CHAPTER LX
The Gateway and the Mountain
August with its deadening heat was over; September, bright, sunny andtonic, was come to revive the world. Rank foliage was shaking off thesummer dust, and a myriad noisy insects were strumming, chirping,fiddling, buzzing, screeping in the dense undergrowth. It was eveningwhen they boarded the train for the West and took the trail that bothhad taken before, but never with such a background of events or such aneagerness for what was in the future. As the train roared through thefertile fields of Illinois, with their cornfields, their blackbirds andtheir myriads of cattle, red and white, the sun went down--a red beaconblaze, a bonfire welcome on their pathway just before the engine--apromise and a symbol.
It was near noon the next day when they reached the junction and took,the branch line for the north. The first prairie-dog town had set Jimablaze with schoolboy eagerness; and when a coyote stood and gazed atthe train, he rushed out on to the platform to give him the hunter'syell.
"My, how sleek he looked! I wonder how those prairie dogs feel as theysee him stalk around their town, like a policeman among the SouthChicago kids!"
When a flock of prairie chickens flew before the train he called, "Look,look, Belle! See how they sail, just as they used to do!" As though thefamiliar sights of ten months before were forty years in the past.
They were in the hills now, and the winding train went more slowly.Animal life was scarcer here, but the pine trees and the sombre peakswere all about. At five o'clock the train swung down the gorge withCedar Mountain before it, and Jim cried in joy: "There's our mountain;there's our mountain!"
There was a crowd assembled at the station and as soon as Jim appeared afamiliar voice shouted, "Here he is!" and, led by Shives, they gave ahearty cheer. All the world of Cedar Mountain seemed there. Pa Boyd andMa Boyd came first to claim their own. Dr. Jebb and Dr. Carson forgottheir religious differences in the good fellowship of the time, and whenthe inner circle had kissed Belle and manhandled Jim to the limit ofcustom, a quiet voice said: "Welcome back, Mr. Hartigan," and CharlieBylow grasped the Preacher's hand. "I brought my team so I could takecare of your trunks." There was only one small trunk, but he took thecheck and would have resented any other man having hand or say in thematter.
That evening the meal was a "welcome home," for a dozen of the nearerfriends were there to hear the chapters of their hero's life. Jim was infine feather and he told of their Chicago life as none other could havedone, with jest and sly digs at himself and happy tributes to the onewho had held his hand when comradeship meant the most.
A month of freedom, with youth, sounds like years. Many plans wereoffered to fill the time. An invitation came from Colonel and Mrs.Waller to spend three days at Fort Ryan. In a delicately wordedpostscript was the sentence: "Blazing Star is well and will be glad tofeel your weight again."
"Blazing Star and Cedar Mountain!" shouted Jim as Belle read the letterthe next morning at breakfast. And then, much to Pa Boyd's amusement hebroke out in his lusty baritone:
"'Tis my ain countree, 'Tis my ain countree!' The fairest brightest land That the sun did ever see."
Midnight and the horse that had been Belle's were waiting in the stable.
"Now, where shall we go? Up Cedar Mountain, to Fort Ryan, or where?"asked Belle as they saddled their mounts. His answer was not what sheexpected. Cedar Mountain had ever been in his thought. "If only I couldstand on Cedar Mountain!" had been his words so many times. And now,with Cedar Mountain close at hand, in sight, he said: "Let's ridenowhere in particular--just through the sage."
They set off and veered away from Fort Ryan and any other place wheremen might cross their path. The prairie larks sang about them theirlovely autumn song--the short, sweet call that sounds like: "_Hear me,hear me! I am the herald announcing the King._" Fluttering in the airand floating for a moment above the riders they carolled a wild andglorious serenade that has no possible rendition into human notation.After a hard gallop they rode in silence side by side, hand in hand,while Jim gazed across the plain or watched the fat, fumbling prairiedogs. But ever he turned his face and heart away from Cedar Mountain.
At first it had been to him but a mighty pile of rocks; then it hadgrown to be a spot beloved for its sacred memories. It had become asymbol of his highest hopes--the blessed things he held too good forwords. He was riding now in the lust of youthful force; he was dwellingnot in the past; or the hopeful far-ahead; he was in the living _now_,and, high or low, his instinct bade him drink the cup that came.
As the sun went down, he drew rein and paused with Belle to gaze at thegolden fringe that the cedars made on the mountain's edge in the glow.He knew it and loved it in every light--best of all, perhaps, in itsmorning mist, when the plains were yet gray and the rosy dawn wastouching its gleaming sides. He was content as yet to look on it fromafar. He would seek its pinnacle as he had done before, but somethingwithin him said: "No; not yet."
And the wise young person at his side kept silence; a little puzzled butcontent, and waiting, wisely waiting.
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 61