by Zane Grey
The men had sent gifts: some arrow-heads and a curiously fashioned vessel from the cañon of the cave-dwellers; some chips from the petrified forest; a fern with wonderful fronds, root and all; and a sheaf of strange, beautiful blossoms carefully wrapped in wet paper, and all fastened to the saddle.
Margaret’s face kindled with interest as he showed them to her one by one, and told her the history of each and a little message from the man who had sent it. Mom Wallis, too, had baked a queer little cake and sent it. The young man’s face was tender as he spoke of it. The girl saw that he knew what her coming had meant to Mom Wallis. Her memory went quickly back to those few words the morning she had wakened in the bunk-house and found the withered old woman watching her with tears in her eyes. Poor Mom Wallis, with her pretty girlhood all behind her and such a blank, dull future ahead! Poor, tired, ill-used, worn-out Mom Wallis! Margaret’s heart went out to her.
“They want to know,” said the young man, half hesitatingly, “if some time, when you get settled and have time, you would come to them again and sing? I tried to make them understand, of course, that you would be busy, your time taken with other friends and your work, and you would not want to come; but they wanted me to tell you they never enjoyed anything so much in years as your singing. Why, I heard Long Jim singing ‘Old Folks at Home’ this morning when he was saddling his horse. And it’s made a difference. The men sort of want to straighten up the bunk-room. Jasper made a new chair yesterday. He said it would do when you came again.” Gardley laughed diffidently, as if he knew their hopes were all in vain.
But Margaret looked up with sympathy in her face, “I’ll come! Of course I’ll come some time,” she said, eagerly. “I’ll come as soon as I can arrange it. You tell them we’ll have more than one concert yet.”
The young man’s face lit up with a quick appreciation, and the flash of his eyes as he looked at her would have told any onlooker that he felt here was a girl in a thousand, a girl with an angel spirit, if ever such a one walked the earth.
Now it happened that Rev. Frederick West was walking impatiently up and down in front of the Tanner residence, looking down the road about that time. He had spent the morning in looking over the small bundle of “show sermons” he had brought with him in case of emergency, and had about decided to accede to Mrs. Tanner’s request and preach in Ashland before he left. This decision had put him in so self-satisfied a mood that he was eager to announce it before his fellow-boarder. Moreover, he was hungry, and he could not understand why that impudent boy and that coquettish young woman should remain away at Sunday-school such an interminable time.
Mrs. Tanner was frying chicken. He could smell it every time he took a turn toward the house. It really was ridiculous that they should keep dinner waiting this way. He took one more turn and began to think over the sermon he had decided to preach. He was just recalling a particularly eloquent passage when he happened to look down the road once more, and there they were, almost upon him! But Bud was no longer walking with the maiden. She had acquired a new escort, a man of broad shoulders and fine height. Where had he seen that fellow before? He watched them as they came up, his small, pale eyes narrowing under their yellow lashes with a glint of slyness, like some mean little animal that meant to take advantage of its prey. It was wonderful how many different things that man could look like for a person as insignificant as he really was!
Well, he saw the look between the man and maiden; the look of sympathy and admiration and a fine kind of trust that is not founded on mere outward show, but has found some hidden fineness of the soul. Not that the reverend gentleman understood that, however. He had no fineness of soul himself. His mind had been too thoroughly taken up with himself all his life for him to have cultivated any.
Simultaneous with the look came his recognition of the man or, at least, of where he had last seen him, and his little soul rejoiced at the advantage he instantly recognized.
He drew himself up importantly, flattened his chin upward until his lower lip protruded in a pink roll across his mouth, drew down his yellow brows in a frown of displeasure, and came forward mentor-like to meet the little party as it neared the house. He had the air of coming to investigate and possibly oust the stranger, and he looked at him keenly, critically, offensively, as if he had the right to protect the lady. They might have been a pair of naughty children come back from a forbidden frolic, from the way he surveyed them. But the beauty of it was that neither of them saw him, being occupied with each other, until they were fairly upon him. Then, there he stood offensively, as if he were a great power to be reckoned with.
“Well, well, well, Miss Margaret, you have got home at last!” he said, pompously and condescendingly, and then he looked into the eyes of her companion as if demanding an explanation of his presence there.
Margaret drew herself up haughtily. His use of her Christian name in that familiar tone annoyed her exceedingly. Her eyes flashed indignantly, but the whole of it was lost unless Bud saw it, for Gardley had faced his would-be adversary with a keen, surprised scrutiny, and was looking him over coolly. There was that in the young man’s eye that made the eye of Frederick West quail before him. It was only an instant the two stood challenging each other, but in that short time each knew and marked the other for an enemy. Only a brief instant and then Gardley turned to Margaret, and before she had time to think what to say, he asked:
“Is this man a friend of yours, Miss Earle?” with marked emphasis on the last word.
“No,” said Margaret, coolly, “not a friend—a boarder in the house.” Then most formally, “Mr. West, my friend Mr. Gardley.”
If the minister had not been possessed of the skin of a rhinoceros he would have understood himself to be dismissed at that; but he was not a man accustomed to accepting dismissal, as his recent church in New York State might have testified. He stood his ground, his chin flatter than ever, his little eyes mere slits of condemnation. He did not acknowledge the introduction by so much as the inclination of his head. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his whole attitude was one of righteous belligerence.
Gardley gazed steadily at him for a moment, a look of mingled contempt and amusement gradually growing upon his face. Then he turned away as if the man were too small to notice.
“You will come in and take dinner with me?” asked Margaret, eagerly. “I want to send a small package to Mrs. Wallis if you will be so good as to take it with you.”
“I’m sorry I can’t stay to dinner, but I have an errand in another direction and at some distance. I am returning this way, however, and, if I may, will call and get the package toward evening.”
Margaret’s eyes spoke her welcome, and with a few formal words the young man sprang on his horse, said, “So long, Will!” to Bud, and, ignoring the minister, rode away.
They watched him for an instant, for, indeed, he was a goodly sight upon a horse, riding as if he and the horse were utterly one in spirit; then Margaret turned quickly to go into the house.
“Um! Ah! Miss Margaret!” began the minister, with a commandatory gesture for her to stop.
Margaret was the picture of haughtiness as she turned and said, “Miss Earle, if you please!”
“Um! Ah! Why, certainly, Miss—ah—Earle, if you wish it. Will you kindly remain here for a moment? I wish to speak with you. Bud, you may go on.”
“I’ll go when I like, and it’s none of your business!” muttered Bud, ominously, under his breath. He looked at Margaret to see if she wished him to go. He had an idea that this might be one of the times when he was to look after her.
She smiled at him understandingly. “William may remain, Mr. West,” she said, sweetly. “Anything you have to say to me can surely be said in his presence,” and she laid her hand lightly on Bud’s sleeve.
Bud looked down at the hand proudly and grew inches taller enjoying the minister’s
frown.
“Um! Ah!” said West, unabashed. “Well, I merely wished to warn you concerning the character of that person who has just left us. He is really not a proper companion for you. Indeed, I may say he is quite the contrary, and that to my personal knowledge—”
“He’s as good as you are and better!” growled Bud, ominously.
“Be quiet, boy! I wasn’t speaking to you!” said West, as if he were addressing a slave. “If I hear another word from your lips I shall report it to your father!”
“Go ’s far ’s you like and see how much I care!” taunted Bud, but was stopped by Margaret’s gentle pressure on his arm.
“Mr. West, I thought I made you understand that Mr. Gardley is my friend.”
“Um! Ah! Miss Earle, then all I have to say is that you have formed a most unwise friendship, and should let it proceed no further. Why, my dear young lady, if you knew all there is to know about him you would not think of speaking to that young man.”
“Indeed! Mr. West, I suppose that might be true of a good many people, might it not, if we knew all there is to know about them? Nobody but God could very well get along with some of us.”
“But, my dear young lady, you don’t understand. This young person is nothing but a common ruffian, a gambler, in fact, and an habitué at the saloons. I have seen him myself sitting in a saloon at a very late hour playing with a vile, dirty pack of cards, and in the company of a lot of low-down creatures—”
“May I ask how you came to be in a saloon at that hour, Mr. West?” There was a gleam of mischief in the girl’s eyes, and her mouth looked as if she were going to laugh, but she controlled it.
The minister turned very red indeed. “Well, I—ah—I had been called from my bed by shouts and the report of a pistol. There was a fight going on in the room adjoining the bar, and I didn’t know but my assistance might be needed!” (At this juncture Bud uttered a sort of snort and, placing his hands over his heart, ducked down as if a sudden pain had seized him.) “But imagine my pain and astonishment when I was informed that the drunken brawl I was witnessing was but a nightly and common occurrence. I may say I remained for a few minutes, partly out of curiosity, as I wished to see all kinds of life in this new world for the sake of a book I am thinking of writing. I therefore took careful note of the persons present, and was thus able to identify the person who has just ridden away as one of the chief factors in that evening’s entertainment. He was, in fact, the man who, when he had pocketed all the money on the gaming-table, arose and, taking out his pistol, shot out the lights in the room, a most dangerous and irregular proceeding—”
“Yes, and you came within an ace of being shot, pa says. The Kid’s a dead shot, he is, and you were right in the way. Served you right for going where you had no business!”
“I did not remain longer in that place, as you may imagine,” went on West, ignoring Bud, “for I found it was no place for a—for—a—ah—minister of the gospel; but I remained long enough to hear from the lips of this person with whom you have just been walking some of the most terrible language my ears have ever been permitted to—ah—witness!”
But Margaret had heard all that she intended to listen to on that subject. With decided tone she interrupted the voluble speaker, who was evidently enjoying his own eloquence.
“Mr. West, I think you have said all that it is necessary to say. There are still some things about Mr. Gardley that you evidently do not know, but I think you are in a fair way to learn them if you stay in this part of the country long. William, isn’t that your mother calling us to dinner? Let us go in; I’m hungry.”
Bud followed her up the walk with a triumphant wink at the discomfited minister, and they disappeared into the house; but when Margaret went up to her room and took off her hat in front of the little warped looking-glass there were angry tears in her eyes. She never felt more like crying in her life. Chagrin and anger and disappointment were all struggling in her soul, yet she must not cry, for dinner would be ready and she must go down. Never should that mean little meddling man see that his words had pierced her soul.
For, angry as she was at the minister, much as she loathed his petty, jealous nature and saw through his tale-bearing, something yet told her that his picture of young Gardley’s wildness was probably true, and her soul sank within her at the thought. It was just what had come in shadowy, instinctive fear to her heart when he had hinted at his being a “roughneck,” yet to have it put baldly into words by an enemy hurt her deeply, and she looked at herself in the glass half frightened. “Margaret Earle, have you come out to the wilderness to lose your heart to the first handsome sower of wild oats that you meet?” her true eyes asked her face in the glass, and Margaret Earle’s heart turned sad at the question and shrank back. Then she dropped upon her knees beside her gay little rocking-chair and buried her face in its flowered cushions and cried to her Father in heaven:
“Oh, my Father, let me not be weak, but with all my heart I cry to Thee to save this young, strong, courageous life and not let it be a failure. Help him to find Thee and serve Thee, and if his life has been all wrong—and I suppose it has—oh, make it right for Jesus’ sake! If there is anything that I can do to help, show me how, and don’t let me make mistakes. Oh, Jesus, Thy power is great. Let this young man feel it and yield himself to it.”
She remained silently praying for a moment more, putting her whole soul into the prayer and knowing that she had been called thus to pray for him until her prayer was answered.
She came down to dinner a few minutes later with a calm, serene face, on which was no hint of her recent emotion, and she managed to keep the table conversation wholly in her own hands, telling Mr. Tanner about her home town and her father and mother. When the meal was finished the minister had no excuse to think that the new teacher was careless about her friends and associates, and he was well informed about the high principles of her family.
But West had retired into a sulky mood and uttered not a word except to ask for more chicken and coffee and a second helping of pie. It was, perhaps, during that dinner that he decided it would be best for him to preach in Ashland on the following Sunday. The young lady could be properly impressed with his dignity in no other way.
CHAPTER XII
When Lance Gardley came back to the Tanners’ the sun was preparing the glory of its evening setting, and the mountain was robed in all its rosiest veils.
Margaret was waiting for him, with the dog Captain beside her, wandering back and forth in the unfenced dooryard and watching her mountain. It was a relief to her to find that the minister occupied a room on the first floor in a kind of ell on the opposite side of the house from her own room and her mountain. He had not been visible that afternoon, and with Captain by her side and Bud on the front-door step reading The Sky Pilot she felt comparatively safe. She had read to Bud for an hour and a half, and he was thoroughly interested in the story; but she was sure he would keep the minister away at all costs. As for Captain, he and the minister were sworn enemies by this time. He growled every time West came near or spoke to her.
She made a picture standing with her hand on Captain’s shaggy, noble head, the lace of her sleeve falling back from the white arm, her other hand raised to shade her face as she looked away to the glorified mountain, a slim, white figure looking wistfully off at the sunset. The young man took off his hat and rode his horse more softly, as if in the presence of the holy.
The dog lifted one ear, and a tremor passed through his frame as the rider drew near; otherwise he did not stir from his position; but it was enough. The girl turned, on the alert at once, and met him with a smile, and the young man looked at her as if an angel had deigned to smile upon him. There was a humility in his fine face that sat well with the courage written there, and smoothed away all hardness for the time, so that the girl, looking at him in the light of the revelations of the morn
ing, could hardly believe it had been true, yet an inner fineness of perception taught her that it was.
The young man dismounted and left his horse standing quietly by the roadside. He would not stay, he said, yet lingered by her side, talking for a few minutes, watching the sunset and pointing out its changes.
She gave him the little package for Mom Wallis. There was a simple lace collar in a little white box, and a tiny leather-bound book done in russet suède with gold lettering.
“Tell her to wear the collar and think of me whenever she dresses up.”
“I’m afraid that’ll never be, then,” said the young man, with a pitying smile. “Mom Wallis never dresses up.”
“Tell her I said she must dress up evenings for supper, and I’ll make her another one to change with that and bring it when I come.”
He smiled upon her again, that wondering, almost worshipful smile, as if he wondered if she were real, after all, so different did she seem from his idea of girls.
“And the little book,” she went on, apologetically; “I suppose it was foolish to send it, but something she said made me think of some of the lines in the poem. I’ve marked them for her. She reads, doesn’t she?”
“A little, I think. I see her now and then read the papers that Pop brings home with him. I don’t fancy her literary range is very wide, however.”
“Of course, I suppose it is ridiculous! And maybe she’ll not understand any of it; but tell her I sent her a message. She must see if she can find it in the poem. Perhaps you can explain it to her. It’s Browning’s ‘Rabbi Ben Ezra.’ You know it, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid not. I was intent on other things about the time when I was supposed to be giving my attention to Browning, or I wouldn’t be what I am to-day, I suppose. But I’ll do my best with what wits I have. What’s it about? Couldn’t you give me a pointer or two?”
