Lyman Abbott - "Laicus"

Geoffrey de Villehardouin - "Memoirs or Chronicle of The Fourth Crusade and The Conquest of Constantinople"

James Boswell - "The Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides with Samuel Johnson, LL.D."

Andre Theuriet - "A Woodland Queen, v3"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: THE PROSPECTOR

R >> RALPH CONNOR >> THE PROSPECTOR




His letter to Mrs. Fairbanks was brief and clear.

"I thank you for your sympathy," he wrote, "and I grieve with you in
your great sorrow."

"In regard to what you write concerning Miss Helen, you have made
yourself perfectly clear, and I wish to repeat now what I said on
the morning of my leaving home: that Miss Helen is to consider
herself in no sense bound to me. She is perfectly free, as free as
if she had not spoken. I fully realise the possibility of mistaking
one's feelings under the stress of such emotional excitement. The
sphere of work opening out before her is one in every way suited to
her, and one in which she will find full scope for her splendid
powers of heart and mind, and I shall be glad to know that her
happiness is assured. At the same time, truth demands that I should
say that my feelings toward her have not changed, nor will they ever
change; and, while I cannot ask her to share a life such as mine, I
shall never cease to love her."

In Shock's preaching, and in his visitation of his people, a new
spirit made itself felt. There was no less energy, but there was an
added sweetness, and a deeper sympathy. He had entered upon the way
of the Cross, and the bruising of his heart distilled all its
tenderness in word and deed. Isis preaching was marked by a new
power, a new intensity; and when, after the evening service, they
gathered about the organ to spend an hour in singing their favourite
hymns, than most of all they were conscious of the change in him.
The closer they drew toward him the more tender did they find his
heart to be.

The loneliness of the days that followed was to Shock unspeakable.
There was no one to whom he could unburden himself. His face began
to show the marks of the suffering within. Instead of the ruddy,
full, round, almost boyish appearance, it became thin and hard, and
cut with deep lines.

The doctor, who now made his home in Loon Lake, became anxious about
his friend, but he was too experienced and too skilled a physician
to be deceived as to the cause of Shock's changed appearance.

"It is not sickness of the body," he remarked to Ike, who was
talking it over with him, "but of the mind, and that, my friend, is
the most difficult to treat."

"Well," said Ike, "when I hear him speak in meetin', and see him git
on one of them smiles of his, I come purty nigh makin' a fool of
myself. I guess I'll have to quit goin' to church."

"No, I do not think you will quit, Ike, my boy," said the doctor.
"You have become thoroughly well inoculated. You could not, if you
tried."

"Well, I surmise it would be difficult, but I wish somethin' would
happen."




XVIII

THE DON'S RECOVERY


Ike had his wish; for, when one day his business took him to the
Fort, the stage brought a stranger asking the way to Mr. Macgregor's
house, and immediately Ike undertook to convoy him thither. It was
The Don.

Shock's shout of welcome did Ike good, but the meeting between the
two men no one saw. After the first warm greeting Shock began to be
aware of a great change in his friend. He was as a man whose heart
has been chilled to the core, cold, hard, irresponsive. Toward Shock
himself The Don was unchanged in affection and admiration, but
toward all the world he was a different man from the one Shock had
known in college days.

In Shock's work he was mildly interested, but toward all that stood
for religion he cherished a feeling of bitterness amounting to
hatred. True, out of respect he attended Shock's services, but he
remained unmoved through all; so that, after the first joy in his
friend's companionship, the change in him brought Shock a feeling of
pain, and he longed to help him.

"We will have to get him to work," he said to the doctor, to whom he
had confided The Don's history in part, not omitting the great grief
that had fallen upon him.

"A wise suggestion," replied the doctor, who had been attracted by
his young brother in the profession, "a wise suggestion. This
country, however, is painfully free from all endemic or epidemic
diseases."

"Well, doctor, you know we ought to get that hospital going in the
Pass. Let us talk it over with him."

At the first opportunity Shock set forth his plans for the physical
and moral redemption of the lumbermen and miners of the Pass.

"I have seen the most ghastly cuts and bruises on the chaps in the
lumber camps," he said, "and the miners are always blowing
themselves up, and getting all sorts of chest troubles, not to speak
of mountain fever, rheumatism, and the like. There is absolutely no
place for them to go. Hickey's saloon is vile, noisy, and full of
bugs. Ugh! I'll never forget the night I put in there. I can feel
them yet. And besides, Hickey has a gang about him that make it
unsafe for any man to go there in health, much less in sickness.
Why, the stories they tell are perfectly awful. A fellow goes in
with his month's pay. In one night his fifty or sixty dollars are
gone, no one knows how. The poor chap is drunk, and he cannot tell.
When a prospector comes down from the hills and sells a prospect for
a good figure, from a hundred to five hundred dollars, and sometimes
more, these fellows get about him and roll him. In two weeks he is
kicked out, half dead. Oh, Hickey is a villain, and he is in league
with the red-light houses, too. They work together, to the physical
and moral damnation of the place. We want a clean stopping-place, a
club-room, and above everything else a hospital. Why, when the
miners and lumbermen happen to get off the same night the blood
flows, and there is abundant practice for any surgeon for a week or
so."

"Sounds exciting," said The Don, mildly interested. "Why don't you
go up, doctor? "

"It is not the kind of practice I desire. My tastes are for a
gentler mode of life. The dangers of the Pass are too exciting for
me. They are a quaint people," the doctor continued, "primitive in
their ideas and customs, pre-historic, indeed, in their practice of
our noble art. I remember an experience of mine, some years ago now,
which made a vivid impression upon me at the time, and indeed, I
could not rid myself of the effects for many days, for many days."

"What was that, doctor?" enquired Shock, scenting a story.

"Well, it is a very interesting tale, a very interesting tale.
Chiefly so as an illustration of how, in circumstances devoid of the
amenities of civilised life, the human species tends toward
barbarism. A clear case of reversion to type. There was a half-breed
family living in the Pass, by the name of Goulais, and with the,
family lived Goulais' brother, by name Antoine, or, if you spelled
it as they pronounced it, it would be 'Ontwine.' The married one's
name was Pierre. Antoine was a lumberman, and in the pursuit of his
avocation he caught a severe cold, which induced a violent
inflammation of the bowels, causing very considerable distension and
a great deal of pain. Being in the neighbourhood attending some
cases of fever, I was induced by some friends of the Goulais to call
and see the sick man."

"The moment I opened the door I was met by a most pungent odour, a
most pungent odour. Indeed, though I have experienced most of the
smells that come to one in the practice of our profession, this
odour had a pungency and a nauseating character all its own. Looking
into the room I was startled to observe the place swimming with
blood, literally swimming with blood. Blood on the floor, blood upon
the bed, and dripping from it."

"'What does this mean? Is someone being murdered? Whence this
blood?'"

"'Non! non!" exclaimed Mrs. Goulais. "There is no one keel. It is
one cat blood.'"

"Approaching the bed to obtain a nearer view of the patient, I
discovered the cause. Turning down the bed quilt to make an
examination, you may imagine my surprise and horror to observe a
ghastly and bloody object lying across the abdomen of the sick man.
A nearer examination revealed this to be an immense cat which had
been ripped up from chin to tail, and laid warm and bleeding, with
all its appurtenances, upon the unhappy patient. All through the day
the brother, Pierre; had been kept busily engaged in hunting up
animals of various kinds, which were to be excised in this manner
and applied as poultice."

"In uncivilised communities the animal whose healing virtues are
supposed to be most potent is the cat, and the cure is most
certainly assured if the cat be absolutely black, without a single
white hair. In this community, however, deprived of many of the
domestic felicities, the absence of cats made it necessary for poor
Pierre to employ any animal on which he could lay his hands; so,
throughout the day, birds and beasts, varied in size and character,
were offered upon this altar. The cat which I discovered, however,
was evidently that upon which their hopes most firmly rested; for,
upon the failure of other animals, recourse would be had to the cat,
which had been kept in reserve. The state of preservation suggested
this."

"A very slight examination of the patient showed me that there was
practically no hope of his recovery, and that it would be almost
useless in me to attempt to change the treatment, and all the more
that I should have to overcome not only the prejudices of the
patient and of his sister-in-law, but also of his very able-bodied
brother, whose devotion to his own peculiar method of treatment
amounted to fanaticism. However, I determined to make an attempt. I
prepared hot fomentations, removed the cat, and made my first
application. But no sooner had I begun my treatment than I heard
Pierre returning with a freshly slaughtered animal in his hand. The
most lively hope, indeed, triumph, was manifest in his excited
bearing. He bore by the tail an animal the character of which none
of us were in doubt from the moment Pierre appeared in sight. It was
the mephitis mephitica, that mephitine musteloid carnivore with
which none of us desire a close acquaintance, which announces its
presence without difficulty at a very considerable distance; in
short, the animal vulgarly known as the skunk."

"'Voila!' exclaimed Pierre, holding the animal up for our
admiration. 'Dis feex him queek."

"'Ah! Mon Dieu!' exclaimed his wife, covering her face with her
apron. But, whether from devotion to his art or from affection for
his brother, Pierre persisted in carrying out his treatment. He laid
the animal, cleft and pungently odorous, upon the patient. Needless
to say, I surrendered the case at once."

The doctor's manner of telling the story was so extremely droll that
both The Don and Shock were convulsed with laughter.

"Yes, they need a hospital, I should say," said The Don, when they
had recovered.

"Well," said Shock, "we shall go up and have a look at it."

The result of their visit to the Pass was that within a few weeks a
rough log building was erected, floored, roofed in, chinked with
moss, and lined with cotton, lumbermen and miners willingly
assisting in the work of building.

The Don became much interested in the whole enterprise. He visited
the various lumber camps, laid the scheme before the bosses and the
men, and in a short time gathered about two hundred dollars for
furnishing and equipment.

Shock left him to carry out the work alone, but after two weeks had
passed he was surprised to receive a message one day that the young
doctor was cutting things loose up in the Pass. With a great fear at
his heart Shock rode up the next day. The first man whom he met in
the little, straggling village was Sergeant Crisp of the North-West
Mounted Police, a man of high character, and famed in the
Territories alike for his cool courage and unimpeachable integrity.

"Up to see the young doctor?" was the Sergeant's salutation. "You
will find him at Nancy's, I guess," pointing to where a red light
shone through the black night. "Do you want me along?"

"No, thank you," said Shock. "I think I had better go alone."

For a moment he hesitated.

"How does one go in?" he enquired.

"Why, turn the handle and walk right in," said the Sergeant, with a
laugh. "You don't want to be bashful there."

With a sickening feeling of horror at his heart Shock strode to the
red-light door, turned the handle, and walked in.

In the room were a number of men, and two or three women in all the
shameless dishabille of their profession. As Shock opened the door a
young girl, with much of her youthful freshness and beauty still
about her, greeted him with a foul salutation.

Shock shrank back from her as if she had struck him in the face. The
girl noticed the action, came nearer to him, and offered him her
hand. Shock, overcoming his feeling of shame, took the hand offered
him, and holding it for a moment, said: "My dear girl, this is no
place for you. Your home waits for you. Your Saviour loves you."

In the noise that filled the room no one save the girl herself heard
his words; but two or three men who knew Shock well, amazed at his
appearance in that place, exclaimed: "It's the preacher!"

Nancy, the keeper of the house, who was sitting at one of the tables
gambling with some men, sprang to her feet and, seeing Shock, poured
out a torrent of foul blasphemy.

"Get out of this house! Get out, I say! You've no business here. Go,
blank your blank soul! Take yourself out of this!"

She worked herself into a raging fury. Shock stood quietly looking
at her.

"Here, Tom! Pat! Put this blank, blank out, or you'll go yourselves.
What do I keep you for?"

Three or four men, responding to her call, approached Shock.

Meantime The Don, who had been sitting at one of the tables with
three others, a pile of money before him, stood gazing in amazement
at Shock, unable to believe his eyes.

As the men approached Shock The Don came forward.

"Stop!" he said. "This man is my friend."

"Friend or no friend," shrieked Nancy, beside herself with rage,
"out he goes. He called me names in this town. He threatened to
drive me out of the town."

"Come, Don," said Shock, ignoring Nancy. "I want you."

"Wait one moment and I am with you," replied The Don, going back to
the table where he had been sitting." We will finish this game
again, gentlemen," he said. "Hickey, that's my money. Hand it over."

"You lie!" said Hickey. "Curse you for a blank, blank swell! You
can't come that game over us. It aint your money, anyway, and you
know it. That's money you raised for the hospital. Come on, boys,
let's clean them out. They don't belong to us."

With these words he sprang at The Don, but The Don's training in the
'Varsity gymnasium had not been in vain, and he met Hickey with a
straight left-hander that sent him into the corner upon his
shoulders, with his feet in the air.

Simultaneously with Hickey's attack, Nancy, shrieking "Kill him!
kill him!" flew at Shock, and fastening her fingers in his hair
dragged his head downward. Taking advantage of this attack a man
from the crowd rushed in and struck him a heavy blow on the neck,
and as he was falling kicked him full in his face. Immediately
another, jumping on Shock's prostrate form, began kicking him
savagely with his heavy calked boots.

"Give it to him!" yelled Nancy, dancing about like a fiend.

"Stop! Stop! You have killed him!" shrieked the young girl, Nellie
by name, throwing herself upon Shock and covering him with her body.

"Get up, you blank fool!" yelled Nancy, seizing her by the hair.

At this moment, however, The Don, freed from Hickey, sprang to
Shock's side, seized Nancy by the back of the neck and hurled her
across the room, caught the man who was still trying to kick Shock
to death, by the throat, and holding him at half arm struck him a
terrific blow and threw him like a log against his companion, who
came rushing to his assistance.

Meantime Nancy, still shrieking her refrain, "Kill him! kill him!"
was dragging forward Hickey, who had partially recovered from The
Don's blow, to renew the attack.

"Come on, you cowards!" she cried to the other men. "What are you
afraid of? Come on."

Stung by her taunts the men, led by Hickey, prepared to rush, when
the door opened and Sergeant Crisp appeared. Immediately the men who
had attacked Shock vanished through the back door.

"Hickey, I want you. Stand where you are. You too, Nancy, and every
man of you. What's this? Someone hurt? Why, it's the preacher. This
may be serious," he continued, drawing his revolver. "Don't move.
Not a man of you. What does this mean?" he asked, addressing The
Don.

"My friend there," said The Don, "came for me. We were going out
when they attacked us."

"Go and get help," replied the Sergeant. "We will carry him to the
hospital. You would, eh?" to one of the men who started for the
door. "Here, put up your hands. Quick!" There was a flash and a
click, and the man stood handcuffed.

In a few moments The Don came back with help, and they carried
Shock, groaning and bleeding, to the hospital, while the Sergeant,
putting a man in charge of Nancy and her gang, accompanied The Don.

In an agony of remorseful solicitude for his friend, and cursing
himself for his folly, The Don directed the movements of the
bearers.

In the darkness behind them came the girl Nellie, following to the
door of the hospital.

"What are you after?" said Sergeant Crisp sharply. "We don't want
you here."

"I want to see the doctor," she said earnestly.

"Well?" said The Don, facing round to her.

"Let me nurse him," she said in a hurried, timid voice. "I have had
training. You can depend upon me."

The Don hesitated, glancing at her dishevelled, gaudy attire,
painted cheeks, and frowsy hair.

"Well," he said, "you may come."

The girl disappeared, and in a very few minutes returned dressed
modestly and quietly, the paint and pencilling washed from her face,
her hair smoothed behind her ears. The Don looked her over, and
nodding approval said: "That is better. Now, hold the light for me."

His examination revealed serious injuries about the head and face,
three ribs broken, one piercing the lungs. With Nellie's assistance
he managed to dress the wounds and set the broken bones before Shock
regained full consciousness.

As they were finishing. Shock opened his eyes and fixed them
enquiringly upon The Don's face.

"Well, how do you feel, old chap? Pretty sore, I guess," enquired
The Don.

Shock tried to speak, but his attempt ended in a groan. Still his
eyes remained fastened enquiringly upon The Don's face. The Don bent
over him.

"The money, Don," he said with great difficulty. "Hospital?"

The Don groaned. He understood only too well;, and unable to escape
the insisting eyes, replied: "Yes, Shock. But I will make it all
right. Hickey has it now."

Shock closed his eyes for a few minutes, and then, opening them
again, compelled The Don's attention.

"Send for Ike," he whispered. "Right away."

Next day Ike appeared in a cold, white rage at The Don. He had got
the whole story from the messenger, and blamed no one but The Don.

As Shock's eyes rested upon Ike's lean, hard face, bent over him so
anxiously, he smiled a glad welcome.

"Don't look like that, Ike," he said. "I'll soon be fit."

"Why, you just bet!" said Ike, with a loud laugh, deriding all
anxiety.

"Ike," whispered Shock. Ike bent over him. "I want two hundred
dollars at once. Don't tell."

Without a word of questioning Ike nodded, saying "In half an hour, I
guess." But in less time he appeared and, slipping the roll of bills
under Shock's pillow, said: "It's all there."

"Good old boy," said Shock, trying to offer his hand.

Ike took his hand carefully. "Is there anything else?" he said, his
voice grave and hoarse.

"No, old boy," said Shock. "Thank you."

"Then," said Ike, "you'll keep quieter without me, I guess. I'll be
on hand outside." And with a nod he strode out of the room, his face
working with grief and rage.

For a week Ike remained at the Pass in hourly attendance at the
hospital, looking in at every chance upon the sick man. In Shock's
presence he carried an exaggerated air of cheerful carelessness, but
outside he went about with a face of sullen gloom. Toward The Don,
with whom he had previously been on most friendly terms, he was
wrathfully contemptuous, disdaining even a word of enquiry for his
patient, preferring to receive his information from the nurse. In
Ike's contempt, more than in anything else, The Don read the
judgment of honourable men upon his conduct, and this deepened to a
degree almost unendurable his remorse and self-loathing.

One morning, when the report was not so favourable, Ike stopped him
with the question: "Will he git better.?"

"Well," said The Don gloomily, "I have not given up hope."

"Look here," replied Ike, "I want you to listen to me." His tone was
quiet, but relentlessly hard. "If he don't, you'll talk to me about
it."

The Don looked at him steadily.

"Would you kill me?" he asked, with a quiet smile.

"Well," drawled Ike slowly, "I'd try to."

"Thank you," said The Don. "That would save me the trouble." And,
turning on his heel, he left the cowboy in a very puzzled state of
mind.

But Shock did not die. His splendid constitution, clean blood, and
wholesome life stood off the grim enemy, and after two weeks of
terrible anxiety The Don began to hope, and insisted on the nurse
allowing herself some relaxation from her long watch.

But as Shock grew stronger The Don's gloom deepened. He had
determined that once his friend was fit for work again he would
relieve him of the burden of his presence. He had only brought
trouble and shame to the man who was his most trusted, almost his
only friend.

Life looked black to The Don in those days. Lloyd's treachery had
smitten him hard. Not only had it shaken his faith in man, but in
God as well, for with him Lloyd had represented all that was most
sacred in religion. Death, too, had robbed him of his heart's sole
treasure, and in robbing him of this it had taken from him what had
given worth to his life and inspiration to his work. Of what use now
was anything he had left?

He was confronted, too, with the immediate results of his recent
folly. The hospital funds, of which he was the custodian, had
disappeared. He knew that Hickey had robbed him of most of them, but
in order to recover them he would have to acknowledge his crime of
using them for his own ends. As he moved in and out among the men,
too, he had caught murmurs of a charge of embezzlement that in his
present condition filled him with shame and fear. If the thing could
be staved off for a month he could make it right, but he knew well
that the gang would give him as little respite as they could.
Indeed, it was only Sergeant Crisp's refusal to entertain any formal
charge while Shock's life was in danger, that had saved The Don so
far. But while Sergeant Crisp had stood between him and his enemies
thus far, he knew that a day of reckoning must come, far the
Seregant was not a man to allow considerations of friendship to
interfere with duty. With Sergeant Crisp duty was supreme.

But more than The Don was Shock anxious to have this matter of the
hospital funds cleared up, and he only waited an opportunity to
speak to The Don about it. The opportunity was forced on him
unexpectedly.

One day, as he lay apparently asleep, the Sergeant called The Don
into the next room. Through the paper and cotton partition their
voices came quite clearly.

"I have been wanting to speak to you about a matter," the Sergeant
said, with some degree of hesitation, "Hickey's friends are saying
nasty things about you."

"What do you mean?" said The Don, knowing only too well.

"About the hospital funds, you know. In fact, they are saying--"

At this point the nurse came running in.

"Mr. Macgregor wants you, doctor, at once," she cried, and The Don
hurried in to him.

"Go and tell the Sergeant to wait," Shock said to the nurse, and she
went out leaving The Don alone with him.

"Don," said Shock, "I know all about it. Don't speak. Here," taking
the roll of bills from under his pillow, "here is the hospital
money. Quick! Don't ask questions now. Go to the Sergeant. Go! go!"

"Nothing wrong?" asked the Sergeant anxiously, when The Don had
returned.

"Oh, no," said The Don. "Nothing serious. You were speaking about
some hospital funds?"

"Why, yes, the fact is, they are--it's an ugly thing to say--they
are charging you with misappropriation of those funds."

"Oh, they are?" said The Don, who had by this time got back his
nerve. "Well, Sergeant, let them come on. The accounts will be
ready. And, indeed, I shall be glad to turn over the funds to
yourself now. Excuse me a moment." He went to his desk and brought
out a pass book. "This shows all the subscriptions, about two
hundred dollars, I think. And here," he said, drawing the bills out
of his pocket, "you will find the whole amount."

"Not at all," said the Sergeant, "not at all, my dear fellow. I
thought it right you should know--be prepared, you understand."

"Thank you, Sergeant," said The Don. "Any time my books can be seen.
Good-bye."

The Don went in to Shock, sent the nurse out for a walk, shut the
door, and then, returning to the bed, threw himself on his knees.