THE LAST OF THE PERMIT SUNDAYS
The spring "round-ups" were all over and Bruce had nothing to do but to loaf about the Stopping Place, drinking old Latour's bad whisky and ****** himself a nuisance.In vain The Pilot tried to win him with loans of books and magazines and other kindly courtesies.He would be decent for a day and then would break forth in violent argumentation against religion and all who held to it.He sorely missed The Duke, who was away south on one of his periodic journeys, of which no one knew anything or cared to ask.
The Duke's presence always steadied Bruce and took the rasp out of his manners.It was rather a relief to all that he was absent from the next fortnightly service, though Moore declared he was ashamed to confess this relief.
"I can't touch him," he said to me, after the service; "he is far too clever, but," and his voice was full of pain, "I'd give something to help him.""If he doesn't quit his nonsense," I replied, "he'll soon be past helping.He doesn't go out on his range, his few cattle wander everywhere, his shack is in a beastly state, and he himself is going to pieces, miserable fool that he is." For it did seem a shame that a fellow should so throw himself away for nothing.
"You are hard," said Moore, with his eyes upon me.
"Hard? Isn't it true?" I answered, hotly."Then, there's his mother at home.""Yes, but can he help it? Is it all his fault?" he replied, with his steady eyes still looking into me.
"His fault? Whose fault, then?"
"What of the Noble Seven? Have they anything to do with this?"His voice was quiet, but there was an arresting intensity in it.
"Well," I said, rather weakly, "a man ought to look after himself.""Yes!--and his brother a little." Then, he added: "What have any of you done to help him? The Duke could have pulled him up a year ago if he had been willing to deny himself a little, and so with all of you.You all do just what pleases you regardless of any other, and so you help one another down."I could not find anything just then to say, though afterwards many things came to me; for, though his voice was quiet and low, his eyes were glowing and his face was alight with the fire that burned within, and I felt like one convicted of a crime.This was certainly a new doctrine for the West; an uncomfortable doctrine to practice, interfering seriously with personal liberty, but in The Pilot's way of viewing things difficult to escape.There would be no end to one's responsibility.I refused to think it out.
Within a fortnight we were thinking it out with some intentness.
The Noble Seven were to have a great "blow-out" at the Hill brothers' ranch.The Duke had got home from his southern trip a little more weary-looking and a little more cynical in his smile.
The "blow-out" was to be held on Permit Sunday, the alternate to the Preaching Sunday, which was a concession to The Pilot, secured chiefly through the influence of Hi and his baseball nine.It was something to have created the situation involved in the distinction between Preaching and Permit Sundays.Hi put it rather graphically.
"The devil takes his innin's one Sunday and The Pilot the next,"adding emphatically, "He hain't done much scorin' yit, but my money's on The Pilot, you bet!" Bill was more cautious and preferred to wait developments.And developments were rapid.
The Hill brothers' meet was unusually successful from a social point of view.Several Permits had been requisitioned, and whisky and beer abounded.Races all day and poker all night and drinks of various brews both day and night, with varying impromptu diversions--such as shooting the horns off wandering steers--were the social amenities indulged in by the noble company.On Monday evening I rode out to the ranch, urged by Moore, who was anxious that someone should look after Bruce.
"I don't belong to them," he said, "you do.They won't resent your coming."Nor did they.They were sitting at tea, and welcomed me with a shout.
"Hello, old domine!" yelled Bruce, "where's your preacher friend?""Where you ought to be, if you could get there--at home," Ireplied, nettled at his insolent tone.
"Strike one!" called out Hi, enthusiastically, not approving Bruce's attitude toward his friend, The Pilot.
