emaining eye. Being blind, he had already passed that first corridor
of death--darkness. Roscoe stooped over him, took his hand, and spoke
quietly to him. Phil knew the voice, and said with a faint smile: "Do
you think they'd plant me with municipal honours--honours to pardners?"

"We'll see to that, Phil," said Mr. Devlin from behind the clergyman.

Phil recognised the voice. "You think that nobody'll kick at making it
official?"

"Not one, Phil."

"And maybe they wouldn't mind firin' a volley--Lights out, as it were:
and blow the big whistle? It'd look sociable, wouldn't it?"

"There'll be a volley and the whistle, Phil--if you have to go," said
Mr. Devlin.

There was a silence, then the reply came musingly: "I guess I hev to go.
... I'd hev liked to see the corporation runnin' longer, but maybe I can
trust the boys."

A river-driver at the door said in a deep voice: "By the holy! yes, you
can trust us."

"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. Every place
isn't Viking. One night we had a difference--not a quarrel, mind you,
but a difference. He was for lynchin' a fellow called Piccadilly, a
swell that'd come down in the world, bringin' the worst tricks of
his tribe with him. He'd never been a bony fidy gentleman--just an
imitation. He played sneak with the daughter of Five Fingers, an Injin
chief. We'd set store by that girl. There wasn't one of us