The whole sky was a mass of red flames behind them, and an ocean of smoke was rolling ceaselessly upward.
“Mackenzie’s Landing can’t be much further,” Sandy said when they had looked their last upon the great fire.
“No, we ought to make it by night. We’ll have to make it or camp without grub or blankets. I prefer going on,” Dick stated.
Some distance further on, as they rounded a huge bend in the stream, they could not suppress a cheer. In the distance they could see the shoulder of a high, barren bluff which was the ten-mile landmark on the trip to Mackenzie’s Landing.
It was late in the afternoon when in the distance they at last viewed the stockade and roofs of Malcolm Mackenzie’s trading post. Blackened and disheveled, nearly exhausted, they guided their canoe to the pier, where three half-breeds were watching them curiously. The half-breeds helped them secure their canoe, and listened without comment to some of their story of the eventful journey.
“Malcolm Mackenzie, he sick,” one of the half-breeds told them. “No can go. Him burned bad when fight with fire.”
“Did you hear that?” Dick turned to Sandy.
“Yes—just our luck. Now what?” Sandy returned, a little disheartened, as the half-breeds led the way into the stockade.
“We can talk to Mr. Mackenzie, can’t we?” Dick asked one of the men, as they entered the post.
Presently, they were ushered into a room smelling of liniment and arnica. On a bunk lay Malcolm Mackenzie, his head and one arm swathed in bandages. Evidently he was suffering considerably from serious burns. He turned his head as the boys came in.
“Bear Henderson has captured Fort Good Faith,” Dick blurted out. “My friend’s uncle has been imprisoned. Mr. MacLean sent us to you. He said you would lead us to the mounted police post at Fort Dunwoody.”
“I’ve feared this,” Malcolm Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed, “but you see how it is with me, boys. I can’t travel. Got some bad burns while fighting that forest fire. But I can send an Indian who knows the trail.” He turned to one of the half-breeds, who was standing behind Dick and Sandy. “Send in Little John Toma,” he commanded.
A little later Dick and Sandy saw a young Indian enter. He was handsome in a dark, inscrutable way, and though not very tall, was powerfully built. He stood respectfully at attention, seeming more intelligent than many of his kind.