--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Lyman, Albert R. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 9 number: 11 published: 1906-09 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Albert R. Lyman, "Jason’s Revenge: A Story," *Improvement Era* 9, no. 11 (September 1906): 857–868.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0911unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera0911unse start_page: 857 end_page: 868 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1906-09) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0911unse publication_year: 1906 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1906, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Jason’s Revenge: A Story JASON'S REVENGE. BY ALBERT R. LYMAN. The stoves in the kitchen and under the old apple tree were roaring, and a fragrant odor floated out on the warm August air. ''Ma Black" and the girls were intently filling the preserve jars, — when lo the wood-box was empty no wood was cut, and the ax was gone. Where was Jay? He had agreed in the early morning to supply this demand; but there was neither track, sound nor motion to indicate his whereabouts. His name was pronounced in a shrill key, and a more shrill key, as each tried to call louder, but even little Jane's squeaky voice failed to bring a response. The old buck-saw was brought from the wagon shed, forced to gnaw off the small ends of two cotton-wood logs, and business proceeded. "Ma Black" would seal the jars, while the girls brought more white "clings." Swinging the tub between them, they were about to bring in a verdict on Ophelia Berg's new hat, when a ragged shoe attracted their attention. Inside of that shoe was Jason Black's twelve-year-old foot, and three feet away in another quondam new shoe was its mate, while their owner, sprawled out in generous style, was peacefully sleeping. His time-worn hat, in a mangled wad, served as a pillow, and his brown locks hung comfortably in every direction. His sisters, being good in emergency cases, soon restored him to consciousness. He looked squintingly about, to make sure it were the same world in which he fell asleep, and moved off, towards the corral. Finding the dreaded implement, he had cut perhaps a dozen sticks, that is, if splinters too be counted, wh£n a huge green lizard ran from under a log, and he remembered his fine Navajo bow and IMPROVEMENT ERA. arrows. Lizards frightened the girls, and sometimes crawled into the house and ought "anyway" to be destroyed. His efforts to "spear'' the little green "dragon" led him along the fence to the corner, when a familiar voice called out: "Come it, Jay, we're goin' to have a swim." The bow and arrows were cached in an instant, and the crowd starting for the river were joined by the laziest boy in town. Two hours later they returned with languid step, and rested under the old tree near the store. Four pairs of horse shoes were borrowed, and two heated games enabled eight boys to kill time till the long shadows suggested supper. Cautiously back up the fence came young Black, Low and arrows in hand. Peeping out through the opening towards the house, he saw no one, and hastened in the direction of his deserted task. The wood he had cut was gone, and more had been haggled off, presumably by his mother or the girls, the licks having been much misplaced, and only the small ends of sticks having been attacked. Seizing the ax he began working vigorously, and doubtless would have made a good showing but for a slight recollection: it was that book Self-Hehp, by Mr. Smiles. Four chapters a day till the book was finished, for two dollars, and he had promised his father he would read it. The book was — yes, down there under the blanket. He had read two lines, but had to sleep before going farther. Jason was comforted with the news that his mother was away to spend the evening, and he resolved to be asleep before her return. When just ready for supper, there came a knock at the door, and before the unlicked cub could hide, his sister had invited Ophelia Berg into the room. She was altogether too pretty and neat for the company of ragged, grimy-handed boys, at least he thought so, as he tried to smooth his hair and sit erect, while he fidgeted with his feet and tried to twist a button from his trousers. Ophelia's parents, too, were away, and the pigs had broken out of the pen into the garden. Even to the sleepy mind of the unlicked cub, there were folks that could appeal, and Ophelia was one of them. Fishing his hat out from behind a trunk, he went with her in haste, and listened generously and gallantly to her JASON'S REVENGE. 859 account of the wonderful speed and rooting powers of the escaped swine. The animals proved to have all the agility she had ascribed, and the chase became heated and interesting before they were penned. But oh! what a wonderful girl Ophelia was. She could run, climb a fence, jumb a ditch, or throw a stone as well as any boy. In the hurry she lost her straw hat, her hair came down and floated in profusion behind her as she ran. She could laugh and scold in the most genial way possible; and, walking home through the twilight, Jason could still see the golden hair and hear the merry innocent laugh; it echoed in his mind, and reechoed again and again in response to its own sound. The school seasons came and went. Jason remembered that during that time there were ten dances, and eight molasses candy "pullings, " and that from each one he had escorted Ophelia home, and heard again the innocent laugh —-that at the gate she had said, "Good night, Jay," with real warmth and regard. But his lessons, when he did not play truant, were prepared just well enough to avoid a clash with the easy-going teacher. Sunday was a favorite day to climb the cliffs and fish in the river; in fact, the caves and willows afforded a safe retreat from many a dry lesson and wearisome task. The "two-dollar book," after lying five months on the shelf, was returned to its owner — one page having been read. * * * * * * * Hector Black rode over the range, observed the abundance of grass and browse, and proceeded to buy and bring into the country, a large bunch of cattle, just before the market fell. Every nerve had to be strained to avoid a crash. Under the scorching sun, in showers or mud or snow, he had to ride the range, and his tender, effeminate son had to go also. Few and brief were his visits to town, and what with the wasted past, and the company of ignorant men of the range, the youth really "didn't know nothin'." But still he loved Ophelia, and his thoughts and songs and prayers, when such were not forgotten, were warmed by the fire she had kindled. When the lowering sun painted the western sky in richly blended hues, he resolved the changing shadows into her profile and wealth of golden hair. When the gloom of night had 860 IMPROVEMENT ERA. hushed the sounds of day, the whip-poor-will sang only of Ophelia, in the distant village. But there was anxiety and suspense in these emotions; there — was a rival in the field a rival whose wit was dangerous. Of course, it was cheap wit, sometimes, but with a handsome face and shapely form to second it, it always passed muster. Yes, he had brain and strength to lavish on whiskey and cigarettes, and money to squander in poker and monte. Ophelia liked to talk with him, and he was an excellent dancer. With a band of pack horses and noisy bells, the cow-boys came over the sand hills and into the town to spend a whole week. Jason Black came with them, chaps, spurs, sombrero and all, but, sad to relate, this equipage was his best. The clothes that had served during the last year for dances and candy "pullings," were faded and shabby, besides being too small for his seventeen-year growth. But there was going to be a "sociable" at Aunt Jane's, and he — must go, the clothes must be worn, and the hat which in the character ball had accommodated George Washington must go, too. How he dared in such attire to call at Ophelia's fine home is still a mystery, but if his courage were wanting, his lack of taste supplied it. At all events he escorted her to the "sociable" where he found a seat in the corner, and thought by keeping still to hide both his clothes and his ignorance. This little scheme might have been all right, Budd Park had not contrived to let the if jealous crowd see how Jason's coat-tail was abbreviated, and how much of his slender gray socks were visible above his shoes and below his trousers. was a game of forfeits, and the young cow-boy had, of It course, to redeem one; no amount of pleading and excuses would suffice, he must -execute a covv-boy jig, or lose his hat, besides being taken out on the floor and sprinkled with saltpeter. Oh it was just awful! Most of the boys and girls did try at first to keep from laughing, but when one sock came sleepily down over his shoe top, they laughed till they cried. Aunt Jane had nearly succeeded in quieting them, and they were making spasmodic efforts to straighten their faces, when Budd said something about a man by the name of "Ichabod Crane," and they laughed worse than ever. Jason found his way to the corner, and sat down red and angry. JASON'S REVENGE. 861 Ophelia had laughed, too, she was still brushing the tears away with her handkerchief. He would go home. But no — he would remain. Budd was a perfect clown; all that he said was hailed as wit. Placing Jason's hat on a broom-stick, he drank to the health of General Washington. Once more the smothered merriment found expression. Jason looked down at his shabby clothes, and the big drops swelled up in his eyes. He did not venture a word. His slow tongue could never meet Budd's irony, but down in his heart he said, "I'll get even with you, just see if I don't." Seeming to understand the art of annoying, Budd sat by Ophelia the rest of the evening, glancing occasionally into the corner to make sure that his dose of gall and worm-wood was not losing its force. But the "sociable" came to an end, at last, and with a heavy heart, Jason started home with his fair partner. He could stand the poor clothes, and laughs, and insults, if only she were on his side, but surely she loved Budd more than him. Up the long side-walk he said but little. His words would be at a poor advantage while something better echoed in her ears. The moonlight broke through an opening in the shade-trees, enhancing the beauty of her fair form and face. The golden hair was more lovely than ever. How dare that gambling tobacco-fiend claim her? Jason's jaws clenched. He would like to meet the — rogue off in the hills he would settle the affair in real Texas style. But that was all nonsense. He must talk now he would — talk. "Ophelia," he began with a slight tremor in his voice, "I want to say somethin' to y'u. I know I'm mighty awk'ard 'ith words —but maby you kin help me." "I'm a poor guesser, " she faltered, "you'll have to make yourself more plain." "Well — a— is it me or Budd?" he managed to say, and listened with quick pulse. She murmured something about "such a silly question," and waited as if in study. Oh what a lot she must have had to think about. An owl groaned dolefully in the cliffs, and answered the echo ever so many times. "Oh please don't keep me waitin'," he said, "do tell me!" 862 IMPROVEMENT ERA. ' 'Oh, I could never love you, Jay, " almost petulantly, "you're not aspiring enough." It has ever been a mystery to him how trivial matters change the whole course of a life, and he still thinks that if Sister Berg had not called her daughter, just at that moment, the conference would have ended very differently. But at the sound of a rather stern voice from the house, she said simply, "Good night," and tripped up the path. With face and ears burning, he stared stupidly at the closed door a full minute before moving. In his room he removed the offending coat and trousers, and kicked them violently into a corner. The hat followed in two pieces, and the abominable stocking received a scathing look. He dove savagely among the quilts '' and pillows, muttering something about the ''curse of poverty. Hour after hcur he listened to the owl's groan, relieved only by short nightmares in which he was laughed to scorn, or fighting a duel with Budd Park. "Not aspiring enough!" That verdict was second- handed; it had originated in the meanest mind in town. When the eastern horizon was streaked with gray, he hurried to his favorite cave in the cliffs.Was it to pray? He could not pray for revenge. It was to grieve in the stillness; to tell to the solitude the misery, the woe, the heartache that man will not tell to man. No one should ever know it; Ophelia should never be led to guess his grief. But she should regret her action, he would excel whoever she might trust — excel him if it should take eternities to do so, and she should see the folly of her choice and regret her mistake forevermore. All the force of his rejected love should be directed to the accomplishment of this one purpose. The erstwhile pleasant dances and candy "pullings" should see him no more. They could sip their beer and laugh themselves hoarse at cheap wit and empty nonsense — Ophelia's lord would be there among them, and she should find by the stern knocks of life, and the fine distinctions of eternity, that her glib-tongued favorite had gained but little strength, as the pet of a frivolous girl and the darling of a giddy crowd. His father's reverses precluded even the thoughts of school, but there were books at home, hundreds of dusty volumes seldom disturbed. They should be under his pillow, in his saddle pockets, JASON'S REVENGE. 863 and sandwiched into every spare moment of the day or night. He would read them — he would learn — he would see and hear and drink, from the very atmosphere, truth into his poor empty soul, by the help of heaven! The early run's rays caused the dew to sparkle, as Jason Black, with red, swollen eyes, came down from the cave, bathed his face in the spring, and returned to the village a new man. He felt a strange regard for himself and the world, when, entering his home, he assumed all the ease and composure of the past — even a greater ease, the ease of renewed life and hope. Mr. Smiles' book was obtained again, and notes were taken on every chapter. What a pity he did not read it before! Next came Voice of Warning, Gospel Philosophy, New Witness for God, etc. The movement had passed the Rubicon. Some folks were incredulous, others were thunderstruck. A serenading party was shocked at his refusal to join them, and a crowd going without him for a swim said he was "goin' plum crazy." But on he went; the range, the field, or at home, it was all the same, his books were not forgotten. The dances and candy "pullings" went on just the same; in fact, some folks were kind enough to bring word that they were ever so much better, but it made no difference. Rumor said, too, that Budd and Ophelia were engaged, but that occasioned no surprise. When he had business with anyone, he stated it promptly and briefly, and departed as soon as it was finished, thereby saving time and avoiding ridicule. Thank goodness he had not "sworn off' on public worship, for now the Sunday Schools, and M. I. A. meetings, satisfied a longing for company that otherwise would have made life weary. Once he met Ophelia, in a narrow lane; she seemed annoyed, and looked at the fence as if she wished to climb it and avoid him. How very offensive he must have been to her who once talked with him for hours together. Fearing that he would grow captious and -cynical, he decided to attend a dance, one evening, merely for the sake of being sociable. At the door a swarm of "half-baked'> young hopefuls were smouldering among rolls of tobacco and paper, presumably with the hope of adding the necessary brown to their doughy constituency. Budd was the great magnet around which 864 IMPROVEMENT ERA. they gravitated, he contained more whiskey than any other three there, and by virtue of that, he was their entertainer. He was "aspiring enough," surely. The hall was well lighted, the music was fine. But that "yahoo" at the door! Would she endure his company now? Surely not! But when the next numbers were called he staggered across the floor and led her on for a waltz. Oh mercy! He drew her up to his polluted bosom, and she made no objection. His breath was nauseating, but she feigned to enjoy it her taste was — barbarous! Yes; they both saw Jason, and laughed. This was not the girl he had loved, her company had transformed into a different person. No, he would never love her again. She was a traitoress! She was a shallow, giddy creature! Work and study, early and late, by the eighteenth month of his new leaf; the best men in town were his friends, though Budd grew more vindictive than ever, and even rejoiced to hear that some of Jason's unopened letters had fallen into the fire and were destroyed. Jason was planning a trip to the cow camp, on the mountain, when he received the following note: Jason Black, Dear Friend: — take I it that you did not see my other letter, so I write again. Will you please call on me tomorrow evening at eight? I wish to ask you a question. Respectfully, Ophelia Berg. What could she want to know? But, then, it could not be anything of importance, coming from that source. He wrote an affirmative answer, and thought no more of the matter till the next evening, when, forgetful of the hour, he stalked off to the Berg home, just a little curious to hear the wonderful question. Through the gate and up the path, it was the first time for many months, and he could almost feel the old emotions of that particular place. But those old emotions arose like an avalanche when the same voice of the past rang out, to its own accompaniment, the dear old song that once was the acme of everything sweet. Was this the girl who could inspire only disgust? This was the sweetheart of his youth with whom he walked by the river. His steps quickened JASON'S REVENGE. 865 instinctively, but he stopped perfectly still. The music with its pleading floated out on the air. He brushed a mysterious something from his eye and frowned thoughtfully. It was a grave situation. He would not enter there, bound by enchantment; besides, he was too early, he would go back. In fifteen minutes, he -rapped at the door with resolution in every nerve. She was alone. Her white face was beautified by a trace of sadness. Gentle in manner, her voice soft and low, she seemed repenting of every offense. When seated, he stated the purpose of his visit, and she acknowledged the letter. "I'm ready to hear you," he said, as if to help what seemed to be struggling for expression. Her eyes filled with tears, her lips Quivered, but with great effort she spoke slowly and pleadingly: "Oh Jay, I know I'm bold — I know I'm overstepping a girl's rights, but I had to tell you. I've acted a lie. I went with Budd to spite you, and you bore it patiently. You've made love to no one. Forgive me, Jay oh, — forgive me!" They both sobbed, it was impossible to refrain. Jason's feelings were in awful conflict. He arose: "It's too late, I'm very sorry — but it is too late." "Oh do overlook it," she pleaded, '1 was but a child, and had no thought of forsaking you." ' 'You are extorting a painful confession, but 'tis better so than that I be induced by your tears to speak a falsehood. I for- give you, as a friend, but while memory lasts, I can think of you only as a friend. All was silent. They stared at the carpet, as if under a spell. "My other letter to you was burned, I suppose?" "I think so," he answered. ****** The adieu was a sad one. He closed the door carefully. close marked the end of a chapter in two lives. With the rising sun, Jason drove his pack-horses out of town * Its and away over the sandhills along the winding trail. The cow-boys weie rough men, their company would not be elevating, but worse still, Budd Park was with them. At ten o'clock of the second day, the lone horseman drove his 866 IMPROVEMENT ERA. packs into a quaking-asp grove near Posy Spring, and dismounted. The boys were out of camp, the pilfering blue jays flew into the trees and chattered saucily. Pack-saddles, panniers, ropes, bedding and whatnot, were scattered about in glorious disorder. On a stone was a deck of cards, and not far from it a small account book was partly hidden in the dust. He would not take the liberty to put 'the camp in order, but that book might mean much to its — owner he would place it on the cards. The book was worn to rags, and when disturbed, a number of leaves and notes fell out. Putting them back, one by one, he caught sight of his own name, and unfolding a note read: Jason Black, Dear Friend: — Will you please call on me, Tuesday evening, at eight? I wish to talk with you. Respectfully, Ophelia Berg. It was her hand writing, surely. Hastily examining the book, he found the name of Budd Park. ' 'The miserable sneak ! The burglar! He shall drink penitentiary soup, and it won't be to the health of Washington, either!" He grew more angry as he failed to guess how the note had escaped the fire, and considered and rejected ever so many ways of reciprocating this latest insult. Fortunately for him, it was evening before the boys came trailing into camp with laugh and shout; all of them but one shaking hands with the new comer. That one, .however, viewing Jason's saddle-pockets, ventured that the weight of the scriptures on the end of a rope would stop the wildest steer or Texas Flat. But Jason walked over to where Budd was undoing his laragos, and held out the little book. "I'll keep the letter as a link in my great chain of evidence," he said, as Budd's hand flew to his vest pocket, and his face whitened to the very lips. As the days passed, there was many a guess as to what ghost was haunting young Park. He was pale and nervous, ate but little. and scarcely spoke. More than once he looked up silently from his plate, only to meet Jason's triumphant grin — he understood that grin, and he read: "My rope is on you, old boy, and when I come to the end of it, you'll feel the weight of the scriptures, mighty suddenly." JASON'S REVENGE. 867 The topics of the camp were seldom instructive, and Jason's evenings were often spent alone among the rocks and trees, where he could contemplate the glorious stars, and listen to the music of breeze or brook. Once in the stillness he discovered a man praying; and, thbking it impossible that anyone in camp but himself ever did such a thing,he hastened back to the fire, where the "Roland" followed so close on the heels of the "Oliver" that all else was forgotten, but Budd was not there, he did not come for a long time, and then went quietly to bed. It was Jason's turn to go, in the morning at daylight, for the horses, yet turn his pillow in whichever shape he would, he could find no sleep in it. The evidence had been all too nicely collected and arranged, and the proof was altogether too clear and strong to drop. And, besides, this chance had no doubt been prepared by providence and ought to be improved. But then that prayer. — And that old widowed lady with only one son. The debate continued while the midnight wind sighed through the treetops. In the gray dawn he left camp, bridle in hand. Hearing a muffled noise, he looked over his shoulder, and saw Budd pull on his boots and start to follow. Jason feigned to take no notice, but with clenched fists he said to himself, "I must be firm." With camp safely behind, the boy in boots began: "Well, I've held out just as long "as I can endure it. I've acted a bilk, and I'm caught. Ophelia is yours. I can't deny it. I want to make matters right — I'll answer to you in preference to anybody else. I'll give you all I own, but for pity's sake, don't tell it. My mother' d die if she heard it." His voice was husky, and his lips plainly betrayed emotion. The two boys sat down under a pine tree, forgetful of horses, time, or the waiting outfit. "Well, how in the world did you get that letter?" "You see, Ophelia stopped at the postoffice gate with some girls, while I posted letters for us both— the light from the win- dow revealed your name, and I yielded. I meant to burn it, but studying to guess all it's meaning, I kept it. I've been full of Old Nick ever since. "And you're ready to come to my terms?" "Yes; anything you say, just so it's secret. Of course, Ophelia'll have to know, but let me tell her, and ask her forgiveness.'' 868 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "Now, I guess you won't like my judgment; but if you don't choose to accept it, you'll have to take the consequences. " Budd listened with wide open eyes and parted lips. "First you're to quit tobacco and whiskey, right short off. Second, you are to read and take notes on fifteen books that I shall name. Besides this, you are to go to every Sunday School and Young Men's meet- ing, when you are in town. You can have only one chance to abide this decision, and I'll keep the letter as security. If you fail, it means prosecution. If you keep it, neither Ophelia nor anyone else shall know, and she is yours so far as I am concerned." The listener's head was lowered, and two great drops fell into the dust. For a minute neither said a word, but they felt the old barrier of hatred melting down between them. "I'm not worthy to be your dog," said Budd, wiping his eyes, "if I had had you in such a hole— goodness!" "Well, what do you say?" "I agree," he answered, holding out his hand. "I'll sure do it. In fact I had planned most of it, but somehow I couldn't git started, I thought you was my enemy, and you thought the same about me, but if you'll take 'im, I'll give you Old Jack." "Oh I don't want your horse, Budd; if you want to sell 'im, you'd better buy books." Pledges and confessions followed each other, and a warm friendship contrived to obliterate old memories. All the wise men, the gossips and eaves droppers, failed to guess what had happened to the old hoodlum chief. He and Jay Black seemed to be brothers, all of a sudden, and old lady Park looked ten years younger. The Sunday School and Young Men's Association were greatly reinforced by the new curiosity. * * * * ^ * * Jason Black came home from the meeting, feeling fine. The preaching had been wonderful. From his pocket he took a letter and read. This was the fourth reading, but his face brightened perceptibly. The letter was signed "Nora." In his trunk were three dozen, with the same signature, and he went to put it with them. Rummaging among his things, he found a crumpled note signed, "Ophelia Berg." "Well, I'll declare," he said, "that should have been burned a year ago, I don't need such security any long-