hey'll take him down
to Regina, and they aint going to give him much down there for stealin'
a little grub."

"Well, what do you propose?" said Sinclair.

"Well," said Ike, "hangin's too good for him. He ought to be hung, but
'taint the custom in this here country, I understand, and I surmise
we'd better scare the daylights out of him and give him twelve hours to
get out."

After some further discussion Ike's proposition was accepted. That
night four masked men took Crawley out of the room where he had been
kept a prisoner and led him out of the village and up the trail to the
woods, and there, unheeding his prayers and cries and groans, they made
solemn preparations for his execution. In the midst of their
preparations Sinclair, with a number of others, came galloping up and
demanded the prisoner's release, and after a long and bitter discussion
it was finally agreed that Crawley should be given twelve hours to
leave the country, which decision was joyfully and tearfully accepted
by the terror-stricken wretch.

"Hello, old man, there's a letter for you in my rooms. Thought you'd be
in to-day, so took care of it for you." Father Mike drew near Shock's
buckboard and greeted him cordially. "By Jove! what's the matter with
you? What have you been doing to yourself?" he exclaimed, looking
keenly into Shock's face.

"I am rather seedy," said Shock. "Played out, indeed." And he gave
Father Mike an account of his last week's experience.

"Great Caesar!" exclaimed Father Mike, "that was a close thing. Come
right along and stretch yourself out of my couch. A cup of tea will do
you good." Shock, gladly accepting the invitation, went with him.

"There's your letter," said Father Mike, as he set Shock in his deep
armchair. "You read it while I make tea."

The letter was, as Father Mike had said, a fat one. It was from his
Convener and ran thus:

"MY DEAR MR. MACGREGOR:"

"The enclosed letter from the Superintendent will explain itself. You
are instructed to withdraw forthwith your services from the Fort. I
know you will be disappointed. This is the sort of thing that makes our
work in the West depressing: not big blizzards nor small grants, but
failure on the part of Eastern men to understand our needs and to
appreciate the tremendous importance of these years to the West. Never
mind, our day will come. I regret greatly that the Committee should
have been influenced by the petition enclosed. Do not let this worry
you.