Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 096 - North Woods Mystery

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THE NORTH WOODS MYSTERY
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. DEATH'S TRAIL
? CHAPTER II. A STRANGE CLUE
? CHAPTER III. IN THE NORTH WOODS
? CHAPTER IV. WORD FROM THE PAST
? CHAPTER V. VANISHED MONGOLS
? CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW DELAYS
? CHAPTER VII. THE SHADOW'S ALLY
? CHAPTER VIII. THE NEXT NIGHT
? CHAPTER IX. THE DESERTED CABIN
? CHAPTER X. MEETINGS ON THE LAKE
? CHAPTER XI. PROWLERS IN THE DARK
? CHAPTER XII. NIGHT AND THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XIII. CHANCE PLAYS ITS PART
? CHAPTER XIV. DAWN BRINGS AID
? CHAPTER XV. HARRY PREPARES
? CHAPTER XVI. THE SHOW-DOWN
? CHAPTER XVII. THE LONE HAND
? CHAPTER XVIII. KAI LUAN SPEAKS
? CHAPTER XIX. ODDS OVERWHELMED
? CHAPTER XX. AFTER THE FRAY
CHAPTER I. DEATH'S TRAIL
LATE summer heat gripped New York's Chinatown. It was evening; but nightfall had brought no
coolness. The brick walls that fringed the narrow streets had clamped the stifling atmosphere within their
confines.
Chinatown was quiet. Few tourists had come to this district. This was a season when Coney Island
busses outnumbered those bound to Chinatown. With business lacking, the proprietors of Chinese shops
were seated in their doorways, puffing pipes and blandly eyeing passing strollers.
A well-dressed man was walking briskly along Mott Street. He looked like an American; but when he
turned the corner of Pell Street, the lights of Chinatown's center revealed his face more plainly. The man
was a Chinese; and seated shopkeepers nodded solemn greetings as he passed.
They knew Doctor Roy Tam. A Chinaman with an American education, Roy Tam had established
himself among members of his race. Tam's early career had been a struggle; for he had adhered to one
definite mission: the Americanization of Chinese in New York.
Enemies had blocked Tam's work. There were those in Chinatown who preferred to keep the traditions
of the Orient; their purpose was the gain of power through superstitious followers. Such enemies had
failed. The few who remained were ones who strived in secret. No longer did Doctor Roy Tam
encounter the open opposition of dangerous antagonists.
Tam's route turned again at Doyer Street. He followed the curving thoroughfare and slackened his pace
as he passed closed shops. There were darkened patches along these building walls. Some shops were
deserted; others had shut down for the night. Few eyes saw Doctor Tam as he stopped at stone steps
leading down into a basement store.
A sign bore the name Loon Kow, flanked by Chinese characters. The place was a small curio shop; from
its shaded windows filtered rays of greenish light. That was why Doctor Tam stood perplexed. He had
expected either to find Loon Kow in his doorway, or to see the shop entirely dark.
Tam threw a darted gaze across his shoulder. He noted no one near him on the street. Descending the
steps, he produced a key from his pocket. He unlocked the door of the curio shop. Entering, he softly
closed the door and locked it; then looked about.
The curio shop was deserted. Greenish lights revealed nothing but a display of Chinese merchandise.
Smiling Buddhas grinned from tables flanked by silken banners. Brass bowls caught the reflection of the
dull emerald light.
Where was Loon Kow?
Doctor Tam had received a message from the proprietor, only an hour before. It had been urgent. Loon
Kow had left word of danger. Tam, when he had heard of it, had been troubled. Crime was prevalent in
Chinatown. Hence Tam had come to see Loon Kow.
HEAVY curtains masked a door at the rear of the curio shop. There was no light beyond them. Tam
approached. He found a closed door. He unlocked it with the pass-key, a useful implement which Loon
Kow had given him for visits such as this. Tam stepped into an office that was lighted by a single desk
lamp. He locked the door behind him.
Again the question: where was Loon Kow?
This was the curio dealer's office. It had no door other than the one that Tam had entered. A bulky,
wide-topped desk occupied the center of the room. In the far corner was a three-fold screen that had a
filing cabinet behind it. Loon Kow certainly would not be hiding behind the screen. Tam's assumption
was that his friend had gone out.
Since Loon Kow seemed absent, Tam chose the big swivel-chair on the far side of the desk. He came
into the glare of the lamplight; then stopped short. A desk drawer was opened, beyond the chair. Within
the drawer, Tam saw the glitter of a revolver.
The weapon was tilted upward, as though some one yanked the drawer open; then made a grab for the
gun. Tam leaned forward. His eyes saw the floor beyond the desk. Staring straight upward was a face; a
yellowish visage with glassy, lifeless eyes.
Tam bounded over, shoving the chair aside. He dropped near the figure beside the desk. He studied a
face that he knew well. The dead man was Loon Kow.
The body was in shirt-sleeves. Blood stained the white front of Loon Kow's shirt. The Chinese
proprietor had been stabbed to the heart, struck down by an assassin before he could produce the
revolver from the desk drawer.
Sorrow showed upon Doctor Tam's square face. Tam's eyes were fixed. He could think of nothing but
Loon Kow. This was the danger that his friend had foretold. A threat of murder; one that had been
carried through. Tam's sorrowed gaze became stern; his firm fists clenched.
There was a motion of the screen. Tam did not discern it. He was too preoccupied in his study of Loon
Kow. One panel of the screen swung wide. From its edge came a vicious, glaring face. Then huge
shoulders; below the right, a hand that gripped a bloody knife.
The man from the screen was a gigantic Mongol, a type of Chinese seldom seen in Manhattan. He was
the slayer of Loon Kow. The Mongol's glare foretold another murder. That knife he gripped was
intended for the heart of Doctor Roy Tam.
Slowly, gloatingly, the slayer moved forward. Step by step, he closed the distance between himself and
Roy Tam. Three feet more would have brought him within range to wield his knife. Then suddenly, the
Mongol stopped. Doctor Tam was rising from beside the body of Loon Kow.
Oblivious to the menace that threatened him, Doctor Tam looked into the desk drawer. He moved his
right hand slowly downward and stopped his fingers just above the revolver, wondering whether or not
to touch it. The Mongol edged closer. His long right arm went back past his hip, ready to deliver an
underhand thrust.
Thought of murder must have seized Doctor Tam. Inspired by some knowledge of danger, the Chinese
physician swung about. He saw the huge killer; Tam's eyes met those of the glaring Mongol. Instinctively,
Tam gripped the revolver and tried to bring it from the drawer.
He was too late. A fierce snarl tore from vicious lips. The Mongol's big right hand sped forward, driving
the long-bladed dirk straight for the heart of the hapless Doctor Tam!
Then came the incredible.
A PISTOL shot ripped from the doorway of the room. A tongue of flame stabbed straight toward its
desired mark. The bullet from a .45 automatic cracked the Mongol's speeding wrist. The assassin's hand
flung wide, as if suddenly it had been struck by a diving fist.
Loosed fingers lost the knife. The blade sizzed wide of Tam and clattered to the floor. The Mongol's
snarl changed to a hideous howl. Half rolling, half sprawling, the would-be murderer staggered away
from Tam and struck the floor beside Loon Kow's body. Gripping his broken wrist, he glared toward the
spot from which the shot had come.
Tam turned also. His eyes showed a gleam of joy.
Framed in the doorway was a figure cloaked in black. It was the shape of a being who had silently
unlocked the barrier by a method of his own. Above the folds of the arrival's cloak were burning eyes
that gazed from beneath the brim of a slouch hat.
Gloved hands projected from the cloak. The right gripped a smoking automatic—the weapon that had
dispatched the needed bullet. The left hand rested upon the knob of the fully opened door. Tam knew his
rescuer. The arrival was The Shadow!
Grim avenger who battled crime, The Shadow had arrived to save a friend. For of those in Chinatown
who owned allegiance to The Shadow, none was more loyal than Doctor Roy Tam.
Leaning against the desk, clutching Loon Kow's revolver, Tam was about to pour forth words of
gratitude. His lips had parted; but his speech halted. Tam had heard another snarl from the floor. Turning
about, he saw the murderous Mongol halfway to his feet.
The big killer was not through. He had snatched up his knife in his left hand. The Mongol was
ambidextrous. Tam, horrified, saw the killer's good arm swing. The gleaming knife blade whistled from
the Mongol's fist; its point, like an arrow tip, was whizzing straight for The Shadow!
The Mongol's fling was as accurate as his thrust had been for Tam. The knife was already on its way. No
bullet could have stopped it. Yet the dirk never reached the mark for which it was intended. The
Shadow's left hand had acted as quickly as the Mongol's.
HOLDING the doorknob, The Shadow yanked the barrier half closed; his stratagem was simultaneous
with the Mongol's dispatch of the knife. The door was still swinging when the flashing dirk arrived; like a
shield, it had come in to cover The Shadow.
The knife blade found the woodwork. Its point stabbed through; the handle of the knife stopped farther
progress. The Shadow shifted beyond the door, edging his left shoulder away from the projecting knife
point. His right hand aimed its automatic to cover the crippled Mongol.
As he swung to aim, The Shadow hissed a quick word to Doctor Tam. It was a command to withhold
fire. Tam was too late to obey.
Desperately, the rescued man had aimed toward the Mongol. Tugging the trigger of Loon Kow's
revolver, Tam sped three straight bullets toward the murderer. The Mongol spun about, then withered.
He flattened to the floor. This time, he remained.
Tam bounded past Loon Kow's body. He stopped beside the slayer. A gloved hand thrust Tam aside.
The Shadow had arrived. Tam moved away. He saw The Shadow stoop; he heard a hissed tone quiz the
dying Mongol in the murderer's own tongue.
The Shadow was commanding speech. He was ordering the killer to name the person who had sent him
here to slay Loon Kow. The Mongol grimaced. His dying gaze met burning eyes. Fear showed in the
murderer's glare. Lips gasped a last utterance, as the killer's head sagged back.
Two words. A name. The Shadow heard; and so did Doctor Tam. The murderer had spoken the title of
an evil master whose dictates he obeyed:
"Kai Luan!"
CHAPTER II. A STRANGE CLUE
"KAI LUAN."
The name was spoken by hidden lips. The Shadow's.
The cloaked avenger was standing above the body of the Mongol whom Doctor Tam had slain. The
Shadow's utterance was a summary of the one fact that he had learned. The murderer had come from
Kai Luan.
Doctor Tam was solemn. He knew that he had made a great mistake. The Shadow could have slain this
murderer with ease. He had spared the killer so that he might make the fellow talk. Tam had spoiled that
opportunity.
There was, however, no criticism in The Shadow's tone. He knew that Tam had acted in an effort to stay
the murderer's hand. Loyalty, to The Shadow, was a greater virtue than wisdom.
"Kai Luan."
The Shadow looked toward Tam as he spoke. The name came almost as a question. The Shadow
wanted Tam's information regarding Kai Luan. Solemnly, Tam shook his head; then spoke.
"Kai Luan is a mystery," declared the Chinaman. "Who he is—where he may be—no one knows. I
believe that there is no one named Kai Luan."
The Shadow's eyes were steady. He wanted to hear more. Tam was close to Chinatown. Chances were
that he had learned facts which had as yet escaped The Shadow.
"Among those who are foolish," explained Tam, looking straight toward The Shadow's eyes, "there has
been talk of one called Kai Luan. He is a friend of those who are evil. He has sent them money. They
have harbored men from Kai Luan."
The Shadow looked toward the dead Mongol. Tam nodded.
"Others such as that one," explained the Chinaman. "Mongols, who may have come into Manchuria,
since the boy emperor has ruled Manchukuo. Fanatics, ready to do murder.
"I have heard of the others. This is the first that I have seen. He served Kai Luan. His own voice told that
fact. Still, there may be no Kai Luan. It is a name, perhaps, that these have uttered and that others have
heard.
"Robbery and murder have struck here in New York. Loon Kow must have been threatened. He sent
for me. That is all that I can tell. How or when the Mongols came to New York is as baffling as the name
of Kai Luan."
THE SHADOW stepped over to the Mongol's body. The killer was clad in rough American attire. The
Shadow found objects in the dead man's pockets. He laid the assortment upon the desk.
A few Chinese coins were mixed with American silver. A crude pipe, probably fashioned by the Mongol,
contained a bowl that was thickly encrusted. With the pipe was a small bag of goatskin that served as a
tobacco pouch. In addition, The Shadow found a roll of crisp bills that totaled fifty dollars.
The Shadow examined the currency in the light; then passed the bills to Doctor Tam, who had taken the
swivel-chair behind the desk. Tam arched his eyebrows and questioned:
"Counterfeit?"
"Yes," responded The Shadow. "I have seen others like them. All recently."
"I have seen them," nodded Tam. He was studying the bills. "I thought that they were genuine. Yes, I
have seen serial numbers close to these. Kai Luan— whoever he may be—is playing a profitable game."
"We must learn from where the Mongol came."
Doctor Tam nodded soberly in response to The Shadow's statement. He watched the cloaked visitor
study the smoking pipe. Slowly, Tam shook his head.
"I have inquired," he stated. "No one can reply. When first I heard of the Mongols who served Kai Luan,
I made question of my friends. None of these Mongols have been seen in San Francisco.
"There are Chinese who enter Canada. There they pay a head tax of five hundred dollars before they are
landed at Vancouver. There were times when many came from the ships. But that has ended. Too many
unfortunate Chinese were tossed overboard by the men who brought them."
Tam paused. He considered another angle.
"Some enter from Mexico," he declared. "But they find it a long trip to New York. Particularly such as
these Mongols. None have been seen in Texas. There is only one answer."
The Shadow spoke.
"This man came into Canada," he declared. "He traveled East. From somewhere near the Border, he was
brought across by airplane. He landed near New York."
"True," agreed Tam, with a nod. Then wisely: "But the Canadian Border is long. The land beyond it is
wide. How could one hope to find the spot from which these Mongols have begun their journeys?"
The Shadow had opened the tobacco pouch. His right glove was off. His fingers were examining the
flakes. Tam noted the rich aroma of the tobacco.
"The starting point," remarked the Chinaman, "must certainly be within a few hundred miles of the
Border. But there are many regions north; and there are many places in Canada where Chinese have
gone. Once entered, their head tax paid, they are lost again from sight—"
The Shadow's whisper made Tam pause. The Chinaman caught the tones of a suppressed laugh. The
Shadow spoke.
"Eighty miles north of Georgian Bay," he declared. "Close to Lake Nimiskiming; where the nearest town
is Wapiti Junction, on the Canadian Pacific Railway."
TAM stared, amazed. He knew that The Shadow was locating the region from which the Mongol had
come. The news was astounding.
"You have heard of the Hudson Bay Posts?"
The Shadow's question brought a nod from Tam. The Chinaman listened expectantly.
"There are many such posts in Canada," added The Shadow. "They precede each new frontier. Old ones
are abandoned when no longer needed. The Hudson Bay Posts are remote, with one exception. The
post on Lake Nimiskiming."
"It is near enough to the Border—"
"Yes. A plane could easily make a non-stop flight from Lake Nimiskiming to somewhere near New
York."
"But how did you learn—"
Tam stopped. The Shadow was dropping flakes of tobacco back into the goatskin pouch. Calmly, he
spoke.
"This tobacco," he declared, "is the famous blend sold only by the Hudson Bay Posts. It must have been
purchased with other supplies. It was carried to the place where the Mongol was."
"And the only post," expressed Tam, "is the one near Lake Nimiskiming. The only one near enough to the
United States Border—"
"Yes. Moreover, the one way to reach that region from the west is by Wapiti Junction. Investigation will
begin from there."
Tam watched The Shadow finish with the tobacco. The aroma was distinctive. Tam realized that any one
who had once smoked that brand could easily identify it.
Whatever else the Mongol carried could have been brought from China or procured in New York; but
not the tobacco. Tam realized the strength of The Shadow's clue. He knew that this supersleuth had
gained a start.
Tam knew The Shadow to be a traveler; one who had certainly included the North Woods in his many
expeditions. Doubtless, The Shadow had visited the very Hudson Bay Post of which he had spoken.
One by one, The Shadow replaced the articles in the dead Mongol's pocket. He took Loon Kow's
revolver that Tam had laid upon the desk. The Shadow wiped the handle of the gun; then, wearing his
gloves, he clamped the weapon in the dead hand of Loon Kow.
"Go."
THE SHADOW'S lone word was a command. Doctor Tam nodded and arose. He went out by the
door to the curio shop. He found the front door locked. The Shadow had picked it and had fastened the
lock afterward. Tam used his pass-key. He edged up the stone steps to Doyer Street.
Tam knew what The Shadow was about. He was fixing a scene to indicate that Loon Kow had fought
with the Mongol murderer and had finished the man who had stabbed him. The police might form other
conclusions; but it would be impossible for them to gain a trail to actual participants, other than the two
whom they would find dead.
The Shadow wanted to keep Roy Tam's name from the case. Tam would be needed here in New York,
to check on other developments; for The Shadow might soon have urgent business elsewhere.
Tam had these thoughts as he moved along the sidewalk, noting with satisfaction that no wayfarers were
about. Past the elbow curve of the street Tam paused, prepared to make his exodus from the confines of
Chinatown. Persons who had seen him to-night would think that he had walked through the quarter
without making a stop.
Instinctively, Tam looked back toward the silent shop of Loon Kow. As he stared, Tam caught a motion
on the outskirts of blackness. For a fleeting moment, he saw the illusion of a shape that faded into another
area of gloom. Tam knew that The Shadow had departed. The Chinaman hurried toward the nearest
street and took a northward course beneath an elevated structure.
Eyes saw Doctor Tam as the Chinaman passed an obscure corner. They were the eyes of The Shadow.
They saw the expression upon Tam's face: one of sorrow for the death of Loon Kow; yet an expression
mingled with gratitude.
For Tam knew that the murder of Loon Kow would not pass unavenged. One murderer had died; others
would meet their doom. Nor would the quest cease until the highest had paid his price—the leader whom
minions called Kai Luan.
The trail would carry far from Manhattan, off to a pristine wilderness in rough, unsettled country. But
every move would be governed by the same master hand. It would be The Shadow's quest. A strange
clue had begun the new cause.
A whispered laugh sounded in the darkness. Its echoes faded weirdly. The headlights of a swerving
automobile showed vacancy at the spot from which the laugh had come. The Shadow, like Doctor Tam,
had departed into the night.
But even The Shadow did not realize, as yet, to how great a scope this single clue would expand. While
an agent of The Shadow would be sent to Canada to learn more about the trail which followed the
tobacco clue, other individuals, entirely apart from the present scene, were unconsciously preparing
another factor in the plot, and The Shadow, himself, was due to learn other things which would keep him
here for some time.
CHAPTER III. IN THE NORTH WOODS
"WHAT marvelous tobacco!"
The exclamation came from a young woman who was seated in the bow of a canoe. She was speaking
to a man of forty, who was in a boat close by. Both canoes were drawn up to the bank of a little river.
Each boat had an Indian guide in the stern.
"It is Hudson Bay tobacco, Edna."
The man looked up from a map, smiled and puffed his pipe. The aroma of smoke became more pungent.
It seemed to blend with the fragrance of the pine woods above the river bank.
"I remember," nodded the girl. "You bought a pound tin of it back at the Hudson Bay Post. Just before
we left Lake Nimiskiming. But this is the first time you smoked it, Harley. I believe I could recognize that
tobacco anywhere."
The man folded the map. He picked up a paddle. The girl did the same. The canoes drifted from the
bank and headed upstream. While the silent guides plodded with their paddles, the man and the girl kept
stroke at the canoe bows. They talked as the boats moved northward.
"East from Lake Nimiskiming." remarked Harley. "That brought us to the Manitibi River. We have done
several miles since noon. We will soon reach Red Cedar Rapids."
"I'm anxious to see the place," said Edna. "It must be interesting."
"It is," stated the man. He smiled. "I think you are liking this trip, Edna."
"Marvelously," agreed the girl. "When you first suggested that we spend our honeymoon in the North
Woods, I thought you were joking, Harley. But you weren't."
"I seldom joke, Edna. You knew how much I liked this country. Even though it has been years since I
was here."
"That is what Jim Lagry said after he had talked with you about the trip."
"Yes. Jim was up here once himself. That was a good many years ago. Before —"
The man broke off suddenly and began to ply his paddle. The girl smiled, slightly; then remarked in a low
tone:
"Before you thought that I would ever be Mrs. Creeland?"
The man nodded. He paused in paddling, to knock the ashes from his pipe.
"That was long ago, Harley," said Edna, In a soft voice. "Really, we should not let the past trouble us. I
have told you, often, that I have forgotten Dale Mundon."
Creeland pocketed his pipe and resumed paddling. He looked back toward the guides; then spoke to
Edna.
"I can't forget Mundon," Creeland told his wife. "The fellow always was a mischief-maker. I was glad
when he left Boyersford. I—"
"We are a thousand miles from Boyersford, Harley. Why not think about the North Woods?"
Creeland smiled.
"A good idea," he decided. "Let's speed up the stroke. I want you to see Red Cedar Rapids."
EDNA CREELAND was silent as they paddled steadily onward. But she was thinking of the brief
conversation. Somehow, the subject of Dale Mundon was one that had constantly marred this trip. Edna
felt that she could understand the reason.
She had been engaged to Dale Mundon until one year ago. Dale was a younger man than Harley
Creeland; and he had taken life less seriously. Then Dale had left Boyersford, without an explanation.
Edna had considered their engagement broken.
Harley Creeland had made a proposal of marriage. Urged by family and friends, Edna had accepted.
Creeland was the wealthiest man in Boyersford. A banker, manufacturer and real-estate owner, he was
reputed to be a millionaire. That had influenced the others; but not Edna, until the girl came to the sudden
realization that she cared for Creeland.
Had Dale Mundon remained in Boyersford, however, Edna's love for Creeland would not have
developed. Both she and her husband recognized that fact; and every time either one thought of Mundon,
doubts occurred. In Edna's mind, particularly; for she had never learned the answer to one perplexing
question.
Why Dale Mundon had left Boyersford?
Dale had held a good position. In fact, he had worked for Creeland, as an assistant cashier in the
Boyersford Bank. Yet no one—not even Creeland—had ever given an explanation for Dale's sudden
departure.
Creeland had merely classed Dale as a "mischief-maker"; beyond that, he had said nothing. Nor had Jim
Lagry, Creeland's closest friend and the man who had first introduced Dale to the banker. Edna had
suspected that there was something beneath the surface; but the subject of Dale Mundon was one that
she did not care to press with Creeland.
The girl's thoughts changed. The crisp air of the pine woods; the soft splash of the canoe paddles brought
her back to her surroundings. She looked toward her husband and smiled as she saw him staring straight
ahead, on the lookout for Red Cedar Rapids.
This trip was what Harley needed. His life in Boyersford was hectic. Business took him out of town
nearly every week. Whenever he came back from New York or Chicago, he was on the go constantly.
Edna felt glad that they had chosen this trip for their honeymoon. Here, north of Lake Nimiskiming, was
one place where Harley could be free from worry.
The canoes rounded a bend. The rush of rippling water sounded from ahead. Creeland raised his paddle
and pointed with enthusiasm.
"Red Cedar Rapids!"
EDNA stared in astonishment as the canoes approached the bank. The river curved here; apparently, it
encircled a quarter-mile stretch of ground. Along that curve were the rapids; but it was the shore itself
that caught the girl's attention.
All about were pine-wood houses, silent and deserted. Upon the bank, beside a landing wharf, was a
small steamboat, drawn well up on shore. Anchored in the pool below the rapids were two house boats,
one boasting two stories, the other three. The taller house boat bore a weather-beaten sign that carried
the legend: "King Edward Hotel."
Narrow rails ran from the small wharf; upon them was a little flat car that mules had once drawn. Edna
looked about in bewilderment as they reached the dock. Creeland chuckled.
"It's a ghost town," he explained. "Once it had a few hundred inhabitants. Now every one is gone. I told
you that Red Cedar Rapids would surprise you."
"But why did the people leave?" queried the girl, open-eyed. "Where did they all go?"
"Look at the steamboat," said Creeland. "There's another like it up at the other end of the rapids. Miners
used to come up the Manitibi River on this boat. They stayed here overnight, while their luggage was
hauled by mules. The next day they went farther up the river in the other boat."
"Where to, Harley?"
"To a town called Galena. Lots of mining up there. Red Cedar Rapids caught the travelers coming and
going. It was a boom town. Those house boats were built farther down the river and brought up here to
compete with the cabins on shore. They served as hotels."
"But what happened up at Galena? Did the mines fail?"
"Not a bit of it. What killed Red Cedar Rapids was the completion of the railroad. It runs parallel with
the river about thirty miles west of here. When the railway was completed, river travel ended. This town
died."
They were on the wharf. Creeland and a tired-faced guide were loading a canoe upon the little flat car.
"I'm going to shoot the rapids, Edna," announced Creeland. "Dominie is going with me. You stay here
and make camp with Pierre. I want to try the ride once before I take you through the rapids. You'll see
us come around the bend in about half an hour."
Rusted wheels screeched as Creeland and Dominie pushed the little car along the rails. Edna began to
look about at the old shacks on the shore. She saw Pierre unloading packs. He was a squatty fellow,
with a broad, solemn face, and he was lazy as he worked. Edna decided to help with the packs.
"No," grunted Pierre, when the girl approached. "Me make camp. No need pitch tents here. We sleep in
cabins."
"Can any one use them?"
Pierre nodded.
"Pots and pans all in cabins."
"The people left them there?"
摘要：

THENORTHWOODSMYSTERYMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.DEATH'STRAIL?CHAPTERII.ASTRANGECLUE?CHAPTERIII.INTHENORTHWOODS?CHAPTERIV.WORDFROMTHEPAST?CHAPTERV.VANISHEDMONGOLS?CHAPTERVI.THESHADOWDELAYS?CHAPTERVII.THESHADOW'SALLY?CHAPTERVIII.THENEXTNIGHT?CHAP...

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