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Updated: May 19, 2025
They took seats about the blazing fire for the evening was still shrewd enough to make the fire welcome. "Noo, Mr. Matheson," said the old lady, leaning toward him with keen relish in her face, "read me the union demands. Malcolm wadna read nor talk nor anything but glower." The Reverend Murdo read the six clauses. "Um! They're no bad negotiating pints."
One afternoon we stopped at the home buildings or headquarters of one of the great outlying ranches of the Brazil Land and Cattle Company, the Farquahar syndicate, under the management of Murdo Mackenzie than whom we have in the United States no better citizen or more competent cattleman. On this ranch there are some seventy thousand head of stock.
But there is no doubt that, incited by the nurse, Janet Murdo, she set about having her husband killed with a rancour which was very grim indeed. A stanza in one ballad runs: ``She has twa weel-made feet; Far better is her hand; She's jimp about the middle As ony willy wand.
"I never saw him like that," said the Reverend Murdo at length. "What can be the matter with him? With him passion is darkening counsel." "Well," said Maitland, "I have found out one thing that I wanted." "And what is that?" "These men clearly do not want what they are asking for. They want chiefly war at least, McNish does."
No one even attempted to stop her. It was her right. Where was she to find one such as he? She, too, was from the seed of an oak. "And now, son, I ask thee if the book before thee speaks of all the great heroes, why is it that Ghitza has not been given the place of honour?" The log was burning in the fireplace, but I said good night to Murdo. I wanted to dream of the mighty Ghitza and his Maria.
Then there was McNish. McNish was a sore puzzle to him. He had come to regard the Scotchman with a feeling of sincere friendliness. He remembered gratefully his ready and efficient help against the attacks of the radical element among his fellow workmen. On several occasions he, with the Reverend Murdo Matheson, had foregathered in the McNish home to discuss economic problems over a quiet pipe.
This was Roderick MacFarlane, who founded Fort Anderson, discovered the MacFarlane Rabbit, etc.; here was John Schott, who guided Caspar Whitney; that was Hanbury's head man; here was Murdo McKay, who travelled with Warburton Pike in the Barrens and starved with him on Peace River; and so with many more. Very few of these men had any idea of the interest attaching to their observations.
"They have named Captain Maitland. We know him for a straight man and a white man. Let me talk with Captain Jack Maitland, and let us get together with the Padre there," pointing to the Reverend Murdo Matheson, "and in an hour we will settle this matter." In a tumult of approval the suggestion was accepted.
It happened that the Rev. Murdo was on a congenial theme and in specially good form that morning. "How much better is a man than a sheep," was his text, from which with great ingenuity and eloquence he proceeded to develop the theme of the supreme value of the human factor in modern life, social and industrial.
His words, and especially the name of the representative of the labour unions produced an overwhelming effect upon the audience. No sooner had he finished than the Reverend Murdo Matheson took the floor. He spoke no economics. He offered no elaborate argument for peace.
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