Sergeant Dick of the Royal Mounted Police A thrilling story of the Canadian woods
“or if you must, display a white flag first, and--and stand just
within the door, ready to skip behind it if they show any signs of
firing on you.”
She ran to the table-drawer, as Dick started unbarring the door, and
took out a folded, newly washed and ironed white tablecloth.
“Your blood ’ull be on your own head, sergeant,” said Uncle Alf.
“You are asking for it if you go outside that door. Still, in this
darkness you’ve a chance--just a chance--of coming in again unhurt,
mebbe.”
“What’s that? The sergeant going out to talk to ’em?” called the
youngest son, Abner, from his station in his parents’ bedroom. “He
must be dotty.”
“There’s one thing you’ve forgotten, father,” sang out the other
unmarried son, Amos, from the room opposite. “The skylights.”
“Jumping snakes, so I had! Jenny and Muriel--no, Amos, you’d better
see to ’em. You can be spared from your loophole long enough to,
sure, ’specially as the sergeant here’s agoin’ to hold ’em in talk
an hour or two. Ha, ha, ha!”
His sons within hearing and Jenny echoed his laughter; and Amos came
out into the central passage, and, opening a cupboard door in it,
passed inside.
Within the cupboard was a sloping ladder leading up to a trap-door
in the flat ceiling or inner log-roof.
As soon as he had unfastened the front door, Sergeant Dick stepped
out onto the verandah or landing-stage, and waved the tablecloth to
and fro. Muriel had tied the improvised flag of truce to the muzzle
of his rifle.
Putting his open left hand to his mouth trumpet-fashion, he roared
at the top of his voice:
“My redskin brothers, I want speech with you. I am a policeman, a
sergeant of the Royal Mounted Police. Can you hear me?”
It was so dark now that he could hardly make out the black smudges
the canoes made upon the water; and he feared that the Indians would
not be able to discern his figure against the background of the
“castle,” in spite of his red coat.
No answering hail came back from the canoes; but he was satisfied
that his voice had carried to the ears within them.
And the Indians could hardly fail to observe his white flag, if not
himself.
“Miss Arnold,” he called within the doorway, “will you take this
electric torch from me and shine it upon me so that they may be able
to see me plainly?”
“Oh, no, no! That will be to make a target of yourself--to show you
up plainly as a mark for their bullets.”
“Do as I ask. They are coming in; they see the white flag.”
“I can’t have that there door open too long, sergeant,” called out
Uncle Alf. “You know redskin cunning, and I ain’t agoin’ to allow
’em to come in too close with that door open, nor without afirin’ on
’em neither.”
Muriel, without further demur, tremblingly took the proffered
electric torch from Dick and, standing inside the doorway, flashed
it upon his red-coated figure.
“You see and hear me, my redskin brothers,” John Dick shouted again.
“Go back to your wigwams and squaws and papooses, like sensible men,
and give up your foolish idea of going on the warpath, and so
bringing down upon you the terrible vengeance of Government. What is
your quarrel with us white men? It was not the fault of the fathers
of this land, of the Canadas, that the money was not paid before. It
was the delay of our brothers over the frontier--of the Fathers of
the United States. And the money has been sent you now, as I can
swear. My redskin brothers know that they can believe the word of an
officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
“The chief, Howling Wolf, will speak to the redcoat officer,” came
back a faint shout.
“Mind yourself, sergeant. Howlin’ Wolf’s a chief with no good
reputation to lose. He’s the wickedest of the hull boilin’ lot of
’em red-skinned varmint on Paquita Island, though he ain’t there
now, more’s the pity; for he’s to be dreaded more’n all the others
yonder.”
“Yes, be on your guard, sergeant, for Heaven’s sake. We’ve all heard
of Howling Wolf’s ferocity and cunning,” added Muriel. “I feel sure
you are only risking your life to no good. You’ll not turn them from
their purpose after my uncle and cousins killing some of their
number.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Aunt Kate in her deep, siren-like voice.
“You and the lads, Alf, just now down the lake, sent some on ’em to
the happy hunting-grounds, didn’t ye? It looked so to us, anyways.”
“Sure we did, a good half-dozen on ’em; and more carry the marks of
our bullets on ’em, if they haven’t got the lead still under their
skins. Haw, haw, haw! You’ll never pacify them now, sergeant. They
thirst for our blood in revenge, and they’re not to be turned away
by mere words, as you may find to your cost. But a willful man will
have his way; and, as I said afore, if anything happens to ye, your
blood is on your own head.”
All the canoes remained as stationary black smudges afar off, except
one, which came speeding swiftly towards “Water Castle.”
It came on without a word from any of its occupants, who Sergeant
Dick was soon able to discern were four in number, to all
appearances.
And then suddenly a jet of flame leaped like a fiery bowsprit from
the curved prow of the canoe; and, even as the report of a rifle
rang over the silent waters, waking echoes far and near out of the
black night, Sergeant Dick heard the “zip” of a bullet, felt the
wind from it fan his right cheek, and heard it clang against the
iron-plated tiller-screen which had been set just within the
doorway.
Rebounding upwards on account of the backwardly slanting angle at
which the screen stood, the leaden messenger ended its flight by
burying itself in the wooden ceiling of the living-room.
Muriel screamed, and Sergeant Dick was within the house at a bound.
“Miss Arnold, are you hurt at all?” he asked, anxiously, catching
her in his arms as she reeled against the door.
“No, no; but you?”
His reply that he was untouched was drowned to all other ears but
hers by the sharp “crack-crack-crack!” of the rifles of Uncle Alf
and Aunt Kate as they returned the treacherous shot, concentrating a
ceaseless fire for several seconds upon Howling Wolf’s canoe.
But the four paddlers had promptly thrown themselves prone in its
bottom, and in the thickening darkness the craft presented but an
indifferent mark, so that it was doubtful if a single shot struck
it.
Instantly the dreaded war-whoop of the savages pealed forth, awaking
still greater echoes than the rifle-fire. And, like a pack of hounds
let loose, all the black, indistinct smudges behind the chief’s
canoe came racing for “Water Castle.”
“Quick, secure the door there!” roared Uncle Alf. “Ye see, sergeant,
the folly of your attempt to palaver with ’em.”
Amos came rushing from the ladder-cupboard in the central passage,
and roughly jostled Sergeant Dick aside from the rebarring of the
door.
“Get to your loophole,” he snarled, resentfully, “and show your
mettle wi’ your rifle. You mout hev bin the death of the gal.
Muriel, you take another window! I’ll see to the securing o’ the
door.”
CHAPTER VIII--THE SIEGE OF “WATER CASTLE”
Though inwardly resenting Amos Arnold’s behavior and words, Sergeant
Dick at once went to one of the windows in the front of the house,
and thrust his rifle through the slit in the armored shutter.
Not a rifle “barked” now; all the shooting had ceased. The inmates
of the “castle” were reserving their fire until the canoes should
draw near enough to allow of their taking fairly accurate aim in the
darkness; and the Indians, after that first wild whoop of the onset,
gave their whole attention to getting close in.
There were six windows in the front, and two more to either side, of
the living-room, which therefore contained ten loopholes, as well as
the door.
Uncle Alf had posted himself in the west front corner, and his wife
was in the corresponding corner on the east side.
Sergeant Dick and Muriel took a window on either side of the door;
and Amos, having quickly made this fast again, rushed back to his
prearranged station in his brother Aaron’s bedroom.
Howling Wolf and his four companions, lying prostrate in their
drifting canoe, were the first to resume firing. Five streams of
fire spurted simultaneously from the shapeless smudge their craft
now appeared in the gloom, and as many bullets thudded harmlessly
against the logs of the “castle,” and buried themselves in the thick
walls.
At once all four whites in the front room focused their rifles upon
the canoe and poured in volley after volley.
In the hope of putting a swift termination to the revolt by killing
Howling Wolf, who was evidently, from what he had heard of the man,
the chief promoter and fomenter of it, Sergeant Dick aimed at the
prow where he believed the Indian chief lay.
All his shots flew true to their mark, and on his third shot
striking the craft four dark figures were seen to jump up in it and
literally throw themselves overboard.
Such was their mad haste to get into the comparative safety of the
water that they overset the canoe, and it floated bottom upwards.
“Hurray! One of ’em’s settled, that’s pretty sartin,” yelled Old Man
Arnold, gleefully. “Only four leaped out. The fella in the bows
didn’t, and that should be Howling Wolf hisself.”
“Do you think he’d be fool enough to remain in the bows arter giving
himself away with his first shot?” asked his wife, contemptuously.
“I thought you knowed Indian cunning better nor that, Alf.”
“Anyways, one on ’em’s settled, and it’s as likely to be him as
not,” returned the old man testily.
All the defenders could now be heard firing rapidly--from every
quarter of the house. The Indians on the east side were the first to
reply to the fusillade, and those on the west side and in front
quickly chimed in.
But it was so inky dark now that only the flashes of the redmen’s
rifles revealed their whereabouts to their white foes, who were thus
firing almost at random.
Thud, thud, thud! The besiegers’ bullets rattled like hail against
the stout walls of the castle; but so thick were these that not one
entered.
Clang! An occasional shot found the iron-plated door or a shuttered
window.
On the other hand, the defenders, sighting swiftly in the direction
of a rifle-flash, were gratified again and again by hearing the
death-shriek or scream of pain from a stricken enemy; and Sergeant
Dick’s companions were quick to note that he never fired a single
shot but there came such an answer.
He had realized that it would be madness to hold his hand or seek to
spare the redmen, in the circumstances. It was their lives or the
lives of all in the “castle.”
Under cover of the now pitchy darkness the Indians were likely to
reach the house; and, once they were swarming about it in their
canoes, in such numbers as they were, nothing could prevent some of
them getting upon the roof or bursting in the windows and door.
They must be kept at bay at all costs.
Putting all pitying thoughts for the misguided wretches, therefore,
out of his heart, he grimly watched the successive rifle-flashes in
front of him, and shot back straight for one or another.
None of the other inmates of “Water Castle” knew of the fame and
nickname he had won among his fellow-troopers of the Mounted Police
for his deadly skill with the rifle, but “Sure-shot Jack Dick” never
deserved his reputation and _sobriquet_ better than he did now.
“Jumping snakes, sergeant, but you seem to be makin’ ’em squeal!”
shouted Old Man Arnold delightedly. “Dang me if I don’t hear a yelp
every time you fires!”
“That’s so,” cried Muriel, almost proudly. “I don’t believe he has
thrown away a single shot.”
“Good boy! Keep it up,” roared the lion-like old woman. “He has
cat’s eyes, sure. I wish I had. This blamed darkness beats me. Peg