Friar Tuck Part 32

"I heard tell once 'at the Bible sez, 'If thy eye offends thee, pluck it out.' Does the Bible say this?"

"Well, it does," admitted the Friar; "but you see-"

"Well, my free eye offends me," broke in Tank. "It never did offend me until Spike Groogan tried to pluck it out, and it don't offend me now as much as it does other folks. Still, I got to own up 'at the blame thing does offend me whenever I meet up with strangers, 'cause it allus runs wilder in front of a stranger 'n at airy other time. Now, what I want to know is, why an' when an' how must I pluck out that eye-specially, when it sez in another place that if a man's eye is single his whole body is full o' light. My eye is single enough to suit any one. Fact is, it's so blame single that some folks call it singular; but the' ain't no more light in my body 'n there is in airy other man's."

You couldn't work off any spiritual interpretation stuff on Tank. He thought an allegory was the varmint which lives in the Florida swamps.

Well, as far as that goes, I did, too, until the Friar pointed out that it was merely a falsehood used to explain the truth; but Tank, he didn't join in with any new-fangled notions, an' a feller had to talk to him as straight out as though talkin' to a hoss. The' was lots of times I didn't envy the Friar his job.

But after he had satisfied Tank that it wasn't required of him to discard either of his lamps, especially the free one, he drifted off into tellin' us how he had spent the day-and then I envied him a little, for he certainly did have the gift o' wranglin' words.

He told about havin' rode up the mountain as far as he could go, and then climbin' as far as he could on foot. He showed how hard it was to tell either a man or a mountain by the lines in their faces, and he went on with this till he made a mountain almost human. Then he switched around and showed how much a mountain was like life, ambition bein' like pickin' out the mountain, the easy little foothills bein'

the start, the summit allus hid while a feller was climbin', and each little plateau urgin' him to give up there and rest. He compared life and a mountain, until it seemed that all a feller needed for a full edication, was just to have a mountain handy. Then he wound up by sayin' that he hadn't been able to reach the peak. He had sat in a sheltered nook for a time, gazin' up at the face of a cliff with an overhangin' bank o' snow on top, the wind swirlin' ma.s.ses o' snow down about him, and everything tryin' to point out that he had been a failure, and might as well give up in disgust. He stopped here, and we were all silent, for, as was usual with him, he had led us along to where we could see life through his eyes for a s.p.a.ce.

"After a time," sez the Friar as soon as he saw we were in the right mood, "I caught my breath again and followed the narrow ledge I was on around to where I could see the highest peak stand out clear and solitary; and from my side of it, it wasn't possible for any man to reach it. There was no wind here, the air was as sweet and pure as at the dawn o' creation, and everywhere I looked I met glory heaped on glory. A gray cloud rested again' the far side o' the peak, and back o' this was the sun. Ah, there was a silver and a golden linin' both to this cloud; and all of a sudden I was comforted.

"I had done all I could do, and this was my highest peak. Whatever was the highest peak for others, this was the highest peak for me; and there was no more bitterness or envy or doubt or fear in my heart. I stood for a long time lookin' up at the gray cloud with its dazzling edges, and some very beautiful lines crept into my memory-'The paths which are trod, by only the evenin' and mornin', and the feet of the angels of G.o.d.'"

The Friar had let himself out a little at the end, and his eyes were s.h.i.+nin' when he finished. "I guess I have given you a sermon, after all, boys," he said, "and I hope you can use it to as good advantage as I did when it came to me up on the mountain. We all have thoughts we can't put into words, and so I've failed to give you all 'at was given me; but it's some comfort to know that, be they big or be they little, we don't have to climb any mountains but our own, and whether we reach the top or whether we come to a blind wall first, the main thing is to climb with all our might and with a certain faith that those who have earned rest shall find it, after the sun has set."

This was one of the days when the magic of the Friar's voice did strange things to a feller's insides. We knew 'at he was talkin' in parables, an' talkin' mostly to himself; but each one of us knew our own little mountains, an' it was darn comfortin' to understand that the Friar could have as tough a time on his as we had on ours.

We all sat silent, each feller thinkin' over his own problems; and after a time, the Friar sang the one beginnin', "O little town of Bethlehem!" It was dark by this time, but the firelight fell on his face, an' made it so soft-like an' tender that ol' Tank Williams sniffled audible once, an' when the song was finished he piled a lot more wood on the fire, an' pertended 'at he was catchin' cold. When Kit called us in to supper, we all sat still for a full minute, before we could get back to our appet.i.tes again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A CONTESTED LIFE-t.i.tLE

The bullet which had gone through Badger-face hadn't touched a single bone. It had gone through his left lung purty high up, but somethin'

like the pneumonie set in, an' he was a sorry lookin' sight when the fever started to die out after havin' hung on for two weeks. He had been drinkin' consid'able beforehand, which made it bad for him, an'

the Friar said it was all a question of reserve. If Badger-face had enough of his const.i.tution left to tide him over, he stood a good chance; but otherwise it was his turn.

He didn't have much blood left in him at the end of two weeks on air and water, and he didn't have enough fat to pillow his bones on. We all thought 'at he ought to have something in the way o' feed; but the Friar wouldn't stand for one single thing except water. He said 'at food had killed a heap more wounded men 'n bullets ever had; so we let him engineer it through in his own way.

When the fever started to leave, he got so weak 'at Horace thought he was goin' to flicker out, an' he felt purty bad about it. He didn't regret havin' done it, an' said he would do just the same if he had it to do over; but it calls up some mighty serious thoughts when a fellow reflects that he is the one who has pushed another off into the dark.

On the night when it seemed certain that Badger-face would lose his grip, we all went into his room an' sat around waitin' for the end, to sort o' cheer him up a little. Life itself is a strange enough adventure, but death has it beat a mile.

Along about nine o'clock, Badger said in a low, trembly voice: "What'd you fellers do to me, if I got well?"

He didn't even open his eyes; so we didn't pay any heed to him. When he first got out of his head, he had rambled consid'able. Part o' the time he seemed to be excusin' himself for what he had done, an' part o' the time he seemed to be gloatin' over his devilment; but the'

wasn't any thread to his discourse so we didn't set much store by it.

After waitin' a few minutes, he quavered out his question again, an'

the Friar told him not to worry about anything, but just to set his mind on gettin' well.

Badger shook his head feebly from side to side an' mumbled, "That don't go, that don't go with me." He paused here for a rest, an' then went on. "I've been in my right mind all day, an' I've been thinkin' a lot, an' tryin' some experiments. I can breathe in a certain way which makes me easier an' stronger, an' I can breathe in another way which shuts off my heart. I don't intend to get well merely for the pleasure o' gettin' lynched; so if that's your game, I intend to shut off my heart an' quit before I get back the flavor o' life. It don't make two-bits difference with me either way. What d' ya intend to do?"

He had been a long time sayin' this, an' we had exchanged glances purty promiscuous. We hadn't give a thought as to what we would do with him, providin' he responded to our efforts to save his life; but it was purty generally understood that Badger had fitted himself to be strung up, just the same as if he hadn't been shot at all. Now, though, when we came to consider it, this hardly seemed a square deal.

There wasn't much common sense in chokin' a man's life down his throat for two weeks, only to jerk it out again at the end of a rope, an' we found ourselves in somethin' of a complication.

"What do ya think we ort to do to ya?" asked Tank.

"Lynch me," sez Badger, without openin' his eyes; "but I don't intend to wait for it. I don't blame ya none, fellers. I did ya all the dirt I could; but I don't intend to furnish ya with no circus performance-I'm goin' on."

He began to breathe different, an' his face began to get purplish an'

ghastly. "Can he kill himself that way?" I asked the Friar.

"I don't know," sez the Friar. "I think 'at when he loses consciousness, nature'll take holt, an' make him breathe the most comfortable way-but I don't know."

"Let Olaf take a look at his flame," sez Horace; so Olaf looked at Badger a long time.

Olaf hadn't wasted much of his time on Badger. He wasn't long on forgiveness, Olaf wasn't; an' ever since the time 'at Badger had been so enthusiastic in tryin' to have him lynched for killin' Bud Fisher, Olaf had give it out as his opinion that Badger was doomed for h.e.l.l, an' he wasn't disposed to take any hand in postponin' his departure.

Olaf was the matter-o'-factest feller I ever knew. The' don't seem to be much harm in most of our cussin', but when Olaf indulged in profanity, he was solemn an' earnest, the same as if he was sayin' a prayer backwards.

"It don't look like Badger's flame," sez he after a time. "It's gettin' mighty weak an' blue, an' the's a thick spot over his heart which shows plainer 'n the one over his wound."

"I move we give him a fresh start," sez Horace.

"He'd ort to be lynched," sez Tank. "I don't see why we can't try him out now, an' if we find him guilty, why he can kill himself if he wants to, or else get well again an' we'll do it for him."

Neither what Horace said nor what Tank said called out much response.

We knew the' wasn't any one could say a good word for Badger-face an'

so he well deserved his stretchin'; but on the other hand, there he was turnin' gray before our eyes, an' it went again' our nature to discard him, after havin' hung on to him for two weeks. The Friar left the side of the bed an' retired into a corner, leavin' us free to express ourselves.

"I don't see how we can let him go free," sez Tank. "He sez himself 'at he ort to be lynched; an' when a feller can't speak a good word for himself, I don't see who can."

"Badger-face," sez Horace, "you're the darnedest bother of a man I ever saw. First you infest us until we have to shoot a hole through you, an' then we have to nurse you for two weeks, an' now you're diggin' your heels into our consciences. I give you my word we won't lynch you if you get well. We'll turn you over to the law."

Badger's thin lips fell back over his yellow teeth in the ghastliest grin a live man ever hung out. "The law," sez he with bitter sarcasm, "the law! Have you ever been in a penitentiary?"

"No," sez Horace, "I have not."

"Well, I have," sez Badger. "I was put in for another feller's deed; an' they gave me the solitary, the jacket, the bull-rings, the water-cure, and if you'll roll me over after I'm dead, you can still see the scars of the whip on my back. I've tried the law, an' I'll see you all d.a.m.ned before I try it again."

Badger-face was as game as they generally get. As soon as he stopped talkin' he began to breathe against his heart again. Horace stood lookin' at him for a full minute, an' then he lost his temper.

"You're a coward, that's what you are!" sez Horace. "I said all along 'at you were a coward, an' another feller said so too, an' now you're provin' it. You can sneak an' kill cows an' cut saddles in the dark, but you haven't the nerve to face things in the open. Now, you're sneakin' off into the darkness o' death because you're afraid to face the light of life."

This was handin' it to him purty undiluted, an' Badger opened his eyes an' looked at Horace. His eyes were heavy an' dull, but they didn't waver any. "d.i.n.ky," sez Badger-face, "the only thing I got again' you is your size. I've been called a lot o' different things in my time; but you're the first gazabo 'at ever called me a coward-an' you're about the only one who has a right to, 'cause you put me out fair an'

square. I wish you had traveled my path alongside o' me, though. You ain't no milksop, but after you'd been given a few o' the deals I've had, you'd take to the dark too. You can call me a coward if you want to, or, after I'm gone, you can think of me as just bein' dog tired an' glad o' the chance to crawl off into the dark to sleep. I don't want to be on your conscience; that's not my game. All I want is just to get shut o' the whole blame business."

He talked broken an' quavery, an' it took him a long time to finish; but when he did quit, he turned on his bad breathin' again. Horace had flushed up some when Badger had mentioned milksop; but when he had finished, Horace took his wasted hand in a hearty grip, an' sez: "I take it back, Badger. You ain't no coward. I only wanted to taunt you into stickin' for another round; but I think mighty well o' ya. Will you agree to cut loose from the Ty Jones crowd an' try to be a man, if we give you your freedom, a new outfit, and enough money to carry you out of the country?"

It was some time before Badger spoke, an' then he said: "Nope, I can't do it. Ty knows my record, an' he's treated me white; but if I quit him, he'll get me when I least expect it. Now understand, d.i.n.ky, that I don't hold a thing again' you, you're the squarest feller I've ever met up with; but I'm not comin' back to life again. From where I am now, I can see it purty plain, an' it ain't worth the trouble."

"You could write back to Ty that you made your escape from us," sez Horace.