" 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.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214