“I guess we might as well start,” he declared.
“As soon as you boys have saddled up, we’ll strike off along the Settlement River trail. We have plenty of time and can proceed slowly.”
The boys hastened to obey. Presently they drew away from the coulee, keeping well within the shelter of spruce and jack-pine bordering the river. A few hundred yards farther on they picked up the faint thread of a trail, which soon brought them to the main travelled road. Here, two abreast, Constable Pearly and Toma in the lead, they jaunted leisurely along.
Conversation lagged. For some unknown reason, the little party rode under a cloud of dejection. Pearly’s face had become set and stern; Sandy slumped in his saddle; Toma’s eyes wandered furtively from side to side; while Dick himself was obsessed by a sense of foreboding. This feeling persisted as they continued slowly on their way. Strive as he would against it, he could not shake off the thought of impending disaster. It was as if the gray spectre of some great trouble followed in their rear.
Dick wondered if this unpleasant phantasm had come as the result of his nervous strain and lack of sleep, or if it was really a warning. Ought he to tell Constable Pearly? Pressing his heels against his pony’s flanks, he cantered up behind the policeman for the purpose of doing so, but on second thought decided against it. Pearly would probably laugh at him and with just cause, for his fears were groundless. It was folly even to think about it. He must endeavor to get a better grip of himself.
A moment later, he wished he had acted upon his first impulse. The constable suddenly threw his hands high in the air and dropped from his saddle. The reverberating report of a rifle, a puff of smoke from the side of the trail, the fleeting glimpse of someone hurtling away through the underbrush—all were vivid impressions, indelibly traced across Dick’s mind. With a snort of fear, his horse had thrown himself back so abruptly that its rider had nearly become unseated. Dick sprang to the ground just as Toma, who had already dismounted, stooped over Pearly’s prostrate form.
“Is he dead!” gasped Dick.
Sandy rode up, his cheeks ashen with horror, a revolver gripped in one trembling hand.
“The half-breed!” he faltered. “The same man who tried to stab Nichols. I saw him!”
“The yellow, despicable cur!”