We buried The by the side o’ Tim Simpson. Horace insisted on makin’ a coffin for him—fact was, he wanted to have a regular funeral, but we talked him out o’ this; so he made a coffin himself and lined it with silk which Ty Jones had brought out for Janet to make dresses of. The Friar held some short services, but he didn’t sing or preach any. Some way, the’ didn’t seem to be any need of it. After we had covered him over we stood around talkin’ for quite a while; and then only turned away because the first rain we had had for months came rattlin’ down from the mountains.

“Do you see that, now?” asked ol’ Tank after we had reached the porch and were sittin’ watchin’ it come down in torrents.

“I’m not totally blind,” sez I.

“Well, I’m not superstitious,” sez Tank; “but I’m bettin’ that he’s had that tended to, himself. He wasn’t one to forget his friends, and he knew ’at what we needed most was rain—so he’s called attention to it the first chance he’s had.”

Fact was, Tank was so everlastin’ superstitious that he spelt Tomas with an “h” in it to keep from havin’ thirteen letters in his full name; but it did seem queer about this rain, because they wasn’t any sane man in the world who would have expected a rain just at this time. It’s astonishin’ how many curious things there is if a feller just takes notice of ’em.

The Friar and Ty had had a long talk the night ’at Promotheus slipped away, and the Friar had agreed to settle down at the ranch and do what he could for Ty. Ty wasn’t thankful; but he hadn’t much choice, so he behaved better ’n any one would have expected. The Friar wanted me to stay and be foreman for him; but I told him I had promised Jabez to come back as soon as I had got a good holt on myself again; and I intended to leave for the Diamond Dot the minute things were right at the Cross brand. The Friar didn’t much trust Pepper Kendal for foreman; but the minute I thought it over, I saw that Olaf was the very man, and this suited the Friar to a T.

We brought the prisoners up to Ty and he told ’em how things were and advised ’em to adjust themselves to new conditions as fast as possible, and they all agreed to do it and went to work under Olaf. The Friar knew a preacher at Laramie; so Horace gave Tillte Dutch the job o’ goin’ after him, and as soon as he came, the Friar and Janet were married, and then I made plans to hit the trail for the Diamond Dot.

Horace had made up his mind to build himself a cabin up at our old camp and he tried to hire me for life; but I had taken root at the Diamond, and when I explained things to him, he owned up I was right. I suggested to Horace that ol’ Tank Williams was the very man for him, and he admitted, when he came to look it over, that Tank would suit him a heap better for hired help ’n I would. He even went so far as to say he never could understand how it came ’at a stiff-necked man like ol’ Jabez could put up with my independent ways. I told Horace the’ was a lot of things it wasn’t necessary for him to understand, and then I whistled to Tank, and he came over and joined us.

Tank rolled the notion about in his head a while, and then he sez: “Horace, I’ll take ya up. We both got cured up of our nerves on the same trip, and ever since then I have to own that you’ve found favor in my sight; but the one thing ’at counts bigger ’n anything else, is the fact that, come what will, you’ll never have any more hankerin’ to be pestered by a lot o’ sheep, than I will.”

Olaf started to get things ready for the round-up and us Diamond Dot boys, aside from ol’ Tank, rode off home, where we found things in consid’able of a muddle. Durin’ the three years previous I had been takin’ more and more o’ the responsibility onto my own shoulders, and ol’ Cast Steel found himself purty rusty. We turned to and straightened things out, and then I settled down to the sober business o’ handlin’ a big outfit with a view on the future.

After this, I didn’t do any more skitin’ around than my peculiar nature seemed to insist on; but I did make out to pay the Cross brand a visit every once in a while. The Friar only intended to stay long enough to get things to slidin’ easy; and then he and Janet were to go back East and work among the city poor; but the chance never came.

Janet grew perfectly strong and well again; but the city allus made her nervous to return to the mountains, and they were kept so busy on the ranch that the years slipped away without bein’ noticed.

Ty’s backbone was all in one piece, and solid—except where Olaf had unjointed it—and it took years to wear him down to friendliness; but when the Friar’s first baby got big enough to creep, the contrary little cuss took more interest in ol’ Ty Jones, than in airy other thing the’ was on the place. I never saw any one yet who didn’t feel flattered at a baby’s endorsement—though why a baby should be supposed to actually have better judgment than grown folks has never been fully explained to me yet.

Horace kept his word to The, and he did all he could for Ty. Ty didn’t like him and he didn’t like Ty; but Ty was human, and it made him lonely to sit in one spot all the time, so that while he refused to be thankful, he gradually got to relyin’ on Horace; and Horace was also human, and the more he did for Ty on The’s account, the more fond he grew of Ty on his own account. He got him a wheelchair first, and this was a big help. Then he fixed up a trapeze for Ty to practice on. Ty got mad about this and said that cripple though he was, no man could make a monkey of him; but one night when he couldn’t sleep he practiced on it, and it gave him a lot o’ relief.

The name of the Chinaman was Yuen Yick, and he thought ’at Ty Jones was some sort of a god, and fair worshipped him—every one o’ Ty’s men swore by him, even after he turned decent. Ty used to abuse the Chink all he could and it pleased ’em both; and the Chink saw that Horace meant well by Ty, so he kept Horace posted on just what Ty did and thought; and Horace had Janet make some flannel bricks filled with cotton for Ty to throw at the Chinaman. Ty got a lot o’ satisfaction out o’ these bricks, and the exercise helped him too.

Next, Horace had a wide porch built all around Ty’s house, and he swung ropes with rings on ’em from the ceiling, an equal distance apart; and Ty got so he could swing from ring to ring, and go all around the house, and climb ladders, and as the boy got big enough to become tyrannical, which was soon enough, goodness knows, he made Ty do all manner o’ stunts—throw balls and juggle ’em, tell stories, draw pictures—Well, the fact was, that between ’em all, they kept Ty so active that first we knew, the devil had all been worked out of him and he was as civilized as any of us. One day when Horace was down visitin’ him, he sent in the Chink and had him bring out a set of ivory figures, carved most beautiful and called chess-men; and he dared Horace to play him a game, and this was the final surrender of the old Ty Jones.

He was a well edicated man, Ty was; and each winter when he had left the ranch, he had gone to some big city where he had pertended to be a regular swell. No one ever found out just what had soured him so on the world, for his nature was to be sociable to a degree. He said that no one knew the cause of it except ol’ Promotheus, and it was mightily to his credit that he hadn’t devulged the secret.

Ty strung out his surprises quite a while. It seems he was also an inventor, and had patents which brought him in a lot o’ money. He had found this cave and had just widened it where widenin’ was necessary, and had built his cabin above it. The floor was double and filled with earth, and the fake drawers were also filled with earth, so ’at no sound would show that it was hollow underneath. The drawers swung on a steel piller which could be worked from above by a rope which hung back o’ his bookcase and from below by a lever.

It was a curious thing to see Ty Jones with his bristly eyebrows and his eagle’s beak of a nose, makin’ mechanical toys for the Friar’s and Olaf’s children. They didn’t put any limit on what he was able to do, and he used to grumble at ’em as fierce as a grizzly—and then back-track like an Injun, and do whatever they wanted him to.

The Friar never quite gave up his plot to go back and work among the poor; but the’ was allus so many things imposed upon him by the home folks that he was pestered with letters every time he left; and usually compromised by gatherin’ up a bunch o’ the poor as hasty as possible, and bringin’ ’em back with him. His head was full of what he called welfare plans, and he settled the poor along all the likely cricks he found vacant, and bulldozed ’em into goin’ to work. It’s a curious coincident; but most of ’em turned out well.

The’ was a bilious feller out visitin’ me once, which called himself a sosologist. I told him about some o’ the Friar’s projects; and he said that the Friar was nothin’ but a rank Utopian, and that this sort o’ work would never remove all the evils of the world.

“You can call him anything ya want to,” sez I, “so long as it’s a word I don’t understand; but the Friar’s not tryin’ to remove all the evils in the world. He only removes those evils he can find by spendin’ his whole life in huntin’ for ’em; but he certainly does remove these ones in quick and able shape.”

Another time, right after the Friar had brought about a settlement between some sheep and cattle men, a preacher dropped off to give his appetite a little exercise at the Diamond Dot. He belonged to the same herd that the Friar had cut out from, and I thought he would be interested; so I told him consid’able about the Friar. He was a most judicious-lookin’ man, but baggy under the eyes and chin. He got all fussed up when I spoke well o’ the Friar, and said he was un-co-nonical, said he was unorthodox—Oh, he cut loose and swore at the Friar in his own tongue ’til I about lost my temper.

“Look here,” I sez to him, “it would take me some months to tell you all the good deeds the Friar has actually done; but I’ll just give you one single example. If I was to live up to my natural disposition, I’d wring your neck, or shoot off your ears, or somethin’ like that; but owin’ to the Friar havin’ taught me self-control, I’m not even goin’ to snap my fingers again’ your blue nose. Make yourself perfectly at home here, and stay as long as the East can spare ya; but you’ll have to excuse me for a while, as the Friar has just written me an order to go over into the Basin to see what can be done for a young feller who has been arrested for hoss-stealin’.”

Horace contributes liberally to the Friar’s projects; but he don’t take a hand in the game, himself—except with the imported poor which are gathered at the Cross brand, waitin’ to be transplanted. Every year he seems to shrink about an eighth of an inch smaller, and get about that much tougher. He lights out for a trip now and again, and ol’ Tank allus tags along, grumblin’. Tank thinks full as much of Horace as The did; but Tank’s a different proposition. The easier his lot is the more he grumbles; but I like nothin’ better than to have a chat with him over old times.

One night I was up visitin’ Horace, and after supper we got a little restless and started out for a walk. We sauntered down to our old look-out and stood gazin’ down at the lights of the Cross brand ranch. Ty had rigged up a water power to manufacture e-lectricity, simply because the children had needed it to run some o’ their idees, but the’ was plenty of it to light the whole place. In token of Ty’s brand, and also as a symbol of his own callin’, the Friar had built an immense cross on the cliff just above the mouth of the ravine, and on the upright, and at each end o’ the cross-piece were big electric lights. These could be seen for miles, and every one knew ’at whatever troubles they had, there was allus welcome, cheery hospitality, and sound advice waitin’ for ’em in the shadow of this cross.

It was a moonlight night, one of those crisp, bright nights, when it makes a feller feel solemn just to get up high and look down at the beauty of the old, hard Earth. We had been talkin’ o’ the old days as usual; but not talkin’ much, for we each saw the same set of pictures when we looked down from here, and they didn’t need many words.

“Life is like a game o’ chess,” sez Horace. “The openin’ is not so absolutely vital; but after a time the’ comes one little move which is the keynote of all the balance of the game—and the same is true o’ life. The way things has turned out down yonder seems to be the very best way they could have turned out; but it’s hard to look back and tell just what was the keynote of it all. Of course Promotheus—Promotheus was the prime mover; but then all the way along you can see the Friar’s influence. What would you say was the keynote o’ this tangled game, Happy?”

I looked down at Horace: he was wearin’ a battered old hat, rough clothes and leggins, and smokin’ a corncob pipe. “That’s an easy one,” sez I, tryin’ to shake off a feelin’ o’ sadness which was beginnin’ to creep over me, in spite of all I could do; “gettin’ your nerves cured up, Horace, was the keynote of it all.”

“That was a long time ago,” sez Horace, “a long, long time ago.”