THE LONG PATROL

H. A. CODY

THE LONG PATROL

A Tale of the Mounted Police

BY

H. A. CODY

AUTHOR OF "THE FRONTIERSMAN,"
"THE FOURTH WATCH," ETC.

HODDER & STOUGHTON
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

Copyright, 1912,
By George H. Doran Company

To that noble body of men, The Royal North West Mounted Police, this book is affectionately dedicated by one, who for several years lived among them and shared their hospitality in the far-flung Canadian Northland.

CONTENTS

THE LONG PATROL

THE LONG PATROL

CHAPTER I UNLEASHED

"Is Grey—Norman Grey—here?"

The Orderly paused on the threshold and looked around the room.

"Over there," replied a constable, jerking his thumb to the left, "in the corner."

At once the Orderly strode forward to the side of a young man leaning against the Canteen bar.

"Say, Grey, the O. C. wants you."

At these words the man addressed straightened himself up to his full height of six feet with a sudden jerk, while his dark piercing eyes flashed questioningly from beneath the broad brim of his Stetson hat. A deep silence now pervaded the room; the poker chips ceased their rattle; the rustling of the newspapers stopped; the man behind the bar stayed his hand in the act of pouring a glass of ginger beer, and even pipes were allowed to go out.

It was the quiet after supper hour in the Big Glen Barracks of the "X" Division of the North West Mounted Police, in the far-flung Northern Yukon Territory, and the work of the day was done. The few prisoners had been marched silently back to their lonely cells in the stout log guard room; the flag had fluttered slowly down from its tall staff in the centre of the big Square; the bugle had rent the air with its quivering notes, and the guards had been changed. Everything had been done speedily and systematically. It was the daily routine. Each man knew his duty, and did it.

The Canteen was the regular place of meeting, and here a score of constables and corporals, tested guardians of a lone land, were gathered, to drink the customary glass of ale or beer, read the newspapers, discuss the affairs of the day, and play a few friendly games of cards. The click of billiard balls in the adjoining room could be distinctly heard, whilst from the open door of the Sergeants' Mess came the sweet strains of a violin.

"Where's the O. C. now? In the office?" It was Grey's voice which broke the silence as he looked hard at the Orderly.

"No, he's in his house. You had better hustle."

Grey glanced down at his clothes. He was dressed as he had come off guard of the prisoners. A belt filled with cartridges encircled his waist, and his revolver sheathed in its leathern holster hung at his hip. His appearance at that moment was sufficient to win both respect and admiration from the most indifferent. Of this his companions were not thinking, but of that summons to meet the Commanding Officer. Well did they know the startling news which was agitating this northern town, causing strong men's eyes to moisten, and mothers to clasp their children closer in their arms. Had not prominent citizens hurried in and out of the O. C.'s office all the afternoon, and did not the air hang heavy with expectancy as to what move would be made and who would be chosen for the difficult undertaking? Now it was no longer uncertain. Grey was the first to be called, and all realised that the choice had been a good one.

"Grey's got a difficult job ahead of him," remarked a tall, slim constable after the former had left the room.

"He's the man for it, though," replied another, deliberately sipping his beer.

"He'll do the job if anyone can, for he fears neither man nor devil. Don't you remember how he stood up before 'Twisty' Parker and his gang in Big Gulch Road House, cowed the whole bunch, and got his man?"

"Indeed I do, but that was nothing to the way he ran down "One-eyed" Henry, the Swede, who murdered his partner at Five Fingers. He walked right up to the revolver's point when it was spitting fire like hell, knocked the Swede down and took him alive. The murderer afterwards acknowledged that it was Grey's coolness, and the terrible gleam of determination in his eyes which unnerved him and made his hand shake as if he had the palsy."

Grey in the meantime had crossed the Barracks Square, and was admitted by a quiet, passionless-eyed Jap into the presence of his Commanding Officer. Giving the customary salute he stood at attention, and awaited orders.

Major Sterling was sitting at his desk when Grey entered, with his eyes fixed upon a map lying before him. Pacing up and down the room was a small, middle-aged man whose agony of face and excited manner plainly bespoke the agitated state of his mind.

"Major, find my boy," he was saying. "Spare no pains or money in your efforts to run those villains down. They hate me, and have sworn to have revenge. They demand twenty thousand dollars. Think of it, twenty thousand dollars! They threaten the life of my child if it's not paid! Oh, God, help me! I can't pay it, and I won't. But I want my boy, my only child, Donnie. Major, for the sake of a heart-broken father and mother; for the honour of this town, and for the welfare of humanity, capture those scoundrels and save my boy."

In reply to this passionate appeal the Major swung around in his chair and faced the troubled man.

"Mr. Farwell," he began, "the best answer I can give you stands there in the person of Constable Grey. Leave the matter to us. We will do the best we can."

"Thank you, sir; oh, thank you," cried Mr. Farwell, seizing the Major's hand and wringing it vehemently. "I know you will do what you can. I shall go now, but you will keep me informed, will you not?"

"Yes," replied the Major, rising and opening the door. "You shall be kept acquainted with every move. Remember, Mr. Farwell, I am a father as well as an officer, and what more can I say?"

When the door had closed behind his visitor the Major returned to his desk, and remained for a while lost in thought. He was a stern man outwardly, and ruled with a firm hand. Unbending in the line of duty he combined rigid discipline with discriminating justice. Neither position, money, nor threats availed in the slightest degree to swerve him one hair's breadth from a purpose he knew to be right. Major Sterling was an autocrat on this ragged edge of civilisation, and yet an autocrat whose every heart beat was for the honour of his country and for the welfare of the people committed to his charge. Relentless as a sleuth hound in crushing down crime and tyranny he was feared and respected by both whites and Indians alike.

"Grey," he at length remarked, turning toward the constable and motioning him to a chair, "sit down; we've important business on to-night."

The Major's voice had lost much of its old-time sternness, and Grey was more than astonished at this unexpected order. Never before had he taken a seat in the presence of his Superior Officer. To do so was a severe breach of discipline. He advanced a step, and hesitated.

"This chair, Grey," and a slight smile illumined the Major's face as he noted his subordinate's embarrassment. "There, that's better," he continued, turning his attention once again to the map lying on his desk. With a pencil in his hand he traced a course from Big Glen out over the land away eastward toward the Rocky Mountains. At times he paused, and his brow knitted in perplexity. At length, however, the pencil rested upon a spot where a crooked stream was marked upon the map. Everything else was a complete blank, no name of town or village appearing. Here the Major made a small circle, and wrote over it the one word "Hishu."

"See, Grey," and he held up the map, "I want you to go there."

The constable started at these words, and glanced keenly at the pencil mark. His interest now was thoroughly aroused. For years that region had a strange fascination for his daring spirit. Indians had related marvellous tales of what the place contained: rivers foaming, rushing, and plunging into dark mysterious depths; monsters living in the mountains, their roars shaking the earth, and belching fire and rocks from their terrible mouths. There were tribes, too, so they said, horrible and bloodthirsty, with hair, filled with knives, hanging to their waists. At times the Indians about Big Glen had come trembling to the Police for protection. Those tribes from their mountain fastnesses, so they believed, were about to sweep down and wipe them out of existence. The Police had always succeeded, however, in allaying their fears, and upon investigation found the trouble generally started in the fervid brain of the useless Medicine Man.

So the Major was to send him there. Grey could hardly believe his ears. Into that region shrouded in mystery, like the shadow of death! What was the use of it?

"How soon can you get ready, Grey?" The Major was speaking as if certain of his line of action. There was no sign of doubt in his words.

"I can start at once, sir," the constable replied. "That is, as soon as I make ready. But do you think, sir, they would flee to a place like that?"

"Not if they knew how much I know," and the Major gave a peculiar little laugh.

"But why should they go there, sir? They must have heard about that place, and what a—"

"Look here, Grey," interrupted the Major, "I've had my eyes and ears open to that region for some time now. I've heard all those Indian stories, and believe them to be so many fairy tales, all purely imagination. I have lately received information, which I think is reliable, that certain men have crossed the mountains from the East, and are now prospecting up Hishu Creek. They have a small settlement at its mouth near the river. A notorious character, Siwash Bill by name, has a trading store there, and I believe him to be the ringleader of the gang who kidnapped that child. Prospectors on the Mackenzie River side of the mountains carried this news to Edmonton, which was forwarded to me only last week. I intended to send a man there shortly to investigate, but this unexpected occurrence demands immediate action."

Thus for an hour officer and subordinate sat and talked in the deepening twilight. When at length the latter rose to go, the Major reached forward and drew from a pigeon hole in the desk a small slip of paper.

"Wait a minute, Grey," he commanded. "I find that your time will be up two weeks from to-day."

"Yes, sir."

"And you intend to leave the Force then?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you don't mind being sent out on this business at the end of your time?"

"No, sir."

"Well said. I'll remember that. Good night, Grey, and God be with you."

Slowly the constable walked back across the Square toward the Canteen. His Commanding Officer's parting words touched him. He realised on this night as never before what a sympathetic heart beat beneath the Major's cold exterior. He was human after all, and cared for his men. What a change, too, he thought, to be out of the Force—to be free! And yet, why should he leave? Why should he not "take on again"? What was there for him in life? Where should he go? What was there to do? He could go home, but what was home without her? He paused, and bared his head. The evening breeze cooled his hot brow, and played with his wealth of dark hair. Above him shone the stars—their glory dimmed by the long northern twilight. There was the pole star steady as of yore. He remembered the night they had last looked at it together by the garden gate among the flowers. How beautiful she was then in all her virgin purity! That was six years ago—and where was she now? Six years, and not a trace of her since!

"Star of heaven," he murmured, "where is she to-night? Where is my long lost darling? Guide me, oh, lead me, to her side!"

The bugle sounded "Lights out," and soon all was in silence in the Big Glen Barracks. Major Sterling still sat at his desk, studying the map before him, and occasionally glancing at several closely-written papers lying near. From the stable at one corner of the Square Norman Grey led forth a jet-black horse, and stood for a minute stroking her glossy neck. There was no one to bid him farewell, no one to grip his hand and speed him on his way. A slight sarcastic laugh escaped his lips as he sprang lightly into the saddle and headed Blackbird for the open road. He was going out alone, unnoticed. But he would return—and what then? Again he smiled, settled himself firmly in the saddle, and gave one word to Blackbird. Then the ring of steel-shod hoofs sounded along the gravelled way as horse and rider sped through the night, out of the Barracks Square, out of the little straggling town, and out upon a great lone trail stretching dim and uncertain beyond the farthest bounds of civilization.

CHAPTER II THE TERROR OF THE MOUNTAINS

The long trail wound and twisted far ahead, shimmering faintly in the light of the westering sun. Miles and miles of wild bunch grass, sage brush, and desolate sand met the eye, flanked on either side by high mountain ranges.

"Good Lord, what a trail!" muttered Norman Grey, regaining his seat with difficulty as Blackbird plunged her right foot into a concealed gopher hole. "Will this cursed valley never end? It's getting worse all the time."

Almost a week had now passed since he had swung away from Big Glen. Almost a week, and yet how much that brief period of six days contained. What desolate regions he had traversed, what streams forded, and what lonely nights he had spent upon the cold hard ground beneath the starry canopy of heaven. Thrice had he met Indians encamped along the way. Friendly were they, and had provided him with a liberal supply of tender moose meat. A mighty leveller is the northern trail. Here rank, title, creed and race fade into absurd insignificance. Here all useless appendages are swept aside. Here each stands for what he is, and his sole worth lies in himself. And here, too, in a region so vast, where the loneliness mocks and appals, the sight of a human face, though dark and uncouth, thrills the heart with a sweet gladness.

These children of the wandering foot looked with admiration upon the pale-faced stranger. They conversed with him in broken English, and slowly shook their heads when Grey pointed away to the left and mentioned the word "Hishu." As he started to leave the camp an Indian woman, old and scrawny, had laid her long, slim fingers upon the pommel of the saddle and looked up anxiously into his face.

"No, no, Hishu!" she cried, waving her left hand to and fro. "Bad, bad, ugh!"

So impressed was Grey by her earnestness and vehement manner that a foreboding chill smote his heart, and the reins dropped from his hand upon Blackbird's neck.

"Me no savvey. What you mean?" he demanded.

More emphatic now than ever did the unkempt creature become. She tried to explain herself, but her knowledge of the English language was slight, and her words developed into a torrent of unintelligible jargon. Seeing she was making but little impression upon the rider she suddenly seized the bridle with both hands, wheeled Blackbird sharply about, and headed her down the trail toward Big Glen.

"Go, go dat way," she cried. "No come back! No, no, Hishu!"

A slight smile of pity flitted across Grey's face at this woman's peculiar action. The momentary feeling of awe had vanished. He remembered how the Indians in the vicinity of Big Glen feared and shunned the Hishu region. No doubt these were of the same tribe, and believed the wild tales.

Two days had passed since then, and try as he might he could not banish that incident from his mind. It came to him now late this afternoon as Blackbird carefully picked her way among the innumerable gopher holes. The whole region was conducive to deep reflection. Sombre stood the rock-ribbed mountains. Silent throbbed the moistless air. Iron-grey stretched the sunburnt valley. To the lone rider crouched in his saddle the very atmosphere seemed to pulse with undercurrents of mystic forebodings. Hundreds of miles was he from civilisation, thousands of miles from home, a mere speck crawling over an execrable trail. What did it all amount to anyway? he asked himself time and time again. What had he gained during those five years of service in the Force? He was no nearer to her now than ever. What hopes had thrilled his heart when first he had entered upon his world-wide quest. He would find her, oh, yes. The world was large, he knew, but love would make it small. And this was the end—oblivion—merely for the sake of a child.

Presently Blackbird paused with a sharp jerk, causing Grey to look quickly up. The cause was at once apparent, for rammed across the trail was a long ragged ditch about three feet wide and four deep. With widely-extended nostrils and flashing eyes Blackbird had planted her forefeet close to the edge, and stood looking anxiously down into the excavation. On every side and far ahead stretched a chaotic maze of trenches. Some were short and narrow, while others were deep, and rods in length. This Grey knew to be the work of hungry bears in search of fat and toothsome gophers.

"Heavens, what a mess!" he exclaimed, as his eyes scanned the scene. "Grizzlies, I believe! There must be an army of them in this place. I only hope they've had their supper by this time, and will leave us alone. But if they do come they will receive a warm welcome," and he laid his hand upon the smooth dark barrel of his comforting rifle. "They will be flesh and blood, anyway, things I can see, and not those horrible unseen devils which have been torturing me the whole afternoon. Come on, you swine of the mountains!" he cried. "I fear you not. I'll send more fiery demons into your tough hides than the Master did long ago into the whole Gadarean herd." Grey was himself once more. The presence of danger affected him like a tonic. He even laughed at his morbid fears as he reined Blackbird to the left, and soothed her restless mettle with words of encouragement.

Slowly, very slowly the noble animal picked her way between the innumerable pitfalls. She was calm now. The spirit of the master was hers, and all fear was banished. For over an hour they moved steadily forward, and at length gained firmer ground where the earth was not disturbed. The sun was sinking behind a mountain peak as they left the valley and entered upon a deep ravine. The ascent was gradual, and at times the trail hung over high wooded banks. Up and up they moved through dark battalions of pine, spruce and fir. It was a weird place, and Grey breathed a sigh of relief when at length the summit was attained. Here he dismounted, tied Blackbird, and climbed far up into a large tree, towering high above its fellows. From this lofty position he was enabled to obtain an excellent view of the surrounding country. Back to the right he saw the valley over which they had lately painfully travelled, while ahead, and somewhat to the left, a river was to be seen lying like a long silver thread athwart the dusky landscape.

"It must be the Hishu," Grey muttered, as his eyes followed it away northward. "The place I'm bound for is, no doubt, somewhere over there. Should reach it to-morrow, and what then? Oh, well, I'm not going to worry about that now. It will soon be dark, and I must find a good camping spot. Down by the river is a likely place where those trees rise like millions of pointed spears. There should be grass for Blackbird down there on the level."

Leaving his lofty perch he descended the tree, unfastened Blackbird, and sprang into the saddle. Down the hill they slowly moved, the trail—if it could be called a trail—becoming more difficult all the time. At length they reached a hollow through which a little brook gurgled on its way to the river. Grey looked anxiously up and down, hoping to find a reach of wild meadow grass for the horse.

"Guess we'll have to go farther, lady," he remarked. "We must get you some supper, and there's nothing here."

Beyond the brook the trail wound up a steep incline, and curved sharply to the left around a large and almost perpendicular rock. Blackbird ascended the slope with an eager pace, for the tang of the wild meadows down by the river had drifted to her sensitive nostrils. She had just reached the flinty wall when with a terrified snort she threw high her head and reeled back upon her haunches. Instinctively Grey clutched the mane with his right hand to keep from falling and peered keenly forward. The cause of the disturbance was immediately evident, for coming slowly around the bend was a huge grizzly bear. The sudden appearance of the intruders into its domain startled the brute. Its upper lip curled, its teeth gleamed white, and an angry growl sawed the air. Blackbird was nearly frantic now. She quivered with excitement. The froth flew from her champing mouth, and her steel-shod fore hoofs beat sledge hammer blows upon the ground. With the greatest difficulty Grey managed to hold her in check with the left hand, while with the right he unslung his rifle. The bear was nearer now, coming steadily onward, still growling, and causing Blackbird to back farther and farther down the hill. It was not Grey's nature to retreat. He had never done so before the face of man, and he was determined that the first time should not be from a lumbering bear. The creature's insolence nettled him. It made him angry to be checked when he was anxious to reach the river. If it was fight the bear was looking for, it had sought the right spot. Quickly Grey brought the rifle to his shoulder, took aim and fired. The ball struck the bear a glancing blow upon the head. For an instant only the brute paused, and then with a terrific roar hurled itself forward like an avalanche. No longer could human hand control Blackbird's pent-up terror. She reared on high, and swung about with such a sudden jerk that Grey was hurled from the saddle and tossed like a ball among the underbrush. Of his scratches and bruises he thought nothing, for sterner work demanded his immediate attention. He had no time to regain his feet, for the bear was coming, and every instant was precious. Kneeling on the ground he seized the rifle, which had luckily fallen by his side, threw out the empty shell and drove a loaded one into its place. And none too soon, for the bear was almost upon him. Its rage was terrible to behold. Its eyes glowed like living coals, and the hot hissing breath poured from its gaping mouth like hell fire. With lightning rapidity Grey thrust the muzzle of his rifle between those gleaming teeth and fired. A deafening report ensued, and man and beast rolled over in one confused heap. Grey fully expected to feel the slashing rip of lance-like claws, and the sickening crunch of closing teeth. He stretched out his hand for his sheath knife; he would fight to the last; he would leave marks which would be remembered. But the keen blade was not needed; the terror of the mountains had made its final charge, had fought its last fight, and lay there upon the ground a quivering, inert mass—dead. Slowly and with difficulty Grey extricated himself and regained his feet. For a moment he stood and looked upon the fallen brute.

"Close call that," he commented. "Nearly put me out of business, hey, old chap? Good Lord, what claws and teeth! But for that lucky shot they'd've had me torn to ribbons by this time. I'd like to show them to the Major; he's a great eye for such things."

Blackbird was nowhere to be seen; the wilderness had swallowed her up. Suddenly Grey realised his position. Night was shutting down, horse gone, and the region alive with bears. He had settled the account of one, but there were hundreds more, and they might appear at any moment. He could not go back over the trail after the horse; that would be folly. He must reach the river. Picking up his rifle he wiped away the froth and moisture from the barrel and carefully reloaded it.

He was about to leave the place when he paused and looked at the bear lying before him.

"Ah, old chap," he exclaimed. "You've made me lose my grub by frightening Blackbird out of her senses. She's taken my small supply with her, and what shall I do for supper? You look fat and well liking, so I think a piece of your carcass will have to serve instead."

Drawing forth his sheath knife he deftly removed a portion of the skin and cut off a fair sized piece of meat from a part he considered the choicest. Next he sharpened a small stick, and thrust it through the flesh. This done, he threw it over his shoulder, seized the rifle and headed for the river.

CHAPTER III A CHILD IN THE MIDST

The river Hishu was swift. It raced and swirled between its clay banks. The water was cold—icy cold—for countless small streams from snow-capped mountains contributed to its volume. It was a fascinating monster, sinuous, terrible, beautiful. The most dangerous spot on the whole river was the Klikhausia Rapids. Here the current struck hidden rocks, which swirled, eddied and boiled down through a flinty channel, to leap at last foaming and spuming into the steady stream below. Skilled canoe men could bring their crafts safely through this turbulent piece of water, but woe speedily overtook the voyager who made the venture without a thorough knowledge of the place.

Norman Grey sat upon the bank a short distance below the rapids, with his eyes fixed upon the flowing stream. It held him spellbound by its mystic music and the clearness of its liquid depths. There beneath the surface, down among those polished stones, was peace—a peace and rest for which he ardently yearned. He might have been a stump for all the movement he made. A few birds twittered in the jack pines, and a noisy squirrel scolded from the branch of a nearby tree. But Grey heeded them not. His rifle was thrown carelessly on the ground by his side. His buckskin jacket and trousers were covered with dirt, and stained here and there with fresh blood. Grey was sore and weary. The long ride, the excitement of the day and the heavy fall from his horse were having their effect. His whole body ached, and through his left shoulder surged a numbing pain caused by the contact with the ground. The piece of bear meat was lying by his side. He had matches, and could soon build a fire and broil a slice of steak. But his energy had deserted him. He longed to lie down and rest—rest forever. His one blanket had gone with Blackbird. But what did it matter? He was accustomed to the open, and his buckskin jacket would do instead. Yes, he would sleep, and forget everything—bears and all.

Slowly he rose to his feet and began to climb the bank. Scarcely had he reached the level above ere he gave a start and looked quickly up-stream. What was that? A shout, a cry of terror, which winged its way to his ears. He straightened himself up, shaded his eyes with his hand, and scanned the river. The sun had been down for some time, but the long northern twilight was still struggling with night, and it was not hard to discern objects some distance away. As Grey's eyes rested upon the rapids he beheld a boat—a frail craft—go to pieces upon a sunken rock right in the centre of that swirling death. Then out from the midst of the roaring mass of tumultuous billows darted a dark object. Rapidly it was borne down the stream, and as it approached nearer Grey observed a man clinging frantically with one hand to a fragment of the boat, while with the other he was clutching the limp form of a little child. Grey was all alert now. His weariness and pain were gone. His tall gaunt figure was drawn to its full height, forming a dark silhouette against the evening sky. The clinging man looked toward the shore. His face was filled with agony, and twitched convulsively.

"Help! help!" he cried. "This icy water's killing me! I can't hold on any longer!—oh—God!" and with a wild piercing yell he threw up his hands and sank beneath the surface.

Quicker than words Grey tore off his buckskin jacket, and throwing discretion to the wind hurled himself into the racing stream. Though a powerful swimmer he was but a gnat in that terrible current. It seemed the maddest of folly to attempt a rescue in such a place. The waters were icy, and his soggy clothes impeded his progress. Why give up his own life for a vague uncertainty? Why risk all in a hazardous throw? But a little face—oh, so white—gleamed before him, and a curly head of gold appeared. The sight nerved him almost to superhuman effort. With lusty sinews and mighty strokes he clove the water like a Titan. He reached the child, he clutched it, held its head above the surface, and turned toward the shore. Fortunately the piece of broken boat floated near. This he grasped with one hand, and the child with the other. No longer now did he try to stem the stream, but simply allowed himself to drift. On and on they sped, Grey becoming more numbed all the time. Often he felt he could endure no longer, that he must give up and sink. But the sight of that little child, lying so still in his arm, caused him to grip the wreck more firmly. Only a short time before he had cherished the idea of rest and peace beneath those same cold waters. Now all was changed, and, instead of death, life was uppermost in his mind. Not life for himself alone, but for that helpless form pressed close to his breast. Oh, for a friendly voice from the shore, and a strong hand stretched out to lift them from the icy depths. Ere long his brain began to whirl. He seemed to be battling in the midst of thousands of hideous serpents. They were coiling about his legs, arms and body. They were leaping up, trying to tear away the child from his breast, and to loosen his hold upon the boards. How much longer would they torture him? Would they soon gain complete possession and bear him down never to rise again? No, he would fight them. He would conquer. He would beat them back. They were worse than the grizzly, but he would win. And even as he made another great determined struggle his feet struck something which sent a thrill of hope through his heart. Was it merely a delusion? Was it only a fond fancy of his reeling brain? No, it was true. His feet had struck a sand-bar, which put out from the shore like a long finger hidden beneath the surface. Relaxing his grip of the raft, and with the child in his arms Grey feebly and with much difficulty made his way through the swirling water. So numb was his body that his legs seemed like two lifeless sticks as he staggered forward. It was all he could do to reach the shore and climb the bank. Then his strength deserted him. He trembled and sank upon the hard ground. It was only for a few seconds, however, for the child lying there needed immediate attention. Kneeling by his side he peered into the little white face, noticed the wan, pinched features, the luxuriant curly hair dripping with water, and the soaked clothes clinging like cerements to his body. "What was such a lad doing there?" he wondered. That not more than three summers had passed over his head was quite evident. He was no poor man's child, for the garments betokened a home of means and loving care above the ordinary. At his throat a small safety pin was fastened, and as Grey peered down through the faint and uncertain light he saw engraved there the one word "Donnie." An exclamation of astonishment escaped his lips. His eyes were suddenly opened, and he beheld before him Silas Farwell's little stolen child.

"Fool—more than fool," he muttered. "To think that I didn't realise it before. And here I've been cursing my fate ever since that grizzly unhorsed me, and it was all for a purpose. I begin to see now that another Hand is having much to do with this affair."

At that instant a shiver shook the child's body. He looked up, began to cry and to call for his mother.

"Hush, hush, dear," soothed Grey, bending over him. "You shall have your mother."

Then the helplessness of his position swept upon him. In a vast wilderness, leagues from any settlement, and night shutting down. Not a shred of dry clothing did he have in which to enwrap the child, and not even a fire. He was numb and chill himself. That he could stand, but not this delicate lad. "What am I to do?" he groaned. "Is this sweet child to die here slowly after all? Better to have left him to perish in the river; it would have been quicker."

Rising to his feet he peered through the gloom, but no sign of human life could he behold, nothing but the scrubby forest, silent and grim. He lifted up his voice and called, once, twice, three times, but only a far-off echo, ghost-like and hollow, sent back its mocking response. Again he knelt by the side of the child.

"Are you cold, dear?" he asked.

"Ya, cold, cold," and the lad shivered. "I wants my mother. Why doesn't she tum to her 'ittle boy-boy?"

Grey looked at his own clothes. They were very wet; not a dry stitch upon him. Then he thought of the buckskin jacket he had thrown off ere he leaped into the river. He believed there were several dry matches in one of the pockets. Suppose they had fallen out during his tussle with the bear! They were his only hope now. The liberal supply he had brought with him, rolled up in his blanket, had gone with Blackbird. Never before had he realised the value of a few tiny matches. Now they meant life or death. He must have them if they were there, and at once.

"Are you afraid to stay here alone, little one?" he asked. "It will be only for a short time, and I shall soon come back."

A startled look came into Donnie's face, as reaching out a small hand he clutched the arm of his rescuer.

"No, no, don't go!" he cried, with tears streaming down his cheeks. "Take me home. I wants my mother."

"I won't leave you, then," was the reassuring response. "You shall go along, too."

Stooping down, he lifted the child tenderly in his arms and turned his face up-stream. Could he make the journey? That was the question. Had he the strength after his two fearful ordeals to struggle through that dusky tangled underbrush, where no trail marked the way, and with his feet stumbling at almost every step? Suppose he should fall and not be able to rise again? He banished the thought. It was too horrible to be entertained even for an instant. No, he must not fail. What would the Major, who had entrusted him with such a sacred commission think? And how would the Force regard it? "Constable N. Grey, Regiment No. —— lost; supposed to have died on the trail, somewhere between Big Glen and the river Hishu, while in search of a stolen child." How would words such as these sound in the laconic Police Report when it appeared the following year? Would their bones, bleached and white, at last be found amid those tangled bushes? And the mother, what of her? Would she ever know of the struggle he had made to save her darling child? There came to him now her white, drawn face. Did not every man in the Barracks know Mrs. Farwell? She was beautiful, cultured, and a general favourite in the little social circle of Big Glen. But she was kind to all, and greeted each constable she met with a pleasant smile. She had spoken to him once, and congratulated him upon the capture of "One-eyed" Henry, the Swede. He had never forgotten that, and her sparkling eyes and sunny face had haunted him for months. For her sake now, at least, he must not fail. He would save her child. He had taken but a few steps forward when he stopped short in his tracks. A dark form had suddenly loomed up out of the night right in front of him. It was an Indian tall and silent, leaning upon his grounded rifle. For the space of ten heart throbs neither spoke. Then,

"Who are you," Grey demanded, "and what do you want?"

"You call?" came the calm reply.

"Yes, indeed, I did call. Look you. This child is wet, cold, freezing. Got in river. See? You savvey cabin—fire, eh?"

At once the Indian took a step nearer, and peered keenly into the white man's face.

"Ah, ah," he remarked. "Me savvey. Come."

Turning abruptly he plunged into the thicket of jack pines and cotton wood trees. He had not gone far, however, ere he paused and looked back.

"Me take bah-bee," he said; "you cally gun, eh?"

But when he reached out his hands Donnie shrank back with a little sobbing cry, and threw his arms tightly around his preserver's neck.

"Don't want to leave me, little man?" Grey asked, while his heart thrilled with a new-found joy at the child's confiding action.

"Ya, me tay," whimpered the boy. "You carry baby."

"All right, dear, you shall stay with me as long as I have any strength left," and he motioned the Indian to advance.

Silently they threaded their way through the chilly night, Grey using every exertion to keep up with his dusky guide. Donnie was a considerable weight to him in his weakened condition. Once he felt he should be forced to relinquish his burden to the Indian, no matter how badly the child might feel. But the pressure of that little body and the hand laid so trustingly against his shoulder nerved him to greater action, and painfully he stumbled forward. After what seemed to Grey to be an interminable distance, although in reality it was not far, a bright light suddenly pierced the darkness. It came from a camp fire directly ahead, around which he observed someone moving. In another minute the place was reached, and gladly he laid the child down in front of the cheerful blaze.

It was only a temporary brush camp erected there in the wilderness, but to Grey no place had ever seemed half so welcome. Seated on a blanket spread over some fir boughs was an Indian woman with hair, jet black and straight, falling over not unshapely shoulders. Nearby stood a girl of fifteen years, whose eyes sparkled with curiosity as she turned them upon the stranger and the little form at his feet. One glance at the sympathetic faces before him told Grey that he was in the midst of friends. A few brief words in the rhythmical native tongue passed between the Indian man and woman, and immediately the rude camp was converted into a hive of industry. The child was stripped of his wet clothes, his cold body thoroughly rubbed and then enwrapped in a soft grey blanket which the girl had brought forth from a mysterious corner of the camp.

Donnie had no fear of the woman, but sat contentedly on her lap, alternately watching the blazing fire and the animated face of the young maiden kneeling by his side. Then, after he had taken some of the savoury ptarmigan soup which the girl had dipped from a kettle near the fire, he laid his tired little head against the Indian woman and was soon fast asleep.

All this Grey noted with much satisfaction as he lay close to the fire trying to dry his own wet garments. How his heart warmed toward these dusky waifs as he watched their care of the child. He saw the little head droop, the eyes close, and observed how gently the Indian woman laid him down upon the brush bed, and tenderly placed over him a thick warm blanket. The thoughtfulness and dignity of these people surprised him. Formerly he had very little use for the natives, and considered them with a certain degree of pity, mingled with contempt. Most of the Indians he had seen in this northern land were weak, inferior creatures, fond of hanging about towns and mining camps, and trying to imitate the ways of the whites. But these were different, and he fell asleep there on the hard ground wondering if all the Indians in the Hishu region were of this same superior class.

A cry fell upon his ears, and he awoke with a start. He sat quickly up, and looked around in a dazed manner. He glanced toward Donnie, and instantly realised the nature of the trouble. The icy water had done its work, and he saw the poor little form racked with a terrible cough. The Indian woman had the boy on her lap, and was rubbing his chest with oil which was warming near the fire. But still the child cried, stopping only as the painful, wheezing cough swept upon him.

CHAPTER IV THE SHADOWING HORSEMAN

Grey was completely surprised at himself as he leaped to his feet and hurried to Donnie's side. He could not account for the anxiety which now filled his heart. Had anyone suggested such a thing a week before he would have laughed him to scorn. Had the Major sent him in quest of a horse it would have stirred him about as much as going forth to find a stolen child. With him sentiment had no place in the undertaking. It was stern, iron duty, and nothing more. But this sudden interest was something for which he had not planned. The child sitting there before him was more than a mere pawn in this game he was playing. It appealed to his nature by its very helplessness and confiding manner. The pinched, drawn features, the frail cough-racked body and those large blue eyes looking so beseechingly up into his rough bearded face sent a peculiar thrill through his heart.

"What's wrong, old man?" he asked, placing his hand upon the little hot forehead. "Too much water, eh?"

At once Donnie stretched out his hands, and slipped from the Indian woman's lap.

"I wants my mother," he wailed. "Take me to my—" His words were cut short by another fit of coughing, and he stood trembling there, a pitiable figure of distress. At once Grey reached down, caught the child in his strong arms, and held him close to his breast.

"Can't you do anything for the boy?" he demanded, turning to the Indian woman standing near.

The latter slowly shook her head, and spoke a few quick words to her husband who was stirring the fire. Deliberately straightening himself up he confronted the constable.

"Can't you do something?" Grey repeated. "Baby sick. You savvey Injun medicine? You make him well?"

"Me no savvey," was the slow reply. "Me no ketch 'um root. Me notting here."

"But the child will die! See how he coughs."

"Me no savvey," was all the Indian would say, and Grey realised that no help could be expected from these natives.

What was he to do? Could he permit the child to die without an effort to save his life? He had suffered for him already, and would all that he had done amount to nothing? He thought of Big Glen. Oh, to have him there, in his mother's tender keeping. But that was out of the question. Next he thought of the Hishu village. Would he find assistance there? Would anyone know what to do in such a place? It was not likely, and yet it was worth trying. He turned to the Indian.

"You savvey white man over there?" and he pointed away to the left.

"Ah, ah, me savvey 'um," was the reply.

"How far?" Grey demanded.

"White man cabin over dere. Wan sleep? No."

"What, can I get there to-night?"

"Ah, ah. Sun heem come up dere, sun heem go down dere. White man cabin. You go, eh?"

"Yes, yes, I must," and Grey looked intently at the coughing child.

"You cally bah-bee, eh?"

"Certainly. What else can I do?"

"Bah-bee velly seek. Bah-bee beeg. White man no strong. Bime by stop. Soon all sam bah-bee."

Too well did Grey realise the force of these quaint words. He was feeling the effect of his experience in the icy water, and his body ached. The child, too, was large for his age, and to carry him all day long over a rough trail was utterly impossible. And yet he was willing to try even the impossible rather than stay there and see the lad die without an effort to save his life.

The Indian watched him closely, and, noting his determination, an expression of satisfaction appeared upon his tawny face.

"White man no squaw," he remarked. "White man all sam beeg chief. Me help white man."

"What, will you go with me?" and Grey looked his astonishment.

"Ah, ah. Hishu Sam help white man cally bah-bee."

The eastern sky was flushed with the radiance of the rising sun as constable and Indian started forth with the little child. The trail, worn by numerous moccasined feet, wound and twisted for weary miles through the vast wilderness. Here it skirted and crossed open plains covered with wild bunch grass and sage brush. There it dipped into deep valleys where the trees stood thick and grim. At times it circled around ragged ledges where the foothold was precarious. The sun rose and swung clear of the tallest mountain peaks. It rode high in the heavens, and poured its hot beams upon the hurrying wayfarers.

Often Grey's steps faltered as he staggered up some steep incline, and his feet were sore from contact with snags and sharp stones. Not so the Indian. He seemed tireless. Light of heel he sped forward with a rhythmical springing gait. His slightly stooping form, long and lithe from hips to shoulders, was the very embodiment of physical endurance. Such strength and grace of movement filled Grey with profound admiration. Of what avail now was his own special training? He had excelled in running, jumping and swimming. He could pull an oar with the strongest, and on the baseball field could tantalise a crack batsman with cranky balls. He had prided himself upon his prowess, and ever struggled to be first. But here was one of nature's own children, an uncouth native, putting him to the blush.

The Indian insisted upon carrying the boy, and Donnie no longer objected, but lay quietly in those great strong arms. Instinctively he felt that the powerful stranger was his friend, and would do him no harm. Hishu Sam seemed to think nothing of the lad's weight, and when Grey tried to relieve him of the burden he would always refuse with an emphatic grunt and a shake of the head. At noon they paused to rest by the side of a little babbling brook, whereupon the Indian brought forth a piece of dried salmon, and shared it with his companions. Donnie hardly touched the food, but Grey ate eagerly, for he was hungry after the long tramp. He sat on the ground with the boy on his lap, and gently stroked his curly head. Donnie was feeling somewhat better, and the cough was not so troublesome. He even smiled, a wan little smile, as Grey told him a simple story he had heard when a child. The Indian sat silently near, steadily smoking an old blackened pipe. He, too, was interested in the lad, and gave a brief grunt of satisfaction as the child smiled.

"Look here, Sam," said Grey as they were about to resume their journey and the Indian had risen to his feet, "how much do you want for helping me out to-day?"

"What you mean?" came the reply. "Me no savvey."

"How much I pay you? How much money you want?"

For a minute the native did not reply. He stood like a statue. Then he turned his piercing eyes full upon the constable's face.

"Me no tak pay," he almost fiercely rejoined. "No, no, ugh!"

"But why no take pay?" Grey insisted. "You save baby's life. You do much good."

"No, no, me no tak pay. You savvey Injun bah-bee in camp?"

Grey nodded.

"Wan, two, seex winter mebbe, Injun bah-bee velly seek. Heem no get well. Me no feex 'um. Me velly seek here," and he placed his hand over his heart. "Me t'ink bah-bee die. White man, beeg, beeg Chief, heem come 'long. Heem see bah-bee. Heem do all sam dis," and he knelt upon the ground. "Heem savvey all sam Medicine Man. Heem mak Injun bah-bee well. Heem no tak monee. Heem good man. No, no, me no tak monee. Me all sam white man."

"You savvey white man?" the constable asked.

"Ah, ah."

Grey was about to question further when the Indian gave a sudden start, and pointed to the left. Following the direction of the finger the constable noticed a man astride a cayuse on the high bank of the river about two hundred yards away. Whether a white man or an Indian Grey could not tell, but he appeared to be watching them very closely. This incident, trifling as it seemed, aroused in Grey a feeling of apprehension. So intent had he been upon the child that he had almost forgotten his fears concerning the Hishu region and the characters he knew had their abode there. Perhaps this was one of them. Anyway it was as well to hurry forward out of that desolate place before night shut down.

Hour after hour they plodded steadily forward, their eyes and ears keenly sensitive to any sound or sight of the strange horseman. Once only did he reappear. They had paused for a brief rest in a valley, and to drink of a stream whose water ran icy cold from the mountains, when he had suddenly darted out from a hill above and peered down upon them. The Indian had laid his hand upon his rifle, and whispered, "Me feex 'um." But Grey shook his head, and the native had desisted. Although he felt that the rider was following them for some sinister purpose, it would not do to enter Hishu as blood-stained travellers. And, besides, there was the strict command instilled into every new recruit not to shoot first. "Get your man," was the brief stern order. "If you don't get him, it means three months' hard, and if you shoot him it is all the same, with perhaps dismissal tacked on." No, Grey was not going to run counter to such orders. Anyway, what good would it do? Perhaps after all this was a harmless horseman, watching them out of mere curiosity.

He thought of these things through that long afternoon. Would the trail never end? It seemed like a week since they had left the camp. The child slept much of the time in those tireless dusky arms. Occasionally he awoke with a cry of fright, and the annoying cough would sweep upon him. He was becoming weaker, Grey could see that, and his heart ached as he watched the limp, pathetic figure, and the face all too white. "What must be a mother's love?" he asked himself over and over again. "If this little lad I have known such a short time appeals to me so strongly, how must she feel who suffered for his sake, and watched over him for three years?" At such times his hands would grip hard the rifle, and a scowl would furrow his brow as he inwardly cursed the villains who had torn away this sweet, innocent child from his mother's tender keeping.

The sun was swinging low in the heavens as slowly and wearily they at length toiled up a steep incline and reached the brow of a high hill. Here the Indian paused, and pointed to the opposite side of the valley lying snugly below. Grey, following the direction of the outstretched arm beheld several log buildings, nestling among the trees on the farther hillside. To the left flowed the Hishu River, glimpses of which could be easily observed from their high vantage ground.

"Hishu," the Indian quietly remarked. "Ketch 'um bime by."

Grey's heart thrilled as he shaded his eyes and scanned the little settlement. And this was Hishu, the spot toward which his face had been turned for weary days. He smiled as he thought of the wild blood-curdling Indian tales he had heard. What of the savage Indians and the monsters of the mountains? How tame and commonplace everything seemed, and Hishu was only that straggling cluster of houses over there in the distance. It was simply a mining camp, and no doubt all of the rascals who had kidnapped the child had gone down in the Klikhausia Rapids. His heart was lighter than it had been for days, and he descended the hill with a new springing gait. He began to see the end of his venture, the quiet return to Big Glen, and the child safely restored to his mother.

The trail was becoming easier now, for numerous feet had worn it smooth. On both sides of the way signs of woodsmen's axes were visible in the many stumps dotting the land. Ere long the first house burst upon their view as they emerged from the forest. It was only a rude log cabin, but how good it looked to Grey after that long desolate trail. The building was standing by itself, no other cabin being visible. Of its isolation he thought nothing then, but only of the shelter and relief he might find for the child. The door was open, though no one was to be seen. With the customary freedom of the frontier he gave a loud rap, and entered, the Indian following with Donnie in his arms. The room was not large, but clean, while a few rude benches, a couch and one table adorned the place. In a far corner were several shelves on which stood a number of black bottles. All this Grey observed at a glance, for scarcely had they entered ere a curtain was drawn quickly aside, and a woman stood before them. Grey started back in amazement, and gave vent to an ejaculation of surprise. Men he had expected to find in Hishu, but not women. His astonishment was succeeded by a feeling of joy. How fortunate, he thought, that she is here, whoever she might be. She will be able to help the boy better than men.

The woman was neatly dressed, of medium height, and at the first glance fair to look upon, although her face was somewhat pale. Her eyes were what fascinated the constable. They were cold steel grey, piercing in their intensity. They were cruel eyes, devoid of the softening grace of pity. To them tears of sorrow or sympathy seemed unknown. A faint semblance of a smile flitted across her face as she observed Grey's unaffected stare. She took a step forward, and then,

"Who are you," she demanded, "and what did you bring that brat here for?"

If Grey was surprised before he was completely dumbfounded now. He did not expect this. Presently an idea flashed through his brain. He glanced again at the bottles, and from them to the woman's face, and then he understood.

A coarse laugh greeted his embarrassment. She had divined his thoughts, and it pleased her.

"Don't like the place, greeny, eh?" she sneered. "You needn't stay; there's the door. But I guess you'll soon get used to it. All the men here have except one d— fish, and I'll have Buckskin Dan yet."

At this Grey found his tongue. He knew now what kind of a character he had to deal with. Her rough talk and heartlessness nettled him.

"I don't want to stay here," he replied, "but you might do something for this sick child. He'll die, otherwise."

"Let him die, then," came the cruel response; "he'll be better off."

"And you won't care for him?" Grey questioned.

"Oh, I'll not turn the brat out. Throw it on the couch there. What's wrong with him anyway?"

Briefly Grey related the story of the wreck in the rapids, the rescue from the icy water, and the effect upon the child.

A sudden change passed over the woman's face as she listened to the tale.

"And you say the men were drowned?" she cried when Grey had finished.

"Yes."

"My God! What will Bill say?"

"Bill who?"

"Siwash Bill. Don't you know him?"

Grey was about to reply in the negative, when he suddenly started, and stood as if transfixed. The sound of someone singing had reached his ears. It was a woman's voice, full of unutterable pathos. It sounded nearer now, and he caught the refrain:

"Somewhere, somewhere, beautiful isle of somewhere,

Land of the true where we live anew,

Beautiful isle of somewhere."

The singer by this time had reached the door, and the song ceased. She was a young woman, slight and beautiful, who crossed the threshold, carrying a sunbonnet in one hand and a bunch of wild flowers in the other. Her eyes glanced for an instant at the bearded stranger standing in the centre of the room. Then they rested upon the child lying on the couch and with a cry of surprise and delight she darted forward and knelt down by his side. Later when she looked inquiringly around Grey was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared, and only the woman with the hard eyes was standing before her.

CHAPTER V THE FUR TRADER'S STORE

Grey stumbled rather than walked out of the log cabin. He looked about for the Indian, but he was nowhere to be seen. The evening breeze fanned and cooled his flushed face. He wished to get away somewhere. His throat was dry; he felt he would choke. His brain reeled as he staggered forward. A trail to the left caught his eye, and along this he tottered. Madeline there! Madeline in such a den as that! What did it all mean? Was it only a horrible dream, or was he going mad? Had he been mistaken? Perhaps it was someone else. No, it was all too real. It was she without any doubt! Could he ever forget that face, those eyes, that wealth of dark-brown hair, and the slight girlish figure? It was Madeline, his long-lost Madeline. He had expected to find her some day, somewhere, but not here.

He had reached the forest now, and sat down on a log by the side of the trail. He wished to think, to solve the mystery. Madeline there! Was it possible? Then thoughts, terrible spectres, surged through his brain. Why was she there? How could he associate the pure-souled woman as he had known her with such a life as that? That song, full of intense pathos, that face, that cry of surprise and joy; they came to him again. Madeline was there—only a few rods away, beneath that roof! A great longing filled his heart. Oh, to go to her, to look into those eyes and listen to her voice! He rose from the log, and took a step forward. He would go. He would know the worst at once. But he hesitated. His hand sought his brow in perplexity. He tried to think, to reason. No, not to-night. He would rest first, and in the morning, perhaps, it would be better to go to her.

The bark of a dog aroused him. It made him realise that night was upon him, and he must have food and shelter. Following the direction of the sound, ere long he reached a clearing of several acres in extent. All around he beheld log cabins and frames of numerous tents. Through the midst of these the trail wound, and along this he moved, watching for some sign of life. At length he reached a building larger than the rest, where stood a lean Indian dog which sidled angrily away as Grey approached. In answer to his knock a gruff voice commanded him to enter. Pushing open the door he beheld two men seated before a rough deal table, playing cards. In a corner nearby sat a powerfully-built man, with a long beard, and wavy hair well streaked with grey. He was calmly smoking, and watching the game with much interest.

Across one side of the room ran a rough counter, formed of whipsawn boards, which evidently knew nothing of soap and water. Behind this and arranged along the wall were all sorts of articles from cheap prints to tea, tobacco, beads and candy.

The opposite side of the room was lined with goods, useful in bartering with Indians. Rifles and shot-guns were lying on stands. Sacks of flour, rice and beans were piled in one corner, while slabs of bacon hung from the huge ridge-pole overhead. All this Grey intuitively observed as he stood for an instant near the door.

The players paused in their game, and stared hard at the new-comer, while the man in the corner forgot to take three regular and deliberate puffs of his blackened pipe. A visitor was evidently a curiosity at Hishu.

"Chair, stranger?" remarked one of the players, shoving forward a three-legged stool with his foot.

"Do you own this cabin?" Grey asked as he accepted the proffered seat.

"Reckon so," was the reply. "Paid, and d—high, too, for everything here. Anything I can do for ye, stranger?"

"Yes. I'm dead beat, and almost starved. So if you'll give me a snack of food and a shake-down for the night it will make a new man of me."

"Sure thing," was the response. "You're welcome to the grub, such as 'tis, but can't say about a shake-down. We're mighty cramped for room just now. Anyway, we'll see later how things pan out, and maybe we can do something for ye."

Saying which he turned toward a door at the back of the room, and gave a short, sharp command in the native tongue.

What he said Grey did not know, but almost immediately an Indian woman appeared in the doorway. It was not her sudden appearance which arrested Grey's attention, so much as her strange attitude. Her eyes glowed with defiance, mingled with fear, while a surly expression shrouded her face, which exhibited marks of much natural beauty. A glance was sufficient to show Grey that this was no ordinary, submissive Indian woman standing before him. Combined with her defiance and fear was a haughtiness which could not be concealed. Although partially cowed and curbed, she had evidently known the exhilarating joy of unrestrained freedom. And that same spirit still animated her heaving breast, but in a more terrible form. It was pent up, and liable at any moment to break forth in the wildest fury like a checked mountain stream or the boiling lava of some hidden volcano. But now she listened attentively to the words of command hurled forth, and at once disappeared within the back room.

"Fine squaw, that," remarked the other player, gazing with admiration upon the retreating form. "How in h— do you manage to curb such a spirit? Your deal, Bill," and he shoved the cards across the table.

Mechanically his partner shuffled and dealt the cards. But his thoughts were elsewhere, and as the game proceeded he shot an occasional furtive glance at the stranger sitting near.

An uncomfortable feeling stole into Grey's heart as he felt those piercing eyes fixed upon him. Once he looked full into their cold depths, and involuntarily recoiled at the sinister expression he beheld lurking there. The player noticed the start, and an oath escaped his lips as he flung his last card down upon the table. Then swinging on his stool he hurled a torrent of Indian words across the room.

In a moment or two the woman reappeared with a rough wooden tray containing some beans, thick bread and a cup of black tea.

"Put it here," demanded her imperious lord, shoving forward the small table. "We're done with our game for the present."

Grey was hungry, and he did good justice to the food set before him. But his mind was not easy. Why had that man given him those keen lightning glances? Did he surmise who he was and the purpose of the visit? Then his thoughts drifted away to that lone house down the trail, to the child and to Madeline. He forgot for a time his surroundings and the sinister-eyed man. He was with her, sitting by her side, looking into her face, and listening to her words of love.

At length he roused from his reverie and looked quickly about the room. The two card players were nowhere to be seen. Only the man in the buckskin jacket was sitting in the corner, pulling away at his old pipe. Their eyes met, and instinctively Grey felt that here was one to be trusted.

"Do you live in this place?" he asked, pushing back the table a little, and turning around on his stool.

Instead of replying the man took the pipe from his mouth, knocked it against the bench on which he was sitting, and examined it carefully. Then from a deep capacious pocket he drew forth a large clasp-knife and a plug of tobacco, and began deliberately to whittle away at the latter.

Grey was surprised at this action, and believed that his question had not been heard. Perhaps the man was somewhat deaf, and it was necessary to speak louder. He was about to repeat his words, when the man suddenly paused, looked carefully around the room, and jerked his bench closer to Grey's side.

"Young man, what are ye adoin' here?" he asked.

So low and full of meaning was the voice that Grey's eyes opened wide with astonishment.

"Just travelling," he replied.

"H'm," ejaculated the questioner, as he carefully rolled the tobacco between his hands. "Prospectin' or trappin'?"

"Oh, anything that turns up. I'm not particular."

Creak, creak. It was the back door, which moved as if shaken by the wind. The buckskinned man gave a slight start and glanced to the left.

"Doin' anything that turns up, eh?" he remarked. "Isn't it rather unsartin bizness? How d'ye expect to live?"

Creak, creak, went the door again. The creaking of a door generally disturbs one's nerves. There seems to be something uncanny about it, as if unseen evil spirits were outside trying to force an entrance. But when one suspects that men are standing there, with ears close to the crack, listening with sinister intent to every word which falls from the lips of those in the room, the tension becomes almost unbearable. Grey was all alert now. The whole place was conducive to suspicion. The sudden disappearance of the two card players, the low warning voice of the quiet smoker, and that creaking door. There was no breeze to cause it to move, for the evening was still, with not a leaf aquiver.

"An' whar will ye stay to-night?"

The question was kindly asked, and the eyes which looked straight into Grey's spoke of trust.

"Don't know," was the reply. "Under the trees maybe, unless the owner of this cabin will give me a shake-down here."

"No, that won't do," came the response. "I've a snug cabin over yon, so if ye'll put up with the accommodation ye're welcome to it, sich as 'tis."

Grey at once rose to his feet, and followed his companion, who was already starting toward the door. They had advanced but a few rods from the cabin when the clatter of hoofs sounded along the trail. In a few moments a horseman appeared, astride a raw lanky cayuse, and drew up before the store. Grey had paused, and was looking back, but his companion clutched him fiercely by the arm, and hurried him along.

"Come, lad," he whispered, "it's no time fer starin' now. Let's git under shelter."

CHAPTER VI THE DEN OF PLOTTERS

The horseman quickly made the cayuse fast to a post. He then turned and watched the retreating forms of Grey and Buckskin Dan. He stood there for several minutes after the two had disappeared within a small log cabin up the trail. He was a lean, lank, Cassius-type of man, with furtive, restless eyes, which had won for him the sobriquet of "Shifty" Nick. An old, dirty, weather-beaten slouch hat had been drawn over his low receding forehead until the broad brim was on a dead level with his piercing eyes. Presently his lips curled in an angry snarl, and a row of white teeth showed for an instant beneath a heavy dark moustache. Thrusting his hands deep into his pockets he moved toward the store, gave the dog lying by the door a savage kick, and entered the building. Seeing no one there he strode swiftly forward to the door at the rear of the room. Here he paused and listened. Hearing voices within he gave the door a push, and entered. Seated on stools were the two card players, Siwash Bill and Windy Pete, while sitting on the floor in one corner was the Indian woman. Her fingers were busy stringing beads for a buckskin jacket lying near. She seemed to be engrossed solely with her work, and her head was bent low. But not a sound in that room escaped her acute ears. Occasionally she lifted her eyes and gave a lightning glance toward the two men. Then in that brief instant her dusky face revealed a world of meaning. A passion deep and intense was consuming that quiet form. Love, fear and hate were raging there, contending with one another in fierce conflict.

Shifty Nick looked contemptuously at the two men before him.

"So this is how yer spendin' yer time," he snarled. "Great lot you are. Are yez scart of somethin'? What's happened to the d— place? Scarce a soul around, an' you hidin' here with the squaw."

"What's wrong, Shifty?" returned Bill. "Ye seem to be outer sorts. What's the news? Where's the gang an' the kid?"

Deigning no reply Nick flung himself upon a stool, and eyed the two. His bronze face was paler than usual, and his face twitched in an agitated manner.

"Where did that cub come from?" he at length demanded.

"What cub?"

"Oh, you know. That young cuss with old Dan. What's he doin' here?"

"How in h— do I know," replied Bill, somewhat nettled at the other's surly manner.

"But ye ought to know. It's yer bizness to know. Here I've been out in the blazin' sun all day watchin' the trail, while you've been skulkin' here in this hole."

"Well, suppose we have, ye needn't git so tarnal ugly. We've been doin' nothin', 'bout same as you. There was nothin' fer us to do but wait."

Nick tapped the floor with his boots for a minute or two lost in thought.

"Boys," he at length began. "I'm sore upset to-night. I've brought yez bad news—the gang's gone down in the Rapids."

The effect of this message was most startling. With a muttered oath Siwash Bill leaped to his feet and confronted the horseman. Pete sat on the stool like a statue. His lower jaw dropped and his eyes bulged big with astonishment. Even the Indian woman paused in her work and looked up. Her eyes glowed with a strange light, whether of sorrow or fierce joy she alone knew.

"Speak, speak, man, fer God's sake!" shouted Pete, "an' tell us what ye mean."

"Haven't I told ye?"

"Yes, yes. But don't stop there. Tell us all. When did it happen, an' where's the kid?"

"Damn if I know where the brat is. I thought you knew. Why didn't ye ask that stranger?"

"The stranger. What has he to do with the kid? What are ye drivin' at?"

"Nuthin' much, 'cept he had 'im."

"Had 'im?"

"Sure thing."

"Not when he was here."

"No, so I understand."

"But when? What's wrong with ye? Why don't ye spit it out?"

"I will if ye'll sit down an' give me time. There, that's better," he continued, as Bill with a growl dropped back upon his stool. "Now I kin spin it off. Well, fer two days I watched yon trail an' river, not knowin' by which the gang 'ud come. I knew it 'ud be by one or t'other unless they got pinched. Early this mornin' as I happened by chance along a high bluff this side of the rapids I spotted two men hikin' along the trail headin' fer Hishu. At first I thought they were the gang, but watchin' closer I saw that one was an Injun carry in' somethin' large in his arms."

"The devil!" ejaculated Pete, and the Indian woman again looked suddenly up.

"They didn't see me, though," continued Shifty, "fer I smelled a rat, an' scuttled. Then I did some tall thinkin', an' made up my mind to see what was behind, fer I knew they hadn't come fer at that time of the day. Hittin' the trail some distance up, an' follow-in' it fer a piece I found a huge grizzly lyin' dead at the foot of a little knoll. There were signs of a lively skirmish, an' the man wot pumped lead into that critter ain't to be fooled with, let me tell ye that."

"Good Lord, no!" gasped Pete; "guess not."

"Continuin' my way I reached the river, an' there jist at the ford I found some things which set me thinkin' some more."

"What?" was the excited question.

"A rifle an' a buckskin jacket."

"Whew, ye don't tell!"

"Yes, there they were, thrown down upon the bank. Lookin' up an' down the river my eyes caught sight of a piece of a canoe floatin' in a little eddy along the shore. Examinin' it closely I found it was the one Shorty kep' above the rapids. Goin' down-stream a bit I found another big chunk on a sand-bar, which made me sartin that somethin' had happened to the gang. Comin' back I struck an Injun camp, where there was an old squaw an' a young 'un. They told me the hull yarn an' a d— sight more, too. That afternoon I skirted the river an' caught up with the travellers. Twice they spotted me, which made 'em hike like h—"

"But what did they do with the kid?" questioned Pete.

"Took it to Old Meg's, so the squaw told me. Guess it's there yit."

"Good," exclaimed Bill, "we'll not lose it. If Meg's got it, we're all right."

"Don't be too sure of that," replied Shifty. "What about that young cub with Buckskin Dan?"

"An' ye say that he had the kid?"

"Sartin. Didn't I tell ye?"