Boy's Cinema (1935-39)

10 irom end to cud. Nov did he~neglect to run his hands through the clotliing of the man whom lie had slain. But not a trace of tile missing papers did lie find, lor the cache in Hie stonework of the fireplace escaped his questing fingers •omplctely, and at last ho was forced to admit defeat. Frustrated and enraged, lie finally stamped out of the cabin, and with a Mack scowl on his sallow features, lie set off into the woods, threading his way through the trees until he picked up a rough, broken trail. It was not the trail that led to Bord In Lac* but a road that ran due south, Hid a short distance along it was the car in which he had driven from Milwaukee. He climbed into the vehicle, and sat motionless behind the wheel for a little while, moodily reflecting upon the out- come of this trip he had made into the t 'aiiadian wilds. Where were those bonds ? He did not know, but they had cost an aged settler his life—and he, Colvin, had committed a crime which would render him liable to the extreme penalty of the law if ever his guilt were discovered. It was lucky for him that he had automatically covered up his tracks pretty well. No one could check up on his movements—no one would be able to •onnect him with the tragedy which had M-curred. He had broken his journey on the way from Milwaukee, but only to spend a night at a lonely shooting lodge he rented on the U.S. side of the line, and here he had changed out of his city clothes and. armed himself with the forty- live, also filling up the tank of his car from a store of gasoline that he kept there. Pursing his lips. Colvin started up the engine of his automobile and drove away, and soon the hum of the sedan's notor had faded into the prevailing quiet that reigned over the vicinity of old Jean Foray's cabin. In that cabin a veteran backwoodsman lav dead, and outside one of the win- dows was the huddled form of the dog (hat had been his only companion. But, though unconscious, the wolfhound was still breathing, and some time after ('ol\ iu's departure the animal roused limsejf painfully and proceeded to drag himself round to the front porch of the dwelling. Enos Colvin had left the door open. and slowly, piteously, the dog Rinty struggled up the steps and across the i! h hold, thence crawling towards the body of his master. And as he reached lifeless figure he licked the pallid heek forlornly. For a minute or two the wolfhound could not seem to grasp that the old man was no more, but when at length the fadf penetrated to his canine mind he broke into a tremulous whimper. Then, as painfully as he had entered the shack, he dragged himself forth again and wormed his way across the ing, toiling in the direction of the trail that led to Bord du Lac. Extradition Warrant SERGEANT BRAD SHKRIDAN was ted at his desk in the office attached to the quarters which hie and his comrades occupied at the settle- ment. It was late afternoon, and he was poring over a batch of correspondence that he had received from Inspector I'.radshaw. I Ic was still engaged in a scrutiny of that correspondence when his attention was distracted by a sharp cry outside the building. Then he heard one of his men calling to him, and recognised the voice as that of a trooper known as ('unstable O'Brien. Brad rose from his chair and hurried from the office, and as he emerged from January 23rd, 1937. BOY'S CINEMA it he came face to face with his subor- dinate, a keen, soldierly looking in- dividual of about his own age. " Sergeant," O'Brien exclaimed, pointing off to the right, " isn't that Jean Foray's dog?" Brad glanced in the direction that the constable had indicated, and as he did so he caught sight of Rinty hauling him- self feebly towards the post. "Jean Foray's dog!" he reiterated in a tone of concern. "Yeah, it's Jean's dog all right, and something's happened to him I" Next moment he was running across to the injured wolfhound, snd as he knelt down and gathered the animal into his arms he saw that his fur was matted with blood. "Rinty!" the sergeant cried. "Rinty. old boy, what have you been doing to yourself?" The dog uttered a low whine, and, bending closer to him. Brad examined the wound more closely. Then he lifted the animal from the ground and stood up, turning to O'Brien with a set look on his handsome countenance. "He's been shot!" he rapped out. "Shot!" the constable echoed. "Who'd be skunk enough to shoot a dog like Rinty?" "Wouldn't, I like to know!" Brad re- joined grimly. "Come on, let's see what we can do for him. Get some hot water and bandages, O'Brien, will you?" He carried the injured wolfhound back to his office, and presently O'Brien ap- peared there in company with another trooper who answered to the name of Gary. " Here's a basin of hot water and the first-aid kit, sergeant," O'Brien an- nounced, "and Gary here has raked out a basket that Rinty can have for a bed." The dog was placed in the basket, which Constable Gary had padded with a rug, and Brad set to work on the animal's wound, doctoring it skilfully so that within a few minutes the creature had been made as comfortable as pos- sible. Then, his task finished, the big sergeant reached tor his hat. "Keep an rye on Rinty, O'Brien." he said. "Belter give him some food if he'll take it. I'm going to old Jean's cabin to tell him his dog's hurt." He strode out of the office and made for a hitch-rail to which he had tethered his In time before, and ere long he was galloping at top speed along the road that linked the Foray cabin with the settlement. The sun was dipping down behind the tree-tops when he reached the clearing in which the old French-Canadian's home was situated, and, swinging himself out of the saddle, the Mountie advanced to the steps of the porch and cupped his hands about his mouth. "Hey, Jean!" he called. "Jean!" There was no response, and, seeing that the front, door stood open on its hinges. Brad hurried up the steps and walked across the threshold. "Jean!" he repeated, and then came to a dead standstill as Ins awe-stricken naze fell upon the crumpled body that lay on the floor in front, of him. The colour draining from his features. Brad Sheridan stumbled forward and sank down beside the old man, and one glance was enough to tell him that the veteran settler was dead. Then, with horror in his eves, the Mountie turned to take stock of the room, which showed signs of the fatal struggle that had been enacted and the wild, impatient search that had been carried out after death had brought the souffle to a close. Still numbed by the shock of the dis- covery he had made, Brad began to examine the cabin's interior mechanic- ally, but he found only one object that Ever i Tuesday could be regarded as a possible clue— an ornamental coat-button which'might have been torn from its threads during the tight, and which certainly did not tally with any of the buttons oil. Jean Foray's clothing. Pocketing the article, Brad looked at the huddled figure on the floor again, and then, with an expression of mingled grief and resolution on his dean-cut face, ho staggered from the dwelling and proceeded to reconnoitre the immediate neighbourhood. He was hoping to obtain some further clue relating to the tragedy that bad occurred, but it was not until ho had extended his quest to the south trail beyond the clearing that he came upon anything of significance. In the dust of that trail he observed the tracks of an automobile's tyres— tyres of a distinctive and unfamiliar tread, the like of which Brad could not remember having seen before, although he laid no claim to being particularly well versed in the patterns used by the' various manufacturers. For a long time he stood there, study- ing those tracks so as to impress the appearance of them on his mind, and then he returned to the cabin and climbed astride his horse. An hour afterwards he was back at the post, and in the office there he held a consultation with O'Brien, describing the result of his visit to the Foray home- stead and giving it as his opinion that the man who had shot old Jean was the man who had winged Rinty. "The point is—who was that man?" he added slowly. " As far as I know, Jean had no enemies, and surely no chance thief would go to the length of murder for the few paltry dollars he was likely to find in a backwoodsman's cabin." There was a silence, and then, with an effort, he roused himself from his brooding thoughts. "Well. O'Brien," he said, "yon and Gary had better drive out in a buck- board and bring in (he poor old fellow's body. Meanwhile, I'll have to send off a report to Inspector Bradshaw and wire Caryl Foray in Milwaukee." "Forty-eight hours later, with the case receiving the earnest attention of the authorities, Jean Foray's niece walked into Brad Sheridan's office at Bord Aw Lac and sought the comfort of his en- folding arms, giving way to a flood of tears that she only cheeked when Constable O'Brien presented himself in' the room. "Excuse me. sergeant," the trooper apologised, holding out a telegram, " but this just arrived from headquarters*" "All right, constable," Brad answered huskily. "I'll attend to it later." He turned his attention on Caryl again, and found that she was looking at Rinty, who was lying nearby in his basket, and although the dog was still suffering from the effects of his wound his tail was beating against the wicker sides of his crib to indicate his pleasure he gill's presence. "Oh, what a beast he must have been to shoot you, too, Rinty!" Caryl said in a pent-up tone. She stooped to caress the wolfhound fondly, and then gazed up at Brad with tear-dimmed eyes. "Poor Uncle Jean," sho faltered. "He was all I had left. Do you—do you know who killed him ?" "No, not yet, honey," the sergeant breathed. " But I'll find out who it was, or die in the attempt!" Caryl straightened and laid a hand on the big Mountie's sleeve. "When I go back to Milwauki she said, " I'll take Rinty with mc.