Part 25 (2/2)
”Ho! ye, ye seven tall sons of Aymal, Comes there a time when face you many trails; Hear this for wisdom now; Twelve colts had I and all save one I slew.
The twelve-times-nourished charger grew And round the world he bore me And never failed; so all the world was mine And all the world I ruled.
Ho, children of the bronze-hilt sword, Take this for guiding creed: Pick out your one great steed And slay the rest and ride.”
And when he smote the table with his fist the folk in that poor, simple hall were hushed with awe. They had no words to clothe the thoughts that came, no experience of their own to match them. There was a pauses--a silence; a slow, uncertain sounding of applause. Carson glared half hypnotized; then said to himself: ”This is not Jim Hartigan; this is the royal saga who sang.”
What he clearly expressed, the others vaguely but deeply felt. As for Belle, the pa.s.sion and the power of it possessed her. She was deeply moved--and puzzled, too. It was a side of Jim she had not known before.
Later, as they went home together hand on arm, she held on to him very tightly and said softly: ”Now I know that you are marked for big things in the world.”
CHAPTER x.x.xIV
Springtime
Have you seen the springtime dawn on the Black Hills? No? Then you have never seen a real spring.
For long, dark, silent months the land has lain under a broad white robe, the plains are levelled, hidden, and the whiteness of the high s.p.a.ces sweeps down to meet, on the lower hills, the sudden blackness of the forest pine. And now you know why these are named Black Hills. Full four white moons have waned; the blizzard wind has hissed and stung, till the house-bound wonder if the days of spring will ever come. In March, when the northward-heading crows appear, the sting-wind weakens, halts; the sweet south wind springs up, the snow-robe of the plains turns yellow here and there as the gra.s.s comes through, then lo! comes forth a world of crocus bloom. The white robe shrivels fast now, the brown pursues it up the mountain side till at the last there is nothing left but a high-up snow-cap hiding beneath the pines, slowly dissolving in a million crystal rills to swell the rolling Cheyenne far below. The spring birds fill the air, the little ones that twitter as they pa.s.s, and the great gold-breasted prairie lark that sings and sings: ”The Spring, the Spring, the glory of the Spring!” Then all the world is glad, and stronger than the soft new wind, deeper than the impulse of awakening flower bulbs, broader than the brightening tinge of green--is the thrill of a world-wide, sky-wide joy and power, the exquisite tenderness and yearning which if you know, you know; and if you do not know it none can make you understand.
”O G.o.d of the blue and the green and the wind, oh, send me what my spirit craves.” That is the prayer, the unspoken prayer, of every sun-wise creature in these days; and the wild things race and seek, and search and race, not knowing what draws them ever on; but they surely know when they find it, and then they are at rest.
And they rode, Belle and Jim, the big square man, and the maid with the age-old light in her eyes, and they rejoiced in the golden plains. They rode with the wild things of the plain, and though they talked of the past and the future there was for them but one thing worth a thought, the golden present in their golden youth.
”Oh, Belle, what fools we are! We talk of the past and of far-off days, of the blessings that are ahead of us, and I know there is no better joy than this, to ride and shout and be alive right now with you!”
Midnight had burgeoned out into a big strong horse; not swift, but staunch and better fitted than the other for a rider of such weight. The wound of losing Blazing Star had healed, and the scar it left was a precious thing to Jim much as the Indian holds his Sun Dance scars as proofs of fort.i.tude unflinching.
Fort Ryan and all the plains were in a rosy light this spring. It was a threefold joy to ride on Midnight, with Belle, and to visit Blazing Star in his stall at the Fort. Hartigan felt a little guilty as the gentle creature would come and nose about for sugar lumps while Midnight would lay back his ears at the approach. Midnight had a temper, as was well known; but it was never let forth, for the master that had so little skill in handling men was adept with the horse.
These were very full days for Jim and Belle, though they took their happiness in very different moods. There never was a grown man more incapable of thought for the morrow than Hartigan; he was alive right now, he would right now enjoy his life and Belle should be the crown.
But in her eyes even his imperception discovered a cloud.
”What is it, Belle? Why do you get that far-off troubled look?”
”Oh, Jim, you big, blind, childish giant; do you never think? You are only a probationer with one year's leave. That year is up on the first of May.”
”Why, Belle darling, that's five weeks off. A world of things may happen before that.”
”Yes, if we make them happen, and I'm going to try.”
”Well, Belle, this thing I know; if you set your mind to it I'd bet--if I weren't a preacher--I'd bet there's not a thing could stand against you.”
”I like your faith, Jim; but 'faith without works is dead'; and that means we must get up and rustle.”
”What do you suggest?”
”Well, I have been rustling this long while back. I've been working Dr.
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