by Ralph Connor
CHAPTER VI
HIS SECOND WIND
The first weeks were not pleasant for The Pilot. He had been beaten, andthe sense of failure damped his fine enthusiasm, which was one of hischief charms. The Noble Seven despised, ignored, or laughed at him,according to their mood and disposition. Bruce patronized him; and,worst of all, the Muirs pitied him. This last it was that brought himlow, and I was glad of it. I find it hard to put up with a man thatenjoys pity.
It was Hi Kendal that restored him, though Hi had no thought of doingso good a deed. It was in this way: A baseball match was on with ThePorcupines from near the Fort. To Hi's disgust and the team's dismayBill failed to appear. It was Hi's delight to stand up for Bill'spitching, and their battery was the glory of the Home team.
"Try The Pilot, Hi," said some one, chaffing him.
Hi looked glumly across at The Pilot standing some distance, away; thencalled out, holding up the ball:
"Can you play the game?"
For answer Moore held up his hands for a catch. Hi tossed him the balleasily. The ball came back so quickly that Hi was hardly ready, and thejar seemed to amaze him exceedingly.
"I'll take him," he said, doubtfully, and the game began. Hi fitted onhis mask, a new importation and his peculiar pride, and waited.
"How do you like them?" asked The Pilot.
"Hot!" said Hi. "I hain't got no gloves to burn."
The Pilot turned his back, swung off one foot on to the other anddischarged his ball.
"Strike!" called the umpire.
"You bet!" said Hi, with emphasis, but his face was a picture ofamazement and dawning delight.
Again The Pilot went through the manoeuvre in his box and again theumpire called:
"Strike!"
Hi stopped the ball without holding it and set himself for the third.Once more that disconcerting swing and the whip-like action of the arm,and for the third time the umpire called:
"Strike! Striker out!"
"That's the hole," yelled Hi.
The Porcupines were amazed. Hi looked at the ball in his hand, then atthe slight figure of The Pilot.
"I say! where do you get it?"
"What?" asked Moore innocently.
"The gait!"
"The what?"
"The gait! the speed, you know!"
"Oh! I used to play in Princeton a little."
"Did, eh? What the blank blank did you quit for?"
He evidently regarded the exchange of the profession of baseball for thestudy of theology as a serious error in judgment, and in this opinionevery inning of the game confirmed him. At the bat The Pilot did notshine, but he made up for light hitting by his base-running. He wasfleet as a deer, and he knew the game thoroughly. He was keen, eager,intense in play, and before the innings were half over he was recognizedas the best all-round man on the field. In the pitcher's box he puzzledthe Porcupines till they grew desperate and hit wildly and blindly,amid the jeers of the spectators. The bewilderment of the Porcupines wasequaled only by the enthusiasm of Hi and his nine, and when the game wasover the score stood 37 to 7 in favor of the Home team. They carried ThePilot off the field.
From that day Moore was another man. He had won the unqualified respectof Hi Kendal and most of the others, for he could beat them at their owngame and still be modest about it. Once more his enthusiasm came backand his brightness and his courage. The Duke was not present to witnesshis triumph, and, besides, he rather despised the game. Bruce was there,however, but took no part in the general acclaim; indeed, he seemedrather disgusted with Moore's sudden leap into favor. Certainly hishostility to The Pilot and to all that he stood for was none the lessopen and bitter.
The hostility was more than usually marked at the service held on theSunday following. It was, perhaps, thrown into stronger relief by theopen and delighted approval of Hi, who was prepared to back up anythingThe Pilot would venture to say. Bill, who had not witnessed The Pilot'sperformance in the pitcher's box, but had only Hi's enthusiasticreport to go upon, still preserved his judicial air. It is fair to say,however, that there was no mean-spirited jealousy in Bill's heart eventhough Hi had frankly assured him that The Pilot was "a demon," andcould "give him points." Bill had great confidence in Hi's opinion uponbaseball, but he was not prepared to surrender his right of privatejudgment in matters theological, so he waited for the sermon beforecommitting himself to any enthusiastic approval. This service was anundoubted success. The singing was hearty, and insensibly the men fellinto a reverent attitude during prayer. The theme, too, was one thatgave little room for skepticism. It was the story of Zaccheus, andstory-telling was Moore's strong point. The thing was well done.Vivid portraitures of the outcast, shrewd, converted publican and thesupercilious, self-complacent, critical Pharisee were drawn with a fewdeft touches. A single sentence transferred them to the Foothills andarrayed them in cowboy garb. Bill was none too sure of himself, butHi, with delightful winks, was indicating Bruce as the Pharisee, to thelatter's scornful disgust. The preacher must have noticed, for with avery clever turn the Pharisee was shown to be the kind of man who likesto fit faults upon others. Then Bill, digging his elbows into Hi's ribs,said in an audible whisper:
"Say, pardner, how does it fit now?"
"You git out!" answered Hi, indignantly, but his confidence in hisinterpretation of the application was shaken. When Moore came todescribe the Master and His place in that ancient group, we in theStopping Place parlor fell under the spell of his eyes and voice, andour hearts were moved within us. That great Personality was madevery real and very winning. Hi was quite subdued by the story and thepicture. Bill was perplexed; it was all new to him; but Bruce was mainlyirritated. To him it was all old and filled with memories he hated toface. At any rate he was unusually savage that evening, drank heavilyand went home late, raging and cursing at things in general and ThePilot in particular--for Moore, in a timid sort of way, had tried toquiet him and help him to his horse.
"Ornery sort o' beast now, ain't he?" said Hi, with the idea ofcomforting The Pilot, who stood sadly looking after Bruce disappearingin the gloom.
"No! no!" he answered, quickly, "not a beast, but a brother."
"Brother! Not much, if I know my relations!" answered Hi, disgustedly.
"The Master thinks a good deal of him," was the earnest reply.
"Git out!" said Hi, "you don't mean it! Why," he added, decidedly, "he'smore stuck on himself than that mean old cuss you was tellin' about thisafternoon, and without half the reason."
But Moore only said, kindly, "Don't be hard on him, Hi," and turnedaway, leaving Hi and Bill gravely discussing the question, with the aidof several drinks of whisky. They were still discussing when, an hourlater, they, too, disappeared into the darkness that swallowed up thetrail to Ashley Ranch. That was the first of many such services. Thepreaching was always of the simplest kind, abstract questions beingavoided and the concrete in those wonderful Bible tales, dressed inmodern and in western garb, set forth. Bill and Hi were more thanever his friends and champions, and the latter was heard exultantly toexclaim to Bruce:
"He ain't much to look at as a parson, but he's a-ketchin' his secondwind, and 'fore long you won't see him for dust."
