Corporal Cameron | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, [email protected].

CORPORAL CAMERON OF THE NORTH WEST MOUNTED POLICE
A TALE OF THE MACLEOD TRAIL
by RALPH CONNOR

BOOK I
I THE QUITTER
II THE GLEN OF THE CUP OF GOLD
III THE FAMILY SOLICITOR
IV A QUESTION OF HONOUR
V A LADY AND THE LAW
VI THE WASTER'S REFUGE
VII FAREWELL TO CUAGH OIR
VIII WILL HE COME BACK?
BOOK II
I HO FOR THE OPEN!
II A MAN'S JOB
III A DAY'S WORK
IV A RAINY DAY
V HOW THEY SAVED THE DAY
VI A SABBATH DAY IN LATE AUGUST
VII THE CHIVAREE
VIII IN APPLE TIME
BOOK III
I THE CAMP BY THE GAP
II ON THE WINGS OF THE STORM
III THE STONIES
IV THE DULL RED STAIN
V SERGEANT CRISP
VI A DAY IN THE MACLEOD BARRACKS
VII THE MAKING OF BRAVES
VIII NURSE HALEY
IX "CORPORAL" CAMERON

CORPORAL CAMERON
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER I
THE QUITTER
"Oh-h-h-h, Cam-er-on!" Agony, reproach, entreaty, vibrated in the clear young voice that rang out over the Inverleith grounds. The Scottish line was sagging!--that line invincible in two years of International conflict, the line upon which Ireland and England had broken their pride. Sagging! And because Cameron was weakening! Cameron, the brilliant half-back, the fierce-fighting, erratic young Highlander, disciplined, steadied by the great Dunn into an instrument of Scotland's glory! Cameron going back! A hush fell on the thronged seats and packed inner-circle,--a breathless, dreadful hush of foreboding. High over the hushed silence that vibrant cry rang; and Cameron heard it. The voice he knew. It was young Rob Dunn's, the captain's young brother, whose soul knew but two passions, one for the captain and one for the half-back of the Scottish International.
And Cameron responded. The enemy's next high punt found him rock-like in steadiness. And rock-like he tossed high over his shoulders the tow-headed Welshman rushing joyously at him, and delivered his ball far down the line safe into touch. But after his kick he was observed to limp back into his place. The fierce pace of the Welsh forwards was drinking the life of the Scottish backline.
An hour; then a half; then another half, without a score. And now the final quarter was searching, searching the weak spots in their line. The final quarter it is that finds a man's history and habits; the clean of blood and of life defy its pitiless probe, but the rotten fibre yields and snaps. That momentary weakness of Cameron's like a subtle poison runs through the Scottish line; and like fluid lightning through the Welsh. It is the touch upon the trembling balance. With cries exultant with triumph,