nod in the direction of the madman--"you and I will
give an hour or so to finding out the best gun in the city; and when
we've found it we'll have your name engraved on it, and underneath,
'From Jan, the R.N.W.M.P. hound, to the man who saved his life.' I know
you'll take a keepsake from Jan, boy."

And so it was arranged. Jim would not hear of any selling or buying of
the hound; but in Edmonton, where he sold his sled and team, preparatory
to taking train for the western seaboard, he accepted, as gift from Jan,
the best rifle Dick could find, inscribed as arranged; and, as gift from
Dick, a photograph of himself and Jan together.

Their parting was characteristic of life in the North-west. Each man
knew that in all human probability he would never again set eyes upon
the other. Yet they parted as intimate friends; for their coming
together--again most typical of north-western life--had been of the kind
which leads swiftly to close friendship--or to antipathy and hostility.

Dick, greatly impressed by the other man's solid worth, urged upon him
the claims of the R.N.W.M.P. as offering a career for him.

"For you," said Dick, "the work would all be simple as print; plain
sailing all the way."

Jim Willis, like most northland men, had a very real respect for the
R.N.W.M.P., but he smiled at the idea of joining the force.

"But why?" asked Dick. "It would be such easy work for you."

"Aye, I'll allow the work wouldn't exactly hev me beat," agreed Jim.
"But--Oh, well I ain't a Britisher, to begin with, an', what's more to
the p'int, a week in barracks 'd choke me."

"But they'd be wise enough to keep you pretty much on the trail; and
you're at home there."

"Yes, I guess the trail's about as near home as I'll ever get, mebbe,
but I'd have no sorter use for it if I j'ined your bunch."

"How's that?"

"Well, now, I guess that 'd be kinder hard to explain to you, Dick." (In
the northland, between men, it is always either Christian names or
"Mister.") "You see, we was raised different, you an' me; an' what comes
plum nateral to you would set me kickin' like a steer, first thing I'd
know. The trail suits me, all right, yes. But I hit it when I want to,
an' keep off it when I'm taken that-a-way. I'm only a poor man, but
ther' isn't a millionaire in America can buy the right to say 'Come
here' or 'Go there' to me, Dick, an', what's more, ther' ain't goin' to
be, not while I can sit up an' eat moose. It's mebbe not the