  Months later, at Fort Good Faith, Dick and Sandy sat in the trading room engaged in a game of cribbage, when Factor MacClaren strode over to their table, carrying in one hand a month’s old copy of an Edmonton newspaper. He interrupted the game by spreading out the paper between them, and turning the pages until he came to the particular item he had just read. “I knew you boys would be interested,” he said, indicating the place at the bottom of the column. “Yesterday when the mail came in, I looked over this copy of the Bulletin, but missed it somehow. Read it.” “All right, Dick,” commanded Sandy, “read it aloud.” Dick picked up the somewhat crumpled sheet and commenced breathlessly:
“The long arm of the law,” commented Sandy, as he glanced over Dick’s shoulder. “I suppose it would have been just the same if they had steamed into Rangoon. In the end, they always get caught.” “Just like Murky did,” added Dick. “Yes, just like Murky. You can’t fool the police.” “Especially the Canadian Royal Mounted,” appended the other proudly. In truth, Dick had every reason to be proud. In the inside pocket of his coat there reposed the most priceless of all his possessions—a letter from the commissioner at Ottawa. His application had been approved. Next spring he and Toma would report to the adjutant at the mounted police training barracks at Regina! |
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