T.C. Bridges

Marlow of the Mounted

Warsaw 2019

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.

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