THE SKY PILOT

A TALE OF THE FOOTHILLS

By Ralph Connor

PREFACE

The measure of a man's power to help his brother is the measure of thelove in the heart of him and of the faith he has that at last the goodwill win. With this love that seeks not its own and this faith thatgrips the heart of things, he goes out to meet many fortunes, but notthat of defeat. 

This story is of the people of the Foothill Country; of those men ofadventurous spirit, who left homes of comfort, often of luxury, becauseof the stirring in them to be and to do some worthy thing; and of thoseothers who, outcast from their kind, sought to find in these valleys, remote and lonely, a spot where they could forget and be forgotten. 

The waving skyline of the Foothills was the boundary of their lookoutupon life. Here they dwelt safe from the scanning of the world, freedfrom all restraints of social law, denied the gentler influences of homeand the sweet uplift of a good woman's face. What wonder if, with thenew freedom beating in their hearts and ears, some rode fierce and hardthe wild trail to the cut-bank of destruction!

The story is, too, of how a man with vision beyond the waving skylinecame to them with firm purpose to play the brother's part, and by sheerlove of them and by faith in them, win them to believe that life ispriceless, and that it is good to be a man. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. The Foothills Country

II. The Company of the Noble Seven

III. The Coming of the Pilot

IV. The Pilot's Measure

V. First Blood

VI. His Second Wind

VII. The Last of the Permit Sundays

VIII. The Pilot's Grip

IX. Gwen

X. Gwen's First Prayers

XI. Gwen's Challenge

XII. Gwen's Canyon

XIII. The Canyon Flowers

XIV. Bill's Bluff

XV. Bill's Partner

XVI. Bill's Financing

XVII. How the Pinto Sold

XVIII. The Lady Charlotte

XIX. Through Gwen's Window

XX. How Bill Favored "Home-Grown Industries"

XXI. How Bill Hit the Trail

XXII. How the Swan Creek Church was Opened

XXIII. The Pilot's Last Port

THE SKY PILOT

CHAPTER I

THE FOOTHILLS COUNTRY

Beyond the great prairies and in the shadow of the Rockies lie theFoothills. For nine hundred miles the prairies spread themselves out invast level reaches, and then begin to climb over softly rounded moundsthat ever grow higher and sharper till, here and there, they breakinto jagged points and at last rest upon the great bases of the mightymountains. These rounded hills that join the prairies to the mountainsform the Foothill Country. They extend for about a hundred miles only, but no other hundred miles of the great West are so full of interestand romance. The natural features of the country combine the beautiesof prairie and of mountain scenery. There are valleys so wide that thefarther side melts into the horizon, and uplands so vast as to suggestthe unbroken prairie. Nearer the mountains the valleys dip deep and everdeeper till they narrow into canyons through which mountain torrentspour their blue-gray waters from glaciers that lie glistening betweenthe white peaks far away. Here are the great ranges on which feed herdsof cattle and horses. Here are the homes of the ranchmen, in whose wild, free, lonely existence there mingles much of the tragedy and comedy, thehumor and pathos, that go to make up the romance of life. Among them areto be found the most enterprising, the most daring, of the peoples ofthe old lands. The broken, the outcast, the disappointed, these toohave found their way to the ranches among the Foothills. A country it iswhose sunlit hills and shaded valleys reflect themselves in the livesof its people; for nowhere are the contrasts of light and shade morevividly seen than in the homes of the ranchmen of the Albertas. 

The experiences of my life have confirmed in me the orthodox convictionthat Providence sends his rain upon the evil as upon the good; else Ishould never have set my eyes upon the Foothill country, nor touched itsstrangely fascinating life, nor come to know and love the most strikingman of all that group of striking men of the Foothill country--the dearold Pilot, as we came to call him long afterwards. My first year incollege closed in gloom. My guardian was in despair. From this distanceof years I pity him. Then I considered him unnecessarily concerned aboutme--"a fussy old hen, " as one of the boys suggested. The invitation fromJack Dale, a distant cousin, to spend a summer with him on his ranch inSouth Alberta came in the nick of time. I was wild to go. My guardianhesitated long; but no other solution of the problem of my disposaloffering, he finally agreed that I could not well get into more troubleby going than by staying. Hence it was that, in the early summer ofone of the eighties, I found myself attached to a Hudson's Bay Companyfreight train, making our way from a little railway town in Montanatowards the Canadian boundary. Our train consisted of six wagonsand fourteen yoke of oxen, with three cayuses, in charge of a Frenchhalf-breed and his son, a lad of about sixteen. We made slow enoughprogress, but every hour of the long day, from the dim, gray, mistylight of dawn to the soft glow of shadowy evening, was full of newdelights to me. On the evening of the third day we reached the LineStopping Place, where Jack Dale met us. I remember well how my heartbeat with admiration of the easy grace with which he sailed down uponus in the loose-jointed cowboy style, swinging his own bronco and thelittle cayuse he was leading for me into the circle of the wagons, careless of ropes and freight and other impedimenta. He flung himselfoff before his bronco had come to a stop, and gave me a grip that mademe sure of my welcome. It was years since he had seen a man from home, and the eager joy in his eyes told of long days and nights of lonelyyearning for the old days and the old faces. I came to understand thisbetter after my two years' stay among these hills that have a strangepower on some days to waken in a man longings that make his heart growsick. When supper was over we gathered about the little fire, while Jackand the half-breed smoked and talked. I lay on my back looking up at thepale, steady stars in the deep blue of the cloudless sky, and listenedin fullness of contented delight to the chat between Jack and thedriver. Now and then I asked a question, but not too often. It isa listening silence that draws tales from a western man, not vexingquestions. This much I had learned already from my three days' travel. So I lay and listened, and the tales of that night are mingled with thewarm evening lights and the pale stars and the thoughts of home thatJack's coming seemed to bring. 

Next morning before sun-up we had broken camp and were ready for ourfifty-mile ride. There was a slight drizzle of rain and, though rain andshine were alike to him, Jack insisted that I should wear my mackintosh. This garment was quite new and had a loose cape which rustled as I movedtoward my cayuse. He was an ugly-looking little animal, with more whitein his eye than I cared to see. Altogether, I did not draw toward him. Nor did he to me, apparently. For as I took him by the bridle he snortedand sidled about with great swiftness, and stood facing me with his feetplanted firmly in front of him as if prepared to reject overtures ofany kind soever. I tried to approach him with soothing words, but hepersistently backed away until we stood looking at each other at theutmost distance of his outstretched neck and my outstretched arm. Atthis point Jack came to my assistance, got the pony by the other side ofthe bridle, and held him fast till I got into position to mount. Takinga firm grip of the horn of the Mexican saddle, I threw my leg over hisback. The next instant I was flying over his head. My only emotion wasone of surprise, the thing was so unexpected. I had fancied myself afair rider, having had experience of farmers' colts of divers kinds, butthis was something quite new. The half-breed stood looking on, mildlyinterested; Jack was smiling, but the boy was grinning with delight. 

"I'll take the little beast, " said Jack. But the grinning boy braced meup and I replied as carelessly as my shaking voice would allow:

"Oh, I guess I'll manage him, " and once more got into position. But nosooner had I got into the saddle than the pony sprang straight up intothe air and lit with his back curved into a bow, his four legs gatheredtogether and so absolutely rigid that the shock made my teeth rattle. It was my first experience of "bucking. " Then the little brute wentseriously to work to get rid of the rustling, flapping thing on hisback. He would back steadily for some seconds, then, with two or threeforward plunges, he would stop as if shot and spring straight into theupper air, lighting with back curved and legs rigid as iron. Then hewould walk on his hind legs for a few steps, then throw himself withamazing rapidity to one side and again proceed to buck with viciousdiligence. 

"Stick to him!" yelled Jack, through his shouts of laughter. "You'llmake him sick before long. "

I remember thinking that unless his insides were somewhat moredelicately organized than his external appearance would lead one tosuppose the chances were that the little brute would be the last tosuccumb to sickness. To make matters worse, a wilder jump than ordinarythrew my cape up over my head, so that I was in complete darkness. Andnow he had me at his mercy, and he knew no pity. He kicked and plungedand reared and bucked, now on his front legs, now on his hind legs, often on his knees, while I, in the darkness, could only cling tothe horn of the saddle. At last, in one of the gleams of light thatpenetrated the folds of my enveloping cape, I found that the horn hadslipped to his side, so the next time he came to his knees I threwmyself off. I am anxious to make this point clear, for, from theexpression of triumph on the face of the grinning boy, and his encomiumsof the pony, I gathered that he scored a win for the cayuse. Withoutpause that little brute continued for some seconds to buck and plungeeven after my dismounting, as if he were some piece of mechanism thatmust run down before it could stop. 

By this time I was sick enough and badly shaken in my nerve, but thetriumphant shouts and laughter of the boy and the complacent smiles onthe faces of Jack and the half-breed stirred my wrath. I tore off thecape and, having got the saddle put right, seized Jack's riding whipand, disregarding his remonstrances, sprang on my steed once more, andbefore he could make up his mind as to his line of action plied him sovigorously with the rawhide that he set off over the prairie at fullgallop, and in a few minutes came round to the camp quite subdued, tothe boy's great disappointment and to my own great surprise. Jackwas highly pleased, and even the stolid face of the half-breed showedsatisfaction. 

"Don't think I put this up on you, " Jack said. "It was that cape. Heain't used to such frills. But it was a circus, " he added, going offinto a fit of laughter, "worth five dollars any day. "

"You bet!" said the half-breed. "Dat's make pretty beeg fun, eh?"

It seemed to me that it depended somewhat upon the point of view, but Imerely agreed with him, only too glad to be so well out of the fight. 

All day we followed the trail that wound along the shoulders of theround-topped hills or down their long slopes into the wide, grassyvalleys. Here and there the valleys were cut through by coulees throughwhich ran swift, blue-gray rivers, clear and icy cold, while from thehilltops we caught glimpses of little lakes covered with wild-fowl thatshrieked and squawked and splashed, careless of danger. Now and then wesaw what made a black spot against the green of the prairie, and Jacktold me it was a rancher's shack. How remote from the great world, andhow lonely it seemed!--this little black shack among these multitudinoushills. 

I shall never forget the summer evening when Jack and I rode intoSwan Creek. I say into--but the village was almost entirely one ofimagination, in that it consisted of the Stopping Place, a long logbuilding, a story and a half high, with stables behind, and the store inwhich the post-office was kept and over which the owner dwelt. But thesituation was one of great beauty. On one side the prairie rambled downfrom the hills and then stretched away in tawny levels into the mistypurple at the horizon; on the other it clambered over the round, sunnytops to the dim blue of the mountains beyond. 

In this world, where it is impossible to reach absolute values, we areforced to hold things relatively, and in contrast with the long, lonely miles of our ride during the day these two houses, with theiroutbuildings, seemed a center of life. Some horses were tied to the railthat ran along in front of the Stopping Place. 

"Hello!" said Jack, "I guess the Noble Seven are in town. "

"And who are they?" I asked. 

"Oh, " he replied, with a shrug, "they are the elite Of Swan Creek; andby Jove, " he added, "this must be a Permit Night. "

"What does that mean?" I asked, as we rode up towards the tie rail. 

"Well, " said Jack, in a low tone, for some men were standing about thedoor, "you see, this is a prohibition country, but when one of the boysfeels as if he were going to have a spell of sickness he gets a permitto bring in a few gallons for medicinal purposes; and of course, theother boys being similarly exposed, he invites them to assist him intaking preventive measures. And, " added Jack, with a solemn wink, "it isremarkable, in a healthy country like this, how many epidemics come nearketching us. "

And with this mystifying explanation we joined the mysterious company ofthe Noble Seven. 

CHAPTER II

THE COMPANY OF THE NOBLE SEVEN

As we were dismounting, the cries, "Hello, Jack!" "How do, Dale?""Hello, old Smoke!" in the heartiest of tones, made me see that mycousin was a favorite with the men grouped about the door. Jack simplynodded in reply and then presented me in due form. "My tenderfoot cousinfrom the effete, " he said, with a flourish. I was surprised at the graceof the bows made me by these roughly-dressed, wild-looking fellows. Imight have been in a London drawing-room. I was put at my ease at onceby the kindliness of their greeting, for, upon Jack's introduction, I was admitted at once into their circle, which, to a tenderfoot, wasusually closed. 

What a hardy-looking lot they were! Brown, spare, sinewy and hard asnails, they appeared like soldiers back from a hard campaign. They movedand spoke with an easy, careless air of almost lazy indifference, but their eyes had a trick of looking straight out at you, cool andfearless, and you felt they were fit and ready. 

That night I was initiated into the Company of the Noble Seven--but ofthe ceremony I regret to say I retain but an indistinct memory; for theydrank as they rode, hard and long, and it was only Jack's care that gotme safely home that night. 

The Company of the Noble Seven was the dominant social force in the SwanCreek country. Indeed, it was the only social force Swan Creek knew. Originally consisting of seven young fellows of the best blood ofBritain, "banded together for purposes of mutual improvement and socialenjoyment, " it had changed its character during the years, but notits name. First, its membership was extended to include "approvedcolonials, " such as Jack Dale and "others of kindred spirit, " underwhich head, I suppose, the two cowboys from the Ashley Ranch, Hi Keadaland "Bronco" Bill--no one knew and no one asked his other name--wereadmitted. Then its purposes gradually limited themselves to those of asocial nature, chiefly in the line of poker-playing and whisky-drinking. Well born and delicately bred in that atmosphere of culture mingled witha sturdy common sense and a certain high chivalry which surrounds thestately homes of Britain, these young lads, freed from the restraintsof custom and surrounding, soon shed all that was superficial in theirmake-up and stood forth in the naked simplicity of their native manhood. The West discovered and revealed the man in them, sometimes to theirhonor, often to their shame. The Chief of the Company was the Hon. FredAshley, of the Ashley Ranch, sometime of Ashley Court, England--a big, good-natured man with a magnificent physique, a good income from home, and a beautiful wife, the Lady Charlotte, daughter of a noble Englishfamily. At the Ashley Ranch the traditions of Ashley Court werepreserved as far as possible. The Hon. Fred appeared at the wolf-huntsin riding-breeches and top boots, with hunting crop and English saddle, while in all the appointments of the house the customs of the Englishhome were observed. It was characteristic, however, of western life thathis two cowboys, Hi Kendal and Bronco Bill, felt themselves quite hissocial equals, though in the presence of his beautiful, stately wifethey confessed that they "rather weakened. " Ashley was a thoroughly goodfellow, well up to his work as a cattle-man, and too much of a gentlemanto feel, much less assert, any superiority of station. He had thelargest ranch in the country and was one of the few men making money. 

Ashley's chief friend, or, at least, most frequent companion, was a manwhom they called "The Duke. " No one knew his name, but every one saidhe was "the son of a lord, " and certainly from his style and bearinghe might be the son of almost anything that was high enough in rank. Hedrew "a remittance, " but, as that was paid through Ashley, no one knewwhence it came nor how much it was. He was a perfect picture of a man, and in all western virtues was easily first. He could rope a steer, bunch cattle, play poker or drink whisky to the admiration of hisfriends and the confusion of his foes, of whom he had a few; while as to"bronco busting, " the virtue par excellence of western cattle-men, evenBronco Bill was heard to acknowledge that "he wasn't in it with theDook, for it was his opinion that he could ride anythin' that had legsin under it, even if it was a blanked centipede. " And this, coming fromone who made a profession of "bronco busting, " was unquestionably highpraise. The Duke lived alone, except when he deigned to pay a visitto some lonely rancher who, for the marvellous charm of his talk, wasdelighted to have him as guest, even at the expense of the loss of a fewgames at poker. He made a friend of no one, though some men could tellof times when he stood between them and their last dollar, exacting onlythe promise that no mention should be made of his deed. He had an easy, lazy manner and a slow cynical smile that rarely left his face, and theonly sign of deepening passion in him was a little broadening of hissmile. Old Latour, who kept the Stopping Place, told me how once TheDuke had broken into a gentle laugh. A French half-breed freighter onhis way north had entered into a game of poker with The Duke, with theresult that his six months' pay stood in a little heap at his enemy'sleft hand. The enraged freighter accused his smiling opponent of being acheat, and was proceeding to demolish him with one mighty blow. ButThe Duke, still smiling, and without moving from his chair, caught thedescending fist, slowly crushed the fingers open, and steadily drew theFrenchman to his knees, gripping him so cruelly in the meantime that hewas forced to cry aloud in agony for mercy. Then it was that The Dukebroke into a light laugh and, touching the kneeling Frenchman on hischeek with his finger-tips, said: "Look here, my man, you shouldn'tplay the game till you know how to do it and with whom you play. " Then, handing him back the money, he added: "I want money, but not yours. "Then, as he sat looking at the unfortunate wretch dividing his attentionbetween his money and his bleeding fingers, he once more broke into agentle laugh that was not good to hear. 

The Duke was by all odds the most striking figure in the Company ofthe Noble Seven, and his word went farther than that of any other. His shadow was Bruce, an Edinburgh University man, metaphysical, argumentative, persistent, devoted to The Duke. Indeed, his chiefambition was to attain to The Duke's high and lordly manner; but, inasmuch as he was rather squat in figure and had an open, good-naturedface and a Scotch voice of the hard and rasping kind, his attempts atimitation were not conspicuously successful. Every mail that reachedSwan Creek brought him a letter from home. At first, after I had gotto know him, he would give me now and then a letter to read, but as thetone became more and more anxious he ceased to let me read them, and Iwas glad enough of this. How he could read those letters and go the paceof the Noble Seven I could not see. Poor Bruce! He had good impulses, agenerous heart, but the "Permit" nights and the hunts and the "roundups"and the poker and all the wild excesses of the Company were more than hecould stand. 

Then there were the two Hill brothers, the younger, Bertie, afair-haired, bright-faced youngster, none too able to look afterhimself, but much inclined to follies of all degrees and sorts. Buthe was warm-hearted and devoted to his big brother, Humphrey, called"Hump, " who had taken to ranching mainly with the idea of looking afterhis younger brother. And no easy matter that was, for every one likedthe lad and in consequence helped him down. 

In addition to these there were two others of the original seven, but byforce of circumstances they were prevented from any more than a nominalconnection with the Company. Blake, a typical wild Irishman, had joinedthe police at the Fort, and Gifford had got married and, as Bill said, "was roped tighter'n a steer. "

The Noble Company, with the cowboys that helped on the range and two orthree farmers that lived nearer the Fort, composed the settlers of theSwan Creek country. A strange medley of people of all ranks and nations, but while among them there were the evil-hearted and evil-living, still, for the Noble Company I will say that never have I fallen in with menbraver, truer, or of warmer heart. Vices they had, all too apparent anddeadly, but they were due rather to the circumstances of their livesthan to the native tendencies of their hearts. Throughout that summerand the winter following I lived among them, camping on the range withthem and sleeping in their shacks, bunching cattle in summer and huntingwolves in winter, nor did I, for I was no wiser than they, refuse mypart on "Permit" nights; but through all not a man of them ever failedto be true to his standard of honor in the duties of comradeship andbrotherhood. 

CHAPTER III

THE COMING OF THE PILOT

He was the first missionary ever seen in the country, and it was the OldTimer who named him. The Old Timer's advent to the Foothill countrywas prehistoric, and his influence was, in consequence, immense. No oneventured to disagree with him, for to disagree with the Old Timer was towrite yourself down a tenderfoot, which no one, of course, cared to do. It was a misfortune which only time could repair to be a new-comer, andit was every new-comer's aim to assume with all possible speed the styleand customs of the aristocratic Old Timers, and to forget as soon aspossible the date of his own arrival. So it was as "The Sky Pilot, "familiarly "The Pilot, " that the missionary went for many a day in theSwan Creek country. 

I had become schoolmaster of Swan Creek. For in the spring a kindProvidence sent in the Muirs and the Bremans with housefuls ofchildren, to the ranchers' disgust, for they foresaw ploughed fieldsand barbed-wire fences cramping their unlimited ranges. A schoolbecame necessary. A little log building was erected and I was appointedschoolmaster. It was as schoolmaster that I first came to touch ThePilot, for the letter which the Hudson Bay freighters brought me earlyone summer evening bore the inscription:

 The Schoolmaster, Public School, Swan Creek, Alberta. 

There was altogether a fine air about the letter; the writing was infine, small hand, the tone was fine, and there was something fine in thesignature--"Arthur Wellington Moore. " He was glad to know that there wasa school and a teacher in Swan Creek, for a school meant children, inwhom his soul delighted; and in the teacher he would find a friend, and without a friend he could not live. He took me into his confidence, telling me that though he had volunteered for this far-away missionfield he was not much of a preacher and he was not at all sure that hewould succeed. But he meant to try, and he was charmed at the prospectof having one sympathizer at least. Would I be kind enough to put up insome conspicuous place the enclosed notice, filling in the blanks as Ithought best?

 "Divine service will be held at Swan creek in ---- ----- at ---- o'clock. All are cordially invited. Arthur Wellington Moore. "

On the whole I liked his letter. I liked its modest self-depreciationand I liked its cool assumption of my sympathy and co-operation. But Iwas perplexed. I remembered that Sunday was the day fixed for the greatbaseball match, when those from "Home, " as they fondly called the landacross the sea from which they had come, were to "wipe the earth" withall comers. Besides, "Divine service" was an innovation in Swan Creekand I felt sure that, like all innovations that suggested the approachof the East, it would be by no means welcome. 

However, immediately under the notice of the "Grand Baseball Match for'The Pain Killer' a week from Sunday, at 2:30, Home vs. The World, " Ipinned on the door of the Stopping Place the announcement:

"Divine service will be held at Swan Creek, in the Stopping PlaceParlor, a week from Sunday, immediately upon the conclusion of thebaseball match. 

"Arthur Wellington Moore. "

There was a strange incongruity in the two, and an unconscious challengeas well. 

All next day, which was Saturday, and, indeed, during the followingweek, I stood guard over my notice, enjoying the excitement it producedand the comments it called forth. It was the advance wave of thegreat ocean of civilization which many of them had been glad to leavebehind--some could have wished forever. 

To Robert Muir, one of the farmers newly arrived, the notice was aharbinger of good. It stood for progress, markets and a higher pricefor land; albeit he wondered "hoo he wad be keepit up. " But hishard-wrought, quick-spoken little wife at his elbow "hooted" hisscruples and, thinking of her growing lads, welcomed with unmixedsatisfaction the coming of "the meenister. " Her satisfaction was sharedby all the mothers and most of the fathers in the settlement; but by theothers, and especially by that rollicking, roistering crew, the Companyof the Noble Seven, the missionary's coming was viewed with varyingdegrees of animosity. It meant a limitation of freedom in their wildlyreckless living. The "Permit" nights would now, to say the least, besubject to criticism; the Sunday wolf-hunts and horse-races, with theirattendant delights, would now be pursued under the eye of the Church, and this would not add to the enjoyment of them. One great charm of thecountry, which Bruce, himself the son of an Edinburgh minister, and nowSecretary of the Noble Seven, described as "letting a fellow do as heblanked pleased, " would be gone. None resented more bitterly than he themissionary's intrusion, which he declared to be an attempt "toreimpose upon their freedom the trammels of an antiquated and bigotedconventionality. " But the rest of the Company, while not takingso decided a stand, were agreed that the establishment of a churchinstitution was an objectionable and impertinent as well as unnecessaryproceeding. 

Of course, Hi Kendal and his friend Bronco Bill had no opinion one wayor the other. The Church could hardly affect them even remotely. A dozenyears' stay in Montana had proved with sufficient clearness to them thata church was a luxury of civilization the West might well do without. 

Outside the Company of the Noble Seven there was only one whose opinionhad value in Swan Creek, and that was the Old Timer. The Company hadsought to bring him in by making him an honorary member, but he refusedto be drawn from his home far up among the hills, where he lived withhis little girl Gwen and her old half-breed nurse, Ponka. The approachof the church he seemed to resent as a personal injury. It representedto him that civilization from which he had fled fifteen years ago withhis wife and baby girl, and when five years later he laid his wife inthe lonely grave that could be seen on the shaded knoll just frontinghis cabin door, the last link to his past was broken. From all thatsuggested the great world beyond the run of the Prairie he shrank as oneshrinks from a sudden touch upon an old wound. 

"I guess I'll have to move back, " he said to me gloomily. 

"Why?" I said in surprise, thinking of his grazing range, which wasample for his herd. 

"This blank Sky Pilot. " He never swore except when unusually moved. 

"Sky Pilot?" I inquired. 

He nodded and silently pointed to the notice. 

"Oh, well, he won't hurt you, will he?"

"Can't stand it, " he answered savagely, "must get away. "

"What about Gwen?" I ventured, for she was the light of his eyes. "Pityto stop her studies. " I was giving her weekly lessons at the old man'sranch. 

"Dunno. Ain't figgered out yet about that baby. " She was still his baby. "Guess she's all she wants for the Foothills, anyway. What's the use?"he added, bitterly, talking to himself after the manner of men who livemuch alone. 

I waited for a moment, then said: "Well, I wouldn't hurry about doinganything, " knowing well that the one thing an old-timer hates to do isto make any change in his mode of life. "Maybe he won't stay. "

He caught at this eagerly. "That's so! There ain't much to keep him, anyway, " and he rode off to his lonely ranch far up in the hills. 

I looked after the swaying figure and tried to picture his past with itstragedy; then I found myself wondering how he would end and what wouldcome to his little girl. And I made up my mind that if the missionarywere the right sort his coming might not be a bad thing for the OldTimer and perhaps for more than him. 

CHAPTER IV

THE PILOT'S MEASURE

It was Hi Kendal that announced the arrival of the missionary. I wasstanding at the door of my school, watching the children ride offhome on their ponies, when Hi came loping along on his bronco in theloose-jointed cowboy style. 

"Well, " he drawled out, bringing his bronco to a dead stop in a singlebound, "he's lit. "

"Lit? Where? What?" said I, looking round for an eagle or some otherflying thing. 

"Your blanked Sky Pilot, and he's a beauty, a pretty kid--looks tootender for this climate. Better not let him out on the range. " Hi wasquite disgusted, evidently. 

"What's the matter with him, Hi?"

"Why, HE ain't no parson! I don't go much on parsons, but when I callsfor one I don't want no bantam chicken. No, sirree, horse! I don't wantno blankety-blank, pink-and-white complected nursery kid foolin' roundmy graveyard. If you're goin' to bring along a parson, why bring himwith his eye-teeth cut and his tail feathers on. "

That Hi was deeply disappointed was quite clear from the selection ofthe profanity with which he adorned this lengthy address. It wasnever the extent of his profanity, but the choice, that indicated Hi'sinterest in any subject. 

Altogether, the outlook for the missionary was not encouraging. Withthe single exception of the Muirs, who really counted for little, nobodywanted him. To most of the reckless young bloods of the Company of theNoble Seven his presence was an offence; to others simply a nuisance, while the Old Timer regarded his advent with something like dismay; andnow Hi's impression of his personal appearance was not cheering. 

My first sight of him did not reassure me. He was very slight, veryyoung, very innocent, with a face that might do for an angel, except forthe touch of humor in it, but which seemed strangely out of place amongthe rough, hard faces that were to be seen in the Swan Creek Country. It was not a weak face, however. The forehead was high and square, themouth firm, and the eyes were luminous, of some dark color--violet, ifthere is such a color in eyes--dreamy or sparkling, according tohis mood; eyes for which a woman might find use, but which, in amissionary's head, appeared to me one of those extraordinary wastes ofwhich Nature is sometimes guilty. 

He was gazing far away into space infinitely beyond the Foothills andthe blue line of the mountains behind them. He turned to me as I drewnear, with eyes alight and face glowing. 

"It is glorious, " he almost panted. "You see this everyday!" Then, recalling himself, he came eagerly toward me, stretching out his hand. "You are the schoolmaster, I know. Do you know, it's a great thing? Iwanted to be one, but I never could get the boys on. They always gotme telling them tales. I was awfully disappointed. I am trying the nextbest thing. You see, I won't have to keep order, but I don't think Ican preach very well. I am going to visit your school. Have you manyscholars? Do you know, I think it's splendid? I wish I could do it. "

I had intended to be somewhat stiff with him, but his evident admirationof me made me quite forget this laudable intention, and, as he talkedon without waiting for an answer, his enthusiasm, his deference to myopinion, his charm of manner, his beautiful face, his luminous eyes, made him perfectly irresistible; and before I was aware I was listeningto his plans for working his mission with eager interest. So eager wasmy interest, indeed, that before I was aware I found myself asking himto tea with me in my shack. But he declined, saying:

"I'd like to, awfully; but do you know, I think Latour expects me. "

This consideration of Latour's feelings almost upset me. 

"You come with me, " he added, and I went. 

Latour welcomed us with his grim old face wreathed in unusual smiles. The pilot had been talking to him, too. 

"I've got it, Latour!" he cried out as he entered; "here you are, "and he broke into the beautiful French-Canadian chanson, "A la ClaireFontaine, " to the old half-breed's almost tearful delight. 

"Do you know, " he went on, "I heard that first down the Mattawa, "and away he went into a story of an experience with French-Canadianraftsmen, mixing up his French and English in so charming a manner thatLatour; who in his younger days long ago had been a shantyman himself, hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or on his heels. 

After tea I proposed a ride out to see the sunset from the nearestrising ground. Latour, with unexampled generosity, offered his owncayuse, "Louis. "

"I can't ride well, " protested The Pilot. 

"Ah! dat's good ponee, Louis, " urged Latour. "He's quiet lak wan leetlemouse; he's ride lak--what you call?--wan horse-on-de-rock. " Under whichpersuasion the pony was accepted. 

That evening I saw the Swan Creek country with new eyes--through theluminous eyes of The Pilot. We rode up the trail by the side of the Swantill we came to the coulee mouth, dark and full of mystery. 

"Come on, " I said, "we must get to the top for the sunset. "

He looked lingeringly into the deep shadows and asked: "Anything livedown there?"

"Coyotes and wolves and ghosts. "

"Ghosts?" he asked, delightedly. "Do you know, I was sure there were, and I'm quite sure I shall see them. "

Then we took the Porcupine trail and climbed for about two miles thegentle slope to the top of the first rising ground. There we stayed andwatched the sun take his nightly plunge into the sea of mountains, nowdimly visible. Behind us stretched the prairie, sweeping out level tothe sky and cut by the winding coulee of the Swan. Great long shadowsfrom the hills were lying upon its yellow face, and far at the distantedge the gray haze was deepening into purple. Before us lay the hills, softly curving like the shoulders of great sleeping monsters, their topsstill bright, but the separating valleys full of shadow. And there, farbeyond them, up against the sky, was the line of the mountains--blue, purple, and gold, according as the light fell upon them. The sun hadtaken his plunge, but he had left behind him his robes of saffron andgold. We stood long without a word or movement, filling our hearts withthe silence and the beauty, till the gold in the west began to grow dim. High above all the night was stretching her star-pierced, blue canopy, and drawing slowly up from the east over the prairie and over thesleeping hills the soft folds of a purple haze. The great silence of thedying day had fallen upon the world and held us fast. 

"Listen, " he said, in a low tone, pointing to the hills. "Can't youhear them breathe?" And, looking at their curving shoulders, I fancied Icould see them slowly heaving as if in heavy sleep, and I was quite sureI could hear them breathe. I was under the spell of his voice and hiseyes, and nature was all living to me then. 

We rode back to the Stopping Place in silence, except for a word of minenow and then which he heeded not; and, with hardly a good night, heleft me at the door. I turned away feeling as if I had been in a strangecountry and among strange people. 

How would he do with the Swan Creek folk? Could he make them see thehills breathe? Would they feel as I felt under his voice and eyes? Whata curious mixture he was! I was doubtful about his first Sunday, and wassurprised to find all my indifference as to his success or failure gone. It was a pity about the baseball match. I would speak to some of the menabout it to-morrow. 

Hi might be disappointed in his appearance, but, as I turned into myshack and thought over my last two hours with The Pilot and how he had"got" old Latour and myself, I began to think that Hi might be mistakenin his measure of The Pilot. 

CHAPTER V

FIRST BLOOD

One is never so enthusiastic in the early morning, when the emotions arecalmest and the nerves at their steadiest. But I was determined to tryto have the baseball match postponed. There could be no difficulty. Oneday was as much of a holiday as another to these easy-going fellows. But The Duke, when I suggested a change in the day, simply raised hiseyebrows an eighth of an inch and said:

"Can't see why the day should be changed. " Bruce stormed and swore allsorts of destruction upon himself if he was going to change his style oflife for any man. The others followed The Duke's lead. 

That Sunday was a day of incongruities. The Old and the New, theEast and the West, the reverential Past and iconoclastic Present werejumbling themselves together in bewildering confusion. The baseballmatch was played with much vigor and profanity. The expression on ThePilot's face, as he stood watching for a while, was a curious mixture ofinterest, surprise, doubt and pain. He was readjusting himself. He wasso made as to be extremely sensitive to his surroundings. He took oncolor quickly. The utter indifference to the audacious disregard of allhe had hitherto considered sacred and essential was disconcerting. Theywere all so dead sure. How did he know they were wrong? It was his firstnear view of practical, living skepticism. Skepticism in a book did notdisturb him; he could put down words against it. But here it was alive, cheerful, attractive, indeed fascinating; for these men in their westerngarb and with their western swing had captured his imagination. He wasin a fierce struggle, and in a few minutes I saw him disappear into thecoulee. 

Meantime the match went uproariously on to a finish, with the resultthat the champions of "Home" had "to stand The Painkiller, " their defeatbeing due chiefly to the work of Hi and Bronco Bill as pitcher andcatcher. 

The celebration was in full swing; or as Hi put it, "the boys weretakin' their pizen good an' calm, " when in walked The Pilot. His facewas still troubled and his lips were drawn and blue, as if he were inpain. A silence fell on the men as he walked in through the crowd and upto the bar. He stood a moment hesitating, looking round upon the facesflushed and hot that were now turned toward him in curious defiance. Henoticed the look, and it pulled him together. He faced about toward oldLatour and asked in a high, clear voice:

"Is this the room you said we might have?"

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and said:

"There is not any more. "

The lad paused for an instant, but only for an instant. Then, lifting apile of hymn books he had near him on the counter, he said in a grave, sweet voice, and with the quiver of a smile about his lips:

"Gentlemen, Mr. Latour has allowed me this room for a religious service. It will give me great pleasure if you will all join, " and immediately hehanded a book to Bronco Bill, who, surprised, took it as if he did notknow what to do with it. The others followed Bronco's lead till he cameto Bruce, who refused, saying roughly:

"No! I don't want it; I've no use for it. "

The missionary flushed and drew back as if he had been struck, butimmediately, as if unconsciously, The Duke, who was standing near, stretched out his hand and said, with a courteous bow, "I thank you; Ishould be glad of one. "

"Thank you, " replied The Pilot, simply, as he handed him a book. The menseated themselves upon the bench that ran round the room, or leaned upagainst the counter, and most of them took off their hats. Just then incame Muir, and behind him his little wife. 

In an instant The Duke was on his feet, and every hat came off. 

The missionary stood up at the bar, and announced the hymn, "Jesus, Lover of My Soul. " The silence that followed was broken by the sound ofa horse galloping. A buckskin bronco shot past the window, and in a fewmoments there appeared at the door the Old Timer. He was about to stridein when the unusual sight of a row of men sitting solemnly with hymnbooks in their hands held him fast at the door. He gazed in an amazed, helpless way upon the men, then at the missionary, then back at the men, and stood speechless. Suddenly there was a high, shrill, boyish laugh, and the men turned to see the missionary in a fit of laughter. Itcertainly was a shock to any lingering ideas of religious propriety theymight have about them; but the contrast between his frank, laughing faceand the amazed and disgusted face of the shaggy old man in the doorwaywas too much for them, and one by one they gave way to roars oflaughter. The Old Timer, however, kept his face unmoved, strode up tothe bar and nodded to old Latour, who served him his drink, which hetook at a gulp. 

"Here, old man!" called out Bill, "get into the game; here's your deck, "offering him his book. But the missionary was before him, and, with verybeautiful grace, he handed the Old Timer a book and pointed him to aseat. 

I shall never forget that service. As a religious affair it was a deadfailure, but somehow I think The Pilot, as Hi approvingly said, "got inhis funny work, " and it was not wholly a defeat. The first hymn was sungchiefly by the missionary and Mrs. Muir, whose voice was very high, withone or two of the men softly whistling an accompaniment. The second hymnwas better, and then came the Lesson, the story of the feeding of thefive thousand. As the missionary finished the story, Bill, who had beenlistening with great interest, said:

"I say, pard, I think I'll call you just now. "

"I beg your pardon!" said the startled missionary. 

"You're givin' us quite a song and dance now, ain't you?"

"I don't understand, " was the puzzled reply. 

"How many men was there in the crowd?" asked Bill, with a judicial air. 

"Five thousand. "

"And how much grub?"

"Five loaves and two fishes, " answered Bruce for the missionary. 

"Well, " drawled Bill, with the air of a man who has reached aconclusion, "that's a little too unusual for me. Why, " looking pityinglyat the missionary, "it ain't natarel. "

"Right you are, my boy, " said Bruce, with a laugh. "It's deucedlyunnatural. "

"Not for Him, " said the missionary, quietly. Then Bruce joyfully tookhim up and led him on into a discussion of evidences, and from evidencesinto metaphysics, the origin of evil and the freedom of the will, tillthe missionary, as Bill said, "was rattled worse nor a rooster in thedark. " Poor little Mrs. Muir was much scandalized and looked anxiouslyat her husband, wishing him to take her out. But help came from anunexpected quarter, and Hi suddenly called out:

"Here you, Bill, shut your blanked jaw, and you, Bruce, give the man achance to work off his music. "

"That's so! Fair play! Go on!" were the cries that came in response toHi's appeal. 

The missionary, who was all trembling and much troubled, gave Hi agrateful look, and said:

"I'm afraid there are a great many things I don't understand, and I amnot good at argument. " There were shouts of "Go on! fire ahead, play thegame!" but he said, "I think we will close the service with a hymn. " Hisfrankness and modesty, and his respectful, courteous manner gained thesympathy of the men, so that all joined heartily in singing, "Sun of MySoul. " In the prayer that followed his voice grew steady and his nervecame back to him. The words were very simple, and the petitions weremostly for light and for strength. With a few words of remembrance of"those in our homes far away who think of us and pray for us and neverforget, " this strange service was brought to a close. 

After the missionary had stepped out, the whole affair was discussedwith great warmth. Hi Kendal thought "The Pilot didn't have no fairshow, " maintaining that when he was "ropin' a steer he didn't want noblanked tenderfoot to be shovin' in his rope like Bill there. " But Billsteadily maintained his position that "the story of that there picnicwas a little too unusual" for him. Bruce was trying meanwhile to beguileThe Duke into a discussion of the physics and metaphysics of the case. But The Duke refused with quiet contempt to be drawn into a region wherehe felt himself a stranger. He preferred poker himself, if Brucecared to take a hand; and so the evening went on, with the theologicaldiscussion by Hi and Bill in a judicial, friendly spirit in one corner, while the others for the most part played poker. 

When the missionary returned late there were only a few left in theroom, among them The Duke and Bruce, who was drinking steadily andlosing money. The missionary's presence seemed to irritate him, and heplayed even more recklessly than usual, swearing deeply at every loss. At the door the missionary stood looking up into the night sky andhumming softly "Sun of My Soul, " and after a few minutes The Duke joinedin humming a bass to the air till Bruce could contain himself no longer. 

"I say, " he called out, "this isn't any blanked prayer-meeting, is it?"

The Duke ceased humming, and, looking at Bruce, said quietly: "Well, what is it? What's the trouble?"

"Trouble!" shouted Bruce. "I don't see what hymn-singing has to do witha poker game. "

"Oh, I see! I beg pardon! Was I singing?" said The Duke. Then after apause he added, "You're quite right. I say, Bruce, let's quit. Somethinghas got on to your nerves. " And coolly sweeping his pile into hispocket, he gave up the game. With an oath Bruce left the table, tookanother drink, and went unsteadily out to his horse, and soon we heardhim ride away into the darkness, singing snatches of the hymn andswearing the most awful oaths. 

The missionary's face was white with horror. It was all new and horribleto him. 

"Will he get safely home?" he asked of The Duke. 

"Don't you worry, youngster, " said The Duke, in his loftiest manner, "he'll get along. "

The luminous, dreamy eyes grew hard and bright as they looked The Dukein the face. 

"Yes, I shall worry; but you ought to worry more. "

"Ah!" said The Duke, raising his brows and smiling gently upon thebright, stern young face lifted up to his. "I didn't notice that I hadasked your opinion. "

"If anything should happen to him, " replied the missionary, quickly, "Ishould consider you largely responsible. "

"That would be kind, " said The Duke, still smiling with his lips. Butafter a moment's steady look into the missionary's eyes he nodded hishead twice or thrice, and, without further word, turned away. 

The missionary turned eagerly to me:

"They beat me this afternoon, " he cried, "but thank God, I know nowthey are wrong and I am right! I don't understand! I can't see my waythrough! But I am right! It's true! I feel it's true! Men can't livewithout Him, and be men!"

And long after I went to my shack that night I saw before me the eagerface with the luminous eyes and heard the triumphant cry: "I feel it'strue! Men can't live without Him, and be men!" and I knew that thoughhis first Sunday ended in defeat there was victory yet awaiting him. 

CHAPTER VI

HIS SECOND WIND

The first weeks were not pleasant for The Pilot. He had been beaten, andthe sense of failure damped his fine enthusiasm, which was one of hischief charms. The Noble Seven despised, ignored, or laughed at him, according to their mood and disposition. Bruce patronized him; and, worst of all, the Muirs pitied him. This last it was that brought himlow, and I was glad of it. I find it hard to put up with a man thatenjoys pity. 

It was Hi Kendal that restored him, though Hi had no thought of doingso good a deed. It was in this way: A baseball match was on with ThePorcupines from near the Fort. To Hi's disgust and the team's dismayBill failed to appear. It was Hi's delight to stand up for Bill'spitching, and their battery was the glory of the Home team. 

"Try The Pilot, Hi, " said some one, chaffing him. 

Hi looked glumly across at The Pilot standing some distance, away; thencalled out, holding up the ball:

"Can you play the game?"

For answer Moore held up his hands for a catch. Hi tossed him the balleasily. The ball came back so quickly that Hi was hardly ready, and thejar seemed to amaze him exceedingly. 

"I'll take him, " he said, doubtfully, and the game began. Hi fitted onhis mask, a new importation and his peculiar pride, and waited. 

"How do you like them?" asked The Pilot. 

"Hot!" said Hi. "I hain't got no gloves to burn. "

The Pilot turned his back, swung off one foot on to the other anddischarged his ball. 

"Strike!" called the umpire. 

"You bet!" said Hi, with emphasis, but his face was a picture ofamazement and dawning delight. 

Again The Pilot went through the manoeuvre in his box and again theumpire called:

"Strike!"

Hi stopped the ball without holding it and set himself for the third. Once more that disconcerting swing and the whip-like action of the arm, and for the third time the umpire called:

"Strike! Striker out!"

"That's the hole, " yelled Hi. 

The Porcupines were amazed. Hi looked at the ball in his hand, then atthe slight figure of The Pilot. 

"I say! where do you get it?"

"What?" asked Moore innocently. 

"The gait!"

"The what?"

"The gait! the speed, you know!"

"Oh! I used to play in Princeton a little. "

"Did, eh? What the blank blank did you quit for?"

He evidently regarded the exchange of the profession of baseball for thestudy of theology as a serious error in judgment, and in this opinionevery inning of the game confirmed him. At the bat The Pilot did notshine, but he made up for light hitting by his base-running. He wasfleet as a deer, and he knew the game thoroughly. He was keen, eager, intense in play, and before the innings were half over he was recognizedas the best all-round man on the field. In the pitcher's box he puzzledthe Porcupines till they grew desperate and hit wildly and blindly, amid the jeers of the spectators. The bewilderment of the Porcupines wasequaled only by the enthusiasm of Hi and his nine, and when the game wasover the score stood 37 to 7 in favor of the Home team. They carried ThePilot off the field. 

From that day Moore was another man. He had won the unqualified respectof Hi Kendal and most of the others, for he could beat them at their owngame and still be modest about it. Once more his enthusiasm came backand his brightness and his courage. The Duke was not present to witnesshis triumph, and, besides, he rather despised the game. Bruce was there, however, but took no part in the general acclaim; indeed, he seemedrather disgusted with Moore's sudden leap into favor. Certainly hishostility to The Pilot and to all that he stood for was none the lessopen and bitter. 

The hostility was more than usually marked at the service held on theSunday following. It was, perhaps, thrown into stronger relief by theopen and delighted approval of Hi, who was prepared to back up anythingThe Pilot would venture to say. Bill, who had not witnessed The Pilot'sperformance in the pitcher's box, but had only Hi's enthusiasticreport to go upon, still preserved his judicial air. It is fair to say, however, that there was no mean-spirited jealousy in Bill's heart eventhough Hi had frankly assured him that The Pilot was "a demon, " andcould "give him points. " Bill had great confidence in Hi's opinion uponbaseball, but he was not prepared to surrender his right of privatejudgment in matters theological, so he waited for the sermon beforecommitting himself to any enthusiastic approval. This service was anundoubted success. The singing was hearty, and insensibly the men fellinto a reverent attitude during prayer. The theme, too, was one thatgave little room for skepticism. It was the story of Zaccheus, andstory-telling was Moore's strong point. The thing was well done. Vivid portraitures of the outcast, shrewd, converted publican and thesupercilious, self-complacent, critical Pharisee were drawn with a fewdeft touches. A single sentence transferred them to the Foothills andarrayed them in cowboy garb. Bill was none too sure of himself, butHi, with delightful winks, was indicating Bruce as the Pharisee, to thelatter's scornful disgust. The preacher must have noticed, for with avery clever turn the Pharisee was shown to be the kind of man who likesto fit faults upon others. Then Bill, digging his elbows into Hi's ribs, said in an audible whisper:

"Say, pardner, how does it fit now?"

"You git out!" answered Hi, indignantly, but his confidence in hisinterpretation of the application was shaken. When Moore came todescribe the Master and His place in that ancient group, we in theStopping Place parlor fell under the spell of his eyes and voice, andour hearts were moved within us. That great Personality was madevery real and very winning. Hi was quite subdued by the story and thepicture. Bill was perplexed; it was all new to him; but Bruce was mainlyirritated. To him it was all old and filled with memories he hated toface. At any rate he was unusually savage that evening, drank heavilyand went home late, raging and cursing at things in general and ThePilot in particular--for Moore, in a timid sort of way, had tried toquiet him and help him to his horse. 

"Ornery sort o' beast now, ain't he?" said Hi, with the idea ofcomforting The Pilot, who stood sadly looking after Bruce disappearingin the gloom. 

"No! no!" he answered, quickly, "not a beast, but a brother. "

"Brother! Not much, if I know my relations!" answered Hi, disgustedly. 

"The Master thinks a good deal of him, " was the earnest reply. 

"Git out!" said Hi, "you don't mean it! Why, " he added, decidedly, "he'smore stuck on himself than that mean old cuss you was tellin' about thisafternoon, and without half the reason. "

But Moore only said, kindly, "Don't be hard on him, Hi, " and turnedaway, leaving Hi and Bill gravely discussing the question, with the aidof several drinks of whisky. They were still discussing when, an hourlater, they, too, disappeared into the darkness that swallowed up thetrail to Ashley Ranch. That was the first of many such services. Thepreaching was always of the simplest kind, abstract questions beingavoided and the concrete in those wonderful Bible tales, dressed inmodern and in western garb, set forth. Bill and Hi were more thanever his friends and champions, and the latter was heard exultantly toexclaim to Bruce:

"He ain't much to look at as a parson, but he's a-ketchin' his secondwind, and 'fore long you won't see him for dust. "

CHAPTER VII

THE LAST OF THE PERMIT SUNDAYS

The spring "round-ups" were all over and Bruce had nothing to do butto loaf about the Stopping Place, drinking old Latour's bad whisky andmaking himself a nuisance. In vain The Pilot tried to win him with loansof books and magazines and other kindly courtesies. He would be decentfor a day and then would break forth in violent argumentation againstreligion and all who held to it. He sorely missed The Duke, who was awaysouth on one of his periodic journeys, of which no one knew anythingor cared to ask. The Duke's presence always steadied Bruce and tookthe rasp out of his manners. It was rather a relief to all that he wasabsent from the next fortnightly service, though Moore declared he wasashamed to confess this relief. 

"I can't touch him, " he said to me, after the service; "he is far tooclever, but, " and his voice was full of pain, "I'd give something tohelp him. "

"If he doesn't quit his nonsense, " I replied, "he'll soon be pasthelping. He doesn't go out on his range, his few cattle wandereverywhere, his shack is in a beastly state, and he himself is goingto pieces, miserable fool that he is. " For it did seem a shame that afellow should so throw himself away for nothing. 

"You are hard, " said Moore, with his eyes upon me. 

"Hard? Isn't it true?" I answered, hotly. "Then, there's his mother athome. "

"Yes, but can he help it? Is it all his fault?" he replied, with hissteady eyes still looking into me. 

"His fault? Whose fault, then?"

"What of the Noble Seven? Have they anything to do with this?" His voicewas quiet, but there was an arresting intensity in it. 

"Well, " I said, rather weakly, "a man ought to look after himself. "

"Yes!--and his brother a little. " Then, he added: "What have any of youdone to help him? The Duke could have pulled him up a year ago if he hadbeen willing to deny himself a little, and so with all of you. You alldo just what pleases you regardless of any other, and so you help oneanother down. "

I could not find anything just then to say, though afterwards manythings came to me; for, though his voice was quiet and low, his eyeswere glowing and his face was alight with the fire that burned within, and I felt like one convicted of a crime. This was certainly anew doctrine for the West; an uncomfortable doctrine to practice, interfering seriously with personal liberty, but in The Pilot's wayof viewing things difficult to escape. There would be no end to one'sresponsibility. I refused to think it out. 

Within a fortnight we were thinking it out with some intentness. TheNoble Seven were to have a great "blow-out" at the Hill brothers' ranch. The Duke had got home from his southern trip a little more weary-lookingand a little more cynical in his smile. The "blow-out" was to be heldon Permit Sunday, the alternate to the Preaching Sunday, which was aconcession to The Pilot, secured chiefly through the influence of Hiand his baseball nine. It was something to have created the situationinvolved in the distinction between Preaching and Permit Sundays. Hi putit rather graphically. "The devil takes his innin's one Sunday and ThePilot the next, " adding emphatically, "He hain't done much scorin'yit, but my money's on The Pilot, you bet!" Bill was more cautious andpreferred to wait developments. And developments were rapid. 

The Hill brothers' meet was unusually successful from a social pointof view. Several Permits had been requisitioned, and whisky and beerabounded. Races all day and poker all night and drinks of various brewsboth day and night, with varying impromptu diversions--such as shootingthe horns off wandering steers--were the social amenities indulged in bythe noble company. On Monday evening I rode out to the ranch, urged byMoore, who was anxious that someone should look after Bruce. 

"I don't belong to them, " he said, "you do. They won't resent yourcoming. "

Nor did they. They were sitting at tea, and welcomed me with a shout. 

"Hello, old domine!" yelled Bruce, "where's your preacher friend?"

"Where you ought to be, if you could get there--at home, " I replied, nettled at his insolent tone. 

"Strike one!" called out Hi, enthusiastically, not approving Bruce'sattitude toward his friend, The Pilot. 

"Don't be so acute, " said Bruce, after the laugh had passed, "but have adrink. "

He was flushed and very shaky and very noisy. The Duke, at the headof the table, looked a little harder than usual, but, though pale, wasquite steady. The others were all more or less nerve-broken, and aboutthe room were the signs of a wild night. A bench was upset, while brokenbottles and crockery lay strewn about over a floor reeking with filth. The disgust on my face called forth an apology from the younger Hill, who was serving up ham and eggs as best he could to the men loungingabout the table. 

"It's my housemaid's afternoon out, " he explained gravely. 

"Gone for a walk in the park, " added an other. 

"Hope MISTER Connor will pardon the absence, " sneered Bruce, in his mostoffensive manner. 

"Don't mind him, " said Hi, under his breath, "the blue devils arerunnin' him down. "

This became more evident as the evening went on. From hilarity Brucepassed to sullen ferocity, with spasms of nervous terror. Hi's attemptsto soothe him finally drove him mad, and he drew his revolver, declaringhe could look after himself, in proof of which he began to shoot out thelights. 

The men scrambled into safe corners, all but The Duke, who stood quietlyby watching Bruce shoot. Then saying:

"Let me have a try, Bruce, " he reached across and caught his hand. 

"No! you don't, " said Bruce, struggling. "No man gets my gun. "

He tore madly at the gripping hand with both of his, but in vain, calling out with frightful oaths:

"Let go! let go! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

With a furious effort he hurled himself back from the table, draggingThe Duke partly across. There was a flash and a report and Brucecollapsed, The Duke still gripping him. When they lifted him up he wasfound to have an ugly wound in his arm, the bullet having passed throughthe fleshy part. I bound it up as best I could and tried to persuade himto go to bed. But he would go home. Nothing could stop him. Finally TheDuke agreed to go with him, and off they set, Bruce loudly protestingthat he could get home alone and did not want anyone. 

It was a dismal break-up to the meet, and we all went home feelingrather sick, so that it gave me no pleasure to find Moore waiting in myshack for my report of Bruce. It was quite vain for me to make light ofthe accident to him. His eyes were wide open with anxious fear when Ihad done. 

"You needn't tell me not to be anxious, " he said, "you are anxiousyourself. I see it, I feel it. "

"Well, there's no use trying to keep things from you, " I replied, "butI am only a little anxious. Don't you go beyond me and work yourself upinto a fever over it. "

"No, " he answered quietly, "but I wish his mother were nearer. "

"Oh, bosh, it isn't coming to that; but I wish he were in better shape. He is broken up badly without this hole in him. "

He would not leave till I had promised to take him up the next day, though I was doubtful enough of his reception. But next day The Dukecame down, his black bronco, Jingo, wet with hard riding. 

"Better come up, Connor, " he said, gravely, "and bring your bromidesalong. He has had a bad night and morning and fell asleep only beforeI came away. I expect he'll wake in delirium. It's the whisky more thanthe bullet. Snakes, you know. "

In ten minutes we three were on the trail, for Moore, though notinvited, quietly announced his intention to go with us. 

"Oh, all right, " said The Duke, indifferently, "he probably won'trecognize you any way. "

We rode hard for half an hour till we came within sight of Bruce'sshack, which was set back into a little poplar bluff. 

"Hold up!" said The Duke. "Was that a shot?" We stood listening. Arifle-shot rang out, and we rode hard. Again The Duke halted us, andthere came from the shack the sound of singing. It was an old Scotchtune. 

"The twenty-third Psalm, " said Moore, in a low voice. 

We rode into the bluff, tied up our horses and crept to the back of theshack. Looking through a crack between the logs, I saw a gruesome thing. Bruce was sitting up in bed with a Winchester rifle across his knees anda belt of cartridges hanging over the post. His bandages were torn off, the blood from his wound was smeared over his bare arms and his pale, ghastly face; his eyes were wild with mad terror, and he was shouting atthe top of his voice the words:

 "The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie In pastures green, He leadeth me The quiet waters by. "

Now and then he would stop to say in an awesome whisper, "Come out here, you little devils!" and bang would go his rifle at the stovepipe, whichwas riddled with holes. Then once more in a loud voice he would hurry tobegin the Psalm, "The Lord's my Shepherd. "

Nothing that my memory brings to me makes me chill like thatpicture--the low log shack, now in cheerless disorder; the ghastlyobject upon the bed in the corner, with blood-smeared face and arms andmad terror in the eyes; the awful cursings and more awful psalm-singing, punctuated by the quick report of the deadly rifle. 

For some moments we stood gazing at one another; then The Duke said, ina low, fierce tone, more to himself than to us:

"This is the last. There'll be no more of this cursed folly among theboys. "

And I thought it a wise thing in The Pilot that he answered not a word. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE PILOT'S GRIP

The situation was one of extreme danger--a madman with a Winchesterrifle. Something must be done and quickly. But what? It would be deathto anyone appearing at the door. 

"I'll speak; you keep your eyes on him, " said The Duke. 

"Hello, Bruce! What's the row?" shouted The Duke. 

Instantly the singing stopped. A look of cunning delight came over hisface as, without a word, he got his rifle ready pointed at the door. 

"Come in!" he yelled, after waiting for some moments. "Come in! You'rethe biggest of all the devils. Come on, I'll send you down where youbelong. Come, what's keeping you?"

Over the rifle-barrel his eyes gleamed with frenzied delight. Weconsulted as to a plan. 

"I don't relish a bullet much, " I said. 

"There are pleasanter things, " responded The Duke, "and he is a fairlygood shot. "

Meantime the singing had started again, and, looking through the chink, I saw that Bruce had got his eye on the stovepipe again. While I waslooking The Pilot slipped away from us toward the door. 

"Come back!" said the Duke, "don't be a fool! Come back, he'll shoot youdead!"

Moore paid no heed to him, but stood waiting at the door. In a fewmoments Bruce blazed away again at the stovepipe. Immediately the Pilotburst in, calling out eagerly:

"Did you get him?"

"No!" said Bruce, disappointedly, "he dodged like the devil, as ofcourse he ought, you know. "

"I'll get him, " said Moore. "Smoke him out, " proceeding to open thestove door. 

"Stop!" screamed Bruce, "don't open that door! It's full, I tell you. "Moore paused. "Besides, " went on Bruce, "smoke won't touch 'em. "

"Oh, that's all right, " said Moore, coolly and with admirable quickness, "wood smoke, you know--they can't stand that. "

This was apparently a new idea in demonology for Bruce, for he sankback, while Moore lighted the fire and put on the tea-kettle. He lookedround for the tea-caddy. 

"Up there, " said Bruce, forgetting for the moment his devils, andpointing to a quaint, old-fashioned tea-caddy upon the shelf. 

Moore took it down, turned it in his hands and looked at Bruce. 

"Old country, eh?"

"My mother's, " said Bruce, soberly. 

"I could have sworn it was my aunt's in Balleymena, " said Moore. "Myaunt lived in a little stone cottage with roses all over the front ofit. " And on he went into an enthusiastic description of his early home. His voice was full of music, soft and soothing, and poor Bruce sank backand listened, the glitter fading from his eyes. 

The Duke and I looked at each other. 

"Not too bad, eh?" said The Duke, after a few moments' silence. 

"Let's put up the horses, " I suggested. "They won't want us for half anhour. "

When we came in, the room had been set in order, the tea-kettle wassinging, the bedclothes straightened out, and Moore had just finishedwashing the blood stains from Bruce's arms and neck. 

"Just in time, " he said. "I didn't like to tackle these, " pointing tothe bandages. 

All night long Moore soothed and tended the sick man, now singing softlyto him, and again beguiling him with tales that meant nothing, but thathad a strange power to quiet the nervous restlessness, due partly to thepain of the wounded arm and partly to the nerve-wrecking from his monthsof dissipation. The Duke seemed uncomfortable enough. He spoke to Bruceonce or twice, but the only answer was a groan or curse with an increaseof restlessness. 

"He'll have a close squeak, " said The Duke. The carelessness of the tonewas a little overdone, but The Pilot was stirred up by it. 

"He has not been fortunate in his friends, " he said, looking straightinto his eyes. 

"A man ought to know himself when the pace is too swift, " said The Duke, a little more quickly than was his wont. 

"You might have done anything with him. Why didn't you help him?"Moore's tones were stern and very steady, and he never moved his eyesfrom the other man's face, but the only reply he got was a shrug of theshoulders. 

When the gray of the morning was coming in at the window The Duke roseup, gave himself, a little shake, and said:

"I am not of any service here. I shall come back in the evening. "

He went and stood for a few moments looking down upon the hot, feveredface; then, turning to me, he asked:

"What do you think?"

"Can't say! The bromide is holding him down just now. His blood is badfor that wound. "

"Can I get anything?" I knew him well enough to recognize the anxietyunder his indifferent manner. 

"The Fort doctor ought to be got. "

He nodded and went out. 

"Have breakfast?" called out Moore from the door. 

"I shall get some at the Fort, thanks. They won't take any hurt from methere, " he said, smiling his cynical smile. 

Moore opened his eyes in surprise. 

"What's that for?" he asked me. 

"Well, he is rather cut up, and you rather rubbed it into him, youknow, " I said, for I thought Moore a little hard. 

"Did I say anything untrue?"

"Well, not untrue, perhaps; but truth is like medicine--not always goodto take. " At which Moore was silent till his patient needed him again. 

It was a weary day. The intense pain from the wound, and the high feverfrom the poison in his blood kept the poor fellow in delirium tillevening, when The Duke rode up with the Fort doctor. Jingo appearedas nearly played out as a horse of his spirit ever allowed himself tobecome. 

"Seventy miles, " said The Duke, swinging himself off the saddle. "Thedoctor was ten miles out. How is he?"

I shook my head, and he led away his horse to give him a rub and a feed. 

Meantime the doctor, who was of the army and had seen service, wasexamining his patient. He grew more and more puzzled as he noted thevarious symptoms. Finally he broke out:

"What have you been doing to him? Why is he in this condition? Thisfleabite doesn't account for all, " pointing to the wound. 

We stood like children reproved. Then The Duke said, hesitatingly:

"I fear, doctor, the life has been a little too hard for him. He had asevere nervous attack--seeing things, you know. "

"Yes, I know, " stormed the old doctor. "I know you well enough, withyour head of cast-iron and no nerves to speak of. I know the crowd andhow you lead them. Infernal fools! You'll get your turn some day. I'vewarned you before. "

The Duke was standing up before the doctor during this storm, smilingslightly. All at once the smile faded out and he pointed to the bed. Bruce was sitting up quiet and steady. He stretched out his hand to TheDuke. 

"Don't mind the old fool, " he said, holding The Duke's hand andlooking up at him as fondly as if he were a girl. "It's my ownfuneral--funeral?" he paused--"Perhaps it may be--who knows?--feel queerenough--but remember, Duke--it's my own fault--don't listen to thosebally fools, " looking towards Moore and the doctor. "My own fault"--hisvoice died down--"my own fault. "

The Duke bent over him and laid him back on the pillow, saying, "Thanks, old chap, you're good stuff. I'll not forget. Just keep quiet and you'llbe all right. " He passed his cool, firm hand over the hot brow of theman looking up at him with love in his eyes, and in a few moments Brucefell asleep. Then The Duke lifted himself up, and facing the doctor, said in his coolest tone:

"Your words are more true than opportune, doctor. Your patient will needall your attention. As for my morals, Mr. Moore kindly entrusts himselfwith the care of them. " This with a bow toward The Pilot. 

"I wish him joy of his charge, " snorted the doctor, turning again to thebed, where Bruce had already passed into delirium. 

The memory of that vigil was like a horrible nightmare for months. Moore lay on the floor and slept. The Duke rode off somewhither. Theold doctor and I kept watch. All night poor Bruce raved in the wildestdelirium, singing, now psalms, now songs, swearing at the cattle or hispoker partners, and now and then, in quieter moments, he was back in hisold home, a boy, with a boy's friends and sports. Nothing could checkthe fever. It baffled the doctor, who often, during the night, declaredthat there was "no sense in a wound like that working up such a fever, "adding curses upon the folly of The Duke and his Company. 

"You don't think he will not get better, doctor?" I asked, in answer toone of his outbreaks. 

"He ought to get over this, " he answered, impatiently, "but I believe, "he added, deliberately, "he'll have to go. "

Everything stood still for a moment. It seemed impossible. Two days agofull of life, now on the way out. There crowded in upon me thoughts ofhis home; his mother, whose letters he used to show me full of anxiouslove; his wild life here, with all its generous impulses, its mistakes, its folly. 

"How long will he last?" I asked, and my lips were dry and numb. 

"Perhaps twenty-four hours, perhaps longer. He can't throw off thepoison. "

The old doctor proved a true prophet. After another day of agonizeddelirium he sank into a stupor which lasted through the night. 

Then the change came. As the light began to grow at the eastern rim ofthe prairie and up the far mountains in the west, Bruce opened his eyesand looked about upon us. The doctor had gone; The Duke had not comeback; Moore and I were alone. He gazed at us steadily for some moments;read our faces; a look of wonder came into his eyes. 

"Is it coming?" he asked in a faint, awed voice. "Do you really think Imust go?"

The eager appeal in his voice and the wistful longing in the wide-open, startled eyes were too much for Moore. He backed behind me and I couldhear him weeping like a baby. Bruce heard him, too. 

"Is that The Pilot?" he asked. Instantly Moore pulled himself up, wipedhis eyes and came round to the other side of the bed and looked down, smiling. 

"Do YOU say I am dying?" The voice was strained in its earnestness. Ifelt a thrill of admiration go through me as the Pilot answered in asweet, clear voice: "They say so, Bruce. But you are not afraid?"

Bruce kept his eyes on his face and answered with grave hesitation:

"No--not--afraid--but I'd like to live a little longer. I've made sucha mess of it, I'd like to try again. " Then he paused, and hislips quivered a little. "There's my mother, you know, " he added, apologetically, "and Jim. " Jim was his younger brother and sworn chum. 

"Yes, I know, Bruce, but it won't be very long for them, too, and it's agood place. "

"Yes, I believe it all--always did--talked rot--you'll forgive me that?"

"Don't; don't, " said Moore quickly, with sharp pain in his voice, andBruce smiled a little and closed his eyes, saying: "I'm tired. " But heimmediately opened them again and looked up. 

"What is it?" asked Moore, smiling down into his eyes. 

"The Duke, " the poor lips whispered. 

"He is coming, " said Moore, confidently, though how he knew I could nottell. But even as he spoke, looking out of the window, I saw Jingo comeswinging round the bluff. Bruce heard the beat of his hoofs, smiled, opened his eyes and waited. The leap of joy in his eyes as The Duke camein, clean, cool and fresh as the morning, went to my heart. 

Neither man said a word, but Bruce took hold of The Duke's hand in bothof his. He was fast growing weaker. I gave him brandy, and he recovereda little strength. 

"I am dying, Duke, " he said, quietly. "Promise you won't blameyourself. "

"I can't, old man, " said The Duke, with a shudder. "Would to heaven Icould. "

"You were too strong for me, and you didn't think, did you?" and theweak voice had a caress in it. 

"No, no! God knows, " said The Duke, hurriedly. 

There was a long silence, and again Bruce opened his eyes and whispered:

"The Pilot. "

Moore came to him. 

"Read 'The Prodigal, '" he said faintly, and in Moore's clear, sweetvoice the music of that matchless story fell upon our ears. 

Again Bruce's eyes summoned me. I bent over him. 

"My letter, " he said, faintly, "in my coat--"

I brought to him the last letter from his mother. He held the envelopebefore his eyes, then handed it to me, whispering:

"Read. "

I opened the letter and looked at the words, "My darling Davie. " Mytongue stuck and not a sound could I make. Moore put out his hand andtook it from me. The Duke rose to go out, calling me with his eyes, butBruce motioned him to stay, and he sat down and bowed his head, whileMoore read the letter. 

His tones were clear and steady till he came to the last words, when hisvoice broke and ended in a sob:

"And oh, Davie, laddie, if ever your heart turns home again, rememberthe door is aye open, and it's joy you'll bring with you to us all. "

Bruce lay quite still, and, from his closed eyes, big tears ran down hischeeks. It was his last farewell to her whose love had been to him theanchor to all things pure here and to heaven beyond. 

He took the letter from Moore's hand, put it with difficulty to hislips, and then, touching the open Bible, he said, between his breaths:

"It's--very like--there's really--no fear, is there?"

"No, no!" said Moore, with cheerful, confident voice, though his, tearswere flowing. "No fear of your welcome. "

His eyes met mine. I bent over him. "Tell her--" and his voice fadedaway. 

"What shall I tell her?" I asked, trying to recall him. But the messagewas never given. He moved one hand slowly toward The Duke till ittouched his head. The Duke lifted his face and looked down at him, andthen he did a beautiful thing for which I forgave him much. He stoopedover and kissed the lips grown so white, and then the brow. The lightcame back into the eyes of the dying man, he smiled once more, andsmilingly faced toward the Great Beyond. And the morning air, fresh fromthe sun-tipped mountains and sweet with the scent of the June roses, came blowing soft and cool through the open window upon the dead, smiling face. And it seemed fitting so. It came from the land of theMorning. 

Again The Duke did a beautiful thing; for, reaching across his deadfriend, he offered his hand to The Pilot. "Mr. Moore, " he said, with fine courtesy, "you are a brave man and a good man; I ask yourforgiveness for much rudeness. "

But Moore only shook his head while he took the outstretched hand, andsaid, brokenly:

"Don't! I can't stand it. "

"The Company of the Noble Seven will meet no more, " said The Duke, witha faint smile. 

They did meet, however; but when they did, The Pilot was in the chair, and it was not for poker. 

The Pilot had "got his grip, " as Bill said. 

CHAPTER IX

GWEN

It was not many days after my arrival in the Foothill country that Ibegan to hear of Gwen. They all had stories of her. The details were notmany, but the impression was vivid. She lived remote from that centre ofcivilization known as Swan Creek in the postal guide, but locally asOld Latour's, far up among the hills near the Devil's Lake, and from herfather's ranch she never ventured. But some of the men had had glimpsesof her and had come to definite opinions regarding her. 

"What is she like?" I asked Bill one day, trying to pin him down tosomething like a descriptive account of her. 

"Like! She's a terrer, " he said, with slow emphasis, "a holy terrer. "

"But what is she like? What does she look like?" I asked impatiently. 

"Look like?" He considered a moment, looked slowly round as if searchingfor a simile, then answered: "I dunno. "

"Don't know? What do you mean? Haven't you seen her?"

"Yeh! But she ain't like nothin'. "

Bill was quite decided upon this point. 

I tried again. 

"Well, what sort of hair has she got? She's got hair, I suppose?"

"Hayer! Well, a few!" said Bill, with some choice combinations ofprofanity in repudiation of my suggestion. "Yards of it! Red!"

"Git out!" contradicted Hi. "Red! Tain't no more red than mine!"

Bill regarded Hi's hair critically. 

"What color do you put onto your old brush?" he asked cautiously. 

"'Tain't no difference. 'Tain't red, anyhow. "

"Red! Well, not quite exactly, " and Bill went off into a low, long, choking chuckle, ejaculating now and then, "Red! Jee-mi-ny Ann! Red!"

"No, Hi, " he went on, recovering himself with the same abruptness as heused with his bronco, and looking at his friend with a face even morethan usually solemn, "your hayer ain't red, Hi; don't let any of yourrelatives persuade you to that. 'Tain't red!" and he threatened to gooff again, but pulled himself up with dangerous suddenness. "It may beblue, cerulyum blue or even purple, but red--!" He paused violently, looking at his friend as if he found him a new and interesting objectof study upon which he could not trust himself to speak. Nor could he beinduced to proceed with the description he had begun. 

But Hi, paying no attention to Bill's oration, took up the subject withenthusiasm. 

"She kin ride--she's a reg'lar buster to ride, ain't she, Bill?" Billnodded. "She kin bunch cattle an' cut out an' yank a steer up to anycowboy on the range. "

"Why, how big is she?"

"Big? Why, she's just a kid! 'Tain't the bigness of her, it's the nerve. She's got the coldest kind of nerve you ever seen. Hain't she, Bill?"And again Bill nodded. 

"'Member the day she dropped that steer, Bill?" went on Hi. 

"What was that?" I asked, eager for a yarn. 

"Oh, nuthin', " said Bill. 

"Nuthin'!" retorted Hi. "Pretty big nuthin'!"

"What was it?" I urged. 

"Oh, Bill here did some funny work at old Meredith's round-up, but hedon't speak of it. He's shy, you see, " and Hi grinned. 

"Well, there ain't no occasion for your proceedin' onto that tact, " saidBill disgustedly, and Hi loyally refrained, so I have never yet got therights of the story. But from what I did hear I gathered that Bill, atthe risk of his life, had pulled The Duke from under the hoofs of a madsteer, and that little Gwen had, in the coolest possible manner, "sailedin on her bronco" and, by putting two bullets into the steer's head, hadsaved them both from great danger, perhaps from death, for the rest ofthe cattle were crowding near. Of course Bill could never be persuadedto speak of the incident. A true western man will never hesitate to tellyou what he can do, but of what he has done he does not readily speak. 

The only other item that Hi contributed to the sketch of Gwen was thather temper could blaze if the occasion demanded. 

"'Member young Hill, Bill?"

Bill "'membered. "

"Didn't she cut into him sudden? Sarved him right, too. "

"What did she do?"

"Cut him across the face with her quirt in good style. "

"What for?"

"Knockin' about her Indian Joe. "

Joe was, as I came to learn, Ponka's son and Gwen's most devoted slave. 

"Oh, she ain't no refrigerator. "

"Yes, " assented Bill. "She's a leetle swift. " Then, as if fearing hehad been apologizing for her, he added, with the air of one settling thequestion: "But she's good stock! She suits me!"

The Duke helped me to another side of her character. 

"She is a remarkable child, " he said, one day. "Wild and shy asa coyote, but fearless, quite; and with a heart full of passions. Meredith, the Old Timer, you know, has kept her up there among thehills. She sees no one but himself and Ponka's Blackfeet relations, whotreat her like a goddess and help to spoil her utterly. She knows theirlingo and their ways--goes off with them for a week at a time. "

"What! With the Blackfeet?"

"Ponka and Joe, of course, go along; but even without them she is assafe as if surrounded by the Coldstream Guards, but she has given themup for some time now. "

"And at home?" I asked. "Has she any education? Can she read or write?"

"Not she. She can make her own dresses, moccasins and leggings. She cancook and wash--that is, when she feels in the mood. And she knowsall about the birds and beasts and flowers and that sort of thing, but--education! Why, she is hardly civilized!"

"What a shame!" I said. "How old is she?"

"Oh, a mere child; fourteen or fifteen, I imagine; but a woman in manythings. "

"And what does her father say to all this? Can he control her?"

"Control!" said The Duke, in utter astonishment. "Why, bless your soul, nothing in heaven or earth could control HER. Wait till you see herstand with her proud little head thrown back, giving orders to Joe, andyou will never again connect the idea of control with Gwen. She mightbe a princess for the pride of her. I've seen some, too, in my day, butnone to touch her for sheer, imperial pride, little Lucifer that sheis. "

"And how does her father stand her nonsense?" I asked, for I confess Iwas not much taken with the picture The Duke had drawn. 

"Her father simply follows behind her and adores, as do all things thatcome near her, down, or up, perhaps, to her two dogs--Wolf and Loo--foreither of which she would readily die if need be. Still, " he added, after a pause, "it IS a shame, as you say. She ought to know somethingof the refinements of civilization, to which, after all, she belongs, and from which none of us can hope to escape. " The Duke was silent fora few moments, and then added, with some hesitation: "Then, too, she isquite a pagan; never saw a prayer-book, you know. "

And so it came about, chiefly through The Duke's influence, I imagine, that I was engaged by the Old Timer to go up to his ranch every week andteach his daughter something of the elementaries of a lady's education. 

My introduction was ominous of the many things I was to suffer of thatsame young maiden before I had finished my course with her. The OldTimer had given careful directions as to the trail that would lead me tothe canyon where he was to meet me. Up the Swan went the trail, windingever downward into deeper and narrower coulees and up to higher opensunlit slopes, till suddenly it settled into a valley which began withgreat width and narrowed to a canyon whose rocky sides were dressed outwith shrubs and trailing vines and wet with trickling rivulets from thenumerous springs that oozed and gushed from the black, glistening rocks. This canyon was an eerie place of which ghostly tales were told fromthe old Blackfeet times. And to this day no Blackfoot will dare to passthrough this black-walled, oozy, glistening canyon after the moon haspassed the western lip. But in the warm light of broad day the canyonwas a good enough place; cool and sweet, and I lingered through, waitingfor the Old Timer, who failed to appear till the shadows began to darkenits western black sides. 

Out of the mouth of the canyon the trail climbed to a wide stretch ofprairie that swept up over soft hills to the left and down to the brightgleaming waters of the Devil's Lake on the right. In the sunlight thelake lay like a gem radiant with many colors, the far side black in theshadow of the crowding pines, then in the middle deep, blue and purple, and nearer, many shades of emerald that ran quite to the white, sandybeach. Right in front stood the ranch buildings, upon a slight risingground and surrounded by a sturdy palisade of upright pointed poles. This was the castle of the princess. I rode up to the open gate, thenturned and stood to look down upon the marvellous lake shining andshimmering with its many radiant colors. Suddenly there was an awfulroar, my pony shot round upon his hind legs after his beastly cayusemanner, deposited me sitting upon the ground and fled down the trail, pursued by two huge dogs that brushed past me as I fell. I was arousedfrom my amazement by a peal of laughter, shrill but full of music. Turning, I saw my pupil, as I guessed, standing at the head of a mostbeautiful pinto (spotted) pony with a heavy cattle quirt in her hand. Iscrambled to my feet and said, somewhat angrily, I fear:

"What are you laughing at? Why don't you call back your dogs? They willchase my pony beyond all reach. "

She lifted her little head, shook back her masses of brown-red hair, looked at me as if I were quite beneath contempt and said: "No, theywill kill him. "

"Then, " said I, for I was very angry, "I will kill them, " pulling at therevolver in my belt. 

"Then, " she said, and for the first time I noticed her eyes blue-black, with gray rims, "I will kill you, " and she whipped out an ugly-lookingrevolver. From her face I had no doubt that she would not hesitate to doas she had said. I changed my tactics, for I was anxious about my pony, and said, with my best smile:

"Can't you call them back? Won't they obey you?"

Her face changed in a moment. 

"Is it your pony? Do you love him very much?"

"Dearly!" I said, persuading myself of a sudden affection for the crankylittle brute. 

She sprang upon her pinto and set off down the trail. The pony was nowcoursing up and down the slopes, doubling like a hare, instinctivelyavoiding the canyon where he would be cornered. He was mad with terrorat the huge brutes that were silently but with awful and sure swiftnessrunning him down. 

The girl on the pinto whistled shrilly, and called to her dogs: "Down, Wolf! Back, Loo!" but, running low, with long, stretched bodies, theyheeded not, but sped on, ever gaining upon the pony that now circledtoward the pinto. As they drew near in their circling, the girl urgedher pinto to meet them, loosening her lariat as she went. As the ponyneared the pinto he slackened his speed; immediately the nearer doggathered herself in two short jumps and sprang for the pony's throat. But, even as she sprang, the lariat whirled round the girl's headand fell swift and sure about the dog's neck, and next moment she laychoking upon the prairie. Her mate paused, looked back, and gave up thechase. But dire vengeance overtook them, for, like one possessed, thegirl fell upon them with her quirt and beat them one after the othertill, in pity for the brutes, I interposed. 

"They shall do as I say or I shall kill them! I shall kill them!" shecried, raging and stamping. 

"Better shoot them, " I suggested, pulling out my pistol. 

Immediately she flung herself upon the one that moaned and whined at herfeet, crying:

"If you dare! If you dare!" Then she burst into passionate sobbing. "You bad Loo! You bad, dear old Loo! But you WERE bad--you KNOW youwere bad!" and so she went on with her arms about Loo's neck till Loo, whining and quivering with love and delight, threatened to go quitemad, and Wolf, standing majestically near, broke into short howls ofimpatience for his turn of caressing. They made a strange group, thosethree wild things, equally fierce and passionate in hate and in love. 

Suddenly the girl remembered me, and standing up she said, half ashamed:

"They always obey ME. They are MINE, but they kill any strange thingthat comes in through the gate. They are allowed to. "

"It is a pleasant whim. "

"What?"

"I mean, isn't that dangerous to strangers?"

"Oh, no one ever comes alone, except The Duke. And they keep off thewolves. "

"The Duke comes, does he?"

"Yes!" and her eyes lit up. "He is my friend. He calls me his'princess, ' and he teaches me to talk and tells me stories--oh, wonderful stories!"

I looked in wonder at her face, so gentle, so girlish, and tried tothink back to the picture of the girl who a few moments before had socoolly threatened to shoot me and had so furiously beaten her dogs. 

I kept her talking of The Duke as we walked back to the gate, watchingher face the while. It was not beautiful; it was too thin, and the mouthwas too large. But the teeth were good, and the eyes, blue-black withgray rims, looked straight at you; true eyes and brave, whether in loveor in war. Her hair was her glory. Red it was, in spite of Hi's denial, but of such marvellous, indescribable shade that in certain lights, asshe rode over the prairie, it streamed behind her like a purple banner. A most confusing and bewildering color, but quite in keeping with thenature of the owner. 

She gave her pinto to Joe and, standing at the door, welcomed me witha dignity and graciousness that made me think that The Duke was not farwrong when he named her "Princess. "

The door opened upon the main or living room. It was a long, apartment, with low ceiling and walls of hewn logs chinked and plastered and allbeautifully whitewashed and clean. The tables, chairs and benches wereall home-made. On the floor were magnificent skins of wolf, bear, muskox and mountain goat. The walls were decorated with heads and horns ofdeer and mountain sheep, eagles' wings and a beautiful breast of a loon, which Gwen had shot and of which she was very proud. At one end of theroom a huge stone fireplace stood radiant in its summer decorations offerns and grasses and wild-flowers. At the other end a door openedinto another room, smaller and richly furnished with relics of formergrandeur. 

Everything was clean and well kept. Every nook, shelf and corner wasdecked with flowers and ferns from the canyon. 

A strange house it was, full of curious contrasts, but it fitted thisquaint child that welcomed me with such gracious courtesy. 

CHAPTER X

GWEN'S FIRST PRAYERS

It was with hesitation, almost with fear, that I began with Gwen; buteven had I been able to foresee the endless series of exasperationsthrough which she was destined to conduct me, still would I haveundertaken my task. For the child, with all her wilfulness, her tempersand her pride, made me, as she did all others, her willing slave. 

Her lessons went on, brilliantly or not at all, according to her sweetwill. She learned to read with extraordinary rapidity, for she was eagerto know more of that great world of which The Duke had told her suchthrilling tales. Writing she abhorred. She had no one to write to. Whyshould she cramp her fingers over these crooked little marks? But shemastered with hardly a struggle the mysteries of figures, for she wouldhave to sell her cattle, and "dad doesn't know when they are cheating. "Her ideas of education were purely utilitarian, and what did not appearimmediately useful she refused to trifle with. And so all through thefollowing long winter she vexed my righteous soul with her wilfulnessand pride. An appeal to her father was idle. She would wind her long, thin arms about his neck and let her waving red hair float over himuntil the old man was quite helpless to exert authority. The Duke coulddo most with her. To please him she would struggle with her crookedletters for an hour at a time, but even his influence and authority hadits limits. 

"Must I?" she said one day, in answer to a demand of his for morefaithful study; "must I?" And throwing up her proud little head, andshaking back with a trick she had her streaming red hair, she lookedstraight at him from her blue-gray eyes and asked the monosyllabicquestion, "Why?" And The Duke looked back at her with his slight smilefor a few moments and then said in cold, even tones:

"I really don't know why, " and turned his back on her. Immediately shesprang at him, shook him by the arm, and, quivering with passion, cried:

"You are not to speak to me like that, and you are not to turn your backthat way!"

"What a little princess it is, " he said admiringly, "and what a time shewill give herself some day!" Then he added, smiling sadly: "Was I rude, Gwen? Then I am sorry. " Her rage was gone, and she looked as if shecould have held him by the feet. As it was, too proud to show herfeelings, she just looked at him with softening eyes, and then sat downto the work she had refused. This was after the advent of The Pilot atSwan Creek, and, as The Duke rode home with me that night, after longmusing he said with hesitation: "She ought to have some religion, poorchild; she will grow up a perfect little devil. The Pilot might be ofservice if you could bring him up. Women need that sort of thing; itrefines, you know. "

"Would she have him?" I asked. 

"Question, " he replied, doubtfully. "You might suggest it. "

Which I did, introducing somewhat clumsily, I fear, The Duke's name. 

"The Duke says he is to make me good!" she cried. "I won't have him, Ihate him and you too!" And for that day she disdained all lessons, andwhen The Duke next appeared she greeted him with the exclamation, "Iwon't have your old Pilot, and I don't want to be good, and--and--youthink he's no good yourself, " at which the Duke opened his eyes. 

"How do you know? I never said so!"

"You laughed at him to dad one day. "

"Did I?" said The Duke, gravely. "Then I hasten to assure, you that Ihave changed my mind. He is a good, brave man. "

"He falls off his horse, " she said, with contempt. 

"I rather think he sticks on now, " replied The Duke, repressing a smile. 

"Besides, " she went on, "he's just a kid; Bill said so. "

"Well, he might be more ancient, " acknowledged The Duke, "but in that heis steadily improving. "

"Anyway, " with an air of finality, "he is not to come here. "

But he did come, and under her own escort, one threatening Augustevening. 

"I found him in the creek, " she announced, with defiant shamefacedness, marching in The Pilot half drowned. 

"I think I could have crossed, " he said, apologetically, "for Louis wasgetting on his feet again. "

"No, you wouldn't, " she protested. "You would have been down into thecanyon by now, and you ought to be thankful. "

"So I am, " he hastened to say, "very! But, " he added, unwilling to giveup his contention, "I have crossed the Swan before. "

"Not when it was in flood. "

"Yes, when it was in flood, higher than now. "

"Not where the banks are rocky. "

"No-o!" he hesitated. 

"There, then, you WOULD have been drowned but for my lariat!" she cried, triumphantly. 

To this he doubtfully assented. 

They were much alike, in high temper, in enthusiasm, in vividimagination, and in sensitive feeling. When the Old Timer came in Gwentriumphantly introduced The Pilot as having been rescued from a waterygrave by her lariat, and again they fought out the possibilitiesof drowning and of escape till Gwen almost lost her temper, and wasappeased only by the most profuse expressions of gratitude on the partof The Pilot for her timely assistance. The Old Timer was perplexed. Hewas afraid to offend Gwen and yet unwilling to be cordial to her guest. The Pilot was quick to feel this, and, soon after tea, rose to go. Gwen's disappointment showed in her face. 

"Ask him to stay, dad, " she said, in a whisper. But the half-heartedinvitation acted like a spur, and The Pilot was determined to set off. 

"There's a bad storm coming, " she said; "and besides, " she added, triumphantly "you can't cross the Swan. "

This settled it, and the most earnest prayers of the Old Timer could nothave held him back. 

We all went down to see him cross, Gwen leading her pinto. The Swan wasfar over its banks, and in the middle running swift and strong. Louis snorted, refused and finally plunged. Bravely he swam, till theswift-running water struck him, and over he went on his side, throwinghis rider into the water. But The Pilot kept his head, and, holdingby the stirrups, paddled along by Louis' side. When they were half-wayacross Louis saw that he had no chance of making the landing; so, likea sensible horse, he turned and made for the shore. Here, too, the bankswere high, and the pony began to grow discouraged. 

"Let him float down further!" shrieked Gwen, in anxious excitement; and, urging her pinto down the bank, she coaxed the struggling pony down thestream till opposite a shelf of rock level with the high water. Then shethrew her lariat, and, catching Louis about the neck and the horn ofhis saddle, she held taut, till, half drowned, he scrambled up the bank, dragging The Pilot with him. 

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, almost tearfully. "You see, you couldn'tget across. "

The Pilot staggered to his feet, took a step toward her, gasped out:

"I can!" and pitched headlong. With a little cry she flew to him, andturned him over on his back. In a few moments he revived, sat up, andlooked about stupidly. 

"Where's Louis?" he said, with his face toward the swollen stream. 

"Safe enough, " she answered; "but you must come in, the rain is justgoing to pour. "

But The Pilot seemed possessed. 

"No, I'm going across, " he said, rising. 

Gwen was greatly distressed. 

"But your poor horse, " she said, cleverly changing her ground; "he isquite tired out. "

The Old Timer now joined earnestly in urging him to stay till the stormwas past. So, with a final look at the stream, The Pilot turned towardthe house. 

Of course I knew what would happen. Before the evening was over he hadcaptured the household. The moment he appeared with dry things on he ranto the organ, that had stood for ten years closed and silent, openedit and began to play. As he played and sang song after song, the OldTimer's eyes began to glisten under his shaggy brows. But when hedropped into the exquisite Irish melody, "Oft in the Stilly Night, " theold man drew a hard breath and groaned out to me:

"It was her mother's song, " and from that time The Pilot had him fast. It was easy to pass to the old hymn, "Nearer, My God, to Thee, " and thenThe Pilot said simply, "May we have prayers?" He looked at Gwen, but shegazed blankly at him and then at her father. 

"What does he say, dad?"

It was pitiful to see the old man's face grow slowly red under the deeptan, as he said:

"You may, sir. There's been none here for many years, and the worse forus. " He rose slowly, went into the inner room and returned with a Bible. 

"It's her mother's, " he said, in a voice deep with emotion. "I put itin her trunk the day I laid her out yonder under the pines. " The Pilot, without looking at him, rose and reverently took the book in both hishands and said gently:

"It was a sad day for you, but for her--" He paused. "You did not grudgeit to her?"

"Not now, but then, yes! I wanted her, we needed her. " The Old Timer'stears were flowing. 

The Pilot put his hand caressingly upon the old man's shoulder as if hehad been his father, and said in his clear, sweet voice, "Some day youwill go to her. "

Upon this scene poor Gwen gazed with eyes wide open with amazement anda kind of fear. She had never seen her father weep since the awful daythat she could never forget, when he had knelt in dumb agony beside thebed on which her mother lay white and still; nor would he heed her till, climbing up, she tried to make her mother waken and hear her cries. Thenhe had caught her up in his arms, pressing her with tears and great sobsto his heart. To-night she seemed to feel that something was wrong. Shewent and stood by her father, and, stroking his gray hair kindly, shesaid:

"What is he saying, daddy? Is he making you cry?" She looked at ThePilot defiantly. 

"No, no, child, " said the old man, hastily, "sit here and listen. "

And while the storm raved outside we three sat listening to that ancientstory of love ineffable. And, as the words fell like sweet music uponour ears, the old man sat with eyes that looked far away, while thechild listened with devouring eagerness. 

"Is it a fairy tale, daddy?" she asked, as The Pilot paused. "It isn'ttrue, is it?" and her voice had a pleading note hard for the old man tobear. 

"Yes, yes, my child, " said he, brokenly. "God forgive me!"

"Of course it's true, " said The Pilot, quickly. "I'll read it all to youto-morrow. It's a beautiful story!"

"No, " she said, imperiously, "to-night. Read it now! Go on!" she said, stamping her foot, "don't you hear me?"

The Pilot gazed in surprise at her, and then turning to the old man, said:

"Shall I?"

The Old Timer simply nodded and the reading went on. Those were not mybest days, and the faith of my childhood was not as it had been; but, asThe Pilot carried us through those matchless scenes of self-forgettinglove and service the rapt wonder in the child's face as she listened, the appeal in her voice as, now to her father, and now to me, shecried: "Is THAT true, too? Is it ALL true?" made it impossible for meto hesitate in my answer. And I was glad to find it easy to give my firmadherence to the truth of all that tale of wonder. And, as more and moreit grew upon The Pilot that the story he was reading, so old to him andto all he had ever met, was new to one in that listening group, his facebegan to glow and his eyes to blaze, and he saw and showed me thingsthat night I had never seen before, nor have I seen them since. Thegreat figure of the Gospels lived, moved before our eyes. We saw Himbend to touch the blind, we heard Him speak His marvellous teaching, wefelt the throbbing excitement of the crowds that pressed against Him. 

Suddenly The Pilot stopped, turned over the leaves and began again: "AndHe led them out as far as to Bethany. And He lifted up His hands andblessed them. And it came to pass as He blessed them He was parted fromthem and a cloud received Him out of their sight. " There was silence forsome minutes, then Gwen said:

"Where did He go?"

"Up into Heaven, " answered The Pilot, simply. 

"That's where mother is, " she said to her father, who nodded in reply. 

"Does He know?" she asked. The old man looked distressed. 

"Of course He does, " said The Pilot, "and she sees Him all the time. "

"Oh, daddy!" she cried, "isn't that good?"

But the old man only hid his face in his hands and groaned. 

"Yes, " went on The Pilot, "and He sees us, too, and hears us speak, andknows our thoughts. "

Again the look of wonder and fear came into her eyes, but she said noword. The experiences of the evening had made the world new to her. Itcould never be the same to her again. It gave me a queer feeling to seeher, when we three kneeled to pray, stand helplessly looking on, notknowing what to do, then sink beside her father, and, winding her armsabout his neck, cling to him as the words of prayer were spoken into theear of Him whom no man can see, but who we believe is near to all thatcall upon Him. 

Those were Gwen's first "prayers, " and in them Gwen's part was small, for fear and wonder filled her heart; but the day was to come, and alltoo soon, when she should have to pour out her soul with strong cryingand tears. That day came and passed, but the story of it is not to betold here. 

CHAPTER XI

GWEN'S CHALLENGE

Gwen was undoubtedly wild and, as The Sky Pilot said, wilful and wicked. Even Bronco Bill and Hi Kendal would say so, without, of course, abatingone jot of their admiration for her. For fourteen years she had livedchiefly with wild things. The cattle on the range, wild as deer, thecoyotes, the jack-rabbits and the timber wolves were her mates and herinstructors. From these she learned her wild ways. The rolling prairieof the Foothill country was her home. She loved it and all things thatmoved upon it with passionate love, the only kind she was capable of. And all summer long she spent her days riding up and down the rangealone, or with her father, or with Joe, or, best of all, with TheDuke, her hero and her friend. So she grew up strong, wholesome andself-reliant, fearing nothing alive and as untamed as a yearling rangecolt. 

She was not beautiful. The winds and sun had left her no complexion tospeak of, but the glory of her red hair, gold-red, with purple sheen, nothing could tarnish. Her eyes, too, deep blue with rims of gray, thatflashed with the glint of steel or shone with melting light as of thestars, according to her mood--those Irish, warm, deep eyes of hers wereworth a man's looking at. 

Of course, all spoiled her. Ponka and her son Joe grovelled in abjectestadoration, while her father and all who came within touch of her simplydid her will. Even The Duke, who loved her better than anything else, yielded lazy, admiring homage to his Little Princess, and certainly, when she stood straight up with her proud little gold-crowned headthrown back, flashing forth wrath or issuing imperious commands, shelooked a princess, all of her. 

It was a great day and a good day for her when she fished The Sky Pilotout of the Swan and brought him home, and the night of Gwen's first"prayers, " when she heard for the first time the story of the Man ofNazareth, was the best of all her nights up to that time. All throughthe winter, under The Pilot's guidance, she, with her father, the OldTimer, listening near, went over and over that story so old now to many, but ever becoming new, till a whole new world of mysterious Powersand Presences lay open to her imagination and became the home of greatrealities. She was rich in imagination and, when The Pilot read Bunyan'simmortal poem, her mother's old "Pilgrim's Progress, " she moved andlived beside the hero of that tale, backing him up in his fights andconsumed with anxiety over his many impending perils, till she had himsafely across the river and delivered into the charge of the shiningones. 

The Pilot himself, too, was a new and wholesome experience. He was thefirst thing she had yet encountered that refused submission, and thefirst human being that had failed to fall down and worship. There wassomething in him that would not ALWAYS yield, and, indeed, her prideand her imperious tempers he met with surprise and sometimes with a pitythat verged toward contempt. With this she was not well pleased and notinfrequently she broke forth upon him. One of these outbursts is stampedupon my mind, not only because of its unusual violence, but chieflybecause of the events which followed. The original cause of her rage wassome trifling misdeed of the unfortunate Joe; but when I came upon thescene it was The Pilot who was occupying her attention. The expressionof surprise and pity on his face appeared to stir her up. 

"How dare you look at me like that?" she cried. 

"How very extraordinary that you can't keep hold of yourself better!" heanswered. 

"I can!" she stamped, "and I shall do as I like!"

"It is a great pity, " he said, with provoking calm, "and besides, it isweak and silly. " His words were unfortunate. 

"Weak!" she gasped, when her breath came back to her. "Weak!"

"Yes, " he said, "very weak and childish. "

Then she could have cheerfully put him to a slow and cruel death. Whenshe had recovered a little she cried vehemently:

"I'm not weak! I'm strong! I'm stronger than you are! I'm strongas--as--a man!"

I do not suppose she meant the insinuation; at any rate The Pilotignored it and went on. 

"You're not strong enough to keep your temper down. " And then, as shehad no reply ready, he went on, "And really, Gwen, it is not right. Youmust not go on in this way. "

Again his words were unfortunate. 

"MUST NOT!" she cried, adding an inch to her height. "Who says so?"

"God!" was the simple, short answer. 

She was greatly taken back, and gave a quick glance over her shoulder asif to see Him, who would dare to say MUST NOT to her; but, recovering, she answered sullenly:

"I don't care!"

"Don't care for God?" The Pilot's voice was quiet and solemn, butsomething in his manner angered her, and she blazed forth again. 

"I don't care for anyone, and I SHALL do as I like. "

The Pilot looked at her sadly for a moment, and then said slowly:

"Some day, Gwen, you will not be able to do as you like. "

I remember well the settled defiance in her tone and manner as she tooka step nearer him and answered in a voice trembling with passion:

"Listen! I have always done as I like, and I shall do as I like till Idie!" And she rushed forth from the house and down toward the canyon, her refuge from all disturbing things, and chiefly from herself. 

I could not shake off the impression her words made upon me. "Prettydirect, that, " I said to The Pilot, as we rode away. "The declarationmay be philosophically correct, but it rings uncommonly like a challengeto the Almighty. Throws down the gauntlet, so to speak. "

But The Pilot only said, "Don't! How can you?"

Within a week her challenge was accepted, and how fiercely and howgallantly did she struggle to make it good!

It was The Duke that brought me the news, and as he told me the storyhis gay, careless self-command for once was gone. For in the gloomof the canyon where he overtook me I could see his face gleaming outghastly white, and even his iron nerve could not keep the tremor fromhis voice. 

"I've just sent up the doctor, " was his answer to my greeting. "I lookedfor you last night, couldn't find you, and so rode off to the Fort. "

"What's up?" I said, with fear in my heart, for no light thing moved TheDuke. 

"Haven't you heard? It's Gwen, " he said, and the next minute or two hegave to Jingo, who was indulging in a series of unexpected plunges. WhenJingo was brought down, The Duke was master of himself and told his talewith careful self-control. 

Gwen, on her father's buckskin bronco, had gone with The Duke to the bigplain above the cut-bank where Joe was herding the cattle. The daywas hot and a storm was in the air. They found Joe riding up and down, singing to keep the cattle quiet, but having a hard time to hold thebunch from breaking. While The Duke was riding around the far side ofthe bunch, a cry from Gwen arrested his attention. Joe was in trouble. His horse, a half-broken cayuse, had stumbled into a badger-hole and hadbolted, leaving Joe to the mercy of the cattle. At once they began tosniff suspiciously at this phenomenon, a man on foot, and to followcautiously on his track. Joe kept his head and walked slowly out, tillall at once a young cow began to bawl and to paw the ground. In anotherminute one, and then another of the cattle began to toss their heads andbunch and bellow till the whole herd of two hundred were after Joe. Then Joe lost his head and ran. Immediately the whole herd broke into athundering gallop with heads and tails aloft and horns rattling like theloading of a regiment of rifles. 

"Two more minutes, " said The Duke, "would have done for Joe, for I couldnever have reached him; but, in spite of my most frantic warnings andsignalings, right into the face of that mad, bellowing, thunderingmass of steers rode that little girl. Nerve! I have some myself, but Icouldn't have done it. She swung her horse round Joe and sailed out withhim, with the herd bellowing at the tail of her bronco. I've seen somecavalry things in my day, but for sheer cool bravery nothing touchesthat. "

"How did it end? Did they run them down?" I asked, with terror at such aresult. 

"No, they crowded her toward the cut-bank, and she was edging them offand was almost past, when they came to a place where the bank bit in, and her iron-mouthed brute wouldn't swerve, but went pounding on, brokethrough, plunged; she couldn't spring free because of Joe, and pitchedheadlong over the bank, while the cattle went thundering past. I flungmyself off Jingo and slid down somehow into the sand, thirty feet below. Here was Joe safe enough, but the bronco lay with a broken leg, and halfunder him was Gwen. She hardly knew she was hurt, but waved her hand tome and cried out, 'Wasn't that a race? I couldn't swing this hard-headedbrute. Get me out. ' But even as she spoke the light faded from her eyes, she stretched out her hands to me, saying faintly, 'Oh, Duke, ' and layback white and still. We put a bullet into the buckskin's head, andcarried her home in our jackets, and there she lies without a sound fromher poor, white lips. "

The Duke was badly cut up. I had never seen him show any sign of griefbefore, but as he finished the story he stood ghastly and shaking. Heread my surprise in my face and said:

"Look here, old chap, don't think me quite a fool. You can't know whatthat little girl has done for me these years. Her trust in me--it isextraordinary how utterly she trusts me--somehow held me up to my bestand back from perdition. It is the one bright spot in my life in thisblessed country. Everyone else thinks me a pleasant or unpleasant kindof fiend. "

I protested rather faintly. 

"Oh, don't worry your conscience, " he answered, with a slight returnof his old smile, "a fuller knowledge would only justify the opinion. "Then, after a pause, he added: "But if Gwen goes, I must pull out, Icould not stand it. "

As we rode up, the doctor came out. 

"Well, what do you think?" asked The Duke. 

"Can't say yet, " replied the old doctor, gruff with long army practice, "bad enough. Good night. "

But The Duke's hand fell upon his shoulder with a grip that must havegot to the bone, and in a husky voice he asked:

"Will she live?"

The doctor squirmed, but could not shake off that crushing grip. 

"Here, you young tiger, let go! What do you think I am made of?" hecried, angrily. "I didn't suppose I was coming to a bear's den, or Ishould have brought a gun. "

It was only by the most complete apology that The Duke could mollify theold doctor sufficiently to get his opinion. 

"No, she will not die! Great bit of stuff! Better she should die, perhaps! But can't say yet for two weeks. Now remember, " he addedsharply, looking into The Duke's woe-stricken face, "her spirits must bekept up. I have lied most fully and cheerfully to them inside; you mustdo the same, " and the doctor strode away, calling out:

"Joe! Here, Joe! Where is he gone? Joe, I say! Extraordinary selectionProvidence makes at times; we could have spared that lazy half-breedwith pleasure! Joe! Oh, here you are! Where in thunder--" But here thedoctor stopped abruptly. The agony in the dark face before him was toomuch even for the bluff doctor. Straight and stiff Joe stood by thehorse's head till the doctor had mounted, then with a great effort hesaid:

"Little miss, she go dead?"

"Dead!" called out the doctor, glancing at the open window. "Why, bless your old copper carcass, no! Gwen will show you yet how to rope asteer. "

Joe took a step nearer, and lowering his tone said:

"You speak me true? Me man, Me no papoose. " The piercing black eyessearched the doctor's face. The doctor hesitated a moment, and then, with an air of great candor, said cheerily:

"That's all right, Joe. Miss Gwen will cut circles round your old cayuseyet. But remember, " and the doctor was very impressive, "you must makeher laugh every day. "

Joe folded his arms across his breast and stood like a statue till thedoctor rode away; then turning to us he grunted out:

"Him good man, eh?"

"Good man, " answered The Duke, adding, "but remember, Joe, what he toldyou to do. Must make her laugh every day. "

Poor Joe! Humor was not his forte, and his attempt in this directionin the weeks that followed would have been humorous were they not sopathetic. How I did my part I cannot tell. Those weeks are to me nowlike the memory of an ugly nightmare. The ghostly old man moving outand in of his little daughter's room in useless, dumb agony; Ponka'swoe-stricken Indian face; Joe's extraordinary and unusual but loyalattempts at fun-making grotesquely sad, and The Duke's unvarying andinvincible cheeriness; these furnish light and shade for the picture mymemory brings me of Gwen in those days. 

For the first two weeks she was simply heroic. She bore her pain withouta groan, submitted to the imprisonment which was harder than pain withangelic patience. Joe, The Duke and I carried out our instructions withcareful exactness to the letter. She never doubted, and we never let herdoubt but that in a few weeks she would be on the pinto's back again andafter the cattle. She made us pass our word for this till it seemed asif she must have read the falsehoods on our brows. 

"To lie cheerfully with her eyes upon one's face calls for more than Ipossess, " said The Duke one day. "The doctor should supply us tonics. Itis an arduous task. "

And she believed us absolutely, and made plans for the fall "round-up, "and for hunts and rides till one's heart grew sick. As to the ethicalproblem involved, I decline to express an opinion, but we had no needto wait for our punishment. Her trust in us, her eager and confidentexpectation of the return of her happy, free, outdoor life; thesebrought to us, who knew how vain they were, their own adequatepunishment for every false assurance we gave. And how bright and braveshe was those first days! How resolute to get back to the world of airand light outside!

But she had need of all her brightness and courage and resolution beforeshe was done with her long fight. 

CHAPTER XII

GWEN'S CANYON

Gwen's hope and bright courage, in spite of all her pain, were wonderfulto witness. But all this cheery hope and courage and patience snuffedout as a candle, leaving noisome darkness to settle down in thatsick-room from the day of the doctor's consultation. 

The verdict was clear and final. The old doctor, who loved Gwen as hisown, was inclined to hope against hope, but Fawcett, the clever youngdoctor from the distant town, was positive in his opinion. The scene isclear to me now, after many years. We three stood in the outer room; TheDuke and her father were with Gwen. So earnest was the discussion thatnone of us heard the door open just as young Fawcett was saying inincisive tones:

"No! I can see no hope. The child can never walk again. "

There was a cry behind us. 

"What! Never walk again! It's a lie!" There stood the Old Timer, white, fierce, shaking. 

"Hush!" said the old doctor, pointing at the open door. He was too late. Even as he spoke, there came from the inner room a wild, unearthlycry as of some dying thing and, as we stood gazing at one another withawe-stricken faces, we heard Gwen's voice as in quick, sharp pain. 

"Daddy! daddy! come! What do they say? Tell me, daddy. It is not true!It is not true! Look at me, daddy!"

She pulled up her father's haggard face from the bed. 

"Oh, daddy, daddy, you know it's true. Never walk again!"

She turned with a pitiful cry to The Duke, who stood white and stiffwith arms drawn tight across his breast on the other side of the bed. 

"Oh, Duke, did you hear them? You told me to be brave, and I tried notto cry when they hurt me. But I can't be brave! Can I, Duke? Oh, Duke!Never to ride again!"

She stretched out her hands to him. But The Duke, leaning over her andholding her hands fast in his, could only say brokenly over and over:"Don't, Gwen! Don't, Gwen dear!"

But the pitiful, pleading voice went on. 

"Oh, Duke! Must I always lie here? Must, I? Why must I?"

"God knows, " answered The Duke bitterly, under his breath, "I don't!"

She caught at the word. 

"Does He?" she cried, eagerly. Then she paused suddenly, turned to meand said: "Do you remember he said some day I could not do as I liked?"

I was puzzled. 

"The Pilot, " she cried, impatiently, "don't you remember? And I said Ishould do as I liked till I died. "

I nodded my head and said: "But you know you didn't mean it. "

"But I did, and I do, " she cried, with passionate vehemence, "and I willdo as I like! I will not lie here! I will ride! I will! I will! I will!"and she struggled up, clenched her fists, and sank back faint and weak. It was not a pleasant sight, but gruesome. Her rage against that UnseenOmnipotence was so defiant and so helpless. 

Those were dreadful weeks to Gwen and to all about her. The constantpain could not break her proud spirit; she shed no tears; but shefretted and chafed and grew more imperiously exacting every day. Ponkaand Joe she drove like a slave master, and even her father, when hecould not understand her wishes, she impatiently banished from her room. Only The Duke could please or bring her any cheer, and even The Dukebegan to feel that the day was not far off when he, too, would fail, andthe thought made him despair. Her pain was hard to bear, but harder thanthe pain was her longing for the open air and the free, flower-strewn, breeze-swept prairie. But most pitiful of all were the days when, in herutter weariness and uncontrollable unrest, she would pray to be takendown into the canyon. 

"Oh, it is so cool and shady, " she would plead, "and the flowers up inthe rocks and the vines and things are all so lovely. I am always betterthere. I know I should be better, " till The Duke would be distracted andwould come to me and wonder what the end would be. 

One day, when the strain had been more terrible than usual, The Dukerode down to me and said:

"Look here, this thing can't go on. Where is The Pilot gone? Why doesn'the stay where he belongs? I wish to Heaven he would get through with hisabsurd rambling. "

"He's gone where he was sent, " I replied shortly. "You don't set muchstore by him when he does come round. He is gone on an exploring tripthrough the Dog Lake country. He'll be back by the end of next week. "

"I say, bring him up, for Heaven's sake, " said The Duke, "he may be ofsome use, and anyway it will be a new face for her, poor child. " Then headded, rather penitently: "I fear this thing is getting on to my nerves. She almost drove me out to-day. Don't lay it up against me, old chap. "

It was a new thing to hear The Duke confess his need of any man, muchless penitence for a fault. I felt my eyes growing dim, but I said, roughly:

"You be hanged! I'll bring The Pilot up when he comes. "

It was wonderful how we had all come to confide in The Pilot duringhis year of missionary work among us. Somehow the cowboy's name of "SkyPilot" seemed to express better than anything else the place he heldwith us. Certain it is, that when, in their dark hours, any of thefellows felt in need of help to strike the "upward trail, " they went toThe Pilot; and so the name first given in chaff came to be the namethat expressed most truly the deep and tender feeling these rough, big-hearted men cherished for him. When The Pilot came home I carefullyprepared him for his trial, telling all that Gwen had suffered andstriving to make him feel how desperate was her case when even The Dukehad to confess himself beaten. He did not seem sufficiently impressed. Then I pictured for him all her fierce wilfulness and her fretfulhumors, her impatience with those who loved her and were wearing outtheir souls and bodies for her. "In short, " I concluded, "she doesn'tcare a rush for anything in heaven or earth, and will yield to neitherman nor God. "

The Pilot's eyes had been kindling as I talked, but he only answered, quietly:

"What could you expect?"

"Well, I do think she might show some signs of gratitude and somegentleness towards those ready to die for her. "

"Oh, you do!" said he, with high scorn. "You all combine to ruin hertemper and disposition with foolish flattery and weak yielding to herwhims, right or wrong; you smile at her imperious pride and encourageher wilfulness, and then not only wonder at the results, but blame her, poor child, for all. Oh, you are a fine lot, The Duke and all of you!"

He had a most exasperating ability for putting one in the wrong, andI could only think of the proper and sufficient reply long after theopportunity for making it had passed. I wondered what The Duke would sayto this doctrine. All the following day, which was Sunday, I could seethat Gwen was on The Pilot's mind. He was struggling with the problem ofpain. 

Monday morning found us on the way to the Old Timer's ranch. And whata morning it was! How beautiful our world seemed! About us rolled theround-topped, velvet hills, brown and yellow or faintly green, spreadingout behind us to the broad prairie, and before, clambering up and upto meet the purple bases of the great mountains that lay their mightylength along the horizon and thrust up white, sunlit peaks into the bluesky. On the hillsides and down in the sheltering hollows we could seethe bunches of cattle and horses feeding upon the rich grasses. Highabove, the sky, cloudless and blue, arched its great kindly roof fromprairie to mountain peaks, and over all, above, below, upon prairie, hillsides and mountains, the sun poured his floods of radiant yellowlight. 

As we followed the trail that wound up and into the heart of theserounded hills and ever nearer to the purple mountains, the morningbreeze swept down to meet us, bearing a thousand scents, and filling uswith its own fresh life. One can know the quickening joyousness of theseFoothill breezes only after he has drunk with wide-open mouth, deep andfull of them. 

Through all this mingling beauty of sunlit hills and shady hollows andpurple, snow-peaked mountains, we rode with hardly a word, every minuteadding to our heart-filling delight, but ever with the thought ofthe little room where, shut in from all this outside glory, lay Gwen, heart-sore with fretting and longing. This must have been in The Pilot'smind, for he suddenly held up his horse and burst out:

"Poor Gwen, how she loves all this!--it is her very life. How can shehelp fretting the heart out of her? To see this no more!" He flunghimself off his bronco and said, as if thinking aloud: "It is too awful!Oh, it is cruel! I don't wonder at her! God help me, what can I say toher?"

He threw himself down upon the grass and turned over on his face. Aftera few minutes he appealed to me, and his face was sorely troubled. 

"How can one go to her? It seems to me sheerest mockery to speak ofpatience and submission to a wild young thing from whom all thisis suddenly snatched forever--and this was very life to her, too, remember. "

Then he sprang up and we rode hard for an hour, till we came to themouth of the canyon. Here the trail grew difficult and we came to awalk. As we went down into the cool depths the spirit of the canyon cameto meet us and took The Pilot in its grip. He rode in front, feastinghis eyes on all the wonders in that storehouse of beauty. Trees of manykinds deepened the shadows of the canyon. Over us waved the big elmsthat grew up here and there out of the bottom, and around their feetclustered low cedars and hemlocks and balsams, while the sturdy, ruggedoaks and delicate, trembling poplars clung to the rocky sides andclambered up and out to the canyon's sunny lips. Back of all, the greatblack rocks, decked with mossy bits and clinging things, glistened cooland moist between the parting trees. From many an oozy nook the daintyclematis and columbine shook out their bells, and, lower down, frombeds of many-colored moss the late wind-flower and maiden-hair and tinyviolet lifted up brave, sweet faces. And through the canyon the LittleSwan sang its song to rocks and flowers and overhanging trees, a songof many tones, deep-booming where it took its first sheer plunge, gay-chattering where it threw itself down the ragged rocks, andsoft-murmuring where it lingered about the roots of the loving, listening elms. A cool, sweet, soothing place it was, with all itsshades and sounds and silences, and, lest it should be sad to any, thesharp, quick sunbeams danced and laughed down through all its leavesupon mosses, flowers and rocks. No wonder that The Pilot, drawing a deepbreath as he touched the prairie sod again, said:

"That does me good. It is better at times even than the sunny hills. This was Gwen's best spot. "

I saw that the canyon had done its work with him. His face was strongand calm as the hills on a summer morning, and with this face he lookedin upon Gwen. It was one of her bad days and one of her bad moods, butlike a summer breeze he burst into the little room. 

"Oh, Gwen!" he cried, without a word of greeting, much less ofCommiseration, "we have had such a ride!" And he spread out the sunlit, round-topped hills before her, till I could feel their very breezes inmy face. This The Duke had never dared to do, fearing to grieve her withpictures of what she should look upon no more. But, as The Pilot talked, before she knew, Gwen was out again upon her beloved hills, breathingtheir fresh, sunny air, filling her heart with their multitudinousdelights, till her eyes grew bright and the lines of fretting smoothedout of her face and she forgot her pain. Then, before she couldremember, he had her down into the canyon, feasting her heart with itsairs and sights and sounds. The black, glistening rocks, tricked outwith moss and trailing vines, the great elms and low green cedars, theoaks and shivering poplars, the clematis and columbine hanging fromthe rocky nooks, and the violets and maiden-hair deep bedded in theirmosses. All this and far more he showed her with a touch so light as notto shake the morning dew from bell or leaf or frond, and with a voice sosoft and full of music as to fill our hearts with the canyon's minglingsounds, and, as I looked upon her face, I said to myself: "Dear oldPilot! for this I shall always love you well. " As poor Gwen listened, the rapture of it drew the big tears down her cheeks--alas! no longerbrown, but white, and for that day at least the dull, dead weariness waslifted from her heart. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE CANYON FLOWERS

The Pilot's first visit to Gwen had been a triumph. But none knew betterthan he that the fight was still to come, for deep in Gwen's heart werethoughts whose pain made her forget all other. 

"Was it God let me fall?" she asked abruptly one day, and The Pilotknew the fight was on; but he only answered, looking fearlessly into hereyes:

"Yes, Gwen dear. "

"Why did He let me fall?" and her voice was very deliberate. 

"I don't know, Gwen dear, " said The Pilot steadily. "He knows. "

"And does He know I shall never ride again? Does He know how long thedays are, and the nights when I can't sleep? Does He know?"

"Yes, Gwen dear, " said The Pilot, and the tears were standing in hiseyes, though his voice was still steady enough. 

"Are you sure He knows?" The voice was painfully intense. 

"Listen to me, Gwen, " began The Pilot, in great distress, but she cuthim short. 

"Are you quite sure He knows? Answer me!" she cried, with her oldimperiousness. 

"Yes, Gwen, He knows all about you. "

"Then what do you think of Him, just because He's big and strong, treating a little girl that way?" Then she added, viciously: "I hateHim! I don't care! I hate Him!"

But The Pilot did not wince. I wondered how he would solve that problemthat was puzzling, not only Gwen, but her father and The Duke, and allof us--the WHY of human pain. 

"Gwen, " said The Pilot, as if changing the subject, "did it hurt to puton the plaster jacket?"

"You just bet!" said Gwen, lapsing in her English, as The Duke was notpresent; "it was worse than anything--awful! They had to straighten meout, you know, " and she shuddered at the memory of that pain. 

"What a pity your father or The Duke was not here!" said The Pilot, earnestly. 

"Why, they were both here!"

"What a cruel shame!" burst out The Pilot. "Don't they care for you anymore?"

"Of course they do, " said Gwen, indignantly. 

"Why didn't they stop the doctors from hurting you so cruelly?"

"Why, they let the doctors. It is going to help me to sit up and perhapsto walk about a little, " answered Gwen, with blue-gray eyes open wide. 

"Oh, " said The Pilot, "it was very mean to stand by and see you hurtlike that. "

"Why, you silly, " replied Owen, impatiently, "they want my back to getstraight and strong. "

"Oh, then they didn't do it just for fun or for nothing?" said ThePilot, innocently. 

Gwen gazed at him in amazed and speechless wrath, and he went on:

"I mean they love you though they let you be hurt; or rather they letthe doctors hurt you BECAUSE they loved you and wanted to make youbetter. "

Gwen kept her eyes fixed with curious earnestness upon his face till thelight began to dawn. 

"Do you mean, " she began slowly, "that though God let me fall, He lovesme?"

The Pilot nodded; he could not trust his voice. 

"I wonder if that can be true, " she said, as if to herself; and soonwe said good-by and came away--The Pilot, limp and voiceless, but Itriumphant, for I began to see a little light for Gwen. 

But the fight was by no means over; indeed, it was hardly well begun. For when the autumn came, with its misty, purple days, most glorious ofall days in the cattle country, the old restlessness came back and thefierce refusal of her lot. Then came the day of the round-up. Why shouldshe have to stay while all went after the cattle? The Duke wouldhave remained, but she impatiently sent him away. She was weary andheart-sick, and, worst of all, she began to feel that most terrible ofburdens, the burden of her life to others. I was much relieved when ThePilot came in fresh and bright, waving a bunch of wild-flowers in hishand. 

"I thought they were all gone, " he cried. "Where do you think I foundthem? Right down by the big elm root, " and, though he saw by thesettled gloom of her face that the storm was coming, he went bravely onpicturing the canyon in all the splendor of its autumn dress. But thespell would not work. Her heart was out on the sloping hills, where thecattle were bunching and crowding with tossing heads and rattling horns, and it was in a voice very bitter and impatient that she cried:

"Oh, I am sick of all this! I want to ride! I want to see the cattleand the men and--and--and all the things outside. " The Pilot was cowboyenough to know the longing that tugged at her heart for one wild raceafter the calves or steers, but he could only say:

"Wait, Gwen. Try to be patient. "

"I am patient; at least I have been patient for two whole months, andit's no use, and I don't believe God cares one bit!"

"Yes, He does, Gwen, more than any of us, " replied The Pilot, earnestly. 

"No, He does not care, " she answered, with angry emphasis, and The Pilotmade no reply. 

"Perhaps, " she went on, hesitatingly, "He's angry because I said Ididn't care for Him, you remember? That was very wicked. But don't youthink I'm punished nearly enough now? You made me very angry, and Ididn't really mean it. "

Poor Gwen! God had grown to be very real to her during these weeksof pain, and very terrible. The Pilot looked down a moment into theblue-gray eyes, grown so big and so pitiful, and hurriedly dropping onhis knees beside the bed he said, in a very unsteady voice:

"Oh, Gwen, Gwen, He's not like that. Don't you remember how Jesus waswith the poor sick people? That's what He's like. "

"Could Jesus make me well?"

"Yes, Gwen. "

"Then why doesn't He?" she asked; and there was no impatience now, butonly trembling anxiety as she went on in a timid voice: "I asked Him to, over and over, and said I would wait two months, and now it's more thanthree. Are you quite sure He hears now?" She raised herself on her elbowand gazed searchingly into The Pilot's face. I was glad it was not intomine. As she uttered the words, "Are you quite sure?" one felt thatthings were in the balance. I could not help looking at The Pilot withintense anxiety. What would he answer? The Pilot gazed out of the windowupon the hills for a few moments. How long the silence seemed! Then, turning, looked into the eyes that searched his so steadily and answeredsimply:

"Yes, Gwen, I am quite sure!" Then, with quick inspiration, he got hermother's Bible and said: "Now, Gwen, try to see it as I read. " But, before he read, with the true artist's instinct he created the properatmosphere. By a few vivid words he made us feel the patheticloneliness of the Man of Sorrows in His last sad days. Then he read thatmasterpiece of all tragic picturing, the story of Gethsemane. And as heread we saw it all. The garden and the trees and the sorrow-strickenMan alone with His mysterious agony. We heard the prayer so patheticallysubmissive and then, for answer, the rabble and the traitor. 

Gwen was far too quick to need explanation, and The Pilot only said, "You see, Gwen, God gave nothing but the best--to His own Son only thebest. "

"The best? They took Him away, didn't they?" She knew the story well. 

"Yes, but listen. " He turned the leaves rapidly and read: "'We see Jesusfor the suffering of death crowned with glory and honor. ' That is how Hegot His Kingdom. "

Gwen listened silent but unconvinced, and then said slowly:

"But how can this be best for me? I am no use to anyone. It can't bebest to just lie here and make them all wait on me, and--and--I didwant to help daddy--and--oh--I know they will get tired of me! They aregetting tired already--I--I--can't help being hateful. "

She was by this time sobbing as I had never heard her before--deep, passionate sobs. Then again the Pilot had an inspiration. 

"Now, Gwen, " he said severely, "you know we're not as mean as that, andthat you are just talking nonsense, every word. Now I'm going to smoothout your red hair and tell you a story. "

"It's NOT red, " she cried, between her sobs. This was her sore point. 

"It is red, as red can be; a beautiful, shining purple RED, " said ThePilot emphatically, beginning to brush. 

"Purple!" cried Gwen, scornfully. 

"Yes, I've seen it in the sun, purple. Haven't you?" said The Pilot, appealing to me. "And my story is about the canyon, our canyon, yourcanyon, down there. "

"Is it true?" asked Gwen, already soothed by the cool, quick-movinghands. 

"True? It's as true as--as--" he glanced round the room, "as thePilgrim's Progress. " This was satisfactory, and the story went on. 

"At first there were no canyons, but only the broad, open prairie. Oneday the Master of the Prairie, walking out over his great lawns, wherewere only grasses, asked the Prairie, 'Where are your flowers?' and thePrairie said, 'Master, I have no seeds. ' Then he spoke to the birds, and they carried seeds of every kind of flower and strewed them far andwide, and soon the Prairie bloomed with crocuses and roses and buffalobeans and the yellow crowfoot and the wild sunflowers and the red liliesall the summer long. Then the Master came and was well pleased; but hemissed the flowers he loved best of all, and he said to the Prairie:'Where are the clematis and the columbine, the sweet violets and windflowers, and all the ferns and flowering shrubs?' And again he spoke tothe birds, and again they carried all the seeds and strewed them far andwide. But, again, when the Master came, he could not find the flowers heloved best of all, and he said: 'Where are those, my sweetest flowers?'and the Prairie cried sorrowfully: 'Oh, Master, I cannot keep theflowers, for the winds sweep fiercely, and the sun beats upon mybreast, and they wither up and fly away. ' Then the Master spoke to theLightning, and with one swift blow the Lightning cleft the Prairie tothe heart. And the Prairie rocked and groaned in agony, and for many aday moaned bitterly over its black, jagged, gaping wound. But the LittleSwan poured its waters through the cleft, and carried down deep blackmould, and once more the birds carried seeds and strewed them in thecanyon. And after a long time the rough rocks were decked out with softmosses and trailing vines, and all the nooks were hung with clematisand columbine, and great elms lifted their huge tops high up intothe sunlight, and down about their feet clustered the low cedars andbalsams, and everywhere the violets and wind-flower and maiden-hair grewand bloomed, till the canyon became the Masters place for rest and peaceand joy. "

The quaint tale was ended, and Gwen lay quiet for some moments, thensaid gently:

"Yes! The canyon flowers are much the best. Tell me what it means. "

Then The Pilot read to her: "The fruits--I'll read 'flowers'--of theSpirit are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, self-control, and some of these grow only in thecanyon. "

"Which are the canyon flowers?" asked Gwen softly, and The Pilotanswered:

"Gentleness, meekness, self-control; but though the others, love, joy, peace, bloom in the open, yet never with so rich a bloom and so sweet aperfume as in the canyon. "

For a long time Gwen lay quite still, and then said wistfully, while herlip trembled:

"There are no flowers in my canyon, but only ragged rocks. "

"Some day they will bloom, Gwen dear; He will find them, and we, too, shall see them. "

Then he said good-by and took me away. He had done his work that day. 

We rode through the big gate, down the sloping hill, past the smiling, twinkling little lake, and down again out of the broad sunshine intothe shadows and soft lights of the canyon. As we followed the trailthat wound among the elms and cedars, the very air was full of gentlestillness; and as we moved we seemed to feel the touch of loving handsthat lingered while they left us, and every flower and tree and vineand shrub and the soft mosses and the deep-bedded ferns whispered, as wepassed, of love and peace and joy. 

To The Duke it was all a wonder, for as the days shortened outside theybrightened inside; and every day, and more and more Gwen's room becamethe brightest spot in all the house, and when he asked The Pilot:

"What did you do to the Little Princess, and what's all this about thecanyon and its flowers?" The Pilot said, looking wistfully into TheDuke's eyes:

"The fruits of the Spirit are love, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, self-control, and some of these are foundonly in the canyon, " and The Duke, standing up straight, handsome andstrong, looked back at The Pilot and said, putting out his hand:

"Do you know, I believe you're right. "

"Yes, I'm quite sure, " answered The Pilot, simply. Then, holding TheDuke's hand as long as one man dare hold another's, he added: "When youcome to your canyon, remember. "

"When I come!" said The Duke, and a quick spasm of pain passed over hishandsome face--"God help me, it's not too far away now. " Then he smiledagain his old, sweet smile, and said:

"Yes, you are all right, for, of all flowers I have seen, none arefairer or sweeter than those that are waving in Gwen's Canyon. "

CHAPTER XIV

BILL'S BLUFF

The Pilot had set his heart upon the building of a church in the SwanCreek district, partly because he was human and wished to set a markof remembrance upon the country, but more because he held the sensibleopinion, that a congregation, as a man, must have a home if it is tostay. 

All through the summer he kept setting this as an object at oncedesirable and possible to achieve. But few were found to agree with him. 

Little Mrs. Muir was of the few, and she was not to be despised, but herinfluence was neutralized by the solid immobility of her husband. He hadnever done anything sudden in his life. Every resolve was the result ofa long process of mind, and every act of importance had to be previewedfrom all possible points. An honest man, strongly religious, and a greatadmirer of The Pilot, but slow-moving as a glacier, although with plentyof fire in him deep down. 

"He's soond at the hairt, ma man Robbie, " his wife said to The Pilot, who was fuming and fretting at the blocking of his plans, "but he'sterrible deleeberate. Bide ye a bit, laddie. He'll come tae. "

"But meantime the summer's going and nothing will be done, " was ThePilot's distressed and impatient answer. 

So a meeting was called to discuss the question of building a church, with the result that the five men and three women present decided thatfor the present nothing could be done. This was really Robbie's opinion, though he refused to do or say anything but grunt, as The Pilot saidto me afterwards, in a rage. It is true, Williams, the storekeeper justcome from "across the line, " did all the talking, but no one paidmuch attention to his fluent fatuities except as they represented theunexpressed mind of the dour, exasperating little Scotchman, who satsilent but for an "ay" now and then, so expressive and conclusive thateveryone knew what he meant, and that discussion was at an end. Theschoolhouse was quite sufficient for the present; the people were toofew and too poor and they were getting on well under the leadership oftheir present minister. These were the arguments which Robbie's "ay"stamped as quite unanswerable. 

It was a sore blow to The Pilot, who had set his heart upon a church, and neither Mrs. Muir's "hoots" at her husband's slowness nor herpromises that she "wad mak him hear it" could bring comfort or relievehis gloom. 

In this state of mind he rode up with me to pay our weekly visit to thelittle girl shut up in her lonely house among the hills. 

It had become The Pilot's custom during these weeks to turn for cheer tothat little room, and seldom was he disappointed. She was so bright, sobrave, so cheery, and so full of fun, that gloom faded from her presenceas mist before the sun, and impatience was shamed into content. 

Gwen's bright face--it was almost always bright now--and her brightwelcome did something for The Pilot, but the feeling of failure was uponhim, and failure to his enthusiastic nature was worse than pain. Notthat he confessed either to failure or gloom; he was far too true aman for that; but Gwen felt his depression in spite of all his braveattempts at brightness, and insisted that he was ill, appealing to me. 

"Oh, it's only his church, " I said, proceeding to give her an accountof Robbie Muir's silent, solid inertness, and how he had blocked ThePilot's scheme. 

"What a shame!" cried Gwen, indignantly. "What a bad man he must be!"

The Pilot smiled. "No, indeed, " he answered; "why, he's the best man inthe place, but I wish he would say or do something. If he would only getmad and swear I think I should feel happier. "

Gwen looked quite mystified. 

"You see, he sits there in solemn silence looking so tremendously wisethat most men feel foolish if they speak, while as for doing anythingthe idea appears preposterous, in the face of his immovableness. "

"I can't bear him!" cried Gwen. "I should like to stick pins in him. "

"I wish some one would, " answered The Pilot. "It would make him seemmore human if he could be made to jump. "

"Try again, " said Gwen, "and get someone to make him jump. "

"It would be easier to build the church, " said The Pilot, gloomily. 

"I could make him jump, " said Gwen, viciously, "and I WILL, " she added, after a pause. 

"You!" answered The Pilot, opening his eyes. "How?"

"I'll find some way, " she replied, resolutely. 

And so she did, for when the next meeting was called to consult as tothe building of a church, the congregation, chiefly of farmers and theirwives, with Williams, the storekeeper, were greatly surprised to seeBronco Bill, Hi, and half a dozen ranchers and cowboys walk in atintervals and solemnly seat themselves. Robbie looked at them withsurprise and a little suspicion. In church matters he had no dealingswith the Samaritans from the hills, and while, in their unregeneratecondition, they might be regarded as suitable objects of missionaryeffort, as to their having any part in the direction, much less control, of the church policy--from such a notion Robbie was delivered by hisloyal adherence to the scriptural injunction that he should not castpearls before swine. 

The Pilot, though surprised to see Bill and the cattle men, was none theless delighted, and faced the meeting with more confidence. He statedthe question for discussion: Should a church building be erected thissummer in Swan Creek? and he put his case well. He showed the need of achurch for the sake of the congregation, for the sake of the men in thedistrict, the families growing up, the incoming settlers, and for thesake of the country and its future. He called upon all who loved theirchurch and their country to unite in this effort. It was an enthusiasticappeal and all the women and some of the men were at once upon his side. 

Then followed dead, solemn silence. Robbie was content to wait tillthe effect of the speech should be dissipated in smaller talk. Then hegravely said:

"The kirk wad be a gran' thing, nae doot, an' they wad a'dootless"--with a suspicious glance toward Bill--"rejoice in itserection. But we maun be cautious, an' I wad like to enquire hoo muchmoney a kirk cud be built for, and whaur the money wad come frae?"

The Pilot was ready with his answer. The cost would be $1, 200. TheChurch Building Fund would contribute $200, the people could give $300in labor, and the remaining $700 he thought could be raised in thedistrict in two years' time. 

"Ay, " said Robbie, and the tone and manner were sufficient to drench anyenthusiasm with the chilliest of water. So much was this the case thatthe chairman, Williams, seemed quite justified in saying:

"It is quite evident that the opinion of the meeting is adverse to anyattempt to load the community with a debt of one thousand dollars, "and he proceeded with a very complete statement of the many and variousobjections to any attempt at building a church this year. The peoplewere very few, they were dispersed over a large area, they were notinterested sufficiently, they were all spending money and making littlein return; he supposed, therefore, that the meeting might adjourn. 

Robbie sat silent and expressionless in spite of his little wife'sanxious whispers and nudges. The Pilot looked the picture of woe, andwas on the point of bursting forth, when the meeting was startled byBill. 

"Say, boys! they hain't much stuck on their shop, heh?" The low, drawling voice was perfectly distinct and arresting. 

"Hain't got no use for it, seemingly, " was the answer from the darkcorner. 

"Old Scotchie takes his religion out in prayin', I guess, " drawled inBill, "but wants to sponge for his plant. "

This reference to Robbie's proposal to use the school moved theyoungsters to tittering and made the little Scotchman squirm, for heprided himself upon his independence. 

"There ain't $700 in the hull blanked outfit. " This was a stranger'svoice, and again Robbie squirmed, for he rather prided himself also onhis ability to pay his way. 

"No good!" said another emphatic voice. "A blanked lot o' psalm-singingsnipes. "

"Order, order!" cried the chairman. 

"Old Windbag there don't see any show for swipin' the collection, withScotchie round, " said Hi, with a following ripple of quiet laughter, forWilliams' reputation was none too secure. 

Robbie was in a most uncomfortable state of mind. So unusually stirredwas he that for the first time in his history he made a motion. 

"I move we adjourn, Mr. Chairman, " he said, in a voice which actuallyvibrated with emotion. 

"Different here! eh, boys?" drawled Bill. 

"You bet, " said Hi, in huge delight. "The meetin' ain't out yit. "

"Ye can bide till mor-r-nin', " said Robbie, angrily. "A'm gaen hame, "beginning to put on his coat. 

"Seems as if he orter give the password, " drawled Bill. 

"Right you are, pardner, " said Hi, springing to the door and waiting indelighted expectation for his friend's lead. 

Robbie looked at the door, then at his wife, hesitated a moment, I haveno doubt wishing her home. Then Bill stood up and began to speak. 

"Mr. Chairman, I hain't been called on for any remarks--"

"Go on!" yelled his friends from the dark corner. "Hear! hear!"

"An' I didn't feel as if this war hardly my game, though The Pilot ain'tmean about invitin' a feller on Sunday afternoons. But them as runs theshop don't seem to want us fellers round too much. "

Robbie was gazing keenly at Bill, and here shook his head, mutteringangrily: "Hoots, nonsense! ye're welcome eneuch. "

"But, " went on Bill, slowly, "I guess I've been on the wrong track. I've been a-cherishin' the opinion" ["Hear! hear!" yelled his admirers], "cherishin' the opinion, " repeated Bill, "that these fellers, " pointingto Robbie, "was stuck on religion, which I ain't much myself, and reelyconsarned about the blocking ov the devil, which The Pilot says can't bedid without a regular Gospel factory. O' course, it tain't any biznisov mine, but if us fellers was reely only sot on anything condoocin', "["Hear! hear!" yelled Hi, in ecstasy], "condoocin', " repeated Billslowly and with relish, "to the good ov the Order" (Bill was abrotherhood man), "I b'lieve I know whar five hundred dollars mebbe cudper'aps be got. "

"You bet your sox, " yelled the strange voice, in chorus with othershouts of approval. 

"O' course, I ain't no bettin' man, " went on Bill, insinuatingly, "as aregular thing, but I'd gamble a few jist here on this pint; if the boyswas stuck on anythin' costin' about seven hundred dollars, it seems tome likely they'd git it in about two days, per'aps. "

Here Robbie grunted out an "ay" of such fulness of contemptuous unbeliefthat Bill paused, and, looking over Robbie's head, he drawled out, evenmore slowly and mildly:

"I ain't much given to bettin', as I remarked before, but, if a manshakes money at me on that proposition, I'd accommodate him to a limitedextent. " ["Hear! hear! Bully boy!" yelled Hi again, from the door. ] "Notbein' too bold, I cherish the opinion" [again yells of approval fromthe corner], "that even for this here Gospel plant, seein' The Pilot'srather sot onto it, I b'lieve the boys could find five hundred dollarsinside ov a month, if perhaps these fellers cud wiggle the rest out ovtheir pants. "

Then Robbie was in great wrath and, stung by the taunting, drawlingvoice beyond all self-command, he broke out suddenly:

"Ye'll no can mak that guid, I doot. "

"D'ye mean I ain't prepared to back it up?"

"Ay, " said Robbie, grimly. 

"'Tain't likely I'll be called on; I guess $500 is safe enough, " drawledBill, cunningly drawing him on. Then Robbie bit. 

"Oo ay!" said he, in a voice of quiet contempt, "the twa hunner wull behere and 'twull wait ye long eneuch, I'se warrant ye. "

Then Bill nailed him. 

"I hain't got my card case on my person, " he said, with a slight grin. 

"Left it on the pianner, " suggested Hi, who was in a state of greathilarity at Bill's success in drawing the Scottie. 

"But, " Bill proceeded, recovering himself, and with increasing suavity, "if some gentleman would mark down the date of the almanac I cherish theopinion" [cheers from the corner] "that in one month from to-day therewill be five hundred dollars lookin' round for two hundred on that theredesk mebbe, or p'raps you would incline to two fifty, " he drawled, inhis most winning tone to Robbie, who was growing more impatient everymoment. 

"Nae matter tae me. Ye're haverin' like a daft loon, ony way. "

"You will make a memento of this slight transaction, boys, and per'apsthe schoolmaster will write it down, " said Bill. 

It was all carefully taken down, and amid much enthusiastic confusionthe ranchers and their gang carried Bill off to Old Latour's to "lickerup, " while Robbie, in deep wrath but in dour silence, went off throughthe dark with his little wife following some paces behind him. Hischief grievance, however, was against the chairman for "allooin' sic adisorderly pack o' loons tae disturb respectable fowk, " for he couldnot hide the fact that he had been made to break through his accustomeddefence line of immovable silence. I suggested, conversing with him nextday upon the matter, that Bill was probably only chaffing. 

"Ay, " said Robbie, in great disgust, "the daft eejut, he wad mak a fuleo' onything or onybuddie. "

That was the sorest point with poor Robbie. Bill had not only castdoubts upon his religious sincerity, which the little man could notendure, but he had also held him up to the ridicule of the community, which was painful to his pride. But when he understood, some days later, that Bill was taking steps to back up his offer and had been heard todeclare that "he'd make them pious ducks take water if he had to put upa year's pay, " Robbie went quietly to work to make good his part of thebargain. For his Scotch pride would not suffer him to refuse a challengefrom such a quarter. 

CHAPTER XV

BILL'S PARTNER

The next day everyone was talking of Bill's bluffing the church people, and there was much quiet chuckling over the discomfiture of Robbie Muirand his party. 

The Pilot was equally distressed and bewildered, for Bill's conduct, sovery unusual, had only one explanation--the usual one for any folly inthat country. 

"I wish he had waited till after the meeting to go to Latour's. Hespoiled the last chance I had. There's no use now, " he said, sadly. 

"But he may do something, " I suggested. 

"Oh, fiddle!" said The Pilot, contemptuously. "He was only giving Muir'a song and dance, ' as he would say. The whole thing is off. "

But when I told Gwen the story of the night's proceedings, she went intoraptures over Bill's grave speech and his success in drawing the cannyScotchman. 

"Oh, lovely! dear old Bill and his 'cherished opinion. ' Isn't he justlovely? Now he'll do something. "

"Who, Bill?"

"No, that stupid Scottie. " This was her name for the immovable Robbie. 

"Not he, I'm afraid. Of course Bill was just bluffing him. But it wasgood sport. "

"Oh, lovely! I knew he'd do something. "

"Who? Scottie?" I asked, for her pronouns were perplexing. 

"No!" she cried, "Bill! He promised he would, you know, " she added. 

"So you were at the bottom of it?" I said, amazed. 

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she kept crying, shrieking with laughter overBill's cherishing opinions and desires. "I shall be ill. Dear old Bill. He said he'd 'try to get a move on to him. '"

Before I left that day, Bill himself came to the Old Timer's ranch, inquiring in a casual way "if the 'boss' was in. "

"Oh, Bill!" called out Gwen, "come in here at once; I want you. "

After some delay and some shuffling with hat and spurs, Bill loungedin and set his lank form upon the extreme end of a bench at the door, trying to look unconcerned as he remarked: "Gittin' cold. Shouldn'twonder if we'd have a little snow. "

"Oh, come here, " cried Gwen, impatiently, holding out her hand. "Comehere and shake hands. "

Bill hesitated, spat out into the other room his quid of tobacco, andswayed awkwardly across the room toward the bed, and, taking Gwen'shand, he shook it up and down, and hurriedly said:

"Fine day, ma'am; hope I see you quite well. "

"No; you don't, " cried Gwen, laughing immoderately, but keeping holdof Bill's hand, to his great confusion. "I'm not well a bit, but I'm agreat deal better since hearing of your meeting, Bill. "

To this Bill made no reply, being entirely engrossed in getting hishard, bony, brown hand out of the grasp of the white, clinging fingers. 

"Oh, Bill, " went on Gwen, "it was delightful! How did you do it?"

But Bill, who had by this time got back to his seat at the door, pretended ignorance of any achievement calling for remark. He "hadn'tdone nothin' more out ov the way than usual. "

"Oh, don't talk nonsense!" cried Gwen, impatiently. "Tell me how you gotScottie to lay you two hundred and fifty dollars. "

"Oh, that!" said Bill, in great surprise; "that ain't nuthin' much. Scottie riz slick enough. "

"But how did you get him?" persisted Gwen. "Tell me, Bill, " she added, in her most coaxing voice. 

"Well, " said Bill, "it was easy as rollin' off a log. I made the remarkas how the boys ginerally put up for what they wanted without no fuss, and that if they was sot on havin' a Gospel shack I cherished theopinion"--here Gwen went off into a smothered shriek, which made Billpause and look at her in alarm. 

"Go on, " she gasped. 

"I cherished the opinion, " drawled on Bill, while Gwen stuck herhandkerchief into her mouth, "that mebbe they'd put up for it the sevenhundred dollars, and, even as it was, seein' as The Pilot appeared to besot on to it, if them fellers would find two hundred and fifty I cher--"another shriek from Gwen cut him suddenly short. 

"It's the rheumaticks, mebbe, " said Bill, anxiously. "Terrible badweather for 'em. I get 'em myself. "

"No, no, " said Gwen, wiping away her tears and subduing her laughter. "Go on, Bill. "

"There ain't no more, " said Bill. "He bit, and the master here put itdown. "

"Yes, it's here right enough, " I said, "but I don't suppose you mean tofollow it up, do you?"

"You don't, eh? Well, I am not responsible for your supposin', but themthat is familiar with Bronco Bill generally expects him to back up hisundertakin's. "

"But how in the world can you get five hundred dollars from the cowboysfor a church?"

"I hain't done the arithmetic yet, but it's safe enough. You see, itain't the church altogether, it's the reputation of the boys. "

"I'll help, Bill, " said Gwen. 

Bill nodded his head slowly and said: "Proud to have you, " trying hardto look enthusiastic. 

"You don't think I can, " said Gwen. Bill protested against such animputation. "But I can. I'll get daddy and The Duke, too. "

"Good line!" said Bill, slapping his knee. 

"And I'll give all my money, too, but it isn't very much, " she added, sadly. 

"Much!" said Bill, "if the rest of the fellows play up to that leadthere won't be any trouble about that five hundred. "

Gwen was silent for some time, then said with an air of resolve:

"I'll give my pinto!"

"Nonsense!" I exclaimed, while Bill declared "there warn't no call. "

"Yes. I'll give the Pinto!" said Gwen, decidedly. "I'll not need him anymore, " her lips quivered, and Bill coughed and spat into the next room, "and besides, I want to give something I like. And Bill will sell himfor me!"

"Well, " said Bill, slowly, "now come to think, it'll be purty hard tosell that there pinto. " Gwen began to exclaim indignantly, and Billhurried on to say, "Not but what he ain't a good leetle horse for hisweight, good leetle horse, but for cattle--"

"Why, Bill, there isn't a better cattle horse anywhere!"

"Yes, that's so, " assented Bill. "That's so, if you've got the rider, but put one of them rangers on to him and it wouldn't be no fair show. "Bill was growing more convinced every moment that the pinto wouldn'tsell to any advantage. "Ye see, " he explained carefully and cunningly, "he ain't a horse you could yank round and slam into a bunch of steersregardless. "

Gwen shuddered. "Oh, I wouldn't think of selling him to any of thosecowboys. " Bill crossed his legs and hitched round uncomfortably on hisbench. "I mean one of those rough fellows that don't know how to treata horse. " Bill nodded, looking relieved. "I thought that some one likeyou, Bill, who knew how to handle a horse--"

Gwen paused, and then added: "I'll ask The Duke. "

"No call for that, " said Bill, hastily, "not but what The Dook ain't allright as a jedge of a horse, but The Dook ain't got the connection, itain't his line. " Bill hesitated. "But, if you are real sot on to sellin'that pinto, come to think I guess I could find a sale for him, though, of course, I think perhaps the figger won't be high. "

And so it was arranged that the pinto should be sold and that Billshould have the selling of it. 

It was characteristic of Gwen that she would not take farewell of thepony on whose back she had spent so many hours of freedom and delight. When once she gave him up she refused to allow her heart to cling to himany more. 

It was characteristic, too, of Bill that he led off the pinto afternight had fallen, so that "his pardner" might be saved the pain of theparting. 

"This here's rather a new game for me, but when my pardner, " here hejerked his head towards Gwen's window, "calls for trumps, I'm blanked ifI don't throw my highest, if it costs a leg. "

CHAPTER XVI

BILL'S FINANCING

Bill's method of conducting the sale of the pinto was eminentlysuccessful as a financial operation, but there are those in the SwanCreek country who have never been able to fathom the mystery attachingto the affair. It was at the fall round-up, the beef round-up, as itis called, which this year ended at the Ashley Ranch. There wererepresentatives from all the ranches and some cattle-men from acrossthe line. The hospitality of the Ashley Ranch was up to its ownlofty standard, and, after supper, the men were in a state of highexhilaration. The Hon. Fred and his wife, Lady Charlotte, gavethemselves to the duties of their position as hosts for the day with aheartiness and grace beyond praise. After supper the men gathered roundthe big fire, which was piled up before the long, low shed, which stoodopen in front. It was a scene of such wild and picturesque interest ascan only be witnessed in the western ranching country. About the fire, most of them wearing "shaps" and all of them wide, hard-brimmed cowboyhats, the men grouped themselves, some reclining upon skins thrown uponthe ground, some standing, some sitting, smoking, laughing, chatting, all in highest spirits and humor. They had just got through with theirseason of arduous and, at times, dangerous toil. Their minds were fullof their long, hard rides, their wild and varying experiences with madcattle and bucking broncos, their anxious watchings through hot nights, when a breath of wind or a coyote's howl might set the herd off ina frantic stampede, their wolf hunts and badger fights and all themarvellous adventures that fill up a cowboy's summer. Now these were allbehind them. To-night they were free men and of independent means, fortheir season's pay was in their pockets. The day's excitement, too, wasstill in their blood, and they were ready for anything. 

Bill, as king of the bronco-busters, moved about with the slow, carelessindifference of a man sure of his position and sure of his ability tomaintain it. 

He spoke seldom and slowly, was not as ready-witted as his partner, HiKendal, but in act he was swift and sure, and "in trouble" he couldbe counted on. He was, as they said, "a white man; white to the back, "which was understood to sum up the true cattle man's virtues. 

"Hello, Bill, " said a friend, "where's Hi? Hain't seen him around!"

"Well, don't jest know. He was going to bring up my pinto. "

"Your pinto? What pinto's that? You hain't got no pinto!"

"Mebbe not, " said Bill, slowly, "but I had the idee before you spokethat I had. "

"That so? Whar'd ye git him? Good for cattle?" The crowd began togather. 

Bill grew mysterious, and even more than usually reserved. 

"Good fer cattle! Well, I ain't much on gamblin', but I've got a leetlein my pants that says that there pinto kin outwork any blanked bronco inthis outfit, givin' him a fair show after the cattle. "

The men became interested. 

"Whar was he raised?"

"Dunno. "

"Whar'd ye git him? Across the line?"

"No, " said Bill stoutly, "right in this here country. The Dook thereknows him. "

This at once raised the pinto several points. To be known, and, asBill's tone indicated, favorably known by The Duke, was a testimonial towhich any horse might aspire. 

"Whar'd ye git him, Bill? Don't be so blanked oncommunicatin'!" said animpatient voice. 

Bill hesitated; then, with an apparent burst of confidence, he assumedhis frankest manner and voice, and told his tale. 

"Well, " he said, taking a fresh chew and offering his plug to hisneighbor, who passed it on after helping himself, "ye see, it was likethis. Ye know that little Meredith gel?"

Chorus of answers: "Yes! The red-headed one. I know! She's adaisy!--reg'lar blizzard!--lightnin' conductor!"

Bill paused, stiffened himself a little, dropped his frank air anddrawled out in cool, hard tones: "I might remark that that young ladyis, I might persoom to say, a friend of mine, which I'm prepared to backup in my best style, and if any blanked blanked son of a street sweeperhas any remark to make, here's his time now!"

In the pause that followed murmurs were heard extolling the manyexcellences of the young lady in question, and Bill, appeased, yieldedto the requests for the continuance of his story, and, as he describedGwen and her pinto and her work on the ranch, the men, many of whom hadhad glimpses of her, gave emphatic approval in their own way. But as hetold of her rescue of Joe and of the sudden calamity that had befallenher a great stillness fell upon the simple, tender-hearted fellows, and they listened with their eyes shining in the firelight with growingintentness. Then Bill spoke of The Pilot and how he stood by her andhelped her and cheered her till they began to swear he was "all right";"and now, " concluded Bill, "when The Pilot is in a hole she wants tohelp him out. "

"O' course, " said one. "Right enough. How's she going to work it?" saidanother. 

"Well, he's dead set on to buildin' a meetin'-house, and them fellowsdown at the Creek that does the prayin' and such don't seem to back himup!"

"Whar's the kick, Bill?"

"Oh, they don't want to go down into their clothes and put up for it. "

"How much?"

"Why, he only asked 'em for seven hundred the hull outfit, and wouldgive 'em two years, but they bucked--wouldn't look at it. "

[Chorus of expletives descriptive of the characters and personalappearance and belongings of the congregation of Swan Creek. ]

"Were you there, Bill? What did you do?"

"Oh, " said Bill, modestly, "I didn't do much. Gave 'em a little bluff. "

"No! How? What? Go on, Bill. "

But Bill remained silent, till under strong pressure, and, as if makinga clean breast of everything, he said:

"Well, I jest told 'em that if you boys made such a fuss about anythin'like they did about their Gospel outfit, an' I ain't sayin' anythin'agin it, you'd put up seven hundred without turnin' a hair. "

"You're the stuff, Bill! Good man! You're talkin' now! What did they sayto that, eh, Bill?"

"Well, " said Bill, slowly, "they CALLED me!"

"No! That so? An' what did you do, Bill?"

"Gave 'em a dead straight bluff!"

[Yells of enthusiastic approval. ]

"Did they take you, Bill?"

"Well, I reckon they did. The master, here, put it down. "

Whereupon I read the terms of Bill's bluff. 

There was a chorus of very hearty approvals of Bill's course in "nottaking any water" from that variously characterized "outfit. " But theresponsibility of the situation began to dawn upon them when some oneasked:

"How are you going about it, Bill?"

"Well, " drawled Bill, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice, "there'sthat pinto. "

"Pinto be blanked!" said young Hill. "Say, boys, is that little girlgoing to lose that one pony of hers to help out her friend The Pilot?Good fellow, too, he is! We know he's the right sort. "

[Chorus of, "Not by a long sight; not much; we'll put up the stuff!Pinto!"]

"Then, " went on Bill, even more slowly, "there's The Pilot; he's goingfor to ante up a month's pay; 'taint much, o' course--twenty-eight amonth and grub himself. He might make it two, " he added, thoughtfully. But Bill's proposal was scorned with contemptuous groans. "Twenty-eighta month and grub himself o' course ain't much for a man to save moneyout ov to eddicate himself. " Bill continued, as if thinking aloud, "O'course he's got his mother at home, but she can't make much more thanher own livin', but she might help him some. "

This was altogether too much for the crowd. They consigned Bill and hisplans to unutterable depths of woe. 

"O' course, " Bill explained, "it's jest as you boys feel about it. MebbeI was, bein' hot, a little swift in givin' 'em the bluff. "

"Not much, you wasn't! We'll see you out! That's the talk! There'sbetween twenty and thirty of us here. "

"I should be glad to contribute thirty or forty if need be, " said TheDuke, who was standing not far off, "to assist in the building of achurch. It would be a good thing, and I think the parson should beencouraged. He's the right sort. "

"I'll cover your thirty, " said young Hill; and so it went from one toanother in tens and fifteens and twenties, till within half an hour Ihad entered three hundred and fifty dollars in my book, with Ashley yetto hear from, which meant fifty more. It was Bill's hour of triumph. 

"Boys, " he said, with solemn emphasis, "ye're all white. But that leetlepale-faced gel, that's what I'm thinkin' on. Won't she open them bigeyes ov hers! I cherish the opinion that this'll tickle her some. "

The men were greatly pleased with Bill and even more pleased withthemselves. Bill's picture of the "leetle gel" and her patheticallytragic lot had gone right to their hearts and, with men of that stamp, it was one of their few luxuries to yield to their generous impulses. The most of them had few opportunities of lavishing love and sympathyupon worthy objects and, when the opportunity came, all that was best inthem clamored for expression. 

CHAPTER XVII

HOW THE PINTO SOLD

The glow of virtuous feeling following the performance of their generousact prepared the men for a keener enjoyment than usual of a night'ssport. They had just begun to dispose themselves in groups about thefire for poker and other games when Hi rode up into the light and withhim a stranger on Gwen's beautiful pinto pony. 

Hi was evidently half drunk and, as he swung himself of his bronco, he saluted the company with a wave of the hand and hoped he saw them"kickin'. "

Bill, looking curiously at Hi, went up to the pinto and, taking him bythe head, led him up into the light, saying:

"See here, boys, there's that pinto of mine I was telling you about; noflies on him, eh?"

"Hold on there! Excuse me!" said the stranger, "this here hoss belongsto me, if paid-down money means anything in this country. "

"The country's all right, " said Bill in an ominously quiet voice, "butthis here pinto's another transaction, I reckon. "

"The hoss is mine, I say, and what's more, I'm goin' to hold him, " saidthe stranger in a loud voice. 

The men began to crowd around with faces growing hard. It was dangerousin that country to play fast and loose with horses. 

"Look a-hyar, mates, " said the stranger, with a Yankee drawl, "I ain'tno hoss thief, and if I hain't bought this hoss reg'lar and paid downgood money then it ain't mine--if I have it is. That's fair, ain't it?"

At this Hi pulled himself together, and in a half-drunken tone declaredthat the stranger was all right, and that he had bought the horse fairand square, and "there's your dust, " said Hi, handing a roll to Bill. But with a quick movement Bill caught the stranger by the leg, and, before a word could be said, he was lying flat on the ground. 

"You git off that pony, " said Bill, "till this thing is settled. "

There was something so terrible in Bill's manner that the man contentedhimself with blustering and swearing, while Bill, turning to Hi, said:

"Did you sell this pinto to him?"

Hi was able to acknowledge that, being offered a good price, and knowingthat his partner was always ready for a deal, he had transferred thepinto to the stranger for forty dollars. 

Bill was in distress, deep and poignant. "'Taint the horse, but theleetle gel, " he explained; but his partner's bargain was his, andwrathful as he was, he refused to attempt to break the bargain. 

At this moment the Hon. Fred, noting the unusual excitement about thefire, came up, followed at a little distance by his wife and The Duke. 

"Perhaps he'll sell, " he suggested. 

"No, " said Bill sullenly, "he's a mean cuss. "

"I know him, " said the Hon. Fred, "let me try him. " But the strangerdeclared the pinto suited him down to the ground and he wouldn't taketwice his money for him. 

"Why, " he protested, "that there's what I call an unusual hoss, and downin Montana for a lady he'd fetch up to a hundred and fifty dollars. " Invain they haggled and bargained; the man was immovable. Eighty dollarshe wouldn't look at, a hundred hardly made him hesitate. At this pointLady Charlotte came down into the light and stood by her husband, who explained the circumstances to her. She had already heard Bill'sdescription of Gwen's accident and of her part in the church-buildingschemes. There was silence for a few moments as she stood looking at thebeautiful pony. 

"What a shame the poor child should have to part with the dear littlecreature!" she said in a low tone to her husband. Then, turning to thestranger, she said in clear, sweet tones:

"What do you ask for him?" He hesitated and then said, lifting his hatawkwardly in salute: "I was just remarking how that pinto would fetchone hundred and fifty dollars down into Montana. But seein' as a lady isenquirin', I'll put him down to one hundred and twenty-five. "

"Too much, " she said promptly, "far too much, is it not, Bill?"

"Well, " drawled Bill, "if 'twere a fellar as was used to ladies he'doffer you the pinto, but he's too pizen mean even to come down to theeven hundred. "

The Yankee took him up quickly. "Wall, if I were so blanked--pardon, madam"--taking off his hat, "used to ladies as some folks would like tothink themselves, I'd buy that there pinto and make a present of it tothis here lady as stands before me. " Bill twisted uneasily. 

"But I ain't goin' to be mean; I'll put that pinto in for the even moneyfor the lady if any man cares to put up the stuff. "

"Well, my dear, " said the Hon. Fred with a bow, "we cannot well let thatgage lie. " She turned and smiled at him and the pinto was transferredto the Ashley stables, to Bill's outspoken delight, who declared he"couldn't have faced the music if that there pinto had gone across theline. " I confess, however, I was somewhat surprised at the ease withwhich Hi escaped his wrath, and my surprise was in no way lessened whenI saw, later in the evening, the two partners with the stranger takinga quiet drink out of the same bottle with evident mutual admiration anddelight. 

"You're an A1 corker, you are! I'll be blanked if you ain't a bird--asingin' bird--a reg'lar canary, " I heard Hi say to Bill. 

But Bill's only reply was a long, slow wink which passed into a frownas he caught my eye. My suspicion was aroused that the sale of the pintomight bear investigation, and this suspicion was deepened when Gwen nextweek gave me a rapturous account of how splendidly Bill had disposedof the pinto, showing me bills for one hundred and fifty dollars! To mylook of amazement, Gwen replied:

"You see, he must have got them bidding against each other, and besides, Bill says pintos are going up. "

Light began to dawn upon me, but I only answered that I knew they hadrisen very considerably in value within a month. The extra fifty wasBill's. 

I was not present to witness the finishing of Bill's bluff, but was toldthat when Bill made his way through the crowded aisle and laid his fivehundred and fifty dollars on the schoolhouse desk the look of disgust, surprise and finally of pleasure on Robbie's face, was worth a hundredmore. But Robbie was ready and put down his two hundred with the singleremark:

"Ay! ye're no as daft as ye look, " mid roars of laughter from all. 

Then The Pilot, with eyes and face shining, rose and thanked them all;but when he told of how the little girl in her lonely shack in the hillsthought so much of the church that she gave up for it her beloved pony, her one possession, the light from his eyes glowed in the eyes of all. 

But the men from the ranches who could understand the full meaningof her sacrifice and who also could realize the full measure of hercalamity, were stirred to their hearts' depths, so that when Billremarked in a very distinct undertone, "I cherish the opinion that thishere Gospel shop wouldn't be materializin' into its present shape butfor that leetle gel, " there rose growls of approval in a variety oftones and expletives that left no doubt that his opinion was that ofall. 

But though The Pilot never could quite get at the true inwardness ofBill's measures and methods, and was doubtless all the more comfortablein mind for that, he had no doubt that while Gwen's influence was themoving spring of action, Bill's bluff had a good deal to do withthe "materializin'" of the first church in Swan Creek, and in thisconviction, I share. 

Whether the Hon. Fred ever understood the peculiar style of Bill'sfinancing, I do not quite know. But if he ever did come to know, he wasfar too much of a man to make a fuss. Besides, I fancy the smile on hislady's face was worth some large amount to him. At least, so the look ofproud and fond love in his eyes seemed to say as he turned away with herfrom the fire the night of the pinto's sale. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LADY CHARLOTTE

The night of the pinto's sale was a night momentous to Gwen, for then itwas that the Lady Charlotte's interest in her began. Momentous, too, tothe Lady Charlotte, for it was that night that brought The Pilot intoher life. 

I had turned back to the fire around which the men had fallen intogroups prepared to have an hour's solid delight, for the scene was fullof wild and picturesque beauty to me, when The Duke came and touched meon the shoulder. 

"Lady Charlotte would like to see you. "

"And why, pray?"

"She wants to hear about this affair of Bill's. "

We went through the kitchen into the large dining-room, at one end ofwhich was a stone chimney and fireplace. Lady Charlotte had declaredthat she did not much care what kind of a house the Hon. Fred wouldbuild for her, but that she must have a fireplace. 

She was very beautiful--tall, slight and graceful in every line. Therewas a reserve and a grand air in her bearing that put people in awe ofher. This awe I shared; but as I entered the room she welcomed me withsuch kindly grace that I felt quite at ease in a moment. 

"Come and sit by me, " she said, drawing an armchair into the circleabout the fire. "I want you to tell us all about a great many things. "

"You see what you're in for, Connor, " said her husband. "It is a seriousbusiness when my lady takes one in hand. "

"As he knows to his cost, " she said, smiling and shaking her head at herhusband. 

"So I can testify, " put in The Duke. 

"Ah! I can't do anything with you, " she replied, turning to him. 

"Your most abject slave, " he replied with a profound bow. 

"If you only were, " smiling at him--a little sadly, I thought--"I'd keepyou out of all sorts of mischief. "

"Quite true, Duke, " said her husband, "just look at me. "

The Duke gazed at him a moment or two. "Wonderful!" he murmured, "what adeliverance!"

"Nonsense!" broke in Lady Charlotte. "You are turning my mind away frommy purpose. "

"Is it possible, do you think?" said The Duke to her husband. 

"Not in the very least, " he replied, "if my experience goes foranything. "

But Lady Charlotte turned her back upon them and said to me:

"Now, tell me first about Bill's encounter with that funny littleScotchman. "

Then I told her the story of Bill's bluff in my best style, imitating, as I have some small skill in doing, the manner and speech of thevarious actors in the scene. She was greatly amused and interested. 

"And Bill has really got his share ready, " she cried. "It is very cleverof him. "

"Yes, " I replied, "but Bill is only the very humble instrument, themoving spirit is behind. "

"Oh, yes, you mean the little girl that owns the pony, " she said. "That's another thing you must tell me about. "

"The Duke knows more than I, " I replied, shifting the burden to him; "myacquaintance is only of yesterday; his is lifelong. "

"Why have you never told me of her?" she demanded, turning to the Duke. 

"Haven't I told you of the little Meredith girl? Surely I have, " saidThe Duke, hesitatingly. 

"Now, you know quite well you have not, and that means you are deeplyinterested. Oh, I know you well, " she said, severely. 

"He is the most secretive man, " she went on to me, "shamefully andungratefully reserved. "

The Duke smiled; then said, lazily: "Why, she's just a child. Why shouldyou be interested in her? No one was, " he added sadly, "till misfortunedistinguished her. "

Her eyes grew soft, and her gay manner changed, and she said to The Dukegently: "Tell me of her now. "

It was evidently an effort, but he began his story of Gwen from the timehe saw her first, years ago, playing in and out of her father's ramblingshack, shy and wild as a young fox. As he went on with his tale, hisvoice dropped into a low, musical tone, and he seemed as if dreamingaloud. Unconsciously he put into the tale much of himself, revealing howgreat an influence the little child had had upon him, and how empty oflove his life had been in this lonely land. Lady Charlotte listenedwith face intent upon him, and even her bluff husband was conscious thatsomething more than usual was happening. He had never heard The Dukebreak through his proud reserve before. 

But when The Duke told the story of Gwen's awful fall, which he did withgreat graphic power, a little red spot burned upon the Lady Charlotte'spale cheek, and, as The Duke finished his tale with the words, "It washer last ride, " she covered her face with her hands and cried:

"Oh, Duke, it is horrible to think of! But what splendid courage!"

"Great stuff! eh, Duke?" cried the Hon. Fred, kicking a burning logvigorously. 

But The Duke made no reply. 

"How is she now, Duke?" said Lady Charlotte. The Duke looked up asfrom a dream. "Bright as the morning, " he said. Then, in reply to LadyCharlotte's look of wonder, he added:

"The Pilot did it. Connor will tell you. I don't understand it. "

"Nor do I, either. But I can tell you only what I saw and heard, " Ianswered. 

"Tell me, " said Lady Charlotte very gently. 

Then I told her how, one by one, we had failed to help her, and howThe Pilot had ridden up that morning through the canyon, and how he hadbrought the first light and peace to her by his marvellous pictures ofthe flowers and ferns and trees and all the wonderful mysteries of thatwonderful canyon. 

"But that wasn't all, " said the Duke quickly, as I stopped. 

"No, " I said slowly, "that was NOT all by a long way; but the rest Idon't understand. That's The Pilot's secret. "

"Tell me what he did, " said Lady Charlotte, softly, once more. "I wantto know. "

"I don't think I can, " I replied. "He simply read out of the Scripturesto her and talked. "

Lady Charlotte looked disappointed. 

"Is that all?" she said. 

"It is quite enough for Gwen, " said The Duke confidently, "for there shelies, often suffering, always longing for the hills and the free air, but with her face radiant as the flowers of the beloved canyon. "

"I must see her, " said Lady Charlotte, "and that wonderful Pilot. "

"You'll be disappointed in him, " said The Duke. 

"Oh, I've see him and heard him, but I don't know him, " she replied. "There must be something in him that one does not see at first. "

"So I have discovered, " said The Duke, and with that the subject wasdropped, but not before the Lady Charlotte made me promise to take herto Gwen, The Duke being strangely unwilling to do this for her. 

"You'll be disappointed, " he said. "She is only a simple little child. "

But Lady Charlotte thought differently, and, having made up her mindupon the matter, there was nothing for it, as her husband said, but "forall hands to surrender and the sooner the better. "

And so the Lady Charlotte had her way, which, as it turned out, was muchthe wisest and best. 

CHAPTER XIX

THROUGH GWEN'S WINDOW

When I told The Pilot of Lady Charlotte's purpose to visit Gwen, he wasnot too well pleased. 

"What does she want with Gwen?" he said impatiently. "She will just putnotions into her head and make the child discontented. "

"Why should she?" said I. 

"She won't mean to, but she belongs to another world, and Gwen cannottalk to her without getting glimpses of a life that will make her longfor what she can never have, " said The Pilot. 

"But suppose it is not idle curiosity in Lady Charlotte, " I suggested. 

"I don't say it is quite that, " he answered, "but these people love asensation. "

"I don't think you know Lady Charlotte, " I replied. "I hardly think fromher tone the other night that she is a sensation hunter. "

"At any rate, " he answered, decidedly, "she is not to worry poor Gwen. "

I was a little surprised at his attitude, and felt that he was unfair toLady Charlotte, but I forbore to argue with him on the matter. He couldnot bear to think of any person or thing threatening the peace of hisbeloved Gwen. 

The very first Saturday after my promise was given we were surprisedto see Lady Charlotte ride up to the door of our shack in the earlymorning. 

"You see, I am not going to let you off, " she said, as I greeted her. "And the day is so very fine for a ride. "

I hastened to apologize for not going to her, and then to get out of mydifficulty, rather meanly turned toward The Pilot, and said:

"The Pilot doesn't approve of our visit. "

"And why not, may I ask?" said Lady Charlotte, lifting her eyebrows. 

The Pilot's face burned, partly with wrath at me, and partly withembarrassment; for Lady Charlotte had put on her grand air. But he stoodto his guns. 

"I was saying, Lady Charlotte, " he said, looking straight into her eyes, "that you and Gwen have little in common--and--and--" he hesitated. 

"Little in common!" said Lady Charlotte quietly. "She has sufferedgreatly. "

The Pilot was quick to catch the note of sadness in her voice. 

"Yes, " he said, wondering at her tone, "she has suffered greatly. "

"And, " continued Lady Charlotte, "she is bright as the morning, The Dukesays. " There was a look of pain in her face. 

The Pilot's face lit up, and he came nearer and laid his handcaressingly upon her beautiful horse. 

"Yes, thank God!" he said quickly, "bright as the morning. "

"How can that be?" she asked, looking down into his face. "Perhaps shewould tell me. "

"Lady Charlotte, " said The Pilot with a sudden flush, "I must ask yourpardon. I was wrong. I thought you--" he paused; "but go to Gwen, shewill tell you, and you will do her good. "

"Thank you, " said Lady Charlotte, putting out her hand, "and perhaps youwill come and see me, too. "

The Pilot promised and stood looking after us as we rode up the trail. 

"There is something more in your Pilot than at first appears, " she said. "The Duke was quite right. "

"He is a great man, " I said with enthusiasm; "tender as a woman and withthe heart of a hero. "

"You and Bill and The Duke seem to agree about him, " she said, smiling. 

Then I told her tales of The Pilot, and of his ways with the men, tillher blue eyes grew bright and her beautiful face lost its proud look. 

"It is perfectly amazing, " I said, finishing my story, "how thesedevil-may-care rough fellows respect him, and come to him in all sortsof trouble. I can't understand it, and yet he is just a boy. "

"No, not amazing, " said Lady Charlotte slowly. "I think I understand it. He has a true man's heart; and holds a great purpose in it. I've seenmen like that. Not clergymen, I mean, but men with a great purpose. "

Then, after a moment's thought, she added: "But you ought to care forhim better. He does not look strong. "

"Strong!" I exclaimed quickly, with a queer feeling of resentment at myheart. "He can do as much riding as any of us. "

"Still, " she replied, "there's something in his face that would make hismother anxious. " In spite of my repudiation of her suggestion, I foundmyself for the next few minutes thinking of how he would come exhaustedand faint from his long rides, and I resolved that he must have a restand change. 

It was one of those early September days, the best of all in the westerncountry, when the light falls less fiercely through a soft haze thatseems to fill the air about you, and that grows into purple on the farhilltops. By the time we reached the canyon the sun was riding high andpouring its rays full into all the deep nooks where the shadows mostlylay. 

There were no shadows to-day, except such as the trees cast upon thegreen moss beds and the black rocks. The tops of the tall elms were sereand rusty, but the leaves of the rugged oaks that fringed the canyon'slips shone a rich and glossy brown. All down the sides the poplars anddelicate birches, pale yellow, but sometimes flushing into orange andred, stood shimmering in the golden light, while here and there thebroad-spreading, feathery sumachs made great splashes of brilliantcrimson upon the yellow and gold. Down in the bottom stood the cedarsand the balsams, still green. We stood some moments silently gazing intothis tangle of interlacing boughs and shimmering leaves, all glowing inyellow light, then Lady Charlotte broke the silence in tones soft andreverent as if she stood in a great cathedral. 

"And this is Gwen's canyon!"

"Yes, but she never sees it now, " I said, for I could never ride throughwithout thinking of the child to whose heart this was so dear, but whoseeyes never rested upon it. Lady Charlotte made no reply, and we took thetrail that wound down into this maze of mingling colors and lightsand shadows. Everywhere lay the fallen leaves, brown and yellow andgold;--everywhere on our trail, on the green mosses and among thedead ferns. And as we rode, leaves fluttered down from the trees abovesilently through the tangled boughs, and lay with the others on moss androck and beaten trail. 

The flowers were all gone; but the Little Swan sang as ever itsmany-voiced song, as it flowed in pools and eddies and cascades, withhere and there a golden leaf upon its black waters. Ah! how often inweary, dusty days these sights and sounds and silences have come to meand brought my heart rest!

As we began to climb up into the open, I glanced at my companion's face. The canyon had done its work with her as with all who loved it. Thetouch of pride that was the habit of her face was gone, and in its placerested the earnest wonder of a little child, while in her eyes lay thecanyon's tender glow. And with this face she looked in upon Gwen. 

And Gwen, who had been waiting for her, forgot all her nervous fear, andwith hands outstretched, cried out in welcome:

"Oh, I'm so glad! You've seen it and I know you love it! My canyon, youknow!" she went on, answering Lady Charlotte's mystified look. 

"Yes, dear child, " said Lady Charlotte, bending over the pale face withits halo of golden hair, "I love it. " But she could get no further, for her eyes were full of tears. Gwen gazed up into the beautiful face, wondering at her silence, and then said gently:

"Tell me how it looks to-day! The Pilot always shows it to me. Do youknow, " she added, thoughtfully, "The Pilot looks like it himself. Hemakes me think of it, and--and--" she went on shyly, "you do, too. "

By this time Lady Charlotte was kneeling by the couch, smoothing thebeautiful hair and gently touching the face so pale and lined with pain. 

"That is a great honor, truly, " she said brightly through her tears--"tobe like your canyon and like your Pilot, too. "

Gwen nodded, but she was not to be denied. 

"Tell me how it looks to-day, " she said. "I want to see it. Oh, I wantto see it!"

Lady Charlotte was greatly moved by the yearning in the voice, but, controlling herself, she said gaily:

"Oh, I can't show it to you as your Pilot can, but I'll tell you what Isaw. "

"Turn me where I can see, " said Gwen to me, and I wheeled her toward thewindow and raised her up so that she could look down the trail towardthe canyon's mouth. 

"Now, " she said, after the pain of the lifting had passed, "tell me, please. "

Then Lady Charlotte set the canyon before her in rich and radiantcoloring, while Gwen listened, gazing down upon the trail to where theelm tops could be seen, rusty and sere. 

"Oh, it is lovely!" said Gwen, "and I see it so well. It is all therebefore me when I look through my window. "

But Lady Charlotte looked at her, wondering to see her bright smile, andat last she could not help the question:

"But don't you weary to see it with your own eyes?"

"Yes, " said Gwen gently, "often I want and want it, oh, so much!"

"And then, Gwen, dear, how can you bear it?" Her voice was eager andearnest. "Tell me, Gwen. I have heard all about your canyon flowers, butI can't understand how the fretting and the pain went away. "

Gwen looked at her first in amazement, and then in dawningunderstanding. 

"Have you a canyon, too?" she asked, gravely. 

Lady Charlotte paused a moment, then nodded. It did appear strange to methat she should break down her proud reserve and open her heart to thischild. 

"And there are no flowers, Gwen, not one, " she said rather bitterly, "nor sun nor seeds nor soil, I fear. "

"Oh, if The Pilot were here, he would tell you. "

At this point, feeling that they would rather be alone, I excused myselfon the pretext of looking after the horses. 

What they talked of during the next hour I never knew, but whenI returned to the room Lady Charlotte was reading slowly and withperplexed face to Gwen out of her mother's Bible the words "for thesuffering of death, crowned with glory and honor. "

"You see even for Him, suffering, " Gwen said eagerly, "but I can'texplain. The Pilot will make it clear. " Then the talk ended. 

We had lunch with Gwen--bannocks and fresh sweet milk andblueberries--and after an hour of gay fun we came away. 

Lady Charlotte kissed her tenderly as she bade Gwen good-by. 

"You must let me come again and sit at your window, " she said, smilingdown upon the wan face. 

"Oh, I shall watch for you. How good that will be!" cried Gwen, delightedly. "How many come to see me! You make five. " Then she added, softly: "You will write your letter. " But Lady Charlotte shook her head. 

"I can't do that, I fear, " she said, "but I shall think of it. "

It was a bright face that looked out upon us through the open window aswe rode down the trail. Just before we took the dip into the canyon, Iturned to wave my hand. 

"Gwen's friends always wave from here, " I said, wheeling my bronco. 

Again and again Lady Charlotte waved her handkerchief. 

"How beautiful, but how wonderful!" she said as if to herself. "Truly, HER canyon is full of flowers. "

"It is quite beyond me, " I answered. "The Pilot may explain. "

"Is there anything your Pilot can't do?" said Lady Charlotte. 

"Try him, " I ventured. 

"I mean to, " she replied, "but I cannot bring anyone to my canyon, Ifear, " she added in an uncertain voice. 

As I left her at her door she thanked me with courteous grace. 

"You have done a great deal for me, " she said, giving me her hand. "Ithas been a beautiful, a wonderful day. "

When I told the Pilot all the day's doings, he burst out:

"What a stupid and self-righteous fool I have been! I never thoughtthere could be any canyon in her life. How short our sight is!" and allthat night I could get almost no words from him. 

That was the first of many visits to Gwen. Not a week passed but LadyCharlotte took the trail to the Meredith ranch and spent an hour atGwen's window. Often The Pilot found her there. But though they werealways pleasant hours to him, he would come home in great trouble aboutLady Charlotte. 

"She is perfectly charming and doing Gwen no end of good, but she isproud as an archangel. Has had an awful break with her family at home, and it is spoiling her life. She told me so much, but she will allow noone to touch the affair. "

But one day we met her riding toward the village. As we drew near, shedrew up her horse and held up a letter. 

"Home!" she said. "I wrote it to-day, and I must get it offimmediately. "

The Pilot understood her at once, but he only said:

"Good!" but with such emphasis that we both laughed. 

"Yes, I hope so, " she said with the red beginning to show in her cheek. "I have dropped some seed into my canyon. "

"I think I see the flowers beginning to spring, " said The Pilot. 

She shook her head doubtfully and replied:

"I shall ride up and sit with Gwen at her window. "

"Do, " replied The Pilot, "the light is good there. Wonderful things areto be seen through Gwen's window. "

"Yes, " said Lady Charlotte softly. "Dear Gwen!--but I fear it is oftenmade bright with tears. "

As she spoke she wheeled her horse and cantered off, for her own tearswere not far away. I followed her in thought up the trail windingthrough the round-topped hills and down through the golden lights of thecanyon and into Gwen's room. I could see the pale face, with its goldenaureole, light up and glow, as they sat before the window while LadyCharlotte would tell her how Gwen's Canyon looked to-day and how in herown bleak canyon there was the sign of flowers. 

CHAPTER XX

HOW BILL FAVORED "HOME-GROWN INDUSTRIES"

The building of the Swan Creek Church made a sensation in the country, and all the more that Bronco Bill was in command. 

"When I put up money I stay with the game, " he announced; and stay hedid, to the great benefit of the work and to the delight of The Pilot, who was wearing his life out in trying to do several men's work. It wasBill that organized the gangs for hauling stone for the foundation andlogs for the walls. It was Bill that assigned the various jobs to thosevolunteering service. To Robbie Muir and two stalwart Glengarry men fromthe Ottawa lumber region, who knew all about the broadaxe, he gave thehewing down of the logs that formed the walls. And when they had done, Bill declared they were "better 'an a sawmill. " It was Bill, too, thatdid the financing, and his passage with Williams, the storekeeper from"the other side" who dealt in lumber and building material, was such asestablished forever Bill's reputation in finance. 

With The Pilot's plans in his hands he went to Williams, seizing a timewhen the store was full of men after their mail matter. 

"What do you think ov them plans?" he asked innocently. 

Williams was voluble with opinions and criticism and suggestions, all ofwhich were gratefully, even humbly received. 

"Kind ov hard to figger out jest how much lumber 'll go into the shack, "said Bill; "ye see the logs makes a difference. "

To Williams the thing was simplicity itself, and, after some figuring, he handed Bill a complete statement of the amount of lumber of all kindsthat would be required. 

"Now, what would that there come to?"

Williams named his figure, and then Bill entered upon negotiations. 

"I aint no man to beat down prices. No, sir, I say give a man hisfigger. Of course, this here aint my funeral; besides, bein' a Gospelshop, the price naterally would be different. " To this the boys allassented and Williams looked uncomfortable. 

"In fact, " and Bill adopted his public tone to Hi's admiration and joy, "this here's a public institooshun" (this was Williams' own thunder), "condoocin' to the good of the community" (Hi slapped his thigh andsquirted half way across the store to signify his entire approval), "andI cherish the opinion"--(delighted chuckle from Hi)--"that public menare interested in this concern. "

"That's so! Right you are!" chorused the boys gravely. 

Williams agreed, but declared he had thought of all this in making hiscalculation. But seeing it was a church, and the first church and theirown church, he would make a cut, which he did after more figuring. Billgravely took the slip of paper and put it into his pocket without aword. By the end of the week, having in the meantime ridden into townand interviewed the dealers there, Bill sauntered into the store andtook up his position remote from Williams. 

"You'll be wanting that sheeting, won't you, next week, Bill?" saidWilliams. 

"What sheetin' 's that?"

"Why, for the church. Aint the logs up?"

"Yes, that's so. I was just goin' to see the boys here about gettin' ithauled, " said Bill. 

"Hauled!" said Williams, in amazed indignation. "Aint you goin' to stickto your deal?"

"I generally make it my custom to stick to my deals, " said Bill, lookingstraight at Williams. 

"Well, what about your deal with me last Monday night?" said Williams, angrily. 

"Let's see. Last Monday night, " said Bill, apparently thinking back;"can't say as I remember any pertickler deal. Any ov you fellersremember?"

No one could recall any deal. 

"You don't remember getting any paper from me, I suppose?" saidWilliams, sarcastically. 

"Paper! Why, I believe I've got that there paper onto my person atthis present moment, " said Bill, diving into his pocket and drawing outWilliams' estimate. He spent a few moments in careful scrutiny. 

"There ain't no deal onto this as I can see, " said Bill, gravely passingthe paper to the boys, who each scrutinized it and passed it on with ashake of the head or a remark as to the absence of any sign of a deal. Williams changed his tone. For his part, he was indifferent in thematter. 

Then Bill made him an offer. 

"Ov course, I believe in supportin' home-grown industries, and if youcan touch my figger I'd be uncommonly glad to give you the contract. "

But Bill's figure, which was quite fifty per cent. Lower than Williams'best offer, was rejected as quite impossible. 

"Thought I'd make you the offer, " said Bill, carelessly, "seein' asyou're institootin' the trade and the boys here 'll all be buildin'more or less, and I believe in standin' up for local trades andmanufactures. " There were nods of approval on all sides, and Williamswas forced to accept, for Bill began arranging with the Hill brothersand Hi to make an early start on Monday. It was a great triumph, butBill displayed no sign of elation; he was rather full of sympathyfor Williams, and eager to help on the lumber business as a local"institooshun. "

Second in command in the church building enterprise stood LadyCharlotte, and under her labored the Hon. Fred, The Duke, and, indeed, all the company of the Noble Seven. Her home became the centre of a newtype of social life. With exquisite tact, and much was needed for thiskind of work, she drew the bachelors from their lonely shacks andfrom their wild carousals, and gave them a taste of the joys of a purehome-life, the first they had had since leaving the old homes years ago. And then she made them work for the church with such zeal and diligencethat her husband and The Duke declared that ranching had become quite anincidental interest since the church-building had begun. But The Pilotwent about with a radiant look on his pale face, while Bill gave itforth as his opinion, "though she was a leetle high in the action, shecould hit an uncommon gait. "

With such energy did Bill push the work of construction that by thefirst of December the church stood roofed, sheeted, floored and readyfor windows, doors and ceiling, so that The Pilot began to hope that heshould see the desire of his heart fulfilled--the church of Swan Creekopen for divine service on Christmas Day. 

During these weeks there was more than church-building going on, forwhile the days were given to the shaping of logs, and the driving ofnails and the planing of boards, the long winter evenings were spent intalk around the fire in my shack, where The Pilot for some months pasthad made his home and where Bill, since the beginning of the churchbuilding, had come "to camp. " Those were great nights for The Pilot andBill, and, indeed, for me, too, and the other boys, who, after a day'swork on the church, were always brought in by Bill or The Pilot. 

Great nights for us all they were. After bacon and beans and bannocks, and occasionally potatoes, and rarely a pudding, with coffee, richand steaming, to wash all down, pipes would follow, and then yarns ofadventures, possible and impossible, all exciting and wonderful, and allreceived with the greatest credulity. 

If, however, the powers of belief were put to too great a strain by atale of more than ordinary marvel, Bill would follow with one of suchutter impossibility that the company would feel that the limit had beenreached, and the yarns would cease. But after the first week most of thetime was given to The Pilot, who would read to us of the deeds of themighty men of old, who had made and wrecked empires. 

What happy nights they were to those cowboys, who had been cast up likedriftwood upon this strange and lonely shore! Some of them had neverknown what it was to have a thought beyond the work and sport of theday. And the world into which The Pilot was ushering them was all newand wonderful to them. Happy nights, without a care, but that The Pilotwould not get the ghastly look out of his face, and laughed at the ideaof going away till the church was built. And, indeed, we would all havesorely missed him, and so he stayed. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

HOW BILL HIT THE TRAIL

When "the crowd" was with us The Pilot read us all sorts of tales ofadventures in all lands by heroes of all ages, but when we three sattogether by our fire The Pilot would always read us tales of the heroesof sacred story, and these delighted Bill more than those of any ofthe ancient empires of the past. He had his favorites. Abraham, Moses, Joshua, Gideon, never failed to arouse his admiration. But Jacob was tohim always "a mean cuss, " and David he could not appreciate. Most ofall he admired Moses and the Apostle Paul, whom he called "that littlechap. " But, when the reading was about the One Great Man that movedmajestic amid the gospel stories, Bill made no comments; He was too highfor approval. 

By and by Bill began to tell these tales to the boys, and one night, when a quiet mood had fallen upon the company, Bill broke the silence. 

"Say, Pilot, where was it that the little chap got mixed up into thatriot?"

"Riot!" said The Pilot. 

"Yes; you remember when he stood off the whole gang from the stairs?"

"Oh, yes, at Jerusalem!"

"Yes, that's the spot. Perhaps you would read that to the boys. Goodyarn! Little chap, you know, stood up and told 'em they were all sortsof blanked thieves and cut-throats, and stood 'em off. Played it alone, too. "

Most of the boys failed to recognize the story in its new dress. Therewas much interest. 

"Who was the duck? Who was the gang? What was the row about?"

"The Pilot here'll tell you. If you'd kind o' give 'em a lead before youbegin, they'd catch on to the yarn better. " This last to The Pilot, whowas preparing to read. 

"Well, it was at Jerusalem, " began The Pilot, when Bill interrupted:

"If I might remark, perhaps it might help the boys on to the trailmebbe, if you'd tell 'em how the little chap struck his new gait. " So hedesignated the Apostle's conversion. 

Then The Pilot introduced the Apostle with some formality to thecompany, describing with such vivid touches his life and early training, his sudden wrench from all he held dear, under the stress of a newconviction, his magnificent enthusiasm and courage, his tenderness andpatience, that I was surprised to find myself regarding him as a sort ofhero, and the boys were all ready to back him against any odds. As ThePilot read the story of the Arrest at Jerusalem, stopping now and thento picture the scene, we saw it all and were in the thick of it. Theraging crowd hustling and beating the life out of the brave little man, the sudden thrust of the disciplined Roman guard through the mass, therescue, the pause on the stairway, the calm face of the little herobeckoning for a hearing, the quieting of the frantic, frothing mob, thefearless speech--all passed before us. The boys were thrilled. 

"Good stuff, eh?"

"Ain't he a daisy?"

"Daisy! He's a whole sunflower patch!"

"Yes, " drawled Bill, highly appreciating their marks of approval. "That's what I call a partickler fine character of a man. There ain't nomanner of insecks on to him. "

"You bet!" said Hi. 

"I say, " broke in one of the boys, who was just emerging from thetenderfoot stage, "o' course that's in the Bible, ain't it?"

The Pilot assented. 

"Well, how do you know it's true?"

The Pilot was proceeding to elaborate his argument when Bill cut insomewhat more abruptly than was his wont. 

"Look here, young feller!" Bill's voice was in the tone of command. Theman looked as he was bid. "How do you know anything's true? How do youknow The Pilot here's true when he speaks? Can't you tell by the feel?You know by the sound of his voice, don't you?" Bill paused and theyoung fellow agreed readily. 

"Well how do you know a blanked son of a she jackass when you see him?"Again Bill paused. There was no reply. 

"Well, " said Bill, resuming his deliberate drawl. "I'll give you theinformation without extra charge. It's by the sound he makes when heopens his blanked jaw. "

"But, " went on the young skeptic, nettled at the laugh that went round, "that don't prove anything. You know, " turning to The Pilot, "that thereare heaps of people who don't believe the Bible. "

The Pilot nodded. 

"Some of the smartest, best-educated men are agnostics, " proceeded theyoung man, warming to his theme, and failing to notice the stiffening ofBill's lank figure. "I don't know but what I am one myself. "

"That so?" said Bill, with sudden interest. 

"I guess so, " was the modest reply. 

"Got it bad?" went on Bill, with a note of anxiety in his tone. 

But the young man turned to The Pilot and tried to open a freshargument. 

"Whatever he's got, " said Bill to the others, in a mild voice, "it'sspoilin' his manners. "

"Yes, " went on Bill, meditatively, after the slight laugh had died, "it's ruinin' to the judgment. He don't seem to know when he interfereswith the game. Pity, too. "

Still the argument went on. 

"Seems as if he ought to take somethin', " said Bill, in a voicesuspiciously mild. "What would you suggest?"

"A walk, mebbe!" said Hi, in delighted expectation. 

"I hold the opinion that you have mentioned an uncommonly vallableremedy, better'n Pain Killer almost. "

Bill rose languidly. 

"I say, " he drawled, tapping the young fellow, "it appears to me alittle walk would perhaps be good, mebbe. "

"All right, wait till I get my cap, " was the unsuspecting reply. 

"I don't think perhaps you won't need it, mebbe. I cherish the opinionyou'll, perhaps, be warm enough. " Bill's voice had unconsciously passedinto a sterner tone. Hi was on his feet and at the door. 

"This here interview is private AND confidential, " said Bill to hispartner. 

"Exactly, " said Hi, opening the door. At this the young fellow, who wasa strapping six-footer, but soft and flabby, drew back and refused togo. He was too late. Bill's grip was on his collar and out they wentinto the snow, and behind them Hi closed the door. In vain the youngfellow struggled to wrench himself free from the hands that had him bythe shoulder and the back of the neck. I took it all in from the window. He might have been a boy for all the effect his plungings had upon thelong, sinewy arms that gripped him so fiercely. After a minute's furiousstruggle the young fellow stood quiet, when Bill suddenly shifted hisgrip from the shoulder to the seat of his buckskin trousers. Then begana series of evolutions before the house--up and down, forward and back, which the unfortunate victim, with hands wildly clutching at emptyair, was quite powerless to resist till he was brought up panting andgasping, subdued, to a standstill. 

"I'll larn you agnostics and several other kinds of ticks, " said Bill, in a terrible voice, his drawl lengthening perceptibly. "Come roundhere, will you, and shove your blanked second-handed trash down ourthroats?" Bill paused to get words; then, bursting out in rising wrath:

"There ain't no sootable words for sich conduct. By the livin' Jeminy--"He suddenly swung his prisoner off his feet, lifted him bodily, and heldhim over his head at arm's length. "I've a notion to--"

"Don't! don't! for Heaven's sake!" cried the struggling wretch, "I'llstop it! I will!"

Bill at once lowered him and set him on his feet. 

"All right! Shake!" he said, holding out his hand, which the other tookwith caution. 

It was a remarkably sudden conversion and lasting in its effects. Therewas no more agnosticism in the little group that gathered around ThePilot for the nightly reading. 

The interest in the reading kept growing night by night. 

"Seems as if The Pilot was gittin' in his work, " said Bill to me; andlooking at the grave, eager faces, I agreed. He was getting in his workwith Bill, too; though perhaps Bill did not know it. I remember onenight, when the others had gone, The Pilot was reading to us the Parableof the Talents, Bill was particularly interested in the servant whofailed in his duty. 

"Ornery cuss, eh?" he remarked; "and gall, too, eh? Served him blamedwell right, in my opinion!"

But when the practical bearing of the parable became clear to him, afterlong silence, he said, slowly:

"Well, that there seems to indicate that it's about time for me to geta rustle on. " Then, after another silence, he said, hesitatingly, "Thishere church-buildin' business now, do you think that'll perhaps count, mebbe? I guess not, eh? 'Tain't much, o' course, anyway. " Poor Bill, hewas like a child, and The Pilot handled him with a mother's touch. 

"What are you best at, Bill?"

"Bronco-bustin' and cattle, " said Bill, wonderingly; "that's my line. "

"Well, Bill, my line is preaching just now, and piloting, you know. " ThePilot's smile was like a sunbeam on a rainy day, for there were tears inhis eyes and voice. "And we have just got to be faithful. You seewhat he says: 'Well done, good and FAITHFUL servant. Thou hast beenFAITHFUL. '"

Bill was puzzled. 

"Faithful!" he repeated. "Does that mean with the cattle, perhaps?"

"Yes, that's just it, Bill, and with everything else that comes yourway. "

And Bill never forgot that lesson, for I heard him, with a kind of quietenthusiasm, giving it to Hi as a great find. "Now, I call that a fairdeal, " he said to his friend; "gives every man a show. No cards up thesleeve. "

"That's so, " was Hi's thoughtful reply; "distributes the trumps. "

Somehow Bill came to be regarded as an authority upon questions ofreligion and morals. No one ever accused him of "gettin' religion. " Hewent about his work in his slow, quiet way, but he was always sharinghis discoveries with "the boys. " And if anyone puzzled him withsubtleties he never rested till he had him face to face with ThePilot. And so it came that these two drew to each other with more thanbrotherly affection. When Bill got into difficulty with problems thathave vexed the souls of men far wiser than he, The Pilot would eitherdisentangle the knots or would turn his mind to the verities that stoodout sure and clear, and Bill would be content. 

"That's good enough for me, " he would say, and his heart would be atrest. 

CHAPTER XXII

HOW THE SWAN CREEK CHURCH WAS OPENED

When, near the end of the year, The Pilot fell sick, Bill nursed himlike a mother and sent him off for a rest and change to Gwen, forbiddinghim to return till the church was finished and visiting him twice aweek. The love between the two was most beautiful, and, when I find myheart grow hard and unbelieving in men and things, I let my mind wanderback to a scene that I came upon in front of Gwen's house. These twowere standing alone in the clear moonlight, Bill with his hand upon ThePilot's shoulder, and The Pilot with his arm around Bill's neck. 

"Dear old Bill, " The Pilot was saying, "dear old Bill, " and the voicewas breaking into a sob. And Bill, standing stiff and straight, lookedup at the stars, coughed and swallowed hard for some moments, and said, in a queer, croaky voice:

"Shouldn't wonder if a Chinook would blow up. "

"Chinook?" laughed The Pilot, with a catch in his voice. "You dear oldhumbug, " and he stood watching till the lank form swayed down into thecanyon. 

The day of the church opening came, as all days, however long waitedfor, will come--a bright, beautiful Christmas Day. The air was still andfull of frosty light, as if arrested by a voice of command, waiting theword to move. The hills lay under their dazzling coverlets, asleep. Backof all, the great peaks lifted majestic heads out of the dark forestsand gazed with calm, steadfast faces upon the white, sunlit world. To-day, as the light filled up the cracks that wrinkled their hardfaces, they seemed to smile, as if the Christmas joy had somehow movedsomething in their old, stony hearts. 

The people were all there--farmers, ranchers, cowboys, wives andchildren--all happy, all proud of their new church, and now allexpectant, waiting for The Pilot and the Old Timer, who were to drivedown if The Pilot was fit and were to bring Gwen if the day was fine. Asthe time passed on, Bill, as master of ceremonies, began to grow uneasy. Then Indian Joe appeared and handed a note to Bill. He read it, grewgray in the face and passed it to me. Looking, I saw in poor, waveringlines the words, "Dear Bill. Go on with the opening. Sing the Psalm, you know the one, and say a prayer, and oh, come to me quick, Bill. YourPilot. "

Bill gradually pulled himself together, announced in a strange voice, "The Pilot can't come, " handed me the Psalm, and said:

"Make them sing. "

It was that grand Psalm for all hill peoples, "I to the hills will liftmine eyes, " and with wondering faces they sang the strong, steadyingwords. After the Psalm was over the people sat and waited, Bill lookedat the Hon. Fred Ashley, then at Robbie Muir, then said to me in a lowvoice:

"Kin you make a prayer?"

I shook my head, ashamed as I did so of my cowardice. 

Again Bill paused, then said:

"The Pilot says there's got to be a prayer. Kin anyone make one?"

Again dead, solemn silence. 

Then Hi, who was near the back, said, coming to his partner's help:

"What's the matter with you trying, yourself, Bill?"

The red began to come up in Bill's white face. 

"'Taint in my line. But The Pilot says there's got to be a prayer, andI'm going to stay with the game. " Then, leaning on the pulpit, he said:

"Let's pray, " and began:

"God Almighty, I ain't no good at this, and perhaps you'll understand ifI don't put things right. " Then a pause followed, during which I heardsome of the women beginning to sob. 

"What I want to say, " Bill went on, "is, we're mighty glad about thischurch, which we know it's you and The Pilot that's worked it. And we'reall glad to chip in. "

Then again he paused, and, looking up, I saw his hard, gray face workingand two tears stealing down his cheeks. Then he started again:

"But about The Pilot--I don't want to persoom--but if you don't mind, we'd like to have him stay--in fact, don't see how we kin do withouthim--look at all the boys here; he's just getting his work in and isbringin' 'em right along, and, God Almighty, if you take him away itmight be a good thing for himself, but for us--oh, God, " the voicequivered and was silent "Amen. "

Then someone, I think it must have been the Lady Charlotte, began: "OurFather, " and all joined that could join, to the end. For a few momentsBill stood up, looking at them silently. Then, as if remembering hisduty, he said:

"This here church is open. Excuse me. "

He stood at the door, gave a word of direction to Hi, who had followedhim out, and leaping on his bronco shook him out into a hard gallop. 

The Swan Creek Church was opened. The form of service may not have beencorrect, but, if great love counts for anything and appealing faith, then all that was necessary was done. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE PILOT'S LAST PORT

In the old times a funeral was regarded in the Swan Creek country as akind of solemn festivity. In those days, for the most part, men died intheir boots and were planted with much honor and loyal libation. Therewas often neither shroud nor coffin, and in the Far West many a poorfellow lies as he fell, wrapped in his own or his comrade's blanket. 

It was the manager of the X L Company's ranch that introduced crape. The occasion was the funeral of one of the ranch cowboys, killed by hisbronco, but when the pall-bearers and mourners appeared with bands andstreamers of crape, this was voted by the majority as "too gay. " Thatcircumstance alone was sufficient to render that funeral famous, but itwas remembered, too, as having shocked the proprieties in another andmore serious manner. No one would be so narrow-minded as to object tothe custom of the return procession falling into a series of horse-racesof the wildest description, and ending up at Latour's in a generalriot. But to race with the corpse was considered bad form. The"corpse-driver, " as he was called, could hardly be blamed on thisoccasion. His acknowledged place was at the head of the procession, andit was a point of honor that that place should be retained. The faultclearly lay with the driver of the X L ranch sleigh, containing themourners (an innovation, by the way), who felt aggrieved that Hi Kendal, driving the Ashley team with the pall-bearers (another innovation), should be given the place of honor next the corpse. The X L driverwanted to know what, in the name of all that was black and blue, theAshley Ranch had to do with the funeral? Whose was that corpse, anyway?Didn't it belong to the X L ranch? Hi, on the other hand, contended thatthe corpse was in charge of the pall-bearers. "It was their duty to seeit right to the grave, and if they were not on hand, how was it goin' toget there? They didn't expect it would git up and get there by itself, did they? Hi didn't want no blanked mourners foolin' round that corptill it was properly planted; after that they might git in theirwork. " But the X L driver could not accept this view, and at the firstopportunity slipped past Hi and his pall-bearers and took the place nextthe sleigh that carried the coffin. It is possible that Hi might haveborne with this affront and loss of position with even mind, but thejeering remarks of the mourners as they slid past triumphantly could notbe endured, and the next moment the three teams were abreast in a raceas for dear life. The corpse-driver, having the advantage of the beatentrack, soon left the other two behind running neck and neck for secondplace, which was captured finally by Hi and maintained to the graveside, in spite of many attempts on the part of the X L's. The wholeproceeding, however, was considered quite improper, and at Latour's, that night, after full and bibulous discussion, it was agreed that thecorpse-driver fairly distributed the blame. "For his part, " he said, "heknew he hadn't ought to make no corp git any such move on, but he wasn'tgoin' to see that there corp take second place at his own funeral. Not if he could help it. And as for the others, he thought that thepall-bearers had a blanked sight more to do with the plantin' than themgiddy mourners. "

But when they gathered at the Meredith ranch to carry out The Pilotto his grave it was felt that the Foothill Country was called to a newexperience. They were all there. The men from the Porcupine and frombeyond the Fort, the Police with the Inspector in command, all thefarmers for twenty miles around, and of course all the ranchers andcowboys of the Swan Creek country. There was no effort at repression. There was no need, for in the cowboys, for the first time in theirexperience, there was no heart for fun. And as they rode up and hitchedtheir horses to the fence, or drove their sleighs into the yard andtook off the bells, there was no loud-voiced salutation, no guying norchaffing, but with silent nod they took their places in the crowd aboutthe door or passed into the kitchen. 

The men from the Porcupine could not quite understand the gloomysilence. It was something unprecedented in a country where men laughedall care to scorn and saluted death with a nod. But they were quick toread signs, and with characteristic courtesy they fell in with the moodthey could not understand. There is no man living so quick to feel yourmood, and so ready to adapt himself to it, as is the true Westerner. 

This was the day of the cowboy's grief. To the rest of the communityThe Pilot was preacher; to them he was comrade and friend. They had beenslow to admit him to their confidence, but steadily he had won his placewith them, till within the last few months they had come to count him asof themselves. He had ridden the range with them; he had slept in theirshacks and cooked his meals on their tin stoves; and, besides, he wasBill's chum. That alone was enough to give him a right to all theyowned. He was theirs, and they were only beginning to take full pride inhim when he passed out from them, leaving an emptiness in their life newand unexplained. No man in that country had ever shown concern for them, nor had it occurred to them that any man could, till The Pilot came. It took them long to believe that the interest he showed in them wasgenuine and not simply professional. Then, too, from a preacher theyhad expected chiefly pity, warning, rebuke. The Pilot astonished themby giving them respect, admiration, and open-hearted affection. It wasmonths before they could get over their suspicion that he was humbuggingthem. When once they did, they gave him back without knowing it all thetrust and love of their big, generous hearts. He had made this world newto some of them, and to all had given glimpses of the next. It was nowonder that they stood in dumb groups about the house where the man, whohad done all this for them and had been all this to them lay dead. 

There was no demonstration of grief. The Duke was in command, and hisquiet, firm voice, giving directions, helped all to self-control. Thewomen who were gathered in the middle room were weeping quietly. Billwas nowhere to be seen, but near the inner door sat Gwen in her chair, with Lady Charlotte beside her, holding her hand. Her face, worn withlong suffering, was pale, but serene as the morning sky, and with not atrace of tears. As my eye caught hers, she beckoned me to her. 

"Where's Bill?" she said. "Bring him in. "

I found him at the back of the house. 

"Aren't you coming in, Bill?" I said. 

"No; I guess there's plenty without me, " he said, in his slow way. 

"You'd better come in; the service is going to begin, " I urged. 

"Don't seem as if I cared for to hear anythin' much. I ain't much usedto preachin', anyway, " said Bill, with careful indifference, but headded to himself, "except his, of course. "

"Come in, Bill, " I urged. "It will look queer, you know, " but Billreplied:

"I guess I'll not bother, " adding, after a pause: "You see, there's themwimmin turnin' on the waterworks, and like as not they'd swamp me sure. "

"That's so, " said Hi, who was standing near, in silent sympathy with hisfriend's grief. 

I reported to Gwen, who answered in her old imperious way, "Tell him Iwant him. " I took Bill the message. 

"Why didn't you say so before?" he said, and, starting up, he passedinto the house and took up his position behind Gwen's chair. Opposite, and leaning against the door, stood The Duke, with a look of quietearnestness on his handsome face. At his side stood the Hon. Fred Ashley, and behind him the Old Timer, looking bewildered andwoe-stricken. The Pilot had filled a large place in the old man's life. The rest of the men stood about the room and filled the kitchen beyond, all quiet, solemn, sad. 

In Gwen's room, the one farthest in, lay The Pilot, stately andbeautiful under the magic touch of death. And as I stood and looked downupon the quiet face I saw why Gwen shed no tear, but carried a look ofserene triumph. She had read the face aright. The lines of wearinessthat had been growing so painfully clear the last few months weresmoothed out, the look of care was gone, and in place of weariness andcare, was the proud smile of victory and peace. He had met his foe andwas surprised to find his terror gone. 

The service was beautiful in its simplicity. The minister, The Pilot'schief, had come out from town to take charge. He was rather a littleman, but sturdy and well set. His face was burnt and seared with thesuns and frosts he had braved for years. Still in the prime of hismanhood, his hair and beard were grizzled and his face deep-lined, forthe toils and cares of a pioneer missionary's life are neither few norlight. But out of his kindly blue eye looked the heart of a hero, andas he spoke to us we felt the prophet's touch and caught a gleam of theprophet's fire. 

"I have fought the fight, " he read. The ring in his voice lifted up allour heads, and, as he pictured to us the life of that battered hero whohad written these words, I saw Bill's eyes begin to gleam and his lankfigure straighten out its lazy angles. Then he turned the leaves quicklyand read again, "Let not your heart be troubled . . . In my father'shouse are many mansions. " His voice took a lower, sweeter tone; helooked over our heads, and for a few moments spoke of the eternal hope. Then he came back to us, and, looking round into the faces turned soeagerly to him, talked to us of The Pilot--how at the first he had senthim to us with fear and trembling--he was so young--but how he had cometo trust in him and to rejoice in his work, and to hope much from hislife. Now it was all over; but he felt sure his young friend had notgiven his life in vain. He paused as he looked from one to the other, till his eyes rested on Gwen's face. I was startled, as I believe hewas, too, at the smile that parted her lips, so evidently saying: "Yes, but how much better I know than you. "

"Yes, " he went on, after a pause, answering her smile, "you all knowbetter than I that his work among you will not pass away with hisremoval, but endure while you live, " and the smile on Gwen's face grewbrighter. "And now you must not grudge him his reward and his rest . . . And his home. " And Bill, nodding his head slowly, said under his breath, "That's so. "

Then they sang that hymn of the dawning glory of Immanuel's land, --LadyCharlotte playing the organ and The Duke leading with clear, steadyvoice verse after verse. When they came to the last verse the ministermade a sign and, while they waited, he read the words:

 "I've wrestled on towards heaven 'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide. "

And so on to that last victorious cry, --

 "I hail the glory dawning In Immanuel's Land. "

For a moment it looked as if the singing could not go on, for tearswere on the minister's face and the women were beginning to sob, but TheDuke's clear, quiet voice caught up the song and steadied them all tothe end. 

After the prayer they all went in and looked at The Pilot's face andpassed out, leaving behind only those that knew him best. The Duke andthe Hon. Fred stood looking down upon the quiet face. 

"The country has lost a good man, Duke, " said the Hon. Fred. The Dukebowed silently. Then Lady Charlotte came and gazed a moment. 

"Dear Pilot, " she whispered, her tears falling fast. "Dear, dear Pilot!Thank God for you! You have done much for me. " Then she stooped andkissed him on his cold lips and on his forehead. 

Then Gwen seemed to suddenly waken as from a dream. She turned and, looking up in a frightened way, said to Bill hurriedly:

"I want to see him again. Carry me!"

And Bill gathered her up in his arms and took her in. As they lookeddown upon the dead face with its look of proud peace and touched withthe stateliness of death, Gwen's fear passed away. But when The Dukemade to cover the face, Gwen drew a sharp breath and, clinging to Bill, said, with a sudden gasp:

"Oh, Bill, I can't bear it alone. I'm afraid alone. "

She was thinking of the long, weary days of pain before her that shemust face now without The Pilot's touch and smile and voice. 

"Me, too, " said Bill, thinking of the days before him. He could havesaid nothing better. Gwen looked in his face a moment, then said:

"We'll help each other, " and Bill, swallowing hard, could only nod hishead in reply. Once more they looked upon The Pilot, leaning down andlingering over him, and then Gwen said quietly:

"Take me away, Bill, " and Bill carried her into the outer room. Turningback I caught a look on The Duke's face so full of grief that I couldnot help showing my amazement. He noticed and said:

"The best man I ever knew, Connor. He has done something for me too. . . . I'd give the world to die like that. "

Then he covered the face. 

We sat Gwen's window, Bill, with Gwen in his arms, and I watching. Down the sloping, snow-covered hill wound the procession of sleighs andhorsemen, without sound of voice or jingle of bell till, one by one, they passed out of our sight and dipped down into the canyon. But weknew every step of the winding trail and followed them in fancy throughthat fairy scene of mystic wonderland. We knew how the great elms andthe poplars and the birches clinging to the snowy sides interlaced theirbare boughs into a network of bewildering complexity, and how the cedarsand balsams and spruces stood in the bottom, their dark boughs weighteddown with heavy white mantles of snow, and how every stump and fallenlog and rotting stick was made a thing of beauty by the snow that hadfallen so gently on them in that quiet spot. And we could see the rocksof the canyon sides gleam out black from under overhanging snow-banks, and we could hear the song of the Swan in its many tones, now underan icy sheet, cooing comfortably, and then bursting out into sunlitlaughter and leaping into a foaming pool, to glide away smoothlymurmuring its delight to the white banks that curved to kiss the darkwater as it fled. And where the flowers had been, the violets and thewind-flowers and the clematis and the columbine and all the ferns andflowering shrubs, there lay the snow. Everywhere the snow, pure, white, and myriad-gemmed, but every flake a flower's shroud. 

Out where the canyon opened to the sunny, sloping prairie, there theywould lay The Pilot to sleep, within touch of the canyon he loved, withall its sleeping things. And there he lies to this time. But Spring hascome many times to the canyon since that winter day, and has called tothe sleeping flowers, summoning them forth in merry troops, and evermore and more till the canyon ripples with them. And lives are likeflowers. In dying they abide not alone, but sow themselves and bloomagain with each returning spring, and ever more and more. 

For often during the following years, as here and there I came upon oneof those that companied with us in those Foothill days, I would catch aglimpse in word and deed and look of him we called, first in jest, butafterwards with true and tender feeling we were not ashamed to own, ourSky Pilot.