GEORGE TURNS REFORMER
George was working in the summer fallow a few days after his return
from Grant's homestead, when a man rode across the plowing and pulled
up his horse beside him. He was on the whole a handsome fellow, well
mounted and smartly dressed, but there was a hint of hardness in his
expression. George recognized him as the landlord of a hotel at the
settlement.
"Your crop's not looking too good," the stranger greeted him.
"No," returned George. "It was badly put in, and we've had unusually
dry weather."
"I forgot," the other rejoined. "You're the fellow Jake Gillet had the
trouble with. Beat him down on the price, didn't you? He's a bad man
to bluff."
"The point that concerned me was that he asked a good deal more than
his work was worth."
The man looked at George curiously.
"That's quite possible, but you might have let him down more gently
than you did. As a newcomer, you don't want to kick too much or run up
against things other folks put up with."
George wondered where the hint he had been given led.
"I rode over to bring this paper for you to sign," the man went on.
Glancing through it, George saw that it was a petition against any
curtailment of the licenses at Sage Butte, and a testimonial to the
excellent manner in which the Sachem Hotel was conducted by its owner,
Oliver Beamish. George had only once entered the place, but it had
struck him as being badly kept and frequented by rather undesirable
customers.
"Some fool temperance folks are starting a campaign--want to shut the
hotels," his visitor explained. "You'll put your name to this."
"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Mr. Beamish. I can't form an
opinion; I haven't heard the other side yet."
"Do you want to hear them? Do you like that kind of talk?"
George smiled, though he was not favorably impressed by the man. His
tone was too dictatorial; George expected civility when asked a favor.
"After all," he said, "it would only be fair."
"Then you won't sign?"
"No."
Beamish sat silent a moment or two, regarding George steadily.
"One name more or less doesn't matter much, but I'll own that the
opinion of you farmers who use my hotel as a stopping-place counts with
the authorities," he told him. "I've got quite a few signatures. You
want to remember that it won't pay you to go against the general wish."
There was a threat in his manner, and George's face hardened.
"That consideration hasn't much weight with me," he said.
"Well," returned Beamish, "I guess you're wrong; but as there's nothing
doing here, I'll get on."
He rode away, and George thought no more of the matter for several
days. Then as he was riding home with Edgar from a visit to a neighbor
who had a team to sell, they stopped to rest a few minutes in the shade
of a poplar bluff. It was fiercely hot on the prairie, but the wood
was dim and cool, and George followed Edgar through it in search of
saskatoons. The red berries were plentiful, and they had gone farther
than they intended when George stopped waist-deep in the grass of a dry
sloo, where shallow water had lain in the spring. He nearly fell over
something large and hard. Stooping down, he saw with some surprise
that it was a wooden case.
"I wonder what's in it?" he said.
"Bottles," reported Edgar, pulling up a board of the lid. "One of the
cure-everything tonics, according to the labels. It strikes me as a
curious place to leave it in."
George carefully looked about. He could distinguish a faint track,
where the grasses had been disturbed, running straight across the sloo
past the spot he occupied; but he thought that the person who had made
the track had endeavored to leave as little mark as possible. Then he
glanced out between the poplar trunks across the sunlit prairie. There
was not a house on it; scarcely a clump of timber broke its even
surface. The bluff was very lonely; and George remembered that a trail
which ran near by led to an Indian reservation some distance to the
north. While he considered, Edgar broke in:
"As neither of us requires a pick-me-up, it might be better to leave
the thing where it is."
"That," replied George, "is my own idea."
Edgar looked thoughtful.
"The case didn't come here by accident; and one wouldn't imagine that
tonics are in great demand in this locality. I have, however, heard
the liquor laws denounced; and as a rule it's wise to leave matters
that don't concern you severely alone."
"Just so," said George. "We'll get on again, if you have had enough
berries."
On reaching the homestead, they found a note from Miss Grant inviting
them to come over in the evening; and both were glad to comply with it.
When they arrived, the girl led them into a room where a lady of
middle-age and a young man in clerical attire were sitting with her
father.
"Mrs. Nelson has come over from Sage Butte on a mission," she said,
when she presented them. "Mr. Hardie, who is the Methodist minister
there, is anxious to meet you."
The lady was short and slight in figure but was marked by a most
resolute expression.
"The mission is Mr. Hardie's," she said. "I'm merely his assistant. I
suppose you're a temperance reformer, Mr. Lansing?"
"No," George answered meekly; "I can't say I am."
"Then you'll have to become one. How long is it since you indulged in
drink?"
George felt a little embarrassed, but Edgar, seeing Flora's smile and
the twinkle in her father's eyes, hastily came to his rescue.
"Nearly a month, to my knowledge. That is, if you don't object to
strong green tea, consumed in large quantities."
"One should practise moderation in everything. _Everything_!"
"It has struck me," said Edgar thoughtfully, "that moderation is now
and then desirable in temperance reform."
Mrs. Nelson fixed her eyes on him with a severe expression.
"Are you a scoffer?"
"No," said Edgar; "as a matter of fact, I'm open to conviction,
especially if you intend to reform the Butte. In my opinion, it needs
it."
"Well," responded the lady, "you're a signature, anyway; and we want as
many as we can get. But we'll proceed to business. Will you state our
views, Mr. Hardie?"
The man began quietly, and George was favorably impressed by him. He
had a pleasant, sun-burned face, and a well-knit but rather thin
figure, which suggested that he was accustomed to physical exertion.
As he could not afford a horse, he made long rounds on foot to visit
his scattered congregation, under scorching sun and in the stinging
frost.
"There are four churches in Sage Butte, but I sometimes fear that most
of the good they do is undone in the pool room and the saloons," he
said. "Of the latter, one cannot, perhaps, strongly object to the
Queen's."
"One should always object to a saloon," Mrs. Nelson corrected him.
Hardie smiled good-humoredly.
"After all, the other's the more pressing evil. There's no doubt about
the unfortunate influence of the Sachem."
"That's so," Grant agreed. "When I first came out from Ontario, there
wasn't a loafer in the town. When the boys were through with their
day's job, they had a quiet talk and smoke and went to bed; they came
here to work. Now the Sachem bar's full of slouchers every night, and
quite a few of them don't do anything worth speaking of in the daytime,
except make trouble for decent folks. If the boys try to put the screw
on a farmer at harvest or when he has extra wheat to haul, you'll find
they hatched the mischief at Beamish's saloon. But I've no use for
giving those fellows tracts with warning pictures."
"That," said Mrs. Nelson, "is by no means what we intend to do."
"I'm afraid that admonition hasn't had much effect, and I agree with
Mr. Grant that the Sachem is a gathering place for doubtful
characters," Hardie went on. "What's worse, I've reasons for supposing
that Beamish gets some of them to help him in supplying the Indians on
the reservation with liquor."
This was a serious offense, and there was a pause, during which Edgar
glanced meaningly at George. Then he made a pertinent remark.
"Four churches to two saloons is pretty long odds. Why do you think it
needful to call in the farmers?"
Hardie looked troubled, but he showed that he was honest.
"The churches are thinly attended; I'm the only resident clergyman, and
I'm sorry I must confess that some of our people are indifferent:
reluctant, or perhaps half afraid, to interfere. They want a clear
lead; if we could get a big determined meeting it might decide the
waverers."
"Then you're not sure of winning?" asked Grant.
"No," replied Hardie. "There'll be strong and well-managed opposition;
in fact, we have nearly everything against us. I've been urged to
wait, but the evil's increasing; those against us are growing stronger."
"If you lose, you and your friends will find the Butte pretty hot. But
you feel you have a chance, a fighting chance, and you mean to take it?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm with you,"' Grant declared with a grim smile. "Don't mistake
me: I take my glass of lager when I feel like it--there's some right
here in the house--but, if it's needful, I can do without. I'm not
going into this thing to help you in preaching to whisky-tanks and
toughs--it's the law I'm standing for. If what you suspect is going
on, we'll soon have our colts rebranded and our calves missing. We
have got to clean out Beamish's crowd."
"Thanks," said Hardie, with keen satisfaction.
He turned to George.
"I'd be glad of your support, Mr. Lansing."
George sat silent a moment or two while Flora watched him. Then he
said quietly:
"My position's much the same as Mr. Grant's--I can do without. After
what you have said about the Sachem, I'll join you."
"And you?" Hardie asked Edgar.
The lad laughed.
"I follow my leader. The loungers about the Sachem weren't civil to
me; said unpleasant things about my appearance and my English clothes.
To help to make them abstainers strikes me as a happy thought."
Flora glanced at him in amused reproof, and Hardie turned to Grant.
"What about your hired men?"
"Count them in; they go with me. If you have brought any memorial
along, I'll see they sign it."
"I wish all our supporters had your determination," Mrs. Nelson
remarked approvingly.
Hardie ventured a protest.
"I don't want any pressure put upon them, Mr. Grant."
"Pressure?" queried the farmer. "I'll just ask them to sign."
"I wonder if you're quite satisfied with the purity of all your allies'
motives, Mr. Hardie?" Edgar inquired.
A smile crept into the clergyman's face.
"I don't think a leader's often in that position, Mr. West; and
considering what I'm up against, I can't refuse any support that's
offered me. It's one reason why I've taken yours."
"Now that I've joined you, I'd better mention a little discovery West
and I made this afternoon," said George.
Hardie's expression grew eager as he listened.
"It's certainly liquor--for the reservation Indians," he broke out.
"If we can fix the thing on Beamish--I haven't a doubt that he's
responsible--we can close the Sachem."
"Then we had better decide how it's to be done," Grant said curtly.
He ruled out several suggestions, and finally said:
"I expect the case will be sent for to-night, and we want two witnesses
who'll lie by in the sloo. One of them ought to be a farmer; but we'll
see about that. Guess your part is to find out how the liquor left the
Butte, Mr. Hardie. What do you think of the plan, ma'am?"
"I leave it to you," said Mrs. Nelson, half reluctantly. "But be
warned--if the men can't close the Sachem, the women of Sage Butte will
undertake the thing."
"Then we have only to decide who is to watch the bluff," said Hardie.
"As I first mentioned the matter, I'll go, for one," George volunteered.
"You're the right man," declared Grant. "As a newcomer who's never
been mixed up with local affairs, your word would carry more weight
with the court. The opposition couldn't make you out a partizan. But
you want to recognize what you're doing--after this, you'll find
yourself up against all the Sachem toughs. It's quite likely they'll
make trouble for you."
"I wonder whether such reasons count for much with Mr. Lansing?" Flora
said suggestively.
George made no reply, but Edgar laughed.
"They don't, Miss Grant; you can set your mind at rest on that. You
don't seem curious whether they count with me."
"You're not going," Grant told him. "We must have two men who can be
relied on, and I can put my hand on another who's younger and a little
more wiry than I am." He turned to George. "What you have to do is to
lie close in the sloo grass until the fellows come for the liquor, when
you'll follow them to the reservation, without their seeing you. Then
you'll ride up and make sure you would know them again. They should
get there soon after daylight, as they won't strike the bluff until
it's dark, but there's thick brush in the ravine the trail follows for
the last few miles. It won't matter if they light out, because Flett
will pick up their trail. I'll send for him right off, but he could
hardly get through before morning."
The party broke up shortly afterward, and George rode home, wondering
why he had allowed himself to become involved in what might prove to be
a troublesome matter. His ideas on the subject were not very clear,
but he felt that Flora Grant had expected him to take a part. Then he
had been impressed in Hardie's favor; the man was in earnest, ready to
court popular hostility, but he was nevertheless genial and free from
dogmatic narrow-mindedness. Behind all this, there was in George a
detestation of vicious idleness and indulgence, and a respect for right
and order. Since he had been warned that the badly-kept hotel
sheltered a gang of loafers plotting mischief and willing to prey upon
men who toiled strenuously, he was ready for an attempt to turn them
out. He agreed with Grant: the gang must be put down.