The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country
CHAPTER XI
A New Force Enters His Life
Back at the railway station, Hartigan looked for his bag where he haddropped it, but it was gone. The agent, glancing across and divining hisquandary, said stolidly:
"I guess Dr. Jebb took it. Ain't you the party he's looking for? He said'J. H.' was the initials. You'll find him at that white house with theflowers just where the boardwalk ends."
Jim went down the road with alert and curious eyes and presented himselfat the white cottage. He found a grave and kindly welcome from Mrs.Jebb--a stout, middle-aged, motherly person--and from the Rev. JosiahJebb, D.D., M.A., etc., pastor of the Methodist Church and his principalto be for the coming year.
A gentle, kindly man and a deep scholar, Dr. Jebb had no more knowledgeof the world than a novice in a convent. His wife was his shield andbuckler in all things that concerned the battle with men and affairs;all his thoughts and energies were for his pulpit and his books.
Failing health rather than personal fitness had to do with Dr. Jebb'sbeing sent to the hills. But the vast extent of territory in his charge,the occasional meetings in places separated by long hard rides, togetherwith the crude, blunt ranch and farmer folk who were his flock--allcalled for a minister with the fullest strength of youth and mentalpower. It was to meet this need that the trustees of the church had sentJames Hartigan to supplement the labours of the Rev. Dr. Jebb. Thusthese two, diverse in every particular of bodily and mental equipment,were chosen to meet the same religious problem.
The evening meal was spread by Mrs. Jebb herself, for their meagrestipend did not admit of a helper; and Jim, with his hearty, rollickingways, soon won his accustomed place, a high place in their hearts. Thatnight he was invited to stay with them; but it was understood that nextday he would find permanent lodgings in the town. Not a complex task,since, to quote Mrs. Jebb, "his hat covered his family, and threehundred a year simplified the number of rooms."
Jim rose at six in the morning, lighted a fire in the kitchen stove--forthis is etiquette in the simple regions where servants are not and theguest is as a son--and put on a full kettle of water. This also isetiquette; it assumes that the family will not be up for some time. Hadit been near the breakfast hour, but half a kettle would have beencorrect. Then he left the house, stick in hand, for a long walk. Thistime he struck out in the direction of the open plains. The flimsylittle town was soon behind him, and the winding trail among thesagebrush, went reaching out to the east. The pine woods of his nativecountry were not well stocked with life; the feathered folk wereinconspicuous there; but here it seemed that every bush and branch wasalive with singing birds. The vesper sparrows ran before his feet,flashed their white tail feathers in a little flight ahead, or from thetop of a stone or a buffalo skull they rippled out their story of thespring. The buffalo birds in black and white hung poised in the air totell their tale, their brown mates in the grass applauding with a raptattention. The flickers paused in harrying prairie anthills andchuckling fled to the nearest sheltering trees. Prairie dogs barked fromtheir tiny craters; gophers chirruped or turned themselves into peg-likewatchtowers to observe the striding stranger.
But over all, the loud sweet prairie lark sang his warbling yodel-songof the sun with a power and melody that no bird anywhere, in any land,can equal. It seemed to Jim the very spirit of these level lands, theembodiment of the awakening plains and wind, the moving voice of all theWest. And all about, as though responsive, the flowers of spring cameforth: purple avens in straggling patches; golden yellow bloom, withblots and streaks of fluffy white; while here and there, as far as eyecould reach, was the blue-white tinge of the crocus flower, the queen ofthe springtime flowers, the child of the sky and the snow.
The passionate youth in him responded to the beauty of it; he felt itlay hold on him and he would have sung, but he found no words in all hiscollege-born songs to tell of this new joy. "I didn't know it _could_ beso beautiful. I didn't know," he said again and again.
At the seven o'clock whistle of a mill he wheeled about toward the town,and saw there, almost overhanging it, the mountain, bright in themorning, streaked with white, lifting a rugged head through thegray-green poncho of its cedar robe, a wondrous pile capped by the onelone tower that watched, forever watched, above the vast expanse ofplains.
Jim was nearly back to the town when a horse and rig appeared comingrapidly toward him. He heard a shout and saw a man run from a house tolook. The horse was going very fast and shaking his head; something waswrong. As it came toward him he saw that the driver was a young girl.She was holding with all her strength to the reins, but the horse, atall, rawboned creature, was past control. Horses Jim surely understood.He stepped well aside, then wheeling as the runaway went past, he ranhis best. For a little while a swift man can run with a horse, and inthat little while Jim was alongside, had seized the back of the seat,and, with a spurt and a mighty leap, had tumbled into the rig beside thedriver. Instantly she held the reins toward him and gasped:
"I can't hold him; he's running away." Then, as Jim did not at onceseize the reins, she hurriedly said: "Here, take them."
"No," he said with amazing calmness, "you _can_ control him. Don't beafraid. You hurt yourself pulling; ease up. Keep him straight, that'sall."
The sense of power in his presence and matter-of-fact tone restored hernerve. She slackened a little on the reins. The horse had believed hewas running away; now he began to doubt it. She had been telegraphingterror along the lines, and now she began to telegraph control.
"Speak to him, just as you would if he were all right," said Jim in alow voice.
The girl had been pale and scared-looking, but she responded to thesuggestion and talked to the horse.
"Good boy, good boy, Stockings; keep it up," just as though she had beenputting him to his utmost.
There was open fareway straight ahead and little to fear so long as thehorse kept in the road and met no other rig. In a quarter of a mile hebegan to slacken his pace.
"Will you take the lines now?" the girl asked shyly.
"No, it isn't necessary, and the horse would feel the change and thinkhe had beaten you."
"My arms are tired out," she said rather querulously.
"Then ease up for a while. Don't pull so hard."
She did so and was surprised that the horse did not speed away. In aquarter of a mile more the victory was won. She gave the usual signal tostop and Stockings came gently to a pause.
"Now," said Jim, "if you like, I'll take the lines. The battle is over.You have won. From now on you will be able to drive that horse; but if Ihad taken the lines he would have felt the change; he would have feltthat he could boss you, and ever after he would have been a dangeroushorse for you to drive."
In the struggle, the horse had got one leg over the trace. Jim got out,spoke to the big, strong brute, and did the firm-handed, compellingthings that a horseman knows. The tall creature stood a little trembly,but submissive now, as the man unhooked the trace, adjusted all theleathers, and then, with a word or two, adjusted the horse's mood.
"Shall I leave you now?" he asked.
"No," she said, "my arms are aching. I wish you would drive me home."
As he mounted the seat again and headed for the village, Jim had hisfirst chance to look at the girl beside him. If fear had paled her faceat all it was wholly overcome, for the richest glow of health was in hercheeks and on her brow. She was beautiful he knew, with her brown hairflying and brilliant colour, but these things did not entirely accountfor a charm of which he was delightfully conscious. Her hands were alittle shaky from the struggle with the horse, but otherwise she wasfully recovered and self-possessed and talked in an animated if somewhatnervous way about the adventure. In a land where rasping voices were therule, it was instantly to be noted that her voice was soft and low.
"Stockings is not a bad horse," she said, "except in one way; the linesget under his tail. That always makes him back up and kick; then he gothis leg over the trace, was f
rightened, and ran away. He's the only oneof our horses that we have any trouble with. I was bound I'd drive him,in spite of Pa; but I'm thinking now that Pa was right." Then, abruptly:"I'm Miss Boyd; aren't you the new preacher?"
"Yes."
"I saw you at the station when you came yesterday."
"Sure, I didn't suppose a human being took notice of it," he laughed.
"Here's where I live. Will you come in?"
"No, thank you," he said; "I'm late now for breakfast at Dr. Jebb's." Sohe tied the horse to the post, helped her from the rig, and with aflourish of his stick and cap left her.
"The Rev. James Hartigan," she mused; "so that is Dr. Jebb's assistant."Then in Stockings's ear: "I think I like him--don't you, old runaway?"