The Luck of the Mounted - A Tale of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police
Kendall, Ralph S.
English
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Below is a summary of The Luck of the Mounted - A Tale of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police
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THE LUCK OF THE MOUNTED
A Tale of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police
by
SERGEANT RALPH S. KENDALL
Ex-Member of the R.N.W.M.P.
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers New York
1920
This truest of stories confirms beyond doubt,
That truest of adages--"Murder will out!"
In vain may the blood-spiller "double" and fly,
In vain even witchcraft and sorcery try:
Although for a time he may 'scape, by-and-by
He'll be sure to be caught by a Hue and a Cry!
--THE INGOLDSBY LEGEND
TO
MY OLD COMRADES
PRESENT, AND EX-MEMBERS OF THE
R.N.W.M. POLICE
THIS WORK IS DEDICATED WITH EVERY KIND THOUGHT
CHAPTER I
_O sing us a song of days that are gone--
Of men and happenings--of war and peace;
We love to yarn of "th' times that was"
As our hair grows gray, and our years increase.
So--revert we again to our ancient lays--
Fill we our pipes, and our glasses raise--
"Salue! to those stirring, bygone days!"
Cry the old non-coms of the Mounted Police._
MEMORIES
All day long the blizzard had raged, in one continuous squalling moaning
roar--the fine-spun snow swirling and drifting about the
barrack-buildings and grounds of the old Mounted Police Post of L.
Division. Whirraru!-ee!--thrumm-mm! hummed the biting nor'easter through
the cross-tree rigging of the towering flag-pole in the centre of the
wind-swept square, while the slapping flag-halyards kept up an infernal
"devil's tattoo." With snow-bound roof from which hung huge icicles,
like walrus-tusks, the big main building loomed up, ghostly and
indistinct, amidst the whirling, white-wreathed world, save where, from
the lighted windows broad streamers of radiance stabbed the surrounding
gloom; reflecting the driving snow-spume like dust-motes dancing in a
sunbeam.
Enveloped in snow-drifts and barely visible in the uncertain light there
clustered about the central structure the long, low-lying guard-room,
stables, quartermaster's store, and several smaller adjacent buildings
comprising "The Barracks." It was a bitter February night in South
Alberta.
From the vicinity of the guard-room the muffled-up figure of a man, with
head down against the driving blizzard, padded noiselessly with
moccasined feet up the pathway leading to the main building. Soon
reaching his destination, he dived hastily through the double storm-doors
of the middle entrance into the passage, and banged them to.
Flanking him on either side, in welcome contrast to the bitter world
outside, he beheld the all-familiar sight of two inviting portals, each
radiating light, warmth, and good fellowship--the one on his right hand
particularly. A moment he halted irresolutely between regimental canteen
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