Author of "Cultus Collins and the Ghost Gold," "The Proof of Progress," etc.,
IT TOOK A BUNCH OF CROOKS ALONG THE CANADIAN BORDER QUITE A LONG TIME TO LEARN THEIR LESSON—THAT YOU CAN BUCK THE "MOUNTIES" JUST SO LONG, BUT THEY GET YOU IN THE END. BUT THEY DIDN'T KNOW THAT THERE WAS A MONTANA COWPUNCHER IN THE RANKS OF THE R. N. W. M. P.
Chapter I
THE RESIGNATION
"Monk Magee is so dog-gone lowdown that he could put on a plug-hat and walk under a snake," declared Bud Conley seriously, as he turned in the doorway and looked back at Inspector Grandon of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, who was seated at a desk, looking indifferently at a paper which Bud had just placed before him.
Grandon's eyebrows lifted a trifle, but he did not look at Bud, as he said crisply, "Perhaps that is true, Conley; still, he is no fool."
"You mean that he's got brains?" asked Bud. "Hell! All Magee's head is good for is to keep his ears from rubbin' on each other."
Grandon's thin lips twisted slightly. Coney's quaint sayings amused him at times, although he hated to admit it. Conley's indifference to discipline, absolute disregard for his superior officers, rasped Grandon to the quick; and he was not at all sorry that Conley was no longer a member of the R. N. W. M. P.
"I reckon I can consider m'self fired, can't I?" queried Bud, as he slowly rolled a cigarette.
"Yes. You are no longer a member of the force, Conley."
"And I never even got m'self drunk like a gentleman," wailed Bud. "One big shot of wobble-water and I went out and lost m' fly-wheel. Hell's delight, but that Magee hootch would make a moth-miller lick a hen-hawk!"