"I've an idea that Flett was right in saying it was the limit. There was a certain romance about these disturbances when they began; they were a novelty in this part of Canada. People took them lightly, glad of something amusing or exciting to talk about. It was through popular indifference that the gang first gained a footing, but by degrees it became evident that they couldn't be dislodged without a vigorous effort. People shrank from making it; and, with Beamish backing them, the fellows got steadily bolder and better organized. All the time, however, they were really at the mercy of the general body of orderly citizens. Now they have gone too far; this last affair can't be tolerated. Instead of apathy, there'll be an outbreak of indignation; and I expect the people who might have stopped the thing at the beginning will denounce the police."
George nodded.
"That's my idea. What's our part?"
"I think it's to assist in the reaction. Your story's a striking one. We had better get it into a newspaper as soon as possible. I suppose it would be correct to say that Grant was cruelly beaten?"
"His face is blue from jaw to temple. They knocked him nearly senseless with the butt of a whip, while he was lying, helpless, on the ground."
"And your horse was badly wounded?"
"I wish it weren't true; there's a gash about eight inches long. If it will assist the cause, you can say the stab was meant for me."
"Well," said Hardie, "I think it will make a moving tale. I'm afraid, however, I'll have to lay some stress upon the single-handed rescue."
George looked dubious.
"I'd rather you left that out."