And perhaps—who knew?—it might be the turning-point in Perkins' career.
"God, you're a white man, Mr. Adair," declared the gambler, as they parted, "the first white policeman I've ever met."
"None of that," growled Hector. "And mind you behave while I'm away."
"It's not much to do," he thought, as he walked back to his quarters. "A small thing——"
A small thing, yes; but then he did not know that on it was dependent an epoch in his destiny.
Chapter II
I
The journey Eastward was one bewildering revelation to Hector. The changes in the past ten years had been marvellous. It pleased him to think that without the Mounted Police they would have been impossible.
Staying nearly two days in Winnipeg—now a thriving town—he enjoyed a personal triumph. Word of his arrival brought hosts of people to see him and showers of invitations. Big Jim Hackett, one-time owner of the Hell's Gate saloon, now proprietor of one of the best hotels, insisted in quartering Hector and Hugh under his roof, though the place was already jammed. Andrew Ferguson, whose bakery had grown stupendously, fought with little Johnny Oakdale, now monarch of a bustling hardware store, for the pleasure of showing Hector round; and so on; and so on.