Round Anvil Rock: A Romance

by Nancy Huston Banks

  XIV

  A SPIRITUAL CENTAUR

  The whole wilderness, the whole country, the whole heart of the nation,was now aflame over the coming conflict at Tippecanoe.

  Father Orin, like every one else, was thinking of this, a day or solater, as he rode along the forest path. There was a heavy weight in hismerciful breast as he looked across the river. Over there, beyond thosespectral cottonwoods and on the banks of its tributary, the Wabash, thewhite and the red races were about to meet in a supreme struggle nowclose at hand. He had just been told that Joe Daviess had offered hissword, and the news had brought the public trouble home to his ownheart, for he loved the man.

  And thus it was that, seeing Tommy Dye riding toward him, he had only agrave word of greeting, without any of the merry banter that theadventurer had come to expect. He stopped, however, feeling that Tommyhad something to say, but he listened in rather abstracted silence, tillTommy spoke of having been to see the Sisters in order to tell themgood-by.

  "For I am going to Tippecanoe, too. I leave to-night. The general can'tgo. It looks like the wound from that infernal duel with Dickinson neverwould get well. But I like to be where things are stirring, and I amgoing, anyhow. So is Joe Daviess."

  "Yes, I know," said Father Orin, sadly. "Good men as well as bad mustgo, I suppose, if wars must be fought."

  Tommy Dye looked hard at him for a moment, and taking off his hat,rubbed his red hair the wrong way till it stood on end. His staregradually turned to a sort of sheepish embarrassment before he spoke;--

  "I'll swear some of the babies up yonder ain't much bigger than myfist!" he finally blurted out. "I took the Sisters the wad I won on thelast chicken fight. 'Twasn't much, but there ain't any use taking itover the river for the red devils to get, if they get me--and maybe theywill--for they say the Prophet is a fighter. If the Shawnees don't getme, I can make plenty more, so it's just as broad as it's long. Anyhow,the Sisters will know what to do with the wad. Say! I wish it had beenbigger. They took me into the room where the youngsters stay," he saidhuskily, rubbing his head harder than ever. "They said--them real ladiessaid--that they would raise up the children to love me, and pray for me.When I come away they cried--them real ladies--about me, old Tommy Dye,that ain't even a heretic."

  "You are kind, my friend; you have a good heart, and you are generous,"said Father Orin; "but I wish you could earn your money in another and abetter way. Somehow it grates--"

  "Now, look here!" cried Tommy Dye, bristling at once, and jamming hishat back on his red head. He was always cowed at the very sight of thegentle Sisters; but as man to man--even though one be a priest--he wasup again at once, and quite ready to hold his own. "Every man to his ownnotion," he blustered and swaggered. "I've got mine and you've gotyours. That's my way of making a living, and I dare anybody to say itain't honest. Just let any man come out flat foot and tell me so, faceto face. I play fair, and I bet as square as the next one. I take mychances the same as the other man. I may fight rough and tumble, but Ialways give warning, and I never gouge. If any man's got anything to sayagainst my honesty or fairness, he's only got to come on and say it."

  "Come, come!" said Father Orin, too sad to be amused at the outburst, ashe might have been at another time. "I beg your pardon if I haveoffended you. I had no thought of doing that. But I wish I could induceyou to think before you go into danger. All who go over yonder will notcome back. The Shawnees have been getting ready for this test ofstrength for a long time. There is great danger. I beg you, my friend,to think. Will you come back with me to the chapel? Just for a littlewhile. There is no one there, and we can have a quiet talk."

  "Now, what's the use of raking all that up again? We've gone over allthat--and more than once--haven't we? You thought one way and I another,when we had it out the other day. And we've both got the same right nowthat we had then, to think as we like about something that neither of usknows the first blamed thing about, haven't we? Well, I think just thesame now that I did then, and I reckon you do, too. I haven't seen anyreason to change, have you? I haven't had any fresh news from upyonder"--pointing heavenward--"and I don't suppose you have either. Soyou see one of us is bound to be most damnable mistaken--"

  "Shut up," shouted Father Orin, "you unmannerly rascal! I have a greatmind to jump down and pull you off that horse and give you a thrashingto teach you some respect for religion, and how to keep a civil tonguein your head. And you know I could do it, too!"

  They looked fiercely at each other for a moment. Father Orin was of afiery spirit, and all his goodness could not always subdue it. Tommy Dyewas a ready and a good fighter, but he paused now, and silentlyregarded the priest. He looked at his large, sturdy form, at his brawnyshoulders, at his deep chest and his long arms, remembering suddenlythat he had seen him roll, with his own hands, the largest logs in thelittle chapel which no one else could move.

  "I reckon you could," Tommy Dye finally conceded frankly.

  Father Orin burst into his good-humored, chuckling laugh, and Tommy Dyegrinned, but their faces sobered instantly. The pity of it touched andmoved the priest through his sense of humor. The gambler was softenedand ashamed, he hardly knew why. With one simultaneous impulse they senttheir horses forward, and coming closer together clasped hands.

  "God bless and guard you, my friend," said Father Orin. "You can't keepme from saying that, and you can't help my praying for your safety,"trying to smile.

  Tommy Dye found nothing more to say and, laughing very loud, he putspurs to his horse and galloped away through the darkening forest.Father Orin and Toby stood still looking after him till he had passedout of sight. And then they turned to go on their way. They went alongin silence for a while, and at last Father Orin began the conversationwith a heavy sigh. "Well, old man, there's another bad failure that wehave got to set down in our book--you and me. That was another of thetimes when we didn't know what to do. That is to say, I didn't. Isuppose you did--you always do. You never make mistakes and lose yourtemper like I do nearly every day. If I could do my part as well as youdo yours, we wouldn't fail so often, would we, old man?"

  Toby quickly turned his head with a friendly, encouraging whinny, as ifhe saw his co-worker's trouble and wanted to give him what comfort hecould. He always seemed to know as well when his friend neededencouragement as when he required to be kept up to his duty. It is awonderful, wonderful thing, this bond between the good rider and thegood horse! It is so wonderfully close and strong; the closest andstrongest binding the human being to his brute brother. It is infinitelymore subtle too, than that which binds any other, even the kindestmaster to the most faithful dog; for the man and his horse are notmerely master and servant, they are friends and even equals in a way.Neither is nearly so complete or powerful without the other; buttogether--with body and spirit coming in living, throbbing contact--theyform the mightiest force in flesh and blood. Along the marvellouselectric currents of life there flashes from the man to the horse,intelligence, feeling, purpose, even thought perhaps, so that to thetrue horseman the centaur can never be wholly a fabulous creature.

  One of the greatest things about this wonderful bond is that it reachesall classes of riders and horses. Every good rider and every good horsemay rely upon it, no matter which of the many roads through life theymay travel together: all may trustingly rely upon it till one or bothshall have breasted "Sleep's dreamy hill." The horse of the fox-hunter,of the race-rider, of the mounted soldier--every one of these noblebeasts has the fullest understanding of his rider's calling, and givesit his completest sympathy with the greatest assistance in his power.Who that has known the horse at his best can have failed to observe andrecognize and be moved by this fact? We have all seen that the hunterhardly needs the touch of his rider's knee to be off like the wind andto go without urging from whip or spur on to the end of the chase; neverflagging, no matter how long or hard it may be; never flinching at thedeepest ditch nor fouling at the highest fence; straining every sinew tothe last, for his rider's defeat is his own fa
ilure, his rider's successhis own victory. And we have all seen the gallant response of therace-horse to every movement of his rider's body--a loyal gallantry thatennobles even the merely mercenary; and the sight of these two--nowone--flying toward the goal, always makes the heart beat faster and growwarm with its brave showing of this magical bond. And above all, we haveseen the trooper's horse, which comes closer to him than the comradefighting by his side; for it is to his horse more than to his sword thatthe soldier must owe any glory that he may hope to win; and whenstrength and courage can no longer serve, it is his horse that oftengives his own body to shield his rider from death.

  And if all this be true, as all horsemen know it to be--even when thebond is strained by cruelty and tainted by gain and stained byblood--how much closer and stronger must have been the tie between thispriest of the wilderness and his friend. Toby's loyalty was never triedlike the hunter's by seeing some dumb brother tortured and slain--andthat the hunter feels the test keenly, no one can doubt after seeing thehorror in his eloquent eyes. Toby never had to suffer from a brokenheart because of a lost race, or because he shared the disgrace of hisrider's dishonesty, and many noble beasts have seemed to suffersomething strangely like this. Toby never had to lend his strength tothe taking of human life, like the trooper's horse; and the soldier'shorse does not need the power of speech to tell that he suffers almostas much in the spirit as in the flesh from the horrors of thebattle-field. Toby and his friend worked together solely for peace,kindness, and mercy, for the relief of suffering, and the saving ofbodies and souls; all and always, solely for the good of the world, oftheir fellow-creatures, and the glory of God.

  Think of what it was that Father Orin and his partner did! They hadecclesiastical jurisdiction over a strip of country which was more thanfifty miles wide and little less than four hundred miles long. This layon both sides of the Ohio River, much of it being the trackless forest,so that Father Orin and Toby used the Shawnee Crossing oftener than theShawnees themselves. They went unharmed, too, where no other pioneersever dared go. Some mysterious power seemed to protect them, as the rudecross drawn on a cabin door is said to have saved the inmates from thesavages. Father Orin and Toby thus travelled about two hundred mileseach week all the year through, without stopping for heat or cold. Therewas only one church when they first began their labors, and this was thelittle log chapel; but the members of that small and widely scatteredcongregation were served with the offices of their religion by thepriest at many private houses which were far apart and called"stations." There were about thirty of these in Kentucky, several inIndiana and Illinois, and one or two in Tennessee, and Father Orin andToby visited them all, some as often as once a month and the others asoften as possible. To say Mass and to preach constituted but a part ofthe duty which called them from place to place. They went wherever thepriest was needed to administer baptism to infants or older persons;they went wherever any one, old or young, required instruction inreligion; they went wherever the priest was needed to hear confession;they went far and wide, so that the priest might solemnize marriage forProtestants as well as Catholics; they visited the sick, no matter howdistant, in summer and in winter alike, and Toy day or by night; theywent at any summons to bury the dead; and they tried to go again, sothat the priest might do what he could to comfort the living. Yet withall this untiring zeal for the soul's welfare, there was also aceaseless care for the body's welfare, and a divine disregard of anynarrow line of faith; for wherever Toby carried Father Orin that goodman's heart was always moved by compassion for any distress of mind,body, or estate, always overflowing with a deep, wide pity infinitelygreater and more Christian than any creed.

  It is not strange, then, that the good man and the good horse had becomealmost one in mind and body, and that they were quite one in spirit. Itis not in the least strange, certainly, that Toby came to know thenature of their errand almost as well and nearly as quickly as FatherOrin himself. He easily knew a sick call by the haste with which theyset out, and he knew its urgency by their going with the messenger. Heseemed to be able to tell unerringly when they were bearing theViaticum, and it was plain that he felt the responsibility thus restingupon his speed and sureness of foot. Then it was that he would go likethe wind, through utter darkness, through storm and flood and over anicy earth, without a pause or a misstep. Many a time, after such astruggle as this, has Toby turned his head, as if trying to see whyFather Orin was slow in doing his part when the rain, freezing as itfell, had frozen the priest's poor overcoat to the saddle, and hisragged leggins were heavy and clumsy with icicles. But the apologetictone in which Father Orin always said, "Well, here we are, old man," andthe explanatory pat that he always gave Toby's neck, after going throughthe respectful form of hitching him, never failed to make this right.And when the priest came out of the house, he always had something inhis pocket for Toby, if any one had remembered to give himself anythingto eat.

  But their errands were not all so sad as this. Sometimes there wereweddings to attend, and Toby entered into the happy spirit of thatlively business quite as heartily as Father Orin. The only thing thatToby was strict about then, was that his friend should not forget towear his best clothes, which he was too apt to do, even if he had notgiven them away, and that there should not be a speck of mud on his owncoat, which had to be neglected in more urgent cases. Father Orin usedto declare that Toby eyed him from top to toe when he knew they weregoing to a wedding; and that if there were a spot on his cassock, or ahole in it, Toby's eye never failed to find it. At such leisurely timeshe was indeed so exacting as to his own proper appearance that he wouldnot budge until the last "witch's stirrup" had been combed out of hismane and tail. He was only a degree less particular when he knew theywere going to the christening of an infant. It was then plainly Toby'sopinion that, while they might not take quite so much time to christenas to marry, there was still no need to rush off with the priest'svestments out of order and his own fetlocks weighted with mire. The twohad many friendly contests on these occasions, but Toby's will was thestronger, and his temper was not quite so mild; and as it is always theless amiable who wins, it was commonly he who won, in the long run.

  Whenever the way before them was not quite clear, Father Orin would letToby lead, and only once in all their long pilgrimage together did heever fail to lead aright. It was on a wild winter's night, and neithercould see either heaven or earth; yet on against the bitter wind wentthe priest and his horse, Toby stretching his fullest length at the topof his speed, and Father Orin bending low to escape the boughs of unseentrees; and thus they sped through the stormy blackness. Faster stillthey went, up hill and down hill, leaping fallen trees, flying acrossthe hollows made by the uptorn roots, swimming swollen streams, whilethe priest knelt on the saddle, holding the Viaticum high above therushing water which dashed over his knees. At last they stopped,utterly exhausted, only to find that they were lost in the icy, darkwilderness; and they went on groping blindly for any kind of shelterunder which to wait for the first glimmer of dawn. They finally cameupon a ruined cabin, and although the whole front of it was gone, someof the roof and a part of the walls were left, and Father Orin led Tobyinto the driest, corner. Taking off the wet saddle and the soaked,half-frozen blanket, he laid them on the ground. He patted Toby as hedid this, and Toby's responsive whinny said it was all right, just asplain as if he had been able to talk. But Father Orin was not quitesatisfied, and moving a little farther over in the corner, where it wasso dark that even Toby could not see what he was doing, he pulled offhis poor old overcoat, from which the water was dripping, but which wasstill warm and partly dry on the inside. Stealing back to Toby, he laidthe coat over his shivering shoulders, chuckling to think that Tobywould never know that it was not the saddle-blanket. Feeling now that hehad done his best for his friend, he buttoned his cassock closer andlaid down on the freezing ground, with the frozen saddle for a pillow,and tried to get what rest and sleep he could.

  At times like this--and they were not a few--it was har
d for Father Orinto believe that Toby had no soul. It was indeed so hard now and then,as on that night, that he could not believe it; that he could not thinkthere would be no reward of any kind for such service as Toby was givingthe Faith. It was service as faithful as his own; he could not havegiven his without Toby's help. Looking upward toward his own reward,even this bitter, black winter's night became as nothing; but Toby--whatwas there for Toby? He did not remember that he often gave Toby the foodwhich he needed himself, as he had just given him the warmth from hisown shivering body. He thought only of the things that Toby did for himand for the Faith. And so thinking, very strange fancies about Tobywould now and then come to him with the profoundest reverence. And onthat dreary night, when their dauntless spirits seemed to touch, whiletheir exhausted bodies thus dozed side by side, a pleasant visionvaguely blended Father Orin's half-conscious dreams with his perplexedwaking thoughts.

  Of a sudden, all was bright and warm, and he felt himself going up, up,up, through flawless blue space. He thought he had no wings, but he didnot miss them, nor even think about them; he was missing and thinkingabout Toby, and wondering, where he was, and what he was doing. But ah!there he was all ready and waiting close to the gate of paradise. Yes,there was Toby after all! There he was, standing by a celestial mangeroverflowing with ambrosia, already blanketed with softest zephyrs,saddled with shining clouds, and bitted with sunbeams--quite ready andonly waiting for the touch of his friend's hand on the bridle--to canterup the radiant highway walled with jasper and paved with stars.