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Black
Rock
By RALPH CONNOR
m
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The Whole town was astounded next
morning When Slavin went to work In
the mines, and Its astonishment only
deepened ns the days went on and ho
stuck to hJs work. Before three weeks
had gone the league had bought and
remodeled the saloon and had secured
Slavin ns resident manager.
The evening of the reopening of Sla
ving saloop, ns It was still called, was
long remembered In Black Rock. It
was the occasion of the first appear
ance of the League Minstrel and Dra
matic troupe in what Was described as
a “hair lifting tragedy, with appropri
ate musical selections/' Then there
,was a grand supper, with speeches and
great enthusiasm, Which renclicd its
cliranx when Nixon rose to propose the
toast of the evening, “Our saloon.” His
speech was simply a quiet, manly ac
count of his long struggle with the
deadly enemy. When he came to speak
of his recent defeat, ho shid:
“And, while I am blamin’ no one
but myself, I am glad tonight this sa
loon is on our side, for my own sake
and for thg salco of those who have
been waitin’ long to see me. But be-
foro I sit down I want to say that
while I ltvo I shall not forget that I
owe my life to tjio man that took me
that night to his own shack and put
mo in his own bed and met mo next
mornin’ with an open hand, for I tell
you I had sworn to God that mornin’
would be my last.”
Geordlo’s speech was characteristic.
After, a brief reference to the “myste
rious ways o’ Providence,” which he
acknowledged he might sometimes fall
to understand, ho went on to express
S is unqualified approval of the new
aloon.
"It’s a cozy place, an’ there’s nao sul
phur aboot. Besides a’ that,” he went
on enthusiastically, “It’ll be a terrible
savin’. I’ve Juist been coontin’,”
“You bet l” ejaculated a voice, with
groat emphasis.
“I've juist been coontlq’,” went on
Goordio, ignoring the remark and the
laugh which followed, “an’ it’s an awfp’
like money ye pit owoif wi’ the whusky.
Ye see ye canna due wl’ ane bit
tYe maun lmo twa or'three at the vorra
least, for it’s no verra forrit yo got wi’
ane glass. Bui wi’ yon coffee ye juist J ||
get a saxpeuco worth an’ yo wants nae | should stay with them. But there were
’ those who knew how much of what
His question suggested a possibility
that had not occurred.to her. That he
could leave his. work in Black Rock she
had hitherto never imagined, but there
was other work, and he was fit for
good work anywhere. Why. should he
not go? I saw the fear in her face, but
I saw more than fear in her eyes as
for a moment or two she let them rest
upon Craig’s face. I read her story,
and I was not sorry for either of them.
But she was too much a woman to
show her heart easily to the man she
loved, and her voice was even and
calm as she answered his question.
“Is this a very large congregation?”
“One of the finest In all the east,” I
put in for him. “It will be a great
thing for Craig.”
Craig was studying her curiously. I
think She noticed his eyes upon her, for
she went on even more quietly:
“It will be a great chance for work,
and you are able for a larger sphere,
you know, than poor Black Rock af
fords.” ■
“Who will take Black Rock?” be ask
ed.
“Let some other fellow have a try at
It,” I snid. “Why should you waste
yoqr talents here?”
“Waste?” cried Mrs. Mavor indig
nantly.
“Well, ‘bury,’ if you like it better,” I
replied.
“It would not takevmuch of a grave
for that funeral,” said Craig, smiyng.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Mavor, "you will be
a great man, I know, and perhaps you
ought to go now.”
But ho answered coolly: “There are
fifty men wanting that eastern charge,
and there is only one wanting Black
Rock, and I don’t think Black Rock
is anxious for a change, so I have de
termined to stay where I am yet
awhile.”
Even, my deep disgust and disappoint
ment did not prevent me from seeing
the sudden leap of joy in Mrs. Mavor’s
eyes, but she, with a great effort, an
swered quietly:
“BJaclc Rock will be very glad and
some of us very, very glad.”
Nothing could change his mind. There
was no ono be knew who could take
his place just now, and why should he
quit his work? It annoyed me consid
erably to feel he was right. Why is it
that the. right things are so frequently
unpleasant?
And if I had had any doubt about the
matter nexi Sabbath evening would
have removed it, for the men came
about him after the service and let
him feel in their own way how much
they approved his decision, though the
self sacrifice involved did not appeal to
them. They were too truly western to
imagine that any Inducements the east
could offer could compensate for his
loss of the west* It was only fitting
that the west should have the best,
.and so the miners took almost as a mat
ter of course and certainly as their
right that the best man they knew
malr. 1
There was another shout of laughter,
Which puzzled Geordie much.
1*1 dlnna see the jowlc, but I’ve slip-
pit ower in whusky malr nor a hunner
dollars.”
Then he paused, looking hard before
him and twisting his face into extraor
dinary shapes'till the men looked at
him in wonder.
‘‘I’m rale glad o’ this saloon, but it’s
ower late for the lad’that qanna be
helplt the noo. He’ll not be needin’'
help o’ oors, I doot, but there are ith-
ers.” And he stopped abruptly and sat
down, with no applause following.
But when Slavin, our saloon keeper,
rose to reply the men jumped up on
the seats aud yelled till they could yell
no more. Slavin stood, evidently in
trouble with himself, and finally broke
out:
“It’s speechless I am entirely. Wliat’s
come to me I .know not nor how it’s
' come, but I’ll do my best for you.”
And then the yelling broke out again.
I did not yell myself. I was too busy
watching the varying lights in Mrs. Ma
yor’s eyes as she looked from Craig to
r the yelling men on the benches and ta
bles and then to Slavin, and I found
myself wondering if she knew what it
,was that came to Slavin.
iti
CHAPTER XI.
THE TWO CALLS.
ITH the call to Mr. Craig I
fancy I had something to do
myself. The call came from
a young congregation In an
eastern city and was based partly upon
his college record and more upon the
advice of those among the authorities
who knew his work in the mountains.
But i fiatter myself that my letters to
friends who were of Importance in that
congregation were hot without influ
ence, for I was of the mind that the
man who 1 could handle Black Bock
miners as lie could was ready for some
thing larger than k mountain mission.
That he would refuse I had not im
agined, though I ought to have known
him better. He Was* but little troubled
over it. . He went with, the call and the
letters urging his acceptance to Mrs.
Mavor. I was putting the last touches
came in. She read the letters and
call quietly and waited for him to
Bpeak. ■ '• W
I “Well,” he said, "should 1 go?”"
* She started and crew a little, pale.
most men consider worth while he had
given up, and they lbved him no less
for it.
Mrs. Mavor’s call was not so easily
disposed of. It came close upon the
other and stirred Black Rock as noth
ing else had ever stirred it before.
I found her one afternoon gazing va
cantly at some legal documents spread
out before her on the table and evi
dently overcome by their contents.
Thero- was first a lawyer’s letter in
forming her that by the death of her
husband’s father she had come into
the whole of the Mavor estates and all
the wealth pertaining thereto. The
■ letter asked for instructions and urged
an immediate return with a view to a
personal superintendence of the es
tates. A letter, too, from a distant
cousin of her husband urged her imme
diate return for many reasons, but
chiefly on account of the old mother,
yho had been left alone, with none
nearer of kin than himself tOM*are for
her and cheer her old age.
With these two came another letter
from her mother-in-law herself. The
crabbed, trembling characters were
even more eloquent than,, the words
with which the letter closed:
“I have lost' my boy, and now rrly
husband is gone, and l am a lonely wo-
ban. I have many servants and some
friends, but none near to me, none-so
near and dear as my dead son’s wife.
My days are not to be many. Come to
me, my daughter. I want you and
Lewis’ child.”
“Must I go?” she asked, with white
lips.
“Do you know her well?” I asked.
' “I saw her ( only once or twice,” she
answered, “but she has been very good
to me.”
“She can hardly need you. She has
friends. And surely you are needed
here.”
She looked at me eagerly.
, “Do you think so?” she said.
{ “Ask any man in the camp—Shaw,
Nixon, young Winton, Geordie. Ask
Craig,” I replied.
“Yes, he will tell me," she said.
Even as she spoke t Craig came up the
steps. I passed, into my studio and
.went on with my work, for my days at
to Borne of my work-in the .room at the (HI., „...
back of Mrs. Mayor’s house when he Black Bock were getting few, and
j many sketches remained to be filled in.
Through my open door I saw Mrs.
Mavor lay her letters before Craig,
saying, “I have a call too.”- They
tfeqpgbt pot jof .. - v
) He went tnrough the papers,- careful
ly laying them down without a word
while she waited anxiously, almost im
patiently, for him to speak.
“Well,” she asked, using his own
words to her, “should I go?”
“I do not know,” he replied. "That
is for you to decide. You know all the
circumstances.”
“The letters tell all.”
Her tone carried a feeling of disap
pointment. He did not appear to care.
"The estates are large?” lie asked.
“Yes, Itifge' enough—twelve thousand
a year.”
“And has your mother-in-law any
one with her?”
“She; has friends, but, as she says,
none near of kin. Her nephew looks
after'the works—iron works, you know.
He has shares in them.” ’
“She IS evidently very lonely,” he an
swered gravely.
“What shall I do?” she asked, and I
knew she was waiting to hear him
urge her to stay, but he did not see or
at least gave no heed.
“I cannot say,” he repeated quietly.
“There are many things to consider.
The estates”—
“The estates seem to trouble you,”
she replied almost fretfully.
He looked up in surprise. I wonder
ed at his slowness.
“Yes, the estates,” he went on, "and
tenants, I suppose; your motherrin-law,
your little Marjorie’s future, your own
future.”
“The estates are in capable hands, I
should suppose,” she urged, “and my
future depends upon what I choose my
work to be.”
“But one cartnot shift one’s responsi
bilities,” he replied gravely. “These
estates, these tenants, have come to
you, and with them come duties.”
"I do not want them!” she cried.
“That life has great possibilities of
•good,” he said kindly.
“I bad thought that perhaps there
was work for me here,” she suggested
timidly.
“Great work,” he hastened to say.
“You have done great work, but you
will do that wherever you go. The
only question is where your work lies.”
“You think I should go,” she said
suddenly and a little bitterly.
“I cannot bid you stay,” ho answered
steadily.
"How can I go?” she cried, appealing
to him. “Must I go?”
How he could resist • that appeal I
could not understand. His face was
cold and hard and his voice was al
most harsh as he replied:
“If it is right, you will go, you must
go.”
Then she burst forth:
"I cannot go. I shall stay here. My
work is here. My heart is here. How
can I go? You thought it worth your
while to stay here and work. Why
should not I ?”
The momentary gleam in his eyes
died out, and again he said coldly:
“This work was clearly mine. I am
needed here.”
"Yes, yes!” she cried, her voice full
of pain. “You are needed, but there is
no need of me.”
“Stop! Stop!" he said sharply. "You
must not say so.”
"I will say it, I must say it!” she
cried, her voice vibrating with the in
tensity of her feeling. "I know you do
not need me. You have your work,
your miners, your plans. You need no
one. You are strong. But,’! and her
voice rose to a cry, “I am not strong
by myself. You have made me strong.
I came here a foolish girl, foolish and
selfish and narrow. God sent me grief.
Three years ago my heart died. Now
I am living again. I am a woman now,
no longer a girl. You have done this
for me. Your life, your words, your
self—you have shown me a better, a
higher, life than I had ever known be
fore, and now .you send mo away.”
She paused abruptly.
“Blind, stupid fool!” I said to myself.
Ho held himself resolutely in hand,
answering carefully, but his voice had
lost its coldness and was sweet, and
kind. _
“Have I done this for you? Then
surely God has been good to me. And
you have helped me more than any
words could tell you/’
“Helped!” she repeated scornfully.
“Y^s, helped,” he answered, wonder
ing at her scorn.
“You can do without my help,” she
.went on. “You make people help you.
You will get many to help you. But I
need help too.”
She was standing before him with
her hands tightly clasped. Her face
was pale, and her eyes were deeper
than ever. He sat looking up at her
in a kind of maze as she poured out
her words hot and fast.
“I am not thinking of you.” His cold
ness had hurt her deeply. “I am self
ish. I am thinking of myself. How
shall I do? I have grown to depend on
you, to look to you. It is nothing to
you that I go, but to me”—
She. did.not dare to .finish.
FBy this time Ciaig was^sfanding be
fore her, his face deathly pale. When
she came to the end of her words, he
said in a voice low, sweet and thrilling
j with emotion:
“Ah, if you only knew! Do not make
me forget myself. You do not guess
what you are doing.”
“What am I doing? What is there to
know but that you. tell me easily to
sue was struggling with the tears
she was too proud to let him see.
He put his hands resolutely, behind
him, looking at her as if studying her
fdee: for the first' time; ' trhder ^ his
searching look she dropped her eyes,
and the warm color came slowly up in
to- her heck And face. Them as if with
a sudden resolve, she lifted her eyes to
his and looked back at him unflinch
ingly.
He started, surprised, drew slowly
near, put his hands upon her shoul
ders, surprise giving place to Wild joy.
She never moved her eyes. They drew
him toward her. He took her face be
tween his hands, smiled into her eyes,
kissed lier lips; She did not move.
He stood back from her, threw up his
head and laughed aloud. She came to
him, put her head upon his breast and,
lifting up^her face, said, “Kiss me.”
He put ills arms about her, bent down
and. kissed her lips again and then rev
erently bar'brow; Then, putting her
back from him, but still balding both
her hands, he cried:
“No, you shall not go! I shall never
let you go!” ••
She gave a little sigh of content and,
smiling at him, said:
“I can go now.” But even as she
spoke the flush died from her face, and
she shuddered.
“Never!” he almost shouted. “Noth
ing shall take you away. We shall
work here together.”
“Ah, if we could, if we only could!”
she said piteously.
“Why not?” he demanded fiercely.
“You will send me away. You will
say it is right for me to go,” she re
plied sadly.
“Do we not love each other?” was
his impatient answer.
“Ah, yes, my love,” she said, “but
love is not all.”
“No!” cried Craig. • “But love is the
best.”
“Yes,” she said sadly; “love is the
best, and it is for love’s sake we will
do the best.”
“There is no better work than here.
Surely this is,best.” And he pictured
his plnns before her.
She listened eagerly.
“Oh, if it should be right,” she cried.
“I will do what you say! You are
good; you are wise. You shall tell
me.”
She could not have recalled him bet
ter. He stood silent some moments,
then burst out passionately:
“Why, then, has love come to us?
We did not seek it Surely love is of
God. Does God mock us?”
He threw himself into his chair,
pouring out his words of passionate
protestation. She listened, smiling,
then came to him and, touching his
hair as a mother might her child’s,
said:
“Oh, I am very happy! I was afraid
you would not care, and I could not
bear to go that way.”
“You shall not go!” he cried aloud, as
if in pain. “Nothing can make that
right’”
But she only said: “You shall tell me
tomorrow. You cannot see tonight,
but you will see, and you will tell me.”
He stood up and, holding both her
hands, looked long ifito her eyes, then
turned abruptly away and went out.
She stood where he left her for some
moments; her face radiant and h'er
hands pressed upon her heart Then
she came toward my room. She found
me busy with my painting, but as I
looked up and met her eyes she flush
ed slightly and said:
“I quite forgot you.”
‘.‘So it appeared to me.”
“You heard?”
“And saw,” I replied boldly. "It
would have been rude to interrupt
you see.”
“Oh, I am so glad and thankful!” • <
“Yes; it was rather considerate of
me.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that!” the flush
deepening. “I am glad you know.”
“I have known some time.”
“How could you? I only knew today
myself.”
"I have eyes.”
She flushed juraln.
XO jpi CONTINUED.
The girl is the mother of the
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