They’ve done something with it,
you may depend upon that.”
“Don’t bother, Sandy,” Dick exclaimed in exasperation, “you’re just
wasting time. We might as well start back. Corporal Rand will know what
to do.”
So, a few minutes later, they set out on their return journey. They were
forced to travel more slowly than they had come, owing to the fact that,
on the previous day, while attempting to evade the police, Creel had
abandoned his horse. The boys forced the outlaws to take turn and turn
about walking.
On the evening of the first day they were treated to a pleasant
surprise. Sitting around the campfire, enjoying their evening meal, the
party was suddenly made aware of the presence of a stranger. He had come
up silently and unnoticed. Presently he stood before them, a trim, natty
figure, the bright crimson of his police tunic contrasting sharply with
the deep green around him. The policeman smiled at their quick start.
“I’m Constable Wyatt, of the Peace River Detachment,” he announced.
The boys sprang to their feet and hurried forward to greet the
constable.
“I’m Dick Kent and this is Sandy MacClaren,” Dick explained to him. “We
have been helping Corporal Rand, who has been working on the Dewberry
case.”
The policeman smiled.
“Well, you’ve been more lucky or clever than I have. From all
appearances, you’ve made a coup. I see you have Creel, the man they
wired about.”
“I sent the telegram for Corporal Rand,” said Dick a trifle proudly.
“I almost had my hands on him on several different occasions. Perhaps I
would have taken him eventually if you hadn’t. Who are these others?”
“Burnnel and Emery, two prospectors, and she,” Dick pointed, “is ‘Rat’
MacGregor’s wife. All of them are mixed up in the case, constable. We
had reason to believe that Creel had Dewberry’s treasure. Creel claims
that Burnnel and Emery took it away from him. Whether or not this is
true, we have been unable to determine. We can’t find it.”
And in a few words Dick related their experience of the previous night.
“You say you’ve made a very careful search?” asked Wyatt.
“Yes.”
“The only thing that I can think of,” hazarded the police constable, “is
that Burnnel and Emery hid the treasure somewhere near their camp before
they retired for the night.”
“That’s possible,” said Dick. “It didn’t occur to me. Of course, they
wouldn’t tell us if they had.”
“Naturally not,” Wyatt smiled grimly.
On the following morning they reached the trail and the first habitation
they had seen for many, many miles. Here they were able to procure
another horse, and thereafter they moved forward more quickly. The next
day, threading their way along through the cool forest spaces, a turn in
the trail revealed two approaching horsemen. Dick and Sandy rose in
their stirrups and waved their hats wildly.The two horsemen were Corporal Rand and Toma.
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