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Newspaper Page Text
Oy,4I NORTHWEST MOUNTED POLICE SEARCH
FROZEN NORTH FOR A MURDERER
Winnipeg, Man., May 1. Swan
Fonberg, a pioneer homesteader of
the Grassy Iake region in Alberta, is
fleeing into the' frozen north for his
Behind him the dreaded constables
of the Royal Northwest Mounted Po
lice are riding their horses to death
For Fonberg killed one of their fel
lows, and no one has ever killed one
of the Royal Northwest Mounted Po
lice and escaped the gallows.
Fonberg lived with his brother, Os
car Rogtronr Fonberg, n a home
stead on the northern Alberta prai
ries. The Northwest Mounted suspected
him of smuggling whisky. After
months of hard work, they secured
enough evidence to convict, and In
spector Sweatapple called in Conr
stables Bailey, "Whitley and Tetley.
''Go and bring in the Fonberg
brothers," he told them. "You will
find that they are desperate charac
ters. They have defied us for months.
They have sworn they will die rather
than bevtaken. They unquestionably
will fight Bring tbem.in alive."
Bailey, Whitfield and Tetley rode
out into the north and reached the
Fonberg log-cabin late the next day.
But there was no sign of the broth
ers. That mysterious "wireless" that
carries messages through the air to
the criminals of the Northwest had
warned them of the approach, of the
constables, and they had fled.
The. thrdie constables stayed in the
Fonberg cabin that night. With the
first light of dawn, they were in' the
saddle, .picking up the trafl.
. It led north ever north. The con
stables followed file trail for two
days, and that night they learned
where the men they wanted were
The two Fonbergs had sought jef-J
uge In ,a little dugout shack half
hidden in the scrub of a rocky hill
side. The next day the three constables,
with Bailey in the lead, rode directly
for the dugout.
Swan Fonberg, a highpower rifle in
his hand, appeared suddenly on the
roof of the shack.
"I'll shoot if you come closer," he
"In the name of the king," cried
Bailey, "I order you under arrest If
you resist, it will only be the worse
Fonberg's answer was to disappear
inside the shack. Bailey, Whitley and
Tetley rode on. There came a hail of
huDets from the dugout,' and Whitley
and Tetley cried aloud in pain. Both
were slightly wounded.
The three constables rode off into
the shelter of a pile of untrimmed
lumber to hold a council of war.
"There is a chance that we can
smoke them out of the dugout," said
Constable Bailey. "If one of us can
creep down the hillside it ought to
he an easy matter -to stuff the chim
ney of the dugout full of hay and,
"I'll go," said Constable Whitney.
"No," said Bailey. "I'm in com
mand. I'll go."
Bailey climbed to the top of the
hill by a circuitous joute, and then
began creeping down on the dugout.
The Fonbergs saw him coming. They
opened fire on him with their high
But Bailey crept on, and at last
succeeded in reaching the dugout. He
stuffed the chimney full of the hay he
carried down strapped to his back;
he set fire to the hay, and then, under
fire, he streaked for the timber pile
where his comrades "were.
He reached there in safety, but the
attempt to smoke the outlaws out
failed. The hay smoked and ssnquld
ered, but neither of the Fonbergs