“Uncle Hank wouldn’t have had it so. He didn’t cherish any ill feeling pussonly against anybody; whatever he said was because they was takin’ away from him what he had worked all his life for. He wasn’t jealous of George William, but of him as a stage driver, because we made him so. Boys, he loved us and was mighty proud of our regard—and we didn’t show it in the time of trial. And he’s gone over the great divide with tears in his eyes, and we are to blame. Who among any of us poor fools has a right to say that the other stage shouldn’t follow?”
Bob sat down amid absolute silence, wiping his face vigorously. Major Wilkerson rose to his feet. “I renew my suggestion,” said he, “that we have the Gray Eagle stage. I think you’ll all agree that Bob’s right.”
Morosin’ Jones rose from his stump, suffused with emotion. “In course he’s right,” he said, huskily, “but the stage ou’t to be painted black.” A murmur of assent greeted this speech.
The day was beautiful. The procession went slowly down the old stage road, past Lime Point, through the Roaring River canyon, beyond up Reddy’s grade, over the First Summit and then through Little Forest to the watering-place at the head of the last canyon. Every stream, every tree, every rock along the road was known to Uncle Hank. He was going home over a familiar way. The pine trees, with their somber green, were silent; the little streams that went frolicking from one side of a canyon to another seemed subdued; it was spring, but the gray squirrels were not barking in the tree-tops, and the quail seemed to pipe but faintly through the underbrush. The lupines and the bluebells nodded along the way; the chipmunks stood in the sunlight and stared curiously.
All would have gone well had not George William Pike been a man without understanding—and such a man is beyond redemption. He did not appreciate the spirit of the invitation to join in this last simple ceremony in honor of Uncle Hank. He accepted it as an apology from Paradise Bar and growled to himself because of the absurd request to paint the coach black—which he would not have done except for an order from the superintendent, who was a man of policy. A year could have been wasted in explaining that the invitation was an expression of humility and of atonement for the camp’s treatment of its own. So he came and wore his silk hat and his red necktie, and Morosin’ Jones almost had a spasm in restraining himself.
Down the mountain-side they went, slowly and decorously. Nothing eventful happened until the mouth of the canyon was cleared, and then George William became impatient. He could not understand the spirit of the occasion. Meadow Lark and supper were a long way off, and the luncheon at Half-Way House had been light. So he began making remarks over his horses’ heads with the intention of hurrying up Gregg, who was driving the old stage. “Well fitted for this kind of work, those horses, ain’t they?” he said. “Seems curious they were ever put on the stage.” Gregg said nothing, but tightened rein a bit. “Where will we stop for the night?” asked George William presently, flicking the off leader’s ear with his whip.
Gregg turned around angrily. “If you don’t like the way this thing is bein’ done, you can cut and go on in town alone; but if you don’t keep your mouth closed there’ll be trouble.”
“I don’t want to go into town alone,” rejoined George William pleasantly, “but I reckon we’d go in better fashion if we was at the head of this percession.”
“Maybe you’d better try it,” said Gregg, reddening, and thereupon George William turned out his four white horses and his black stage, without saying anything to his two passengers, and proceeded to go around. Gregg gathered in the slack in his reins. “Go back!” he roared. But Pike, swinging wide to the right to avoid the far-reaching whip, went on. Nebuchadnezzar pricked up his ears. Rome looked inquiringly at Athens, and Moloch snorted indignantly. Athens’ expression said very plainly: “Are we at our time of life going to permit four drawing-room apologies for horses and a new-fangled rattletrap to pass us on our own road?” The negative response could be seen in the quiver that ran down each horse’s back. The leaders gently secured their bits between their teeth. So absorbed was Gregg in the strange actions of George William that he paid little attention to his own horses.