Back to Deadwood
Two days later Jim and Belle were again on the Deadwood trail. It seemed that each new chapter of their lives must begin on that trail. They were in a new buckboard, the gift of Pa Boyd, driving Midnight in harness. That same morning Charlie Bylow had left for Deadwood with his team and wagon. The latter was loaded with gifts from Cedar Mountain friends, some of them sufficiently absurd—for example, framed chromos, a parrot cage, a home instructor in Spanish, and a self-rocking cradle—but there was also a simple sufficiency of household furniture.
The buckboard overtook the wagon in the morning and arrived at Deadwood by one o'clock. Jim was for going to the hotel and dining, but Belle thought it better to see the estate agent first, and within half an hour they had deposited the first month's rent for the white cottage. Strange to tell, though the cottage had stood empty and uncalled for during the previous six months, there were two other applications on the afternoon that the Hartigans secured their lease.
Their furniture arrived late in the day, and those who have watched newly-mated birds carry the sticks and straw of their first nest, will understand the joy experienced by Belle and Jim in planning, arranging, and rearranging this first home. Whether it is larger bliss to carry sticks or to bill and coo cannot be guessed, and perhaps it does not matter, for every stone in the perfect arch is bearing all the arch. The first night in their own—their very own—home, with no one but themselves, was a sweet contentment for the time and a precious memory afterward. As they sat hand in hand looking from the little window down the valley, where the golden west was blocked by the high, dark hill, they knew calm for the first time after many days of tempest, and Jim's fervent soul found words in the ancient text: "Truly the light is sweet; and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun."
A very blessed thing is the sunrise on Deadwood. It means far more than in most towns, for the shut-in-ness of the gulch makes night so very night-like, and the gloom is king till the radiant one mounts to flood the place with a sudden sunrise—a little late, perhaps, but a special sunrise for the town.
It was their first real breakfast together. Jim rose and lighted the fire in the stove. Belle made the coffee and fried the eggs. It was all their own and there is something about such a breakfast that gives it the nature of a sacrament, with youth and health, beauty and love, assembled to assist, and a special angel of happiness to bless it with his shining eyes.
As their talk turned to future plans, Jim's idea was to settle down, find quarters for Midnight, then visit the Salvation Army barracks and wait in the crowd till an opportunity to speak should occur. After that he had no doubt his pulpit eloquence would open a way to secure an appointment.
Belle's idea was totally different. "No, Jim, that won't do. If we enter the town by the back door we'll always be back-door folk. I propose to come in by the front way, and have a red carpet and a triumphal arch for our entry. Don't do anything until I have tried a plan of mine. Meanwhile, you look after Midnight."
Jim's curiosity was very large, but he smiled and asked no questions, and Belle set out for a visit to Uncle Collins. "It has to be done just right," she explained to that gentleman after an elaboration of her idea. Belle knew instinctively that all their fate in Deadwood would turn on the colour of their coming. Uncle Collins entered wholeheartedly into the plan and that week, much to Jim's amazement, the local press came out with a column article: