As they approached the centre of the town the scene wasbrightened by a row of well-lit stores, and even more by a clusterof saloons and gaming houses, in which the miners spent theirhard-earned but generous wages.
“That’s the Union House,” said the guide, pointing to one saloonwhich rose almost to the dignity of being a hotel. “Jack McGintyis the boss there.”
“What sort of a man is he?” McMurdo asked.
“What! have you never heard of the boss?”
“How could I have heard of him when you know that I am astranger in these parts?”
“Well, I thought his name was known clear across the country.
It’s been in the papers often enough.”
“What for?”
“Well,” the miner lowered his voice— “over the affairs.”
“What affairs?”
“Good Lord, mister! you are queer, if I must say it withoutoffense. There’s only one set of affairs that you’ll hear of in theseparts, and that’s the affairs of the Scowrers.”
“Why, I seem to have read of the Scowrers in Chicago. A gangof murderers, are they not?”
“Hush, on your life!” cried the miner, standing still in alarm, andgazing in amazement at his companion. “Man, you won’t live longin these parts if you speak in the open street like that. Many a manhas had the life beaten out of him for less.”
“Well, I know nothing about them. It’s only what I have read.”
“And I’m not saying that you have not read the truth.” Theman looked nervously round him as he spoke, peering into theshadows as if he feared to see some lurking danger. “If killing ismurder, then God knows there is murder and to spare. But don’tyou dare to breathe the name of Jack McGinty in connection withit, stranger; for every whisper goes back to him, and he is not onethat is likely to let it pass. Now, that’s the house you’re after, thatone standing back from the street. You’ll find old Jacob Shafterthat runs it as honest a man as lives in this township.”
“I thank you,” said McMurdo, and shaking hands with his newacquaintance he plodded, gripsack in hand, up the path which ledto the dwelling house, at the door of which he gave a resoundingknock.
It was opened at once by someone very different from whathe had expected. It was a woman, young and singularly beautiful.
She was of the German type, blonde and fair-haired, with thepiquant contrast of a pair of beautiful dark eyes with which shesurveyed the stranger with surprise and a pleasing embarrassmentwhich brought a wave of colour over her pale face. Framed in thebright light of the open doorway, it seemed to McMurdo that hehad never seen a more beautiful picture; the more attractive forits contrast with the sordid and gloomy surroundings. A lovelyviolet growing upon one of those black slag-heaps of the mineswould not have seemed more surprising. So entranced was he thathe stood staring without a word, and it was she who broke thesilence.
“I thought it was father,” said she with a pleasing little touch ofa German accent. “Did you come to see him? He is downtown. Iexpect him back every minute.”
McMurdo continued to gaze at her in open admiration until hereyes dropped in confusion before this masterful visitor.
“No, miss,” he said at last, “I’m in no hurry to see him. But yourhouse was recommended to me for board. I thought it might suitme—and now I know it will.”
“You are quick to make up your mind,” said she with a smile.
“Anyone but a blind man could do as much,” the other answered.
She laughed at the compliment. “Come right in, sir,” she said.
“I’m Miss Ettie Shafter, Mr. Shafter’s daughter. My mother’s dead,and I run the house. You can sit down by the stove in the frontroom until Father comes along—Ah, here he is! So you can fixthings with him right away.”
A heavy, elderly man came plodding up the path. In a few wordsMcMurdo explained his business. A man of the name of Murphyhad given him the address in Chicago. He in turn had had it fromsomeone else. Old Shafter was quite ready. The stranger made nobones about terms, agreed at once to every condition, and wasapparently fairly flush of money. For seven dollars a week paid inadvance he was to have board and lodging.
So it was that McMurdo, the self-confessed fugitive fromjustice, took up his abode under the roof of the Shafters, the firststep which was to lead to so long and dark a train of events, endingin a far distant land.
The Bodymaster
McMurdo was a man who made his mark quickly. Wherever hewas the folk around soon knew it. Within a week he had becomeinfinitely the most important person at Shafter’s. There wereten or a dozen boarders there; but they were honest foremen orcommonplace clerks from the stores, of a very different calibrefrom the young Irishman. Of an evening when they gatheredtogether his joke was always the readiest, his conversation thebrightest, and his song the best. He was a born boon companion,with a magnetism which drew good humour from all around him.
And yet he showed again and again, as he had shown in the railwaycarriage, a capacity for sudden, fierce anger, which compelled therespect and even the fear of those who met him. For the law, too,and all who were connected with it, he exhibited a bitter contemptwhich delighted some and alarmed others of his fellow boarders.
From the first he made it evident, by his open admiration, thatthe daughter of the house had won his heart from the instantthat he had set eyes upon her beauty and her grace. He was nobackward suitor. On the second day he told her that he lovedher, and from then onward he repeated the same story with anabsolute disregard of what she might say to discourage him.
“Someone else?” he would cry. “Well, the worse luck forsomeone else! Let him look out for himself! Am I to lose my life’schance and all my heart’s desire for someone else? You can keep onsaying no, Ettie: the day will come when you will say yes, and I’myoung enough to wait.”
