CHAPTER XV--PEP AND A LITTLE PEPPER

All Sabbaths were not fine at Canyon Pass, as Hunt realized on opening his eyes on that important morning. From the same open window through which he had viewed the chaste glories of the Topaz Range a week before, he now saw heavy, thunderous-looking clouds wrapping the peaks and surging down into the lower reaches of the landscape, blotting out, as they moved on, each monument that he had learned in this brief time of his sojourn to know. It promised no fair day for the parson's first service.

This, however, was not the basis of the heaviness that oppressed him. Hunt admitted the cause of his heart-sick feeling without dodging the issue. It was Nell Blossom and her attitude toward him personally that so troubled the parson of Canyon Pass. That she opposed the good work he was trying to inaugurate was only a side issue in Hunt's mind. Opposition in general merely spurred a spirit like his to greater effort. That is, a frank opposition.

But the minister's personal interest in Nell Blossom had become something that controlled him. He could not control it.

It was not right, he told himself, to do any poaching on what he considered Joe's preserves. Whether or not Nell cared for the mine owner, Hunt believed he would be disloyal to his friend if he showed anything but the interest of a minister and religious adviser in the young woman.

Hunt was honest enough to admit that such feeling was not what inspired him in the matter. Nell Blossom was not at all the kind of girl he would have deliberately chosen as the object of a serious affection. But who of us may choose when love enters the lists?

The winsomeness of Nell shone through the rough and prickly husk of her. He realized that no man could see in all its clarity the girl's soul. He believed that the untaught mining-camp child, used as she was to the rude life about her and only that life, was really out of her natural element. Whatever Henry Blossom, Nell's dissolute father, may have been, the girl's mother had perhaps given her child as a legacy a natural refinement scarcely to be looked for in any person brought up in so unpolished a community.

In short, Nell Blossom's intrinsic worth was no more hidden from the parson than her physical beauty. Her hatred of and disdain for all men had its root in no fault she had committed. Some man, had it been that gambler Hunt had heard called "Dick the Devil?" had disillusioned the child-heart of Nell Blossom and, perhaps, the sweets of love had turned to ashes in her mouth.

What had become of that gambler? What was the truth about that tragedy at the brink of the canyon wall? Did Tolley know the facts and misstate them? Or was Dick Beckworth really dead and his body swept away by the torrent of Runaway River?

It was plain, Hunt decided, that Dick's disappearance weighed heavily for some cause on Nell Blossom's mind. Something had happened on that spring morning weeks before which had changed Nell from the happy-go-lucky girl the parson knew she must have been to this bitter, disdainful, and apparently wicked woman who scoffed at religion in any form, and especially had "no use for a pulpit-pounder."

In a week he had become imbued with such an interest in Nell that she was the subject most in his thoughts at all hours. He could not eradicate her from his mind, though he tried hard to do so.

In his heart he scarcely supposed that the time would ever come when he might be a suitor for Nell's hand. Joe Hurley stood between them. But the Reverend Willett Ford Hunt was old enough and wise enough to know that whatever came to him in the future, as long as he retained his faculties, Nell Blossom would occupy a niche in his secret heart that no other interest could fill.

Twice at night, when Betty was in bed, Hunt had descended into the lane and, standing at the back of Colorado Brown's place near an open window, listened to Nell sing her songs, even to the caustic one with which she closed her act and in response to which the crowd wildly roared its applause. The verses about the minister's son "went big." But there was a sweetness and power in her singing voice that seemed to reveal the better qualities of the girl in the more tender ballads she sang; for all her numbers were not of a humorous nature. She could bring tears as well as smiles to the faces of her audience with that voice.

Betty came tapping at his door while Hunt was still in his robe. When she saw the dark business suit laid out on the bed she frowned.

"Ford! I did hope you would dress properly on this day," she said.

"I am dressing properly--for Canyon Pass," he returned, smiling. "I am not inclined to attract the hearty laughter and scorn of such members of the community as Boss Tolley, Tom Hicks, and their ilk. Clerical garb might be considered by them as a gratuitous insult. And the last thing I wish to do here is to antagonize the rougher element."

Although Betty failed to see much distinction in the roughness of the community, she did not open that avenue of discussion. She did say decisively:

"Why bother about those awful men, Ford? Tolley and his crowd will never, never be members of your congregation. Maria, Sam's wife, has been giving me the history of those wicked men. She is afraid of her life because of the gang that hangs about the Grub Stake. That is a terrible institution, and everybody in Tolley's employ is bad."

"And yet, Miss Rosabell Pickett, who plays the piano for Tolley, is going to have her own piano trucked over to the meeting room this morning and will play the hymns herself for us. So some good must be found at the Grub Stake," Hunt rejoined, still smiling. "Besides, if they are bad men, I hope to help them."

Cholo Sam was closing the door of his bar and locking it when, later, Hunt and his sister came down from their rooms. Maria, with a jetted jacket, yellow petticoat and reboza, was waiting for her husband.

"Señor Hunt," said the innkeeper, flashing his white teeth as usual, "we honor ourselfs to attend your service, if we may? Si?"

"I'll be glad to see you and Maria there, Sam."

Hunt then followed Betty out of the hotel. It had rained since sunrise, but had stopped now. They were early for the service. The street was almost deserted. It had been arranged by Hurley that the whistle of the hoisting engine at the Great Hope should be blown at a quarter to eleven and again at five minutes of the hour. There was no other means of summoning the Passonians to worship.

There was a roar of voices from the barroom of the Grub Stake as the parson and his sister passed. They crossed the street to avoid a quagmire, but the sound of revelry followed them. It seemed that all the other saloons and stores in sight, including the Three Star Grocery, were somnolent.

Bill Judson joined them as they passed the grocery store. The old man was as solemn as a bishop and as uncomfortable as new shoes, tight light trousers of an ancient fashion, and a stiff-brimmed straw hat could make him.

"Hello! What's the matter with Tolley now?" the storekeeper exclaimed in surprise.

The owner of the Grub Stake had come tearing out of the place, seemingly blinded by rage, and dashed along the street. The group that boiled out of the Grub Stake after him did not follow, but urged him on with jeering laughter.

"What is it?" asked Betty, startled.

"Dunno," said Judson, quickening his stride. "But the feller's up to something."

They were in sight of the meeting room now. The door stood open. When Tolley reached it he plunged in.

Hunt would not leave Betty, but he hurried her on, while Judson almost ran and was over the threshold before them. There was a sudden explosion of voices inside, Tolley's tones high over all.

"Here's that derned cheater now!" the owner of the place was heard to shout as the storekeeper entered. "Bill Judson! you think you're mighty smart, but you can't put nothing like this over on me."

"What's eatin' on you, Tolley?" was Judson's cool response.

"The boys just told me what you folks was aimin' to use this dump for. I didn't hire it to you for no church. I won't have it, I tell you! This is my shack."

"And I've paid rent for it for six months. What you goin' to do about it?" drawled Judson.

"I'll show you! I won't let no ham-faced old-timer like you make a fool of me."

Hunt reached the door. Betty was almost afraid to enter. There were several men inside and two or three women. Tolley was striding toward the pulpit, swinging his arms and shouting himself hoarse.

"I'll show you!" he shouted. "I own this dump. I'll throw this litter into the street. A church in my shack? Well, I reckon not!"

The distant whistle at the Great Hope pealed its first signal for the service. Several groups of Passonians were visible now, converging toward the place of worship.

"Better cool down, Tolley," advised Judson again. "We don't aim to have any riot yere. This used to be your honkytonk, and a dirty place it was. But we reckon on running another sort of business in it, and you can't stop us. You're trying to throw sand in the gears o' progress, as the feller said."

"I'll show you what I can do!" shouted Tolley, mounting upon the pulpit platform. He whirled about, and saw Hunt entering the room. "Here's that danged preacher now."

"Mr. Tolley," said the parson clearly, "the wicked have been known to come to the house of God to scoff and have remained to pray. We are going to hold a service here in a quarter of an hour. You are invited to join us. But if you remain, I must ask you to be quiet."

"Why, you derned, white-livered tenderfoot! I'll show you----"

He seized upon Mother Tubbs' big Bible and raised it as though he would fling it upon the ground. Betty gasped. Judson started forward. But Hunt's voice rang loudest through the room.

"Tolley! Put that Book down!"

The compelling tone made the divekeeper pause. He still glared, his face distorted by wrath; but, as Joe Hurley had once said, the fellow after all had not the courage of a rabbit. He really expected Hunt to follow the command with the only show of authority that went in Canyon Pass--the display of a gun!

But the parson had made no threatening gesture. He did not even advance down the room.

"Dang you!" yelled Tolley, and brought the Bible down upon the pulpit with such emphasis that the desk rocked.

The following instant his head was surrounded by a halo of fine particles, the pungency of which was apparent to the surprised spectators almost at once. Tolley received the blast of powdered cayenne full in the face and eyes!

He gasped--choked--sneezed. He sneezed again, a most vociferous roar of sound, quite involuntary and spasmodic. The pepper that had been sprinkled between the leaves of the big book had in one burst pelted Tolley with its fine grains, filling eyes, nose, and his mouth, for that had been open to emit another angry shout.

But now he only shouted for help between sneezes. Tears poured down his face. He staggered blindly down from the pulpit and begged for the open air.

Hunt was first to reach the tortured man and led him forth.