“Hopeless!” gasped Davis. “Half the population of the North will be swept out of existence before you can get help from there.”
Cameron shook his head.
“Not quite as bad as that, I hope. We have the government telegraph and the radio. Within twenty-four hours Edmonton will send out a relief expedition. We’ll meet them.”
As he spoke, the inspector reached forward and touched the buzzer on his desk. The orderly appeared, saluted.
“Get me the swiftest Indian runner you can find. Send him here. I want you to hurry, constable.”
Then Cameron drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write. When he had finished, Davis inquired:
“I suppose it will be necessary to wait until one of your men returns before you send out someone to meet that relief party?”
“No, not in this emergency. I’ve already decided. There are three young men living over at Fort Good Faith who will be glad to help me. One is a nephew of Factor MacClaren, another a young chap named Dick Kent, while the third boy is a young Indian scout called Toma. Two of them, Kent and Toma, we had planned to send to the mounted police training barracks at Regina last year, but the school was crowded and they have been compelled to remain here awaiting further word from the commissioner.”
“These boys are dependable, you say?”
“Absolutely.”