The Rev. George Exton Lloyd—ultimately Bishop of Saskatchewan, and after whom Lloydminster, the Barr Colony town, is named—when coming through Battleford was, by a moderately representative meeting of colonists, invested with authority to lead that remnant of the party which craved to be led.
The mechanized world of business lost a good dynamo when Mr. Lloyd entered the church. Unfortunately for many of the run-down colonists, he was connected to their power scheme too late. Moreover, Britishers are not very keen on communistic ideals and faiths, even with masterful prophets as guides. Most of Barr's plans were too impracticable in any case; and, as a help to their total disintegration, the seeds of individualism planted in the temperaments of the colonists back in Britain now began to sprout and grow.
A few gregarious spirits for a long time fluttered round the altar candles, revelling in the rituals and ceremonies of the inner office shrine, and basking in the fierce white light shed by the new leader. The great majority of the colonists, though, were heartily sick of all guidance, except that provided by what they supposed was their own rugged common-sense. These took firm hold of their courage, scattered themselves over an expanse of prairie half as large as Wales, and without further fuss commenced tinkering with that delightful hobby known as the taming of homesteads.
The smash-up of Barr's schemes left his very personal followers high and dry. The worthier ones went farming. Some drifted into business. The sycophants, the satellites, the rump administrators, hung around Headquarters Camp for a few months, then vanished—some fairly slowly, like smoke on a calm evening; others swiftly, like jets of steam in a high wind.
CHAPTER XVII
Land Hunting
At this period in Canada's political history, the government was lucky enough to possess the allegiance of large numbers of faithful followers. From among these loyal disciples, several men were nominated to administrative positions at Barr Colony Headquarters. One big, fat, short-necked man had been picked for the rather important post of agricultural adviser. Several men were deputed to teach the famous Barr Colonists the secrets of farming. This person was one of them. His grandfather, and father, together with many uncles and cousins, had all been staunch supporters of the only true political faith. With these unique qualifications to recommend him, he easily secured one of the coveted positions.
It is difficult to imagine what would have been the plight of the tenderfoot colonists had they been deprived of the services of this great man, who, in ordinary life, before the extremely efficient Canadian patronage system miraculously perceived in him the germs of a future farm genius, had been employed by various companies "down east" as an itinerant night watchman.
He resided in a tent which was situated next to that occupied by Sam and Bert. In order to accomplish something, so that he might be able to report the miracle in his official diary, this singularly-gifted farming expert suggested accompanying the Trailey party on a trip to find and inspect their land. Time was hanging very loosely on his hands.
After, with delightful tact, persuading a colonist who was located near Headquarters Camp that his plough handles weren't meant to be used as shafts, he had settled back to enjoy a well-merited interval of leisure, and had made himself thoroughly comfortable in his wedge-shaped tent. He hobbled his horses and turned them loose; built himself a permanent bedstead; gave a hard-up settler a dollar to dig a trench round his tent; made himself a mosquito veil—which also served to strain the bugs out of his drinking water—and altogether conducted himself like a very wise man. But even political heelers sometimes crave a change from doing nothing. Running into Bert one evening, he said: