"But whether they were planning to put us all out of business, or organizing an expedition to the North Pole--you don't know."

"That's right."

"Well, keep your eye on them, but don't report again until your report is calculated to make a noise."

Constable Hope, not a little discouraged by the way his report was received, sauntered out and drifted towards the Borealis. The seeds of his efforts had fallen on stony ground.

But after he was gone Sergeant Galbraith expanded his chest, drew up to the full extent of his six feet, and gazed through the door of his office at the muskeg, which did duty for a street.

"Another council at the top of the Dome," he said to himself. He stood a minute, stroked his moustache; then, his mind made up, strode out of the office, and in due course was in the presence of his Commanding Officer.

"Another council at the Dome, sir," he reported.

"Yes."

"Seems serious, sir, when men climb 1,800 feet, this hot weather, that they may talk in private."

"Any other signs, Sergeant?"

"It's the other signs that make it look serious. The number of men carrying rifles is increasing rapidly. Yesterday no less than three hundred rifles were seen in the streets."

"Did you question any of those carrying them?"

"No, sir. Had no orders, sir."

"Just so: it would not have done any good, and it might have done harm.

And you have had all supplies bought up, arms and ammunition?"

"All that were better than our own, sir."

"Well, have them secretly brought to the men's quarters, and let each man have his pick. Then some of the best shots can have a day off to practise a bit."

"Very good, sir."

"Something is going to happen soon," said Smoothbore to Herbert, who during the interview had come in.

"Rather suggestive of Micawber that, if you will pardon my saying so,"

Herbert ventured to a.s.sert. He had been a sudden and complete convert to the theory that trouble was brewing. The inaction of his Chief had been getting on his nerves.

"Micawber had the great virtue of patience," answered Smoothbore with a smile.

"I would arrest the leaders, sir, on a trumped-up charge, and get the evidence out of them that way."

"That would be a mistake, my dear Herbert."

"Perhaps so, sir; but here they can shoot us down like rats. If we have to die, we had better die like men."

"If something does not turn up--as, you remind me, Micawber might have said--you will have sufficient opportunity to die."

"I should wish to sell my life pretty dearly sir!"

"Perhaps you won't have to sell it at all--if the something happens that I expect."

"What do you expect, sir, may I ask?"

"Just something," and Smoothbore smiled again. After a pause he continued, "By all the laws of military and political science the British Empire should have been wrecked ages ago. But something always has happened. To arrest the leaders of this conspiracy would, I am sure, be an error. It would precipitate matters, and undoubtedly cause bloodshed. You must remember it is not with redskins we are dealing.

Many of these fellows who are arraying themselves against us are excellent shots, accustomed to rough life, and in every way calculated to make good fighters in such a country as this. If they really take up arms against us, there is nothing to do but fight--fight to the death, sell our lives as dearly as possible, as you say. If they have no intention of taking up arms--and it is not yet certain that they will--we can suffer no harm by inaction."

"We might buy the leaders."

"A man who would sell himself and his friends would not stay bought; and, somehow, I do not feel that the integrity of the British Empire should be maintained by purchasing her enemies."

"But then there are our lives!"

"Our lives don't figure in this proposition," and once again Smoothbore smiled.

Herbert felt his Chief was trifling with him and with the situation, so he rose from his chair, walked to the window, and looked out upon the quadrangle. This movement hid the flush of annoyance that had come over his face. He made an excuse, and found his way out of the office.

"If only I were in command here," he thought, "I'd clap these fellows on the Wood-pile, and then----"

After that point no well-defined line of action suggested itself to him.

Meanwhile, Smoothbore continued writing his report to Ottawa, telling of his suspicions, and explaining his action, or want of action. He intended to hold back the communication until the last moment--until he was satisfied that "something would not turn up," which would certainly be close to the crisis. Then he would confide it to a trusty scout and send to the "outside." While he was writing his mind constantly played with the facts of his own position. It pleased him to compare it with that of Gordon in Khartoum; with these differences, that, for him, a.s.sistance was out of the question, and his enemies were not fanatical and were Christian. His would be a soldier's death, if "something did not turn up."

CHAPTER x.x.x

ON THE SCENT

After being snubbed by his Sergeant Constable Hope lost heart--for a little while; but on the Sunday he was again working a.s.siduously, with little luck.

Accident and caution caused Berwick to keep out of the way of the determined policeman.

Suddenly the idea of looking further into the possible connection of Five Ace Dan with the conspirators occurred to Hope. So on the day following his Sunday of ill-success he posted himself near the prisoners. He could distinguish the person of Five Ace Dan, and watched closely for any sign made to a possible confederate, but without result.

This was disappointing, for brooding during the night on what Long Shorty had said, he brought himself to believe he was close to an important clue. As his inspection of Five Ace Dan brought no help to him he felt again discouraged, and became sullen and brooding. Then his interest awoke again, for Long Shorty had appeared upon the scene. The constable was about to rise to his feet and abandon the enterprise when he saw the new-comer. He hid himself again immediately.

He watched Long Shorty take a piece of paper out of his pocket and write. The man laboured hard over the missive; he was evidently no fluent scribe. The paper, after being finished and carefully read through, was rolled into a ball.

At last, at stroke of noon, the prisoners filed back to the Barracks.

Long Shorty at once strolled over, with careful casualness, to the scene of their labours, and, as before, dropped the paper beside the handle of the Five Ace's shovel. At once he went eager as a bird to Dawson.

When the coast was quite clear Hope came from his cover and annexed the letter. The policeman's spirits were very c.o.c.k-a-whoop.

"The Eagle is very fond of Yellow-legs," he read in the awful scrawl, "and in two days' time a great many Eagles will gather together about the summit of the big mountain, where they may watch the Yellow-legs; and if the Yellow-legs don't come and make peace within two days, then at the end of one more day the Eagles will descend upon the Yellow-legs and make a meal of them. Any little d.i.c.ky-birds found among the Yellow-legs may go the same way, unless they make a move for liberty.

The Eagle loves liberty."