Dick Kent on Special Duty 6

Dick Kent on Special Duty 6

“One-half it shall be,” they heard the old man mutter.

 

Having won his point, Frischette beamed. He thrust the box into the

other’s hands.

 

“Take et, m’sieur. I am sorry ef I speak cross. We must be friends. We

must understand each other. En a ver’ few weeks we go to Edmonton an’ we

shall be rich, m’sieur.”

 

Creel grumbled something through his beard, seized the box with eager

hands and half-turned as if to depart.

 

“Tonight then?”

 

“Yes, tonight.”

 

The boys scrambled back quickly, for Frischette was beginning his

journey homeward. A moment later, from the deep shadow of a heavy

thicket, they watched him pass. He was shaking his head and talking to

himself in a complaining undertone. Not long afterward he had

disappeared in the tangle of greenery, and over the woodland there

settled a deep and impressive silence. Dick looked at Sandy and Toma and

smiled.

 

“The farther we go into this thing, the stranger and more perplexing it

becomes. I wonder who that man is? In what way is he associated with

Frischette? Why is he guarding the box? Now what do you suppose they

were arguing about?”

 

“I can’t imagine,” answered Sandy. “What do you think, Toma?”

 

The Indian youth rose and broke off a twig from a branch above his head.

 

“I think him bad fellow just like Frischette.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Sandy, “probably his accomplice.”

 

“It doesn’t look as if we would open that box now,” grimaced Dick.

 

“Not unless we overpower the old man.”

 

Dick too arose, glancing back at the cabin.

 

“I’d like to think it over before we attempt it. Possibly some plan may

occur to us tomorrow. At present we’d better go back to the road-house

before Frischette becomes suspicious. I wouldn’t be in the least

surprised if he attempts to relieve me of that roll tonight.”

 

“I can agree with you there,” said Sandy. “Did you notice his eyes when

you pulled it from your pocket?”

 

“Yes.” Dick smiled at the memory.

 

They started back along the trail, for a time walking in silence.

Presently, however, Sandy turned toward Dick, his face thoughtful.

 

“Supposing,” he inquired, “that Frischette really does attempt the

robbery tonight. What will we do? Let him have the money? Or do you want

to catch him in the act?”

 

“We’ll let him have it.”

 

“But there’s nearly sixty dollars of our money. I’m not so rich that—”

 

“We’ll get it back somehow, Sandy,” Dick interrupted. “The police will

see to that. I’ve marked the bills so that we can identify them.”

 

“Good!”

 

“We’d better remain awake, all of us,” continued Dick. “I’ll take the

lower bunk in the corner near the door. You can sleep in the upper one.

Toma can occupy the lower bunk next to mine. Just before we retire,

while Frischette is still in the room, I’ll remove my coat and throw it

over the back of a chair.”

 

“We’ll all keep perfectly still,” said Sandy, “when he enters the room.

Remember, Toma, that you are not to make any effort to stop him.”

 

The young Indian nodded:

 

“Yes, I understand. Me do nothing.”

 

Later, when they had retired for the night, they were in an excited

frame of mind. Had they been ever so tired, it is doubtful whether they

would have been able to relax for sleep. Dick lay, facing the doorway,

so that he could command a view of the entire room. Frischette’s

sleeping apartment, almost directly opposite, opened on to the large

bunk-hall they occupied. If the Frenchman planned to take the roll, it

would be necessary for him to pass through the doorway, directly across

from Dick, and steal stealthily along the row of bunks to the chair,

over which Dick had carelessly flung his coat.

 

The bunk-hall was shrouded in a partial darkness. Outside the night was

clear, and a half-moon rode through a sky sprinkled with stars. To the

ears of the boys, as they lay quietly awaiting the Frenchman’s coming,

there floated through the open windows the droning sounds of the forest.

An owl hooted from some leafy canopy. The weird, mournful cries of a

night-bird, skimming along the tree tops, could be heard distinctly. The

curtain, draping the window on the west side of the room, fluttered

softly as it caught the rippling, nocturnal breeze.

 

As time passed, Dick became conscious of an increasing nervous tension

and restlessness. He found it difficult to lay still. He turned from

side to side. The strain upon his eyes from watching the door so

continuously had caused a blur to appear before them, and only with

difficulty could he make out the various objects in the room. Time and

time again, he imagined he could hear a slight sound coming from

Frischette’s apartment. Yet, as he lay there and the door did not open,

he realized that he must have been mistaken.

 

At length he decided that the road-house keeper would make no effort to

come that night. Reasoning thus, he lay very still, his eyes closed,

drowsiness stealing over him. Through his mind there flashed confused

pictures of the day’s happenings. In imagination, he was threading a

woodland path, following the fleeing form of a man, who clutched to him

a mysterious wooden box. Again he saw the angry, distorted face of

Frischette, who was standing there, one arm raised threateningly above

the stooped form and uncovered head of Creel—the queer old recluse.

 

Tossing restlessly, his eyes came back to the door, and suddenly his

nerves grew taut. The door, he perceived, was now slightly ajar. It was

opening slowly. A few inches at a time it swung back, and at length a

muffled form stood framed in the doorway, then moved noiselessly nearer.

Unerringly, it padded across the floor, straight towards Dick’s bunk. It

paused near the chair, scarcely four feet from where Dick lay.

 

With difficulty, Dick suppressed a cry. The skulking, shadowy form was

not that of Frischette—but Creel! Creel, a horrible, repellent figure in

the half-darkness. Long, straggling locks of hair fell over his eyes,

while the heavy beard formed a mask for his repulsive face. Dick could

almost imagine that he could see Creel’s deep-set eyes shining from

their sockets. They were like those of a cat.

 

Previously it had been agreed between the three boys that in the event

of Frischette entering the room and attempting to steal the money, no

effort would be made to prevent him. Now Creel, and not Frischette, was

about to commit the crime. For some unknown reason Dick felt that he

could not lay there inactive. Resentment and anger suddenly burned

within him. As Creel cautiously lifted up his coat, Dick found himself

sitting bolt upright, and, to his amazement, heard himself shout out:

“Drop that coat if you don’t wish to get in trouble. Drop it, I say!”

 

Creel started so quickly, dropped the coat so suddenly, that the chair

overturned and crashed to the floor. There came the sound of moccasined

feet pattering away! Dick had sprung from his bunk, as had also Sandy

and Toma. For a time confusion and excitement reigned. Frischette

appeared in the doorway, and upon his heels came Fontaine and Le Sueur,

rubbing their eyes.

 

“What ees ze matter?” Frischette inquired in a frightened voice. “What

has happen?”

 

“Someone came in here a moment ago,” cried Dick angrily, “and tried to

steal my money. I tell you, Frischette, the thief is in this house!”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI

NEW COMPLICATIONS

 

 

Not until the following morning did the boys have a chance to discuss

the happenings of the previous night. Over the breakfast table, Dick was

the cynosure of two hostile pair of eyes—those of Sandy and Toma. It was

quite evident that Dick’s chums were not satisfied with the outcome of

the night’s adventures. Sandy, in particular, could scarcely contain

himself. He kept glowering at his friend over his coffee and bacon, and

Dick could see that a lecture was forthcoming. However, Sandy did not

get his chance until nearly an hour later, when the three boys left the

dining room for a turn in the open air. Scarcely were they outside, when

Sandy broke forth petulantly:

 

“Look here, Dick, I must say that you followed out our agreement to the

letter. What did you mean by crying out like that, after it had been

decided to let Frischette walk away with the money?”

 

“But it wasn’t Frischette,” Dick defended himself.

 

“Wasn’t Frischette. What do you mean? Of course, it was Frischette. I

saw him with my own eyes.”

 

“It was Creel.”

 

“Creel!”

 

“Yes, that fellow who took the box from the Frenchman yesterday.”

 

Sandy whistled softly.

 

“So that’s their game. Creel is Frischette’s confederate. I can see it ll now.”