According to an ancient custom, the newly wed should cease from their calling in life and disappear for a time, and the practice has long been well honoured by observance. But Mr. and Mrs. Hartigan had large and immediate problems to face. They breakfasted at Aunt Collins's and set out at once for Cedar Mountain. Belle was quite aware, reasonably and instinctively, that she must expect a reaction in Jim after the emotional outburst that had led him so far from their sober plan of a week before; and she exerted herself to fill every minute with the interests of this new life they had begun. But she was not prepared for something which did begin. From that hour of the great decision Jim seemed bigger and stronger. She had been thinking of him as a promising child. Now he was her equal in the world of affairs. He was growing faster than she. They were near the edge of the town when she saw a cottage with the sign up, "To let." It was very attractive in its fresh paint and obviously it had just been finished. "Jim, maybe that was made for us. Let's see it." They tied up the horses and entered. It was indeed small. The Preacher had to stoop at the front doorway and turn side-wise to enter the cellarway, but it was clean and prettily placed with a view to the south, and had four rooms and cellar. Belle gazed from the window through the gap between the hills and said, "I wish I knew some things that I will know within a week"; then, after a pause, "but I don't; let's go." As they were getting into the buckboard Jim remembered having left behind a package which Aunt Collins wished to send to her sister, Mrs. Boyd. As they drove hastily back they met a new, strange sight in Deadwood. A man in a sort of military uniform was marching along carrying a big drum which he pounded rhythmically; behind him were a dozen men and women in poke bonnets and blue skirts. Above them was a flag inscribed "Salvation Army." They stopped to sing a hymn, and were soon surrounded by a crowd of people who made scoffing remarks. The leader prayed, and all joined in a warlike hymn punctuated by the thunderous drum. There can be no question of the power of the drum on simple and primitive natures. Something in Jim responded to it at once. The commonplace words of the commonplace leader were without power to move, and the droning hymn was soporific rather than inspiring; but the rhythmic thump, thump, thump, seemed to strike the chords of his being; and a hypnotic tensity began. He gazed at the sad face of the fanatic, and forgot everything else, till Belle roused him with a businesslike, "Let's go, Jim."