"They haven't counseled violence or said anything more about a change actually at hand?"
"Not since Greasy shot that actor 'bout three weeks ago, sir. Strange thing, that!"
"Very. Well, keep your eyes and ears open, Perkins. And stick to Greasy—tight. I may tell you, things are looking very serious here. We've had meetings demanding the Lieutenant-Governor's resignation and a clean sweep of everyone in power. They haven't threatened—but the Territory is rising to a turmoil. The other day, though, a miners' meeting at Nugget advised lynching the recorder. Mr. Cranbrook talked them into reason—a fine piece of diplomacy; but it all points to unrest. You report similar troubles from Prospect. Then again, I learn, recently, of several attempts to smuggle in large quantities of arms—started with a big nigger in the late summer—I'm speaking confidentially—and has continued intermittently ever since. It may mean nothing—or a great deal. Now, do all these things connect? And is Greasy in the game? That's what you must find out, Perkins."
"I'll stick to Greasy day an' night, sir."
"Good. And keep me posted. Mum's the word.
"Yes, sir. Good night."
III
Hopeful Pass lay gripped in the first big cold of the northern winter. Every lake, creek and river in Black Elk was frozen over. The miners had deserted their claims for town or retired into their shacks till spring. Travellers in the pass might be counted on one hand. The human tide, like the watery tide, had succumbed to the wintry clutch.
And yet the Mounted Police post was as active as in the days of the rush. Half the men were tramping up and down in the snow. Outside their big fur coats they wore their bandoliers, belts and revolvers, and each man carried his carbine, while young Inspector Gemmell, similarly equipped, was sitting on an open box of ammunition.
They were going to fight? They were—if necessary.