“They were just opposite us, travelling along merrily, when a man slipped out of the brush on the far side of the trail, holding something in each hand. They must have been startled all right. Corporal Richardson told me afterward that they were taken completely by surprise. At any rate,” Sandy went on, “the dog teams stopped and eight men stepped forward with their arms in the air. It was a regular hold-up.”
Sandy paused for breath.
“Both Toma and I very naturally jumped to the conclusion that the person who had committed the hold-up was a bandit, probably in the employ of Henderson. So we grabbed our rifles and hurried out to help. We ran straight over in the direction of the dog teams, firing our rifles as we went and yelling like mad.”
“You see,” explained Sandy, “we thought that the bandit would become frightened and start running away. But,” admitted the young Scotchman, a little shamefacedly, “he didn’t run. He stood right there like a statue, keeping those men covered. All the time we kept getting closer and closer, until finally Toma poked me in the ribs again and told me to stop firing—that the bandit was Corporal Richardson himself.”
In spite of the discomfort and pain he endured, Dick roared with laughter.
“What did Corporal Richardson say?” he asked.
Sandy smiled at the recollection.
“When we came up, he stared at us coldly.
“‘If you two young fools have finished with your celebration,’ he said, ‘you’ll please take charge of these dog teams while the rest of us gentlemen retire to the post.’
“That’s all there is to tell you, I guess, except that Corporal Richardson locked the men up in a big room at Fort Good Faith and that we stored all the stolen fur in the company’s warehouse. Afterwards, when the corporal had cooled off and was a little more friendly towards me, he told me where you had gone and about the plan you had employed to deceive Henderson’s spies.”