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Jebb and Mrs. Jebb and anybody else I could get hold of, to have your probation extended for another year. And the best news we have so far is the possibility of another six months. After that, you must go back to college to complete your course."
COLLEGE! Jim was thunderstruck. How many a man has all his dream of bliss summed up in that one word--college? "Oh, if only I had money enough to go to college!" is the cry of hundreds who hunger for the things that college means; and yet, to Jim, it was like a doom of death.
College, with all the horror of the cla.s.sroom ten times worse since knowing the better things. College in the far-off East--deadly, lifeless, crus.h.i.+ng thing; college that meant good-bye to Belle, to life, and red blood on the plains. Yes, he knew it was coming, if ever he gave the horrid thing a thought; but now that it was close at hand the idea was maddening. College was simply another name for h.e.l.l. The effect of the sudden thought on his wild, impulsive nature was one great surging tide of rebellion.
"_I won't go!_" he thundered. "Belle, do you suppose G.o.d brought me out here to meet you, and have you save me from ruin and help me to know the best things on earth, just to chuck it all and go back to a lot of useless rot about the number of wives the kings of Judah used to have, or how some two-faced Hebrew woman laid traps for some wine-soaked Philistine brute, and stuck the rotten loafer in the back with a kitchen knife all for the pleasure and glory of a righteous G.o.d! I don't want any more of it, Belle; _I won't go!_ You've told me often enough that my instincts are better than my judgment, and my instincts tell me to stay right here," and his face flushed red with pa.s.sion.
"Dear boy! Don't you know I'm trying to help you? Don't you know I mean to keep you here? You know that we can get anything we want, if we are willing to pay the price, and _will_ have it. I mean to keep you here; only I am trying not to pay too high a price."
She laid her hand on his. He reached out and put an arm about her. She said nothing, and did nothing. She knew that he must blow off this fierce steam, and that the reaction would then set in with equal force.
They rode for a mile in silence; she wanted him to speak first.
"You always help me," he said at last, heaving a great sigh. "You are wiser than I am."
She gently patted his cheek. He went on: "What do you think I should do?"
"Nothing for three days; then we'll see."
They galloped for half a mile, and every sign of worry was gone from his face as they reined their horses in at the stable of Fort Ryan.
CHAPTER x.x.xV
When the Greasewood is in Bloom
Big things were in the air, as all the hors.e.m.e.n knew. Blazing Star had wintered well and, being a four-and-a-half-year-old, was in his prime.
Red Rover in the adjoining stable was watched with equal care. Prairie hay was judged good enough for the country horses; but baled timothy, at shocking prices, was brought from Pierre for the two racers; and, after a brief period of letdown on clover and alfalfa, the regular routine diet of a race horse was begun, as a matter of course. Little Breeches had left, chiefly because of unpleasant remarks that he continued to hear in the stable. He had taken a springtime job among the cattle. So Peaches, having no other string to his bow, allowed the officers "to secure his services as second a.s.sistant trainer," as he phrased it, or, as they with brutal simplicity put it, "as stable boy." He accepted this gravely responsible position on the explicit understanding that allusions to the late race were in bad taste.
Why should these two horses be so carefully trained? There was no race on the calendar. No, but every one a.s.sumed that there would be a challenge, and n.o.body dreamed of declining it. So, one day when all the plains were spangle-glint with gra.s.s and bloom, the sentry reported hors.e.m.e.n in the south, a band of Indians, probably Sioux. It was an hour before they halted near the Fort, and Red Cloud, on a fine strong pony, came with his counsellors around him to swing his hand in the free grace of the sign talk, to smoke and wait, and wait and smoke, and then speak, as before, on the Colonel's porch.
"Did the Soldier High Chief want a race this year?"
"Sure thing," was all the interpreter had to trans.m.u.te.
"When?"
"As before."
"When the greasewood blooms, on the white man's big noisy wet Sunday?"
For the treaty money was to be paid that day. And Colonel Waller's eyes lit up.
So it was arranged that the Fourth of July they should race as before on the Fort Ryan track; the horses were to be named on the day of the race.
And Red Cloud rode away.
Jim Hartigan was present at that interview; he watched their every move, he drank in every word, and he rode at a gallop till he found Belle.
"Belle, the race is on for the Fourth of July, they're going to enter Blazing Star. Oh, glory be! I'll see that race; I'll see Blazing Star show all the country how."
"Yes, unless you are sent back to college."
"Oh, Belle, that's a cruel one. Just as everything looks gay, you hand me that," and his face clouded. He knew too well that there was little likelihood of an extension; it was most unusual. Why should an exception be made in his case?
"You know, Jim," she said very seriously, "we have been trying to move the president of the college; and the fact that you are so much of a favourite is additional reason for getting you back. The president has turned us down."
"Well, Belle, I simply won't go."
"You mean you will break with the Church?"
"I'll avoid that as long as possible, but I won't go back--at least, not now."
"Jim," she said, with a twinkle in her eye, "the president turned down Dr. Jebb and John Higginbotham and you; but we were not licked. Mrs.
Jebb, Hannah Higginbotham, and myself went after the president's wife, and this morning Dr. Jebb got a new mandate; not all we asked, but your furlough is extended for six months more."
"Hooray! Whoop!" was the response.
"Yes, I thought so," said Belle. "That's why I asked Dr. Jebb to let me break the news. For a serious divinity student, it's wonderful what a good imitation you can give of a man who hates books."
"Well, now, Belle, you know, and I know, and all the world knows, I can preach a better sermon than Dr. Jebb, although he has studied a thousand books to my one and knows more in a minute of time than I can ever know in a month of Sundays. And, if I go to college and learn to talk like him, I'll put people to sleep in church just as he does. Hasn't the attendance doubled since I came?" There was no question of that due in part to the growth of the town, and partly also to Hartigan's winning personality and interesting though not very scholarly sermons.
"All right," said Belle. "You are saved from the terrible fate for six months. Be happy."
And he was. To such a buoyant soul a guarantee of six months' freedom put slavery so very far away that it was easy to forget it.
CHAPTER x.x.xVI
Shoeing the Buckskin
Hartigan and the blacksmith were at it hard again.
"Look a' here," said s.h.i.+ves, "I want ye to notice all this here Church business was faked up by that man Paul, or Saul, or whatever he called himself; and the real disciples would have nothing to do with him. They threw him down cold whenever he tried to mix in. Now if you chuck him and stick to the simple kindness of the old-timers that really did sit around with the Master--Paul _never even saw_ Him!--I'm willing to hear ye. But a man that writes whole screeds about getting or not getting married and what kind of frippery women have to wear on their heads, well, I've got him sized up for a fellow that had a dressing down from some woman and probably deserved all he got--and more."
It was a long speech for s.h.i.+ves and more than once John Higginbotham tried to break in.
But s.h.i.+ves struck the anvil a succession of ringing blows which overpowered all rival voices as effectively as any speaker's gavel could have done. Then, turning suddenly on Higginbotham, he said, "See here, _Deacon_" (and he stressed the "Deacon"), "if you take the trouble to read a publication called the Bible, and in particular the early numbers of the second volume, you'll find that the Big Teacher taught socialism--and the real disciples did, too. It was that little lawyer feller Paul that succeeded in twisting things around to the old basis of 'get all you can; there must always be rich and poor'; and it ain't a bit of use your preaching to a man 'don't steal,' when his babies are crying for bread. I know I'd steal fast enough; so would you, if you were anything of a man. It would be your 'fore-G.o.d duty to steal; yes, and murder, too, if there was no other way of feeding them that He gave you to feed. And the law has no right to preach 'no stealing' when it fixes it so you can't help stealing. If this yere government of ours was what it pretends to be and ain't, it would arrange so every man could get enough work at least to feed him and his folks and save himself from starvation when he was sick or old. There wouldn't be any stealing then and mighty little of any other crime.
"That's my opinion; and I tell you it was that way the Big Teacher preached it in the beginning, as you can see plain enough. And the first ring of disciples were honest socialists. It was that letter-writing advance agent of the trusts that you call _Saint_ Paul, that managed to get control of the company and then twisted things back into the old ways. And in my opinion the hull bunch of you is crooks hiding behind the name of a good man who threw you down cold when He was alive. And the very words He used happens to be a verse I remember: 'Ye compa.s.s sea and land to make one proselyte and when he is made ye make him twofold more a child of h.e.l.l than yourselves.'"
And the anvil rang, "clang, clang, clang!"
"Now, s.h.i.+ves," bawled Jim in his stentorian voice, "you haven't _begun_ to think. And every statement you make is wrong and none of your quotations ever happened before; otherwise, I am quite willing to accept everything you say. For example----"
"h.e.l.lo! who's this?"