He listened intently, hoping to catch some stray bits of conversation which might give him some idea of the character of the men. Not a word, however, came from the little procession moving so methodically and steadily by. This curious silence had a peculiar effect on Larry’s nerves. He felt convinced that he was seeing something entirely out of the ordinary.
Time seemed to pass with almost unendurable slowness. He longed to rise, to stretch his legs—but did not dare to do so until the wagon and its accompanying horsemen were almost indistinguishable in the distance. Then Larry Burnham rose to his feet.
“Score another one for Teddy Banes,” he said, softly. “Sure as I live it’s a band of smugglers!”
CHAPTER XIV
LARRY’S COURAGE
“Smugglers!” The word had a very unpleasant sound to Larry Burnham’s ears. He was sure he had been an actual witness of one of those expeditions for which the Northwest Mounted Police are continually on the lookout.
The blond lad scanned the landscape earnestly. How he longed for daylight! How slowly the hours would pass! It was bad enough to be alone in that great wilderness; but it seemed infinitely worse to know that other human beings were near.
“Yes, I’ll just go back and take my medicine,” grunted Larry, “and let Tom do the last laugh business. Why, that big, barren room at Fool’s Castle would look like a palace to-night. Here’s where I get to work!”
Larry’s work consisted of walking to and fro, at the same time allowing his mind to dwell on all the stories he had ever heard concerning dreadful things which had happened to travelers out in the open. That same old moon he now saw had looked down upon some mighty strange scenes. He was quite sure he would never forget how the orb appeared on this occasion—its shape was so odd, its rays so weird.
At length he stopped pacing and looked with a searching gaze at the point in the landscape where the wagon had last been seen.
“Hello!” he exclaimed, softly; “don’t I see something?”