"How do you do, Mr. Hartigan?" said Lowe. "I think we are here for the same purpose."
"Maybe so," said Jim dryly, "I don't know. I'm here to remove temptation from our friends, and before I leave I mean to spill that cursed stuff on the floor."
"You are right," said Lowe, "absolutely right. Pat, let me have that keg," and the schoolteacher proceeded to hammer around the bung, in the way of the orthodox bung-starter. There were murmurs and strong words, but he went on while Hartigan stood guard. The bung came loose, he lifted it out, and put his nostrils to the hole.
"That's the real stuff, just as it dropped from the quill. Smell that, Mr. Hartigan. Ain't that the real magollyon? But all the same here she goes." He tipped the keg a little and some liquor spilled out.
"See that? You get the gold? I tell you, Mr. Hartigan, that green rot-gut is poison, but you can tell when it's real by the shine. If it is whiskey it shines yellow like corn, if it is vitriol it shines green." He took a glass and filled it. "See the gold, and it smells like corn tossel." He put it to his lips. "That's what puts heart in a man, and makes him forgive his worst enemy.
"But here she goes." He spilled a little more on the ground. Then:
"You know, Mr. Hartigan, I am wholly in sympathy with this visit of yours, but I don't go as far as you do. I've been talking to Pat and he's a good sport. He realizes that you put up a fine fight that other time and that you cleaned them up single-handed. He doesn't want any further unpleasantness, but he doesn't see what right you have to keep him and his friends from using a moderate amount of this keg. Is that your idea, Pat?"
"An' what's the matter with it," growled Pat. "Why shouldn't I have one or two drinks? No man gets drunk on that."
"There you are," said Lowe, turning to Hartigan, "that's in reason. Why not have a drink all round and then talk it over?"
Hartigan was frankly puzzled by the turn of affairs. It seemed to be an offer of peace, after a fashion, but he could not fit Lowe into the scheme of things. He tried to read what was going on behind the schoolteacher's shifty eyes, but the face was a mask. At last he said:
"If these men and women," and Hartigan let his eyes travel over the faces about him, "could have stopped with one or two drinks I wouldn't be here now. Ye take one or two, but that is only the beginning. I know what drink is; I've been through it all, I tell ye, and there's no stopping if it gets the hold on ye."
"Leave it to the d—d preachers and there wouldn't be nothin' left to do in life," said Pat with a contemptuous sneer.
"Come now," said Lowe, eager to prevent hostilities. "You wouldn't object to liquor if nobody took too much, would you, Mr. Hartigan?"
"No," said Jim with a grim smile, "but I'm not to be taken in by the plausibilities of the Devil. That keg is going to be emptied."
"I'm with you to the finish there," said Lowe, "but what harm is there in filling these small glasses so"; he emptied a moderate draught into a row of tumblers set out upon the table.
"If Pat is willing to meet you half way and see this keg emptied on the floor, you wouldn't refuse a small drink with him in his own house, would you?"
Hartigan hesitated. He could not convince himself that the offer was genuine. And yet if he actually saw, with his own eyes, the keg emptied of its contents, what trick could there be? It seemed churlish to refuse. Suppose the offer were made in good faith, by not refusing that which in the male code is the sign of brotherhood and equality, he might secure an influence for good with the elder Bylow. And Lowe seemed to sense the thought, for he said, "If you take just a taste with these men now, all will come to hear you preach next Sunday. Won't you, boys?" And there was a grunt of assent. "All right; it's a bargain."
Jim was actually weighing the proposition—his old craving for drink was not by any means eradicated. The sight of the liquor and the smell roused an appetite that only an iron will had subdued. As he stood uncertain, debating, Lowe said, "Hold on; we're a glass short. Never mind, I'll find one"; and he hastened back into the lean-to kitchen and returned with a glass, which was partly concealed by his hand till it was filled with whiskey. Then he said, "If it was 'pizen juice' I wouldn't let any one touch it; but this is the simple clear whiskey, as you can prove for yourself. I wish we could send this to the hospital."
He offered it to Hartigan, who smelled it. Then Lowe said, "Well, here's to the empty keg."
The seductive liquor was potent in his nostrils, even there it had stimulation; and Hartigan, acting on a sudden impulse, drained the glass, as the others drank in silence.
There said Lowe, "You see it is the mildest of the mild; it wouldn't hurt a child." And he prattled away of truth and soberness, so that the potion should have ample freedom for its work; till the planned and subtle mixture should have time to dethrone Hartigan's reason, blind his spirit, and unhinge his will. The ancient fury in his hot young blood was all too ready to be aroused. Without a word, Lowe filled the glass again and Jim, no longer his best self, but dazed and reckless, drank with all the rest; then soon threw all restraint aside; and in the bacchanalian orgy that followed fast and filled the night, he was the stable-yard rowdy once again—loud and leading—but here let the curtain fall—draw down the thickest, blackest veil.
* * *
CHAPTER XIX
The Day of Reckoning
The sun was high next day when the door of Pat Bylow's abode was opened, and a man entered. The scene that met his eyes is better undescribed, but to him it gave no shock. He came expecting to see it. In his hand he carried a tin pail. There were men and women lying about the floor. He stepped over them toward a tall form in soiled black clothes and knelt beside it. Pouring some water on a cloth he laid it on the pale forehead. The prostrate man opened his eyes and groaned.
"Mr. Hartigan," said the other. "It's me. It's Charlie Bylow. Won't you be after having a drink of water?"
Hartigan raised himself on his elbow, peered out of his bloodshot eyes, and drank eagerly. The cup was three times emptied.
"You better come over to my shanty and go to bed," said Charlie seriously. The Preacher groaned:
"Oh! God what have I done? What have I done?" He clutched his throbbing brow with both hands, as he rose and shakily followed Charlie.
"Oh! fool that I am. Oh, God! Ruined. All is ruined. I wish I were dead!" he exclaimed. "Oh! God forgive me."
As they passed the fence where Blazing Star had been hitched, Hartigan stopped and stared. Charlie said:
"It's all right, Mr. Hartigan, I took care of him. He is in the stable."
Coming to Bylow's house, Jim passed the entrance and went on to the stable. With trembling hands he opened the door and hesitated. He half expected Blazing Star to spurn and disown him. He was prepared for any and every humiliation, but the long, joyous neigh that greeted him was a shock, and a help.
"Oh! Blazing Star, if you only knew, you would not even look at me."
Charlie took the Preacher by the arm and led him to the house.
"Here, Mr. Hartigan, take off your clothes and go to bed. I will give you a wet towel for your head and, by and by, I will bring you some coffee."
"Oh! God be merciful, or strike me dead," and Jim broke down in an agony of remorse. "This is the end. All I hoped for gone. I don't want to live now."
"Mr. Hartigan, sure now I know how you feel. Ain't I been through it? But don't be after making plans that are rash when you ain't just yourself. Now go to bed and rest awhile," and his kind Irish heart was wrung as he looked on the utter degradation of the manly form before him, and the shocking disfigurement of the one-time handsome face. Charlie and his wife left Hartigan alone. They shut the door and Charlie went back to his brother's shanty to help the other victims of the orgy.
Jim tossed around uneasily, winning snatches of sleep, groaning, talking, abasing himself.
"Oh, Belle!" he moaned aloud. "Will you ever look at me again? Oh, God! And me a preacher."
Cedar Mountain was not so big but that every one knew ever
ybody else's business; and Mary Bylow understood when she heard the name "Belle." But she didn't know just what to do. After an hour she again heard him.
"Oh! Belle, Belle, what will you say?"
Taking the hot coffee from the stove, Mrs. Bylow knocked at the door and went in.
"Take this, it will make you feel better."
She hoped he would talk, but he didn't. He only thanked her feebly. Then Charlie came back from his brother's shanty. He had remembered that, it being Sunday, the Preacher would be missed and he saddled his horse to set out for Cedar Mountain. As he left, his wife came out and said:
"While you are there, drop a hint to Belle Boyd," and Charlie nodded.
Arriving at Dr. Jebb's, Charlie explained the case to the pastor without detail:
"Sure, Mr. Hartigan had a little accident at our corner last night and sprained his ankle. My wife is nursing him, but he won't be able to preach to-day."
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Well, it is all right, I will take both services," and the blind and gentle old man turned to his books.
Then Bylow rode to the Boyd home. Here, he realized, was a much more difficult job. But he was determined to go into no details. It was Belle who answered his knock. Charlie began:
"My wife told me to tell you that Mr. Hartigan got hurt last night. He is at our house. He won't be in town to-day."
"What? Did he interfere in a spree?"
"Yes."
"Is he shot?"
"No."
"Is he wounded?"
"No, not exactly."
"What is the matter?"
"Only a general shakeup, he had a bad fall," and Bylow moved uneasily.
It was a simple matter to bluff a simple old clergyman, but it was another thing altogether to mislead an alert young woman. Belle knew there was something wrong—something more and different from what she had been told.
"Is the doctor with him?"
"No."
"I will get the doctor and come at once."
"No, I wouldn't; at least, not till morning."
Bylow's manner roused Belle all the more to prompt action. Seeing that all his explanations made things worse, Charlie abruptly left, mounted his broncho, and went "rockity rockity" as the pony's heels went "puff, puff" on the dusty trail around the hill and away.
The doctor was not to be found that morning and Belle found it hard to await his return. In the meantime, some strange rumour must have reached the town for in Sunday-school Belle met Eliza Lowe, the recently arrived sister of the schoolteacher. The look on her face, the gleam in her eye, were unmistakable. She had not yet learned of her brother's part in the affair. Belle found herself avoiding the sister's gaze.
As the hours passed the conviction deepened in Belle that there was something seriously wrong; she could feel it in the air. It was something more than an accident to Hartigan. There was the indefinable shadow of shame about it. The oppression became unbearable and on leaving Sunday-school, she went down to the doctor's house. He had just got in from a case near Fort Ryan and was eating a belated meal. Belle went straight to the point:
"Dr. Carson, I want you to take me at once to Bylow's Corner."
"Why?"
"There's something wrong. Mr. Hartigan is in serious trouble. I don't believe that he has fallen from his horse as they say. I want to know the truth."
Her face was pale, her mouth was set. The doctor looked keenly at her a moment and then, comprehending, said:
"All right, I will"; and in ten minutes the mudstained buckboard with a fresh horse in it was speeding over the foot of Cedar Mountain on the trail to Bylow's.
* * *
While Belle was fretting under the delay and marshalling her forces for the trip to the Corner, Hartigan lay in the quiet Bylow cabin and under the influence of cold water, coffee, and a more collected mind, gradually acquired some degree of composure. He had risen and dressed and was sadly musing on the wreck of all his life which that one fiery sip had brought about, when the thought of Blazing Star came to him. He went eagerly to the stable and as he rubbed the animal down he found help in the physical action. He hammered the currycomb on a log to clean it before putting it in the box, then gazing to the eastward along the trail that climbed around the shoulder of Cedar Mountain, he saw a buckboard approaching. In the Black Hills one identifies his visitor by his horse, and Jim recognized the Carson outfit. Sitting beside the doctor was a woman in a light-coloured dress with a red parasol raised above her. It smote him as no man's fist had ever done. He turned into the stable, put saddle and bridle on Blazing Star, swung to the seat, gave rein to the willing beast and, heading away from Cedar Mountain on the Deadwood Trail, went bounding, riding, stricken, too hard hit and shamed to meet the eyes of the woman whose praise he had come to value as the best approval he might hope to win.
The doctor's buckboard came to the door, tied up, and the two occupants went in.
"Where is your patient, Mrs. Bylow?"
The woman pointed to the bedroom door, went to it, knocked, opened it, and finding the room empty said:
"He was here a few minutes ago. I expect he is out to the stable."
Belle sat down. The nervous strain of the past hours was telling on her. She felt unstrung and vaguely depressed.
The doctor and Mary Bylow went to the stable. The empty stall, with no sign of saddle, bridle, or preacher, were enough. They returned to the house.
In answer to Belle's look the doctor made a gesture, and said simply:
"Gone."
"Where?"
The doctor shook his head and pointed northward.
"Please tell me all about it, Mrs. Bylow," said Belle.
"There is times to tell lies," said Mary naively, "but this ain't. I'll tell you the whole truth," and she did in a quivering voice, while tears ran from her eyes.
"Trapped, trapped," was Belle's only comment. "Where do you suppose he went?"
"Not to Cedar Mountain," said Carson, "that's sure. No one passed us."
Charlie Bylow, coming into the cabin, heard the doctor's last comment.
"He was heading due north and going hard when last we saw him," was his contribution.
"Dr. Carson, he's headed for Deadwood, and I'm going after him to bring him back." Belle stood up with sudden decision. The need for action once more present, all her strength responded.
The doctor shook his head. "I don't think you should go. You know what all the town would say."
"You are going with me," was the answer.
"When?"
"Right now."
"Better go home first."
"And have a fight with my folks? No, no! We go now. I have an aunt in Deadwood, you know!"
"It's forty-five miles, and we can't get there till midnight, even if my horse holds out."
"We may overtake him before that," said Belle, though she knew quite well they would not, for Hartigan would ride like a madman.
It had not been difficult to enlist Carson's sympathies. A sincere friendship had sprung up between the boyish preacher and himself and their total dissimilarity had made them congenial. Carson was amused in his quiet way to note how exactly Belle was moving as he thought best and surest, so now he merely added:
"Deadwood it is," and with a farewell word to the Bylows they were off.
* * *
CHAPTER XX
The Memorable Trip to Deadwood
It was a long, hard journey, and it was one o'clock in the morning before they reached Deadwood. Every public house that could get a license to sell liquor announced itself as a "hotel." Those few that could not, made a virtue of their failure and flaunted a sign, "Temperance House." The "wet houses" were on the main gulch, the "dry" ones in off nooks, or perched on breezy hills. To the best of these latter the doctor drove, had the luck to find the owner still on duty, and secured a room for himself. Then they drove to the home of Belle's aunt, Mrs. Collins. One has to take a hotel on its rules; but a relative may be called up and inconvenienced at an
y time.
"Well, Auntie, it's Belle Boyd. I want you to take care of me till the morning. I will tell you all about it later," this to the inquiring head that emerged from an upper window. So Belle was left and the doctor went to his hotel.
Up very early next morning, Belle went at once to the stable of the Temperance House. Yes, there he was, Blazing Star, in all his beauty. Then she went into the hotel and mounted guard in the little parlour. Dr. Carson came down and was sent to sit out of doors. At length the sound of the foot she awaited came from the stairs and she heard the landlady say:
"There's some one in the parlour waiting for you." For a moment there was no sound; then the footsteps approached.
Belle was at the window looking out, partly hidden by the cheap lace curtains. As the Preacher entered, she turned fully toward him. Her back was to the light and he did not immediately perceive her. Then with a gasp:
"Belle!" and, sinking into a chair, he covered his face with his hands.
She went to him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and stood there in silence. The great broad shoulders began to shake under that soft touch. There was no sound uttered for long, then, brokenly, his one refrain: "Oh, Belle!"
She sat down beside him, and took his hand—the first time she had ever done so—and waited in silence.
He wanted to tell her all, but found no words.
She said, "Never mind that now. Tell me what you are here for."
He tried again but in a wild, incoherent way. The sum of it all was that he was "ruined, degraded, and lost. He would go down to the Big Cheyenne and get a job as a cowboy."
"Now listen, Jim," she said. "You have made a bad mistake; but a man may make one big, bad mistake and still be all right. It is the man that goes on making a little mistake every day that is hopeless."
There was a long pause. Then she continued: "What is it you of all people admire most in a man? Is it not courage to see things through, no matter how black they look?"
In his then frame of mind Hartigan had expected drunkenness to be singled out as the worst of all sins; there was a ray of comfort in this other thought; he nodded and grunted an inarticulate assent.