The Call of Authority. I

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The Call of Authority. BY H. R. MERRILL.

I.

James Williams, commonly called "Brig" from the fact that he was a "Mormon," stood leaning against his broncho while his companion kneeled to drink from the little spring at his feet. Around them stretched the hills and valleys of Montana, and the picturesque costumes of the two cow boys were in keeping with their wild surroundings. "Well, 'Brig,' what are these 'Mormons,' anyhow?" the man asked, as he straightened up and'proceeded to knock the dust from his leather chapes with his riding quirt. The young fellow thus addressed threw the reins over his

horse's head, and swung into the saddle before he answered his

friend's question. "I don't believe I know as much about the 'Mormons' as I ought to," he replied. "I was born a 'Mormon' and that's about all I can say about it. My father and mother are counted good 'Mormons,' and I remember much they taught me, but' we had a big family, and it was rather hard scratchin' for a living down on the sage brush flats, and so us older boys had to get out and dig for ourselves. I haven't been at home much since I was a little lad." The other man mounted, and they rode off down the creek. "We've heard so many tough yarns, around these parts, about these 'Mormons,' that we concluded they were some kind of savages, but I can't see that you've got any horns, and you seem to be a human bein' about like the rest of us and, if anything, not quite so oncivilized."

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"There's nothing in 'Mormonism' to be ashamed of, that I know of," the boy replied. "Of course, I don't know much about the doctrines. I don't take much stock in religion, anyhow, but I know that you won't find any better livin' people anywhere than the 'Mormons,' and I'll tell you, Jack, if I had lived up to the teachin's I got from my mother, you wouldn't find me at some of the places I now visit, although I will say that as a result of my mother's teachin', I'm not quite so bad as the rest of you, yet." Jack smiled as he replied: "You're kind a layin' the leather on me now, and 1 guess I deserve it; but I ain't got a mother, and haven't had one since I was a little tad, but she left me this, and it should have taught me better." He reached inside of his shirt and brought forth an old, worn New Testament. "I ain't read it very much, but it some- times helps me a little when I git in a hole. I don't suppose 'Mormons' believe in that at all." "You're on the wrong trail, there. They do believe in that, and teach that, and live according to its teachins' closer 'n any sect on earth, — in fact they send out hundreds of young men every year to preach the gospel, and they defend it against all comers, from the Bible." "They do? Well, I didn't think they believed in the Bible at all. What do they pay the young men for goin' out preachm?" "Nothing. They are supposed to go and stay as long as the Church wants them to, and pay their own expenses all the time." "No wonder you would rather punch cattle. Can any one go that wants to, or how do they manage it? How do they get them to go?" "They have at the head of the Church a president, or prophet, who calls these young men, and they take it as being a call from God, because the prophet is God's representative on

earth. It is the call of authority, you know."

"Supposin' you would get a call. Would you go?" The young fellow straightened up in his saddle and rode for a moment in silence, his eyes vacantly gazing over the blue peaks in the distance. Hismemory carried him back to the time when he was visiting at home the year before. When he was ready to leave, his good mother had kissed him, and, as she held him

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off at arm's length, with tears rolling down her cheeks, she said: "My boy, I hate to see you go again, but I want you to prom- ise me that you will try to live a good life, and that if

you are called upon a mission, you will come home and go." He stooped over and kissed the dear old lips, and murmured brok- enly, "They won't call me," and had ridden away with no other promise. At length he said, "I don't know, I might go, and I might not." He put spurs to his horse and they galloped on in silence. The sun had set when the two cowboys galloped up to camp, where a half dozen men were sitting around tbe fire while the cook was preparing the supper. The frying veal and boiling coffee 'sent out a pleasant odor to greet the hungry men. The newcomers, with marvelous speed, unsaddled their horses and turned them loose with a pat and a kind word, and then joined the group at the fire. "Did you get any mail, Bill?" Jack asked. "I got a couple for 'Brig,' but none for you." The speaker, a young man of about twenty, handed the let- ters to Williams, who seated himself near the blaze and began to open them. James Williams was a "Mormon" boy from Southern Idaho. He was but nineteen years of age, but his dark, thin face looked five years older as he leaned near the fire to read his letter. His parents were Latter-day Saints, but, as he had said, personally he knew little of the doctrines of the Church. When he first landed in the camp of the Denning ranch, two years before, upon being asked where he was from, he had replied that he was born in Utah, but his folks now lived in Southern Idaho. One of the men had shouted, "A 'Mormon,' bedad!" "One of Brig Young's followers," another rejoined. The young man flushed up at their taunting remarks, but he was loyal to his early teachings, and calmly remarked: "Yes, sir, I'm a 'Mormon.' I'm a follower of Brigham Young, and I'm not ashamed of it." His words were greeted by shouts of laughter from the men, who gathered around to see this new specimen of mankind, and

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who began plying the lad with all sorts of questions, until the boy- was almost on the verge of breaking down; but he strove manfully to keep the tremble out of his lips as he faced the taunting crowd. "Well, sonny, how did Brigham Young look?" a big fellow asked. "I never saw him, but I know that he was the greatest man that was ever in the west," the boy replied, scarcely able to keep the tears out of his voice. The cowboy looked around at the men, with a knowing wink. "Now lookie here, sonny, you're insinuatin' a whole lot when " you put him above his betters, and I am here to say that "Brigham Young was the greatest man in the west," put in

Jack Hillman, who had been a silent onlooker, as he laid his hand upon the boy's shoulder. "The kid's right, ain't he boys? and to prove it, we'll go in and drink a health to young 'Brig' here, who is goin' to stay with us." "You're right, Jack!" the men cried, and a couple of them caught the lad up on to their shoulders and marched away to the bar, where the "health" was duly drunk. From that day the boy had been a favorite in camp, and had come to regard his new name with pride, and in his two years with the outfit he had become one of the best cowmen on the ranch. Jack Hillman had been his best friend from the very first, but had never mentioned "Mormonism" to him until the day upon which this story opens. "Well, 'Brig,' who's it from?" one of the boys asked, as he finished one of the letters. "I hope she's well." "It isn't from a girl," he answered, as he held it out to the flames. "I think I'll forget it. He opened the other letter and read it slowly. It was from his mother, and as he read the pleading words, tears came to his eyes; for although he was a rough, hard cowboy, yet he was a "Mormon" boy, and mother's influence was still strong. When he finished the letter, he tenderly folded it and put it in his pocket. "I guess that was from her, anyhow," Jack Hillman cried. "And I guess she gave him the G. B., too, by the way he looks after it."

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548 IMPROVEMENT ERA. The men all joined in the laugh that followed. The lad smiled at the friendly banter. "Yes, boys, that was from her, but no matter what I would do, she would never give me the 'go by.' She loves me too well for that." "Well, now, you're all fired sure about that. I never had a girl like that in my life. I wish I had one like her." "I guess you've got one," the boy answered. "Nearly every- body has one like her. It was from my mother." "Supper's ready!" the cook shouted. After supper was over, they gathered around the fire again to enjoy a peaceful smoke and a friendly chat before going to bed The talk at first was upon the experiences of the day, but finally drifted around to "town talk," and Billy was asked all sorts of ques- tions about what was going on in town. "I went to a show last night," Billy replied, "and a fellow sang the prettiest song I ever heard in my life. We spatted him out twice. That song rang in my ears all night, so this morn- ing, before I left, I hunted the fellow up, and gave him a dollar to teach it to me." "Let's have it, then, so we can tell if you got cheated." "Well, I ain't no kind of a singer," Billy answered, as he straightened up, "but I'll try the thing, anyhow." The strong tones of his baritone voice floated out over the prairie, and although the voice was not polished it was good, and

the rough cowboys listened intently to the beautiful old words. When the last strains had died away, there was not a sound but the crackling of the fire. At length Jack Hillman, taking his pipe from his mouth, said, "That was good. You made a good bargain. That's worth a dollar in any man's money. Sing it again." "Yes, let's have it again!" they all cried. Once more the song was. sung. When Billy reached the last chorus they all joined in and sang, but each saw a different face at the window, as he repeated the sweet old words:

Somebody's waiting for me, Someone who loves me, I know,

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Somebody's wondering where I can be, And what can be keeping me so. Somebody's heart is sad, Waiting so anxiously. There's a light shinging bright, In the window tonight, For there's somebody waiting for me.

The song over, the men arose and in subdued voices, " 'lowed 'twas 'bout bed time," and began to spread down 'their blankets. Jack Hillman and the ' 'Mormon" boy made their bed, and as they got into it, Jack said, "If I had a mother waitin' for me, she wouldn't have to wait long, you kin bet your long green on that." "Jack!" The voice was a little husky, and the cowboy answered tenderly, "Yes, lad." "I've got a mother waitin' for me. You know what we were talking about today? Well, that first letter was from the president of our Church, asking me if I'd go on a mission, and the other one was from my mother. The letter went home, you know, and they forwarded it on to me, and my mother wrote and asked me to come home and go; but I haven't saved up much money, and the folks couldn't keep me very well, and I'm not much struck on goin', anyway, so I burned the letter, and thought I would for- get it, but that song — song just about made me home- well, that sick, for I know mother'llwatch every day for my comin', and every night, Jack, I know she prays for me. I know that when

the daylight's gone, so she can't see down the lane, there'll be a light in the window a-waitin' for me, and if I don't go, 1 know that every time it's taken away the tears will roll down the dear old cheeks, and the wrinkles will get deeper around her eyes." The voice was very husky here, and big, strong Jack touched the little Testament tenderly. "Now, Jack," the boy continued, "what would you do?" There was silence for a few minutes, save for the lonely cry of the coyote, wafted on the breeze. "Well, 'Brig,' if it was me, I'd go," Jack replied. "How

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much money have you got? You could sell your outfit for a good price, too." "I've got three month's wages comin'; I would hate to sell Buck to any of these fellows, they are so hard on a horse." "I'll buy Buck," Jack answered.

"I wouldn't mind selling him to you." The boy knew that Jack loved his horses and treated them as friends. After a few more words the conversation ceased and the camp was wrapped in peaceful slumber. The next morning, after breakfast was over, James sold his outfit to the boys, who were sorry to see him go, but his mind was

made up, and nothing would change him; so, after a hearty hand- shake all around, he climbed into the buckboard with Billy, and they started for town. Jack rode along at the side for a short distance, and when they were out of sight of the men, he told Billy to stop. ' 'Brig,' I want to speak to you alone for a minute," he said. James got out of the buckboard and went over to where Jack had dismounted. "Now, 'Brig,' I want you to remember me," he said, "and if you ever get in a tight place, why let me know. You've done me a deal of good since you've been with this outfit. Although you're no saint, you are not like the rest of us, and you've helped me keep on the straight trail. I hate to see you go, but I reckon your mother holds the best hand, this time. I hope you'll go on that mission, if your mother wants you to, for their ain't nobody like a mother, after all, I guess; but since I ain't got one, I want you to take this for me to yours." He placed two twenty dollar gold pieces in the boy's hand. "Now, I reckon, it's about time you was joggin' along, if you're goin' to catch that train." "Goodby, Jack," James said, as he took the cowboy's hand. "You've been a mighty good friend to me, and if you ever want to see a mother, come and see mine. You'll be welcome any time, for the latch string's always out." James turned and, with moistened eyes, rejoined Billy. As they trotted along over greasewood and rabbit brush, he watched his friend vanish from sight over a low hill.

[to be continued.]