The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [4]
the Sergeant with a grin. "He appeared to have a fairly good reason, too."
"Reason!" snorted the Superintendent. "Reason! What in--? What did he--? Why did he pull off that fool stunt at this particular time? A kid like him has no business getting married."
"Mighty fine girl, sir," suggested the Sergeant warmly. "Mighty lucky chap. Not many fellows could resist such a sharp attack as he had."
"Fine girl! Oh, of course, of course--fine girl certainly. Fine girl. But what's that got to do with it?"
"Well, sir," ventured the Sergeant in a tone of surprise, "a good deal, sir, I should say. By Jove, sir, I could have--if I could have pulled it off myself--but of course she was an old flame of Cameron's and I'd no chance."
"But the Service, sir!" exclaimed the Superintendent with growing indignation. "The Service! Why! Cameron was right in line for promotion. He had the making of a most useful officer. And with this trouble coming on it was--it was--a highly foolish, indeed a highly reprehensible proceeding, sir." The Superintendent was rapidly mounting his pet hobby, which was the Force in which he had the honor to be an officer, the far-famed North West Mounted Police. For the Service he had sacrificed everything in life, ease, wealth, home, yes, even wife and family, to a certain extent. With him the Force was a passion. For it he lived and breathed. That anyone should desert it for any cause soever was to him an act unexplainable. He almost reckoned it treason.
But the question was one that touched the Sergeant as well, and deeply. Hence, though he well knew his Chief's dominant passion, he ventured an argument.
"A mighty fine girl, sir, something very special. She saw me through a mountain fever once, and I know--"
"Oh, the deuce take it, Sergeant! The girl is all right. I grant you all that. But is that any reason why a man should desert the Force? And now of all times? He's only a kid. So is she. She can't be twenty-five."
"Twenty-five? Good Lord, no!" exclaimed the shocked Sergeant. "She isn't a day over twenty. Why, look at her. She's--"
"Oh, tut-tut! If she's twenty it makes it all the worse. Why couldn't they wait till this fuss was over? Why, sir, when I was twenty--" The Superintendent paused abruptly.
"Yes, sir?" The Sergeant's manner was respectful and expectant.
"Never mind," said the Superintendent. "Why rush the thing, I say?"
"Well, sir, I did hear that there was a sudden change in Cameron's home affairs in Scotland, sir. His father died suddenly, I believe. The estate was sold up and his sister, the only other child, was left all alone. Cameron felt it necessary to get a home together--though I don't suppose he needed any excuse. Never saw a man so hard hit myself."
"Except yourself, Sergeant, eh?" said the Superintendent, relaxing into a grim smile.
"Oh, well, of course, sir, I'm not going to deny it. But you see," continued the Sergeant, his pride being touched, "he had known her down East--worked on her father's farm--young gentleman--fresh from college--culture, you know, manner--style and that sort of thing-- rushed her clean off her feet."
"I thought you said it was Cameron who was the one hard hit?"
"So it was, sir. Hadn't seen her for a couple of years or so. Left her a country lass, uncouth, ignorant--at least so they say."
"Who say?"
"Well, her friends--Dr. Martin and the nurse at the hospital. But I can't believe them, simply impossible. That this girl two years ago should have been an ignorant, clumsy, uncouth country lass is impossible. However, Cameron came on her here, transfigured, glorified so to speak, consequently fell over neck in love, went quite batty in fact. A secret flame apparently smoldering all these months suddenly burst into a blaze--a blaze, by Jove!-- regular conflagration. And no wonder, sir, when you look at her, her face, her form, her style--"
"Oh, come, Sergeant, we'll move on. Let's keep at the business in hand. The question is what's to do. That old snake Copperhead
"Reason!" snorted the Superintendent. "Reason! What in--? What did he--? Why did he pull off that fool stunt at this particular time? A kid like him has no business getting married."
"Mighty fine girl, sir," suggested the Sergeant warmly. "Mighty lucky chap. Not many fellows could resist such a sharp attack as he had."
"Fine girl! Oh, of course, of course--fine girl certainly. Fine girl. But what's that got to do with it?"
"Well, sir," ventured the Sergeant in a tone of surprise, "a good deal, sir, I should say. By Jove, sir, I could have--if I could have pulled it off myself--but of course she was an old flame of Cameron's and I'd no chance."
"But the Service, sir!" exclaimed the Superintendent with growing indignation. "The Service! Why! Cameron was right in line for promotion. He had the making of a most useful officer. And with this trouble coming on it was--it was--a highly foolish, indeed a highly reprehensible proceeding, sir." The Superintendent was rapidly mounting his pet hobby, which was the Force in which he had the honor to be an officer, the far-famed North West Mounted Police. For the Service he had sacrificed everything in life, ease, wealth, home, yes, even wife and family, to a certain extent. With him the Force was a passion. For it he lived and breathed. That anyone should desert it for any cause soever was to him an act unexplainable. He almost reckoned it treason.
But the question was one that touched the Sergeant as well, and deeply. Hence, though he well knew his Chief's dominant passion, he ventured an argument.
"A mighty fine girl, sir, something very special. She saw me through a mountain fever once, and I know--"
"Oh, the deuce take it, Sergeant! The girl is all right. I grant you all that. But is that any reason why a man should desert the Force? And now of all times? He's only a kid. So is she. She can't be twenty-five."
"Twenty-five? Good Lord, no!" exclaimed the shocked Sergeant. "She isn't a day over twenty. Why, look at her. She's--"
"Oh, tut-tut! If she's twenty it makes it all the worse. Why couldn't they wait till this fuss was over? Why, sir, when I was twenty--" The Superintendent paused abruptly.
"Yes, sir?" The Sergeant's manner was respectful and expectant.
"Never mind," said the Superintendent. "Why rush the thing, I say?"
"Well, sir, I did hear that there was a sudden change in Cameron's home affairs in Scotland, sir. His father died suddenly, I believe. The estate was sold up and his sister, the only other child, was left all alone. Cameron felt it necessary to get a home together--though I don't suppose he needed any excuse. Never saw a man so hard hit myself."
"Except yourself, Sergeant, eh?" said the Superintendent, relaxing into a grim smile.
"Oh, well, of course, sir, I'm not going to deny it. But you see," continued the Sergeant, his pride being touched, "he had known her down East--worked on her father's farm--young gentleman--fresh from college--culture, you know, manner--style and that sort of thing-- rushed her clean off her feet."
"I thought you said it was Cameron who was the one hard hit?"
"So it was, sir. Hadn't seen her for a couple of years or so. Left her a country lass, uncouth, ignorant--at least so they say."
"Who say?"
"Well, her friends--Dr. Martin and the nurse at the hospital. But I can't believe them, simply impossible. That this girl two years ago should have been an ignorant, clumsy, uncouth country lass is impossible. However, Cameron came on her here, transfigured, glorified so to speak, consequently fell over neck in love, went quite batty in fact. A secret flame apparently smoldering all these months suddenly burst into a blaze--a blaze, by Jove!-- regular conflagration. And no wonder, sir, when you look at her, her face, her form, her style--"
"Oh, come, Sergeant, we'll move on. Let's keep at the business in hand. The question is what's to do. That old snake Copperhead