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.)