chuckled hoarsely; so did his toma-
hawk-toting warriors. But — sneers
turned to consternation as the ser-
geant, dismounting quickly, kicked
the poles from under the lodge and
the tepee toppled down about their
ears. “Move—and move quickly!”
ordered the square-jawed redcoat.
The mighty Piapot moved, the work
gangs returned . . . and the steel con-
tinued to uncoil.

There was little rest for that first
Three Hundred. Fresh from the
slaughter of “Long Hair” Custer and
his entire troop, victorious Sioux,
Cheyennes, Arapahoes and Ogallalas
came swarming over the _ border,
sullen and hungry, led by the arch
enemy of all palefaces, the notorious
Sitting Bull. Again the armed might
of thousands succumbed to a sprink-
ling of redcoats. Logic, firmness and
square-dealing won the day. The
pock-mocked chief led his warriors
south to North Dakota to be riddled
years later with the bullets of the
Indian police as he hatched still
another conspiracy against the Ameri-
cans he loathed and hated.

Hardly had old Bull been bluffed
than the smouldering embers of half-
breed dissatisfaction burst into flame.
Louis Riel was going to make the west
a land of hunters—to bring the
buffalo back again. Forced upon the
war trail by Wandering  Spirit’s

bloody massacre at Frog Lake, Chief

COPYRIGHT PHOTO

Mounties and Blackfeet have become tradt-
tional friends over the seventy-erght years
since they first became acquatnted.

TWENTY-FOURTH EDITION

COPYRIGHT PHOTO

Primitive Cogmollock (so-called “‘Blonde’’) Eskimos, proved a thorn in the flesh
of the Mounties

Big Bear pitted the armed strength of
the Crees against the thin red line
that held the west. South, the Black-
feet strained at the leash, ready to
plunge the west into a welter of blood
and fire.

Again calm councils prevailed.
Crowfoot, friend of Father Lacombe
and Bull’s Head Macleod, held his
straining warriors back till Big Bear
and Poundmaker were cornered and
peace descended upon the harrassed
west.

Extends to Yukon

Seasoned by the prairie’s frigid
blasts and the smoke of gunfire, the
force extended its scarlet tentacles
into the eternal glaciers of the Yukon.
When the frenzied hordes of
gamblers, thieves and murderers
joined the gold stampede into the
Yukon back in ’98 they found the
veteran Constantine with his sprink-
ling of Mounties there to maintain
law while, across the line, each man
was a law unto himself. Again the
force’s red arm prevailed. Again the
North West Mounted added golden
laurels to their name.

While murder ruled in Skagway
and Soapy Smith’s ruffians ruled the
roost; while the crash of dance
orchestras mingled with shots; while
the cracked voices of straw-haired
box-rushers mingled with cries of
“Murder!”, and the shell-game expert
plied his nefarious game across the
line—the Law remained enshrined in
Yukon’s icy mountains.

When O’Brien hatched his dia-
bolical murder scheme waylaying
gold-burdened travelers, robbing them
and casting their bullet-riddled bodies
into the icy embrace of the Yukon, it
was Constable Pennycuick who, link-
ing one infinitesmal clue with another,

(Continued on-Page 66)

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