'Shlipped a cog, Mishter Connor! Mosh hunfortunate! Beauchifulhinstrument, but shlips a cog. Mosh hunfortunate!'

And he wagged his little head sagely, playing all the while fordear life, now second and now lead.

Poor Billy! I pitied him, but I thought chiefly of the pretty,eager face that leaned towards him the evening the League was made,and of the bright voice that said, 'You'll sign with me, Billy?'and it seemed to me a cruel deed to make him lose his grip of lifeand hope; for this is what the pledge meant to him.

While I was trying to get Billy away to some safe place, I heard agreat shouting in the direction of the bar, followed by tramplingand scuffling of feet in the passage-way. Suddenly a man burstthrough, crying--

'Let me go! Stand back! I know what I'm about!'

It was Nixon, dressed in his best; yellow clothes, black shirt, whitetie, looking handsome enough, but half-drunk and ferociously excited.The highland Fling competition was on at the moment, and AngusCampbell, Lachlan's brother, was representing the lumber camps inthe contest. Nixon looked on approvingly for a few moments, thenwith a quick movement he seized the little Highlander, swung him inhis powerful arms clean off the floor, and deposited him gentlyupon a beer-barrel. Then he stepped into the centre of the room,bowed to the judges, and began a sailor's hornpipe.

The committee were perplexed, but after deliberation they decidedto humour the very new competitor, especially as they knew that Nixonwith whisky in him was unpleasant to cross.