Sergeant Dick of the Royal Mounted Police A thrilling story of the Canadian woods
“Oh, I will soon gratify your curiosity then,” Muriel laughed; and,
going to a cupboard or pantry at one end of the living-room, she
reappeared promptly with a jug of milk, from which she filled a
tumbler she took off a rude dresser, standing at the back of the
apartment.
As she did so, Sergeant Dick looked around this, and saw that, with
the pantry, it took up the whole front of the house.
It showed signs, however, of being regularly divided into three
compartments, for two rods ran across the ceiling at about the same
distance from either end, and on these rods were hung thick, rather
shabby curtains, on rings.
Right round the three outer walls of the room ran a “bank,” almost
as high as the sills of the windows--that is breast high.
“You are wondering what that high bank all around is for?” asked the
girl, as he drank off the glass of milk, and just as if she had read
his thoughts. “That is to form an additional breastwork against shot
penetrating, in case of a siege. We keep it filled, you will see, if
you peep in, chiefly with firewood for the stove.”
Dick looked the astonishment he felt; and Muriel now led him through
a door, which stood between two others.
“The other two doors,” she said, “lead into bedrooms. This door, as
you see, leads into a central passage or hall, from which all the
other rooms open. You will notice it is lighted by a skylight. It is
here that we women would be placed in case of a siege so as to be
out of danger--I don’t think,” she added, laughingly.
John Dick saw that there were no less than six doors around him,
including the one he had just come through.
“This is--” Muriel was beginning, advancing to the first door on her
right, when there dully resounded in their ears two gunshots in
rapid succession, evidently fired some distance away. The shots were
followed after a momentary pause by two more.
Muriel started violently, and gasped hoarsely:
“_There is something wrong!_ That’s our danger-signal--four shots
fired like that!”
She wheeled and darted back into the living-room, followed by the
sergeant.
They flew to the nearest window, which was open to admit the air,
and looked out.
The ark, which could not possibly have had time to get to the islet,
was only a short distance from the “castle.” Mrs. Arnold stood in
the stern with a rifle in her hands.
She saw their faces at the window, and immediately stabbed her
finger excitedly towards the southern end of the lake, and bawled
with all the strength of her lungs:
“Your uncle and the lads--chased--_chased by Indians_!”
With a half-stifled ejaculation, Sergeant Dick flung open the front
door beside him, and sprang out on to the verandah.
Muriel was immediately beside him; and, looking in the direction her
aunt had pointed, they saw two canoes, containing three or four
white persons apiece, paddling madly for the “castle,” while behind,
just rounding the bend in the shore of the lake, appeared several
more canoes full of Indians, all half-naked and bedecked in
war-paint and feathers.
CHAPTER V--A RUNNING FIGHT
“It is what I expected and feared,” groaned Sergeant Dick; “the
Indians of the Paquita Reservation have revolted over the delay of
the Government in sending them the promised compensation for the
wrongful arrest of their chiefs last year in regard to these White
Hood outrages.”
“Pray Heaven that my uncle and cousins will be able to gain the
shelter of the ‘castle,’” panted Muriel. “My two cousins-in-law, the
wives of my cousins Abel and Aaron, are with them. What can we do to
help them?”
“Nothing as yet that I can see,” rejoined Dick; “they are too far
off for the carry of a rifle. Ah, they can hold their own, and will
win here safely, I think.”
Seven puffs of smoke had spurted from the two leading canoes.
Evidently the shots had found human billets in the pursuing crafts,
for two of these yawed wildly, and were run foul of by two of their
fellows with such force that all four canoes were upset, and their
occupants flung into the water.
And then from the right-hand side of the pair on the “castle”
verandah--from a point on the western shore, somewhat to the
northward--came the echo, loud and distinct, of the fusillade from
the fugitive canoes--seven separate reports in quick succession.
Sergeant Dick was surprised at the sharp-cut clearness of the echo,
and could almost have believed that it was no echo, but that seven
shots had been fired at the point whence the sound came.
But for that wonderful echo the reports of the fugitives’ rifles
would have been unheard by the two on the verandah of “Water
Castle,” and the pair in the ark. It accounted also for their
hearing the alarm-signal fired so far away down the lake.
Muriel read in the young trooper’s face his amazement at the echo,
and said:
“It is a curious phenomenon, and was known long before my uncle
built this house. A shot fired anywhere round the margin of the lake
is repeated from that shore and tossed to our ears here as if the
sound came directly from there.”
“Wonderful!”
“That was one of the reasons why my uncle chose this particular site
for his fortress. Of course, he and his sons, aided by some of the
other settlers and their cowboys, made the shoal by dumping into the
lake at the spot boatloads of rock blasted from the hills behind the
woods yonder.”
She pointed to the shore whence the echo had come.
“There are a lot of great cliff-like rocks over there. You can see
some of them peeping above the trees, and it is supposed that the
echo comes from them. The Indians used to call this lake ‘The Lake
of the Wonderful Echo.’”
A ringing chorus of derisive laughter now came across from the
western shore, clearly the echo of that with which Trapper Arnold
and his four sons and two daughters-in-law, in their canoes, had
hailed the temporary discomfiture of their red-skinned foes.
Sharp on the laughter came the echoing crash of rattling volley
after volley, broken occasionally by a stray shot or two.
Sergeant Dick and Muriel, even while they had been discussing the
wonderful echo, had seen the two fugitive canoes simply spouting
smoke and flame for several seconds, pouring in a ceaseless fire
from every rifle they contained into the embarrassed Indians, who
could be seen thrown into the utmost confusion.
Only one or two redskins replied to the devastating fire of their
white adversaries, and they were quickly silenced.
All the pursuing canoes fell behind; and, amid triumphant hurrahs
and more derisive laughter borne to the ears of those in the ark and
on the castle-verandah by the remarkable echo, the fugitives came on
again with redoubled speed in their direction.
In a few minutes the fleeing whites had put a considerable distance
between themselves and their red foes, who, making no further
attempt to pursue, fired after them in a desultory, enraged way.
“Hurray! Hurray! Your uncle and the lads and their wives have beaten
them off, Muriel!” roared Aunt Kate from the ark.
And she and Jenny now, having put that clumsy craft about, stood
away at full speed, with the wind abeam, to meet the fugitives.
“Yes, thank Heaven they have beaten them off!” cried Muriel. “The
red ruffians will probably now abandon the chase. My uncle and
cousins are safe.”
“The Indians are not in any great numbers,” said Sergeant Dick,
shading his eyes from the dazzling rays of the setting sun as he
peered in the direction of the fighting. “That means, I suppose,
that most of the bucks are raiding and murdering elsewhere. God help
the inmates of the more lonely ranches that the painted demons may
attack.”
The police officer and the girl remained on the verandah, watching
the ark and the two fugitive canoes rapidly approach each other, and
the discomfited redmen gradually evolve some order among themselves
again, and follow more warily, keeping up a dropping but impotent
fire at long range.
Slowly the red sun sank from sight behind the cliffs from which the
wonderful echo came; then rapidly the red streaks died out of the
western sky and dusk began to settle down over the lake and the
woods enclosing it.
It was almost dark, and the ark and the two leading canoes had
nearly met, when Muriel Arnold suddenly uttered a startled cry.
She had brought a pair of binoculars from the living-room, and was
attentively watching the ark and the canoes of her people through
it.
“More Indians! A great fleet of canoes has just come round the
southern bend, sergeant,” she gasped, handing Dick the glasses.
He looked through them and saw, as she had said, a great flotilla of
canoes--fully forty or fifty--rounding the bend and paddling swiftly
to join the half-dozen craft which had originally been chasing the
trappers.
“By Jove!” he murmured. “We are in for it with a vengeance. Thank
goodness your people have almost met, and the ark sails swiftly with
the wind on her beam. She’ll have it the same coming back, of
course. I wouldn’t have given her credit for so much speed. She can
outstrip a canoe no matter how fast it is paddled.”
“That is so, sergeant,” gleefully exclaimed Muriel. “We have often
run races, Jenny and I, or one of my cousins-in-law in the ark
against the canoes, manned by as many as they could hold. Some of
the cowboys and ranchmen from the nearest ranches have occasionally
taken part in the race--helped man the canoes. And the ark has
always won; that is if anything like a fair wind were blowing, of
course.”
Somehow, Sergeant Dick was not altogether pleased to hear that the
cowboys and owners of the nearest ranches came to “Water Castle” at
times, and were so friendly with its occupants.
He fell to wondering, even while he watched the exciting scene
transpiring upon the southern end of the lake through the
binoculars, whether any of the said cowboys or ranchmen came on
account of the lovely girl beside him, attracted by her beauty and
charm of manner. And he pictured, with a certain twinge of
heartburning and jealousy, her graceful form sitting on the verandah
with several handsome, dare-devil young cow-punchers bending
admiringly over her.
An awful, piercing, long-drawn-out yell or screech rang suddenly in
the ears of the pair on the verandah. It was the echo of the
war-whoop of the newly-arrived redmen.
Much has been written and told of the terrible battle-cry of the
American Indian, but one who has never heard it can have no
conception really of its terror-inspiring and nerve-shattering
shrillness and duration.
It has been likened to the shriek of “some maddened steam-engine,” a
long-drawn piercing screech, modulated by the fingers placed as
stops over the mouth. And it has been said that buffaloes on hearing
it have been known to sink in terror to the ground, and bears to
topple from a tree.
The effect of such a scream issuing in chorus from the throats of a
hundred or more painted savages, deservedly dreaded for their
ferocity and their cunning, might well strike panic to the hearts of
the first white settlers in the wild and woolly west. Especially
when such knew it was but the prelude to the fiercest of bloody
warfare, which, if successful, meant worse horrors--torture in the
most fiendish way before death came as a happy release.
No wonder then that Muriel Arnold shuddered, trembled from head to
foot, and clapped her hands over her ears, with agonized horror upon
her face, to shut out that horrible, ringing, thrilling scream
echoed from the western shore.
“Quick!” cried Sergeant Dick, “we must barricade the windows--put
the house everywhere in a fit state to resist a fierce siege. Those
hundred and more redmen are not going to quit here without a furious
and determined effort to capture or destroy this place and all