nt, not unwilling fists, was welcome everywhere, from the Bottle
River camps and the Cant-hook cutting to the bunk-houses of the Yellow
Tail, from beyond the Divide to the lower waters of the Big River, in
every saloon, bunk-house, superintendent's office and cook's quarters of
his wide green parish--welcome to preach and to pray, to bury, marry,
gossip and scold, and, upon goodly provocation, to fight, all to the
same righteous end. A clean man: a big, broad-shouldered, deep-chested,
long-legged body, with a soul to match it--a glowing heart and a purpose
lifted high. There was no mistaking the man by men.

John Fairmeadow, clad like a lumber-jack, upright, now, in the full
stature of a man, body and soul, grinned like a delighted schoolboy. His
fine head was thrown back, in the pride of clean, sure strength; his
broad face was in a rosy glow; his great chest still heaved with the
labour of a stormy trail; his gray eyes flashed and twinkled in the soft
light of Pale Peter's many lamps. Twinkled?--and with merriment?--in
that long, stifling, roaring, smoky, fume-laden room? For a moment: then
closed, a bit worn, and melancholy, too; but presently, with reviving
faith to urge them, opened wide and heartily, and began to twinkle
again. The bar was in festive array: Christmas greens, red berries,
ribbons, tissue-paper and gleaming tinfoil--flash of mirrors, bright
colour, branches of pine, cedar and spruce from the big balsamic woods.
It was crowded with lumber-jacks--great fellows from the forest, big of
body and passion, here gathered in celebration of the festival. John
Fairmeadow, getting all at once and vigorously under way, shouted "Merry
Christmas, boys!" and "Hello, Charlie!" to the bartender; and he shook
hands with Pale Peter, slapped Billy the Beast on the back, roared a
greeting to Gingerbread Jenkins, exclaimed "Merry Christmas!" with the
speed and detonation of a Gatling gun, inquired after Butcher Long's
brood of kids in the East, and cried "Hello, old man!" and "What's the
good word from Yellow Tail?" and "How d'ye do?" and "Glad t' see you!"
and everywhere shook hands and clapped backs--carefully preserving,
however, his own back from being slapped--and devoutly ejaculated "God
bless you, men! A Merry Christmas to you all and every one!" and
eventually disappeared in the direction of Pale Peter's living-quarters,
leaving an uproar of genial delight behind him.

John Fairmeadow's Shadow, however, unable to