Presently the boy went away, and presently he reeled back again, and put a hand on the Pilot's shoulder. "Near all in?" asked the Pilot. "I came here yesterday morning with a hundred and twenty-three dollars," said the boy, very drunkenly, "and I give it to the bartender to keep for me, and I'm told I got two-thirty left." He was quite content; but Higgins knew that the money of which they were robbing him was needed at his home, a day's journey to the east of Deer River. * * * * * There is no pleasure thereabout (they say) but the spree, and the end of the spree is the snake-room for by far the most of the merry-makers--r a penniless condition for all--pneumonia for many--and for the survivors a beggared, reeling return to the hard work of the woods. Higgins is used to picking over the bodies of drunken men in the snake-room heaps--of entering sadly, but never reluctantly (he said), in search of men who have been sorely wounded in brawls, or are taken with pneumonia, or in whom there remains hope of regeneration. He carries them off on his back to lodgings--or he wheels them away in a barrow--and he washes them and puts them to bed and (sometimes angrily) restrains them until their normal minds return. It has never occurred to him, probably, that this is an amazing exhibition of primitive Christian feeling and practice. He may have thought of it, however, as a glorious opportunity for service, for which he should devoutly and humbly give thanks to Almighty God. VIII TOUCHING PITCH Not long ago Bemidji was what the Pilot calls "the worst town on the map." It was indescribably lawless and vicious. An adequate description would be unprintable. The government--the police and magistrates--was wholly in the hands of the saloon-keeping element. It was a thoroughly noisome settlement. The town authorities laughed at the Pilot; the state authorities gently listened to him and conveniently forgot him, for political reasons. But he was determined to cleanse the place of its established and flaunting wickednesses. He organized a W. C. T. U.; and then--"Boys," said he to the keepers of places, "I'm going to clean you out. I want to be fair to you--and so I tell you. Don't you ever come sneaking up to me and say I didn't give you warning!" They laughed at him when he stripped off his coat and got to work. In the bar-rooms the toast was, "T' Higgins--and t' hell with Higgins!" and down went the red liquor. But when the fight was over, when the shutters were up for good--so had he compelled the respect of these men--they came to the preacher, saying: "Higgins, you gave us a show; you fought us fair--and we want to shake hands." "That's all right, boys," said Higgins. "Will you shake hands?" "Sure, I'll shake hands, boys!" Jack Worth--that notorious gambler and saloon-keeper of Bemidji--quietly approached Higgins. "Frank," said he, "you win; but I've no hard feelings."