The trader exchanged glances with Welland, his florid face growing redder with suppressed delight.
III
Though John had sent the whiskey in a perfectly legitimate way, Hector could not use it, for the reason that, to do his work properly, he must keep up his reputation as an incorruptible enemy of liquor. If he gave way, his enemies would certainly adopt the cynical attitude that Hector, being able to get whiskey for himself whenever he pleased, had nothing to gain by winking at the operations of those less fortunate and so was zealous where he would otherwise have been slack. A better course than destroying the whiskey would have been to ship it straight back to John in Welland's presence; but Hector failed to think of this at the time.
In the late afternoon, Randall drove his sleigh into barracks.
"I got the case outside, Sergeant," he said. "Will I bring it in?"
"No," said Hector. "Dump it on the parade-ground."
Hector took an axe. They went out together.
"Why, Sergeant!" exclaimed Randall, in great alarm. "Yah ain't really goin'—? Ah, say, don't, Sergeant, don't! It's a sinful waste o' the gifts o' Providence, Sergeant—Ah!"
His voice rose to a shriek as Hector reduced the case to a pulp of splintered wood and broken glass.
"Now you tell anyone who ever mentions it what I do to private stock, Randall," said Hector, as he pitched the wreckage into the sleigh. "You understand. You've got to tell the truth. Savvy?"