As he spoke, Slade pointed to the ruins of the log cabin, around which the three boys had gathered. In the center of the charred and littered space, one could make out, even at that distance, a gaping hole partially filled with debris. But no one, unless he had made a more thorough investigation, might have guessed that the hole, instead of being the cellar or basement of the ruined cabin was, in reality, the main shaft leading to a very valuable gold mine.
The ruined cabin was the one and only grim reminder of a night of tragedy. Slade eyed it contemplatively as he continued in his drawling tone:
“It kind o’ makes me shudder when I think o’ what might have happened if Dick hadn’t fought Baptiste, when the Frenchie knocked down the Indian kid. It’s the only thing that saved ’em. Them Indians is as friendly now as the friendliest Cree in the settlements along the Peace. The chief’s son was over here ’bout an hour ago to pay his respects to the boys an’ to promise ’em that they needn’t worry ’bout bein’ molested. That’s what I call gratitude.”
“When the boys told their story I could hardly believe it,” Corporal Richardson spoke reminiscently; “I can imagine how they felt when the Indian attack took place. Sandy said that the three of them were so struck with terror, that for a long time they didn’t move a foot away from their bed-rolls. The attack was nearly over before they plucked up sufficient courage to make an attempt to escape.”
Malemute Slade drew out his pipe and grinned across at the mounted policeman.
“At any rate, them Indians has saved you an’ me a whole lot o’ trouble. I don’t imagine we’ll ever hear from Henderson again. His band is pretty well broke up. I sometimes wonder how many o’ them outlaws escaped.”
“No one knows except the Indians, and I doubt very much whether they do. The outlaws left everything behind, including those precious moose-hide sacks, and a large quantity of supplies and provisions. The boys have food enough to last them for seven or eight months.”
He broke off suddenly, as a familiar figure emerged from a small canvas tent in the space to the right and came over to join them. Advancing, Factor MacClaren waved an arm cheerily.
“I’m getting things in order over at my private hotel,” he laughingly called out. “At my age, gentlemen, personal comfort means everything. It is as necessary and important to my well-being as excitement and adventure is to those three young scallawags over there at the mine. There they are puttering about, entirely oblivious of the fact that it’s fully three-quarters of an hour past our regular lunch time.”
“I’ll call ’em,” said Malemute Slade, placing two fingers in his mouth. “Now watch ’em race!”