"I'm thinking ye need not," said Mackay dryly. "It's a farewell to Miss Haldane they're giving."
We gathered at the opened window, looking down at a striking spectacle. A vehicle stood waiting, and behind it, lighted by the glow of kerosene torches, a mass of faces filled the street. The heads were uncovered almost simultaneously, and Lucille Haldane appeared upon the hotel steps, with her attendants behind her. At first she shrank back a little from the gaze of the admiring crowd, to whom her spirit and beauty had doubtless appealed; but when one of them urged something very respectfully, with his hat in his hand, she moved forward a pace and stood very erect, a slight but queenly figure, looking down at them.
"I am honored, gentlemen," she said falteringly, though her voice gained strength. "It was merely a duty I did, but I am gratified that it pleased you, just because it shows that all of us are proud of our country and eager, for its credit, to crush oppression and see justice done to the downtrodden."
The street rang with the cheer that followed, and when Dixon seized his hat the action was infectious. The next minute we were moving forward amid the ranks of the enthusiastic crowd behind the vehicle, which jolted slowly towards the station; and I discovered later that the uncomfortable sensation at the back of my neck was caused by the hot oil from a torch, which dripped upon it. In the meantime I noticed nothing but the sea of faces, the tramp of feet, and the final burst of cheering at the station, in which Mackay, holding aloft his forage cap, joined vociferously.
"It's only fit and proper. She's as good and brave as she's bonny," he said.
CHAPTER XXIV
A SECRET TRIBUNAL
Some little time had elapsed since my acquittal, when, one pleasant summer morning, I rode out from the railroad settlement bound for Bonaventure. The air was soft and balmy, the sunshine brilliant, and the prairie sod, which, by that time, had in most years grown parched and dry, formed a springy green carpet beneath the horse's feet. There had but once before been such a season within my memory, and my spirits were almost as buoyant as the wallet in my pocket was heavy. The lean years had passed and left us, perhaps a little more grave in face and quiet in speech, to look forward to a brightening future, while the receipts I had brought back from the nearest town meant freedom at least.
I was also unwearied in body, for the roll of paper money in the wallet had made a vast difference to me, and instead of riding all night after a long railroad journey, I had slept and breakfasted well at the wooden hotel. Indeed, I almost wondered whether I were the same man who had previously ridden that way in a state of sullen desperation, spurred on by hatred and dogged obstinacy instead of hope. Now I was, however, rather thankful than jubilant, for my satisfaction was tempered by a perhaps unusual humility. Steel, Thorn, and I had, in our own blundering fashion, made the best fight we could, but it was the generosity of others and the winds of heaven which had brought us the victory.
Distance counts for little in these days, when the steel track and the modern cargo steamer together girdle the face of the globe; and the loss of others had been our gain. There had been scarcity in Argentina, and Australian grass was shriveling for want of rain. Famine had smitten India, and the great cattle-barons beyond our frontier had been overbusily engaged, attempting the extermination of the smaller settlers, to attend their legitimate business; so buyers in Europe were looking to Canada for wheat and cattle. Our own beasts had flourished, and before the usual season we had driven every salable head in to the railroad, riding in force behind them. That drive and the events which followed it were worth remembering.