The Preacher of Cedar Mountain

by Ernest Thompson Seton

  "Red Cloud," he said emphatically, "I'll give you two hundred and fifty dollars cash if you find Blazing Star and bring him back here in good condition within one week."

  The Indian Chief smoked for a few puffs and said: "Seven suns, no good. Crow country far away; one moon maybe."

  Reckless riders like the Crows might easily ruin a horse in one month; so, at length, a compromise was reached, whereby Red Cloud was to receive two hundred and fifty dollars if within two-weeks; and one hundred if a month passed before the return. Then the Sioux Chief rose "to find his young men," and his party rode away.

  It was nine the next morning when the sentry discovered a considerable body of mounted Indians in the northeast, riding rapidly toward the Fort. Had it been from the south, he would scarcely have made a report. Before ten o'clock they had arrived. They numbered about fifty warriors in full war paint. They were singing their war songs, and fastened to their coup sticks were one or two terribly fresh-looking scalps. At their head was Red Cloud. A hundred troopers were under arms, so they did not hesitate to admit the Indians. The warriors passed through the gate; then spreading out before the Colonel's house, their opening ranks revealed the noble form of Blazing Star. Bestriding him was the boy Chaska, his bright eyes and clear white teeth gleaming in a smile.

  A mighty shout went up among the white men as the blooded racer was led to the Colonel's office. One or two formalities, and the two hundred and fifty dollars was paid over to Red Cloud. Blazing Star was hastily examined, found in perfect trim, then handed over to the Irish hostler.

  "You take him to the stable," was all the Colonel said, but he said it in large capital letters and it was full of grim threats and reminder, hostler Mike led the lost darling back to the stable where a crowd of men were waiting.

  Red Cloud crammed the new wealth into his tobacco pouch and rode away at the head of his men.

  Al Rennie felt sick with disgust that he should fail when the trail was fresh, while the Sioux, on a washed-out trail, made such a showing in so short a time. He was puzzled, too, by the scalps. The two he managed to examine were not fresh. But he had to swallow his disgust.

  All that day the Indian bands had been going off. Their camps were breaking up; they were dispersing to their homes. The Plain was nearly deserted that afternoon when hostler Mike took Blazing Star out into the heat of the sun to give him the thorough washing and cleaning that he surely needed. A minute later, Mike came rushing across the square to the Colonel's office.

  "Colonel, Colonel," he gasped, "come here, sir."

  "What's the matter with you?" said the Colonel in a voice of wrath which boded ill for a new blunder.

  "Colonel, come at once. Come, it's Blazing Star."

  There was a total lack of soldier decorum in the hostler's address. He was so intensely excited that the Colonel overlooked the informality and went quickly to where Blazing Star was standing tied to the washing post.

  "There, sir; look there—and there!" ejaculated Mike with growing excitement, as he pointed to Blazing Star's legs. "And look at that!" and he swept his bony finger round the big liquid eye of the racer. The Colonel looked, looked closer, parted the hair, looked down to the roots and saw paint—red paint, white paint, black paint—traces of horseshoes, red hands, white patches and stripes; not much, but enough to tell the tale.

  Without a question, Blazing Star was the Pinto that had won the race!

  The simple Red men knew that the Buckskin was overmatched, so they secured the only horse on the plains that could win. They drove the Crows away at the right moment to leave a red herring trail. Then, having captured the stakes, they calmly collected two hundred and fifty dollars for restoring him to his owner. The simple Red men!

  And when Jim Hartigan heard of it he yelled with joy. He laughed; he almost cried. After all, his horse had won; his Blazing Star was the steed of all the plains. He was tossed with different moods—regret and joy, grim humour, sadness and madness; he was stirred to the depths; all his primitive nature was set free. He did not sleep for hours, and when the dawn was near, his boyhood memories filled his brain and he was back in the livery stable garret once again, and repossessed of all his boyhood's ways and words he softly swore himself to sleep.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XLIV

  A Fair Rider

  Life at Cedar Mountain had dropped to normal. Charles Bylow and his wife were regular church members now, and no warmer, truer friends on earth had Hartigan. Pat Bylow had gone to Deadwood seeking work on the railway and it was said that his wife was still importing an occasional flask; but no more sprees took place. Jack Lowe had left Cedar Mountain abruptly after the Bylow affair. Higginbotham had spread the truth about Lowe's part in the drugged liquor and the schoolteacher had received pointed advice to leave the town. He lost no time. Dr. Carson and Jack Shives were alternately confronting each other with abstruse problems; John and Hannah Higginbotham were building an addition to their house and getting a hired girl; and old man Boyd was worrying over a possible extension of the road to Deadwood, which might seriously hurt his business.

  Jim found life very sweet as he grew into the hearts of the townsfolk and came to know their perfectible qualities; he was acquiring a fine reputation for pulpit oratory. Every Thursday and every Sunday afternoon and evening were spent at the Boyds' as their accepted son-in-law to be. On these occasions it was his keenest pleasure to lay his sermons and plans before Belle for her criticism and approval. When they were not together indoors, they were in the saddle together; all the world knew, understood, and wished them joy.

  The Hoomers had come to be prominent in the church now—at least, Ma Hoomer and Lou-Jane had. It was Lou-Jane's doing. And Hartigan, after long delay, felt bound to pay them a pastoral visit. Lou-Jane was heartiness and propriety combined. She chatted gaily on every subject he opened; showed no forwardness; was even shy when, after dinner, he sat down near her. Her riding at the racetrack was vividly in his mind and she blushed quite prettily when he referred to it in admiration.

  "You should see my pony take a fence," she said.

  "Well, sure; that's what I'd like to see," was the response.

  "Some day soon, maybe."

  "Why not now?" he inquired.

  "I must help mother with the dishes."

  And he thought: "Isn't she fine? I like a girl to consider her mother." But he lingered and chatted till the dishes were washed; then he suggested: "If I go out and saddle your pony, will you show me that jump?"

  "Certainly," she answered, with a merry laugh.

  He went to the stable, saddled and brought the bay horse. Lou-Jane put her foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle before he could offer his help.

  "Drop all the bars but the middle one." Hartigan did so, leaving only the three-foot bar of the pasture. Lou-Jane circled off and cleared it without an effort.

  "Raise it one," she shouted.

  He did so, and over she went.

  "Again."

  Now, at four feet, the pony rose and went over.

  "Another," and he raised to four and a half feet. As before, she and her pony sailed over like one creature.

  "Again," and he raised it to five feet. The pony rose with just a hint of effort. One front hoof touched, but he made the jump in triumph. Lou-Jane laughed for joy and circled back, but, warned by that toe tap, jumped no more. She leaped from the saddle before Jim could come near to help and in his frank, beaming admiration she found what once she had hungered for in vain.

  As he rode away that day, his unvoiced thought was: "Isn't she fine—and me misjudging her all the time! I'm ashamed of myself."

  Lou-Jane watched him out of sight, waving a hand to him as he topped the hill. The visit and Hartigan's open delight in her riding had stirred her very much. Was it loyalty to Belle that led her to throw up a barrier between herself and the Preacher? or was it knowledge that the flowers are ever fairest in the fenced-in field? This much was sure, the interest of passing attraction w
as giving place to a deeper feeling. A feeling stronger every month. Lou-Jane was in the game to win; and was playing well.

  August, bright and fruit-giving, was passing; September was near with its dryness, its payments on the springtime promises; and Belle, as she gazed at the radiant sky or the skurrying prairie dogs that tumbled, yapping, down their little craters, was tormented with the flight of the glowing months. In October the young Preacher and she must say good-bye for a long, long time, with little chance of any break till his course was completed, and he emerged a graduate of Coulter. That was a gloomy thought. But others of equal dread had come of late.

  Hartigan was paying repeated pastoral calls at Hoomers' and last week Jim and Lou-Jane had ridden to Fort Ryan together. It was a sort of challenge race—on a dare—and Jim had told Belle all about it before and after; but just the same, they had ridden there and back and, evidently, had a joyful time.

  Jim was a child. He always thought of himself as a coarse, cruel, rough brute; but really he was as soft-hearted as a woman; and, outside of his fighting mood, nothing pained him more than the idea of making any one unhappy. His fighting moods were big and often; but they had existence only in the world of men. He believed himself very wise in the ways of life, but he had not really begun to see, and he was quite sublimely unconscious of all the forces he was setting in motion by his evident pleasure in the horsemanship of Lou-Jane Hoomer and in their frequent rides together.

  Lou-Jane had a voice of some acceptability and she was easily persuaded to join the choir. A class in Sunday-school was added to her activities, and those who believed the religious instinct to be followed closely by another on a lower plane, began to screw up their eyes and smile when Lou-Jane appeared with Jim.

  The glorious September of the hills was waning when a landslide was started by a single sentence from Lou-Jane. She had ridden again with Jim to Fort Ryan. Her horse had cleared a jump that his had shied at. Mrs. Waller had said to her across the table, half in fun and meaning it every word:

  "See here, I won't have you trifling with Mr. Hartigan's affections; remember, he's preëmpted."

  Lou-Jane laughed with delight. And, looking very handsome all the while, she said with mock humility: "No one would consider me a rival."

  Jim told Belle every word of it; he was simplicity itself in such things; he didn't seem to have any idea of the game. He was wholly oblivious of the little cloud which his anecdote left on her. It was a little cloud, but many little clouds can make a canopy of gloom and beget a storm. Then came the words. It was at one of the church evenings in the parsonage—a regular affair, but not soaring to the glorious heights of a sociable—that the words were uttered which wrought a mighty change. Jim had alluded to the inevitable journey East in October, not half a month ahead now, when Lou-Jane Hoomer announced "I'm going East, too. My dad is giving me a trip back to Rochester to see grandma," she said.

  "Why, Rochester is just a little run across the lake from Coulter College," exclaimed Jim.

  "Maybe I'll see you when I am there," said Lou-Jane. "What fun!"

  Every one applauded and Jim said: "Well, that would make a pleasant change in the dreary grind."

  Belle's only comment was, "How nice!" and she gave no sign of special interest; but a close observer might have seen a tightening of her lips, a sudden tensity of look. The merry chatter of the parlour ceased not and she seemed still a factor in all its life, but the iron had entered her very soul. She played her part as leader, she gave no outward sign of the agony of fear that filled her heart, but she took the earliest reasonable time to signal Jim and steal away.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XLV

  The Life Game

  Trump cards you must have to win in the life game; and you must know how to play them, or a much poorer hand may beat you. You must know the exact time to play your highest trump, and there is no general rule that is safe, but Belle had a woman's instinctive knowledge of the game.

  In two weeks Jim was to leave Cedar Mountain. Belle had reasoned with him, coaxed him, cajoled him into seeing that that was the right trail for him. He must complete his college course, then they could marry with the sanction of the Church and be assured of a modest living. But the rules were strict; no ungraduated student might marry. The inadequacy of the stipend, the necessity for singleness of aim and thought, the imperative need of college atmosphere—these were absolute. Viewed from any standpoint, celibacy was the one wise condition for the untrained student.

  It had taken all of Belle's power to make Jim face the horror of those classrooms in the far East; and from time to time his deep repulsion broke into expression. Then she would let him rage for a while, chew the bit, froth and rail till his mood was somewhat spent. And when the inevitable reaction set in she would put her arm about him and would show him that the hard way was surely the best way, and then paint a bright picture of their future together when his rare gifts as an orator should bring him fame, and secure a position in the highest ranks of the Church. Thus she had persuaded him, holding out the promise that every vacation should be spent with her; curbing her own affections, even as she had curbed his, she walked the path of wisdom—determined, resigned—in the knowledge that this was the way to win. And Jim had come to face it calmly now, even as she had done. The minute details of the plan were being filled in. Then came those little words from Lou-Jane.

  Had Jim been a worldly-wise person with many girl friends and a mouth full of flattery for them all, Belle would have paid no attention to the proposed visit of Lou-Jane to Rochester. Knowing Jim as she did, and having a very shrewd idea of Lou-Jane's intentions, Belle realized that this was a crisis, the climax of her life and hopes, that everything that made her life worth while was staked on the very next move.

  She said little as they walked home from the parsonage, but her hand, locked in his arm, clung just a little more than usual, and he was moved by the tenderness of her "Good-night."

  Little she slept that night; but tossed and softly moaned, "That woman, that coarse, common woman! How can he see anything in her? She is nothing but an animal. And yet, what may happen if he is East and she is playing around, with me far away? It cannot be. I know what men are. Now he is mine; but, if I let him go far away and she follows——

  "It cannot be! It must not be—at any price, I must stop it. I must hold him."

  And she tossed and moaned, "At any price! At any price! I'd do anything——"

  The simple, obvious plan was to put him under promise never to see or hear from Lou-Jane; but her pride and her instincts rebelled at the thought. "What? Admit that there was danger from that creature? No, no—why, that would have just the wrong effect on him; she would become doubly interesting; no, that would not do. She would ignore that—that—that snake. And then what?

  "At any price, this must be stopped"; and out of the whirling maelstrom of her thoughts came this: "If I cannot keep her from going, I'll go, too!" How? In what capacity? Belle knew enough of his mind to be sure that however the plan was carried out, it would shock his ideas of propriety and be a losing game.

  Lou-Jane was playing better than she was, and it maddened her ever more as she realized that the present plans could end only in one way—the way that she, at any price, must stop. And in the hours of tumult, of reasoning every course out to its bitter end, this at length came clear: There was but one way—that was marry him now. It was that or wreck the happiness upon which both their lives had been built. And yet that meant ruin to his whole career. She, herself, had told him so a hundred times. "He must go back to college. He must not marry till his three years were completed." These were her very words.

  It seemed that ruin of his hopes was in one scale; ruin of hers in the other. And she tried to pray for light and guidance; but there do seem to be times when the Lord is not interested in our problems; at least, no light or guidance of the kind she sought for came.

  And she wrought herself up into a state of desperation. "At any price
, this must stop," she kept saying over and over. Every expedient was turned in her mind and its outcome followed as far as she could; and ever it came back to this—her hopes or his were to be sacrificed.

  "I will not let him go," she said aloud, with all the force of a strong will become reckless. "It would certainly be my grave; but it need not be his. There are other colleges and other ways. I'm not afraid of that. At any price, I must keep him. I'll marry him now. We'll be married at once. That will settle it."

  * * *

  The storm was over. The one plan was clear. That she would take—take and win; but, oh, how selfish she felt in taking it! She was sacrificing his career.

  Yet ever she crushed the rising self-accusation with the "There are other colleges and other ways. I'll open the way for that." That was the sop to her inner judge, but the motive power was this: "At any price I must hold him." And convinced that the time had come to play her highest trump she fell asleep.

  * * *

  The following morning found Belle fully prepared for energetic action. She cleared the table and washed the dishes, putting them in their accustomed places, and stopped suddenly with the last of the china in her hand, wondering how long it would be before she held it again. Upstairs, she quickly packed her hand-bag for "a one-night camp" and, keeping ears and eyes alert, noted when at length her father had gone to his office and her mother had settled to her knitting. Then she went to her room and set about a careful toilet. The rebellious forelock was curled on a hot slate pencil and tucked back among its kind. Over each ear, she selected another lock for like elaboration. She put on her most becoming dress and studied the effect of her two brooches to make sure which one would help the most. She dashed a drop of "Violetta" on her handkerchief and pinched her cheeks to heighten their colour and remove the traces of the previous night's vigil. The beauty-parlour methods were not yet known in Cedar Mountain.