WELL, took who's here!" The voice of Inspector Costello boomed hearty welcome as the boy reported for duty. "Regimental Number 0750, Cameron Downey," he repeated aloud as he wrote down the words, "Rayported for jooty October the fifteenth." He laid down the pen, and glanced With approval at the trim young figure before him. "An' whin Oi holler fer a good man they sind me a rookie so bran' new he don't know a manual from a martingale. Did ye gather in any bank robbers along the road?"
"No, sir."
"'No, sor,' says he. jist come breezin' in impty handed, loike he owned all Canady. Ye can onglue yer heels, now. An' don't stand there like ye'd a ramrod shoved down yer back. How are ye, Cammie, me bye? Ut's glad Oi am to see ye."
"And I'm glad to see you, Sarg -- Inspector, I mean-----"
"That's right -- don't belittle me rank," grinned Cosello, "wouldn't be a fair deal, bein' as oi couldn't do the likes be yersilf."
"And, I'm glad you're the man I had to report to."
"Ain't ut queer, though! Wid a dozen Superintendents an' Inspectors hollerin' fer min, faster than they can turn out the rookies, ye'd be the wan Oi'd git."
The boy detected a twinkle in the Inspector's eye. "I'll bet you asked 'em to send me so you could kind of help me get broken in."
"Whisht, now -- tis not for a raycruit to be ques- tionin' the acts av his superiors."
"Anyway," grinned the boy, "you're wrong about my not knowing the manual. I can almost repeat it by heart."
"Well, thin, the first job ye've got is to fergit ut. The manual, son, is like the dictionary -- a handy book to run to fer reference, but a blame poor wan to learn be heart. The sayin' goes that possession is nine points av the law -- an' ye'll learn that common sense is nine points av inforcin' the law."
"When do I get my first detail?"
"Up on the bit, an' rarin' to go," grinned Costello. "But don't worry, son. From now on, the least av yer worries will be drawin' daytails. Be the way, did yer vaccination take holt good?"
I guess it did. My arm was sore for a week." "Oi might of know'd ut, or they wouldn't of sint ye."
"Is there smallpox up here?"
"Ut ain't so bad in town -- a dozen cases, maybe, an' two dead. There's doctors here, an' medicine. But the plague flag is flyin' in the back country. There's no doctors, there, nor medicine except what we'll carry wid us. Winter's comin' on an' the Injuns scattered on the trap-lines. Oi've mapped out a patrol that'll take in twinty tradin' posts, but the trappers -- we'll never see the half, nor the quarter av thim. There's work fer a rigiment on this patrol alone -- an' there's the two av us to do ut. Ye'll come face to face wid death, an' starvation, an' misery -- an' little to do to prevint ut. 'Twill be a grim patrol, son -- an' unless Oi was goin' wid ye, no job at all fer a rookie. What wid fumigatin', vaccinatin', an' buryin' an' the hun- dred an' one jobs no man can foresee, we'll be busy maybe till Christmas, maybe till spring."
"When do we start?" asked the boy, eagerly.
"In the grey av the marnin'. We'll go now and get yer winter outfit together."
On an evening, three weeks later the two drew their chairs to the roaring stove in the trading room of the Moon Lake Post, and talked with MacMurtrie, the factor. Winter had come suddenly, and with vengence. The wind roared in the spruce tops and soughed and whistled about the eaves of the log building, as it drove the powder-fine snow in an opaque white smother.
"'Tis a fine job ye got here the night, Costello," said the hearty old Scot, as he tamped his pipe with his thumb. "Since noon a mon could scarce see the length of his arm past the door."
"'Twas tough goin' an' no mistake, but we was already on the river when the storm broke, an 'twas only a question of followin' it up to the lake."
The Scot turned to the boy with a smile: "An' how now do you think of policin'? For, I tak' it ye're new to the business. An' what wad ye done an' ye'd be'n alone?"
The youngster returned the smile: "I like it. I didn't know the trail, an' if I'd been alone, I'd have camped till the storm was over."
"Well spoken, lad. 'Twould be the best judgment of a mon older than ye. Ye're an outlander, born, I tak' it?"
"No, all my life I have lived in a town. This is my first real trip."
The factor turned a puzzled face toward the grinning Inspector: "Losh, Costello, d'ye tell me ye're facin' what's likely before ye with a raw recruit -- an' a townsman, at that!"
"Sure, Mac," laughed the Inspector, "but, mind ye, Oi picked me raycruit." He paused, abruptly, and grinned at Cammie: "There, 'tis no use lockin' the stable door after the cat is out av the bag. Unofficial, Oi did sort av hint to the Commissioner that av ye wasn't too blamed raw, ye'd be more welcome thin somewan Oi didn't know who he was, nor where he come from." He glanced again toward the factor: "Ye see, Mac, Oi've know'd um since he was knee-high to a rabbit. We celebrated his first pair 'av britches togither wid a ride on my horse through the town. Townsman he is, as ye say, but the blood's there. The lad's grandson an' namesake to owld Cameron Downey ---"
"Cameron Downey!" MacMurtrie was on his feet, reaching for the boy's two hands. "Ah, lad ye've a name to live up to! Cameron Downey -- I've know'd um fer fifty year. 'Tis a name 'twill carry ye far in the outlands. No good man, white nor red, knows aught but good of its owner. An' 'twill put fear in the hearts of the others. How's ye're father-Angus, I recollect, his name was? An' what does he think of ye're joinin' on with the police?"
"He's dead," answered the boy, "he died soon after grandfather did."
"Aye, 'twill be three years agone. 'Tis too bad Cameron couldn't have lived to see his breed return to the North. He took it hard when Angus settled down in the provinces."
"What's the news of the plague, Mac?" asked Costello, as he refilled his pipe.
"No news, here. We heard 'twas in the settlements."
"Ut is, an' we got rumours of ut in the North. A mail carrier said they had ut at Owl River post."
"Mebbe," answered the Scot, his brow drawing into a frown. "I hope not. 'Tis a turrible thing, with the Injuns dyin' like flies. I recollect fifteen year agone when it swept from the Bay to the Pacific. You mind it, Costello."
"I do. 'Twas hell. An' from what little we can find out, ut may be the same thing over again. How ye fixed, here?"
"Weel, theer's five of us. Me an' the clark, an' the woman, an' the two Injuns -- her brothers."
"How about vaccination?"
"I had it done the time of the last plague. I don't know about the others. My second wife was livin', then. This is my third. I'll ask 'em."
He rose and opened the door leading to the living compartments. "All of ye come out here!" he called, an' come quick!"
The woman, the clerk, and the two Indians crowded into the room. MacMurtrie spoke first to the Indians in their own tongue. He turned to the Inspector: "They never had it." He spoke to the clerk, a burly young Dane who had been in the country two years. "How about it, ye ever be'n vaccinated?"
"Na, ay ain't, Ay ain't git vaccinate. Ees beeg foolishness. More peoples die vaccinate vat dies smallpox."
Big as was the clerk, MacMurtrie overtopped him, as he stepped forward with clenched fists. "Ye're an ignorant Gilly an' a dumb headed fool!" he roared. "Bare ye're arm! Befoor I vaccinate ye're face with my two fists! These lads are police an' if ye don't move lively ye'll never live to die of either one -- ye'll kick out on the end of a rope fer a plague spreader!" Even before the factor stopped speaking the clerk had his arm bared and extended while Costello, none too gently, scratched the virus in. The Indians sub- mitted without complaint, and then the factor submitted his own arm. The ordeal over, MacMurtrie issued his order to the clerk and the Company Indians: "Clean out the old cabin down by the boathouse as soon as this storm lets up. Get all the trash out of it, see to the chinkin', an' batten the window an' door. Put up a bunk an' a table, an' set up a stove. If anyone comes along make 'em put up in the cabin till I have a chance to look 'em over an' question 'em. If the plague is loose in the land, 'twill be as well to take no chances. Mayhap the cabin will find use as a hospital."
"Good work, Mac," approved Costello, "an' they'd all do the like, 'twould go a long way towards stoppin' the spread." He glanced at young Downey: "Ye'll take notice, son, how a good man reaches out an' takes the bull be the horns before the milk is spilt."
For three days, the blizzard raged with varying intensity, and on the fourth, the occupants of the trading post stepped out into a glittering white world. From the fifteen police dogs that MacMurtrie had been boarding during the summer, Costello selected five of the best -- strong, willing brutes, wise in the way of the snow-trail. Inch by inch, he inspected the harness, and cast his eye over the half-dozen sleds and toboggans that were stored in one end of the boathouse. Selecting a toboggan, he inspected it as carefully as he had the harness, keeping up, the while, a running comment for the boy's benefit upon the weak points of dogs, harness, toboggans and sleds. "Oi'd ruther use a sled," he explained, "but the way the snow is a toboggan is better. We'll maybe change ut fer a sled somewheres else."
But before noon the outfit was ready for the trail, and, leaving a few vaccination units with MacMurtrie, the two officers struck northward with Owl River Post, a hundred miles distant, as their objective.
The second day out they came upon an Indian trapper. The man knew nothing of the red death. He had seen no one for five or six weeks. He led the policemen to his camp where he and his wife and two children submitted to vaccination-the latter fighting like little wild cats as the point scratched their arms.
"I should think they'd all die, living in tepees in the winter," said the boy.
The Inspector shook his head: "Ut's the way they should all live. Ut's the ones that builds cabins an' tries to live like white min that dies. White man's grub, an' white man's houses has killed more Injuns than the plague ever did. 'Tis the fault av the missionaries -- not all av thim, mind ye -- fer there's fine min amongst thim, an' min that know. But, the most av thim don't know. Takin' ut all in all, Oi know be experience, that wid a few prominent exceptions, the Injuns av the North would be better off if they'd never seen a missionary."
Travel was slow. The days were short, the snow soft, and twelve or fourteen miles was good going, But young Cameron Downey was enjoying every minute of it. And, with the passing of the hours, he learned tricks of trail and camp that were to stand him in good stead upon hundreds of long patrols.
One day, at the junction of two nameless rivers, they came upon the cabin of a white man. The cabin was new, but incredibly filthy, and its owner shiftless and disreputable. A cast in one eye imparted a shifty, sinister expression to his bearded face. The Inspector questioned him sharply:
"What's yer name?"
"Bill Berry."
"Where'd ye come from, an' whin?"
"I come this summer. From -- Montreal."
"Montreal, is ut! An' what street did ye live on in Montreal?"
"Why, I lived on -- on Third Street ----"
"Ye lie! They ain't no Third Street in Montreal! Come on, where'd ye come from -- an' ye better tell the truth or ye'll wisht ye had!"
"I come from Chicago, then," answered the man, sullenly.
"What ye doin,' here?"
"Trappin'."
"Trappin'!" snorted the Inspector. "I suppose ye trade wid Hume at Owl River?"
"No, I don't. I trade with Mueller on Many Point Lake."
"O ho, so ye're wan av Mueller's crew, are ye? thought as much. An' how much rot-gut has Mueller got cached for tradin' stock?"
"I don't know nothin' about Mueller. Nor no rot-gut, neither. I don't use it. I jist trade there."
"Maybe, but while Oi'm here Oi'll jest hunt around a little."
The man leaped to his feet: "You can't search this cabin without a warrant! Police or no police, I know my rights! Show a warrant or git out!"
"Oh, ye know ye're rights, do ye -- an' ut's a warrant ye want? All right, me hearty -- here's yer warrant." The officer doubled his fist and held it before the other's face. "All due an' rigular, ye'll notice, an' behind ut is the authority av the Dominion av Canady, an' the British Empire, incloodin' Oirland, Injia, Aus- tralia, an' New Zealand, to say nothin' av other bits av countries scattered here an' there about the world. Is ut enough, er do ye want to feel ut wid yer jaw?"
The man subsided muttering, and the Inspector turned to the boy: "All right, son, search the cabin, an' do a good job while Oi kape an eye on Bill Berry."
"Y'aint got no right to search," growled the man. "How do I know you're police? You ain't got no uni- form, an y'aint show'd no papers."
"Ye're welcome to ye're doubts," assured Costello, and proceeded to fill his pipe as Constable Downey explored the room. From beneath the blankets of the bunk he drew a flat flask half-filled with whiskey.
"I keep that in case of sickness," snarled the man, reaching for the bottle which Downey handed the Inspector, "I got a right to. My stummick's ailin'."
"Av ut ain't, ut will be," remarked Costello, as he sniffed at the contents. "But, we ain't huntin' medicine -- av this is all ye got we'll not be confiscatin' ut."
The boy finished his inspection and turned to the loft of poles that ceiled half the room. Seeing no ladder, he mounted the table and clambered up where for several minutes the two in the cabin could hear him shifting canned goods and sacks of supplies.
"Here's something!" he called, presently, "a keg -- two of them!"
"Roll 'em out, an' pass 'em down," ordered the Inspector, with a glance at the owner of the cabin. "Two kegs, ch? Enough tradin' stock to last quite a while- an'plenty more at Mueller's whin ut's gone."
"It's a lie! It's fer my own use -- fer medicine."
"Ye must be an awful sick man, Mister Berry," said the Inspector, as he lowered the kegs to the floor, "twinty gallon-forty, or fifty gallon whin ye got ut watered fer the Injuns -- a nice profit fer yer winter's trappite. Ut's sorry Oi am to deprive ye av yer medicine. But havin' liquor in possession will hold yer fer quite a while -- an' maybe we can git an Injun case on ye, yet -- Oi see wan av the kegs has had some draw'd off." As Costello rolled the kegs to the door, the man once more leaped to his feet. "You leave them kegs ,alone!" he whimpered. "It's all I got in the world -- an' I owe Mueller now!"
"Ye should of invested in somethin' less perishable," advised the officer, "but, av ye do well wid yer trappin' ye'd ought to be able to pay Mueller."
"Trappin' be damned! I don't know nothin' about trappin'! I can't even walk on snowshoes! Mueller said the police never come by this way."
"Oh, he did, did he?" grinned the Inspector. "Well, ut wouldn't be the first time Mueller's took all a man had fer a batch av liquor an' then tipped him off so he wouldn't have the competition in gettin' rid av ut."
"Tipped me off!" screamed the man. "You mean, Mueller tipped me off to the police?"
Costello shrugged: "Oi didn't say he did, or he didn't."
"Damn Mueller! I'll fix him! I'll show the double-crossin' bastard he can't fool with Bill Berry!"
As the man raved, Costello demolished the kegs with an axe, while Constable Downey watched the proceeding with interest. When the last stave had been smashed beyond all possibility of repair, the Inspector again turned to Berry. "How about the smallpox? Have ye be'n vaccinated lately?"
"Smallpox be damned! I've hed it-years ago. I like to died. I'm all pitted to hell-can't you see my forehead ?"
"Is thim pock marks? Oi thought it was dints in the dirt."
"I hope Mueller gits it an' dies! He's afraid of it, too! Damn him! I hain't afraid of him. I'll learn him to tip me off to the police! I'll show him two kin play that game! What with a hundred gallon hid in under the floor of the cabin where the smallpox Injuns is. An' him spreadin' the smallpox around ----"
"What do you mean -- spreadin' smallpox?" cried Costello, seizing the man by the arm.
To the officer's surprise the look of rage upon the man's face changed suddenly to one of fear. He shrank from the grip on his arm, and his words came haltingly: "Did I say 'spreadin' smallpox'? I didn't mean nothin' -- I don't know nothin' -- I didn't say spreadin' smallpox -- I was mad, an' I didn't know what I was sayin'."
"Ye lie! Out wid ut! What did ye mane?"
"Nothin' -- I tell ye I never said it! I don't know nothin'!"
"Have they got smallpox at Mueller's?"
"I don't know what they've got! I hain't be'n there, fer goin' on a hell of a while."
Seeing there was nothing to be gained by further questioning, Costello turned away: "Come on, lad -- we'll be mushin'."
At a word of command, the dogs rose to their feet, and the man called from the doorway: "You got to wait! I hain't dressed for outside. An' I got to ride. I hain't got no snowshoes."
"That ain't none of our business," answered Costello. "What do you mane -- wait?"
"You've arrested me, an' you got to take me along. I know my rights! I'll only git four or six months fer havin' licker, an' I'll git my time served by spring."
"O ho, so that's it, is it? Well, Oi'm sorry to disappoint ye, but ye ain't under arrest. We'll pick ye up whin we want ye-which ain't now."
"But -- what'll I do? I hain't got no licker ----"
"Trap," suggested the officer.
"Trap -- hell! I hain't got no traps, an' I wouldn't know what to do with 'cm if I hed a million. I hain't got no snowshoes, an' I wouldn't know how to use 'em if I hed. I can't go nowhere's, I'll git lost!"
"Stay here thin," advised the Inspector.
"What if I'd git sick here all alone -- what would I do then?"
"Do what anyone else does -- die, or git well -- there's only the two things ye can do." He called to the dogs, "Mush! Git along, you Kammix!"
"Which way?" asked the boy as he took his place ahead of the dogs.
"Northeast. We should hit Owl River in twinty or twinty-five miles. Oi judge this river hits Many Point Lake at Mueller's."