On their last trip to the canoe from the storehouse, Sandy, too, had a singular surprise. But he did not cry out. Instead, he called softly to Dick, who was a little ahead of him.
“I saw the same face you saw behind those boxes over there on the landing,” Sandy said tensely. “Make believe we didn’t notice anything. Then we’ll pick up our rifles and walk down the river till we get where we can see behind the boxes.”
“All right,” Dick replied cooly, his dark eyes gleaming as they always did at the promise of excitement.
“Don’t shoot. Capture him,” Dick added, as they deposited their packs into the canoe, picked up their rifles and started off down the river bank, their eyes bent to the left.
When they had advanced far enough to see behind the boxes, they turned and looked. The face was gone! There was no one behind the packing boxes.
Sandy scratched his head. “Blame it, I know I saw somebody watching us.”
“Come on, we’ll look closer.” Dick led the way forward and they examined all the boxes, but found each one empty.
“Looks queer,” Dick admitted.
“Those Indians can disappear mighty suddenly,” Sandy said. “Let’s tell Mr. MacLean.”
They hurried back to the store. The trader plainly was deeply concerned over what they had to tell. “I tell you, boys, I hadn’t ought to let you make this trip,” he said, pacing back and forth. “Henderson has men here that I know nothing about. They say he has secret operatives all over the northern frontier. Sandy’s uncle never would forgive me if anything happened to you fellows. But I don’t see what else I can do. The mounted police must be notified.”