ht of making a
sensation, I thought only of Marjie. Passing around the end of the
chancel rail I gently led her by the arm up the three steps to the
choir place, and turning, faced all the town as I went to my seat
beside my father. I was as happy as a lover can be; but I didn't know
how much of all this was written on my countenance, nor did I notice the
intense hush that fell on the company. I had faced the oncoming of Roman
Nose and his thousand Cheyenne warriors; there was no reason why I
should feel embarrassed in a prayer meeting in the Presbyterian Church
at Springvale. The service was short. I remember not one word of it
except the scripture lesson. That was the Twenty-third Psalm:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul;
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me.

These words had sounded in my ears on the night before the battle on the
Arickaree, and again in the little cove on the low bluff at Fort Sill,
the night Jean Pahusca was taunting me through the few minutes he was
allowing me to live. That Psalm belonged to the days when I was doing my
part toward the price paid out for the prairie homes and safety and
peace. But never anybody read for me as Dr. Hemingway read it that
evening. With the close of the service came a prayer of thanksgiving for
my return. Then for the first time I was self-conscious. What had I done
to be so lovingly and reverently welcomed home? I bowed my head in deep
humility, and the tears welled up. Oh, I could look death calmly between
the eyes as I had watched it creeping toward me on the heated Plains of
the Arickaree, and among the cold starved sand dunes of the Cimarron,
but to be lauded as a hero here in Springvale--the tears would come.
Where were Custer, and Moore, and Forsyth, and Pliley, and Stillwell,
and Morton, if such as I be called a hero?

Cam Gentry didn't lead the Doxology that night, he chased it
clear into the belfry and up into the very top of the steeple;
and his closing burst of melody "Praise Father, Son, and
Holy Ghost," had, as Bill Mead declared afterwards, a regular
"You-couldn't-have-done-it-better-Lord-if-you-had-been-there-yourself"
ring to it.

Then came the benediction, fervent, holy, gentle, with Dr.