Menotah Part 35

She cast the words back at him as he sat huddled before the door. 'You may throw aside your fear. Have I kept this strength to fail at the last hour, when retribution lies like a gift in my hand? I, child as you call me, am older even than you. The day of sorrow is longer than the year of joy.'

'You will return?' he muttered, dimly perceiving that she moved away.

'When the moons dips upon the ridge summits,' she said. Then, with the child clasped to her bosom, she disappeared with slow step amid the fast gathering darkness.

CHAPTER III

RESURRECTION

A big bluff man, with wide, glowing face and stentorian voice, entered the precincts of Garry about the end of July. He came invigorated by the prospect of a fortnight's leave, with the outspoken intention of enjoying himself. At every saloon--for he visited each impartially--there was a resonant welcome from many boon companions.

McAuliffe was popular in his way among those of his own set.

So, three days after arrival, he might have been seen proceeding along the princ.i.p.al street, accompanied by half a dozen elderly men, lined and bearded, yet all disporting themselves like boys released from school.

They were all 'Company lads,' down on leave from northern posts, actuated by a single idea of padding their few days of emanc.i.p.ation by as large an amount of dissipation as possible.

Presently this gang rolled round an abrupt corner, to collide heavily with a thickset man, b.u.t.toned up to the chin in a thick blue coat, and smoking a cigar of abnormal dimensions. With difficulty he retained his balance, though he completely failed to preserve contact with the undue length of tobacco, which was dashed from his jaws by the force of impact, and lay in the white dust. Before the owner could reclaim it, McAuliffe had seized him in a bear-like grip.

'It's Captain!' he bellowed. 'Darned if 'tisn't old Captain Robinson.'

'Why! why! Alf McAuliffe, if I'm not a liar,' gasped the other. 'Well!

well! Hold on there, Alf. There's an hour's smoke lying on the trail.

Wait till I get my fist round it.'

'Boys!' said McAuliffe, turning to his companions, 'I'm going off for a while. Want to have a talk with Captain here. Pa.s.s over the basket, Pete.'

'You'll turn up later?' cried the satellites in unison, one of them handing over a small brown hamper, which he seemed to relinquish not unwillingly.

''Course. I'll meet you round the tent. Think I'm going to miss the fun?'

Every beard wagged, each eye twinkled, at the prospect of approaching diversion.

'Come on. Captain,' shouted the Factor, 'So long, boys. You're spoiling for a good sc.r.a.p, the whole derned crowd of you.'

'S'long, Alf.' Then the chorus, influenced by entire mutual understanding, wheeled into an adjacent saloon, whither McAuliffe followed them wistfully with his eyes.

He was, indeed, consuming with badly suppressed excitement. 'What do you think is the last racket. Captain?'

The other blew a mighty cloud of germ-destroying smoke, and shook his head.

'Never could guess a thing, Alf. Let's hear it.'

'Peter's preaching!' burst forth McAuliffe, in a voice that might have been heard the other side of Garry.

'What, never old Peter? No: Peter Denton, that used to serve drinks at the Tec.u.mseh? I mind him well. Terrible on praying he was. Used to say a grace before and after every gla.s.s of liquor. Not him, Alf?'

'That's who,' continued the Factor, heartily, 'That same living lump of hypocrisy. He's got a big tent fixed up 'way north side of the fort, and he holds what he calls revival meetings there every evening this month.

There's a sermon, then he takes up a collection--for rescuing unsaved brethren. Least that's how he puts it, but I've got a fairish notion that the only unsaved brother who has a look into that money is Mister Peter himself. Don't tell a lie about it anyway, do he, Captain?'

The other chuckled behind his unwieldy cigar. 'What's your racket now, Alf?'

'Going round there later, along with the other boys. We're going to put ourselves in front seats and take in the whole darned show. We'll have some fun, sure. Peter don't know I'm around here. He'll feel wonderful surprised when he sees my old face peeking up under his nose. Wouldn't wonder if it didn't come near spoiling his sermon.'

'Well! well! You're a teaser, Alf. But say, what's that you've got in the basket there? Seems to me sort of uncomfortable to the nose.' He blew a cloud of smoke, then sniffed suspiciously.

McAuliffe was almost ashamed of himself. 'Well, now, I'm a derned sort of old-fas.h.i.+oned baby, ain't I? It's disgraceful at my time of life.

See, I don't often get a holiday, Captain. When the chance comes, I'm bound to kick around a bit and knock up the dust. This is just a sort of modest surprise party I've fixed up for Peter--to mind him of old times, and show there's no ill feeling, you know. Captain.' Then he produced from behind his back the brown hamper. The same appeared particularly attractive to the flies, for a mult.i.tude of every species and size hovered and buzzed over the straw cover. 'Don't touch. Captain. I tell you they're as hearty as skunks.'

The Captain coughed suddenly, as an unsavoury odour a.s.sailed his nostrils.

'What is it, Alf? Been buying up old fish?'

'Just eggs,' came the modest answer. 'But they weren't laid yesterday.

Tell you, Captain, if you look close, you can pretty near see the feathers shooting out of the sh.e.l.l.'

'You're sort of hard on old Peter, strikes me,' began the other, but McAuliffe choked him off at once,--

'Nothing's bad enough for the cowardly rascal. Shouldn't be surprised if we cut the tent ropes before we're through with him.' He laid the redolent hamper on the ground, that he might rub his hands in delight at the thought.

This public demonstration called forth the astonishment of a pa.s.sing Chinaman, who stood and gazed blankly at the big man's evolutions.

'Here's more of your pards coming around,' said Captain Robinson.

'They'll be running you into a cool place presently, Alf, if they see you cutting these sort of didoes.'

'Dern his gall!' exclaimed McAuliffe, catching up the hamper and thrusting it against the Celestial's face. 'You git home, Johnny, and wash your clothes.'

With unusual alacrity this command was obeyed.

'Now, Captain, come on back to the hotel and have a feed with me.'

'Can't do it, Alf. Got a whole crowd of things to fix up. Come round later, if you like.'

'Well, be up half past nine. Sharp on time, you know; I'll be there.

Room No. 14. You'll find your way there by the smell of whisky. Least that's what Dave said. Wonderful nose Davey has for that sort nothing, anyway.'

'Right. If you don't turn up, I'll reckon the police have got hold of you for making a disturbance, eh?'

McAuliffe picked up his basket with a chuckle. 'I'm young enough to play the fool, but I'm too old to get caught,' he said. Then he made speedily towards the saloon, where he knew his elderly companions might still be found. A few minutes later he was vigorously quarrelling with the bar-tender, who wanted to eject him and his unhealthy burden.

It was a strange spectacle, one which probably might not be seen in any other country, thus to find several men, all of them distinctly past the prime of life, indulging in capricious acts of rowdyism which could only befit the average schoolboy. The officials of the H.B.C. chained down as they are for the greater part of life to the monotonous loneliness of some northern station, form a cla.s.s apart from all others. As such a cla.s.s they are especially distinguished by a strong craving after liquor--a natural product of a continued solitary existence--and a juvenile impetuosity of manner, which can only exhibit itself during their few days of leave, when they can return to civilisation to feel themselves again surrounded by fellow creatures. The reaction is a natural one. The anchorite who returns to the world generally plunges deeply into the whirling vortex of pleasure, to make up as far as possible for all he has lost. A conclusion points at once to the axiom, that folly is no respecter either of age or person.

It was half an hour after the time appointed, when McAuliffe, arm-in-arm with Dave Spencer, tumbled noisily into the hall of the hotel, where Captain Robinson was waiting behind another cigar of great proportion.

'Fact is,' burst forth the Factor, as he entered in cyclonic fas.h.i.+on, with a cut across the forehead and his big face adorned with several bruises, 'we had a bit of a row with some of the fellows. Come on upstairs. Captain; there we'll have a smooth time for next few hours.

Yes, 'twas a regular set-to tussle,' he continued, as they arranged themselves upstairs. 'It wasn't so very far from a free fight. But we got the best of it. Yes, we diddled them--though we weren't much of a crowd, far as numbers went. Davey here came along just the right time, and mixed himself up fine. I tell you, Captain, you'd have curled up if you'd have seen Peter's face, when he spotted me sitting right down front of him, with a grin on my face you might have measured by yards.

What with me encouraging him in a sort of whisper all the time, he couldn't talk worth shucks. I just wish I could have got his face photographed later on, when old Billy MacIntosh caught him per-lump on the end of the nose with a fairly meaty egg. Tell you, it would have drawn a grin out of a fence post. Dave was squirming around like a pesky worm.' He dropped heavily into a chair, and shook again with laughter.