The Sky Pilot
With the waves of immigration which have rolled Westward from the more
populous East, the minister of the gospel has always been in the van.
Often he combined the functions of the school-teacher with the duties
of the medical missionary. Wherever a dozen families had settled
within a radius of a hundred miles, the representative of a church was
soon to follow. He preached no creed. His doctrines were as wide as
the horizon. Living in the open air, preaching to congregations
gathered from the ends of the country, dealing with men more
unconventional than immoral, his sermons were concerned with the square
deal rather than with dogma. His influences were incalculable. He made
ready the field for the reapers who gathered the glory with the advance
of refinement. On the frontier he married the children, buried the
dead, consoled the mourners, and rejoiced with those upon whom fortune
smiled. His hardships were many and his rewards nothing. Of all the
fields of human endeavor which built up the West, the ministry is the
only one in which the material returns have not been commensurate with
the labor expended.
The Reverend Samuel Price was the representatives of the Christian army
in Pinal County, Arizona, at the time of our story. He was long and
lank, narrow in the chest, with sloping shoulders. Even life on the
plains could not eradicate the scholarly droop. His trousers were
black, and they bagged at the knees. When riding, his trousers would
work up about his calves, showing a wide expanse of white socks. For
comfort he wore an alpaca coat, which hung loosely about him, and, for
the dignity of his profession, the only boiled shirt in the county,
with a frayed collar and white string-tie.
The Reverend Mr. Price was liked by the settlers. He never interfered
with what they considered their relaxations, and he had the saving
grace of humor.
The guests were performing a scalp-dance about the table when he
entered the room. For a tom-tom, Parenthesis was beating a bucket with
a gourd, and emitting strange cries with each thump. The noise and
shouts confused the minister. As he was blundering among the dancers,
they fell upon him with war-whoops, slapping him on the back and
crushing his straw hat over his ears.
Slim was the first to recognize the minister. He dashed into the
group, and, swinging several aside, cried to the others to desist.
"Pardon me, but do I intrude upon a scalp-dance?" smilingly asked the
parson.
"You sure have, Mr. Price," laughed Slim. "We hain't got to the
scalpin'-part yet, but we're fixin' to dance off Payson's scalp
to-night."
Peering at him with near-sighted eyes, Mr. Price extended his hand,
saying: "Ah, Mr. Hoover, our sheriff, is it not?"
Slim wrung the parson's hand until the preacher winced. Hiding his
discomfort, he slowly straightened out his fingers with a painful grin.
Slim had not noticed that he had hurt the parson by the heartiness of
his greeting. With a gesture he lined up the cowboys for introduction.
"Yes, sir, the boys call me Slim because I ain't." Pointing to the
first one in the group, he exclaimed: "This is Parenthesis."
Mr. Price looked at the awkwardly bowing cowboy in amazement. The name
was a puzzle to him. He could not grasp the application. "The editor
of the Kicker," explained Slim, "called him that because of his legs
bein' built that way." Mr. Price was forced to smile in spite of his
efforts to be polite. The editor had grasped the most striking feature
of the puncher's physical characteristics for a label.
Parenthesis beamed on the minister. "I was born on horseback," he
replied.
"That fellow there with a front tooth is Show Low," began Slim,
speaking like a lecturer in a freak-show. "The one without a front
tooth is Fresno, a California product. This yere chap with the
water-dob hair is Sage-brush Charley. It makes him sore when you call
him plain Charley."
"Charley bein' a Chink name," supplemented its owner.
Silence fell over the group, for they did not know what was the proper
thing to do next. A minister was to be respected, and not to be made
one of them. He must take the lead in the conversation. Mr. Price was
at a loss how to begin. He had not recovered fully from the roughness
of his welcome, so Slim took the lead again.
"I heard you preach once up to Florence," he announced, to the profound
astonishment of his hearers.
"Indeed," politely responded Mr. Price, feeling the futility of making
any further observations. He feared to fall into some trap. The
answers made by the boys did not seem to fit particularly well with
what he expected and was accustomed to. The parson could not make out
whether the boys were joking with him, or whether their replies were
unconscious humor on their part.
"Yep, I lost an election bet, and had to go to church," answered Slim,
in all seriousness.
The cowboys laughed, and Mr. Price lamely replied: "Oh, yes, I see."
"It was a good show," continued Slim, doing his best to appear at ease.
The frantic corrections of his companions only made him flounder about
the more.
"Excuse me," he apologized, "I mean that I enjoyed it."
"Do you recall the subject of my discourse," inquired Mr. Price, coming
to his assistance.
"Your what course?" asked Slim.
"My sermon?" answered the parson.
"Well, I should say yes," replied the Sheriff, greatly relieved to
think that he was once more out of deep water. "It was about some
shorthorn that jumped the home corral to maverick around loose in the
alfalfa with a bunch of wild ones."
The explanation was too much for Mr. Price. Great student of the Bible
as he had been, here was one lesson which he had not studied. As told
by Slim, he could not recall any text or series of text from which he
might have drawn similes fitted for his cowboy congregation, when he
had one. "Really, I--" he began.
Slim, however, was not to be interrupted. If he stopped he never could
begin again, he felt. Waving to the preacher to be silent, he
continued his description: "When his wad was gone the bunch threw him
down, and he had to hike for the sage-brush an' feed with the hogs on
husks an' sech like winter fodder."
The minister caught the word "husks." Slim was repeating his own
version of the parable of the Prodigal Son.
"Husks? Oh, the Prodigal Son," smiled Price.
"That's him," Slim sighed, with relief. "This yere feed not being up
to grade, Prod he 'lows he'd pull his freight back home, square himself
with the old man and start a new deal--"
Sage-brush was deeply interested in the story. Its charm had attracted
him as it had scholars and outcasts alike since first told two thousand
years ago on the plains of Old Judea.
"Did he stand for it?" he interrupted.
"He sure did," eloquently replied Slim, who was surprised and delighted
with the great impression he was making with his experience at church.
"Oh, he was a game old buck, he was. Why, the minute he sighted that
there prodigious son a-limpin' across the mesa, he ran right out an'
fell on his neck--"
"An' broke it," cried Fresno, slapping Sage-brush with his hat in his
delight at getting at the climax of the story before Slim reached it.
The narrator cast a glance of supreme disgust at the laughing puncher.
"No, what the hell!" he shouted. "He hugged him. Then he called in
the neighbors, barbecued a yearlin' calf, an' give a barn-dance, with
fireworks in the evenin'."
"That's all right in books," observed Sage-brush, "but if I'd made a
break like that when I was a kid my old man would a fell on my neck for
fair."
"That was a good story, Parson--it's straight, ain't it?" asked Slim,
as a wave of doubt swept over him.
"It's gospel truth," answered the minister. "Do you know the moral of
the story?"
"Sure," replied Slim. With a confidence born of deep self-assurance,
Slim launched the answer: "Don't be a fatted calf."
At first his hearers did not grasp the full force of the misapplication
of the parable. Mr. Price could not refrain from laughing. The others
joined with him when the humor of the reply dawned upon them. Pointing
scornfully at the fat Sheriff, they shouted gleefully, while Slim
blushed through his tan.
"Now, if you'll kindly show me where--" began Mr. Price.
"Sure. All the liquor's in the kitchen--" said Sage-brush, expanding
with hospitality.
Slim pushed Sage-brush back into his chair, and Parenthesis tapped the
minister on the shoulder to distract his attention.
"Thanks. I meant to ask for a place to change clothes."
"Sure you mustn't mind Sage-brush there," apologized Parenthesis; "he's
allus makin' breaks. Let me tote your war-bag. Walk this way."
"Good day, gentlemen," smiled Mr. Price. "When you are up my way, I
trust you will honor my church with your presence--" adding, after a
pause--"without waiting to lose an election bet."
The entrance of a Greaser to refill glasses diverted the attention of
the guests until the most important function for them was performed.
With "hows" and "here's to the bride," they drank the toast. Slim, as
majordomo of the feast, felt it incumbent upon himself to keep the
others in order. Turning angrily upon Sage-brush, he said. "Why did
you tell the Sky Pilot where the liquor was?"
"I was just tryin' to do the right thing," answered Sage-brush
defiantly.
"Embarrassin' us all like that. You ought to know that parsons don't
hit up the gasoline--in public," scolded Slim.
Sage muttered sulkily: "I never herded with parsons none."
Parenthesis diplomatically avoided any further controversy by calling:
"They're gettin' ready. Jim's got Jack in the back room tryin' to
cheer him up. Boys, is everything ready for the getaway?"
"Sage-brush, did you get that rice?" demanded Slim.
"That's so--I forgot. I couldn't get no rice though. Dawson didn't
have none."
Without telling what he did get, Sage-brush ran from the room to the
corral.
"I told you not to let him have anything to do with it," said Fresno,
glaring at his fellow workers. Each was silent, as the accusation was
general, and none had been taken into the confidence of Sage-brush and
Fresno when arrangements were being made for the feast. Fresno had to
blame some one, however. By this time Sage-brush had returned,
carrying a bag.
"What did you get?" asked Slim.
"Corn," replied Sage-brush laconically.
"Ain't he the darndest!" Show Low expressed the disgust which the
others showed.
"Why, darn it," shouted Slim, shaking his fist at the unfortunate
Sage-brush, "you can't let the bride and groom hop the home ranch
without chuckin' rice at 'em--it's bad medicine."
"Ain't he disgustin'!" interrupted Fresno.
"What does rice mean, anyhow?" asked the bewildered Sage-brush.
"It means something about wishin' 'em good luck, health, wealth, an'
prosperity, an' all that sort of thing--it's a sign an' symbol of joy,"
rattled off Slim.
"Well, now, ain't there more joy in corn than in rice?" triumphantly
asked Sage-brush.
Slim jerked open the top of the bag while Sage-brush stood by
helplessly. "Well, the darned idiot!" he muttered, as he peered into
it. "If he ain't gone and got it on the ear," he continued, as he
pulled a big ear out.
"All the better," chuckled Sage-brush. "We'll chuck 'em joy in
bunches."
"Don't you know that if you hit the bride with a club like this--you'll
put her plumb out?" cried Slim.
Sage-brush was not cast down, however. Always resourceful, he
suggested: "We'll shell some for the bride, but we'll hand Jack his in
bunches."
The idea appealing to the punchers, each grabbed an ear of corn. Some
brandished the ears like clubs; others aimed them like revolvers.
"I'll keep this one," said Slim, picking out an unusually large ear.
"It's a .44. I'll get one of the Greasers to shell some for the bride."
The bride was arrayed in her wedding-gown. Mrs. Allen was ready for a
fresh burst of weeping. The girls had assembled in the large room in
which the ceremony was to be performed. Polly acted as her herald for
the cowboys. Appearing in the doorway, she commanded: "Say, you folks
come on and get seated."
Slim stood beside Polly as the boys marched past him. His general
admonition was: "The first one you shorthorns that makes a break, I'm
goin' to bend a gun over your head."
The guests grinned cheerfully as they marched past the couple.
"There's a heap of wickedness in that bunch," remarked Slim piously to
the girl. Tossing a flower to him as she darted away, she cried: "You
ain't none too good yourself, Slim."
"Ain't she a likely filly," mused the love-sick Sheriff. "If there's
anybody that could make me good, it's her. I'm all in. If ever I get
the nerve all at once--darn me if I don't ask her right out."
But Slim's courage oozed as quickly as it had arisen, and with a sigh
he followed his companions to the wedding.