ky from two
kegs hoisted up for that purpose. Nixon was in his glory. It was
his night. Every man was to get drunk at his expense, he proclaimed,
flinging down bills upon the table. Near him were some League men he
was treating liberally, and never far away were Idaho and Slavin passing
bottles, but evidently drinking little.

I followed Graeme, not feeling too comfortable, for this sort of thing
was new to me, but admiring the cool assurance with which he made his
way through the crowd that swayed and yelled and swore and laughed in a
most disconcerting manner.

'Hello!' shouted Nixon as he caught sight of Graeme. 'Here you are!'
passing him a bottle. 'You're a knocker, a double-handed front door
knocker. You polished off old whisky-soak here, old demijohn,' pointing
to Slavin, 'and I'll lay five to one we can lick any blankety blank
thieves in the crowd,' and he held up a roll of bills.

But Graeme proposed that he should give the hornpipe again, and the
floor was cleared at once, for Nixon's hornpipe was very popular, and
tonight, of course, was in high favour. In the midst of his dance Nixon
stopped short, his arms dropped to his side, his face had a look of
fear, of horror.

There, before him, in his riding-cloak and boots, with his whip in his
hand as he had come from his ride, stood Mr. Craig. His face was pallid,
and his dark eyes were blazing with fierce light. As Nixon stopped,
Craig stepped forward to him, and sweeping his eyes round upon the
circle he said in tones intense with scorn--

'You cowards! You get a man where he's weak! Cowards! you'd damn his
soul for his money!'

There was dead silence, and Craig, lifting his hat, said solemnly--

'May God forgive you this night's work!'

Then, turning to Nixon, and throwing his arm over his shoulder, he said
in a voice broken and husky--

'Come on, Nixon! we'll go!'

Idaho made a motion as if to stop him, but Graeme stepped quickly
foreword and said sharply, 'Make way there, can't you?' and the crowd
fell back and we four passed through, Nixon walking as in a dream, with
Craig's arm about him. Down the street we went in silence, and on to
Craig's shack, where we found old man Nelson, with the fire blazing, and
strong coffee steaming on the stove. It was he that had told Craig, on
his arrival from the Landing, of Nixon's fall.

There was nothing of reproach, but only gentlest pity, in tone and touch
as Craig placed the half-drunk, dazed man in his