SNOW-BLIND AND LOST ON THE PRAIRIE.
"Bill's horse whinnied, an' the other stopped an' then answered. The poor thing wus glad o' company. Bill spoke to Jack, but the poor fellow didn't know him. He wus out o' his mind. Bill got him on his horse, and rode on to Kootenay Brown's ranch, where they rubbed poor Jack an' put him to bed. He wus badly frozen an' they feared he wouldn't get better.
"Bill stayed fur a day an' then started fur home to get help. It wus stormin' an' he thought he might get lef', so he wrote the letter afore he started out so that Jack might have his medicine.
"It wus a long time afore Jack wus well an' come back to the Fort, an' my Bill lay four weeks in his bed; then he crawled round fur awhile, but he never got over his ride.
"Whenever anybody said anythin' to him, he would say, 'Never mind, it's all right: Jack got better.'
"All that winter an' the next summer he kep' about the Fort, coughin' bad. Ah, my heart wur sore to see him go like the snow on a summer day.
"Jack wud come over to his shanty an' do all his chores fur him, an' the two cronies would sit together fur hours.
"Jack wud look into Bill's face an' say, 'Bill, ye saved me, but lost yer own life,' an' then Bill, as best he could fur his cough, would say, 'Jack, it's all right; be a man an' help somebody else. One on us had to pass in his checks, an' it wus me this time. Yer turn will come too by an' by, mebbe afore ye think o' it. I've never done anything worth speakin' about. Ye know it's not because I wus unwillin', but, ye see, there's no chances o' doin' great things.'
"One day Jack an' Bill wur sittin' talkin', an' I went in ter see how he wus gettin' on, an' Jack wus talkin' like I never heard him afore. Ye'd a thought he wur a preacher. I think he must hev ben a good lad, fur I wusn't expectin' to hear the like.
"'Bill,' ses he, 'I don't know much about the thing good folks call religion, but I min' my old mother tellin' me, "It's not long prayers an' talks, but it's just bein' like Himsel'." That wur what she called Him. I guess He'll no judge ye for the fine things ye say, but the gran' things ye do. He saw ye that day ye saved me when I wur frozen. An' don't ye think He'll pay ye fur that? I'm sure He will. If I wur rich I'd give ye all I had, and they say He's honester than any o' us. An' that means if I canna pay ye, He will. Ye see ye must get yer pay fur doin' that gran' deed, an' I'm too poor to pay ye, so ye must look to Him for it.'
"'I think it's all right, but it's not worth much,' says Bill.
"'Worth much! It's worth all the world to me.'
"'I wonder if He'll understand us when we get yonder. Ye see, we haven't been workin' much at religion, prayin', but, Jack, many's the time I have looked up at the stars an' said to myself, "Does God think about me?" Ye see the country is so big it wouldn't be strange if He forgot me.'
"'I've heard He lived on the prairie, and that makes me feel better, fur if He ever lived among the mountains an' on the prairies He'll know our rough ways an' not be hard on us. I don't think thur wus any fine churches an' fine clothes on the prairie when He wus livin'. If thur wus no prairie an' no mountains in heaven, an' all the folks talked fine language, I couldn't feel at home. I'd be like a stranger, an' I'd want to go where I could see the buffalo an' talk some Indian once in a while.'
"'He wus a good man,' ses Jack, 'an' He wouldn't be unreasonable, an' if we didn't talk fine here He wouldn't expec' us to talk fine yonder. I don't understan' much about it, but mother told me He wus a gentleman; not a rich, proud fellow who'd pass ye by, but a man who treated all alike. He could tell a rogue in fine clothes an' a gentleman if he wus poor.'
"'I wonder, Jack, how I'll call on Him when I get yonder. Ye see, I've never been in company, an' I suppose a great many big folk will be crowdin' in the door, an' they'll be wantin' to keep me back. Will ye lift yer hat an' say, "Good day, sir," or will ye wait till He speaks to ye? I wish, Jack, ye'd go to the mission and ask the Sky Pilot that lives there; mebbe he can tell ye what to say. Mebbe he has books that'll tell ye, an' it's not the best thing to wait fur yer ticket till the last minute.'
"Before Bill could say any more Jack hobbled off, got on his horse, and rode fifteen miles to the mission house.
"The missionary wus at home, an' Jack wur surprised to see him wearin' a buckskin just like the trappers, an' he'd ben cuttin' out rails fur his fences an' had a axe in his hand. He greeted Jack civil, an' asked him what he could do for him. Jack just told him about my Bill, an' how he wanted to know what he wur to do.
"'Can ye giv' a poor fellow directions what to do after he's passed in his checks, a kind o' passport like, to cheat the old fellow when he would be bettin' on the game. Ye see, my pardner, Bill, that's nearly finished his game, an' you bet he's a good un, but he kind o' thinks he'd like to get posted afore he starts on the trip. Ye can mebbe giv' us a prayer or a few words that we wouldn't be strangers. We might fine it hard to get an interpreter. Bill is pretty good at the Indian, an' he cud giv' them some Sioux or Cree, but the man at the door wouldn't understand. I'll pay ye for yer advice, fur he saved me, an' I hate to see him go; but I'll giv' him a good send-off an' a big funeral.'
"Stranger, the missionary came right off to my Bill, an' Jack, he wur proud to have the Sky Pilot ridin' beside him, an' when they come into the Fort the men looked at the stranger goin' to Bill's shanty, an' they ses, 'He's a rustler, that, an' don't ye forget it. Ye bet yer life he'll see Bill through. He'll treat him on the square!'
"Bill's comrades wur sittin' round his bed talkin' when the prophet in buckskin, fur that wus what they called the missionary right there, come in.
"'Good day, gentlemen,' ses he, an' takes off his hat, an' then sits down by Bill an' talks to him a bit to get a wee bit acquainted. He ses:
"'Wall, friend, what can I do fur you?'
"'D'ye think a chap'll lose the trail to heaven, that's never ridden over it afore?'
"'No, he'll get there all right if he follows the directions!' ses he.
"'An' ye can giv' them to me, I reckon,' ses Bill.
"'Yes; I haven't bin there, but the Chief has, an' He said afore He went off on His last trip that He would mark the trail so that His men wouldn't get lost.'
"'Ye can tell me the marks He left. Is it a heap o' stones, or a tree blazed, or a fire burnin', so as I can see the smoke?'
"'I don't know what the marks are,' says the Sky Pilot; 'but, ye see, His ways are square, an' I know what He says is true. There's none o' the scouts ever come back to tell us. We are all tender-feet on that trail.'
"'D'ye think they could o' lost it an' got down to the camp o' the old fellow?'
"'No; but when an old-timer starts on that trail he must like the place that he doesn't come back, or mebbe there's someone keepin' him there.'
"'I guess he's struck it rich, an' he'll not come back,' says Bill, 'but how am I to know when I don't know the marks?'
"'Wall, the Chief said afore He left on that long ride o' His that He'd make the way plain so that ye couldn't mistake it, an' He never wus false. All ye hev' to do is to pledge yerself afore ye start to join His ranks, an' He'll be there to meet ye, an' He'll take care o' ye Himself an' there'll be no mistake.'
"'Are ye sure that's so?' says Bill.
"'I'm sure. I hev served the Chief for many a year, an' I tell ye He wus never false.'
"Bill turned on his bed, an' as he looked at his old comrades, he says, 'Boys, I'm goin' on the long trail. Many a time hev we ridden on the prairie, but I'm goin' alone this time.'
"The Sky Pilot went down on his knees an' he prayed. It wus a right touchin' prayer, an' the men couldn't help the tears comin' in their eyes. Jack looked at Bill, an' says he, 'Bill's sure to pull through. If anybody can find the long trail, it's Bill.'
"It wus only a little while after that, stranger, that my Bill called out, 'He's waitin' fur me! Yes, I'm comin'!' an' his head fell back. My Bill was gone. Stranger, he wus a fine man."
The old man ceased. He had told the sorrow of his life. The stranger who listened knew no word was needed to express his sympathy, so with only a kindly grasp of the old trapper's hand he turned to the couch spread for him, and before many minutes had passed the occupants of the cabin were in a sound sleep.
The shanty among the hills still stands, and is yet the home of the grey-haired old-timer. As he sits at his doorway in the evening watching the shadows lengthen into night, memory often carries him back to the days when "my Bill" was the pride of his heart.