"Can we run this river in the night? Five or six hours ought to put us at the mouth of the Lansing."
The Indian shook his head vigorously: "No! No! No! Too mooch—w'at y'u call, skookum chuck—too mooch rapids! Daylight we start—come Lansing Creek, nine 'clock—ten 'clock."
"Roll in, then. Tomorrow, we'll have a real job."
"Wat y'u goin' do?"
"Do! We're going to run those thieving Mooseheads back where they belong—that's what we're going to do!"
Ick Far nodded: "Mebbe-so not wan' for go back. Mebbe-so ain' 'fraid for leetle p'lice."
"Want to go back! Well, they're going whether they want to or not. I'll show 'em who's running this country! I guess they won't try to buck the Mounted!"
Ick Far refrained from comment; but in his eye smouldered the gloom of foreboding.
The trail of the Mooseheads led down stream in the direction of Lansing Creek. Having come overland along the ridges, the marauding band brought no canoes and their progress was slow, as
