“That,” commented the Superintendent, “was a journey of over two hundred miles by dog sleighs in winter. Saved the man's life.”
And so the record ran. “Cattle thieves arrested.” “Whiskey smugglers captured.” “Stolen horses recovered.” “Insane man brought to Post.”
“That was rather a tough case,” said the Commissioner. “Meant a journey of some eight hundred miles with a man, a powerful man too, raving mad.”
“How many of your men on that journey?” enquired Cameron.
“Oh, just one. The fellow got away twice, but was recaptured and finally landed. Got better too. But the constable was all broken up for weeks afterwards.”
“Man, that was great!” exclaimed Cameron. “What a pity it should not be known.”
“Oh,” said the Commissioner lightly, “it's all in the day's duty.”
The words thrilled Cameron to the heart. “All in the day's duty!” The sheer heroism of it, the dauntless facing of Nature's grimmest terrors, the steady patience, the uncalculated sacrifice, the thought of all that lay behind these simple words held him silent for many minutes as he kept turning over the leaves.
As he sat thus turning the leaves and allowing his eye to fall upon those simple but eloquent entries, a loud and strident voice was heard outside.
“Waal, I tell yuh, I want to see him right naow. I ain't come two hundred miles for nawthin'. I mean business, I do.”