hard! An' the three that's with me's hard. We're hard men, I tell ye, an' it don't go good with them that riles us. Who be ye, I says?"
"Who? Me?" answered the boy. "I'm Special Constable Morgan of the Mounted." At the name the man started and eyed Connie searchingly. Opening his mouth he emitted a loud guffaw.
"The Mounted!" he scoffed. "Him 'thout no ha'r on 'is chin in the Mounted! Come on now, a joke's a joke, an' I will say ye got me foul. But 'nough's 'nough. I tell ye we're hard men—me an' my mates." As the man talked Connie backed, always keeping him covered, to the point where he had dropped his rifle in the snow. It was of modern bolt construction and in a jiffy the boy had unshipped the bolt and hurled it far into the scrub.
"Hey, quit that!" yelled the man starting to scramble to his feet.
"Sit down!"
Once more the man's eyes sought the muzzle of the carbine and he sat down. "Toss me that pack of poison balls!" commanded Connie. The man did not move. The next instant there was a loud report, and with a frightened cry he keeled back-
