Under the keen scrutiny of Moriarity the
girl went into a bedroom and returned a
moment later wrapped in a green cloth coat
with a matching toque atop her cluster of
ebony curls. Casually Scott slipped a hand
in her pocket and transferred a loaded
revolver to his own. Then, with a cold smile,
he drew from his pocket the green cloth
button and placed it against her coat.

“Why,” her eyes widened, “where did
you pick that up—I thought I had lost it?”

“In the car Lawson was shot from,” came
Scott’s brittle answer. “Where’s the gun you
packed that night?”

“Sergeant,” she replied with steely hard-.

ness, “you've got my dad on some trumped-
up charge. You've been after him for years.
Don't tell me now you're trying to pin
Steve Lawson’s death on me!”

Scott didn’t answer. Leaving her in charge
of Moriarity he hurried across to her
friend, Mrs. Gibeau, ransacked the place
and found, wedged between the cushions of

~a couch, a fully loaded .38 calibre automatic.

Two days later Constable Lawson was
buried with military honours in his home
town of Macleod, whence he’d left during
the days of the Great War to distinguish
himself on the battlefields of France. And
as a mark of respect to the man who, for
nine years, had been chief of police of that
prairie town, the Mayor ordered all stores
and offices closed.

It was a signal for the press to vent its
wrath at the lawless conditions obtaining in
the Pass. “Disregard for law and order is
the rule rather than the exception,” thun-
dered one daily. “The Crows’ Nest Pass has
become infested with hordes of bootleggers,
crooks, gunmen and harpies. The operations
of an army of bootleggers, who are piling
up immense fortunes there, is without
parallel, and respectable women, forced to
live in this hotbed of iniquity, dare not leave
their homes at night... .”

“Clean house . . . Clean house. . .
was the refrain that ran through the editorial
columns of every paper in the West.

”

Coleman Barracks, taken from the spot occupied by the murder car on the night of the killing.
Lawson fell between the barracks and the hospital (left) where he was carried in a dying condition.

He returned to find that Mrs. Dubois had
set a lunch and joined the girl and Moriarty
at the table. Annoyed at her levity and
refusal to take the situation seriously, he
arose “Well, ” he said, “if you're all set
we'll hit the trail for Lethnridge.”

“Lethbridge!” gasped the girl, all laughter
gone. “Lethbridge!”

“Sure,” Scott propelled her shrinking form
towards the door. “You'll be needed as a
material witness, you know.”

Next day a coroner’s jury returned a ver-
dict that Lawson had died by a bullet fired
from a revolver in possession of the occup-
ants of the car standing in front of the de-
tachment. Doctor Scott stated that a single
notched .32 automatic bullet had struck him
in the back, touched the heart and lodged
beneath the skin of the right breast. Mrs.
Lawson, heavily veiled and in a state of
collapse, was assisted from the room by two
officers.

WINTER EDITION

Dismay and disbelief swept the Crows’
Nest when word reached there that Pic and
his daughter had been committed to appear
before the Supreme Court at Macleod on
November 25th to face twin charges of mur-
der, and police were bombarded with state-
ments purporting to prove that they were
miles away when the killing occurred.

The first shock over, Italian and Russian-
born sympathisers comforted themselves
with the belief that, at worst, Pic would
suffer a little inconvenience. That he and
the pretty Lassandrea girl would soon re-
gain their liberty. That the wily Pic, aided
by his vast wealth and the best legal talent
money could buy, would soon find some
loophole through which to lead himself and
his daughter to freedom. Meanwhile the
King was “dead”. Long live the King. The
hotspots were drying up. Who would be the
Emperor’s temporary successor?

Like a thunderbolt it dawned on saloon-

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Page Nine