“And less than five hundred police! Say, General, I take off my hat. Ten thousand Indians! By the holy poker! And five hundred police! How in Cain do you keep down the devils?”
“We don't try to keep them down. We try to take care of them.”
“Guess you've hit it,” said Mr. Raimes, dexterously squirting out of the door.
“Jeerupiter! Say, General, some day they'll massacree yuh sure!” said Mr. Cadwaller, a note of anxiety in his voice.
“Oh, no, they are a very good lot on the whole.”
“Good! We've got a lot of good Indians too, but they're all under graound. Five hundred men! Jeerupiter! Say, Sligh, how many soldiers does Uncle Sam have on this job?”
“Well, I can't say altogether, but in Montana and Dakota I happen to know we have about four thousand regulars.”
“Say, figger that out, will yuh?” continued Mr. Cadwaller. “Allowed four times the territory, about the same number of Indians and about one-eighth the number of police. Say, General, I take off my hat again. Put it there! You Canucks have got the trick sure!”
“Easier to care for 'em than kill 'em, I guess,” said Mr. Raimes casually.
“But, say, General,” continued Mr. Cadwaller, “you ain't goin' to send for them hosses with no three men?”