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"Shut up, Neil!" cried Paul angrily. "It isn't necessary for you to pitch into Cowan just because he's down on his luck." "I don't mind him," said Cowan, eying Neil with hatred. "He's sore about what I said. I dare say I shouldn't have said it. If he's Mills's darling " Neil pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet with blazing eyes. "Kindly get out of here," he said.
"Thank you, lads," he said; "remember, we may have to whistle for our pay." "Damn the pay!" cried Bill Cowan, and we echoed the sentiment. "We'll see what can be done about land grants," said the Colonel, and he turned away. At dusk that evening I sat on the back door-step, by the orchard, cleaning his rifle. The sound of steps came from the little passage behind me, and a hand was on my head.
"By gar!" cried Antoine le Gris, "now he drum us on to Detroit." Out of the gate rushed Cowan, the frightened villagers scattering right and left. Antoine had a friend who lived in this street, and in ten minutes there was rum in the powder-horns, and the toast was "On to Detroit!" Colonel Clark was sitting alone in the commanding officer's room of the garrison.
"Cowan took Kit's horse and led his own, which was about give out. He turned back east, up a draw where he won't be seen unless somebody's right on top of him. Eight or ten miles out he'll turn Foy's horse loose; he'll carry the extra saddle on a ways and drop it in a washout. They'll find Foy's horse and think he's roped a fresh one.
"You remember I told you I was looking for an investment of the proceeds of those bonds of Alexina's which matured the other day? This morning I took a mortgage on a boat Cowan is building at his yard." Alexina heard her name, but did not understand. There came a day the following spring when Alexina, seeking her aunt, wept. Harriet gazed at her dismayed, at a loss.
Amos said it was his umbrella and it had blown away from him and he had to go back and get the lantern to look for it. I felt like asking him what on earth he was going about with an umbrella open when it wasent raining. But the Cowans do such queer things. You remember the time Jerry Cowan sold us God's picture.
Cowan gave me the one look, swore a mighty oath, and leaping to the port shouted to Ray in a thundering voice what we were doing. "Dig!" roared Cowan. "Dig, for the love of God, for he can't hear me." The three of us set to work with all our might, Poulsson making great holes in the ground at every stroke, Polly Ann scraping at the dirt with the gourd.
Cowan, who was the dominant spirit of the party signalled to the others "So far so good." Miss Watson, even though the hour was early, was up, dressed neatly and at work. All of this was in the glance which Mr. Cowan shot over to his colleagues. Investigating still further, for Mr. Cowan knew the value of detail in estimating human character; the general arrangement of the room won his approval.
Bill Cowan ran for the fiddle which he had carried so carefully over the mountain, and that night we had jigs and reels on the common while the big fellow played "Billy of the Wild Woods" and "Jump Juba," with all his might, and the pine knots threw their fitful, red light on the wild scenes of merriment.
And so the first day the gates were opened we went into the fields a little way; and the next day a little farther. They had once seemed to me an unexplored and forbidden country as I searched them with my eyes from the sentry boxes. And yet I felt a shame to go with Polly Ann and Mrs. Cowan and the women while James Ray and Tom sat with the guard of men between us and the forest line.
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