Chapter III
I
But there was more work than play for the Police in those early days, when they were striking at the roots of disorder.
The most powerful of their foes was the whiskey-trader. To the extermination of the whiskey-trader they directed a special campaign. Hardly a day went by through all the winter which did not see an expedition starting out to raid some distant outfit or returning with prisoners and spoil. A long ride through solitary darkness, a careful bit of scouting to surround the blissfully ignorant camp, a sudden swoop at dawn with levelled carbines and sometimes with a flurry of resistance; the guilty parties taken, the robes and liquor confiscated—thus went the programme. Courage, endurance, cunning, endless patience were all required to win success in the great game and no man employed on a whiskey raid could claim that his talents were wasted.
'Red-hot' Dan was operator, single-handed, of a den near the boundary-line. He was also a desperate character.
But no law-breaker, however desperate, could go unchallenged now. The Police must deal with him as with all. An exception, however, was made to this extent: the party was picked unusually carefully.
Sergeant-Major Whittaker led it. Martin Brent went with him as scout and guide. The three others were Constable Cranbrook; Constable Bland, the finest marksman in the Force; and Constable Adair.
The trumpeter was sounding 'Reveille' as they left Fort Macleod and turned their horses southward.
At dusk they reached Joe Welland's shack, where they proposed to pass the night. A light gleamed through the grimy panes.
"The King's in his Castle," remarked Cranbrook.