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Ten years ago he had been the better man, had taken the lead, was the master, Dupont the obedient confederate, the tool. Now, Dupont, once the rough river-driver, grown prosperous in a large way for him who might yet be mayor of his town in Quebec he held the rod of rule.
But a flagstaff was erected near, no stouter one stands on Beachy Head or elsewhere, and on it was engraved: PHIL BOLDRICK, Buried with Municipal Honours on the Thirtieth day of June 1883. This to his Memory, and for the honour of Viking and Sunburst. "Padre," said a river-driver to Galt Roscoe after the rites were finished, "that was a man you could trust."
"And give hell to Ingolby," shouted some one in the crowd. "Suppose Ingolby isn't there?" questioned the old man. "Oh, that's one of your questions, is it?" sneered the big river-driver. "Well, if you knew him as we do, you'd know that it's at night-time he sits studyin' how he'll cut Lebanon's throat. He's home, all right. He's in Lebanon anyhow, and we'll find him."
"Why do I drink, do you say?" he added, as Suzon placed the bottle and glass before him. She was silent for an instant, then she said gravely: "Perhaps because you like it; perhaps because something was left out of you when you were made, and " She paused and went no further, for a red-shirted river-driver with brass rings in his ears came close to them, and called gruffly for whiskey.
"A little bad blood let out would be a good thing," remarked a truculent river-driver, who had given evidence directly contrary to that given by Sebastian Dolores in the trial just concluded. There was a savage look in his eye. Sebastian Dolores heard, and he was not the man to invite trouble.
The other stroked his beard with hands which, somehow, gave little indication of age, and then, with a sudden jerk forward of his head, he said: "Oh, it's like that, eh? Is that what M'sieu' Marchand told you? That's what he said, is it?" The big river-driver, eager to maintain his supreme place as leader, lunged forward a step, and growled a challenge. "Who said it?
The mob moved again towards the bar. The big river-driver turned on the grizzled old man beside the bar-counter with bent shoulders and lazy, drawling speech. "What've you got to say about it, son?" he asked threateningly. "Well, to ask a few questions first that's all," the old man replied. "You don't belong here, old cock," the other said roughly.
The big river-driver represented their natural instincts, their native fanaticism, their prejudices. But the old man spoke once more. "Ingolby wants Lebanon and Manitou to come together, not to fall apart," he declared. "He wants peace. If he gets rich here he won't get rich alone. He's working for both towns. If he brings money from outside, that's good for both towns. If he "
"Dennis Brown knows that I think the world of that cur." Within a fortnight, by an admittedly amazing coincidence, Dennis, the man, was caught in a precisely similar fashion. As a "river-driver" Dennis was beginning to "catch on." But he had not yet learned what he could or could not do. River-drivers wear immense boots, heavily spiked.
Work means money, money means bread, bread means life so." The big river-driver, seeing the effect of the old man's words upon the crowd, turned to them with an angry gesture and a sneer. "I s'pose Ingolby has paid this old skeesicks for talking this swash. We know all right what Ingolby is, and what he's done.
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