"What?"

"That he finished you off after he put me to sleep!"

Langford tried to spit in disgust, but despite the greatness of his disgust his mouth and salivic glands refused to function.

"Oh, man!--it makes me sick. The big, long-legged, red-haired devil has been learning to box on the quiet. And to think that he had that up his sleeve, and was just waiting for us!"

"Tell me what happened after I got mine, Jim. I haven't heard it right yet."

"Everything happened. I went out and picked you up. I got some of the boys to take you home after I knew that you weren't really booked for 'The Better Land.' Then I went back to lick the stuffing out of Rob Roy. He was in there, grinning and throwing out his chest like a pouter pigeon."

"'You want the same dose?' he asked.

"'That's what I came for,' said I. And, Phil, between you and me, that's just about what I got.

"We fought in the bar-room for three-quarters of an hour. I never hit him worth a rap, for he had a defence like the Rock o' Gibraltar. He didn't hit me very often, either, but when he did,--Oh, Lord! Well, to make a short story for a thirsty man, we had to quit, both of us, from sheer exhaustion. When we could hardly stand, the Mayor came in and separated us. He sent McGregor and his gang slap-bang home to Redmans.

And after that--well, they filled me up to the neck. Oh, I was quite ready to be filled, Phil, for my pride was sorely humbled. And--I've been filled up to the neck ever since.

"What day is it, Phil?"

"Wednesday!"

"This week, last week or next week?"

"This week!"

"Is that all? And it happened only last Sat.u.r.day. Man!" he cried, springing up, "if that's the case, I've only started."

"You have finished," said Phil decidedly, "finished good and plenty, now and for all."

"But man,--think o' my reputation. I always have a month of it."

"Not this time!"

"But I've done it for years. Think o' tradition!"

"Tradition be-darned! If you do, I'll have a month of it, too."

"That's pure blarney, Phil. You're not that kind."

"No, but I shall be. See if I won't, if you don't quit."

Jim looked into Phil's eyes and he saw a determination in them that he knew he could never shake, and, knowing his own weakness, he would have killed Phil rather than see him in the same plight.

"Man!" he exclaimed in perplexity, "I do believe you would."

"Try me and you'll soon find out."

They sat silently for a time. Suddenly Phil broke in.

"Come on,--what is it to be? Back into decency or a month of h.e.l.l?" he asked.

Jim Langford got to his feet.

"Lead on, old chum," he said. "Me for a bath, a shave, a good breakfast and--honest toil."

CHAPTER XI

Sol Wants a Good Wife--Bad

Phil was busy in the forge one morning, all alone. Sol Hanson, for some unknown reason, had failed to put in an appearance, and his a.s.sistant was not a little troubled over his absence. Before starting out to make inquiries, however, he decided to work away until noon, for it was the day after the Provincial Election, and the results were expected any minute and were anxiously awaited.

He felt quite confident within himself that John Royce Pederstone would be elected, for the candidate had received a splendid reception at all his meetings throughout the Valley, with the solitary exception of the hometown of his opponent. Furthermore, rumour had it that Pederstone's party was sweeping the country, so, if there was anything at all in indications, Royce Pederstone's election was a foregone conclusion.

Phil had noticed that the nearer the election day had drawn, the more serious, nervous and unsettled Sol had seemed to grow, as if he dreaded the possibility of his old master's defeat and was taking it to himself as a personal matter.

At noon time, Phil went out, took a hurried lunch, then strolled down to the office of the _Advertiser_, where a crowd was gathered reading the results from the various const.i.tuencies as they were posted up on the notice-board outside.

Just as he got there, Ben Todd came rushing out of the office, his eyes jumping, his little hunched body quivering with excitement, and his long arms swinging, apelike and energetic. He mounted a chair. He could not settle himself at the start, so all he did was to wave a paper in the air and shout gleefully:--

"He's in, boys! He's in! Vernock is on the map at last. Hip-hip-hurrah, for John Royce Pederstone, M.L.A.!"

The news was received with yells of delight, cat-calls and some real cowboy war-whoops. When the commotion subsided, Ben Todd continued.

"Our new member is coming in on the stage from Kelowna at six-thirty.

The band is going to be there, so don't forget to be there too and give him a rouser. The ladies are busy already at the town hall.

Supper at seven-thirty and a dance at eighty-thirty till the cows come home. Put on your glad rags, bring your women folks and whoop her up for a fare-you-well."

Thus relieved of his effervescence, Ben Todd threw his slang overboard and started in to a political speech in good English, on the immense possibilities of the Valley in which they were privileged to dwell; the era of prosperity just ahead--in fact, with some already reached; on the increasing demand for property everywhere, the consequent rising values and the prospect of early wealth to the present holders of land; haranguing the good-natured crowd on the outstanding qualities of John Royce Pederstone, their new member; on the wonderful things he would do for the Valley in the matter of irrigation, railroads, public buildings and everything else; eulogising on the tremendous help Mayor Brenchfield had given with his widespread influence and his virile oratory during the final whirlwind tour over the Valley; and last but not least, dwelling on the unfailing support the new member had received from the greatest of British Columbia's inland newspapers, _The Vernock and District Advertiser_.

Phil had no time to wait to hear all of it. He threaded his way through the crowd and back to the smithy. He had just got his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, when Sol Hanson swaggered in in great style. He was dressed in a loud-checked summer suit, which fitted him only where it touched him. Every b.u.t.ton on it was b.u.t.toned and straining, and in places the cloth was stretched to bursting point--for no ordinary-sized suit ever fitted Sol Hanson; and, never thinking of such a disloyalty as sending out of the Valley for his clothes, he had, perforce, to content himself with the biggest suit he could obtain in the Vernock stores.

Sol had a black bowler hat, three sizes too small for him, sitting jauntily on the back of his head. His great shock of fair hair was streaming from under it, all round, like a waterfall. It was a new hat, but it looked as if it had had an argument with a dusty roadway.

Later information proved that appearances, so far as the hat was concerned, were not deceptive.

Sol's trousers were tight and straining. They were turned up, high above a pair of flaring yellow boots, displaying some four inches of lavender socks. A red necktie, a walking stick, a huge red rose and a pair of tan gloves completed the external extravaganza. Sol had succeeded in getting one glove on his great ham-like hand, but the other had proved too much for him and he carried it loosely in his hand.

He strutted up and down in front of Phil, with a look of inordinate pride on his big, porridge-soft, Simple Simon face.

Phil gaped in wonder, then, when he could restrain himself no longer, he burst out laughing, much to the dandified Sol's disappointment.

"What's the matter?" he asked, straightening up.

This caused Phil to laugh the more.