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Show M Vanihed Men J i By GEORGE MARSH Ca li J INSTALLMENT TWELVE THE STORY SO FAR: Bound for the Chibougamau gold country, six men lost their lives on the Nottaway river. Red Malone, Garrett Finlay, brother of one of the six, and Blaise, half-breed guide, arrive at Nottaway posing as surveyors. Suspicion prevails that Isadore, rich fur man, has made a gold strike and aims to keep prospectors out of the country at any cost. En route to the Hudson's Bay post they visit Isadore In his palatial home, meet his wife and Llse, Isadore's stepdaughter. Answering an appeal from Lise. Finlay Is ambushed but escapes. It develops that they are Mounted Police officers. They continue on to the Post and discuss the situation with McNab, a trader. McNab's face lit with admiration. "What do you know about this Tete-Blanche ever seen him?" "I saw him once at the steel. He looked uglier than a starved wolf. Never saw such a face! They say Isadore brought him here from the West, up God's Lake way. He was probably wanted there and had to leave. Two years ago, after those four men were reported drowned, he went up river to Nottaway and hung around making a lot of veiled threats. He had everybody uneasy. The Nottaway people know Isadore is rich and think he has government pull of some kind. They're afraid of him." "Nobody but the station agent has dared open his mouth and he's been threatened." Finlay handed the letter he carried car-ried in his wallet to the trader. "Mc-Leod "Mc-Leod did more than talk. He wrote." McNab returned the letter. "That's what they all think, up there." "Pretty state of affairs in a free country!" snorted Red. "About Tete-Blanche!" Finlay's dark face was bitter. "Is he half crazy? The night they trussed me up I had a good look at his eyes. The pupils dilated like those of an Eskimo Eski-mo gone 'piblockto.' " McNab squinted hard at the speaker. "You know, I believe he is, "I'll bet his liquor comes in by air," said Red. "Exactly. So he tried to wipe you out tried to stop a government survey sur-vey party? Now I wonder just why? What's back of it all?" "Of course, they must have decided de-cided that we were only prospectors posing as surveyors." "Shooting prospectors is not so dangerous as firing on government men but it's still murder, ain't it?" snorted McNab. "True!" laughed Finlay trading winks with Red behind the back of the outraged McNab. The trader's hatred of Isadore would be useful. He knew much about Waswanipi which they would learn, for the evening eve-ning would be long. "If you've heard he flies stuff in from somewhere some-where south in the Province, possibly possi-bly you've heard about the August plane from the Bay," suggested Garry. "From the Bay?" demurred McNab. Mc-Nab. "Now what in thunder would he be Wait a minute!" The trader scratched his jaw as his half-shut eyes squinted at a gun-rack in a seeming effort to recapture a vague memory. "I've got it!" he exploded. explod-ed. "North, at Rupert House, two summers back, they were talking about a strange schooner some traveling trav-eling Crees had told of seeing off the mouth of the Hurricanaw. The Indians In-dians said a sea-plane was lying in the lee of an anchored ship. Later the plane headed south and disappeared disap-peared over the muskeg of the mainland. main-land. They've been trying to figure that out, at Rupert, ever since." Finlay glanced triumphantly at Malone. Lise's story was corroborated. corrobo-rated. "Was it spring, summer or fall they saw it?" McNab nursed his chin. "Why, let's see! I was at Rupert in early September. It' must have been in the summer." Finlay's face brightened with satisfaction. sat-isfaction. "McNab, that plane was bound for Waswanipi. Every August Au-gust a plane from the North stops there, then heads south." "Waswanipi?" blurted the puzzled trader. "What's the reason for it? What could it carry?" Finlay leaned toward the Scotchman Scotch-man chewing nervously on his pipe stem. "McNab, that's just what Constable Malone and I would like to know." After a clean-up and shave, Finlay and Red joined the trader at his house for supper. A shy woman whose face wore lines etched by a in his heart. "It's the way you Mounties carry yourselves something some-thing so cool and masterful about you. You can't fool me, Mr. Man. I know you're police." Tears suddenly sud-denly blurred her eyes as she drew a quick breath. "And I know from the way father acted this morning that he never expects to see you again! Oh, Red," she flung out desperately, des-perately, "I want to see you again! I want you to come back, Neil!" Red had the girl's trembling hands in his. "I'm coming back. Thistle!" he said, and his voice was hoarse with feeling. "I'm coming back straight to Matagamj to you, kid." Then with a shrug of his heavy shoulders he swallowed hard and the dancing lights returned to his eyes. "Now flash those white dazzlers of yours in one of those smiles that makes my heart go pitty-pat or I'll rumple that gold stuff you call hair right before your mother who's watching us through the window." A smile broke through the girl's clouded face at the sally of the irresistible ir-resistible Red. Over at the trade-house Finlay and McNab were saying good-by. "My men should reach the steel with your report in thirteen days, but I wish you'd change your mind, Sergeant. Ask for immediate help and wait here for it!" Finlay's thoughts were with the girl who waited for his message at Waswanipi. His mouth curled at a corner. In his eyes was the glint of sun On young ice. "McNab, the Mounted Police never send for immediate im-mediate help!" "I know! I know!" McNab wagged his bead resignedly as he gripped Finlay's hard hand. "But I like you two boys! It's a shame a rotten " The trade-room door swung wide and Blaise rushed in. "Cano' comin' from de eas'! David Da-vid look in glass and say it come from Isatiore! I hid cano' and shut up Flame!" "Tell Red I want him, quick!" Malone burst into the room. "Put your glasses on that canoe, Garry!" Red cried. "Mine are packed! Something's Some-thing's up!" "Are they near enough to see us?" "No, they're miles away. What are the orders?" Finlay took his binoculars from his duffle bag. "If they stop here. Red," he said, "we'll hole up in the fur-loft and listen while McNab draws them out. It may prove valuable. valu-able. They've decided we passed them that night and are out to overtake over-take us on the river." y Red fhrugged his wide shoulders. "Overtake you and Blaise and me, in strong water? Swell chance! But we don't happen to be running!" "No, we don't happen to be running!" run-ning!" Far to the east on the wind-rippled surface of Matagami moved a black speck. Finlay focused his glasses. It was a big Peterboro driven by an outboard motor, with a crew of four men. "Do you recognize any of them?" he asked McNab. "Not yet. But it's from Isadore's. He's got the only outboard motor in this country." The two returned to the trade-room trade-room while Finlay made his plans. "Whoever it is, McNab, get them in here and pump them dry. We'll lie up there in the fur-loft and hear it all. Tell them we stopped for grub yesterday, on our way to Rupert. That may send them hunting us down river. And we'll surprise Isadore Isa-dore when we show up at Waswanipi." Waswa-nipi." "Correct. I'll handle those Indians." "This is my daughter, Thistle." just that, blood crazy. I've talked to Montagnais who've drifted here from Waswanipi. They say the Indians In-dians are afraid of him. They think he's got some mysterious power talks with the spirits. But it's this medicine-man, Kinebik, that he works through." "Isadore's whiskey and Kinebik's medicine-making have turned the young bucks against us," said Finlay. Fin-lay. "By the way, McNab, why did Isadore build such an elaborate outfit?" out-fit?" "I can't account for it. It must be sheer vanity. He's certainly made big money in fur. But there must be something else. He's got a partner in Montreal, Blondell, who flies here every summer and, I'm sure, carries the liquor. They say he lives like a prince in the city. What my people are wondering, is what Blondell does in Montreal besides be-sides handle the fur." "And they can't find out?" "No, it's a mystery." life of isolation and worry, and an excited girl with an unruly red-gold bob, and the height and vitality of her father, welcomed them. "Mary, this is Mr. Finlay and Mr. Malone," said the trader. "Gentlemen, "Gen-tlemen, my daughter. Thistle!" The quick violet eyes of the girl swept Finlay's erect figure and clean-cut features with a passing glance of approval. But it was to Red's freckled face with its infectious in-fectious grin which bared his regular regu-lar teeth that the girl's dancing eyes clung. As she laughed at Malone's sallies, dimples dented her brown cheeks. "What a pair!" thought Garry. "If I know the signs, she's fallen for the devil already." Far into the night three men sat In a cloud of smoke in the trade-room. trade-room. "Sergeant." demurred McNab. "It's flat suicide for you to go back there now. I tell you you haven't a chance. But if you do hang on until that plane shows up from the Bay, how are you going to learn if she carries gold south, with that Indian In-dian mob of Isadore's watching her? Man, it's ridiculous!" Malone laughed. "You've never seen Sergeant Finlay operate." "McNab." said Finlay, quietly, "if we're there when that plane arrives, ar-rives, we're going to learn what all this mystery's about." McNab's blue eyes snapped. "Yes, I think that's just what you two would start to do in the face of them all. You've got the nerve all right But have you ever seen what whiskey will do to bush Indians? Tete-Blanche and that crew'll wipe you out, then hide up in the Bitter Water swamps." "Between muskeg and water and f swamp there's fifty miles of it. It's absolutely impassable except for an Indian trail or two. They'd never be found there. Sergeant. I don't want you to go back until you have help." The gray irises of Finlay's eyes were rings of steel circling the pupils-. "That's our hard luck, then. It's our job to get this crook. We'll start; someone else may have to finish it!" McNab stubbornly wagged his sandy head. "I know, Sergeant, I know! But think of the odds, man! It's fifty to one up there, now, with the Indians against you!" Red grinned at the grave face of his chief. "At Fort McLeod it was a hundred miners to one Mountie, eh, Sergeant?" "What happened?" asked McNab. "Sergeant Finlay elbowed his way Into that mob of drunks and took his man. Mr. McNab!" "How about placer gold?" asked Red. "That's what they've suspected. Flake gold and nuggets would be easy to transport secretly in a plane. He may have struck some rich sandbars sand-bars in the upper Waswanipi. That may be the answer. But Sergeant," the trader rested his hand on Finlay's Fin-lay's shoulder as they parted for the night, "I wish you'd have that police plane sent here and wait for it. They fly to Isadore's place and arrest him. I like you two boys. I don't want you to go back to Waswanipi. Was-wanipi. With the Indians loose and Isadore not knowing you're police it's deliberate suicide." Finlay took the trader's big hand. The shadow of the pain which lanced his heart crossed his face as he thought of the boy in his grave beside be-side the thundering Waswanipi. "As yet I've nothing tangible on Isadore except this liquor business with the Indians. Before I'm through I'll have something he'll swing for. I'm not sending for help, McNab. Tomorrow To-morrow we start back." CHAPTER XIII The following morning Blaise and the fretting airedale, circled by the hostile post huskies, waited on the beach beside the loaded Peterboro. Over at the stockade gate Thistle's eyes clung to Malone's sober face. "I've guessed what you are you two," she said, her chestnut brows meeting as she searched his candid eyes in an effort to read what lay "Make them talk even if you have to feed them some of that scotch of yours. It will be legal for it's an order from the police." The two men grinned. "Leave it to me. Sergeant." Red and Blaise appeared with their Lee-Enfields. "Don't think you'll need them. Red," said Finlay. "Now we'll hit that ladder for the loft." "I'll have another look and let you know what I see," said McNab, as the three men disappeared through the trap-door of the fur-loft. As they lay on the floor of hand-hewn, hand-hewn, spruce planks near the opening, open-ing, Finlay outlined his conversation conversa-tion with McNab. "Suppose Tete-Blanche is in that canoe?" queried. Red. "Our job is Isadore!" cautioned Finlay. "What we want today is information. A fight, here, will spoil it all." Red chuckled. "I wasn't serious, chief, I was only worrying about Blaise. We'll have to lie on him to keep him from jumping through that hatch." Brassard's slit eyes glittered in the half-light as he grunted: "I can wait. But dis big fallar wid red head, we have tough time to keep his mout' shut!" Red shook Blaise's calloused paw. "Now we're square, you old wolverine! wol-verine! " "Shut -up!" snapped Finlay. "Someone's coming!" ITO BE COMIM ED) |
