‘“He pleased not Himself,”’ quoted Nelson reverently.
‘Nelson is right,’ said Graeme. ‘I should not like to see him weaken.’
‘Look here,’ I stormed; ‘I didn’t bring you men to back him up in his nonsense. I thought you could keep your heads level.’
‘Now, Connor,’ said Graeme, ‘don’t rage—leave that for the heathen; it’s bad form, and useless besides. Craig will walk his way where his light falls; and by all that’s holy, I should hate to see him fail; for if he weakens like the rest of us my North Star will have dropped from my sky.’
‘Nice selfish spirit,’ I muttered.
‘Entirely so. I’m not a saint, but I feel like steering by one when I see him.’
When after a week had gone, Craig rode up one early morning to his shack door, his face told me that he had fought his fight and had not been beaten. He had ridden all night and was ready to drop with weariness.
‘Connor, old boy,’ he said, putting out his hand; ‘I’m rather played. There was a bad row at the Landing. I have just closed poor Colley’s eyes. It was awful. I must get sleep. Look after Dandy, will you, like a good chap?’
‘Oh, Dandy be hanged,!’ I said, for I knew it was not the fight, nor the watching, nor the long ride that had shaken his iron nerve and given him that face. ‘Go in and lie down I’ll bring you something.’
‘Wake me in the afternoon,’ he said; ‘she is waiting. Perhaps you will go to her’—his lips quivered—‘my nerve is rather gone.’ Then with a very wan smile he added, ‘I am giving you a lot of trouble.’