sruce and gloomy muskeg the Sergeant
anded the reins to Rodgers, clamped the
‘ons on the prisoner’s wrists and emitted
a angry damn as the key grated and broke
ff in the lock. With a warning to King,
nd a significant tap of his sidearms he
ropped the handcuffs in his pocket.

At last they entered a clearing where a
yg building and stable rose fifty feet apart.
Watch that bird,” snapped Nicholson as
e leapt to the ground and strode towards
he farm house. “If you hear any shooting
eep your eye on him. ll look after myself.”

Shouldering past the two women who
arred the door with shrill protests he
earched the house. Then, satisfied that
either of the men were there, he stopped
o question Mrs. Ploughmaker. .

Crack! Crack! In swift succession two
evolver shots roared out, followed by angry
houts and the thud of pounding feet.
furtling through the door he saw King
treaking for the stable with Rodgers, hat-
ess, staggering groggily in his wake. Dash-
ng across the clearing he threw his weight
iwainst the stable door as it slammed behind
he prisoner. “Quick—the rear!” he shouted.

A gap in the rear wall, and the threshing
villows ahead, told their own story. His
evolver blazed after the fleeing man. An
inswering flash from the willows sent a
nullet whistling past his cheek. As Nick
loundered through the gripping muskeg
white anger flamed within him. Upon his
yead, he knew, would descend the full
veight of the Commissioner’s wrath. Dis-
nissal, disgrace and a heavy fine faced him
f he returned without his prisoner. Every-
hing he’d fought and worked for for half a
ifetime would be lost. For the hand of the
Scarlet Riders fell heavily on those who
lisplayed incompetence. And permitting a
orisoner to escape was one of the unforgive-
ible sins.

FREEDOM REGAINED

Leaping into the democrat, Nick sent
he team pounding towards the little settle-
nent three miles away to raise a posse. “I
was just slipping from the rig to quieten
yne of the horses,” Rodgers explained to the
eething Sergeant as they jolted along,
‘when King yanked the gun from my
jolster, smashed it down on my head and
nade the break.”

Nick’s only answer was a vicious slash
it the flanks of the team. Thudding into
. cluster of log buildings the Sergeant called
‘0 a group of indolent halfbreeds to form a
posse and search the woods. Instead they
lunk away. Wheeling, he sent the sweating
jorses pounding along a lane that would
sut the fugitive’s line of retreat.

A dark figure, breaking from the woods,
ran towards the roadway. Recognition was

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mutual. “Stop or I fire!” Nicholson shouted,
whipping out his heavy Colt. Like a cor-
nered rabbit King dodged from the roadway,
plunged through a ditch, dived through a
barbed wire fence, sent a couple of bullets
droning between the heads of the officers,
and holding his coat as a shield against the
bullets that leapt from the Sergeant’s gun
sprinted across a ploughed field towards
the nearby woods. As the team swerved
into the fence Nicholson took up the pur-
suit. At the edge of the woods he found
the bullet-riddaled coat and blood stains on
the moss. Till night blacked out the forest
they continued to search the muskeg, but in
vain.

Sergeant J. D. Nicholson’s stormy inter-
view with Superintendent Cuthbert left him
with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

. rE
Wain!
Sees
S' Bie
=e
SS7 «SS
ae x \S

Original sketch by Sergeant Nicholson, show-

ing position and appearance of skeleton dug up

at Clover Bar. Was it the skeleton of the missing
Hotz?

Not a thing would the flinty-faced O.C.
accept by way of explanation. In next
General Orders appeared the laconic entry:

" Reg. No. 2856—Sgt. Nicholson, J.
D., of G Division was by Asst. Com-
missioner J. H. Mellree of Innisfail
on the 27-10-08, reduced to the rank
and pay of constable for in that he did,
through negligence, allow prisoner W.
O. King to escape from custody on the
1-10-08.

The bolt had fallen! Half a lifetime’s
police work and devotion to duty thrown
into the discard—and here he stood, officially
disgraced before every member of the Force
that looked not kindly on mistakes. His
right sleeve showing brighter spaces where
three golden chevrons had been removed,
J. D. Nicholson took his medicine with
grim philosophy and the fixed resolve to
wipe the stain from his record and get his
man.

But the weeks slipped by without a sign

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