The Angel of the Gila Part 47

"Is John Harding here?" she asked, uneasily.

"We are all here," he answered, smiling, "including Jack. You need never worry about him again. You found him a sinner, and--"

"And he has become a saint?" she supplemented.

"Not exactly a saint," he answered, "but you have brought about a complete transformation in the man's life and character. Jack could never return to what he was, be sure of that!"

"Kelwin! Kelwin's ahead!" shouted a hoa.r.s.e voice, above the noise of the crowd.

"Blank ye!" retorted another, "Bill Hines is ahead! I seen 'em turn fust!"

"Ye lie!" continued the first.

Away to the right, speeding around a curve in the race course, four horses were straining every muscle. Occasionally a cow-puncher would lift his quirt, and make it hum through the air, or lash the poor beast, already straining to its utmost speed.

For a few moments, the racers were concealed from view by a ma.s.s of rocks. When they emerged again, they were greeted by yells from bystanders. A cowla.s.s, mounted on a spirited animal, was in the lead.

She swore almost constantly at her horse, occasionally cutting him with her quirt.

Lord Kelwin, now somewhat sobered, made a close second; and Bill Hines and Bill Weeks were neck and neck behind the Irishman.

The crowd cheered and cheered.

The girl leading was as fine a specimen of the human animal as the horse she rode was of the horse kind. She sat her horse superbly.

Finally, Lord Kelwin gained upon her, and the horses were neck and neck. The girl again whirled her quirt around till it cut the air with a hissing sound, and spoke to her horse. It was enough.

The betting grew louder. The stakes grew heavier.

"I know Kelwin'll win yet."

"No, he won't. Kate Brown'll win. She's a devil to ride, that girl is!"

Again the Irishman gained upon her. Again she sent her quirt singing through the air, and her horse obeyed as though horse and rider were one. He sped faster and faster, pa.s.sed Lord Kelwin, then the starting point, and the race was won.

"Hurrah for Kate Brown and Lightning!" shouted hoa.r.s.e voices; and cowboys and cowla.s.ses and everyone else yelled and shouted, and shouted and yelled. It seemed as though pandemonium had been let loose.

Jack Harding had gone to the races chiefly to dog the steps of Lord Kelwin; so, if the Irishman had been inclined to speak lightly of Esther Bright again, he would have had to reckon with him. Kelwin felt himself shadowed by the cowboy, and a great fear took possession of him.

As he dismounted, his scant clothing was wet, and clung to his person.

The race had not improved his temper any. To be beaten, and beaten by a woman, and that woman an American cowla.s.s, was the very limit of what he could endure from "raw America" that day. He swore to the right of him; he swore to the left of him. Then glancing over the crowd, he discovered the Clayton party overlooking the scene.

John Clayton, ignorant of the episode at the saloon, was beckoning him to join them. Lord Kelwin was about to do so, when Jack Harding stepped up to him and said:

"Don't you dare enter that woman's presence!"

Lord Kelwin placed his hand on his gun, saying:

"Oh, you needn't give me any of your impudent American advice, you mongrel cur!"

"Never mind what I am," said Jack; "that woman is one of the truest, purest souls on earth. You are not fit to enter her presence. You have _me_ to deal with, remember."

His great eyes flashed upon the Irishman, who quailed before him.

"Oh, you needn't be so high and mighty," said Lord Kelwin, changing his tactics. "I don't care a blank about her, anyway. She's only an American working woman, an Indian at that."

"So this is n.o.bility," Jack said to himself. "n.o.bility! What is it to be _n.o.ble_?"

The race was followed by a dance in one of the saloons, and the lowest of the low were there. At four o'clock in the morning, those sober enough went to their homes; the others stretched out anywhere, in a deep drunken sleep; and pay-day and its pleasuring were over. Men and women awakened to find their money gone; and for the first time in years, they felt shame.

Sunday came. The hour of the service drew near. Esther Bright had thought out what she would say that day about the Race for Life. But when she rose to speak, she had a strange experience. All she had thought to say, vanished; and before her mind's eye, she saw the words, "The wages of sin is death."

There were perhaps a hundred people before her in the timber (where the services were now held),--men and women among them, who, the day before, had forgotten they were created in the image of G.o.d, and who had groveled to the level of beasts.

These men, these women, had come to this spot this day, why, they did not know. Why Esther Bright said the things she said that day, _she_ did not know, either. All she knew was that the words came, and that there were men and women before her whom she must help.

Those who had sunken so low the day before, cried out in repentance, as they listened to her words. G.o.d's message, through Esther Bright's voice, had come to men's business and bosoms. Called of G.o.d, she said they were,--called to be true men, true women. From time to time, she quoted, "The wages of sin is death." One could almost hear his heart beat.

The meeting was over, so far as Esther Bright's part in it was concerned; then it pa.s.sed from her control. First one, then another rose, confessed his sins, and asked for her prayers.

And what of Esther? She sat as pale as death, her face alight with a sweetness and compa.s.sion that did not seem of earth.

Kenneth Hastings watched her with deepening reverence. Her words had gone to his heart, too, and he sang with deep feeling:

"Just as I am, without one plea."

As the song ceased, Pete Tompkins (to everyone's amazement) sprang to his feet.

"Ye'll be s'prised ter hear from me, I reckon,"--Here he shoved his hand, lean and gaunt, up through his hair. "But I've been listenin'

ter schoolma'am ever sence she begun preachin' in the timber, an' all I've got ter say is she ain't _our_ brand, or the Devil's brand either. When the Boss sent out his puncher ter round up folks, he cut her out an' branded her with the mark o' G.o.d. I know she's tellin' the gospel truth. She's got more courage 'n any blanked one o' yer. I done 'er a mean trick onct. I said blanked mean things about 'er. I'm sorry I done it, blanked ef I ain't! Ter show 'er an' you that I mean ter be differ'nt, I say, here an' now, that I wanter see these meetin's go on, 's long 's schoolma'am 'll be our angel an' pilot us. Ter prove I mean it, I'll plank down this hunderd dollars" (holding up a hundred-dollar bill) "toward buildin' a meetin' house; an' I'll give more, blanked ef I don't! How many wants a meetin' house in Gila?

Stand up!"

Many stood.

"_Stand up, the hull blanked lot o' ye!_" said the self-appointed leader in forcible tones. To Esther's astonishment, the people rose, and remained standing.

The notes of a thrush were caught up by a mocking bird, then a warbler joined in, and the waiting people listened. The song of the birds "came like the benediction that follows after prayer."

At last the company dispersed, and Esther Bright sat alone, absorbed in silent prayer.

CHAPTER XVIII

NIGHT ON THE RANGE

The cowboys and cowla.s.ses had long been back on the range, and the attendance at the clubs had decreased in consequence.