The Preacher of Cedar Mountain

by Ernest Thompson Seton

  "Business is always in order in the office," was Hannah's retort.

  "I understand," said John, "that the Methodists are very strong in Cedar Mountain."

  "Well, we think so," answered Hartigan.

  "Good," said Higginbotham. "I have always felt that it was wisest to associate myself with the church that was spiritually strongest. I am not in sympathy with narrow views." He did not mention the fact that in Bootlebury he had associated himself with the Unitarians for the same reason.

  A loud sizzling in the next room caused Hannah to spring up heavily and return to the kitchen.

  Jim was more interested in their venturesome trip across the Plains than in reasons for doctrinal affiliation, and he steered the conversation by saying:

  "How did you come out on the Plains trip?"

  And John bubbled on with a mixture of fun, pathos, and frank admiration for his wife that appealed strongly to both hearers. His gift of language was copious without being varied or clever, but his homely phrases carried the thought.

  "I'll not forget the morning of our journey. It was raining by the bucketfuls. 'Well,' says I, 'for a semi-arid country this is going some'; and I felt so homesick and sore, I said, 'Hannah, let's not go any farther'; and Hannah she just looked at me and said, 'See here, John, I've come out so far to go to the Black Hills and I'm going.' Then, when the weather let up a little, we started out; and, after a couple of hours we stuck in a muddy creek and were all day getting across. Next day a couple more gullies just as bad, and the rain came down till ever hole in the prairie was a pond; and I tell you I wished I'd bought a boat instead of the buckboard. And the mosquitoes, oh, my! Well, we floundered around about three days and got all our stuff wet and half spoiled. Then we found we'd missed the way and had to flounder three days back again. I tell you, I felt pretty much discouraged. Then we saw something a-coming. It turned out to be a settler going back. He said there was nothing but pond holes and bogs, the mosquitoes were awful, the boom was bust, and the Sioux on the war path. I felt pretty sick. That was a finisher; and when that man says, 'You better come back with us,' I was for going. But Hannah, she just boiled up and she says, 'John Higginbotham, if you want to go back with that bunch of chicken-hearts, you can go. I'm going to the Black Hills, if I have to go alone.' I tried to make her see it my way, but she got into the buckboard, gathered up the reins, and headed for the West. I had to get in behind as best I could. We didn't talk much. We weren't on speaking terms that day; and, at night, as we sat eating supper, it started to raining worse'n ever, and I says, 'I wish we'd gone back.'

  "'I don't,' she snapped, an' we never spoke till the morning.

  "Then she called me to breakfast. I tell you, I never saw such a change. The sun was up and the sky was clear. In a little while, we were out of the sloughs and had no mosquitoes. Then we got a bad shake. A band of horsemen came riding right at us. But they turned out to be U. S. cavalrymen. They put us right on the road, and told us the Indian scare was just fool talk, and had nothing back of it. After that, all went fine and in two days we were in the Hills.

  "I tell you, I felt different as we stood there at our last campfire, and I says, 'Hannah, you're a wonder. You are the best of the outfit. It was your money we started on. It was your grit kept me going on when I was for quitting, and you are in every deal I make. You bet I'll let the world know we are partners.' So that's why that signboard went up. Not a bad ad I reckon, for no one sees it without taking notice; so, if there's anything in our line you need, let me know."

  As Carson and Hartigan walked down the street, the doctor said: "Well, what do you think of Woman Suffrage now?"

  Hartigan shrugged his big shoulders, gave a comical glance back at the signboard, and replied:

  "You've got me!"

  It was indeed a poser for Jim; a shock to a deep-set prejudice. Notwithstanding the fact that his mother had been a woman of power, the unquestioned and able head in a community of men, he had unconsciously clung to the old idea of woman's mental inferiority. In college he had had that notion bolstered up with Scripture texts and alleged Christian doctrine.

  This was not the time or place, he felt, to discuss the principle of it, and his natural delicacy would, in any case, have kept him from a free expression; but later, in the blacksmith shop, that neutral territory of free speech, they had it out. Higginbotham was there and was ready and able to fight with Scriptural weapons. He pointed out that all the texts quoted, such as: "Wives be in subjection to your own husbands in everything, etc.," were from St. Paul, who was believed to have had a painful history in such matters; whereas, St. Peter, admittedly a far better authority, said: "Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with them, giving honour to the wife."

  "Which may or may not be sound doctrine," said John, "but I know my wife brought me out here, it was her capital that set me up, she has a hand in all business, so why not say so on the signboard?"

  Cedar Mountain had its fill of fun and there were many venerable jokes about "wearing the pants" and others about a spelling of "hen-pecked." "Wasn't it 'Hannah-pecked' now?" And some there were, even women, who condemned the innovation as godless; but all of these hostile comments died away when folk came to know the pair and realize how justly they were represented on the signboard: "John and Hannah Higginbotham, Insurance Agents."

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVII

  Belle Makes a Decision and Jim Evades One

  It was late on Wednesday afternoon. Belle was working at the sewing machine in the back room of the Boyd home when there was a familiar knock at the front door. She was not unprepared for it and yet she dreaded this inevitable interview. Lowe had been pointedly cold for some time. He had been to the house only once in the past month and he had made it quite plain that Hartigan was the objectionable figure in the horizon. Belle realized that their relations had come to a crisis. She had not admitted frankly to herself what she would do when this talk took place, but in her heart there was not the slightest doubt.

  At the sound of his step and knock she went into the parlour, closing the door into the rear room to insure some measure of privacy, and then admitted Jack. His greeting had the obvious air of a man who has been wronged. For a while, with characteristic obliquity, he talked of his school work. Belle sewed meanwhile, asking occasional questions. After a quarter of an hour of this the conversation languished. Belle was determined that he should open the subject himself, and in the awkward pause that ensued she busied herself basting up a lining for her frock. At last, clearing his throat, Lowe began:

  "Belle, I've got something else to say to you."

  She looked at him squarely, the direct gaze of her clear, dark eyes in striking contrast with his close-lidded, shifting glance. He went on:

  "I think that you and the new preacher are going too far and it had better stop now."

  "Just what do you mean, Jack? What do you accuse me of, exactly?"

  From the very beginning of their friendship he had always writhed under the directness of her mental processes. He was ever for evasion, indirection; she for frank, open dealing in all things. He tried to retreat.

  "I'm not accusing you of anything."

  "No, but of something," she replied with a faint smile. "What is it?"

  "There's a lot of talk about town—about you and Hartigan. It makes me a laughing stock. If we weren't engaged——"

  Belle interrupted:

  "That's just what I want to speak about. I've been wanting to have a frank talk with you for some time, Jack, and we may as well have it now.

  "I have always liked you and you have been awfully attentive and helpful to me. I thought I was in love with you, but you know that when we had our talk a year ago, I begged you not to make an announcement and when you insisted on telling a few friends it was agreed that I was to have a year to decide finally. That was why I never wore your ring." She drew a box from her breast and held it out to him.

  "We have both made a mistake, Jack. I made the worst one whe
n I allowed you to over-persuade me a year ago; but we are not going to spoil two lives by going on with it."

  Lowe's mind was not of particularly fine calibre. For some months, whenever he faced the truth, he had realized that he would never marry Belle. He was fond of her to the extent possible in a nature such as his and he was keenly alive to the financial advantage of becoming Boyd's son-in-law. His past history would not bear close inspection and latterly some of his youthful vices had come to light and to life. He knew only too well what a marriage into the Boyd family would do for his fortunes, financially and socially, and a dull rage of several weeks' nursing burned in him against Hartigan. As he took his hat to depart he was foolish enough to speak what was in his mind. He uttered a silly attack on the Preacher. It moved Belle and brought the colour to her face. His bitter comments on their own relations had not called forth any response from her, but this shaft went home, as he meant it should. She controlled herself and merely remarked:

  "I would not say that; it might get to his ears."

  And so he departed.

  * * *

  It was on that same afternoon that Hartigan had a new and, to him, terrifying experience in the dangerous world of the emotions.

  He had ridden forth to make a pastoral call at the Hoomer homestead, out on the plain five miles northeast of Cedar Mountain. When first he glimpsed the house among the low log stables, there were two women in sight; when he came to the door and entered, there was but one, the mother. Half an hour later, the daughter, Lou-Jane, appeared arrayed for conquest. She was undeniably handsome, in spite of a certain coarseness that made Hartigan subtly uneasy, though he could not have told why. She was of the rare vigorous type that is said to have appeared in Ireland after many survivors of the great Armada were washed ashore on the rugged western coast. The mingling of the Irish and Spanish blood in her had resulted in black eyes, black eyebrows, and red, or golden-red hair, combined with a clear, brilliant Irish complexion. She was lively, energetic, rather clever, and tremendously taken with the new preacher.

  Jim was naturally shy with women, as most big men seem to be, and the masterful Lou-Jane smote him with utter confusion. She prattled on about the tea, about the church, the Rev. Dr. Jebb, the local people, the farm, national politics, dry-farming, horses, cows and alfalfa, with the definite purpose of finding out his interests. Getting the best response on the topic of horses, she followed it up.

  "You must come and see my pony. He's a beauty. I got first prize on him as girl rider at the fair last year. I'm so glad you like horses."

  She laid her hand on his arm a dozen times to guide him here or there; she took his hand at last and held on, to his utter embarrassment, long after he had helped her over a fence, and looked disappointed when she got no flirtatious response. She led out her saddle pony and laughingly said:

  "Here, give me a hand."

  Grasping her raised foot, he lifted her with a sweep to the pony's bare back.

  "My, you're strong," was her flattering comment, and she swung the hackima and loped the pony round the field and back to the stable, delighted to see in his eye a frank glow of admiration for her skill.

  "Will you lift me down?" she said merrily; not that she had the least need of help, but she liked to feel those strong arms about her; and as he did so, she made herself quite unnecessarily limp and clinging.

  Jim did not usually lack words, but Lou-Jane was so voluble that he was completely silenced. At the stable, where Ma Hoomer was milking, Lou-Jane delayed for a moment to whisper: "Stay here till I come for you."

  Then she tripped on with Jim at her heels. As they entered the house Hartigan looked at his watch.

  "Now please don't hurry," said Lou-Jane. "Ma'll be back in a few minutes, then we'll have a cup of tea. Sit here; you'll find it more comfortable," and she motioned to a sofa.

  Sitting down beside him so that they were very close together and giving the archest of smiles, she said:

  "I wonder if I might ask you a question."

  "Why, sure," said Jim, just a little uneasy at the warmth of the tone. He had instincts, if not experience.

  "Were you ever in love?" she said softly. Her arm, resting on the back of the sofa, moved accidentally and lay across his shoulder.

  "Why, no—I—no—I guess not," and Hartigan turned red and uncomfortable.

  "I wish you would let me be your friend," she continued. "I do like you very much, you know. I want to be your friend and I can help you in so many ways."

  She leaned toward him, and Jim, being more terrified than he had ever been, murmured something inarticulate about "not being a lady's man." What he would have done to effect his escape he was never afterward able to decide. A spell of helplessness was upon him, when suddenly a heavy step was heard outside and Pa Hoomer's voice calling:

  "Ma, Ma! Who's left that corral gate open?"

  Lou-Jane sprang up, shook her bright hair from her flushed face, and with a hasty apology went to meet her father. The Preacher also rose with inexpressible relief, and, after a hurried farewell, he mounted and rode away.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVIII

  The Second Bylow Spree

  Woman to-day reverences physical prowess just as much as did her cave forebears, and she glories in the fact that her man is a strong, fighting animal, even though she recognizes the value of other gifts.

  Belle was no exception to this human rule; and her eyes sparkled as she listened to Jim's story of that unusual prayer meeting held in the Bylow cabin. It was Hartigan's nature always to see the humorous side of things, and his racy description of the big man with the knife, down on his knees with one eye on the door and the other on the Preacher, was irresistible, much funnier than the real thing. It gave her a genuine thrill, a woman's pleasure in his splendid physical strength.

  "Sure," he said with his faint delicious brogue, "it was distasteful to have to annoy them, but there are times when one has to do what he doesn't like."

  Then he proceeded to a graphic account of the second ruffian smelling the palms of his hands and squinting through his fingers, praying for grace with his lips and for a club with his heart.

  "I don't know what Dr. Jebb will say," she remarked at last, "but it seems to me we must judge by results in this case."

  Hypocrite that she was! Had she not that very week denounced the opportunist doctrine that the end justifies the means? But in her delighted eyes and glowing interest Jim found a vast reward.

  Dr. Jebb was human and discreet. He smiled and said little about the energetic methods of his assistant; and when next Sunday Charlie Bylow and his wife appeared in church and later joined the group on the anxious seat, he felt that the matter was happily ended as it had oddly begun.

  Exactly four weeks after the strenuous prayer meeting word reached the Preacher in a rather pointed way that a keg of the "pizen juice" had arrived on the evening train and was to be carried at once to Pat Bylow's. Hartigan mounted his racer and sped thitherward at nightfall. A half mile from Pat's house was Charlie's, and at the door was the owner, apparently expecting to see him—though this circumstance did not impress Hartigan.

  "Can I do anything to help?" he asked.

  Hartigan shook his head, laughed lightly, and rode on. At Pat's shanty he tied his horse to the fence, stepped to the door, knocked, and, without waiting, went in. A woman's voice shrilled:

  "Pat, here's that —— preacher again."

  There were other voices, male and female, in the lean-to kitchen. Pat came in and glared at the intruder. There was a rising fury in his manner, but no evidence of drink.

  "What do you want?" he asked.

  "Well, to be frank with you," said Hartigan, "I have reason for suspecting an unhelpful indulgence is planned here for to-night, and I was hoping that I might persuade you to reconsider it beforehand. And sure we don't want to get agitated, and I don't want to use language that might sound like disapproval."

  He glanced around. There was no sight of
any spree in prospect. A glimpse of the kitchen showed only the preparations for an ordinary meal, and Hartigan wondered whether or not there had been a mistake. Could it be that he was the butt of a practical joke?

  Pat was sulkily waiting, not knowing just what to say, when voices were heard outside and heavy steps; then the door opened and in came three men, the first carrying under his arm a barrel-shaped bundle. The presence of the Preacher was obviously disconcerting to the new-comers.

  "Gimme that," growled Pat. He seized the keg and was marching off with it when Hartigan strode over in front of him.

  "Hold on, Pat, let me see that."

  Bylow exploded into a torrent of abusive profanity. Some of those present had been witnesses of the previous affair, and realizing what the pastoral visit might mean, they added their voices to the uproar. The language was emphatic rather than concise. The women, too, gave free rein to their tongues, but their observations reflected on their male escorts more harshly than they did on any one or anything else.

  However puzzled Hartigan might be by the complexities of the female mind, the mental processes of the unlettered male were quite familiar to him and he showed his comprehension by a simple challenge.

  "Now, boys, I don't want to seem thoughtless or indelicate, but I want you to know that I can lick the whole bunch of you with one hand tied behind my back and the other in a sling. Not that I have any intention of doing it, and I apologize to the ladies for mention of the subject, but it may help us to an understanding. If you have not yet gathered my meaning, I will put it simpler. I am here to stop this spree before it begins."

  At this moment there was a light shuffling step outside and the door swung back revealing the small, familiar figure of Jack Lowe. A quick, meaning look and some sort of indistinguishable signal passed between Lowe and Pat, whereupon the latter at once placed the keg on the table.