“Not here. This is treaty land. Plenty of good surveyed homesteads around the post.”
“Thanks. I prefer to pick my own location.”
“I’ll give you your choice. You can either come down to the post where I can keep an eye on your doings, or go back up the river where you came from.”
“Do you call this a free country?”
“Never mind that. You’re getting off easy. If you’d rather, I’ll put you under arrest and carry you down to the post for trial.”
“On what charge?”
“Furnishing whisky to the Indians.”
“It’s a lie!” cried the man, hoping to provoke Stonor into revealing the extent of his information.
But the policeman shrugged, and remained mum.
The other suddenly changed his front. “All right, I’ll go if I have to,” he said, with a conciliatory air. “To-morrow.”