The Girl from Montana

by Grace Livingston Hill

  CHAPTER VI

  A CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR MEETING IN THE WILDERNESS

  He stepped boldly around the green barrier, and his first glance told himshe was lying there still asleep; but the consciousness of anotherpresence held him from going away. There, coiled on the ground withvenomous fangs extended and eyes glittering like slimy jewels, was arattlesnake, close beside her.

  For a second he gazed with a kind of fascinated horror, and his brainrefused to act. Then he knew he must do something, and at once. He hadread of serpents and travellers' encounters with them, but no memory ofwhat was to be done under such circumstances came. Shoot? He dared not. Hewould be more likely to kill the girl than the serpent, and in any eventwould precipitate the calamity. Neither was there any way to awaken thegirl and drag her from peril, for the slightest movement upon her partwould bring the poisoned fangs upon her.

  He cast his eyes about for some weapon, but there was not a stick or astone in sight. He was a good golf-player; if he had a loaded stick, hecould easily take the serpent's head off, he thought; but there was nostick. There was only one hope, he felt, and that would be to attract thecreature to himself; and he hardly dared move lest the fascinated gazeshould close upon the victim as she lay there sweetly sleeping, unaware ofher new peril.

  Suddenly he knew what to do. Silently he stepped back out of sight, toreoff his coat, and then cautiously approached the snake again, holding thecoat up before him. There was an instant's pause when he calculatedwhether the coat could drop between the snake and the smooth brown arm infront before the terrible fangs would get there; and then the coatdropped, the man bravely holding one end of it as a wall between theserpent and the girl, crying to her in an agony of frenzy to awaken andrun.

  There was a terrible moment in which he realized that the girl was savedand he himself was in peril of death, while he held to the coat till thegirl was on her feet in safety. Then he saw the writhing coil at his feetturn and fasten its eyes of fury upon him. He was conscious of beinguncertain whether his fingers could let go the coat, and whether histrembling knees could carry him away before the serpent struck; then itwas all over, and he and the girl were standing outside the sage-brush,with the sound of the pistol dying away among the echoes, and the fineache of his arm where her fingers had grasped him to drag him from danger.

  The serpent was dead. She had shot it. She took that as coolly as she hadtaken the bird in its flight. But she stood looking at him with great eyesof gratitude, and he looked at her amazed that they were both alive, andscarcely understanding all that had happened.

  The girl broke the stillness.

  "You are what they call a 'tenderfoot,'" she said significantly.

  "Yes," he assented humbly, "I guess I am. I couldn't have shot it to saveanybody's life."

  "You are a tenderfoot, and you couldn't shoot," she continuedeulogistically, as if it were necessary to have it all stated plainly,"but you--you are what my brother used to call 'a white man.' Youcouldn't shoot; but you could risk your life, and hold that coat, and lookdeath in the face. _You_ are no tenderfoot."

  There was eloquence in her eyes, and in her voice there were tears. Sheturned away to hide if any were in her eyes. But the man put out his handon her sure little brown one, and took it firmly in his own, looking downupon her with his own eyes filled with tears of which he was not ashamed.

  "And what am I to say to you for saving my life?" he said.

  "I? O, that was easy," said the girl, rousing to the commonplace. "I canalways shoot. Only you were hard to drag away. You seemed to want to staythere and die with your coat."

  "They laughed at me for wearing that coat when we started away. They saida hunter never bothered himself with extra clothing," he mused as theywalked away from the terrible spot.

  "Do you think it was the prayer?" asked the girl suddenly.

  "It may be!" said the man with wondering accent.

  Then quietly, thoughtfully, they mounted and rode onward.

  Their way, due east, led them around the shoulder of a hill. It wastolerably smooth, but they were obliged to go single file, so there wasvery little talking done.

  It was nearly the middle of the afternoon when all at once a sound reachedthem from below, a sound so new that it was startling. They stopped theirhorses, and looked at each other. It was the faint sound of singing waftedon the light breeze, singing that came in whiffs like a perfume, and thendied out. Cautiously they guided their horses on around the hill, keepingclose together now. It was plain they were approaching some human being orbeings. No bird could sing like that. There were indistinct words to themusic.

  They rounded the hillside, and stopped again side by side. There belowthem lay the trail for which they had been searching, and just beneaththem, nestled against the hill, was a little schoolhouse of logs,weather-boarded, its windows open; and behind it and around it were horsestied, some of them hitched to wagons, but most of them with saddles.

  The singing was clear and distinct now. They could hear the words. "O,that will be glory for me, glory for me, glory for me--"

  "What is it?" she whispered.

  "Why, I suspect it is a Sunday school or something of the kind."

  "O! A school! Could we go in?"

  "If you like," said the man, enjoying her simplicity. "We can tie outhorses here behind the building, and they can rest. There is fresh grassin this sheltered place; see?"

  He led her down behind the schoolhouse to a spot where the horses couldnot be seen from the trail. The girl peered curiously around the cornerinto the window. There sat two young girls about her own age, and one ofthem smiled at her. It seemed an invitation. She smiled back, and went onto the doorway reassured. When she entered the room, she found thempointing to a seat near a window, behind a small desk.

  There were desks all over the room at regular intervals, and a larger deskup in front. Almost all the people sat at desks.

  There was a curious wooden box in front at one side of, the big desk, anda girl sat before it pushing down some black and white strips that lookedlike sticks, and making her feet go, and singing with all her might. Thecurious box made music, the same music the people were singing. Was it apiano? she wondered. She had heard of pianos. Her father used to talkabout them. O, and what was that her mother used to want? A"cab'net-organ." Perhaps this was a cab'net-organ. At any rate, she wasentranced with the music.

  Up behind the man who sat at the big desk was a large board painted blackwith some white marks on it. The sunlight glinted across it, and she couldnot tell what they were; but, when she moved a little, she saw quiteclearly it was a large cross with words underneath it--"He will hide me."

  It was a strange place. The girl looked around shyly, and felt submergedin the volume of song that rolled around her, from voices untrained,perhaps, but hearts that knew whereof they sang. To her it was heavenlymusic, if she had the least conception of what such music was like."Glory," "glory," "glory!" The words seemed to fit the day, and thesunshine, and the deliverance that had come to her so recently. She lookedaround for her companion and deliverer to enjoy it with him, but he hadnot come in yet.

  The two girls were handing her a book now and pointing to the place. Shecould read. Her mother had taught her just a little before the otherchildren were born, but not much in the way of literature had ever come inher way. She grasped the book eagerly, hungrily, and looked where thefinger pointed. Yes, there were the words. "Glory for me!" "Glory for me!"Did that mean her? Was there glory for her anywhere in the world? Shesighed with the joy of the possibility, as the "Glory Song" rolled along,led by the enthusiasm of one who had recently come from a big city whereit had been sung in a great revival service. Some kind friend had givensome copies of a leaflet containing it and a few other new songs to thislittle handful of Christians, and they were singing them as if they hadbeen a thousand strong.

  The singing ceased and the man at the big desk said, "Let us have theverses."

  "'The eternal God is thy refuge,
and underneath are the everlastingarms,'" said a careworn woman in the front seat.

  "'He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thoutrust,'" said a young man next.

  "'In the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion in the secretof his tabernacle shall he hide me,'" read the girl who had handed thebook. The slip of paper she had written it on fluttered to the floor atthe feet of the stranger, and the stranger stooped and picked it up,offering it back; but the other girl shook her head, and the stranger keptit, looking wonderingly at the words, trying to puzzle out a meaning.

  There were other verses repeated, but just then a sound smote upon thegirl's ear which deadened all others. In spite of herself she began totremble. Even her lips seemed to her to move with the weakness of herfear. She looked up, and the man was just coming toward the door; but hereyes grew dizzy, and a faintness seemed to come over her.

  Up the trail on horseback, with shouts and ribald songs, rode four roughmen, too drunk to know where they were going. The little schoolhouseseemed to attract their attention as they passed, and just for deviltrythey shouted out a volley of oaths and vile talk to the worshipperswithin. One in particular, the leader, looked straight into the face ofthe young man as he returned from fastening the horses and was about toenter the schoolhouse, and pretended to point his pistol at him,discharging it immediately into the air. This was the signal for some wildfiring as the men rode on past the schoolhouse, leaving a train of cursesbehind them to haunt the air and struggle with the "Glory Song" in thememories of those who heard.

  The girl looked out from her seat beside the window, and saw the evil faceof the man from whom she had fled. She thought for a terrible minute,which seemed ages long to her, that she was cornered now. She began tolook about on the people there helplessly, and wonder whether they wouldsave her, would help her, in her time of need. Would they be able to fightand prevail against those four terrible men mad with liquor?

  Suppose he said she was his--his wife, perhaps, or sister, who had runaway. What could they do? Would they believe her? Would the man who hadsaved her life a few minutes ago believe her? Would anybody help her?

  The party passed, and the man came in and sat down beside her quietlyenough; but without a word or a look he knew at once who the man was hehad just seen. His soul trembled for the girl, and his anger rose hot. Hefelt that a man like that ought to be wiped off the face of the earth insome way, or placed in solitary confinement the rest of his life.

  He looked down at the girl, trembling, brave, white, beside him; and hefelt like gathering her in his arms and hiding her himself, such a frail,brave, courageous little soul she seemed. But the calm nerve with whichshe had shot the serpent was gone now. He saw she was trembling and readyto cry. Then he smiled upon her, a smile the like of which he had nevergiven to human being before; at least, not since he was a tiny baby andsmiled confidingly into his mother's face. Something in that smile waslike sunshine to a nervous chill.

  The girl felt the comfort of it, though she still trembled. Down her eyesdrooped to the paper in her shaking hands. Then gradually, letter byletter, word by word, the verse spoke to her. Not all the meaning shegathered, for "pavilion" and "tabernacle" were unknown words to her, butthe hiding she could understand. She had been hidden in her time oftrouble. Some one had done it. "He"--the word would fit the man by herside, for he had helped to hide her, and to save her more than once; butjust now there came a dim perception that it was some other He, some Onegreater who had worked this miracle and saved her once more to go onperhaps to better things.

  There were many things said in that meeting, good and wise and true. Theymight have been helpful to the girl if she had understood, but herthoughts had much to do. One grain of truth she had gathered for herfuture use. There was a "hiding" somewhere in this world, and she had hadit in a time of trouble. One moment more out upon the open, and theterrible man might have seen her.

  There came a time of prayer in which all heads were bowed, and a voicehere and there murmured a few soft little words which she did notcomprehend; but at the close they all joined in "the prayer"; and, whenshe heard the words, "Our Father," she closed her eyes, which had beencuriously open and watching, and joined her voice softly with the rest.Somehow it seemed to connect her safety with "our Father," and she felt astronger faith than ever in her prayer.

  The young man listened intently to all he heard. There was somethingstrangely impressive to him in this simple worship out in what to him wasa vast wilderness. He felt more of the true spirit of worship than he hadever felt at home sitting in the handsomely upholstered pew beside hismother and sister while the choir-boys chanted the processional and thelight filtered through costly windows of many colors over the large andcultivated congregation. There was something about the words of thesepeople that went straight to the heart more than all the intonings of thecultured voices he had ever heard. Truly they meant what they said, andGod had been a reality to them in many a time of trouble. That seemed tobe the theme of the afternoon, the saving power of the eternal God, madeperfect through the need and the trust of His people. He was reminded morethan once of the incident of the morning and the miraculous saving of hisown and his companion's life.

  When the meeting was over, the people gathered in groups and talked withone another. The girl who had handed the book came over and spoke to thestrangers, putting out her hand pleasantly. She was the missionary'sdaughter.

  "What is this? School?" asked the stranger eagerly.

  "Yes, this is the schoolhouse," said the missionary's daughter; "but thismeeting is Christian Endeavor. Do you live near here? Can't you come everytime?"

  "No. I live a long way off," said the girl sadly. "That is, I did. Idon't live anywhere now. I'm going away."

  "I wish you lived here. Then you could come to our meeting. Did you have aChristian Endeavor where you lived?"

  "No. I never saw one before. It's nice. I like it."

  Another girl came up now, and put out her hand in greeting. "You must comeagain," she said politely.

  "I don't know," said the visitor. "I sha'n't be coming back soon."

  "Are you going far?"

  "As far as I can. I'm going East."

  "O," said the inquisitor; and then, seeing the missionary's daughter wastalking to some one else, she whispered, nodding toward the man, "Is heyour husband?"

  The girl looked startled, while a slow color mounted into her cheeks.

  "No," said she gravely, thoughtfully. "But--he saved my life a littlewhile ago."

  "Oh!" said the other, awestruck. "My! And ain't he handsome? How did he doit?"

  But the girl could not talk about it. She shuddered.

  "It was a dreadful snake," she said, "and I was--I didn't see it. It wasawful! I can't tell you about it."

  "My!" said the girl. "How terrible!"

  The people were passing out now. The man was talking with the missionary,asking the road to somewhere. The girl suddenly realized that this hour ofpreciousness was over, and life was to be faced again. Those men, thoseterrible men! She had recognized the others as having been among herbrother's funeral train. Where were they, and why had they gone that way?Were they on her track? Had they any clue to her whereabouts? Would theyturn back pretty soon, and catch her when the people were gone home?

  It appeared that the nearest town was Malta, sixteen miles away, down inthe direction where the party of men had passed. There were only fourhouses near the schoolhouse, and they were scattered in differentdirections along the stream in the valley. The two stood still near thedoor after the congregation had scattered. The girl suddenly shivered. Asshe looked down the road, she seemed again to see the coarse face of theman she feared, and to hear his loud laughter and oaths. What if he shouldcome back again? "I cannot go that way!" she said, pointing down the trailtoward Malta. "I would rather die with wild beasts."

  "No!" said the man with decision. "On no account can we go that way. Wasthat the man you ran away from?"<
br />
  "Yes." She looked up at him, her eyes filled with wonder over the way inwhich he had coupled his lot with hers.

  "Poor little girl!" he said with deep feeling. "You would be better offwith the beasts. Come, let us hurry away from here!"

  They turned sharply away from the trail, and followed down behind a familywho were almost out of sight around the hill. There would be a chance ofgetting some provisions, the man thought. The girl thought of nothingexcept to get away. They rode hard, and soon came within hailing-distanceof the people ahead of them, and asked a few questions.

  No, there were no houses to the north until you were over the Canadianline, and the trail was hard to follow. Few people went that way. Mostwent down to Malta. Why didn't they go to Malta? There was a road there,and stores. It was by all means the best way. Yes, there was another houseabout twenty miles away on this trail. It was a large ranch, and was nearto another town that had a railroad. The people seldom came this way, asthere were other places more accessible to them. The trail was littleused, and might be hard to find in some places; but, if they kept theCottonwood Creek in sight, and followed on to the end of the valley, andthen crossed the bench to the right, they would be in sight of it, andcouldn't miss it. It was a good twenty miles beyond their house; but, ifthe travellers didn't miss the way, they might reach it before dark. Yes,the people could supply a few provisions at their house if the strangersdidn't mind taking what was at hand.

  The man in the wagon tried his best to find out where the two were goingand what they were going for; but the man from the East baffled hiscuriosity in a most dexterous manner, so that, when the two rode away fromthe two-roomed log house where the kind-hearted people lived, they left noclue to their identity or mission beyond the fact that they were goingquite a journey, and had got a little off their trail and run out ofprovisions.

  They felt comparatively safe from pursuit for a few hours at least, forthe men could scarcely return and trace them very soon. They had notstopped to eat anything; but all the milk they could drink had been givento them, and its refreshing strength was racing through their veins. Theystarted upon their long ride with the pleasure of their companionshipstrong upon them.

  "What was it all about?" asked the girl as they settled into a steady gaitafter a long gallop across a smooth level place.

  He looked at her questioningly.

  "The school. What did it mean? She said it was a Christian Endeavor. Whatis that?"

  "Why, some sort of a religious meeting, or something of that kind, Isuppose," he answered lamely. "Did you enjoy it?"

  "Yes," she answered solemnly, "I liked it. I never went to such a thingbefore. The girl said they had one everywhere all over the world. What doyou think she meant?"

  "Why, I don't know, I'm sure, unless it's some kind of a society. But itlooked to me like a prayer meeting. I've heard about prayer meetings, butI never went to one, though I never supposed they were so interesting.That was a remarkable story that old man told of how he was taken care ofthat night among the Indians. He evidently believes that prayer helpspeople."

  "Don't you?" she asked quickly.

  "O, certainly!" he said, "but there was something so genuine about the waythe old man told it that it made you feel it in a new way."

  "It is all new to me," said the girl. "But mother used to go to Sundayschool and church and prayer meeting. She's often told me about it. Sheused to sing sometimes. One song was 'Rock of Ages.' Did you ever hearthat?

  "'Rock of Ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in Thee.'"

  She said it slowly and in a singsong voice, as if she were measuring thewords off to imaginary notes. "I thought about that the night I started. Iwished I knew where that rock was. Is there a rock anywhere that they callthe Rock of Ages?"

  The young man was visibly embarrassed. He wanted to laugh, but he wouldnot hurt her in that way again. He was not accustomed to talkingreligion yet here by this strange girl's side it seemed perfectly naturalthat he, who knew so very little experimentally himself about it, shouldbe trying to explain the Rock of Ages to a soul in need. All at once itflashed upon him that it was for just such souls in need as this one thatthe Rock of Ages came into the world.

  "I've heard the song. Yes, I think they sing it in all churches. It'squite common. No, there isn't any place called Rock of Ages. Itrefers--that is, I believe--why, you see the thing is figurative--that is,a kind of picture of things. It refers to the Deity."

  "O! Who is that?" asked the girt.

  "Why--God." He tried to say it as if he had been telling her it was Mr.Smith or Mr. Jones, but somehow the sound of the word on his lips thusshocked him. He did not know how to go on. "It just means God will takecare of people."

  "O!" she said, and this time a light of understanding broke over her face."But," she added, "I wish I knew what it meant, the meeting, and why theydid it. There must be some reason. They wouldn't do it for nothing. Andhow do they know it's all so? Where did they find it out?"

  The man felt he was beyond his depth; so he sought to change the subject."I wish you would tell me about yourself," he said gently. "I should liketo understand you better. We have travelled together for a good many hoursnow, and we ought to know more about each other."

  "What do you want to know?" She asked it gravely. "There isn't much totell but what I've told you. I've lived on a mountain all my life, andhelped mother. The rest all died. The baby first, and my two brothers, andfather, and mother, and then John. I said the prayer for John, and ranaway."

  "Yes, but I want to know about your life. You know I live in the Eastwhere everything is different. It's all new to me out here. I want toknow, for instance, how you came to talk so well. You don't talk like agirl that never went to school. You speak as if you had read and studied.You make so few mistakes in your English. You speak quite correctly. Thatis not usual, I believe, when people have lived all their lives away fromschool, you know. You don't talk like the girls I have met since I cameout here."

  "Father always made me speak right. He kept at every one of us childrenwhen we said a word wrong, and made us say it over again. It made himangry to hear words said wrong. He made mother cry once when she said'done' when she ought to have said 'did.' Father went to school once, butmother only went a little while. Father knew a great deal, and when he wassober he used to teach us things once in a while. He taught me to read. Ican read anything I ever saw."

  "Did you have many books and magazines?" he asked innocently.

  "We had three books!" she answered proudly, as if that were a great many."One was a grammar. Father bought it for mother before they were married,and she always kept it wrapped up in paper carefully. She used to get itout for me to read in sometimes; but she was very careful with it, andwhen she died I put it in her hands. I thought she would like to have itclose to her, because it always seemed so much to her. You see fatherbought it. Then there was an almanac, and a book about stones and earth. Aman who was hunting for gold left that. He stopped over night at ourhouse, and asked for some, thing to eat. He hadn't any money to pay forit; so he left that book with us, and said when he found the gold he wouldcome and buy it back again. But he never came back."

  "Is that all that you have ever read?" he asked compassionately.

  "O, no! We got papers sometimes. Father would come home with a whole paperwrapped around some bundle. Once there was a beautiful story about a girl;but the paper was torn in the middle, and I never knew how it came out."

  There was great wistfulness in her voice. It seemed to be one of theregrets of her girlhood that she did not know how that other girl in thestory fared. All at once she turned to him.

  "Now tell me about your life," she said. "I'm sure you have a great dealto tell."

  His face darkened in a way that made her sorry.

  "O, well," said he as if it mattered very little about his life, "I had anice home--have yet, for the matter of that. Father died when I waslittle, and mother let me do just about as I pleased. I wen
t to schoolbecause the other fellows did, and because that was the thing to do. AfterI grew up I liked it. That is, I liked some studies; so I went to auniversity."

  "What is that?"

  "O, just a higher school where you learn grown-up things. Then Itravelled. When I came home, I went into society a good deal. But"--andhis face darkened again--"I got tired of it all, and thought I would comeout here for a while and hunt, and I got lost, and I found you!" He smiledinto her face. "Now you know the rest."

  Something passed between them in that smile and glance, a flash of therecognition of souls, and a gladness in each other's company, that madethe heart warm. They said no more for some time, but rode quietly side byside.

  They had come to the end of the valley, and were crossing the bench. Thedistant ranch could quite distinctly be seen. The silver moon had come up,for they had not been hurrying, and a great beauty pervaded everything.They almost shrank from approaching the buildings and people. They hadenjoyed the ride and the companionship. Every step brought them nearer towhat they had known all the time was an indistinct future from which theyhad been joyously shut away for a little time till they might know eachother.