Dick Kent, Fur Trader

by M. M. Oblinger

“Which way were they travelling?” came his next eager question.

He expected, of course, to hear that they were going east in search of the remainder of the ponies, but to his surprise the Indian pointed westward. This meant that he and Toma had passed each other only a short time before. The guide, having completed a successful search, was returning to the coast.

It was cheering information and Dick decided that as soon as he had finished his welcome repast and had rested for a short time, he would retrace his steps and rejoin his friends. Putting aside the empty dish, he turned eagerly upon his host, just as that worthy stepped back from his place by the door, fear and dismay depicted in his watery old eyes. Almost simultaneously, there fell across Dick’s sensitive ears the sound of approaching footsteps, then a voice that caused him to experience a momentary sensation of chill.

With a finger on his lips as a warning to the native, Dick scurried up the ladder, pulling it up after him. His hands were shaking. He deposited the ladder on the floor, tiptoed across the loft and lay down with his eyes at a crack.

The door of the room below was pushed rudely open, without even the formality of a knock, and three men—all of them outlaws—entered. Of the three, one was a white man—the sailor who had come ashore with the captain of the yacht. He wore a gray cap and a much-soiled suit of clothes—apparel too thin for that climate! He sat down shivering close to the fireplace, extending his blue, unmittened hands toward the blaze. He did not even look up as one of the other outlaws called loudly for food and growled unpleasantly when it did not appear forthwith.

While they ate, Dick lay watching them. He hoped that none of the outlaws would make a search of the house. Even if they did—now that the ladder was pulled up—he was fairly sure they would not come to the loft. He was feeling comparatively safe, until he became conscious of a step behind him. Then he became panic-stricken. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He had hardly the strength to turn his head as the apparition passed, a young Indian girl not over seventeen or eighteen years of age. She had paused, looked at him in a sort of bewildered manner, then moved forward, picked up the ladder, let it slip through the hole in the floor, and proceeded to climb down to the room below.

Dick’s breath caught as he thought about the ladder projecting there through the aperture, where the Indian girl had left it. It was a strange trick of fate that had been played upon him at a most inopportune time. The outlaws now had easy access to the loft. It would be simple enough indeed to come up and take him like a rat in a trap.

Also, there was another horn to the dilemma. Unwittingly, the girl might blurt out something about his presence there. And if she did, the outlaws would hear it immediately and the game would be up. The very imminence of the thing was not conducive to Dick’s peace of mind. Lying there, not daring to stir, expecting at any moment to hear the ladder creak under the weight of one or more of his enemies, he sweated in an agony of apprehension. He had left his rifle below and, unfortunately, his revolver was empty. Desperately, he looked about him for some sort of weapon that he might use in his own defense. He could see nothing. Except for the blankets in the far corner, the loft was bare. A small pocket-knife was the only thing he had that would be of the slightest service in a hand-to-hand encounter.

Soon afterward, one of the outlaws turned upon the Indian woman and demanded more food. She shook her head, informing him in Cree that there was nothing more in the house. The outlaw apparently did not believe this and, in a sudden burst of anger, advanced and shook her roughly by the shoulder.

The girl intervened. With a tiger-like spring, she bounded forward, slapping him across the face. In a blind fury now, he attempted to retaliate, but she eluded him and ran to the center of the room. Here he caught her, but released her with a snarl, as her teeth sank into his arm. Eyes blazing, he grabbed for her again, but she dodged past. His long fingers caught in a string of beads, tearing it from her neck. Then Dick’s heart seemed to stand still. She had started up the ladder, the outlaw in hot pursuit.