e had not gone far before he met Baptiste coming back with his
team foaming, the roans going quietly, but the bronchos dancing, and
eager to be at it again.

'Voila! bully boy! tank the bon Dieu, Sandy; you not keel, heh? Ah!
you are one grand chevalier,' exclaimed Baptiste, hauling Sandy in and
thrusting the lines into his hands. And so they came back, the sleigh
box still dragging behind, the pintos executing fantastic figures on
their hind legs, and Sandy holding them down. The little Frenchman
struck a dramatic attitude and called out--

'Voila! What's the matter wiz Sandy, heh?'

The roar that answered set the bronchos off again plunging and kicking,
and only when Baptiste got them by the heads could they be induced to
stand long enough to allow Sandy to be proclaimed winner of the race.
Several of the lumbermen sprang into the sleigh box with Sandy and
Baptiste, among them Keefe, followed by Nelson, and the first part of
the great day was over. Slavin could not understand the new order
of things. That a great event like the four-horse race should not
be followed by 'drinks all round' was to him at once disgusting and
incomprehensible; and, realising his defeat for the moment, he fell into
the crowd and disappeared. But he left behind him his 'runners.' He had
not yet thrown up the game.

Mr. Craig meantime came to me, and, looking anxiously after Sandy in
his sleigh, with his frantic crowd of yelling admirers, said in a gloomy
voice, 'Poor Sandy! He is easily caught, and Keefe has the devil's
cunning.'

'He won't touch Slavin's whisky to-day,' I answered confidently.

'There'll be twenty bottles waiting him in the stable,' he replied
bitterly, 'and I can't go following him up.'

'He won't stand that, no man would. God help us all.' I could hardly
recognise myself, for I found in my heart an earnest echo to that prayer
as I watched him go toward the crowd again, his face set in strong
determination. He looked like the captain of a forlorn hope, and I was
proud to be following him.

CHAPTER III

WATERLOO. OUR FIGHT--HIS VICTORY

The sports were over, and there remained still an hour to be filled
in before dinner. It was an hour full of danger to Craig's hopes of
victory, for the men were wild with excitement, and ready for the most
reckless means of 'slinging their dust.' I could not but admire the
skill with which Mr. Craig caught their attention.

'Gentlemen,' he called out, 'we've forgotten the