"What's the row about, anyway?" inquired the Sergeant. "I could never
quite get it."

"Oh, there are many causes. These half-breeds are squatters, many of
them. They have introduced the same system of survey on the Saskatchewan
as their ancestors had on the St. Lawrence, and later on the Red, the
system of 'Strip Farms.' That is, farms with narrow fronts upon the
river and extending back from a mile to four miles, a poor arrangement
for farming but mighty fine for social purposes. I tell you, it takes
the loneliness and isolation out of pioneer life. I've lived among them,
and the strip-farm survey possesses distinct social advantages. You
have two rows of houses a few rods apart, and between them the river,
affording an ice roadway in the winter and a waterway in the summer.
And to see a flotilla of canoes full of young people, with fiddles and
concertinas going, paddle down the river on their way to a neighbor's
house for a dance, is something to remember. For my part I don't wonder
that these people resent the action of the Government in introducing
a completely new survey without saying 'by your leave.' There are
troubles, too, about their land patents."

"How many of these half-breeds are there anyway?"

"Well, only a few hundreds I should say. But it isn't the half-breeds we
fear. The mischief of it is they have been sending runners all through
this country to their red-skin friends and relatives, holding out all
sorts of promises, the restoration of their hunting grounds to the
Indians, the establishing of an empire of the North, from which the
white race shall be excluded. I've heard them. Just enough truth and
sense in the whole mad scheme to appeal to the Indian mind. The older
men, the chiefs, are quiet so far, but the young braves are getting out