第53章

THE PILOT'S LAST PORT

In the old times a funeral was regarded in the Swan Creek country as a kind of solemn festivity.In those days, for the most part, men died in their boots and were planted with much honor and loyal libation.There was often neither shroud nor coffin, and in the Far West many a poor fellow lies as he fell, wrapped in his own or his comrade's blanket.

It was the manager of the X L Company's ranch that introduced crape.The occasion was the funeral of one of the ranch cowboys, killed by his bronco, but when the pall-bearers and mourners appeared with bands and streamers of crape, this was voted by the majority as "too gay." That circumstance alone was sufficient to render that funeral famous, but it was remembered, too, as having shocked the proprieties in another and more serious manner.No one would be so narrow-minded as to object to the custom of the return procession falling into a series of horse-races of the wildest description, and ending up at Latour's in a general riot.But to race with the corpse was considered bad form.The "corpse-driver,"as he was called, could hardly be blamed on this occasion.His acknowledged place was at the head of the procession, and it was a point of honor that that place should be retained.The fault clearly lay with the driver of the X L ranch sleigh, containing the mourners (an innovation, by the way), who felt aggrieved that Hi Kendal, driving the Ashley team with the pall-bearers (another innovation), should be given the place of honor next the corpse.

The X L driver wanted to know what, in the name of all that was black and blue, the Ashley Ranch had to do with the funeral? Whose was that corpse, anyway? Didn't it belong to the X L ranch? Hi, on the other hand, contended that the corpse was in charge of the pall-bearers."It was their duty to see it right to the grave, and if they were not on hand, how was it goin' to get there? They didn't expect it would git up and get there by itself, did they?

Hi didn't want no blanked mourners foolin' round that corp till it was properly planted; after that they might git in their work."But the X L driver could not accept this view, and at the first opportunity slipped past Hi and his pall-bearers and took the place next the sleigh that carried the coffin.It is possible that Hi might have borne with this affront and loss of position with even mind, but the jeering remarks of the mourners as they slid past triumphantly could not be endured, and the next moment the three teams were abreast in a race as for dear life.The corpse-driver, having the advantage of the beaten track, soon left the other two behind running neck and neck for second place, which was captured finally by Hi and maintained to the grave side, in spite of many attempts on the part of the X L's.The whole proceeding, however, was considered quite improper, and at Latour's, that night, after full and bibulous discussion, it was agreed that the corpse-driver fairly distributed the blame."For his part," he said, "he knew he hadn't ought to make no corp git any such move on, but he wasn't goin' to see that there corp take second place at his own funeral.

Not if he could help it.And as for the others, he thought that the pall-bearers had a blanked sight more to do with the plantin'

than them giddy mourners."

But when they gathered at the Meredith ranch to carry out The Pilot to his grave it was felt that the Foothill Country was called to a new experience.They were all there.The men from the Porcupine and from beyond the Fort, the Police with the Inspector in command, all the farmers for twenty miles around, and of course all the ranchers and cowboys of the Swan Creek country.There was no effort at repression.There was no need, for in the cowboys, for the first time in their experience, there was no heart for fun.

And as they rode up and hitched their horses to the fence, or drove their sleighs into the yard and took off the bells, there was no loud-voiced salutation, no guying nor chaffing, but with silent nod they took their places in the crowd about the door or passed into the kitchen.

The men from the Porcupine could not quite understand the gloomy silence.It was something unprecedented in a country where men laughed all care to scorn and saluted death with a nod.But they were quick to read signs, and with characteristic courtesy they fell in with the mood they could not understand.There is no man living so quick to feel your mood, and so ready to adapt himself to it, as is the true Westerner.

This was the day of the cowboy's grief.To the rest of the community The Pilot was preacher; to them he was comrade and friend.They had been slow to admit him to their confidence, but steadily he had won his place with them, till within the last few months they had come to count him as of themselves.He had ridden the range with them; he had slept in their shacks and cooked his meals on their tin stoves; and, besides, he was Bill's chum.That alone was enough to give him a right to all they owned.He was theirs, and they were only beginning to take full pride in him when he passed out from them, leaving an emptiness in their life new and unexplained.No man in that country had ever shown concern for them, nor had it occurred to them that any man could, till The Pilot came.It took them long to believe that the interest he showed in them was genuine and not simply professional.Then, too, from a preacher they had expected chiefly pity, warning, rebuke.

The Pilot astonished them by giving them respect, admiration, and open-hearted affection.It was months before they could get over their suspicion that he was humbugging them.When once they did, they gave him back without knowing it all the trust and love of their big, generous hearts.He had made this world new to some of them, and to all had given glimpses of the next.It was no wonder that they stood in dumb groups about the house where the man, who had done all this for them and had been all this to them lay dead.