liard and gambling "joint" down at the post
where the Elbow joins the Bow, when McIvor, without bluff or bluster,
took his chainman and his French-Canadian cook, the latter frothing mad
with "Jamaica Ginger" and "Pain-killer," out of the hands of the gang
of bad men from across the line who had marked them as lambs for the
fleecing. It was not the courage of his big chief so much that
had filled Cameron with amazed respect and admiration as the calm
indifference to every consideration but that of getting his men out of
harm's way, and the cool-headed directness of the method he employed.

"Come along, boys," McIvor had said, gripping them by their coat
collars. "I don't pay you good money for this sort of thing." And so
saying he had lifted them clear from their seats, upsetting the table,
ignoring utterly the roaring oaths of the discomfited gamblers. What
would have been the result none could say, for one of the gamblers had
whipped out his gun and with sulphurous oaths was conducting a vigourous
demonstration behind the unconscious back of McIvor, when there strolled
into the room and through the crowd of men scattering to cover, a tall
slim youngster in the red jacket and pill-box cap of that world-famous
body of military guardians of law and order, the North West Mounted
Police. Not while he lived would Cameron forget the scene that followed.
With an air of lazy nonchalance the youngster strode quietly up to
the desperado flourishing his gun and asked in a tone that indicated
curiosity more than anything else, "What are you doing with that thing?"

"I'll show yeh!" roared the man in his face, continuing to pour forth a
torrent of oaths.

"Put it down there!" said the youngster in a smooth and silky voice,
pointing to a table near by. "You don't need that in this country."

The man paused in his demonstration and for a moment or two stood in
amazed silence. The audacity of the youngster appeared to paralyse his
powers of speech and action.

"Put it down there, my man. Do you hear?" The voice was still smooth,
but through the silky tones there ran a fibre of steel. Still the
desperado stood gazing at him. "Quick, do you hear?" There was a
sudden sharp ring of imperious, of overwhelming authority, and, to the
amazement of the crowd of men who stood breathless and silent about,
there followed one of those phenomena which experts in psychology
delight to explain, but which no man can understand. Without a word the