"Half-past eleven! Dissipation. And to-morrow we must dive deeper into
the records of those two speeders. I don't know that I'm quite fair,
Williams, but I imagine Torrance hasn't been taking us completely into
his confidence, though he seems thoroughly stirred over this. They have
me guessing--the most unlikely things, even to some silly club wager.
But there isn't a club within three hundred miles. I'm off to-morrow to
Mile 135. Torrance says the ticker is set up there. I want to talk to
Saskatoon."

Constable Williams shrugged his shoulders. "Those speeders were up to
something they're not telling Saskatoon or any one else that we're apt to
get any information from."

"That's what I'm going to find out. They couldn't go far without being
seen, and they'd have to stick to the railway. There's still a gang
clearing up at Mile 63, I think."

"That was where I spent the night, wasn't it?" asked his wife. "There's
an engineer there with his whole family and two women besides. It's a
long way to be from neighbours."

"One never speaks of neighbours out here, Mrs. Mahon," smiled Constable
Williams. "It makes one homesick. It's so long since we had neighbours
that we've gone a bit rusty on the amenities of society. There's so
little we can do for the first woman--"

"Williams, you're fishing." Mahon shook his head affectionately at his
subordinate. "If you'd heard my wife this morning--"

"If you don't mind, dear," interrupted Helen, "I prefer to give my own
thanks."

"But you just said this morning you couldn't--"

"Don't try, please," said Williams, with a grin. He drew a sigh. "I
suppose now I ought to forego a selfish pleasure and let you go to bed.
If I could only look sleepy! But I feel as if bed were an interruption,
a nasty, bad-dispositioned, irritating kill-joy. And you'll be heavy
with the chloroform of this rare air. Ah, me! Just when life begins--"

"It won't go down, Williams," teased Mahon. "The air up here has nothing
on Medicine Hat. Not even its wildest booster would claim for the Hat
the poison of a manufacturing town. Meteorologically it must be as far
from civilisation as Mile 127. The worst up here is trying to compete
with the sun in the matter of sleep. In the summer one would get about
three hours; in the winter there wouldn't be time to prepare meals.
Winter must be eerie. Even now I scent it--"

He shifted suddenly in his chair. Then with a dash he and Wi