And at this point Mr. Jerry Duncan managed to make his presence felt.
“You simply have to come inside now,” he exclaimed. “The smugglers haven’t anything on me, Jed. I’m going to take you prisoner. Inside with him, boys! The Mounted Police have no terrors for us.”
Instantly the ranchman’s hand fell on Jed Warren’s shoulder, and, ably assisted by his courageous band, he hustled this particular member of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police unceremoniously into the big dining-room of the ranch-house.
“The sentence for your ‘desertion’ is: that you shall be allowed freedom after eating one of the best meals ever prepared in this place.”
“And we will ably assist!” cried Dave. “These little incidents that are always occurring to the Rambler Club do give me an uncommonly good appetite.”
“Shortly, you shall be sentenced to make a speech,” cried Mr. Duncan.
“I’ll make two, if agreeable,” laughed Dave.
The dinner was, naturally, a lively and jolly affair. Every one rose to the occasion. Jed made the first “oration.” He laughingly expressed the opinion that the Canadian government could not do better than to employ the entire Rambler Club to act as an advisory board.
“Never,” cried the jovial Mr. Duncan, at the conclusion of the “banquet,” “have I enjoyed myself so much.”