BRITISH COMICS
THE TRAIL OF BLEEDING NOSES
Complete
story from The Skipper issue: 239 March 30th
1935.
The boy who used banknotes for blankets
A Big Chance
The cook at Halston’s lumber camp
wasn’t a sweet-tempered man. He considered himself overworked and underpaid. He
had a grouse against the world in general. Most of the men at Halston’s camp
had the same feelings as the cook, because Halston, their boss, was about the
meanest employer in the whole of North-West
The cook grinned, and made a good
tempered rush at Sticker. The youngster dodged him, and left the cookhouse. He
went next to the shack occupied by Jake Taylor, the camp foreman, and Martin,
the timekeeper. He found Martin at work counting the money in several wads of
bills that on the table before him. A consignment of cash had come up with the
mails. This was the month’s wages due to the men. There were a hundred men at Halston’s,
so the monthly pay-wad was a considerable one. “Say,” said Sticker, eyeing the
money. “I’m taking a week off, Martin, and I’m going to Spruce Crossing on
important business. Don’t you wish you were coming? Well, as you’re paying out,
you might as well pay me my whack now.” Martin shrugged, but handed twenty-five
dollars over to Sticker. “S’pose it’s all right with the boss for you to take a
week off?” he asked. “What’s the business?” Sticker told him, and Martin pulled
a face to show his envy. “Well,” he said, “if you think it’s worth it to walk
seventy five miles there and another seventy five miles back on the chance of
getting a millionaire guy interested in you, good luck to you! You’ll never get
ahead with this outfit.” Sticker slipped his pay into his hip pocket, and
turned towards the window of the shack. Suddenly he started. It was dark
outside, but he was sure he saw the white outline of a face close against the
glass of the un-curtained window. He stepped quickly to the door and threw it open.
When he looked out he saw the figure of a man walking quickly across the snow
towards the bunkhouses. “H’m!” he said. “None of my business, Martin, but I’d
keep my eye on that dough if I were you. Somebody outside seemed mighty
interested in it. I just saw a face looking kind of envious at that pile.” He
indicated the wads of bills. “Feeling a bit nervous, ain’t you?” growled
Martin. “Think I can’t look after a month’s pay at my time of life?” “I suppose
you can,” admitted Sticker. “Anyway, my share’s safe. But there are some tough
guys in this camp, and if I’m not mistaken that one I saw peeping in here was
Black Hank Glauber.” “I’ll lock it up safe enough, never fear,” said Martin. “I
don’t like that Black Hank guy much myself, either. “Well, goodnight,” said
Sticker, and left the timekeeper without waiting for the appearance of Taylor,
the foreman.
Sticker Sets Out
It was still dark when Sticker
rolled out of bed. The rest of the men were still asleep. He rolled his
blankets into a bundle. He would certainly need them on the journey. He would
in all probability have to sleep out for two nights. He was about to sling them
over his shoulder when the door of the building came open. The man he knew as
Black Hank Glauber came in from another bunkhouse, where he slept. “Startin’
off, eh?” asked Black Hank, as pleasantly as he could. “I just came along to
wish you luck. By the way, I’ve just seen
He went to the cookhouse. The cook
was already at work, and gave the lad his breakfast and a parcel of grub to
carry him on the way; and, just as the getting-up gong sounded, Sticker was
ready to make a move southwards. He slung his blanket roll over his shoulders,
crammed the grub the cook had given him into the pockets of his heavy coat, and
set off on his long hike to Spruce Crossing. Absolutely nothing of interest
happened that day. He made good progress—far better than he thought he would
make. He was as hard as nails and as fit as a fiddle. He tramped over thirty
miles, and, when he had done that, struck a bit of luck. He saw, off the trail,
a newly-built trapper’s shack. He knew he would not have to sleep in the snow
that first night, and made for the shack. One man was at home—a fellow lying in
bed. “Glad to see any stranger,” said the man. “Chopped my foot with an axe
three days ago. My pardner’s out—mightn’t be back tonight. But your welcome to
put up here for the night.. I’m Green. Sticker dropped his bedroll. He untied
the ropes that bound it. The blankets unrolled themselves on the floor. As they
did so the boy let out a yell of amazement. Lying snugged there amongst the
blankets were wads and wads of paper currency. They looked just like the wads
he had seen on Martin’s table the previous evening. There was nearly five
thousand dollars in all. “Well, I’m darned, and how did that lot get there?”
Sticker gasped. “What d’you make of that, pard?” “Looks as if you’d been
robbing a bank,” said the injured man in the bunk. “Say, I hope you’re an
honest guy, kid?” There was a dog in this trapper’s shack, and all at once the
animal gave out a sharp shrill bark. Then he began to scratch at the door.
Sticker threw the door open and looked out. The dog ran out into the snow,
barking furiously. Sticker thought he saw two shapes amongst the trees, moving
away. He ran towards them. He saw fresh footprints in the snow. But the figures
vanished in the forest gloom. Sticker stood and scratched his head, while the
dog growled at his feet. “Darn it!” he said. “What do you make of that snow?”
A “Dusty” Dust-Up
He went back to the shack and found
Green sitting up in bed, staring in perplexity at the wads of money that
nestled amongst his guest’s blankets. “I hope you came by that honest,” said
Green. “Gosh!” Sticker shouted. “Mean to suggest that I stole that dough,
mister?” “Unless ye ‘arned it by honest labour,” said Green grimly. “It’s a
pity you chopped your foot,” roared Sticker. “If you hadn’t done, I’d give you
a—h’m!” He broke off, staring helplessly at the money. “Say, listen,” he went
on. “I’m hitting the trail for Spruce Crossing because I’ve an appointment to
meet Hiram Collett, the lumber king. I’m from Halston’s lumber camp, and I
don’t like this at all. There’s something funny happening, and it looks like
I’m gonna be the goat if I’m not careful. I didn’t steal that money, but I
believe I know who did.” Nobody had ever had reason to call Sticker Abbey a
fool. And Sticker was thinking deeply, putting things together in an orderly
manner. “Listen,” said Sticker. “Last night, when our timekeeper was counting
this money over, I saw a fellow’s face pressed against the window. And this
morning as I was starting off, that same fellow brought me a fake message from
the boss. I understand it now. When I went off to answer the message, I left my
blankets in the shack for a few minutes. Well, Black Hank Glauber must have
stolen the payroll last night and slipped the dough amongst my blankets while I
was away. “What would he want to do that for after stealing it?” asked Green sceptically.
“You’d think he’d keep the dough, after going to all that trouble.” “I expect
he thought he’d let me march out of the camp with it and so draw suspicion on
my self. Everybody knew I was starting out early,” said Sticker. “Well, maybe
his idea was to follow me and get it from me when I’d carried it well away from
the camp.” “But if he follered you, wouldn’t he be missed, too?” Green asked.
“So why should they suspect you more than him?” “How should I know?” asked
Sticker. “Anyway, Glauber’s got some tough pals who don’t work at the camp. For
all I know, he may have arranged for those pals to get the dough away from me.
I let ‘em know that I’d be sleeping in the open tonight, because I didn’t know
I’d find your shack on the trail.” “
He opened the door and looked out.
There was a bright moon shining, but he could see nothing suspicious outside.
He tried to tell himself that he was getting nervous. After all, perhaps nobody
was following him. Anyway, there was nothing to worry about. If only he could
get to his destination unhindered he would easily be able to return to the camp
and tell the whole story. They would believe him all right. He made a bed on
the floor and lay down for the night. Then another idea came to him. He was
suspicious about those figures he had seen lurking outside the shack. He
wondered whether Black Hank or his friends really were trailing him with the
idea of getting hold of the money. So Sticker, tired though he was, decided to
sleep with one eye and one ear open. Also he made certain preparations, lest
there should be unwelcome visitors in the night. He carried no weapons other
than his fists, but he used his brains. While Green snored, Sticker stole about
the shack and prepared for trouble. He found a tin box, which was flat in
shape. He filled this up with cold wood ashes from the ashbox on the stove.
Next he selected a nice handy chunk of wood, which would make a good club. Then
he lay down again, with these within hand’s reach, determined to keep awake for
a time. The dog made friends with him and lay on the floor snuggled up against
him. But the dog, once he went to sleep, slept as soundly as Green, so the time
passed slowly. Perhaps it was
Ledoux and the other breed soon
recovered and received little consideration from Sticker. “It was the dough you
were after, I guess,” he said, “but I double crossed you. If I had time, I’d
tie you both up and hand you over to the police, but I’m going to let you go.
Get out, and if you come back here I’ll plug you!” He gave Ledoux a sock on the
nose as he went out, and the two crooks left the shack groaning and tenderly
caressing their injured parts. They slunk out of the shack, and Sticker watched
them till they disappeared. The lad grinned. “Guess they won’t bother me again
tonight,” he chuckled. “Now for a spot of sleep.”
Arrested—and Attacked
Sticker continued his journey the
following morning, with the stolen money safely wrapped in his blankets. He
walked ten miles before he halted for a rest. Then he sat down on a fallen tree
and enjoyed a snack from his store of grub. Suddenly a sound whipped through
the frosty air. It fetched him to his feet with a jump, for it was the sound of
a rifle shot. “Hands up! Stay right where you are, and keep away from that
gun!” said a sharp voice. Sticker wheeled round with upraised hands. Less than
fifty yards away was a one horse wooden jumper sleigh, such as Canadian Mounted
Policemen often use in the winter months when riding on horseback is difficult.
In it sat a man in the winter uniform of the Mounted, and he held a smoking
rifle in his hands. “Police!” growled Sticker. “Caught up with you, eh?”
Trooper Grimes, of the Mounted, asked. “Say, you scooted along—most as fast as
this horse could go through the snow. Well, and what did you do with the
money?” “I found it in my blankets last night and brought it along with me, as
I hadn’t time to get back,” said Sticker. “Here it is, if you want it!” He
began to unroll his blankets. The trooper eyed the wads of money with
satisfaction when they came to light. “Well, I guess you told the truth all
right,” said Grimes. “Green, the trapper, told me about how you showed him the
dough. He also said something about two guys coming in the night, and—” Another
rifle shot whipped the air. Sticker gave the Mountie a punch on the nose to
throw him on his back, but he was too late. The trooper gave a sudden shout,
and a moment later he was squirming in the snow, with a bullet in his thigh.
Sticker saw a puff of smoke wafting about a small bunch of cottonwoods, less
than a hundred yards away. Sticker dropped to the snow, with the sleigh and the
restive horse between him and the clump of cottonwoods. He saw two human shapes
emerge from the shelter of those trees. Two men began to walk towards him. “My
gosh! They’re following me still!” he cried. He raised himself to his knees.
Then he saw, on the sleigh the barrel of the trooper’s service rifle. He
snatched at this, worked the lever, and, with the speed of light, he took aim
at the leading man.
He fired and saw Ledoux drop. He
fired again. Ledoux’s companion halted, then turned and bolted. Sticker sent a
shot after him, but missed. The Mountie groaned as Sticker bent over him. The
snow was dyed red with blood that flowed from the policeman’s leg. He had
fainted with the shock and pain. Sticker rubbed snow into the man’s face. At
length Grimes opened his eyes wearily. “What happened?” he asked. Then his with
cleared. “You’re under arrest,” he said. “You’re charged with having stolen
money in—” “Say—I was followed,” said Sticker. “Those guys wouldn’t hesitate to
murder me to get the dough. They knew I had it, and they were following me.
They tried to kill us both.” Sticker began to examine the man’s wound. It was a
pretty bad one. The bullet had splintered the bone. “I’ve got to get you some
place where a doctor can see you, and I don’t know of one nearer than Spruce
Crossing,” he said. “I’ll bandage the wound the best way I can, then I’ll have
to drive you to the Crossing in your sleigh.” He made Grimes as comfortable as
possible in the little box-sleigh. Then he walked to where Ledoux had fallen.
He picked up the rifle the breed had dropped, then he dragged the man to his
feet and shook him. Ledoux had only been stunned by Sticker’s bullet. There was
nothing much wrong with him. He suddenly lashed out at the boy, but Sticker
ducked and landed a blow on Ledoux’s already injured nose. The crook was soon
walking unsteadily towards the trooper’s sleigh, leaving a trail of red spots
in the snow. The red spots were caused by the blood from his nose. “Here’s the
real crook. I guess he’s got to go down the line, too,” said Sticker. “Give me
the bracelets, trooper.” The lad had quite taken charge of the situation by
this time. The trooper obeyed him. In a few minutes Ledoux was handcuffed.
Sticker fetched out a short length of rope, and with it secured Ledoux to the
sleigh, so that he would have to walk whether he wanted to or not when the
sleigh began to move.
A Load of Troubles
They got on fairly well the rest of
that day, but they had to camp in the open, and Sticker didn’t get much sleep,
for Grimes grew feverish, and Ledoux didn’t help much. The next morning—with
still twenty miles to go—the weather changed. Grimes was in a bad way, and
Sticker knew he needed a doctor mighty badly. But he started out in the face of
what gradually became a howling blizzard blowing from the south. And from then
on Sticker’s difficulties were tremendous. Ten miles from the end of the
journey, real misfortune struck the plucky lad. They had to cross the
The exhausted trio arrived at
Spruce Crossing late that night, and both Grimes and Ledoux, wet through as
they were, were almost frozen to death by then. But the Mountie was placed in a
doctor’s care, and Ledoux, after some medical treatment, was locked up. Then,
and then only, Sticker thought he had earned a decent night’s sleep. His epic
journey was over. The next day proved that his troubles were over, too. Hiram
Collett met him, and was impressed by him and his story, part of which Trooper
Grimes corroborated from his bed in hospital. “A kid that can stick it like you
deserves to get on,” said the lumber king, “so a decent job’s yours after the
winter’s over. Get back to camp and take that money with you.” Ledoux confessed
to save his own skin. He thought he would lessen his own sentence if he brought
Black Hank into it. But shooting a Mounted Policeman is a serious thing to do.
Ledoux got five years and Black Hank got three. Long before either was out of
jail, Sticker was on his way to prosperity, because he was able to prove to
Collett many a time that his nickname of Sticker fitted him perfectly. But
nobody ever mentions noses to Ledoux. It’s a “tender” subject with him.
© D. C. Thomson & Co Ltd
Vic Whittle 2007
