"No, rather not! Very much alive. Here's the pater; but first, tell me, why should I be dead?"

Gerald and I began to speak simultaneously, and in the midst of our explanations mother and father arrived, so we had to tell them all over again.

"The question is, who _is_ your lunatic?" said father, "and----"

But just at that moment we heard frantic shouts from Gerald's bedroom window, and found the sham Mr. Marriott leaning out of it in a state of frenzy.

He was absolutely furious; but we gathered from his incoherent remarks that he was getting very late for a conjuring performance which he had promised to give at a friend's house. He vowed that there was some conspiracy to prevent him going there at all; first his bag was lost, then some one pretended to be his friend's daughter, whom he had never seen, and finally he was locked in a room with no means of escape!

[Sidenote: Our Little Mistake]

Then, and only then, did we realise our mistake! The others seemed to find it very amusing and shrieked with laughter, but the humour of it didn't strike Gerald and me any more than it did the irate conjuror, who was promptly released with profuse apologies, and sent in our car to his destination. It transpired that his conversation which had so alarmed me referred only to a favourite dog of his, and I, of course, had unconsciously misled Gerald.

Mr. Marriott proved to be most interesting and amusing, anything but eccentric; but I shall _never_ hear the last of my mistake, and to this day he and Jack tease me unmercifully about my "dangerous maniac!"

[Sidenote: A story of the Canadian North-West Mounted Police, founded on fact.]

Jim Rattray, Trooper

BY

KELSO B. JOHNSON

"Our Lady of the Snows" resents the t.i.tle. It is so liable, she complains, to give strangers an utterly wrong idea of her climate. And yet, at times, when the blizzard piles the swirling snow over fence and hollow, until boundaries are lost, and the bewildered wayfarer knows not which way to turn, he is apt to think, if he is in a condition to think at all, that there is some justice in the description.

But there was no sign of the stern side of nature as Jim Rattray made his way westward. The sun shone on the wide, rolling plains, the fresh green of the pasture lands, and the young wheat; the blue sky covered all with a dome of heaven's own blue, and Jim's heart rejoiced within him.

A strapping young fellow was Jim, not long out from the Old Country--the sort of young fellow whose bright eyes and fresh open face do one good to look at. North-country farming in England was the life to which he had looked forward; vigorous sports and hard work in the keen air of the c.u.mberland fells had knit his frame and hardened his muscles; and his parents, as they noticed with pride their boy's st.u.r.dy limbs, and listened in wonder to the bits of learning he brought home from school, had looked forward half-unconsciously to the days when he in his turn would be master of the farm which Rattrays had held for generations.

Bad days, however, had come for English farmers; the c.u.mbrian farm had to be given up, and Jim's father never recovered from the shock of having to leave it. Within a few years Jim was an orphan, alone in the world.

[Sidenote: The Great New World]

There was nothing to keep him in England; why should he not try his fortune in the great new world beyond the seas, which was crying out for stout hearts and hands to develop its treasures? He was young and strong: Canada was a land of great possibilities. There was room and a chance for all there. His life was before him--what might he not achieve!

"What do you propose doing?" asked a fellow-voyager as they landed.

"I really don't quite know," replied Jim. "As soon as possible I must get employment on a farm, I suppose, but I hardly know how to set about it."

"There won't be much difficulty about that. All you have to do is to let it be known at the bureau that you want farm work, and you'll find plenty of farmers willing to take you--and glad to get you," he added, as his eyes roved over Jim's stalwart figure. "But have you thought of the police?"

"The police? No--what have I done?"

His friend laughed.

"I mean the North-West Mounted Police. Why don't you try to join it? If they'll take you, you'll take to the life like a duck to water. You could join, if you liked, for a short term of years; you would roam about over hundreds of miles of country, and get a general knowledge of it such as you could hardly get otherwise; then, if you'd like to settle down to farming or ranching, the information you had picked up would be useful."

Jim pondered over the advice, and finally resolved to follow it. He hoped to make his way in the world, and the more knowledge he could gain the better.

A few days later saw him on his way westward, his heart bounding with the exhilarating beauty of the scene. Already the life at home seemed cramped; the wideness and freedom of this great new country intoxicated him.

"Do we want a recruit? No, we don't!" said the sergeant at Regina, to whom Jim applied. "Stay a bit, though; you needn't be in such a hurry.

Just out from the Old Country, I suppose. Do you know anything about horses? Can you ride?"

"Yes," said Jim humbly.

"Let's try you," and the sergeant led the way into the riding-school.

"We call this one 'Brown Billy,'" he remarked, indicating a quiet-looking horse. "Think you can sit on him?"

"I'll try," said Jim.

Riding Brown Billy seemed ridiculously easy at first. Suddenly, however, without the slightest warning, Jim found himself gripping with his knees the sides of an animal that was dancing wildly on its hind legs.

Jim caught a grin on the faces of the sergeant and some of the other bystanders, and setting his teeth he held on grimly. This was evidently a favourite trick of Brown Billy's, and the sergeant knew it. Well, they should see that British grit was not to be beaten.

Seemingly conquered, Brown Billy dropped again on all-fours. Scarcely had Jim begun to congratulate himself on his victory when Billy's head went down between his forelegs, his hind-quarters rose, and Jim was neatly deposited on hands and knees a few feet ahead.

The grins were noticeably broader as Jim rose, crimson with vexation.

"Thought you could sit him, eh?" laughed the sergeant. "Well, you kept on longer than some I've seen, and you didn't try to hug him around the neck, either. You're not the first old Billy has played that trick on, by a long way. You'll make a rider yet! Come along and let us see what else you can do."

[Sidenote: Enrolled]

As a result of the searching examination Jim underwent he found himself enrolled as a recruit. He was glad to find that there were among his new companions others who had fallen victims to Brown Billy's wiles, and who in consequence thought none the worse of him for his adventure.

Into the work that followed Jim threw himself with all his might. Never had instructors a more willing pupil, and it was a proud day for Jim when he was pa.s.sed out of the training-school as a qualified trooper.

Jim found himself one of an exceedingly small party located apparently a hundred miles from anywhere. Their nearest neighbours were a tribe of Indians, whose mixture of childishness and cunning shrewdness made them an interesting study. These gave little trouble; they had more or less accepted the fact that the white man was now in possession of the domains of their forefathers, and that their best course was to behave themselves. When the presence of the police was required, Jim was almost amused at the docility with which his directions were generally obeyed.

He delighted in the life--the long rides, the occasional camping out on the plains far from any dwelling, the knowledge that he must rely upon himself. He felt more of a man; his powers of endurance increased until he took a positive pleasure in exercising them to their fullest possible extent. Meanwhile, nothing more exciting happened than the tracking and capture of an occasional horse-thief.

Winter set in early and hard. Snow fell until it lay feet deep, and still the stormy winds brought more. One day the sergeant came in with a troubled face.

"Wightman's horses have stampeded," he announced. "They'll be gone c.o.o.ns if they're not rounded up and brought in."

"Let me go, sergeant!" said Jim.

The sergeant shook his head. "It's no work for a young hand. The oldest might lose his bearings in weather like this."

"Let me go, sergeant!" Jim repeated. "If those horses are to be brought in I can do it." There was a world of pleading in his tone, and the sergeant guessed the reason.

"I meant no reflection on you, my lad," said he. "It's no weather for anybody to be out in. All the same, if those horses aren't to be a dead loss, somebody's got to round them up."

Finally Jim got his way. In a temporary lull about midday he set out on his stout horse, well wrapped up in the thick woollen garments provided for such times as these, and determined to bring in those horses, or perish in the attempt.