STONY GROUND
Constable Hope had no doubts. Professional instinct told him there was an important conspiracy hatching. He was ambitious, and he loved his work, so that every impulse prompted him to find and follow the threads of the plot. Smoothbore's action in keeping "tab"[10] on the number of men carrying rifles suggested to him that his Commandant regarded the situation as serious.
[10] Watch.
Therefore, beyond his orders—which were sufficient in themselves to work off an ordinary policeman's superfluous energy—Hope worked overtime. He discovered that George, Hugh, and Frank occupied the home-ranch once more, and were extremely busy. He reasoned that if a man's business be legitimate, it is easy to learn its nature. As the business of these men was not quite evident, he determined to find out what it was. So that on the morning of the meeting at the Dome Hope had made his way there also, by a detour to the east. His route was the longer, and the sun was hot. Also the trail he took led through some patches of swamp, which meant mosquitoes.
When he reached the nearest point to the Dome, where he could remain under cover of the bush, he was still out of earshot. He watched those who came in view, but because the council had been seated in a circle about the summit, after the manner of the Indian pow-wow, and he was below the level of that summit, he could see only some of those who had attended.
After the meeting had dissolved, and those remaining had plotted out their entrenchments and started to return to Dawson, Hope made bold to follow them. He drew back in time to avoid discovery from the five who still were gazing thoughtfully upon the town; but he happened to hear the reference to Five Ace Dan and the Wood-pile.
"They're camped on our trail. Five Ace would hardly be in demand for a prayer meeting," thought the guardian of the peace, as eventually he returned to the Police Barracks. He at once reported to Sergeant Galbraith.
"The big Tyee[11] held a council of war on the summit at noon to-day. These fellows are sure up to something."
[11] Chinook for Chief.
"Hear anything?"
"No; could not get near enough, except at the last, when the big Yankee said something about Five Ace Dan."
"Who's he?" asked Galbraith.
"The tin-horn on the Wood-pile for pulling a gun. Well, the Yankee said something about his helping their cause or something; and the one they call Hugh said he had no use for tin-horns. It looks as if the Yankee might be in communication inside the Barracks."
"Well, he wouldn't learn much."
"He might tell them how poor are our arms."
"They know that already," Galbraith snorted.
"And how weak our guard is."
"They know that, too. That's the reason of this insurrection, or one of the reasons. But what has a reference to Five Ace Dan got to do with this plot that is supposed to be going on?"
"Nothing, I guess. Probably nothing!"
"Well, the only thing you have to report is, that there was a pow-wow on the Dome this morning."
"I guess so."
"But whether they were planning to put us all out of business, or organizing an expedition to the North Pole—you don't know."
"That's right."
"Well, keep your eye on them, but don't report again until your report is calculated to make a noise."
Constable Hope, not a little discouraged by the way his report was received, sauntered out and drifted towards the Borealis. The seeds of his efforts had fallen on stony ground.
But after he was gone Sergeant Galbraith expanded his chest, drew up to the full extent of his six feet, and gazed through the door of his office at the muskeg, which did duty for a street.
"Another council at the top of the Dome," he said to himself. He stood a minute, stroked his moustache; then, his mind made up, strode out of the office, and in due course was in the presence of his Commanding Officer.
"Another council at the Dome, sir," he reported.
"Yes."
"Seems serious, sir, when men climb 1,800 feet, this hot weather, that they may talk in private."
"Any other signs, Sergeant?"
"It's the other signs that make it look serious. The number of men carrying rifles is increasing rapidly. Yesterday no less than three hundred rifles were seen in the streets."
"Did you question any of those carrying them?"
"No, sir. Had no orders, sir."
"Just so: it would not have done any good, and it might have done harm. And you have had all supplies bought up, arms and ammunition?"
"All that were better than our own, sir."
"Well, have them secretly brought to the men's quarters, and let each man have his pick. Then some of the best shots can have a day off to practise a bit."
"Very good, sir."
"Something is going to happen soon," said Smoothbore to Herbert, who during the interview had come in.
"Rather suggestive of Micawber that, if you will pardon my saying so," Herbert ventured to assert. He had been a sudden and complete convert to the theory that trouble was brewing. The inaction of his Chief had been getting on his nerves.
"Micawber had the great virtue of patience," answered Smoothbore with a smile.
"I would arrest the leaders, sir, on a trumped-up charge, and get the evidence out of them that way."
"That would be a mistake, my dear Herbert."
"Perhaps so, sir; but here they can shoot us down like rats. If we have to die, we had better die like men."
"If something does not turn up—as, you remind me, Micawber might have said—you will have sufficient opportunity to die."
"I should wish to sell my life pretty dearly sir!"
"Perhaps you won't have to sell it at all—if the something happens that I expect."
"What do you expect, sir, may I ask?"
"Just something," and Smoothbore smiled again. After a pause he continued, "By all the laws of military and political science the British Empire should have been wrecked ages ago. But something always has happened. To arrest the leaders of this conspiracy would, I am sure, be an error. It would precipitate matters, and undoubtedly cause bloodshed. You must remember it is not with redskins we are dealing. Many of these fellows who are arraying themselves against us are excellent shots, accustomed to rough life, and in every way calculated to make good fighters in such a country as this. If they really take up arms against us, there is nothing to do but fight—fight to the death, sell our lives as dearly as possible, as you say. If they have no intention of taking up arms—and it is not yet certain that they will—we can suffer no harm by inaction."
"We might buy the leaders."
"A man who would sell himself and his friends would not stay bought; and, somehow, I do not feel that the integrity of the British Empire should be maintained by purchasing her enemies."
"But then there are our lives!"
"Our lives don't figure in this proposition," and once again Smoothbore smiled.
Herbert felt his Chief was trifling with him and with the situation, so he rose from his chair, walked to the window, and looked out upon the quadrangle. This movement hid the flush of annoyance that had come over his face. He made an excuse, and found his way out of the office.
"If only I were in command here," he thought, "I'd clap these fellows on the Wood-pile, and then——"
After that point no well-defined line of action suggested itself to him.
Meanwhile, Smoothbore continued writing his report to Ottawa, telling of his suspicions, and explaining his action, or want of action. He intended to hold back the communication until the last moment—until he was satisfied that "something would not turn up," which would certainly be close to the crisis. Then he would confide it to a trusty scout and send to the "outside." While he was writing his mind constantly played with the facts of his own position. It pleased him to compare it with that of Gordon in Khartoum; with these differences, that, for him, assistance was out of the question, and his enemies were not fanatical and were Christian. His would be a soldier's death, if "something did not turn up."