"Jim, I don't doubt your courage. I know you too well, believe in you too much. I want you to drop the idea of the Big Cheyenne. Turn right around and go back to Cedar Mountain at once; and the sooner you get there the easier it will be."
He shook his head, and sat as before, his face buried in his hands. "I—cannot—do—it." He forced out the words.
"Jim Hartigan cannot—isn't brave enough?" she asked, her voice a little tremulous with sudden emotion.
In all his life, he had never been charged with cowardice. It stung. Of all things he most despised cowardice, and here it was, brought squarely home to him. He writhed under the thought. There was a dead silence in the little parlour.
Then Belle spoke: "Is this the only answer I am to have—after coming so far?" she asked in a low voice.
Oh, blind, stupid, cowardly fool that he was! He had not thought of that. How much was she braving for him! He was rated a man of courage among his friends, yet now he was yielding to miserable cowardice.
Then his impulsive nature responded. He blurted out: "Belle, I will do anything for you; I will do anything you tell me to." It was an unconditional surrender, and the wise victor gave the honours of war to the vanquished by changing the subject.
"Then come to breakfast," she said in a lighter tone and led him to Aunt Collins's house, whither the doctor had already gone.
A day's rest, a forty-mile ride in the wind, a change of scene, good friends, a buoyant disposition, a flush of youth, and Belle, absorbed in all he did and said—who would not respond to such a concentration of uplifting forces?
Hartigan's exuberance returned. His colour was back in his cheeks. His eyes sparkled and his wit sparkled, too. He won the heart of Mrs. Collins. She said he was "the beautifullest man she had ever seen." Even John Collins, a plough- and wagon-dealer by trade, was impressed with the mental gifts and manly appearance of the young preacher, and Belle knew that the thing she had set out for was won.
Instead of discussing plans she announced them as if they were settled. The doctor wished to stay a day or two in Deadwood, but that did not suit Belle at all. She was quite clear about it. Her aunt must drive back with her at once. The doctor and the Preacher must come, too, but arrive a little later in Cedar Mountain. So they boarded their buckboards, waved good-bye, and set their faces to the south.
The sun shone as it knows how in Dakota. The great pine-clad hills were purple in the lovely morning haze as the little party left Deadwood that day on the buffalo trail for Cedar Mountain. The doctor drove first in his buckboard, not without misgivings, for the good horse had had little rest since that forty-five mile drive. Next came the horseman on the gold-red horse that men turned to look after. Last, the prairie buckboard of the house of Collins with Aunt Anna driving and Belle at her side.
The prairie larks sang from low perches or soared a little way in the air to tell the world how glad they were on that bright summer morning. The splendour of the hills was on all things, and Jim on Blazing Star was filled with the glad tonic. For five miles they ambled along, and when the doctor stopped at a watering place—he had been told to stop there—the others caught up with him. Hereupon there was a readjustment, and their next going found the Collins rig leading with Blazing Star behind, and Belle with Hartigan in the second buckboard.
That was a drive of much consequence to two of the party. In that second buckboard the fates laid plans, spun yarns, and rearranged many things. Hartigan opened his heart and life. He told of his mother, of his happy childhood; of his losses; of his flat, stale, unprofitable boyhood; of Bill Kenna and his "word as a man"; of his own vow of abstinence, kept unbroken till he was eighteen. He gave it all with the joyous side alone in view, and when a pathetic incident intruded, the pathos was in the things, not in the words of the narrator. The man had a power of expression that would have made a great journalist. His talk was one continuous entertainment, and lasted unbroken to the half-way house, where they were to stay an hour for rest and food.
How sweet it is to tell one's history to a woman who takes in every word as of large importance! How pleasant it is to confess to a keen and sympathetic hearer. The twenty-five miles passed far too soon. It was short, but long enough for large foundations to be laid.
Belle was only twenty-two, but hers was a wise head. Hartigan had spoken freely about himself and thus had conferred in some large sort a right to advise. She had deliberately constructed a new mood for his thoughts, so that the horrors of the Bylow cabin were forgotten. The questions now for him and for her were, how to set him right with the church, and how begin all over again. Hartigan's idea was to go openly before the whole congregation with a humble apology, and publicly promise to abstain from drink forever. Belle vetoed this emphatically.
"Never rub your head in the mud," she said. "You make your peace with God first, then with Dr. Jebb, and the deacons. Pay no attention to any one else. There will be some talk for a while, but it will die away.
"You don't know the Black Hills as I do, Jim. People out here don't take things quite so seriously as eastern folk. Many a western preacher carries a flask of brandy as snakebite antidote or chill cure. Not long ago I heard of a minister up north who was held for horse-stealing. Yes, more than once. And how he explained it, I don't know: but he is preaching yet. I don't mean to make light of these things, Jim, but I want to keep you from a kind of reparation which will be more of a shock to the people than what they now know. We must have some sense of proportion. Since there was no public scandal, you will find that the whole matter will be overlooked."
Belle was right; he knew she was; and later events proved it.
Most men propose when they find "the one woman"; but some don't. Many marriages take place without any formal proposal. The man and the woman come together and discover such sympathy, such need of each other, that they assume much that remains unspoken. Nothing was said of love or marriage on that journey from Deadwood, but James Hartigan and Belle Boyd were conscious of a bond that happily and finally became complete. Thenceforth he made no move without consulting her; thenceforth she had no plans in which he was not more than half.
They were ten miles from Cedar Mountain when the last change was made. Those who noted their arrival some while later saw Belle ride up the Main Street with her aunt, and tie up at her father's door. Twenty minutes later Hartigan rode beside the doctor's rig to his home, at the other side of the town.
* * *
CHAPTER XXI
The Ordeal
Jim went at once to Dr. Jebb's to report. Mrs. Jebb opened the door, greeted him with a hearty handshake, and was more than usually cordial. Dr. Jebb was kind, but embarrassed. He offered Jim a chair and began nervously:
"There was a rumour—there—that is—we missed you on Sunday."
Jim, with characteristic directness, said: "Doctor, I'll tell you all about it." Just then there was a timid knock and Mrs. Jebb reappeared. "May I be present, Jim?" she said. "I understand that you have something to talk about, and you know, you were always my boy."
Dr. Jebb looked puzzled. Jim said: "If I can't trust you, who is there left to trust?" And then told the story of his fall. He painted himself not quite so black as he might have done the day before, but black enough.
Dr. Jebb looked terribly worried and distressed. "I don't know what to say," he kept repeating. "All my heart is with you, but my judgment condemns you. I don't know what to say."
Then Mrs. Jebb spoke. "Now, Josiah, you know perfectly well that your affections always were a safer guide than your judgment. There was no bad intention on the part of the sinner—for we are all sinners—this was just an unfortunate accident, and Jim shows in every possible way his regret. There has been no public scandal, and so I think you had better drop the whole thing and forget it. I know enough about Jim to know that he has made out the worst possible case against himself."
"That may be," said Dr. Jebb, "but I fear we must bring the matter up before the deacons, at least."
Thus it was that Dr. Jebb sent out a notice, to such of the deacons as he could not see personally, that a meeting was to be held at his house that night.
In the same afternoon another interview took place in Cedar Mountain. School-trustee Higginbotham was sitting in his office when the schoolteacher came up the boardwalk and into the insurance office.
"Hello, Jack."
"Hello, John"; and the visitor sat down. Higginbotham glanced at him and noticed that his face was drawn and his eyes "like holes burnt in a blanket." His fingers trembled as he rolled a cigarette.
"Say, John," Lowe began nervously, "in case any rumour gets around that the Preacher and I were a little reckless at Bylow's, you can contradict it. At least there's nothing in it as far as I am concerned. I think the Preacher must have taken some before I arrived. He showed the effects, but not much."
"Hm," said Higginbotham. "You got there late?"
"Yes, you see we—that is, both of us—went there to stop that spree—and we did, in a way, but things got a little mixed."
"How was that?"
"Well, I went there to help him and I did what I could for him, but they had had some already. We spilled the keg on the floor and the fumes were pretty strong and affected him a little. Didn't amount to much. I did what I could. It was strong enough to affect me—unpleasantly, too. I thought I'd just let you know in case there was anything said about it."
As soon as he was gone, Hannah appeared. Apparently, she had overheard the conversation. "Well, did you catch on?"
"Partly; how did it strike you?"
"I think he is trying to save his own skin by dragging in the Preacher."
"I think so, too; but all the same, I won't use his story if it can be dispensed with. The less we dig into this thing the better."
A little later the notice came from Dr. Jebb, inviting Deacon Higginbotham to a meeting at his house that evening, for important business. As he walked across the village Charlie Bylow stepped out from a dark corner near Dr. Jebb's house.
"Say, Deacon," he began, "I've been waiting to see you. I know what is on to-night. I want you to know it was a put-up job. It was the schoolteacher worked it. The stuff was doped all right. The Preacher went there to stop it as he did the other time, but they fooled him and trapped him."
"Yes, I thought so," said the little deacon, "and how was it worked?"
"Well, I don't just exactly know. I haven't been on good terms with my brother since I joined the church, so I don't go to his house any more; but I heard some talk about its being the 'slickest thing ever.' I know the Preacher went there to stop it and that they trapped him and that it was Jack Lowe did it."
"Will you go before the deacons of the church and tell them that—if it is necessary?"
"No," replied Bylow uneasily; "at least I don't want to go before any meeting. I only know that's right; that's the way it happened; and I don't want any one to blame Mr. Hartigan." Here Charlie abruptly ended and went away.
Higginbotham turned back to his house. Hannah listened with the keenest attention and then said: "It's easy to straighten it all out. I'll see Belle and tell her to go to Jim at once and keep him from talking. You know what he is when he gets going. He'll talk too much and spoil it all." Thus these two loyal friends laid plans to screen him.
At Jebb's house, Higginbotham took the earliest occasion to warn Jim.
"Now don't talk. Simply answer one or two questions when asked and as briefly as possible. 'Yes' or 'No' is enough. You know we've got to satisfy the old Deacon Blight crowd somehow." And Jim promised to obey.
Dr. Jebb called the meeting to order and, at once, Higginbotham arose and said: "Mr. Chairman, I think it would be better for Mr. Hartigan to retire to another room." So Jim went out.
Dr. Jebb then gave a brief and rather halting account of a "certain rumour reflecting on the sobriety of his assistant." Before he had more than outlined the facts, Higginbotham jumped up:
"Dr. Jebb, you have alluded to a rumour. I call it a shameful fabrication, with no basis in fact. I have made a thorough investigation and am prepared, with two reliable witnesses, to prove that Mr. Hartigan went to the Bylow cabin to prevent a disgraceful spree, as he did once before. They had prepared by getting a keg of whiskey. This liquid sin, if I may so call it, Mr. Hartigan spilled on the floor; unfortunately, it was in a small, close cabin and the fumes affected his head so that he was temporarily ill. These are the facts; and to prove them I have two reliable witnesses. Call in Charlie Bylow and John Lowe." He looked with a pretense of expectation toward the door; getting no response he said: "Humph, not arrived yet. Well, we won't wait. In the meantime, I must say that to my mind altogether too much has been made of this accident and I am satisfied to dismiss the subject if the rest of the deacons consent."
"No, I don't consent; I don't think we should," said Deacon Blight. "We can't afford to have a scandal about our spiritual leader. Let's prove it or disprove it right now."
And, acting on the majority vote, Dr. Jebb called Jim Hartigan to appear. Dr. Jebb was supposed to be chairman, but Higginbotham was irrepressible.
"I want to ask one or two questions," he called out; and, without waiting for permission, he began: "Now, Mr. Hartigan, I understand that you went to the Bylow Corner last Saturday night to prevent a whiskey spree, as we know you have done before; that in some way the fumes of the liquor entered your head and so overpowered you that you were ill afterward; and that it was a painful surprise to you, as one well known to be a teetotaller. Isn't that so?"
"Well, yes," said Jim, in some perplexity; "but it was this way——"
"Never mind the way of it," said Higginbotham emphatically. Then, turning to the others: "I don't see that we need go any further."
"Hold on, hold on," said Deacon Blight; "I'd like to ask one or two questions. You admit being under the influence of liquor at Bylow's?"
"Yes," was the reply.
"Were you ever under the influence of liquor before?"
"I was."
"Once, or more than once?"
"More than once," said Jim. He would have said "many times" but for a scowl from Higginbotham.
"Oh, ho!" said the deacon. "When was that?"
"Before I was converted."
"Never since?"
"No; except last Saturday."
Here Dr. Jebb interrupted. "It seems to me that we need not follow the subject any further than to inquire into the mental attitude of the brother who fell into the snare. I know it is one of absolute contrition now, especially as the affair was of the nature of an accident during the discharge of his duty. It seems to me, therefore, that we should accept his expression of penitence coupled with a promise to abstain so long as he is here with us."
Jim volunteered to abstain for all time, but Higginbotham's moderate counsels prevailed.
Deacon Blight thought that the transgressor should be suspended from office pending a fuller investigation. Deacon Higginbotham thought that it had already been more than fully investigated. Deacon Whaup had never heard of the affair until this evening, but thought that Mr. Hartigan ought to retire during further discussion.
As soon as Jim was outside, Higginbotham, fully determined to stop all further talk, said: "Dr. Jebb, I move we accept the promise Mr. Hartigan has given and table the whole matter. It is absurd to follow it further in the light of what we know—making a big mountain of a very small mole-hill."
Blight, however, didn't think so. He argued for delay and for stern measures. Dr. Jebb put the motion and it was carried with but one dissenting vote; and so the matter was officially closed. As they dispersed, Dr. Jebb reminded them that the deliberations of the Board of Deacons were to be considered strictly confidential.
And Jim went forth with strange and mixed feelings. He was grateful for Higginbotham's determined protection and yet he would have held the Board in higher
respect if it had punished him severely. Such was the nature of the ardent Celt.
* * *
CHAPTER XXII
The Three Religions Confront Him
Jack Shives's blacksmith shop, off the Main Street of Cedar Mountain, was noted for two things: the sound, all-round work it turned out in the smithy line, and the "perchers," an ever-present delegation of village characters that sat chewing straws as they perched on the shop lumber. Most of them came to hear old Shives talk, for Jack was a philosopher and no subject was out of his field. Hartigan liked Shives, enjoyed the shop with its smoke and flying sparks, and took a keen relish in the unfettered debate that filled in the intervals between Shives's ringing blows on the anvil.
Dr. Jebb thought himself a very up-to-date divine. He had tried to have a sort of free discussion in his study Sunday nights after meeting, but the restraint of parsondom was over it all. He was really a painfully orthodox old person; all his up-to-dateness was within the covers of the catechism, and the real thinkers kept away. Dr. Carson had better success, but he was a bitter politician, so that all who differed from him on national or local politics avoided his house. The blacksmith shop, however, was open for all, and the real discussions of the village were there. Shives had a masterful way of assuming the chairmanship, and of doing the job well, often while pounding the anvil; sometimes an effective punctuation of his remarks came in the hiss of hot iron thrust in the tank, and Shives enjoyed the humour of obliterating his opponent for the moment in a cloud of steam.
Jim Hartigan, with his genial, sociable instincts, was found in Shives's shop more often than in the tiny room which, with the bed, table, and books, was all he had in the way of home. Dr. Jebb was afraid to take any large part in these deliberations. They were apt to discuss what he considered the undiscussable foundations of the Church. But Dr. Carson was one of the most strenuous of the debators.
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