Clarence Edward Mulford

"GIVE ETERNAL REST——"

The deaths of Two-Spot and Wolf created a mild sensation over the range, particularly the manner in which each had occurred. The respect which Johnny had enjoyed in Gunsight and on the Double X was increased and the range enjoyed his other exploits. Dave was open in his sympathy for the SV and his growing contempt for the Bar H. Dailey said that he had a gun and could use it any time Johnny needed help, adding with a grin that he hardly expected to be called upon. The Double X was hilarious and brutally frank in everything concerning their neighbor on the southeast. On the Triangle, Frank Gurley became moody and silent, Sam Gardner and Reilly noisy and assertive. The latter, with Lefferts, took over the north end of their ranch and worked nearly as hard for the SV as they did for the Triangle.

Two-Spot's funeral was a holiday by tacit consent, and Gunsight was the Mecca for the surrounding country. Fanning offered the hotel, but Dave's eyes grew red and he declared that the saloon had been Two-Spot's home and that he would be buried from it, even if the cap-and-ball had to cast the deciding votes. Slim rode to Juniper half an hour after he had heard the news and brought a minister back with him. Cimarron sent Larry Hallock to the ranch with the news, George Hallock to the SV, and went down to notify the Triangle himself.

The day dawned clear and reasonably cool, and at an early hour the riders began to come in. The saloon was as clean as Dave, Johnny, and George could make it, and the rude box which had kept Dailey and Fanning up most of the night with hammer and saw, was covered by green boughs and a few wild flowers. As each newcomer rode up to the door he was quietly informed by Dave that the bar was closed and would remain so until after the funeral. There would be no instrumental music, for Arch Wiggins' offer to ride to the Double X for his fiddle was politely but firmly declined after he had been questioned about his repertoire; Jerry's harmonica was overruled, and Reilly's accordion was declined for the same reason which had barred the violin.

When Margaret Arnold rode up alone with a huge bouquet of old-fashioned flowers, Gunsight became tremendously interested and there was a great amount of surreptitious grooming going on in out-of-the-way places. Lin Sherwood regretted that he had not been more neighborly, and that he had decided against his new boots, tight though they were. He accused himself of being a poor sort of a grown-up man not to risk a corn or two under such circumstances. He frowned down Slim's sheepish remark about seeing Miss Arnold home after the ceremony as being unwarranted and too forward; and he kept Slim in sight thereafter. Dailey cursed Big Tom's warning about selling supplies to the SV and was gloomy because of the handicap it put him under, but it became him well in such an atmosphere and nearly gave him the place of chief mourner. Several of the rejected suitors formed a consolation circle and deeply reflected the sorrow expected at funerals, grumbling because the universal remedy for grief would not be obtainable until the return from the grave. There was a suggestion concerning a concerted rush on the bar, but the tender flower of hope was frostbitten by a glance at the cap-and-ball protruding from Dave's waist-band. The proprietor had no consideration for the sacredness of the occasion to hang around the walnut armed like a highwayman, and the amount of pugnacious confidence he exhaled and exuded was entirely out of place.

"He acts like a cow with its first calf," growled Sam Gardner.

"He acts like it was his funeral, which I'm sorry it ain't," snorted Pete Wiggins' young hopeful, still raw about the matter concerning his fiddle.

The minister walking around from the hotel was the signal for the groups to fall in behind him and file into the Palace. This sky pilot was a stalwart member of his cloth and acted as though saloons were not strangers to him. He looked about and nodded his appreciation of Dave's efforts and at once became the friend of every man there.

"Friends," he said, looking slowly around, "a good, friend of the deceased, and one who knew him well and who cherishes his memory with gratitude and affection, will sing. Miss Arnold, if you please."

Margaret, tears in her voice and eyes, arose and began her favorite hymn, her rich contralto voice playing upon the heartstrings of the rough men until they dared not look around. Cimarron coughed, and received Slim's elbow in his side with unnecessary force. Dave developed a sudden cold and reddened with self-consciousness, wishing he had chosen a seat in the rear of the room instead of standing at the end of the bar, which was an altogether too suggestive place for one in his line of business.

The singer's voice grew slowly lower and lower and it was only by exercising all her will-power that she managed to finish the last verse. Her own emotion and faith throbbed in the beautiful words and gave them a power which brought tears to nearly every eye. Finishing, she sank down in her chair and sobbed softly.

The minister, arising, looked over the room.

"'Nearer to Thee,'" he repeated softly, and then paused, and when he resumed, his voice struck through to the hearts of his hearers as a hand plucking the strings of a harp. "'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' Two-Spot. The name was lowly, and with thoughtless cruelty was given to Henry Travers, who once was under foreman for Simon Verrier, the former owner of the SV ranch. We have no knowledge of the interval between the days of his responsibility and strength, and that cold winter evening when Margaret Arnold found him, weak from hunger and exposure, freezing in a snow-drift not far from her home. Of the man's weakness we will not speak, except in charity and to show that the character which won for him the confidence and trust of old Simon persisted in spite of that weakness and blazed out gloriously, to win for him an honorable death. It would have been easy to betray the confidence of another, especially when he knew the ability of that other to protect himself. He could have saved his life by telling the truth, and I say to you that there are some untruths more glorious than those truths which mean danger, or perhaps death, to a friend. And if he had yielded to fear to save his life he would have found that life to be a thing without value. He would have lost to himself all that remained worth while. Two-Spot, weak with a weakness perhaps passed on to him by the thoughtless and vicious lives of those others who had preceded him, was, nevertheless, a man, and will live in your memories as a man, a man who at the threat of death, rallied the best within him and died to protect a fellow-man who had been kind to him. He was a lowly card, but even a two-spot has a value, as every man in this room can testify. A two-spot, at the right time and in the right combination, makes a winning hand; and I have it on the authority of two people here that he was given one spot too many. Hardly an ace of diamonds, but surely an ace of hearts, for in his breast beat a heart as true and sympathetic as that of any man in this room.

"There was not a thing coming to his knowledge which affected the welfare of a struggling, defenseless family on this range, that he did not tell them; and when I say that for a man of his age and weakness to walk nine miles to warn them, and nine miles back again, in any weather, at the only time he could do so without being seen and arousing suspicion, required such a heart, and a fine quality of courage, I know that you all will agree with me. Many nights when the range was wrapped in sleep, Two-Spot made that journey. And I say that he was a man, and I pay him the respect which such a heart and courage merits. And no matter what his weaknesses were, no matter how unworthy you may have thought him to be, I say that this man whom you knew as Two-Spot was as good as any who sneered at him, as much a man in his last moment on earth as a material being as any man in this room! And I say that if we all, every one of us, can die as fearlessly and as honorably as this man died, we need not fear the Judgment Day. There may be some of you who do not give much thought to that Judgment Day, or to that Merciful Judge. There may be some of you who do not believe in God—but I say, that, no matter Who or What waits beyond the Open Door, He or It will deal gently with Henry Travers. And I say for those who do not believe in any divine faith, and say it aside from any viewpoint of religion, but purely as a question of ethics, of effort and reward, of right living or wrong, that every man in this room can find something in the strength of this weak man, something in the way he faced death, that can be taken with profit to himself and serve as an inspiration. Under all his fleshly weakness, with all his yielding to a dominant craving, there blazed the white flames of sympathy, affection, and loyalty. And I cannot find this occasion to be one for sorrow, or for grief. Rather, I should say it is one for congratulation: Two-Spot, shorn of his weaknesses, saved from jeers and cruelty and injustice, and the misery coming with old age, which cannot but be tragic to such a one as he, found himself at the last moment, and died the man which circumstances would have refused to have let him live. Let us pray."

If his auditors had been impressed by his address, the prayer reached down and gripped their very heartstrings, stirring into groping life the vague fear and awe of the supernatural, by heritage firmly implanted in each consciousness. Death, with its mystery and threat, brought its awesome fear like a wave, with an impetus acquired from rolling down past generations, to minds prepared to quail before it in momentary surrender. From the distant and impersonal, it suddenly loomed out of the fog of the mysterious unknown real, and made real by a mind trained to present truth as it is, and became close and personal. And at the conclusion of the gripping words, only the fresher, newer momentum of the carelessness and indifference of their every-day lives could offset the fear which spread like ripples over their superstitions and set their religious instincts a-quiver. But like concentric ripples, it grew weaker even as it reached farther out; yet the reacting ripples enduring for days, showing intermittently and intermittently arousing vague unrest in their minds.

He glanced at Margaret and walked quickly to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I would not attempt it, my dear. Two-Spot would not allow another hymn, at such a cost to you."

Dailey, Johnny, Dave, and Fanning moved slowly forward, feeling as they never had felt before, reverently and carefully picked up the box and led the out of the building and across the street to a grassy knoll not far from the road, where the warmth and brightness of the sun rested from dawn to dark. The ceremony at the grave over, they returned to Dave's, where they shook hands with a parson who had jolted their ideas regarding men of his calling.

"Friends," he protested, raising his hands at the coins in the hat held out to him, "this is too much. I cannot take so much for doing my duty. It is not reasonable."

"Parson," said Dave, a grin coming to his face, "we ain't had no gunplay today, but if you don't take that money, I can't promise that there won't be none. Some of us leather-backs has been eddicated today, an' they say eddication costs money. I reckon a parson livin' in such a hole of iniquity as Juniper can find use for our offerin's. If you can't take it for yoreself, take it for yore church—it'll help you to build one all th' quicker. An' I'm sayin' that we'll allus be glad to see you in Gunsight, as a parson or as a man. Shake."

Margaret came forward and thanked him, and turned to Dave.

"Did you know that he slept under your floor?" she asked. "He was always wondering if you did."

"Ma'am," smiled Dave, feeling to see if his tie had slipped, "I knowed it th' very first time he snored, which was th' second night he was here. An' I've had many a laugh at him th' way he wiggled out of little slips he made. He heard a lot under here, an' sometimes he let things out that made him dig frantic to explain away. I reckon I'm goin' to be lonesome, 'specially this winter. Here comes Lin Sherwood—Miss Arnold, meet Mr. Sherwood, th' bashfullest man in this country. He don't mind a little thing like an extra eighteen miles in th' saddle—an' I'm admittin' that nobody will steal yore cayuse while he's along. Now that I've broke th' ice an' pushed him in where he was afraid to go hisself, I'll take th' parson around an' make him better acquainted with th' boys."

As they moved away, the minister noticed the restraint and restlessness visible around him and he turned a smiling face to the proprietor. "As soon as Miss Arnold leaves, open the bar. I'll take a cigar with the boys and then say good-by."

Dave stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropped, and then he beamed upon his clerical companion. "I'm repeatin' what I said about bein' glad to see you any time," he exclaimed, slapping the broadcloth shoulder. "Parson, I'm proud to know you! Put it there!"

Johnny, going over to say good-by to Margaret, and concealing to the best of his ability any sign of jealousy, received a distinct shock and one which made him wrestle hard to keep his dignity.

"Oh, here's Mr. Nelson, now," smiled Margaret. "I just told Mr. Sherwood that he was too late; but perhaps he will beat you the next time. I think we would better be riding, for these men feel a restraint while I'm here; and I'm getting anxious about father. So if you will excuse me, Mr. Sherwood, I'll say good-by to the men and ride on."

Sherwood stood on his foot and did foolish things to his hat, but was spared any further embarrassment by Johnny, who gripped his arm in a friendly way and escorted Margaret on her round of the room. And as the pair rode away Sherwood turned from the door, kicked Cimarron, and tramped to the bar.

The segundo stared after him. "Well, I'm cussed!" he muttered "So that's it, huh? Well, you'd 'a' done better if you'd 'a' kicked Nelson."

The minister having left, Dave became very busy, and Dailey found a pack of cards and dragged out a table. "Havin' been generous to th' church, now I aims to get back some of it," he remarked. "He is a fine man—an' what he said is true; an' if I can get four little two-spots I'll show you all an inspiration that's stem-windin'. One at a time; don't push!"

"Yo're shore hard-boiled," reproved Slim, slightly vexed. "You ain't got enough reverence in yore saturated carcass to start a prairie dog out in life like he ought to go—an' G—d knows that ain't much."

"Which same I says is true as h—l," endorsed Cimarron, scowling. "Let th' old mosshead herd by hisself. I'm goin' back an' pick up that round-up where we dropped it. We got to get that over with as soon as we can, for we'll be roundin' up for McCullough purty soon—an' he ought to be along next week."

Sherwood heard him and turned from the bar. "He ain't getting many from us," he said. "We'll send our own herd up th' trail next spring, an' take a gamble on gettin' more for 'em. I'm sayin' th' SV has got plenty of friends from now on, too. I'm ridin' home; who's comin' with me?"