ing.

The police-officer eyed the man keenly. The twilight had so far deepened
that there was barely sufficient light to distinguish the man's
features, but Horrocks's survey satisfied him as to the fellow's
identity. He was a repulsive specimen of the Breed; the dark, lowering
face had something utterly cruel in its expression. The cast was brutal
in the extreme; sensual, criminal. The shifty black eyes looked anywhere
but into the policeman's face.

"That you, Gustave?" said Horrocks, pleasantly enough. He wished to
inspire confidence. "I'm looking for Gautier. I've got a nice little job
for him. Do you know where he is?"

"Ugh!" grunted Gustave, heavily, but with a decided air of relief. He
entertained a wholesome dread of Sergeant Horrocks. Now he became more
communicative. Horrocks had not come to arrest anybody. "I see," he went
on, gazing out across the prairie, "this is not a warrant business, eh?
Guess Gautier is back there," with a jerk of a thumb in a vague
direction behind him. "He's in his shack. Gautier's just hooked up with
another squaw."

"Another?" Horrocks whistled softly. "Why, that's the sixth to my
knowledge. He's very much a marrying man. How much did he pay the neche
this time?"

"Two steers and a sheep," said the man, with an oily grin.

"Ah! I wonder how he acquired 'em. Well, I'll go and find him. Gautier
is smart, but he'll land himself in the penitentiary if he goes on
marrying squaws at that price. Say, which is his shack did you say?"

"Back thar. You'll see it. He's just limed the outside of it. Guess
white's the color his new squaw fancies most. S'long."

The man was glad to be rid of his visitor. In spite of the sergeant's
assurance, Gustave never felt comfortable in the officer's presence.
Horrocks moved off in search of the white hut, while the Breed, with
furtive eyes, watched his progress.

There was no difficulty in locating the shack in that colony of grime.
Even in the darkness the gleaming white of the ex-spy's abode stood out
prominently. The dogs and children now tacitly acknowledged the right of
the police-officer's presence in their camp, and allowed him to move
about apparently unnoticed. He wound his way amongst the huts and tents,
ever watchful and alert, always aiming for Gautier's hut. He knew that
in this place at night his life was not worth much. A quick aim, and a
shot from behind, and no one would ever know who had dropped him. But
the Canadian police ar