Part 15 (1/2)
Gordon entered the tent where the service was in progress. A subdued light filtered through the canvas upon a horde that filled every foot of s.p.a.ce; they sat pressed together on long, rough boards nailed together in the semblance of benches. On a platform at the farther side a row of men and women sat against the canvas wall; to their left a folding organ had been erected, and was presided over by a man with a blurred, greyish countenance; while, standing at the forefront of the platform, a large, heavy man in a black frock coat was addressing the a.s.semblage. He had a round, pallid, smooth face with long, black hair brushed back upon his coat collar, and great, soft, white hands.
”... it's rising,” he proclaimed, in a loud, sing-song voice, ”the flood is rising; now it's about your pockets--praise G.o.d! now it's above your waists. It's rising! it's rising! Hallelujah! the sea of redemption is rising,” his voice rose with the figurative flood. ”At last it's about your hearts, your hearts are immersed in the Sacred Tide.”
A man beside Gordon groaned and dropped upon his knees. A woman cried, ”G.o.d! G.o.d! G.o.d!” A spindling, overgrown boy rose fumbling at his throat.
”I can't breathe,” he choked, ”I can't--” His face grew purplish, congested. The tumult swelled, directed, dominated, by the voice of the revivalist. He dropped upon his knees, and, amid the sobbing silence, pled with an invisible Judge hovering, apparently, over a decision to destroy at one b.l.o.o.d.y blow the recalcitrant peoples of the earth, the peoples of His making.
”Spare us,” he implored; ”spare us, the sheep of h.e.l.l; lead us to Thy s.h.i.+ning pasture ... still water; lead us from the great fire of the eternal pit, from the boiling bodies of the unsaved....”
Gordon Makimmon indifferently regarded the clamor. The process of ”getting religion” was familiar, commonplace. He saw Tol'able sitting on a back bench; with a mutual gesture the two men rose and left the tent.
”I had to bring m'wife,” Tol'able explained; ”did you see her sitting on the platform? She's one of the main grievers. I got some good licker in the wagon--better have a comforter.”
They walked down to a dusty, two-seated surrey, where, from under a horse blanket, Tol'able produced a small jug. He wiped the mouth on his sleeve and pa.s.sed it to Gordon; then held the gurgling vessel to his open throat.
”There was some h.e.l.l raised last night,” he proceeded; ”a man from up back had his head busted with a stone, and a drunken looney shot through the women's tent: an old girl hollered out they had G.o.ddy right in there among 'em.”
”They were shooting a while back,” Gordon observed indifferently. ”Have you seen Buck Simmons here?”
”No, I hain't. He wouldn't be here noways.”
Gordon preserved a discreet silence in regard to his source of a.s.surance of Buckley's presence at the camp meeting.
”Have another drink, Gord.”
The services were temporarily suspended, and the throng emptied from the tent. A renewed sanity clothed them--girls drew into squares of giggling defense against the verbal sallies of robustly-witted young men. Women collected their offspring, gathering in circles about opened boxes of lunch: a mult.i.tude of papers and box lids littered the ground. A hot, steaming odor, a.n.a.logous to coffee, rose from the crowded counter. A prodigious amount of raw whiskey was consumed among the vehicles by the stream and mud-coated willows.
Gordon slowly made his way through the throng, in search of Meta Beggs; perhaps, after all, she had decided not to come; he might easily miss her in that mob. It was not clear in his mind what he would do if he saw her.
She would be with Buckley Simmons, and there was a well recognized course of propriety for such occasions: he would be expected merely to greet in pa.s.sing a girl accompanying another man. Any other proceeding would be met with instant resentment. And Buckley Simmons, Gordon knew, must still nurse a secret antagonism toward him. However, he had disposed of Buckley in the past ... if necessary he could do so again.
At the entrance to the service tent the organist, his countenance still livid in the sunlight, blew a throaty summons on a cornet, and the crowd slowly trailed back within. In the thinning groups Gordon saw the school-teacher, clad in a bright blue skirt and a hat with a stiff, blue feather. She was at Buckley's side, consuming a slice of cake with delicate, precise motions of her hand, and greeting with patent abstraction his solicitous attentions.
IX
Meta Beggs saw Gordon at the same moment; and, without observation on the part of her escort, beckoned him to her. She said promptly:
”Mr. Makimmon, please take care of me while Buckley goes down by those carriages, where we saw you a little while ago, and gets his share of the refreshment there. I'm certain that dusty road made him as dry as possible.”
Buckley grinned; such frank feminine acknowledgment and solicitude for the masculine palate was rare in Greenstream. ”Why, no, Miss Beggs,” he rejoined; ”I'm in good shape for a while yet. I got a flask under the seat of the buggy--”
”I insist on your tending to it at once. I know just how it is with men--they have got to have that little refreshment ... don't you call it 'life preserver'? I'll be right by the counter; if Mr. Makimmon will be so kind--”
”Well,” Buckley agreed, ”a drink don't go bad any time; the road was kind of dusty. If you insist, Miss Beggs.”
”I do! I do!” He turned and left them, striding toward the lower level.
Then:
”The fool!” she exclaimed viciously; ”my arm is all black and blue where he pinched it. My skin is not like the hides on these mountain girls, it tears and bruises dreadfully easy, it's so fine. Let's go back there,” she pointed to where, behind the platform and counter, a path was trampled through brush higher than their heads. Gordon glanced swiftly in the direction in which Buckley Simmons had vanished. ”He won't be back,” she added contemptuously, ”for a half hour. He'll stay down there and drink rotten whiskey and sputter over rotten stories.” Without further parley she proceeded in the direction indicated; and, following her, Gordon dismissed Buckley from his thoughts.