The ol’ man turned in and gave Kit a complete harrowin’ as soon as Olaf had left and she had told him pointedly that she’d eat dirt before she’d eat his food again; so she saddled her pony and started to ride without knowin’ where. Her pony had slipped on Carter Pass and she had sprained her ankle so bad she couldn’t stand. Just at this junction, the Friar had come along, and had put her up on his horse and held her on with one arm about her, because the pain in her ankle made her head light. On the way they came smack up again’ the kid, and he gave ’em a grin, and went out without askin’ questions.
He went straight to Olaf, and told him that Kit had eloped with the Friar. The Friar had brought her up to Shipley’s, they havin’ been friends of his in Colorado. They had a daughter livin’ up in Billings, Montana; and as soon as her ankle could stand it, Kit was goin’ up to live with the daughter, she havin’ three little children and a railroad husband who was away from home more ’n half the time.
This was the whole o’ the story; but you can easy see what a fine prospect it made for gossip, and also what a fine time a young imp like Bud Fisher could have with a sober feller like Olaf. Olaf wouldn’t have just grounds for makin’ away with Bud for doin’ nothin’ except grin, so long as the Friar remained alive with the girl in his keepin’. It was a neat little mess; and from what we found out afterwards, the kid was as irritatin’ as a half-swallered cockle-burr.
Big, silent fellers like Olaf are just like big, new boilers. A little leaky boiler fizzes away all the time, but when it comes to explode, it hasn’t anything on hand to explode with; while a big, tight boiler, when it does go off, generally musses up the landscape consid’able; and when Olaf started to stampede he made more noise in a week ’n Bud Fisher had in his whole life.
When Kit had finished tellin’ me the story, I shook hands with her, and said that while she hadn’t used the best judgment the’ was, she had probably used the best she had; and that it was more the men’s fault than hers, so she could count on me as far as I could travel. Then I went outside while the Friar and ol’ Mother Shipley fixed up her ankle.
They all seemed pleased about the way it was healin’, and after it was tied up, Kit stood on it and even took a few steps. It twisted her face a time or two at first; but after she’d gone across the room and back a few times, she said it felt better ’n it had for years. This made us all laugh, ’cause fact was, she hadn’t been housed in near up to the average of a sprained ankle. The Friar allowed ’at she’d be fit to travel day after the next; so it was planned to start in the evenin’, and for both of us to go with her. Then we had an early supper an’ started home.
On the way, I complained about the foolish way in which Kit had acted, for the sole purpose of drawin’ the Friar out and gettin’ his views on women. Nearly always when I got him started, I was able to pick up some little sayin’ which furnished me with more thought-food than his blocked-out sermons did.
“Of course Kit was foolish,” he admitted; “but what show has she ever had? Her father never was fit to bring her up; and he didn’t even do the best he could. A woman has more vital strength than a man, because the future of the race depends on her; but she also has more emotions, so ’at the wear an’ tear is greater. Man, on the other hand, has more muscle ’n woman, and more brutality. Foolin’ man has been the best way a woman had to fight for a good many centuries; and this was the way poor Kit tried to fight. The plain, simple truth generally works best; but it takes wisdom to see this, and wisdom is seldom anything more than the dregs o’ folly. The’ was no one to teach Kit wisdom; so she has had to strain off her own folly; but she is a fine, brave girl, and I think she will profit by experience.”
Now this was a new thought to me, about wisdom bein’ nothin’ but the dregs o’ folly; but it’s a good tough thought, and I’ve had a heap o’ chewin’ on it since then; so I feel repaid in havin’ took sides again’ Kit and lurin’ the Friar into heavin’ it at me.
It was dark when we reached his twistin’ path along the ledge, and I stepped as cautious as a glow-worm in a powder-mill; but as soon as we had our pipes an’ the fire goin’, I wouldn’t have swapped seats with the fattest king in the universe.