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Updated: May 11, 2025
Corrigan grunted. "I ordered that stuff six weeks ago, in anticipation of my victory in your court. You can see how I trusted in your honesty and perspicacity. I'll have it on the ground tomorrow some of it today. Of course I want to proceed legally, and in order to do that I'll have to have the court order this morning. You do whatever is necessary."
He disregarded this pastoral hint, and when the Archbishop Coadjutor of New York, Dr. Corrigan, went to Rome in 1883 to represent the Cardinal, who was unequal to the journey, he found the Propaganda by no means satisfied with the attitude of Dr. M'Glynn. Two years after this, in October 1885, Cardinal M'Closkey died, and Dr. Corrigan succeeded him as Archbishop of New York.
Corrigan's voice was dangerously even, and the Judge squirmed and coughed before he spoke the hesitating word that was an admission of his deception: "I told him where it was." Paralyzed with fear, the Judge watched Corrigan slip off the desk and approach him. He got to his feet and raised his hands to shield his throat as the big man stopped in front of him.
Corrigan had kept his promise to build Judge Lindman a courthouse. It was a flat-roofed structure, one story high, wedged between a saloon and Braman's bank building.
He saw Corrigan seated on a box on one of the flat-cars, smoking a cigar; another man, whom Trevison recognized as Gieger he would have been willing to swear the man was one of those who had thwarted his plans in the courthouse standing beside him, a Winchester rifle resting in the hollow of his left arm. Trevison urged Nigger along the level, down the track, and halted near Corrigan and Gieger.
He did not hear Corrigan laughing, nor the gleeful shouts of the men as they leaped ashore and with dripping boots advanced to the expected meal. All he knew was that wonderful clang! clang! clang! over him; the only thought in his little head was that he, he, Bobby Orde, was making all this noise himself!
But I sh'ud judge, lookin' at Corrigan's face, that it was a darlin' av a scrap." She was silent, gazing contemplatively out of the car window. Corrigan had returned, after escorting her to the car, to engage in a fight with Trevison. That was what had occupied him; that was why he had gone away without seeing her. Well, Trevison had given him plenty of provocation.
Little more was said until the Burton and Norcross store was reached, where, parting from their blue-uniformed companions, Christopher and the inspector ascended to the firm's private offices. Here on the desk of the senior partner Corrigan proceeded to unwrap and display the treasure he had recovered.
"'Why, Billy, says the priest, 'you're every place. 'But where I ought to be! says Billy; 'and that's hard and fast tackled to Mary Bane, the bride here, instead of that steeple of a fellow she has got, says the little cock. "'Billy, I thought you were married, said Father Corrigan.
That afternoon, Corrigan rode to the Bar B. The ranchhouse was of the better class, big, imposing, well-kept, with a wide, roofed porch running across the front and partly around both sides. It stood in a grove of fir-balsam and cottonwood, on a slight eminence, and could be seen for miles from the undulating trail that led to Manti.
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