CHAPTER XXI DISASTER LOOMS

Four miles is not far. In the north country, where distance plays such an important part in the lives of the inhabitants, four miles would be accounted but a step, a unit of space hardly worth considering. Yet to Dick and his party, who had set out in pursuit of the Indian invaders, it seemed a long way indeed. It was a weary trail and a hard one. It was fraught with danger, with grave foreboding.

It seemed to the young leader, as they fared forth across that ghastly moonlit field, that his life had been spent on trails. Daily he walked along some trail. At night he slept beside one. When chill morning broke across a bleak snow-covered land, it was only to resume that never-ending, continuous trek.

It was a sort of Nemesis that haunted him. Somehow he couldn’t get away from it. The trail!——It was there always. It beckoned to him. It defied him. It led him wearily, doggedly on to new dangers and disasters.
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On the night in question, the four miles seemed inconceivably long. The feet of his party dragged. A moody silence hung about them. No one laughed. Conversation had ceased. Behind him came the monotonous crunch, crunch, crunch of scores of snowshoes, beating out a path. Crunch, crunch, crunch—tired, laggard feet moved hesitatingly, moved fearfully, ready at the slightest pretext to turn and flee.

Neither Dick nor his two chums believed that in case of an attack, any of the Indians, comprising their party, would make a stand. They were too fearful. In the final crisis, so Dick believed, he would be forced to depend solely upon his two friends and himself. Yet in numbers there is strength. Their imposing array would be sure to impress the enemy.

They reached the village. They bore down upon it, forty strong, shouting their defiance. With their rifles ready, they entered the outskirts, laggard steps becoming more laggard, frightened faces becoming more frightened as the crisis approached. They were offered no resistance. Could it be that the village was asleep? A few huskies sniffed at their heels. A papoose cried in one of the tepees they passed. Still they went on.
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In the brilliant star-sprinkled sky a few clouds were visible. One particularly dark cloud passed across the moon. Shadows fell athwart the tepees. It was darker now. The forms of Dick’s followers became shrouded in gloom. Along the white snow surface crept a huge dark stain, an immensity of shadow that blotted the earth.

The tepees were black blotches now against a dark background. Out of this obscurity, coming as unexpectedly as a fire-siren, shrieking its warning, there rose a blood-curdling, hideous yell. Dick literally froze in his tracks. A cold sweat broke out upon his face. He had scarcely the strength to stand upon his tottering legs.

The yell was followed by the cracking of rifles, the whining of bullets. Appalled, his men drew back. For a brief moment they stood their ground, then broke and fled in confusion. The retreat became a rout. Panic spread, rifles were hurled to one side, and a few minutes later Dick’s valiant supporters disappeared from view, swallowed up in the semi-darkness.

Dick saw the absolute futility of attempting anything further that night. Moving more leisurely, he and his two chums followed his defeated column. Again the trail oppressed him. Hope had gone glimmering. He had reached the end of the road. He heard Sandy speaking in mournful tones:
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“Well, I guess there isn’t much we can do now. It’s all over. I wouldn’t give one whoop for Dr. Brady’s chances now, or the priest’s either. What do you think about it, Toma?”

For once the young Indian was at a loss to know what to say. He shook his head and walked on beside them.

“I’m tired of it all,” said Dick. “Our luck has deserted us. There used to be a time, Sandy, when we could stumble through difficulties blindly. But I’m afraid that that time has passed. We’re up against a solid rock wall. We can’t scale it. It’s too high for our puny strength. We’re helpless.”

“And yet,” said Sandy, almost reverently, “Corporal Rand came up here single-handed to accomplish what we have failed to do with forty men. Have you stopped to think about that?”

“Yes, but Corporal Rand is licked too.”

“The trail did that. I’m willing to bet that if Corporal Rand were here now, he’d dare to go back to that Indian village alone, and would probably be successful too.”

“I realize that. But how do they do it? It’s a thing I’ve often wondered at.”
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“I can’t explain it myself,” said Sandy, “unless it is the awe in which they are held. You see, Dick, all the people who live in this north country know what wonderful men they are, how brave and determined. They’re afraid of them. But it’s something more than fear. It goes deeper than that. It’s—it’s——I can’t tell you what it is. It isn’t exactly awe or reverence or fear. Perhaps it is a mixture of all these things. I really can’t tell you.” They struggled on, soon reaching the village, where they were met by Father Michaud, who was now in charge of the mission. Father Michaud carried a lantern. He was a much older man than either of his two associates. He held the lantern out before him, and as the boys came closer, peered up anxiously in their faces.

“Ah, monsieur, is it not terrible. Ees everyone safe? Are there no dead? So terrible—so terrible!” he lamented. “Even from here I hear those awful shouts an’ ze sound of ze rifles. Did you make a brave ree-sistance?”

“How could we?” answered Sandy. “Everybody ran away. At the first sound of firing, our brave little army vanished like a flock of frightened sheep.”

“An’ you saw nothing of ze Father Bleriot an’ ze good Dr. Brad-ee?”

“No. We saw nothing of them.”

“Et ees so terrible,” wailed the priest “Tomorrow will you go again?”

“I’ll have to think that over,” Dick replied. “But what is the use. If you can supply me with some really brave and courageous men, I’ll undertake to bring the good father and Dr. Brady back.”
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“Ah, but my people, zey are so prostrate, so heavy with grief. Ze spirit has gone out of them.”

“Well, I’m not surprised at that,” said Sandy, a little more charitable.

“Et ees to be regretted zat ze policeman ees seeck. He ees a wonderful man, zat Corporal Rand. Nothing on earth can stop zat man.”

“What did I tell you,” whispered Sandy, nudging Dick’s arm. “He knows it too.”

“What will monsieur do now?”

“First of all, we’ll have something to eat and a few hours sleep. After that, we can make our plans. To be perfectly frank, Father Michaud, I don’t know what to do.”

Dick’s shoulders seemed to droop as he made the assertion. He was feeling the weight of his responsibilities, had reached the point where it seemed impossible to go on.

And then, suddenly, there flashed through his mind the grim figure of the Inspector of Police. The steel-gray eyes were regarding him.

“If I didn’t have implicit faith in you, I wouldn’t send you on this expedition.”

Implicit faith in him! Yet he wondered if Cameron, knowing of the odds against them, would have held out hope for their ultimate success.
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“Et ees too bad zat Corporal Rand ees ill,” Father Michaud repeated. “Zey would be afraid of him; monsieur. Zey see ze mounted police an’ zey are afraid.”

Suddenly Dick had an idea. He turned quickly to the priest.

“Father Michaud, where is the man I captured earlier in the night? Where is he now?”

“In one of ze cabins. Zey have put a guard over him.”

“Father, will you lead me to that cabin?”

The priest nodded. He commenced hobbling down the road. They followed him and turned into the narrow street, with the row of cabins on either side. They hurried on through the dim light of early morning, presently drawing up before a low structure, in front of which stood a native, a rifle clutched in his hands.

“Open the door,” said Dick in Cree. “I wish to see the prisoner.”

They entered the dark interior. The guard struck a match and lit the tiny taper that had been placed on the mantle above the fireplace.

In front of the fire, rolled in a blanket, which had been provided him, lay Dick’s former track-mate. Toma aroused him by shaking his shoulders none too gently, yanking him to an upright position. The man daubed at his eyes, looking sleepily about him.

“What is your name?” asked Dick in Cree.

“Tawanish.”
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“All right, Tawanish, I’m about to release you. You can go back to your own people.”

“Dick, are you mad?” suddenly interposed Sandy. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Do you realize what you are saying? No, Dick, we will hold him here as a hostage. They have Dr. Brady and Father Bleriot. We have this man.”

Dick turned almost angrily upon his chum.

“Please, Sandy, don’t interfere. I know what I’m doing.”

He turned again to the Indian.

“Tawanish, I am sending you back to your own people. You can go free.”

“It is very good of my brother,” stammered the Indian, blinking at his liberator.

“You will carry a message to your people,” Dick went on. “Do you understand that, Tawanish—carry a message. You must remember what I say, else it will go hard with you and them.”

“What is the message?” Tawanish asked.

“You must tell them,” Dick replied, choosing his words carefully,”—you must tell them, Tawanish, that the mounted police have arrived. Corporal Rand is here. Tell them that they must release the good father and the white medicine man. As soon as you return and tell them this, they must release these two men and give them a convoy back to this village. Do you understand what I have told you?”
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“Yes,” answered the Indian. “I understand.”

“This Corporal Rand,” Dick resumed, “is a terrible man. He is one of the greatest among all of the mounted police. If you do not comply with his request, his vengeance will be sure and certain. Do you follow me, Tawanish?”

“I understand what you have said. It shall be done.”

“Very well,” said Dick. “Know you then that if the good father and the white doctor do not return to us before the time of the noonday sun, Corporal Rand will proceed to your village.”

Sandy and Toma stared in open-mouthed amazement.

“You’re mad!” sputtered Sandy.

“If you will come with us, Tawanish, I will give you back your gun. Then you can start at once.”

They filed from the room. Outside Dick dismissed the guard, then led the way to his own billet, where he had left his captive’s rifle. Extracting the cartridges, he handed it over to Tawanish.

“Go,” said Dick, “and give your chief and your people my message.”

The Indian’s departure was sudden and abrupt. He streaked for the door. Father Michaud touched Dick’s arm.
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“I hope,” he declared, “zat you have not made a serious meestake, monsieur. Do you think zey will heed your request?”

Dick sat down on the edge of his bunk, under the accusing gaze of his two chums.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “There’s a chance.”

The pent up rage and anger, which had been seething within Sandy’s breast, suddenly broke forth.

“You fool! You fool! Of all the unthinking, crazy actions I’ve ever witnessed, this is the worst. Do you realize what you’ve done? Do you know what will happen now? Wouldn’t listen to me, would you? Nor Toma? Nor Father Michaud? You—you——”

Sandy’s tirade ended in a choking and sputtering wholly unintelligible.

“What have I done?” asked Dick.

“You haven’t the sense to see it, so I’ll tell you. The Indians might hesitate about killing Dr. Brady and Father Bleriot as long as we had one of their own people here. They’d be afraid that if they did commit such an act, we’d retaliate by taking the life of that Indian.”

He paused, clearing his throat.
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“Now, by your colossal blunder, you have made the way easy for them. They can kill them with perfect impunity. Dick, how could you be so thoughtless. Your plan won’t work. You acted on impulse. I’m sure,” more kindly, “that if you’d paused to reason it all out in your mind, you’d never have taken that step.”

Dick had nothing to say. It did seem as if Sandy were right. It was an awful moment.

“Well,” said Sandy, “we might as well go to bed. There is nothing more that we can do now. Come on, Dick, let’s tumble in.”

The priest turned away quietly and left the room. They could hear the crunch of his footsteps outside. Toma and Sandy sat down and commenced pulling off their moccasins. But Dick did not stir. His hopeless, tragic eyes stared into the fire.