Suddenly there was another stir about the door, and a young fellow in scarlet tunic and yellow-striped riding-pants walked briskly in. His lithe figure, his clean boyish face, his military alertness, were in striking contrast to the ambling, carelessly-dressed crowd. He had taken in the situation at a glance, and walked, neither faster nor slower, direct to the desperado. The latter found himself confronted by an unexpected dilemma. If he took his gun off the lumber-jack to cover the policeman he knew perfectly well that the promised slat-cracking process would begin immediately. If the policeman had only stood at the door and ordered him to put up his gun, or parleyed, or thought of his skin as a policeman should, he would have had time to plan his campaign. But this boy in scarlet was a revelation of something new in policemen. It was only eight steps from the door to where the outlaw stood, and those eight steps at parade pace occupied about three seconds. The gentleman from Montana was quick enough with his gun, but not particularly nimble in intellect, and he never faced a situation quite like this before. What was this policeman going to do, anyway? Would he never stop and deliver his ultimatum? He had not even drawn his gun!
By this time the policeman was beside him. He did not seize him, nor shout at him, nor menace him in any way, yet somewhere in his manner and bearing was a sense of irresistible power.
"Perhaps you don't know that it's against the law to flourish a revolver in this country," he said. "Better let me keep it for you until you are leaving town."
"Against the law!" said the ruffian, now recovering himself. "That's a good one. Why, ever'thin' I've done for twenty years has been against the law. I cracked up the law for chicken-grit years ago."
"Not the Canadian law," said the Mounted Policeman. "You'll only offend against it once, and it won't be the law that gets cracked."
"Thas' so?" sneered the other. "Then what'll happen?"
"I'll arrest you."
"You? I could eat you in three bites. I can lick you with one hand."
"How many like me do you think you could lick?" asked the policeman, with imperturbable composure.
The man from Montana had removed his eye from the lumber-jack, who was now dancing about in menacing attitudes.