CHAPTER IX--A BEGINNING
That eastern mountain range was all etched with rose color now as Huntwent back to the hotel. But the town had scarcely quieted after itsnight's revelry. Inebriates were still dribbling along the streets fromthe all-night places.
He thought of Nell Blossom. She certainly was a flower in the mire ofCanyon Pass. Joe Hurley had written none too enthusiastically about thegirl, as far as concerned her beauty. And although Hunt was by no meansgiven to impulsive judgments, he knew there was a refined atmosphereabout the girl despite her gruff independence of manner and speech.
His return to the hotel was unheralded save by the cheerful grin ofCholo Sam, the Mexican proprietor of the hostelry, who was sluicing outthe barroom.
"Some morning, thees, Senor Hunt." He flashed a tentative, toothfulsmile toward the array of bottles behind his bar. "Weel you have oneleetle drink, Senor? A 'pick-my-up,' you call eet, eh?"
"Coffee, Sam," replied Hunt briskly, acknowledging the offer in thespirit it was meant. "Coffee only--and perhaps a bit of bread with it.Service for two, please. My sister will want some. Will you bring itup?"
"But surely, senor." He hesitated. "Ees eet the truth that the senor eesa meenister--the padre? Si?"
"Quite true, Sam. That is my business--my trade. And I have come here toCanyon Pass hoping to exercise it."
Hunt mounted to his room to find that Betty was already astir. She hadbeen into his room during his absence. One of the bags he had broughtupon the stagecoach had been opened and across the foot of the bed wascarefully laid his ordinary Sunday garments--frock-coat, high-cutwaistcoat, and narrow trousers of dead black sheen.
With the outer garments was the stiff-bosomed white shirt--"boiled" JoeHurley would have designated its variety--the silk socks, with a pair oflow, gun-metal kid shoes set primly on the floor under the edge of thebed.
Ford Hunt looked at all these once--then again. He thought of what he hadbeen doing already on this Sunday morning. Then he burst into loudlaughter.
Sunday afternoon when the weather was propitious was the time for socialintercourse in Canyon Pass. Those who had worked or played or had beenintoxicated the night before had slept off the effects of theirsuper-exertions for the most part. They came forth now shaved and inclean garments and strolled to Main Street.
It was still too early for the cabarets and gambling places to be open,and even the saloon bars were somnolent save for the flies buzzing aboutthem or drunkenly crawling in the spilled beer. The pivotal point of thetown's rendezvous and gossip on Sunday afternoon was the Three StarGrocery. In front of that old Bill Judson held forth between hisexertions of waiting on such customers as might claim his attention.
"Dad burn it!" ejaculated Judson. "I bet Tom Hicks has crawled into hishole and pulled the hole in after him. I should want to if I was him.And you take it from me, boys, a parson that can do that to a bad actorlike Tom Hicks will make Canyon Pass sit up and take notice before he'sthrough."
"It showed sand, I allow," agreed one of his hearers judiciously. "Butit's r'iled Boss Tolley all up and he swears the parson sha'n't stay."
"You don't say!" drawled Judson sarcastically. "And who ever electedTolley to be boss of the Pass? If for no other reason, I'm strong forthis yere Reverend Hunt."
"As a man--a reg'lar he-man--I'm for him, too," agreed another. "But I'mthinkin' we can get along yere at Canyon Pass without much psalm-singingand preaching."
"Yeppy. You're right," declared a third of Judson's hearers.
"Let alone that you're all wrong," put in Judson again with energy,"let's look at the thing in a practical way, as the feller said. If aman come in yere and opened a shoe shop or a candy pop or wanted to sellshoestrings, we'd give him the glad hand, wouldn't we? 'Live and letlive,' has always been the motto of Canyon Pass, ain't it?"
"What's that got to do with it, Bill?"
"Why, you big gump! Ain't this parson got something to peddle? His stockin trade is religion, and he's got just as much right to show goods andtry to drum up trade as the next one, ain't he? He's entitled to a fairdeal. And Boss Tolley, Tom Hicks, and them other highbinders can sulk intheir dens and suck their paws. I ain't never gone ironed since I openedthis shack, nigh thirty years ago. But I'll sling a gun on my hip andact as bodyguard if it's necessary for any feller that ain't getting afair deal in this town. That's gospel!"
"I never knowed ye was so all-fired religious, Bill," complained one ofhis surprised hearers.
"Religious!" retorted the storekeeper. "It ain't that I'm religious--notso's you'd notice it. But I got a sense of fair play,--dad burn it! Herecomes the parson now, boys."
Hunt and Joe Hurley came out of the Wild Rose Hotel. The minister hadnot donned his clerical garments. He was dressed as he had been the daybefore when he arrived on the stagecoach, except for the hat he wore.That flopping-brimmed headgear which he had taken from Tom Hicks crownedthe parson's brush of crisp, dark hair.
"Boys," said Hurley, when they came near, "meet Willie Hunt. He's one ofthe best old scouts I met when I was East, that time I stood thatcollege on its head, like I told you. I reckon you know Willie is a realman, if he _is_ a parson. Mr. Hunt, meet Jib Collins, Cale Mack, JimTierney, and--last but not least--Bill Judson, who is the honored mentorof this camp."
"Whatever that is," and the storekeeper grinned, shaking hands in turnwith Hunt. "This yere Joe Hurley slings language at times that sartainlystops traffic. He can't seem to get over it. It was wished on him whenhe lived East that time he is always telling us about."
Hunt knew how to meet these men--he was by nature a "good mixer." Thereis much in the grasp of a hand, a steady look, an unafraid smile, thatrecommends the stranger to such bold spirits. The timid, even thehesitant, make no progress with them.
"Parson," pursued Judson, "we was just discussin' your business as youand Joe come along. In my opinion we need you yere at Canyon Pass. I'mspeakin' for myself alone," and he glared at the other men in the groupaccusingly; "but I can't put it too strong. We need ye. To my mindreligion is a mighty good thing. We're loose livin', we're loosetalkin', and we need to be jacked up right smart.
"You can count on me, parson, to back any play you make, clean acrossthe board. I'm for you, strong. We need meetin's started. We ought tohave a Sunday school for the young 'uns. We need to be preached at andprayed with. I come of right strict Presbyterian stock, and when I was alad I was used to all the means of grace, I was."
"You are interested, then, Mr. Judson, in any attempt we may make toinaugurate services here on Sunday?" Hunt asked cheerfully.
"Youbetcha!" was the hearty rejoinder.
"Of course, Mr. Judson," Hunt pursued, "you understand that, to havesuccessful and helpful services, some of us at least must have thespirit of service?"
"Sure. That's what I tell 'em."
"I take it from brief observation that this day--the Sabbath--is observedvery little at present in Canyon Pass?"
"True as true," said the storekeeper.
"To get people really interested in divine services on this day, don'tyou think we should begin by making some difference--a realdifference--between the First Day and the other six?" Hunt continued,eyeing Judson reflectively. "If we who are interested in the bettermentof the community are not willing to lead in this matter, those we wishto help can scarcely follow.
"Sunday should not be like the other six days of the week. Your minesand gold washings shut down on this day. How about other secularactivities ceasing--as far as it may be possible?"
"I--I reckon you're right, parson," Judson said, though with somehesitation. "Of course, the boys have been used to having their freedomon Sundays, and their fun. I don't believe you could go far in shuttingdown the saloons and gambling tables--not right at first."
"But would you go as far as you could personally to establish a betterstandard of Sunday observance?" pursued Hunt.
"Heh?" ejaculated the puzzled Judson.
Hunt, still smiling, mounted the steps of t
he store, closed the door,and turned the great key which had been left in the outside of the lock.He removed the key and handed it to Bill Judson as he came down thesteps again.
"Mr. Judson," he said in a perfectly unmoved voice, "if you will beginby keeping that door locked on Sundays you will be leading the way inthis community toward a proper observance of the Lord's Day."
Joe Hurley was on the point of bursting out laughing. But he thoughtbetter of joining Collins, Mack, and Tierney in wild expressions of joyat the old man's discomfiture.
Judson's face turned from its usual weather-beaten tan to a purple-red.His rheumy eyes sparked. Then slowly, reflectively, a grin wreathed histobacco-stained lips and crinkled the outer corners of his eyelids.
"Parson," he said, thrusting out his hand again, "you're on! I'll showthese fellers I'm a good sport. Nobody was ever able to say honestlythat Bill Judson took water; and I won't give 'em the chance't to say itnow."