The Rambler Club with the Northwest Mounted

Sergeant Jarvis Erskine of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, stationed at a lonely outpost barracks, was hard at work on his headquarters’ report. Occasionally the sergeant, a...

“I am Sergeant Erskine,” answered the officer. His eyes ran over his questioner, taking in every detail of the well-set, sturdy figure which stood before him. “Who are you, and...

After their many hours in the saddle the lads spent a comfortable night in the men’s quarters. True, Dave Brandon and Larry Burnham were the only ones fortunate enough to have b...

Once out of sight of the police barracks Larry Burnham began to question the wisdom of his course in accompanying the Ramblers to the Northwest Territories. It was a very differ...

Dave Brandon looked earnestly at the picturesque circle of teepees, one in the center dominating all the rest, and at the red men he could see on every side. Many, attracted by...

“It’s an old deserted ranch-house,” explained Ashe, “close to a ridge of hills. A good many years ago a man named Walt Allen and his two sons built it. He was a man with plenty...

“White man and Indian are brothers,” remarked Wandering Bear, solemnly, on the following morning. “Indian always friend of white man. White man give him much presents; Indian sh...

Thunderbolt alone made no comment, but sprang toward the darkness, while the others, with wide, staring eyes, sought to penetrate its mysteries. And as they stood there, with ev...

Larry Burnham didn’t get any more sleep that night. And, as he lay with eyes half closed, gazing at one “sentinel” after another, he often reflected that a country in which such...

The former ranch-house of Walt Allen could only be reached with any degree of ease from the open country. The hills were rocky, rather barren, with treacherous declivities and s...

The confusion which instantly reigned in that particular room of Fool’s Castle far outdid the same kind of performance enacted on the previous night. The boys, springing up, bum...

Tom found a ready answer to this question. Even if the blond lad should, indeed, decline to listen to persuasion, arguments, or shafts of sarcasm, his mission would not be a fai...

There was nothing to disturb Larry Burnham’s peace of mind. He just had to keep riding straight ahead until the settlement was reached; then a train would speedily carry him bac...

“Smugglers!” The word had a very unpleasant sound to Larry Burnham’s ears. He was sure he had been an actual witness of one of those expeditions for which the Northwest Mounted...

When Tom Clifton realized the danger that confronted him he was so taken by surprise that it was several seconds before he had recovered sufficient presence of mind to leap aside.

“You--you!” he cried. “What in thunder are you doing out on the plains at this time of night? And riding a horse without saddle or bridle?” His voice became sharp and angry. “Co...

“Good-evening, Tom,” he exclaimed, pulling up his horse with a jerk; “I thought I’d run over with these things. They seem to belong to you.” Whereupon he lowered to the ground T...

In another half hour the lads were approaching a range of hills, rather higher and wilder-looking than any encountered before. Great numbers of cattle bearing Jerry Duncan’s bra...

Of all the boys lined up before Mr. Styles no one was surveying the situation more keenly than Tom Clifton. He was vaguely impressed with a feeling that something was behind the...

“This here is a kind of an old place,” began Hank Styles, as the boys entered the ranch-house. “We never went in for no fancy fixin’s, like Walt Allen over to Fool’s Castle. I r...

Bob Somers, in his camp among the hills, with the black night about him, tried to accept the situation philosophically. It looked as though his pursuit had been a dismal failure...

Too considerate of his pony to push the animal hard, Bob now made but slow progress. His canteens were empty and his throat already becoming parched. The horse, too, needed wate...

Tom Clifton, the sentinel, gazing abstractedly out of the window, suddenly saw a number of horsemen, like shadowy phantoms, ride from behind a spur of the hill, and, with ominou...

At first Bob Somers, standing by the door of the lonely cabin, almost thought his senses were playing him a trick. But a second shout caused his heart to quicken.

The boys slapped Jed Warren on the back and wrung his hand, until the policeman, in sheer self-defense, was obliged to back up against the porch and hold them at bay.

The half-breed’s demeanor toward the boys had entirely changed. And the bluff old sergeant, too, often looked at them with an expression in which a great deal of admiration was...