Part 36 (1/2)

The answer yelled back was not printable. It reflected not only on the Rev. James Hartigan, but on all his ancestors. Then, in an instant, the insane brute took a wooden hand-spike from his load and dealt the horse a terrific blow on the head. The beast staggered, almost fell, but recovered just as the driver, shouting, ”I'll larn you!” landed another blow and hauled back for a third that would have felled if not killed the horse. But Jim got there first. He jerked the club out of the man's hand and as the attack turned on himself, he laid the driver out with a deft tap of the kind he knew so well. The other man with the load now rushed at Jim to avenge his fallen leader. But it is easy to meet that sort of onset when you know the game and have the muscle. The second went down on top of the first teamster amid loud cheers from the men in the buggies.

Five years before, in this country, Jim would certainly have been shot within the first five minutes, but the law and order society had been doing good work, and now men did not carry revolvers as of old, so nature's weapons counted as firearms once had done.

”Jim!” called Belle feebly. ”Let's go.” He turned; she was ghastly pale, as she held on to Midnight. She had never before seen men fight. She was appalled and terrified.

”Dear child,” he laughed, almost gleefully, ”you're not used to it.

Don't take it so seriously. Sure it's fun and it's missionary work.

Don't be worried at seeing men tumbled over. As soon as those two fools come to and stand on end, I'll show them how to drive a horse.” He straightened out the two men he had stunned, and then went to the trembling horse.

As he laid his hand on its shoulder it shrank. He talked softly and began to examine the harness. Sure enough, there was a ma.s.s of c.o.c.kle burrs caught in the long mane and wedged under the collar, so that every pull of the harness drove the sharp spines into the animal's shoulder.

Jim loosened the collar, cut off the ma.s.s of burrs, sacrificed his handkerchief to make a soft pad, and replaced the collar. Meanwhile, the two teamsters were sitting up and looking on with little joy in their faces.

”Now you two ignorant babes, I'll show you how to drive a horse that you've made baulky; and I want you to know that there are not any baulky horses; it's baulky drivers that make the trouble.” He went to the creature's head, talked to it, stroked its nose, blew in its nostrils, and continued to talk till the ears no longer lay back at his touch.

Presently the eyes ceased rolling and the legs were not bracing nervously.

”Now,” said Jim softly, ”will you be after pulling a little? Yes? Come now,” he coaxed wheedlingly, ”come now,” and he tightened the lines. But the horse shook his head, showed temper as before, and held back.

”Oh, that's what ye want, is it?” said Jim. ”All right, back up it is,”

and gently man[oe]uvring, he shouted: ”Back!” Both horses backed. He kept them backing, and by deft steering, held the wagon in the road.

Back they went steadily. Now the baulky horse indicated his willingness to go on; but Jim wasn't ready. It was back, back, and back some more.

For a hundred yards he kept it up. At last, when he changed about and gave the order to ”Get up!” the one-time baulky horse was only too glad to change his gear and pull his very best. Jim took the load up the little hill, and on a quarter mile, where he waited for the original teamsters to come up.

”There, now,” said Jim as he handed over the lines to the sullen driver, ”you should have found that bunch of c.o.c.kle burrs. It was all your fault, not the horse's. And if he hadn't responded to the backing, I'd have tied a pebble in his ear and left him for a few minutes to think it over. Then he'd have gone all right; it never fails. I tell you there aren't any baulky horses if they are rightly handled.”

A cheer came from the buggies as the load of timber rolled away around the hill. As Hartigan got in beside Belle the two rigs came by. The men shouted, ”Good for you! That was a fine job.”

Jim blushed with pleasure; it was all so simple and familiar to him; but when he turned to look at Belle, she was white and ill. ”Let's go home, Jim,” she whispered. He looked at her in some surprise; then slowly it dawned on him--she had never before seen the roughness of men fighting.

To him it was no more than the heavy sport of the football field. To her it was brutality unloosed; it was shocking, disgusting, next to murder.

With mingled feelings of regret, amus.e.m.e.nt, and surprise he said, ”Dear heart, you take it all too seriously.” Then he put his arm about her, tender as a woman, and a few minutes later placed her gently in the rocking chair in the white cottage.

CHAPTER XLIX

The Power of Personality

”Who is that?” said an elderly man in one of the buggies that pa.s.sed Hartigan after the adventure with the baulky horse.

”I think it's the new preacher,” said the driver. ”Anyhow, we can easily see.” They watched the buckboard with the black horse and saw it turn in at the white cottage.

”My guess was right, Mr. Hopkins,” said the driver. ”I haven't been in church for two years, but I'm going to hear that fellow preach next Sunday, all right.”

”Why don't you go to church?” said the older man, who by his dress and manner was apparently some one of social importance.

”Oh, I dunno. I got out of the habit when I came out West,” said the driver.