The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 20, 1906, Page 7

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. m are good for five dollars, and three, and one,” said Lou when Vaughan have pushed aside the discs, know poker chips?’ He smiled ¥y would ought, while 1 n He told ¥ it Judge, and tr ’ way clear Here, as be- oom. It was s strung on sompartments s guide. It con- ne of them a udly, on the out- owboy was sleeping Vaughan sat down third and walted till had descended ers, shrill es of pain hurried directios , fetch Dr. Addi- And many there were the kindly nife wound in his side. nning. of water, and cloths,” 4 and parted. Vaughan the o air to the window of which » laid it under to it. The rds with a man awoke o drink and dance once were the men and women dled thought the ndow. Hell seemed to fore their wi feet, as bonfire in the t. Who them? Who would save this voy sobbing and sighing In his ent Vaughan there was but one sw of young Isaleh Here n 1, send me!™ it lips with a live coal from tar,” he prayed. was beginning, the clear, cool, Nevada dawn It bathed him etood, snointing him with its brow, lips and plesding bands. led him, the peace is heard, whose when Henley brought to the door of the sa- to the fresh- ng their heads Neo guestions were ee were vouchsafed ent came in in the doorway ey drew up their o helped Frank n up the steps. r husband. She s face. It was the lined and seamed. hands to her with it them “You have he sald simply, Better write to Della first” sald passing on into the house. to write to her tonight” CHAPTER 1V, Scrt to Eureka £t was not Mary . -nley’s way to walt when she had made up her mind. ‘While Vaughen was writing to Delia she wrote John Harman, superintendent of mis- ns Carson City, telling him cer- things she felt it was well for him know about her friend Clement Vaughan; and the two letter went out > the mallbag together. Frank walked uneasly to and !re_whll‘a ne letters were being written. Don’t ut it too strong, Clement” he §1r‘edd. Be careful, Mary, what you sajy an se two scribes answered, “Yet,” absent- nindedly, end went on, giving expression 1o their full hearts. w 2 week John Harman was at Galena answering Mary's letter in per- con. There was mo time to be lost in « thing of this kind, and be was short of men. At Lewis he encountered Jud.‘. Weaver, who told him more about the oung men. It was already pretty well settled in Harman's mind where he would “lace Vaughan if he proved all these en- thusiastic people thought. Eureka was ast the opening for a live, zealous, en- missionary. tic, devoted young "{: wouwd find plenty to do. Things had been golng ng at Eureka for the last ix or eight years; no regular members, =g except that provided by the ;:l-buryfund and strong opposition. Everybody who was anything went to the Dpiscopal &nd Baptist churches. to be able to draw his he mused, and saw !:,:vuu the man whom ‘aughan ought share of these. oming down the he sought. had obl :uc ey and of the experienoce at Lewis, and the roed, singing to him a fine flavor of youthful purpose and God-given charm. 2 The heart of the superintendent of nn-' the sensa- sions warmed to him. Men cxperience toward each other e ton termed between the sexes lav:flg. first-sight. Srm:’n-hy. mflflc&m e tion even were ndled behalf gy~ o e He tmnd =0 joyously, and he gave o ard gave wmerhln{dw‘lm it which - engthened. -, 4 .sn::;r' walked along by the horse, an swering Harman's questions, pumn‘“d others, the superintendent began um- \ike a father toward him and to -bv. - tally, “This borg. too good to rificed to Eureka. i % threw his leg over the horse's back and sat there, sideways. — Vaughan waited inquiringly. “There is a place at Virginia City,” said the superintendent confidentially; “four thousand and the parsonage. How would you like to go there?” Vaughan's eyes sparkled. Even Delia would be satisfied with four thousand and a parsonage. But—was this the work to which he had vowed himself in the white dawn at Lewis? Again the scenes of that hellish night rose before him; the drinking, dancing, quarreling horde, the wounded man sobbing and sighing In ldm nileen- l:‘he ‘hu’:‘ of the bonfire, the runken miner with the 4; ite. n he heard the oaths, the mflbfld ulk‘.‘lu!:e explosion, the screams, and again he said to himself, “These are the men and women for whom Christ dled.” “Perhaps you'd rather think it qver,” suggested the superintendent, noting the young preacher’s hesitation. No sir; I can give you my answer now,” returned Vaughan . steadily. “There'll be enough to take such a place as that. Send me where no one else will “All right” sald the superintendent, relleved. “We'll send you to Bureka.” That night Clement wrote to Della, more fully than before. Exulting that his own heart had not failed, he gave ers a chance. He told her what he had done, how he had refused the easy piace and the big pay, and had chosen the hard place with no pay worth mentioning, and appealed to her as his wife, his help* meate, to join him in the sacrifice, de- voting her life, as he had devoted his, to the furthering of the work. When he had finished and reread his letter he dld not see how any one, man or woman, could resist those burning words. Mary Henley, to whom he intrusted the con- tents, felt as he did. He did not take Frank into his confidence. The men &t Galena spoke approvingly of the stand Vaughan had taken. They said he was “onto his job.” The women made of him a hero—especially Minnie Hollaway. She would have llked to have him taken her life in his hands and shape it, tell her exactly what she should and should not do. When he did not accept the opportunities she gave him to do this she went at the matter point blank. Mr. Vaughan,” she sald one morning, when the Henleys were preparing for a day-long drive, and Minnie and the parson were alone in the sitting-room together, want to ask you something very im- T shall be very glad to help I can,” returned Vaughan gravel “Do you think a girl ought to marry a man when she doesn’t love him?" pur- sued Minnie. “There’'s Martin Young—I don’'t know why I should make any secret e doesn’t—he thinks he could mak® me care, but I don’t think so. ..nd I do fke Willam Dower, If he is only a iner.” t is a great mistake to Marry on any other basis than that of affection,” said Vi han loftily, and began a discourse on ., marriage and the responsibilities of life, which more than satisfied Min- nie's exp tons The Henleye interrupted him with fare- w and orders for the day, but Clement had already said some very good things of which he made a mental note for fu- ture use, Minnie took every word as gospel truth, to be followed to the letter. When the men came in for dinner she snubbed Mar- tin so openly, so openly favored William and so plainly looked to Vaughan for ap- proval that Martin was not slow to place the responsibility where it belonged, and sai@to himself, “He done it; he put her up to it, damn him! T'll get square with you, if After dinner he gathered all the idlers in the place and promised.them some fun. He weas going to offer to give Black Birdie to the parson if he would ride her. Black Birdie!” exclaimed Jo; “do you think ‘the parson’s a fool?” “She broke the cinch when Jack Hen- shaw was trying to break her,” sald Tim. “What she needs,” returned Martin, “is a nice p’lite-spoken gent like the par- son. She don’t take to no vaquero. Tim, you throw a saddle over her and bring her a-front of the store. I'll have the parson along in a jiffy.” ‘Betcher he won't come!” said Jo. “Take ve, said Tim. “What'll ye make it? Come now!" Betting became lUvely, first &8s to whether the parson would come, second to which would win. Here odds were all on the horse. While they discussed the subject Mar- tin and the parson appeared on Henley's stoop, while Tim brought to the front of the store the curveting, dancing, plung- ing creature, black and lustrous as a bit col. If Vaughan had been Inclined to hes- itate all scruples vanished when he saw the horse. “What a beauty!” he cried and bounded across the street. Martin sauntered after, winking first one eye and then the othar at the conspirators, as they stood around grinning. Black Birdie continued to prance, and to pull Tim this way and that The sun- light rippled over her dazzling flanks, her quivering nostrils showed their scarlst I her great eves rolled from side t Everything she saw sent groat shuddering waves of terror and resistance through her sensitive body. “Blindfold her!” called Martin, and one of the men whipped out a handkerchief and tied it over the restiess eyes. ow, parson,” he said encouragingly, “git on—if you dass to.” “If I—" Vaughan ended with a leap which landed him on Black Birdie's tail. The onlookers roared with delight. Nerved to supreme effort by their de- rision, he made another spring and this time gained the saddle. “Let her go!" he directed. The men obeyed, whipping off the bandage. With great leaps the terrified animal bounded forward. Reaching the slope of the canyon she clambered straight up sts almost perpendicular sides, her iron- shod hoofs ringing against the rocke. Vaughan clung to the homn of the saddle, his coattalls floating out behind. TUp, up went the horse. snorting and strug- gling, then suddenly stopped and shook like an aspen. “Go eon!” shouted Vaughan. Hoarse shouts enswered him frem below. The crowd wes beginning to sympathize and of applaud 4 “Hang to it parscen! they called. “Stick to_her!” “Black Birdie wheeled and looked down the way she had come, shivering. “Do you want to go down?” asked the rider. “All right, we'll go down.” Still quivering, the mare sank upon her haunchee. TUp went the parson's long legs upon her neck, and so together, horse and man, they siid down the side of the n. ugm" the excitement intensified. When Black Birdie reached the level the pair were at once surrounded, but they broke through the ring and went clattering own the road. d“'.l‘lnm goes your horse, Mart™ sald Tim, end they all damned the Methodist approvingly for a first-class horseman! While they stood there Minnie Holla- way came running down the road. “You just wait tfll my uncle gets home, )'(.lr!!n Young,” she called indignantly. He'll attend to you.” Then she turned and ran back to the house before any one could her. -u;"mn was by this time halfway down the canyon. He burst upon the astonished Henleys as they came slowly up the ravine, his derk hair fiying, his black beard blown sbout him like a vell. “What on earth- n Henley. Vaughan wheeled and reined in beside buckboard. l.h:x, horse!” he cried jubllantly. “Mar- tin Young sald I might have her it ra ride her. We climbed up the mountain down.” n"nn be darned:” exclaimed Henley. “Let's see you make her go!” shrilled ‘the litte girls. Mary said nothing, but clasped the sleeping Sonia to her. looking grave. Could this be the man who had returned from Lewis, worn and bowed with the realization of what he had secn there? “How do you like my new horse, Mary?’ pursued Clement, determined to make ber speak. “Of course you can't have her in Bu- reka,” she answered. “That’ll be all right. I'll take care of her untll you're ready for her,” said Frank. His respect for Clement had meas- ureably increased. After supper he beckoned the young man into the deserted dining-room. *I've been thinking,” he sald in a low voice, “‘before you go I ought to give you a few lessons in—" he glanced cautionsiy up and down the hall before he added, “box- ing. Eureka's a pretty tough place. You don’t carry a ‘shooting-iron,’ and it's a good thing to be prepared to defend your- gelf.” He closed the dining-room doer and from & lower drawer in the sile- board brought out the gloves. Ciement drew on the pair handed him and “squared off.” “You've seen these things before,” ex- claimed Henley suspiclously. “Only seen them. F. _aer wouldn't let us fight when we were boys. Come on.” Clement danced toward him. . Henley ‘“came on,” tenderly at first, but growing freer, as his opponent proved his ability and willingness to give hard hits and take them. “You put up a fair game,” he said as they stood facing each other and panting, after the first bout. “Now I'll show you a trick which will help you out of any tight scrape you may get into. When vou find your opponent is getting the better of you, give him the rabbit hit, this way. Henley rapidly pawed the alr, hand over hand, and finished -by tapping his adversary lightly under the chin. “Then—Iland him, see?” “I1 see,” sald Vaughan. “Now, then, try it. Come on. Ready?"” ‘“Ready,” and Clement advanced. It was while he was in this position, driving Henley before him and beating the alr llke a maniac, that the door opened and Mary appeared on the thresh- old. “Clement! Frank!” she called re- proachfully. They turned. Frank looked confused, but Clement went straight up to her. “Didn’t I do that well?” he asked, kiss- ing her. “Frank has been teaching me ‘the manly art of self-defense.’ I should have given him ‘the knock-out blow’ in another minute, if you hadn’'t come in— not a real one, you know, but a make- believe.” He drew off his gloves and threw them on the table. “Come on,” he sald, taking her affectionately by the arm. “There’s something in one of the magazines I want to read to you."” Mary suffered herself to be led to the sitting-room, silenced but far from re- assured. It was with intense rellef that sghe welcomed Clement's formal appoint- ment to the Eureka mission,a few days later. ; The necessary preparations were soon made, His library and desk he had al- ready ordered sent out from England. His other belongings were few and un- important. No letters had yet come, in response to those that he had written. At last the morning arrived fop his departure. Three-fourths of Galena were on hand to see him go. Frank sat in the buckboard which was to convey them to Battle Mountain, watching the fare- wells, smililng quizzically as he noted Minnle's red eves. Theres was a look of apprehension on Mary's nun-like face. e doesn’t feel quite sure of him yet,” thought Frank. “That boxing business, and the horse, undermined her confidence. Come on, come on!"” he called impatiently, but Vaughan must shake hands with each one and give each a special word. “Come back soon!” piped Lilllan, and Baby Sonia crowed and kicked in her mother’s arms to get at him. He waved his hand to her, took his seat beside Frank and the horses dashed away. Two or three days later the letters came, a bulky packet, one apiece from Clement's father and mother, one from the old minister who trained him, four from Delia. It was easy to discern the sequence of these without looking at the dates of mailing. The first and seocond were addressed with many flourishes to the Reverend Clement Vaughan. Respect and deferepce were revealed in the shap- ing of each word. The third letter was directed to “Clement Vaughan" without title or compromise. The fourth, ad- dressed to C. Vaughan, Esq., said ax plainly as handwriting couid, “You de- serve as little as possible, and that not of the best.” “Della was pretty mad when she wrote ." sollloquized Frank. “I dread to send it to him,” exclaimed “Just as he is starting—and ali!” h, well, he can't expect anything else, under the circumstances. He'll have to stand It,” said Frank. But he was as well satisfied as she was, when day after day passed without furnishing an oppor- tunity to send the letter to Eurgka. thi CHAPTER V. Three Friends and an Enemy. Jack Perry stood in the door of his saloon and looked up the street, swearing softly at what he saw. Jack was not a man to swear indefinitely, exuberantly, with a long strong of oaths which meant nothing. Nor did he waste his expletives. ‘When Jack swore it was because the oc- casion demanded it, as now. What he saw was the wide-open door of the unused Methodist church, halfway up the hill, with a slender dark-robed figure darting in and out. “iu be damned,” said Jack, “if he ain't settin’ up housekeepin’ right in the shop. Well, he means to stay with it!” This was precisely what Vaughan meant to do. After a two days' trial of “the Widder McClintock's” boarding- house he had decided to “keep himself,” and there being a long, narrow, empty place in the church behind the audience- room, he conceived the idea of turning it into a study and bedroom. Pending the consent of the superintend- ent, to whom he consclentiously wrote at once, he moved in. \7hat Jack saw were the final preparations; the narrow iron bed, the wooden chair, a washbowl and pitcher. “He ain't goin’ in for luxuries,” mut- tered Jack; “but he means to wash,” and he swore egain. The next day a2 number of packing boxes arrived, contalning the books, the desk and the chair, sent for weeks ago. Vaughan was too busy to do more than snatch a hasty meal from the nearest grocery, between unpacking and setting up his books on long shelves which ex- tended the entire length of the apart- ment on both sides. At one end, by a window, ‘stood the desk and chair. The other end, partitioned off for a bedroom, held the bed, the wooden chair and a washstand, the latter made out of a packing box. Over it he had tacked some chintz. As he stood up and stretched himseif, after this last fastidious touch, he felt s any living thing feels when it has made for itself a home. He had now a shell, a covering, a castle. Out of it he could go to meet the world, into it he could retire when he was through with the world, save such select portions as be might invite inside. The two Sundays since he came to Eureka he had had respectively ten and twelve in the congregation. - This would never do. He must plan some way to at- tract hearers to the searching, kindling sermons he meant to preach. He walked out to the front door of the churchand looked down at the saloon, s the owner of it had looked up at him. There were enough people going into that place, he thought enviously. Why shouldn't some of them come to him? He geized his sombrero and hurried down the hill. “Pere Hyacinthe” was serving drinks at the bar. He was not really Pere Hyacinthe, but resembled that fllustrious man so closely that no one called him anything else. The parson advanced and held out his hand. “I'm Vaughan, the new Methodist preacher,” he announced, as if Pere Hya- cinthe ought to be glad there was one and that this was the man. “Are you the proprietor?” . Pere the shook his head. “Jack's in there,” he sald, pointing to one af the little rooms opening into the one. He thought the new preacher ‘come to talk with him about his soul and he was too busy to gnter upon any such un- profitable . “Jack,” he called, “here's some one lookin’ for ye.” Jack came out of the little room. Six- feet-four he stood, with shoulders that matched his height, gray-haired, smooth- shaven, stooped a little, limped a little, rheumatism had somewhat crippled his hands. He was no longer the man who had kept order in Virginia City in the old days, when to be Sheriff in such a place meant killing someoody at frequent intervals in order to preserve the livas of the rest; but he was Jagk Perry still, and \aughan, without knowing his his- tory, felt its influence. “I'm Vaughan,” he sald, holding out his hand as he b22 to Pere Hyacintha, “the new Mettodist preacher. I came to ask if there was any objection to my putting up a little notice in your place, in- wviting the men to my services?’ Jack's eves twinkled. “I aln’t never advertised your sort o' wares,” he sald in his slow drawl. “They most gen'ally conflict with mine.” “Every one comes here,” pursued Vaughan, too much in earnest to take in the full humor of the situation. ““There ought to be a few who would come to me once in a while.” “Certain,” said Jack. ell, then, if you don’t mnd I'll Tun home and write out the notice and come back here and tack it up.” “All right,” said Jack, and Vaughan hurried away. Jack stood looking after him, hands deep in his trousers pockets, chuckling to himself, when Mat Kyle drew near. Mat was Sheriff at Eureka and the two were friends. “What's so tam funny?” inquired Mat, twisting his short, fat neck to examine Jack's expression. It told him nothing further than the fact that Jack was enjoying himself, and he turned to follow the whimsical steel- gray eyes in their journey up the street. Vaughan was just then disappearing within the church, his long coat-‘ails, as usual, flying out behind. “The parson?’ queried Mat. Jack nodded. “He wants me to ad- vertise his gospel-shop in my saloon. Sent here by the Methodys to spile my busi- ness, and will I help him do 1t!" Jack laughed aloud. “He's got his gall with him,” com- mented Mat. “Don’'t say & word” returned the saloon-keeper. work.” Vaughan hurried down the hill, ham- mer and tacks in one hand and in the other a neatly printed notice, which he handed to Jack. “If you'll run your eye over that, Mr. Perry,” he said defer- entially. Jack obeyed. Thers was nothing to offend the most sensitive, a mere state- ment of hours and themes. “That's all right,” he said, handing ¢he paper back to the Methodist. ‘“Put it where you like.” Vaughan selected a vacant space be- tween the picture of a female with float- ing hair and preternaturaly large eyes, offering an open box of ‘“‘Lone Star,” and a presentment of ““Highland Whiskles, the Best,” and tacked up the notice. As he stood back and confronted fit, well pleased with the result, suddenly the lowing of cattle was hard in the street and their muffled tread, then—the cry of a child. They rushed to the door. Down the road from the Gelger Grade poured a mass of shagey heads and tossing horns. “Mart Young takin' steers to Shed Wellman,” commented Mat, and then, “Good God, look at that Straight in the path of the onward- moving, living tide, a little girl in a tricycle was dofng her futile best to get out of the way. Behind her a white- capped maid screamed for help while she pushed the small vehicle frantically along, adding her inadequate strength to that of the child. Jack and Mat sprang forward, but Vaughan was there before them. He SR e B T o ! ught by the arm and returned with them to a place of safety. The cattle surged past, followed by men on horseback. One of them was Martin Young. They shouted hoarsely, deftly swinging their riatas as they rode here and there around the drove. “Sure "tis Nora Flynn that'll niver for- get this day,” murmured the maid, straightening her cap. She still held fast to the tricycle. A great hoof had gone throughone of the wheels. “Nor you, sir,” she added, turning to Vaughan with a grateful look. “Say thank you prettily to the gentleman, Miss Elsie, and we'll go_on.” But Miss Elsle only wound her arms more tightly around Vaughan's neck and burrowed in his beard. “Tll carry her home, said Vaughan. “She hasn’t recovered from her fright yet. ‘Where do you live?” “On Richmond Hill, sor. ’'Tis quite a plece. An’ she a great big five-year-old gell! Try, Miss Elsle, darlin’, If ye can't walk.” Elsie only shook her curls and looked obstinate. “Go ahead,” sald Vaughan to the maid; “T'll carry her for a while anyway.” “What Mis' Chisholm 'l say, I dunno,” replied Nora, but she led the way and Vaughan followed. ‘Mis’ Chisholm's the little gell's mother,” she explained. “She lives in that big house that ye see over there, wid her brother Mr. Sinclair and his wife and little gell. An’ Miss Em- meline—that's Mis' Chisholm’s older sis- ter—lives wid ‘em.” “Ah?" sald Clement. “Yis, sor. Mis’ Chisholm’s only been here a year; she was a-travelin’ aroun’ since Mr. Chisholm died, but now she's come back and fixed everything up nice, a little glass house for flowers and all She owns a half of the Richmond mine, and so does her brother. He's superin- tendent along o' Mr. Eugene Wilkins.” “Ah?” said Vaughan again. *“*Tis a nice place, sor, the nicest here- abouts. And they're nice folks, too. I haven't been living wid 'em long. I be. long in Eureka. There's two gells Mi: Chisholm brought, and Jerry Flynn—he's my cousin—works there, too. Don’t ye think ye could walk up the hill, Miss Elsle, darlin'?” But the small despot only tightened her grip on Clement's coat collar. “Her mother will think somethin’ has happened,” fretted Nora. ‘“There she comes now!"” The door of the large, attractive house before them opened and a charming fig- ure in a clinging mauve gown flew down the hill. “What is it!"” cried a shrill, sweet voice. “Elsfe, dearest!” She caught the child out of Vaughan's “Let him work, let him arms. “She ain't hurted, mum,” insisted Nora. “Tell her ye ain't hurted, Miss Elsle. She ain’t hurted, is she, sor?” “I think not,” sald Vaughan, removing hi hat. The lady seemed to see him for the “You were very kind to bring my child home,” she said graclously. “What happened?” Flynn, “and bould as a lon.” At last she could tell her story. Katherine repeated it, with embellish- ‘ments of her own, that evening, when the men came in—her brother Arthur, Ned ‘Wilkins, the young-old Episcopal clergy- man, and Eugene Winslow, “the only law- yer in the place,” his friends declared, though Sam Barker, the founder of the D. P. 1, practiced when he was sober. Mabel Sinclair, Arthur's wife, came down later, looking like a Sir Joshua por- trait in her artificially siraple white gown, with her mist of soft dark hair and dreamy eyes; and Miss Emmeline Sin- clair, the spinster sister, dainty as a bit of rare porcelain in her faint, faded bret- tiness. There was hardly an evening when these seven did not meet in the pleasant par- lors on Richmond Hill. Sometimes Kath- erine and Mabel played and sang, some- times Haverford joined them at the piano, occasionally they had cards; oftenest, as on this occaslon, they talked of what had happened during the day. Tonight there was but one topie for discussion, the rescue of Elsie and the mald, set forth in glowing colors by Kath- erine. Each one of the company in turn made use of the opportunity to have some fun at her expense. 5 “You’'ll lose vour ‘leading lady member,’ Haverford,” laughed Arthur Sinclair. Kate will go straight over to the Metho- dists.” ‘Y’'m crazy to see him,” exclaimed Ma- bel. “After Kate's description.” “How did she describe him?” cried a chorus of voices. A warning glance shot from Katherine’ gray eyes into her stster-in-law’'s meel brown ones. “I'm not going ta’ tell, Kitty. You needn’t look at me lixe that!” said Ma- ‘“Have you seen him?" inquired Miss Sinelalr of Eugene Winslow. “Oh, yes,” said Winstow, with the lit- tle twitch of the upper lip which denoted in him some sarcasm coming. He petted his black mustache before he continued, “I see him every day. He does light housekeeping in the back of the church. Haverford calls him—"" He looked at the clergyman before pro- ceeding. “Go ahead,” said Haverford. ‘“‘The Sage Brush Parson,’” finished ‘Winslow. “That's not bad,” continued Arthur, but Katherine colored. “Aren’t you all ‘Sage Brush Parsons’?” she demanded of Haverford. “Ah, but he gwovels in it,” excldimed Haverford, whose r's escaped him when he became excited. ‘“He spwinkles him- self with it, as the Romanists spwinkle themselves with ashes. The rest of us do brush our clothes!” he glanced over his immaculate person and flecked a bit of lIint from his sleeve. *“And I don't see why a man should take pride in not shaving.” Winslow continued with that sinister twitcn of the lip. “Per- haps it wasn't convenient where he came from, or customary.” ‘“He came from England,” sald Wil- kins quietly. “ is an educated man and a gentleman Katherine gave the speaker a grateful glance. Under its influence he went on. “T've had several talks with him. He is peculiar, but he's quite a genius In his way, a good deal of a musiclan.” “No doubt the fellow's. all right,” granted Haverford. “If you want that kind,” finished Wins- low. % “How horrid you all are!” exclaimed Katherine, going to the plano. “I'm go- ing to play you into another mood.” ‘Winslow sprang to turn her music, as he had been in the habit of doing of late, but she beckoned Wilkins to her. For the first time in months the young law- ver left the house without the private, personal word which had given each day its meaning. Yet Katherine had put on that mauve gown because he liked it and she was wearing his flowers at her belt. “What was it that Kitty sald to you about the Methodist, Mabel?" inquired Arthur, when he was alone with his wife. “How did she describe him to you?" Mabel shook her hair about her face. “T'll never tell you,” she said. “Yes, you will,” he replied, drawing the soft locks together under her chin and kissing her; “you’ll tell me now. Mabel shook her head. “Why do you care? You men are so curious!™ “Why shouldn’t I cure? ter.” He looked singularly like her at that moment, with the steady, far-away stare of his blue-gray eyes and the little frown emphasizing the level line of the brows. “TI'd hate to see you two pulling differ- ent ways,” commented Mabel, drawing one taper finger over the frown, which immediately gave way to a dazzling smile. “Why?” he asked, snapping at the fin- ger like a trout at a fiy. y She hesitated. “Don’t tell me unless you want to,” he said, turning away sensitively. “Don’t tell me anything unless you want to.” “Arthur! You know ¢ want to tell you everything. I thought Kitty would be angry, but she might know I'd tell you. She sald that he ‘might have been Tris- tram on his way to Iseult or a Holy Father with the Sacrament. She belleved he could be both."—There, now, I don't know what she’ll do to me if she ever finds it out!” “She never will,” =sald Arthur. A strange, troubled look nad crossed his face. He had quite forgotten his other question. In Jack Perry’s saloon also the rescue and the rescuer were prominent in the discussions that evening. Vaughan had made three friends; the child, the sheriff and the saloon-keeper. Katherine's feelings towards him were not those of friendship, even from the first, a fact which, being recognized by Mr. Eugene Winslow, made of him from the first an enemy. She’s my sis- CHAPTER VI. Gathering a Congregation. The notice in Jack Perry's saloon should have brought a larger congregation the following Sunday, but only thirteen came —an ominous number. Vaughan lay awake all that night thinking of what he would go next. It was certainly disheartening, to work hard all the week preparing his sermons and then have so few to hear them. Some- thing must be done. He was there to preach to the people. Somehow or other they must be made to hear him. During the week he revolved a number of plans in his head and, when Sunday came, proceeded to carry out the one which seemed to him the most promising. The main street of the city followed the course of the canyon. The descent was abrupt; the stores, saloons and dwelling- houses rose in steps from the lower part of the town to the upper. The church was on a side street built against the hill.y At the juncture of this with the main street was Jack Perry's saloon. On the opposite corner was Jackson's, with six _or seven steps leading to the side- walk. From the corner of the. ing like this far-reaching, insistent voice, at one with the organ, had been heard - *What t' hell!” cried one and another in Jack Perry’'s, and pushed their way out of the door to look. “Jackson's got someone singin’ for him, to draw,” they said. Heads appearsd at windows. Little groups of men and wo- men strolled up the street. Vaughan watched them. Hymn after hynm he sang until they were near. Then he stood up before them and began to plead his cause. “My friends,” be sald earnestly, “you are wondering why I am here. The rea- son is this: my church has sent me to preach the glad tidings of life, liberty and happiness to every man, woman and child of this city. My message has been ready. I've stood down yonder at the church ready to deliver it. but none of you came to hear. So I have come to you. My instructions were ch! “How can I preach when I have no one to preach to? . . . . “I don't come here as an example. I come here as your friend. If at any time, in any place, you want the services of the church I am at your command. I have no ‘hours.” They are all yours. My door will always be open. When you want me, come, and if I am able I will respond. On your part. be friendly. Come and lis- ten to my message. Help me to discharge my duty. Let me speak plainly and frank- ly to you and with you. . . . I have no doctrines to urge, except the one duty of following Christ, the _.vine Man, who taught us how to live and how to die. . Many of you were brought up in Christian homes. You have drifted away from the faith of your fathers and moth- ers. You know your duty, but you need to be reminded of it." He paused. “Give us another song, Par- son,” called someone In the crowd. Again he sang: then looked about for Jack. The saloon-keeper lounged out from the shadow of the doorway where he had been standing. “Want her toted back, Parson?" he inquired. He beckoned to his men; the instru- ment was again lifted and carried back to the church. A crowd followed and filled the place. Jack scanned them ecritically. “It's a fifty-dollar house if they don't deadhead,” he mused. “and, by jiminy, they shan’t!” He listened gravely while the Parson preached and prayed and sang, but kept one eye on the door lest any escape. As soon as the last “Amen” was said, Jack was on his feet. “Parson,”” he called out in his slow drawl, “you've done your part, now we'll do ourn. He stepped to the table below the plat- form where the preacher stood and picked up two long poles, each bearing at one end a bag of dingy red-and-yellow silk. “Here, Ned,” he called to Wilkins, who sat in a corner near the door, and Win- kins responded to the call. No one ever disobeyed Jack Perry. “Take this and go down that aisle and see that every feller tips up!” He ralsed his voice. “T'll go down the other. "Tain’t offen Jack Perry acts as deaking, but when he does, every bub In the house tips upj” He started on his deliberate way, pre- senting the bag to each individual. If anyone hesitated he recelved a jab in the stomach and Jack's voice was heard, “Come, tip up, tip up!™ Before one man he paused some sec- onds. “What's that?” He could be heard all over the church. “Broke?’ He turned to 2 man behind him. ““Here, Bob, lend Pete a dollar. And see’t you put it all in, Pete!" The bags were emptied on the table and the money was counted. “Fifty-seven dollars and six bits,” Jack announced. “If that ain’t enmough, Parson, we'll go ‘round again.” “That's enpugh,” “I'm satisfied.” Satisfled! He was overwhelmed. When, since his coming to Eureka, had he had so much money at once? He rolled about on his hard bed for hours, that night, re- viewing the events of the evening and congratulating himself. At last he had made an impression, had identified him- self with the life of the place, had been recognized by the people. He could see their wondring faces press up from be- low as he stood on the corner, could hear them following him down the street. Hls actual work had begun. The Eureka Sentinel, the next mornins. contained a picturesque account of the services on Jackson's corner, and, in con- clusion, “welcomed to the town thp talent- ed young preacher,” prophesying that he would find “the harvest great, the lab- orers few, and the pay damned litt'e.” Penrose, the editor, haa not. until now, so much as recognized his existence. On Richmond Hill the affair was dis- cussed in all its phases. It furnished to Winslow material for infinite sarcasm. Haverford could but thinly dsign'se his disgust. Both confessed that all they knew of the occurrence was what they had heard. Ned Wilkins told Katherine, when they were by themselves, that he had attended the service, but he did not mention pass- ing the bag. It was queer, he sald, but there was something contagious about the fellow’s enthusiasm. He spoke apo'- ogetically. Katharine caught herself combating an indefinite disapproval. Sing- ing on the corner! Marching with his organ to and fro! How absuri, how— inartistic! young preacher and tell him what she thought of such methods. Possibly he would not care. He certainly would not have cared at the time. At the time he was following that ignis fatuus, Holy Grail, pillar of cloud and pillar of fire, which was to hin his Duty. returned Vaughan. CHAPTER Vil. Letters from England. Clement sent a copy of the Eureka Sen- tinel containing the notice of the services on Jackson’s corner to the Henleys. It came just as Mary wus finishing x letter to Clement, written to accompany the budget from England. “I've half a mind to take the letters over there myself,” sald m. “I wish you would!"" imed Mary. “How I'd like to go with you!" “Come along.” “And leave the children?" straggling houses, the smoke-stacks of the silent, dust-covered mills, the canyon walls, sloping up to the sky, were all. Some- times those crowding, tombed. No belled against the stagnant, half-alive condition, longed to be free. The drive offered i e L L § i ‘ir}! k » {lll : F § i She wished she might see the ga13 “Now, don’t you say another word till you've finished your supper,” command- ed Mary. “I'm not going to speak again.” When they had retarned to the study Vaughan asked for his letters. I youll excuse me, I'll run them thioush now,™ he said. He opened the packet. Those from his fatter and mother 12y on the top of the Fi*. He read thess first. “Jie's in no hrry to get to thaso from his wife,” Mary said to hersel’. Vaughan looked up with shining cyves. “Thut's a beautifal letter from mother.™ he said with feeling. “Father's is good. t00; but you womon kaxv how to say He smiled over his letter from his old glad,"—this is what he writes,—‘that you have returned to your old work. I al- ways sald you were a born preacher. When you embarked in that surgical boat, 1 felt sure there would be a whale sent out after Jonah, and it is a relief to learn that you have been at last belched out on dry land.'—Isn't that just ltke him>" Vaughan turned again to his paecket He stood Delia’s letters up In a row be- fore him on his desk and a quizzical look came into his eyes as he noted the super scriptions. He selected the one written first and deliberately broke the seal. Mary anxiously watched his face. Frank shouldered the baby, who was becoming restiess, and walked with her out into the church. Clement burst into a laugh. “Poor Delia,” he exclaimed., “she thinks gold and silver grow like flowers here in Ne- vada. All you have to do is to ga‘ther them. She wants me to have my first nugget made into a ring like the one Lizzie Parkin's husband sent her. She has inclosed a drawing of 1t™ Clement, laughed and read on. “She says she has A surprise for me, but will keep It t T come home at Christmas.” He slid the first letter into its envelope and took up the second. “It is very much like the first,” he commented. “Just gossfp about the neighbors—is anxious to have me get wall and strong, says I mustn’t overdo, and 0 on, and so on.” He ran rapidly over the contents, refolded the sheet and re- turned it to the eneviope. Over the third he pausad. Mary drew a long breath. “Now it's coming,” she sald to herself. This was the letter written In answer to Clement’s telling of the night at Lou Pugh's. What did Della say in reply to that impassioned appeal. what could she say that caused the slender brown to tighten on the closely written sheet? He glanced up and met her Inquiring eyes. “It’s only what you'd expect from a gir! who has been brought up as she has™ he said apologetically. “She’s never real- ized Rher duties to her fellow-men. Her dutfes have been to her family and her- self. Most people are like that, you know. Mary. They feel that If every man does his dity by his own, the whole scheme of the universe will run smoothly. I've tried to show her another side of the pleture, but in her eyes I'm a fallure, you know. 1 haven't momey or position—" He paused for a moment before he continued. “Her father thinks I'd better come home before I make any more mistakes ™ he said with a laugh. “Her uncle offers me a place In—in the brewery.” “Clement!" ‘“Mary, they're good. honest people. living according to their light. To them T'm a fanatic, a fool. They can’t under- stand. How should they™ He broke the seal of the fourth letter and whirled his chair away from the light of the window so that Mary could no longer see his face while he read. She responded by quietly leaving the room. She found her husband walking up and down the narrow aisles between the chairs. They were arranged In the seg- ment of a circle. many in the center, fow at the sides. She tried to imagine them filled with people, tried to picture Clement on the.platform behind the reading desk: but the place was too big and bare and empty. The great black stoves to the right and left of the door had a brutal look. The air was close No sound came from the inner room. Nothing was to be heard save the squeak of Frank's boots as he went up and down with the child. She was half asleep, flung Umply over his shoulder, her fair head drooping against his rough coat. Mary went up to her, put the damp curls back from her moist forehead and touched it with her lips. > " she whispered, “don’t you think one of us ought to go in there and speak to him?" “What for?” “To show our sympathy." “He doesn’t want sympathy, not at this stage of the game.” ‘“What does he want?” “To be let alone.” Mary trudged after, catching at Sonia's hand and mouthing it. “It's getting late,™ she whispered, after a while. “Yes. I'm going over to -the hotel™ to come. { e iHH those you've sworn while you chase around saving “Saving souls! saved so far, ; i : ; i £ i ef | | | i ] biky i i ! : i if ] ; Bl : : : it i i