‘Why! what’s the matter with that? Ain’t that what you wanted?’
‘Yes! yes! God forgive me! I am afraid it was,’ he answered hurriedly; ‘but I must not.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ went on Abe cheerfully; ‘I’ll look after that part; and anyway, ain’t they the blankest blankety blank’—going off again into a roll of curses, till Craig, in an agony of entreaty, succeeded in arresting the flow of profanity possible to no one but a mountain stage-driver. Abe paused looking hurt, and asked if they did not deserve everything he was calling down upon them.
‘Yes, yes,’ urged Craig; ‘but that is not our business.’
‘Well! so I reckoned,’ replied Abe, recognising the limitations of the cloth; ‘you ain’t used to it, and you can’t be expected to do it; but it just makes me feel good—let out o’ school like—to properly do ‘em up, the blank, blank,’ and off he went again. It was only under the pressure of Mr. Craig’s prayers and commands that he finally agreed ‘to hold in, though it was tough.’
‘What’s to be done?’ asked Shaw.
‘Nothing,’ answered Craig bitterly. He was exhausted with his long ride from the Landing, and broken with bitter disappointment over the ruin of all that he had laboured so long to accomplish.
‘Nonsense,’ said Graeme; ‘there’s a good deal to do.’
It was agreed that Craig should remain with Nixon while the others of us should gather up what fragments we could find of the broken League. We had just opened the door, when we met a man striding up at a great pace. It was Geordie Crawford.
‘Hae ye seen the lad?’ was his salutation. No one replied. So I told Geordie of my last sight of Billy in the orchestra.