"
"Thank you kindly. . . . If it doesn't make any difference to the rest,
I'd like to be alone with The Padre for a little--not for religion, you
understand, for I go as I stayed, and I hev my views,--but for private
business."
Slowly, awkwardly, the few river-drivers passed out--Devlin and Mrs.
Falchion and Ruth and I with them--for I could do nothing now for him--he
was broken all to pieces. Roscoe told me afterwards what happened then.
"Padre," he said to Roscoe, "are we alone?"
"Quite alone, Phil."
"Well, I hevn't any crime to tell, and the business isn't weighty; but I
hev a pal at Danger Mountain--" He paused.
"Yes, Phil?"
"He's low down in s'ciety; but he's square, and we've had the same
blanket for many a day together. I crossed him first on the Panama level.
I was broke--stony broke. He'd been shipwrecked, and was ditto. He'd been
in the South Seas; I in Nicaragua. We travelled up through Mexico and
Arizona, and then through California to the Canadian Rockies. At last we
camped at Danger Mountain, a Hudson's Bay fort, and stayed there. It was
a roughish spot, but we didn't mind that.
Pages:
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311