CHAPTER XVIII
The Second Bylow Spree
Woman to-day reverences physical prowess just as much as did her caveforebears, and she glories in the fact that her man is a strong,fighting animal, even though she recognizes the value of other gifts.
Belle was no exception to this human rule; and her eyes sparkled as shelistened to Jim's story of that unusual prayer meeting held in the Bylowcabin. It was Hartigan's nature always to see the humorous side ofthings, and his racy description of the big man with the knife, down onhis knees with one eye on the door and the other on the Preacher, wasirresistible, much funnier than the real thing. It gave her a genuinethrill, a woman's pleasure in his splendid physical strength.
"Sure," he said with his faint delicious brogue, "it was distasteful tohave to annoy them, but there are times when one has to do what hedoesn't like."
Then he proceeded to a graphic account of the second ruffian smellingthe palms of his hands and squinting through his fingers, praying forgrace with his lips and for a club with his heart.
"I don't know what Dr. Jebb will say," she remarked at last, "but itseems to me we must judge by results in this case."
Hypocrite that she was! Had she not that very week denounced theopportunist doctrine that the end justifies the means? But in herdelighted eyes and glowing interest Jim found a vast reward.
Dr. Jebb was human and discreet. He smiled and said little about theenergetic methods of his assistant; and when next Sunday Charlie Bylowand his wife appeared in church and later joined the group on theanxious seat, he felt that the matter was happily ended as it had oddlybegun.
Exactly four weeks after the strenuous prayer meeting word reached thePreacher in a rather pointed way that a keg of the "pizen juice" hadarrived on the evening train and was to be carried at once to PatBylow's. Hartigan mounted his racer and sped thitherward at nightfall. Ahalf mile from Pat's house was Charlie's, and at the door was the owner,apparently expecting to see him--though this circumstance did notimpress Hartigan.
"Can I do anything to help?" he asked.
Hartigan shook his head, laughed lightly, and rode on. At Pat's shantyhe tied his horse to the fence, stepped to the door, knocked, and,without waiting, went in. A woman's voice shrilled:
"Pat, here's that ---- preacher again."
There were other voices, male and female, in the lean-to kitchen. Patcame in and glared at the intruder. There was a rising fury in hismanner, but no evidence of drink.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Well, to be frank with you," said Hartigan, "I have reason forsuspecting an unhelpful indulgence is planned here for to-night, and Iwas hoping that I might persuade you to reconsider it beforehand. Andsure we don't want to get agitated, and I don't want to use languagethat might sound like disapproval."
He glanced around. There was no sight of any spree in prospect. Aglimpse of the kitchen showed only the preparations for an ordinarymeal, and Hartigan wondered whether or not there had been a mistake.Could it be that he was the butt of a practical joke?
Pat was sulkily waiting, not knowing just what to say, when voices wereheard outside and heavy steps; then the door opened and in came threemen, the first carrying under his arm a barrel-shaped bundle. Thepresence of the Preacher was obviously disconcerting to the new-comers.
"Gimme that," growled Pat. He seized the keg and was marching off withit when Hartigan strode over in front of him.
"Hold on, Pat, let me see that."
Bylow exploded into a torrent of abusive profanity. Some of thosepresent had been witnesses of the previous affair, and realizing whatthe pastoral visit might mean, they added their voices to the uproar.The language was emphatic rather than concise. The women, too, gave freerein to their tongues, but their observations reflected on their maleescorts more harshly than they did on any one or anything else.
However puzzled Hartigan might be by the complexities of the femalemind, the mental processes of the unlettered male were quite familiar tohim and he showed his comprehension by a simple challenge.
"Now, boys, I don't want to seem thoughtless or indelicate, but I wantyou to know that I can lick the whole bunch of you with one hand tiedbehind my back and the other in a sling. Not that I have any intentionof doing it, and I apologize to the ladies for mention of the subject,but it may help us to an understanding. If you have not yet gathered mymeaning, I will put it simpler. I am here to stop this spree before itbegins."
At this moment there was a light shuffling step outside and the doorswung back revealing the small, familiar figure of Jack Lowe. A quick,meaning look and some sort of indistinguishable signal passed betweenLowe and Pat, whereupon the latter at once placed the keg on the table.
"How do you do, Mr. Hartigan?" said Lowe. "I think we are here for thesame purpose."
"Maybe so," said Jim dryly, "I don't know. I'm here to remove temptationfrom our friends, and before I leave I mean to spill that cursed stuffon the floor."
"You are right," said Lowe, "absolutely right. Pat, let me have thatkeg," and the schoolteacher proceeded to hammer around the bung, in theway of the orthodox bung-starter. There were murmurs and strong words,but he went on while Hartigan stood guard. The bung came loose, helifted it out, and put his nostrils to the hole.
"That's the real stuff, just as it dropped from the quill. Smell that,Mr. Hartigan. Ain't that the real magollyon? But all the same here shegoes." He tipped the keg a little and some liquor spilled out.
"See that? You get the gold? I tell you, Mr. Hartigan, that greenrot-gut is poison, but you can tell when it's real by the shine. If itis whiskey it shines yellow like corn, if it is vitriol it shinesgreen." He took a glass and filled it. "See the gold, and it smells likecorn tossel." He put it to his lips. "That's what puts heart in a man,and makes him forgive his worst enemy.
"But here she goes." He spilled a little more on the ground. Then:
"You know, Mr. Hartigan, I am wholly in sympathy with this visit ofyours, but I don't go as far as you do. I've been talking to Pat andhe's a good sport. He realizes that you put up a fine fight that othertime and that you cleaned them up single-handed. He doesn't want anyfurther unpleasantness, but he doesn't see what right you have to keephim and his friends from using a moderate amount of this keg. Is thatyour idea, Pat?"
"An' what's the matter with it," growled Pat. "Why shouldn't I have oneor two drinks? No man gets drunk on that."
"There you are," said Lowe, turning to Hartigan, "that's in reason. Whynot have a drink all round and then talk it over?"
Hartigan was frankly puzzled by the turn of affairs. It seemed to be anoffer of peace, after a fashion, but he could not fit Lowe into thescheme of things. He tried to read what was going on behind theschoolteacher's shifty eyes, but the face was a mask. At last he said:
"If these men and women," and Hartigan let his eyes travel over thefaces about him, "could have stopped with one or two drinks I wouldn'tbe here now. Ye take one or two, but that is only the beginning. I knowwhat drink is; I've been through it all, I tell ye, and there's nostopping if it gets the hold on ye."
"Leave it to the d--d preachers and there wouldn't be nothin' left to doin life," said Pat with a contemptuous sneer.
"Come now," said Lowe, eager to prevent hostilities. "You wouldn'tobject to liquor if nobody took too much, would you, Mr. Hartigan?"
"No," said Jim with a grim smile, "but I'm not to be taken in by theplausibilities of the Devil. That keg is going to be emptied."
"I'm with you to the finish there," said Lowe, "but what harm is therein filling these small glasses so"; he emptied a moderate draught into arow of tumblers set out upon the table.
"If Pat is willing to meet you half way and see this keg emptied on thefloor, you wouldn't refuse a small drink with him in his own house,would you?"
Hartigan hesitated. He could not convince himself that the offer wasgenuine. And yet if he actually saw, with his own eyes, the keg emptiedof its contents, what trick could there be? It seemed
churlish torefuse. Suppose the offer were made in good faith, by not refusing thatwhich in the male code is the sign of brotherhood and equality, he mightsecure an influence for good with the elder Bylow. And Lowe seemed tosense the thought, for he said, "If you take just a taste with these mennow, all will come to hear you preach next Sunday. Won't you, boys?" Andthere was a grunt of assent. "All right; it's a bargain."
Jim was actually weighing the proposition--his old craving for drink wasnot by any means eradicated. The sight of the liquor and the smellroused an appetite that only an iron will had subdued. As he stooduncertain, debating, Lowe said, "Hold on; we're a glass short. Nevermind, I'll find one"; and he hastened back into the lean-to kitchen andreturned with a glass, which was partly concealed by his hand till itwas filled with whiskey. Then he said, "If it was 'pizen juice' Iwouldn't let any one touch it; but this is the simple clear whiskey, asyou can prove for yourself. I wish we could send this to the hospital."
He offered it to Hartigan, who smelled it. Then Lowe said, "Well, here'sto the empty keg."
The seductive liquor was potent in his nostrils, even there it hadstimulation; and Hartigan, acting on a sudden impulse, drained theglass, as the others drank in silence.
There said Lowe, "You see it is the mildest of the mild; it wouldn'thurt a child." And he prattled away of truth and soberness, so that thepotion should have ample freedom for its work; till the planned andsubtle mixture should have time to dethrone Hartigan's reason, blind hisspirit, and unhinge his will. The ancient fury in his hot young bloodwas all too ready to be aroused. Without a word, Lowe filled the glassagain and Jim, no longer his best self, but dazed and reckless, drankwith all the rest; then soon threw all restraint aside; and in thebacchanalian orgy that followed fast and filled the night, he was thestable-yard rowdy once again--loud and leading--but here let the curtainfall--draw down the thickest, blackest veil.
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 19