Part 3 (2/2)

Greedy, selfish, jealous, treacherous, quick to take offence and slow to forgive or forget, his presence in the Johnston gang was explained by his wonderful knowledge of the forest, his sure judgment in selecting good bunches of timber to be cut, and his intimate acquaintance with the course of the stream down which the logs would be floated in the spring.

Johnston had no liking for Damase, but found him too valuable to dispense with. This year, by chance, or possibly by his own management, Damase had among the gang a number of companions much after his own pattern, and it was clearly his intention to take the lead in the shanty so far as he dared venture. When first he saw Frank, and learned that he was to be with Johnston also, he tried after his own fas.h.i.+on to make friends with him. But as might be expected, neither the man himself nor his overtures of friends.h.i.+p impressed Frank favourably. He wanted neither a pull from his pocket flask nor a chew from his plug of ”navy,” nor to handle his greasy cards; and although he declined the offer of all these uncongenial things as politely as possible, the veritable suspicious, sensitive, French-Indian nature took offence, which deepened day after day, as he could not help seeing that Frank was careful to give himself and companions as wide a berth as he could without being pointedly rude or offensive.

When one is seeking to gratify evil feelings toward another with whom he has daily contact, the opportunity is apt to be not long in coming, and Damase conceived that he had his chance of venting his spite on Frank by seizing upon the habit of Bible reading and prayer which the lad had as scrupulously observed in the shanty as if he had been at home. As might be imagined, he was altogether alone in this good custom, and at first the very novelty of it had secured him immunity from pointed notice or comment. But when Damase, thinking he saw in his daily devotions an opening for his malicious purposes, drew attention to them by jeering remarks and taunting insinuations, the others, yielding to that natural tendency to be incensed with any one who seems to a.s.sert superior goodness, were inclined to side with him, or at all events to make no attempt to interfere.

At first Damase confined himself to making as much noise as possible while Frank was reading his Bible or saying his prayers, keeping up a constant fire of remarks that were aimed directly at the much-tried boy, and which were sometimes clever or impertinent enough to call forth a hearty laugh from his comrades. But finding that Frank was not to be overcome by this, he resorted to more active measures. Pretending to be dancing carelessly about the room he would, as if by accident, b.u.mp up against the object of his enmity, sending the precious book flying on the floor, or, if Frank was kneeling by his bunk, tripping and tumbling roughly over his outstretched feet. Another time he knocked the Bible out of his hands with a well-aimed missile, and, again, covered him with a heavy blanket as he knelt at prayer.

All this Frank bore in patient silence, hoping in that way to secure peace in time. But Damase's persecutions showing no signs of ceasing, the poor lad's self-control began to desert him, and at last the crisis came one night when, while he was kneeling as usual at the foot of his bunk, Damase crept up softly behind him, and springing upon his shoulders, brought him sprawling to the floor. In an instant Frank was on his feet, and when the others saw his flas.h.i.+ng and indignant countenance and noticed his tight-clinched fists, the roar of laughter that greeted his downfall was checked half way, and a sudden silence fell upon them. They all expected him to fly at his tormentor like a young tiger, and Damase evidently expected it too, for he stepped back a little, and his grinning face sobered as he a.s.sumed a defensive att.i.tude.

But Frank had no thought of striking. That was not his way of defending his religion, much as he was willing to endure rather than be unfaithful.

Drawing himself up to his full height, and looking a splendid type of righteous indignation, he commanded the attention of all as in clear, strong tones, holding his st.u.r.dy fists close to his sides as though he dared not trust them elsewhere, and looking straight into Damase's eyes, lie exclaimed,--

”Aren't you ashamed to do such an unmanly thing--you, who are twice my size and age? I have done nothing to you. Why should you torment me? And just when I want most to be quiet, too!”

Then, turning to the other men with a gesture of appeal that was irresistible, he cried,--

”Do you think it's fair, fellows, for that man to plague me so when I've done him no harm? Why don't you stop him? You can do it easy enough. He's nothing but a big coward.”

Frank's anger had risen as he spoke, and this last sentence slipped out before he had time to stop it. No sooner was it uttered than he regretted it; but the bolt had been shot, and it went straight to its mark. While Frank had been speaking, Damase was too keen of sight and sense not to notice that the manly speech and fine self-control of the boy were causing a quick revulsion of feeling in his hearers, and that unless diverted they would soon be altogether on his side, and the taunt he had just flung out awoke a deep murmur of applause which was all that was needed to inflame his pa.s.sion to the highest pitch. The Frenchman looked the very incarnation of fury as, springing towards Frank with uplifted fist, he hissed, rather cried, through his gleaming teeth,--

”Coward! I teach you call me coward.”

Stepping back a little, Frank threw up his arms in a posture of defence; for he was not without knowledge of what is so oddly termed ”the n.o.ble art.”

But before the blow fell an unlooked-for intervention relieved him from the danger that threatened.

The foreman, when the shanty was being built, had the farther right-hand corner part.i.tioned off so as to form a sort of cabin just big enough to contain his bunk, his chest, and a small rude table on which lay the books in which he kept his accounts and made memoranda, and some half-dozen volumes that const.i.tuted his library. In this nook, shut off from the observation and society of the others, yet able to overhear and, if he chose to open the door, to oversee also all that went on in the larger room, Johnston spent, his evenings poring over his books by the light of a tallow candle, the only other light in the room being that given forth by the ever-blazing fire.

Owing to this separation from the others, Johnston had been unaware of the manner in which Frank had been tormented, as it was borne so uncomplainingly. But this time Frank's indignant speech, followed so fast by Damase's angry retort, told him plainly that there was need of his interference. He emerged from his corner just at the moment when Damase was ready to strike. One glance at the state of affairs was enough. Damase's back was turned toward him. With a swift spring, that startled the others as if he had fallen through the roof, he darted forward, and ere the French-Canadian's fist could reach its mark a resistless grasp was laid upon his collar, and, swung clear off his feet, he was flung staggering across the room as though he had been a mere child.

”You Indian dog!” growled Johnston, in his fiercest tones, ”what are you about? Don't let me catch you tormenting that boy again!”

CHAPTER VI.

LIFE IN THE LUMBER CAMP.

For a moment there was absolute silence in the shanty, the sudden and effectual intervention of the big foreman in Frank Kingston's behalf filling the onlookers with astonishment. But then, as they recovered themselves, there came a burst of laughter that made the rafters ring, in the midst of which Damase, gathering himself together, slunk scowling to his berth with a face that was dark with hate.

Not deigning to take any further notice of him, Johnston turned to go back to his corner, touching Frank on his shoulder as he did so, and saying to him in a low tone,--

”Come with me, my lad; I want a word with you.”

Still trembling from the excitement of the scene through which he had just pa.s.sed, Frank followed the foreman into his little sanctum, the inside of which he had never seen before, for it was kept jealously locked whenever its occupant was absent. Johnston threw himself clown on his bunk, and motioned Frank to take a seat upon the chest. For a few moments he regarded him in silence, and so intently that, although his expression was full of kindness, and it seemed of admiration, too, the boy felt his face flus.h.i.+ng under his steady scrutiny. At last the foreman spoke.

”You're a plucky lad, Frank. Just like your father-G.o.d bless him' He was a good friend to me when I needed a friend sorely. I heard all that went on to-night, though I didn't see it, and had some hint of it before, though I didn't let on, for I wanted to see what stuff you were made of.

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