'fraid the Mounted'll grab ye an' take ye in out o' the cold. Well, they won't. I be'n doin' 'bout as I pleased ever sence I hit this here country, ten year back. An' I hain't allus pleased to do jest what the law says, neither. Take the moose business, I be'n sellin' 'mountain beef fur goin' on three year, an' I hain't be'n nabbed fur it nuther. They's good money in it—beats gougin' fer gold where they hain't none no more, an' it beats crankin' win'lasses an' choppin' cord wood fer wages."
"They ain't got yeh yet—but they will, sure as shootin'—an' me, too. Yeh don't know 'em like I do. I served with 'em its goin' on five year an' I ought to be with 'em yet—would of, too, if it hadn't be'n fer you—" Connie caught a glimpse of the man's face. It was Shorty Peters!
"There ye go! Still chawin' over that ol' cud!" cried the other—"ef yer so blame anxious to be in the Mounted why 'n't ye go hack to 'em then. Ye don't dast to, that's why! Ye're a deserter, an' they'd stick ye in the pen 'til yer hair turned white 'cause ye happened to quit 'em a couple months afore yer time was out. An' now yer blamin' me 'cause ye hain't back doin' time! I tell ye ye was a
