Lords of the North | Page 6

lad.
That meant an end to our rides and walks and sails down the St.

Lawrence and long evening talks; but I took my revenge by assuming
the airs of a man of forty, at which Hamilton quizzed me not a little and
his wife, Miriam, laughed. When I surprised them all by jumping
suddenly from boyhood to manhood--"like a tadpole into a mosquito,"
as my Uncle Jack facetiously remarked. Meanwhile, a son and heir
came to my friend's home and I had to be thankful for a humble third
place.
And so it came that I was waiting for Eric's arrival at the Quebec Club
that night, peering from the porch for sight of him and calculating how
long it would take to ride from the Chateau Bigot above Charlesbourg,
where he was staying. Stepping outside, I was surprised to see the form
of a horse beneath the lantern of the arched gateway; and my surprise
increased on nearer inspection. As I walked up, the creature gave a
whinny and I recognized Hamilton's horse, lathered with sweat,
unblanketed and shivering. The possibility of an accident hardly
suggested itself before I observed the bridle-rein had been slung over
the hitching-post and heard steps hurrying to the side door of the
club-house.
"Is that you, Eric?" I called.
There was no answer; so I led the horse to the stable boy and hurried
back to see if Hamilton were inside. The sitting room was deserted; but
Eric's well-known, tall figure was entering the dining-room. And a
curious figure he presented to the questioning looks of the club men. In
one hand was his riding whip, in the other, his gloves. He wore the
buckskin coat of a trapper and in the belt were two pistols. One sleeve
was torn from wrist to elbow and his boots were scratched as if they
had been combed by an iron rake. His broad-brimmed hat was still on,
slouched down over his eyes like that of a scout.
"Gad! Hamilton," exclaimed Uncle Jack MacKenzie, who was facing
Eric as I came up behind, "have you been in a race or a fight?" and he
gave him the look of suspicion one might give an intoxicated man.
"Is it a cold night?" asked the colonel punctiliously, gazing hard at the
still-strapped hat.

Not a word came from Hamilton.
"How's the cold in your head?" continued Adderly, pompously trying to
stare Hamilton's hat off.
"Here I am, old man! What's kept you?" and I rushed forward but
quickly checked myself; for Hamilton turned slowly towards me and
instead of erect bearing, clear glance, firm mouth, I saw a head that was
bowed, eyes that burned like fire, and parched, parted, wordless lips.
If the colonel had not been stuffing himself like the turkey guzzler that
he was, he would have seen something unspeakably terrible written on
Hamilton's silent face.
"Did the little wifie let him off for a night's play?" sneered Adderly.
Barely were the words out, when Hamilton's teeth clenched behind the
open lips, giving him an ugly, furious expression, strange to his face.
He took a quick stride towards the officer, raised his whip and brought
it down with the full strength of his shoulder in one cutting blow across
the baggy, purplish cheeks of the insolent speaker.
CHAPTER II
A STRONG MAN IS BOWED
The whole thing was so unexpected that for one moment not a man in
the room drew breath. Then the colonel sprang up with the bellow of an
enraged bull, overturning the table in his rush, and a dozen club
members were pulling him back from Eric.
"Eric Hamilton, are you mad?" I cried. "What do you mean?"
But Hamilton stood motionless as if he saw none of us. Except that his
breath was labored, he wore precisely the same strange, distracted air
he had on entering the club.
"Hold back!" I implored; for Adderly was striking right and left to get

free from the men. "Hold back! There's a mistake! Something's
wrong!"
"Reptile!" roared the colonel. "Cowardly reptile, you shall pay for
this!"
"There's a mistake," I shouted, above the clamor of exclamations.
"Glad the mistake landed where it did, all the same," whispered Uncle
Jack MacKenzie in my ear, "but get him out of this. Drunk--or a
scandal," says my uncle, who always expressed himself in explosives
when excited. "Side room--here--lead him in--drunk--by Jove--drunk!"
"Never," I returned passionately. I knew both Hamilton and his wife
too well to tolerate either insinuation. But we led him like a dazed
being into a side office, where Mr. Jack MacKenzie promptly turned
the key and took up a posture with his back against the door.
"Now, Sir," he broke out sternly, "if it's neither drink, nor a scandal----"
There, he stopped; for Hamilton, utterly