to
his hand, when in walked policeman Jackson, her Majesty's sole
representative in the Black Rock district. Jackson, 'Stonewall' Jackson,
or 'Stonewall,' as he was called for obvious reasons, after watching the
game for a few moments, gently tapped the pistol and asked what he used
this for.

'I'll show you in two holy minutes if you don't light out,' said Idaho,
hardly looking up, but very angrily, for the luck was against him. But
Jackson tapped upon the table and said sweetly--

'You're a stranger here. You ought to get a guide-book and post
yourself. Now, the boys know I don't interfere with an innocent little
game, but there is a regulation against playing it with guns; so,'
he added even more sweetly, but fastening Idaho with a look from
his steel-grey eyes, 'I'll just take charge of this,' picking up the
revolver; 'it might go off.'

Idaho's rage, great as it was, was quite swallowed up in his amazed
disgust at the state of society that would permit such an outrage upon
personal liberty. He was quite unable to play any more that evening, and
it took several drinks all round to restore him to articulate speech.
The rest of the night was spent in retailing for his instruction stories
of the ways of Stonewall Jackson.

Idaho bought a new 'gun,' but he wore it 'in his clothes,' and used it
chiefly in the pastime of shooting out the lights or in picking off
the heels from the boys' boots while a stag dance was in progress in
Slavin's. But in Stonewall's presence Idaho was a most correct citizen.
Stonewall he could understand and appreciate. He was six feet three,
and had an eye of unpleasant penetration. But this new feeling in the
community for respectability he could neither understand nor endure. The
League became the object of his indignant aversion, and the League
men of his contempt. He had many sympathisers, and frequent were the
assaults upon the newly-born sobriety of Billy Breen and others of the
League. But Geordie's watchful care and Mrs. Mavor's steady influence,
together with the loyal co-operation of the League men, kept Billy safe
so far. Nixon, too, was a marked man. It may be that he carried himself
with unnecessary jauntiness toward Slavin and Idaho, saluting the former
with, 'Awful dry weather! eh, Slavin?' and the latter with, 'Hello, old
sport! how's times?' causing them to swear deeply; and, as it turned
out, to do more than swear.

But on the whole the anti-League men were in favour of a