SIX STARS OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES Old Captain," he said, half aloud. See page 43 SIX STARS BY NELSON LLOYD AUTHOR OF " THE SOLDIER OF THE VALLEY, " MRS. RADIGAN," ETC. ILLUSTRATED CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::::: 1906 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Published, April, 1906 TKOW OItCTO AND lOOKtlNOmQ COMPANY CONTENTS PAGE THE THIRD AND A HALF GENERATION. ... 1 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY 23 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER 49 THE SNYDER COUNTY GOLD-STRIKK 73 THE ADMIRABLE WHOOPLE 99 THE SECOND VENTURE 122 THE POSY SONG 142 THE ANGELS OF Six STARS 161 A BACHELOR OF ELEMENTS 186 THE MAN WHO STUDIED CONTINUAL .... 206 Music HATH CHARMS 227 THE MOST DETERMINEDEST MAN 241 THE UPLIFTING POWER OF PRIDE 254 THE SENTIMENTAL Miss TUBBS 272 THE MODEST MAN 289 THE CONTENTEDEST MAN . 303 2131075 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS From, Drawings b\j Howard Pyle, A. B. Frost Fletcher C. Ransom, and others " Old Captain," he said, half aloud .... Frontispiece FACING PAGE It was a cold day when Emerson Tumbell butchered 16 The store turned pale 26 " Humbility is the fountain of all virtue "... 56 Solomon Holloberger had been completely crushed and was sitting in silence 92 Gayly rattling music from a mouth-organ, with the girl busy accompanying him 106 " I thought some un might be looking ! " . . . 204 He and Davy worked by candle-light with the Good Book and the map .218 SIX STARS THE THIBD AND A HALF GENEEATION GENERATIONS come in waves in Six Stars, and Willie Calker had not ar- rived in the natural course of events, but had moved in from the neighboring valley with his mother. The third generation had been but recently married off, and the fourth was roll- ing over the rag-carpets of the village. His was the third and a half. So he was alone in his boyhood. And in truth he had become the oldest man for a lad of his age Six Stars had ever seen, for worldly wisdom he had acquired as he sat unnoticed, unheeded, squeezed between the worthies of the store porch; and a higher knowledge he had attained as day after day he wandered along the creek, watching the fish sporting there, or followed the tinkle of the cow-bells through the hemlock woods, with his 1 SIX STARS dog Jimmy at his heels. Through the long summer afternoons as he sat by the milldam, idly twirling pebbles into the placid water, he had explored his own brain; he had travelled far beyond the mountains and the ridges that formed the valley; he had wandered the world over, always keeping in sight of the old stone mill, and in sound of the splashing water- wheel. Thus he had conceived an inward con- tempt for the three generations that spent so much of their time on the store bench, but he sat at their feet and absorbed such stray bits of wisdom as they let fall. He borrowed their county paper, and heard the faint echoes of the great world without. For a long time the store underestimated Willie. In fact, it never even troubled itself estimating him at all. He was nothing but a boy, the only one in the village, whose loneli- ness entitled him to a place on the bench as long as he did not become intrusive with his childlike opinions or embarrassing questions. The store even tolerated him to the extent of allowing him to make a guess on the weight of Moses Pole's famed Chester White hog. It 2 THIRD AND A HALF GENERATION was here that the trouble began. This was the Black Friday in the history of Six Stars. Just two days before that particular Friday, Willie Calker celebrated his twelfth birthday, and from some place off there in the blue, a mysterious place called Kansas, a place no more distant and no more unreal than Heaven itself, there had come to him a bright silver quarter. It was the gift of the grandmother he had never seen, and had it been brought to him in the bill of a raven, instead of in the semi-weekly mail, he could not have been more astounded. It took him two days to recover his astonishment, and then he began to cast about for something to do with it. It was the enormousness of the sum that overwhelmed hmi. To many lads of his age it would have represented no more than a jarful of those beautiful yellow lemon-sticks that adorned the shelf in the store. To Willie Calker, lemon- sticks were things to be measured in pennies; quarters were the measure of the rolling hills. He had been lifted above the candy-shelf. He was a man of means. As became a man of means, he must stroll to the store not with 3 SIX STAKS an idea of purchasing mere sweets, but possi- bly with an eye on the building itself. The Six Stars store is a fine bit of property, standing where the ridge road and the turnpike meet, commanding a view of the milldam, and beyond that of the scrub country that slopes away to the southward, getting higher and higher until it breaks down into the great val- ley, where the farms are rich and the barns all white and green. The boy paused on the steps and looked away to where a line of tree tops fringed into the sky. He thought of that valley beyond. He had had glimpses of it as he stood there at the head of the ridge that jutted into it. It was so different from this, his own land of rough woods, and choppings, and clear- ings and stone-covered farms, that calling the Elysium to mind sufficed to alter any intention he had of making his friend Smith an offer for his " General Emporium." But he stepped within, anyway, just to see what was doing. In spite of his wealth and his grand plans, Willie Calker could not but halt before the counter and give a wistful glance at the yellow lemon-sticks, wishing perhaps that he was a 4 THIED AND A HALF GENERATION boy again with a solitary penny to spend as his mouth willed, and not a man with a quarter and a mind. He grasped his fortune a bit tighter in his hand, and, as if to prove his mas- tery over self, gazed defiantly at the alluring jar. Behind him sounded the rasping cackle of Martin Holmes, the sole surviving representa- tive of the first generation. "Well, sonny, it looks like you'll take a guess, eh?" The old man made a demonstration with his cane, threw back his head, stuck out his white beard and performed a short series of facial gymnastics, the usual evidences of his merry mood. His gibe was followed by a chorus of guffaws from the bench and from the counter, from the nail-keg in the corner, from the empty egg-crate behind the stove. Willie flushed. His eyes moved from the jar to the cigar-box on the shelf below it, from which arose this placard : Hog gessin contest on Moses Poles Chester White 25 cents a gess Butcherin next wensday. SIX STABS The lad wheeled about and faced the gen- erations above him. "Mebbe you'd like two guesses, or mebbe four, Willie," said Martin in his most insinuating tones. Then he clapped a hand so hard on the knee of Lucien Spade, who sat next to him, that the bark-peeler gave vent to a cry of pain that sent the store into paroxysms of laughter again. Willie's fighting blood was up. Dreams of vast possessions faded away before the stern realities of the moment. "How many is comin' in, Martin?" he asked in the deepest tone he could command, with his chest cramped as it was in a three-year-old jacket, and his throat hampered by an enormous woolen muffler. The old man's reply was drowned in a gen- eral burst of laughter. "How many is comin' in?" demanded the lad again. But this time he drew from his pocket a bright silver coin and twirled it care- lessly about in his hand. The effect was instantaneous. Martin 6 THIED AND A HALF GENERATION seized his beard and pulled at it reflectively as he stared at the boy Ned Smith, leaning over the counter, broke the silence: "Sence you are showin' the color of your money, Willie, they is ten in already still." "Ten," said Willie meditatively. "That means two-fifty if I win." "If you wins?" cried the venerable Holmes. "Well, I'll swan!" He pointed a quivering finger at the diminu- tive, the easy figure there before him. Martin was unrivalled at guessing the weight of a hog. So expert was he that it was an established rule that he should pay an additional dime for the privilege of competing. No one knew this better than Willie Calker. And now the pic- ture of this chit defying, not the store, but him, Martin Holmes, brewed a storm of emotion, mingled anger and merriment, beneath the old man's coat. He could only shake his finger and sputter. "It ain't right, Ned," broke in Moses Pole. "It ain't right fer you uns to let him resk his money on no hog guessin'." "It ain't, it ain't," chimed in Martin Holmes, just recovering his power of speech. "An' you knows it, Ned Smith, an' you, Lush Spade, an' you, Moses Pole. Do you s'pose I want to tech his money?" "Ned," said Willie, standing with his fists in his pockets, looking up into the storekeep- er's face, ignoring the mingled cries of ap- proval and disapproval behind him, "be Moses's Chester White you uns mean the one that had his ear tore off in the barb-wire fence!" "Personal friend o' yours, Willie?" old Holmes put in cheerfully. "Personal friend?" returned the boy coolly. "I should say he was, Martin. Why, I've know'd that old Chester White fer years, an' such bein' the case, I'll take one guess." With that he laid his fortune on the counter. The question had its moral side, and, to do the store justice, it revolted at the picture of the unsophisticated boy staking his money on a guess. He would not be gambling, of course. Gambling was a vice, a sin, a crime. The preachers had always put particular stress on S THIKD AND A HALF GENERATION that idea when they pounded the pulpits and hurled forth their warnings against the dan- gers of horse-racing, the winecup and other such pleasant sins that the valley, by reason of its remoteness and poverty, had heard of but could never enjoy. Gambling was as- sociated with cards. Its evils were presented pictorially in tracts, showing shirt-sleeved young men sitting around tables burdened with bottles and money. The store had never seen these same abandoned creatures represented as staking fortunes on the weight of a hog. Hence it placed its loved sport without the ban. So, had Willie Calker faltered as he laid his money on the counter, the store would have arisen in one grand protest. But he was so firm, so quick, so self-possessed, that he seemed to take on for the moment the proportions of a man. The store was awed. It watched him in silence as he picked up a pencil and thought- fully, but with studied care, eyed the point. Then, on a slip of paper, he scrawled his name and the few figures that gave his estimate of the weight of Moses Pole's Chester White. 9 SIX STABS Willie Calker won the guessing. He was within a pound and a half of the actual weight of his corpulent four-footed friend, and Martin Holmes, the peerless, lost by a pound. His gibe on that Black Friday had cost him dear, for now, with the enormous sum of two dollars and a half at his command, the boy was a cap- italist, and when the name of Aaron Jones ap- peared above the cigar-box, he ventured two guesses on the blacksmith's wonderful Jersey Red, and one was within three pounds of the actual weight. Martin Holmes was short by ten. This was in itself most remarkable, for in years he had not put in figures so far wrong. In fact, he had had the game down to so fine a point as to disdain to call it guessing at all. He always referred to it as "estymatinV The result on the Chester White unnerved him. That on the Jersey Red routed him. When the sign was hoisted for McMitt's Berkshire, Mar- tin boldly demanded the abrogation of the rule that he pay an extra dime to enter the contest. This was a great humiliation for the poor man. It was as though he were turning over the crown and sceptre before his time. It was an 10 THIED AND A HALF GENERATION admission of defeat, a succumbing to the forces of decay. He, the first generation, was broken, and in his place was rising, not the second, as in the natural course of events, nor even the third, but the third and a half that mere sprig of a boy who had never done anything but moon around the dam and the woods. The old man tried to pass it by as a "good un" on him, but the store saw through his forced jollity as he paid the regular quarter for the first time in years and handed in his "estymayte" on the Berkshire. Willie Calker had taken four guesses, and again he won. Martin knew that he would. And so did Moses Pole. For three days preced- ing the butchering the pair had sat together on the bench, gloomily watching the box and de- claring that it wasn't any use. Moses was in- clined to think that the boy was not playing fair, but was using a charm. In this theory he had no support. Martin declared that there was nothing in superstition anyway, except- ing as far as it affected rheumatism. But the store now felt that for the preservation of the sport something should be done. The grum- 11 SIX STAES bling became more general and open when the boy took six guesses on Solomon Holloberger's black runt and won. When he bought eight chances on the Killowills' Poland China, and with one came within nine ounces of the actual weight, the store arose in revolt. This lad had no family to support, and there was no limit to his ability to guess. The welfare of the na- tion demanded prompt action, for not only the money of the valley, but of the county and the country was draining into this mere child's pockets. The store did act. This was when Emerson Tumbell set the date for the killing of his won- derful hog that for two months had hardly been able to stagger about under its burden of roll- ing fat. Twice had Willie slipped up to Emer- son's farm to inspect the beast. So his disap- pointment was keen when he went to deposit his guesses and saw added to the usual notice above the cigar-box the words, "Barrin' Willie Calker." "Barrin' me," he repeated slowly. Then, turning to Martin Holmes, he asked: "What does that mean!" 12 THIRD AND A HALF. GENERATION "It means, sonny," said the old man with much gravity, "that Emerson butchers a Mon- day, an' that guesses will be received as usual, barrin' Willie Calker. Willie is too young, sonny. It ain't right fer us folks to let a boy o' his tender years resk his money." "Is that true, Ned?" asked the lad, appeal- ing to the storekeeper, who was leaning over the counter, an amused smile on his face. Ned Smith nodded in the affirmative and smiled the more. Without another word Willie Calker strode to the door and down the road. At the mill- dam he paused a moment to send a flat stone hurtling along the water. Then he crossed on the foot-log to his favorite retreat behind the mill, where, in seclusion, soothed by the swishing of the water over the wheel and the rumble of the grinding stones, he could think it all over. But hardly had he seated himself on a log when the venerable Holmes confronted him. "Willie," said the old man soothingly. "Well," returned the boy in frigid tones. "Ye ain't mad, are ye?" the other asked softly. 13 SIX STARS "Course I ain't. But you did it, you know you did," snapped the lad. "Now, sonny, don't be hard on me. It was fer your good, really," pleaded Martin, seat- ing himself on the log. "But, say, Willie, you might jest tell me somethin'." ' ' Tell you what ? ' ' snapped the boy. "What does you allow that there Berkshire of Emerson Tumbell's weighs?" 1 1 Martin, you shut me out, you know you did, didn't ye!" "I didn't, sonny, really I didn't," answered he of the first generation. "I had a woice in the matter, I admit, but whatever I done was fer your sake, Willie. Gamblin' is a terrible wice. ' ' " Gamblin '," retorted Willie. "This ain't gamblin', Martin. This is only hog guessin'. Why, I've heard you say a hundred times that they was different. ' ' The old man raised a finger in warning. "Ssh!" He smiled knowingly. "You know, Willie, what I meant. You an ' me understands one another, don't we? We are just about the smartest two in town you an' me. Of course 14 THIRD AND A HALF GENEEATION it 's gamblin '. Gamblin 's a wice. Them fellers at the store don't know it, an' I ain't the boy to spile their fun. You knows that hey, sonny you knows that. Now, what does you cal'late that hog o' Emerson's " "But, Martin, if it is a vice as you says, why should I tell you how many pound that animal weighs? Ain't that encouragin' you to do wrong?" "There you go agin," said the old man, lay- ing a horny hand on the small knee that was knocking against his own boots. "It's this 'ay, Willie. Gamblin' is a wice. It biteth like an adder; it stingeth like a serpent. Oncet it gits its grip on you it don't let go. It ruins your life. An', Willie, it " "But, Martin " "Wait a bit an' hear me out. It ruins your life. It sappeth at the blood an' you are young yet, my boy, an' I couldn't see the wice gittin' its deadly holt on you. Fer me it ain't so bad, fer my summer-time is gone. I've only a few year left to spile. Now, what does you guess " Martin stopped abruptly and drew a quarter from his pocket. He looked at it 15 SIX STABS steadfastly for a minute. Then he smiled at Willie. "Now, what does you guess will be the weight of Emerson's killin'!" he asked again. The boy closed his eyes and held out a hand. "I guess I guess I guess," he repeated slowly. His fingers tightened on the coin. "I guess five hundred an' eleven pound an' seven ounces," he said quickly. He opened his eyes and looked rather wist- fully at the old man. Martin says now that he winked at him. It was a cold day when Emerson Tumbell butchered. His place is full three miles above the store on the cross-road that leaves the pike just beyond the covered bridge. Every farm in his neighborhood sent a delegation to wit- ness the execution of the ponderous Berkshire, but Six Stars contented itself with a single emissary. Aaron Jones volunteered to ride up there on his white mule about noon, though it was a gray, melancholy morning, with a prom- ise of snow in the clouds overhead, and the average man would have preferred the warmth of the store stove. Aaron was always accom- 16 Drawn by Albert Levering-. It was a cold day when Emerson Tumbell butchered. THIED AND A HALF GENERATION" modating. The boys were anxious to get the news, and he was anxious to please the boys. But besides this he had an interest in the cigar- box. He had even boasted his confidence that the entire contents would find their way into his pockets. He had dreamed a dream, and in his sleep the actual weight of Emerson Tum- bell's Berkshire had been revealed to him. Then the blacksmith had chuckled to himself and winked at the ceiling. The group on the store porch watched the white mule and its rider until they were lost to sight in the gloom of the bridge; then they moved inside, and in silence watched the clock. When the hands pointed the noon hour, the whole company shuffled out to the old point of vantage and strained their eyes up the pike. It was not long until the white mule hove into view again. He was not really going at break- neck speed, but he did trot, so Aaron was bumping violently up and down, a rein in each hand, his elbows flapping like wings. The store lined up to receive him as he drew up and turned half around in the saddle and faced them. There was an expectant silence, in SIX STARS which the courier laid one hand on his chest and caught his lost breath. Then he smiled. "Ye can't beat me, boys," he gasped, "I'm within seven ounces." Ten faces fell. Ten hands went to ten chins to stroke them sadly. "I told you I drumpt it true," cried Aaron, his voice now ringing clear and triumphant. "You uns laughed at my dream, but I got with- in seven ounces." "What's the eh weight?" ventured Mar- tin Holmes, after a moment of silence in the company. "Five hundred an' eleven pound even," cried Aaron. He was half out of the saddle, and waved one long, booted leg in the face of the store. It was defiance he expressed thus, for as he reached the ground he shouted: "I guessed five hundred an' eleven pound, seven ounces. You uns can't beat it." "I allow we can't, Aaron," Martin Holmes exclaimed, with a sudden, cheery ring in his voice. "But I think we'll have to dewide, me an' you, fer I guessed five hundred an' eleven pound, seven ounces, too." 18 THIKD AND A HALF GENERATION "Well, I'll swan!" broke in Moses Pole. "So did I. That was my estymayte five hundred an' eleven pound, seven ounces." "See here, Moses, you stop your joshin'," cried Martin angrily. "This is no time fer joshin. V* The old man saw that several others wanted to speak, but he silenced them by rais- ing a warning hand. "It ain't regular," he exclaimed. "Open the box, an' then we'll see how much we dewide." So he led the company into the store. "It's be fur the best estyrnaytin' I ever done," he said, as Smith was unfolding the paper slips on the counter. "It's wonderful guessin', an' I don't propose havin' the laurels drug offen me brow be no jolliers like Aaron or Moses there." "Nor me," spoke up Lucien Spade from the outskirts of the crowd. "I guessed five hun- dred an' eleven pound, seven " Martin laughed. "Boys boys, no joshin'. It ain't regular," he cried, with a genial wave of his thin old arms. "But I did guess five hundred an' eleven 19 SIX STAES pound, seven ounces," shouted McMitt, the miller. "Hoi* on hoi* on," protested Martin, still more genially. "I don't mind a joke, Aleck, but wait till Smith gets th'oo openin' the guesses. Then we'll see who it's on." It did not take long to find this out. When the storekeeper had transposed the figures to a long slip of paper, he eyed them quizzically for what seemed an age to the men before him. "It's re-markable," he said at last. "It was most a mighty good estymayte only seven ounces off," chuckled old Holmes. "Emerson's hog weighs five hundred an' eleven pound," said the storekeeper, rapping for order. There was a strained silence. "There are thirteen guesses, an' every man estymaytes the weight at five hundred an' eleven pound, seven ounces. Such bein' the case, we all git a quarter apiece." "But that's all we paid in," Moses Pole pro- tested. Some one cried: "Willie Calker where 's Willie Calker?" 20 THIKD AND A HALF. GENERATION It was a reckless thing to do. There was a sudden hush over the company. The men looked from one to the other, and not one said a word. A moment passed, and Martin Holmes forced his way through the crowd that pressed about him, and went out on the porch, slam- ming the door behind him as a sign that he wished to be alone. For a long time he was alone, leaning against a pillar, watching the lazy ripples on the milldam. Had it been a bright day, the old man might have at least grinned a bit over his defeat and the defeat of the whole store company. But he could hear the splash of the water over the millwheel, and it was cold and cheerless music. All around him the dry bones of the year were rattling in the limbs that crackled under the brisk wind, in the leaves that bowled along the hard road, in the whir of the few songless birds that shot to and fro. A half-score of sheep were hud- dled in the protection of the blacksmith shop, baaing to keep warm. The valley was in no mood to cheer him up. Suddenly a sharp report rang down the slope 21 SIX STABS from the woods. He looked up quickly. Again he heard it, and still again. " Who's a-shootin' up there on the ridge, Earl?" he called to one of the fourth gener- ation who chanced to be passing in pursuit of a flock of geese. The lad halted and pulled his muffler down from his mouth. "Willie Calker," he cried. "He has got a new revoliver." "Mighty souls!" said Martin Holmes. 22 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY, THEN I ups with the gun," said Harvey Homer. Suiting the action to the word, he lifted the butt of the ancient piece to his shoulder, aiming right at Amos Inklin's head. The drover dodged hastily, seeking the protec- tion of the big egg-stove. "Hold on there!" he shouted "Mebbe it's leadened." Harvey dropped the butt to the floor with great deliberation. "As I was saying when you interrupted me, I ups with the gun an' "Now, see here, Harvey," cried Amos an- grily, "if you are goin' to ups with it agin, I want to know if it's leadened. This store ain't Laurel Ridge, an' my head ain't a coon." "Is it leadened, Harvey?" said old Mar- tin Holmes, laying a hand on Homer's knee and wiggling his leg at every word. "My pap's first cousin was kilt be an absent-minded man 23 SIX STABS illustratined how lie shot a wild-cat. Is it leadened!" "I forget," replied the hunter testily. "Do you fellers think I can mind every time I shoot it?" He paused a moment and laid his fore- finger thoughtfully between his eyes. "I al- low it is loadened, but jest to make sure " He drew the hickory ramrod from its home and sent it rattling down the barrel. It came to a stop with a thud, and he shut one eye and crit- ically inspected the protruding end of the stick. "It is loadened," he cried trium- phantly. From behind the counter Ned Smith, the storekeeper, broke in with a gentle protest. "We don't mind you uns tellin' us about shoot- in', but mebbe before you go pintin' around that 'ay it *ud be sensible to unloaden it." "There's two fingers o' powder, two buck an' a ball in there," cried the hunter angrily, shaking the rifle. "That's what you'd have me go waste. You uns talk like a gun hadn't no sense. Besides, there ain't no cap, an' " "Now, Harvey, now, Harvey," said Martin Holmes gently. "Don't get all het up. I never 24 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY seen a gun yit as was overgifted with brains. A rifle is fickler than a woman; you otter know that, Harvey. You otter know that the less wad- din' you has pertectin' you, the harder she kicks. An' if the average well-balanced mus- ket gits it inter its head it's goin' to go off, off it'll go, whether it has a cap on or not; you otter know that, Harvey." Harvey did not know it. He did not care. He did not need any information about guns. But if the store was full of fellows who had no trust in a rifle that had gone fifty years with- out harming no one, then he allowed that he supposed it would be best to unloaden it. He hurled this forth as he shuffled to the door. The store followed him, old Holmes bringing up in the rear, with a finger carefully tucked in each ear. Standing on the porch, Homer gave one con- temptuous glance at the little knot of men be- hind him, and, taking careless aim at a gray cloud that was hovering away off in the dis- tance, fired. There was a loud squawking of chickens and a flutter of wings; a series of wild squeals by 25 SIX STABS the mill, where a few hogs had been huddled in the sun; a chorus of ba-a-s, as a flock of sheep rushed down the road and made the bridge by the blacksmith shop ring with their hoofs. This was to be expected, for it always followed any startling sound in Six Stars. The unexpected was a human cry of dismay and then a groan that arose from a light blue heap in the road, just beneath the smoking muz- zle. The store turned pale. The light blue heap took form, and the men on the porch breathed easier, for now, erect before them, his old army overcoat gray with dust, his out- stretched hands holding a bicycle, which he was critically inspecting, stood Aaron Kallaberger. He sent the wheels spinning around, and, hav- ing satisfied himself that the machine was not damaged, he smiled. "I tho't it was Sumter," he said. Though Aaron Kallaberger did not take part in the defence of that famous fortress, as might be implied from this remark, his nine months* service in the Civil War, all in the hospital, had cast a heroic glamour over his whole life, and, with a pension added and an 26 The store turned pale. THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY army overcoat, he was well entitled to use mar- tial terms. But Harvey did not like it. "Did you allus tumble over like that when they was any shootin ' ?' ' he cried angrily. * * A- screechin', an' a-groanin', an' a-scarin' the en- emy to death, thinkin' they'd killed ye." "I never rode under a cannon before," re- plied Aaron pleasantly. "A cannon!" The very suggestion was so extravagant to Harvey that he laughed. "Why, this here is the best gun in Pennsyl- wany. Look at it, Aaron! Handle it mind the copper patch on the stock see how easy the trigger pulls an' that there ramrod toughest hickory in the walley, an' whittled out by my old grandpap." He thrust the barrel into the hands of the veteran, who had propped himself against the bicycle and received the piece rather gingerly. "A cannon! Why, if my pap heard you say that he'd turn in his grave. Grandpap got it first, an' they allus sayd he carried it in the Revolution look there you can see where it was a flintlock. Pap changed it fer caps. There's a placet in the stock to keep bullets an' patches all the 27 SIX STARS modern conveniences, you sec, with the ex- perience of age. Jest take a sight with her, Aaron, an' mind how light she is." The veteran lifted the heavy gun and aimed it. In the delight of sighting down the long barrel at a new white shingle on the roof of the mill, he straightened up and the bicycle toppled over. Harvey scrambled to pick it up. That was a fatal move to him, for a wheel spun around with a musical purr, scattering silvery shafts of light. "Mighty, but it goes easy," he cried. "Where did you git it, Aaron?" "I wonder if I could hit that chicken if this here was loadened?" replied Kallaberger, swinging the rifle around and bringing it to bear on a hen resting on a near-by fence. "How fur will this here travel?" inquired Harvey, a little louder. "Sights, but it feels good!" the veteran an- swered, aiming at a cloud. "I ain't had a mus- ket of me own since the war got out of the habit. What you bet I couldn't take the weath- er wane off en Inklin's house yanderl" "How much did you give fer this here?" 28 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEYi cried Harvey, laying a restraining hand on the other's arm. "For what oh, that," said Aaron, with a contemptuous glance at the machine. "I al- most give me life fer it a couple of times. As it was, I traded with young Harvey Whoople fer ten dollars, a churn, an' two augers." Harvey's eyes opened wide in amazement. "They is expensive, ain't they?" he said meekly. He was disappointed. The bicycle was in his hands, and he wanted it. He had read about these machines in the paper; a few times he had seen strangely garbed men from the county- town flying along the turnpike on them; but to him they had seemed as difficult to attain as wings. Now he held one in his hands ; he knew a man who could ride one; he had heard the musical purr of the wheels and gazed into the hypnotic light of the spokes. It did not seem so unattainable, yet the price was beyond him. The churn and two augers he could give, but ten dollars "What '11 you take fer this here rifle, Har- vey?" Aaron asked, aiming at the head of a 29 SIX STARS sheep that was standing on the bridge blink- ing at the sun. "I'll trade even," Harvey replied. He pointed to the bicycle, but he was so amazed at his audacity that his voice broke and he had to cough. Kallaberger laughed. "Even!" he shouted. "Mighty, man, talk sense ten dollars an' the gun how's that fer a bargain ? ' ' "Yon is the best gun in the walley," Homer answered with spirit. "My own grandpap whittled that ramrod." But Kallaberger was without sentiment. He insisted on fixing the value of the rifle on the basis of its present usefulness, entirely elimi- nating family tradition. And Aaron was a clever man, for he stood by in contemptuous silence while Harvey spun the wheels again for a very long time. Then he made a new proposition. "I've heard tell a heap about your spring- bed, Harvey," he said. "Now, what 'ud you uns say to bicycle fer gun an' spring-bed. You haven't no use fer a spring-bed." 30 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY "It's most a 'mighty comf -table sleepin'," returned Harvey feebly. "But when you're asleep you don't know whether you're comf table or not/' the vet- eran argued with much spirit. "If you are sleepin' you are unkawnscious. Fer an un- kawnscious man a straw tick is as good as two springs." "There is some thin' in that," the other as- sented. He tried for a moment to recall a time when the spring-mattress had added to his comfort. He could not, for he had slept just as soundly before he got it. Sleep always came to him when his head touched a pillow, and the only real pleasure he had derived from his recent investment was in telling the others at the store what a luxurious thing it was. Again he spun the wheels, and they won the argument. Family tradition was forgotten. Grandpap whittling the hickory ramrod was forgotten. Pap's pride in the best gun in the valley was forgotten. "It's a bargain, Aaron," the young man said. Harvey Homer slept that night on his old 31 SIX STAES corn-shuck mattress. He had pulled it down from the loft of his little log-house after Kal- laberger had driven away with the springs lashed to his buckboard, and Harvey did not regret his bargain, for he sat up late, spinning the wheels and pointing out to his hound, Colo- nel, the interesting parts of the mechanism. He had even tried mounting and dismounting in the narrow limits of his kitchen, so that it was a weary head that touched the pillow, and he was soon unconscious to the discomfort of the corn shucks. As if in proof of his theory, he slept unusually late the next morning, and it was broad daylight when he arose. First he awakened the fire in the ten-plate stove, and, when it was roaring lustily, he turned to take the measure of the day. The valley was white with the first snow of the year. It had crept up in the night and covered the shrivelled fields, transforming the gaunt trees into giant finger-corals, pitching rank on rank of tall, white tents at the head of the slope, where yesterday had been an expanse of stunted pines. The man at the window, peer- ing through the frosted glass, had seen too 32 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY many winters come to waste a glance on the fences, once so broken, so brown and decrepit, now a delicate network, stretching to and fro over the valley, and glittering in the sun that was just rising above the eastward ridges. He was looking away to the woods, and what held his gaze was not the tall white tents there, but three small black objects moving across the clearing. Long and earnestly he watched them as they went, single file, over the field and were again lost in the cover. "Turkeys, Colonel!" Harvey cried. "Wild turkeys." This announcement made the hound wriggle all over, and he raised himself against the win- dow, and, with his warm nose, tried to rub away the frost, that he too might see what was doing. "Breakfast first, Colonel," said Harvey gayly, patting the dog's head. "Breakfast, an' then " He paused abruptly. His gaze was fixed in the corner, where the gun had leaned so long. "An' then an' then " He rubbed his eyes to make sure of them. "Why, Colonel, I 33 SIX STAES never tho't o' you when I done it. You can't ride a bicycle, can you?" The hound ran to the door, and began to sniff at the knob and whine. Then he turned to the corner where the rifle should have been, and, sitting on his haunches, threw back his head and gave a long howl. "It's the redicklestest thing I ever done," said Harvey mournfully. '"I don't blame you a bit, Colonel. Why, had I stopped an' tho't o' you, I wouldn't 'a' swapped that gun fer ten bicycles. ' ' Still more was the full meaning of his bar- gain impressed on him, for, as he stepped out- side after breakfast, bound for the barn to care for his horses and his cow, he sank to his boot-tops in a snowdrift. The hound floun- dered after him, and, not ten steps from the door, they crossed the trail of a fox, where the wind, broken by the house, had failed to cover the tracks. Then a rabbit darted from a brush pile and scampered away over the fields. The hound went pitching after it, but, pausing at the crest of the hill, he looked back to see his master standing helplessly at the barn-yard 34 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY gate, so he turned and went disconsolately home. "It's no use, Colonel," Harvey said, hardly daring to meet the inquiring gaze of his dumb companion. "We might jest as well set down patient-like an' wait till the winter goes. Meb- be we can make up fer it be goin' bicyclin'; but jest now, I s'pose, we'll be overrun with game me an' you smothered under patridges an' foxes an' sech. Why, when you was gone I was looking fer some bears, or mebbe a tagger or an ellyphant or so to come a-moseyin' round here any minute. I allow we'd better keep in doors, me an' you, an' read the almenick." The hours moved very slowly that morning. The bicycle wheels had lost their fascination for Harvey, and he found small comfort in get- ting out his fishing tackle for an overhauling. It seemed so foolish to work over hooks and lines that could not be used for months. To make it more humiliating, Irving Kallaberger opened the door, without the formality of a knock, and surprised him at this humble occu- pation. Harvey apologized, and started to explain, but Irving cut him short, and, in that 35 SIX STABS polished way that has made his family famous in the valley, assured him that it was most sen- sible to prepare in early December for fishing in late April. With this the visitor removed his overcoat and muffler and took a chair by the stove. He had his fiddle with him, and was bound for the Hockewouts' place. The Hocke- wouts were giving a dance that night, and he was going to play. It is a good five miles there from Six Stars, and though Harvey's was but one-fifth of the way, he had decided to drop in and rest up and warm. Harvey suggested a tune, and, going to the door, called Colonel in to hear it. Irving gra- ciously acceded to the request, and, taking his violin from the paper flour-bag, began to play. Under the spell of the music, Harvey Homer forgot the lost rifle and the mocking game, and leaned back on two legs of his chair, beat time with his feet, and half hummed and half sang to the tune of " The Old Gray Horse that Died in the Wilderness." By his side the hound sat on his haunches, his tail free to pound the floor rhythmically, his head thrown back and his eyes fixed in ecstacy on the ceiling. Once he 36 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY, gave vent to a long-drawn howl, but a sharp stroke of his master's hand suppressed him, so that thereafter he contented himself with a series of gurgling wails. For a half hour Irving played, twice repeating his repertory, from "The Old Gray Horse" to "The Devil's Dream," and he was about to start on a third round, when Harvey interrupted him by shuf- fling his feet. "They is a heap o' consolation in a fiddle, ain't they?" he said. "I jest wish I had nothin' else to do," re- plied Irving, with enthusiasm. "A man with a fiddle is never lonely. It allus agrees with you. If you feels low down an' mournful, out comes the fiddle out comes 'The Old Gray Horse that Died in the Wilderness.' You feels ca'am-like an' peaceful out comes the fiddle out comes 'Mother an' Me' or 'Jordan's Strand.' Mebbe you are special happy an' joyous out comes 'The Devil's Dream' or ' Slatter-up-the-Ding-dang. ' Why, Harvey, it's a wonder to me you never took up music. ' ' "I don't know how," replied Harvey. "I can't." 37 SIX STABS "Can't!" exclaimed Irving. "Can't! Of course you can. Fiddlin' is natural. You never had a fiddle, did you! So you can't play. S'posin' you never had a fork an' knife you couldn't eat, could you! Music is the food of the human soul, as Pete Ciders sais. Give a baby a fiddle when you give him a knife an' fork, an' he'll play as natural as he'll eat. Now, ain't that true, Harvey!" Harvey thought that possibly it was. If he had any doubts on the question, Irving did not give them time to form into vigorous op- position, for he placed the fiddle in Homer's hands. "Now, try it oncet, an' see if it ain't like learnin' to swim a stroke at a time." The bow was drawn over the strings, and the fiddle gave a long wail. Colonel followed with a howl. "It's wonderful," said Harvev. "I'd no idee it was so easy." Up went the bow forth came a fire of short, sharp screeches. The dog fell in with a suc- cession of yelps. "Why, it's just tuned to me an' Colonel, 38 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY ain't it, Irving!" Harvey cried. "Now, I must git me one of these." "Didn't I tell you?" was Irving 's trium- phant rejoinder. "Of course it's easy. Oncet you can play the notes separate, all you have to learn is fittin' them together." Another long soft wail ! the cry that a lonely man suppresses. What a comfort it is to sit this way and pour forth your joys and your woes? A sweep of the bow and you hurl forth defiance at the world. A swing of the arm, slowly, softly, and you whisper some tenderer emotion. The world does not understand. It thinks you fiddle. Colonel knows! Colonel feels it ! To the depths of his dog-soul the cry of the fiddle strikes. "You like it, eh, old boy?" said Harvey, scratching the hound's head with the end of the bow. "Well, mebbe I'll git one of these, jest to play for you. ' ' "You might have that one," put in Irving, most opportunely, "if you really want it, an' will promise to learn, an' won't spile it. I think a heap o' that wiolin, an' you are the only man in the walley I'd trust it with." 39 SIX STAES Harvey was greatly flattered at this faith in his own artistic future, and promised to take the best of care of it. But what was he to give in return. Somehow Irving 's eyes wandered to the bicycle, and rested there. Har- vey asked what he would give with the fiddle for the wheel. At this young Kallaberger laughed outrageously. The real question was what he would get to boot. The bicycle would be of no service until the snow was gone, and that meant months, but the fiddle could be used day and night, winter and summer, year in and year out. "The value of any article, Harvey," said he didactically, "is dependent on what you gits outen it. They is nothin' to be got outen that wheel for months. But look at the fiddle. Its worth depends on the quantity of music it '11 give. That is limited only be your muscle an* your tune. There's the beauty of a fiddle you can't empty it." "Now, I never tho't o' that before, Irving, said Harvey apologetically. "Mebbe I otter give you somethin' extry with the wheel." Irving really felt that he should. Were he 40 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY dealing with any other man in the valley, he would insist on it, but it was a great deal to know that the loved instrument was in good hands hands that would care for it and get from it the best that it could give forth. On the other side, Harvey entertained no such feel- ings toward the bicycle. He regarded the ma- chine with resentment, for by the flash of its spokes and the purr of its wheels he had been lured from the paths trodden by his father and his father's father. He had forgotten them. The old hickory ramrod alone, whittled and seasoned with an infinity of care, was worth a dozen of these factory baubles. So when he saw the last of the bicycle, as Irving Kalla- berger was pushing it down the road through the snow-drifts, he laughed and turned to his new treasure. The sun had swung around far enough to be looking in the westerly window, when Harvey laid down the fiddle and began to rub his elbows and his wrists, which were crooked and stiff from the hours of earnest sawing. The hound had long since retired behind the stove, refus- ing to be further moved by his master's music, 41 SIX STABS except at intervals to lift his head and give an angry growl of protest. To one of these growls Harvey now deigned to reply, as he was trying to shake some blood into his left arm. "You mustn't git discouraged, Colonel. Give me tjme. They is a heap sight more in gittin' the notes together right than I allowed fer. Why, this here arm feels like it had been sleepin' all summer. But I'll learn it if I has to work all winter. Don't git mad about it, Colonel. Let me have time Irving '11 help- he '11 explain some pints that we ain't clear on, an* then I bet I can bring tears to your eyes agin." It was with the intention of getting Irving to explain, and the added purpose of inquiring for mail, that Harvey pulled on his mackinaw jacket and started for the village. Every af- ternoon of his life he made this little excur- sion. It was seldom that the mail brought him anything, and what did come were stray patent medicine circulars, addressed to the wife whom a half hundred of these nostrums had failed to save. She was gone four years now, and still 42 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY) came these belated answers to her dying ap- peals. Harvey always took them home and read them and treasured them, for they came to him as messages from the dead, and they used to say in Six Stars that but for the per- sistency of the quacks he would have married again long since. Such was the news he was going to get as he trudged along the snow- clogged road with his fiddle under his arm. At the head of the hill, where the road turns and winds down to the village, he stopped abruptly and raised a hand to his ear. Away up the val- ley he heard it, very faint at first; now clearer and nearer; now full and strong, ringing along the ridge-top a hound, giving tongue. Har- vey knew that voice. "Old Captain," he said half aloud, as he stood drinking in the music. "Tom Lasher's old Captain there 's a dead rabbit ! ' ' The bark of a rifle! Harvey Homer swings on his heels, and goes plunging on through the snow. He knows that voice. The best gun in the valley is singing along the ridges. Its song is reverberating from hill to hill, and now it is dying away in the woods up there toward 43 SIX STAKS home. Perhaps Colonel hears it as he mopes about the barn-yard, teasing chickens! Har- vey Homer hears it as he goes to take a fiddle lesson ! As he strode down the hill, fleeing from the sight and sound of those forbidden pleasures, Harvey was hailed by a small boy. He would have hurried by had not the report of a re- volver halted him. Piney Kallaberger was peppering at a tin can on a fence-post. "Mighty souls!'* cried the man. "Can you hit anything with that there?" "Can I!" replied the boy disdainfully. And the can rang as a bullet crashed through it. "Shootin' mark ain't much fun, tho'," said Piney, falling in beside Harvey, and stepping along with him. "It's awful quiet around town now, an 7 when Irving goes away with the fid- dle there's nothin' fer me to do. Fiddlin' is my speciality, when I can git a fiddle." He cast a wistful glance at the one tucked tinder his companion's arm. "Do you s'posin' I could hit a rabbit with that there revolver, Piney?" asked Harvey. 44 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY "Does I s'posin'!" cried the boy. "I don't s'posin' at all. I know it." And lie proceeded to demonstrate in words why the revolver was infinitely more accurate in its fire, easier to handle, safer to carry and more amusing to clean than the old-fashioned rifle. Harvey Homer was not so simple as to be carried away by the boy's praise of his weapon, but the nearer he came to the village, the more humble he felt at being seen with a fiddle. It was positively effeminate. Before he reached the bridge by the blacksmith shop he was hiding his shame beneath his mackinaw jacket. By the time the mill was passed he had transferred it to the willing hands of Piney Kallaberger, and when he stepped into the store it was with head high and shoulders back, for, at least, he carried something that would shoot. When the store door opened again it was to admit Aaron Kallaberger. The veteran seated himself in silence, laid the best gun in the val- ley across his knees, and, from some mysteri- ous recess in the lining of his coat, drew a dead rabbit. This he dropped carelessly on the floor 45 at his feet. Then he sighed and rubbed his right shoulder cautiously. "Have you any first-class linnyment, Ned?" he asked, addressing the storekeeper, whose head appeared above the row of men on the bench by the counter. There was a loud chuckle behind the stove. "Now, did she kick you, Aaron!" cried Har- vey Homer, leaning into view. "Ain't that a mighty kno win' gun? She never could put up with strangers." Aaron winked at Ned Smith. He used the eye that was hidden from Harvey by his eagle 's beak nose. "It was this here 'ay," he said, not heeding the jibe. "I had ^nuck up along behint Laurel ridge, when old Captain I'd borrowed the hound from Lasher old Captain he brung the rabbit a- jump in' along around by Jimpson's pond-field, an' I ups with the gun an'- "See here, Aaron," cried Harvey plaintively, breaking rudely into this vivid story of the hunt. "You'll spend all the money you has on linnyment if you keeps that there rifle. I know her temper. She '11 kick you every chance 46 THE BEST GUN IN THE VALLEY she gits. Now, her an' me gits along as sweet as two lambs. S'posin' we swap." "Oh, I ain't petickler," replied the veteran, "so long as I gits a good bargain. What '11 you give?" Harvey held up the revolver. "That," shouted Aaron, laughing derisively. "Why, this here is the best gun in the walley." "You sayd yesterday it was too old," re- torted Harvey. "Too old!" cried the veteran. "Mighty! It's historical. Your grandpap carried it in the Revolution. That there ramrod alone what he whittled is a relict. Don't be childish, Har- vey. ' ' "It wouldn't be jest an even trade, I know," said Harvey timidly, "but I allow if I th'owed in a dollar " "An' a bottle of linnyment, it 'ud be fair," added Aaron. Harvey Homer sat late that night, reading by candle-light. Suddenly he raised his eyes from the book and laughed. "He got a bottle of linnyment, Colonel," he said. The dog had been napping by the stove, 47 but now he lifted his head from between his forepaws and gazed at his master. ''He'll need that an' the spring-bed, too." Harvey arose, and, stepping to the corner, laid one hand on the muzzle of the best gun in the val- ley. "We've got her back, Colonel, an' to- morrow we'll go huntin' agin, but somehow my brain don't seem jest right. Somehow we ain't got as much as we had yesterday me an' you an' I can't account for it. Figgers allus did mix me. The Good Book straightens out a heap of things in this world, Colonel, an' I've been readin' that. But it ain't no help. It warns a feller agin most everything. I tho't it might mention the Kallabergers. But it don't. I guess that was because it was wrote so long ago. But, I allow, if it was to be wrote over agin it 'ud mention 'em." 48 THE NATUBAL-BOBN PEEACHEE. JOSEPH TUMBELL was a natural-born preacher. That was his way of putting it, and he was positive that he was right. Be- ing thus divinely gifted, it was hard that he had never been called to minister to the people, for, as a candidate for this high honor, he had stood three times before the congregation in the old Mennonite meeting-house on the ridge- side, where the road runs across hills to the river. "The lot is cast into the lap," the Bishop had said, "but the whole disposing thereof is of the Lord." The young man believed that. But the firmer his conviction, the harder to bear was the sight of another, one of poor parts, of halting speech and a barren brain, taking from the table the book in which lay the white slip that lifted him from the ranks to leadership, that transformed him from a silent listener into an 49 SIX STAKS expounder of divine truths. That a gifted man like William Larker, or one so devout as Her- mann Appel, should have been called to the ministry before him was just, but when Joseph thought of Adam Snauffer, and recalled his smug countenance fat, rosy red and framed in rolls of shiny hair and a beard most fastidi- ously trimmed when he remembered the lit- tle, restless, bulging eyes, that seemed to ferret out in an instant all the good points of a horse and the bad ones of a man, then deep down in his heart he was inclined to suspect that there had been some grave error in "the whole dis- posing thereof." Perhaps not. There might be in Adam latent powers for good that would be developed now that he sat above the people with their ministers, but it had always seemed that he had laid up too many goods in this world to be giving much thought to the doubt- ful possessions of that to come. Snauffer was a fine farmer. He was an ex- cellent horse-trader. Yet to discover in him the elements of a forceful speaker required, indeed, a higher wisdom than Joseph's, or even that of the venerable Bishop and his fel- 50 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER lows. The lot had been cast, and it was not to be questioned, but man is weak and rebel- lious, and when he is a natural-born preacher, too, he must take it a bit hard to be compelled on six days of the week to work from dawn un- til dark in his fields, on a by-road, four miles from the turnpike, and then when Sunday comes sit silent in the congregation. It was a day in early June. Joseph was working in his cornfield on. the ridge-side, and long had been standing, leaning against the cultivator. He was at the end of the row. It was a fashion of his always to be at the end of the row. Even the store had noticed it and commented on it unfavorably, for they said that it showed in the corn. But a man cannot meditate when he is driving a blind sorrel mare and a fractious mule, and trying at the same time to steer a clumsy machine between two rows of delicate corn-stalks. Below him the valley lay, and a bustling place it was. A white line showed here and there against a green slope, marking the turnpike up and down which the great world hurried. There was the village, with the store, a vast and venerable 51 structure, a centre of trade and thought, lift- ing its roof above the maples, and close beside it the mill, that groaned all day like a living thing. Beyond the sweep of rolling fields arose another ridge, fringed at its crest with a stretch of pine woods, and there, standing out sharply against the dark hill-side, was the Mennonite meeting-house, the hundred white gravestones that clustered about it now glit- tering in the noon sun. It was here that the young man's eyes were resting, and here, too, were his thoughts fixed, for to-morrow Adam Snauffer was to preach for the first time. Joseph pictured it all in his mind. But when the minister arose before the great congrega- tion, it was never Adam Snauffer who stood at the table, looking down at the people; it was Joseph Tumbell, called at last to the work for which he was so peculiarly fitted. How sol- emn the preacher looked! How deep and strong rang his voice, as he exhorted his hear- ers to heed his warnings, to follow his leading ! He heard the groans of the old men. He saw the earnest faces of the sisters. The sisters? The multitude of them faded away, and one 52 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER alone remained. The brethren were forgotten, and now he was preaching to her. She did not need his exhortation. Who could look into that serene face, framed in the white prayer- covering and a wealth of soft brown hair who could look into those frank blue eyes and say she needed exhortation? He was preaching for her; that she might see him as more than the humble toiler of the ridges ; that she might know him as one peculiarly gifted and called, therefore, to prophesy before the people. She would place his talents in the balance against the fat farm down there in the valley, against the brick house with the two front doors and the portico, against the full barn and smoke- house, with which Snauffer was seeking to win her. Snauffer? The very thought of the man dispelled all his dreams and brought him back to realities. If she wasted a glance on Joseph to-morrow it would be to see in him one not only inferior to Adam as regarded worldly possessions, but, judged by the lot, poorer in spiritual treasures. Even now the fat figure uppermost in his mind was right before him, not in the pulpit 53 SIX STABS of his fancy, but on the topmost rail of his own fence, complacently chewing a long piece of timothy and grinning. "I seen you was talkin' to yourself, Joseph, so I 'lowed I wouldn't disturb you," he said. "You did kind o' give me a start," growled the young man. "I was stedyin' a leetle, an' didn't know they was any one 'round." "You have a repytation for stedyin' a heap," returned Adam pleasantly. "That's my weak pint stedyin' an' medytatin'. I'm a stavin' worker 'hen they is somethin' to git a holt on, but 'hen it comes to shettin'me eyes an' grabbin' round for idees then I'm short." "How are you goin' to preach?" inquired Joseph, with a supercilious toss of his head. "To be a preacher you'll have to have some- thin' to say. To git somethin' to say, a man must medytate." "That's it exactly. You couldn't 'a' put it better," returned Snauffer, not in the least disturbed by the other's contemptuous tones. "You see, I'm most pestered to death, fer to- morrow I starts in preachin', and to save my head I don't know what I'm goin' to say. All 54 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER this week I've ben so busy gittin' out shingles from my woods I ain't had time to think. Last night I went to bed intendin' to lay late this mornin' an' stedy out some pints as I was doz- in'. It was nearly five o'clock agin I got up, an' not an idee could I git my hands on to preach about." Joseph became sympathetic. "Mighty souls!" he said, leaning on a wheel and ad- justing himself to hear a long story of trouble from his visitor. "A feller with your talents can be sur- prised," Adam went on, "but fer a plain man like me it comes hard to start. I spent the whole mornin' settin' on a chicken-coop in the orchard tryin' to medytate, an' not a thing would come outen my head but how many foot o' scantlin' an' shingles I could cut off en the chestnut flats. At last I tho't o' you, Joseph. You are gifted; you have a heap o' idees. Now, s'posin' you uns was in my place, what 'ud you say?" Joseph glanced at the blind sorrel mare, and from her to the fat figure of her former owner on the fence. He was very suspicious, and 55 SIX STARS made no reply, save to nod his head knowingly and smile. Adam looked at the sorrel mare, too. He had smiled a year before, when he traded her for a good Durham cow and $10 to boot. Now he was all solemnity, and a pious picture he made in his wide-brimmed hat and his brown coat, with its great tails spread over the rail at either side of him. "Well, Joseph I" he said, after a long si- lence. "I might want to use my sermon sometim', mebbe, myself," replied the young man bruskly. "I trust that in good time the lot will fall on you," cried Adam, with great earnestness. "It otter V done it last week, but, fer some reason beyant me or you, I was called. An' fer some reason beyant me was I drawed up here this mornin'. You can teach me." Joseph looked again at the blind sorrel mare, and from her to the form on the fence, and then to the little meeting-house on the other ridge. He could not stand before the people to-mor- row and preach. Years might pass, or his life might pass, without the lot falling on him. It 56 by Howard Pyle. "Humbility is the fountain of all wirtue," THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER was a poor substitute to have another utter his thoughts, but this was better than that they should never go beyond the confines of his fields and have no hearers but his dumb brutes. "I have a sermon, Adam," he said at last, his tone becoming a little more genial. "I have a number of 'em, but I allus intended to begin with one about humbility." " Humbility ?" repeated Adam. "That is fine. Now, how'd you uns start if you was me!" Joseph turned slowly, and, removing his hat, dropped it on the cultivator. Then he laid one hand solemnly on the handle as though it were the pulpit, and raising the other and shaking it at his only auditor, he cried, "Humbility is the fountain of all wirtue. Be humbility " "Hoi' on," Adam interrupted. "Wait tell I git that. Humbility is the fountain of all wir- tue. That's good." ' ' Be humbility in this world we becomes big- itive in the next," continued the preacher. "The more bigitive we are in this world, the more humbiller will be our placet in that to come." 57 SIX STARS "Wait tell I catch that," pleaded Adam. But Joseph went right on. "Oh, brethren, heed me warnin'I Mind how the prophet sayd pride goeth before the fall." He stopped sud- denly and smiled. "That's the way I'd open up," he added. "Pride goeth before the fall," repeated Adam. "That is grand pride goeth before the fall; but say now, wouldn't autumn sound fancier ? ' ' "That ain't what the prophet sayd," replied Joseph contemptuously. "It ain't what he meant nuther. But I allus intended to run in a figger like this before the fall that is to say, brethren, how as in our summer-time 'hen we are all covered with be'yutiful flowers, an' grass, an' wavin' fiel's, we are puffed up, but then comes the fall that is jest a figger, mind ye, Adam then comes the fall. All the be-yuti- ful flowers dies an' the leaves begins flyin' round, leavin' our limbs all bare an' cold. Then, brethren, we can puff up, but it won't warm us, an* we'll be most a 'mighty glad for an hum- ble hay-stack to crawl under. Do you catch the idee, Adam?" 58 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER "It's grand," cried Adam. "It's a splendid beginnin'. But that ain't all, is it? I have to fill in at least ten minutes, but still I s'pose I can repeat." "All?" exclaimed Joseph. "Mighty! Why, with a sub-ject like this here, it's hard to stop. There are some texts you'll preach on 'hen it '11 be best jest to keep repeatin', but on hum- bility, never." Adam was shaking his head dubiously. "Well, now, mind me," said Joseph reas- suringly. "Havin' begin, I'd go on an' tell the brethren how wicked I'd ben oncet myself, an' how big-feelin', an' how I become humble agin humble as a leetle child. ' ' "Most a 'mighty impressing" said Adam, wagging his head approvingly. "I'll certainly do that." Joseph had forgotten him. "I had a buddy oncet," he droned, grasping the wheel with both hands, throwing back his head and closing his eyes as though he were groping his way about the dreadful past. "He was a wicked young man, brethren, an' I was a follower o' the darkness. -They was nothin' wrong to be 59 SIX STARS done in this walley that me an* my buddy didn't do. Oh, but we was wild ! ' ' He did not go much into details. While he gave a few specific instances wherein he and his boon companion on the broad way had erred, these were engulfed in dreadful gener- alities. The wonder was that the quiet valley could have nourished so much evil. But Jo- seph's story so transformed it that where Pleasantville lifted her three spires heaven- ward; where the white stones glistened in the Mennonite burying-ground ; where below him the mill lay snoring in the slumbering village ; where to the south hovered a cloud of smoke, marking the only place in the whole pious country into which that great iron serpent, the railroad, had driven its ugly body, one might well have looked to see the walls of Sodom and Gomorrah, of Nineveh and Tyre. Joseph Tumbell and his buddy escaped the gallows. Thither they were bound, and thus alone could their career have been checked had not a wild night adventure intervened to save them. Just what occurred to drag them back to the narrow way, the preacher did not explain; but his free 60 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER use of adjectives made it evident that it was one of those terrifying manifestations of phys- ical power that come at times from the most unexpected quarters to cause mental upheaval. "Oh, it was awful !" cried Joseph, closing his eyes again as though to shut out the recollec- tion. "We was miles from home, an* the night was dark, an' the thunder an' lightnin' was a- rollin' an' a-flashin' around us. But it changed me an' me buddy then an' there. Wild as we was, we became humbiller than leetle children. We made a promise, providin' we ever got home. It was a promise that reginerated us, an' brought us back outen our dark ways. We never danced agin." Having demonstrated his own humility and shown its cause, and having by the words he was uttering proven its fruits, Joseph opened his eyes and picked up his hat. Then he smiled. Adam Snauffer said nothing, but got down from the fence and climbed into his buckboard. For several minutes he sat there, wiggling his whip pensively. "It's grand," he said at last. "You cer- 61 SIX STARS tainly Have helped me a heap, an' it's done me good to hear you. If I can jest remember, it'll be fine: First, humbility is the fountain of wirtue; secondly, pride goeth before the fall, and thirdly, how wicked I was. I allow I can holt it tell to-morrow." He did remember with remarkable facility. It was a fair day, and from every quarter of the valley the people had come to hear the new minister. The little white-walled meeting- house was crowded. Joseph tucked himself away in a corner, and had to crane his neck covertly to look over a score of hoary-headed brethren and see a certain white cap on the sisters' side. There were half a hundred of them, but he located this particular one, and by careful watching he could sometimes discover a break in that solemn wall of bearded men and through it get the briefest glimpse of the serene face and the mild blue eyes fixed so earnestly on the preachers. She did not see him, the humble toiler of the ridges. But Adam Snauffer was in the row of ministers, and one of the six great black hats hanging so gravely on the wall behind the pulpit was his. 62 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER The Bishop was on his left hand, and on his right was the venerable William Larker. He was with the leaders, placed there by the lot that expressed the divine will. As compared to him, how small must Joseph Tumbell seeml Poor Joseph! A long-drawn nasal tone from an old brother on the front bench started the congregation swinging away into a hymn, but instead of sending his voice sounding above the others, as was his custom, he now went mumbling and stumbling through the buck- wheat notes. He got behind and sang a bar all alone at the close. When he recovered him- self, it was to see Adam Snauffer standing at the table, awkwardly fumbling his Bible. - There was a silence in the room. The preacher shifted uneasily from one foot to the other several times. Then, in a voice hardly audible three benches away, he began: "As I set here to-day a few tho'ts are suggested to me." A long pause followed, broken by a loud "Amen" from a brother in the congregation. "These few tho'ts was suggested humbility is the fountain of all wirtue." Adam dropped the book and folded his 63 SIX STARS hands, as though he were waiting for his first shot to land before firing again. "Be humbility " He made another vio- lent attack on the book, and looked at the ceil- ing. "Be humbility He wavered. Joseph Tumbell, in his ob- scure corner, forgot self and leaned forward eagerly. Would Adam remember? Oh, if he could only help if he could only shout it to him! Adam did remember. His first fear was gone; his old assurance returned. As though by a sudden inspiration, he cried: "Be hum- bility we become bigitive in the next world." He stopped again, and again he folded his hands, but now it was with perfect composure. He showed it by smiling. To be able to stand on both feet before an audience and at the same time smile has always been a proof of oratorical equilibrium. So Adam's next thought was put forth in an impressive, a deep and unctuous tone. "Another idee has been suggested as I set here on this be-yutiful day pride goeth before the fall mind ye' brethren, before the fall that's a figger." 64 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER Now the sermon moved splendidly, and the thoughts came as fast as they were sug- gested. At times the preacher was a trifle mixed, and again and again he disregarded his instructor's injunction and repeated, be- lieving, perhaps, that by many repetitions the idea might once be correctly expressed. Re- covering the use of his voice, he got entire control of his hands, and the eyes, that at first sought the table or the ceiling, now looked squarely into those of his hearers. At length he paused. His arms were low- ered, his hands grasped the table, his head was thrown back, his eyes closed, and in a solemn voice he said : "I had a buddy oncet. ' ' Joseph Tumbell was astounded. This was the first time he had ever heard of Adam pos- sessing an intimate friend of any kind, for his close ways and horse trades had always made him rather unpopular in the valley. If he ever had a boon companion it had been kept very quiet, and the announcement now came as a surprise. But if this was unexpected, still more so was the bold declaration that Adam and his buddy were partners in wickedness. 65 Joseph began to be angry, for he had expected that in following his suggestion Snauffer would supply a sketch of his own life, but it was quickly made evident that the sins he was fa- thering were not his at all. They belonged to Joseph Tumbell. There was a boastful ring in the preacher's voice, too, as he told how wicked he and his buddy had been. He even began to repeat. He was bemoaning the fact that in his young days he had been given to the vanity of fancy clothes, that he had played cards and even descended to dancing, yet he never referred to his recent bargain in trading off his blind sorrel. There were a hundred glaring omissions and commissions of a late date that he might well have mentioned, but instead he took Joseph's sins, multiplied them by three and claimed them as his own. Then followed the regeneration, for the Adam Snauffer the people saw before them was not the wild rake of years ago. He, too, had be- come "humbiller than a leetle child." The way- ward, reckless youth and his buddy were miles from home on a stormy night, and the thunder was crashing around them, when an awful 66 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER thing happened. They saw the error of their ways and made a vow to live aright hence- forth. They never danced again. "Whatever might have been the feelings of his instructor, the new minister that day estab- lished a high reputation in the minds of the valley. As he shouldered his way down the crowded aisle at the end of the service, Joseph heard on every hand: " Preacher Snauffer is a wonderful talker." Even Mary said it. He was unhitching her horse, being too much wrought up to linger about the door and gossip. He wanted to see her alone, and to speak to her, if only to make a remark about the weather, that under the spell of Snauffer 's eloquence she might not for- get the simple farmer of the ridges. "Adam is a wonderful talker," she said as she climbed into her buckboard and gathered up the reins. "Wonderful wonderful," replied Joseph mechanically. He stepped away from the fat horse's head, expecting that she would drive off. She did not. 67 SIX STARS "Mebbe I might give you a lift," she said, looking away up the ridge, thus hiding her face from his by her bonnet. "Mebbe you might," said he. When he saw her face again they were a half mile down the road, and the meeting-house had disappeared behind the bend. "Adam is a wonderful talker," she said, now looking frankly at the young man seated at her side. Joseph was contemplating his left foot. It was swinging down beside the wheels. Won- derfully comforting it is when you are driving with a woman, to let one foot swing free of the wagon this way. It helps so in the long inter- vals between remarks to be occupied with some- thing, for when one of your feet is likely at any moment to become tangled among revolving spokes you cannot be expected to keep a con- tinual gabble. So Joseph simply nodded. They were at the covered bridge, where the road turns and goes straight across the valley, when she spoke again. "I had no idee Adam was so wicked," she said. 68 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER Joseph forgot his foot. ' ' Oh, that 's nothin V ' he cried. "He never done all them things. That was jest preachin V "If he'd only done half of 'em it 'ud 'a' ben too much," said she. "No man who has ben so wicked as that is safe." "I never knowd nothin' agin him but smart horse tradin ', ' ' returned Joseph stoutly. ' * That ain 't sin exactly. ' ' Mary looked right at him. "Joseph," she said, "don't you tell me that a man as has ben as bad as Adam Snauffer can ever git entirely over it. There ain't a thun- der-storm goin' that'll scare him complete it might all come back most any time." Poor Joseph! These were his own precious sins she was talking about. The first feeling of elation that she should have turned against the sleek Snauffer was lost in the knowledge that the faults that had won Adam this con- demnation were, after all, not the preacher's, but his own. If she knew, would she now be riding at his side? If the lot had fallen on him and he had arisen before her and descanted on the evil of his past, would she now be giving 69 SIX STARS him a lift! The girl was gazing at him so frankly and trustfully that he turned his head, that his great hat-brim might interpose between them. He fastened his eyes on the swinging foot, now perilously near the wheel. It was an age until she spoke again. They had passed the mill and were slowly climbing the long ridge hill. ' 'What was the awful thing that happened the night he was reginerated?" she demanded suddenly. "He he dished a wheel," answered Joseph ruefully. ' * He done what ? ' ' she exclaimed. "If the night he was tellin' of is the one I think, he dished a wheel," said he. Mary tossed her head disdainfully and cried : "Dished a wheel! An' he says he was reginer- ated be dishin' a wheel!" Joseph was silent. How different the plain truth sounded, stripped bare of its wordy cover- ing of thunder and lightning, of storm and terror ! "It really does seem a leetle weak," he stammered. 70 THE NATURAL-BORN PREACHER "I should 'low it was most a 'mighty weak," said she. "He need never come to me an' tell how awful wicked he was, an' that be dishin' a wheel he was saved." The girl looked away, hiding her face from him with her bonnet. There was a very long pause. Several times the fat horse almost stopped moving and turned his head inquir- ingly to discover why his mistress neither chir- ruped nor slapped him on the back with the reins. "I wouldn't mind him bein' wicked so awful much," she said at last, with a little sigh, "but I hate to see a man so soft." Joseph gave no answer until the top of the hill was reached. There he braced himself sud- denly, and looked at her very hard and laughed. "I 'low it was lucky I didn't draw the lot," he exclaimed. "If you had I'd 'a' took Adam Snauffer," said she. Oh, these maddening poke-bonnets that turn upward and downward and outward when you would have them point right at you! n SIX STARS Joseph has planted his left foot squarely in the wagon now. For when you love a woman, and she loves you, and you know it and she knows it, it is foolish to watch your boots. THE SNYDER COUNTY GOLD-STRIKE. AS a man of honor Piney Cridle had hut one way open to him, and that led past the worthies of the bench past the stern fig- ure of the storekeeper, past the tall rolls of oil- cloth standing sentinel-like at the counter's end, through the door, and out into the world. He followed it. But the world was cold that morn- ing. Not a chicken had dared the blast that swept the village street, and on the valley's edge the mountains rose, dark and forbidding, capped by a gray cloud that bore a promise of sleet and hail. To those mountains he must go. His honor demanded it. But now that the door was open and the wind was clutching at his neck, he turned a moment from the way and looked back. "I didn't think it o' you, Ned," he said. ''You've sayd the word, though, an' I go, fer I'll never hang around a store where I can't have trust. " 73 SIX STARS "Don't you know the threenometer says it's freezin'?" shouted Lucien Killowill, as he turned up his coat collar and pushed along the bench to avoid the draft. "Hain't you no bet- ter sense than to git insulted with the door open?" "I didn't think it o' you, Ned," said Piney again, not heeding the old man's protests, though he obeyed the implied command, and was now standing with his hand on the knob, his back to the cold world and the dreary hills, his face to that bright, stove-lit circle from which he was banished. Ned's face softened. He unbent and leaned over the counter, strumming a tattoo with his pencil. "I'm sorry, Piney," he said; "but I ain't in business fer love. Of course I'd like to be, well enough, but you know I can't so there's the end of it." Lucien Killowill nodded his head approv- ingly. "When a man gits the gold craze," he be- gan; "when he leaves home an' friends, re- ligion an' country, an' goes to Snyder County 74 THE SNYDEE COUNTY GOLD-STKIKE diggin' gold; when lie tears asunder them ties that binds even the humbillest of us an' " He stopped suddenly and began to cough, for Piney was towering over him. On the young man 's face there was a look half of amusement, half of disdain. "I owe you an' yours nothing Lucien," he said. "When I do you can wag your head an' leckter not till then, mind you. This here is between Ned an' me this is; an' if he won't give me no more trust till I settle a leetle mat- ter of five dollars, that's his affair an' mine ain't it, Ned?" The storekeeper, having in mind Killowill's own account with him, readily admitted that it was, and this gracious acquiescence misled Piney. "Do I understand, then," said the adven- turer, "that now an' here you refuses to trust me for a poke of tobacco!" "I do." Ned Smith's voice was very low. He seemed to have lost his courage, and for the moment to be on the point of relent- ing. "It ain't that I've anything agin you, Piney," he went on, pleading like a man in the 75 SIX STAKS wrong, "but it don't seem right to encourage you. Here you are lettin' your clearin' go to rack an' ruin, livin' over in the mountains, dig- gin' an' diggin' like a crazy man. It's gold gold gold! Every time you comes back you looks poorer an' peekiter. The weeds has choked your clearin'; Harmon Barefoot him- self is feedin' your cow; Willie Calker's had to sing bass in the choir all winter an' him only fourteen all because you think you'll find a mine an' make yourself a for-tune." Lucien Killowill wagged his head and beat the floor with his cane, thus expressing what he dared not with his voice. The worthies of the bench were with him to a man, and half a dozen heads rocked in unison with his. From that bench Solomon Holloberger arose slowly, with a dignity that became a preacher of the Word and the most eloquent speaker in the Dunker meeting for many miles around. He shuffled to the stove, and, wheeling about, faced the misguided man, who, now at bay, backed toward the door again, and leaned on one of the sentinel oil-cloth rolls. "Gold is a deceiver," said the preacher, in THE SNYDEE COUNTY GOLD-STRIKE measured tones. "The Good Book tells us that in many places, Piney Cridle. Don't you mind how it says 'Gold is a mocker'? Lay not up riches in this world, but put your faith in that to come. Oh, that I had your young years! Would I be wastin' 'em over in them Snyder County mountains, diggin' an* diggin', sellin' meself to Satan f er a mess o ' pottage ? Never ! I'd spend them blessed years goin' from house to house, from walley to walley, workin' in the harvest, gatherin' in the brands from the burn- in'. You needn't laugh, Piney Cridle. The day '11 come when you'll look back on this wery time; when, tossin' on your bed o' suffering with all your gold piled around you, you'll cry out, 'Oh, had I only minded Brother Holloberg- er's warnin'P : "It ain't so much that," broke in Ned Smith, in a dry, commercial tone. "I wasn't thinkin' so much about sellin' himself to Satan, perwidin' he got cash down. What bothers me is that there ain't no gold in Snyder County." "How do you know?" demanded Piney. "All the regular gold comes from Calif or- ny," cried Killowill. "All my life I've been SIX STARS hearin' about folks findin' gold in Pennsyl- wany, an', as fur as I know, nothin' has ever yet panned out." "But why shouldn't there be gold in Snyder Country?" Piney was in a defiant mood, and he waved his forefinger at the group at the stove, and closed his jaw with a snap. Lucien pushed himself into the obscurity of- fered by the broad form of Andrew Rickaback, and turned an appealing eye to Brother Hollo- berger. What the store needed was a man of science. Lacking that, it had to turn in its ex- tremity to the theologian. Brother Solomon was not to be confounded. In truth, he always gloried in what he termed "tight pints," and, as compared to the problem of Jonah and the whale, which he had solved years ago, the ques- tion propounded by this wayward son of Six Stars was childlike. "When Adam an' Eve was put out of the Garden of Eden, Piney Cridle," he said, "it was ordered that hencefor'a'd mankind should live be the sweat of their brow. Sech bein' the case, it ain't likely the Almighty would plant gold mines every here an' there, so as they'd be 78 THE SNYDEE COUNTY GOLD-STRIKE handy to git at. No, sir. Snyder County would 'a' spoiled the whole plan. Calif orny is about the hardest place to git to they is.'* The preacher paused a moment to let this point sink deep in the minds of his hearers. Then he added: "There's gold in Calif orny." " That's the plainest I ever hear it put," cried Lucien Killowill, coming into view once more. "Yes, it is pretty fair," said Piney, undis- turbed. "How about the Calif ornians though? I s'pose they has to work their way back to Pennsylwany to git their gold." Preacher Holloberger 's theology failed him for the moment, and, while he was searching the floor for an idea of any kind with which to meet this impious adversary, Ned Smith in- terrupted the discussion. "It ain't so much whether there is gold there or not, Piney," he said. "Mebbe they is, but what are you comin' to, huntin' fer it? A year ago an' there wasn't a popularer man than you in all our walley. You never had much, to be sure, but you could git a livin' outen that clearin' your pap left you. An' now look at you! Jest 79 SIX STARS look at you! Mackinaw jacket as ain't fit fer a horse to wear; boots jest held together he the soles; hair so long that you might pass fer an Amishman; clearin' all overgrowed with bri- ers; your wery cow picked off en the roads be Harmon Barefoot! S'posin' you does find a mine is it worth it ? Is it worth all them win- ter days over there in the mountain diggin' an' diggin' all alone? Is it worth all them lonely, shiverin' nights in the woods?" "Is it worth it!" Piney cried. "Huh! is it worth it?" He turned to the door again and seized the knob. "You uns think I'm crazy, because I've got idees beyant a clearin'. Meb- be I'm wrong. Mebbe some day I'll come back an' clean away the briers, an' plant a crop be- tween the stones agin, an' go on jest livin'. But mebbe some day I'll come back, an' I'll come in a side-bar buggy with a slick horse, an' I'll have a cady hat an' a Prince Al-bert instead of this coonskin and mackinaw. I'll buy five-cent se-gars instead of askin' tick on a poke o* tobacco. I'll have a house with a por- tico, an* hand paintin's, an' statues, an* a melo-