PAGE 9
An Apostle Of The Tules
by
The wounded man’s eyes assented, but still moved restlessly from side to side.
“Is there any one you want to go with you?”
“Yes,” said the eyes.
“The doctor, of course?”
The eyes did not answer. Gideon dropped on his knees beside him. A ray of light flashed in the helpless man’s eyes and transfigured his whole face.
“You want HIM?” said Jack incredulously.
“Yes,” said the eyes.
“What–the preacher?”
The lips struggled to speak. Everybody bent down to hear his reply.
“You bet,” he said faintly.
IV
It was early morning when the wagon containing the wounded man, Gideon, Jack Hamlin, and the surgeon crept slowly through the streets of Martinez and stopped before the door of the “Palmetto Shades.” The upper floor of this saloon and hostelry was occupied by Mr. Hamlin as his private lodgings, and was fitted up with the usual luxury and more than the usual fastidiousness of his extravagant class. As the dusty and travel-worn party trod the soft carpets and brushed aside their silken hangings in their slow progress with their helpless burden to the lace-canopied and snowy couch of the young gambler, it seemed almost a profanation of some feminine seclusion. Gideon, to whom such luxury was unknown, was profoundly troubled. The voluptuous ease and sensuousness, the refinements of a life of irresponsible indulgence, affected him with a physical terror to which in his late moment of real peril he had been a stranger; the gilding and mirrors blinded his eyes; even the faint perfume seemed to him an unhallowed incense, and turned him sick and giddy. Accustomed as he had been to disease and misery in its humblest places and meanest surroundings, the wounded desperado lying in laces and fine linen seemed to him monstrous and unnatural. It required all his self-abnegation, all his sense of duty, all his deep pity, and all the instinctive tact which was born of his gentle thoughtfulness for others, to repress a shrinking. But when the miserable cause of all again opened his eyes and sought Gideon’s hand, he forgot it all. Happily, Hamlin, who had been watching him with wondering but critical eyes, mistook his concern. “Don’t you worry about that gin-mill and hash-gymnasium downstairs,” he said. “I’ve given the proprietor a thousand dollars to shut up shop as long as this thing lasts.” That this was done from some delicate sense of respect to the preacher’s domiciliary presence, and not entirely to secure complete quiet and seclusion for the invalid, was evident from the fact that Mr. Hamlin’s drawing and dining rooms, and even the hall, were filled with eager friends and inquirers. It was discomposing to Gideon to find himself almost an equal subject of interest and curiosity to the visitors. The story of his simple devotion had lost nothing by report; hats were doffed in his presence that might have grown to their wearers’ heads; the boldest eyes dropped as he passed by; he had only to put his pale face out of the bedroom door and the loudest discussion, heated by drink or affection, fell to a whisper. The surgeon, who had recognized the one dominant wish of the hopelessly sinking man, gravely retired, leaving Gideon a few simple instructions and directions for their use. “He’ll last as long as he has need of you,” he said respectfully. “My art is only second here. God help you both! When he wakes, make the most of your time.”
In a few moments he did waken, and as before turned his fading look almost instinctively on the faithful, gentle eyes that were watching him. How Gideon made the most of his time did not transpire, but at the end of an hour, when the dying man had again lapsed into unconsciousness, he softly opened the door of the sitting-room.
Hamlin started hastily to his feet. He had cleared the room of his visitors, and was alone. He turned a moment towards the window before he faced Gideon with inquiring but curiously-shining eyes.