The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1938-08-04
Men eno Of the
by Captain
G. Elliott Nightingale
Copyright, WNU
A DESERTER'S
STORY

the unwritten, yet strictly followed
law of the northland trails, food was
graciously offered. / could see at
a glance that my wilderness guest
was no ordinary person. He was
neither settler nor trapper, and as
we became better acquainted it oc-
Cured to me that this ruggedly
handsome, clean-cut chap had been
keeping his chin up and his Shout
ders back most of his life. Personal
questions, of course, were entirely
out of order, so I waited for him to
reveal himself. AS time passed, it
also occurred to me that my guest
might be Man of the Mounted do
ing a bit of checking up in that dis
trict, and before I could stop N.Y.
self I had opened the gate, so to
speak, and much to my amazement
he walked right in.
eff you're from the Royal Mount
ed" ! began, ST might be able to
help you at whatever you're doing
hereabouts." Across the small
campfire his gray eyes caught mine.
He stared steadily, but not rudely,
for full minute without batting an
eyelid. Then, he spoke:
you're a very observing chap,
aren't your" he smiled, "and the
astonishing thing is, you're quite
right. The truth is, I'm deserter
from the Royal Mounted, and I hate
myself for chucking it up"
"a deserter," I exclaimed in as
constituent. There was story be-
hind all this, and I set out to get it.
what happened? Lose prison
er? Go on spree, or something's"
Nothing like that, my friend.
Don't touch liquor. Didn't lose any
prisoner. Clean record and six
years service. I'm only one of a
few dozen that have deserted this
last while, SO you'll likely meet 9th
ers who will tell you a story like
mine.''
"Wen I'm sure interested,
and will keep your secret if you
feel that you simply must tell your
troubles to someone"
"Wel1, I've been trying to do my
duty under a mailman, sergeant
major who lived to make life mis-
cradle for himself and everyone
else. For instance, our full dress
uniform, as you know, is costly
and snowy affair. This sergeant
major would order us out in full
dress uniform, then this mailman
would set us at chopping wood,
shoveling coal, cleaning stoves, dig
ging drains and sewers, currying
horses, cleaning out the stables, and
all sorts of chores that were sup
posed to be done in overalls or old
clothing. Then, when we were all
CRIME and dirt and our dress uni
forms just about ruined, this idiot
would line us up and call us the lous-
lest, dirtiest, filthiest and LATEST
bunch of scalawags he'd ever seen.
1t was all so pointless and humili-
ating, and maddening.
''He usually wore those highly
polished field boots. He'd call a
man to clean them until you could
DEC yOO4 4oSO III tllC1lls 1llC11 ilC
would put them on, go out to the
mudhole by the horse trough and
kick around in mud there until the
boots were completely smothered
with mud. Then he'd call on an
other man to shine them up again.
"While we were working, or on
patrol, he'd mouse through our kit
bags, read our personal letters, and
| poke his nose into everything. When
he was sending in his reports on
cases handled, they were worded
as though he had solved the crimes
all alone, he got the evidence,
caught the prisoners, and so on, in
spite of the fact that other men had
really done the job. Most of my
fellow-officers were men who have
| served in the Boxer war, Boer war,
the Afghan show and on other from
tiers, men with splendid records,
and for chaps like that to soldier
under mailman, well, something
had to happen and it did. Quite
a few have deserted"
"What happened to make you
! clear out?' I asked.
''He sent me out on a case that
I knew should have taken me to
the north. Nevertheless, the order,
written and issued by this idiot,
read proceed south to a certain
| place. A few miles out decided to
return to quarters and show this
fool that he had made a serious
mistake. When arrived, however,
he placed me under arrest for neg
ligence of duty, in spite of the fact
that he had issued an incorrect or
der. I have it in my pocket.
broke Jail, and I'm on my way. I'll
be damned if I'll soldier under an
idiot any longer"
whats the program now?" I
asked.
"I'm heading north, then west, to
give myself up to a certain inspec-
tor, who, ! know will listen to my
story. We've been on the trail on
many case. He'll start the ball
rolling to get rid of the mailman,
and I'm so sure of that, that I'm
giving myself up when could easily
forget all about it." Thirty days lat
er the mailman was ousted, and for
years before he died, his playthings
were paper dolls.