The End of the Line Read Online Free PDF

only eight such men residing in rooms that adjoined the mess, but the building could accommodate as many as fifty. The new room already smelled of pipe tobacco and stewed bison meat. The wire machine was in a corner next to the door.
    Feeling worn thin, he headed for the stool next to the telegraph table and sat down. He removed his hat and fixed the thick headphones over his head. He took pen and ink and a fresh sheet of paper from the pegboard on the wall and prepared to write. The message was coming from the NWMP headquarters in Regina. He tapped out the ready to receive message and then listened to the Morse code coming over the wire. He decoded the message as it arrived:
To Sergeant Durrant Wallace.
    From Sam Steele, Commanding.
    News late yesterday. Man found murdered at Holt City, CPR mainline. Forces too thin to send Dewalt’s constables. Proceed on next freight to end of track. Uncover identity of assailant and arrest. Report direct to Steele. Confirm.
    Durrant felt his pulse quicken in the darkness as he read over the words again. When he was able to slow his breathing and steady his hand, he tapped out a response.
Wallace to Steele. Confirmed. Will proceed at once.
    Durrant listened for a further message. It came after a moment.
Welcome back, Durrant. Steele.
    Having been shot and left for dead once already in his short life, Durrant wasn’t the kind of man who blanched when he faced peril. Even if he had known the difficulty that lay ahead, he would gladly have rushed to face it.

THREE
TRAVELLING COMPANIONS
    â€œCONGRATULATIONS, SERGEANT.” RAYMOND DEWALT was sitting behind his desk. The pale late-winter light seeped through the small window, its shutters propped open, the pebbled glass frosty and opaque. Despite the biting cold out of doors, he wore the pillbox cap on his head and his formal scarlet surge.
    â€œThank you, sir,” said Durrant, trying to stand straight while leaning on his crutch. He had turned out as neatly as he could that morning, in his full scarlet patrol jacket with the three golden chevrons marking his rank set high up on his arm. He wore his forage cap set rakishly at an angle atop his head. His pistol was secured in its leather holster, custom-made for him in Regina because the force had no such accommodation for a southpaw.
    Sub-Inspector Dewalt looked him up and down. Durrant hadn’t worn his full patrol uniform since arriving at Fort Calgary. “You look sharp, Sergeant.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” said Durrant, his eyes forward.
    â€œWill you be wearing the serge at the end of the line?”
    â€œI thought better of it, sir.”
    â€œYes, indeed,” said Dewalt.
    â€œMight not be as practical as civilian attire.”
    Dewalt nodded. “But you thought to make a show of it?”
    Durrant paused a long moment. “Out of respect for the Force, sir.”
    Again Dewalt nodded. “When do you aim to leave?”
    â€œTomorrow morning, sir. There’s a freight that’s heading to Holt City, making some stops along the way in Padmore and in Banff. It will arrive in Holt City tomorrow evening, if there’s not too much snow over the tracks.”
    â€œIt’s still pretty wild country.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWhat did Steele say?”
    â€œThat a man’s been killed. He explained that the expeditionary force has higher priorities: keeping tabs on the Blackfoot, watching for unrest with the Cree, intercepting whiskey and rum along the Bow and the Elbow Rivers.”
    â€œThat makes good sense to me.”
    â€œTo me as well.”
    â€œWhat else?”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œWhat else did Steele say?”
    â€œHe said to provision myself for the investigation.”
    â€œWhat will you need?”
    â€œNothing much, I should think, sir. I may requisition additional warm clothing . . .”
    â€œI expect the Quartermaster will have whatever you need.”
    â€œThank you.”