Menotah Part 36

'It's too bad, boys,' said Captain Robinson. 'Here were you having a smooth time, while I was putting in hard work.'

'Never mind. Captain,' said Dave, 'we're right in it now. Where's the liquor, Alf?'

The Factor, with true hospitality, was helping himself first. Then the bottle went round, the air became charged with smoke, conversation grew discursive.

'Quite a long time since I saw you last, Alf. Dave I'm meeting down in Selkirk pretty often. I reckon it's three years since we ran up.'

'It's all that since I was down. Garry's changed more than a little in the time. You're the same, Captain. I reckon you've chewed your weight in baccy since then.'

'I guess. How about yourself? How's the shooting, eh? Crack shot yet, Alf?'

The Factor growled out a low laugh, and beat his great fist upon the insecure table. 'Not a darned bit of it, Captain; it's no go. Tell you, I'll never be able to shoot. Getting worse all the time. Listen here to what happened a few days before I came away this trip. I was out early to chop logs, and first thing I saw was a fat old tree-partridge, settled on that big pine 'way outside the door. So I said to Justin, "Fetch over your gun, boy, while I show you the way to knock down partridges." I thought to myself, this is a slick shot right enough.

I'll have this old chap for breakfast. Well, I guess that bird knew something about me, or maybe its pards had put it up to a thing or two, for he kind of jerked his head a one side and looked at me, much as to say, "What derned trick are you up to, anyway? Think you're going to fix me, eh?" So Justin chucked me over the gun all ready, while the old fowl sat tight as a rock. Then I took a good, steady aim and fired. Suppose I must have brought down about a bushel of cones and truck. But when the smoke cleared off, there was that partridge sidling along the bough towards me, pleased as anything with himself, looking at me straight, with as near a grin across his beak as any bird's ever managed yet.

"I'll shoot you by proxy, anyway," I shouted, and gave the gun over to Justin. But before he could get a fair hold of it, that partridge was off. You needn't tell me birds can't think out things for themselves.

Tree-partridges can, if other birds can't. That old fool knew well enough I couldn't hit him, but he was pretty darned sure Justin could.

He reckoned it would be too risky to wait and see if he was right second time.'

Dave reached across and turned up the lamp flame with deep-throated chuckles. The Captain knocked an inch of ash from his cigar without perceptibly shortening it. McAuliffe suddenly blew the stub of his out upon the floor, in a shout of laughter.

'Goldam! can't get rid of old Peter's face time it stopped that egg.

Here! pa.s.s over that box of sharpshooters, Dave.'

It was now dark and silent outside. About the only sound round the window was the dull, vibrating hum of mosquitoes. Presently the Factor began to narrate his experiences during the previous year.

But when he came to relate a certain incident, which had occurred on that autumn night of the boat's departure, the jocular lines were stamped from the two faces, as their owners listened intently to the narrative. Then the Captain spoke. 'You were full, Alf.'

'I was sober. Goldam! I was ridiculously sober.'

'Mind, there was Kitty as well,' put in Dave.

'That fixes it, if my words don't. I saw him plainly, just as I can see you boys now. You can't guess how terrible scared I was the next few days. I couldn't dare leave the fort after dark I made Justin hide away the whisky keg. You can call me a razzle-witted old fool, but I hadn't even the courage to walk over young Winton's grave in broad sunlight.'

There was a short interval of silence, then the Captain expanded his nostrils. 'Reckon there's something burning in here.'

McAuliffe sniffed capaciously. 'You're right, Captain. Darn it, there's my cigar stub working out a nice hole in that matting. I'm the sort of fellow to be in a civilised place, ain't I?'

He went on his knees to examine the amount of injury done. 'Pa.s.s down some water, Dave; there's a hole right here I could shove my head through, and it's burning all the time.' When he had deluged the flooring to his satisfaction, he continued, 'Now we'll just s.h.i.+ft the table, so that one of the legs will nicely go over the bald spot. Then it won't get stuck down to my account. I reckon hotel servants never move anything.'

Hardly had he spoken, when a deep, wailing sound throbbed forth and echoed weirdly round the room.

The three started, then Dave shambled across and leaned as far from the window as the insect frame would permit. Presently it came again--a resonant iron cry, which solemnly thrilled the heart in the quiet night.

McAuliffe was still squatting on his haunches near the burnt matting. 'I know what it is!' he said suddenly; 'Father Lecompte's dead.'

For it was the single bell of the dim church opposite.

'Sure of that, Alf?' said the Captain, in awe-struck tones.

'Dead certain. He's been terrible sick. Old Tache never left him all last night. They said this morning he couldn't pull through to-day.

'Well, it's nice to be a good man, though they've got to go, same as us bad 'uns.'

The m.u.f.fled cry rang again. Then McAuliffe dragged himself back to the chair. 'We've got to die, sure enough. They needn't get to work and remind us of it, though, just as we're feeling good. Fill up, Captain.'

'Shut down the window,' cried Dave. 'Enough to give a fellow the megrims, listening to that racket.'

'Too hot, Dave,' said the Factor. 'Here, we'll have a round of poker.

Wait till I get out the cards.'

_Plang!_

'Goldam! queer that a dirty bit of metal should put three men in the suds. Cheer up, Captain; you're a chicken yet.'

He threw the cards across the table, then brandished a bottle round his head.

'When round the bar, A short life and a merry 'un Is better far, Than a long life and a dreary 'un.'

The other two took up the last line and howled it forth with the l.u.s.ty strength of unimpaired lungs.

'That's your style, Alf!' shouted Dave. 'Fill up the gla.s.ses, pard, and to h.e.l.l with the blue devils.'

_Plang!_

Three gla.s.ses were raised, emptied in a quick gulp, then replenished.

There were hurrying footsteps through the night beneath, while a stranger, more solemn sound uprose from the church, where the windows were filled with yellow light. A solemn ma.s.s was being sung for the repose of the soul of the dead priest.

'Hold it down, Dave!' cried the Captain. 'Five cent ante, boys.'

The amber-coloured liquor gurgled pleasantly from the bottle neck and splashed into the Factor's gla.s.s. His eyes shone as he gathered up the five cards. 'We'll have our little jamboree well as them over the way, I reckon.'

'Quit it, Alf,' said the Captain; 'I'm religious, mind. No blasphemy here.'

McAuliffe laughed thickly into his gla.s.s. 'You're all right, Captain.

Mind how you won twenty dollars off me one Sunday, just before starting for church? Reckon your religion wouldn't drag you from this bottle over to yon service, eh?'

_Plang!_

'I'll raise you, Dave. That's nothing to do with it, Alf; I'm religious when--when--'

'You're sick, eh?'

'There's a time for everything,' said the Captain, with the solemnity that was liquor induced. 'I'm religious at the proper time, mind you, just at the proper time. Other times I'm gay.'

'This is the gay time. Captain. You're a great lad! It's your pot. Ante up, Dave.'

'Reckon it's time the bottle pa.s.sed this side,' said the latter.

'Got to go by me first, Davey. Never mind, lad; I'll leave you the cork to chew. That's right, Captain; hold your hand round it.'