Friar Tuck Part 55

"I forgive him, too, you big goose!" cried Horace. "I promise you that I'll do all I can for him-on your account. Though I must say-but no, I mean it, Promotheus. I forgive him from my heart, and I'll be as good a friend to him as I can."

"Now, let the little gust o' wind come," sez The. "I'm perfectly ripe and ready for it, now."

The' was silence for several minutes; and then Promotheus said in a faint voice: "Friar, I wish you'd sing to me. All my life I've longed to hear a cradle-song, a regular baby cradle-song. I know it's a d.a.m.n-fool notion; but I never had it so strong as I've got it now-and I wish you'd sing one to me. My mother was a widow, mostly. She cleaned out offices at night to earn enough to keep us alive. She sacrificed her life for me, but I couldn't understand this then.

"Night after night I used to creep in from the street through dirty, stinkin' halls, and cry myself to sleep. An achin' came into my heart then which hasn't never quite left it; and it was this lonesomeness 'at finally made me run away-leavin' her to face it out-all by herself.

"My blood has turned to water, I reckon, and I feel like a baby to-night. I don't suffer, understand; I feel as though I was a little chap again, and that my mother didn't have to work; but was holdin' me on her lap. She did hold me that way once-the time the ambulance brought my old man home-but she couldn't sing then. It seems to me that if you'd just sing me a regular cradle-song-I could slip away into pleasant dreams."

The Friar cleared his throat a time or two before he found his voice; and then he said in a low tone: "I used to sleep in a store-box, Promotheus, when I was a lad-and I know exactly what you feel. I'll sing you a cradle-song, a song for little children of all ages. It is a great privilege to be a little child, Promotheus, and-and I wish you pleasant dreams."

Then Friar Tuck drew a deep, full breath, and held it down until all the quiver had gone from his lips. When he started to sing, his voice was low an' soothin', and full o' tenderness; and after the first line, Promotheus gave a little sigh o' content, nodded his head, and shut his eyes.

The' was one tune we every last one of us liked. The Friar generally sang it to words which began: "Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah"; and he usually sang it with a swing which was like a call to battle; and this time he sang the same tune, but soft and close and restful, and the words he used began: "Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me." These words sound purty flat when ya give 'em cold; but they didn't sound empty to us, as we stood lookin' down at Promotheus. All alone, he had taken his chance when he took on with Ty Jones; and now he was cashin' in this chance and it made us mighty sober.

The Friar finished the first four lines alone, and then the angels seemed to join in with him. We had all been purty certain that the'

wasn't nothin' in the shape of earthly melody fit to hold a candle to the Friar; but just at this point a new voice joined onto the Friar's which sent a thrill through us and made us stop breathin'. A queer, half frightened look crossed the Friar's face for a second; but his voice didn't waver for a single note. Instead, the' came a new tone of thanksgivin' and confidence in it which took all the sting out o'

death and made it all right and pleasant, like the cool and restfulness o' night, after the heat of day.

"All this day Thy hand has led me, And I thank Thee for Thy care; Thou hast warmed me, clothed and fed me; Listen to my evening prayer,"

went on the song and the' came an expression of wonder and of joy into The's tired face.

There are only three little verses to this one, and to fill out the tune they had to sing the first one over again, soft and low. The candles threw a soft glow on The's face which hid the pallor of it and the rough lines, but brought out all the kindly strength we had come to be so fond of; and when the music died away, we all sat still for fear o' disturbin' him.

Horace had been settin' holdin' one of his hands, and after a bit he leaned forward and whispered, "Was that what you wanted, Promotheus?"

But the' wasn't any reply. The little gust o' wind had come with the song-and fully ripe, and soft to the core of his big, warm heart, Promotheus had loosed his hold on the bough of life, and dropped off onto the soft, deep gra.s.s of eternity.

"Promotheus! Promotheus!" cried Horace, and then covered his face with his hands and dropped forward upon The's quiet breast.

"Badger-face," called a harsh voice, and we looked at Ty Jones and saw him leanin' towards The. "Wait, Badger-face, wait-I want to speak to ya. I want to tell you that I lied to ya. Oh Lord, it's too late, it's too late!" And Ty Jones pressed his hand across his eyes and sank back.

Horace whirled to tell Ty what he thought of him; but the Friar placed his big hand on Horace's shoulder, and pointed down to The's placid face. Horace gave a shudderin' sob, and settled back into his former position.

Janet Morris crossed the floor to the Friar just then and said to him in a low tone: "I have found it again-my voice has come back to me."

Ty Jones took his hand down from his eyes and straightened up and looked at her. All the eagle had gone from his face, and it looked old and haggard. "Don't you really know who I am?" he asked.

She looked at him and shook her head.

"I'm your half-brother," he said. "I'm Tyrell Jones Morris. Your mother might have been a good woman, but she was not good to me-she wasn't fair; she prejudiced my father again' me. You were sellin'

tickets at an elevated station in New York when I found you. You looked a good deal like your mother, for you were weak and sickly. I didn't know then, whether I brought you back with me because we had the same blood in our veins, or because I hated you-and I don't know yet. I'm not tellin' you this now, because I care any thing for you, or the preacher; but Badger-face was square, and I know now 'at he'd never have turned again' me if the rest of ya hadn't tampered with him. I'm sorry I didn't tell him before he died-and that's why I'm tellin' you now."

I winked my eyes to the boys, and we filed out and went over to the bunk-shack. We lighted our pipes and sat a long time smokin' in silence. One by one they dropped off to bed until only me and ol' Tank Williams was left. Tank sat with a sour look on his face, and so deeply buried in thought that the burnt matches around his stool looked like a wood pile. "What are ya thinkin' of, Tank?" I said to him.

"I'm not kickin', understand," sez he; "but it does seem to me that when all The asked for was a cradle-song, the Friar could 'a' thought up somethin' besides another one o' those doggone sheep-herder hymns.

The didn't have any more use for sheep-herders 'n I have."

This was the real Tank, all right. Once an idee took possession of him, it rode him rough shod till he keeled over with his tongue hangin' out.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

THE FINAL MOVES

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 superst.i.tious," 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' superst.i.tious 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 endors.e.m.e.nt-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 G.o.d, and fair worshipped him-every one o' Ty's men swore by him, even after he turned decent. Ty used to abuse the c.h.i.n.k all he could and it pleased 'em both; and the c.h.i.n.k 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 b.a.l.l.s 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 c.h.i.n.k 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.