auger to the
woodwork of the bed, and began to turn. Circles and half-circles of
shavings flaked out and fell upon him. He worked steadily. Presently
the resistance of the wood ceased. The bit had eaten its way through.

Beresford withdrew the tool and tried again, this time a few inches
from the hole he had made. The pressure lessened as before, but in a
second or two the steel took a fresh hold. The handle moved slowly and
steadily.

A few drops of moisture dripped down, then a small stream. The
constable held his hand under this and tasted the flow. It was rum.

Swiftly he withdrew the bit, fitted the plug into the hole, and pushed
it home.

He crawled from under the wagon, skirted along the far side of it, ran
to the next white-topped vehicle, and plumped out upon the campers
with a short, sharp word of command.

"Up with your hands! Quick!"

For a moment the surprised quartette were too amazed to obey.

"What in Halifax--?"

"Shove 'em up!" came the crisp, peremptory order.

Eight hands wavered skyward.

"Is this a hold-up--or what?" one of the teamsters wanted to know
sulkily.

"Call it whatever you like. You with the fur cap hitch up the mules to
the second wagon. Don't make a mistake and try for a getaway. You'll
be a dead smuggler."

The man hesitated. Was this red-coat alone?

Tom strolled out of the ditch, a sawed-off shotgun under his arm.
"I judge you bored through your difficulties, constable," he said
cheerfully.

"Through the bed of the wagon and the end of a rum keg. Stir your
stumps, gentlemen of the whiskey-running brigade. We're on the way to
Fort Edmonton if it suits you."

If it did not suit them, they made no audible protest of disagreement.
Growls were their only comment when, under direction of Beresford,
the Montanan stripped them of their weapons and kept guard on the
fur-capped man--his name appeared to be Lemoine--while the latter
brought the mules to the wagon pointed out by the officer.

"Hook 'em," ordered Morse curtly.

The French-Indian trapper hitched the team to the wagon. Presently
it moved beyond the circle of firelight into the darkness. Morse sat
beside the driver, the short-barreled weapon across his knees.
Three men walked behind the wagon. A fourth, in the uniform of the
North-West Mounted, brought up the rear on horseback.

CHAPTER XIV

SCARLET-COATS IN ACTION

When Bully West discovered that such part of the cargo of wet goods
as was in w