CHAPTER V MACKENZIE RIVER POST

Convalescing after a serious illness, Corporal Rand found it expedient on this bright autumnal morning to rise, don his uniform and go for a stroll along the banks of the mighty Mackenzie River. He was still very weak and shaky as a result of his long confinement at barracks hospital, yet the crisp, still air was tonic in its effect and something of his old cheerfulness and buoyancy returned as he proceeded along the narrow footpath leading away from the post.

The corporal’s thoughts touched upon many subjects. Above all, was he glad to know that he would soon be able to return to duty. The tedium and monotony of what amounted almost to imprisonment would soon be at an end. Accustomed to a life of ceaseless activity, he yearned to be on the trail again. The old restlessness was in his blood. Before starting out he had paid a visit to Inspector Cameron. With a smile he recalled the interview with his chief and in retrospect, he saw himself again, standing at attention before the grizzled and stern director of police activities in that part of the North.
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“Well, how are you feeling, corporal?”

The words had been snapped out at him in the usual brisk, nervous manner, the man’s steel-gray eyes carrying no hint of the real feeling behind them.

“I’m ready to report for duty, sir,” he made the statement carelessly.

“Humph! Duty! You’re pale as a ghost, man. Shaky! Wonder how you dare to come here with your deceptions. Back to the barracks with you and don’t let me see you again until you’re a well man.”

Rand smiled, saluted, and half-turned to leave the room when a thought came to him.

“No objections to my taking a stroll, sir? Think the fresh air will do me good.”

“Certainly,” said the inspector a little crisply, then turned to his work, only to raise his eyes again as Rand walked over in the direction of the door.

“Hold. Have you heard the latest news, corporal?”—more kindly.

Rand hesitated, one hand on the knob of the door.

“No, sir, I haven’t.”

“Good news. Wonderful news.” Cameron’s eyes were sparkling now. “Most astonishing too. The relief expedition left Peace River Crossing yesterday and will be here before night. Marvelous!”
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Rand wondered if he had heard aright. There was a faint trace of incredulity in his voice as he answered:

“Marvelous, indeed, sir. Last year Sergeant Richardson made the trip in a little less than ten days. Who’s leading this expedition?”

“Dick Kent,” answered the other.

Corporal Rand was smiling broadly now.

“He must have sprouted a pair of wings, sir.”

“That’s it exactly. They’re coming by airplane.”

Rand recalled his astonishment at this unexpected bit of information. Amazement widened his eyes. He turned swiftly.

“Airplanes!”

“Yes. I don’t understand it myself. If they make it, it will be the first time in history. The petrol supply will be their chief trouble.”

“Great experience for Dick and Sandy,” mused the corporal.

“I wasn’t thinking about them. I was thinking about the hundreds of poor devils up north, whose lives will be spared if that flight should prove successful.”

“Certainly, sir, that’s true. A sort of race against death, isn’t it? By the way, inspector, how is the smallpox situation now?”
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“Appalling! The reports I have received stagger me. The ratio of persons who die after incurring the disease is about four out of every six. The epidemic has spread out over a very wide area. It has already reached the Eskimo tribes on the eastern side of the barren lands. They’re dying like flies.”

“Do you think you’ll have sufficient medicine and men for the whole of the territory affected?”

“I doubt it. Nevertheless, we’ll do the best we can. If Kent and his two friends get through safely, I’m sending them up to the barrens with one physician and as much of the remedy as we can possibly spare.”

* * * * * * * *

Corporal Rand looked out across the valley. The opposite bank of the river flamed with the gold and bronze of autumn’s foliage. Though the season was getting late, the weather was glorious. Not a breath of wind. The sun shone from an unclouded, deep-azure sky. Large flocks of wild geese went honking overhead.

A little regretfully, Rand turned and retraced his steps. It would soon be time for the midday meal, and he was hungry. Tomorrow, he decided, he would see the inspector again and repeat his request. Perhaps he might be ordered out for duty. Perhaps he might be permitted to do his part in a worthy cause. In any event, once on the trail, he would soon forget his weakness, probably gain new strength, be more like his former self.
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He spent the afternoon reading and loitering about, but just before sundown went outside in the hope that he might catch sight of the planes of the relief expedition. In this, however, he was disappointed, although he scanned the southern skies until long after twilight. He returned to the barracks troubled by a strange premonition. He tried to read, but threw down the book before he could become interested. He paced the rough floor of his room, puffing nervously at his pipe, his mind filled with a hundred vague alarms.

Reason, finally, came to his rescue. How foolish he was. The party would probably arrive during the night. His senseless worrying, no doubt, was caused by his recent illness and the nervous tension of being confined to the barracks. Shortly after midnight, when Constable Whitehall, the orderly, entered his room to wish him good-night, he had regained a great deal of his previous cheerfulness.

“Well, how are things?” he inquired of his visitor.

“All right, I guess, but the old man’s worrying about that expedition. Says it should have been here before this.”

“I’ve been worrying, too,” Rand admitted. “Do you suppose anything has gone wrong, Whitehall?”

The constable wagged his head.

“Couldn’t say. Personally, I think they’ll be in before morning.”

“Rather difficult to make a landing in the dark, wouldn’t it?”
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“Don’t know about that.”

“I’m afraid it would,” the corporal answered his own question. “Beastly dark night. Like the inside of a pocket. You don’t suppose they’ve been driven off their course or have lost their way?”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Whitehall. “You’re as fidgety as the chief himself. Everything will be all right, I’m sure. My advice to you is to hop into bed. This sort of thing isn’t good for you.”

For a long time after the two friends separated, Rand rolled and tossed in his bed, obsessed by that queer and unexplainable premonition. He fell into a sleep which was fitful and broken. Through his dreams ran a thread of horror. He woke repeatedly. Finally, he threw back the covers, rose and lit the oil lamp which stood on a table near the head of his bed, and once more essayed to read. Impatiently, he threw the book from him, darted to his feet and commenced pacing back and forth, now and again pausing to pull aside the curtain and look out.
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Daylight found him shaved, fully dressed, waiting for the stir of life about the barracks. The rattle of a granite plate in the kitchen at the back came as a signal for his release from the trying ordeal of the night. He pulled on his short fur coat and walked outside, wandering listlessly away in the direction of the stables and dog compound. To his surprise, he perceived that another person was already abroad. Approaching closer, his astonishment increased. Inspector Cameron!—a somewhat ludicrous figure that morning: Head bent, jaws clamped over a cigar, arms behind his back. He shambled to within a few feet of Rand before he looked up.

“Well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you doing here?”—fiercely.

“I couldn’t sleep, sir.”

“Neither could I. Rotten luck! What do you suppose became of them?”

“You mean the planes, sir?”

“Certainly.”

“They—they ought to be in this morning,” Rand stammered.

“They should have been in last night.”

For a time they lapsed into silence, each regarding the other intently. Finally the corporal plucked up enough courage to make his request:

“If you’ve no objections, inspector, I’d like to return to duty.”

Cameron glared at him.

“I’m really all right,” Rand hastened to inform him.

“I told you——” began the inspector, throwing away his cigar and staring fiercely at his subordinate. “I told you——”
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“Yes; yes, I know,” said Rand softly. “But it’s this way, sir. There is much that I can do to help out at this critical time. A few days in the open air and I’ll be perfectly well again.”

“I’ll think about it. Lord knows we need you. I may possibly be compelled to go out myself. Report to me this afternoon at two o’clock.”

They separated, each going his own way. After breakfast, Rand secured his gun and went out in the vicinity of the post to hunt geese. When he returned, it was well past the lunch hour and when he had eaten it was almost time for his interview with Cameron.

When he had arrived there, the inspector’s office was a scene of unusual activity. Four stalwart half-breeds stood in front of Cameron’s desk, and the orderly directly behind them. The room was sticky and hot. Cameron’s hair was rumpled and he was issuing orders in crisp, choppy tones.

“You have your instructions,” Rand heard him state. “Now take your ponies and go out and see what you can do. Search the country carefully and make inquiries wherever you can. I’ll expect you back in two days.”

The natives went out of the room, followed by the orderly, then Rand, seeing his chance, walked up in front of the inspector’s desk. Cameron did not even look up as he made a notation on a pad in front of him.
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“All right, corporal, I have a job for you. Proceed at once to Keechewan with your horse and full equipment. Know where that is, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” the corporal saluted. “Just south of the barren lands. What’s the trouble up there?”

“I’m coming to that. Natives causing no end of trouble at the Keechewan mission. It’s an outgrowth of this smallpox trouble. The Indians seem to think that the plague has been sent among them by the gods of the white man. The missionaries have warded off two attacks by the infuriated inhabitants of the Indian village, just south of Keechewan. Your duty, corporal, will be to straighten this thing up. Endeavor to instil a friendly feeling among the Indians. If any lives have been taken, bring in the murderers.”

If Corporal Rand manifested any sign of the fear that was in his heart, it was not noticeable to his chief. He merely saluted and inquired:

“Any further instructions, sir?”

Cameron rose to his feet, strode around his desk, and, to the corporal’s surprise, placed a trembling hand upon his arm.
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“You don’t know how I hate to do this, Rand. I don’t want to send you up there without first having you inoculated. You may be going to your death—I’ll be perfectly frank with you. I wish there was some other way. I’ve thought long and carefully over this matter and I’ve come to the conclusion that unless we send help to the mission at once, it may be too late. All of them may be murdered.”

“It’s all right, sir. I’ll go.”

Cameron seized the other’s hand and held it during an interval of oppressive silence. There was no thought now of the inequality of rank. Man to man, brothers in a common cause—each understood and appreciated the other’s attitude and feelings.

“Thank you, sir,” said Rand, “for letting me go, permitting me to do this thing.”

He walked out of the post with a queer smile on his lips. He hurried away in the direction of the stables, his heart beating exultantly. His hand still tingled from Cameron’s steel-like yet affectionate clasp. Dazedly, he groomed and saddled his horse and was in the very act of leading it outside, when Whitehall appeared at the stable door.

“drop everything at once and come back to the office. Cameron wants to see you.”

Rand threw the reins over his horse’s head, and followed the orderly back to barracks. Again he stood in front of his chief.

“You wish to see me?”

“Rand, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided not to send you after all.”
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Rand gulped.

“Don’t change your mind on my account. I’m willing to go.”

“Tut! Tut! I’m in command here. You’ll do as I say. I want you to take charge during my absence. I’ve already written a few instructions for you.”

“Will you be away long, sir?” Rand asked tremblingly, a vague suspicion in his mind.

“Several weeks, I expect. I’m going to Keechewan in your place.”

“In my place!” A sudden blinding weakness overcame the corporal. “In—in my place!” he stammered.

For a period of at least five minutes the room was as quiet as death. Then, suddenly, Rand’s voice rang out clearly:

“Inspector Cameron, you’re a man! But I am too. My horse is saddled and waiting for me. I hate to disobey you, sir, but I’m leaving at once. When I return from the Barrens—if I ever do—I’ll report here and you can place me under arrest. Good-bye, sir!”

He saluted briskly and turned away. Inspector Cameron was still gaping when the door closed softly after the retreating figure.