While Stilson was still threatening to shoot, Ben pushed the barrel of the revolver to one side, so that the ball would pass harmlessly by. Meantime, he drew his own weapon, which Stilson did not know he carried. Ben was particularly anxious to give this fellow a dose of cold lead, but he wanted him to fire the first shot. So he dared him to shoot, calling him all manner of names, and blackguarding him roundly.
Had Stilson pulled the trigger of his pistol, as I have explained, the ball would have passed harmlessly by Ben’s side, while our hero would have done more effectual work. But Stilson was not the sort of a man to shoot, although he talked loudly enough. It was well for him that he finally put up his pistol, for if he had discharged it, it would certainly have cost him his life.
Once, during his three years’ residence in Parker’s, Ben attended church. The newspapers in the country about came out the next day and declared it was a pity the steeple had not fallen and crushed Hogan to death. Finding so little encouragement in his attempt to follow the paths of piety, Ben gave it up as a bad job, and never troubled a church again.
But if he did not sit in a pew on Sundays, our hero did some good deeds which would have honored any Christian. For example, a girl came to him on one occasion in sore distress. She had gone astray; had lived a short, wild life of sin and pleasure, and was now reaping the terrible harvest of her wayward career. Forsaken by friends, with no home to go to, she had come to Ben as a last refuge. She was then pregnant and suffering from a loathsome disease. Her cup of wretchedness seemed greater than she could bear, and like many another poor unfortunate, she had resolved to end her misery by taking her own life. She had gone so far, even, as to procure the poison, which she fully intended to take.
Ben talked to this woman in a way in which no stiff-necked puritan could have talked. He told her there was still hope for her in this world; that she must put all thoughts of suicide out of her mind, and that he would help her out of the slough into which she had fallen. A gleam of hope finally dawned upon the black pathway of this miserable girl. She found in Ben a friend who did something more than preach. He gave her sound advice, and backed this up with aid of a more substantial nature. Through his influence she obtained admittance to the Pittsburg Hospital, and there, in the course of a few weeks, she was fully restored to health. Then Hogan took it upon himself to bring about a reconciliation between the girl and her parents. He visited the latter, who lived in Butler, pleaded with them in behalf of the outcast, and showed them how, by receiving her back, they might yet save her from further disgrace. These pleadings were not in vain. The girl returned to her parents’ roof, abandoned her old evil ways, and is to-day the wife of a lawyer, loyal and true.
This story, which is in every particular a fact, carries with it, I think, its own moral. Ben’s efforts in behalf of a friendless and outcast woman saved her from a life of shame and made her a respected and happy wife. If the example would be followed more often, there would be less of wretchedness and woe in this world.
When the races were first held at Parker’s, they brought a rich harvest to Ben’s place. He, in connection with Newell, Leo, and a few other sporting characters, followed up the races to Jamestown, where Newell ran a faro bank. Ben, who carried with him five thousand dollars in cash, loaned five hundred dollars for the game. But when this was lost, he refused to advance any more, having a suspicion that Leo was not dealing a perfectly square game. Although Ben himself had no interest whatever in the bank, he was arrested just as he was boarding the steamer, by a deputy sheriff, who informed him that he must go to the lock-up with him. The deputy’s plan was really to bleed Hogan, whom he knew to be the moneyed man of the party. The bleeding, however, was on the other side of the house, for Ben drew off and dealt the deputy a blow which caused his nose to bleed with unpleasant freedom. He didn’t care to attempt any more bleeding just then.
All this time that Ben remained in Parker’s, Kitty was accustomed to make occasional trips to Cleveland, presumably on business, but really to meet an old flame which she had in that city. Ben was altogether ignorant of this little liaison, and it would no doubt have caused him both anger and chagrin had he known that Kitty’s business trips, which cost from three to four hundred dollars each, were made for the express benefit of some other fellow. This was one of the instances where Ben himself had the wool pulled over his eyes.
The want of space prevents me from dwelling longer upon our hero’s career in Parker’s. Altogether he had a lively time of it, and a volume might be written upon the occurrences of those three years. I must hasten on to describe how Ben finally left Parker’s Landing.
He had gone to Pittsburg one day, and there, while standing in front of George Leavenworth’s saloon, in conversation with Booke, a telegraphic message was put into his hands. Upon opening the envelope Ben read the startling news that his place at Parker’s was in flames.