_THE LONG PATROL_
_A Tale of the Mounted Police_
BY
H. A. CODY
AUTHOR OF "THE FRONTIERSMAN,"
"THE FOURTH WATCH," ETC.
[Illustration: Logo]
HODDER & STOUGHTON
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1912,
By George H. Doran Company
TO THAT NOBLE BODY OF MEN, THE ROYAL NORTH WEST MOUNTED POLICE,
THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY ONE, WHO FOR SEVERAL YEARS
LIVED AMONG THEM AND SHARED THEIR HOSPITALITY IN THE FAR-FLUNG
CANADIAN NORTHLAND.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I UNLEASHED 1
II THE TERROR OF THE MOUNTAINS 10
III A CHILD IN THE MIDST 19
IV THE SHADOWING HORSEMAN 30
V THE FUR TRADER'S STORE 42
VI THE DEN OF PLOTTERS 49
VII BUCKSKIN DAN 59
VIII THE INTRUDER 68
IX UNDERCURRENTS 77
X SUBTLE WAYS 86
XI THE CAPTURE 95
XII LINKS OF STEEL 107
XIII THE TRAILING SERPENT 116
XIV IN THE DEEP OF THE NIGHT 126
XV A CRY ACROSS THE WATER 135
XVI THE SIGNAL FIRE 143
XVII IN PURSUIT 153
XVIII THE CRUEL TRAIL 162
XIX THE VENOM OF HATRED 169
XX OUT OF THE DEPTHS 177
XXI STRATEGY 188
XXII AT BAY 199
XXIII THE HAVEN 210
XXIV THE MEDIATOR 222
XXV THE HEART OF A WOMAN 232
XXVI WITHIN THE DEEP SHADOW 245
XXVII THE COST 255
XXVIII THE LIFTED VEIL 263
XXIX STRENGTH FROM THE HILLS 275
XXX UPHOLDING THE LAW 286
XXXI OLD TRAILS AND NEW 300
THE LONG PATROL
CHAPTER I
UNLEASHED
"Is Grey--Norman Grey--here?"
The Orderly paused on the threshold and looked around the room.
"Over there," replied a constable, jerking his thumb to the left, "in
the corner."
At once the Orderly strode forward to the side of a young man leaning
against the Canteen bar.
"Say, Grey, the O. C. wants you."
At these words the man addressed straightened himself up to his full
height of six feet with a sudden jerk, while his dark piercing eyes
flashed questioningly from beneath the broad brim of his Stetson hat. A
deep silence now pervaded the room; the poker chips ceased their rattle;
the rustling of the newspapers stopped; the man behind the bar stayed
his hand in the act of pouring a glass of ginger beer, and even pipes
were allowed to go out.
It was the quiet after supper hour in the Big Glen Barracks of the "X"
Division of the North West Mounted Police, in the far-flung Northern
Yukon Territory, and the work of the day was done. The few prisoners
had been marched silently back to their lonely cells in the stout log
guard room; the flag had fluttered slowly down from its tall staff in
the centre of the big Square; the bugle had rent the air with its
quivering notes, and the guards had been changed. Everything had been
done speedily and systematically. It was the daily routine. Each man
knew his duty, and did it.
The Canteen was the regular place of meeting, and here a score of
constables and corporals, tested guardians of a lone land, were
gathered, to drink the customary glass of ale or beer, read the
newspapers, discuss the affairs of the day, and play a few friendly
games of cards. The click of billiard balls in the adjoining room could
be distinctly heard, whilst from the open door of the Sergeants' Mess
came the sweet strains of a violin.
"Where's the O. C. now? In the office?" It was Grey's voice which broke
the silence as he looked hard at the Orderly.
"No, he's in his house. You had better hustle."
Grey glanced down at his clothes. He was dressed as he had come off
guard of the prisoners. A belt filled with cartridges encircled his
waist, and his revolver sheathed in its leathern holster hung at his
hip. His appearance at that moment was sufficient to win both respect
and admiration from the most indifferent. Of this his companions were
not thinking, but of that summons to meet the Commanding Officer. Well
did they know the startling news which was agitating this northern town,
causing strong men's eyes to moisten, and mothers to clasp their
children closer in their arms. Had not prominent citizens hurried in and
out of the O. C.'s office all the afternoon, and did not the air hang
heavy with expectancy as to what move would be made and who would be
chosen for the difficult undertaking? Now it was no longer uncertain.
Grey was the first to be called, and all realised that the choice had
been a good one.
"Grey's got a difficult job ahead of him," remarked a tall, slim
constable after the former had left the room.
"He's the man for it, though," replied another, deliberately sipping his
beer.
"He'll do the job if anyone can, for he fears neither man nor devil.
Don't you remember how he stood up before 'Twisty' Parker and his gang
in Big Gulch Road House, cowed the whole bunch, and got his man?"
"Indeed I do, but that was nothing to the way he ran down "One-eyed"
Henry, the Swede, who murdered his partner at Five Fingers. He walked
right up to the revolver's point when it was spitting fire like hell,
knocked the Swede down and took him alive. The murderer afterwards
acknowledged that it was Grey's coolness, and the terrible gleam of
determination in his eyes which unnerved him and made his hand shake as
if he had the palsy."
Grey in the meantime had crossed the Barracks Square, and was admitted
by a quiet, passionless-eyed Jap into the presence of his Commanding
Officer. Giving the customary salute he stood at attention, and awaited
orders.
Major Sterling was sitting at his desk when Grey entered, with his eyes
fixed upon a map lying before him. Pacing up and down the room was a
small, middle-aged man whose agony of face and excited manner plainly
bespoke the agitated state of his mind.
"Major, find my boy," he was saying. "Spare no pains or money in your
efforts to run those villains down. They hate me, and have sworn to have
revenge. They demand twenty thousand dollars. Think of it, twenty
thousand dollars! They threaten the life of my child if it's not paid!
Oh, God, help me! I can't pay it, and I won't. But I want my boy, my
only child, Donnie. Major, for the sake of a heart-broken father and
mother; for the honour of this town, and for the welfare of humanity,
capture those scoundrels and save my boy."
In reply to this passionate appeal the Major swung around in his chair
and faced the troubled man.
"Mr. Farwell," he began, "the best answer I can give you stands there in
the person of Constable Grey. Leave the matter to us. We will do the
best we can."
"Thank you, sir; oh, thank you," cried Mr. Farwell, seizing the Major's
hand and wringing it vehemently. "I know you will do what you can. I
shall go now, but you will keep me informed, will you not?"
"Yes," replied the Major, rising and opening the door. "You shall be
kept acquainted with every move. Remember, Mr. Farwell, I am a father as
well as an officer, and what more can I say?"
When the door had closed behind his visitor the Major returned to his
desk, and remained for a while lost in thought. He was a stern man
outwardly, and ruled with a firm hand. Unbending in the line of duty he
combined rigid discipline with discriminating justice. Neither position,
money, nor threats availed in the slightest degree to swerve him one
hair's breadth from a purpose he knew to be right. Major Sterling was an
autocrat on this ragged edge of civilisation, and yet an autocrat whose
every heart beat was for the honour of his country and for the welfare
of the people committed to his charge. Relentless as a sleuth hound in
crushing down crime and tyranny he was feared and respected by both
whites and Indians alike.
"Grey," he at length remarked, turning toward the constable and
motioning him to a chair, "sit down; we've important business on
to-night."
The Major's voice had lost much of its old-time sternness, and Grey was
more than astonished at this unexpected order. Never before had he taken
a seat in the presence of his Superior Officer. To do so was a severe
breach of discipline. He advanced a step, and hesitated.
"This chair, Grey," and a slight smile illumined the Major's face as he
noted his subordinate's embarrassment. "There, that's better," he
continued, turning his attention once again to the map lying on his
desk. With a pencil in his hand he traced a course from Big Glen out
over the land away eastward toward the Rocky Mountains. At times he
paused, and his brow knitted in perplexity. At length, however, the
pencil rested upon a spot where a crooked stream was marked upon the
map. Everything else was a complete blank, no name of town or village
appearing. Here the Major made a small circle, and wrote over it the one
word "Hishu."
"See, Grey," and he held up the map, "I want you to go there."
The constable started at these words, and glanced keenly at the pencil
mark. His interest now was thoroughly aroused. For years that region had
a strange fascination for his daring spirit. Indians had related
marvellous tales of what the place contained: rivers foaming, rushing,
and plunging into dark mysterious depths; monsters living in the
mountains, their roars shaking the earth, and belching fire and rocks
from their terrible mouths. There were tribes, too, so they said,
horrible and bloodthirsty, with hair, filled with knives, hanging to
their waists. At times the Indians about Big Glen had come trembling to
the Police for protection. Those tribes from their mountain fastnesses,
so they believed, were about to sweep down and wipe them out of
existence. The Police had always succeeded, however, in allaying their
fears, and upon investigation found the trouble generally started in the
fervid brain of the useless Medicine Man.
So the Major was to send him there. Grey could hardly believe his ears.
Into that region shrouded in mystery, like the shadow of death! What was
the use of it?
"How soon can you get ready, Grey?" The Major was speaking as if certain
of his line of action. There was no sign of doubt in his words.
"I can start at once, sir," the constable replied. "That is, as soon as
I make ready. But do you think, sir, they would flee to a place like
that?"
"Not if they knew how much I know," and the Major gave a peculiar little
laugh.
"But why should they go there, sir? They must have heard about that
place, and what a--"
"Look here, Grey," interrupted the Major, "I've had my eyes and ears
open to that region for some time now. I've heard all those Indian
stories, and believe them to be so many fairy tales, all purely
imagination. I have lately received information, which I think is
reliable, that certain men have crossed the mountains from the East, and
are now prospecting up Hishu Creek. They have a small settlement at its
mouth near the river. A notorious character, Siwash Bill by name, has a
trading store there, and I believe him to be the ringleader of the gang
who kidnapped that child. Prospectors on the Mackenzie River side of the
mountains carried this news to Edmonton, which was forwarded to me only
last week. I intended to send a man there shortly to investigate, but
this unexpected occurrence demands immediate action."
Thus for an hour officer and subordinate sat and talked in the deepening
twilight. When at length the latter rose to go, the Major reached
forward and drew from a pigeon hole in the desk a small slip of paper.
"Wait a minute, Grey," he commanded. "I find that your time will be up
two weeks from to-day."
"Yes, sir."
"And you intend to leave the Force then?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you don't mind being sent out on this business at the end of your
time?"
"No, sir."
"Well said. I'll remember that. Good night, Grey, and God be with you."
Slowly the constable walked back across the Square toward the Canteen.
His Commanding Officer's parting words touched him. He realised on this
night as never before what a sympathetic heart beat beneath the Major's
cold exterior. He was human after all, and cared for his men. What a
change, too, he thought, to be out of the Force--to be free! And yet,
why should he leave? Why should he not "take on again"? What was there
for him in life? Where should he go? What was there to do? He could go
home, but what was home without her? He paused, and bared his head. The
evening breeze cooled his hot brow, and played with his wealth of dark
hair. Above him shone the stars--their glory dimmed by the long northern
twilight. There was the pole star steady as of yore. He remembered the
night they had last looked at it together by the garden gate among the
flowers. How beautiful she was then in all her virgin purity! That was
six years ago--and where was she now? Six years, and not a trace of her
since!
"Star of heaven," he murmured, "where is she to-night? Where is my long
lost darling? Guide me, oh, lead me, to her side!"
The bugle sounded "Lights out," and soon all was in silence in the Big
Glen Barracks. Major Sterling still sat at his desk, studying the map
before him, and occasionally glancing at several closely-written papers
lying near. From the stable at one corner of the Square Norman Grey led
forth a jet-black horse, and stood for a minute stroking her glossy
neck. There was no one to bid him farewell, no one to grip his hand and
speed him on his way. A slight sarcastic laugh escaped his lips as he
sprang lightly into the saddle and headed Blackbird for the open road.
He was going out alone, unnoticed. But he would return--and what then?
Again he smiled, settled himself firmly in the saddle, and gave one word
to Blackbird. Then the ring of steel-shod hoofs sounded along the
gravelled way as horse and rider sped through the night, out of the
Barracks Square, out of the little straggling town, and out upon a great
lone trail stretching dim and uncertain beyond the farthest bounds of
civilization.