Bond, The Whisky Trader

"Bond, the whisky trader, had not yet heard of the coming of the rugged, red-coated Mounties.  His wagon bounced joltingly over the rough ground, but Bond was happy.  This journey in the year 1874 had already brought him 116 buffalo robes, and the trip was young.  The wagon was heavy with kegs of alcohol, and the Indians were eager to offer him a buffalo pelt for each fiery pint.  Four of Bond's men drove wagons behind him.  They were armed with Henry rifles.  A wandering tribe would think twice before it fell on such a party and tried to take the whisky by force.  Most of the traders were dead shots.  In his mind, Bond was spending the rich profits which he felt sure would be his.  He thought longingly of the gambling casinos and plush hotels in Helena, south of the border.  Life seemed good to Bond.  He had even built his own stockade.  He wasn't going to divide his money with the Fort Whoop-Up gang.  Then, from out of the dusk came a command: "Halt, in the name of the Queen!"  The American had forgotten that the British Empire was ruled by a queen, whose name was Victoria.  But now Bond saw before him a tall man on a prancing horse.  The man wore a red jacket with frayed cuffs.  On his head was a white helmet.  Behind him in the gloom were other men on horseback.  Bond knew nothing of the North West Mounted Police, but he sensed danger.  One of Bond's men reached for a rifle at his feet.  "I'd put that down if I were you," said the tall man quietly.  The trader hesitated, then dropped the gun.  Inspector Crozier lifted the heavy tarpaulin on the wagon driven by Bond.  Beneath the canvas he saw casks of whisky, sinister rows of rifles, and heaps of buffalo robes.  "I think we'd better go to Fort Macleod," said the Inspector.  "Where's that?" asked Bond.  "You'll soon find out," replied the Mountie, from behind his thick dark moustache.  At Fort Macleod the Constables were already in barracks but the officers still lived in tents.  Macleod believed in the best food and quarters for the enlisted men.  He thought this was the way to have high morale under difficult conditions.  The traders were brought before the Assistant Commissioner.  He eyed them sternly while Inspector Crozier presented the evidence.  Macleod fingered one of the thick robes.  "The Indians need these for teepees and for clothing," he said.  "You have taken away their robes and given them nothing except alcohol, which wrecks their health and ruins their sanity."  The traders shifted their feet nervously.  For possessing liquor in Indian country, each of the whisky traders was fined fifty dollars.  The head trader, Bond, had to pay a fine of $200 and go to the log jail, because he sold alcohol to an Indian named Three Bulls.  The Indian testified against Bond at the brief trial.  The traders cursed angrily as the Mounties opened the casks and let the whisky run out onto the snow.  The buffalo robes were returned to the Indians.  "Tell your friends this is only the beginning," said Macleod to the traders, who went free after paying their fines." - from Royal Canadian Mounted Police by Richard L. Neubergter (Random House, New York, 1953)

The Code of The West

The Law came later - North West Mounted Police. 

"First chronicled by the famous western writer, Zane Grey, in his 1934 novel The Code of the West, no "written" code ever actually existed. However, the hardy pioneers who lived in the west were bound by unwritten rules that centered on hospitality, fair play, loyalty, and respect for the land. Ramon Adams, a Western historian, explained it best in his 1969 book, The Cowman and His Code of Ethics, saying, in part: "Back in the days when the cowman with his herds made a new frontier, there was no law on the range. Lack of written law made it necessary for him to frame some of his own, thus developing a rule of behavior which became known as the "Code of the West." These homespun laws, being merely a gentleman’s agreement to certain rules of conduct for survival, were never written into statutes, but were respected everywhere on the range. Though the cowman might break every law of the territory, state and federal government, he took pride in upholding this unwritten code. His failure to abide by it did not bring formal punishment, but the man who broke it became, more or less, a social outcast. His friends ‘hazed him into the cutbacks’ and he was subject to the punishment of the very code he had broken." Though the Code of the West was always unwritten, here is a "loose" list of what is known of the guidelines:
- Don't inquire into a person's past. Take the measure of a man for what he is today.
- Never bother another man's horse. A horse thief pays with his life.
- Defend yourself when necessary. Look out for your own.
- Remove your guns and hat before sitting at the dining table.
- Don't make idle threats.
- Save your breath for breathing.
- Always tend to your horse's needs before your own.
- Cuss all you want, but not around women.
- Complain about the cooking and you become the cook.
- Do not practice ingratitude.
- Be courageous.
- Always help those in need, even a stranger or an enemy.
- Never touch another man's hat.
- Be modest.
- Be loyal to your "brand," your friends, and those you ride with.
- Give your enemy a chance. The "rattlesnake code": warn before you strike unless stalking an outlaw.
- Never shoot a woman, no matter what.
- Respect the land.
- Your word is your bond, your handshake is a contract.
- Live by the Golden Rule."
(With apologies to Kathy Weiser)