special constables, many of whom had been the
stage-drivers, hunters, cattlemen, prospectors, and pioneers of the
early days. Most of them had come of good religious stock-Presbyterians,
Baptists, Methodists, Unitarians; and though they had little piety, and
had never been able to regain the religious customs and habits of their
childhood, they "Stood for the Thing the Old Folks stand for." They were
in a mood which would tear cotton, as the saying was. There was not one
of them but expected that broken heads and bloodshed would be the order
of the day, and they were stonily, fearlessly prepared for the worst.

Since the appearance of Gabriel Druse on the scene, the feeling had
grown that the luck would be with them. When he started at the head
of the cortege, they could scarce forbear to cheer. Such a champion in
appearance had never been seen in the West, and, the night before, he
had proved his right to the title by shaking a knot of toughs into spots
of disconcerted humanity.

As they approached the crossroads of the bridge, his voice, clear and
sonorous, could be heard commanding the Orange band to cease playing.

When the head of the funeral procession was opposite the bridge--the
band, the hearse, the bodyguard of the hearse--Gabriel Druse stood
aside, and took his place at the point where the lines of the two
processions would intersect.

It was at this moment that the collision came. There were only about
sixty feet of space between the two processions, when a voice rang out
in a challenge so offensive, that the men of Manitou got their cue for
attack without creating it themselves. Every Orangeman of the Lodge of
Lebanon afterwards denied that he had raised the cry; and the chances
are that every one spoke the truth. It was like Felix Marchand
to arrange for just such an episode, and so throw the burden of
responsibility on the Orangemen.

"To hell with the Pope! To hell with the Pope!" the voice rang out, and
it had hardly ceased before the Manitou procession made a rush forward.
The apparent leader of the Manitou roughs was a blackbearded man of
middle height, who spoke raucously to the crowd behind him.

Suddenly a powerful voice rang out.

"Halt, in the name of the Queen!" it called. Surprise is the very
essence of successful war. The roughs of Manitou had not looked for
this. They had foreseen the appearance of the official Chief Constable
of Lebanon; they had expected his challenge and warning in