How Baldy won the county seat

Preface

How Baldy Won the County Seat is the story of the adventures .of a young clergyman and his horse, at the West of thirty years ago — a West which no longer exists — of which there should be some record.

I should write familiarly of this West, as I spent in it seventeen of the best years of my life — residing in its cities, riding over its deserts and plains, exploring its canyons, climbing its mountains, .sleeping at its ranches, in its cabins, by its campfires, knowing, better than it may be thought that a clergyman should know, the men who made it so picturesque and so terrible — such men as, to mention but two, the original Buffalo Bill and Jesse James — rough men, but whiter than many, whom I have also known, who have fairly panted in their eagerness to paint them black.

It would be singular did I not have a rather clear notion of the sort of a clergyman who could do good at such a time, in such a region, among such men.

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Preface.

And the fact that I have, through the years, written so much in biophilism — or animal psychology — that the letters which I am constantly receiving from my friends, the editors, seem to intimate that they have no thought of my writing in any other line, may be sufficient evidence that I know a horse when I see one — though to the establishing of such a proposition I might add that in the old days it was irreverently said that I must have been born on horseback.

I have told the story because, when it arose in my mind, I thought it worth the telling.

But should any one, through reading it, be made more merciful to either a horse or a clergyman I shall be thankful.

Charles Josiaii Adams.

St. Luke's Bectorv,

Bossville, Staten Island, 1ST. Y.

St. Peter's Day, 1902.

TO THE SECOND EDITION.

I am compelled to do so much purely conventional writing that in writing How Baldy Wok the County Seat, without thought of convention — with no thought but that of allowing what was in my mind to express itself in its own way — I thoroughly enjoyed myself: which may be one of the reasons why the first edition went so quickly ; for what one takes pleasure in doing is apt to give pleasure.

I have been agreeably, disappointed in that not a single critic has spoken adversely of the way in which in so writing I did my work.

My fear was that what I thought its excellences might be considered defects.

One of these is the way in which I negatived the infinitive with to — by placing the not after the preposition in^most cases, after the root in some.

The first of the former cases is at the bottom of page 9, wdiere I say : “Disposed to not disturb his mother . . ”

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Preface.

That is exactly what I wanted to say, and not “Disposed not to disturb his mother . . .”

He was not disposed not to, but disposed to not.

It should be remembered that the negative is as much a fact as the positive, and not simply the absence of the positive. A little attention to mathematics would make the average writer a better user of his mother tongue.

Then, in the regions both South and West, where I supposed the events of my story to occur, or remembered them as having occurred, the folk negative the form of the verb of which I speak as I negatived it in recording those events.

This is not strictly speaking, the splitting of the infinitive — of which I would not be understood as uttering disrespect; for, in common with a stick, when the infinitive will serve better split than intact it should be split.

The English is not an inflected language.

And what is the infinitive that one should break a commandment by getting on his knees to it?

I am not saying that in the negative of the infinitive with to the not should never precede the to.

The sound is sometimes more important than clearness — as in:

tf ‘To be or not to be?”

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But here it is an abstract question of being, and not a question of someone’s or something’s being or not being this, that, or the other.

An example of placing the not after the root of the infinitive itself may be found on page 301 — in : “His mother thought his beard to be not absolutely unbecoming.”

That again is what I had in mind to say, and not: “His mother thought his beard not to be.”

It would hurt no writer to devote himself to mathematics till he has a clear notion of the character and power of the negative.

And I wanted the positive to have a chance as well as the negative. So I correlated or rather than nor with neither.

Out of the past, through the decades, from the hard trail, over the wide reaches, on the rushing wind, come to me the hoof-beats of Baldy. — Were the paragraphs of How Baldy Won the County Seat as short, sharp, distinct, musical, rhythmical as they I would be satisfied.

Charles Josiah Adams.

XXIII Day in Lent, 1903.

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Chapter I. The Fists And The Conscience

I am sorry to have it to record that during his seminary life Emory M. Emberson was fonder of football than of Hebrew, of boxing than of polemics. At the latter athletic exercise he excelled. He belonged to a number of gentlemen’s clubs in. various cities. He came to be one of the best amateur boxers in America. He once cut cleanly the lectures in pastoral theology for a whole month, because at the hour of those lectures he was defending — or holding himself ready to defend — the amateur boxing championship of the region east of the Rocky Mountains. He loved to box, and was always ready to meet whoever came. This was, of course, not known to the faculty.

That body might have known it; but the theologues were proud of the prowess and science of one of their number, and did not give him away, and no professor cared to be known as a reader of the sporting news. Those whom Emory had defeated were naturally not all anxious that he should defeat everyone else. When did human being ever succeed at anything without awakening jealousy in the hearts of some other human beings? From these feelings there was result. One day, at the club at which he defended — or stood on the alert to defend — the championship he was introduced to a man who did not appear to be exactly a gentleman. But that did not matter. Could he box? That was the only question in Emory’s mind. Something was said about boxing — which was not to be wondered at, as boxing was about the only thing ever spoken of at this club. It was proposed that Emory and the stranger have a bout. Though Emory was somewhat surprised that nothing was said about the belt, he -was perfectly willing to bos with the stranger, as he w r ould have been not only whiling but anxious to do with any mortal man who might have appeared. He w r as noted in this regard. It had been said that he would not hesitate to stand up, with gloves or bare hands, before the Evil One himself.

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“What weight gloves?” asked the stranger.

“It does not matter to me,” answered Emory.

The lightest were chosen.

The combatants confronted each other. Only a few passes had been exchanged, when Emory saw what had been done. A prizefighter had been run in on him ! Seeing this, many an amateur would have refused to continue the conflict, but Emory was not that sort of an amateur. The trick which had been played was despicable, but it had been played ! He had fallen into the trap.

It must not be supposed that had Emory known that his opponent was a prizefighter before the sparring began he would have refused the contest. But in that case he would have known what he was undertaking, and would have acted more cautiously than he would naturally do in conflict with an amateur — one of his own class.

Then it is not pleasant for anyone to feel that he has been played with. This is especially true of one of the essential pride of an essential fighter, which Emory was in the most essential meaning of the word. His blood boiled — not so much against the man before him as against those who had introduced the man— though the man had allowed himself to be introduced. Then the man was there to be hit, and the tricksters were not ! They were looking on. So the man whom he confronted was to Emory not only himself — he symbolized others, against whom Emory’s rage intensified as his war spirit rose. His teeth shut hard. He was an electric battery. He kept his head thoroughly. He acted on the defensive for two rounds. He did not allow all his skill, or all his strength to appear. The stranger became overconfident. In the third round Emory became aggressive. The stranger was surprised. The opportunity which Emory wanted presented itself. The stranger was struck at the side of the neck, and went down in a heap — limp as a rag. He did not come to for the next round.

There were probably seventy-five clubmen present. They gathered around the victor to congratulate him, but he said:

“No! Stand off! You have treated me seurvily! And you must pay for it!”

At this he jerked off his gloves and threw them to an attendant, saying quietly, but with a hiss in his voice:

“I have been boxing. I now propose to fight ! You may come all at once, if you see fit ! That would be cowardly, but in perfect keeping with your introducing a slugger to me — who is not in condition at the present moment to thank me, or to appreciate what I am about to say — which is, that in comparison with the best of you he is

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of the highest lineage and culture. He fought fairly ! I see that you are not disposed to come in a body. I doiyt greatly blame you ! One or more of you would be very badly hurt ! Now I have this proposition to make: Fll meet you: three at a time till the whole crowd is thrashed, or I am.”

At this moment a young fellow stepped forward and said:

“Emberson, you have been treated shabbily, but you must not think that we all had a hand in it ! I didn’t know that the bout was going to be — didn’t come in till it was in progress. Then I saw what had been done. I was indignant, and my feeling is the feeling of all present but three. We know them, and we know w T hy they have acted as they have. I shall see that they answer to the club. I know that I shall be numerously seconded in moving in that direction.”

There was a murmur of assent from all — save the three. Their eyes fell under Emory’s. The others frowned upon them. They retired during “three cheers and a tiger for Emberson” — proposed by the largest, oldest and most influential member. They tried afterwards to resign. That was not allowed.

It should be stated, however, that they were subsequently reinstated — through the influence of

Emory, one of whose characteristics was — as is always the case with a born fighter — that he could not hold spite — was magnanimous even to those who did not deserve his magnanimity.

He was also conscientious. He remembered the frame of mind in which he delivered the knockout blow. At that moment he was angry at the whole club — not knowing that only three of its members were in the conspiracy against him. When he struck the man it was with the disposition to annihilate. He knew that such a disposition could not long have remained in his mind. He was fully aware that it was utterly impossible for him, at any time, or under any circumstances, with malice aforethought, to injure anyone seriously — much less to take, in such spirit, the life of a fellow creature.

“But,” he asked himself, “when one strikes another in an anger which is murderous, or even in carelessness of what the result of the blow may be, and the stroke results in death, is not the striker a murderer? And suppose the one smitten does not die, is not the one who delivers such a blow as I have imagined — such a blow as I delivered, in fact, subjectively a murderer — a murderer at the bar of his own conscience, and in the sight of God, though the law of man may not lay hold of him? And is one who can yield to such a passion as that which governed me in that bout fit to be a clergyman ?”

The bout occurred a few weeks before the final examinations for graduation. It was all that Emory could do to keep himself from going away at once. He would have done so had it not been for his mother. He knew that such action upon, his part would give her great pain. Then hewanted to remain in the city where the seminary was situated, during the convalescence of the stranger. He had to do something to keep the question whether he was a homicide in intent from driving him wild. So he devoted himself to preparing for the examinations. There was need that he do a deal of cramming. One cannot do the boxing necessary to the defense of a belt and keep in training that the defense may have a show of being successful without neglecting things which are commonly held to be of more importance. Examination week came. To his surprise, to the w T onder of his friends, to the astonishment of the faculty, he graduated with honors. But he had entered the ring with Hebrew as he had with the stranger — resolved to do the knocking out.

This graduation involved his being ordained deacon. Had it involved his being priested, I doubt if he could have brought himself to graduate. But he knew enough of ecclesiastical history to be aware that the deacon, at least theoretically, has to do with the temporalities rather than with the spiritualities of the church — that the diaconate is the business order of the threefold ministry. If he was morally capable to conduct a grocery store, or the business department of a newspaper, why was he not, in the same regard, capable of attending to the materialities of a church? Then as a deacon there would be no obligation upon him to connect himself with a church clerically. Many deacons were in law, literature, journalism, trade.

So he became a deacon, and — his mother was happy.

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Chapter II. Of The Sort Of Stuff For A Clergyman?

That he might not be out of the fashion, Emory, at the opening of the week before his graduation, ordered a clerical suit, which he wore at the commencement exercises, and at the service immediately following, in the course of which he was ordained deacon.

Then he took it off, and did not have it on again for three }'ears — save once — upon the first day of a fortnight’s visit to his mother — to whom he w'ent immediately at the closing of his life at university.

He reached Fordville, his home town, by river steamboat, at about two o’clock in the morning — the boat being late — as boats, and other means of conveyance, are apt to be at the South — the region to which he belonged — the ways of which region, by the way, were not unpleasant to him after some years at the North.

Disposed to not disturb* his mother, or the

*See Preface to Second Edition— if interested in questions of grammatical forms.

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household, he went to an hotel, at which he had stopped now and again through the years, and at which, in his boyhood, he had done much more lounging than his mother had thought to be good for him. He knew that this hotel was not open over night. He knew, also, that the porter was accustomed to being occasionally routed out by a patron from the chronically belated boat.

The porter knew him, and yawningly greeted him. In common with everybody in the town, this porter knew all about everybody else. He assured Emory that his mother was well. This assurance put his mind at rest. He had no specific reason for anxiety in the regard of his mother. But he has a keen imagination, which gives him a great deal of pleasure at times, but which oftener gives him a great deal of pain. Some pre-natal influence has placed a frown upon its brows rather than a smile upon its lips. One of its ways is to suggest whenever he turns his face homewards all manner of horrible things which may have occurred in his absence.

When he descended to the office, the next morning, he w r as in clericals, reversed collar and all.

The clerk, a hulking fellow, whom he had known all his life, some years older than he— a fighter of more than local renown, his reputation

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having spread over two or three counties — exclaimed:

“Hello, Em !” then regarding the clericals, with a mock bow, and a sneer:

“Beg your pardon — -your reverence !’*

“No need o’ that, Ike !” said Emory, drily. “The clothes don’t make the man ! Let me be Em to you ! Pay no attention to how 1 may be dressed !” and walked to a front window, and looked out on the street.

The tone of this reply irritated Ike, and the irritation was none the less because of a laugh which came from half a dozen guests and some loafers who sat about.

At the bottom of the embrasure of the window — the walls were of stone and thick — lay a set of boxing gloves. Absent-mindedly, Emory picked up one of these, smiled at its bumpiness, and p.ulled it on.

Having closed and opened his hand two or three times, he began to pull it off, thinking of how offensive its stiffness would be to some of the members of some of the clubs to which he belonged.

But before the pulling off was accomplished, Ike stepped from behind his counter, saying:

“No, you don’t ! One of the rules of this establishment is that when a fellow puts on a glove he must use it before he takes it off!”

These words were accompanied by a smile, which was said to be always on Ike’s lips on the eve of a fight.

‘ With a good-natured grin, Emory replied:

“Just as you please, Ike! But you wouldn’t want to hurt a clergyman, would you?”

Ike answered : “Oh, — the clergyman part of it ! But you are not a clergyman to me — especially after what you said a little bit ago. You are only Em Emberson. For this you may be thankful; for if I considered you a clergyman I might hit all the harder !”

“Very well !” answered Emory, with a smile not unlike Ike’s, readjusting the glove promptly, and drawing on its mate.

Ike pulled the other pair on, spitefully. It was evident that he was in a rough-and-tumble mood. He and Emory had always been great friends. But he was one of those men who hate clergymen, simply because they are clergymen — who look upon clergymen as a worthless class — old women in trousers. Up to this, clergymen had always,, wisely, no doubt, taken his open, or implied insults meekly. He would teach his old friend, grown into what he despised, a lesson.

He did not pronounce the word, “Ready!” or wait for it to be pronounced. He was not so ignorant as to not know the rules of boxing. The

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promptness with which his challenge was accepted may have driven the thought of rules from his mind. The probabilities, however, are that he was under the power of the habit of rough-andtumble fighting, in which he had engaged for so many years, and in which he was so justly celebrated. Before Emory’s guard was up, he was struck a stinging blow on the ear. He was dazed for a moment. But for only a moment. The next thing of which those who were about were aware was Ike’s turning a half somersault in the air, and coming to the stone flooring on his head and shoulders. He had gone cleanly over a chair. He was not hurt. That is, his hurts were not such as a rough-and-tumble fighter would think of giving attention. But he was greatly surprised. He got up slowly, looked dully at Emory for a moment, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, then, deliberately removing his gloves, said, absently :

a I’m no hog! I know when I’ve had enough! But how in thunder’d you do it, Em?”

Emory did not remain at the hotel for breakfast.

His mother greeted him quietly, but very tenderly. Then she sat feasting her eyes tin him. Finally she said:

“How much you do remind me of your father, in your clericals! He never disgraced them! I hope you never may !”

“That I may not, 1 guess I’d better take them off !” Emory replied, with a laugh.

“Why?” — a little anxiously.

He told her of his experience that morning with Ike Sterling.

The mother said:

“The action was scarcely clerical, Emory; but I do not see how you could well have done otherwise. I could not easily endure having a coward for a son. Isaac Sterling belongs to a good family. I knew his father and mother well. Each of them was of good descent. The father’s father’s father ”

But I shall spare the reader Ike Sterling’s pedigree. Mrs. Emberson, in common with all Southern people of old family, was a great believer in family, and in its saving influence on its members to the latest generation. When she was through with the pedigree — which Emory knew thoroughly already, as he did that of every one of whom he had heard his mother speak much, and he had heard her speak of Ike a great deal in past years, for she had warned him more against this same Ike than against any one else in the community, knowing the influence that such a chronic fighter would be certain to have on a boy of Emory’s

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nature — when, I say, she was through with the pedigree, Mrs. Emberson added, with the light of admiration in her eyes :

"It may be that your knocking Isaac over will do him good. Let us hope it may ! And it seems to me that there are occasions when even a clergyman should not forget that he is a man, but remember it emphatically! For instance, were I a inan — even a clergyman — I would take the measures necessary to stop the tongue of the speaker, in case I should hear a woman maligned !”

This was a favorite theme with Mrs. Emberson. When she got thoroughly started on it, she did not know when to stop. This came of the fact that, soon after she was married and moved into the rectory in a strange place, a young woman of that community had been driven to suicide by tittle-tattle, which had originated in a remark made by a loafer of gentle extraction to loafers of gentle extraction as she was passing a place where loafers of gentle extraction were wont to congregate. The remark would not have been made had the young woman had a natural protector. Mrs. Emberson then vowed that if she ever had a son she would so rear him that he would be a protector of females. And she had kept her word.

To cut her off from this theme, Emory said:

“Yes, mother, I know. And I haven't forgotten the advice you gave me when I went away to school. Do you remember? You called me to your room, and told me that you did not believe in shooting and cutting — that you thought there was too much of those things in the South. Then you told me that God had given me two hands and so formed and attached them that I could make fists and strike with them. You, if I am not mistaken, went so far as to advise me to go to a master and learn how to defend myself and injure the enemy with these natural weapons \”

The mother shook her head smilingly.

“You have forgotten,” said Emory, with mock seriousness, “but I have not ! And I have profited fairly well by your advice.”

All of the first day of his visit home Emory spent with his mother. She told him much of what had occurred during his absence. His attention was taken most fully by the relation of how misfortune had overtaken one of the oldest and most influential families of a neighboring county. This had made it necessary that a young lady, sufficiently connected with that family to be considered a member of It. should do something for her own support. She had a maternal uncle in Fordville. Through his influence, together with that of Mrs. Emberson, she had procured the Fordville school. All had gone well with her till she had been compelled to punish the unruly son of a miner — coal having been discovered in the region and many rough people having been brought into the community to dig and handle it. The boy was so big and lusty that the teacher could not have hurt him much had she been so disposed, which she was not ; for she was one of the gentlest little creatures living. But there was the natural enmity upon the part of the newcomers against the old inhabitants — for which there was not lack of irritation in the contempt with which the old inhabitants treated the newcomers. The young lady was, consequently, being most unmercifully talked about.

The next morning Emory came down without his clericals — in a somewhat worn street suit. The mother wanted to know the reason for- this change. Emory replied, with a laugh, that it was in the line of her expressed hope that he might not disgrace his clericals, adding:

“I have had something like a fight in them already. Were I to have a real fight in them my clerical prospects would probably be ruined. As it is, I hope that an account of my escapade with Ike .Sterling may not come to the ears of the

Bishop r

The mother laughed:

“1 hope you haven’t a fight in prospect.”

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Emory laughed back:

“No”

Then he happened to think of what the mother had told him about the young lady’s punishing the boy, of the talk it had occasioned, and added :

“But I may have to defend the reputation of a schoolmarm !” with no thought that there was the slightest probability of such a complication before him.

The mother smiled, and said : “In such a case, 1 have no doubt that you would do it promptly and emphatically !”

On that day, and on every day thereafter while he was at home, Emory was out and about. He knew everybody, everybody knew him. He was a born aristocrat in that there was no one from whom he was out of sympathy. He would sit and talk with Bob McDonald, the shoemaker, or Mr. Shad, the grocer, as unconscious of self as he was when he was in conversation with the Judge of the County Court, the Rector, or the Bishop — enjoying intercourse with one of the latter no more than lie did with either of the former — excepting that his faculties might be brought into more active play in one case than in the other. Hut of this he was not certain ; for, while the Judge, or the Rector, or the Bishop might know more about some things than the shoemaker or

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the grocer, the shoemaker or the grocer might know more about some other things than the Judge, the Rector or the Bishop. And Emory had a vague suspicion that the things of every-day life and interest would be of as great importance to him as a clergyman, as jurisprudence, history, or even theology. Then to his mind the acquisition of facts and theories is not the most important result of social relations. Though a very young man, he had come to see that there is a soul of the community, some of the strength of which must come into the soul of the individual, or it is weak indeed. He had had indistinct wonderings if that might not be one of the truths involved in: “A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another.” But I may be putting speculations — or discoveries — in his mind that were not there till many years later. The fact is that he was of a social nature, and liked a human being — to say nothing of other beings now — as spontaneously as the sun shines.