Sergeant Dick of the Royal Mounted Police A thrilling story of the Canadian woods
“Alf Arnold.”
“That clinches it, sergeant,” said the inspector with grim
satisfaction, carefully folding the scrap of paper and putting it
away in his notebook. “This bit of paper would hang the Squatter of
the Lake, I should say, or at any rate get him a good stretch in
jail, even if you were unable to swear to the lamp, or we couldn’t
trace those who sold it.”
“And--and it would seem to show that Muriel and Jenny--the niece and
daughter, I mean--are not concerned in the outrages of the gang, are
wholly innocent of all complicity in the lawlessness. ‘We will not
need to trick them as usual,’ the letter says, ‘and as they are
going to Paquita Springs the coast will be quite clear.’”
“Yes, yes, it is evident those two girls are innocent and know
nothing whatever of the villainy of their relations and the
Seymours. Come now, we will hurry back the way we came, proceed at
once to ‘Water Castle’ and try to effect the arrest of Old Alf and
his lot.”
“One moment, inspector! I have an idea by which we may capture them
without bloodshed--a thing that I have grave doubt we will achieve
unless we resort to some ruse. You know the strength of ‘Water
Castle,’ and the character of the squatter and his sons, to say
nothing of his wife?”
“What is your plan?”
“First that we do not disappoint them, in the hope of presently
hearing a big ‘boom’ from this quarter. Let us leave a time-fuse to
blow the hut up when we are back across the valley.”
“A good idea. We will do it. If the Arnolds believe they have blown
us all to pieces, we ought to be able to capture them easily. They
will take no precautions against our coming.”
“Exactly! I will tell you the rest of my plan for taking them, as we
go.”
While Sergeant Dick and the inspector laid the fuse, the troopers
were all told to drive the cattle, horses, and sheep to the farther
side of the valley, well away from the force of the explosion.
Sergeant Dick and Medhurst then quitted the hut, laying their powder
trail right across the valley. At the top of the gully the troopers
rejoined them. Then Sergeant Dick applied a lighted match to the
long, thin trail of powder.
With a hissing splutter the tiny red flash ran down the slope of the
hillside and went zigzag-ging away across the valley until it looked
no more than a fast-traveling, tiny red star in the darkness.
It neared the farther side, and all prepared for the detonation.
Sure enough it came.
A great, lurid sheet of flame lit the night under the opposite
cliffs, there was a thunderous roar, echoed and reechoed by the
hills around, and the solid rock under them shook and trembled.
Then the police turned their backs on the cup-shaped valley, from
which it was not possible without human aid that any of the stolen
animals could escape; for the top of the gully, we have forgotten to
mention, was closed by a high gate, secured by a padlock.
Descending past where they had first entered the gully, the party
came almost immediately--on just turning an angle in the cliff--to a
solid wall of rock through which the gully was continued in the
shape of a wide natural tunnel or cave.
They passed inside this, and saw an opening before them not more
than four or five feet wide and six feet high. It was covered over
outside with a mass of an evergreen creeper, which effectually
masked it in like manner to the cave in which the Seymours had been
captured.
Thrusting the creeper aside, Sergeant Dick and Inspector Medhurst
emerged on the prairie within not more than two or three hundred
yards of the Seymours’ hut.
“Oh! ow! ow! Ye are ghosts come back from the grave to haunt us!”
was the yelled greeting they got, as they pushed open the door of
the hut, from the two Seymours, who squirmed and writhed in the
chairs they were tied to.
“You see, inspector? They naturally concluded we had fallen victims
to their horrible trap and been blown to atoms, all of us,” said
Sergeant Dick, grimly.
“Ah, they had laid a trap for you, then, sir. I suspected as much
from the way they were chortling to themselves after we heard that
explosion,” said one of the two troopers who had been left guarding
the prisoners.
“They’ll chortle in a different way after their trial,” grimly
responded Medhurst. “Of course, had your murder-trap succeeded, you
vile wretches, there would have been nothing to prove that it wasn’t
an accident, precipitated by ourselves in searching the hut. As it
is, that little scheme will prove a very damning factor against you
all.”
A start was soon made now for the lake, all quitting the hut and
mounting. The two prisoners were set upon their own horses, which
had been left in the stable all night.
With their reins tied together and linked up on either side to a
trooper’s saddle-bow, the pair were placed in the middle of the
troopers. Then, at an easy trot, with the horses’ hoofs muffled, the
party rode round the hilly spurs on the northern side of the range,
and threaded their way through the woods down to the lake edge.
Sergeant Dick explained his plan for the capture of the Arnolds, as
he and Inspector Medhurst rode at the head of the cavalcade. In
accordance with it, they were no sooner at the waterside and in view
of the lights of the “castle” and the ruddy reflection in the placid
surface of the lake, than he fired three shots into the air.
As the reader may need reminding, three shots meant “Want to come
off shore,” and was the signal used by the Arnolds and all their
visitors.
They had a full code of such signals, which all their friends knew
and employed as occasion demanded. Four shots--two rapidly, and
then, after a moment, two more in quick succession--for instance,
indicated that danger was to be apprehended from some direction.
On his giving the signal, Sergeant Dick and his comrades of the
Royal Canadian Mounted Police dismounted, and hid themselves behind
trees and bushes. They had come to the identically same
landing-place where the Ogalcrees had ambushed him, on landing for
the first time on that shore from the ark.
The two Seymours had been gagged to prevent them giving any alarm,
and moreover, tied to trees.
Hardly had these measures been taken when, through his binoculars,
Inspector Medhurst saw the dark shadow of the ark slowly moving away
from the verandah of the “castle” and making its way out of the
palisaded “dock.”
“There are sure to be some of the menfolk, if not all five, on the
craft, men,” whispered Medhurst, explaining his subordinate’s plan
now to the troopers. “The sergeant is a fine mimic, as I can bear
witness, and he is going to imitate ‘Bud’ Seymour’s melodious voice,
and thus lure whoever’s aboard right up to the landing-place. As
soon as the scow bumps, every man of you must rush forward, without
firing a shot, and get aboard. We don’t want the rest of the family
alarmed by a shot. You know the strength of the ‘castle,’ or, rather
you don’t know it as Sergeant Dick does, and he says it would be
almost impossible to storm it in the face of anything like a fierce
fire from within. The Indians found that out to their cost. The
sergeant says the floor of the front room drops like a trap on the
pulling of a lever, and any one bursting in recklessly may therefore
expect to be given a distinct cooler.”
As already mentioned more than once, the scow, for all its awkward
build, sailed swiftly. It was soon within hailing distance of the
shore, and a man’s voice, the voice of Amos, bawled across the
water:
“Who is it?”
“Bud--Bud Seymour,” Sergeant Dick at once answered, mimicking that
old scoundrel’s mode of speech exactly.
On that, the ark came on, and the peering eyes in the bushes made
out four human forms in the forepart of the craft--two men and two
women.
Sergeant Dick’s heart beat faster.
What if one of the women were she whom he loved--whom he loved still
in spite of his late ghastly fear that she might be implicated in
the awful outrages of the gang and even in their attempt to put him
out of the way by hanging!
When close inshore, the quartet on the ark dropped an anchor astern,
and then, paying out the rope, proceeded to propel the craft, with
the two long sweeps, towards the shore.
By this maneuver, as previously explained, in case of treachery they
could haul off-shore again quickly, by dragging on the anchor rope.
Nearer and yet nearer glided the unwieldy craft, and Sergeant Dick’s
sharp eyes, trained by long practice to seeing well in the dark,
made out Muriel and her cousin Jenny standing just within the cabin
door. They were holding the anchor-rope, brought through the other
doors, ready to haul on it. The family’s isolation taught them to
expect treachery and alarms from the most unexpected quarters.
Amos and his brother Abner were at the sweeps, of course.
Sergeant Dick had assumed Bill Seymour’s hat and coat, and kept
behind a small bush so as to hide his lower man. He concealed his
face by turning the coat-collar up about his chin and drawing the
hat well down over his brows.
Nearer, nearer! Not a yard separated the boat from the landing-place
now.
Bump!
Immediately, Sergeant Dick rushed forward, pointing a pair of
pistols at Amos and Abner.
“Hands up, both of you!” he bawled. “You are our prisoners!”
The pair stood as if petrified, and the two girls likewise; for all
four recognized him in spite of his disguise.
He leaped into the scow, and, with a rush, his fellow
police-troopers swarmed after him, all with pointed revolvers.
CHAPTER XXIX--THE FAILURE TO SURPRISE “WATER CASTLE”
Amos and Abner were each in the hands of half a dozen troopers in
less time than it takes to relate. Then, as terrified screams burst
from Muriel and Jenny, Abner gave vent to a howl that seemed hardly
human and gasped affrightedly:
“They are ghosts, ghosts, ghosts! We are lost, Amos!”
“We are indeed, you fool!” spluttered his brother, struggling
frenziedly now to free himself from the dozen muscular hands
clutching him, “for you ’ave betrayed us.”
Then a gag was forced into the mouth of each of the two young
desperadoes, and their hands were dragged behind their backs and
handcuffed so.
“Stop your screaming, girls! Hold your tongues or we shall be forced
to gag you also,” cried Inspector Medhurst.
At this threat Jenny was silent, save for a loud, terrified panting.
Muriel had only uttered one involuntary scream upon the rush of the
police.
“What is the meaning of this, policemen?” she now demanded,
hoarsely. “Sergeant Dick, have you all gone crazy that--that you
attack us--make prisoners of my cousins in this way and that
you--you have disguised yourself in that way--are personating old
Mr. Seymour?”
“Miss Arnold, an explanation is certainly due to you and your cousin
Jenny,” replied Dick, sorrowfully, as he put his pistols back in his
belt. “You have both been cruelly deceived by your relatives. It
grieves me very much to have to tell you, Miss Muriel, that your two
cousins there, as well as their brothers and father, are members of
the dreaded White Hood Gang.”
“Impossible!” gasped Muriel, while Jenny stood as if transfixed.
“Oh, that is too absurd!”
“It is true, Miss Arnold,” put in Inspector Medhurst. “Your cousin
yonder took us for ghosts, and his brother cried out that he had
betrayed them. So he had, for it was fairly good proof--his taking
us for ghosts--that he believed we had all been killed by a horrible
trap set for us by him and his brothers and the two Seymours up
among the hills.”
“Oh, it is impossible--impossible! I cannot believe it of them,”
panted Muriel, sinking helplessly upon the seat under the bulwark of
the scow.
“You will oblige us, ladies, by going inside the cabin and keeping