"Bang—bang! Bang!" He fired three shots—the same signal that would call McCarty would also bring big Dan McKeever—and bring him on the run!
Connie walked to the edge of the timber and seated himself upon a log close beside the trail. Ten minutes passed—twenty minutes—and then the sound of footsteps brought the revolver again from its holster.
"Hands up!" McCarty whirled and looked into the muzzle of the long-barrelled Service gun, behind which appeared the set face of a small boy—and the man noted that the boy wore the uniform of the Royal North-west Mounted Police. Swiftly, he elevated his hands. "March!" And the man, with hands reaching high above his head walked out into the clearing, followed closely by Connie.
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he gasped, when his eyes took in the situation, and in spite of himself, he snickered. The sound threw Bill Cosgrieve into another fit of passion:
"Laff! You eediot! Laff, an' laff , an' laff! It means a long space fer you as well as me—Ondly, personal, I don't see where the joke comes in!"
