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"cmpuate was radiant with pride ana
Relight over the fight and hovered
about Graeme and me, giving vent to
his feelings In admiring French and
English expletives. But Abe was dis
gusted because of the failure at Sis
kin's, for when Nelson looked in he saw
Slavln’s French Canadian wife in
charge, with her baby on her lap, and
he came back to Shaw and said, "Come
away; we can’t touch this,” and Shaw,
after looking in, agreed that nothing
could be done. A baby held the fort.
As Craig listened to the account of
the fight he tried hard not to approve,
but he could not keep the gleam out of
his eyes, and as I pictured Graeme
dashing back the crowd thronging the
barricade till ho was brought down by
the chair Craig laughed gently and put
his hand on Graeme’s knee, and as I
(went on to descrlbo my agony while
Idaho’s fingers wero gradually hearing
the knife his faco grew pale and his
eyes grow wido with horror.
"Baptiste here did the business,” I
said, and the little Frenchman nodded
complacently and said:
"Dat’s mo for sure.”
"By the way, how is your foot?” ask
ed Graemo.
"He’s fuss rate. Dat’s what you call
—one blto of—of—dat leel bees. He’s
dero; you put your finger dere, he’s not
doro. What you call him?’
"Float” I suggested.
4, Oult” cried Baptiste. "Dat’s one
bite of flea.”
"I was thankful I was under tho
barrels,” I replied, smiling.
"Ouil Dat’s mak mo vor mad. I
Jump and swear mos nwful bad. Dat’s
pardon mo, M'siou'Craig, heh?”
But Craig only smiled at him rather
sadly.
"It was awfully risky,” he said to
Graemo, "and it was hardly worth it
They’ll get more whisky, and anyway
tho loaguo is gone.”
"Well,” said Graeme, with a sigh of
satisfaction, "it is not quite such a
one sided affair as it wob.”
And wo could say nothing in reply,
for we could hear Nixon snoring in the
next room, and no one had heard of
Billy, aqd there wero others of tho
league that wo knew were even now
down at Slavln’s. It was thought best
that all should remain in Mr. Craig’s
shack, not knowing what might hap
pen, and so we lay whore we could,
and we needed none to sing us to
sleep.
[When I awoke, stiff and sore, it was
to find breakfast ready and old man
Nelson in charge. As we were seated
Craig came in, and X saw that he was
not the man of tho night before. His
courage had come back; his face was
quiet and his eye clear. He was his
own man again.
"Goordle has been-out all night, but
has failed to find Billy,” he announced
quietly.
We did not talk much. Graeme and
I worried with our broken bones, and
the others suffered from a general
morning depression. But after break
fast, as the men were beginning to
move, Craig took down his Bible, and,
saying, “Wait a few minutes, men,”
he read Blowly, in his beautiful, clear
.voice, that psalm for all fighters,
"God is our refuge and strength,”
and so on to the noble words:
"The Lord of Hosts Is with us:
i The God of Jacob Is our refuge.”
Bow the mighty words pulled us to
gether, lifted us till we grew ashamed
oS our Ignoble rage and of our ignoble
depression!
And then Craig prayed In simple,
straightgoing words. There was ac
knowledgment of failure, but I knew
he was thinking chiefly of himself;
there was gratitude, and that was for
the men about him, and I felt my face,
burn with shame; there was a petition
for help, and we all thought of Nixon
and, Billy and the men wakening from
their debauch at Slavin’s this pure,
bright morning. Then he asked that
We might be made faithful and worthy
of God, whose battle it was. Then we
all stood up and shook hJffds with him
in silence, and every man knew a cov
enant was being made. But none saw
his meeting with Nixon. He sent us all
away before that
Nothing was heard of the destruction
Of the hotel stock In trade. Unpleasant
questions would certainly be asked,
and the proprietor decided to let bad
alone. On the point of respectability
the success;, of the ball was not con
spicuous, but, the antileague men were
content if not jubilant.
Billy Breen was found by Geordie
late in the afternoon in his own old
and deserted shack, breathing heavily,
covered up in Ms filthy, moidering bed
clothes, with a half empty bottle of
Whisky at his side. Geordie’s grief and
rage W§?ej^eypnd even his Scotch con
trol. He spoke few words, but these
were of such concentrated vehemence
that no one felt the need of Abe’s as
sistance In vocabulary.
Poor Billyl We carried him to Mrs.
Mayor’s home, put him in a warm
bath, rolled him in blanketB and gave
him little sips of hot water, then of
hot milk and coffee, as I had seen a
clever doctor in the hospital treat a
similar, case of nerve and heart de
pression. But the already weakened
system Could not recover from the aw
ful shock of the exposure following the
debauch, and on Sunday afternoon we
saw that his heart was failing fast.
All day the miners had been dropping
In to inquire after him, for Billy bad
been a g?eai favorite in other days,
and the attention of the town had been
admiringly centered upon his fight of
these last weeks. It was with no ordi
nary sorrow that the news of his con
dition was received. As Mrs. Mavor
sang to him his large, coarse hands
moved in time to tho muBlc, but he did
not open his eyes till he heard Mr.
Oraig’s voice in the next room. Then
he spoke his name, and Mr. Craig was
kneeling beside him in a moment The
.words came slowly:
"Oi tried—to fight hit hout—but—01
got beaten. Hit ’urts to think ’e’s
ashamed o’ me. Ol’d like t’a done bet
tor—01 woUld.”
"Ashamed of you, Billy!” said Craig
In a voice that broke. "Not he.”
“And—ye hall—’elped me so!” he went
on. "01 wish Ol’d ’a’ done better—01
do.” And his eyes sought Geordie and
then rested on Mrs. Mavor, who smiled
back at him with a world of love in
her eyes. "You hain’t haBhamod o’ me
—yore heyes saigh so,” he said, look
ing at her.
"No, Billy,” she said, and I wonder
ed at her steady voice, "not a bit
Why, Billy, I am proud of you.”
He gazed up at her with wonder and
Ineffable love in his little eyes, then
lifted his band slightly toward her.
She knelt quickly and took it in both
of hers, stroking it and kissing it.
"01 haught t’a done better. Oi’m
hawful sorry 01 went back on ’im. Hit
was the lemonalde. Tho boys didn’t
mean no ’arm, but bit started the ’ell
hlnside.”
Geordie hurled out some bitter words.
"Don’t be 'ard on ’em, Geordie. They
didn’t mean no ’arm,” he said, nnd his
eyes kept waiting till Geordie said hur
riedly:
"Na, na, lad! I’ll Juist leave them till
the Almichty.”
Then Mrs. Mavor sang softly, smooth
ing his hand, "Just as I Am,” and Billy
dozed quietly for half an hour.
When he awoke again, his eyes turn
ed to Mr. Oralg, and they were trou
bled and anxious.
"01 tried ’ard. Oi wanted to win,”
he struggled to say.
By this time Oraig was master of
hlihself, and he answered in a clear,
distinct voice:
"Listen, Billy. You made a great
fight, and you are going to win yet.
And, besides, do you remember the
sheep that got lost over the moun
tains?” Vrhis parable was Billy's spe
cial dellgnt. "He didn’t beat it when
he got it, did he? He took it in his
arms and carried It home, and so he
will you.”
And Billy, keeping his eyes fastened
on Mr. Oralg, simply said;
"Will 'e?”
"Sure!” said Craig.
"Will ’e?” he repeated, turning his
eyes upon Mrs. Mavor.
"Why, yes, Billy,” she answered
cheerily, though the tears were stream
ing from her eyes. "I would, and he
loves you far more.”
He looked at her, smiled and closed
bfs eyes. I put njiy hand on his heart.
It was fluttering feebly. Again a trou
bled look passed over his face.
"My—poor—hold—mother!” he whis
pered. "She’s—hin—the—wukus.”
“I shall take care of her, Billy,” said
Mrs. Mavor in a clear voice, and again
Billy smiled. Then he turned his eyes
to Mr. Craig and from him to Geordie
and at last to Mrs. Mavor, where they
rested. She bent over and kissed him
twice on the forehead.
"Tell 'er,” he said, with difficulty, "e’s
took me ’ome.”
"Yes, Billy!” she cried, gazing into
his glazing, eyes.
He tided to lift her hand. She kissed
him again. He drew one deep breath
and lay quite still. ,
"Thank the blessed Saviour!” said
Mr. Craig reverently, “He has taken
him home.”
But Mrs. Mavor held the dead hand
tight and sobbed out passionately:
"Oh, Billy, Billy, you helped me once
When I heeded help! I cannot forget!”
~4aAJjteordie. gepanimr. "Aye. laddie.
) laddie 1” pass'ed out into the fading light
' of the early evening.
Next day no one went to work, for to
all it seemed a sacred day. They car
ried him into the .little church, and
there Mr. Craig spoke of his long, hard
fight and of his final victory, for he
died without a fear and with love to
the men who, not knowing, had been
his death. And there was no bitter
ness in any heart, for Mr. Craig read
the story of the sheep and told how
gently he had taken Billy home; but,
though no word was spoken, it was
there the league was made again.
They laid him under the pines beside
Lewis Mavor, and the miners threw
sprigs of evergreen into the open
grave. When Slavin, sobbing bitterly,
brought his sprig, no one stopped him,
though all thought it strange.
As we turned to leave the grave the
light from the evening sun came soft
ly through the gap in the mountains
and, filling the valley, touched the trees
and the little mound beneath with glo
ry, and I thought of that other glory
Which is brighter than the sun and
Was not sorry that poor Billy’s weary
fight was over, and I could not help
agreeing with Craig that It was there
the league had its revenge.
10
CHAPTER X.
WHAT CAME TO SLAVIN'.
ILLY BREEN’S legacy to the
Black Rock mining camp was
a new league, which was more
than the old league remade.
The league wap new in its spirit and in
its methods. The impression made up
on tho camp by Billy Breen’s death
Was very remarkable, and I have nev
er been quite able to account for it.
The mood of the community at the
time was peculiarly susceptible. Billy
was one of the oldest of the old tim
ers. His decline and fall had been a
long process, and his struggle for life
and manhood was striking enough to
arrest the attention nnd awaken the
) sympathy of the whole camp. We in
stinctively side with a man in his
struggle for freedom, for we feel that
freedom is native to him and to us.
The sudden collapse of the struggle
stirred the men with a deep pity for
the beaten man and a deep contempt
for those who had tricked him to his
doom; but, though the pity and the
contempt remained, the gloom was re
lieved and the sepse of defeat removed
from the men’s minds by the trans
forming glory of Billy's last hour! Mr.
Craig, reading of the tragedy of Billy’s
death, transfigured defeat into victory,
nnd this was'gradually accepted by the
men ns the true reading, though to
them It was full of mystery. But they
could all understand and appreciate at
full value the spirit that breathed
through the words of the dying man:
"Don’t be ’ard on ’em. They didn’t
mean no ’arm.” And this was the new
spirit of the league.
It was this spirit that surprised Sla
vin into sudden tears at the grave’s
side. He had come braced for curses
and vengeance, for all knew it was he
Who - had doctored Billy's lemonade,
and instead of vengeance the message
from the dead that echoed through the
voice of the living was one of pity and
forgiveness.
But the days of the league’s nega
tive, defensive warfare were over. The
fight was to the death, and now the
war was to be carried into the ene
my’s country. The league men pro
posed a thoroughly equipped and well
conducted coffee room, reading room
and hall to parallel the enemy’s lines
of operation and defeat them with
their own weapons upon their own
ground. The main outlines of the
scheme were clearly defined and were
easily seen, but the perfecting of the
details called for all Craig’s tact and
good sense. When, for instance, Ver
non Winton, who had charge of the
entertainment department, came for
Craig’s opinion as to a minstrel troupe
and private theatricals, Oraig was
prompt with his answer:
. “Anything clean goes.”
"A nigger show?” asked Winton.
"Depends upon the niggers,” replied
Craig, with a gravely comic look,
shrewdly adding, "Ask Mrsr Mavor. 1
And so the League Minstrel and Dra
matic company became an established
fact and proved, as Craig afterward
told jne, a great means of grace to the
camp.
Shaw had charge of the social de
partment, whose special care it was to
see that the men were made welcome
to the cozy, cheerful reading room,
where they might chat, smoke, read,
write or play games, according to
fancy.
But Craig felt that the success or
failure of the scheme would largely
depend upon the character of the resi
dent manager, who, while caring for
reading room and hall, would control
and operate the important department
represented by the coffee room.
"At this point the whole business
may come to grief,” he said to Mrs.
Mavor, without whose counsel nothing
was done.
“Why come to grief?” she asked
brightly.
"Because if we don’t get the right
man that’s what will happen,” he re
plied in a tone that spoke of anxious
worry.
“But we shall get the right man, nev
er fear.” Her serene courage never
faltered. . "Hejwlll .qpffle.to us,’!.—
uraig turned ana gazea at her in
frank admiration and said:
"If I only had your courage l”
"Courage!” she answered quickly.
"It is not for you to say that.” And at
his answering look the red came into
her cheek and the depths in her eyes
glowed, and I marveled and wondered,
looking at Craig’s cool face, whether
his blood were running evenly through
his veins. But his voice was quiet—a
shade too quiet, I thought—as he grave
ly replied:
"I would often be a coward but for
the shame of it”
And so the league waited for thejnan
to come who was to be resident mana
ger and make the new enterprise a
success. And come he did, but the
manner of his coming was so extraor
dinary that I have believed In the doc
trine of a special providence ever since,
for, as Craig said, "If he had come
straight from heaven, I could not have
been more surprised.”
While the league was thus waiting,
its interest centered upon Slavin, chief
ly because he represented more than
any other the forces of the enemy, and,
though Billy Breen stood between him
and the vengeance of the angry men
who would have made short work of
him and his saloon, nothing could save
him from himself, and after the fu
neral Slavin went to his bar and drank
whisky as he had never drunk before.
But the more he drank the fiercer and
gloomier he became, and when the men
drinking with him chaffed him he
swore deeply and with such threats
that they left him alone.
It did not help Slavin either to have
Nixon stride in through the crowd
drinking at his bar and give him words
of warning.
“It is not your fault, Slavin,” he said
in a slow, cool voice, “that you and
your precious crew didn’t send me to
my death too. You’ve won your bet
but I want to say that next time,
though you are seven to one or ten
times that, when any of you boys of
fer me a drink I’ll take you to mean
fight, and I’ll not disappoint you, and
some one will be killed.” A^d, so say
ing, he strode out again, leaving a mean
looking crowd of men behind him. All
who had not been concerned in the
business at Nixon’s shack expressed ap
proval of his position and hoped he
would see it through.
But the impression of Nixon’s words
upon Slavin was as nothing compared
with that made by Geordie Crawford.
It was not what he said so much as
the manner of awful solemnity he car
ried. Geordie was struggling consci
entiously to keep his promise to "not
be ’ard on the boys” and found consid
erable relief in' remembering that he
had agreed "to leave them tae the Al
michty.” But the manner of leaving
them was so solemnly awful that I
could not wonder that Slavin’s super
stitious Irish nature supjflied him with
supernatural terrors. It was the sec
ond day after the funeral that Geordie
and I were walking toward Slavin’s.
There was a great shout of laughter as
we drew near.
Geordie stopped short and, saying,
"We’ll juist gang In a meenute,” pass
ed through the crowd and up to the
bar.
"Michael Slavin,” began Geordie, and
the men stared in dead silence, with
their glasses in their hands—"Michael
Slavin, I promised the lad I’d bear ye
nae ill wull, but juist leave ye tae the
Almichty, an’ I want tae tell ye that
jl’m keepin* ma wur-r-d. But,” and here
he raised his hand, and his voice be
came preternaturally solemn, "his bluid
is upon yer ban’s. Do ye no’ see it?”
His voice rose sharply, and as he
pointed Slavin instinctively glanced at
his hands, and Geordie added:
"Aye, an’ the Lord .will require it o’
ye an’ yer hoose.”
They told me that Slavin shivered as
if taken with ague after Geordie went
out, and, though he laughed and swore,
he did not stop drinking till he sank in
a drunken stupor and had to be car
ried to bed. His little French Canadian
(wife could not understand the change
that had come over her husband.
"He’s like one bear,” she confided to
Mrs. Mavor, to whom she was showing
her baby of a year old. “He’s not kees
me one tam dls day. He’s mos’ hawful
had. He’s not even look at de baby.”
And this seemed sufficient proof that
something was seriously, (wrong, for
ehg went on to say; „ _ .
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