last great fight is won. And without doubt, it is a song to make the pulses gallop.
No man thought to thump Buck because he had packed candles, butter and cutlery loose in one sack.
“Sure, it’s all good aitin’ when ye shut ye’re eyes fast enough,” said Tod, and was forthwith pitched into a corner for stepping on Conlon’s new-made damper. The content of all the world was in Ted Douglas’ face and in his voice. And this was quite to be understood; for the boys had proved themselves, one and all, for the honour and good of Mains and of their manhood. Steve muttered four words to him that made his eyes flame.
“It’s you helt ’em,” he said.
Then someone kicked the door open, crying:
“Can you chaps put up three more to-night? We’re out o’ our reckonin’, an’ it’s brutal dark.”
“Ach, come in be all manes,” cried Tod; “if so be ye’ll excuse as we ain’t dressed for callers.”
His coat and shirt smoked before the fire; but Lou wore a blanket only, and Raplin was still wringing the water out of his trousers. A couple of swags rolled inside the door, and Steve bounced across the hut promptly.
“Ain’t got a spare pair o’ boots in there, are yer?” he demanded. “Big ones?”
“You be blowed, Steve Derral,” said the first
