The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West

by Harry Leon Wilson

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  _Ruel Follett's Way of Business_

  By the time the women were stirring that morning, Follett galloped up onhis horse. Prudence saw him from the doorway as he turned in from themain road, sitting his saddle with apparent carelessness, his arms loosefrom the shoulders, shifting lightly with the horse's motion, as one whohad made the center of gravity his slave. It was a style of riding thatwould have made a scandal in any riding-school; but it seemed to be wellcalculated for the quick halts, sudden swerves, and acute anglesaffected by the yearling steer in his moments of excitement.

  He dismounted, glowing from his bath in the icy water of the creek andfrom the headlong gallop up from Beil Wardle's corral.

  "Good morning, Miss Prudence."

  "Good morning, Mr. Follett. Will you take breakfast with us directly?"

  "Yes, and it can't be too directly for me. I'm wolfish. Miss Prudence,your pa and me had some talk last night, and I'm going to bunk in withyou all for awhile, till I get some business fixed up."

  She smiled with unaffected gladness, and he noticed that her freshmorning colour was like that of the little wild roses he had latelybrushed the dew from along the creek.

  "We shall be glad to have you."

  "It's right kind of you; I'm proud to hear you say so." He had taken offthe saddle with its gay coloured Navajo blanket, and the bridle ofplaited rawhide with its conchos and its silver bit. Now he rubbed theback of his horse where the saddle had been, ending with a slap thatsent the beast off with head down and glad heels in the air.

  "There now, Dandy! don't bury your ribs too deep under that new grass."

  "My father will be glad to have you and Dandy stay a long time."

  He looked at her quickly, and then away before he spoke. It was a lookthat she thought seemed to say more than the words that followed it.

  "Well, the fact is, Miss Prudence, I don't just know how long I'll haveto be in these parts. I got some particular kind of business that'slasting longer than I thought it would. I reckon it's one of those jobswhere you have to let it work itself out while you sit still and watch.Sometimes you get business on hand that seems to know more about itselfthan you do."

  "That's funny."

  "Yes, it's like when they first sent me out on the range. They werecutting out steers from a big bunch, and they put me on a little blueroan to hold the cut. Well, cattle hate to leave the bunch, so thosethey cut out would start to run back, and I had to head and turn them. Idid it so well I was surprised at myself. No sooner did a steer headback than I had the spurs in and was after it, and I'd always get itstopped. I certainly did think I was doing it high, wide, and handsome,like you might say; only once or twice I noticed that the pony stoppedshort when the steer did without my pulling him up, as if he'd seen thestop before I did. And then pretty soon after, a yearling that was justthe--excuse me--that was awful spry at dodging, led me a chase, the ponystopped stiff-legged when the steer did, and while I was leaning one wayhe was off after the steer the other way so quick that I just naturallyslid off. I watched him head and turn that steer all by himself, andthen I learned something. It seemed like he went to sleep when I got onhim. But after that I didn't pay any attention to the cattle. I let himkeep the whole lookout, and all I did was to set in the saddle. He was awise old cow-pony. He taught me a lot about chasing steers. He wasalways after one the minute it left the cut, and he'd know just thesecond it was going to stop and turn; he'd never go a foot farther thanthe steer did, and he'd turn back just as quick. I knew he knew I wasgreen, but I thought the other men didn't, so I just set quiet andplayed off like I was doing it all, when I wasn't really doing a thingbut holding on. He was old, and they didn't use him much except whenthey wanted a rope-horse around the corral. And he'd made a lifelongstudy of steers. He knew them from horns to tail, and by saying nothingand looking wise I thought I'd get the credit of being smart myself.It's kind of that way now. I'm holding tight and looking wise about somebusiness that I ain't what you could call up in."

  He carried the saddle and bridle into the house, and she followed him.They found Lorena annoyed by the indisposition of her husband.

  "Dear me suz! Here's your pa bed-fast again. He's had a bad night andwon't open the door to let me tell him if he needs anything. He says hewon't even take spoon victuals, and he won't get up, and his chest don'thurt him so that ain't it, and I never was any hand to be natteringaround a body, but he hadn't ought to go without his food like he does,when the Father himself has a tabernacle of flesh like you or me--thoughthe Holy Ghost has not--and it's probably mountain fever again, so I'llmake some composition tea and he's just _got_ to take it. Of course Inever had no revelations from the Lord and never did I claim to have,but you don't need the Holy Ghost coming upon you to tell you the plaindoings of common sense."

  Whatever the nature of Mr. Follett's business, his confidence in thesoundness of his attitude toward it was perfect. He showed no sign ofabstraction or anxiety; no sign of aught but a desire to live agreeablyin the present,--a present that included Prudence. When the earlybreakfast was over they went out about the place, through thepeach-orchard and the vineyard still dewy, lingering in the shade of aplum-tree, finding all matters to be of interest. For a time theywatched and laughed at the two calves through the bars of the corral,cavorting feebly on stiffened legs while the bereaved mothers castlanguishing glances at them from outside, conscious that their milk wasbeing basely diverted from the rightful heirs. They picked many blossomsand talked of many things. There was no idle moment from early morninguntil high noon; and yet, though they were very busy, they achievedabsolutely nothing.

  In the afternoon Prudence donned her own sombrero, and they went to thecanon to fish. From a clump of the yellowish green willows that fringedthe stream, Follett cut a slender wand. To this he fixed a line and atiny hook that he had carried in his hat, and for the rest of thedistance to the canon's mouth he collected such grasshoppers as lingeredtoo long in his shadow. Entering the canon, they followed up the stream,clambering over broken rocks, skirting huge boulders, and turning asideto go around a gorge that narrowed the torrent and flung it down in alittle cascade.

  Here and there Follett would flicker his hook over the surface of ashaded pool, poise it at the foot of a ripple, skim it across an eddy,cast it under a shelf of rock or dangle it in some promising nook by thewillow roots, shielding himself meanwhile as best he could; here behinda boulder, there bending a willow in front of him, again lying flat onthe bank, taking care to keep even his shadow off the stream and to gosilently.

  From where she followed, Prudence would see the surface of the waterbreak with a curling gleam of gold, which would give way to a bubblingsplash; then she would see the willow rod bend, see it vibrate andthrill and tremble, the point working slowly over the bank. Then perhapsthe rod would suddenly straighten out for a few seconds only to bendagain, slowly, gently, but mercilessly. Or perhaps the point continuedto come in until it was well over the bank and the end of the line closeby. Then after a frantic splashing on the margin of the stream theconquered trout would be gasping on the bank, a thing of shiveringgleams of blended brown and gold and pink. At first she pitied the fishand regretted the cruelty of man, but Follett had other views.

  "Why," he said, "a trout is the crudest beast there is. Look at ittrying to swallow this poor little hopper that it thought tumbled intothe water by accident. It just loves to eat its stuff alive. And itisn't particular. It would just as lief eat its own children. Now youtake that one there, and say he was ten thousand times as big as he is,and you were coming along here and your foot slipped and Mr. Trout waslying behind this rock here--_hungry_. Say! What a mouthful you'd make,pink dress and all--he'd have you swallowed in a second, and then he'dsneak back behind the rock there, wiping his mouth, and hoping yourlittle sister or somebody would be along in a minute and fall in too."

  "Ugh!--Why, what horrible little monsters! Let me catch one."

  And so she fished under his di
rection. They lurked together in theshadows of rocks, while he showed her how to flicker the bait in thecurrent, here holding her hand on the rod, again supporting her whileshe leaned out to cast around a boulder, each feeling the other'sbreathless caution and looking deep into each other's eyes throughseconds of tense silence.

  Such as they were, these were the only results of the lesson; resultsthat left them in easy friendliness toward each other. For the fish werenot deceived by her. He would point out some pool where very probably ahungry trout was lying in wait with his head to the current, and shewould try to skim the lure over it. More than once she saw the fish darttoward it, but never did she quite convince them. Oftener she saw themflit up-stream in fright, like flashes of gray lightning. Yet at lengthshe felt she had learned all that could be taught of the art, and thatfurther failure would mean merely a lack of appetite or spirit in thefish. So she went on alone, while Follett stopped to clean the dozentrout he had caught.

  While she was in sight he watched her, the figure bending lithe as therod she held, moving lightly, now a long, now a short step, halfkneeling to throw the bait into an eddy; then off again with determinedstrides to the next likely pool. When he could no longer see her, hefell to work on his fish, scouring their slime off in the dry sand.

  When she returned, she found him on his back, his hat off, his armsflung out above his head, fast asleep. She sat near by on a smooth rockat the water's edge and waited--without impatience, for this was thefirst time she had been free to look at him quite as she wished to. Shestudied him closely now. He seemed to her like some young power of thatfar strange eastern land. She thought of something she had heard him sayabout Dandy: "He's game and fearless and almighty prompt,--but he's kindand gentle too." She was pleased to think it described the master aswell as the horse. And she was glad they had been such fine playmatesthe whole day long. When the shadow moved off his face and left it inthe slanting rays of the sun, she broke off a spruce bough and proppedit against the rock to shield him.

  And then she sighed, for they could be playmates only in forgetfulness.He was a Gentile, and by that token wicked and lost; unless--and in thatmoment she flushed, feeling the warmth of a high purpose.

  She would save him. He was worth saving, from his crown of yellow hairto the high heels of his Mexican boots. Strong, clean, gentle, and--shehesitated for a word--interesting--he must be brought into the Kingdom,and she would do it. She looked up again and met his wide-open eyes.

  They both laughed. "I sat up with your pa last night," he said, ashamedof having slept. "We had some business to palaver about."

  He had tied the fish into a bundle with aspen leaves and damp mossaround them, and now they went back down the stream. In the flush of hernew role as missionary she allowed herself to feel a secret motherlytenderness for his immortal soul, letting him help her by hand or armover places where she knew she could have gone much better alone.

  Back at the house they were met by the little bent man, who had tossedupon his bed all day in the fires of his hell. He looked searchingly atthem to be sure that Follett had kept his secret. Then, relieved by thefrank glance of Prudence, he fell to musing on the two, so young, sofresh, so joyous in the world and in each other, seeing them side byside with those little half-felt, timidly implied, or unconsciouslyexpressed confidences of boy and girl; sensing the memory of his ownlost youth's aroma, his youth that had slipped off unrecked in the hazeof his dreams of glory. For this he felt very tenderly toward them,wishing that they were brother and sister and his own.

  That evening, while they sat out of doors, she said, very resolutely:

  "I'm going to teach Mr. Follett some truth tomorrow from the Book ofMormon. He says he has never been baptised in any church."

  Follett looked interested and cordial, but her father failed to displaythe enthusiasm she had expected, and seemed even a little embarrassed.

  "You mean well, daughter, but don't be discouraged if he is slow to takeour truth. Perhaps he has a kind of his own as good as ours. A woman Iknew once said to me,' Going to heaven is like going to mill; if yourwheat is good the miller will never ask how you came.'"

  "But, Father, suppose you get to mill and have only chaff?"

  "That is the same answer I made, dear. I wish I hadn't."

  Later, when Prudence had gone, the two men made their beds by the firein the big room. Follett was awakened twice by the other putting wood onthe fire; and twice more by his pitiful pleading with something at hisback not to come in front of him.