Following a good breakfast the next morning, the boys loaded their canoe, shook hands with the corporal and, just at six o’clock by Rand’s watch, the two canoes floated out into the river, separated and began speeding on their respective ways. All day the boys worked like Trojans. In spite of a delay of over an hour at one portage, they managed to travel over forty miles before they stopped at dusk to make camp.
The second day was more or less a repetition of the first and, on the afternoon of the third day since their meeting with Corporal Rand, they drew up at the boat landing at Half Way House, tired but exultant.
They walked up along the well-beaten path toward the trading post, the cynosure of curious eyes. And indeed, this was not to be wondered at. Their appearance resembled scarecrows more than human beings. They were ragged from head to foot. Their faces were burned a deep brown from the exposure to sun and wind. As they made their way past a row of cabins, the company’s warehouse and finally to the store itself, Toma’s abbreviated trousers caused a good deal of merriment among lounging groups of Indians and half-breeds.
Though they were exultant, they were also grim. Dick’s eyes were hard as he led his two companions through those tittering groups. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides and, reaching the entrance he flung open the door and strode defiantly in. Toma and Sandy followed, their manner belligerent.
Behind the counter, busily occupied in rearranging merchandise on the shelves, the factor, Mr. Donald Frazer had not noticed their entrance. When he did look around, his face paled.
“Y—y—you!” he trembled.
Three pairs of glaring, unfriendly eyes bored into the wavering optics of the man behind the counter. As yet, not one of the boys had spoken. A deep and ominous silence settled over the room.
“We’re back!” Dick cleared his throat.
“So I perceive,” the factor attempted to make light of the matter, but his effort at jocularity proved a dismal failure.
“We’re back,” Dick repeated, his voice harsh and cold, “and we demand an accounting. You’re a miserable snake, Frazer, and you have a lot to answer for. Before we report this matter to the police, perhaps you’d like to do a little explaining on your own account.”