iful specimen; a man of great force," I unburdened myself when
we got outside. "Have you many like him? I'd admire to see him cavorting
around on the pinnacles after horse-thieves or whisky-runners or a bunch
of bad Indians. A peaceable citizen would sure do well on the other side
of the line if sheriffs and marshals took a lay-off to feed themselves
when a man was in the middle of his complaint. How long do you suppose
it will take that fat slob to get a squad of these soldier-policemen on
the trail of that ten thousand?"

MacRae laughed dryly. "Old Dobson is harmless, all right, so far as
hunting outlaws is concerned. But he doesn't cut much figure around
here, one way or the other; no more than two or three other 'haw-haw'
Englishmen who got commissions in the Force on the strength of their
family connections. Lessard--the major in charge--is the brains of the
post. He gets out and does things while these fatheads stay in quarters
and untangle red tape. Personally, I don't like Lessard--he's a damned
autocrat. But he's the man to whip this unorganized country into shape.
I imagine he'll paw up the earth when he hears our story."

We mounted and rode to the stables. When we'd unsaddled and put up our
horses, Mac led the way toward a row of small, whitewashed cabins set
off by themselves, equidistant from barrack and officers' row.

"Sometimes I eat with the sergeants' mess," Mac said. "But generally I
camp with 'Bat' Perkins when I drop in here. Bat's an ex-stock-hand like
ourselves, and we'll be as welcome as payday. And he'll know if Lyn
Rowan has come to Walsh."

I wasn't in shape, financially, to have any choice in the matter of a
stopping-place. Forty or fifty dollars of expense money covered the
loose cash in my pockets when I left Walsh for Benton; and, while I may
have neglected to mention the fact, those two coin-collectors didn't
overlook the small change when they held me up for La Pere's roll. There
was a sort of sheebang--you couldn't call it a hotel if you had any
regard for the truth--on the outskirts of Walsh, for the accommodation
of wayfarers without a camp-outfit, but most of the time you couldn't
get anything fit to eat there. So I was mighty glad to hear about Bat
Perkins.

CHAPTER VII.

THIRTY DAYS IN IRONS!

It transpired, however, that before we reached Bat Perkins' cabin Mac
got an unexpected answer to one of the questions he intended to ask. As
we turned the corner of a rambli