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He'll be scairt shtiff an' white as a biled shirt, or he'll melt down an' dhribble out t'rough a crack av th' flure." And so, a half-hour later, Bill Carmody for the second time pushed open Hod Burrage's door and made his way to the stove. The scene in no wise differed from the time of his previous visit.
"Well, he did an' he didn't," replied the old man slowly. "Ut's loike this: Along in July, ut wuz, Moncrossen an' his gang av bur-rd's-eye pirates come roarin' out av th' woods huntin' fer Creed. They'd wint in be th' river, but come out be th' tote-road, an' mad clean t'rough to th' gizzard.
In the dim twilight he descried, as the sentinel turned, no other than Tim's father. Job stole up to him, caught him before he cried "Halt!" and said: "For Tim's sake, Mr. Rooney, let me through the lines. We will starve in there!" "Job, me boy, is that ye!" whispered the guard. "Hiven bless ye! I wish I could let yez t'rough, but by the saints I can't!
"There ain't been nothin' fony about our trailin', bo," insisted Byrne, "an' whether Japs are bean collectors or not here's where de ginks dat copped de doll hiked fer, an if dey ain't dere now it's because dey went t'rough an' out de odder side, see." "Hush, Byrne," whispered Theriere. "Drop down behind this bush.
"That's a good way from the path." "Ah'll be there, me!" cried Pete, in indignant alarm. "No, seh! M'sieu' Edwards say dat? Respectable mans lak M'sieu' Edwards! It was shame for lie so. No, seh! Ah go home t'rough de horchard. Mebbe Ah'll go leetly ways off de path of it, mebbe for peek up apple off'n de groun' what no one ain't want for rot of it, Ah'll don't remembler.
"Yes." "I'm Adolph Valborg, from up by Jefferson. I'm Erik's father." "Oh!" He was a monkey-faced little man, and not gentle. "What you done wit' my son?" "I don't think I understand you." "I t'ink you're going to understand before I get t'rough! Where is he?" "Why, really I presume that he's in Minneapolis." "You presume!"
"Isn't that pretty dangerous work? They say those rapids are awful." "Sure! Everybody scare' to try 'im. W'en I came up dey pay me fifty dollar for tak' one boat t'rough. By gosh! I never mak' so moch money tree hondred dollar a day. I'm reech man now. You lak get reech queeck? I teach you be pilot. Swif' water, beeg noise! Plenty fun in dat!" The Canadian threw back his head and laughed loudly.
An' thim wit' no wood, I dunno, whin they shud have thurrty tier at the very least, sawed an' sphlit an' ricked up under cover where it can be got at whin they want it an' they will want it, fair enough! A-ah, but they'll find they ain't winterin' in Southern Californy, before they're t'rough with this country.
Sullen, and dull, it scarce broke the monotony of the silence low, yet ever increasing in volume. "Another portage?" wearily asked the girl. Vermilion shook his head. "Non, eet ees de Chute. Ten miles of de wild, fast wataire, but safe eef you know de way. Me Vermilion I'm tak' de scow t'rough a hondre tam bien!" "But, you can't make it in the dark!" Vermilion laughed. "We mak' de camp to-night.
Job had delivered his message to the "boss" of the tunnel and was hurrying back to the cage, when a half-naked miner, all stained with the ever-dripping ooze from above, stopped him and said: "Be ye the faither that prayed Yankee Sam t'rough?" "Why yes, and no," answered Job. "I was with Yankee Sam when he died, but I'm no priest or parson."
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