# Connie Morgan with the Mounted/Chapter 16

CHAPTER XVI
THE "HARD GUYS"
At the door of the cabin he leaped from the sled, unharnessed the dogs, and drove them inside. As he returned for the sled and the harness he laughed at the sight of his late captive who at top speed was cutting across the snow-level in the direction taken by the others.
"He'll round 'em up," grinned the boy as he worked the sled over the sill and into the cabin. "I'll just make snug here and get ready for callers."
As Connie closed the door he noticed with satisfaction that it was fully four inches thick and fastened on the inside by means of two ponderous bars. As Rickey had said, the cabin was built like a fort. Dragging a heavy bench into place Connie mounted it and peered through the loopholes, which were placed high in the walls in such a position that they commanded every approach to the ​cabin. Making sure that the bars would slide securely into place the boy once more threw open the door, and with an old shovel, which he took from the corner, set about filling one side of the interior with snow.
At the end of a half-hour he surveyed with satisfaction the pile that slanted four feet high against the wall.
"That will give me all the water I need," he muttered, and surveyed the wide snow sweep, where three figures were hurrying toward him from the rim of the bowl while a fourth figure slanted to intersect their trail at a point not far distant from the cabin.
As Connie watched them his jaw set tight and his eyes narrowed.
"Come on, you hard guys! But before I get you down to Dawson you'll know who's hard! I'll bet when I get through with you the next time you see a cache or a poison ball you never will quit running!"
He fastened the bars, and, drawing the bench to the loophole, watched the approaching four. A hundred yards from the door they paused while one of their number, advancing a few steps, called loudly:
​"Ahoy, in there, git out o' that cabin! That's our'n."
Connie laughed. "Come and get it then!" he invited. "Just help yourselves to anything around the place. Don't mind me."
"Who be ye?" roared the man.
"Special Constable Morgan of the Royal North-west Mounted Police," answered Connie, cheerfully.
"You got our grub in there!"
"Oh, is this yours?" asked the boy. "Where did you get it?"
The man turned to his companions and a long argument ensued. Once more he advanced and stopped.
"Say, w'at ye goin' to do 'bout it?"
"Do about what?" tantalized Connie.
"'Bout our grub!" roared the man. "Ye can't take folks' grub 'way from 'em no matter who ye be."
"Can't I?"
"Say, look-a here," continued the man, "ef ye ain't got grub 'nough we'll let ye ship 'nough to take ye w'ere ye're goin' to, an' that's fair."
"Oh, I've got grub enough. I've got enough to ​last me all winter. And besides, I'm not going anywhere."
Once more the man turned to his companions, and after some moments of excited conversation, another stepped forward.
"Hey, look-a here," he bellowed, fiercely, "we don't b'lieve ye're no p'lice!" Connie's only answer was a taunting laugh. "We don't know who ye be or w'ere ye come from, but ye hain't nothin' but a kid, an' I'm a-tellin' ye w'en ye cross us ye're tampering with death. We're men o' short temper, we are! We're hard!"
Again Connie laughed. "So your partner told me this morning," he drawled, "when I walked up and took his gun away from him and made him roll around in the snow like a trick bear. Who's been kidding you? Trot along now and don't bother me. I'm hungry. I'm going to fry some nice sizzly bacon and cook up a pot of beans." Suddenly, one of the men raised his rifle and fired and the bullet sputtered dully against the thick logs. "Have all the fun you want," called Connie, "only don't break any windows, or I'll have to take your guns away."
A few more scattering shots were fired, and, as ​Connie prepared his meal, he hopped up every few minutes to peek through the loophole at the four sealskin-clad figures, who, after circling the cabin a few times, settled themselves upon the snow. Standing upon his bench, the boy ate his bacon and beans as he watched the men jump up at intervals to slap their arms across their chests and stamp about in the snow to keep warm. A stiff wind had arisen and it was growing colder. With his axe Connie drove the plugs into the loopholes on the windy side of the cabin.
"Ahoy!" called a voice from the outside. "We're froze!"
"Why, hard men like you oughtn't to freeze," taunted the boy. "If you're cold why don't you build a fire?"
"They hain't no wood."
"Plenty back in the scrub."
"But we hain't got no grub, an' we're hungry."
"Hard men oughtn't to get hungry. Eat a few of those suet balls."
"They're pizen!" cried the man.
"Eat 'em anyway. You're hard."
"Hey, ye can't starve us!" broke in another.
"If I can't you must have grub."
​"I mean, it's murder!" yelled the man.
"Oh, don't let a little thing like that worry you," mocked Connie. "You're hard!"
"We'll burn ye out!" threatened another.
Connie laughed. "How you going to do it?" he asked. "Hold a match against the logs 'til they catch?"
"Hey, w'at be ye goin' to do?" roared the first speaker.
"Who? Me?" asked Connie. "Well, after a while I'm going to have some more nice bacon, and some nice hot bean soup, and some tea, and make me up a batch of biscuits. What you going to do?"
"Come out here an' we'll show ye."
"Hey!" called the man whose gun Connie had taken away in the morning. "It'll go sixty below tonight an' we'll freeze. An' we hain't got no grub. Hain't ye goin' to give us no grub?"
"Sure," answered the boy.
"Well, give it here, then. We're hungry."
"All right, come and get it."
The man turned to his companions and there followed a short colloquy. "W'at d'ye mean, come an' git it?" he asked.
​"I mean just what I say! Do what I tell you to and I'll give you the grub. And you'd better do it quick because I'm tired fooling with you. Stand in a row, the four of you."
The men looked at each other and slowly formed themselves into a row.
"Now, forward march!" cried the boy. "Toward the door."
The men advanced uncertainly.
"Go back and get your guns!" commanded Connie and the men obeyed. "Now march!"
When they were fifty yards from the cabin, he called halt. The men stopped.
"Stick your guns, muzzle down in the snow. All three of 'em. Now hang your cutlasses on 'em."
Two of the men obeyed, jamming the rifles into the snow with the stocks in the air. The third was slower, evidently trying to dissuade the others. But presently he, too, stuck his rifle in the snow and took his place beside it.
"Hang your cutlasses on the butts!" called Connie. "Quick!" The men obeyed. "Now, turn around and walk the other way."
Three of them turned, but the man who had ​been reluctant to comply with the order leaped to recover his rifle, and as he did so Connie's carbine cracked loud and sharp and the rifle with its stock shattered went spinning into the snow. The man started backward with a cry and after one frightened look towards the cabin hastily joined his companions. Thirty yards away they paused.
"Keep going!" yelled the boy. "Keep going 'til you hear a shot." And the four turned dejectedly.
"W'ere's the grub?" one of them called.
"You can come back for that after I've got your rifles in the cabin."
On and on the men tramped pausing every now and then to listen. But not until they were half-way to the edge of the bowl did Connie fire. Jumping down from his bench he threw open the door and carried the weapons to the cabin. He presently emerged with a light kettle and some dried fish which he carried to the spot where the men had left the rifles. Motioning them in, he once more barred the door and ten minutes later was greeted by an angry howl.
"Hey, this here's dog feed!"
"I know," answered Connie from his loophole. ​"And it's a shame to waste it. It looks better than it tastes, too. But you won't mind that, you're hard."
"We hain't got no fire to cook it with, an' we hain't got but three or four matches," complained one man.
"Better not waste 'em, then," called Connie cheerfully. "But if you do, they say you can make a fire by rubbing two sticks together. You might try anyhow. Skip along over the timber, now, and show up in the morning in time for breakfast."
"Our blankets is in there," whined another.
"So they are," answered Connie. "I'll let my dogs use 'em tonight. Build a big fire and if you're too cold to sleep, jump around."
"We hain't got no axe, nor nothin'," called another.
"Use dead limbs. If you haven't got an axe bite 'em off, you're hard. And I'll bet you're mad enough to. I'd be." And the boy chuckled as he watched the men pick up the kettle of fish and start laboriously for the fringe of timber.
Hardly had he finished his breakfast next morning, when a call from without brought Connie to ​the loophole for a peep at the four dejected-looking figures that stood in a row before the cabin.
"Ahoy!" called one of the men. "We want somethin' to eat. An' we don't want no fish neither! We hain't no dogs!"
"It ain't what a man wants, it's what he gets that makes him fat," grinned the boy. "You'll eat snow, or fish. And you won't get fish unless you work for it. There's the nose of an old sled sticking out of the snow at the corner of the cabin. Dig it out and drag it up in front of the door. And while you're doing it, I'll boil your fish."
"Look-a here!" roared one of the men. "We knows our rights. Ef ye're a Mounted ye hain't got no right to starve prisoners nor make 'em work neither."
"Prisoners!" exclaimed Connie in feigned astonishment. "I haven't got any prisoners. You fellows are free to come and go as you like. I'm not holding you."
"But we hain't got no grub, nor blankets."
"Well, I'm giving you a chance to earn some grub. If you want to eat you can dig that sled out. And if you don't you can go swimming, or do whatever you want to do."
​"We hain't got nothin' to dig with," whined a man, "an' the snow's hard."
"You're hard, too," reminded Connie. "Use your hands."
"We'll give ourself in charge," broke in another. "Now, ye've got to feed us an' ye dasen't freeze us or make us work neither! Come out here an' put us in irons like a man!"
Connie laughed. "I don't want you. I haven't got any orders to arrest anybody. But if I was four hard guys, and hungry as you fellows look, I'd dig that sled out. 'Cause you don't eat till it's in front of the door. And that goes!"
After some wrangling among themselves the men advanced to the corner of the cabin and as Connie put the kettle of fish to boil he heard the low growl of their voices as they worked. Fifteen minutes later the sled, a heavy, roughly constructed affair, was before the door and once more the men were clamouring for food. Connie inspected the job through the loophole.
"All right!" he approved. "Now hike and I'll bring your grub out."
"We want to come in where it's warm!" whimpered one.
​"You'll be warm enough directly," answered the boy. "'Cause when you get through eating you're going to tackle a job that just to think about will keep you warm all the rest of your lives. You're so hard maybe you won't mind it. But believe me, by the time you get back to Hart River cabin you'll know you've been somewhere."
"Look-a here," began one of the men, "if we hain't prisoners ye can't take us now'eres, an' if we be ye got to feed us an' ye can't make us work. W'at yer going to do 'bout that?"
"You must be a lawyer," grinned Connie. "I don't like lawyers. I've only known one. His name was Mr. Squigg, and when we got through with him, he started out and I guess he's going yet. I'm going to hit for Hart River in about an hour. You don't have to come. You can stick around here if you want to. But somehow I've got a hunch you're coming along. Hike out there, now, your fish is ready."
The men hiked. When they were a quarter of a mile away Connie opened the door and, jerking the cumbersome sled to one side, tossed the blankets of the four upon it. Then removing the kettle of boiling fish from the stove he walked ​a hundred yards or so from the door and deposited it on the snow. Returning to the cabin he proceeded to pack his own sled. Every ounce of grub about the place was neatly packed, then his own bed-roll, into which was bound the axes, and cutlasses of the men, and the bolts from their rifles, was bound to the top of the load and the six big malamutes harnessed. Once more Connie mounted his bench. The men had finished their fish and stood eying the cabin sullenly.
"How did you like your breakfast?" asked the boy and laughed. "I'm feeding you dog's feed, and I'll make you do dog's work. It's an insult to dogs, and I ought to get bit for doing it. But I'm going to poke a babiche line out through this hole. Your beds are on that sled. Make the line fast and hike out on the back-trail."
"W'ere's our grub?" asked one of the men in sudden alarm.
"Oh, I'll take care of the grub end of it," answered Connie. "All you've got to do is to tie onto that sled and beat it. And the quicker you get at it the quicker you'll eat again because we're going to be ten miles from here by dinner time."
He poked the rope through the hole and with much ​muttering and grumbling the men made it fast to the sled, and pulled it out onto the trail.
"Her bottom needs scrapin'," complained one, "she's listed to port, an' she don't tow true."
"You can't worry and keep your health," grinned Connie.
"We can pack them blankets handier," said one of the men. "We hain't used to no sled."
"You will be before you get through with it," encouraged the boy. "'Cause that sled is your meal-ticket, and if you don't show up at feeding time with it there ain't going to be any feeding time, see? Now get!"
When the cumbersome outfit was well on its way Connie left the cabin and, circling widely around the four toiling men, came into the trail ahead of them.
"Your dinner will be waiting for you where you camped in the scrub the second night out from Hart River cabin!" he called and, cracking his whip loudly, headed his dogs over the back-trail.
Connie arrived at the appointed place hours ahead of the four marauders. Toggling his dogs to prevent them picking up stray poison balls he ate his dinner and then, one by one, carried the four ​dead dogs and laid them in a row beside the trail. When he had finished he boiled a kettle of fish and sat down upon his pack to wait.
It was nearly three o'clock before he caught sight of the men toiling around the foot of a near-by hillock. The boy raised his hand and the men halted, and sank wearily onto the sled. "Dinner's ready!" he called, "and after dinner you can load on those four dead dogs. It's forty miles from here to Hart River cabin and I'm in a hurry. You fellows ought to make fifteen miles a day. Every fifteen miles I'll cache enough grub to take you to the next cache—and matches, too. I'll stick 'em on a pole in the trail so you can't miss 'em. You know by this time that I mean what I say, and if you don't bring in those four dogs you don't eat when you get to Hart River!"
"W'at ef a storm blows up an' we loose our course?" whined one of the men.
Connie glanced at the sky. "There won't be any storm for the next couple days," he answered. "But if I were you fellows, I'd make good time."
"Our feet's sore," whined another.
"Were you takin' us?" cried a third.
"I ain't taking you anywhere. I'm just telling ​you where you'll find some grub caches if you happen to be going that way."
"We can't make no fifteen mile a day. Not with no deck cargo o' dead dogs."
"Then you won't eat so often," answered Connie. "So long! I must be going."
It was long after dark the next night when Connie pushed open the door of the Hart River cabin. Rickey lay on the bunk and stared in surprise as the boy unloaded the missing supplies.
"Where's the rest of your dogs?" he asked.
"Poisoned!" answered the boy laconically.
"But how did you git the grub?"
"Outguessed 'em."
"But didn't they have no guns? An' where are they at?"
"Yeh, they had guns," answered Connie, "but I took 'em away from 'em. They'll be along day after tomorrow. They're travelling kind of slow, 'cause they got a big load and a bad sled. But they'll get here."
"But who's with 'em? Who's bringin' 'em in?" persisted Rickey.
"Oh, they're just coming of their own accord. You see there's no place else for 'em to go. I ​cached some grub in fifteen-mile spaces and they've got to keep humping or they'll get hungry."
Rickey regarded the serious-faced boy for a full minute. "Well I'll be doggoned!" he howled, bursting into a roar of laughter. "Lettin' prisoners bring in theirselves! Ow! My gran'mother! But how did you——"
"They ain't prisoners!" Connie hastened to explain. "You see, I didn't arrest 'em."
"But what's the idee of makin' 'em bring in the dogs?"
"Those were good dogs," answered the boy, gravely. "They never knew what it was to quit. They died in the service. They're going to be buried right here in decent graves. And the men that killed 'em are going to bury 'em. You see, if I had arrested those men I couldn't make 'em work."
The next morning the MacPherson patrol came in, and three days later, when the whole outfit pulled out for Dawson, they had in charge four very sore and dejected prisoners. As they strung out onto the trail, Special Constable Connie Morgan dropped back, removed his cap, and turned for one last look at the cabin beside which ​four little wooden crosses rose from mounds of snow.
Into each cross was burned deeply the name of a dog, and following the name were the letters, O. H. M. S., which in the far Northland is a mark of honour upon any grave. For it means that the cross was erected to the memory of one who died On His Majesty's Service.
And then Connie caught up with the patrol, but, although his brother officers questioned him unceasingly, the boy kept his own council, and it was only by patching together the whimpered complaints of the prisoners that the men of the Mounted learned the whole story of what happened at Wurtz's cabin.