and there were few opportunities of

 For the fifth time Sergeant Mahon and Helen had firmly expressed their intention of retiring; the hour, they agreed, was unseemly, when now weeks of almost unbroken association stretched ahead of them. Yet for the fifth time they had failed to act on their convictions.   For one thing they were impressed with the selfishness of retiring while still Constable Williams sat with never a flicker of sleep in his eyes. They owed him a lot for his attentions of the past few days, and there were few opportunities of squaring the account. In the rude chair he had salved from the village wreckage the big fellow was content to sit to any hour of the night, merely smoking and listening, face beaming, pleased as a child when he found something to say. For two years he had been locked there in the wilds, with never a woman but Tressa Torrance to whom he could speak without a blush. And, looking into the clear eyes of Mrs. Mahon, he blushed a little now at memories of her predecessors in that infamous end-of-steel village--blond-haired, flashing eyed, bejewelled, strident voiced hussies who had worn out their welcome in society less base.   For the sixth time Mahon consulted his watch and shook his head self-reprovingly.   "Half-past eleven! Dissipation. And to-morrow we must dive deeper into the records of those two speeders. I don't know that I'm quite fair, Williams, but I imagine Torrance hasn't been taking us completely into his confidence, though he seems thoroughly stirred over this. They have me guessing--the most unlikely things, even to some silly club wager. But there isn't a club within three hundred miles. I'm off to-morrow to Mile 135. Torrance says the ticker is set up there. I want to talk to Saskatoon."   Constable Williams shrugged his shoulders. "Those speeders were up to something they're not telling Saskatoon or any one else that we're apt to get any information from."