Not a sign of annoyance had escaped either of the constables up to the time a big Indian stepped up directly in front of Jack Collins and spat in his face. Whirra, whirroo! A big mutton-leg fist shot through the prairie air, and the Sioux brave, with broken nose, lay like a crushed moccasin at Jack's feet.
"Take that, you black baste!" he hissed, between his clenched teeth. "An' ye've made me disobey orders, ye foul fiend!"
Then he marched his prisoners into the post, and reported himself for misconduct for striking an Indian. The three prisoners were sent to Regina, and tried for murder. I do not know whether Jack was punished for his handiwork or not, though it is quite likely that he was strongly censured at least.
In 1896 a party of several hundred Crees, who had gone on a raid into Montana, were returned by the United States authorities, under guard of a cavalry regiment, and the Mounted Police were notified to meet them and take charge at the boundary. What was the amazement of the American officers to be met by a sergeant and two constables; but such was the influence of their uniform that the Indians meekly marched ahead of them back to their reserve. In 1907 a single constable followed an escaped convict and noted desperado for over 2,000 miles of the pathless northern wilderness, and brought him back to stand trial. These are but samples of what the North-West Mounted Police have been doing for over thirty years for the fair name of Canada.
When the Strathcona Horse were organized for South African service, 300 members of the corps were mounted policemen; the gallant commander was the commissioner, Lieutenant-Colonel Steele, and the whole Empire is familiar with their record there. Many of the members are "remittance men," the younger sons and often the prodigals of well-known English families, and not infrequently of noble birth. In recent years there has been added to their duties the care of the Yukon, and the maintenance of order in this great gold camp far up at the Arctic Circle has fully sustained their reputation.
CHAPTER VII
THE SHIP OF THE PRAIRIE
"All aboard!" Such is the commanding cry which rings out in a Canadian railway-station when a train is quite ready to start. "All aboard!" shouts the conductor as he walks briskly alongside the train. In climb the waiting passengers, and without further warning the big, ponderous engine begins to move; and as it moves, the big bell which it carries begins to toll, and keeps on tolling until the train is well clear of the station. There is no string of guards and porters crying, "Take your seats, please!" and no ringing of a station bell, as in England. The conductor is the master of the train. Indeed, he is more like the captain of a ship, and wields almost as much authority over his passengers as does the captain of a big Atlantic liner. You will notice that his cry when the train is ready to start is one that would be appropriate to use to people intending to embark on a vessel. The camel in tropical countries is called the "ship of the desert." It would be just as suitable to call the Canadian train the "ship of the prairie," especially as many phrases are used with regard to trains that we are more accustomed to associate with travelling by sea. For instance, when a Canadian merchant sends away by train a quantity of timber or of potatoes, or even groceries, he always speaks of "shipping" them. Again, the men who are in charge of a train—namely, the engine-driver, the stoker, the conductor, the luggage-clerk (baggage-man), the post-office officials (mail-clerks), and the parcels official (express agent), are spoken of collectively as the "train crew."