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Connor, Ralph, Pseudonym, 1860-1937

"Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police; a tale of the Macleod trail"

Half way up the hill the
Superintendent met Cameron returning from the disposition of his
prisoner.
"There's another man down there, Sir, needs looking after," he said.
"Better let them cool off, Cameron," said the Superintendent.
"I promised I'd go for him, Sir," said Cameron, his face all ablaze for
battle.
"Then go for him," said the Superintendent. "Let a couple of you go
along--but I am done--just now."
"We will see you up the hill, Sir," said the Sergeant.
"Come on, Scott!" said Cameron, setting off for the village once more.
The crowd had returned from the bridge and the leaders had already
sought their favourite resort, the saloon. Straight to the door marched
Cameron, followed by Scott. Close to the counter stood goatee Bill,
loudly orating, and violently urging the breaking in of the guard room
and the release of the prisoner.
"In my country," he yelled, "we'd have that feller out in about six
minutes in spite of all the blank blank Police in this blank country.
THEY ain't no good. They're scairt to death."
At this point Cameron walked in upon him and laid a compelling grip upon
his collar. Instantly Bill reached for his gun, but Cameron, swiftly
shifting his grip to his arm, wrenched him sharply about and struck him
one blow on the ear. As if held by a hinge, the head fell over on one
side and the man slithered to the floor.


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