Part 22 (1/2)

He led the way into the circle and stood there, quietly rolling a cigarette while he casually glanced round at the men. They were all of the ordinary type of lumber-jack--grim-featured, keen-eyed, weather-beaten.

All wore thick woollen trousers stuffed into the tops of their knee boots, and their boots were furnished with formidable spikes to enable them to get secure foothold on the floating logs upon which they worked.

In their perilous climbing about the jammed tree trunks many of them had got wet through, and as they sat within the warmth of the fire the steam from their drying clothes mingled with the smoke from their tobacco pipes.

”Say, we was just talkin' 'bout you, Sergeant,” said one of them as Silk bent over and took up a flaming twig.

”Indeed?” nodded the officer, puffing thoughtfully at his cigarette.

”Yep,” went on the spokesman. ”Andy O'Reilly thar' was kinder relievin'

hisself of the opinion as you boys of the Mounted P'lice have got a whole lot too much power in your hands.”

Sergeant Silk looked across at the man indicated.

”Y'see,” said Andy O'Reilly, ”you kin do pretty nigh anythin', an' you kin do it without waitin' for orders. n.o.body durst hinder you. You kin enter any house you like, an' search it through an' through. You kin apprehend a man without a warrant. You've even got authority to kill.

You've got all the power of the Russian secret police.”

”Exactly,” Silk acknowledged, seating himself on one of the logs and making room beside him for Percy Rapson. ”I don't deny we have a very considerable amount of power, one way and another. But I guess, after all, it's for the ultimate good of the community. It's all in the interests of public security. What?”

”Just my argyment,” declared the first speaker, rescuing a flagon of tea from the edge of the fire. ”An' them as complains, they dunno what they're talkin' about. They'd have cause ter grumble supposin' that power was abused--if ever the wrong man was arrested or if the guilty one was ever allowed ter escape.”

”As to that,” rejoined Silk, ”we are all liable to make mistakes. I have known a case or two of wrongful arrest, and I won't say that we have invariably succeeded in bringing criminals to justice. Some of them have escaped.”

”Yes,” resumed O'Reilly, ”thar's no denyin' as some of 'em escape. With all your power and cleverness, you've let a-many of 'em slip through your fingers. Thar's was the business of Lost Horse Meadow was never cleared up. Thar's was the post-office robbery at Coyote Landing, which is still a mystery. And, say, wasn't it yourself that had that same job in hand? I kinder recollect hearin' your name mentioned.”

”That is so,” Sergeant Silk signified. ”It happened two winters ago, and, as you say, it is still a mystery, and likely to remain one.”

”Don't know as I ever heard tell of that story,” said the man who had spoken first, pouring some hot tea into a gallipot. His name was Bob Wilson. He was foreman of a gang of lumber-jacks.

Percy Rapson noticed that Sergeant Silk again glanced slowly round the circle of fire-lit faces, and that his gaze lingered with curious, furtive scrutiny upon the face of Eben Sharrow.

CHAPTER XVI

THE MAN THAT THE WOLVES SPARED

”Won't you tell us about it, Sergeant?” Percy urged.

Silk puffed for a few moments at his cigarette.

”There isn't a great deal to tell,” he responded quietly. He leant forward, resting an elbow on his knees.

”Yes,” he began, ”I was in charge of the case, and I failed to make an arrest. But, you see, I didn't arrive on the scene until a longish while after the thing had happened, and the culprit had got off, leaving no clue that could be of the slightest value in following him up.

”I was at the depot at Soldier's Knee, alone, as it happened, except for my chum, Dave Stoddart, who was asleep in his bunk. It was a bitterly cold winter's night outside, with a wild wind blowing out of the north and whistling weirdly in the pine trees round about the old timber-built shack that served as a police station. But inside it was warm enough. I had kept a good fire burning in the stove, and I sat in front of it, reading by the light of the hanging lamp.

”There wasn't any great need for me to keep awake, and, as I'd been out on a long patrol during the day and was weary, I began to nod over the book. You see, it wasn't very interesting, and I'd read it before--knew it almost by heart. But, for all that, I didn't want to fall asleep, and there was one thing that kept me awake, even if the book failed.

”On the previous night we'd been disturbed by the yapping of a pack of hungry wolves that were nosing around the end of the shanty, where we kept our store of cariboo hams and other grub, and on this particular night of which I'm telling you I was waiting and listening, expecting those wolves to pay us another visit. But they didn't seem to be in any hurry.