RESURRECTION
A big bluff man, with wide, glowing face and stentorian voice, entered
the precincts of Garry about the end of July. He came invigorated by the
prospect of a fortnight's leave, with the outspoken intention of
enjoying himself. At every saloon--for he visited each
impartially--there was a resonant welcome from many boon companions.
McAuliffe was popular in his way among those of his own set.
So, three days after arrival, he might have been seen proceeding along
the principal street, accompanied by half a dozen elderly men, lined and
bearded, yet all disporting themselves like boys released from school.
They were all 'Company lads,' down on leave from northern posts,
actuated by a single idea of padding their few days of emancipation by
as large an amount of dissipation as possible.
Presently this gang rolled round an abrupt corner, to collide heavily
with a thickset man, buttoned up to the chin in a thick blue coat, and
smoking a cigar of abnormal dimensions. With difficulty he retained his
balance, though he completely failed to preserve contact with the undue
length of tobacco, which was dashed from his jaws by the force of
impact, and lay in the white dust. Before the owner could reclaim it,
McAuliffe had seized him in a bear-like grip.
'It's Captain!' he bellowed. 'Darned if 'tisn't old Captain Robinson.'
'Why! why! Alf McAuliffe, if I'm not a liar,' gasped the other. 'Well!
well! Hold on there, Alf. There's an hour's smoke lying on the trail.
Wait till I get my fist round it.'
'Boys!' said McAuliffe, turning to his companions, 'I'm going off for a
while. Want to have a talk with Captain here. Pass over the basket,
Pete.'
'You'll turn up later?' cried the satellites in unison, one of them
handing over a small brown hamper, which he seemed to relinquish not
unwillingly.
''Course. I'll meet you round the tent. Think I'm going to miss the
fun?'
Every beard wagged, each eye twinkled, at the prospect of approaching
diversion.
'Come on. Captain,' shouted the Factor, 'So long, boys. You're spoiling
for a good scrap, the whole derned crowd of you.'
'S'long, Alf.' Then the chorus, influenced by entire mutual
understanding, wheeled into an adjacent saloon, whither McAuliffe
followed them wistfully with his eyes.
He was, indeed, consuming with badly suppressed excitement. 'What do you
think is the last racket. Captain?'
The other blew a mighty cloud of germ-destroying smoke, and shook his
head.
'Never could guess a thing, Alf. Let's hear it.'
'Peter's preaching!' burst forth McAuliffe, in a voice that might have
been heard the other side of Garry.
'What, never old Peter? No: Peter Denton, that used to serve drinks at
the Tecumseh? I mind him well. Terrible on praying he was. Used to say a
grace before and after every glass of liquor. Not him, Alf?'
'That's who,' continued the Factor, heartily, 'That same living lump of
hypocrisy. He's got a big tent fixed up 'way north side of the fort, and
he holds what he calls revival meetings there every evening this month.
There's a sermon, then he takes up a collection--for rescuing unsaved
brethren. Least that's how he puts it, but I've got a fairish notion
that the only unsaved brother who has a look into that money is Mister
Peter himself. Don't tell a lie about it anyway, do he, Captain?'
The other chuckled behind his unwieldy cigar. 'What's your racket now,
Alf?'
'Going round there later, along with the other boys. We're going to put
ourselves in front seats and take in the whole darned show. We'll have
some fun, sure. Peter don't know I'm around here. He'll feel wonderful
surprised when he sees my old face peeking up under his nose. Wouldn't
wonder if it didn't come near spoiling his sermon.'
'Well! well! You're a teaser, Alf. But say, what's that you've got in
the basket there? Seems to me sort of uncomfortable to the nose.' He
blew a cloud of smoke, then sniffed suspiciously.
McAuliffe was almost ashamed of himself. 'Well, now, I'm a derned sort
of old-fashioned baby, ain't I? It's disgraceful at my time of life.
See, I don't often get a holiday, Captain. When the chance comes, I'm
bound to kick around a bit and knock up the dust. This is just a sort of
modest surprise party I've fixed up for Peter--to mind him of old times,
and show there's no ill feeling, you know. Captain.' Then he produced
from behind his back the brown hamper. The same appeared particularly
attractive to the flies, for a multitude of every species and size
hovered and buzzed over the straw cover. 'Don't touch. Captain. I tell
you they're as hearty as skunks.'
The Captain coughed suddenly, as an unsavoury odour assailed his
nostrils.
'What is it, Alf? Been buying up old fish?'
'Just eggs,' came the modest answer. 'But they weren't laid yesterday.
Tell you, Captain, if you look close, you can pretty near see the
feathers shooting out of the shell.'
'You're sort of hard on old Peter, strikes me,' began the other, but
McAuliffe choked him off at once,--
'Nothing's bad enough for the cowardly rascal. Shouldn't be surprised if
we cut the tent ropes before we're through with him.' He laid the
redolent hamper on the ground, that he might rub his hands in delight at
the thought.
This public demonstration called forth the astonishment of a passing
Chinaman, who stood and gazed blankly at the big man's evolutions.
'Here's more of your pards coming around,' said Captain Robinson.
'They'll be running you into a cool place presently, Alf, if they see
you cutting these sort of didoes.'
'Dern his gall!' exclaimed McAuliffe, catching up the hamper and
thrusting it against the Celestial's face. 'You git home, Johnny, and
wash your clothes.'
With unusual alacrity this command was obeyed.
'Now, Captain, come on back to the hotel and have a feed with me.'
'Can't do it, Alf. Got a whole crowd of things to fix up. Come round
later, if you like.'
'Well, be up half past nine. Sharp on time, you know; I'll be there.
Room No. 14. You'll find your way there by the smell of whisky. Least
that's what Dave said. Wonderful nose Davey has for that sort nothing,
anyway.'
'Right. If you don't turn up, I'll reckon the police have got hold of
you for making a disturbance, eh?'
McAuliffe picked up his basket with a chuckle. 'I'm young enough to play
the fool, but I'm too old to get caught,' he said. Then he made speedily
towards the saloon, where he knew his elderly companions might still be
found. A few minutes later he was vigorously quarrelling with the
bar-tender, who wanted to eject him and his unhealthy burden.
It was a strange spectacle, one which probably might not be seen in any
other country, thus to find several men, all of them distinctly past the
prime of life, indulging in capricious acts of rowdyism which could only
befit the average schoolboy. The officials of the H.B.C. chained down as
they are for the greater part of life to the monotonous loneliness of
some northern station, form a class apart from all others. As such a
class they are especially distinguished by a strong craving after
liquor--a natural product of a continued solitary existence--and a
juvenile impetuosity of manner, which can only exhibit itself during
their few days of leave, when they can return to civilisation to feel
themselves again surrounded by fellow creatures. The reaction is a
natural one. The anchorite who returns to the world generally plunges
deeply into the whirling vortex of pleasure, to make up as far as
possible for all he has lost. A conclusion points at once to the axiom,
that folly is no respecter either of age or person.
It was half an hour after the time appointed, when McAuliffe, arm-in-arm
with Dave Spencer, tumbled noisily into the hall of the hotel, where
Captain Robinson was waiting behind another cigar of great proportion.
'Fact is,' burst forth the Factor, as he entered in cyclonic fashion,
with a cut across the forehead and his big face adorned with several
bruises, 'we had a bit of a row with some of the fellows. Come on
upstairs. Captain; there we'll have a smooth time for next few hours.
Yes, 'twas a regular set-to tussle,' he continued, as they arranged
themselves upstairs. 'It wasn't so very far from a free fight. But we
got the best of it. Yes, we diddled them--though we weren't much of a
crowd, far as numbers went. Davey here came along just the right time,
and mixed himself up fine. I tell you, Captain, you'd have curled up if
you'd have seen Peter's face, when he spotted me sitting right down
front of him, with a grin on my face you might have measured by yards.
What with me encouraging him in a sort of whisper all the time, he
couldn't talk worth shucks. I just wish I could have got his face
photographed later on, when old Billy MacIntosh caught him per-lump on
the end of the nose with a fairly meaty egg. Tell you, it would have
drawn a grin out of a fence post. Dave was squirming around like a pesky
worm.' He dropped heavily into a chair, and shook again with laughter.
'It's too bad, boys,' said Captain Robinson. 'Here were you having a
smooth time, while I was putting in hard work.'
'Never mind. Captain,' said Dave, 'we're right in it now. Where's the
liquor, Alf?'
The Factor, with true hospitality, was helping himself first. Then the
bottle went round, the air became charged with smoke, conversation grew
discursive.
'Quite a long time since I saw you last, Alf. Dave I'm meeting down in
Selkirk pretty often. I reckon it's three years since we ran up.'
'It's all that since I was down. Garry's changed more than a little in
the time. You're the same, Captain. I reckon you've chewed your weight
in baccy since then.'
'I guess. How about yourself? How's the shooting, eh? Crack shot yet,
Alf?'
The Factor growled out a low laugh, and beat his great fist upon the
insecure table. 'Not a darned bit of it, Captain; it's no go. Tell you,
I'll never be able to shoot. Getting worse all the time. Listen here to
what happened a few days before I came away this trip. I was out early
to chop logs, and first thing I saw was a fat old tree-partridge,
settled on that big pine 'way outside the door. So I said to Justin,
"Fetch over your gun, boy, while I show you the way to knock down
partridges." I thought to myself, this is a slick shot right enough.
I'll have this old chap for breakfast. Well, I guess that bird knew
something about me, or maybe its pards had put it up to a thing or two,
for he kind of jerked his head a one side and looked at me, much as to
say, "What derned trick are you up to, anyway? Think you're going to fix
me, eh?" So Justin chucked me over the gun all ready, while the old fowl
sat tight as a rock. Then I took a good, steady aim and fired. Suppose I
must have brought down about a bushel of cones and truck. But when the
smoke cleared off, there was that partridge sidling along the bough
towards me, pleased as anything with himself, looking at me straight,
with as near a grin across his beak as any bird's ever managed yet.
"I'll shoot you by proxy, anyway," I shouted, and gave the gun over to
Justin. But before he could get a fair hold of it, that partridge was
off. You needn't tell me birds can't think out things for themselves.
Tree-partridges can, if other birds can't. That old fool knew well
enough I couldn't hit him, but he was pretty darned sure Justin could.
He reckoned it would be too risky to wait and see if he was right second
time.'
Dave reached across and turned up the lamp flame with deep-throated
chuckles. The Captain knocked an inch of ash from his cigar without
perceptibly shortening it. McAuliffe suddenly blew the stub of his out
upon the floor, in a shout of laughter.
'Goldam! can't get rid of old Peter's face time it stopped that egg.
Here! pass over that box of sharpshooters, Dave.'
It was now dark and silent outside. About the only sound round the
window was the dull, vibrating hum of mosquitoes. Presently the Factor
began to narrate his experiences during the previous year.
But when he came to relate a certain incident, which had occurred on
that autumn night of the boat's departure, the jocular lines were
stamped from the two faces, as their owners listened intently to the
narrative. Then the Captain spoke. 'You were full, Alf.'
'I was sober. Goldam! I was ridiculously sober.'
'Mind, there was Kitty as well,' put in Dave.
'That fixes it, if my words don't. I saw him plainly, just as I can see
you boys now. You can't guess how terrible scared I was the next few
days. I couldn't dare leave the fort after dark I made Justin hide away
the whisky keg. You can call me a razzle-witted old fool, but I hadn't
even the courage to walk over young Winton's grave in broad sunlight.'
There was a short interval of silence, then the Captain expanded his
nostrils. 'Reckon there's something burning in here.'
McAuliffe sniffed capaciously. 'You're right, Captain. Darn it, there's
my cigar stub working out a nice hole in that matting. I'm the sort of
fellow to be in a civilised place, ain't I?'
He went on his knees to examine the amount of injury done. 'Pass down
some water, Dave; there's a hole right here I could shove my head
through, and it's burning all the time.' When he had deluged the
flooring to his satisfaction, he continued, 'Now we'll just shift the
table, so that one of the legs will nicely go over the bald spot. Then
it won't get stuck down to my account. I reckon hotel servants never
move anything.'
Hardly had he spoken, when a deep, wailing sound throbbed forth and
echoed weirdly round the room.
The three started, then Dave shambled across and leaned as far from the
window as the insect frame would permit. Presently it came again--a
resonant iron cry, which solemnly thrilled the heart in the quiet night.
McAuliffe was still squatting on his haunches near the burnt matting. 'I
know what it is!' he said suddenly; 'Father Lecompte's dead.'
For it was the single bell of the dim church opposite.
'Sure of that, Alf?' said the Captain, in awe-struck tones.
'Dead certain. He's been terrible sick. Old Taché never left him all
last night. They said this morning he couldn't pull through to-day.
'Well, it's nice to be a good man, though they've got to go, same as us
bad 'uns.'
The muffled cry rang again. Then McAuliffe dragged himself back to the
chair. 'We've got to die, sure enough. They needn't get to work and
remind us of it, though, just as we're feeling good. Fill up, Captain.'
'Shut down the window,' cried Dave. 'Enough to give a fellow the
megrims, listening to that racket.'
'Too hot, Dave,' said the Factor. 'Here, we'll have a round of poker.
Wait till I get out the cards.'
_Plang!_
'Goldam! queer that a dirty bit of metal should put three men in the
suds. Cheer up, Captain; you're a chicken yet.'
He threw the cards across the table, then brandished a bottle round his
head.
'When round the bar,
A short life and a merry 'un
Is better far,
Than a long life and a dreary 'un.'
The other two took up the last line and howled it forth with the lusty
strength of unimpaired lungs.
'That's your style, Alf!' shouted Dave. 'Fill up the glasses, pard, and
to hell with the blue devils.'
_Plang!_
Three glasses were raised, emptied in a quick gulp, then replenished.
There were hurrying footsteps through the night beneath, while a
stranger, more solemn sound uprose from the church, where the windows
were filled with yellow light. A solemn mass was being sung for the
repose of the soul of the dead priest.
'Hold it down, Dave!' cried the Captain. 'Five cent ante, boys.'
The amber-coloured liquor gurgled pleasantly from the bottle neck and
splashed into the Factor's glass. His eyes shone as he gathered up the
five cards. 'We'll have our little jamboree well as them over the way, I
reckon.'
'Quit it, Alf,' said the Captain; 'I'm religious, mind. No blasphemy
here.'
McAuliffe laughed thickly into his glass. 'You're all right, Captain.
Mind how you won twenty dollars off me one Sunday, just before starting
for church? Reckon your religion wouldn't drag you from this bottle over
to yon service, eh?'
_Plang!_
'I'll raise you, Dave. That's nothing to do with it, Alf; I'm religious
when--when--'
'You're sick, eh?'
'There's a time for everything,' said the Captain, with the solemnity
that was liquor induced. 'I'm religious at the proper time, mind you,
just at the proper time. Other times I'm gay.'
'This is the gay time. Captain. You're a great lad! It's your pot. Ante
up, Dave.'
'Reckon it's time the bottle passed this side,' said the latter.
'Got to go by me first, Davey. Never mind, lad; I'll leave you the cork
to chew. That's right, Captain; hold your hand round it.'
_Plang-ang!_
'Bellringer's tight. Now then, Dave. Half for you, half for me. I'll
have the big half, and you take the little 'un. What's that, Captain? I
reckon I just will raise you.'
'Pass,' said Dave, clutching the bottle frantically.
'See you,' said the Captain, jerking his head forward over the table.
'Full house,' cried the Factor.
'Like us,' added the Captain. 'Good, Alf. Three kings.'
_Plang-ang._
'What's that?' cried Dave, quickly.
'Why, the pesky bell, you old rocket. You're everlastingly raddled,
Dave.'
'I'm not. There's somebody monkeying around outside.'
'Boil your head,' muttered the Captain. 'It don't matter, anyway; all
bad folks are asleep by this time.'
'I'm darned sure there was someone. Heard footsteps, then a sound like
striking a match to look for a number. Some of your pards after you, I
reckon. Alf.'
'Let 'em come. Lots of liquor for 'em. Fetch up that full bottle from
the corner,' shouted the Factor.
'Ante up first, Dave. You're the worst I ever saw for trying to sneak in
your nickles.'
Strong knuckles fell determinedly upon the door panel to prove the truth
of Dave's words.
'It's your pals, Alf,' said the Captain, with a chuckle. 'Bring 'em in,
and we'll make an everlasting night of it.'
'Bet you; it'll be the boys. They're after giving me a surprise party.
Lucky I'm not in bed, or they'd have dragged me out first thing.'
The heavy knocking came again, this time lasting longer.
'Come on, you old razzle-pates!' shouted McAuliffe. 'What are you
standing outside making that darned row for.'
'Come in and have a drink!' yelled the Captain, equally excited. Dave's
harsh voice also extended the invitation.
'Gimme that bottle, Dave. You're too derned full to get the cork out.'
Then the door opened slowly, but no more than two figures entered, and
one of these was a woman.
The three turned upon them with hearty cries of salutation; but the next
instant they were all upon the dirty matting, tied up in a knot of legs
and arms, clawing at one another, rolling over and over, with strange,
animal-like cries of fear.
_Plang-ang!_
'Old Billy!'
'Billy Sinclair!'
'Lord! Lord! I've got 'em this time!'