pen in arctic weather; and the
peaceful progress of western Canada is due largely to their unrelaxing
vigilance, Blake gave them a short account of their journey and
explained his party's present straits.

"Well," said the Sergeant, "I figure that we have provisions enough to
see us down to the settlements all right, and we'll be glad of your
company. The stronger the party, the smoother the trail; and after
what you've told me, I guess you can march."

"Where did you find the half-breed?" Benson asked. "Your chiefs at
Regina don't allow you hired packers."

"They surely don't. He's a Hudson Bay man, working his passage. Going
back to his friends somewhere about Lake Winnipeg, and decided he'd
come south with us and take the cars to Selkirk. I was glad to get
him; I'm not smart at driving dogs."

"We found it hard to understand the few Indians we met," said Harding.
"The farther north you go, the worse it must be. How will the fellows
you left up yonder get on?"

The Sergeant laughed.

"When we want a thing done, we can find a man in the force fit for the
job. One of the boys I took up can talk to them in Cree or Assiniboin;
and it wouldn't beat us if they spoke Hebrew or Greek. There's a
trooper in my detachment who knows both."

Benson did not doubt this. He turned to Private Walthew, whose face,
upon which the firelight fell, suggested intelligence and refinement.

"What do you specialize in?"

"Farriery," answered the young man, he might have added that
extravagance had cut short his career as veterinary surgeon in the old
country.

"Knows a horse all over, outside and in," Sergeant Lane interposed. "I
allow that's why they sent him when I asked for a good dog driver,
though in a general way our bosses aren't given to joking. Walthew
will tell you there's a difference between physicking a horse and
harnessing a sled team."

"It's marked," Walthew agreed with a chuckle. "When I first tried to
put the traces on I thought they'd eat me. Even now I have some
trouble; and I'll venture to remind my superior that he'd be short of
some of his fingers if they didn't serve us out good thick mittens."

"That's right," admitted Lane good-humoredly. "I'm sure no good at
dogs. If you're going to drive them, you want to speak Karalit or
French. Plain English cussin's no blame use."

Emile announced that supper was ready, and the police watched their new
acquaintances devour it with sympathetic unde