DURING THE DAY
Next morning the sun came up brightly in a clear blue sky. Two hours
later a hot wind began to blow softly from the direction of the
international boundary, bringing with it a heavy haze which soon settled
over the entire heaven. Then the breeze dropped, while a dead calm
brooded above and around Fort Garry. But the heavy atmosphere remained,
enwrapping the place in a sweltering, mist-like shroud, through which
the blinded rays of the sun fell sullenly in a stifling glare. Later,
the heat became fear fully intense. Men, scantily attired, might have
been seen stretched indolently in every patch of shade along the shelter
of each house, fanning their perspiring faces with wide-brimmed hats.
Insect pests, prominent among which appeared flying ants and malevolent
'bulldogs,' revelled in the thick air, to feed joyously off abundance of
human and animal flesh.
Two strange-looking apparitions dragged their limp bodies from the
depths of a profound ditch, which may even now be found to the west of
the modern city of Winnipeg, and gazed around, then at each other, in
utter bewilderment. Their faces were red with insect bites, and very
dirty; their clothes were torn and covered with grass marks; they wore,
in fact, the appearance of men who had unconsciously enjoyed a night
out.
Presently the more genial looking of the two bethought himself of
speech. 'Well, Dave, strikes me we've been camping out.' When the idea
fully struck him, he slapped his knee as he sat on the edge of the
ditch, and laughed lustily.
Dave was sulky and large headed. One side of his nose was much swollen,
while a great thirst irritated his soul. He merely growled forth an
incoherent reply.
'Tell you what it is,' continued the Factor. 'You've been loaded up
again, lad. Guess I was seeing you home, when you went to work, tumbled
into this ditch and dragged me in after you.'
The plausible explanation roused a sense of injustice in the other's
breast. 'Why didn't you get out and go home, then?'
'It's a steep fall, Davey. Mind I'm getting oldish now. Reckon the shock
would have stunned me. Must have been that, for I feel sort of queer in
the head.'
Dave was panting like a dog, and vainly endeavouring to moisten his
cracked lips. 'I've got a terrible thirst, Alf,' he exclaimed
pathetically. 'I'm pretty near bad enough to drink water.'
Here the other could sympathise. 'You're bad, Dave, all right,' he said.
'Now you're talking, I almost reckon something cool would sort of make
me easier. Come on, let's git.'
They dragged themselves upright to retrace the steps of the previous
night. 'Goldam!' exclaimed the Factor, 'it's going to be a scorcher
to-day.'
Presently they came out upon the Assiniboine. By a tacit and mutual
understanding they shambled down the long shelving bank. Then, stretched
at full length along the ground in luxurious fashion, they plunged their
faces into the cool stream and sucked up long draughts of the pure
water. Physically refreshed after this act of temperance, they sat for
some time on a grass patch renovating their garments.
'Tell you, Alf,' proclaimed Dave more good-humouredly, 'folks'll be
wondering what's lowered the river.'
They filled their pipes, though tobacco smoke was almost stifling in
that atmosphere. Then they struck along the homeward trail.
'I'm terrible mixed up, Dave,' confessed the Factor, after a silent
interval. 'Seems to me old Billy Sinclair turned up again last night. A
fellow gets hold of queer notions at times, don't he?'
Dave assented, though somewhat doubtfully. 'I've got a sort of idea
there was a whole crowd of us. A good crowd, you know, Alf, just having
a quiet talk.'
'Then some bell started a racket, and old Billy's ghost turned up to
scare us. Remember that, Dave?'
'Queer we should both get hold of the same notions, I mind hearing a
laugh right by my ear, and I said to myself, well, well, that's just
like old Billy's voice grin. Couldn't have been, Alf?'
'Don't see how,' said the Factor, unwillingly. 'Billy got fixed last
summer.' But then a direful thought came upon him. He stopped and
grabbed at his companion. 'You saw him, Dave? You saw Billy, same as
me?'
'I didn't say that, Alf. I couldn't swear to it. I sort of thought I saw
him. Put it that way, Alf.'
'How am I looking, Dave? Kind of wild the eyes--crazy, you know, Dave?'
'You look right enough. Eyes are same usual, 'cept for a bit of dirt
under them.'
'Well, well,' muttered the Factor, reassured, was terrible scared I'd
got 'em. But if I have, you've got 'em, too. That's sort of consoling,
anyway.'
Dave was alarmed. 'We'll have to fix this up right away. It's ter'ble
having to walk around, not knowing if your brains are right. What do you
think, Alf?'
McAuliffe was inclined towards the gloomy side. 'It's a matter of doubt,
clean enough. If we can see men that ought to be lying quiet in their
graves, it can't be anything but a bad sign. We'd best make off to bed,
Dave, and see if we can't sleep it off.'
'There's my nose, too. It's painful, I tell you. Feels as if someone had
been dancing on it. That's another mystery, Alf.'
'There's lots of 'em,' said the Factor, mournfully. 'How did we come in
that ditch, Dave? Billy's ghost couldn't have chucked us there. I'll
make inquiries soon as I get back to the hotel, and find out if they
know anything.'
'They wouldn't have seen Billy's ghost,' interrupted Dave.
'It's true enough, Dave. I tell you, I don't like it, for my head feels
a bit shaky. It would be terrible if we were both locked up in an
asylum.'
Dave shivered at the thought. 'I guess it's the heat, Alf,' he said
hopefully. 'I'm feeling a bit beetle-headed--but not crazy. No, Alf, not
crazy.'
'Then there was Captain smoking a cigar,' continued McAuliffe, blankly.
'I mind it. 'Twas how I reckoned the time watching it getting shorter.
Well, well, Alf, we've had strange dreams this night, sure.'
'It's been a terrible bad night, Dave,' replied the Factor, ominously.
Then they quickened speed, in spite of the increasing heat, anxious to
get back to the hotel and learn the worst. Their remaining remarks were
divided impartially between mutual sympathy for a terrible affliction,
and disputings as to whether the hunter's appearance had been real or
imaginary. McAuliffe's final opinion was that Sinclair had actually
appeared in the flesh, but that Dave was 'terrible crazy, anyhow.'
It was late afternoon before Sinclair felt himself disposed to stir
outside into the white, stifling glare. But business called him, so he
presently made off to attend to preliminaries of the approaching night
work. This accomplished, he turned towards the hotel where he had made a
dramatic appearance some hours earlier, but had not journeyed over half
the distance when he encountered no less a person than Captain Robinson,
as usual buttoned up to the neck in his blue coat, and pulling at a
formidable cigar. This latter gentleman appeared to have no appreciation
whatever of heat.
They linked arm in arm at once, though the hunter was unwilling to walk
abroad for any distance. 'Don't want Lamont to get sight of me,' he
said. 'It would scare him badly, I've no doubt, but then he might take
it into his head to clear out before night.'
'Which direction does he live?' asked the Captain.
Sinclair nodded his head backwards. ''Way north,' he said. 'Comfortable
little shanty. Married, too.'
'He's a daisy. Well, Billy, he's run down at last.'
'Sure enough,' agreed the hunter.
Then their conversation veered towards the events of the night
preceding.
'Wonder where Alf is,' said Sinclair.
'I've just come from the hotel. Fellow there said Alf and Dave Spencer
came tumbling in this morning, looking a bit used up, and crazy to know
whether you'd turned up last night. They got mixed up over the drinks,
so couldn't be sure whether they'd seen you or your ghost. Alf was
wonderful relieved when he found out 'twas you right enough. Took
another drink on the strength of it. He'd gone out again then. Guess
we'll find him bumming around some place.'
Sinclair chuckled. 'Alf can't be still long, when he's awake. Got lots
of life for his age.'
'Reckon I know him better than you, Billy,' said the Captain, who was
dropping into a talking vein. 'Last night he was accusing me of being
religious--so I am, mind you, Billy--but it may surprise you to hear
that Alf himself gets the fit at times. No, you never would suspect him
of getting any idea on religion. Before he went north as Factor, he was
clerk in a store down Port Arthur way. I knew him well then. He used to
have a whole lot of literary truck someone had sent him up from the
States. Always reading these books, he was. You know, Billy, they
weren't the sort of thing you could safely put before a Sunday school
class. Well, 'bout twice a year regular, I'd get a bundle from Alf with
a sort of note, which would read this way, "Got a bit of religious fit
on me. If I kept these, reckon I should tear them up. I'd be sorry for
that later. Sending them on to you to look after till I'm all right
again. One in the blue cover's best for reading." A week or so later,
another letter would turn up, something this way, "It's all right.
Captain. Religious fit over. Send along books soon as you can." One day,
though, the fit came on him sudden, before he had time to mail off the
books to me; so he burnt them all right on the spot. Tell you, he was
mad when the fit passed.'
They were now approaching the business portion, as represented by a
short length of sidewalk, and a few stores crowned by offices. When
about a hundred yards distant, they both became attracted by the
spectacle of a knot of people, in the centre of which gleamed hotly the
red coats of a couple of the militia, who at that time were responsible
for the orderly conduct of those living in the Red River Settlement. The
band approached slowly through the heat, while shouts and derisive
laughter ascended continuously. There was a certain deep roar, which
completely drowned all other voices.
The two outsiders became more interested. 'I'm dead sure that was Alf,'
said the hunter.
'There's fun going on, sure,' said the Captain, beaming at the thought.
'Let's get over there, Billy.'
Sinclair soon spoke again. 'It's only a blackleg pulled up, Captain.'
The soldiers just then had particularly strict orders to immediately
arrest all suspicious characters seen about the fort, because many
unprincipled actions had latterly been committed by members of the
loafer fraternity. Therefore the smallest unprincipled action
perpetrated in Garry during these days, immediately subsequent to the
Rebellion, seriously endangered personal freedom of action.
Then they came up to the excessively hot yet jubilant procession, which
was composed somewhat as follows,--
A motley crowd of loafers and deadbeats, who jeered in unison, and part
sympathy for the law-breaker, at the perspiring efforts of the police
behind; a plentiful sprinkling of the omnipresent small youth, and
ubiquitous dogs; then the culprit himself, half dragged, half supported
by the two soldiers; close behind appeared the master of ceremonies, one
Alfred McAuliffe, closely attended by a jovial party of grey-bearded
men, who strenuously seconded the efforts of the chief speaker by
pelting the prisoner with language and what missiles came convenient;
the procession closed by more loafers of assorted classes, with other
specimens of small fry, both human and canine.
All interest was centered upon the prisoner, who was being forcibly
projected along the strip of sidewalk, indulging in language more varied
than seemly. He was no less important a personage than Peter Denton.
The factor was in a condition bordering closely upon extreme bliss.
Shouting with the full force of his great voice, he strode along the
walk, inciting the already too-willing small boys towards the
persecution of the luckless prisoner. A huge felt hat crowned the red
face, which was glistening with heat and delight, while big drops
coursed unregarded along his nose, to be buried and lost within the
mazes of his thick beard.
'Reckon we've found Alf,' said the Captain, blowing a greasy smoke cloud
from his lips.
'Well, I should remark!' said the hunter.
'Pick up good chunks of mud, boys,' shouted the Factor. 'Don't bother
about the stones. Fifty cents to the younker who first catches him on
the nose.'
'Make way, there!' ordered the police.
The advance guard of deadbeats yelled derisively.
'What's he done?' asked the hunter, stopping an individual with a
bibulous nose.
'Hooked some bills that he found lying around a bit too handy--'bout
fifty dollars, they say,' came the answer.
'They'll tan his hide for that,' chuckled the Captain. 'Where was it?'
'Don't know for sure. But while ago he started in to paint the
Archbishop blue. Putting out some terrible talk he was.'
'They wouldn't stand that,' said the hunter.
'Bet you they wouldn't. The boys were hot at him, before the boiled
'uns[1] came round. Ter'ble thirsty day, ain't it?'
But this hint passed disregarded.
'Don't hit the bullet stoppers, boys. They're only for show, and won't
stand rough handling.' The Factor's bodyguard loudly applauded this
sally against the unpopular police force.
Then an old man, who was hobbling briskly along with the assistance of a
couple of sticks, delivered himself of an opinion. 'I tell you, boys
all, this chap's as crooked as the river. If I was asked to lend a hand
to splice him to a tree, don't know that I'd refuse.'
'Right enough. He's a teaser,' said another. 'He was swearing bad, right
out in the middle of the road, with ladies passing and all.'
'That's so. I was listening to him. After a while I swore back at him,
but it warn't any use,' said a fat man, with the air of one who has
executed an unpleasant duty. 'My pard, Sammy swore at him as well.
Didn't you, Sammy?'
He gazed round, but Sammy was only conspicuous by absence.
'He was using fearful words of blasphemy,' said a weird-looking
individual, in the mottled garb of a minister.
'You and he wouldn't quarrel on matters of religion, then,' retorted the
deadbeat of the bibulous nose. The noise became at once increased by an
exchange of vocal amenities, in which, be it said, the minister more
than held his own.
The procession reached a drinking saloon. Here it might have been
noticed that a perceptible diminution in the crowd took place. But the
Factor refused all such temptations, and remained faithful to the end.
'You're speaking your own language now, Peter,' he shouted, in his
stentorian voice. 'There's no hypocrisy in you now. Keep it up, boys!'
'Hit him for me!' said a malicious little man with a squint. 'That
blackleg cheated me out of five dollars the other day. I've never been
able to get square.'
'All your friends coming up, Peter,' continued McAuliffe. 'Goldam!
wouldn't have missed this--not for a hundred dollars, cash down!'
'What there, Alf!' cried the Captain.
McAuliffe turned, and recognised the two. 'Come on, Captain! Here's more
fun than a bagful of monkeys. Hello, Billy! Goldam! this is the first
time you haven't scared me. Join right on with the crowd. After we've
seen Peter to the cooler, we'll go and get some supper.'
They did as directed, while the Factor returned to business.
'It'll be a case of a big fine, or a few months on the stones!' he
shouted, with considerable unction. 'Know you haven't two five cent
pieces to rub together, Peter; so we'll have to part from you for a
time. Guess a few of the saloon keepers will have to shut up after
you're gone.'
The procession wheeled sharply round a corner, and made for the place of
detention. Here McAuliffe was compelled unwillingly to part from his
victim and return to the hotel. When there he put a leading question to
the hunter, 'Got the warrant out, Billy?'
Sinclair nodded. 'We're going round to net him soon as it's dark,' he
replied.
No question was asked as to the whereabouts of Menotah. Indeed, for the
time they had forgotten all about her. She was not one of them, she had
nothing to do with their affairs, so why should they think about her?
Her sorrow could not concern them.
[1] The soldiers.