"Did the Soldier High Chief want a race this year?"
"Sure thing," was all the interpreter had to transmute.
"When?"
"As before."
"When the greasewood blooms, on the white man's big noisy wet Sunday?" For the treaty money was to be paid that day. And Colonel Waller's eyes lit up.
So it was arranged that the Fourth of July they should race as before on the Fort Ryan track; the horses were to be named on the day of the race. And Red Cloud rode away.
Jim Hartigan was present at that interview; he watched their every move, he drank in every word, and he rode at a gallop till he found Belle. "Belle, the race is on for the Fourth of July, they're going to enter Blazing Star. Oh, glory be! I'll see that race; I'll see Blazing Star show all the country how."
"Yes, unless you are sent back to college."
"Oh, Belle, that's a cruel one. Just as everything looks gay, you hand me that," and his face clouded. He knew too well that there was little likelihood of an extension; it was most unusual. Why should an exception be made in his case?
"You know, Jim," she said very seriously, "we have been trying to move the president of the college; and the fact that you are so much of a favourite is additional reason for getting you back. The president has turned us down."
"Well, Belle, I simply won't go."
"You mean you will break with the Church?"
"I'll avoid that as long as possible, but I won't go back—at least, not now."
"Jim," she said, with a twinkle in her eye, "the president turned down Dr. Jebb and John Higginbotham and you; but we were not licked. Mrs. Jebb, Hannah Higginbotham, and myself went after the president's wife, and this morning Dr. Jebb got a new mandate; not all we asked, but your furlough is extended for six months more."
"Hooray! Whoop!" was the response.
"Yes, I thought so," said Belle. "That's why I asked Dr. Jebb to let me break the news. For a serious divinity student, it's wonderful what a good imitation you can give of a man who hates books."
"Well, now, Belle, you know, and I know, and all the world knows, I can preach a better sermon than Dr. Jebb, although he has studied a thousand books to my one and knows more in a minute of time than I can ever know in a month of Sundays. And, if I go to college and learn to talk like him, I'll put people to sleep in church just as he does. Hasn't the attendance doubled since I came?" There was no question of that due in part to the growth of the town, and partly also to Hartigan's winning personality and interesting though not very scholarly sermons.
"All right," said Belle. "You are saved from the terrible fate for six months. Be happy."
And he was. To such a buoyant soul a guarantee of six months' freedom put slavery so very far away that it was easy to forget it.
CHAPTER XXXVI
Shoeing the Buckskin
Hartigan and the blacksmith were at it hard again.
"Look a' here," said Shives, "I want ye to notice all this here Church business was faked up by that man Paul, or Saul, or whatever he called himself; and the real disciples would have nothing to do with him. They threw him down cold whenever he tried to mix in. Now if you chuck him and stick to the simple kindness of the old-timers that really did sit around with the Master—Paul never even saw Him!—I'm willing to hear ye. But a man that writes whole screeds about getting or not getting married and what kind of frippery women have to wear on their heads, well, I've got him sized up for a fellow that had a dressing down from some woman and probably deserved all he got—and more."
It was a long speech for Shives and more than once John Higginbotham tried to break in.
But Shives struck the anvil a succession of ringing blows which overpowered all rival voices as effectively as any speaker's gavel could have done. Then, turning suddenly on Higginbotham, he said, "See here, Deacon" (and he stressed the "Deacon"), "if you take the trouble to read a publication called the Bible, and in particular the early numbers of the second volume, you'll find that the Big Teacher taught socialism—and the real disciples did, too. It was that little lawyer feller Paul that succeeded in twisting things around to the old basis of 'get all you can; there must always be rich and poor'; and it ain't a bit of use your preaching to a man 'don't steal,' when his babies are crying for bread. I know I'd steal fast enough; so would you, if you were anything of a man. It would be your 'fore-God duty to steal; yes, and murder, too, if there was no other way of feeding them that He gave you to feed. And the law has no right to preach 'no stealing' when it fixes it so you can't help stealing. If this yere government of ours was what it pretends to be and ain't, it would arrange so every man could get enough work at least to feed him and his folks and save himself from starvation when he was sick or old. There wouldn't be any stealing then and mighty little of any other crime.
"That's my opinion; and I tell you it was that way the Big Teacher preached it in the beginning, as you can see plain enough. And the first ring of disciples were honest socialists. It was that letter-writing advance agent of the trusts that you call Saint Paul, that managed to get control of the company and then twisted things back into the old ways. And in my opinion the hull bunch of you is crooks hiding behind the name of a good man who threw you down cold when He was alive. And the very words He used happens to be a verse I remember: 'Ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte and when he is made ye make him twofold more a child of hell than yourselves.'"
And the anvil rang, "clang, clang, clang!"
"Now, Shives," bawled Jim in his stentorian voice, "you haven't begun to think. And every statement you make is wrong and none of your quotations ever happened before; otherwise, I am quite willing to accept everything you say. For example——"
"Hello! who's this?"
Up to the door of the blacksmith shop came riding a band of mounted Indians. First of these was a middle-sized man with large square features, a single eagle feather in his hair. Hartigan recognized at once the famous War Chief, Red Cloud, the leader of all the Sioux. Riding beside him was an interpreter, and behind him was a small boy, mounted on a tall pony—buckskin, so far as one could tell, but so shrouded in a big blanket that little of his body was seen; his head was bedizened with a fancy and expensive bridle gear.
The whole shop turned to see. The interpreter got down and approaching Shives, said, "You can shoe pony, when he ain't never been shod?"
"Sure thing," said Shives, "we do it every day."
"How much?"
"Five dollars."
"Do him now?"
"Yes, I guess so."
The interpreter spoke to Red Cloud; the Chief motioned to the boy, who dropped from the blanketed pony and led it forward.
"Bring him in here," and Shives indicated the shop. But that was not so easy. The pony had never before been under a roof, and now he positively declined to break his record. Some men would have persisted and felt it their duty to show the horse "who is boss." Shives was inclined to be masterful; it was Hartigan who sized up the situation.
"He's never been under a roof, Jack. I wouldn't force him; it'll only make trouble."
"All right; tie him out there." So the pony was tied on the shady side of the shop.
Hartigan turned to the half-breed interpreter to ask, "What do you want him shod for?" It was well known that the Indians did not shoe their horses.
The half-breed spoke to Red Cloud, who was standing near with his men, talking among themselves.