The job carried very heavy responsibilities, which aged him daily—not physically but mentally. He had, where duty was concerned, the outlook of a man twice his age. He was the connecting-link between officers and men, his task to see that every order and regulation was obeyed. Besides these matters concerning the internal economy of the Force, he had also to deal direct with law-breakers. So he came in touch with all the vice, wretchedness and stark tragedy abounding in the tent-towns and construction camps. He knew all the thieves, 'rollers,' toughs, shell-game experts, whiskey-peddlers and ladies of doubtful reputation by sight and most of them by name. When the scarlet-coated patrols swooped down on crowded caboose or side-tracked box-car at dead of night to catch the drunks in full carouse, he was almost always in the offing. When a gambling-joint was raided, he led the rush. When, in pauses between dances, the dirty men and painted women at the little tables in the reeking dance-halls became suddenly silent to watch a lone man in uniform pass vigilantly among them, the lone man was generally Hector.
In his turn, through all the seething, howling world whose axis was the railway, his was the most familiar figure. They knew him as the kindest and best-hearted of men to those who slipped through ignorance or foolishness, and, to those who slipped from choice, the most merciless; loved him or hated him, according to their lights; went out of their way to meet him or to avoid him; and feared him, one and all, far more than they feared God.
II
In spite of all his responsibilities and hard work, Hector found opportunities to have a little harmless fun; as witness Mr. Augustus J. Perkins, gambler and whiskey-smuggler, temporarily resident in the mushroom city of Regina.
Hector first spotted Mr. Perkins on the way to Qu'appelle, a few miles down the line, where Sergeant Cranbrook was stationed. His attention was drawn to Mr. Perkins because, firstly, the man's face was unfamiliar, secondly, he was a book-agent. Book-agents were frequently seen along the line and Hector had learned to regard them all with suspicion, as most of them adopted the profession to hide their true identity, which was generally criminal. And Mr. Perkins' appearance was against him. He was a plump, ruddy, cheery soul and might have passed muster but for his eyes, which were shifty and bloodshot; also, his nose was red. His hands were pudgy, too, and covered with cheap rings. He wore a little bow-tie, a wide-awake hat, a vile flowered waistcoat, a Prince Albert, very baggy trousers and a dazzling gold watch hung with many seals. His face was too good to be true and he studiously kept his eyes away from Hector. These things condemned him.
"I'll try him out," thought Hector.
He approached Mr. Perkins, who greeted him with a convincing smile but was still unable to hide his aversion to Mounted Policemen. Hector noted the fact.
"Nice day," he began, sitting down opposite the book-agent. "Augustus J. Perkins, I presume?"
"Yes." Then, doubtfully, "Le's see now, where'd we meet before?"
"It wasn't in jail, was it?" Hector smiled.