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H. A. Cody
The Long Patrol: A Tale of the Mounted Police
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066139032
Table of Contents
CHAPTER II THE TERROR OF THE MOUNTAINS
CHAPTER III A CHILD IN THE MIDST
CHAPTER IV THE SHADOWING HORSEMAN
CHAPTER V THE FUR TRADER'S STORE
CHAPTER VI THE DEN OF PLOTTERS
CHAPTER XIII THE TRAILING SERPENT
CHAPTER XIV IN THE DEEP OF THE NIGHT
CHAPTER XV A CRY ACROSS THE WATER
CHAPTER XIX THE VENOM OF HATRED
CHAPTER XXV THE HEART OF A WOMAN
CHAPTER XXVI WITHIN THE DEEP SHADOW
CHAPTER XXVIII THE LIFTED VEIL
CHAPTER XXIX STRENGTH FROM THE HILLS
CHAPTER XXXI OLD TRAILS AND NEW
THE LONG PATROL
THE LONG PATROL
CHAPTER I UNLEASHED
"Is Grey—Norman Grey—here?"
The Orderly paused on the threshold and looked around the room.
"Over there," replied a constable, jerking his thumb to the left, "in the corner."
At once the Orderly strode forward to the side of a young man leaning against the Canteen bar.
"Say, Grey, the O. C. wants you."
At these words the man addressed straightened himself up to his full height of six feet with a sudden jerk, while his dark piercing eyes flashed questioningly from beneath the broad brim of his Stetson hat. A deep silence now pervaded the room; the poker chips ceased their rattle; the rustling of the newspapers stopped; the man behind the bar stayed his hand in the act of pouring a glass of ginger beer, and even pipes were allowed to go out.
It was the quiet after supper hour in the Big Glen Barracks of the "X" Division of the North West Mounted Police, in the far-flung Northern Yukon Territory, and the work of the day was done. The few prisoners had been marched silently back to their lonely cells in the stout log guard room; the flag had fluttered slowly down from its tall staff in the centre of the big Square; the bugle had rent the air with its quivering notes, and the guards had been changed. Everything had been done speedily and systematically. It was the daily routine. Each man knew his duty, and did it.
The Canteen was the regular place of meeting, and here a score of constables and corporals, tested guardians of a lone land, were gathered, to drink the customary glass of ale or beer, read the newspapers, discuss the affairs of the day, and play a few friendly games of cards. The click of billiard balls in the adjoining room could be distinctly heard, whilst from the open door of the Sergeants' Mess came the sweet strains of a violin.
"Where's the O. C. now? In the office?" It was Grey's voice which broke the silence as he looked hard at the Orderly.
"No, he's in his house. You had better hustle."
Grey glanced down at his clothes. He was dressed as he had come off guard of the prisoners. A belt filled with cartridges encircled his waist, and his revolver sheathed in its leathern holster hung at his hip. His appearance at that moment was sufficient to win both respect and admiration from the most indifferent. Of this his companions were not thinking, but of that summons to meet the Commanding Officer. Well did they know the startling news which was agitating this northern town, causing strong men's eyes to moisten, and mothers to clasp their children closer in their arms. Had not prominent citizens hurried in and out of the O. C.'s office all the afternoon, and did not the air hang heavy with expectancy as to