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Updated: April 30, 2025
As we read, he eyed us sharply. Last night, John Shaughnessy, a night watchman employed by the town of Woodbine, while on his rounds, was attracted by noises as of a violent struggle near the back road in the Woodbine Cemetery, on the outskirts of the town. He had varied his regular rounds because of the recent depredations of motor-car yeggmen who had timed him in pulling off several jobs lately.
August Viele had yesterday registered the transfer of the lot, 25 x 75 feet, at the corner of Warren and Hudson Streets, to J. F. Slawson for the sum of $57,000. "Our lease expires when?" asked Hurstwood, thinking. "Next February, isn't it?" "That's right," said Shaughnessy. "It doesn't say what the new man's going to do with it," remarked Hurstwood, looking back to the paper.
"It seemed such a dead certainty Jibway; and the Edmonton corner-blocks, too. I'd had luck with Nick before; but well, there it is, Flood." "They know the railway people Shaughnessy knows?" "Yes, the president knows. He's at Calgary now. They telegraphed him, and he wired to give me till midnight to pay up or go to jail. They're watching me now. I can't stir.
'An' I on'y ask that ye'll have th' mass sung over me be some man besides Father Kelly, he says. An' he wint, an' Shaughnessy come clumpin' down th' aisle like a man in a thrance. "Well, th' nex' wan was a girl, an' she didn't die; but, th' less said, th' sooner mended.
"I dinnaw what possessed th' young Donahue, fr'm th' Nineteenth. I niver thought much iv him, a stuck-up, aisy-come la-ad that niver had annything but a civil wurrud, an' is prisident iv th' sodality. But he came in, an' married Theresa Shaughnessy las' Thursdah night. Th' ol' man took on twinty years, but he was as brave as a gin'ral iv th' army.
Pauline," responded the father, "but I have been letting the enemy in and out at pleasure." "Good-night," she answered, and kissed him three times on either cheek; "the blessed Virgin will take care of us; good-night; he never said those things; not he; good-night." The next evening Galahad Shaughnessy and Manuel Mazaro met at that "very different" place, the Café des Réfugiés.
Galahad Shaughnessy began to be specially active in organizing a society of Spanish Americans, the design of which, as set forth in its manuscript constitution, was to provide proper funeral honors to such of their membership as might be overtaken by death; and, whenever it was practicable, to send their ashes to their native land. Manuel Mazaro was made secretary.
Sentry No. 4 had heard and told of a feminine voice, "somebody cryin' like" in the darkness of midnight about Blakely's, and Norah Shaughnessy returned to her duties at the Trumans', yet worrying over the critical condition of her trooper lover, and losing thereby much needed sleep had gained some new and startling information.
Already the men were leading into line across the stream, and, bidding the trumpeter tell Sergeant Shaughnessy to follow at speed, the young officer struck spur to his horse and, carbine in hand, a single trooper at his heels, away he darted down the valley, "C" Troop, splashing through the ford a moment later, took the direct road past the stockade of the corral, disappeared from sight a moment behind that wooden fortification, and, when next it hove in view, it was galloping front into line far down the Laramie, then once more vanished behind its curtain of dust.
But Norah Shaughnessy, from the gable window of the Trumans' quarters, shook a hard-clinching Irish fist and showered malediction after the swiftly speeding ambulance. "Wan 'o ye," she sobbed, "dealt Pat Mullins a coward and cruel blow, and I'll know which, as soon as ever that poor bye can spake the truth."
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