Ordinarily a taciturn man, Peter Paynter's temper could flare up like a rocket, and die away as quickly. He was a true Westerner, and an ex-Mounted Policeman. When he deigned not to ignore the victims of his wrath, he didn't speak to them, he absolutely seared them. No man did more for the trekking Barr Colonists. He stretched his generous nature to the limit.
Paynter knew very little about religion, less still about theology, and practically nothing at all about the preaching of either. But his innate goodness was there all the same. It was like his skin—with him all the time; not like his Sunday suit, packed away and quite likely badly creased. His one fetish was the drawing in his mind, with a very sharp indelible pencil, a clean, straight line dividing right from wrong. This line put Barr well on the latter side.
The Trailey party happened to be camped near Paynter's ranch when the Rev. Isaac M. Barr (travelling light, with one companion and a big bag of oats) passed through on his way to Colony Headquarters. Besides point-blank refusing to stain his soul with the despicable oat deal, Paynter emptied his mind of its accumulation of bitter scorn all over the reverend philanthropist, very nearly making a martyr of him.
Barr was already beginning to look a good deal like a fugitive. He was taking everybody's blame, of course. That is one of the advantages of being a leader. In vivid language, many colonists had castigated him pretty severely. But Peter Paynter handled him pitilessly. The cold, steely eyes of the experienced Westerner read all the signs of the long trek. Unerringly, he gauged the misfortunes and hardships awaiting the colonists. Every wagon belonging to the party passed his door. The story of the struggle of the men, and the heroism of the women, was writ large for him. Mrs. Paynter squandered her foodstuffs, and her Irish sympathy. This generous-hearted couple stamped their name ineffaceably on the memories of scores of grateful Barr Colonists.
Over the oat transaction, Paynter dissected Barr into little pieces with his flaying speech. When the latter gathered up the bits, he found that there was a small fragment of his anatomy left over. Being somewhat at a loss to know what to do with it, Peter must have suggested that he make a tail of it, for immediately afterwards Sam and Bert saw him speeding into the setting sun, with something tucked ingloriously between his legs.
CHAPTER XVI
The End of the Trek
The little party covered the last lap of their exhausting journey without encountering any special mishaps. Beyond being bogged a few more times, they enjoyed pretty decent luck.
The lustre of their equipment was now entirely worn off. Their bedraggled aspect contrasted vividly with the gorgeous appearance they had presented at the commencement of the pilgrimage. In spite of Martha Trailey's almost fanatical industry, outer garments rapidly deteriorated; shirts ripped; buttons disappeared, and neat spic-and-span-ness surrendered to the stains and rents and general frayed-out look consequent upon such a harsh trip.
Faces had peeled profusely. Hands once soft and white had now become hard and blistery. Scraggly whiskers competed with uncut hair to see which could make their wearers appear the most dishevelled. At first they all laughed at the changes; then ignored them; then, as everything is distinguishable only by contrast, they failed to take notice of them.