“A trap for me to fall into. Somewhere between here and Run River an ambush—a slinking half-breed or Indian lying in wait to pop me off. A score of mounted policemen have gone that way. It’s an old trick. That’s why I’m shivering clear down to the bottom of my feet for fear that I may be sending you out to your death. Before God, I wish I had detected that forgery before I ordered Slade to set out in pursuit of the scar-faced Indian.”
Dick caught at the side of his chair, his cheeks deathly pale. The room seemed to be spinning around in a sort of dark haze, through which he could see the distorted face of Corporal Richardson opposite. When he had recovered somewhat, he observed that the mounted policeman had sprung to his feet and was pacing abstractedly back and forth.
“I can’t—I can’t do it, Dick,” he was muttering. “It isn’t fair. No—there must be some other way.”
“But I want to go,” Dick insisted. “I’ll take good care of myself and I’m sure nothing will happen. Anyhow, I’m convinced that your first guess was right, that Henderson and the fur thieves are planning to send that shipment.”
“And, on the other hand,” pointed out Corporal Richardson, “both guesses may be right. It would be a feather in Henderson’s cap if he could dispose of the furs and have me put out of the way at one and the same time.”
For several moments the two stood, facing each other, both deep in thought. Suddenly, Dick’s face lighted and he clapped his hands together gleefully.
“Corporal Richardson, I think possibly I may have hit upon a rather sensible plan,” he cried out enthusiastically. “Why not follow the trail to Run River only a short distance, then strike off in an entirely different direction, make a wide detour, and come back here to the post. Henderson will naturally suppose that I have gone on to Run River. If your first supposition is correct, the dog teams with the fur will start to move down this way at once. If your second guess is right, I won’t run into an ambush because I won’t be travelling where they expect me to go.”
“Good!” exclaimed Richardson. “Dick, you’re a young man after my own heart. Why in the Dickens didn’t I think of that myself.”
“You’ve done well enough for one day as it is,” Dick rejoined. “All I hope is that you won’t have any trouble capturing the men with the fur shipments. Aren’t they apt to put up a fight?”
“I expect that,” answered the corporal, “but I’ll have Sandy, young Toma and Mr. MacClaren to give me a hand if necessary.”