ough that crowd, and what with poker, gambling, bad whisky,
and that sort of thing, the place is at times a perfect hell."

"Whisky? What about the Police? I have heard them well spoken of," said
Shock.

"And rightly so. They are a fine body of men with exceptions. But this
infernal permit system makes it almost impossible to enforce the law,
and where the Inspector is a soak, you can easily understand that the
whole business of law enforcement is a farce. Almost all the Police,
however, in this country are straight fellows. There's Sergeant Crisp,
now--there is not money enough in the Territories to buy him. Why, he
was offered six hundred dollars not long ago to be busy at the other
end of the town when the freighters came in one night. But not he. He
was on duty, with the result that some half dozen kegs of whisky failed
to reach their intended destination. But there's a bad streak in the
crowd, and the mischief of it is that the Inspector and his wife set
the pace for all the young fellows of the ranches about. And when
whisky gets a-flowing there are things done that it is a shame to speak
of. But they won't bother you much. They belong mostly to Father Mike."

"Father Mike, a Roman Catholic?"

"No, Anglican. A very decent fellow. Have not seen much of him. His
people doubtless regard me as a blooming dissenter, dontcherknow. But
he is no such snob. He goes in for all their fun--hunts, teas, dances,
card-parties, and all the rest of it."

"What, gambling?" asked Shock, aghast.

"No, no. I understand he rakes them fore and aft for their gambling and
that sort of thing. But they don't mind it much. They swear by him, for
he is really a fine fellow. In sickness or in trouble Father Mike is on
the spot. But as to influencing their lives, I fear Father Mike is no
great force."

"Why do you have a mission there at all?" enquired Shock.

"Simply because the Superintendent considers The Fort a strong
strategic point, and there are a lot of young fellows and a few
families there who are not of Father Mike's flock and who could never
be persuaded to attend his church. It doesn't take much you know, to
keep a man from going to church in this country, so the
Superintendent's policy is to remove all possible excuses and barriers
and to make it easy for men to give themselves a chance. Our principal
man at The Fort is Macfarren, a kind of lawyer, land-agent, registrar,
or something of that sort. Has cattle too, on a ran