Phil came upon the scene––or rather, the scene came upon Phil––like a flash of lightning out of the heavens.
He was making down town, intent on spending half an hour with his pipe and the evening paper in a secluded corner of the Kenora Hotel, when he heard a shout and witnessed a scurrying of people into the middle of the road. Phil himself had hardly time to get out of the way of a mad horseman who was urging his horse and yelling like an Indian on the war-path; tearing along the sidewalk in a headlong gallop, striking at every overhanging signboard with the handle of his quirt and sending these swinging and creaking precariously––oblivious of everybody and everything but the crazy intent in speed and noise that seemed to possess him so fully.
“How long has he been at this?” Phil asked of an old, toothless bystander.
“Oh,––’bout half an hour, maybe more, maybe not quite so much,” came the reply.
“Nobody been hurt?” he inquired further.
“Guess nit! That Langford faller’s all right. On the loose again, and just a-lettin’ off steam. A good holler and a good tear on a cayuse ain’t goin’ to hurt nobody nohow, ’cept them what ain’t got no call to go and be interferin’.”
With difficulty Phil extricated himself from the man’s superfluity of negatives and continued on his way.
He passed through the saloon of the Kenora, which was already overflowing with the usual mob such places attract in any Western country town; ranchers, cowpunchers, real-estate touts, railway construction men, horse dealers, teamsters and several of Vernock’s sporty storekeepers and clerks.
He seated himself in a lounge chair in one of the side 234 rooms, lit his pipe and pulled out the previous day’s Coast newspaper. He was tired from his all day’s running around after Jim. It was a raw evening out-of-doors, but it was cosy in there. The popping of corks, the clinking of glasses, the hum of voices and the occasional burst of ribald laughter, even the quarrelsome argument; all had more or less a soothing effect, which began to make Phil feel at harmony with the world at large. He looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock. He stretched his legs, unfolded the large sheet and settled down comfortably.
He did not get very far. He had only scanned the headlines and had read the chief editorial, when the sound of an old, familiar voice in the saloon attracted his attention. He looked up.