Audubon County journal. (Exira, Iowa) 1884-1993, 1902-11-13
Ryan, when the fear of hell fire is or
DO

W you.
The men stood amazed at Sandy's
sudden anger and length of speech.
"Bon! OATS good for you, my bully
boy" said Baptiste, wiry little French
Canadian, Sandy's sworn ally and de
voted admirer ever since the day wheI
the big Scotsman. under great provo
cation, had knocked him clean off the
dump into the river and then jumped
in for him.
1t was not till afterward learned
the cause of Sandy's sudden wrath
which urged him to such unwonted
length of speech. 1t was not simply
that the Presbyterian blood carried
with it reverence for the minister and
contempt for papists and Fenians, but
that he had vivid remembrance of
how, only month ago, the minister
had got him out of Mike Slavin's sa-
loon and out Of the clutches Of Keefe
and Slavin and their gang of blood.
suckers.
Keefe started up with curse. Bap-
tiste sprang to Sandy's side, slapped
him on the back and called out:
"You keel him! I'll hit (eat) him up,
me-"
1t looked as If there might be fight
when a harsh voice said in O low, saw
age tone:
t'stop your row, you blank fools!
Settle it, if you want to. somewhere
else"
/ turned and was amazed to see old
man Nelson. who was very seldom
moved to speech.
There was look Of scorn on his
hard, iron gray face and Of such set
tied ferceness as made me quite be-
lieve the tales had heard of his dead
ly fights in the mines at the coast. Be-
fore any reply could be made the min
lister drove up and called out in a
CHEEKY voice:
"Merry Christmas, boys! Hello, San
dy! Comment ca va, Baptiste? How
do you do, Mr.. Graeme?"
"First rate. Let me introduce my
friend, Mr.. Conner, sometime medical
student, now artist, hunter and tramp
at large, but not bad sort"
"a man to be envied," said the min
lister, smiling. II am glad to know any
friend of Mr. Graeme's."
liked Mr.. Craig from the first. He
had good eyes that looked straight out
at you, a clean cut, strong face, we'll
set on his shoulders, and altogether
an outstanding, manly bearing. He in
sisted on going with Sandy to the sta
bles to see Dandy, his broncho, put up.
Decent fellow" said Graeme; "but.
though he is good enough to his bron-
cho, it is Sandy that's in his mind
now"
"Does he come out often? I mean
are you part Of his parish. so to
speak?"
II have no doubt he thinks so, and
Pm blowed If he doesn't make the
Presbyterians Of US think so too" And
he added, after pause: "a dandy lot
| of parishioners we are for any man.
There's Sandy, now. He would knock
I Keefe's head off as kind Of religious
exercise, but tomorrow Keefe will be
sober, and Sandy will be drunk as a
lord, and the drunken he is the better
Presbyterian he'll be, to the preachers
disgust" Then, after another pause,
he added bitterly: "But it is not for
me to throw rocks at Sandy. am not
the same kind of fool, but am fool
! of several other sorts.'
| Then the cook came out and beat a
tattoo on the bottom of dishpan.
Baptiste answered with a yell; but,
though keenly hungry, no man would
demean himself to do other than walk
with apparent reluctance to his place
at the table. At the farther end of the
camp was big fireplace and from the
door to the fireplace extended the long
board tables, covered with platters of
turkey not too scientifically carved,
dishes of potatoes, bowls of apple
sauce, plates of butter. pies and smaller
dishes distributed at regular intervals.
Two lanterns hanging from the roof
and a row of candles stuck into the
wall on either side by means of slit
sticks cast a dim. weird light over the
| scene.
There was moments silence, and,
at nod from Graeme, Mr.. Craig rose
| and said:
81 don't know how you feel about it,
men, but to me this looks good enough
J to be thankful for"
+ "Fire ahead, SIR" called out a voice
quite respectfully, and the minister
bent his head and said:
"For Christ the Lord, who came to
save us. for all the love and goodness
we have known and for these thy gifts
to us this Christmas night, our Father,
make us thankful. Amen"
'Bon! OATS fuss rate" said Bap-
tiste; seems lax OATS make me hit
more better for sure"
And then no word was spoken for a
quarter Of an hour. The occasion was
far too solemn and moments too pre-
cious for anything SO empty as words,
but when the white piles Of bread and
the brown piles of turkey had for a
second time vanished and after the last
pie had disappeared there came pause
and hush Of expectancy, whereupon