"Report direct to me anything that appears of interest."
"Yes, sir."
"And, Sergeant—what about those fellows who arrived from Edmonton?"
"They were in a very bad state, sir. Of their party of fourteen they were the only survivors. They wintered at Wind City, got scurvy, and all died but four, and of the four these two only remain. The other two were drowned in a rapid."
"Poor fellows! That will do, Sergeant."
Smoothbore was left to his recollections and general musings.
"Gold, gold—the price that is paid for it! Fifty thousand men in this stampede; two hundred and fifty thousand people affected; homes devastated; affections torn asunder! Hundreds dead by scurvy or drowning; thousands with constitutions wrecked! The gold is not worth the candle, with the Trusts betrayed and morals twisted! It is not worth it. Look at this little Yukon district, remote from the world. Our genesis was of gold; it would seem our dissolution will be through the same agent! The love of gold, that it may command luxury, is a source of overwhelming evil: it feeds our vices—that is pretty well all that can be said of this insensate greediness. But this is not practical!" he continued, moving. "I must give orders that the men pay special attention to their rifles and side-arms;" and he went off at once to the orderly office. The time had come for every preparation to be made. The Commandant considered the position.
There was no scope for fortifying the Barracks. The buildings were of logs, loopholes could be made by the simple process of pushing a rifle barrel through the mortar. The main thing was that the police should appear to be unconscious of the movement on foot.
One action he determined upon, and that was the purchase of the best rifles and ammunition in the shops: this to be accomplished by secret agents. This was not entirely intended to keep arms from Berwick's men, for the enemy would still have enough ammunition to exterminate the police force. But the arms of the police were not "modern"!