I got to be
pretty handy with guns. An' there wasn't many riders as could
beat me ridin'. An' I can say all modest-like that I never seen
the white man who could track a hoss or a steer or a man with me.
Afore I knowed it two years slipped by, an' all at once I got
homesick, en' purled a bridle south.
"Things at home had changed. I never got over that homecomin'.
Mother was dead an' in her grave. Father was a silent, broken
man, killed already on his feet. Frank Erne was a ghost of his
old self, through with workin', through with preachin', almost
through with livin', an' Milly was gone!...It was a long time
before I got the story. Father had no mind left, an' Frank Erne
was afraid to talk. So I had to pick up whet 'd happened from
different people.
"It 'pears that soon after I left home another preacher come to
the little town. An' he an' Frank become rivals. This feller was
different from Frank. He preached some other kind of religion,
and he was quick an' passionate, where Frank was slow an' mild.
He went after people, women specially. In looks he couldn't
compare to Frank Erne, but he had power over women. He had a
voice, an' he talked an' talked an' preached an' preached. Milly
fell under his influence.. She became mightily interested in his
religion. Frank had patience with her, as was his way, an' let
her be as interested as she liked. All religions were devoted to
one God, he said, an' it wouldn't hurt Milly none to study a
different point of view.
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