There were six men all told, busying
themselves getting breakfast and staking the animals preparatory to
hiding through the day hours, and getting across the boundary line
the next night. Both men and beasts were wearied with the long
journey, but Corporal Black is the sort of man that _never_ wearies
in either brain or body. He never hesitated a second. Jerking his
rat-skin cap down, covering his face as much as possible, he rode
silently around to the south of the encampment, clutched a revolver
in each hand, and rode within earshot, then said four words:
"'Stand, or I fire!' If a cyclone had swooped down on them, the
thieves could not have been more astounded. But they stood, and
stood yards away from their own guns. Then they demanded to know
who he was, for of course they thought him a thief like themselves,
probably following them to capture their spoil. Then Corporal Black
unbuttoned his great-coat and flung it wide open, displaying the
brilliant scarlet tunic of our own dear Mounted Police. They needed
no other reply. At the point of his revolver he ordered them to
unstake the horses. Then not one man was allowed to mount, but,
breakfastless and frenzied, they were compelled to walk before him,
driving the stolen animals ahead, mile upon mile, league after
league.
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