"I'm coming to that. As I was saying, that's how it's sized up there. And why isn't it so? Because—again—of the Mounted Police, who have the lucky ones under their protection, according to the law.
"Now about the men this side the line. Hundreds, even thousands, this side Hopeful Pass have just as much right to get in on the Black Elk gold as any man alive. But they can't. Again—why?"
"Because the yallah-legs won't let 'em," muttered the gangster.
"Just so. The Mounted Police call them undesirables and shut the door in their faces."
"Well, where do we come in? Cut it short, man; cut it short."
Welland took several leisurely puffs at his cigar. Then, leaning over, he said with marked emphasis:
"We are in sympathy with that discontented crowd—you are—and I am!"
"I am—cert'nly," exclaimed Greasy, looking at him suspiciously; "but you—say!"
"Yes, I am. I'm for justice."
"Like sin!" the gangster sneered. "You're a Canadian M.P. You're on the side o' the law. Your bread's buttered on that side, and you eat it."