CHAPTER XVI
IN THE PATH OF THE BIG WIND
“So we fellers of the camp, when the wind-spooks rave and ramp,
We fasten up the dingle-door with spike and extry clamp;
For it ain’t a mite against ’em if the boldest chaps do hide
When the big old trees go tumblin’, crash and bang, on ev’ry side.”
—Ha’nt of Pamola.
John Barrett, millionaire, realized rather vaguely that he had left something on the bald poll of Jerusalem Knob. It was after he had grasped Dwight Wade’s hand, both of them standing shelterless under the skies, the welcome rains beating into their faces.
John Barrett, millionaire, stumbling weariedly to shelter at the foot of Jerusalem Knob, having left something in that upper vastness where soul forgot the petty things, realized—vaguely again—that he had found what he had left. The Honorable Pulaski D. Britt seemed to pass it to him in a hand-clasp.
On Jerusalem, John Barrett had left much of his insolence, more of his selfishness, and all of his vindictiveness. Dwight Wade, generous in his own triumph, had shamed the baser feelings out of him. And yet that new poise of a sincerer manliness seemed to be charmed away suddenly by the mere touch of Pulaski Britt’s big hand. That hand represented the brutal tyranny of the barons of the woods. It was thrust out in welcome over the threshold of the wangan camp, and Britt hauled in his fellow-baron with boisterous greeting.