Ferguson, who met with an accident. Please have a room ready for him. Constable Rolfe is with me. We should reach Kynox at the end of this week. I am sending this note by Joe Dart, who is going to town to record a claim.
“Hoping to see you soon,
“Very sincerely yours,
“John North,
“Sergeant, R. N. M. P.”
That was all the letter contained in mere words, yet
to Marion it meant a great deal more. She saw the
writer, the strong, manly sergeant, who had made such
a deep impression upon her. She recalled the last time
he had been at Kynox when he had brought in a sick
miner from an outlying creek. She had heard much
about John North, the great trailsman and the fearless
defender of law and order. Many were the tales told
of his prowess to which Marion always listened with
keen interest and a quickening of the heart. To her
he was the very embodiment of the ideal hero, and one
with King Arthur’s Knights of the Table Round. He
was ever moving from place to place, bringing relief
to the afflicted and redressing human wrongs. What a
difference between this man and many of the men she
had met. He was not in the country for gain, but in
the noble service of his King and country. Her mind
suddenly turned to the strange, long-bearded man
asleep on the kitchen floor. What a contrast between
him and John North. Who was he? she wondered,
and where had he found the child? She thought, too,
of his oddity in wearing his cap all the time. Was
there some reason for this? Did it cover some scar or
other disfigurement?
