"GOOD-BYE."
The remainder of the homeward journey was without special incident. It
was several days before Victor Shelton fully recovered from the
pounding caused by his fall into the torrent. The loss of his rifle was
keenly felt, but he did not fret, for it would have been ungrateful
after his marvelous escape.
Jack Halloway's spirits were irrepressible, and his good nature was
like so much sunshine. The only fault to be found with him was his
inclination to burst into song, without waiting for urging on the part
of his friends. He was gifted with a tremendous voice, but
unfortunately he had no more idea of a tune than a grizzly bear. But no
one could criticize the fellow, who was the life of the little party.
The course of our friends was southeast, leading through the present
States of Wyoming, Colorado and into Kansas, where they struck the
trail of the year before. This was followed across Missouri, and,
without mishap, all four reached in due time that old French town on
the Mississippi.
Deerfoot and the boys stayed there for one night and a part of a day.
It was a visit which they always remembered. The only fly in the
ointment was the discovery by Jack Halloway that Dick Burley, after
all, had broken his promise. He had not been in St. Louis twenty-four
hours when he sauntered down to French Pete's place. That worthy met
him with a grin, supposing he had come to make his report, whose nature
was not doubted. Then Dick, after denouncing the fellow as he deserved,
proceeded to business in as emphatic a fashion as Jack had done the
preceding year. He was equally thorough, perhaps more so, for he not
only left the place a wreck, and the proprietor senseless, but "laid
out" two brawlers who happened to be present and were imprudent enough
to try to help the landlord.
"I've one hope," said Jack, in telling of the incident. "Pete will
start up agin and then it'll be _my_ turn to make a friendly call on
him."
In that humble home, on the upper margin of the straggling town of St.
Louis, Jack Halloway introduced George and Victor Shelton and Deerfoot
to his mother. She was a sprightly little lady, who could not have
weighed a hundred pounds, and whose soft, wavy, white hair and pink
cheeks and regular features spoke of the unusual beauty that was hers
when she was the belle of the town. She had a serene beauty and
winsomeness that warmed the hearts of the callers from the moment they
first saw her.
As soon as the introductions and greetings were over, Jack caught his
mother in his arms and tossed her as high as the ceiling would permit,
catching her as she descended and kissing her as if she were a little
child. Then, waving the others to seats, he dropped into the single
rocking chair and held her on his knee during the conversation that
followed. Her soul was wrapped up in this massive boy with the strength
of a giant, and her happiness over his restoration to her after her
years of prayer had a pathos and sweetness that nothing else in all the
world could give.
When the chatter had gone on for a few minutes Jack drew his mother's
face down beside his own and whispered:
"Did you ever see as handsome a chap as that young Indian sitting over
there in the corner? Look how modest he is, as if he didn't wish to be
noticed. Didn't you remember, when I told you his name is Deerfoot,
that he's the chap that made me throw away my flask of whiskey and was
the cause of my becoming a _man_?"
"No," replied the astonished parent, "I didn't recall it. I must have a
talk with him before he leaves us."
It was arranged after supper that George and Victor should go to the
home of Dick Burley to sleep. Room could have been made for them in the
cabin of Jack Halloway by letting the three rest on the floor, and he
and his mother would have been pleased; but the brothers showed good
taste by accepting the invitation of Burley, at whose house, for the
first time in many months, they slept in a bed. There was happy content
in that home also, for what loving, devoted wife is not thankful when
her husband is restored to her and is in his right mind?
That humble home where Jack Halloway smoked his pipe, with his mother
knitting beside him and Deerfoot a little way off in his chair, was the
picture of serene, grateful pleasure on the cool summer night, long
ago, when the three sat in converse.
The youth was so drawn to the pure, sweet-faced, motherly lady that he
could not refuse her request to tell her about himself. He talked more
freely than was his wont, and said many things he would not have said
in the presence of others. She penetrated the nobility of the youth,
who could read and write well, whose mind was stored with considerable
knowledge, whose woodcraft approached as near perfection as mortal man
can attain, and whose strength, skill and prowess (as she gathered from
incidents brought out in the course of the evening) were the superior
of any person's whom she had ever seen. In addition, as she said to her
son the next day, anyone would be tempted to talk to Deerfoot, because
it was such a pleasure to look upon the handsome countenance and to
make him smile and show his beautiful teeth.
So it was that Deerfoot was compelled to tell the whole story of his
encounter with Taggarak, with its remarkable sequel; of his fight with
the grizzly bear, and his conquest of Whirlwind, the peerless stallion.
He never would have done this but for the persistent questioning of
Mrs. Halloway. The boys had told Jack enough on the long ride from the
mountains to St. Louis for him to give his mother the necessary
pointers, and he helped her in driving the Shawanoe into a corner,
where he could not otherwise extricate himself.
The wonderful thing in the estimation of the good woman was that the
hero of these and many other exploits was a _Christian_. She had never
seen one of his race who professed to be a follower of the Meek and
Lowly One, though she had heard of such from the missionaries; but she
agreed with her son that no more perfect exemplar of Christianity was
to be found anywhere.
On the morrow, when the time came to part, Mrs. Halloway took the hand
of Deerfoot in her dainty palm, and in a trembling voice thanked him
for what he had done for her through what he did for her son. She
promised to pray for him every day of her remaining life, and while he
stood trying to keep back the tears she added:
"Please bend your head a little."
He bent down and she touched her lips to his forehead, and, still
holding the hand, said so that all, Jack, the Shelton boys and Dick
Burley, could hear, as they gathered round to say the parting words:
"Well done, good and faithful servant!"
The benison thus bestowed remained with Deerfoot all the way home and
to the end of his life. In the cool depths of the forest, amid the
fragrance of brown leaves, the bark of trees and of bursting bud and
blossom, and by the flow of the crystal brook, he heard the gentle
whisper. It came to him when the snow sifted against his frame and the
bite of the Arctic blast was as merciless as the fangs of the she-wolf.
Above the crash of the hurricane that uprooted and splintered the
century-old monarchs of the woods the words rang out like the notes of
an angel's trumpet, and in the watches of the night, under the
star-gleam or in the fleecy moonlight, while stillness brooded over a
sleeping world, the music swung back and forth like a censer through
the corridors of the soul, with a sweetness that told him the strings
of the harp throbbed under the touch of the fingers of God himself.