Britton and the voyageur leaped off and made for the piled-up packs on which the strange driver was seated. Realizing that he was thus suddenly brought to bay, the fellow rose to his feet and whirled the butt-end of his whip aloft. "Stay back, curse you!" he cried.
"Better give in," Britton warned him. "It's best for you." He jumped upon the rear bundles of the sled.
A vicious blow of the whip was the answer, but Rex was watchful. He caught the descending wrist, back-tripped the ruffian with a swift leg movement, and choked resistance out of him.
"I think he'll be quiet now," he said to Pierre. "Strap his limbs. That will do. Let's have a look at him." The moonlight failed to reveal much of the man's appearance except that his face looked more like that of a beaten dog than anything else.
"Smells like a distillery," Rex commented, turning his nose away. "He's been well primed for this job."
"Were we tak' heem?" asked Pierre, more material in thought.
Britton considered the matter for a short moment.
"We'll have to take him back to Laurance's and watch him by turns," he finally said. "I can pack the rascal on to Ainslie's Camp to-morrow and collect my half of the reward from Charlie Anderson. He can pay you a like amount on your return trip from Thirty Mile. How does that suit?"
"_Bon_, for sure t'ing," Pierre returned. "Ah t'ink dat suit me bully. Mak' de five hondred ver' easy."
"Anderson will think it's well worth it for the return of his goods with the gentleman on top," observed Britton. "Turn your outfit, and I'll load this Whiskey-John into the empty sleigh. Whoa! Easy-that's correct, _bon camarade_! Go ahead now. I'll follow with the contraband."
There was no jingle of bells, nothing but the sober plunging of the sleds as the two dog-trains filed back to Laurance's cabin on Indian River.
"So you've captured the condemned parasite!" cried Jim Laurance, as the returning ones reached his yard.
"_Certainement_! tam sure t'ing," Pierre assured him, with a burst of good humor. "Wat Ah tell you?-we catch heem! _Saprie_, yes-on de leetle cache _par le_ Grand Reedge-_n'est-ce-pas_, Rex, _mon camarade_?"
"That's correct," laughed Britton, "we hit it just right! A little later and we should have had a stern chase. Make a jail, Laurance, to hold the rascal."