But the man in scarlet had three great forces on his side—the tremendous moral force of the coat he wore, badge, as it was, of the terrible North-West Mounted Police, the Keepers of the Law, the whole corps embodied in one lone individual; the great moral force of absolute fearlessness and determination shown in the teeth of certain destruction; the stupendous moral force of the personality which the Indians dreaded and respected and which the outlaw himself had long known—the personality typified in the name 'Spirit-of-Iron.'
These three moral forces faced the half-breed now.
"Keep off," he repeated, "or I shoot."
"You daren't shoot me," the white man's voice came to him, remorselessly. "D'you hear, Bill? You dare not shoot me. See! My hands are empty—but you dare not shoot me, just the same...."
VI
That night, in every part of Canada, the printing-presses roared out their headlines, headlines which were once to have doomed and damned:
WHITEWASH BILL CAPTURED! SUPERINTENDENT ADAIR'S
GREAT VICTORY! GALLANT COMMANDER OF HUNT
TAKES MURDEROUS OUTLAW SINGLE-HANDED!
WITHOUT USING A WEAPON! A LYNCHING
AVERTED! ENEMIES DISCOMFITED!
SPIRIT-OF-IRON!