Part 54 (2/2)

”Yes, but Great Scott,” sez he, ”a man can't claim that a woman's his wife if she don't know him, can he?”

”Pshaw,” sez I, ”if you'd settle things that way, the' wouldn't be any married people left. The' ain't one woman in fifty 'at knows her husband, and the' ain't any men at all who know their wives.”

”You're just dodgin' the question,” sez Tank. ”I claim that if a man marries a woman when she's out of her mind, he ain't got any claim on her when she gets back into her mind again.”

”Look here, Tank,” sez I; ”you've never had much experience with the world, 'cause every time you went where experience was to be had, you got too intoxicated to take notice; but I'm tellin' you the truth when I say that if women didn't sometimes get out o' their right minds, they wouldn't get married at all.”

”Aw, shut up,” sez Tank.

Janet had gone over to Promotheus, and was smoothin' his forehead. She had a beautiful, shapely hand, and it made me feel a little wishful to watch her. The lay perfectly still, and his sensations must 'a' been peculiar. Ty Jones didn't even look at 'em. He kept his brows scowled down and his gaze out the south window.

Presently Janet turned and walked out to the porch. It was an unusually warm night, and she sat there alone, while the Friar came back to The. Horace had gone off by himself to get a grip on his feelin's; but he came in about nine o'clock, and went up and took The's hand. ”Well,” sez he, ”have you finally got over your nonsense?

I have a lot o' plans I want to carry out, and you know I can't have you loafin' much longer.”

Nothin' suited The so well as to have a little joke put at him; but he didn't have any come-back to this. He caught at his breath a time or two, and then said: ”I can't do it, this time, Horace. I hate to disappoint ya-I've been countin' on what a good time we were goin' to have-up there in the hills-but I can't come back this time-I, can't, quite, make it.”

He ended with a little gurgle and sank back on the pillow. Horace shook him a little and then flew for the doctor, who was on the porch o' the old cabin. They were back in half a minute, Horace pus.h.i.+n' the doctor before him; and we all held our breaths when he felt The's pulse. The doctor squirted somethin' into The's arm, and after a bit, he opened his eyes with a long sigh, and when he saw Horace bendin'

over him, he smiled.

”I mighty near slipped away that time,” sez he. ”It's not goin' to be hard, Horace; and I don't want you to worry. I feel as comfortable as if I was sleepin' on a cloud, and there isn't one, single thing to grieve about. I've been like one o' those hard little apples which take so long to ripen. I've hung up on a high bough and the rains beat on me, and the sun shone on me, and the winds shook me about, and the birds pecked at me until at last just the right sort o' weather came along and I became softer and softer, and riper and riper, until now my hold on the stem begins to weaken. Purty soon a little gust'll come along and shake me down on the green gra.s.s; but this is all right, this is perfectly natural, and I don't want you to feel bad about it.

”I own up now, that I've been afraid o' death all my life; but this has pa.s.sed. I don't suffer a bit; but I'm tired, just that pleasant weariness a feller feels when his last pipe has been smoked, and the glow o' the camp fire begins to form those queer pictures, in which the doin's o' that day mingle with the doin's of other days. I'm liable to drop off to sleep at any moment, now; and I'd like-I'd kind o' like to shake hands with the boys before I go.”

Well, this gave Horace something to do, and he was mighty glad to do it. After we had all shaken hands with The, he marched up the prisoners, even to the c.h.i.n.k, and they all shook hands, too; and by this time Prometheus was purty tired; but he did look unusual contented. He glanced across at Ty; but Ty had turned his face to the wall, and The gave a little sigh, settled down into the pillow again, and closed his eyes. Horace backed around until The couldn't see him, and shook his fist at Ty, good and earnest.

Purty soon a regular grin came to The's face, and he opened his eyes and looked at the Friar with a twinkle in 'em. ”Friar Tuck,” sez he, ”I don't know as I ever mentioned it before, but I'll confess now that I'm right glad I didn't lynch you for stealin' those hosses.” He lay there smilin' a minute, and then held out his hand. ”Good-bye, Horace,” he said in a firm voice.

Horace had been doin' uncommon well up to now; but he couldn't stand this. He threw himself on the bed, took both o' The's hands and looked down into his face. ”Promotheus, Prometheus,” he called to him in a shakin' voice. ”Don't give up! You can win if you fight a while longer. Remember that day in the desert, when I wanted to lie down and end it all. You said you didn't take any stock in such nonsense; and you picked me up and carried me over the molten copper, while queer things came out o' the air and clutched at us. You reached the water-hole that time, Promotheus, and you can do it again, if you just use all your might.”

Promotheus opened his eyes and his jagged, gnarly teeth showed in a smile, weak and trembly, but still game to the last line of it.

”Nope,” he said so low we could hardly hear him, ”I'm Promotheus, all right. I hung on as long as I could; but the vultures have finished my liver at last, Horace-they have finally finished it. I hate to leave you; but I'll have to be goin' soon. The's only one thing I ask of ya-don't send a single one o' the boys to the pen. They don't know what the world really is; but shuttin' 'em out of it won't ever teach 'em. If the's anything you can do to give 'em a little start, it would be a mighty good thing-a mighty good thing.” His voice was gettin'

awful weak, an' he'd have to rest every few words.

”And Ty Jones, too,” he went on, ”Ty was square with me in the old days. Try to make him understand what it was 'at turned me again' him; and if the's any way to make things easier for Ty, I want you to have it done. Ty had a lot o' tough times, himself, before he turned all the hard part of his nature outside. Don't bear him any malice, Horace. Seventy times seven, the Friar sez we ought to forgive, and that many'll last a long time, if a feller don't take offence too easy. The's a lot o' things I don't understand; but some way it seems to me that if I could just go out feelin' I had squared things with Ty, I'd be a leetle mite easier in my mind.”

Horace stepped to Ty's bed and shook him by the arm. ”Did you hear what he said?” he demanded. ”You know he's achin' to have you speak to him decent. Why don't ya speak to him?”

Ty looked cold and stony into Horace's eyes, and then took his left hand and pushed Horace's grip from off his arm. Horace stood lookin'

at Ty with his fist clinched. The turned and saw it and a troubled look came into his face.

”Friar Tuck,” he said, ”you meant it, didn't ya-that about forgivin'

seventy times seven?”

”I did,” sez the Friar, his voice ringin' out clear and strong in spite of its bein' low pitched. ”Be at peace, Promotheus, the laws of man are at war with the laws of G.o.d; but they're bound to lose in the end. I want you to know that I forgive Ty Jones as fully as you do-and I shall do everything in my power to square things up with him.”

The held out his hand to the Friar, and they clasped in a comrade-grip. ”I can trust you,” he said; ”and I know you'll do all you can to make Horace see it that way, too.”

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