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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Luck of the Mounted, by Ralph S. Kendall This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Luck of the Mounted A Tale of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police Author: Ralph S. Kendall Release Date: May 30, 2005 [eBook #15940] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LUCK OF THE MOUNTED*** E-text prepared by Al Haines THE LUCK OF THE MOUNTED A Tale of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police by SERGEANT RALPH S. KENDALL Ex-Member of the R.N.W.M.P. Grosset & Dunlap Publishers New York 1920 This truest of stories confirms beyond doubt, That truest of adages--"Murder will out!" In vain may the blood-spiller "double" and fly, In vain even witchcraft and sorcery try: Although for a time he may 'scape, by-and-by He'll be sure to be caught by a Hue and a Cry! --THE INGOLDSBY LEGEND TO MY OLD COMRADES PRESENT, AND EX-MEMBERS OF THE R.N.W.M. POLICE THIS WORK IS DEDICATED WITH EVERY KIND THOUGHT CHAPTER I _O sing us a song of days that are gone-- Of men and happenings--of war and peace; We love to yarn of "th' times that was" As our hair grows gray, and our years increase. So--revert we again to our ancient lays-- Fill we our pipes, and our glasses raise-- "Salue! to those stirring, bygone days!" Cry the old non-coms of the Mounted Police._ MEMORIES All day long the blizzard had raged, in one continuous squalling moaning roar--the fine-spun snow swirling and drifting about the barrack-buildings and grounds of the old Mounted Police Post of L. Division. Whirraru!-ee!--thrumm-mm! hummed the biting nor'easter through the cross-tree rigging of the towering flag-pole in the centre of the wind-swept square, while the slapping flag-halyards kept up an infernal "devil's tattoo." With snow-bound roof from which hung huge icicles, like walrus-tusks, the big main building loomed up, ghostly and indistinct, amidst the whirling, white-wreathed world, save where, from the lighted windows broad streamers of rad
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