PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY PURNELL AND SONS
PAULTON, SOMERSET, ENGLAND
To
Those Fortunates Who First Saw The Light Of Day In This Glorious Country, And With Whom Rests The Future Prosperity Of The Land of Their Birth—THE NATIVE SONS OF CANADA—This Book is respectfully dedicated
THE CRIMSON WEST
CHAPTER I
Jangling his keys on their big ring, the sheriff led John McLean down several steps, then through a long, narrow hall to the rear of the jail. From a distant corridor came the sound of a raucous voice attempting to sing one of the popular ragtimes of the day.
“Some fellow’s still got a ‘hang-over,’ ” observed the sheriff as he paused before a cell, consulted a number, then searched for the key. As the door swung open a sleepy voice was raised in mock solemnity.
“What ho, varlet! Why dost thou open the dungeon door? Has the king granted a reprieve?” His eyes blinking, the inmate stepped into the bright light of the hall. A dull red suffused his pale face as he saw the tall figure behind the sheriff.