The Sky Pilot

R >> Ralph Connor >> The Sky Pilot


"Oh, it is lovely!" said Gwen, "and I see it so well. It is all there
before me when I look through my window."

But Lady Charlotte looked at her, wondering to see her bright smile, and
at last she could not help the question:

"But don't you weary to see it with your own eyes?"

"Yes," said Gwen gently, "often I want and want it, oh, so much!"

"And then, Gwen, dear, how can you bear it?" Her voice was eager and
earnest. "Tell me, Gwen. I have heard all about your canyon flowers, but
I can't understand how the fretting and the pain went away."

Gwen looked at her first in amazement, and then in dawning
understanding.

"Have you a canyon, too?" she asked, gravely.

Lady Charlotte paused a moment, then nodded. It did appear strange to me
that she should break down her proud reserve and open her heart to this
child.

"And there are no flowers, Gwen, not one," she said rather bitterly,
"nor sun nor seeds nor soil, I fear."

"Oh, if The Pilot were here, he would tell you."

At this point, feeling that they would rather be alone, I excused myself
on the pretext of looking after the horses.

What they talked of during the next hour I never knew, but when
I returned to the room Lady Charlotte was reading slowly and with
perplexed face to Gwen out of her mother's Bible the words "for the
suffering of death, crowned with glory and honor."

"You see even for Him, suffering," Gwen said eagerly, "but I can't
explain. The Pilot will make it clear." Then the talk ended.

We had lunch with Gwen--bannocks and fresh sweet milk and
blueberries--and after an hour of gay fun we came away.

Lady Charlotte kissed her tenderly as she bade Gwen good-by.

"You must let me come again and sit at your window," she said, smiling
down upon the wan face.

"Oh, I shall watch for you. How good that will be!" cried Gwen,
delightedly. "How many come to see me! You make five." Then she added,
softly: "You will write your letter." But Lady Charlotte shook her head.

"I can't do that, I fear," she said, "but I shall think of it."

It was a bright face that looked out upon us through the open window as
we rode down the trail. Just before we took the dip into the canyon, I
turned to wave my hand.

"Gwen's friends always wave from here," I said, wheeling my bronco.

Again and again Lady Charlotte waved her handkerchief.

"How beautiful, but how wonderful!" she said as if to herself. "Truly,
HER canyon is full of flowers."

"It is quite beyond me," I answered. "The Pilot may explain."

"Is there anything your Pilot can't do?" said Lady Charlotte.

"Try him," I ventured.

"I mean to," she replied, "but I cannot bring anyone to my canyon, I
fear," she added in an uncertain voice.

As I left her at her door she thanked me with courteous grace.

"You have done a great deal for me," she said, giving me her hand. "It
has been a beautiful, a wonderful day."

When I told the Pilot all the day's doings, he burst out:

"What a stupid and self-righteous fool I have been! I never thought
there could be any canyon in her life. How short our sight is!" and all
that night I could get almost no words from him.

That was the first of many visits to Gwen. Not a week passed but Lady
Charlotte took the trail to the Meredith ranch and spent an hour at
Gwen's window. Often The Pilot found her there. But though they were
always pleasant hours to him, he would come home in great trouble about
Lady Charlotte.

"She is perfectly charming and doing Gwen no end of good, but she is
proud as an archangel. Has had an awful break with her family at home,
and it is spoiling her life. She told me so much, but she will allow no
one to touch the affair."

But one day we met her riding toward the village. As we drew near, she
drew up her horse and held up a letter.

"Home!" she said. "I wrote it to-day, and I must get it off
immediately."

The Pilot understood her at once, but he only said:

"Good!" but with such emphasis that we both laughed.

"Yes, I hope so," she said with the red beginning to show in her cheek.
"I have dropped some seed into my canyon."

"I think I see the flowers beginning to spring," said The Pilot.

She shook her head doubtfully and replied:

"I shall ride up and sit with Gwen at her window."

"Do," replied The Pilot, "the light is good there. Wonderful things are
to be seen through Gwen's window."

"Yes," said Lady Charlotte softly. "Dear Gwen!--but I fear it is often
made bright with tears."

As she spoke she wheeled her horse and cantered off, for her own tears
were not far away. I followed her in thought up the trail winding
through the round-topped hills and down through the golden lights of the
canyon and into Gwen's room. I could see the pale face, with its golden
aureole, light up and glow, as they sat before the window while Lady
Charlotte would tell her how Gwen's Canyon looked to-day and how in her
own bleak canyon there was the sign of flowers.



CHAPTER XX

HOW BILL FAVORED "HOME-GROWN INDUSTRIES"


The building of the Swan Creek Church made a sensation in the country,
and all the more that Bronco Bill was in command.

"When I put up money I stay with the game," he announced; and stay he
did, to the great benefit of the work and to the delight of The Pilot,
who was wearing his life out in trying to do several men's work. It was
Bill that organized the gangs for hauling stone for the foundation and
logs for the walls. It was Bill that assigned the various jobs to those
volunteering service. To Robbie Muir and two stalwart Glengarry men from
the Ottawa lumber region, who knew all about the broadaxe, he gave the
hewing down of the logs that formed the walls. And when they had done,
Bill declared they were "better 'an a sawmill." It was Bill, too, that
did the financing, and his passage with Williams, the storekeeper from
"the other side" who dealt in lumber and building material, was such as
established forever Bill's reputation in finance.

With The Pilot's plans in his hands he went to Williams, seizing a time
when the store was full of men after their mail matter.

"What do you think ov them plans?" he asked innocently.

Williams was voluble with opinions and criticism and suggestions, all of
which were gratefully, even humbly received.

"Kind ov hard to figger out jest how much lumber 'll go into the shack,"
said Bill; "ye see the logs makes a difference."

To Williams the thing was simplicity itself, and, after some figuring,
he handed Bill a complete statement of the amount of lumber of all kinds
that would be required.

"Now, what would that there come to?"

Williams named his figure, and then Bill entered upon negotiations.

"I aint no man to beat down prices. No, sir, I say give a man his
figger. Of course, this here aint my funeral; besides, bein' a Gospel
shop, the price naterally would be different." To this the boys all
assented and Williams looked uncomfortable.

"In fact," and Bill adopted his public tone to Hi's admiration and joy,
"this here's a public institooshun" (this was Williams' own thunder),
"condoocin' to the good of the community" (Hi slapped his thigh and
squirted half way across the store to signify his entire approval), "and
I cherish the opinion"--(delighted chuckle from Hi)--"that public men
are interested in this concern."

"That's so! Right you are!" chorused the boys gravely.

Williams agreed, but declared he had thought of all this in making his
calculation. But seeing it was a church, and the first church and their
own church, he would make a cut, which he did after more figuring. Bill
gravely took the slip of paper and put it into his pocket without a
word. By the end of the week, having in the meantime ridden into town
and interviewed the dealers there, Bill sauntered into the store and
took up his position remote from Williams.

"You'll be wanting that sheeting, won't you, next week, Bill?" said
Williams.

"What sheetin' 's that?"

"Why, for the church. Aint the logs up?"

"Yes, that's so. I was just goin' to see the boys here about gettin' it
hauled," said Bill.

"Hauled!" said Williams, in amazed indignation. "Aint you goin' to stick
to your deal?"

"I generally make it my custom to stick to my deals," said Bill, looking
straight at Williams.

"Well, what about your deal with me last Monday night?" said Williams,
angrily.

"Let's see. Last Monday night," said Bill, apparently thinking back;
"can't say as I remember any pertickler deal. Any ov you fellers
remember?"

No one could recall any deal.

"You don't remember getting any paper from me, I suppose?" said
Williams, sarcastically.

"Paper! Why, I believe I've got that there paper onto my person at
this present moment," said Bill, diving into his pocket and drawing out
Williams' estimate. He spent a few moments in careful scrutiny.

"There ain't no deal onto this as I can see," said Bill, gravely passing
the paper to the boys, who each scrutinized it and passed it on with a
shake of the head or a remark as to the absence of any sign of a deal.
Williams changed his tone. For his part, he was indifferent in the
matter.

Then Bill made him an offer.

"Ov course, I believe in supportin' home-grown industries, and if you
can touch my figger I'd be uncommonly glad to give you the contract."

But Bill's figure, which was quite fifty per cent. lower than Williams'
best offer, was rejected as quite impossible.

"Thought I'd make you the offer," said Bill, carelessly, "seein' as
you're institootin' the trade and the boys here 'll all be buildin'
more or less, and I believe in standin' up for local trades and
manufactures." There were nods of approval on all sides, and Williams
was forced to accept, for Bill began arranging with the Hill brothers
and Hi to make an early start on Monday. It was a great triumph, but
Bill displayed no sign of elation; he was rather full of sympathy
for Williams, and eager to help on the lumber business as a local
"institooshun."

Second in command in the church building enterprise stood Lady
Charlotte, and under her labored the Hon. Fred, The Duke, and, indeed,
all the company of the Noble Seven. Her home became the centre of a new
type of social life. With exquisite tact, and much was needed for this
kind of work, she drew the bachelors from their lonely shacks and
from their wild carousals, and gave them a taste of the joys of a pure
home-life, the first they had had since leaving the old homes years ago.
And then she made them work for the church with such zeal and diligence
that her husband and The Duke declared that ranching had become quite an
incidental interest since the church-building had begun. But The Pilot
went about with a radiant look on his pale face, while Bill gave it
forth as his opinion, "though she was a leetle high in the action, she
could hit an uncommon gait."

With such energy did Bill push the work of construction that by the
first of December the church stood roofed, sheeted, floored and ready
for windows, doors and ceiling, so that The Pilot began to hope that he
should see the desire of his heart fulfilled--the church of Swan Creek
open for divine service on Christmas Day.

During these weeks there was more than church-building going on, for
while the days were given to the shaping of logs, and the driving of
nails and the planing of boards, the long winter evenings were spent in
talk around the fire in my shack, where The Pilot for some months past
had made his home and where Bill, since the beginning of the church
building, had come "to camp." Those were great nights for The Pilot and
Bill, and, indeed, for me, too, and the other boys, who, after a day's
work on the church, were always brought in by Bill or The Pilot.

Great nights for us all they were. After bacon and beans and bannocks,
and occasionally potatoes, and rarely a pudding, with coffee, rich
and steaming, to wash all down, pipes would follow, and then yarns of
adventures, possible and impossible, all exciting and wonderful, and all
received with the greatest credulity.

If, however, the powers of belief were put to too great a strain by a
tale of more than ordinary marvel, Bill would follow with one of such
utter impossibility that the company would feel that the limit had been
reached, and the yarns would cease. But after the first week most of the
time was given to The Pilot, who would read to us of the deeds of the
mighty men of old, who had made and wrecked empires.

What happy nights they were to those cowboys, who had been cast up like
driftwood upon this strange and lonely shore! Some of them had never
known what it was to have a thought beyond the work and sport of the
day. And the world into which The Pilot was ushering them was all new
and wonderful to them. Happy nights, without a care, but that The Pilot
would not get the ghastly look out of his face, and laughed at the idea
of going away till the church was built. And, indeed, we would all have
sorely missed him, and so he stayed.



CHAPTER XXI.

HOW BILL HIT THE TRAIL


When "the crowd" was with us The Pilot read us all sorts of tales of
adventures in all lands by heroes of all ages, but when we three sat
together by our fire The Pilot would always read us tales of the heroes
of sacred story, and these delighted Bill more than those of any of
the ancient empires of the past. He had his favorites. Abraham, Moses,
Joshua, Gideon, never failed to arouse his admiration. But Jacob was to
him always "a mean cuss," and David he could not appreciate. Most of
all he admired Moses and the Apostle Paul, whom he called "that little
chap." But, when the reading was about the One Great Man that moved
majestic amid the gospel stories, Bill made no comments; He was too high
for approval.

By and by Bill began to tell these tales to the boys, and one night,
when a quiet mood had fallen upon the company, Bill broke the silence.

"Say, Pilot, where was it that the little chap got mixed up into that
riot?"

"Riot!" said The Pilot.

"Yes; you remember when he stood off the whole gang from the stairs?"

"Oh, yes, at Jerusalem!"

"Yes, that's the spot. Perhaps you would read that to the boys. Good
yarn! Little chap, you know, stood up and told 'em they were all sorts
of blanked thieves and cut-throats, and stood 'em off. Played it alone,
too."

Most of the boys failed to recognize the story in its new dress. There
was much interest.

"Who was the duck? Who was the gang? What was the row about?"

"The Pilot here'll tell you. If you'd kind o' give 'em a lead before you
begin, they'd catch on to the yarn better." This last to The Pilot, who
was preparing to read.

"Well, it was at Jerusalem," began The Pilot, when Bill interrupted:

"If I might remark, perhaps it might help the boys on to the trail
mebbe, if you'd tell 'em how the little chap struck his new gait." So he
designated the Apostle's conversion.

Then The Pilot introduced the Apostle with some formality to the
company, describing with such vivid touches his life and early training,
his sudden wrench from all he held dear, under the stress of a new
conviction, his magnificent enthusiasm and courage, his tenderness and
patience, that I was surprised to find myself regarding him as a sort of
hero, and the boys were all ready to back him against any odds. As The
Pilot read the story of the Arrest at Jerusalem, stopping now and then
to picture the scene, we saw it all and were in the thick of it. The
raging crowd hustling and beating the life out of the brave little man,
the sudden thrust of the disciplined Roman guard through the mass, the
rescue, the pause on the stairway, the calm face of the little hero
beckoning for a hearing, the quieting of the frantic, frothing mob, the
fearless speech--all passed before us. The boys were thrilled.

"Good stuff, eh?"

"Ain't he a daisy?"

"Daisy! He's a whole sunflower patch!"

"Yes," drawled Bill, highly appreciating their marks of approval.
"That's what I call a partickler fine character of a man. There ain't no
manner of insecks on to him."

"You bet!" said Hi.

"I say," broke in one of the boys, who was just emerging from the
tenderfoot stage, "o' course that's in the Bible, ain't it?"

The Pilot assented.

"Well, how do you know it's true?"

The Pilot was proceeding to elaborate his argument when Bill cut in
somewhat more abruptly than was his wont.

"Look here, young feller!" Bill's voice was in the tone of command. The
man looked as he was bid. "How do you know anything's true? How do you
know The Pilot here's true when he speaks? Can't you tell by the feel?
You know by the sound of his voice, don't you?" Bill paused and the
young fellow agreed readily.

"Well how do you know a blanked son of a she jackass when you see him?"
Again Bill paused. There was no reply.

"Well," said Bill, resuming his deliberate drawl. "I'll give you the
information without extra charge. It's by the sound he makes when he
opens his blanked jaw."

"But," went on the young skeptic, nettled at the laugh that went round,
"that don't prove anything. You know," turning to The Pilot, "that there
are heaps of people who don't believe the Bible."

The Pilot nodded.

"Some of the smartest, best-educated men are agnostics," proceeded the
young man, warming to his theme, and failing to notice the stiffening of
Bill's lank figure. "I don't know but what I am one myself."

"That so?" said Bill, with sudden interest.

"I guess so," was the modest reply.

"Got it bad?" went on Bill, with a note of anxiety in his tone.

But the young man turned to The Pilot and tried to open a fresh
argument.

"Whatever he's got," said Bill to the others, in a mild voice, "it's
spoilin' his manners."

"Yes," went on Bill, meditatively, after the slight laugh had died,
"it's ruinin' to the judgment. He don't seem to know when he interferes
with the game. Pity, too."

Still the argument went on.

"Seems as if he ought to take somethin'," said Bill, in a voice
suspiciously mild. "What would you suggest?"

"A walk, mebbe!" said Hi, in delighted expectation.

"I hold the opinion that you have mentioned an uncommonly vallable
remedy, better'n Pain Killer almost."

Bill rose languidly.

"I say," he drawled, tapping the young fellow, "it appears to me a
little walk would perhaps be good, mebbe."

"All right, wait till I get my cap," was the unsuspecting reply.

"I don't think perhaps you won't need it, mebbe. I cherish the opinion
you'll, perhaps, be warm enough." Bill's voice had unconsciously passed
into a sterner tone. Hi was on his feet and at the door.

"This here interview is private AND confidential," said Bill to his
partner.

"Exactly," said Hi, opening the door. At this the young fellow, who was
a strapping six-footer, but soft and flabby, drew back and refused to
go. He was too late. Bill's grip was on his collar and out they went
into the snow, and behind them Hi closed the door. In vain the young
fellow struggled to wrench himself free from the hands that had him by
the shoulder and the back of the neck. I took it all in from the window.
He might have been a boy for all the effect his plungings had upon the
long, sinewy arms that gripped him so fiercely. After a minute's furious
struggle the young fellow stood quiet, when Bill suddenly shifted his
grip from the shoulder to the seat of his buckskin trousers. Then began
a series of evolutions before the house--up and down, forward and back,
which the unfortunate victim, with hands wildly clutching at empty
air, was quite powerless to resist till he was brought up panting and
gasping, subdued, to a standstill.

"I'll larn you agnostics and several other kinds of ticks," said Bill,
in a terrible voice, his drawl lengthening perceptibly. "Come round
here, will you, and shove your blanked second-handed trash down our
throats?" Bill paused to get words; then, bursting out in rising wrath:

"There ain't no sootable words for sich conduct. By the livin' Jeminy--"
He suddenly swung his prisoner off his feet, lifted him bodily, and held
him over his head at arm's length. "I've a notion to--"

"Don't! don't! for Heaven's sake!" cried the struggling wretch, "I'll
stop it! I will!"

Bill at once lowered him and set him on his feet.

"All right! Shake!" he said, holding out his hand, which the other took
with caution.

It was a remarkably sudden conversion and lasting in its effects. There
was no more agnosticism in the little group that gathered around The
Pilot for the nightly reading.

The interest in the reading kept growing night by night.

"Seems as if The Pilot was gittin' in his work," said Bill to me; and
looking at the grave, eager faces, I agreed. He was getting in his work
with Bill, too; though perhaps Bill did not know it. I remember one
night, when the others had gone, The Pilot was reading to us the Parable
of the Talents, Bill was particularly interested in the servant who
failed in his duty.

"Ornery cuss, eh?" he remarked; "and gall, too, eh? Served him blamed
well right, in my opinion!"

But when the practical bearing of the parable became clear to him, after
long silence, he said, slowly:

"Well, that there seems to indicate that it's about time for me to get
a rustle on." Then, after another silence, he said, hesitatingly, "This
here church-buildin' business now, do you think that'll perhaps count,
mebbe? I guess not, eh? 'Tain't much, o' course, anyway." Poor Bill, he
was like a child, and The Pilot handled him with a mother's touch.

"What are you best at, Bill?"

"Bronco-bustin' and cattle," said Bill, wonderingly; "that's my line."

"Well, Bill, my line is preaching just now, and piloting, you know." The
Pilot's smile was like a sunbeam on a rainy day, for there were tears in
his eyes and voice. "And we have just got to be faithful. You see
what he says: 'Well done, good and FAITHFUL servant. Thou hast been
FAITHFUL.'"

Bill was puzzled.

"Faithful!" he repeated. "Does that mean with the cattle, perhaps?"

"Yes, that's just it, Bill, and with everything else that comes your
way."

And Bill never forgot that lesson, for I heard him, with a kind of quiet
enthusiasm, giving it to Hi as a great find. "Now, I call that a fair
deal," he said to his friend; "gives every man a show. No cards up the
sleeve."

"That's so," was Hi's thoughtful reply; "distributes the trumps."

Somehow Bill came to be regarded as an authority upon questions of
religion and morals. No one ever accused him of "gettin' religion." He
went about his work in his slow, quiet way, but he was always sharing
his discoveries with "the boys." And if anyone puzzled him with
subtleties he never rested till he had him face to face with The
Pilot. And so it came that these two drew to each other with more than
brotherly affection. When Bill got into difficulty with problems that
have vexed the souls of men far wiser than he, The Pilot would either
disentangle the knots or would turn his mind to the verities that stood
out sure and clear, and Bill would be content.

"That's good enough for me," he would say, and his heart would be at
rest.



CHAPTER XXII

HOW THE SWAN CREEK CHURCH WAS OPENED


When, near the end of the year, The Pilot fell sick, Bill nursed him
like a mother and sent him off for a rest and change to Gwen, forbidding
him to return till the church was finished and visiting him twice a
week. The love between the two was most beautiful, and, when I find my
heart grow hard and unbelieving in men and things, I let my mind wander
back to a scene that I came upon in front of Gwen's house. These two
were standing alone in the clear moonlight, Bill with his hand upon The
Pilot's shoulder, and The Pilot with his arm around Bill's neck.

"Dear old Bill," The Pilot was saying, "dear old Bill," and the voice
was breaking into a sob. And Bill, standing stiff and straight, looked
up at the stars, coughed and swallowed hard for some moments, and said,
in a queer, croaky voice:

"Shouldn't wonder if a Chinook would blow up."

"Chinook?" laughed The Pilot, with a catch in his voice. "You dear old
humbug," and he stood watching till the lank form swayed down into the
canyon.

The day of the church opening came, as all days, however long waited
for, will come--a bright, beautiful Christmas Day. The air was still and
full of frosty light, as if arrested by a voice of command, waiting the
word to move. The hills lay under their dazzling coverlets, asleep. Back
of all, the great peaks lifted majestic heads out of the dark forests
and gazed with calm, steadfast faces upon the white, sunlit world.
To-day, as the light filled up the cracks that wrinkled their hard
faces, they seemed to smile, as if the Christmas joy had somehow moved
something in their old, stony hearts.

The people were all there--farmers, ranchers, cowboys, wives and
children--all happy, all proud of their new church, and now all
expectant, waiting for The Pilot and the Old Timer, who were to drive
down if The Pilot was fit and were to bring Gwen if the day was fine. As
the time passed on, Bill, as master of ceremonies, began to grow uneasy.
Then Indian Joe appeared and handed a note to Bill. He read it, grew
gray in the face and passed it to me. Looking, I saw in poor, wavering
lines the words, "Dear Bill. Go on with the opening. Sing the Psalm,
you know the one, and say a prayer, and oh, come to me quick, Bill. Your
Pilot."