The ex-mounted policeman spoke with pride. "We'd never
have handled the beggars if it hadn't been for that. Even the Injuns
were men enough to recognize justice, an' that's more'n these
commercial blood-suckers to-day can do! If our case was in the hands
of the Force it'd rest on its merits an' us grain growers'd get
justice. Instead, where is it?--in the hands of a pussy-footed,
hifalutin' bunch o' political windbags in the East who don't care a
damn about us hayseeds out West! An' what's more----"

"The Royal Mounted stood for law and order, Bob; but you'd class
yourself with the half-breeds, would you? Have another little
rebellion like that of '85 with all the----"

"Not like '85," interrupted the rancher. "No, sir, this one'll be
bloodless; but it'll knock the spots off the 'breeds' little shindig
all the samee!"

"You spoke of rifles, McNair. Guns go off," interpolated the other
sententiously. "What'n the mischief do you expect to gain by that sort
of thing?"

"A hearing, by Jingo! That's more'n all your letters to the papers an'
your meetin's an' resolutions have got us. We'll show 'em we mean
business----"

"Rot! How did we get the Royal Commission except by those letters and
meetings? That put the Manitoba Grain Act on the statutes, didn't it?
Mean to say we're no farther ahead? We've got the whole grain trade
under control and supervision----"

"Like ducks you have!" The former rancher threw back his head and
laughed.

"We've got the privilege of loading our wheat direct on cars through
the flat warehouses or any other way we like----"

"What's the good o' that if a man can't get a car when he wants it?"
demanded McNair impatiently. "The elevator gang 've organized to grab
everything in sight. I know it. You know it. Everybody knows it, by
heaven! So what's the use o' talkin'?"

"We've got to be fair, though. The elevator people have put a lot of
money--Say, why can't we organize, too?" suggested Motherwell with a
flash of inspiration. "We haven't tried that yet. That's
constitutional. That's what the livestock breeders have done," he said
eagerly.

McNair shook his head.

"I tell you, Bill, it's too late for that sort o' thing," he objected.
"Unless you mean organizin' to fight--"

"Exactly."

"With guns, if necessary?"

"It won't be necessary."

"Possibly not to shoot anybody. The showin' mebbe'll turn the trick.
Now, look here. My idea is that if a bunch of u