Hector was surprised to receive this letter from MacFarlane:
'MY DEAR ADAIR:
'This is going to be the hardest thing I ever wrote. Two months ago, you remember, you told me some day I'd realize the truth. The day has come. The Commissioner put me right. When he was up here last week, I went to him like a skunk to try and help the Prophet story along; but it didn't work. The Commissioner's too strong a man and too good a friend of yours to listen to gossip. Then he told me that you'd arranged my transfer here and indicated that he had guessed why. You had told him nothing of what had passed between us, he said. He also pointed out to me just how you would have acted had you been the hound I said you were—sending me away on duty and that kind of thing, as is sometimes done in the Services. Take this from me, Hector, I know where I am now and what I've been—a blind fool and a swine. God knows if I can ever save you from the consequences of what I did; but I'm going to do my best. The Commissioner thinks the story will die a natural death. I hope so, if I can't kill it myself. I can't ask your pardon—I don't deserve it. But love is blind—and sometimes crazy. I know I was. Keep a good heart, Hector. You're too good a man to be downed by a story of that kind anyway.
'Yours, &bnsp;&bnsp;&bnsp;&bnsp;&bnsp;&bnsp; Mac.'
So MacFarlane had come to earth at last!
Chapter IV
I
In the early springtime, over a year after Hector's receipt of MacFarlane's bitter apology, a notorious half-breed horse-thief and cattle-rustler named Whitewash Bill was being conveyed, under escort, to the cells at Broncho. A favourable opportunity presenting itself, the said Whitewash Bill succeeded in making his escape. Hector turned out scouts and patrols, which traced the wanted man to the nearest Indian reserve. At the reserve they ascertained that he had secured food and horses and had again taken flight. All detachments were warned and the entire machinery of the Broncho district was set going with the object of landing Whitewash Bill.
Thus began one of the most famous Western Canadian man-hunts; on one side the Mounted Police, parties of special constables recruited from the settlers and cowboys, Indian scouts and trackers, all directed and controlled by the sleepless brain and strong hand of the great 'Spirit-of-Iron'; on the other one lone desperado of tremendous endurance and fanatical courage, secretly aided by his own kinsmen and by others whose sympathy was with the criminal class.