Friar Tuck

by Robert Alexander Wason

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  TESTING THE FRIAR'S NERVE

  As soon as we had eaten breakfast next mornin', the Friar sez: "You,bein' one o' the earth animals, have never had much chance to see aview. Yesterday your curiosity was itchin' so 'at I doubt if you couldhave told a mountain peak from a Mexican hat; but now that you havetemporarily suppressed your thirst for gossip, had a good sleep, and abetter breakfast, drag yourself out to the front porch and take abird's-eye view of the world."

  Well, it was worth it, it certainly was worth it! What he called thefront porch, was the ledge after it had flipped itself around thejutting; and when a feller stood on it, he felt plenty enough like abird to make it interestin'. The Big Horns ran across the top o' thepicture about a hundred an' forty miles to the north, and gettin' allblended in with the clouds. On the other two sides were differentmembers of the Shoshone family, most o' which I knew by sight from anyangle; and down below was miles an' miles of country spread out like amap, but more highly colored.

  "Friar," I sez, "you're a wealthy man."

  This tickled him a lot, 'cause he was as proud o' that view as if he'dpainted it. "I am, Happy," he said, "and I have yielded to a wealthyman's temptations. Any one who comes here will be welcome; but I ownup, I have kept this place a secret to have it all to myself."

  "A man like you needs some quiet place to consider in," sez I.

  "Get thee behind me, Satan, get thee behind me," cried the Friar. "Ihave been on far too friendly terms with that excuse for many a longmonth. But I do enjoy this place; so I am going to let you help me layin my winter's supply of wood, and then make you a joint member infull standing."

  We packed wood along that spider thread of a path all morning; andfinally I got so it didn't phaze me any more 'n it did him. He sang athis work most of the time, and I joined in with him whenever I felt somoved, though it did strike me 'at this was a funny way to keep aplace secret; and my idee is that he sang to ease his conscience byshowin' it that he wasn't sneakin' about his treasure.

  I remember him mighty plain as he walked before me on the ledge,totin' a big log on his shoulder, and singin' the one 'at begins,"Hark, my soul! It is the Lord!" This was one he fair used to raisehimself in, and it seemed as if we two were climbin' right up on theair, plumb into the sky. When he'd let himself out this way, he'd fillme so full of a holy kind of devilment, that it would 'a' given me joyto have leaped off the cliff with him, and take chances on goin' up ordown.

  We had about filled his wood place, and were goin' back after the lastload when just as he swung around a corner, I saw his hand go up asthough warnin' me to stop; and I froze in my tracks. He hadn't beensingin' this trip, for a wonder; but the next moment I heard a soundwhich purt nigh jarred me off. It was a low, deep growl which Iinstantly recognized as belongin' to Olaf the Swede. Olaf didn't talkwith much brogue, though when he got excited he had his own fashionfor hitchin' words together.

  "Where is the girl?" he asked with quiet fierceness, and for a space Iwas sorry my parents hadn't been eagles. There wasn't room to fightout on that ledge, the Friar didn't have a gun on, I couldn't possiblyshoot around him; and Olaf was seven parts demon when he laid back hisears and started to kick.

  "Where she cannot be bothered," sez the Friar, full as quiet butwithout any fierceness. The' was a little bush about eight feet up,and I felt sure it would hide me, so I stuck my fingers in the side o'the cliff and climbed up; but the' was no way for me to get out to thebush, and I had to drop back to the ledge and stand there with thesweat tricklin' down between my shoulders until I felt like yellin'.

  "I intend to kill you," said Olaf, as calm as though talkin' about asick sheep.

  "It would be a foolish waste of time," replied the Friar, as if he wasadvisin' a ten-year-old boy not to fish when the Blue Bull was highand muddy. "It wouldn't do any good, and I shall not allow it."

  "I intend to kill you," said Olaf, as calm as thoughtalkin' about a sick sheep.

  "It would be a foolish waste of time," replied the Friar, as if he wasadvisin' a ten-year-old boy not to fish when the Blue Bull was highand muddy. "It wouldn't do any good, and I shall not allow it."]

  I got out my gun, and made ready to do whatever the angels suggested;but for some time the' was silence, and durin' this time I was keyedup so tight my muscles began to ache. I knew they were lookin' intoeach other's eyes, and I'd have given a finger off each hand to seehow the Friar's steady gray eyes handled those queer blue ones ofOlaf.

  "Is she all right?" asked Olaf, and all the threat had left his voice,and it had just a glint o' pleadin' in it. I wouldn't have been onebit more surprised to have seen a prairie-dog come flyin' up thegorge, blowin' a cornet with his nose.

  "She has sprained her ankle; but aside from this has no physical ill,"sez the Friar. "You men have caused her a lot of worry, and her soulis sick; but her body is well."

  After another silence, Olaf said slowly: "Yes, yes; I can tell by thelight that you speak true. What do you intend to do with her?"

  "I intend to cure her," sez the Friar. "I intend to help andstrengthen her; and I want you to help her, too. Olaf, she has had alot of trouble, and her wild gaiety is only a veil to hide the woundsin her heart. I want you to help her."

  "I know, I know she is honest," said Olaf, and blamed if his voicedidn't sound like a new boy talkin' to the boss; "but she made me loveher. Yes, I do love her. I must marry her. Yes, this is so."

  "She cannot marry you, or any one else, now," sez the Friar, kindly."This is why she has gone from one man to another--to disgust them alland make them leave her alone."

  "That is a damn devil of a way," cried Olaf in anger. "Why should shego to dances, and out ridin', and so on, if she wants men to leave heralone?"

  "She was foolish, she knows that now; but her father is not the rightsort of a man, and her home was not pleasant," said the Friar.

  "I told him I kill him, if she marry any one but me," said Olaf. "Iknow he is not honest; but he is afraid of me, and he will not botherher now. I go to see him again purty soon, and tell him some more.Won't you tell me where she is?"

  "I want to be your friend, Olaf," said the Friar gently. "I tell youhonest that she cannot marry now. When I see her again, I shall tellher of meetin' you, and what you have said. I have no desire except todo the best for all of you, and if you love her truly, all you willwant will be to do that which is best for her."

  The Friar paused, and I pulled my ear clear to the edge o' the rock,so as not to miss a word. "Olaf," he went on in a low, sorrowfulvoice, "the love of a man for a woman is a wonderful thing, a terriblething, a soul-testing thing. Don't let your love become common for mento talk over. In believing what men have told you of me you haveinsulted her, by admitting that such a thing is possible. Go back toyour work, kill no man for what he says of her; but keep her pure inyour own heart, and this will be the best way to keep her pure beforethe world. Silence the gossips by living above them; and if it becomesnecessary for you to take your own love by the throat, then do it, anddo it for love of her. I shall do all I can to make her worthy ofyou."

  You should have heard the Friar's voice when he was sayin' this. Istood on the little ledge, just breathin' enough to keep my lungsventilated, and lookin' out across the landscape--mountains on allsides of me, and down below the broken ground and the benches, withthe green strips along the cricks lookin' like lazy snakes in the hotsunshine. I couldn't see a livin' creature, I felt like the last manon earth; and that deep, musical voice seemed comin' to me fromsomewhere out beyond the limits of life. I didn't have any more fearnow: the' wasn't anything in the shape of a human who could have doneviolence to the Friar after hearin' him say the words I'd just heard;so I put up my gun, and listened again.

  "Can't ya tell me why she can't marry me?" asked Olaf, and the' was atremble in his voice, almost as though it flowed up from a sob.

  "I think I can trust you to keep her secret," sez the Friar. "She ismarried already. The man was a beast and deser
ted her; but he is stillalive, and she cannot marry again."

  I heard Olaf make a queer, animal sound with his breath, and then hesaid: "Yes, you speak true--I can tell by the light; but she lovesme--I can tell that also by the light. Will you tell me when she canmarry?"

  "I will," sez the Friar, and his voice was a pledge. "There's my handon it."

  They brought their hands together with a smack I could hear, and thenOlaf turned on the narrow ledge, with the Friar holdin' him on, an'started off. The Friar went along with him, and I sneaked after,keepin' a turn between us. Olaf mounted his hoss and rode away withoutlookin' back, which, as a matter o' fact, was his way o' doin' things;and when he was out o' sight, I joined the Friar.

  The' was still a look of sadness in the Friar's face; but back of it,and shinin' through it, was a quiet satisfaction. He was full o' thescene he had just gone through; and presently he turned an' said:"That was a glorious victory he gained over himself, Happy. That manhas a good heart, and who knows but what he will yet be the means ofbringin' me an' Tyrrel Jones together."

  "What do you reckon he meant by the light tellin' him that you were anhonest man?" I asked. This was the most curious part of the wholething to me.

  "How can I tell," he sez. "Life is so crowded with wonders that I havequit wonderin' about 'em; but I always feel a thrill when I see thestubborn spirit of a strong man melt and run into the mold the Masterhas prepared for it."

  "I'll own it was about the weirdest thing I ever saw," sez I; "but I'mwillin' to bet that whatever else Olaf's spirit has molded itselfinto, it's not a doormat with 'welcome' wrote on it; as the firstfeller 'at fools with that girl is likely to find out."

  "Never doubt the power of the Lord, Happy," sez he. "The hand thatpiled up these hills can easy shape even so stubborn a thing as thehuman will."

  "Yes," I agreed; "but it generally takes just about the same length oftime to do it, and a man don't usually last that long."

  "Time!" sez he; "what do you know about time? It may have taken agesto form these hills; and then again, it may have been done in thetwinklin' of an eye. From the way the streaks tilt up, I'm inclined tothink it was done sudden."

  I looked at the lines along the faces o' the hills, and I was inclinedto believe it, too; so I dropped that subject, and we sat down closetogether and looked off down the trail where Olaf had vanished.

  We sat in silence a long time, me thinkin' o' what sort of a lightOlaf had seen to make him know 'at the Friar was honest; and of theway the Friar's voice had gone through me when he had talked of love.

  This was a new idee to me, and one o' the biggest I had ever tried tograpple with. Before this, my notion o' love was, for a man to get thegirl any way he could; and it took me some time to see the grandnessof a man takin' his own love by the throat for love of a woman. I knew'at the Friar had done this himself; but it never was clear to meuntil I heard the heartache moanin' through his voice as he laid outthis law for Olaf, and Olaf bowed his stiff neck and accepted it.

  I'm purty sure that if I'd 'a' known that day, that a few years laterI would have to take my own love by the throat for the sake of littleBarbie, I wouldn't 'a' had the nerve to go on playin' the game--butthis is life. We pick up a stone here, and another there, and buildthem into our wall until the flood comes; and then if the wall isn'thigh enough to turn back the flood, all the sting and bitterness comesfrom knowin' that we haven't made use of all the stones which camerollin' down to our feet.

  That night we had an uncommon fine fire in the cave. I used to enjoythese evenin' fires with the Friar, as much as a dog likes to have hisears pulled by the hand he loves best. He would tell me tales of allthe ages 'at man has lived on the face of the whole earth, and I'd sitand smoke my pipe, and make up what I'd 'a' done, myself, if I'd beenone o' these big fellers. These chummy little fire-talks used tobroaden me out and make me feel related to the whole human race, andit was then 'at I came to know the Friar best--though the' ain't noway to put this into a story.

  Along about nine o'clock the Friar began to lecture me again' the useo' violence, pointin' out that war nor gunfightin' nor any other sorto' violence had ever done any good; and endin' up with the way he hadhandled Olaf as illustratin' how much better effects spiritual methodshad.

  "Humph," sez I, "so you're tryin' to put that over as an ordinarycase, are ya? Did you ever before see such eyes in a man's head aswhat Olaf has?"

  "Now that you mention it," sez he, "I did notice they were peculiar."

  "I ruhly believe you're right," sez I, sarcastic. "When he said he sawlight he wasn't speakin' in parables. He can see things 'at you nor Ican't see--though I doubt if he understands 'em himself."

  "Still, violence would have spoiled everything," persisted the Friar,who was as human as a raw bronco when you tried to make him back up.

  "Now, don't forget anything," sez I. "It wasn't my face 'at lit upwhen I said 'at he did his killin' with bare hands; nor it wasn't mewho gloated over this as furnishin' an excuse to use my bare hands indefendin' myself."

  "Oh, Happy, Happy," sez he, with one o' the bursts 'at made ya willin'to go through fire and water for him. "I'm the entire human race:there isn't a single sin or weakness which hasn't betrayed me at onetime or another, and yet the wicked pride of me persists in stickin'up its head an' crowin' every time I take my eyes off it."

  "Well, I like your pride full as well as any other part o' ya," sez I;"and before you wrangle it into its corral again, I want to say 'at noother man in the world could 'a' told Olaf what you told him thismornin', and lived to talk it over around this fire to-night--unless,he had used the best and the quickest brand o' violence the' is, inthe meantime."

  "Now, that you have succeeded in flatterin' both of us, we'll go tosleep," sez the Friar, and the' was a deep twinkle in his eyes whichallus rejoiced me to call up.

  Next night soon after dark, we started out with Kit Murray. She rodelike a man and could tick out her fifty or sixty a day right along,without worryin' her pony. As soon as she was safe located inBillings, I turned back to the Dot, while the Friar rounded up somestray sheep he had near the border, and as far as I can recall wedidn't meet again all that summer.