The orderly approached Inspector Cameron’s desk and saluted.

“Man here, sir, from up-country. Calls himself Davis. Wants to see you, sir.”

“What about?” snapped the inspector.

“He didn’t say, sir, except that it was something important. Says he knows you.”

“Davis—Davis——” mused Cameron, chewing reflectively on his cigar. “Perhaps I do. Yes—young prospector from up near Garrison. Show him in.”

Inspector Cameron’s brow wrinkled when the man appeared. If he had ever seen this uncouth fellow before, he could not place him. Surely this was not the Davis he knew. Why this man looked old—a heavy black beard, hair unkempt, disreputable, dirty clothing. But the voice—hah!——Davis after all, the Davis he knew. He extended a hand.

“Heavens, man, how you deceived me. You look terrible. What’s happened? Nothing serious, I hope.”
12

The visitor dropped into a seat with a sigh of weariness.

“Couldn’t be much worse, inspector. I’ve trekked three hundred miles. Tired. Sleepy. About all in. You see——”

“Yes, Davis. What is it?”

“Smallpox!”

Cameron’s face blanched.

“You don’t say. How bad?”

“Terrible. My country’s rotten with it. Whole villages gone. Mostly among the Indians so far. But the whites are getting it too. Fort Garrison has closed its doors. I saw the red flag of quarantine waving from twenty different cabins on my way here.”

Cameron’s jaws clamped over his cigar and his steel eyes flecked.

“Why haven’t I heard about this before?” he demanded. “It’s only two months since we patroled that region.”

“There wasn’t a trace of it then,” Davis informed him. “You know how these things come. Suddenly. No explaining it. Two weeks after I heard about the first case, it had ravaged the whole countryside.”

“Have you been exposed yourself?”

“Not that I know of.”
13

The inspector leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, his gaze seeming to rest upon the papers in the letter-tray on his desk. He picked up his fountain pen and turned it thoughtfully in his hand.

“This thing couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time. Richardson is off on patrol and won’t be back for three weeks. Three days ago a murder was committed over at Run River, and Pearly has gone to investigate. Corporal Rand is confined to barracks here, suffering from an attack of pneumonia. I haven’t an available man right now.”

“But what’s to be done? How do you propose to combat this thing? Haven’t you a supply of medicine here at barracks?”

“If I had a room full of it, it wouldn’t help us in the least. There’s only one antidote. You inject it in the arm with a hypodermic needle.”

“Where can this stuff be obtained?”

“Big cities outside. The only places. Edmonton is the closest.”

“Hopeless!” gasped Davis. “Half the population of the North will be swept out of existence before you can get help from there.”

Cameron shook his head.

“Not quite as bad as that, I hope. We have the government telegraph and the radio. Within twenty-four hours Edmonton will send out a relief expedition. We’ll meet them.”
14

As he spoke, the inspector reached forward and touched the buzzer on his desk. The orderly appeared, saluted.

“Get me the swiftest Indian runner you can find. Send him here. I want you to hurry, constable.”

Then Cameron drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write. When he had finished, Davis inquired:

“I suppose it will be necessary to wait until one of your men returns before you send out someone to meet that relief party?”

“No, not in this emergency. I’ve already decided. There are three young men living over at Fort Good Faith who will be glad to help me. One is a nephew of Factor MacClaren, another a young chap named Dick Kent, while the third boy is a young Indian scout called Toma. Two of them, Kent and Toma, we had planned to send to the mounted police training barracks at Regina last year, but the school was crowded and they have been compelled to remain here awaiting further word from the commissioner.”

“These boys are dependable, you say?”

“Absolutely.”

Davis eyed the other reflectively.

“I can go myself if you wish, inspector.”

“You’re in no condition,” Cameron replied promptly. “What you need is a rest. But don’t worry about this thing, Davis. We’ll be able to check it before many weeks.”
15

“Weeks!” Davis’ voice was sepulchral.

“Yes, weeks,” Cameron reiterated. “And we can be glad that it isn’t months.”

He turned to the papers lying on his desk with a gesture of dismissal.

“drop in at the barracks and they’ll fix you up. I’d like to thank you for bringing me this information, Mr. Davis.”

Soon after Davis had gone, the orderly entered the room, accompanied by a tall, sinewy young man, the Indian runner. The police official greeted the native with a curt nod, rose and pressed an envelope in his hand.

“Take this to Dick Kent at Fort Good Faith. He’s a young man about your own age. Hurry through as quickly as you can. It is very important. I will pay you well.”

The Indian smiled as he tucked the letter away in an inner pocket, grinned again for no apparent reason and stalked silently out of the room. The orderly still stood, waiting for his own dismissal. Cameron regarded his subordinate for a moment, then turned quickly and hurried over to his desk.

“Constable, we have much to do. Smallpox epidemic in the country north of us. Sweeping down this way. Very serious condition. We must move quickly. I’ll ask you to wait here while I write a message to be sent out by telegraph to Edmonton. Instruct Mr. Cooley, the operator, to repeat his message at least three times.”
16

The orderly saluted, but made no reply. Like a red-coated statue, he stood while Cameron wrote quickly. He received the message with another salute, turned on his heel, his spurs clattering as he strode to the door. The inspector breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, that’s settled.”

His brow wrinkled with thought. Slowly he turned again to the work before him. He was busy when the door opened and the orderly reappeared. One look at the face of his subordinate told him that something was amiss.

“Yes, Whitehall, what’s the matter now?”

The orderly hesitated, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry to report, sir, that we won’t be able to establish communication with Edmonton or outside points. The wires are down. Big forest fire raging to the south of us, sir. The operator says it will be days before the damage can be repaired.”

In his agitation, the inspector again rose to his feet. His eyes snapped.

“Tell Mr. O’Malley, our radio expert, I want to see him. Bring him here at once.”

Whitehall saluted and went out.