The first thing I did was to light the lantern, for the daylight which
came down there was too much in keepin’ with the conditions to suit
me. Promotheus was doubled up an’ holdin’ his side; so the first thing
I did was to ask him if he was bad hurt. The’ was a smile on his lips,
a regular satisfied, self-composed smile, but I didn’t just like the
look in his eyes.
“Nope, I don’t ache at all, Happy,” he said in a firm voice; “but I
can’t move much. Tend to the others first.”
It seems ’at Ty’s first shot had hit the woman in the head, and his
next had got The in the side—but The had managed to get the gun away
from him, which is why the rest of us were spared.
The Friar had carried the woman into our offset, and was rubbin’ her
wrists and workin’ over her, though the’ didn’t appear to be much use.
She was still alive; but that was just all, so I left them and
examined the rest. Ty was all twisted out o’ shape, and lay with his
eyes open, glassy an’ stary and horrible. Olaf hadn’t had time to
quite finish the Chink, and he was crawlin’ down the tunnel when I
nabbed him. Then Horace took the lantern while Olaf and I hog-tied
Pepper Kendal and the Chink.
We next examined the cave-room where Ty had made his last stand. It
was fair-sized an’ well stocked, and also had half a dozen extra guns
in it. When I saw these fresh guns, I gave a low whistle to think what
a lot o’ suckers we’d been to discard our own trumps and set in a game
against a marked deck; but as the Friar allus said: “Wrong feeds on
death and Right feeds on life; so the’ can’t be no doubt as to the
final result, even though things do look blue sometimes.”
There was a fine spring in the corner o’ this room—the same spring
which afterwards came out near the mouth of the ravine and was piped
into the old cabin. The wounded Cross-brander was still babblin’, so
we fed him some water and eased him around a little.
Next we went outside and nailed some pieces to a couple o’ light
poles, and we were mighty glad to have enough left to man this vehicle
when it was finished, for we were all purt nigh used up, Tillte, the
two Simpson boys, and myself carried the litter, while Horace ran the
illumination, and Olaf tended to Pepper and the Chink.
We took ’em all out, even to the dead; and the one at the foot of the
stairs turned out to be the boy, just as I’d thought. Next to the
woman, with the Friar walkin’ beside her his head on his breast, this
trip with the boy cut me worse ’n any. Promotheus got off three
average good jokes while we were packin’ him out, and cheered us up a
lot; but we put Ty Jones down with the dead. As we straightened him
out he gave a groan which made us all jump. The whole thing had become
a nightmare, and we staggered about like the ingredients of a dream.
The woman’s head was shattered on top an’ the’ wasn’t any hope for
her; but still, it gave the Friar comfort to work over her, so we
acted as though we thought she had a chance. The nearest doctor was at
Meltner’s stage station, a full day’s ride. Tillte went after him,
while Dan Simpson rode over to his father’s to break the news and
bring back Kit. What with the prisoners still on our hands, the dead
to bury, and the wounded to wait on, we were in chin-deep; and the
worst of it was, ’at we didn’t want the news to get out. We had tried
to settle things without botherin’ the law, and we preferred to finish
that way if possible.
We buried the four Cross-branders across the crick and down stream
from the lower ford, and we buried Tim Simpson just a little way above
the upper ford. The Friar went along and helped dig the graves and
carry them to it; but he didn’t preach nor sing, and his face was
drawn with sorrow.
By evenin’ we had got things to some system. Spider, Tank, Slim, and
Horace were able to help quite a little; but Oscar, Tom Simpson, and
Promotheus were in bad shape; while we had seven prisoners, countin’
the Chink, and seven wounded enemies to look after. The feller Horace
had shot, up on top, got out o’ the country, I reckon. Anyway they
left him above with the horses, and we never heard of him again.
Ol’ man Simpson, Kit, and the boy arrived durin’ the moonlight, and we
were all mighty glad to see Kit, though we hated to face the old man.
Still, he was game, and took it mighty well. Tillte had got a fresh
hoss at Meltner’s and had started right back with the doctor; so they
arrived a little after seven next mornin’. The doctor was purty young
lookin’ to me; but he had a bagful o’ shiny instruments, and he made
himself at home without any fuss. He had been in a Colorado hospital
for two years, a minin’ hospital, and he was as familiar with a
feller’s insides, as a pony is with the range he was foaled on. He had
took a claim near Meltner’s, and was able to talk a long time on why
it was better for a young doctor to come west.
He praised the Friar’s work to the skies—and then turned in and did
it all over to suit himself. He said that all the wounded stood a good
show except the woman, Promotheus, and Ty Jones. We none of us thought
’at The was in much danger; but the doctor shook his head. Ty’s spinal
column had been unjointed near the base, and he was paralyzed from the
hips down; but in all that skirmishin’, he was the only one who hadn’t
lost a drop o’ blood. The Friar, himself, had two flesh-wounds beside
the one Ty had give him.
I was with the doctor when he started to work on the woman’s head; but
I couldn’t stand it. I’m not overly squeamish; but I own up I couldn’t
stand this; so I backed out, leavin’ the Friar with his face like
chalk, to hand instruments while little old Kit held a basin. I hated
to leave ’em; but I didn’t take a full breath until I was beside
Promotheus again.
His voice had got weaker, but the smile never left his lips, and it
was restful just to sit and watch him. Horace hovered over him like a
young hen, and The drank so much water, simply to please Horace, that
I feared his bones would dissolve. Horace had told the doctor he would
pay all the bills, and to go the full limit and not try to economize
none on his patch-work. We put the seven prisoners in the workshop,
and slept in tarps around the door, which was fastened with a chain,
so ’at if they got it open, a board would fall on these sleepin’ next,
and wake ’em.
The Friar was all for notifyin’ the authorities; but old man Simpson
had been a notorious public, or some such official, back in Vermont
and naturally he was up on all the twists and windin’s of the law. He
said it would take the Su-preme Court itself fifteen years to sift out
the actual legalities of our tangle; and even then he wasn’t sure
which side would get the worst of it, so he advised us to just work it
out on our own hook, which we had decided to do anyway.
For three days, the woman lay in a stupor. Kit had told me that her
skull hadn’t been actually shattered—that she had been shot in just
about the same way that Olaf had, but that Nature had counted on Olaf
gettin’ into some such a fix, and had provided for it by givin’ him a
flint skull, while the woman’s skull wasn’t of much use except in
times of peace. Kit said the doctor had taken out a few splinters of
bone, and had fastened up the openin’, but had said the’ wasn’t any
show for her.
On the other hand, Olaf had looked at her careful, and had said that
all the vital part of her was workin’ on just this point. He said that
the light about her body was the blue o’ weakness; but that just at
this point, the’ was a constant bulgin’ out o’ different colors in a
way he had never before seen. The doctor heaved up his eyebrows at
Olaf’s verdict, and looked as though he thought perhaps Olaf’s brain
had been shifted a little out o’ line, in spite of his flint skull.
On the third night I was what the doctor called his orderly, and went
on duty at midnight. I was sittin’ out on the porch of the old cabin
when the Friar came out holdin’ his hand across his eyes. We had moved
the wounded men over to the bunk-shack, and the woman was in Ty’s
bedroom. I didn’t speak to him, and he stood leanin’ against one o’
the posts for some time without seein’ me.
He trembled all over, and his breath came quick and catchy. Finally he
looked up at the stars and said in a low tone, as though speakin’
personal to some one near at hand: “Save me, oh God, from mockery! I
have spoken for others in my vanity; and now that my own hour has
come, oh save me from the rebellion of my flesh; and give me grace to
say in my heart, Thy will be done.”
As he stood with his face upraised, the late moon crept out and shone
full upon it, and the agony in it struck me like a blow; but even as I
looked, the change came. Before my very eyes, I saw the sign of peace
made upon the Friar’s brow. A moment before and it had been torn into
wrinkles and covered with beads of sweat; but now it was smooth and
calm. He clasped his hands across his breast, closed his eyes, and
the’ came a smile to his lips which drew a mist to my own eyes. I
can’t be absolutely certain of it, because o’ this blur in my eyes;
but I think, I actually and honestly do think, that I saw white forms
hoverin’ in the moonlight above him.
He drew a full breath and turned to go in, but saw me settin’ with my
back again’ the wall o’ the cabin, and came over and put a hand on my
shoulder. I couldn’t say anything. I wanted to say somethin’ to
comfort him; but I couldn’t speak a word, until he asked me how the
others were gettin’ along. I told him they were all doin’ fine, and
that even Ty had been restin’ well. He turned to go in, and then I
found the nerve to ask him how things were inside.
“It is all over, Happy,” sez he, without even a catch in his voice.
“Just before I came out here, the doctor said the pulse had stopped.”
He caught his breath with a little gasp at this; but that was all.
“What did Olaf say?” I asked.
“Olaf says that she still lives,” he answered; “but I fear that Olaf
is not to be relied upon this time. He has a strange gift; but he does
not understand it himself, and while I know he would not deceive me, I
feel that the doctor must know best.”
“Well, I’ll not give up until Olaf does!” I blurted.
He smiled again and put his hand back on my shoulder. “Come in and
look at her,” he said, “she is very beautiful. The strange mask has
fallen from her face, and she is once more as she was in those old,
happy days when we walked together through our own Garden of Eden.
Come in, I want you to see her.”
I went in with him, though I didn’t want to. I knew what love did to a
man, and that I hadn’t seen the same woman he had; but the’ was
another face allus before my eyes, and no one else was beautiful to
me. I didn’t want to do any pertendin’ to the Friar, even at such a
time as this.
I follered him inside, feelin’ out o’ place and embarrassed; but when
I looked down at the quiet face in the bed, I was glad I had come. She
didn’t look like the same woman, not at all. All the weary, puzzled
expression had left her face, and in spite of its whiteness, it looked
like the face of a girl. I looked at her a long time and the thought
that came to me over and over was, what a shame she couldn’t have had
just a few words with the Friar before she was called on; just a few
words, now that her right mind was back.
After a time I looked up. Kit sat near the head of the bed, leanin’
over and holdin’ a handkerchief to her eyes, Olaf sat near her, a
strange, grim set to his lips. His head was bandaged and he looked
less like a human than usual, as he kept his eyes fixed on the white
face o’ the woman. The’ was a lamp on the stand and I could see his
eyes. Blue they were, deep blue, like the flowers on the benches in
June, and they didn’t move; but kept a steady gaze upon the white,
still face. The doctor sat in a corner, his eyes on the floor. At
first I thought he was asleep, and goodness knows, he was entitled to
it; but just as I looked at him he rubbed his fingers together a
moment and stood up.
He walked over and put his hand on the Friar’s shoulder. “You might as
well all go to sleep, now,” he said, gently. “There is nothing more to
do.”
“Are you positive?” asked the Friar.
“Positive,” said the doctor. “There is no heart action, and when I
held a mirror to her lips no vapor was formed.”
“She is still alive,” said the deep voice of Olaf, and we all gave a
little start.
The doctor took a silver quarter and held it to the woman’s nose for a
minute, and then looked at it. A puzzled look came to his face, and he
went back and sat down in the corner again.
“Was it discolored?” asked the Friar.
“No,” sez the doctor slowly; “but I am sure there is no life
remaining. I have seen several cases of suspended animation, but
nothin’ like this.”
“She lives, and the light is getting stronger,” said Olaf.
Kit took the handkerchief from her eyes which were still full o’
tears. She wiped them away, and looked first at the woman and then at
Olaf, and then she gave a sigh. The Friar’s hands were opening and
shutting. He had fought his fight out on the porch; but the suspense
was beginnin’ to undermine him again.
I went back to the porch and stayed a while. When I went in again,
they were all as I had left them; and after a few minutes I made my
rounds, found everything all right, and came back. I went into the
room several times, and just as I caught the first whiff o’ the dawn
breeze, I went in once more, determined to coax the Friar to lie down
and try to sleep.
They were still in the same positions. Not a line had changed in the
woman’s face, the Friar was almost as white as she was but still stood
at the foot o’ the bed lookin’ down at her; while the wrinkles on
Olaf’s set face seemed carved in stone.
I had just put my hand on the Friar’s arm to get his attention when
Olaf rose to his feet, pressed his hand to his blinkin’ eyes, and said
wearily: “The blue color is givin’ way to pink. She will get well.”
“Don’t say it unless you’re sure!” cried the Friar, his voice like a
sob.
For answer Olaf pointed down at the woman’s face. A faint color stole
into her cheeks, and as we looked her eyes opened. The first thing
they rested upon was the Friar’s face bent above her, and her lips
parted in a wonderin’ smile—a smile which lighted her face like the
mornin’ sun on ol’ Mount Savage, and made her beautiful, to me an’ to
all who’ve ever seen her.
“Is it you?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”
A warm, rosy beam of sunshine slipped in through the window and fell
across the bed, and the rest of us tiptoed out, leavin’ the Friar
alone with the gift of life which the Dawn had brought back to him.