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diff --git a/1029-h/1029-h.htm b/1029-h/1029-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1073085 --- /dev/null +++ b/1029-h/1029-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7087 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Night-born, by Jack London + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1029 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE NIGHT-BORN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Jack London + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE NIGHT-BORN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE MADNESS OF JOHN HARNED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> WINGED BLACKMAIL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> BUNCHES OF KNUCKLES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> WAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> UNDER THE DECK AWNINGS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> TO KILL A MAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE MEXICAN </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE NIGHT-BORN + </h2> + <p> + It was in the old Alta-Inyo Club—a warm night for San Francisco—and + through the open windows, hushed and far, came the brawl of the streets. + The talk had led on from the Graft Prosecution and the latest signs that + the town was to be run wide open, down through all the grotesque + sordidness and rottenness of man-hate and man-meanness, until the name of + O'Brien was mentioned—O'Brien, the promising young pugilist who had + been killed in the prize-ring the night before. At once the air had seemed + to freshen. O'Brien had been a clean-living young man with ideals. He + neither drank, smoked, nor swore, and his had been the body of a beautiful + young god. He had even carried his prayer-book to the ringside. They found + it in his coat pocket in the dressing-room... afterward. + </p> + <p> + Here was Youth, clean and wholesome, unsullied—the thing of glory + and wonder for men to conjure with..... after it has been lost to them and + they have turned middle-aged. And so well did we conjure, that Romance + came and for an hour led us far from the man-city and its snarling roar. + Bardwell, in a way, started it by quoting from Thoreau; but it was old + Trefethan, bald-headed and dewlapped, who took up the quotation and for + the hour to come was romance incarnate. At first we wondered how many + Scotches he had consumed since dinner, but very soon all that was + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “It was in 1898—I was thirty-five then,” he said. “Yes, I know you + are adding it up. You're right. I'm forty-seven now; look ten years more; + and the doctors say—damn the doctors anyway!” + </p> + <p> + He lifted the long glass to his lips and sipped it slowly to soothe away + his irritation. + </p> + <p> + “But I was young... once. I was young twelve years ago, and I had hair on + top of my head, and my stomach was lean as a runner's, and the longest day + was none too long for me. I was a husky back there in '98. You remember + me, Milner. You knew me then. Wasn't I a pretty good bit of all right?” + </p> + <p> + Milner nodded and agreed. Like Trefethan, he was another mining engineer + who had cleaned up a fortune in the Klondike. + </p> + <p> + “You certainly were, old man,” Milner said. “I'll never forget when you + cleaned out those lumberjacks in the M. & M. that night that little + newspaper man started the row. Slavin was in the country at the time,”—this + to us—“and his manager wanted to get up a match with Trefethan.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, look at me now,” Trefethan commanded angrily. “That's what the + Goldstead did to me—God knows how many millions, but nothing left in + my soul..... nor in my veins. The good red blood is gone. I am a + jellyfish, a huge, gross mass of oscillating protoplasm, a—a...” + </p> + <p> + But language failed him, and he drew solace from the long glass. + </p> + <p> + “Women looked at me then; and turned their heads to look a second time. + Strange that I never married. But the girl. That's what I started to tell + you about. I met her a thousand miles from anywhere, and then some. And + she quoted to me those very words of Thoreau that Bardwell quoted a moment + ago—the ones about the day-born gods and the night-born.” + </p> + <p> + “It was after I had made my locations on Goldstead—and didn't know + what a treasure-pot that that trip creek was going to prove—that I + made that trip east over the Rockies, angling across to the Great Up North + there the Rockies are something more than a back-bone. They are a + boundary, a dividing line, a wall impregnable and unscalable. There is no + intercourse across them, though, on occasion, from the early days, + wandering trappers have crossed them, though more were lost by the way + than ever came through. And that was precisely why I tackled the job. It + was a traverse any man would be proud to make. I am prouder of it right + now than anything else I have ever done. + </p> + <p> + “It is an unknown land. Great stretches of it have never been explored. + There are big valleys there where the white man has never set foot, and + Indian tribes as primitive as ten thousand years... almost, for they have + had some contact with the whites. Parties of them come out once in a while + to trade, and that is all. Even the Hudson Bay Company failed to find them + and farm them. + </p> + <p> + “And now the girl. I was coming up a stream—you'd call it a river in + California—uncharted—and unnamed. It was a noble valley, now + shut in by high canyon walls, and again opening out into beautiful + stretches, wide and long, with pasture shoulder-high in the bottoms, + meadows dotted with flowers, and with clumps of timberspruce—virgin + and magnificent. The dogs were packing on their backs, and were + sore-footed and played out; while I was looking for any bunch of Indians + to get sleds and drivers from and go on with the first snow. It was late + fall, but the way those flowers persisted surprised me. I was supposed to + be in sub-arctic America, and high up among the buttresses of the Rockies, + and yet there was that everlasting spread of flowers. Some day the white + settlers will be in there and growing wheat down all that valley. + </p> + <p> + “And then I lifted a smoke, and heard the barking of the dogs—Indian + dogs—and came into camp. There must have been five hundred of them, + proper Indians at that, and I could see by the jerking-frames that the + fall hunting had been good. And then I met her—Lucy. That was her + name. Sign language—that was all we could talk with, till they led + me to a big fly—you know, half a tent, open on the one side where a + campfire burned. It was all of moose-skins, this fly—moose-skins, + smoke-cured, hand-rubbed, and golden-brown. Under it everything was neat + and orderly as no Indian camp ever was. The bed was laid on fresh spruce + boughs. There were furs galore, and on top of all was a robe of swanskins—white + swan-skins—I have never seen anything like that robe. And on top of + it, sitting cross-legged, was Lucy. She was nut-brown. I have called her a + girl. But she was not. She was a woman, a nut-brown woman, an Amazon, a + full-blooded, full-bodied woman, and royal ripe. And her eyes were blue. + </p> + <p> + “That's what took me off my feet—her eyes—blue, not China + blue, but deep blue, like the sea and sky all melted into one, and very + wise. More than that, they had laughter in them—warm laughter, + sun-warm and human, very human, and... shall I say feminine? They were. + They were a woman's eyes, a proper woman's eyes. You know what that means. + Can I say more? Also, in those blue eyes were, at the same time, a wild + unrest, a wistful yearning, and a repose, an absolute repose, a sort of + all-wise and philosophical calm.” + </p> + <p> + Trefethan broke off abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “You fellows think I am screwed. I'm not. This is only my fifth since + dinner. I am dead sober. I am solemn. I sit here now side by side with my + sacred youth. It is not I—'old' Trefethan—that talks; it is my + youth, and it is my youth that says those were the most wonderful eyes I + have ever seen—so very calm, so very restless; so very wise, so very + curious; so very old, so very young; so satisfied and yet yearning so + wistfully. Boys, I can't describe them. When I have told you about her, + you may know better for yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “She did not stand up. But she put out her hand.” + </p> + <p> + “'Stranger,' she said, 'I'm real glad to see you.' + </p> + <p> + “I leave it to you—that sharp, frontier, Western tang of speech. + Picture my sensations. It was a woman, a white woman, but that tang! It + was amazing that it should be a white woman, here, beyond the last + boundary of the world—but the tang. I tell you, it hurt. It was like + the stab of a flatted note. And yet, let me tell you, that woman was a + poet. You shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “She dismissed the Indians. And, by Jove, they went. They took her orders + and followed her blind. She was hi-yu skookam chief. She told the bucks to + make a camp for me and to take care of my dogs. And they did, too. And + they knew enough not to get away with as much as a moccasin-lace of my + outfit. She was a regular She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, and I want to tell you + it chilled me to the marrow, sent those little thrills Marathoning up and + down my spinal column, meeting a white woman out there at the head of a + tribe of savages a thousand miles the other side of No Man's Land. + </p> + <p> + “'Stranger,” she said, 'I reckon you're sure the first white that ever set + foot in this valley. Set down an' talk a spell, and then we'll have a bite + to eat. Which way might you be comin'?' + </p> + <p> + “There it was, that tang again. But from now to the end of the yarn I want + you to forget it. I tell you I forgot it, sitting there on the edge of + that swan-skin robe and listening and looking at the most wonderful woman + that ever stepped out of the pages of Thoreau or of any other man's book. + </p> + <p> + “I stayed on there a week. It was on her invitation. She promised to fit + me out with dogs and sleds and with Indians that would put me across the + best pass of the Rockies in five hundred miles. Her fly was pitched apart + from the others, on the high bank by the river, and a couple of Indian + girls did her cooking for her and the camp work. And so we talked and + talked, while the first snow fell and continued to fall and make a surface + for my sleds. And this was her story. + </p> + <p> + “She was frontier-born, of poor settlers, and you know what that means—work, + work, always work, work in plenty and without end. + </p> + <p> + “'I never seen the glory of the world,' she said. 'I had no time. I knew + it was right out there, anywhere, all around the cabin, but there was + always the bread to set, the scrubbin' and the washin' and the work that + was never done. I used to be plumb sick at times, jes' to get out into it + all, especially in the spring when the songs of the birds drove me most + clean crazy. I wanted to run out through the long pasture grass, wetting + my legs with the dew of it, and to climb the rail fence, and keep on + through the timber and up and up over the divide so as to get a look + around. Oh, I had all kinds of hankerings—to follow up the canyon + beds and slosh around from pool to pool, making friends with the + water-dogs and the speckly trout; to peep on the sly and watch the + squirrels and rabbits and small furry things and see what they was doing + and learn the secrets of their ways. Seemed to me, if I had time, I could + crawl among the flowers, and, if I was good and quiet, catch them + whispering with themselves, telling all kinds of wise things that mere + humans never know.'” + </p> + <p> + Trefethan paused to see that his glass had been refilled. + </p> + <p> + “Another time she said: 'I wanted to run nights like a wild thing, just to + run through the moonshine and under the stars, to run white and naked in + the darkness that I knew must feel like cool velvet, and to run and run + and keep on running. One evening, plumb tuckered out—it had been a + dreadful hard hot day, and the bread wouldn't raise and the churning had + gone wrong, and I was all irritated and jerky—well, that evening I + made mention to dad of this wanting to run of mine. He looked at me + curious-some and a bit scared. And then he gave me two pills to take. Said + to go to bed and get a good sleep and I'd be all hunky-dory in the + morning. So I never mentioned my hankerings to him, or any one any more.' + </p> + <p> + “The mountain home broke up—starved out, I imagine—and the + family came to Seattle to live. There she worked in a factory—long + hours, you know, and all the rest, deadly work. And after a year of that + she became waitress in a cheap restaurant—hash-slinger, she called + it. She said to me once, 'Romance I guess was what I wanted. But there + wan't no romance floating around in dishpans and washtubs, or in factories + and hash-joints.' + </p> + <p> + “When she was eighteen she married—a man who was going up to Juneau + to start a restaurant. He had a few dollars saved, and appeared + prosperous. She didn't love him—she was emphatic about that, but she + was all tired out, and she wanted to get away from the unending drudgery. + Besides, Juneau was in Alaska, and her yearning took the form of a desire + to see that wonderland. But little she saw of it. He started the + restaurant, a little cheap one, and she quickly learned what he had + married her for..... to save paying wages. She came pretty close to + running the joint and doing all the work from waiting to dishwashing. She + cooked most of the time as well. And she had four years of it. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you picture her, this wild woods creature, quick with every old + primitive instinct, yearning for the free open, and mowed up in a vile + little hash-joint and toiling and moiling for four mortal years? + </p> + <p> + “'There was no meaning in anything,' she said. 'What was it all about! Why + was I born! Was that all the meaning of life—just to work and work + and be always tired!—to go to bed tired and to wake up tired, with + every day like every other day unless it was harder?' She had heard talk + of immortal life from the gospel sharps, she said, but she could not + reckon that what she was doin' was a likely preparation for her + immortality. + </p> + <p> + “But she still had her dreams, though more rarely. She had read a few + books—what, it is pretty hard to imagine, Seaside Library novels + most likely; yet they had been food for fancy. 'Sometimes,' she said, + 'when I was that dizzy from the heat of the cooking that if I didn't take + a breath of fresh air I'd faint, I'd stick my head out of the kitchen + window, and close my eyes and see most wonderful things. All of a sudden + I'd be traveling down a country road, and everything clean and quiet, no + dust, no dirt; just streams ripplin' down sweet meadows, and lambs + playing, breezes blowing the breath of flowers, and soft sunshine over + everything; and lovely cows lazying knee-deep in quiet pools, and young + girls bathing in a curve of stream all white and slim and natural—and + I'd know I was in Arcady. I'd read about that country once, in a book. And + maybe knights, all flashing in the sun, would come riding around a bend in + the road, or a lady on a milk-white mare, and in the distance I could see + the towers of a castle rising, or I just knew, on the next turn, that I'd + come upon some palace, all white and airy and fairy-like, with fountains + playing, and flowers all over everything, and peacocks on the lawn..... + and then I'd open my eyes, and the heat of the cooking range would strike + on me, and I'd hear Jake sayin'—he was my husband—I'd hear + Jake sayin', “Why ain't you served them beans? Think I can wait here all + day!” Romance!—I reckon the nearest I ever come to it was when a + drunken Armenian cook got the snakes and tried to cut my throat with a + potato knife and I got my arm burned on the stove before I could lay him + out with the potato stomper. + </p> + <p> + “'I wanted easy ways, and lovely things, and Romance and all that; but it + just seemed I had no luck nohow and was only and expressly born for + cooking and dishwashing. There was a wild crowd in Juneau them days, but I + looked at the other women, and their way of life didn't excite me. I + reckon I wanted to be clean. I don't know why; I just wanted to, I guess; + and I reckoned I might as well die dishwashing as die their way.” + </p> + <p> + Trefethan halted in his tale for a moment, completing to himself some + thread of thought. + </p> + <p> + “And this is the woman I met up there in the Arctic, running a tribe of + wild Indians and a few thousand square miles of hunting territory. And it + happened, simply enough, though, for that matter, she might have lived and + died among the pots and pans. But 'Came the whisper, came the vision.' + That was all she needed, and she got it. + </p> + <p> + “'I woke up one day,' she said. 'Just happened on it in a scrap of + newspaper. I remember every word of it, and I can give it to you.' And + then she quoted Thoreau's Cry of the Human: + </p> + <p> + “'The young pines springing up, in the corn field from year to year are to + me a refreshing fact. We talk of civilizing the Indian, but that is not + the name for his improvement. By the wary independence and aloofness of + his dim forest life he preserves his intercourse with his native gods and + is admitted from time to time to a rare and peculiar society with nature. + He has glances of starry recognition, to which our saloons are strangers. + The steady illumination of his qenius, dim only because distant, is like + the faint but satisfying light of the stars compared with the dazzling but + ineffectual and short-lived blaze of candles. The Society Islanders had + their day-born gods, but they were not supposed to be of equal antiquity + with the..... night-born gods.' + </p> + <p> + “That's what she did, repeated it word for word, and I forgot the tang, + for it was solemn, a declaration of religion—pagan, if you will; and + clothed in the living garmenture of herself. + </p> + <p> + “'And the rest of it was torn away,' she added, a great emptiness in her + voice. 'It was only a scrap of newspaper. But that Thoreau was a wise man. + I wish I knew more about him.' She stopped a moment, and I swear her face + was ineffably holy as she said, 'I could have made him a good wife.' + </p> + <p> + “And then she went on. 'I knew right away, as soon as I read that, what + was the matter with me. I was a night-born. I, who had lived all my life + with the day-born, was a night-born. That was why I had never been + satisfied with cooking and dishwashing; that was why I had hankered to run + naked in the moonlight. And I knew that this dirty little Juneau + hash-joint was no place for me. And right there and then I said, “I quit.” + I packed up my few rags of clothes, and started. Jake saw me and tried to + stop me. + </p> + <p> + “'What you doing?” he says. + </p> + <p> + “'Divorcin' you and me,' I says. 'I'm headin' for tall timber and where I + belong.'” + </p> + <p> + “'No you don't,' he says, reaching for me to stop me. 'The cooking has got + on your head. You listen to me talk before you up and do anything brash.' + </p> + <p> + “But I pulled a gun-a little Colt's forty-four—and says, 'This does + my talkin' for me.' + </p> + <p> + “And I left.” + </p> + <p> + Trefethan emptied his glass and called for another. + </p> + <p> + “Boys, do you know what that girl did? She was twenty-two. She had spent + her life over the dish-pan and she knew no more about the world than I do + of the fourth dimension, or the fifth. All roads led to her desire. No; + she didn't head for the dance-halls. On the Alaskan Pan-handle it is + preferable to travel by water. She went down to the beach. An Indian canoe + was starting for Dyea—you know the kind, carved out of a single + tree, narrow and deep and sixty feet long. She gave them a couple of + dollars and got on board. + </p> + <p> + “'Romance?' she told me. 'It was Romance from the jump. There were three + families altogether in that canoe, and that crowded there wasn't room to + turn around, with dogs and Indian babies sprawling over everything, and + everybody dipping a paddle and making that canoe go.' And all around the + great solemn mountains, and tangled drifts of clouds and sunshine. And oh, + the silence! the great wonderful silence! And, once, the smoke of a + hunter's camp, away off in the distance, trailing among the trees. It was + like a picnic, a grand picnic, and I could see my dreams coming true, and + I was ready for something to happen 'most any time. And it did. + </p> + <p> + “'And that first camp, on the island! And the boys spearing fish in the + mouth of the creek, and the big deer one of the bucks shot just around the + point. And there were flowers everywhere, and in back from the beach the + grass was thick and lush and neck-high. And some of the girls went through + this with me, and we climbed the hillside behind and picked berries and + roots that tasted sour and were good to eat. And we came upon a big bear + in the berries making his supper, and he said “Oof!” and ran away as + scared as we were. And then the camp, and the camp smoke, and the smell of + fresh venison cooking. It was beautiful. I was with the night-born at + last, and I knew that was where I belonged. And for the first time in my + life, it seemed to me, I went to bed happy that night, looking out under a + corner of the canvas at the stars cut off black by a big shoulder of + mountain, and listening to the night-noises, and knowing that the same + thing would go on next day and forever and ever, for I wasn't going back. + And I never did go back.' + </p> + <p> + “'Romance! I got it next day. We had to cross a big arm of the ocean—twelve + or fifteen miles, at least; and it came on to blow when we were in the + middle. That night I was along on shore, with one wolf-dog, and I was the + only one left alive.' + </p> + <p> + “Picture it yourself,” Trefethan broke off to say. “The canoe was wrecked + and lost, and everybody pounded to death on the rocks except her. She went + ashore hanging on to a dog's tail, escaping the rocks and washing up on a + tiny beach, the only one in miles. + </p> + <p> + “'Lucky for me it was the mainland,' she said. 'So I headed right away + back, through the woods and over the mountains and straight on anywhere. + Seemed I was looking for something and knew I'd find it. I wasn't afraid. + I was night-born, and the big timber couldn't kill me. And on the second + day I found it. I came upon a small clearing and a tumbledown cabin. + Nobody had been there for years and years. The roof had fallen in. Rotted + blankets lay in the bunks, and pots and pans were on the stove. But that + was not the most curious thing. Outside, along the edge of the trees, you + can't guess what I found. The skeletons of eight horses, each tied to a + tree. They had starved to death, I reckon, and left only little piles of + bones scattered some here and there. And each horse had had a load on its + back. There the loads lay, in among the bones—painted canvas sacks, + and inside moosehide sacks, and inside the moosehide sacks—what do + you think?'” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, reached under a corner of the bed among the spruce boughs, + and pulled out a leather sack. She untied the mouth and ran out into my + hand as pretty a stream of gold as I have ever seen—coarse gold, + placer gold, some large dust, but mostly nuggets, and it was so fresh and + rough that it scarcely showed signs of water-wash. + </p> + <p> + “'You say you're a mining engineer,' she said, 'and you know this country. + Can you name a pay-creek that has the color of that gold!' + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't! There wasn't a trace of silver. It was almost pure, and I + told her so. + </p> + <p> + “'You bet,' she said. 'I sell that for nineteen dollars an ounce. You + can't get over seventeen for Eldorado gold, and Minook gold don't fetch + quite eighteen. Well, that was what I found among the bones—eight + horse-loads of it, one hundred and fifty pounds to the load.' + </p> + <p> + “'A quarter of a million dollars!' I cried out. + </p> + <p> + “'That's what I reckoned it roughly,' she answered. 'Talk about Romance! + And me a slaving the way I had all the years, when as soon as I ventured + out, inside three days, this was what happened. And what became of the men + that mined all that gold? Often and often I wonder about it. They left + their horses, loaded and tied, and just disappeared off the face of the + earth, leaving neither hide nor hair behind them. I never heard tell of + them. Nobody knows anything about them. Well, being the night-born, I + reckon I was their rightful heir.'” + </p> + <p> + Trefethan stopped to light a cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what that girl did? She cached the gold, saving out thirty + pounds, which she carried back to the coast. Then she signaled a passing + canoe, made her way to Pat Healy's trading post at Dyea, outfitted, and + went over Chilcoot Pass. That was in '88—eight years before the + Klondike strike, and the Yukon was a howling wilderness. She was afraid of + the bucks, but she took two young squaws with her, crossed the lakes, and + went down the river and to all the early camps on the Lower Yukon. She + wandered several years over that country and then on in to where I met + her. Liked the looks of it, she said, seeing, in her own words, 'a big + bull caribou knee-deep in purple iris on the valley-bottom.' She hooked up + with the Indians, doctored them, gained their confidence, and gradually + took them in charge. She had only left that country once, and then, with a + bunch of the young bucks, she went over Chilcoot, cleaned up her + gold-cache, and brought it back with her. + </p> + <p> + “'And here I be, stranger,' she concluded her yarn, 'and here's the most + precious thing I own.' + </p> + <p> + “She pulled out a little pouch of buckskin, worn on her neck like a + locket, and opened it. And inside, wrapped in oiled silk, yellowed with + age and worn and thumbed, was the original scrap of newspaper containing + the quotation from Thoreau. + </p> + <p> + “'And are you happy... satisfied?' I asked her. 'With a quarter of a + million you wouldn't have to work down in the States. You must miss a + lot.' + </p> + <p> + “'Not much,' she answered. 'I wouldn't swop places with any woman down in + the States. These are my people; this is where I belong. But there are + times—and in her eyes smoldered up that hungry yearning I've + mentioned—'there are times when I wish most awful bad for that + Thoreau man to happen along.' + </p> + <p> + “'Why?' I asked. + </p> + <p> + “'So as I could marry him. I do get mighty lonesome at spells. I'm just a + woman—a real woman. I've heard tell of the other kind of women that + gallivanted off like me and did queer things—the sort that become + soldiers in armies, and sailors on ships. But those women are queer + themselves. They're more like men than women; they look like men and they + don't have ordinary women's needs. They don't want love, nor little + children in their arms and around their knees. I'm not that sort. I leave + it to you, stranger. Do I look like a man?' + </p> + <p> + “She didn't. She was a woman, a beautiful, nut-brown woman, with a sturdy, + health-rounded woman's body and with wonderful deep-blue woman's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “'Ain't I woman?' she demanded. 'I am. I'm 'most all woman, and then some. + And the funny thing is, though I'm night-born in everything else, I'm not + when it comes to mating. I reckon that kind likes its own kind best. + That's the way it is with me, anyway, and has been all these years.' + </p> + <p> + “'You mean to tell me—' I began. + </p> + <p> + “'Never,' she said, and her eyes looked into mine with the straightness of + truth. 'I had one husband, only—him I call the Ox; and I reckon he's + still down in Juneau running the hash-joint. Look him up, if you ever get + back, and you'll find he's rightly named.' + </p> + <p> + “And look him up I did, two years afterward. He was all she said—solid + and stolid, the Ox—shuffling around and waiting on the tables. + </p> + <p> + “'You need a wife to help you,' I said. + </p> + <p> + “'I had one once,' was his answer. + </p> + <p> + “'Widower?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yep. She went loco. She always said the heat of the cooking would get + her, and it did. Pulled a gun on me one day and ran away with some + Siwashes in a canoe. Caught a blow up the coast and all hands drowned.'” + </p> + <p> + Trefethan devoted himself to his glass and remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “But the girl?” Milner reminded him. + </p> + <p> + “You left your story just as it was getting interesting, tender. Did it?” + </p> + <p> + “It did,” Trefethan replied. “As she said herself, she was savage in + everything except mating, and then she wanted her own kind. She was very + nice about it, but she was straight to the point. She wanted to marry me. + </p> + <p> + “'Stranger,' she said, 'I want you bad. You like this sort of life or you + wouldn't be here trying to cross the Rockies in fall weather. It's a + likely spot. You'll find few likelier. Why not settle down! I'll make you + a good wife.' + </p> + <p> + “And then it was up to me. And she waited. I don't mind confessing that I + was sorely tempted. I was half in love with her as it was. You know I have + never married. And I don't mind adding, looking back over my life, that + she is the only woman that ever affected me that way. But it was too + preposterous, the whole thing, and I lied like a gentleman. I told her I + was already married. + </p> + <p> + “'Is your wife waiting for you?' she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I said yes. + </p> + <p> + “'And she loves you?' + </p> + <p> + “I said yes. + </p> + <p> + “And that was all. She never pressed her point... except once, and then + she showed a bit of fire. + </p> + <p> + “'All I've got to do,' she said, 'is to give the word, and you don't get + away from here. If I give the word, you stay on... But I ain't going to + give it. I wouldn't want you if you didn't want to be wanted... and if you + didn't want me.' + </p> + <p> + “She went ahead and outfitted me and started me on my way. + </p> + <p> + “'It's a darned shame, stranger,” she said, at parting. 'I like your + looks, and I like you. If you ever change your mind, come back.' + </p> + <p> + “Now there was one thing I wanted to do, and that was to kiss her + good-bye, but I didn't know how to go about it nor how she would take it.—I + tell you I was half in love with her. But she settled it herself. + </p> + <p> + “'Kiss me,' she said. 'Just something to go on and remember.' + </p> + <p> + “And we kissed, there in the snow, in that valley by the Rockies, and I + left her standing by the trail and went on after my dogs. I was six weeks + in crossing over the pass and coming down to the first post on Great Slave + Lake.” + </p> + <p> + The brawl of the streets came up to us like a distant surf. A steward, + moving noiselessly, brought fresh siphons. And in the silence Trefethan's + voice fell like a funeral bell: + </p> + <p> + “It would have been better had I stayed. Look at me.” + </p> + <p> + We saw his grizzled mustache, the bald spot on his head, the puff-sacks + under his eyes, the sagging cheeks, the heavy dewlap, the general + tiredness and staleness and fatness, all the collapse and ruin of a man + who had once been strong but who had lived too easily and too well. + </p> + <p> + “It's not too late, old man,” Bardwell said, almost in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “By God! I wish I weren't a coward!” was Trefethan's answering cry. “I + could go back to her. She's there, now. I could shape up and live many a + long year... with her... up there. To remain here is to commit suicide. + But I am an old man—forty-seven—look at me. The trouble is,” + he lifted his glass and glanced at it, “the trouble is that suicide of + this sort is so easy. I am soft and tender. The thought of the long day's + travel with the dogs appalls me; the thought of the keen frost in the + morning and of the frozen sled-lashings frightens me—” + </p> + <p> + Automatically the glass was creeping toward his lips. With a swift surge + of anger he made as if to crash it down upon the floor. Next came + hesitancy and second thought. The glass moved upward to his lips and + paused. He laughed harshly and bitterly, but his words were solemn: + </p> + <p> + “Well, here's to the Night-Born. She WAS a wonder.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MADNESS OF JOHN HARNED + </h2> + <p> + I TELL this for a fact. It happened in the bull-ring at Quito. I sat in + the box with John Harned, and with Maria Valenzuela, and with Luis + Cervallos. I saw it happen. I saw it all from first to last. I was on the + steamer Ecuadore from Panama to Guayaquil. Maria Valenzuela is my cousin. + I have known her always. She is very beautiful. I am a Spaniard—an + Ecuadoriano, true, but I am descended from Pedro Patino, who was one of + Pizarro's captains. They were brave men. They were heroes. Did not Pizarro + lead three hundred and fifty Spanish cavaliers and four thousand Indians + into the far Cordilleras in search of treasure? And did not all the four + thousand Indians and three hundred of the brave cavaliers die on that vain + quest? But Pedro Patino did not die. He it was that lived to found the + family of the Patino. I am Ecuadoriano, true, but I am Spanish. I am + Manuel de Jesus Patino. I own many haciendas, and ten thousand Indians are + my slaves, though the law says they are free men who work by freedom of + contract. The law is a funny thing. We Ecuadorianos laugh at it. It is our + law. We make it for ourselves. I am Manuel de Jesus Patino. Remember that + name. It will be written some day in history. There are revolutions in + Ecuador. We call them elections. It is a good joke is it not?—what + you call a pun? + </p> + <p> + John Harned was an American. I met him first at the Tivoli hotel in + Panama. He had much money—this I have heard. He was going to Lima, + but he met Maria Valenzuela in the Tivoli hotel. Maria Valenzuela is my + cousin, and she is beautiful. It is true, she is the most beautiful woman + in Ecuador. But also is she most beautiful in every country—in + Paris, in Madrid, in New York, in Vienna. Always do all men look at her, + and John Harned looked long at her at Panama. He loved her, that I know + for a fact. She was Ecuadoriano, true—but she was of all countries; + she was of all the world. She spoke many languages. She sang—ah! + like an artiste. Her smile—wonderful, divine. Her eyes—ah! + have I not seen men look in her eyes? They were what you English call + amazing. They were promises of paradise. Men drowned themselves in her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + Maria Valenzuela was rich—richer than I, who am accounted very rich + in Ecuador. But John Harned did not care for her money. He had a heart—a + funny heart. He was a fool. He did not go to Lima. He left the steamer at + Guayaquil and followed her to Quito. She was coming home from Europe and + other places. I do not see what she found in him, but she liked him. This + I know for a fact, else he would not have followed her to Quito. She asked + him to come. Well do I remember the occasion. She said: + </p> + <p> + “Come to Quito and I will show you the bullfight—brave, clever, + magnificent!” + </p> + <p> + But he said: “I go to Lima, not Quito. Such is my passage engaged on the + steamer.” + </p> + <p> + “You travel for pleasure—no?” said Maria Valenzuela; and she looked + at him as only Maria Valenzuela could look, her eyes warm with the + promise. + </p> + <p> + And he came. No; he did not come for the bull-fight. He came because of + what he had seen in her eyes. Women like Maria Valenzuela are born once in + a hundred years. They are of no country and no time. They are what you + call goddesses. Men fall down at their feet. They play with men and run + them through their pretty fingers like sand. Cleopatra was such a woman + they say; and so was Circe. She turned men into swine. Ha! ha! It is true—no? + </p> + <p> + It all came about because Maria Valenzuela said: + </p> + <p> + “You English people are—what shall I say?—savage—no? You + prize-fight. Two men each hit the other with their fists till their eyes + are blinded and their noses are broken. Hideous! And the other men who + look on cry out loudly and are made glad. It is barbarous—no?” + </p> + <p> + “But they are men,” said John Harned; “and they prize-fight out of desire. + No one makes them prize-fight. They do it because they desire it more than + anything else in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Maria Valenzuela—there was scorn in her smile as she said: “They + kill each other often—is it not so? I have read it in the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “But the bull,” said John Harned. + </p> + <p> + “The bull is killed many times in the bull-fight, and the bull does not + come into the the ring out of desire. It is not fair to the bull. He is + compelled to fight. But the man in the prize-fight—no; he is not + compelled.” + </p> + <p> + “He is the more brute therefore,” said Maria Valenzuela. + </p> + <p> + “He is savage. He is primitive. He is animal. He strikes with his paws + like a bear from a cave, and he is ferocious. But the bull-fight—ah! + You have not seen the bullfight—no? The toreador is clever. He must + have skill. He is modern. He is romantic. He is only a man, soft and + tender, and he faces the wild bull in conflict. And he kills with a sword, + a slender sword, with one thrust, so, to the heart of the great beast. It + is delicious. It makes the heart beat to behold—the small man, the + great beast, the wide level sand, the thousands that look on without + breath; the great beast rushes to the attack, the small man stands like a + statue; he does not move, he is unafraid, and in his hand is the slender + sword flashing like silver in the sun; nearer and nearer rushes the great + beast with its sharp horns, the man does not move, and then—so—the + sword flashes, the thrust is made, to the heart, to the hilt, the bull + falls to the sand and is dead, and the man is unhurt. It is brave. It is + magnificent! Ah!—I could love the toreador. But the man of the + prize-fight—he is the brute, the human beast, the savage primitive, + the maniac that receives many blows in his stupid face and rejoices. Come + to Quito and I will show you the brave sport of men, the toreador and the + bull.” + </p> + <p> + But John Harned did not go to Quito for the bull-fight. He went because of + Maria Valenzuela. He was a large man, more broad of shoulder than we + Ecuadorianos, more tall, more heavy of limb and bone. True, he was larger + of his own race. His eyes were blue, though I have seen them gray, and, + sometimes, like cold steel. His features were large, too—not + delicate like ours, and his jaw was very strong to look at. Also, his face + was smooth-shaven like a priest's. Why should a man feel shame for the + hair on his face? Did not God put it there? Yes, I believe in God—I + am not a pagan like many of you English. God is good. He made me an + Ecuadoriano with ten thousand slaves. And when I die I shall go to God. + Yes, the priests are right. + </p> + <p> + But John Harned. He was a quiet man. He talked always in a low voice, and + he never moved his hands when he talked. One would have thought his heart + was a piece of ice; yet did he have a streak of warm in his blood, for he + followed Maria Valenzuela to Quito. Also, and for all that he talked low + without moving his hands, he was an animal, as you shall see—the + beast primitive, the stupid, ferocious savage of the long ago that dressed + in wild skins and lived in the caves along with the bears and wolves. + </p> + <p> + Luis Cervallos is my friend, the best of Ecuadorianos. He owns three cacao + plantations at Naranjito and Chobo. At Milagro is his big sugar + plantation. He has large haciendas at Ambato and Latacunga, and down the + coast is he interested in oil-wells. Also has he spent much money in + planting rubber along the Guayas. He is modern, like the Yankee; and, like + the Yankee, full of business. He has much money, but it is in many + ventures, and ever he needs more money for new ventures and for the old + ones. He has been everywhere and seen everything. When he was a very young + man he was in the Yankee military academy what you call West Point. There + was trouble. He was made to resign. He does not like Americans. But he did + like Maria Valenzuela, who was of his own country. Also, he needed her + money for his ventures and for his gold mine in Eastern Ecuador where the + painted Indians live. I was his friend. It was my desire that he should + marry Maria Valenzuela. Further, much of my money had I invested in his + ventures, more so in his gold mine which was very rich but which first + required the expense of much money before it would yield forth its riches. + If Luis Cervallos married Maria Valenzuela I should have more money very + immediately. + </p> + <p> + But John Harned followed Maria Valenzuela to Quito, and it was quickly + clear to us—to Luis Cervallos and me that she looked upon John + Harned with great kindness. It is said that a woman will have her will, + but this is a case not in point, for Maria Valenzuela did not have her + will—at least not with John Harned. Perhaps it would all have + happened as it did, even if Luis Cervallos and I had not sat in the box + that day at the bull-ring in Quito. But this I know: we DID sit in the box + that day. And I shall tell you what happened. + </p> + <p> + The four of us were in the one box, guests of Luis Cervallos. I was next + to the Presidente's box. On the other side was the box of General Jose + Eliceo Salazar. With him were Joaquin Endara and Urcisino Castillo, both + generals, and Colonel Jacinto Fierro and Captain Baltazar de Echeverria. + Only Luis Cervallos had the position and the influence to get that box + next to the Presidente. I know for a fact that the Presidente himself + expressed the desire to the management that Luis Cervallos should have + that box. + </p> + <p> + The band finished playing the national hymn of Ecuador. The procession of + the toreadors was over. The Presidente nodded to begin. The bugles blew, + and the bull dashed in—you know the way, excited, bewildered, the + darts in its shoulder burning like fire, itself seeking madly whatever + enemy to destroy. The toreadors hid behind their shelters and waited. + Suddenly they appeared forth, the capadores, five of them, from every + side, their colored capes flinging wide. The bull paused at sight of such + a generosity of enemies, unable in his own mind to know which to attack. + Then advanced one of the capadors alone to meet the bull. The bull was + very angry. With its fore-legs it pawed the sand of the arena till the + dust rose all about it. Then it charged, with lowered head, straight for + the lone capador. + </p> + <p> + It is always of interest, the first charge of the first bull. After a time + it is natural that one should grow tired, trifle, that the keenness should + lose its edge. But that first charge of the first bull! John Harned was + seeing it for the first time, and he could not escape the excitement—the + sight of the man, armed only with a piece of cloth, and of the bull + rushing upon him across the sand with sharp horns, widespreading. + </p> + <p> + “See!” cried Maria Valenzuela. “Is it not superb?” + </p> + <p> + John Harned nodded, but did not look at her. His eyes were sparkling, and + they were only for the bull-ring. The capador stepped to the side, with a + twirl of the cape eluding the bull and spreading the cape on his own + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” asked Maria Venzuela. “Is it not a—what-you-call—sporting + proposition—no?” + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly,” said John Harned. “It is very clever.” + </p> + <p> + She clapped her hands with delight. They were little hands. The audience + applauded. The bull turned and came back. Again the capadore eluded him, + throwing the cape on his shoulders, and again the audience applauded. + Three times did this happen. The capadore was very excellent. Then he + retired, and the other capadore played with the bull. After that they + placed the banderillos in the bull, in the shoulders, on each side of the + back-bone, two at a time. Then stepped forward Ordonez, the chief matador, + with the long sword and the scarlet cape. The bugles blew for the death. + He is not so good as Matestini. Still he is good, and with one thrust he + drove the sword to the heart, and the bull doubled his legs under him and + lay down and died. It was a pretty thrust, clean and sure; and there was + much applause, and many of the common people threw their hats into the + ring. Maria Valenzuela clapped her hands with the rest, and John Harned, + whose cold heart was not touched by the event, looked at her with + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “You like it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Always,” she said, still clapping her hands. + </p> + <p> + “From a little girl,” said Luis Cervallos. “I remember her first fight. + She was four years old. She sat with her mother, and just like now she + clapped her hands. She is a proper Spanish woman. + </p> + <p> + “You have seen it,” said Maria Valenzuela to John Harned, as they fastened + the mules to the dead bull and dragged it out. “You have seen the + bull-fight and you like it—no? What do you think? + </p> + <p> + “I think the bull had no chance,” he said. “The bull was doomed from the + first. The issue was not in doubt. Every one knew, before the bull entered + the ring, that it was to die. To be a sporting proposition, the issue must + be in doubt. It was one stupid bull who had never fought a man against + five wise men who had fought many bulls. It would be possibly a little bit + fair if it were one man against one bull.” + </p> + <p> + “Or one man against five bulls,” said Maria Valenzuela; and we all + laughed, and Luis Ceryallos laughed loudest. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said John Harned, “against five bulls, and the man, like the bulls, + never in the bull ring before—a man like yourself, Senor Crevallos.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet we Spanish like the bull-fight,” said Luis Cervallos; and I swear the + devil was whispering then in his ear, telling him to do that which I shall + relate. + </p> + <p> + “Then must it be a cultivated taste,” John Harned made answer. “We kill + bulls by the thousand every day in Chicago, yet no one cares to pay + admittance to see.” + </p> + <p> + “That is butchery,” said I; “but this—ah, this is an art. It is + delicate. It is fine. It is rare.” + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” said Luis Cervallos. “I have seen clumsy matadors, and I + tell you it is not nice.” + </p> + <p> + He shuddered, and his face betrayed such what-you-call disgust, that I + knew, then, that the devil was whispering and that he was beginning to + play a part. + </p> + <p> + “Senor Harned may be right,” said Luis Cervallos. “It may not be fair to + the bull. For is it not known to all of us that for twenty-four hours the + bull is given no water, and that immediately before the fight he is + permitted to drink his fill?” + </p> + <p> + “And he comes into the ring heavy with water?” said John Harned quickly; + and I saw that his eyes were very gray and very sharp and very cold. + </p> + <p> + “It is necessary for the sport,” said Luis Cervallos. “Would you have the + bull so strong that he would kill the toreadors?” + </p> + <p> + “I would that he had a fighting chance,” said John Harned, facing the ring + to see the second bull come in. + </p> + <p> + It was not a good bull. It was frightened. It ran around the ring in + search of a way to get out. The capadors stepped forth and flared their + capes, but he refused to charge upon them. + </p> + <p> + “It is a stupid bull,” said Maria Valenzuela. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon,” said John Harned; “but it would seem to me a wise bull. He + knows he must not fight man. See! He smells death there in the ring.” + </p> + <p> + True. The bull, pausing where the last one had died, was smelling the wet + sand and snorting. Again he ran around the ring, with raised head, looking + at the faces of the thousands that hissed him, that threw orange-peel at + him and called him names. But the smell of blood decided him, and he + charged a capador, so without warning that the man just escaped. He + dropped his cape and dodged into the shelter. The bull struck the wall of + the ring with a crash. And John Harned said, in a quiet voice, as though + he talked to himself: + </p> + <p> + “I will give one thousand sucres to the lazar-house of Quito if a bull + kills a man this day.” + </p> + <p> + “You like bulls?” said Maria Valenzuela with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I like such men less,” said John Harned. “A toreador is not a brave man. + He surely cannot be a brave man. See, the bull's tongue is already out. He + is tired and he has not yet begun.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the water,” said Luis Cervallos. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is the water,” said John Harned. “Would it not be safer to + hamstring the bull before he comes on?” + </p> + <p> + Maria Valenzuela was made angry by this sneer in John Harned's words. But + Luis Cervallos smiled so that only I could see him, and then it broke upon + my mind surely the game he was playing. He and I were to be banderilleros. + The big American bull was there in the box with us. We were to stick the + darts in him till he became angry, and then there might be no marriage + with Maria Valenzuela. It was a good sport. And the spirit of + bull-fighters was in our blood. + </p> + <p> + The bull was now angry and excited. The capadors had great game with him. + He was very quick, and sometimes he turned with such sharpness that his + hind legs lost their footing and he plowed the sand with his quarter. But + he charged always the flung capes and committed no harm. + </p> + <p> + “He has no chance,” said John Harned. “He is fighting wind.” + </p> + <p> + “He thinks the cape is his enemy,” explained Maria Valenzuela. “See how + cleverly the capador deceives him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is his nature to be deceived,” said John Harned. “Wherefore he is + doomed to fight wind. The toreadors know it, you know it, I know it—we + all know from the first that he will fight wind. He only does not know it. + It is his stupid beast-nature. He has no chance.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very simple,” said Luis Cervallos. “The bull shuts his eyes when he + charges. Therefore—” + </p> + <p> + “The man steps, out of the way and the bull rushes by,” Harned + interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Luis Cervallos; “that is it. The bull shuts his eyes, and the + man knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “But cows do not shut their eyes,” said John Harned. “I know a cow at home + that is a Jersey and gives milk, that would whip the whole gang of them.” + </p> + <p> + “But the toreadors do not fight cows,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “They are afraid to fight cows,” said John Harned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Luis Cervallos, “they are afraid to fight cows. There would be + no sport in killing toreadors.” + </p> + <p> + “There would be some sport,” said John Harned, “if a toreador were killed + once in a while. When I become an old man, and mayhap a cripple, and + should I need to make a living and be unable to do hard work, then would I + become a bull-fighter. It is a light vocation for elderly gentlemen and + pensioners.” + </p> + <p> + “But see!” said Maria Valenzuela, as the bull charged bravely and the + capador eluded it with a fling of his cape. “It requires skill so to avoid + the beast.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said John Harned. “But believe me, it requires a thousand times + more skill to avoid the many and quick punches of a prize-fighter who + keeps his eyes open and strikes with intelligence. Furthermore, this bull + does not want to fight. Behold, he runs away.” + </p> + <p> + It was not a good bull, for again it ran around the ring, seeking to find + a way out. + </p> + <p> + “Yet these bulls are sometimes the most dangerous,” said Luis Cervallos. + “It can never be known what they will do next. They are wise. They are + half cow. The bull-fighters never like them.—See! He has turned!” + </p> + <p> + Once again, baffled and made angry by the walls of the ring that would not + let him out, the bull was attacking his enemies valiantly. + </p> + <p> + “His tongue is hanging out,” said John Harned. “First, they fill him with + water. Then they tire him out, one man and then another, persuading him to + exhaust himself by fighting wind. While some tire him, others rest. But + the bull they never let rest. Afterward, when he is quite tired and no + longer quick, the matador sticks the sword into him.” + </p> + <p> + The time had now come for the banderillos. Three times one of the fighters + endeavored to place the darts, and three times did he fail. He but stung + the bull and maddened it. The banderillos must go in, you know, two at a + time, into the shoulders, on each side the backbone and close to it. If + but one be placed, it is a failure. The crowd hissed and called for + Ordonez. And then Ordonez did a great thing. Four times he stood forth, + and four times, at the first attempt, he stuck in the banderillos, so that + eight of them, well placed, stood out of the back of the bull at one time. + The crowd went mad, and a rain of hats and money fell on the sand of the + ring. + </p> + <p> + And just then the bull charged unexpectedly one of the capadors. The man + slipped and lost his head. The bull caught him—fortunately, between + his wide horns. And while the audience watched, breathless and silent, + John Harned stood up and yelled with gladness. Alone, in that hush of all + of us, John Harned yelled. And he yelled for the bull. As you see + yourself, John Harned wanted the man killed. His was a brutal heart. This + bad conduct made those angry that sat in the box of General Salazar, and + they cried out against John Harned. And Urcisino Castillo told him to his + face that he was a dog of a Gringo and other things. Only it was in + Spanish, and John Harned did not understand. He stood and yelled, perhaps + for the time of ten seconds, when the bull was enticed into charging the + other capadors and the man arose unhurt. + </p> + <p> + “The bull has no chance,” John Harned said with sadness as he sat down. + “The man was uninjured. They fooled the bull away from him.” Then he + turned to Maria Valenzuela and said: “I beg your pardon. I was excited.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled and in reproof tapped his arm with her fan. + </p> + <p> + “It is your first bull-fight,” she said. “After you have seen more you + will not cry for the death of the man. You Americans, you see, are more + brutal than we. It is because of your prize-fighting. We come only to see + the bull killed.” + </p> + <p> + “But I would the bull had some chance,” he answered. “Doubtless, in time, + I shall cease to be annoyed by the men who take advantage of the bull.” + </p> + <p> + The bugles blew for the death of the bull. Ordonez stood forth with the + sword and the scarlet cloth. But the bull had changed again, and did not + want to fight. Ordonez stamped his foot in the sand, and cried out, and + waved the scarlet cloth. Then the bull charged, but without heart. There + was no weight to the charge. It was a poor thrust. The sword struck a bone + and bent. Ordonez took a fresh sword. The bull, again stung to fight, + charged once more. Five times Ordonez essayed the thrust, and each time + the sword went but part way in or struck bone. The sixth time, the sword + went in to the hilt. But it was a bad thrust. The sword missed the heart + and stuck out half a yard through the ribs on the opposite side. The + audience hissed the matador. I glanced at John Harned. He sat silent, + without movement; but I could see his teeth were set, and his hands were + clenched tight on the railing of the box. + </p> + <p> + All fight was now out of the bull, and, though it was no vital thrust, he + trotted lamely what of the sword that stuck through him, in one side and + out the other. He ran away from the matador and the capadors, and circled + the edge of the ring, looking up at the many faces. + </p> + <p> + “He is saying: 'For God's sake let me out of this; I don't want to + fight,'” said John Harned. + </p> + <p> + That was all. He said no more, but sat and watched, though sometimes he + looked sideways at Maria Valenzuela to see how she took it. She was angry + with the matador. He was awkward, and she had desired a clever exhibition. + </p> + <p> + The bull was now very tired, and weak from loss of blood, though far from + dying. He walked slowly around the wall of the ring, seeking a way out. He + would not charge. He had had enough. But he must be killed. There is a + place, in the neck of a bull behind the horns, where the cord of the spine + is unprotected and where a short stab will immediately kill. Ordonez + stepped in front of the bull and lowered his scarlet cloth to the ground. + The bull would not charge. He stood still and smelled the cloth, lowering + his head to do so. Ordonez stabbed between the horns at the spot in the + neck. The bull jerked his head up. The stab had missed. Then the bull + watched the sword. When Ordonez moved the cloth on the ground, the bull + forgot the sword and lowered his head to smell the cloth. Again Ordonez + stabbed, and again he failed. He tried many times. It was stupid. And John + Harned said nothing. At last a stab went home, and the bull fell to the + sand, dead immediately, and the mules were made fast and he was dragged + out. + </p> + <p> + “The Gringos say it is a cruel sport—no?” said Luis Cervallos. “That + it is not humane. That it is bad for the bull. No?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said John Harned. “The bull does not count for much. It is bad for + those that look on. It is degrading to those that look on. It teaches them + to delight in animal suffering. It is cowardly for five men to fight one + stupid bull. Therefore those that look on learn to be cowards. The bull + dies, but those that look on live and the lesson is learned. The bravery + of men is not nourished by scenes of cowardice.” + </p> + <p> + Maria Valenzuela said nothing. Neither did she look at him. But she heard + every word and her cheeks were white with anger. She looked out across the + ring and fanned herself, but I saw that her hand trembled. Nor did John + Harned look at her. He went on as though she were not there. He, too, was + angry, coldly angry. + </p> + <p> + “It is the cowardly sport of a cowardly people,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Luis Cervallos softly, “you think you understand us.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand now the Spanish Inquisition,” said John Harned. “It must + have been more delightful than bull-fighting.” + </p> + <p> + Luis Cervallos smiled but said nothing. He glanced at Maria Valenzuela, + and knew that the bull-fight in the box was won. Never would she have + further to do with the Gringo who spoke such words. But neither Luis + Cervallos nor I was prepared for the outcome of the day. I fear we do not + understand the Gringos. How were we to know that John Harned, who was so + coldly angry, should go suddenly mad! But mad he did go, as you shall see. + The bull did not count for much—he said so himself. Then why should + the horse count for so much? That I cannot understand. The mind of John + Harned lacked logic. That is the only explanation. + </p> + <p> + “It is not usual to have horses in the bull-ring at Quito,” said Luis + Cervallos, looking up from the program. “In Spain they always have them. + But to-day, by special permission we shall have them. When the next bull + comes on there will be horses and picadors-you know, the men who carry + lances and ride the horses.” + </p> + <p> + “The bull is doomed from the first,” said John Harned. “Are the horses + then likewise doomed!” + </p> + <p> + “They are blindfolded so that they may not see the bull,” said Luis + Cervallos. “I have seen many horses killed. It is a brave sight.” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen the bull slaughtered,” said John Harned “I will now see the + horse slaughtered, so that I may understand more fully the fine points of + this noble sport.” + </p> + <p> + “They are old horses,” said Luis Cervallos, “that are not good for + anything else.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said John Harned. + </p> + <p> + The third bull came on, and soon against it were both capadors and + picadors. One picador took his stand directly below us. I agree, it was a + thin and aged horse he rode, a bag of bones covered with mangy hide. + </p> + <p> + “It is a marvel that the poor brute can hold up the weight of the rider,” + said John Harned. “And now that the horse fights the bull, what weapons + has it?” + </p> + <p> + “The horse does not fight the bull,” said Luis Cervallos. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said John Harned, “then is the horse there to be gored? That must be + why it is blindfolded, so that it shall not see the bull coming to gore + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite so,” said I. “The lance of the picador is to keep the bull from + goring the horse.” + </p> + <p> + “Then are horses rarely gored?” asked John Harned. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Luis Cervallos. “I have seen, at Seville, eighteen horses + killed in one day, and the people clamored for more horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Were they blindfolded like this horse?” asked John Harned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Luis Cervallos. + </p> + <p> + After that we talked no more, but watched the fight. And John Harned was + going mad all the time, and we did not know. The bull refused to charge + the horse. And the horse stood still, and because it could not see it did + not know that the capadors were trying to make the bull charge upon it. + The capadors teased the bull their capes, and when it charged them they + ran toward the horse and into their shelters. At last the bull was angry, + and it saw the horse before it. + </p> + <p> + “The horse does not know, the horse does not know,” John Harned whispered + to himself, unaware that he voiced his thought aloud. + </p> + <p> + The bull charged, and of course the horse knew nothing till the picador + failed and the horse found himself impaled on the bull's horns from + beneath. The bull was magnificently strong. The sight of its strength was + splendid to see. It lifted the horse clear into the air; and as the horse + fell to its side on on the ground the picador landed on his feet and + escaped, while the capadors lured the bull away. The horse was emptied of + its essential organs. Yet did it rise to its feet screaming. It was the + scream of the horse that did it, that made John Harned completely mad; for + he, too, started to rise to his feet, I heard him curse low and deep. He + never took his eyes from the horse, which, screaming, strove to run, but + fell down instead and rolled on its back so that all its four legs were + kicking in the air. Then the bull charged it and gored it again and again + until it was dead. + </p> + <p> + John Harned was now on his feet. His eyes were no longer cold like steel. + They were blue flames. He looked at Maria Valenzuela, and she looked at + him, and in his face was a great loathing. The moment of his madness was + upon him. Everybody was looking, now that the horse was dead; and John + Harned was a large man and easy to be seen. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” said Luis Cervallos, “or you will make a fool of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + John Harned replied nothing. He struck out his fist. He smote Luis + Cervallos in the face so that he fell like a dead man across the chairs + and did not rise again. He saw nothing of what followed. But I saw much. + Urcisino Castillo, leaning forward from the next box, with his cane struck + John Harned full across the face. And John Harned smote him with his fist + so that in falling he overthrew General Salazar. John Harned was now in + what-you-call Berserker rage—no? The beast primitive in him was + loose and roaring—the beast primitive of the holes and caves of the + long ago. + </p> + <p> + “You came for a bull-fight,” I heard him say, “And by God I'll show you a + man-fight!” + </p> + <p> + It was a fight. The soldiers guarding the Presidente's box leaped across, + but from one of them he took a rifle and beat them on their heads with it. + From the other box Colonel Jacinto Fierro was shooting at him with a + revolver. The first shot killed a soldier. This I know for a fact. I saw + it. But the second shot struck John Harned in the side. Whereupon he + swore, and with a lunge drove the bayonet of his rifle into Colonel + Jacinto Fierro's body. It was horrible to behold. The Americans and the + English are a brutal race. They sneer at our bull-fighting, yet do they + delight in the shedding of blood. More men were killed that day because of + John Harned than were ever killed in all the history of the bull-ring of + Quito, yes, and of Guayaquil and all Ecuador. + </p> + <p> + It was the scream of the horse that did it, yet why did not John Harned go + mad when the bull was killed? A beast is a beast, be it bull or horse. + John Harned was mad. There is no other explanation. He was blood-mad, a + beast himself. I leave it to your judgment. Which is worse—the + goring of the horse by the bull, or the goring of Colonel Jacinto Fierro + by the bayonet in the hands of John Harned! And John Harned gored others + with that bayonet. He was full of devils. He fought with many bullets in + him, and he was hard to kill. And Maria Valenzuela was a brave woman. + Unlike the other women, she did not cry out nor faint. She sat still in + her box, gazing out across the bull-ring. Her face was white and she + fanned herself, but she never looked around. + </p> + <p> + From all sides came the soldiers and officers and the common people + bravely to subdue the mad Gringo. It is true—the cry went up from + the crowd to kill all the Gringos. It is an old cry in Latin-American + countries, what of the dislike for the Gringos and their uncouth ways. It + is true, the cry went up. But the brave Ecuadorianos killed only John + Harned, and first he killed seven of them. Besides, there were many hurt. + I have seen many bull-fights, but never have I seen anything so abominable + as the scene in the boxes when the fight was over. It was like a field of + battle. The dead lay around everywhere, while the wounded sobbed and + groaned and some of them died. One man, whom John Harned had thrust + through the belly with the bayonet, clutched at himself with both his + hands and screamed. I tell you for a fact it was more terrible than the + screaming of a thousand horses. + </p> + <p> + No, Maria Valenzuela did not marry Luis Cervallos. I am sorry for that. He + was my friend, and much of my money was invested in his ventures. It was + five weeks before the surgeons took the bandages from his face. And there + is a scar there to this day, on the cheek, under the eye. Yet John Harned + struck him but once and struck him only with his naked fist. Maria + Valenzuela is in Austria now. It is said she is to marry an Arch-Duke or + some high nobleman. I do not know. I think she liked John Harned before he + followed her to Quito to see the bull-fight. But why the horse? That is + what I desire to know. Why should he watch the bull and say that it did + not count, and then go immediately and most horribly mad because a horse + screamed? There is no understanding the Gringos. They are barbarians. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG + </h2> + <p> + HE was a very quiet, self-possessed sort of man, sitting a moment on top + of the wall to sound the damp darkness for warnings of the dangers it + might conceal. But the plummet of his hearing brought nothing to him save + the moaning of wind through invisible trees and the rustling of leaves on + swaying branches. A heavy fog drifted and drove before the wind, and + though he could not see this fog, the wet of it blew upon his face, and + the wall on which he sat was wet. + </p> + <p> + Without noise he had climbed to the top of the wall from the outside, and + without noise he dropped to the ground on the inside. From his pocket he + drew an electric night-stick, but he did not use it. Dark as the way was, + he was not anxious for light. Carrying the night-stick in his hand, his + finger on the button, he advanced through the darkness. The ground was + velvety and springy to his feet, being carpeted with dead pine-needles and + leaves and mold which evidently had been undisturbed for years. Leaves and + branches brushed against his body, but so dark was it that he could not + avoid them. Soon he walked with his hand stretched out gropingly before + him, and more than once the hand fetched up against the solid trunks of + massive trees. All about him he knew were these trees; he sensed the loom + of them everywhere; and he experienced a strange feeling of microscopic + smallness in the midst of great bulks leaning toward him to crush him. + Beyond, he knew, was the house, and he expected to find some trail or + winding path that would lead easily to it. + </p> + <p> + Once, he found himself trapped. On every side he groped against trees and + branches, or blundered into thickets of underbrush, until there seemed no + way out. Then he turned on his light, circumspectly, directing its rays to + the ground at his feet. Slowly and carefully he moved it about him, the + white brightness showing in sharp detail all the obstacles to his + progress. He saw, an opening between huge-trunked trees, and advanced + through it, putting out the light and treading on dry footing as yet + protected from the drip of the fog by the dense foliage overhead. His + sense of direction was good, and he knew he was going toward the house. + </p> + <p> + And then the thing happened—the thing unthinkable and unexpected. + His descending foot came down upon something that was soft and alive, and + that arose with a snort under the weight of his body. He sprang clear, and + crouched for another spring, anywhere, tense and expectant, keyed for the + onslaught of the unknown. He waited a moment, wondering what manner of + animal it was that had arisen from under his foot and that now made no + sound nor movement and that must be crouching and waiting just as tensely + and expectantly as he. The strain became unbearable. Holding the + night-stick before him, he pressed the button, saw, and screamed aloud in + terror. He was prepared for anything, from a frightened calf or fawn to a + belligerent lion, but he was not prepared for what he saw. In that instant + his tiny searchlight, sharp and white, had shown him what a thousand years + would not enable him to forget—a man, huge and blond, yellow-haired + and yellow-bearded, naked except for soft-tanned moccasins and what seemed + a goat-skin about his middle. Arms and legs were bare, as were his + shoulders and most of his chest. The skin was smooth and hairless, but + browned by sun and wind, while under it heavy muscles were knotted like + fat snakes. Still, this alone, unexpected as it well was, was not what had + made the man scream out. What had caused his terror was the unspeakable + ferocity of the face, the wild-animal glare of the blue eyes scarcely + dazzled by the light, the pine-needles matted and clinging in the beard + and hair, and the whole formidable body crouched and in the act of + springing at him. Practically in the instant he saw all this, and while + his scream still rang, the thing leaped, he flung his night-stick full at + it, and threw himself to the ground. He felt its feet and shins strike + against his ribs, and he bounded up and away while the thing itself hurled + onward in a heavy crashing fall into the underbrush. + </p> + <p> + As the noise of the fall ceased, the man stopped and on hands and knees + waited. He could hear the thing moving about, searching for him, and he + was afraid to advertise his location by attempting further flight. He knew + that inevitably he would crackle the underbrush and be pursued. Once he + drew out his revolver, then changed his mind. He had recovered his + composure and hoped to get away without noise. Several times he heard the + thing beating up the thickets for him, and there were moments when it, + too, remained still and listened. This gave an idea to the man. One of his + hands was resting on a chunk of dead wood. Carefully, first feeling about + him in the darkness to know that the full swing of his arm was clear, he + raised the chunk of wood and threw it. It was not a large piece, and it + went far, landing noisily in a bush. He heard the thing bound into the + bush, and at the same time himself crawled steadily away. And on hands and + knees, slowly and cautiously, he crawled on, till his knees were wet on + the soggy mold, When he listened he heard naught but the moaning wind and + the drip-drip of the fog from the branches. Never abating his caution, he + stood erect and went on to the stone wall, over which he climbed and + dropped down to the road outside. + </p> + <p> + Feeling his way in a clump of bushes, he drew out a bicycle and prepared + to mount. He was in the act of driving the gear around with his foot for + the purpose of getting the opposite pedal in position, when he heard the + thud of a heavy body that landed lightly and evidently on its feet. He did + not wait for more, but ran, with hands on the handles of his bicycle, + until he was able to vault astride the saddle, catch the pedals, and start + a spurt. Behind he could hear the quick thud-thud of feet on the dust of + the road, but he drew away from it and lost it. Unfortunately, he had + started away from the direction of town and was heading higher up into the + hills. He knew that on this particular road there were no cross roads. The + only way back was past that terror, and he could not steel himself to face + it. At the end of half an hour, finding himself on an ever increasing + grade, he dismounted. For still greater safety, leaving the wheel by the + roadside, he climbed through a fence into what he decided was a hillside + pasture, spread a newspaper on the ground, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh!” he said aloud, mopping the sweat and fog from his face. + </p> + <p> + And “Gosh!” he said once again, while rolling a cigarette and as he + pondered the problem of getting back. + </p> + <p> + But he made no attempt to go back. He was resolved not to face that road + in the dark, and with head bowed on knees, he dozed, waiting for daylight. + </p> + <p> + How long afterward he did not know, he was awakened by the yapping bark of + a young coyote. As he looked about and located it on the brow of the hill + behind him, he noted the change that had come over the face of the night. + The fog was gone; the stars and moon were out; even the wind had died + down. It had transformed into a balmy California summer night. He tried to + doze again, but the yap of the coyote disturbed him. Half asleep, he heard + a wild and eery chant. Looking about him, he noticed that the coyote had + ceased its noise and was running away along the crest of the hill, and + behind it, in full pursuit, no longer chanting, ran the naked creature he + had encountered in the garden. It was a young coyote, and it was being + overtaken when the chase passed from view. The man trembled as with a + chill as he started to his feet, clambered over the fence, and mounted his + wheel. But it was his chance and he knew it. The terror was no longer + between him and Mill Valley. + </p> + <p> + He sped at a breakneck rate down the hill, but in the turn at the bottom, + in the deep shadows, he encountered a chuck-hole and pitched headlong over + the handle bar. + </p> + <p> + “It's sure not my night,” he muttered, as he examined the broken fork of + the machine. + </p> + <p> + Shouldering the useless wheel, he trudged on. In time he came to the stone + wall, and, half disbelieving his experience, he sought in the road for + tracks, and found them—moccasin tracks, large ones, deep-bitten into + the dust at the toes. It was while bending over them, examining, that + again he heard the eery chant. He had seen the thing pursue the coyote, + and he knew he had no chance on a straight run. He did not attempt it, + contenting himself with hiding in the shadows on the off side of the road. + </p> + <p> + And again he saw the thing that was like a naked man, running swiftly and + lightly and singing as it ran. Opposite him it paused, and his heart stood + still. But instead of coming toward his hiding-place, it leaped into the + air, caught the branch of a roadside tree, and swung swiftly upward, from + limb to limb, like an ape. It swung across the wall, and a dozen feet + above the top, into the branches of another tree, and dropped out of sight + to the ground. The man waited a few wondering minutes, then started on. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Dave Slotter leaned belligerently against the desk that barred the way to + the private office of James Ward, senior partner of the firm of Ward, + Knowles & Co. Dave was angry. Every one in the outer office had looked + him over suspiciously, and the man who faced him was excessively + suspicious. + </p> + <p> + “You just tell Mr. Ward it's important,” he urged. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you he is dictating and cannot be disturbed,” was the answer. + “Come to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow will be too late. You just trot along and tell Mr. Ward it's a + matter of life and death.” + </p> + <p> + The secretary hesitated and Dave seized the advantage. + </p> + <p> + “You just tell him I was across the bay in Mill Valley last night, and + that I want to put him wise to something.” + </p> + <p> + “What name?” was the query. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the name. He don't know me.” + </p> + <p> + When Dave was shown into the private office, he was still in the + belligerent frame of mind, but when he saw a large fair man whirl in a + revolving chair from dictating to a stenographer to face him, Dave's + demeanor abruptly changed. He did not know why it changed, and he was + secretly angry with himself. + </p> + <p> + “You are Mr. Ward?” Dave asked with a fatuousness that still further + irritated him. He had never intended it at all. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” came the answer. + </p> + <p> + “And who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Harry Bancroft,” Dave lied. “You don't know me, and my name don't + matter.” + </p> + <p> + “You sent in word that you were in Mill Valley last night?” + </p> + <p> + “You live there, don't you?” Dave countered, looking suspiciously at the + stenographer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. What do you mean to see me about? I am very busy.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to see you alone, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ward gave him a quick, penetrating look, hesitated, then made up his + mind. + </p> + <p> + “That will do for a few minutes, Miss Potter.” + </p> + <p> + The girl arose, gathered her notes together, and passed out. Dave looked + at Mr. James Ward wonderingly, until that gentleman broke his train of + inchoate thought. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I was over in Mill Valley last night,” Dave began confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “I've heard that before. What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + And Dave proceeded in the face of a growing conviction that was + unbelievable. “I was at your house, or in the grounds, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “What were you doing there?” + </p> + <p> + “I came to break in,” Dave answered in all frankness. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you lived all alone with a Chinaman for cook, and it looked good + to me. Only I didn't break in. Something happened that prevented. That's + why I'm here. I come to warn you. I found a wild man loose in your grounds—a + regular devil. He could pull a guy like me to pieces. He gave me the run + of my life. He don't wear any clothes to speak of, he climbs trees like a + monkey, and he runs like a deer. I saw him chasing a coyote, and the last + I saw of it, by God, he was gaining on it.” + </p> + <p> + Dave paused and looked for the effect that would follow his words. But no + effect came. James Ward was quietly curious, and that was all. + </p> + <p> + “Very remarkable, very remarkable,” he murmured. “A wild man, you say. Why + have you come to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “To warn you of your danger. I'm something of a hard proposition myself, + but I don't believe in killing people... that is, unnecessarily. I + realized that you was in danger. I thought I'd warn you. Honest, that's + the game. Of course, if you wanted to give me anything for my trouble, I'd + take it. That was in my mind, too. But I don't care whether you give me + anything or not. I've warned you any way, and done my duty.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ward meditated and drummed on the surface of his desk. Dave noticed + they were large, powerful hands, withal well-cared for despite their dark + sunburn. Also, he noted what had already caught his eye before—a + tiny strip of flesh-colored courtplaster on the forehead over one eye. And + still the thought that forced itself into his mind was unbelievable. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ward took a wallet from his inside coat pocket, drew out a greenback, + and passed it to Dave, who noted as he pocketed it that it was for twenty + dollars. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Mr. Ward, indicating that the interview was at an end. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have the matter investigated. A wild man running loose IS + dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + But so quiet a man was Mr. Ward, that Dave's courage returned. Besides, a + new theory had suggested itself. The wild man was evidently Mr. Ward's + brother, a lunatic privately confined. Dave had heard of such things. + Perhaps Mr. Ward wanted it kept quiet. That was why he had given him the + twenty dollars. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” Dave began, “now I come to think of it that wild man looked a lot + like you—” + </p> + <p> + That was as far as Dave got, for at that moment he witnessed a + transformation and found himself gazing into the same unspeakably + ferocious blue eyes of the night before, at the same clutching talon-like + hands, and at the same formidable bulk in the act of springing upon him. + But this time Dave had no night-stick to throw, and he was caught by the + biceps of both arms in a grip so terrific that it made him groan with + pain. He saw the large white teeth exposed, for all the world as a dog's + about to bite. Mr. Ward's beard brushed his face as the teeth went in for + the grip on his throat. But the bite was not given. Instead, Dave felt the + other's body stiffen as with an iron restraint, and then he was flung + aside, without effort but with such force that only the wall stopped his + momentum and dropped him gasping to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by coming here and trying to blackmail me?” Mr. Ward was + snarling at him. “Here, give me back that money.” + </p> + <p> + Dave passed the bill back without a word. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you came here with good intentions. I know you now. Let me see + and hear no more of you, or I'll put you in prison where you belong. Do + you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” Dave gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Then go.” + </p> + <p> + And Dave went, without further word, both his biceps aching intolerably + from the bruise of that tremendous grip. As his hand rested on the door + knob, he was stopped. + </p> + <p> + “You were lucky,” Mr. Ward was saying, and Dave noted that his face and + eyes were cruel and gloating and proud. + </p> + <p> + “You were lucky. Had I wanted, I could have torn your muscles out of your + arms and thrown them in the waste basket there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Dave; and absolute conviction vibrated in his voice. + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and passed out. The secretary looked at him + interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh!” was all Dave vouchsafed, and with this utterance passed out of the + offices and the story. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + James G. Ward was forty years of age, a successful business man, and very + unhappy. For forty years he had vainly tried to solve a problem that was + really himself and that with increasing years became more and more a + woeful affliction. In himself he was two men, and, chronologically + speaking, these men were several thousand years or so apart. He had + studied the question of dual personality probably more profoundly than any + half dozen of the leading specialists in that intricate and mysterious + psychological field. In himself he was a different case from any that had + been recorded. Even the most fanciful flights of the fiction-writers had + not quite hit upon him. He was not a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, nor was he + like the unfortunate young man in Kipling's “Greatest Story in the World.” + His two personalities were so mixed that they were practically aware of + themselves and of each other all the time. + </p> + <p> + His other self he had located as a savage and a barbarian living under the + primitive conditions of several thousand years before. But which self was + he, and which was the other, he could never tell. For he was both selves, + and both selves all the time. Very rarely indeed did it happen that one + self did not know what the other was doing. Another thing was that he had + no visions nor memories of the past in which that early self had lived. + That early self lived in the present; but while it lived in the present, + it was under the compulsion to live the way of life that must have been in + that distant past. + </p> + <p> + In his childhood he had been a problem to his father and mother, and to + the family doctors, though never had they come within a thousand miles of + hitting upon the clue to his erratic, conduct. Thus, they could not + understand his excessive somnolence in the forenoon, nor his excessive + activity at night. When they found him wandering along the hallways at + night, or climbing over giddy roofs, or running in the hills, they decided + he was a somnambulist. In reality he was wide-eyed awake and merely under + the nightroaming compulsion of his early self. Questioned by an obtuse + medico, he once told the truth and suffered the ignominy of having the + revelation contemptuously labeled and dismissed as “dreams.” + </p> + <p> + The point was, that as twilight and evening came on he became wakeful. The + four walls of a room were an irk and a restraint. He heard a thousand + voices whispering to him through the darkness. The night called to him, + for he was, for that period of the twenty-four hours, essentially a + night-prowler. But nobody understood, and never again did he attempt to + explain. They classified him as a sleep-walker and took precautions + accordingly—precautions that very often were futile. As his + childhood advanced, he grew more cunning, so that the major portion of all + his nights were spent in the open at realizing his other self. As a + result, he slept in the forenoons. Morning studies and schools were + impossible, and it was discovered that only in the afternoons, under + private teachers, could he be taught anything. Thus was his modern self + educated and developed. + </p> + <p> + But a problem, as a child, he ever remained. He was known as a little + demon, of insensate cruelty and viciousness. The family medicos privately + adjudged him a mental monstrosity and degenerate. Such few boy companions + as he had, hailed him as a wonder, though they were all afraid of him. He + could outclimb, outswim, outrun, outdevil any of them; while none dared + fight with him. He was too terribly strong, madly furious. + </p> + <p> + When nine years of age he ran away to the hills, where he flourished, + night-prowling, for seven weeks before he was discovered and brought home. + The marvel was how he had managed to subsist and keep in condition during + that time. They did not know, and he never told them, of the rabbits he + had killed, of the quail, young and old, he had captured and devoured, of + the farmers' chicken-roosts he had raided, nor of the cave-lair he had + made and carpeted with dry leaves and grasses and in which he had slept in + warmth and comfort through the forenoons of many days. + </p> + <p> + At college he was notorious for his sleepiness and stupidity during the + morning lectures and for his brilliance in the afternoon. By collateral + reading and by borrowing the notebook of his fellow students he managed to + scrape through the detestable morning courses, while his afternoon courses + were triumphs. In football he proved a giant and a terror, and, in almost + every form of track athletics, save for strange Berserker rages that were + sometimes displayed, he could be depended upon to win. But his fellows + were afraid to box with him, and he signalized his last wrestling bout by + sinking his teeth into the shoulder of his opponent. + </p> + <p> + After college, his father, in despair, sent him among the cow-punchers of + a Wyoming ranch. Three months later the doughty cowmen confessed he was + too much for them and telegraphed his father to come and take the wild man + away. Also, when the father arrived to take him away, the cowmen allowed + that they would vastly prefer chumming with howling cannibals, gibbering + lunatics, cavorting gorillas, grizzly bears, and man-eating tigers than + with this particular Young college product with hair parted in the middle. + </p> + <p> + There was one exception to the lack of memory of the life of his early + self, and that was language. By some quirk of atavism, a certain portion + of that early self's language had come down to him as a racial memory. In + moments of happiness, exaltation, or battle, he was prone to burst out in + wild barbaric songs or chants. It was by this means that he located in + time and space that strayed half of him who should have been dead and dust + for thousands of years. He sang, once, and deliberately, several of the + ancient chants in the presence of Professor Wertz, who gave courses in old + Saxon and who was a philogist of repute and passion. At the first one, the + professor pricked up his ears and demanded to know what mongrel tongue or + hog-German it was. When the second chant was rendered, the professor was + highly excited. James Ward then concluded the performance by giving a song + that always irresistibly rushed to his lips when he was engaged in fierce + struggling or fighting. Then it was that Professor Wertz proclaimed it no + hog-German, but early German, or early Teuton, of a date that must far + precede anything that had ever been discovered and handed down by the + scholars. So early was it that it was beyond him; yet it was filled with + haunting reminiscences of word-forms he knew and which his trained + intuition told him were true and real. He demanded the source of the + songs, and asked to borrow the precious book that contained them. Also, he + demanded to know why young Ward had always posed as being profoundly + ignorant of the German language. And Ward could neither explain his + ignorance nor lend the book. Whereupon, after pleadings and entreaties + that extended through weeks, Professor Wert took a dislike to the young + man, believed him a liar, and classified him as a man of monstrous + selfishness for not giving him a glimpse of this wonderful screed that was + older than the oldest any philologist had ever known or dreamed. + </p> + <p> + But little good did it do this much-mixed young man to know that half of + him was late American and the other half early Teuton. Nevertheless, the + late American in him was no weakling, and he (if he were a he and had a + shred of existence outside of these two) compelled an adjustment or + compromise between his one self that was a nightprowling savage that kept + his other self sleepy of mornings, and that other self that was cultured + and refined and that wanted to be normal and live and love and prosecute + business like other people. The afternoons and early evenings he gave to + the one, the nights to the other; the forenoons and parts of the nights + were devoted to sleep for the twain. But in the mornings he slept in bed + like a civilized man. In the night time he slept like a wild animal, as he + had slept Dave Slotter stepped on him in the woods. + </p> + <p> + Persuading his father to advance the capital, he went into business and + keen and successful business he made of it, devoting his afternoons + whole-souled to it, while his partner devoted the mornings. The early + evenings he spent socially, but, as the hour grew to nine or ten, an + irresistible restlessness overcame him and he disappeared from the haunts + of men until the next afternoon. Friends and acquaintances thought that he + spent much of his time in sport. And they were right, though they never + would have dreamed of the nature of the sport, even if they had seen him + running coyotes in night-chases over the hills of Mill Valley. Neither + were the schooner captains believed when they reported seeing, on cold + winter mornings, a man swimming in the tide-rips of Raccoon Straits or in + the swift currents between Goat island and Angel Island miles from shore. + </p> + <p> + In the bungalow at Mill Valley he lived alone, save for Lee Sing, the + Chinese cook and factotum, who knew much about the strangeness of his + master, who was paid well for saying nothing, and who never did say + anything. After the satisfaction of his nights, a morning's sleep, and a + breakfast of Lee Sing's, James Ward crossed the bay to San Francisco on a + midday ferryboat and went to the club and on to his office, as normal and + conventional a man of business as could be found in the city. But as the + evening lengthened, the night called to him. There came a quickening of + all his perceptions and a restlessness. His hearing was suddenly acute; + the myriad night-noises told him a luring and familiar story; and, if + alone, he would begin to pace up and down the narrow room like any caged + animal from the wild. + </p> + <p> + Once, he ventured to fall in love. He never permitted himself that + diversion again. He was afraid. And for many a day the young lady, scared + at least out of a portion of her young ladyhood, bore on her arms and + shoulders and wrists divers black-and-blue bruises—tokens of + caresses which he had bestowed in all fond gentleness but too late at + night. There was the mistake. Had he ventured love-making in the + afternoon, all would have been well, for it would have been as the quiet + gentleman that he would have made love—but at night it was the + uncouth, wife-stealing savage of the dark German forests. Out of his + wisdom, he decided that afternoon love-making could be prosecuted + successfully; but out of the same wisdom he was convinced that marriage as + would prove a ghastly failure. He found it appalling to imagine being + married and encountering his wife after dark. + </p> + <p> + So he had eschewed all love-making, regulated his dual life, cleaned up a + million in business, fought shy of match-making mamas and bright-eyed and + eager young ladies of various ages, met Lilian Gersdale and made it a + rigid observance never to see her later than eight o'clock in the evening, + run of nights after his coyotes, and slept in forest lairs—and + through it all had kept his secret safe save Lee Sing... and now, Dave + Slotter. It was the latter's discovery of both his selves that frightened + him. In spite of the counter fright he had given the burglar, the latter + might talk. And even if he did not, sooner or later he would be found out + by some one else. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that James Ward made a fresh and heroic effort to control the + Teutonic barbarian that was half of him. So well did he make it a point to + see Lilian in the afternoons, that the time came when she accepted him for + better or worse, and when he prayed privily and fervently that it was not + for worse. During this period no prize-fighter ever trained more harshly + and faithfully for a contest than he trained to subdue the wild savage in + him. Among other things, he strove to exhaust himself during the day, so + that sleep would render him deaf to the call of the night. He took a + vacation from the office and went on long hunting trips, following the + deer through the most inaccessible and rugged country he could find—and + always in the daytime. Night found him indoors and tired. At home he + installed a score of exercise machines, and where other men might go + through a particular movement ten times, he went hundreds. Also, as a + compromise, he built a sleeping porch on the second story. Here he at + least breathed the blessed night air. Double screens prevented him from + escaping into the woods, and each night Lee Sing locked him in and each + morning let him out. + </p> + <p> + The time came, in the month of August, when he engaged additional servants + to assist Lee Sing and dared a house party in his Mill Valley bungalow. + Lilian, her mother and brother, and half a dozen mutual friends, were the + guests. For two days and nights all went well. And on the third night, + playing bridge till eleven o'clock, he had reason to be proud of himself. + His restlessness fully hid, but as luck would have it, Lilian Gersdale was + his opponent on his right. She was a frail delicate flower of a woman, and + in his night-mood her very frailty incensed him. Not that he loved her + less, but that he felt almost irresistibly impelled to reach out and paw + and maul her. Especially was this true when she was engaged in playing a + winning hand against him. + </p> + <p> + He had one of the deer-hounds brought in and, when it seemed he must fly + to pieces with the tension, a caressing hand laid on the animal brought + him relief. These contacts with the hairy coat gave him instant easement + and enabled him to play out the evening. Nor did anyone guess the while + terrible struggle their host was making, the while he laughed so + carelessly and played so keenly and deliberately. + </p> + <p> + When they separated for the night, he saw to it that he parted from Lilian + in the presence or the others. Once on his sleeping porch and safely + locked in, he doubled and tripled and even quadrupled his exercises until, + exhausted, he lay down on the couch to woo sleep and to ponder two + problems that especially troubled him. One was this matter of exercise. It + was a paradox. The more he exercised in this excessive fashion, the + stronger he became. While it was true that he thus quite tired out his + night-running Teutonic self, it seemed that he was merely setting back the + fatal day when his strength would be too much for him and overpower him, + and then it would be a strength more terrible than he had yet known. The + other problem was that of his marriage and of the stratagems he must + employ in order to avoid his wife after dark. And thus, fruitlessly + pondering, he fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + Now, where the huge grizzly bear came from that night was long a mystery, + while the people of the Springs Brothers' Circus, showing at Sausalito, + searched long and vainly for “Big Ben, the Biggest Grizzly in Captivity.” + But Big Ben escaped, and, out of the mazes of half a thousand bungalows + and country estates, selected the grounds of James J. Ward for visitation. + The self first Mr. Ward knew was when he found him on his feet, quivering + and tense, a surge of battle in his breast and on his lips the old + war-chant. From without came a wild baying and bellowing of the hounds. + And sharp as a knife-thrust through the pandemonium came the agony of a + stricken dog—his dog, he knew. + </p> + <p> + Not stopping for slippers, pajama-clad, he burst through the door Lee Sing + had so carefully locked, and sped down the stairs and out into the night. + As his naked feet struck the graveled driveway, he stopped abruptly, + reached under the steps to a hiding-place he knew well, and pulled forth a + huge knotty club—his old companion on many a mad night adventure on + the hills. The frantic hullabaloo of the dogs was coming nearer, and, + swinging the club, he sprang straight into the thickets to meet it. + </p> + <p> + The aroused household assembled on the wide veranda. Somebody turned on + the electric lights, but they could see nothing but one another's + frightened faces. Beyond the brightly illuminated driveway the trees + formed a wall of impenetrable blackness. Yet somewhere in that blackness a + terrible struggle was going on. There was an infernal outcry of animals, a + great snarling and growling, the sound of blows being struck and a + smashing and crashing of underbrush by heavy bodies. + </p> + <p> + The tide of battle swept out from among the trees and upon the driveway + just beneath the onlookers. Then they saw. Mrs. Gersdale cried out and + clung fainting to her son. Lilian, clutching the railing so spasmodically + that a bruising hurt was left in her finger-ends for days, gazed + horror-stricken at a yellow-haired, wild-eyed giant whom she recognized as + the man who was to be her husband. He was swinging a great club, and + fighting furiously and calmly with a shaggy monster that was bigger than + any bear she had ever seen. One rip of the beast's claws had dragged away + Ward's pajama-coat and streaked his flesh with blood. + </p> + <p> + While most of Lilian Gersdale's fright was for the man beloved, there was + a large portion of it due to the man himself. Never had she dreamed so + formidable and magnificent a savage lurked under the starched shirt and + conventional garb of her betrothed. And never had she had any conception + of how a man battled. Such a battle was certainly not modern; nor was she + there beholding a modern man, though she did not know it. For this was not + Mr. James J. Ward, the San Francisco business man, but one, unnamed and + unknown, a crude, rude savage creature who, by some freak of chance, lived + again after thrice a thousand years. + </p> + <p> + The hounds, ever maintaining their mad uproar, circled about the fight, or + dashed in and out, distracting the bear. When the animal turned to meet + such flanking assaults, the man leaped in and the club came down. Angered + afresh by every such blow, the bear would rush, and the man, leaping and + skipping, avoiding the dogs, went backwards or circled to one side or the + other. Whereupon the dogs, taking advantage of the opening, would again + spring in and draw the animal's wrath to them. + </p> + <p> + The end came suddenly. Whirling, the grizzly caught a hound with a wide + sweeping cuff that sent the brute, its ribs caved in and its back broken, + hurtling twenty feet. Then the human brute went mad. A foaming rage + flecked the lips that parted with a wild inarticulate cry, as it sprang + in, swung the club mightily in both hands, and brought it down full on the + head of the uprearing grizzly. Not even the skull of a grizzly could + withstand the crushing force of such a blow, and the animal went down to + meet the worrying of the hounds. And through their scurrying leaped the + man, squarely upon the body, where, in the white electric light, resting + on his club, he chanted a triumph in an unknown tongue—a song so + ancient that Professor Wertz would have given ten years of his life for + it. + </p> + <p> + His guests rushed to possess him and acclaim him, but James Ward, suddenly + looking out of the eyes of the early Teuton, saw the fair frail Twentieth + Century girl he loved, and felt something snap in his brain. He staggered + weakly toward her, dropped the club, and nearly fell. Something had gone + wrong with him. Inside his brain was an intolerable agony. It seemed as if + the soul of him were flying asunder. Following the excited gaze of the + others, he glanced back and saw the carcass of the bear. The sight filled + him with fear. He uttered a cry and would have fled, had they not + restrained him and led him into the bungalow. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + James J. Ward is still at the head of the firm of Ward, Knowles & Co. + But he no longer lives in the country; nor does he run of nights after the + coyotes under the moon. The early Teuton in him died the night of the Mill + Valley fight with the bear. James J. Ward is now wholly James J. Ward, and + he shares no part of his being with any vagabond anachronism from the + younger world. And so wholly is James J. Ward modern, that he knows in all + its bitter fullness the curse of civilized fear. He is now afraid of the + dark, and night in the forest is to him a thing of abysmal terror. His + city house is of the spick and span order, and he evinces a great interest + in burglarproof devices. His home is a tangle of electric wires, and after + bed-time a guest can scarcely breathe without setting off an alarm. Also, + he had invented a combination keyless door-lock that travelers may carry + in their vest pockets and apply immediately and successfully under all + circumstances. But his wife does not deem him a coward. She knows better. + And, like any hero, he is content to rest on his laurels. His bravery is + never questioned by those friends who are aware of the Mill Valley + episode. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT + </h2> + <p> + CARTER WATSON, a current magazine under his arm, strolled slowly along, + gazing about him curiously. Twenty years had elapsed since he had been on + this particular street, and the changes were great and stupefying. This + Western city of three hundred thousand souls had contained but thirty + thousand, when, as a boy, he had been wont to ramble along its streets. In + those days the street he was now on had been a quiet residence street in + the respectable workingclass quarter. On this late afternoon he found that + it had been submerged by a vast and vicious tenderloin. Chinese and + Japanese shops and dens abounded, all confusedly intermingled with low + white resorts and boozing dens. This quiet street of his youth had become + the toughest quarter of the city. + </p> + <p> + He looked at his watch. It was half-past five. It was the slack time of + the day in such a region, as he well knew, yet he was curious to see. In + all his score of years of wandering and studying social conditions over + the world, he had carried with him the memory of his old town as a sweet + and wholesome place. The metamorphosis he now beheld was startling. He + certainly must continue his stroll and glimpse the infamy to which his + town had descended. + </p> + <p> + Another thing: Carter Watson had a keen social and civic consciousness. + Independently wealthy, he had been loath to dissipate his energies in the + pink teas and freak dinners of society, while actresses, race-horses, and + kindred diversions had left him cold. He had the ethical bee in his bonnet + and was a reformer of no mean pretension, though his work had been mainly + in the line of contributions to the heavier reviews and quarterlies and to + the publication over his name of brightly, cleverly written books on the + working classes and the slum-dwellers. Among the twenty-seven to his + credit occurred titles such as, “If Christ Came to New Orleans,” “The + Worked-out Worker,” “Tenement Reform in Berlin,” “The Rural Slums of + England,” “The people of the East Side,” “Reform Versus Revolution,” “The + University Settlement as a Hot Bed of Radicalism” and “The Cave Man of + Civilization.” + </p> + <p> + But Carter Watson was neither morbid nor fanatic. He did not lose his head + over the horrors he encountered, studied, and exposed. No hair brained + enthusiasm branded him. His humor saved him, as did his wide experience + and his conservative philosophic temperament. Nor did he have any patience + with lightning change reform theories. As he saw it, society would grow + better only through the painfully slow and arduously painful processes of + evolution. There were no short cuts, no sudden regenerations. The + betterment of mankind must be worked out in agony and misery just as all + past social betterments had been worked out. + </p> + <p> + But on this late summer afternoon, Carter Watson was curious. As he moved + along he paused before a gaudy drinking place. The sign above read, “The + Vendome.” There were two entrances. One evidently led to the bar. This he + did not explore. The other was a narrow hallway. Passing through this he + found himself in a huge room, filled with chair-encircled tables and quite + deserted. In the dim light he made out a piano in the distance. Making a + mental note that he would come back some time and study the class of + persons that must sit and drink at those multitudinous tables, he + proceeded to circumnavigate the room. + </p> + <p> + Now, at the rear, a short hallway led off to a small kitchen, and here, at + a table, alone, sat Patsy Horan, proprietor of the Vendome, consuming a + hasty supper ere the evening rush of business. Also, Patsy Horan was angry + with the world. He had got out of the wrong side of bed that morning, and + nothing had gone right all day. Had his barkeepers been asked, they would + have described his mental condition as a grouch. But Carter Watson did not + know this. As he passed the little hallway, Patsy Horan's sullen eyes + lighted on the magazine he carried under his arm. Patsy did not know + Carter Watson, nor did he know that what he carried under his arm was a + magazine. Patsy, out of the depths of his grouch, decided that this + stranger was one of those pests who marred and scarred the walls of his + back rooms by tacking up or pasting up advertisements. The color on the + front cover of the magazine convinced him that it was such an + advertisement. Thus the trouble began. Knife and fork in hand, Patsy + leaped for Carter Watson. + </p> + <p> + “Out wid yeh!” Patsy bellowed. “I know yer game!” + </p> + <p> + Carter Watson was startled. The man had come upon him like the eruption of + a jack-in-the-box. + </p> + <p> + “A defacin' me walls,” cried Patsy, at the same time emitting a string of + vivid and vile, rather than virile, epithets of opprobrium. + </p> + <p> + “If I have given any offense I did not mean to—” + </p> + <p> + But that was as far as the visitor got. Patsy interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Get out wid yeh; yeh talk too much wid yer mouth,” quoted Patsy, + emphasizing his remarks with flourishes of the knife and fork. + </p> + <p> + Carter Watson caught a quick vision of that eating-fork inserted + uncomfortably between his ribs, knew that it would be rash to talk further + with his mouth, and promptly turned to go. The sight of his meekly + retreating back must have further enraged Patsy Horan, for that worthy, + dropping the table implements, sprang upon him. + </p> + <p> + Patsy weighed one hundred and eighty pounds. So did Watson. In this they + were equal. But Patsy was a rushing, rough-and-tumble saloon-fighter, + while Watson was a boxer. In this the latter had the advantage, for Patsy + came in wide open, swinging his right in a perilous sweep. All Watson had + to do was to straight-left him and escape. But Watson had another + advantage. His boxing, and his experience in the slums and ghettos of the + world, had taught him restraint. + </p> + <p> + He pivoted on his feet, and, instead of striking, ducked the other's + swinging blow and went into a clinch. But Patsy, charging like a bull, had + the momentum of his rush, while Watson, whirling to meet him, had no + momentum. As a result, the pair of them went down, with all their three + hundred and sixty pounds of weight, in a long crashing fall, Watson + underneath. He lay with his head touching the rear wall of the large room. + The street was a hundred and fifty feet away, and he did some quick + thinking. His first thought was to avoid trouble. He had no wish to get + into the papers of this, his childhood town, where many of his relatives + and family friends still lived. + </p> + <p> + So it was that he locked his arms around the man on top of him, held him + close, and waited for the help to come that must come in response to the + crash of the fall. The help came—that is, six men ran in from the + bar and formed about in a semi-circle. + </p> + <p> + “Take him off, fellows,” Watson said. “I haven't struck him, and I don't + want any fight.” + </p> + <p> + But the semi-circle remained silent. Watson held on and waited. Patsy, + after various vain efforts to inflict damage, made an overture. + </p> + <p> + “Leggo o' me an' I'll get off o' yeh,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Watson let go, but when Patsy scrambled to his feet he stood over his + recumbent foe, ready to strike. + </p> + <p> + “Get up,” Patsy commanded. + </p> + <p> + His voice was stern and implacable, like the voice of God calling to + judgment, and Watson knew there was no mercy there. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back and I'll get up,” he countered. + </p> + <p> + “If yer a gentleman, get up,” quoth Patsy, his pale blue eyes aflame with + wrath, his fist ready for a crushing blow. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment he drew his foot back to kick the other in the face. + Watson blocked the kick with his crossed arms and sprang to his feet so + quickly that he was in a clinch with his antagonist before the latter + could strike. Holding him, Watson spoke to the onlookers: + </p> + <p> + “Take him away from me, fellows. You see I am not striking him. I don't + want to fight. I want to get out of here.” + </p> + <p> + The circle did not move nor speak. Its silence was ominous and sent a + chill to Watson's heart. + </p> + <p> + Patsy made an effort to throw him, which culminated in his putting Patsy + on his back. Tearing loose from him, Watson sprang to his feet and made + for the door. But the circle of men was interposed a wall. He noticed the + white, pasty faces, the kind that never see the sun, and knew that the men + who barred his way were the nightprowlers and preying beasts of the city + jungle. By them he was thrust back upon the pursuing, bull-rushing Patsy. + </p> + <p> + Again it was a clinch, in which, in momentary safety, Watson appealed to + the gang. And again his words fell on deaf ears. Then it was that he knew + of many similar knew fear. For he had known of many similar situations, in + low dens like this, when solitary men were man-handled, their ribs and + features caved in, themselves beaten and kicked to death. And he knew, + further, that if he were to escape he must neither strike his assailant + nor any of the men who opposed him. + </p> + <p> + Yet in him was righteous indignation. Under no circumstances could seven + to one be fair. Also, he was angry, and there stirred in him the fighting + beast that is in all men. But he remembered his wife and children, his + unfinished book, the ten thousand rolling acres of the up-country ranch he + loved so well. He even saw in flashing visions the blue of the sky, the + golden sun pouring down on his flower-spangled meadows, the lazy cattle + knee-deep in the brooks, and the flash of trout in the riffles. Life was + good-too good for him to risk it for a moment's sway of the beast. In + short, Carter Watson was cool and scared. + </p> + <p> + His opponent, locked by his masterly clinch, was striving to throw him. + Again Watson put him on the floor, broke away, and was thrust back by the + pasty-faced circle to duck Patsy's swinging right and effect another + clinch. This happened many times. And Watson grew even cooler, while the + baffled Patsy, unable to inflict punishment, raged wildly and more wildly. + He took to batting with his head in the clinches. The first time, he + landed his forehead flush on Watson's nose. After that, the latter, in the + clinches, buried his face in Patsy's breast. But the enraged Patsy batted + on, striking his own eye and nose and cheek on the top of the other's + head. The more he was thus injured, the more and the harder did Patsy bat. + </p> + <p> + This one-sided contest continued for twelve or fifteen minutes. Watson + never struck a blow, and strove only to escape. Sometimes, in the free + moments, circling about among the tables as he tried to win the door, the + pasty-faced men gripped his coat-tails and flung him back at the swinging + right of the on-rushing Patsy. Time upon time, and times without end, he + clinched and put Patsy on his back, each time first whirling him around + and putting him down in the direction of the door and gaining toward that + goal by the length of the fall. + </p> + <p> + In the end, hatless, disheveled, with streaming nose and one eye closed, + Watson won to the sidewalk and into the arms of a policeman. + </p> + <p> + “Arrest that man,” Watson panted. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Patsy,” said the policeman. “What's the mix-up?” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Charley,” was the answer. “This guy comes in—” + </p> + <p> + “Arrest that man, officer,” Watson repeated. + </p> + <p> + “G'wan! Beat it!” said Patsy. + </p> + <p> + “Beat it!” added the policeman. “If you don't, I'll pull you in.” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless you arrest that man. He has committed a violent and unprovoked + assault on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it so, Patsy?” was the officer's query. + </p> + <p> + “Nah. Lemme tell you, Charley, an' I got the witnesses to prove it, so + help me God. I was settin' in me kitchen eatin' a bowl of soup, when this + guy comes in an' gets gay wid me. I never seen him in me born days before. + He was drunk—” + </p> + <p> + “Look at me, officer,” protested the indignant sociologist. “Am I drunk?” + </p> + <p> + The officer looked at him with sullen, menacing eyes and nodded to Patsy + to continue. + </p> + <p> + “This guy gets gay wid me. 'I'm Tim McGrath,' says he, 'an' I can do the + like to you,' says he. 'Put up yer hands.' I smiles, an' wid that, biff + biff, he lands me twice an' spills me soup. Look at me eye. I'm fair + murdered.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do, officer?” Watson demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, beat it,” was the answer, “or I'll pull you sure.” + </p> + <p> + The civic righteousness of Carter Watson flamed up. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Officer, I protest—” + </p> + <p> + But at that moment the policeman grabbed his arm with a savage jerk that + nearly overthrew him. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, you're pulled.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrest him, too,” Watson demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Nix on that play,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “What did you assault him for, him a peacefully eatin' his soup?” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Carter Watson was genuinely angry. Not only had he been wantonly + assaulted, badly battered, and arrested, but the morning papers without + exception came out with lurid accounts of his drunken brawl with the + proprietor of the notorious Vendome. Not one accurate or truthful line was + published. Patsy Horan and his satellites described the battle in detail. + The one incontestable thing was that Carter Watson had been drunk. Thrice + he had been thrown out of the place and into the gutter, and thrice he had + come back, breathing blood and fire and announcing that he was going to + clean out the place. “EMINENT SOCIOLOGIST JAGGED AND JUGGED,” was the + first head-line he read, on the front page, accompanied by a large + portrait of himself. Other headlines were: “CARTER WATSON ASPIRED TO + CHAMPIONSHIP HONORS”; “CARTER WATSON GETS HIS”; “NOTED SOCIOLOGIST + ATTEMPTS TO CLEAN OUT A TENDERLOIN CAFE”; and “CARTER WATSON KNOCKED OUT + BY PATSY HORAN IN THREE ROUNDS.” + </p> + <p> + At the police court, next morning, under bail, appeared Carter Watson to + answer the complaint of the People Versus Carter Watson, for the latter's + assault and battery on one Patsy Horan. But first, the Prosecuting + Attorney, who was paid to prosecute all offenders against the People, drew + him aside and talked with him privately. + </p> + <p> + “Why not let it drop!” said the Prosecuting Attorney. “I tell you what you + do, Mr. Watson: Shake hands with Mr. Horan and make it up, and we'll drop + the case right here. A word to the Judge, and the case against you will be + dismissed.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want it dismissed,” was the answer. “Your office being what + it is, you should be prosecuting me instead of asking me to make up with + this—this fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll prosecute you all right,” retorted the Prosecuting Attorney. + </p> + <p> + “Also you will have to prosecute this Patsy Horan,” Watson advised; “for I + shall now have him arrested for assault and battery.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better shake and make up,” the Prosecuting Attorney repeated, and + this time there was almost a threat in his voice. + </p> + <p> + The trials of both men were set for a week later, on the same morning, in + Police Judge Witberg's court. + </p> + <p> + “You have no chance,” Watson was told by an old friend of his boyhood, the + retired manager of the biggest paper in the city. “Everybody knows you + were beaten up by this man. His reputation is most unsavory. But it won't + help you in the least. Both cases will be dismissed. This will be because + you are you. Any ordinary man would be convicted.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do not understand,” objected the perplexed sociologist. “Without + warning I was attacked by this man; and badly beaten. I did not strike a + blow. I—” + </p> + <p> + “That has nothing to do with it,” the other cut him off. + </p> + <p> + “Then what is there that has anything to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you. You are now up against the local police and political + machine. Who are you? You are not even a legal resident in this town. You + live up in the country. You haven't a vote of your own here. Much less do + you swing any votes. This dive proprietor swings a string of votes in his + precincts—a mighty long string.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me that this Judge Witberg will violate the + sacredness of his office and oath by letting this brute off?” Watson + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Watch him,” was the grim reply. “Oh, he'll do it nicely enough. He will + give an extra-legal, extra-judicial decision, abounding in every word in + the dictionary that stands for fairness and right.” + </p> + <p> + “But there are the newspapers,” Watson cried. + </p> + <p> + “They are not fighting the administration at present. They'll give it to + you hard. You see what they have already done to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then these snips of boys on the police detail won't write the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “They will write something so near like the truth that the public will + believe it. They write their stories under instruction, you know. They + have their orders to twist and color, and there won't be much left of you + when they get done. Better drop the whole thing right now. You are in + bad.” + </p> + <p> + “But the trials are set.” + </p> + <p> + “Give the word and they'll drop them now. A man can't fight a machine + unless he has a machine behind him.” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + But Carter Watson was stubborn. He was convinced that the machine would + beat him, but all his days he had sought social experience, and this was + certainly something new. + </p> + <p> + The morning of the trial the Prosecuting Attorney made another attempt to + patch up the affair. + </p> + <p> + “If you feel that way, I should like to get a lawyer to prosecute the + case,” said Watson. + </p> + <p> + “No, you don't,” said the Prosecuting Attorney. “I am paid by the People + to prosecute, and prosecute I will. But let me tell you. You have no + chance. We shall lump both cases into one, and you watch out.” + </p> + <p> + Judge Witberg looked good to Watson. A fairly young man, short, + comfortably stout, smooth-shaven and with an intelligent face, he seemed a + very nice man indeed. This good impression was added to by the smiling + lips and the wrinkles of laughter in the corners of his black eyes. + Looking at him and studying him, Watson felt almost sure that his old + friend's prognostication was wrong. + </p> + <p> + But Watson was soon to learn. Patsy Horan and two of his satellites + testified to a most colossal aggregation of perjuries. Watson could not + have believed it possible without having experienced it. They denied the + existence of the other four men. And of the two that testified, one + claimed to have been in the kitchen, a witness to Watson's unprovoked + assault on Patsy, while the other, remaining in the bar, had witnessed + Watson's second and third rushes into the place as he attempted to + annihilate the unoffending Patsy. The vile language ascribed to Watson was + so voluminously and unspeakably vile, that he felt they were injuring + their own case. It was so impossible that he should utter such things. But + when they described the brutal blows he had rained on poor Patsy's face, + and the chair he demolished when he vainly attempted to kick Patsy, Watson + waxed secretly hilarious and at the same time sad. The trial was a farce, + but such lowness of life was depressing to contemplate when he considered + the long upward climb humanity must make. + </p> + <p> + Watson could not recognize himself, nor could his worst enemy have + recognized him, in the swashbuckling, rough-housing picture that was + painted of him. But, as in all cases of complicated perjury, rifts and + contradictions in the various stories appeared. The Judge somehow failed + to notice them, while the Prosecuting Attorney and Patsy's attorney shied + off from them gracefully. Watson had not bothered to get a lawyer for + himself, and he was now glad that he had not. + </p> + <p> + Still, he retained a semblance of faith in Judge Witberg when he went + himself on the stand and started to tell his story. + </p> + <p> + “I was strolling casually along the street, your Honor,” Watson began, but + was interrupted by the Judge. + </p> + <p> + “We are not here to consider your previous actions,” bellowed Judge + Witberg. “Who struck the first blow?” + </p> + <p> + “Your Honor,” Watson pleaded, “I have no witnesses of the actual fray, and + the truth of my story can only be brought out by telling the story fully—” + </p> + <p> + Again he was interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “We do not care to publish any magazines here,” Judge Witberg roared, + looking at him so fiercely and malevolently that Watson could scarcely + bring himself to believe that this was same man he had studied a few + minutes previously. + </p> + <p> + “Who struck the first blow?” Patsy's attorney asked. + </p> + <p> + The Prosecuting Attorney interposed, demanding to know which of the two + cases lumped together was, and by what right Patsy's lawyer, at that stage + of the proceedings, should take the witness. Patsy's attorney fought back. + Judge Witberg interfered, professing no knowledge of any two cases being + lumped together. All this had to be explained. Battle royal raged, + terminating in both attorneys apologizing to the Court and to each other. + And so it went, and to Watson it had the seeming of a group of pickpockets + ruffling and bustling an honest man as they took his purse. The machine + was working, that was all. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you enter this place of unsavory reputations?” was asked him. + </p> + <p> + “It has been my custom for many years, as a student of economics and + sociology, to acquaint myself—” + </p> + <p> + But this was as far as Watson got. + </p> + <p> + “We want none of your ologies here,” snarled Judge Witberg. “It is a plain + question. Answer it plainly. Is it true or not true that you were drunk? + That is the gist of the question.” + </p> + <p> + When Watson attempted to tell how Patsy had injured his face in his + attempts to bat with his head, Watson was openly scouted and flouted, and + Judge Witberg again took him in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Are you aware of the solemnity of the oath you took to testify to nothing + but the truth on this witness stand?” the Judge demanded. “This is a fairy + story you are telling. It is not reasonable that a man would so injure + himself, and continue to injure himself, by striking the soft and + sensitive parts of his face against your head. You are a sensible man. It + is unreasonable, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Men are unreasonable when they are angry,” Watson answered meekly. + </p> + <p> + Then it was that Judge Witberg was deeply outraged and righteously + wrathful. + </p> + <p> + “What right have you to say that?” he cried. “It is gratuitous. It has no + bearing on the case. You are here as a witness, sir, of events that have + transpired. The Court does not wish to hear any expressions of opinion + from you at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I but answered your question, your Honor,” Watson protested humbly. + </p> + <p> + “You did nothing of the sort,” was the next blast. “And let me warn you, + sir, let me warn you, that you are laying yourself liable to contempt by + such insolence. And I will have you know that we know how to observe the + law and the rules of courtesy down here in this little courtroom. I am + ashamed of you.” + </p> + <p> + And, while the next punctilious legal wrangle between the attorneys + interrupted his tale of what happened in the Vendome, Carter Watson, + without bitterness, amused and at the same time sad, saw rise before him + the machine, large and small, that dominated his country, the unpunished + and shameless grafts of a thousand cities perpetrated by the spidery and + vermin-like creatures of the machines. Here it was before him, a courtroom + and a judge, bowed down in subservience by the machine to a dive-keeper + who swung a string of votes. Petty and sordid as it was, it was one face + of the many-faced machine that loomed colossally, in every city and state, + in a thousand guises overshadowing the land. + </p> + <p> + A familiar phrase rang in his ears: “It is to laugh.” At the height of the + wrangle, he giggled, once, aloud, and earned a sullen frown from Judge + Witberg. Worse, a myriad times, he decided, were these bullying lawyers + and this bullying judge then the bucko mates in first quality hell-ships, + who not only did their own bullying but protected themselves as well. + These petty rapscallions, on the other hand, sought protection behind the + majesty of the law. They struck, but no one was permitted to strike back, + for behind them were the prison cells and the clubs of the stupid + policemen—paid and professional fighters and beaters-up of men. Yet + he was not bitter. The grossness and the sliminess of it was forgotten in + the simple grotesqueness of it, and he had the saving sense of humor. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, hectored and heckled though he was, he managed in the end to + give a simple, straightforward version of the affair, and, despite a + belligerent cross-examination, his story was not shaken in any particular. + Quite different it was from the perjuries that had shouted aloud from the + perjuries of Patsy and his two witnesses. + </p> + <p> + Both Patsy's attorney and the Prosecuting Attorney rested their cases, + letting everything go before the Court without argument. Watson protested + against this, but was silenced when the Prosecuting Attorney told him that + Public Prosecutor and knew his business. + </p> + <p> + “Patrick Horan has testified that he was in danger of his life and that he + was compelled to defend himself,” Judge Witberg's verdict began. “Mr. + Watson has testified to the same thing. Each has sworn that the other + struck the first blow; each has sworn that the other made an unprovoked + assault on him. It is an axiom of the law that the defendant should be + given the benefit of the doubt. A very reasonable doubt exists. Therefore, + in the case of the People Versus Carter Watson the benefit of the doubt is + given to said Carter Watson and he is herewith ordered discharged from + custody. The same reasoning applies to the case of the People Versus + Patrick Horan. He is given the benefit of the doubt and discharged from + custody. My recommendation is that both defendants shake hands and make + up.” + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon papers the first headline that caught Watson's eye was: + “CARTER WATSON ACQUITTED.” In the second paper it was: “CARTER WATSON + ESCAPES A FINE.” But what capped everything was the one beginning: “CARTER + WATSON A GOOD FELLOW.” In the text he read how Judge Witberg had advised + both fighters to shake hands, which they promptly did. Further, he read: + </p> + <p> + “'Let's have a nip on it,' said Patsy Horan. + </p> + <p> + “'Sure,' said Carter Watson. + </p> + <p> + “And, arm in arm, they ambled for the nearest saloon.” + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Now, from the whole adventure, Watson carried away no bitterness. It was a + social experience of a new order, and it led to the writing of another + book, which he entitled, “POLICE COURT PROCEDURE: A Tentative Analysis.” + </p> + <p> + One summer morning a year later, on his ranch, he left his horse and + himself clambered on through a miniature canyon to inspect some rock ferns + he had planted the previous winter. Emerging from the upper end of the + canyon, he came out on one of his flower-spangled meadows, a delightful + isolated spot, screened from the world by low hills and clumps of trees. + And here he found a man, evidently on a stroll from the summer hotel down + at the little town a mile away. They met face to face and the recognition + was mutual. It was Judge Witberg. Also, it was a clear case of trespass, + for Watson had trespass signs upon his boundaries, though he never + enforced them. + </p> + <p> + Judge Witberg held out his hand, which Watson refused to see. + </p> + <p> + “Politics is a dirty trade, isn't it, Judge?” he remarked. “Oh, yes, I see + your hand, but I don't care to take it. The papers said I shook hands with + Patsy Horan after the trial. You know I did not, but let me tell you that + I'd a thousand times rather shake hands with him and his vile following of + curs, than with you.” + </p> + <p> + Judge Witberg was painfully flustered, and as he hemmed and hawed and + essayed to speak, Watson, looking at him, was struck by a sudden whim, and + he determined on a grim and facetious antic. + </p> + <p> + “I should scarcely expect any animus from a man of your acquirements and + knowledge of the world,” the Judge was saying. + </p> + <p> + “Animus?” Watson replied. “Certainly not. I haven't such a thing in my + nature. And to prove it, let me show you something curious, something you + have never seen before.” Casting about him, Watson picked up a rough stone + the size of his fist. “See this. Watch me.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, Carter Watson tapped himself a sharp blow on the cheek. The + stone laid the flesh open to the bone and the blood spurted forth. + </p> + <p> + “The stone was too sharp,” he announced to the astounded police judge, who + thought he had gone mad. + </p> + <p> + “I must bruise it a trifle. There is nothing like being realistic in such + matters.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Carter Watson found a smooth stone and with it pounded his cheek + nicely several times. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he cooed. “That will turn beautifully green and black in a few + hours. It will be most convincing.” + </p> + <p> + “You are insane,” Judge Witberg quavered. + </p> + <p> + “Don't use such vile language to me,” said Watson. “You see my bruised and + bleeding face? You did that, with that right hand of yours. You hit me + twice—biff, biff. It is a brutal and unprovoked assault. I am in + danger of my life. I must protect myself.” + </p> + <p> + Judge Witberg backed away in alarm before the menacing fists of the other. + </p> + <p> + “If you strike me I'll have you arrested,” Judge Witberg threatened. + </p> + <p> + “That is what I told Patsy,” was the answer. “And do you know what he did + when I told him that?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That!” + </p> + <p> + And at the same moment Watson's right fist landed flush on Judge Witberg's + nose, putting that legal gentleman over on his back on the grass. + </p> + <p> + “Get up!” commanded Watson. “If you are a gentleman, get up—that's + what Patsy told me, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Judge Witberg declined to rise, and was dragged to his feet by the + coat-collar, only to have one eye blacked and be put on his back again. + After that it was a red Indian massacre. Judge Witberg was humanely and + scientifically beaten up. His checks were boxed, his cars cuffed, and his + face was rubbed in the turf. And all the time Watson exposited the way + Patsy Horan had done it. Occasionally, and very carefully, the facetious + sociologist administered a real bruising blow. Once, dragging the poor + Judge to his feet, he deliberately bumped his own nose on the gentleman's + head. The nose promptly bled. + </p> + <p> + “See that!” cried Watson, stepping back and deftly shedding his blood all + down his own shirt front. “You did it. With your fist you did it. It is + awful. I am fair murdered. I must again defend myself.” + </p> + <p> + And once more Judge Witberg impacted his features on a fist and was sent + to grass. + </p> + <p> + “I will have you arrested,” he sobbed as he lay. + </p> + <p> + “That's what Patsy said.” + </p> + <p> + “A brutal—-sniff, sniff,—and unprovoked—sniff, sniff—assault.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what Patsy said.” + </p> + <p> + “I will surely have you arrested.” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking slangily, not if I can beat you to it.” + </p> + <p> + And with that, Carter Watson departed down the canyon, mounted his horse, + and rode to town. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, as Judge Witberg limped up the grounds to his hotel, he was + arrested by a village constable on a charge of assault and battery + preferred by Carter Watson. + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + “Your Honor,” Watson said next day to the village Justice, a well to do + farmer and graduate, thirty years before, from a cow college, “since this + Sol Witberg has seen fit to charge me with battery, following upon my + charge of battery against him, I would suggest that both cases be lumped + together. The testimony and the facts are the same in both cases.” + </p> + <p> + To this the Justice agreed, and the double case proceeded. Watson, as + prosecuting witness, first took the stand and told his story. + </p> + <p> + “I was picking flowers,” he testified. “Picking flowers on my own land, + never dreaming of danger. Suddenly this man rushed upon me from behind the + trees. 'I am the Dodo,' he says, 'and I can do you to a frazzle. Put up + your hands.' I smiled, but with that, biff, biff, he struck me, knocking + me down and spilling my flowers. The language he used was frightful. It + was an unprovoked and brutal assault. Look at my cheek. Look at my nose—I + could not understand it. He must have been drunk. Before I recovered from + my surprise he had administered this beating. I was in danger of my life + and was compelled to defend himself. That is all, Your Honor, though I + must say, in conclusion, that I cannot get over my perplexity. Why did he + say he was the Dodo? Why did he so wantonly attack me?” + </p> + <p> + And thus was Sol Witberg given a liberal education in the art of perjury. + Often, from his high seat, he had listened indulgently to police court + perjuries in cooked-up cases; but for the first time perjury was directed + against him, and he no longer sat above the court, with the bailiffs, the + Policemen's clubs, and the prison cells behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Your Honor,” he cried, “never have I heard such a pack of lies told by so + bare-faced a liar—!” + </p> + <p> + Watson here sprang to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Your Honor, I protest. It is for your Honor to decide truth or falsehood. + The witness is on the stand to testify to actual events that have + transpired. His personal opinion upon things in general, and upon me, has + no bearing on the case whatever.” + </p> + <p> + The Justice scratched his head and waxed phlegmatically indignant. + </p> + <p> + “The point is well taken,” he decided. “I am surprised at you, Mr. + Witberg, claiming to be a judge and skilled in the practice of the law, + and yet being guilty of such unlawyerlike conduct. Your manner, sir, and + your methods, remind me of a shyster. This is a simple case of assault and + battery. We are here to determine who struck the first blow, and we are + not interested in your estimates of Mr. Watson's personal character. + Proceed with your story.” + </p> + <p> + Sol Witberg would have bitten his bruised and swollen lip in chagrin, had + it not hurt so much. But he contained himself and told a simple, + straightforward, truthful story. + </p> + <p> + “Your Honor,” Watson said, “I would suggest that you ask him what he was + doing on my premises.” + </p> + <p> + “A very good question. What were you doing, sir, on Mr. Watson's + premises?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know they were his premises.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a trespass, your Honor,” Watson cried. “The warnings are posted + conspicuously.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw no warnings,” said Sol Witberg. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen them myself,” snapped the Justice. “They are very + conspicuous. And I would warn you, sir, that if you palter with the truth + in such little matters you may darken your more important statements with + suspicion. Why did you strike Mr. Watson?” + </p> + <p> + “Your Honor, as I have testified, I did not strike a blow.” + </p> + <p> + The Justice looked at Carter Watson's bruised and swollen visage, and + turned to glare at Sol Witberg. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that man's cheek!” he thundered. “If you did not strike a blow + how comes it that he is so disfigured and injured?” + </p> + <p> + “As I testified—” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful,” the Justice warned. + </p> + <p> + “I will be careful, sir. I will say nothing but the truth. He struck + himself with a rock. He struck himself with two different rocks.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it stand to reason that a man, any man not a lunatic, would so + injure himself, and continue to injure himself, by striking the soft and + sensitive parts of his face with a stone?” Carter Watson demanded + </p> + <p> + “It sounds like a fairy story,” was the Justice's comment. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Witberg, had you been drinking?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you never drink?” + </p> + <p> + “On occasion.” + </p> + <p> + The Justice meditated on this answer with an air of astute profundity. + </p> + <p> + Watson took advantage of the opportunity to wink at Sol Witberg, but that + much-abused gentleman saw nothing humorous in the situation. + </p> + <p> + “A very peculiar case, a very peculiar case,” the Justice announced, as he + began his verdict. “The evidence of the two parties is flatly + contradictory. There are no witnesses outside the two principals. Each + claims the other committed the assault, and I have no legal way of + determining the truth. But I have my private opinion, Mr. Witberg, and I + would recommend that henceforth you keep off of Mr. Watson's premises and + keep away from this section of the country—” + </p> + <p> + “This is an outrage!” Sol Witberg blurted out. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, sir!” was the Justice's thundered command. “If you interrupt + the Court in this manner again, I shall fine you for contempt. And I warn + you I shall fine you heavily—you, a judge yourself, who should be + conversant with the courtesy and dignity of courts. I shall now give my + verdict: + </p> + <p> + “It is a rule of law that the defendant shall be given the benefit of the + doubt. As I have said, and I repeat, there is no legal way for me to + determine who struck the first blow. Therefore, and much to my regret,”—here + he paused and glared at Sol Witberg—“in each of these cases I am + compelled to give the defendant the benefit of the doubt. Gentlemen, you + are both dismissed.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us have a nip on it,” Watson said to Witberg, as they left the + courtroom; but that outraged person refused to lock arms and amble to the + nearest saloon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WINGED BLACKMAIL + </h2> + <p> + PETER WINN lay back comfortably in a library chair, with closed eyes, deep + in the cogitation of a scheme of campaign destined in the near future to + make a certain coterie of hostile financiers sit up. The central idea had + come to him the night before, and he was now reveling in the planning of + the remoter, minor details. By obtaining control of a certain up-country + bank, two general stores, and several logging camps, he could come into + control of a certain dinky jerkwater line which shall here be nameless, + but which, in his hands, would prove the key to a vastly larger situation + involving more main-line mileage almost than there were spikes in the + aforesaid dinky jerkwater. It was so simple that he had almost laughed + aloud when it came to him. No wonder those astute and ancient enemies of + his had passed it by. + </p> + <p> + The library door opened, and a slender, middle-aged man, weak-eyed and eye + glassed, entered. In his hands was an envelope and an open letter. As + Peter Winn's secretary it was his task to weed out, sort, and classify his + employer's mail. + </p> + <p> + “This came in the morning post,” he ventured apologetically and with the + hint of a titter. “Of course it doesn't amount to anything, but I thought + you would like to see it.” + </p> + <p> + “Read it,” Peter Winn commanded, without opening his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The secretary cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “It is dated July seventeenth, but is without address. Postmark San + Francisco. It is also quite illiterate. The spelling is atrocious. Here it + is: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Peter Winn, SIR: I send you respectfully by express a pigeon worth + good money. She's a loo-loo—” + </p> + <p> + “What is a loo-loo?” Peter Winn interrupted. + </p> + <p> + The secretary tittered. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I don't know, except that it must be a superlative of some sort. + The letter continues: + </p> + <p> + “Please freight it with a couple of thousand-dollar bills and let it go. + If you do I wont never annoy you no more. If you dont you will be sorry. + </p> + <p> + “That is all. It is unsigned. I thought it would amuse you.” + </p> + <p> + “Has the pigeon come?” Peter Winn demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I never thought to enquire.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do so.” + </p> + <p> + In five minutes the secretary was back. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. It came this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Then bring it in.” + </p> + <p> + The secretary was inclined to take the affair as a practical joke, but + Peter Winn, after an examination of the pigeon, thought otherwise. + </p> + <p> + “Look at it,” he said, stroking and handling it. “See the length of the + body and that elongated neck. A proper carrier. I doubt if I've ever seen + a finer specimen. Powerfully winged and muscled. As our unknown + correspondent remarked, she is a loo-loo. It's a temptation to keep her.” + </p> + <p> + The secretary tittered. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Surely you will not let it go back to the writer of that + letter.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Winn shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I'll answer. No man can threaten me, even anonymously or in foolery.” + </p> + <p> + On a slip of paper he wrote the succinct message, “Go to hell,” signed it, + and placed it in the carrying apparatus with which the bird had been + thoughtfully supplied. + </p> + <p> + “Now we'll let her loose. Where's my son? I'd like him to see the flight.” + </p> + <p> + “He's down in the workshop. He slept there last night, and had his + breakfast sent down this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll break his neck yet,” Peter Winn remarked, half-fiercely, + half-proudly, as he led the way to the veranda. + </p> + <p> + Standing at the head of the broad steps, he tossed the pretty creature + outward and upward. She caught herself with a quick beat of wings, + fluttered about undecidedly for a space, then rose in the air. + </p> + <p> + Again, high up, there seemed indecision; then, apparently getting her + bearings, she headed east, over the oak-trees that dotted the park-like + grounds. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful, beautiful,” Peter Winn murmured. “I almost wish I had her + back.” + </p> + <p> + But Peter Winn was a very busy man, with such large plans in his head and + with so many reins in his hands that he quickly forgot the incident. Three + nights later the left wing of his country house was blown up. It was not a + heavy explosion, and nobody was hurt, though the wing itself was ruined. + Most of the windows of the rest of the house were broken, and there was a + deal of general damage. By the first ferry boat of the morning half a + dozen San Francisco detectives arrived, and several hours later the + secretary, in high excitement, erupted on Peter Winn. + </p> + <p> + “It's come!” the secretary gasped, the sweat beading his forehead and his + eyes bulging behind their glasses. + </p> + <p> + “What has come?” Peter demanded. “It—the—the loo-loo bird.” + </p> + <p> + Then the financier understood. + </p> + <p> + “Have you gone over the mail yet?” + </p> + <p> + “I was just going over it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then continue, and see if you can find another letter from our mysterious + friend, the pigeon fancier.” + </p> + <p> + The letter came to light. It read: + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peter Winn, HONORABLE SIR: Now dont be a fool. If youd came through, + your shack would not have blew up—I beg to inform you respectfully, + am sending same pigeon. Take good care of same, thank you. Put five one + thousand dollar bills on her and let her go. Dont feed her. Dont try to + follow bird. She is wise to the way now and makes better time. If you dont + come through, watch out. + </p> + <p> + Peter Winn was genuinely angry. This time he indited no message for the + pigeon to carry. Instead, he called in the detectives, and, under their + advice, weighted the pigeon heavily with shot. Her previous flight having + been eastward toward the bay, the fastest motor-boat in Tiburon was + commissioned to take up the chase if it led out over the water. + </p> + <p> + But too much shot had been put on the carrier, and she was exhausted + before the shore was reached. Then the mistake was made of putting too + little shot on her, and she rose high in the air, got her bearings and + started eastward across San Francisco Bay. She flew straight over Angel + Island, and here the motor-boat lost her, for it had to go around the + island. + </p> + <p> + That night, armed guards patrolled the grounds. But there was no + explosion. Yet, in the early morning Peter Winn learned by telephone that + his sister's home in Alameda had been burned to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Two days later the pigeon was back again, coming this time by freight in + what had seemed a barrel of potatoes. Also came another letter: + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peter Winn, RESPECTABLE SIR: It was me that fixed yr sisters house. + You have raised hell, aint you. Send ten thousand now. Going up all the + time. Dont put any more handicap weights on that bird. You sure cant + follow her, and its cruelty to animals. + </p> + <p> + Peter Winn was ready to acknowledge himself beaten. The detectives were + powerless, and Peter did not know where next the man would strike—perhaps + at the lives of those near and dear to him. He even telephoned to San + Francisco for ten thousand dollars in bills of large denomination. But + Peter had a son, Peter Winn, Junior, with the same firm-set jaw as his + fathers, and the same knitted, brooding determination in his eyes. He was + only twenty-six, but he was all man, a secret terror and delight to the + financier, who alternated between pride in his son's aeroplane feats and + fear for an untimely and terrible end. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, father, don't send that money,” said Peter Winn, Junior. “Number + Eight is ready, and I know I've at last got that reefing down fine. It + will work, and it will revolutionize flying. Speed—that's what's + needed, and so are the large sustaining surfaces for getting started and + for altitude. I've got them both. Once I'm up I reef down. There it is. + The smaller the sustaining surface, the higher the speed. That was the law + discovered by Langley. And I've applied it. I can rise when the air is + calm and full of holes, and I can rise when its boiling, and by my control + of my plane areas I can come pretty close to making any speed I want. + Especially with that new Sangster-Endholm engine.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll come pretty close to breaking your neck one of these days,” was + his father's encouraging remark. + </p> + <p> + “Dad, I'll tell you what I'll come pretty close to-ninety miles an hour—Yes, + and a hundred. Now listen! I was going to make a trial tomorrow. But it + won't take two hours to start today. I'll tackle it this afternoon. Keep + that money. Give me the pigeon and I'll follow her to her loft where ever + it is. Hold on, let me talk to the mechanics.” + </p> + <p> + He called up the workshop, and in crisp, terse sentences gave his orders + in a way that went to the older man's heart. Truly, his one son was a chip + off the old block, and Peter Winn had no meek notions concerning the + intrinsic value of said old block. + </p> + <p> + Timed to the minute, the young man, two hours later, was ready for the + start. In a holster at his hip, for instant use, cocked and with the + safety on, was a large-caliber automatic pistol. With a final inspection + and overhauling he took his seat in the aeroplane. He started the engine, + and with a wild burr of gas explosions the beautiful fabric darted down + the launching ways and lifted into the air. Circling, as he rose, to the + west, he wheeled about and jockeyed and maneuvered for the real start of + the race. + </p> + <p> + This start depended on the pigeon. Peter Winn held it. Nor was it weighted + with shot this time. Instead, half a yard of bright ribbon was firmly + attached to its leg—this the more easily to enable its flight being + followed. Peter Winn released it, and it arose easily enough despite the + slight drag of the ribbon. There was no uncertainty about its movements. + This was the third time it had made particular homing passage, and it knew + the course. + </p> + <p> + At an altitude of several hundred feet it straightened out and went due + east. The aeroplane swerved into a straight course from its last curve and + followed. The race was on. Peter Winn, looking up, saw that the pigeon was + outdistancing the machine. Then he saw something else. The aeroplane + suddenly and instantly became smaller. It had reefed. Its high-speed + plane-design was now revealed. Instead of the generous spread of surface + with which it had taken the air, it was now a lean and hawklike monoplane + balanced on long and exceedingly narrow wings. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When young Winn reefed down so suddenly, he received a surprise. It was + his first trial of the new device, and while he was prepared for increased + speed he was not prepared for such an astonishing increase. It was better + than he dreamed, and, before he knew it, he was hard upon the pigeon. That + little creature, frightened by this, the most monstrous hawk it had ever + seen, immediately darted upward, after the manner of pigeons that strive + always to rise above a hawk. + </p> + <p> + In great curves the monoplane followed upward, higher and higher into the + blue. It was difficult, from underneath to see the pigeon, and young Winn + dared not lose it from his sight. He even shook out his reefs in order to + rise more quickly. Up, up they went, until the pigeon, true to its + instinct, dropped and struck at what it thought to be the back of its + pursuing enemy. Once was enough, for, evidently finding no life in the + smooth cloth surface of the machine, it ceased soaring and straightened + out on its eastward course. + </p> + <p> + A carrier pigeon on a passage can achieve a high rate of speed, and Winn + reefed again. And again, to his satisfaction, he found that he was beating + the pigeon. But this time he quickly shook out a portion of his reefed + sustaining surface and slowed down in time. From then on he knew he had + the chase safely in hand, and from then on a chant rose to his lips which + he continued to sing at intervals, and unconsciously, for the rest of the + passage. It was: “Going some; going some; what did I tell you!—going + some.” + </p> + <p> + Even so, it was not all plain sailing. The air is an unstable medium at + best, and quite without warning, at an acute angle, he entered an aerial + tide which he recognized as the gulf stream of wind that poured through + the drafty-mouthed Golden Gate. His right wing caught it first—a + sudden, sharp puff that lifted and tilted the monoplane and threatened to + capsize it. But he rode with a sensitive “loose curb,” and quickly, but + not too quickly, he shifted the angles of his wing-tips, depressed the + front horizontal rudder, and swung over the rear vertical rudder to meet + the tilting thrust of the wind. As the machine came back to an even keel, + and he knew that he was now wholly in the invisible stream, he readjusted + the wing-tips, rapidly away from him during the several moments of his + discomfiture. + </p> + <p> + The pigeon drove straight on for the Alameda County shore, and it was near + this shore that Winn had another experience. He fell into an air-hole. He + had fallen into air-holes before, in previous flights, but this was a far + larger one than he had ever encountered. With his eyes strained on the + ribbon attached to the pigeon, by that fluttering bit of color he marked + his fall. Down he went, at the pit of his stomach that old sink sensation + which he had known as a boy he first negotiated quick-starting elevators. + But Winn, among other secrets of aviation, had learned that to go up it + was sometimes necessary first to go down. The air had refused to hold him. + Instead of struggling futilely and perilously against this lack of + sustension, he yielded to it. With steady head and hand, he depressed the + forward horizontal rudder—just recklessly enough and not a fraction + more—and the monoplane dived head foremost and sharply down the + void. It was falling with the keenness of a knife-blade. Every instant the + speed accelerated frightfully. Thus he accumulated the momentum that would + save him. But few instants were required, when, abruptly shifting the + double horizontal rudders forward and astern, he shot upward on the tense + and straining plane and out of the pit. + </p> + <p> + At an altitude of five hundred feet, the pigeon drove on over the town of + Berkeley and lifted its flight to the Contra Costa hills. Young Winn noted + the campus and buildings of the University of California—his + university—as he rose after the pigeon. + </p> + <p> + Once more, on these Contra Costa hills, he early came to grief. The pigeon + was now flying low, and where a grove of eucalyptus presented a solid + front to the wind, the bird was suddenly sent fluttering wildly upward for + a distance of a hundred feet. Winn knew what it meant. It had been caught + in an air-surf that beat upward hundreds of feet where the fresh west wind + smote the upstanding wall of the grove. He reefed hastily to the + uttermost, and at the same time depressed the angle of his flight to meet + that upward surge. Nevertheless, the monoplane was tossed fully three + hundred feet before the danger was left astern. + </p> + <p> + Two or more ranges of hills the pigeon crossed, and then Winn saw it + dropping down to a landing where a small cabin stood in a hillside + clearing. He blessed that clearing. Not only was it good for alighting, + but, on account of the steepness of the slope, it was just the thing for + rising again into the air. + </p> + <p> + A man, reading a newspaper, had just started up at the sight of the + returning pigeon, when he heard the burr of Winn's engine and saw the huge + monoplane, with all surfaces set, drop down upon him, stop suddenly on an + air-cushion manufactured on the spur of the moment by a shift of the + horizontal rudders, glide a few yards, strike ground, and come to rest not + a score of feet away from him. But when he saw a young man, calmly sitting + in the machine and leveling a pistol at him, the man turned to run. Before + he could make the corner of the cabin, a bullet through the leg brought + him down in a sprawling fall. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want!” he demanded sullenly, as the other stood over him. + </p> + <p> + “I want to take you for a ride in my new machine,” Winn answered. “Believe + me, she is a loo-loo.” + </p> + <p> + The man did not argue long, for this strange visitor had most convincing + ways. Under Winn's instructions, covered all the time by the pistol, the + man improvised a tourniquet and applied it to his wounded leg. Winn helped + him to a seat in the machine, then went to the pigeon-loft and took + possession of the bird with the ribbon still fast to its leg. + </p> + <p> + A very tractable prisoner, the man proved. Once up in the air, he sat + close, in an ecstasy of fear. An adept at winged blackmail, he had no + aptitude for wings himself, and when he gazed down at the flying land and + water far beneath him, he did not feel moved to attack his captor, now + defenseless, both hands occupied with flight. + </p> + <p> + Instead, the only way the man felt moved was to sit closer. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Peter Winn, Senior, scanning the heavens with powerful glasses, saw the + monoplane leap into view and grow large over the rugged backbone of Angel + Island. Several minutes later he cried out to the waiting detectives that + the machine carried a passenger. Dropping swiftly and piling up an abrupt + air-cushion, the monoplane landed. + </p> + <p> + “That reefing device is a winner!” young Winn cried, as he climbed out. + “Did you see me at the start? I almost ran over the pigeon. Going some, + dad! Going some! What did I tell you? Going some!” + </p> + <p> + “But who is that with you?” his father demanded. + </p> + <p> + The young man looked back at his prisoner and remembered. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that's the pigeon-fancier,” he said. “I guess the officers can take + care of him.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Winn gripped his son's hand in grim silence, and fondled the pigeon + which his son had passed to him. Again he fondled the pretty creature. + Then he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Exhibit A, for the People,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BUNCHES OF KNUCKLES + </h2> + <p> + ARRANGEMENTS quite extensive had been made for the celebration of + Christmas on the yacht Samoset. Not having been in any civilized port for + months, the stock of provisions boasted few delicacies; yet Minnie Duncan + had managed to devise real feasts for cabin and forecastle. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Boyd,” she told her husband. “Here are the menus. For the cabin, + raw bonita native style, turtle soup, omelette a la Samoset—” + </p> + <p> + “What the dickens?” Boyd Duncan interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you must know, I found a tin of mushrooms and a package of + egg-powder which had fallen down behind the locker, and there are other + things as well that will go into it. But don't interrupt. Boiled yam, + fried taro, alligator pear salad—there, you've got me all mixed, + Then I found a last delectable half-pound of dried squid. There will be + baked beans Mexican, if I can hammer it into Toyama's head; also, baked + papaia with Marquesan honey, and, lastly, a wonderful pie the secret of + which Toyama refuses to divulge.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it is possible to concoct a punch or a cocktail out of trade + rum?” Duncan muttered gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I forgot! Come with me.” + </p> + <p> + His wife caught his hand and led him through the small connecting door to + her tiny stateroom. Still holding his hand, she fished in the depths of a + hat-locker and brought forth a pint bottle of champagne. + </p> + <p> + “The dinner is complete!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Wait.” + </p> + <p> + She fished again, and was rewarded with a silver-mounted whisky flask. She + held it to the light of a port-hole, and the liquor showed a quarter of + the distance from the bottom. + </p> + <p> + “I've been saving it for weeks,” she explained. “And there's enough for + you and Captain Dettmar.” + </p> + <p> + “Two mighty small drinks,” Duncan complained. + </p> + <p> + “There would have been more, but I gave a drink to Lorenzo when he was + sick.” + </p> + <p> + Duncan growled, “Might have given him rum,” facetiously. + </p> + <p> + “The nasty stuff! For a sick man? Don't be greedy, Boyd. And I'm glad + there isn't any more, for Captain Dettmar's sake. Drinking always makes + him irritable. And now for the men's dinner. Soda crackers, sweet cakes, + candy—” + </p> + <p> + “Substantial, I must say.” + </p> + <p> + “Do hush. Rice, and curry, yam, taro, bonita, of course, a big cake Toyama + is making, young pig—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say,” he protested. + </p> + <p> + “It is all right, Boyd. We'll be in Attu-Attu in three days. Besides, it's + my pig. That old chief what-ever-his-name distinctly presented it to me. + You saw him yourself. And then two tins of bullamacow. That's their + dinner. And now about the presents. Shall we wait until tomorrow, or give + them this evening?” + </p> + <p> + “Christmas Eve, by all means,” was the man's judgment. “We'll call all + hands at eight bells; I'll give them a tot of rum all around, and then you + give the presents. Come on up on deck. It's stifling down here. I hope + Lorenzo has better luck with the dynamo; without the fans there won't be + much sleeping to-night if we're driven below.” + </p> + <p> + They passed through the small main-cabin, climbed a steep companion + ladder, and emerged on deck. The sun was setting, and the promise was for + a clear tropic night. The Samoset, with fore- and main-sail winged out on + either side, was slipping a lazy four-knots through the smooth sea. + Through the engine-room skylight came a sound of hammering. They strolled + aft to where Captain Dettmar, one foot on the rail, was oiling the gear of + the patent log. At the wheel stood a tall South Sea Islander, clad in + white undershirt and scarlet hip-cloth. + </p> + <p> + Boyd Duncan was an original. At least that was the belief of his friends. + Of comfortable fortune, with no need to do anything but take his comfort, + he elected to travel about the world in outlandish and most uncomfortable + ways. Incidentally, he had ideas about coral-reefs, disagreed profoundly + with Darwin on that subject, had voiced his opinion in several monographs + and one book, and was now back at his hobby, cruising the South Seas in a + tiny, thirty-ton yacht and studying reef-formations. + </p> + <p> + His wife, Minnie Duncan, was also declared an original, inasmuch as she + joyfully shared his vagabond wanderings. Among other things, in the six + exciting years of their marriage she had climbed Chimborazo with him, made + a three-thousand-mile winter journey with dogs and sleds in Alaska, ridden + a horse from Canada to Mexico, cruised the Mediterranean in a ten-ton + yawl, and canoed from Germany to the Black Sea across the heart of Europe. + They were a royal pair of wanderlusters, he, big and broad-shouldered, she + a small, brunette, and happy woman, whose one hundred and fifteen pounds + were all grit and endurance, and withal, pleasing to look upon. + </p> + <p> + The Samoset had been a trading schooner, when Duncan bought her in San + Francisco and made alterations. Her interior was wholly rebuilt, so that + the hold became main-cabin and staterooms, while abaft amidships were + installed engines, a dynamo, an ice machine, storage batteries, and, far + in the stern, gasoline tanks. Necessarily, she carried a small crew. Boyd, + Minnie, and Captain Dettmar were the only whites on board, though Lorenzo, + the small and greasy engineer, laid a part claim to white, being a + Portuguese half-caste. A Japanese served as cook, and a Chinese as cabin + boy. Four white sailors had constituted the original crew for'ard, but one + by one they had yielded to the charms of palm-waving South Sea isles and + been replaced by islanders. Thus, one of the dusky sailors hailed from + Easter Island, a second from the Carolines, a third from the Paumotus, + while the fourth was a gigantic Samoan. At sea, Boyd Duncan, himself a + navigator, stood a mate's watch with Captain Dettmar, and both of them + took a wheel or lookout occasionally. On a pinch, Minnie herself could + take a wheel, and it was on pinches that she proved herself more + dependable at steering than did the native sailors. + </p> + <p> + At eight bells, all hands assembled at the wheel, and Boyd Duncan appeared + with a black bottle and a mug. The rum he served out himself, half a mug + of it to each man. They gulped the stuff down with many facial expressions + of delight, followed by loud lip-smackings of approval, though the liquor + was raw enough and corrosive enough to burn their mucous membranes. All + drank except Lee Goom, the abstemious cabin boy. This rite accomplished, + they waited for the next, the present-giving. Generously molded on + Polynesian lines, huge-bodied and heavy-muscled, they were nevertheless + like so many children, laughing merrily at little things, their eager + black eyes flashing in the lantern light as their big bodies swayed to the + heave and roll of the ship. + </p> + <p> + Calling each by name, Minnie gave the presents out, accompanying each + presentation with some happy remark that added to the glee. There were + trade watches, clasp knives, amazing assortments of fish-hooks in + packages, plug tobacco, matches, and gorgeous strips of cotton for + loincloths all around. That Boyd Duncan was liked by them was evidenced by + the roars of laughter with which they greeted his slightest joking + allusion. + </p> + <p> + Captain Dettmar, white-faced, smiling only when his employer chanced to + glance at him, leaned against the wheel-box, looking on. Twice, he left + the group and went below, remaining there but a minute each time. Later, + in the main cabin, when Lorenzo, Lee Goom and Toyama received their + presents, he disappeared into his stateroom twice again. For of all times, + the devil that slumbered in Captain Dettmar's soul chose this particular + time of good cheer to awaken. Perhaps it was not entirely the devil's + fault, for Captain Dettmar, privily cherishing a quart of whisky for many + weeks, had selected Christmas Eve for broaching it. + </p> + <p> + It was still early in the evening—two bells had just gone—when + Duncan and his wife stood by the cabin companionway, gazing to windward + and canvassing the possibility of spreading their beds on deck. A small, + dark blot of cloud, slowly forming on the horizon, carried the threat of a + rain-squall, and it was this they were discussing when Captain Dettmar, + coming from aft and about to go below, glanced at them with sudden + suspicion. He paused, his face working spasmodically. Then he spoke: + </p> + <p> + “You are talking about me.” + </p> + <p> + His voice was hoarse, and there was an excited vibration in it. Minnie + Duncan started, then glanced at her husband's immobile face, took the cue, + and remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “I say you were talking about me,” Captain Dettmar repeated, this time + with almost a snarl. + </p> + <p> + He did not lurch nor betray the liquor on him in any way save by the + convulsive working of his face. + </p> + <p> + “Minnie, you'd better go down,” Duncan said gently. “Tell Lee Goom we'll + sleep below. It won't be long before that squall is drenching things.” + </p> + <p> + She took the hint and left, delaying just long enough to give one anxious + glance at the dim faces of the two men. + </p> + <p> + Duncan puffed at his cigar and waited till his wife's voice, in talk with + the cabin-boy, came up through the open skylight. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Duncan demanded in a low voice, but sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I said you were talking about me. I say it again. Oh, I haven't been + blind. Day after day I've seen the two of you talking about me. Why don't + you come out and say it to my face! I know you know. And I know your + mind's made up to discharge me at Attu-Attu.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry you are making such a mess of everything,” was Duncan's quiet + reply. + </p> + <p> + But Captain Dettmar's mind was set on trouble. + </p> + <p> + “You know you are going to discharge me. You think you are too good to + associate with the likes of me—you and your wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Kindly keep her out of this,” Duncan warned. “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know what you are going to do!” + </p> + <p> + “Discharge you, after this, at Attu-Attu.” + </p> + <p> + “You intended to, all along.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary. It is your present conduct that compels me.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't give me that sort of talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't retain a captain who calls me a liar.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Dettmar for the moment was taken aback. His face and lips worked, + but he could say nothing. Duncan coolly pulled at his cigar and glanced + aft at the rising cloud of squall. + </p> + <p> + “Lee Goom brought the mail aboard at Tahiti,” Captain Dettmar began. + </p> + <p> + “We were hove short then and leaving. You didn't look at your letters + until we were outside, and then it was too late. That's why you didn't + discharge me at Tahiti. Oh, I know. I saw the long envelope when Lee Goom + came over the side. It was from the Governor of California, printed on the + corner for any one to see. You'd been working behind my back. Some + beachcomber in Honolulu had whispered to you, and you'd written to the + Governor to find out. And that was his answer Lee Goom carried out to you. + Why didn't you come to me like a man! No, you must play underhand with me, + knowing that this billet was the one chance for me to get on my feet + again. And as soon as you read the Governor's letter your mind was made up + to get rid of me. I've seen it on your face ever since for all these + months.. I've seen the two of you, polite as hell to me all the time, and + getting away in corners and talking about me and that affair in 'Frisco.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you done?” Duncan asked, his voice low, and tense. “Quite done?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Dettmar made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll tell you a few things. It was precisely because of that affair + in 'Frisco that I did not discharge you in Tahiti. God knows you gave me + sufficient provocation. I thought that if ever a man needed a chance to + rehabilitate himself, you were that man. Had there been no black mark + against you, I would have discharged you when I learned how you were + robbing me.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Dettmar showed surprise, started to interrupt, then changed his + mind. + </p> + <p> + “There was that matter of the deck-calking, the bronze rudder-irons, the + overhauling of the engine, the new spinnaker boom, the new davits, and the + repairs to the whale-boat. You OKd the shipyard bill. It was four thousand + one hundred and twenty-two francs. By the regular shipyard charges it + ought not to have been a centime over twenty-five hundred francs-” + </p> + <p> + “If you take the word of those alongshore sharks against mine—' the + other began thickly. + </p> + <p> + “Save yourself the trouble of further lying,” Duncan went on coldly. “I + looked it up. I got Flaubin before the Governor himself, and the old + rascal confessed to sixteen hundred overcharge. Said you'd stuck him up + for it. Twelve hundred went to you, and his share was four hundred and the + job. Don't interrupt. I've got his affidavit below. Then was when I would + have put you ashore, except for the cloud you were under. You had to have + this one chance or go clean to hell. I gave you the chance. And what have + you got to say about it?” + </p> + <p> + “What did the Governor say?” Captain Dettmar demanded truculently. + </p> + <p> + “Which governor?” + </p> + <p> + “Of California. Did he lie to you like all the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what he said. He said that you had been convicted on + circumstantial evidence; that was why you had got life imprisonment + instead of hanging; that you had always stoutly maintained your innocence; + that you were the black sheep of the Maryland Dettmars; that they moved + heaven and earth for your pardon; that your prison conduct was most + exemplary; that he was prosecuting attorney at the time you were + convicted; that after you had served seven years he yielded to your + family's plea and pardoned you; and that in his own mind existed a doubt + that you had killed McSweeny.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, during which Duncan went on studying the rising squall, + while Captain Dettmar's face worked terribly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the Governor was wrong,” he announced, with a short laugh. “I did + kill McSweeny. I did get the watchman drunk that night. I beat McSweeny to + death in his bunk. I used the iron belaying pin that appeared in the + evidence. He never had a chance. I beat him to a jelly. Do you want the + details?” + </p> + <p> + Duncan looked at him in the curious way one looks at any monstrosity, but + made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not afraid to tell you,” Captain Dettmar blustered on. “There are + no witnesses. Besides, I am a free man now. I am pardoned, and by God they + can never put me back in that hole again. I broke McSweeny's jaw with the + first blow. He was lying on his back asleep. He said, 'My God, Jim! My + God!' It was funny to see his broken jaw wabble as he said it. Then I + smashed him... I say, do you want the rest of the details?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all you have to say?” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it enough?” Captain Dettmar retorted. + </p> + <p> + “It is enough.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Put you ashore at Attu-Attu.” + </p> + <p> + “And in the meantime?” + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime...” Duncan paused. An increase of weight in the wind + rippled his hair. The stars overhead vanished, and the Samoset swung four + points off her course in the careless steersman's hands. “In the meantime + throw your halyards down on deck and look to your wheel. I'll call the + men.” + </p> + <p> + The next moment the squall burst upon them. Captain Dettmar, springing + aft, lifted the coiled mainsail halyards from their pins and threw them, + ready to run, on the deck. The three islanders swarmed from the tiny + forecastle, two of them leaping to the halyards and holding by a single + turn, while the third fastened down the engineroom, companion and swung + the ventilators around. Below, Lee Goom and Toyama were lowering skylight + covers and screwing up deadeyes. Duncan pulled shut the cover of the + companion scuttle, and held on, waiting, the first drops of rain pelting + his face, while the Samoset leaped violently ahead, at the same time + heeling first to starboard then to port as the gusty pressures caught her + winged-out sails. + </p> + <p> + All waited. But there was no need to lower away on the run. The power went + out of the wind, and the tropic rain poured a deluge over everything. Then + it was, the danger past, and as the Kanakas began to coil the halyards + back on the pins, that Boyd Duncan went below. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he called in cheerily to his wife. “Only a puff.” + </p> + <p> + “And Captain Dettmar?” she queried. + </p> + <p> + “Has been drinking, that is all. I shall get rid of him at Attu-Attu.” + </p> + <p> + But before Duncan climbed into his bunk, he strapped around himself, + against the skin and under his pajama coat, a heavy automatic pistol. + </p> + <p> + He fell asleep almost immediately, for his was the gift of perfect + relaxation. He did things tensely, in the way savages do, but the instant + the need passed he relaxed, mind and body. So it was that he slept, while + the rain still poured on deck and the yacht plunged and rolled in the + brief, sharp sea caused by the squall. + </p> + <p> + He awoke with a feeling of suffocation and heaviness. The electric fans + had stopped, and the air was thick and stifling. Mentally cursing all + Lorenzos and storage batteries, he heard his wife moving in the adjoining + stateroom and pass out into the main cabin. Evidently heading for the + fresher air on deck, he thought, and decided it was a good example to + imitate. Putting on his slippers and tucking a pillow and a blanket under + his arm, he followed her. As he was about to emerge from the companionway, + the ship's clock in the cabin began to strike and he stopped to listen. + Four bells sounded. It was two in the morning. From without came the + creaking of the gaff-jaw against the mast. The Samoset rolled and righted + on a sea, and in the light breeze her canvas gave forth a hollow thrum. + </p> + <p> + He was just putting his foot out on the damp deck when he heard his wife + scream. It was a startled frightened scream that ended in a splash + overside. He leaped out and ran aft. In the dim starlight he could make + out her head and shoulders disappearing astern in the lazy wake. + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” Captain Dettmar, who was at the wheel, asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Duncan,” was Duncan's reply, as he tore the life-buoy from its hook + and flung it aft. “Jibe over to starboard and come up on the wind!” he + commanded. + </p> + <p> + And then Boyd Duncan made a mistake. He dived overboard. + </p> + <p> + When he came up, he glimpsed the blue-light on the buoy, which had ignited + automatically when it struck the water. He swam for it, and found Minnie + had reached it first. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he said. “Just trying to keep cool?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Boyd!” was her answer, and one wet hand reached out and touched his. + </p> + <p> + The blue light, through deterioration or damage, flickered out. As they + lifted on the smooth crest of a wave, Duncan turned to look where the + Samoset made a vague blur in the darkness. No lights showed, but there was + noise of confusion. He could hear Captain Dettmar's shouting above the + cries of the others. + </p> + <p> + “I must say he's taking his time,” Duncan grumbled. “Why doesn't he jibe? + There she goes now.” + </p> + <p> + They could hear the rattle of the boom tackle blocks as the sail was eased + across. + </p> + <p> + “That was the mainsail,” he muttered. “Jibed to port when I told him + starboard.” + </p> + <p> + Again they lifted on a wave, and again and again, ere they could make out + the distant green of the Samoset's starboard light. But instead of + remaining stationary, in token that the yacht was coming toward them, it + began moving across their field of vision. Duncan swore. + </p> + <p> + “What's the lubber holding over there for!” he demanded. “He's got his + compass. He knows our bearing.” + </p> + <p> + But the green light, which was all they could see, and which they could + see only when they were on top of a wave, moved steadily away from them, + withal it was working up to windward, and grew dim and dimmer. Duncan + called out loudly and repeatedly, and each time, in the intervals, they + could hear, very faintly, the voice of Captain Dettmar shouting orders. + </p> + <p> + “How can he hear me with such a racket?” Duncan complained. + </p> + <p> + “He's doing it so the crew won't hear you,” was Minnie's answer. + </p> + <p> + There was something in the quiet way she said it that caught her husband's + attention. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that he is not trying to pick us up,” she went on in the same + composed voice. “He threw me overboard.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not making a mistake?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I? I was at the main rigging, looking to see if any more rain + threatened. He must have left the wheel and crept behind me. I was holding + on to a stay with one hand. He gripped my hand free from behind and threw + me over. It's too bad you didn't know, or else you would have staid + aboard.” + </p> + <p> + Duncan groaned, but said nothing for several minutes. The green light + changed the direction of its course. + </p> + <p> + “She's gone about,” he announced. “You are right. He's deliberately + working around us and to windward. Up wind they can never hear me. But + here goes.” + </p> + <p> + He called at minute intervals for a long time. The green light + disappeared, being replaced by the red, showing that the yacht had gone + about again. + </p> + <p> + “Minnie,” he said finally, “it pains me to tell you, but you married a + fool. Only a fool would have gone overboard as I did.” + </p> + <p> + “What chance have we of being picked up... by some other vessel, I mean?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “About one in ten thousand, or ten thousand million. Not a steamer route + nor trade route crosses this stretch of ocean. And there aren't any + whalers knocking about the South Seas. There might be a stray trading + schooner running across from Tutuwanga. But I happen to know that island + is visited only once a year. A chance in a million is ours.” + </p> + <p> + “And we'll play that chance,” she rejoined stoutly. + </p> + <p> + “You ARE a joy!” His hand lifted hers to his lips. “And Aunt Elizabeth + always wondered what I saw in you. Of course we'll play that chance. And + we'll win it, too. To happen otherwise would be unthinkable. Here goes.” + </p> + <p> + He slipped the heavy pistol from his belt and let it sink into the sea. + The belt, however, he retained. + </p> + <p> + “Now you get inside the buoy and get some sleep. Duck under.” + </p> + <p> + She ducked obediently, and came up inside the floating circle. He fastened + the straps for her, then, with the pistol belt, buckled himself across one + shoulder to the outside of the buoy. + </p> + <p> + “We're good for all day to-morrow,” he said. “Thank God the water's warm. + It won't be a hardship for the first twenty-hour hours, anyway. And if + we're not picked up by nightfall, we've just got to hang on for another + day, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + For half an hour they maintained silence, Duncan, his head resting on the + arm that was on the buoy, seemed asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Boyd?” Minnie said softly. + </p> + <p> + “Thought you were asleep,” he growled. + </p> + <p> + “Boyd, if we don't come through this—” + </p> + <p> + “Stow that!” he broke in ungallantly. “Of course we're coming through. + There is isn't a doubt of it. Somewhere on this ocean is a ship that's + heading right for us. You wait and see. Just the same I wish my brain were + equipped with wireless. Now I'm going to sleep, if you don't.” + </p> + <p> + But for once, sleep baffled him. An hour later he heard Minnie stir and + knew she was awake. + </p> + <p> + “Say, do you know what I've been thinking!” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; what?” + </p> + <p> + “That I'll wish you a Merry Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “By George, I never thought of it. Of course it's Christmas Day. We'll + have many more of them, too. And do you know what I've been thinking? What + a confounded shame we're done out of our Christmas dinner. Wait till I lay + hands on Dettmar. I'll take it out of him. And it won't be with an iron + belaying pin either, Just two bunches of naked knuckles, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Despite his facetiousness, Boyd Duncan had little hope. He knew well + enough the meaning of one chance in a million, and was calmly certain that + his wife and he had entered upon their last few living hours—hours + that were inevitably bound to be black and terrible with tragedy. + </p> + <p> + The tropic sun rose in a cloudless sky. Nothing was to be seen. The + Samoset was beyond the sea-rim. As the sun rose higher, Duncan ripped his + pajama trousers in halves and fashioned them into two rude turbans. Soaked + in sea-water they offset the heat-rays. + </p> + <p> + “When I think of that dinner, I'm really angry,” he complained, as he + noted an anxious expression threatening to set on his wife's face. “And I + want you to be with me when I settle with Dettmar. I've always been + opposed to women witnessing scenes of blood, but this is different. It + will be a beating.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I don't break my knuckles on him,” he added, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + Midday came and went, and they floated on, the center of a narrow + sea-circle. A gentle breath of the dying trade-wind fanned them, and they + rose and fell monotonously on the smooth swells of a perfect summer sea. + Once, a gunie spied them, and for half an hour circled about them with + majestic sweeps. And, once, a huge rayfish, measuring a score of feet + across the tips, passed within a few yards. + </p> + <p> + By sunset, Minnie began to rave, softly, babblingly, like a child. + Duncan's face grew haggard as he watched and listened, while in his mind + he revolved plans of how best to end the hours of agony that were coming. + And, so planning, as they rose on a larger swell than usual, he swept the + circle of the sea with his eyes, and saw, what made him cry out. + </p> + <p> + “Minnie!” She did not answer, and he shouted her name again in her ear, + with all the voice he could command. Her eyes opened, in them fluttered + commingled consciousness and delirium. He slapped her hands and wrists + till the sting of the blows roused her. + </p> + <p> + “There she is, the chance in a million!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “A steamer at that, heading straight for us! By George, it's a cruiser! I + have it!—the Annapolis, returning with those astronomers from + Tutuwanga.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + United States Consul Lingford was a fussy, elderly gentleman, and in the + two years of his service at Attu-Attu had never encountered so + unprecedented a case as that laid before him by Boyd Duncan. The latter, + with his wife, had been landed there by the Annapolis, which had promptly + gone on with its cargo of astronomers to Fiji. + </p> + <p> + “It was cold-blooded, deliberate attempt to murder,” said Consul Lingford. + “The law shall take its course. I don't know how precisely to deal with + this Captain Dettmar, but if he comes to Attu-Attu, depend upon it he + shall be dealt with, he—ah—shall be dealt with. In the + meantime, I shall read up the law. And now, won't you and your good lady + stop for lunch!” + </p> + <p> + As Duncan accepted the invitation, Minnie, who had been glancing out of + the window at the harbor, suddenly leaned forward and touched her + husband's arm. He followed her gaze, and saw the Samoset, flag at half + mast, rounding up and dropping anchor scarcely a hundred yards away. + </p> + <p> + “There's my boat now,” Duncan said to the Consul. “And there's the launch + over the side, and Captain Dettmar dropping into it. If I don't miss my + guess, he's coming to report our deaths to you.” + </p> + <p> + The launch landed on the white beach, and leaving Lorenzo tinkering with + the engine, Captain Dettmar strode across the beach and up the path to the + Consulate. + </p> + <p> + “Let him make his report,” Duncan said. “We'll just step into this next + room and listen.” + </p> + <p> + And through the partly open door, he and his wife heard Captain Dettmar, + with tears in his voice, describe the loss of his owners. + </p> + <p> + “I jibed over and went back across the very spot,” he concluded. “There + was not a sign of them. I called and called, but there was never an + answer. I tacked back and forth and wore for two solid hours, then hove to + till daybreak, and cruised back and forth all day, two men at the + mastheads. It is terrible. I am heartbroken. Mr. Duncan was a splendid + man, and I shall never...” + </p> + <p> + But he never completed the sentence, for at that moment his splendid + employer strode out upon him, leaving Minnie standing in the doorway. + Captain Dettmar's white face blanched even whiter. + </p> + <p> + “I did my best to pick you up, sir,” he began. + </p> + <p> + Boyd Duncan's answer was couched in terms of bunched knuckles, two bunches + of them, that landed right and left on Captain Dettmar's face. + </p> + <p> + Captain Dettmar staggered backward, recovered, and rushed with swinging + arms at his employer, only to be met with a blow squarely between the + eyes. This time the Captain went down, bearing the typewriter under him as + he crashed to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “This is not permissible,” Consul Lingford spluttered. “I beg of you, I + beg of you, to desist.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll pay the damages to office furniture,” Duncan answered, and at the + same time landing more bunched knuckles on the eyes and nose of Dettmar. + </p> + <p> + Consul Lingford bobbed around in the turmoil like a wet hen, while his + office furniture went to ruin. Once, he caught Duncan by the arm, but was + flung back, gasping, half-across the room. Another time he appealed to + Minnie. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Duncan, won't you, please, please, restrain your husband?” + </p> + <p> + But she, white-faced and trembling, resolutely shook her head and watched + the fray with all her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It is outrageous,” Consul Lingford cried, dodging the hurtling bodies of + the two men. “It is an affront to the Government, to the United States + Government. Nor will it be overlooked, I warn you. Oh, do pray desist, Mr. + Duncan. You will kill the man. I beg of you. I beg, I beg...” + </p> + <p> + But the crash of a tall vase filled with crimson hibiscus blossoms left + him speechless. + </p> + <p> + The time came when Captain Dettmar could no longer get up. He got as far + as hands and knees, struggled vainly to rise further, then collapsed. + Duncan stirred the groaning wreck with his foot. + </p> + <p> + “He's all right,” he announced. “I've only given him what he has given + many a sailor and worse.” + </p> + <p> + “Great heavens, sir!” Consul Lingford exploded, staring horror-stricken at + the man whom he had invited to lunch. + </p> + <p> + Duncan giggled involuntarily, then controlled himself. + </p> + <p> + “I apologize, Mr. Lingford, I most heartily apologize. I fear I was + slightly carried away by my feelings.” + </p> + <p> + Consul Lingford gulped and sawed the air speechlessly with his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Slightly, sir? Slightly?” he managed to articulate. + </p> + <p> + “Boyd,” Minnie called softly from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + He turned and looked. + </p> + <p> + “You ARE a joy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Mr. Lingford, I am done with him,” Duncan said. “I turn over + what is left to you and the law.” + </p> + <p> + “That?” Consul Lingford queried, in accent of horror. + </p> + <p> + “That,” Boyd Duncan replied, looking ruefully at his battered knuckles. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WAR + </h2> + <p> + HE was a young man, not more than twenty-four or five, and he might have + sat his horse with the careless grace of his youth had he not been so + catlike and tense. His black eyes roved everywhere, catching the movements + of twigs and branches where small birds hopped, questing ever onward + through the changing vistas of trees and brush, and returning always to + the clumps of undergrowth on either side. And as he watched, so did he + listen, though he rode on in silence, save for the boom of heavy guns from + far to the west. This had been sounding monotonously in his ears for + hours, and only its cessation could have aroused his notice. For he had + business closer to hand. Across his saddle-bow was balanced a carbine. + </p> + <p> + So tensely was he strung, that a bunch of quail, exploding into flight + from under his horse's nose, startled him to such an extent that + automatically, instantly, he had reined in and fetched the carbine halfway + to his shoulder. He grinned sheepishly, recovered himself, and rode on. So + tense was he, so bent upon the work he had to do, that the sweat stung his + eyes unwiped, and unheeded rolled down his nose and spattered his saddle + pommel. The band of his cavalryman's hat was fresh-stained with sweat. The + roan horse under him was likewise wet. It was high noon of a breathless + day of heat. Even the birds and squirrels did not dare the sun, but + sheltered in shady hiding places among the trees. + </p> + <p> + Man and horse were littered with leaves and dusted with yellow pollen, for + the open was ventured no more than was compulsory. They kept to the brush + and trees, and invariably the man halted and peered out before crossing a + dry glade or naked stretch of upland pasturage. He worked always to the + north, though his way was devious, and it was from the north that he + seemed most to apprehend that for which he was looking. He was no coward, + but his courage was only that of the average civilized man, and he was + looking to live, not die. + </p> + <p> + Up a small hillside he followed a cowpath through such dense scrub that he + was forced to dismount and lead his horse. But when the path swung around + to the west, he abandoned it and headed to the north again along the + oak-covered top of the ridge. + </p> + <p> + The ridge ended in a steep descent-so steep that he zigzagged back and + forth across the face of the slope, sliding and stumbling among the dead + leaves and matted vines and keeping a watchful eye on the horse above that + threatened to fall down upon him. The sweat ran from him, and the + pollen-dust, settling pungently in mouth and nostrils, increased his + thirst. Try as he would, nevertheless the descent was noisy, and + frequently he stopped, panting in the dry heat and listening for any + warning from beneath. + </p> + <p> + At the bottom he came out on a flat, so densely forested that he could not + make out its extent. Here the character of the woods changed, and he was + able to remount. Instead of the twisted hillside oaks, tall straight + trees, big-trunked and prosperous, rose from the damp fat soil. Only here + and there were thickets, easily avoided, while he encountered winding, + park-like glades where the cattle had pastured in the days before war had + run them off. + </p> + <p> + His progress was more rapid now, as he came down into the valley, and at + the end of half an hour he halted at an ancient rail fence on the edge of + a clearing. He did not like the openness of it, yet his path lay across to + the fringe of trees that marked the banks of the stream. It was a mere + quarter of a mile across that open, but the thought of venturing out in it + was repugnant. A rifle, a score of them, a thousand, might lurk in that + fringe by the stream. + </p> + <p> + Twice he essayed to start, and twice he paused. He was appalled by his own + loneliness. The pulse of war that beat from the West suggested the + companionship of battling thousands; here was naught but silence, and + himself, and possible death-dealing bullets from a myriad ambushes. And + yet his task was to find what he feared to find. He must on, and on, till + somewhere, some time, he encountered another man, or other men, from the + other side, scouting, as he was scouting, to make report, as he must make + report, of having come in touch. + </p> + <p> + Changing his mind, he skirted inside the woods for a distance, and again + peeped forth. This time, in the middle of the clearing, he saw a small + farmhouse. There were no signs of life. No smoke curled from the chimney, + not a barnyard fowl clucked and strutted. The kitchen door stood open, and + he gazed so long and hard into the black aperture that it seemed almost + that a farmer's wife must emerge at any moment. + </p> + <p> + He licked the pollen and dust from his dry lips, stiffened himself, mind + and body, and rode out into the blazing sunshine. Nothing stirred. He went + on past the house, and approached the wall of trees and bushes by the + river's bank. One thought persisted maddeningly. It was of the crash into + his body of a high-velocity bullet. It made him feel very fragile and + defenseless, and he crouched lower in the saddle. + </p> + <p> + Tethering his horse in the edge of the wood, he continued a hundred yards + on foot till he came to the stream. Twenty feet wide it was, without + perceptible current, cool and inviting, and he was very thirsty. But he + waited inside his screen of leafage, his eyes fixed on the screen on the + opposite side. To make the wait endurable, he sat down, his carbine + resting on his knees. The minutes passed, and slowly his tenseness + relaxed. At last he decided there was no danger; but just as he prepared + to part the bushes and bend down to the water, a movement among the + opposite bushes caught his eye. + </p> + <p> + It might be a bird. But he waited. Again there was an agitation of the + bushes, and then, so suddenly that it almost startled a cry from him, the + bushes parted and a face peered out. It was a face covered with several + weeks' growth of ginger-colored beard. The eyes were blue and wide apart, + with laughter-wrinkles in the comers that showed despite the tired and + anxious expression of the whole face. + </p> + <p> + All this he could see with microscopic clearness, for the distance was no + more than twenty feet. And all this he saw in such brief time, that he saw + it as he lifted his carbine to his shoulder. He glanced along the sights, + and knew that he was gazing upon a man who was as good as dead. It was + impossible to miss at such point blank range. + </p> + <p> + But he did not shoot. Slowly he lowered the carbine and watched. A hand, + clutching a water-bottle, became visible and the ginger beard bent + downward to fill the bottle. He could hear the gurgle of the water. Then + arm and bottle and ginger beard disappeared behind the closing bushes. A + long time he waited, when, with thirst unslaked, he crept back to his + horse, rode slowly across the sun-washed clearing, and passed into the + shelter of the woods beyond. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Another day, hot and breathless. A deserted farmhouse, large, with many + outbuildings and an orchard, standing in a clearing. From the Woods, on a + roan horse, carbine across pommel, rode the young man with the quick black + eyes. He breathed with relief as he gained the house. That a fight had + taken place here earlier in the season was evident. Clips and empty + cartridges, tarnished with verdigris, lay on the ground, which, while wet, + had been torn up by the hoofs of horses. Hard by the kitchen garden were + graves, tagged and numbered. From the oak tree by the kitchen door, in + tattered, weatherbeaten garments, hung the bodies of two men. The faces, + shriveled and defaced, bore no likeness to the faces of men. The roan + horse snorted beneath them, and the rider caressed and soothed it and tied + it farther away. + </p> + <p> + Entering the house, he found the interior a wreck. He trod on empty + cartridges as he walked from room to room to reconnoiter from the windows. + Men had camped and slept everywhere, and on the floor of one room he came + upon stains unmistakable where the wounded had been laid down. + </p> + <p> + Again outside, he led the horse around behind the barn and invaded the + orchard. A dozen trees were burdened with ripe apples. He filled his + pockets, eating while he picked. Then a thought came to him, and he + glanced at the sun, calculating the time of his return to camp. He pulled + off his shirt, tying the sleeves and making a bag. This he proceeded to + fill with apples. + </p> + <p> + As he was about to mount his horse, the animal suddenly pricked up its + ears. The man, too, listened, and heard, faintly, the thud of hoofs on + soft earth. He crept to the corner of the barn and peered out. A dozen + mounted men, strung out loosely, approaching from the opposite side of the + clearing, were only a matter of a hundred yards or so away. They rode on + to the house. Some dismounted, while others remained in the saddle as an + earnest that their stay would be short. They seemed to be holding a + council, for he could hear them talking excitedly in the detested tongue + of the alien invader. The time passed, but they seemed unable to reach a + decision. He put the carbine away in its boot, mounted, and waited + impatiently, balancing the shirt of apples on the pommel. + </p> + <p> + He heard footsteps approaching, and drove his spurs so fiercely into the + roan as to force a surprised groan from the animal as it leaped forward. + At the corner of the barn he saw the intruder, a mere boy of nineteen or + twenty for all of his uniform jump back to escape being run down. At the + same moment the roan swerved and its rider caught a glimpse of the aroused + men by the house. Some were springing from their horses, and he could see + the rifles going to their shoulders. He passed the kitchen door and the + dried corpses swinging in the shade, compelling his foes to run around the + front of the house. A rifle cracked, and a second, but he was going fast, + leaning forward, low in the saddle, one hand clutching the shirt of + apples, the other guiding the horse. + </p> + <p> + The top bar of the fence was four feet high, but he knew his roan and + leaped it at full career to the accompaniment of several scattered shots. + Eight hundred yards straight away were the woods, and the roan was + covering the distance with mighty strides. Every man was now firing. + pumping their guns so rapidly that he no longer heard individual shots. A + bullet went through his hat, but he was unaware, though he did know when + another tore through the apples on the pommel. And he winced and ducked + even lower when a third bullet, fired low, struck a stone between his + horse's legs and ricochetted off through the air, buzzing and humming like + some incredible insect. + </p> + <p> + The shots died down as the magazines were emptied, until, quickly, there + was no more shooting. The young man was elated. Through that astonishing + fusillade he had come unscathed. He glanced back. Yes, they had emptied + their magazines. He could see several reloading. Others were running back + behind the house for their horses. As he looked, two already mounted, came + back into view around the corner, riding hard. And at the same moment, he + saw the man with the unmistakable ginger beard kneel down on the ground, + level his gun, and coolly take his time for the long shot. + </p> + <p> + The young man threw his spurs into the horse, crouched very low, and + swerved in his flight in order to distract the other's aim. And still the + shot did not come. With each jump of the horse, the woods sprang nearer. + They were only two hundred yards away and still the shot was delayed. + </p> + <p> + And then he heard it, the last thing he was to hear, for he was dead ere + he hit the ground in the long crashing fall from the saddle. And they, + watching at the house, saw him fall, saw his body bounce when it struck + the earth, and saw the burst of red-cheeked apples that rolled about him. + They laughed at the unexpected eruption of apples, and clapped their hands + in applause of the long shot by the man with the ginger beard. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + UNDER THE DECK AWNINGS + </h2> + <h3> + “CAN any man—a gentleman, I mean—call a woman a pig?” + </h3> + <p> + The little man flung this challenge forth to the whole group, then leaned + back in his deck chair, sipping lemonade with an air commingled of + certitude and watchful belligerence. Nobody made answer. They were used to + the little man and his sudden passions and high elevations. + </p> + <p> + “I repeat, it was in my presence that he said a certain lady, whom none of + you knows, was a pig. He did not say swine. He grossly said that she was a + pig. And I hold that no man who is a man could possibly make such a remark + about any woman.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Dawson puffed stolidly at his black pipe. Matthews, with knees hunched + up and clasped by his arms, was absorbed in the flight of a gunie. Sweet, + finishing his Scotch and soda, was questing about with his eyes for a deck + steward. + </p> + <p> + “I ask you, Mr. Treloar, can any man call any woman a pig?” + </p> + <p> + Treloar, who happened to be sitting next to him, was startled by the + abruptness of the attack, and wondered what grounds he had ever given the + little man to believe that he could call a woman a pig. + </p> + <p> + “I should say,” he began his hesitant answer, “that it—er—depends + on the—er—the lady.” + </p> + <p> + The little man was aghast. + </p> + <p> + “You mean...?” he quavered. + </p> + <p> + “That I have seen female humans who were as bad as pigs—and worse.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pained silence. The little man seemed withered by the + coarse brutality of the reply. In his face was unutterable hurt and woe. + </p> + <p> + “You have told of a man who made a not nice remark and you have classified + him,” Treloar said in cold, even tones. “I shall now tell you about a + woman—I beg your pardon—a lady, and when I have finished I + shall ask you to classify her. Miss Caruthers I shall call her, + principally for the reason that it is not her name. It was on a P. & + O. boat, and it occurred neither more nor less than several years ago. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Caruthers was charming. No; that is not the word. She was amazing. + She was a young woman, and a lady. Her father was a certain high official + whose name, if I mentioned it, would be immediately recognized by all of + you. She was with her mother and two maids at the time, going out to join + the old gentleman wherever you like to wish in the East. + </p> + <p> + “She, and pardon me for repeating, was amazing. It is the one adequate + word. Even the most minor adjectives applicable to her are bound to be + sheer superlatives. There was nothing she could not do better than any + woman and than most men. Sing, play—bah!—as some rhetorician + once said of old Nap, competition fled from her. Swim! She could have made + a fortune and a name as a public performer. She was one of those rare + women who can strip off all the frills of dress, and in simple swimming + suit be more satisfying beautiful. Dress! She was an artist. + </p> + <p> + “But her swimming. Physically, she was the perfect woman—you know + what I mean, not in the gross, muscular way of acrobats, but in all the + delicacy of line and fragility of frame and texture. And combined with + this, strength. How she could do it was the marvel. You know the wonder of + a woman's arm—the fore arm, I mean; the sweet fading away from + rounded biceps and hint of muscle, down through small elbow and firm soft + swell to the wrist, small, unthinkably small and round and strong. This + was hers. And yet, to see her swimming the sharp quick English overhand + stroke, and getting somewhere with it, too, was—well, I understand + anatomy and athletics and such things, and yet it was a mystery to me how + she could do it. + </p> + <p> + “She could stay under water for two minutes. I have timed her. No man on + board, except Dennitson, could capture as many coins as she with a single + dive. On the forward main-deck was a big canvas tank with six feet of + sea-water. We used to toss small coins into it. I have seen her dive from + the bridge deck—no mean feat in itself—into that six-feet of + water, and fetch up no less than forty-seven coins, scattered willy-nilly + over the whole bottom of the tank. Dennitson, a quiet young Englishman, never + exceeded her in this, though he made it a point always to tie her score. + </p> + <p> + “She was a sea-woman, true. But she was a land-woman, a horsewoman—a—she + was the universal woman. To see her, all softness of soft dress, + surrounded by half a dozen eager men, languidly careless of them all or + flashing brightness and wit on them and at them and through them, one + would fancy she was good for nothing else in the world. At such moments I + have compelled myself to remember her score of forty-seven coins from the + bottom of the swimming tank. But that was she, the everlasting, wonder of + a woman who did all things well. + </p> + <p> + “She fascinated every betrousered human around her. She had me—and I + don't mind confessing it—she bad me to heel along with the rest. + Young puppies and old gray dogs who ought to have known better—oh, + they all came up and crawled around her skirts and whined and fawned when + she whistled. They were all guilty, from young Ardmore, a pink cherub of + nineteen outward bound for some clerkship in the Consular Service, to old + Captain Bentley, grizzled and sea-worn, and as emotional, to look at, as a + Chinese joss. There was a nice middle-aged chap, Perkins, I believe, who + forgot his wife was on board until Miss Caruthers sent him to the right + about and back where he belonged. + </p> + <p> + “Men were wax in her hands. She melted them, or softly molded them, or + incinerated them, as she pleased. There wasn't a steward, even, grand and + remote as she was, who, at her bidding, would have hesitated to souse the + Old Man himself with a plate of soup. You have all seen such women—a + sort of world's desire to all men. As a man-conqueror she was supreme. She + was a whip-lash, a sting and a flame, an electric spark. Oh, believe me, + at times there were flashes of will that scorched through her beauty and + seduction and smote a victim into blank and shivering idiocy and fear. + </p> + <p> + “And don't fail to mark, in the light of what is to come, that she was a + prideful woman. Pride of race, pride of caste, pride of sex, pride of + power—she had it all, a pride strange and wilful and terrible. + </p> + <p> + “She ran the ship, she ran the voyage, she ran everything, and she ran + Dennitson. That he had outdistanced the pack even the least wise of us + admitted. That she liked him, and that this feeling was growing, there was + not a doubt. I am certain that she looked on him with kinder eyes than she + had ever looked with on man before. We still worshiped, and were always + hanging about waiting to be whistled up, though we knew that Dennitson was + laps and laps ahead of us. What might have happened we shall never know, + for we came to Colombo and something else happened. + </p> + <p> + “You know Colombo, and how the native boys dive for coins in the + shark-infested bay. Of course, it is only among the ground sharks and fish + sharks that they venture. It is almost uncanny the way they know sharks + and can sense the presence of a real killer—a tiger shark, for + instance, or a gray nurse strayed up from Australian waters. Let such a + shark appear, and, long before the passengers can guess, every mother's + son of them is out of the water in a wild scramble for safety. + </p> + <p> + “It was after tiffin, and Miss Caruthers was holding her usual court under + the deck-awnings. Old Captain Bentley had just been whistled up, and had + granted her what he never granted before... nor since—permission for + the boys to come up on the promenade deck. You see, Miss Caruthers was a + swimmer, and she was interested. She took up a collection of all our small + change, and herself tossed it overside, singly and in handfuls, arranging + the terms of the contests, chiding a miss, giving extra rewards to clever + wins, in short, managing the whole exhibition. + </p> + <p> + “She was especially keen on their jumping. You know, jumping feet-first + from a height, it is very difficult to hold the body perpendicularly while + in the air. The center of gravity of the male body is high, and the + tendency is to overtopple. But the little beggars employed a method which + she declared was new to her and which she desired to learn. Leaping from + the davits of the boat-deck above, they plunged downward, their faces and + shoulders bowed forward, looking at the water. And only at the last moment + did they abruptly straighten up and enter the water erect and true. + </p> + <p> + “It was a pretty sight. Their diving was not so good, though there was one + of them who was excellent at it, as he was in all the other stunts. Some + white man must have taught him, for he made the proper swan dive and did + it as beautifully as I have ever seen it. You know, headfirst into the + water, from a great height, the problem is to enter the water at the + perfect angle. Miss the angle and it means at the least a twisted back and + injury for life. Also, it has meant death for many a bungler. But this boy + could do it—seventy feet I know he cleared in one dive from the + rigging—clenched hands on chest, head thrown back, sailing more like + a bird, upward and out, and out and down, body flat on the air so that if + it struck the surface in that position it would be split in half like a + herring. But the moment before the water is reached, the head drops + forward, the hands go out and lock the arms in an arch in advance of the + head, and the body curves gracefully downward and enters the water just + right. + </p> + <p> + “This the boy did, again and again, to the delight of all of us, but + particularly of Miss Caruthers. He could not have been a moment over + twelve or thirteen, yet he was by far the cleverest of the gang. He was + the favorite of his crowd, and its leader. Though there were a number + older than he, they acknowledged his chieftaincy. He was a beautiful boy, + a lithe young god in breathing bronze, eyes wide apart, intelligent and + daring, a bubble, a mote, a beautiful flash and sparkle of life. You have + seen wonderful glorious creatures—animals, anything, a leopard, a + horse-restless, eager, too much alive ever to be still, silken of muscle, + each slightest movement a benediction of grace, every action wild, + untrammeled, and over all spilling out that intense vitality, that sheen + and luster of living light. The boy had it. Life poured out of him almost + in an effulgence. His skin glowed with it. It burned in his eyes. I swear + I could almost hear it crackle from him. Looking at him, it was as if a + whiff of ozone came to one's nostrils—so fresh and young was he, so + resplendent with health, so wildly wild. + </p> + <p> + “This was the boy. And it was he who gave the alarm in the midst of the + sport. The boys made a dash of it for the gangway platform, swimming the + fastest strokes they knew, pellmell, floundering and splashing, fright in + their faces, clambering out with jumps and surges, any way to get out, + lending one another a hand to safety, till all were strung along the + gangway and peering down into the water. + </p> + <p> + “'What is the matter?' asked Miss Caruthers. + </p> + <p> + “'A shark, I fancy,' Captain Bentley answered. 'Lucky little beggars that + he didn't get one of them.' + </p> + <p> + “'Are they afraid of sharks?' she asked. + </p> + <p> + “'Aren't you?' he asked back.” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered, looked overside at the water, and made a move. + </p> + <p> + “'Not for the world would I venture where a shark might be,' she said, and + shuddered again. 'They are horrible! Horrible!' + </p> + <p> + “The boys came up on the promenade deck, clustering close to the rail and + worshiping Miss Caruthers who had flung them such a wealth of backsheesh. + The performance being over, Captain Bentley motioned to them to clear out. + But she stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “'One moment, please, Captain. I have always understood that the natives + are not afraid of sharks.' + </p> + <p> + “She beckoned the boy of the swan dive nearer to her, and signed to him to + dive over again. He shook his head, and along with all his crew behind him + laughed as if it were a good joke. + </p> + <p> + “'Shark,' he volunteered, pointing to the water. + </p> + <p> + “'No,' she said. 'There is no shark.' + </p> + <p> + “But he nodded his head positively, and the boys behind him nodded with + equal positiveness. + </p> + <p> + “'No, no, no,' she cried. And then to us, 'Who'll lend me a half-crown and + a sovereign!' + </p> + <p> + “Immediately the half dozen of us were presenting her with crowns and + sovereigns, and she accepted the two coins from young Ardmore. + </p> + <p> + “She held up the half-crown for the boys to see. But there was no eager + rush to the rail preparatory to leaping. They stood there grinning + sheepishly. She offered the coin to each one individually, and each, as + his turn came, rubbed his foot against his calf, shook his head, and + grinned. Then she tossed the half-crown overboard. With wistful, regretful + faces they watched its silver flight through the air, but not one moved to + follow it. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't do it with the sovereign,' Dennitson said to her in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “She took no notice, but held up the gold coin before the eyes of the boy + of the swan dive. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't,' said Captain Bentley. 'I wouldn't throw a sick cat overside with + a shark around.' + </p> + <p> + “But she laughed, bent on her purpose, and continued to dazzle the boy. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't tempt him,' Dennitson urged. 'It is a fortune to him, and he might + go over after it.' + </p> + <p> + “'Wouldn't YOU?' she flared at him. 'If I threw it?'” + </p> + <p> + This last more softly. + </p> + <p> + Dennitson shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “'Your price is high,' she said. 'For how many sovereigns would you go?' + </p> + <p> + “'There are not enough coined to get me overside,' was his answer. + </p> + <p> + “She debated a moment, the boy forgotten in her tilt with Dennitson. + </p> + <p> + “'For me?' she said very softly. + </p> + <p> + “'To save your life—yes. But not otherwise.' + </p> + <p> + “She turned back to the boy. Again she held the coin before his eyes, + dazzling him with the vastness of its value. Then she made as to toss it + out, and, involuntarily, he made a half-movement toward the rail, but was + checked by sharp cries of reproof from his companions. There was anger in + their voices as well. + </p> + <p> + “'I know it is only fooling,' Dennitson said. 'Carry it as far as you + like, but for heaven's sake don't throw it.' + </p> + <p> + “Whether it was that strange wilfulness of hers, or whether she doubted + the boy could be persuaded, there is no telling. It was unexpected to all + of us. Out from the shade of the awning the coin flashed golden in the + blaze of sunshine and fell toward the sea in a glittering arch. Before a + hand could stay him, the boy was over the rail and curving beautifully + downward after the coin. Both were in the air at the same time. It was a + pretty sight. The sovereign cut the water sharply, and at the very spot, + almost at the same instant, with scarcely a splash, the boy entered. + </p> + <p> + “From the quicker-eyed black boys watching, came an exclamation. We were + all at the railing. Don't tell me it is necessary for a shark to turn on + its back. That one did not. In the clear water, from the height we were + above it, we saw everything. The shark was a big brute, and with one drive + he cut the boy squarely in half. + </p> + <p> + “There was a murmur or something from among us—who made it I did not + know; it might have been I. And then there was silence. Miss Caruthers was + the first to speak. Her face was deathly white. + </p> + <p> + “'I never dreamed,' she said, and laughed a short, hysterical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “All her pride was at work to give her control. She turned weakly toward + Dennitson, and then, on from one to another of us. In her eyes was a + terrible sickness, and her lips were trembling. We were brutes—oh, I + know it, now that I look back upon it. But we did nothing. + </p> + <p> + “'Mr. Dennitson,' she said, 'Tom, won't you take me below!' + </p> + <p> + “He never changed the direction of his gaze, which was the bleakest I have + ever seen in a man's face, nor did he move an eyelid. He took a cigarette + from his case and lighted it. Captain Bentley made a nasty sound in his + throat and spat overboard. That was all; that and the silence. + </p> + <p> + “She turned away and started to walk firmly down the deck. Twenty feet + away, she swayed and thrust a hand against the wall to save herself. And + so she went on, supporting herself against the cabins and walking very + slowly.” Treloar ceased. He turned his head and favored the little man + with a look of cold inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said finally. “Classify her.” + </p> + <p> + The little man gulped and swallowed. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to say,” he said. “I have nothing whatever to say.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO KILL A MAN + </h2> + <p> + THOUGH dim night-lights burned, she moved familiarly through the big rooms + and wide halls, seeking vainly the half-finished book of verse she had + mislaid and only now remembered. When she turned on the lights in the + drawing-room, she disclosed herself clad in a sweeping negligee gown of + soft rose-colored stuff, throat and shoulders smothered in lace. Her rings + were still on her fingers, her massed yellow hair had not yet been taken + down. She was delicately, gracefully beautiful, with slender, oval face, + red lips, a faint color in the cheeks, and blue eyes of the chameleon sort + that at will stare wide with the innocence of childhood, go hard and gray + and brilliantly cold, or flame up in hot wilfulness and mastery. + </p> + <p> + She turned the lights off and passed out and down the hall toward the + morning room. At the entrance she paused and listened. From farther on had + come, not a noise, but an impression of movement. She could have sworn she + had not heard anything, yet something had been different. The atmosphere + of night quietude had been disturbed. She wondered what servant could be + prowling about. Not the butler, who was notorious for retiring early save + on special occasion. Nor could it be her maid, whom she had permitted to + go that evening. + </p> + <p> + Passing on to the dining-room, she found the door closed. Why she opened + it and went on in, she did not know, except for the feeling that the + disturbing factor, whatever it might be, was there. The room was in + darkness, and she felt her way to the button and pressed. As the blaze of + light flashed on, she stepped back and cried out. It was a mere “Oh!” and + it was not loud. + </p> + <p> + Facing her, alongside the button, flat against the wall, was a man. In his + hand, pointed toward her, was a revolver. She noticed, even in the shock + of seeing him, that the weapon was black and exceedingly long-barreled. + She knew black and exceedingly long it for what it was, a Colt's. He was a + medium-sized man, roughly clad, brown-eyed, and swarthy with sunburn. He + seemed very cool. There was no wabble to the revolver and it was directed + toward her stomach, not from an outstretched arm, but from the hip, + against which the forearm rested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said. “I beg your pardon. You startled me. What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I want to get out,” he answered, with a humorous twitch to the + lips. “I've kind of lost my way in this here shebang, and if you'll kindly + show me the door I'll cause no trouble and sure vamoose.” + </p> + <p> + “But what are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice touched with the + sharpness of one used to authority. + </p> + <p> + “Plain robbing, Miss, that's all. I came snooping around to see what I + could gather up. I thought you wan't to home, seein' as I saw you pull out + with your old man in an auto. I reckon that must a ben your pa, and you're + Miss Setliffe.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Setliffe saw his mistake, appreciated the naive compliment, and + decided not to undeceive him. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know I am Miss Setliffe?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “This is old Setliffe's house, ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know he had a daughter, but I reckon you must be her. And now, + if it ain't botherin' you too much, I'd sure be obliged if you'd show me + the way out.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should I? You are a robber, a burglar.” + </p> + <p> + “If I wan't an ornery shorthorn at the business, I'd be accumulatin' them + rings on your fingers instead of being polite,” he retorted. + </p> + <p> + “I come to make a raise outa old Setliffe, and not to be robbing + women-folks. If you get outa the way, I reckon I can find my own way out.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Setliffe was a keen woman, and she felt that from such a man there + was little to fear. That he was not a typical criminal, she was certain. + From his speech she knew he was not of the cities, and she seemed to sense + the wider, homelier air of large spaces. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I screamed?” she queried curiously. “Suppose I made an outcry for + help? You couldn't shoot me?... a woman?” + </p> + <p> + She noted the fleeting bafflement in his brown eyes. He answered slowly + and thoughtfully, as if working out a difficult problem. “I reckon, then, + I'd have to choke you and maul you some bad.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd sure have to,” he answered, and she saw his mouth set grimly. + </p> + <p> + “You're only a soft woman, but you see, Miss, I can't afford to go to + jail. No, Miss, I sure can't. There's a friend of mine waitin' for me out + West. He's in a hole, and I've got to help him out.” The mouth shaped even + more grimly. “I guess I could choke you without hurting you much to speak + of.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes took on a baby stare of innocent incredulity as she watched him. + </p> + <p> + “I never met a burglar before,” she assured him, “and I can't begin to + tell you how interested I am.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a burglar, Miss. Not a real one,” he hastened to add as she + looked her amused unbelief. “It looks like it, me being here in your + house. But it's the first time I ever tackled such a job. I needed the + money bad. Besides, I kind of look on it like collecting what's coming to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” she smiled encouragingly. “You came here to rob, and + to rob is to take what is not yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and no, in this here particular case. But I reckon I'd better be + going now.” + </p> + <p> + He started for the door of the dining-room, but she interposed, and a very + beautiful obstacle she made of herself. His left hand went out as if to + grip her, then hesitated. He was patently awed by her soft womanhood. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she cried triumphantly. “I knew you wouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + The man was embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't never manhandled a woman yet,” he explained, “and it don't come + easy. But I sure will, if you set to screaming.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't you stay a few minutes and talk?” she urged. “I'm so interested. I + should like to hear you explain how burglary is collecting what is coming + to you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her admiringly. + </p> + <p> + “I always thought women-folks were scairt of robbers,” he confessed. “But + you don't seem none.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed gaily. + </p> + <p> + “There are robbers and robbers, you know. I am not afraid of you, because + I am confident you are not the sort of creature that would harm a woman. + Come, talk with me a while. Nobody will disturb us. I am all alone. My—father + caught the night train to New York. The servants are all asleep. I should + like to give you something to eat—women always prepare midnight + suppers for the burglars they catch, at least they do in the magazine + stories. But I don't know where to find the food. Perhaps you will have + something to drink?” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated, and did not reply; but she could see the admiration for her + growing in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You're not afraid?” she queried. “I won't poison you, I promise. I'll + drink with you to show you it is all right.” + </p> + <p> + “You sure are a surprise package of all right,” he declared, for the first + time lowering the weapon and letting it hang at his side. “No one don't + need to tell me ever again that women-folks in cities is afraid. You ain't + much—just a little soft pretty thing. But you've sure got the spunk. + And you're trustful on top of it. There ain't many women, or men either, + who'd treat a man with a gun the way you're treating me.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled her pleasure in the compliment, and her face, was very earnest + as she said: + </p> + <p> + “That is because I like your appearance. You are too decent-looking a man + to be a robber. You oughtn't to do such things. If you are in bad luck you + should go to work. Come, put away that nasty revolver and let us talk it + over. The thing for you to do is to work.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in this burg,” he commented bitterly. “I've walked two inches off the + bottom of my legs trying to find a job. Honest, I was a fine large man + once... before I started looking for a job.” + </p> + <p> + The merry laughter with which she greeted his sally obviously pleased him, + and she was quick to note and take advantage of it. She moved directly + away from the door and toward the sideboard. + </p> + <p> + “Come, you must tell me all about it while I get that drink for you. What + will it be? Whisky?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” he said, as he followed her, though he still carried the big + revolver at his side, and though he glanced reluctantly at the unguarded + open door. + </p> + <p> + She filled a glass for him at the sideboard. + </p> + <p> + “I promised to drink with you,” she said hesitatingly. “But I don't like + whisky. I... I prefer sherry.” + </p> + <p> + She lifted the sherry bottle tentatively for his consent. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” he answered, with a nod. “Whisky's a man's drink. I never like to + see women at it. Wine's more their stuff.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her glass to his, her eyes meltingly sympathetic. + </p> + <p> + “Here's to finding you a good position—” + </p> + <p> + But she broke off at sight of the expression of surprised disgust on his + face. The glass, barely touched, was removed from his wry lips. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter!” she asked anxiously. “Don't you like it? Have I made + a mistake?” + </p> + <p> + “It's sure funny whisky. Tastes like it got burned and smoked in the + making.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! How silly of me! I gave you Scotch. Of course you are accustomed to + rye. Let me change it.” + </p> + <p> + She was almost solicitiously maternal, as she replaced the glass with + another and sought and found the proper bottle. + </p> + <p> + “Better?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am. No smoke in it. It's sure the real good stuff. I ain't had a + drink in a week. Kind of slick, that; oily, you know; not made in a + chemical factory.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a drinking man?” It was half a question, half a challenge. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am, not to speak of. I HAVE rared up and ripsnorted at spells, but + most unfrequent. But there is times when a good stiff jolt lands on the + right spot kerchunk, and this is sure one of them. And now, thanking you + for your kindness, ma'am, I'll just be a pulling along.” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Setliffe did not want to lose her burglar. She was too poised a + woman to possess much romance, but there was a thrill about the present + situation that delighted her. Besides, she knew there was no danger. The + man, despite his jaw and the steady brown eyes, was eminently tractable. + Also, farther back in her consciousness glimmered the thought of an + audience of admiring friends. It was too bad not to have that audience. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't explained how burglary, in your case, is merely collecting + what is your own,” she said. “Come, sit down, and tell me about it here at + the table.” + </p> + <p> + She maneuvered for her own seat, and placed him across the corner from + her. His alertness had not deserted him, as she noted, and his eyes roved + sharply about, returning always with smoldering admiration to hers, but + never resting long. And she noted likewise that while she spoke he was + intent on listening for other sounds than those of her voice. Nor had he + relinquished the revolver, which lay at the corner of the table between + them, the butt close to his right hand. + </p> + <p> + But he was in a new habitat which he did not know. This man from the West, + cunning in woodcraft and plainscraft, with eyes and ears open, tense and + suspicious, did not know that under the table, close to her foot, was the + push button of an electric bell. He had never heard of such a contrivance, + and his keenness and wariness went for naught. + </p> + <p> + “It's like this, Miss,” he began, in response to her urging. “Old Setliffe + done me up in a little deal once. It was raw, but it worked. Anything will + work full and legal when it's got few hundred million behind it. I'm not + squealin', and I ain't taking a slam at your pa. He don't know me from + Adam, and I reckon he don't know he done me outa anything. He's too big, + thinking and dealing in millions, to ever hear of a small potato like me. + He's an operator. He's got all kinds of experts thinking and planning and + working for him, some of them, I hear, getting more cash salary than the + President of the United States. I'm only one of thousands that have been + done up by your pa, that's all. + </p> + <p> + “You see, ma'am, I had a little hole in the ground—a dinky, + hydraulic, one-horse outfit of a mine. And when the Setliffe crowd shook + down Idaho, and reorganized the smelter trust, and roped in the rest of + the landscape, and put through the big hydraulic scheme at Twin Pines, why + I sure got squeezed. I never had a run for my money. I was scratched off + the card before the first heat. And so, to-night, being broke and my + friend needing me bad, I just dropped around to make a raise outa your pa. + Seeing as I needed it, it kinda was coming to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Granting all that you say is so,” she said, “nevertheless it does not + make house-breaking any the less house-breaking. You couldn't make such a + defense in a court of law.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” he confessed meekly. “What's right ain't always legal. And + that's why I am so uncomfortable a-settin' here and talking with you. Not + that I ain't enjoying your company—I sure do enjoy it—but I + just can't afford to be caught. I know what they'd do to me in this here + city. There was a young fellow that got fifty years only last week for + holding a man up on the street for two dollars and eighty-five cents. I + read about it in the paper. When times is hard and they ain't no work, men + get desperate. And then the other men who've got something to be robbed of + get desperate, too, and they just sure soak it to the other fellows. If I + got caught, I reckon I wouldn't get a mite less than ten years. That's why + I'm hankering to be on my way.” + </p> + <p> + “No; wait.” She lifted a detaining hand, at the same time removing her + foot from the bell, which she had been pressing intermittently. “You + haven't told me your name yet.” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Call me Dave.” + </p> + <p> + “Then... Dave,” she laughed with pretty confusion. “Something must be done + for you. You are a young man, and you are just at the beginning of a bad + start. If you begin by attempting to collect what you think is coming to + you, later on you will be collecting what you are perfectly sure isn't + coming to you. And you know what the end will be. Instead of this, we must + find something honorable for you to do.” + </p> + <p> + “I need the money, and I need it now,” he replied doggedly. “It's not for + myself, but for that friend I told you about. He's in a peck of trouble, + and he's got to get his lift now or not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I can find you a position,” she said quickly. “And—yes, the very + thing!—I'll lend you the money you want to send to your friend. This + you can pay back out of your salary.” + </p> + <p> + “About three hundred would do,” he said slowly. “Three hundred would pull + him through. I'd work my fingers off for a year for that, and my keep, and + a few cents to buy Bull Durham with.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You smoke! I never thought of it.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand went out over the revolver toward his hand, as she pointed to the + tell-tale yellow stain on his fingers. At the same time her eyes measured + the nearness of her own hand and of his to the weapon. She ached to grip + it in one swift movement. She was sure she could do it, and yet she was + not sure; and so it was that she refrained as she withdrew her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you smoke?” she invited. + </p> + <p> + “I'm 'most dying to.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do so. I don't mind. I really like it—cigarettes, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + With his left band he dipped into his side pocket, brought out a loose + wheat-straw paper and shifted it to his right hand close by the revolver. + Again he dipped, transferring to the paper a pinch of brown, flaky + tobacco. Then he proceeded, both hands just over the revolver, to roll the + cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “From the way you hover close to that nasty weapon, you seem to be afraid + of me,” she challenged. + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly afraid of you, ma'am, but, under the circumstances, just a + mite timid.” + </p> + <p> + “But I've not been afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + “You've got nothing to lose.” + </p> + <p> + “My life,” she retorted. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” he acknowledged promptly, “and you ain't been scairt of + me. Mebbe I am over anxious.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't cause you any harm.” + </p> + <p> + Even as she spoke, her slipper felt for the bell and pressed it. At the + same time her eyes were earnest with a plea of honesty. + </p> + <p> + “You are a judge of men. I know it. And of women. Surely, when I am trying + to persuade you from a criminal life and to get you honest work to + do....?” + </p> + <p> + He was immediately contrite. + </p> + <p> + “I sure beg your pardon, ma'am,” he said. “I reckon my nervousness ain't + complimentary.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he drew his right hand from the table, and after lighting the + cigarette, dropped it by his side. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for your confidence,” she breathed softly, resolutely keeping + her eyes from measuring the distance to the revolver, and keeping her foot + pressed firmly on the bell. + </p> + <p> + “About that three hundred,” he began. “I can telegraph it West to-night. + And I'll agree to work a year for it and my keep.” + </p> + <p> + “You will earn more than that. I can promise seventy-five dollars a month + at the least. Do you know horses?” + </p> + <p> + His face lighted up and his eyes sparkled. + </p> + <p> + “Then go to work for me—or for my father, rather, though I engage + all the servants. I need a second coachman—” + </p> + <p> + “And wear a uniform?” he interrupted sharply, the sneer of the free-born + West in his voice and on his lips. + </p> + <p> + She smiled tolerantly. + </p> + <p> + “Evidently that won't do. Let me think. Yes. Can you break and handle + colts?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “We have a stock farm, and there's room for just such a man as you. Will + you take it?” + </p> + <p> + “Will I, ma'am?” His voice was rich with gratitude and enthusiasm. “Show + me to it. I'll dig right in to-morrow. And I can sure promise you one + thing, ma'am. You'll never be sorry for lending Hughie Luke a hand in his + trouble—” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said to call you Dave,” she chided forgivingly. + </p> + <p> + “I did, ma'am. I did. And I sure beg your pardon. It was just plain bluff. + My real name is Hughie Luke. And if you'll give me the address of that + stock farm of yours, and the railroad fare, I head for it first thing in + the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Throughout the conversation she had never relaxed her attempts on the + bell. She had pressed it in every alarming way—three shorts and a + long, two and a long, and five. She had tried long series of shorts, and, + once, she had held the button down for a solid three minutes. And she had + been divided between objurgation of the stupid, heavy-sleeping butler and + doubt if the bell were in order. + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad,” she said; “so glad that you are willing. There won't be + much to arrange. But you will first have to trust me while I go upstairs + for my purse.” + </p> + <p> + She saw the doubt flicker momentarily in his eyes, and added hastily, “But + you see I am trusting you with the three hundred dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you, ma'am,” he came back gallantly. “Though I just can't help + this nervousness.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go and get it?” + </p> + <p> + But before she could receive consent, a slight muffled jar from the + distance came to her ear. She knew it for the swing-door of the butler's + pantry. But so slight was it—more a faint vibration than a sound—that + she would not have heard had not her ears been keyed and listening for it. + Yet the man had heard. He was startled in his composed way. + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + For answer, her left hand flashed out to the revolver and brought it back. + She had had the start of him, and she needed it, for the next instant his + hand leaped up from his side, clutching emptiness where the revolver had + been. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down!” she commanded sharply, in a voice new to him. “Don't move. + Keep your hands on the table.” + </p> + <p> + She had taken a lesson from him. Instead of holding the heavy weapon + extended, the butt of it and her forearm rested on the table, the muzzle + pointed, not at his head, but his chest. And he, looking coolly and + obeying her commands, knew there was no chance of the kick-up of the + recoil producing a miss. Also, he saw that the revolver did not wabble, + nor the hand shake, and he was thoroughly conversant with the size of hole + the soft-nosed bullets could make. He had eyes, not for her, but for the + hammer, which had risen under the pressure of her forefinger on the + trigger. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I'd best warn you that that there trigger-pull is filed dreadful + fine. Don't press too hard, or I'll have a hole in me the size of a + walnut.” + </p> + <p> + She slacked the hammer partly down. + </p> + <p> + “That's better,” he commented. “You'd best put it down all the way. You + see how easy it works. If you want to, a quick light pull will jiffy her + up and back and make a pretty mess all over your nice floor.” + </p> + <p> + A door opened behind him, and he heard somebody enter the room. But he did + not turn his bead. He was looking at her, and he found it the face of + another woman—hard, cold, pitiless yet brilliant in its beauty. The + eyes, too, were hard, though blazing with a cold light. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas,” she commanded, “go to the telephone and call the police. Why + were you so long in answering?” + </p> + <p> + “I came as soon as I heard the bell, madam,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + The robber never took his eyes from hers, nor did she from his, but at + mention of the bell she noticed that his eyes were puzzled for the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Beg your pardon,” said the butler from behind, “but wouldn't it be better + for me to get a weapon and arouse the servants?” + </p> + <p> + “No; ring for the police. I can hold this man. Go and do it—quickly.” + </p> + <p> + The butler slippered out of the room, and the man and the woman sat on, + gazing into each other's eyes. To her it was an experience keen with + enjoyment, and in her mind was the gossip of her crowd, and she saw notes + in the society weeklies of the beautiful young Mrs. Setliffe capturing an + armed robber single-handed. It would create a sensation, she was sure. + </p> + <p> + “When you get that sentence you mentioned,” she said coldly, “you will + have time to meditate upon what a fool you have been, taking other + persons' property and threatening women with revolvers. You will have time + to learn your lesson thoroughly. Now tell the truth. You haven't any + friend in trouble. All that you told me was lies.” + </p> + <p> + He did not reply. Though his eyes were upon her, they seemed blank. In + truth, for the instant she was veiled to him, and what he saw was the wide + sunwashed spaces of the West, where men and women were bigger than the + rotten denizens, as he had encountered them, of the thrice rotten cities + of the East. + </p> + <p> + “Go on. Why don't you speak? Why don't you lie some more? Why don't you + beg to be let off?” + </p> + <p> + “I might,” he answered, licking his dry lips. “I might ask to be let off + if...” + </p> + <p> + “If what?” she demanded peremptorily, as he paused. + </p> + <p> + “I was trying to think of a word you reminded me of. As I was saying, I + might if you was a decent woman.” + </p> + <p> + Her face paled. + </p> + <p> + “Be careful,” she warned. + </p> + <p> + “You don't dast kill me,” he sneered. “The world's a pretty low down place + to have a thing like you prowling around in it, but it ain't so plumb low + down, I reckon, as to let you put a hole in me. You're sure bad, but the + trouble with you is that you're weak in your badness. It ain't much to + kill a man, but you ain't got it in you. There's where you lose out.” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful of what you say,” she repeated. “Or else, I warn you, it will + go hard with you. It can be seen to whether your sentence is light or + heavy.” + </p> + <p> + “Something's the matter with God,” he remarked irrelevantly, “to be + letting you around loose. It's clean beyond me what he's up to, playing + such-like tricks on poor humanity. Now if I was God—” + </p> + <p> + His further opinion was interrupted by the entrance of the butler. + </p> + <p> + “Something is wrong with the telephone, madam,” he announced. “The wires + are crossed or something, because I can't get Central.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and call one of the servants,” she ordered. “Send him out for an + officer, and then return here.” + </p> + <p> + Again the pair was left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Will you kindly answer one question, ma'am?” the man said. “That servant + fellow said something about a bell. I watched you like a cat, and you sure + rung no bell.” + </p> + <p> + “It was under the table, you poor fool. I pressed it with my foot.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am. I reckoned I'd seen your kind before, and now I sure + know I have. I spoke to you true and trusting, and all the time you was + lying like hell to me.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed mockingly. + </p> + <p> + “Go on. Say what you wish. It is very interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “You made eyes at me, looking soft and kind, playing up all the time the + fact that you wore skirts instead of pants—and all the time with + your foot on the bell under the table. Well, there's some consolation. I'd + sooner be poor Hughie Luke, doing his ten years, than be in your skin. + Ma'am, hell is full of women like you.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a space, in which the man, never taking his eyes + from her, studying her, was making up his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” she urged. “Say something.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am, I'll say something. I'll sure say something. Do you know what + I'm going to do? I'm going to get right up from this chair and walk out + that door. I'd take the gun from you, only you might turn foolish and let + it go off. You can have the gun. It's a good one. As I was saying, I am + going right out that door. And you ain't going to pull that gun off + either. It takes guts to shoot a man, and you sure ain't got them. Now get + ready and see if you can pull that trigger. I ain't going to harm you. I'm + going out that door, and I'm starting.” + </p> + <p> + Keeping his eyes fixed on her, he pushed back the chair and slowly stood + erect. The hammer rose halfway. She watched it. So did he. + </p> + <p> + “Pull harder,” he advised. “It ain't half up yet. Go on and pull it and + kill a man. That's what I said, kill a man, spatter his brains out on the + floor, or slap a hole into him the size of your fist. That's what killing + a man means.” + </p> + <p> + The hammer lowered jerkily but gently. The man turned his back and walked + slowly to the door. She swung the revolver around so that it bore on his + back. Twice again the hammer came up halfway and was reluctantly eased + down. + </p> + <p> + At the door the man turned for a moment before passing on. A sneer was on + his lips. He spoke to her in a low voice, almost drawling, but in it was + the quintessence of all loathing, as he called her a name unspeakable and + vile. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MEXICAN + </h2> + <p> + NOBODY knew his history—they of the Junta least of all. He was their + “little mystery,” their “big patriot,” and in his way he worked as hard + for the coming Mexican Revolution as did they. They were tardy in + recognizing this, for not one of the Junta liked him. The day he first + drifted into their crowded, busy rooms, they all suspected him of being a + spy—one of the bought tools of the Diaz secret service. Too many of + the comrades were in civil an military prisons scattered over the United + States, and others of them, in irons, were even then being taken across + the border to be lined up against adobe walls and shot. + </p> + <p> + At the first sight the boy did not impress them favorably. Boy he was, not + more than eighteen and not over large for his years. He announced that he + was Felipe Rivera, and that it was his wish to work for the Revolution. + That was all—not a wasted word, no further explanation. He stood + waiting. There was no smile on his lips, no geniality in his eyes. Big + dashing Paulino Vera felt an inward shudder. Here was something + forbidding, terrible, inscrutable. There was something venomous and + snakelike in the boy's black eyes. They burned like cold fire, as with a + vast, concentrated bitterness. He flashed them from the faces of the + conspirators to the typewriter which little Mrs. Sethby was industriously + operating. His eyes rested on hers but an instant—she had chanced to + look up—and she, too, sensed the nameless something that made her + pause. She was compelled to read back in order to regain the swing of the + letter she was writing. + </p> + <p> + Paulino Vera looked questioningly at Arrellano and Ramos, and + questioningly they looked back and to each other. The indecision of doubt + brooded in their eyes. This slender boy was the Unknown, vested with all + the menace of the Unknown. He was unrecognizable, something quite beyond + the ken of honest, ordinary revolutionists whose fiercest hatred for Diaz + and his tyranny after all was only that of honest and ordinary patriots. + Here was something else, they knew not what. But Vera, always the most + impulsive, the quickest to act, stepped into the breach. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he said coldly. “You say you want to work for the Revolution. + Take off your coat. Hang it over there. I will show you, come—where + are the buckets and cloths. The floor is dirty. You will begin by + scrubbing it, and by scrubbing the floors of the other rooms. The + spittoons need to be cleaned. Then there are the windows.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it for the Revolution?” the boy asked. + </p> + <p> + “It is for the Revolution,” Vera answered. + </p> + <p> + Rivera looked cold suspicion at all of them, then proceeded to take off + his coat. + </p> + <p> + “It is well,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And nothing more. Day after day he came to his work—sweeping, + scrubbing, cleaning. He emptied the ashes from the stoves, brought up the + coal and kindling, and lighted the fires before the most energetic one of + them was at his desk. + </p> + <p> + “Can I sleep here?” he asked once. + </p> + <p> + Ah, ha! So that was it—the hand of Diaz showing through! To sleep in + the rooms of the Junta meant access to their secrets, to the lists of + names, to the addresses of comrades down on Mexican soil. The request was + denied, and Rivera never spoke of it again. He slept they knew not where, + and ate they knew not where nor how. Once, Arrellano offered him a couple + of dollars. Rivera declined the money with a shake of the head. When Vera + joined in and tried to press it upon him, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I am working for the Revolution.” + </p> + <p> + It takes money to raise a modern revolution, and always the Junta was + pressed. The members starved and toiled, and the longest day was none too + long, and yet there were times when it appeared as if the Revolution stood + or fell on no more than the matter of a few dollars. Once, the first time, + when the rent of the house was two months behind and the landlord was + threatening dispossession, it was Felipe Rivera, the scrub-boy in the + poor, cheap clothes, worn and threadbare, who laid sixty dollars in gold + on May Sethby's desk. There were other times. Three hundred letters, + clicked out on the busy typewriters (appeals for assistance, for sanctions + from the organized labor groups, requests for square news deals to the + editors of newspapers, protests against the high-handed treatment of + revolutionists by the United States courts), lay unmailed, awaiting + postage. Vera's watch had disappeared—the old-fashioned gold + repeater that had been his father's. Likewise had gone the plain gold band + from May Setbby's third finger. Things were desperate. Ramos and Arrellano + pulled their long mustaches in despair. The letters must go off, and the + Post Office allowed no credit to purchasers of stamps. Then it was that + Rivera put on his hat and went out. When he came back he laid a thousand + two-cent stamps on May Sethby's desk. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it is the cursed gold of Diaz?” said Vera to the comrades. + </p> + <p> + They elevated their brows and could not decide. And Felipe Rivera, the + scrubber for the Revolution, continued, as occasion arose, to lay down + gold and silver for the Junta's use. + </p> + <p> + And still they could not bring themselves to like him. They did not know + him. His ways were not theirs. He gave no confidences. He repelled all + probing. Youth that he was, they could never nerve themselves to dare to + question him. + </p> + <p> + “A great and lonely spirit, perhaps, I do not know, I do not know,” + Arrellano said helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “He is not human,” said Ramos. + </p> + <p> + “His soul has been seared,” said May Sethby. “Light and laughter have been + burned out of him. He is like one dead, and yet he is fearfully alive.” + </p> + <p> + “He has been through hell,” said Vera. “No man could look like that who + has not been through hell—and he is only a boy.” + </p> + <p> + Yet they could not like him. He never talked, never inquired, never + suggested. He would stand listening, expressionless, a thing dead, save + for his eyes, coldly burning, while their talk of the Revolution ran high + and warm. From face to face and speaker to speaker his eyes would turn, + boring like gimlets of incandescent ice, disconcerting and perturbing. + </p> + <p> + “He is no spy,” Vera confided to May Sethby. “He is a patriot—mark + me, the greatest patriot of us all. I know it, I feel it, here in my heart + and head I feel it. But him I know not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “He has a bad temper,” said May Sethby. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Vera, with a shudder. “He has looked at me with those eyes + of his. They do not love; they threaten; they are savage as a wild + tiger's. I know, if I should prove unfaithful to the Cause, that he would + kill me. He has no heart. He is pitiless as steel, keen and cold as frost. + He is like moonshine in a winter night when a man freezes to death on some + lonely mountain top. I am not afraid of Diaz and all his killers; but this + boy, of him am I afraid. I tell you true. I am afraid. He is the breath of + death.” + </p> + <p> + Yet Vera it was who persuaded the others to give the first trust to + Rivera. The line of communication between Los Angeles and Lower California + had broken down. Three of the comrades had dug their own graves and been + shot into them. Two more were United States prisoners in Los Angeles. Juan + Alvarado, the Federal commander, was a monster. All their plans did he + checkmate. They could no longer gain access to the active revolutionists, + and the incipient ones, in Lower California. + </p> + <p> + Young Rivera was given his instructions and dispatched south. When he + returned, the line of communication was reestablished, and Juan Alvarado + was dead. He had been found in bed, a knife hilt-deep in his breast. This + had exceeded Rivera's instructions, but they of the Junta knew the times + of his movements. They did not ask him. He said nothing. But they looked + at one another and conjectured. + </p> + <p> + “I have told you,” said Vera. “Diaz has more to fear from this youth than + from any man. He is implacable. He is the hand of God.” + </p> + <p> + The bad temper, mentioned by May Sethby, and sensed by them all, was + evidenced by physical proofs. Now he appeared with a cut lip, a blackened + cheek, or a swollen ear. It was patent that he brawled, somewhere in that + outside world where he ate and slept, gained money, and moved in ways + unknown to them. As the time passed, he had come to set type for the + little revolutionary sheet they published weekly. There were occasions + when he was unable to set type, when his knuckles were bruised and + battered, when his thumbs were injured and helpless, when one arm or the + other hung wearily at his side while his face was drawn with unspoken + pain. + </p> + <p> + “A wastrel,” said Arrellano. + </p> + <p> + “A frequenter of low places,” said Ramos. + </p> + <p> + “But where does he get the money?” Vera demanded. “Only to-day, just now, + have I learned that he paid the bill for white paper—one hundred and + forty dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “There are his absences,” said May Sethby. “He never explains them.” + </p> + <p> + “We should set a spy upon him,” Ramos propounded. + </p> + <p> + “I should not care to be that spy,” said Vera. “I fear you would never see + me again, save to bury me. He has a terrible passion. Not even God would + he permit to stand between him and the way of his passion.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel like a child before him,” Ramos confessed. + </p> + <p> + “To me he is power—he is the primitive, the wild wolf, the striking + rattlesnake, the stinging centipede,” said Arrellano. + </p> + <p> + “He is the Revolution incarnate,” said Vera. “He is the flame and the + spirit of it, the insatiable cry for vengeance that makes no cry but that + slays noiselessly. He is a destroying angel in moving through the still + watches of the night.” + </p> + <p> + “I could weep over him,” said May Sethby. “He knows nobody. He hates all + people. Us he tolerates, for we are the way of his desire. He is alone.... + lonely.” Her voice broke in a half sob and there was dimness in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Rivera's ways and times were truly mysterious. There were periods when + they did not see him for a week at a time. Once, he was away a month. + These occasions were always capped by his return, when, without + advertisement or speech, he laid gold coins on May Sethby's desk. Again, + for days and weeks, he spent all his time with the Junta. And yet again, + for irregular periods, he would disappear through the heart of each day, + from early morning until late afternoon. At such times he came early and + remained late. Arrellano had found him at midnight, setting type with + fresh swollen knuckles, or mayhap it was his lip, new-split, that still + bled. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The time of the crisis approached. Whether or not the Revolution would be + depended upon the Junta, and the Junta was hard-pressed. The need for + money was greater than ever before, while money was harder to get. + Patriots had given their last cent and now could give no more. Section + gang laborers-fugitive peons from Mexico—were contributing half + their scanty wages. But more than that was needed. The heart-breaking, + conspiring, undermining toil of years approached fruition. The time was + ripe. The Revolution hung on the balance. One shove more, one last heroic + effort, and it would tremble across the scales to victory. They knew their + Mexico. Once started, the Revolution would take care of itself. The whole + Diaz machine would go down like a house of cards. The border was ready to + rise. One Yankee, with a hundred I.W.W. men, waited the word to cross over + the border and begin the conquest of Lower California. But he needed guns. + And clear across to the Atlantic, the Junta in touch with them all and all + of them needing guns, mere adventurers, soldiers of fortune, bandits, + disgruntled American union men, socialists, anarchists, rough-necks, + Mexican exiles, peons escaped from bondage, whipped miners from the + bull-pens of Coeur d'Alene and Colorado who desired only the more + vindictively to fight—all the flotsam and jetsam of wild spirits + from the madly complicated modern world. And it was guns and ammunition, + ammunition and guns—the unceasing and eternal cry. + </p> + <p> + Fling this heterogeneous, bankrupt, vindictive mass across the border, and + the Revolution was on. The custom house, the northern ports of entry, + would be captured. Diaz could not resist. He dared not throw the weight of + his armies against them, for he must hold the south. And through the south + the flame would spread despite. The people would rise. The defenses of + city after city would crumple up. State after state would totter down. And + at last, from every side, the victorious armies of the Revolution would + close in on the City of Mexico itself, Diaz's last stronghold. + </p> + <p> + But the money. They had the men, impatient and urgent, who would use the + guns. They knew the traders who would sell and deliver the guns. But to + culture the Revolution thus far had exhausted the Junta. The last dollar + had been spent, the last resource and the last starving patriot milked + dry, and the great adventure still trembled on the scales. Guns and + ammunition! The ragged battalions must be armed. But how? Ramos lamented + his confiscated estates. Arrellano wailed the spendthriftness of his + youth. May Sethby wondered if it would have been different had they of the + Junta been more economical in the past. + </p> + <p> + “To think that the freedom of Mexico should stand or fall on a few paltry + thousands of dollars,” said Paulino Vera. + </p> + <p> + Despair was in all their faces. Jose Amarillo, their last hope, a recent + convert, who had promised money, had been apprehended at his hacienda in + Chihuahua and shot against his own stable wall. The news had just come + through. + </p> + <p> + Rivera, on his knees, scrubbing, looked up, with suspended brush, his bare + arms flecked with soapy, dirty water. + </p> + <p> + “Will five thousand do it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + They looked their amazement. Vera nodded and swallowed. He could not + speak, but he was on the instant invested with a vast faith. + </p> + <p> + “Order the guns,” Rivera said, and thereupon was guilty of the longest + flow of words they had ever heard him utter. “The time is short. In three + weeks I shall bring you the five thousand. It is well. The weather will be + warmer for those who fight. Also, it is the best I can do.” + </p> + <p> + Vera fought his faith. It was incredible. Too many fond hopes had been + shattered since he had begun to play the revolution game. He believed this + threadbare scrubber of the Revolution, and yet he dared not believe. + </p> + <p> + “You are crazy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “In three weeks,” said Rivera. “Order the guns.” + </p> + <p> + He got up, rolled down his sleeves, and put on his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Order the guns,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am going now.” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + After hurrying and scurrying, much telephoning and bad language, a night + session was held in Kelly's office. Kelly was rushed with business; also, + he was unlucky. He had brought Danny Ward out from New York, arranged the + fight for him with Billy Carthey, the date was three weeks away, and for + two days now, carefully concealed from the sporting writers, Carthey had + been lying up, badly injured. There was no one to take his place. Kelly + had been burning the wires East to every eligible lightweight, but they + were tied up with dates and contracts. And now hope had revived, though + faintly. + </p> + <p> + “You've got a hell of a nerve,” Kelly addressed Rivera, after one look, as + soon as they got together. + </p> + <p> + Hate that was malignant was in Rivera's eyes, but his face remained + impassive. + </p> + <p> + “I can lick Ward,” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know? Ever see him fight?” + </p> + <p> + Rivera shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “He can beat you up with one hand and both eyes closed.” + </p> + <p> + Rivera shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you got anything to say?” the fight promoter snarled. + </p> + <p> + “I can lick him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who'd you ever fight, anyway!” Michael Kelly demanded. Michael was the + promotor's brother, and ran the Yellowstone pool rooms where he made + goodly sums on the fight game. + </p> + <p> + Rivera favored him with a bitter, unanswering stare. + </p> + <p> + The promoter's secretary, a distinctively sporty young man, sneered + audibly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know Roberts,” Kelly broke the hostile silence. “He ought to be + here. I've sent for him. Sit down and wait, though f rom the looks of you, + you haven't got a chance. I can't throw the public down with a bum fight. + Ringside seats are selling at fifteen dollars, you know that.” + </p> + <p> + When Roberts arrived, it was patent that he was mildly drunk. He was a + tall, lean, slack-jointed individual, and his walk, like his talk, was a + smooth and languid drawl. + </p> + <p> + Kelly went straight to the point. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Roberts, you've been bragging you discovered this little + Mexican. You know Carthey's broke his arm. Well, this little yellow streak + has the gall to blow in to-day and say he'll take Carthey's place. What + about it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, Kelly,” came the slow response. “He can put up a fight.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you'll be sayin' next that he can lick Ward,” Kelly snapped. + </p> + <p> + Roberts considered judicially. + </p> + <p> + “No, I won't say that. Ward's a top-notcher and a ring general. But he + can't hashhouse Rivera in short order. I know Rivera. Nobody can get his + goat. He ain't got a goat that I could ever discover. And he's a + two-handed fighter. He can throw in the sleep-makers from any position.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that. What kind of a show can he put up? You've been + conditioning and training fighters all your life. I take off my hat to + your judgment. Can he give the public a run for its money?” + </p> + <p> + “He sure can, and he'll worry Ward a mighty heap on top of it. You don't + know that boy. I do. I discovered him. He ain't got a goat. He's a devil. + He's a wizzy-wooz if anybody should ask you. He'll make Ward sit up with a + show of local talent that'll make the rest of you sit up. I won't say + he'll lick Ward, but he'll put up such a show that you'll all know he's a + comer.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” Kelly turned to his secretary. “Ring up Ward. I warned him to + show up if I thought it worth while. He's right across at the Yellowstone, + throwin' chests and doing the popular.” + </p> + <p> + Kelly turned back to the conditioner. “Have a drink?” + </p> + <p> + Roberts sipped his highball and unburdened himself. + </p> + <p> + “Never told you how I discovered the little cuss. It was a couple of years + ago he showed up out at the quarters. I was getting Prayne ready for his + fight with Delaney. Prayne's wicked. He ain't got a tickle of mercy in his + make-up. I chopped up his pardner's something cruel, and I couldn't find a + willing boy that'd work with him. I'd noticed this little starved Mexican + kid hanging around, and I was desperate. So I grabbed him, shoved on the + gloves and put him in. He was tougher'n rawhide, but weak. And he didn't + know the first letter in the alphabet of boxing. Prayne chopped him to + ribbons. But he hung on for two sickening rounds, when he fainted. + Starvation, that was all. Battered! You couldn't have recognized him. I + gave him half a dollar and a square meal. You oughta seen him wolf it + down. He hadn't had the end of a bite for a couple of days. That's the end + of him, thinks I. But next day he showed up, stiff an' sore, ready for + another half and a square meal. And he done better as time went by. Just a + born fighter, and tough beyond belief. He hasn't a heart. He's a piece of + ice. And he never talked eleven words in a string since I know him. He + saws wood and does his work.” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen 'm,” the secretary said. “He's worked a lot for you.” + </p> + <p> + “All the big little fellows has tried out on him,” Roberts answered. “And + he's learned from 'em. I've seen some of them he could lick. But his heart + wasn't in it. I reckoned he never liked the game. He seemed to act that + way.” + </p> + <p> + “He's been fighting some before the little clubs the last few months,” + Kelly said. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. But I don't know what struck 'm. All of a sudden his heart got into + it. He just went out like a streak and cleaned up all the little local + fellows. Seemed to want the money, and he's won a bit, though his clothes + don't look it. He's peculiar. Nobody knows his business. Nobody knows how + he spends his time. Even when he's on the job, he plumb up and disappears + most of each day soon as his work is done. Sometimes he just blows away + for weeks at a time. But he don't take advice. There's a fortune in it for + the fellow that gets the job of managin' him, only he won't consider it. + And you watch him hold out for the cash money when you get down to terms.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this stage that Danny Ward arrived. Quite a party it was. His + manager and trainer were with him, and he breezed in like a gusty draught + of geniality, good-nature, and all-conqueringness. Greetings flew about, a + joke here, a retort there, a smile or a laugh for everybody. Yet it was + his way, and only partly sincere. He was a good actor, and he had found + geniality a most valuable asset in the game of getting on in the world. + But down underneath he was the deliberate, cold-blooded fighter and + business man. The rest was a mask. Those who knew him or trafficked with + him said that when it came to brass tacks he was Danny-on-the-Spot. He was + invariably present at all business discussions, and it was urged by some + that his manager was a blind whose only function was to serve as Danny's + mouth-piece. + </p> + <p> + Rivera's way was different. Indian blood, as well as Spanish, was in his + veins, and he sat back in a corner, silent, immobile, only his black eyes + passing from face to face and noting everything. + </p> + <p> + “So that's the guy,” Danny said, running an appraising eye over his + proposed antagonist. “How de do, old chap.” + </p> + <p> + Rivera's eyes burned venomously, but he made no sign of acknowledgment. He + disliked all Gringos, but this Gringo he hated with an immediacy that was + unusual even in him. + </p> + <p> + “Gawd!” Danny protested facetiously to the promoter. “You ain't expectin' + me to fight a deef mute.” When the laughter subsided, he made another hit. + “Los Angeles must be on the dink when this is the best you can scare up. + What kindergarten did you get 'm from?” + </p> + <p> + “He's a good little boy, Danny, take it from me,” Roberts defended. “Not + as easy as he looks.” + </p> + <p> + “And half the house is sold already,” Kelly pleaded. “You'll have to take + 'm on, Danny. It is the best we can do.” + </p> + <p> + Danny ran another careless and unflattering glance over Rivera and sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I gotta be easy with 'm, I guess. If only he don't blow up.” + </p> + <p> + Roberts snorted. + </p> + <p> + “You gotta be careful,” Danny's manager warned. “No taking chances with a + dub that's likely to sneak a lucky one across.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll be careful all right, all right,” Danny smiled. “I'll get in at + the start an' nurse 'im along for the dear public's sake. What d' ye say + to fifteen rounds, Kelly—an' then the hay for him?” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do,” was the answer. “As long as you make it realistic.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let's get down to biz.” Danny paused and calculated. “Of course, + sixty-five per cent of the gate receipts, same as with Carthey. But the + split'll be different. Eighty will just about suit me.” And to his + manager, “That right?” + </p> + <p> + The manager nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you, did you get that?” Kelly asked Rivera. + </p> + <p> + Rivera shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is this way,” Kelly exposited. “The purse'll be sixty-five per + cent of the gate receipts. You're a dub, and an unknown. You and Danny + split, twenty per cent goin' to you, an' eighty to Danny. That's fair, + isn't it, Roberts?” + </p> + <p> + “Very fair, Rivera,” Roberts agreed. + </p> + <p> + “You see, you ain't got a reputation yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What will sixty-five per cent of the gate receipts be?” Rivera demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, maybe five thousand, maybe as high as eight thousand,” Danny broke in + to explain. “Something like that. Your share'll come to something like a + thousand or sixteen hundred. Pretty good for takin' a licking from a guy + with my reputation. What d' ye say?” + </p> + <p> + Then Rivera took their breaths away. “Winner takes all,” he said with + finality. + </p> + <p> + A dead silence prevailed. + </p> + <p> + “It's like candy from a baby,” Danny's manager proclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Danny shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I've been in the game too long,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not casting reflections on the referee, or the present company. I'm + not sayin' nothing about book-makers an' frame-ups that sometimes happen. + But what I do say is that it's poor business for a fighter like me. I play + safe. There's no tellin'. Mebbe I break my arm, eh? Or some guy slips me a + bunch of dope?” He shook his head solemnly. “Win or lose, eighty is my + split. What d' ye say, Mexican?” + </p> + <p> + Rivera shook his head. + </p> + <p> + Danny exploded. He was getting down to brass tacks now. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you dirty little greaser! I've a mind to knock your block off right + now.” + </p> + <p> + Roberts drawled his body to interposition between hostilities. + </p> + <p> + “Winner takes all,” Rivera repeated sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you stand out that way?” Danny asked. + </p> + <p> + “I can lick you,” was the straight answer. + </p> + <p> + Danny half started to take off his coat. But, as his manager knew, it was + a grand stand play. The coat did not come off, and Danny allowed himself + to be placated by the group. Everybody sympathized with him. Rivera stood + alone. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, you little fool,” Kelly took up the argument. “You're nobody. + We know what you've been doing the last few months—putting away + little local fighters. But Danny is class. His next fight after this will + be for the championship. And you're unknown. Nobody ever heard of you out + of Los Angeles.” + </p> + <p> + “They will,” Rivera answered with a shrug, “after this fight.” + </p> + <p> + “You think for a second you can lick me?” Danny blurted in. + </p> + <p> + Rivera nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come; listen to reason,” Kelly pleaded. “Think of the advertising.” + </p> + <p> + “I want the money,” was Rivera's answer. + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't win from me in a thousand years,” Danny assured him. + </p> + <p> + “Then what are you holdin' out for?” Rivera countered. “If the money's + that easy, why don't you go after it?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, so help me!” Danny cried with abrupt conviction. “I'll beat you + to death in the ring, my boy—you monkeyin' with me this way. Make + out the articles, Kelly. Winner take all. Play it up in the sportin' + columns. Tell 'em it's a grudge fight. I'll show this fresh kid a few.” + </p> + <p> + Kelly's secretary had begun to write, when Danny interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on!” He turned to Rivera. + </p> + <p> + “Weights?” + </p> + <p> + “Ringside,” came the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life, Fresh Kid. If winner takes all, we weigh in at ten + A.M.” + </p> + <p> + “And winner takes all?” Rivera queried. + </p> + <p> + Danny nodded. That settled it. He would enter the ring in his full + ripeness of strength. + </p> + <p> + “Weigh in at ten,” Rivera said. + </p> + <p> + The secretary's pen went on scratching. + </p> + <p> + “It means five pounds,” Roberts complained to Rivera. + </p> + <p> + “You've given too much away. You've thrown the fight right there. Danny'll + lick you sure. He'll be as strong as a bull. You're a fool. You ain't got + the chance of a dewdrop in hell.” + </p> + <p> + Rivera's answer was a calculated look of hatred. Even this Gringo he + despised, and him had he found the whitest Gringo of them all. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Barely noticed was Rivera as he entered the ring. Only a very slight and + very scattering ripple of half-hearted hand-clapping greeted him. The + house did not believe in him. He was the lamb led to slaughter at the + hands of the great Danny. Besides, the house was disappointed. It had + expected a rushing battle between Danny Ward and Billy Carthey, and here + it must put up with this poor little tyro. Still further, it had + manifested its disapproval of the change by betting two, and even three, + to one on Danny. And where a betting audience's money is, there is its + heart. + </p> + <p> + The Mexican boy sat down in his corner and waited. The slow minutes lagged + by. Danny was making him wait. It was an old trick, but ever it worked on + the young, new fighters. They grew frightened, sitting thus and facing + their own apprehensions and a callous, tobacco-smoking audience. But for + once the trick failed. Roberts was right. Rivera had no goat. He, who was + more delicately coordinated, more finely nerved and strung than any of + them, had no nerves of this sort. The atmosphere of foredoomed defeat in + his own corner had no effect on him. His handlers were Gringos and + strangers. Also they were scrubs—the dirty driftage of the fight + game, without honor, without efficiency. And they were chilled, as well, + with certitude that theirs was the losing corner. + </p> + <p> + “Now you gotta be careful,” Spider Hagerty warned him. Spider was his + chief second. “Make it last as long as you can—them's my + instructions from Kelly. If you don't, the papers'll call it another bum + fight and give the game a bigger black eye in Los Angeles.” + </p> + <p> + All of which was not encouraging. But Rivera took no notice. He despised + prize fighting. It was the hated game of the hated Gringo. He had taken up + with it, as a chopping block for others in the training quarters, solely + because he was starving. The fact that he was marvelously made for it had + meant nothing. He hated it. Not until he had come in to the Junta, had he + fought for money, and he had found the money easy. Not first among the + sons of men had he been to find himself successful at a despised vocation. + </p> + <p> + He did not analyze. He merely knew that he must win this fight. There + could be no other outcome. For behind him, nerving him to this belief, + were profounder forces than any the crowded house dreamed. Danny Ward + fought for money, and for the easy ways of life that money would bring. + But the things Rivera fought for burned in his brain—blazing and + terrible visions, that, with eyes wide open, sitting lonely in the corner + of the ring and waiting for his tricky antagonist, he saw as clearly as he + had lived them. + </p> + <p> + He saw the white-walled, water-power factories of Rio Blanco. He saw the + six thousand workers, starved and wan, and the little children, seven and + eight years of age, who toiled long shifts for ten cents a day. He saw the + perambulating corpses, the ghastly death's heads of men who labored in the + dye-rooms. He remembered that he had heard his father call the dye-rooms + the “suicide-holes,” where a year was death. He saw the little patio, and + his mother cooking and moiling at crude housekeeping and finding time to + caress and love him. And his father he saw, large, big-moustached and + deep-chested, kindly above all men, who loved all men and whose heart was + so large that there was love to overflowing still left for the mother and + the little muchacho playing in the corner of the patio. In those days his + name had not been Felipe Rivera. It had been Fernandez, his father's and + mother's name. Him had they called Juan. Later, he had changed it himself, + for he had found the name of Fernandez hated by prefects of police, jefes + politicos, and rurales. + </p> + <p> + Big, hearty Joaquin Fernandez! A large place he occupied in Rivera's + visions. He had not understood at the time, but looking back he could + understand. He could see him setting type in the little printery, or + scribbling endless hasty, nervous lines on the much-cluttered desk. And he + could see the strange evenings, when workmen, coming secretly in the dark + like men who did ill deeds, met with his father and talked long hours + where he, the muchacho, lay not always asleep in the corner. + </p> + <p> + As from a remote distance he could hear Spider Hagerty saying to him: “No + layin' down at the start. Them's instructions. Take a beatin' and earn + your dough.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes had passed, and he still sat in his corner. There were no + signs of Danny, who was evidently playing the trick to the limit. + </p> + <p> + But more visions burned before the eye of Rivera's memory. The strike, or, + rather, the lockout, because the workers of Rio Blanco had helped their + striking brothers of Puebla. The hunger, the expeditions in the hills for + berries, the roots and herbs that all ate and that twisted and pained the + stomachs of all of them. And then, the nightmare; the waste of ground + before the company's store; the thousands of starving workers; General + Rosalio Martinez and the soldiers of Porfirio Diaz, and the death-spitting + rifles that seemed never to cease spitting, while the workers' wrongs were + washed and washed again in their own blood. And that night! He saw the + flat cars, piled high with the bodies of the slain, consigned to Vera + Cruz, food for the sharks of the bay. Again he crawled over the grisly + heaps, seeking and finding, stripped and mangled, his father and his + mother. His mother he especially remembered—only her face + projecting, her body burdened by the weight of dozens of bodies. Again the + rifles of the soldiers of Porfirio Diaz cracked, and again he dropped to + the ground and slunk away like some hunted coyote of the hills. + </p> + <p> + To his ears came a great roar, as of the sea, and he saw Danny Ward, + leading his retinue of trainers and seconds, coming down the center aisle. + The house was in wild uproar for the popular hero who was bound to win. + Everybody proclaimed him. Everybody was for him. Even Rivera's own seconds + warmed to something akin to cheerfulness when Danny ducked jauntily + through the ropes and entered the ring. His face continually spread to an + unending succession of smiles, and when Danny smiled he smiled in every + feature, even to the laughter-wrinkles of the corners of the eyes and into + the depths of the eyes themselves. Never was there so genial a fighter. + His face was a running advertisement of good feeling, of good fellowship. + He knew everybody. He joked, and laughed, and greeted his friends through + the ropes. Those farther away, unable to suppress their admiration, cried + loudly: “Oh, you Danny!” It was a joyous ovation of affection that lasted + a full five minutes. + </p> + <p> + Rivera was disregarded. For all that the audience noticed, he did not + exist. Spider Lagerty's bloated face bent down close to his. + </p> + <p> + “No gettin' scared,” the Spider warned. + </p> + <p> + “An' remember instructions. You gotta last. No layin' down. If you lay + down, we got instructions to beat you up in the dressing rooms. Savve? You + just gotta fight.” + </p> + <p> + The house began to applaud. Danny was crossing the ring to him. Danny bent + over, caught Rivera's right hand in both his own and shook it with + impulsive heartiness. Danny's smile-wreathed face was close to his. The + audience yelled its appreciation of Danny's display of sporting spirit. He + was greeting his opponent with the fondness of a brother. Danny's lips + moved, and the audience, interpreting the unheard words to be those of a + kindly-natured sport, yelled again. Only Rivera heard the low words. + </p> + <p> + “You little Mexican rat,” hissed from between Danny's gaily smiling lips, + “I'll fetch the yellow outa you.” + </p> + <p> + Rivera made no move. He did not rise. He merely hated with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, you dog!” some man yelled through the ropes from behind. + </p> + <p> + The crowd began to hiss and boo him for his unsportsmanlike conduct, but + he sat unmoved. Another great outburst of applause was Danny's as he + walked back across the ring. + </p> + <p> + When Danny stripped, there was ohs! and ahs! of delight. His body was + perfect, alive with easy suppleness and health and strength. The skin was + white as a woman's, and as smooth. All grace, and resilience, and power + resided therein. He had proved it in scores of battles. His photographs + were in all the physical culture magazines. + </p> + <p> + A groan went up as Spider Hagerty peeled Rivera's sweater over his head. + His body seemed leaner, because of the swarthiness of the skin. He had + muscles, but they made no display like his opponent's. What the audience + neglected to see was the deep chest. Nor could it guess the toughness of + the fiber of the flesh, the instantaneousness of the cell explosions of + the muscles, the fineness of the nerves that wired every part of him into + a splendid fighting mechanism. All the audience saw was a brown-skinned + boy of eighteen with what seemed the body of a boy. With Danny it was + different. Danny was a man of twenty-four, and his body was a man's body. + The contrast was still more striking as they stood together in the center + of the ring receiving the referee's last instructions. + </p> + <p> + Rivera noticed Roberts sitting directly behind the newspaper men. He was + drunker than usual, and his speech was correspondingly slower. + </p> + <p> + “Take it easy, Rivera,” Roberts drawled. + </p> + <p> + “He can't kill you, remember that. He'll rush you at the go-off, but don't + get rattled. You just and stall, and clinch. He can't hurt cover up, much. + Just make believe to yourself that he's choppin' out on you at the + trainin' quarters.” + </p> + <p> + Rivera made no sign that he had heard. + </p> + <p> + “Sullen little devil,” Roberts muttered to the man next to him. “He always + was that way.” + </p> + <p> + But Rivera forgot to look his usual hatred. A vision of countless rifles + blinded his eyes. Every face in the audience, far as he could see, to the + high dollar-seats, was transformed into a rifle. And he saw the long + Mexican border arid and sun-washed and aching, and along it he saw the + ragged bands that delayed only for the guns. + </p> + <p> + Back in his corner he waited, standing up. His seconds had crawled out + through the ropes, taking the canvas stool with them. Diagonally across + the squared ring, Danny faced him. The gong struck, and the battle was on. + The audience howled its delight. Never had it seen a battle open more + convincingly. The papers were right. It was a grudge fight. Three-quarters + of the distance Danny covered in the rush to get together, his intention + to eat up the Mexican lad plainly advertised. He assailed with not one + blow, nor two, nor a dozen. He was a gyroscope of blows, a whirlwind of + destruction. Rivera was nowhere. He was overwhelmed, buried beneath + avalanches of punches delivered from every angle and position by a past + master in the art. He was overborne, swept back against the ropes, + separated by the referee, and swept back against the ropes again. + </p> + <p> + It was not a fight. It was a slaughter, a massacre. Any audience, save a + prize fighting one, would have exhausted its emotions in that first + minute. Danny was certainly showing what he could do—a splendid + exhibition. Such was the certainty of the audience, as well as its + excitement and favoritism, that it failed to take notice that the Mexican + still stayed on his feet. It forgot Rivera. It rarely saw him, so closely + was he enveloped in Danny's man-eating attack. A minute of this went by, + and two minutes. Then, in a separation, it caught a clear glimpse of the + Mexican. His lip was cut, his nose was bleeding. As he turned and + staggered into a clinch, the welts of oozing blood, from his contacts with + the ropes, showed in red bars across his back. But what the audience did + not notice was that his chest was not heaving and that his eyes were + coldly burning as ever. Too many aspiring champions, in the cruel welter + of the training camps, had practiced this man-eating attack on him. He had + learned to live through for a compensation of from half a dollar a go up + to fifteen dollars a week—a hard school, and he was schooled hard. + </p> + <p> + Then happened the amazing thing. The whirling, blurring mix-up ceased + suddenly. Rivera stood alone. Danny, the redoubtable Danny, lay on his + back. His body quivered as consciousness strove to return to it. He had + not staggered and sunk down, nor had he gone over in a long slumping fall. + The right hook of Rivera had dropped him in midair with the abruptness of + death. The referee shoved Rivera back with one hand, and stood over the + fallen gladiator counting the seconds. It is the custom of prize-fighting + audiences to cheer a clean knock-down blow. But this audience did not + cheer. The thing had been too unexpected. It watched the toll of the + seconds in tense silence, and through this silence the voice of Roberts + rose exultantly: + </p> + <p> + “I told you he was a two-handed fighter!” + </p> + <p> + By the fifth second, Danny was rolling over on his face, and when seven + was counted, he rested on one knee, ready to rise after the count of nine + and before the count of ten. If his knee still touched the floor at “ten,” + he was considered “down,” and also “out.” The instant his knee left the + floor, he was considered “up,” and in that instant it was Rivera's right + to try and put him down again. Rivera took no chances. The moment that + knee left the floor he would strike again. He circled around, but the + referee circled in between, and Rivera knew that the seconds he counted + were very slow. All Gringos were against him, even the referee. + </p> + <p> + At “nine” the referee gave Rivera a sharp thrust back. It was unfair, but + it enabled Danny to rise, the smile back on his lips. Doubled partly over, + with arms wrapped about face and abdomen, he cleverly stumbled into a + clinch. By all the rules of the game the referee should have broken it, + but he did not, and Danny clung on like a surf-battered barnacle and + moment by moment recuperated. The last minute of the round was going fast. + If he could live to the end, he would have a full minute in his corner to + revive. And live to the end he did, smiling through all desperateness and + extremity. + </p> + <p> + “The smile that won't come off!” somebody yelled, and the audience laughed + loudly in its relief. + </p> + <p> + “The kick that Greaser's got is something God-awful,” Danny gasped in his + corner to his adviser while his handlers worked frantically over him. + </p> + <p> + The second and third rounds were tame. Danny, a tricky and consummate ring + general, stalled and blocked and held on, devoting himself to recovering + from that dazing first-round blow. In the fourth round he was himself + again. Jarred and shaken, nevertheless his good condition had enabled him + to regain his vigor. But he tried no man-eating tactics. The Mexican had + proved a tartar. Instead, he brought to bear his best fighting powers. In + tricks and skill and experience he was the master, and though he could + land nothing vital, he proceeded scientifically to chop and wear down his + opponent. He landed three blows to Rivera's one, but they were punishing + blows only, and not deadly. It was the sum of many of them that + constituted deadliness. He was respectful of this two-handed dub with the + amazing short-arm kicks in both his fists. + </p> + <p> + In defense, Rivera developed a disconcerting straight-left. Again and + again, attack after attack he straight-lefted away from him with + accumulated damage to Danny's mouth and nose. But Danny was protean. That + was why he was the coming champion. He could change from style to style of + fighting at will. He now devoted himself to infighting. In this he was + particularly wicked, and it enabled him to avoid the other's + straight-left. Here he set the house wild repeatedly, capping it with a + marvelous lockbreak and lift of an inside upper-cut that raised the + Mexican in the air and dropped him to the mat. Rivera rested on one knee, + making the most of the count, and in the soul of him he knew the referee + was counting short seconds on him. + </p> + <p> + Again, in the seventh, Danny achieved the diabolical inside uppercut. He + succeeded only in staggering Rivera, but, in the ensuing moment of + defenseless helplessness, he smashed him with another blow through the + ropes. Rivera's body bounced on the heads of the newspaper men below, and + they boosted him back to the edge of the platform outside the ropes. Here + he rested on one knee, while the referee raced off the seconds. Inside the + ropes, through which he must duck to enter the ring, Danny waited for him. + Nor did the referee intervene or thrust Danny back. + </p> + <p> + The house was beside itself with delight. + </p> + <p> + “Kill'm, Danny, kill'm!” was the cry. + </p> + <p> + Scores of voices took it up until it was like a war-chant of wolves. + </p> + <p> + Danny did his best, but Rivera, at the count of eight, instead of nine, + came unexpectedly through the ropes and safely into a clinch. Now the + referee worked, tearing him away so that he could be hit, giving Danny + every advantage that an unfair referee can give. + </p> + <p> + But Rivera lived, and the daze cleared from his brain. It was all of a + piece. They were the hated Gringos and they were all unfair. And in the + worst of it visions continued to flash and sparkle in his brain—long + lines of railroad track that simmered across the desert; rurales and + American constables, prisons and calabooses; tramps at water tanks—all + the squalid and painful panorama of his odyssey after Rio Blanca and the + strike. And, resplendent and glorious, he saw the great, red Revolution + sweeping across his land. The guns were there before him. Every hated face + was a gun. It was for the guns he fought. He was the guns. He was the + Revolution. He fought for all Mexico. + </p> + <p> + The audience began to grow incensed with Rivera. Why didn't he take the + licking that was appointed him? Of course he was going to be licked, but + why should he be so obstinate about it? Very few were interested in him, + and they were the certain, definite percentage of a gambling crowd that + plays long shots. Believing Danny to be the winner, nevertheless they had + put their money on the Mexican at four to ten and one to three. More than + a trifle was up on the point of how many rounds Rivera could last. Wild + money had appeared at the ringside proclaiming that he could not last + seven rounds, or even six. The winners of this, now that their cash risk + was happily settled, had joined in cheering on the favorite. + </p> + <p> + Rivera refused to be licked. Through the eighth round his opponent strove + vainly to repeat the uppercut. In the ninth, Rivera stunned the house + again. In the midst of a clinch he broke the lock with a quick, lithe + movement, and in the narrow space between their bodies his right lifted + from the waist. Danny went to the floor and took the safety of the count. + The crowd was appalled. He was being bested at his own game. His famous + right-uppercut had been worked back on him. Rivera made no attempt to + catch him as he arose at “nine.” The referee was openly blocking that + play, though he stood clear when the situation was reversed and it was + Rivera who desired to rise. + </p> + <p> + Twice in the tenth, Rivera put through the right-uppercut, lifted from + waist to opponent's chin. Danny grew desperate. The smile never left his + face, but he went back to his man-eating rushes. Whirlwind as he would, he + could not damage Rivera, while Rivera through the blur and whirl, dropped + him to the mat three times in succession. Danny did not recuperate so + quickly now, and by the eleventh round he was in a serious way. But from + then till the fourteenth he put up the gamest exhibition of his career. He + stalled and blocked, fought parsimoniously, and strove to gather strength. + Also, he fought as foully as a successful fighter knows how. Every trick + and device he employed, butting in the clinches with the seeming of + accident, pinioning Rivera's glove between arm and body, heeling his glove + on Rivera's mouth to clog his breathing. Often, in the clinches, through + his cut and smiling lips he snarled insults unspeakable and vile in + Rivera's ear. Everybody, from the referee to the house, was with Danny and + was helping Danny. And they knew what he had in mind. Bested by this + surprise-box of an unknown, he was pinning all on a single punch. He + offered himself for punishment, fished, and feinted, and drew, for that + one opening that would enable him to whip a blow through with all his + strength and turn the tide. As another and greater fighter had done before + him, he might do a right and left, to solar plexus and across the jaw. He + could do it, for he was noted for the strength of punch that remained in + his arms as long as he could keep his feet. + </p> + <p> + Rivera's seconds were not half-caring for him in the intervals between + rounds. Their towels made a showing, but drove little air into his panting + lungs. Spider Hagerty talked advice to him, but Rivera knew it was wrong + advice. Everybody was against him. He was surrounded by treachery. In the + fourteenth round he put Danny down again, and himself stood resting, hands + dropped at side, while the referee counted. In the other corner Rivera had + been noting suspicious whisperings. He saw Michael Kelly make his way to + Roberts and bend and whisper. Rivera's ears were a cat's, desert-trained, + and he caught snatches of what was said. He wanted to hear more, and when + his opponent arose he maneuvered the fight into a clinch over against the + ropes. + </p> + <p> + “Got to,” he could hear Michael, while Roberts nodded. “Danny's got to win—I + stand to lose a mint—I've got a ton of money covered—my own. + If he lasts the fifteenth I'm bust—the boy'll mind you. Put + something across.” + </p> + <p> + And thereafter Rivera saw no more visions. They were trying to job him. + Once again he dropped Danny and stood resting, his hands at his slide. + Roberts stood up. + </p> + <p> + “That settled him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Go to your corner.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with authority, as he had often spoken to Rivera at the training + quarters. But Rivera looked hatred at him and waited for Danny to rise. + Back in his corner in the minute interval, Kelly, the promoter, came and + talked to Rivera. + </p> + <p> + “Throw it, damn you,” he rasped in, a harsh low voice. “You gotta lay + down, Rivera. Stick with me and I'll make your future. I'll let you lick + Danny next time. But here's where you lay down.” + </p> + <p> + Rivera showed with his eyes that he heard, but he made neither sign of + assent nor dissent. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you speak?” Kelly demanded angrily. + </p> + <p> + “You lose, anyway,” Spider Hagerty supplemented. “The referee'll take it + away from you. Listen to Kelly, and lay down.” + </p> + <p> + “Lay down, kid,” Kelly pleaded, “and I'll help you to the championship.” + </p> + <p> + Rivera did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “I will, so help me, kid.” + </p> + <p> + At the strike of the gong Rivera sensed something impending. The house did + not. Whatever it was it was there inside the ring with him and very close. + Danny's earlier surety seemed returned to him. The confidence of his + advance frightened Rivera. Some trick was about to be worked. Danny + rushed, but Rivera refused the encounter. He side-stepped away into + safety. What the other wanted was a clinch. It was in some way necessary + to the trick. Rivera backed and circled away, yet he knew, sooner or + later, the clinch and the trick would come. Desperately he resolved to + draw it. He made as if to effect the clinch with Danny's next rush. + Instead, at the last instant, just as their bodies should have come + together, Rivera darted nimbly back. And in the same instant Danny's + corner raised a cry of foul. Rivera had fooled them. The referee paused + irresolutely. The decision that trembled on his lips was never uttered, + for a shrill, boy's voice from the gallery piped, “Raw work!” + </p> + <p> + Danny cursed Rivera openly, and forced him, while Rivera danced away. + Also, Rivera made up his mind to strike no more blows at the body. In this + he threw away half his chance of winning, but he knew if he was to win at + all it was with the outfighting that remained to him. Given the least + opportunity, they would lie a foul on him. Danny threw all caution to the + winds. For two rounds he tore after and into the boy who dared not meet + him at close quarters. Rivera was struck again and again; he took blows by + the dozens to avoid the perilous clinch. During this supreme final rally + of Danny's the audience rose to its feet and went mad. It did not + understand. All it could see was that its favorite was winning, after all. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you fight?” it demanded wrathfully of Rivera. + </p> + <p> + “You're yellow! You're yellow!” “Open up, you cur! Open up!” “Kill'm, + Danny! Kill 'm!” “You sure got 'm! Kill 'm!” + </p> + <p> + In all the house, bar none, Rivera was the only cold man. By temperament + and blood he was the hottest-passioned there; but he had gone through such + vastly greater heats that this collective passion of ten thousand throats, + rising surge on surge, was to his brain no more than the velvet cool of a + summer twilight. + </p> + <p> + Into the seventeenth round Danny carried his rally. Rivera, under a heavy + blow, drooped and sagged. His hands dropped helplessly as he reeled + backward. Danny thought it was his chance. The boy was at, his mercy. Thus + Rivera, feigning, caught him off his guard, lashing out a clean drive to + the mouth. Danny went down. When he arose, Rivera felled him with a + down-chop of the right on neck and jaw. Three times he repeated this. It + was impossible for any referee to call these blows foul. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bill! Bill!” Kelly pleaded to the referee. + </p> + <p> + “I can't,” that official lamented back. “He won't give me a chance.” + </p> + <p> + Danny, battered and heroic, still kept coming up. Kelly and others near to + the ring began to cry out to the police to stop it, though Danny's corner + refused to throw in the towel. Rivera saw the fat police captain starting + awkwardly to climb through the ropes, and was not sure what it meant. + There were so many ways of cheating in this game of the Gringos. Danny, on + his feet, tottered groggily and helplessly before him. The referee and the + captain were both reaching for Rivera when he struck the last blow. There + was no need to stop the fight, for Danny did not rise. + </p> + <p> + “Count!” Rivera cried hoarsely to the referee. + </p> + <p> + And when the count was finished, Danny's seconds gathered him up and + carried him to his corner. + </p> + <p> + “Who wins?” Rivera demanded. + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly, the referee caught his gloved hand and held it aloft. + </p> + <p> + There were no congratulations for Rivera. He walked to his corner + unattended, where his seconds had not yet placed his stool. He leaned + backward on the ropes and looked his hatred at them, swept it on and about + him till the whole ten thousand Gringos were included. His knees trembled + under him, and he was sobbing from exhaustion. Before his eyes the hated + faces swayed back and forth in the giddiness of nausea. Then he remembered + they were the guns. The guns were his. The Revolution could go on. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1029 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |