<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER XXII</h2>
<p class="pch">TO THE RESCUE</p>
<p class="drop-cap07"><span class="beg">“SIBOU</span> there is some one coming up the
trail!” As he spoke to his native companion,
Corporal Bracknell pointed down
the river. The Indian paused in the very midst of
what he was doing, and looked in the direction indicated,
then he nodded, and in his own speech
replied—</p>
<p>“Yes, one man and a dog-team.”</p>
<p>“I wonder if by any chance it can be the man we
are looking for, the man who was with you when
the trail was destroyed before Rolf Gargrave.”</p>
<p>“Who can say?” answered the Indian. “He has
been long on the trail. He marches wearily.”</p>
<p>“It will be as well to take no chances. If he
sees our fire he is almost certain to make for it, and
if we go back in the trees a little way we shall be
able to inspect him before he sees us. Then if he
is our man——”</p>
<p>“We shall get him? Yes! And we will take
him down to the Great White Chief at Regina, who
will hang him. It is good. See, he has seen the
fire, he is turning inward to this bank.”</p>
<p>“Then we will withdraw.”</p>
<p>Corporal Bracknell stretched a hand for his rifle,
and together they retreated to the undergrowth<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</SPAN></span>
behind their camp, where, crouching low, they
watched the advent of the stranger. As the new-comer’s
dogs moved shorewards they began to yelp,
and their own dogs, leaping up, gave tongue
menacingly. The driver of the team, however,
moved in front, and as one of the huskies flung itself
upon the harnessed dogs, brought the stock of his
whip down so smartly on it, that, yelping agony, it
retreated. The rest of the corporal’s dogs, undeterred,
sprang forward, and for a moment the new-comer
was the centre of a huddled tangle of snarling
and yelping dogs. He laid about him valiantly with
his clubbed whip, but the brutes were too much
for him, and at last he cried aloud for help. At the
cry Sibou rose suddenly to his feet.</p>
<p>“That not white man,” he said. “He Indian!”</p>
<p>Thus assured Bracknell and he ran to the help
of the new-comer, and within two minutes the tangle
of dogs was separated, and the three men found
time to look at each other. As the stranger’s eyes
fell on the corporal, he gave a sudden cry of joy and
relief, and ran to him.</p>
<p>“You know me! I come from North Star. I
Jim, Miss Gargrave’s man!”</p>
<p>The corporal looked at him and then recognized
him.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he said, “I know you. You are Indian
George’s son. What——”</p>
<p>He was interrupted by a stream of words, half
incoherent, half intelligible, which, as it flowed on,
made his face go very white. He listened carefully,
trying to get a clear idea of the story which
the lad was telling him, and as it ended he nodded.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“I think I understand what you are trying to
tell me, Jim. Some one has killed your father.
Some one fired a gun at you, and you are afraid for
your mistress and Miss La Farge and you want me
to help. That is so? Very good! We are just
about to have supper and you will join us. We will
eat first, and afterwards talk. I have no doubt
you are very impatient, but your dogs are fagged
and so are mine. It is impossible to travel until
they have rested. Feed your dogs and come
along.”</p>
<p>Himself the prey of consuming anxiety, he helped
to prepare the evening meal, forced himself to eat,
and not until he had lit his pipe did he refer to the
story which the Indian lad had told him so incoherently.</p>
<p>“Now, Jim,” he said, “let us get at the facts
if we can. You say that your mistress and Miss
La Farge are here in the North, and that they are
on trail?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir!”</p>
<p>“But I thought they were in England?”</p>
<p>“They returned suddenly, fourteen days ago!”</p>
<p>“But what were they doing on trail, so far from
home, with the spring coming?”</p>
<p>“I do not know clearly. But they were looking
for you. They had news for you. More than that
was not told my father.”</p>
<p>“And you say that yester morning a strange
Indian came to your camp with a message from a
white man?”</p>
<p>“Yes. The white man was sick. He desired to
talk with Miss Gargrave; so whilst we—my father<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</SPAN></span>
and I struck camp, Miss La Farge and my mistress
went to the cabin which was on a creek——”</p>
<p>“Ah!” interrupted the corporal. “Was it on
the left bank?”</p>
<p>“Yes! The left bank. The word was that we
should pack and bring the dogs and the sled to the
mouth of the creek there to wait for Miss Gargrave.
We did so, and were standing, stamping our feet
for warmth, when my father gave a cry like that of
a man whom death strikes and fell into the snow.
I was a little way from him, and ran towards him.
As I reached him his spirit passed, and looking down
I saw that he had been struck with an arrow.”</p>
<p>“Indians!” ejaculated the corporal.</p>
<p>“I cannot tell. I looked about and I saw three
men in the shadow of the wood. Their faces were
hidden from me, and I could not see them clearly.
One carried a rifle which he fired at me. Our rifles,
mine and that of my father, were lashed on the sled
and I was helpless.”</p>
<p>“What did you do?” asked the corporal.</p>
<p>“I lashed the dogs and fled, clinging to the gee-pole.
The trail was good and I made speed. It
was in my mind that the man with the rifle would
fire again, but he did not do so, though twice or
thrice arrows fell near me, and I knew that I was
followed. It was in my mind that when the pursuit
was over I would go back, and I made for the woods
on the further side of the river, and when darkness
came I crept down the trail, and leaving my dogs
crossed the river to the creek.”</p>
<p>“Yes? Yes? What did you find?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“I found my father’s body gone, and at the head
of the creek opposite a cabin a camp was pitched
and a fire lighted, and whilst I watched a man left
the camp and went towards the cabin. I could not
see what he did, but it is in my mind that the men
in the camp keep watch on the cabin.”</p>
<p>“And your mistress? Did you see anything of
her?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, but my mind says she is in the cabin,
for it was thither she went to see the sick white
man. I thought once to attack the camp, but the
men there are three, and I am but a stripling and
unused to battle. Then I bethought me of Indians
who live up the river. They are not good Indians,
but my father was known to them and I thought
that maybe they might give help. I was on my
way there, when I caught the light of your fire, and
came here, hoping to find a white man, and I find
you. It is very good. You will go back? You will
help?”</p>
<p>“Yes—I shall go back. I shall help. We must
save your mistress. I know the cabin on the creek
and I know the sick man whom she went to see;
and I do not think she will come to any harm in that
quarter. But the men in the camp, who, as you
think, watch the cabin, are different. There is
something there that I do not understand. But we
will find out ... we will rest now, and in four
hours we start. I will feed the dogs again now, for
there is a hard journey before us. The wind has
changed and the trail will soften in the morning.”</p>
<p>“Yes. It is from the south. The spring is<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</SPAN></span>
knocking at the door, and in a week the ice will
grow rotten, but before then we will find my
mistress!”</p>
<p>“Yes,” answered the corporal simply. “We will
find her.”</p>
<p>The Indian had disposed his blankets near the
fire and within five minutes was sound asleep. A
little time later Sibou also slept, but Corporal Bracknell
made no attempt to close his eyes, since he knew
that for him sleep was impossible. He lit his pipe,
and sat staring into the fire, the prey of gnawing
anxiety. The mystery of the men in the camp
who watched Dick Bracknell’s cabin, utterly confounded
him. Were they men whom his cousin
had wronged during his none too scrupulous career
in the North? That was just possible. Daily,
men in those wild latitudes took the law into their
own hands, enforcing verdicts that not infrequently
were more just than those of the law itself. Were
these men of that type? Then his mind dismissed
the suggestion. In that case why had they killed
George, and attacked his son, the lad who, overborne
by his labours, was now sleeping there on the
other side of the fire?</p>
<p>They might be roving Indians. The use of
arrows suggested that, but one had a rifle—— Suddenly
he sat bolt upright, his eyes staring widely,
as another possibility flashed through his mind.</p>
<p>“Adrian Rayner!”</p>
<p>He was appalled at the thought, but the more he
dwelt upon it, the stronger his suspicion grew.
Adrian Rayner was in the North and he had two
Indians with him, “bad men,” as Chief Louis had<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</SPAN></span>
said. The corporal was morally certain that
Rayner was the man who had made the attempt on
Dick Bracknell at North Star; and if he knew that
he were still alive, what more likely than that
he should make a second attempt? There was
nothing surprising about that, but the attack on
Joy Gargrave’s party was something that passed his
comprehension altogether. Try as he would he
could find no sufficient explanation for that, the one
possibility that presented itself to his mind being
that Adrian Rayner was for some reason anxious to
make Joy dependent upon himself, and so had
deliberately set out to destroy her escort. Then
the thought suggested itself to him that after all
he might be building on a false assumption. The
man responsible for the death of George, and for
the attack on the cabin, might not be Rayner at all.</p>
<p>Restlessly his mind groped among the possibilities
which the mystery suggested, and not once
during the four hours that he had decreed for rest
did his eyes shut. At the end of that time he
wakened Sibou, and, impatient to get away himself,
helped in the preparation for making a start, allowing
the boy Jim to sleep until the last available
moment, and when at last they took the trail he
was conscious of relief. It was at least something
to feel that he was on his way to the help of Joy.</p>
<p>They travelled six hours and then made a halt
for a brief rest and a meal, afterwards resuming
their way. As noon approached they found the
hard crust of the snow softening, and the going
becoming harder, but there was no slackening of
effort, and late in the afternoon they arrived at a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</SPAN></span>
point opposite the creek on the far side of the river.
There in the shadow of the woods they waited till
darkness fell, and then leaving the boy in charge
of the dogs, the corporal and Sibou crossed the
river, and made a detour which would bring them
out at the head of the creek where the cabin was
located.</p>
<p>They reached the neighbourhood of their objective
in about an hour’s time, and then moved forward
with extreme caution, looking for the camp which
the boy had described as being opposite the cabin.
But no glow of blazing logs met their gaze, and the
edge of the forest presented a front of unbroken
shadow. Sibou sniffed the air thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“There is no smell of fire,” he whispered.</p>
<p>“No!” answered the corporal, his anxiety suddenly
trebled by the thought that he had arrived
too late.</p>
<p>They still crept forward, and then unexpectedly
Sibou stopped, and pointed to the ground. Roger
Bracknell looked down and saw a blackened circle
in the snow where a fire had been lit.</p>
<p>“Here was the camp,” said the Indian, and then
stopped and put his hand on the ashes. “The fire
is cold,” he said, as he stood upright again. “It
has been out for some time.”</p>
<p>For a moment they stood looking at each other,
and then instinctively both turned to look for the
cabin. It stood like a shadow against the deeper
shadow of the woods behind it, silent, and with no
sign of occupation about it.</p>
<p>“Perhaps the men we seek are in the cabin,”
whispered the corporal.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Again the Indian sniffed the air and then shook
his head.</p>
<p>“No! They are not there. There is no fire.
But we will go and find out.”</p>
<p>Carelessly, in his assurance, Sibou led the way
across the creek, and to the front of the cabin. The
door was closed, and he hammered on it with his
rifle butt. There was no answer, and, feeling for
the latch string, he thrust a shoulder against the
door. It did not yield.</p>
<p>“The door is barred,” he said aloud. “But
there is no one within, or if there is they be dead.”</p>
<p>“The window!” ejaculated the corporal, and
began to run round the cabin.</p>
<p>Reaching the window, and observing the empty
framework he felt for his matches, and then hoisting
himself up, with head and shoulders inside the
cabin, he struck a light and looked hastily round.
The cabin was empty. With something like a
groan of despair he slipped back to the ground,
and looked at Sibou.</p>
<p>“There is no one here,” he said. “They are
gone!”</p>
<p>The Indian nodded and stared at the empty
frame thoughtfully, then after a little time he
spoke.</p>
<p>“The men of the camp are gone; and those who
were in the hut are gone—whither we know not;
but those who were in the hut went out not by the
door, for the door is barred within. How did they
leave the cabin, then?” he jerked a hand upwards
towards the window. “This way! And wherefore?
Because the men in the camp were watching<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</SPAN></span>
the door, and had left the window unguarded.”</p>
<p>“By Jove, yes,” cried the corporal, seized by new
hope. “That does seem more than likely.”</p>
<p>“Then the men in the camp discover that those
whom they watch have flown, and the cabin is
empty. They want them badly, and they follow,
therefore we find the camp empty like the cabin.”</p>
<p>“Yes! Yes! But where have they gone?
Which way in this God-forsaken wilderness?”</p>
<p>“That we shall know when daylight comes.
The snow will carry their trail, and we can follow.
Till then it were better to rest, for the night withholds
the knowledge.”</p>
<p>Corporal Bracknell recognized the wisdom of the
Indian’s words, and condemned to inaction until
daylight, decided to make the best of it.</p>
<p>“Then there is nothing for it but to camp. And
we may as well use the cabin. Slip through the
window, Sibou, and unbar the door, whilst I go
across for Jim and the dogs.”</p>
<p>Half an hour later a fire was roaring in the
improvised stove, and by its light Roger Bracknell
wandered round the cabin, searching for anything
that would give him a clue to the mystery. He
found nothing. The hut, save for a couple of rifles
reposing in the corner, and some odds and ends of
no importance, was quite empty. He looked at the
rifles and addressed himself to Sibou.</p>
<p>“Evidently the ammunition was exhausted.”</p>
<p>“Yes! Therefore the rifles were left. But the
food was taken. Behold!”</p>
<p>The Indian pointed to a roughly made shelf,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</SPAN></span>
which corresponded to the ordinary larder of a
Klondyke cabin. There was nothing there but a
coffee-sack and an empty syrup-tin.</p>
<p>“They run from the men in the camp, and leave
the rifles because they are useless, but they take
the food, and they have a start—one hour—two
hours—who can tell? But we follow in the morning
and we find both. That so?”</p>
<p>“Please God, yes!” answered the corporal
earnestly.</p>
<p>Tired out with the labours of the day, Roger
Bracknell slept long and well, and woke a little
after dawn with the smell of frying bacon in his
nostrils. The boy Jim was preparing breakfast,
but Sibou was nowhere to be seen. Questioning
Jim, he learned that the Indian had gone outside
an hour before and had not yet returned. Hastily
throwing on his furs, the corporal passed outside,
and as he did so, Sibou appeared at the edge of the
woods at the back of the cabin. There was an
impassive look on his mask-like face, but his eyes
gleamed with satisfaction.</p>
<p>“Well?” asked the corporal eagerly.</p>
<p>The Indian swept a hand towards the woods.</p>
<p>“That way have they gone. The double trail
is there. Also there is a dead man there!”</p>
<p>“A dead man?” cried the white man in sudden
fear.</p>
<p>“An Indian! I know him not!”</p>
<p>“Take me to him,” said the corporal imperatively.
Without a word Sibou turned and led the
way into the wood, and after a few minutes’ walk<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</SPAN></span>
Roger Bracknell found himself near the mouth of
the creek, looking down into the face of a dead man.
He recognized him instantly.</p>
<p>“He is known to you?” asked Sibou.</p>
<p>“Yes, he is known to me. He was the servant of
the white man who lived in the cabin.”</p>
<p>“He was shot in the back with an arrow.”
explained Sibou. “He must have been looking down
at the trail when he died.”</p>
<p>Roger Bracknell looked at the dead Indian for a
little time without speaking, then fear for what was
to come shook him.</p>
<p>“Sibou,” he said, “we must make haste. There
is not a moment to waste. Those men in the camp
are very desperate men. Two men already have
died at their hands, and they are now on the trail
of the man who was in the hut and of the ladies
whom we seek. We must follow hard!”</p>
<p>“Yes, hard!” answered Sibou simply. “It is a
trail of death!”</p>
<p>Half an hour later they were on the way once
more. A south wind was blowing, and they travelled
with furs opened, for the day was comparatively
warm, and there were many signs that spring was
at hand. The trail they followed led through the
forest for most of the time, but towards the end
of the day followed a tributary river, and here it
suddenly gathered itself together in a space of
trampled snow, which spoke of many pairs of feet.
The corporal looked at it in perplexity and watched
Sibou, who circled round and round, seeking a solution
of the enigma the trampled snow presented.</p>
<p>“What do you make of it, Sibou?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“I am not sure,” answered the Indian slowly.
“Something strange has happened. There has
been a meeting here, for there are many footmarks,
and there is a trail which goes up the river, and the
trail of the ladies is not part of it.”</p>
<p>“But where are they? They certainly came
here!”</p>
<p>“So!” answered Sibou. “And they went from
here, since they are not to be found in this place.
It is in my mind that they were carried—for there
were dogs here as well as men.”</p>
<p>“But who——”</p>
<p>“Indians! The trail is not that of white men’s
feet.”</p>
<p>“Then we must follow,” cried the corporal.</p>
<p>“Yes,” answered Sibou gravely. “We must
follow. But I shall go first, whilst you remain
here. If I find nothing, then I shall be back in
one hour or two. It is in my mind that there is an
encampment not far away, and it is better that we
do not take the dogs till we know. If they are bad
Indians——”</p>
<p>“In God’s name, hurry!” cried Roger Bracknell,
his courage shaken by the thought of the new
danger into which Joy Gargrave appeared to have
fallen.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
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