T.C. Bridges

The River Riders

Warsaw 2019

Contents

I. THE MYSTERY MEN

II. THE FLUME

III. THE BULLY OF THE CAMP

IV. THE MAN WITH THE GREEN EYES

V. HANSON GETS THE ORDER OF THE BOOT

VI. STICKING IT!

VII. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY

VIII. A CONSULTATION AT THE CAMP

IX. KEITH BOLTS

X. THE CHASE

XI. WHEN DAWN CAME

XII. KEITH EXPLAINS

XIII. SHORTY SHOOTS

XIV. THE LITTLE BLACK BIT

XV. TONY FINDS A CLUE

XVI. GRANITE'S BARGAIN

XVII. THE WAY OUT

XVIII. IN THE HEART OF THE HILL

XIX. THE HIDDEN BRIDGE

XX. A FEW WORDS WITH GRANITE

XXI. SHORTY HUNTS A SHORT CUT

XXII. GRANITE'S THREAT

XXIII. THE MAN IN THE SNOW

XXIV. KEITH IS TAKEN DOWN A PEG

XXV. GRANITE GETS TO WORK

XXVI. A FIGHT AND ITS FINISH

XXVII. KEITH KEEPS HIS TEMPER

XXVIII. DIRTY WORK AT THE CROSS- ROADS

XXIX. A RACE FOR LIFE

XXX. SHORTY TAKES A DAY OFF

XXXI. THE CRACK IN THE WALL

XXXII. GRANITE GETS BUSY

XXXIII. GRANITE TRIES HARD

XXXIV. GRANITE SKIDS

XXXV. THE SOUNDS IN THE NIGHT

XXXVI. THE BROKEN TRACK

XXXVII. KEITH'S "AIRYPLANE"

XXXVIII. THE FLOOD IN SNOWY RIVER

XXXIX. ON THE FACE OF THE "JAM"

XL. DOWN THE RAPIDS

XLI. GRANITE'S LAST BID

I. THE MYSTERY MEN

“You needn’t expect an easy time out there, for you won’t get it.” The words spoken by his father three weeks earlier came back to young Keith Hedley as he stood on the deck of the rough little river-boat, and gazed at the desolation on either side of him.

Winter had shut down early over the great wilderness of the North-West, and the first snow lay thick on the banks and covered the dark trees with a white mantle. Ice was forming under the river banks, and great sheets of it broke away under the wash of the panting, churning stern wheel, and clattered like broken glass in the wake.

Not a human habitation or any living thing was visible in the snow-clad depths of the forest. The still air was bitter with frost and a dull red sun was dropping behind the distant hills.

“Mighty cold, eh?” came a voice, and Keith turned to see a man beside him. A long, slack-jointed fellow, who wore a rough rabbit-skin coat over his dark flannel shirt, and trousers that were tucked into butcher boots. He had a thin, hooked nose, like the beak of a bird of prey, and bright, pale blue eyes set close on either side of it, but what most struck Keith was the bleached pallor of his skin. Keith did not quite like the look of him, but the man spoke civilly, and Keith was lonely enough to be glad of any companionship.

“Yes, it’s pretty keen,” he admitted.

“I reckon you’re bound for Jasper?” continued the tall man.

Keith was not yet aware that questions of this sort are bad form in the North-West. “No, I’m going to Calvert’s Camp,” he answered civilly.

The other looked at him oddly, and Keith felt a little puzzled. “Then you’ll hev to get off at Brant Bridge,” said the man.

“Yes,” said Keith. “That’s the next stop but one, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s the next ever,” the tall man told him.

“Are you sure?” asked Keith.

The tall man turned. “Mold!” he called, and another man came up. This was a thick-shouldered, bull-headed person with blunt features and little dark eyes deep set in his big head.

“What’s your trouble?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“This here gent is going to Calvert’s,” said Fargus. “He’s a- getting off at Brant’s Bridge. I reckon that’s the next place the steamer stops?”

“That’s so,” said Mold. “And I guess we’re pretty nigh there. So if you got any duds to pack, Mister, you better look slippy.”

“My stuff is all ready,” Keith told him, and just then the steamer whistled.

“She’s right there,” said Fargus. “Don’t you waste no time, Mister. They don’t wait long, specially when the river’s a- freezing up like she is now.”

Again Keith had a queer feeling of puzzlement, but there was no time to think. “Much obliged to you,” he said, and bag in hand hurried forward.

The steamer slowed in to the end of a rough jetty, a rope was made fast and a gangway thrust out. A deck hand helped Keith with his portmanteau and next minute he was all alone on the wharf watching the steamer churn away round the bend.

A horrible feeling of loneliness came over him, but he shook it off, and walked up to the landward end of the jetty. There was no one about, but a little way off was a shack from the chimney of which smoke curled.

Keith knocked and a big bearded man came to the door, and scowled at the visitor. “Sorry to trouble you,” said Keith, “but can you tell me if there is anyone here to meet me from Calvert’s?”

“What ‘ud they want to come here for?” grunted the man. “If you’d wanted to be met, why didn’t ye go on to Brant Bridge?”

“Isn’t this Brant Bridge?” asked Keith in dismay.

“No. This here is Jasper. Brant Bridge is four mile further on.”

Keith’s heart sank. “Then how am I to get there?” he asked.

“You got legs, haven’t you? It’s only about eight mile.”

“I can walk all right,” returned Keith, resenting the sneer, “but what about my luggage?”

“You can leave it here, if you’ve a mind to, and send fer it to-morrow.”

The man’s bite was not so bad as his bark. He helped Keith to carry his portmanteau into the shack, and gave him directions as to finding his way, and presently Keith, feeling a little more cheerful, was tramping along a narrow track through the frozen forest. It was rapidly getting dark, but the night was clear and the moon was rising. So Keith had no fear of not being able to find his way. The one thing that bothered him was why those two men on the boat had insisted on his getting off at the wrong place.

Though Keith was only sixteen he was no fool, and he was pretty sure that Messrs. Fargus and Mold had done this thing on purpose. Of course, it might have been just a silly trick, such as some men delight in playing on a tenderfoot. But the more he thought it over, the less likely it seemed that this was the case, and the more probable that they had some purpose in view. But what that purpose could be he was quite unable to guess.

Night shut down, the cold increased, and even through his warm jacket Keith felt the sting of the frost. The dry snow creaked under his feet. In the forest the silence was intense. So intense that presently he distinctly heard the steamer whistling for Brant Bridge four miles away. “And that’s where they’ll be waiting for me,” he said half aloud, and once more felt angry at the trick that had been played on him. “If I ever meet those two chaps again I’ll jolly well tell them what I think of them,” he growled.

The track began to rise. It grew very steep and rough.

Then quite suddenly the intense silence was broken by a sharp snapping sound followed by a gasping cry.

Keith did not hesitate but dashed forward. The trees broke away and he found himself on the edge of a deep gorge, which was spanned by a rough foot-bridge. This bridge was nothing but a single pine trunk flattened on its upper surface, and a rudely made rail.

Half-way across, clinging to the trunk with his gloved hands, and with his body swinging like a pendulum over the abyss, was a boy of about Keith’s own age.

Keith saw at once just what had happened; the boy’s foot had slipped on the frozen snow which coated the log, he had caught at the rail to save himself, but it was so rotten that it had broken under his weight.

The wonder was that he had not gone straight down into the depths of the dark cleft, but somehow he had managed to catch the trunk in falling, and so had saved himself. But Keith could see that the unlucky fellow was perfectly helpless, for his hands had no sort of grip on the icy surface of the log, and it could only be a matter of moments before they slipped and then–ugh! it made Keith shiver to think of the awful drop below.

But this was no time for thinking, and with one shout of “Hold on! I’m coming,” Keith dashed out along the log.

In cold blood he could never have done it, but in the excitement of the moment he hardly thought of the danger. Next moment he was astride the log close beside the other, and had caught him by the collar of his thick leather coat. “I’ll pull, you climb,” he ordered, and the other wasted no time in obeying.

For a moment it was just a chance whether both went down together, but Keith hung on like a bulldog, and the other kept his head and gradually dragged himself up.

For a moment the boy lay across the log, panting. Then he pulled himself together. “We better crawl out of this,” he remarked. “Your head’s all right, I reckon.”

“For the present it is,” smiled Keith, “but I’d hate to have to stay and look down into this dyke.”

“Then come right along,” said the other briefly, and rising to his feet ran lightly across to the far side. Keith followed, and the two stood together on firm ground. The moon was full on the stranger’s face, and Keith glancing at him with interest saw that he was lightly built but wiry, with a thin brown face and very clear brown eyes.

“You’re British, I reckon,” said the boy.

“I suppose it sticks out all over me,” grinned Keith. “Yes, I’m English. Keith Hedley’s my name.”

“Mine’s Brock–Tony Brock, but I guess it would have been ‘Mud’ if you hadn’t come along just when you did. Mighty odd, too, for it isn’t once a month anyone does come along this track after nightfall.”

“As a matter of fact, it was an odd chance brought me along this way,” replied Keith, then broke off. “Hadn’t we better be shifting along? It’s a bit nippy.”

“Cold as Jericho,” agreed Tony. “I’m bound for Calvert’s. That any good to you?”

“Exactly where I’m going,” said Keith. “I shall be very glad of company.”

Tony Brock eyed him with interest. “You got a job there?”

“Yes,” replied Keith, and that was all. He was not going to tell anyone that he was Crab Calvert’s nephew.

Tony still paused. “You come by the steamer?” he questioned.

“Yes.”

“Then what made you get off at Jasper?”

Keith told him and was surprised at the keen interest with which Tony listened. “It seemed a rotten sort of joke,” Keith ended.

“Joke! Not much joke about that, I reckon,” returned Tony sharply. “By the way you describe ‘em, I’d say those fellows were hard characters, and that they’d laid out to rob you.”

Keith laughed. “I’ve only got about ten dollars on me and an old silver watch. Not much bait for all that trouble. Besides, they went on in the steamer.”

A frown knitted Tony’s brown forehead. “That don’t matter. They could land at Brant’s and catch you easy before ever you got to Calvert’s.”

“But what’s the big idea?” urged Keith.

Tony shook his head. “They’ve got something against you. I’ll lay on that.” He flung up his hand. “Listen!” he whispered quickly.

Keith’s straining ears caught a slight rustling sound from somewhere down the hill below. Tony caught him by the arm. “That’s them,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll bet on it. Say, we’ll get out of this pronto.”

“On to Calvert’s?” questioned Keith.

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