Then Phil understood. His brow wrinkled with a sudden trouble. He said: “There, never mind. I’m dying, but it isn’t what I expected. It doesn’t smart nor tear much; not more than river-rheumatism. P’r’aps I wouldn’t mind it at all if I could see.”
For Phil was entirely blind now. The accident had destroyed his remaining eye. Being blind, he had already passed that first corridor of death--darkness. Roscoe stooped over him, took his hand, and spoke quietly to him. Phil knew the voice, and said with a faint smile: “Do you think they’d plant me with municipal honours--honours to pardners?”
“We’ll see to that, Phil,” said Mr. Devlin from behind the clergyman.
Phil recognised the voice. “You think that nobody’ll kick at making it official?”
“And maybe they wouldn’t mind firin’ a volley--Lights out, as it were: and blow the big whistle? It’d look sociable, wouldn’t it?”
“There’ll be a volley and the whistle, Phil--if you have to go,” said Mr. Devlin.
There was a silence, then the reply came musingly: “I guess I hev to go. ... I’d hev liked to see the corporation runnin’ longer, but maybe I can trust the boys.”
A river-driver at the door said in a deep voice: “By the holy! yes, you can trust us.”
“Thank you kindly.... If it doesn’t make any difference to the rest, I’d like to be alone with The Padre for a little--not for religion, you understand, for I go as I stayed, and I hev my views,--but for private business.”
Slowly, awkwardly, the few river-drivers passed out--Devlin and Mrs. Falchion and Ruth and I with them--for I could do nothing now for him--he was broken all to pieces. Roscoe told me afterwards what happened then.
“Padre,” he said to Roscoe, “are we alone?”
“Well, I hevn’t any crime to tell, and the business isn’t weighty; but I hev a pal at Danger Mountain--” He paused.
“He’s low down in s’ciety; but he’s square, and we’ve had the same blanket for many a day together. I crossed him first on the Panama level. I was broke--stony broke. He’d been shipwrecked, and was ditto. He’d been in the South Seas; I in Nicaragua. We travelled up through Mexico and Arizona, and then through California to the Canadian Rockies. At last we camped at Danger Mountain, a Hudson’s Bay fort, and stayed there. It was a roughish spot, but we didn’t mind that. Every place isn’t Viking. One night we had a difference--not a quarrel, mind you, but a difference. He was for lynchin’ a fellow called Piccadilly, a swell that’d come down in the world, bringin’ the worst tricks of his tribe with him. He’d never been a bony fidy gentleman--just an imitation. He played sneak with the daughter of Five Fingers, an Injin chief. We’d set store by that girl. There wasn’t one of us rough nuts but respected her. She was one of the few beautiful Injin women I’ve seen. Well, it come out that Piccadilly had ruined her, and one morning she was found dead. It drove my pal well-nigh crazy. Not that she was anything partik’ler to him; but the thing took hold of him unusual.”