'For keeping you where you are overnight,' said Mr. Craig, almost sternly.
The old man gazed at the minister, a light growing in his eyes.
'You're right. Thank God, you're right.' And then he turned quickly away, and went into the stable behind his team. It was a minute before he came out. Over his face there was a trembling joy.
'Can I do anything for you to-day?' he asked humbly.
'Indeed you just can,' said the minister, taking his hand and shaking it very warmly; and then he told him Slavin's programme and ours.
'Sandy is all right till after his race. After that is his time of danger,' said the minister.
'I'll stay with him, sir,' said old Nelson, in the tone of a man taking a covenant, and immediately set off for the coffee-tent.
'Here comes another recruit for your corps,' I said, pointing to Leslie Graeme, who was coming down the street at that moment in his light sleigh.
'I am not so sure. Do you think you could get him?'
I laughed. 'You are a good one.'
'Well,' he replied, half defiantly, 'is not this your fight too?'
'You make me think so, though I am bound to say I hardly recognise myself to day. But here goes,' and before I knew it I was describing our plans to Graeme, growing more and more enthusiastic as he sat in his sleigh, listening with a quizzical smile I didn't quite like.
'He's got you too,' he said; 'I feared so.'
'Well,' I laughed, 'perhaps so. But I want to lick that man Slavin. I've just seen him, and he's just what Craig calls him, "a slick son of the devil." Don't be shocked; he says it is Scripture.'
'Revised version,' said Graeme gravely, while Craig looked a little abashed.
'What is assigned me, Mr. Craig? for I know that this man is simply your agent.'
I repudiated the idea, while Mr. Craig said nothing.
'What's my part?' demanded Graeme.
'Well,' said Mr. Craig hesitatingly, 'of course I would do nothing till I had consulted you; but I want a man to take my place at the sports. I am referee.'
'That's all right,' said Graeme, with an air of relief; 'I expected something hard.'
'And then I thought you would not mind presiding at dinner--I want it to go off well.'
'Did you notice that?' said Graeme to me. 'Not a bad touch, eh?'
'That's nothing to the way he touched me. Wait and learn,' Ianswered, while Craig looked quite distressed. 'He'll do it, Mr.
Craig, never fear,' I said, 'and any other little duty that may occur to you.'
'Now that's too bad of you. That is all I want, honour bright,' he replied; adding, as he turned away, 'you are just in time for a cup of coffee, Mr. Graeme. Now I must see Mrs. Mavor.'
'Who is Mrs. Mavor?' I demanded of Graeme.
'Mrs. Mavor? The miners' guardian angel.'
We put up the horses and set off for coffee. As we approached the booth Graeme caught sight of the Punch and Judy show, stood still in amazement, and exclaimed, 'Can the dead live?'
'Punch and Judy never die,' I replied solemnly.
'But the old manipulator is dead enough, poor old beggar!'
'But he left his mantle, as you see.'
He looked at me a moment 'What! do you mean, you--?'
'Yes, that is exactly what I do mean.'
'He is great man, that Craig fellow--a truly great man.'
And then he leaned up against a tree and laughed till the tears came. 'I say, old boy, don't mind me,' he gasped, 'but do you remember the old 'Varsity show?'
'Yes, you villain; and I remember your part in it. I wonder how you can, even at this remote date, laugh at it.' For I had a vivid recollection of how, after a 'chaste and highly artistic performance of this mediaeval play' had been given before a distinguished Toronto audience, the trap door by which I had entered my box was fastened, and I was left to swelter in my cage, and forced to listen to the suffocated laughter from the wings and the stage whispers of 'Hello, Mr. Punch, where's the baby?' And for many a day after I was subjected to anxious inquiries as to the locality and health of 'the baby,' and whether it was able to be out.
'Oh, the dear old days!' he kept saying, over and over, in a tone so full of sadness that my heart grew sore for him and I forgave him, as many a time before.
The sports passed off in typical Western style. In addition to the usual running and leaping contests, there was rifle and pistol shooting, in both of which old man Nelson stood first, with Shaw, foreman of the mines, second.
The great event of the day, however, was to be the four-horse race, for which three teams were entered--one from the mines driven by Nixon, Craig's friend, a citizens' team, and Sandy's. The race was really between the miners' team, and that from the woods, for the citizens' team, though made up of speedy horses, had not been driven much together, and knew neither their driver nor each other.
In the miners' team were four bays, very powerful, a trifle heavy perhaps, but well matched, perfectly trained, and perfectly handled by their driver. Sandy had his long rangy roans, and for leaders a pair of half-broken pinto bronchos. The pintos, caught the summer before upon the Alberta prairies, were fleet as deer, but wicked and uncertain. They were Baptiste's special care and pride. If they would only run straight there was little doubt that they would carry the roans and themselves to glory; but one could not tell the moment they might bolt or kick things to pieces.
Being the only non-partisan in the crowd I was asked to referee.
