Judith of the Godless Valley Part 47

"I ain't able to think. That's why I'm pretty generally happy."

--_Old Johnny Brown_.

By dawn the next morning Douglas was half-way up the trail to the Pa.s.s.

He did not know at what hour the preacher would arrive, but he did not propose that the old man should enter Lost Chief without his protection.

When he reached the crest, he unsaddled the Moose and settled himself against a gigantic jade rock beside the trail and prepared to wait patiently.

The sun lifted slowly over the unspeakable glory of the ranges and poured its glory down upon the Pa.s.s, then swung westward, leaving a chill shadow beside the rock where Douglas was camping. It was mid-afternoon when the stage came through from the half-way house. Old Johnny Brown was driving.

As he pulled up the horses for a rest, he saw Douglas and smiled delightedly.

"Waiting for me, Douglas?"

Douglas shook his head. "I came up to meet a friend, Johnny."

The little old man stared at Douglas; then he said fretfully, "I don't see why Grandma Brown had to go and make me drive the gregus old stage for a week. I deponed to her that I had to get up there and take care of you. When that preacher comes, you'll need me, Doug. There's lots of trouble brewing, boy."

"What kind, Johnny?"

"They always shut up and look rejus when I come round. But I know enough to sabez that bunch even if I am a half-wit."

"I'm not so sure you are a half-wit, Johnny," said Douglas sincerely.

The old man's face brightened. "That's just the way I feel about it too, Douglas. You're the only person in the Valley understands me. You could have my s.h.i.+rt, Doug."

Douglas nodded. "You get through with the stage as soon as you can, Johnny. Tell Grandma I expect you on Monday."

Johnny clucked firmly at his team. "I'll be there. Nothing can't propone me," and he was gone in a cloud of dust.

It was an hour later that the preacher rounded the curve to the crest.

Douglas threw the saddle on the Moose and Fowler pulled up his bony blue roan in surprise. He was thinner and grayer than ever and his blue jumper was patched with pieces of burlap. But his eyes were bright as he shook hands with Douglas.

"I'm the Committee on Welcome!" said the young rider.

"How long have you been waiting for me, Douglas?" asked Fowler.

"Since daybreak. I couldn't be sure when you'd come. And I didn't want you to come into Lost Chief alone."

"Are you expecting trouble immediately?" asked the preacher.

"Well," replied Douglas frankly, "the folks are just about as enthusiastic as if I were bringing a Mormon into the Valley. And I just don't aim to give them a chance to start anything till we get a little bit settled."

The old man's jaw set, under his beard. "Humph! They'll find the Lord and me both ready for them. I have an idea they are going to be surprised before they are through with this."

Douglas nodded and they rode down into the Valley. When they trotted past the post-office, the usual group was gathered on the steps. Doug and the preacher nodded but did not draw rein. Old Sister came out sedately and growled at Prince, but Peter did not leave the doorstep.

"What's your hurry, old-timers?" shouted Jimmy Day.

"A long way to go," called Douglas.

"Your hazer needs a shave!" said some one else.

"We'll do it for him Sunday!" cried another voice.

"Oil up your cannon, Doug," laughed Charleton, "and unchain the dogs of war."

Douglas trotted sedately on.

"I wonder why it is! I wonder why!" said Fowler, very real pain in his voice.

"They think we're criticizing them," answered Douglas; adding, with his pleasant grin, "which we are!"

It was dark when they reached Douglas' ranch. Before they had unsaddled, Fowler insisted on lighting a lantern and inspecting the chapel.

Douglas, not at all adverse, for he was very proud of this work of his hands, followed the old man in his microscopic inspection of the little building. It was small and dim, with a smell of new cedar. To Douglas, already there was something hallowed about the quiet interior as if somehow the yearning with which he had builded it had given the insensate wood a curious high purposefulness.

Fowler examined the benches and sat for a moment on several of them. He flashed the lantern along the carefully c.h.i.n.ked walls, the rose tints of the cedar glowing warmly back at him. He walked slowly up and down the center aisle and paused before the platform, on which was a table and chair. For a long time he stood with one hand on the table. Then he said:

"It's beautiful, Douglas! Beautiful! A chapel for me! Built by a young man that has faith in me. Wonderful! And built with such free-hearted care! For me to preach in! Why, a minister of a great metropolis might well envy me such a gift!"

He paused again, turning the lantern so that the tapestried colors of the walls again flashed forth.

"Stained gla.s.s!" half whispered the old man. "Already it has the air of a church. Douglas, we'll consecrate it now."

He knelt before the platform and Douglas bowed his head.

"O G.o.d, my Father and my Shepherd," said Fowler, "You have led my wandering steps to this fragrant evidence of a young man's heart. How beautiful it is, O G.o.d, and how holy, You know. Help me to keep it so, Heavenly Father, and help me to make Lost Chief find it so. And, O G.o.d, put Your great arm about this young man and keep it there until he realizes that it is Your arm supporting him. I thank You, O Everlasting Mercy, for leading me to this resting-place for my soul. Amen."

And it seemed to Douglas, bowing his head in the dusk, that the chapel itself was listening in a brooding peace.

After a moment, the old man rose and led the way out the door, which Douglas locked, then turned the key over to the preacher.

"It's yours, now," he said with a little, embarra.s.sed, laugh. "I'm only the guard."

Fowler put the key carefully into his pocket. "If anything should happen to that chapel, it would break my heart," he said.

"We mustn't let anything happen to it. That's our job," returned Douglas stoutly.

The next morning, Sat.u.r.day, Douglas left the preacher while he went down to his father's place for his day's work. He was as nervous as a mother with her first baby all day and he galloped the Moose back up the trail long before sunset. When Mr. Fowler waved at him from the door of the cabin, he gave a gusty sigh of relief.

While Doug was cooking the bacon for supper he asked the preacher what was to be the subject of the morrow's sermon.

"I was going to preach on the Golden Rule," replied Mr. Fowler.

"No," said Douglas decidedly. "You give 'em a talk on the hereafter and why you think there is one." He lighted a cigarette and cut more bacon.

"Young man, are you presuming to dictate to me how to preach the word of G.o.d?"

"I sure am!" grinning with the cigarette between his white teeth. "I'm in this thing up to my horns and I don't aim to make any false moves that I can help. I've been reading the New Testament this summer. So far, the most I've got out of it is that Christ was the most diplomatic preacher that ever lived. Let's be as diplomatic as we can. What's the use of preaching slush to a lot of sensible, hard-thinking folks who don't believe in anything."