It was a dull chilly day towards the close of September, as late one afternoon he dismounted at the door of Langham’s shanty, and giving his horse into the charge of a slim youth, who had emerged from the dwelling on hearing the sounds of an approaching horseman, with the laconic remark of "Stable him, my lad," entered through the public-room, where Nat Langham was to be seen behind a roughly constructed bar, possessing none of those outward attractions which are found so alluring to the denizens of our big cities and towns. The conversation, which had been noisy and general, was hushed as soon as it began to be whispered who the new-comer was. Casting a careless glance around, but a glance which enabled him to rapidly survey the assembled groups, with a nod to Langham he passed on into a small room on the right of the bar, in which were seated a few of the more select spirits of the neighbourhood. The men were engaged in the exciting game of "Poker," and as they glanced up for a moment on his entry, one of them shouted— "Hullo, Puffey! What’s up?" "Not much yet," the officer replied. "Who do you want?" was the next inquiry. "No one here." "That’s all right. Have a drink?" was the prompt rejoinder. That he was well known might have been inferred from the fact of all three offering him glasses. Having drunk with them on the score of good fellowship, and called for the glasses to be refilled, he sat down at an unoccupied corner of the table, and lighting a small briar pipe, which by its appearance looked to have been in constant demand for some time, he prepared to watch the game going on. Two of the men were apparently stockmen, and hailed from a Ranch a few miles distant; the other was an engineer in the employ of the railway company. "Puffey," or to give him his proper name as it appeared on the books of the force, John Stone, sat for some time apparently watching the play of the three men, but in reality listening to the sounds proceeding from the bar, which could be plainly heard in the room in which they were seated. Presently, arousing himself, and addressing the players, he inquired— "Seen anyone looking round lately, Sam?" "A couple of trappers came over from Indian Head two days ago." "Where did they hail from?" "The Wood Hills." "What sort did they look?" "One was a dark man, with great black eyes, a large beard, and a nose like a Jew’s; he was about my own height, five foot ten or thereabouts. His companion was rather shorter, looked pale and sickly, as if a meal or two would not be thrown away upon him; and both were under forty years old." "Bravo, Sam! you’ll make a good ’tec in time." "Why, do you know them?" said Sam, with a surprised look. "Know them? I should think I do! Your description fits the men I want to a T." The three men stopped their game, whilst he who had been addressed as Sam, and had saluted the officer as "Puffey," inquired— "Who are they?"