W. A. Fraser

“ Sometimes the police were hot on his trail as leader of a big whiskey outfit, and sometimes he was on their side fighting shoulder to shoulder to put down some tough gang. He didn't approve of toughness as a pastime.
"Be gentlemen," he used to say. "Gentlemen can't work and gentlemen must have money, but don't be tough for the fun of the thing—there is no fun in it." ”

“ All the same, he's not the sort to lay a man out for the fun of the thing; he never had any dealin' with Whiskey Sanderson, for he wasn't in the know. He was all right for sport, but the boys hadn't any use for him when they were runnin' the stuff in."
"I'll just go you fifty, Carney," said the corporal. "The old man doesn't make many mistakes, and if we can get to the second crossin' of the river before Santley, we'll bring back the man that laid Sanderson out." ”

“ The respect for the head of the force was even as a grain of mustard seed in the avalanche of fear which had swept him from that red-splashed spot on the Missoula trail to Golden.
There was no doubt he was telling the truth.
"Who's tall with a long neck?" asked the major shortly, turning to the sergeant-major, who was standing in front of his desk.
"I will find out, sir," replied the latter, saluting as he passed out.
"That long Englishman, Arvil Santley, has a neck like an eagle ”

“ Baptiste was a weird-looking object as he slid from the hack of the jaded beast, standing there with all four legs braced like the posts of a sawhorse in sheer weakness, and flanks pumping in half spasmodic strokes as the wide open nostrils clutched at the air for which the lungs were clamouring.
"By Goss! that fell' Whisk' Sandson, he get keel," panted Baptiste, with a face the colour of a lemon in a bottle of alcohol. "By tam! a fell' wit' long neck he keep him bahint stump, an' he s'oot him soor." ”

“ They'll pick up tracks there all right enough, but they ain't yourn, Jack. Let me see," he added, pulling a watch from his pocket, "Whiskey Sanderson took that bad spell about ten o'clock. The jay on the cayuse will strike Golden about noon. Old Steel and his Jim-Dandies will pull out in half-an-hour, and pick up your tracks headin' for Missoula about three. There'll be a deuce of a row, and they'll run in some poor devil before night. They'll cop almost any one but me." ”

“ Then they chipped in with their two blankets and slept under one cover, back to back, with their feet toward the small smouldering campfire; slept soundly, as just men should—"Bulldog Carney," gambler, whiskey smuggler and special constable, and "Lanky" Bail, plain corporal in the N. W. M. P.
"He's ahead of us," said Carney, as they galloped side by side the next day; "I picked up some tracks back there and here they are again. He doesn't seem to be in any hurry, though, for, according to the tracks, his cayuse has been taking it pretty easy." ”

“ And then because the sergeant was away with two men, and because the whiskey men and the gamblers, and those who were cussed simply because they couldn't help it needed much guidance in their daily life, and because the post was always short of men anyway, the major had to put a special constable on with "Lanky" Ball to go after Santley.
"You'll need a good man, a rustler, to help you take this Englishman, for he's a husky chap," said the major. "Who'll you get?"
"'Bulldog' Carney's the man, sir," replied Corporal Ball. ”

“ Let Sergeant Hetherington take two constables and rations for two days, and get after this devil before his tracks get cold. Commence at the body. Send it back to Golden. Tell Corporal Ball to look up this Santley outfit in town. If he's got the stuff he'll have it cached somewhere about. ”