| PAGE | |
| “Sorry You’re Going So Soon, Boys” | [ Frontispiece] |
| “How Do You Do?” | [ 67] |
| “Good Luck, Old Boy” | [ 147] |
| The Whole Crowd Was There | [ 203] |
| He Looked Up At the Man | [ 273] |
The Rambler Club Among
the Northwest Mounted
CHAPTER I
AT THE BARRACKS
Sergeant Jarvis Erskine of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, stationed at a lonely outpost barracks, was hard at work on his headquarters’ report. Occasionally the sergeant, a tall, spare man with a military bearing, stopped to stroke his iron-gray moustache, while a serious expression now and again seemed to creep into his keen, deep-set eyes. He glanced toward his lone companion, Teddy Banes, a half-breed, who sat so motionless in a shadowed corner of the room as to give the impression that he was enjoying a doze.
Teddy Banes, often employed by the police as a trail-breaker and scout, had on many occasions rendered valuable assistance to the “riders of the plains.” And though his sullen, morose nature prevented him from being a favorite, he possessed the confidence and esteem of the men at the post.
“Banes,” exclaimed Sergeant Erskine, finally breaking the monotonous silence which the ticking of the clock and the rustling of the breeze had served to render oppressive, “I’m afraid this is bad business.” With his pen half poised in the air, he turned once more to the half-breed, his eyes running over the long, lean form huddled up in the chair. “I say this is bad business,” repeated the sergeant, in a louder key. “One of the most promising young men on the force! I don’t like to think it, but——”
For the first time, Teddy Banes stirred, shifting his position so that the light fell full across his swarthy, large-featured face and long black hair.
“Yes, a bad business, sergeant,” he echoed. “He gone. No one ever see him more. He—what you call him—deserter.”
The palm of the sergeant’s hand came down upon his desk with a bang.
“Aye! It looks that way, man. And a fine, well-built chap he was, too.”