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Updated: May 17, 2025
McCann had camped on the nearest water to the agency, and after dinner we caught out the top horses, and, dressed in our best, rode into the agency proper. There was quite a group of houses for the attachés, one large general warehouse, and several school and chapel buildings. I again met the old padre, who showed us over the place.
I was conscious that my client was fumbling in his clothes for the wallet; that he had muttered an invitation for the chief to go inside. McCann smoked uneasily. "I don't want to search the boat, sir." At these words we all turned with one accord towards the cabin. I felt Farrar gripping my arm tightly from behind. The Celebrity had disappeared! It was Mr. Cooke who spoke.
Jack finally drove a grounder into the hands of McCann, who whistled it over for a put-out. "Two gone!" shouted the captain of the Rovers. "Only one more to git, Bender, me boy!" A few of the disappointed spectators began to leave the field. The first two balls pitched by Bender were strikes, Browning touching neither of them.
Davy, who was standing by the man at the helm, told him to put the helm down and let the vessel come to. He then ran forward and got a steer-oar from underneath the boots, and threw it overboard. McCann, being an expert swimmer, swam to the oar, a boat was launched, four men got into it, picked him up, and brought him aboard again none the worse.
They had made a start with the first dawn, rightly reasoning, as there was no time to leave orders on our departure, that it was advisable for Mahomet to go to the mountain. Flood complimented our cook and horse wrangler on their foresight, for the wagon was our base of sustenance; and there was little loss of time before Barney McCann was calling us to a hastily prepared breakfast.
Not knowing what excuse my client might have given for leaving some of his party ashore, I thought it best to go out to meet them. Seated on the cabin roof of the Maria I beheld Mr. Cooke and McCann in conversation, each with a black cigar too big for him. "Hello, Crocker, old man," shouted my client, "did you think I was never coming back? So we'll have to go to Far Harbor." I caught the hint.
Is it King David ye mane?" There was a roar of laughter, and this was my introduction to Terence McCann and Swein Poulsson. The fort being crowded, we were put into a cabin with Terence and Cowan and Cowan's wife a tall, gaunt woman with a sharp tongue and a kind heart and her four brats, "All hugemsmug together," as Cowan said.
"An' then I stopped, for Jim took me in his arms he was in the rockin'-chair and rocked back an' forth wid me like a mother does wid a six-months' child, an' kept croonin' an' croonin' till I fell asleep wid my head on his shoulder " Mrs. McCann drew a long breath "Och, Aileen, it's beautiful to be married!"
We had an extra saddle in the wagon, and McCann was mounted on a good horse, for he could ride as well as cook. Priest and I rode the river, selecting a route; and on our return, all five of us tied our lariats to the tongue and sides of the wagon.
And at last he stood by the trap with the hole in it, under which the Celebrity lay prostrate. I could hear my own breathing. But Mr. Cooke had his wits about him still, and at this critical juncture he gave McCann a thump on the back which nearly carried him off his feet. "They say the mast is hollow, old man," he suggested. "Be jabers, Mr. Cooke," said McCann, "and I'm beginning to think it is!
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