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Updated: June 1, 2025
As we stood outside of Craig's shack in the dim starlight, we could not hide from ourselves that we were beaten. It was not so much grief as a blind fury that filled my heart, and looking at the faces of the men about me I read the same feeling there. But what could we do? The yells of carousing miners down at Slavin's told us that nothing could be done with them that night.
Poor George! fuming inwardly over one humiliation caused him shortly to be the recipient of another. Too late to his preoccupied mind came Slavin's warning of the day before. Like a flash the sorrel whirled to the "off-side" and Redmond, swung off his balance, revolved into space and was pitched on his hands and knees in the snow. Fortunately his foot had slipped clear of the stirrup.
The evening of the reopening of Slavin's saloon, as it was still called, was long remembered in Black Rock.
Slavin's restless eyes roving over the expanse of unbroken snow on his left hand, suddenly dilated, and he uttered an eager exclamation, pointing downwards with outflung arm. "Ah," said he grimly, "here we are, I'm thinkin'!" And he clambered hastily out of the cutter.
He reared himself up to his huge, gaunt height, and with a sweeping glance at his captors added: "Nothing remains for me now I imagine, but to shake hands with Radcliffe. . . ." And his dreadful voice died away like a single grim note of a great, deep-toned bell, tolled perchance in some prison-yard. "Eshcorrt! Get ready!" boomed out Sergeant Slavin's harsh command.
"All here now, Paul!" "Call the roll, somebody, won't you?" "Keep quiet, fellows, please!" "Shall I strike a match, Paul?" "Not on your life, Bobolink. That crowd of Ted Slavin's is out, looking for us. Somebody must have leaked, or else Ted was tipped off. We've got to be mighty cautious, I tell you, if we want to give them the slip."
Craig meantime came to me, and, looking anxiously after Sandy in his sleigh, with his frantic crowd of yelling admirers, said in a gloomy voice, 'Poor Sandy! He is easily caught, and Keefe has the devil's cunning. 'He won't touch Slavin's whisky to-day, I answered confidently. 'There'll be twenty bottles waiting him in the stable, he replied bitterly, 'and I can't go following him up.
There was acknowledgement of failure, but I knew he was thinking chiefly of himself; and there was gratitude, and that was for the men about him, and I felt my face burn with shame; and there was petition for help, and we all thought of Nixon, and Billy, and the men wakening from their debauch at Slavin's this pure, bright morning.
Slavin's great square jaws set, a froth oozing from between his thick lips, and for an instant the other man believed that in his paroxysm of rage he would hurl himself across the table. Then suddenly the ungainly brute went limp, his face grown haggard. "You devil!" he roared, "what do you mean?"
But when the doctor came into Slavin's house that night it was the old Slavin I saw, but with a look of such deadly fury on his face that I tried to get the doctor out at once. But he was half drunk and after his manner was hideously humorous. 'How do, ladies! How do, gentlemen! was his loud-voiced salutation. 'Quite a professional gathering, clergy predominating.
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