Hector felt triumphant. The Prophet's clamour, despite Welland's promise, had been very loud of late. Not that Hector had ever expected Welland to try seriously to stop the uproar. His enemy was too deadly an enemy to do that. Many citizens were muttering among themselves, asking why Adair still held his hand? Their criticisms had been hard to bear. But Hector had borne them stoically. The stout confidence of his men and of many other citizens had, of course, helped to make things easier.
He tried not to smile as he thought of what Welland would say when he heard the news: 'Demon George, the outlaw with a price on his head, dead or alive, taken at leisure by the Mounted Police.'
Sergeant-Major Bland came in. Hector gave him his instructions.
"He frequents the Maverick saloon. We'll tell off one man to make the arrest tonight. Warn him to do it quietly—nothing provocative—no gun-play if avoidable—the usual thing——"
"He's a dangerous man, sir. Perhaps two men——"
"No! You know the tradition? Well, look to it. But have a patrol at hand, in case of trouble. A corporal and two men."
"Very good, sir. Have you any suggestions?"
"Corporal Savage, perhaps."
"Yes, sir. And for the arrest? It wants a good, steady——"
"Yes. Humphries."