"What are you going to give us next time?" inquired Belle.
"I thought of beginning a series of sermons on the bad habits of the congregation—swearing, drinking, gambling, horse-racing, smoking, and spitting. Last Sunday, right by the door in church, two men were smoking their pipes and spitting on the floor. It seems to me that Revelations XI:2 is about the right medicine for such conduct. This is the text: 'And he opened the bottomless pit and there arose a smoke out of the pit,' Or Psalms XXXVII:20: 'The wicked shall perish ... into smoke shall they consume away,' Then there is a passage in Jeremiah VII:30: 'They have set their abominations in the house which is called by my name to pollute it,' With these I think we have a good scaffolding to build on."
Belle looked puzzled and said nothing. Hartigan was waiting for her approval. He wanted it.
"What do you think?" he asked, a decided note of anxiety creeping into his question.
"I would not do it," was the answer.
"Why not?" said Jim instantly on the defensive. "Don't they need it, and aren't they awfully weak on these things?"
"Yes, they are," said Belle, "but——"
"But what?"
"Mr. Hartigan," she replied as she stopped at her gate, "if you wanted a rich man to help a poor widow, and went to him saying: 'You miserable old skinflint, I know you are as greedy as the pit, but I demand it as a human right that you help this poor woman out of your ill-gotten abundance,' how much are you going to get? Nothing at all; and the truer it is the less your chance. On the other hand, if you go to him and say: 'Mr. Dives, you are one of the few men in town who have the power to help this woman. I know she is well worthy of help, for she's having a hard struggle. Now, you had a struggle once and know what that means. It made a keen, successful business man of you; but I know you are kind-hearted and generous and that all you want is to be sure that the case is genuine. Well, I can assure you it is. Will you not help her with the rent till strawberry time, when she expects to get a little money?' That way you will get something. He has to become generous when you say he is; and I think that you will get more out of these people if you assume that they are something good. Later, when they know you better, you can put them right on their faults."
Hartigan stared at her with frankly admiring eyes.
"Well," he said, "you surely have the level head. You are right and I will do as you say. But I wonder why you take all this trouble with me?"
Flushed and happy over her victory and very deeply moved by the look she had seen on Jim's face, Belle realized the full meaning of her success and took a woman's pride in the fact that this great, powerful, self-confident, gifted man should in two short encounters completely change about and defer to her judgment. There was a moment's silence in which she sought to get her voice under control. Then she added:
"Will you let me know what you decide to preach on?"
"I will," said Jim, his eyes still on her face.
They had been standing at the door of the Boyd home. In that instant of his dependence upon her Belle had been conscious of a very sweet and precious bond between them. Without turning toward him, she touched his arm lightly with her hand and went into the house.
* * *
Jim's first effort had not encouraged Dr. Jebb to transfer much of the pulpit service to the young man. Subsequently, he had a long talk with him and pointed out some of the defects as Belle had done; also a number of lapses which, though purely academic, he considered of prime importance. Thus, more than a month elapsed before Jim was again called to fill the pulpit.
Meanwhile, he had had many experiences of value in his widespread congregation, among them the raising of a charitable fund for an unfortunate neighbour, and he had become well acquainted with Jack Shives, the blacksmith, a singular mixture of brusqueness and kindness. Shives was a good citizen who did good work at the forge, but he was utterly opposed to all creeds and churches. He made it a point to set all the weight of his solid character against these, as well as the power of his biting tongue.
As soon as Dr. Jebb asked him to take the pulpit, Jim called on Belle.
"Well, I'm to have another chance," he said, as with one hand he lifted an armchair that Dr. Jebb could not have moved at all.
"Good," said she. "What is the subject to be?"
"I have three subjects I wish to treat," he began; "one, foreign missions; the next is the revised version of the New Testament; and the last is the secularizing influence of church clubs. Which do you say?"
Belle looked serious. At length she said:
"Maybe you can make something constructive out of these ideas. It depends on how you handle them; but they seem to me far-off and doubtful."
He looked the disappointment he felt and waited for her to go on.
"What was the good thing that struck you most when you came among us?"
Hartigan gazed through the window at the round top of Cedar Mountain, then at the frank face of the slim girl, and with a little outburst of his real nature he cried:
"Bejabers, it was the kind way you all received me."
"All right, then; why not make that your subject for the next sermon? Let these people know that you think they are kind, and that they make you feel it, and they will become kinder. Then, when you are established in their hearts, you can talk about their faults. That will come later. Since we must find a scripture text to hang your talk on, let's take Ephesians IV:32: 'Be ye kind one to another, tender hearted, forgiving one another even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.'"
The sermon was duly outlined. The outline was brought for Belle to hear. She was keenly interested because in some sense she was on trial; and under the stimulating influence of her attention, Jim expanded the outline to a whole sermon and preached it all to Belle then and there. It was full of eloquent passages and wholesome lessons, but it was far too long, as Belle insisted; and again there was a readjustment with the result that on the following Sunday Hartigan delivered a brilliant sermon on Kindness, the kindness he had received, the kindness that is the heart of all true religion. The quaint humour, the vivid presentation, and the every-day applications were new and true notes to that congregation. It shocked some of the old-fashioned type, but the reality it gave to religion was not lost, and the human interest and sincerity of it held every mind. It cannot be given in full, but the opening passages will illustrate Jim's theme and his method. After reading the parable of the Good Samaritan, he said:
"Now, friends, I have selected the story of the Good Samaritan for a starting point; and it's a good one, even if I never get back to it through the whole length of the sermon.
"I want you to understand that here was a man who was a kind of outcast; he didn't go to church and he didn't know or care a cent about doctrines or creeds; his people were notorious for wine drinking so that it's more than likely he was often drunk, and it's ten to one he swore every time he got mad. But he was ready to lend a helping hand to anybody that had need of him.
"And I want you to note that the men who would not do a finger's tap to help were a holy priest with a big salary and a highly respectable church member in training for the ministry. So you see, the Lord selected these three to illustrate this point then, now, and for all time, that he had nothing but contempt for the coldblooded holy-rollers and that the ignorant outcast infidel was his sort because he had a kind heart.
"Now, friends, we've all three kinds right with us all the time. Though I don't go much on mincing words, I won't specify the priest nor the Levite right here in Cedar Mountain; but I will make mention of the Good Samaritan.
"Ye see, it wasn't exactly a case of being held up by robbers; but we had to raise enough to get the Hanky family out of their troubles when Jack Hanky broke his arm, his leg, his buggy, and his bank account all on one and the same unlucky day; and it was my job to raise the wind to help him weather the storm. Well, I went about as you all know, and got a little here and a little there; then squeezed out a little more from some of the dry sp
onges, and still was short. So I went to Jack Shives and he contributed more than any one else; and then, on top of that, he put Hanky's buggy in good shape without a cent of pay, and went down night after night to sit at his bedside and help him pass the long hours away.
"Now the fact is, Jack Shives and I have had many a fight on religious questions. He swears and drinks all he wants to, which I'm bound to say isn't much. He jokes about the church and the preacher and every one that goes to church. He pokes fun at the hymn book and laughs at the Bible and every one that tries to follow it word for word. Jack thinks he's all kinds of an infidel; but he isn't. I have a notion of my own that he's a better Christian than he allows, better than a good many church members I could name. In fact, I believe if the Lord Jesus were to get off at Cedar Mountain from to-morrow's noon train, the first thing he would do would be to go to the post office and say: 'Can you tell me where Jack Shives, the blacksmith, lives? He's a particular friend of mine, he's done a lot of little odd jobs for me and I guess I'll put up at his house while I'm in Cedar Mountain.'"
And so he talked for the allotted time, translating the age-old truth into terms of to-day and personal application. A few of the older folk thought he treated some very serious subjects too lightly; they preferred the sing-song tone so long associated with scripture texts. Others had their doubts as to Jim's theology. His eulogy of the blacksmith was a little too impulsive, but none had any question of the thrilling human interest of his words and the completeness of his hold on every one's attention. It was wholesome, if not orthodox; it drove home with conviction; it made them laugh and cry; and it was a masterpiece of the simple eloquence that was so much his gift and of the humour that was the birthright of his race.
From that day forth the doubtful impressions created by Hartigan's first appearance in the pulpit were wiped out and he was reckoned as a new and very potent force in the community.
* * *
CHAPTER XIV
The Lure of the Saddle
One of the needs that Hartigan very soon became aware of in his far-flung pastoral work was that of a good saddle horse. An income of three hundred dollars a year will not maintain very much in the way of a stable, but a horse had to be got, and the idea of looking for one was exceedingly pleasant to him. It needed but the sight and smell of the horse leathers to rouse the old passion bred and fostered in Downey's stable. He loved the saddle, he knew horses as few men did, and had he been ninety pounds lighter he would have made a famous jockey.
For many days he was able to put his mind on nothing else. He eagerly took every chance to visit likely stock; he was never so happy as when he was astride of some mettlesome animal, interpreting its moods as only the born horseman can do, and drawing on the reserves of strength which are closed to all but the expert rider. He responded in every fibre of his great physique to the zest of this renewed experience of a loved and lost stable life, and yet the very passion of his enjoyment appalled him at times for it seemed to be in some sense a disloyalty to the new life he had taken up and to draw him away from it.
In those days there were motley bands of immigrants crossing the plains from the East, making for the Black Hills as an island of promise in the great open sea, and one of these wanderers from far-off Illinois arrived one evening with the usual outfit of prairie schooner, oxen, milch cow, saddle horses, dogs, and children. Calamity had overtaken the caravan. The mother had died; the father was disgusted with the country and everything in it; and his one idea was to sell his outfit and get the children back East, back to school and granny. At the auction, the cattle brought good prices, but no one wanted the horses. They were gaunt and weary, saddle-and spur-galled; one young and the other past middle life. It was the young horse that caught Hartigan's eye. It was rising three, a well-built skeleton, but with a readiness to look alert, a full mane and tail, and a glint of gold on the coat that had a meaning and a message for the horse-wise. The auctioneer was struggling to raise a bid.
"Will any one bid on this fine young colt? All he needs is oats, and a few other things."
A laugh went up, which was just what the auctioneer wanted, for merriment is essential to a successful sale.
"Here now, boys, who will start him at five dollars? And him worth a hundred."
It was too much for Hartigan. He raised his finger to the auctioneer.
"There, now, there's a preacher that knows a horse," he prattled away, but no second offer came, and the colt was knocked down to Hartigan for five greasy dollars.
"A good clean-down is worth a bushel of oats to a horse," is old stable wisdom, "and a deal cheaper," as Hartigan added. Within the hour Blazing Star, as the new owner named him from the star blaze in his forehead, was rubbed and curry-combed as probably he never had been in his life before. He was fed with a little grain and an abundance of prairie hay, his wounds were painted with iodine and his mane was plaited. He was handled from forelock to fetlock and rubbed and massaged like a prizefighter who is out for mighty stakes.
"They are just like humans," Hartigan remarked to the "perchers" at Shives's blacksmith shop. "All they need is kindness and common sense."
Before a month had gone, Hartigan was offered fifty dollars for the colt; and this in a land where twenty-five dollars is the usual price for a saddle horse. In truth, no one would have recognized this fine, spirited young horse as the sorry jade that landed in the town a short four weeks before. But Hartigan, who had a trainer's eye, said to Shives and the "perchers":
"Wait for two months and then you will see something."
And they did. They saw the young Achilles riding down the street on the wonderful chosen steed of all the herd. There were perfectly balanced life and power in every move of both, the eagerness to up and do, the grace of consummate animalism. They had seen many a fine man on a noble horse, but never before had they beheld a picture so satisfying to both eye and heart as that of the Preacher on his five-dollar steed.
Five miles from Cedar Mountain is Fort Ryan and to the south of it a plain, where every year in the first week of July the Indians gather in their tepees and the whites in tents and prairie schooners for a sort of fair, in which are many kinds of sin on the largest scale. Herds of horses are there, and racing is a favourite sport. It was here on the Fourth of July that an Indian on a rough-looking buckskin pony had won, over all the field that year, a purse containing five hundred dollars. The whites, who had their racers set at naught, were ready for almost any scheme that promised them revenge, and they made an ill-favoured and sulky lot as they sat on the shady side of the movable saloon that lingered still on the racing plain. Their eyes were pinched at the corners with gazing at the sunlight, and their ragged beards were like autumn grass. A horseman appeared in the distance, and ambled toward them. This was a common enough sight, but the easy pace was pleasing to the eye, and when he drew near these men of the saddle found a horseman's pleasure in the clean-limbed steed so easily ridden.
"Guess it's the new preacher," said one with a laugh. "He's come down from Cedar Mountain to save us from Hell, as if Hell could be any worse than this."
Hartigan drew up to inquire the direction to a certain cabin and when he learned the way he rode on.
"Looks to me like he would have made a cowboy, if they had ketched him young."
"Do you see that horse? Ain't there some blood there?"
"Yes, there is," said Long Bill, "and it strikes me it is worth following up. Let's have another look."
The group sauntered to where the Preacher was making a call and one of them began:
"Say, mister, that's quite a horse you've got there; want to sell him?"
"No."
"Looks like a speeder."
"Yes, there's nothing in Cedar Mountain to touch him."
"Say, mister," said cattleman Kyle, "if he's a winner, here's your chance to roll up a wad."
Hartigan stared and waited. The cult of the horse is very ancient, but its ways are ever modern.
"You say he'
s a great speeder; will you try him against Kyle's horse?" said Long Bill.
Jim looked a rebuff and shook his head.
"Oh, just a friendly race," the man went on; "Kyle thinks he has the best American horse in town." And as various members of the party looked more critically at Blazing Star and felt his limbs they became more insistent.
When Jim had joined the Church, horse-racing was one of the deadly sins he had abjured. So while he refused to enter a race, he was easily persuaded to ride his horse against Kyle's for a friendly mile. Whether begun as a race or not, it was in deadly earnest after the first fifty yards and it proved just what they needed to know: that Kyle's horse, which had been a good second best with the Indian, was a poor second in the race with Blazing Star. With this essential information, Kyle asked if he could hire Hartigan's horse for a brush with the Indian.
Hartigan went through a most painful struggle with his conscience. But clearly "this was not a regular race." It was "just a sort of speed test with an Indian pony like the one he had had with Kyle." He was not going to ride in it. He would only rent his horse for wages. "Sure, every one hires out his horse when he has a good one." So Blazing Star was hired out to Kyle, and a new though unimportant race was arranged, for a stake, otherwise the Indian would not have taken the trouble to ride. The Red-men's black eyes looked keenly on as he measured the new horse. Then the unexpected happened. Blazing Star was not accustomed to the new jockey, the gentle ways that had fostered his speed were lacking. The rider's idea was whip and spur and go from the start. The horse got "rattled" and the Indian pony won. The defeat stirred Hartigan to a rage such as he had not experienced in months. The unrest of his conscience over the affair, coupled with his contempt and fury at the bad horsemanship of the rider, set loose from his tongue a lurid torrent blended of Links, Scripture, and Black Hills.