At Play in the Fields of the Lord Read Online Free PDF Page B

tears had risen to her eyes. “So anyway, I prayed for him.”
    “Dull Knife’s people,” Quarrier said.
    “Martin knows all about Indians,” Hazel said in a flat voice. It seemed to her that her husband, in the past years at the Sioux mission, had grown more and more indecisive, masking a loss of evangelical zeal with his “respect” for the Indian culture; how was he ever to redeem a people whose religion seemed to him so beautiful? It was her theory that his fascination with the tribal sacraments, the respect he paid them, not only impeded the harvest of souls but was downright disrespectful to the Lord. Martin claimed that his gradual methods laid a better foundation for true faith than quick conversion, but his dogged adherence to these methods was the sin of pride.
    “Well, a lot of my mother’s people were massacred by Sioux in Minnesota, so our family isn’t quite so sentimental as Andy’s is.” Leslie looked impatient. “You mean this Moon got his picture in the paper for going to the university?”
    “Well, yes. And again for being thrown out of it, just before graduation. A lot of folks hollered, ‘Darn drunken Injuns!’ but they were pleased it happened. And then a third time when he was sentenced. Only he never came home again—they never caught him.”
    “A criminal!” cried Hazel, who had never seen one. “I might have known! And a backslider, at that!” When her husband smiled, she immediately looked cross; this was a rule of her game.
    “Well, it wasn’t all that simple.” Andy seemed sorry that she had brought it up.
    “I think I
do
remember,” Quarrier said. “Somebody Moon. I certainly do remember. He assaulted somebody, stole his money—don’t you remember, Leslie? It was in all the mission newsletters for months.” He rose and started for the door.
    “At that time, probably,” Leslie said, “I had not been called by Jesus. Anyway, it just goes to show you what you’re up against. A man like that will only mock you.”
    “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers,”
Hazel intoned as her husband went out,
“for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness?”
    And what communion hath light with darkness
. II Corinthians, Martin thought as he went down the stairs. He had never dealt with this aspect of his work, the hostility and jeering, the contempt. How strange that the contempt should be so frightening—as frightening, yes, as the danger from the savages … Well … He drove himself along the corridor, determined not to reconnoiter but to make a firm entry and demand an audience.
    In the door to the bar he collided with Padre Xantes. The priest smelled of liquor but was otherwise composed. “Good evening, sir,” he said to Quarrier. “You are looking for the bar?” And he smiled pleasantly at Quarrier’s consternation.
    Quarrier grinned, frowned, said “Excuse me,” said “Good evening,” and finally in a fit of nervousness and impatience extended his hand, which the padre took, and to his dismay, did not release. They struggled silently in the passage.
    “Why do you hate and fear us so,” the padre said, “when all we feel towards you is mild astonishment?”
    Still smiling, Quarrier thrashed politely, desperate to free himself. This is absurd, he raged; why does he cling to me?
    Over the padre’s shoulder he saw Huben’s convert, Uyuyu, who skulked past them, hissing,
“Buenas. Buenas noches.”
The padre said, “
Sí, sí
, poor Uyuyu. Such a promising boy!” He gasped for breath, but still he clung to Quarrier like a blind man. “
Sí
, I raised him myself in the mission, raised him a pure
católico
, and now he is—eh? What is he, this Indian we have fought over? A Protestant? Do you believe so? Is he neither? Is he both?” The padre stopped smiling; he gripped Quarrier’s hand in his bony fingers. “Answer me, Señor Quarrier. Do you think
he
knows the difference?”
    Later Quarrier wondered at that last