THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 
 I,
 
 ,- r 
 
 r 
 
 9 
 
 STATE NORMAL SCHOOL 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CAUbOiyiHA
 
 THE SKY PILOT 
 
 A TALE OF THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 BY 
 
 RALPH CONNOR 
 
 AlTI.^R Of iiLACH KOl-tv" 
 
 Illustrated by 
 
 LOUIS RHEAD 
 
 8 D'7 
 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 CHICAGO : NEW YORK : TORONTO 
 
 n'^
 
 Copyright, iSgg, 
 
 BY 
 
 Fleming H, Revell Company
 
 G 3^^- 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The measure of a man's power to help his 
 "brother is the measure of the love in the heart of 
 him and of the faith he has that at last the good 
 will win. With this love that seeks not its own 
 and this faith that grips the heart of things, he 
 goes out to meet many fortunes, but not that of 
 defeat. 
 
 This story is of the people of the Foothill 
 Country; of those men of adventurous spirit, who 
 left homes of comfort, often of luxury, because of 
 the stirring in them to be and to do some worthy 
 thing; and of those others who, outcast from 
 their kind, sought to find in these valleys, remote 
 and lonely, a spot where they could forget and be 
 forgotten. 
 
 The waving skyline of the Foothills was the 
 boundary of their lookout upon life. Here they 
 dwelt safe from the scanning of the world, freed 
 from all restraints of social law, denied the 
 gentler influences of home and the sweet uplift of 
 a good woman's face. What wonder if, with the
 
 Preface 
 
 new freedom beating in their hearts and ears, 
 some rode fierce and hard the wild trail to the 
 cut-bank of destruction ! 
 
 1 The story is, too, of how a man with vision 
 "beyond the waving skyline came to them with 
 firm purpose to play the brother's part, and by 
 sheer love of them and by faith in them, win 
 them to believe that life is priceless, and that it is 
 good to be a man.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I. The Foothills Country ii 
 
 II. The Company of the Noble Seven . . 25 
 
 III. The Coming of the Pilot . . . .33 
 
 IV. The Pilot's Measure 45 
 
 V. First Blood 55 
 
 VI. His Second Wind 69 
 
 VII. The Last of the Permit Sundays ... 79 
 
 VIII. The Pilot's Grip 91 
 
 IX. Gwen 107 
 
 X. Gwen's First Prayers . . . .123 
 
 XI. Gwen's Challenge ... . . 139 
 
 XII. Gwen's Canyon 155 
 
 XIII. The Canyon Flowers . . . » .169 
 
 XIV. Bill's Bluff 183 
 
 XV. Bill's Partner .199 
 
 XVI. Bill's Financing 209 
 
 XVII. How the Pinto Sold 221 
 
 XVIII. The Lady Charlotte 231 
 
 XIX. Through Gwen's Window . . . .241 
 
 XX. How Bill Favored "Home-Grown Industries" 257 
 
 XXL How Bill Hit the Trail 267 
 
 XXII. How the Swan Creek Church was Opened . 279 
 
 XXIIL The Pilot's Last Port , , , ,287
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "A WILDER JUMP THAN USUAL THREW 
 MY CAPE OVER MY HEAD SO THAT I 
 WAS IN COMPLETE DARKNESS" . . FrOflHspiece 
 
 "I SAY, Bruce, let's quit" . . . facing page 63 
 "The next moment she lay choking 
 
 ON THE plains" " '* II7 
 
 •*1t was her mother's song" . . " " 130 
 
 "Now, GWEN, TRY AND SEE IT AS I 
 
 READ" " "175 
 
 •'Then, leaning on the pulpit, he 
 
 SAID, 'Let's pray'" . . . . " " aSa

 
 The Sky Pilot 
 
 CHA?"i:?. I 
 
 THE FOofHiLLS COUNTRY 
 
 Beyond the great prairies and in the shadow of 
 the Rockies lie the Foothills. For nine hundred 
 miles the prairies spread themselves out in vast 
 level reaches, and then begin to climb over softly 
 rounded mounds that ever grow higher and sharper 
 till, here and there, they break into jagged points 
 and at last rest upon the great bases of the 
 mighty mountains. These rounded hills that join 
 the prairies to the mountains form the Foothill 
 Country. They extend for about a hundred miles 
 only, but no other hundred miles of the great 
 West are so full of interest and romance. The 
 natural features of the country combine the 
 beauties of prairie and of mountain scenery. 
 There are valleys so wide that the farther side
 
 12 The Sky Pilot 
 
 melts into the horizon, and uplands so vast as to 
 suggest the unbroken prairie. Nearer the moun- 
 tains the valleys dip deep and ever deeper till they 
 narrow into canyons through which mountain 
 torrents pour their blue-gray waters from 
 glaciers that lie glistening between the white 
 peaks far away. Here are the great ranges on 
 which feed herds of cattle and horses. Here are 
 the homes of the ranchmen, in whose wild, free, 
 lonely existence there mingles much of the 
 tragedy and comedy, the humor and pathos, that 
 go to make up the romance of life. Among them 
 are to be found the most enterprising, the most 
 daring, of the peoples of the old lands. The 
 broken, the outcast, the disappointed, these too 
 have found their way to the ranches among the 
 Foothills. A country it is whose sunlit hills and 
 shaded valleys reflect themselves in the lives of 
 its people; for. nowhere are the contrasts of 
 light and shade more vividly seen than in the 
 homes of the ranchmen of the Albertas. 
 
 The experiences of my life have confirmed in 
 me the orthodox conviction that Providence sends 
 his rain upon the evil as upon the good; else I 
 should never have set my eyes upon the Foothill 
 country, nor touched its strangely fascinating life,
 
 The Foothills Country 13 
 
 nor come to know and love the most striking 
 man of all that group of striking men of the Foot- 
 hill country — the dear old Pilot, as we came to call 
 him long afterwards. My first year in college 
 closed in gloom. My guardian was in despair. 
 From this distance of years I pity him. Then I 
 considered him unnecessarily concerned about 
 me — "a fussy old hen," as one of the boys sug- 
 gested. The invitation from Jack Dale, a distant 
 cousin, to spend a summer with him on his ranch 
 in South Alberta came in the nick of time. I 
 was wild to go. My guardian hesitated long ; but 
 no other solution of the problem of my disposal 
 offering, he finally agreed that I could not well 
 get into more trouble by going than by stajdng. 
 Hence it was that, in the early summer of one of 
 the eighties, I found myself attached to a Hud- 
 son's Bay Company freight train, making our 
 way from a little railway town in Montana 
 towards the Canadian boundary. Our train con- 
 sisted of six wagons and fourteen yoke of oxen, 
 with three cayuses, in charge of a French half- 
 breed and his son, a lad of about sixteen. We 
 made slow enough progress, but every hour of the 
 long day, from the dim, grav, misty light of dawn 
 to the soft glow of shadowy evening, was full of
 
 14 The Sky Pilot 
 
 new delights to me. On the evening of the third 
 day we reached the Line Stopping Place, where 
 Jack Dale met us. I remember well how my 
 heart beat with admiration of the easy grace with 
 which he sailed down upon us in the loose-jointed 
 cowboy style, swinging his own bronco and the 
 little cayuse he was leading for me into the circle 
 of the wagons, careless of ropes and freight and 
 other impedimenta. He flung himself off before 
 his bronco had come to a stop, and gave me a 
 grip that made me sure of my welcome. It was 
 years since he had seen a man from home, and 
 the eager joy in his eyes told of long days and 
 nights of lonely yearning for the old days and the 
 old faces. I came to understand this better after 
 my two years' stay among these hills that have a 
 strange power on some days to waken in a man 
 longings that make his heart grow sick. When 
 supper was over we gathered about the little fire, 
 while Jack and the half-breed smoked and talked. 
 I lay on my back looking up at the pale, steady 
 stars in the deep blue of the cloudless sky, and 
 listened in fullness of contented delight to the 
 chat between Jack and the driver. Now and then 
 I asked a question, but not too often. It is a 
 listening silence that draws tales from a western
 
 The Foothills Country 1 5 
 
 man, not vexing questions. This much I had 
 learned already from my three days' travel. So 
 I lay and listened, and the tales of that night are 
 mingled with the warm evening lights and the 
 pale stars and the thoughts of home that Jack's 
 coming seemed to bring. 
 
 Next morning before sun-up we had broken, 
 camp and were ready for our fifty-mile ride. 
 There was a slight drizzle of rain and, though 
 rain and shine were alike to him. Jack insisted 
 that I should wear my mackintosh. This gar- 
 ment was quite new and had a loose cape which 
 rustled as I moved toward my cayuse. Ke was 
 an ugly-looking little animal, with more white in 
 his eye than I cared to see. Altogether, I did not 
 draw toward him. Nor did he to me, appar- 
 ently. For as I took him by the bridle he 
 snorted and sidled about with great swiftness, 
 and stood facing me with his feet planted firmly 
 in front of him as if prepared to reject overtures 
 of any kind soever. I tried to approach him with 
 soothing words, but he persistently backed away 
 until we stood looking at each other at the utmost 
 distance of his outstretched neck and my out- 
 stretched arm. At this point Jack came to my 
 assistance, got the pony by the other side of the
 
 1 6 The Sky Pilot 
 
 bridle, and held him fast till I got into position to 
 mount. Taking a firm grip of the horn of the 
 Mexican saddle, I threw my leg over his back. 
 The next instant I was flying over his head. My 
 only emotion was one of surprise, the thing was 
 so unexpected. I had fancied myself a fair 
 rider, having had experience of farmers' colts of 
 divers kinds, but this was something quite new. 
 The half-breed stood looking on, mildly interested; 
 Jack was smiling, but the boy was grinning with 
 delight. 
 
 "I'll take the little beast," said Jack. But the 
 grinning boy braced me up and I replied as care- 
 lessly as my shaking voice would allow: 
 
 "Oh, I guess I'll manage him," and once more 
 got into position. But no sooner had I got into 
 the saddle than the pony sprang straight up into 
 the air and lit with his back curved into a bow, 
 his four legs gathered together and so absolutely 
 rigid that the shock made my teeth rattle. It 
 was my first experience of "bucking." Then the 
 little brute went seriously to work to get rid of 
 the rustling, flapping thing on his back. He 
 would back steadily for some seconds, then, with 
 two or three forward plunges, he would stop as 
 if shot and spring straight into the upper a)r.
 
 The Foothills Country 17 
 
 lighting with back curved and legs rigid as iron. 
 Then he would walk on his hind legs for a few 
 steps, then throw himself with amazing rapidity 
 to one side and again proceed to buck with vicious 
 diligence. 
 
 "Stick to him!" yelled Jack, through his shouts 
 of laughter. "You'll make him sick before long." 
 
 I remember thinking that unless his insides 
 were somewhat more delicately organized than his 
 external appearance would lead one to suppose 
 the chances were that the little brute would be 
 the last to succumb to sickness. To make matters 
 worse, a wilder jump than ordinary threw my 
 cape up over my head, so that I was in complete 
 darkness. And now he had me at his mercy, and 
 he knew no pity. He kicked and plunged and 
 reared and bucked, now on his front legs, now on 
 his hind legs, often on his knees, while I, in the 
 darkness, could only cling to the horn of the 
 saddle. At last, in one of the gleams of light 
 that penetrated the folds of my enveloping cape, 
 I found that the horn had slipped to his side, so 
 the next time he came to his knees I threw myself 
 off. I am anxious to make this point clear, for, 
 from the expression of triumph on the face of the 
 grinning boy, and his encomiums of the pony, I
 
 1 8 The Sky Pilot 
 
 gathered that he scored a win for the cayuse. 
 Without pause that little brute continued for 
 some seconds to buck and plunge even after my 
 dismounting, as if he were some piece of mech- 
 anism that must run down before it could stop. 
 
 By this time I was sick enough and badly 
 shaken in my nerve, but the triumphant shouts 
 and laughter of the boy and the complacent 
 smiles on the faces of Jack and the half-breed 
 stirred my wrath. I tore off the cape and, hav- 
 ing got the saddle put right, seized Jack's riding 
 whip and, disregarding his remonstrances, sprang 
 on my steed once more, and before he could make 
 up his mind as to his line of action plied him so 
 vigorously with the rawhide that he set off over 
 the prairie at full gallop, and in a few minutes 
 came round to the camp quite subdued, to the 
 boy's great disappointment and to my own great 
 surprise. Jack was highly pleased, and even the 
 stolid face of the half-breed showed satisfaction. 
 
 "Don't think I put this up on you," Jack said. 
 "It was that cape. He ain't used to such frills. 
 But it was a circus," he added, going off into a 
 fit of laughter, "worth five dollars any day." 
 
 "You bet!" said the half-breed, "Dat's make 
 pretty beeg fun. eh?"
 
 The Foothills Country 19 
 
 It seemed to me that it depended somewhat 
 upon the point of view, but I merely agreed with 
 him, only too glad to be so well out of the fight. 
 
 All day we followed the trail that wound along 
 the shoulders of the round-topped hills or down 
 their long slopes into the wide, grassy valleys. Here 
 and there the valleys were cut through by coulees 
 through which ran swift, blue-gray rivers, clear 
 and icy cold, v/hile from the hilltops we caught 
 glimpses of little lakes covered with wild-fowl 
 that shrieked and squawked and splashed, care- 
 less of danger. Now and then we saw what made 
 a black spot against the green of the prairie, and 
 Jack told me it was a rancher's shack. How 
 remote from the great world, and how lonely it 
 seemed! — this little black shack among these 
 multitudinous hills. 
 
 I shall never forget the summer evening when 
 Jack and I rode into Swan Creek. I say into — 
 but the village was almost entirely one of imag- 
 ination, in that it consisted of the Stopping Place, 
 a long log building, a story and a half high, with 
 stables behind, and the store in which the post- 
 office was kept and over which the owner dwelt. 
 But the situation was one of great beauty. On 
 one side the prairie rambled down from the hills
 
 20 The Sky Pilot 
 
 and then stretched away in tawny levels into the 
 misty purple at the horizon; on the other it 
 clambered over the round, sunny tops to the dim 
 blue of the mountains beyond. 
 
 In this world, v/here it is impossible to reach 
 absolute values, we are forced to hold things 
 relatively, and in contrast with the long-, lonely 
 miles of our ride during the day these two 
 houses, with their outbuildings, seemed a center 
 of life. Some horses were tied to the rail that 
 ran along in front of the Stopping Place. 
 
 "Hello!" said Jack, "I guess the Noble Seven 
 are in town." 
 
 "And who are they?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh," he replied, with a shrug, "they are the 
 dite of Swan Creek; and by Jove," he added, 
 "this must fc3 a Permit Night." 
 
 "What does that mean?" I asked, as .we rode up 
 towards the tie rail. 
 
 "Well," said Jack, in a low tone, for some men 
 ■were standing about the door, "you see, this is a 
 prohibition country, but when one of the boys 
 feels as if he were going to have a spell of sick- 
 ness he gets a permit to bring in a few gallons 
 for medicinal purposes; and of course, the other 
 boys being similarly exposed, he invites them to
 
 The Foothills Country 21 
 
 assist him in taking preventive measures. And," 
 added Jack, with a solemn wink, "it is remark- 
 able, in a healthy country like this, how many 
 epidemics come near ketching us. ' ' 
 
 And with this mystifying explanation we joined 
 the mysterious company of the Noble Seven.
 
 The Company of the Noble 
 
 Seven 
 
 «3
 
 « 
 
 »
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE COMPANY OF THE NOBLE SEVEW 
 
 As we were dismounting, the cries, "Hello, 
 Jack!" "How do, Dale?" "Hello, old Smoke!" 
 in the heartiest of tones, made me see that my 
 cousin was a favorite with the men grouped about 
 the door. Jack simply nodded in reply and then 
 presented me in due form. "My tenderfoot 
 cousin from the effete," he said, with a flourish. 
 I was surprised at the grace of the bows made me 
 by these roughly-dressed, wild-looking fellows. 
 I might have been in a London drawing-room. 
 I was put at my ease at once by the kindliness of 
 their greeting, for, upon Jack's introduction, I 
 was admitted at once into their circle, which, to a 
 tenderfoot, was usually closed. 
 
 What a hardy-looking lot they were! Brown, 
 spare, sinewy and hard as nails, they appeared 
 like soldiers back from a hard campaign. They 
 moved and spoke with an easy, careless air of 
 almost lazy indifference, but their eyes had a trick 
 
 S5
 
 26 ^ The Sky Pilot 
 
 of looking straight out at you, cool and fearless, 
 and you felt they were fit and ready. 
 
 That night I was initiated into the Company of 
 the Noble Seven — but of the ceremony I regret to 
 say I retain but an indistinct memory; for they 
 drank as they rode, hard and long, and it was 
 only Jack's care that got me safely home that 
 inight. 
 
 4 The Company of the Noble Seven was the 
 dominant social force in the Swan Creek country. 
 Indeed, it was the only social force Swan Creek 
 knew. Originally consisting of seven young fel- 
 lows of the best blood of Britain, "banded together 
 for purposes of mutual improvement and social 
 enjoyment," it had changed its character during 
 the years, but not its name. First, its member- 
 ship was extended to include "approved colo- 
 nials," such as Jack Dale and "others of 
 kindred spirit," under which head, I suppose, the 
 two cowboys from the Ashley Ranch, Hi Kendal 
 and "Bronco" Bill — no one knew and no one asked 
 his other name — were admitted. Then its pur- 
 poses gradually limited themselves to those of a 
 social nature, chiefly in the line of poker-playing 
 and whisky-drinking. Well born and delicately 
 bred in that atmosphere of culture mingled with 

 
 The Company of the Noble Seven 27 
 
 a sturdy common sense and a certain high 
 chivalry which surrounds the stately homes of 
 Britain, these young lads, freed from the 
 restraints of custom and surrounding, soon shed 
 all that was superficial in their make-up and 
 stood forth in the naked simplicity of their n ative 
 manhood. The West discovered and revealed the 
 man in them, sometimes to their honor, often to 
 their shame. The Chief of the Company was the 
 Hon. Fred Ashley, of the Ashley Ranch, some- 
 time of Ashley Court, England — a big, good- 
 natured man with a magnificent physique, a good 
 income from home, and a beautiful wife, the 
 Lady Charlotte, daughter of a noble English 
 family. At the Ashley Ranch the traditions of 
 Ashley Court were preserved as far as possible. 
 The Hon. Fred appeared at the wolf-hunts in 
 riding-breeches and top boots, with hunting crop 
 and English saddle, while in all the appointments 
 of the house the customs of the English home 
 were observed. It was characteristic, however, 
 of western life that his two cowboys, Hi Kendal 
 and Bronco Bill, felt themselves quite his social 
 equals, though in the presence of his beautiful, 
 stately wife they confessed that they "rather 
 weakened." Ashley was a thoroughly good fel-
 
 28 The Sky Pilot 
 
 low, well up to his work as a cattle-man, and too 
 much of a gentleman to feel, much less assert, 
 any superiority of station. He had the largest 
 ranch in the country and was one of the few men 
 making money. 
 
 Ashley's chief friend, or, at least, most fre- 
 quent companion, was a man whom they called 
 *'The Duke." No one knew his name, but every 
 one said he was "the son of a lord," and certainly 
 from his style and bearing he might be the son of 
 almost anything that was high enough in rank. 
 He drew "a remittance," but, as that was paid 
 through Ashley, no one knew whence it came nor 
 how much it was. He was a perfect picture of a 
 man, and in all western virtues was easily first. 
 He could rope a steer, bunch cattle, play poker 
 or drink whisky to the admiration of his friends 
 and the confusion of his foes, of whom he had a 
 fev/; while as to "bronco busting," the virtue 
 par excellence of western cattle-men, even 
 Bronco Bill was heard to acknowledge that "he 
 •wasn't in it with the Dook, for it was his opinion 
 that he could ride any thin' that had legs in under 
 it, even if it was a blanked centipede." And this, 
 coming from one who made a profession of 
 "bronco busting," was unquestionably high
 
 The Company of the Noble Seven 29 
 
 praise. The Duke lived alone, except when he 
 deigned to pay a visit to some lonely rancher 
 who, for the marvellous charm of his talk, was 
 delighted to have him as guest, even at the 
 expense of the loss of a few games at poker. He 
 made a friend of no one, though some men could 
 tell of times when he stood between them and 
 their last dollar, exacting only the promise that 
 no mention should be made of his deed. He had 
 an easy, lazy manner and a slow cynical smile 
 that rarely left his face, and the only sign of 
 deepening passion in him was a little broadening 
 of his smile. Old Latour, who kept the Stopping 
 Place, told me how once The Duke had broken into 
 a gentle laugh. A French half-breed freighter on 
 his way north had entered into a game of poker 
 with The Duke, with the result that his six 
 months' pay stood in a little heap at his enemy's 
 left hand. The enraged freighter accused his 
 smiling opponent of being a cheat, and was pro- 
 ceeding to demolish him with one mighty blow. 
 But The Duke, still smiling, and without moving 
 from his chair, caught the descending fist, slowly 
 crushed the fingers open, and steadily drew the 
 Frenchman to his knees, gripping him so cruelly 
 in the meantime that he was forced to cry aloud
 
 30 The Sky Pilot 
 
 in agony for mercy. Then it was that The Duke 
 broke into a light laugh and, touching the kneel- 
 ing Frenchman on his cheek with his finger-tips, 
 said: "Look here, my man, you shouldn't play 
 the game till you know how to do it and with 
 whom you play." Then, handing him back the 
 money, he added : "I want money, but not yours." 
 Then, as he sat looking at the unfortunate wretch 
 dividing his attention between his money and his 
 bleeding fingers, he once more broke into a 
 gentle laugh that was not good to hear. 
 • The Duke was by all odds the most striking 
 figure in the Company of the Noble Seven, and 
 his word went farther than that of any other. 
 His shadow was Bruce, an Edinburgh University 
 man, metaphysical, argumentative, persistent, 
 devoted to The Duke. Indeed, his chief ambi- 
 tion was to attain to The Duke's high and lordly 
 manner; but, inasmuch as he was rather squat in 
 figure and had an open, good-natured face and a 
 Scotch voice of the hard and rasping kind, his 
 attempts at imitation were not conspicuously suc- 
 cessful. Every mail that reached Swan Creek 
 brought him a letter from home. At first, after 
 I had got to know him, he would give me now 
 and then a letter to read, but as the tone became
 
 The Company of the Noble Seven 32 
 
 more and more anxious he ceased to let me read 
 them, and I was glad enough of this. How he 
 could read those letters and go the pace of the 
 Noble Seven I could not see. Poor Bruce ! He 
 had good impulses, a generous heart, but the 
 •'Permit" nights and the hunts and the "round- 
 ups* ' and the poker and all the wild excesses of 
 the Company were more than he could stand. 
 
 Then there were the two Hill brothers, the 
 younger, Bertie, a fair-haired, bright-faced 
 youngster, none too able to look after himself, 
 but much inclined to follies of all degrees and 
 sorts. But he was warm-hearted and devoted to 
 his big brother, Humphrey, called "Hump," who 
 had taken to ranching mainly with the idea of 
 looking after his younger brother. And no easy 
 matter that was, for every one liked the lad 
 and in consequence helped him down. 
 
 In addition to these there were two others of 
 the original seven, but by force of circumstances 
 they were prevented from any more than a 
 nominal connection with the Company. Blake, 
 a typical wild Irishman, had joined the police at 
 the Fort, and Gilford had got married and, as Bill 
 said, "was roped tighter'n a steer." 
 
 The Noble Company, with the cowboys that
 
 32 The Sky Pilot 
 
 helped on the range and two or three farmers 
 that lived nearer the Fort, composed the settlers 
 of the Swan Creek country. A strange medley 
 of people of all ranks and nations, but while 
 among them there were the evil-hearted and evil- 
 living, still, for the Noble Company I will say 
 that never have I fallen in with men braver, 
 truer, or of warmer heart. Vices they had, all too 
 apparent and deadly, but they were due rather to 
 the circumstances of their lives than to the native 
 tendencies of their hearts. Throughout that 
 summer and the winter following I lived among 
 them, camping on the range with them and 
 sleeping in their shacks, bunching cattle in sum- 
 mer and hunting wolves in winter, nor did I, 
 for I was no wiser than they, refuse my part on 
 "Permit" nights; but through all not a man of 
 them ever failed to be true to his standard of 
 honor in the duties of comradeship and brother- 
 Jiood.
 
 The Coming of the Pilot 
 
 35
 
 CHArTER III 
 
 THE COMING OF THE PILOT 
 
 He was the first missionary ever seen in the 
 country, and it was the Old Timer who named 
 him. The Old Timer's advent to the Foothill 
 country was prehistoric, and his influence was, in 
 consequence, immense. No ore ventured to dis- 
 agree with him, for to disagree with the Old 
 Timer was to write yourself down a tenderfoot, 
 which no one, of course, cared to do. It was a 
 misfortune which only time could repair to be a 
 new-comer, and it was every new-comer's aim to 
 assume with all possible speed the style and cus- 
 toms of the aristocratic Old Timers, and to forget 
 as soon as possible the date of his own arrival. 
 So it was as "The Sky Pilot," familiarly "The 
 Pilot," that the missionary went for many a day 
 in the Swan Creek country. 
 
 I had become schoolmaster of Swan Creek. 
 For in the spring a kind Providence sent in the 
 Muirs and the Bremans with housefulsof children, 
 
 33
 
 36 The Sky Pilot 
 
 to the ranchers' disgust, for they foresaw ploughed 
 fields and barbed-wire fences cramping their 
 unlimited ranges. A school became necessary. 
 A little log building was erected and 1 was 
 appointed schoolmaster. It was as schoolmaster 
 that I first came to touch The Pilot, for the letter 
 which the Hudson Bay freighters brought me 
 early one summer evening bore the inscription: 
 
 The Schoolmaster, 
 
 Public School^ 
 
 Swan Creek, 
 
 Alberta. 
 
 There was altogether a fine air about the 
 letter; the writing was iu fine, small hand, the 
 tone was fine, and th^re was something fine in 
 the signature — ' ' Arthur Wellington Moore. ' ' He 
 was glad to know that there was a school and a 
 teacher in Swan Creek, for a school meant chil- 
 dren, in whom his soul delighted; and in the 
 teacher he woiild find a friend, and without a 
 friend he could not live. He took me into his 
 confidence, telling me that though he had 
 volunteered for this far-away mission field he was 
 not much of a preacher and he was not at all
 
 The Coming of the Pilot 37 
 
 sure that he would succeed. But he meant to 
 try, and he was charmed at the prospect of having 
 one sympathizer at least. Would I be kind 
 enough to put up in some conspicuous place the 
 enclosed notice, filling in the blanks as I thought 
 best? 
 
 ^'Divine service will be held at Swan Creek 
 
 in at o'clock. 
 
 All are cordially invited. 
 
 Arthur Wellington Moore** 
 On the whole I liked his letter. I liked its 
 modest self-depreciation and I liked its cool 
 assumption of my sympathy and co-operation„ 
 But I was perplexed. I remembered that Sun- 
 day was the day fixed for the great baseball 
 match, when those from "Home," as they fondly 
 called the land across the sea from which they 
 had come, were to "wipe the earth" with all 
 comers. Besides, "Divine service" was an 
 innovation in Swan Creek and I felt sure that, 
 like all innovations that suggested the approach 
 of the East, it would be by no means welcome. 
 
 However, immediately under the notice of the 
 *'Grand Baseball Match for 'The Pain Killer' a 
 week from Sunday, at 2 : 30, Home vs. thfr
 
 38 The Sky Pilot 
 
 World," I pinned on the door of the Stopping 
 Place the announcement : 
 
 «{ 
 
 Divine service zuill be held at Swan Creek, 
 i?i the Stopping Place Parlor^ a week from 
 Sunday, immediately upon t/i£ conclusion of 
 the baseball match. 
 
 ' 'A rthiir I Vellington Moore. " 
 
 There was a strange incongruity in the two, 
 and an unconscious challenge as well. 
 
 All next day, which was Saturday, and, indeed, 
 during the following week, I stood guard over 
 my notice, enjoying the excitement it produced 
 and the comments it called forth. It was the 
 advance wave of the great ocean of civilization 
 which many of them had been glad to leave 
 behind — some could have wished forever. 
 
 To Robert Muir, one of the farmers newly 
 arrived, the notice was a harbinger of good. It 
 stood for progress, markets and a higher price 
 for land; albeit he wondered "hoo he wad be 
 keepitup. " But his hard-wrought, quick-spoken 
 little wife at his elbow "hooted" his scruples 
 and, thinking of her growing lads, welcomed 
 with unmixed satisfaction the coming of "the 
 meenister." Her satisfaction was shared by all
 
 The Coming of the Pilot 39 
 
 the mothers and most of the fathers in the settle- 
 ment; but by the others, and especially by that 
 rollicking, roistering crew, the Company of the 
 Noble Seven, the missionary's coming was 
 viewed with varying degrees of animosity. 
 It meant a limitation of freedom in their 
 wildly reckless living. The "Permit" nights 
 would now, to say the least, be subject to 
 criticism; the Sunday wolf -hunts and horse- 
 races, with their attendant delights, would now be 
 pursued under the eye of the Church, and this 
 would not add to the enjoyment of them. One 
 great charm of the country, which Bruce, himself 
 the son of an Edinburgh minister, and now Secre- 
 tary of the Noble Seven, described as "letting a 
 fellow do as he blanked pleased," would be gone. 
 None resented more bitterly than he the mission- 
 ary's intrusion, which he declared to be an 
 attempt "to reimpose upon their freedom the 
 trammels of an antiquated and bigoted conven- 
 tionality." But the rest of the Company, while 
 not taking so decided a stand, were agreed that 
 the establishment of a church institution was an 
 objectionable and impertinent as well as imneces- 
 sary proceeding. 
 
 Of course. Hi Kendal and his friend Bronco
 
 40 The Sky Pilot 
 
 Bill had no opinion one way or the other. 'The 
 Church could hardly affect them even remotely. 
 A dozen years' stay in Montana had proved with 
 sufficient clearness to them that a church was a 
 luxury of civilization the West might well do 
 without. 
 
 Outside the Company of the Noble Seven there 
 was only one whose opinion had value in Swan 
 Creek, and that was the Old Timer. The Com- 
 pany had sought to bring him in by making him 
 an honorary member, but he refused to be drawn 
 from his home far up among the hills, where he 
 lived with his little girl Gwen and her old half- 
 breed nurse, Ponka. The approach of the church 
 he seemed to resent as a personal injury. It 
 represented to him that civilization from which 
 he had fled fifteen years ago with his wife and 
 baby girl, and when five years later he laid his 
 wife in the lonely grave that could be seen on the 
 shaded knoll just fronting his cabin door, the last 
 link to his past was broken. From all that sug- 
 gested the great world beyond the run of the 
 Prairie he shrank as one shrinks from a sudden 
 touch upon an old wound, 
 
 "I guess I'll have to move back," he said to me 
 gloomily.
 
 The Coming of the Pilot 41 
 
 fiR 
 
 "Why?" I said in surprise, thinking- of his 
 grazing range, which was ample for his herd. 
 
 "This blank Sky Pilot." He never swore 
 except when unusually moved. 
 
 •'Sky Pilot?" I inquired. 
 
 He nodded and silently pointed to the notice- ' 
 
 *'0h, well, he won't hurt you, will he?" 
 
 "Can't stand it," he answered savagely, "must 
 get away." 
 
 "What about Gwen?" I ventured, for she was 
 the light of his eyes. "Pity to stop her studies. " 
 I was giving her weekly lessons at the old man's 
 ranch. 
 
 "Dunno. Ain't figgered out yet about that 
 baby." She was still his baby. "Guess she's 
 all she wants for the Foothills, anyway. What's 
 the use?" he added, bitterly, talking to himself 
 after the manner of men who live much alone. 
 
 I waited for a moment, then said: "Well, I 
 wouldn't hurry about doing anything, " knowing 
 well that the one thing an old-timer hates to do is 
 to make any change in his mode of life. "Maybe 
 he won't stay." 
 
 He caught at this eagerly. "That's so! There 
 ain't much to keep him, anyway," and he rode off 
 to his lonely ranch far up in the hills.
 
 42 The Sky Pilot 
 
 I looked after the swaying figure and tried to 
 picture his past with its tragedy; then I found 
 myself wondering how he would end and what 
 would come to his little girl. And I made up my 
 mind that if the missionary were the right sort 
 his coming might not be a bad thing for the Old 
 Timer and perhaps for more than him.
 
 The Pilot's Measure 
 
 43
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE PILOT S MEASURE 
 
 It was Hi Kendal that announced the arrival of 
 the missionary. I was standing at the door of my 
 school, watching the children ride off home on 
 their ponies, when Hi came loping along on his 
 bronco in the loose-jointed cowboy style. 
 
 "Well," he drawled out, bringing his bronco 
 to a dead stop in a single bound, "he's lit." 
 
 •'Lit? Where? What?" said I, looking round 
 for an eagle or some other flying thing. 
 
 "Your blanked Sky Pilot, and he's a beauty, a 
 pretty kid — looks too tender for this climate. 
 Better not let him out on the range." Hi was 
 quite disgusted, evidently. 
 
 "What's the matter with him, Hi?" 
 
 "Why, he ain't no parson! I don't go much on 
 parsons, but when I calls for one I don't want no 
 bantam chicken. No, sirree, horse I don't want 
 no blankety-blank, pink-and-white complected 
 
 45
 
 46 The Sky Pilot 
 
 nursery kid foolin' round my graveyard. If 
 you're goin' to bring along a parson, why, bring 
 him with his eye-teeth cut and his tail feathers 
 on. 
 
 That Hi was deeply disappointed was quite 
 clear from the selection of the profanity with 
 which he adorned this lengthy address. It was 
 never the extent of his profanity, but the choice, 
 that indicated Hi's interest in any subject. 
 
 Altogether, the outlook for the missionarj'- was 
 not encouraging. With the single exception of 
 the Muirs, who really counted for little, nobody 
 wanted him. To most of the reckless young 
 bloods of the Company of the Noble Seven his 
 presence was an offence ; to others simply a nui- 
 sance, while the Old Timer regarded his advent 
 with something like dismay; and now Hi's 
 impression of his personal appearance was not 
 cheering. 
 
 My first sight of him did not reassure me. He 
 was very slight, very young, very innocent, with 
 a face that might do for an angel, except for the 
 touch of humor in it, but which seemed strangely 
 out of place among the rough, hard faces that 
 were to be seen in the Swan Creek Country. It 
 was not a weak facCi however. The forehead
 
 The Pilot's Measure 47 
 
 was high and square, the mouth firm, and the 
 eyes were luminous, of some dark color — violet, if 
 there is such a color in eyes — dreamy or spark- 
 ling, according to his mood; eyes for which a 
 woman might find use, but which, in a mission- 
 ary's head, appeared to me one of those extraor- 
 dinary wastes of which Nature is sometimes guilty. 
 
 He was gazing far away into space infinitely 
 beyond the Foothills and the blue line of the 
 mountains behind them. He turned to me as I 
 drew near, with eyes alight and face glowing. 
 
 *' It is glorious," he almost panted. "You see 
 this every day ! ' ' Then, recalling himself, he came 
 eagerly toward me, stretching out his hand. 
 "You are the schoolmaster, I know. Do you 
 know, it's a great thing? I wanted to be one, but 
 I never could get the boys on. They always got 
 me telling them tales. I was awfully disap- 
 pointed. I am trying the next best thing. You 
 see, I won't have to keep order, but I don't think 
 I can preach very well. I am going to visit your 
 school. Have you many scholars? Do you know» 
 I think it's splendid? I wish I could do it." 
 
 I had intended to be somewhat stiff with him, 
 but his evident admiration of me made me quite 
 forget this laudable intention, and, as he talked
 
 48 The Sky Pilot 
 
 on without waiting for an answer, his enthusiasm, 
 his deference to my opinion, his charm of man- 
 ner, his beautiful face, his luminous eyes, made 
 liim perfectly irresistible ; and before I was aware 
 I was listening to his plans for working his mis- 
 sion with eager interest. So eager was my inter- 
 est, indeed, that before I was aware I found 
 myself asking him to tea with me in my shack. 
 But he declined, saying: 
 
 "I'd like to, awfully; but do you know, I think 
 Latour expects me." 
 
 This consideration of Latour's feelings almost 
 npset me. 
 
 *'You come with me," he added, and I went. 
 
 Latour welcomed us with his grim old face 
 wreathed in unusual smiles. The Pilot had been 
 salking to him, too. 
 
 "I've got it, Latour!" he cried out as he 
 sntered; "here you are," and he broke into the 
 beautiful French-Canadian chanson^ "A la Claire 
 Fontaine," to the old half-breed's almost tearful 
 delight. 
 
 "Do you know," he went on, "I heard that first 
 down the Mattawa," and away he went into a story 
 of an experience with French-Canadian raftsmen, 
 mixing up his French and English in so charming
 
 The Pilot's Measjre 49 
 
 a manner that Latour, who in his younger days 
 long ago had been a shantyman himself, hardly 
 knew whether he was standing on his head or on 
 his heels. 
 
 After tea I proposed a ride out to see the sun- 
 set from the nearest rising ground. Latour, with 
 unexampled generosity, offered his own cayuse, 
 "Louis." 
 
 "I can't ride well," protested The Pilot. 
 
 "Ah! dat's good ponee, Louis," urged Latour. 
 "He's quiet lak wan leetle mouse; he's ride lak — 
 what you call? — wan, horse-on-de-rock. " Under 
 which persuasion the pony was accepted. 
 
 That evening I saw the Swan Creek country 
 with new eyes — through the luminous eyes of The 
 Pilot. We rode up the trail by the side of the 
 Swan till we came to the coi'A6e mouth, dark and 
 full of mystery. 
 
 "Come on," I said, "we must get to the top 
 for the sunset." 
 
 He looked lingeringly into the deep shadows 
 and asked: "Anything live down there?" 
 
 "Coyotes and wolves and ghosts." 
 
 "Ghosts?" he asked, delightedly. "Do you 
 know, I was sure there were, and I'm quite sure 
 I shall see them."
 
 50 The Sky Pilot 
 
 Then we took the Porcupine trail and climbed 
 for about two miles the gentle slope to the top of 
 the first rising ground. There we stayed and 
 watched the sun take his nightly plunge into the 
 sea of mountains, now dimly visible. Behind us 
 stretched the prairie, sweeping out level to the 
 sky and cut by the winding coulee of the Swan. 
 Great long shadows from the hills were lying 
 upon its yellow face, and far at the distant edge 
 the gray haze was deepening into purple. Before 
 us lay the hills, softly curving like the shoulders 
 of great sleeping monsters, their tops still bright, 
 but the separating valleys full of shadow. And 
 there, far beyond them, up against the sky, was 
 the line of the mountains — blue, purple, and gold, 
 according as the light fell upon them. The sun 
 had taken his plunge, but he had left behind him 
 his robes of saffron and gold. We stood long 
 without a word or movement, filling our hearts 
 with the silence and the beauty, till the gold in the 
 west began to grow dim. High above all the 
 night was stretching her star-pierced, blue canopy, 
 and drawing slowly up from the east over the 
 prairie and over the sleeping hills the soft folds 
 of a purple haze. The great silence of the dying 
 day had fallen upon the world and held us fast.
 
 The Pilot's Measure 51 
 
 *' Listen," he said, in a low tone, pointing to 
 the hills. "Can't you hear them breathe?" 
 And, looking at their curving shoulders, I fancied 
 I could see them slowly heaving as if in heavy 
 sleep, and I was quite sure I could hear them 
 breathe. I was under the spell of his voice and 
 his eyes, and nature was all living to me then. 
 
 We rode back to the Stopping Place in si- 
 lence, except for a word of mine now and then 
 which he heeded not, and, v/ith hardly a good 
 night, he left me at the door. I turned away 
 feeling as If I had been in a strange country and 
 among strange people. 
 
 How would he do with the Swan Creek folk? 
 Could he make them see the hills breathe? Would 
 they feel as I felt under his voice and eyes? 
 What a curious mixture he was! I was doubtful 
 about his first Sunday, and was surprised to find 
 all my indifference as to his success or failure gone. 
 It was a pity about the baseball match. I would 
 speak to some of the men about it to-morrow. 
 
 Hi might be disappointed in his appearance, 
 but, as I turned into my shack and thought over 
 my last two hours with The Pilot and how he had 
 **got" old Latour and myself, I began to think that 
 Hi might be mistaken in his measure of The Pilot.
 
 First Blood 
 
 S3
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 FIRST BLOOD 
 
 One is never so enthusiastic in the early morn- 
 ing, when the emotions are calmest and the nerves 
 at their steadiest. But I was determined to try- 
 to have the baseball match postponed. There 
 could be no difficulty. One day was as much of a 
 holiday as another to these easy-going fellows. 
 But The Duke, when I suggested a change in the 
 day, simply raised his eyebrows an eighth of an 
 inch and said : 
 
 "Can't see why the day should be changed." 
 Bruce stormed and swore all sorts of destruction 
 upon himself if he was going to change his style 
 of life for any man. The others followed The 
 Duke's lead. 
 
 That Sunday was a day of incongruities. The 
 Old and the New, the East and the West, the 
 reverential Past and iconoclastic Present were 
 jumbling themselves together in bewildering 
 confusion. The baseball match was played with 
 
 ss
 
 56 The Sky Pilot 
 
 much vigor and profanity. The expression on 
 The Pilot's face, as he stood watching for a while, 
 was a curious mixture of interest, surprise, doubt 
 and pain. He was readjusting himself. He was 
 so made as to be extremely sensitive to his sur- 
 roundings. He took on color quickly. The utter 
 indifference to, the audacious disregard of all he 
 had hitherto considered sacred and essential was 
 disconcerting. They were all so dead sure. How 
 did he know they were wrong? It was his first 
 near view of practical, living skepticism. Skepti- 
 cism in a book did not disturb him ; he could put 
 down words against it. But here it was alive, 
 cheerful, attractive, indeed fascinating; for these 
 men in their western garb and with their west- 
 em swing had captured his imagination. He was 
 in a fierce struggle, and in a few minutes I saw 
 him disappear into the coulee. 
 
 Meantime the match went uproariously on to a 
 finish, with the result that the champions of 
 "Home" had "to stand The Painkiller," their 
 defeat being due chiefly to the work of Hi and 
 Bronco Bill as pitcher and catcher. 
 
 The celebration was in full swing; or as Hi put 
 it, "the boys were takin' their pizen good an' 
 calm." when in walked The Pilot. His face was
 
 First Blood 57 
 
 still troubled and his lips were drawn and blue, as 
 if he were in pain. A silence fell on the men as 
 he walked in through the crowd and up to the 
 bar. He stood a moment hesitating, looking 
 round upon the faces flushed and hot that were 
 now turned toward him in curious defiance. He 
 noticed the look, and it pulled him together. 
 He faced about toward old Latour and asked in a 
 high, clear voice : 
 
 "Is this the room you said we might have?" 
 
 The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and 
 said: 
 
 "There is not any more." 
 
 The lad paused for an instant, but only for an 
 instant. Then, lifting a pile of hymn books he 
 had near him on the counter, he said in a grave, 
 sweet voice, and with the quiver of a smile about 
 his lips: 
 
 "Gentlemen, Mr. Latour has allowed me this 
 room for a religious service. It will give me 
 great pleasure if you will all join," and imme- 
 diately he handed a book to Bronco Bill, who, 
 surprised, took it as if he did not know what to do 
 ■with it. The others followed Bronco's lead till 
 he came to Bruce, who refused, saying roughly; 
 
 *'No! I don't want it; I've no use for it."
 
 58 The Sky Pilot 
 
 The missionary flushed and drew back as if he 
 had been struck, but immediately, as if uncon= 
 sciously. The Duke, who was standing near, 
 stretched out his hand and said, with a courteous 
 bow, "I thank you; I should be glad of one." 
 
 "Thank you," replied The Pilot, simply, as he 
 handed him a book. The men seated themselves 
 upon the bench that ran round the room, or 
 leaned up against the counter, and most of them 
 took off their hats. Just then in came Muir, and 
 behind him his little wife. 
 
 In an instant The Duke was on his feet, and 
 every hat came off. 
 
 The missionary stood up at the bar, and 
 announced the hymn, "Jesus, Lover of My 
 Soul." The silence that followed was broken by 
 the sound of a horse galloping. A buckskin 
 bronco shot past the window, and in a few 
 moments there appeared at the door the Old 
 Timer. He was about to stride in when th© 
 unusual sight of a row of men sitting solemnly 
 with hymn books in their hands held him fast at 
 the door. He gazed in an amazed, helpless way 
 upon the men, then at the missionary, then back 
 at the men, and stood speechless. Suddenly 
 there was a high, shrill, boyish laugh, and the
 
 First Blood 59 
 
 men turned to see the missionary in a fit of 
 laughter. It certainly was a shock to any linger- 
 ing ideas of religious propriety they might have 
 about them ; but the contrast between his frank, 
 laughing face and the amazed and disgusted face 
 of the shaggy old man in the doorway was too 
 much for them, and one by one they gave way to 
 roars of laughter. The Old Timer, however, 
 kept his face unmoved, strode up to the bar and 
 nodded to old Latour, who served him his drink, 
 which he took at a gulp. 
 
 "Here, old man!" called out Bill, "get into the 
 game; here's your deck," offering him his book. 
 But the missionary was before him, and, with 
 very beautiful grace, he handed the Old Timer a 
 book and pointed him to a seat. 
 
 I shall never forget that service. As a religious. 
 aflEair it was a dead failure, but somehow I think 
 The Pilot, as Hi approvingly said, "got in his 
 funny work," and it was not wholly a defeat. 
 The first hymn was sung chiefly by the missionary 
 and Mrs. Muir, whose voice was very high, with 
 one or two of the men softly whistling an accom» 
 paniment. The second hymn was better, and 
 then came the Lesson, the story of the feeding of 
 the five thousand. As the missionary finished
 
 6o The Sky Pilot 
 
 the story, Bill, who had been listening with great 
 interest, said: 
 
 *'I say, pard, I think I'll call you just now." 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" said the startled mis» 
 sionary. 
 
 "You're givin' us quite a song and dance now, 
 ain't you?" 
 
 "I don't understand." was the puzzled reply. 
 
 "How many men was there in the crowd?'* 
 asked Bill, with a judicial air. 
 
 "Five thousand." 
 
 "And how much grub?" 
 
 "Five loaves and two fishes," answered Bruce 
 for the missionary. 
 
 "Well," drawled Bill, with the air of a man 
 who has reached a conclusion, "that's a little too 
 unusual for me. Why," looking pit3ningly at the 
 missionary, "it ain't natarel." 
 
 "Right you are, my boy," said Bruce, with a 
 laugh. "It's deucedly unnatural. 
 
 "Not for Him," said the missionary, quietly. 
 Then Bruce joyfully took him up and led him on 
 into a discussion of evidences, and from evidences 
 into metaphysics, the origin of evil and the free- 
 dom of the will, till the missionary, as Bill said, 
 "was rattled worse nor a rooster in the dark."
 
 First Blood 6x 
 
 Poor little Mrs. Muir was much scandalized and 
 looked anxiously at her husband, wishing him to 
 take her out. But help came from an unexpected 
 quarter, and Hi suddenly called out: 
 
 "Here you, Bill, shut your blanked jaw, and 
 you, Bruce, give the man a chance to work off his 
 music." 
 
 * • That's so ! Fair play ! Go on !" were the cries 
 that came in response to Hi's appeal. 
 
 The missionary, who was all trembling and 
 much troubled, gave Hi a grateful look, and 
 said: 
 
 "I'm afraid there are a great many things I 
 don't understand, and I am not good at argu= 
 ment." There were shouts of "Go on! fire 
 ahead, play the game!" but he said, "I think w© 
 will close the service with a hymn. " His frank=- 
 ness and modesty, and his respectful, courteous 
 manner gained the sympathy of the men, so that 
 all joined heartily in singing, "Sun of My Soul."* 
 In the prayer that followed his voice grew steady 
 and his nerve came back to him. The words 
 were very simple, and the petitions were mostly 
 for light and for strength. With a few words of 
 remembrance of "those in our homes far away 
 who think of us and pray for us and nevei
 
 'S2 The Sky Pilot 
 
 forget," this strange service was brought to 
 a close. 
 
 After the missionary had stepped out, the whole 
 affair was discussed with great warmth. Hi 
 Kendal thought "The Pilot didn't have no fair 
 show," maintaining that when he was "ropin' a 
 steer he didn't want no blanked tenderfoot to be 
 shovin' in his rope like Bill there." But Bill 
 steadily maintained his position that "the story of 
 that there p:cnic v/as a little too unusual" for him. 
 Bruce was trying meanwhile to beguile The Duke 
 into a discussion of the physics and metaphysics 
 of the case. But The Duke refused with quiet 
 contempt to be drawn into a region where he felt 
 himself a stranger. He preferred poker himself, 
 M Bruce cared to take a hand ; and so the evening 
 went on, with the theological discussion by Hi 
 and Bill in a judicial, friendly spirit in one 
 corner, while the others for the most part played 
 poker. 
 
 When the missionary returned late there were 
 only a few left in the room, among them The 
 Duke and Bruce, whc was drinking steadily and 
 Josing money. The missionary's presence seemed 
 to irriiCite him, and ae played even more reck- 
 iessly than usual, swearing deeply at every loss.
 
 " 1 SAY, BRUCE, LET'S QUIT "
 
 First Blood 63 
 
 At the door the missionaiy stood looking up into 
 the night sky and humming softly "Sun of My 
 Soul," and after a few minutes The Duke joined 
 in humming a bass to the air till Bruce could 
 contain himself no longer. 
 
 "I say," he called out, "this isn't any blanked 
 prayer-meeting, is it?" 
 
 The Duke ceased humming, and, looking at 
 Bruce, said quietly: "Well, what is it? What'& 
 the trouble?" 
 
 "Trouble!" shouted Bruce. "I don't see what 
 hymn-singing has to do with a poker game. " 
 
 "Oh, I see! I beg pardon! V/as I singing?' 
 said The Duke. Then after a pause he added, 
 *'You*re quite right. I say, Bruce, let's quit 
 Something has got on to your nerves." And 
 coolly sweeping his pile into his pocket, he gave, 
 up the gam^e. With an oath Bruce left the table, 
 took another drink, and went unsteadily out to hii 
 horse, and soon we heard him ride away into the 
 darkness, singing snatches of the hymn and 
 swearing the most awful oaths. 
 
 The missionary's face was white with horror 
 It was all new and horrible to him. 
 
 "Will he get safely home?" he asked of Th» 
 Duke.
 
 §4 The Sky Pilot 
 
 "Don't you worry, youngster," said The Duke, 
 in his loftiest manner, "he'll get along." 
 
 The luminous, dreamy eyes grew hard and 
 bright as they looked The Duke in the face. 
 
 cc'P'^j.^ I Ghall worry; but you ought to worry 
 mor'^.** 
 
 **Aii;** laic" The Duke, raising his brows and 
 gmiling /gently upon the bright, stern young face 
 lift© tL^ y his. "I didn't notice that I had asked 
 your opiniou. 
 
 **Zii ''-''rTSMng' should happen to him," replied 
 the miGS-onan;- caickly, "I should consider you 
 largely responsible." 
 
 "That would be kind," said The Duke, still 
 smiling with his lips. But after a moment's 
 steady look into the missionary's eyes he nodded 
 bio head twice or thrice, and, without further 
 word, turned away. 
 
 The missionary turned eagerly to me: 
 
 "They beat me this afternoon," he cried, "but 
 3;hank God, I know now they are wrong and I am 
 right! I don't understand! I can't see my way 
 through! But I anv right! It's true! I feel it's 
 ■true! Men can't live without Him, and be men!'* 
 
 And long after I Avent to my shack that night I 
 saw before me the eager face with the luminous
 
 First Blood 65 
 
 eyes and heard the triumphant cry: **I feel it's 
 true! Men can't live without Him, and be men!" 
 and I knew that though his first Sunday ended in 
 defeat there was victory yet awaiting him.
 
 His Second Wind 
 
 '3?
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 HIS SECOND WIND 
 
 The first weeks were not pleasant for The 
 Pilot. He had been beaten, and the sense of 
 failure damped his fine enthusiasm, which was 
 one of his chief charms. The Noble Seven 
 despised, ignored, or laughed at him, according 
 to their mood and disposition. Bruce patronized 
 him; and, worst of all, the Muirs pitied him. 
 This last it was that brought him low, and I was 
 glad of it. I find it hard to put up with a man 
 that enjoys pity. 
 
 It was Hi Kendal that restored him, though Hi 
 had no thought of doing so good a deed. It was 
 in this way: A baseball match was on with The 
 Porcupines from near the Fort. To Hi's disgust 
 and the team's dismay Bill failed to appear. It 
 was Hi's delight to stand up for Bill's pitching, 
 and their battery was the glory of the Home team. 
 
 "Try The Pilot, Hi," said some one, chaffing 
 him. 
 
 6(
 
 jro • The Sky Pilot 
 
 Hi locked glumly across at The Pilot standing 
 some distance away; then called out, holding 
 up the ball: 
 
 "Can you play the game?" 
 
 For answer Moore held up his hands for a catch. 
 Hi tossed him the ball easily. The ball came 
 back so quickly that Hi was hardly ready, and the 
 jar seemed to amaze him exceedingly. 
 
 •Til take him," he said, doubtfully, and the 
 game began. Hi fitted on his mask, a new 
 importation and his peculiar pride, and waited. 
 
 "How do you like them?" asked The Pilot. 
 
 "Hot!" said Hi. "I hain't got no gloves t© 
 burn." 
 
 The Pilot turned his back, swung off one foot 
 on to the other and discharged his ball. 
 
 "Strike!" called the umpire. 
 
 "You bet!" said Hi, with emphasis, but his fac© 
 was a picture of amazement and dawning delight. 
 
 Again The Pilot went through the manoeuvre in 
 his box and again the umpire called : 
 
 "Strike!' 
 
 Hi stopped the ball without holding it and set 
 himself for the third. Once more that discon- 
 certing swing and the whip-like action of the amSj 
 and for the third time the umpire called:
 
 His Second Wind * 71 
 
 ^Strike! Striker out!" 
 
 ^'That's the hole," yelled Hi. 
 
 The Porcupines were amazed. Hi looked at 
 the ball in his hand, then at the slight figure of 
 The Pilot. 
 
 "I say! where do you get it?" 
 
 "What?" asked Moore innocently. 
 
 "The gait!" 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 "The gait! the speed, you know!" 
 
 "Oh! I used to play in Princeton a little." 
 
 "Did, eh? What the blank blank did you quit 
 for?" 
 
 He evidently regarded the exchange of the 
 profession of baseball for the study of the- 
 ology as a serious error in judgment, and in this 
 opinion every inning of the game confirmed 
 him. At the bat The Pilot did not shine, but he 
 made up for light hitting by his base-running. 
 He was fleet as a deer, and he knew the game 
 thoroughly. He was keen, eager, intense in play, 
 and before the innings were half over he was 
 recognized as the best all-round man on the field. 
 In the pitcher's box he puzzled the Porcupines till 
 they grew desperate and hit wildly and blindly, 
 amid the jeers of the spectators. The bewilder-
 
 72 The Sky Pilot 
 
 ment of the Porcupines was equaled only by the 
 enthusiasm of Hi and his nine, and when the game 
 was over the score stood 37 to 7 in favor of the 
 Home team. They carried The Pilot off the field. 
 
 From that day Moore was another man. He 
 had won the unqualified respect of Hi Kendal 
 and most of the others, for he could beat them at 
 their own game and still be modest about it. 
 Once more his enthusiasm came back and his 
 brightness and his courage. The Duke was not 
 present to witness his triumph, and, besides, he 
 rather despised the game. Bruce was there, 
 however, but took no part in the general acclaim ; 
 indeed, he seemed rather disgusted with Moore's 
 sudden leap into favor. Certainly his hostility to 
 The Pilot and to all that he stood for was none 
 the less open and bitter. 
 
 The hostility was more than usually marked at 
 the service held on the Sunday following. It 
 was, perhaps, thrown into stronger relief by the 
 open and delighted approval of Hi, who was 
 prepared to back up anything The Pilot would 
 venture to say. Bill, who had not witnessed The 
 Pilot's performance in the pitcher's box, but had 
 only Hi's enthusiastic report to go upon, still 
 preserved his judicial air. It is fair to say, how-
 
 His Second Wind 73 
 
 ever, that there was no mean-spirited jealousy in 
 Bill's heart even though Hi had frankly assured 
 him that The Pilot was "a demon," and could 
 *'give him points." Bill had great confidence in 
 Hi's opinion upon baseball, but he was not pre- 
 pared to surrender his right of private judgment 
 in matters theological, so he waited for the sermon 
 before committing himself to any enthusiastic 
 approval. This service was an undoubted suc- 
 cess. The singing was hearty, and insensibly 
 the men fell into a reverent attitude during 
 prayer. The theme, too, was one that gave little 
 room for skepticism. It was the story of 
 Zaccheus, and story-telling was Moore's strong 
 point. The thing was well done. Vivid por- 
 traitures of the outcast, shrewd, converted publi- 
 can and the supercilious, self-complacent, critical 
 Pharisee were drawn with a few deft touches. 
 A single sentence transferred them to the Foot- 
 hills and arrayed them in cowboy garb. Bill was 
 none too sure of himself, but Hi, with delightful 
 winks, was indicating Bruce as the Pharisee, to the 
 Tatter's scornful disgust. The preacher must 
 have noticed, for with a very clever turn the 
 Pharisee was shown to be the kind of man who 
 likes to fit faults upon others. Then Bill, digging
 
 74 The Sky Pilot 
 
 his elbows into Hi's ribs, said in an audible 
 whisper: 
 
 "Say, pardner, how does it fit now?" 
 
 •'You git out!" answered Hi, indignantly, but 
 his confidence in his interpretation of the appli- 
 cation was shaken. When Moore came to 
 describe the Master and His place in that ancient 
 group, we in the Stopping Place parlor fell under 
 the spell of his eyes and voice, and our hearts 
 were moved v/ithin us. That great Personality 
 was made very real and very winning. Hi was 
 quite subdued by the stor)'' and the picture. Bill 
 was perplexed ; it was all new to him ; but Bruce 
 was mainly irritated. To him it was all old 
 and filled with memories he hated to face. At 
 any rate he was unusually savage that even- 
 ing, drank heavily and went home late, raging and 
 cursing at things in general and The Pilot in par- 
 ticular — for Moore, in a timid sort of way, had 
 tried to quiet him and help him to his horse. 
 
 "Ornery sort o' beast now, ain't he?" said Hi, 
 with the idea of comforting The Pilot, who stood 
 sadly looking after Bruce disappearing in the 
 gloom. 
 
 "No! no!" he answered, quickly, "not a beast, 
 but a brother."
 
 His Second Wind 75 
 
 "Brother! Not much, if I know my relations!" 
 answered Hi, disgustedly. 
 
 "The Master thinks a good deal of him," was 
 the earnest reply. 
 
 "Git out!" said Hi, "you don't mean it! 
 Why," he added, decidedly, "he's more stuck on 
 himself than that mean old cuss you was tellin' 
 about this afternoon, and without half the 
 reason." 
 
 But Moore on^y said, kindly, "Don't be hard on 
 him. Hi," and turned away, leaving Hi and Bill 
 gravely discussing the question, with the aid of 
 several drinks of whisky. They were still dis- 
 cussing when, an hour later, they, too, disappeared 
 into the darkness that swallowed up the trail to 
 Ashley Ranch. That was the first of many 
 such services. The preaching was always of the 
 simplest kind, abstract questions being avoided 
 and the concrete in those wonderful Bible tales, 
 dressed in modern and in western garb, set forth. 
 Bill and Hi were more than ever his friends and 
 champions, and the latter was heard exultantly to 
 exclaim to Bruce; 
 
 "He ain't much to look at as a parson, but he's 
 a-ketchin' his second wind, and 'fore long yoH 
 won't see him for dust."
 
 The Last of the Permit Sundays 
 
 77
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE LAST OF THE PERMIT SUNDAYS 
 
 The spring "round-ups" were all over and 
 Bruce had nothing to do but to loaf about the 
 Stopping Place, drinking old Latour's bad whisky 
 and making himself a nuisance. In vain The 
 Pilot tried to win him with loans of books and 
 magazines and other kindly courtesies. He would 
 be decent for a day and then would break forth 
 in violent argumentation against religion and all 
 who held to it. He sorely missed The Duke, who 
 was away south on one of his periodic journeys, 
 of which no one knew anything or cared to ask. 
 The Duke's presence alwa3'-s steadied Bruce ani 
 took the rasp out of his manners. It was rather a 
 relief to all that he was absent from the next fort- 
 nightly service, though Moore declared he was 
 ashamed to confess this relief. 
 
 "I can't touch him," he said to me, after tha 
 service; "he is far too clever, but," and his voic^ 
 was full of pain, "I'd give something to hel; 
 him." 
 
 99
 
 8o The Sky Pilot 
 
 "If he doesn't quit his nonsense," I replied, 
 •'he'll soon be past helping-. He doesn't go out 
 on his range, his few cattle wander everywhere, 
 his shack is in a beastly state, and he himself is 
 going to pieces, miserable fool that he is.'' For 
 it did seem a shame that a fellow should so throw 
 himself away for nothing. 
 
 "You are hard," said Moore, with his eyes upon 
 me. 
 
 "Hard? Isn't it true?" I answered, hotly. 
 **Then, there's his mother at home." 
 
 "Yes, but can he help it? Is it all his fault?" he 
 replied, with his steady eyes still looking into me. 
 
 "His fault? Whose fault, then?" 
 
 "What of the Noble Seven? Have they any- 
 thing to do with this>" His voice was quiet, but 
 there was an arresting intensity in it. 
 
 "Well," I said, rather Vv'eakly, "a man ought to 
 look after himself." 
 
 ♦'Yes!— and his brother a little." Then he 
 added: "What have any of you done to help him? 
 The Duke could have pulled him up a year ago if 
 he had been willing to deny himself a little, and 
 so with all of you. You all do just what pleases 
 you regardless of any other, and so you help one 
 another down."
 
 The Last of tha Peniiit Sundays 8 1 
 
 I could not find anything just then to say, 
 though afterwards many things came to me ; for, 
 though his voice v/as quiet and low, his eyes were 
 glowing and his face was alight with the fire that 
 burned within, and I felt like one convicted of a 
 crime. This was certainly a new doctrine for 
 the West; an uncomfortable doctrine to practice, 
 interfering seriously with personal liberty, but in 
 The Pilot's way of viewing things difficult to 
 escape. There would be no end to one's responsi- 
 bility. I refused to think it out. 
 
 Within a fortnight we were thinking it out with 
 some intentness. The Noble Seven were to have 
 a great "blow-out" at the Hill brothers' ranch. 
 The Duke had got home from his southern trip a 
 little more weary-looking and a little more 
 cynical in his smile. The "blow-out" was to be 
 held on Permit Sunday, the alternate to the 
 Preaching Sunday, which was a concession to The 
 Pilot, secured chiefly through the influence of Hi 
 and his baseball nine. It was something to have 
 created the situation involved in the distinction 
 between Preaching and Permit Sundays. Hi put 
 it rather graphically. "The devil takes his innin's 
 one Sunday and The Pilot the next," adding 
 emphatically, "He hain't dor.e much scorin' yit.
 
 82 The Sky Pilot 
 
 but my money's on The Pilot, you bet!" Bill 
 was more cautious and preferred to wait develop- 
 ments. And developments were rapid. 
 
 The Hill brothers' meet was unusually success- 
 ful from a social point of view. Several Permits 
 had been requisitioned, and whisky and beer 
 abounded. Races all day and poker all night and 
 drinks of various brews both day and night, with 
 varying impromptu diversions — such as shooting 
 the horns off wandering steers — were the social 
 amenities indulged in by the noble company. 
 On Monday evening I rode out to the ranch, 
 urged by Moore, who was anxious that someone 
 should look after Bruce. 
 
 "I don't belong to them," he said, "you do. 
 They won't resent your coming." 
 
 Nor did they. They were sitting at tea, and 
 welcomed me with a shout 
 
 "Hello, old domine!" yelled Bruce, "where's 
 your preacher friend?" 
 
 "Where you ought to be, if you could get there 
 — at home," I replied, nettled at his insolent 
 tone. 
 
 "Strike one!" called out Hi, enthusiastically, 
 not approving Bruce's attitude toward his friend, 
 The Pilot.
 
 The Last of the Fermit Sundays 83 
 
 ''Don't be so acute," said Bruce, after the laugh 
 had passed, "but have a drink." 
 
 He was flushed and very shaky and very noisy. 
 The Duke, at the head of the table, looked a little 
 harder than usual, but, though pale, was quite 
 steady. The others were all more or less nerve- 
 broken, and about the room were the signs of a 
 wild night. A bench was upset, while broken 
 bottles and crockery lay strewn about over a floor 
 reeking with filth. The disgust on my face called 
 forth an apology from the younger Hill, who was 
 serving up ham and eggs as best he could to the 
 men lounging about the table. 
 
 "It's my housemaid's afternoon out," he 
 explained gravely. 
 
 "Gone for a walk in the park," added an. 
 other. 
 
 "Hope Mister Connor will pardon the absence, " 
 sneered Bruce, in his most offensive manner. 
 
 "Don't mind him," said Hi, under his breath, 
 **the blue devils are runnin' him down." 
 
 This became more evident as the evening went 
 on. From hilarity Bruce passed to sullen ferocity, 
 with spasms of nervous terror. Hi's attempts to 
 soothe him finally drove him mad, and he drew 
 his revolver, declaring- he could look after him-
 
 84 The Sky Pilot 
 
 self, in proof of which he began to shoot out the 
 lights. 
 
 The men scrambled into safe corners, all but 
 The Duke, who stood quietly by watching Bruce 
 shoot. Then saying: 
 
 "Let me have a try, Bruce," he reached across 
 and caught his hand. 
 
 "No! you don't," said Bruce, struggling. 
 "No man gets my gun." 
 
 He tore madly at the gripping hand with both 
 of his, but in vain, calling out with frightful oaths : 
 
 "Let go! let go! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" 
 
 With a furious effort he hurled himself back 
 from the table, dragging The Duke partly across. 
 There was a flash and a report and Bruce col- 
 lapsed, The Duke still gripping him. When they 
 lifted him up he was found to have an ugly 
 wound in his arm, the bullet having passed 
 through the fleshy part. I bound it up as best I 
 could and tried to persuade him to go to bed. 
 But he would go home. Nothing could stop him. 
 Finally The Duke agreed to go with him, and oflE 
 they set, Bruce loudly protesting that he could 
 get home alone and did not want anyone. 
 
 It was a dismal break-up to the meet, and we 
 all went home feeling rather sick, so that it gave
 
 The Last of the Permit Sundays 85 
 
 me no pleasure to find Moore waiting in my shack 
 for my report of Bruce. It was quite vain for me 
 to make light of the accident to him. His eyes 
 were wide open with anxious fear when I had 
 done. 
 
 "You needn't tell me not to be anxious," he 
 said, "you are anxious yourself. I see it, I feel 
 
 it." 
 
 "Well, there's no use trying to keep things 
 from you," I replied, "but I am only a little anx- 
 ious. Don't you go beyond me and work yourself 
 up into a fever over it. ' ' 
 
 "No," he answered quietly, "but I wish his 
 mother were nearer." 
 
 "Oh, bosh, it isn't coming to that; but I wish 
 he were in better shape. He is broken up badly 
 without this hole in him." 
 
 He would not leave till I had promised to take 
 him up the next day, though I was doubtful 
 enough of his reception. But next day The Duke 
 came down, his black bronco, Jingo, wet with 
 hard riding. 
 
 "Better come ap, Connor," he said, gravely, 
 "and bring your bromides along. He has had a 
 bad night and morning and fell asleep only 
 before I came away. I expect he'll wake in
 
 86 The Sky Pilot 
 
 delirium. It's the whisky more than the bullet. 
 Snakes, you know." 
 
 In ten minutes we three were on the trail, for 
 Moore, though not invited, quietly announced his 
 intention to go with us. 
 
 "Oh, all right," said ^ The Dulce, indiffer^ 
 ently, "he probably won't recognize you any 
 way. ' ' 
 
 We rode hard for half an hour till we came 
 within sight of Bruce's shack, which was set back 
 into a little poplar bluff. 
 
 "Hold up!" said The Duke. "Was that a shot?'* 
 We stood listening. A rifle-shot rang out, and 
 we rode hard. Again The Duke halted us, and 
 there came from the shack the sound of singing„ 
 Jt was an old Scotch tune. 
 
 "The twenty-third Psalm," said Moore, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 We rode into the bluff, tied up our horses and 
 crept to the back of the shack. Looking through 
 a crack between the logs, I saw a gruesome thing, 
 Bruce was sitting up in bed with a Winchester 
 rifle across his knees ana a belt of cartridges 
 hanging over the post. His bandages were torn 
 off, the blood from his wound was smeared over 
 his bare arms and his pale, ghastly face; his eyes
 
 The Last of the Permit Sundays Sj 
 
 were wild with mad terror, and he was shouting 
 at the top of his voice the words : 
 
 •'The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want, 
 He makes me down to lie 
 In pastures green. He leadeth me 
 The quiet waters by." 
 
 Now and then he would stop to say in an awe- 
 some whisper, *'Come out here, you little devils!" 
 and bang would go his rifle at the stovepipe, 
 which was riddled with holes. Then once more 
 in a loud voice he would hurry to begin the Psalm^ 
 
 *'The Lord's my Shepherd. " 
 
 Nothing that my memory brings to me makes 
 me chill like that picture — the low log shack, 
 BOW in cheerless disorder; the ghastly object 
 upon the bed in the corner, with blood-smeared 
 face and arms and mad terror in the eyes; the 
 awful cursings and more awful psalm-singing, 
 punctuated by the quick report of the deadly rifle. 
 
 For some moments we stood gazing at one 
 another; then The Duke said, in a low, fierce 
 tone, more to himself than to us: 
 
 "This is the last. There'll be no more of this 
 cnrsed folly among the boys." 
 
 And I thought it a wise thing in The Pilot that 
 be answered not a word.
 
 The Pilot*s Grip 
 
 89
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE pilot's grip 
 
 The situation was one of extreme danger- 
 madman with a Winchester rifle. Something 
 most he done and quickly. But what? It would 
 be death to anyone appearing at the door. 
 
 "I'll speak; you keep your eyes on him, " said 
 The Duke. 
 
 ••Hello, Bruce! What's the row?" shouted The 
 Dnke. 
 
 Instantly the singing stopped. A look of ctia- 
 ning delight came over his face as, without 
 a word, he got his rifle ready pointed at tfee 
 door. 
 
 "Come in!" he yelled, after waiting for som© 
 moments. "Come in! You're the biggest of all 
 the devils. Come on, I'll send you down wher® 
 yt>ti belong. Come, what's keeping you?" 
 
 Over the rifle-barrel his eyes gleamed 
 frenzied delight. We consulted as to a plan, 
 
 **1 don't relish a bullet much," I said. 
 
 91
 
 92 The Sky Pilot 
 
 "There are pleasanter things," responded The 
 Duke, "and he is a fairly good shot." 
 
 Meantime the singing had started again, and, 
 looking through the chink, I saw that Bruce had 
 got his eye on the stovepipe again. While I was 
 looking The Pilot slipped away from us toward 
 the door. 
 
 "Come back!" said the Duke, "don't be a fool! 
 Come back, he'll shoot you dead!" 
 
 Moore paid no heed to him, but stood waiting 
 at the door. In a few moments Bruce blazed 
 away again at the stovepipe. Immediately the 
 Pilot burst in, calling out eagerly: 
 
 "Did you get him?" 
 
 "No!" said Bruce, disappointedly, "he dodged 
 like the devil, as of course he ought, you know." 
 
 "I'll get him," said Moore. "Smoke him out," 
 proceeding to open the stove door. 
 
 "Stop!" screamed Bruce, "don't ooen that 
 door! It's full, I tell you. " Moore paused. "Be- 
 sides," went on Bruce, "smoke won't touch 'em." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," said Moore, coolly and 
 with admirable quickness, "wood smoke, you 
 know — they can't stand that." 
 
 This was apparently a new idea in demonology 
 for Bruce, for he sank back, while Moore lighted
 
 The Pilot's Grip 93 
 
 the fire and put on the tea-kettle. He looked 
 round for the tea-caddy. 
 
 *'Up there," said Bruce, forgetting for the 
 
 * 
 
 moment his devils, and pointing to a quaint, old- 
 fashioned tea-caddy upc.i the shelf. 
 
 Moore took it down, turned it in his hands and 
 looKed at Bruce. 
 
 "Old country, eh?" 
 
 *'My mother's," said Bruce, soberly. 
 
 "I could have sworn it was my aunt's in Bal- 
 leymena," said Moore. *'My aunt lived in a little 
 stone cottage with roses all over the front of it.*" 
 And on he went into an enthusiastic descriptioia 
 of his early home. His voice was full of music, 
 soft and sov^thing, and poor Bruce sank back and 
 listened, the glitter fading from his eyes. 
 
 The Duke and I looked at each other. 
 
 "Not too bad, eh?" said The Duke, after a few 
 moments' silence. 
 
 'Let's put up the horses," I suggested. 
 "They won't want us for half an hour." 
 
 When we came in, the room had been set in 
 order, the tea-kettle was singing, the bedclothes 
 straightened out, and Moore had just finished 
 washing the blood stains from Bruce 's arms and 
 neck.
 
 ^ The Sky Pilot 
 
 *'Just in time," he said. "I didn't like to tackle 
 tliese," pointing to the bandages. 
 
 All night long Moore soothed and tended the 
 sick man, now singing softly to him, and again 
 "beguiling him with tales that meant nothing, but 
 that had a strange power to quiet the nervous 
 restlessness, due partly to the pain of the 
 wounded arm and partly to the nerve-v/recking- 
 from his months of dissipation. The Duke 
 seemed uncomfortable enough. He spoke to 
 Bruce once or twice, but the only answer was a 
 groan or curse with an increase of restlessness. 
 
 "He'll have a close squeak," said The Duke. 
 The carelessness of the tone was a little overdone* 
 "but The Pilot was stirred up by it. 
 
 "He has not been fortunate in his friends," he 
 said, looking straight into his eyes. 
 
 "A man ought to know himself when the pace 
 is too swift," said The Duke, a little more quickly 
 than was his wont. 
 
 **You might have done anything with him. 
 Why didn't you help him?" Moore's tones were 
 stern and very steady, and he never moved Lis 
 eyes from the other man's face, but the only 
 reply he g-ot was a shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 When the gray of the morning was coming ia
 
 The Pilot's Grip gi 
 
 at the window The Duke rose up, gave himself a 
 little shake, and said: 
 
 'T am not of any service here. I shall come 
 back in the evening." 
 
 He went and stood for a few moments looking 
 down upon the hot, fevered face ; then, turning to 
 me. he asked: 
 
 •'What do you think?" 
 
 "Can't say! The bromide is holding him down 
 just now. His blood is bad for that wound. " 
 
 •*Can I get anything?" I knew him well 
 enough to recognize the anxiety under his 
 indifferent manner. 
 
 *'The Fort doctor ought to be got." 
 
 He nodded and went out. 
 
 "Have breakfast?" called out Moore from the 
 door. 
 
 •'I shall get some at the Fort, thanks. They 
 won't take any hurt from me there," he said, 
 smiling his cynical smile. 
 
 Moore opened his eyes in surprise. 
 
 "What's that for?" he asked me. 
 
 "Well, he is rather cut up, and you rather 
 rubbed it into him, you know," I said, for 1 
 thought Moore a little hard. 
 
 "Did I say anything untrue?'
 
 ^ The Sky Pilot 
 
 "Well, not untrue, perhaps; but truth is lite 
 medicine — not always good to take, " At which 
 Moore was silent till his patient needed him again. 
 
 It was a weary day. The intense pain from 
 the wound, and the high fever from the poison 
 in his blood kept the poor fellow in delirium till 
 evening, when The Dake rode up with the Fort 
 doctor. Jingo appeared as nearly played out as a 
 horse of his spirit ever allowed himself to become. 
 
 "Seventy miles," said The Duke, swinging 
 himself off the saddle. "The doctor was ten 
 miles out. How is he?" 
 
 I shook my head, and he led away his horse to 
 give him a rub and a feed. 
 
 Meantime the doctor, who was of the army and 
 had seen service, was examining his patient. He 
 grew more and more puzzled as he noted the 
 various symptoms. Finally he broke out : 
 
 "What have you been doing to him? Why is 
 he in this condition? This fleabite doesn't 
 account for all," pointing to the wound. 
 
 We stood like children reproved. Then The 
 Duke said, hesitatingly : "> 
 
 "I fear, doctor, the life has been a little too 
 liard for him. He had a severe nervous attack — 
 seeing things, you know."
 
 The Pilot's Grip 97 
 
 •'Yes, I know," stormed the old doctor. "I 
 know you well enough, with your head of cast- 
 iron and no nerves to speak of. I know the 
 crowd and how' you lead them. Infernal fools! 
 You'll get your turn some day. I've warned you 
 before. ' * 
 
 The Duke was standing up before the doctor 
 during this storm, smiling slightly. All at once 
 the smile faded out and he pointed to the bed. 
 Bruce was sitting up quiet and steady. He 
 stretched out his hand to The Duke. 
 
 "Don't mind the old fool," he said, holding 
 The Duke's hand and looking up at him as fondly 
 as if he were a girl. "It's my own funeral — 
 funeral?" he paused — "Perhaps it may be— "vvho 
 knows? — feel queer enough — but remem'icr, Duke 
 — it's my own fault — don't listen to those bally 
 fools," looking towards Moore ar' the doctor. 
 "My own fault" — his voice died (' jwn — "my own 
 fai.lt." 
 
 The Duke bent over him and laid him back on 
 the pillow, saying, "Thanks, old chap, you're 
 good stuff. I'll not forget. Just keep quiet and 
 you'll be all right." He passed his cool, firm 
 hand over the hot brow of the man looking up at 
 him with love in his eyes, and in a few moments
 
 gS Ths Sky Pilot 
 
 Bruce iell asleep. Then The Duke lifted himself 
 up, and facing the doctor, said in his coolest tone : 
 
 "Your words are more true than opportune, 
 doctor. Your patient will need all your atten- 
 tion. As for my morals, Mr. Moore kindly 
 entrusts himself with the care of them." This 
 with a bow toward The Pilot. 
 
 "I wish him joy of his charge," snorted the 
 doctor, turning again to the bed, where Bruce 
 had already passed into delirium. 
 
 The memory of that vigil was like a horrible 
 nightmare for months. Moore lay on the floor 
 and slept. The Duke rode off somewhither. 
 The old doctor and I kept watch. All night poor 
 Bruce raved in the wildest delirium, singing, now 
 psalms, now songs, swearing at the cattle or his 
 poker partners, and now and then, in quieter 
 moments, he was back in his old home, a boy, 
 ■with a boy's friends and sports. Nothing could 
 check the fever. It baffled the doctor, who often, 
 during the night, declared that there was "no 
 sense in a wound like that working up such a 
 fever," adding curses upon the folly of The Duke 
 and his Company. 
 
 "You don't think he will not get better, doc- 
 tor?" I asked, in answer to one of his outbreaks.
 
 The Pilot's Grip 99 
 
 "He ought to get over this," he answered, 
 impatiently, "but I believe," he added, deliber 
 ately, "he'll have to go." 
 
 Ever5'-thing stood still for a moment. It seemed 
 impossible. Two days ago full of life, now on the 
 way out. There crowded in upon me thoughts of 
 his home; his mother, whose letters he used to 
 show me full of anxious love ; his wild life here, 
 with all its generous impulses,its mistakes, its folly. 
 
 **How long will he last?" I asked, and my lips 
 were dry and numb. 
 
 "Perhaps twenty-four hours, perhaps longer. 
 He can't throw off the poison." 
 
 The old doctor proved a true prophet. After 
 another day of agonized delirium he sank into a 
 stupor which lasted through the night. 
 
 Then the change came. As the light began to 
 grow at the eastern rim of the prairie and tip the 
 far mountains in the west, Bruce opened his 
 eyes and looked about upon us. The doctor had 
 gone ; The Duke had not come back ; Moore and I 
 were alone. He gazed at us steadily for some 
 moments ; read our faces ; a look of wonder came 
 into his eyes. 
 
 "Is it coming?" he asked in a faint, awed voice. 
 •'Do you really think I must go?"
 
 ICX) The Sky Pilot 
 
 The eager appeal in his voice and the wistful 
 longing: in the wide-open, startled eyes were too 
 much for Moore. He backed behind me and I 
 could hear him weeping like a baby. Bruce heard 
 him, too. 
 
 "Is that The Pilot?" he asked. Instantly 
 iVloore pulled himself up, wiped his eyes and 
 came round to the other side of the bed and 
 looked down, smiling. 
 
 "Do yoii say I am dying?' The voice was 
 strained in its earnestness. I felt a thrill of 
 admiration go through me as the Pilot answered 
 in a sweet, clear voice: "They say so, Bruce. 
 But you are not afraid?" 
 
 Bruce kept his eyes on his face and answered 
 with grave hesitation : 
 
 "No — not — afraid — but I'd like to live a little 
 longer. I've made such a mess of it, I'd like to 
 try again.'* Then he paused, and his lips 
 quivered a little. "There's my mother, you 
 know," he added, apologetically, "and Jim." 
 Jim was his younger brother and sworn chum. 
 
 "Yes, I know, Bruce, but it won't be very long 
 for them, too, and it's a good place." 
 
 "Yes, I believe it all — always did — talked rot 
 •"-you'll forgive me that?"
 
 The Pilot's Grip lOl 
 
 •Don't, don't," said Moore quickly, with sharp 
 pain in his voice, and Bruce smiled a little and 
 closed his eyes, saying: "I'm tired." But he 
 immediately opened them again and looked up. 
 
 **What is it?" asked Moore, smiling down into 
 
 his eyes. 
 
 **The Duke," the poor lips whispefec^. 
 ' "He is coming," said Moore, confidentlfjo 
 though how he knew I could not tell. But even 
 as he spoke, looking out of the window, I saw 
 Jingo come swinging round the bluff. Bruce 
 heard the beat of his hoofs, smiled, opened his 
 eyes and waited. The leap of joy in his eyes as 
 The Duke came in, clean, cool and fresh as the 
 morning, went to my heart. 
 
 Neither man said a word, but Bruce took hold 
 of The Duke's hand in both of his. He was fast 
 growing weaker. I gave him brandy, and he 
 recovered a little strength. 
 
 "I am dying, Duke," he said, quietly. "Prom- 
 ise you won't blame yourself." 
 
 "I can't, old man," said The Duke, with a 
 shudder. "Would to heaven I could." 
 
 "You were too strong for me, and you didn't 
 think, did you?" and the weak voice had a caress 
 in it
 
 102 The Sky Pilot 
 
 *'No, no! God knows," said The Duie, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 There was a long silence, and again Bruco 
 opened his eyes and whispered' 
 
 "The Pilot." 
 
 Moore came to him. 
 
 *'Read 'The Prodigal,' " he said faintly, and in 
 Moore's clear, sweet voice the music of that 
 matchless story fell upon our ears. 
 
 Again Bruce's eyes summoned me. I bent 
 over him. 
 
 •'My letter," he said, faintly, **in my coat ** 
 
 I brought to him the last letter from his mother. 
 He held the envelope before his eyes, then 
 handed it to me, whispering: 
 
 *'Read." 
 
 I opened the letter and looked at the words 
 **My darling Davie," My tongue stuck and not 
 a sound could I make. Moore put out his hand 
 and took it from me. The Duke rose to go out, 
 calling me with his eyes, but Bruce motioned him 
 to stay, and he sat down and bowed his head, 
 while Moore read the letter. 
 
 His tones were clear and steady till he came to 
 the last words, when his voice broke and ended 
 in a sob :
 
 The Pilot's Grip 103 
 
 '*And oh, Davie, laddie, if ever your heart turns 
 home again^ remember the door is aye open, and 
 if s joy you'll bring with you to us all. ' ' 
 
 Bruce lay quite still, and, from his closed eyes, 
 big tears ran down his cheeks. It was his las« 
 farewell to her whose love had been to him the 
 anchor to all things pure here and to heaven 
 beyond. 
 
 He took the letter from Moore's hand, put it 
 with difficulty to his lips, and then, touching the 
 open Bible, he said, between his breaths: 
 
 "It's — very like — there's really — no fear, is 
 there?" 
 
 "No, not" said Moore, with cheerful, confident 
 voice, though his tears were flowing. "No fear 
 of your welcome." 
 
 His eyes met mine. I bent over him. "Tell 
 her " and his voice faded away. 
 
 "What shall I tell her?" I asked, trying to 
 recall him. But the message was never given. 
 He moved one hand slowly toward The Duke till 
 it touched his head. The Duke lifted his face 
 and looked down at him, and then he did a beau- 
 tiful thing for which I forgave him much. He 
 stooped over and kissed the lips grown so white, 
 and then the brow. The light came back into th©
 
 a04 The Sky Pilot 
 
 sjes of the dying man, he smiled once more, and 
 smilingly faced toward the Great Beyond. And 
 Ihe morning air, fresh from the sun-tipped mount- 
 ains and sweet with the scent of the June roses,, 
 came blowing soft and cool through the open 
 window upon the dead, smiling face. And it 
 seemed fitting so. It came from the land of the 
 Morning. 
 
 Again The Duke did a beautiful thing; for, 
 reaching across his dead friend, he offered his 
 hand to The Pilot. "Mr. Moore," he said, with 
 fine courtesy, "you are a brave man and a good 
 man; I ask your forgiveness for much rudeness." 
 
 But Moore only shook his head while he took 
 tlae outstretched hand, and said, brokenly: 
 
 "Don't! I can't stand it. " 
 
 "The Company of the Noble Seven will meet 
 GO more," said The Duke, with a faint smile. 
 
 They did meet, however; but when they did. 
 The Pilot was in the chair, and it was not for 
 fHDker. 
 . The Pilot had *'got his grip," as Bill said.
 
 Gwen 
 
 105
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 GWEN 
 
 It was not many days after my arrival in the 
 Foothill country that I began to hear of Gwen. 
 They all had stories of her. The details were not 
 many, but the impression was vivid. She lived 
 remote from that centre of civilization known as 
 Swan Creek in the postal g^ide, but locally as 
 Old Latour's, far up among the hills near the 
 Devil's Lake, and from her father's ranch she 
 never ventured. But some of the men had had 
 glimpses of her and had come to definite opinions 
 regarding her. 
 
 "What is she like?" I asked Bill one day, trying 
 to pin him down to something like a descriptive 
 account of her. 
 
 "Like! She's a terrer," he said, with slow 
 emphasis, "a holy terrer." 
 
 **But what is she like? What does she look 
 Vike?" I asked impatiently. 
 
 "Look like?" He considered a moment, looked 
 
 tut
 
 So8 The Sky Pilot 
 
 slowly round as if searching for a simile, then 
 answered: *'I dunno." 
 
 "Don't know? What do you mean? Haven't 
 you seen her?" 
 
 *'Yeh! But she ain't like nothin'." 
 
 Bill was quite decided upon this point. 
 
 I tried again. 
 
 "Well, what sort of hair has' she got? She's 
 got hair, I suppose?" 
 
 "Hayer! Well, a few!" said Bill, with some 
 choice combinations of profanity in repudiation 
 of my suggestion. "Yards of it! Red!" 
 
 "Git out!" contradicted Hi. "Red! Tain 't no 
 more red than mine!" 
 
 Bill regarded Hi's hair critically. 
 
 "What color do you put onto your old brush?" 
 he asked cautiously. 
 
 ** 'Tain't no difference. 'Tain't red, anyhow " 
 
 "Red! Well, not quite exactly," and Bill went 
 Jff into a low, long, choking chuckle, ejaculating 
 now and then, "Red! Jee-mi-ny Ann! Red!" 
 
 "No, Hi," he went on, recovering himself with 
 the same abruptness as he used with his bronco, 
 and looking at his friend with a face even more 
 than usually solemn, "your hayer ain't red, Hi; 
 don't let any of your relatives persuade you te
 
 Gwen 109 
 
 that. 'Tain't red!" and he threatened to go off 
 again, but pulled himself up with dangerous 
 suddenness. "It may be blue, cerulyum blue or 
 
 even purple, but red ! " He paused violently, 
 
 looking at his friend as if he found him a new 
 and interesting object of study upon which he 
 could not trust himself to speak. Nor could he 
 be induced to proceed with the description he had 
 begun. 
 
 But Hi, paying no attention to Bill's oration, 
 took up the subject with enthusiasm. 
 
 "She kin ride— she's a reg'lar buster to ride, 
 ain't she, Bill?" Bill nodded. "She kin bunch 
 cattle an' cut out an' yank a steer up to any 
 cowboy on the range," 
 
 "Why, how big is she?" 
 
 "Big? Why, she's just a kid! 'Tain't the 
 bigness of her, it's the nerve. She's got the 
 coldest kind of nerve you ever seen. Hain't she, 
 Bill?" And again Bill nodded. 
 
 " 'Member the day she dropped that steer. 
 Bill?" went on Hi. 
 
 "What was that?" I asked, eager for a yarn. 
 
 "Oh, nuthin'," said Bill. 
 
 "Nuthin' !" retorted Hi. "Pretty big nuthin' T 
 
 "What was it?" I urged.
 
 no The Sky Pilot 
 
 ((i 
 
 'Oh, Bill here did some funny work at old 
 Meredith's round-up, but he don't speak of it. 
 He's shy, you see," and Hi grinned. 
 
 "Well, there ain't no occasion for your pro- 
 ceedin' onto that tact," said Bill disgustedly, 
 and Hi loyally refrained, so I have never yet 
 got the rights of the story. But from what I did 
 hear I gathered that Bill, at the risk of his life, 
 had pulled The Duke from under the hoofs of a 
 mad steer, and that little Gwen had, in the cool- 
 est possible manner, ''sailed in on her bronco" 
 and, by putting two bullets into the steer's head, 
 had saved them both from great danger, perhaps 
 from death, for the rest of the cattle were crowd- 
 ing near. Of course Bill could never be per- 
 suaded to speak of the incident. A true western 
 man will never hesitate to tell you what he can do, 
 but of what he has done he does not readily speak. 
 
 The only other item that Hi contributed to the 
 sketch of Gwen was that her temper could blaze 
 if the occasion demanded. 
 
 •• 'Member young Hill, Bill?" 
 
 Bill" 'membered." 
 
 "Didn't she cut into him sudden? Sarved 
 him right, too." 
 
 "What did she do?"
 
 Gwen lit 
 
 "Cut him across the face with her quirt in 
 good style." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Knockin' about her Indian Joe." 
 
 Joe was, as I came to learn, Ponka's son and 
 Gwen's most devoted slave. 
 
 *'0h, she ain't no refrigerator." 
 
 "Yes," assented Bill. "She's a leetle swift." 
 
 Then, as if fearing he had been apologizing for 
 her, he added, with the air of one settling the 
 question: "But she's good stock! She suits 
 me!" 
 
 The Duke helped me to another side of her 
 character. 
 
 "She is a remarkable child," he said, one day, 
 "Wild and shy as a coyote, but fearless, quite; 
 and with a heart full of passions, Meredith, the 
 Old Timer, you know, has kept her up there 
 among the hills. She sees no one but himself 
 and Ponka's Blackfeet relations, who treat her 
 like a goddess and help to spoil her utterly. She 
 knows their lingo and their ways — goes off with 
 them for a week at a time." 
 
 "What! With the Blackfeet?" 
 
 "Ponka and Joe, of course, go along; but eveor 
 without them she is as safe as if surrounded by
 
 112 The Sky Pilot 
 
 the Coldstream Guards, but she has given them 
 up for some time now. " 
 
 "And at home?" I asked. "Has she any edu- 
 cation? Can she read or write?" 
 
 "Not she. She can make her own dresses, 
 moccasins and leggings. She can cook and 
 wash — that is, when she feels in the mood. And 
 she knows all about the birds and beasts and 
 flowers and that sort of thing, but — education! 
 Why, she is hardly civilized!" 
 
 "What a shame!" I said. "How old is she?" 
 
 "Oh, a mere child; fourteen or fifteen, I imag- 
 ine; but a woman in many things." 
 
 "And what does her father say to all this? 
 Can he control her?" 
 
 "Control!" said The Duke, in utter astonish- 
 ment. "Why, bless your soul, nothing in heaven 
 or earth could control Jier. Wait till you see her 
 stand with her proud little head thrown back, 
 giving orders to Joe, and you will never again 
 connect the idea of control with Gwen, She 
 might be a princess for the pride of her. I've 
 seen some, too, in my day, but none to touch her 
 for sheer, imperial pride, little Lucifer that she 
 
 is." 
 
 •( 
 
 And how does her father stand her non-
 
 Gwen 113 
 
 ssense?'* I asked, for I confess I was not much 
 taken with the picture The Duke had drawn. 
 
 "Her father simply follows behind her and 
 adores, as do all things that come near her, down, 
 or up, perhaps, to her two dogs — WoM and Loo — - 
 for either of which she would readily die if need 
 be. Still," he added, after a pause, "it is a 
 shame, as you say. She ought to know some- 
 thing of the refinements of civilization, to which, 
 after all, she belongs, and from which none of us 
 can hope to escape." The Duke was silent for 
 a few moments, and then added, with some hesi- 
 tation: "Then, too, she is quite a pagan; never 
 saw a prayer-book, you know." 
 
 And so it came about, chiefly through The 
 Duke's influence, I imagine, that I was engaged 
 by the Old Timer to go up to his ranch every 
 week and teach his daughter something of the 
 elementaries of a lady's education. 
 
 My introduction was ominous of the many 
 things I was to suffer of that same young maiden 
 before I had finished my course with her. The 
 Old Timer had given careful directions as to the 
 trail that would lead me to the canyon where ha 
 was to meet me. Up the Swan went the trail, 
 winding ever downward into deeper and narrower
 
 114 The Sky Pilot 
 
 coulees and up to higher open sunlit slopes, till 
 suddenly it settled into a valley which began with 
 great width and narrowed to a canyon whose 
 rocky sides were dressed out with shrubs and 
 trailing vines and wet with trickling rivulets 
 from the numerous springs that oozed and gushed 
 from the black, glistening rocks. This canyon 
 was an eerie place of which ghostly tales were 
 told from the old Blackfeet times. And to this 
 day no Blackfoot will dare to pass through this 
 black-walled, oozy, glistening canyon after the 
 moon has passed the western lip. But in the 
 warm light of broad day the canyon was a good 
 enough place, cool and sweet, and I lingered 
 through, waiting for the Old Timer, who failed 
 to appear till the shadows began to darken its 
 western black sides. 
 
 Out of the mouth of the canyon the trail 
 climbed to a wide stretch of prairie that swept up 
 over soft hills to the left and down to the bright 
 gleaming waters of the Devil's Lake on the right. 
 In the sunlight the lake lay like a gem radiant 
 with many colors, the far side black in the shadow 
 of the crowding pines, then in the middle deep, 
 blue and purple, and nearer, many shades of 
 emerald that ran quite to the white, sandy beach.
 
 Gwen 115 
 
 Right in front stood the ranch buildings, upon a 
 slight rising ground and surrounded by a sturdy 
 palisade of upright pointed poles. This was the 
 castle of the princess. I rode up to the open 
 gate, then turned and stood to look down upon 
 the marvellous lake shining and shimmering with 
 its many radiant colors. Suddenly there was an 
 awful roar, my pony shot round upon his hind 
 legs after his beastly cayuse manner, deposited 
 me sitting upon the ground and fled down the 
 trail, pursued by two huge dogs that brushed past 
 me as I fell. I was aroused from my amazement 
 by a peal of laughter, shrill but full of music. 
 Turning, I saw my pupil, as I guessed, standing at 
 the head of a most beautiful pinto (spotted) pony 
 with a heavy cattle quirt in her hand. I scrambled 
 to my feet and said, somewhat angrily, I fear : 
 
 "What are you laughing at? Why don't you 
 call back your dogs? They will chase my pony 
 beyond all reach." 
 
 She lifted her little head, shook back her 
 masses of brown-red hair, looked at me as if I 
 were quite beneath contempt and said: "No, 
 theywill kill him." 
 
 "Then," said I, for I was very angry, "I will 
 kill them," pulling at the revolver in my belt.
 
 ii6 The Sky Pilot 
 
 "Then," she said, and for the first time I 
 noticed her eyes blue-black, with gray rims, "I 
 will kill you," and she whipped out an ugly- 
 looking revolver. From her face I had no doubt 
 that she would not hesitate to do as she had said. 
 I changed my tactics, for I was anxious about my 
 pony, and said, v/ith my best smile : 
 
 •'Can't you call them back? Won't they obey 
 you?" 
 
 Her face changed in a moment. 
 
 *'Is it your pony? Do you love him very 
 much?" 
 
 "Dearly!" I said, persuading myself of a sud» 
 den affection for the cranky little brute. 
 
 She sprang upon her pinto and set off down the 
 trail. The pony was now coursing up and down 
 the slopes, doubling like a hare, instinctively 
 avoiding the canyon where he would be cornered. 
 He was mad with terror at the huge brutes that 
 were silently but with awful and sure swiftness 
 running him down. 
 
 The girl on the pinto whistled shrilly, and 
 called to her dogs: "Down, Wolf! Back, Loo!" 
 but, running low, with long, stretched bodies, 
 they heeded not, but sped on, ever gaining upon 
 the pony that now circled toward the pinto. As
 
 Gwen 
 
 117 
 
 they drew near in their circling, the girl urged 
 her pinto to meet them, loosening her lariat as 
 she went. As the pony neared the pinto he 
 slackened his speed; immediately the nearer dog 
 gathered herself in two short jumps and sprang 
 for the pony's throat. But, even as she sprang, 
 the lariat whirled round the girl's head and fell 
 swift and sure about the dog's neck, and next 
 moment she lay choking upon the prairie. Her 
 mate paused, looked back, and gave up the chase. 
 But dire vengeance overtook them, for, like one 
 possessed, the girl fell upon them with her quirt 
 and beat them one after the other till, in pity for 
 the brutes, I interposed. 
 
 "They shall do as I say or I shall kill them! I 
 shall kill them!" she cried, raging and stamping. 
 
 "Better shoot them," I suggested, pulling out 
 my pistol. 
 
 Immediately she flung herself upon the one that 
 moaned and whined at her feet, crying: 
 
 "If you dare! If you dare!" Then she burst 
 into passionate sobbing. ' ' You bad Loo ! You bad, 
 dear old Loo! But you were bad — you know you 
 were bad!" and so she went on with her arms 
 about Loo's neck till Loo, whining and quivering 
 with love and delight, threatened to go quite
 
 li8 The Sky Pilot 
 
 tnad, and Wolf, standing- majestically near, broke 
 into short howls of impatience for his turn of 
 caressing. They made a strange group, those 
 three wild things, equally fierce and passionate in 
 hate and in love. 
 
 Suddenly the girl remembered me, and stand 
 ing up she said, half ashamed: 
 
 "They always obey vie. They are mine^ but. 
 they kill any strange thing that comes in through 
 the gate. They are allowed to.** 
 
 "It is a pleasant whim." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 'I mean, isn't that dangerous to strangers?** 
 *0h, no one ever comes alone, except Tb« 
 Duke. And they keep off the wolves." 
 
 "The Duke comes, does he?" 
 
 "Yes!" and her eyes lit up. "He is my friend. 
 He calls me his 'princess,* and he teaches me to 
 talk and tells me stories — oh, wonderful stories •" 
 
 I looked in wonder at her face, so gentle, so girl' 
 ish, and tried to think back to the picture of the 
 girl who a few moments before had so coolly 
 threatened to shoot me and had sa furiously 
 beaten her dogs. 
 
 I kept her talking of The Duke as we walked 
 back to the gate, watching her face the while. It 
 
 (I-
 
 Gwen 119 
 
 was not beautiful ; it was too thin, and the mouth 
 was too large. But the teeth were good, and the 
 eyes, blue-black with gray rims, looked straight 
 at you ; true eyes and brave, whether in love or 
 in war. Her hair was her glory. Red it was, in 
 spite of Hi's denial, but of such marvellous, 
 indescribable shade that in certain lights, as she 
 rode over the prairie, it streamed behind her like 
 a purple banner. A most confusing and bev/ilder- 
 ing color, but quite in keeping with the nature of 
 the owner. 
 
 She gave her pinto to Joe and, standing at the 
 door, welcomed me with a dignity and gracious- 
 ness that made me think that The Duke was not 
 far wrong when he named her *'Princess. " 
 
 The door opened u^^on the main or living room. 
 It was a long apartment, with low ceiling and 
 walls of hewn logs chinked and plastered and all 
 beautifully whitewashed and clean. The tables, 
 chairs and benches were all home-made On the 
 floor v/ere magnificent skins of wolf. bear. musTfe 
 ox and mountain goat. The walls were decorated 
 with heads and horns of deer and mountain 
 sheep, eagles' wings and a beautiful breast of % 
 loon, which Gwen had shot and of which she was 
 very proud. At one end of the room a huge
 
 120 The Sky Pilot 
 
 stone fireplace stood radiant in its summer decora- 
 tions of ferns and grasses and wild-flowers. At 
 the other end a door opened into another room, 
 smaller and richly furnished with relics of former 
 grandeur. 
 
 Everything was clean and well kept. Every 
 nook, shelf and corner was decked with flowers 
 and ferns from the canyon. 
 
 A strange house it was, full of curious contrasts, 
 but it fitted this quaint child that welcomed me- 
 with such gracious courtesy.
 
 Gwen*s First Prayers 
 
 tti
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 gwen's first prayers 
 
 It was with hesitation, almost with fear, that I 
 began with Gwen ; but even had I been able to 
 foresee the endless series of exasperations through 
 which she was destined to conduct me, still would 
 I have undertaken my task. For the child, with 
 all her w^ilfulness, her tempers and her pride, 
 made me, as she did all others, her willing slave. 
 
 Her lessons went on, brilliantly or not at all, 
 according to her sweet will. She learned to read 
 with extraordinary rapidity, for she was eager to 
 know more of that great world of which The 
 Duke had told her such thrilling tales. Writing 
 she abhorred. She had no one to write to. Why 
 should she cramp her fingers over these crooked 
 little marks? But she mastered with hardly a 
 struggle the mysteries of figures, for she would 
 have to sell her cattle, and **dad doesn't know 
 when they are cheating. " Her ideas of education 
 were purely utilitarian, and what did not appear 
 
 133
 
 124 The Sky Pilot 
 
 immediately useful she refused to trifle with. 
 And so all through the following long winter she 
 vexed my righteous soul with her wilfulness and 
 pride. An appeal to her father was idle. She 
 would wind her long, thin arms about his neck 
 and let her waving red hair float over him until 
 the old man was quite helpless to exert authority. 
 The Duke could do most with her. To please 
 him she would struggle with her crooked letters 
 for an hour at a time, but even his influence and 
 authority had its limits. 
 
 "Must I?" she said one day, in answer to a 
 demand of hisformore faithful study; "must /.?" 
 And throwing up her proud little head, and 
 shakmg back with a trick she had her streaming 
 red hair, she looked straight at him from her 
 blue-gray eyes and asked the monosyllabic ques- 
 tion, "Why?" And The Duke looked back at her 
 with his slight smile for a few moments and then 
 said in cold, even tones: 
 
 "I really don't know why," and turned his 
 back on her. Immediately she sprang at him, 
 shook him by the arm, and, quivering with pas- 
 sion, cried: 
 
 "You are not to speak to me like that, and you 
 a"e net to turn 5-our back that way!"
 
 G wen's First Prayers 125 
 
 "What a little princess it is," he said admir- 
 ingly, "and what a time she will give herself 
 some day!" Then he added, smiling sadly: "Was 
 I rude, Gwen? Then I am sorry." Her rage 
 was gone, and she looked as if she could have 
 held him by the feet. As it was, too proud to 
 show her feelings, she just looked at him with 
 softening eyes, and then sat down to the work she 
 had refused. This was after the advent of The 
 Pilot at Swan Creek, and, as The Duke rode 
 home with me that night, after long musing he 
 said with hesitation: "She ought to have some 
 religion, poor child; she will grow up a perfect 
 little devil. The Pilot might be of service if you 
 tould bring him up. Women need that sort of 
 thing; it refines, you know." 
 
 'Would she have him?" I asked. 
 
 "Question," he replied, doubtfully. "You 
 might suggest it." 
 
 Which I did, introducing somewhat clumsily, I 
 fear. The Duke's name. 
 
 "The Duke says he is to make me good!" she?* 
 cried. "I won't have him, I hate him and yon 
 too!" And for that day she disdained all lessonSp 
 and when The Duke next appeared she greeted 
 him with the exclamation, "I won't have you*
 
 326 The Sky Pilot 
 
 old Pilot, and I don*t want to be good, and — and 
 —you think he's no good yourself," at which The 
 Duke opened his eyes. 
 
 **How do you know? I never said so!" 
 
 *'You laughed at him to dad one day.'* 
 
 "Did I?" said The Duke, gravely. "Then I 
 hasten to assure you that I have changed my 
 mind. He is a good, brave man. *" 
 
 "He falls off his horse,'* she said, with con- 
 tempt. 
 
 '*1 rather think he sticks on now,'" replied The 
 Duke, repressmg a smile, 
 
 "Besides," she went on, "'he s just a kidj Bil) 
 said so." 
 
 "Well, he might be more ancient,*' acknowl- 
 edged The Duke, **but in that he is steadily 
 improving." 
 
 "Anyway," with an air of finality, "he is not 
 to come here." 
 
 But he did come, and under her own escort, one 
 threatening August evening, 
 
 **I found him in the creek," she announced, 
 with defiant shamefacedness, marching in The 
 Pilot half drowned. 
 
 "I think I could have crossed," he said, apolo- 
 getically, "for Louis was getting on his feet again. '''
 
 Gwen's First Prayers 127 
 
 **No, you wouldn't," she protested. "You 
 would have been down into the canyon by now^ 
 and you ought to be thankful." 
 
 "So I am," he hastened to say, "very! But," 
 he added, unwilling to give up his contention, **! 
 have crossed the Swan before." 
 
 •'Not when it was in flood." 
 
 •'Yes, when it was in flood, higher than now. *' 
 'Not where the banks are rocky." 
 
 *'No-o!" he hesitated. 
 
 "There, then, you would have been drowned 
 but for my lariat!" she cried, triumphantly. 
 
 To this he doubtfully assented. 
 
 They were much alike, in high temper, in 
 enthusiasm, in vivid imagination, and in sensitive 
 feeling. When the Old Timer came in Gwen 
 triumphantly introf''v.ced The Pilot as having* 
 been rescued from a watery grave by her lariat, 
 and again they fought out the possibilities ot 
 drowning and of escape till Gwen almost lost hef 
 temper, and was appeased only by the most pro- 
 fuse expressions of gratitude on the part of The 
 Pilot for her timely assistance. The Old Timet 
 was perplexed. He was afraid to offend Gwev; 
 and yet unwilling to be cordial to her guesv 
 The Pilot was quick to feel this, and, soon aftt
 
 128 The Sky Pilot 
 
 tea, rose to go, Gwen's disappointment showed 
 in her face. 
 
 "Ask him to stay, dad,*' she said, in a whisper. 
 But the half-hearted invitation acted like a spur, 
 and The Pilot was determined to set off. 
 
 *'There's a bad storm coming," she said; "and 
 besides," she added, triumphantly "you cant 
 ^ross the Swan. '* 
 
 This settled it, and the most earnest prayers cf 
 the Old Timer could not have held him back. 
 
 We all went down to see him cross, Gwen lead- 
 ilng her pinto. The Swan was far over its banks, 
 .md in the middle running swift and strong. 
 Louis snorted, refused and finally plunged. 
 Bravely he swam, till the swift-running v/ater 
 struck him, and over he went on his side, throw- 
 ing his rider into the water. But The Pilot kept 
 ^is head, and, holding by the stirrups, paddled 
 ilong by Louis* side. When they were half-way 
 *cross Louis saw that he had no chance of mak- 
 mg the landing; so, like a sensible horse, he 
 turned and made for the shore. HerJJ, too, the 
 banks were high, and the pony beg&a to grow 
 discouraged. 
 
 **Let him float dov/n further!" shrieked Gwea, 
 in. anxious excitement; and, urging her pint®
 
 Gwen's First Prayers 129 
 
 down the bank, she coaxed the struggling pony 
 down the stream till opposite a shelf of rock 
 level with the high water. Then she threw her 
 lariat, and, catching Louis about the neck and 
 the horn of his saddle, she held taut, till, half 
 drowned, he scrambled up the bank, dragging 
 The Pilot with him. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, almost tearfully. 
 ' Vou see, you couldn't get across." 
 
 The Pilot staggered to his feet, took a step 
 toward her, gasped out: 
 
 "lean!" and pitched headlong. With a little 
 cry she flew to him, and turned him over on his 
 back. In a few moments he revived, sat up, and 
 looked about stupidly. 
 
 "Where's Louis?" he said, with his face toward 
 the swollen stream. 
 
 "Safe enough," she answered; "but you must 
 come in, the rain is just going to pour." 
 
 But The Pilot seemed possessed. 
 
 "No, I'm going across," he said, rising. 
 
 Gwen was greatly distressed. 
 
 "But your poor horse," she said, cleverly 
 changing her ground; "he is quite tired out." 
 
 The Old Timer now joined earnestly in urging 
 him to stay till the storm was past. So. with a
 
 130 The Sky PiloS 
 
 final look at the stream, The Pilot turned towaid 
 the house. 
 
 Of course I knew what would happen. Before 
 the evening was over he had captured the house- 
 hold. The moment he appeared with dry things 
 on he ran to the organ, that had stood for ten 
 years closed and silent, opened it and began to 
 play. As he played and sang song after song, 
 the Old Timer's eyes began to glisten under his 
 shaggy brows. But when he dropped into the 
 exquisite Irish melody, *'Oft in the Stilly Night." 
 the old man drew a hard breath and groaned out 
 to me: 
 
 "It was her mother's song," and from that time 
 The Pilot had him fast. It was easy to pass to 
 the old hymn, "Nearer, My God, to Thee," and 
 then The Pilot said simply, "May we have pray- 
 ers?" He looked at Gwen, but she gazed blankly 
 at him and then at her father. 
 
 "What does he say, dad?" 
 
 It was pitiful to see the old man's face grow 
 slowly red under the deep tan, as he said : 
 
 "You may, sir. There's been none here for 
 many years, and the worse for us." He rose 
 slowly, went into the inner room and returned 
 with a Bible.
 
 IT WAS HER MOTHER'S SONG
 
 Gwen's First Prayers 131 
 
 ail 
 
 'It's her mother's," he said, in a voice deep 
 with emotion. "I put it in her trunk the day I 
 laid her out yonder under the pines." The Pilot, 
 without looking at him, rose and reverently took 
 the book in both his hands and said gently: 
 
 "It was a sad day for you, but for her ,** 
 
 He paused. "You did not grudge it to her?" 
 
 "Not now, but then, yes! I wanted her, we 
 needed her. " The Old Timer's tears were flowing. 
 
 The Pilot put his hand caressingly upon the old 
 man's shoulder as if he had been his father, and 
 said in his clear, sweet voice, ' ' Some day you will 
 go to her." 
 
 Upon this scene poor Gwen gazed with eyes 
 wide open with amazement and a kind of fear. 
 She had never seen her father weep since the 
 awful day that she could never forget, when he 
 had knelt in dumb agony beside the bed on which 
 her mother lay white and still ; nor would he heed 
 her till, climbing up, she tried to make her mother 
 waken and hear her cries. Then he had caught 
 her up In his arms, pressing her with tears and 
 great sobs to his heart. To-night she seemed to 
 feel that something was wrong. She went and 
 stood by her father, and, stroking his gray hair 
 kindly, she said:
 
 9^7 The Sky F 
 
 "'What is he saying, daddy? Is he making yott 
 cry?" She looked at The Pilot defiantly. 
 
 "No, no, child," said the old man, hastily, "sit 
 here and listen." 
 
 And while the storm raved outside we three sat 
 listening to that ancient story of love ineffable. 
 And, as the words fell like sweet music upon our 
 ears, the old man sat with eyes that looked far 
 av/ay, while the child listened with devouring 
 eagerness, 
 
 "Is it a fairy tale, daddy?" she asked, as The 
 Pilot paused. **It isn't true, is it?" and her voice 
 had a pleading note hard for the old man to bear. 
 
 "Yes, yes, my child," said he, brokenly. 
 "God forgive me!" 
 
 "Of course it's true,"" said The Pilot, quickly, 
 "I'll read it all to you to-morrow. It's a beauti» 
 ful story!" 
 
 "No," she said, imperiousty^ "to-night. Read 
 it ^ow! Go on!" she said, stamping her foot, 
 "don't you hear me?" 
 
 The Pilot gazed in surprise at her, and thea 
 turning to the old man, szidi 
 
 "Shall I?" 
 
 The Old Timer simply nodded and the reading 
 went on. Those were not my best days, and ths
 
 Gwen's First Praj^ers 133 
 
 faith of my childhood was not as it had been ; but, 
 as The Pilot carried us through those matchless 
 scenes of self-forgetting love and service the 
 rapt wonder in the child's face as she listened, 
 the appeal in her voice as, now to her father, 
 and now to me, she cried: "Is that true, too? 
 Is it all true?" made it impossible for me 
 to hesitate in my answer. And I was glad 
 to find it easy to give my firm adherence to 
 the truth of all that tale of wonder. And, as 
 more and more it grew upon The Pilot that the 
 story he was reading, so old to him and to all he 
 had ever met, was new to one in that listening 
 group, his face began to glow and his eyes to 
 blaze, and he saw and showed me things that 
 night I had never seen before, nor have I seen 
 them since. The great figure of the Gospels 
 lived, moved before our eyes. We saw Him bend 
 to touch the blind, we heard Him speak His 
 marvellous teaching, we felt the throbbing excite- 
 ment of the crowds that pressed against Him. 
 
 Suddenly The Pilot stopped, turned over the 
 leaves and began again: *'And He led them out 
 as far as to Bethany. And He lifted up His hands 
 and blessed them. And it came to pass as He 
 blessed them He was parted from them and 9
 
 t34 The Sky Pilot 
 
 cloud received Him out of their sight.** Thero 
 was silence for some minutes, then Gwen said: 
 
 ••Where did He go?" 
 
 "Up into Heaven," answered The Pilot, 
 simply. 
 
 "That's where mother is,** she said to her 
 father, who nodded in reply. 
 
 "Does He know?" she asked. The old man 
 looked distressed. 
 
 "Of course He does," said The Pilot, **and she 
 sees Him all the time. " 
 
 "Oh, daddy!" she cried, "isn't that good?'* 
 
 But the old man only hid his face in his hands 
 and groaned. 
 
 "Yes," went on The Pilot, "and He sees 
 us, too, and hears uis speak, and knows our 
 thoughts." 
 
 Again the look of wonder and fear came into 
 her eyes, but she said no word. The experiences 
 of the evening had made the world new to her. 
 It could never be the same to her again. It gave 
 me a queer feeling to see her, when we three 
 kneeled to pray, stand helplessly looking on, not 
 knowing what to do, then sink beside her father, 
 and, winding her arms about his neck, cling to 
 him as the words of prayer were spoken into the
 
 Gwen's First Prayers 135 
 
 ear of Him whom no man can see, but who we 
 believe is near to all that call upon Him. 
 
 Those were Gwen's first *'prayers," and in 
 them Gwen's part was small, for fear and won- 
 der filled her heart; but the day was to come, and 
 all too soon, when she should have to pour out 
 her soul with strong crying- and tears. That day 
 came and passed, but the story of it is not to b© 
 told here.
 
 G 
 
 ^"-^ i ^naijeng'e 
 
 12?
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 gwen's challenge 
 
 Gwen was undoubtedly wild and, as The Sky 
 Pilot said, wilful and wicked. Even Bronco Bill 
 and Hi Kendal would say so, without, of course ; 
 abating- one jot of their admiration for her. For 
 fourteen years she had lived chiefly with wild 
 things. The cattle on the range, wild as deer, 
 the coyotes, the jack-rabbits and the timber 
 wolves were her mates and her instructors. 
 From these she learned her wild ways. The 
 rolling prairie of the Foothill country was her 
 home. She loved it and all things that moved 
 upon it with passionate love, the only kind she 
 was capable of. And all summer long she spent 
 her days riding up and down the range alone, or 
 wit.i her father, or with Joe, or, best of all, with 
 The Duke, her hero and her friend. So she 
 grew up strong, wholesome and self-reliant, fear- 
 ing nothing alive and as untamed as a yearling 
 range colt
 
 140 The Sky Pilot 
 
 She was not beautiful. The winds and sun had 
 left her no complexion to speak of, but the glory 
 of her red hair, gold-red, with purple sheen, 
 aothing could tarnish. Her eyes, too, deep blue 
 with rims of gray, that flashed with the glint of 
 steel or shone with melting light as of the stars, 
 according to her mood — those Irish, warm, deep 
 eyes of hers were worth a man's looking at. 
 
 Of course, all spoiled her. Ponka and her son 
 Joe grovelled in abjectest adoration, while her 
 father and all who came within touch of her 
 simply did her will. Even The Duke, who loved 
 her better than anything else, yielded lazy, 
 admiring homage to his Little Princess, and 
 certainly, when she stood straight up with her 
 proud little gold-crowned head thrown back, 
 flashing forth wrath or issuing imperious com- 
 mands, she looked a princess, all of her. 
 
 It was a great day and a good day for her when 
 she fished The Sky Pilot out of the Swan and 
 brought him home, and the night of G wen's first 
 *'prayers," when she heard for the first time the 
 story of the Man of Nazareth, was the best of all 
 her nights up to that time. All through the 
 wmter, under The Pilot's guidance, she, with her 
 'jither, the Old Timer, listening near, went over
 
 Gwen's Challenge 141 
 
 and over that story so old now to many, but ever 
 becoming new, till a whole new world of mysteri- 
 ous Powers and Presences lay open to her imagina- 
 tion and became the home of great realities. 
 She was rich in imagination and, when The Pilot 
 read Bunyan's immortal poem, her mother's old 
 *' Pilgrim's Progress," she moved and lived beside 
 the hero of that tale, backing him up in his fights 
 and consumed with anxiety over his many 
 impending perils, till she had him safely across 
 the river and delivered into the charge of the 
 shining ones. 
 
 The Pilot himself, too,, was a new and whole- 
 some experience. He was the first thing she had 
 yet encountered that refused submission, and the 
 first human being that had failed to fall down and 
 worship. There was something in him that 
 would not always yield, and, indeed, her pride 
 and her imperious tempers he met with surprise 
 and sometimes with a pity that verged toward 
 contempt. With this she was not well pleased 
 and not infrequently she broke forth upon him. 
 One of these outbursts is stamped upon my mind, 
 not only because of its unusual violence, but 
 chiefly because of the events which followed. 
 The original cause of her rage was some trifling
 
 142 The Sky Pilot 
 
 misdeed of the unfortunate Joe ; but when I came 
 upon the scene it was The Pilot who was occupy- 
 ing her attention. The expression of surprise and 
 pity on his face appeared to stir her up. 
 
 •'How dare you look at me like that?" she cried. 
 
 *'How very extraordinary that you can't keep 
 hold of yourself better!" he answered. 
 
 *'I can!" she stamped, '*and I shall do as I 
 like!" 
 
 **It is a great pity," he said, with provoking 
 calm, "and besides, it is weak and silly." His 
 words were unfortunate. 
 
 *'Weak!" she gasped, when her breath came 
 back to her. "Weak!" 
 
 "Yes," he said, "very weak and childish." 
 
 Then she could have cheerfully put him to a 
 slow and cruel death. When she had recovered a 
 little she cried vehemently: 
 
 "I'm not weak! I'm strongi I'm stronger 
 than you are! I'm strong as — as— a man!" 
 
 I do not suppose she meant the insinuation ; at 
 any rate The Pilot ignored it and went on. 
 
 "You're not strong enough to keep your temper 
 down." And then, as she had no reply ready, he 
 went on, "And really, Gwen, it is not right. 
 You must not go on in this way.'*
 
 Owen's Challenge 14 j 
 
 Agfain his words were unfortunate. 
 
 '"Must not!" she cried, adding an inch to her 
 height. **Who says so?" 
 
 "God!" was the simple, short answer. 
 
 She was greatly taken back, and gave a quick 
 glance over her shoulder as if to see Him, who 
 would dare to say 7mist not to her; but, recover- 
 ing, she answered sullenly ; 
 
 "I don't care!" 
 
 "Don't care for God?" The Pilot's voice was 
 quiet and solemn, but something in his manner 
 angered her, and she blazed forth again„ 
 
 "I don't care for anyone, and I shall do as I 
 like." 
 
 The Pilot looked at her sadly for a moment, 
 and then said slowly : 
 
 "Some day, Gwen, you will not be able to do 
 as you like." 
 
 I remember well the settled defiance in her 
 tone and manner as she took a step nearer him 
 and answered in a voice trembling with passion: 
 
 "Listen! I have always done as I like, and I 
 shall do as I like till I die!" And she rushed 
 forth from the house and down toward the 
 canyon, her refuge from all disturbing things, 
 and chiefly from herself.
 
 144 The Sky Pilot 
 
 I could not shake off the impression her words 
 made upon me. "Pretty direct, that," I said to 
 The Pilot, as we rode away. "The declaration 
 may be philosophically correct, but it rings un- 
 commonly like a challenge to the Almighty. 
 Throws down the gauntlet, so to speak." 
 
 But The Pilot only said, "Don't! How can you?" 
 
 Within a week her challenge v/as accepted, and 
 liow fiercely and how gallantly did she struggle 
 to make it good! 
 
 It was The Duke that brought me the news, 
 and as he told me the story his gay, careless self- 
 command for once was gone. For in the gloom 
 of the canyon where he overtook me I could see 
 liis face gleaming out ghastly white, and even his 
 iron nerve could not keep the tremor from his 
 voice. 
 
 *'I've just sent up the doctor," was his answer 
 to my greeting. "I looked for you last night, 
 couldn't find you, and so rode off to the Fort." 
 
 "What's up?" I said, with fear in my heart, for 
 no light thing moved The Duke. 
 
 "Haven't you heard? It's Gwen," he said, and 
 the next minute or two he gave to Jingo, who 
 was indulging in a series of unexpected plunges. 
 When Jingo was brought down. The Duke was
 
 Gwen's Challenge 145 
 
 master of himself and told his tale with careful 
 self-control. 
 
 Gwen, on her father's buckskin bronco, had 
 gone with The Duke to the big plain above the 
 cut-bank where Joe was herding the cattle. The 
 day was hot and a storm was in the air. They 
 found Joe riding up and down, singing to keep 
 the cattle quiet, but having a hard time to hold 
 the bunch from breaking. While The Duke was 
 riding around the far side of the bunch, a cry 
 from Gwen arrested his attention. Joe was in 
 trouble. His horse, a half-broken cayuse, had 
 stumbled into a badger-hole and had bolted, 
 leaving Joe to the mercy of the cattle. At once 
 they began to sniff suspiciously at this phenom- 
 enon, a man on foot, and to follow cautiously on 
 his track. Joe kept his head and walked slowly 
 out, till all at once a young cow began to bawl 
 and to paw the ground. In another minute one, 
 and then another of the cattle began to toss their 
 heads and bunch and bellow till the whole herd of 
 two hundred were after Joe. Then Joe lost his 
 head and ran. Immediately the whole herd 
 broke into a thundering gallop with heads and 
 tails aloft and horns rattling like the loading of a 
 regiment of rifles.
 
 146 The Sky Pilot 
 
 ««( 
 
 •Two more minutes/* said The Duke^ "would 
 have done for Joe, for I could never have reached 
 him ; but, in spite of my most frantic warnings 
 and signalings, right into the face of that mad, 
 bellowing, thundering mass? of steers rode that 
 little girl. Nerve! I have some myself, but I 
 couldn't have done it She swung her horse 
 round Joe and sailed out with him, with the herd 
 bellowing at the tail of her bronco. I've seen 
 some cavalry things in my day but for sheer cool 
 bravery nothing touches thato'^ 
 
 *'How did it end? Did they run them down?'* 
 I asked, with terror at such a result. 
 
 "No, they crowded her toward the cut-bank, 
 and she was edging them off and was almost 
 past, when they came to a place where the bank 
 bit in, and her iron-mouthed brute wouldn't 
 swerve, but went pounding on, broke through, 
 plunged; she couldn't spring free because of Joe, 
 and pitched headlong over the bank, while the 
 cattle went thundering past. I flung myself off 
 Jingo and slid down somehow into the sand, 
 thirty feet below. Here was Joe safe enough, 
 but the bronco lay with a broken leg, and half 
 under him was Gwen, She hardly knew she was 
 hurt, but waved her hand to me and cried out.
 
 Gwen's Challenge 147 
 
 'Wasn't that a race? I couldn't swing this hard- 
 headed brute. Get me out.' But even as she 
 spoke the light faded from her eyes, she stretched 
 out her hands to me, saying faintly, 'Oh, Duke,' 
 and lay back white and still. We put a bullet 
 into the buckskin's head, and carried her home 
 m our jackets, and there she lies without a sound 
 from her poor, white lips.". 
 
 The Duke was badly cut up. I had never seen 
 him show any sign of grief before, but as he 
 finished the story he stood ghastly and shaking. 
 He read my surprise in my face and said: 
 
 "Look here, old chap, don't think me quite a 
 fool. You can't know what that little girl has 
 done for me these years. Her trust in me — it is 
 extraordinary how utterly she trusts me — some- 
 how held me up to my best and back from perdi- 
 tion. It is the one bright spot in my life in this 
 blessed country. Everyone else thinks me a 
 pleasant or unpleasant kind of fiend." 
 
 I protested rather faintly. 
 
 "Oh, don't worry your conscience," he 
 answered, with a slight return of his old smile, 
 **a fuller knowledge would only justify the opin- 
 ion." Then, after a pause, he added: "But if 
 Gvven goes, I must pull out, I could not stand it."
 
 148 The Sky Pilot 
 
 As we rode up, the doctor came out. 
 
 •'Well, what do you think?" asked The Duke. 
 
 "Can't say yet," replied the old doctor, grufiE 
 with long army practice, "bad enough. Good 
 night." 
 
 But The Duke's hand fell upon his shoulder 
 with a grip that must have got to the bone, and 
 in a husky voice he asked: 
 
 "Will she live?" 
 
 The doctor squirmed, but could not shake off 
 that crushing grip. 
 
 "Here, you young tiger, let go! What do you 
 think I am made of?" he cried, angrily. "I 
 didn't suppose I was coming to a bear's den, or I 
 should have brought a gun." 
 
 It was only by the most complete apology that 
 The Duke could mollify the old doctor sufficiently 
 to get his opinion. 
 
 "No, she will not die! Great bit of stuff! 
 Better she should die, perhaps! But can't say yet 
 for two weeks. Now remember," he added 
 sharply, looking into The Duke's woe-stricken 
 face, "her spirits must be kept up. I have lied 
 most fully and cheerfully to them inside; you 
 must do the same," and the doctor strode away, 
 calling; out :
 
 Gwen's Challenge 149 
 
 **Joe! Here, Joe! Where is he gone? Joe, I 
 say! Extraordinary selection Providence makes 
 at times; we could have spared that lazy half- 
 breed with pleasure! Joe! Oh, here you are! 
 
 Where in thunder " But here the doctor 
 
 stopped abruptly. The agony in the dark face 
 before him was too much even for the bluff 
 doctor. Straight and stiff Joe stood by the 
 horse's head till the doctor had mounted, then 
 with a great effort he said: 
 
 "Little miss, she go dead?" 
 
 *'Dead!" called out the doctor, glancing at the 
 open window. "Why, bless your old copper car- 
 cass, no! Gwen will show you yet how to rope a 
 steer." 
 
 Joe took a step nearer, and lowering his tone 
 said: 
 
 "You speak me true? Me man, Me no papoose.** 
 The piercing black eyes searched the doctor's 
 face. The doctor hesitated a moment, and then, 
 with an air of great candor, said cheerily: 
 
 "That's all right, Joe. Miss Gwen will cut 
 circles round your old cayuse yet. But remem- 
 ber,*' and the doctor was very impressive, "you 
 must make her laugh every day." 
 
 Joe folded his arms across his breast and stood
 
 I50 The Sky Pilot 
 
 like a statue till the doctor rode away; then turn* 
 ing to us he grunted out : 
 
 *'Him good man, eh?" 
 
 "Good man/' answered The Duke, adding, 
 **but remember, Joe, what he told you to do. 
 Must make her laugh every day." 
 
 Poor Joe! Humor was not his forte, and his 
 attempt in this direction in the weeks that £ol=. 
 lowed would have been humorous were they not 
 so pathetic. How I did my part I cannot tell. 
 Those weeks are to me now like the memory of 
 an ugly nightmare. The ghostly old man moving 
 out and in of his little daughter's room in useless^ 
 dumb agony; Ponka's woe-stricken Indian face; 
 Joe's extraordinary and unUsual but loyal 
 attempts at fun-making grotesquely sad, and 
 The Duke's unvarying and invincible cheeriness; 
 these furnish light and shade for the picture my 
 memory brings me of Gwen in those days. 
 
 For the first two weeks she was simply heroic. 
 She bore her pain without a groan, submitted to 
 the imprisonment which was harder than pain 
 with angelic patience. Joe, The Duke and I 
 carried out our instructions with careful exactness 
 to the letter. She never doubted, and we never let 
 lier doubt but that in a few weeks she would be on
 
 Gwen's Challenge 151 
 
 the pinto's back again and after the cattle. She 
 made us pass our word for this till it seemed as if 
 she must have read the falsehoods on our brows. 
 
 "To lie cheerfully with her eyes upon one's face 
 calls for more than I possess," said The Duke one 
 day. "The doctor should supply us tonics. It is 
 an arduous task." 
 
 And she believed us absolutely, and made plans 
 for the fall "round-up," and for hunts and rides 
 till one's heart grew sick. As to the ethical prob- 
 lem involved, I decline to expresr-. an opinion, 
 but we had no need to wait for our punishment. 
 Her trust in us, her eager and confident expecta- 
 tion of the return of her happy, free, outdoor life ; 
 these brought to us, who knew how vain they 
 were, their own adequate punishment for every 
 false assurance we gave. And how bright and 
 brave she was those first days! How resolute 
 to get back to the world of air and light outside! 
 
 But she had need of all her brightness and 
 courage and resolution before she was done with 
 her long fight.
 
 Gwen's Canyon 
 
 153
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 gwen's canyon 
 
 Gwen's hope and bright courage, in spite of all 
 her pain, were wonderful to witness. But all this 
 cheery hope and courage and patience snuffed out 
 as a candle, leaving noisome darkness to settle 
 down in that sick-room from the day of the doc- 
 tor's consultation. 
 
 The verdict was clear and final. The old 
 doctor, who loved Gwen as his own, was inclined 
 to hope against hope, but Fawcett, the clever 
 young doctor from the distant town, was positive 
 in his opinion. The scene is clear to me now, 
 after many years. We three stood in the outer 
 room; The Duke and her father were with Gwen, 
 So earnest was the discussion that none of us 
 heard the door open just as young Fawcett was 
 saying in incisive tones: 
 
 "No! I can see no hope. The child can never 
 walk again." 
 
 There was a cry behind us. 
 
 iss
 
 156 The Sky Pilot 
 
 ««i 
 
 'What! Never walk ag-ain! It's a lief* 
 There stood the Old Timer, white, fierce, 
 shaking 
 
 "Hush!" said the old doctor, pointing at the 
 ©pen door. He was too late. Even as he spoke, 
 there came from the inner room a wild, unearthl7 
 cry as of some dying thing and, as we stood gaz- 
 ing at one another with awe -stricken faces, we 
 heard Gv/en's voice as in quick, sharp pain. 
 
 "Daddy! daddy! come! What do they say? 
 Tell me, daddy. It is not true! It is not true! 
 Look at me, daddy!" 
 
 She pulled up her father's haggard face from 
 the bed. 
 
 "Oh, daddy, daddy, you know it's true. Never 
 walk again!" 
 
 She turned with a pitiful cry to The Duke, 
 who stood white and stiff with arms drawn 
 tight across his breast on the other side of the 
 bed. 
 
 "Oh, Duke, did you hear them? You told me 
 to be brave, and I tried not to cry when they 
 hurt me. But I can't be brave! Can I, Duke? 
 Oh, Duke! Never to ride again!" 
 
 She stretched out her hands to him. But The 
 Duke, leaning over her and holding her hands
 
 Gwen's Canyon 157 
 
 fast in his, could only say brokenly over and overs 
 "Don't, Gwen! Don't, Gwen dear!" 
 
 But the pitiful, pleading voice went on. 
 
 •'Oh, Duke! Must I always lie here? Must I? 
 Why must I?" 
 
 •'God knows," answered The Duke bitterly, 
 under his breath, "I don't!" 
 
 She caught at the word. 
 
 •'Does He?" she cried, eagerly. Then she 
 paused suddenly, turned to me and said: "Do yois 
 remember he said some day I could not do as I 
 liked?" 
 
 I was puzzled. 
 
 •'The Pilot," she cried, impatiently, "don't you 
 remember? And I said I should do as I liked till I 
 died." 
 
 I nodded my head and said: "But you know 
 you didn't mean it, " 
 
 •'But I did, and I do," she cried, with passion- 
 ate vehemence, "and I will do as I like! I will 
 not lie here! I will ride! I v/ill! I will! I will!" 
 and she struggled up, clenched her fists, and 
 sank back faint and weak. It was not a pleasant 
 sight, but gruesome. Her rage against that 
 Unseen Omnipotence was so defiant and s© 
 helpless.
 
 iS8 The Sky Pilot 
 
 Those were dreadful weeks to Gv/en and to all 
 about her. The constant pain could not break 
 her proud spirit; she shed no tears; but she fretted 
 and chafed and grew more imperiously exacting 
 every day. Ponka and Joe she drove like a slave 
 master, and even her father, when he could not 
 •understand her wishes, she impatiently banished 
 from her room. Only The Duke could please or 
 bring her any cheer, and even The Duke began to 
 feel that the day was not far off when he, too, 
 would fail, and the thought made him despair. 
 Her pain was hard to bear, but harder than the 
 pain was her longing for the open air and the free, 
 flower-strewn, breeze-swept prairie. But most 
 pitiful of all were the days when, in her utter 
 weariness and uncontrollable unrest, she would 
 pray to be taken down into the canyon. 
 
 "'Oh, it is so cool and shady," she would plead, 
 ''*and the flowers up in the rocks and the vines 
 and things are all so lovely. I am always better 
 there, I know I should be better," till The Duke 
 would be distracted and would come to me and 
 wonder what the end would be. 
 
 One day, when the strain had been more ter- 
 rible than usual, The Duke rode down to me and 
 said:
 
 r 
 > 
 
 n 
 IX 
 O 
 
 2 
 
 O 
 
 > 
 
 H 
 
 H 
 
 n 
 > 
 
 >?
 
 Gwen's Canyon 159 
 
 "Look here, this thing can't go on. Where is 
 The Pilot gone? Why doesn't he stay where he 
 belongs? I wish to Heaven he would get through 
 with his absurd rambling." 
 
 "He's gone where he was sent," I replied 
 shortly. "You don't set much store by him when 
 he does come round, He is gone on an exploring 
 trip through the Dog Lake country. He'll be 
 back by the end of next week." 
 
 "I say, bring him up, for Heaven's sake," said 
 The Duke, "he may be of some use, and anyway 
 it will be a new face for her, poor child." Then 
 he added, rather penitently: "I fear this thing is 
 getting on to my nerves. She almost drove me 
 out to-day. Don't lay it up against me, old 
 chap." 
 
 It was anew thing to hear The Duke confess his 
 need of any man, much less penitence for a fault. 
 I felt my eyes growing dim, but I said, roughly : 
 
 "You be hanged! I'll bring The Pilot up when 
 he comes." 
 
 It was wonderful how we had all come to con- 
 fide in The Pilot during his year of missionary 
 work among us. Somehow the cowboy's name of 
 "Sky Pilot" seemed to express better than any- 
 thing else the place he held with us. Certain it
 
 i6o The Sky Pilot 
 
 is, that when, in their dark hours, any of the fel- 
 lows felt in need of help to strike the "upward 
 trail," they went to The Pilot; and so the name 
 first given in chaff came to be the name that 
 expressed most truly the deep and tender feeling 
 these rough, big-hearted men cherished for him. 
 
 When The Pilot came home I carefully pre- 
 pared him for his trial, telling all that Gwen had 
 suffered and striving to make him feel how 
 desperate was her case when even The Duke had 
 to confess himself beaten. He did not seem 
 sufficiently impressed. Then I pictured for him 
 all her fierce wilfulness and her fretful humors, 
 her impatience with those who loved her and were 
 wearing out their souls and bodies for her. "In 
 short," I concluded, "she doesn't care a rush for 
 anything in heaven or earth, and will yield to 
 neither man nor God." 
 
 The Pilot's eyes had been kindling as I talked, 
 but he only answered, quietly: 
 
 "What could you expect?" 
 
 "Well, I do think she might show some signs 
 of gratitude and some gentleness towards those 
 ready to die for her." 
 
 'Oh, you do!" said he, with high scorn. "You 
 all combine to ruin her temper and disposition
 
 Gwen's Canyon i6i 
 
 with foolish flattery and weak yielding to her 
 whims, right or wrong; you smile at her imperious 
 pride and encourage her wilfulness, and then not 
 only wonder at the results, but blame her, poor 
 child, for all. Oh, you are a fine lot, The Duke 
 and all of you I" 
 
 He had a most exasperating ability for putting 
 one in the wrong, and I could only think of the 
 proper and sufficient reply long after the oppor- 
 tunity for making it had passed. I wondered 
 what The Duke would say to this doctrine. All 
 the following day, which was Sunday, I could see 
 that Gwen was on The Pilot's mind. He was 
 struggling with the problem of pain. 
 
 Monday morning found us on the way to the 
 Old Timer's ranch. And what a morning it 
 was! How beautiful our world seemed! 
 About us rolled the round-topped, velvet hills, 
 brown and yellow or faintly green, spreading out 
 behind us to the broad prairie, and before, clam- 
 bering up and up to meet the purple bases of the 
 great mountains that lay their mighty length 
 along the horizon and thrust up white, sunlit 
 peaks into the blue sky. On the hillsides and 
 down in the sheltering hollows we could see the 
 bunches of cattle and horses feeding upon the
 
 102 The Sky Pilot 
 
 rich grasses. High above, the sky, cloudless and 
 blue, arched its great kindly roof from prairie to 
 mountain peaks, and over all, above, below, upon 
 prairie, hillsides and mountains, the sun poured 
 his floods of radiant yellow light. 
 
 As we followed the trail that wound up and into 
 the heart of these rounded hills and ever nearer to 
 the purple mountains, the morning breeze swept 
 down to meet us, bearing a thousand scents, and 
 filling us with its own fresh life. One can know 
 the quickening joyousness of these Foothill 
 breezes only after he has drunk with wide-open 
 mouth, deep and full of them. 
 
 Through all this mingling beauty of sunlit hills 
 and shady hollows and purple, snow-peaked 
 mountains, we rode with hardly a word, every 
 minute adding to our heart-filling delight, but 
 ever with the thought of the little room where, 
 shut in from all this outside glory, lay Gwen, 
 heart-sore with fretting and longing. This must 
 have been in The Pilot's mind, for he suddenly 
 held up his horse and burst out: 
 
 "Poor Gwen, how she loves all this! — it is hei 
 very life. How can she help fretting the heart 
 out of her? To see this no more!" He flung 
 himself off his bronco and said, as if thinking
 
 Gvven's Canyon 163 
 
 ♦*It is too awful! Oh, it is cruel! I 
 don't wonder at her! God help me, what can I 
 say to her?" 
 
 He threw himself down upon the grass and 
 turned over on his face. After a few minutes he 
 appealed to me, and his face was sorely troubled, 
 
 "How can one go to her? It seems to me 
 slieerest mockery to speak of patience and sub- 
 mission to a wild young thing from whom all this 
 is suddenly snatched forever — and this was very 
 life to her, too, remember." 
 
 Then he sprang up and we rode hard for an 
 hour, till we came to the mouth of the canyon. 
 Here the trail grew difficult and we came to a 
 walk. As we went down into the cool depths the 
 spirit of the canyon came to meet us and took 
 The Pilot in its grip. He rode in front, feasting 
 his eyes on all the wonders in that storehouse of 
 beauty. Trees of many kinds deepened the 
 shadows of the canyon. Over us waved the big 
 elms that grew up here and there out of the bot- 
 tom, and around their feet clustered low cedars 
 and hemlocks and balsams, while the sturdy, 
 rugged oaks and delicate, trembling poplars 
 clung to the rocky sides and clambered up and 
 out to the canyon's sunny lips. Back of all, the
 
 1 64 The Sky Pilot 
 
 great black rocks, decked with mossy bits ah^i 
 clinging things, glistened cool and moist betwsea 
 the parting trees. From many an oozy nook the 
 dainty clematis and columbine shook out their 
 bells, and, lower down, from beds of many-colored 
 moss the late wind-flower and maiden-hair and 
 tiny violet lifted up brave, sweet faces. And 
 through the canyon the Little Swan sang its song 
 to rocks and flowers and overhanging trees, a 
 song of many tones, deep-booming where it took 
 its first sheer plunge, gay-chattering where it 
 threw itself down the ragged rocks, and soft-mur- 
 muring where it lingered about the roots of the 
 loving, listening elms. A cool, sweet, soothing 
 place it was, with all its shades and sounds and 
 silences, and, lest it should be sad to any, the 
 sharp, quick sunbeams danced and laughed down 
 through all its leaves upon mosses, flowers and 
 rocks. No wonder that The Pilot, drawing a 
 deep breath as he touched the prairie sod again, 
 said: 
 
 "That does me good. It is better at times 
 even than the sunny hills. This was Gwen's best 
 spot." 
 
 I saw that the canyon had done its work with 
 him. His face was strong and calm as the hills
 
 Gwen'i? Canyon 165 
 
 on a summer morning, arid with this t'ace h& 
 looked in upon Gwen. It was one of her bad'i- 
 days and one of her bad moods, but like a sum-- 
 mer breeze he burst into the little room, 
 
 "Oh, Gwen!" he cried, without a word of- 
 greeting, much less of commiseration, "we has^^ 
 had such a ride!" And he spread out the sunlit,' 
 round-topped hills before her, till I could feel, 
 their very breezes in my face. This The Duke 
 had never dared to do, fearing to grieve her with 
 pictures of what she should look upon no more. 
 But, as The Pilot talked, before she knew, Gwen 
 was out again upon her beloved hills, breathing 
 their fresh, sunny air, filling her heart with their 
 multitudinous delights, till her eyes grew bright 
 and the lines of fretting smoothed out of her 
 face and she forgot her pain. Then, before she 
 could remember, he had her down into the 
 canyon, feasting her heart with its airs and sights 
 and sounds. The black, glistening rocks, tricked 
 out with moss and trailing vines, the great elms 
 and low green cedars, the oaks and shivering 
 poplars, the clematis and columbine hanging from 
 the rocky nooks, and the violets and maiden-hair 
 deep bedded in their mosses. All this and far 
 more he showed her with a touch so light as not
 
 j66 The Sky Pilot 
 
 to shake the morning dew from bell or leaf of 
 frond, and with a voice so soft and full of mtisic 
 as to fill our hearts with the canyon's mingling 
 sounds, and, as I looked upon her face, I said to 
 myself: "Dear old Pilot! for this I shall always 
 love you well." As poor Gwen listened, tfc© 
 rapture of it drew the big tears down her cheeks— 
 alas ! no longer brown, but white, and for that day 
 at least the dull, dead weariness was lifted fr&m. 
 her heart.
 
 The Canyon Flowers 
 
 *ej
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE CANYON FLOWERS 
 
 The Pilot's first visit to Gwen had been a 
 triumph. But none knew better than he that the 
 
 fight was still to come, for deep in Gwen's heart 
 
 were thoughts whose pain made her forget all 
 
 other. 
 
 "Was it God let me fall?" she asked abruptly 
 one day, and The Pilot knew the fight was on; 
 but he only answered, looking fearlessly into her 
 eyes: 
 
 *'Yes, Gwen dear.** 
 
 •'Why did He let me fall?" and her voice was 
 very deliberate. 
 
 *'I don't know, Gwen dear," said The Pilot 
 steadily. "He knows." 
 
 "And does He know I shall never ride again? 
 Does He know how long the days are, and the 
 nights when I can't sleep? Does He know?" 
 
 "Yes, Gwen dear," said The Pilot, and the 
 
 tears were standing in his eyes, though his voice 
 
 was still steady enough. 
 
 169
 
 i;o The Sky Pilot 
 
 "Are you sure He knows?" The voice was 
 
 painfully intense. 
 
 "Listen to me, Gwen," began The Pilot, In 
 great distress, but she cut him short. 
 
 "Are you quite sure He knows? Answer inet** 
 she cried, with her old imperiousness. 
 
 "Yes, Gwen, He knows all about you.** 
 
 "Then what do you think of Him, just because 
 He's big and strong, treating a little girl that 
 way?" Then she added, viciously: "I hate Himl 
 I don't care! I hate Himl" 
 
 But The Pilot did not wince. I wondered how 
 he would solve that problem that was puzzlingy 
 not only Gwen, but her father and The Duke, 
 and all of us — the why of human pain. 
 
 "Gwen," said The Pilot, as if changing the 
 subject, "did it hurt to put on the plaster 
 jacket?" 
 
 "You just bet!" said Gwen, lapsing in ber 
 English, as The Duke was not present: "it was 
 worse than anything — awful! They had to 
 straighten me out, you know," and she shtjd- 
 dered at the memory of that pain. 
 
 "What a pity your father or The Duke w^^ft 
 Dot here!" said The Pilot, earnestly. 
 
 " Why, they were both here!"
 
 The Canyon Flowers l/s 
 
 "What a cruel shame! burst out The Pilot, 
 "Don't they care for you any more?" 
 
 "Of course they do," said Gwen, indignantly. 
 
 "Why didn't they stop the doctors from hurting 
 you so cruelly?" 
 
 "Why, they let the doctors. It is going to help 
 me to sit up and perhaps to walk about a little/* 
 answered Gwen, with blue-gray eyes open wide. 
 
 "Oh," said The Pilot, "it was very mean to 
 stand by and see you hurt like that." 
 
 "Why, you silly," replied Gwen, impatiently, 
 "they want my back to get straight and strong," 
 
 "Oh, then they didn't do it just for fun or for 
 nothing?" said The Pilot, innocently. 
 
 Gwen gazed at him in amazed and speechless 
 "wrath, and he went on : 
 
 "I mean they love you though they let you bs 
 hurt; or rather they let the doctors hurt you 
 because they loved you and wanted to make yoti 
 better." 
 
 Gwen kept her eyes fixed with curious earnest- 
 ness upon his face till the light began to dawn. 
 
 "Do you mean," she began slowly, "that 
 though God let me fall, He loves me?" 
 
 The Pilot nodded ; he could not trust his voic*;, 
 
 "I wonder if that can be true," she said, as if
 
 172 The Sky Pilot 
 
 to herself; and soon we said good-by and came 
 away — The Pilot, limp and voiceless, but I 
 triumphant, for I began to see a little light for 
 Gwen. 
 
 But the fight was by no means over; indeed, it 
 was hardly well begun. For when the autumn 
 came, with its misty, purple days, most glorious 
 of all days in the cattle country, the old restless- 
 ness came back and the fierce refusal of her lot. 
 Then came the day of the round-up. Why should 
 she have to stay while all went after the cattle? 
 The Duke would have remained, but she impa- 
 tiently sent him away. She was weary and 
 heart-sick, and, worst of all, she began to feel 
 that most terrible of burdens, the burden of her 
 life to others. I was much relieved when The 
 Pilot came in fresh and bright, waving a bunch 
 of wild-flowers in his hand. 
 
 **I thought they were all gone,*' he cried. 
 '''Where do you think I found them? R'ght down 
 by the big elm root," and, though he saw by the 
 settled gloom of her face that the storm was 
 coming, he went bravely on picturing the canyon 
 in all the splendor of its autumn dress. But the 
 spell would not work. Her heart was out on the 
 sloping hills, where the cattle were bunching and
 
 The Canyon Flowers 173 
 
 crowding with tossing heads and rattling horns, 
 and it was in a voice very bitter and impatient 
 that she cried: 
 
 "Oh, I am sick of all this! I want to ride! I 
 want to see the cattle and the men and — and — 
 and all the things outside." The Pilot was cow- 
 boy enough to know the longing that tugged at 
 her heart for one wild race after the calves or 
 steers, but he could only say: 
 
 "Wait, Gwen. Try to be patient." 
 
 "I am patient; at least I have been patient for 
 two whole months, and it's no use, and I don't 
 believe God cares one bit!" 
 
 "Yes, He does, Gwen, more than any of us,'^ 
 replied The Pilot, earnestly. 
 
 "No, He does not care," she answered, with 
 angry emphasis, and The Pilot made no reply, 
 
 "Perhaps," she went on, hesitatingly, "He's 
 angry because I said I didn't care for Him, yon 
 remember? That was very wicked. But don't 
 you think I'm punished nearly enough now? 
 You made me very angry, and I didn't really 
 mean it." 
 
 Poor Gwen! God had grown to be very real to 
 her during these weeks of pain, and very terrible. 
 The Pilot looked down a moment irtn the blue..
 
 £74 The Sky Pilot 
 
 gray eyes, grown so big and so pitiful, and 
 liiarriedly dropping on his knees beside the bed he 
 said, in a very unsteady voice : 
 
 *'0h, Gwen, Gwen, He's not like that. Don't 
 y©u remember how Jesus was with the poor sick 
 people? That's what He's like. " 
 
 "Could Jesus make me well?" 
 
 "Yes, Gwen." 
 
 "Then why doesn't He?" she asked; and there 
 was no impatience now, but only trembling 
 anxiety as she went on in a timid voice: "I asked 
 Him to, over and over, and said I would wait two 
 months, and now it's more than three. Are you 
 quite sure He hears now?" She raised herself on 
 her elbow and gazed searchingly into The Pilot's 
 face. I was glad it was not into mine. As she 
 uttered the words, "Are you quite sure?" one felt 
 that things were in the balance. I could not help 
 Sooking at The Pilot with intense anxiety. What 
 would he answer? The Pilot gazed out of the 
 window upon the hills for a few moments. How 
 long the silence seemed! Then, turning, looked 
 into the eyes that searched his so steadily and 
 answered simply: 
 
 "Yes, Gwen, I am quite sure!" Then, with 
 quick inspiration, he got her mother's Bible and
 
 a 
 
 < 
 w 
 
 PS 
 
 < 
 
 w 
 w 
 
 o 
 
 H 
 H 
 
 W 
 
 o
 
 The Canyon Flowers I7| 
 
 said: "Now, Gwen, try to see it as I read." But^ 
 before he read, with the true artist's instinct he 
 created the proper atmosphere. By a few vivid 
 words he made us feel the pathetic loneliness of 
 the Man of Sorrows in His last sad days. Thee 
 he read that masterpiece of all tragic picturing, 
 the story of Gethsemane. And as he read we 
 saw it all. The garden and the trees and the 
 sorrow-stricken Man alone with His mysteiiouii 
 agony. We heard the prayer so pathetically sub= 
 missive and then, for answer, the rabble and the 
 traitor. 
 
 Gwen was far too quick to need explanation, 
 and The Pilot only said, "You see, Gwen, God 
 gave nothing but the best — to His own Son onlj 
 the best." 
 
 "The best? They took Him away, didn't 
 they?" She knew the story well. 
 
 "Yes, but listen." He turned the leaves 
 rapidly and read: " 'We see Jesus for the suffer- 
 ing of death crowned with glory and honor/ 
 That is how He got His Kingdom." 
 
 Gwen listened silent but unconvinced, and thea 
 said slowly: 
 
 "But how can this be best for me? I am no us* 
 to anyone. It can't be best to just lie here anS
 
 i^C) The Sky Pilot 
 
 make them all wait on me, and — and — I did want 
 to help daddy — and — oh — I know they will get 
 tired of me ! They are getting tired already — I — 
 I- — can't help being hateful." 
 
 She was by this time sobbing as I had never 
 heard her before — deep, passionate sobs. Then 
 again the Pilot had an inspiration. 
 
 "Now, Gwen," he said severely, "you know 
 we're not as mean as that, and that you are just 
 talking nonsense, every word. Now I'm going 
 to smooth out your red hair and tell you a story." 
 
 "It's not red," she cried, between her sobs. 
 This was her sore point. 
 
 "It is red, as red can be; a beautiful, shining 
 purple red^'' said. The Pilot emphatically, begin- 
 ning to brush. 
 
 "Purple!" cried Gwen, scornfully 
 
 "Yes, I've seen it in the sun, purple. Haven't 
 you?" said The Pilot, appealing to me. "And 
 my story is about the canyon, our canyon, your 
 canyon, down there." 
 
 "Is it true?" asked Gwen, already soothed by 
 the cool, quick-moving hands. 
 
 "True? It's as true as — as — " he glanced 
 round the room, "as the Pilgrim's Progress." 
 This was satisfactory, and the story went on.
 
 The Canyon Flowers 177 
 
 4t 
 
 'At first there were no canyons, but only the 
 broad, open prairie. One day the Master 
 of the Prairie, walking out over his great 
 lawns, where were only grasses, asked the 
 Prairie, 'Where are your flowers?' and the Prairie 
 said, 'Master, I have no seeds.' Then he spoke 
 to the birds, and they carried seeds of every kind 
 of flower and strewed them far and wide, and 
 soon the Prairie bloomed with crocuses and 
 roses and buffalo beans and the yellow crowfoot 
 and the wild sunflowers and the red lilies all the 
 summer long. Then the Master came and was 
 well pleased; but he missed the flowers he loved 
 best of all, and he said to the Prairie: 'Where are 
 the clematis and the columbine, the sweet violets 
 and wind flowers, and all the ferns and flowering 
 shrubs?* And again he spoke to the birds, and 
 again they carried all the seeds and strev/ed them 
 far and wide. But, again, when the Master 
 came, he could not find the flowers he loved best 
 of all, and he said: 'Where are those, mysvv-eetest 
 flowers?' and the Prairie cried sorrowfully: *Oh» 
 Master, I cannot keep the flov;ers, for the winds 
 sweep fiercely, and the sun beats upon my 
 breast, and they wither up and fly away. ' Then 
 the Master spoke to the Lightning, and with one
 
 1/8 The Sky Pilot 
 
 swift blow the Lightning cleft the Prairie to the 
 heart. And the Prairie rocked and groaned in 
 agony, and for many a day moaned bitterly over 
 its black, jagged, gaping wound. But the Little 
 Swan poured its waters through the cleft, and 
 carried down deep black mould, and once more 
 the birds carried seeds and strewed them in the 
 canyon. And after a long time the rough rocks 
 were decked out with soft mosses and trailing 
 vines, and all the nooks were hung with clematis 
 and columbine, and great elms lifted their huge 
 tops high up into the sunlight, and down about 
 their feet clustered the low cedars and balsams, 
 and everywhere the violets and wind-flower and 
 maiden-hair grew and bloomed, till the canyon 
 became the Master's place for rest and peace 
 and joy." 
 
 The quaint tale was ended, and Gwen lay quiet 
 for some moments, then said gently: 
 
 "Yes! The canyon flowers are much the best. 
 Tell me what it means." 
 
 Then The Pilot read to her: **The fruits— I'll 
 read 'flowers* — of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, 
 long-suifering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meek- 
 ness, self-control, and some of these grow only in 
 the canyon."
 
 The Canyon Flowers 179 
 
 ** Which are the canyon flowers?" asked Gwen 
 softly, and The Pilot answered: 
 
 "Gentleness, meekness, self-control; but 
 though the others, love, joy, peace, bloom in the 
 open, yet never with so rich a bloom and so sweet 
 a perfume as in the canyon." 
 
 For a long time Gwen lay quite still, and then 
 said wistfully, while her lip trembled : 
 
 "There are no flowers in my canyon, but only 
 ragged rocks." 
 
 "Some day they will bloom, Gwen dear; He 
 will find them, and we, too, shall see them." 
 
 Then he said good-by and took me away. He 
 had done his work that day. 
 
 We rode through the big gate, down the sloping 
 hill, past the smiling, twinkling little lake, and 
 down again out of the broad sunshine into the 
 shadows and soft lights of the canyon. As we 
 followed the trail that wound among the elms and 
 cedars, the very air was full of gentle stillness ; 
 and as we moved we seemed to feel the touch of 
 loving hands that lingered while they left us, and 
 every flower and tree and vine and shrub and the 
 soft mosses and the deep-bedded ferns whispered, 
 as we passed, of love and peace and joy. 
 
 To The Duke it was all a wonder, for as the
 
 i8o The Sky Pilot 
 
 days shortened outside they brightened inside; 
 and every day, and more and more Gwen's room 
 became the brightest spot in all the house, and 
 when he asked The Pilot: 
 
 *'What did you do to the Little Princess, and 
 what's all this about the canyon and its flowers?" 
 The Pilot said, looking wistfully into The Duke's 
 eyes : 
 
 *'The fruits of the Spirit are love, peace, long- 
 suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, 
 self-control, and some of these are found only in 
 the canyon," and The Duke, standing up straight, 
 handsome and strong, looked back at The Pilot 
 and said, putting out his hand : 
 
 "Do you know, I believe you're right." 
 
 "Yes, I'm quite sure," answered The Pilot, 
 simply. Then, holding The Duke's hand as 
 long as one man dare hold another's, he added: 
 "When you come to your canyon, remember." 
 
 "When I come!" said The Duke, and a quick 
 spasm of pain passed over his handsome face— 
 *'God help me, it's not too far away now." Then 
 he smiled again his old, sweet smile, and said : 
 
 "Yes, you are all right, for, of all flowers I 
 have seen, none are fairer or sweeter than those 
 that are waving in Owen's Canyon."
 
 Bill's Bluff 
 
 I8l
 
 CHAPTER XrV 
 
 bill's bluff 
 
 The Pilot had set his heart upon the building of 
 a church in the Swan Creek district, partly 
 because he was human and wished to set a mark 
 of remembrance upon the country, but more 
 because he held the sensible opinion that a con- 
 gregation, as a man, must have a home if it is to 
 fetay. 
 
 All through the summer he kept setting this 
 as an object at once desirable and possible to 
 achieve. But few were found to agree with him. 
 
 Little Mrs. Muir was of the few, and she was 
 not to be despised, but her influence was neutral- 
 ized by the solid immobility of her husband. He 
 had never done anything sudden in his life. 
 Every resolve was the result of a long process of 
 mind, and every act of importance had to be pre- 
 viewed from all possible points. An honest man, 
 strongly religious, and a great admirer of The 
 Pilot, but slow-moving as a glacier, although with 
 plenty of fire in him deep down. 
 
 183
 
 284 The Sky Pilot 
 
 "He's soond at the hairt, ma man Robbie," his 
 wife said to The Pilot, who was fuming and fret- 
 ting at the blocking of his plans, "but he's ter- 
 rible deleeberate. Bide ye a bit, laddie. He'll 
 come tae. " 
 
 "But meantime the summer's going and noth- 
 ing will be done," was The Pilot's distressed and 
 impatient answer. 
 
 So a meeting was called to discuss the question 
 of building a church, with the result that the five 
 men and three women present decided that for 
 the present nothing could be done. This was 
 really Robbie's opinion, though he refused to do 
 or say anything but grunt, as The Pilot said to me 
 afterwards, in a rage. It is true, Williams, the 
 storekeeper just come from "across the line," 
 did all the talking, but no one paid much atten- 
 tion to his fluent fatuities except as they repre= 
 sented the unexpressed mind of the dour, 
 exasperating little Scotchman, who sat silent but 
 for an "ay" now and then, so expressive and con- 
 clusive that everyone knew what he meant, and 
 that discussion was at an end. The schoolhouse 
 was quite sufficient for the present; the people 
 were too few and too poor and they were get- 
 ting on well under the leadership of their presen'
 
 Bill's Bluff i8s 
 
 minister. These were the arguments which 
 Robbie's "ay" stamped as quite unanswerable. 
 
 It was a sore blow to The Pilot, who had set his 
 heart upon a church, and neither Mrs. Muir's 
 **hoots" at her husband's slowness nor her prom- 
 ises that she "wad mak him hear it" could bring 
 comfort or relieve his gloom. 
 
 In this state of mind he rode up with me to pay 
 our weekly visit to the little girl shut up in her 
 lonely house among the hills. 
 
 It had become The Pilot's custom during these 
 weeks to turn for cheer to that little room, and 
 seldom was he disappointed. She was so bright, 
 so brave, so cheery, and so full of fun, that gloom 
 faded from her presence as mist before the sun, 
 and impatience was shamed into content. 
 
 Gwen's bright face — it was almost always 
 bright now — and her bright welcome did some- 
 thing for The Pilot, but the feeling of failure was 
 upon him, and failure to his enthusiastic nature 
 was worse than pain. Not that he confessed 
 either to failure or gloom; he was far too true a 
 man for that; but Gwen felt his depre3sion in 
 spite of all his brave attempts at brightness, and 
 insisted that he was ill, appealing to me. 
 
 *'0h, it's only his church," I said, proceeding
 
 1 86 The Sky Pilot 
 
 to give her an account of Robbie Muir's silent, 
 solid inertness, and how he had blocked The 
 Pilot's scheme. 
 
 "What a shame!" cried Gwen, indignantly, 
 *'What a bad man he must be!" 
 
 The Pilot smiled. "No, indeed," he answered; 
 "why, he's the best man in the place, but I wish 
 he would say or do something. If he would only 
 get mad and swear I think I should feel happier." 
 
 Gwen looked quite mystified. 
 
 "You see, he sits there in solemn silence look- 
 ing so tremendously wise that most men feel fool- 
 ish if they speak, while as for doing anything the 
 idea appears preposterous, in the face of his 
 immovableness. " 
 
 "I can't bear him!" cried Gwen. "I should 
 like to stick pins in him." 
 
 "I wish some one would," answered The Pilot, 
 "It would make him seem more human if he 
 could be made to jump." 
 
 "Tr}'' again," said Gwen, "and get someone to 
 make him jump. " 
 
 "It would be easier to build the church," said 
 The Pilot, gloomily. 
 
 ''I could make him jump," said Gwen, 
 viciously, "and I ivill," she added, after a pause
 
 Bill's Bluff 187 
 
 4C^ 
 
 'You!" answered The Pilot, opening his eyes. 
 ••How?" 
 
 "I'll find some way," she replied, resolutely. 
 
 And so she did, for when the next meeting wag 
 called to consult as to the building of a church, 
 the congregation, chiefly of farmers and their 
 wives, with Williams, the storekeeper, were 
 greatly surprised to see Bronco Bill, Hi, and 
 half a dozen ranchers and cowboys walk in at 
 intervals and solemnly seat themselves. Robbi© 
 looked at them with surprise and a little sus- 
 picion. In church matters he had no dealings 
 with the Samaritans from the hills, and while, in 
 their unregenerate condition, they might be 
 regarded as suitable objects of missionary effort, 
 as to their having any part in the direction, much 
 less control, of the church policy — from such a 
 notion Robbie was delivered by his loyal adher- 
 ence to the scriptural injunction that he shoulJ^^ 
 not cast pearls before swine. 
 
 The Pilot, though surprised to see Bill and the 
 cattle men, was none the less delighted, and 
 faced the meeting with more confidence. He 
 stated the question for discussion: Should a 
 church building be erected this summer in Swam 
 Creek? and he put his case well. He showed th**.
 
 ^88 The Sky Pilot 
 
 aeed of a church for the sake of the congrega- 
 tion, for the sake of the men in the district, the 
 families growing up, the incoming settlers, and 
 for the sake of the country and its future. He 
 called upon all who loved their church and their 
 country to unite in this effort. It was an enthusi- 
 astic appeal and all the women and some of the 
 men were at once upon his side. 
 
 Then followed dead, solemn silence. Robbie 
 was content to wait till the effect of the speech 
 should be dissipated in smaller talk. Then he 
 gravely said: 
 
 "The kirk wad be a gran* thing, nae doot, an' 
 they wad a' dootless" — with a suspicious glance 
 toward Bill — "rejoice in its erection. But we 
 maun be cautious, an* I wad like to enquire hoo 
 much money a kirk cud be built for, and whaur 
 the money wad come frae?" 
 
 The Pilot was ready with his answer. The 
 cost would be $1,200. The Church Building 
 Fund would contribute $200, the people could give 
 ^300 in labor, and the remaining $700 he thought 
 could be raised in the district in two years' time. 
 
 "Ay," said Robbie, and the tone and manner 
 were sufficient to drench any enthusiasm with the 
 chilliest of water. So much was this the case
 
 Bill's Bluff iSg 
 
 that the chairman, Williams, seemed quite justi 
 fied in saying : 
 
 "It is quite evident that the opinion of the 
 meeting is adverse to any attempt to load the 
 community with a debt of one thousand dollars," 
 and he proceeded with a very complete statement 
 of the many and various objections to any 
 attempt at building a church this year. The 
 people were very few, they were dispersed over a 
 large area, they were not interested sufficiently, 
 they were all spending money and making little 
 in return ; he supposed, therefore, that the meet- 
 ing might adjourn. 
 
 Robbie sat silent and expressionless in spite of 
 his little wife's anxious whispers and nudges 
 The Pilot looked the picture of woe, and was on 
 the point of bursting forth, when the meeting was 
 startled by Bill. 
 
 "Say, boys! they hain't much stuck on their 
 shop, heh?" The low, drawling voice was per» 
 fectly distinct and arresting. 
 
 "Hain't got no use for it, seemingly," was th® 
 answer from the dark corner. 
 
 "Old Scotchie takes his religion out in prayin', 
 I guess," drawled in Bill, "but wants to spong© 
 for his plant."
 
 igG The Sky Pilot 
 
 This reference to Robbie's proposal to use the 
 school moved the youngsters to tittering and 
 made the little Scotchman squirm, for he prided 
 Mmself upon his independence. 
 
 *' There ain't $700 in the hull blanked outfit." 
 This was a stranger's voice, and again Robbie 
 squirmed, for he rather prided himself also on his 
 ability to pay his way. 
 
 "No good!" said another emphatic voice. "'A 
 blanked lot o' psalm-singing snipes." 
 
 "Order, order!" cried the chairman. - 
 
 "Old Windbag there don't see any show for 
 swipin' the collection, with Scotchie round/' 
 said Hi, with a following ripple of quiet laughter, 
 for Williams* reputation was none too secure, 
 
 Robbie was in a most uncomfortable state of 
 mind. So unusually stirred was he that for the 
 first time in his history he made a motion. 
 
 '*I move we adjourn, Mr. Chairman/' he said, 
 in a voice which actually vibrated with emotion. 
 
 ''Different here! eh, boys?" drawled Bill. 
 
 •'You bet," said Hi, in huge delight. '*The 
 meetin* ain't out yit. " 
 
 "Ye can bide till mor-r-nin'," said Robbie, 
 angrily. "A'm gaen hame," beginning to pot 
 on his coat.
 
 Bill's Bluff 19s 
 
 7 **Seeins a? if he orter give the password/' 
 drawled Bill. 
 
 *' Right you are, pardner," said Hi, springing 
 to the door and waiting in delighted expectation 
 for his friend's lead, 
 
 Robbie looked at the door, then at his wife- 
 hesitated a moment, I have no doubt wishing her 
 home Then Bill stood up and began to speak. 
 
 **Mro Chairman, I hain't been called on for any 
 remarks " 
 
 "Go on!" yelled his friends from the dar> 
 coraer. "Hear! hear!" 
 
 "An' I didn't feel as if this war hardly my game, 
 though The Pilot ain't mean about invitin' a 
 feller on Sunday afternoons. But them as run"^ 
 the shop don't seem to want us fellers round too 
 much." 
 
 Robbie was gazing keenly at Bill, and her?' 
 shook his head, muttering angrily: "Hoots, noD 
 sense' ye 're welcome eneuch." 
 
 "But," went on Bill, slowly, "I guess I've beet. 
 on the wrong track. I've been a-cherishin' the 
 opinfon'' ["Hear! hear!" yelled his admirers]^ 
 **cherishin' the opinion," repeated Bill, "tha? 
 these fellers," pointing to Robbie, "v/as stuck ov 
 religion, which I ain't much myself, and reelf
 
 192 The Sky Pilot 
 
 consarned about the blocking ov the devil, which 
 The Pilot says can't be did without a regular 
 Gospel factory. O' course, it tain't any biznis ov 
 mine, but if us fellers was reely only sot on any- 
 Ihing condoocin'," ["Hear! hear!" yeiled Hi, in 
 ecstasy], "condoocin'," repeated Bill slowly and 
 with relish, "to the good ov the Order" (Bill was 
 a brotherhood man), "I b'lieve I know whar five 
 hundred dollars mebbe cud per'aps be got." 
 
 "You bet your sox," yelled the strange voice, 
 in chorus with other shouts of approval. 
 
 "O' course, I ain't no bettin' man," went on 
 Bill, insinuatingly, "as a regular thing, but I'd 
 gamble a few jist here on this pint; if the boys 
 was stuck on any thin' costin' about seven hun- 
 dred dollars, it seems to me likely they'd git it in 
 about two days, per'aps." 
 
 Here Robbie grunted out an "ay'* of such ful- 
 ness of contemptuous unbelief that Bill paused, 
 and, looking over Robbie's head, he drawled out, 
 even more slowly and mildly: 
 
 "I ain't much given to bettin', as I remarked 
 before, but, if a man shakes money at me on that 
 proposition, I'd accommodate him to a limited 
 extent." ["Hear! hear! Bully boy!" yelled Hi 
 again, from the door.] "Not bein' too bold, I
 
 Bill's Blu2 193 
 
 cherish the opinion" [again yells of approval 
 from the corner], "that even for this here Gospel 
 plant, seein' The Pilot's rather sot onto it, I 
 b'lieve the boys could find five hundred dollars 
 inside ov a month, if perhaps these fellers cud 
 wiggle the rest out ov their pants." 
 
 Then Robbie was in great wrath and, stung by 
 the taunting, drawling voice beyond all self-com- 
 mand, he broke out suddenly: 
 
 "Ye'U no can mak that guid, I doot." 
 
 "D'ye mean I ain't prepared to back it up?" 
 
 "Ay," said Robbie, grimly. 
 
 " 'Tain't likely I'll be called on; I guess $500 
 is safe enough," drawled Bill, cunningly drawing 
 him on. Then Robbie bit. 
 
 "Oo ay!" said he, in a voice of quiet contempt, 
 "the twa hunner wull be here and 'twull wait ye 
 long eneuch, I'se warrant ye." 
 
 Then Bill nailed him. 
 
 "I hain't got my card case on my person," he 
 said, with a slight grin. 
 
 "Left it on the planner," suggested Hi, who 
 was in a state of great hilarity at Bill's success in 
 drawing the Scottie. 
 
 "But," Bill proceeded, recovering himself, and 
 with increasing suavity, "if some gentleman would
 
 294 The Sky Pilot 
 
 mark down the date of the almanac I cherish the 
 opinion" [cheers from the corner] "that in one 
 month from to-day there will be five hundred 
 dollars lookin' round for two hundred on that 
 there desk mebbe, or p'raps you would incline to 
 two fifty," he drawled, in his most winning tone 
 to Robbie, who was growing more impatient 
 every moment. 
 
 "Nae matter tae me. Ye're haverin' like a 
 daft loon, ony way." 
 
 *'You will make a memento of this slioht 
 transaction, boys, and per'aps the schoolmaster 
 will write it down," said Bill. 
 
 It was all carefully taken down, and amid much 
 enthusiastic confusion the ranchers and their 
 gang carried Bill off to Old Latour's to "licker 
 up," while Robbie, in deep wrath but in dour 
 silence, went off through the dark with his little 
 wife following some paces behind him. His chief 
 gfrievance, however, was against the chairman for 
 "'allooin' sic a disorderly pack o* loons tae disturb 
 respectable fowk," for he could not hide the fact 
 that he had been made to break through his 
 accustomed defence line of immovable silence. I 
 suggested, conversing with him next day upon 
 the matter, that Bill was probably only chaffing.
 
 Bill's Blatt 195 
 
 ti 
 
 'Ay/' said Robbie, in great disgust, "the daft 
 eejut, he wad mak a fule o' ony thing or ony- 
 buddie." 
 
 That was the sorest point with poor Robbie. 
 Bill had not only cast doubts upon his reli- 
 gious sincerity, which the little man could not 
 endure, but he had also held him up to the 
 ridicule of the community, which was painful to 
 his pride. But when he understood, some days 
 later, that Bill was taking steps to back up his 
 offer and had been heard to declare that "he'd 
 make them, pious ducks take water if he had to 
 put up a year's pay," Robbie went quietly to 
 work to make good his part of the bargain. For 
 his Scotch pride would not suffer him to refuse a 
 challenge from such a quarter.
 
 Bill's Partner 
 
 15?
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 bill's partner 
 
 The next day everyone was talking of Bill's 
 bluffing the church people, and there was much 
 quiet chuckling over the discomfiture of Robbie 
 Muir and his party. 
 
 The Pilot was equally distressed and bewil- 
 dered, for Bill's conduct, so very unusual, had 
 only one explanation — the usual one for any folly 
 in that country. 
 
 "I wish he had waited till after the meeting to 
 go to Latour's. He spoiled the last chance I had. 
 There's no use now," he said, sadly. 
 
 "But he may do something," I suggested. 
 
 •'Oh, fiddle!" said The Pilot, contemptuously, 
 •'He was only giving Muir 'a song and dance,' as 
 he would say. The whole thing is off." 
 
 But when I told Gwen the story of the night's 
 proceedings, she went into raptures over Bill's 
 grave speech and his success in drawing the canny 
 Scotchman. 
 
 "Oh, lovely! Dear old Bill and his •cherished 
 
 <99
 
 goo The Sky Pilot 
 
 ©pinion.' Isn't he just lovely? Now he'll do 
 
 something. ' ' 
 
 "Who, Bill?" 
 
 "No, that stupid Scottie." This was her name 
 for the immovable Robbie. 
 
 "Not he, I'm afraid. Of course Bill was just 
 bluffing him. But it was good sport." 
 
 '"Oh, lovely! I knew he'd do something." 
 
 "Who? Scottie?" I asked, for her pronouns 
 were perplexing. 
 
 "No!" she cried, "Bill! He promised he 
 would, you know," she added. 
 
 ""So you were at the bottom of it?" I said, 
 amazed. 
 
 '"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she kept crying, shriek- 
 ing with laughter over Bill's cherishing opinions 
 and desires. "I shall be ill. Dear old Bill. He 
 said he'd 'try to get a move on to him." " 
 
 Before I left that day, Bill himself came to the 
 Old Timer's ranch, inquiring in a casual way 
 "if the 'boss' was in." 
 
 "Oh, Bill!" called out Gwen, "come in here at 
 once; I want you." 
 
 After some delay and some shufifling with hat 
 and spurs, Bill lounged in and set his lank form 
 ffipon the extreme end of a bench at the door, try-
 
 Bill's Partner 201 
 
 ing to look unconcerned as he remarked: "Gittin* 
 cold. Shouldn't wonder if we'd have a little 
 snow." 
 
 "Oh, come here," cried Gwen, impatiently, 
 holding- out her hand. "Come here and shake 
 hands." 
 
 Bill hesitated, spat out into the other room his 
 quid of tobacco, and swayed awkwardly across 
 the room toward the bed, and, taking Gwen's 
 hand, he shook it up and down, and hurriedly said: 
 
 "Fine day, ma'am; hope I see you quite well" 
 
 "No; you don't," cried Gwen, laughing 
 immoderately, but keeping hold of Bill's hand, to 
 his great confusion. "I'm not well a bit, but I'm 
 a great deal better since hearing of your raeetingj 
 Bill." 
 
 To this Bill made no reply, being entirely 
 engrossed in getting his hard, bony, brown hand 
 out of the grasp of the white, clinging fingers. 
 
 ' Oh, Bill," went on Gwen, "it was delightful! 
 How did you do it?" 
 
 But Bill, who had by this time got back to his; 
 seat at the door, pretended ignorance of any 
 achievement calling for remark. He "hadn't 
 <?one nothin* more out ov the way than usual." 
 
 ''*0h, don't talk nonsense!" cried Gwen, impft^-
 
 202 The Sky Pilot 
 
 tiently. "Tell me how you got Scottie to lay you 
 two hundred and fifty dollars." 
 
 *'0h, that!" said Bill, in great surprise; **that 
 ain't nuthin' much. Scottie riz slick enough.'* 
 
 "But how did you get him?" persisted Gwen. 
 *'Tell me, Bill," she added, in her most coaxing 
 voice. 
 
 "Well," said Bill, "it was easy as rollin' off a 
 log. I made the remark as how the boys giner- 
 ally put up for what they wanted without no fuss, 
 and that if they was sot on havin' a Gospel shack 
 I cherished the opinion" — here Gwen went off 
 into a smothered shriek, which made Bill pause 
 and look at her in alarm. 
 
 "Go on," she gasped. 
 
 "I cherished the opinion,'* drawled on Bill, 
 while Gwen stuck her handkerchief into her 
 mouth, "thatmebbe they'd put up for it the seven 
 hundred dollars, and, even as it was, seein' as The 
 Pilot appeared to be sot on to it, if them fellers 
 
 would find two hundred and fifty I cher '* 
 
 another shriek from Gwen cut him suddenly 
 short. 
 
 "It's the rheumaticks, mebbe," said Bill, anx- 
 iously. "Terrible bad weather for 'em. I get 
 *em myself.'*
 
 Bill's Partner 203 
 
 in 
 
 'No, no," said Gwen, wiping away her tears 
 and subduing her laughter. "Go on, Bill." 
 
 "There ain't no more," said Bill. "He bit, 
 and the master here put it down." 
 
 "Yes, it's here right enough," I said, "but I 
 don't suppose you mean to follow it up, do 
 you?" 
 
 "You don't, eh? Well, I am not responsible 
 for your supposing but them that is familiar with 
 Bronco Bill generally expects him to back up his 
 undertakin's. " 
 
 "But how in the world can you get five hundred 
 dollars from the cowboys for a church?" 
 
 "I hain't done the arithmetic yet, but it's safe 
 enough. You see, it ain't the church altogether, 
 it's the reputation of the boys." 
 
 "I'll help, Bill," said Gwen. 
 
 Bill nodded his head slowly and said: "Proud 
 to have you," trying hard to look enthusiastic. 
 
 "You don't think I can," said Gwen. Bill pro- 
 tested against such an imputation. "But I can. 
 I'll get daddy and The Duke, too." 
 
 "Good line!" said Bill, slapping his knee. 
 
 "And I'll give all my money, too, but it isn't 
 ver)^ much," she added, sadly. 
 
 "Much!" said Bill, "if the rest of the fellows
 
 204 The Sky Pilot 
 
 play up to that lead there won't be any trouble 
 about that five hundred." 
 
 Gwen was silent for some time, then said with 
 an air of resolve : 
 
 "I'll give my pinto!" 
 
 "Nonsense!" I exclaimed, while Bill declared 
 "there warn't no call." 
 
 "Yes. I'll give the Pinto!"said Gwen, decidedly. 
 "I'll not need him any more," her lips quivered, 
 and Bill coughed and spat into the next room, 
 "and besides, I want to give something I like. 
 And Bill will sell him for me!" 
 
 "Well," said Bill, slowly, "now come to think, 
 it'll be purty hard to sell that there pinto." 
 Gwen began to exclaim indignantly, and Bill 
 hurried on to say, "Not but what he ain't a good 
 leetle horse for his weight, good leetle horse, but 
 for cattle " 
 
 "Why, Bill, there isn't a better cattle horse 
 anywhere ! ' * 
 
 "Yes, that's so," assented Bill. "That's so, if 
 you've got the rider, but put one of them rangers 
 on to him and it wouldn't be no fair show." 
 Bill was growing more convinced every moment 
 that the pinto wouldn't sell to any advantage. 
 "Ye see," he explained carefully and cunningly.
 
 Bill's Partner 20$ 
 
 '"lier ain't a horse you could yank round and slam 
 into a bunch of steers regardless." 
 
 Gwen shuddered. "Oh, I wouldn't think of 
 selling him to any of those cowboys." Bill 
 crossed his legs and hitched round uncomfortably 
 on his bench. "I mean one of those rough fel- 
 lows that don't know how to treat a horse." Bill 
 nodded, looking relieved. 'I thought that some 
 one like you, Bill, who knew how to handle a 
 horse " 
 
 Gwen paused, and then added: *'ril ask The 
 Duke." 
 
 "No call for that," said Bill, hastily, "not but 
 what The Dook ain't all right as a jedge of a 
 horse, but The Dook ain't got the connection, it 
 ain't his line. " Bill hesitated. "But, if you are 
 real sot on to sellin* that pinto, come to think I 
 guess I could find a sale for him, though, of 
 course, I think perhaps the figger won't be high." 
 
 And so it was arranged that the pinto should be 
 sold and that Bill should have the selling of it. 
 
 It was characteristic of Gwen that she would 
 not take farewell of the pony on whose back she 
 had spent so many hours of freedom and delight. 
 When once she gave him up she refused to allow 
 her heart to cling to him any more.
 
 2o6 The Sky Pilot 
 
 It was characteristic, too, of Bill that he led off 
 the pinto after night had fallen, so that "his pard- 
 ner" might be saved the pain of the parting. 
 
 "This here's rather a new game for me, but 
 when my pardner," here he jerked his head 
 towards Gwen's window, "calls for trumps, I'm 
 blanked if I don't throw my highest, if it costs a 
 leg."
 
 Bill's Financing 
 
 ao7
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 BILL S FINANCING 
 
 Bill's method of conducting the sale of the 
 pinto was eminently successful as a financial 
 operation, but there are those in the Swan Creek 
 country who have never been able to fathom the 
 mystery attaching to the affair. It was at the 
 fall round-up, the beef round-up, as it is called, 
 which this year ended at the Ashley Ranch. 
 There were representatives from all the ranches 
 and some cattle-men from across the line. The 
 hospitality of the Ashley Ranch was up to its own 
 lofty standard, and, after supper, the men were in 
 a state of high exhilaration. The Hon. Fred and 
 his wife, Lady Charlotte, gave themselves to the 
 duties of their position as hosts for the day with a 
 heartiness and grace beyond praise. After 
 supper the men gathered round the big fire, 
 which was piled up before the long, low shed, 
 which stood open in front. It was a scene of 
 such wild and picturesque interest as can only b© 
 
 309
 
 210 The Sky Pilot 
 
 witnessed in the western ranching country. 
 About the fire, most of them wearing "shaps" and 
 all of them wide, hard-brimmed cowboy hats, the 
 men grouped themselves, some reclining upon 
 skins thrown upon the ground, some standing, 
 some sitting, smoking, laughing, chatting, all in 
 highest spirits and humor. They had just got 
 through with their season of arduous and, at 
 times, dangerous toil. Their minds were full of 
 their long, hard rides, their wild and varying 
 experiences with mad cattle and bucking bron- 
 cos, their anxious watchings through hot nights, 
 when a breath of wind or a coyote's howl might 
 set the herd off in a frantic stampede, their 
 wolf hunts and badger fights and all the mar- 
 vellous adventures that fill up a cowboy's summer. 
 Now these were all behind them. To-night they 
 were free men and of independent means, for 
 their season's pay was in their pockets. The 
 day's excitement, too, was still in their blood, 
 and they were ready for anything. 
 
 Bill, as king of the bronco-busters, moved 
 about with the slow, careless indifference of a 
 man sure of his position and sure of his ability to 
 maintain it. 
 
 He spoke seldom and slowly, was not as ready-
 
 Bill's Financinsr 211 
 
 '& 
 
 witted as his partner, Hi Kendal, but in act he 
 was swift and sure, and "in trouble" he could be 
 counted on. He was, as they said, "a white man; 
 white to the back," which was understood to sum 
 up the true cattle man's virtues. 
 
 "Hello, Bill," said a friend, "where's Hi? 
 Hain't seen him around!" 
 
 "Well, don't jest know. He was going to 
 bring up my pinto. " 
 
 "Your pinto? What pinto's that: You hain't 
 got no pinto!" 
 
 "Mebbe not," said Bill, slowly, "but I had the 
 idee before you spoke that I had." 
 
 "That so? Whar'd ye git him? Good for 
 cattle?" The crowd began to gather. 
 
 Bill grew mysterious, and even more than 
 usually reserved. 
 
 "Good fer cattle! Well, I ain't much on 
 gamblin', but I've got a leetle in my pants that 
 says that there pinto kin outwork any blanked 
 bronco in this outfit, givin' him a fair show after 
 the cattle." 
 
 The men became interested. 
 
 "Whar was he raised?" 
 
 "Dunno." 
 
 "Whar'd ye git him? Across the line?*'
 
 JI2 The Sky Pilot 
 
 **No," said Bill stoutly, "right in this here 
 country. The Dook there knows him." 
 
 This at once raised the pinto several points. 
 To be known, and, as Bill's tone indicated, 
 favorably known by The Duke, was a testimonial 
 to which any horse might aspire. 
 
 "Whar'd ye git him, Bill? Don't be so blanked 
 oncommunicatin' !" said an impatient voice. 
 
 Bill hesitated ; then, with an apparent burst of 
 confidence, he assumed his frankest manner and 
 Toice, and told his tale. 
 
 "Well," he said, taking a fresh chew and offer- 
 ing his plug to his neighbor, who passed it on 
 after helping himself, "ye see, it was like this. 
 Ye know that little Meredith gel?" 
 
 Chorus of answers: "Yes! The red-headed one. 
 I know ! She's a daisy ! — reg'lar blizzard ! — light- 
 nin' conductor!" 
 
 Bill paused, stiffened himself a little, dropped 
 his frank air and drawled out in cool, hard tones: 
 •'I might remark that that young lady is, I might 
 persoom to say, a friend of mine, which I'm pre- 
 pared to back up in my best style, and if any 
 blanked blanked son of a street sweeper has any 
 remark to make, here's his time now!" 
 
 In the pause that followed murmurs were heard
 
 Bill's Financinjr 
 
 a 
 
 213 
 
 extolling the many excellences of the young lady 
 in question, and Bill, appeased, yielded to the 
 requests for the continuance of his story, and, as 
 he described Gwen and her pinto and her work 
 on the ranch, the men, many of whom had had 
 glimpses of her, gave emphatic approval in their 
 own way. But as he told of her rescue of Joe and 
 of the sudden calamity that had befallen her a 
 great stillness fell upon the simple, tender-hearted 
 fellows, and they listened with their eyes shining 
 in the firelight with growing intentness. Then 
 Bill spoke of The Pilot and how he stood by her 
 and helped her and cheered her till they began to 
 swear he was "all right"; "and now," concluded 
 Bill, "when The Pilot is in a hole she wants to 
 help him out." 
 
 "O' course," said one. "Right enough. 
 How's she going to work it?" said another. 
 
 "Well, he's dead set on to buildin' a meetin*- 
 house, and them fellows down Lt the Creek that 
 does the prayin' and such don't seem to back him 
 up!" 
 
 "Whar's the kick. Bill?" 
 
 "Oh, they don't v/ant to go down into their 
 clothes and put up for it." 
 
 "How much?"
 
 214 The Sky Pilot 
 
 *'Why, he only asked 'em for seven hundred the 
 hull outfit, and would give 'em two years, but 
 they bucked — wouldn't look at it." 
 
 [Chorus of expletives descriptive of the char= 
 acters and personal appearance and belongings of 
 the congregation of Swan Creek,] 
 
 "Were you there, Bill? What did you do?" 
 
 "Oh," said Bill, modestly, "I didn't do much. 
 Gave 'em a little bluff. " 
 
 "No! How? What? Go on, Bill." 
 
 But Bill remained silent, till under strong 
 pressure, and, as if making a clean breast of 
 everything, he said: 
 
 "Well, I jest told 'em that if you boys made 
 such a fuss about anythin' like they did about 
 their Gospel outfit, an' I ain't sayin' anythin' agin 
 it, you'd put up seven hundred without tumin' a 
 hair." 
 
 "You're the stuff. Bill! Good man! You're 
 talkin' now! What did they say to that, eh^, 
 Bill?" 
 
 "Well," said Bill, slowly, ''they ca/led meV 
 
 "No! That so? An' what did you do. Bill?'* 
 
 "Gave 'em a dead straight bluff!" 
 
 [Yells of enthusiastic approval.] 
 
 "Did they take you, Bill?"
 
 Bill's Financing 215 
 
 "Well, I reckon they did. The master, here, 
 put it down." 
 
 Whereupon I read the terms of Bill's bluff. 
 
 There was a chorus of very hearty approvals of 
 Bill's course in "not taking any water" from that 
 variously characterized "outfit." But the 
 responsibility of the situation began to dawn 
 upon them when some one asked: 
 
 "How are you going about it, Bill?" 
 
 "Well," drawled Bill, with a touch of sarcasm 
 in his voice, "there's that pinto." 
 
 "Pinto be blanked!" said young Hill. "Say, 
 boys, is that little girl going to lose that one pony 
 of hers to help out her friend The Pilot? Good 
 fellow, too, he is! We know he's the right sort." 
 
 [Chorus of, "Not by a long sight; not much; 
 we'll put up the stuff ! Pinto ! ' '] 
 
 "Then," went on Bill, even more slowly, 
 "there's The Pilot; he's going for to ante up a 
 month's pay; 'taint much, o' course — twenty-eight 
 a month and grub himself. He might make it 
 two," he added, thoughtfully. But Bill's proposal 
 •was scorned with contemptuous groans. 
 "Twenty-eight a month and grub himself o* 
 course ain't much for a man to save money out 
 ov to eddicate himself." Bill continued, as if
 
 2i6 The Sky Pilot 
 
 thinking aloud, "O' course he's got his mother 
 at home, but she can't make much more than her 
 own livin', but she might help him some." 
 
 This was altogether too much for the crowd. 
 They consigned Bill and his plans to unutterable 
 depths of woe. 
 
 "O' course," Bill explained, "it's jest as you 
 boys feel about it. Mebbe I was, bein' hot, a little 
 swift in givin' 'em the bluff." 
 
 "Not much, you wasn't! We'll see you out! 
 That's the talk! There's between twenty and 
 thirt)' of us here." 
 
 "I should be glad to contribute thirty or forty 
 if need be," said The Duke, who was standing 
 not far off, "to assist in the building of a church. 
 It would be a good thing, and I think the parson 
 should be encouraged. He's the right sort." 
 
 "I'll cover your thirty," said young Hill; and 
 so it went from one to another in tens and fifteens 
 and twenties, till within half an hour I had 
 entered three hundred and fifty dollars in my 
 book, with Ashley yet to hear from, which meant 
 fifty more. It was Bill's hour of triumph. 
 
 "Boys," he said, with solemn emphasis, "ye're 
 all white. But that leetle pale-faced gel, that's 
 what I'm thinkin' on. Won't she open them bi^
 
 Dill's Financing 217 
 
 eyes ov hers! I cherish the opinion that this'U 
 tickle her some." 
 
 The men were greatly pleased with Bill and 
 even more pleased with themselves. Bill's pic- 
 ture of the "leetle gel" and her pathetically 
 tragic lot had gone right to their hearts and, with 
 men of that stamp, it was one of their few luxti° 
 lies to yield to their generous impulses. The most 
 of them had few opportunities of lavishing love 
 and sympathy upon worthy objects and, when the 
 opportunity came, all that was best in them clam- 
 ored for expression.
 
 How the Pinto Sold 
 
 8 19
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 HOW THE PINTO SOLD 
 
 The glow of virtuous feeling following the per- 
 formance of their generous act prepared the men 
 for a keener enjoyment than usual of a night's 
 sport. They had just begun to dispose them- 
 selves in groups about the fire for poker and 
 other games when Hi rode up into the light and 
 with him a stranger on Gwen's beautiful pinto 
 pony. 
 
 Hi was evidently half drunk and, as he swung 
 himself off his bronco, he saluted the company 
 with a wave of the hand and hoped he saw them 
 '*kickin'." 
 
 Bill, looking curiously at Hi, went up to tha 
 pinto and, taking him by the head, led him up 
 into the light, saying: 
 
 •'See here, boys, there's that pinto of mine I 
 was telling you about; no flies on him, eh?" 
 
 *'Hold on there! Excuse me!" said th« 
 stranger, "this here hoss belongs to me, if paid- 
 down money means anything in this country."
 
 322 The Sky Pilot 
 
 **The country's all right," said Bill in an 
 ©minously quiet voice, "but this here pinto's 
 another transaction, I reckon." 
 
 •'The hoss is mine, I say, and what's more, I'm 
 gain' to hold him," said the stranger in a loud voice. 
 
 The men began to crowd around with faces 
 growing hard. It was dangerous in that country 
 to play fast and loose with horses. 
 
 ' ' Look a-hyar, mates, ' ' said the stranger, with a 
 Yankee drawl, "I ain't no hoss thief, and if I 
 hain't bought this hoss reg'lar and paid down 
 good money then it ain't mine — if I have it is. 
 That's fair, ain't it?" 
 
 At this Hi pulled himself together, and in a 
 half-drunken tone declared that the stranger was 
 all right, and that he had bought the horse fair 
 and square, and "there's your dust," said Hi, 
 handing a roll to Bill. But with a quick move- 
 ment Bill caught the stranger by the leg, and, 
 before a word could be said, he was lying flat on 
 the ground. 
 
 •*You git off that pony," said Bill, "till this 
 thing is settled." 
 
 There was something so terrible in Bill's man- 
 ner that the man contented himself with bluster- 
 ing and swearing, while Bill, turning to Hi, said?
 
 How the Pinto Sold 223 
 
 **Did you sell this pinto to him?" 
 
 Hi was able to acknowledge that, being offered 
 a good price, and knowing that his partner was 
 always ready for a deal, he had transferred the 
 pinto to the stranger for forty dollars. 
 
 Bill was in distress, deep and poignant, 
 •' 'Taint the horse, but the leetle gel," he 
 explained; but his partner's bargain was his, and 
 wrathful as he was, he refused to attempt to break 
 the bargain. 
 
 At this moment the Hon. Fred, noting the 
 unusual excitement about the fire, came up,, 
 followed at a little distance by his wife and Th© 
 Duke. 
 
 "Perhaps he'll sell," he suggested. 
 
 ••No," said Bill sullenly, "he's a mean cuss." 
 
 "I know him," said the Hon. Fred, "let me try 
 him. " But the stranger declared the pinto suited 
 him down to the ground and he wouldn't take 
 twice his money for him. 
 
 "Why," he protested, "that there's what I call 
 an unusual hoss, and down in Montana for a lady 
 he'd fetch up to a hundred and fifty dollars." In 
 vain they haggled and bargained; the man waj% 
 immovable. Eighty dollars he wouldn't look at,, 
 a hundred hardly made him hesitate. At thi®
 
 i24 The Sky Pilot 
 
 point Lady Charlotte came down into the light 
 and stood by her husband, who explained the cir- 
 cumstances to her. She had already heard Bill's 
 description of Gwen's accident and of her part in 
 the church-building schemes. There was silence 
 for a few moments as she stood looking at the 
 beautiful pony. 
 
 "What a shame the poor child should have to 
 part with the dear little creature!" she said in a 
 low tone to her husband. Then, turning to the 
 stranger, she said in clear, sweet tones: 
 
 "What do you ask for him?" He hesitated and 
 then said, lifting his hat awkwardly in salute: "I 
 was just remarking how that pinto would fetch 
 one hundred and fifty dollars down into Montana. 
 But seein' as a lady is enquirin', I'll put him 
 down to one hundred and twenty-five." 
 
 •'Too much," she said promptly, "far too 
 much, is it not. Bill?" 
 
 "Well," drawled Bill, "if 'twere a fellar as was 
 used to ladies he'd offer you the pinto, but he's 
 too pizen mean even to come down to the even 
 hundred," 
 
 The Yankee took him up quickly. "Wall, if I 
 were so blanked — pardon, madam" — taking off 
 his hat, "used to ladies as some folks would like
 
 How the Pinto Sold 225 
 
 to think themselves, I'd buy that there pinto and 
 make a present of it to this here lady as stands 
 before me." Bill twisted uneasily. 
 
 *'But I ain't goin' to be mean; I'll put that 
 pinto in for the even money for the lady if any 
 man cares to put up the stuff." 
 
 "Well, my dear," said the Hon. Fred with a 
 bow, "we cannot well let that gage lie." She 
 turned and smiled at him and the pinto was 
 transferred to the Ashley stables, to Bill's out- 
 spoken delight, who declared he "couldn't have 
 faced the music if that there pinto had gone across 
 the line." I confess, however, I was somewhat 
 surprised at the ease with which Hi escaped his 
 wrath, and my surprise was in no way lessened 
 when I saw, later in the evening, the two partners 
 with the stranger taking a quiet drink out of the 
 same bottle with evident mutual admiration and 
 delight. 
 
 "You're an Ai corker, you are! I'll be 
 blanked if you ain't a bird — a singin' bird — a 
 reg'lar canary," I heard Hi say to Bill. 
 
 But Bill's only reply was a long, slow wink 
 which passed into a frown as he caught my eye. 
 My suspicion was aroused that the sale of the 
 pinto might bear investigation, and this suspicion
 
 226 The Sky Pilot 
 
 was deepened when Gwen next week gave me a 
 rapturous account of how splendidly Bill had dis- 
 posed of the pinto, showing me bills for one hun- 
 dred and fifty dollars! To my look of amazement^ 
 Gwen replied: 
 
 "You see, he must have got them bidding 
 against each other, and besides, Bill says pintos 
 are going up." 
 
 Light began to dawn upon me, but I only 
 answered that I knew they had risen very con- 
 siderably in value within a month. The extra 
 fifty was Bill's. 
 
 I was not present to witness the finishing of 
 Bill's bluff, but was told that when Bill made his 
 way through the crowded aisle and laid his five 
 hundred and fifty dollars on the schoolhouse 
 desk the look of disgust, surprise and finally of 
 pleasure on Robbie's face, was worth a hundred 
 more. But Robbie was ready and put down his 
 two hundred with the single remark: 
 
 "Ay! ye 're no as daft as ye look," mid roars of 
 laughter from all. 
 
 Then The Pilot, with eyes and face shining, rose 
 and thanked them all ; but when he told of how 
 the little girl in her lonely shack in the hills 
 thought so much of the church that she gave up
 
 How the Pinto Sold 227 
 
 for it her beloved pony, her one possession, the 
 light from his eyes glowed in the eyes of all. 
 
 But the men from the ranches who could 
 understand the full meaning of her sacrifice and 
 who also could realize the full measure of her 
 calamity, were stirred to their hearts' depths, so 
 that when Bill remarked in a very distinct under- 
 tone, "I cherish the opinion that this here Gospel 
 shop wouldn't be materializin' into its present 
 shape but for that leetle gel," there rose growls 
 of approval in a variety of tones and expletives 
 that left no doubt that his opinion was that 
 of all. 
 
 But though The Pilot never could quite get at 
 the true inwardness of Bill's measures and 
 methods, and was doubtless all the more comfort- 
 able in mind for that, he had no doubt that while 
 Gwen's influence was the moving spring of action. 
 Bill's bluff had a good deal to do with the 
 ''materializin' " of the first church in Swan 
 Creek, and in this conviction, I share. 
 
 Whether the Hon. Fred ever understood the 
 peculiar style of Bill's financing, I do not quite 
 know. But if he ever did come to know, he was 
 far too much of a man to make a fuss. Besides, 
 I fancy the smile on his lady's face was worth
 
 228 The Sky Pilot 
 
 some large amount to him. At least, so the look 
 of proud and fond love in his eyes seemed to say 
 as he turned away with her from the fire the 
 night of the pinto 's sale. 
 
 y-U-
 
 The Lady Charlotte 
 
 329
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE LADY CHARLOTTE 
 
 The night of the pinto's sale was a night 
 momentous to Gwen, for then it was that the 
 Lady Charlotte's interest in her began. Momen- 
 tous, too, to the Lady Charlotte, for it was that 
 night that brought The Pilot into her life. 
 
 I had turned back to the fire around which the 
 men had fallen into groups prepared to have an 
 hour's solid delight, for the scene was full of wild 
 and picturesque beauty to me, when The Duke 
 came and touched me on the shoulder. 
 
 * ' Lady Charlotte would like to see you. ' ' 
 
 "And why, pray?" 
 
 *'She wants to hear about this affair of Bill's.' 
 
 We went through the kitchen into the large 
 dining-room, at one end of which was a stone 
 chimney and fireplace. Lady Charlotte had 
 declared that she did not much care what kind of 
 a house the Hon. Fred would build for her, but 
 that she must have a fireplace. 
 
 She was very beautiful — tall, slight and grace- 
 
 «3I
 
 232 The Sky Pilot 
 
 ful in every line. There was a reserve and a 
 grand air in her bearing that put people in aw© 
 of her. This awe I shared ; but as I entered the 
 toom she welcomed me with such kindly grace 
 that I felt quite at ease in a moment. 
 
 "Come and sit by me," she said, drawing an 
 armchair into the circle about the fire. "I want 
 you to tell us all about a great many things. ' ' 
 
 "You see what you're in for, Connor," said 
 her husband. "It is a serious business when my 
 lady takes one in hand." 
 
 "As he knows to his cost," she said, smiling 
 and shaking her head at her husband. 
 
 "So I can testify," put in The Duke. 
 
 "Ah! I can't do anything with you," she 
 replied, turning to him. 
 
 "Your most abject slave, " he replied with a pro- 
 found bow. 
 
 "If you only were," smiling at him — a little 
 sadly, I thought — "I'd keep you out of all sorts of 
 mischief." 
 
 "Quite true. Duke," said her husband, "just 
 look at me." 
 
 The Duke gazed at him a moment or two. 
 "Wonderful!" he murmured, "what a deliver- 
 ance!"
 
 The Lady Charlotte 233 
 
 "Nonsense!" broke in Lady Charlotte. "You 
 are turning my mind away from my purpose." 
 
 *'Is it possible, do you think?" said The Duke to 
 her husband. 
 
 "Not in the very least," he replied, "if my 
 experience goes for anything." 
 
 But Lady Charlotte turned her back upon them 
 and said to me : 
 
 "Now, tell me first about Bill's encounter with 
 that funny little Scotchman." 
 
 Then I told her the story of Bill's bluff in my 
 best style, imitating, as I have some small skill in 
 doing, the manner and speech of the various 
 actors in the scene. She was greatly amused 
 and interested. 
 
 "And Bill has really got his share ready," she 
 cried. "It is very clever of him. " 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "but Bill is only the very 
 humble instrument, the moving spirit is be- 
 hind." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you mean the little girl that owns the 
 pony," she said. "That's another thing you 
 must tell me about." 
 
 "The Duke knows more than I," I replied, 
 shifting the burden to him; "my acquaintance is 
 iDnly of yesterday ; his is lifelong. ' '
 
 234 The Sky Pilot 
 
 "Why have you never told me of her?" she 
 demanded, turning to the Duke. 
 
 "Haven't I told you of the little Meredith girl? 
 Surely I have," said The Duke, hesitatingly. 
 
 "Now, you know quite well you have not, and 
 that means you are deeply interested. Oh, I 
 know you well," she said, severely. 
 
 "He is the most secretive man," she went on to 
 me, "shamefully and ungratefully reserved." 
 
 The Duke smiled; then said, lazily: "Why, 
 she's just a child. Why should you be interested 
 in her? No one was," he added sadly, "till mis- 
 fortune distinguished her." 
 
 Her eyes grew soft, and her gay manner 
 changed, and she said to The Duke gently: "Tell 
 me of her now." 
 
 It was evidently an effort, but he began his 
 story of Gwen from the time he saw her first, 
 years ago, playing in and out of her father's 
 rambling shack, shy and wild as a young fox. As 
 he went on with his tale, his voice dropped into a 
 low, musical tone, and he seemed as if dreaming 
 aloud. Unconsciously he put into the tale much 
 of himself, revealing how great an influence the 
 little child had had upon him, and how empty of 
 love his life had been in this lonely land. Lady
 
 The Lady Charlotte 235 
 
 Charlotte listened with face intent upon him, and 
 even her bluff husband was conscious that some- 
 thing more than usual was happening. He had 
 never heard The Duke break through his proud 
 reserve before. 
 
 But when The Duke told the story of Gwen's 
 awful fall, which he did with great graphic power, 
 a little red spot burned upon the Lady Charlotte's 
 pale cheek, and, as The Duke finished his tale with 
 the words, "It was her last ride," she covered her 
 face with her hands and cried: 
 
 •'Oh, Duke, it is horrible to think of! But 
 what splendid courage!" 
 
 •'Great stuff! eh, Duke?" cried the Hon. Fred, 
 kicking a burning log vigorously. 
 
 ^ut The Duke made no reply. 
 
 *'How is she now, Duke?" said Lady Charlotte. 
 
 The Duke looked up as from a dream. "Bright 
 as the morning," he said. Then, in reply to Lady 
 Charlotte's look of wonder, he added: 
 
 "The Pilot did it. Connor will tell you. I 
 don't understand it." 
 
 "Nor do I, either. But I can tell you only 
 what I saw and heard, ' ' I answered. 
 
 *'Tell me," said Lady Charlotte very gently. 
 
 Then I told her how, one by one, we had failed
 
 236 The Sky Pilot 
 
 to help her, and how The Pilot had ridden up 
 that morning through the canyon, and how he 
 had brought the first light and peace to her by his 
 marvellous pictures of the flowers and ferns and 
 trees and all the wonderful mysteries of that won- 
 derful canyon. 
 
 "But that wasn't all," said the Duke quickly, 
 as I stopped. 
 
 "No," I said slowly, "that was not all by a long 
 way; but the rest I don't understand. That's 
 The Pilot's secret. " 
 
 "Tell me what he did," said Lady Charlotte, 
 softly, once more. "I want to know." 
 
 "I don't think I can," I replied. "He simply 
 read out of the Scriptures to her and talked." 
 
 Lady Charlotte looked disappointed. 
 
 "Is that all?" she said. 
 
 "It is quite enough for Gwen," said The Duke 
 confidently, "for there she lies, often suffering, 
 always longing for the hills and the free air, but 
 with her face radiant as the flowers of the beloved 
 canyon. ' ' 
 
 "I must see her," said Lady Charlotte, "and 
 that wonderful Pilot." 
 
 "You'll be disappointed in him," said The 
 Duke.
 
 The Lady Charlotte 237 
 
 **0h, I've see him and heard him, but 1 don't 
 know him," she replied. "There must be some- 
 thing in him that one does not see at first." 
 
 "So I have discovered," said The Duke, and 
 with that the subject was dropped, but not before 
 the Lady Charlotte made me promise to take her 
 to Gwen, The Duke being strangely unwilling to 
 do this for her. 
 
 "You'll be disappointed," he said. "She is 
 only a simple little child." 
 
 But Lady Charlotte thought differently, and, 
 having made up her mind upon the matter, there 
 was nothing for it, as her husband said, but "for 
 all hands to surrender and the sooner the better. ' 
 
 And so the Lady Charlotte had her way, whicb^ 
 as it turned out, was much the wisest and best
 
 Through Gwen*s Window 
 
 «39
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THROUGH GWEN's WINDOW 
 
 When I told The Pilot of Lady Charlotte's pur- 
 pose to visit Gwen, he was not too well pleased. 
 
 "What does she want with Gwen?" he said 
 impatiently. "She will just put notions into hei 
 head and make the child discontented." 
 
 "Why should she?" said I. 
 
 "She won't mean to, but she belongs to anothei 
 world, and Gwen cannot talk to her without get- 
 ting glimpses of a life that will make her long for 
 what she can never have," said The Pilot. 
 
 "But suppose it is not idle curiosity in Lady 
 Charlotte," I suggested. 
 
 "I don't say it is quite that," he answered, 
 "but these people love a sensation." 
 
 "I don't think you know Lady Charlotte," I 
 replied. "I hardly think from her tone the 
 other night that she is a sensation hunter." 
 
 "At any rate," he answered, decidedly, "she is 
 Dot to worry poor Gwen." 
 
 S4I
 
 242 The Sky Pilot 
 
 I was a little surprised at his attitude, and felt 
 that he was unfair to Lady Charlotte, but I for- 
 bore to argue with him on the matter. He could 
 not bear to think of any person or thing threaten- 
 ing the peace of his beloved Gwen, 
 
 The very first Saturday after my promise was 
 given we were surprised to see Lady Charlotte 
 ride up to the door of our shack in the early 
 morning. 
 
 "You see, I am not going to let you off," she 
 said, as I greeted her. "And the day is so very 
 fine for a ride." 
 
 I hastened to apologize for not going to her, 
 and then to get out of my difficulty, rather meanly 
 turned toward The Pilot, and said : 
 
 "The Pilot doesn't approve of our visit.** 
 
 "And why not, may I ask?" said Lady Char- 
 lotte, lifting her eyebrows. 
 
 The Pilot's face burned, partly with wrath at 
 me, and partly with embarrassment; for Lady 
 Charlotte had put on her grand air. But he stood 
 to his guns. 
 
 "I was saying. Lady Charlotte," he said, look- 
 ing straight into her eyes, "that you and Gwen 
 have little in common— and — and — " he hesi- 
 tated.
 
 Through Gwen's Window 243 
 
 **Little in common!" said Lady Charlotte 
 quietly. "She has suffered greatly." 
 
 The Pilot was quick to catch the note of sad- 
 ness in her voice. 
 
 "Yes," he said, wondering at her tone, "she 
 has suffered greatly. " 
 
 "And," continued Lady Charlotte, "she is 
 bright as the morning, The Duke says. " There 
 was a look of pain in her face. 
 
 The Pilot's face lit up, and he came nearer and 
 laid his hand caressingly upon her beautiful 
 horse. 
 
 "Yes, thank God!" he said quickly, "bright as 
 the morning." 
 
 "How can that be?" she asked, looking down 
 into his face. "Perhaps she would tell me," 
 
 "Lady Charlotte," said The Pilot with a sudden 
 flush, "I must ask your pardon. I was wrong. 
 I thought you — "he paused; "but go to Gwen, 
 she will tell you, and you will do her good. ' ' 
 
 "Thank you," said Lady Charlotte, putting out 
 her hand, "and perhaps you will come and see 
 me, too." 
 
 The Pilot promised and stood looking after us 
 as we rode up the trail. 
 
 "There is something more in your Pilot than at
 
 244 The Sky Pilot 
 
 first appears," she said. "The Duke was quite 
 right." 
 
 "He is a great man," I said with enthusiasm; 
 "tender as a woman and with the heart of a 
 hero." 
 
 "You and Bill and The Duke seem to agree 
 about him," she said, smiling. 
 
 Then I told her tales of The Pilot, and of his 
 ways with the men, till her blue eyes grew bright 
 and her beautiful face lost its proud look. 
 
 "It is perfectly amazing," I said, finishing my 
 story, "how these devil-may-care rough fellows 
 respect him, and come to him in all sorts of 
 trouble. I can't understand it, and yet he is just 
 a boy." 
 
 "No, not amazing," said Lady Charlotte 
 slowly. "I think I understand it. He has a true 
 man's heart, and holds a great purpose in it. 
 I've seen men like that. Not clergymen, I mean, 
 but men with a great purpose." 
 
 Then, after a moment's thought, she added: 
 "But you ought to care for him better. He does 
 not look strong." 
 
 "Strong!" I exclaimed quickly, with a queer 
 feeling of resentment at my heart. "He can do 
 as much riding as any of us."
 
 Through Gwen's Window 24I 
 
 "'Still/' she replied, "there's something in his 
 face that would make his mother anxious." In 
 spite of my repudiation of her suggestion, I found 
 myself for the next few minutes thinking of how 
 he would come exhausted and faint from his long 
 rides, and I resolved that he must have a rest and 
 change. 
 
 It was one of those early September days, the 
 best of all in the western country, when the light 
 falls less fiercely through a soft haze that seems 
 to fill the air about you, and that grows into 
 purple on the far hilltops. By the time we 
 reached the canyon the sun was riding high and 
 pouring its rays full into all the deep nooks 
 where the shadows mostly lay. 
 
 There were no shadows to-day, except such as 
 the trees cast upon the green moss beds and the 
 black rocks. The tops of the tall elms were sere 
 and rusty, but the leaves of the rugged oaks that 
 fringed the canyon's lips shone a rich and glossy 
 brown. All down the sides the poplars and deli- 
 cate birches, pale yellow, but sometimes flushing 
 into orange and red, stood shimmering in the 
 golden light, while here and there the broad- 
 spreading, feathery sumachs made great splashes 
 of brilliant crimson upon the yellow and goldv
 
 246 The Sky Pilot 
 
 Down in the bottom stood the cedars and the 
 balsams, still green. We stood some moments 
 silently gazing into this tangle of interlacing 
 boughs and shimmering leaves, all glowing in 
 yellow light, then Lady Charlotte broke the 
 silence in tones soft and reverent as if she stood 
 in a great cathedral. 
 
 "And this is Gwen's canyon!" 
 
 "Yes, but. she never sees it now," I said, for I 
 could never ride through without thinking of the 
 child to whose heart this was so dear, but whose 
 eyes never rested upon it. Lady Charlotte made 
 no reply, and we took the trail that wound down 
 into this maze of mingling colors and lights and 
 shadows. Everywhere lay the fallen leaves, 
 brown and yellow and gold ; — everywhere on our 
 trail, on the green mosses and among the dead 
 ferns. And as we rode, leaves fluttered down 
 from the trees above silently through the tangled 
 boughs, and lay with the others on moss and rock 
 and beaten trail. 
 
 The flowers were all gone; but the Little Swan 
 sang as ever its many-voiced song, as it flowed in 
 pools and eddies and cascades, with here and 
 there a golden leaf upon its black waters. Ah! 
 how often in weary, dusty days these sights and
 
 Through Gwen's Window 247 
 
 sounds and silences have come to me and brought 
 my heart rest! 
 
 As we began to climb up into the open, I 
 glanced at my companion's face. The canyon 
 had done its work with her as with all who loved 
 it. The touch of pride that was the habit of her 
 face was gone, and in its place rested the earnest 
 wonder of a little child, while in her eyes lay the 
 canyon's tender glow. And with this face she 
 looked in upon Gwen. 
 
 And Gwen, who had been waiting for her, 
 forgot all her nervous fear, and with hands out- 
 stretched, cried out in welcome : 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad! You've seen it and I 
 know you love it! My canyon, you know!" she 
 went on, answering Lady Charlotte's mystified 
 look. 
 
 "Yes, dear child," said Lady Charlotte, bend- 
 ing over the pale face with its halo of golden 
 hair, "I love it." But she could get no further, 
 for her eyes were full of tears. Gwen gazed up 
 into the beautiful face, wondering at her silence, 
 and then said gently: 
 
 "Tell me how it looks to-day! The Pilot 
 always shows it to me. Do you know," she 
 added, thoughtfully, "The Pilot looks like it him-
 
 248 The Sky Pilot 
 
 self. He makes me think of it, and — and—*' she 
 went on shyly, "you do, too." 
 
 By this time Lady Charlotte was kneeling by 
 the couch, smoothing the beautiful hair and gently 
 touching the face so pale and lined with pain. 
 
 "That is a great honor, truly," she said 
 brightly through her tears — "to be like your can- 
 yon and like your Pilot, too." 
 
 Gwen nodded, but she was not to be denied. 
 
 "Tell me how it looks to-day," she said. *'I 
 want to see it. Oh, I want to see it!" 
 
 Lady Charlotte was greatly moved by the 
 yearning in the voice, but, controlling herself, she 
 said gaily : 
 
 "Oh, I can't show it to you as your Pilot can, 
 but I'll tell you what I saw," 
 
 "Turn me where I can see," said Gwen to me, 
 and I wheeled her toward the window and raised 
 her up so that she could look down the trail 
 toward the canyon's mouth. 
 
 "Now," she said, after the pain of the lifting 
 had passed, "tell me, please." 
 
 Then Lady Charlotte set the canyon before her 
 in rich and radiant coloring, while Gwen listened, 
 gazing down upon the trail to where the elm top& 
 could be seen, rusty and sere.
 
 Through Gwen's Window 249 
 
 "Oh, it is lovely!" said Gwen, "and I see it so 
 well. It is all there before me when I look 
 through my window." 
 
 But Lady Charlotte looked at her, wondering to 
 see her bright smile, and at last she could not 
 help the question: 
 
 "But don't you weary to see it with your own 
 eyes?" 
 
 "Yes," said Gwen gently, "often I want and 
 want it, oh, so much!" 
 
 "And then, Gwen, dear, how can you bear it?" 
 Her voice was eager and earnest. "Tell me, 
 Gwen. I have heard all about your canyon 
 flowers, but I can't understand how the fretting 
 and the pain went away. " 
 
 Gwen looked at her first in amazement, and 
 then in dawning understanding. 
 
 "Have you a canyon, too?" she asked, gravely. 
 
 Lady Charlotte paused a moment, then nodded. 
 It did appear strange to me that she should break 
 down her proud reserve and open her heart to 
 this child. 
 
 "And there are no flowers, Gwen, not one," 
 she said rather bitterly, "nor sun nor seeds nor 
 soil, I fear." 
 
 "Oh, if The Pilot were here, he would tell you.'"
 
 f50 The Sky Pilot 
 
 At this point, feeling that they would rather be 
 alone, I excused myself on the pretext of looking 
 after the horses. 
 
 What they talked of during the next hour I 
 never knew, but when I returned to the room 
 Lady Charlotte was reading slowly and with per- 
 plexed face to Gwen out of her mother's Bible the 
 words "for the suffering of death, crowned with 
 glory and honor," 
 
 "You see even for Him, suffering," Gwen said 
 eagerly, "but I can't explain. The Pilot will 
 make it clear." Then the talk ended. 
 
 We had lunch with Gwen — bannocks and fresh 
 sweet milk and blueberries — and after an hour of 
 gay fun we came away. 
 
 Lady Charlotte kissed her tenderly as she bade 
 Gwen good-by. 
 
 "You must let me come again and sit at your 
 window, " she said, smiling down upon the wan face. 
 'Oh, I shall watch for you. How good that 
 will be!" cried Gwen, delightedly. "How many 
 come to see me! You make five." Then she 
 added, softly: "You will write your letter." 
 But Lady Charlotte shook her head. 
 
 "I can't do that, I fear," she said, "but I 
 shall think of it."
 
 Through Gwen's Window 251 
 
 It was a bright face that looked out upon ut 
 through the open window as we rode down th& 
 trail. Just before we took the dip into the can- 
 yon, I turned to wave my hand. 
 
 "Gwen's friends always wave from here," I 
 said, wheeling my bronco. 
 
 Again and again Lady Chariotte waved heif 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "How beautiful, but how wonderful!" she said 
 as if to herself. "Truly, her canyon is full of 
 flowers, ' • 
 
 "It is quite beyond me," I answered. "The 
 Pilot may explain. ' ' 
 
 "Is there anything your Pilot can't do?" said 
 Lady Charlotte. 
 
 "Try him," I ventured. 
 
 *'I mean to," she rephed, "but I cannot brinf 
 anyone to my canyon, I fear," she added in a& 
 uncertain voice. 
 
 As I left her at her door she thanked me wit^ 
 courteous grace. 
 
 "You have done a great deal for me," she said, 
 giving me her hand. "It has been a beautiful, a 
 wonderful day." 
 
 When I told the Pilot all the day's doings, jb« 
 burst out:
 
 252 The Sky Pilot 
 
 "What a stupid and self-righteous fool I have 
 been ! I never thought there could be any canyon 
 in her life. How short our sight is!" and all that 
 night I could get almost no words from him. 
 
 That was the first of many visits to Gwen. 
 Not a week passed but Lady Charlotte took the 
 trail to the Meredith ranch and spent an hour at 
 Gwen's window. Often The Pilot found her 
 there. But though they were always pleasant 
 hours to him, he would come home in great 
 trouble about Lady Charlotte. 
 
 "She is perfectly charming and doing Gwen no 
 end of good, but she is proud as an archangel. 
 Has had an awful break with her family at home, 
 and it is spoiling her life. She told me so much, 
 but she will allow no one to touch the affair." 
 
 But one day we met her riding toward the vil- 
 lage. As we drew near, she drew up her horse 
 and held up a letter. 
 
 "Home!" she said. "I wrote it to-day, and I 
 must get it off immediately." 
 
 The Pilot understood her at once, but he only 
 said: 
 
 "Good!" but with such emphasis that we both 
 laughed. 
 
 "Yes, I hope so," she said with the red begin-
 
 Through Gwen's Window 253 
 
 ning to show in her cheek. *'I have dropped 
 8ome seed into my canyon," 
 
 *'I think I see the flowers beginning to spring,** 
 said The Pilot. 
 
 She shook her head doubtfully and replied: 
 
 •'I shall ride up and sit with Gwen at her win- 
 dow." 
 
 •*Do/' replied The Pilot, "the light is good 
 there. Wonderful things are to be seen through 
 Gwen's window." 
 
 **Yes," said Lady Charlotte softly. "Dear 
 Gwen! — but I fear it is often made bright with 
 tears. ' 
 
 As she spoke she wheeled her horse and can- 
 tered off, for her own tears were not far away. 
 I followed her in thought up the trail winding 
 through the round-topped hills and down through 
 the golden lights of the canyon and into Gwen's 
 room. I could see the pale face, with its golden 
 aureole, light up and glow, as they sat before the 
 window while Lady Charlotte would tell her how 
 Gwen's Canyon looked to-day and how in her owa 
 bleak canyon there was the sign of flowers.
 
 How Bill Favored '' Home^ 
 Grown Industries** 
 
 355
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 f * 
 
 HOW BILL FAVORED HOME-GROWN INDUSTRIES 
 
 The building of the Swan Creek Church made a 
 sensation in the country, and all the more that 
 Bronco Bill was in command. 
 
 "When I put up money I stay with the game," 
 he announced; and stay he did, to the great 
 benefit of the work and to the delight of The 
 Pilot, who was wearing his life out in trying to do 
 several men's work. It was Bill that organized 
 the gangs for hauling stone for the foundation 
 and logs for the walls. It was Bill that assigned 
 the various jobs to those volunteering service. 
 To Robbie Muir and two stalwart Glengarry men 
 from the Ottawa lumber region, who knew all 
 about the broadaxe, he gave the hewing down of 
 the logs that formed the walls. And when 
 they had done, Bill declared they were "better 
 'an a sawmill." It was Bill, too, that did the 
 financing, and his passage with Williams, the 
 storekeeper from "the other side" who dealt in 
 
 257
 
 JS8 The Sky Pilot 
 
 number and building material, was such as estab* 
 lished forever Bill's reputation in finance. 
 
 With The Pilot's plans in his hands he went to 
 Williams, seizing- a time when the store was full 
 of men after their mail matter. 
 
 "What do you think ov them plans?" he asked 
 innocently. 
 
 Williams was voluble with opinions and 
 criticism and suggestions, all of which were 
 gratefully, even humbly received. 
 
 *'Kind ov hard to figger out jest how much 
 lumber '11 go into the shack," said Bill; "ye see 
 the logs makes a difference." 
 
 To Williams the thing was simplicity itself, and, 
 after some figuring, he handed Bill a complete 
 statement of the amount of lumber of all kinds 
 that would be required. 
 
 "Now, what would that there come to?" 
 
 Williams named his figure, and then Bill 
 entered upon negotiations. 
 
 "I aint no man to beat down prices. No, sir, 
 I say give a man his figger. Of course, this here 
 aint my funeral ; besides, bein' a Gospel shop, the 
 price naterally would be different." To this the 
 boys all assented and Williams looke^ uncomfort- 
 able.
 
 Bill Favored "Home-Grown Industries" 259 
 
 *'In fact," and Bill adopted his public tone to 
 Hi's admiration and joy, "this here's a public 
 institooshun" (this was Williams' own thunder), 
 *'condoocin' to the good of the community" (Hi 
 slapped his thigh and squirted half way across the 
 store to signify his entire approval, "and I cherish 
 the opinion" — (delighted chuckle from Hi) — 
 "that public men are interested in this concern." 
 
 "That's so! Right you are!" chorused th& 
 boys gravely, 
 
 Williams agreed, but declared he liad thought 
 of all this in making his calculation. But seeing 
 it was a church, and the first church and their 
 own church, he would make a cut, which he did 
 after more figuring. Bill gravely took the slip of 
 paper and put it into his pocket without a word. 
 By the end of the week, having in the meantime 
 ridden into town and interviewed the dealers 
 there, Bill sauntered into the store and took up 
 his position remote from Williams. 
 
 "You'll be wanting that sheeting, won't you^ 
 next week. Bill?" said Williams. 
 
 "What sheetin' 's that?" 
 
 "Why, for the church. Aint the logs up?" 
 
 "Yes, that's so. I was just goin' to see the 
 boys here about gettin' it hauled," said Bill.
 
 26o The Sky Pilot 
 
 "Hauled!" said Williams, in amazed indigna- 
 tion. "Aint you goin' to stick to your deal?" 
 
 "I generally make it my custom to stick to my 
 deals," said Bill, looking straight at Williams. 
 
 "Well, what about your deal with me last 
 Monday night?" said Williams, angrily. 
 
 "Let's see. Last Monday night," said Bill, 
 apparently thinking back; "can't say as I 
 remember any pertickler deal. Any ov you 
 fellers remember?" 
 
 No one could recall any deal. 
 
 "You don't remember getting any paper from 
 me, I suppose?" said Williams, sarcastically. 
 
 "Paper! Why, I believe I've got that there 
 paper onto my person at this present moment," 
 said Bill, diving into his pocket and drawing out 
 Williams' estimate. He spent a few moments in 
 careful scrutiny. 
 
 "There ain't no deal onto this as I can see," 
 said Bill, gravely passing the paper to the boys, 
 who each scrutinized it and passed it on with a 
 shake of the head or a remark as to the absence 
 of any sign of a deal. Williams changed his tone. 
 For his part, he was indifferent in the matter. 
 
 Then Bill made him an offer. 
 
 "Ov course, I believe in supportin' home-growts
 
 Bill Favored "Home-Grown Industries" 261 
 
 industries, and if you can touch my figger I'd be 
 uncommonly glad to give you the contract." 
 
 But Bill's figure, which was quite fifty per cent, 
 lower than Williams' best offer, was rejected as 
 quite impossible. 
 
 "Thought I'd make you the offer," said Bill, 
 carelessly, "seein' as you're institootin' the trade 
 and the boys here '11 all be buildin' more or less, 
 and I believe in standin' up for local trades and 
 manufactures." There were nods of approval on 
 all sides, and Williams was forced to accept, for 
 Bill began arranging with the Hill brothers and 
 Hi to make an early start on Monday. It was a 
 great triumph, but Bill displayed no sign of 
 elation ; he was rather full of sympathy for Wil- 
 liams, and eager to help on the lumber business 
 as a local "institooshun." 
 
 Second in command in the church building 
 enterprise stood Lady Charlotte, and under her 
 labored the Hon, Fred, The Duke, and, indeed, all 
 the company of the Noble Seven. Her home 
 became the centre of a new type of social life. 
 With exquisite tact, and much was needed for 
 this kind of work, she drew the bachelors from 
 their lonely shacks and from their wild carousals, 
 and gave them a taste of the joys of a pure home-
 
 262 The Sky Pilot 
 
 life, the first they had had since leaving the old 
 homes years ago. And then she made them work 
 for the church with such zeal and diligence that 
 her husband and The Duke declared that ranching 
 had become quite an incidental interest since the 
 church-building had begun. But The Pilot went 
 about with a radiant look on his pale face, while 
 Bill gave it forth as his opinion, ''though she was 
 a leetle high in the action, she could hit an 
 uncommon gait." 
 
 With such energy did Bill push the work of 
 construction that by the first of December the 
 church stood roofed, sheeted, floored and 
 ready for windows, doors and ceiling, so that 
 The Pilot began co hope that he should see the 
 desire of his heart fulfilled — the church of Swan 
 Creek open for divine service on Christmas Day, 
 
 During these weeks there was more than 
 church-building going on, for while the days 
 were given to the shaping of logs, and the driv" 
 ing of nails and the planing of boards, the long 
 winter evenings were spent in talk around the 
 fire in my shack, where The Pilot for some 
 months past had made his home and where Bill, 
 since the beginning of the church building, had 
 come "to camp." Those were great nights for
 
 Bill Favored "Home-Grown Industries" 263 
 
 The Pilot and Bill, and, indeed, for me, too, and 
 the other boys, who, after a day's work on the 
 church, were always brought in by Bill or The 
 Pilot. 
 
 Great nights for us all they were. After bacon 
 and beans and bannockj, and occasionally 
 potatoes, and rarely a pudding, with coffee, rich 
 and steaming, to wash all down, pipes would fol- 
 low, and then yarns of adventures, possible and 
 impossible, all exciting and wonderful, and all 
 received with the greatest credulity. 
 
 If, however, the powers of belief were put to 
 too great a strain by a tale of more than ordinary 
 marvel. Bill would follow with one of such utter 
 impossibility that the company would feel that 
 the limit had been reached, and the yarns would 
 cease. But after the first week most of the time 
 was given to The Pilot, who would read to us of 
 the deeds of the mighty men of old, who had made 
 and wrecked empires. 
 
 "What happy nights they were to those cowboys, 
 who had been cast up like driftwood upon this 
 strange and lonely shore! Some of them had 
 never known what it was to have a thought 
 beyond the work and sport of the day. And the 
 world into which The Pilot was ushering them
 
 2^4 The Sky Pilot 
 
 was all new and wonderful to them. Happy 
 nights, without a care, but that The Pilot would 
 not get the ghastly look out of his face, and 
 laughed at the idea of going away till the church 
 was built. And, indeed, we would all have sorelf 
 missed him, and so he stayed.
 
 Hov/ Bill Hit the Trail 
 
 965
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HOW BILL HIT THE TRAIL 
 
 When "the crowd" was with us The Pilot read 
 U3 all sorts of tales of adventures in all lands by 
 heroes of all ages, but when we three sat together 
 by our fire The Pilot would always read us tales 
 of the heroes of sacred story, and these delighted 
 Bill more than those of any of the ancient empires 
 of the past. He had his favorites. Abraham, 
 Moses, Joshua, Gideon, never failed to arouse his 
 admiration. But Jacob was to him always "a 
 mean cuss," and David he could not appreciate. 
 Most of all he admired Moses and the Apostle 
 Paul, whom he called "that little chap." But» 
 when the reading was about the One Great Man 
 that moved majestic amid the gospel stories, Bill 
 made no comments ; He was too high for approval. 
 
 By and by Bill began to tell these tales to the 
 boys, and one night, when a quiet mood had fallen 
 upon the company. Bill broke the silence. 
 
 "Say, Pilot, where was it that the little chap 
 
 got mixed up into that riot?" 
 
 267
 
 268 The Sky Pilot 
 
 •'Riot!" said The Pilot. 
 
 "Yes; you remember when he stood off the 
 whole gang from the stairs?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, at Jerusalem!" 
 
 "Yes, that's the spot. Perhaps you would 
 read that to the boys. Good yam! Little chap, 
 you know, stood up and told 'em they were all 
 sorts of blanked thieves and cut-throats, and 
 stood 'em off. Played it alone, too." 
 
 Most of the boys failed to recognize the ctory 
 in its new dress. There was much interest. 
 
 "Who was the duck? Who was the gang? 
 What was the row about?" 
 
 "The Pilot here'll tell you. If you'd kind o' 
 give 'em a lead before you begin, they'd catch on 
 to the yarn better. ' ' This last to The Pilot, who 
 was preparing to read. 
 
 "Well, it was at Jerusalem," began The Pilot,, 
 when Bill interrupted: 
 
 "If I might remark, perhaps it might help the 
 boys on to the trail mebbe, if you'd tell 'em how 
 the little chap struck his new gait." So he 
 designated the Apostle's conversion. 
 
 Then The Pilot introduced the Apostle with 
 some formality to the company, describing with 
 «uch vivid touches his life and early training, his
 
 How Bill Hit the Trail 269 
 
 sudden wrench from all he held dear, under the 
 stress of a new conviction, his magnificent 
 enthusiasm and courage, his tenderness and 
 patience, that I was surprised to find myself 
 regarding him as a sort of hero, and the boys 
 were all ready to back him against any odds. 
 As The Pilot read the story of the Arrest at 
 Jerusalem, stopping now and then to picture the 
 scene, we saw it all and were in the thick of it 
 The raging crowd hustling and beating the life 
 out of the brave little man, the sudden thrust of 
 the disciplined Roman guard through the mass, 
 the rescue, the pause on the stairway, the calm 
 face of the little hero beckoning for a hearing, the 
 quieting of the frantic, frothing mob, the fearless 
 speech — all passed before us. The boys were 
 thrilled. 
 
 ♦'Good stuff, eh?" 
 
 *'Ain't he a daisy?" 
 
 •'Daisy! He's a whole sunflower patch!" 
 
 *'Yes," drawled Bill, highly appreciating their 
 marks of approval. "That's what I call a par- 
 tickler fiae character of a man. There ain't no 
 manner of insects on to him. * ' 
 
 "You bet!" said Hi. 
 
 "I say," broke in one of the boys, who was just
 
 870 The Sky Pilot 
 
 emerging from the tenderfoot stage, *'o* course 
 that's in the Bible, ain't it?" 
 
 The Pilot assented. 
 
 *'Well, how do you know it's true?'* 
 
 The Pilot was proceeding to elaborate his argu- 
 ment when Bill cut in somewhat more abruptly 
 than was his wont 
 
 "Look here, young feller!" Bill's voice was 
 in the tone of command. The man looked as he 
 was bid. "How do j^ju know anything's true? 
 How do you know The Pilot here's true when he 
 speaks? Can't you tell by the feel? You know 
 by the sound of his voice, don't you?" Bill 
 paused and the young fellow agreed readily. 
 
 "Well, how do you know a blanked son of a she 
 jackass when you see him?" Again Bill paused. 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "Well," said Bill, resuming his deliberate 
 drawl. "I'll give you the information without 
 extra charge. It's by the sound he makes when 
 he opens his blanked jaw." 
 
 "But," went on the young skeptic, nettled at the 
 laugh that went round, "that don't prove anything. 
 You know," turning to The Pilot, "that there are 
 heaps of people who don't believe the Bible." 
 
 The Pilot nodded.
 
 How Bill Hit the Trail 171 
 
 *'Some of the smartest, best-educated men are 
 agnostics," proceeded the young man, warming' 
 to his theme, and failing to notice the stiffening 
 of Bill's lank figure. "I don't know but what I 
 am one myself." 
 
 "That so?" said Bill, with sudden interest. 
 
 "I guess so," was the modest reply. 
 
 •'Got it bad?" went on Bill, with a note of 
 anxiety in his tone. 
 
 But the young man turned to The Pilot and 
 tried to open a fresh argument. 
 
 "Whatever he's got," said Bill to the others, in 
 a mild voice, "it's spoilin* his manners." 
 
 "Yes," went on Bill, meditatively, after the 
 slight laugh had died, "it's ruinin' to the judg- 
 ment. He don't seem to know when he inter- 
 feres with the game. Pity, too." 
 
 Still the argument went on, 
 
 "Seems as if he ought to take somethin*," 
 said Bill, in a voice suspiciously mild. "What 
 would you suggest?" 
 
 "A walk, mebbe!" said Hi, in delighted 
 expectation. 
 
 "I hold the opinion that you have mentioned an 
 uncommonly vallable remedy, better'n Pain 
 Killer almost."
 
 S72 The Sky Pilot 
 
 Bill rose languidly. 
 
 **I say," he drawled, tapping the young fellow, 
 °'it appears to me a little walk would perhaps be 
 good, mebbe." 
 
 "All right, wait till I get my cap," was the 
 unsuspecting reply. 
 
 "I don't think perhaps you won't need it, 
 mebbe. I cherish the opinion you'll, perhaps, be 
 warm enough." Bill's voice had unconsciously 
 passed into a sterner tone. Hi was on his feet 
 and at the door, 
 
 "This here interview is private and confi- 
 dential, ' ' said Bill to his partner. 
 
 "Exactly," said Hi, opening the door. At this 
 the young fellow, who was a strapping six-footer, 
 but soft and flabby, drew back and refused to go. 
 He was too late. Bill's grip was on his collar and 
 out they went into the snow, and behind them Hi 
 closed the door. In vain the young fellow 
 struggled to wrench himself free from the hands 
 that had him by the shoulder and the back of the 
 neck. I took it all in from the window. He 
 might have been a boy for all the effect his 
 plungings had upon the long, sinewy arms that 
 gripped him so fiercely. After a minute's furious 
 struggle the young fellow stood quiet, when Bill
 
 How Bill Hit the Trail 273 
 
 suddenly shifted his grip from the shoulder to the 
 seat of his buckskin trousers. Then began a 
 series of evolutions before the house — up and 
 down, forward and back, which the unfortunate 
 victim, with hands wildly clutching at empty air, 
 was quite powerless to resist till he was brought 
 up panting and gasping, subdued, to a standstill. 
 
 "I'll larn you agnostics and several other 
 kinds of tricks," said Bill, in a terrible voice, his 
 drawl lengthening perceptibly. ** Come round 
 here, will you, and shove your blanked second- 
 handed trash down our throats?" Bill paused to 
 get words ; then, bursting out in rising wrath : 
 
 ** There ain't no sootable words for sich con- 
 
 duct. By the livin' Jeminy " He suddenly 
 
 swung his prisoner off his feet, lifted him bodily, 
 and held him over his head at arm's length. 
 **rve a notion to " 
 
 "Don't! don't! for Heaven's sake!" cried the 
 struggling wretch„ " I'll stop it! I will!" 
 
 Bill at once lowered him and set him on hi^ 
 feet. 
 
 " All right ! Shake !" he said, holding out his 
 hand, which the other took with caution. 
 
 It was a remarkably sudden conversion and 
 lasting in its effects. There was no more
 
 274 The Sky Pilot 
 
 agnosticism in the little group that gathered 
 around The Pilot for the nightly reading. 
 
 The interest in the reading kept growing night 
 by night. 
 
 "Seems as if The Pilot was gittin' in his 
 work," said Bill to me; and looking at the grave, 
 eager faces, I agreed. He was getting in his 
 work with Bill, too; though perhaps Bill did not 
 know it. I remember one night, when the others 
 had gone. The Pilot was reading to us the Parable 
 of the Talents, Bill was particularly interested in 
 the servant who failed in his duty. 
 
 "Ornery cuss, eh?" he remarked; "and gall, 
 too, eh? Served him blamed well right, in my 
 opinion!" 
 
 But when the practical bearing of the parable 
 became clear to him, after long silence, he said, 
 slowly : 
 
 "Well, that there seems to indicate that it's 
 about time for me to get a rustle on." Then, 
 after another silence, he said, hesitatingly, "This 
 here church-buildin' business now, do you think 
 that'll perhaps count, mebbe? I guess not, eh? 
 'Tain't much, o' course, anyway." Poor Bill, he 
 was like a child, and The Pilot handled him with 
 a mother's toiich.
 
 How Bill Kit the Trail 275 
 
 "What are you best at, Bill?" 
 
 "Bronco-bustin' and cattle," said Bill, won- 
 deringly; "that's my line. " 
 
 "Well, Bill, my line is preaching- just nov/, and 
 piloting, you know." The Pilot's smile was like 
 a sunbeam on a rainy day, for there were tears 
 in his eyes and voice. "And we have just got to 
 be faithful. You see what He says: 'Well done, 
 good and faitJifiil servant. Thou hast been faith- 
 ful: '' 
 
 Bill was puzzled. 
 
 "Faithful!" he repeated, "Does that mean 
 with the cattle, perhaps?" 
 
 "Yes, that's just it. Bill, and with everything 
 else that comes your way." 
 
 And Bill never forgot that lesson, for I heard 
 
 him, with a kind of quiet enthusiasm, giving it to 
 
 . Hi as a great find. "Now, I call that a fair deal," 
 
 he said to his friend; "gives every man a show. 
 
 No cards up the sleeve." 
 
 "That's so," was Hi's thoughtful reply; "dis- 
 tributes the trumps. ' ' 
 
 Somehow Bill came to be regarded as an 
 authority upon questions of religion and morals. 
 No one ever accused him of "gettin' religion." 
 He went about his work in his slow, quiet way.
 
 276 The Sky Pilot 
 
 but he was always sharing' his discoveries with 
 "the boys.** And if anyone puzzled him with 
 subtleties he never rested till he had him face to 
 face with The Pilot. And so it came that these 
 two drew to each other with more than brotherly 
 affection. When Bill got into difficulty with 
 problems that have vexed the souls of men far 
 wiser than he, The Pilot would either disentangle 
 the knots or would turn his mind to the verities 
 that stood out sure and clear, and Bill would be 
 content. 
 
 "That's good enough for me," he would say, 
 and his heart would be at rest.
 
 How the Swan Creek Church 
 was Opened 
 
 rn
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 HOW THE SWAN CREEK CHURCH WAS OPENED 
 
 When, near the end of the year, The Pilot fell 
 sick, Bill nursed him like a mother and sent him 
 off for a rest and change to Gwen, forbidding him 
 to return till the church was finished and visiting 
 him twice a week. The love between the two 
 was most beautiful, and, when I find my heart 
 grow hard and unbelieving in men and things, I 
 let my mind wander back to a scene that I came 
 upon in front of Gwen's house. These two were 
 standing alone in the clear moonlight. Bill with 
 his hand upon The Pilot's shoulder, and The 
 Pilot with his arm around Bill's neck. 
 
 "Dear old Bill," The Pilot was saying, *'dear 
 old Bill," and the voice was breaking into a sob. 
 And Bill, standing stiff and straight, looked up at 
 the stars, coughed and swallowed hard for some 
 moments, and said, in a queer, croaky voice: 
 
 "Shouldn't wonder if a Chinook would blow 
 up." 
 
 "Chinook?" laughed The Pilot, with a catch in 
 
 279
 
 ggo The Sky Pilot 
 
 liis voice. "You dear old humbug," and he stood 
 watching till the lank form swayed down into the 
 canyon. 
 
 The day of the church opening came, as all 
 days, however long waited for, will come — a 
 bright, beautiful Christmas Day. The air wag 
 still and full of frosty light, as if arrested 
 by a voice of command, waiting the word to 
 move. The hills lay under their dazzling cover- 
 lets, asleep. Back of all, the great peaks lifted 
 majestic heads out of the dark forests and gazed 
 with calm, steadfast faces upon the white, sunlit 
 world. To-day, as the light filled up the cracks 
 that wrinkled their hard faces, they seemed to 
 smile, as if the Christmas joy had somehow moved 
 something in their old, stony hearts. 
 
 The people were all there — farmers, ranchers,, 
 cowboys, wives and children — all happy, all proud 
 of their new church, and now all expectant, wait- 
 ing for The Pilot and the Old Timer, who were to 
 drive down if The Pilot was fit and were to bring 
 Gwen if the day was fine. As the time passed 
 on. Bill, as master of ceremonies, began to grow 
 uneasy. Then Indian Joe appeared and handed 
 a note to Bill. He read it, grew gray in the face 
 and passed it to me. Looking, I saw in poor
 
 How the Church Was Opened 2S1 
 
 wavering lines the words, "Dear Bill. Go on 
 with the opening. Sing the Psalm, you know the 
 one, and say a prayer, and oh, come to me quick. 
 Bill. Your Pilot." 
 
 Bill gradually pulled himself together, 
 announced in a strange voice, "The Pilot can't 
 come," handed me the Psalm, and said: 
 
 "Make them sing." 
 
 It was that grand Psalm for all hill peoples, **I 
 to the hills will lift mine eyes," and with wonder- 
 ing faces they sang the strong, steadying words. 
 After the Psalm was over the people sat and 
 waited. Bill looked at the Hon. Fred Ashley, 
 then at Robbie Muir, then said to me in a low 
 voice : 
 
 "Kin you make a prayer?" 
 
 I shook my head, ashamed as I did so of my 
 cowardice. 
 
 Again Bill paused, then said: 
 
 "The Pilot says there's got to be a prayer. 
 Kin anyone make one?" 
 
 Again dead, solemn silence. 
 
 Then Hi, who was near the back, said, coming 
 to his partner's help: 
 
 "What's the matter with you trying, yourself. 
 Bill?"
 
 ^82 The Sky Pilot 
 
 The red began to come up in Bill's white face. 
 
 " 'Taint in my line. But The Pilot says 
 there's got to be a prayer, and Fm going to stay 
 with the game." Then, leaning on the pulpit, he 
 said: 
 
 "Let's pray," and began: 
 
 "God Almighty, I ain't no good at this, and 
 perhaps you'll understand if I don*t put things 
 right." Then a pause followed, during which I 
 heard some of the women beginning to sob. 
 
 "What I want to say," Bill went on, "is, we're 
 mighty glad about this church, which we know 
 it's you and The Pilot that's worked it. And 
 we're all glad to chip in." 
 
 Then again he paused, and, looking up, I saw 
 his hard, gray face working and two tears steal- 
 ing down his cheeks. Then he started again: 
 
 "But about The Pilot — I don't want to persoom 
 — but if you don't mind, we'd like to have him 
 stay — in fact, don't see how we kin do without 
 him — look at all the boys here; he's just getting 
 his work in and is bringin' 'em right along, and, 
 God Almighty, if you take him away it might be 
 a good thing for himself, but for us — oh, God," 
 the voice quivered and was silent. "Amen." 
 
 Then someone, I think it must have been the
 
 
 
 1-1 
 
 D 
 
 Ph 
 
 w 
 
 H 
 
 o 
 
 a 
 ^; 
 
 t— ( 
 
 <; 
 w 
 
 H-I 
 
 w
 
 How the Church Was Opened 28^ 
 
 Lady Charlotte, began: "Our Father," and all 
 joined that could join, to the end„ For a few 
 moments Bill stood up, looking- at them silently- 
 Then, as if remembering his duty, he said: 
 "This here church is open. Excuse me." 
 He stood at the door, gave a word of direction 
 to Hi, who had followed him out, and leaping osa 
 his bronco shook him out into a hard gallop. 
 
 The Swan Creek Church was opened. Th© 
 form of service may not have been correct, butp 
 if great love counts for anything and appealing 
 taith, then all that was necessary was done.
 
 The Pilot's Last Port 
 
 38f
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE pilot's last PORT 
 
 In the old times a funeral was regarded in tho 
 Swan Creek country as a kind of solemn festivity 
 In those days, for the most part, men died io 
 their boots and were planted with much honor 
 and loyal libation. There was often neither 
 shroud nor coffin, and in the Far West many a 
 poor fellow lies as he fell, wrapped in his own or 
 his comrade's blanket. 
 
 It was the manager of the X L Ccmpany's 
 ranch that introduced crape. The occasion was 
 the funeral of one of the ranch cowboys, killed 
 by his bronco, but when the pall-bearers and 
 mourners appeared with bands and streamers of 
 crape, this was voted by the majority as "toO' 
 gay." That circumstance alone was sufficient ta 
 render that funeral famous, but it was remem- 
 bered, too, as having shocked the proprieties in 
 another and more serious manner. No one wouM 
 be so narrow-minded as to object to the custorr- 
 of the return procession falling into a series ca 
 
 2ii7
 
 %6S The Sky Pilot 
 
 i6»orse-races of the wildest description, and ending 
 up at Latour's in a general riot. But to race w.th 
 the corpse was considered bad form. The "corpse- 
 driver," as he was called, could hardly be blamed 
 on this occasion His acknowledged place was at 
 the head of the procession, and it <\'as a point of 
 honor that that place should be retained The 
 fault clearly lay with the driver of the X L ranch 
 sleigh, containing the mourners (an mnovation, 
 by the way), who felt aggrieved that Hi Kendal, 
 driving the Ashley team with the pali-bearers 
 (another innovation), should be given the place 
 of honor next the corpse. The X L driver 
 wanted to know what, in the name of all that was 
 ulack and blue, the Ashley P.anch had to do with 
 the funeral? Whose was that corpse, anyway? 
 Didn't it belong to the X L ranch? Hi, on the 
 other hand, contended that the corpse was in 
 charge of the pall-bearers. "It was thevr duty to 
 see it right to the grave, and if tb'^ ■ ^ -'-^e not on 
 hand, how was it goin' to get ther- y didn't 
 
 expect it would git up and get the^ _ .L.->elf, did 
 tliey? Hi didn't want no blanked mourners 
 ioolin' round that corp till it was properly 
 planted; after that they might git in their work. '" 
 But the X L driver could not accept ^h^t viev/.
 
 The Pilot's Last Port 289 
 
 and at the first opportunity slipped past Hi and 
 his pall-bearers and took the place next the sleigh 
 that carried the coffin. It is possible that Hi 
 might have borne with this affront and loss of 
 position with even mind, but the jeering remarks 
 of the mourners as they slid past triumphantly 
 could not be endured, and the next moment the 
 three teams were abreast in a race as for dear 
 life. The corpse-driver, having the advantage of 
 the beaten track, soon left the other two behind 
 running neck and neck for second place, which 
 was captured finally by Hi and maintained to the 
 grave side, in spite of many attempts on the part 
 of the X L's. The whole proceeding, however, 
 was considered quite improper, and at Latour's, 
 that night, after full and bibulous discussion, it 
 was agreed that the corpse-driver fairly dis- 
 tributed the blame. "For his part," he said, "he 
 knew he hadn't ought to make no corp git any 
 such move on, but he wasn't goin' to see that 
 there corp take second place at his own funeral. 
 Not if he could help it. And as for the others, he 
 thought that the pall-bearers had a blanked sight 
 more to do with the plantin' than them giddy 
 mourners." 
 
 But when they gathered at the Meredith ranch
 
 ^90 The Sky Pilot 
 
 iO carry out The Pilot to his grave it was felt that 
 the Foothill Country was called to a new experi- 
 ence. They were all there. The men from the 
 Porcupine and from beyond the Fort, the Police 
 with the Inspector in command, all the farmers 
 for twenty miles around, and of course all the 
 ranchers and cowboys of the Swan Creek country. 
 There was no effort at repression. There was no 
 need, for in the cowboys, for the first time in 
 their experience, there was no heart for fun. 
 And as they rode up and hitched their horses to 
 the fence, or drove their sleig-hs into the yard and 
 took off the bells, there was no loud-voiced salu- 
 tation, no guying- nor chaffing, but with silent nod 
 they took their places in the crowd about the door 
 or passed into the kitchen. 
 
 The men from the Porcupine could not quite 
 understand the gloomy silence. It was some- 
 thing unprecedented in a country where men 
 laughed all care to scorn and saluted death with 
 a nod. But they were quick to read signs, and 
 with characteristic courtesy they fell in with the 
 mood they could not understand. There is no 
 man living so quick to feel your mood, and so 
 ready to adapt himself to it, as is the true 
 Westerner.
 
 The Pilot's Last Port 291 
 
 This was the day of the cowboy's grief. To 
 the rest of the community The Pilot was 
 preacher; to them he was comrade and friend. 
 They had been slow to admit him to their confi- 
 dence, but steadily he had won his place with 
 them, till within the last few months they had 
 come to count him as of themselves. He had 
 ridden the range with them ; he had slept in their 
 shacks and cooked his meals on their tin stoves; 
 and, besides, he was Bill's chum. That alone 
 was enough to give him a right to all they owned. 
 He was theirs, and they were only beginning tO' 
 take full pride in him when he passed out from 
 them, leaving an emptiness in their life new and 
 unexplained. No man in that country had ever 
 shown concern for them, nor had it occurred to 
 them that any man could, till The Pilot came. It 
 took them long to believe that the interest he 
 showed in them was genuine and not simply pro- 
 fessional. Then, too, from a preacher they had 
 expected chiefly pity, warning, rebuke. The 
 Pilot astonished them by giving them respect, 
 admiration, and open-hearted affection. It was 
 months before they could get over their suspicion 
 that he was humbugging them. When once they 
 did, they gave him back without knowing it all
 
 292 The Sky Pilot 
 
 the trust and love of their big, generous hearts. 
 He had made this world new to some of them, 
 and to all had given glimpses of the next. It was 
 no wonder that they stood in dumb groups about 
 the house where the man who had done all this 
 for them and had been all this to them lay dead. 
 
 There was no demonstration of grief. The 
 Duke was in command, and his quiet, firm voice, 
 giving directions, helped all to self-control. The 
 women who were gathered in the middle room 
 were weeping quietly. Bill was nowhere to be 
 seen, but near the inner door sat Gwen in her 
 chair, with Lady Charlotte beside her, holding 
 her hand. Her face, worn with long suffering 
 was pale, but serene as the morning sky, and with 
 not a trace of tears. As my eye caught hers, she 
 beckoned me to her. 
 
 "Where's Bill?" she said. "Bring him in." 
 
 I found him at the back of the house. 
 
 "Aren't you coming in. Bill?" I said. 
 
 "No; I guess there's plenty without me," he 
 said, in his slow way. 
 
 "You'd better come in; the service is going to 
 begin," I urged. 
 
 "Don't seem as if I cared for to hear anythin' 
 much. I ain't much used to preachin', anyway,"
 
 The Pilot's Last Port 293 
 
 said Bill, with careful indifference, but he added 
 to himself, "except his, of course." 
 
 •*Come in. Bill," I urged. "It will look queer, 
 you know," but Bill replied: 
 
 '*I guess I'll not bother," adding, after a 
 pause: "You see, there's them wimmin turnin' 
 on the waterworks, and like as not they'd swamp 
 me sure." 
 
 "That's so," said Hi, who was standing near» 
 in silent sympathy with his friend's grief. 
 
 I reported to Gwen, who answered in her old 
 imperious way, "Tell him I want him. " I took 
 Bill the message. 
 
 "Why didn't you say so before?" he said, and, 
 starting up, he passed into the house and took up 
 his position behind Gwen's chair. Opposite, and 
 leaning against the door, stood The Duke, with a 
 look of quiet earnestness on his handsome face. 
 At his side stood the Hon. Fred Ashley, and 
 behind him the Old Timer, looking bewildered 
 and woe-stricken. The Pilot had filled a large 
 place in the old man's life. The rest of the men 
 stood about the room and filled the kitchen 
 beyond, all quiet, solemn, sad. 
 
 In Gwen's room, the one farthest in, lay The 
 Pilot, stately and beautiful under the magic touch
 
 294 The Sky Pilot 
 
 of death. And as I stood and looked down upon 
 the quiet face I saw why Gwen shed no tear, bat 
 carried a look of serene triumph. She had read 
 the face aright. The lines of weariness that had 
 been growing so painfully clear the last few 
 months were smoothed out^ the look of care was 
 gone, and in place of weariness and care was the 
 proud smile of victory and peace. He had met 
 his foe and was surprised to find his terror gone. 
 
 The service was beautiful in its simplicity. 
 The minister^ The Pilot's chief, had come out 
 from town to take charge. He was rather a little 
 man, but sturdy and well set. His face was burnt 
 and seared with the suns and frosts he had braved 
 f.oT years. Still in the prime of his manhood, his 
 hair and beard were grizzled and his face deep- 
 lined, for the toils and cares of a pioneer mission- 
 ary's life are neither few nor light. But out of 
 his kindly blue eye looked the heart of a hero, 
 and as he spoke to us we felt the prophet's touch 
 and caught a gleam of the prophet's fire. 
 
 *'I have fought the fight," he read. The ring 
 in his voice lifted up all our heads, and, as he 
 pictured to us the life of that battered hero who 
 had written these words, I saw Bill's eyes begin 
 *'> c^leana and his lank figure straighten out its
 
 The Pilot's Last Port 295; 
 
 lazy angles. Then he turned the leaves quickly 
 and read again, "Let not your heart be troubled 
 . . , in my father's house are many mansions. '" 
 His voice took a lower, sweeter tone; he looked 
 over our heads, and for a few moments spoke of 
 the eternal hope. Then he came back to us, and, 
 looking round into the faces turned so eagerly to 
 him, talked to us of The Pilot — how a!t the first he 
 had sent him to us with fear and trembling — he 
 was so young — but how he had come to trust in 
 him and to rejoice in his work, and to hope much 
 from his life. Now it was all over; but he felt 
 sure his young friend had not given his life in 
 vain. He paused as he looked from one to the 
 other, till his eyes rested on Gwen's face. I was 
 startled, as I believe he was, too, at the smile that 
 parted her lips, so evidently saying: *'Yes, but 
 how much better I know than you.** 
 
 **Yes,*' he went on, after a pause, answering 
 her smile, *'you all know better than I that his 
 work among you will not pass away with his 
 removal, but endure while you live,'* and the 
 smile on Gwen's face grew brighter. *'And now 
 you must not grudge him his reward and his rest 
 . . . and his home.'* And Bill, nodding his head 
 slowly, said under his breath, "That's so."
 
 »9^ The Sky Pilot 
 
 Then they sang that hymn of the dawning 
 glory of Immanuel's land, — Lady Charlotte play- 
 ing the organ and The Duke leading with clear, 
 steady voice verse after verse. When they came 
 to the last verse the minister made a sign and, 
 while they waited, he read the words: 
 
 "I've wrestled on towards heaven 
 'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide.** 
 
 And so on to that last victorious cry,— 
 
 «i 
 
 I hail the glory dawning 
 In Immanuel's Land." 
 
 For a moment it looked as if the singing could 
 not go on, for tears were on the minister's face 
 and the women were beginning to sob, but The 
 Duke's clear, quiet voice caught up the song and 
 steadied them all to the end. 
 
 After the prayer they all went in and looked at 
 The Pilot's face and passed out, leaving behmd 
 only those that knew him best. The Duke and 
 the Hon. Fred stood looking down upon the quiet 
 face. 
 
 **The country has lost a good man, Duke," said
 
 The Pilot's Last Port 297 
 
 the Hon. Fred. The Duke bowed silently. Then 
 Lady Charlotte came and gazed a moment. 
 
 **Dear Pilot," she whispered, her tears falling 
 fast. ''Dear, dear Pilot! Thank God for you! 
 You have done much for me. " Then she stooped 
 and kissed him on his cold lips and on his fore- 
 head. 
 
 Then Gwen seemed to suddenly waken as from 
 a dream. She turned and, looking up in a fright- 
 ened way, said to Bill hurriedly: 
 
 "I want to see him again. Carry me!" 
 
 And Bill gathered her up in his arms and took 
 her in. As they looked down upon the dead face 
 with its look of proud peace and touched with the 
 stateliness of death, Gwen's fear passed away, 
 But when The Duke made to cover the face. 
 Gwen drew a sharp breath and, clinging to Bill, 
 said, with a sudden gasp : 
 
 "Oh, Bill, I can't bear it alone. I'm afraid 
 alone. ' ' 
 
 She was thinking of the long, weary days of 
 pain before her that she must face now without 
 The Pilot's touch and smile and voice. 
 
 "Me, too," said Bill, thinking of the days 
 before him. He could have said nothing better, 
 ■^wen looked in his face a moment, then said:
 
 298 The Sky Pilot 
 
 "We'll help each other," and Bill, swallowing 
 hard, could only nod his head in reply. Once 
 more they looked upon The Pilot, leaning down 
 and lingering over him, and then Gwen said 
 quietly : 
 
 "Take me away. Bill," and Bill carried her 
 into the outer room. Turning back I caught a 
 look on The Duke's face so full of grief that I 
 could not help showing my amazement. He 
 noticed and said: 
 
 "The best man I ever knew, Connor. He has 
 done something for me too. ... I'd give the 
 world to die like that," 
 
 Then he covered the face. 
 
 We sat at Gwen's window. Bill, with Gwen in 
 his arms, and I watching. Down the sloping, 
 snow-covered hill wound the procession of sleighs 
 and horsemen, without sound of voice or jingle of 
 bell till, one by one, they passed out of our sight 
 and dipped down into the canyon. But we knew 
 every step of the winding trail and followed them 
 in fancy through that fairy scene of mystic 
 wonderland. We knew how the great elms and 
 the poplars and the birches clinging to the snowy 
 sides interlaced their bare boughs into a network 
 of bewildering complexity, and how the cedars
 
 The Pilot*s Last Port 299 
 
 and balsams and spruces stood in the bottom, 
 their dark boughs weighted down with heavy 
 white mantles of snow, and how every stump 
 and fallen log and rotting stick was made a thing 
 of beauty by the snow that had fallen so gently 
 on them in that quiet spot. And we could see 
 the rocks of the canyon sides gleam out black 
 from under overhanging snow-banks, and we 
 could hear the song of the Swan in its many 
 tones, now under an icy sheet, cooing comfortably, 
 and then bursting out into sunlit laughter and 
 leaping into a foaming pool, to glide away 
 smoothly murmuring its delight to the white 
 banks that curved to kiss the dark water as it 
 fled. And where the flowers had been, the 
 violets and the wind-flowers and the clematis and 
 the columbine and all the ferns and flowering 
 shrubs, there lay the snow. Everywhere the 
 snow, pure, white, and myriad-gemmed, but 
 every flake a flower's shroud. 
 
 Out where the canyon opened to the sunny, 
 sloping prairie, there they would lay The Pilot 
 to sleep, within touch of the canyon he loved, 
 with all its sleeping things. And there he lies to 
 this time. But Spring has come many times to 
 the canyon since that winter day, and has called
 
 300 The Sky Pilot 
 
 to the sleeping flowers, summoning them forth in 
 merry troops, and ever more and more till the 
 canyon ripples with them. And lives are like 
 flowers. . In dying they abide not alone, but sow 
 themselves and bloom again with each returning 
 spring, and ever more and more. 
 
 For often during the following years, as here 
 and there I came upon one of those that com- 
 panied with us in those Foothill days, I would 
 catch a glimpse in word and deed and look of him 
 we called, first in jest, but afterwards with true 
 and tender feeling we were not ashamed to owa? 
 our Sky Pilot. 
 
 THE END 

 
 ?M 
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
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 NOV 2 1 1985 
 
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