The bronze seemed to deepen in the corporal’s face, but it was turned steadily towards his officer.  “Sir,” he said, “has that anything to do with what you were speaking of?”

Stimson laughed softly.  “That depends, my lad.  Now, I’ve taught you to ride straight, and to hold your tongue.  I’ve asked you no questions, but I’ve eyes in my head, and it’s not without a purpose you’ve been made corporal.  You’re the kind they give commissions to, now and then—­and your folks in the old country never raised you for a police trooper.”

“Can you tell me how to win one?” ask the corporal, and Stimson noticed the little gleam in his eyes.

“There’s one road to advancement, and you know where to find the trooper’s duty laid down plain,” he said, with a dry smile.  “Now, you saw Lance Courthorne once or twice back there in Alberta?”

“Yes, sir, but never close to.”

“And you knew farmer Winston?”

Payne appeared thoughtful.  “Of course I met him a few times on the prairie, always on horseback with his big hat on, but Winston is dead—­that is, I heard him break through the ice.”

The men’s eyes met for a moment, and Stimson smiled curiously.  “There is,” he said, “still a warrant out for him.  Now, you know where I am going, and, while I am away, you will watch Courthorne and his homestead.  If anything curious happens there, you will let me know.  The new man has instructions to find you any duty that will suit you.”

The corporal looked at his officer steadily, and again there was comprehension in his eyes.  Then he nodded.  “Yes, sir.  I have wondered whether, if Shannon could have spoken another word that night, it would have been Winston the warrant was issued for.”

Stimson raised a restraining hand.  “My lad,” he said dryly, “the police trooper who gets advancement is the one that carries out his orders and never questions them, until he can show that they are wrong.  Then he uses a good deal of discretion.  Now you know your duty?”

“Yes, sir,” said Payne, and Stimson, shaking his bridle, cantered off across the prairie.

Then, seeing no need to waste time, the corporal rode towards Courthorne’s homestead, and found its owner stripping a binder.  Pieces of the machine lay all around him, and from the fashion in which he handled them it was evident that he was capable of doing what the other men at Silverdale left to the mechanic at the settlement.  Payne wondered, as he watched him, who had taught the gambler to use spanner and file.

“I will not trouble you if you are busy, Mr. Courthorne, but if you would give me the returns the Bureau ask for, it would save me riding round again,” he said.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Winston.  “You see, I haven’t had the papers.”

“Trooper Bacon told me he had given them to you.”

“I don’t seem to remember it,” said Winston.