"What did the stranger say?"
"He talked philosophy."
"Philosophy!"
"Yes; he's an Australian."
"Did he rouse them?"
"They did not say much; he held them quiet."
"Any sedition?"
"Yes, sir. He says the man who steals another man's work is a murderer, in that he takes a portion of his life; and he quoted the Bible."
The Sergeant saluted and retired. Smoothbore paced his room. A man who could silence a Dawson crowd—one who quoted the Bible—was a man to be watched! Smoothbore knew his duty; it was to his sovereign, and his sovereign's authority; it was in his province to maintain the integrity of his sovereign's empire. He knew that many of his men sympathized with the miners, and that the miners were conscious of this sympathy. He knew, also, that many of the miners believed, in the case of an uprising of the people, that the opposition of the police would be merely nominal. The question, what action he should take, had been facetiously asked him many times; but he had allowed no man to read his mind. The iniquities of the liquor-permit system were known to him, for in his official capacity he had to enforce the law. The rascality in the Gold Commissioner's office, and the graft of the toll-bridge and the Bonanza Creek trail, all—all were known to him, and were bad, bad—thoroughly bad. Villainy, barefaced or subtle, permeated officialdom, but officialdom he must protect.