CHAPTER XXIII--A GREAT LIGHT DAWNS

Some men can escape their duty if they choose to--can ignore it, flout it, even deny its very existence--but not one who is called to be a leader of men toward a higher plane of daily existence. The greatest sophism with which the race has ever been cursed is that hoary one of the lazy preacher: "Do as I say, not as I do."

Religious precept is utterly worthless if the preceptor does not follow his own expounded faith with a living example. The Reverend Willett Ford Hunt had come to that pass where he could no longer ignore the fact that his friend, Joe Hurley, was on the down grade. When the parson cooled down after the exciting events of that evening, both in Colorado Brown's place and at the Grub Stake, he saw more clearly that he had fallen into error.

If he was to be the spiritual guide and mentor of his congregation at Canyon Pass, he must be the same to one member of it as he was to another. He had not been slow to admonish others of his parishioners; but the man who had brought him here--the one whom he really looked upon as being his chief supporter in the work he was striving to do--was slipping away from him and into flagrantly evil ways.

If Hunt's character has been revealed at all in this narrative, moral and physical courage have not seemed to be its lack. Then why had the young parson failed to go after Joe Hurley as he did after Judson, the storekeeper, Sam Tubbs, Hi Brownell, Smithy, and other men who were wont to "kick over the traces"?

There was just one clear and cogent reason why Hunt had not taken Joe to task for his failings, as he already had many another man in Canyon Pass. His old friendship for Joe had nothing to do with this neglect. And certainly he did not fear making the good cause in which he was so interested a powerful enemy. There was nothing in Joe Hurley's generous character that would suggest that for a moment.

It was, in short, the fact that Hunt believed that he and Joe were in love with the same girl.

Although, as far as Hunt had observed, Nell Blossom displayed no particular fondness for Joe Hurley, the latter believed the mining man "understood" the cabaret singer. At least, Nell revealed no such disdain for Joe Hurley as she had publicly for Hunt.

When the latter reviewed the late incidents as they related to Joe, while he tossed on his mattress that night, he admitted he was taking the wrong course with his friend. He had seemed tacitly to overlook sins of commission on Joe's part that he would have pilloried in another.

Had Hurley not been heated by drink and his passion for gambling, he would not have pursued that unwise course in going to the Grub Stake in a mood which had all but precipitated tragedy. Joe's recklessness had been unleashed, and Hunt had been obliged to stand by after the unexpected conclusion of the scene and see his friend drink with the very men who, a few minutes before, had been ready to take Joe's life.

He arose with a new determination. He saw his sister and Nell Blossom ride away from the Wild Rose Hotel. Then he made his way directly to the Great Hope Mine.

Hurley had an office--a small shack--off at one side. The parson found him alone in it, his boots cocked on his battered desk, his pipe drawing well. His grin was as infectious as ever.

"Well, Willie! some time that last night, eh?" was Joe's greeting. "When I get in a tight corner again, I'll never wish for a better side-partner than you, old sobersides!"

"Joe," returned Hunt with a directness that seemed brutal, "if you had been your sober self last night--quite the same man you are wont to be--there would have been no tight corner."

"Huh?" The other's boots came to the floor with emphasis. His brown eyes sparked. The muscles of his jaws set grimly. "You've got a crust, Willie, to talk to me like that."

"You need talking to, Joe; and I'm going to do the talking. No! Sit right where you are and listen. You've got it coming to you; and, if you are the man I have always thought you, you'll stand the gaff."

"Aw, shucks! A drink or two isn't going to kill Joe Hurley."

"A drink or two kills his moral sense, and kills his usefulness as a good citizen," returned Hunt. "Then, you have been gambling steadily."

"Great saltpeter! isn't a feller to have any fun at all? I haven't lost much to Miguel."

"It is your example to the rest. And what you have lost would help the fund for our church building. And we must have a church, Joe."

Joe uttered something under his breath.

"What makes you so reckless, Joe?"

"Shucks, Willie! Maybe I have slipped a few cogs. A lone bachelor like me can't help it sometimes, can he?" asked Hurley, with a smile that tried to be whimsical rather than bitter. "Remember, Willie, I haven't got a sister to keep me well balanced. It's womenfolks and--and an interest in one that makes a man a sobersides."

"Is it!" returned Hunt, with scorn. "If a man hasn't the stamina to stay straight, no girl will ever keep him in the narrow path--believe me!"

"You belittle Miss Betty's powers of persuasion," returned Joe, with a sly glance.

"If that is your belief," Hunt said, with sharpness and a rising color, "I should think you would keep straight for Nell's sake."

"Nell Blossom?"

"Yes. You are interested in her, aren't you?"

"Surest thing you know, Willie."

"Then, for her sake----"

"Hold on!" ejaculated Hurley, sudden suspicion in his gaze. "Do you think I'm soft on Nell?"

"Well--er--aren't you?" demanded his friend rather faintly.

"I'm free to confess I was," said Joe slowly, watching Hunt now with growing understanding in his eyes. "But that little skeesicks showed me where I got off long ago. And I tell you fair, Willie, she is not the girl who is bothering me."

"Then, there is a girl? Joe! You and Betty----"

Hurley put up his hand, turning his face away. "No use, Willie. Betty's given me my congé, too. I reckon I am an 'also-ran' with the ladies."

"My dear Joe!" Hunt grabbed his hand. "I'm sorry. I don't understand Betty."

Hurley went to the door suddenly, opened it, and looked out. A cold blast from the hills ruffled the papers on the desk. The sun was suddenly dimmed. In the distance the coming wind whined like a sick dog.

"Say! we're going to get it," he muttered.

"A storm coming?" asked Hunt absently. His own heart sang. A foolish happiness swept over him. He went to look out over Hurley's shoulder. "Does it look bad to you?"

"Youbetcha! It's coming faster than you ever saw a storm move, I reckon, Willie. Those old has-beens, Steve and Andy, can't be fooled. They got in from the desert just ahead of it."

"A blizzard, Joe?" cried the parson with sudden anxiety. "The girls!"

"What about them? What girls?"

"Betty and Nell. They've gone out on horseback."

"You don't mean it? Er--Well, Nell must have seen it coming and turned back. She knows this country as well as a man. But, come on! Let's go down to Tim's corral and see if the ponies are in again. It wouldn't do----"

He slammed the office door, shouted to his manager, and strode away. Hunt had to put his best foot forward to keep up with him. Women and children were already scuttling to shelter when they went down through the town. Bill Judson waved a hand at them from his door, shouting:

"Them old desert rats knowed their biz, didn't they? I'd set my clock by them, I would."

At the corral the two young men saw at a glance that the girls' ponies had not been returned by Cholo Sam. They went on toward the hotel in silence. Now the first needles of the ice-storm cut their faces. It was nothing like any storm Hunt had ever seen. And how fast it grew in volume and strength!

Cholo Sam and Maria were at the door of the hotel, looking down the street eagerly and anxiously.

"Which way did they go?" shouted Hurley, without any preamble.

"Oh, Señor Hurley!" cried Sam. "To the East. T'roo the East Fork."

Already sight of the rugged path up the heights on that side of the canyon was blotted out by the driving ice particles.

"Shall we get horses and go after them?" panted Hunt.

"Horses won't live in this. Maybe we can stir up some of the boys to go with us. Wish I had my roughnecks here."

But there was not time to go back to the mine. The storm had come on so suddenly that the workers above the town might hole in until the first force of the blizzard was over.

Hunt ran up to his room to get his heavier coat and a couple of blankets. As he descended the stairs, Cholo Sam came from the barroom with a filled flask in his hand.

"Some of the best brandy, Señor Hunt," he said. "It is for the seekness only that comes with the cold. Ah thees ice in the lungs is death, señor--death!"

The parson took it without hesitation and slipped it into his pocket. He ran out to see Joe Hurley coming out of Colorado Brown's place with Jib Collins and Cale Mack behind him. In another few seconds, so rapidly did the driving ice thicken the air, Hunt lost sight of the trio and they fairly bumped into him when they reached the spot where he stood.

"That you, Willie?" shouted Hurley. "We'll get a rope and tie ourselves together. Tie mufflers over our faces. Say, there may be some more fellers in the Grub Stake who will help."

He turned that way, finding his direction more by sense than by sight. They stumbled up the steps and in at the door of the Grub Stake.

At that very moment a half-frozen man, leading a storm-battered horse, had fallen at Tolley's rear door. The dive keeper was dragging him into the place like a log as Hurley, Hunt, and their companions strode into the barroom.