The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 10, 1906, Page 4

]_ | | o i In today's Sunday published the fourth installment of “The Sagebrush Parson,” by Il A B. wWard. It is strong depicting the a Western unconventional life in the sage- of Nevada, and story, brush wastes has been compared most fayor- || ably by the best eritics with “The Virginian” and other bigh- tions of are | class literary prods the day The characters, all the hero, Clement Vaughan, an English- marked, || man, being particularly strik- ing. The strong demouement of distinetly is vividly unfolded, and the author's sense of humor, the movel apparent throughout the story, the and he will running through the chap- contributes greatly to reader’s enjoyment, find replete “The ters = powerful plot with sensational Sagebrush Parso cluded in five issues of the Sun- day Call scepes. will be con- b 1 Brown & Co.) » well who ex are | pretty Vaughan ornishman Your way people an’ consated ' do the t wait nflu- style of | something new! onreasonable I've given you J ation me a wante ad decided g he Vo his engagements preach sald ng. nitted of dis el o feeble for an when a the from Galena te with him £ asked t k be e commented F bruises eritically other cheek, - I er felt quite the part I played in that best thing yovu er did e best g in t vour in- t did this exclamation of rned the arge a came ated P young diences in droves.” nk sighed. I t never- it precious life—don't take the leap in the less than a t wo! acknowledged, i be like th worse before I'm “but t ring in his voice. the con- h for them ad him ring by the n in turning fied the man that the French Morning Star drow 7" inquired Frank. 1. “How did you hear saloon- his re- asked Dower aid I'd spoiled his business. ttone my coat and said You can't hit me. Vaughan's eyes shone like stars in their rk settings. You don’t heard it at Battle Moun- ¢ “Shoot awa want to take too many chances, young man,” said Frank warn- ing Mary gezed, fascinated, fearing she not what i are worn out, now,” she said re- gly. “as nervous as you can be.” vous Look at that!” He stretched out his hand apd held it, without a tremor, for some sec “Don’t worry,” he called after them 28 they drove away. But they went home more troubied than «..ey had come Mary was full of ferebodings. Frank confessed to bsing anxious, On Richmond Hill, likewise, the stories Even | pathy with the “movement.” t was | were told, and Vaughan was given more or less glory according to the animus| of the story teller. It was Winslow who jescribed the two black eves; he made them absurd. Haverford told about the saloon-keeper, not without a certain luke- | warm admiration for the courage dis- | played, but confessing a lack of sym- Katharine herself was extremery uneasy over her protege’s last challenge to the public, not only on acount.of the menace to his personal safety, but because she hated to think of .im at the mercy of the mob, in a position to be laughed at and criticised. Yet she could not resist a thrill of pride when Ned Wilkins said. parson's all right. He's good stuff! Wait till 1 tell you what I saw today,” *"Twas down there in front of There was a fellow going for the e sald k's parson just about as the Frenchman aid at Morning Star. He'd just whipped out his revolver when a pair of runaway horses came galloping down the hill. You know how icy it is on that corner. The sleigh tlewed around—"" “Where was the driver?” inquired Miss Emmeline. ‘On the floor of the leigh—drunk!” plied Ned. Vaughan sprang for horses and succeeded in stopping them. Incidentally he saved himself, for the fel- low with the pistol would have shot him before we could have got there. We had him fixed by the time Vwughan came | “Did Jack see him?” “Yes, Jack was there. ‘What did he say?” “Proud as a peacock.” Haverford arose (o say Winslow lingered ‘Going way?"’ inquired Haverford. “Pregently,” returned Winslow. Haverford waited. Winslow delayed: At length, seeing that there was no help for it, he resigned himself to Haverford's companionship. Halfway down Main street he paused abruptly. “I've forgotten something,” claimed. *T'll have to go back. wait.” Haverford, his suspicions oughly aroused, turned him. It was a ruse, an opportunity for speaking with Mrs Chisholm alone. Could Winslow not see, what they all saw so plain! re- his adieus. ex- Don’t now thor- and watched no doubt, to make that her feelings had changed toward him, that he was no longer singled out by her ap- proval, that, on the contrary, she avold- ed him? Five minutes passed—ten. He walked uneasily up and down. Evidently Wins- low had not met with a rebuff after all Could it be possible that Mrs. Chigholm's anner veiled emotions of a different character from those Haverford attriouted to her? His pulse-beats quickened. Half an hour had elapsed and still there was no sign of his missing companion. Some | one else came hurrying along, someone whose quick, light step he knew. “Good evening, Vaughan,” he called; have you seen anything of Winslow?” Vaughan started in surprise. s Why?" he returned. “He left me some time ago—half an hour or more,” sald Haverford, hastily. “He said he had forgotten something. They don't usually like to have callers €0 late.” ‘They?” repeated Vaughan, vacantly. “The Richmond Hill people. That was where he was going, of course. There's |no one else in this part of the on whom he calls.” Vaughan remained silent. It was not | the house on Richmond Hiil that he had seen Winslow enter, but the small cot- |tage in which old Mother Macy lived. | Her husband worked in town | the mine, on |s=atirical twitching of the lip, suspected \‘ % AN N\ \ ) ] ) )‘\w =394 ~ |4 the night shift, and pretty little Ellen]| Brady, Ma Flynn's sister, had gone there to remain until she should find a better place. He had seen Winglow approach the cottage. glance furtively around, then hurry up the path to the| door. He had seen the light shine out | from within, framing Ellen’s light curis, had heard her innocent girlish cry | of welcome, and had seen Winslow enter | —as a man enters his own house! | ‘Well, good night,” said Haverford, as | they came to Jackson's corner. “I sup- pose you are very busy these days. “Yes, very busy,” replied Vaughan, absent-mindedly. For the moment, even his work for temperance seemed to have | been blotted out. | CHAPTER XIX. The Dare. The topic most discussed and wrangled over, in Eureka, apart from the themes related to daily work, was, strange as it may seem, religion. Nor was this as| strange as it seems. The virtues which religion _inculcates—fortitude, patience, | faith—are the virtues of the miner. The | rewards it has to offer—support here, con- | solation hereafter—appeal especlally him. In the constant presence of danger | a man is not able to forget his own | goul even if he would; in the continual | endurance of hardship he is driven to| face the great questions of life, of des- | tiny, of the relations of man to God and | God to man. So, when It chanced that a | prominent lawyer of well-known atheistic | tendencies, publicly, in the columns of | the newspapers, wagered a large sum that no clergyman in the United States would read aloud in church certain chap. ters of the book designated as holy and de- | clared to be inspired, the challenge was | taken up and talked about in KEureka | as if it were a personal affair. | Particularly in Jack Perry’s saloon was | argument rife. Every ome acknowledged that Haverford would not read those| chapters; neither would ‘Mumford, the Presbyterian minister, nor Father | O’Keefe, the Romanist. Of Vaughan they were less sure. “If he thought the Old | |Gentleman put them there for him to read, he'd read 'em! insisted Jack. “'But, Jack,” returned Barker, who had scented argument afar off, as a war- horse scents battle, and had hurried in, “‘that’s theé point. This man who writes | for the newspaper contends that ‘the Old | Gentleman,” as you call him, didn't put | in those chapters; he thinks ‘twas the | work of the Other Fellow. | *“Then it's no God's book!" declared a | | gray-haired miner sadly. Barker shrugged his shoulders. Jack whispered in the ear of a boy who stood near. The boy disappeared and soon re- turned with Vaughan in tow. “Parson,” said Jack, as the young Methodist hurried into the saloon, won- dering what had happened or what was about to happen, for he had roceived |only the message to come down to Jack's —"parson, I want to ask you some ques- tions.” Vaughan glanced hastily around the (room, saw Barker. saw Jo and several |other miners in the habit of attending his church; saw Winslow, who had just come in, noted the umsettled logk on Jo's face, Barker's quizzical smile, Winslow's | | tor e —————— e -~ — o ooe FOE ARY HE 3AIV O mischief, and braced himself. he said. “Do you swallow the Bible whole?" in- quired Jack, earnestly. “I swallow it whole, Jack,” Vaughan answered. “Have you heard me preach all this time, not to know that?” “You don’t throw.out none of it?” “Not a word!” declared the young preacher, stoutly Jack turned in triumph to the group of cavilers and doubters. * Why?' pursued Vaughan. ‘’Cos this eére boomer ot Inflddle-ism who writes for the papers says there ain’t a preacher in the United States but throws out a lot of it that ain't fit te hear. I thought there was preacher in the United States that would take his ‘dare’ " Jack plumed himself like a turkey cock. > “Let me see the paper,” said Vaughan quietly. ters referred to by the challenger and saw at once the pit into which he had you so. I knew he'd stand to it.” Jack's acqualntance with the book was limited to what he had heard read in church. “IT5 GO0y ENOUGH ” TEW YOPK VALY OLENMNLY “Go on,’” Irish lassie—he couid not see her go the way of the flaming courtesan! So he said within himself and pondered, planned and rejected i..s plans, wrote out sermons and destroyed them, more con- fused and perplexed than at any time since his coming to Eureka. The boy who rang the bell for ser- vices at theé church and swept out oc- casiorially could mot understand why the parson was so anxious to be rid of him that night. He hung around the corner to wateh, and when he saw forty men— he was sure there were forty, for he counted—file solemnly in, each with a Bible In his hand, he determined to elip| in behind them and ‘“see what was up.” oT his chagrin the parson quickly closed 3 decent folks | and locked the door. It was 0. no use to {for & geciye ik B0 FERE o8 O wne | aPPLy his eye to the keyhole—the key was | in the lock. And, listen as he might, he Leard only the usual tones of prayer and | 1 | {leaped. He could hear Jack say, “I told | “Well, parson, what do you think of the | list?” inquired Barker. Winslow laughed. Not for worlds would Vaughan now re- tract or .edge. He temporized. ‘I sup- pose you will all bring your wives and daughters hear me?” he queried. “Cer-tain!” said Jack. chick nor child, and good old Martha, his honest wife, was deaf as a post. “Well, hardly.” said Barker. Louise Barker was one of the prettiest girls in Sureka, and one of the best beloved. “Oh, it's to,be all men; very well,” said Vaughan. He had gained one point. “And you will bring your Bibles to see that I read the chapter, word for word?"” he pursued. “oure,” said vack. He wasn't positive there was a Bible in the house, but thefe ought to be. Martha probably had one. “And I shall be allowed to make what- ever personal application I please?"” Vaughan continued. “You bet.”" said Jack. No one demurred; that would be confessing too much. ““And you shall hear me through,” Vaughan coricluded. "I'm not going to have any one of you go away and mis- interpret or half interpret what I've said. The door will he locked.” To this also every man agreed, and an vening was set for the reading of the chapter. ‘With long, earnest thought and many prayers did the young preacher prepare limseif for the encounter. The evil with which he meant (o grapple, armed with the text afforded by the chapter, was one which he had avoided, untu now. With every nerve In his sensitive body he shrank ftom the mention of it. And vet he had realized from the outset,that some day. somehow, he must cleanse the Augean stables of Euréka dance halls and dens. He shared with most men the instinctive feeling that a man's personal habits are his own concern. The privi- leges of his profession thus far had failed to warrant s prying t6o deeply into his neighbor's private affairs. On the other hand, there were boys and young men in Eureka who must be prevented from hoiding lightly ..e sacred mysteries of life and sex. And there was Mary Plynn's ahter‘i.'llen. the pretty little blue- cripture reading. So he stole away. "Within there was a hushéd and curious Ho read éver the list of chap-|Company. Nearly every one Vaughan knew was there. Shed Wellman and Dick, Poole and Pilcher, Jo the miner and his mates; Barker, very prominent in a front seat; Addison. sober for once; Mat Kyle, awed, but full of confidence in the parson, and Jach, watchful as an old dog. Arthur Sinclair was' not present, but Ned Wilkins was there. 80 was Penrose, the editor of .ie Eureka Sentinel, and | —Vaughan started as he recognized him i | or Impreseiveness as Vaughan read it. He had neither | —Eugene Winslow. The chapter was, ncy lacking in dignity It contained words not used in polite soclety, but it {s safe to assert every one present had heard them, knéw what they meant. Nevertheless the reader assumed igne- rance on the part of his listeners and ex- plained. as heé would explaln any other unfamiliar composition, the harsh utter- ances, their superfictal meaning and their deep significance. Then he closed the book and made his personal application. It was personal. He called eash man by name, laid bare his hidden sin, gave facts, dates even. It was a bold thing to do: but no oné seemed to resent it. Each culprit. as his turn came, wriggled on his seat, blushed, laughed like a schoolboy caught piifering an orchard, tried to think it was no great affair—it was something at wnich men laugh. of which few are ashamed, some even proud. Yet in spite of themselves they wane ashamed. The relish for the unlawful had been taken away. Winslow watched them with a bitter smile. If he had had such experiences— but he never nad: no one had ever seen him enter a dance hall or & den, no one had ever seen him spaak te the women of the under world, but if theéy had. no beg- garly Methodist parson should call it to his remembrance. Suddenly (ne long brown forefinger of the young preacher was pointed directly at him. “'All these venial sins.” he was saying. “compared with the sin of him who takes an innocent young girl—"" In a flash Winslow was on his feet, re- volver drawn. ‘*‘Another word and I'll blow your brains out!” he shouted. Instantly Dick. Jo the miner and half a dozen others had him. The room was In confusion; men were leaping over chairs, calling out “Don’t shoot!" “Dis- arm him!" s In the midst of the uproar ack Perry's voice rang out, clear and steady as a a woman, the sort that is neglected into | yed | trumpet call, “I'll take care of this, gen- | canng. She must throw off this pre- | | tlemen! Keep your sittin'! Give me that shooun’ iron, winslow, or I'll pump ye as full of lead as a lead mine!” White and shaking like an aspen, Winslow relinquished his weapon. “Ye're a dirty dog, if ye are Eugene Wins- {low,” Jack growled in a low under- |tone as he received it. | “He's no gentieman,” blustered Win- {loWw. “There tsw't a man alive who will allow a lady’s name to be brought into a dlscussion of this kind." “Heé dldn’t name any names,” returned | Jack. “He warn't dealin’ with any one {but you; and you agreed, like the rest jof us, to fall in and take your medi- | elne. Set down!" Winslow sat down. | "“Go ahead, parson,” said Jack the parson, like every one else But in the room, felt that there was nothing more to be said just then. The fire had been kindled. A spirit had been aroused which could be left to do its work He uttered a brief prayer for guidance, ;and support and strength, unlocked the | door and let them go. CHAPTER XX. Katharine Would Like to Know. The next morning’'s issue of the Eureka Sentinel contained this item: “Those In- | dividuals who gave a certain reverend | gentleman the dare last night received | more than they bargained for; at least, | so it is said.” | Katharine read the paragraph over |and over, but failed to penetrate its | significance. She was quite sure Vaughan | was meant by the “reverend gentleman,” |but what was the “dare?’ Who gave {1t? How did they get ‘more than they ‘bargllncd for?” Katharine would very jmuch like to know. Whom should she ask? None of her immedlate heusehold. They were too | ready now to detect in everything she |safd or did her interest in this extra- ordinary young man. Ned was out of town for a day or two, on business for the firm. Winslow came but seldom to the house nowadays; he was out of the question, anyway. There remained Mr. Haverford. She would write him a note and ask him to go riding with her. She hastily penned a few lines and dis- | patched them by Jerry. In a half- hour he had returned, bearing the an- swer, “With pleasure. At 3 this after- noon. F. H.” Donning her most becoming habit, of |a rich, deep velvety blue, and setting |a mannish-looking hat upon her meost feminine head, all bright waves of hair without and carefully concocted schemes within, she awaited with some impa- tlence the coming of her escort, in the monkey of an Elsie perched in front! “Havé you been walting long”" he inquired, alighting and lifting down the child. "“Ten minutes or more,” she coldly re- turned. She hated to be kept waiting. as he knew. ‘“Where did you find that young woman?" “She met me at the gate,” he swered, with a smile. “We didn't pect you to be so prompt.” “Where's Marguerite, Elsie?” de- manded Katharine. turning to her daughter, who stood demurely looking on, her small hands clasped before her. “Having lessons with Aunt Emmeline, mamima.” returned Elsie sweetly. sons with Aunt Emmeline” was a mov- able feast. adjusted to the Inclination of the teacher. ““Well. you'd better have lessons, |sald her mother. “Ge in Elsie's lips quivered, but she abeved. “I've been trying for a year to have a regular governess for the children, said Katharine, as they trotted away. “but Arthur won't hear of it, and Mabel always thinks just as he does. Eilsie is most 6 years old.” ‘Her brain is very active,” Haverford conventionally. ““The more reason for its being ocen- pied,” said Katharine resolutely. She was not in the best of humer. She | seemed. to herself,-to have somehow lost control' of her little world. Once, not a move had been made until she approved of it. Now, every onme went bis or her own way, and she was left alone. She had not much cared what they did in these last few months. Her eyes ha been on one figure, her ears keen to returned catgh whatever might be said about one . And he—he went his own way, fuux That should have cooled her In. | terest, but it was the lated. ‘She had always despised that sort of rather stimu- ~ meanwhile walking up and down the| {long veranda which commanded the street. There he was, at last, with that “Les | n. summon ter little court, play There was Haverford. She would assert her means a posses: the queen again. | to begin with. |old sway over him, by no difficult undertaking. She turned to him with her meost | charming manner. a blend of confidence and command. “We've seen very little of you lately, except at church,” she | said. graciously. Haverford, surprised, began to frame excuses. There had been the Lenten ser- | vices, the rehearsals for Easter music. He | was quite well aware that he could have | tound time for calling; and in his soul he knew that he should have done so if he had for a moment suspected that he was missed. es, I know,” she responded pensively; it is the busiest time of the year for you. | But it is the dullest time of the year for | us, the time we most need our friends. | However early spring may come, it al- ways seems .ate.” | “But it is certainly coming. Look | there!”” He pointed to the buds showing on a cottonwood tree. Beyond it, down the valley, a tender light, half melan- choly, half gladness, altogether wistful and appealing, transiormed the plain out {of its customary commonplace into un- questionable charm “It really looks as if it might be going to do something fine and beautiful. doesn’t it!” exclaimed Katharine; “bring forth | roses instead of sagebrush. | “It might, if it were watered and sown, | said Haverford gravely. Was there an undertone of meaning in his voice, a sympathetic vibration to the needs of the neglected plain? She glanced at him as he straightened himself in the saddie and tightened the rein which had been lying loose on his horse's neck. deciding. as she had many times before, that he was a very hand- some man. hus clear-cut features, fine, full brow, the poise of his head on his shoulders made up an ensemble which appealed to her love of the refined and the distinguished. What did he lack? What did he need to make of him a great | man? Only what she could give, what she | had given, years ago, when she was Katharine Sinclair and he was the rector of a church in the Eastern city where she spent one winter among friends—the hfe, !lhe fire, the quickeuing foree knew | so well how to give. She had induced him to return with to Eureka and he had assumed the charge of the little church she built. He had sur- prised and swayed his people for more than a twelvemonth, until Guy Chisholm had appeared and carried her away. Then the life had dwindled, the fire had gone out, the force had failed. He had re- | mained at Saint Stephen’s—his Bishop had said “he w as a good man for the place, an earmest churchman and without in- cumbranees”—and Katharine had been kind, had written during her absence, had seen much of him since her return. He was always ready, now, to come when she called, to fulfill her commissions, to an- swer her questions—she was suddenly re- minded of the question she intended ask him this afterncon. “By the way she said aloud, “do tell me what that par- agraph meant in the Sentinel this morn- ing! Who is the ‘reverend gentleman’ It wasn't you. was it? to do what Haverford stiffened. “It was not I assure vou,” he said, with energy disgraceful performance She was all attention. “Disgraceful »* she repeated; “you surprise me! Wha was it? What was the occasion?" “It was Vaughan, of course. Whatever s unusual, bizarre, it is safe to refer to him. Excuse me, he is a friend of yours.” Haverford paused “Go on,” she ecried. “Don’t spare him on my account. What has he done, Who dared him, I A now? | Haverford still hesitated. “1 know he is very unconventional,” she continued hurriedly; “but he untrain- ed, in a way. If he could be brought into the church—" She actually looked to I Haverford for encouragement and sup- port! He uttered a hasty ejaculation. My dearsyoung lady, what are you thinking of? What could the church do with such a man? He wouldn't conform, be dic- téd to in the slightest particular—he oesn’t even keep order among his own followers. Do you know what he does? | He encourages any ignorant son of Cor wall or Cork to interrupt him in the mid- dle of a sermon—will interrupt himself, as they tell me he did the other day. They were singing ‘Nearer, my God, to Thes.' | and had reached the line, ‘E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me'—‘You don't mean that’ Re said. ‘I'm afraid I don't” and then and there began to pray that they might mean it! Sensational, that's | what he is; a Methodist, when you've id all.” | “He certainly does a great deal of good among the poor,” interposed Katharine warmly. “Y-em he's kind. He likes to potter | around and te visit the sick. He has that | affectionate manner which takes with a | certain class of people.” Katherine's cheeks burned. In another moment she would have thrown discretion to the winds; but, as luck would have it Eugene Winslow. also on horseback, met them. jast as she was about to enter on a defense of the young Methodist and his methods. To this chance meeting Haverford at- tributed her heightened color. The suspi- | cions aroused that night on Main street were revived in him and grew. He with- | drew sensitively into himself, and Kath- | arine, diverted from the subject and chill- ed by his manner, spoke no more of { Vaughan or of ti.e 1em in the Sentinel They turned to other, impersonal themes. Mueh of the time they rode without | speaking, There was an awkward silence at the door. It was Haverford who broke it. 1 e felt for some time, Mrs. Chis- holm." he said formally, “that my work in Eureka really ended years ago—if T owuld have the courage to face the facts. | I have about made up my mind to ask th 1 Bishop to transfer me to another fleld.™ Katharine looked, as she feit, Continued on Page 5. an-