As they were French Canadians, their
retirement became a public matter in Manitou and begot fresh quarrel
between the rival towns.
Ingolby had made a tactical mistake in at once removing the office of the
merged railway from Manitou, and he saw it quickly. It was not possible
to put the matter right at once, however.
There had already been collision between his own railway-men and the
rivermen from Manitou, whom Felix Marchand had bribed to cause trouble:
two Manitou men had been seriously hurt, and feeling ran high. Ingolby's
eyes opened wide when he saw Marchand's ugly game. He loathed the
dissolute fellow, but he realized now that his foe was a factor to be
reckoned with, for Marchand had plenty of money as well as a bad nature.
He saw he was in for a big fight with Manitou, and he had to think it
out.
So this time he went pigeon-shooting.
He got his pigeons, and the slaughter did him good. As though in keeping
with the situation, he shot on both sides of the Sagalac with great good
luck, and in the late afternoon sent his Indian lad on ahead to Lebanon
with the day's spoil, while he loitered through the woods, a gun slung in
the hollow of his arm. He had walked many miles, but there was still a
spring to his step and he hummed an air with his shoulders thrown back
and his hat on the back of his head.
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