The Sky Pilot: A Tale of the Foothills

by Ralph Connor

  CHAPTER V

  FIRST BLOOD

  One is never so enthusiastic in the early morning, when the emotions arecalmest and the nerves at their steadiest. But I was determined to tryto have the baseball match postponed. There could be no difficulty. Oneday was as much of a holiday as another to these easy-going fellows.But The Duke, when I suggested a change in the day, simply raised hiseyebrows an eighth of an inch and said:

  "Can't see why the day should be changed." Bruce stormed and swore allsorts of destruction upon himself if he was going to change his style oflife for any man. The others followed The Duke's lead.

  That Sunday was a day of incongruities. The Old and the New, theEast and the West, the reverential Past and iconoclastic Present werejumbling themselves together in bewildering confusion. The baseballmatch was played with much vigor and profanity. The expression on ThePilot's face, as he stood watching for a while, was a curious mixture ofinterest, surprise, doubt and pain. He was readjusting himself. He wasso made as to be extremely sensitive to his surroundings. He took oncolor quickly. The utter indifference to the audacious disregard of allhe had hitherto considered sacred and essential was disconcerting. Theywere all so dead sure. How did he know they were wrong? It was his firstnear view of practical, living skepticism. Skepticism in a book did notdisturb him; he could put down words against it. But here it was alive,cheerful, attractive, indeed fascinating; for these men in their westerngarb and with their western swing had captured his imagination. He wasin a fierce struggle, and in a few minutes I saw him disappear into thecoulee.

  Meantime the match went uproariously on to a finish, with the resultthat the champions of "Home" had "to stand The Painkiller," their defeatbeing due chiefly to the work of Hi and Bronco Bill as pitcher andcatcher.

  The celebration was in full swing; or as Hi put it, "the boys weretakin' their pizen good an' calm," when in walked The Pilot. His facewas still troubled and his lips were drawn and blue, as if he were inpain. A silence fell on the men as he walked in through the crowd and upto the bar. He stood a moment hesitating, looking round upon the facesflushed and hot that were now turned toward him in curious defiance. Henoticed the look, and it pulled him together. He faced about toward oldLatour and asked in a high, clear voice:

  "Is this the room you said we might have?"

  The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and said:

  "There is not any more."

  The lad paused for an instant, but only for an instant. Then, lifting apile of hymn books he had near him on the counter, he said in a grave,sweet voice, and with the quiver of a smile about his lips:

  "Gentlemen, Mr. Latour has allowed me this room for a religious service.It will give me great pleasure if you will all join," and immediately hehanded a book to Bronco Bill, who, surprised, took it as if he did notknow what to do with it. The others followed Bronco's lead till he cameto Bruce, who refused, saying roughly:

  "No! I don't want it; I've no use for it."

  The missionary flushed and drew back as if he had been struck, butimmediately, as if unconsciously, The Duke, who was standing near,stretched out his hand and said, with a courteous bow, "I thank you; Ishould be glad of one."

  "Thank you," replied The Pilot, simply, as he handed him a book. The menseated themselves upon the bench that ran round the room, or leaned upagainst the counter, and most of them took off their hats. Just then incame Muir, and behind him his little wife.

  In an instant The Duke was on his feet, and every hat came off.

  The missionary stood up at the bar, and announced the hymn, "Jesus,Lover of My Soul." The silence that followed was broken by the sound ofa horse galloping. A buckskin bronco shot past the window, and in a fewmoments there appeared at the door the Old Timer. He was about to stridein when the unusual sight of a row of men sitting solemnly with hymnbooks in their hands held him fast at the door. He gazed in an amazed,helpless way upon the men, then at the missionary, then back at the men,and stood speechless. Suddenly there was a high, shrill, boyish laugh,and the men turned to see the missionary in a fit of laughter. Itcertainly was a shock to any lingering ideas of religious propriety theymight have about them; but the contrast between his frank, laughing faceand the amazed and disgusted face of the shaggy old man in the doorwaywas too much for them, and one by one they gave way to roars oflaughter. The Old Timer, however, kept his face unmoved, strode up tothe bar and nodded to old Latour, who served him his drink, which hetook at a gulp.

  "Here, old man!" called out Bill, "get into the game; here's your deck,"offering him his book. But the missionary was before him, and, with verybeautiful grace, he handed the Old Timer a book and pointed him to aseat.

  I shall never forget that service. As a religious affair it was a deadfailure, but somehow I think The Pilot, as Hi approvingly said, "got inhis funny work," and it was not wholly a defeat. The first hymn was sungchiefly by the missionary and Mrs. Muir, whose voice was very high, withone or two of the men softly whistling an accompaniment. The second hymnwas better, and then came the Lesson, the story of the feeding of thefive thousand. As the missionary finished the story, Bill, who had beenlistening with great interest, said:

  "I say, pard, I think I'll call you just now."

  "I beg your pardon!" said the startled missionary.

  "You're givin' us quite a song and dance now, ain't you?"

  "I don't understand," was the puzzled reply.

  "How many men was there in the crowd?" asked Bill, with a judicial air.

  "Five thousand."

  "And how much grub?"

  "Five loaves and two fishes," answered Bruce for the missionary.

  "Well," drawled Bill, with the air of a man who has reached aconclusion, "that's a little too unusual for me. Why," looking pityinglyat the missionary, "it ain't natarel."

  "Right you are, my boy," said Bruce, with a laugh. "It's deucedlyunnatural."

  "Not for Him," said the missionary, quietly. Then Bruce joyfully tookhim up and led him on into a discussion of evidences, and from evidencesinto metaphysics, the origin of evil and the freedom of the will, tillthe missionary, as Bill said, "was rattled worse nor a rooster in thedark." Poor little Mrs. Muir was much scandalized and looked anxiouslyat her husband, wishing him to take her out. But help came from anunexpected quarter, and Hi suddenly called out:

  "Here you, Bill, shut your blanked jaw, and you, Bruce, give the man achance to work off his music."

  "That's so! Fair play! Go on!" were the cries that came in response toHi's appeal.

  The missionary, who was all trembling and much troubled, gave Hi agrateful look, and said:

  "I'm afraid there are a great many things I don't understand, and I amnot good at argument." There were shouts of "Go on! fire ahead, play thegame!" but he said, "I think we will close the service with a hymn." Hisfrankness and modesty, and his respectful, courteous manner gained thesympathy of the men, so that all joined heartily in singing, "Sun of MySoul." In the prayer that followed his voice grew steady and his nervecame back to him. The words were very simple, and the petitions weremostly for light and for strength. With a few words of remembrance of"those in our homes far away who think of us and pray for us and neverforget," this strange service was brought to a close.

  After the missionary had stepped out, the whole affair was discussedwith great warmth. Hi Kendal thought "The Pilot didn't have no fairshow," maintaining that when he was "ropin' a steer he didn't want noblanked tenderfoot to be shovin' in his rope like Bill there." But Billsteadily maintained his position that "the story of that there picnicwas a little too unusual" for him. Bruce was trying meanwhile to beguileThe Duke into a discussion of the physics and metaphysics of the case.But The Duke refused with quiet contempt to be drawn into a region wherehe felt himself a stranger. He preferred poker himself, if Brucecared to take a hand; and so the evening went on, with the theologicaldiscussion by Hi and Bill in a judicial, friendly spirit in one corner,while the others for the most part played poker.

  When th
e missionary returned late there were only a few left in theroom, among them The Duke and Bruce, who was drinking steadily andlosing money. The missionary's presence seemed to irritate him, and heplayed even more recklessly than usual, swearing deeply at every loss.At the door the missionary stood looking up into the night sky andhumming softly "Sun of My Soul," and after a few minutes The Duke joinedin humming a bass to the air till Bruce could contain himself no longer.

  "I say," he called out, "this isn't any blanked prayer-meeting, is it?"

  The Duke ceased humming, and, looking at Bruce, said quietly: "Well,what is it? What's the trouble?"

  "Trouble!" shouted Bruce. "I don't see what hymn-singing has to do witha poker game."

  "Oh, I see! I beg pardon! Was I singing?" said The Duke. Then after apause he added, "You're quite right. I say, Bruce, let's quit. Somethinghas got on to your nerves." And coolly sweeping his pile into hispocket, he gave up the game. With an oath Bruce left the table, tookanother drink, and went unsteadily out to his horse, and soon we heardhim ride away into the darkness, singing snatches of the hymn andswearing the most awful oaths.

  The missionary's face was white with horror. It was all new and horribleto him.

  "Will he get safely home?" he asked of The Duke.

  "Don't you worry, youngster," said The Duke, in his loftiest manner,"he'll get along."

  The luminous, dreamy eyes grew hard and bright as they looked The Dukein the face.

  "Yes, I shall worry; but you ought to worry more."

  "Ah!" said The Duke, raising his brows and smiling gently upon thebright, stern young face lifted up to his. "I didn't notice that I hadasked your opinion."

  "If anything should happen to him," replied the missionary, quickly, "Ishould consider you largely responsible."

  "That would be kind," said The Duke, still smiling with his lips. Butafter a moment's steady look into the missionary's eyes he nodded hishead twice or thrice, and, without further word, turned away.

  The missionary turned eagerly to me:

  "They beat me this afternoon," he cried, "but thank God, I know nowthey are wrong and I am right! I don't understand! I can't see my waythrough! But I am right! It's true! I feel it's true! Men can't livewithout Him, and be men!"

  And long after I went to my shack that night I saw before me the eagerface with the luminous eyes and heard the triumphant cry: "I feel it'strue! Men can't live without Him, and be men!" and I knew that thoughhis first Sunday ended in defeat there was victory yet awaiting him.