It was, indeed, a wonderful month, and the last day of it was marked by a meeting that made a deep impression upon Elizabeth. She was dressing in the afternoon when she heard a more than usually noisy arrival. Looking out of the window she saw a man unsaddling his horse, and a crowd of negroes running to meet him. It seemed, also, as if every one of John’s forty-two dogs was equally delighted at the visit. Such a barking! Such a chorus of welcome! Such exclamations of satisfaction it is impossible to describe. The new-comer was a man of immense stature, evidently more used to riding than to walking. For his gait was slouching, his limbs seemed to dangle about him, and he had a lazy, listless stoop, as he came up the garden with his saddle over his arm listening to a score of voices, patting the dogs that leaped around and upon him, stopping to lift up a little negro baby that had toddled between his big legs and fallen, and, finally, standing to shake hands with Uncle Isaac, the patriarch of The Quarters. And as Uncle Isaac never—except after long absences—paid even “Master John” the honor of coming to meet him, Elizabeth wondered who the guest could be.
Coming down stairs she met Harriet in her very gayest head-kerchief and her white-embroidered apron, and her best-company manner: “De minister am come, Miss Lizzie—de Rev. Mr. Rollins am ‘rived; and de camp-meetin’ will be ‘ranged ‘bout now. I’se powerful sorry you kaint stay, ma’am.”
“Where does Mr. Rollins come from?”
“De Lord knows whar. He’s at de Rio Grande, and den ‘fore you can calc’late he’s at de Colorado.”
“He appears to be a great favorite.”
“He’s done got de hearts ob ebery one in his right hand; and de dogs! dey whimper after him for a week; and de little children! he draw dem to him from dar mammy’s breast. Nobody’s never seed sich a man!”
He was talking to John when Elizabeth went on the gallery, and Harry was standing between his knees, and Dick Millard leaning on his shoulder. Half a dozen of the more favored dogs were lying around him, and at least a dozen negro children were crawling up the piazza steps, or peeping through the railings. He was dressed in buckskin and blue flannel, and at first sight had a most unclerical look. But the moment he lifted, his face Elizabeth saw what a clear, noble soul looked out from the small twinkling orbs beneath his large brows. And as he grew excited in the evening’s conversation, his muscles nerved, his body straightened, and he became the wiry, knotted embodiment of calm power and determination.
“We expected you two weeks ago,” said John to him.
“There was work laid out for me I hadn’t calculated on, John. Bowie’s men were hard up for fresh meat, and I lent them my rifle a few days. Then the Indians bothered me. They were hanging around Saledo settlement in a way I didn’t like, so I watched them until I was about sure of their next dirty trick. It happened to be a thieving one on the Zavala ranche, so I let Zavala know, and then rode on to tell Granger he’d better send a few boys to keep them red-handed Comanche from picking and stealing and murdering.”
“It was just like you. You probably saved many lives.”