“I cannot see it,” said the wounded man thoughtfully.
“Only God Himself, by His Holy Spirit, can enable you to see it,” said his companion; and then, in a low earnest voice, with eyes closed and his hand on his friend’s arm, he prayed that the outlaw might be “born again.”
Charlie Brooke was not one of those who make long prayers, either “for a pretence” or otherwise. Buck Tom smiled slightly when his friend stopped at the end of this one sentence.
“Your prayer is not long-winded, anyhow!” he said.
“True, Ralph, but it is comprehensive. It requires a good deal of expounding and explaining to make man understand what we say or think. The Almighty needs none of that. Indeed He does not need even the asking but He bids us ask, and that is enough for me. I have seen enough of life to understand the value of unquestioning obedience whether one comprehends the reason of an order or not.”
“Ay,” returned Buck quickly, “when he who gives the order has a right to command.”
“That is so much a matter of course,” rejoined Charlie, “that I would not think of referring to it while conversing with an intelligent man. By the way—which name would you like to be called, by Ralph or Buck?”
“It matters little to me,” returned the outlaw languidly, “and it won’t matter to anybody long. I should prefer ‘Ralph,’ for it is not associated with so much evil as the other, but you know our circumstances are peculiar just now, so, all things considered, I had better remain Buck Tom to the end of the chapter. I’ll answer to whichever name comes first when the roll is called in the next world.”
The conversation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of Hunky Ben bearing a deer on his lusty shoulders. He was followed by Dick Darvall.
“There,” said the former, throwing the carcass on the floor, “I told ye I wouldn’t be long o’ bringin’ in somethin’ for the pot.”