sion and saluted, the grey-haired official glanced inquiringly into the face of the small boy who stood erect and trim by the Sergeant’s side and returned his glance with an expression of frank interest.
“A prisoner, Sergeant?” questioned the Superintendent, with a smile.
“No, sir—a recruit.” And as the expression of surprise upon his superior’s face was followed by a nod, which meant. “Go ahead and explain,” the officer told the story of his rescue from the river, and of the events that followed. Much more, he told, also—and when he had finished, the Superintendent tugged thoughtfully at his dark moustache.
“So you want to join the Service, son?” he asked, in a kindly tone.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well—it is a bit irregular, but Sergeant McKeever has vouched for you, and—you will do—you see, I knew Sam Morgan.”
Thus was Connie Morgan’s name entered upon the roster of the Mounted and he became Special Constable Morgan, Reg. No. 4524, B Div., Dawson. And as he accompanied his new-found friend to
