And these men of later days he had called Lords of the North--men
who had held power of life and death in the hollow of their hands
until the great company yielded up its suzerainty to the
Government of the Dominion in 1870; men who were kings in their
domains, whose word was law, who were more powerful in their
wilderness castles than their mistress over the sea, the Queen of
Britain.
And Carrigan, after writing of these things, had stuffed his
manuscript away in the bottom of his chest at barracks, for he
believed that it was not in his power to do justice to the people
of this wilderness world that he loved. The powerful old lords
were gone. Like dethroned monarchs, stripped to the level of other
men, they lived in the memories of what had been. Their might now
lay in trade. No more could they set out to wage war upon their
rivals with powder and ball. Keen wit, swift dogs, and the
politics of barter had taken the place of deadlier things. LE
FACTEUR could no longer slay or command that others be slain. A
mightier hand than his now ruled the destinies of the northern
people--the hand of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police.
It was this thought, the thought that Law and one of the powerful
forces of the wilderness had met in this cabin of the big bateau,
that came to Carrigan as he drew himself still higher against his
pillow.
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