Sergeant Dick of the Royal Mounted Police A thrilling story of the Canadian woods
side of it and looked forth.
All was still and peaceful. The lake and the woods south and east
and west seemed slumbering under the silvery moon.
Thoroughly refreshed, he was up before the dawn, and went to the
bathroom at the back of the house to wash himself. When he returned
to the living-room he found that Amos and Abner had arisen, the
curtains had been drawn back, and Mrs. Arnold, Muriel and Jenny were
already preparing breakfast, with front door and windows open to
admit the sweet warm morning air.
They all--even the surly Abner--greeted him cordially; and he
thought Muriel prettier than ever in the rosy light of the dawn.
Bella and Deborah, the two married daughters-in-law, made their
appearance shortly, and then old Alf and their husbands.
All the men went out on the verandah to smoke a morning pipe before
breakfast; and, seated upon it, looking out across the water and
scanning the shore in all directions for any sign of their late
besiegers, they discussed at length their plans for the
“rounding-up” of the White Hoods.
They were at breakfast when they heard the plash of paddles and men
hailing the “castle.”
As the morning was so warm and fine they had the door wide open and
all the windows, too, but no foes could have stolen on them unawares
very well.
Rushing forth, they saw approaching the “castle” from the direction
of the landing-spit on the east shore four canoes carrying three
white men apiece.
Through the field-glasses they recognized the new comers as Foulkes,
the Indian agent, a couple of the local police troopers, two of the
officers from the nearest fort, and some ranchmen and cowboys of the
neighborhood.
All twelve visitors were warmly welcomed by the inmates of “Water
Castle,” who plied them eagerly with questions as to how matters had
gone in the district--the doings elsewhere, of course.
The Ogalcrees, it appeared, had committed a few isolated outrages,
burning and plundering some half-dozen or more farms. But for the
most part they had spared the inmates, or these had escaped and they
had contented themselves with the drink and valuables they got.
Word had been conveyed to the troops, however, and these had now
arrived at the Reservation on Paquita Island and were holding all
the chiefs who had not followed Howling Wolf on the warpath as
hostages for the good behavior of the rebels.
These last had fled _en masse_ across the frontier into the United
States, and were expected to be shortly rounded up and forced to
submit by Uncle Sam’s troops.
Sergeant Dick was wanted at the Reservation to help to satisfy the
Indians there that Government had acted in good faith by them, and
already sent the money due upon their claims, but that it had been
intercepted and stolen by the White Hood rustlers, or road-agents,
and that it would be made good later.
Accordingly, he went off with the visitors in one of their canoes an
hour or so later, promising old Alf and his two elder sons quietly
aside, however, before he did so, that he would return at nightfall
and go with them to the gang’s secret lair, and in the meantime not
tell another soul about it.
Sure enough, just as dusk was falling over the lake and the wooded
hills embosoming it, a canoe containing a single occupant was seen
by the inmates of “Water Castle” to be approaching from the southern
end of the sheet of water; that is from the direction of the Indian
Reservation.
Old Alf and his sons had been out the best part of the day visiting
the traps that they had set the evening of the Ogalcree rising, and
had just got back. Most of their traps they had found interfered
with by the redskin raiders, but those which had not been so
molested had contained furred victims sufficient to repay them well
for the trouble and time taken in setting them.
They had reset the traps for the night, and then returned home.
Bella and Deborah did not always accompany the men on their trapping
expeditions, though they frequently did so, as sometimes also did
Muriel and Jenny, and even Aunt Kate.
The canoe coming from the south end of the lake was speedily near
enough for the squatters to see that Sergeant Dick was in it, and
soon after he was partaking of some light refreshments in the
“castle” living-room, preparatory to leading the expedition.
CHAPTER XXIV--IN THE HANDS OF MERCILESS FOES
The sky was overcast and there was no moon, as they set forth in two
canoes, the one Sergeant Dick had come back in and one of the craft
kept beneath the house.
Old Alf, Abel, and the sergeant went in the first canoe, and Aaron,
Amos and Abner in the second.
Paddling softly to the western shore, they landed with equal
stealth, for there was no saying what watch the rustlers were in the
habit of keeping on the woods thereabouts.
They hauled their two craft ashore, and concealed them amongst the
bushes.
“I suggest,” said Abel, then, “that we march in single file, you
leading the way, sergeant.”
“Very good,” answered the police officer.
They threaded their way warily through the dense woods; and, in
spite of the darkness, Dick led them unerringly to the foot of the
waterslide.
For that matter, they all of course knew where it was, had
frequently seen and passed it, but, according to their own story,
had never had the curiosity to climb it as he had done, or explore
the perpendicular, terraced rocks behind it.
“We had better climb up in the same way as I did--by means of the
trees over-arching the water,” John Dick whispered. “Sling your
rifles securely now, and make sure your pistol-holsters are--”
“Hands up, all, or you’re dead men!”
The unexpected mandate made even Sergeant Dick jump.
He whipped round and saw five awful, ghostly, white-hooded,
white-clad forms confronting him and his companions, with two
pointed automatics each.
It would have been madness--certain death to have attempted
resistance or defiance in the teeth of those ten leveled little
tubes. Nevertheless, Sergeant Dick was the last of the punitive
force to put up his hands.
The five squatters hoisted theirs promptly.
None of the prisoners had his rifle unslung or a pistol drawn.
“Tie them up, Bud,” ordered the leader of the White Hoods.
And one of the five ghostly forms thrust his pistols into his belt
and advanced. The gang had clearly been posted behind a large rock
close by the water-slide.
In their ghostly disguise the fellows did not look human. Their
high-peaked hoods, drawn down to their chins so as to conceal the
face, had only two holes cut for the eyes, and their long, white,
shapeless smocks descending to the tops of their knee-boots
completely concealed their figures, and added to their spectral
appearance.
“Let’s see who they be,” said the leader in a voice which sounded
_feminine_ and also familiar to the sergeant’s ears.
He flashed an electric torch, and shone it first upon Dick’s face
and form.
“Curses! A trooper, and a sergeant at that! So the cops have tumbled
to whar we hang out, lads. That’s bad. Hullo! You are the squatter
of the lake, Old Alf Arnold, the father of ‘Water Castle.’ And
you’re his son, and you, and you,” as he flashed his torchlight in
turn upon the faces of the young men.
“You dodrotted fools! What are you doing roving round here at this
hour of the night? Don’t tell me a lie, you were out arter us?”
“Nothing of the kind,” lied old Alf. “’Ow should we know as ’ow we’d
run up agin you ’ereabouts? We are out a-settin’ of our traps, and
the sergeant’s come with us just acause he’s bin a-stayin’ wi’ us at
‘Water Castle’ durin’ this ’ere Injun risin’. Didn’t you ’ear ’ow he
helped us to beat ’em off? They besieged us hot and ’eavy in the
‘Castle’ several nights runnin’.”
“Yus, I heerd all about that, but your comin’ here looks darned
suspicious-like, all the same, and so I’m not agoin’ to let ye go
yet awhile. Tie ’em up, Bud, and blindfold ’em, too. We can’t take
no risks.”
“Bud” proceeded to bind the sergeant’s hands behind his back, and
then to blindfold him, after which he was relieved of all his
weapons and valuables.
He was then kept waiting while his fellow-prisoners were,
apparently, likewise being attended to.
“’Urry up, ’urry up, Bud!” the chief at last said, impatiently; and
a minute or two later a heavy hand fell on Dick’s shoulder and he
was told to step out.
Almost immediately he felt the ground rising steeply as he was
conducted along, and he was climbing up a slope which obliged his
captors to give him a helping hand. The gang were now evidently
joined by as many more men, for he heard them moving in front and
around him as well as whispering to one another.
Up and up the steepest of paths or rocky defiles they climbed, until
presently a halt was called, and the voice of the leader added:
“Now put the rope round his neck, and throw it over the branch, and
I’ll jist scribble the message to pin on his breast. You kin remove
the bandage from his eyes, one of ye. I mout as well tell you,
sergeant, we’re a-going to hang you, as a hexample to your
fellow-cops, to show ’em what they’ve to expect from us if they try
to hunt us down. Your fellow-prisoners we’ve let go, without their
arms, watches, money, and other trifles. We’ve no great grudge agin
them, and we allus likes to keep in wi’ men like Squatter Arnold, as
ain’t got much to lose or tempt us, and who can be of great sarvice
to us by giving us information when the cops are arter us.”
The cloth was removed from the young police officer’s eyes, at the
same time as a noosed rope was slipped round his neck.
He saw that he was standing under a tree at the edge of a ravine,
some forty feet deep, through which ran a fairly wide and level
road. On either side of him were his captors, the dreaded White
Hoods--nine now in number. A tenth ghostly form was climbing into
the tree, to pass the rope over a stout branch.
Not one of the Arnolds was to be seen.
The chief put a paper flat against the tree-trunk, and, while a
companion flashed an electric torch, proceeded to write something
upon it.
Sergeant John Dick gave himself up for lost. It was plain that the
murderous ruffians meant to hang him there above the mountain road,
where his dead body would be found on the morrow by the first
ranchman or homesteader who chanced to ride that way.
Nevertheless, he scorned to ask for mercy from the villainous
gang--to beg for his life.
“Ho! ho! me bowld trooper, your goose is cooked now, anyways,”
gloatingly jeered the White Hood above him--in the tree.
Sergeant Dick could barely suppress a start, _for he knew that voice
also_.
“You may hang me, you atrocious scoundrels,” he said, boldly and
fearlessly, “but, as sure as there is a heaven above me, you will
reap a terrible reward for such a crime. Heaven will not let you go
unpunished. You--”
For the second time that night he was not allowed to finish a
sentence. There were startled cries in the ravine below--two
exclamations of horror and anger. And, as all eyes were turned in
the direction of the unexpected sounds, Sergeant Dick beheld, to his
infinite relief and joy, two police troopers, in the familiar
Stetson hats and red coats, sitting astride horses at the turn in
the road.
Their sudden appearance there, without a sound having broken the
stillness, except their startled ejaculations at the sight of the
terrible drama about to be enacted above them, was quite spectral.
And so several moments the White Hoods stood staring aghast at them.
The troopers, indeed, were the first to act. They had their rifles
at the ready in front of them. Promptly jerking the butts to their
shoulders, they fired upwards at the gang on the cliff.
In spite of the haste of the marksmen, the bullets were well aimed.