them. Once Vigon had found coal. That was
when he worked for a man called Constantine Jopp, and had given him great
profit; but he, the discoverer, had been put off with a horse and a
hundred dollars. He was now as devoted to Terence O'Ryan as he had been
faithful to Constantine Jopp, whom he cursed waking and sleeping.

In his time O'Ryan had speculated, and lost; he had floated a coal-mine,
and "been had"; he had run for the local legislature, had been elected,
and then unseated for bribery committed by an agent; he had run races at
Regina, and won--he had won for three years in succession; and this had
kept him going and restored his finances when they were at their worst. He
was, in truth, the best rider in the country, and, so far, was the owner
also of the best three-year-old that the West had produced. He achieved
popularity without effort. The West laughed at his enterprises and loved
him; he was at once a public moral and a hero. It was a legend of the West
that his forebears had been kings in Ireland like Brian Boroihme. He did
not contradict this; he never contradicted anything. His challenge to all
fun and satire and misrepresentation was, "What'll be the differ a hundred
years from now!"

He did not use this phrase, however, toward one experience--the advent of
Miss Molly Mackinder, the heiress, and the challenge that reverberated
through the West after her arrival. Philosophy deserted him then; he fell
back on the primary emotions of mankind.

A month after Miss Mackinder's arrival at La Touche a dramatic performance
was given at the old fort, in which the officers of the Mounted Police
took part, together with many civilians who fancied themselves. By that
time the district had realized that Terry O'Ryan had surrendered to what
they called "the laying on of hands" by Molly Mackinder. It was not
certain, however, that the surrender was complete, because O'Ryan had been
wounded before, and yet had not been taken captive altogether. His
complete surrender seemed now more certain to the public because the lady
had a fortune of two hundred thousand dollars, and that amount of money
would be useful to an ambitious man in the growing West. It would, as Gow
Johnson said, "Let him sit back and view the landscape o'er before he puts
his ploughshare in the mud."

There was an out-door scene in the play produced by the impetuous
amateurs, and dialogue had been interpolated by three "imps of fame" at
the suggestion