a ways from somewheres, ain't you? Where you headin'?"
"Dawson," answered Connie. "I'm Special Constable Morgan of the Mounted, and this is Ick Far. Ick is the best scout and interpreter in the service."
"Pleased to meet you," acknowledged the man, "an' bein' as it's comin' dark, you'd better camp here along with me till mornin'."
"Sure will," replied Connie. "We'll pack our blankets and grub from the canoe."
The stranger helped with the packing, and the three sat down to a supper of bacon and bannock and tea. "Come far?" asked the man at length.
"Uh-huh, pretty far," answered Connie, with a wave of his hand toward the mountains to the westward.
"What's the good word with the Mounted?" asked the man, casually. "Anythin' in p'tic'lar stirrin'?"
"Yes," answered the boy. "There's a big patrol out. They're strung along the divide for a couple of hundred miles to pick up a man called Notorious Bishop. He escaped from Stony Mountain about a month ago and we got the report that
