CHAPTER XLIV
A Fair Rider
Life at Cedar Mountain had dropped to normal. Charles Bylow and his wifewere regular church members now, and no warmer, truer friends on earthhad Hartigan. Pat Bylow had gone to Deadwood seeking work on the railwayand it was said that his wife was still importing an occasional flask;but no more sprees took place. Jack Lowe had left Cedar Mountainabruptly after the Bylow affair. Higginbotham had spread the truth aboutLowe's part in the drugged liquor and the schoolteacher had receivedpointed advice to leave the town. He lost no time. Dr. Carson and JackShives were alternately confronting each other with abstruse problems;John and Hannah Higginbotham were building an addition to their houseand getting a hired girl; and old man Boyd was worrying over a possibleextension of the road to Deadwood, which might seriously hurt hisbusiness.
Jim found life very sweet as he grew into the hearts of the townsfolkand came to know their perfectible qualities; he was acquiring a finereputation for pulpit oratory. Every Thursday and every Sunday afternoonand 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 andplans before Belle for her criticism and approval. When they were nottogether 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, MaHoomer and Lou-Jane had. It was Lou-Jane's doing. And Hartigan, afterlong delay, felt bound to pay them a pastoral visit. Lou-Jane washeartiness and propriety combined. She chatted gaily on every subject heopened; showed no forwardness; was even shy when, after dinner, he satdown near her. Her riding at the racetrack was vividly in his mind andshe 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 hesuggested: "If I go out and saddle your pony, will you show me thatjump?"
"Certainly," she answered, with a merry laugh.
He went to the stable, saddled and brought the bay horse. Lou-Jane puther foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle before he could offerhis help.
"Drop all the bars but the middle one." Hartigan did so, leaving onlythe three-foot bar of the pasture. Lou-Jane circled off and cleared itwithout 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 herpony sailed over like one creature.
"Again," and he raised it to five feet. The pony rose with just a hintof 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 tohelp and in his frank, beaming admiration she found what once she hadhungered for in vain.
As he rode away that day, his unvoiced thought was: "Isn't she fine--andme 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 thehill. The visit and Hartigan's open delight in her riding had stirredher very much. Was it loyalty to Belle that led her to throw up abarrier between herself and the Preacher? or was it knowledge that theflowers are ever fairest in the fenced-in field? This much was sure, theinterest of passing attraction was giving place to a deeper feeling. Afeeling stronger every month. Lou-Jane was in the game to win; and wasplaying well.
August, bright and fruit-giving, was passing; September was near withits dryness, its payments on the springtime promises; and Belle, as shegazed at the radiant sky or the skurrying prairie dogs that tumbled,yapping, down their little craters, was tormented with the flight of theglowing months. In October the young Preacher and she must say good-byefor a long, long time, with little chance of any break till his coursewas completed, and he emerged a graduate of Coulter. That was a gloomythought. But others of equal dread had come of late.
Hartigan was paying repeated pastoral calls at Hoomers' and last weekJim and Lou-Jane had ridden to Fort Ryan together. It was a sort ofchallenge race--on a dare--and Jim had told Belle all about it beforeand 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, roughbrute; but really he was as soft-hearted as a woman; and, outside of hisfighting mood, nothing pained him more than the idea of making any oneunhappy. His fighting moods were big and often; but they had existenceonly in the world of men. He believed himself very wise in the ways oflife, but he had not really begun to see, and he was quite sublimelyunconscious of all the forces he was setting in motion by his evidentpleasure in the horsemanship of Lou-Jane Hoomer and in their frequentrides together.
Lou-Jane had a voice of some acceptability and she was easily persuadedto join the choir. A class in Sunday-school was added to her activities,and those who believed the religious instinct to be followed closely byanother on a lower plane, began to screw up their eyes and smile whenLou-Jane appeared with Jim.
The glorious September of the hills was waning when a landslide wasstarted by a single sentence from Lou-Jane. She had ridden again withJim 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 itevery word:
"See here, I won't have you trifling with Mr. Hartigan's affections;remember, he's preempted."
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 suchthings; he didn't seem to have any idea of the game. He was whollyoblivious of the little cloud which his anecdote left on her. It was alittle cloud, but many little clouds can make a canopy of gloom andbeget a storm. Then came the words. It was at one of the church eveningsin the parsonage--a regular affair, but not soaring to the gloriousheights of a sociable--that the words were uttered which wrought amighty change. Jim had alluded to the inevitable journey East inOctober, not half a month ahead now, when Lou-Jane Hoomer announced "I'mgoing East, too. My dad is giving me a trip back to Rochester to seegrandma," she said.
"Why, Rochester is just a little run across the lake from CoulterCollege," 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 pleasantchange in the dreary grind."
Belle's only comment was, "How nice!" and she gave no sign of specialinterest; but a close observer might have seen a tightening of her lips,a sudden tensity of look. The merry chatter of the parlour ceased notand she seemed still a factor in all its life, but the iron had enteredher very soul. She played her part as leader, she gave no outward signof the agony of fear that filled her heart, but she took the earliestreasonable time to signal Jim and steal away.
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 45
