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/J/^

1 WALTER GIBBS, THE YOUNG BOSS.

( :

;,<*

\\:mi (ill!' HK \()r\() Boss

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h\' ALTER (IU5BS, THE YurXG BoSS

AND OTllEU NTOIUES

A BOOK FOE BOYS

EDWARD WILLIAM TIIOMSOX

AuTHuK OF " Olu Man Savauin"

TORONTO :
WILLIAM BRIGGS, WESLEY BUILDINGS.

S. F. HUESTIS, Halifax. N.S.

f C. W. COATES, Montreal, Que.

^^ZAVi

2 0195i

Entkrku according to Act of the Parliamer.t of Canada, in the year one I
thousand eight •lundreU and ninety-six, by William BKiiiiis, at the Dt^purtment '
of Agriculture.

*t*ffe

CONTENTS.

• •

Walteh Gihhs, tiik YoiNfi Boss
Tom's Fe.viui i. Adventure

lyvx . . .

Smoky Days
Drifted Away ,

• •

The Ten-Dollar Bill

• • •

King Tom .

• • • • .

PAOK
1

. 136
. 149
. 173
. 281
. 321
. 343

These stories all first appeared in the Yoiu'Ji's Compan-
ion, Boston, to whose publishers the author is indebted for
liberty to is&ue the tales in the present form.

WALTER GTBl^^S, THE YOUNG BOSS.

WAJ

Mr
the SI
amaze
him a
of tht
aftern
finish^
Walte
mattei

a Scot
You, a
of two
"W
would

WALTER GIBBS, THE YOUNG BOSS.

CHAPTER I.

A BANKER AND A BOY.

Mr. Douglas Gkmmill, private banker in
the small Canadian town of Garroch, scared in
amazement at the sunburned youth who faced
him across a low, table desk in the back office
of the bank. It was after four o'clock tf an
afternoon in late September. Mr. Gemraill had
finished his daily business with the public when
Walter Gibbs had asked to be admitted on a
matter of urgency.

"I3ut, man alive," said Mr. GemmiU, who was
a Scot by birth, " 1 never heard tell o' the like !
You, a boy, come here and ask me for a credit
of two thousand dollars I It's just amazing ! "

"Well, sir," said W^alter, "I expected it
would surpiise you. But I mustn't leave any-

i-\

■ \

4 WALTER GlIiBSy

thing untried. My mother authorized me to
come. Mr. I5ar)-y, the hiwyer, says she can act
legally for my father Avhile lie's unconscious.
You'd let my ^tlier have the money, wouldn't
you, sir ? "

"Aye, your father, lad. That's a horse of
another color. But he's in brain fever, or the
like — and there's no telling if — " The banker
stopped short ; he shrank from telling the boy
his father might soon die.

" It's really my father you'd be lending to,"
said Wi.lter, "and the contract is good. I went
over the ground with my father, and I think he
told me all he meant to do. It's a very simple
job — draining that lake."

" Aye, is it ? Perhaps you'll just explain it,
Wally."

The youth took from his breast pocket a large
note-book such as surveyors use, and pencilled
a sketch while he talked : —

" Here's the lake — they call it Loon Lake.
It's ten miles from Elbow Carry, and that's
forty miles up the Ottawa from here. The lake
is more than a mile long, hah a mile wide, and
about twelve feet deep. It is in the middle of

THE YOUNG BOSS. 6

a flat of ten or twelve thousand acres of rich
land. That's the land that Mr. Ilebden wants
to drain."

"What for?"

'* So that he can crop it. Nothing but wild
hay grows there now. It is flooded in spring and
early summer. He thinks he can plough and sow
it, or sell it off in farm lots if it's made dry."

" Well, how is that to be done ? "

"Easy enough, sir. This creek runs out of
the lake to the Ottawa River, two miles away.
There's a fall of twenty-five feet in the creek.
Its bed is white limestone, easy to blast out.
Above the fall there is scarcely any water in
summer, for the lake sinks very low and stops
discharging. My father's contract is to blast
out a channel four feet deep from the fall to
the lake."

" I see. That will lower the Ifike four feet,
eh?"

" Yes, sir, from its summer level. But my
father has the option of going deeper, and for
that he would get nearly twice as much per
cubic yard."

"Aye, we'll no mind that," said the banker,

^fr^

««■■

WALTEU a Tims,

cautiously pursing liis lips. "It's best just to
reason on the plain contract, and no chance
work. How much excavation in the four-feet
channel ? "

"About six thousand yards, sir."

" What's the price per yard ? "

When the banker, whose business was to
know something about all sorts of business,
heard the price, he whistled.

" Man, there should be profit in yon, lad ! "

"Yes, sir, and there may be more if we go
deeper. But I was going to explain that the
rock is harder under the top layer of four feet

— at least it is wliere it crops out at the fall."
"Ah, well, I've said we'll just not reckon on

the deep work. You seem to know what you're
talking about, Wally."

" It would be queer if I didn't, sir — I helped
my father to figure on the whole thing. He
talks to me a good deal while we're working."

" You're learning the surveying, eh ? "

" Yes, sir, and civil engineering. I'm appren-
tice to my father."

" Aye, I've seen you with yon whig-maleerie

— what-you-call-it ? "

THE YOUNG JiOSN. 7

" Theodolite, I guess you mean, sir."

" Aye, tlieodolite I Just that. I don't remem-
her your father taking a contract before."

'' Not just around here, sir. But when lie sees
a orood small one, he goes in for it sometimes.
He's been building the Buckstone Kiver bridge
and dam."

" Aye, has he ? And it's there lie fell off the
pier, eh, and got his hurt ? "

" Yes, sir."

"What does Doctor Mostyn say of his case?"

" He says father will come round all right, but
his head will be affected for a good many weeks,
maybe. And he should go south soon — as soon
as he's strong enough to be moved, for his lungs
are delicate, and he'll be weak to face the winter."

Mr. (lemmill was a ruddy-faced, stout, comba-
tive-looking man of over fifty. He could frown
very terrificall}'- at delinquent borrowers, but he
now beamed quite genially at Walter. The
banker lay back in his chair and gazed steadily
at the youth, who looked him straight in the eye
with perfect ingenuousness.

" Your father put up tifteen hundred dollars'
forfeit, eh?"

WALTER a I BUS,

"Yes, sir; it's in the liands of Mr. lieniis,
the manager of the Merchants' Bank branch at
El how Carry."

" Tell me about that."

" Well, sir, Mr. Hebden is very hot to have
the job of draining finished this fall. He insisted
on my father starting with at least thirty men
on the first of October — tliat's two days after
to-morrow. And he insisted on my father put-
ting up fifteen hundred, to be forfeited, in case
he doesn't get started on time, liesides that, the |
job must be finished by the first of next January,
or else my father forfeits a hundred dollars a
day till it's done."

" Hebden is cranky, it's well known. But I
wonder at your father."

" My father had a purpose, sir. He considered
it no risk to put up the forfeit. And by doing
so he could better insist that Mr. Hebden should
put up forfeit money, too. You know he hates
to pay out his money. They say he makes all
kinds of delays. But in this case he is bound
to forfeit three thousand dollars if he fails to
pay any monthly estimate three days after it is
certified by Surveyor Leclerc."

THE YOUNG BOSS.

Mr. Genimill laughed loiully.

"Good!" siiid lie. "Your father was wide-
awake this time. But of all the green gowks of
English cockneys that ever came out to Canada,
liebden is the worst. Ah, weel, i.. dealings
with a daft body one must fall in with whimsies.
But it's a pity, Wally, — your fallier mortgaged
his house tc raise yon lifteen hundred, and now
the forfeit's gone."

'' It will be if I can't save it. That's what I'm
trying to do, Mr. Gemmill. I do hope you will
allow me a credit ! "

"• For two thousand dollars ! Good sakes,
lad, what for do you want so much money?"

" I don't want it all now, sir. l>ut I'll have
to put at least thirty men on the job on the first
of October. I'll want money to pay their wages
the first month before I get an estimate from
.Mr. llebden, and they're sure to be asking for
advances, too."

"Say seven hundred dollars, Wally," Mr.
Gemmill threw in.

" Then I've got to take them up to Elbow

Carry by steamer ; take them ten miles back in

|tlie woods or marshes : get a big shant} built ;

WALTER a in US,

feed Jill hands for a month ; l)uy powder, fuse,
charcoal — "

-Charcoal? What for?"

" For the hlacksmiths to sharpen drills with.
There's no other blacksmiths' coal within lifty
miles, and charcoal's best, anyhow."

" Go ahead, lad," said the banker, looking
pleased.

" I'll need to buy steel and iron for jumpers,
ball drills, and striking hammers ; a blacksmith's
outfit, some axes, a cooking kit — "

" Oh I " interrupted the banker, laughing, " I
see you know what plant you'll need. But why
risk the money? Why not go to Ifebden and
get him to let your father out of the contract,
seeing he's been unexpectedly hurt?"

" I did go to see him, sir, and I'm almost
ashamed to say it. But my mother thought I
ought to. I came from there this morning. I
told him all about my father's being badly hurt.
I asked him to extend the contract till next
year. But nothing would do. He's an ugly-
tempered little man."

" He said he would seize the fifteen hundred
forfeit, eh?"

TTiK rovYG noss.

"Yes, sir."

"Dill you tell hlni that your father Ind no
expeiieiiced friend or partner or employed to act
for liiiu? "

"No, sir. But I think I left him under the
impression that we couldn't go on Avith the job.
For 1 didn't then see how we could. It was
only wlien I got home that I thought of coming
to you. I wisli you could think it right to help
my mother and father in this trouble, sir."
" At what rate, Wally ? "
" At any rate you like to ask, sir."
"Twenty per cent a month, Wally?"
"You wouldn't like to ask that, Mr. Gem-
mill," smiled the youth.

" No, ch ? " Mr. Gemmill looked merry, and

then grave. "Man alive, just consider! It's

me that's to take the risk. Here's a lad of

eighteen wants two thousand dollars. He can't

igive a penny of security. His father is down

[sick with his head caved in. Suppose he gets

[on his legs in two or three months, will he pay

[a debt like this, incurred without his authorit}'?

Besides, his house is already mortgaged. Don't

[you see, lad, that you're asking me to lend you

IVALTKR ailfliS,

two thousand dollars, no less, on your personal
word?"

Walter stood in deep thought for a full min-
ute. Tliere was depression in liis voice wlicii
he next s[)oke, hut he looked the l)anker in tlie
eye witli fraidc good nature.

"I see that, sir. I'm sure I'd pay you all
right, but I can understand it wouldn't he busi-
ness to deal so w4th a fellow of my age."

"Aye — you see that, eh?"

"Yes, sir, and I'll bid you good-day, and I'm
obliged to you for listening so kindly to my
story." Walter turned to go.

"Wait a wee, Wally. Never be precipitate,
lad," said Mr. Gemmill with an oracular air.
"Business is business — no doubt of that. But
is it always just exactly good business to be so
bound up in red tape that a man can't see the
length of his nose? Tell me that, now?"

Walter sat down with joy thumping at his
heart and beaming from his eyes on the banker.

"Lad, but I like you," said Mr. Gemmill,
who was really an impulsive old gentleman.

" I like you, too, sir," said Walter quite
simply, and the banker laughed outright at the
reply.

THE YnuNG noss.

" It's an unco' strange world wo'ro living
in," said Mr. ricniniill, " if a business man is
to make no account of personal character and
ability by way of security, but be all for en-
dorsements and ])onds and the like. In my
opeenion it's tlie wise lender that looks to the
(piality of his customer first, eh, WallyV"

But Walter said nothing, lie had too much
tact to speak as if taking to himself tlie im-
plied praise, but he blushed under the sense of
approval.

"Who's your foreman?" Mr. Gemmill said,
suddeidy recovering caution.

''My fatlier hired Pat Lyncb last week, be-
fore he was hurt."

"Aye — did he? Well, I'll no say but what
Pat's a very honest man. And he can get work
out of men, moreover. But your fatlier would
be reckoning to oversee Pat himself."

"Yes, sir, I know that. I'll have to be on
the job all the time."

" You think you can boss it ? "

"Yes, sir. I've seen a good deal of rock
excavation."

"What about your men?"

( !

ff (

WALTER GIBBS,

" My father spoke to thirty. They were
expecting to start to-morrow. A cook and
bhicksiviith, too. The blacksmith is under pay
already."

" You'll be ten miles from any village ? "

"Yes, sir. Elbow Carry is the nearest place."

"And if your men struck work you'd be
stuck?"

" Yes, sir ; for there's none too much time to
do the job in. But they're to engage by the
month. When I knew any of them were going
I could look out for m.ore."

" That's right. Engage them all in writing,
mind you."

" Yes, sir." Walter spoke with some excite-
ment at the significance of the banker's advice.

" Well, Wally, I don't know but you can
have the money. If you don't do well with it,
I'm deceived. I'd believe you've got a grand
notion of business, but for one thing."

"What's that, Mr. Gemmill?"

"You're not asking what I'll charge for the
accommodation."

" I know you'll do what's right, sir."

" So I will, Wally, so I will," said the banker,

1£

THE YOUNG BOSS.

warmly. "And that was good business sense
iii you, too. It's in knowing wluit-likc man
you're dealing with that the sense comes in.
I'll charge you what I'd charge your father.
And now, don't you feel the responsibility
weighing heavy on you, lad?''

Walter ^bought a while before he replied.
'^Well, sir, I guess 1 feel more glad than any-
thmg."

"Go along, lad. You're all right. If you'd
said you were burdened with a great sense oi'
responsibility I'd have thought you were a wee
bit hypocritical. You'll feel it on your young
shoulders, though, before you get through this
job. Here's my hand to you for a straightfor-
ward, honest lad, and no humbug about you. I'll
see you a man when you come back to Garroch."

When Walter had gone the old gentleman
sat twiddling his pen and looking out of the
window absently, and smiling at the course he
had taken, for his heart said it was creditable.
But the questioning habit of his business gradu-
ally came back to his head. Why was it that
He' Icn, the cranky Englishman, was giving so
nnu uaily high a piice for that rock excavation?

WALTER GIBBS,

Was there some risk in the job of which Walter
did not know ?

" Well, it's too late now," said Mr. Gemmill,
going through the village streets to his tea.
"My promise is given. And if there is some
unseen tlilliculty before him, I'll just have to
trust his young brains to get round it."

Meantime Walter had gone home on flying
feet, though already his elation at securing the
money was giving way to the sense of responsi-
bility which he had disavowed.

So much to buy; so many men to hire and
command; so urgent a need to save the forfeit
by getting his men to work within three days I
In the cares of the venture he almost forgot
that steady, dull pain at his heart, which meant
anxiety for the life of his father.

As the blue-eyed boy of business went up
the front steps of his father's mortgaged home,
a younger boy, keen-looking and brown-eyed,
came down to meet him.

"Well, Sam, how's father now?" said Walter
to his brother,

" Hsh ! Walter," warned Sam. " He's in the
delirium again."

TrrK YOUNG BOSS.

" Talking about the contract ? "

"Yes; it's always the contract, and the mort-
[^age, and the forfeit. Now he's got some-
tliiiig new. He's talking about a dam a good
deal."

"Tliat'll be the dam at the Buckstone Bridge,
of course. There's no dam on the new contract.
It's on the old contract the dam is."

"Well, then, he's got the two tldngs mixed
up in the delirium," said Sam. " I guess that's
it. I suppose Mr. Gemmill won't let you have
the money, eh?"

"But he's going to."

^'Walter! Going to give you enough to go
on witii the job? "

"Two thousand dollars."

"Oh, bully! Hooray!"

"H — sli, Sam. Father may hear."

" Well, you are a bu ler, Walter ! And youll
be boss! What job are you going to give me?"

" Job of going to school five days a week,
Sam," smiled W.'dter.

"Oh, come now, Walter. You'll want a clerk
and timekeeper."

"(jiiess not, Sam. I calculate to do all that

WALTKU GIBBS,

myself. But we'll see. Come, let us go up to
mother with the news."

As they tiptoed upstairs they coul ' hear the
voice of their father in his delirium: —

*' Of course, Hebden," cried the injured engi-
neer. "Forfeit — that's all right. But oli, the
water ! See it rising ! See ! I'm all right, though ;
but if the dam goes — that's the trouble. Time
is the essence of the contract. Yes, yes. yes.
I'll push it. Fifteen hundred dollars' forfeit —
all gone, all gone ! The dam, the dam, the dam ! "
he wailed, and stopped short, so that complete
silence fell on the house. Then, after a con-
siderable pause, his incoherent ravings began
again.

Meantime Walter's mother had come fort!-
into the upper hall to meet her boys.

"I wonder what dam it is that's troubling
father's mind," said she.

"Oh, that's the dam he built above Buck-
stone Bridge, where he was hurt," said Walter,
confidently. " It was a hard job. Father has
got all his business all mixed up together, I
think. Poor father I IJow long will he be this
way, does the doctor say?"

THE YOUNG BOSS.

"Perhaps three or four days, Wi*xter. The
doctor says there's some pressure on his brain,
but it will be all right soon. Only father must
go south and mustn't bo troubled by business at
all for a long time. It will be ^r^+ty liard to
keep it from him, though — he will be so anx-
ious when he knows the forfeit money is lost."

"But it isn't, mother," said Sam.

"Oh Walter! Has Mr. Gemmill helped us?"

"Yes, mother. I'm to have two thousand
dollars' credit, and I must get right to work
tliis evening hiring men."

"God bless Mr. Gemmill forever!" said Mrs.
(libbs fervently. " He trusts my dear son. Oh
Walter, if you can supply your father's place !
Wliy, we shall be saved from ruin ! "

"I'll do my best, mother. I believe I can
run the job. Won't you tell Mary to give" me
my tea at once? I must start right out and
hunt up Pat Lynch and the men."

■■M

CHAPTER 11.

SAVING THE FORFEIT.

At eleven o'clock in the forenoon of the first
of October, Walter Gibbs, with thirty-five men,
a blacksmith, and a cook, landed from the Ottawa
River steamer Prince George at the lumbermen's
villap-e of Elbow Carry. There bad news con-
fronted him in the person of James Jaffray, the
landlord of the " Royal Arms," a large, white,
frame hotel tliat faced the wharf from across a
wide space of rock and sand. Behind this hotel
the village rambled up the side of a considerable
hill.

Jaffray, better known as "Windy Jim" to
the lumbermen of the Ottawa Valley, was a tall,
spare, exceedingly active man of nearly sixty,
who had gained a* considerable fortune, mainly
from teaming. When gangs of raftsmen had
run cribs down the long, crooked, furious Elbow
Rapids, J affray's spring wagons took them

WALTER filBIiS, THE YOUNG BOSS.

quickly over the Carry, seven miles of good
road, to the Head, that they might run another
lot of cribs the same day.

He was the victim of some nervous disease
of the eyelids which caused him to wink inces-
santly with both eyes while speaking. This
gave him a most undignilied and comical appear-
ance, quite inconsistent with his shrewd, forci-
ble character.

It was seldom suspected that Jaffray lived
in much mortification because the ludicrous
winking still made him a laughing-stock after
he had become so wealthy and important that
his soul longed for the title of " Squire," com-
monly bestowed on a rival tavern-keeper of tri-
fling consequence, but come of a " good family."
None but a few thirsty bummers about the bar
called Jaffray " Squire." To nearly all other
men he was known by his youthful nickname
of Windy Jim.

In business a man never can tell precisely
what he gains by good manners and loses by
bad. Walter, during his two previous visits to
Elbow Carry, had invariably spoken to his host
as Mr. Jaffray. Moreover, a sentiment of pity

i)0

SALTER GIBBS,

for the gray, shrewd man, so unfortunately
conipelled to look always ludicrous, had moved
the youth to address him with particular polite-
ness. Thus he had unwittingly gained a valu-
able friend.

But it was with no cheering visage that Jaf-
fray confronted Walter as he stepped from the
gangway to the wharf.

" Well, you're here at last ! " said the tavern-
keeper.

" Yes, sir. I telegraphed you it was impos-
sible for me to get away yesterday, as I had
hoped. Have you got five teams ready for
me?"

"Five? Fifty, if you want 'em! But I
guess you don't."

" No, five will do, Mr. Jaffray," said Walter.

" I don't believe you'll need any," retorted
Jaffray, ominously.

"How's that, sir?"

" Hebden says your father has thrown up the
contract. Says he'd ought to have had thirty
men on the job yesterday. He's gone down
there himself with a gang — started at day-
light.

»»

THE YOUNG BOSS.

"He hits, has he?" said Walter, reticent,
ilioii^'h surprised.

" Says your father's forfeited fifteen hundred
and the joh."

'' Oh, I i^uess not," said Walter, coolly, con-
(•(iiiHug his dismay. " How does he make that

(>Ut f

" Well, this is the first of October. You'd
otiglit to have started yesterday."

" The contract calls for a start on or before
iiie first."

••'It's nearly noon. You can't get started at
work ten miles from here to-day, can you ? "

" Can't I ? I leave that to you, Mr. Jaffray."

" You will, eh ? Level head, my son."

The tavern-keeper loved to have things left
to his management. He was instantly in action.

I lo had a score to settle with Mr. Hebden, for
the small Englishman had struck a blow at Jaf-
fray's interests by employing the rival tavern-
keeper's teams.

Mr. Hebden had inherited a lumbering busi-
ness from his uncle, who had built it up from
headquarters at Elbow Carry. To this the new
owner iiad recentl}' come from his oliice as a

WALTER GlliliS,

8IIU1II solicitor in Eii<;laml. Such wiis tlie man's
self-coiilidcncc that he iiuagiiicd liimsclf coinpi:-
teiit to manage the very huge and complicattMl
"concern," though he "could not tell a cant-
hook from a broadaxe," so his foremt^n said.

"Bill," shouted Jaffray, to one of his lios-
tlers, "get seven teams in right away! Have
'em round in a jiffy. John, run and tell my
girls to hustle up grub for forty men — ham 'n'
eggs, iried pork, cold beef, tea, anything that's
handy — biff, mind! Mr. Gibbs, let your men
hurry your truck ashore. Make 'em work like
sixty. Then let 'em come straight to the
house for grub. You haven't got a minute to
spare, but eat men must."

The men, who were nearly all IrishniLMi,
had already jum])ed to obey Jaffray. Tliey
were delighted with tlie prospect of a dinner
at the hotel table, quite famous on the river,
for they had expected to boil tea on a fire in
the open, and feed on cold pork and bread.
Moreover, they had heard enough to suspect
that their job was threatened, and a fight for
possession of thf> ground likely to occur that
afternoon. \

THE vol rye jioss.

"Come witli inc. Mr. (libbs," said Jaffray,
taking VValtui's arm and walking rapidly
toward his hotel. " You understand there's
no time to lose. That's why I took the liberty
(if ordering dinner for your whole gang — not
but what it will pay nie, too. And seven
teams will hustle us down there faster than
live. rU show llebden who he calls Windy
Jim!" and his eyes winked with extraordinary
(piickness.

"Wliydid Mr. llebden take a gang of men
down there? That beats me to understand,"
.said Walter.

'' Why, don't you see ? He's bound to claim
that forfeit. He's not going to give you pos-
session. I'm told he is barricading the road,
in case you should come to-day. He won't say
it's a l)arricade, but that's what it will amount
to. He'll make out lie didn't expect you, and
that he's going to work there with a gang of his
own, and he'll try to keep you from striking a
stroke to-day. To-morrow he'll claim tlie for-
feit. Say, where is that money?"

"It's in Mr. Bemis's hands, Merchants' Bank
branch up the hill." x \ s

$ i

WALTEii (J inns.

" Well, you run right along up there now,
my son, and tell Bemis you've got men here —
tell him you'll get to work to-day. lie sun;
you notify him in writing. Hurry, or he may
go out to dinner, and he's got no clerk. You
can't afford to wait till he comes back ; wu
nnist be out of here in half an hour. I'll show
Ilebden who's who at Elbow Carry ! "

" All right. But I say, Mr. Jaffray, please
tell my foreman that we'll not bother taking
the blacksmith's kit along to-day, nor any of
the rest of the heavy truck. It'll be enou^^li
if we just take drills for all hands, and the
big tent and a day's provisions. You can send
the rest down to-morrow."

" You bet I can ! And you've got a head on
you, my son. Leave me to fix things. You
scoot for Bemis. Now, don't forget. Notify
him in writing, .\ind."

So Waiter lan up the hill just in time to
find the bank agent locking his door and about
to leave for the dinner-hour.

" Mr. Bemis, I believe," said Walter.

" Yes."

" I want to open an account with you,"

rilK YOUNC It OSS.

"Can't you comu in after dinner? "

"No, sir, I am liurricd for time."

" Well come in," and Mr. Bcmis opened liis
door.

"(jrarroch local bank, eh?" he said, on takitig
iiiul examining the check wliicli Walter tendered.
" Mr. (iemmill's check's all right, I supi)ose.
Hut how is this? It's not drawn to you."

"Yes, it is, sir. My name is Walter Gi])bs."

" Pooh ! I know Mr. Walter Gibbs, of Gar-
roch, well. He's old enough to be your father."

" He is ray father."

" Oh, I see ! You're his son, then ? "

"That's it, sir. I've come up to start work
[it Loon Lake."

" Aren't you a day late ? "

" The first of October's not gone, sir."

"Precisely what I told Mr. Hebden last
night."

" Did he claim the forfeit ? "

"He did. But I told him you might come
along to-day."

" What did he say to that? "

" Well, I don't know but what he was right.
Yuu can't get started to-day on the job,"

f^- ■ ' '

(

1 ; •■ 1

(

WALTER (unns.

« But 1 shall."

" How, if you lind a lot of trees sort of acci-
dentally felled across the road? "

" Surely Mr. Hebden wouldn't do that! "
" I didn't say he would. J3ut don't you go
making any calculations on Mr. Hebden ; he's
a man by himself."

" Did he say he'd refuse me possession ? "
"I've said too much already. Anyhow, it's
none of my affair. Only if he claims forfeit
to-morrow and you're not started, what can 1
do?"

" You'd hand him the money ? "
" Shouldn't I have to? The bond is clear."
"All right. Will you kindly let me have
pen and paper, Mr. Bemis ? "
" Certainly, certainly."

Walter went over to the counter and wrote
rapidly : —

1st October, 189;}.
John Bemi8, Esq.,

Agent Merchants' Branch Bank,
Elbow Carry.

Dkau Sir, — I lierel)y give you notice that T will this
day begin work with thirty-seven men on my fatlif^r's
account ou the Loon Lake drainage contract. And 1

THE YOU NO nOSS.

iiotiiy you to hold i\w forfeit moneys depoKited with you
in connection with the contract between my father, Wiil-
U'l (jihbs, and Howard llebden, Esquire, and to disre-
gard any chiim from ]\Ir. llebden tliat the contract has
not been Ijegun according to agreement.

Yours truly,

Walteu Gibbs, Jr.

'' Good enougli ! " said Mr. Bemis, reading
tliu i)aper. " I dare say you'll be sharp enough
for llebden. Down him if you can; nobody
will be sorry." It was wonderful how quickly
tlio little Englishman iiad arrayed against him
all the " Colonials," as he contemptuously called
them, of the lumbering country.

Walter's men were already feeding hugely
when he returned to the hotel. The wagons
were waiting for them outside. Fifteen min-
utes later Jaffray, witli Walter on one side of
him and Pat Lynch on the other, was lashing
his horses up-hill at the head of the wagon pro-
cessiv^n.

" The b'hya is well plazed this day, Misther
Walther," said Pat. " Troth and a bit of a ruc-
tion would be their delight entirely."

" Uh, pshaw, Pat, there won't be any trouble,"

WALTER GIBBS,

" Throuble ! Not the laste in tlie wurrld.
Mistlier Hebden has only ten i)ay-soui)s wnX
him. Tliiouble, is it? Us agin ten Frinch!"

"■ But it wouhl never do to fight them, Pat."

"Bedad, I don't know thin. It's paycible
men we are. A child might play wid us aftlier
the feed Squire Jaffray give us. But it would
play puck Avid us if we was kep' out of the job,
and as engaged for the fall. Who'd pay us thin,
I'd like to know ? "

" We'll claim possession, and get it, too, Pat.
But surely you're too intelligent to want to
start the jol) with a light."

" Faix, an' that's thrue," said Pat, plainly
flattered, " But if they do be blockin' the road
wid trees ? "

" How did you hear anything about that? "

"Wid my two ears, Misther Walther. Wiui
of the min ori the wharf tould me."

" Hebden is such a blab," interposed Jaffray,
"that he brags of everything he's going to do.
But I'll fix him and his barricade."

" Phwat way, squire ? " Pat's Irish wits had
instantly marked the blandness of Jaffray wlien
the title was given him by the men in his bar.

THE YOUNG JiOSS.

<' We'll circumvent liim."

''jjcgor! That's the schame!" said Pat,
ically Duzzled. " Oh, by this aiic^ by that, if
I'd a head on me like yourself, sor ! "

*' Here's my idea," said Jaffray, turning his
face to Walter. " There are two roads around
the inarsli. Both lead to the place where your

ork lies. Oii'j is ten miles long ; it crosses the
jjoutli side of the hay-lands when they're dry,
as now. The other is twelve miles ; and it keeps
jiigh land to the north of the meadows. Heb-
dcii reckons you'll come by the short road ; the
other is not used at this season."

"Oh, I see. You'll take the long road," said
Walter.

" Precisely. We'll get to the creek about a
quarter of a mile behind him. Bill Hodgins
came \r.> r"'ni that way about ten o'clock. He
said Ilei. '. .C men were felling trees across the
short roaa, m a pinery, just a little on from
wliere the road leaves the hay-land. They say
the trees are for a new shanty. And that's
where you've got to build your shanty if you
want it handy to the job."

" I bee. We'll circumvent him and get to

WALTER am US,

work ripfht away," said Walter. " I'm ever so
much obliged to you, Mr. J affray, for planning
this."

" Hold on ! We haven't got there yet," said
Jaffray. " There's a danger. He may see us
across the marsh on the bare highlands. Some-
body lias got tc get him back into the pinery.
If he sees us coming he may smell a rat and
scoot across with his men and barricade the
long road."

"And delay us till dark, eh?"

" Precisely. Then I don't know but your
goose would be cooked."

" I'd claim possession," said Walter. " He
couldn't refuse it according to the agreement."

" Oh, but you want to avoid law-play. He's
one of these kind of one-horse lawyers — delay
and a suit would just please him. You don't
know the kind of a crank he is. You want tn
get into possession and at work to-day — then
you've got him tight, I guess."

" I'll follow your advice, Mr. Jaffray."

"And well you might, Misther Walter. Tie
jabers ! The squire's got a head on his shoul-
ders," put in Pal.

(j(i}t-

■' Hi, there! don't you know this isn't a jml)lic roa<l ?"

'' Wei]

;iii(l liis

niiicli gi

When tl

here, you

tliree me

the other

hold ilel

woods to

tlie drilL

runt's ffio

" It's a

think I'vt

l)e ready I

" Talk !

away all 1

About f

three mei

pine wood

looking ba

tiie neares

little man

"li'er-stalke

'' Hi, th

this isn't a

THE YOUNG BOSS.

'^ Well, niiiyl)e you'll liave a row with Tlclxlen
;iii(l liis men, Mr. Gibbs," said JafiVay, looking
iiiucli gratified. " But this is what I advise :
Wlieu the road folks, about four miles from
liere, you go ahead in this wagon with two or
three men by the sliort road. Lynch and I and
tlie others will go around the otlier way. You
hold Ilebden in parley — get him back into the
woods to talk and keep him there till you hear
the drills. Lord ! I'd like to see the little
runt's face when he hears the drills clanking ! "

" It's a fair deception," said Walter. "He'll
ihiiik I've failed to bring on a gang and he'll
be ready to talk."

" Talk ! Blather, you mean. Let him blather
away .all he likes. His gab will just suit you."

About an hour and a half later Walter, with
three men, trotted from the hay-land into a
pine wood and saw before them an accidental-
looking barricade of many felled trees. Behind
the nearest stood a red-faced, insolent-looking
little man clad in loud plaid, knickerbockers, a
•leer-stalker cap, and a single eyeglass.

'' Hi, there ! " he cried. " Don't you know
this isn't a public road?"

WALTER GlIiBS,

"How are you, Mr. llebduii?" cried Walter,
standing up in the wagon.

"Aw — it's Mr. Gibbs's boy!" said Ilebden,
affecting surprise. " Glad to see you," as he
really was, because Walter had so few men.

"I've come down to take possession according
to the contract," said Walter. " Who's been
blocking the road ? "

" Dear me ! Why, my boy, you're too late.
I've put men on the job myself. 'Jliese trees
are for a shanty they're going to buiUl.''

"How am I too late? This is the first of
October."

"But the contrr»ct calls for you to be at work
to-day with at least thirty men."

" Well, I brought them up to Elbow Carry."

"Oh, but that won't do, my boy. Pooli!
They should have been at work to-day. You've
forfeited the job."

" Do you mean to say you'd claim fifteen hun-
dred dollars from my father in this way — know-
ing him to have been so badly hurt — if I was
only one day late in starting ? "

" Of course — dear me — certainly ! A con-
tract is a contract. Law is law. Business

THE YOUNG BOSS.

is l)usiness. Let this be a lesson to you, my

boy."

"■ Well, I think it's a pretty tough business,''
said Walter. " Surely you don't meaii to be so
liard, Mr. Hebden. I'd like to talk it over with
you."

"• Oh, certainly ! Talk as much as you like.
Come along ; I've a tent back in the trees.
We'll be quite comfortable there. Come along."

So Walter left his men with the horses,
crawled through and under the felled pines,
and joined the little Englishman. Hebden was
so delighted with his certitude of gaining the
fifteen hundred dollars' forfeit, and with the
opportunity to show his legal wisdom before an
audience, that he called his ten Frenchmen off
work to astonish them with his discourse.

Half an hour went by and still the little man
was explaining the sacred nature of a contract.
The law of contracts was the basis of modern
civilization. It was a solemn duty to insist on
the most exact fulfilment of written bargains,
lie talked so continuously that he caught no
slightest sound of the wagons that Walter
vaguely heard coming down the rocky hills.

WAi/naf aiiiiis.

"And so you luuUy will take my fiitlier's fif-
tucii liuiidrod dollui-s ? " said Wultur, toward lliu
last.

" It's my duty, my boy. A man's first duty is
to himself. I'll draw the money to-morrow."

"I don't believe it, sir," said Walter, who liad
caught a faint rumble of wheels on the plank
brid<^e over the creek.

" Oh, my L(oo(l fellow, you're queer. Why
shouldn't 1 draw it? "

" Well, for one thing, I've notified Mr. IJemis
to hold it," said Walter, now unable to restrain
his amusement.

" On what ground, my young friend ? "

" On the ground that I'd start to-day."

" Oh, but you see you can't now. If you liad
thirty men ; if they worked ten minutes to-day,
your case would be good. liut as it is — wliy,
you haven't a leg to stand on in law. Hello!
What's that noise ? "

" It's my men at work," said Walter, coolly ;
for a great clanking of steel on rock suddenly
echoed and rang through the woods.

" Your men ? " shouted Hebden, springing
wildly to his feet.

T1IK YOUNd I toss.

"Yes; I sent them aroiuid with Jaffray's
tuaius by the hjiig road."

Instantly the elioleric Englishman jumjied at
Walter so furiously that the boy's quickness of
I'odt barely saved him from a heavy blow. Next
moment he warded off another, and struck back.
Hut Ilebden had already reflected that he was
committing assault before witnesses.

'' Follow me, men ! " he roared to his French-
Canadians, and ran through the woods to the
creek.

''Stop there ! Come out of that! " he yelled,
shaking his list at Pat and his thirty, while
Jalfray and his drivers grinned from the wagons
back of the bridge.

" Troth, sor," said Pat, scratching his head
imd affecting to be puzzled, " how cud us shtop
Jiere luid come out, too? Min can't be in two
places at wanst."

'" Shut up, you Irish hog ! Come out of that !
I'll prosecute every man of you for trespass."

" Hog, is it ? Phwat's the name of the baste
that 'ud thry for to bate a sick man out of his
money?"

"Keep quiet, Pat," cried Walter.

38 WALTElt CUIUS, THE YOUNd liOSS.

"' Oh ! Wliiii a ijintleman axes niu ! " grinned
Pat. " Keep them dhiills going, bhys."

"I'll turn you out to-morrow! I'll pay no
estimates ! I'll bring an action for ejectment
as sure as my name is Hebden ! "

" It's circumvented your name is," laughed
Pat. "Ax the sc^uire. Oh, hegorra, 'tis him-
self as is the sthrategist of sthrategists ! "

CHAl'TEli [II.

ilKHDICNS FIRST iJLOW.

WiiKN jMr. HeiKlcn, vowing to be even with
VViiltor, liad retreated beloie the sarcasms of
Pill Lynch, JaiTray came down from liis liigh
wiigon, winking both eyes furiousl^', aid drew
the young boss beyond hearing of liis men.

" What are you going to do next?" he asked.

•' Make camp first," replied Walter, promptly.

"That's right; always liave in mind just
wliat you're going to do next. Look aliead.
You're not likely to liave plain sailing on this
jol). llebden will do all he can to worry you.
Now what I want you to understand is this:
\vhi!ii you're in a fix come to me. I wasn't
horn yesterday. Just you come to me in
trouble."

"I will, Mr. Jatlray. it's very kind of you
to make the ofYcr. I certainly will. You saved
the job to-day."

WALTER Gin US,

" All right. Of iiourse I'll make a profit out
of you sometimes — always wheu I do {iny real
work, teauiiug or sucli. But advice — that's
free, mind. I ain't j^oing to let Hebden squeeze
you out for want of advice, and you'll find I'm
up to snuff.

" One difference between young fellows,"
continued JafTray, impressively, " is that some
have sense tf) take the advico of oxperience, and
some have only sense enough to learn from
experience after they've bought it by big mis-
takes. Now you can't afford to make any big
mistakes on this job, so you come to me — Fin
Experience."

" All right, sir. And thank you kindly, Mr.
Jaffray."

"Well, good-by<\ I've got to get back to the
Carry, and you've got to get into camp. Make
your men comfortable, that's the first point.
They ain't river-men ; they're navvies. They
can't rough it : they don't know how, and they
won't learn, either. It's well you had sense to
fetch the big tent right along. Up with it.
Get plenty of hay in for the men to sleep

on.

THE VOUNQ JiOSS,

41'

" I don't know about that, Mr. Jaffiay. That
hay is Mr. liebden's, of oourse. Whpt would
he do if I took it?" and Walter pointed to
many large stacks of hay elevated on platforms
ill tlio marsh lane which could be seen up the
creek.

"See, now, what it is to consult Experience,"
said Jaffray, impressively. ''That isn't lieb-
den's hay. That's my hay — at least, all with-
in a mile is. I bought it of Hebden. Take all
you want of it, and good luck to you. More-
over, that liay will be of big importance to you
yet, or I don't know beans. But there's no
time to talk of that now ; I'll tell you all about
it another time. Good-bye."

Before the wagons had rumbled be3'ond hear-
ing Walter, who was an experienced camper,
had called the men from their drills. He
showed some how to put up the big tent ; he
sent ten men into the marsh land for bundles of
hay, which they carried compressed in ropes
twisied of hay ; he put Meigs, the blacksmith,
and Duffy, the cook, at the work of preparing
tlie evening meal. So that night the men sle[)t
ill comfort, and the merry clanking of their

WALTL'Ii GinnSy

drills frightened the wild ducks of Looii Luke
bright and early the next morning.

Now there was a shanty to build. Instead of
})utting his navvies at work so unusual to them,
Walter consulted Experience in the person of
J affray, who came down that day with the
wagon-loads of supplies that had been left in
his care.

" The point is this, Mr. Jaff ray," said the
young boss, as the navvies had already dubbed
Walter. " If I take any of the men off tlie
rock-work, Hebden may claim that I haven't
got thirty men on the job, as the contract
requires."

" I guess he wouldn't make much out of that
claim," said Jaffray, "for the job means any-
thing connected with the job, I calculate. Jiut
it's as well to run no risks of giving any kind
of an excuse to that little shyster. Besides, ii
dozen river-men will build more shanty in two
days than thirty laborers could in a week. I'll
see and send you down a gang right away. Of
course I'll charge you for the trouble."

"Certainly, sir, that's business; but I'll i)e
obliged to you ail the same."

THE YOUNG liOSS.

"You'll want about a forty-niau ahaiity, I
guess."

"About that, sir."

But before the gang of clever axemen had
put the roof on, a great change came into
Walter's plans. He determined to liriTe "an
addition big enough for seventy men. His
reasons for making so important an extension
were frankly set forth in a letter to Mr. Gem-
mill, his backer and banker.

" It is this w.ay," his letter ran. " Pat Lynch
says there will be no trouble in taking out
eifjht feet of the rock instead of four. He fmds
that the two upper layers are each two feet
deep. My father thought that the layer under
them was much harder, and as much as six feet
deep. So it is at the outcrop at the fall.

" But there's a ' fault ' a little way above it.
And up stream from the fault the three layers
are easy, and they lie as flat as a pancake,
altoirether, eight feet deep. So we ought to
take tliem out, because we'll get twice as much
for tlie lower four feet as for the upper.

"The drilling for eight feet won't be near
double that for four feet, but there'll bo twice

WALTER GTJiliS,

as much broken stuff to move out of the chan-
nel, .and that's why I want to double my force."
Mr. GemnuU's only reply to this was a tele-
gram, which Jaffray himself brought down from
the Carry. It read : —

"I approve of the iticroase of your force.

" DouoLAS Gemmill "

Then Walter thought it would Ixj good policy
to take Jaffray fully into confidence. So lie
handed the despatch to the shrewd tavern-
keeper and explained the circumstances. To
the amazement of the young boss, Jaffray's two-
eyed winking stopped, for the reason that he
could not open either eye for mirth. His face
expressed the extreme of almost wicked satis-
faction, as he slapped his thin legs and curled
up in paroxysms of glee.

" Son," he said, at last, " you've got a great
head ! This will be one on Hebden. To think
you'll go eight feet deep I Why, he'll jiay
three times over, and he don't want this here
channel no more'n a dog wants a tin tail."

"I don't tliink I (juite understand, sir," said
Walter, much puzzled.

THE YOUNG liOSfi.

" 'Tisii't necessary you should — not now,"
siiid Juffray. " But I do. See that hay
yoiidor ? "

" Yes, sir."

" Know what it's worth a ton ? "

" Ahout twelve dollars."

" Y"S, son, and more sometimes. Hay is hay
in a rock country. Now you just think of that.
But don't you say a word to anybody, not a
word. I'll tend to all this at the right time.
You drive the job."

Nothing more could Walter get from Jaffray
on the mysterious subject. The young boss
puzzled over it for two or three days, but his
acquainttiUce with the lumbering industry and
general business was too limited to give him
the clue. Soon the matter went almost wholly
out of his mind, as the responsibilities of the
work crowded even more heavily on his young
shoulders.

During the two weeks which went by be-
tween the starting of the work and the comple-
tion of the seventy-man shanty, Walter had
learned that the direction of even a small work
and a small number of men requires a sort of

WALTER GIIiBS,

ability wliicli is quite different from knowl-
edge and experience in actually performing
the labor. Pat Lynch was a skilled foreman ;
liis gang were all practised (juarryinen. They
blasted and wheeled out the rock at fine speed ;
l)ut the task of keeping them able and willing
put tlie young boss incessantly to the use of his
wits.

He had to keep their time. He had to give
them advances and keep account of the moneys.
He liad to send small checks on Mr. Gemmill
to their wives at Garroch. He had to keep for
them a store of small articles of clothing, to-
bacco, jack-knives, and many other odds and
ends. He had to furnish Meigs, the black-
smith, with various things needed for the forge.

Above all he had to arrange for incessant
supplies to the cook. In short, the young boss
found himself an administrator, a sort of tem-
porary father or Providence to each and all of
the men, who must be kept comfortable and
contented, else they would forsake the contract.

His duties as commissariat officer alone wern
a considerable task. The village of Elbow
Carry was ten miles away, and its stores were

ill siii>p
markt't-L
oil the
but the
potatoes,
milk eno

None (
at the (
board an
t'oiiiiiry

For t!
making
tixed in 1
liverer, f(
not he i
camp,
favored 1
money.

Late ir
accounts,
for next
driving t

Tliis n
must lia-
course.

THE YOUNG BOSS.

ill suitplied. There were few fanners, and no
inaiket-garduners nor butchers in that re<^iou
on the verge of the great lumbering country;
but the men must have fresh meat, butter, eggs,
potatoes, onions, cabbage, turnips, and at least
milk enough to color their tea and coffee.

None of these things could be surely obtained
at the Carry, and Walter, after buying a buck-
board and horse from Jaffray, had to scour the
country far and wide to obtain such supplies.

For the fact that his success depended on
making his men comfortable became (juickly
fixed in his mind. He must be buyer and de-
liverer, for the few and scattered farmers could
not be induced to bring their things to the
camp. Indeed, they seemed to think they
favored him in killing a sheep or cow for his
money.

Late into the night the youth worked at his
accounts, his time-book, his cash-book, his plans
for next day. Sometimes he fell asleep while
driving to and fro.

Tins mortified and alarmed him. He saw ho
must have an assistant. But who? Sam, of
course. So he brought up his younger brother

WAi/ri'jii a runs.

from Gairocli, and brouglii liim just in time,
for two days later the lirst blow of Ilebduii foil
licavily.

It was lour days after the men liad moved
into the new shanty. Their satisi'aetiou in its
shelter had begun to make Walter feel that
things were going very well. Mists that might
be malarial had covered the lowlands above thu
tent every morning and evening ; the fog had
seemed to penetrate or leak into the canvas,
and much the navvies had grumbled of discom-
fort and " sick-like " feelings, not wholly imag-
inary. Now, with a cheerful open fire in th(3
middle of the roofed shanty, they seemed merry
and content.

" ]>oss," said Meigs, the blacksmith, to Wal-
ter, " Fm pretty nigh out of charcoal."

" All right, Meigs. I'll see and get a load
down from the Carry to-d.ay."

" Oh, to-morrow will do."

" All right, Meigs."

Charcoal wfis, in a sense, the life of the work.
It was necessary to Meigs' sharpening of the
jumpers and drills, without which all hands
must soon be idle. Now the contract required

TITE YOUNd BOSS.

llu; work to go on continuously, except in IkuI
wt'ather, else daily forfeits would be incurred.

Walter had brought a small supply of char-
coal from Garroch. He would earlier have
onlered more from there had lie not found that
the wharfinger at Elbow Carry kept a supply
on hand. For this the few blacksmiths of the
forest region came many miles, and to this source
Walter looked confidently. So he drove in at
once to order a load in by one of Jatfray's wagons.

" Charcoal ? " said the wharfinger. " I haven't
got a bushel."

" Why, what's that ? " said Walter, staring at
the fresh supply in store.

" That's Mr. Hebden's. He bought the whole
lot yesterday."

'' Well, I dare say he'll sell me a load," for
Walter had seen no more of tlie little English-
man, and could not credit anybody with per-
sistent animosity.

'* I guess he won't," said the wharfinger.

"Why, what's he need it all for?"

" I don't know — maybe he heard you were
near out. It's true he needs some for his depot
'way back."
9

WALTER aililiS,

"I'll sec liim, anyhow," said the youn^ boss,
and walked toward the onico of the llebdeu
estate. But on second thought he turned l);ick
for a moment.

" I want you to get in a couple of liundred
bushels of charcoal for me right away," he suid
to the wharfinger.

"All right. It'll bo here in a week." So
Walter had settled promptly for at least a
future supply.

On he went to Hebden's ofTice.

" I'm told you've bought all the charcoal in
town, sir," said Walter, smiling pleasantly,
"and as I'm wanting some, perhaps you'll
kindly sell me a load or two."

" Perhaps," snapped Mr. Ilebden.

" I must have charcoal, you know, sir."

"That's what I thought."

"What? Did you buy it to cut me out?"

" Put it any way yon please. It's mine, and
I'll keep it."

Walter checked his anger, turned on his heel,
and walked over to Jaff ray's hotel in real dis-
may. He could think of no other store of char-
coal within twenty -five miles, and there was no

riiK YOUNG lioaa.

niinunvl coal nearer tlian (iarroeli. At this diro
point the counsel of Personitied Experience
might he valuable.

l)Ut Jaffray was not in Elbow CaMy. lie had
gone to Pembroke, seventy miles away, and
would he absent for three days more. Hy that
time, unless Meigs should be supplied with
charcoal, all the men on Walter's job would bo
idle under pay, for they were liired by the
month.

Hiring a spring box-wagon witli a speedy
team from Jaffray 's stables, Walter appeared at
the shanty with an undisturbed countenance at
two o'clock that afternoon. Mis one chance
was tliat the wharfinger at lilack's Landing,
twenty-five miles distant, might have a stock of
the necessary charcoal. Thither he meant to
drive at once ; but he found at the shanty that
"trouldes never come singly."

As lie drove through the small pinery and to
the shanty door he heard the clink of drills and
jumpers sounding merrily, together with the
lighter tinkle of Meigs' hammer on anvil and
on tools. Walter was resolved to keep those
sounds going the next day at the price of driv-

WALTER aiuns.

iiig (luring most of tliu uoining night. But n:iv-
vies without cooked food will not work, and
Sam, on hearing Walter's wagon, came out of
the shanty with (juite appalling news.

" Duffy's sick I " he said. '' He was taken
with some kind of queer pains after you went
away. Nothing would do him but his bunk.
So there he is, and I guess he's in for a bud
illness."

" Great Cocsar ! " said Walter. " Who cooked
the dinner?"

" I did," said Sam, " in a kind of way.
There's not another man on the gang that can
cook at all."

"Bally for you, Sam! " said Walter, heartily.
" I don't know what I'd do without you. Do
you suppose you can cook a couple of meals
more r

" I s'pose I could. I can stand it if the men
can."

" Did they grumble ? "

" No — they said I did first-rate. But I know
they will grumble. Why, I can't make bread,
and what I don't know about soup and baked
beans would make a book."

THE you NO noss.

'' Look here, Sam, you must try to feed them
till I ^'et back in the morning. I've got to go
to lUack's Landing for charcoaL Don't say a
word about it. Is Duffy in pain ? "

'' Y(!.s, he is. We've got to fetch in a doctor."

'Sliminy, Sam! But that's so. Now I'll tell
you. I must go to Black's and tliat means I
can't let you liave my horse. After you get sup-
per you scoot over to Ilodgins' farm — it's only
four miles — and get him to drive you up to the
Carry. Fetch down bread for a couple of days.
Try to fetch back a cook. If you can't, you
ask Mrs. JafTray to let you have all the cakes
and pies shccan. They'll keep the men con-
Usnted till to-morrow with your cooking, then
ril be back and straighten things out."

''And the doctor?" said Sam.

'' Fetch the doctor for Duffy, of course.
Thai's Inimanity, and it will please the men,
too."

'' All right, boss," said Sam, "you can depend

on nie.

While travelling over the long, bad road to
Black's Landing Walter reflected with some-
thing like fear upon the degree to which the

IV ALTER GIBBS,

work was dependent on the cook. From that lie
pursued a train of thought which convinced him
that the blacksmith was still more essential to
his success in fulfilling the contract. Cooks
might be found without great difficulty in the
lumberiiig country, but blacksmiths were few
and far between. What if Meigs should fall
sick, or suddenly leave at the end of the month,'
Sam could take the cook's place for a day or
two, but who could take Meigs' ?

He had new alarm in thinking of what miglit
occur if either of these necessary functionaries
should fall sick and strike during his own ab-
sence. Walter must go to Garroch for a few-
days to hire thirty or forty more navvies, and
the cares of office were heavy on him as he re-
flected on the possibilities which his absence
might leave Sam to encounter alone.

His immediate anxieties fell from him, how-
ever, when he reached Black's Landing after
dark, and found that the wharfinger had charcoal
in stock. Giving his horses and himself rest till
two o'clock in the morning he took the road
back with a full wagon, and reached the shanty
just as the men were going to work.

" Bedii
to-day,'' i
and the 1
self is till
himself c
,i<:aiii. 1
tiiiin otlu
get the e

"How'
well enoi
aftornoor

- Well
lliravel t(
you — an
for two y
— for a I

"Then
tired yoi
Cany in

iiiere
hurried tl
none waj
men were
far-away
beaten, \^

^"-H,

THE YOUNG liOSS.

" Bediid, aiul I was tliiiikin' the job 'ud shtop
to-(liiy,'' said Pat Lynch, looking at the charcoal
and the blackened young boss. " But it's your*
self is tlie manager! Faix, Meigs was consatin'
liimself on a holiday. But now we're all light
.ijrain. And I'm thinkin' ye'd betther hurry up
thim other thirty or forty min if ye want us to
get the eight-foot channel done this sayson.'*

''How's Duffy?" asked Walter. "If he's
well enough to work I'll start for Garroch this
afternoon."

'' Well? Bedad, it's worse he is. But he can
thiavel to his wife. You'll need to take him wid
you — and the docther says he'll be no use here
for two weeks. Master Sam does well, though
- for a bhy ! "

"Then I must get a cook to-day," and the
tired young boss was on his way to Elbow
Carry in an hour.

Tiiere he found no Jaffray. To and fro he
hurried tlu'ough the village seeking a cook, but
none was to be hired. Already the lumber-
men were forwarding gangs and cooks to the
far-away shanties for winter's work. Wliolly
beaten, Walter returned to the slianty at night,

WALTER (UimS,

resolving to start for Garroch early next morn-
ing, leaving Sam to cook for two days more.
From Garroch he would send another cook im-
mediately after arriving there.

Ikit a great piece of luck seemed to havo
befallen him. On entering the shanty while
Sam was serving supper, Walter saw a singular-
looking, almost luunpbacked little man assisting
to pass the dishes.

"Here's a cook for you, Walt," said Sam.

" You ? " cried Walter, gazing with delight on
the stranger.

" Yes, sir, I'm lookin' for a jawb. I'm a
pystry byker by tryde. My name is Jorrocks,
Bob Jorrocks."

" You're a Londoner, I see, Jorrocks. Did
you ever cook in a shanty ? "

" Ho, bless you, I 'ad a jawb at cookin' ven I
vas hup for 'Ebden's."

"Did he take hold at cooking supper well
Sam?" asked Walter."

" I vas too much done bout vith valkin' to pret
supper, sir, but I'll show you in the mornin'."

" I'm going away before dayliglit," said Wal-
ter, " but if you were up for Hebden's last win-
ter

THE YOUNG BOSS.

"I vas, sir. Mr. 'Ebdeii told mo he'd 'card
you vaiited a cook." He pronounced all liis
(l()iil)le o\s like "oo" in boot.

" Well, that was pretty decent of Mr. Ilebden,
;it'lur all," said Walter, surprised.

'' Vot vages, sir?" put in the cockney.

"Tliirty dollai"S a month if you can cook
well."

"Hall right, sir. I hengages for a month.
You'll see — I'm a pystry byker by tryde."

It was soon obvious that the little man under-
stood dishwashing at any rate, for he helped
Sam with alacrity. Walter, worn out, went to
bed early and slept heavily till Sam woke him
at earliest dawn. The new cook was raking
the fire together skilfully.

"Oh, I guess you'll do, Jorrocks," said Wal-
ter, gladly.

" Me, sir ? Vy, I'm a pystry byker by tryde ! "

So Walter drove away 'ith Duffy and a light
heart, breakfasted at Jaffra 's, and as the steamer
took him down the broad, biown stream, rejoiced
exceedingly that Sam was delivered from hid
troubles. But alas, poor Sam !

CHAPTER IV.

A SUBSTITUTE FOR MEIGS.

At Garroch Walter was busy for three days
— hiring navvies, buying supplies, and explain-
ing the situation of the contract to Mr. Gemmill,
who was much pleased with his prot^igd's energy
and clearheadedness.

" Man, but you're developing, WiiUy ! " said
the banker. " It's only three weeks since you
started, and you're a man .already. I'm think-
ing the responsibilities will be heavy enough oii
ye now."

" I feel them, sir," said Walter, soberly. " 1 >ut
I think I can carry them. If only I could have
seen my father — and mother, too ! "

" Aye, I was thinking ye'd be a bit homesick,
lad. House all shut up, eh ? Looks lonely like.
Well, if your father was there, ye couldn't talk
business with him. Doctor Mostyn wouldn't
let ye. He says your father must just have his

WALTER GIBBS, THE YOUNG BOSS. .GO

brain resting for many a week to come. Have
you heard from your mother since tliey went
south ? "

'•'■ Yes, sir, there was a letter here for Sam, and
I opened it. They'd got as far as Washington.
Fiitlier was improving."

*'I make no doubt hell be all right, lad.
And I'm deceived if you don't make a pretty
penny while he's gone."

This was the hope that sustained the young
boss in his labors. But sometimes a dreadful
thought assailed him. What if he were neg-
lecting some part essential to the completion of
the job ? What if his father had foreseen some
pjreat dillficulty of which Walter was unaware ?
Wliat if that were the reason he had demanded
prices so high, and especially high for the deeper
excavation which Walter had undertaken, and
on account of which he was doubling the force
of his gang? But the youth could imagine
iiotliing for which lie had not provided, and he
was always soon able to shake off these fears.

On the fourth day after leaving Sam, Walter
arrived at Elbow Carry with thirty-seven men,
including a new cook, for two cooks would be

WALTER a Hi US,

needed for the doubled foree. He did not bring
a seeond bliieksmith. Meigs eould do all the
work, for the steel points lasted well in drilling
the soft limestone, and Walter meant to give
Meigs an inerease of pay.

lie had mueh confidence that this essential
man wouhl not leave him without long notice.
The young boss, honest himself, reckoned on
finding all men "square."

Jafliay met Walter with effusion and inces-
sant two-eyed winking.

"By golly," he cried, "you have })rought a
big gang ! " Then he lowered his voice to a
whisper. " That's right ; Ilebden will have to
pay the shot, anyhow."

" Wliy shouldn't he ? " asked Walter.

"What? You ain't twigged that point yet?
Didn't I tell you he's got no real use for that
channel you're making?"

"Yes; but why did lie make the contract?"

" Because he's a pig-1 ^aded English green-
horn, that consults no man of sense. Because
his head is full of old-country notions a])out tlio
advantage of draining fens. Don't you see it

yet?"

THE YOUNG BOSS.

" No, I don't. The land will be well drained,
won't it ? "

" You bet it will. But never mind. Don't
say a word, I tell you. I'll explain it to you
ill time. Mum, mind you. And I guess you're
needed at the job right away."

Leaving his men and supplies to be for-
warded by wagons, Walter hurried rapidly with
a liglit buggy to the shanty and Sam. On
entering the door he found his young brother
greasy, tired-looking, busy about the fire, while
Jurrocks was washing the dinner dishes.

" Why, what on earth, Sam ? You cooking ? "
cried Walter. Jorrocks turned his head away,
ai :1 seemed to shriidt deep into his boots.

" I've been cooking right along," said Sam.
"Jorrocks may be a pystry byker, but in beans-
byking and potato-biling and pork-cooking —
Great Scott ! "

"Can't he cook?"

" Cook ! No more than a baby ! "

" What do you mean by such a trick ? " cried
Walter, angrily, to Jorrocks, who turned to face
him with hands extended in oxplanatioji.

"Let him be, Walt. He's a good cook's

WALTKH GTBnS,

mate, anyliovv. I don't know what I'd have
(h)m3 without him," said Sam.

" But you tokl me you could cook ! " sliouted
Walter to Jorrocks.

"No sir, please. Hi told you Ili'd 'ad a jawb
of coo-kin'. I vas coo-ook's mate ven 1 vay Imp
for 'Ebden's, and I thowt lli'd learned enough.
Hut now Hi know Hi didn't learn nothing to
speak of."

" Well, you are a queer rascal ! "

" No, sir, please. Honly too 'opeful."

" And you're not a pastry-baker by trade?"

"H'im sorry Hi lied about that, sir. But
Hi wanted a jawb so bad ! I vas so hungry,
sir ! "

The little man looked so repentant and comi-
cally impudent at once that Walter both pitied
and laughed at him. Tlien the face of Jorrocks
clcrired, and he came forward with a confidential
air.

" The trewth is, sir," he said, striking a proud
attitude, " Hi'm an 'oss-jawckey by tryde."

" A horse-jockey ? "

" Yes, sir. Hi've rode at Hawscot and Noo-
market, and the Curragh of Kildare wunct, and

rrrE young noss.

I tliowt liif Hi ciould do that, I could do liaiiy-

tliiiig-"

"Cook, eh?"

"Coo-ook? Yes, sir, good enough for a h)t
of Ilirish."

'' Well, you're the most impudent specimen
ve met.

'^ That's wot Mr. 'Ehden told me, sir. Ho
W(-o-nldn't give me me py. ' Go down to the
Loon Lake jawh.' says 'e. ' Hi'm told tliey
want a coo-ook like you there.' "

*'0h, that was how he came to send you, eh?
And he wouldn't pay you ? "

"No, sir, and Hi vas dead broke. So vot
could a poor man do ? Lord, sir, if honly you'd
let me sty on ! "

" Bob Jorrocks is a good cook's mate," said
Sam again. " I like Bob Jorrocks though he's
siicli a shocking humbug."

" Tliank you, sir," said Jorrocks.

" He can help the new cook ; you're fetching
one up, aren't you, Walt?" said Sam, laughing.

"If you'll 'ire me hover again, you'll iind Hi'U
do more than my dooty, sir." Bob touched hit;
forelock to Wg-lter.

WALT Eli Glints,

" You can stay at twelve dollars a month, that
rate of wages to begin when you started, Jor-
rocks," said Walter. Jorrocks had probably won
this concession by his very deferential manners,
for all boys like to be treated as important men.

"Hall right, sir!" cried Jorrocks, much re-
lieved. ''Hand Ili'U get lieven with "Ebdeii
yet, too. Hi've got something to tell you, sir.
It's my dooty, now Ili'm 'ired."

" What do you mean, Jorrocks?"

Jorrocks drew Walter to one side and whis-
pered, "Wot if your blac smith was going to
leave?"

Walter stared at Jorrocks with something
like horror. Meigs had been engaged and
under pay nearly a week before the job began.
His month would be out on the morrow. He
could tlien legally go. If he should do so,
seventy men would be thrown idle till Walter
could bring on another blacksmith. Black-
smiths were scarce. And forfeits would be in-
curred by stopping the job for anything but bad
weather.

"What makes you think he's going?" asked
Walter.

THE YOUNG BOSS.

"Mr. 'Kbduii, sir," whispered Jorroeks. **'E
viis down 'ere at noon yesterday. Hi see 'im
liikiir IMeigs into the woods, so I foUered 'em
very (juiet, and 'eard 'ini hoffer Meigs ])ig py to
go to liis depot shanty and hlaeksniith there,"
ami Jorroeks went on detailing all he had over-
luianl.

Thus Walter, by his leniency to the "'oss-
jawi'key," had received a valuable Avarniug. lie
muditiited over the information carefully. It
seemed to him that he might at once triumph
over and hold Meigs by good management.

Accordingly, in the shanty tliat evening —
the shanty noisy with the loud talk between two
largo gangs of Garroch navvies who had not seen
eaeli other for nearly a month — ho waited, with
good-natured looks, for the blacksmith to spring
the surprise which he thought he had in store.

Walter had spent a good many odd hours of
boyhood in watching Garroch blacksmiths at
work, and he had also carefully observed Meigs's
manipulation of the drilling tools. He won-
dered if another blacksmith would be so very
hard to find.

It was not till most of the men had turned

WALTER (;HUIS,

into tlitiir bunks tliiit tluj hliicksmitli shUlmI
urouiid t,'ia{liiiilly till ho sat by Walter. Mui^'s
was a broad-faced, blaek-haired, olive-tinted niiiu
of tliii'ty-five, who had worked in many sliops,
and felt himself so vastly experienced that ho
could easily " euchre " a mere boy; He spoke
in a woolly, wheedling voice, with a most defer-
ential air: —

" There'll be a sight of work for a man tluifs
a blacksmith here after this, Mr. Walter. Sev-
enty men and more now ! "

" Yes ; no more loafnig for you, Meigs," said
Walter, sharply.

" Well, sir, I don't know as I've been doin' im
loafin' as I knows on," said Meigs, in the toiiu
of an injured, patient man.

" I'm not complaining of you, Meigs. There'll
be about twice as many points to sharpen now,
that's all."

" A man might say that it'd ought to be a bit
more pay for a man as is a good man at his
trade, sir."

" Yes, a man might. And a man might he
far wrong if he did say so."

Meigs looked suspiciously at Walter's impas-

^ij\

sivc fact

;is his
carry .

"Oil,
more \)i\
hut yitu'
my moil

''So i
.hist sit^i
tin^ hy
and the

Thou<]
alacrity (
^'action r
that it 1
the cash
" I don't
not I stai

" Wen

'' Well
my such
seems to
wants a
I'ight alo

"Certa

TirE YOUNG nos8.

sivf face. It l)utokened no such bantering'' spirit
;us liis sliglitly mocking tones had sucnied to
(.'iirry.

"Oh, well, Mr. Walter, I ain't lieard of no
iiioro pay for me yet, sir. Not as Tni douhtin'
Imt you'll do tlie right thing, Mr. Walter. And
my month's pay is due to-night."

''So it is. And here's your money, Meigs.
Just sign the pay-sheet." Walter had been sit-
uu<f by his rude desk, and drew forth the bills
and the document.

Though Meigs was surprised by the cool
alacrity of the young boss, he smiled with satis-
%tion at getting his pay, for he had feared
that it might be held back. After pocketing
the cash, he remarked, as if in much doul)t,
'' I don't suppose but what you'd just as lief s
not I stayed on, Mr. Walter."

" Were you thinking of leaving, Meigs ? "

"Well, I ain't sayin', so fur, as I was meanin'
any such thing. On'y this here job kind o'
seems to me it wants a tip-top blacksmith, and
wants a man that'll keep sober and steady
right along."

"Certainly, Meigs. I don't want seventy

6ft

WALTER GiniiS,

mf^ii idle on my hands on account of one man
drunk. You're a sober man anyhow."

"I alius was, Mr. Walter. And I'm told
the job's got to go on right along or the con-
tract's busted."

"Oh, v/ell, that's none of your business,
Meigs," for Walter felt that his aggressiveness
would tend to disconcert the enemy.

" Well, I'd ought CO have pay accordin' to
the size of the gang." Meigs spoke vdth some
vexation.

"Double pay?"

" Yes, about that."

'''Can't do it, Meigs. I'll give you ten dol-
lars a moiith more, on certain conditions."

"Ten dollars ! 'tain't a consideration."

" All right."

" What's the conditions ? " said Meigs, so
surprised as to incautiously betray his inward
thought that he might stay.

" That you sign to stay on till the job's
done."

" Not much — not for no ten dollars extra."

"Very well — you're going to-morrow, eh?"

Meigs made no immediate reply. He won-

deri'd
hliicksii
lUit ]k'
ner as
really .
conclud

- w.

affectint
you'n^ ji
to what

- Wli;

- Wh
more in
wonld ai

" Yes,
ask?"

" Seve]
forty."

" I wis

"Soi;

'^Well,
— I'm go

Meigs
aback. I
certain Y

THE YOUNG liOSS.

(lerefl whuther Walter had engaged another
blacksmith during his aljsei»ce at Garrueh.
But lie was not so stupefied by Walter's man-
ner as to doubt, on refleetion, that he himself
really had the young boss on the hip. Meigs
concluded that Walter was simply "bluffing."

'•Well, you're jokin', i\Ir. Walter," he said,
affecting a laugh. "Nat'rilly and in eourse
you're jokin'. Ten dollars ain't a circumstance
to what I see."

'' Wliat do you see, Meigs ? "

"• Wliy, with seventy men idle you'll lose
more in two days than all the pay I'd ask
would amount to."

''Yes, eh? How much are you going to
ask ? "

"Seventy-five dollars a month, 'stead of
forty."

''I wish you may get it, Meigs."

''So I kin, from Mr. Hebden."

" Well, I wish you luck, Meigs. Good-night,
— I'm going to bed."

Meigs sat for some time completely taken
aback. Ikit the more he pondered the more
certain he became that Walter was simply

WALTER GIBBS,

" bluliiiig." Now he knew that one who does
that rashly likes to be provided with sonic
way of " elimbing down " easily.

So he went to Walter's bnnk and whispered
wheedlingly and winked hard.

"I understand ---yon done it well, and I
don't deny but what you done it smart, Mr.
Walter. I'll give in I was bluffin' a bit, too.
Say seventy dollars, and I'll stop right along."

"Meigs," said Walter, rising up on hi ^1
bow, "you're trying to blackmail me. Now
you can't. Go to Mr. Hebden ai i be hanged
to you. Good-night."

For Jorrocks had told Walter tliat Mr. Hel)-
den's offer to the blacksmith was one of sixty
dollars a month, which ?«feigs could not obtain
except by going two hundred miles back into
the forest.

"You can't get another blacksmith in a
week," said Meigs, wrathfully.

" Maybe yes, and- maybe no. Anyhow there's
more ways of killing a dog than choking liim
with butter."

This enigmatical phrase went to bunk with
Meigs, echoed in his dreams, was clearly in his

oars whu
llio you

jT(>t sixt
break fa

Walt(
iuty til.,
sure of s
failed, tl
Meii^'s (1
laun'h at
ar.tliority

Hut ii
could no
llu; hlacls
men to I
it was, li
were nar:
tioii that
more lio]:
so give tl
coming w
completet

Pat Ly
it down \

THE YOlJNii nous.

riirs when he rose in the morning. What could
tlio young boss be up to ?

''Anyhow," said Moigs to liimself, "I ran
wt sixty from llebden, and I'll start after
breakfast."

Walter ate that meal with mueh more anx-
iety th.m he showed. He coidd not be quite
sure of success in what he meant to try. If he
failed, the job would stop for da}s — in case
Meigs departed. If he failed, his men would
laugh at him more or less secretly, and his
authority would be hopelessly impaired.

r>ut he knew he must tak(i the risk. lie
could not afford to be bullied by Meigs, for
the blacksmith's success might set all the other
men to l)ullying for an advance of wages. As
it was, he felt that the quick-witted Irishmen
were narrowly watching him, in some expecta-
tion that he would "squeeze" Meigs, but with
more hope that Meigs would s([ueeze him, and
so give them a line of policy for the end of the
coming week, when many of them would have
completed their first month's engagement.

Pat Lynch put a coal on his pipe, crammed
it down with a stick, and threw his blouse over

WALTKli (liniiS,

liis sliouldurs. It was the signal for goin^ t ,
work. Sovtiiity men followed him. WalkT
went, too.

Meigs, packing liis clothes-bag, felt at once
very mean and angry. lie knew that tlu'ic
were not tools sharpened lor lialf a day's
work. He seemed to feel the eyes of Sam,
Jorrocks, and the new cook sticking into liis
back.

They only were left in the shanty with the
blacksmith. No words were exchanged. Sam,
relieved from cooking, was shrewdly watchincr
Meigs.

" Clank-clank-clonk — tripp"ty't rip-trip — clanh,
trip^ clank.,^'' came the sound of drills and strik-
ing hammers. Soon the chorus of steel on rock
was at its merriest. Meigs listened with d(3ii-
sion. Every stroke would dull steel points.
No blacksmith to make them good ! IMcisTfs
sat down — the clanking deeply impressed liim
with a sense that Walter must come back mid
offer him his own terms.

But wliat was that small beatino". nuicktr
tlian any other, tliat suddenly came into tlu'
jno;tailic din? Meigs started up in amazement.

sSjii'

lift kne

liiiiDMiei
him;
rlatiki'tii
luuiinier
;il work

Sam
pickud 1
road for
stinging

TIku'i'
tiling the
leiice con
now," the
little, the
the pinei'}

They se
like a for
hmy youi
mean, me
Voii were
llo-ho-ho.
Whore c
blacksmith
new men \

■At.'sJW-,

»>^^\

'-.'.m'^'-k

THE YOUNd JiOSS.

lit; know well the note of his own anvil and
liainnitT No, liis ears must liave detiuived
liiiii I There was now no anvil sound. Then
danketjj -clink eanie a<:^ain the clear ringing- of
lianuiier on steel. Yes, there was a blacksmith
at work !

Saiu grinned to see Meigs wonder. Meigs
picked up liis bundle, and took the straight
road for Ilebden with the boy's crackling laugh
stinging his ears.

There was silence at the anvil now. " He's
tiling the red point," thought Meigs. The si-
K'lice continued. " He'll be tempeiing the steel
now," thought the blacksmith. Then, after a
little, the merry anvil notes came again tlirough
the pinery to the walking man.

They seemed to taunt him with having acted
like a fool. They clinked, " You're going to
hiiry yourself far in the woods. You've been
moan, mean, mean. You don't want to go.
Yon were blufBng. And a boy called you down,
lio-ho-ho, Jim Meigs — mean, mean, mean!"

Wliere could Walter have concealed the new
blacksniitli ? Who was he? Was he one of tlie
new nii'ii who had passed as a navvy? Meigs'

WALTER uinns,

curiosity uvuruiuue liiiii. llo laid liis huiuUo
down by the roadside, and cautiously stole
iluougli the pinery to reconnoitre the forge.

Could he trust his eyes ? From tlie edge of
the wood lie could clearly see the new black-
smith, who was plying the hammer rather awk-
wardly but still effectively. How on eartli
could he have picked up so mucli knack?

Then it flaslied on jNIeigs that the sliarpen-
ing of drill and jumper points was so sim[»l(!
an operation that it could be safely left — all
])ut the tempering — to young apprenr<;cs.
Meigs remend)ered how quickly he himself
had, at eighteen, learned the trick of heatini]!'.
Iiamraering, and filing the points. " The youiiK
boss was always miglity liandy," reflected I Ik
blacksmith ; for it was Walter Jiimsclf who
stood at the anvil !

" So this is what the young boss h/W |fjrke(l
up whiJu watching mc,''<'lf nful other lAm '
smiths at work!" tliought Meigs. lie IduI
liimself often unconsciously been giving Wal-
ter lessons at odd times in that very ioivy,.
But was it possible the lad could have eaiiLjlit
the secret of tempering the points? Meiu'^

could lie
the cove
the forgi
Tlie bi
the coini
upon til
thrust a
lie gave
Meigs, d
it, yet se
eye.

A strav
orange, wi
'!)•' thickc
' 'i]ge
i't.>L vesti^
he (hill d
'.'hilo hti H
'rew fortli

inquiry

I'he jou
stared at
'^^u^^h job,
J<'iew that

THE YOUNU BOSS.

could no longer restrain his curiosity. He left
tlic cover of the pines, and wjilked straight for
the forge.

Tliu hack of Walter's flannel shirt was toward
thu coming hlacksmith. Just as Meigs came
u[)()n tlic cinders round the anvil Walter
ihmst a point into the half-barrel of water.
He gave it a flourish in the very manner of
Meigs, drew it forth and gazed intently at
it, yet seeing Meigs out of the corner of his
eye.

A straw ^ojor, ))lont with tints of blue and
orange, was ({Hl^^HMi^ nn the hot point. From
'))'■ tliickest part the blue stole slowly to the
iflge. Just as it was chasini: away the
last vestiges of straw color Walter plunged
the drill deep into the water ;.uij«l id it there,
vliik ho sfuiled amiably Jit Meig^. Then he
i\\^yf forth the tool and flun^j it witli a look
of inquiry at the blacksmith's feet.

The journeyman picked up the drill, luid
stared at it with new surpriH(!. It wiih a
HMij^h job, but the temper was perf»}<;t. Meigs
knew that the jumper would (h).

Ih was fairly beaten ut jdl points, and he

WALTER ainiis,

was Olio of the men who are not bad fellows
wlieu eompletely overcome.

" Mr. Walter, you're a mighty smart younji;
chap," said Meigs. "I don't want to go any-
how. I'll own up I was partly blullin'."

*' You used me meanly, Meigs."

" I did, and I'm sorry for it."

"Say no more," said Walter. "I'm glad
you'll stay. I guess I could do the trick for
three or four days, Meigs, but I don't want to.
Will you take right hold? I'll give you lifty
dollars a month and you'll sign for the job."

" Done," said Meigs, heartily. And so that
trouble passed })y the young boss.

But it had not passed for Meigs yet. That
night tlie Irishmen chaffed him unmercifully.
They requested him to " put his head to
sofik." Tliey admonished him to "kape it
safe in a bag." Tliey assured him " the young
boss does be thinkin' wid his liead whilst ye'n'
shnorin', and that's the way lie's too shmart fm
schamers."

i5ut Meigs ])ore all philosophically. He
even requested Walter to abstain from trying
to check the dialling men.

tet

"It [A

villains,'
•• lUathur
only a h
somo day
yourselve
know, tin
tfetiiur wi
ilivilmuiit

THE YOUNG BOSS.

)

"It pleiiscs you mid it don't hurt nic, you
villains," ho hiughud, for lio did not hick spirit.
"l)hitliur away and bo hanged to you. You'ro
only a lot of wild bog-trotters anyhow. And
somo (lay you'll get a taste of the young boss
yourselves, or I dunno. There's one thing I
know, thougli — I never saw so many Irish to-
1,'otlier without them going in for some kind of
(liviluicnt a<;ainst the contractor."

CHM'TER V.

NO END OF TllOUBLES.

With liis blacksmith and cook engaged up
to the end of tlie job, with plenty of eliarcoal
arranged for, with seventy men chinging away
and regarding him as a young miracle of man-
agement, Walter felt the ground to be solid
under his feet. He completed his sense of
security by inducing Jaffray to buy and seiul
down the fresh supplies the shanty neeiU-d
daily, and then, freed from minor cares, lie
turned his attention seriously to an important
question.

The end of October had come. An estimate
of the amount of rock excavated was to be
made. According to the contract, this calcula-
tion should be prepared by Mr. Leclerc, a sur-
veyor whose headquarters were at Elbow Cany.
He was to act for Mr. Hebden in the matter.

But Hebden had not sent Leclerc to make

WALT Kit a I mis, TIIK YOUNG BOSS.

tilt! nieasuroments. From this WalUi' icjirud
that the cninky little Eii^lislinuin meant to
(Ichiy paymont of the estimate, which would bo
(liiu oil tile fifth of November.

Wiilter would soon need money. The credit
1,'iveii him by Mr. Gemmill was nearly ex-
liiULstud, for the demands on it had been greJiter
than were foreseen. And the young boss felt
luuch puzzled to know how he might best com-
pel Mr. liebden, whose disposition was intensely
litiL,'ious, to pay over the cash needed for the
oDining month. At this crisis he bethought him
nf the winking wisdom of Jaffray, and went to
the Curry to obtain the hotel-keeper's advice.

''You've done well to come to me," said Jaf-
fray, closing both eyes for a full minute and pon-
dering the problem. " See now, — can you make
the estimate yourself? Of course you can."

"Yes, I'v*' made it already. No trouble in
that. It was an easy job of cross-sectioning."

"I reckoned it would be," said Jaffray, ignor-
ing that he himself did not know what cross-
sectioning meant. " Well, then, why not go
straight ahead? Why not present your esti-
mate to Hebden?"

«!^^^

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IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

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Hiotographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STItEET

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

k.y

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WALTER GIB US,

■!:\>

" 15ut it's got to bu certified by Mr. Leclcrc."
"Certiliod by him, uh? Is Leclerc at Iioukj?"
"Yes. But lie won't go down without irel>
den's orders, liebden was to i)ay him for milk-
ing the estimate. That's r»ot much of a job."
" How h)ng would it take him to do it, my

son f

" Five hours, maybe — surely less than a da3%"
" Did you offer to pay him for doing it? "
" No, I never tliought of that. You see he
was to act for Hebden. Periiups he'll act for
me."

" You'll find he'll act for a ten-dollar bill. If
lie don't, he'll hear from me. He's owing me
fifty-seven doUara for teaming these two ye.ar
back. Say, you're just as free to hire Leclerc
as you are to hire anybody else. Go and hire
him, then."

Walter found this very easy. The ten-dollar
bill and the mention of Jaffray's name were
enough for the impecunious surveyor.

" Certainly," said he, slowly. " I s'pose Im
free to take pay to work for you or anybody
else. But you don't expect Hebden will honor
the estimate I make as your agent ? "

THE YOUNG BOSS.

"We'll see about that," said Walter, guided
by Jaffray's instructions.

So Leclerc went down to the shanty, checked
Winter's cross-sectioning, prepared three copies
of the estimate for October, made affidavit to
its correctness, and departed with his ten-dollar
bill. Then Walter, by Jaffray's counsel, sent
one copy to Mr. Bemis, the bank agent at the
Carry, with a notification that he would claim
three thousand dollars' forfeit, as well as the
amount of the estimate, in case it was not pnid
by the fifth of November. He sent .1 similar
notification, with another copy of Leclerc's esti-
mate, to Mr. Hebden, and anxiously awaited
results.

" You'll see he'll come down all right," said
Jaffray. " He'll see you've got ready for a law-
suit, and he'll know you've jot him tight."

'But if he don't come down? "

" Then you'll shove the work right along, and
he'll have to pay the cost, besides the forfeit."

"Yes, if I had money, but I'm nearly out.
And if I don't get the job done by the first of
January, then we forfeit all due, and fifteen
hundred dollars besides."

WALTEK aiUDSy

ii^

i;!!l«)l|«H

"Geewliittiiker, son! It looks likc's if I'd
liave to wake llubdcii uj) about that hay soon-
er'n I calcuhited.''

"I don't understand what you mean, Mr.
JalTray."

"That's kind of queer, too, son. I?ut you
will when tlie time eonies. Ain't 1 ever told
you that the old llebden that's dead contraciud
to give me the cutting of live hundred acres of
wild hay off that marsh for three years to come?"

"I didn't know that. But what's that got to
do with it, sir?"

"Beats all how little young folks do see!"
said Jaffray. " Get your thinker to work on it.
I ain't going to tell you. All I say is, keej)
mum. I don't want Hebden to get out too
fttsy. What scares me is that your cash is run-
ning out. But just wait till the fifth — then
we'll know."

During the three days which elapsed before
the money for the estimate was due Walter did
put his 'thinker" to work, as Jaffray had ad-
vised. But as he knew nothing of agriculture
or the habits of wild hay on the particular land
involved, or its value in a lumbering country,

Tllh' YOUNd noSS.

he still failed to uiidorsUind the bearing of t}io
hotel-keeper's remarks.

On the afternoon of the fifth Waltei drove
up to the branch bank at Elbow Carry. He was
deeply anxious. Some of his men had demanded
advances which he could not pay unless Il'ebden
sliould have paid the estimate. He owed Jaf-
fray over two hundred dollars for su[)plies and
teaming. He feared that his men would quit
work if they found him in financial dilliculties.

Again he was absorbed in the opinion that ho
must finish the job to get a profit from it. He
longed, too, for the satisfaction of completing it.
What man of action but dislikes to abandon
work partly done, even if paid for the part?
To compel Mr. Hebden, by slow process, to pay
the whole outlay, and damages besides, would
be, Walter felt, poor consolation for stopping
the job. Besides, where could his father find
money for a lawsuit ? So it was with a compli-
cation of fears at his heart that the young boss
entered the branch ])ank.

" Mr. Remis, has Mr. Hebden paid that esti-
mate?" asked Walter.

" Yes, this morning."

WALTER GIBBS,

Walter's heart jumped so big with joy that it
seemed to Hoat him off the office floor.

"I'm glad of that," he said as calmly as pos-
sible. " I was needing money. I'll just draw
out five hundred dollars."

" I'm afraid you can't, young man."

" No — why not ? " Walter almost shouted.

" It's not paid to your order. It's paid to
Walter Gibbs, senior, your father."

" I'm acting for him — ■ it's all right."

" Have you power of attorney ? "

"No— but — "

" You can't draw a cent of the estimate with-
out it."

" But my father is two thousand miles away,
and he can't do any business."

" I'm afraid that was Hebden's calculation,"
said Mr. Bemis. " I'm sorry, but so it stands.
I've no authority in the world to pay out any
of that money to your father's son."

The young boss walked out into the crisp No-
vember weather feeling as if his brain were para-
lyzed. He could see that he had no resource
against Hebden. Hebden had complied with
the contract. Walter had but seventy-two dol-

TUE YOUNG liOSS.

lars to his credit. More than that was needed
tliat very afternoon. It he failed to make the
small advances that his men had asked, they
would suspect him of heing bankrupt. And if
they should strike work, his father would be
ruined. Ilebdcn could claim forfeit, and prob-
a])ly largo damage^ also, for delay.

Experienced people may think it strange that
Walter's mind did not instantly turn to Mr.
Geraniill ; but he had grown into a habit of
til inking that ho would repay part of Mr. Gem-
iniU's advance out of this very estimate. The
idea of appealing to the kind banker for more
aid had been wholly outside of his calculations.
Now he was so disturbed, and felt so much need
for a period of reflection, that he desired to con-
ceal himself even from Jaffray, who liad sud-
denly become to his eyes a creditor whom ho
could not pay.

Jaffray, however, was not so easily avoided,
lie came out to the shed when Walter went
there for his horse, and insisted on learning
the particulars.

"Ho, son! "cried the tavern-keeper, "Hebden's
acted right enough. What are you troubled

WALTER GIBBS,

about? Why, you're all right; no bones broken
that 1 can see. Telegraph to Mr. Genimill."
"But I can't ask liim for more money."
" Oh, go 'way ! He deals in money. It's no
favor. He'll make you pay for the accommoda-
tion."

"But I can't give him a cent of security."
" Well, son, you're pretty green at business.
Don't you see that the money Hebden has puid
to your father's credit is Mr. Gemmill's good-
enough security for advances to you? It lies
to your father's order. Gemmill will get a
check from your father by mail on Bemis.
Pooh ! I'm surprised at you feeling beat.
Why, I'll let you have five hundred dollars
myself as quick as wink," and then Jaffray
colored fiery red at his own apparent allusion
to his own infirmity.

"Thank you, Mr. Jaffray; you're awfully
kind to me," said Walter. " I don't know what
I'd have done without you."

"Oh, I guess you'd wriggle through," said
Jaffray. "You're polite and you're modest,
and you know enough to take advice from
Experience. That's why I like you. Then you

THE YOUNG BOSS.

ain't always leaning on somebody else, either.
You can do for yourself lots of ways — uncom-
mon well, too. ril bet you'll make a first-class
man. And besides, I've got a sharp stick for
Hcbden, and you're the chap that's going to
drive it in," for the tavern-keeper's vindictive-
ness to an enemy was as constant as his hel[)ful-
ness to a friend. He never forgot that Hebden
had called him Windy Jim to his face, besides
interfering with his teaming business.

So the young boss returned to the shanty with
money in his pocket and hope high in his heart.
It seemed to him, though, that the men were
surprised at his readiness to make the usual
advances. Had Mr. Hebden already spread a
rumor that he wl^ in financial distress? If so, he
quieted the fears of the navvies for the moment.

But it was with anxiety that Walter noted the
signs that trouble was ready for him if Mr. Gem-
mill should fail to supply his need. A strike ?
A strike would be ruinous, for there was little
enough time remaining to complete the work,
enlarged as it had been by his undertaking the
deep cut. Walter had even thought of putting
up another shanty and employing fifty more men.

WALTER GllinS,

On tlie morning of the sixtli of November he
started again for (iarroeli, feeling it would Ik;
better to see bis banker faee to face. And the
last tiling be said to 3*at Lyneb, bis foreman,
was tins : —

" Pat, take on any good men tliat come to
bire. I'll spread it at tbe Carry tbat you want
quarrymen. We could bunk ten more. I want
tbe job rusbed from tbis out," for now the
tbougbt tbat tbe rainy season was nigb at band
worried tbe young boss, tbougb be bad no ade-
quate notion of tbe immense trouble it would
give bim.

Mr. Geromill made no difficulties about renew-
ing Walter's credit.

" I'm pleased witb you, lad, for coming to face
me. You'll find it always good policy to see the
man you're dealing witb in tbis world. Yon
man Jaffray is a sensible creature — if he is a
tavern-keeper — but it's a trade I despise.

" I'll just drop a line to your motber, and to
you, too, on this business," he went on. " It's
likely your father will be able enough to send
me a check, and if he's not, your mother can act
for him. Tell her all you've been doing on the

THE YOUNG TiOSS.

job, in Ctose your fiithur may be able to take an
interest. And mind I'm trusting you to tell mo
every time as promi)Uy as this time, of any dilU-
ciilty that occurs."

Walter wrote tlio suggested letter to his
mother without an idea of the degree in which
it would alTect liis future operations, and hurried
back to Elbow Carry and his shanty at all speed.

It was two o'clock in the atiernoon of Novem-
kr the eighth when he again lieard the clank-
injT of his drills and the tinkling of Meigs'
hammor on anvil and steel. liut somohow the
din sounded slow and dull. "Is it," thought
Walter, " that the haze of the warm November
day, the blaze of autumn on the hilU, the brown
grasses of the marsh, the seeming sleepiness of
tlie air, affect my senses ? Or are the men really
dawdling at their work ? "

Jorrock and the cook were certainly not dawd-
ling in the shanty, but were actively cleaning
up after dinner and preparing a baking of bread.
Sam was not there. Walter but looked into the
shanty when he asked, "Where's my brother?"

'"'E's down at the jawb, sir," said Jorrocks,
and came to the door as Walter went out. " Mr.

WALTER GIB as,

Walter," wliispured the little man, " tliere's
troul)le a-brevvin'."

" What do you mean, Jorrocks ? "
" It's got about that you're 'ard up for cash."
" Pooh — that's not so. Are you afraid of
your pay, Jorrocks ? "

" Not me, — no, sir, Hi'd stand by you if I vas,
— you treated me so decent. But that there
llirish foreman has took on noo men. One of
'em's a reg'lar mutinous duffer. It's him is
spreadin' the stories. 'E used to work for 'Eb-
den and 'e lives in vun of 'Ebden's 'ouses and
Hi'm thinkin' it's 'Ebden that's sent him 'ere to
make all the jolly trouble 'e can. Mr. Sam is
watching 'im — 'is name's Schlitzer — 'e's a big
Prooshun."

"And the men have got it into their heads
that I can't pay?"

" That's it, sir. They been a-talkin' strike."
" I'll soon settle that," cried Walter, angrily,
and walked straight through the pinery to the
work.

He was somewhat fatigued by his journey and
two nights of bad sleep. At the thought of the
men discrediting him his heart was hot. He

Tin: YOUNG BOSS.

knew lie had done moni than ais duty by tlieiii ;
tukon much trouble to give thorn more than
usuiil comfort; made unusual advances to them,
[111(1 altogether deserved kindness at their hands.
So his temper was hot when he came to the edge
of the excavation, and saw the gang strung
along the creek bed, making a mere pretence of
work. Sam hurried across the excavation to
meet Walter.

"I don't know what's got into the men,"
said Sam. " Pat's half afraid to drive tliem.
Sec that big fellow across there? That's a
Prussian named Schlitzer. Pat says he's been
telling the men that Hebden says you're dead
broke, and they won't get their pay."

Walter left Sam and walked straight across
the channel to the big Prussian, a tall, very
powerful, fair-haired, sullen-looking man, who
was distinctly loafing instead of plying the
ball drill against which he leaned.

"Get a move on you there, my man," said
the young boss, sharply. Then he called to
the foreman, " Lynch, what's this man doing
here ? Is he paid for standing idle ? "

Instantly at his word of sharp command, the

WALTER GIBBS,

drills and jumpers rang witli activity. All but
that of the Prussian. He sneered insolently in
Walter's very face and said, loudly : —

" Pay — vot pay ? You don't got no money
for pay, dot so — ya, dot so."

'' I've got money for you right now," said
Walter. "Sam, what's this fellow's time''
I^ynch, I wonder you didn't sack him long
ago."

Now Walter had made a great mistake "n
speaking thus, in interfering with his foreman
in the presence of the men. Pat hung back
sulkily, the sound of the drills fell away to a
little clinking, a strike seemed imminent, and
Schlitzer, feeling enraged, threw himself into a
defiant attitude.

The next moment he had called Walter a
foul name, and the moment afterwards Walter's
indignant list smashed full into the Prussian's
face. The young boss had lost his head en-
tirely with rage at the vile insult, and in an
instant the navvies were crowding round the
fight.

Walter was a very powerful and active yonth,
but Schlitzer was a giant. He wa,s not, how-

''%''aiit ;|„vu

^cWv..^

Ilic giant threw his arm Imck to luiigi', and drovi' the broadened {>oint
straight at Waller's head.

TUE YOUNG BOSS.

ever, a boxer. Long trained in Prussian mili-
tary service, he looked to weapons.

As Walter drew back, suddenly quite cool
and ashamed in clearly seeing himself wrong,
and yet by his coolness all the more efficient
for fighting, the Prussian stooped for a tamping
iron about three feet long. One blow of it
would have dashed out any man's brains. He
was Hfting it madly, when Walter, closing in
at a bound, seized it in his left hand.

For an instant they stood, faces close to-
gether. Schlitzer tugged twice at the iron.
It seemed as if his wrath had driven him out
of his senses. His eye fell on the ball drill
standing in its hole close by. Accustomed to
l)ayonet exercise, his hands left the tamping
iron to Writer and snatched up the drill.

It was about seven feet long, a heavy, sharp-
pointed, terrible weapon. The giant threw his
arm back to lunge, and drove the broadened
point straight at Walter's head.

There was a clash of steel — with the tamp-
ing iron Walter weakly warded the murderous
thrust. Rut the ward was enough — that and
Walter's quick dodging of his head aside. The

WALTER GIBBS,

point of the drill barely grazed and cut his left
ear. Had it struck liis face it would hnve
passed through, and a foot beyond his head.

As Walter threw out his left hand and
grasped the drJl he heard clear above the
shouts of the men the voices of Sam, of Meigs,
of Pat Lynch and of Jorrocks, all trying to
reach the scene of combat.

" Knock the murdherous vilyan down, wiiu
of ye ! " yelled Pat.

" Let me through," shouted Sam, trying to
scramble over the very shoulders of the crowd
to Walter's aid.

" Give it to him, boss," roared Meigs.

" Hi'll show the bloomin' Prooshiau ! "
screamed Jorrocks, and strangely, it wiis
from his path only that the crowding men
fell back, some with howls of agony.

Schlitzer had wrenched the drill from
Walter's weaker grasp, and thrown himself
almost into position for another lunge. In
that instant Walter felt that his life was to
pay for his moment of wild anger. A terrible
meaning was in the Prussian's fierce blue eyes.

It went from them suddenly, and he screamed

THE YOUNG BOSS.

9/5

with pain. His mighty arm, which had been
full/ drawn back, fell down. The drill clanked
from liis hands to the rock, and with another
howl of woe he ran from the red-hot jumper.
Jorrocks had earnestly laid it against his leg and
now threatened him with a second branding.

The " 'oss-jockey," following Walter to the
work, had seized the jumper from the coals of
the forge as he ran to the rescue. With its
red-hot point he had forced a passage easily.
Now he stood waving it defiantly, dancing like
a misshapen goblin, lunging toward Schlitzer,
and shouting " come on.'' But the Prussian was
running for the cooling water of Loon Lake
as fast as his legs could carry him, while an
innnense roar of laughter from the navvies
pui-sued him to the edge.

"Bedad, it's a fighter yez are, Jorrocks," said
Tat. " And are you hurted, Mr. Walter ? "

''No— not a bit."

"He was for murcMierin' you, the vilyan of
tlie world ! I could bate the life out of him.
Shall we go at him?"

" Leave him alone, Pat. I was wrong to
f^trike him. I lost my temper."

^mmm

96 WALTER GIBBS, THE YOUNG BOSS.

" You wasn't wrong, then. Sure I admire
the shpunk ay ye. And him as big as a house!
Begor, the lies he's been telli.n' the bhys. Ye're
not out of money, thin, at all ? "

"No, Fm not," said Walter. "But we've
had enough of this now. The work's waiting."

" Come, min," shouted Pat, with a new sense
of authority. " This job's to be dhruv. What
are ye standin' round for? There's plenty of
money — it's the big bounce any wan of ye'll
get that does be dhriftin' round this day. Rattle
down thim holes. Whoop, there I "

Walter had triumphed, but he felt some-
what dismayed at having lost his head for a
few moments. That was " not good business."
Yet he blamed himself little for the blow he
had struck. He saw nothing v/rong in reply-
ing forcibly to a brutal insult; what shocked
him was that he had been as one bereft of his
senses. And he was sick at heart with recol-
lection that he had clearly heard in the din
cries of " Give him wan, Schlitzer," and " Bate
the loife out of him, Schlitzer," from men that
he had believed to be heartily his friends.

CHAPTER VI.

■■^

RISING WATER.

Rough navvies, whoU} uneducated, much
given to horse-play and brawling, yield quickly
to courage and audacity a loyalty that kindness
can with difficulty win from them. Though
Wiilter had been ashamed of losing his self-
control in dealing with Schlitzer, he soon felt
tliat his combative nature had inspired him
wisely, for his readiness to strike a man far
bigger than himself had fixed him more firml3''
than ever in the admiration and confidence of
his men. They were, for one thing, quite sure
that no boss in need of money would have ven-
tured to carry things with so high a hand.

If Walter had been older and more phiio-
sopliical, he might have been in no wise pained
by the evidence that he had won by the wild
^vratIl of a moment what his indulgence of
the men had not wholly secured. But their
H 97

WALT Eli Gin US,

ingratitude rankled in his young heurt. lit"
began to doubt whether any of the gang bin
JoiTocks and Meigs were sincerely attached
to him. And thi>* gave him a new air, stern,
peremptory, hard.

Under the coldness that had come into his
blue eyes the men, like so many childien,
winced. But they obeyed. His mere demeiiiiui'
drove the work up to the 15th of November tis
it had never been driven before. Moreover, the
men, feeling the approach of winter, when work
for them would be scarce, keenly feared dis-
charge, now that obey knew their pay was
secure if they worked on.

Rain began to fall on the fifteenth of the
month. Up to this time the weather had been
unusually dry and fine. Loon Lake, low as it
had been in October, had continued to dwindle.
Imagine a vast and very shallow saucer, with
an uncommonly deep depression in its middle.
This depression may stand for Loon Lake, and
the shallow sides of the saucer for the two-
miles-wide low hay land that lay on three isides
of the water.

Into this great meadow of wild hay the rain

THE YOUNG It OSS.

poured, not from thu sky only, but in little
streams from the wet surrounding forest and
more or less distant hills. Walter, sitting in
tlio shanty, with all his men idle and under
wages, moodily listened, to the downpour on
lliu roof of scoops.

A hundred dollars would not pay for the
direct loss by each day's rain, to say nothing of
lliu loss of profits unearned, and the danger that
tlio job might not be finished as contracted fur.
Yet the fears that soaked into the young boss
with three days of steady downpour were trilling
to the dismay with which he read a letter that
came on the morning when fine weather had
returned.

His mother wrote from St. Augustine, Florida.
His father, she said, had so far recovered that
she had read to him that letter in which Walter
asked for a check and authority to use the
moneys Mr. Hebden had paid, or should there-
after pay, on the contract — the letter in which
Walter had given some account of his work on
the job.

''Your father was greatly pleased en the
whole," Mrs. Gibbs wrote, "and I send you the

'^Sr^f

KJO

WALTER aunts,

check for the monuy in Mr. Beniis's hands and
the papers your father signed. But he seemed
a good deal puzzled because you did not say
anything about the dam. He said of course
you must have built the dam when you con-
cluded to take out the deep rock, and hv
wondered you had not said anything about it.
He worried over this all niglit, and next day
the doctor positively forbade him to do any kind
of business, or even let his mind run on business.

"Indeed," the letter went on, "the v/holu
matter fatigued your father so much that he
had a sort of relapse, and has again sunk into
that curious, listless, sleepy, indifferent state
he was in before. You had better write and
tell us all about the dam, so as to ease his mind
when he recovers interest again.

" We expect to be home before Christmas, for,
physically, your father has picked up wonder-
fully. It is only that his brain is still suffer-
ing from some sort of pressure due to the blow
on his head. But the doctor says he will cer-
tainly be quite well before Christmas."

As the young boss read the letter, his brain
fairly reeled with sudden perception of what he

THE YOUNG liOSS.

101

had neglected, lie had not pondered enough
on tlic engineering of the contraeL. He had
been too much absorbed in the actual excava-
tion, the difliculties of supply and the troubles
with Hcbden and about money. He had never
reckoned tliat Loon Lake would probaljly rise
ill November, but had thought of the hay-land
as flooded in spring only. He now experienced
that dreadful daze of the mind which comes
when one suddenly understands that he has
overh)()ked a fatal danger that was " riglit
uii(U;r his eyes," as it were.

A rise of nine feet in Loon Lake would, he
knew, send a thin stream of water down the bed
of tlie creek in which liis men were excavating.
A rise of one foot would bring the surface of
tlie water as high as the bottom of his excava-
tion, though it would be then held far back by
the very rock he meant to to.ke out.

It was now clear that he would need a dam
across the creek up near the lake, in case it rose
more tlian one foot. He would need this dam
to keep water off the shoaling upper end of the
(k'ep rock he meant to excavate. The men
could not drill and blast in water. And if they

102

WALTETi nrnrts,

should not get out all the rock upon tlio first nf
Jjinuary, his fatlier and mother would be uttt'ily
ruined, and deeply in debt.

The outhit creek, in which he was excavating,
ran like a deep p^ash through the clay of tlic
liay-land for half a mile. Its head connected
with the lake by a sort of bay two huiidriHl
yards long. The upper end of the eight-feet-
deep excavation would stop about half-way up
tliis bay, which was a hundred and forty yards
wid^ at that point. Therefore he must build a
dam one hundred and forty yards long, and
high enough to hold back any probable rise of
the lake in November and December.

Now Walter saw very clearly that the enor-
mous price his father was getting for the deeper
excavation had been intended to cover tlie cost
of the dam and the risk that it might be carried
away.

With bitter regret he reflected that he miolit
have erected the dam on dry land or rock if he
liad foreseen the need. Could he do so now,
after three days' rain ? Taking Sam with him,
he went up the creek, and found that the water
had already risen three feet in the deep depres-

I* '

V 1

rilE yOL'NG liOSS.

sion of the lake and outlet hay. The liay-land
was still unllooded, but lie must Imild liis dam
in two feet of water. How liigli ii nuist be bo
could not tell, for lie bad never questioned any
one as to the rise of the lake in autumn.

Walter, though feeling almost at bis wits' end,
explained the situation to Sam.

" It will take a good many men to nm Uf) the
diun," said Walter. " I can't take a man olT the
jol). These navvies don't know how to build a
(lam, anyhow. It's mighty little I know myself.
I f:fuess the best plan will l)e to rig uj) a lot of
stout three-legged trestles, give 'em a slope to
llie front as lumbermen do and phmk them."

" lint plank won't hold back water," said Sam.
"It would leak through the cracks."

" Yes, plank alone wouldn't do. But we can
fill clay in front. Or, say, we can fill in the
fioiit with hay, and throw mud in front of that.
Hay? Why, I guess that's what Jaffray was
thinking of ! "

But straightw.ay lie reflected to himself,
"Surely Jaffray would have warned me if he'd
seen I needed a dam."

The truth was that Jaffray had never really

«■

104

Walter ainn^,

given }\is mind to tlie engineering effect of the
deepening of tlie excavation. Tliere were some
things, lie admitted later, which even his experi-
ence had not tanglit liim. The use to whicli lie
designed to put the fact that the marsh grew
vast qnaiitities of wild hay wjis quite uiicoii-
necte(] with dams.

" Well, Walt, I guess it will be all right,"
said Sam, soothingly. "You can build the iliini.
I can see myself that your i)lan will work. All
I've got to say is, go at it. There's no time lo
be lost."

"I'm afraid time enough has been lort already
to knock the profits off tlie job," said Walter.
*'But I'll go straight to the Carry, and try to
get men together. The worst of it is that the
river-men are mostly gone to the woods already,
or on their way. Oh Sam, I've bean w'oikiiipf
under a terrible blunder."

"Well, who could have thought it? It's
queer father never mentioned the dam to you."

"Only when he was delirious. Don't you
remember, Sam? I thought it was the Buek-
stono Bridge dam he was crying out about when
he was so ill. I guess he never really expected

TTIE YOUNG liOSS.

105

he would go deeper than four feet, and so he
didn't talk about the dam to me. My, I've
Iweii an awful fool ! "

"Never mind, Walt. Pile in; it will come
all right. We've got to finish the job somehow.
Let's get :*. big gang together i'ight away."

liiit Waller did not reply. A long silxnice
fell on him. He sat down on the still dry bed
of the creek and looked more than ever desper-
ate. Wlien he spoke it was to say : —

" Sam — more men — fifty, perhaps ! Perhaps
for a week or more. And more rain may come
any day. The expenses may be heavy. The
dam may be very hard to build if the water
rises fast, and all the money spent on it may be
wasted. And at whose risk? Who's advanc-
ing our money ? "

•'Mr. Gemmill, of course," said Sam. "What
then? Don't be bothering him ! "

''Why, I must tell liim about this, lie may
not a])prove. I dare not put him in deeper
witliout explaining."

To confess that, after all, he had misrepre-
sented affairs to the banker ! To confess that
lij had been ignorant, unforeseeing, rash, ueg-

106

WALTER GIBBS,

.S;^i

lectf ul ! To confess that this great trouble arose
from his blind undertaking of the deep exciiva-
tion ! Surely it would destioy Mr. Gemniill's
confidence in him. Could it be believed that the
banker would risk more money in his hands?
And if he did not — if he required an immedi-
ate abandonment of the work — what then?
The sick father and the dear, hopeful motlier
would be utterly ruined and heavily in debt!

" But why should you be in a hurry to tell
Mr. Gemmill?" asked Sam, unconsciously ex-
pressing the very temptation that was tearing
at Walter's sense of honor. " The lake mayn't
rise more. Get a big gang together and pile in."

Walter reflected again in silence. Why cfivc
U[), why G»)nfess before trying what he could do'^
Was it wise to alarm the banker ? Mr. Gem-
mill might take a more gloomy view than the
risks warranted. He might stop the work,
whereas boldness might pull it through.

Yet the still small voice kept up the struggle.
It whispered very clearly, " Mr. Gemmill trusted
you. You are in duty bound to tell him of this
at once. He should have the choice of with-
drav.'ing or going on."

THE YOUNG JiOSS.

107

" That's all nonsense, " said Sam, angrily,
when Walter again spoke his mind. "What's
the use of scaring Mr. Gemraill out? You
haven't tried anything yet. Who knows but
you can get men right away ? Don't funk this
way, Walter."

" I don't think I'm funking, Sam. I'm try-
ing to see what's right, and sensible too. It's a
new case. I'm in a great difficulty. I've got
Mr. Gemmill in with me ; he thinks it's all
plain sailing; what would he have a right to
think if I should bring the contract to a greater
loss than can be incurred by stopping now, and
had never told him I was in this fix ? "

" But you don't know you are really in a bad
fix. It may bo easy to put up all tlie dam that's
needed. Inquire. And above all, don't waste
tinio. Why, you might put Mr. Gemmill be-
yond all risks by piling in on the dam to-mor-

row.

This was the consideration that battled most
strongly against Walter's prompting to inforni
his backer. By energy he might still save the
contract and make a profit. He might thus be
acting in Mr. Gemmill's best interest. But i)y

108

WALT Eli GllUiS,

telling him the danger ho miglit frighten the
banker into choosing to bear the losses that im-
mcidiate stoppage would involve, rather than
boklly taking a new risk that might bring hiia
out with a profit.

The humiliation of telling the case to his
backer seemed harder the more he thouglit of
it. Could he not avoid that ?

He took out his note-book and tried to esti-
mate the losses to come of stopping now. He
estimated, too, the far greater losses to come of
going on, building the dam, and after all failiiiir
to complete the job in the contract tiuic. And
the greater the danger of loss, the greater Ins
obligation t.^ inform the banker!

It was a hard quandary for a youth whose dis-
position, like Sam's, was all for action, all for
grappling wdth the difficulty and tlie risks. At
last Walter thought of a middle course. He
miglit go to the Carry at once and see if men
were to be had. He would consult any of
them who understood the building of dams, as
nearly all river-men do. Then he would be able
to decide whether the magnitude of the enter-
prise retjuired the disclosure to Mr. Geniniill.

THE YOUNG BOSS.

109

As Walter almost resolved on this course he
felt pricked in conscience. It did not seem
perfectly frank to Mr. Gemmill. But he told
Sum what he intended.

'^ That's right," said Sam. " What's the use
of bothering Mr. Gemmill? Keep dark and do
the best you can."

Keep dark ! At the words Walter's soul rose
in revolt. Keep dark ! Conceal the truth from
his benefactor ! Play the sneak to liim! Sam
had hit the bull's-eye of Walter's honor. But
he did not rebuke Sam. He wanted no more
talk, no more temptation.

''Sam, I won't keep it dark. I will at once
write the precise truth to Mr. Gemmill. If
lie can't trust me any longer so much the worse
for me. Anyhow, I'll do all I can to deserve
to be trusted."

"And you won't be. And the job will be
stopped. And father will be ruined. You're
ii fool, Walt," said Sam.

"Don't let us quarrel, Sam," said Walter,
liolding out his hand. " I've got enougli to
\'orry through without that. You wouldn't
liave me go against my conscience."

110

WALT Eli GIBBS,

■ffliie-:;. I'm

i':

" Only I wish you hiidu't that kind uf giily-
girly conscience — that's all," said Sam, looking
still vexed, though he was secretly glad of the
strong grasp of Walter's hand.

Walter drove at once to Elbow Carry, that lie
might catch the afternoon mail, lie felt dis-
inclined to tell Jaffray at once about the need
for a dam. It was a matter so much for ]\Ir.
Gemmill's decision that the young boss re-
solved to disclose nothing of his difficulty to
the tavern-keeper until he should have received
the banker's reply. It was not till he had
written and posted his plain statement that lie
went to the landlord of the " Royal Arms."

"I've been thinking of increasing my foiee
again," said Walter. " Do you suppose I can
get a gang of river-men together quickly if
I want them for a few days?"

" No, sir, you can't," said Jaffray, holding
his eyes firmly together. " Peter Black has
hired every man in sight. He's coming up to-
morrow himself, and he's had two agents hero
these three days. They've got a hundred men
together, and he's expecting to bring another
hundred from Garroch and thereabout. You'll

THE YOUNG nOSS.

Ill

have to pay big money to get men for any short
job. Peter Black's liiring 'em for all winter."

The Carry seemed overrun with sliantymen,
but on going among them Walter found Jaf-
fray's report true. They were mostly "going
up " for Peter Black, a very enterprising young
lumberman.

Walter felt dismay creeping more and more
deeply into his heart. Even if Mr. Gemniill
should consent to the building of the dam it
was doubtful if men enough could be assem-
I)led to do it speedily. Nothing but very higli
pay would hold them even one week from
going to the backwoods for the winter.

Walter felt that Mr. Gemmill ought to know
this, too. So, about the middle of the after-
inon, he telegraphed these words to the banker :

''In reference to my letter posted this fore-
noon, I fmd river-men will be hard to get and
must be paid about double wages for a short
job."

The young boss now felt that he had done
all he could to inform his backer fully. On
that point his conscience became easy. The
effect was to set him thinking calmly about

112

WALTER GIBUS,

what he should do in case the banker should
tell him to go on with the dam.

He soon saw that he should need no manu-
factured material for the work if it were built
on the plan he had sketched in talk with Sam,
except about three thousand superficial feet
of three-inch plank, and some kegs of heavy
spikes for the three-legged trestles. Hay, mud,
and light timber for the trestles he could ob-
tain close by the dam site. Walter quickly
found that he could buy the plank at a saw-
mill, and the spikes at one of the stores.

The next question was as to getting tliesc
materials quickly to the dam site in case of
Mr. Gemmill's consent. Had Jaffray plenty
of wagons and teams likely to be disengaged
for the morrow? With this question he went
to the tavern-keeper.

"No," said Jaffray. "You know I haven't
got a great bunch of horses on hand at this
season. When the time for teaming men that
drive the river has passed I sell off some horses
and send more to the woods. And every team
I've got is engaged for to-morrow and three
days after, to take Peter Black's men and sup

l^uiit get scared, son. A man can't think when he'.s scaled,"

said JattVay.

THE YOUNG I10S8.

118

plies over the Carry to the steamboat landing
on the upper reach."

''That's bad," said Walter, gloomily, for in-
surmountable diiliculties seemed to arise on
every hand.

"Wiiat were you wanting teams for anyhow,
young man?"

"It's possible I may have to build a dam,
sir," said Walter, thinking it best to explain to
some extent.

Now a hint was as good as a long story to
the shrewd tavern-keeper. Before his mind's
eye the map of Loon Lake, its hay-lands and its
outlet creek suddenly spread.

''Thunder and lightning!" he cried, as if
agliiist. " I tee-totally forgot you'd need a dam.
But of course you will — on account of going
so deep with the excavation ! Jerusha, here's
a pickle ! There'll be six feet of water to fight.
Why didn't you get at this before?"

" I never thought of it at all, Mr. Jaffray,"
said Walter, wofuUy. "Seems as if I had
been stone-blind."

"Don't get scared, son. A man can't think
when he's scared," said Jaffray, kindly, laying
1

114

WALT Eli a inns,

his luiiid on Walter's Hhouldcr. "Come into
my back room and tell mu just how things
stand."

While the young boss explained the situa
tion and all his proceedings, JalTray sat wink-
ing furiously. He closed his eyes at the
conclusion of the story for fully live nuniiti's,
and was deeply buried in thought. Finally lie
remarked decisively : —

" I'm going to try if I can pull your cliust-
nuts out of the fire, or water rather. Certainly
they're in it pretty deep. No men to be had —
water rising — why, if there's more rain soon
there may be a stream over your work before
you can say Jack Kobinson. I guess you'll
have to drop this job right away."

"That's ruin," said Walter.

" Oh, I guess not," smiled Jaffray, with much
winking. " But I ought to have had more
time to wrvk on Hebden's mind. I was reckon-
ing iyj stop you about the middle of December."

"What do you mean, Mr. Jaffray? You've
hinted at this before, but I never could under-
stand your meaning."

" I mean that Hebden went into that contract

Tin: iOUNG iioss.

116

liku Ji bliiul man. IIu's a kind of crank, and
i^'it'eii as graas anyhow. He hadn't been hero
ii month, he liadn't examined the contracts that
li'S (lead uncle made, he didn't know what ob-
ligations he inherited with his est.'ite. He got
ii into his head that he'd do wonders by drain-
ing tliat hay-Lind, and before I'd heard anything
;il)out it lie made the contract with your father.
Now I'm going to remind Mr. Hebden of the
existence of Windy Jim."

CHAPTER VII.

PETER BLACK S PLAN.

During the recent weeks of Walter's work
at Loon Lake Mr. llebdcn had been concealing
with diiliculty his delight in a prospect he fore-
saw. He knew, for Walter's father had fully
explained to him, the necessity for a dam in
case the deep work were undertaken. As
Walter let week after week pass without setting
about the dam the litigious, ill-tempered little
pettifogger reckoned with glee that the young
boss must come to disaster. His malicious dis-
position was particularly pleased by the three
days' rain.

" The next estimate will be due on the fifth

of December," his secret thouofhts ran.

15v

that time the need for a dam will be plain. I
will not pay the estimate. I will object that the
dam has not been built, and that the work

116

WALTER a inns, tiik young noss. 117

cannot be Ihiished in contract time. He will, of
coui-se, stop the job. I shall claim forfeit and
bring suit for damages. Even if old man Gibbs
is bankrupt, I shall have all hit. son's work dur-
ing November to the good, and I can finish the
job cheap next year with that start to the good "

()i late llebden had been keeping himself
closely informed of Walter's movements. When
he learned tliat the young boss had been inquir-
ing for lumber and spikes he pondered the sit-
uation carefully. Plainly Walter was about
to try to build the dam.

But could he obtain a big gang of river-men
speedily enough to deal successfully with the
rising water? Putting this question to himself,
Hclxlon ordered liis foreman to compete with
i'eler Black, ard employ at once all the shanty-
men seeking work for the winter.

On the following morning the little man was
ii; a state of high satisfaction. The weather
looked cloudy. More rain was in prospect.
The dam must be built immediately or not at
'ill, and his foreman told him that no men were
to he had at Elbow Cr.iry for any wages.

''Now we'll see," said llebden, turning to

118

WALTER GIBIiS,

his morning mail. That son of Gibbs' sliall
learn a lesson that will last him the rest of his
life."

At that moment Mr. Hebden opened a letter
directed in the large round hand of Jaffray, tlie
hotel-keeper.

Never did a face grow more red and wrathy
than his became as he perused the notification.
At a second reading he slapped it down on hi
desk, struck it with his clenched fist, and sat btar-
ing at it as if he expected it might vanish into
nothingness under his dreadful gaze. As it did
nothing of the kind, he collected his wits, rose,
unlocked the door of his dead uncle's bricked-in
safe, and after much rummaging brought forth
a form of agreement, which he proceeded to
read with positive fury. It was the document
to which Mr. Jaffray referred in this letter : —

IIowAiT) IIeiiden, Esq.,

*' Dear Siu, — You are, I understand, about to lower
Loon Lake and drain the hay-lands there. I hereby
notify you that your uncle, the late John Ilebden, lor
value received, bound himself, his heirs, and assigns to
give me the cutting of five hundred acres of wild hay per
year on those lands. The contract lias still two years to

TtlE YOUNG BOSS.

119

run, and I mean to hold you to its f ullfinient. You per-
haps don't know that the hind if drained will cease to
jirodiice wild hay.

" I may also take the liberty of telling you that it will
produce no other crop for a go-d many years, as the land
will be too hOur.

'♦ Yours truly,
"James Jaffray, 'Royal Arras' Hotel.
" Sometimes called ' Windy Jim.' "

" I couldn't help getting that in," said Jaffray
to Walter at a later day. " Of course it was
bad business — but the old Nick got into me. I
wanted to give him the reminder of how he'd
insulted me."

Mr. Ilebden sat clenching his hands with
fiuy. He was not chastened, but only mad-
dened the more as his own reflections taunted
him.

Tliis little man was the proverbial beggar put
aiuUlenly on horseback. His inheritance of the
^ tibden estate had been quite unexpected by
him. Coming from his pettifogging practice
into a large fortune in Canada, his head, as the
Inmhcrman said, had " swelled."

He had felt and acted for four months like an
autocrat. He had discharged some of his uncle's

120

WALTER GIBBS,

■■I

confidential men ; others had rebelled against
his bullying manner and left him ; those who
had remained had soon abstained from counsel-
ling an employer who took every bit of advice
as an imputation against liis wisdom.

He now saw tliat many men about him must
have understood that his phiii of drainage would
destroy a valuable tract of liay-land, for he did
not doubt Jaffray's word. 'J'he wild hay was
always worth at least ten dollars a ton. His
own lumber shanties needed vast quantities.
And he had been imagining that the laud
would continue to yield the crop till he could
put it in timothy or sell it for farms !

He reflected, angrily, that J affray must have
been laughing at him for weeks, and meditaliuoj
this notification. lie reflected with still more
anger that the old confidential manager who
had quickly left him wit!i disgust must have
known of this agreement, and would have
warned him of its provisions had his services
been retained.

Still Hebden did not abandon his hope to
punish Walter Gibbs. lie verting to that matter
he saw more clearly than ever that the young

TUE YOUNG llOSS.

121

boss could not drain the land according to con-
tract unless he could at once assemble a large
force of men capable of building a dam.

"If that ])oy fails," thought TTebden, "the
meadows will stfiy as they are, and tliis contract
witli Jaffray will not be infringed in the least."

He therefore sent no reply to the tavern-
keeper. Time enough to reckon with him in
case thei'e should be a prospect of the com[)le-
tioii of the drainage job that fall. Meantime
Walter, who had stayed ;dl night at the " Royal
Arms" in order to receive as early as possible in
tin; forenoon the despatch which lie expected
from Mr. Genunill, was quite luiaware of Jaf-
fray 's interference in the business.

The young boss had slept wretchedly ; night-
marcs cari'ying liis father and mother to destruc-
tion galloped through his short dreams. He
rose iniscral)le, breakfasted without aj)petite, and
walked out in the dull weather among the
crowds of men all waiting for the arrival of
Peter Black. It seemed cruel to the j^oimg
boss that all these hands, able at dam-building,
sliould be going far out of his reach just when
he might most need their aid.

122

WALTER ainns.

Nine o'clock cjimc. " Now," thought Walter,
"Mr. Gemmill will be reading my letter. By
ten I shall get a despatch from him. But what
if he does say, 'Go ahead with the dam'?
Where shall I get men ? "

At quarter to ten he went to the little tele-
graph office. No despatch ! At eleven the tale
was the same. So at half-past eleven. Walter
was in a woe of anxiety. Was Mr. Gonniiill so
staggered that he could not make up his niiiid
in any sense? Eighty men clanking away on
the Loon Lake work ! If they were to be
stopped it would be as well to stop them
quickly, for every day on the work would in
that case mean heavier loss to his father.

As Walter came out of the telegraph office at
half-past eleven he heard the whistle of the
steamboat coming up the river. It was barely
possible that Mr. Gemmill might have sent up a
letter by the boat.

"He might," thought Walter, "have won-
dered at my telegram of yesterday afternoon,
and gone to the post-office late in the oveniiig
to get my letter, which would not otherwise
reach him till this morning."

THE YOUNG JIOSS.

123

Walter walked rapidly toward the wharf. In
c'line the steamboat fairly black with men.
Tliey were roaring tlie French-Canadian chorus
of '* roulant ma houle.'" The crowd waiting
for them caught up and sang the inspiriting
refrain.

"All river-men, nearly," though^ Walter.
"Good gracious, if I could have them for a few
days! Wouldn't two hundred of them just
rattle up that dam ! "

On the hurricane-deck beside the captain
stood a tall young man, who had become a very
familiar figure on the river. When the men
asliore saw his keen, shaven face clearly they
stopped singing, and soon the chorus ceased
from tlie steamboat also.

One of the men on the wharf shouted, " Who
yer goin' up for ? "

" Peter Black ! " roared a hundred voices
together. It was the favorite "gag" of the
river when Peter Black first became the pre-
eminent adventurer in the hazardous lumber
trade.

Peter Black, standing beside the captain,
laughed heartily. When something like silence

I' iiaii

124

WALTEli GIBBS,

fell just as the boat touched the wharf, he caino
to the side aud held up his hand for atteiitioii.

"Is Walter Gibbs of Garroeh there?" he
then cried.

" Yes, sir, I'm here," cried the young boss.

"Come aboard, will you? I've got a word
for you. Make way there, men — let Mr. (Jibbs
aboard."

Walter ran up the gangway, climbed to the
hurricane-deck, and clasped hands with the
great lumberman.

" What is it, sir ? " he said, " have you a let-
ter for me from Mr. Gemmill?"

" No. But I've seen him. I had business
with him last night, and was stopping at liis
house. He says go ahead with your dam."

Walter stood dumb. lie scarcely knew
whether to be glad or sorry. For the thouj^^lit
of the lack of men struck liim with new force,
now that lie must look for hands.

" Mro Gemmill told me your fix," said Black.
" He was greatly pleased with 3'our straight-
forward letter. So was I — he read it to me.
Now I've been in such scrapes myself, and I
know it's tough to own up to one's backer.

Walter ran up the gangway, and <^
claspcil hands witli the
gicat lumberman.

Well,
nil the
mine {1
to liea:
u\v

"Y(

for yoi
liiy tin

thank

Mr. G
men f(
up riv<
sceino'
wliarf,
down
thuir d

''Of
he sto
lit! wa
notifyi
might

It w
noon b

THE YOUNG liOSS.

125

Well, the long and short of it is, you can have
;ill tlio men you want. Here's two hundred of
mine at your disposal. It was lucky I chanced
to hear of your lix."

" What ! You'll lend me a gang ? "

" Yes, and I'll go down and run u[) that dam
for you myself. I've built a dozen big dams in
my time."

'' Well — Mr. Black — I don't know how to
thank you ! "

" Don't thank me — thank your honest letter,
Mr. Gibbs. I'll lose nothing. You'll i)ay the
men for their time. I don't really want 'em
up river yet for a week. Jaifray I " he shouted,
seeing the tavern-keeper coming across the
wharf, " I want you to move a hundred men
down to Mr. Gibbs' contract after they've got
their dinner — can you do it?"

" Of course I can," cried Jaffray, " but — "
he stopped and stood winking as if puzzled.
He was thinking that he had been too hasty in
notifying Hebden, for now he saw that Walter
might finish the contract after all.

It was hfilf-past two o'clock the same after-
noon before all preparations had been completed

126

WALTKu a inn 8,

for taking one liundiod rivcr-nicii to Loon Lake.
Tents, pork, biscuit, toa, axes, every foresuuii
ref^uisite for their dani-buikling had ht'uii
brought from Peter lUack's storehouse near tlio
wharf.

Nine wagons, each containing eleven men
and one of Jaffray's drivers, stood ranged before
the " Royal Arms " Hotel. Four other wagons
were piled higli with supplies. P^verything liiid
been made ready for Peter lilack's order to
start, but neither Peter, nor Jaffray, nor Walter
was to be seen.

The cause of this delay was I lUack

himself. Scarcely had he landed from tlie
steamboat before he had learned from Jaffray
the true situation of the Loon Lake job.

Up to that time the young lumberman liad
been unaware that Hebden's scheme of drainage
applied to a great tract of wild hay.

"And you tell me, Jaffray, that you want
Hebden to go on paying for worse than worth-
less work," said Peter, sternly. "'Pon my
word, it's too bad. Somebody should have told
Mr. Hebden plainly that liis plan will destroy
those valuable meadows."

THE YOUNG liOSS.

127

"Oh, he's one of the kind that knows it .all,"
siiiil Jiilniy. "He's j^ot the ' bi^ head,' don't
you see. I want liini to learn a lesson. Ho
cuntnieted tor this drainapje job on his own
cranky notions ; he gets mad when anybody
^'ivcs him a word of advice, and he's acted as
uicaii as dirt to young (Jibbs. I'd be glad to
see it cost him any amount."

"You're too vindictive, friend Jaffray," said
Peter. " It's true liebden is a greenhorn and
an arrogant, offensive greenhorn at that, liut
it's a shame to let him throw a .ay his money for
want of a word of warning. If he won't take
warning — why, then, there's no helping him.
For me, I hate to see men's work wasted no
iiialtei- who's to pay for it. I'm going over to
SCO liebden about this."

'' Why, what do you expect you can do with
him?" asked Jaffray, sulkily.

**What he should do is clear," said Peter.
"lie should pay for the work already done, and
pay (Jibbs for abandoning the profits he could
jirobably make by completing the job. Surely
lie will have sense enough to see that after get-
ting your letter.''

128

WALTER GIBBS,

|•:^
|i:i

Rut Peter Black found Air. Ilebden in no
humor for conipromise. The little man, quite
unaware that Peter would put up the dam for
Walter, jumped to the idea that the young
lumberman had come to him on Walter's
behalf.

" You tell me, Mr. Black," said Ilebden, *' that
the hay-land will be ruined by drainage. I am
obliged to you for tlie information. It may be
correct. If so, all I ha\ e to do is to dam up
this outlet and flood the land again. Tiien 1
shall have to pay no damages to Jaffray oa his
hay contract with my uncle."

" All right, if you will have it so," said Black,
patiently. " You will then pay the useless
removal of about twelve or thirteen thousaml
cubic yards of rock. If you could induce ('!hbs
to stop now you'd have to pay for only four
or live thousand yards, and the allowance for
profits on the rest."

"Induce Gibbs to i^top!" snorted Ilebden.
"I fancy the rising lake will do that. Pooh-
pooh, sir, I shaU deal as I i)lease with (iibhs!"

"That's your calculation, eh?" said Bhick,
" Then I rnay tell you that the water won't
stop the young fellow at all."

THE YOUNG BOSS.

129

*'Pooh — he can't find men to build his dam,"
cried Hebden.

"Pooh yourself, sir, he's found them already!
I'm j^'oing to lend him a hundred, or two hun-
Jitjtl if they can be used. I'm going to build
the (lam for him myself. My men are in
wagons now, waiting to go down there."

"The '.vay you infernal colonials hang to-
[fctlier!" cried Hebden, angrily.

"Well, now, Mr. Hebden, I don't think your
tone is quite justified," said the wise young
lumberman, soothingly. " It's in your own
interest that I took the lilxjrty of suggesting
a co'iU'se. It doesn't seem to me judicious to
throw good money after bad. It is very easy
for me to understand that a gentleman recently
from England should not see the value of wild
hay, for *at home' it would be useless, I pre-
sume. There you'd naturally want to drain
such a marsh and get a crop from it. But wild
hay represents good money in a rough, lumber-
ing country. No newcomer could know that."

" I wish some one had liad the decency to tell
me of this in time," said Hebden, somewhat
mollified.

130

WALTER GIBBS,

tlL

"Well, sir, 1 thought it was iny duty to coirK'
as soon as I understood the situation. I hupc
I've given you no offence."

The considenite and respectful tone of tlio
well-known and wealthy young luniherman
was like balm to the wounded and angry httlo
man.

"Won't you sit down again, Mr. Black?" liu
Siaid. "I'm really very much obliged to you.
What do you propose? If young Gibbs lias
your men at his command I presume there's no
doubt he can put up the dam and finish the
contract."

" Very little," said Black. " Of course the
dam might give him some trouble. But he's
a bright, active young fellow, and could proba-
bly keep it in repair. I presume you don't
really wish him to come to grief — it would be
a sad thing for his father to lose his all on this
contract, ileally, I think it would be a Chris-
tian thing for you to relieve him from the risk,
and save a good many thousands of your own
money in the bargain."

"Well, well — putting it on that ground,"
said Ilebden, feeling somewhat puffed up at

THE YOUNG BOSS.

131

the assuniptioii that he was in a position to
iniike generous concessions. " What does he
propose ? "

" I haven't consulted liim in the matter yet,"
said Black. " But 1 dare say he will hear
reason. Suppose we send for him."

So Walter, to his amazement, was confronted
with a proposal that he should stop work at
once. At first he rebelled decidedly.

'' T don't see why I should," said he, for he
liad heen very ambitious to finish the jol)
cleaidy, and greatly lifted up by the prospect
which Black's men gave him.

*'I think you should," said Black. "Mr.
Ilelxlen agrees, I understand, to pay the wliole
outlay and allow for a reasonable profit. Let
us iigure on the thing," and once he got Walter
involved in calculations the bargain was in a
fair way toward conclusion.

Jaffray, being called in to give his opinion as
to the cost of supplying Walter's men for six
weeks longer, soon became engaged in the gen-
eral discussion, and cleverly addressed himself
to increasing the allowance that Waller should
receive for prospective profits.

132

WALTER GIBBS,

Still the youii^ boss was discontented with
the idea of giving up the woik.

"I might make half as much again as you
advise me to take," lie said, drawing Mr. Black
aside.

" You might and you mightn't. The dam
might break away, and more than once. Deep
snow may come early. Rain may rob you uf
half the working days from this ouc. Take a
good profit when you can get it. And anotlier
point is this — consider how greatly relieved
from anxiety your mother and father will be
if you close out the job now with Ji good profit
on hand."

" That's so, you're giving me good advice,"
said Walter, gratefully. "But I'll have to get
Mr. Gemmill's opinion on the matter.''

At four o'clock that afternoon Peter Black's
men were told that they could proceed with
their supplies, not to Loon Lake, but to the
head of the Carry. At half-past four Walter
liad begun to exchange telegrams with Ur.
Gemmill. At six o'clock the banker had sent
liis final word. " Take Peter Black's advice.
Let him see that the settlement is secure.

THE YOUNG BOSS.

133

Four thousand dollars' profit over all is a good
transaction, and 1 congratulate you and myself
oil being out of the job."

Thus it liappened that Walter Gibbs, Senior,
wlien his interest in business revived, was
clieered by the news that four thousand dollars
stood to his credit in Mr. Gemmill's bank. It
lifted up his heart so greatly that he recovered
speedily, and was back in (jarroch before
('liristnias. The looks and words of gratitude
and love that the young boss then received
from liis parents he can never forget.

" My dear boy, you did wonders," said his
father, "wonders. In less than two months,
four tliousand dollars ! Why, it was a grand
business."

"Aye, Wally'U make a good business man
yet, I'm thinkin'," said Mr. Gemmill, patting
Ills prot(3g(3 affectionately on the arm. "He
just did line, and I give ye notice I'll back him
again if he's needing it."

" Well, sir," said Walter, blushing, " it seems
to me that I don't deserve one bit of credit.
You started me. Mr. Jaffray saved the forfeit
for me. Sam kept llie gang together by cook-

131 wALTEii am lis, the young noss.

ing at a pinch, and Mr. Black got niu out of
the final scrape with a profit. It seems to me
1 didn't come in anywhere — I didn't evuii
finish the job.'"

"Well, I'm no saying but you had somi!
good turns done ye," said Mr. Gemmill. "■ But
mind you this — it's the man with a head on
him, and sense and manners, that gets good
turns done him in this world — aye, is it ! And
you'll not forget that you downed Meigs all by
your lone, and skelpit yon Prussian, besides all
the work of administrating the job. Oli, I'll
back ye again to ony reasonable extent. Fni
aye for backin' business lads that has streaks of
luck coming quick after others. That means
ability — luck's but a foolish name for the good
turns that's aye liappenin' to them tliat help
theirsels."

TOM'S FEARFUL ADVENTURE.

Lear

mac

your

■J

as I

kiss ]
"I
"(

Voil

-A

TOM'S FEARFUL ADVENTURE.

** Tm |]foinpr witli Dou^ to play tennis, mother."

"Where is Donghis, Tommy?"

" Down-stairs in the drawing-room. lie's wait-
iiitj^ for me."

"Well, dear, I suppose you can go," said Mrs.
Leamington, turning around from her sewing-
machine. "' r>ut don't you think you should wash
your face first? "

" Is it very dirty, mother ? "

" Fearfully — for a fellow of fourteen."

"All right, ril just go into the bath-room
as I pass. Well, good-bye! What? you won't
kiss me, mother ? "

" I can't kiss a big l)oy with a dirty face."

" Oh, I forgot. I beg your pardon, mother.
You 7vill kiss me good-bye, though ? "

'' After you come from the bath-room."

^'All right, mother dear."

137

las

TOM 8 FEAliFUL ADVEyTVHE.

Awiiy wuiil Tom into the bath-room, lluwas
his mother's only child, unci she was a widow.
Tom was taller than the little woman in black,
and was accustomed to pet her as elaborately as
she petted him.

Mrs. Leamington had reluctantly given in to
Tom's opinion that his coats and trou'^ers should
be made by a tailor, but could not deny herself
the satisfaction of making his shirts. She wiis
now sewing on one in her bedroom, next door
to the bath-room.

Whirr-r-r-r went the sewing-machine ; wldr-r-r
— it was a long seam ; iv1ur-r-r — it stopped.

Mrs. Leamington lifted the needle-bar, pnlk'd
the edge loose, snipped off the thread, adjusted
another seam, and was about to start sewing
again, when several small objects in the hjilli-
room fell to the floor.

" What have you knocked down. Tommy ? "

No answer.

The water was still pouring from the tap, not
steadily. It sounded as though partly stopped
at times.

Whirr-r. Mrs. Leamington began another
seam. At that moment she thought slie hoard

TOMS FEARFUL ADVENTUiiE.

lao

other siiKiU things clatter in the Uitli-rooiu ; but
till) seam was well started, and she rattled on.

'J'oiii was stamping and kicking. The whir
was not so loud but that she could hear his feet.
He seemed to be kicking the base-board and
stam[)ing on the floor, not with all his force.

'' Such a noisy fellow ! " cried tlie widow,
l)iinging her seam to a finish.

No answer came from Tom.

"What on earth are you at. Tommy?" said
Ahs. Leamington with some vexation.

No answer from Tom. His mother, someu'hat
puzzled, was about to rise and go to him when
slii> lieard him rapping.

R(ip — rap — rap — rap — a pause — rap —
rap — rap.

" Tommy ! You noisy fellow."

Tom did not reply, but rapped once more ;
four r<i{)S — a pause — three raps.

vSlio rose impatiently to go to him.

But at that moment Tom's chum, Douglas
Maclean, sprang up-stairs three steps at a time.

•'Where's Tom, Mrs. Leamington?" he cried,
ill a voice of alarm as he reached the landing.

''In the bath-room, Douglas."

140

TOM'S FEARFUL ADVENTUJiF.

Douglas diisliod into tlie open batli-room door.
Mrs. Loamington sat down to lier machine.

*'Wliat's the matter, Tom?" cried Douglas
in surprise, but no longer in alarm.

No answer from Tom.

''What did you fool me for?" said Douf^las.

Still no reply from Tom. Mrs. LcaniiiiLjton
tliought his silence very strange. He was again
stamping and kicking.

'' What ! Can't you lift up your head, Tom ? "
cried Douglas, in a terrified tone, that brouglit
the widow instantly to her feet.

At that instant there was a sound of soiikv
thing breathing in the bath-room. Then Tom
spoke with gasps.

" Doug ! Ah — oh my — Doug — ah — I was
nearly gone — ah — where's mother? Motliorl"
he cried, tULibling, with wet face and sliuiim-
ing hair, into her room.

" Oh, mother, I ve liad such a fearful advent-
ure ! " he said, throwing his arms round her
and shuddering.

"What is it, Tommy?"

" Oh, I was so afraid you'd come in and liiul
me dead — and it would kill you ! "

What ! Can't you lift iii) your head. Toin

fearful
iniiiut(
-It
I was i:
stood t
"Lu
las, sta
"Do
alone.
I'll tell
" Mo
Tom.

" W]

about?'

Mg.

taps cai

to lift i1

"But

betweer

M d(

Hut thi

went.

to the 1

about b

TOM'S FEARFUL ADVENTURE.

141

" Why, Tom ! How could you have had a
fearful adventure? It's not more than two
minutes since you left me."

''It seems — I don't know how long, mother.
I was nearly drowned. If Douglas hadn't under-
stood the raps, I should have been dead."

" Lucky we fixed up that signal," said Doug-
las, standing in the doorway.

''Don't stay, Doug. I want to tell mother
alone. Please go and wait for me down-stairs.
I'll tell you when I come." Douglas departed.

"Mother, I was almost drowned," repeated
Tom.

"Why, Tom, dear, what are you talking
about?"

" r g( it my head stuck in the wash-basin ! The
taps caught in the back of my head when 1 tried
to lift it. And the basin was full of water."

"But how could you have got your head
between those two taps ? "

"I don't know. I've often tried to before.
P)iit this time I gave a plunge — and down I
went. You know how those taps stick out
to the middle of the basin — I never thouglit
about being caught. They must have sprung

^'r^ivr

J^BHl;

iii

142

TOM\S FEARFUL ADVENTURE.

to let my liuad tlirougli — 1 know they hurt a
little. Then wliou I tried to lift my head up, 1
couldn't."

"Tonnny, dea)\ how dreadful ! "

" I tried to push my head up, but it was no
use. The taps liurt me. I twisted my head
hist to one side, tlien to the other — it was no
go. 1 pushed my head forward to the back of
tlie basin, and could not get it up. I pulled my
eliiu against the front of the basin — it was no
use ; I could not get up.

"Then I jerked and jerked. The taps Imrt
mo fearfully, mother. And the more I jerkid
the more I seemed to be stuck."

"Poor Tom! If you had called me!" said
the mother, patting the hand of her still trem-
bling boy.

" Mother ! I couldn't call with the back of
my head, could I ? You forget my mouth and
nose were deep in the water. It was fearful to
know you were so close and I couldn't call you.
You heard me knock down the tooth-powder
and tootli-brushes, didn't you? "

" Yes, dear, and I called to you."

"I upset them with my hands, you know,

TOM'S FEAIiFUL ADVENTURE.

143

lidiiiiig you would come. And I lieard you
snt'iik tlieii. When 1 screwed v\y head one side
down, the other ear was out of water. Oh, I'd
luivc i,nven anythinij^ to be able to speak I It
seemed as if I couldnt hold my breath in any
more.

"I tried to pull the taps apart with my

li;uuls, but someway I didn't seem to have any

streiiglli, stooping the way I was. 1 j^ot my

liuiids on tlie taps but couldn't budge them.

rin'ii I was sure I was going to drown.

'•1 tried to reach down past my face with my
riL,flit hand to pull the plug out and let the
basin empty, but I couldn't reach the plug.
Then I tried to stop the water running in, but
I was in such pain that I didn't seem able to do
anything. I suffered so ! It made me stamp
and kick.

'' Then I began to stamp and kick on purpose.
And you said, ' Such a noisy boy ! ' Oh, mother,
1 wanted to cry ! It seemed so awful to be
drowning, and y u sort of laughing at me in
the next room."

"Tonmiy, darlinr/ f You'll make me cry."

"Well, it was just awful, mother dear. It

144

703/ '6' FEARFUL ADVENTURE.

was frightful — you talking to me that nice
way, as if you couldn't scold me, and me drown-
ing. T was sure I was dying. And it just
killed me to think how you'd go white and pale,
and look with big eyes, and faint dead away,
and die, too, when you came in and found me
stuck there, dead !

'^ You'd think I was fooling at first, you
know, mother; and you'd stand and smile!
And then you'd begin to wonder a little ; and
you'd come up and put your hand on my shoul-
der and say, ' Tom, dear,' and I'd be dead I "

" Tommy, dear son ! It's fearful. Poor dar-
ling, how you must have suffered ! "

" Suffered ! Why, mother, I died ! I thought
T was dead, and that's what saved me. I began
thinking about being dead, and I remembered
the seven raps, and Douglas in the drawing-
room."

"The seven raps?"

"Yes, it's a signal — it's a signal that Doug
and I and the fellows have in case — in case —
but I can't tell you, mother, only you know if
you were in a dungeon and the fellows were look-
ing for you, why, a signal would be very useful."

TOM'S FEARFUL ADVENTURE.

145

«I understand, Tom," said the little widow,
who had pieced together many incautious refer-
ences of Tom's to the Seven Silent Shadows
Society, of which her boy and Doug were im-
portant members.

'•Well, you understand, mother, I rapped as
hard as I could on the boarding underneath the
marble top of the basin. But I didn't think
Doug would hear me. I couldn't hear the raps
myself, for there was such a roaring in my ears.
It wasn't the water pouring that roared, I think
it must have been the blood in my head — the
wliolo world seemed roaring away from me —
and how I wanted to hear the raps !

"But I could only feel my knuckles going.
I struck as hard as I could — owe, ttvo^ three^
four — that means — but I forgot, I mustn't tell,
that's a secret, mother. And I couldn't hear
a thing.

" I tliought I could see Douglas sitting down
on the blue ottoman twirling his racket and
waiting. I was sure he hadn't heard me. And
I didn't think I could rap again, but I tried.
After that I didn't know anything till Douglas
pulled me up."

146

TOM'S FEARFUL ADVENTURE.

"How did he get your head loose, dear?"

" Wliy, he broke off both taps with one })ull.
Doug is terribly strong. Come and see, mother.''

While Mrs. Leamington, with her big boy'^
arm round her neck, gazed at the l)ruken
faucets, she said: "But still I can't understand
how Douglas knew."

"He understood the raps. You know the
S> S. S. S., mother."

" Yes, and this, then, is the signal that a
member is in danger of losing his life?"

As she spoke she rapped — four raps— a
pause — three raps.

Douglas flew up-stairs.

"What! Who is in danger now?" cried
Douglas.

" Mother was just rapping as I did," said
Tom, with alarm in his countenance.

Mi-s. Leamington laughed. " You'll have to
make me a member, Douglas, now that 1 know
your secrets."

" Thomas JLeamington," said Douglas, in a
sepulchral voice, " have you revealed aught?

"Naught, Brother Douglas Maclean," re-
sponded Tom in the same deep tones.

TOM'S FEARFUL ADVENTUHK.

147

"'Tis well," said Dougliis.

" Wliat are you two absurd boys at ? " said
Mrs. Leamington.

Tom and Douglas, with eyes rolled up till
the whites showed, laid each his forellnger on
liis lips seven times.

''Iii([uire not into the sacred secrets of the
Seven Silent Shadows, mother," said Tom, in
the sepulchral voice.

Then in his natural tones, "Mother, now
I'm gohig to play tennis. I may, mayn't I?"

"Yes, your face is quite clean. Take care of
one another, boys. I'm afraid you are both a
little cracked."

Tlie two members of the Seven Silent Shad-
ows Society rolled their eyes at her impres-
sively, broke into laughter and ran, half-tum-
bling, down-stair».

DUX.

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Form

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thresh

DUX.

Never did the pupils of the Academy of
Mayfield, a Canadian school, watch a competi-
tion with ixiore interest than they gave to that
between George Digby and Etienne Seguin, for
the gold medal, the hundred-dollars four-years'
scholarship, and the proud title of "School
Dux," all of which go each year to the boy of
highest standing in the Seventh and highest
Korm. Even more than medal, scholarship, and
title is earned by the winner. He carries from
tlie academy such a reputation for character
and ability as secures for him a warm welcome
at the university, should he enter there, or a
kindly reception in mercantile circles, should
his be a business career. Having fairly estab-
lished his title to consideration on the very
threshold of practical life, the "School Dux'*

161

152

DUX.

-lit i ' ■

starts with advantages far beyond those of in-
herited fortune.

George Digby, entering the academy as a
small boy, had been head of each Form to the
Seventh. A fair Second each year had been
Ferdinand Vane, the only son of Mayfiekl's
wealthiest merchant. By virtue of hard work
and the steady good sense which always se-
cured him the highest marks and conduct,
George, with abilities less brilliant than Ferdi-
nand's, surpassed him as far as Ferdinand did
all others of the class.

The two boys entered the Seventh convinced
that they would still maintai'i their relative
positions to one another and the Form. But
there they found a new competitor in Etienne
Seguin.

At first the French boy was regarded witli con-
temptuous curiosity by his classmates. There
were many reasons for their attitude. He was
a complete stranger to them, who had nearly
all been together in the academy for six years.
The admission of a new boy to the Seventh liad
not occurred before in their time. In such
circumstances an English-Canadian boy would

DUX.

153

have been treated as an intruder, and Etienne
was French-Canadian.

Now the academy is essentially an English-
Canadian institution. Seldom does a French
name appear on its class-lists. It is also Protes-
tant, though not exclusively so, and Etienrje
was Catholic. His long hair, his dark eyes, his
olive skin, his rapid utterance and impulsive
gestures, proclaimed his race. Again, Etienne
was evidently very poor, and nearly al) the boys
of the academy came from well-to-do families
of professional or mercantile men.

Before the end of the first month the feeling
against him in the academy had become i)ositive
and bitter. Questioned as to his reasons for
joining, lie had confidently mentioned his inten-
tion to become Dux !

" It's the hundred-dollar scholarship you have
come for, of course ! " cried Ferdinand, taunt-
ingly-

''Yes, it is; I do want it very badly," said
Etienne, simply, pointing to his seedy coat.
Tlie admission was fatal to his standing ; it
seemed wholly mercenary to the prosperous
boys.

154

DUX.

Etienne's work showed hard study at once.
He soon arose in scholarship to within two
marks of George, and had beaten Ferdinand
by nine.

" Take the second place, Seguin," said the
Principal, cordially. "You have done very well
indeed. Digby, you are to have a close race for
Dux, after all."

" Shake hands over it, Seguin," said George,
as the French boy came to his side. " I'm go-
ing to keep you down if I can."

Etienne took the hand eagerly, looking grate-
fully into George's eyes. It was the first appar-
ent kindness from a classmate.

"Thank you! thank j^ou!" said he, with a
thrill in his voice.

" What for? " was the roughly spoken answer.
" Because I want to beat you ? "

George hated a scene. He had offered his
hand on somewhat the principle of the prize-
ring — not that he liked his opponent, but
that he wished to assure himseK, and other
people, that he entertained no feelii\g more
malicious than a desire to beat him very
thoroughly in accordance with the rules of

DUX.

155

fair combat. Etienne dropped George's ^ and
and turned to F'erdinand.

" Give him a shake, Ferd," advised George, in
a soberly impartial tone ; *' he's got here fairly,
you know."

But Ferdinand only scowled at his victor.
The "Pea-Soup" — as he nad nicknamed Eti-
enne — to have taken his jflace ! Hate flamed
fierce in Ferdinand's heart.

Next month Etienne, more familiar with
academy methods, took the first place. George,
though sore-hearted, shook hands with him again
in manly fashion and in real respect. The fol-
lowing month a cheer that could not be re-
strained broke out when George got his old
place back. Etienne cheered, too, his voice high
and clear above all, but somehow the boys could
not give him the credit for good feeling which
they would have given to such action in a lad of
their own race.

" He cheered and sneered," said Ferdinand, at
noon, and the rhyming epigram swept justice
l)efore it. Ferdinand was still third; he had
distinctly lost rank, while George's was only
threatened. And so the position remained till

156

DXTX.

the last month of the school-year, when little
was talked of in the academy but the struggle
for Dux.

Having passed and repassed each other fre-
quently, George and Etienne stood equal in
marks when June closed, and thereafter changed
places from day to day as Head and Second.

"Come and have half an hour's Lacrosse,
Seguin ; I'm half dead for want of exercise,"
said George, witl. determined friendliness, after
school that day.

" No, I'm not quite — what you say ? — up to
it," answered Etienne. *' ■ or three or four days
I have not been very well. I will go home, I
think."

"He daren't lose half an hour; he wants that
hundred dollars a year too badly,'' sneered Fer-
dinand.

But when the gan^e had begun Etienne came
out as if to watch. The afternoon was intensely
warm. Under a blazing sur th3 sandy play-
ground glittered and burned. The players had
thrown off their coats and waistcoats, near the
north goal-posts, where ail lay strewn together.
Going to these, Etienne lay down at full length.

DUX.

157

Ferdinaiul observing him, came hastily forward
and, pulling out his garments with angry gest-
ures, hung them on one goal-jjost.

"You can never tell what the Pea-Soup
might be up to," he said, joining the game
again.

" Gammon ! " said George Digby. " What
harm could he do your clothes ? Your hatred
for Seguin is making a regular crank of you,
Ferdy."

*' Never you mind," answered Ferdinand, with
meaning which the other boys felt to be too
profound for clear statement. They looked
often suspiciously toward Etienne, when not
taken up with the ball.

In a short time he was observed to rise, move
languidly towards the building and disappear.
Soon afterwards he came out and leaving the
enclosure walked rapidly down the street.

" Off to his hole to study," said Ferdinand.

" Well, he's right enough. That's the way to
hole us," answered George. " We'd better get
to work — our half-hour must be up, anyway.
Let us see," and going up to the pile of clothes,
he took up his waistcoat to consult his watch.

168

DUX,

"Why," cried he, in surprise, "my watch
is gone ! " He examined all the waistcoat's
pockets, those of his coat, too, slapped his
trouser-pockets, stood as if dazed, gazed at
Ferdinand in mute inquiry. In Vane's face
was a strange, wicked, triumphant expression.

" What do you mean ? " asked George.

Vane, without speaking, stooped, lifted the
garments one by one and threw them succei^-
sively aside. The watch did not appear; liis
look of malign satisfaction became more re-
markable.

" Here, you fellows ! " cried he, " come and
see how many of your watches have l)uen
taken."

It can't be possible ! " whispered George,
realizing fully the Third boy's meaning.

" Can't it ? We'll see. Now you may guess
why I took my coat from under him," exulted
Vane.

The boys who owned watches gazed at liini.
" Mine's here ! " " Mine's here ! " " Mine, too ! "
cried they, one after the other.

All cheap ones — nickel mostly," answered
Ferdinand, coolly. " George's and mine were

DUX.

159

the only ones worth taking. Lucky for me
1 hung mine up on the post. There he goes ! "
he exchiimed.

The boys turned with his gesture. Etienne
liiul not yet passed beyond the fence of the
(Tiounds. He was still walking rapidly. In
one instant every boy present caught the sus-
picion, shouted " Seguin ! " and rushed towards
him in a body. (Jeorge had tried to struggle
against the conviction, but with the unanin)ous
shout of his comrades the struggle ended, lie
joined the rush.

Etienne had stopped. The boys, nearing
him, saw that he was deathly pale. They
formed a ring about him. Ferdinand spoke
lirst. '' We've caught you ! " he sneered.

''Well, what then?" asked Etienne, angrily.

"Oil, isn't he surprised? Of course he
wouldn't take a watch ! " cried Vane.

" What ! "

" Oh, the impudence of him ! Why don't
you take your watch from him, George?"
continued Vane.

Etienne turned to George. * What does this
mean, George Digby?" he asked, sternly.

160

DUX.

" My watch has been taken from my waist-
coat since I took it off," George answered.

"And i/oii were lying on it," put in Ferdi-
nand. " Come, none of your nonsense ! Shell
out!"

" Do you dare to pretend tliat I would take
a watch ? " cried the French boy, furiously.

" Yes, that's just what I do mean ! " answered
Ferdinand.

" Stand back ! " Etienne raised his heavy
satchel threatenin^dy. " Ha ! I see ! it's a con-
spiracy ! " he wont on, wildly. " You have laid
a plot. Stand back ! You would ruin me,
then? Is it that you want a pretence to at-
tack me ? If a ! the examination is so near, I'm
to be laid up, eh? I see ! "

"Let us search him!" cried Ferdinand, a
moved forward.

In an instant Etienne, with a burst of in-
difrnation and tears, brou||ht his bo(>]<~ .vitii
gj ..... force dowfi on V/ine's Uutui, and knocked
him sprawling into I/he gutter.

Leaping over his j)rostrate antagonist, ho
ran down the side street swiftly. A few boys
started in pursuit.

DUX.

161

"Let him go!" cried Ferdinand, rising.
" /A''.s done for. We'll have him up before
'Prof to-morrow, and that's the end of Dux
rt'ii-Soup ! "

The boys Avended their separate ways home-
ward, convineed of Seguin's guilt. It was just
what they had expected, they remarked, after
lit! fashion of their elders in such cases.
Georsje had no more doubt than the others ;
SeLmin's conduct seemed to him full confirma-
tioM. lie did not make a seai'ch of the ijround,
or the building, or his desk, for why should
f*V/';/eJi l)oy liave fled had he not liad the

Next day tlujre was not a doobt of Etienne's
guilt in the academy, ioi he did not return.
Wednesday, Thur>«iay, Friday, went by, and
the French boy irass saail absent. Even the
Principal no looiger pretended to doubt the
guilt of a lad who dared not face his accusers,
though the coveted position of Dux was to be
gained only through the exaniiniitions begin-
ning the following Monday.

Thougli freed so strangely froni his formid-
abio competitor, George was not the boy to

162

DUX,

relax his efforts. Working till late each night,
spending Saturday in a steady grind, he rose on
Sunday, after a sleepless niglit, in such a state
of nervous excitement that his father insisted
on taking him for a long walk, instead of to
church. Having rambled far away into the
country, and dined at a distant inn, George
reached home fagged out, and after eating,
went straight to bed and heavy slumber.

When he awoke, the sun was bright and
high. Eiglit o'clock was striking. "Exami-
nations! I'll be late!" and out he jumped.
All aglow after his cold bath, he hastily 1)egan
to dress. ""Oral to-day. Parents and friends
present. Sunday suit proper, I suppose," re-
flected he. On went the trousers. Now fur
the waistcoat. Reaching it from tht; closet
hook, he threw it on, and in a twinkling but-
toned it, standing before liis tall mirror. And
then into the mirror tlie boy stood staring, as
if petrilied with horror.

The mirror reflected his watcli-guard, and
putting up his hand, he drew forth the miss-
ing timepiece. The truth that he had forgotten
to change the watch from his Sunday to lii>'

DUX.

163

school suit on the previous Monday flashed on
him, together with the dreadful thought that he
liad falsely accused Etienne Seguin of theft.

George Digby was honest to the heart's core.
He did not hesitate a moment. Etienne must be
cleared at once, before the examination could
begin. It was now twenty minutes after eight.
George threw on his coat, seized his books,
called to his mother that he could not wait for
breakfast, and rushed out of the house. In five
minutes he was inside the academy. There sat
the Principal, preparing for the day's work.

"" Where does Seguin live ? " cried the breath-
less boy. While " Prof " turned up the address-
book, George explained himself.

"• But you have no time to find him," said the
Principal. '' It is nearly two miles away. You
will miss the opening, and lose your place."

" I can't help it, sir. He must be found. I
itiuld not sit in class till the wrong is cleared
uway."

''Good boy! good fellow!" said "Prof."
" Hut mind this," and he looked searchingly at
George ; " if you do bring him with you he will
run you close for Dux,"

164

DUX.

"Then it would be infamous not to bring
him ! " said George.

George took a cab and soon found him.sulf
in a quarter where lie had never been before.
Instead of the spacious stone residences, shade-
trees and ilower gardens of the West End, hero
were long rows of decaying brick and wooden
houses, little groceries, obscure saloons. Drag-
gled women stood at the doors or gazed from
the windows, ragged children watched him from
the gutters, heavy and foul odors possessed the
air.

He sickened to think of poor Etienno coming
from such a quarter to compete gallantly for tlie
great academy prize, and go down before a false
charge. It did not occur to him that there must
be other reason for Seguin's absence than the ac-
cusation, until a large yellow and black placard
caught his attention. Another — another — how
many ! Printed on each, in huge black letters,
were but two words : " Picotte — Small-pox."

He had forgotten the dread disease, which liad
recently begun to ravage the city. And now
he was in the midst of it. This was the poor
French quarter, its home ! But he did not for

DUX,

165

an instant think of turning back ; his errand
was of lifo and death inij-ortance to his own
soul; only he wished he had not put off re-
vaccination from day to day.

The cab stopped. George sprang out. There
was the number. He ran up the -teps and
knocked loudly. As the sound ceased, a wild
cry came ivom witliin, and the cabman sliouted
in alarm, —

" Look out, sir ! Come back I There's small-
pox there ! "

George stepped backward, and there, high be-
side the door, were the fragments of a yellow
placard.

At the same moment the door opened, and a
calm-faced Sister of Mercy appeared before the
boy. " Etienne Seguin ! " he exclaimed.

'* Yes," said she, in French. " It is he lias the
disease."

"- Etienne ! Etienne ! " cried George. " Eti-
enne ! " and staggering, turned so pale that the
kind nun instinctively moved forward to sup-
port liim. "But, no, T must not touch you,"
she said, halting. " What is it ? "

"I am George Digby," said he, faintly. "This

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166

DUX.

is the watch. I did not find it till this morning
— at home — in my Sunday coat. I came for
Etienne."

" Poor boy ! poor boy ! " said the nun, com-
prehending all. "1 am very sorry for you.
Oh, if Etienne could have known this ! "

" Is he going to die ? "

"It may be. His case is a bad one. He is
becoming delirious, raving always then of you
and the watch. But it is as God wills," she
concluded, resignedly.

Just then there came the sound of the sick
boy's voice. '•''George Dighy — you have not
conspired — you would not ruin mcf''

" Etienne ! No ! no ! Oh, for mercy's sake,
I didn't know! I have come to tell you!"
cried George, in his agony

There was a hush within. A small crowd of
miserable people had already gathered about
George. " It is the English boy who made up
the lie against Etienae," they said to one an-
other, composedly.

" No," said the nun. " The English boy is a
noble boy," and she explained to them.

" The English boy, George Digby ! " cried a

DUX,

167

woman from behind the Sister. "Ah, mur-
derer ! you have killed my Etienne ! Monster ! "

The nun hiid her hand on the mother's arm.

"No. Calm yourself," said she. "He is a
good youth," and again she explained. " You
had hoped to bring Etienne back, is it not so,
my child?" concluded the Sister of Mercy,
turning to George.

"Yes. And oh, what shall I do now?"
groaned George. "Can he not understand?
Could I not make him understand? Oh, what
is to become of me if he dies without forgiving

The nun looked thoughtfully at him. " My
noble hoy," she said, " it may be that you have
been sent to save Etienne's life this day. His
delirium is but begun ; sometimes he is calm ;
it is always of the watch and you he raves.
Could he comprehend, it might be well that his
mind would rest from its fever. But our voices
he knows ; he would think we were deceiving
him for a purpose. If you have tlie courage to
enter, to let him see you, to speak to him, he
may understand. But there is danger for you,
great danger."

168

^ux.

High above her gent ^ tones now rose the
voice of Etienne, shrih, accusing, terrible:
" George Dighij^ you have ruined me ! "

" Etienne I Etienne ! Don't say it ! " Georcre
was swept by an impulse beyond control.
" Etienne ! " he cried, and went swiftly into the
miserable liouse. " Etienne ! " he said, with-
held at the door of the room by the nun's grasp.

"What? You?" said the sufferer, (juite
sanely, and turned toward the door.

"It isnt Etienne!" groaned George, as he
saw the changed face. "Ah yes, I understand I
Etienne, I have found the watch. The whole
school knows. I beg you to forgive me ! "

While the explanation went on, Etienne lay
quite still.

" Give me a drink," said he then, faintly, and
having received it, spoke clearly. " Yes, I for-
give you, George. You have made me happy.
I knew what would be believed in my absence;
it was maddening. I forgive yon, and pity and
bl'^ss you, George. Did you know I always
liked you? That's what made it harder. And
now go, go ! I pray you may escape this. I
will see you again ; i will get well."

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1G9

When George returned to the street, the
people shrank aside from liini. He stepped
straight toward the cab. The driver motioned
him back. " No, no," said he ; " I dassent drive
you. You woukl infect my carriage."

" Nonsense ! " said the boy. " Why, I must
get back instantly to the academy."

" What ! Would you infect the school, sir?"

Then George understood what he had lost.
"Ferdinand will be Dux," he said, staring. at
the man. " Etienne lying there, and I out of
it. Take me home, then. Ferdinand will be
Dux, after all. Poor Etienne ! "

"i don't know anything about ducks, sir,"
said cabby, " but I know as you oughtn't to go
home. You'd ought to get disinfected, sir ;
that's what you'd ought to do. Right away,
too. I dassent drive you, but I'll show you
where," and George quietly followed him.

Well, tlien, Ferdinand was Dux, but he felt
no pride in his hollow victory. Nor did the
school admit that he had gained honor with
title, medal, and money. In justice, however, it
must be told that he saved his credit with his
associates.

170

DUX,

" Ferdinand Vane, Dux of the year," said the
Principal, a fortnight afterward, on Prize-dis-
tribution day, "wishes me to speak on his
behalf. He admits that George Digby should
have been Dux, for poor young Seguin could
not liave gained the honor, as it is quite ccitiiin
that the disease was witli him on his last appear-
ance here, and would have prostrated him dur-
ing the examinations. Both George and Etienne
deserved the first place. Now, with his father's
consent. Vane wishes me to state that the
whole sum of the four years' scholarship, four
hundred dollars in all, will lie paid to Etienne
Seguin during his university course. 1 am glad
to say that he is in a fair way to recover."

There was great cheering from the boys.

"As for George Digby, the Academy will ])re-
sent him with a special gold medal and a
diploma, testifying that in the special examina-
tion granted to him, he has gained a greater
number of marks than were ever reached by any
Dux of the school."

There was great cheering again, Ferdinand
leading.

" And I am ver^^ happy to tell you that this

DUX.

171

honor to Digby originated with Vane's proposal
to yield him the Dux medal, and don't you
think, l)oys, that Vane, too, deserves honor,
after all?"

There were tremendous cheers for Vane.

SMOKY DAYS.

IIu

sho

Ilea:

pioi

that

duyt

vigo

the 1

disti

it IK

littk

SMOKY DAYS.

CHAPTER I.

THE FIRE-FIGHT EIIS.

"Hush, there's mother's good little girl!
Hush, Ann Susan! I thought I heard Teter
shouting."

'^Shut yer head, Ann Susan! Don't you
hear yer maw?" said David Armstrong, the
j)i()nuer.

Ann Susan, weary of tlie smoky and still air
tluit had covered her backwoods world for thrcj
days, rubbed her sore eyes and screamed more
vigorously. By night the smoke shrouded away
the moon and stars. By day the sun was never
distinctly visible, except when in mid-sky, where
it now hung, red and solid looking, apparently
little farther above the Armstrongs' clearing

176

«Hi

176

SMOKY DAVfi.

than the pines on top of the small mountam
they called the Hump.

"Hush, Ann Susan! Hush, baby!" said
Mary, the eldest daughter, rattling two iron
spoons together. "Look what Mary's doing.
See what a good little girl Eliza Jane is. bea-
ten if brother Peter's calling."

Ann Cusan did not condescend to obey. Eliza
Jane, the five-year-old, gazed across the table at
the screaming "baby" with an air of superior
goodness.

"Hush, there! WhatN Peter say in', maw?"
said the pioneer, with alarm. " Is he shouting
fire? Can you make it out?"

His wife listened intently. " Oh dear, oh
dear, it's too bad ! " she cried, suddenly, in such
anguish that Ann Susan was startled to silence.

For a moment nothing was heard in the log-
cabin except the rhythmical roar of the rapids
of the Big Brazeau. Then a boy's voice came
clearly over tlie monotone of the river.

" Father ! Hurry ! There's fire falling near
the barn ! "

" The barn'll go, sure ! " shouted Armstrong,
and sprang up so quickly as to upset the table,

SMOKY DAYS.

Ill

whose pannikins, black-handied forks and knives,
coffee-pot, tin plates, fried pork, potatoes, and
bread clattered to the floor.

As Ann Susan stared at the chasm which had
suddenly come between her and Eliza Jane,
Armstrong nd Mary ran out. The mother, as
slie tottered after her husband and daughter,
wailed, " The barn is going, sure ' Oh dear, if
only He could 'a' spared the hay ! "

Tlie children, left sitting in their high chairs,
startd si^untly at one another, hearing only the
hoarse pouring of the river and the buzzing of
Hies resettling on the scattered food.

" De barn is doin', sure ! " echoed Eliza Jane,
descending from her elevation. " Baby tui.i and
see de barn is doin'." Ann Susan gave her hand
to Eliza Jane, and the two toddled through the
wrecked dinner things to the outside, where the
sun, yellowed by the motionless smoke-pall,
hung like a great orjinge over the clearing.

As David Armstrong ran toward his son
Peter he saw brands dropping straight down
as from an invisible balloon. The lighter pieces
swayed like blazing shingles ; the heavier, de-
scending more quickly, gave off trails of sparks

178

S^fOKV DAY'S.

which mostly turned to ashes before toucliiiirr
the grass.

Wlien the pioneer reached the 2>l^ce of diiii-
ger, the shower had ceased ; but g.-ass fires had
already started in twenty places. Peter had
picked up a big broom of cedr.r branches tied
together, and begun to thrash at the blaze.

His father and sister joined without a word
in the fight against fire that they had waged
at intervals for three days, during wliich the
whole forest across the Big 15razeau had seemed
burning, excei)t a strip of low-lying woods adja-
cent to the stream. Night and day one of the
four grown Armstrongs had watched for "lire
falling," but none of the previous showers of
coals, whirled high on the up-draught fiom the
burning woods, and carried afar by current;?
moving above the still smoke-pall, had come
down near the barn.

Now the precious forty tons of stored hay
seemed doomed, as scattered locks, strowii on
the ground outside the barn, caught from the
blazing brands. The arid, long and trodden
grass caught. Every chip and twig, dry as
tinder in that late August weather, blazed

SMOKY DAYS.

179

when touched by llame. Sparks, wavering U[)
from the grass to drift a little on no peree^jtible
wind, were enough to start fresh conflagration.

Peter thrashed till ail was black around liini,
but a dozen patches flickered near by when he
looked around. Beating, stamping, sometimes
slfipping out sparks with their bare liands, the
father, son, and daughter all strove in vain,
wliile the mother, scarcely strong enough to
lift her broom, looked distractedl}^ at the grow-
ing area of danger.

*'Lord, O Lord, if you could on'y have mercy
on the barn! We could make out without the
house, but if the hay goes we're done ! " she
kept nuittering. Eliza Jane, hand-in-hand with
Ann Susan, watched the conflict, and stolidly
le-'jchoed her niother's words, till both were
startled to silence by suddenly catching sight
of a strange bo} who had ascended from the
Big Brazeau's rocky bed to the Armstrong
clearing.

None of the other Armstrongs had yet seen
the stranger boy, who neither announced him-
self by a shout, nor stood on the bank more than
long enough to comprehend the danger to the

180

SMOKY DAYS.

burn. Quickly grasping the meaning of the
desperate efforts of the pioneer family, per-
ceiving clearly that the barn was in daiifrer,
the stranger remarked, " By Jove ! " threw a
light paciv from his back, unstrapped it, laii
down to the river witli his large gray blanket,
dipped this into the water, and trailing it, flew
swiftly to aid in the fight against lire.

"Here, you boy," cried the newcomer to
Peter, "come and take the other side of this
blanket ! " He had already drawn it over the
flame-edge nearest the barn and was trailing its
wet folds over the quickening blaze. "Ilinry;
help me to spread the blanket — this is the
way ! " he cried with decision.

Peter understood and obeyed instantly, though
he resented the tone of command.

" Take both corners ! " cried the newcomer.
" Now then ! Do as I do." He and Peter
walked rapidly over the wet blanket. When
they lifted it the space was black.

" Again ! " The stranger spoke in a calm
imperative voice. They drew the blanket over
another space of light flames, spread it, stamped
on it, repeated the entire operation.

SMOKY DATS.

181

" Never mind the fire over there ! " cried this
commanding youth to David Armstrong. " Come
liere — gatlier between the barn and the blanket!
Slap out any sparks that fly between ! "

The stranger had brought into the struggle a
clear plan and orderly action. Now all strove
together — brooms and blanket as organs of one
fire-fighting machine. In fifteen minutes there
was not a spark in the clearing, and the smoke-
blackened Armstrongs stood panting about their
young deliverer, who was apparently quite cool.

" You give us mighty good help, young fel-
ler. Jest in the nick of time, too," said the
pioneer, gratefully.

" Aw — very glad, I'm sure," drawled the
lad, almost dropping his rs while he flicked his
fore-and-aft cap with a gray silk handkerchief.
" I rather thought your barn was going, don't
you know."

"So.it was, if you hadn't jumped in so spry,**
said Mrs. Ar'-nstrong.

"Aw — well — perhaps not exactly, madam.
It wasn't to be burned, don't you know."

Tlie mystified family stared at this fatalist
\vLile he calmly snapped the handkerchief about

182

SMOKV DATS.

his heltud blouse, his tight trousers, and even
his thick-soled w.alking boots. When he had
fairly cleared his garments of little cinders and
dust, he looked pleasantly at the pioneer, and
said with a bow : " Mr. David Armstrong, I
believe ?"

" Dave," said tlie backwoodsman, curtly.

I'eter laughed. He had conceived for the
ceremonious youtli that slight aversion which
the forest-bred boy often feels for the "city
feller."

Mrs. Armstrong and Mar}'- did not sliare
Peter's sentiment, but looked with some admi-
ration on the neat little fellow who had shown
himself so quick to plan and ready to act.

Peter had rashly jumped to the opinion that
the stranger was a "dude" — one of a class
much reprehended in the columns of the KcUifn
Crossing Star and North Ottawa Valley Inde-
pendent^ in whose joke department Peter de-
lighted. There he had learned all tliat he
knew about " dudes."

The stranger in dusting himself, had dis-
played what even Mary thought an effeminate
care for liis personal appearance. Not only so,

SMOKY DAY^S.

18;{

I)iii Ik; soniehovv contrivoil to look smartly
(lii'sscd tlioiigli costumed suitiihly for the woods
ill ;i brownish suit of hard " halifax " tweed,
llaimcl shirt, aiul gray silk lie. Indeed, this
small city youth was no handsome, so grace-
fully l)uilt, and so well set up by drill and gym-
nastics that he could have worn overalls and
looked nicely attired. To crown all, he was
superlatively at ease.

"Who be you?" inquired the pioneer.

" Aw — my name is Vincent Algernon Bracy."

" A (lood, for sure ! " thought Peter, trying
to suppress his laughter. "Them's the kind o'
names they always liave. Now if he'd on'y
fetch out that eyeglass and them cigarettes ! "

At Peter's polite hut most unsuccessful
attempt to keep his laughter down, his mother
and Mary frowned, and into Peter's eyes young
Bracy looked indifferently for a few seconds,
during which the lads began to have a certain
respect for each other.

"He'd be an ugly little chap to run up
against," thought the 3'^oung pioneer, who could
not have fashioned what he thought a higher
compliment to any boy. But a faint flicker of

184

SMOKY DA Yd.

amusement in Vincent Biacy's face so annoyed
Peter that he wished circumstances were favor-
able for a tussle — "Just to show him who's
the best man."

Vincent Algernon Bracy's thoughts during
the same time were, " I wish I could hire this
chap for the survey. He looks like the rit^lit
sort to work. I wonder liow I have offended
him."

" Where ye from ? " asked David Armstrong.

" My place of residence ? "

"No. I seen ye're a city feller. Where'd
you come from to-day ? "

" About ten miles down river."

" Yas. What you doin' there ? "

" Camped there last night."

"Alone?"

" Except for sand-flies."

" Yas, they'd give you a welcome. What
you travellin' for in this back country all
alone ? "

" I'm not travelling all alone."

" You said you ivas.^^

"No, i said I camped alone last night. My
chief is camped fifteen miles lower."

SMOKV DAYS.

185

"Chief! There don't look to be no Indian in

your

"Chief engineer."

" Oho — now I size y' up. You're one of the
surveyors explorin' for the nvi' oad?"

"Not exactly. But I'm on the engineering
party."

"Same thing, I guess. When d'ye expeck to
get the line to here?"

" Next week."

" Why ! yer a-goin' it ! "

" Yes — the work is to be pushed quickly."

" No — say ? It's really goin' to be built this
time?"

"Certainly. The company have plenty of
money at last. Trains will be running here
next spring."

"Hurray! Hear that, maw ? The railroad's
com in' straight on. They'll want every straw
of hay we've got for their gradin' horses."

"Certainly," said Bracy. "It's lucky you
saved your hay. How much have you? Ten
tons?"

" Forty and more, I guess."

"lleally ! I congratulate you, '>y Jove."

^>s,'"af

186

SMOKY DAYS.

" What you say ? "

" I'm glad you saved your hay."

"01\ — now I understand. So'm I. It'll
fetch niebby eighty dollars a ton."

" Probably. I've seen hay at a hundred a
ton on the Coulonge."

In that district of the great Nortli Ottawa
Valley hay frequently sold at such enormous
prices before the railway came in. A tract of
superior pine had been discovered far from the
settlements and where wild hay was not to he
found. Transportation over hills, rocks, and
ravines was exceedingly costly. Horses wore
partly fed on bread, on wheat, on " browse " from
trees, as well as on oats, but nothing to supply
the place of hay adequately could be foiiiid.
Lumbermen " had to have it," and Armstrong
had " moved way back " on purpose to profit
by their demand. Unprecedented prices nuist
result from the competition between lumbermen
and the advance construction-gangs of the in-
coming railway.

"Where you off to now all alone?" asked
Armstrong.

"I'm going to Kelly's Crossing."

SMOKY DA VS.

187

''What for?"

" Well, I suppose 1 may tell you. My chief
could not spare a Ijoat and men f'^r a trip down
to Kelly's. We heard of a path from here over
the mountain. I am sent this way to hire all
the men I can collect at Kelly's."

'' I <,niess you must be a purty smart young
feller to be trusted that way."

"You're very kind, I'm sure," and Vincent
waved his hand with a deprecatory gesture
that (lid not detract from his confident bearing.

" At any rate," he went on, " I do my best to
ohey orders. Now, perhaps you will be so good
as to show me the path over the mountain."

" The Hump, you mean ? "

" Yes, I've heard it called the Hump. How
far to Kelly's Crossing ? "

" Thirty mile."

"So much? I might almost as well have
gone down river."

" No, it's a good, flat path on top there."

"Well, I'm glad of that. Good-day, Mr.
Armstrong, Thank you very much. Good-
day, madam. Good-bye, Miss Armstrong."

He raised his cap with a bow to each, and

188

53/0/1 r DAYS.

concluding with Peter, remarked, " Good-day,
my boy," in an intentionally patronizing tone.

This was Vincent's retort for Peter's grins
at the Bracy name, but ho had scarcely spoken
before he regretted the words ; not because
they vexed Peter, but because Vincent felt
that he had descended below that altitude of
manly composure at which ho had aimed ever
since leaving Upper Canada College a year
before.

Even pioneer boys are but mortal, and Peter
now lost his temper.

" Ain't you afeard to be out in them woods
all alone without your maw ? " said he.

"Not at all, than!: you. I'm sure it's very
kind of you to inquire," replied Vincent,
sweetly.

Mary laughed outright.

" He's too smart for you, Peter," said David
Armstrong, laughing too. Quite at a loss to
meet so affable an answer, Peter wiathfully
watched the city boy striding away.

"But say," cried Mrs. Armstrong, "you've
forgotten your blanket."

" No, madam," said Vincent, turning round.

SMOKY DAYS.

189

»'It'.s not worth my wliilc caiTying it. Too
lit'iivv, don't yon know."

''It h(fH <^<)t wut and dirty — and such a
liandsonK; blanket it was!" said Mrs. Arm-
stroiij^. " Hut say, younjr ^ontlenian, 'tain't
fair you sliould lose your l)lanket litdpin^^ us "

'* Don't mention it, madam, I l)eg of you.
Very glad to l)e of service, I assure you."

" Well, anyhow, take a dry blanket. We've
got lots — ain't we, paw?"

" We have. Nights is often cold now. You
can't sleep out without one — not to say in
comfort."

'' Well, I will take a dry blanket," said Vin-
cent, after reflection. " I mean to camp at a
creek that is about fifteen miles from here, I'm
told."

"Yas — Lost Creek."

" Aw — why so called ? "

" It gets lost after it runs a good ways, some
say. I guess there ain't nobody ever follered
it through to the Brazeau."

"Here's a blanket, Mr. Bracy," said Mar3%
running from the cabin. " It's not such a good
big one as yours was.''

190

SMOKY DAYS.

She was a pretty girl, though now begrimed
with smoke and cinders, and Vincent, h)oiviug
at her with fun twinkling in his eyes, lifted
his cap once more off his yellow, curly, close-
cropped liair, with an air at which Peter se-
cretly said, " Yah-ah ! " in disgust.

" Very good of you, I'm sure. Miss Arm-
strong," concluded Vincent, as he strapped tlie
blanket. Having placed it back of his slioul-
ders, he niade one more grand nnd inclusive
bow, and then rapidly p.scended the Hump.

" Well, I'm teetotally blomed if we didn't
let him go witl.'out a bite to eat," said Peter
three minutes later. The pioneer boy, bred i'^
a land where hospitality is given and taken
almost as a matter of course, was aghast at
the family failure to offer the stranger food.

"Dear, dear! I'm ashamed of myself, so I
am," cried Mrs. Armstrong. " After all ho
done for us ! And him that eas^/ about it."

" 111 say this for him," remarked the pioneer,
" he's cur'us and queer in his talk, but if it
wasn't for the spry way he worked tliat blan-
ket of hisn, the barn was gone sure. He saved
me more'n three thousand dollars."

!ll!;ffi!iji t

SMOKT DATS.

191

"He can fly round and no mistake, I allow
that. 'Tain't the fii-st fire-fightin' he's did,"
said Peter, forgetting his resentment at the
vanished Vincent's overpowering air::. '' We
was near a spat, but I liked him first-rate, all
the same."

"Such a name!" said Mary, wishing to jus-
tify Peter, now that he had spoken magnani-
mously.

'' Well, he comes of respectable enough folks
aiiyliow — I'll make no doubt of that," said the
mother, " but laws ! there ain't no denyin' —
for if ever there was an outlandish name I "

" Next time I see Vincent Awlgehnon Bracy,
him and Peter Armstrong's going to try which
is the best man," said Peter, who conceived, as
all the men of the Brazeau do. that "best
man " could signify nothing but the man most
efficient in rough-and-tumble fighting.

"•B'^tter look out you don't go rastiin' with
no thrashin' machines, Peter," said his father.
" Them city chaps has got all the trips they is,
you bet. And up to boxin' too — why, they're
scienced ! But say, maw, you wasn't never
madamed and bowed dowu to like that in all

102

SMOKY DAYS.

your bom clays before." And the pioneer,
chuckling, strode off to watch the fire from a
favorable [)lace by the river.

" It's on'y the way he's got o' talkin'. I des-
say that's the way he was fetched up," said llie
mother, indulgently, as she slowly walked with
her children to the cabin. The woman moved
weakly and was still gasping from the excite-
ments she had undergone.

She was incessantly ailing, working, and over-
worked, — it is the fate of the pioneer woman,
and because she does not chop, nor mow, nor
share in the heavier labors that are easy to the
great strength of pioneer men she commonly
laufrhs at the notion that overwork is her bane.
"I'm just kind o' wore out fussin' round the
house '■ was Mrs. Armstrong's formula.

Striding beside her Peter carried Eliza Jane
and Ann Susan on his shoulders, for his good
temper had returned, and the little girls w^ere
in high delight with their "horse." But sud-
denly Eliza Jane screamed, the younger child
stared dumb with wonder, and Peter set both
down hastily in his dismay. His mother had
stumbled and fallen heavily forward.

SMOKY DAYS.

193

As Peter lifted lier he shouted, "Father —
come — quick! Oh Mary, is mother dead!" and
Mary, looking into the weary face and catching
it to her heart doubted her own words as she
said " No. Oh Peter, for the love of the Lord,
no I I guess she's fainted."

David Armstrong running desperately to the
group seized his wife in his arms.

"Stand back!" he cried as he laid her limp
form on the arid ground. "Peter — hurry — git
water — mother's tuckered out — it's the fear of
the barn goin' that ails her. She ain't dead —
it couldn't be — oh God it couldn't be ! "

Meantime, Vincent Bracy had reached the
flat summit of the Hump, and stood on its edge
tjazing far and wide. Near the horizon, in every
(hreetion except toward Kelly's Crossing, the
snioke-i)all was lurid from lire below. Beyond
the mile-wid' low-lying, green forest north of
the curving Big Brazeau extended heights
which now looked like an interminable >^;r.bank-
ment of dull red marked by wide patches of a
fiercer, wliiter glow.

No wind relieved the gloomy, evenly diffused

194

SMOKV JJAYS.

heat around Vincent on the top of the great
hill. No sound reached him but the softened
murmur of the rapids, the stridulous shrilling
of locusts and tree-toads unseen, and tiuj occa-
sional barking of the Armstrongs' dog away
down in the solitary clearing.

"It's almost hot enough up here to begin
burning on its own hook," said Vincent, wip-
ing streams of sweat off his forehead and neck.
"Shouldn't I be in a pretty scrape if the Hump
caught ! "

But the thought gave him no pause, nor in-
deed, any alarm. He had been sent to Kelly's
Crossing, and to get there speedily was the dom-
inant point in his mind ; so he plunged into the
woods, and soon was beyond every visible evi-
dence of the great forest fire, except only the
smoke that lay dindy in the aisles of the pinery,
and gave its odor and taste to the air.

CHAPTER II.

MOTHER S CUP OF TEA.

"Don't you stay in, Davy. I won't faint no
more. 1 ain't sick now — not to say real sick.
It's on'y I'm a kind of done out. I'd feel
easier if I knowed you was out watching the
bam."

"Peter's watchin' all right, maw," answered
David Armstrong, gazing from the cabin door
at the forest fire across the Big Brazeau. " It
looks kind o' squenched some, Hannah."

" Yes. It's always like that about noontime.
The sky's lightsomer when the sun's high, so's
you can't see the red of the fire. But there
it is — threatenin' — threatenin' — it's almost
worse than in the night when you can see how
big it's grew. 0/<, if it'd go out; Lord, I feel
s'if I couldn't hear it to be burnin', burnin',
always burnin' and threatenin'. But I wisht
you'd gt), Davy. You can't do nothin' for me."

196

SMOKV DAYS.

"S'posin' you was to faint again, and me not
nigh — and you didn't come out of it, Hannah?"

" But I ain't a goin' to, Davy dear," she said,
fondly, moved by solicitude so unusual in the
work-worn man.

"It'd be hard lines if it did come that way
— and you and me so long goin' on together."

" But I ain't goin' to faint no more, Davy
dear. It was on'y I got so excited when I
thought the barn was goin'. Don't you be
feard about me."

" I wisht I knowed what to do for you,
Hannah."

"So you do, Davy, speakin' that soft — like
it was old times come again. If you'd put your
head down onct — just onct."

The grizzled pioneer looked sheepishly at
Mary, who stepped out of the cabin, as he put
his smoke-blackened face down to his wife's on
the bed. She placed her hard hands behind his
head and kissed him. Her eyes were tearful,
though her smile was joyful, when he rose.

"Well, I s'pose I had better go," said the
pioneer.

"Yes, Davy. Nov; I'm all right. You've

SMOKY DAYS,

197

(lone me a heap of good. If I'd oii'y a. cup
of tea!"

" Couldn't you choose a cup of coffee, Han-
nah? If Mary'd make it good and strong,
now r

''No. Someways I can't seem to relish it
when I know it's on'y roasted peas. Don't you
trouble, Davy. Go out and let Peter come
nearer the house. When you're both watchin',
maybe I can sleep. Oh, I wisht I could help
more ! "

"Why now, Hannah — you do help — cordin'
to your stren'th — all you can. Say, maybe you
could sup some of the labrador."

He took up a handful of leaves that Canadian
voyageurs often infuse for warm drink when
they lack tea — true coffee is an unknown
beverage in that district.

" No, the lal)rador kind o' goes agen my in-
side, Davy — it's the tea I'm hankerin' after."

''If I dast leave I'd go out for you, Hannah."

" Out to Kelly's Crossing ! Thirty mile and
back for a cup of tea for me ! This weather ! "

"I wisht I dast go. But if the barn'd catch?
And hay the price it is ! " he said, leaving the

Ti^r

198

SMOKY DAYS.

sick woman, who, lying back on the rustling
straw bed, drew her thin pillow of hen-feathers
about her thin cheeks.

" If the tlies'd let me be ! " she exclaimed.

"I'll keep 'em off, maw, and you try to
sleep," said Mary, waving her straw hat.

" But that's a comfort, Mary ! " She lay still
for a while, then said, "I'm that weak! Oh
my!"

"If I'd 'a' thought, I'd 'a' saved up the tea,
mother." Mary stooped and kissed her.

" Is Peter a-watchin', Mary ? "

" Yes, maw, clost outside. The fire's low-
like."

"I can't seem to get no rest for the fear of
it. Oh, if the Lord ud send rain ! Lord, Lord,
Lord ! " she wailed, " do hear ray prayer for
rain ! It's been so long a-burnin' and a-burnin'
yonder! "

She closed her eyes and listened to the per-
vasive tone of the rapids. Then, after a few
minutes, when Mary had begun to hope she
slept, the poor woman, as if dreaming of un-
attainable bliss, sighed : " 0/i, how I wisht I had
a cup of tea I "

SMOKV DATS.

I9d

Peter, who had been softly approaching the
cabin door, overheard the words, and now the
boy and girl looked fearfully at each other, as
the misery vibrated in the tones of their usually
uncomplaining mother. The son had no words
to fashion his yearning for her, but it did not
include fear that she was near death. Except
that the wisps of straight gray hair b jside her
ears seemed wider and grayer, she did not
look changed from the toil-worn mother he had
always seen.

When they were sure she slept, Peter and
Mary went outside. Both seemed to hear, over
and over again, on the hot, still and smcVy air
their mother's voice : " Oh^ how I wisht I had a
cup of tea ! "

"If we'd on'y thought to ask that young
gentleman to fetch in a pound ! " said Mary.

"Him? That Bracy? You'd 'a' seen his
young gentleman nose turnin' up ! "

" No, you wouldn't ! He was that friendly."

« Friendly ! G'way ! "

Mary prudently dropped the matter. After
a while, looking at their father's figure outlined
against the woods beyond the river, she said,

200

SMOKY DAYS.

*' If pawM 'a' fetched in eiH)Ugli tea last time,
or gone again."

" Father's gettin' too ohl for to waliv thirty
mile aii'l back more'n onct a month. lUit
mother'd ought to have her cup of tea. She's
hankerin' bad."

" Ilankerin' ! Peter, I'm going to tell you
right straight. I'm scared about mother. Motli-
er's like to die as sure as you're settin' tliere,
I*eter, and then what's to 'come of Ann Susan
and Eliza Jane ? " sobbed Mary,

"Like to die ! Say now, Mary?"

" If she ain't got her tea reg'lar, I mean."

" By cracky, mother's got to have her tea ! "
cried Peter. " What's to hinder me going out?"

" You're not able this weather."

" G'way ! Abler nor father any day. Ain't
that 'ere dood off for Kelly's Crossin' all alone?
Nat'r'lly I ain't able like Vincent Awlgelinon
Bwacy is, but I'm as able as most common folks."

"Don't mock him, Peter. He didn't say his
name like that. Not exactly. But you could
go better'n that little feller, Peter. Only you
can't go no more'n father — not now, for there's
the fire and the barn."

SAtOKV DAYS.

201'

" Whiit's the barn alongside of mother's life ?
And if brands does come, ain't we keeping wet
|)liini<L'ts ready now? I'll go and tell father
I'm goin' out for mother's tea," and Peter ran
across the clearing to speak with his father, who
sat on a rail fence and chewed his quid in a
inouriiful way.

"Paw, Fm goin' out to Kelly's. Mother's
sick for her tea."

" S'pose you could ? "

"Certain sure. Why not? "

"Well, Pm scared to leave maw myself,
I'eter. On'y it seemed a tur'ble trip for you."

" 'Tain't nothing."

" Well, you could fetch in more loading than
me. On'y if there's fire betwixt here and
Kelly's?"

"Can't be. The Hump's all right," said
Peter, and looked up to the mountain's crown
of pine.

Around the precipitous Hump the Big Bra-
zeau runs circuitously in eighty miles of almost
onntinuous rapids from Armstrong's place to
Kelly's Crossing. The distance across the neck
is but thirty miles.

202

SMOKY DAYS.

"There's never been no fire on the TTninp;
too lii<(h, niebby. 1 guess you might tiikc un
early sLart in the morning, Peter."

" No, I'm goin' straight away. Mother's
needin' her tea that bad I couldn't sleep. I'll
fetch in all the stuff we're lackin'."

In winter the Armstrong's could obtain per-
ishable groceries from the stores and " vans " of
neighboring lumber shanties, but from March
to November, while the shanties were deserted,
the pioneer went out once a month to Kelly's
Crossing on foot.

" Well, if you're boun' to start, the sooner
you're off the better. It'll be nigh dark when
you strike Lost Creek. You'll find the young
surveyor chap there, Peter."

" So I was thinkin'."

" Don't you quar'l with him ! Mebby he'd
lick you, Peter," said the pioneer, laughing de-
risively at his own imagination, as Peter well
iuuKr4ood.

^' It he don't sass me, there won't be no
quar'lin' nor fightin' ! " said Peter. " I guess
he don't mean no harm ; it's on'y his ways is
queer."

SMOh'V DA VS.

203

In ten minutos the pioneer boy, with a lou^-
liiuulled l»alf-axe in his liand, a luintin^-knife
at iiis belt, a water-tight tin box of niatehes in
his pocket, an J a day's provision of pork and
bread in a bag wrapped in liis blanket, was
nil the track over wliich Vincent Hraey liad
pivssed two lioui-s earlier. FiiuUng liis mother
ask'L'p, Peter liad not the heart to ronse her
for good-bye.

On tlie plateau among the pines, where lio
had hoped for cooler walking, the swooning
and smoke-flavored air seemed burned dry as
from an over-heated stove. Peter soon regretted
that he had brought no water-bottle. But the
regrets were too late, — he must endure thirst,
and liurry on to relieve it at Lost Creek.

Whan he reached the stream at about five
o'clock in the afternoon Vincent Bracy was not
to l)u seen. Peter shouted in vain. There was
no rei)ly.

Tlie young pioneer, after quenching his thirst,
peeled off for a roll in the cold, spring-fed
stream. Atter a few i)lunges he stood out on
the bank, and shouted vainly again for the
young engineer.

I .%:

204

SMOKr DAYS.

" Lost himself, I'll bet ! " said Peter to
himself, "lley — yey — yey ! " he yelled. No
reply.

" Hey — you city fel-ler ! " No response.

" Lost himself sure," said Peter.

" Dood — dood — dood ! " he cried, convinced
that Vincent was not within hearing. Peter at
first tliouglit this sounded " funny '* among the
solemn aisles. But as the v/ords died on tlie
great silence his mood changed. The quiet iiiul
high spirit of the inner forest touched him, he
knew not how, to serious thought. At the re-
flection that the city boy might not be able to
find his way out of the woods Peter speedily
dressed.

" I believe Fd ought to go back and search
him up. lie did us a nnghty good turn tliis
morning," tliouglit Peter, and just then ho
noticed two butcher-birds silently flitting about
the trunk of a fallen tree.

" There's something dead there," tliouglit
Peter.

He went to the log. Behind it, directly on
the path, lay tlie blanket, provision-bag and
hatchet of Vincent Bracy.

SMOKY DAYS.

205

" Hey — you ! Where you hidin' ? " yeMed
Peter.

No answer.

"- Hey — Windego catched you ? " Peter
laughed derisively, and as the great silence
returned, felt as if he had laughed in a
church.

The butcher-birds gave him close attention.
When his shouts ceased, he listened long.
As he listened, in the dim solemnity seemed
sounds — sounds low, innumerable, indistin-
guisiiable, hardly to be called sounds, — tones
as if the motionless myriads of pine needles
liad each its whisper, — and still he doubted
whether he heard anything " but just his ears."

Peter sat on a fallen log and waited. He
imagined Vincent might have concealed him-
self ''for a }oke.'' Or might he not be search-
ing for a spruce, with little knobby exudations
of Peter's favorite " chawing gum."

The strange boy would of course come back
to hU pack. But Peter's conviction of this
Ijegan to waver at the end of five miiiutes
without sight or sound of Bracy.

" Hey — who's shootin' ? " Peter sprang to

■Hmm M

206

SJtfO^r DAYS.

his feet. ''The coiisarned tool — he'll set the
woods afire ! But it wasn't a gun, — more like
a pistol, — likely there wasn't no waddin' in it."

" Hi-yi ! " he yelled. " Hi, yi-yi ! Hi, you
Bracy ! "

Peter thought he heard a shout far away.
Again he yelled and stopped to listen. But he
caught no note of reply. Only the innumerable
small sounds had become certainly sourr^s iio\'-.

Peter looked round with curiosity ..a sur-
prise. The woods had become suddenly alive
with small birds, — chicadees, gray-birds, caiiii)-
hawks, — they all flew as if from the direction
of Kelly's Crossing, not flitting as usual from
tree to tree, but going on and on.

Crows flapped steadily overhead, out of
sight, cawing as if scared. Spruce partridges
rattled past, low in the aisles. All one way —
all toward the Brazeau! Peter could not ir
agine the cause. What could have frighters..
them ? Surely two pistol shots could not. have
caused this strange migration? Possibly Vin-
cent had followed and treed a wild-cat or bear.
Possibly he was off there fighting for his life
where the birds started.

SMOKY DAYS.

207

Peter picked up his hatchet, felt his knife
safe ill his belt, and ran toward where he
tliought the pistol shots had been fired. Pres-
ently the innumerable small sounds became a
niiiriiiLir. Zephyrs ./ere stirring. They in-
creased to a breeze. The breeze carried a mul-
titudinous crackling, Peter fancied. Tlie air
liad warm breaths in it. The crackling grew
more distinct. Peter stopped, with his heart
beating the alarm.

Then Vincent Bracy came running into view,
leaping logs, plainly flying for his life. Far
beliind him fluttered low what looked like a
wide banner of yellow gleams and red, shifting,
wavering, flaring. It wrapped and climbed five,
fifty, five hundred trees in the next few seconds.

''Back — back — to the creek! Run. The
woods are on fire ! " shouted Vincent, and Peter
was instantly in flight, a hundred yards ahead
of the young engineer. A doe, followed at
fifty yards' distance by her mottled fawn,
sprang crazily past both boys. As Peter jumped
into Lost Creek the little fawn, now far behind
its HKiddened dam, scrambled up the opposite
bank and went on.

208

SMOKY DAYS.

Peter looked back over the shore that rose to
the height of his chin. The water was up to
his waist. Vincent was at that instant leaping
the great log beside which his pack lay. A
partridge flying wildly with all its speed
struck him in the back just as his jumping
body intercepted the bird's line of llight.
With the breath knocked out of him, Vincent
fell headlong. He did not rise at once. A
brown hare leaped over him and came on.

Sparks were already flying in a swift storm
overhead. The breeze created for itself by the
advancing flame had risen to a furious gale,
under which the forest roared and shrieked.
The wall of fire poured off sparks and s^^^oke
in a prodigious shaken volume, that rolled on,
now up, now down.

"What's the matter?" yelled Peter, as Vin-
cent fell. He could hear no reply. He could
not hear his own voice above the fire-fury. He
could not see Vincent. Peter pulled himself
up the creek's bank and faced the coming
flame.

A blast of heat flew past him. Smoke liid
the whole forest for an instant. As it whirled

SMOKY DAYS.

200

up again Peter saw Vincent staggering aim-
lessly thirty yards away, with blood flowing
over his face from the scalp-wound he had
received in falling on a branch. Blindly he
swayed, tripped, fell.

''We're both goners," yelled Peter Arm-
strong ; *' but here goes ! " and he ran straight
at the prostrate boy.

Vincent rose again. In the next moment he
would have been clinging round Peter had not
the tall young pioneer stooped to elude the
grasp. There was not an instant for parley.
Peter knew exactly how he might best carry
his load. Bending as he ran in he thrust his
head between Vincent's legs, grasped them as
he rose, turned, sped back.

" Don't move ! " yelled Peter.

Bracy made no struggle. A roll of smoke
and sparks enveloped the boys. It lifted, and
again the path was visible. But the thick car-
pet of pine-needles had begun to flame under
Peter's tread.

A blast as from an open furnace enveloped
the two. Peter stumbled, staggered up, took
three steps, fell headlong — into water. The

210

SMOKY DATS.

full roaring and tumult of tlio fire was in his
ears as he rose spluttering from the water of
Lost Creel , and pulled Vincent above the
surface. With the cold plunge, the city hoy
had quite recovered his senses. He stood up.
stared, recognized his rescuer, and remembered
his manners even then: —

" Thank you. You saved my life ! " lie
shouted in Peter's ear.

" Saved it I D'you s'i)ose — "

The sentence broke off because both boys
had plunged their heads, so intense was tlie
hot blast that flew at them. When they came
up Vincent shouted : —

^' I said you saved my life. You were about
to remark — "

" Remark I " roared Peter. " Saved your
life I S'pose you're going to get out of thh
alive ? "

Down went botli heads. When they rose
again Vincent shouted : —

"We are in rather a bad hole, but — "

Under they went again.

Nothin"- more was said for what seemed a
great length of time. The boys could endure

" Thank you. Von saved my life !'' lu- shouted.

SMOKY DA VS.

211

the intense heat but for an instant. Their
ead« obbed out only that they n.ight snatch
u.ith At such moments they heard naught
but crashing and the revelry of flame.

CHAPTER III.

FLAME AND WATER.

Within twenty minutes after Peter Arm-
strong and Vincent Hracy had sprawled into
Lost Creek the draught from the forest fire was
almost straight upward. No longer did vol-
umes of smoke, sparks, and flame stoop to the
floor of the woods, rise again with a shakiiif^
motion, and hurry on like dust before a tornado.
But smoke rose so densely from decaying leaf-
mould that the boys could see but dimly the
red trunks of neighboring trees. Overhead
was a sparkling illumination from which fiery
scales flew with incessant crackling and fre-
quent reports loud as pistol shots.

Out of the layer of clear air close to the
creek's cool surface the boys could not raise
their heads without suffocation. They squatted,
staring into one another's fire-reddened faces.
Deep edges of leaf-mould on the creek's banks

212

SMOKV DA VS.

213

glowered like two tliick bands of red-hot
iron.

" 15oo-oo ! It's cold," said Peter, with chat-
tering teeth.

"Yes, I'm shivering, too. Kather awkward
scrape," replied Vincent.

" It's freeze in the water, or choke and burn
out of it."

Tliuir heads were steaming aga'n, and d^wn
they plunged.

'' See the rabbits I And just look at the
snakes I " cried Peter, rising.

" The creek is alive I " Vincent moved his
head out of the course of a mink that swam
straiglit on.

Brown hares, now in, now out of the water,
moved crazily along the shallow edges ; land
snakes writhed by ; chipmunks, red squirrels,
minks, wood rats — all went down stream at
intervals between their distracted attempts to
find refuge unde.' the fire-crowned shores. The
boys dipped and looked again.

"The smoke is lifting," said Vincent.

" If it'd only let us stand up long enough to
get warm all over ! " said Peter.

214

SMOKY DAYff.

Down went their heads.

" You do think you're goin' to get out of this
alive?" inquired Peter, as they looked rouml
again.

"The menagerie has a plan." Vincent
pointed to the small creatures moving past.

" Plan I No ! no plan. They're just luoviu'
on."

" Let's move with them."

" Can't walk squattin', can ye? "

" We can soon stand up."

"Then we'll bile."

" Then we'll dip."

" Well, you're good stuff. We'll push for
the Brazeau. But I don't expect we'll get
there."

" Why not ? "

"Man, it must be thirty mile by this creek!
S'pose we could wade ten miles a day! D'ye
think you're goin' to stand three days' shiverin'
and roastin' ? Cracky, it's hot ! " and they
plunged down again.

"More'n that," said Peter, rising from his
dip, " there ain't no knowin' where this creek
goes to."

fjai-':

SMOKY DAYS.

215

" It goes down hill, and it must reach the
Bnizeuii somewhere. I*erhaj)s within twenty
miles."

"S'pose it does? What you goin' to do to
sleep and eat ? No livin' 'thout eatin', 1 guess.
This lireUl hum fierce for three days. No
gettin' through the woods for a week."

"But it may rain heavily."

" Yas ? Mebby it'll rain pork and bread."

" Or chipmunks and squirrels," Bracy pointed
to the swimming creatn es.

" Jimimy, that's so ! We might catch some
of 'em. Cracky, my head's burnin' again ! "

Down they went.

"We might stand up. The smoke has risen
a good deal," said Vincent, after ten minutes
more.

" Wadin's better'n standin'," remarked Pete,
so they began to march with the procession.

Though the heat was still intense, it did not
now tly in blasts. On rising they steamed
quickly, and dipped again and again. Occa-
sionally they saw far into the burning region,
where the trunks of dry trees glowed fiercely.
The living pines were no longer clothed with

216

SMOKY DAYS.

columns of flame, for the resinous portions of
their outer bark had been consumed. But from
their denuded tops sparks blew upward inces-
santly, while branches swayed, snapped, and
sometimes fell.

The up-draught could no longer carry away
the heavier brands. Some wavered down into
the creek, that soon became covered with a scum
of half-burned bark and ashes," through which
the swimming creatures made little gleaming
lanes.

Flame moved continually to and fro on the
forest floor, now dwindling, then rising suddenly
from new-found pyres, always searching insii-
tiably for fuel. The roar of hurrying Are liad
ceased, but the sounds of crackling Pud crash-
ing brandies were so great that the boys became
hoarse with shouting their remarks.

Then dumbly they pursued their journey of
the night through fifteen hundred square miles
of fire. Across the glaring brook they saw one
another as dream figures, with fire-reddened
faces against a burning world. For what
seemed many hours they marched thus in tlie
water. Splashing, wading, often plunging, they

SMOKY DATS.

217

staggered on in various agonies until Peter's
braiiii tired by his days and nights of watching
for falling brands in his father's clearing, whirled
in the low fever of fatigue. The smoke-wraiths,
as he stared at the encompassing fire, drifted
into mocking, mowing, beckoning forms, and
wiUi increasing difficulty he summoned his rea-
son against the delusions that assailed his soul.

Young Bracy, accustomed to long marches
and having rested well the previous night,
retained his clear mind, and watched his tall
companion with the care of a brother.

" He risked his life for mine," A^incent felt
deeply, and accepted the comradeship with all
his steady heart. He guided Peter, he guarded
liini, he did not despair utterly, and yet to him
it seemed, as that strange night went on, tliat
the walk througli fire had been longer than all
his })revious life. He was in a deepening dreamy
dread that thus they must march till they could
march no more, when Peter, wild to look upon
something else than flame-lit \vater, went aside
and climbed tlie bank. That newly roused Vin-
cent; he crossed the creek and ascended, too.
Up there the heat was more intense, the smoke

218

SMOKY DAYS.

more pungent, the ground burning. They
kicked up black ashes, saw sparks start as
in smouldering straw, and jumped, half-scalded
with steam from their clothing, back to the
bed of the stream.

" It's dreadful work, Peter ! " said Vincent,
taking the young pioneer's arm.

'> We're done, 1 guess. But it would l)e
mean to give up. We'll push on's long's we
can. Say — when I drop, you push on. Never
mind me. No use us both dyui'."

" We shall stick together, Peter," Vincent
replied stoutly. " We shall pull through. See,
the banks are getting higher. Tlie water is
running faster. We shall reach a gully soon
and get rest."

Peter laughed hysterically at the prediction,
and screamed derision at it ; but tlie words
roused some liope in his heart, lie bent his
gaze to watch the contours of the banks, 'i'hey
were certainly rising higher above the water.
Gradually the creek descended. When they
had passed down a long, shallow, brawHng
rapid, the fire-forest was twenty feet higher
than their heads. They no longer needed to

SMOKY DAYS.

219

dip often. In tlie hot night their clothing
rapidly dried.

'' Hello ! Where is the procession ? " cried
Vincent. The boys stared far along the water.
Not a snake, chipmunk, squirrel, mink, nor any
oilier wild refugee was to be seen.

" They've gone in under the banks. We can
stop, too," said Peter.

"No. Too many branches falling, Peter.
Let us push on to a lower place."

"I won't! Pm going to sit down right
here."

" Well, but look out for the branches. They
are falling — whopping big ones too, in every
direction. No chance to sleep yet. Trees may
be crashing down here before morning. We
must go lower."

''The hunger is sore on me. If we'd on'y
catched some of them squirrels ! "

" I've got a coui)le of hard-tack in my pocket.
They are soaked, but all tlie better for that."
He brought several handfuls of pulp from the
breast pocket of his belted blouse. Wliile Peter
devoured his share, Vincent ate a few morsels
and put the rest back in his pocket.

220

tiMOKY DAYS.

" You're not eating," said Peter.

" I shall need it more before morning."

" There won't be no morning for you and nie.
Is it all gone ? "

" No. We'll share the rest when we stoj) for
the night. Come on, Peter ; you'll die here."

"I won't! I'll sleep right here, die or no
die."

Peter stretched himself, steaming slowly, on
the pebbles. The ruddy fire shone on his up-
turned face and closed eyes. Vincent looked
down on liim meditatively. He was casting
about for words that would rouse the young
pioneer.

" What do you suppose your mother is doing
now ? " cried Vincent, sharply.

But Peter had instantly fallen asleep. Vin-
cent stooped, shook him powerfully by the
shoulder, and repeated the question at the top
of his voice : —

"What do you think your mother is doing
now?"

Peter sat up.

" Burnt ! Burnt out, as sure as we're here ! "
he cried. "The barn'U be gone. We're ruined!

SMOKY DAYS.

221

And mother's out in the night. My soul, how
could I forget her ! I was dazed by the lire.
They'll think I'm burned. Fm afeard it will
kill mother. She'll be lying in the root house.
They'd run there when the house catched."

His distress was such that Vincent almost
regretted the artiiice he had employed.

''It's likely everything at your home is all
riirht, Peter," he said. " I've seen a hill fire
like this flaming for days, and nothing burned
below in the valleys. The wind seemed to
blow up to the high fire from all sides
below."

" Yes — iiobody can tell what a bush fire'll
do," said Peter. " Mebby mother is all right.
Mebby the hay ain't gone. But they'll all be
worn out with fear for me. Come on. If the
creek goes on like this, we may reach the
Brazeau to-morrow."

" It's eleven o'clock now," said Vincent, look-
ing at his watch. " I'm nearly tired out, myself.
We shall go on all the faster for sleeping.
Hello — what's that ? — a fall ? "

The sound of brawling water came faintly.
Descending quickly, they soon reached a place

222

SMOKY DAYS.

where the creek appeared to pour, by a succes-
sion of cascades, into a deep chasm. Below,
they couid see nothing, except the gleam of dis-
tant water, as flaming brands swayed down and
down from tlie plateau now fifty feet over their
heads.

Here the coping of the banks overhung a
little. All about the boys lay brushwood that
had been left by spring floods. Peter, seizing a
piece of dry cedar, flung off long splinters with
his big hunting-knife. When enough for two
torches had been accumulated, the boys searched
for a route down. In Ave minutes they were a
hundred feet below the top of the Humj).

" Why, here's a good path," cried Vincent.

" Great place for bears," said Peter, closely
examining it. " If we're goin' to stop, we'd bet-
ter stop right here. The gully below may be
full of bears and wolves. They'd be drove out
of the woods and down the gully before the fire."

" Let's make a fire to keep them away from
us," said Vincent.

" No need. No beasts will come nigh."

"But some may be coming down after us as
we did, for safety."

s^f()Ky DA vs.

223

» No ! They'd burrow under the bank back
there. No fear of them, anyliow. They'd be
too scared to bother us. But a fire won't do no
harm.''''

Finding no brands handy, they lit shavings
from the matches in their little water-tight, tin
boxes, piled on the heaviest driftwood they could
liiul, and lay down on a flat rock partly under
the bank. In a few minutes both fell asleep
to the clashing of the cascades.

Brands fell and died out near them ; their
bivouac fire became gray ; dawn struggled with
the gloom overhead till the smoke ceased to
look red from below, and became murky in
the sunless morning. Still the tired boys slept
well.

But by eight o'clock they had descended the
rocky hill down which the cascades jumped, and
were gazing at hundreds of trout congregated
in the clear long pool below.

'' There's plenty of breakfast if we could only
catch it, Peter," said Vincent.

''Catchin' them trout ain't no trouble," said
Peter, taking command. "• You go down yonder
and whale on the water with a stick. I'll whale

my''

224

SMOKY DAYS.

up here. We'll drive a lot of 'em into the
shaller."

'' But how can you catch them without hook
or line ? "

" Leave me alone for that. I've got a hook
and line in my pocket, but that'd be slow."

As they thrashed the water while approacliinjiT
one another, many of the crowded and frantic
trout ran almost ashore. Hushing among tliem,
Peter kicked vigorously at each step forward.
Two fish flew far up the bank. Tliree more
were thus thrown out. Several ran ashore.
Vincent flung himself on these before they
could wriggle back.

They split the fish open, skewered them flat
on sticks, and broiled them " Indian fashion " in
the smoke and blaze from a fire oi' dry wood.
Having thus breakfasted, they considered what
to do.

Going back was out of the question. Fire
was raging two hundred feet above them, and
for unknown leagues in every direction. Their
only course was down the deep gully of the
creek.

By eleven o'clock, having walked steadily

SMOKY DAYS.

225

along the Lost Creek's now easy descent, tliey
found the crags overhead so closely approaching
that the gorge, now little iiliiiniuated from the
burning forest, became ever more gloomy. At
last the sides of the ravine, when more than
three hundred feet above them, came together
as a roof.

The boys stood at the entrance to a narrow
cavern. Into this high tunnel, roughly shaped
like a greatly elongated V turned upside down,
the creek, now fed to a considerable volume by
rivulets that had danced down the precii)ices,
clattered with loud reverberation.

"What we goin' to do now? Seems we're
stuck at last," said l*eter.

"Let's see. This is where the creek is lost.
The question is. Where does it come out ? "

"We're in a bad fix. There's no goin' back
till the bush-fire's done."

"Well — we can live here for a few days.
Plenty of trout in that last pool."

"But there ain't no Armstrongs in it! I'm
wild to get home. Lord, Lord, what's happened
to mother? I tell you I'm just crazy to get
back home and see."

226

SMOKY DAYS.

" You must be, Peter. So we must push on if
possible. No use trying to get up to the toj) of
this ruvine. It's all fire up there on both sides.
Well, let us explore the cave. We can always
find our way back. We will take torches."

" Did you see a creek coming out of a place
like this when you came up the river to our
clearing ? "

"No, but there's one coming out of a cave
away down ';elow Kelly's Crossing."

" Yes, I know. But this ain't that one."

"No, of course not. It is likely this creek
runs out some distance before reaching the Bra-
zeau. Perliaps the cave is not a long one.
We're safe to explore, at any rate."

" Do you mind the bears' path up back there?
There's room for all the bears on the Brazeau
in there ahead of us," said Peter.

"Our torches will scare tliem worse than
they'll scare us. And I've got my revolver
still."

" Say ! I forgot to ask you ; did you fire
two shots just before the fire started in the
?"

" Yes — at a partridge. Missed him."

woods

SMOKY DAYS.

227

" Then you started the fire ! "

''No I It came roaring along a minute after
that, though."

"Started itself — that's gen'lly the way," said
Peter. " Well, s'pose'n we have dinner, and go
in after."

They cooked more trout, supplied them-
selves with bunches of split cedar, and stood
peering into the entrance of the cavern, both a
little daunted by the absolute darkness into
which the stream brawled. B}' anticipation,
they had the eerie sensation of moving tlirough
the bowels of a mountain. So high and dark
and awful was the narrow tunnel ! So insignifi-
cant felt the boys beneath its toppling walls !

" Here goes," said Vincent, and marched
ahead.

For some minutes the creek's bed was such
as it had been since they left the cascades —
gravel bottom alternating with rocks, and little
pools that they walked easily around. What
was high above could not be seen, for the
torches found no reflections up there on the
cavern's roof.

Instead of the reverberation increasing, it les-

228

SMOKY DAYS.

sened as they went on. The brook bahhled to
them to adviincc, and now there was a siiij^ular
trembling of tlie air in which a swasliing ;ind
pouring sound eouUl be lieard.

"Got plenty of room over there?" eried Peter,
from the left or north bank.

" Yes, there's ten feet of shore here. Cross
if you're crowded."

" I will. There's no room on this side."

As Peter lowered his torch to peer at the
water, in which he was about to step that he
mig.lit cross it, he saw that the stream broke
into a chute a little further on. Now Vincent
had stopped to await his comrade.

The pioneer boy entered the water at tlie
rapid's head, where he expected to iind the
usual s; allow. But at the first step the cur-
rents rushed about his knees. Peter half stag-
gered, found what he thought would serve for
forward footing, threw his weight on it, slipped
as from a boulder, and went down. His torcli
" sizzed " and disappeared. Vincent darted for-
ward with a cry.

As Peter, struggling to reach his feet, drifted
a little, he felt himself suddenly caught as by a

SMOKY DAYS.

220

strong mill race, and was liurried away into the
blackness of darkness. Vincent liracy, swing-
ing his torch, ran on almost blindly and at fnll
s[)eed, till he collided with a wall of rock and
fell backward. His fallen torch went out just
as Peter, now lifty feet down stream, righting
liiniself, struck out to swim across the current.
With a few strokes he touched the rock and
strove to grasp it, but his hand slipped and
slipped against a straight and slimy rise.

The pioneer boy, now wholly unable to see
the space in wliich he was struggling, put down
his feet, but touched no bottom. Swimming to
the other side, he found the channel but a few
yards wide. There, too, he grasped vainly for a
hold. The water quite filled the space between
the rock walls. Tie turned on his back and
floated. The amazing, calm rapid swept him
swiftly on.

And so, through what seemed a long and
smooth stone slide, but once interrupted by
broken water, Peter, while Vincent lay sense-
less in the cave, was carried away feet first as
corpses go from the world to the grave.

CHAPTER IV.

RAIN ON THE BRAZEAU.

All night and all forenoon rain had poured,
while the pious folk of the back country of the
Big Brazeau blessed God that He had saved
them from the fires of the forest. Rivulets
clattered down the rocky sides of the Hump;
the Brazeau waved in increasing volume ; and
a hundred wild tributaries tinged the great
Ottawa with turbidity that slowly mingled in
its brown central volume.

Dumb creatures rejoiced with men in the
moist coolness after so long a period of drought,
smoke, and flame. Ducks squawked satisfaction
with new-filled farm ponds ; cattle, horses, even
hens forsook shelter as if they could not have
too much assurance of the rain's actuality;
draggled rats, flooded from their holes, scurried
away as girls with petticoats over their heads
went to the milking. By noon on the second

230

C^-^^:

SMCKY DAYS.

281

(lay after Peter Armstrong and Vincent Bracy
liad started for Kelly's Crossing, the rain had
diminished to a drizzle that promised to con-
tinue long. Still Lost Creek brawled enlarged
into the cavern, and still the forest on the
Hump smouldered and poured up blue smoke
to the sky.

David Armstrong's cabin and barn stood
intact ; all in the clearing were still alive, for
the high fire had blown far across the river
without dropping many coals into the opening
of tillage by the Hump's side. But the strain
of watching for Peter had brought his mother
close to the grave.

"I'm not to say exactly dying. But I'm
tired, Davy, tired to be alive. It's, oh, for
Peter, poor, poor Pete," she wailed without
tears, lying motionless on her rustling bed.

Mary was frying a pan of pork on the out-
door stove. Ann Susan and Eliza Jane, brisk
with the fresh air after rain, played on the
cabin floor, and watched the cooking with inter-
est. When Mary brought in the frizzling food,
David Armstrong did not rise from beside his
wife's bed.

'"'T^^'?^rsr?«^*^-w

232

S2I0KY DAYS.

" Give the young ones their bite and their
sup, Mary. Mebby I'll feel to set in after a
bit," she said.

" Take your dinner, Davy," said Mrs. Arm-
strong, trying to release her thin, hard hand.
" Eat a bite, do. It's not the sorrow that will
strengthen you to get out them rails for build-
ing up the burned fences."

"No, Hannah, but I misdoubt I can't eat.
Them molasses and bread I eat at breakfast
has stayed by me good."

" But you've got to keep alive, Davy."

"Yes, a man's got to live till his time comes
— the hunger will come back on me, so it will,
and it's druv to eat he is. But God help us —
it's to think we'll see Peter no more ! "

The woman lying on the bed pressed her fore-
head down on his hand, and so they remained,
close together, while Mary fed the children.
Tears were running down the pioneer's cheeks,
thus furrowed often that day and the day be-
fore. But the mother could not weep.

" I yant Pete," whined Ann Susan.

At that the lump of agony rose in Arm-
strong's throat ; he could not trust himself to

SMOKY DAYS.

23^

speak, though he wished to order the child to
be silent. Mary struggled with her sobs as she
listened.

" I yant Pete," said Ann Susan again.

''Peter is dead! I wisht he'd come back
quick," said Eliza Jane.

Mary had vainly tried to make the children
understand what had become of the big brother.

" I yant Pete," persisted the younger.

" Peter's gone away dead. He's burned up.
I wisht he'd come and ride me on his foot,"
returned Eliza Jane.

" ril ride you," said Mary.

" No, I want Peter ! "

" Hush, dear — poor brother Peter won't come
back no more."

" Let 'em talk, Mar}'," said the wof ul mother.
" Poor little things - they help me. Oh, I want
Peter, too."

She spr. ig up, sitting, and broke into wild
lamentation.

" Oh Peter, if you'd come back and kiss me
good-bye ! Why couldn't you wake me when he
was going away? Pd 'a' stopped him. Thirty
mile! Thirty mile and back — and the bush

. r" *«■-' ihvnu^ VI r> mmui lini i JHiiLMia

S34

SMO^Y bAYS.

afire I — only to fetch a cup of tea for his
mother ! I — 1 — my son's blood cries out of
the woods against me ! "

" No, Hannah, no, don't talk on that way
again. It was me that let him go. Who'd 'u'
thought fire would 'a' started up the Hump?"

"Oh, no, Davy, I — me — crying like mad
for tea ! Oh, my God ! — how you can icant
me to go on livin' ! And Peter up there —
burned black in the smoke under the rain I
Such a good boy — always — strong and good.
There ain't no mother got a helpfuller boy nor
my Peter. Davy, what you s'pose I was thinkin'
all them days sinst the hay was got in — and the
big prices there is? I was hiyin' out how we
could give Peter a winter's schoolin' in to the
settlements. Yes — he'll learn quick. Oh, if I
wasn't always so tired, what'd I do for my Pete."

She lay still a long time before speaking
again.

" You'll miss me sore, Davy," she whispered.
" It won't be long now."

" No, Hannah, don't say it. You'll not leave
me, Hannah."

Ay — sore you'll miss me, Davy dear — I

SMOKY DAYS.

235

know how I'd 'a' missed you. Old and gray
we've got, and once we was young together.
Davy, don't you understand ? Don't talk on.
1 want to be with my boy."

The man clutched, sobbed, and choked for
breath. Mary went to the bed, and clasped
her arms about her parents' necks.

" Yes — you're good at lovin' your mother,"
the poor woman went on. " All of them is.
God bless them for it ! They give me what l
wanted more than all. Sore you'll miss me,
too, Mary, and you fendin' for them all alone.
I wisht I could stay. You'll tell Peter — no, I
was forgetting — but there is a chance, ain't
there? There's a chance f^^

"Yes, Hannah. S'posin' he was at the
creek. Or the fire might 'a' jumped over a
wide place?"

'■' Many's the day and many's the night and
many's the year Peter's heart'U be glad tliinkin'
how he went thirty mile and out for tea for
his mother," she said, as if dreaming. They
thought she was fainting. But the vision of
her son in the burning forest returned to her
mind.

236

SMOKY DAY^.

Then, with changed voice, rising on her
elbow : —

" Davy, if on'y we could find his bones ! "

" I'll start first thing to-morrow, liunnah."

" All night again I'll be thinking of the rain
fallin' on him lyin' there in the smoke. Kaiii
and rain and rain and rain — it come too late
to save my boy ! "

" Think of the chances, Hannah. Maybe he
ain't dead at all."

" He is — I seen him lyin' there too plain.
Peter won't never come no more ! "

" Peter won't never turn no more," repeated
Eliza Jane.

" I yant Pete," said Ann Susan, firmly

" Give them to me," said the mother. Tak-
ing the little girls in her arms, she lay still,
thinking how soon Mary roust mother them.

The children, awed by the silent passion with
which she strained them to her breaking heart.
lay still, breathing uneasily, with their faces
close to her bosom.

After a time, the sense that they were suffer-
ing came to the poor mother, and she held them
more loosely. Then her brain began to work on

SMOKY DAYS.

237

the possibilities of Peter's escape. The worn"!!
had to hope or die, and her vitality was still
active. Absorbed, she had again clutched close
the wondering infants, when strange voices out-
side the door recalled her fully to her senses.

'' Hey ! Who's these men ? Why, here's
that surveyin' boy I No, it's another one."

A man, and a youth clad as Vincent Bracy
had been, but taller, came up the steps into the
cabin. The youth was Vincent's rodman.

" I have a letter for you, Mr. Armstrong," he
said. " It's about your son."

The mother rose, and stood staggering.

"Where's Peter?" she cried.

" I don't know, Mrs. Armstrong. The letter
— it's from Mr. Bracy. He and Peter went
through the fire together."

'' The fire didn't get them ? "

''No, ma'am."

"Oh, thank God, thank God! I can stand it
if he's not dead that way. But where is he ?
Alive ? "

" Bracy hopes so."

"Peter's lost, then?"

" He is — in a way. But let me read you

'T;Ts«fti?tT^r«2fiA3 vm\iii w T'^sSw^BW?

238

SMOKY DAYS.

Mr. Bracy's story. He was up nearly all night
writing it. He thought it wouk^ ease your
heart to know all about it. The chief engineer
sent me up on purpose that you should know
what is being done."

"He didn't desert Peter, then? No — I'm
sure."

*' Not much ! They were separated by a
strange accident. Listen." He began reaaing
the lettei.

Vincent had written out pretty fully the story
of his march with Peter down Lost Creek,
through the fire and to the cavern's mouth. The
letter went on : —

"When I picked myself up, my torch was
almost out. I whirled it till it blazed, and then
saw that I had run across the old channel of the
creek and against a solid wall of rock that ran
up to the roof of the cave, I suppose. Peter
was gone down the water that was running
within two yards of me. All I heard was its
rushing into the passage that turned to the left.

" At that place, the cave forks like a Y. The
water runs down the left arm of the Y, and fills
the whole space between the high walls there.

SMOKY DAYS,

239

That stream looks as if it had broken down
.slanting through the bed of its course and run
into the left arm of the Y, after it had been
niniiiiig into the right arm for ages.

"I was lying at the fork of the Y, in the
right-hand passage, while Peter liad l)een swept
away down the other passage into darkness."

" He's gone, gone forever ! " moaned Mrs.
Armstrong.

The young rodman read on in Vincent's let-
ter: —

'' Wlien I got up and tried to look down the
passage after Peter, I heard a pouring sound
away aliead as well as the rushing of the water.
That was while I was stooping over. The pas-
sage I was in was wider than the other, and I
thought it must lead me into any place that
Peter could be carried to. The other cave,
down river below Kelly's Crossing, has passages
that branch and come together again."

"" That's so," said the pioneer.

"So I thought it best to follow the right-
hand passage instead of going in after Peter. I
hope you will see that I did not wish to desert
him. My idea was that I might reach him soon,

240

SMOKY DAYS.

and if he was in any distress, I might be all the
better able to help him if I went by the dry
passage."

" He did right," said the pioneer.

''Vincent would l)e glad to hear you say
that," said the rodman. " He was greatly dis-
tressed by his miscalculation."

"Then he didn't find Peter again?" cried the
mother.

" He will find him. We know he must be
still in thr ive. Ten men went up before day-
light to reach him. There's reason for hope.
Listen again to Vincent's letter: I lit another
bundle of cedars, and went on. Pretty soon the
cavern began to rattle with the thunder outside.
The air vibrated so much that one might almost
fear the cave wall would fall in. I could not
see a flash of lightning at all. How long I went
on I don't know, but it seemed half a mile or
more. My last torch had just been lighted when
I had a great scare, and saw the strangest
sight !

"For some time there had been a strong
smell as of wild animals. Suddenly the pas-
sage in front of me seemed alive with creatures

SMOKV DAYS.

241

all the
bhe dry

you say
ally dis-

cried the

must he
ifoie day-
[or hope,
t another
soon the
r outside.
|ht almost
;ould not
iig 1 went
I mile or
ted when
strangest

a strong
the pas-
creatures

that snarled, growled, yel[)ed, and ran. Now
you'll understand that those beasts couldn't
trouble Peter. He went with the stream —
they had been foi-ced into the dry passage by
tlie fire. And they were much afraid of my
torch. I could not see one of them at first —
there was nothing but blackness and the yell-
ing and snarling. It grew fainter as they ran
away, without looking around, for 1 never saw
a glint of their eyes.

"At last, as the course of the old channel
turned, I saw daylight ahead of me, and a
crowd of beasts going out of the cave's mouth.
I made out some bears, that shuffled along at
the tail of the procession, but I could not
clearly see the others. But I'm pretty sure
there were wolves, skunks, and wild-cats in the
herd. I was anxious to reach daylight, for I
supposed I should see Peter out there. But
when I reached the mouth of the cave, I saw
nothing of him or the creek."

"Peteis lost! We shall never see him I"
said his mother.

"Yes, you will. Listen to the letter," said
the rodman. "Vincent has something impor-

242

SMOKY DA VS.

tant to tell of that he heard coming through.
He says :

" I think we shall find I*eter to-morrow
morning. There must be a hole from the j)as-
sage I came through to the passage he went
down. The reason I think so is this: Just
wliere I stood when 1 saw the animals go out
of the cave's mouth, I thought I heard a sound
of falling water — that must liave been tliu
creek. The sound seemed to come from ubovu
my head. Perhaps I had passed the entrance
to another corridor without noticing it, for I
was a good deal taken up with fear of tlie
beasts ahead of me.

" We are going as soon as the men liave liad
a sleep, to look up the place where the sound
of falling water came from. I think we shall
find Peter there, for if he had come through
before me, or soon afterward, I should have
heard him answering to my shouts."

Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong looked hopelessly
at each other.

"Vincent," said the rodman, "was so tired
that he seems to have forgotten to write out
here some things he told us in camp. For in-

SMOKY DAYS.

243

stance, one of liis reasons for supposing there
must be a passage to Peter is this : the lloor of
tlu) passage Vincent fame through began to
ascend while he was k)()king at and foUowing
the animals. He did not remember wliere ho
hud passed off the gravel and sand of the old
bed of the creek, but he found he had [)asscd off
it a good while before he reached the open air.
After he began to think of som thing besides
the beasts, he noticed that he was going uj) a
slowly rising floor of rock, where no water had
ever run. So you see the ancient channel of the
creek turned olT somewhere. It never flowed
where Vincent came out, but took a turn to
where Peter is. You can understand that?"

"Yes — the water had been kind of sto[)ped
by the rise of the rock, and turned off," said
Armstrong; "and the idea is that the old chan-
nel the water used to follow will lead yous to
where Peter went by the channel that the water
f oilers now."

" Exactly, that's what Vincent thinks. Now
he is going, or rather he did go before daylight
with ten men, to look up that passage through
which the sound of water came. He'll find

244

SMOKY DAYS.

Peter," said the rodmaii, confidently. "But
listen — you may as well hear the rest of his
letter : —

"I looked for the place where the creek came
out of the mountain, but the air was dark with
the storm, and the thunder was rattling. So
I could hear no water running except the
rapids of the Brazeau not far ahead. I thought
I had better go to camp for men. So I climbed
down the hill to the river, found I remembered
the banks below, and went about four mile.N
down stream to camp, where I am now. To-
morrow morning, long before you get this letter,
I will lind Peter if I have to follow him down
the chute."

" He will do it, too," said the rodman, admir-
ingly. " The little beggar has any amount of
pluck. He'll risk his life to find your son."

"Peter is dead for sure," said his hopeless
mother.

" Well, I don't Vleeve it, maw," said Mary.
" Mr. Bracy's going to fetch him back — that's
what I think."

" ^ : might be so, Hannah," said the pioneer.
"Where }'0U two going?" he asked of the rod-

f^MOKY DAYS.

^4i

man and axeman who had come with Vincent's
letter.

" Straight back to camp."

'' I'll join you," said Divid Armstrong.

" There's no use. Peter's gone — he'd be
di'ownded anyway," said the poor mother, with
the first burst of tears since her son left.

''He's a good swimmer, isn't he?" asked the
rodman.

''First-rate," said Mary.

" Then why should he not escape ? Ile'd go
through a big rapid safely. What was the
chute but a smooth rapid in the dark? Vin-
cent will find him."

"Dead I" said the mother.

" No — safe and sound."

" But he'd be eat up by the bears."

The rodman looked uneasy, but spoke con-
fidently : —

"Bears won't come to a lire, and your son
had his watertight match-box, and could make
a fue if he landed down below."

"With what?"

" With driftwood. Vincent says there was
driftwood along the banks inside the cave

'24:0

SMOKY DAYS,

just the same as on the banks outside and
above."

" It might be," said the mother, striving for
hope. "Oh, mebby my son will come back!
Davy," she whispered, as her husband re-
appeared in readiness for the journey down
the .Iver, "if you don't find him, Tli die. I
can't keep up without seeing Peter ag'\in.
Carry him easy if he's dead — but no, I daren't
believe but he's alive."

CHAPTER V.

IMPRISONED IN TEIE CAVE.

When Peter Armstrong, with all his senses
about him, floated on his back, on and on through
the cavern's unmitigated darkness, down the
steep slide of almost unbroken water, he was
not without fear of the unknown before him.
But the fear was not in the nature of despair
— r»ther of wonder. A stolid conviction that
tlie worst which could befall him would be less
dreadful chan the flre-death which he had es-
caped helped to console the young pioneer.

Wonder predominated in his mind — wonder
at the smoothness, swiftness, and length of the
chute. This wonder had almost become horror
at being so borne on and on through darkness,
when the current seemed to go from under him,
and down he tumbled, head over heels, into a
great depth of bubbling and whirling water.

Its currents pulled him this way and that,

. 247

^48

SMOKY DATS.

rolling him helplessly. The forces pressed him
deeper and deeper until, all in an instant, tliey
thrust him aside. An up current caught him
and brought him, gasping and spluttering, to
the air. He perceived with joy that impene-
trable darkness no longer filled the cavern. It
was dimly lighted from the outer world.

Peter soon cleared himself from the indraw
of the cascade which, jumping straight down
thirty feet, scarcely disturbed at a hundrud
feet distance the long pond into which it
fell. The boy trod water, gazed, and listened
amazed to the crashing of thunder that rolled
over and reverberated in the high vault.

He Vnew a rain and thunder storm had
begun. The cavern, during intervals between
the lightning flashes that revealed something
of its extent, w.'is dimly lighted from a narrow
crack or fissure, which Avas about three hundred
yards distant from and directly opposite to the
cascade down which Peter had dropped.

This crack, starting from tlie floor of rock,
went up nearly straight two hundred feet to
a hole in the roof. Peter, swimming now in
smooth water, thought that this hole, so irreg-

SMOKY DAYS.

249

ular in shape, looked like one that would be
seen from the inside of his father's barn if some
one had battered in its gable end.

Above this hole he could see a patch of sky
and storm-clouds liurrying. They were dis-
tinctly visible — he saw the sky through the
hole as one might see it from a place two hun-
dred feet down a slanting tunnel. And the
tall, narrow strip of sky which he saw through
the narrow fissure that extended from the cav-
ern's floor to the roof-hole was as if seen from
one end of a cathedral aisle through a straight,
narrow crack in its wall of masonry.

Peter swam to the right or south bank of the
creek, landed, and stared all around the cavern.
The ravine, though roofed, was, so far as he
could distinguish by the lightning's gleams,
much such a ravine as he and Vincent had fol-
lowed before the creek became subterranean.

The main differences he noted were a con-
siderable increase of the cavern's width, and
its intersection by another ravine, also covered.
The floor of this intersecting cavern was some
sixty feet higher than wheve Peter stood. Its
roof was as high as the roof of rock directly

250

SMOKY DAYS.

over his head. He saw the intersecting cave as
an enormous black hole high up in the side of
the wall.

Evidently the creek had in former ages
jumped down through that black, high hule
out of the intersecting ravine into that from
which the young pioneer looked up. He
could see the discoloration left by flowing
water on the now dry wall of rock.

He could Sv.e how the ancient creek, coming
out as from a roofed aisle, had descended in two
steps, the lower about twen<', the upper about
forty feet in height. Even when the lightnin^.'^
flashed he could see nothing beyon(? the upper
step. There absolute darkness was back of
th6 outline of the high hole in the wall.

Peter turned to look at the pond's left or
north bank. There the precipice which forn)*)
the cave's wall rose appamntly straight up out
of the waiiit'

The boy stood on the right or south side of
the pond on the edge of a bank about one hun-
dred and twenty feet wide, which sloped gently
to the foot of the wall out of which the creek
had formerly jumped down.

SMOKV DAYS.

251

After staring round till he had seen all this,
Peter ran, as if alarmed by the solemnity of
the cave, straight to the tall fissure, which
{rave a dim light to his path. He hoped to
get through the crack.

He reached it, hesitated because of its narrow-
ness, then endeavored to force his bod}^ through
the fissure. Fancy trying to squeeze tLnmgh
bet'veen two towering walls of rough-fact'd
stone less than a foot apart ! Peter crowded in
his head and light shoulder. There he stuck —
*'■'■ f rack was too narrow ! The length of the
|;,t, -,fi//' to the open air seemed about ten feet.

'' Vd need to be rolled out like one of
motlier's lard cakes,"" said Peter as he drew
bat'k. faced the fissur^r and stood gazing at the
open outside, so> near and so unattainable.

The light from the free, outer world nemned
and encouraged him. He was so miudi a boy
of action that the dangers he had pjuwaed were
scarcely present tf his reeollection. Wor did
he yet wholly comprehend the danger m which
he stood.

His main thought was tuat his people weae-
homeless ; that hi> or motlier was m t^ roat-

252

SMOKY DAYS.

house, perhaps dying ; that he must get to lier ;
that freedom was within ten feet of him, and
that he would somehow find or force a way
out.

"If I had that surveyor chap to help," said
Peter aloud, and looked back to the cascade.

Would Vincent Bracy come through? Peter
looked back at the dim cascade falling as from
a narrow, high gothic window. The stream
down which he had come lilled the whole width
of the aperture. It fell as unbroken as from
the end of a Hume. Peter could, when tlie
lightning flashed, see a little of the sloping sui-
face of the swift, smooth chute that had borne
him away from his comrade of the night of fire.

While wondering whether Vincent would
tumble over the cascade, Peter resumed his
study of the interior.

A few yards nortli of him, and to the left
side of the fissure, the pond narrowed to the
ordinary width of the creek. There the stream
turned, like dn obtuse-angled elbow-joint, Ui
tlie left, and flowed gently on into complete
darkness.

Out of this darkness as if from far away

SMOKY DATS.

253

came a stmnge gurgling and wasliing of water,
intermingled with a sound like rloop — chop —
chop — such as water often makes when flowing
a-wiiirl out of the bottom of a basin beneath a
tap. At first the boy was almost terrified by the
sound, — it so much resembled the gulpings of
some enormous animal. But soon his fears de-
parted and hope rose high, for he bethought him
that the noise must be that of escaping water.

Not even by the lightning flashes could Peter
see down the corridor into which the creek thus
turned, and ran, and clooped. All that he could
make out was that this corridor or ravine was
nearly on a line with the higher-floored ravine
out of which the creek had jumped in ancient
days.

The three corridors, that in which the pond
lay, that down which the dry, high old channel
came from the south, and that into which the
creek ran on a northerly course, difl not con-
nect exactly at right angles. They were all
roofed at, apparently, pretty much the same
height as the chute which terminated in the
cascade down which Peter had tumbled.

The stream which had poured for ages into

254

SMOKV DAYS.

the cave, by either the old or tlie new channel,
could never have had a sufficient exit in Hood
time. From the hue of the walls up to a line
some fifteen feet above wliere Peter stood, the
water seemed to have accumvdated often in the
cave, swept round and round, and at the same
time discharged part of its volume through the
narrow fissure.

Peter's curiosity to know the cause of that
strange doop — cloop was strong, but not strong
enough to lead him along the wall in tlie dark
to what might prove another voyage down a
slide and a cascade. Hut ho determined tu
make the exploration by torchlight.

The sloping floor of the covered ravine's
right bank, on which Peter stood, was littered
with driftwood. As he searched among it for
cedar, the easiest of woods to split with the
huntin< '-knife he still carried, he noticed some
entire but small trunks of trees. Then it came
into his mind that he might escape by the old
dry channel, if only he could find a pole long
enough to help him up the forty-feet-high Avail
he could see behind the lower step of twenty
feet.

syroKv DAYS.

255

It is necessary to i/iderstand clearly the
aspect which the old channel presented to the
hoy. Conceive, then, a church door forty feet
wide and two hundred feet high. Conceive
tlic door to be as wide as the '•orridor into
which it offered an opening. Conceive two
steps, the lower of twenty, the upper of forty
feet in height, barring you from entering tlie
corridor. Thus did the old channel, its mouth
shining high and black above Peter, step up
from the cave where he stood. He determined
to reach that high up old channel if possible,
for he believed it would give him a passage to
tlie open air.

Ilis search for a long pole was rewarded, after
ln3 had built a bright lire of cedar. Its snu ke
drifted in various directions for awhile, some
going up the old channel, some down towards
the passage whence the chop — cloop came.
But the greater cloud, which soon drew all the
smoke with it, went out of the hole in the roof
at the top of the narrow fissure.

The young pioneer found a tall cedar, perfectly
dry, for the cavern was not damp. With little
difficulty he ascended the lower or twenty-feet-

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SMOKY DAYS.

high step of the old channel. All the bark
had been torn from his cedar as it came down
the rapids in flood time, but short bits of the
branches remained. These assisted him to
climb.

He had reached the top of the first step, and
nearly hauled the cedar up after him whsn he
bethought him tiuit a torch would be needed
after he should have attained the top of the
next or forty-feet-high step.

So Peter descended and split a bundle of
cedar. While engaged at this work he thouglit
he heard, as from far away, sounds as of snarl-
ing and yelling wild beasts. He listened with
cold creeping over his skin. Were wild beasts
coming toward him ?

But the sounds ceased. He doubted whether
his ears had not deceived him. Only the swish-
ing of the wind away off in the old channel had,
he hoped, reached him. Yet he felt the edge
and point of his hunting-knife after he had
drawn himself again up the lower ledge.

Soon he had dragged his pole to the upper
step. It was barely long enough to reach the
top. Piling many broken rocks that he found

SMOKY DAYS.

257

strewn there around the foot of the pole to hold
it steady, he soon had his head above the upper
ledge. Lifting himself by his hands and elbows,
he stood joyfully on the floor of the high inter-
secting ravine. Sixty feet below him lay the
floor of the main cave, the pond into and out of
which the creek flowed, and the dying fire that
he had built of driftwood.

Peter whirled the small torch that he had
carried as he climbed. From it he lit another,
and went bravely ahead. For a hundred yards
the floor of the ancient channel was of gravel,
sand, and bits of fallen rock. His torches
showed him nothing more except the towering
and jagged walls. He wondered what stealthy
creatures, far up there in the blackness of dark-
ness, might not be watching him. But trusting
his torchcc* to scare away any wolves or bears
that the forest fire might have driven into the
cavern, he went boldly on. Thunder rolled
more frequently, but he could no longer see
ahead of him by the lightning flashes which had
illuminated the main ravine that he had left.

When Peter stopped he stopped with a cry
of despair. The passage was blocked by
9

258

SMOKY DAYS.

enormous masses of rock. The foot of the pile
was of pieces that he could climb over for
some forty feet. But there the pile, consisting
of fragments as high as small houses, towered
up without any visible end into the blackness
above.

It was plain that part of the roof of the
ravine had fallen in, ages and ages before.
Peter could see high enough to understand
that his pole was useless here. Hope went out
of his heart as he sat down and contemplated
the enormous confusion which blocked his way.

Ke seemed to see himself away off in the
clearing by the Brazeau and here in the dark-
ness at the same time. He seemed to see the
eyes of them all at home staring from infinite
distance at him lost in the barred ravine.

Then the events of the yesterday came to
his mind with full force. He fancied the
fire sweeping through the forest toward his
mother's home — he fancied the destruction
of the cabin and the precious barn ! At the
thought of his mother lying — was she dead?
— in the root-house, Peter's despair for her
roused him from despair for himself.

SMOKY DAYS.

259

"I must see mother again. I must! I will!"
he thought, and lemember'ed agai.i the cloop —
dooping sound in the main cave.

''Where the creek gets out I can get out,"
he said, with new hope, and returned with dif-
ficulty down his pole to the lower floor of the
vault. Now his fire of light wood had quite
(lied out. To renew it was his first care.
Then, going again to the fissure, he stood by it,
pondering whether he could not get through.
He bethought him of how he had seen boulders
broken by building a fire round them. They
sometimes fell apart on cooling. Could he not
reasonably expect that a fire built in the fissure
would cause its sides to scale off aiid afford him
the little more space needed to give him escape.

But time? The plan would occupy days.
How could he live in the meantime ?

Peter went inquisitively to the pond and
looked in. He whirled his torch close to the
water. What he saw must have pleased him,
for he actually laughed and felt in his trousers
pocket with a look of satisfaction. His hook
and line were still there.

But first he would ascertain where the creek

260

SMOKY DAYS.

went out of the cave. The place was not far
away. He soon was standing by the one singu-
lar feature of his prison. Other caves have
intersecting vaults far more amazing than those
that were above and around him. But perhaps
no body of water elsewhere has so strange an
escape as that by which Lost Creek goes its
way to the Brazcau.

Where the end of the north-going ravine
stopped short, the creek, after gliding smoothly
down the south edge of a truly circular basin,
ran whirling around and down as straight as if
into a perpendicular pipe. The water, ridged
and streaked with bubbles as it circled into the
funnel, was clearly illuminated at the bottom.

The stream went down like water out of a
basin under a tap. It might drop ten, twenty,
or a hundred feet, Peter thought, but light cer-
tainly struck into it not very far below.

As the water gurgled and swashed around
and around, a sucking sound sometimes was
followed by the cloop — cloop — cloop that had
first caught his attention.

"I can go down there," thought Peter; "go
down fast enough — that's sure."

SMOKY DATS.

261

He threw in a piece of driftwood. It stood
on end and was out of sight in an instant.

" Should I get tore up ? " thought Peter.
" Or should I fall far enough to get smashed on
tlie hottom ? There's plenty of room — it's fif-
teen feet acrost at the funnel. But I guess I'd
better explore all around before I risk my life
in such a whirling hole."

He returned along the high tunnel to the
main cave. Again he stopped at the fissure.
Blackness, merely punctuated by liis fire, was
behind him and in that great darkness was no
sound save the hoarse voice of the cascade.

Standing at the fissure his sense of ini[)rison-
ment deepened as he turned from the vastness,
gloom, and roar of the huge vault behind him
to gaze at the free and Hying clouds. Inward
draughts of air brought liim the smell of freshly
wet earth. Heavy rain slanted along, scurry-
ing into mist on a rocky hillside oi)posite his
jail. Poplar-trees bent and thrashed there
under mighty gusts of wind.

As the boy thought of the burning vvoods and
the parched country and his father's clearing,
he blessed the Lord for the swift rain that his

262

SMOKY DAYS.

mother had prayed for so often. He could hear
her, he fancied, as he fell into the reverie that
such rain commonly gives — he could hear his
mother's piteous prayer, as if the woe of it were
compelling the rain to descend.

Then he exulted in the fresh breeze and the
drops that were blown to his face. That joy
vanished as he turned to the pouring echo of his
prison. Now he could not see, but only hear the
cascade, so dim had the cave k^ecome by the ces-
sation of lightning and the darkening of the
hole in the roof. Night was closing in upon the
outer world, and uttermost darkness succeeded.

But Peter's fire soon burned hugely. After
he had busied himself at the water's edge for half
an hour he heaped up piles of driftwood by the
light of the flame. Between the throwing
down and going forth for more wood he stood
listening and looking into the high portal of
the south, or old channel ravine.

Peter thought as the night went on that he
heard again the sounds of wild animals that he
had fancied before. Were fierce eyes glaring
at him f i jm the great pile of fallen rocks that
had barred him from escape? Were soft feet

SMOKY DAYS.

263

sheathing cruel claws coming silently toward
him?

The night drew on toward dawn, and intenser
darkness prevailed in the cave. At longer
intervals thunder rattled through the cavern.
The lightning that had preceded might have
revealed, to any eye looking down from the
hole in the cave's gable, the figure of a boy
sleeping in the space between four guardian
fires that slowly waned to smouldering brands.

The eye looking down would also have seen
the water of a rapidly rising creek lapping on
the coals of the most northerly fire, and sizzling
as it extinguished them. Still Peter Armstrong
slept profoundly. He had not reckoned that
the rain now pouring down outside, would raise
the water in the cave.

Inch by inch its level ascended. Soon the
brands of the extinguished fire were afloat and
drifting toward the whirlpool. Even when the
water had encroached upon the two fires further
in, the boy still slept. His cowhide boots were
lapped by the rising flood, and yet he lay quiet
as a log.

Down from the cascade poured a larger vol-

264

SMOKY DAY3.

ume. Driftwood came tumbling with it. Lost
Creek was in half flood with the steady and
great rain. No longer could the cloop — chop
have been heard by any one in the cave, for the
funnel was gorged too full.

By morning neither liame nor coal of Peter's
fires could have been seen from above. Nor was
there any sign of Peter Armstrong near the dis-
persed ashes of those inner fires that had not
been overflowed by the rising stream. The
cave's floor was nearly covered by a tumult of
whirling water, and no sign of Peter's tenancy
remained except the relics of his trout supper
and the ashes and dead brands of the most
inward of the lires that he had built to guard
his life from the wild beasts of the cavern.

CHAPTER VI.

VINCENT DOWN THE CHUTE.

At noon on the tliird day, long before Mrs.
Armstrong had received Vincent Bracy's letter,
Vincent stood, with one man, at the place where
Peter had disappeared. Both carried camp lan-
terns with reflectors.

''Grosbois," said Vincent, "the creek has
risen a good deal here sin^e yesterday."
" Yesseh I Bapteme — it's de rain."
"Do you hear that pouring sound?"
" Yesseh — dass a fall down dere, way far.
Can't be ver' high — no sir, not ver' big fall."
"No. I dare say the chute runs into deep
water. That would account for the sound, eh ? "
"Mebby. I don't know, sir, for sure."
" How would you like to go down ? "
" Sapree ! Not for all de money in de Banque
du PeupUy
Vincent had brought ten men with liim from

265

2t}ti

SMOKY DAY^.

camp. Eight were now at the Brazeau end of
the cave h)oking for the longest tree tliey could
hope to carry into the curved ravine.

Early in tlie morning they had found the
channel by which Lost Creek discharged fioin
the cave to the Brazeau. Looking into an
irregularly -walled, tunnel -like passage about
twenty feet high, they saw how the water came
whirling down straight from the cloopinj funnel
that Peter had seen from inside the cave.

After dropping into a deep, narrow basin it
spread wide and shallow over the level rock
where the search party were, gathered again into
a narrow brook, and prattled on gently to the
Big Brazeau River, a quarter of a mile distant.

It seemed clear to them that Peter's body, if
he had been carried down the funnel, would have
been found on the shallows, where sticks tliat
had descended were widely strown. Between
and under these sticks the water ran. Vin-
cent's inference that Peter had not been car-
ried down but was alive within the cave looked
reasonable.

He took his men into the passage whence
he had escaped, and soon found the south side

syfOKY DAYS.

i^67

of the enormous ])arrier of fallen rocks whoso
north side hud blocked Peter's way out tlie
(lay before. They stood opposite where I*eter
had stood, and found that end as impracticable
as he had found the other.

Vincent sent one man to camp with a note
to the chief engineer. With himself he kept
old (rrosbois. lie ordered the eight others to
ascend the Hump, cut do vn one of the tallest
pines growing there, and wait for the chief
engineer to arrive with ropes and the rest of
the men, twenty-two in number. Then he and
Grosbois walked away through the cave to the
upper entrance with the two camp lanterns.

An hour passed. The men had felled a
great tree, and it lay stripped on the upper
plateau. After clearing away the branches the
gang found they could not stir the trunk.
They went below to the cave that they might
gain shelter from tlie incessant rain. There
they lighted a fire and waited.

Another hour passed. Grosbois now sat with
his comrades by the fire. He had returned to
the party without Vincent Bracy. Sometimes
the superstitious men turned their heads and

268

SMOKY DATS.

peered into the blackness of the cave. They
half-expected to see Vincent's gliost coining
toward them.

Another hour had nearly passed when the
chief engineer and his tvventy-two men cunie
into the cave from the Brazeau side.

"Where's Mr. Bracy?" cried the chief.

"Ah, M'sien, Mr. Bracy's gone," said Gros-
bois, almost crying.

"Gone?"

" Yesseh — gone for sure."

"Gone whei-e?"

"Down de chute."

"What chute?"

"Down where he see dat boy go yesterday
— de boy what he's tell us about last night."

" You are out of your senses, Grosbois."

" No, sir, I hain't out of no senses — for sure,
I wish I was. But I'll toll de trut'. Mr.
Bracy he's say to me, ' Mebby Peter is starved
before we find him.' He say, ' Mebby we don't
get up in dere all day, mebby not all to-
morrow.' He's say, ' Mebby dere hain't no way
to get to de boy except only one way.'

"Go on — what did he do?"

> ?»

SMOKY DAYS.

269

" He maks me help him for cut off a big chunk
off one hollow cedar. He put his hax in cle hol-
low, an' he put in a piece of rope, and some
pork and biscuit, and he put in his pistol, and
'is lantern. Den he plug up de two end. An'
i;e say to me, ' Grosbois, you tell 'em to keep
climbing up de ole channel back dere. Good-
bye, Grosbois,' — and dat's all."

"But where did he go?"

"M'sieu, in two seconds he's away down de
black chute ! "

"In the water?"

"Yesseh, in de water — stradd)e on de log."

"Vincent must have gone crazy."

" He hain't look crazy," said Grosbois. " He's
look like he's see something bad what hain't
scare him one bit. He's say, ' Good-bye, Gros-
bois,' an' he's make me a bow same as he's
always polite, and lies smile, easy, easy.
Den's he's roll his log in before 1 b'leeve he's
goiii' to be so wild, and I don't see him no
more."

"Up with you — up for the tree!" cried the
chief. "Not you, Grosbois — all the rest.
Grosbois, you go down to the outlet and watch

270

SMOKY DAYS.

for the body. Little Vincent Bracy I My life
and soul — what will his father say ! "

The party were climbing the hill by various
paths to get the long tree when one of them
stopped, held up his hand, and looked round
fearfully at th'^se nearest him."

"I hear Mr. Bracy's ghost," he said.

The startled men stood still, listening. All
now heard the faint call. As from the bowels
of the earth the cry floated up : —

" Ecllo ! Hello ! Hello ! "

" He's alive, wherever he is,'* cried the chief,
arriving. "He's shouting in the hope he'll
be heard. Hello ! Bracy ! Vincent I Hello I "

Still Vincent's voice ascanded monotonously.
'•''Hello! Hello! Hello!'''' at intervals of some
seconds.

" Yell all together ! " cried the chief to the
men, who were coming from all directions.
They shouted and listened again. And again
the far voice cried, '-'• Hello ! Hello!'' with the
same tones and intervals as before.

"It's from over there. And there's smoke
coming up," said one.

They approached the edge of the plateau and

SMOKY DAYS.

271

My life

various
of tliem
d round

ng. All

looked down — down the hole that Peter had
seen high up — the hole in which the tall fis-
sure ended.

"Why, here is smoke. And here's a hole,"
cried the chief, getting down on his hands and
knees. " He must be down here. Yes ! Vin-
cent ! Hello ! "

" Hello yourself, chief ! "

"You're alive then?"

"Yes, sir. All alive."

"Hurt?"

"No — as sound as a nut."

" Had a rough passage '^ "

" Pretty rough, sir. But I'm not hurt."

Down by a bright fire they saw Vincent
Bracy standing alone. He looked up at the
faces crowding round the hole in which the fis-
sure terminated.

" Have you tlie ropes there ? " he shouted.

"Go down foi' th^ ropes," cried the chief
engineer, and away went four men.

" Rope is coming, Vincent Keep your heart
up."

" Oh, I'm all right, sir."

*' Where's the Armstrong boy ? "

272

SMOKY DAYS.

" Gone. He was here this morning."

" How do you know ? "

"Tlie rock under his dead fire was quite
"warm."

'* Where's he gone? Have the bears got
him?"

"No sign of it."

" What's become of him, then ? "

" I fancy he went down the creek before the
water rose in here."

"But you saw no sign of him down there?"

"Better send Grosbois to look for his trail,
sir. Perhaps he got out alive."

" Grosbois is down there now."

" Hey, Grosbois ! Grosbois ! " shouted the
chief. But no answer came. Grosbois had
gone out of hearing.

"Is the water rising, Vincent?"

"Yes. It's risen three inches since I got
here."

The pond within the cave now presented tlie
aspect of a stream incessantly returning on
itself by an eddy up one bank and a current
down the other.

Vincent could not reach the fissure without

SMOKY DAYS.

273

wading. From that crack flowed a rivulet a
foot deep. No sound except the surging of a
wliirlpool came from the corridor wliere Peter
had heard the doop — clooping sound.

''Young Armstrong must have been starv-
ing I "' shouted the chief.

" No, sir. lie seems to have lived on the fat
of the water."

"Fat of the water?"

"Yes; trout. Look here!" Vincent held
up two tish.

" How could he catch them ? "

"Fm sure I don't know. But he certainly
did. The place is all heads and tails. I
shouldn't have supposed any fellow could eat
so many trout in the time. He was here only
a day altogether."

"Can you get straight under this hole,
Vincent?"

" Yes. I waded down to the crack a while
ago."

" Well, the ropes are coming."

Vincent waded down the fissure and stood.
In the course of half an hour the rope had
descended, Vincent had placed the loop under

274

SMOKY DATS.

his shoulders, and the exulting men had drawn
him safely up. Then the whole party walked
down to the wliirling outlet.

"It's impossible young Armstrong could have
come throngh here alive," said the chief, look-
ing into vUe tunnel out of which the rising
water rushed.

" There wjisn't so big a volume this morning
early when we were here before," said Vincent.
" And Peter must have come down before that."

" You seem very sure he did come down."

"Well, sir, so I am. It's what I should have
done myself in the circumstances. I was begin-
ning to think of it when you answered my
call."

" Lucky you didn't. Perhaps you are right.
But it's surprising that he took the risk when
he had plenty to eat."

"You forget how alarmed he was about his
mother. Besides, he probably thought 1 had
been lost, and he had no hope of a rescue."

" But what can have become of him if he got
out here ? "

" He would make for home up the river."

" Well, I hope your theory is sound," said the

SMOKY DAYS.

275

chief. "What's become of Grosbois, I wonder?
Grosbois I (xrosbois ! " he shouted.

But Grosbois was far aw.ay, following what
he thought a trail through the woods. It took
him up the river. Meantime another voyageur
had j)icked up the trail of Grosbois and brought
the news back to the chief.

"He must have found Peter or his track,"
said Vincent. " I'll follow, too, sir, if you'll
allow me. I have to go to Kelly's Crossing,
anyway, and I may as well try to get to the
Armstrongs' to-night."

About three o'clock that afternoon Mary
Armstrong was giving Eliza Jane and Ann
Susan a " piece." She stood with her back to
the cabin door, when Ann vSusan suddenly cried,
•' Peter ! Peter I " and held out her hands.

" Peter's here I " cried Eliza Jane, coolly.

Mary turned. Peter, indeed, staggered up
the path. His face was covered with dry blood
from many scratches, his shirt and trousers
were in strips, his feet bare and bleeding.

" Mother ! It is Peter I Peter's come back !
He's not dead at all," cried Mary, running out
into her brother's arms.

276

SMOKY DAYS.

Mrs. Armstrong tottered to lier feet.

" Is mother dead ? Where is she ? " cried
Peter, as he caught sight of Mary.

" VVliy, mother I Ain't you ghid to see me?"
he said, liolding her in his arms a minute later.
She was weeping as she clung to him.

"Oh Peter, Peter, Peter, I thought you was
burned to death I " was all she could say.

" There, mother ! there, motlier ! Pm all
right. Only tore up a little, running throu^^rh
the woods. Pve been travellin' since daylight,
and I lost my boots out of my hand coming
down a whirlpool out of a cave, and I couldn't
find them amongst the driftwood below. I was
in too big a hurry. I was most scared to death
for fear you wouldn't be here. My ! it was
good to see the barn and house standiii'. I
come up along the river till about two hours
ago. Then I worked up top of the Hump for
easier walkin'. Where's father ? "

•'A boy came for him. He went down river
two hours ago to look for you."

"I'd have met him, then, if Pd kept straight
on. Maybe he'd miss my track up the Hump. "

But the father had not missed it, for he had

SMOKY DAYS.

277

b down river

met Grosbois, who held to Peter's trail like a
hound to the slot of a deer. Scarcely had the
boy entered tlie (;a])in wlien David Armstrong
and the voyage ur came down the Hump's side.
The father, swept by his emotion beyond self-
control, caught Peter in his arms.

"(lod — (lod — oh God," cried Dave Arm-
strong, ''you've give me back my boy. Oh
(lod, just see if I ain't a better man from this
out."

Eliza Jane and Ann Susan roared, weeping at
the top of their lungs because mother and Mary
were crying, and father talking so loudly.

Ann Susan, stopping suddenly, said decidedly,
"lyantPete!"

" Peter's dead, and he's come back," said Eliza
Jane.

" Take them, Peter," said the mother ; " take
them. They've been hankering after you most
as bad as me."

He lifted the little ones in his arms. They
drew back from his dirty and bloody face. Peter
laughed.

" Mother," said he, " I didn't fetch you your
tea."

278

SMOKY DATS.

" That yonnpf Mr. Bracy sent some up by the
messenger, Peter."

" Mr. Bracy ? oh, Vincent," said Peter. " He
got out of the cave, then? I was phmning to
start back and find him I "

" Guess what tliis man says he did this morn-
ing, Peter," said the pioneer, turning to Groshois.
" He went down that chute in the cave after you."

" Yesseli, I see him myse'f," said Grosbois.

" Well, ain't he a good one ! " said Peter.
" Why, I wouldn't have gone down there this
morning for the price of the hay. The creek
was beginning to rise before I went out. But
say I Is Vincent lost like I was?"

" No. Just as I started on your trail I heard
them yellin' they found him safe," said (irosbois.

Peter had hardly eaten his supper that even-
ing when Vincent arrived.

"Peter!"

" Vincent ! " The boys shook hands.

" You went into the chute after me," said
Peter, choking. " If it hadn't been for you
keepin' me goin', I'd 'a' died in the fire by
the creek — sol would, and — "

" Oh, please don't," interrupted Vincent.

SMOKY DAYS.

279

" And I'd been abnsin' you," said Peter. " I'd
said you wa a dood I "

'•Deuce you did I AVell, I dare say I am.
lint what matter? It's not really a crime, don't
you know. 'J'here's just one thing I want you
to tell me, Peter. How did you catch those
trout in the cave ? "

Peter pulled a lish-line with a liook on it
from his pocket.

" Forgot I had it for a long time in there," he
siiid. " Don't you mind I said 1 had a hook and
line that time we was kickin' the trout out of
tlie creek ? "

" But what bait did vou use ? "

"•Bait? They didn't want no better than a
bare hook."

You may be glad to learn that David Arm-
strong's hay sold for ninety dollars a ton that
winter. The comfortable situation into which
this put the pioneer family gave Mrs. Armstrong
a new lease of life, and Peter three winters'
schooling in the settlements. There he learned
so much that he is able to transact the business
of the large lumbering interest which he has
long since acquired.

280

SMOKY DAYS.

Peter Armstrong,' is worth ten thousand dol-
lars to Vincent Hnicy's one. l)nt they are fast
friends, and agree tliat Mr. Hraey's comparative
lack of fortune is due to his having practised a
profession instead of going into business.

nsand dol-
}y are fast
jinparative
[)i'actised a
ess.

DRIFTED AWAY.

CHAPTER I.

LOST.

About five o'clock in the afternoon of a raw
March day the report ran about I'oronto that
two boys in a skiff, without oars, paddles, or
sail, were being blown out in the open lake.
This alarm originated with a butcher who had
driven into town along tln^ shore of Ontario
from the mouth of the li umber River, some
four miles westward of Toronto Bay.

A keen though not a great wind j^revailed
tliat afternoon. Navigation had scarcely begun,
hence it was almost certain that no incoming
vessel would pick the boys u[). The probability
that they could be found before nightfall by
a tug seemed small. Only one To3'onto tug
had steam up, and that little vessel would not

283

284

DRIFTED A WAT,

return till nightfall from its work at a long dis-
tance from the wharves.

Scarcely had the report begun to travel by
word of mouth before an evening paper dis-
tributed it broadcast. Home-going business
men, leaving their oflices to shoulder througli
the evening throng, heard newsloys calling,
" All about tlie boys adrift ! "

The gas-lamps just then being lighted seemed
to accentuate Kings Street's cheerful bustle,
and so impress people more distinctly with a
sense of the quick spread of night over the face
of the waters on which the two lads were help-
lessly floating away. Toronto people are so
familiar with the lake that thousands had in-
stantly grasped the full significance of the
rumor.

In a few minutes it roused something like a
panic. Groups formed round men who talked
loudly of the chances of rescue ; v/omen hysteri-
cally inquired the names of the boys ; cries of
sympathy went up from persons who, on com-
ing out of stores, suddenly learned of the case.
The imminence of darkness forbade confidence
that the boys could be found alive, and the

DRIFTED AWAY.

285

meagreness of information left a multitude of
parents to fea:; for sons they had not seen dur-
ing the day.

By six o'clock a great crowd had formed on
and about Brown's wharf, where the tug A. G.
Nixon was almost ready to start. As she
whistled, a cheer went up, which was under-
stood by the people farther back, caught, passed
on, and echoed to and fro and sidelong and far
away up many an avenue. At that, factory
operatives pouring into the streets and home-
stayers who had not yet lieard of the thing
stopped, or rushed out to question what was
the matter.

Just as the Nixon was about to leave, a man
running down the middle of Yoiige Street into
the crowd cried : —

" Stand aside and let me past ! One of them

my liitle boy ! "

So quickly did the people push sidewise to
give Mr. Lancely room thr.t three men were
thrust off the slip into the water. At this the
scared crowd struggled to get back off the wharf
to firm land, and the general attention was
distracted from the boat till tlie three men were

286

DRIFTED AWAY.

pulled out. By this time the Nixon, with Mr.
Lancely aboard, had started.

Before she left the slip he had explained
from her deck that his son, nine years old, and
his servant-boy, perhaps seventeen, were cer-
tainly those adrift.

" He's the only child we have left," said tlie
gentleman. " I want somebody to go out to
my house. Take a cab and hurry. Tell my
wife that I've started with the tug, and we're
sure to catch the skiff soon. Say sure to, mind
that, sure to, or she'll die of anxiety."

"All right, Lancely. I'll go myself !" cried
an acquaintance. " Keep your heart up. You'll
find Charley all right, poor little chap! "

At that there was a cheer from the people,
and the throng began to break up ; but many
persons remained on the wharf to see the Niron
make her way out through the floating ice-cakes
that still swung to and fro in the harbor. As
the tug passed beyond the western gap a, cloud
of snow drove forth from the land, blotting her
out at a breath.

"God help the poor boys! God help i,hem!"
said some man in -^n earnest tone, and the

DRIFTED AWAY.

287

prayer and the emotion went np, repeated from
many lips. Meantime the captain of the tug
was questioning the anxious father.

'' Will they have plenty of elothes on, Mr.
Lancely ? " asked the Nixon 8 skipper.

" I don't know. All I know is in this tele-
gram tliat a trict telegraph boy handed to
me just as 1 was prepaiing to go home : —

"'Charley and Isidore are adrift in tlie skiff witiiout
oars. I can see lliein floating out about half-way between
the island and the 1 1 umber. Act quickly. No one liere
can suggest anything except to send out a tug.'

"That's from my wife," said Mr. Lancely.
"1 instci.ntly ran down and found your boat
starting. No, I can't imagine how tliey got
adrift, though this morning 1 told Isidore —
he's my servant-boy — to loosen a strip of carpet
that runs the length of the skiff. It got frozen
down at the stern last fall because I forgot to
bale lier out. Isidore is very fond of my little
boy, so I suppose they went together to the
boat-house and somehow got afloat and were
blown out. How long before we shall catch up
to them, captain ? "

The skipper looked gravely at him, glanced

288

DRIFTED AWAY.

at the northern sky, and replied, " Well, sir,
we will likely make out to reach them if the
wind don't change or something worse happen."

" Surely the wind won't change ! "

" No, 1 don't say it will. I'll do my best, you
may lay to that, sir. What I'm most afeard
of is that the little follow will be done out
with cold. Would he likely have his overcoat
on?"

" I'm afraid not. He's fond of going round
without it, no matter v/hat we tell him."

" Boys is all like that, sir."

" Still he may have had it with him, for Isi-
dore is very careful of Charley. If not, he'll be
half-frozen, and have a frightful cold."

"What about the servant-boy? Would he
likely be well covered ? "

"No, poor fellow. He has a big, warm old
overcoat of mine, but he's almost too proud of
it to wear it. He never had a whole coat he-
fore, and it's altogether likely he went to the
boat-house without it on."

" Pretty bad, pretty bad, sir. I'll see and
have some blankets put over the boiler to heat,
and they'll be ready in case we find 'em."

DniFTED A]VAY.

289

" In case ! Surely, you don't doubt that,
captain ? '*

" Oh, we're bound to ihid them, bound to
tind them. But when? There's no telling how
the curre'tjts will act round this part of the lake.
Hey! No finding 'em if we can't see the sur-
face of the water ! Consarn it all, here's what
I was afraid of ! "

At the word a coming cloud of snow hid the
land and the lights ashore.

When the snow had cleared away, the tug,
steaming slowly with the wind, was far from
land. Soon afterward the straggling clouds
blew away, leaving over the sullen expanse of
Ontario a moonless, starlit vault. Low on the
north horizon a light-house dwindled. Nothing
but the sighing wind, not gale enough to rouse
a tumbling sea, could be heard responding to
the long shrieks of steam with which the Nixon
strove to let the boys know she was seeking
them.

" That will hearten them up, anyhow," said
the captain.

As the tug "teetered" up and down the
scarcely broken swell, Mr. Lan^^ely in the bovy
rr

290

DRIFTED AWAY.

gazocl steadily forward, around and down.
Often he thought he saw the skiff rising upon
some sliouldering billow, but ever the lapse of
the roller renewed his increasing fear. Once
the bow struck some heavy thing. His heart
fell at the sudden contact. He sprang to look
over, expecting to see the skiff ; but before he
had fairly peered down, the grinding sound
betokened a cake of ice.

Ouce, after abandoning the idea that he had
darkl}- seen the skiff on a wave, a thought that
It I'crhaps had been there grew to an overpower-
ing fear that they were leaving Charley astern.
The pitying captain backed up then, and ran
to and fro over the adjacent water. Then the
wretched father groaned with self-reproach for
having caused the loss of time.

"Could the skiff swamp in this sea?" he
asked.

" No, that's not likely. There's scarcely a
break of water anywhere, and she'd drift easy.
Do you suppose that servant-boy of yours would
know enough to rig up any kind of a .sail?
But I forgot ; they'd nothing to rig one with.
So I reckon we're all right."

DRIFTED AWAY.

291

" What do you mean ? "

" I mean that we'll be more likely to find her
than we would if she was sailing instead of just
drifting. She can only go straight ahead and
we'd ought to find her."

After the tug b-^d run out to about where the
captain thought the boat should be, he headed
due east, kept that course for some two miles,
and then went back and forth, east and west,
steaming south or with the wind f* few minutes
upon each turn. Thus the little steamer de-
scribed many long, narrow parallelograms on
the surface of the lake, but the skiff of tlie lost
boys was not seen.

So the evening passed, and the depths of
darkness drew on. It was after midnight
when the skipper, pointing to the north,
shouted with joy.

" Where ? Show me ! " cried Mr. Lancely.
" I can't see them ! Where ? Do you see the
skiff ? "

"No, sir, I didn't mean that. But see!
Yonder ! There's more help coming ! "

Away off toward Toronto a light gleamed;
then another and another, five in all.

292

DlilFTEJ) AWAY.

" Five more tugs I Good boys ! " cried the
captain. "Ilurrali, now we can do something!"

Across tlie intervening league a dull buss
note came with the wind.

"It's the commodore's steam yacht," said the
skipper. Soon the little vessels were all within
hail.

" Lancely I " shouted tlie bluff old connnodore
of the Yacht Club. " When we left, there was
word from your house that your wife was bear-
ing up well."

" Thank Heaven for that ! "

" I thought you'd be anxious, old man, and
so I telegraphed for news of her while steam
was getting up. Now we're going to iind
Charley pretty soon, I hope," and he rapidly
explained his plan to the Nixon s skipper.

Soon the little steamers were systematically
ranging to and fro, passing and repassing, over
a tract some live miles wide, whistling in unison
every fifth minute by the watch, that the hoped-
for replies of the boys might be heard in still
intervals.

But the night seemed to thicken till far
toward morning, when a thin moon came up

DTIIFTED AWAY.

293

over the waste. The constenation of the Great
Bear wlieeled lii<jfh and far i)ast the Pole, the
wind sh)wly fell, and the solemnity of the face
of the waters deepened in the hnsh, while still
tlie searching father gazed from the bow, pray-
ing dumbly to see again the flaxen head and
bold blue eyes of his little son.

Mr. Lancely's boat-house could be seen from
the upper windows of his suburban residence
at three hundred yards' distance. The house
stood far back in a garden-orchard separated
from the shore by the higlnvay to the Humber,
and by the Great Western Railway track which
runs along the lake shore for miles.

Mrs. Lancely had been sitting in the after-
noon beside her bedroom window knitting a
long stocking for Charley, when she bethought
her that she had not heard his voice for an
unusually long time. Where was he?

Safe with Isidore of course ; perhaps search-
ing the hay-mow for eggs, perhaps giving the
tall French boy one more exposition of the
great truth that little d should always be recog-

2{l4

hniFTKT) AWAY.

"«

iiized by its peculiarity of becoming little p
when turned upside down.

Scarcely had her mind formed that picture
when it was replaced by a vision of Isidore as
she had first seen him. He had come up the
St. Lawrence as stowaway and been, as he
said, booted ashore at Toronto, where he soon
found lumself worse off than in his native
poverty.

The police, he said, had " tried to catch him,"
he didn't know why. The city boys had "piled
onto him." Everybody said, " Get out of that,
Frenchy," when he asked for a job. He had
obtained some meals at the soup kitchen ; but
on the whole, he could not remember how
he had lived throughout the terrible months
before Charley found him devouring broken
meat set out in the woodshed for the absent
dog.

" Hello, that's for Bruno I " said Charley, com-
ing round the corner of the house.

The little boy had never before seen such a
tatterdemalion, but he was not at all afraid.
Indeed, Charley never seemed to know fear.
In that bullet-headed, fair-haired, clear-eyed

hniFTED AWAY.

young Saxon there w.is a rare assumption that
all living creatures would behave amiably His
selt-^onlidence was perfect ; the sourest dogs
yielded to liis patronage at sight. This Loy
was at once easy, imperative, and kind.

" I suppose you didn't have your dinner," said
he to Isidore at that first meeting; "but you
oughtn't to take Bruno's. Wait till 1 come
back."

Isidore put back the pieces as if without any
alternative but to obey this young commander,
who soon returned with permission to bring
the ragamuffin into the kitchen and have him
fed.

So, then, Isidore had his first good meal in
Toronto, and with that began his employment
by the Lancelys. Since that time, two years
before, he had been a treasure of obedience, in-
dustry, and gratitude to them all. But Charley
was his hero, his general, his schoolmaster, his
earthly saviour, the very lamp of his life and
soul.

Mrs. Lancely, turning again to the window,
saw a man clamber up the ridge of earth which
separates the highway from the shore, a.id

DRIFTED AWAY.

point out something on the sullen expanse of
Lake Ontario to others who came after him.
Her eyes were not good enough to see that
they gazed at anything except water almost
unbroken by whitecaps, and rolling away to
the gray of the southern horizon.

She called on her house-maid to bring her
the field-glass from down-stairs. Then she
clearly made out her husband's boat lifting and
dipping far away. She clearly saw Isidore
waving his cap, and Charley floating out his
white handkerchief for aid.

Aid ! She could give them none. The nearest
boats were either in front of the city, fully two
miles away in one direction, or at the Humber
River mouth, S3 far distant in the other.
Her impulse was to run down into the lake
rather chan stand idly watching that lessening
boat.

Then she remembered that she could com-
municate with her husband from the suburban
telegraph station. When she had sent the de-
spatch and nothing remained to be done, she
again took her stand at the windov/.

Through a cold opaline light the boat wavered

DRIFTED AVrAY.

297

away. The snow-storm passed. Darkness drew
on. Some lights faintly twinkled on tlie long
island a mile epst of where the bovs seemed to
be, and still the poor mother fancied she could
see Charley waving his speck of white.

No sign, except the trembling clutch of her
interwrought fingers, indicated the agony of
her strife to maintain sense and calm. All that
night she sat there, intensely alive to every
sigh of the falling wind, every creak of the
trees and of the timbers of the house, every
thrill from distant trains that came on and on,
bearing crowds of the living across the vague
field of her vision, and away out of the deep-
ened silence they left her.

Stars and stars emerged dilating from the
horizon ; the house grew stiller and chill as
the wind died away to a frosty quiet ; the gal-
axies of heaven long wavered on a lake where-
on they at last sparkled at rest in unruffled
calm; and daylight crept into the welkin.
Then the low island's outline slowly separated
from the water; tints of amethyst and rose
flushed high from the coming sun ; glints mul-
tiplied and brightened to a wide shine over

298

TfRlPTED A WAV,

the lake, and nowhere on its immense expanse
could Mrs. Lancely see a boat or tug.

" Ma'am, dear, you've sat here all night," said
Hannah, entering the room.

" Yes," said the mother, in a faint and tran-
quil voice. "In the night for a long time
I thought he must be dead. But he is com-
ing back to me, for God has had my boy in
his keeping."

On the south shore of Lake Ontario, near the
mouth of Eighteen-mile Creek in the State of
New York, a farmer, Elil u Walcott, was up
that morning with the sun, when the whistling
of steamers away toward the mouth of the
Niagara River drew him in curiosity toward
the lake shore. Had navigation 1' run at so
early a season ? he wondered.

There oould be no doubt, at any '-f .0, that
six tugs were coming quickly eastward, nearly
abreast, and about half a mile apart. The
most distant was little more than a smoke to
Walcott's eyes. The foremost ran parallel
with the shore, well out from the main drift

DRIFTED AWAY.

299

of ice that had been blown in by the wind of
the night.

As the sun rose higher, a light breeze from
the east s rang up, and dissipated the little and
low mist that had gathered during the short
calm before dawn. Walcott saw a row-boat
about a mile away to the north. Almost at
that moment the two innermost tugs, keeping
up a prolonged whistling, ran out for the skiff,
upon which the little fleet soon converged.

Walcott kept his eyes fixed on the row-boat.
He could see a figure in its middle seat. This
figure was motionless. It stooped forward, its
breast embraced by its arms, its head bowed,
over. In that attitude one might sleep.

The innermost tugs, as they neared the skiff,
bid her from Walcott. When they slowed
they still kept whistling. But before they
stopped the steam shrieks ceased.

For a few seconds the air was blank of sound.
Then a cheer, which passed from steamer to
steamer, came faintly ashore.

Soon afterward Walcott thought he saw two
forms carried round the deck-house of one of
the tugs. Then the skiff, empty of the figure

300

hniFTEI) AWAY.

he had seen, was hauled upon one of the ves-
sels. After a few silent minutes, during which
the crews of all the tugs gathered upon that to
which the forms had been brought, this one
started northward. The others fell into proces-
sion, and all slowly vanished, leaving behind
funereal trails of smoke on the horizon.

CHAPTER II.

FOUND.

Mr. Lancely's boat-house, built on a sloping
shore, was in winter hauled farther in and lifted
on skids, so that crests blowing off from the
surf might not freeze and mass on its end. The
skiff's stern then rested against the inside of
the outer doors, and would, were these sud-
denly opened, have run out on the floor rollers
till the stern stopped on the gravel.

The boat did not move when Isidore flung
open these dooi's, for he had taken the precau-
tion to tie the painter to an upright in front.

From the boat-house to the water a slope of
ice extended. Hence, when Charley, standing
in the bow, drew his knife across the cord, the
boat instantly started down the slope.

Isidore had been sitting astern, cutting the
floor carpet loose from a little ice there. His
weight threw the bow up as the stern slid down

301

302

DRIFTED AWAY.

to the ice slope, then the skiff slapped over to
one side, and before the boys could pick them-
sf^lves up the boat was in the water. They
were afloat, and moving gently outward.

Charley rubbed the back of his head, turned
to Isidore, and laughed.

" Hooray ! " said Charley.

•' Why, I tied her tight ! " said Isidore.

"I cut her loose. I never thought," said
Charley, seeking his jack-knife.

" There's my overcoat getting wet," said the
servant-boy. He and Charley both crawled
along to pull the dragging sleeve from the
water. Then they sat facing each other on the
two middle seats.

" It was like sliding down hill," laughed
Charley. " But we can't get back ! "

Charley looked around the boat, saw neither
oar nor paddle, and measured the distance to
shore.

" I could swim it, Isidore," said he.

" No, no, Mr. Charley. The water's too cold
And besides, we can't let the boat go."

She was now moving sidewise before wind
and current with some speed. Charley looked

"Mother! iiiothoi!" Cliailov ciicil.

DlilFTED A WAV.

303

up to the house, coming into vie'.v above the
spruces, and shouted for the servant-girls :

" Mary ! Hannali I "

Isidore joined in ; but they could see no one.
» Mary ! Hannah ! " they cried again.

" There's Bruno I " said Charley.

The dog ran down to the shore, barked, went
into the water, turned back, stood, barked again,
ran along the shore as if seeking a better place
to enter, came back, stood whining, and then
stalked morosely to the house and lay down in
his kennel.

"I think I can see my mother at the win-
dow," said Charley, - but she isn't looking, is
she, Isidore?"

"No. How would it do to call to her, Mr.
Charley?"

* Mother! mother!" Charley cried. "She
doesn't hear, Isidore. You try."

" Ma'am ! ma'am ! " called Isidore.

" Say ' Mrs. Lancely.' "

But she did not look out, even when they
called with the full strength of their lungs
and exhausted all their devices for attracting
attention. Soon the opacity of the double

304

DRIFTED A]VAV.

windows concealed the faint outline of her
head.

" I wish I had swuhi it," said Charley. " It's
too far now."

He fell into a strong anxiety for his mother.
How often had he promised not to leave home
without her permission ! Now he was driftinjr
out with a feeling that he was breaking his
word.

"Do you s'pose I could swim it now?" he
asked.

" Mr. Charley ! Don't think of that at all.
Somebody will see us soon."

" Then they'll come out with the oars." The
youngster spoke hopefully.

" The worst is there ain't no other boat," said
Isidore. Charley looked blankly along the shore.

" How ever v\^ill they get to us ? " said he.

"That's what I'm wondering. But they'll
come ; don't you be a bit afraid."

"I'm not afraid, Isidore. Only my mother
will be so anxious ! I'm glad she didnt see us.
I wish my father was home."

" Yes. The master 'ud soon fix it."

"Let us thinks Isidore. My father always

DRIFTED AWAY,

305

says that's the way to do in trouble." Tlioy
stared at one another, determinedly tliinkin^-.
The more they thought, the more clearly they
saw their danger.

" We may go out past tlie island ! " said Char-
ley.

" Vm afraid of that," said Isidore, placing his
hand on his '^seapuhiry," a little consecrated
leather-covered church medal, tied with string
about his neck. He believed it to be a charm
against drowning.

" But somebody must see us and come ! " said
Charley, imperiously.

" Oh, somebody will. They's people on the
island that has boats."

" Well, that's all right then, Isidore. Only
it's getting cold."

" Put my great big coat round you, Mr. Char-
ley. That's right, put your arms in."

" I wish I had my own. You'll be cold your-
self," said the little boy, snuggling into the
heavy garment.

The fur-lined collar went up over his ears, and
the coat wrapped him to the feet as he sat down.

" I tell you that's a great coat for warmin' you

806

I) HI FT ED AWAY.

up," said Isidore. " Your pa's new overcoat
ain't half so heavy."

" He used to have this one for driving, you
know, Isidore."

They discussed the garment at such langth
that Charley (juite forgot how Isidore was sacri-
ficing himself. The French boy all the time
scanned the shore. Charley kept his eyes fixed
pretty steadily on his mother's window.

" Isn't it queer nobody is going round any-
where ? " said he.

Out they drifted, pj^ the fortified point that
hid Toronto Bay, it' arves and its tied-up,
smokeless shipping. Clouds, blown curving
down, went out to sea from the city's factory
chimneys. On the bay nothing moved, nor could
they make out anything l)ack of the wharves
except buildings, spires, domes, chimneys pour-
ing smoke, and white puffs from locomotives
shunting along the water-front. From the
westward a faint rumble grew, and they soon
saw the five o'clock train from Hamilton hurry
past their homes. Its black trail lay out far
over the water, and they could smell the smoky
particles after a while.

DRIFTED A W'A V

307

"Somebody on the island ought to be out
looking, but I can't see 'em at all," said Isidore.
He stood up and waved his cap and his arms.

Cliarley, thrusting his head out of tlie big
coat, lluttered his handkerchief ; but not a soul
seemed astir on the island, then iidiabited by
a few fishermen. Nor did the light-keeper,
who was probably at his supper, see the boat
slowly blown away, milking westward across
the wind with the set of the current.

(Jradually tin- shore spread wide beiiind
them, and ent^h ss water loomed on either side.
Still the proximity of the inland kept the lads
in hope. They were newly cheered when a
L,noup of indistinguishable figures began to
form on the bank behind the boat-house.

" Hurrah, Isidore I They see us now ! "

''But what's the good, Mr. Charley I" shiv-
ered Isidore, slapping his arms together for
warmth. " They can't do anything."

" Somebody '11 go and tell my father, anyway.
He'll soon come."

He repeated this to himself again and again
as the sun sank down behind a low cloud which
merged into the trees on a distant shore.

308

DRIFTED AWAY.

Now the stanch skiff rose «ind fell over the
long rollers a mile west of the island, wliich
gradually dropped lower till it was disceriiible
only as a strip behind which the dim city
loomed. As Charley's lionie dwimlled down,
his heart grew sorer for his motlier. Wlien
he could no longer see the house as a speck,
he shivered and his 11 [) trembled, but still he
looked bravely into Isidore's eyes.

Isidore had wrap[)e 1 himself now in the loner
carpet that had covered the bottom of the skiff,
but it was neither closely woven nor of the soft
texture to keep him warm, and he could not
control his teeth from chattering.

" We'd best lie down, Mr. Charley," he said,
as the night drew near. "• That will keep the
wind off us a bit."

" All right, Isidore."

They took the cushions from all the seats
and placed them aft of the middle. Charley
lay with his head sheltered from the wind by
the high back of the stern seat. A small
cushion formed liis pillow, his back extended
along two more, and his feet came within the
arms of Isidore, who crouched down and placed

mtlFTEB AW At.

309

but still he

liis head against the aft rowing ^^at and the
boat's side.

With this arrangement of tlieir weights, her
head rode higli and she blew away more quickly.
She was a good, steady family boat, twenty-six
feet long, and there was no l)reaking sea to
poop her. Occasionally ripples tliat formed
on the big billows splashed and flung drops
over the sides near the ballasted stern.

" Aren't you cold, Isidore?"

" I've often been colder than this, Mr.
Charley. Don't you mind about me. Keep
your head covered, and I'll take care of your
feet. Are you getting cold ? "

"Not very, Isidore. It's nice to have you
hold my feet."

'J'he big Ijo}-- clutclied them tighter. His
heart swam with love for his little captain.
Loosening the front fold of tlie carpet from
beneath his arm, he placed it along Charley's
legs, and felt still happier, though the wind
cut cruelly against his neck and face. Some-
times he had to move to conceal his convulsions
of shivering.

Neither boy spoke for a long time. Tliere

310

DitlFTED AWAY.

was nothing to say; the desperation of the
situation baffled talk. Charley kept thinking
steadily of his mother. He seemed to see into
her shining eyes. He was, as it were, telling
her, "Don't be afraid, mother dear. I will come
back, I will^ I ivill come back ! "

Isidore kept one hand on his scapulary. He
thought only of saving Charley. Dumbly lie
asked of the figure of the Virgin in Vaudreuil
Church, and of the pictured saints, and of the
spiritual things that he imagined behind the
points of ruby light before the altar, that help
might come over the waters and lift Charley
away to warmth and safety.

For himself he was willing, he told those
invisible presences, to go on with the wind, if
only he might see Charley at the end. Charley
took no thought of Isidore. He thought of the
sighing breeze, the remoteness of the stars, and
the grief of his mother.

When the snow-storm came Isidore said, '' Fm
going to get up and beat my arms together."

With that, he folded the carpet twice over
Charley, and completely covered him from the
storm, all so naturally that the little boy never

DUtFTED A]rAr.

311

thought of the self-sacrifice. Then Isidore
vigorously flung his arms together to beat the
cold out of his body. His undercoat was
heavy, and he was warmly clad for ordinary
experiences.

After the snow passed, Isidore still battled
by exercise against the raw cold, and looked
back across the deepening dusk at the lowering
light-house outside Toronto Bay.

In spite of his misery and fear the reclaimed
outcast was happier than ever he had been in
his pariah days. His heart was comforted with
a great- love, and despair was not yet heavy
upon him. Out of such bodily suffering he had
often before emerged with life.

"Listen, Mr. Chnrley! They're after us I"
Isidore grasped the child by the foot.

Half across the wind came a tug's scream.
When it ceased they shouted — not v " hout a
sense of the futility of trying to send their
voices to where a red light sometimes shone,
and again disappeared.

" Didn't I tell you my father would come ? "
cried Charley. "Do you think they see us?"

" They will — they're looking for us."

^12

DRIFTED AWAY.

" My ! I wish they'd hurry up. It's cold,
Isidore. And the boat is all over snow now."

"Well, then, keep the carpet round you, and
cover your face up. First I'll shake the snow
off tlie carpet. There now. Try to keep dry,
Mr. Charley."

" You're cold, aren't you, Isidore ? "

" Oh, I don't mind a little cold like this."

" Why don't they come ? "

"I'm afraid they're leaving us. No — here
she comes. I can see her green light now."

He shouted with all his strength..

" Do they hear you, Isidore? "

" The wind is against me. I'll wait till they
get nearer."

The tug was coming straight down on them,
Isidore thought. But she turned and went far
to the westward. They shouted themselves
hoarse, in vain.

When the Nixon turned again she passed
across their course as far ahead as she had
formerly been behind. Thrice the despairing
lads saw her lights turn in the eastern and
western distances, and cross their bows again.
They could scarcely hear their own calls.

DRIFTED AWAY.

313

When she turned the fourth time they lost
her light in the darkness.

Charley again lay down. Isidore covered
him as before, and resumed his exercise. He
was conscious, as time passed, of becoming
tired and numb, and he struggled rather to beat
off the advancing lethargy than for heat. The
sensation of being cruelly pierced had, to some
extent, lessened with the chilling of his blood.
He knew that his one chance of life lay in
continuing that mechanical beating of his
arms.

Charley, warmly sheltered, often came near
the edge of sleep, only to start wide awake at
some louder splash, with a freshened sense of
the strangeness of the boat's motion, and of the
wind's melancholy.

Sometimes, pushing down the carpet, he
looked at Isidore's dim figure, and received
reassurance from its constant movement.

It is not in the nature of a young boy to
comprehend uncomplaining suffering of which
he has had no experience. Isidore acted so
naturally that Charley's inherent spirit of fair
play was not awakened to protest by knowing

314

DRIFTED A)VAr.

that his comrade was being gradually chilled
to bone and heart.

" Isidore, are you there ? " cried Charley,
rousing from a near approach to sleep.

" Yes, Mr. Charley. I'm all right."

"I don't like you to call me Mr. Charley,
out here, someway. It makes me lonely. I say,
Isidore, would you like me to say my prayers —
out loud, you know, like I do to my mother. I've
been saying them to myself, but it's not the same."

" Yes, Mr. Charley, I would that."

"Say just 'Charley,' Isidore. I'll come to
where you are and kneel down."

" Then you'll be cold, Charley — mon petit,
mon petit, mon ch^ri, petit ange!''''

"No. It'll only takt^ me a minute, Isidore.
I'll soon get warm when I lie down." He
scrambled to his comrade. " Hold my two
hands. Wasn't it lucky we had our mittens?
I'll kiss you, Isidore, if you like. There. Oh,
how cold your face is ! "

"It's just the wind, Charley. Don't mind
me. I'll be all right."

" Well, I'll say them then," and the young-
ster went on hoarsely with his usual formula : —

Drifted away.

815

" ' Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take ; '"

and tlieii added, " God bless my dear father and
mother, and Mary and Hannah and Isidore and
me and grandma, and all I love, and every-
body in the world, (iood-night, mother darling.
Oh, I ought to say 'good-night, Isidore,' but I
forgot. Now I'll lie down. Thank you for
hearing me. Why, Isidore, you're crying ! "

"It's only the wind, Cliarley. Do you always
pray that way for me ? "

" Of course I Didn't you ever know that? "

"It makes me feel good. I'd like if you'd
kiss me again, Charley. Will you ? "

They hugged one another hard. Tlien Isi-
dore again tucked the carpet well around his
little captain's legs and sides.

"Good-night, Isidore ! Thank you for calling
me Charley."

" Good-night, Charley ! I'm glad you prayed
for me, too."

Their throats were so exhausted that they
but faintly heard one another through the cov-

316

DJilFTED AWAY.

erings which encompassed the younger boy.
Fatigued, awake long after his usual bedtime,
soothed by the warmth to which he had re-
turned, and mesmerized, in a sort, with steady
thinking about his mother, Charley soon slept
soundly.

Setting his back to the wind Isidore resumed
his exercise, but ever his arms moved more lan-
guidly as the numbness crept toward heart and
brain.

Slowly he sank into that misery of coldness
which is neither wakefulness nor sleep. Isidore
dozed in a fashion. Sometimes he forgot to
beat his arms together, and began again with
an increasing sense that the exercise was pain-
ful and of no avail.

His brain, witli the incessant strain upon his
vital forces, became weaker, partly wild, partly
benumbed. But all the time his soul remained
clear and high with the thought that through
his sacrifice Charley might be saved. It is not
to be supposed that he never longed to lie
down beside the child and share the narrow
coverings. But lie knew that would be to
deprive his little captain of much warmth.

DRIFTED AWAY.

317

As the hours passed, the intervals during
which lie forgot to move his arms became very-
long. It was not till repeated whistles from
the fleet of tugs came through the darkness
that his struggle against the comatose state
became again fully a conscious one.

He turned to the east and saw the far sepa-
rated lanterns that forged on and past. The
nearest, the most westward light of the irregu-
lar line, seemed but a little distance away.

Isidore summoned his remaining life, and
strove to call audibly. The vain effort gave
him a nightmare feeling of inability. He found
he could not move when he was minded to
rouse C liarley. The lights tli^w past star after
star that he picked out to mark their progress.
The whistles screamed at intervals; and still the
increasing inertness of Isidore was not broken
but only disturbed.

He could still think. He was vaguely
aware of horror at the paralysis which bound
him from motion ; he kept dumbly assuring
himself : —

"They are looking for us. Charley will be
saved. They are so many that they must find

318

DRIFTED AWAY.

US — some time before morning they will turn —
they wiU see us when tlie moon rises. Charley
will be warm all night — he will be saved, moti
cMri^ mon petit^ who prays for me at night."

Ever more faintly screaming the tugs went
on, and beyond where his diminished senses
could follow. As the mooi; rose from the water
it seemed to him a great face blessing him. He
felt that his scapulaiy was still in his hand —
then even the sence of enduring for Chailey
faded away.

In the gray morning Charley awoke won-
dering at the screaming of steam-whistles. He
thought himself in bed at home. . How could
such a noise be allowed in the house?

Lifting his head he saw the dull sky, the
faint moon, and a few paling stars. The boat
was not rocking. There was no wind.

" Isidore I " he called.

Isidore's back was to him, but Isidore did not
move. Cliarley struggled up and crawled to
his comrade.

" Isidore, Isidore ! " he called, shaking the
figure by the shoulder. " Isidore, wake up,

DRIFTED AWAY.

319

we're saved ! I see tugs coming. Don't you
hear nie, Isidore?"

Charley drew off his mitten, and phiced his
liand caressingly on his companion's neck.

" How cohl you are, Isidore I " he cried, and
craned his head over the shoulder of the silent
one.

*' Why, Isidore, your eyes are open. Isidore,
Isidore ! Can't you speak ? Isidore,, yoiCre riot
dead!'''' cried Charley, and then looked, without
speaking again, into that face of the placidity
he had never before seen.

So he waited till his father lifted him away,
while the crews of the tugs cheered with exulta-
tion.

" Father, is Isidore dead?" said the boy.

"Isidore is with God," said Mr. Lancely; and
Charley cried as though his heart would break.

THE TEN-DOLLAR BILL.

Henry Clarke, at eighteen years of age,
was in the first year of his apprenticeship to his
cousin, George Andrews, a Civil Engineer, who
placed the young feUow in charge of a sliort
canal, or rock cutting, intended to drain a small
lake situated not far from Portage du Fort, on
the Ottawa River.

Harry's duty was to hire, pay, and supply
with proper food and blasting materials the
gang of twenty to thirty navvies engaged on
the work.

Their operations were all directed by a big
Scotch foreman, named James Stewart, — a
giant in physique, — about as slow witli his
tongue as men are ever made. He was thor-
oughly honest, and much respected in the vih
lage of Rosadale where he lived, spite of public
knowledge that he went on a great spree about

.323

324

THE TEN-DOLLAR BILL.

once a year. At that time, and in that part of
Canada, occasional drunkenness was regarded
as a venial offence, and detracted little from a
man's reputation for morality.

The job of blasting out the canal became a
very disagreeable one by the end of October,
when nearly iinished, as the men were com-
pelled to stand most of the time in mud and
water. Cold weather added to their discomfort,
and all rejoiced, though their wages were very
high, when the job was at last completed by
tearing away the dam, which let the lake water
rush into their excavation. Next morning they
would start for Rosadale, a hundred miles away,
where all of them lived.

James Stewart, the foreman, was an old resi-
dent of that village ; so was George Andrews,
Harry Clarke's employer and cousin. Harry
had lived in the place for a few months only,
and was generally regarded there as a good-
looking youth, having no moral qualities in
particular, but, proba])ly, somewliat light in
character, inasmuch as he wore " city clothes "
and reprehensibly tiglit trousers.

There was a good deal of fun in the shanty

TriE TEN-DOLL AU HILL.

^2^)

on the night after the dam had been torn away.
Harry, very careless in his generosity, had been
foolish enough to treat the men to a two-gallon
jug of whiskey, brought in from Portage du
Fort, seven miles distant. There was not
enough to give each man more than a couple of
drinks, not enough to intoxicate any one — for
they all took some — but, unfortunately, enough
to give most of the navvies a decided taste for
more. All were Irish except James Stewart,
and had the drinking habits commonly ascribed
to their race.

Next morning when they started before day-
light to catch the boat going down the Ottawa
River from Portage du Fort, the navvies were
all agog with talk of the "real stuff" they
meant to buy when they reached the Portage.
Harry knew that few, if any, of them had any
money, iiough a considerable sum was due to
each man.

" You'll have to get your whiskey on trust
^hen, boys," said he. " Pll pay none of you a
cent till you all get home to liosadale."

" Arrah now, boss, sure you wouldn't be that
mane," said one coaxingly.

326

1:nE TEN-DOLLAR BILL.

((

Faix ail' you'll advance a few dollars to
aicli av us now, won't you ? '' pleaded another.

"Troth and it's himself that has the funny
look in his 'oi," remarked the humorist of the
gang, winking to his mates. " Begorra wid our
t'roats l)urnin' for a dhrop, it's not the likes of
him 'ud be disapp'intin' us av a taste of the
crathur this blessed mornin' ? "

Harry had a little Irish blood himself, and
knew well enough how to meet blarney and
coaxing.

" It's deludinof me vou'd be thin, Tfintlemen,"
said he, adopting their idioms and blarney-
ing in return. " What would the ladies of so
many respectable citizens say if I helped them
all to get drunk — and the children, the dar-
lings, waiting for hugs from sober daddies —
and me with my pockets full of letters from
their mothers asking me not to give a red cent
to one of them till they get home? Come

now.

>»

" Bad cess to the man that'll say the young
boss is in airnest," said the humorist. "Sure
I'd bate him blue myself that ud say that."

So it continued till the journey on foot was

THE TEN-DOLLAR BILL.

32"

more than half over. During the whole time
James Stewart, the big foreman, had said noth-
ing. It happened then that a most unlucky
thought came into Ilan-y's young head. Tired
by the importunities of the half-laughing men
he cried, " See here now, you thirsty villains !
If James wants you to l.'ave a little money at
the Portage, I'll pay a trifle all round."

He had not noticed that Stewart had taken
liquor the night before, and he fully expected
the foreman to be with him in refusing the men
any cash. It was a bad misjudgment of Stew-
art's character. Slow, sure, ponderous, faithful ;
the kind of man who will carry out orders at
all costs, he was yet totally unfit for such re-
sponsibility as was now forced on him, and
quite unable to resist the importunities that
began.

The navvies all dropped behind, and turned
their solicitations on old James, while Harry
walked swiftly ahead to procure tickets for
their trip home. Before the gang had reached
Portage du Fort, the quick-witted Irishmen had
completely cornered Stewart and coaxed his
consent. Harry was sitting in the inn-parlor

328

THE TEN-nOLLAIi HILL.

near the steamboat landing, wlien the foreman
entered with the men at his heels.

Stewart took off his cap and stood silent,
looking shame-facedly at the feet of "the
young boss."

" He wants us to get paid a couple of dollars
aich," explained the humorist, Pat, with the air
of a meritorious interpreter.

" Mind what you promised, Mister Harry,
darlin'," said another.

" Do you, James ? " asked Harry, in surprise.

"Yes — what's the use?" growled Stewart,
sulkily.

" They'll get drunk as sure as a gun,"
objected Harry.

" Ah now, boss, sure you wouldn't go back on
your word ! " pleaded Pat. The foreman said
nothing for a few moments, then muttered, " I'd
like a few dollars myself."

" Oh, well," said Harry, in considerable sur-
prise. " H you will be foolish I suppose I must
keep my promise."

Then he gave each man two dollars, debiting
him in his note-book at the same time. One by
one, when paid, they went out to the bar-room.
At last only Stewart remained.

THE TEN-hOLLAli BILL.

329

ir-rooni.

"Do you want any more?" asked Harry, see-
ing that the foreman fingered his two-dollar bill
irresolutely.

" Maybe I might," answered Stewart.

Harry at once handed him a ten-dollar bill,
which Stewart put in his right-hand wa'stcoat
pocket instantly, without looking at it. The
amount was not mentioned by Harry at all.

As the man clutched the bill, Harry caught a
strong smell of whiskey from his breath, and,
looking more closely, saw that the big foreman's
usually dull eye was glittering, and that liis face
was much flushed ; ])ut he was perfectly steady
on his legs and, without saying another word,
stalked heavily out of the room with the two-
dollar bill in his left hand. Harry at once
placed twelve dollars against Stewart's name in
his note-book.

Within quarter of an hour the young fellow
had reason to regret his folly. His men were
howling, laughing, swearing at the top of their
voices. Before the boat started, all except the
foreman, who retained his taciturnity, seemed
half drunk.

They insisted on carrying " the young boss '*

330

THE TEN-BOLLAll BILL.

down to the steamboat on their yhoulders,
Stewart gravely superintending the operation.
Harry already bitterly re^'eiited the yielding
whieh had given him so much popularity, and a
drunken gang. Before the boat stopped, some
thirty miles down the river, the navvies were
uncontrollable. With their quarrelling and
fighting the lower deck was a pandemonium.
Each man had bought a bottle of liquor before
starting. Stewart had now become as voluble
as any.

At Sand Point they had to take the railway
for Rosadale, and there all managed to get
aboard the train. At Arnprior, a few miles
further on, most of those who could still walk
insisted on getting off to procure more liquor.
All were left behind, and Stewart was one of
the missing. Harry went on alone to Rosadale.
Next morning he had a telegram from Arnprior
stating that the foreman and half of his com-
panions were in the lockup.

Big James had knocked a bar-room counter
to pieces, and had smashed the stove with one
blow of his huge fist. He had been taken into
custody with the othere. All had been brought

tHE TKX-nOLLAR BILL.

381

up before a magistrate next morning and lined.
They wanted money to pay tlieir penalty.

Harry's cousin wired to a lawyer to settle the
whole business, and that night the men got home
to Ilosadale. Their wives, Harry's employer,
and every one else interested, had been pointing
out to the young fellow all day, how inexcu-
sably he had acted in advancing money to the
gang. It seemed to be considered quite a mat-
ter of course that laboring men should get
drunk, if they could, when away from home ;
hence there was a curiously perverted public
sympathy for the fined men, and all the re-
sponsibility for their blackguardism and money
losses was thrown on Harry.

Next day all except Stewart went to George
Andrews' office for their wages. There sat
Harry with his accounts and money. Each man
acknowledged the two dollars given him at the
Portage, but seemed inclined to hold Harry
very guilty in the matter.

" Sure now, boss," said Pat, who had a broken
head and one eye badly swelled. " Sure now,
it wasn't the dacent thing to be puttin' timp-
tations forninst us that a-way. And us wid

83^

TirJS TEN-DOLLAU JiTLL.

a taste the night before — an' three months
widout a dlirop till thin — och, it wasn't the
clane thing to be givin' us money at all, at
all."

" Get out of this, you impudent old rascal I "
cried Harry to this moralist, and Pat departed
hastily, stopping just long enough in the door-
way to cast a look of intensely tickled slyness
out of his one undamaged eye at " the young
boss."

James Stewart stayed at home, ashamed to
sli. Y himself for three days. Then just at dusk
of evening he came for his pay.

*' Seventy-two dollars," said Harry, looking at
his book.

" Eighty-two, sir," said James.

" No, you're wrong, Stewart. Look here, sev-
enty-two you see."

"What's the twelve dollars for?" asked the
foreman, looking at the account.

" That's what I gave you at the Portage.'

The big man looked with angry surprise into
the young fellow's eyes.

" You only gave me two dollars at the Port-
age," he said.

*!^*ri;7?f«Si

TUE TEN-DOLLAR BILL.

333

Why, James ! Twelve."

" Two."

" Pshaw. Don't you remember me giving you
a ten, after the two? Don't you remember
me asking you if you wanted any more, and
then handing you a ten ? "

" No, 1 don't. It's not true."

There was no doubt the man thought he was
riglit. Harry saw that clearly, and tried hard
to recall the ten to his recollection, but quite in
vain. Stewart was one of those dogged-dull
men who, when they feel right, simply will not
or cannot admit a contrary possibilit3^

" I'd a paid my fine," said he, " if I'd a' had
ten dollars on me."

"But you had spent the ten dollars before
that."

" No, I didn't have no money after I left the
Portage ; I bought whiskey with the whole two
dollars there." It was hopeless to argue with
him. He would not touch the seventy-two dol-
lars, and evidently believed Harry was trying
to cheat him.

" Maybe you'll think again before morning,"
he said, as he went slowly out,

334

THE TEN-DOLLAIl HILL.

Next clay Stewart came into the office early,
and appealed to George Andrews, Harry's em-
ployer and cousin. " He hadn't said a word
about it to nobody," he declared, and evidently
wished to let Harry off without public exposure.
Tlie lad went over the whole tiling again, but
Stewart remained unshaken. His evident sin-
cerity had great weight with Harry's cousin,
who respected Stewart very highly, and under-
stood how much the man was respected in the
village.

" Are you sure you haven't made a mistake,"
he asked Harry.

" Quite certain. I distinctly remember the
whole thing — the ten-dollar bill was of the
Bank of Montreal — he put it into his vest
pocket."

" Of course, if you gave him the ten it was
of the Bank of Montreal," said Mr. Andrews,
dryly; "the bills I sent you were all of that
Bank."

"Do you mean to say you imagine I have
tried to cheat Stewart," asked Harry, angrily.

" No — no — oh, no — of course not ; but
James is so well known in Uosadale — his word

rUK TKS-DOLLAR HILL.

335

goes a long way licro. I wouldn't like him to
tell liis story abont thu [)lace."

"He was half drunk when he got the money,"
said Harry, hotly.

" It's not true," put in Stewart, nettled to ho
reminded so nakedly before Mr. Andrews of his
spree. " 1 had a couple of glasses, maybe, no
more. What's that amount to of a cold mornin'?
I mind the two-dollar bill well enough ; if you'd
'a give me a ten, would' I't I mind it, too?"

"Now look here, James," said JIarry, "I
know you think you're telling the truth ; but
you're not. I gave you that ten-dollar bill, and
you spent it in whiskey. Or, if you didn't, you
lost it. I say, that's the very waistcoat you had
on that day. Maybe you had matches in the
pocket, and jmlled out the bill with some of
them without noticing."

Stewart had instinctively put his hand up to
his right vest pocket, and was fumbling in it.

" No," said he, " I don't carry matches in
that pocket. You're too cunning, my lad.
Keep the money," he cried, with a sudden ac-
cess of anger. " You're young, though, to be
robbing the poor. Keep it till the judge says

336

THE TEN-DOLLAR HILL.

who's right. We'll have law-play on this yet,"
and he stalked out of the offic^.

"This is a bad business, Harry," said Mr.
Andrews. "Everybody will believe him. You're
not known here."

" I can't help that," answered the young fel-
low. " 1 will not be browbeaten out of the
truth. I paid him the ten dollars like a fool,
but I will not let it be said that I only charged
it to him like a rogue."

"You're right enough," said Andrews, "if
you're sure. But his word does go such a long
way in this village, and you are a stranger."

This tone, in which his cousin continued to
treat the affair, made Harry very angry and
miserable, but he remained silent, and awaited
events. Next day a writ was served on Mr.
Andrews at Stewart's instance, for he had
brought suit in ihe Division Court to recover
eighty-two dollars and costs. Andrews, of
course^ stood by his young relative, paid sev-
enty-two dollars to the Clerk of the Court, and
there the matter rested for about a month — a
most miserable month for Harry Clarke !

The story was the favorite talk of Rosadalq.

THE TEN-DOLLAR BILL.

337

this yet

said Mr.
[H. You're

young fel-
ut of the
ike a fool,
ly charged

drews, "if
uch a long
inger."
ntinued to
angry and
id awaited
on ^Ir.
DY he had
to recover
idrews, of
paid sev-
Court, and
month — a
ke!
Rosadale.

Stewart's life-long reputation for truth and hon-
esty carried opinion entirely with him. Harry
lay under that curious suspicion which attaches,
in many country hamlets, to all young strangers
who dress well and carry their heads up proudly.
Many people would not speak to him. Several
well-intentioii'xl persons came with advice to
give up the ten dollars — "such a small sum,"
they said, as though quite convinced that he
was a cheat. All the navvies sided wath their
foreman, telling how they had each received two
dollars, and how Stewart had come straight
from iTarry to them in the bar-room, with a
two-dollar bill between his fingers, which he
had at once spent in a " treat all round " and a
bottle for himself.

Harry went up to the Portage and to Arn-
prior, seeking evidence that the foreman had
somewhere been seen with a ten-dollar bill.
The search was vain, and the effort was put
down to his credit as an outrageous piece of
hypocritical impudence. Public opinion affected
his cousin and his cousin's family so strongly
that poor Harry often found them looking
strangely at him. One day George Andrews

338

THE TEN-DOLLAIi BILL.

told his young relative of another Civil Engi-
neer who would take him and his articles if he
did not wish to stay in Rosadale. Harry was mor-
tified almost to tears, and answered angrily : —

" You suspect me, George, — I know it. I've
known you believed Stewart's story all along.
Well, you can break my articles if you please, I
think you'd better, or I will. But right here in
this village I'm going to stay till Cv^erybody
knows me better than to believe that I would
lie or cheat."

lie often observed that workmen cast scorn-
ful glances at him. The thought that people
said lie had " tried to ciieat a poor man " galled
him dreadfully. Once a laborer's wife came to
tell him that " there was talk " of ducking him
in the river !

" They may drown me, Mrs. Lynch," said
Harry, stoutly ; '' but they can't make mc run
away, and they (^an't make me guilty."

"Sure, thin, it's hard not to believe poor
James," raid the woman.

"That's so," said Harry. '^ He tliinks he is
telling the truth ; but lie got the money."

Harry Clarke was a haggard, weak, miserable-

THE TEN-DOLLAR BILL.

339

'il Engi-
les if he
was mor-
grily : —
it. I've
11 along,
please, I
it here in
/erybody
I would

Lst scorn-
it people
" galled
came to
iing him

ch," said
mc run

ve j)Oor

ks he is

liserable-

looking boy wlien the case came on in Court,
having had no good sleep for weeks. He was
excessively fretted l)y the impossibility of con-
vincing people that his word was entitled to
more weight than the foreman's.

The court-room was densely crowded. Stew-
art was the first witness ; he told his story in
his slow, impressive way, the judge letting him
bring in anything germane to the matter.

In these Canadian Courts the procedure is
very lax, and the object of the judge usually is
to get at the probabilities in any way. So big
James told liow the men had received two dol-
lars each, how he was last, how he got two dol-
lars just like the others, how he had gone into
the bar-room with the bill in his liand, how he
had " borried " at Arnprior, and all the rest of
it.

The judge was evidently much impressed by
tlie straightforward story. He looked at Harry
very severely now and again. It was haril for
the lad to endure all the contemptuous eyes
that were directed to him. He was himself
greatly affected by the strength of Stewart's
story, and sometimes almost doubted whether

340

THE TEN-DOLLAR BILL.

he had not dreamed that he had paid over the
ten-dollar hill.

Then he thought of his note-book. With that
evidence the lawyer had said that Stewart would
certainly be buaten in tlie case, but what did
Harry care about winning the case uidess he
could clear his character? What was the use
of saving ten dollars if he were not believed ?

His heart was very low ; though he did not
falter in his determination to stay in Rosadale, he
did believe that years would go over before he
could live down the reputation of a cheat. The
lad was not religious, but in his agony he closed
his eyes and sent up a silent prayer for help.

"Do you wish to ask any questions, young
man," said the judge, sternly. Harry opened
his eyes.

" I ? " he asked.
Yes, you."

Harry stood up trembling. Then suddenly
he recovered his faculties. *' James," he asked
entreatingly, " don't you remember that ten-dol-
lar bill ? "

"No, I don't, nor you iieither. You never
gave it to me,

ou never

" I say," lit! cfitnl, " is the lining of that pockt't all right ?"'

THE TEN-DOLL An HILL.

341

'*Yes, I did, .lames. You put it into the
right-hand pocket of that very waistcoat."

James instinctively raised liis hand. His
thumb and fore linger were deep in the pocket.

A sudden inspiration came to Harry.

" 1 say," he cried, "' is tiie liiang of that pocket
all right?"

Stewart looked at liim with a very frightened
face, and turned deadly jMile. Then lie drew
forth a crumpltMl piece nf ]»aper and slowly
unfolded it, with his big hajids and fingers
all trembling. Tlu* man lookt-d unutterably
shocked,

" What is it? " cried Harry.

^^ Oh, my God. Mister Harry, I humbly beg
your 2)iirdon. " groaned big fFaiues.

'^ What is it?" asked the ju«ige.

"• Yoar honor, it's the ten-ditillar bill. It warn
^WTi through the lining."

What a cheering wem up : Everriiody was
trying to shake hands widi Harry at oitce : but
he went straight over to tHewart.

"Silence — siience in Court — HioBoe^ —
roare<l the txier.

^ James," ^d Harr}\ -^I wnmg^Hkamnght you

842

fni^ TEN-DOLLAn niLl.

were telling a lie. It was all a mistake. Now
it's all right."

" I'll never forgive myself," said Stewart, and
drawing his cap over his eyes, walked straight
out of the court-room.

He did forgive himself, however, but he never
drank any more liquor. Now he is a very old
man, and often tells this story slowly to his
grandchildren by way of illustrating the folly
of drinking, and of being too sure.

e. Now

wart, and
straight

he never
, very old
ly to his
the folly

KING TOM.

Willie Blackaddeh, sole and proud occu-
pant of a liigh dog-cart, was walking a big
sorrel horse to and fro before the door of his
father's law-office, when the lawyer came out
on the sidewalk.

'•'Willie," said he, as the boy drove King
Tom up, " I lind 1 can't go to St. Kitt's to-day.
There's a client inside I must stay with. Do
you suppose you could go alone?"

"Wliy, yes, father!" Willie was joyful at
the prospect of driving King Tom sixteen
miles and back.

" You're sure you remember the turn below
Drummondville ? "

" Oh, yes, father ! "

"Well, I'll trust you with Tom. Don't
drive liim hard this warm day. It's only
eleven o'clock now — you'll have lots of time."

345

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

33 WEST MAIN SI REET

WEBSTER, N.>. 14580

f 716) 872-4503

.^r

346

KING roM.

'' What am I to do, father? "

" Take this letter to the bank and give it to
the cashier. It contains a lot of money that
must be deposited to-day. So take care you
don't lose it."

" Oh, I'll be careful, father."

"Well, don't forget — careful of Tom, too.
It's not every boy of fourteen that I'd trust
with a three-hundred-dollar horse. Give him
water at Thorold, going and coming. Not at
the canal — at the tavern on the hill ; there's
only one safe watering-place on the canal there,
and you might miss it. Put him up at the
Stephenson House in St. Kitt's, and get your
dinner there. Here's some change for you."

"All right, father. Thank you. I'll drive
home and tell mother I'm going."

" Never mind ; I'll tell mother all about ^'t.
Oh, I had quite forgotten her dress and Bella's.
After leaving the bank, go to Mrs. Hendrick's
store and get the two silk dresses they were to
have ready to-day. You'll catch it if you lose
those dresses, Willie."

" Oh, I guess there's not much danger of me
losing Mey/i," said Willie, laughing.

KING TOM.

*' Well, away you go ! Good-bye ! I expect
you back by six or seven."

In all America there was perhai^s no happier
boy than Willie, us lie drove King Tom along
the hard road to Drummojidville, with the
mist of Niagara Falls towering before him and
to his right. The June day was clear and
odorous. Ke was going to St. Kitt's, which
seemed to him a large city. King Tom was
so big and handsome as to catch admiration
anywhere, and Willie loved the kind, brave
horse with a perfect and familiar affection.

Above all, his father had trusted liim alone.
Careful? No word could express how careful
Willie meant to be.

Indeed, his resolve to be careful was so poig-
nant that he drew rein before the Drummond-
ville stables, three miles from his father's of-
fice, and inquired the way to Thorold, though
he had been twice over the whole road to St.
Kitt's in daylight.

The man of whom Willie asked the way was
standing on the sidewalk, with a straw in his
mouth and his thin bow-legK so far apart that
a small and solemn brindled bull-dog stood

g48

Kmo TOU.

between them as if to caricature them by tha
more astonishing ciookedness of his own.
Otherwise dog and man had many points alike.
Both were wide and compact of body, weather-
beaten, and long of the under jaw. They
seemed equally indifferent to Willie and inter-
ested in King Tom.

The man put both hands to Tom's mouth,
pressed his lips apart, and looked at his teeth.
Then, as if he had found an answer there, he
looked at Willie with shrev/d, merry, blue eyes,
and said : —

" I'm just starting for St. Kitt's, young man.
Peter," he shouted, " fetch round the mare ! "

Befoi'e he spoke Willie had guessed rightly
that this was no less notable a personage than
Ott Eddis, the horse-trainer, vastly admired
just then by the horsemen of Welland Count}'-
because his trotting mare, Maggie Meacham,
had done wonders at the Buffalo spring meet-
ing.

You're Lawyer Blackadder's son, I know,"

man, vour father. I'd bet

too, before / want

any law-play

tiptop lawy

»>

KING TOM.

:49

Willie flushed with delight to hear his father
praised and himself treated as a man— almost.
He reached the pinnacle of pride when Ott
stepped back, took the straw from his mouth
as if it might impede his judgment, walked
around King Tom in profound meditation on
his legs, and ended by remarking : —

" There ain't a finer make of a family horse
in all Canada! And sense! Just you give
him the word you're going to Thorold ! "

" I'm going all the way to St. Kitt's alone,"
said Willie, proudly.

Ott threw back his head and gazed at the
delighted boy with an air of intense surprise.
He seemed to find no sufficient words, but
appreciatively touched his cap to Willie as
" the mare " came from the yard with the fast,
engine-like walk of a trained trotter. She was
bright bay with one white stocking, and so
Willie knew that his enrapturxl eyes at last
rested on Maggie Meacham.

"Roger," said Ott, facetiously, to his bull-
dog, " you'll stop home to-day and keep Pete
respectable."

Then he took Maggie's reins from Pete,

350

KING TOM.

the grinning stableman, swung himself lightly
into his sulky, and was off in a moment, with
King Tom close behind.

Willie drove behind Ott with an exhilarating
sense that everybody seeing the trainer driv-
ing Maggie Meacham and frequently turning
to look at King Tom's action would tai:e Tom
for a great trotter, and his driver for an emi-
nent sportsman.

The fly in this ointmerit was a doubt whether
his father would appro"v o of his being in com-
pany with the horse-trainer ; but the boy could
not see how he might forsake this fascinating
society without offending Ott'^ susceptibilities,
for Willie, having a high notion of the social
importance of his father's son, believed Ott
shared it.

When they reached Thorold, which lay on
both sides of the eld Welland canal, Ott drove
to the water's edge, jumped from his sulky,
and loosening Maggie's check-rein, said, " Whoa,
Maggie ! " and turned to King Tom.

" But my father told me to water Tom at
the tavern," said Willie.

Right enough," said Ott. "But he didn't

KIXG TOM.

351

expect I'd be with you to show you the place.
This is the only spot where it's safe to put a
horse in. You don't need to go up the hill to
Pud Gorman's tavern this time."

Ott loosened King Tom's check-rein, swung
himself into his sulky, drove Maggie into the
shallow and let her drink. Willie, following,
found his wlieels on gravel, and Tom drank
between those of Ott's sulky, so little was the
water roiled. When Tom lifted his head, Ott
drove through the water for a few yards par-
allel with the bank, and left the canal by a
gravelly slope. Then he got out again and
replaced the check-reins.

" You'll know that place again, I guess I " he
called back as he started.

"Oh, yes. Thank you!" cried Wille ; but
he liad not taken any particular notice of the
ground, and he was quite unaware that his
"bump of locality" needed reiinforcement by
careful observation.

Still ecstatic with the weather, the drive, the
general admiration for King Torn, and his sports-
manlike company, Willie reached St. Kitt's and
duly obeyed all his father's directions. He

352

KING TOM.

had arranged to meet Ott in front of the Ste-
phenson House at three; but when the hostler
brought King Tom around from the stables the
trainer had not appeared. Nobody about the
hotel knew anything more of Ott than that
he had passed the place with Maggie Meacham
half an hour earlier.

Willie sat in the dog-cart with the package
of silk dresses, for five minutes. Then, his soul
being satiated with the obvious envy of the St.
Kitt's boys, it seemed advisable to start.

Ott must have forgotten the appointment.
Willie's father expected him back by six or so.
He must bring Tom home dry, and the after-
noon was very warm. Moreover, his father
would be just as well pleased if he did not
travel unnecessarily in Ott's company.

Willie chirruped to Tom, and rolled away
for Thorold in high pleasure. His sense of
independence was the greater for being alone.
After this he would be trusted to take Tom
anywhere. His manhood had begun.

Over the canal at Thorold there were several
bridges, and Willie could not remember which
he had crossed behind Ott. Tom had crossed

KING TOM,

353

the Ste-
hostler
i])les the
bout the
lan that
Jeacham

package
, liis soul
f the St.
irt.

lintment.
3ix or so.
he after-
s father

did not

ed a way-
sense of
ig alone.
<ke Tom

e several
3r whicli
L crossed

all frequently, for they all led from the low
road on one bank to the low road on the other.
Willie let Tom choose, and the horse did not
prefer the bridge of the journey to St. Kitt's.

AVillie, crossing the bridge, saw Pud Gor-
man's inn high up (ju that steep which could
be avoided by watering Tom at the canal. All
that the boy clearly remembered of the water-
ing-place was that it was about midway between
two bridges, and sided by gravelly slopes.

A plain track, made by water-carts, led him
about thirty feet from the road to such a place.
He got out, loosened Tom's check-rein, climbed
back, and drove forward. The great horse
stepped into the water with pleased stretchings
of his cramped neck, little snorts of delight, and
dainty mincing motions as if he protested, "I
don't quite like to v^et my nice new shoes."
In this customary waterside joke of Tom's
Willie always exulted, and now was so intent
on it that he gave no attention to a shout from
the hill.

The man who uttered it sprang from his
chair on the tavern "stoop," and ran, still
shouting, toward the canal.

354

KING TOM.

Before he had reached the foot of the hill,
men were running toward liini from all direc-
tions. For Willie had driven forward at a
place whei'e the village water-carts barely
backed in.

As Tom's beautiful nose touched the water he
swung up his head as if indicating, "I'm not
quite deep enough," and stepped forward. In-
stantly his forefeet slid from under liim down
the steep cutting, and he floundered, with a
loud snort of surprise, into and under the water.
The heavy dog-cart, tipping and Hinging Willie
out, pushed King Tom on.

Up the horse came, pawing with his forefeet,
striving almost coolly, for he was a brave creat-
ure. His hind feet seemed on the bottom, for
the canal was there only about six feet deep.
Then he thrust out his nose and swam, for still
the dog-cart was descending. Knowing now
the treacherous bank behind him King Tom
struck out for the opposite shore.

Willie, much surprised, but not enough
scared to cry out, found himself drawn along
by the reins. He forsook them at the thought
that he was embarrassing Tom, and then easily

KING TOM.

355

the hill,

11 direc-

t'd at a

barely

vater he
J"m not
rd. lu-
ll down
, with a
e water.
I Willie

forefeet,
^e creat-
tom, for
et deep,
for still
ng now
ng Tom

enough
^n along

thou^fht
sn easily

swam ashore. The package of silk dresses
floated out as if sucked along by the current of
the tilled and hidden vehicle.

Two men pulled the boy out on the tow path
and he turned to watch Tom, having as yet no
doubt that the liorse would swim ashore. Hut
Tom luul already reached the middle of tlie
canal. There the heavy dog-cart hung down
so ^:traight that he could swim no more.

With plunges he tried to spring forward.
His front lioofs beat the water incessantly, now
above it and then barely on the surface. Some-
times he Hung his sliouldcrs high, as if his hind
feet had rested a moment on tlie dog-cart's front.

Willie, seeing Tom becoming desperate, be-
gan to scream with grief, and tried to plunge in
to the rescue. The men held him.

"You can't do anything," they said. "Plis
hoofs would kill you. Lord — how he paws,
poor beast I And his yells — oh, it's awful I "

" Get me a rope ! " shouted Willie.

" There's two men run down to the locks for
one. But they can't get here in time. He'll
beat the life out of himself first. Keep still,
boy!"

356

KING TOM.

For Willie waj still struggliiicr to break away.
Tom's shrieks agonized him to madness. For
now the noble horse was wild in terror to bo so
entangled. His screams had that unsurpassed
wretcliedness which belongs to tlie voices of
dumb creatures inexpressibly in fear of death.

Willii', exhausted by his own strife to break
away, suddenly sank lim[) — not senseless, but
breathless. The men laid him on the ground
just as the crowd ])arted, and a big fellow with
a pike-pole came through.

" If some one could get hold of his bridle I "
said this man. " I can't swim."

But of all the men present not one cared
enough for a horse's life to make the venture.
To approach Tom looked indeed like a very
dangerous enterprise. He was half-turning as
he sprang, now here, now there, and seemed to
beat the water over a large area. It was a des-
perate risk to swim and reach for his head with
a pole little more than twelve feet long.

" Give me the pole ! " cried Willie, springing
up. Perhaps the men thought that the boy
who had put the horse in might well try to get
him out. Willie grasped the pole and plunged in.

k away.
38. For
to be so
ir passed
oi(!es of
death.
:,o break
less, Ijut
ground
o\v with

bridle ! "

le cared
venture,
a very
riling as
emed to
as a des-
ead witli

•

ipringing

the boy

y to get

iinged in.

Willie giaspt'd tlit- pole iuid plnnged in.

KING TOM.

357

Even in that strait the horse seemed to recog-
nize WDlie ; or perhaps exhaustion had begun
its calming effect. King Tom's hoofs ceased
from that furious striking, his plunges were
quieted ; he barely kept his head al)ove water.
Panting as if wdth liope he awaited the boy lie
loved. Willie never forgot how Tom looked at
him then.

The boy, cool now, thrust forward the pole
and caught its hook in the head-stall above the
bit. A cheer broke out behind him, and about
a dozen men plunged in to help. One seized
Willie's left hand — he held the pole in his
right. Another took that man's free hand, and
so they made a living chain to the iifty-feet-
distant sliore.

Then they pulled. It was, indeed, absurd to
suppose that the strength of a bo}' of fourteen
could drag a hoi\se and dog-cart; but crowds
are often senseless. They pulled — it was Wil-
lie's poor consolation that they did not break
his hold of the pole. The horse plunged up
and drew the boy toward him. At that the
nearest man forsook Willie's hand. Instantly
all the men scrambled frantically ashore.

,'■ Fl

358

KING TOM.

Willie, left alone with the pike-pole, which
had come loose from the hridle, faced Tom.
Now the horse was shrieking and pawing again.
The men shouted, "Come back,- boy — back —
you'll be killed ! "

At that King Tom, as if he had placed his
hind feet on the dashboard, flung himself so
high that he fell backward. For a few mo-
ments his head was under, and his four feet
struggling in the air. Then he came to his
side, and desperately righted.

Willie swam round him madly, trying to
fasten the hook in the bridle again. Then he
felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and turning
in the hope of seeing a helpful man, beheld the
face of Ott Eddis. Ott was almost crying —
he loved horses well.

" No use, boy," said Ott, " Tom's past help-
ing. You done your best like a mar. But
he's gone. He'd die anyhow if we dragged him
out. See — his strength is gone. lie's under."

Ott had a rope in his right hand. As they
drew him and Willie ashore the trainer said : —

"I'd give a thousand dollars rather than
you'd been here without me. But I was de-

U-

KING TOM.

359

le, which
;ed Tom.
ng again.

— back —

)laced his
limself so
, few mo-
four feet
ne to his

trying to

Then he

d turning

jeheld tlie

crying —

past help-
nar. But
•agged him
e's under."
As they
ler said : —
[ither than
I was de-

la3'ed. If I'd got here ten minutes ago I could
have choked liim and saved liim with my driv-
ing reins. You infernal cowardly fools I Why
didn't you help the boy?" he raved at the crowd
as he stepped ashore. Then he said reflectively,
"But men that don't know horses is fools."

Willie scarcely heard the trainer, lie heard
nothing but a little splashing. When he looked
back for Tom, he saw nothing but a package of
silk dresses floating low on the canal.

"King Tom's out of pain, boy," said the
horse-trainer, pitifully.

Ott led the desj^erate boy to Gorman's tavern,
borrowed dry clothes for him, left his own sulky
there, put jMaggie Meacham to a liglit buggy,
and drove Willie and the silk dresses to his
fatiier's house.

The boy saw nothing of the famous " action "
of Maggie on that long drive. He wept all the
way, and often screamed his remorse and his
love for King Tom. Ott, not finding Mr.
Blackadder at the house, left Willie and drove
to the lawyer'i, office.

Willie did not know the dresses had been
recovered till his sister burst out crying on see^

■ vm » cj. i' ." ) '■»

360

KJ^G TOM.

ing their condition. At that spectcacle of wet
silk his mother ordered Willie to his own room.

"I don't know whoo your father will do,
Willie," she said, locking him in without giving
him one word of sympathy. She was a good-
hearted woman, nevertheless ; but liow could
any woman love a horse as Willie loved Tom,
and how could any woman guess his woe I To
his mother Willie seemed simply a boy who
had carelessly destroyed a valuable horse and
two silk dresses. To Willie the acutest tragedy
was that, with Tom dead by his disobedience, his
mother and sister could think of silk dresses !

Willie lay on his bed, face down — his fount
of tears run dry. He dreaded his father's foot-
step. He knew his father had loved King Tom.

"But not as 1 did — not as I did — O Tom,
Tom, Tom, dear old Tom ! " thought the boy ;
and his woe found no voice but in dry sobs:
" Tom — Tom — O dear Tom."

The rod was sacred to Mr. Blackadder as a
Scriptural implement of discipline, — but Willie
had no dread of the whipping he expected.

"I hope he iviJl lick me — I ought to get it —
I hope he will," thought the boy, for his was a
nature that demanded penance,

KING TOM,

361

:le of wet
3W11 room.
; will do,
out giving
IS a good-
liow could
oved Tom,

woe I To
I l)oy who

horse and
est tragedy
edience, his
dresses !
— his fount
other's foot-
King Tom.

— 6 Tom,
it the boy;
1 dry sobs:

kadder as a
-but Willie
pected.
5 to get it —
)r his was a

The lawyer's heavy tread came up-stairs,
along the hall, to Willie's door. Willie sat up
on the bedside in horror, but not in physical
fear. His father loved Tom — his father could
never forgive him — he would see that in his
father's face !

Mr. Blackadder came in. He took the boy's
hand and put his arm round his neck. At the
affectionate gesture Willie flung himself, in a
storm of weeping, on his father's neck.

*' There — there — never mind, Willie. I
know how you feel about Toiii," said the father,
tenderly, holding the boy. " Wasn't he a dear,
good horse ? You and I will never forget him,
Willie. There — there — don't cry so — Ott
Eddis told me how bravely you tried to save
him. It's all right — your father is sorrier for
his boy than for poor Tom. And, Willie, do
you know I think we shall have Tom again. I
never could quite believe there is no place for
good horses in heaven ! "

At that strange word Willie lifted up his face
and looked into his father's loving eyes. And
the goodness of his father went nigh to break-
ing his heart.

CROCKETT'S MASTERPIECE

CLHGKHLLY, Arab of the City

HIS PROGRESS AND ADVENTURES.

By S. R. 4 ROCKETT.

Paper Cover, 60c.

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A LOVER IN HOMESPUN

AND OTHER STORIES.

/>> F. CLIFFORD SMITH.
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CONTENTS.— A Lover in Homospun— The Faith that Removes Moiin
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Old

Man

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AND OTHER STORIES

J._ J^_i__^_i_.Jfe^. Jl_?^

CONTKNTS. -Our* Man Savarin— Tiik

F'KIV!LK«K or TIIK LIMITS — McGHATIIS MaK

Nmjiit — Ohkat (J(t;rRKY's liAMK.NT— Thk
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OK KioAi I) Lnri.K Haptiktk -Thk Kidr
itv Ni(»iiT Dkamrd-A TruKKv Aimkck —

(JllANIH-Al- \'S \V()I,K SmiHY— TllK WaTKHI-OO

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Mrs. Kii)gsley's li^tories •

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