The Fork in the Trail
The reception was over. Jim and Belle had supped at Aunt Collins's and
were back again in the cottage, sitting by the kitchen stove, in which
Jim had just kindled a blazing fire, for the evenings were cold. They
were glad to be together again by themselves, and to talk things over.
Jim put a new block in the stove; then, sitting down, remarked: "For a
capitalist who contemplates buying up part of the town, securing a new
railroad, and cornering a township of gold ore, this is quite a modest
layout."
"Now while it's fresh," she replied, "let's have the whole thing;
especially the invitations." She took paper and wrote them down as he
recited them. Then, with a good deal of shrewdness, she proceeded to
appraise one by one.
The gold mine, the railroad, and the livery barn she treated with a
joyous laugh; she liked them as symptoms. The town lot matter was worth
looking into.
As for the invitations to preach, compared with the Presbyterians, the
Evangelicals were a larger body; but the Congregationalists, much
smaller, were more solid. The last had a fine church with a strong
membership of well-to-do men, but they also had an able preacher of
their own particular doctrines, so that Belle gave preference to the
Evangelicals.
"We must concentrate our big guns on them, Jim; get out your best
sermon, the one on 'Show thyself a man' (1 Kings II:2). Keep that for
the big crowd in the evening. Next Sunday, at the Congregational Church
you can give them the same thing, for it will be a different crowd; but
at night, why not give them your sermon on 'Kindness' that made such a
hit in Cedar Mountain."
"Well, where does the Salvation Army come in, Belle?"
"It doesn't come in just now"; and inwardly she hoped she might be able
to keep it out altogether. Play for time and hope for luck was her plan.
But she was secretly worried by the superstitious importance which he
attached to the three texts, picked at random from the Scripture that
day in Cedar Mountain, and by the interpretation he gave them. But she
thought it best to avoid the subject. First she sorted the invitations,
adjusted a desirable programme, and then sent a courteous reply to each,
accepting or declining. And it was done in such a way that none were
hurt and most were pleased. Then happened two of the accidents she had
prayed for. As Jim strode home about noon one day, he heard a rabble of
small boys jeering and shouting, "Holy Billy! Holy Billy! Salvation!
Salvation!" He turned to see them pursued by a fat, middle-aged man, who
after several attempts to drive them away, at length seized a pitch fork
from those exhibited outside a hardware store and, intent on revenging
himself, ran after the children. The youngsters fled, save one, who
fell; and the furious fat man made a vicious prod with the fork. It
might easily have proved fatal, but Jim was near enough to seize the
man's arm and wrest the fork from him. The fat man was white with rage.
He blustered a good deal and finally went off sputtering comically
although he used no cuss-words.
That evening Jim and Belle went to the Salvation Army barracks, with the
fixed intention of taking part in the worship as fully as might be
permitted. On their arrival Jim was utterly surprised to find that the
uniformed Captain in command was the fat little fury of the street
episode; and still more astonished when that rotund person peremptorily
ordered him out of the building. As the rest of the Salvationists
dutifully supported their Captain, Jim had no choice, and with a feeling
of sadness that was not shared by Belle, he turned out into the street.
There are many drives about Deadwood, but not many good roads. The
scenery, not the pavement, is the allurement; and in the morning, the
young couple took a short drive to learn the trails. They had not gone a
mile when they were brought to a standstill by a lumber wagon stuck in
the middle of the narrow road and quite immovable. It was not the weight
of the load or the fault of the road, but because one of the horses was
on strike--he baulked and refused absolutely to pull. Held up by the
blockade, on the other side, were two buggies with men and women.
The teamster was just a plain, every-day bungler. He began by urging the
obstinate horse with voice and whip; but at each fresh application the
creature merely laid back his ears, shook his head, and set his feet
more resolutely against all progress. At last the driver worked himself
into a rage. He lashed the horse with all his strength, the only effect
being to leave long lines on the animal's coat and cause him to kick out
frantically with his hind feet.
"Man alive!" said Jim, leaving Belle's side and walking forward, "that's
no way to handle a horse. Let me----"
A volume of abuse interrupted him. "You go on and mind your d--n
business," said the teamster. "I'm taking care of this." In
uncontrollable fury he beat the horse over the head with the butt end of
his whip till it broke in two.
"See here, if you don't stop that I'll take a hand in it!" shouted Jim,
thoroughly aroused.
The answer yelled back was not printable. It reflected not only on the
Rev. James Hartigan, but on all his ancestors. Then, in an instant, the
insane brute took a wooden hand-spike from his load and dealt the horse
a terrific blow on the head. The beast staggered, almost fell, but
recovered just as the driver, shouting, "I'll larn you!" landed another
blow and hauled back for a third that would have felled if not killed
the horse. But Jim got there first. He jerked the club out of the man's
hand and as the attack turned on himself, he laid the driver out with a
deft tap of the kind he knew so well. The other man with the load now
rushed at Jim to avenge his fallen leader. But it is easy to meet that
sort of onset when you know the game and have the muscle. The second
went down on top of the first teamster amid loud cheers from the men in
the buggies.
Five years before, in this country, Jim would certainly have been shot
within the first five minutes, but the law and order society had been
doing good work, and now men did not carry revolvers as of old, so
nature's weapons counted as firearms once had done.
"Jim!" called Belle feebly. "Let's go." He turned; she was ghastly pale,
as she held on to Midnight. She had never before seen men fight. She was
appalled and terrified.
"Dear child," he laughed, almost gleefully, "you're not used to it.
Don't take it so seriously. Sure it's fun and it's missionary work.
Don't be worried at seeing men tumbled over. As soon as those two fools
come to and stand on end, I'll show them how to drive a horse." He
straightened out the two men he had stunned, and then went to the
trembling horse.
As he laid his hand on its shoulder it shrank. He talked softly and
began to examine the harness. Sure enough, there was a mass of cockle
burrs caught in the long mane and wedged under the collar, so that every
pull of the harness drove the sharp spines into the animal's shoulder.
Jim loosened the collar, cut off the mass of burrs, sacrificed his
handkerchief to make a soft pad, and replaced the collar. Meanwhile, the
two teamsters were sitting up and looking on with little joy in their
faces.
"Now you two ignorant babes, I'll show you how to drive a horse that
you've made baulky; and I want you to know that there are not any baulky
horses; it's baulky drivers that make the trouble." He went to the
creature's head, talked to it, stroked its nose, blew in its nostrils,
and continued to talk till the ears no longer lay back at his touch.
Presently the eyes ceased rolling and the legs were not bracing
nervously.
"Now," said Jim softly, "will you be after pulling a little? Yes? Come
now," he coaxed wheedlingly, "come now," and he tightened the lines. But
the horse shook his head, showed temper as before, and held back.
"Oh, that's what ye want, is it?" said Jim. "All right, back up it is,"
and gently man[oe]uvring, he shouted: "Back!" Both horses backed. He
kept them backing, and by deft steering, held the wagon in the road.
Back they went steadily. Now the baulky horse indicated his willingness
to go on; but Jim wasn't ready. It was back, back, and back some more.
For a hundred yards he kept it up. At last, when he changed about and
gave the order to "Get up!" the one-time baulky horse was only too glad
to change his gear and pull his very best. Jim took the load up the
little hill, and on a quarter mile, where he waited for the original
teamsters to come up.
"There, now," said Jim as he handed over the lines to the sullen driver,
"you should have found that bunch of cockle burrs. It was all your
fault, not the horse's. And if he hadn't responded to the backing, I'd
have tied a pebble in his ear and left him for a few minutes to think it
over. Then he'd have gone all right; it never fails. I tell you there
aren't any baulky horses if they are rightly handled."
A cheer came from the buggies as the load of timber rolled away around
the hill. As Hartigan got in beside Belle the two rigs came by. The men
shouted, "Good for you! That was a fine job."
Jim blushed with pleasure; it was all so simple and familiar to him; but
when he turned to look at Belle, she was white and ill. "Let's go home,
Jim," she whispered. He looked at her in some surprise; then slowly it
dawned on him--she had never before seen the roughness of men fighting.
To him it was no more than the heavy sport of the football field. To her
it was brutality unloosed; it was shocking, disgusting, next to murder.
With mingled feelings of regret, amusement, and surprise he said, "Dear
heart, you take it all too seriously." Then he put his arm about her,
tender as a woman, and a few minutes later placed her gently in the
rocking chair in the white cottage.