The Sky Pilot.......................................................................................................................................................1

Ralph Connor ...........................................................................................................................................1

PREFACE ................................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER I THE FOOTHILLS COUNTRY.........................................................................................2

CHAPTER II. THE COMPANY OF THE NOBLE SEVEN ..................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE COMING OF THE PILOT....................................................................................7

CHAPTER IV. THE PILOT'S MEASURE .............................................................................................9

CHAPTER V. FIRST BLOOD ..............................................................................................................11

CHAPTER VI. HIS SECOND WIND ...................................................................................................14

CHAPTER VII. THE LAST OF THE PERMIT SUNDAYS ................................................................17

CHAPTER VIII. THE PILOT'S GRIP..................................................................................................20

CHAPTER IX. GWEN..........................................................................................................................26

CHAPTER X. GWEN'S FIRST PRAYERS ..........................................................................................31

CHAPTER XI. GWEN'S CHALLENGE.............................................................................................36

CHAPTER XII. GWEN'S CANYON ....................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XIII. THE CANYON FLOWERS ......................................................................................44

CHAPTER XIV. BILL'S BLUFF ..........................................................................................................48

CHAPTER XV. BILL'S PARTNER.....................................................................................................53

CHAPTER XVI. BILL'S FINANCING................................................................................................56

CHAPTER XVII. HOW THE PINTO SOLD.......................................................................................59

CHAPTER XVIII. THE LADY CHARLOTTE ....................................................................................62

CHAPTER XIX. THROUGH GWEN'S WINDOW.............................................................................65

CHAPTER XX. HOW BILL FAVORED "HOMEGROWN INDUSTRIES"...................................70

CHAPTER XXI. HOW BILL HIT THE TRAIL ...................................................................................72

CHAPTER XXII. HOW THE SWAN CREEK CHURCH WAS OPENED........................................76

CHAPTER XXIII. THE PILOT'S LAST PORT...................................................................................78

The measure of a man's power to help his brother is the measure of the love in the heart of him and of the

faith he has that at last the good will win. With this love that seeks not its own and this faith that grips the

This story is of the people of the Foothill Country; of those men of adventurous spirit, who left homes of

comfort, often of luxury, because of the stirring in them to be and to do some worthy thing; and of those

others who, outcast from their kind, sought to find in these valleys, remote and lonely, a spot where they

The waving skyline of the Foothills was the boundary of their lookout upon life. Here they dwelt safe from

the scanning of the world, freed from all restraints of social law, denied the gentler influences of home and

the sweet uplift of a good woman's face. What wonder if, with the new freedom beating in their hearts and

The story is, too, of how a man with vision beyond the waving skyline came to them with firm purpose to

play the brother's part, and by sheer love of them and by faith in them, win them to believe that life is

Beyond the great prairies and in the shadow of the Rockies lie the Foothills. For nine hundred miles the

prairies spread themselves out in vast level reaches, and then begin to climb over softly rounded mounds that

ever grow higher and sharper till, here and there, they break into jagged points and at last rest upon the great

bases of the mighty mountains. These rounded hills that join the prairies to the mountains form the Foothill

Country. They extend for about a hundred miles only, but no other hundred miles of the great West are so full

of interest and romance. The natural features of the country combine the beauties of prairie and of mountain

scenery. There are valleys so wide that the farther side melts into the horizon, and uplands so vast as to

suggest the unbroken prairie. Nearer the mountains the valleys dip deep and ever deeper till they narrow into

canyons through which mountain torrents pour their bluegray waters from glaciers that lie glistening

between the white peaks far away. Here are the great ranges on which feed herds of cattle and horses. Here

are the homes of the ranchmen, in whose wild, free, lonely existence there mingles much of the tragedy and

comedy, the humor and pathos, that go to make up the romance of life. Among them are to be found the most

enterprising, the most daring, of the peoples of the old lands. The broken, the outcast, the disappointed, these

too have found their way to the ranches among the Foothills. A country it is whose sunlit hills and shaded

valleys reflect themselves in the lives of its people; for nowhere are the contrasts of light and shade more

The experiences of my life have confirmed in me the orthodox conviction that Providence sends his rain upon

the evil as upon the good; else I should never have set my eyes upon the Foothill country, nor touched its

strangely fascinating life, nor come to know and love the most striking man of all that group of striking men

of the Foothill countrythe dear old Pilot, as we came to call him long afterwards. My first year in college

closed in gloom. My guardian was in despair. From this distance of years I pity him. Then I considered him

unnecessarily concerned about me"a fussy old hen," as one of the boys suggested. The invitation from Jack

Dale, a distant cousin, to spend a summer with him on his ranch in South Alberta came in the nick of time. I

was wild to go. My guardian hesitated long; but no other solution of the problem of my disposal offering, he

finally agreed that I could not well get into more trouble by going than by staying. Hence it was that, in the

early summer of one of the eighties, I found myself attached to a Hudson's Bay Company freight train,

making our way from a little railway town in Montana towards the Canadian boundary. Our train consisted of

six wagons and fourteen yoke of oxen, with three cayuses, in charge of a French halfbreed and his son, a lad

of about sixteen. We made slow enough progress, but every hour of the long day, from the dim, gray, misty

light of dawn to the soft glow of shadowy evening, was full of new delights to me. On the evening of the

third day we reached the Line Stopping Place, where Jack Dale met us. I remember well how my heart beat

with admiration of the easy grace with which he sailed down upon us in the loose jointed cowboy style,

swinging his own bronco and the little cayuse he was leading for me into the circle of the wagons, careless of

ropes and freight and other impedimenta. He flung himself off before his bronco had come to a stop, and gave

me a grip that made me sure of my welcome. It was years since he had seen a man from home, and the eager

joy in his eyes told of long days and nights of lonely yearning for the old days and the old faces. I came to

understand this better after my two years' stay among these hills that have a strange power on some days to

waken in a man longings that make his heart grow sick. When supper was over we gathered about the little

fire, while Jack and the halfbreed smoked and talked. I lay on my back looking up at the pale, steady stars in

the deep blue of the cloudless sky, and listened in fullness of contented delight to the chat between Jack and

the driver. Now and then I asked a question, but not too often. It is a listening silence that draws tales from a

western man, not vexing questions. This much I had learned already from my three days' travel. So I lay and

listened, and the tales of that night are mingled with the warm evening lights and the pale stars and the

Next morning before sunup we had broken camp and were ready for our fiftymile ride. There was a slight

drizzle of rain and, though rain and shine were alike to him, Jack insisted that I should wear my mackintosh.

This garment was quite new and had a loose cape which rustled as I moved toward my cayuse. He was an

uglylooking little animal, with more white in his eye than I cared to see. Altogether, I did not draw toward

him. Nor did he to me, apparently. For as I took him by the bridle he snorted and sidled about with great

swiftness, and stood facing me with his feet planted firmly in front of him as if prepared to reject overtures of

any kind soever. I tried to approach him with soothing words, but he persistently backed away until we stood

looking at each other at the utmost distance of his outstretched neck and my outstretched arm. At this point

Jack came to my assistance, got the pony by the other side of the bridle, and held him fast till I got into

position to mount. Taking a firm grip of the horn of the Mexican saddle, I threw my leg over his back. The

next instant I was flying over his head. My only emotion was one of surprise, the thing was so unexpected. I

had fancied myself a fair rider, having had experience of farmers' colts of divers kinds, but this was

something quite new. The halfbreed stood looking on, mildly interested; Jack was smiling, but the boy was

"I'll take the little beast," said Jack. But the grinning boy braced me up and I replied as carelessly as my

"Oh, I guess I'll manage him," and once more got into position. But no sooner had I got into the saddle than

the pony sprang straight up into the air and lit with his back curved into a bow, his four legs gathered together

and so absolutely rigid that the shock made my teeth rattle. It was my first experience of "bucking." Then the

little brute went seriously to work to get rid of the rustling, flapping thing on his back. He would back

steadily for some seconds, then, with two or three forward plunges, he would stop as if shot and spring

straight into the upper air, lighting with back curved and legs rigid as iron. Then he would walk on his hind

legs for a few steps, then throw himself with amazing rapidity to one side and again proceed to buck with

"Stick to him!" yelled Jack, through his shouts of laughter. "You'll make him sick before long."

I remember thinking that unless his insides were somewhat more delicately organized than his external

appearance would lead one to suppose the chances were that the little brute would be the last to succumb to

sickness. To make matters worse, a wilder jump than ordinary threw my cape up over my head, so that I was

in complete darkness. And now he had me at his mercy, and he knew no pity. He kicked and plunged and

reared and bucked, now on his front legs, now on his hind legs, often on his knees, while I, in the darkness,

could only cling to the horn of the saddle. At last, in one of the gleams of light that penetrated the folds of my

enveloping cape, I found that the horn had slipped to his side, so the next time he came to his knees I threw

myself off. I am anxious to make this point clear, for, from the expression of triumph on the face of the

grinning boy, and his encomiums of the pony, I gathered that he scored a win for the cayuse. Without pause

that little brute continued for some seconds to buck and plunge even after my dismounting, as if he were

By this time I was sick enough and badly shaken in my nerve, but the triumphant shouts and laughter of the

boy and the complacent smiles on the faces of Jack and the halfbreed stirred my wrath. I tore off the cape

and, having got the saddle put right, seized Jack's riding whip and, disregarding his remonstrances, sprang on

my steed once more, and before he could make up his mind as to his line of action plied him so vigorously

with the rawhide that he set off over the prairie at full gallop, and in a few minutes came round to the camp

quite subdued, to the boy's great disappointment and to my own great surprise. Jack was highly pleased, and

"Don't think I put this up on you," Jack said. "It was that cape. He ain't used to such frills. But it was a

circus," he added, going off into a fit of laughter, "worth five dollars any day."

It seemed to me that it depended somewhat upon the point of view, but I merely agreed with him, only too

All day we followed the trail that wound along the shoulders of the roundtopped hills or down their long

slopes into the wide, grassy valleys. Here and there the valleys were cut through by coulees through which

ran swift, bluegray rivers, clear and icy cold, while from the hilltops we caught glimpses of little lakes

covered with wildfowl that shrieked and squawked and splashed, careless of danger. Now and then we saw

what made a black spot against the green of the prairie, and Jack told me it was a rancher's shack. How

remote from the great world, and how lonely it seemed!this little black shack among these multitudinous

I shall never forget the summer evening when Jack and I rode into Swan Creek. I say intobut the village

was almost entirely one of imagination, in that it consisted of the Stopping Place, a long log building, a story

and a half high, with stables behind, and the store in which the postoffice was kept and over which the

owner dwelt. But the situation was one of great beauty. On one side the prairie rambled down from the hills

and then stretched away in tawny levels into the misty purple at the horizon; on the other it clambered over

In this world, where it is impossible to reach absolute values, we are forced to hold things relatively, and in

contrast with the long, lonely miles of our ride during the day these two houses, with their outbuildings,

seemed a center of life. Some horses were tied to the rail that ran along in front of the Stopping Place.

"Oh," he replied, with a shrug, "they are the elite Of Swan Creek; and by Jove," he added, "this must be a

"Well," said Jack, in a low tone, for some men were standing about the door, "you see, this is a prohibition

country, but when one of the boys feels as if he were going to have a spell of sickness he gets a permit to

bring in a few gallons for medicinal purposes; and of course, the other boys being similarly exposed, he

invites them to assist him in taking preventive measures. And," added Jack, with a solemn wink, "it is

remarkable, in a healthy country like this, how many epidemics come near ketching us."

And with this mystifying explanation we joined the mysterious company of the Noble Seven.

As we were dismounting, the cries, "Hello, Jack!" "How do, Dale?" "Hello, old Smoke!" in the heartiest of

tones, made me see that my cousin was a favorite with the men grouped about the door. Jack simply nodded

in reply and then presented me in due form. "My tenderfoot cousin from the effete," he said, with a flourish. I

was surprised at the grace of the bows made me by these roughly dressed, wildlooking fellows. I might

have been in a London drawingroom. I was put at my ease at once by the kindliness of their greeting, for,

upon Jack's introduction, I was admitted at once into their circle, which, to a tenderfoot, was usually closed.

What a hardylooking lot they were! Brown, spare, sinewy and hard as nails, they appeared like soldiers back

from a hard campaign. They moved and spoke with an easy, careless air of almost lazy indifference, but their

eyes had a trick of looking straight out at you, cool and fearless, and you felt they were fit and ready.

That night I was initiated into the Company of the Noble Sevenbut of the ceremony I regret to say I retain

but an indistinct memory; for they drank as they rode, hard and long, and it was only Jack's care that got me

The Company of the Noble Seven was the dominant social force in the Swan Creek country. Indeed, it was

the only social force Swan Creek knew. Originally consisting of seven young fellows of the best blood of

Britain, "banded together for purposes of mutual improvement and social enjoyment," it had changed its

character during the years, but not its name. First, its membership was extended to include "approved

colonials," such as Jack Dale and "others of kindred spirit," under which head, I suppose, the two cowboys

from the Ashley Ranch, Hi Keadal and "Bronco" Billno one knew and no one asked his other namewere

admitted. Then its purposes gradually limited themselves to those of a social nature, chiefly in the line of

pokerplaying and whiskydrinking. Well born and delicately bred in that atmosphere of culture mingled

with a sturdy common sense and a certain high chivalry which surrounds the stately homes of Britain, these

young lads, freed from the restraints of custom and surrounding, soon shed all that was superficial in their

makeup and stood forth in the naked simplicity of their native manhood. The West discovered and revealed

the man in them, sometimes to their honor, often to their shame. The Chief of the Company was the Hon.

Fred Ashley, of the Ashley Ranch, sometime of Ashley Court, Englanda big, good natured man with a

magnificent physique, a good income from home, and a beautiful wife, the Lady Charlotte, daughter of a

noble English family. At the Ashley Ranch the traditions of Ashley Court were preserved as far as possible.

The Hon. Fred appeared at the wolfhunts in ridingbreeches and top boots, with hunting crop and English

saddle, while in all the appointments of the house the customs of the English home were observed. It was

characteristic, however, of western life that his two cowboys, Hi Kendal and Bronco Bill, felt themselves

quite his social equals, though in the presence of his beautiful, stately wife they confessed that they "rather

weakened." Ashley was a thoroughly good fellow, well up to his work as a cattleman, and too much of a

gentleman to feel, much less assert, any superiority of station. He had the largest ranch in the country and was

Ashley's chief friend, or, at least, most frequent companion, was a man whom they called "The Duke." No

one knew his name, but every one said he was "the son of a lord," and certainly from his style and bearing he

might be the son of almost anything that was high enough in rank. He drew "a remittance," but, as that was

paid through Ashley, no one knew whence it came nor how much it was. He was a perfect picture of a man,

and in all western virtues was easily first. He could rope a steer, bunch cattle, play poker or drink whisky to

the admiration of his friends and the confusion of his foes, of whom he had a few; while as to "bronco

busting," the virtue par excellence of western cattlemen, even Bronco Bill was heard to acknowledge that

"he wasn't in it with the Dook, for it was his opinion that he could ride anythin' that had legs in under it, even

if it was a blanked centipede." And this, coming from one who made a profession of "bronco busting," was

unquestionably high praise. The Duke lived alone, except when he deigned to pay a visit to some lonely

rancher who, for the marvellous charm of his talk, was delighted to have him as guest, even at the expense of

the loss of a few games at poker. He made a friend of no one, though some men could tell of times when he

stood between them and their last dollar, exacting only the promise that no mention should be made of his

deed. He had an easy, lazy manner and a slow cynical smile that rarely left his face, and the only sign of

deepening passion in him was a little broadening of his smile. Old Latour, who kept the Stopping Place, told

me how once The Duke had broken into a gentle laugh. A French halfbreed freighter on his way north had

entered into a game of poker with The Duke, with the result that his six months' pay stood in a little heap at

his enemy's left hand. The enraged freighter accused his smiling opponent of being a cheat, and was

proceeding to demolish him with one mighty blow. But The Duke, still smiling, and without moving from his

chair, caught the descending fist, slowly crushed the fingers open, and steadily drew the Frenchman to his

knees, gripping him so cruelly in the meantime that he was forced to cry aloud in agony for mercy. Then it

was that The Duke broke into a light laugh and, touching the kneeling Frenchman on his cheek with his

fingertips, said: "Look here, my man, you shouldn't play the game till you know how to do it and with

whom you play." Then, handing him back the money, he added: "I want money, but not yours." Then, as he

sat looking at the unfortunate wretch dividing his attention between his money and his bleeding fingers, he

The Duke was by all odds the most striking figure in the Company of the Noble Seven, and his word went

farther than that of any other. His shadow was Bruce, an Edinburgh University man, metaphysical,

argumentative, persistent, devoted to The Duke. Indeed, his chief ambition was to attain to The Duke's high

and lordly manner; but, inasmuch as he was rather squat in figure and had an open, good natured face and a

Scotch voice of the hard and rasping kind, his attempts at imitation were not conspicuously successful. Every

mail that reached Swan Creek brought him a letter from home. At first, after I had got to know him, he would

give me now and then a letter to read, but as the tone became more and more anxious he ceased to let me read

them, and I was glad enough of this. How he could read those letters and go the pace of the Noble Seven I

could not see. Poor Bruce! He had good impulses, a generous heart, but the "Permit" nights and the hunts and

the "roundups" and the poker and all the wild excesses of the Company were more than he could stand.

Then there were the two Hill brothers, the younger, Bertie, a fair haired, brightfaced youngster, none too

able to look after himself, but much inclined to follies of all degrees and sorts. But he was warmhearted and

devoted to his big brother, Humphrey, called "Hump," who had taken to ranching mainly with the idea of

looking after his younger brother. And no easy matter that was, for every one liked the lad and in

In addition to these there were two others of the original seven, but by force of circumstances they were

prevented from any more than a nominal connection with the Company. Blake, a typical wild Irishman, had

joined the police at the Fort, and Gifford had got married and, as Bill said, "was roped tighter'n a steer."

The Noble Company, with the cowboys that helped on the range and two or three farmers that lived nearer

the Fort, composed the settlers of the Swan Creek country. A strange medley of people of all ranks and

nations, but while among them there were the evil hearted and evilliving, still, for the Noble Company I

will say that never have I fallen in with men braver, truer, or of warmer heart. Vices they had, all too apparent

and deadly, but they were due rather to the circumstances of their lives than to the native tendencies of their

hearts. Throughout that summer and the winter following I lived among them, camping on the range with

them and sleeping in their shacks, bunching cattle in summer and hunting wolves in winter, nor did I, for I

was no wiser than they, refuse my part on "Permit" nights; but through all not a man of them ever failed to be

He was the first missionary ever seen in the country, and it was the Old Timer who named him. The Old

Timer's advent to the Foothill country was prehistoric, and his influence was, in consequence, immense. No

one ventured to disagree with him, for to disagree with the Old Timer was to write yourself down a

tenderfoot, which no one, of course, cared to do. It was a misfortune which only time could repair to be a

newcomer, and it was every newcomer's aim to assume with all possible speed the style and customs of the

aristocratic Old Timers, and to forget as soon as possible the date of his own arrival. So it was as "The Sky

Pilot," familiarly "The Pilot," that the missionary went for many a day in the Swan Creek country.

I had become schoolmaster of Swan Creek. For in the spring a kind Providence sent in the Muirs and the

Bremans with housefuls of children, to the ranchers' disgust, for they foresaw ploughed fields and

barbedwire fences cramping their unlimited ranges. A school became necessary. A little log building was

erected and I was appointed schoolmaster. It was as schoolmaster that I first came to touch The Pilot, for the

letter which the Hudson Bay freighters brought me early one summer evening bore the inscription:

There was altogether a fine air about the letter; the writing was in fine, small hand, the tone was fine, and

there was something fine in the signature"Arthur Wellington Moore." He was glad to know that there was

a school and a teacher in Swan Creek, for a school meant children, in whom his soul delighted; and in the

teacher he would find a friend, and without a friend he could not live. He took me into his confidence, telling

me that though he had volunteered for this faraway mission field he was not much of a preacher and he was

not at all sure that he would succeed. But he meant to try, and he was charmed at the prospect of having one

sympathizer at least. Would I be kind enough to put up in some conspicuous place the enclosed notice, filling

"Divine service will be held at Swan creek in at o'clock. All are cordially invited. Arthur

On the whole I liked his letter. I liked its modest self depreciation and I liked its cool assumption of my

sympathy and co operation. But I was perplexed. I remembered that Sunday was the day fixed for the great

baseball match, when those from "Home," as they fondly called the land across the sea from which they had

come, were to "wipe the earth" with all comers. Besides, "Divine service" was an innovation in Swan Creek

and I felt sure that, like all innovations that suggested the approach of the East, it would be by no means

However, immediately under the notice of the "Grand Baseball Match for 'The Pain Killer' a week from

Sunday, at 2:30, Home vs. the World," I pinned on the door of the Stopping Place the announcement:

"Divine service will be held at Swan Creek, in the Stopping Place Parlor, a week from Sunday, immediately

There was a strange incongruity in the two, and an unconscious challenge as well.

All next day, which was Saturday, and, indeed, during the following week, I stood guard over my notice,

enjoying the excitement it produced and the comments it called forth. It was the advance wave of the great

ocean of civilization which many of them had been glad to leave behindsome could have wished forever.

To Robert Muir, one of the farmers newly arrived, the notice was a harbinger of good. It stood for progress,

markets and a higher price for land; albeit he wondered "hoo he wad be keepit up." But his hardwrought,

quickspoken little wife at his elbow "hooted" his scruples and, thinking of her growing lads, welcomed with

unmixed satisfaction the coming of "the meenister." Her satisfaction was shared by all the mothers and most

of the fathers in the settlement; but by the others, and especially by that rollicking, roistering crew, the

Company of the Noble Seven, the missionary's coming was viewed with varying degrees of animosity. It

meant a limitation of freedom in their wildly reckless living. The "Permit" nights would now, to say the least,

be subject to criticism; the Sunday wolfhunts and horseraces, with their attendant delights, would now be

pursued under the eye of the Church, and this would not add to the enjoyment of them. One great charm of

the country, which Bruce, himself the son of an Edinburgh minister, and now Secretary of the Noble Seven,

described as "letting a fellow do as he blanked pleased," would be gone. None resented more bitterly than he

the missionary's intrusion, which he declared to be an attempt "to reimpose upon their freedom the trammels

of an antiquated and bigoted conventionality." But the rest of the Company, while not taking so decided a

stand, were agreed that the establishment of a church institution was an objectionable and impertinent as well

Of course, Hi Kendal and his friend Bronco Bill had no opinion one way or the other. The Church could

hardly affect them even remotely. A dozen years' stay in Montana had proved with sufficient clearness to

Outside the Company of the Noble Seven there was only one whose opinion had value in Swan Creek, and

that was the Old Timer. The Company had sought to bring him in by making him an honorary member, but

he refused to be drawn from his home far up among the hills, where he lived with his little girl Gwen and her

old half breed nurse, Ponka. The approach of the church he seemed to resent as a personal injury. It

represented to him that civilization from which he had fled fifteen years ago with his wife and baby girl, and

when five years later he laid his wife in the lonely grave that could be seen on the shaded knoll just fronting

his cabin door, the last link to his past was broken. From all that suggested the great world beyond the run of

"Why?" I said in surprise, thinking of his grazing range, which was ample for his herd.

"What about Gwen?" I ventured, for she was the light of his eyes. "Pity to stop her studies." I was giving her

"Dunno. Ain't figgered out yet about that baby." She was still his baby. "Guess she's all she wants for the

Foothills, anyway. What's the use?" he added, bitterly, talking to himself after the manner of men who live

I waited for a moment, then said: "Well, I wouldn't hurry about doing anything," knowing well that the one

thing an oldtimer hates to do is to make any change in his mode of life. "Maybe he won't stay."

He caught at this eagerly. "That's so! There ain't much to keep him, anyway," and he rode off to his lonely

I looked after the swaying figure and tried to picture his past with its tragedy; then I found myself wondering

how he would end and what would come to his little girl. And I made up my mind that if the missionary were

the right sort his coming might not be a bad thing for the Old Timer and perhaps for more than him.

It was Hi Kendal that announced the arrival of the missionary. I was standing at the door of my school,

watching the children ride off home on their ponies, when Hi came loping along on his bronco in the

"Well," he drawled out, bringing his bronco to a dead stop in a single bound, "he's lit."

"Lit? Where? What?" said I, looking round for an eagle or some other flying thing.

"Your blanked Sky Pilot, and he's a beauty, a pretty kidlooks too tender for this climate. Better not let him

"Why, HE ain't no parson! I don't go much on parsons, but when I calls for one I don't want no bantam

chicken. No, sirree, horse! I don't want no blanketyblank, pinkandwhite complected nursery kid foolin'

round my graveyard. If you're goin' to bring along a parson, why bring him with his eyeteeth cut and his tail

That Hi was deeply disappointed was quite clear from the selection of the profanity with which he adorned

this lengthy address. It was never the extent of his profanity, but the choice, that indicated Hi's interest in any

Altogether, the outlook for the missionary was not encouraging. With the single exception of the Muirs, who

really counted for little, nobody wanted him. To most of the reckless young bloods of the Company of the

Noble Seven his presence was an offence; to others simply a nuisance, while the Old Timer regarded his

advent with something like dismay; and now Hi's impression of his personal appearance was not cheering.

My first sight of him did not reassure me. He was very slight, very young, very innocent, with a face that

might do for an angel, except for the touch of humor in it, but which seemed strangely out of place among the

rough, hard faces that were to be seen in the Swan Creek Country. It was not a weak face, however. The

forehead was high and square, the mouth firm, and the eyes were luminous, of some dark colorviolet, if

there is such a color in eyesdreamy or sparkling, according to his mood; eyes for which a woman might

find use, but which, in a missionary's head, appeared to me one of those extraordinary wastes of which

He was gazing far away into space infinitely beyond the Foothills and the blue line of the mountains behind

"It is glorious," he almost panted. "You see this everyday!" Then, recalling himself, he came eagerly toward

me, stretching out his hand. "You are the schoolmaster, I know. Do you know, it's a great thing? I wanted to

be one, but I never could get the boys on. They always got me telling them tales. I was awfully disappointed.

I am trying the next best thing. You see, I won't have to keep order, but I don't think I can preach very well. I

am going to visit your school. Have you many scholars? Do you know, I think it's splendid? I wish I could do

I had intended to be somewhat stiff with him, but his evident admiration of me made me quite forget this

laudable intention, and, as he talked on without waiting for an answer, his enthusiasm, his deference to my

opinion, his charm of manner, his beautiful face, his luminous eyes, made him perfectly irresistible; and

before I was aware I was listening to his plans for working his mission with eager interest. So eager was my

interest, indeed, that before I was aware I found myself asking him to tea with me in my shack. But he

Latour welcomed us with his grim old face wreathed in unusual smiles. The pilot had been talking to him,

"I've got it, Latour!" he cried out as he entered; "here you are," and he broke into the beautiful

FrenchCanadian chanson, "A la Claire Fontaine," to the old halfbreed's almost tearful delight.

"Do you know," he went on, "I heard that first down the Mattawa," and away he went into a story of an

experience with FrenchCanadian raftsmen, mixing up his French and English in so charming a manner that

Latour; who in his younger days long ago had been a shantyman himself, hardly knew whether he was

After tea I proposed a ride out to see the sunset from the nearest rising ground. Latour, with unexampled

"Ah! dat's good ponee, Louis," urged Latour. "He's quiet lak wan leetle mouse; he's ride lakwhat you

That evening I saw the Swan Creek country with new eyesthrough the luminous eyes of The Pilot. We

rode up the trail by the side of the Swan till we came to the coulee mouth, dark and full of mystery.

He looked lingeringly into the deep shadows and asked: "Anything live down there?"

"Ghosts?" he asked, delightedly. "Do you know, I was sure there were, and I'm quite sure I shall see them."

Then we took the Porcupine trail and climbed for about two miles the gentle slope to the top of the first rising

ground. There we stayed and watched the sun take his nightly plunge into the sea of mountains, now dimly

visible. Behind us stretched the prairie, sweeping out level to the sky and cut by the winding coulee of the

Swan. Great long shadows from the hills were lying upon its yellow face, and far at the distant edge the gray

haze was deepening into purple. Before us lay the hills, softly curving like the shoulders of great sleeping

monsters, their tops still bright, but the separating valleys full of shadow. And there, far beyond them, up

against the sky, was the line of the mountainsblue, purple, and gold, according as the light fell upon them.

The sun had taken his plunge, but he had left behind him his robes of saffron and gold. We stood long

without a word or movement, filling our hearts with the silence and the beauty, till the gold in the west began

to grow dim. High above all the night was stretching her starpierced, blue canopy, and drawing slowly up

from the east over the prairie and over the sleeping hills the soft folds of a purple haze. The great silence of

"Listen," he said, in a low tone, pointing to the hills. "Can't you hear them breathe?" And, looking at their

curving shoulders, I fancied I could see them slowly heaving as if in heavy sleep, and I was quite sure I could

hear them breathe. I was under the spell of his voice and his eyes, and nature was all living to me then.

We rode back to the Stopping Place in silence, except for a word of mine now and then which he heeded not;

and, with hardly a good night, he left me at the door. I turned away feeling as if I had been in a strange

How would he do with the Swan Creek folk? Could he make them see the hills breathe? Would they feel as I

felt under his voice and eyes? What a curious mixture he was! I was doubtful about his first Sunday, and was

surprised to find all my indifference as to his success or failure gone. It was a pity about the baseball match. I

Hi might be disappointed in his appearance, but, as I turned into my shack and thought over my last two

hours with The Pilot and how he had "got" old Latour and myself, I began to think that Hi might be mistaken

One is never so enthusiastic in the early morning, when the emotions are calmest and the nerves at their

steadiest. But I was determined to try to have the baseball match postponed. There could be no difficulty. One

day was as much of a holiday as another to these easygoing fellows. But The Duke, when I suggested a

"Can't see why the day should be changed." Bruce stormed and swore all sorts of destruction upon himself if

he was going to change his style of life for any man. The others followed The Duke's lead.

That Sunday was a day of incongruities. The Old and the New, the East and the West, the reverential Past and

iconoclastic Present were jumbling themselves together in bewildering confusion. The baseball match was

played with much vigor and profanity. The expression on The Pilot's face, as he stood watching for a while,

was a curious mixture of interest, surprise, doubt and pain. He was readjusting himself. He was so made as to

be extremely sensitive to his surroundings. He took on color quickly. The utter indifference to the audacious

disregard of all he had hitherto considered sacred and essential was disconcerting. They were all so dead sure.

How did he know they were wrong? It was his first near view of practical, living skepticism. Skepticism in a

book did not disturb him; he could put down words against it. But here it was alive, cheerful, attractive,

indeed fascinating; for these men in their western garb and with their western swing had captured his

imagination. He was in a fierce struggle, and in a few minutes I saw him disappear into the coulee.

Meantime the match went uproariously on to a finish, with the result that the champions of "Home" had "to

stand The Painkiller," their defeat being due chiefly to the work of Hi and Bronco Bill as pitcher and catcher.

The celebration was in full swing; or as Hi put it, "the boys were takin' their pizen good an' calm," when in

walked The Pilot. His face was still troubled and his lips were drawn and blue, as if he were in pain. A silence

fell on the men as he walked in through the crowd and up to the bar. He stood a moment hesitating, looking

round upon the faces flushed and hot that were now turned toward him in curious defiance. He noticed the

look, and it pulled him together. He faced about toward old Latour and asked in a high, clear voice:

The lad paused for an instant, but only for an instant. Then, lifting a pile of hymn books he had near him on

the counter, he said in a grave, sweet voice, and with the quiver of a smile about his lips:

"Gentlemen, Mr. Latour has allowed me this room for a religious service. It will give me great pleasure if you

will all join," and immediately he handed a book to Bronco Bill, who, surprised, took it as if he did not know

what to do with it. The others followed Bronco's lead till he came to Bruce, who refused, saying roughly:

The missionary flushed and drew back as if he had been struck, but immediately, as if unconsciously, The

Duke, who was standing near, stretched out his hand and said, with a courteous bow, "I thank you; I should

"Thank you," replied The Pilot, simply, as he handed him a book. The men seated themselves upon the bench

that ran round the room, or leaned up against the counter, and most of them took off their hats. Just then in

The missionary stood up at the bar, and announced the hymn, "Jesus, Lover of My Soul." The silence that

followed was broken by the sound of a horse galloping. A buckskin bronco shot past the window, and in a

few moments there appeared at the door the Old Timer. He was about to stride in when the unusual sight of a

row of men sitting solemnly with hymn books in their hands held him fast at the door. He gazed in an

amazed, helpless way upon the men, then at the missionary, then back at the men, and stood speechless.

Suddenly there was a high, shrill, boyish laugh, and the men turned to see the missionary in a fit of laughter.

It certainly was a shock to any lingering ideas of religious propriety they might have about them; but the

contrast between his frank, laughing face and the amazed and disgusted face of the shaggy old man in the

doorway was too much for them, and one by one they gave way to roars of laughter. The Old Timer,

however, kept his face unmoved, strode up to the bar and nodded to old Latour, who served him his drink,

"Here, old man!" called out Bill, "get into the game; here's your deck," offering him his book. But the

missionary was before him, and, with very beautiful grace, he handed the Old Timer a book and pointed him

I shall never forget that service. As a religious affair it was a dead failure, but somehow I think The Pilot, as

Hi approvingly said, "got in his funny work," and it was not wholly a defeat. The first hymn was sung chiefly

by the missionary and Mrs. Muir, whose voice was very high, with one or two of the men softly whistling an

accompaniment. The second hymn was better, and then came the Lesson, the story of the feeding of the five

thousand. As the missionary finished the story, Bill, who had been listening with great interest, said:

"Well," drawled Bill, with the air of a man who has reached a conclusion, "that's a little too unusual for me.

"Not for Him," said the missionary, quietly. Then Bruce joyfully took him up and led him on into a

discussion of evidences, and from evidences into metaphysics, the origin of evil and the freedom of the will,

till the missionary, as Bill said, "was rattled worse nor a rooster in the dark." Poor little Mrs. Muir was much

scandalized and looked anxiously at her husband, wishing him to take her out. But help came from an

"Here you, Bill, shut your blanked jaw, and you, Bruce, give the man a chance to work off his music."

"That's so! Fair play! Go on!" were the cries that came in response to Hi's appeal.

The missionary, who was all trembling and much troubled, gave Hi a grateful look, and said:

"I'm afraid there are a great many things I don't understand, and I am not good at argument." There were

shouts of "Go on! fire ahead, play the game!" but he said, "I think we will close the service with a hymn." His

frankness and modesty, and his respectful, courteous manner gained the sympathy of the men, so that all

joined heartily in singing, "Sun of My Soul." In the prayer that followed his voice grew steady and his nerve

came back to him. The words were very simple, and the petitions were mostly for light and for strength. With

a few words of remembrance of "those in our homes far away who think of us and pray for us and never

After the missionary had stepped out, the whole affair was discussed with great warmth. Hi Kendal thought

"The Pilot didn't have no fair show," maintaining that when he was "ropin' a steer he didn't want no blanked

tenderfoot to be shovin' in his rope like Bill there." But Bill steadily maintained his position that "the story of

that there picnic was a little too unusual" for him. Bruce was trying meanwhile to beguile The Duke into a

discussion of the physics and metaphysics of the case. But The Duke refused with quiet contempt to be drawn

into a region where he felt himself a stranger. He preferred poker himself, if Bruce cared to take a hand; and

so the evening went on, with the theological discussion by Hi and Bill in a judicial, friendly spirit in one

When the missionary returned late there were only a few left in the room, among them The Duke and Bruce,

who was drinking steadily and losing money. The missionary's presence seemed to irritate him, and he played

even more recklessly than usual, swearing deeply at every loss. At the door the missionary stood looking up

into the night sky and humming softly "Sun of My Soul," and after a few minutes The Duke joined in

The Duke ceased humming, and, looking at Bruce, said quietly: "Well, what is it? What's the trouble?"

"Trouble!" shouted Bruce. "I don't see what hymnsinging has to do with a poker game."

"Oh, I see! I beg pardon! Was I singing?" said The Duke. Then after a pause he added, "You're quite right. I

say, Bruce, let's quit. Something has got on to your nerves." And coolly sweeping his pile into his pocket, he

gave up the game. With an oath Bruce left the table, took another drink, and went unsteadily out to his horse,

and soon we heard him ride away into the darkness, singing snatches of the hymn and swearing the most

The missionary's face was white with horror. It was all new and horrible to him.

"Don't you worry, youngster," said The Duke, in his loftiest manner, "he'll get along."

The luminous, dreamy eyes grew hard and bright as they looked The Duke in the face.

"Ah!" said The Duke, raising his brows and smiling gently upon the bright, stern young face lifted up to his.

"If anything should happen to him," replied the missionary, quickly, "I should consider you largely

"That would be kind," said The Duke, still smiling with his lips. But after a moment's steady look into the

missionary's eyes he nodded his head twice or thrice, and, without further word, turned away.

"They beat me this afternoon," he cried, "but thank God, I know now they are wrong and I am right! I don't

understand! I can't see my way through! But I am right! It's true! I feel it's true! Men can't live without Him,

And long after I went to my shack that night I saw before me the eager face with the luminous eyes and heard

the triumphant cry: "I feel it's true! Men can't live without Him, and be men!" and I knew that though his first

The first weeks were not pleasant for The Pilot. He had been beaten, and the sense of failure damped his fine

enthusiasm, which was one of his chief charms. The Noble Seven despised, ignored, or laughed at him,

according to their mood and disposition. Bruce patronized him; and, worst of all, the Muirs pitied him. This

last it was that brought him low, and I was glad of it. I find it hard to put up with a man that enjoys pity.

It was Hi Kendal that restored him, though Hi had no thought of doing so good a deed. It was in this way: A

baseball match was on with The Porcupines from near the Fort. To Hi's disgust and the team's dismay Bill

failed to appear. It was Hi's delight to stand up for Bill's pitching, and their battery was the glory of the Home

Hi looked glumly across at The Pilot standing some distance, away; then called out, holding up the ball:

For answer Moore held up his hands for a catch. Hi tossed him the ball easily. The ball came back so quickly

"I'll take him," he said, doubtfully, and the game began. Hi fitted on his mask, a new importation and his

The Pilot turned his back, swung off one foot on to the other and discharged his ball.

"You bet!" said Hi, with emphasis, but his face was a picture of amazement and dawning delight.

Again The Pilot went through the manoeuvre in his box and again the umpire called:

Hi stopped the ball without holding it and set himself for the third. Once more that disconcerting swing and

The Porcupines were amazed. Hi looked at the ball in his hand, then at the slight figure of The Pilot.

He evidently regarded the exchange of the profession of baseball for the study of theology as a serious error

in judgment, and in this opinion every inning of the game confirmed him. At the bat The Pilot did not shine,

but he made up for light hitting by his baserunning. He was fleet as a deer, and he knew the game

thoroughly. He was keen, eager, intense in play, and before the innings were half over he was recognized as

the best allround man on the field. In the pitcher's box he puzzled the Porcupines till they grew desperate

and hit wildly and blindly, amid the jeers of the spectators. The bewilderment of the Porcupines was equaled

only by the enthusiasm of Hi and his nine, and when the game was over the score stood 37 to 7 in favor of the

From that day Moore was another man. He had won the unqualified respect of Hi Kendal and most of the

others, for he could beat them at their own game and still be modest about it. Once more his enthusiasm came

back and his brightness and his courage. The Duke was not present to witness his triumph, and, besides, he

rather despised the game. Bruce was there, however, but took no part in the general acclaim; indeed, he

seemed rather disgusted with Moore's sudden leap into favor. Certainly his hostility to The Pilot and to all

The hostility was more than usually marked at the service held on the Sunday following. It was, perhaps,

thrown into stronger relief by the open and delighted approval of Hi, who was prepared to back up anything

The Pilot would venture to say. Bill, who had not witnessed The Pilot's performance in the pitcher's box, but

had only Hi's enthusiastic report to go upon, still preserved his judicial air. It is fair to say, however, that there

was no mean spirited jealousy in Bill's heart even though Hi had frankly assured him that The Pilot was "a

demon," and could "give him points." Bill had great confidence in Hi's opinion upon baseball, but he was not

prepared to surrender his right of private judgment in matters theological, so he waited for the sermon before

committing himself to any enthusiastic approval. This service was an undoubted success. The singing was

hearty, and insensibly the men fell into a reverent attitude during prayer. The theme, too, was one that gave

little room for skepticism. It was the story of Zaccheus, and storytelling was Moore's strong point. The thing

was well done. Vivid portraitures of the outcast, shrewd, converted publican and the supercilious,

selfcomplacent, critical Pharisee were drawn with a few deft touches. A single sentence transferred them to

the Foothills and arrayed them in cowboy garb. Bill was none too sure of himself, but Hi, with delightful

winks, was indicating Bruce as the Pharisee, to the latter's scornful disgust. The preacher must have noticed,

for with a very clever turn the Pharisee was shown to be the kind of man who likes to fit faults upon others.

"You git out!" answered Hi, indignantly, but his confidence in his interpretation of the application was

shaken. When Moore came to describe the Master and His place in that ancient group, we in the Stopping

Place parlor fell under the spell of his eyes and voice, and our hearts were moved within us. That great

Personality was made very real and very winning. Hi was quite subdued by the story and the picture. Bill was

perplexed; it was all new to him; but Bruce was mainly irritated. To him it was all old and filled with

memories he hated to face. At any rate he was unusually savage that evening, drank heavily and went home

late, raging and cursing at things in general and The Pilot in particularfor Moore, in a timid sort of way,

"Ornery sort o' beast now, ain't he?" said Hi, with the idea of comforting The Pilot, who stood sadly looking

"Git out!" said Hi, "you don't mean it! Why," he added, decidedly, "he's more stuck on himself than that

mean old cuss you was tellin' about this afternoon, and without half the reason."

But Moore only said, kindly, "Don't be hard on him, Hi," and turned away, leaving Hi and Bill gravely

discussing the question, with the aid of several drinks of whisky. They were still discussing when, an hour

later, they, too, disappeared into the darkness that swallowed up the trail to Ashley Ranch. That was the first

of many such services. The preaching was always of the simplest kind, abstract questions being avoided and

the concrete in those wonderful Bible tales, dressed in modern and in western garb, set forth. Bill and Hi were

more than ever his friends and champions, and the latter was heard exultantly to exclaim to Bruce:

"He ain't much to look at as a parson, but he's aketchin' his second wind, and 'fore long you won't see him

The spring "roundups" were all over and Bruce had nothing to do but to loaf about the Stopping Place,

drinking old Latour's bad whisky and making himself a nuisance. In vain The Pilot tried to win him with

loans of books and magazines and other kindly courtesies. He would be decent for a day and then would

break forth in violent argumentation against religion and all who held to it. He sorely missed The Duke, who

was away south on one of his periodic journeys, of which no one knew anything or cared to ask. The Duke's

presence always steadied Bruce and took the rasp out of his manners. It was rather a relief to all that he was

absent from the next fortnightly service, though Moore declared he was ashamed to confess this relief.

"I can't touch him," he said to me, after the service; "he is far too clever, but," and his voice was full of pain,

"If he doesn't quit his nonsense," I replied, "he'll soon be past helping. He doesn't go out on his range, his few

cattle wander everywhere, his shack is in a beastly state, and he himself is going to pieces, miserable fool that

he is." For it did seem a shame that a fellow should so throw himself away for nothing.

"Yes, but can he help it? Is it all his fault?" he replied, with his steady eyes still looking into me.

"What of the Noble Seven? Have they anything to do with this?" His voice was quiet, but there was an

"Yes!and his brother a little." Then, he added: "What have any of you done to help him? The Duke could

have pulled him up a year ago if he had been willing to deny himself a little, and so with all of you. You all

do just what pleases you regardless of any other, and so you help one another down."

I could not find anything just then to say, though afterwards many things came to me; for, though his voice

was quiet and low, his eyes were glowing and his face was alight with the fire that burned within, and I felt

like one convicted of a crime. This was certainly a new doctrine for the West; an uncomfortable doctrine to

practice, interfering seriously with personal liberty, but in The Pilot's way of viewing things difficult to

escape. There would be no end to one's responsibility. I refused to think it out.

Within a fortnight we were thinking it out with some intentness. The Noble Seven were to have a great

"blowout" at the Hill brothers' ranch. The Duke had got home from his southern trip a little more

wearylooking and a little more cynical in his smile. The "blowout" was to be held on Permit Sunday, the

alternate to the Preaching Sunday, which was a concession to The Pilot, secured chiefly through the influence

of Hi and his baseball nine. It was something to have created the situation involved in the distinction between

Preaching and Permit Sundays. Hi put it rather graphically. "The devil takes his innin's one Sunday and The

Pilot the next," adding emphatically, "He hain't done much scorin' yit, but my money's on The Pilot, you bet!"

Bill was more cautious and preferred to wait developments. And developments were rapid.

The Hill brothers' meet was unusually successful from a social point of view. Several Permits had been

requisitioned, and whisky and beer abounded. Races all day and poker all night and drinks of various brews

both day and night, with varying impromptu diversionssuch as shooting the horns off wandering

steerswere the social amenities indulged in by the noble company. On Monday evening I rode out to the

"Where you ought to be, if you could get thereat home," I replied, nettled at his insolent tone.

"Strike one!" called out Hi, enthusiastically, not approving Bruce's attitude toward his friend, The Pilot.

"Don't be so acute," said Bruce, after the laugh had passed, "but have a drink."

He was flushed and very shaky and very noisy. The Duke, at the head of the table, looked a little harder than

usual, but, though pale, was quite steady. The others were all more or less nerve broken, and about the room

were the signs of a wild night. A bench was upset, while broken bottles and crockery lay strewn about over a

floor reeking with filth. The disgust on my face called forth an apology from the younger Hill, who was

"Hope MISTER Connor will pardon the absence," sneered Bruce, in his most offensive manner.

"Don't mind him," said Hi, under his breath, "the blue devils are runnin' him down."

This became more evident as the evening went on. From hilarity Bruce passed to sullen ferocity, with spasms

of nervous terror. Hi's attempts to soothe him finally drove him mad, and he drew his revolver, declaring he

The men scrambled into safe corners, all but The Duke, who stood quietly by watching Bruce shoot. Then

He tore madly at the gripping hand with both of his, but in vain, calling out with frightful oaths:

With a furious effort he hurled himself back from the table, dragging The Duke partly across. There was a

flash and a report and Bruce collapsed, The Duke still gripping him. When they lifted him up he was found to

have an ugly wound in his arm, the bullet having passed through the fleshy part. I bound it up as best I could

and tried to persuade him to go to bed. But he would go home. Nothing could stop him. Finally The Duke

agreed to go with him, and off they set, Bruce loudly protesting that he could get home alone and did not

It was a dismal breakup to the meet, and we all went home feeling rather sick, so that it gave me no pleasure

to find Moore waiting in my shack for my report of Bruce. It was quite vain for me to make light of the

"You needn't tell me not to be anxious," he said, "you are anxious yourself. I see it, I feel it."

"Well, there's no use trying to keep things from you," I replied, "but I am only a little anxious. Don't you go

"Oh, bosh, it isn't coming to that; but I wish he were in better shape. He is broken up badly without this hole

He would not leave till I had promised to take him up the next day, though I was doubtful enough of his

reception. But next day The Duke came down, his black bronco, Jingo, wet with hard riding.

"Better come up, Connor," he said, gravely, "and bring your bromides along. He has had a bad night and

morning and fell asleep only before I came away. I expect he'll wake in delirium. It's the whisky more than

In ten minutes we three were on the trail, for Moore, though not invited, quietly announced his intention to go

"Oh, all right," said The Duke, indifferently, "he probably won't recognize you any way."

We rode hard for half an hour till we came within sight of Bruce's shack, which was set back into a little

"Hold up!" said The Duke. "Was that a shot?" We stood listening. A rifleshot rang out, and we rode hard.

Again The Duke halted us, and there came from the shack the sound of singing. It was an old Scotch tune.

We rode into the bluff, tied up our horses and crept to the back of the shack. Looking through a crack

between the logs, I saw a gruesome thing. Bruce was sitting up in bed with a Winchester rifle across his

knees and a belt of cartridges hanging over the post. His bandages were torn off, the blood from his wound

was smeared over his bare arms and his pale, ghastly face; his eyes were wild with mad terror, and he was

"The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie In pastures green, He leadeth me The quiet

Now and then he would stop to say in an awesome whisper, "Come out here, you little devils!" and bang

would go his rifle at the stovepipe, which was riddled with holes. Then once more in a loud voice he would

Nothing that my memory brings to me makes me chill like that picturethe low log shack, now in cheerless

disorder; the ghastly object upon the bed in the corner, with bloodsmeared face and arms and mad terror in

the eyes; the awful cursings and more awful psalmsinging, punctuated by the quick report of the deadly

For some moments we stood gazing at one another; then The Duke said, in a low, fierce tone, more to himself

The situation was one of extreme dangera madman with a Winchester rifle. Something must be done and

Instantly the singing stopped. A look of cunning delight came over his face as, without a word, he got his

"Come in!" he yelled, after waiting for some moments. "Come in! You're the biggest of all the devils. Come

Over the riflebarrel his eyes gleamed with frenzied delight. We consulted as to a plan.

"There are pleasanter things," responded The Duke, "and he is a fairly good shot."

Meantime the singing had started again, and, looking through the chink, I saw that Bruce had got his eye on

the stovepipe again. While I was looking The Pilot slipped away from us toward the door.

Moore paid no heed to him, but stood waiting at the door. In a few moments Bruce blazed away again at the

"No!" said Bruce, disappointedly, "he dodged like the devil, as of course he ought, you know."

"Stop!" screamed Bruce, "don't open that door! It's full, I tell you." Moore paused. "Besides," went on Bruce,

"Oh, that's all right," said Moore, coolly and with admirable quickness, "wood smoke, you knowthey can't

This was apparently a new idea in demonology for Bruce, for he sank back, while Moore lighted the fire and

"Up there," said Bruce, forgetting for the moment his devils, and pointing to a quaint, oldfashioned

"I could have sworn it was my aunt's in Balleymena," said Moore. "My aunt lived in a little stone cottage

with roses all over the front of it." And on he went into an enthusiastic description of his early home. His

voice was full of music, soft and soothing, and poor Bruce sank back and listened, the glitter fading from his

When we came in, the room had been set in order, the teakettle was singing, the bedclothes straightened out,

and Moore had just finished washing the blood stains from Bruce's arms and neck.

"Just in time," he said. "I didn't like to tackle these," pointing to the bandages.

All night long Moore soothed and tended the sick man, now singing softly to him, and again beguiling him

with tales that meant nothing, but that had a strange power to quiet the nervous restlessness, due partly to the

pain of the wounded arm and partly to the nervewrecking from his months of dissipation. The Duke seemed

uncomfortable enough. He spoke to Bruce once or twice, but the only answer was a groan or curse with an

"He'll have a close squeak," said The Duke. The carelessness of the tone was a little overdone, but The Pilot

"He has not been fortunate in his friends," he said, looking straight into his eyes.

"A man ought to know himself when the pace is too swift," said The Duke, a little more quickly than was his

"You might have done anything with him. Why didn't you help him?" Moore's tones were stern and very

steady, and he never moved his eyes from the other man's face, but the only reply he got was a shrug of the

When the gray of the morning was coming in at the window The Duke rose up, gave himself, a little shake,

He went and stood for a few moments looking down upon the hot, fevered face; then, turning to me, he

"Can't say! The bromide is holding him down just now. His blood is bad for that wound."

"Can I get anything?" I knew him well enough to recognize the anxiety under his indifferent manner.

"I shall get some at the Fort, thanks. They won't take any hurt from me there," he said, smiling his cynical

"Well, he is rather cut up, and you rather rubbed it into him, you know," I said, for I thought Moore a little

"Well, not untrue, perhaps; but truth is like medicinenot always good to take." At which Moore was silent

It was a weary day. The intense pain from the wound, and the high fever from the poison in his blood kept the

poor fellow in delirium till evening, when The Duke rode up with the Fort doctor. Jingo appeared as nearly

"Seventy miles," said The Duke, swinging himself off the saddle. "The doctor was ten miles out. How is he?"

Meantime the doctor, who was of the army and had seen service, was examining his patient. He grew more

"What have you been doing to him? Why is he in this condition? This fleabite doesn't account for all,"

"I fear, doctor, the life has been a little too hard for him. He had a severe nervous attackseeing things, you

"Yes, I know," stormed the old doctor. "I know you well enough, with your head of castiron and no nerves

to speak of. I know the crowd and how you lead them. Infernal fools! You'll get your turn some day. I've

The Duke was standing up before the doctor during this storm, smiling slightly. All at once the smile faded

out and he pointed to the bed. Bruce was sitting up quiet and steady. He stretched out his hand to The Duke.

"Don't mind the old fool," he said, holding The Duke's hand and looking up at him as fondly as if he were a

girl. "It's my own funeralfuneral?" he paused"Perhaps it may bewho knows?feel queer

enoughbut remember, Dukeit's my own faultdon't listen to those bally fools," looking towards Moore

The Duke bent over him and laid him back on the pillow, saying, "Thanks, old chap, you're good stuff. I'll not

forget. Just keep quiet and you'll be all right." He passed his cool, firm hand over the hot brow of the man

looking up at him with love in his eyes, and in a few moments Bruce fell asleep. Then The Duke lifted

"Your words are more true than opportune, doctor. Your patient will need all your attention. As for my

morals, Mr. Moore kindly entrusts himself with the care of them." This with a bow toward The Pilot.

"I wish him joy of his charge," snorted the doctor, turning again to the bed, where Bruce had already passed

The memory of that vigil was like a horrible nightmare for months. Moore lay on the floor and slept. The

Duke rode off somewhither. The old doctor and I kept watch. All night poor Bruce raved in the wildest

delirium, singing, now psalms, now songs, swearing at the cattle or his poker partners, and now and then, in

quieter moments, he was back in his old home, a boy, with a boy's friends and sports. Nothing could check

the fever. It baffled the doctor, who often, during the night, declared that there was "no sense in a wound like

that working up such a fever," adding curses upon the folly of The Duke and his Company.

"You don't think he will not get better, doctor?" I asked, in answer to one of his outbreaks.

"He ought to get over this," he answered, impatiently, "but I believe," he added, deliberately, "he'll have to

Everything stood still for a moment. It seemed impossible. Two days ago full of life, now on the way out.

There crowded in upon me thoughts of his home; his mother, whose letters he used to show me full of

anxious love; his wild life here, with all its generous impulses, its mistakes, its folly.

The old doctor proved a true prophet. After another day of agonized delirium he sank into a stupor which

Then the change came. As the light began to grow at the eastern rim of the prairie and up the far mountains in

the west, Bruce opened his eyes and looked about upon us. The doctor had gone; The Duke had not come

back; Moore and I were alone. He gazed at us steadily for some moments; read our faces; a look of wonder

"Is it coming?" he asked in a faint, awed voice. "Do you really think I must go?"

The eager appeal in his voice and the wistful longing in the wide open, startled eyes were too much for

Moore. He backed behind me and I could hear him weeping like a baby. Bruce heard him, too.

"Is that The Pilot?" he asked. Instantly Moore pulled himself up, wiped his eyes and came round to the other

"Do YOU say I am dying?" The voice was strained in its earnestness. I felt a thrill of admiration go through

me as the Pilot answered in a sweet, clear voice: "They say so, Bruce. But you are not afraid?"

"Nonotafraidbut I'd like to live a little longer. I've made such a mess of it, I'd like to try again." Then

he paused, and his lips quivered a little. "There's my mother, you know," he added, apologetically, "and Jim."

"Yes, I know, Bruce, but it won't be very long for them, too, and it's a good place."

"Don't; don't," said Moore quickly, with sharp pain in his voice, and Bruce smiled a little and closed his eyes,

"He is coming," said Moore, confidently, though how he knew I could not tell. But even as he spoke, looking

out of the window, I saw Jingo come swinging round the bluff. Bruce heard the beat of his hoofs, smiled,

opened his eyes and waited. The leap of joy in his eyes as The Duke came in, clean, cool and fresh as the

Neither man said a word, but Bruce took hold of The Duke's hand in both of his. He was fast growing

"You were too strong for me, and you didn't think, did you?" and the weak voice had a caress in it.

"Read 'The Prodigal,'" he said faintly, and in Moore's clear, sweet voice the music of that matchless story fell

I brought to him the last letter from his mother. He held the envelope before his eyes, then handed it to me,

I opened the letter and looked at the words, "My darling Davie." My tongue stuck and not a sound could I

make. Moore put out his hand and took it from me. The Duke rose to go out, calling me with his eyes, but

Bruce motioned him to stay, and he sat down and bowed his head, while Moore read the letter.

His tones were clear and steady till he came to the last words, when his voice broke and ended in a sob:

"And oh, Davie, laddie, if ever your heart turns home again, remember the door is aye open, and it's joy you'll

Bruce lay quite still, and, from his closed eyes, big tears ran down his cheeks. It was his last farewell to her

whose love had been to him the anchor to all things pure here and to heaven beyond.

He took the letter from Moore's hand, put it with difficulty to his lips, and then, touching the open Bible, he

"No, no!" said Moore, with cheerful, confident voice, though his, tears were flowing. "No fear of your

"What shall I tell her?" I asked, trying to recall him. But the message was never given. He moved one hand

slowly toward The Duke till it touched his head. The Duke lifted his face and looked down at him, and then

he did a beautiful thing for which I forgave him much. He stooped over and kissed the lips grown so white,

and then the brow. The light came back into the eyes of the dying man, he smiled once more, and smilingly

faced toward the Great Beyond. And the morning air, fresh from the suntipped mountains and sweet with

the scent of the June roses, came blowing soft and cool through the open window upon the dead, smiling

Again The Duke did a beautiful thing; for, reaching across his dead friend, he offered his hand to The Pilot.

"Mr. Moore," he said, with fine courtesy, "you are a brave man and a good man; I ask your forgiveness for

But Moore only shook his head while he took the outstretched hand, and said, brokenly:

"The Company of the Noble Seven will meet no more," said The Duke, with a faint smile.

They did meet, however; but when they did, The Pilot was in the chair, and it was not for poker.

It was not many days after my arrival in the Foothill country that I began to hear of Gwen. They all had

stories of her. The details were not many, but the impression was vivid. She lived remote from that centre of

civilization known as Swan Creek in the postal guide, but locally as Old Latour's, far up among the hills near

the Devil's Lake, and from her father's ranch she never ventured. But some of the men had had glimpses of

"What is she like?" I asked Bill one day, trying to pin him down to something like a descriptive account of

"Look like?" He considered a moment, looked slowly round as if searching for a simile, then answered: "I

"Hayer! Well, a few!" said Bill, with some choice combinations of profanity in repudiation of my suggestion.

"Red! Well, not quite exactly," and Bill went off into a low, long, choking chuckle, ejaculating now and then,

"No, Hi," he went on, recovering himself with the same abruptness as he used with his bronco, and looking at

his friend with a face even more than usually solemn, "your hayer ain't red, Hi; don't let any of your relatives

persuade you to that. 'Tain't red!" and he threatened to go off again, but pulled himself up with dangerous

suddenness. "It may be blue, cerulyum blue or even purple, but red!" He paused violently, looking at his

friend as if he found him a new and interesting object of study upon which he could not trust himself to

But Hi, paying no attention to Bill's oration, took up the subject with enthusiasm.

"She kin rideshe's a reg'lar buster to ride, ain't she, Bill?" Bill nodded. "She kin bunch cattle an' cut out an'

"Big? Why, she's just a kid! 'Tain't the bigness of her, it's the nerve. She's got the coldest kind of nerve you

"Oh, Bill here did some funny work at old Meredith's roundup, but he don't speak of it. He's shy, you see,"

"Well, there ain't no occasion for your proceedin' onto that tact," said Bill disgustedly, and Hi loyally

refrained, so I have never yet got the rights of the story. But from what I did hear I gathered that Bill, at the

risk of his life, had pulled The Duke from under the hoofs of a mad steer, and that little Gwen had, in the

coolest possible manner, "sailed in on her bronco" and, by putting two bullets into the steer's head, had saved

them both from great danger, perhaps from death, for the rest of the cattle were crowding near. Of course Bill

could never be persuaded to speak of the incident. A true western man will never hesitate to tell you what he

The only other item that Hi contributed to the sketch of Gwen was that her temper could blaze if the occasion

"Yes," assented Bill. "She's a leetle swift." Then, as if fearing he had been apologizing for her, he added, with

"She is a remarkable child," he said, one day. "Wild and shy as a coyote, but fearless, quite; and with a heart

full of passions. Meredith, the Old Timer, you know, has kept her up there among the hills. She sees no one

but himself and Ponka's Blackfeet relations, who treat her like a goddess and help to spoil her utterly. She

"Ponka and Joe, of course, go along; but even without them she is as safe as if surrounded by the Coldstream

"Not she. She can make her own dresses, moccasins and leggings. She can cook and washthat is, when she

feels in the mood. And she knows all about the birds and beasts and flowers and that sort of thing,

"Control!" said The Duke, in utter astonishment. "Why, bless your soul, nothing in heaven or earth could

control HER. Wait till you see her stand with her proud little head thrown back, giving orders to Joe, and you

will never again connect the idea of control with Gwen. She might be a princess for the pride of her. I've seen

some, too, in my day, but none to touch her for sheer, imperial pride, little Lucifer that she is."

"And how does her father stand her nonsense?" I asked, for I confess I was not much taken with the picture

"Her father simply follows behind her and adores, as do all things that come near her, down, or up, perhaps,

to her two dogsWolf and Loofor either of which she would readily die if need be. Still," he added, after

a pause, "it IS a shame, as you say. She ought to know something of the refinements of civilization, to which,

after all, she belongs, and from which none of us can hope to escape." The Duke was silent for a few

moments, and then added, with some hesitation: "Then, too, she is quite a pagan; never saw a prayer book,

And so it came about, chiefly through The Duke's influence, I imagine, that I was engaged by the Old Timer

to go up to his ranch every week and teach his daughter something of the elementaries of a lady's education.

My introduction was ominous of the many things I was to suffer of that same young maiden before I had

finished my course with her. The Old Timer had given careful directions as to the trail that would lead me to

the canyon where he was to meet me. Up the Swan went the trail, winding ever downward into deeper and

narrower coulees and up to higher open sunlit slopes, till suddenly it settled into a valley which began with

great width and narrowed to a canyon whose rocky sides were dressed out with shrubs and trailing vines and

wet with trickling rivulets from the numerous springs that oozed and gushed from the black, glistening rocks.

This canyon was an eerie place of which ghostly tales were told from the old Blackfeet times. And to this day

no Blackfoot will dare to pass through this blackwalled, oozy, glistening canyon after the moon has passed

the western lip. But in the warm light of broad day the canyon was a good enough place; cool and sweet, and

I lingered through, waiting for the Old Timer, who failed to appear till the shadows began to darken its

Out of the mouth of the canyon the trail climbed to a wide stretch of prairie that swept up over soft hills to the

left and down to the bright gleaming waters of the Devil's Lake on the right. In the sunlight the lake lay like a

gem radiant with many colors, the far side black in the shadow of the crowding pines, then in the middle

deep, blue and purple, and nearer, many shades of emerald that ran quite to the white, sandy beach. Right in

front stood the ranch buildings, upon a slight rising ground and surrounded by a sturdy palisade of upright

pointed poles. This was the castle of the princess. I rode up to the open gate, then turned and stood to look

down upon the marvellous lake shining and shimmering with its many radiant colors. Suddenly there was an

awful roar, my pony shot round upon his hind legs after his beastly cayuse manner, deposited me sitting upon

the ground and fled down the trail, pursued by two huge dogs that brushed past me as I fell. I was aroused

from my amazement by a peal of laughter, shrill but full of music. Turning, I saw my pupil, as I guessed,

standing at the head of a most beautiful pinto (spotted) pony with a heavy cattle quirt in her hand. I scrambled

"What are you laughing at? Why don't you call back your dogs? They will chase my pony beyond all reach."

She lifted her little head, shook back her masses of brownred hair, looked at me as if I were quite beneath

"Then," said I, for I was very angry, "I will kill them," pulling at the revolver in my belt.

"Then," she said, and for the first time I noticed her eyes blue black, with gray rims, "I will kill you," and

she whipped out an uglylooking revolver. From her face I had no doubt that she would not hesitate to do as

she had said. I changed my tactics, for I was anxious about my pony, and said, with my best smile:

"Dearly!" I said, persuading myself of a sudden affection for the cranky little brute.

She sprang upon her pinto and set off down the trail. The pony was now coursing up and down the slopes,

doubling like a hare, instinctively avoiding the canyon where he would be cornered. He was mad with terror

at the huge brutes that were silently but with awful and sure swiftness running him down.

The girl on the pinto whistled shrilly, and called to her dogs: "Down, Wolf! Back, Loo!" but, running low,

with long, stretched bodies, they heeded not, but sped on, ever gaining upon the pony that now circled toward

the pinto. As they drew near in their circling, the girl urged her pinto to meet them, loosening her lariat as she

went. As the pony neared the pinto he slackened his speed; immediately the nearer dog gathered herself in

two short jumps and sprang for the pony's throat. But, even as she sprang, the lariat whirled round the girl's

head and fell swift and sure about the dog's neck, and next moment she lay choking upon the prairie. Her

mate paused, looked back, and gave up the chase. But dire vengeance overtook them, for, like one possessed,

the girl fell upon them with her quirt and beat them one after the other till, in pity for the brutes, I interposed.

"They shall do as I say or I shall kill them! I shall kill them!" she cried, raging and stamping.

Immediately she flung herself upon the one that moaned and whined at her feet, crying:

"If you dare! If you dare!" Then she burst into passionate sobbing. "You bad Loo! You bad, dear old Loo!

But you WERE bad you KNOW you were bad!" and so she went on with her arms about Loo's neck till

Loo, whining and quivering with love and delight, threatened to go quite mad, and Wolf, standing

majestically near, broke into short howls of impatience for his turn of caressing. They made a strange group,

"They always obey ME. They are MINE, but they kill any strange thing that comes in through the gate. They

"Yes!" and her eyes lit up. "He is my friend. He calls me his 'princess,' and he teaches me to talk and tells me

I looked in wonder at her face, so gentle, so girlish, and tried to think back to the picture of the girl who a few

moments before had so coolly threatened to shoot me and had so furiously beaten her dogs.

I kept her talking of The Duke as we walked back to the gate, watching her face the while. It was not

beautiful; it was too thin, and the mouth was too large. But the teeth were good, and the eyes, blueblack

with gray rims, looked straight at you; true eyes and brave, whether in love or in war. Her hair was her glory.

Red it was, in spite of Hi's denial, but of such marvellous, indescribable shade that in certain lights, as she

rode over the prairie, it streamed behind her like a purple banner. A most confusing and bewildering color,

She gave her pinto to Joe and, standing at the door, welcomed me with a dignity and graciousness that made

The door opened upon the main or living room. It was a long, apartment, with low ceiling and walls of hewn

logs chinked and plastered and all beautifully whitewashed and clean. The tables, chairs and benches were all

homemade. On the floor were magnificent skins of wolf, bear, musk ox and mountain goat. The walls were

decorated with heads and horns of deer and mountain sheep, eagles' wings and a beautiful breast of a loon,

which Gwen had shot and of which she was very proud. At one end of the room a huge stone fireplace stood

radiant in its summer decorations of ferns and grasses and wildflowers. At the other end a door opened into

Everything was clean and well kept. Every nook, shelf and corner was decked with flowers and ferns from

A strange house it was, full of curious contrasts, but it fitted this quaint child that welcomed me with such

It was with hesitation, almost with fear, that I began with Gwen; but even had I been able to foresee the

endless series of exasperations through which she was destined to conduct me, still would I have undertaken

my task. For the child, with all her wilfulness, her tempers and her pride, made me, as she did all others, her

Her lessons went on, brilliantly or not at all, according to her sweet will. She learned to read with

extraordinary rapidity, for she was eager to know more of that great world of which The Duke had told her

such thrilling tales. Writing she abhorred. She had no one to write to. Why should she cramp her fingers over

these crooked little marks? But she mastered with hardly a struggle the mysteries of figures, for she would

have to sell her cattle, and "dad doesn't know when they are cheating." Her ideas of education were purely

utilitarian, and what did not appear immediately useful she refused to trifle with. And so all through the

following long winter she vexed my righteous soul with her wilfulness and pride. An appeal to her father was

idle. She would wind her long, thin arms about his neck and let her waving red hair float over him until the

old man was quite helpless to exert authority. The Duke could do most with her. To please him she would

struggle with her crooked letters for an hour at a time, but even his influence and authority had its limits.

"Must I?" she said one day, in answer to a demand of his for more faithful study; "must I?" And throwing up

her proud little head, and shaking back with a trick she had her streaming red hair, she looked straight at him

from her bluegray eyes and asked the monosyllabic question, "Why?" And The Duke looked back at her

"I really don't know why," and turned his back on her. Immediately she sprang at him, shook him by the arm,

"You are not to speak to me like that, and you are not to turn your back that way!"

"What a little princess it is," he said admiringly, "and what a time she will give herself some day!" Then he

added, smiling sadly: "Was I rude, Gwen? Then I am sorry." Her rage was gone, and she looked as if she

could have held him by the feet. As it was, too proud to show her feelings, she just looked at him with

softening eyes, and then sat down to the work she had refused. This was after the advent of The Pilot at Swan

Creek, and, as The Duke rode home with me that night, after long musing he said with hesitation: "She ought

to have some religion, poor child; she will grow up a perfect little devil. The Pilot might be of service if you

"The Duke says he is to make me good!" she cried. "I won't have him, I hate him and you too!" And for that

day she disdained all lessons, and when The Duke next appeared she greeted him with the exclamation, "I

won't have your old Pilot, and I don't want to be good, andandyou think he's no good yourself," at

"Did I?" said The Duke, gravely. "Then I hasten to assure, you that I have changed my mind. He is a good,

"Well, he might be more ancient," acknowledged The Duke, "but in that he is steadily improving."

"I found him in the creek," she announced, with defiant shamefacedness, marching in The Pilot half drowned.

"I think I could have crossed," he said, apologetically, "for Louis was getting on his feet again."

"No, you wouldn't," she protested. "You would have been down into the canyon by now, and you ought to be

"So I am," he hastened to say, "very! But," he added, unwilling to give up his contention, "I have crossed the

"There, then, you WOULD have been drowned but for my lariat!" she cried, triumphantly.

They were much alike, in high temper, in enthusiasm, in vivid imagination, and in sensitive feeling. When the

Old Timer came in Gwen triumphantly introduced The Pilot as having been rescued from a watery grave by

her lariat, and again they fought out the possibilities of drowning and of escape till Gwen almost lost her

temper, and was appeased only by the most profuse expressions of gratitude on the part of The Pilot for her

timely assistance. The Old Timer was perplexed. He was afraid to offend Gwen and yet unwilling to be

cordial to her guest. The Pilot was quick to feel this, and, soon after tea, rose to go. Gwen's disappointment

"Ask him to stay, dad," she said, in a whisper. But the half hearted invitation acted like a spur, and The Pilot

"There's a bad storm coming," she said; "and besides," she added, triumphantly "you can't cross the Swan."

This settled it, and the most earnest prayers of the Old Timer could not have held him back.

We all went down to see him cross, Gwen leading her pinto. The Swan was far over its banks, and in the

middle running swift and strong. Louis snorted, refused and finally plunged. Bravely he swam, till the

swiftrunning water struck him, and over he went on his side, throwing his rider into the water. But The Pilot

kept his head, and, holding by the stirrups, paddled along by Louis' side. When they were halfway across

Louis saw that he had no chance of making the landing; so, like a sensible horse, he turned and made for the

"Let him float down further!" shrieked Gwen, in anxious excitement; and, urging her pinto down the bank,

she coaxed the struggling pony down the stream till opposite a shelf of rock level with the high water. Then

she threw her lariat, and, catching Louis about the neck and the horn of his saddle, she held taut, till, half

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, almost tearfully. "You see, you couldn't get across."

"I can!" and pitched headlong. With a little cry she flew to him, and turned him over on his back. In a few

"Safe enough," she answered; "but you must come in, the rain is just going to pour."

"But your poor horse," she said, cleverly changing her ground; "he is quite tired out."

The Old Timer now joined earnestly in urging him to stay till the storm was past. So, with a final look at the

Of course I knew what would happen. Before the evening was over he had captured the household. The

moment he appeared with dry things on he ran to the organ, that had stood for ten years closed and silent,

opened it and began to play. As he played and sang song after song, the Old Timer's eyes began to glisten

under his shaggy brows. But when he dropped into the exquisite Irish melody, "Oft in the Stilly Night," the

"It was her mother's song," and from that time The Pilot had him fast. It was easy to pass to the old hymn,

"Nearer, My God, to Thee," and then The Pilot said simply, "May we have prayers?" He looked at Gwen, but

It was pitiful to see the old man's face grow slowly red under the deep tan, as he said:

"You may, sir. There's been none here for many years, and the worse for us." He rose slowly, went into the

"It's her mother's," he said, in a voice deep with emotion. "I put it in her trunk the day I laid her out yonder

under the pines." The Pilot, without looking at him, rose and reverently took the book in both his hands and

"It was a sad day for you, but for her" He paused. "You did not grudge it to her?"

"Not now, but then, yes! I wanted her, we needed her." The Old Timer's tears were flowing.

The Pilot put his hand caressingly upon the old man's shoulder as if he had been his father, and said in his

Upon this scene poor Gwen gazed with eyes wide open with amazement and a kind of fear. She had never

seen her father weep since the awful day that she could never forget, when he had knelt in dumb agony beside

the bed on which her mother lay white and still; nor would he heed her till, climbing up, she tried to make her

mother waken and hear her cries. Then he had caught her up in his arms, pressing her with tears and great

sobs to his heart. Tonight she seemed to feel that something was wrong. She went and stood by her father,

"What is he saying, daddy? Is he making you cry?" She looked at The Pilot defiantly.

And while the storm raved outside we three sat listening to that ancient story of love ineffable. And, as the

words fell like sweet music upon our ears, the old man sat with eyes that looked far away, while the child

"Is it a fairy tale, daddy?" she asked, as The Pilot paused. "It isn't true, is it?" and her voice had a pleading

"Of course it's true," said The Pilot, quickly. "I'll read it all to you tomorrow. It's a beautiful story!"

"No," she said, imperiously, "tonight. Read it now! Go on!" she said, stamping her foot, "don't you hear

The Old Timer simply nodded and the reading went on. Those were not my best days, and the faith of my

childhood was not as it had been; but, as The Pilot carried us through those matchless scenes of

selfforgetting love and service the rapt wonder in the child's face as she listened, the appeal in her voice as,

now to her father, and now to me, she cried: "Is THAT true, too? Is it ALL true?" made it impossible for me

to hesitate in my answer. And I was glad to find it easy to give my firm adherence to the truth of all that tale

of wonder. And, as more and more it grew upon The Pilot that the story he was reading, so old to him and to

all he had ever met, was new to one in that listening group, his face began to glow and his eyes to blaze, and

he saw and showed me things that night I had never seen before, nor have I seen them since. The great figure

of the Gospels lived, moved before our eyes. We saw Him bend to touch the blind, we heard Him speak His

marvellous teaching, we felt the throbbing excitement of the crowds that pressed against Him.

Suddenly The Pilot stopped, turned over the leaves and began again: "And He led them out as far as to

Bethany. And He lifted up His hands and blessed them. And it came to pass as He blessed them He was

parted from them and a cloud received Him out of their sight." There was silence for some minutes, then

"Yes," went on The Pilot, "and He sees us, too, and hears us speak, and knows our thoughts."

Again the look of wonder and fear came into her eyes, but she said no word. The experiences of the evening

had made the world new to her. It could never be the same to her again. It gave me a queer feeling to see her,

when we three kneeled to pray, stand helplessly looking on, not knowing what to do, then sink beside her

father, and, winding her arms about his neck, cling to him as the words of prayer were spoken into the ear of

Those were Gwen's first "prayers," and in them Gwen's part was small, for fear and wonder filled her heart;

but the day was to come, and all too soon, when she should have to pour out her soul with strong crying and

Gwen was undoubtedly wild and, as The Sky Pilot said, wilful and wicked. Even Bronco Bill and Hi Kendal

would say so, without, of course, abating one jot of their admiration for her. For fourteen years she had lived

chiefly with wild things. The cattle on the range, wild as deer, the coyotes, the jackrabbits and the timber

wolves were her mates and her instructors. From these she learned her wild ways. The rolling prairie of the

Foothill country was her home. She loved it and all things that moved upon it with passionate love, the only

kind she was capable of. And all summer long she spent her days riding up and down the range alone, or with

her father, or with Joe, or, best of all, with The Duke, her hero and her friend. So she grew up strong,

wholesome and selfreliant, fearing nothing alive and as untamed as a yearling range colt.

She was not beautiful. The winds and sun had left her no complexion to speak of, but the glory of her red

hair, goldred, with purple sheen, nothing could tarnish. Her eyes, too, deep blue with rims of gray, that

flashed with the glint of steel or shone with melting light as of the stars, according to her moodthose Irish,

Of course, all spoiled her. Ponka and her son Joe grovelled in abjectest adoration, while her father and all

who came within touch of her simply did her will. Even The Duke, who loved her better than anything else,

yielded lazy, admiring homage to his Little Princess, and certainly, when she stood straight up with her proud

little goldcrowned head thrown back, flashing forth wrath or issuing imperious commands, she looked a

It was a great day and a good day for her when she fished The Sky Pilot out of the Swan and brought him

home, and the night of Gwen's first "prayers," when she heard for the first time the story of the Man of

Nazareth, was the best of all her nights up to that time. All through the winter, under The Pilot's guidance,

she, with her father, the Old Timer, listening near, went over and over that story so old now to many, but ever

becoming new, till a whole new world of mysterious Powers and Presences lay open to her imagination and

became the home of great realities. She was rich in imagination and, when The Pilot read Bunyan's immortal

poem, her mother's old "Pilgrim's Progress," she moved and lived beside the hero of that tale, backing him up

in his fights and consumed with anxiety over his many impending perils, till she had him safely across the

The Pilot himself, too, was a new and wholesome experience. He was the first thing she had yet encountered

that refused submission, and the first human being that had failed to fall down and worship. There was

something in him that would not ALWAYS yield, and, indeed, her pride and her imperious tempers he met

with surprise and sometimes with a pity that verged toward contempt. With this she was not well pleased and

not infrequently she broke forth upon him. One of these outbursts is stamped upon my mind, not only

because of its unusual violence, but chiefly because of the events which followed. The original cause of her

rage was some trifling misdeed of the unfortunate Joe; but when I came upon the scene it was The Pilot who

was occupying her attention. The expression of surprise and pity on his face appeared to stir her up.

"How very extraordinary that you can't keep hold of yourself better!" he answered.

"It is a great pity," he said, with provoking calm, "and besides, it is weak and silly." His words were

Then she could have cheerfully put him to a slow and cruel death. When she had recovered a little she cried

I do not suppose she meant the insinuation; at any rate The Pilot ignored it and went on.

"You're not strong enough to keep your temper down." And then, as she had no reply ready, he went on,

She was greatly taken back, and gave a quick glance over her shoulder as if to see Him, who would dare to

"Don't care for God?" The Pilot's voice was quiet and solemn, but something in his manner angered her, and

I remember well the settled defiance in her tone and manner as she took a step nearer him and answered in a

"Listen! I have always done as I like, and I shall do as I like till I die!" And she rushed forth from the house

and down toward the canyon, her refuge from all disturbing things, and chiefly from herself.

I could not shake off the impression her words made upon me. "Pretty direct, that," I said to The Pilot, as we

rode away. "The declaration may be philosophically correct, but it rings uncommonly like a challenge to the

Within a week her challenge was accepted, and how fiercely and how gallantly did she struggle to make it

It was The Duke that brought me the news, and as he told me the story his gay, careless selfcommand for

once was gone. For in the gloom of the canyon where he overtook me I could see his face gleaming out

ghastly white, and even his iron nerve could not keep the tremor from his voice.

"I've just sent up the doctor," was his answer to my greeting. "I looked for you last night, couldn't find you,

"Haven't you heard? It's Gwen," he said, and the next minute or two he gave to Jingo, who was indulging in a

series of unexpected plunges. When Jingo was brought down, The Duke was master of himself and told his

Gwen, on her father's buckskin bronco, had gone with The Duke to the big plain above the cutbank where

Joe was herding the cattle. The day was hot and a storm was in the air. They found Joe riding up and down,

singing to keep the cattle quiet, but having a hard time to hold the bunch from breaking. While The Duke was

riding around the far side of the bunch, a cry from Gwen arrested his attention. Joe was in trouble. His horse,

a halfbroken cayuse, had stumbled into a badgerhole and had bolted, leaving Joe to the mercy of the cattle.

At once they began to sniff suspiciously at this phenomenon, a man on foot, and to follow cautiously on his

track. Joe kept his head and walked slowly out, till all at once a young cow began to bawl and to paw the

ground. In another minute one, and then another of the cattle began to toss their heads and bunch and bellow

till the whole herd of two hundred were after Joe. Then Joe lost his head and ran. Immediately the whole herd

broke into a thundering gallop with heads and tails aloft and horns rattling like the loading of a regiment of

"Two more minutes," said The Duke, "would have done for Joe, for I could never have reached him; but, in

spite of my most frantic warnings and signalings, right into the face of that mad, bellowing, thundering mass

of steers rode that little girl. Nerve! I have some myself, but I couldn't have done it. She swung her horse

round Joe and sailed out with him, with the herd bellowing at the tail of her bronco. I've seen some cavalry

"How did it end? Did they run them down?" I asked, with terror at such a result.

"No, they crowded her toward the cutbank, and she was edging them off and was almost past, when they

came to a place where the bank bit in, and her ironmouthed brute wouldn't swerve, but went pounding on,

broke through, plunged; she couldn't spring free because of Joe, and pitched headlong over the bank, while

the cattle went thundering past. I flung myself off Jingo and slid down somehow into the sand, thirty feet

below. Here was Joe safe enough, but the bronco lay with a broken leg, and half under him was Gwen. She

hardly knew she was hurt, but waved her hand to me and cried out, 'Wasn't that a race? I couldn't swing this

hard headed brute. Get me out.' But even as she spoke the light faded from her eyes, she stretched out her

hands to me, saying faintly, 'Oh, Duke,' and lay back white and still. We put a bullet into the buckskin's head,

and carried her home in our jackets, and there she lies without a sound from her poor, white lips."

The Duke was badly cut up. I had never seen him show any sign of grief before, but as he finished the story

"Look here, old chap, don't think me quite a fool. You can't know what that little girl has done for me these

years. Her trust in meit is extraordinary how utterly she trusts mesomehow held me up to my best and

back from perdition. It is the one bright spot in my life in this blessed country. Everyone else thinks me a

"Oh, don't worry your conscience," he answered, with a slight return of his old smile, "a fuller knowledge

would only justify the opinion." Then, after a pause, he added: "But if Gwen goes, I must pull out, I could not

"Can't say yet," replied the old doctor, gruff with long army practice, "bad enough. Good night."

But The Duke's hand fell upon his shoulder with a grip that must have got to the bone, and in a husky voice

"Here, you young tiger, let go! What do you think I am made of?" he cried, angrily. "I didn't suppose I was

It was only by the most complete apology that The Duke could mollify the old doctor sufficiently to get his

"No, she will not die! Great bit of stuff! Better she should die, perhaps! But can't say yet for two weeks. Now

remember," he added sharply, looking into The Duke's woestricken face, "her spirits must be kept up. I have

lied most fully and cheerfully to them inside; you must do the same," and the doctor strode away, calling out:

"Joe! Here, Joe! Where is he gone? Joe, I say! Extraordinary selection Providence makes at times; we could

have spared that lazy halfbreed with pleasure! Joe! Oh, here you are! Where in thunder" But here the

doctor stopped abruptly. The agony in the dark face before him was too much even for the bluff doctor.

Straight and stiff Joe stood by the horse's head till the doctor had mounted, then with a great effort he said:

"Dead!" called out the doctor, glancing at the open window. "Why, bless your old copper carcass, no! Gwen

"You speak me true? Me man, Me no papoose." The piercing black eyes searched the doctor's face. The

doctor hesitated a moment, and then, with an air of great candor, said cheerily:

"That's all right, Joe. Miss Gwen will cut circles round your old cayuse yet. But remember," and the doctor

Joe folded his arms across his breast and stood like a statue till the doctor rode away; then turning to us he

"Good man," answered The Duke, adding, "but remember, Joe, what he told you to do. Must make her laugh

Poor Joe! Humor was not his forte, and his attempt in this direction in the weeks that followed would have

been humorous were they not so pathetic. How I did my part I cannot tell. Those weeks are to me now like

the memory of an ugly nightmare. The ghostly old man moving out and in of his little daughter's room in

useless, dumb agony; Ponka's woestricken Indian face; Joe's extraordinary and unusual but loyal attempts at

funmaking grotesquely sad, and The Duke's unvarying and invincible cheeriness; these furnish light and

For the first two weeks she was simply heroic. She bore her pain without a groan, submitted to the

imprisonment which was harder than pain with angelic patience. Joe, The Duke and I carried out our

instructions with careful exactness to the letter. She never doubted, and we never let her doubt but that in a

few weeks she would be on the pinto's back again and after the cattle. She made us pass our word for this till

"To lie cheerfully with her eyes upon one's face calls for more than I possess," said The Duke one day. "The

And she believed us absolutely, and made plans for the fall "round up," and for hunts and rides till one's

heart grew sick. As to the ethical problem involved, I decline to express an opinion, but we had no need to

wait for our punishment. Her trust in us, her eager and confident expectation of the return of her happy, free,

outdoor life; these brought to us, who knew how vain they were, their own adequate punishment for every

false assurance we gave. And how bright and brave she was those first days! How resolute to get back to the

But she had need of all her brightness and courage and resolution before she was done with her long fight.

Gwen's hope and bright courage, in spite of all her pain, were wonderful to witness. But all this cheery hope

and courage and patience snuffed out as a candle, leaving noisome darkness to settle down in that sickroom

The verdict was clear and final. The old doctor, who loved Gwen as his own, was inclined to hope against

hope, but Fawcett, the clever young doctor from the distant town, was positive in his opinion. The scene is

clear to me now, after many years. We three stood in the outer room; The Duke and her father were with

Gwen. So earnest was the discussion that none of us heard the door open just as young Fawcett was saying in

"What! Never walk again! It's a lie!" There stood the Old Timer, white, fierce, shaking.

"Hush!" said the old doctor, pointing at the open door. He was too late. Even as he spoke, there came from

the inner room a wild, unearthly cry as of some dying thing and, as we stood gazing at one another with

"Daddy! daddy! come! What do they say? Tell me, daddy. It is not true! It is not true! Look at me, daddy!"

She turned with a pitiful cry to The Duke, who stood white and stiff with arms drawn tight across his breast

"Oh, Duke, did you hear them? You told me to be brave, and I tried not to cry when they hurt me. But I can't

She stretched out her hands to him. But The Duke, leaning over her and holding her hands fast in his, could

"Does He?" she cried, eagerly. Then she paused suddenly, turned to me and said: "Do you remember he said

"The Pilot," she cried, impatiently, "don't you remember? And I said I should do as I liked till I died."

"But I did, and I do," she cried, with passionate vehemence, "and I will do as I like! I will not lie here! I will

ride! I will! I will! I will!" and she struggled up, clenched her fists, and sank back faint and weak. It was not a

pleasant sight, but gruesome. Her rage against that Unseen Omnipotence was so defiant and so helpless.

Those were dreadful weeks to Gwen and to all about her. The constant pain could not break her proud spirit;

she shed no tears; but she fretted and chafed and grew more imperiously exacting every day. Ponka and Joe

she drove like a slave master, and even her father, when he could not understand her wishes, she impatiently

banished from her room. Only The Duke could please or bring her any cheer, and even The Duke began to

feel that the day was not far off when he, too, would fail, and the thought made him despair. Her pain was

hard to bear, but harder than the pain was her longing for the open air and the free, flowerstrewn,

breezeswept prairie. But most pitiful of all were the days when, in her utter weariness and uncontrollable

"Oh, it is so cool and shady," she would plead, "and the flowers up in the rocks and the vines and things are

all so lovely. I am always better there. I know I should be better," till The Duke would be distracted and

One day, when the strain had been more terrible than usual, The Duke rode down to me and said:

"Look here, this thing can't go on. Where is The Pilot gone? Why doesn't he stay where he belongs? I wish to

"He's gone where he was sent," I replied shortly. "You don't set much store by him when he does come

round. He is gone on an exploring trip through the Dog Lake country. He'll be back by the end of next week."

"I say, bring him up, for Heaven's sake," said The Duke, "he may be of some use, and anyway it will be a

new face for her, poor child." Then he added, rather penitently: "I fear this thing is getting on to my nerves.

It was a new thing to hear The Duke confess his need of any man, much less penitence for a fault. I felt my

It was wonderful how we had all come to confide in The Pilot during his year of missionary work among us.

Somehow the cowboy's name of "Sky Pilot" seemed to express better than anything else the place he held

with us. Certain it is, that when, in their dark hours, any of the fellows felt in need of help to strike the

"upward trail," they went to The Pilot; and so the name first given in chaff came to be the name that

expressed most truly the deep and tender feeling these rough, bighearted men cherished for him. When The

Pilot came home I carefully prepared him for his trial, telling all that Gwen had suffered and striving to make

him feel how desperate was her case when even The Duke had to confess himself beaten. He did not seem

sufficiently impressed. Then I pictured for him all her fierce wilfulness and her fretful humors, her

impatience with those who loved her and were wearing out their souls and bodies for her. "In short," I

concluded, "she doesn't care a rush for anything in heaven or earth, and will yield to neither man nor God."

"Well, I do think she might show some signs of gratitude and some gentleness towards those ready to die for

"Oh, you do!" said he, with high scorn. "You all combine to ruin her temper and disposition with foolish

flattery and weak yielding to her whims, right or wrong; you smile at her imperious pride and encourage her

wilfulness, and then not only wonder at the results, but blame her, poor child, for all. Oh, you are a fine lot,

He had a most exasperating ability for putting one in the wrong, and I could only think of the proper and

sufficient reply long after the opportunity for making it had passed. I wondered what The Duke would say to

this doctrine. All the following day, which was Sunday, I could see that Gwen was on The Pilot's mind. He

Monday morning found us on the way to the Old Timer's ranch. And what a morning it was! How beautiful

our world seemed! About us rolled the roundtopped, velvet hills, brown and yellow or faintly green,

spreading out behind us to the broad prairie, and before, clambering up and up to meet the purple bases of the

great mountains that lay their mighty length along the horizon and thrust up white, sunlit peaks into the blue

sky. On the hillsides and down in the sheltering hollows we could see the bunches of cattle and horses

feeding upon the rich grasses. High above, the sky, cloudless and blue, arched its great kindly roof from

prairie to mountain peaks, and over all, above, below, upon prairie, hillsides and mountains, the sun poured

As we followed the trail that wound up and into the heart of these rounded hills and ever nearer to the purple

mountains, the morning breeze swept down to meet us, bearing a thousand scents, and filling us with its own

fresh life. One can know the quickening joyousness of these Foothill breezes only after he has drunk with

Through all this mingling beauty of sunlit hills and shady hollows and purple, snowpeaked mountains, we

rode with hardly a word, every minute adding to our heartfilling delight, but ever with the thought of the

little room where, shut in from all this outside glory, lay Gwen, heartsore with fretting and longing. This

must have been in The Pilot's mind, for he suddenly held up his horse and burst out:

"Poor Gwen, how she loves all this!it is her very life. How can she help fretting the heart out of her? To

see this no more!" He flung himself off his bronco and said, as if thinking aloud: "It is too awful! Oh, it is

He threw himself down upon the grass and turned over on his face. After a few minutes he appealed to me,

"How can one go to her? It seems to me sheerest mockery to speak of patience and submission to a wild

young thing from whom all this is suddenly snatched foreverand this was very life to her, too, remember."

Then he sprang up and we rode hard for an hour, till we came to the mouth of the canyon. Here the trail grew

difficult and we came to a walk. As we went down into the cool depths the spirit of the canyon came to meet

us and took The Pilot in its grip. He rode in front, feasting his eyes on all the wonders in that storehouse of

beauty. Trees of many kinds deepened the shadows of the canyon. Over us waved the big elms that grew up

here and there out of the bottom, and around their feet clustered low cedars and hemlocks and balsams, while

the sturdy, rugged oaks and delicate, trembling poplars clung to the rocky sides and clambered up and out to

the canyon's sunny lips. Back of all, the great black rocks, decked with mossy bits and clinging things,

glistened cool and moist between the parting trees. From many an oozy nook the dainty clematis and

columbine shook out their bells, and, lower down, from beds of manycolored moss the late windflower

and maidenhair and tiny violet lifted up brave, sweet faces. And through the canyon the Little Swan sang its

song to rocks and flowers and overhanging trees, a song of many tones, deepbooming where it took its first

sheer plunge, gaychattering where it threw itself down the ragged rocks, and softmurmuring where it

lingered about the roots of the loving, listening elms. A cool, sweet, soothing place it was, with all its shades

and sounds and silences, and, lest it should be sad to any, the sharp, quick sunbeams danced and laughed

down through all its leaves upon mosses, flowers and rocks. No wonder that The Pilot, drawing a deep breath

"That does me good. It is better at times even than the sunny hills. This was Gwen's best spot."

I saw that the canyon had done its work with him. His face was strong and calm as the hills on a summer

morning, and with this face he looked in upon Gwen. It was one of her bad days and one of her bad moods,

"Oh, Gwen!" he cried, without a word of greeting, much less of Commiseration, "we have had such a ride!"

And he spread out the sunlit, roundtopped hills before her, till I could feel their very breezes in my face.

This The Duke had never dared to do, fearing to grieve her with pictures of what she should look upon no

more. But, as The Pilot talked, before she knew, Gwen was out again upon her beloved hills, breathing their

fresh, sunny air, filling her heart with their multitudinous delights, till her eyes grew bright and the lines of

fretting smoothed out of her face and she forgot her pain. Then, before she could remember, he had her down

into the canyon, feasting her heart with its airs and sights and sounds. The black, glistening rocks, tricked out

with moss and trailing vines, the great elms and low green cedars, the oaks and shivering poplars, the

clematis and columbine hanging from the rocky nooks, and the violets and maidenhair deep bedded in their

mosses. All this and far more he showed her with a touch so light as not to shake the morning dew from bell

or leaf or frond, and with a voice so soft and full of music as to fill our hearts with the canyon's mingling

sounds, and, as I looked upon her face, I said to myself: "Dear old Pilot! for this I shall always love you

well." As poor Gwen listened, the rapture of it drew the big tears down her cheeksalas! no longer brown,

but white, and for that day at least the dull, dead weariness was lifted from her heart.

The Pilot's first visit to Gwen had been a triumph. But none knew better than he that the fight was still to

come, for deep in Gwen's heart were thoughts whose pain made her forget all other.

"Was it God let me fall?" she asked abruptly one day, and The Pilot knew the fight was on; but he only

"And does He know I shall never ride again? Does He know how long the days are, and the nights when I

"Yes, Gwen dear," said The Pilot, and the tears were standing in his eyes, though his voice was still steady

"Listen to me, Gwen," began The Pilot, in great distress, but she cut him short.

"Are you quite sure He knows? Answer me!" she cried, with her old imperiousness.

"Then what do you think of Him, just because He's big and strong, treating a little girl that way?" Then she

But The Pilot did not wince. I wondered how he would solve that problem that was puzzling, not only Gwen,

"Gwen," said The Pilot, as if changing the subject, "did it hurt to put on the plaster jacket?"

"You just bet!" said Gwen, lapsing in her English, as The Duke was not present; "it was worse than

anythingawful! They had to straighten me out, you know," and she shuddered at the memory of that pain.

"Why, they let the doctors. It is going to help me to sit up and perhaps to walk about a little," answered

"Oh," said The Pilot, "it was very mean to stand by and see you hurt like that."

"Why, you silly," replied Owen, impatiently, "they want my back to get straight and strong."

"Oh, then they didn't do it just for fun or for nothing?" said The Pilot, innocently.

"I mean they love you though they let you be hurt; or rather they let the doctors hurt you BECAUSE they

Gwen kept her eyes fixed with curious earnestness upon his face till the light began to dawn.

"I wonder if that can be true," she said, as if to herself; and soon we said goodby and came awayThe

Pilot, limp and voiceless, but I triumphant, for I began to see a little light for Gwen.

But the fight was by no means over; indeed, it was hardly well begun. For when the autumn came, with its

misty, purple days, most glorious of all days in the cattle country, the old restlessness came back and the

fierce refusal of her lot. Then came the day of the roundup. Why should she have to stay while all went after

the cattle? The Duke would have remained, but she impatiently sent him away. She was weary and

heartsick, and, worst of all, she began to feel that most terrible of burdens, the burden of her life to others. I

was much relieved when The Pilot came in fresh and bright, waving a bunch of wildflowers in his hand.

"I thought they were all gone," he cried. "Where do you think I found them? Right down by the big elm root,"

and, though he saw by the settled gloom of her face that the storm was coming, he went bravely on picturing

the canyon in all the splendor of its autumn dress. But the spell would not work. Her heart was out on the

sloping hills, where the cattle were bunching and crowding with tossing heads and rattling horns, and it was

"Oh, I am sick of all this! I want to ride! I want to see the cattle and the men andandand all the things

outside." The Pilot was cowboy enough to know the longing that tugged at her heart for one wild race after

"I am patient; at least I have been patient for two whole months, and it's no use, and I don't believe God cares

"No, He does not care," she answered, with angry emphasis, and The Pilot made no reply.

"Perhaps," she went on, hesitatingly, "He's angry because I said I didn't care for Him, you remember? That

was very wicked. But don't you think I'm punished nearly enough now? You made me very angry, and I

Poor Gwen! God had grown to be very real to her during these weeks of pain, and very terrible. The Pilot

looked down a moment into the bluegray eyes, grown so big and so pitiful, and hurriedly dropping on his

"Oh, Gwen, Gwen, He's not like that. Don't you remember how Jesus was with the poor sick people? That's

"Then why doesn't He?" she asked; and there was no impatience now, but only trembling anxiety as she went

on in a timid voice: "I asked Him to, over and over, and said I would wait two months, and now it's more than

three. Are you quite sure He hears now?" She raised herself on her elbow and gazed searchingly into The

Pilot's face. I was glad it was not into mine. As she uttered the words, "Are you quite sure?" one felt that

things were in the balance. I could not help looking at The Pilot with intense anxiety. What would he answer?

The Pilot gazed out of the window upon the hills for a few moments. How long the silence seemed! Then,

turning, looked into the eyes that searched his so steadily and answered simply:

"Yes, Gwen, I am quite sure!" Then, with quick inspiration, he got her mother's Bible and said: "Now, Gwen,

try to see it as I read." But, before he read, with the true artist's instinct he created the proper atmosphere. By

a few vivid words he made us feel the pathetic loneliness of the Man of Sorrows in His last sad days. Then he

read that masterpiece of all tragic picturing, the story of Gethsemane. And as he read we saw it all. The

garden and the trees and the sorrowstricken Man alone with His mysterious agony. We heard the prayer so

Gwen was far too quick to need explanation, and The Pilot only said, "You see, Gwen, God gave nothing but

"Yes, but listen." He turned the leaves rapidly and read: "'We see Jesus for the suffering of death crowned

"But how can this be best for me? I am no use to anyone. It can't be best to just lie here and make them all

wait on me, andandI did want to help daddyandohI know they will get tired of me! They are

She was by this time sobbing as I had never heard her beforedeep, passionate sobs. Then again the Pilot

"Now, Gwen," he said severely, "you know we're not as mean as that, and that you are just talking nonsense,

"It is red, as red can be; a beautiful, shining purple RED," said The Pilot emphatically, beginning to brush.

"Yes, I've seen it in the sun, purple. Haven't you?" said The Pilot, appealing to me. "And my story is about

"True? It's as true asas" he glanced round the room, "as the Pilgrim's Progress." This was satisfactory,

"At first there were no canyons, but only the broad, open prairie. One day the Master of the Prairie, walking

out over his great lawns, where were only grasses, asked the Prairie, 'Where are your flowers?' and the Prairie

said, 'Master, I have no seeds.' Then he spoke to the birds, and they carried seeds of every kind of flower and

strewed them far and wide, and soon the Prairie bloomed with crocuses and roses and buffalo beans and the

yellow crowfoot and the wild sunflowers and the red lilies all the summer long. Then the Master came and

was well pleased; but he missed the flowers he loved best of all, and he said to the Prairie: 'Where are the

clematis and the columbine, the sweet violets and wind flowers, and all the ferns and flowering shrubs?' And

again he spoke to the birds, and again they carried all the seeds and strewed them far and wide. But, again,

when the Master came, he could not find the flowers he loved best of all, and he said: 'Where are those, my

sweetest flowers?' and the Prairie cried sorrowfully: 'Oh, Master, I cannot keep the flowers, for the winds

sweep fiercely, and the sun beats upon my breast, and they wither up and fly away.' Then the Master spoke to

the Lightning, and with one swift blow the Lightning cleft the Prairie to the heart. And the Prairie rocked and

groaned in agony, and for many a day moaned bitterly over its black, jagged, gaping wound. But the Little

Swan poured its waters through the cleft, and carried down deep black mould, and once more the birds

carried seeds and strewed them in the canyon. And after a long time the rough rocks were decked out with

soft mosses and trailing vines, and all the nooks were hung with clematis and columbine, and great elms

lifted their huge tops high up into the sunlight, and down about their feet clustered the low cedars and

balsams, and everywhere the violets and windflower and maidenhair grew and bloomed, till the canyon

The quaint tale was ended, and Gwen lay quiet for some moments, then said gently:

Then The Pilot read to her: "The fruitsI'll read 'flowers' of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, longsuffering,

gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, selfcontrol, and some of these grow only in the canyon."

"Gentleness, meekness, selfcontrol; but though the others, love, joy, peace, bloom in the open, yet never

For a long time Gwen lay quite still, and then said wistfully, while her lip trembled:

"Some day they will bloom, Gwen dear; He will find them, and we, too, shall see them."

We rode through the big gate, down the sloping hill, past the smiling, twinkling little lake, and down again

out of the broad sunshine into the shadows and soft lights of the canyon. As we followed the trail that wound

among the elms and cedars, the very air was full of gentle stillness; and as we moved we seemed to feel the

touch of loving hands that lingered while they left us, and every flower and tree and vine and shrub and the

soft mosses and the deepbedded ferns whispered, as we passed, of love and peace and joy.

To The Duke it was all a wonder, for as the days shortened outside they brightened inside; and every day, and

more and more Gwen's room became the brightest spot in all the house, and when he asked The Pilot:

"What did you do to the Little Princess, and what's all this about the canyon and its flowers?" The Pilot said,

"The fruits of the Spirit are love, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, selfcontrol,

and some of these are found only in the canyon," and The Duke, standing up straight, handsome and strong,

"Yes, I'm quite sure," answered The Pilot, simply. Then, holding The Duke's hand as long as one man dare

"When I come!" said The Duke, and a quick spasm of pain passed over his handsome face"God help me,

it's not too far away now." Then he smiled again his old, sweet smile, and said:

"Yes, you are all right, for, of all flowers I have seen, none are fairer or sweeter than those that are waving in

The Pilot had set his heart upon the building of a church in the Swan Creek district, partly because he was

human and wished to set a mark of remembrance upon the country, but more because he held the sensible

All through the summer he kept setting this as an object at once desirable and possible to achieve. But few

Little Mrs. Muir was of the few, and she was not to be despised, but her influence was neutralized by the

solid immobility of her husband. He had never done anything sudden in his life. Every resolve was the result

of a long process of mind, and every act of importance had to be previewed from all possible points. An

honest man, strongly religious, and a great admirer of The Pilot, but slowmoving as a glacier, although with

"He's soond at the hairt, ma man Robbie," his wife said to The Pilot, who was fuming and fretting at the

blocking of his plans, "but he's terrible deleeberate. Bide ye a bit, laddie. He'll come tae."

"But meantime the summer's going and nothing will be done," was The Pilot's distressed and impatient

So a meeting was called to discuss the question of building a church, with the result that the five men and

three women present decided that for the present nothing could be done. This was really Robbie's opinion,

though he refused to do or say anything but grunt, as The Pilot said to me afterwards, in a rage. It is true,

Williams, the storekeeper just come from "across the line," did all the talking, but no one paid much attention

to his fluent fatuities except as they represented the unexpressed mind of the dour, exasperating little

Scotchman, who sat silent but for an "ay" now and then, so expressive and conclusive that everyone knew

what he meant, and that discussion was at an end. The schoolhouse was quite sufficient for the present; the

people were too few and too poor and they were getting on well under the leadership of their present minister.

It was a sore blow to The Pilot, who had set his heart upon a church, and neither Mrs; Muir's "hoots" at her

husband's slowness nor her promises that she "wad mak him hear it" could bring comfort or relieve his

In this state of mind he rode up with me to pay our weekly visit to the little girl shut up in her lonely house

It had become The Pilot's custom during these weeks to turn for cheer to that little room, and seldom was he

disappointed. She was so bright, so brave, so cheery, and so full of fun, that gloom faded from her presence

Gwen's bright faceit was almost always bright nowand her bright welcome did something for The Pilot,

but the feeling of failure was upon him, and failure to his enthusiastic nature was worse than pain. Not that he

confessed either to failure or gloom; he was far too true a man for that; but Gwen felt his depression in spite

of all his brave attempts at brightness, and insisted that he was ill, appealing to me.

"Oh, it's only his church," I said, proceeding to give her an account of Robbie Muir's silent, solid inertness,

The Pilot smiled. "No, indeed," he answered; "why, he's the best man in the place, but I wish he would say or

do something. If he would only get mad and swear I think I should feel happier."

"You see, he sits there in solemn silence looking so tremendously wise that most men feel foolish if they

speak, while as for doing anything the idea appears preposterous, in the face of his immovableness."

"I wish some one would," answered The Pilot. "It would make him seem more human if he could be made to

"I could make him jump," said Gwen, viciously, "and I WILL," she added, after a pause.

And so she did, for when the next meeting was called to consult as to the building of a church, the

congregation, chiefly of farmers and their wives, with Williams, the storekeeper, were greatly surprised to see

Bronco Bill, Hi, and half a dozen ranchers and cowboys walk in at intervals and solemnly seat themselves.

Robbie looked at them with surprise and a little suspicion. In church matters he had no dealings with the

Samaritans from the hills, and while, in their unregenerate condition, they might be regarded as suitable

objects of missionary effort, as to their having any part in the direction, much less control, of the church

policyfrom such a notion Robbie was delivered by his loyal adherence to the scriptural injunction that he

The Pilot, though surprised to see Bill and the cattle men, was none the less delighted, and faced the meeting

with more confidence. He stated the question for discussion: Should a church building be erected this summer

in Swan Creek? and he put his case well. He showed the need of a church for the sake of the congregation,

for the sake of the men in the district, the families growing up, the incoming settlers, and for the sake of the

country and its future. He called upon all who loved their church and their country to unite in this effort. It

was an enthusiastic appeal and all the women and some of the men were at once upon his side.

Then followed dead, solemn silence. Robbie was content to wait till the effect of the speech should be

"The kirk wad be a gran' thing, nae doot, an' they wad a' dootless"with a suspicious glance toward

Bill"rejoice in its erection. But we maun be cautious, an' I wad like to enquire hoo much money a kirk cud

The Pilot was ready with his answer. The cost would be $1,200. The Church Building Fund would contribute

$200, the people could give $300 in labor, and the remaining $700 he thought could be raised in the district in

"Ay," said Robbie, and the tone and manner were sufficient to drench any enthusiasm with the chilliest of

water. So much was this the case that the chairman, Williams, seemed quite justified in saying:

"It is quite evident that the opinion of the meeting is adverse to any attempt to load the community with a

debt of one thousand dollars," and he proceeded with a very complete statement of the many and various

objections to any attempt at building a church this year. The people were very few, they were dispersed over

a large area, they were not interested sufficiently, they were all spending money and making little in return;

Robbie sat silent and expressionless in spite of his little wife's anxious whispers and nudges. The Pilot looked

the picture of woe, and was on the point of bursting forth, when the meeting was startled by Bill.

"Say, boys! they hain't much stuck on their shop, heh?" The low, drawling voice was perfectly distinct and

"Old Scotchie takes his religion out in prayin', I guess," drawled in Bill, "but wants to sponge for his plant."

This reference to Robbie's proposal to use the school moved the youngsters to tittering and made the little

"There ain't $700 in the hull blanked outfit." This was a stranger's voice, and again Robbie squirmed, for he

"No good!" said another emphatic voice. "A blanked lot o' psalm singing snipes."

"Old Windbag there don't see any show for swipin' the collection, with Scotchie round," said Hi, with a

following ripple of quiet laughter, for Williams' reputation was none too secure.

Robbie was in a most uncomfortable state of mind. So unusually stirred was he that for the first time in his

"I move we adjourn, Mr. Chairman," he said, in a voice which actually vibrated with emotion.

"Ye can bide till morrnin'," said Robbie, angrily. "A'm gaen hame," beginning to put on his coat.

"Right you are, pardner," said Hi, springing to the door and waiting in delighted expectation for his friend's

Robbie looked at the door, then at his wife, hesitated a moment, I have no doubt wishing her home. Then Bill

"An' I didn't feel as if this war hardly my game, though The Pilot ain't mean about invitin' a feller on Sunday

afternoons. But them as runs the shop don't seem to want us fellers round too much."

Robbie was gazing keenly at Bill, and here shook his head, muttering angrily: "Hoots, nonsense! ye're

"But," went on Bill, slowly, "I guess I've been on the wrong track. I've been acherishin' the opinion" ["Hear!

hear!" yelled his admirers], "cherishin' the opinion," repeated Bill, "that these fellers," pointing to Robbie,

"was stuck on religion, which I ain't much myself, and reely consarned about the blocking ov the devil, which

The Pilot says can't be did without a regular Gospel factory. O' course, it tain't any biznis ov mine, but if us

fellers was reely only sot on anything condoocin'," ["Hear! hear!" yelled Hi, in ecstasy], "condoocin',"

repeated Bill slowly and with relish, "to the good ov the Order" (Bill was a brotherhood man), "I b'lieve I

"You bet your sox," yelled the strange voice, in chorus with other shouts of approval.

"O' course, I ain't no bettin' man," went on Bill, insinuatingly, "as a regular thing, but I'd gamble a few jist

here on this pint; if the boys was stuck on anythin' costin' about seven hundred dollars, it seems to me likely

Here Robbie grunted out an "ay" of such fulness of contemptuous unbelief that Bill paused, and, looking over

"I ain't much given to bettin', as I remarked before, but, if a man shakes money at me on that proposition, I'd

accommodate him to a limited extent." ["Hear! hear! Bully boy!" yelled Hi again, from the door.] "Not bein'

too bold, I cherish the opinion" [again yells of approval from the corner], "that even for this here Gospel

plant, seein' The Pilot's rather sot onto it, I b'lieve the boys could find five hundred dollars inside ov a month,

Then Robbie was in great wrath and, stung by the taunting, drawling voice beyond all selfcommand, he

'Tain't likely I'll be called on; I guess $500 is safe enough," drawled Bill, cunningly drawing him on. Then

"Oo ay!" said he, in a voice of quiet contempt, "the twa hunner wull be here and 'twull wait ye long eneuch,

"Left it on the pianner," suggested Hi, who was in a state of great hilarity at Bill's success in drawing the

"But," Bill proceeded, recovering himself, and with increasing suavity, "if some gentleman would mark down

the date of the almanac I cherish the opinion" [cheers from the corner] "that in one month from today there

will be five hundred dollars lookin' round for two hundred on that there desk mebbe, or p'raps you would

incline to two fifty," he drawled, in his most winning tone to Robbie, who was growing more impatient every

"You will make a memento of this slight transaction, boys, and per'aps the schoolmaster will write it down,"

It was all carefully taken down, and amid much enthusiastic confusion the ranchers and their gang carried

Bill off to Old Latour's to "licker up," while Robbie, in deep wrath but in dour silence, went off through the

dark with his little wife following some paces behind him. His chief grievance, however, was against the

chairman for "allooin' sic a disorderly pack o' loons tae disturb respectable fowk," for he could not hide the

fact that he had been made to break through his accustomed defence line of immovable silence. I suggested,

conversing with him next day upon the matter, that Bill was probably only chaffing.

"Ay," said Robbie, in great disgust, "the daft eejut, he wad mak a fule o' onything or onybuddie."

That was the sorest point with poor Robbie. Bill had not only cast doubts upon his religious sincerity, which

the little man could not endure, but he had also held him up to the ridicule of the community, which was

painful to his pride. But when he understood, some days later, that Bill was taking steps to back up his offer

and had been heard to declare that "he'd make them pious ducks take water if he had to put up a year's pay,"

Robbie went quietly to work to make good his part of the bargain. For his Scotch pride would not suffer him

The next day everyone was talking of Bill's bluffing the church people, and there was much quiet chuckling

The Pilot was equally distressed and bewildered, for Bill's conduct, so very unusual, had only one

"I wish he had waited till after the meeting to go to Latour's. He spoiled the last chance I had. There's no use

"Oh, fiddle!" said The Pilot, contemptuously. "He was only giving Muir 'a song and dance,' as he would say.

But when I told Gwen the story of the night's proceedings, she went into raptures over Bill's grave speech and

"Oh, lovely! dear old Bill and his 'cherished opinion.' Isn't he just lovely? Now he'll do something."

"Not he, I'm afraid. Of course Bill was just bluffing him. But it was good sport."

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she kept crying, shrieking with laughter over Bill's cherishing opinions and desires. "I

Before I left that day, Bill himself came to the Old Timer's ranch, inquiring in a casual way "if the 'boss' was

After some delay and some shuffling with hat and spurs, Bill lounged in and set his lank form upon the

extreme end of a bench at the door, trying to look unconcerned as he remarked: "Gittin' cold. Shouldn't

"Oh, come here," cried Gwen, impatiently, holding out her hand. "Come here and shake hands."

Bill hesitated, spat out into the other room his quid of tobacco, and swayed awkwardly across the room

toward the bed, and, taking Gwen's hand, he shook it up and down, and hurriedly said:

"No; you don't," cried Gwen, laughing immoderately, but keeping hold of Bill's hand, to his great confusion.

"I'm not well a bit, but I'm a great deal better since hearing of your meeting, Bill."

To this Bill made no reply, being entirely engrossed in getting his hard, bony, brown hand out of the grasp of

But Bill, who had by this time got back to his seat at the door, pretended ignorance of any achievement

"Oh, don't talk nonsense!" cried Gwen, impatiently. "Tell me how you got Scottie to lay you two hundred and

"Oh, that!" said Bill, in great surprise; "that ain't nuthin' much. Scottie riz slick enough."

"But how did you get him?" persisted Gwen. "Tell me, Bill," she added, in her most coaxing voice.

"Well," said Bill, "it was easy as rollin' off a log. I made the remark as how the boys ginerally put up for what

they wanted without no fuss, and that if they was sot on havin' a Gospel shack I cherished the opinion"here

Gwen went off into a smothered shriek, which made Bill pause and look at her in alarm.

"I cherished the opinion," drawled on Bill, while Gwen stuck her handkerchief into her mouth, "that mebbe

they'd put up for it the seven hundred dollars, and, even as it was, seein' as The Pilot appeared to be sot on to

it, if them fellers would find two hundred and fifty I cher" another shriek from Gwen cut him suddenly

"It's the rheumaticks, mebbe," said Bill, anxiously. "Terrible bad weather for 'em. I get 'em myself."

"No, no," said Gwen, wiping away her tears and subduing her laughter. "Go on, Bill."

"Yes, it's here right enough," I said, "but I don't suppose you mean to follow it up, do you?"

"You don't, eh? Well, I am not responsible for your supposin', but them that is familiar with Bronco Bill

"But how in the world can you get five hundred dollars from the cowboys for a church?"

"I hain't done the arithmetic yet, but it's safe enough. You see, it ain't the church altogether, it's the reputation

Bill nodded his head slowly and said: "Proud to have you," trying hard to look enthusiastic.

"You don't think I can," said Gwen. Bill protested against such an imputation. "But I can. I'll get daddy and

"Much!" said Bill, "if the rest of the fellows play up to that lead there won't be any trouble about that five

"Yes. I'll give the Pinto!" said Gwen, decidedly. "I'll not need him any more," her lips quivered, and Bill

coughed and spat into the next room, "and besides, I want to give something I like. And Bill will sell him for

"Well," said Bill, slowly, "now come to think, it'll be purty hard to sell that there pinto." Gwen began to

exclaim indignantly, and Bill hurried on to say, "Not but what he ain't a good leetle horse for his weight, good

"Yes, that's so," assented Bill. "That's so, if you've got the rider, but put one of them rangers on to him and it

wouldn't be no fair show." Bill was growing more convinced every moment that the pinto wouldn't sell to any

advantage. "Ye see," he explained carefully and cunningly, "he ain't a horse you could yank round and slam

Gwen shuddered. "Oh, I wouldn't think of selling him to any of those cowboys." Bill crossed his legs and

hitched round uncomfortably on his bench. "I mean one of those rough fellows that don't know how to treat a

horse." Bill nodded, looking relieved. "I thought that some one like you, Bill, who knew how to handle a

"No call for that," said Bill, hastily, "not but what The Dook ain't all right as a jedge of a horse, but The Dook

ain't got the connection, it ain't his line." Bill hesitated. "But, if you are real sot on to sellin' that pinto, come

to think I guess I could find a sale for him, though, of course, I think perhaps the figger won't be high."

And so it was arranged that the pinto should be sold and that Bill should have the selling of it.

It was characteristic of Gwen that she would not take farewell of the pony on whose back she had spent so

many hours of freedom and delight. When once she gave him up she refused to allow her heart to cling to

It was characteristic, too, of Bill that he led off the pinto after night had fallen, so that "his pardner" might be

"This here's rather a new game for me, but when my pardner," here he jerked his head towards Gwen's

window, "calls for trumps, I'm blanked if I don't throw my highest, if it costs a leg."

Bill's method of conducting the sale of the pinto was eminently successful as a financial operation, but there

are those in the Swan Creek country who have never been able to fathom the mystery attaching to the affair.

It was at the fall roundup, the beef roundup, as it is called, which this year ended at the Ashley Ranch.

There were representatives from all the ranches and some cattlemen from across the line. The hospitality of

the Ashley Ranch was up to its own lofty standard, and, after supper, the men were in a state of high

exhilaration. The Hon. Fred and his wife, Lady Charlotte, gave themselves to the duties of their position as

hosts for the day with a heartiness and grace beyond praise. After supper the men gathered round the big fire,

which was piled up before the long, low shed, which stood open in front. It was a scene of such wild and

picturesque interest as can only be witnessed in the western ranching country. About the fire, most of them

wearing "shaps" and all of them wide, hardbrimmed cowboy hats, the men grouped themselves, some

reclining upon skins thrown upon the ground, some standing, some sitting, smoking, laughing, chatting, all in

highest spirits and humor. They had just got through with their season of arduous and, at times, dangerous

toil. Their minds were full of their long, hard rides, their wild and varying experiences with mad cattle and

bucking broncos, their anxious watchings through hot nights, when a breath of wind or a coyote's howl might

set the herd off in a frantic stampede, their wolf hunts and badger fights and all the marvellous adventures

that fill up a cowboy's summer. Now these were all behind them. Tonight they were free men and of

independent means, for their season's pay was in their pockets. The day's excitement, too, was still in their

Bill, as king of the broncobusters, moved about with the slow, careless indifference of a man sure of his

He spoke seldom and slowly, was not as readywitted as his partner, Hi Kendal, but in act he was swift and

sure, and "in trouble" he could be counted on. He was, as they said, "a white man; white to the back," which

"Mebbe not," said Bill, slowly, "but I had the idee before you spoke that I had."

"Good fer cattle! Well, I ain't much on gamblin', but I've got a leetle in my pants that says that there pinto kin

outwork any blanked bronco in this outfit, givin' him a fair show after the cattle."

"No," said Bill stoutly, "right in this here country. The Dook there knows him."

This at once raised the pinto several points. To be known, and, as Bill's tone indicated, favorably known by

"Whar'd ye git him, Bill? Don't be so blanked oncommunicatin'!" said an impatient voice.

Bill hesitated; then, with an apparent burst of confidence, he assumed his frankest manner and voice, and told

"Well," he said, taking a fresh chew and offering his plug to his neighbor, who passed it on after helping

Chorus of answers: "Yes! The redheaded one. I know! She's a daisy!reg'lar blizzard!lightnin'

Bill paused, stiffened himself a little, dropped his frank air and drawled out in cool, hard tones: "I might

remark that that young lady is, I might persoom to say, a friend of mine, which I'm prepared to back up in my

best style, and if any blanked blanked son of a street sweeper has any remark to make, here's his time now!"

In the pause that followed murmurs were heard extolling the many excellences of the young lady in question,

and Bill, appeased, yielded to the requests for the continuance of his story, and, as he described Gwen and her

pinto and her work on the ranch, the men, many of whom had had glimpses of her, gave emphatic approval in

their own way. But as he told of her rescue of Joe and of the sudden calamity that had befallen her a great

stillness fell upon the simple, tenderhearted fellows, and they listened with their eyes shining in the firelight

with growing intentness. Then Bill spoke of The Pilot and how he stood by her and helped her and cheered

her till they began to swear he was "all right"; "and now," concluded Bill, "when The Pilot is in a hole she

"O' course," said one. "Right enough. How's she going to work it?" said another.

"Well, he's dead set on to buildin' a meetin'house, and them fellows down at the Creek that does the prayin'

"Why, he only asked 'em for seven hundred the hull outfit, and would give 'em two years, but they

[Chorus of expletives descriptive of the characters and personal appearance and belongings of the

But Bill remained silent, till under strong pressure, and, as if making a clean breast of everything, he said:

"Well, I jest told 'em that if you boys made such a fuss about anythin' like they did about their Gospel outfit,

an' I ain't sayin' anythin' agin it, you'd put up seven hundred without turnin' a hair."

"You're the stuff, Bill! Good man! You're talkin' now! What did they say to that, eh, Bill?"

There was a chorus of very hearty approvals of Bill's course in "not taking any water" from that variously

characterized "outfit." But the responsibility of the situation began to dawn upon them when some one asked:

"Well," drawled Bill, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice, "there's that pinto."

"Pinto be blanked!" said young Hill. "Say, boys, is that little girl going to lose that one pony of hers to help

out her friend The Pilot? Good fellow, too, he is! We know he's the right sort."

"Then," went on Bill, even more slowly, "there's The Pilot; he's going for to ante up a month's pay; 'taint

much, o' coursetwenty eight a month and grub himself. He might make it two," he added, thoughtfully.

But Bill's proposal was scorned with contemptuous groans. "Twentyeight a month and grub himself o'

course ain't much for a man to save money out ov to eddicate himself." Bill continued, as if thinking aloud,

"O' course he's got his mother at home, but she can't make much more than her own livin', but she might help

This was altogether too much for the crowd. They consigned Bill and his plans to unutterable depths of woe.

"O' course," Bill explained, "it's jest as you boys feel about it. Mebbe I was, bein' hot, a little swift in givin'

"Not much, you wasn't! We'll see you out! That's the talk! There's between twenty and thirty of us here."

"I should be glad to contribute thirty or forty if need be," said The Duke, who was standing not far off, "to

assist in the building of a church. It would be a good thing, and I think the parson should be encouraged. He's

"I'll cover your thirty," said young Hill; and so it went from one to another in tens and fifteens and twenties,

till within half an hour I had entered three hundred and fifty dollars in my book, with Ashley yet to hear from,

"Boys," he said, with solemn emphasis, "ye're all white. But that leetle palefaced gel, that's what I'm thinkin'

on. Won't she open them big eyes ov hers! I cherish the opinion that this'll tickle her some."

The men were greatly pleased with Bill and even more pleased with themselves. Bill's picture of the "leetle

gel" and her pathetically tragic lot had gone right to their hearts and, with men of that stamp, it was one of

their few luxuries to yield to their generous impulses. The most of them had few opportunities of lavishing

love and sympathy upon worthy objects and, when the opportunity came, all that was best in them clamored

The glow of virtuous feeling following the performance of their generous act prepared the men for a keener

enjoyment than usual of a night's sport. They had just begun to dispose themselves in groups about the fire

for poker and other games when Hi rode up into the light and with him a stranger on Gwen's beautiful pinto

Hi was evidently half drunk and, as he swung himself of his bronco, he saluted the company with a wave of

Bill, looking curiously at Hi, went up to the pinto and, taking him by the head, led him up into the light,

"See here, boys, there's that pinto of mine I was telling you about; no flies on him, eh?"

"Hold on there! Excuse me!" said the stranger, "this here hoss belongs to me, if paiddown money means

"The country's all right," said Bill in an ominously quiet voice, "but this here pinto's another transaction, I

"The hoss is mine, I say, and what's more, I'm goin' to hold him," said the stranger in a loud voice.

The men began to crowd around with faces growing hard. It was dangerous in that country to play fast and

"Look ahyar, mates," said the stranger, with a Yankee drawl, "I ain't no hoss thief, and if I hain't bought this

hoss reg'lar and paid down good money then it ain't mineif I have it is. That's fair, ain't it?"

At this Hi pulled himself together, and in a halfdrunken tone declared that the stranger was all right, and that

he had bought the horse fair and square, and "there's your dust," said Hi, handing a roll to Bill. But with a

quick movement Bill caught the stranger by the leg, and, before a word could be said, he was lying flat on the

There was something so terrible in Bill's manner that the man contented himself with blustering and

Hi was able to acknowledge that, being offered a good price, and knowing that his partner was always ready

Bill was in distress, deep and poignant. "'Taint the horse, but the leetle gel," he explained; but his partner's

bargain was his, and wrathful as he was, he refused to attempt to break the bargain.

At this moment the Hon. Fred, noting the unusual excitement about the fire, came up, followed at a little

"I know him," said the Hon. Fred, "let me try him." But the stranger declared the pinto suited him down to the

"Why," he protested, "that there's what I call an unusual hoss, and down in Montana for a lady he'd fetch up

to a hundred and fifty dollars." In vain they haggled and bargained; the man was immovable. Eighty dollars

he wouldn't look at, a hundred hardly made him hesitate. At this point Lady Charlotte came down into the

light and stood by her husband, who explained the circumstances to her. She had already heard Bill's

description of Gwen's accident and of her part in the churchbuilding schemes. There was silence for a few

"What a shame the poor child should have to part with the dear little creature!" she said in a low tone to her

"What do you ask for him?" He hesitated and then said, lifting his hat awkwardly in salute: "I was just

remarking how that pinto would fetch one hundred and fifty dollars down into Montana. But seein' as a lady

"Well," drawled Bill, "if 'twere a fellar as was used to ladies he'd offer you the pinto, but he's too pizen mean

The Yankee took him up quickly. "Wall, if I were so blanked pardon, madam"taking off his hat, "used

to ladies as some folks would like to think themselves, I'd buy that there pinto and make a present of it to this

"But I ain't goin' to be mean; I'll put that pinto in for the even money for the lady if any man cares to put up

"Well, my dear," said the Hon. Fred with a bow, "we cannot well let that gage lie." She turned and smiled at

him and the pinto was transferred to the Ashley stables, to Bill's outspoken delight, who declared he "couldn't

have faced the music if that there pinto had gone across the line." I confess, however, I was somewhat

surprised at the ease with which Hi escaped his wrath, and my surprise was in no way lessened when I saw,

later in the evening, the two partners with the stranger taking a quiet drink out of the same bottle with evident

"You're an A1 corker, you are! I'll be blanked if you ain't a birda singin' birda reg'lar canary," I heard Hi

But Bill's only reply was a long, slow wink which passed into a frown as he caught my eye. My suspicion

was aroused that the sale of the pinto might bear investigation, and this suspicion was deepened when Gwen

next week gave me a rapturous account of how splendidly Bill had disposed of the pinto, showing me bills

"You see, he must have got them bidding against each other, and besides, Bill says pintos are going up."

Light began to dawn upon me, but I only answered that I knew they had risen very considerably in value

I was not present to witness the finishing of Bill's bluff, but was told that when Bill made his way through the

crowded aisle and laid his five hundred and fifty dollars on the schoolhouse desk the look of disgust, surprise

and finally of pleasure on Robbie's face, was worth a hundred more. But Robbie was ready and put down his

Then The Pilot, with eyes and face shining, rose and thanked them all; but when he told of how the little girl

in her lonely shack in the hills thought so much of the church that she gave up for it her beloved pony, her

But the men from the ranches who could understand the full meaning of her sacrifice and who also could

realize the full measure of her calamity, were stirred to their hearts' depths, so that when Bill remarked in a

very distinct undertone, "I cherish the opinion that this here Gospel shop wouldn't be materializin' into its

present shape but for that leetle gel," there rose growls of approval in a variety of tones and expletives that

But though The Pilot never could quite get at the true inwardness of Bill's measures and methods, and was

doubtless all the more comfortable in mind for that, he had no doubt that while Gwen's influence was the

moving spring of action, Bill's bluff had a good deal to do with the "materializin'" of the first church in Swan

Whether the Hon. Fred ever understood the peculiar style of Bill's financing, I do not quite know. But if he

ever did come to know, he was far too much of a man to make a fuss. Besides, I fancy the smile on his lady's

face was worth some large amount to him. At least, so the look of proud and fond love in his eyes seemed to

The night of the pinto's sale was a night momentous to Gwen, for then it was that the Lady Charlotte's interest

in her began. Momentous, too, to the Lady Charlotte, for it was that night that brought The Pilot into her life.

I had turned back to the fire around which the men had fallen into groups prepared to have an hour's solid

delight, for the scene was full of wild and picturesque beauty to me, when The Duke came and touched me on

We went through the kitchen into the large diningroom, at one end of which was a stone chimney and

fireplace. Lady Charlotte had declared that she did not much care what kind of a house the Hon. Fred would

She was very beautifultall, slight and graceful in every line. There was a reserve and a grand air in her

bearing that put people in awe of her. This awe I shared; but as I entered the room she welcomed me with

"Come and sit by me," she said, drawing an armchair into the circle about the fire. "I want you to tell us all

"You see what you're in for, Connor," said her husband. "It is a serious business when my lady takes one in

"As he knows to his cost," she said, smiling and shaking her head at her husband.

"If you only were," smiling at hima little sadly, I thought"I'd keep you out of all sorts of mischief."

The Duke gazed at him a moment or two. "Wonderful!" he murmured, "what a deliverance!"

"Nonsense!" broke in Lady Charlotte. "You are turning my mind away from my purpose."

Then I told her the story of Bill's bluff in my best style, imitating, as I have some small skill in doing, the

manner and speech of the various actors in the scene. She was greatly amused and interested.

"And Bill has really got his share ready," she cried. "It is very clever of him."

"Yes," I replied, "but Bill is only the very humble instrument, the moving spirit is behind."

"Oh, yes, you mean the little girl that owns the pony," she said. "That's another thing you must tell me about."

"The Duke knows more than I," I replied, shifting the burden to him; "my acquaintance is only of yesterday;

"Haven't I told you of the little Meredith girl? Surely I have," said The Duke, hesitatingly.

"Now, you know quite well you have not, and that means you are deeply interested. Oh, I know you well,"

"He is the most secretive man," she went on to me, "shamefully and ungratefully reserved."

The Duke smiled; then said, lazily: "Why, she's just a child. Why should you be interested in her? No one

Her eyes grew soft, and her gay manner changed, and she said to The Duke gently: "Tell me of her now."

It was evidently an effort, but he began his story of Gwen from the time he saw her first, years ago, playing in

and out of her father's rambling shack, shy and wild as a young fox. As he went on with his tale, his voice

dropped into a low, musical tone, and he seemed as if dreaming aloud. Unconsciously he put into the tale

much of himself, revealing how great an influence the little child had had upon him, and how empty of love

his life had been in this lonely land. Lady Charlotte listened with face intent upon him, and even her bluff

husband was conscious that something more than usual was happening. He had never heard The Duke break

But when The Duke told the story of Gwen's awful fall, which he did with great graphic power, a little red

spot burned upon the Lady Charlotte's pale cheek, and, as The Duke finished his tale with the words, "It was

"How is she now, Duke?" said Lady Charlotte. The Duke looked up as from a dream. "Bright as the

Then I told her how, one by one, we had failed to help her, and how The Pilot had ridden up that morning

through the canyon, and how he had brought the first light and peace to her by his marvellous pictures of the

flowers and ferns and trees and all the wonderful mysteries of that wonderful canyon.

"No," I said slowly, "that was NOT all by a long way; but the rest I don't understand. That's The Pilot's

"Tell me what he did," said Lady Charlotte, softly, once more. "I want to know."

"I don't think I can," I replied. "He simply read out of the Scriptures to her and talked."

"It is quite enough for Gwen," said The Duke confidently, "for there she lies, often suffering, always longing

for the hills and the free air, but with her face radiant as the flowers of the beloved canyon."

"Oh, I've see him and heard him, but I don't know him," she replied. "There must be something in him that

"So I have discovered," said The Duke, and with that the subject was dropped, but not before the Lady

Charlotte made me promise to take her to Gwen, The Duke being strangely unwilling to do this for her.

But Lady Charlotte thought differently, and, having made up her mind upon the matter, there was nothing for

it, as her husband said, but "for all hands to surrender and the sooner the better."

And so the Lady Charlotte had her way, which, as it turned out, was much the wisest and best.

When I told The Pilot of Lady Charlotte's purpose to visit Gwen, he was not too well pleased.

"What does she want with Gwen?" he said impatiently. "She will just put notions into her head and make the

"She won't mean to, but she belongs to another world, and Gwen cannot talk to her without getting glimpses

"I don't say it is quite that," he answered, "but these people love a sensation."

"I don't think you know Lady Charlotte," I replied. "I hardly think from her tone the other night that she is a

I was a little surprised at his attitude, and felt that he was unfair to Lady Charlotte, but I forbore to argue with

him on the matter. He could not bear to think of any person or thing threatening the peace of his beloved

The very first Saturday after my promise was given we were surprised to see Lady Charlotte ride up to the

"You see, I am not going to let you off," she said, as I greeted her. "And the day is so very fine for a ride."

I hastened to apologize for not going to her, and then to get out of my difficulty, rather meanly turned toward

The Pilot's face burned, partly with wrath at me, and partly with embarrassment; for Lady Charlotte had put

"I was saying, Lady Charlotte," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "that you and Gwen have little in

"And," continued Lady Charlotte, "she is bright as the morning, The Duke says." There was a look of pain in

The Pilot's face lit up, and he came nearer and laid his hand caressingly upon her beautiful horse.

"How can that be?" she asked, looking down into his face. "Perhaps she would tell me."

"Lady Charlotte," said The Pilot with a sudden flush, "I must ask your pardon. I was wrong. I thought you"

"Thank you," said Lady Charlotte, putting out her hand, "and perhaps you will come and see me, too."

"There is something more in your Pilot than at first appears," she said. "The Duke was quite right."

"He is a great man," I said with enthusiasm; "tender as a woman and with the heart of a hero."

Then I told her tales of The Pilot, and of his ways with the men, till her blue eyes grew bright and her

"It is perfectly amazing," I said, finishing my story, "how these devilmaycare rough fellows respect him,

and come to him in all sorts of trouble. I can't understand it, and yet he is just a boy."

"No, not amazing," said Lady Charlotte slowly. "I think I understand it. He has a true man's heart; and holds a

great purpose in it. I've seen men like that. Not clergymen, I mean, but men with a great purpose."

Then, after a moment's thought, she added: "But you ought to care for him better. He does not look strong."

"Strong!" I exclaimed quickly, with a queer feeling of resentment at my heart. "He can do as much riding as

"Still," she replied, "there's something in his face that would make his mother anxious." In spite of my

repudiation of her suggestion, I found myself for the next few minutes thinking of how he would come

exhausted and faint from his long rides, and I resolved that he must have a rest and change.

It was one of those early September days, the best of all in the western country, when the light falls less

fiercely through a soft haze that seems to fill the air about you, and that grows into purple on the far hilltops.

By the time we reached the canyon the sun was riding high and pouring its rays full into all the deep nooks

There were no shadows today, except such as the trees cast upon the green moss beds and the black rocks.

The tops of the tall elms were sere and rusty, but the leaves of the rugged oaks that fringed the canyon's lips

shone a rich and glossy brown. All down the sides the poplars and delicate birches, pale yellow, but

sometimes flushing into orange and red, stood shimmering in the golden light, while here and there the

broadspreading, feathery sumachs made great splashes of brilliant crimson upon the yellow and gold. Down

in the bottom stood the cedars and the balsams, still green. We stood some moments silently gazing into this

tangle of interlacing boughs and shimmering leaves, all glowing in yellow light, then Lady Charlotte broke

"Yes, but she never sees it now," I said, for I could never ride through without thinking of the child to whose

heart this was so dear, but whose eyes never rested upon it. Lady Charlotte made no reply, and we took the

trail that wound down into this maze of mingling colors and lights and shadows. Everywhere lay the fallen

leaves, brown and yellow and gold;everywhere on our trail, on the green mosses and among the dead

ferns. And as we rode, leaves fluttered down from the trees above silently through the tangled boughs, and

The flowers were all gone; but the Little Swan sang as ever its manyvoiced song, as it flowed in pools and

eddies and cascades, with here and there a golden leaf upon its black waters. Ah! how often in weary, dusty

days these sights and sounds and silences have come to me and brought my heart rest!

As we began to climb up into the open, I glanced at my companion's face. The canyon had done its work with

her as with all who loved it. The touch of pride that was the habit of her face was gone, and in its place rested

the earnest wonder of a little child, while in her eyes lay the canyon's tender glow. And with this face she

And Gwen, who had been waiting for her, forgot all her nervous fear, and with hands outstretched, cried out

"Oh, I'm so glad! You've seen it and I know you love it! My canyon, you know!" she went on, answering

"Yes, dear child," said Lady Charlotte, bending over the pale face with its halo of golden hair, "I love it." But

she could get no further, for her eyes were full of tears. Gwen gazed up into the beautiful face, wondering at

"Tell me how it looks today! The Pilot always shows it to me. Do you know," she added, thoughtfully, "The

Pilot looks like it himself. He makes me think of it, andand" she went on shyly, "you do, too."

By this time Lady Charlotte was kneeling by the couch, smoothing the beautiful hair and gently touching the

"That is a great honor, truly," she said brightly through her tears"to be like your canyon and like your Pilot,

"Tell me how it looks today," she said. "I want to see it. Oh, I want to see it!"

Lady Charlotte was greatly moved by the yearning in the voice, but, controlling herself, she said gaily:

"Turn me where I can see," said Gwen to me, and I wheeled her toward the window and raised her up so that

Then Lady Charlotte set the canyon before her in rich and radiant coloring, while Gwen listened, gazing

"Oh, it is lovely!" said Gwen, "and I see it so well. It is all there before me when I look through my window."

But Lady Charlotte looked at her, wondering to see her bright smile, and at last she could not help the

"And then, Gwen, dear, how can you bear it?" Her voice was eager and earnest. "Tell me, Gwen. I have heard

all about your canyon flowers, but I can't understand how the fretting and the pain went away."

Lady Charlotte paused a moment, then nodded. It did appear strange to me that she should break down her

"And there are no flowers, Gwen, not one," she said rather bitterly, "nor sun nor seeds nor soil, I fear."

At this point, feeling that they would rather be alone, I excused myself on the pretext of looking after the

What they talked of during the next hour I never knew, but when I returned to the room Lady Charlotte was

reading slowly and with perplexed face to Gwen out of her mother's Bible the words "for the suffering of

"You see even for Him, suffering," Gwen said eagerly, "but I can't explain. The Pilot will make it clear."

We had lunch with Gwenbannocks and fresh sweet milk and blueberriesand after an hour of gay fun we

"You must let me come again and sit at your window," she said, smiling down upon the wan face.

"Oh, I shall watch for you. How good that will be!" cried Gwen, delightedly. "How many come to see me!

You make five." Then she added, softly: "You will write your letter." But Lady Charlotte shook her head.

It was a bright face that looked out upon us through the open window as we rode down the trail. Just before

"How beautiful, but how wonderful!" she said as if to herself. "Truly, HER canyon is full of flowers."

"I mean to," she replied, "but I cannot bring anyone to my canyon, I fear," she added in an uncertain voice.

"You have done a great deal for me," she said, giving me her hand. "It has been a beautiful, a wonderful day."

"What a stupid and selfrighteous fool I have been! I never thought there could be any canyon in her life.

How short our sight is!" and all that night I could get almost no words from him.

That was the first of many visits to Gwen. Not a week passed but Lady Charlotte took the trail to the

Meredith ranch and spent an hour at Gwen's window. Often The Pilot found her there. But though they were

always pleasant hours to him, he would come home in great trouble about Lady Charlotte.

"She is perfectly charming and doing Gwen no end of good, but she is proud as an archangel. Has had an

awful break with her family at home, and it is spoiling her life. She told me so much, but she will allow no

But one day we met her riding toward the village. As we drew near, she drew up her horse and held up a

"Yes, I hope so," she said with the red beginning to show in her cheek. "I have dropped some seed into my

"Do," replied The Pilot, "the light is good there. Wonderful things are to be seen through Gwen's window."

"Yes," said Lady Charlotte softly. "Dear Gwen!but I fear it is often made bright with tears."

As she spoke she wheeled her horse and cantered off, for her own tears were not far away. I followed her in

thought up the trail winding through the roundtopped hills and down through the golden lights of the canyon

and into Gwen's room. I could see the pale face, with its golden aureole, light up and glow, as they sat before

the window while Lady Charlotte would tell her how Gwen's Canyon looked today and how in her own

The building of the Swan Creek Church made a sensation in the country, and all the more that Bronco Bill

"When I put up money I stay with the game," he announced; and stay he did, to the great benefit of the work

and to the delight of The Pilot, who was wearing his life out in trying to do several men's work. It was Bill

that organized the gangs for hauling stone for the foundation and logs for the walls. It was Bill that assigned

the various jobs to those volunteering service. To Robbie Muir and two stalwart Glengarry men from the

Ottawa lumber region, who knew all about the broadaxe, he gave the hewing down of the logs that formed

the walls. And when they had done, Bill declared they were "better 'an a sawmill." It was Bill, too, that did

the financing, and his passage with Williams, the storekeeper from "the other side" who dealt in lumber and

building material, was such as established forever Bill's reputation in finance.

With The Pilot's plans in his hands he went to Williams, seizing a time when the store was full of men after

Williams was voluble with opinions and criticism and suggestions, all of which were gratefully, even humbly

"Kind ov hard to figger out jest how much lumber 'll go into the shack," said Bill; "ye see the logs makes a

To Williams the thing was simplicity itself, and, after some figuring, he handed Bill a complete statement of

"I aint no man to beat down prices. No, sir, I say give a man his figger. Of course, this here aint my funeral;

besides, bein' a Gospel shop, the price naterally would be different." To this the boys all assented and

"In fact," and Bill adopted his public tone to Hi's admiration and joy, "this here's a public institooshun" (this

was Williams' own thunder), "condoocin' to the good of the community" (Hi slapped his thigh and squirted

half way across the store to signify his entire approval, "and I cherish the opinion"(delighted chuckle from

Williams agreed, but declared he had thought of all this in making his calculation. But seeing it was a church,

and the first church and their own church, he would make a cut, which he did after more figuring. Bill gravely

took the slip of paper and put it into his pocket without a word. By the end of the week, having in the

meantime ridden into town and interviewed the dealers there, Bill sauntered into the store and took up his

"Yes, that's so. I was just goin' to see the boys here about gettin' it hauled," said Bill.

"Hauled!" said Williams, in amazed indignation. "Aint you goin' to stick to your deal?"

"I generally make it my custom to stick to my deals," said Bill, looking straight at Williams.

"Let's see. Last Monday night," said Bill, apparently thinking back; "can't say as I remember any pertickler

"You don't remember getting any paper from me, I suppose?" said Williams, sarcastically.

"Paper! Why, I believe I've got that there paper onto my person at this present moment," said Bill, diving into

his pocket and drawing out Williams' estimate. He spent a few moments in careful scrutiny.

"There ain't no deal onto this as I can see," said Bill, gravely passing the paper to the boys, who each

scrutinized it and passed it on with a shake of the head or a remark as to the absence of any sign of a deal.

"Ov course, I believe in supportin' homegrown industries, and if you can touch my figger I'd be

But Bill's figure, which was quite fifty per cent. lower than Williams' best offer, was rejected as quite

"Thought I'd make you the offer," said Bill, carelessly, "seein' as you're institootin' the trade and the boys here

'll all be buildin' more or less, and I believe in standin' up for local trades and manufactures." There were nods

of approval on all sides, and Williams was forced to accept, for Bill began arranging with the Hill brothers

and Hi to make an early start on Monday. It was a great triumph, but Bill displayed no sign of elation; he was

rather full of sympathy for Williams, and eager to help on the lumber business as a local "institooshun."

Second in command in the church building enterprise stood Lady Charlotte, and under her labored the Hon.

Fred, The Duke, and, indeed, all the company of the Noble Seven. Her home became the centre of a new type

of social life. With exquisite tact, and much was needed for this kind of work, she drew the bachelors from

their lonely shacks and from their wild carousals, and gave them a taste of the joys of a pure homelife, the

first they had had since leaving the old homes years ago. And then she made them work for the church with

such zeal and diligence that her husband and The Duke declared that ranching had become quite an incidental

interest since the churchbuilding had begun. But The Pilot went about with a radiant look on his pale face,

while Bill gave it forth as his opinion, "though she was a leetle high in the action, she could hit an uncommon

With such energy did Bill push the work of construction that by the first of December the church stood

roofed, sheeted, floored and ready for windows, doors and ceiling, so that The Pilot began to hope that he

should see the desire of his heart fulfilledthe church of Swan Creek open for divine service on Christmas

During these weeks there was more than churchbuilding going on, for while the days were given to the

shaping of logs, and the driving of nails and the planing of boards, the long winter evenings were spent in talk

around the fire in my shack, where The Pilot for some months past had made his home and where Bill, since

the beginning of the church building, had come "to camp." Those were great nights for The Pilot and Bill,

and, indeed, for me, too, and the other boys, who, after a day's work on the church, were always brought in by

Great nights for us all they were. After bacon and beans and bannocks, and occasionally potatoes, and rarely

a pudding, with coffee, rich and steaming, to wash all down, pipes would follow, and then yarns of

adventures, possible and impossible, all exciting and wonderful, and all received with the greatest credulity.

If, however, the powers of belief were put to too great a strain by a tale of more than ordinary marvel, Bill

would follow with one of such utter impossibility that the company would feel that the limit had been

reached, and the yarns would cease. But after the first week most of the time was given to The Pilot, who

would read to us of the deeds of the mighty men of old, who had made and wrecked empires.

What happy nights they were to those cowboys, who had been cast up like driftwood upon this strange and

lonely shore! Some of them had never known what it was to have a thought beyond the work and sport of the

day. And the world into which The Pilot was ushering them was all new and wonderful to them. Happy

nights, without a care, but that The Pilot would not get the ghastly look out of his face, and laughed at the

idea of going away till the church was built. And, indeed, we would all have sorely missed him, and so he

When "the crowd" was with us The Pilot read us all sorts of tales of adventures in all lands by heroes of all

ages, but when we three sat together by our fire The Pilot would always read us tales of the heroes of sacred

story, and these delighted Bill more than those of any of the ancient empires of the past. He had his favorites.

Abraham, Moses, Joshua, Gideon, never failed to arouse his admiration. But Jacob was to him always "a

mean cuss," and David he could not appreciate. Most of all he admired Moses and the Apostle Paul, whom he

called "that little chap." But, when the reading was about the One Great Man that moved majestic amid the

By and by Bill began to tell these tales to the boys, and one night, when a quiet mood had fallen upon the

"Yes, that's the spot. Perhaps you would read that to the boys. Good yarn! Little chap, you know, stood up

and told 'em they were all sorts of blanked thieves and cutthroats, and stood 'em off. Played it alone, too."

Most of the boys failed to recognize the story in its new dress. There was much interest.

"The Pilot here'll tell you. If you'd kind o' give 'em a lead before you begin, they'd catch on to the yarn

"If I might remark, perhaps it might help the boys on to the trail mebbe, if you'd tell 'em how the little chap

Then The Pilot introduced the Apostle with some formality to the company, describing with such vivid

touches his life and early training, his sudden wrench from all he held dear, under the stress of a new

conviction, his magnificent enthusiasm and courage, his tenderness and patience, that I was surprised to find

myself regarding him as a sort of hero, and the boys were all ready to back him against any odds. As The

Pilot read the story of the Arrest at Jerusalem, stopping now and then to picture the scene, we saw it all and

were in the thick of it. The raging crowd hustling and beating the life out of the brave little man, the sudden

thrust of the disciplined Roman guard through the mass, the rescue, the pause on the stairway, the calm face

of the little hero beckoning for a hearing, the quieting of the frantic, frothing mob, the fearless speechall

"Yes," drawled Bill, highly appreciating their marks of approval. "That's what I call a partickler fine character

"I say," broke in one of the boys, who was just emerging from the tenderfoot stage, "o' course that's in the

The Pilot was proceeding to elaborate his argument when Bill cut in somewhat more abruptly than was his

"Look here, young feller!" Bill's voice was in the tone of command. The man looked as he was bid. "How do

you know anything's true? How do you know The Pilot here's true when he speaks? Can't you tell by the feel?

You know by the sound of his voice, don't you?" Bill paused and the young fellow agreed readily.

"Well how do you know a blanked son of a she jackass when you see him?" Again Bill paused. There was no

"Well," said Bill, resuming his deliberate drawl. "I'll give you the information without extra charge. It's by the

"But," went on the young skeptic, nettled at the laugh that went round, "that don't prove anything. You

know," turning to The Pilot, "that there are heaps of people who don't believe the Bible."

"Some of the smartest, besteducated men are agnostics," proceeded the young man, warming to his theme,

and failing to notice the stiffening of Bill's lank figure. "I don't know but what I am one myself."

"Whatever he's got," said Bill to the others, in a mild voice, "it's spoilin' his manners."

"Yes," went on Bill, meditatively, after the slight laugh had died, "it's ruinin' to the judgment. He don't seem

"Seems as if he ought to take somethin'," said Bill, in a voice suspiciously mild. "What would you suggest?"

"I hold the opinion that you have mentioned an uncommonly vallable remedy, better'n Pain Killer almost."

"I say," he drawled, tapping the young fellow, "it appears to me a little walk would perhaps be good, mebbe."

"I don't think perhaps you won't need it, mebbe. I cherish the opinion you'll, perhaps, be warm enough." Bill's

voice had unconsciously passed into a sterner tone. Hi was on his feet and at the door.

"Exactly," said Hi, opening the door. At this the young fellow, who was a strapping sixfooter, but soft and

flabby, drew back and refused to go. He was too late. Bill's grip was on his collar and out they went into the

snow, and behind them Hi closed the door. In vain the young fellow struggled to wrench himself free from

the hands that had him by the shoulder and the back of the neck. I took it all in from the window. He might

have been a boy for all the effect his plungings had upon the long, sinewy arms that gripped him so fiercely.

After a minute's furious struggle the young fellow stood quiet, when Bill suddenly shifted his grip from the

shoulder to the seat of his buckskin trousers. Then began a series of evolutions before the houseup and

down, forward and back, which the unfortunate victim, with hands wildly clutching at empty air, was quite

powerless to resist till he was brought up panting and gasping, subdued, to a standstill.

"I'll larn you agnostics and several other kinds of ticks," said Bill, in a terrible voice, his drawl lengthening

perceptibly. "Come round here, will you, and shove your blanked secondhanded trash down our throats?"

"There ain't no sootable words for sich conduct. By the livin' Jeminy" He suddenly swung his prisoner off

his feet, lifted him bodily, and held him over his head at arm's length. "I've a notion to"

"Don't! don't! for Heaven's sake!" cried the struggling wretch, "I'll stop it! I will!"

"All right! Shake!" he said, holding out his hand, which the other took with caution.

It was a remarkably sudden conversion and lasting in its effects. There was no more agnosticism in the little

"Seems as if The Pilot was gittin' in his work," said Bill to me; and looking at the grave, eager faces, I agreed.

He was getting in his work with Bill, too; though perhaps Bill did not know it. I remember one night, when

the others had gone, The Pilot was reading to us the Parable of the Talents, Bill was particularly interested in

"Ornery cuss, eh?" he remarked; "and gall, too, eh? Served him blamed well right, in my opinion!"

But when the practical bearing of the parable became clear to him, after long silence, he said, slowly:

"Well, that there seems to indicate that it's about time for me to get a rustle on." Then, after another silence,

he said, hesitatingly, "This here churchbuildin' business now, do you think that'll perhaps count, mebbe? I

guess not, eh? 'Tain't much, o' course, anyway." Poor Bill, he was like a child, and The Pilot handled him

"Well, Bill, my line is preaching just now, and piloting, you know." The Pilot's smile was like a sunbeam on

a rainy day, for there were tears in his eyes and voice. "And we have just got to be faithful. You see what he

And Bill never forgot that lesson, for I heard him, with a kind of quiet enthusiasm, giving it to Hi as a great

find. "Now, I call that a fair deal," he said to his friend; "gives every man a show. No cards up the sleeve."

Somehow Bill came to be regarded as an authority upon questions of religion and morals. No one ever

accused him of "gettin' religion." He went about his work in his slow, quiet way, but he was always sharing

his discoveries with "the boys." And if anyone puzzled him with subtleties he never rested till he had him

face to face with The Pilot. And so it came that these two drew to each other with more than brotherly

affection. When Bill got into difficulty with problems that have vexed the souls of men far wiser than he, The

Pilot would either disentangle the knots or would turn his mind to the verities that stood out sure and clear,

When, near the end of the year, The Pilot fell sick, Bill nursed him like a mother and sent him off for a rest

and change to Gwen, forbidding him to return till the church was finished and visiting him twice a week. The

love between the two was most beautiful, and, when I find my heart grow hard and unbelieving in men and

things, I let my mind wander back to a scene that I came upon in front of Gwen's house. These two were

standing alone in the clear moonlight, Bill with his hand upon The Pilot's shoulder, and The Pilot with his

"Dear old Bill," The Pilot was saying, "dear old Bill," and the voice was breaking into a sob. And Bill,

standing stiff and straight, looked up at the stars, coughed and swallowed hard for some moments, and said,

"Chinook?" laughed The Pilot, with a catch in his voice. "You dear old humbug," and he stood watching till

The day of the church opening came, as all days, however long waited for, will comea bright, beautiful

Christmas Day. The air was still and full of frosty light, as if arrested by a voice of command, waiting the

word to move. The hills lay under their dazzling coverlets, asleep. Back of all, the great peaks lifted majestic

heads out of the dark forests and gazed with calm, steadfast faces upon the white, sunlit world. Today, as

the light filled up the cracks that wrinkled their hard faces, they seemed to smile, as if the Christmas joy had

The people were all therefarmers, ranchers, cowboys, wives and childrenall happy, all proud of their

new church, and now all expectant, waiting for The Pilot and the Old Timer, who were to drive down if The

Pilot was fit and were to bring Gwen if the day was fine. As the time passed on, Bill, as master of

ceremonies, began to grow uneasy. Then Indian Joe appeared and handed a note to Bill. He read it, grew gray

in the face and passed it to me. Looking, I saw in poor, wavering lines the words, "Dear Bill. Go on with the

opening. Sing the Psalm, you know the one, and say a prayer, and oh, come to me quick, Bill. Your Pilot."

Bill gradually pulled himself together, announced in a strange voice, "The Pilot can't come," handed me the

It was that grand Psalm for all hill peoples, "I to the hills will lift mine eyes," and with wondering faces they

sang the strong, steadying words. After the Psalm was over the people sat and waited, Bill looked at the Hon.

"'Taint in my line. But The Pilot says there's got to be a prayer, and I'm going to stay with the game." Then,

"God Almighty, I ain't no good at this, and perhaps you'll understand if I don't put things right." Then a pause

"What I want to say," Bill went on, "is, we're mighty glad about this church, which we know it's you and The

Then again he paused, and, looking up, I saw his hard, gray face working and two tears stealing down his

"But about The PilotI don't want to persoombut if you don't mind, we'd like to have him stayin fact,

don't see how we kin do without himlook at all the boys here; he's just getting his work in and is bringin'

'em right along, and, God Almighty, if you take him away it might be a good thing for himself, but for

Then someone, I think it must have been the Lady Charlotte, began: "Our Father," and all joined that could

join, to the end. For a few moments Bill stood up, looking at them silently. Then, as if remembering his duty,

He stood at the door, gave a word of direction to Hi, who had followed him out, and leaping on his bronco

The Swan Creek Church was opened. The form of service may not have been correct, but, if great love counts

In the old times a funeral was regarded in the Swan Creek country as a kind of solemn festivity. In those

days, for the most part, men died in their boots and were planted with much honor and loyal libation. There

was often neither shroud nor coffin, and in the Far West many a poor fellow lies as he fell, wrapped in his

It was the manager of the X L Company's ranch that introduced crape. The occasion was the funeral of one of

the ranch cowboys, killed by his bronco, but when the pallbearers and mourners appeared with bands and

streamers of crape, this was voted by the majority as "too gay." That circumstance alone was sufficient to

render that funeral famous, but it was remembered, too, as having shocked the proprieties in another and

more serious manner. No one would be so narrowminded as to object to the custom of the return procession

falling into a series of horseraces of the wildest description, and ending up at Latour's in a general riot. But

to race with the corpse was considered bad form. The "corpsedriver," as he was called, could hardly be

blamed on this occasion. His acknowledged place was at the head of the procession, and it was a point of

honor that that place should be retained. The fault clearly lay with the driver of the X L ranch sleigh,

containing the mourners (an innovation, by the way), who felt aggrieved that Hi Kendal, driving the Ashley

team with the pallbearers (another innovation), should be given the place of honor next the corpse. The X L

driver wanted to know what, in the name of all that was black and blue, the Ashley Ranch had to do with the

funeral? Whose was that corpse, anyway? Didn't it belong to the X L ranch? Hi, on the other hand, contended

that the corpse was in charge of the pallbearers. "It was their duty to see it right to the grave, and if they

were not on hand, how was it goin' to get there? They didn't expect it would git up and get there by itself, did

they? Hi didn't want no blanked mourners foolin' round that corp till it was properly planted; after that they

might git in their work." But the X L driver could not accept this view, and at the first opportunity slipped

past Hi and his pallbearers and took the place next the sleigh that carried the coffin. It is possible that Hi

might have borne with this affront and loss of position with even mind, but the jeering remarks of the

mourners as they slid past triumphantly could not be endured, and the next moment the three teams were

abreast in a race as for dear life. The corpsedriver, having the advantage of the beaten track, soon left the

other two behind running neck and neck for second place, which was captured finally by Hi and maintained

to the grave side, in spite of many attempts on the part of the X L's. The whole proceeding, however, was

considered quite improper, and at Latour's, that night, after full and bibulous discussion, it was agreed that the

corpsedriver fairly distributed the blame. "For his part," he said, "he knew he hadn't ought to make no corp

git any such move on, but he wasn't goin' to see that there corp take second place at his own funeral. Not if he

could help it. And as for the others, he thought that the pallbearers had a blanked sight more to do with the

But when they gathered at the Meredith ranch to carry out The Pilot to his grave it was felt that the Foothill

Country was called to a new experience. They were all there. The men from the Porcupine and from beyond

the Fort, the Police with the Inspector in command, all the farmers for twenty miles around, and of course all

the ranchers and cowboys of the Swan Creek country. There was no effort at repression. There was no need,

for in the cowboys, for the first time in their experience, there was no heart for fun. And as they rode up and

hitched their horses to the fence, or drove their sleighs into the yard and took off the bells, there was no

loudvoiced salutation, no guying nor chaffing, but with silent nod they took their places in the crowd about

The men from the Porcupine could not quite understand the gloomy silence. It was something unprecedented

in a country where men laughed all care to scorn and saluted death with a nod. But they were quick to read

signs, and with characteristic courtesy they fell in with the mood they could not understand. There is no man

living so quick to feel your mood, and so ready to adapt himself to it, as is the true Westerner.

This was the day of the cowboy's grief. To the rest of the community The Pilot was preacher; to them he was

comrade and friend. They had been slow to admit him to their confidence, but steadily he had won his place

with them, till within the last few months they had come to count him as of themselves. He had ridden the

range with them; he had slept in their shacks and cooked his meals on their tin stoves; and, besides, he was

Bill's chum. That alone was enough to give him a right to all they owned. He was theirs, and they were only

beginning to take full pride in him when he passed out from them, leaving an emptiness in their life new and

unexplained. No man in that country had ever shown concern for them, nor had it occurred to them that any

man could, till The Pilot came. It took them long to believe that the interest he showed in them was genuine

and not simply professional. Then, too, from a preacher they had expected chiefly pity, warning, rebuke. The

Pilot astonished them by giving them respect, admiration, and openhearted affection. It was months before

they could get over their suspicion that he was humbugging them. When once they did, they gave him back

without knowing it all the trust and love of their big, generous hearts. He had made this world new to some of

them, and to all had given glimpses of the next. It was no wonder that they stood in dumb groups about the

house where the man, who had done all this for them and had been all this to them lay dead.

There was no demonstration of grief. The Duke was in command, and his quiet, firm voice, giving directions,

helped all to self control. The women who were gathered in the middle room were weeping quietly. Bill was

nowhere to be seen, but near the inner door sat Gwen in her chair, with Lady Charlotte beside her, holding

her hand. Her face, worn with long suffering, was pale, but serene as the morning sky, and with not a trace of

"Don't seem as if I cared for to hear anythin' much. I ain't much used to preachin', anyway," said Bill, with

"I guess I'll not bother," adding, after a pause: "You see, there's them wimmin turnin' on the waterworks, and

"That's so," said Hi, who was standing near, in silent sympathy with his friend's grief.

I reported to Gwen, who answered in her old imperious way, "Tell him I want him." I took Bill the message.

"Why didn't you say so before?" he said, and, starting up, he passed into the house and took up his position

behind Gwen's chair. Opposite, and leaning against the door, stood The Duke, with a look of quiet

earnestness on his handsome face. At his side stood the Hon. Fred Ashley, and behind him the Old Timer,

looking bewildered and woestricken. The Pilot had filled a large place in the old man's life. The rest of the

In Gwen's room, the one farthest in, lay The Pilot, stately and beautiful under the magic touch of death. And

as I stood and looked down upon the quiet face I saw why Gwen shed no tear, but carried a look of serene

triumph. She had read the face aright. The lines of weariness that had been growing so painfully clear the last

few months were smoothed out, the look of care was gone, and in place of weariness and care, was the proud

smile of victory and peace. He had met his foe and was surprised to find his terror gone.

The service was beautiful in its simplicity. The minister, The Pilot's chief, had come out from town to take

charge. He was rather a little man, but sturdy and well set. His face was burnt and seared with the suns and

frosts he had braved for years. Still in the prime of his manhood, his hair and beard were grizzled and his face

deeplined, for the toils and cares of a pioneer missionary's life are neither few nor light. But out of his

kindly blue eye looked the heart of a hero, and as he spoke to us we felt the prophet's touch and caught a

"I have fought the fight," he read. The ring in his voice lifted up all our heads, and, as he pictured to us the

life of that battered hero who had written these words, I saw Bill's eyes begin to gleam and his lank figure

straighten out its lazy angles. Then he turned the leaves quickly and read again, "Let not your heart be

troubled . . . in my father's house are many mansions." His voice took a lower, sweeter tone; he looked over

our heads, and for a few moments spoke of the eternal hope. Then he came back to us, and, looking round

into the faces turned so eagerly to him, talked to us of The Pilothow at the first he had sent him to us with

fear and tremblinghe was so youngbut how he had come to trust in him and to rejoice in his work, and

to hope much from his life. Now it was all over; but he felt sure his young friend had not given his life in

vain. He paused as he looked from one to the other, till his eyes rested on Gwen's face. I was startled, as I

believe he was, too, at the smile that parted her lips, so evidently saying: "Yes, but how much better I know

"Yes," he went on, after a pause, answering her smile, "you all know better than I that his work among you

will not pass away with his removal, but endure while you live," and the smile on Gwen's face grew brighter.

"And now you must not grudge him his reward and his rest . . . and his home." And Bill, nodding his head

Then they sang that hymn of the dawning glory of Immanuel's land, Lady Charlotte playing the organ and

The Duke leading with clear, steady voice verse after verse. When they came to the last verse the minister

For a moment it looked as if the singing could not go on, for tears were on the minister's face and the women

were beginning to sob, but The Duke's clear, quiet voice caught up the song and steadied them all to the end.

After the prayer they all went in and looked at The Pilot's face and passed out, leaving behind only those that

knew him best. The Duke and the Hon. Fred stood looking down upon the quiet face.

"The country has lost a good man, Duke," said the Hon. Fred. The Duke bowed silently. Then Lady Charlotte

"Dear Pilot," she whispered, her tears falling fast. "Dear, dear Pilot! Thank God for you! You have done

much for me." Then she stooped and kissed him on his cold lips and on his forehead.

Then Gwen seemed to suddenly waken as from a dream. She turned and, looking up in a frightened way, said

And Bill gathered her up in his arms and took her in. As they looked down upon the dead face with its look of

proud peace and touched with the stateliness of death, Gwen's fear passed away. But when The Duke made to

cover the face, Gwen drew a sharp breath and, clinging to Bill, said, with a sudden gasp:

She was thinking of the long, weary days of pain before her that she must face now without The Pilot's touch

"Me, too," said Bill, thinking of the days before him. He could have said nothing better. Gwen looked in his

"We'll help each other," and Bill, swallowing hard, could only nod his head in reply. Once more they looked

upon The Pilot, leaning down and lingering over him, and then Gwen said quietly:

"Take me away, Bill," and Bill carried her into the outer room. Turning back I caught a look on The Duke's

face so full of grief that I could not help showing my amazement. He noticed and said:

"The best man I ever knew, Connor. He has done something for me too. . . . I'd give the world to die like

We sat Gwen's window, Bill, with Gwen in his arms, and I watching. Down the sloping, snowcovered hill

wound the procession of sleighs and horsemen, without sound of voice or jingle of bell till, one by one, they

passed out of our sight and dipped down into the canyon. But we knew every step of the winding trail and

followed them in fancy through that fairy scene of mystic wonderland. We knew how the great elms and the

poplars and the birches clinging to the snowy sides interlaced their bare boughs into a network of bewildering

complexity, and how the cedars and balsams and spruces stood in the bottom, their dark boughs weighted

down with heavy white mantles of snow, and how every stump and fallen log and rotting stick was made a

thing of beauty by the snow that had fallen so gently on them in that quiet spot. And we could see the rocks

of the canyon sides gleam out black from under overhanging snowbanks, and we could hear the song of the

Swan in its many tones, now under an icy sheet, cooing comfortably, and then bursting out into sunlit

laughter and leaping into a foaming pool, to glide away smoothly murmuring its delight to the white banks

that curved to kiss the dark water as it fled. And where the flowers had been, the violets and the

windflowers and the clematis and the columbine and all the ferns and flowering shrubs, there lay the snow.

Everywhere the snow, pure, white, and myriadgemmed, but every flake a flower's shroud.

Out where the canyon opened to the sunny, sloping prairie, there they would lay The Pilot to sleep, within

touch of the canyon he loved, with all its sleeping things. And there he lies to this time. But Spring has come

many times to the canyon since that winter day, and has called to the sleeping flowers, summoning them forth

in merry troops, and ever more and more till the canyon ripples with them. And lives are like flowers. In

dying they abide not alone, but sow themselves and bloom again with each returning spring, and ever more

For often during the following years, as here and there I came upon one of those that companied with us in

those Foothill days, I would catch a glimpse in word and deed and look of him we called, first in jest, but

afterwards with true and tender feeling we were not ashamed to own, our Sky Pilot.