Clear Vision on the Mountain
Kind friends and hearty greetings awaited the Hartigans at the Fort. Colonel Waller, Mrs. Waller, and the staff received them as long-lost son and daughter; and with the least delay by decency allowed they went to the stable to see Blazing Star, still Fort Ryan's pride. The whinnied welcome and the soft-lipped fumbling after sugar were the outward tokens of his gladness at the meeting.
"He's the same as ever, Jim," said the Colonel, "but we didn't race last summer. Red Cloud came as usual, but asked for a handicap of six hundred yards, which meant that they had not got a speeder they could trust. We had trouble, too, with the Indian Bureau over the whole thing, so the affair was called off. As far as we know now, Blazing Star is the racer of the Plains, with Red Rover making a good second. He's in his prime yet; he could still walk a stringer on a black night, and while you are here at the Fort he's yours as much as you want to use him."
Jim's cup was filled to overflowing.
Their midday meal over, a ride was in order; first around the Fort among the men—Captain Wayne, Osier Mike, Scout Al Rennie—then out over the sagebrush flat. "Here's the old battle ground of the horses; here's where you chased the coyote, and here's where Blazing Star took you over the single stringer bridge on that black night." It was less than a year he had been away, and yet Jim felt like one who was coming back to the scenes of his boyhood, long gone by. His real boyhood in far-away Links was of another world. Fightin' Bill Kenna, Whiskey Mason, the Rev. Obadiah Champ, the stable and the sawmills, his mother—they were dreams; even Chicago was less real than this; and he rode like a schoolboy and yelled whenever a jack rabbit jumped ahead of his horse and jerked its white tail in quick zigzags, exactly as its kind had done in the days when he lived in the saddle.
After dinner, by the log fire in the Colonel's dining room, Mrs. Waller raised the question of their plans. "Now, children" (she loved to be maternal), "what do you want to do to-morrow?"
There was a time when Belle would have spoken first, but there had been a subtle, yet very real, change in their relationship. Jim was a child three years before, dependent almost entirely on her; now she was less his leader than she had been. She waited.
Gazing at the fire, his long legs straight out and crossed at the ankles, his hands clasped behind his head, he lounged luxuriously in a great arm chair. Without turning his gaze from the burning logs he began:
"If I could do exactly what I wished——"
"Which you may," interjected Mrs. Waller.
"I'd saddle Blazing Star and Red Rover at seven o'clock in the morning and ride with Belle and not come back till noon."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mrs. Waller and the Colonel. "You children! You two little, little ones! Well, we must remember that Belle is still a bride and will be for another month, so we'll bid you Godspeed on the new wedding trip and have your breakfast ready at half past six."
Early hours are the rule in a fort at the front, so the young folk were not alone at breakfast. And when they rode away on their two splendid horses, many eyes followed with delight the noble beauty of the pair—so fitly mounted, so gladly young and strong.
"Now, where, Jim?" said Belle, as they left the gate and thundered over the bridge at a mettlesome lope. And as she asked, she remembered that that was the very question he used always to put to her.
"Belle" (he reined in Blazing Star), "I have been waiting till it seemed just right—waiting for the very time, so we could stand again at our shrine. Sometimes I think I know my way and the trail I ought to seek, and sometimes I am filled with doubt; but I know I shall have the clear vision if we stand again as we used to stand, above our world, beside the Spirit Rock, on the high peak of our mountain."
And then, in the soft sign language of the rein let loose, the ribs knee-nudged, they bade their horses go. Side by side they rode and swung like newly mated honkers in the spring—like two centaurs, feeling in themselves the power, the blood rush of their every bound. In less than half an hour they passed the little town and were at the foot of Cedar Mountain. The horses would have gone up at speed, but the riders held them in, and the winding trail was slowly followed up.
The mountain jays flew round the pines before them as they climbed; an eagle swung in circles, watching keenly; while, close at hand, the squirrels dropped their cones to spring behind the trunks and chatter challenge.
At the half-way ledge they halted for a breathing. Belle looked keenly, gently into Jim's eyes. She was not sure what she saw. She wondered what his thoughts were. The brightness of the morning, the joy of riding and being, the fullness of freedom—these were in glowing reflex on his face, but she had seen these before; yet never before had she seen his face so tense and radiant. Only once, perhaps, that time when he came home walking in the storm.
He smiled back at her, but said nothing. They rode again and in ten minutes came to the end of the horse trail. He leaped from the saddle, lifted her down, and tied the horses. With his strong hand under her arm, he made it easy for her to climb the last steep path. A hundred feet above, they reached the top, above the final trees, above the nearer peaks, above all other things about them except the tall, gray Spirit Rock. Below spread a great golden world; behind them a world of green. The little wooden town seemed at the mountain's foot—Fort Ryan almost in shouting hail, though it was six miles off; beyond, was the open sea of sage, with heaving hills for billows and greasewood streaks for foam.
Jim gazed in utter silence so long that she looked a little shyly at him. His face was radiant, his eye was glistening, but he spoke no words. The seat they had used a year before was there and he gently drew her toward it. Seated there as of old, he put his arm about her and held her to him. She whispered, "Make a fire." She had indeed interpreted his thought. He rose, lighted a little fire on the altar at the foot of the Spirit Rock, and the smoke rose up straight in the still air. It ascended from the earth mystery of the fire to be lost in the mystery of the above. How truly has it been the symbol of prayer since first man kindled fire and prayed.
Jim took his Bible from his pocket and read from the metrical Psalm CXXI:
I to the hills will lift mine eyes,
From whence doth come mine aid;
My safety cometh from the Lord
Who heaven and earth hath made.
"They always went up into the hills to pray, Belle, didn't they? The fathers of the faith never went down into the valley when they sought God's guidance. I don't know why, but I know that I don't feel the same, away down there on the plains as I do up here. I see things more clearly, I have more belief in Him and know He is near me.
"The clouds have been gathering in my mind pretty thick and dark; yes, darker the last half year, Belle. I began to doubt myself as I never did. Even when we were winning in our Chicago fight, I wondered whether I was doing right. I couldn't see clearly, Belle, and then my doubt grew stronger and even you could not understand; there was something within that told me to go back to Cedar Mountain. Ever since we got here I have been waiting for the moment when I could come to the mountain. From here, a mile above the sea, I know that I shall see the way of wisdom. I wonder if you know what that Rock means to me with that little thread of smoke going up?
"Belle, men called Bill Kenna a ruffian and a brute. I guess he was, too, but he had a brave, warm heart. His whole religion was to feed the hungry and honour his word as a man. That was about all he taught me; and he loved my mother—that's enough; it bit in deep. When I gave my word as a man on that wild night four years ago when I heard the call, I vowed that I would, from that time on, devote my strength to telling others what I had found and try to make them find it, too. That was my vow, Belle; I've tried to keep it. I gave up things out here because they seemed to come between. I may be doing right in the city slum work, but it is not what I set out to do; I am not keeping to the trail."
Poor Belle! The periods of vague unrest she had noted; that time of fervent prayer; the reasons she had urged upon him for returning to college, and the crisis in which she had forced him to give it up—all now came back to her in quick succession. She remembered the weakness that had so nearly ended all and how he had overmastered it—that craving for drink, so strong from inheritance and from the evil habits of his earliest manhood. Amid daily temptations of the Chicago life, it had not seemed to touch him even as temptation. The horses that he loved he had given up for principle. The surface plasticity he still showed was merely the velvet that concealed the rod of steel and why he seemed so weak she knew now, was that he was so young, so very immature, a man in stature, a little happy child at heart. And the sting of sudden iron hurt her soul.
To say that she was shamed by remorse would not be fair; but the sum of her feelings was that he had given up all for her; she owed him something to atone.
There is clear vision from the hilltop—the far-sight is in the high place. The prophets have ever gone up into the high places for their message. The uplift of Cedar Mountain was on his spirit and on hers. She spoke softly, gravely, and slowly: "Jim, God surely brought me into your life for a purpose and, if I am no help, then I have failed. As surely as He sent us to Chicago to fight that fight and overcome the things about as well as the things inside, He also sent us here to-day to show our inmost souls, to get light on ourselves, to learn the way we must go. I have learned, for my spirit's eyes are clearer now and here than they ever were in my life before, and some things have come to me so vividly that I take them as commands from Him who set this rock up here and brought us in this frame of mind to see it. Jim, you must go back to college; you must finish your course; you must carry out your vow and consecrate yourself to spreading the gospel of His love."
Jim stared with glowing eyes as Belle went on: "I've thought it all out, Jim. I know it is mine to open the way now, as once I closed it."
He clutched her in his arms and shook with a sudden storm of long pent-up feeling, now bursting all restraint. He had no words; he framed no speech; he was overwhelmed.
Why put it into words? They understood each other now. He had gone to the city because that seemed the open way. He had taken up the purely secular work of the club while his inmost soul cried out: "This is not what you vowed; this is not the way to which you consecrated all your life." It was for her sake he had turned aside, and now that she announced the way of return, they came together as they never had; now was she truly his in spirit as in law.
It was long before they spoke, and their words now were of other things. The noon train was sounding at the bend; from the ledge below them Blazing Star sent up a querulous whinny. Jim was calm again and Belle was gently smiling, though her eyes still brimmed.
"We shall be late for the noon meal," he said, rising. For a moment they stood before the Spirit Rock, and he said in words of the old, old Book:
"He carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain."
"It is good for us to be here."
"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help."
They walked hand in hand and silently down the crooked trail to the horses. He lifted her to the saddle and kissed her hand only; but their eyes met in a burning look and their souls met face to face. Then they turned and rode the downward trail, and on the level plain gave free rein to the horses so that they went like hounds unleashed and skimmed the plain and leaped the gulch nor stayed till they reached the Fort and the friendly door where the soldier grooms were waiting.
They rode again the next day, circling the plain where the Indian race had been run and pointing out familiar objects. Jim led the way to the cottonwoods near where Higginbotham's "Insurance Office" had stood.
He stopped at the very spot and said: "Little girl, do you know what happened here about a year ago?"
"What?" she answered, as though in doubt.
"Guess."
"I can't," she replied. She would not say it. If he wanted it said, he must say it himself.
"It was here that I met 'Two Strikes.' Oh, what a blind fool I have been! If God had only given me a little less body and a little more brain! But it's all right. He knows best. He gave me you and I am thankful for that."
"We understand each other better now, Jim, don't we? I know you were only a child when I first saw you. You are a boy yet, but you will soon be a man. Listen, Jim; I have not ceased to think it over since we stood by the Spirit Rock. Do you remember what I said—you must go back to college? I must open the way. And I will, Jim; I have it all planned out. You must go back, not to Coulter, there are better colleges. They do not all bar married men. There is one in Chicago; Chicago is our gateway still. The Western Theological College is there. They will accept your year at Coulter for entrance and one year's work. I think I can get Mr. Hopkins to let me keep on with the Mountain House. My salary and what we have saved will make us comfortable. I can help in all your studies. In two years you will be through; then the Methodist Church, or any other, will be glad to have you and the way will be open wide. I will not fail you. You shall not fail to keep your word. And when we know, as we cannot know now, you will see that God was guiding me. Maybe He took you from Coulter because you were too young; surely He planned for us and has led us at every turn in the trail. It seems crooked now, but every rider in the hills knows that the crooks in the trail up Cedar Mountain were made to elude some precipice or to win some height not otherwise attainable; no other trail could end at the Spirit Rock, the highest point, the calm and blessed outlook, the top of Cedar Mountain."
"Now, Belle, I understand. My heart told me to wait, then to go up the mountain and find the thing I needed. I knew you would not fail; I knew my mountain meant vision for you and me."