CHAPTER VIII
AND NOW, THE CLERGY
Two-bits was the last into the bunkhouse the following evening. He hadridden his Nigger horse in from the westward hills and had not comethrough the big gate so not until he stepped across the threshold werethe others aware of his presence.
"Here he is!" said a rider from down the creek who was stopping for thenight and the group in the center of the low room broke apart.
"Two-Bits, here's your brother," said Curtis.
A small man stood beside him. He wore a green, battered derby hat, bandand binding of which were sadly frayed. He wore spectacles, steelrimmed, over searching gray eyes. He was unshaven. A celluloid collar,buttoned behind, made an overly large cylinder for his wrinkled neck.He wore a frock coat, also green with age, the pockets of which bulgedand sagged and their torn corners spoke of long overloading. Hisoveralls, patched and newly washed, were tucked into boots withrun-down heels. In his hand he held a fountain pen.
At the entrance of Two-Bits all talk had ceased; at Curtis'introduction, Two-Bits stopped. He swallowed, setting his Adam's applein sharp vibration. He took off his hat. He flushed and his mild eyeswavered. Then he advanced across the room, extending a limp hand andsaid in a thin, embarrassed voice:
"Please to meet you, Mister Beal."
Tom Beck bit his lips but one or two of the others laughed outright;they ceased, however, when the Reverend Beal, in a voice that wastremendously deep and impressive for such a small man, said:
"My brother, I extend to you the right hand of fellowship! It is a deedof God that enables me to look once more into your beloved face afterthese years of separation. Give me your hand, brother. May theblessings of Heaven descend upon and abide with thee!"
He shook Two-Bits' paw, looking up earnestly into his face, while theblushing became more furious.
"Marvelous are the ways of Providence!" he boomed. "Let us give thanks."
He doffed his hat, and still clinging to Two-Bits' hand, lowered hishead.
"Almighty Father, whose blessings are diverse and manifold, we,brothers of the flesh, give our thanks to Thee for bringing about thisreunion on earth. We realize, oh Lord, that these mundane moments arebut brief forerunners of greater joys that are to come, that they arebut passing pleasures; but joy here below is a rare thing and from thisvalley of tears and sin we lift our hearts and our voices in thanksthat such blessings have been visited upon us by Thy blessedmagnanimity!"
He lifted his head and honest tears showed behind his spectacles.
"And now, brother,"--in a brusk, business-like manner, "you, too, willbe interested in this article which I was about to demonstrate to thecongregation."
He replaced his hat with a dead _punk_, held the pen aloft ingesture, drew a pad of paper from one of his sagging pockets andcontinued:
"Made of India rubber, combined in a secret process with Belgian talcand Swedish, water-proof shellac, this pen will withstand the acidaction of the strongest inks. It is self-filling, durable, compact,artistic in design. The clip prevents its falling from the pocket andconsequent loss.
"The point is of the finest, specially selected California, eighteencarat gold. It was designed by that peerless inventor, Thomas Edison.Its every feature, from the safety shank to the velvet tip, is coveredby patents granted by the authority of this great republic!
"It does not leak!"--shaking it vigorously. "It does not fail to flow.It does not scratch or prick. Follow me closely, men; watch every move."
With facility he guided the point across the paper in great flourishes,sketching a crudely designed bird on the wing.
"See? See what can be done with this invention? How can any mature manor woman do without this article? _Such_ an article!
"This, men, is a three dollar commodity, but for the purposes ofadvertising I am permitted by the firm to charge you--Two-fifty? No!Two dollars? _No!_ One fifty? NO! For the sum of one dollar,American money, E Pluribus Unum and In God We Trust, I will place thisinvaluable article in your possession. One dollar, men! _Onedollar!_
"But wait. Further"--diving into another pocket, "we will give awayabsolutely free of charge to every purchaser one of these celebratedkey rings and chains, made of a new conglomerate called white metal,guaranteed not to rust, tarnish or break except under excessive strain.Keeps your keys safe and always handy. Free, with each and everyindividual purchase!
"Still more!"--making another dive into the inexhaustablepockets--"Another article used by every gentleman and lady. A handmirror, a magnifying hand mirror. Carry it in your pocket, have italways handy for the thousand and one uses to which it may be put.
"Think! This magnificent fountain pen, this key-ring and chain, thispocket mirror, a collection which regularly would retail for from fourto five dollars, are yours for one dollar....
"Now, who's first?"
Two-Bits who had watched and listened with a growing amazement, mouthopen, Adam's apple jumping, was roused.
"I am, Mister Beal," he said eagerly, digging in a pocket for the money.
"Ah, brother, part of being a Beal is knowing a bargain! Who else, now?"
He sold six of the pens before the big bell at the ranch house summonedthe men to supper; then slipped his stock back in the pockets of thatclerical looking garment and, grasping Two-Bits by the arm, beaming upinto his face, stumped along by his side.
At the table he ate and talked, at one and the same time, doing bothwith astonishing ease. No matter how great the excess of food in hismouth, he was still able to articulate, and no matter how rapidly hetalked, he could always thrust more nourishment between his lips.
"Oh, it warms the heart of a seeker after strays from the herds of theMaster to look upon the bright, honest faces of stalwart men!" hecried, brandishing his fork and helping himself to more syrup with theother hand.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, it is written, and I know that when inthe presence of such men as you, I am among the blessed of the Father!I can see integrity, devotion to duty, uprightness and honor in allyour faces. Or, that is, in _most_ of your faces. Whatcontrast!"--heedless of the uproar his qualification of a broadstatement caused. "What contrast to the iniquitous ways of those whodwell in the tents of the wicked.
"Why, brethren, only last night I stood in the hotel in yondersettlement and watched and listened to the cries of a lost soul, ayoung man sunk hopelessly in sin. He was a stranger in a strange land,but he had not yet felt the heavy hand of a slowly-roused God, had notyet become the Prodigal. He had tasted of the wine when it was red andout of his mouth flowed much evil.
"A man possessed of a devil, I am sure, and I spoke to him, asking ifhe did not desire to seek redemption in the straight and narrow waywhich leads to the only righteous life.
"'Righteousness, hell!' he shouted at me, his face black with ungodlythoughts.
"'That's what I want _less_ of: righteousness! That's what'sraised hell in me!'
"Oh, it was terrible, brothers! He drank continually and finally theycarried him off to bed, cursing and swearing, cherishing bitterness inhis heart, which is against the word of the Almighty. A definite wrongwas in his mind, I was led to presume, for he cried again and again:'I'll break her if it's the last thing I do! I'll ruin her and bringher back!'
"I tell you, my fellow men, I prayed fervently for that lost soulthrough the night. Something heavy is upon him, something tremendous."
"Likely some of that high-pressure booze," remarked one, at whicheverybody except the Reverend and Two-Bits laughed.
"Goin' to stay long?" Oliver asked.
"Alas, I am not my own master. My feet are guided from up Yonder. Totarry with my dear brother is my most devout prayer and wish, but wehave no promise of the morrow. I may remain in your midst a day, amonth. I cannot tell when the call will come."
Tom Beck had watched with a glimmer in his eye until the newcomer toldof the scene in the hotel. It was not difficult for him to identify thesin beset young man as Hilton and at that he became less atte
ntive tothe garrulous talk of the itinerant preacher-peddler. In fact, he gaveno heed at all until, returned to the bunk house, the Reverend made apoint of seeking out Dad Hepburn and talking to him in confidence.
Dad's bed was directly across from Tom's and he could not help hearing.
"I waited to get you alone," Beal said, dropping his elocutionarymanner, "because what others don't know won't hurt 'em, and so forth.But just before I was leaving town, saddling my mare in the corral, Iheard two men talking and it may interest you.
"This outfit uses the HC on horses as well as cattle, don't it?"
"That's right."
"Exactly! One of the men said (they didn't know I was near,understand). 'So there's eight more HC horses gone west.' And theother one said, 'Yes, they was camped at the mouth of Twenty Mile thismornin'. It's easy. They had the horses in a box gulch, with a treedown across the mouth, most natural.'
"Have you sold any horses lately?"
Hepburn glanced about cautiously and just before he turned to reply hiseyes met Beck's gaze, cold and hard this time, flinging an unmistakablechallenge at him.
"Not a horse," he mumbled. "They're sneaking out of the country with'em. Tom, come here,"--with a jerk of his head. Beck walked over andsat down. "Did you hear what the Reverend says?" Dad asked. "About thehorses?"
"Yes, I ain't surprised. Are you?"
His eyes, again amused, bored into Hepburn's face with the query:
"No, but--"
The sharp batter of running hoofs cut him short. The whole assemblagewas listening. The rider stopped short at the gate, they heard it creakand a moment later he came across toward the bunk house at a high lope.They heard him speak gruffly to the horse, heard the creak of leatheras he swung down and then jingling spurs marked his further progresstoward the door.
It was Henry Riley, owner of the Bar Z ranch, thirty miles down Coyotecreek. A cattleman of the old order, a man not given to haste orexcitement. His appearance caught the interest of all, for he wasbreathing fast and his eyes blazed.
"Where's Dad?" he asked and Hepburn, rising, said: "Here. What's thematter, Henry?"
"Who's this nester in Devil's Hole?" Riley asked.
"Why ... I didn't know there was a nester there."
Dad answered hesitatingly and Beck scraped one foot on the floor.
"Well, there is. Guess we've all been asleep. He's there, with a girl,and they filed on that water yesterday. That shuts your outfit and mineout of the best range in the country if he fences, which he will! Ifthey're goin' to dry farm our steers off the range we'd better lookalive."
"I'll be damned," muttered Hepburn. "That was one of the next things Iwas goin' to have her do, file on that water."
He scratched his head and turned. Beck was waiting for him to faceabout.
"Now," he said slowly, "what are you going to do?"
His eyes flashed angrily and any who watched could see the challenge.
Silently Hepburn reached for his belt and gun, strapped it on, dug inhis blankets for another revolver and shoved it into his shirt.
"First," he said, "I'm goin' after those horses. _That_ ain't toolate to be remedied. No, I'll go alone!" as Tom stepped toward his bunkwhere his gun hung.
Hepburn gave Beck stare for stare as though defying him now to imputehis motives and strode out into a fine rain, drawing on his slicker.