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Updated: May 17, 2025
At exactly eleven ten, P.M., these two helpless, harmless strangers received the flask from Widow Hartigan. At exactly eight A.M., the next day, at the opening of the Magistrate's office, they laid their information before him, that the Widow Hartigan was selling liquor out of hours. Here was the witness and here was the flask.
So the pony was tied on the shady side of the shop. Hartigan turned to the half-breed interpreter to ask, "What do you want him shod for?" It was well known that the Indians did not shoe their horses. The half-breed spoke to Red Cloud, who was standing near with his men, talking among themselves.
Mrs. Hartigan was sitting in the club office at the back of the building next day when Skystein came in, and sat down to go over some club letters, officially addressed to him. As he read he made a note on each and sorted them into three neat piles. Belle watched him with interest that was a little tinged with shame.
"Jack," he said, "I want you to come to church and see how simple it all is." "Church. Huh! I think I see myself," said the blacksmith. "That's not fair," said Hartigan. "You condemn church without going to see what it is." "Oh, I've been there a-plenty." "When?" "Twenty years ago." "Oh, pshaw! It's all changed since then." "Is it? That's a good one.
There were a dozen other persons who had influence in the shaping of the life and mind of Little Jim Hartigan; but there was one that overpowered, that far outweighed, that almost negatived the rest; that was his mother. She could scarcely read, and all the reading she ever tried to do was in her Bible.
"Ten times," said Colonel Waller, of the Fort, "have I seen a man so bound up in the friendship of his dog that all human ties had second place; but never before or since have I seen a man so bonded to his horse, or a horse so nobly answering in his kind, as Hartigan and his Blazing Star."
Then a strange thing happened. The little man had shaken hands effusively, the big one sulkily, but there was one there who took the Preacher's hand warmly and in a husky voice said: "Mr. Hartigan, I want you to know you have made me think different. I am coming to church. I know you are right." Then turning to a woman by his side: "This is my wife she feels as I do."
Jim Hartigan had as little interest in money as any Indian. All the things he loved and the pleasures he sought were the things that money could not buy. He wanted to ride and race, be alive, to love and be loved, to get the noblest animal joys, and soar a little just a little in the realm of higher things.
"Say, mister," said cattleman Kyle, "if he's a winner, here's your chance to roll up a wad." Hartigan stared and waited. The cult of the horse is very ancient, but its ways are ever modern. "You say he's a great speeder; will you try him against Kyle's horse?" said Long Bill. Jim looked a rebuff and shook his head.
Hartigan liked Shives, enjoyed the shop with its smoke and flying sparks, and took a keen relish in the unfettered debate that filled in the intervals between Shives's ringing blows on the anvil. Dr. Jebb thought himself a very up-to-date divine. He had tried to have a sort of free discussion in his study Sunday nights after meeting, but the restraint of parsondom was over it all.
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