"Eh, Nicholas?" the minister challenged him. "Did I understand you to say 'the hell?'"
"The hell you did, Parson!" The Bully turned on him truculently. "And what the hell hev you agin it?"
"If no better argument, Nicholas," smiled Maclane, "the girls won't stand for hell."
"Parson," Nick acknowledged his defeat, "the drinks is on me." Later he took occasion to state, "I ain't convarted. But, say, Parson, you're jes' the squarest proposition Gawd ever grub-staked ter prospect fer human souls, and, say—I won't oppose you none. And when I pass in my checks jes' you stand by my grave, and put up a little prayer fer my epitaffy, 'He done his level damnedest, angels cud no more. Amen.'" Then he took from Gelly's arms the fine infant she had brought to show him, described by its fond father as "a velly godam skukum Clistian baby." Dandling it tenderly, "See here, son," he adjured it, "ef I find indications of you takin' arter me—gamblin', cussin', drinkin',—why, grandpop 'ull spankee, d'ye see?"
His mind thus freed, his future pacific course outlined, Nick inquired, circumstantially for "the girls." Sarah, he learned, was the great lady of the place, making a large income as a "lady-barber," her firm hand, unshaken as her masculine competitors were apt to be by sprees, making her a peculiarly safe artist to be trusted to operate with a razor in the region of the jugular, and her husband's copper proposition still remaining an undeveloped asset, she was forcing him to work for regular wage as a teamster. In spite of which, on his occasional lapses Sandy was wont to boast that at heart he was "a mon for a' that."
The orphans all had settled down; Mary, having discovered a new violet at the foot of a glacier, had paired off with the young botanist who had been sent out from Ottawa to report on the flora of the region. Ruth was running postoffice and postmaster. Ethel and the town doctor had made a match. Kate's lot was cast with Bill, now doing assessment work and writing to his mother regularly. Effie had pre-empted the young editor of the weekly Claim, helping both to write his editorials and set them up in type. Gertrude had struck it rich with the bank manager. All would be on hand at the ball to-night. No, Evelyn had not made a choice. Rumor assigned her to Scarlett, yet how matters stood between them no man could say with certainty.
At this the Bully's eye took on a fiery glow. "Ef thet thar uniformed cuss is a-playin' fast an' loose with Lucky's gal, d'ye see, it's up ter me to set it straight!" And, forthwith, he led the way to Evelyn's bower.
Evelyn was found, outside her cabin, superintending the arrangements for a grand display of fireworks in honor of the double holiday; the crowning piece to show the two flags crossed beneath a wondrous rainbow. By a coincidence that exactly suited the Bully's plans, Scarlett was, at the minute, seen approaching. After greetings had been interchanged with all heartiness, suddenly the young soldier found himself surrounded by the men—Nick, in the center, pointing a gun at his heart. Evelyn shrieked, and would have interposed, but was forced back by hands roughly tender, tenderly peremptory.
"Well, boys," asked Scarlett, calmly, "is this some new kind of game?"
"Thet's as mebbe," answered Nick. "See here, Missy Durant, it ain't human natur fer a gal ter stay single in a minin'-camp."