In due course, that is three or four days afterwards, Constable Hope returned from the creeks with the report that there was no trace to be found of the allies of John Berwick. To Smoothbore this was not evidence of any abandonment of the conspiracy. He was convinced that Berwick meant business. There was, besides, a strange quietude reigning over Dawson. So mercurial a population could not have let its excitement subside and disappear in that short time.

On the other hand, Inspector Herbert was confident enough to be facetious at the expense of the enemies of officialdom. When Smoothbore told him that Hope's expedition had no result, he said,

"I thought as much; you'll find the reputed leader has some fool theory of the origin of gold, and is camped on the Dome to receive inspiration, while his followers have slipped off down the river for the good of their healths."

"Perhaps," replied Smoothbore as he glanced at the Dome. "Perhaps!" and they parted.

"The old man is a bit locoed on this rebellion theory," mused Herbert as he went along. "It's strange in a man who has seen so much service, and with him it is not 'nerves.'" Just then Herbert happened to glance up at the Dome. "By Jove! what a position for a couple of maxims. One hundred men could stand off ten thousand. I wonder! There are thousands of men starving, with many too proud to beg, and little to spare even for them. What would a successful revolution mean? For one thing, it would establish a multitude of openings in the new Civil Service—with chances of graft. It would mean a new police force, or militia, perhaps both, the members of which would, at least, be fed. It is not a case so much of righting wrong, as of getting for these fellows a piece of the pumpkin. Taking that view of it, it looks serious. What if the old man were right!" Such were the thoughts that flashed through Herbert's mind.

Almost within a minute after Smoothbore had left him he was wavering in his opinions; now he was striding in pursuit of him.

"Well—what do you think we had better do about it," asked the Commandant, after he had heard the changed opinions of his Inspector.

"Arrest the leaders!"

The conversation was interrupted by a knock at the office-door, which was followed by the entrance of Constable Hope, quite in a fluster.

"I have located Berwick's friends, sir," he reported, "in fact he was with them when I spotted them. They were all in Baxter's Free Library, and they are up to something. Berwick sits reading the Bible, and every now and then one of his aides-de-camp comes up and whispers in his ear, and then goes away to begin opening conversation with some pilgrim. I sat down, thinking one of them might come to me with his talk, but no results, sir."

"Well, now you have them located, take two good men in plain clothes and point the gang out to them; in fact, you might take four, so that henceforth they can be easily traced. Detail one man to Berwick and two to the others."

"Good man, that," remarked Herbert, when Hope had left their presence.

"Yes, it would be a pity to have him in the Army."

"My guess seems to have been wrong as to the movements of the gang."

Smoothbore made no comment on this, but asked,

"Would you arrest them now?"

"Yes."

"I am afraid I must still disagree with you," was the Chief's answer, and Herbert shortly after went away.

Constable Hope collected together four of his comrades, told them to dress in civilian clothes and follow him. They did so and joined the crowd in Baxter's. In due time the four policemen had registered in their memory the features of John Berwick and his followers. Constable Hope then told off three men according to instructions, and with the remaining policeman left the place.

"Who are those fellows?" asked the Constable who accompanied Hope.

"Berwick is the prospective liberator of the oppressed and down-trodden miner. He can talk on occasions; in fact I heard him and nearly determined to jump my uniform."

"What do they propose to do?"

"Send the police down the river, and set up for themselves!"

"Cheerful for us! Do you think they will make the effort?"

"Smoothbore seems to take them seriously, and I think Herbert is coming to think the same way."

"What will Smoothbore do?"

"Stand pat! What else would he do? What would you or I do?" and Constable Hope looked at his companion in a manner not complimentary.

"The outfit would surely get licked in the end."

"To be sure they would!—but in the meantime, two years: how much could you graft in two years?"

This query admitted of no reply, and lacking a further word from his companion, Constable Hope continued,

"Fifty miles, ten hours on the river—and you are in the land of Uncle Sam! See?"

"Yes, I see."

"If you think over it a bit you will see more."

"Yes, I guess my vision would enlarge; and you say Smoothbore is only standing pat?"

"I do."

"Funny!"

"It's not funny: it's the only thing to do; they have not begun to mass their forces yet. When they do we might have some evidence."

Shortly after Hope and Inspector Herbert had left Smoothbore, Sergeant Galbraith knocked at the office door, and reported.

"I've looked into the second-hand shops, and sized up their ammunition. Rosenbaum on Second Street reports considerable buying lately, and so does Hobson on Third Avenue. In fact, sir, they appeared to be somewhat excited. The Jew thought there was a strike up the Klondike and the Cockney thought there must be a stampede up the Stewart."

"Perhaps these stories may be right!"

"No, sir, I think not. The town patrol reported to-day two fellows in from Wind City, sir, on the Edmonton Trail, and I looked them up. They had not met any fellows going up the Stewart; that is, any number worth mentioning."

"Then this looks like corroborative evidence: at least the trouble is reaching such a stage as to make it advisable to get on the defensive; also, we must let the men know what seems likely to happen. Have the town patrol keep their eyes on all men carrying rifles."

"Very good, sir."

"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"!