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Updated: June 22, 2025
I s'pose they have a chief?" she added slyly. A frown of irritation crossed the policeman's brow. "Must we open up that old sore, Miss Kate?" he, asked almost sharply. "They are known to be when not occupied with the work of your farm assisting Charlie Bryant in his whisky-running schemes. They are two of his lieutenants."
After all, whisky-running was a mere traffic. It was a general traffic throughout the country. The successful "running" of a cargo of alcohol was by no means an epoch-making event. But just now, in Rocky Springs, it was a matter of more than usual interest, in that the police had expressed their intention of "cleaning" the little township up. So the excitement at their outwitting.
"Those who want to save their skins when the time comes." It was Helen's turn to realize something of the irresistible nature of the work of the police. Somehow she felt that the defeat of the police last night was but a shadowy success after all, for those concerned in the whisky-running. Her thought flew at once to Charlie, and she shuddered at the suggested possibilities in Fyles's words.
His plans were carefully laid, and all the support he could need was arranged for. This time the work before him was no mere capture of whisky-runners, but to make all whisky-running, as associated with Rocky Springs, impossible, and to break up the gang who had for so long defied the law.
Kate had said they were to fell that tree at dawn. It was certainly a curious coincidence that they should have selected, as Kate had said, practically Monday night. The night of the whisky-running. He smiled. However, the omen was surely in favor of his success.
They can't touch him five minutes after he's cached it safe not if they know he's run it. If they find his cache they can spill the liquor, but still they can't touch him. That's where the sharps ha' got Fyles beat." He chuckled sardonically. "Guess I'd sooner be a whisky-running sharp than be a crook with Fyles on my trail," he added as an afterthought.
Bill stirred uneasily. "If there were no whisky-running here they wouldn't be around," he said pointedly. Charlie eyed him curiously. "No," he said. Then he added, "And if there were no whisky-running there'd be no village here. If there were no village here we shouldn't be here. Kate and her sister wouldn't be here. Nothing would be here, but the old pine that goes on forever.
And, though I didn't know it then, he had a grouch against Hicks, who had once upon a time run him into Fort Walsh in irons on an unjustified suspicion of whisky-running. That was really what started Piegan in the smuggling business a desire to play even, after getting what he called a "damn rough deal." "He's willing enough," Mac assured me.
He is very polite; but pshaw, it is no use that, in whisky-running! To beat a great man, a man must be great. Tarboe Noir can lead M'sieu' Lafarge all like that!" It seemed as if he were pulling the nose of the concertina. Tarboe began tracing a kind of maze with his fingers on the deck, his eyes rolling outward like an endless puzzle. But presently he turned sharp on Joan.
Then he sighed a world of genuine regret, and his eyes glanced along the vast timber of the old pine. "Guess the old cuss has worked out," he went on. "No, there'll be no more whisky-running." Then he climbed slowly down from the wall. "I'll have to get moving on." The nine days' wonder had come and passed.
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