It was well that these precautions were taken. That same night, two Indians, hired for the positions for night watchmen, repulsed three efforts on the part of Frazer’s men to gain admittance. So persistent were these attempts to enter the post, that Dick began to believe that something even of more value than the company’s records were at stake. At ten o’clock on the following morning, he and Mr. Scott were discussing this phase of it, when a young half-breed bolted through the open door of the trading room, shouting wildly.
“Fire, Meester Scott! The warehouse eet ees burn! Come queek!”
The factor tore around the end of the counter, his eyes blazing like two lamps.
“My God!” he cried. “The fur! Thousands of dollars worth waiting for shipment.” He raced to the door. “Come on!” he shouted.
The boys followed closely behind the racing form of the factor. They could see the fire now. Dense volumes of smoke curled up from the eaves of the building. As yet, no flame was discernible but the smoke was thick. They had almost reached the burning building, when suddenly Dick stopped. Through his mind there had flashed an appalling thought. The trading post was unguarded. Everyone had rushed to the fire. Hadn’t the warehouse been purposely set on fire with this end in view? For a moment, he watched Sandy and the factor racing on, then turned quickly and sprinted back to the trading room.
Purposely leaving the door open behind him, revolver in hand, he concealed himself behind the counter and waited. Through the door and open windows there came to him the frenzied shouts of the fire fighters. Even in the trading room he could detect the rancid smell of smoke. He wondered if he had been foolish in coming here when his assistance was so urgently required back there at the warehouse. He crouched low, his thought a conflicting whirl. Once he half started to his feet, deciding that his suspicions were groundless and that he must hurry to the aid of his comrades. But again he thought better of it and stooped still lower, breathlessly waiting.
A step sounded outside. Whispering voices, then the stealthy movement of feet across the floor. He gripped his revolver convulsively. He dare not look up for fear that he might be discovered. He did not wish to confront them yet. What were they here for? Why had they made those repeated attempts to break in?
The door of the factor’s office opened and closed. He could hear muffled voices in there, the faint shuffling of feet, the creaking of what sounded like a drawer. Stealthy as a cat, he rose to an upright position, tip-toed around the counter and, with desperate caution, made his way over to the door of the factor’s office. His hand stole tremblingly to the knob. Just before he closed over it, he heard a husky voice.
“Quick! Someone may come back any moment. It’s here! You take one and I’ll take the other.”
Steeling himself for the ordeal, Dick turned the knob and kicked the door open. A wicked, pock-marked face, with wolfish fangs bared, confronted him. Behind Henri Mekewai stood the figure of Donald Frazer.