Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 14, 2025
One fought with every ounce of power in him to twist the arm from him till the cords and sinews strained; the other to prevent this and to free the wrist. It was a test of sheer strength. Each labored, breathing deep, his whole energy centered on coördinated effort of every muscle. They struggled in silence except for the snarling grunts of the whiskey-runner.
And, because there are almost no employers in the North, he cannot turn his knowledge of the wilds to profitable account, unless he turns smuggler, whiskey-runner, or fur-poisoner. The men know this. Therefore, when an officer whose patrol takes him into the far 'back blocks' is approached by a man like MacNair, with his pockets bulging with gold, what report goes down to Regina, and on to Ottawa?
It showed in the steady eyes set wide in the tanned face, in the carriage of the close-cropped, curly head, in the spring of the step. The Montanan recognized in him a kinship of dynamic force. "Just what would I be doing?" the whiskey-runner asked, smiling. Beresford met his smile. "I fancy I'll find that out pretty soon. Your revolver, please." He held out his hand, palm up.
The lank whiskey-runner guided the train, by winding draws, into the hills back of the post. Above a small gulch, at the head of it, the teams were stopped and unloaded. The barrels were rolled downhill into the underbrush where they lay cached out of sight. From here they would be distributed as needed. "You boys'll take turn an' turn about watching till I've sold the cargo," West announced.
West had been talking in whispers with Reddy Madden, the owner of the place. He stepped to the door. "Don't onhook, Brad. We're travelin' some more first," he called to Stearns. The oxen plodded out of the stockade and swung to the left. A guide rode beside West and Morse. He was Harvey Gosse, a whiskey-runner known to both of them.
I reckon you ain't tellin' us it's safe to shoot up Angus McRae's daughter even if she is a métis." "Forget her," the big whiskey-runner snarled. "She won't be a witness against us." "Why won't she?" "Hell's hinges! Do I have to tell you all my plans? I'm sayin' she won't. That goes." He flung out a gesture of scarcely restrained rage.
But it did not satisfy his innate craving for excitement. Therefore, he cast about to enlarge his field of activity. He became a whiskey-runner. His profits increased enormously, and he gradually included smuggling in his répertoire, and even timber thieving, and cattle-rustling upon the ranges along the international boundary.
The whiskey-runner could trace at a road gait the narrow tracks along the winding road. The country through which he traveled was the border-land between the plains and the great forests that rolled in unbroken stretch to the frozen North. Sometimes he rode over undulating prairie.
If during his future activities as whiskey-runner, smuggler, or in whatever particular field of endeavour he was assigned, plans should miscarry an arrest be made this man would take his prison sentence in silence rather than seek to implicate Lapierre, who with a word could summon the witnesses that would swear the hemp about his neck. The system worked.
"Horses," the Indian said, and held up the fingers of both hands to indicate the numbers. "Coming up creek. Here soon." "We'll move back to the big rocks and I'll make a stand there," the officer told the whiskey-runner. "Slap the saddles on without cinching. We've got no time to lose." His voice lost its curtness as he turned to the girl. "Miss McRae, I'll not forget this.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking