And to this effigy of a Royal Northwest Mounted Policeman they were drinking vile toasts. The coat and hat were stiff with mud, but never before had they meant so much to Bud Conley, the Montana cowpuncher.
For a moment his eyes narrowed and he surged ahead, gripping the pistol in his pocket. He was going to show this howling mob of outlaws what it meant to insult the service. But he stopped. It suddenly dawned upon him that he was not a member of the force any longer. Why should he take up a challenge for the Mounted?
The noise at the bar stopped. Bud turned his head. Coming down the stairs was Joe Burgoyne, the half-breed, grinning widely. Bud moved further back against the wall, his hand still gripping the gun.
The men called loudly to Joe, who answered with a flash of his white teeth and a wave of his hand. A man shoved a cup of the raw liquor into his hands, while the others crowded around him.
"W'at about de police, Joe?" called one of the men at the card table.
The half-breed threw back his head and laughed mockingly.
"De police! Such a lot of fools! Ha, ha, ha! Listen," Joe sobered quickly, and the place was stilled.
"Today, or rather las' night, I am appointed to find out who kill one officer and one Injun. Everybody look out, because Joe Burgoyne is police spy."
A roar of laughter greeted this statement, in which Joe joined heartily. Then his roving eye caught sight of the effigy on the bar and he simulated sudden exasperation.