"I'll never forget that ride home last year," said Jack Halloway, "after I pulled out in the night and left Deerfoot with you younkers asleep by the camp fire. It took me a week to reach St. Louis, and there wasn't a drop of whiskey to be had on the road. For two or three days I was the most miserable critter that ever limped on two legs. I'd have give my whole load of peltries to get that flask back agin, but there was no help for it. Twice I rode up to the camp fires of Injins, hoping to buy some fire water from them, but neither party had a drop.

Then I buckled down to it.

"On the fourth night when I camped I was almost crazy. As I rolled about in my blanket, not able to sleep a wink, I remembered what Deerfoot had said to me about praying. Strange I'd never thought of it before. Wal, I got on my knees, and if ever a poor wretch prayed it was Jack Halloway, and I kept it up for two or three hours. I was about ready to let go when _the thing which I was praying for came to me!_

"Just as plain as I have heard your voices, I catched the words, 'It's all right; you've conquered your temptation; you're boss now.' Some folks may laugh, but it won't do for 'em to say where Jack Halloway can hear 'em that thar's nothing in the Christian religion. I know better, 'cause I've got it right there!" exclaimed the trapper, thumping his heart.

"From that time forward everything was rosy with me. The sun never shone so bright, the birds never sung so sweet and I never felt so happy through and through. I shouted and yelled for joy and walloped the horses, just because I couldn't help it. If I had met anyone at those times he would have set me down as drunk. So I was--drunk with pure joy and religion.

"At St. Louis I sold my peltries for the biggest price I've got in ten years. I took the money home and throwed it into the lap of my little, sweet, gray-haired mother, who just stared at me, not knowing what it meant. When I made it all clear she began crying, and then she dropped on her knees and I dropped alongside of her, and when she got through praying I took up the job and kept things humming for another half hour. After I'd let up I grabbed her in my arms, and we danced about that cabin, just as she used to do when she was the belle of the town, and we laughed and frolicked and made a couple of fools of ourselves.

"When she asked me to tell her the meaning of my short rein-up and change of my life, I give her the whole thing. It was the work of a young Shawanoe Injin called Deerfoot, who was the most ginooine Christian on either side of the old Mississippi. She asked all about you, Deerfoot, and she said she hoped she would meet you some day. So when we get back to St. Louis I'll introduce you."

"Deerfoot will be glad to see the mother of my brother," softly replied the Shawanoe, in a voice tremulous with feeling. He and the boys listened with absorbed interest to the graphic story told by the trapper.

"French Pete keeps the worst whiskey hole along the Mississippi. It is down by the river side and is the main drinking place in the town. He has got hundreds of dollars from the families of the trappers who come down the river in the spring, and for years he has gathered in about every cent I could rake together.

"Wal, after I had been home about a week I strolled down to his place one moonlight night. I told mother not to worry about me, for I would blow my own head off before I'd ever swaller another drop of red p'ison. When I opened the door of the ramshackle cabin, Pete looked up with a grin, and said as how he was wondering where I'd kept myself so long, for he had heerd I'd got back and done unusual well. He was glad to welcome me, and asked what I'd have and the treat was on him for old friendship's sake.

"There didn't happen to be anybody else in the place at the time, for it was early in the evening. I walked up to the bar and leaned on it familiar like, and asked Pete if he didn't think he'd made enough money in ruining other folks to quit the bus'ness. He showed he didn't know what I meant by the strange question. I then said I'd stopped the foolery for good, and give him my opinion of him as the worst wretch in town. He had sot out the whiskey bottle on the bar and shoved out the cork with his thumb and forefinger. I 'spose that was to let me get a whiff of the stuff. I got it. I reached out my hand, pushed the cork back in the bottle, and then grabbing it by the neck brought it down on the bar with a bang that broke it into a dozen pieces and sent the whiskey flying about the room.

"When Pete seed what I was up to he made a swipe at me, remarking several swear words at the same time, but I landed him one under the ear that sent him back so hard aginst the bottles behind him that he bounced forward agin, and I grabbed him.

"He made just the sort of club I wanted. You see I had him by the shoulders and I could swing his heels free and easy like. Wal, I used him that way. For the next ten or fifteen minutes the only music in that place was the panting of Pete and the crash and smash of bottles.

The fumes of the stuff filled the room like the mist you sometimes see rising from a kenyon in the mountains. When I got through I don't believe there was a whole bottle left, and as I stepped about the floor I splashed in whiskey, just as we do when the Mississippi overflows the streets. I tossed Pete over into one corner, and, not seeing any more blessed work to do, pa.s.sed out the door. I met two friends on their way for a drink. When they said good evening I remarked off-hand that they'd find plenty of whiskey inside without asking for it, and went on to my home.

"I expected Pete would make a row about what I'd done and I would be catched in the biggest kind of a row, but there ain't much law in St.

Louis just now, on account of the change from Spanish rule to French and then to American. Besides, Pete hasn't got many friends, and I reckon he knew he wouldn't get much sympathy. He rigged up his place after awhile and laid in a new stock of p'ison, but it'll take a long time for him to make up the losses that follered his inviting Jack Halloway to have a drink. Shawanoe," added the trapper, abruptly turning to the Indian, "I want to ask you a question."

"Deerfoot will be glad to answer if he can."

"When I went down to French Pete's place and smashed things and cleaned it out, as I've been stating, did I do right?"

Instead of directly answering, the Shawanoe asked:

"Has the conscience of my brother ever whispered to him that he did wrong in breaking the whiskey bottles?"

"No, I rather think it's the other way. When I started home I felt my conscience clapping me on the shoulder and saying, 'You hit it right that time, old fellow,' and ever since, when I think of it, I hear the same soft words."

There was a twinkle in the eyes of Deerfoot as he gently replied:

"My brother should always do what his conscience tells him to do."

"Good! That settles it! But I've got something more interesting than all that to tell you. If French Pete didn't do anything to me for what I'd done to him, he laid a deep plan to get his revenge. You see he's afraid to tackle me in the open, for I may say there ain't a man living that Jack Halloway is afeard of--barring one."

"Who is he?" asked Victor Shelton, slyly nudging his brother.

"Deerfoot the Shawanoe."

The face of the Indian flushed and he protested:

"Deerfoot would be only a pappoose in the hands of my brother."

"P'raps, but you'd never be in his hands. I've studied your build and quickness, and the chap that can whip a Blackfoot war chief without using a weapon is the best fellow in the world to let alone--I beg pardon, Deerfoot. I'll drop it.

"When it was getting time for me to think about going to the beaver runs agin d.i.c.k Burley come to me and proposed that we should be pardners. d.i.c.k is a good fellow and I always liked him, for he hasn't a streak of yaller in his make-up. The only objection to him was that he liked firewater too well. He spent enough money at French Pete's to support that rogue. d.i.c.k's wife and two children were in rags, and the poor woman had to work herself almost to death to keep from starving. I had talked with d.i.c.k many times, not neglecting to give him a good cussing now and then, but it didn't amount to nothing. In the hope of being able to do him good I agreed to go with him to the Northwest.

"Wal, you wouldn't 'spicion what a trick French Pete and d.i.c.k was trying to play on me. It was the idea of Pete, but d.i.c.k promised to do his part. Pete agreed to let d.i.c.k have a whole keg of his best--or rather worst--whiskey without charging him a cent. He was to take it with us, with the sole purpose of getting me into the habit of drinking again. Their ca'clation was that when we got away up in the Northwest, where it was sometimes cold enough to freeze the tail off a bra.s.s monkey, and d.i.c.k took his swigs reg'lar like, I'd be sure to knock under and jine him. I couldn't stand it to see him enj'ying such bliss and telling what a lot of good it done him.

"I never spicioned anything of the kind, but when I set eyes on that keg stored among the things on our pack horses I fixed _my_ plan of campaign. Being as it was meant to last four or five months-it wouldn't do for d.i.c.k to draw on it too heavy at the start. Then, too, as I said, he expected me to come in on the chorus, and he was saving up for that glad day.

"Every time d.i.c.k took a drink, which I must say waren't often, of course he invited me to jine, but when I said no, that was enough and he let me alone. Oh, he was shrewd, and was playing his cards like a boss of the game.

"Wal, we had only one brush with the Injins, and we got to the place we had fixed on without any harm, and with most of the whiskey still in the keg. It was where I had been doing my trapping for several years before I went further South, which was the reason I happened to meet you in that part of the world last summer.

"We set our traps as usual, turned our horses out to gra.s.s and stowed our blankets and things in a big holler tree, in which I had cut a door, with a buffalo skin that hung down in front. The first thing d.i.c.k carried in was the whiskey keg. 'I think more of that,' he remarked, as he sot it down tender like, as if it was a sick baby, 'than everything else in the outfit.' I made no reply, but I was busy thinking, and when he wa'nt looking I done some chuckling and laughing that would have made him open his eyes had he knowed of it.

"One night when d.i.c.k was sleeping particular sound I sneaked out of the holler tree with the keg. I had to be powerful careful, for we folks larn to sleep light, but I managed it without waking him. Having made up my mind long before what I would do, I didn't make any mistake.

Raising the cask, with the stuff jingling and sploshing about inside, I brought it down on the p'int of a rock with a force that made it split open like a watermelon. In a few minutes every drop had soaked into the ground and it was a thousand miles to French Pete in St. Louis.

"I had to tell d.i.c.k the truth the next morning. The minute he opened his eyes he went for his morning dram. I remarked that we didn't need whiskey in them parts, and being as I had become a temperance man it was agin my principles to have any of the p'ison around.

"Wal, d.i.c.k was that mad he turned white. When he realized that there was no way of his getting a drink for months he collapsed. Then he roused up and said as how the insult, being a mortal one, we'd have to settle it outside. I was looking for something of that kind and replied that I was agreeable.

"d.i.c.k's idea was that we should use our knives and to keep to it till one was killed or he hollered 'Enough!' which neither of us would do to save his life. I said the best plan would be to use our fists. A duel with knives was liable to be over sudden, while a fist-fight would last much longer, and therefore give both more enjoyment. It wouldn't be any trouble for him as got the upper hand to pound the other to death, and being as the whole thing would be in doubt till it was over, the advantage in the way of real happiness was obvious.

"After some argument d.i.c.k seed the p'int, and agreed, and we went at it. Wal, I needn't dwell on the partic'lars. d.i.c.k put up a stiff fight, and might have give me a good deal of trouble if it hadn't been that he was weakened by whiskey, while I had long got rid of the effects of the last drop. He had to knock under, and when he found the only way to save himself was to yell 'Enough!' he done it, though, as I said, he would have held out if he had been using knives.

"I rested from pummeling him, but told him he couldn't get up till he had told the Lord what a mean scamp he was and had asked His forgiveness and promised to try to live a Christian. d.i.c.k wasn't expecting anything like that, and he b'iled over with rage. But it did no good, and I banged him agin, good and hard, and told him I never would stop till he knocked under.

"I had to soothe him a good while before he give in. He said he would do as I wished and then I let him up. He wanted to wait till night, but I wouldn't allow it, and he went down on his knees and sailed in. I made him pray out loud, so as to be sure he put things in right shape.

Now, Deerfoot, tell me whether I managed _that_ job right."

The Shawanoe was puzzled, for the trapper had submitted a new phase of the most interesting question to him. But Deerfoot was shrewd.

"Let my brother finish his story."

"Oh, the job came out all right. d.i.c.k was sulky and ugly for a few days, though I made him stick to his prayers every morning and night.

But bye and bye, when the whiskey got out of him, he begun to improve.

One day he laughed, but was so scared by it that he didn't speak till night. Soon after that he told me he felt a good deal better, which the same I replied was because he was getting over the long drunk he had been on for a dozen years.

"Wal, d.i.c.k continued to improve. His spirits rose, his appet.i.te was stronger, he could stand more work, and I noticed that in praying he yelled louder than ever. All these was good signs and showed that I had managed the bus'ness right, so I won't ask your opinion on my style, Deerfoot.

"Then d.i.c.k told me of the job that French Pete and him had put up on me. I could afford to laugh, but d.i.c.k was that mad that he was eager to get back to St. Louis, so that he could go down to Pete's place and smash things as I done. But I talked him out of that, and he promised me he wouldn't undertake the bus'ness till I could jine him. You know there's a sweetness about such work that I 'spose made me selfish. I warn't willing he should have all the enj'yment to himself.

"I've showed my faith in d.i.c.k by sending him home with the peltries.

You see it isn't like a chap trying to make a man of himself when the temptation is at his elbow. d.i.c.k had to go without for months, and that give him enough time to become master of himself. All that I'm afeard of is that he'll get impatient when he catches sight of French Pete's place and forget his promise to me."