Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police Part 62

"We cannot make it! We cannot make it!" muttered Raven with bitter oaths. "Oh, the cursed fools! Another two miles would do it!"

At length they came to a spot where the trail touched a level bench.

"Halt!" yelled the trader, as he galloped to the head of the column.

A few minutes he spent in rapid and fierce consultation with Little Thunder and then came raging back. "We are going to get this bunch down into the valley there," he shouted, pointing to the thick timber at the bottom. "I do not expect your help, but I ask you to remain where you are for the present. And let me a.s.sure you this is no moment for trifling."

With extraordinary skill and rapidity Little Thunder managed to lead first the pack ponies and then the others, one by one, at intervals, off the trail as they went onward, taking infinite pains to cover their tracks at the various points of departure. While this was being done the trader stood shouting directions and giving a.s.sistance with a fury of energy that seemed to communicate itself to the very beasts. But the work was one of great difficulty and took many minutes to accomplish.

"Half an hour more, just half an hour! Fifteen minutes!" he kept muttering. "Just a short fifteen minutes and all would be well."

As the last pony disappeared into the woods Raven turned to Cameron and with a smile said quietly,

"There, that's done. Now you are free. Here we part. This is your trail.

It will take you to Macleod. I am sorry, however, that owing to a change in circ.u.mstances for which I am not responsible I must ask you for that rifle." With the swiftness of a flash of light he whipped his gun into Cameron's face. "Don't move!" he said, still smiling. "This gun of mine never fails. Quick, don't look round. Yes, those hoof beats are our friends the police. Quick! It is your life or mine. I'd hate to kill you, Cameron. I give you one chance more."

There was no help for it, and Cameron, with his heart filled with futile fury, surrendered his rifle.

"Now ride in front of me a little way. They have just seen us, but they don't know that we are aware of their presence. Ride! Ride! A little faster!" Nighthawk rushed upon Cameron's lagging pony. "There, that's better."

A shout fell upon their ears.

"Go right along!" said Raven quietly. "Only a few minutes longer, then we part. I have greatly enjoyed your company."

Another shout.

"Aha!" said Raven, glancing round. "It is, I verily believe it is my old friend Sergeant Crisp. Only two of them, by Jove! If we had only known we need not have hurried."

Another shout, followed by a bullet that sang over their heads.

"Ah, this is interesting--too interesting by half! Well, here goes for you, sergeant!" He wheeled as he spoke. Turning swiftly in his saddle, Cameron saw him raise his rifle.

"Hold up, you devil!" he shouted, throwing his pony across the black broncho's track.

The rifle rang out, the police horse staggered, swayed, and pitched to the earth, bringing his rider down with him.

"Ah, Cameron, that was awkward of you," said Raven gently. "However, it is perhaps as well. Goodbye, old man. Tell the sergeant not to follow.

Trails hereabout are dangerous and good police sergeants are scarce.

Again farewell." He swung his broncho off the trail and, waving his hand, with a smile, disappeared into the thick underbrush.

"Hold up your hands!" shouted the police officer, who had struggled upright and was now swaying on his feet and covering Cameron with his carbine.

"Hurry! Hurry!" cried Cameron, springing from his pony and waving his hands wildly in the air. "Come on. You'll get him yet."

"Stand where you are and hold up your hands!" cried the sergeant.

Cameron obeyed, shouting meanwhile wrathfully, "Oh, come on, you bally fool! You are losing him. Come on, I tell you!"

"Keep your hands up or I shoot!" cried the sergeant sternly.

"All right," said Cameron, holding his hands high, "but for G.o.d's sake hurry up!" He ran towards the sergeant as he spoke, with his hands still above his head.

"Halt!" shouted the sergeant, as Cameron came near. "Constable Burke, arrest that man!"

"Oh, come, get it over," cried Cameron in a fury of pa.s.sion. "Arrest me, of course, but if you want to catch that chap you'll have to hurry. He cannot be far away."

"Ah, indeed, my man," said the sergeant pleasantly. "He is not far away?"

"No, he's a murderer and a thief and you can catch him if you hurry."

"Ah! Very good, very good! Constable Burke, tie this man up to your saddle and we'll take a look round. How many might there be in your gang?" enquired the sergeant. "Tell the truth now. It will be the better for you."

"One," said Cameron impatiently. "A chap calling himself Raven."

"Raven, eh?" exclaimed Sergeant Crisp with a new interest. "Raven, by Jove!"

"Yes, and an Indian. Little Thunder he called him."

"Little Thunder! Jove, what a find!" exclaimed the sergeant.

"Yes," continued Cameron eagerly. "Raven is just ahead in the woods there alone and the Indian is further back with a bunch of ponies down in the river bottom."

"Oh, indeed! Very interesting! And so Raven is all alone in the scrub there, waiting doubtless to give himself up," said sergeant Crisp with fine sarcasm. "Well, we are not yet on to your game, young man, but we will not just play up to that lead yet a while."

In vain Cameron raged and pleaded and stormed and swore, telling his story in incoherent s.n.a.t.c.hes, to the intense amus.e.m.e.nt of Sergeant Crisp and his companion. At length Cameron desisted, swallowing his rage as best he could.

"Now then, we shall move on. The pa.s.s is not more than an hour away. We will put this young man in safe keeping and return for Mr. Raven and his interesting friend." For a moment he stood looking down upon his horse.

"Poor old chap!" he said. "We have gone many a mile together on Her Majesty's errands. If I have done my duty as faithfully as you have done yours I need not fear my record. Take his saddle and bridle off, Burke.

We've got one of the gang. Some day we shall come up with Mr. Raven himself."

"Yes," said Cameron with pa.s.sionate bitterness. "And that might be to-day if you had only listened to me. Why, man," he shouted with reviving rage, "we three could take him even yet!"

"Ah!" said Sergeant Crisp, "so we could."

"You had him in your hands to-day," said Cameron, "but like a fool you let him go. But some day, so help me G.o.d, I shall bring these murderers to justice."

"Ah!" said Sergeant Crisp again. "Good! Very good indeed! Now, my man, march!"

CHAPTER VI

A DAY IN THE MACLEOD BARRACKS

"What's this, Sergeant Crisp?" The Commissioner, a tall, slight, and soldier-like man, keen-eyed and brisk of speech, rapped out his words like a man intent on business.

"One of a whiskey gang, Sir. d.i.c.k Raven's, I suspect."