CHAPTER XV

THE CORPORAL UPBRAIDS HIMSELF

During the ensuing consultation there appeared to be a diversity of opinion. Toma thought that they ought to retrace their steps in an attempt to find out where the outlaws had turned off the trail, while Dick still held to the belief that the pack-train must be somewhere ahead. As for Rand, he did not immediately declare himself. Sitting on the rock, his chin resting in his hands, he was immersed in deep thought. Nearly ten minutes elapsed before he looked up and addressed his two companions.

“I might as well be perfectly frank. I’m stuck. I must confess that I don’t know where the pack-train is. It may be behind or it may be ahead. If they—the outlaws—are ahead, I will say they’ve been moving faster than at any time since we left Settlement Mountain.”

Dick stood impatiently, hands on hips, one moccasined foot tracing patterns and queer hieroglyphics in the soft snow at the side of the trail. Toma’s face was inscrutable. What lay behind his mask-like features no one might guess. Another interval of silence—of inactivity. Finally Rand rose to his feet.

“We’ll go on,” came his decision. “I doubt if we’ll find them ahead, but we can search for the cabin in which the furs are stored. The cache must be there somewhere.”

Later in the day, they came out upon a tree-covered plain close to the Pacific. They camped within a thick shelter of pines, rolled in their blankets, and on the following morning inaugurated a careful, painstaking search.

Weary and discouraged, almost out of food, at the end of the second day they found themselves on the south side of a tiny inlet.

“We seem to be getting nowhere,” Rand confessed. “I believe now that if there is a cache, it’s farther back from the coast. We’ll skirt this inlet and then return inland to see if by any chance we can find a trace of the pack-train.”

Doggedly, in silence, the boys trailed along after Rand. Half an hour later they broke through a tangle of underbrush to a clearing beyond. Their hearts leaped with joy. Built out from the shore was a crudely constructed landing wharf, fashioned entirely from pine and spruce timbers with a covering of hewed poles. Close to the wharf—and what struck their attention still more forcibly—stood a large log building without windows—and with only one door. It was a warehouse—nothing else! Probably the cache itself!

“Hurray!” shouted Dick, as he broke into a run. “We’ve found it!”

They brought up before the door of the building, panting breathlessly. The door was padlocked. In feverish haste, Toma secured a couple of sharp rocks and commenced hammering upon the clasp. Rand was smiling now for the first time in many hours. When the efforts of Toma had been rewarded, he stepped forward and yanked open the barrier.

“Murky Nichols has been storing fur in here for the past three or four years,” he told the boys. “This will be the largest cache of stolen fur ever seized by the police. It will mark the end of a series of lawless depredations by the cleverest gang of crooks that has ever operated in the North.”

When he had ceased speaking, the corporal stepped inside. The place was dank, dark, evil-smelling. It was impossible to see anything. Standing just behind him, Toma struck a match. The tiny flame flared up, but failed to light the mysterious, dark recesses of the room. Dick and Toma alternated in lighting matches. They pushed their way farther into the darkness, groping about like ghouls in some subterranean passage.

Moisture had sprung out upon Dick’s forehead. He was trembling and hot. Each tiny taper carried them farther and farther on their round of exploration. Finally, Corporal Rand stopped short and threw up his hands in an exasperated gesture.

“Shades of a purple skunk!” he cried out angrily. “There’s nothing here! Pshaw! The place is as clean and bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.”

The disappointment succeeding this announcement was keen. Dick’s shoulders slumped and his head drooped as he turned dejectedly and made his way back to the door. Toma was the only one who had anything to say.

“I tell you something, corporal. Mebbe no fur here now, but all same Murky Nichols use this place to make ’em cache. I know that.”

“How do you know it?” growled Dick.

“I tell by smell,” answered the guide.

“He’s right,” broke forth the corporal. “Fur has been stored here. I can detect a familiar odor myself.”

“But how do you explain it?” asked Dick. “You were under the impression that Nichols had a two-year supply of stolen fur here. What has become of it?”

“Unfortunately, I’m no wizard,” Rand answered a little testily, “or I might be able to answer your question. All I know is that Nichols has been shipping fur for the last three or four years. As I told you once before, we believe that a large shipment was taken from here to Seattle by someone, who either purchased the fur in good faith or who is a confederate of Murky’s. Perhaps this person comes up here oftener than we surmised. It may be that he has just recently cleaned out this cache and will return later for the fur now being brought here by pack-train. Of only one thing am I reasonably sure, and that is that this is the place where Nichols sends his shipments.”

“If we wait here, pretty soon pack-train will come. What you think?” Toma raised questioning eyes to the mounted policeman.

“Yes,” said Rand, “the pack-train will come here. We can’t miss it.”

“But what I don’t understand,” Dick spoke hesitatingly, “is why the outlaws haven’t arrived days ago. They were ahead of us when we started. Now we’re ahead of them. How do you explain it, corporal?”

“I can think of only one explanation. The boat from Seattle may not be due here for a week or two. In the interim, the outlaws are putting up somewhere along the trail, where there are better facilities for feeding the men and caring for the dogs and ponies. We must have passed them in the dark.”

“What will we do?” asked Dick. “Go back and try to find them or stay here?”

Rand made his decision promptly. “We might as well stay here. They’ll have to come sooner or later. All we can do now is to wait.”

Considerably cheered, the three walked out of the building and made their way over to the landing wharf. As they stood there, a disconcerting thought occurred to Dick.

“The outlaws will be sure to see our tracks around the warehouse when they come with the fur,” he pointed out.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Rand. “They don’t know yet that they’ve been followed by the police. I doubt if they have a single suspicion. However, when we go back, we’d better repair the damage to the lock and door.”

Standing there, Dick half-expected to see at any moment a vessel round the heavily wooded point and come steaming toward them. He thought about the boat from Seattle. Wouldn’t it be great sport if the ship would arrive ahead of its schedule? If this happened, would they drop anchor in the deep waters of the inlet and wait for the coming of the outlaws? What action would Rand take? Would he attempt to capture the vessel, or would he fall back out of sight to lay in concealment until the arrival of the pack-train?

The first light of oncoming dawn struck Dick’s eyes on the following morning when he peeped out from between his Hudson’s Bay blankets. It was really still too early to get up and it provoked him to find that he had awakened so soon. Neither Toma nor the corporal would be astir for another two hours. What had aroused him? He sat up impatiently, tucked the blankets around his feet. Then he heard a voice:

“What a fool I am. I must be suffering from a mental relapse. What is the matter with me? A blind bat! A nincompoop! Honestly, I need a guardian.”

The assertions were made with such deliberateness, with such sincerity, that Dick grinned in spite of himself. He turned his head quickly in the direction of Rand’s bed and discovered that person sitting up like himself, and staring moodily out through the thick obstruction of trees. Rand’s back was towards him. Apparently, the policeman believed that his remarks had fallen upon heedless ears. Naturally he supposed that the boys still slept.

“What’s wrong, corporal?” pleasantly inquired the eavesdropper.

Rand started and half-turned. His manner was a little sheepish, like that of a boy caught in some foolish prank.

“So you heard me?” Rand turned completely around and grinned. “Well, anyway, you know now what I think of myself. When you have finished dressing, Dick, come and clout me over the head. You have my permission. I’ve been guilty of blithering idiocy. How I ever contrived to persuade the R. N. W. M. P. to take me into the service will always remain an unsolved mystery.”

Dick laughed outright. “I don’t think you do yourself justice, corporal. What makes you say that?”

“My conscience hurts me. I’m an ass. When I awoke about twenty minutes ago, it suddenly dawned on me how completely we’ve been fooled.”

“By whom?” inquired Dick, wondering if the policeman had taken leave of his senses.

“By the outlaws.”

“You mean when they gave us the slip?”

“Yes. That’s it exactly.”

“That wasn’t your fault. We’ve been careful enough.”

Corporal Rand threw back his blankets and commenced to dress.

“Do you remember, Dick,” he resumed, “when we passed the first trapper’s shack on the trail this side of Dominion Range, and Toma called our attention to the three ponies?”

Dick nodded.

“You may recall,” Rand went on, “that the presence of the ponies there puzzled me. Subsequently the thing was repeated at other trappers’ cabins along the route we were travelling. Now, as I look back upon it all, I’m ashamed of my stupidity, I should have known right away what was taking place.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

“The ponies were part of the pack-train. The furs were unloaded at various places along the line. As the pack-train progressed, it became smaller, until, finally, nothing was left of it. That explains many things. It explains why we have been unable to overtake the outlaws. Murky’s precious shipment is scattered along the trail over a distance of twenty miles.”

“What a trick!” Dick exclaimed. “Pretty clever ruse, wasn’t it? The outlaws must have known all the time that we were following them. It took a genius to think of a plan like that.”

“I don’t believe they knew we were following them,” stated the corporal. “It’s probably the usual procedure, inaugurated by Murky himself. Nichols does not feel safe with all of his eggs in one basket. He doesn’t believe in taking unnecessary risks. The trappers who live along the trail, where we saw the ponies, are probably in his employ—really not trappers at all. They guard the caches of stolen fur.”

Rand paused for a moment, then continued:

“Do you remember, Dick, how many of those trappers’ shacks there were where we saw ponies?”

“Three,” answered Dick quickly.

“But we went past several where we saw none. Do you recall whether there were dogs around these places?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Rand mumbled something which Dick did not catch. Then—

“Well, I’ve come to this conclusion: Those five or six places harbour the outlaws—all of them, every member of the pack-train. I’m convinced that if we went back there tomorrow we’d also find the fur.”

“If Murky has five or six separate caches, why did he build the warehouse?”

“Couldn’t very well get along without it. Consider his position. The boat from Seattle may on occasion be two or three days late. What is to be done with the fur? It is too valuable to be piled up on the landing wharf in all kinds of weather. The warehouse would be—”

Corporal Rand did not complete the sentence. Dick had jumped to his feet and was waving his arms about wildly.

“There it comes! There it comes!” he shouted. “The boat! It has entered the inlet. Look, corporal!”