He could take a deck of cards and turn it into a complete calendar, leap year and all; and then he could turn it into a bible, showin’ easy ways to learn things, until a feller really could believe ’at cards was invented by the early Christians who had to live in caves, as some claim. All the time he was playin’ with ’em, he was smugglin’ in wise sayin’s with his fun, pointin’ out what made the difference between deceivin’ for profit, and deceivin’ for a little joke, tellin’ ’em how to enjoy life without abusin’ it—Why, he even went so far as to say that if a feller couldn’t be religious in a brandin’ pen he couldn’t be religious in a cathedral—which is a two-gun church with fancy trimmin’s.
By the time he had expanded the young folks and made ’em easy and at home, the older ones had arrived; and then he held a preachin’. The whole outfit joined in with the singin’, and when he began to talk to ’em every eye in the room was glistenin’. You see, he knew them and their life; and they knew him and his. He had nursed ’em through sickness, he had tended their babies, he had helped to build their cabins an’ turn ’em into homes; so the words flowed out of his heart and into theirs without any break between. This was the Friar and this was his work—but I can’t put it into a story.
The’ was a no-account cuss by the name o’ Jim Stubbs who lived—if ya could call it livin’—at Boggs; and the Friar induced him to go along on one of his trips. When Jim came back he was a made-over man, and every one asked him if he had religion. “Hell, no,” sez Jim, tryin’ to be independent, “I ain’t got religion; but a feller catches somethin’ from the Friar the same as if he had the measles; and I don’t covet to be a bum no more.”
This gives ya the best idy of the Friar that I can think of; and I finally fell asleep there at Bill Duff’s, with my mind made up to bury my own heartache, keep the grave of it green, but live out my life as hard as the Friar was livin’ his.
We had intended to projec about in the Basin next day to rustle up some new trade in the Friar’s line; but my pony turned up lame, so we held over to get him shod. When the stage pulled in that evenin’, me an’ the Friar went down to see it. A little feller sat on the seat with the driver. His hat was covered with dust an’ pulled down over his eyes, an’ what ya could see of him was the color o’ coffee; but the moment I lay eyes on his side-burns, I grabbed the Friar’s arm an’ whispered, “Horace!” and by dad, that’s who it was. Promotheus was in the back seat, an’ he looked for all the world like an enlarged copy, except that his side-burns were red an’ gray, while Horace’s were mostly brown. But they were cut exactly the same, startin’ from his ears, runnin’ across his cheeks an’ lips, an’ then curvin’ down to the crook of his jaw, close cropped an’ bristly.
Horace an’ Promotheus hit the ground as soon as the stage stopped, an’ me an’ the Friar dropped back out o’ sight inside the hotel. Horace gave orders about his two boxes an’ started into the hotel. Just as he came through the door, I stepped out an’ gave him a shove. “You can’t come in here,” I growled.
He stepped back as fierce as a rattler. “I can’t, huh?” he piped. “Well, we’ll see if I can’t.”
Then he recognized me, an’ we began to pump hands. He said ’at he and Promotheus had only reached home three weeks before; but they couldn’t stand it, an’ so had made a streak for the West. He said they had been in Africa an’ India, until they had become plumb disgusted with tropical heat, an’ so had come out the northern route, expectin’ to outfit at Bosco an’ ride down to the Diamond Dot.
We suppered with ’em an’ next day they bought a string o’ hosses, packed their stuff on ’em, an’ said they were ready for some amusement. Horace had got a little snappier in his talk an’ his movements; but that was about the only change. As soon as we told ’em about Ty Jones havin’ a woman, that settled it. Horace insisted upon seein’ the woman, an’ Promotheus echoed anything ’at Horace said, though his face clouded a bit at the idee of foolin’ around the Cross brand ranch. The Friar didn’t feel any call to go along with us; but it was more to my mind just then ’n his line was, so I jumped at the chance.
Horace was also mighty glad to add me to his outfit. He had been used to havin’ a lot o’ Zulus an’ Hindus waitin’ on him, and hadn’t adjusted himself to a small outfit yet. He said he had sent a lot o’ hides an’ heads an’ horns and other plunder from London, England, to the Diamond Dot; but had been too busy to write durin’ the past few years. He and the Friar had quite a talk together before we left; but I could tell from their faces ’at Horace didn’t have any news for him.