CHAPTER V
WHAT HAPPENED ON CAMERON CREEK
Connie Morgan laid aside his year-old magazine and stepped to the door of the little police cabin, perched upon the verge of a high bank of the Yukon. At the foot of the steep descent Sergeant McKeever stood in a canoe and finished buttoning the canvas cover over the deck of the light speed boat that lay anchored a few feet out from the bank. Then, still standing, he paddled ashore and drew the canoe from the water.
Connie thrust a pan of baking-powder biscuits into the oven of the sheet-iron stove, drew the coffee-pot forward, poked some bull-pine sticks into the stove, and sliced bacon into a blackened frying-pan.
A few moments later, through a blue haze of bacon-smoke, he greeted the officer who stooped to enter the low door:
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