Marlow of the Mounted E-Book

T.C. Bridges

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Keith Marlowe, who had just been trained at the Mounted Police Barracks, Regina, is heading to the country of Kuchin and the Rockies to gather white drug dealers. Keith has a long, painful journey, and many difficulties must be overcome before his mission is successfully completed.

Leseprobe

Contents

I. MAN HUNT

II. BATTLE

III. DISASTER

IV. RESCUE

V. A SCRAP OF PAPER

VI. THE TRAP

VII. SAVED BY STORM

VIII. THE LETTER FROM HOME

IX. BLOND BRUTE

X. THREAT OF VENGEANCE

XI. CHET JOINS UP

XII. SNOW DEVILS

XIII. TRAPPED AGAIN

XIV. DOPE

XV. THE MEDICINE LODGE

XVI. PERSUASION

XVII. THE MAN WHO DUG

XVIII. BULLETS FROM THE SKY

XIX. TWO DIE

XX. GIL COMES AND GOES

XXI. RIVER OF DEATH

XXII. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF CHET

XXIII. MARRABLE'S GUARDS

XXIV. CRACKLING BONES

XXV. MAN WITH A GUN

XXVI. "MY NAME IS ARDEN"

XXVII. DANGER!

XXVIII. THE MAN ON THE CLIFF- TOP

XXIX. RANDOLPH'S STORY

XXX. THE SECOND PLANE

XXXI. THE MAN OF MYSTERY

XXXII. SIGNS OF STRUGGLE

XXXIII. WAR IN THE GULLY

XXXIV. STRAIGHT SHOOTING

XXXV. MARRABLE MOVES IN

XXXVI. DOUBLE CUNNING

XXXVII. A BITTER PILL

XXXVIII. THE WAY OUT

XXXIX. SURPRISE FROM THE SKY

I. MAN HUNT

KEITH MARLOW had learned much during the twelve terrible days that he had been on the trail of Jake Dranner. Fresh from training at the Mounted Police Barracks at Regina, Keith was too young and too inexperienced for such a task as hunting down this killer who was vicious and dangerous as a timber wolf.

As it happened there was no choice, for Corporal Duncan Maclaine, Keith’s senior at Sundance, was suffering from a sprained ankle and the business of catching Dranner was urgent. Dranner had shot down Joe Pelly in cold blood, murdered him for the sake of some fifty ounces of dust which the old man had spent the whole summer in painfully washing from the gravel of Caribou Creek. The killing had been done up in the lonely Glenlyon hills and it was by pure chance that François Armand, a breed trapper, had stumbled on the body within twenty-four hours of the murder. Armand had not only found Pelly’s body, but had spotted the murderer’s tracks to which he declared he could swear. One of the webs had been mended with string, and the prints had been plain on the new fallen snow.

It was now late October, the worst season of the year for a long trek through the back country. Winter was setting in and snow-storms frequent but, on the other hand, the swift streams were not yet firmly frozen. For the first week of his journey Keith had travelled more or less at random, merely following the direction in which he thought Dranner would move. He had begun to despair when, at last, the luck turned and he struck the trail of the fugitive. The mark of the mended web was unmistakable.

Even then it was not easy. Two nights later a snow-storm wiped out the tracks, but Keith found them again and followed them into a long valley leading through desolate unnamed hills.

“He’s got all old Pelly’s stores,” Maclaine had told Keith, “and his dogs. Ah’m thinking he’ll hole up for the winter in some deserted cabin, for he canna get oot till the spring. Ah’m dooting ye’ll find him but, gin ye do, be careful. The mon will bushwhack ye and shoot ye down wi’ as little compunction as if ye were a skunk.”

Maclaine’s warning was in Keith’s mind as he drove his dogs up the faint trail on the afternoon of the twelfth day. The sky was overcast and a few flakes of hard-frozen snow were drifting down. Darkness would soon close on the desolate scene and Keith had to find a camping place for the night. The prospect was not promising for there was little timber at this height, and Keith needed not only firewood but shelter, for without doubt a fresh storm was brewing.

A tiny point of light showed through the gloom. Keith rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his mitt. There was no doubt about it: the light, faint as it was, remained steady and Keith knew that it came from a lamp behind a window. A surge of excitement ran through his veins. There must be a cabin to the right of the trail and it was all odds that this was where Dranner had taken refuge.

Now Keith had to remember all that he had been told, for any mistake on his part would be fatal. Instead of the triumph of handing over the murderer to justice his own death would be certain. Dranner was armed, watchful and desperate. Also he would have dogs which, at the approach of another team, would give tongue at once: so the first thing Keith did was to turn his own dogs off the trail and tie them under shelter of some large boulders. He examined his pistol to see that it was loaded, then walked forward, making a circle to windward, so that Dranner’s dogs could not scent him.

The wind was getting stronger every minute, the snow thickening into a driving swirl of white. Keith shivered as he stood just to windward of the cabin and wondered what to do next. There was nothing about it in the book of rules, and Keith himself had no experience in the matter of arresting criminals. For a moment he felt an unpleasant sensation of loneliness, but this did not last. After all, he had done a good job in trailing Dranner. Surely he could crown it by capturing the brute.

He looked at the cabin. So far as he could see in the thickening snow and failing light, it was the usual one-room shack built of logs and chinked with clay. There was a lean-to at the back. It stood in a patch of wind-stunted spruce. It had a door in front and one window, the panes of which were filled with oiled paper, a usual substitute for glass in the far places of the north. To attempt to enter by the door was suicide, for if this were Dranner he would shoot first and talk afterwards. The window was the best bet so Keith advanced cautiously until he was able to peep through.

If the young constable had had any doubts about the identity of the occupant of the cabin these were at once dispelled. One glance at the face of the man who sat smoking by the almost red- hot stove was enough. The light of the small oil-lamp standing on the home-made table showed it to be long and narrow, with pinched nose, thin lips and cold greenish-grey eyes set deep under bony temples. It was not improved by the fact that its owner had not troubled to shave for at least a week. He wore a greasy mackinaw coat and his heavy trousers were tucked into high boots. Keith noticed that a blued automatic lay on the table and that a rifle leaned against the wall almost within arm’s reach of the man.

“Not a nice gentleman,” muttered Keith, with a ghost of a grin on his half-frozen lips. “It’s no use looking at him. I have to get him.” He drew his service revolver and all in one act smashed the window and thrust the muzzle through the opening.

“Hands up, Dranner!” he ordered sharply.

The results were not what Keith had anticipated. One of Dranner’s hands went up but with the other he swept the lamp from the table, thereby plunging the little room into almost complete darkness.

This was the moment when Keith should have fired, but it is a point of honour with the Royal Regiment to bring in their prisoners alive. He hesitated and his hesitation almost cost him his life for Dranner, who had dropped to the floor, must have had a second gun about him. This bullet cut splinters from the side of the window, which stung Keith’s face. Keith staggered back, uttered a realistic groan and dropped heavily to the ground. But he did not stay there. Crawling on hands and knees he made round the corner to the front door of the shack. It was his hope that Dranner would believe he had killed his visitor and would come out to view the body.

But Dranner was cautious. He did not relight the lamp. Keith, listening intently, heard him rise and go to the window. No doubt he was peering out to see the body but, by this time, the snow was so thick and driving so furiously that Keith was convinced the man could see nothing.

Keith was angry and disappointed. His attack had completely failed. All he had done was to warn his quarry. Now, if Dranner had sense to stay inside the shack, he was safe. Keith could not remain here long, exposed to this blizzard. He would have to go back to his dogs and camp. There was only one grain of comfort in the situation, so far as Keith was concerned. Dranner had no dogs. If he had had a team they would have started barking at the shot. What had happened to them Keith could not guess, but the result was that Dranner could not travel. At any rate he could not go far from this cabin, for he would not be able to carry enough food to last him more than a few days.

On the other hand he probably had a good stock in the cabin while Keith had enough for a week only and it meant five days’ hard travelling to reach Sundance.

The cold bit through Keith’s fur parka. If he stood here in the wind much longer he would be frost-bitten. He was on the point of giving up and returning to his dogs when he heard a faint click. The latch was being lifted. A fresh wave of excitement made Keith forget the cold, forget everything except that Dranner was coming out. With his body pressed against the wall he stood perfectly still, hardly breathing.

The door opened inwards and the strong draught rushing in made the stove roar. The result was that a faint glow of light thrown by the flaming wood through chinks in the rusty old firebox illuminated the interior of the cabin and showed Keith an arm and hand grasping a pistol in the opening. Keith was desperately tempted to chop down on that arm with the barrel of his own gun but he resisted the temptation. It was well for him that he did for next moment he realised that it was a clever trap. The arm was too thick to be natural and he saw that it was protected by pelts rolled around it. The heaviest blow that Keith could have dealt would have done little damage.

Keith smiled grimly to himself. This time at any rate he had outsmarted his enemy.

But would Dranner come out? That was the question. He did, but not in the way Keith had expected. Instead of moving out cautiously he came with a rush. He was past Keith before Keith could land the blow he had been saving for the fellow’s skull. But Keith was on him before he could turn on him with such force that Dranner went flat on his face on the frozen ground, Keith on top of him. There was not enough snow to deaden the shock and Keith exulted as he heard the breath go out of the man’s body with one great gasp.

Certain that he was master, Keith relaxed his hold to fumble in his pocket for the handcuffs. This was his second blunder for Dranner suddenly exploded. That at least was what it felt like to Keith who was flung off the other’s body and only just saved himself from rolling over sideways. With a snarl Dranner swung his right hand in which he still held his pistol. One bullet would finish the business.

II. BATTLE

IT would have done so but for those skins wrapped around Dranner’s forearm. They made him clumsy and the fraction of a second which he lost gave Keith a fresh chance. With his left hand he forced up Dranner’s right arm; and the flaming gun flung its missile harmlessly into the air. At the same time Keith punched with his right and, though the blow lacked force owing to Keith being on his knees, it rocked Dranner’s head back. Before he could recover, Keith had clamped a two-handed grip on Dranner’s right arm.

Keith Marlow at twenty was five-foot-ten, weighed eleven and a half stone and was fit as hard training could make him. It gave him an ugly shock to find that Dranner, who was probably twenty years older than he, was able to withstand that grip and still hold on to the revolver. Not only that but the man managed to rise to his feet, dragging Keith up with him. Keith wrenched at Dranner’s wrist in an effort to force him to drop the pistol. He failed and Dranner retaliated with a savage kick which almost numbed Keith’s left leg. Keith closed; and the two, clenched in a death struggle for the possession of the gun, rolled to and fro in the gloom of the blizzard.

Their battle brought them nearer and nearer to the door of the cabin. Keith could see this but Dranner, with his back to the cabin, was unaware of it. Keith was beginning to feel that he could not last much longer. His leg was hurting horribly. He resolved to take a chance. He let go with his right hand and drove for Dranner’s jaw. His fist landed high but the blow staggered Dranner. He stepped backwards and banged his head against the wall of the cabin. That was enough for Keith. Before Dranner could recover from the dazing crack on his skull, Keith let loose a second blow which caught Dranner on the chin. It was like hitting a rock, for Dranner’s head was still pressed against the wall, but it did the trick. The vicious eyes of the murderer glazed and he slipped to the ground limp as a sack, the pistol dropping from his relaxed fist. Keith kicked the pistol aside, snapped the steel cuffs on Dranner’s thick wrists, dragged him inside and tied his ankles with a length of raw hide. Then he closed the door, re-lit the lamp, and dropped on the bunk where he lay for several minutes, drawing deep breaths into his aching lungs.

When he got up, Dranner was still insensible but he was breathing easily and Keith let him lie. There was a pot on the stove with coffee in it. Keith found a mug, filled it with the strong black liquid, added three spoonfuls of sugar and drank it down. Then he looked at his damaged leg and was relieved to find that although the flesh was swollen and blue, there was nothing broken.

He remembered his dogs. He must bring them in. As he got up he glanced again at Dranner. Dranner’s eyes were open and the look in them sent a shiver down Keith’s spine. There was savage hate in them. That was to be expected; but there was more. A sort of cold, cruel calculation which made Keith wonder what fresh tricks this human fiend had in store for him. He did not hide from himself that he had a long march before him before reaching Sundance and that, during every moment of the journey, he would have to be on guard. With nothing but the rope in front of him, no chance would be too desperate for Dranner. Before leaving the cabin Keith removed Dranner’s two pistols and the rifle. He found also an ugly-looking knife which he stuck in his own belt.

Although the distance to the boulders was less than half a mile it taxed Keith’s strength to the uttermost to reach them. The storm was developing into a real blizzard but, luckily for Keith, the wind had not yet reached its full force. The return journey was not so bad for the wind was behind him. For all that, by the time Keith had tied his dogs in the lean-to and fed them he was pretty near the end of his tether.

The prospect of spending the night under cover should have been pleasant but, for Keith, was completely spoiled by the knowledge that he had to be under the same roof and in the same room with Dranner. There was something so sinister, so repulsive about the man that Keith hated breathing the same air with him. It was, however, useless to be squeamish so Keith carried his sleeping-bag into the cabin, built up the fire and set to cooking supper. There was plenty of food in the place but everything was filthy and, tired as he was, Keith had to melt snow and heat water to wash out the cooking pans. Since there was no bread, he made bannocks and these, with fried bacon and fresh coffee, were the first course. The second was a tin of peaches which Keith had been keeping for a special occasion.

All the time that he was cooking and while he ate Dranner lay on the floor watching him, but saying not a word. Even when Keith had his back to the man he could feel those narrow grey-green eyes fixed upon him.

Having finished his own meal Keith fed his prisoner. But before doing so he chained him to the heavy log forming the foot of the bunk. This light steel chain and padlock he was carrying by the advice of Duncan Maclaine, and very glad he was to have it. Dranner offered no resistance and ate his food in silence, but Keith could feel the waves of hatred that emanated from the man almost as clearly as if they were expressed in blows.

Keith’s whole body was one ache. The fight at the end of a hard day’s mush had drained his strength and he knew that he must sleep well before taking up the trail again.

“You can have the bunk,” he told Dranner curtly. He went out and fetched in his lead dog, Koltag. Koltag was a magnificent beast, partly grey, partly black, fanged like a wolf. The moment he came into the room the hair on his back rose in a stiff ridge, his yellow eyes flamed and a low growl rumbled in his throat. Keith laid a hand on the dog’s massive head.

“Quiet, boy!” he ordered and the rumble died, but Koltag’s eyes remained fixed upon Dranner. “I don’t think you will try any monkey business,” Keith continued, speaking to Dranner. “I don’t believe you can. But if you do it is a dead body I shall take back to Sundance, not a living man.”

A slight sneer curled Dranner’s lips, but that was all. Keith realized that the man, if all brute, had the courage of the brute and was more dangerous than any brute. Yet, confident that Koltag would rouse him if anything went wrong, he took off his boots, slipped into his bag and, within a couple of minutes, was dead asleep.

When he woke it was still dark, the fire in the stove had died down and the room was bitter cold. He looked at the luminous dial of his wrist-watch and saw that it was past six. He had had nine hours’ sleep and felt immensely refreshed. His leg still pained him but that would wear off with movement. He lit the lamp, made up the fire, then went out to feed his dogs and look at the weather.

The snow had ceased, the wind fallen and there seemed prospect of a fairly fine day; but Keith was dismayed at the amount of snow that had fallen in the night. The stuff was fine as flour and as difficult to walk in. It meant breaking trail for the dogs every yard of the way and speed would be cut down to perhaps two miles an hour. It was going to be a rotten journey but, after all, Keith had his man and would not have been human if he had not felt a little glow of triumph at the thought that his first official mission had been successful.

He went back into the hut and got breakfast. As on the previous night Dranner made no trouble. After he had eaten Keith handcuffed him again and left him chained. He had a job to do before packing for the start. That was to find the gold which no doubt Dranner had hidden somewhere under the floor of the shack. Dranner watched Keith sardonically as he set to work then, to Keith’s amazement, spoke.

“No need to waste time, constable. The dust’s under the stove.”

III. DISASTER

IT was a job to move the stove which was nearly red hot, but Keith did it and found a buckskin bag which held nearly five pounds weight of coarse gold. Keith made no sign of his astonishment that Dranner should have told him where it was but, at the same time, he did not like it. It seemed to him that Dranner must be very sure of escaping–and of taking the gold with him. Again Keith resolved that he would not give the murderer the least ghost of a chance.

A pale sun was rising in an icy sky as the two left the cabin. Keith made Dranner walk ahead and break trail. It was hard work for, at times, the man was thigh deep in the dry powdery stuff. But Dranner did not remonstrate and noon found them on lower ground where the snow was not so heavy. The midday meal was eaten under shelter of a bluff and, as the dogs were tired, Keith gave them a full hour’s rest. Even so, Keith succeeded in reaching the spot where he had intended to camp, a grove of thick spruce where there was shelter from the wind and plenty of firewood. Again he chained his prisoner and left Koltag to guard him while he made camp. He did everything himself. He would not trust Dranner to do anything. The man sat smoking, watching the other work with the same sardonic look in his deep-set eyes. Keith would have given a good deal to be able to read his thoughts.

Next morning the sky was overcast and the clouds hung low. As the sun rose a wind came with it, a keen steady breeze from north-west. “Snow!” muttered Keith, and he was right. They had hardly finished breakfast before it began. Keith had not yet spent a winter in the north so had not the weather sense of more experienced men. He wondered if it would be wiser to remain in camp rather than risk travelling in what might be a blizzard. But the thought of being cooped up with Dranner for another twenty- four hours was so repulsive that he resolved to risk it. After breakfast he harnessed up.

It was fine driving snow. The particles, hard and sharp as sand, packed themselves into every fold of Keith’s clothes and stung his face like pepper. It made the dogs look like white ghosts, while the pulling became constantly heavier. The snow- storm did not develop into a blizzard but it made travelling exceedingly difficult, and Keith was forced to direct his course almost entirely by compass.

To make matters worse he struck treacherous going: low land intersected with rivers and lakes. The lakes were fed by springs rising in their beds and these springs made thin places in the ice. Since the ice was covered with snow, it was most difficult to tell whether it was safe or not. Early in the afternoon they were crossing a lake when the ice cracked sharply beneath them. The noise was as loud as a pistol shot. Dranner, who was leading, swung to the right and sprinted. It was only this that saved them from disaster. Keith stopped his prisoner.

“Dranner, I’m taking off those cuffs. If you went in with them on, you could not help yourself. But remember that I’ll be watching. I shan’t take a chance in the world.” Once more Keith saw that maddening half-smile on the murderer’s face. And once more the man did not speak, did not utter a word of thanks. “Do you understand?” Keith asked sharply. Dranner merely nodded.

Again they mushed on. The snow fell relentlessly and they moved like ghosts through the everlasting harsh, hissing swirl. Heads bowed, they plodded on, the merciless cold biting through their furs. Fatigue was beginning to dull his senses and Keith decided that it was time to stop, camp, and call it a day. The trouble was that he could see no place fit for a camp. The stretches of land which lay between these endless lakes were flat and covered with low brush. It was absolutely necessary to find shelter and wood.

They reached the far shore of the lake on which they had experienced so narrow an escape and Keith was grateful to know that land, not water, was beneath his feet. Yet here again was nothing but brush through which the dogs toiled slowly.

The land dipped again and here was another lake or rather the arm of one. It was narrow, no more than three or four hundred yards in width. Keith paused a moment and studied the opposite shore. He could see it only dimly, the snow fog was so thick; but he could see enough to be sure that it was high and heavily wooded. Here at last was the spot for which he had been searching.

“Mush!” he cried and the dogs, sensing that their long toil was nearly over, tightened the traces and made on down the slight slope to the lake. Here the snow was not so deep, for the wind had swept it away. Presently the runners rang on bare ice and the pace quickened. Dranner was still in the lead only a few feet in advance of Koltag. They were within less than a hundred yards of the far bank when it happened. A report like that of a cannon shot rang out and Keith felt the ice moving, dropping beneath his feet.

“Mush!” he yelled to the dogs and saw them spring forward. But he plunged through a black hole into water cold as death.