Gwen's canyon, R Connor

Tags: Gwen, the Duke, The Doctor, Pilot, the Pilot, Duke, Joe
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Qanyoi? I^alpl? <5or>r>o Toronto : The Westminster Company LIMITED.
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-eight, by The Westminster Company, at the Department of Agriculture.
INTRODUCTION
[ Few lives are lived altogether upon sunlit
I
uplands ;
most have to dip down into valleys ;
but to some there comes a sudden cleaving,
and there yawns for ever after the ragged lips
of a disfiguring canyon. That is no lovely
thing, but black and bitter ; and many a life
has come to its ending there in those black
depths. But to many others the canyon is
an episode, and the life goes on richer, fuller, sweeter than before. How this may be is \ the secret the story of Gwen's Canyon holds.
Gwen needs little introduction. For four-
teen years she lived with her father, the " Old Timer," as all called him, remote from
the great world, untaught in its ways, un- spoiled by its maxims. She had a dim mem-
ory of her mother's face, but no other white woman did she see during all those years ; while as for education, this she had from old
Ponka, her halfbreed nurse, and from the
Indians of the neighboring Blackfoot reserve. It was from them she learned the ways of all
the beasts that haunt the coulees from the
timber wolf to the jack-rabbit. These were
her only comrades, till she began to ride after the cattle with her father, when she fell in with Bill and Hi, the cowboys from the
Ashley Ranche. But Bill and Hi could never get beyond an adoring awe that kept them
at too great a distance for comradeship. She had no friend till there came that young
English free-lance rancher who, partly for his lordly ancestry, but more for his lordly ways, was called "the Duke." It was he who taught her the Queen's English and manners, and many things beside, and to him she gave a child's passionate love and
trust.
But next to her father and the Duke Gwen loved the hills where she lived all day long, and to her they were indeed as a nurturing mother. No man of the Foothills country ever gets quite away from them. He may, when on a visit, forget them for a time amid the delights of his soft, sweet English home, or in the presence of the purple glory of the sloping moors of Scotland's heather ; but the day comes when something in the sunlight, or in the sweep of the wind, reminds him of how the sunlight and the winds bathe and sweep *he velvet-grey round-topped hills. That night he will see and feel the glory of them in his dreams, and before breakfast he will begin to pack his trunk. The Foothills were no small part of Gwen ; only those who realize how great that part was can under- stand the passionate protest of her whole soul and the agony of despair that gathered about her when she found herself snatched for ever from all that open, free, beautiful
life. But were it not that before that black day she had come to know the Pilot and his Gospel story, then no one would dare to tell and none could bear to hear the story of Gwen's Canyon. It is only for canyon
people.
C.W.G.
Winnipeg.
Chan's Cannon
WEN q
was undoubtedly wild and,
w*fi w 5jj
as the Sky Pilot said, wilful and wicked. Even Broncho Bill and Hi Kendal, the cow-
boys from the Ashley Ranche,
would say so, without, of course, abating
one jot of their admiration for her. For
fourteen years she had lived chiefly with wild things. The cattle on the range,
wild as deer, the coyotes, the jack-
rabbits and the timber wolves were her mates and her instructors. From these she learned her wild ways. The prairie
of the Foothill country was her home. She loved it and all things that moved
upon it, with passionate love, the only kind she knew. And all summer long
she spent her days riding up and down
the range alone or with her father, or with Joe, or, best of all, with " the Duke," her hero and her friend. So she grew up
strong, wholesome and self-reliant, fear-
ing nothing alive, and as untamed as a
yearling range colt. She was not beautiful. The winds and
sun had left her no complexion to speak
of, but the glory of her red hair, gold-red,
with purple sheen, nothing could tarnish.
Her eyes, too, deep blue with rims of
grey that flashed with the glint of steel,
or shone with melting light as of the stars,
according to her
mood ;
those
Irish,
warm, deep eyes of hers were worth a
man's looking at.
Of course, all spoiled her. Ponka
and her son Joe grovelled in abjectest adoration, while her father and all who
came within touch of her simply did her
will. Even the Duke, who loved her
better than anything else, yielded lazy, admiring homage to his " Little Princess,"
as he called her, and certainly when she
stood up straight with her proud little
gold-crowned head thrown back, flash-
ing forth wrath or issuing imperious com-
mands, she looked a princess, all of her. It was a great day and a good day for her when she fished the Sky Pilot, as the missionary was called, out of the Swan and brought him home, and the night of Gwen's first " prayers," when she heard for the first time the story of the shepherds and the angels and the Babe, was the best of all her nights up to that time, and all through the winter, under the Pilot's guidance, she, with her father, the Old Timer, listening near, went over and over the story of the Man of Nazareth so old now to many, but ever becoming new, till a whole new world of mysterious Powers and Presences lay open to her imagination, and became the home of great realities. She was rich in imagination, and when the Pilot read Bunyan's immortal poem, her mother's old Pilgrim's Progress, she moved and lived beside the hero of that tale, backing him up in his fights and consumed with anxiety over his many impending perils, till she had him safely across the river and de- livered into the charge of the shining ones. The Pilot himself, too, was a new and wholesome experience. He was the first thing she had yet encountered that refused submission and the first human being that had failed to fall down and worship. There was something in him that would not always yield, and, indeed, her pride and her imperious tempers he met with surprise and even with a pity that verged toward contempt. With this she was not well pleased, and not infrequently she broke forth upon him. One of these outbursts is stamped upon my mind not only because of its unusual violence, but chiefly because of its following conse- quences. The original cause of her rage was some misdeed of the unfortunate Joe, but when I came upon the scene it was the Pilot who was occupying her attention.
:
The expression of surprise and pity on
his face appeared to stir her up. " How dare you look at me like that ? "
she cried. " How very extraordinary that you
can't keep hold of yourself better," he
answered. 11 1 can !" she stamped, " and I shall do
as I like !" " It is a great pity," he said with provoking calm, " and besides it is weak and silly." His words were unfortunate. " Weak !" she gasped when her breath came back to her. " Weak !" " Yes," he said, " very weak and child-
ish." Then she could have cheerfully put him to a slow and cruel death. When
she had recovered a little she cried ve-
hemently:
" I'm not weak ! I'm strong ! I'm
stronger than you are ! I'm as strong as
-- -- man as a
!' ;
I do not suppose she meant the insin-
uation ; at any rate the Pilot ignored it and went on. " You're not strong enough to keep your temper down." And then as she had no reply ready, he went on, " And really, Gwen, it is not right. You must not go
on in this way."
Again his words were unfortunate.
" Must not /" she cried, adding an inch
Who to her height, "
says so ?"
" God !" was the simple, short answer.
She was greatly taken aback, and gave
a quick glance over her shoulder as if to see Him, who would dare to say must
not to her ; but, recovering, she answered
sullenly " I don't care !" "Don't care for God?" The Pilot's voice was quiet and solemn, but something in his manner angered her and she
blazed forth again : " I don't care for anyone and I shall do as I like,"
9
The Pilot looked at her sadly for a moment, and then said slowly : " Some day, Gwen, you will not be able to do as you like." I remember well the settled defiance in her tone and manner as she took a step nearer him and answered in a voice trembling with passion : II Listen ! I have always done as I like, and I shall do as I like till I die !" And she rushed forth from the house and down toward the canyon, her refuge from all disturbing things and chiefly from her- self. I could not shake off the impression her words made upon me. " Pretty direct, that," I said to the Pilot as we rode away. " The declaration may be philosophically correct, but it rings uncommonly like a challenge to the Almighty. Throws down the gauntlet, so to speak." But the Pilot only said in a wounded tone, " Don't ! How can you ?" Within a week her challenge was accepted, and how fiercely and how gallantly did she struggle to make it good ! It was the Duke that brought me the news, and as he told me the story his gay, careless self-command for once was gone. For in the gloom of the canyon where he overtook me I could see his face gleaming out ghastly white, and even his iron nerve could not keep the tremor from his voice. " I've just sent up the Doctor,' was his answer to my greeting. " I looked for you last night, couldn't find you, and so rode off to the Fort." " What's up ?" I said with fear in my heart, for no light thing moved the Duke. " Haven't you heard ? It's Gwen," he said, and the next minute or two he gave to Jingo, who was indulging in a series of unexpected plunges. When Jingo was brought down the Duke was master of himself, and told his tale with careful self- control. Gwen, on her father's buckskin broncho
had gone with the Duke to the big plain
above the cut-bank where Joe was herd- ing the cattle. The day was hot and a
storm was in the air. They found Joe
riding up and down singing to keep the
cattle quiet, but having a hard time to
hold the bunch from breaking. While the
Duke was riding around the far side of
the bunch, a cry from Gwen arrested his
attention. Joe was in trouble. His
horse, a half-broken cayuse, had stumbled
into a badger-hole and had bolted, leaving
Joe to the mercy of the cattle. At once
they began to sniff suspiciously at this
phenomenon, a man on foot, and to fol-
low cautiously on his track. Joe kept his
head and walked slowly out, till all at
once a young cow began to bawl and to
paw the ground. In a minute, one and
then another of the cattle began to toss
their heads and bunch and bellow till the
whole herd of two hundred were after Joe.
Then Joe lost his head and ran. Im-
mediately the whole herd broke into a
thundering gallop with heads and tails
aloft and horns rattling like the loading
of a regiment of rifles. "Two more minutes," said the Duke,
" would have done for Joe, for I could
never have reached him, but in spite of
my most frantic warnings and signallings,
right into the face of that mad, bellowing,
thundering mass of steers rode that little
girl. Nerve ! I have some myself, but
I couldn't have done it. She swung her
horse round Joe and sailed out with him
with the herd bellowing at the tail of her
broncho. I've seen some cavalry thing.s in my day, but for sheer cool bravery
nothing touches that." " How did it end ?
Did they run
them down?" I asked with horror at
such a lesult.
" No, they crowded her toward the cut-
bank, and she was edging them off and
was almost past, when they came to a
place where the bank bit in, and her iron-
mouthed brute wouldn't swerve, but went pounding on, broke through, plunged; she couldn't spring free because of Joe, and pitched headlong over the bank, while the cattle went thundering past. I flung myself off Jingo and slid down somehow into the sand, thirty feet below. Here was Joe safe enough, out the broncho lay with a broken leg, and half under him was Gwen. She hardly knew she was hurt, but waved her hand to me and cried out, ' Wasn't that a race ? 1 couldn't swing this hard-headed brute. Get me out.' But even as she spoke the light faded from her eyes, she stretched
out her hands to me, saying faintly, ' Oh, We Duke,' and lay back white and still. put a bullet into the buckskin's head, and carried her home in our jackets and there
she lies without a sound from her poor
white lips." The Duke was badly cut up. I had never seen him show any sign of pain
before, but as he finished the story he
stood ghastly and shaking. He read my
surprise in my face and said :
" Look here, old chap, don't think me
quite a fool. You can't know what that
little girl has done for me these years. -- Her trust in me it is extraordinary how
me-- utterly she trusts
somehow held me
up to my best and back from perdition.
my It is the one bright spot in
life in this
blessed country. Everyone else thinks
me a pleasant or unpleasant kind of
fiend."
I protested rather faintly. "Oh, don't worry your conscience," he
answered with a slight return of his old smile, "a fuller knowledge would only justify the opinion." Then after a pause he added, " But if Gwen goes I must pull
out, I could not stand it." As we rode up the Doctor came out. " Well, what do you think ?" asked the
Duke. " Can't say yet," replied the old Doctor,
gruff with long army practice, "bad
enough good night." ; But the Duke's hand fell upon his
shoulder with a grip that must have got
to the bone, and in a husky voice he
asked :
" Will
she
" live ?
The Doctor squirmed, but could not
shake off that crushing grip. " Here, you young tiger, let go ! what do you think I am made of?" he cried angrily. " I didn't suppose I was com-
ing to a bear's den, or I should have
brought a gun."
It was only by the most complete
apology that the Duke could mollify the
old Doctor sufficiently to get his opinion.
" No, she will not die ! Great bit of
stuff! Better she should die perhaps ! But can't say yet for two weeks. Now
remember," he added sharply, looking in-
to the Duke's woe-stricken face, " her
spirits must be kept up. I have lied most
fully and cheerfully to them inside, you
must do the same," and the Doctor strode
away calling out : "Joe ! Here Joe ! Where is he gone?
Joe, I say ! Extraordinary selection Providence makes at times ; we could have
spared that lazy half-breed with pleasure ! Joe ! Oh, here you are ! Where in
thunder
" But here the Doctor
stopped abruptly. The agony in the
dark face before him was too much even
for the bluff doctor. Straight and stiff
Joe stood by the horse's head till the
Doctor had mounted, then with a great
effort he said : " Little miss, she go dead ? " " Dead !" called out the Doctor,glancing
at the open window, " Why, bless your old copper carcass, no ! Gwen will show you yet how to rope a steer."
Joe took a step nearer, and lowering his
tone said : " You speak me true ? me man me, no
papoose." The piercing black eyes
:
searched the Doctor's face. The Doctor hesitated a moment and then with an air
of great candor said cheerily : "That's all right, Joe! Miss Gwen
will cut circles round your *old cayuse yet. But remember," and the Doctor was very
impressive, "you must make her laugh
every day."
Joe folded his arms across his breast and stood like a statue till the Doctor
rode away, then turning to us he grunted
out " Him good man, eh ? " " Good man," answered the Duke, adding " but remember, Joe, what he told you to do. Must make her laugh
every day." Poor Joe ! Humor was not his forte, and his attempts in this direction in the
weeks that followed would have been
humorous were they not so pathetic. How I did my part I cannot tell. Those weeks are to me now like the memory of an ugly nightmare. The ghostly old man
moving in and out of his little daughter's room in useless dumb agony ; Ponka's
woe-stricken
Indian
face ;
Joe's extra-
ordinary and unusual but loyal attempts
at fun-making grotesquely sad, and the
Duke's unvarying and invincible cheeri-
ness; these furnish light and shade for the picture my memory brings me of Gwen in those days.
For the first two weeks she was simply
heroic. She bore her pain without a
groan, submitted to the imprisonment
which was harder than pain with angelic patience. Joe, the Duke and I carried
out our instructions with careful exactness to the letter. She never doubted, and we
never let her doubt, but in a few weeks
she would be on the pinto's back again and after the cattle. She made us pass
our word for this till it seemed as if she
must have read the falsehoods on our
brows. " To lie cheerfully with her eyes upon
-- !
one's face calls for more than I possess," said the Duke one day. " The Doctor should supply us tonics. It is an arduous
task." And she believed us absolutely, and made plans for the fall " round-up," and
for hunts and rides till one's heart grew sick. As to the ethical problem involved I decline to express an opinion, but we had no need to wait for our punishment. Her trust in us, her eager and confident
expectation of the return of her happy,
free, outdoor life ; these brought to us, who knew how vain they were, their own
adequate punishment for every false as- surance we gave. And how bright and brave she was those first days, and how
resolute to get back to the world of air
and light outside
But all this cheery hope and courage
and patience was snuffed out as a candle, leaving noisome darkness to settle down in that sick room from the day of the
doctors' consultation. The verdict was clear and final. The old Doctor, who loved Gwen as his own,
was inclined to hope against hope, but Fawcett, the clever young doctor from
the distant town, was positive in his
opinion. The scene is clear to me now,
We after many years.
three stood in the
outer
room the ;
Duke
and
her
father
were with Gwen. So earnest was the
discussion that none of us heard the door
open just as young Fawcett was saying in
his incisive tones " No ! I can see no hope. can never walk again."
The child
There was a cry behind us.
" What !
Never walk again !
It's a lie ! "
There stood the Old Timer, white, fierce,
shaking. " Hush ! " said the old Doctor,pointing at the open door. He was too late. Even as he spoke, there came from the inner room a wild unearthly cry as of some dying thing, and as we stood gazing at
one another with awe-stricken faces we heard Gwen's voice as in quick sharp pain :
" Daddy !
daddy ! come ! What do they
say ? Tell me, daddy. It is not true !
It is not true ! Look at me, daddy !"
She pulled up her father's haggard face from the bed.
" Oh, daddy, daddy, you know it's true. Never walk again ! "
She turned with a pitiful cry to the Duke who stood white and stiff with arms drawn tight across his breast on the other
side of the bed.
" Oh, Duke, did you hear them ? You told me to be brave, and I tried not to cry when they hurt me. But I can't be brave. Can I, Duke ? Oh, Duke ! never to ride again ! n She stretched out her hands to him. But the Duke, leaning over her and hold-
ing her hands fast in his, could only say
brokenly over and over : " Don't, Gwen !
Don't, Gwen dear !"
But the pitiful pleading voice went on.
" Oh, Duke ! must I always lie here ?
must
I?
why must
" I?
11 God knows," answered the Duke
bitterly
under
his
breath,
"I
" don't !
She caught at the word. " Does He ? " she cried eagerly. Then she paused suddenly, turned to me and said : " Do you remember he said some
day I could not do as I liked."
I was puzzled.
"The Pilot," she cried impatiently,
"don't you remember? and I said I
should do as I liked till I died." I nodded my head and said, " But you know you didn't mean it."
" But I did and I do," she cried with passionate vehemence, " and I will do as
I like ! I will not lie here ! I will ride !
I will !
! I will ! I will "
and she struggled
up and clenched her fists. It was no
pleasant sight, but gruesome. Her rage
against that Unseen Omnipotence was
so defiant and so helpless. Those were dreadful weeks to Gwen
and to all about her. The constant pain
could not break her proud spirit, she shed
no tears but she fretted and chafed and
grew more imperiously exacting every
day. Ponka and Joe she drove like a slave master, and even her father, when
he could not understand her wishes, she
impatiently banished from her room.
Only the Duke could please or bring
her any cheer, but even the Duke began
to feel that the day was not far off when
he too would fail, and the thought made
him despair. Her pain was hard to bear,
but harder than the pain was her longing
for the open air and the free life upon
the prairie. But most pitiful of all were
the days when in her utter weariness and
uncontrollable unrest she would pray to
be taken down into the canyon.
" Oh, it is so cool and shady," she
would plead, "and the flowers up in the
rocks and the vines and things are all so
am lovely. I
always better there. I
know I should be better," till the Duke
would be distracted and would come
to me and wonder what the end would
be. One day when the strain had been more terrible than usual, the Duke rode down to me and said : " Look here, this thing can't go on. Where is the Pilot gone ? Why doesn't he stay where he belongs? I wish to Heaven he would get through with his absurd rambling." " He's gone where he was sent," I replied shortly. "You don't set much store by him when he does come round. He is gone on an exploring trip through the Dog Lake country. He'll be back by the end of next week." " I say, bring him up for Heaven's sake," said the Duke, " he may be of some use, and anyway it will be a new face
17
;;
for her, poor child." Then he added
rather penitently, " I fear this thing is getting on to my nerves. Don't lay
it up against me, old chap ! " It was
a new thing to hear the Duke confess
his need of any man, much less penitence for a fault. I felt my eyes growing
dim, but I said roughly : 11 You be hanged !
I'll bring the
Pilot up when he comes."
It was wonderful how we had all come
to confide in the Pilot during his year of
missionary work among us. Somehow
the cowboys' name of "Sky Pilot " seem-
ed to express better than anything else
the place he held with us. Certain it is
that when in their dark hours any of the
fellows felt in need of help to strike the
" upward trail," they went to the Pilot
and so the name first given in chaff came
to be the name that expressed most truly
the deep and tender feeling these rough,
big-hearted men cherished for him. When the Pilot came home I carefully
prepared him for his trial, telling all that
Gwen had suffered, and striving to make
him feel how desperate was her case, when
even the Duke had to confess himself beaten. He did not seem sufficiently
impressed. Then I pictured for him all
her fierce wilfulness and her fretful humors,
her impatience with those who loved her
and were wearing out their souls and bodies
for her. "In short," I ended up by say-
ing, " she doesn't care a rush for anything
in Heaven or earth and will yield to neither man nor God."
The Pilot's eye had been kindling as
I talked, but he only answered quietly : " What should you expect ? "
" Well, I do think she might show some
signs of gratitude and some gentleness
towards those ready to die for her."
" Oh, you do," said he with high scorn.
" You all combine to ruin her temper
and disposition with foolish flattery and
weak yielding to her whims, right or wrong
you smile at her imperious pride and
encourage her wilfulness, and then not
only wonder at the results, but blame
her, poor child, for all. Oh, you are a
fine
lot,
the
Duke
and
all
of
you
" !
He had a most exasperating ability for
putting one in the wrong, and I could
only think of the proper and sufficient
reply long after the opportunity for mak-
ing it had passed. I wondered what the
Duke would say to this doctrine. All the
following day, which was Sunday, I could see that Gwen was on his mind He was
struggling with the problem of pain.
Monday morning found us on the way to to the Old Timer's ranche. And what a morning it was ! And how beautiful our
world seemed to us. About us rolled
the round-topped velvet hills, brown and
yellow or faintly green, spreading out be-
hind us to the broad prairie, and before
clambering up and up to meet the purple
bases of the great mountains that lay their
mighty length along the horizon and
thrust up white sunlit peaks into the blue sky. On the hillsides and down in
the sheltering hollows we could see the
bunches of cattle and horses feeding upon
the rich grasses. Above all the sky, cloud-
less and blue, arched its great kindly roof
from prairie to mountain peaks, and over
all, above, below, on prairie, hillsides and
mountains, the sun poured his floods of
radiant yellow light.
As we followed the trail that wound up
and into the heart of these rounded hills
and ever nearer to the purple mountains,
the morning breeze swept down to meet
us, bearing a thousand scents and filling
us with its own fresh life. One can know
the quickening joyousness of these Foot-
hill breezes only after he has with wide
open mouth drunk deep and full of them.
Through all this mingling radiant beauty
of sunlit hills and shady hollows and
purple snow-peaked mountains we rode
with hardly a word, every minute adding
--
to our heart-filling delight, but ever with
the thought of the little room where, shut
in from all this outside glory, lay Gwen,
heart-sore with fretting and longing. This
must have been in the Pilot's mind, for
he suddenly held up his horse and burst
out :
" Poor Gwen, how she loves all this
How it is her very life.
can she help
fretting the heart out of her? To see
this no more !" He flung himself off his
broncho and said, as if thinking aloud : " It is too awful ! Oh, it is cruel ! I don't wonder at her ! God help me what can I say to her ?" He threw himself down upon the grass
and turned over on his face. After a few
minutes he appealed to me, and his face
was sorely troubled. " How can one go to her ? It seems to me sheerest mockery to speak of
patience and submission to a wild young- thing from whom all this is suddenly
snatched forever ; and this was very life to
her, too, remember."
Then he sprang up and we rode hard
for an hour till we came to the mouth of
the canyon. Here the trail grew difficult
and we came to a walk, and as we went
down into the cool depths the spirit of
the canyon came to meet us and took the
He Pilot in its grip.
rode in front, feast-
ing his eyes on all the wonders in that
storehouse of beauty. Trees of many
kinds deepened the shadows of the can-
yon. Over us waved the big elms that
grew up here and there out of the bottom,
and around their feet clustered low cedars
and hemlocks and balsams, while the
sturdy rugged oaks and delicate trembling
poplars clung to the rocky sides and
clambered up and out to the canyon's
sunny lips. Back of all, the great black
rocks, decked with mossy bits and cling-
ing things, glistened cool and moist be-
tween the parting trees. From many an
oozy nook the dainty clematis and colum-
bine shook out their bells,and lower down,
from beds of many colored moss, the late
wind-flower and maiden-hair and tiny
violet lifted up brave sweet faces, and through the canyon the Little Swan sang
its song to rocks and flowers and overhanging trees, a song of many tones, deep
booming where it took its first sheer
plunge, gay chattering where it threw
itself down the ragged rocks, and soft
murmuring where it lingered about the A roots of the loving, listening elms.
cool, sweet, soothing place it was, with all
its shades and sounds and silences, and,
lest it should be sad to any, the sharp
quick sunbeams danced and laughed
down through all its leaves upon mosses, flowers and rocks. No wonder that the
Pilot, drawing a deep breath as he touch-
ed the prairie sod again, said : " That does me good. It is better at
times even than the sunny hills. This
was Gwen's best- spot."
I saw that the canyon had done its
work with him. His face was strong and
calm as the hills on a summer morning,
and with this face he looked in upon
Gwen. It was one of her bad days and
one of her bad moods, but like a summer
breeze he burst into the little room.
" Oh,
Gwen
" !
he
cried, without
a word
of greeting, much less of commiseration,
"we have had such a ride." And he
spread out the sunlit, round-topped hills
before her, till I could feel their very breezes in my face. This the Duke had
never dared to do, fearing to grieve her
with pictures of what she should look
upon no more. But as the Pilot talked,
before she knew, Gwen was out again
upon her beloved hills, breathing their
fresh sunny air, filling her heart with
their multitudinous delights, till her eyes
grew bright and the lines of fretting
smoothed out of her face and she forgot
her pain. Then, before she could remem-
ber, he had her down into the canyon,
feasting her heart with its airs and sights and sounds. The black glistening rocks, tricked out with moss and trailing vines, the great elms and low green cedars, the oaks and shivering poplars, the clematis and columbine hanging from the rocky nooks, and the violets and maiden-hair deep bedded in their mosses. All this and far more he showed her with a touch so light as not to shake the morning dew from bell or leaf or frond, and with a voice so soft and full of music as to fill our hearts with the canyon's mingling sounds, and as I looked upon her face I said to myself, " Dear old Pilot, for this I shall always love you well," but as poor Gwen listened the rapture of it drew the big tears down her cheeks, alas, no longer brown, but white ; and for that day at least the dull dead weariness was lifted trom her heart. But none knew better than the Pilot that the fight was still to come, for deep in Gwen's heart were thoughts whose pain made her forget All Other. " Was it God let me fall?" she asked abruptly one day, and the Pilot knew the fight was on, but he only answered, looking fearlessly into her eyes : " Yes, Gwen dear." "Why did He let me fall?" and her voice was very deliberate. " I don't know, Gwen dear," said the Pilot steadily, " He knows." " And does He know I shall never ride again ? Does He know how long the days are, and the nights when I can't sleep ? Does He know?" " Yes, Gwen dear," said the Pilot, and the tears were standing in his eyes though his voice was still steady enough. " Are you sure He knows ? " The voice was painfully intense. " Listen to me, Gwen," began the Pilot in great distress, but she cut him short. " Are you quite sure He knows? Answer
me," she cried with her old imperious-
ness. " Yes, Gwen, He knows all about you." " Then what do you think of Him, just
because He's big and strong, treating
a little girl that way ? " Then she added
Him viciously, " I hate
! I don't care,
I
hate
Him
" !
But the Pilot did not wince. I won-
dered how he would solve that problem
that was puzzling not only Gwen, but her -- father and the Duke and all of us the why of human pain. " Gwen," said the Pilot, as if changing the subject, " did it hurt to put on the plaster jacket ? " " You just bet," said Gwen lapsing in her English as the Duke was not present, " it was worse than anything, awful. They had to straighten me out,
you know," and she shuddered at the memory of that pain. " What a pity your father or the Duke was not here," said the Pilot
earnestly.
" Why !
they were both here."
" What a cruel shame ! " burst out the
Pilot, " don't they care for you any more?"
" Of course they do," said Gwen indig-
nantly. " Why didn't they stop the doctors from hurting you so cruelly ? " " Why, they let the doctors. It is going to help me to sit up and perhaps
to walk about a little," answered Gwen,
with blue-gray eyes open wide.
"Oh," said the Pilot, "it was very mean to stand by and see you hurt like
that." " Why, you silly," replied Gwen impatiently, "they want my back to get straight and strong."
"Oh, then they didn't do it just for
fun or for nothing ? " said the Pilot inno-
cently. Gwen gazed at him in amazed and
speechless wrath, and he went on ;
" I mean they love you though they let you be hurt, or rather they let the doctors hurt you because they loved you and wanted to make you better." Gwen kept her eyes fixed with curious earnestness upon his face till the light began to dawn. " Do you mean," she began slowly, " that though God let me fall He loves me ? " The Pilot nodded, he could not trust his voice. " I wonder if that can be true," she said as if to herself, and soon we said good-bye and came away, the Pilot limp and voictless, but I triumphant, for I began to see a little light for Gwen. But the fight was by no means over, indeed, it was hardly well begun-- and when the autumn came with its misty purple days, most glorious of all days in the cattle country, the old restlessness came back and the fierce refusal of her lot. Then came the day of the round- up. Why should she have to stay while all went after the cattle? The Duke would have remained, but she impatiently sent him away. She was weary and heartsick, and, worst of all, she began to feel that most terrible of burdens, the burden of her life to others. I was much relieved when the Pilot came in fresh and bright, waving a bunch of wild-flowers in his hand. " I thought thev were all gone," he cried. " Where do you think ' I found them ? Right down by the big elm root," and though he saw by the settled gloom of her face that the storm was coming, he went bravely on picturing the canyon in all the splendour of its autumn dress. But the spell would not work. Her heart was out on the sloping hills, where the cattle were bunching and crowding with tossing heads and rattling horns, and it was in a voice very bitter and impatient that she cried ;
"
"
am " Oh, I
sick of all this.
I want to
ride. I want to see the birds and the
cattle." The Pilot was cowboy enough
to know the longing that tugged at her
heart for one wild race after the calves or
stags, but he could only say : " Wait, Gwen ! try to be patient." " I am patient, at least I have been patient for two whole months, and it's no use, and I don't believe God cares one
bit ! " Yes he does, Gwen, more than any
of us," replied the Pilot earnestly. " No ! He does not care," she answered with angry emphasis, and the Pilot made
no reply. " Perhaps," she went on hesitatingly, " He's angry because I said I didn't care for Him, you remember ? That was very wicked. But don't you think I'm punish- ed nearly enough now ? You made me very angry and I didn't really mean it." Poor Gwen, God had grown to be very
real to her during these weeks of pain, and very terrible. The Pilot looked down a moment into the grey-blue eyes grown so big and so pitiful, and hurriedly dropping on his knees beside the bed he said
in a very unsteady voice : " Oh, Gwen, Gwen, He's not like that. Don't you remember how Jesus was with the poor sick people ? That's what He's
like." " Could Tesus make me well ? " "Yes, Gwen." " Then why doesn't He," she asked, and there was no impatience now, but
only trembling anxiety as she went on in a timid voice, " I asked Him to, over and over, and said I would wait two months, and now it's more than three. Are you quite sure He hears now ? She raised herself on her elbow and
gazed searchingly into the Pilot's face. I was glad it was not into mine. As she uttered the words " are you quite sure?" one felt that things were in the
--
balance. I could not help looking at the
Pilot with intense anxiety. What would
he answer? The Pilot gazed out of the
window upon the hills for a few moments. How long the silence seemed ! Then
turning, looked into the eyes that searched
his so steadily and answered simply : " Yes, Gwen, I am quite sure ! " Then
with quick inspiration he got her mother's
Bible and said " now Gwen try to see it as
I read." But before he read, with the
true artist's instinct he created the proper
atmosphere. By a few vivid words he
made us feel the pathetic loneliness of the Man of Sorrows in His last sad
days. Then he read that masterpiece
of all tragic picturing, the story of Geth-
semane.
As he read we saw it
all, the Garden and the trees and the sorrow-stricken Man alone with His mysterious agony. We heard the prayer
so pathetically submissive and then, for
answer, the rabble and the traitor.
Gwen was far too quick to need explana-
tion, and the Pilot only said, " You see,
Gwen God gives nothing but the best
to His own Son only the best." " The best ? They took Him away,
didn't they ? " She knew the story well.
" Yes, hut listen," he turned the leaves
We rapidly and read, "
see Jesus for the
suffering of death crowned with glory and honor.' That is how He got His
Kingdom."
Gwen listened silent but unconvinced,
and then said slowly : " But how can this be best for me ?
I am no use to anyone. It can't be best to just lie here and make them all wait -- on me and and-- I did want to help -- -- -- daddy and oh I know they will all get tired of me ! They are getting tired
already-- I ! I ! can't help being hateful."
She was by this time sobbing as I had
never heard before deep passionate sobs.
Then again the Pilot had an inspiration. " Now Gwen," he said severely, " you
know we're not as mean as that, and that you are just talking nonsense every word. Now I'm going to smooth out your red hair and tell you a story." " It's not red," she cried between her sobs. This was her sore point. " It is red, as red as can be, a beauti- ful shining purple red" said the Pilot emphatically, beginning to brush. " Purple ! " cried Gwen scornfully. " Yes, I've seen it in the sun, purple. Haven't you?" said the Pilot appealing to me. " And my story is about the canyon, our canyon, your canyon down there." " Is it true ? " asked Gwen, already soothed by the cool quick-moving hands. -- -- "True? It's as true as as ," he glanced round the room "as the Pilgrim's Progress." This was satisfactory, and the story went on. "At first there were no canyons, but only the broad open Prairie. One day the Master of the Prairie, walking out over his great lawns, where were only grasses, asked the Prairie, ' Where are your flowers?' and the Prairie said, 1 Master I have no seeds.' Then he spoke to the birds, and they carried seeds of every kind of flower and strewed them far and wide, and soon the Prairie bloomed with crocuses, and roses,and buffalo-beans, and the yellow crowfoot, and the wild sunflowers, and the red lilies, all the summer long. Then the Master came and was well pleased, but he missed the flowers he loved best of all, and he said to the Prairie, ' Where are the clematis and the columbine, the sweet violets and windflowers, and all the ferns and flowering shrubs ?" And again he spoke to the birds, and again they carried all the seeds and strewed them far and wide. But, again, when the Master came, he could not find the flowers he loved best of all, and he said, Where are those my sweetest flowers,' and the Prairie cried sorrowfully, 27
-- ' Oh, Master, I cannot keep the flowers, for the winds sweep fiercely, and the sun beats upon my breast, and they wither up and fly away.' Then the Master spoke to the Lightning, and with one swift blow the Lightning cleft the Prairie to the heart. And the Prairie rocked and groaned in agony, and for many a day mourned bit- terly over its black, jagged, gaping wound. But the Little Swan poured its waters through the cleft, and carried down deep black mould, and once more the birds carried seeds and strewed them in the canyon. And, after a long time, the rough rocks were decked out with soft mosses and trailing vines, and all the nooks were hung with clematis and columbine and ; great elms lifted their huge tops high up into the sunlight, and down about their feet clustered the low cedars and balsams, and everywhere the violets, and windflower and maiden-hair grew and bloomed, till the canyon became the Master's place for rest, and peace, and joy." The quaint tale was ended, and Owen lay quiet for some moments, then said gently : " Yes ! the canyon flowers are much the best. 'J ell me what it means." Then the Pilot read to her "Thefruits I'll read ' flowers '--of the spirit are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, good- ness, faith, meekness, self control. And some of these grow only in the canyon." " Which are the canyon flowers ?" asked Owen softly, and the Pilot answered : " Gentleness, meekness, self-control ; but though the others, love, joy, peace, bloom in the open, yet never with so rich a bloom and so sweet a perfume as in the canyon." For a long time Gwen lay quite still, then said wistfully, while her lip tiembled: " There are no flowers in my canyon, but only ragged rocks." 28
: " Some day they will bloom, Gwen dear; He will find them, and we too shall see them." Then he said good-bye and took me away. He had done his work that day. We rode through the big gate, down the sloping hill, past the smiling, twinkling little lake, and down again out of the broad sunshine into the shadows and soft lights of the canyon. As we followed the trail that wound among the elms and cedars, the very air was full of gentle still- ness and as we moved we seemed to feel the touch of loving hands that lingered while they left us, and every flower and tree and vine and shrub and the soft mosses and deep bedded ferns whispered, as we passed, of love and peace and joy. To the Duke it was all a wonder, for as the days shortened outside they bright- ened inside, and every day and more and more Gwen's room became the brightest spot in all the house, and when he asked the Pilot " What did you do to the little Princess, and what's all this about the canyon and its flowers ?" The Pilot said, looking wistfully into the Duke's eyes : 14 The fruits of the Spirit are love, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, self-control; and some of these are found only in the canyon." And the Duke, standing up straight, handsome and strong, looked back at the Pilot and said, putting out his hand : " Do you know, I believe you're right." "Yes, I'm quite sure," answered the Pilot simply. Then holding the Duke's hand as long as one man dare hold another's, he added, " When you come to your canyon, remember." " When I come !" said the Duke, and a quick spasm of pain passed over his hand-
-- some face "God help me, it's not too far away now." Then he smiled again his old sweet smile and said : 11 Yes, you are all right, for of all flowers I have seen none are fairer or sweeter than those that are waving in Owen's Canyon."
Ti

R Connor

File: gwens-canyon.pdf
Title: Gwen's canyon
Author: R Connor
Author: Connor, Ralph, 1860-1937
Keywords: http://archive.org/details/gwenscanyon00conn
Published: Thu Nov 15 17:13:22 2012
Pages: 36
File size: 1.31 Mb


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