Little Barbie had finally grown up through childhood to the gates o’ womanhood—and as generally happens, she had found a man waitin’ for her there. Through all the years of her growin’, she had been sendin’ out tendrils which reached over an’ wound about my heart, and grew into it an’ through it, and became part of it. If it hadn’t ’a’ been for Friar Tuck, I might ’a’ married her, myself; for I could have done it, if all the men I’d had to fight had been other men—but the man I couldn’t overcome, was myself.
Through all the years I had known Friar Tuck an’ rode with him an’ worked with him an’ slept out under the stars with him, he had been quietly trainin’ me for the time when it would be my call to take my own love by the throat, for the sake of the woman I loved. It don’t weaken a man to do this; but it tears him—My God, how it does tear him!
I, my own self, brought back the man she loved to her, and gave her into his arms; and I’ve never regretted it for one single minute; but I doubt if I’ve ever forgot it for much longer ’n this either.
I did what it seemed to me I had to do—an’ the Friar thinks I did right, which counts a whole lot more with me ’n what others think. I went through my desert, I climbed my hill, for just one moment I saw into my promised land—and then I was jerked back, and not even given promotion into the next world, which Moses drew as his consolation prize. And yet, takin’ it all around, I can see where life has been mighty kind and generous to me after all, and I’m not kickin’ for a minute.
The great break in my life came in the fall, and it left ol’ Cast Steel a more changed man ’n it did me. I wanted to swing out wide—to ride and ride and ride until I forgot who I was and what had happened; but the ol’ man worked on my pity, an’ I agreed to stay on with him a spell. Durin’ the three years precedin’, I had got into the handlin’ of the ranch, more ’n he had, himself; so I spent the winter makin’ my plans, an’ goin’ over ’em with him. He came out toward spring and was more like himself; but when the first flowers blossomed on the benches, they seemed to be drawin’ their life blood out o’ my very heart. All day long I had a burnin’ in my eyes, everywhere I went I missed somethin’, until the empty hole in my breast seemed likely to drive me frantic; an’ one day I pertended to be mad about some little thing, an’ threw up my job for good and all.
The ol’ man was as decent as they ever get. He knew how I had been hit, an’ he didn’t try any foolishness. He gave me what money I wanted, told me to go and have it out with myself, an’ come back to him as soon as I could. I rode away without havin’ any aim or end in view, just rode an’ rode an’ rode with memories crowdin’ about me so thick, I couldn’t see the trail I was goin’.
Then one night I drew up along side o’ Friar Tuck’s fire, saw the steady light of his courage blazin’ out through his own sadness, the same as it had done all those years; an’ I flopped myself off my hoss, threw myself flat on the grass, an’ only God and the Friar know how many hours I lay there with his hand restin’ light on my shoulder, the little fire hummin’ curious, soothin’ words o’ comfort, and up above, the same ol’ stars shinin’ down clear and unchangin’ to point out, that no matter how the storms rage about the surface o’ the earth, it’s allus calm and right, if a feller only gets high enough.
[CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE—THE LITTLE TOWN OF BOSCO]
I hadn’t done much eatin’ or sleepin’ on that trip, an’ I was plumb beat out; so after I fell asleep, the Friar put a soogan over me and left me by the fire. He awakened me next mornin’, gettin’ breakfast, and it didn’t take him very long to talk me into joinin’ on to him for company. I had been avoidin’ humans, for fear I might be tempted to start trouble and find the easy way out of it all; but his plan was just the opposite—to dive so deep into humanity that I could catch a glimpse o’ the scheme o’ things.
The Friar held that we all had crosses comin’ to us any way. If we picked ’em up an’ put ’em on our own shoulders, we’d still be free, an’ the totin’ of our crosses would make us stronger; while if we tried to run away, we’d be roped an’ thrown, an’ the crosses chained on us. I’d a heap sooner be free than a slave; so I decided to carry mine, head up, an’ get right with myself as soon as possible.