The sayin’ was, that a Cross brand puncher could digest every sort o’ beef in the land except Cross brand beef. Tyrrel used to grin at this sayin’ as though it was a sort of compliment; but some o’ the little fellers got purty bitter about it. When a small outfit located on a nice piece o’ water, it paid ’em to be well out o’ Ty’s neighborhood. No one ever had any luck who got in his road; but his own luck boomed right along year after year. He allus kept more men than he needed; an’ about once a month he’d knock in the head of a barrel o’ whiskey, an’ the tales they used to tell about these times was enough to raise the hair. Ty would work night an’ day to get one of his men out of a scrape; but once a man played him false, he either had to move or get buried. He wasn’t a bad lookin’ man, except that he allus seemed keyed up an’ ready to spring.
His men all had to be top-notch riders, because he hadn’t any use for a gentle hoss; he didn’t want his hosses trained, he wanted ’em busted, an’ the cavey he’d send along for a round-up would be about as gentle and reliable as a band o’ hungry wolves. If a man killed a hoss, why Ty seemed to think it a good joke, an’ this was his gait all the way along—the rougher the men were, the better they suited him. He kept a pack o’ dogs, and the men were encouraged to kick an’ abuse ’em; but if one of ’em petted a dog, he was fired that instant—or else lured into a quarrel. The’ didn’t seem to be one single soft spot left in the man, an’ when they got to callin’ him Tyrant Jones instead of Tyrrel, why, it suited him all over, an’ he used it himself once in a while.
The next time I saw Friar Tuck, he recognized me at first glance, an’ his face lit up as though we had been out on some prank together an’ was the best pals in the world ever since. He wanted to know all I knew about the crowd that had started to string him up; and when I had finished paintin’ ’em as black as I could, what did he do but say that he was goin’ up their way to have a talk with ’em.
I told him right out that it was simply wastin’ time; but he was set in his ways, so I decided to ride part way with him. He had two hosses along this trip, with his bed an’ grub tied on the spare one; and on the second day we reached a little park just as the sun was setting. It was one o’ the most beautiful spots I ever saw, high enough to get a grand view off to the west, but all the rest shut in like a little room. He jumped from his hoss, had his saddle off as soon as I did, and also helped me with the pack. Then he looked about the place.
“What a grand cathedral this is, Happy!” he sez after a minute.
I didn’t sense what he meant right at first, and went on makin’ camp, until I happened to notice his expression. He was lookin’ off to the west with the level rays of the sun as it sank down behind a distant range full in his face. The twilight had already fallen over the low land and all the hazy blues an’ purples an’ lavenders seemed to be floatin’ in a misty sea, with here an’ there the black shadows of peaks stickin’ out like islands. It really was gorgeous when you stopped to give time to it.
It had been gruelin’ hot all day, an’ was just beginnin’ to get cool an’ restful, and I was feelin’ the jerk of my appetite; but when I noticed his face I forgot all about it. I stood a bit back of him, half watchin’ him, an’ half watchin’ the landscape. Just as the sun sank, he raised his hands and chanted, with his great, soft voice booming out over the hills: “The Lord is in His holy temple—let all the earth keep silence before Him.”
He bent his head, an’ I bent mine—I’d have done it if the’d been a knife-point stickin’ again’ my chin. I tell you, it was solemn! It grew dark in a few moments an’ the evening star came out in all her glory. It was a still, clear night without a speck in the air, and she was the only star in sight; but she made up for it, all right, by throwing out spikes a yard long.
He looked up at it for a moment, and then sang a simple little hymn beginnin’, “Now the day is over, night is drawing nigh; shadows of the evening steal across the sky.” It didn’t have the ring to it of most of his songs; it was just close an’ friendly, and filled a feller with peace. It spoke o’ the little children, and those watchin’ in pain, and the sailors tossin’ on the deep blue sea, and those who planned evil—rounded ’em all up and bespoke a soothin’ night for ’em; and I venture to say that it did a heap o’ good.
Then he pitched in an’ helped me get supper. This was his way; he didn’t wear a long face and talk doleful; he was full o’ life an’ boilin’ over with it every minute, and he’d turn his hand to whatever came up an’ joke an’ be the best company in the world; but he never got far from the Lord; and when he’d stop to worship, why, the whole world seemed to stop and worship with him.