Prairie Folks | Page 8

did Bacon), sat with open month, at times forgetting to eat, in his absorbing interest in the minister's yarns.
"Yes, I've got a family, too much of a family, in fact--that is, I think so sometimes when I'm pinched. Our Western people are so indigent--in plain terms, poor--they can't do any better than they do. But we pull through--we pull through! John, you look like a stout fellow, but I'll bet a hat I can down you three out of five."
"I bet you can't," grinned the hired man. It was the climax of all, that bet.
"I'll take y' in hand an' flop y' both," roared Bacon from his lion-like throat, his eyes glistening with rare good-nature from the shadow of his gray brows. But he admired the minister's broad shoulders at the same time. If this fellow panned out as he promised, he was a rare specimen.
After supper the Elder played a masterly game of croquet with Marietta, beating her with ease; then he wandered out to the barn and talked horses with the hired man, and finished by stripping off his coat and putting on one of Mrs. Bacon's aprons to help milk the cows.
* * * * *
But at breakfast the next morning, when the family were about pitching into their food as usual without ceremony, "Wait!" said the visitor, in an imperious tone and with lifted hand. "Let us look to the Lord for His blessing."
They waited till the grace was said, but it threw a depressing atmosphere over the meal; evidently they considered the trouble begun. At the end of the meal the minister asked:
"Have you a Bible in the house?"
"I reckon there's one in the house somewhere. Merry, go 'n see 'f y' can't raise one," said Mrs. Bacon, indifferently.
"Have you any objection to family devotion?" asked Pill, as the book was placed in his hands by the girl.
"No; have all you want," said Bacon, as he rose from the table and passed out the door.
"I guess I'll see the thing through," said the hand. "It ain't just square to leave the women folks to bear the brunt of it."
It was shortly after breakfast that the Elder concluded he'd walk up to Brother Jennings' and see about church matters.
"I shall expect you, Brother Bacon, to be at the service at 2:30."
"All right, go ahead expectun'," responded Bacon, with an inscrutable sidewise glance.
"You promised, you remember?"
"The--devil--I did!" the old man snarled.
The Elder looked back with a smile, and went off whistling in the warm, bright morning.

II.
The school-house down on the creek was known as "Hell's Corners" all through the county, because of the frequent rows that took place therein at "corkuses" and the like, and also because of the number of teachers that had been "ousted" by the boys. In fact, it was one of those places still to be found occasionally in the West, far from railroads and schools, where the primitive ignorance and ferocity of men still prowl, like the panthers which are also found sometimes in the deeps of the Iowa timber lands.
The most of this ignorance and ferocity, however, was centered in the family of Dixons, a dark-skinned, unsavory group of Missourians. It consisted of old man Dixon and wife, and six sons, all man-grown, great, gaunt, sinewy fellows, with no education, but superstitious as savages. If anything went wrong in 'Hell's Corners' everybody knew that the Dixons were "on the rampage again." The school-teachers were warned against the Dixons, and the preachers were besought to convert the Dixons.
In fact, John Jennings, as he drove Pill to the school-house next day, said:
"If you can convert the Dixon boys, Elder, I'll give you the best horse in my barn."
"I work not for such hire," said Mr. Pill, with a look of deep solemnity on his face, belied, indeed, by a twinkle in his small, keen eye--a twinkle which made Milton Jennings laugh candidly.
There was considerable curiosity, expressed by a murmur of lips and voices, as the minister's tall figure entered the door and stood for a moment in a study of the scene before him. It was a characteristically Western scene. The women were rigidly on one side of the school-room, the men as rigidly on the other; the front seats were occupied by squirming boys and girls in their Sunday splendor.
On the back, to the right, were the young men, in their best vests, with paper collars and butterfly neckties, with their coats unbuttoned, their hair plastered down in a fascinating wave on their brown foreheads. Not a few were in their shirt-sleeves. The older men sat immediately between the youths and boys, talking in hoarse whispers across the aisles about the state of the crops and the county ticket, while the women in much the same way conversed about children and raising