Welland chose his time admirably. A restless, frightened country

found in the _Prophet's_ first tirade only an echo of their own

sentiments. What more natural than that the Eastern papers should

gradually follow suit? What more natural than that paternal M.P.'s,

animated by only the purest motives, should in their turn rise to

their feet in the Dominion House and ask the Right Hon. This and the

Hon. That whether, in view of the so-and-so in the Territories, they

did not think, etc., etc., etc.? These things fanned the flames. In

due course it became evident that public opinion, as a whole,

believed that the Mounted Police were lamentably failing. Thence it

was an easy step to the day when wise-acres in every part of the

Dominion showered the hunters with advice and criticism. And

gradually the matter crystallised into one indisputable fact: that if

Mr. Whitewash Bill was not taken, and taken soon, someone would have

to resign.

That someone was Superintendent Adair.

Led by the big ranchers--Jim Jackson could not control them--the

people and the papers did their best to assist the hunt by hounding

on the Police in general and the commander of the Broncho district in

particular. 'What are the Police doing?' shrieked the papers. They

censured Hector's dispositions, recommending marvellous sweepings and

watchings, as if the hunt had an army at its command or was playing

blind-man's buff in a nursery rather than a perilous game of you or

me over an area as large as Scotland. When he exercised patience,

they demanded vigorous action. When he gave them vigorous action,

they talked of needless loss of life.

So they hounded him. Yet the hounding did no good. What is the use

of lashing a dog when he is definitely checked on a lost scent?

Behind it all, carefully encouraging the detractors, stood the

disinterested but righteously indignant Mr. Molyneux.

On the other hand, one paper alone maintained a violent

counter-offensive--the _Branding-Iron_. Tom Williams believed in

plain words, thrown straight. He threw them. At a critical stage,

unfortunately, Mr. Molyneux sued Mr. Williams for libel. Pending

trial, the judge ordered the _Branding-Iron_ to leave the politician

alone. Justice was thus deprived of a powerful ally. Injustice

ranted on.

In the midst of this storm, apparently sublimely indifferent either

to friend or foe, invulnerable, immovable, acting only as he thought

best and not as others thought, cunning when he thought it wisest to

be cunning, reckless when, in his view, the need arose, the leader of

the hunt, 'Spirit-of-Iron,' stood up alone, 'four-square'--as

Williams put it--'to every wind that blew.'

Whitewash Bill?--merely the pawn in this great contest between Right

and Wrong!

Upon his escape or capture depended now--as Hector knew and Molyneux

knew--whether Superintendent Adair or Joseph Welland was to be

victorious in their private battle.

III

One afternoon in May, when the hunt had been in progress nearly three

months and the unrest was at its height, there came to Superintendent

Adair a certain Broncho clergyman. His name was Northcote. He was a

big man--big physically, mentally, spiritually, with a fine, deep

voice that reminded one of his own pipe organ, and a noble head, as

dignified as a Cæsar's. In fact, he looked like a Cæsar, for he was

clean-shaven, ruddy and strong of face and besides was blessed with a

look of kindliness seldom seen in portraits of the old Emperors.

Sensible, broad-minded, tolerant, the Rev. Mr. Northcote well

deserved his nickname of the 'Human Parson.' Naturally, he was now,

and always had been, on Hector's side.

Hector had just come in from thirty-six hours in the saddle, covered

with mud, hungry and quite comfortably tired--he had almost lived in

the saddle for weeks now--but he welcomed the clergyman, who never

bothered him without good cause.

They shook hands warmly. Northcote began.

"I've no idea of the present situation as regards Whitewash Bill,

Major, except that he's still at liberty and I don't want to worry

you with questions that don't concern me. But I want to give you

some information I think you ought to know; and it's on good

authority." The clergyman dropped his voice and spoke with great

caution. "There's a certain element--smaller ranchers, low-class men

in Broncho, cowboys who know no better--that is planning just

now--_to lynch Whitewash Bill when you take him!_"

"I see. The details?"

"Well, so far as they go, are simply this: as soon as Whitewash Bill

is arrested, they'll ride out to the scene of action, take him away

from the escort, and string him up. If they don't do that, they're

to storm the barracks and hang him from a telegraph pole."

"The idea being, I suppose, to take it out of the man who's

terrorized the country and to set an example to would-be outlaws of

the future?"

"That's about it, Major."

"Perhaps it will also show that we can't protect our prisoners when

we have got them or see that the law takes its course--eh?"

"That also may have influenced them."

"Do you know who's at the bottom of it? Or the ringleaders?"

"No. But men with the country's good at heart who are yet afraid to

be seen giving information to you or even to mention any names to me,

have tipped me off."

"And you--?"

The big parson smiled.

"Well, you've had enough trouble, Major, without this thing being

added; and there's never been a lynching in Canada--"

"It's good of you, Northcote. It happens I already know of this

plot. Despite what's said of us, we're not quite asleep."

"Good. Well, I won't waste your time any further."

"Just a minute," said Hector. "You may be interested in the present

situation."

"Yes!" said the parson eagerly.

"It's this. Whitewash Bill has worked his way to very near the

boundary. Three days ago we thought we had him cornered. He slipped

away during the night--the party on the spot was too small to hem him

in. Since then we've completely lost him. I'm afraid, if we don't

pick him up again in a very short time, it will mean--"

"Don't say--"

"--That he's slipped into the States. And that means the end--and my

resignation."

"Oh, that's impossible."

"It isn't. The uproar is so great that the man who fails will have

to suffer. We're at the climax now. It will all be over in two or

three days."

"But the people won't stand for it, Major. They know you've done

your best. They trust you."

"Do they? We'll see. Of course, there's hope yet. The men are at

boiling point. If they sight Whitewash Bill again, he'll never get

away. I've ordered him taken alive, though, which makes it rather

more difficult."

"You've every honest man behind you, Major."

"Pleased to hear it. Well, there's the situation."

At the door, the clergyman paused.

"Can you give me any message--to those who sent me?"

"You can tell them--first, that Whitewash Bill will be taken alive;

second, there will be no lynching."

The Rev. Mr. Northcote beamed.

"There's a big mob thinks otherwise, I'm pretty sure, Major. But

what Manitou-pewabic says is pretty sure to go. The rest of us are

satisfied."

And he closed the door softly behind him.

IV

At dawn, two days after Mr. Northcote's visit, a despatch rider

clattered into barracks with word that Cranbrook had again cornered

Whitewash Bill, this time at a point fifteen miles south of the

Piegan Crossing.

This put an end to a terrible period of suspense, which had held

Hector inactive at Broncho--where, as director of operations, he had

been forced to remain while his whole future was being decided

somewhere out in the vast darkness.

He could now take action. He had already decided what to do. He

feared neither the outlaw nor the would-be lynchers. The latter,

especially, he held in contempt.

Awaiting news, he had spent the whole night awake, and fully dressed.

It was a matter of a moment to fling on cap, gauntlets and revolver

and hurry over to the orderly-room, where Forshaw was keeping watch,

a matter of a minute or two to order out Donaldson's four-horse team

and the two constables, Dunsmuir and Kellett, who were standing by.

The railway from Broncho approached the Piegan Crossing by such a

circuitous route that it was quicker to proceed to the scene of

action across country. Except for Donny's team and the

Superintendent's own horse, which was played out with the hard work

of the past few weeks, the only horses in barracks were crocks.

Every sound animal was out with the hunting patrols. Hector wanted

to take Forshaw and the two constables with him because he knew

Cranbrook was short-handed. The only way to do so was for the whole

party to drive with Donaldson the thirty miles to the spot where

Whitewash Bill was lurking.

In less than twenty minutes after the receipt of the despatch they

were on the trail.

The trumpeter sounded 'Reveille' as they rattled out of the

barrack-gate--just as his long-silent predecessor had sounded it

when, as a buck constable, Hector left Fort Macleod with

Sergeant-Major Whittaker to make his first arrest twenty long years

before. Was this a sign that the present arrest would be his last?

As the sun rose, they came full upon an immense herd of drifting

cattle. It was the time of the spring round-up and the punchers all

over the Broncho district were hard at work. The herders, statuesque

on their ponies against the cool glow of the morning, crooned a

cowboys' lullaby while the trap slowly made its way through the herd.

They touched their hats to the Superintendent. In a little gully,

beside the chuck-wagon, the cook was boiling coffee.

Hector's mind went back to the day when, in company with the old

'originals' of the Force, he had cleaved his way through as immense a

herd, a herd of the vanished buffalo.

What changes he had seen! Twenty years in the North-West, growing

with it and watching it grow, developing with it and helping it to

develop! A lifetime given to his country--and was he to be broken,

now, by an upstart parasite battening on the blood and sweat of

better men?

"Push on, Donaldson, push on!"

"Can't go any quicker till we're out o' this, sir," answered Donny

sturdily.

But get there--get there--get there--before it's too late!

Clear of the herd, they dashed onward again at breakneck speed, Donny

handling the ribbons like a veritable Jehu. Round corners on two

wheels; down into hollows with a terrific bump; up steep slopes at a

canter; mile after mile left behind; and the two constables in the

back seat, hanging on like leeches, looked at each other through the

dust and grinned.

"Chief's crazy!" muttered Dunsmuir, sideways, through his teeth.

"This is pounding my ruddy tail off!"

They sighted the river--broad and deep and silver-grey, winding

slowly through shouldering rollers of drab brown land. Donny swung

his sweating horses down towards the ford--swung them, drove them

on--halted--

"What are you stopping for?"

The chief's voice lashed him unmercifully.

"It looks very tricky, sir," Donny answered doubtfully, with a

thoughtful hand to his big moustache. "Over the horses' heads, I

should say, sir. How about the other ford, sir?"

"Ten miles up? _No!_"

"He's going to drown the lot of us," whispered Kellett.

Hector seemed to catch the thought though he had not heard the words.

"If you're afraid to go on, any of you, you can get out," he said.

Afraid to go on! Who would admit it, when he put it that way?

"All right, Forshaw?"

"All right, sir!"

"Then push on, Donaldson!"

Donny squared his jaw and put the whip to the horses. They plunged

forward, into the river.

In a moment the icy water reached the hub of the wheels; then the

horses' bellies; then lapped over the floor of the trap; and surged

around the breasts of the gallant leaders.

"Hup there, Sir John! Hup, Laurier! Hup there, Aberdeen!" shouted

Donny.

The horses were swimming now, thrashing out desperately, in the

middle of the river. The wagon floated after them, like a crazy

barge, rocking to and fro and occasionally grounding on unseen

boulders.

"Sit still behind," ordered Hector grimly, the water round his knees.

"Sit tight and don't move!"

"If she turns over, we're done," said Kellett to Dunsmuir. "Don't do

that, you fool. Think we want to be drowned because you're afraid of

wetting your plutocratic hoofs? How deep is it hereabouts?"

"About twenty feet, I guess!" drawled Dunsmuir.

Near the bank, Donny flogged the plunging horses and called on them

with the most lurid language in the calendar. A crashing collision

with a sunken rock that almost turned them over, Hector throwing his

weight in the right direction in the nick of time; a wild struggle on

the part of the leaders to gain a footing on the slippery ground;

Donaldson, responding to a fierce 'Give me the reins!' went

overboard, neck-deep, to drag his horses round; a last upheaval; and

they rolled out on dry land, out of the reluctant fingers of imminent

death.

Hector gave Donaldson a nip of whiskey, and a short rest. Then the

trap dashed forward anew.

Far off, on the horizon, as they advanced, they saw a long train of

crawling, white-tilted wagons, belonging to one of the many parties

of farmer-settlers now pouring into the country,--symbol of still

another change, impending, when the stockmen's supremacy would be

challenged by the growers of grain. A few years more and the plains

would be fenced and agleam with acres and acres of wheat, the

Territories would leap to Provinces and Western Canada would take her

place as a great power in the land, providing those twin necessities,

bread and meat, to the whole wide world.

A lifetime given to the furtherance of these changes--and was the

evil force which had come with them to cut him down?

"Push on, Donaldson, push on!"

The river was five miles behind them now, the sun well risen.

Suddenly the distances conceived a horseman, who came rapidly towards

them, leading two horses.

It was Dandy Jack, one of Cranbrook's party for some weeks past.

Cranbrook, anticipating his chief, had sent the young puncher to meet

them with horses for the Superintendent and the Adjutant, so that

they might get the sooner to the scene of action.

"What news, Jack?"

Hector shot out the question as the trap pulled up.

Jack flung a hand to his sombrero and smiled. Though he had been

constantly in the saddle for days, the angel-faced boy looked as

fresh and faultlessly turned out as ever.

"Got him still cornered, Major. He's in a little hollow 'bout an

hour's hard ride from here. Quite a big bunch o' cattlemen come up

last night an' this mornin'. Mr. Cranbrook said I was to guide you

an' to ask you to hurry, if it don't hurt you any."

"All right, Jack! No, never mind the stirrups! Donaldson, follow as

quickly as you can. Come along, Forshaw! We've got to get there in

time!"

With that, they swung to the saddle and thundered off across the

prairie.

"God, I'd give my eyes to be in at the death!" groaned Kellett, as he

watched his chief disappear.

V

Behind a ridge Hector found assembled a large and noisy crowd.

Cranbrook, mounted, stood in the centre, heatedly arguing. Then he

saw Hector, with obvious relief. Shouldering his horse through the

throng, he cantered over. The stockmen, recognizing Hector, fell to

uneasy muttering among themselves. If any man could baulk them of

their prey it was Adair; and they knew it--and were correspondingly

disgruntled.

"I've got a ring of scouts round his hiding-place, sir," Cranbrook

said. "Lone-Elk-Facing-The-Wind picked up his trail near here just

before dusk last night. He can't escape, but he's too dangerous to

rush. So I thought I'd wait till you came."

"You did right," replied Hector. "And these--are the lynchers, I

suppose? Yes? Then leave them to me."

The stern face set. Here was something physical to meet and

overcome--at last.

"Boys," he told the crowd, checking his horse in front of them,

"what's this I hear about lynching? That's tenderfoot talk. The man

will be taken alive and properly tried. If he's guilty of murder,

rest assured he'll get what's coming to him. But he's entitled to a

fair trial and he's going to have it. There's never been a lynching

in Canada and there's not going to be one now."

A storm of hostile shouts and a yell: "Who'll stop us?"

"I will. I will--and my men."

More tumult; and the crowd, hands on guns, grew threatening.

"Your men. Hell! You've only got five or six. We're twenty to one."

"There'll be no lynching all the same."

The crowd hooted. A huge puncher, built on the lines of a grizzly

bear, shouted Hector down and began to harangue his companions,

asking if they were afraid of one man and were going to let him

dictate to freeborn citizens who had been deeply wronged.

"Look out!" shouted a little man on the outskirts, seeing the

fighting look fast taking possession of Hector's face. But the words

were lost in the tumult.

Hector quietly dismounted, tossing the reins to Cranbrook, who had

also dismounted, and faced the big puncher.

"Another word from you, my friend, and--"

For answer the man whirled a violent blow at Hector's head and his

hand flashed to his hip. Hector smashed in his right, all the

pent-up emotion of days behind it. The big puncher hurled crashing

to the ground among his friends.

"Anyone else want any? All right. We'll take him up for inciting to

riot. Now, boys, do as I tell you and go home."

The spirit of the mob was broken. One prompt, telling blow, backed

by absolute firmness in the face of great odds and the thing was done.

To deal with Whitewash Bill remained. And on Whitewash Bill depended

everything.

Hector turned to Cranbrook and, to Cranbrook's astonishment, he was

smiling.

"Now for the outlaw. I want you to point out where he is."

Cranbrook, handing the horses over to Dandy Jack, led him forward.

Forshaw followed.

"Easy here, sir. Keep low," said Cranbrook.

They stole on until they could look round the shoulder of the ridge.

"He's in those bushes," Cranbrook stated, pointing to a small thicket

about seventy-five yards away.

"I see," said Hector. "Well, now's the time."

And he took off his greatcoat and gauntlet, revealing his scarlet

tunic.

Cranbrook and Forshaw looked at each other and Forshaw paled a little

under his ruddiness.

"What--are you going to do, sir?"

"I'm going to arrest him myself. Pah, I'll be all right. He daren't

shoot me. Cranbrook, go round your scouts and tell them to keep a

lookout in case he runs for it."

"But--God, sir, he'll kill you! He's stopped at nothing. He'll

certainly shoot you. And what a target you're making of yourself!"

exclaimed Cranbrook, his concern overcoming his deference.

"Best starve him out, sir," added Forshaw.

But Hector had long ago made up his mind. Better to be shot than to

face dishonour; better to attempt the arrest himself than to force it

on his subordinates. The crisis of the hunt had come and he did not

intend to risk failure by leaving the work to another.

If Welland was to win, it would be through no fault of his.

He had faced death before this, with less cause. He could easily

face it now.

"Starve him out? And have him give us the slip again? No. Go

along, Cranbrook, go along."

Cranbrook had to obey. Forshaw, sensing a little of what this

business meant to his chief, said no more. But he felt that the

Superintendent was going to his death--deliberately sacrificing

himself to his duty.

Cranbrook returned.

"All right, sir."

"Good. When I throw up my right hand, come after me."

The lynchers--lynchers no longer, but firm admirers of the

law--gathered in a tense, awe-struck group behind the Police officers.

Hector loosed, but did not draw, his revolver. Then he walked

straight out into the open, holding his arms wide, to show the hidden

half-breed that he held no weapon.

Absolute stillness held the world. In the sunshine, the steadily

advancing scarlet coat gleamed like a flame, inviting disaster.

Forshaw and Cranbrook awaited the sound of a rifle-shot.

When within a few paces of the outlaw's hiding-place, Hector heard

the click of the breech-bolt. A brown face, ferociously set, peeped

from among the leaves.

"Keep off, you, keep off!" whispered Whitewash Bill.

But the man in scarlet had three great forces on his side--the

tremendous moral force of the coat he wore, badge, as it was, of the

terrible North-West Mounted Police, the Keepers of the Law, the whole

corps embodied in one lone individual; the great moral force of

absolute fearlessness and determination shown in the teeth of certain

destruction; the stupendous moral force of the personality which the

Indians dreaded and respected and which the outlaw himself had long

known--the personality typified in the name 'Spirit-of-Iron.'

These three moral forces faced the half-breed now.

"Keep off," he repeated, "or I shoot."

"You daren't shoot me," the white man's voice came to him,

remorselessly. "D'you hear, Bill? You _dare_ not shoot me. See!

My hands are empty--but you dare not shoot me, just the same...."

VI

That night, in every part of Canada, the printing-presses roared out

their headlines, headlines which were once to have doomed and damned:

WHITEWASH BILL CAPTURED! SUPERINTENDENT ADAIR'S

GREAT VICTORY! GALLANT COMMANDER OF HUNT

TAKES MURDEROUS OUTLAW SINGLE-HANDED!

WITHOUT USING A WEAPON! A LYNCHING

AVERTED! ENEMIES DISCOMFITED!

SPIRIT-OF-IRON!

BOOK FOUR: _Coup-de-Grâce_

Chapter I

I

The great spring rush down the Black Elk River to the gold-fields of

Discovery had begun.

From the town of Nugget, where they had passed the winter, a great

host of fortune-seekers, lured thither by the call of Greed from the

four corners of the earth, was now on the move. The surface of the

river was white with their sails, black with their hulls. Hector,

commanding the Mounted Police in Black Elk Territory, sat on a hill

above Nugget and watched the fleet set out. Like Moses, he meditated

over his innumerable flock of tenderfeet as they passed in review

below him.

The backbone, veins, arteries, in fact the whole organism of the

Territory centred in the Black Elk River. Rising at Lake Nugget,

near the city of that name, the Black Elk ran into Lake Fortune, a

fair day's sail to the north, bumped down a half-dozen dangerous

rapids, swept through several sword-cut canyons, eased to a jog-trot,

broadening comfortably the while and so, becoming ever more placid,

ever more imposing, tumbled itself at last into Northern seas, a

thousand miles away. Four hundred miles from Nugget, Discovery Creek

contributed its quota of waters to the majestic river and at the

mouth of the creek stood Discovery City. A chain of gigantic

mountains, cleft on the coast side only by a single entrance, Hopeful

Pass, walled in the Black Elk country from the Western sea and threw

almost insuperable obstacles in the way of any attempt to reach the

Territory by land from the civilized Canada to the south, while the

country between the mountains and the coast, wherein lay the town of

Prospect, on the sea-board, belonged to the United States. So Hector

was isolated in the Black Elk country; with Hopeful Pass as his

Thermopylae.

Two classes of people inhabited this tremendous Territory: the

original prospectors or pioneers, and the fortune-hunters or

newcomers. The pioneers were a mere handful, long established, grown

old and seared in the service of the North, some firmly settled in

the new gold area, the rest working claims or seeking strikes in ones

and twos all over the Territory. The newcomers, the tenderfeet,

outnumbering the old hands by hundreds, the adventurers now on their

way to the gold-fields or struggling up through Hopeful Pass In the

rear-guard of the advance--these were the people with whom Hector had

most to deal.

Only a strong, stern, sane administration could guide and govern such

a crowd as this. It represented every nationality, creed and race on

earth. When the Archangel blows his trumpet to summon all men to

judgment on the Last Day, he will simply reproduce, on a larger

scale, the gathering then in progress in Black Elk Territory. There

was in this gigantic mob no harmony, no discipline, no uniformity.

It was one only in its arrogance, its greed and its ignorance.

Hector knew its weaknesses well. He had seen it swindled, robbed and

murdered by the Prospect gangsters. He had watched it fighting to

make headway on the trail to Hopeful Pass, with dogs it could not

drive, pack-horses it could not pack, tools it could not handle. He

had seen it freezing in scanty clothing, starving on luxuries that

should have been necessities, dying of weakness and disease,

quarreling for precedence, fighting for life with 'six-guns' against

thugs who made an end of the fight when it pleased them. He had

heard it shout for joy when it won at last to the Mounted Police post

on the summit of the Pass, sighted the Union Jack and scarlet coats

which symbolized Law and Order, put away its weapons as no longer

necessary and pushed on through the entry as though it went through

the pearly gates, from Hell to Heaven. He had watched it settling

down to spend its miserable winter. And, last of all, that morning,

when the ice was finally departed, he had seen it embark--men, women

in tights, children, dogs, ponies, cattle, goats, equipment and

supplies--and rejoicingly set sail on the closing leg of its

desperate journey.

With his men, he had played father, mother and big brother to this

extraordinary conglomeration through all the winter, from the moment

of their entry into Canadian country. He had now to see them safely

to Discovery and to safeguard their interests and the country's

interests when they got there.

For this engaging task, he had at his command unlimited authority and

two hundred men--two hundred men among thirty thousand, two hundred

men in a territory the size of France; unlimited authority, his own

ability, two hundred men and the prestige of the Mounted Police.

He mentally ran over the dispositions he had made:

At Hopeful Pass, holding the keys to Heaven against all Hell, one

Corporal St. Peter surnamed Dunsmuir with a dozen wingless buck

policemen; at Pioneer Lake and Lake Miner--in the mountain chain

cutting off Black Elk Territory from the civilized Canada to the

south--at Nugget City and the town of Lucky, north of Lake Nugget,

and at Discovery Creek--to name the more important points--were other

detachments; posts at intervals along the Black Elk above and below

Discovery City; and, in barracks at Discovery City, headquarters, the

jail and what was left of his two hundred.

Their duties: general maintenance and enforcement of the law, with

all it meant; imposition of punishments; arbitration of any dispute,

from a fight involving life and death to one involving the possession

of a can-opener; care of the sick and destitute; burial of the dead;

collection of taxes, Government royalty on gold, and of customs at

Hopeful Pass; relaying the mails from post to post or escorting them

by steamer to the seagoing vessel at Prospect; guarding and escorting

gold deposits; and running the boats of the ignorant herd through the

rapids so that no lives might be lost.

The detachments, in order to carry out all these jobs, must travel

immense distances in the heat of summer or depth of winter, take

their lives in their hands at least once a day and, for the rest of

the time, enjoy the delights of camping in leaking, wind-swept tents,

flooded inches deep, pitched in the trough of sunless valleys or on

the bleak flanks of frozen mountains; while they received, for their

pains, an average stipend of under a dollar a day and were not

allowed to stake claims.

The command was no task for a weakling. Hector remembered what the

Commissioner had said in sending him to take that command six months

before: 'It's the last bit of true pioneering this country will see,

Adair. Carry it through, and you'll have played a part in the whole

show, from the settlement of the North-West to the end. It will be a

big job--one of the biggest we've ever done--this job I'm giving you;

but it will be a splendid thing in the way of a crowning achievement

to all you've done already. Make it a credit to yourself and Canada.'

The 'big job' was now at hand. The spring rush marked its advent.

The winter had been only the prelude. Hector, watching the boats

from the hill above Nugget, sensed the coming battle.

Tomorrow he would return to Discovery, there to fight it out.

Dusk hiding the fleet at last from his eyes, he walked down to the

rough shanty in Nugget where Cranbrook had his headquarters.

"Corporal Dunsmuir reports a distinguished visitor arrived at Hopeful

Pass, sir." Cranbrook greeted him as he reached the door. "At

present he's taking a breather but will move on to Discovery in a few

days."

"Who is it?" asked Hector.

"Molyneux--the M.P.," answered Cranbrook.

II

"Major Adair, this is Mr. Steven Molyneux," said the

Lieutenant-Governor of Black Elk Territory. "I think you've met

before, haven't you?"

A week had passed since Hector had watched the commencement of the

great spring rush. In the Lieutenant-Governor's office in Discovery

City, he shook hands with his enemy.

The Lieutenant-Governor offered chairs and cigars. There was an

awkward pause. Gentleman as he was, he hastened to fill it.

"Mr. Molyneux had a pretty tough time on the way up here, Adair," he

said.

"I tell you, Mr. Lancaster," the member for Broncho agreed, "I was

never so glad to see the Old Flag as when I got to the top of Hopeful

Pass. That place Prospect is beyond description. Everything was

wide open and, while I was there, gun-fights through the streets

every hour of the twenty-four. I saw fellows lying dead by the

roadside with their pockets turned inside out. If it hadn't been for

your Police being with me, I'd have been robbed sure. What a

contrast between here and there! They say that Greasy Jones just

runs Prospect. He must be a corker."

"He is."

"Don't let him in here."

"Don't worry," said Hector. "He daren't cross the line."

"There's some pretty tough birds in Discovery, all the same. Can you

handle 'em?"

The Lieutenant-Governor put in his oar.

"I'm sure we can leave that to Major Adair," he said. "There'll be

no reproductions of Prospect in Canadian territory while he's here."

"Excuse me, Major Adair." The politician smiled. "I don't mean to

be critical. I guess my nerves have been scraped the wrong way in

the past few days, that's all."

Hector answered diplomatic smile with smile.

"That's all right, Mr. Molyneux. How long are you here for? We must

try to make your stay as pleasant as possible."

"Oh, don't worry about me, Major. I'm here for a good long time.

I'm just making a private visit, of course--going to have a look

'round and size things up in this wonderful country. I might try to

get in on a good thing if I see it, needless to add."

"Quite naturally," said Hector.

The conversation languished. The Lieutenant-Governor, to enliven it

a little, went into the next room in search of liquid refreshment.

Hector was alone with Welland for the first time in many, many months.

"This gives me a good opportunity, Adair," said the politician, as

soon as Lancaster had gone, "to say something I've been wanting to

say ever since I got here. I really _am_ up here just to look

around. I've not come up here to spy on you--or worry you. I know

just what a hell of a job you have before you and I'm not going to

make it harder for you. I've every confidence in your ability to run

this show right. I want bygones to be bygones. I guess I was wrong

in the past. It's a hard pill for me to swallow, this. I'm a proud

man, but--well, what d'you say?"

This halting declaration surprised Hector.

"You can rely on me to play the straight game, Molyneux," he

answered. "My duty up here is to look after the interests of the

country and community--nothing else. I've no quarrel with any man

who keeps the law."

The Lieutenant-Governor returned before they could say more.

"I hope you don't think I was indiscreet, Adair?" Lancaster queried

anxiously, when the visitor had taken his departure. "I know all

about Molyneux's efforts to knife you in the past; but you see----"

"Well, we had to meet some time," Hector soothed him. "So why not

under your roof? Where better?"

"Exactly," said Lancaster, much relieved. "And he can't hurt you

here, Adair--while I'm around."

"Oh, that's all over now," Hector replied. "We've just cried quits."

"Splendid!" exclaimed the Lieutenant-Governor.

III

At three o'clock in the morning, when Hector was able for the first

time to spare a thought to Welland, he pondered awhile.

His enemy's arrival in Black Elk Territory was a serious thing.

Though Welland's attempt to crush him through the Whitewash Bill

affair had failed at the eleventh hour, he knew very well that the

Commissioner had sent him to the gold area not merely in order to

promote him, but mainly to safeguard him against any further attacks.

Hector's successful handling of Whitewash Bill had made Welland a

laughing-stock and the Commissioner had feared that the result would

mean further and greater danger for Hector. He had never dreamt that

Mr. Steven Molyneux, M.P., would follow Hector to such a remote

point. And Mr. Molyneux--well, here he was!

His purpose? To size up things, to get in on the gold claims, to

look around--decidedly, yes. To make Hector's

administration--already difficult, as he had admitted--as difficult

as possible, or at least to watch that administration, gather

together all observations tending to injure Hector, and then to use

them at Ottawa for his removal--again, yes; and a thousand times,

yes! Hector had not been deceived by the friendly overtures of the

afternoon. His enemy had come to Discovery to plot his ruin. Hector

was certain of that. After all, why should Welland quit at this

stage? If he had desired to revenge himself on Hector or put him out

of the way before, he was far more likely to have that desire now.

Hector had forced him to eat humble-pie before all Canada. Yet

Welland, by this time, had become a dominating figure in Western

Canadian politics. Hector was isolated in Black Elk Territory and

unable to move from it, while Welland could go to Ottawa when he

wished and there bring about his downfall. Welland had never been in

a better position to fight the fight, never in a better position to

win the fight, than he was at this moment.

At the same time, Hector could have found no better arena for the

last struggle than that of Black Elk Territory. Why? Because, in

Black Elk Territory he was a power on a far superior footing to

Welland, whose status was only that of a private individual. With

the Lieutenant-Governor, his firm friend, he held an almost absolute

authority. Even Welland, so long as he remained in the Territory,

was entirely dependent on Hector for protection--an ironical

situation for one who had so often attacked the Police! If Hector

went down here, he was doomed to go down anywhere!

What were Welland's real plans? Time would soon tell.

At this point Hector went to sleep on it.

Chapter II

I

"What d'you want to see me for?"

In a small, dark room in a Prospect hotel, two men sat facing each

other over a table.

One was Welland.

The other was Greasy Jones, master of the gang of gunmen dominating

the little American port at the head of the route to the Black Elk

gold area.

Greasy Jones was medium-sized, thin and wiry, a rapier rather than a

bludgeon. His face was artistic, almost delicate, the nose aquiline,

the cheek bones prominent, the forehead high. His hands, spread out

on the table before him, were long and thin, the kind of hands that

are thoroughly at home on the keyboard of a piano. But his skin was

too brown and rough for an artist's or musician's, his chin too

prominent, his lips too thin and cruelly set, his strange eyes, under

the overhanging brows, too hard and keen. The murderer overshadowed

the dreamer in his face, his terrible hands were mobile only for the

pulling of triggers.

"What d'you want to see me for?" the gangster repeated. "I'm a busy

man--can't afford to waste time."

Welland threw a cigar-case on the table and poured out drinks from a

convenient bottle.

"So you came, after all," he remarked coolly. "I doubted if you

would."

The gangster pushed back his slouch hat and, leaning over, lit his

cigar in the candle flame. The action revealed the heavy belt of

ammunition he wore buckled over his dingy coat and his battery of

revolvers.

"Well, I don't gen'lly pay no attention," he said, smiling, "to

strangers that stops me on the street--unless to fill 'em full o'

holes for their nerve. But I sized you up, Mister, as diff'runt.

An' when you ast me where you could meet me for a talk,

well--anyways, here I am."

"Good," said Welland. "Now, before we talk business, Mr.

Jones--introductions! On my part, I mean. I don't need them from

you."

"No, I guess not," the gangster agreed. "Everybody knows me an' my

bunch in this here town, that's straight. Well, go ahead."

"Right. There you are."

The politician, pulling out a wallet and a mass of papers, spread

them out before the gangster.

Greasy Jones read them leisurely. When he had finished he knew that

his companion was Mr. Steven Molyneux, prominent Canadian M.P.,

visiting the Black Elk country for a 'look 'round.'

This was bigger game than the gangster usually dealt with. He was

impressed but suspicious.

"Say," he queried, pushing back the papers, "what's the game, anyway?

Seems mighty queer that a guy like you wants dealin's with a guy like

me. Take care, my gent, who you try any foolishness on. Get me?"

"Suppose I convince you that we _have_ something in common--a good

deal, in fact. Will you be satisfied?"

"All depends," said Greasy Jones. "Shoot."

In five minutes' hard talking Mr. Welland convinced the skeptical

gangster that he, too, had followed the crooked path very closely in

his time.

"That's all right," Greasy admitted, "but you're a straight man

now--anyhow, in public. This bein' so, what I want to know is:

what's the game? What does a fellah 'way up want with a fellah 'way

down, as some folks see it, like me? Is it some little job you've

got for me--cut someone's throat, eh?"

Welland smiled.

"No, it isn't. I want to help you."

"You do! By God, if you're trying to do the dirty on me----"

Greasy Jones flashed a hand to his hip.

"No, no. Hear me out, can't you?"

"Go ahead."

"All right. And keep your hand off your gun. See here, Mr. Jones.

I got into Black Elk Territory about a month ago. I've spent most of

my time going 'round having a look at things, with Discovery as my

headquarters. Incidentally, I've got in on one or two good

claims--but let that keep for a minute. The Mounted Police have

given me a free hand to do as I pleased. They allow me to go through

Hopeful Pass without question and so on. Just now, I'm supposed to

be here looking up some goods of mine that have gone astray--_not_

seeing you. You understand--a man in my position----"

"Yes. Go ahead. Cut it short!"

"Well, they don't suspect anything. Now listen. On the strict Q.T.,

I've sized up the situation along the creeks and down here in

Prospect pretty well. And I've found this: there's a large number of

men both sides the line that aren't satisfied with the way the

Mounted Police are running things."

"That's right," muttered Greasy fiercely. "The yallah-legged sons

o'----!"

"They aren't satisfied," pursued Welland, heedless of the

interruption, "and they'd sweep them out of the country if they

dared. A lot of men over there on the creeks aren't fit to hold

their claims--rich claims. There are others who came into the

country weeks after the majority and struck it rich, while the rest

go begging. Now, that crowd of discontents along the creeks think

this: those fellows who aren't fit to hold those fine rich claims

should be told to get off. Those that came into the country last but

struck it rich first should be made to hand over _their_ claims, too.

The first comers, and the strong men, the men that need the money,

should have first show on all the gold on Discovery. That's the way

they size it up in the Black Elk country."

"Well--what's that to do with me?"

"I'm coming to that. As I was saying, that's how it's sized up

there. And why isn't it so? Because--again--of the Mounted Police,

who have the lucky ones under their protection, according to the law.

"Now about the men this side the line. Hundreds, even thousands,

this side Hopeful Pass have just as much right to get in on the Black

Elk gold as any man alive. But they can't. Again--why?"

"Because the yallah-legs won't let 'em," muttered the gangster.

"Just so. The Mounted Police call them undesirables and shut the

door in their faces."

"Well, where do _we_ come in? Cut it short, man; cut it short."

Welland took several leisurely puffs at his cigar. Then, leaning

over, he said with marked emphasis:

"We are in sympathy with that discontented crowd--you are--and _I_

am!"

"I am--cert'nly," exclaimed Greasy, looking at him suspiciously; "but

_you_--say!"

"Yes, I am. I'm for justice."

"Like sin!" the gangster sneered. "You're a Canadian M.P. You're on

the side o' the law. Your bread's buttered on that side, and you eat

it."

"Not at all," declared Welland. "I'm on the side of right, I tell

you. I think the laws that govern Black Elk should be made at

Discovery, not at Ottawa, and by the miners, not the Police. And the

miners that make 'em should be the strong miners, whether in the

majority or not. Might makes right in a new country and it ought to

here. You agree?"

"I run this town with a hundred gunmen--I've been kep' out o' the

Black Elk country by the yallah-legs--an' he asks me do I agree?

Cert'nly, I agree!"

"Then why _doesn't_ Might make Right over there?"

"Because o' the yallah-legs."

"Just so. Yet there are only two hundred of them. A few men with

guts could soon put them where they belong."

"Huh! You think so. You don't know 'em like I do."

"Have you ever tried to force Hopeful Pass?"

"What's the good? They've got a Maxim and a dozen men in a place

'bout a yard wide! They'd mincemeat us before we got into gun-range.

I prefer down here, sir, where the pickin's is easy!"

"You don't think it could be forced? Well, what would you think of

this? Stir up the Black Elk country _from the inside_ till every man

worth his salt realizes it's time the Police tyranny went out.

Then--just tell the Police they must either go or change the laws."

"They wouldn't go."

"Suppose you showed 'em force. Eh?"

"I think they'd fight to the last shot."

Welland was irritated.

"Well, if they _did_ fight? They could be wiped off the map in a

minute. It would be ten to one at least."

The gangster frowned.

"Suppose they are wiped out--or kicked out--or they change the laws

to let all hands come in and give the claims to the deservin'. Well,

what then?"

"Then, my friend, the men that had led the--little protest--would be

masters of Black Elk Territory!"

Greasy Jones thoughtfully chewed his cigar, his eyes on the

flickering candle flame.

"That's so, by God!" he said at last. "But where--again--do _I_ come

in? I can't get through Hopeful Pass to stir up trouble."

"No. But others can--men the Police don't suspect----"

"And me?"

"You'll run the show from this end. You'll organize the whole

thing--secretly, of course--and when the time comes, you'll get

through Hopeful Pass and take charge."

"Take charge?"

"Yes. Why, can't you see what this means? It needs a man with real

guts, who doesn't care a hoot in hell for anyone, to run this thing.

You're the man!"

"That's all right," said the gangster cautiously. "I don't care a

hoot in hell for any man, that's true. But I ain't goin' to jump

into the Police trap in Discovery."

"You won't have to go into the Black Elk Territory till everything's

ready. When the time's ripe, we'll see you get there all right--get

there just in time to lead the boys. If necessary we'll smuggle you

through."

"An' what'll I get out of it?"

"Haven't I said you'd be at the top of the whole thing--boss of Black

Elk from end to end? Remember what that means."

"I know what it means," the gangster said, his avaricious eyes

gleaming. "I'd have earned it, too. I guess I'd take all the risks.

And--what'd you do?"

"I'd help you along in every way while you organized the show and

keep you posted on developments. There'd be one condition,

though--I'd deal with you only; and you'd have to keep my name out of

it."

Greasy nodded.

"Yep, I see your point. 'Twouldn't do for a Canadian M.P. to be

mixed up in it," he grinned. "Of course, it's a long chance. S'pose

the yallah-legs got wind o' it? Or s'pose, if we did pull it off,

they sent soldiers from Canada to smash us? Eh? What then?"

"They won't. And if they did, you'd know about it long before. Then

you could take your pickings and 'git.'"

"Give us the idea again--and give it slow."

Welland complied.

"Here's the general scheme--details to be arranged later: You'll send

people into Black Elk--people the Police don't suspect--to stir up

trouble along the creeks; not to preach violence, mind you, nor yet

preach _anything_ openly, but just to get the boys ready. At the

same time you'll organize your gunmen here. When the time comes, you

and your men get into Black Elk, finish preparing the boys, and then

get 'em all together, on the quiet, and throw down your cards. Then,

if the Police won't give in, you smash 'em and run the country. If

they do give in, you run things to suit yourselves, just the same.

Then you get your pickings and clear out. While you're getting your

pickings, you get the U.S. Government to promise to annex the

Territory. See? That'll keep the Canadian Government quiet and

you'll be a hero in the little old U.S."

"What if they don't promise?"

"They'll promise, all right. Anyway, even if they don't, you can

tell the boys they have and that'll give 'em all the heart they want."

Greasy pondered again.

"Say, it sounds a fine idea," he admitted at last.

"It is a fine idea!" Welland was quick to press the opening. "Why,

it'll be a cinch for you. And you'll get real pickings. A thousand

times what you can make by robbery here and not a tenth the risk.

Sooner or later, you'll get yours if you stick at this game, whereas

if you do what I suggest you'll be able to drop it and live like a

king."

"That's so," the gangster agreed. "Now--we might as well talk the

thing out, while we're at it--s'pose this thing falls through, in the

end. What do I get for my trouble?"

Welland smiled, as though expecting the question.

"There's always that possibility. And, naturally, it wouldn't be

fair to you to have a lot of work wasted. Remember my mentioning

that I'd some good claims on Discovery? Well, I'll guarantee

delivery to you of so much in dust and nuggets every month till the

show's ready. That'll pay you for your trouble, won't it? I can do

it on the Q.T. and no one the wiser."

"_Now_ you're sayin' something!" declared the gunman. "Wait, now.

S'pose I agrees--and me an' my gang works this thing up and pulls it

off. Where do _you_ come in? What makes a man like you play with

fire like this?"

"I told you, I want to see justice done. Isn't that good enough?"

"No, it ain't."

"Well, it's true."

"Say, come off. This thing's got to be on the square between you an'

me or it won't go at all. What's the game?"

"That's true, I tell you," Welland persisted. "Of course, I'd expect

my share of the pickings. Isn't _that_ good enough?"

"Your share--_that's_ more like it. Now we know!" the gangster

grinned ironically.

"Your answer?"

Again the gangster became cautious.

"I'll have to put it to my bunch--just a few--my 'trusty

lieutenants,'" he said. "They'll be the bed-rock o' the whole show,

y'see, if it comes off at all."

"All right. There's no hurry," Welland declared. "I'll wait for

your answer if you can give it inside twenty-four hours."

"That's all right. I'll do it."

"Good. Remember--no mentioning my name."

"Trust me. I'll be mum as a clam."

Both men were silent. Then, suddenly, the gangster spoke again.

"Say, that's a great idea!" he exclaimed. "You're a real smart kid."

Then, before Welland could move an eye, his two revolvers were on the

table, covering the politician.

"You see these guns?" he hissed; and his face was devilish. "They'll

pump you full o' lead from head to heel if you're tryin' a

double-cross on me. Get me?"

"A double-cross?" asked Welland, with no sign of alarm. "Why should

I double-cross you?"

"That's neither here nor there. Just you mark what I said, that's

all."

"And in return," said Welland slowly and distinctly, "you'll just

remember this: if you give me away to a living soul, by so much as a

word, I'll see you cut to pieces. I know just how to get you. And I

can get you when I please."

Greasy's eyelids flickered. This man was of a type which was strange

to him--one with whom it was not safe to trifle. He might have the

power to do as he said. Smiling, he put up his weapons and rose from

the table.

"Well, I guess we understand each other, Molyneux. There won't be no

double-crossin', here or here. We're pardners, on the square--an' no

questions ast. Correct?"

"Correct," said Welland.

"Then shake."

They shook.

"All serene," declared Greasy, this little ceremony over. "Then

tomorrow, here, at eleven, if that suits you, I'll let you know

whether you can count me in on the--say, what'll we call this thing,

anyway?"

Welland smiled.

"The republic," he suggested.

The gangster grinned back.

"That's it--whether you can count me in on the republic."

And they parted.

As the gunman went down the stairs, a man waiting at the foot shrank

into a corner to escape his observation. Greasy passed out without

seeing him, and the man resumed his post at the foot of the stairs,

his eyes on the door of the room where Welland still sat.

II

Six men sat 'round a table in a private room of the Eagle dance-hall,

one of Prospect's leading places of entertainment. The door was

locked on the inside. Through the flimsy walls the blare of a brass

band, shouts, shrieks and laughter rolled into the room from below,

and an occasional outburst of firing told of gentlemen exchanging

compliments in the street outside.

At the head of the table Greasy Jones presided. His companions were

his 'trusty lieutenants,' the leading members of his gang.

The prisons of all ages, the literature of all countries, might be

raked through and through without producing a choicer set of villains.

On Mr. Jones' right sat No-nose Joe. As his nickname indicated, the

most prominent feature of his face was absent, having been either

shot or knocked off. Its absence added a final grand touch of

ferocity to an already hideous, unshaven face equipped with piglike

eyes. Joe was built on a burly scale and was noted for deeds, not

words.

Next to Joe sat Pete, a haggard youth, pale, clean-shaven,

sleepy-eyed, but cunning, quick and nervous in all his movements,

like a rat.

Monsieur Philibert was at the foot of the table. Philibert's hair,

what there was of it, was black, streaked with grey. His straggly

beard was also grey, embellished by tobacco juice. He had bright,

enquiring brown eyes and hairy hands, like an ape's. Apart from a

generous sprinkling of blood-curdling adjectives, occasionally

applied, his English was perfect.

The fourth man, Sure-thing Kelly, was plump, ruddy and

innocent-looking. As a smiling grocer, he would have been perfect.

Actually, he was perfect as a smiling butcher--pistols his tools.

Spanish Alphonze brought up the rear--a sturdily built fellow, with

slanting eyes, thin, black, drooping moustache, hair on end, skin the

colour of a dried fig. A lady of Seville had decorated him in youth

with a livid scar stretching from ear to chin. This made him

interesting.

The entire party were heavily armed after the fashion of their

master, Greasy Jones, who was quite evidently the brains of the

gathering.

Having explained Welland's scheme in his own vivid style, Greasy

proceeded to put the finishing touches to his discourse by answering

the questions of his interested followers.

"We are to smuggle our men in slowly, so as to have as many as

possible over there before the show-down?" The query was

Philibert's. "And we go in last to take charge--chiefly because we

don't want to risk being landed by the Police before it's strictly

necessary?"

"Got it dead right," grinned Greasy.

"And the arms--for the boys already in Black Elk--the boys that need

'em--that we can trust? I suppose we smuggle the arms across as

well?"

"Right once more. Your head's screwed on as it should be, Philibert!"

"How're we goin' to stir the boys up?" asked Pete.

"Well, o' course we'll do it secret--an' all constitootunal! My

friend, the nameless friend, as I told you before, he says they think

the laws is wrong an' should be made by the men in Black Elk, an'

that Might makes Right in a new country. This partic'lar crowd over

there thinks so, I mean. Well, we must encourage 'em in that--on the

Q.T. Tell 'em, quiet, that if force is required, force should be

used. Then we provides 'em that ain't got it with the force

necessary. 'But,' we says, 'we won't use no force if it ain't

required. Oh, no. That'd put us in bad everywhere!' See? Then we

tells 'em, 'Look who you've got behind you. The best men on the

continent's behind you'--meanin' you an' me, boys--'an' when the time

comes, they'll lead you on to vict'ry. But just now it's a secret.

See?' An'--more 'n' that!--we'll tell 'em this: 'The Gov'nment o'

the U-nited States is behind you! An', with the U-nited States

behind you, you can do as you damn well please!' That's what we'll

say--later on, when the time's ripe. That'll put guts in 'em.

That'll get the Yankee patriots in Black Elk as nothin' else can!"

"Say, you're a ruddy genius, Cap," asserted Sure-thing Kelly. "But

say--is the U.S. really goin' to back us up?"

Greasy looked all 'round the table with great effect before replying.

Then, leaning over, he whispered, smiling:

"That is a fact, boys, I've got it on good authority from that

nameless gent that the li'l old U.S. will see us through."

"Well, say!" exclaimed the listeners, with shining eyes. If anything

could completely win them over to the plot, it was this promise of

support from a great power--gratuitously given by Greasy Jones on a

hint from Welland. This promise, with its assurance that the great

United States would save their coward hides if anything, by the

slightest chance, went wrong, was a trump card. And Greasy knew it

well.

"Is that all clear now? We run the show from here--send our boys

over by ones and twos--go over ourselves when ready--take

charge--down the yallah-legs--set ourselves up in full command--strip

the country--and clear out. Get me?"

"You bet!" said the trusty lieutenants. "We're in this thing up to

the neck!"

"Stop a minute!" The keenly perceptive Philibert had one more

question to ask. "Who is to do the 'stirring up,' Captain? You'll

not want any of us to put our heads in the lion's mouth, I hope?"

"No," replied Greasy. "We'll choose some respectables with the gift

o' gab from among us here in Prospect--pay 'em well--oh, yes, we'll

have to pay 'em--an' send 'em over to do the talkin' for us. If

they're caught, that's their look-out. But they won't be caught.

This thing's a dead secret from first to last. Understand that,

boys--every man keeps his mouth shut. Before God, if there's a

squealer, he'll get his from me!"

His lieutenants knew he would keep his word. There would therefore

be no squealing.

"Well, boss, what do we do first?" asked Sure-thing Kelly.

"Nothin' just now--not a word--not a thing--till I say so. I just

wanted to get you all in on this tonight. Now, fill the glasses,

Pete, an' I'll give you something to drink to. Here y'are,

boys"--the gangster rose to his feet, smiling benevolently. "To the

finish o' the yallah-legs; an' success to the Black Elk Republic!"

"The Black Elk Republic!"

They drank. Just as he set down his glass Greasy Jones whipped out

his revolvers and blazed a volley into the door. The startled men

sprang up. Philbert had the door open in an instant.

"Boys, there was someone listenin' outside!" exclaimed the gangster,

his cruel face twitching. "By God, I'll kill the man that runs this

joint!"

But in the passage there was nothing.

III

When Welland, his business in Prospect transacted, returned to

Discovery, he did not know that two pairs of eyes held him under

close observation throughout the journey.

In telling Greasy Jones that he had come to Prospect to recover a

shipment of goods, the politician had spoken the truth. Having

received word of the gangster's successful parley with his

lieutenants, Welland traced the goods and hired a packer with two

ponies and a partner to carry them through Hopeful Pass to Nugget and

there transfer them to the side-wheeler Black Elk Belle, the packer's

partner remaining with Welland to see them safely to Discovery, while

the packer himself returned with his ponies to Prospect.

To the packer's partner aforesaid belonged one of the two pairs of

eyes which kept watch on Welland.

The second pair did duty in the head of a quiet, unobtrusive little

miner supposed to be on his way from Prospect to a claim on Discovery

Creek.

Of the packer's partner and his watch, the little miner knew nothing.

Of the miner and his watch, the packer's partner knew nothing. They

worked independently.

On arrival at Discovery, the packer's partner saw the goods safely

home. There the Rev. Mr. Northcote welcomed Welland warmly. The

Rev., like a true Crusader, believed in fighting his battles in the

vanguard, where blows fell thickest and courage was an asset;

wherefore he had always been a pioneer and was now in Black Elk

Territory, youngest and wildest of Canadian communities. When Mr.

Molyneux tired of hotel life in Discovery City, the Rev., swallowing

his dislikes and prejudices, had offered the politician half his

kingdom, a little shanty not far from barracks. Welland had

accepted. Necessity and pioneering make strange bed-fellows.

The question of a job for the packer's partner--who had decided to

quit at Discovery--came up at that moment. Welland had promised to

help him. The Rev. Mr. Northcote needed a general factotum. The

packer's partner had many qualifications. Thenceforth he became Lord

Chamberlain to Mr. Northcote and assumed the name of Charlie. That

night Charlie wrote a short note and posted it at the barracks. It

was addressed to the packer in Prospect. But it was intended for Mr.

Greasy Jones.

"Will watch him all right," said the note. "Have a job here that

suits it fine."

Mr. Greasy was running no risks of a double-cross!

And the unassuming miner?--went straight from the wharf at Discovery

to--Police headquarters.

Ten days later he met with a stray bullet--a real stray, intended for

someone else--fired by a member of Greasy's gang in Prospect. A good

Samaritan rifled his pockets and buried him.

Chapter III

I

Men of all nationalities, and of all professions, honesty of purpose

their only common bond, made the Superintendent's quarters at

Discovery their nightly rendezvous. The Superintendent's great

personality drew them. Coming to his office for assistance or

advice--as they did, in dozens, during the day--they were glad to

accept his invitation to visit him 'off duty.'

At eleven o'clock one night a representative gathering of this kind

held crowded converse round his chair. Lancaster, the

Lieutenant-Governor, headed the scale. Forshaw, transferred from

Broncho with Hector and still his Adjutant, sat on the

Lieutenant-Governor's right. Cranbrook, on a flying visit from

Nugget, was also present. Inspector Gemmell, a good-looking,

curly-headed youngster of two or three years' service, maintained

discreet silence in the background. Medicine was typified by Doctor

Quick, Commissioner of Public Health for Black Elk Territory. The

Rev. Mr. Northcote stood very well for Religion and Mr. Steven

Molyneux for Politics, or Statesmanship. There were also in

attendance a few nondescripts, good men and true but of no particular

account.

The talk, from frivolities, had settled into serious channels.

"More claim-jumping on Lake Miner, I hear, Major," said the Rev. Mr.

Northcote.

"Yes, I believe there was an attempt at it," Hector answered. "But

the detachment there has handled it satisfactorily."

"There's an ugly crowd up there," asserted Molyneux.

"There are ugly crowds," said the Lieutenant-Governor, "in all parts

of Black Elk Territory. Major Adair sentenced forty men today."

"He'll sentence lots more if this trouble goes on," suggested the

politician.

"I don't anticipate it," Hector answered.

"You don't!" Molyneux looked moderately surprised. "But--consider

it: This claim-jumping at Lake Miner--this unrest on the creeks----"

"Yes," said one of the nondescripts, a German, "der unrest on der

creeks! Growls aboud der royalty on der gold ad Bioneer Lake!

Intimerdation hof der regorder ad Lucky! Der meeting of brodest at

Nugget! D'reats hof violence on Discovery idself! Vat do you make

of dat, Major Adair?"

"Nothing to be alarmed at," Hector declared.

"You don't think it's--" the Rev. began.

"The rumblings of a volcano?" Molyneux finished.

"No, I don't," said Hector.

"Phew! I'm glad to hear it," said an American nondescript. "It

looks just a little suspicious. But you ought to know."

"Yes, I should," Hector smiled. "And I do."

The talk swung to other matters. But the American nondescript was

not really satisfied. Presently he returned to the subject.

"Say, Major--frankly--we're all friends here, and trustworthy--won't

you say--unofficially--what you _really_ think? Surely there _is_

trouble of some sort in the wind?"

"I've told you precisely the truth," Hector answered steadily. "I

don't believe there's anything to fear. There may be trouble--but we

can handle it."

"You can?"

Molyneux, still smiling, asked the question.

"Absolutely."

"You've only d'o hundred men here, Major, and dare are dousands hof

tough nuts in der Territory," said the German.

"Never mind." Hector was very sure of himself. "They'll listen to

reason, if handled properly. If they won't, there are plenty of

stout-hearted, law-abiding citizens here to help us."

"Well said, sir!"

The Rev. most heartily approved.

"Supposing there was trouble, Major," persisted the politician, "in

confidence--as our friend said, we're all reliable fellows here--just

how _would_ you handle it?"

Again his guests looked intently at the Superintendent. But Molyneux

searched Hector's face in vain for the sign he sought.

"I'd appeal to reason first; then, if necessary, to force. In

employing force, I'd rely exclusively on my own men. I wouldn't use

any other weapon except as a last resort."

"Being confident," said the American, "that you could get along with

your two hundred?"

"Being confident--whatever happened," replied Hector, "that I could

get along with my two hundred."

"The fool!" thought the politician.

Thinking of Greasy Jones and the plot they were concocting, he hugged

himself inside.

II

One fine midsummer morning there came to the barrack gate a

boisterous, turbulent crowd. The sentry called out the guard. The

noise penetrated to Hector's sanctum--a most unwonted noise----

"Sergeant-Major"--he motioned to Bland, transferred from Broncho to

Black Elk Territory at Hector's request--"find out the meaning of

this disturbance, please."

The Sergeant-Major hastened out, visions of riots in his head. When

he reached the gate, however, he found that the crowd had

good-humouredly fallen back, leaving the person on whom their

attention centred to pass through the line of Police undisturbed.

"Well, what was it?"

Without looking up from his writing, Hector flung the question at the

Sergeant-Major as that worthy N.C.O. returned.

Bland thanked Heaven for the Superintendent's preoccupation.

"It's--it's--" he began.

"It's Constable Oswald," said an alluring voice, "and he's brought

you a prisoner."

Hector looked up to see before him: _One_, the Rev. Mr. Northcote, on

the broad grin, held captive by _two_, a buck policeman, standing at

attention.

"What does this mean?"

Hector's tone was icy.

He never permitted liberties. It seemed that this was one; for

Constable Oswald was--a woman, in the complete uniform, scarlet coat

and all, of a member of the Force!

"Come along, what's the meaning of this?" demanded Hector again,

though the sternness was gone from his voice and there was a twinkle

in his eye.

Constable Oswald burst out laughing. Northcote lifted up his voice

and bellowed. Bland went into a corner and shook. After that,

Hector could contain himself no longer. The office rang with mirth.

"How dare you come in here like this--and play such tricks on me?

Northcote, I insist on an explanation," Hector said, as soon as he

could get his breath back.

"Major Adair, I'll explain," the lady declared. She was still

laughing. "The fact of the matter is--I was in a boat--coming down

the Black Elk this morning--when she upset. My valise was lost

and--well, the corporal in charge of the nearest post came to the

rescue and put the wardrobe of the post at my disposal. Not wishing

to elevate myself too highly, I chose a constable's outfit.

Honestly, it was all there was! Will you forgive me?"

"It's a misuse of the Queen's uniform, of course, Miss----"

"Oswald----"

"Miss Oswald--but--well, you plead so nicely and the circumstances

are extenuating, so we'll let you off this time. And Mr. Northcote

must see you properly provided for. By the way, were you the cause

of the excitement outside?"

"Yes." Her eyes beamed laughter. "I think a woman constable is a

new thing in Discovery."

It was. Nothing like it had been seen in the Territory before, nor

was ever seen again. Miss Oswald's entrance, like everything else

with which she was connected, was original and exclusive.

"And now--what I really came here for," she went on, quite at home in

her strange environment and attire, "was to state my business. I'm a

woman reporter and I've come up here for the Montreal _Comet_ to

write up the Black Elk country."

"You're plucky. This is a dangerous part of the world."

"Oh, I love excitement and danger." This was obviously true.

"Besides, I----"

"Excuse me--but--" some far depth in Hector's memory had been

sounded--"didn't you come up to Regina with the Press Association

in----?"

"Yes!" cried Nita Oswald delightedly. "I _told_ Mr. Northcote you'd

remember me--and my bustle!"

A stout-hearted, unfailing friend, a credit to journalism, this

energetic woman was to prove herself.

III

That was a busy and momentous day for Hector. The door had barely

closed on Nita Oswald when he found himself in conference with the

Lieutenant-Governor.

"Have you heard anything"--Lancaster was very thoughtful--"that would

lead you to suspect our administration of--well, graft, Adair?"

"Graft, sir?"

"Yes, graft--and double dealings--and rottenness----"

"Nothing definite."

"Humph! Well, we've got it, just the same. I've positive evidence,

unfortunately, that some of the recorders have been accepting bribes.

At Pioneer Lake, for instance, the recorder falsified his books to

show that a certain party had staked a certain claim before it was

taken up by another man. Some technicality or other bore favourable

witness to the falsehood. Shortly afterwards, when the rightful

owner had been ousted, the recorder became suddenly rich. He was

suspected and--well, anyhow, the whole story is now in my hands."

"Bad business!"

"Yes. But it doesn't stop there. I've learned of similar things at

Nugget and on Discovery. At present, I don't know a man in the whole

Department whom I can absolutely trust."

"What do you propose to do?"

"I can only warn them and watch them. Fire the lot? Where could I

replace them? And the new set would be as bad as the old."

"If there's anything I can do, sir----"

"You can do a great deal, Adair. Put your men on the alert for

anything suspicious. Help me--and get them to help me--in this fight

for clean administration. You can do that."

"I will, sir."

"Good. We'll clear up the mess by degrees. And we'll make a strong

team. Now, I'd like to know, confidentially, has anything of the

sort come to your notice? Have any of your men----?"

"Been offered bribes, sir?" The Superintendent stiffened. "I've

heard of none. No-one would dare to attempt to bribe them! And they

wouldn't take one--not a man of them."

"You've heard of none, then? But you wouldn't--if it was accepted."

"Wouldn't I? You don't know my men, sir, as I do."

"Well, if you hear of any such attempt, will you let me know?"

"Yes, sir. But I _won't_ hear of any such attempt!"

"How he loves those men, and trusts them!" thought the

Lieutenant-Governor, not without envy and admiration.

"I'll rely on your help?" he said aloud.

"Absolutely."

"Good. That's all--just now."

Hector pondered over Lancaster's report for several hours. Bribery

and corruption creeping in--here--there; and he sought for a light in

the darkness.

In the afternoon Fate startled him with a piece of news directly and

unpleasantly bearing on the conversation of the morning--Fate

assuming the form and personality of Inspector Gemmell and of

Sergeant (ex-Lieut Col.) Kellett, who came into the office to see him.

A curious pair they made, Kellett and Gemmell--the grey-headed

Sergeant, with his breast of ribbons, taking orders from the boy, who

might, under other circumstances, have passed for his son or the

junior subaltern of his regiment.

"Well?"

The stern ejaculation jerked Gemmell into action.

"I've brought Sergeant Kellett in to report an experience he had

yesterday, sir," said the curly-headed Inspector. "I thought it

better you should hear it, sir, from him direct."

"All right, Kellett--your story."

"Sir," said Kellett, "yesterday, when collecting royalties, I was

offered a bribe."

Hector's mind flashed back to his conversation with Lancaster. A

bribe!

"The man was a Swede, Hendrick Olson, working a group of claims on

Lake Fortune and another on Discovery. He handed me a large poke and

told me there was more where that came from if I would not ask him to

pay the royalty, or words to that effect."

"And you----?"

The Superintendent looked anxious.

"I gave it back to him, sir. Then I knocked him down."

A little of the severity in the C.O.'s thoughtful face relaxed.

"Go on."

"Then I gave him a good round talking to, sir. I told him that his

was a criminal offense. I tried to make him understand what the

Force represents and maintains, sir. Finally, I told him that the

surest way for him to damn himself in our eyes was to play the

crooked game. I think he grasped it all, sir, in the end."

Here was a man with the honour of the Force at heart--a man long

trained in true _esprit de corps_--with real knowledge of and

sympathy for his chief. Not for nothing had Sergeant Kellett

commanded his own regiment in his time!

"Thank you, Kellett. Report any further affairs of this kind that

come to your notice, will you? You did the right thing, Mr. Gemmell.

That will do."

The Superintendent shook hands with them both; and in that moment

there were between them no distinctions of rank. They were simply

comrades-in-arms, united in their jealous love of the corps they

served.

Forshaw came in a few minutes after the others had gone. He looked

serious when Hector told him what had happened.

"What do you propose to do, sir?" he enquired.

"With the men? Nothing," answered Hector. "Only--trust them."

Later, when he saw the Lieutenant-Governor again, the latter asked

him a little banteringly:

"Aren't you alarmed--in case your Department should fall from its

high estate, as the recorders have done?"

"No, I'm not," he replied.

Then, on the same day, came to hand two reports, one from Dunsmuir at

Hopeful Pass, forwarded through Cranbrook, the other from Cranbrook

himself, returned to his station at Nugget, both bearing much on the

situation developing in the Territory.

Hector read the first report:

'Nugget City, B.E.T., Today's Date.

'Officer Commanding, N.W.M.P.,

'Black Elk Territory.

'Sir: I have the honour to report that at 3 p.m. yesterday it was

reported that word was being circulated through the camps on Upper

Nugget for a secret meeting of certain miners to be held in

_O'Brien's Place_, a Nugget City dance-hall, before opening time,

i.e., 7 p.m., that day. I considered it better to permit the meeting

to be held but to attend same myself in order to ascertain what

occurred. I therefore caused it to be circulated throughout Nugget

that I would be out of town when the meeting took place. I then

secured admission to _O'Brien's Place_ undetected and secreted

myself. Before the meeting the hall was searched, but I was not

discovered. Sentries were also posted, but in an unobtrusive way,

nor were the doors or windows locked, the object being, in my

opinion, to deceive us if we interrupted the meeting and cause us to

believe that those in attendance had nothing to conceal.

'At 6.30 p.m. the meeting was declared open. The chair was taken by

Ginger Yates, whom I have had under suspicion for some time but

against whom I have been unable to obtain evidence. There were also

on the platform three miners from this district. About seventy-five

men occupied the auditorium. I could not recognize many of them nor

was I able to identify those joining in the subsequent discussion, as

my hiding-place did not afford a good view of the hall, but the

majority must have been men from this district. The names of those

recognised and in any way concerned with the meeting are given in

attached appendix.

'The meeting was addressed by a man unknown to me. He is a newcomer

to Nugget and may have come in from the outside.

'The chairman introduced the stranger as 'a friend of all miners and

especially of those who had led the rush into the country after the

big strike.' The unknown man then spoke for a period of fifteen

minutes. I could not record his remarks in full but, in general,

they were directed against the administration of this Territory. The

speaker said there were far too many people in the country now and,

in his opinion, the Government should have held at the border all

those attempting to enter after the first big rush went through.

(Cheers.) In his opinion, the first comers had a right to all the

wealth of the country, but that men who came in later had struck it

rich before them and had been permitted by the administration to

carry off what really did not belong to them under the noses of the

old-timers, many of whom, like themselves, had been thus compelled to

shift to poorer fields, there being no room for them along Discovery

Creek. He also stated that the laws governing Black Elk Territory

should be made by the miners, _irrespective of nationality_, and not

at Ottawa. (Cheers.)

'The speaker then repeatedly cautioned his hearers against reading

his remarks as an incitation to violence. He did not advocate

violence. But he thought they should respectfully petition the

Government to allow them to make their own laws. And one of the

first laws should compel all late-comers to hand over their claims to

those who entered Black Elk before them.

'The speaker then said that the meeting was not secret, in the

strictest sense, but had been called quietly together so that it

might not be interrupted by non-sympathizers. The same consideration

had induced him to select for an audience those known by Mr. Yates to

hold his own views. It would, at the same time, be necessary to

organize quietly, lest their purpose be misconstrued and their

prospects wrecked.

'He then sat down, amid applause.

'The speaker was evidently a man of some education and talent. He

spoke excellent English and was apparently not of the criminal class.

'The chairman calling for the audience to state their views, several

members rose in support of the speaker's remarks. Two were

especially extreme, abusing the Premier, the Lieutenant-Governor, the

Mounted Police and yourself, and favouring violence to gain their

ends. Yates suppressed these remarks. Others, whom I judged to be

foreigners, insisted in demanding that the privileges of British

subjects be extended to all resident in the Territory. I gathered

that the audience was of a low moral character and somewhat hostile

to the Force.

'A resolution was then passed, sympathizing with the speaker's stand

and pledging all present to work quietly towards awakening the

first-comers to 'a proper appreciation of their grievances.'

'I am having search made with a view to discovering the whereabouts

and identity of the man who addressed the meeting and am also keeping

O'Brien, the proprietor of the hall, and Ginger Yates, the chairman,

under observation.

'I have the honour to be, sir,'

And so to Cranbrook's flourishing signature and a conclusion.

Forshaw watched his chief's face closely as he perused this report,

but could read nothing there.

"What d'you think of it, sir?" he asked.

"My only wonder, Forshaw," answered the Superintendent, "is that

we've not had similar reports before!"

"Then this one from Corporal Dunsmuir won't surprise you, either."

And the little man laid the following before him:

'Hopeful Pass Detachment, B.E.T.,

Today's Date.

'Officer Commanding, N.W.M.P.,

'Nugget City.

'Sir: I have the honour to report that I discovered concealed in the

outfit of a negro giving the name of Rastus Lafayette Washington

Green, who endeavoured to pass customs today, these weapons: 6

revolvers, of various makes, all modern; 1 Winchester rifle; 2 Snider

carbines; also 100 rounds assorted revolver ammunition. I

confiscated same and am detaining Green pending instructions from you.

'This man has made frequent trips from Prospect to Discovery, but no

arms have been discovered on him, though his outfit, clothing, etc.,

have always been closely searched.

'I have the honour to be, sir,'

And so to Dunsmuir's scrawling signature and a conclusion.

The Lieutenant-Governor's report, Kellett's report, Cranbrook's,

Dunsmuir's--and still he searched for light in the darkness.

IV

Three weeks later the Lieutenant-Governor came again to Hector with a

long catalogue of crookedness recently detected.

"It's too bad," Hector sympathized, when Lancaster had finished.

"The temptations in this Territory are tremendous."

"Yes. But that doesn't matter. And this fellow Molyneux----"

"What about him?" asked Hector quickly.

"I don't like his presence here, Adair. He says nothing, does

nothing. But suppose he carries word of all this back to Ottawa

before I clean it up. That will mean ruin--to me."

"I hope not, sir."

"I'm afraid so." The Lieutenant-Governor passed a hand over his

tired eyes. "Yet I'm doing my best. I couldn't fight Molyneux,

though, on his own ground. And the public would suspect me of being

personally implicated in this graft. They always do suspect the men

on top. Yes, it will mean my finish."

"I think you'd get plenty of support from the men who know you."

"Perhaps. But could they fight Molyneux's money? And the man's been

acquiring claims right and left! You know that, don't you?"

"I know it, yes."

"By the way, have your men reported anything further?"

"Bribery? Yes; several more attempts. I don't like it, sir. It's

unfair to a man to try him with such temptations. Even a small bribe

looks worth while to a man drawing fifty cents a day. But I'm sure

the boys will pull through with flying colours."

"They'll need to. The feeling along the creeks is rising. The

miners are very many; the servants of the Government very few."

When the Lieutenant-Governor was gone, Hector sat down to think. He

fully grasped the significance of the corruption which the

Lieutenant-Governor was fighting. Molyneux must know of it, since it

was known to many of the miners. And if Molyneux did not use it as a

weapon on returning to Ottawa, the miners were almost certain to

raise a storm about it. The community of Black Elk was like a

spirited horse, fretting against the curb. Every bribe accepted by a

Government official, be he only an insignificant clerk, was a stroke

from the whip. 'The miners are very many; the servants of the

Government very few.' This statement showed the fear haunting the

Lieutenant-Governor--the fear of serious trouble, of indignant

protest by the miners against this maladministration. If trouble

came, the position of the minority would be very uncomfortable. All

in all, Lancaster's anxiety was not surprising.

The situation being what it was, the necessity of maintaining the

integrity of his own command untarnished was greater, if possible,

than ever. In view of the temptation, and of the delicate situation,

perhaps a little encouragement from higher up might be a good thing.

"Vickers," he told his clerk, "take this down for circulation to all

posts and detachments--to be read by every man in the division----"

Sergeant Kellett, on Discovery Creek, called Constable York's

detachment to attention and read them the C.O.'s letter:

'CONFIDENTIAL.

It has been brought to the notice of the Officer Commanding, Black

Elk Territory, that members of the Force and others have recently

been offered bribes. The Officer Commanding has yet to learn of a

bribe being accepted by any member of the Force.

The Officer Commanding recognizes no circumstances justifying any

member of the Force in accepting bribes in any shape or form.

Recalling the fact from personal experience, he knows of no instance

since the Force was organized of any member either seeking or

accepting illegitimate remuneration for his services.

All ranks of the Force in Black Elk Territory will remember that the

reputation of the North-West Mounted Police is in their hands.'

The Sergeant gravely folded the paper and dismissed the detachment.

Whereupon the detachment--total strength, three men--flocked round

him and begged to see the letter for themselves.

Followed muttering comment: "'And others'--that's tactful,

eh?"--"'The O.C. has yet to learn'--there's a touch of brag in

that."--"'The Officer Commanding recognizes no'--by Jove, I wish he'd

spent the winter with me in Hopeful Pass!"--"You fool, he went

through worse before you were born!"--"'Recalling the fact from

personal experience'--that's right! The Old Man came out with the

Originals!"--"'All ranks will remember that the reputation--.' Good

old 'Spirit-of-Iron'!"

"Yes," said Sergeant Kellett, forcibly annexing the letter, "it's in

their hands! And, before the Lord, you, York, or any man Jack of

you, if you forget it, I'll take down my stripes and lick the

stuffing out of you!"

"Thanks!" the red-readed York flashed back hotly. "Think I'd go back

on the Chief? You just hint that I'd forget it, Sergeant Kellett,

an' I'll knock your block off, stripes an' all!"

"Right-o!" replied the Sergeant, grown strangely husky. "Keep your

hair on, carrots! We'll let that sentiment stand for the whole

Force, if you please."

And stand for the Force it did.

V

Miss Nita Oswald, when she first came to the North, had ignored

Prospect as a field for 'copy.' Discovery City lured her. But

closer acquaintance had shown her that Black Elk Territory was almost

too law-abiding to be picturesque. Her Editors were clamouring for

'thrills' and 'ginger.' Her friends advised her to seek them in

Prospect. Mr. Northcote thought that Prospect was no place for a

lady. But Miss Oswald's thirst for sensation ruled her and she

insisted on seeing the place for herself.

"Very well," said the Human Parson, "if you will go, I'll go with

you."

"Chaperone?" Miss Oswald had queried, with a touch of assumed anger.

"Think I need one?"

"Chaperone? No! Protector? Yes! Though you mightn't think it, I'm

an artist with a six-shooter; and not a bad fist at boxing."

"Come on, then! There's no need to ask you to leave your odour of

sanctity behind--you've never had it!"

So they went down into Prospect; and, in due course, sallied out on

knowledge bent.

The streets were a blaze of light. Crowds gathered thickly, like

blundering, deluded moths, round the glaring entrances of the bigger

dance-halls, cafés, saloons, gambling houses, dope dens and theatres.

On platforms outside the theatres bands blared murderously and

leathern-throated men, standing before posters of scarlet-cheeked

women in all stages of dress and undress, bellowed lurid descriptions

of the delights they had to offer. From the dance-halls came crashes

of music, shouts and shrieks; shouts, jingling of glasses and pistol

shots from the saloons. No-one minded them. No-one minded

anything--except their own business. When drunken men were flung out

of the saloons, when obstreperous plungers, their last dollar gone,

were pitched bodily from the gambling houses, no-one raised them from

the ground where they lay. Greasy Jones' gang worked openly through

the crowd. The men in the ticket-offices sat with revolvers ready to

hand. Broken men, shuddering from the effects of cocaine or opium,

wandered aimlessly about the dope dens. Innumerable painted ladies

cried their wares. There was no peace, no truth, no beauty in

Prospect. It was a ghastly hunting-ground of Vice and Death.

The Rev. Mr. Northcote and his companion saw it all.

Towards two a.m., seeking a climax, they visited a theatre, the

lowest they could find. Miss Oswald was determined to see it. There

were boxes at the sides, benches in the auditorium. The air was grey

with smoke, the floor a mass of filth. The packed audience, as Nita

Oswald afterwards told the readers of the Comet, 'would have made the

combined resources of ancient Newgate and modern Sing-Sing look like

a Band of Hope meeting.' There was a real stage, with real scenery.

A cavern below the footlights accommodated the orchestra, consisting

of a jangling piano and two asthmatic violins. The artists were of

two varieties--the has-beens and the never-will-bes. The former

depended on charity and their past reputations, the latter on their

youth, their looks and their self-confidence, which was unfathomable.

There was a bar in one corner, marvellously patronized. Between the

acts, the younger actresses, in their airy costumes, ran up to the

boxes and beguiled the occupants on commission into buying cigars at

one hundred dollars a box and drinks at ten dollars per. Greasy

Jones and his cronies occupied a box and were closely surrounded by

bevies of beauty; but he paid for nothing, the proprietor being

entirely dependent on his patronage.

As soon as Miss Oswald and the parson were seated, a man in an old

dress suit appeared on the stage and announced that one of the actors

would deliver an address.

This was a surprise to the audience, 'addresses' being unusual. But

it proved even more of a surprise to the Rev. Mr. Northcote and the

woman reporter.

The actor, who had previously given a 'black-face' turn, came on in

costume, with his cork still on. And he began to speak. He had been

drinking.

"Ladies an' Gennelmun: The lady that pre-ceded me sang you a song,

the composhision of one of our bri'est local poets, directin' upon

that famous force o' sanctimonious red-coats clevuhly referred to as

'the yallah-legs,' the well-deserved arrars of wit an' ridicule.

Ladies an' Gennelmun, I agree with her (Cheers). You agree with her

(Cheers). An' I wanna tell you folks what _I_ think should be done

to 'em.

"Ladies an' Gennelmun--fellow-citenens--them fellers have kept you

an' me out o' Black Elk Terr'ty. Yes, suh, kep'us out' Black Elk

Terr'ty. Is tha' right! Is tha' just? (Thunderous cries of 'No!')

Cer'nly not! We're en-titled to get in on that gol' up there. An' I

say we ought ge' in (Cheers).

"Now, why aren't we in there? Eh? 'Cause them yallah-legs keep us

out. An' why do they keep us out? 'Cause in'str'ns from--from the

citenens o' Black Elk? No! From the autocrats that govern Canada

(Prolonged booing).

"Now, I advocate that the laws oughta be changed. Yes! Who should

gov'n Black Elk Terr'ty? Why, the citenens! If they gov'ned Black

Elk, you'd find we'd be there! Yes, suh (Cheers).

"Now, I wan' all you peepul, Ladies an' Gennelmun, to work for tha'

change. Mos' of us here tonight, 'll stay here--'cause o' the

yallah-legs. But you can work for tha' change jus' the same! An'

those on their way in, they can work for 't, too. An' you can help

fix the yallah-legs." Here followed two minutes of scathing and

heartily applauded abuse of the Mounted Police. The speaker worked

himself up to a high pitch of excitement. Then, "I tell you, Ladies

an' Gennelmun, I'd like to see a new flag over Black Elk! Yes, I

would! Any flag--but the Stars an' Stripes preferred! (Terrific

applause from one section of the audience.) I want a change. An' I

tell you, suh, confidenshully, there's goin'----"

Over the hall rang out a man's voice, commanding, terrible:

"Stop!"

All eyes turned to Greasy Jones' box. The actor hesitated in

bewildered fashion, then, evidently deciding that the interruption

was not seriously meant, went on:

"I tell you, there's going to be a change. We'll dash the

yallah-legs----"

"Stop!"

"Heavens! I'm glad we came in," whispered Nita Oswald. "This is

going to be exciting. Is the terrible Greasy Jones a British

patriot, after all?"

"He's no patriot," the clergyman whispered back. "Keep still."

Again the actor looked up at the box. Greasy Jones, his ladies

having fallen back, was clearly visible, his fierce eyes fixed on the

wretched speaker.

"Isn't tha' what you----?" whispered the actor.

The answer was a pistol-shot, smashing the hush. Greasy Jones, his

face livid with rage, had fired. The actor pitched upon his face,

dead.

"Keep your seats, everyone!" ordered Greasy, peering with his hawk

face over the audience. "Manager, take that man away. And get on

with the show!"

The audience was stunned into obedience. The manager followed the

gangster's instructions without a word. A raucous-voiced actress

tripped onto the stage, where the murdered man's blood had left a

stain, and relieved the tension with a song and dance. In five

minutes the tragedy was forgotten, the crowd was laughing

uproariously and Greasy Jones was toying with his girls.

Northcote's first thought was for Nita.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

But the plucky reporter's nerve, stout as it was, had been unable to

stand this shock.

"For God's sake, let's get out of here!" she whispered. "This is

terrible!"

Outside, recovered, she asked Northcote what he thought of the

occurrence.

"I don't know," he answered. "But, rest assured, I'll see that Adair

hears about that speech and Jones' extraordinary behaviour!"

Next day they returned to Discovery.

Chapter IV

I

Dr. Quick, Chairman and Commissioner of the Board of Health for Black

Elk Territory, was a man with a wonderful sense of humour. Though

plump and rosy, he did not look a jester. His face was always solemn

and his twinkling grey eyes were so hidden by his huge round glasses

that nothing could be read in them. Taking advantage of these facts,

the doctor made his life one round of fun. He was one of the busiest

men in Discovery City, working night and day and carrying almost all

the burden of his department on his own shoulders; but he still found

time for tricks and jokes. The doctor was an inexplicable enigma to

those who did not know him. To his friends he was a perpetual

delight and one of the cleverest practitioners in North America.

The doctor, being a shrewd man, knew the real thing when he saw it;

hence his deep friendship for the Superintendent commanding at

Discovery.

One night not long after the Rev. Mr. Northcote's return from

Prospect, the doctor lingered on in Hector's quarters till the last

of the guests had gone. Then he suddenly said, in his slow, solemn

way:

"Adair, I'd a queer experience today--a joke. Last winter, at Nugget

there was a fine big Yankee there, dying of pneumonia. Very far

gone. I treated him. 'Doctor,' he says, 'if you're going to save me

you'll have to be quick.' 'Quick?' said I. I'm always Quick!'"

(The doctor's favourite pun.) "Well, he pulled through. He was

grateful, the poor cuss. Early this evening, Adair, I saw that man

again."

"Is that so?"

Hector wondered what was coming.

"Yes. I went into the _Cash-In_--no, not for a drink; to see a

fellow lying upstairs with a broken leg, a man who can't be moved.

Afterwards, on my way downstairs, a fearful specimen of human microbe

held me up, asked for my money or my life. I've lots of money but

only one life. Besides, he had a gun. So I obliged. One of the

first holdups we've had in Discovery."

"Can you describe the man?"

"Yes. But I don't want him jailed. He's had his punishment. That's

the joke. After the gentleman held me up, I returned to the office.

When I got there, who should I see but my Yankee friend? Struck it

rich this summer and is on his way home. Came in to make me a

present of a beautiful nugget, in gratitude. We opened a convivial

bottle and I told him my experience. 'Could you point the man out?'

he asked. 'Come on, then. I'll get your money back.' 'I don't want

the money,' I said. 'And he's armed.' 'Never mind. I want to get

your roll for you. Don't worry. I was champion boxer at Yale.' So,

to humour him, and expecting a little fun, I took him to the

_Cash-In_, a good starting-point for our search. The human microbe

was in the bar. Our Yankee friend called him outside--said he wanted

to tell him a secret. Secret! Wow!" The doctor chuckled. "He got

the human microbe's gun and then pounded him to a jelly. When the

massacre was ended, the microbe handed over the roll and departed

like a lamb. Strange, eh?"

"Very. But," Hector insisted, "we must take the man."

"Aw, Adair, he's had enough."

"No, he hasn't. Describe him, will you?"

The doctor looked reproachful.

"Adair, if I thought you'd do this I wouldn't have told you the

story. But the King must be obeyed. He was a huge, broad-shouldered

creature, with a beard and, strange to say, he had no nose. Why, do

you know the gentleman?"

"Do I? That's No-nose Joe, one of Greasy Jones' men, I'm certain.

Grown a beard, eh? I must see to this."

After a word with Forshaw, Sergeant Savage, at that moment patrolling

the streets of Discovery, was sent for. The bulldog Sergeant

appearing, he was given a description of the man and told to look for

him at the _Cash-In_.

"And be quick!" said Hector.

"You may be quick, but you won't be Quick as I'd be," said the doctor.

"Don't worry, sir, I'll take him myself."

This to the doctor, whose joke had gone completely over the

Sergeant's head.

For three-quarters of an hour, Hector and the doctor awaited the

Sergeant's return at the office. At two a.m. precisely, enter a

tableau:

Two solemn constables, one on each side of a battered wreck in

hand-cuffs, like supporters to a battered shield; the wreck, clothes

torn, face blue; Sergeant Savage, the bulldog, both eyes blackened,

nose swollen, tunic torn up the back and spattered with gore. The

Sergeant at his full height did not reach to the sagging shoulder of

the wreck.

"Well?" said Hector.

The doctor's eyes twinkled but the Superintendent's were very stern.

The Sergeant saluted with a whisk and a clash of spurred heels.

"Sir----" said the Sergeant, "I proceeded direct to the _Cash-In_

saloon; left the patrol outside; spotted the prisoner in a corner,

drinking; arrested him. He drew a gun and pointed it at me, contrary

to sections 105 and 109 of the Criminal Code. We struggled.

Finally, I got the handcuffs on him and handed him over to the

patrol. I regret to have to report, sir, that the following damage

was done to Government and private property----"

Here the bulldog produced his notebook and read:

"'Tunic torn and blood-stained; three chairs smashed; twenty glasses

smashed----' that was when we hit the bar, sir--'table smashed; wall

bloodstained; panel of door smashed.' That's all, sir."

And the Sergeant closed his notebook and saluted with the utmost

gravity.

"Well, it's the microbe, all right," said the doctor.

"Yes, and it's No-nose Joe!" said Hector.

Of himself he asked, "Now, how did _he_ get through the pass? And

what is he doing here?"

II

The secret service agents of the Police in Black Elk Territory were

known only to one man--the Superintendent in command; and the reports

they handed in he kept to himself. They came to him for orders, in

the middle of the night, unseen by any other living soul. Of their

chief's plans, they knew nothing. Each worked independently, without

coming into contact with the rest.

One of the most trusted of Hector's agents was Perkins, the gambler

of Regina and Qu'appelle, yet a different Perkins, reformed when

Hector, returning from Arcady, had told him of his mother's death and

shown him whither he was drifting. Perkins now devoted his knowledge

of crime to the cause of Justice and was hardier, stronger, cleaner,

altogether a better man.

A hint of wintry frost was in the air when Perkins came in one night

from Prospect to report.

"Well, Perkins----" this from Hector--"have you watched Greasy Jones?"

"Sure have, sir. First thing, I got a job at the _Joyland_, a

Prospect dance-hall. Greasy visits that place pretty frequent. An'

I've got thick with him, sir. I always waits on him. He thinks I'm

scart o' him, so he sen's for me--enjoys seein' me sweat fear, I

guess."

"Good. And?"

"Well, sir, he's been following the usual line o' battle, murder an'

sudden death. 'T'other night, sir, he an' his pardners was havin' a

drink in a private room. Greasy had a drop on board. He was layin'

on hot about the Police, 'cause he said you'd arrested an' put in jug

one o' his main pushes--No-nose Joe."

"That's true. He didn't like the idea?"

"He didn't, sir. 'Pears he's scart Joe will let out some plan or

other Greasy's got in his head."

"I see. Well, Perkins, No-nose hasn't had a word to say. I've tried

everything, bar torture, and he won't open his mouth. I want to

learn how he got through the pass and what he's doing here and in

disguise--he's grown a beard, you know. But he won't talk."

"Would you like me to try an' find out from Greasy, sir?"

"Yes, if you can. But I don't want you shot. Last spring one of my

best men was shot dead by Greasy's gang a few days after reporting

here to me. It may have been accidental. Yet he hadn't learned

much. He gave me useful information about Greasy but I doubt if it

was worth his life."