The war was over. Batoche had practically settled the Rebellion. Riel was in his cell at Regina awaiting trial and execution. Pound-maker, Little Pine, Big Bear and some of their other Chiefs were similarly disposed of. Copperhead at Macleod was fretting his life out like an eagle in a cage. The various regiments of citizen soldiers had gone back to their homes to be received with vociferous welcome, except such of them as were received in reverent silence, to be laid away among the immortals with quiet falling tears. The Police were busily engaged in wiping up the debris of the Rebellion. The Commissioner, intent upon his duty, was riding the marches, bearing in grim silence the criticism of empty-headed and omniscient scribblers, because, forsooth, he had obeyed his Chief's orders, and, resisting the greatest provocation to do otherwise, had held steadfastly to his post, guarding with resolute courage what was committed to his trust. The Superintendents and Inspectors were back at their various posts, settling upon the reserves wandering bands of Indians, some of whom were just awakening to the fact that they had missed a great opportunity and were grudgingly surrendering to the inevitable, and, under the wise, firm, judicious handling of the Police, were slowly returning to their pre-rebellion status.
The Western ranches were rejoicing in a sense of vast relief from the terrible pall that like a death-cloud had been hanging over them for six months and all Western Canada was thrilling with the expectation of a new era of prosperity consequent upon its being discovered by the big world outside.
Upon the two men thus discussing, Mrs. Cameron, carrying in her arms her babe, bore down in magnificent and modest pride, wearing with matronly grace her new glory of a great achievement, the greatest open to womankind.
“He has just waked up from a very fine sleep,” she exclaimed, “to make your acquaintance, Inspector. I hope you duly appreciate the honor done you.”
The Inspector rose to his feet and saluted the new arrival with becoming respect.
“Now,” said Mrs. Cameron, settling herself down with an air of determined resolve, “I want to hear all about it.”
“Meaning?” said the Inspector.
“Meaning, to begin with, that famous march of yours from Calgary to the far North land where you did so many heroic things.”
But the Inspector's talk had a trick of fading away at the end of the third sentence and it was with difficulty that they could get him started again.
“You are most provoking!” finally exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, giving up the struggle. “Isn't he, baby?”