Part 10 (2/2)

The pa.s.senger on the other side of the dining-table sipped at his cup of black coffee.

”I don't only suppose, Sir George,” he answered slowly, glancing out through the open window. ”I happen to know. The man you're looking at isn't always dressed as if he had just come out of a bandbox to parade his elegance and his good figure on a railroad platform. I have seen him looking very different, riding out on the lone patrol. If he is clean and tidy now, it is because he hates slovenliness of any kind, and, perhaps, too, because he likes to hide the fact that the one purpose of his existence is to do his duty with efficiency. You ask if he could do any serious business with his revolver. My dear Sir George, that chap is considered the best shot in all Canada. He is that, just as surely as he is the best all-round scout, the best rider, and the bravest man in the Dominion. I could tell you a lot about him, but I see by the twinkle in his eye that he knows we are talking of him, and he hates to be noticed.

Ah, he's coming this way.”

Sir George produced his box of cigars as the soldier policeman strode across the platform towards the waiting cars. The Colonel rose from his seat and leant his elbows on the frame of the window.

”How d'you do, Sergeant Silk?” he said in greeting, extending his hand.

”Say, it seems queer to see you on foot and not in the saddle. You're off duty, I suppose?”

”No, Colonel,” returned Silk, ”not exactly. My broncho is in the horse box at the rear. I'm going on by this train.”

”Have a cigar, Sergeant,” urged Sir George.

Silk took one, biting off the end with his sharp, even teeth, as cleanly as if he had cut it with a knife.

”Won't you come in along with us?” the millionaire invited.

Silk shook his head.

”No, thank you, sir. I go third-cla.s.s, and I may have to jump off between stations.” He glanced at the Colonel. ”I'm going west to see if I can find out something of the affair that happened along the line last night,” he explained. ”Perhaps you heard of it? No? Well, you see, the 7.42 was held up by a gang of train robbers, who managed to board her while she was side-tracked, waiting for the limited express to pa.s.s. The engine-driver was killed in the scuffle, and the conductor was badly hurt. I'm going as far as Hill Crest to have a word with the conductor, if he is well enough to be examined.”

”It is to be hoped there's no danger of those train thieves paying us a visit to-night,” said the millionaire anxiously. ”I should hardly have expected to meet such gentry in Canada.”

Sergeant Silk shook his head and smiled as he struck a match to light his cigar.

”They were caught, sir,” he said, enjoying the aroma. ”We happened--my broncho and I--to drop on them as they were escaping with the swag; and they are here in Macleod, safe under lock and key.”

”What?” exclaimed the millionaire. ”A gang of armed desperadoes, you say, caught--arrested--by you and your horse alone?”

Silk dropped the extinguished match and carefully trod it under foot.

Experienced prairie rider as he was, he was always cautious about fire.

”You've got to allow something for my being in uniform,” he smiled.

”Law-breakers out here have a wholesome dread of the Mounted Police.”

Touching the wide brim of his hat with a forefinger, he turned away, striding along the platform with a military clink of spurs.

He went towards the front of the waiting train, where the engine had just been coupled and was being oiled up for the run along the branch line from Macleod to Crow's Nest Pa.s.s. The district superintendent stood by and was reprimanding the engine-driver, who had evidently been making some complaint about his job.

”What's the matter with you that you register for rest?” the superintendent wanted to know. ”You know we're short handed, Ted Chennell bein' killed. You've got ter take Ted's place. You've only been at work twenty hours. There's Tom Morden has been on his engine twenty-eight hours, and Tom ain't askin' for rest yet. Say, some of you fellows ought to get a job clerkin' in a drug store. This yer train's got to go. You're the only available man to take her, and that's straight.”

Sergeant Silk puffed for a few moments at his cigar before speaking.

”Seems to me, Mr. Garside,” he remarked casually, ”that Halkett and his engine are about on a par. They're both promising candidates for hospital.”

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