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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:11 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:11 -0700 |
| commit | bcb7f8a089e191dafb03ddaaba871c5331ce798a (patch) | |
| tree | 0837f2f41ba727f3791eac1d0a63714a90854afd /1449-h | |
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diff --git a/1449-h/1449-h.htm b/1449-h/1449-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d4950d --- /dev/null +++ b/1449-h/1449-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,23157 @@ +<?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 VALLEY OF THE MOON 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 1449 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE VALLEY OF THE MOON + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Jack London + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BOOK I</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <b>BOOK II</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> <b>BOOK III</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + BOOK I + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <p> + “You hear me, Saxon? Come on along. What if it is the Bricklayers? I'll + have gentlemen friends there, and so'll you. The Al Vista band'll be + along, an' you know it plays heavenly. An' you just love dancin'—-” + </p> + <p> + Twenty feet away, a stout, elderly woman interrupted the girl's + persuasions. The elderly woman's back was turned, and the back--loose, + bulging, and misshapen—began a convulsive heaving. + </p> + <p> + “Gawd!” she cried out. “O Gawd!” + </p> + <p> + She flung wild glances, like those of an entrapped animal, up and down the + big whitewashed room that panted with heat and that was thickly humid with + the steam that sizzled from the damp cloth under the irons of the many + ironers. From the girls and women near her, all swinging irons steadily + but at high pace, came quick glances, and labor efficiency suffered to the + extent of a score of suspended or inadequate movements. The elderly + woman's cry had caused a tremor of money-loss to pass among the piece-work + ironers of fancy starch. + </p> + <p> + She gripped herself and her iron with a visible effort, and dabbed + futilely at the frail, frilled garment on the board under her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I thought she'd got'em again—didn't you?” the girl said. + </p> + <p> + “It's a shame, a woman of her age, and... condition,” Saxon answered, as + she frilled a lace ruffle with a hot fluting-iron. Her movements were + delicate, safe, and swift, and though her face was wan with fatigue and + exhausting heat, there was no slackening in her pace. + </p> + <p> + “An' her with seven, an' two of 'em in reform school,” the girl at the + next board sniffed sympathetic agreement. “But you just got to come to + Weasel Park to-morrow, Saxon. The Bricklayers' is always lively—tugs-of-war, + fat-man races, real Irish jiggin', an'... an' everything. An' the floor of + the pavilion's swell.” + </p> + <p> + But the elderly woman brought another interruption. She dropped her iron + on the shirtwaist, clutched at the board, fumbled it, caved in at the + knees and hips, and like a half-empty sack collapsed on the floor, her + long shriek rising in the pent room to the acrid smell of scorching cloth. + The women at the boards near to her scrambled, first, to the hot iron to + save the cloth, and then to her, while the forewoman hurried belligerently + down the aisle. The women farther away continued unsteadily at their work, + losing movements to the extent of a minute's set-back to the totality of + the efficiency of the fancy-starch room. + </p> + <p> + “Enough to kill a dog,” the girl muttered, thumping her iron down on its + rest with reckless determination. “Workin' girls' life ain't what it's + cracked up. Me to quit—that's what I'm comin' to.” + </p> + <p> + “Mary!” Saxon uttered the other's name with a reproach so profound that + she was compelled to rest her own iron for emphasis and so lose a dozen + movements. + </p> + <p> + Mary flashed a half-frightened look across. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean it, Saxon,” she whimpered. “Honest, I didn't. I wouldn't + never go that way. But I leave it to you, if a day like this don't get on + anybody's nerves. Listen to that!” + </p> + <p> + The stricken woman, on her back, drumming her heels on the floor, was + shrieking persistently and monotonously, like a mechanical siren. Two + women, clutching her under the arms, were dragging her down the aisle. She + drummed and shrieked the length of it. The door opened, and a vast, + muffled roar of machinery burst in; and in the roar of it the drumming and + the shrieking were drowned ere the door swung shut. Remained of the + episode only the scorch of cloth drifting ominously through the air. + </p> + <p> + “It's sickenin',” said Mary. + </p> + <p> + And thereafter, for a long time, the many irons rose and fell, the pace of + the room in no wise diminished; while the forewoman strode the aisles with + a threatening eye for incipient breakdown and hysteria. Occasionally an + ironer lost the stride for an instant, gasped or sighed, then caught it up + again with weary determination. The long summer day waned, but not the + heat, and under the raw flare of electric light the work went on. + </p> + <p> + By nine o'clock the first women began to go home. The mountain of fancy + starch had been demolished—all save the few remnants, here and + there, on the boards, where the ironers still labored. + </p> + <p> + Saxon finished ahead of Mary, at whose board she paused on the way out. + </p> + <p> + “Saturday night an' another week gone,” Mary said mournfully, her young + cheeks pallid and hollowed, her black eyes blue-shadowed and tired. “What + d'you think you've made, Saxon?” + </p> + <p> + “Twelve and a quarter,” was the answer, just touched with pride. “And I'd + a-made more if it wasn't for that fake bunch of starchers.” + </p> + <p> + “My! I got to pass it to you,” Mary congratulated. “You're a sure fierce + hustler—just eat it up. Me—I've only ten an' a half, an' for a + hard week... See you on the nine-forty. Sure now. We can just fool around + until the dancin' begins. A lot of my gentlemen friends'll be there in the + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Two blocks from the laundry, where an arc-light showed a gang of toughs on + the corner, Saxon quickened her pace. Unconsciously her face set and + hardened as she passed. She did not catch the words of the muttered + comment, but the rough laughter it raised made her guess and warmed her + checks with resentful blood. Three blocks more, turning once to left and + once to right, she walked on through the night that was already growing + cool. On either side were workingmen's houses, of weathered wood, the + ancient paint grimed with the dust of years, conspicuous only for + cheapness and ugliness. + </p> + <p> + Dark it was, but she made no mistake, the familiar sag and screeching + reproach of the front gate welcome under her hand. She went along the + narrow walk to the rear, avoided the missing step without thinking about + it, and entered the kitchen, where a solitary gas-jet flickered. She + turned it up to the best of its flame. It was a small room, not + disorderly, because of lack of furnishings to disorder it. The plaster, + discolored by the steam of many wash-days, was crisscrossed with cracks + from the big earthquake of the previous spring. The floor was ridged, + wide-cracked, and uneven, and in front of the stove it was worn through + and repaired with a five-gallon oil-can hammered flat and double. A sink, + a dirty roller-towel, several chairs, and a wooden table completed the + picture. + </p> + <p> + An apple-core crunched under her foot as she drew a chair to the table. On + the frayed oilcloth, a supper waited. She attempted the cold beans, thick + with grease, but gave them up, and buttered a slice of bread. + </p> + <p> + The rickety house shook to a heavy, prideless tread, and through the inner + door came Sarah, middle-aged, lop-breasted, hair-tousled, her face lined + with care and fat petulance. + </p> + <p> + “Huh, it's you,” she grunted a greeting. “I just couldn't keep things + warm. Such a day! I near died of the heat. An' little Henry cut his lip + awful. The doctor had to put four stitches in it.” + </p> + <p> + Sarah came over and stood mountainously by the table. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with them beans?” she challenged. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, only...” Saxon caught her breath and avoided the threatened + outburst. “Only I'm not hungry. It's been so hot all day. It was terrible + in the laundry.” + </p> + <p> + Recklessly she took a mouthful of the cold tea that had been steeped so + long that it was like acid in her mouth, and recklessly, under the eye of + her sister-in-law, she swallowed it and the rest of the cupful. She wiped + her mouth on her handkerchief and got up. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I'll go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonder you ain't out to a dance,” Sarah sniffed. “Funny, ain't it, you + come home so dead tired every night, an' yet any night in the week you can + get out an' dance unearthly hours.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon started to speak, suppressed herself with tightened lips, then lost + control and blazed out. “Wasn't you ever young?” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for reply, she turned to her bedroom, which opened + directly off the kitchen. It was a small room, eight by twelve, and the + earthquake had left its marks upon the plaster. A bed and chair of cheap + pine and a very ancient chest of drawers constituted the furniture. Saxon + had known this chest of drawers all her life. The vision of it was woven + into her earliest recollections. She knew it had crossed the plains with + her people in a prairie schooner. It was of solid mahogany. One end was + cracked and dented from the capsize of the wagon in Rock Canyon. A + bullet-hole, plugged, in the face of the top drawer, told of the fight + with the Indians at Little Meadow. Of these happenings her mother had told + her; also had she told that the chest had come with the family originally + from England in a day even earlier than the day on which George Washington + was born. + </p> + <p> + Above the chest of drawers, on the wall, hung a small looking-glass. + Thrust under the molding were photographs of young men and women, and of + picnic groups wherein the young men, with hats rakishly on the backs of + their heads, encircled the girls with their arms. Farther along on the + wall were a colored calendar and numerous colored advertisements and + sketches torn out of magazines. Most of these sketches were of horses. + From the gas-fixture hung a tangled bunch of well-scribbled dance + programs. + </p> + <p> + Saxon started to take off her hat, but suddenly sat down on the bed. She + sobbed softly, with considered repression, but the weak-latched door swung + noiselessly open, and she was startled by her sister-in-law's voice. + </p> + <p> + “NOW what's the matter with you? If you didn't like them beans—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” Saxon explained hurriedly. “I'm just tired, that's all, and my + feet hurt. I wasn't hungry, Sarah. I'm just beat out.” + </p> + <p> + “If you took care of this house,” came the retort, “an' cooked an' baked, + an' washed, an' put up with what I put up, you'd have something to be beat + out about. You've got a snap, you have. But just wait.” Sarah broke off to + cackle gloatingly. “Just wait, that's all, an' you'll be fool enough to + get married some day, like me, an' then you'll get yours—an' it'll + be brats, an' brats, an' brats, an' no more dancin', an' silk stockin's, + an' three pairs of shoes at one time. You've got a cinch--nobody to think + of but your own precious self—an' a lot of young hoodlums makin' + eyes at you an' tellin' you how beautiful your eyes are. Huh! Some fine + day you'll tie up to one of 'em, an' then, mebbe, on occasion, you'll wear + black eyes for a change.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that, Sarah,” Saxon protested. “My brother never laid hands on + you. You know that.” + </p> + <p> + “No more he didn't. He never had the gumption. Just the same, he's better + stock than that tough crowd you run with, if he can't make a livin' an' + keep his wife in three pairs of shoes. Just the same he's oodles better'n + your bunch of hoodlums that no decent woman'd wipe her one pair of shoes + on. How you've missed trouble this long is beyond me. Mebbe the younger + generation is wiser in such things—I don't know. But I do know that a + young woman that has three pairs of shoes ain't thinkin' of anything but + her own enjoyment, an' she's goin' to get hers, I can tell her that much. + When I was a girl there wasn't such doin's. My mother'd taken the hide off + me if I done the things you do. An' she was right, just as everything in + the world is wrong now. Look at your brother, a-runnin' around to + socialist meetin's, an' chewin' hot air, an' diggin' up extra strike dues + to the union that means so much bread out of the mouths of his children, + instead of makin' good with his bosses. Why, the dues he pays would keep + me in seventeen pairs of shoes if I was nannygoat enough to want 'em. Some + day, mark my words, he'll get his time, an' then what'll we do? What'll I + do, with five mouths to feed an' nothin' comin' in?” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, out of breath but seething with the tirade yet to come. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Sarah, please won't you shut the door?” Saxon pleaded. + </p> + <p> + The door slammed violently, and Saxon, ere she fell to crying again, could + hear her sister-in-law lumbering about the kitchen and talking loudly to + herself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Each bought her own ticket at the entrance to Weasel Park. And each, as + she laid her half-dollar down, was distinctly aware of how many pieces of + fancy starch were represented by the coin. It was too early for the crowd, + but bricklayers and their families, laden with huge lunch-baskets and + armfuls of babies, were already going in—a healthy, husky race of + workmen, well-paid and robustly fed. And with them, here and there, + undisguised by their decent American clothing, smaller in bulk and + stature, weazened not alone by age but by the pinch of lean years and + early hardship, were grandfathers and mothers who had patently first seen + the light of day on old Irish soil. Their faces showed content and pride + as they limped along with this lusty progeny of theirs that had fed on + better food. + </p> + <p> + Not with these did Mary and Saxon belong. They knew them not, had no + acquaintances among them. It did not matter whether the festival were + Irish, German, or Slavonian; whether the picnic was the Bricklayers', the + Brewers', or the Butchers'. They, the girls, were of the dancing crowd + that swelled by a certain constant percentage the gate receipts of all the + picnics. + </p> + <p> + They strolled about among the booths where peanuts were grinding and + popcorn was roasting in preparation for the day, and went on and inspected + the dance floor of the pavilion. Saxon, clinging to an imaginary partner, + essayed a few steps of the dip-waltz. Mary clapped her hands. + </p> + <p> + “My!” she cried. “You're just swell! An' them stockin's is peaches.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon smiled with appreciation, pointed out her foot, velvet-slippered + with high Cuban heels, and slightly lifted the tight black skirt, exposing + a trim ankle and delicate swell of calf, the white flesh gleaming through + the thinnest and flimsiest of fifty-cent black silk stockings. She was + slender, not tall, yet the due round lines of womanhood were hers. On her + white shirtwaist was a pleated jabot of cheap lace, caught with a large + novelty pin of imitation coral. Over the shirtwaist was a natty jacket, + elbow-sleeved, and to the elbows she wore gloves of imitation suede. The + one essentially natural touch about her appearance was the few curls, + strangers to curling-irons, that escaped from under the little naughty hat + of black velvet pulled low over the eyes. + </p> + <p> + Mary's dark eyes flashed with joy at the sight, and with a swift little + run she caught the other girl in her arms and kissed her in a + breast-crushing embrace. She released her, blushing at her own + extravagance. + </p> + <p> + “You look good to me,” she cried, in extenuation. “If I was a man I + couldn't keep my hands off you. I'd eat you, I sure would.” + </p> + <p> + They went out of the pavilion hand in hand, and on through the sunshine + they strolled, swinging hands gaily, reacting exuberantly from the week of + deadening toil. They hung over the railing of the bear-pit, shivering at + the huge and lonely denizen, and passed quickly on to ten minutes of + laughter at the monkey cage. Crossing the grounds, they looked down into + the little race track on the bed of a natural amphitheater where the early + afternoon games were to take place. After that they explored the woods, + threaded by countless paths, ever opening out in new surprises of + green-painted rustic tables and benches in leafy nooks, many of which were + already pre-empted by family parties. On a grassy slope, tree-surrounded, + they spread a newspaper and sat down on the short grass already tawny-dry + under the California sun. Half were they minded to do this because of the + grateful indolence after six days of insistent motion, half in + conservation for the hours of dancing to come. + </p> + <p> + “Bert Wanhope'll be sure to come,” Mary chattered. “An' he said he was + going to bring Billy Roberts—'Big Bill,' all the fellows call him. + He's just a big boy, but he's awfully tough. He's a prizefighter, an' all + the girls run after him. I'm afraid of him. He ain't quick in talkin'. + He's more like that big bear we saw. Brr-rf! Brr-rf!—bite your head + off, just like that. He ain't really a prize-fighter. He's a teamster—belongs + to the union. Drives for Coberly and Morrison. But sometimes he fights in + the clubs. Most of the fellows are scared of him. He's got a bad temper, + an' he'd just as soon hit a fellow as eat, just like that. You won't like + him, but he's a swell dancer. He's heavy, you know, an' he just slides and + glides around. You wanta have a dance with'm anyway. He's a good spender, + too. Never pinches. But my!—he's got one temper.” + </p> + <p> + The talk wandered on, a monologue on Mary's part, that centered always on + Bert Wanhope. + </p> + <p> + “You and he are pretty thick,” Saxon ventured. + </p> + <p> + “I'd marry'm to-morrow,” Mary flashed out impulsively. Then her face went + bleakly forlorn, hard almost in its helpless pathos. “Only, he never asks + me. He's...” Her pause was broken by sudden passion. “You watch out for + him, Saxon, if he ever comes foolin' around you. He's no good. Just the + same, I'd marry him to-morrow. He'll never get me any other way.” Her + mouth opened, but instead of speaking she drew a long sigh. “It's a funny + world, ain't it?” she added. “More like a scream. And all the stars are + worlds, too. I wonder where God hides. Bert Wanhope says there ain't no + God. But he's just terrible. He says the most terrible things. I believe + in God. Don't you? What do you think about God, Saxon?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shrugged her shoulders and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But if we do wrong we get ours, don't we?” Mary persisted. “That's what + they all say, except Bert. He says he don't care what he does, he'll never + get his, because when he dies he's dead, an' when he's dead he'd like to + see any one put anything across on him that'd wake him up. Ain't he + terrible, though? But it's all so funny. Sometimes I get scared when I + think God's keepin' an eye on me all the time. Do you think he knows what + I'm sayin' now? What do you think he looks like, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” Saxon answered. “He's just a funny proposition.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” the other gasped. + </p> + <p> + “He IS, just the same, from what all people say of him,” Saxon went on + stoutly. “My brother thinks he looks like Abraham Lincoln. Sarah thinks he + has whiskers.” + </p> + <p> + “An' I never think of him with his hair parted,” Mary confessed, daring + the thought and shivering with apprehension. “He just couldn't have his + hair parted. THAT'D be funny.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that little, wrinkly Mexican that sells wire puzzles?” Saxon + queried. “Well, God somehow always reminds me of him.” + </p> + <p> + Mary laughed outright. + </p> + <p> + “Now that IS funny. I never thought of him like that. How do you make it + out?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, just like the little Mexican, he seems to spend his time peddling + puzzles. He passes a puzzle out to everybody, and they spend all their + lives tryin' to work it out. They all get stuck. I can't work mine out. I + don't know where to start. And look at the puzzle he passed Sarah. And + she's part of Tom's puzzle, and she only makes his worse. And they all, + an' everybody I know—you, too—are part of my puzzle.” + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe the puzzles is all right,” Mary considered. “But God don't look + like that yellow little Greaser. THAT I won't fall for. God don't look + like anybody. Don't you remember on the wall at the Salvation Army it says + 'God is a spirit'?” + </p> + <p> + “That's another one of his puzzles, I guess, because nobody knows what a + spirit looks like.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, too.” Mary shuddered with reminiscent fear. “Whenever I try + to think of God as a spirit, I can see Hen Miller all wrapped up in a + sheet an' runnin' us girls. We didn't know, an' it scared the life out of + us. Little Maggie Murphy fainted dead away, and Beatrice Peralta fell an' + scratched her face horrible. When I think of a spirit all I can see is a + white sheet runnin' in the dark. Just the same, God don't look like a + Mexican, an' he don't wear his hair parted.” + </p> + <p> + A strain of music from the dancing pavilion brought both girls scrambling + to their feet. + </p> + <p> + “We can get a couple of dances in before we eat,” Mary proposed. “An' then + it'll be afternoon an' all the fellows 'll be here. Most of them are + pinchers—that's why they don't come early, so as to get out of + taking the girls to dinner. But Bert's free with his money, an' so is + Billy. If we can beat the other girls to it, they'll take us to the + restaurant. Come on, hurry, Saxon.” + </p> + <p> + There were few couples on the floor when they arrived at the pavilion, and + the two girls essayed the first waltz together. + </p> + <p> + “There's Bert now,” Saxon whispered, as they came around the second time. + </p> + <p> + “Don't take any notice of them,” Mary whispered back. “We'll just keep on + goin'. They needn't think we're chasin' after them.” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon noted the heightened color in the other's cheek, and felt her + quicker breathing. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see that other one?” Mary asked, as she backed Saxon in a long + slide across the far end of the pavilion. “That was Billy Roberts. Bert + said he'd come. He'll take you to dinner, and Bert'll take me. It's goin' + to be a swell day, you'll see. My! I only wish the music'll hold out till + we can get back to the other end.” + </p> + <p> + Down the floor they danced, on man-trapping and dinner-getting intent, two + fresh young things that undeniably danced well and that were delightfully + surprised when the music stranded them perilously near to their desire. + </p> + <p> + Bert and Mary addressed each other by their given names, but to Saxon Bert + was “Mr. Wanhope,” though he called her by her first name. The only + introduction was of Saxon and Billy Roberts. Mary carried it off with a + flurry of nervous carelessness. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Robert—Miss Brown. She's my best friend. Her first name's + Saxon. Ain't it a scream of a name?” + </p> + <p> + “Sounds good to me,” Billy retorted, hat off and hand extended. “Pleased + to meet you, Miss Brown.” + </p> + <p> + As their hands clasped and she felt the teamster callouses on his palm, + her quick eyes saw a score of things. About all that he saw was her eyes, + and then it was with a vague impression that they were blue. Not till + later in the day did he realize that they were gray. She, on the contrary, + saw his eyes as they really were—deep blue, wide, and handsome in a + sullen-boyish way. She saw that they were straight-looking, and she liked + them, as she had liked the glimpse she had caught of his hand, and as she + liked the contact of his hand itself. Then, too, but not sharply, she had + perceived the short, square-set nose, the rosiness of cheek, and the firm, + short upper lip, ere delight centered her flash of gaze on the + well-modeled, large clean mouth where red lips smiled clear of the white, + enviable teeth. A BOY, A GREAT BIG MAN-BOY, was her thought; and, as they + smiled at each other and their hands slipped apart, she was startled by a + glimpse of his hair—short and crisp and sandy, hinting almost of + palest gold save that it was too flaxen to hint of gold at all. + </p> + <p> + So blond was he that she was reminded of stage-types she had seen, such as + Ole Olson and Yon Yonson; but there resemblance ceased. It was a matter of + color only, for the eyes were dark-lashed and -browed, and were cloudy + with temperament rather than staring a child-gaze of wonder, and the suit + of smooth brown cloth had been made by a tailor. Saxon appraised the suit + on the instant, and her secret judgment was NOT A CENT LESS THAN FIFTY + DOLLARS. Further, he had none of the awkwardness of the Scandinavian + immigrant. On the contrary, he was one of those rare individuals that + radiate muscular grace through the ungraceful man-garments of + civilization. Every movement was supple, slow, and apparently considered. + This she did not see nor analyze. She saw only a clothed man with grace of + carriage and movement. She felt, rather than perceived, the calm and + certitude of all the muscular play of him, and she felt, too, the promise + of easement and rest that was especially grateful and craved-for by one + who had incessantly, for six days and at top-speed, ironed fancy starch. + As the touch of his hand had been good, so, to her, this subtler feel of + all of him, body and mind, was good. + </p> + <p> + As he took her program and skirmished and joked after the way of young + men, she realized the immediacy of delight she had taken in him. Never in + her life had she been so affected by any man. She wondered to herself: IS + THIS THE MAN? + </p> + <p> + He danced beautifully. The joy was hers that good dancers take when they + have found a good dancer for a partner. The grace of those slow-moving, + certain muscles of his accorded perfectly with the rhythm of the music. + There was never doubt, never a betrayal of indecision. She glanced at + Bert, dancing “tough” with Mary, caroming down the long floor with more + than one collision with the increasing couples. Graceful himself in his + slender, tall, lean-stomached way, Bert was accounted a good dancer; yet + Saxon did not remember ever having danced with him with keen pleasure. + Just a hit of a jerk spoiled his dancing—a jerk that did not occur, + usually, but that always impended. There was something spasmodic in his + mind. He was too quick, or he continually threatened to be too quick. He + always seemed just on the verge of overrunning the time. It was + disquieting. He made for unrest. + </p> + <p> + “You're a dream of a dancer,” Billy Roberts was saying. “I've heard lots + of the fellows talk about your dancing.” + </p> + <p> + “I love it,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + But from the way she said it he sensed her reluctance to speak, and danced + on in silence, while she warmed with the appreciation of a woman for + gentle consideration. Gentle consideration was a thing rarely encountered + in the life she lived. IS THIS THE MAN? She remembered Mary's “I'd marry + him to-morrow,” and caught herself speculating on marrying Billy Roberts + by the next day—if he asked her. + </p> + <p> + With eyes that dreamily desired to close, she moved on in the arms of this + masterful, guiding pressure. A PRIZE-FIGHTER! She experienced a thrill of + wickedness as she thought of what Sarah would say could she see her now. + Only he wasn't a prizefighter, but a teamster. + </p> + <p> + Came an abrupt lengthening of step, the guiding pressure grew more + compelling, and she was caught up and carried along, though her + velvet-shod feet never left the floor. Then came the sudden control down + to the shorter step again, and she felt herself being held slightly from + him so that he might look into her face and laugh with her in joy at the + exploit. At the end, as the band slowed in the last bars, they, too, + slowed, their dance fading with the music in a lengthening glide that + ceased with the last lingering tone. + </p> + <p> + “We're sure cut out for each other when it comes to dancin',” he said, as + they made their way to rejoin the other couple. + </p> + <p> + “It was a dream,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + So low was her voice that he bent to hear, and saw the flush in her cheeks + that seemed communicated to her eyes, which were softly warm and sensuous. + He took the program from her and gravely and gigantically wrote his name + across all the length of it. + </p> + <p> + “An' now it's no good,” he dared. “Ain't no need for it.” + </p> + <p> + He tore it across and tossed it aside. + </p> + <p> + “Me for you, Saxon, for the next,” was Bert's greeting, as they came up. + “You take Mary for the next whirl, Bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' doin', Bo,” was the retort. “Me an' Saxon's framed up to last the + day.” + </p> + <p> + “Watch out for him, Saxon,” Mary warned facetiously. “He's liable to get a + crush on you.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I know a good thing when I see it,” Billy responded gallantly. + </p> + <p> + “And so do I,” Saxon aided and abetted. + </p> + <p> + “I'd 'a' known you if I'd seen you in the dark,” Billy added. + </p> + <p> + Mary regarded them with mock alarm, and Bert said good-naturedly: + </p> + <p> + “All I got to say is you ain't wastin' any time gettin' together. Just the + same, if' you can spare a few minutes from each other after a couple more + whirls, Mary an' me'd be complimented to have your presence at dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Just like that,” chimed Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Quit your kiddin',” Billy laughed back, turning his head to look into + Saxon's eyes. “Don't listen to 'em. They're grouched because they got to + dance together. Bert's a rotten dancer, and Mary ain't so much. Come on, + there she goes. See you after two more dances.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + They had dinner in the open-air, tree-walled dining-room, and Saxon noted + that it was Billy who paid the reckoning for the four. They knew many of + the young men and women at the other tables, and greetings and fun flew + back and forth. Bert was very possessive with Mary, almost roughly so, + resting his hand on hers, catching and holding it, and, once, forcibly + slipping off her two rings and refusing to return them for a long while. + At times, when he put his arm around her waist, Mary promptly disengaged + it; and at other times, with elaborate obliviousness that deceived no one, + she allowed it to remain. + </p> + <p> + And Saxon, talking little but studying Billy Roberts very intently, was + satisfied that there would be an utter difference in the way he would do + such things... if ever he would do them. Anyway, he'd never paw a girl as + Bert and lots of the other fellows did. She measured the breadth of + Billy's heavy shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Why do they call you 'Big' Bill?” she asked. “You're not so very tall.” + </p> + <p> + “Nope,” he agreed. “I'm only five feet eight an' three-quarters. I guess + it must be my weight.” + </p> + <p> + “He fights at a hundred an' eighty,” Bert interjected. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, cut it,” Billy said quickly, a cloud-rift of displeasure showing in + his eyes. “I ain't a fighter. I ain't fought in six months. I've quit it. + It don't pay.” + </p> + <p> + “Yon got two hundred the night you put the Frisco Slasher to the bad,” + Bert urged proudly. + </p> + <p> + “Cut it. Cut it now.—Say, Saxon, you ain't so big yourself, are you? + But you're built just right if anybody should ask you. You're round an' + slender at the same time. I bet I can guess your weight.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody guesses over it,” she warned, while inwardly she was puzzled + that she should at the same time be glad and regretful that he did not + fight any more. + </p> + <p> + “Not me,” he was saying. “I'm a wooz at weight-guessin'. Just you watch + me.” He regarded her critically, and it was patent that warm approval + played its little rivalry with the judgment of his gaze. “Wait a minute.” + </p> + <p> + He reached over to her and felt her arm at the biceps. The pressure of the + encircling fingers was firm and honest, and Saxon thrilled to it. There + was magic in this man-boy. She would have known only irritation had Bert + or any other man felt her arm. But this man! IS HE THE MAN? she was + questioning, when he voiced his conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “Your clothes don't weigh more'n seven pounds. And seven from—hum—say + one hundred an' twenty-three—one hundred an' sixteen is your + stripped weight.” + </p> + <p> + But at the penultimate word, Mary cried out with sharp reproof: + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy Roberts, people don't talk about such things.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with slow-growing, uncomprehending surprise. + </p> + <p> + “What things?” he demanded finally. + </p> + <p> + “There you go again! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Look! You've got + Saxon blushing!” + </p> + <p> + “I am not,” Saxon denied indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “An' if you keep on, Mary, you'll have me blushing,” Billy growled. “I + guess I know what's right an' what ain't. It ain't what a guy says, but + what he thinks. An' I'm thinkin' right, an' Saxon knows it. An' she an' I + ain't thinkin' what you're thinkin' at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh!” Mary cried. “You're gettin' worse an' worse. I never think such + things.” + </p> + <p> + “Whoa, Mary! Back up!” Bert checked her peremptorily. “You're in the wrong + stall. Billy never makes mistakes like that.” + </p> + <p> + “But he needn't be so raw,” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Mary, an' be good, an' cut that stuff,” was Billy's dismissal of + her, as he turned to Saxon. “How near did I come to it?” + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and twenty-two,” she answered, looking deliberately at Mary. + “One twenty two with my clothes.” + </p> + <p> + Billy burst into hearty laughter, in which Bert joined. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” Mary protested, “You're terrible, both of you—an' + you, too, Saxon. I'd never a-thought it of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, kid,” Bert began soothingly, as his arm slipped around her + waist. + </p> + <p> + But in the false excitement she had worked herself into, Mary rudely + repulsed the arm, and then, fearing that she had wounded her lover's + feelings, she took advantage of the teasing and banter to recover her good + humor. His arm was permitted to return, and with heads bent together, they + talked in whispers. + </p> + <p> + Billy discreetly began to make conversation with Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Say, you know, your name is a funny one. I never heard it tagged on + anybody before. But it's all right. I like it.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother gave it to me. She was educated, and knew all kinds of words. + She was always reading books, almost until she died. And she wrote lots + and lots. I've got some of her poetry published in a San Jose newspaper + long ago. The Saxons were a race of people—she told me all about + them when I was a little girl. They were wild, like Indians, only they + were white. And they had blue eyes, and yellow hair, and they were awful + fighters.” + </p> + <p> + As she talked, Billy followed her solemnly, his eyes steadily turned on + hers. + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of them,” he confessed. “Did they live anywhere around here?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “No. They lived in England. They were the first English, and you know the + Americans came from the English. We're Saxons, you an' me, an' Mary, an' + Bert, and all the Americans that are real Americans, you know, and not + Dagoes and Japs and such.” + </p> + <p> + “My folks lived in America a long time,” Billy said slowly, digesting the + information she had given and relating himself to it. “Anyway, my mother's + folks did. They crossed to Maine hundreds of years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “My father was 'State of Maine,” she broke in, with a little gurgle of + joy. “And my mother was born in Ohio, or where Ohio is now. She used to + call it the Great Western Reserve. What was your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know.” Billy shrugged his shoulders. “He didn't know himself. + Nobody ever knew, though he was American, all right, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “His name's regular old American,” Saxon suggested. “There's a big English + general right now whose name is Roberts. I've read it in the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “But Roberts wasn't my father's name. He never knew what his name was. + Roberts was the name of a gold-miner who adopted him. You see, it was this + way. When they was Indian-fightin' up there with the Modoc Indians, a lot + of the miners an' settlers took a hand. Roberts was captain of one outfit, + and once, after a fight, they took a lot of prisoners—squaws, an' + kids an' babies. An' one of the kids was my father. They figured he was + about five years old. He didn't know nothin' but Indian.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon clapped her hands, and her eyes sparkled: “He'd been captured on an + Indian raid!” + </p> + <p> + “That's the way they figured it,” Billy nodded. “They recollected a + wagon-train of Oregon settlers that'd been killed by the Modocs four years + before. Roberts adopted him, and that's why I don't know his real name. + But you can bank on it, he crossed the plains just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “So did my father,” Saxon said proudly. + </p> + <p> + “An' my mother, too,” Billy added, pride touching his own voice. “Anyway, + she came pretty close to crossin' the plains, because she was born in a + wagon on the River Platte on the way out.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother, too,” said Saxon. “She was eight years old, an' she walked + most of the way after the oxen began to give out.” + </p> + <p> + Billy thrust out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Put her there, kid,” he said. “We're just like old friends, what with the + same kind of folks behind us.” + </p> + <p> + With shining eyes, Saxon extended her hand to his, and gravely they shook. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it wonderful?” she murmured. “We're both old American stock. And if + you aren't a Saxon there never was one—your hair, your eyes, your + skin, everything. And you're a fighter, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess all our old folks was fighters when it comes to that. It come + natural to 'em, an' dog-gone it, they just had to fight or they'd never + come through.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you two talkin' about?” Mary broke in upon them. + </p> + <p> + “They're thicker'n mush in no time,” Bert girded. “You'd think they'd + known each other a week already.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we knew each other longer than that,” Saxon returned. “Before ever we + were born our folks were walkin' across the plains together.” + </p> + <p> + “When your folks was waitin' for the railroad to be built an' all the + Indians killed off before they dasted to start for California,” was + Billy's way of proclaiming the new alliance. “We're the real goods, Saxon + an' me, if anybody should ride up on a buzz-wagon an' ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Mary boasted with quiet petulance. “My father stayed + behind to fight in the Civil War. He was a drummer-boy. That's why he + didn't come to California until afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “And my father went back to fight in the Civil War,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + “And mine, too,” said Billy. + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other gleefully. Again they had found a new contact. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they're all dead, ain't they?” was Bert's saturnine comment. “There + ain't no difference dyin' in battle or in the poorhouse. The thing is + they're deado. I wouldn't care a rap if my father'd been hanged. It's all + the same in a thousand years. This braggin' about folks makes me tired. + Besides, my father couldn't a-fought. He wasn't born till two years after + the war. Just the same, two of my uncles were killed at Gettysburg. Guess + we done our share.” + </p> + <p> + “Just like that,” Mary applauded. + </p> + <p> + Bert's arm went around her waist again. + </p> + <p> + “We're here, ain't we?” he said. “An' that's what counts. The dead are + dead, an' you can bet your sweet life they just keep on stayin' dead.” + </p> + <p> + Mary put her hand over his mouth and began to chide him for his awfulness, + whereupon he kissed the palm of her hand and put his head closer to hers. + </p> + <p> + The merry clatter of dishes was increasing as the dining-room filled up. + Here and there voices were raised in snatches of song. There were shrill + squeals and screams and bursts of heavier male laughter as the everlasting + skirmishing between the young men and girls played on. Among some of the + men the signs of drink were already manifest. At a near table girls were + calling out to Billy. And Saxon, the sense of temporary possession already + strong on her, noted with jealous eyes that he was a favorite and desired + object to them. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't they awful?” Mary voiced her disapproval. “They got a nerve. I know + who they are. No respectable girl 'd have a thing to do with them. Listen + to that!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you Bill, you,” one of them, a buxom young brunette, was calling. + “Hope you ain't forgotten me, Bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you chicken,” he called back gallantly. + </p> + <p> + Saxon flattered herself that he showed vexation, and she conceived an + immense dislike for the brunette. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to dance?” the latter called. + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe,” he answered, and turned abruptly to Saxon. “Say, we old Americans + oughta stick together, don't you think? They ain't many of us left. The + country's fillin' up with all kinds of foreigners.” + </p> + <p> + He talked on steadily, in a low, confidential voice, head close to hers, + as advertisement to the other girl that he was occupied. + </p> + <p> + From the next table on the opposite side, a young man had singled out + Saxon. His dress was tough. His companions, male and female, were tough. + His face was inflamed, his eyes touched with wildness. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, you!” he called. “You with the velvet slippers. Me for you.” + </p> + <p> + The girl beside him put her arm around his neck and tried to hush him, and + through the mufflement of her embrace they could hear him gurgling: + </p> + <p> + “I tell you she's some goods. Watch me go across an' win her from them + cheap skates.” + </p> + <p> + “Butchertown hoodlums,” Mary sniffed. + </p> + <p> + Saxon's eyes encountered the eyes of the girl, who glared hatred across at + her. And in Billy's eyes she saw moody anger smouldering. The eyes were + more sullen, more handsome than ever, and clouds and veils and lights and + shadows shifted and deepened in the blue of them until they gave her a + sense of unfathomable depth. He had stopped talking, and he made no effort + to talk. + </p> + <p> + “Don't start a rough house, Bill,” Bert cautioned. “They're from across + the bay an' they don't know you, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Bert stood up suddenly, stepped over to the other table, whispered + briefly, and came back. Every face at the table was turned on Billy. The + offender arose brokenly, shook off the detaining hand of his girl, and + came over. He was a large man, with a hard, malignant face and bitter + eyes. Also, he was a subdued man. + </p> + <p> + “You're Big Bill Roberts,” he said thickly, clinging to the table as he + reeled. “I take my hat off to you. I apologize. I admire your taste in + skirts, an' take it from me that's a compliment; but I didn't know who you + was. If I'd knowed you was Bill Roberts there wouldn't been a peep from my + fly-trap. D'ye get me? I apologize. Will you shake hands?” + </p> + <p> + Gruffly, Billy said, “It's all right—forget it, sport;” and sullenly + he shook hands and with a slow, massive movement thrust the other back + toward his own table. + </p> + <p> + Saxon was glowing. Here was a man, a protector, something to lean against, + of whom even the Butchertown toughs were afraid as soon as his name was + mentioned. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + After dinner there were two dances in the pavilion, and then the band led + the way to the race track for the games. The dancers followed, and all + through the grounds the picnic parties left their tables to join in. Five + thousand packed the grassy slopes of the amphitheater and swarmed inside + the race track. Here, first of the events, the men were lining up for a + tug of war. The contest was between the Oakland Bricklayers and the San + Francisco Bricklayers, and the picked braves, huge and heavy, were taking + their positions along the rope. They kicked heel-holds in the soft earth, + rubbed their hands with the soil from underfoot, and laughed and joked + with the crowd that surged about them. + </p> + <p> + The judges and watchers struggled vainly to keep back this crowd of + relatives and friends. The Celtic blood was up, and the Celtic faction + spirit ran high. The air was filled with cries of cheer, advice, warning, + and threat. Many elected to leave the side of their own team and go to the + side of the other team with the intention of circumventing foul play. + There were as many women as men among the jostling supporters. The dust + from the trampling, scuffling feet rose in the air, and Mary gasped and + coughed and begged Bert to take her away. But he, the imp in him elated + with the prospect of trouble, insisted on urging in closer. Saxon clung to + Billy, who slowly and methodically elbowed and shouldered a way for her. + </p> + <p> + “No place for a girl,” he grumbled, looking down at her with a masked + expression of absent-mindedness, while his elbow powerfully crushed on the + ribs of a big Irishman who gave room. “Things'll break loose when they + start pullin'. They's been too much drink, an' you know what the Micks are + for a rough house.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was very much out of place among these large-bodied men and women. + She seemed very small and childlike, delicate and fragile, a creature from + another race. Only Billy's skilled bulk and muscle saved her. He was + continually glancing from face to face of the women and always returning + to study her face, nor was she unaware of the contrast he was making. + </p> + <p> + Some excitement occurred a score of feet away from them, and to the sound + of exclamations and blows a surge ran through the crowd. A large man, + wedged sidewise in the jam, was shoved against Saxon, crushing her closely + against Billy, who reached across to the man's shoulder with a massive + thrust that was not so slow as usual. An involuntary grunt came from the + victim, who turned his head, showing sun-reddened blond skin and + unmistakable angry Irish eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What's eatin' yeh?” he snarled. + </p> + <p> + “Get off your foot; you're standin' on it,” was Billy's contemptuous + reply, emphasized by an increase of thrust. + </p> + <p> + The Irishman grunted again and made a frantic struggle to twist his body + around, but the wedging bodies on either side held him in a vise. + </p> + <p> + “I'll break yer ugly face for yeh in a minute,” he announced in + wrath-thick tones. + </p> + <p> + Then his own face underwent transformation. The snarl left the lips, and + the angry eyes grew genial. + </p> + <p> + “An' sure an' it's yerself,” he said. “I didn't know it was yeh a-shovin'. + I seen yeh lick the Terrible Swede, if yeh WAS robbed on the decision.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you didn't, Bo,” Billy answered pleasantly. “You saw me take a good + beatin' that night. The decision was all right.” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman was now beaming. He had endeavored to pay a compliment with a + lie, and the prompt repudiation of the lie served only to increase his + hero-worship. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, an' a bad beatin' it was,” he acknowledged, “but yeh showed the + grit of a bunch of wildcats. Soon as I can get me arm free I'm goin' to + shake yeh by the hand an' help yeh aise yer young lady.” + </p> + <p> + Frustrated in the struggle to get the crowd back, the referee fired his + revolver in the air, and the tug-of-war was on. Pandemonium broke loose. + Saxon, protected by the two big men, was near enough to the front to see + much that ensued. The men on the rope pulled and strained till their faces + were red with effort and their joints crackled. The rope was new, and, as + their hands slipped, their wives and daughters sprang in, scooping up the + earth in double handfuls and pouring it on the rope and the hands of their + men to give them better grip. + </p> + <p> + A stout, middle-aged woman, carried beyond herself by the passion of the + contest, seized the rope and pulled beside her husband, encouraged him + with loud cries. A watcher from the opposing team dragged her screaming + away and was dropped like a steer by an ear-blow from a partisan from the + woman's team. He, in turn, went down, and brawny women joined with their + men in the battle. Vainly the judges and watchers begged, pleaded, yelled, + and swung with their fists. Men, as well as women, were springing in to + the rope and pulling. No longer was it team against team, but all Oakland + against all San Francisco, festooned with a free-for-all fight. Hands + overlaid hands two and three deep in the struggle to grasp the rope. And + hands that found no holds, doubled into bunches of knuckles that impacted + on the jaws of the watchers who strove to tear hand-holds from the rope. + </p> + <p> + Bert yelped with joy, while Mary clung to him, mad with fear. Close to the + rope the fighters were going down and being trampled. The dust arose in + clouds, while from beyond, all around, unable to get into the battle, + could be heard the shrill and impotent rage-screams and rage-yells of + women and men. + </p> + <p> + “Dirty work, dirty work,” Billy muttered over and over; and, though he saw + much that occurred, assisted by the friendly Irishman he was coolly and + safely working Saxon back out of the melee. + </p> + <p> + At last the break came. The losing team, accompanied by its host of + volunteers, was dragged in a rush over the ground and disappeared under + the avalanche of battling forms of the onlookers. + </p> + <p> + Leaving Saxon under the protection of the Irishman in an outer eddy of + calm, Billy plunged back into the mix-up. Several minutes later he emerged + with the missing couple—Bert bleeding from a blow on the ear, but + hilarious, and Mary rumpled and hysterical. + </p> + <p> + “This ain't sport,” she kept repeating. “It's a shame, a dirty shame.” + </p> + <p> + “We got to get outa this,” Billy said. “The fun's only commenced.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, wait,” Bert begged. “It's worth eight dollars. It's cheap at any + price. I ain't seen so many black eyes and bloody noses in a month of + Sundays.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, go on back an' enjoy yourself,” Billy commended. “I'll take the + girls up there on the side hill where we can look on. But I won't give + much for your good looks if some of them Micks lands on you.” + </p> + <p> + The trouble was over in an amazingly short time, for from the judges' + stand beside the track the announcer was bellowing the start of the boys' + foot-race; and Bert, disappointed, joined Billy and the two girls on the + hillside looking down upon the track. + </p> + <p> + There were boys' races and girls' races, races of young women and old + women, of fat men and fat women, sack races and three-legged races, and + the contestants strove around the small track through a Bedlam of cheering + supporters. The tug-of-war was already forgotten, and good nature reigned + again. + </p> + <p> + Five young men toed the mark, crouching with fingertips to the ground and + waiting the starter's revolver-shot. Three were in their stocking-feet, + and the remaining two wore spiked running-shoes. + </p> + <p> + “Young men's race,” Bert read from the program. “An' only one prize—twenty-five + dollars. See the red-head with the spikes—the one next to the + outside. San Francisco's set on him winning. He's their crack, an' there's + a lot of bets up.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's goin' to win?” Mary deferred to Billy's superior athletic + knowledge. + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell!” he answered. “I never saw any of 'em before. But they + all look good to me. May the best one win, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + The revolver was fired, and the five runners were off and away. Three were + outdistanced at the start. Redhead led, with a black-haired young man at + his shoulder, and it was plain that the race lay between these two. + Halfway around, the black-haired one took the lead in a spurt that was + intended to last to the finish. Ten feet he gained, nor could Red-head cut + it down an inch. + </p> + <p> + “The boy's a streak,” Billy commented. “He ain't tryin' his hardest, an' + Red-head's just bustin' himself.” + </p> + <p> + Still ten feet in the lead, the black-haired one breasted the tape in a + hubbub of cheers. Yet yells of disapproval could be distinguished. Bert + hugged himself with joy. + </p> + <p> + “Mm-mm,” he gloated. “Ain't Frisco sore? Watch out for fireworks now. See! + He's bein' challenged. The judges ain't payin' him the money. An' he's got + a gang behind him. Oh! Oh! Oh! Ain't had so much fun since my old woman + broke her leg!” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't they pay him, Billy?” Saxon asked. “He won.” + </p> + <p> + “The Frisco bunch is challengin' him for a professional,” Billy + elucidated. “That's what they're all beefin' about. But it ain't right. + They all ran for that money, so they're all professional.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd surged and argued and roared in front of the judges' stand. The + stand was a rickety, two-story affair, the second story open at the front, + and here the judges could be seen debating as heatedly as the crowd + beneath them. + </p> + <p> + “There she starts!” Bert cried. “Oh, you rough-house!” + </p> + <p> + The black-haired racer, backed by a dozen supporters, was climbing the + outside stairs to the judges. + </p> + <p> + “The purse-holder's his friend,” Billy said. “See, he's paid him, an' some + of the judges is willin' an' some are beefin'. An' now that other gang's + going up—they're Redhead's.” He turned to Saxon with a reassuring + smile. “We're well out of it this time. There's goin' to be rough stuff + down there in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “The judges are tryin' to make him give the money back,” Bert explained. + “An' if he don't the other gang'll take it away from him. See! They're + reachin' for it now.” + </p> + <p> + High above his head, the winner held the roll of paper containing the + twenty-five silver dollars. His gang, around him, was shouldering back + those who tried to seize the money. No blows had been struck yet, but the + struggle increased until the frail structure shook and swayed. From the + crowd beneath the winner was variously addressed: “Give it back, you dog!” + “Hang on to it, Tim!” “You won fair, Timmy!” “Give it back, you dirty + robber!” Abuse unprintable as well as friendly advice was hurled at him. + </p> + <p> + The struggle grew more violent. Tim's supporters strove to hold him off + the floor so that his hand would still be above the grasping hands that + shot up. Once, for an instant, his arm was jerked down. Again it went up. + But evidently the paper had broken, and with a last desperate effort, + before he went down, Tim flung the coin out in a silvery shower upon the + heads of the crowd beneath. Then ensued a weary period of arguing and + quarreling. + </p> + <p> + “I wish they'd finish, so as we could get back to the dancin',” Mary + complained. “This ain't no fun.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Slowly and painfully the judges' stand was cleared, and an announcer, +stepping to the front of the stand, spread his arms appealing for +silence. The angry clamor died down. + + “The judges have decided,” he shouted, “that this day of good +fellowship an' brotherhood—” + </pre> + <p> + “Hear! Hear!” Many of the cooler heads applauded. “That's the stuff!” “No + fightin'!” “No hard feelin's!” + </p> + <p> + “An' therefore,” the announcer became audible again, “the judges have + decided to put up another purse of twenty-five dollars an' run the race + over again!” + </p> + <p> + “An' Tim?” bellowed scores of throats. “What about Tim?” “He's been + robbed!” “The judges is rotten!” + </p> + <p> + Again the announcer stilled the tumult with his arm appeal. + </p> + <p> + “The judges have decided, for the sake of good feelin', that Timothy + McManus will also run. If he wins, the money's his.” + </p> + <p> + “Now wouldn't that jar you?” Billy grumbled disgustedly. “If Tim's + eligible now, he was eligible the first time. An' if he was eligible the + first time, then the money was his.” + </p> + <p> + “Red-head'll bust himself wide open this time,” Bert jubilated. + </p> + <p> + “An' so will Tim,” Billy rejoined. “You can bet he's mad clean through, + and he'll let out the links he was holdin' in last time.” + </p> + <p> + Another quarter of an hour was spent in clearing the track of the excited + crowd, and this time only Tim and Red-head toed the mark. The other three + young men had abandoned the contest. + </p> + <p> + The leap of Tim, at the report of the revolver, put him a clean yard in + the lead. + </p> + <p> + “I guess he's professional, all right, all right,” Billy remarked. “An' + just look at him go!” + </p> + <p> + Half-way around, Tim led by fifty feet, and, running swiftly, maintaining + the same lead, he came down the homestretch an easy winner. When directly + beneath the group on the hillside, the incredible and unthinkable + happened. Standing close to the inside edge of the track was a dapper + young man with a light switch cane. He was distinctly out of place in such + a gathering, for upon him was no ear-mark of the working class. Afterward, + Bert was of the opinion that he looked like a swell dancing master, while + Billy called him “the dude.” + </p> + <p> + So far as Timothy McManus was concerned, the dapper young man was destiny; + for as Tim passed him, the young man, with utmost deliberation, thrust his + cane between Tim's flying legs. Tim sailed through the air in a headlong + pitch, struck spread-eagled on his face, and plowed along in a cloud of + dust. + </p> + <p> + There was an instant of vast and gasping silence. The young man, too, + seemed petrified by the ghastliness of his deed. It took an appreciable + interval of time for him, as well as for the onlookers, to realize what he + had done. They recovered first, and from a thousand throats the wild Irish + yell went up. Red-head won the race without a cheer. The storm center had + shifted to the young man with the cane. After the yell, he had one moment + of indecision; then he turned and darted up the track. + </p> + <p> + “Go it, sport!” Bert cheered, waving his hat in the air. “You're the goods + for me! Who'd a-thought it? Who'd a-thought it? Say!—wouldn't it, + now? Just wouldn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Phew! He's a streak himself,” Billy admired. “But what did he do it for? + He's no bricklayer.” + </p> + <p> + Like a frightened rabbit, the mad roar at his heels, the young man tore up + the track to an open space on the hillside, up which he clawed and + disappeared among the trees. Behind him toiled a hundred vengeful runners. + </p> + <p> + “It's too bad he's missing the rest of it,” Billy said. “Look at 'em goin' + to it.” + </p> + <p> + Bert was beside himself. He leaped up and down and cried continuously. + </p> + <p> + “Look at 'em! Look at 'em! Look at 'em!” + </p> + <p> + The Oakland faction was outraged. Twice had its favorite runner been + jobbed out of the race. This last was only another vile trick of the + Frisco faction. So Oakland doubled its brawny fists and swung into San + Francisco for blood. And San Francisco, consciously innocent, was no less + willing to join issues. To be charged with such a crime was no less + monstrous than the crime itself. Besides, for too many tedious hours had + the Irish heroically suppressed themselves. Five thousands of them + exploded into joyous battle. The women joined with them. The whole + amphitheater was filled with the conflict. There were rallies, retreats, + charges, and counter-charges. Weaker groups were forced fighting up the + hillsides. Other groups, bested, fled among the trees to carry on + guerrilla warfare, emerging in sudden dashes to overwhelm isolated + enemies. Half a dozen special policemen, hired by the Weasel Park + management, received an impartial trouncing from both sides. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody's the friend of a policeman,” Bert chortled, dabbing his + handkerchief to his injured ear, which still bled. + </p> + <p> + The bushes crackled behind him, and he sprang aside to let the locked + forms of two men go by, rolling over and over down the hill, each striking + when uppermost, and followed by a screaming woman who rained blows on the + one who was patently not of her clan. + </p> + <p> + The judges, in the second story of the stand, valiantly withstood a fierce + assault until the frail structure toppled to the ground in splinters. + </p> + <p> + “What's that woman doing?” Saxon asked, calling attention to an elderly + woman beneath them on the track, who had sat down and was pulling from her + foot an elastic-sided shoe of generous dimensions. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' swimming,” Bert chuckled, as the stocking followed. + </p> + <p> + They watched, fascinated. The shoe was pulled on again over the bare foot. + Then the woman slipped a rock the size of her fist into the stocking, and, + brandishing this ancient and horrible weapon, lumbered into the nearest + fray. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—Oh!—Oh!” Bert screamed, with every blow she struck. “Hey, + old flannel-mouth! Watch out! You'll get yours in a second. Oh! Oh! A + peach! Did you see it? Hurray for the old lady! Look at her tearin' into + 'em! Watch out, old girl!... Ah-h-h.” + </p> + <p> + His voice died away regretfully, as the one with the stocking, whose hair + had been clutched from behind by another Amazon, was whirled about in a + dizzy semicircle. + </p> + <p> + Vainly Mary clung to his arm, shaking him back and forth and + remonstrating. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you be sensible?” she cried. “It's awful! I tell you it's awful!” + </p> + <p> + But Bert was irrepressible. + </p> + <p> + “Go it, old girl!” he encouraged. “You win! Me for you every time! Now's + your chance! Swat! Oh! My! A peach! A peach!” + </p> + <p> + “It's the biggest rough-house I ever saw,” Billy confided to Saxon. “It + sure takes the Micks to mix it. But what did that dude wanta do it for? + That's what gets me. He wasn't a bricklayer—not even a workingman—just + a regular sissy dude that didn't know a livin' soul in the grounds. But if + he wanted to raise a rough-house he certainly done it. Look at 'em. + They're fightin' everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + He broke into sudden laughter, so hearty that the tears came into his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” Saxon asked, anxious not to miss anything. + </p> + <p> + “It's that dude,” Billy explained between gusts. “What did he wanta do it + for? That's what gets my goat. What'd he wanta do it for?” + </p> + <p> + There was more crashing in the brush, and two women erupted upon the + scene, one in flight, the other pursuing. Almost ere they could realize + it, the little group found itself merged in the astounding conflict that + covered, if not the face of creation, at least all the visible landscape + of Weasel Park. + </p> + <p> + The fleeing woman stumbled in rounding the end of a picnic bench, and + would have been caught had she not seized Mary's arm to recover balance, + and then flung Mary full into the arms of the woman who pursued. This + woman, largely built, middle-aged, and too irate to comprehend, clutched + Mary's hair by one hand and lifted the other to smack her. Before the blow + could fall, Billy had seized both the woman's wrists. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, old girl, cut it out,” he said appeasingly. “You're in wrong. + She ain't done nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + Then the woman did a strange thing. Making no resistance, but maintaining + her hold on the girl's hair, she stood still and calmly began to scream. + The scream was hideously compounded of fright and fear. Yet in her face + was neither fright nor fear. She regarded Billy coolly and appraisingly, + as if to see how he took it—her scream merely the cry to the clan + for help. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, shut up, you battleax!” Bert vociferated, trying to drag her off by + the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + The result was that the four rocked back and forth, while the woman calmly + went on screaming. The scream became touched with triumph as more crashing + was heard in the brush. + </p> + <p> + Saxon saw Billy's slow eyes glint suddenly to the hardness of steel, and + at the same time she saw him put pressure on his wrist-holds. The woman + released her grip on Mary and was shoved back and free. Then the first man + of the rescue was upon them. He did not pause to inquire into the merits + of the affair. It was sufficient that he saw the woman reeling away from + Billy and screaming with pain that was largely feigned. + </p> + <p> + “It's all a mistake,” Billy cried hurriedly. “We apologize, sport—” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman swung ponderously. Billy ducked, cutting his apology short, + and as the sledge-like fist passed over his head, he drove his left to the + other's jaw. The big Irishman toppled over sidewise and sprawled on the + edge of the slope. Half-scrambled back to his feet and out of balance, he + was caught by Bert's fist, and this time went clawing down the slope that + was slippery with short, dry grass. Bert was redoubtable. “That for you, + old girl—my compliments,” was his cry, as he shoved the woman over + the edge on to the treacherous slope. Three more men were emerging from + the brush. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, Billy had put Saxon in behind the protection of the + picnic table. Mary, who was hysterical, had evinced a desire to cling to + him, and he had sent her sliding across the top of the table to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, you flannel-mouths!” Bert yelled at the newcomers, himself swept + away by passion, his black eyes flashing wildly, his dark face inflamed by + the too-ready blood. “Come on, you cheap skates! Talk about Gettysburg. + We'll show you all the Americans ain't dead yet!” + </p> + <p> + “Shut your trap—we don't want a scrap with the girls here,” Billy + growled harshly, holding his position in front of the table. He turned to + the three rescuers, who were bewildered by the lack of anything visible to + rescue. “Go on, sports. We don't want a row. You're in wrong. They ain't + nothin' doin' in the fight line. We don't wanta fight—d'ye get me?” + </p> + <p> + They still hesitated, and Billy might have succeeded in avoiding trouble + had not the man who had gone down the bank chosen that unfortunate moment + to reappear, crawling groggily on hands and knees and showing a bleeding + face. Again Bert reached him and sent him downslope, and the other three, + with wild yells, sprang in on Billy, who punched, shifted position, ducked + and punched, and shifted again ere he struck the third time. His blows + were clean and hard, scientifically delivered, with the weight of his body + behind. + </p> + <p> + Saxon, looking on, saw his eyes and learned more about him. She was + frightened, but clear-seeing, and she was startled by the disappearance of + all depth of light and shadow in his eyes. They showed surface only—a + hard, bright surface, almost glazed, devoid of all expression save deadly + seriousness. Bert's eyes showed madness. The eyes of the Irishmen were + angry and serious, and yet not all serious. There was a wayward gleam in + them, as if they enjoyed the fracas. But in Billy's eyes was no enjoyment. + It was as if he had certain work to do and had doggedly settled down to do + it. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely more expression did she note in the face, though there was + nothing in common between it and the one she had seen all day. The + boyishness had vanished. This face was mature in a terrifying, ageless + way. There was no anger in it, nor was it even pitiless. It seemed to have + glazed as hard and passionlessly as his eyes. Something came to her of her + wonderful mother's tales of the ancient Saxons, and he seemed to her one + of those Saxons, and she caught a glimpse, on the well of her + consciousness, of a long, dark boat, with a prow like the beak of a bird + of prey, and of huge, half-naked men, wing-helmeted, and one of their + faces, it seemed to her, was his face. She did not reason this. She felt + it, and visioned it as by an unthinkable clairvoyance, and gasped, for the + flurry of war was over. It had lasted only seconds, Bert was dancing on + the edge of the slippery slope and mocking the vanquished who had slid + impotently to the bottom. But Billy took charge. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, you girls,” he commanded. “Get onto yourself, Bert. We got to + get outa this. We can't fight an army.” + </p> + <p> + He led the retreat, holding Saxon's arm, and Bert, giggling and jubilant, + brought up the rear with an indignant Mary who protested vainly in his + unheeding ears. + </p> + <p> + For a hundred yards they ran and twisted through the trees, and then, no + signs of pursuit appearing, they slowed down to a dignified saunter. Bert, + the trouble-seeker, pricked his ears to the muffled sound of blows and + sobs, and stepped aside to investigate. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! look what I've found!” he called. + </p> + <p> + They joined him on the edge of a dry ditch and looked down. In the bottom + were two men, strays from the fight, grappled together and still fighting. + They were weeping out of sheer fatigue and helplessness, and the blows + they only occasionally struck were open-handed and ineffectual. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, you, sport—throw sand in his eyes,” Bert counseled. “That's + it, blind him an' he's your'n.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that!” Billy shouted at the man, who was following instructions, “Or + I'll come down there an' beat you up myself. It's all over—d'ye get + me? It's all over an' everybody's friends. Shake an' make up. The drinks + are on both of you. That's right—here, gimme your hand an' I'll pull + you out.” + </p> + <p> + They left them shaking hands and brushing each other's clothes. + </p> + <p> + “It soon will be over,” Billy grinned to Saxon. “I know 'em. Fight's fun + with them. An' this big scrap's made the day a howlin' success. What did I + tell you!—look over at that table there.” + </p> + <p> + A group of disheveled men and women, still breathing heavily, were shaking + hands all around. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, let's dance,” Mary pleaded, urging them in the direction of the + pavilion. + </p> + <p> + All over the park the warring bricklayers were shaking hands and making + up, while the open-air bars were crowded with the drinkers. + </p> + <p> + Saxon walked very close to Billy. She was proud of him. He could fight, + and he could avoid trouble. In all that had occurred he had striven to + avoid trouble. And, also, consideration for her and Mary had been + uppermost in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “You are brave,” she said to him. + </p> + <p> + “It's like takin' candy from a baby,” he disclaimed. “They only + rough-house. They don't know boxin'. They're wide open, an' all you gotta + do is hit 'em. It ain't real fightin', you know.” With a troubled, boyish + look in his eyes, he stared at his bruised knuckles. “An' I'll have to + drive team to-morrow with 'em,” he lamented. “Which ain't fun, I'm tellin' + you, when they stiffen up.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + At eight o'clock the Al Vista band played “Home, Sweet Home,” and, + following the hurried rush through the twilight to the picnic train, the + four managed to get double seats facing each other. When the aisles and + platforms were packed by the hilarious crowd, the train pulled out for the + short run from the suburbs into Oakland. All the car was singing a score + of songs at once, and Bert, his head pillowed on Mary's breast with her + arms around him, started “On the Banks of the Wabash.” And he sang the + song through, undeterred by the bedlam of two general fights, one on the + adjacent platform, the other at the opposite end of the car, both of which + were finally subdued by special policemen to the screams of women and the + crash of glass. + </p> + <p> + Billy sang a lugubrious song of many stanzas about a cowboy, the refrain + of which was, “Bury me out on the lone pr-rairie.” + </p> + <p> + “That's one you never heard before; my father used to sing it,” he told + Saxon, who was glad that it was ended. + </p> + <p> + She had discovered the first flaw in him. He was tonedeaf. Not once had he + been on the key. + </p> + <p> + “I don't sing often,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “You bet your sweet life he don't,” Bert exclaimed. “His friends'd kill + him if he did.” + </p> + <p> + “They all make fun of my singin',” he complained to Saxon. “Honest, now, + do you find it as rotten as all that?” + </p> + <p> + “It's... it's maybe flat a bit,” she admitted reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “It don't sound flat to me,” he protested. “It's a regular josh on me. + I'll bet Bert put you up to it. You sing something now, Saxon. I bet you + sing good. I can tell it from lookin' at you.” + </p> + <p> + She began “When the Harvest Days Are Over.” Bert and Mary joined in; but + when Billy attempted to add his voice he was dissuaded by a shin-kick from + Bert. Saxon sang in a clear, true soprano, thin but sweet, and she was + aware that she was singing to Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Now THAT is singing what is,” he proclaimed, when she had finished. “Sing + it again. Aw, go on. You do it just right. It's great.” + </p> + <p> + His hand slipped to hers and gathered it in, and as she sang again she + felt the tide of his strength flood warmingly through her. + </p> + <p> + “Look at 'em holdin' hands,” Bert jeered. “Just a-holdin' hands like they + was afraid. Look at Mary an' me. Come on an' kick in, you cold-feets. Get + together. If you don't, it'll look suspicious. I got my suspicions + already. You're framin' somethin' up.” + </p> + <p> + There was no mistaking his innuendo, and Saxon felt her cheeks flaming. + </p> + <p> + “Get onto yourself, Bert,” Billy reproved. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” Mary added the weight of her indignation. “You're awfully raw, + Bert Wanhope, an' I won't have anything more to do with you—there!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She withdrew her arms and shoved him away, only to receive him +forgivingly half a dozen seconds afterward. + + “Come on, the four of us,” Bert went on irrepressibly. “The +night's young. Let's make a time of it—Pabst's Cafe first, and then +some. What you say, Bill? What you say, Saxon? Mary's game.” + </pre> + <p> + Saxon waited and wondered, half sick with apprehension of this man beside + her whom she had known so short a time. + </p> + <p> + “Nope,” he said slowly. “I gotta get up to a hard day's work to-morrow, + and I guess the girls has got to, too.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon forgave him his tone-deafness. Here was the kind of man she always + had known existed. It was for some such man that she had waited. She was + twenty-two, and her first marriage offer had come when she was sixteen. + The last had occurred only the month before, from the foreman of the + washing-room, and he had been good and kind, but not young. But this one + beside her—he was strong and kind and good, and YOUNG. She was too + young herself not to desire youth. There would have been rest from fancy + starch with the foreman, but there would have been no warmth. But this man + beside her.... She caught herself on the verge involuntarily of pressing + his hand that held hers. + </p> + <p> + “No, Bert, don't tease; he's right,” Mary was saying. “We've got to get + some sleep. It's fancy starch to-morrow, and all day on our feet.” + </p> + <p> + It came to Saxon with a chill pang that she was surely older than Billy. + She stole glances at the smoothness of his face, and the essential + boyishness of him, so much desired, shocked her. Of course he would marry + some girl years younger than himself, than herself. How old was he? Could + it be that he was too young for her? As he seemed to grow inaccessible, + she was drawn toward him more compellingly. He was so strong, so gentle. + She lived over the events of the day. There was no flaw there. He had + considered her and Mary, always. And he had torn the program up and danced + only with her. Surely he had liked her, or he would not have done it. + </p> + <p> + She slightly moved her hand in his and felt the harsh contact of his + teamster callouses. The sensation was exquisite. He, too, moved his hand, + to accommodate the shift of hers, and she waited fearfully. She did not + want him to prove like other men, and she could have hated him had he + dared to take advantage of that slight movement of her fingers and put his + arm around her. He did not, and she flamed toward him. There was fineness + in him. He was neither rattle-brained, like Bert, nor coarse like other + men she had encountered. For she had had experiences, not nice, and she + had been made to suffer by the lack of what was termed chivalry, though + she, in turn, lacked that word to describe what she divined and desired. + </p> + <p> + And he was a prizefighter. The thought of it almost made her gasp. Yet he + answered not at all to her conception of a prizefighter. But, then, he + wasn't a prizefighter. He had said he was not. She resolved to ask him + about it some time if... if he took her out again. Yet there was little + doubt of that, for when a man danced with one girl a whole day he did not + drop her immediately. Almost she hoped that he was a prizefighter. There + was a delicious tickle of wickedness about it. Prizefighters were such + terrible and mysterious men. In so far as they were out of the ordinary + and were not mere common workingmen such as carpenters and laundrymen, + they represented romance. Power also they represented. They did not work + for bosses, but spectacularly and magnificently, with their own might, + grappled with the great world and wrung splendid living from its reluctant + hands. Some of them even owned automobiles and traveled with a retinue of + trainers and servants. Perhaps it had been only Billy's modesty that made + him say he had quit fighting. And yet, there were the callouses on his + hands. That showed he had quit. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + They said good-bye at the gate. Billy betrayed awkwardness that was sweet + to Saxon. He was not one of the take-it-for-granted young men. There was a + pause, while she feigned desire to go into the house, yet waited in secret + eagerness for the words she wanted him to say. + </p> + <p> + “When am I goin' to see you again?” he asked, holding her hand in his. + </p> + <p> + She laughed consentingly. + </p> + <p> + “I live 'way up in East Oakland,” he explained. “You know there's where + the stable is, an' most of our teaming is done in that section, so I don't + knock around down this way much. But, say—” His hand tightened on + hers. “We just gotta dance together some more. I'll tell you, the Orindore + Club has its dance Wednesday. If you haven't a date—have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Then Wednesday. What time'll I come for you?” + </p> + <p> + And when they had arranged the details, and he had agreed that she should + dance some of the dances with the other fellows, and said good night + again, his hand closed more tightly on hers and drew her toward him. She + resisted slightly, but honestly. It was the custom, but she felt she ought + not for fear he might misunderstand. And yet she wanted to kiss him as she + had never wanted to kiss a man. When it came, her face upturned to his, + she realized that on his part it was an honest kiss. There hinted nothing + behind it. Rugged and kind as himself, it was virginal almost, and + betrayed no long practice in the art of saying good-bye. All men were not + brutes after all, was her thought. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” she murmured; the gate screeched under her hand; and she + hurried along the narrow walk that led around to the corner of the house. + </p> + <p> + “Wednesday,” he called softly. + </p> + <p> + “Wednesday,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + But in the shadow of the narrow alley between the two houses she stood + still and pleasured in the ring of his foot falls down the cement + sidewalk. Not until they had quite died away did she go on. She crept up + the back stairs and across the kitchen to her room, registering her + thanksgiving that Sarah was asleep. + </p> + <p> + She lighted the gas, and, as she removed the little velvet hat, she felt + her lips still tingling with the kiss. Yet it had meant nothing. It was + the way of the young men. They all did it. But their good-night kisses had + never tingled, while this one tingled in her brain as well as on her lip. + What was it? What did it mean? With a sudden impulse she looked at herself + in the glass. The eyes were happy and bright. The color that tinted her + cheeks so easily was in them and glowing. It was a pretty reflection, and + she smiled, partly in joy, partly in appreciation, and the smile grew at + sight of the even rows of strong white teeth. Why shouldn't Billy like + that face? was her unvoiced query. Other men had liked it. Other men did + like it. Even the other girls admitted she was a good-looker. Charley Long + certainly liked it from the way he made life miserable for her. + </p> + <p> + She glanced aside to the rim of the looking-glass where his photograph was + wedged, shuddered, and made a moue of distaste. There was cruelty in those + eyes, and brutishness. He was a brute. For a year, now, he had bullied + her. Other fellows were afraid to go with her. He warned them off. She had + been forced into almost slavery to his attentions. She remembered the + young bookkeeper at the laundry—not a workingman, but a soft-handed, + soft-voiced gentleman—whom Charley had beaten up at the corner + because he had been bold enough to come to take her to the theater. And + she had been helpless. For his own sake she had never dared accept another + invitation to go out with him. + </p> + <p> + And now, Wednesday night, she was going with Billy. Billy! Her heart + leaped. There would be trouble, but Billy would save her from him. She'd + like to see him try and beat Billy up. + </p> + <p> + With a quick movement, she jerked the photograph from its niche and threw + it face down upon the chest of drawers. It fell beside a small square case + of dark and tarnished leather. With a feeling as of profanation she again + seized the offending photograph and flung it across the room into a + corner. At the same time she picked up the leather case. Springing it + open, she gazed at the daguerreotype of a worn little woman with steady + gray eyes and a hopeful, pathetic mouth. Opposite, on the velvet lining, + done in gold lettering, was, CARLTON FROM DAISY. She read it reverently, + for it represented the father she had never known, and the mother she had + so little known, though she could never forget that those wise sad eyes + were gray. + </p> + <p> + Despite lack of conventional religion, Saxon's nature was deeply + religious. Her thoughts of God were vague and nebulous, and there she was + frankly puzzled. She could not vision God. Here, in the daguerreotype, was + the concrete; much she had grasped from it, and always there seemed an + infinite more to grasp. She did not go to church. This was her high altar + and holy of holies. She came to it in trouble, in loneliness, for counsel, + divination, and comfort. In so far as she found herself different from the + girls of her acquaintance, she quested here to try to identify her + characteristics in the pictured face. Her mother had been different from + other women, too. This, forsooth, meant to her what God meant to others. + To this she strove to be true, and not to hurt nor vex. And how little she + really knew of her mother, and of how much was conjecture and surmise, she + was unaware; for it was through many years she had erected this + mother-myth. + </p> + <p> + Yet was it all myth? She resented the doubt with quick jealousy, and, + opening the bottom drawer of the chest, drew forth a battered portfolio. + Out rolled manuscripts, faded and worn, and arose a faint far scent of + sweet-kept age. The writing was delicate and curled, with the quaint + fineness of half a century before. She read a stanza to herself: + </p> + <p> + “Sweet as a wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learned to sing, + And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notes echoing.” + </p> + <p> + She wondered, for the thousandth time, what a windlute was; yet much of + beauty, much of beyondness, she sensed of this dimly remembered beautiful + mother of hers. She communed a while, then unrolled a second manuscript. + “To C. B.,” it read. To Carlton Brown, she knew, to her father, a + love-poem from her mother. Saxon pondered the opening lines: + </p> + <p> + “I have stolen away from the crowd in the groves, Where the nude statues + stand, and the leaves point and shiver At ivy-crowned Bacchus, the Queen + of the Loves, Pandora and Psyche, struck voiceless forever.” + </p> + <p> + This, too, was beyond her. But she breathed the beauty of it. Bacchus, and + Pandora and Psyche—talismans to conjure with! But alas! the + necromancy was her mother's. Strange, meaningless words that meant so + much! Her marvelous mother had known their meaning. Saxon spelled the + three words aloud, letter by letter, for she did not dare their + pronunciation; and in her consciousness glimmered august connotations, + profound and unthinkable. Her mind stumbled and halted on the star-bright + and dazzling boundaries of a world beyond her world in which her mother + had roamed at will. Again and again, solemnly, she went over the four + lines. They were radiance and light to the world, haunted with phantoms of + pain and unrest, in which she had her being. There, hidden among those + cryptic singing lines, was the clue. If she could only grasp it, all would + be made clear. Of this she was sublimely confident. She would understand + Sarah's sharp tongue, her unhappy brother, the cruelty of Charley Long, + the justness of the bookkeeper's beating, the day-long, month-long, + year-long toil at the ironing-board. + </p> + <p> + She skipped a stanza that she knew was hopelessly beyond her, and tried + again: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The dusk of the greenhouse is luminous yet + With quivers of opal and tremors of gold; + For the sun is at rest, and the light from the west, + Like delicate wine that is mellow and old, +</pre> + <p> + “Flushes faintly the brow of a naiad that stands In the spray of a + fountain, whose seed-amethysts Tremble lightly a moment on bosom and + hands, Then dip in their basin from bosom and wrists.” + </p> + <p> + “It's beautiful, just beautiful,” she sighed. And then, appalled at the + length of all the poem, at the volume of the mystery, she rolled the + manuscript and put it away. Again she dipped in the drawer, seeking the + clue among the cherished fragments of her mother's hidden soul. + </p> + <p> + This time it was a small package, wrapped in tissue paper and tied with + ribbon. She opened it carefully, with the deep gravity and circumstance of + a priest before an altar. Appeared a little red-satin Spanish girdle, + whale-boned like a tiny corset, pointed, the pioneer finery of a frontier + woman who had crossed the plains. It was hand-made after the + California-Spanish model of forgotten days. The very whalebone had been + home-shaped of the raw material from the whaleships traded for in hides + and tallow. The black lace trimming her mother had made. The triple edging + of black velvet strips—her mother's hands had sewn the stitches. + </p> + <p> + Saxon dreamed over it in a maze of incoherent thought. This was concrete. + This she understood. This she worshiped as man-created gods have been + worshiped on less tangible evidence of their sojourn on earth. + </p> + <p> + Twenty-two inches it measured around. She knew it out of many + verifications. She stood up and put it about her waist. This was part of + the ritual. It almost met. In places it did meet. Without her dress it + would meet everywhere as it had met on her mother. Closest of all, this + survival of old California-Ventura days brought Saxon in touch. Hers was + her mother's form. Physically, she was like her mother. Her grit, her + ability to turn off work that was such an amazement to others, were her + mother's. Just so had her mother been an amazement to her generation—her + mother, the toy-like creature, the smallest and the youngest of the + strapping pioneer brood, who nevertheless had mothered the brood. Always + it had been her wisdom that was sought, even by the brothers and sisters a + dozen years her senior. Daisy, it was, who had put her tiny foot down and + commanded the removal from the fever flatlands of Colusa to the healthy + mountains of Ventura; who had backed the savage old Indian-fighter of a + father into a corner and fought the entire family that Vila might marry + the man of her choice; who had flown in the face of the family and of + community morality and demanded the divorce of Laura from her criminally + weak husband; and who on the other hand, had held the branches of the + family together when only misunderstanding and weak humanness threatened + to drive them apart. + </p> + <p> + The peacemaker and the warrior! All the old tales trooped before Saxon's + eyes. They were sharp with detail, for she had visioned them many times, + though their content was of things she had never seen. So far as details + were concerned, they were her own creation, for she had never seen an ox, + a wild Indian, nor a prairie schooner. Yet, palpitating and real, + shimmering in the sun-flashed dust of ten thousand hoofs, she saw pass, + from East to West, across a continent, the great hegira of the land-hungry + Anglo-Saxon. It was part and fiber of her. She had been nursed on its + traditions and its facts from the lips of those who had taken part. + Clearly she saw the long wagon-train, the lean, gaunt men who walked + before, the youths goading the lowing oxen that fell and were goaded to + their feet to fall again. And through it all, a flying shuttle, weaving + the golden dazzling thread of personality, moved the form of her little, + indomitable mother, eight years old, and nine ere the great traverse was + ended, a necromancer and a law-giver, willing her way, and the way and the + willing always good and right. + </p> + <p> + Saxon saw Punch, the little, rough-coated Skye-terrier with the honest + eyes (who had plodded for weary months), gone lame and abandoned; she saw + Daisy, the chit of a child, hide Punch in the wagon. She saw the savage + old worried father discover the added burden of the several pounds to the + dying oxen. She saw his wrath, as he held Punch by the scruff of the neck. + And she saw Daisy, between the muzzle of the long-barreled rifle and the + little dog. And she saw Daisy thereafter, through days of alkali and heat, + walking, stumbling, in the dust of the wagons, the little sick dog, like a + baby, in her arms. + </p> + <p> + But most vivid of all, Saxon saw the fight at Little Meadow—and + Daisy, dressed as for a gala day, in white, a ribbon sash about her waist, + ribbons and a round-comb in her hair, in her hands small water-pails, step + forth into the sunshine on the flower-grown open ground from the wagon + circle, wheels interlocked, where the wounded screamed their delirium and + babbled of flowing fountains, and go on, through the sunshine and the + wonder-inhibition of the bullet-dealing Indians, a hundred yards to the + waterhole and back again. + </p> + <p> + Saxon kissed the little, red satin Spanish girdle passionately, and + wrapped it up in haste, with dewy eyes, abandoning the mystery and godhead + of mother and all the strange enigma of living. + </p> + <p> + In bed, she projected against her closed eyelids the few rich scenes of + her mother that her child-memory retained. It was her favorite way of + wooing sleep. She had done it all her life—sunk into the + death-blackness of sleep with her mother limned to the last on her fading + consciousness. But this mother was not the Daisy of the plains nor of the + daguerreotype. They had been before Saxon's time. This that she saw + nightly was an older mother, broken with insomnia and brave with sorrow, + who crept, always crept, a pale, frail creature, gentle and unfaltering, + dying from lack of sleep, living by will, and by will refraining from + going mad, who, nevertheless, could not will sleep, and whom not even the + whole tribe of doctors could make sleep. Crept—always she crept, + about the house, from weary bed to weary chair and back again through long + days and weeks of torment, never complaining, though her unfailing smile + was twisted with pain, and the wise gray eyes, still wise and gray, were + grown unutterably larger and profoundly deep. + </p> + <p> + But on this night Saxon did not win to sleep quickly; the little creeping + mother came and went; and in the intervals the face of Billy, with the + cloud-drifted, sullen, handsome eyes, burned against her eyelids. And once + again, as sleep welled up to smother her, she put to herself the question + IS THIS THE MAN? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + The work in the ironing-room slipped off, but the three days until + Wednesday night were very long. She hummed over the fancy starch that flew + under the iron at an astounding rate. + </p> + <p> + “I can't see how you do it,” Mary admired. “You'll make thirteen or + fourteen this week at that rate.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon laughed, and in the steam from the iron she saw dancing golden + letters that spelled WEDNESDAY. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of Billy?” Mary asked. + </p> + <p> + “I like him,” was the frank answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don't let it go farther than that.” + </p> + <p> + “I will if I want to,” Saxon retorted gaily. + </p> + <p> + “Better not,” came the warning. “You'll only make trouble for yourself. He + ain't marryin'. Many a girl's found that out. They just throw themselves + at his head, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to throw myself at him, or any other man.” + </p> + <p> + “Just thought I'd tell you,” Mary concluded. “A word to the wise.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon had become grave. + </p> + <p> + “He's not... not...” she began, than looked the significance of the + question she could not complete. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin' like that—though there's nothin' to stop him. He's + straight, all right, all right. But he just won't fall for anything in + skirts. He dances, an' runs around, an' has a good time, an' beyond that—nitsky. + A lot of 'em's got fooled on him. I bet you there's a dozen girls in love + with him right now. An' he just goes on turnin' 'em down. There was Lily + Sanderson—you know her. You seen her at that Slavonic picnic last + summer at Shellmound—that tall, nice-lookin' blonde that was with + Butch Willows?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember her,” Saxon said. “What about her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she'd been runnin' with Butch Willows pretty steady, an' just + because she could dance, Billy dances a lot with her. Butch ain't afraid + of nothin'. He wades right in for a showdown, an' nails Billy outside, + before everybody, an' reads the riot act. An' Billy listens in that slow, + sleepy way of his, an' Butch gets hotter an' hotter, an' everybody expects + a scrap. + </p> + <p> + “An' then Billy says to Butch, 'Are you done?' 'Yes,' Butch says; 'I've + said my say, an' what are you goin' to do about it?' An' Billy says—an' + what d'ye think he said, with everybody lookin' on an' Butch with blood in + his eye? Well, he said, 'I guess nothin', Butch.' Just like that. Butch + was that surprised you could knocked him over with a feather. 'An' never + dance with her no more?' he says. 'Not if you say I can't, Butch,' Billy + says. Just like that. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know, any other man to take water the way he did from Butch—why, + everybody'd despise him. But not Billy. You see, he can afford to. He's + got a rep as a fighter, an' when he just stood back 'an' let Butch have + his way, everybody knew he wasn't scared, or backin' down, or anything. He + didn't care a rap for Lily Sanderson, that was all, an' anybody could see + she was just crazy after him.” + </p> + <p> + The telling of this episode caused Saxon no little worry. Hers was the + average woman's pride, but in the matter of man-conquering prowess she was + not unduly conceited. Billy had enjoyed her dancing, and she wondered if + that were all. If Charley Long bullied up to him would he let her go as he + had let Lily Sanderson go? He was not a marrying man; nor could Saxon + blind her eyes to the fact that he was eminently marriageable. No wonder + the girls ran after him. And he was a man-subduer as well as a + woman-subduer. Men liked him. Bert Wanhope seemed actually to love him. + She remembered the Butchertown tough in the dining-room at Weasel Park who + had come over to the table to apologize, and the Irishman at the + tug-of-war who had abandoned all thought of fighting with him the moment + he learned his identity. + </p> + <p> + A very much spoiled young man was a thought that flitted frequently + through Saxon's mind; and each time she condemned it as ungenerous. He was + gentle in that tantalizing slow way of his. Despite his strength, he did + not walk rough-shod over others. There was the affair with Lily Sanderson. + Saxon analysed it again and again. He had not cared for the girl, and he + had immediately stepped from between her and Butch. It was just the thing + that Bert, out of sheer wickedness and love of trouble, would not have + done. There would have been a fight, hard feelings, Butch turned into an + enemy, and nothing profited to Lily. But Billy had done the right thing—done + it slowly and imperturbably and with the least hurt to everybody. All of + which made him more desirable to Saxon and less possible. + </p> + <p> + She bought another pair of silk stockings that she had hesitated at for + weeks, and on Tuesday night sewed and drowsed wearily over a new + shirtwaist and earned complaint from Sarah concerning her extravagant use + of gas. + </p> + <p> + Wednesday night, at the Orindore dance, was not all undiluted pleasure. It + was shameless the way the girls made up to Billy, and, at times, Saxon + found his easy consideration for them almost irritating. Yet she was + compelled to acknowledge to herself that he hurt none of the other + fellows' feelings in the way the girls hurt hers. They all but asked him + outright to dance with them, and little of their open pursuit of him + escaped her eyes. She resolved that she would not be guilty of throwing + herself at him, and withheld dance after dance, and yet was secretly and + thrillingly aware that she was pursuing the right tactics. She + deliberately demonstrated that she was desirable to other men, as he + involuntarily demonstrated his own desirableness to the women. + </p> + <p> + Her happiness came when he coolly overrode her objections and insisted on + two dances more than she had allotted him. And she was pleased, as well as + angered, when she chanced to overhear two of the strapping young cannery + girls. “The way that little sawed-off is monopolizin' him,” said one. And + the other: “You'd think she might have the good taste to run after + somebody of her own age.” “Cradle-snatcher,” was the final sting that sent + the angry blood into Saxon's cheeks as the two girls moved away, unaware + that they had been overheard. + </p> + <p> + Billy saw her home, kissed her at the gate, and got her consent to go with + him to the dance at Germania Hall on Friday night. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't thinkin' of goin',” he said. “But if you'll say the word... + Bert's goin' to be there.” + </p> + <p> + Next day, at the ironing boards, Mary told her that she and Bert were + dated for Germania Hall. + </p> + <p> + “Are you goin'?” Mary asked. + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Billy Roberts?” + </p> + <p> + The nod was repeated, and Mary, with suspended iron, gave her a long and + curious look. + </p> + <p> + “Say, an' what if Charley Long butts in?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + They ironed swiftly and silently for a quarter of an hour. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Mary decided, “if he does butt in maybe he'll get his. I'd like to + see him get it—the big stiff! It all depends how Billy feels—about + you, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm no Lily Sanderson,” Saxon answered indignantly. “I'll never give + Billy Roberts a chance to turn me down.” + </p> + <p> + “You will, if Charley Long butts in. Take it from me, Saxon, he ain't no + gentleman. Look what he done to Mr. Moody. That was a awful beatin'. An' + Mr. Moody only a quiet little man that wouldn't harm a fly. Well, he won't + find Billy Roberts a sissy by a long shot.” + </p> + <p> + That night, outside the laundry entrance, Saxon found Charley Long + waiting. As he stepped forward to greet her and walk alongside, she felt + the sickening palpitation that he had so thoroughly taught her to know. + The blood ebbed from her face with the apprehension and fear his + appearance caused. She was afraid of the rough bulk of the man; of the + heavy brown eyes, dominant and confident; of the big blacksmith-hands and + the thick strong fingers with the hair-pads on the back to every first + joint. He was unlovely to the eye, and he was unlovely to all her finer + sensibilities. It was not his strength itself, but the quality of it and + the misuse of it, that affronted her. The beating he had given the gentle + Mr. Moody had meant half-hours of horror to her afterward. Always did the + memory of it come to her accompanied by a shudder. And yet, without shock, + she had seen Billy fight at Weasel Park in the same primitive man-animal + way. But it had been different. She recognized, but could not analyze, the + difference. She was aware only of the brutishness of this man's hands and + mind. + </p> + <p> + “You're lookin' white an' all beat to a frazzle,” he was saying. “Why + don't you cut the work? You got to some time, anyway. You can't lose me, + kid.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + He laughed with harsh joviality. “Nothin' to it, Saxon. You're just cut + out to be Mrs. Long, an' you're sure goin' to be.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I was as certain about all things as you are,” she said with mild + sarcasm that missed. + </p> + <p> + “Take it from me,” he went on, “there's just one thing you can be certain + of—an' that is that I am certain.” He was pleased with the + cleverness of his idea and laughed approvingly. “When I go after anything + I get it, an' if anything gets in between it gets hurt. D'ye get that? + It's me for you, an' that's all there is to it, so you might as well make + up your mind and go to workin' in my home instead of the laundry. Why, + it's a snap. There wouldn't be much to do. I make good money, an' you + wouldn't want for anything. You know, I just washed up from work an' + skinned over here to tell it to you once more, so you wouldn't forget. I + ain't ate yet, an' that shows how much I think of you.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better go and eat then,” she advised, though she knew the futility + of attempting to get rid of him. + </p> + <p> + She scarcely heard what he said. It had come upon her suddenly that she + was very tired and very small and very weak alongside this colossus of a + man. Would he dog her always? she asked despairingly, and seemed to + glimpse a vision of all her future life stretched out before her, with + always the form and face of the burly blacksmith pursuing her. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, kid, an' kick in,” he continued. “It's the good old summer time, + an' that's the time to get married.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not going to marry you,” she protested. “I've told you a thousand + times already.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, forget it. You want to get them ideas out of your think-box. Of + course, you're goin' to marry me. It's a pipe. An' I'll tell you another + pipe. You an' me's goin' acrost to Frisco Friday night. There's goin' to + be big doin's with the Horseshoers.” + </p> + <p> + “Only I'm not,” she contradicted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes you are,” he asserted with absolute assurance. “We'll catch the + last boat back, an' you'll have one fine time. An' I'll put you next to + some of the good dancers. Oh, I ain't a pincher, an' I know you like + dancin'.” + </p> + <p> + “But I tell you I can't,” she reiterated. + </p> + <p> + He shot a glance of suspicion at her from under the black thatch of brows + that met above his nose and were as one brow. + </p> + <p> + “Why can't you?” + </p> + <p> + “A date,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Who's the bloke?” + </p> + <p> + “None of your business, Charley Long. I've got a date, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll make it my business. Remember that lah-de-dah bookkeeper rummy? + Well, just keep on rememberin' him an' what he got.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd leave me alone,” she pleaded resentfully. “Can't you be kind + just for once?” + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith laughed unpleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “If any rummy thinks he can butt in on you an' me, he'll learn different, + an' I'm the little boy that'll learn 'm.—Friday night, eh? Where?” + </p> + <p> + “I won't tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + Her lips were drawn in tight silence, and in her cheeks were little angry + spots of blood. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!—As if I couldn't guess! Germania Hall. Well, I'll be there, + an' I'll take you home afterward. D'ye get that? An' you'd better tell the + rummy to beat it unless you want to see'm get his face hurt.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon, hurt as a prideful woman can be hurt by cavalier treatment, was + tempted to cry out the name and prowess of her new-found protector. And + then came fear. This was a big man, and Billy was only a boy. That was the + way he affected her. She remembered her first impression of his hands and + glanced quickly at the hands of the man beside her. They seemed twice as + large as Billy's, and the mats of hair seemed to advertise a terrible + strength. No, Billy could not fight this big brute. He must not. And then + to Saxon came a wicked little hope that by the mysterious and unthinkable + ability that prizefighters possessed, Billy might be able to whip this + bully and rid her of him. With the next glance doubt came again, for her + eye dwelt on the blacksmith's broad shoulders, the cloth of the coat + muscle-wrinkled and the sleeves bulging above the biceps. + </p> + <p> + “If you lay a hand on anybody I'm going with again—-” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Why, they'll get hurt, of course,” Long grinned. “And they'll deserve it, + too. Any rummy that comes between a fellow an' his girl ought to get + hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not your girl, and all your saying so doesn't make it so.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, get mad,” he approved. “I like you for that, too. You've + got spunk an' fight. I like to see it. It's what a man needs in his wife—and + not these fat cows of women. They're the dead ones. Now you're a live one, + all wool, a yard long and a yard wide.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped before the house and put her hand on the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” she said. “I'm going in.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on out afterward for a run to Idora Park,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not feeling good, and I'm going straight to bed as soon as I eat + supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” he sneered. “Gettin' in shape for the fling to-morrow night, eh?” + </p> + <p> + With an impatient movement she opened the gate and stepped inside. + </p> + <p> + “I've given it to you straight,” he went on. “If you don't go with me + to-morrow night somebody'll get hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it will be you,” she cried vindictively. + </p> + <p> + He laughed as he threw his head back, stretched his big chest, and + half-lifted his heavy arms. The action reminded her disgustingly of a + great ape she had once seen in a circus. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye,” he said. “See you to-morrow night at Germania Hall.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't told you it was Germania Hall.” + </p> + <p> + “And you haven't told me it wasn't. All the same, I'll be there. And I'll + take you home, too. Be sure an' keep plenty of round dances open fer me. + That's right. Get mad. It makes you look fine.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + The music stopped at the end of the waltz, leaving Billy and Saxon at the + big entrance doorway of the ballroom. Her hand rested lightly on his arm, + and they were promenading on to find seats, when Charley Long, evidently + just arrived, thrust his way in front of them. + </p> + <p> + “So you're the buttinsky, eh?” he demanded, his face malignant with + passion and menace. + </p> + <p> + “Who?—me?” Billy queried gently. “Some mistake, sport. I never butt + in.” + </p> + <p> + “You're goin' to get your head beaten off if you don't make yourself + scarce pretty lively.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't want that to happen for the world,” Billy drawled. “Come on, + Saxon. This neighborhood's unhealthy for us.” + </p> + <p> + He started to go on with her, but Long thrust in front again. + </p> + <p> + “You're too fresh to keep, young fellow,” he snarled. “You need saltin' + down. D'ye get me?” + </p> + <p> + Billy scratched his head, on his face exaggerated puzzlement. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't get you,” he said. “Now just what was it you said?” + </p> + <p> + But the big blacksmith turned contemptuously away from him to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Come here, you. Let's see your program.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to dance with him?” Billy asked. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, sport, nothin' doin',” Billy said, again making to start on. + </p> + <p> + For the third time the blacksmith blocked the way. + </p> + <p> + “Get off your foot,” said Billy. “You're standin' on it.” + </p> + <p> + Long all but sprang upon him, his hands clenched, one arm just starting + back for the punch while at the same instant shoulders and chest were + coming forward. But he restrained himself at sight of Billy's unstartled + body and cold and cloudy eyes. He had made no move of mind or muscle. It + was as if he were unaware of the threatened attack. All of which + constituted a new thing in Long's experience. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you don't know who I am,” he bullied. + </p> + <p> + “Yep, I do,” Billy answered airily. “You're a record-breaker at + rough-housin'.” (Here Long's face showed pleasure.) “You ought to have the + Police Gazette diamond belt for rough-housin' baby buggies'. I guess there + ain't a one you're afraid to tackle.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave 'm alone, Charley,” advised one of the young men who had crowded + about them. “He's Bill Roberts, the fighter. You know'm. Big Bill.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care if he's Jim Jeffries. He can't butt in on me this way.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless it was noticeable, even to Saxon, that the fire had gone out + of his fierceness. Billy's name seemed to have a quieting effect on + obstreperous males. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know him?” Billy asked her. + </p> + <p> + She signified yes with her eyes, though it seemed she must cry out a + thousand things against this man who so steadfastly persecuted her. Billy + turned to the blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, sport, you don't want trouble with me. I've got your number. + Besides, what do we want to fight for? Hasn't she got a say so in the + matter?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she hasn't. This is my affair an' yourn.” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook his head slowly. “No; you're in wrong. I think she has a say + in the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, say it then,” Long snarled at Saxon, “who're you goin' to go with?—me + or him? Let's get it settled.” + </p> + <p> + For reply, Saxon reached her free hand over to the hand that rested on + Billy's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Nuff said,” was Billy's remark. + </p> + <p> + Long glared at Saxon, then transferred the glare to her protector. + </p> + <p> + “I've a good mind to mix it with you anyway,” Long gritted through his + teeth. + </p> + <p> + Saxon was elated as they started to move away. Lily Sanderson's fate had + not been hers, and her wonderful man-boy, without the threat of a blow, + slow of speech and imperturbable, had conquered the big blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + “He's forced himself upon me all the time,” she whispered to Billy. “He's + tried to run me, and beaten up every man that came near me. I never want + to see him again.” + </p> + <p> + Billy halted immediately. Long, who was reluctantly moving to get out of + the way, also halted. + </p> + <p> + “She says she don't want anything more to do with you,” Billy said to him. + “An' what she says goes. If I get a whisper any time that you've been + botherin' her, I'll attend to your case. D'ye get that?” + </p> + <p> + Long glowered and remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “D'ye get that?” Billy repeated, more imperatively. + </p> + <p> + A growl of assent came from the blacksmith + </p> + <p> + “All right, then. See you remember it. An' now get outa the way or I'll + walk over you.” + </p> + <p> + Long slunk back, muttering inarticulate threats, and Saxon moved on as in + a dream. Charley Long had taken water. He had been afraid of this + smooth-skinned, blue-eyed boy. She was quit of him—something no + other man had dared attempt for her. And Billy had liked her better than + Lily Sanderson. + </p> + <p> + Twice Saxon tried to tell Billy the details of her acquaintance with Long, + but each time was put off. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care a rap about it,” Billy said the second time. “You're here, + ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + But she insisted, and when, worked up and angry by the recital, she had + finished, he patted her hand soothingly. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, Saxon,” he said. “He's just a big stiff. I took his + measure as soon as I looked at him. He won't bother you again. I know his + kind. He's a dog. Roughhouse? He couldn't rough-house a milk wagon.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you do it?” she asked breathlessly. “Why are men so afraid of + you? You're just wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled in an embarrassed way and changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he said, “I like your teeth. They're so white an' regular, an' not + big, an' not dinky little baby's teeth either. They're ... they're just + right, an' they fit you. I never seen such fine teeth on a girl yet. D'ye + know, honest, they kind of make me hungry when I look at 'em. They're good + enough to eat.” + </p> + <p> + At midnight, leaving the insatiable Bert and Mary still dancing, Billy and + Saxon started for home. It was on his suggestion that they left early, and + he felt called upon to explain. + </p> + <p> + “It's one thing the fightin' game's taught me,” he said. “To take care of + myself. A fellow can't work all day and dance all night and keep in + condition. It's the same way with drinkin'—an' not that I'm a little + tin angel. I know what it is. I've been soused to the guards an' all the + rest of it. I like my beer—big schooners of it; but I don't drink + all I want of it. I've tried, but it don't pay. Take that big stiff + to-night that butted in on us. He ought to had my number. He's a dog + anyway, but besides he had beer bloat. I sized that up the first rattle, + an' that's the difference about who takes the other fellow's number. + Condition, that's what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is so big,” Saxon protested. “Why, his fists are twice as big as + yours.” + </p> + <p> + “That don't mean anything. What counts is what's behind the fists. He'd + turn loose like a buckin' bronco. If I couldn't drop him at the start, all + I'd do is to keep away, smother up, an' wait. An' all of a sudden he'd + blow up—go all to pieces, you know, wind, heart, everything, and + then I'd have him where I wanted him. And the point is he knows it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “You're the first prizefighter I ever knew,” Saxon said, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not any more,” he disclaimed hastily. “That's one thing the fightin' + game taught me—to leave it alone. It don't pay. A fellow trains as + fine as silk—till he's all silk, his skin, everything, and he's fit + to live for a hundred years; an' then he climbs through the ropes for a + hard twenty rounds with some tough customer that's just as good as he is, + and in those twenty rounds he frazzles out all his silk an' blows in a + year of his life. Yes, sometimes he blows in five years of it, or cuts it + in half, or uses up all of it. I've watched 'em. I've seen fellows strong + as bulls fight a hard battle and die inside the year of consumption, or + kidney disease, or anything else. Now what's the good of it? Money can't + buy what they throw away. That's why I quit the game and went back to + drivin' team. I got my silk, an' I'm goin' to keep it, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “It must make you feel proud to know you are the master of other men,” she + said softly, aware herself of pride in the strength and skill of him. + </p> + <p> + “It does,” he admitted frankly. “I'm glad I went into the game—just + as glad as I am that I pulled out of it.... Yep, it's taught me a lot—to + keep my eyes open an' my head cool. Oh, I've got a temper, a peach of a + temper. I get scared of myself sometimes. I used to be always breakin' + loose. But the fightin' taught me to keep down the steam an' not do things + I'd be sorry for afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you're the sweetest, easiest tempered man I know,” she interjected. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you believe it. Just watch me, and sometime you'll see me break out + that bad that I won't know what I'm doin' myself. Oh, I'm a holy terror + when I get started!” + </p> + <p> + This tacit promise of continued acquaintance gave Saxon a little + joy-thrill. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he said, as they neared her neighborhood, “what are you doin' next + Sunday?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. No plans at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose you an' me go buggy-riding all day out in the hills?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer immediately, and for the moment she was seeing the + nightmare vision of her last buggy-ride; of her fear and her leap from the + buggy; and of the long miles and the stumbling through the darkness in + thin-soled shoes that bruised her feet on every rock. And then it came to + her with a great swell of joy that this man beside her was not such a man. + </p> + <p> + “I love horses,” she said. “I almost love them better than I do dancing, + only I don't know anything about them. My father rode a great roan + war-horse. He was a captain of cavalry, you know. I never saw him, but + somehow I always can see him on that big horse, with a sash around his + waist and his sword at his side. My brother George has the sword now, but + Tom—he's the brother I live with says it is mine because it wasn't + his father's. You see, they're only my half-brothers. I was the only child + by my mother's second marriage. That was her real marriage—her + love-marriage, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon ceased abruptly, embarrassed by her own garrulity; and yet the + impulse was strong to tell this young man all about herself, and it seemed + to her that these far memories were a large part of her. + </p> + <p> + “Go on an' tell me about it,” Billy urged. “I like to hear about the old + people of the old days. My people was along in there, too, an' somehow I + think it was a better world to live in than now. Things was more sensible + and natural. I don't exactly say what I mean. But it's like this: I don't + understand life to-day. There's the labor unions an' employers' + associations, an' strikes', an' hard times, an' huntin' for jobs, an' all + the rest. Things wasn't like that in the old days. Everybody farmed, an' + shot their meat, an' got enough to eat, an' took care of their old folks. + But now it's all a mix-up that I can't understand. Mebbe I'm a fool, I + don't know. But, anyway, go ahead an' tell us about your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, when she was only a young woman she and Captain Brown fell + in love. He was a soldier then, before the war. And he was ordered East + for the war when she was away nursing her sister Laura. And then came the + news that he was killed at Shiloh. And she married a man who had loved her + for years and years. He was a boy in the same wagon-train coming across + the plains. She liked him, but she didn't love him. And afterward came the + news that my father wasn't killed after all. So it made her very sad, but + it did not spoil her life. She was a good mother and a good wife and all + that, but she was always sad, and sweet, and gentle, and I think her voice + was the most beautiful in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “She was game, all right,” Billy approved. + </p> + <p> + “And my father never married. He loved her all the time. I've got a lovely + poem home that she wrote to him. It's just wonderful, and it sings like + music. Well, long, long afterward her husband died, and then she and my + father made their love marriage. They didn't get married until 1882, and + she was pretty well along.” + </p> + <p> + More she told him, as they stood by the gate, and Saxon tried to think + that the good-bye kiss was a trifle longer than just ordinary. + </p> + <p> + “How about nine o'clock?” he queried across the gate. “Don't bother about + lunch or anything. I'll fix all that up. You just be ready at nine.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Sunday morning Saxon was beforehand in getting ready, and on her return to + the kitchen from her second journey to peep through the front windows, + Sarah began her customary attack. + </p> + <p> + “It's a shame an' a disgrace the way some people can afford silk + stockings,” she began. “Look at me, a-toilin' and a-stewin' day an' night, + and I never get silk stockings—nor shoes, three pairs of them all at + one time. But there's a just God in heaven, and there'll be some mighty + big surprises for some when the end comes and folks get passed out what's + comin' to them.” + </p> + <p> + Tom, smoking his pipe and cuddling his youngest-born on his knees, dropped + an eyelid surreptitiously on his cheek in token that Sarah was in a + tantrum. Saxon devoted herself to tying a ribbon in the hair of one of the + little girls. Sarah lumbered heavily about the kitchen, washing and + putting away the breakfast dishes. She straightened her back from the sink + with a groan and glared at Saxon with fresh hostility. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't sayin' anything, eh? An' why don't you? Because I guess you + still got some natural shame in you a-runnin' with a prizefighter. Oh, + I've heard about your goings-on with Bill Roberts. A nice specimen he is. + But just you wait till Charley Long gets his hands on him, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Tom intervened. “Bill Roberts is a pretty good boy + from what I hear.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon smiled with superior knowledge, and Sarah, catching her, was + infuriated. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you marry Charley Long? He's crazy for you, and he ain't a + drinkin' man.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he gets outside his share of beer,” Saxon retorted. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” her brother supplemented. “An' I know for a fact that he + keeps a keg in the house all the time as well.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you've been guzzling from it,” Sarah snapped. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I have,” Tom said, wiping his mouth reminiscently with the back of + his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he can afford to keep a keg in the house if he wants to,” she + returned to the attack, which now was directed at her husband as well. “He + pays his bills, and he certainly makes good money—better than most + men, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “An' he hasn't a wife an' children to watch out for,” Tom said. + </p> + <p> + “Nor everlastin' dues to unions that don't do him no good.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he has,” Tom urged genially. “Blamed little he'd work in that + shop, or any other shop in Oakland, if he didn't keep in good standing + with the Blacksmiths. You don't understand labor conditions, Sarah. The + unions have got to stick, if the men aren't to starve to death.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course not,” Sarah sniffed. “I don't understand anything. I ain't + got a mind. I'm a fool, an' you tell me so right before the children.” She + turned savagely on her eldest, who startled and shrank away. “Willie, your + mother is a fool. Do you get that? Your father says she's a fool—says + it right before her face and yourn. She's just a plain fool. Next he'll be + sayin' she's crazy an' puttin' her away in the asylum. An' how will you + like that, Willie? How will you like to see your mother in a straitjacket + an' a padded cell, shut out from the light of the sun an' beaten like a + nigger before the war, Willie, beaten an' clubbed like a regular black + nigger? That's the kind of a father you've got, Willie. Think of it, + Willie, in a padded cell, the mother that bore you, with the lunatics + screechin' an' screamin' all around, an' the quick-lime eatin' into the + dead bodies of them that's beaten to death by the cruel wardens—” + </p> + <p> + She continued tirelessly, painting with pessimistic strokes the growing + black future her husband was meditating for her, while the boy, fearful of + some vague, incomprehensible catastrophe, began to weep silently, with a + pendulous, trembling underlip. Saxon, for the moment, lost control of + herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for heaven's sake, can't we be together five minutes without + quarreling?” she blazed. + </p> + <p> + Sarah broke off from asylum conjurations and turned upon her + sister-in-law. + </p> + <p> + “Who's quarreling? Can't I open my head without bein' jumped on by the two + of you?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shrugged her shoulders despairingly, and Sarah swung about on her + husband. + </p> + <p> + “Seein' you love your sister so much better than your wife, why did you + want to marry me, that's borne your children for you, an' slaved for you, + an' toiled for you, an' worked her fingernails off for you, with no + thanks, an 'insultin' me before the children, an' sayin' I'm crazy to + their faces. An' what have you ever did for me? That's what I want to know—me, + that's cooked for you, an' washed your stinkin' clothes, and fixed your + socks, an' sat up nights with your brats when they was ailin'. Look at + that!” + </p> + <p> + She thrust out a shapeless, swollen foot, encased in a monstrous, untended + shoe, the dry, raw leather of which showed white on the edges of bulging + cracks. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that! That's what I say. Look at that!” Her voice was + persistently rising and at the same time growing throaty. “The only shoes + I got. Me. Your wife. Ain't you ashamed? Where are my three pairs? Look at + that stockin'.” + </p> + <p> + Speech failed her, and she sat down suddenly on a chair at the table, + glaring unutterable malevolence and misery. She arose with the abrupt + stiffness of an automaton, poured herself a cup of cold coffee, and in the + same jerky way sat down again. As if too hot for her lips, she filled her + saucer with the greasy-looking, nondescript fluid, and continued her set + glare, her breast rising and falling with staccato, mechanical movement. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Sarah, be c'am, be c'am,” Tom pleaded anxiously. + </p> + <p> + In response, slowly, with utmost deliberation, as if the destiny of + empires rested on the certitude of her act, she turned the saucer of + coffee upside down on the table. She lifted her right hand, slowly, + hugely, and in the same slow, huge way landed the open palm with a + sounding slap on Tom's astounded cheek. Immediately thereafter she raised + her voice in the shrill, hoarse, monotonous madness of hysteria, sat down + on the floor, and rocked back and forth in the throes of an abysmal grief. + </p> + <p> + Willie's silent weeping turned to noise, and the two little girls, with + the fresh ribbons in their hair, joined him. Tom's face was drawn and + white, though the smitten cheek still blazed, and Saxon wanted to put her + arms comfortingly around him, yet dared not. He bent over his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Sarah, you ain't feelin' well. Let me put you to bed, and I'll finish + tidying up.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't touch me!—don't touch me!” she screamed, jerking violently + away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Take the children out in the yard, Tom, for a walk, anything—get + them away,” Saxon said. She was sick, and white, and trembling. “Go, Tom, + please, please. There's your hat. I'll take care of her. I know just how.” + </p> + <p> + Left to herself, Saxon worked with frantic haste, assuming the calm she + did not possess, but which she must impart to the screaming bedlamite upon + the floor. The light frame house leaked the noise hideously, and Saxon + knew that the houses on either side were hearing, and the street itself + and the houses across the street. Her fear was that Billy should arrive in + the midst of it. Further, she was incensed, violated. Every fiber + rebelled, almost in a nausea; yet she maintained cool control and stroked + Sarah's forehead and hair with slow, soothing movements. Soon, with one + arm around her, she managed to win the first diminution in the strident, + atrocious, unceasing scream. A few minutes later, sobbing heavily, the + elder woman lay in bed, across her forehead and eyes a wet-pack of towel + for easement of the headache she and Saxon tacitly accepted as substitute + for the brain-storm. + </p> + <p> + When a clatter of hoofs came down the street and stopped, Saxon was able + to slip to the front door and wave her hand to Billy. In the kitchen she + found Tom waiting in sad anxiousness. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” she said. “Billy Roberts has come, and I've got to go. + You go in and sit beside her for a while, and maybe she'll go to sleep. + But don't rush her. Let her have her own way. If she'll let you take her + hand, why do it. Try it, anyway. But first of all, as an opener and just + as a matter of course, start wetting the towel over her eyes.” + </p> + <p> + He was a kindly, easy-going man; but, after the way of a large percentage + of the Western stock, he was undemonstrative. He nodded, turned toward the + door to obey, and paused irresolutely. The look he gave back to Saxon was + almost dog-like in gratitude and all-brotherly in love. She felt it, and + in spirit leapt toward it. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right—everything's all right,” she cried hastily. + </p> + <p> + Tom shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No, it ain't. It's a shame, a blamed shame, that's what it is.” He + shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I don't care for myself. But it's for you. + You got your life before you yet, little kid sister. You'll get old, and + all that means, fast enough. But it's a bad start for a day off. The thing + for you to do is to forget all this, and skin out with your fellow, an' + have a good time.” In the open door, his hand on the knob to close it + after him, he halted a second time. A spasm contracted his brow. “Hell! + Think of it! Sarah and I used to go buggy-riding once on a time. And I + guess she had her three pairs of shoes, too. Can you beat it?” + </p> + <p> + In her bedroom Saxon completed her dressing, for an instant stepping upon + a chair so as to glimpse critically in the small wall-mirror the hang of + her ready-made linen skirt. This, and the jacket, she had altered to fit, + and she had double-stitched the seams to achieve the coveted tailored + effect. Still on the chair, all in the moment of quick clear-seeing, she + drew the skirt tightly back and raised it. The sight was good to her, nor + did she under-appraise the lines of the slender ankle above the low tan + tie nor did she under-appraise the delicate yet mature swell of calf + outlined in the fresh brown of a new cotton stocking. Down from the chair, + she pinned on a firm sailor hat of white straw with a brown ribbon around + the crown that matched her ribbon belt. She rubbed her cheeks quickly and + fiercely to bring back the color Sarah had driven out of them, and delayed + a moment longer to put on her tan lisle-thread gloves. Once, in the + fashion-page of a Sunday supplement, she had read that no lady ever put on + her gloves after she left the door. + </p> + <p> + With a resolute self-grip, as she crossed the parlor and passed the door + to Sarah's bedroom, through the thin wood of which came elephantine + moanings and low slubberings, she steeled herself to keep the color in her + cheeks and the brightness in her eyes. And so well did she succeed that + Billy never dreamed that the radiant, live young thing, tripping lightly + down the steps to him, had just come from a bout with soul-sickening + hysteria and madness. + </p> + <p> + To her, in the bright sun, Billy's blondness was startling. His cheeks, + smooth as a girl's, were touched with color. The blue eyes seemed more + cloudily blue than usual, and the crisp, sandy hair hinted more than ever + of the pale straw-gold that was not there. Never had she seen him quite so + royally young. As he smiled to greet her, with a slow white flash of teeth + from between red lips, she caught again the promise of easement and rest. + Fresh from the shattering chaos of her sister-in-law's mind, Billy's + tremendous calm was especially satisfying, and Saxon mentally laughed to + scorn the terrible temper he had charged to himself. + </p> + <p> + She had been buggy-riding before, but always behind one horse, jaded, and + livery, in a top-buggy, heavy and dingy, such as livery stables rent + because of sturdy unbreakableness. But here stood two horses, head-tossing + and restless, shouting in every high-light glint of their satin, + golden-sorrel coats that they had never been rented out in all their + glorious young lives. Between them was a pole inconceivably slender, on + them were harnesses preposterously string-like and fragile. And Billy + belonged here, by elemental right, a part of them and of it, a master-part + and a component, along with the spidery-delicate, narrow-boxed, wide- and + yellow-wheeled, rubber-tired rig, efficient and capable, as different as + he was different from the other man who had taken her out behind stolid, + lumbering horses. He held the reins in one hand, yet, with low, steady + voice, confident and assuring, held the nervous young animals more by the + will and the spirit of him. + </p> + <p> + It was no time for lingering. With the quick glance and fore-knowledge of + a woman, Saxon saw, not merely the curious children clustering about, but + the peering of adult faces from open doors and windows, and past + window-shades lifted up or held aside. With his free hand, Billy drew back + the linen robe and helped her to a place beside him. The high-backed, + luxuriously upholstered seat of brown leather gave her a sense of great + comfort; yet even greater, it seemed to her, was the nearness and comfort + of the man himself and of his body. + </p> + <p> + “How d'ye like 'em?” he asked, changing the reins to both hands and + chirruping the horses, which went out with a jerk in an immediacy of + action that was new to her. “They're the boss's, you know. Couldn't rent + animals like them. He lets me take them out for exercise sometimes. If + they ain't exercised regular they're a handful.—Look at King, there, + prancin'. Some style, eh? Some style! The other one's the real goods, + though. Prince is his name. Got to have some bit on him to hold'm.—Ah! + Would you?—Did you see'm, Saxon? Some horse! Some horse!” + </p> + <p> + From behind came the admiring cheer of the neighborhood children, and + Saxon, with a sigh of content, knew that the happy day had at last begun. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + “I don't know horses,” Saxon said. “I've never been on one's back, and the + only ones I've tried to drive were single, and lame, or almost falling + down, or something. But I'm not afraid of horses. I just love them. I was + born loving them, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + Billy threw an admiring, appreciative glance at her. + </p> + <p> + “That's the stuff. That's what I like in a woman—grit. Some of the + girls I've had out—well, take it from me, they made me sick. Oh, I'm + hep to 'em. Nervous, an' trembly, an' screechy, an' wabbly. I reckon they + come out on my account an' not for the ponies. But me for the brave kid + that likes the ponies. You're the real goods, Saxon, honest to God you + are. Why, I can talk like a streak with you. The rest of 'em make me sick. + I'm like a clam. They don't know nothin', an' they're that scared all the + time—well, I guess you get me.” + </p> + <p> + “You have to be born to love horses, maybe,” she answered. “Maybe it's + because I always think of my father on his roan war-horse that makes me + love horses. But, anyway, I do. When I was a little girl I was drawing + horses all the time. My mother always encouraged me. I've a scrapbook + mostly filled with horses I drew when I was little. Do you know, Billy, + sometimes I dream I actually own a horse, all my own. And lots of times I + dream I'm on a horse's back, or driving him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll let you drive 'em, after a while, when they've worked their edge + off. They're pullin' now.—There, put your hands in front of mine—take + hold tight. Feel that? Sure you feel it. An' you ain't feelin' it all by a + long shot. I don't dast slack, you bein' such a lightweight.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes sparkled as she felt the apportioned pull of the mouths of the + beautiful, live things; and he, looking at her, sparkled with her in her + delight. + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of a woman if she can't keep up with a man?” he broke out + enthusiastically. + </p> + <p> + “People that like the same things always get along best together,” she + answered, with a triteness that concealed the joy that was hers at being + so spontaneously in touch with him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Saxon, I've fought battles, good ones, frazzlin' my silk away to + beat the band before whisky-soaked, smokin' audiences of rotten + fight-fans, that just made me sick clean through. An' them, that couldn't + take just one stiff jolt or hook to jaw or stomach, a-cheerin' me an' + yellin' for blood. Blood, mind you! An' them without the blood of a shrimp + in their bodies. Why, honest, now, I'd sooner fight before an audience of + one—you for instance, or anybody I liked. It'd do me proud. But them + sickenin', sap-headed stiffs, with the grit of rabbits and the silk of + mangy ky-yi's, a-cheerin' me—ME! Can you blame me for quittin' the + dirty game?—Why, I'd sooner fight before broke-down old plugs of + work-horses that's candidates for chicken-meat, than before them rotten + bunches of stiffs with nothin' thicker'n water in their veins, an' Contra + Costa water at that when the rains is heavy on the hills.” + </p> + <p> + “I... I didn't know prizefighting was like that,” she faltered, as she + released her hold on the lines and sank back again beside him. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't the fightin', it's the fight-crowds,” he defended with instant + jealousy. “Of course, fightin' hurts a young fellow because it frazzles + the silk outa him an' all that. But it's the low-lifers in the audience + that gets me. Why the good things they say to me, the praise an' that, is + insulting. Do you get me? It makes me cheap. Think of it—booze-guzzlin' + stiffs that 'd be afraid to mix it with a sick cat, not fit to hold the + coat of any decent man, think of them a-standin' up on their hind legs an' + yellin' an' cheerin' me—ME!” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha! What d'ye think of that? Ain't he a rogue?” + </p> + <p> + A big bulldog, sliding obliquely and silently across the street, + unconcerned with the team he was avoiding, had passed so close that + Prince, baring his teeth like a stallion, plunged his head down against + reins and check in an effort to seize the dog. + </p> + <p> + “Now he's some fighter, that Prince. An' he's natural. He didn't make that + reach just for some low-lifer to yell'm on. He just done it outa pure + cussedness and himself. That's clean. That's right. Because it's natural. + But them fight-fans! Honest to God, Saxon....” + </p> + <p> + And Saxon, glimpsing him sidewise, as he watched the horses and their way + on the Sunday morning streets, checking them back suddenly and swerving to + avoid two boys coasting across street on a toy wagon, saw in him deeps and + intensities, all the magic connotations of temperament, the glimmer and + hint of rages profound, bleaknesses as cold and far as the stars, savagery + as keen as a wolf's and clean as a stallion's, wrath as implacable as a + destroying angel's, and youth that was fire and life beyond time and + place. She was awed and fascinated, with the hunger of woman bridging the + vastness to him, daring to love him with arms and breast that ached to + him, murmuring to herself and through all the halls of her soul, “You + dear, you dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Honest to God, Saxon,” he took up the broken thread, “they's times when + I've hated them, when I wanted to jump over the ropes and wade into them, + knock-down and drag-out, an' show'm what fightin' was. Take that night + with Billy Murphy. Billy Murphy!—if you only knew him. My friend. As + clean an' game a boy as ever jumped inside the ropes to take the decision. + Him! We went to the Durant School together. We grew up chums. His fight + was my fight. My trouble was his trouble. We both took to the fightin' + game. They matched us. Not the first time. Twice we'd fought draws. Once + the decision was his; once it was mine. The fifth fight of two lovin' men + that just loved each other. He's three years older'n me. He's a wife and + two or three kids, an' I know them, too. And he's my friend. Get it? + </p> + <p> + “I'm ten pounds heavier—but with heavyweights that 's all right. He + can't time an' distance as good as me, an' I can keep set better, too. But + he's cleverer an' quicker. I never was quick like him. We both can take + punishment, an' we're both two-handed, a wallop in all our fists. I know + the kick of his, an' he knows my kick, an' we're both real respectful. And + we're even-matched. Two draws, and a decision to each. Honest, I ain't any + kind of a hunch who's goin' to win, we're that even. + </p> + <p> + “Now, the fight.—You ain't squeamish, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she cried. “I'd just love to hear—you are so wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + He took the praise with a clear, unwavering look, and without hint of + acknowledgment. + </p> + <p> + “We go along—six rounds—seven rounds—eight rounds; an' + honors even. I've been timin' his rushes an' straight-leftin' him, an' + meetin' his duck with a wicked little right upper-cut, an' he's shaken me + on the jaw an' walloped my ears till my head's all singin' an' buzzin'. + An' everything lovely with both of us, with a noise like a draw decision + in sight. Twenty rounds is the distance, you know. + </p> + <p> + “An' then his bad luck comes. We're just mixin' into a clinch that ain't + arrived yet, when he shoots a short hook to my head—his left, an' a + real hay-maker if it reaches my jaw. I make a forward duck, not quick + enough, an' he lands bingo on the side of my head. Honest to God, Saxon, + it's that heavy I see some stars. But it don't hurt an' ain't serious, + that high up where the bone's thick. An' right there he finishes himself, + for his bad thumb, which I've known since he first got it as a kid + fightin' in the sandlot at Watts Tract—he smashes that thumb right + there, on my hard head, back into the socket with an out-twist, an' all + the old cords that'd never got strong gets theirs again. I didn't mean it. + A dirty trick, fair in the game, though, to make a guy smash his hand on + your head. But not between friends. I couldn't a-done that to Bill Murphy + for a million dollars. It was a accident, just because I was slow, because + I was born slow. + </p> + <p> + “The hurt of it! Honest, Saxon, you don't know what hurt is till you've + got a old hurt like that hurt again. What can Billy Murphy do but slow + down? He's got to. He ain't fightin' two-handed any more. He knows it; I + know it; The referee knows it; but nobody else. He goes on a-moving that + left of his like it's all right. But it ain't. It's hurtin' him like a + knife dug into him. He don't dast strike a real blow with that left of + his. But it hurts, anyway. Just to move it or not move it hurts, an' every + little dab-feint that I'm too wise to guard, knowin' there's no weight + behind, why them little dab-touches on that poor thumb goes right to the + heart of him, an' hurts worse than a thousand boils or a thousand + knockouts—just hurts all over again, an' worse, each time an' touch. + </p> + <p> + “Now suppose he an' me was boxin' for fun, out in the back yard, an' he + hurts his thumb that way, why we'd have the gloves off in a jiffy an' I'd + be putting cold compresses on that poor thumb of his an' bandagin' it that + tight to keep the inflammation down. But no. This is a fight for + fight-fans that's paid their admission for blood, an' blood they're goin' + to get. They ain't men. They're wolves. + </p> + <p> + “He has to go easy, now, an' I ain't a-forcin' him none. I'm all shot to + pieces. I don't know what to do. So I slow down, an' the fans get hep to + it. 'Why don't you fight?' they begin to yell; 'Fake! Fake!' 'Why don't + you kiss'm?' 'Lovin' cup for yours, Bill Roberts!' an' that sort of bunk. + </p> + <p> + “'Fight!' says the referee to me, low an' savage. 'Fight, or I'll + disqualify you—you, Bill, I mean you.' An' this to me, with a touch + on the shoulder so they's no mistakin'. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't pretty. It ain't right. D'ye know what we was fightin' for? A + hundred bucks. Think of it! An' the game is we got to do our best to put + our man down for the count because of the fans has bet on us. Sweet, ain't + it? Well, that's my last fight. It finishes me deado. Never again for + yours truly. + </p> + <p> + “'Quit,' I says to Billy Murphy in a clinch; 'for the love of God, Bill, + quit.' An' he says back, in a whisper, 'I can't, Bill—you know + that.' + </p> + <p> + “An' then the referee drags us apart, an' a lot of the fans begins to hoot + an' boo. + </p> + <p> + “'Now kick in, damn you, Bill Roberts, an' finish'm' the referee says to + me, an' I tell'm to go to hell as Bill an' me flop into the next clinch, + not hittin', an' Bill touches his thumb again, an' I see the pain shoot + across his face. Game? That good boy's the limit. An' to look into the + eyes of a brave man that's sick with pain, an' love 'm, an' see love in + them eyes of his, an' then have to go on givin' 'm pain—call that + sport? I can't see it. But the crowd's got its money on us. We don't + count. We've sold ourselves for a hundred bucks, an' we gotta deliver the + goods. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you, Saxon, honest to God, that was one of the times I wanted + to go through the ropes an' drop them fans a-yellin' for blood an' show + 'em what blood is. + </p> + <p> + “'For God's sake finish me, Bill,' Bill says to me in that clinch; 'put + her over an' I'll fall for it, but I can't lay down.' + </p> + <p> + “D'ye want to know? I cry there, right in the ring, in that clinch. The + weeps for me. 'I can't do it, Bill,' I whisper back, hangin' onto'm like a + brother an' the referee ragin' an' draggin' at us to get us apart, an' all + the wolves in the house snarlin'. + </p> + <p> + “'You got 'm!' the audience is yellin'. 'Go in an' finish 'm!' 'The hay + for him, Bill; put her across to the jaw an' see 'm fall!' + </p> + <p> + “'You got to, Bill, or you're a dog,' Bill says, lookin' love at me in his + eyes as the referee's grip untangles us clear. + </p> + <p> + “An' them wolves of fans yellin': 'Fake! Fake! Fake!' like that, an' + keepin' it up. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I done it. They's only that way out. I done it. By God, I done it. + I had to. I feint for 'm, draw his left, duck to the right past it, takin' + it across my shoulder, an come up with my right to his jaw. An' he knows + the trick. He's hep. He's beaten me to it an' blocked it with his shoulder + a thousan' times. But this time he don't. He keeps himself wide open on + purpose. Blim! It lands. He's dead in the air, an' he goes down sideways, + strikin' his face first on the rosin-canvas an' then layin' dead, his head + twisted under 'm till you'd a-thought his neck was broke. ME—I did + that for a hundred bucks an' a bunch of stiffs I'd be ashamed to wipe my + feet on. An' then I pick Bill up in my arms an' carry'm to his corner, an' + help bring'm around. Well, they ain't no kick comin'. They pay their money + an' they get their blood, an' a knockout. An' a better man than them, that + I love, layin' there dead to the world with a skinned face on the mat.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment he was still, gazing straight before him at the horses, his + face hard and angry. He sighed, looked at Saxon, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “An' I quit the game right there. An' Billy Murphy's laughed at me for it. + He still follows it. A side-line, you know, because he works at a good + trade. But once in a while, when the house needs paintin', or the doctor + bills are up, or his oldest kid wants a bicycle, he jumps out an' makes + fifty or a hundred bucks before some of the clubs. I want you to meet him + when it comes handy. He's some boy I'm tellin' you. But it did make me + sick that night.” + </p> + <p> + Again the harshness and anger were in his face, and Saxon amazed herself + by doing unconsciously what women higher in the social scale have done + with deliberate sincerity. Her hand went out impulsively to his holding + the lines, resting on top of it for a moment with quick, firm pressure. + Her reward was a smile from lips and eyes, as his face turned toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Gee!” he exclaimed. “I never talk a streak like this to anybody. I just + hold my hush an' keep my thinks to myself. But, somehow, I guess it's + funny, I kind of have a feelin' I want to make good with you. An' that's + why I'm tellin' you my thinks. Anybody can dance.” + </p> + <p> + The way led uptown, past the City Hall and the Fourteenth Street + skyscrapers, and out Broadway to Mountain View. Turning to the right at + the cemetery, they climbed the Piedmont Heights to Blair Park and plunged + into the green coolness of Jack Hayes Canyon. Saxon could not suppress her + surprise and joy at the quickness with which they covered the ground. + </p> + <p> + “They are beautiful,” she said. “I never dreamed I'd ever ride behind + horses like them. I'm afraid I'll wake up now and find it's a dream. You + know, I dream horses all the time. I'd give anything to own one some + time.” + </p> + <p> + “It's funny, ain't it?” Billy answered. “I like horses that way. The boss + says I'm a wooz at horses. An' I know he's a dub. He don't know the first + thing. An' yet he owns two hundred big heavy draughts besides this light + drivin' pair, an' I don't own one.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet God makes the horses,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + “It's a sure thing the boss don't. Then how does he have so many?—two + hundred of 'em, I'm tellin' you. He thinks he likes horses. Honest to God, + Saxon, he don't like all his horses as much as I like the last hair on the + last tail of the scrubbiest of the bunch. Yet they're his. Wouldn't it jar + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it?” Saxon laughed appreciatively. “I just love fancy + shirtwaists, an' I spent my life ironing some of the beautifullest I've + ever seen. It's funny, an' it isn't fair.” + </p> + <p> + Billy gritted his teeth in another of his rages. + </p> + <p> + “An' the way some of them women gets their shirtwaists. It makes me sick, + thinkin' of you ironin' 'em. You know what I mean, Saxon. They ain't no + use wastin' words over it. You know. I know. Everybody knows. An' it's a + hell of a world if men an' women sometimes can't talk to each other about + such things.” His manner was almost apologetic yet it was defiantly and + assertively right. “I never talk this way to other girls. They'd think I'm + workin up to designs on 'em. They make me sick the way they're always + lookin' for them designs. But you're different. I can talk to you that way. + I know I've got to. It's the square thing. You're like Billy Murphy, or + any other man a man can talk to.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed with a great happiness, and looked at him with unconscious, + love-shining eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It's the same way with me,” she said. “The fellows I've run with I've + never dared let talk about such things, because I knew they'd take + advantage of it. Why, all the time, with them, I've a feeling that we're + cheating and lying to each other, playing a game like at a masquerade + ball.” She paused for a moment, hesitant and debating, then went on in a + queer low voice. “I haven't been asleep. I've seen... and heard. I've had + my chances, when I was that tired of the laundry I'd have done almost + anything. I could have got those fancy shirtwaists... an' all the rest... + and maybe a horse to ride. There was a bank cashier... married, too, if + you please. He talked to me straight out. I didn't count, you know. I + wasn't a girl, with a girl's feelings, or anything. I was nobody. It was + just like a business talk. I learned about men from him. He told me what + he'd do. He...” + </p> + <p> + Her voice died away in sadness, and in the silence she could hear Billy + grit his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “You can't tell me,” he cried. “I know. It's a dirty world—an + unfair, lousy world. I can't make it out. They's no squareness in it.—Women, + with the best that's in 'em, bought an' sold like horses. I don't + understand women that way. I don't understand men that way. I can't see + how a man gets anything but cheated when he buys such things. It's funny, + ain't it? Take my boss an' his horses. He owns women, too. He might + a-owned you, just because he's got the price. An', Saxon, you was made for + fancy shirtwaists an' all that, but, honest to God, I can't see you payin' + for them that way. It'd be a crime—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off abruptly and reined in the horses. Around a sharp turn, + speeding down the grade upon them, had appeared an automobile. With + slamming of brakes it was brought to a stop, while the faces of the + occupants took new lease of interest of life and stared at the young man + and woman in the light rig that barred the way. Billy held up his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Take the outside, sport,” he said to the chauffeur. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' doin', kiddo,” came the answer, as the chauffeur measured with + hard, wise eyes the crumbling edge of the road and the downfall of the + outside bank. + </p> + <p> + “Then we camp,” Billy announced cheerfully. “I know the rules of the road. + These animals ain't automobile broke altogether, an' if you think I'm + goin' to have 'em shy off the grade you got another guess comin'.” + </p> + <p> + A confusion of injured protestation arose from those that sat in the car. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be a road-hog because you're a Rube,” said the chauffeur. “We + ain't a-goin' to hurt your horses. Pull out so we can pass. If you + don't...” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do you, sport,” was Billy's retort. “You can't talk that way to + yours truly. I got your number an' your tag, my son. You're standin' on + your foot. Back up the grade an' get off of it. Stop on the outside at the + first psssin'-place an' we'll pass you. You've got the juice. Throw on the + reverse.” + </p> + <p> + After a nervous consultation, the chauffeur obeyed, and the car backed up + the hill and out of sight around the turn. + </p> + <p> + “Them cheap skates,” Billy sneered to Saxon, “with a couple of gallons of + gasoline an' the price of a machine a-thinkin' they own the roads your + folks an' my folks made.” + </p> + <p> + “Talkin' all night about it?” came the chauffeur's voice from around the + bend. “Get a move on. You can pass.” + </p> + <p> + “Get off your foot,” Billy retorted contemptuously. “I'm a-comin' when I'm + ready to come, an' if you ain't given room enough I'll go clean over you + an' your load of chicken meat.” + </p> + <p> + He slightly slacked the reins on the restless, head-tossing animals, and + without need of chirrup they took the weight of the light vehicle and + passed up the hill and apprehensively on the inside of the purring + machine. + </p> + <p> + “Where was we?” Billy queried, as the clear road showed in front. “Yep, + take my boss. Why should he own two hundred horses, an' women, an' the + rest, an' you an' me own nothin'?” + </p> + <p> + “You own your silk, Billy,” she said softly. + </p> + <p> + “An' you yours. Yet we sell it to 'em like it was cloth across the counter + at so much a yard. I guess you're hep to what a few more years in the + laundry'll do to you. Take me. I'm sellin' my silk slow every day I work. + See that little finger?” He shifted the reins to one hand for a moment and + held up the free hand for inspection. “I can't straighten it like the + others, an' it's growin'. I never put it out fightin'. The teamin's done + it. That's silk gone across the counter, that's all. Ever see a old + four-horse teamster's hands? They look like claws they're that crippled + an' twisted.” + </p> + <p> + “Things weren't like that in the old days when our folks crossed the + plains,” she answered. “They might a-got their fingers twisted, but they + owned the best goin' in the way of horses and such.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. They worked for themselves. They twisted their fingers for + themselves. But I'm twistin' my fingers for my boss. Why, d'ye know, + Saxon, his hands is soft as a woman's that's never done any work. Yet he + owns the horses an' the stables, an' never does a tap of work, an' I + manage to scratch my meal-ticket an' my clothes. It's got my goat the way + things is run. An' who runs 'em that way? That's what I want to know. + Times has changed. Who changed 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “God didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet your life he didn't. An' that's another thing that gets me. Who's + God anyway? If he's runnin' things—an' what good is he if he ain't?—then + why does he let my boss, an' men like that cashier you mentioned, why does + he let them own the horses, an' buy the women, the nice little girls that + oughta be lovin' their own husbands, an' havin' children they're not + ashamed of, an' just bein' happy accordin' to their nature?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + The horses, resting frequently and lathered by the work, had climbed the + steep grade of the old road to Moraga Valley, and on the divide of the + Contra Costa hills the way descended sharply through the green and sunny + stillness of Redwood Canyon. + </p> + <p> + “Say, ain't it swell?” Billy queried, with a wave of his hand indicating + the circled tree-groups, the trickle of unseen water, and the summer hum + of bees. + </p> + <p> + “I love it,” Saxon affirmed. “It makes me want to live in the country, and + I never have.” + </p> + <p> + “Me, too, Saxon. I've never lived in the country in my life—an' all + my folks was country folks.” + </p> + <p> + “No cities then. Everybody lived in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you're right,” he nodded. “They just had to live in the country.” + </p> + <p> + There was no brake on the light carriage, and Billy became absorbed in + managing his team down the steep, winding road. Saxon leaned back, eyes + closed, with a feeling of ineffable rest. Time and again he shot glances + at her closed eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” he asked finally, in mild alarm. “You ain't sick?” + </p> + <p> + “It's so beautiful I'm afraid to look,” she answered. “It's so brave it + hurts.” + </p> + <p> + “BRAVE?—now that's funny.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it? But it just makes me feel that way. It's brave. Now the houses + and streets and things in the city aren't brave. But this is. I don't know + why. It just is.” + </p> + <p> + “By golly, I think you're right,” he exclaimed. “It strikes me that way, + now you speak of it. They ain't no games or tricks here, no cheatin' an' + no lyin'. Them trees just stand up natural an' strong an' clean like young + boys their first time in the ring before they've learned its rottenness + an' how to double-cross an' lay down to the bettin' odds an' the + fight-fans. Yep; it is brave. Say, Saxon, you see things, don't you?” His + pause was almost wistful, and he looked at her and studied her with a + caressing softness that ran through her in resurgent thrills. “D'ye know, + I'd just like you to see me fight some time—a real fight, with + something doin' every moment. I'd be proud to death to do it for you. An' + I'd sure fight some with you lookin' on an' understandin'. That'd be a + fight what is, take it from me. An' that's funny, too. I never wanted to + fight before a woman in my life. They squeal and screech an' don't + understand. But you'd understand. It's dead open an' shut you would.” + </p> + <p> + A little later, swinging along the flat of the valley, through the little + clearings of the farmers and the ripe grain-stretches golden in the + sunshine, Billy turned to Saxon again. + </p> + <p> + “Say, you've ben in love with fellows, lots of times. Tell me about it. + What's it like?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I only thought I was in love—and not many times, either—” + </p> + <p> + “Many times!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Not really ever,” she assured him, secretly exultant at his unconscious + jealousy. “I never was really in love. If I had been I'd be married now. + You see, I couldn't see anything else to it but to marry a man if I loved + him.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose he didn't love you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” she smiled, half with facetiousness and half with + certainty and pride. “I think I could make him love me.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you sure could,” Billy proclaimed enthusiastically. + </p> + <p> + “The trouble is,” she went on, “the men that loved me I never cared for + that way.—Oh, look!” + </p> + <p> + A cottontail rabbit had scuttled across the road, and a tiny dust cloud + lingered like smoke, marking the way of his flight. At the next turn a + dozen quail exploded into the air from under the noses of the horses. + Billy and Saxon exclaimed in mutual delight. + </p> + <p> + “Gee,” he muttered, “I almost wisht I'd ben born a farmer. Folks wasn't + made to live in cities.” + </p> + <p> + “Not our kind, at least,” she agreed. Followed a pause and a long sigh. + “It's all so beautiful. It would be a dream just to live all your life in + it. I'd like to be an Indian squaw sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Several times Billy checked himself on the verge of speech. + </p> + <p> + “About those fellows you thought you was in love with,” he said finally. + “You ain't told me, yet.” + </p> + <p> + “You want to know?” she asked. “They didn't amount to anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I want to know. Go ahead. Fire away.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, first there was Al Stanley—” + </p> + <p> + “What did he do for a livin'?” Billy demanded, almost as with authority. + </p> + <p> + “He was a gambler.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's face abruptly stiffened, and she could see his eyes cloudy with + doubt in the quick glance he flung at her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was all right,” she laughed. “I was only eight years old. You see, + I'm beginning at the beginning. It was after my mother died and when I was + adopted by Cady. He kept a hotel and saloon. It was down in Los Angeles. + Just a small hotel. Workingmen, just common laborers, mostly, and some + railroad men, stopped at it, and I guess Al Stanley got his share of their + wages. He was so handsome and so quiet and soft-spoken. And he had the + nicest eyes and the softest, cleanest hands. I can see them now. He played + with me sometimes, in the afternoon, and gave me candy and little + presents. He used to sleep most of the day. I didn't know why, then. I + thought he was a fairy prince in disguise. And then he got killed, right + in the bar-room, but first he killed the man that killed him. So that was + the end of that love affair. + </p> + <p> + “Next was after the asylum, when I was thirteen and living with my brother—I've + lived with him ever since. He was a boy that drove a bakery wagon. Almost + every morning, on the way to school, I used to pass him. He would come + driving down Wood Street and turn in on Twelfth. Maybe it was because he + drove a horse that attracted me. Anyway, I must have loved him for a + couple of months. Then he lost his job, or something, for another boy + drove the wagon. And we'd never even spoken to each other. + </p> + <p> + “Then there was a bookkeeper when I was sixteen. I seem to run to + bookkeepers. It was a bookkeeper at the laundry that Charley Long beat up. + This other one was when I was working in Hickmeyer's Cannery. He had soft + hands, too. But I quickly got all I wanted of him. He was... well, anyway, + he had ideas like your boss. And I never really did love him, truly and + honest, Billy. I felt from the first that he wasn't just right. And when I + was working in the paper-box factory I thought I loved a clerk in Kahn's + Emporium—you know, on Eleventh and Washington. He was all right. + That was the trouble with him. He was too much all right. He didn't have + any life in him, any go. He wanted to marry me, though. But somehow I + couldn't see it. That shows I didn't love him. He was narrow-chested and + skinny, and his hands were always cold and fishy. But my! he could dress—just + like he came out of a bandbox. He said he was going to drown himself, and + all kinds of things, but I broke with him just the same. + </p> + <p> + “And after that... well, there isn't any after that. I must have got + particular, I guess, but I didn't see anybody I could love. It seemed more + like a game with the men I met, or a fight. And we never fought fair on + either side. Seemed as if we always had cards up our sleeves. We weren't + honest or outspoken, but instead it seemed as if we were trying to take + advantage of each other. Charley Long was honest, though. And so was that + bank cashier. And even they made me have the fight feeling harder than + ever. All of them always made me feel I had to take care of myself. They + wouldn't. That was sure.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped and looked with interest at the clean profile of his face as + he watched and guided the horses. He looked at her inquiringly, and her + eyes laughed lazily into his as she stretched her arms. + </p> + <p> + “That's all,” she concluded. “I've told you everything, which I've never + done before to any one. And it's your turn now.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much of a turn, Saxon. I've never cared for girls—that is, not + enough to want to marry 'em. I always liked men better—fellows like + Billy Murphy. Besides, I guess I was too interested in trainin' an' + fightin' to bother with women much. Why, Saxon, honest, while I ain't ben + altogether good—you understand what I mean—just the same I + ain't never talked love to a girl in my life. They was no call to.” + </p> + <p> + “The girls have loved you just the same,” she teased, while in her heart + was a curious elation at his virginal confession. + </p> + <p> + He devoted himself to the horses. + </p> + <p> + “Lots of them,” she urged. + </p> + <p> + Still he did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “Now, haven't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it wasn't my fault,” he said slowly. “If they wanted to look + sideways at me it was up to them. And it was up to me to sidestep if I + wanted to, wasn't it? You've no idea, Saxon, how a prizefighter is run + after. Why, sometimes it's seemed to me that girls an' women ain't got an + ounce of natural shame in their make-up. Oh, I was never afraid of them, + believe muh, but I didn't hanker after 'em. A man's a fool that'd let them + kind get his goat. +“ </p> + <p> + “Maybe you haven't got love in you,” she challenged. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I haven't,” was his discouraging reply. “Anyway, I don't see myself + lovin' a girl that runs after me. It's all right for Charley-boys, but a + man that is a man don't like bein' chased by women.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother always said that love was the greatest thing in the world,” + Saxon argued. “She wrote poems about it, too. Some of them were published + in the San Jose Mercury.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” she baffled, meeting his eyes with another lazy smile. + “All I know is it's pretty good to be alive a day like this.” + </p> + <p> + “On a trip like this—you bet it is,” he added promptly. + </p> + <p> + At one o'clock Billy turned off the road and drove into an open space + among the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Here's where we eat,” he announced. “I thought it'd be better to have a + lunch by ourselves than stop at one of these roadside dinner counters. An' + now, just to make everything safe an' comfortable, I'm goin' to unharness + the horses. We got lots of time. You can get the lunch basket out an' + spread it on the lap-robe.” + </p> + <p> + As Saxon unpacked the basket she was appalled at his extravagance. She + spread an amazing array of ham and chicken sandwiches, crab salad, + hard-boiled eggs, pickled pigs' feet, ripe olives and dill pickles, Swiss + cheese, salted almonds, oranges and bananas, and several pint bottles of + beer. It was the quantity as well as the variety that bothered her. It had + the appearance of a reckless attempt to buy out a whole delicatessen shop. + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn't to blow yourself that way,” she reproved him as he sat down + beside her. “Why it's enough for half a dozen bricklayers.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she acknowledged. “But that's the trouble. It's too much so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's all right,” he concluded. “I always believe in havin' plenty. + Have some beer to wash the dust away before we begin? Watch out for the + glasses. I gotta return them.” + </p> + <p> + Later, the meal finished, he lay on his back, smoking a cigarette, and + questioned her about her earlier history. She had been telling him of her + life in her brother's house, where she paid four dollars and a half a week + board. At fifteen she had graduated from grammar school and gone to work + in the jute mills for four dollars a week, three of which she had paid to + Sarah. + </p> + <p> + “How about that saloonkeeper?” Billy asked. “How come it he adopted you?” + </p> + <p> + She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know, except that all my relatives + were hard up. It seemed they just couldn't get on. They managed to scratch + a lean living for themselves, and that was all. Cady—he was the + saloonkeeper—had been a soldier in my father's company, and he + always swore by Captain Kit, which was their nickname for him. My father + had kept the surgeons from amputating his leg in the war, and he never + forgot it. He was making money in the hotel and saloon, and I found out + afterward he helped out a lot to pay the doctors and to bury my mother + alongside of father. I was to go to Uncle Will—that was my mother's + wish; but there had been fighting up in the Ventura Mountains where his + ranch was, and men had been killed. It was about fences and cattlemen or + something, and anyway he was in jail a long time, and when he got his + freedom the lawyers had got his ranch. He was an old man, then, and + broken, and his wife took sick, and he got a job as night watchman for + forty dollars a month. So he couldn't do anything for me, and Cady adopted + me. + </p> + <p> + “Cady was a good man, if he did run a saloon. His wife was a big, + handsome-looking woman. I don't think she was all right... and I've heard + so since. But she was good to me. I don't care what they say about her, or + what she was. She was awful good to me. After he died, she went altogether + bad, and so I went into the orphan asylum. It wasn't any too good there, + and I had three years of it. And then Tom had married and settled down to + steady work, and he took me out to live with him. And—well, I've + been working pretty steady ever since.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed sadly away across the fields until her eyes came to rest on a + fence bright-splashed with poppies at its base. Billy, who from his supine + position had been looking up at her, studying and pleasuring in the + pointed oval of her woman's face, reached his hand out slowly as he + murmured: + </p> + <p> + “You poor little kid.” + </p> + <p> + His hand closed sympathetically on her bare forearm, and as she looked + down to greet his eyes she saw in them surprise and delight. + </p> + <p> + “Say, ain't your skin cool though,” he said. “Now me, I'm always warm. + Feel my hand.” + </p> + <p> + It was warmly moist, and she noted microscopic beads of sweat on his + forehead and clean-shaven upper lip. + </p> + <p> + “My, but you are sweaty.” + </p> + <p> + She bent to him and with her handkerchief dabbed his lip and forehead dry, + then dried his palms. + </p> + <p> + “I breathe through my skin, I guess,” he explained. “The wise guys in the + trainin' camps and gyms say it's a good sign for health. But somehow I'm + sweatin' more than usual now. Funny, ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + She had been forced to unclasp his hand from her arm in order to dry it, + and when she finished, it returned to its old position. + </p> + <p> + “But, say, ain't your skin cool,” he repeated with renewed wonder. “Soft + as velvet, too, an' smooth as silk. It feels great.” + </p> + <p> + Gently explorative, he slid his hand from wrist to elbow and came to rest + half way back. Tired and languid from the morning in the sun, she found + herself thrilling to his touch and half-dreamily deciding that here was a + man she could love, hands and all. + </p> + <p> + “Now I've taken the cool all out of that spot.” He did not look up to her, + and she could see the roguish smile that curled on his lips. “So I guess + I'll try another.” + </p> + <p> + He shifted his hand along her arm with soft sensuousness, and she, looking + down at his lips, remembered the long tingling they had given hers the + first time they had met. + </p> + <p> + “Go on and talk,” he urged, after a delicious five minutes of silence. “I + like to watch your lips talking. It's funny, but every move they make + looks like a tickly kiss.” + </p> + <p> + Greatly she wanted to stay where she was. Instead, she said: + </p> + <p> + “If I talk, you won't like what I say.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he insisted. “You can't say anything I won't like.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's some poppies over there by the fence I want to pick. And + then it's time for us to be going.” + </p> + <p> + “I lose,” he laughed. “But you made twenty-five tickle kisses just the + same. I counted 'em. I'll tell you what: you sing 'When the Harvest Days + Are Over,' and let me have your other cool arm while you're doin' it, and + then we'll go.” + </p> + <p> + She sang looking down into his eyes, which were centered, not on hers, but + on her lips. When she finished, she slipped his hands from her arms and + got up. He was about to start for the horses, when she held her jacket out + to him. Despite the independence natural to a girl who earned her own + living, she had an innate love of the little services and finenesses; and, + also, she remembered from her childhood the talk by the pioneer women of + the courtesy and attendance of the caballeros of the Spanish-California + days. + </p> + <p> + Sunset greeted them when, after a wide circle to the east and south, they + cleared the divide of the Contra Costa hills and began dropping down the + long grade that led past Redwood Peak to Fruitvale. Beneath them stretched + the flatlands to the bay, checkerboarded into fields and broken by the + towns of Elmhurst, San Leandro, and Haywards. The smoke of Oakland filled + the western sky with haze and murk, while beyond, across the bay, they + could see the first winking lights of San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + Darkness was on them, and Billy had become curiously silent. For half an + hour he had given no recognition of her existence save once, when the + chill evening wind caused him to tuck the robe tightly about her and + himself. Half a dozen times Saxon found herself on the verge of the + remark, “What's on your mind?” but each time let it remain unuttered. She + sat very close to him. The warmth of their bodies intermingled, and she + was aware of a great restfulness and content. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon,” he began abruptly. “It's no use my holdin' it in any longer. + It's ben in my mouth all day, ever since lunch. What's the matter with you + an' me gettin' married?” + </p> + <p> + She knew, very quietly and very gladly, that he meant it. Instinctively + she was impelled to hold off, to make him woo her, to make herself more + desirably valuable ere she yielded. Further, her woman's sensitiveness and + pride were offended. She had never dreamed of so forthright and bald a + proposal from the man to whom she would give herself. The simplicity and + directness of Billy's proposal constituted almost a hurt. On the other + hand she wanted him so much—how much she had not realized until now, + when he had so unexpectedly made himself accessible. + </p> + <p> + “Well you gotta say something, Saxon. Hand it to me, good or bad; but + anyway hand it to me. An' just take into consideration that I love you. + Why, I love you like the very devil, Saxon. I must, because I'm askin' you + to marry me, an' I never asked any girl that before.” + </p> + <p> + Another silence fell, and Saxon found herself dwelling on the warmth, + tingling now, under the lap-robe. When she realized whither her thoughts + led, she blushed guiltily in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “How old are you, Billy?” she questioned, with a suddenness and + irrelevance as disconcerting as his first words had been. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-two,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I am twenty-four.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I didn't know. When you left the orphan asylum and how old you + were, how long you worked in the jute mills, the cannery, the paper-box + factory, the laundry—maybe you think I can't do addition. I knew how + old you was, even to your birthday.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't change the fact that I'm two years older.” + </p> + <p> + “What of it? If it counted for anything, I wouldn't be lovin' you, would + I? Your mother was dead right. Love's the big stuff. It's what counts. + Don't you see? I just love you, an' I gotta have you. It's natural, I + guess; and I've always found with horses, dogs, and other folks, that + what's natural is right. There's no gettin' away from it, Saxon; I gotta + have you, an' I'm just hopin' hard you gotta have me. Maybe my hands ain't + soft like bookkeepers' an' clerks, but they can work for you, an' fight + like Sam Hill for you, and, Saxon, they can love you.” + </p> + <p> + The old sex antagonism which she had always experienced with men seemed to + have vanished. She had no sense of being on the defensive. This was no + game. It was what she had been looking for and dreaming about. Before + Billy she was defenseless, and there was an all-satisfaction in the + knowledge. She could deny him nothing. Not even if he proved to be like + the others. And out of the greatness of the thought rose a greater thought—he + would not so prove himself. + </p> + <p> + She did not speak. Instead, in a glow of spirit and flesh, she reached out + to his left hand and gently tried to remove it from the rein. He did not + understand; but when she persisted he shifted the rein to his right and + let her have her will with the other hand. Her head bent over it, and she + kissed the teamster callouses. + </p> + <p> + For the moment he was stunned. + </p> + <p> + “You mean it?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + For reply, she kissed the hand again and murmured: + </p> + <p> + “I love your hands, Billy. To me they are the most beautiful hands in the + world, and it would take hours of talking to tell you all they mean to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Whoa!” he called to the horses. + </p> + <p> + He pulled them in to a standstill, soothed them with his voice, and made + the reins fast around the whip. Then he turned to her with arms around her + and lips to lips. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy, I'll make you a good wife,” she sobbed, when the kiss was + broken. + </p> + <p> + He kissed her wet eyes and found her lips again. + </p> + <p> + “Now you know what I was thinkin' and why I was sweatin' when we was + eatin' lunch. Just seemed I couldn't hold in much longer from tellin' you. + Why, you know, you looked good to me from the first moment I spotted you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I think I loved you from that first day, too, Billy. And I was so + proud of you all that day, you were so kind and gentle, and so strong, and + the way the men all respected you and the girls all wanted you, and the + way you fought those three Irishmen when I was behind the picnic table. I + couldn't love or marry a man I wasn't proud of, and I'm so proud of you, + so proud.” + </p> + <p> + “Not half as much as I am right now of myself,” he answered, “for having + won you. It's too good to be true. Maybe the alarm clock'll go off and + wake me up in a couple of minutes. Well, anyway, if it does, I'm goin' to + make the best of them two minutes first. Watch out I don't eat you, I'm + that hungry for you.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He smothered her in an embrace, holding her so tightly to him that it +almost hurt. After what was to her an age-long period of bliss, his arms +relaxed and he seemed to make an effort to draw himself together. + + “An' the clock ain't gone off yet,” he whispered against her +cheek. “And it's a dark night, an' there's Fruitvale right ahead, an' if +there ain't King and Prince standin' still in the middle of the road. I +never thought the time'd come when I wouldn't want to take the ribbons +on a fine pair of horses. But this is that time. I just can't let go +of you, and I've gotta some time to-night. It hurts worse'n poison, but +here goes.” + </pre> + <p> + He restored her to herself, tucked the disarranged robe about her, and + chirruped to the impatient team. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later he called “Whoa!” + </p> + <p> + “I know I'm awake now, but I don't know but maybe I dreamed all the rest, + and I just want to make sure.” + </p> + <p> + And again he made the reins fast and took her in his arms. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + The days flew by for Saxon. She worked on steadily at the laundry, even + doing more overtime than usual, and all her free waking hours were devoted + to preparations for the great change and to Billy. He had proved himself + God's own impetuous lover by insisting on getting married the next day + after the proposal, and then by resolutely refusing to compromise on more + than a week's delay. + </p> + <p> + “Why wait?” he demanded. “We're not gettin' any younger so far as I can + notice, an' think of all we lose every day we wait.” + </p> + <p> + In the end, he gave in to a month, which was well, for in two weeks he was + transferred, with half a dozen other drivers, to work from the big stables + of Corberly and Morrison in West Oakland. House-hunting in the other end + of town ceased, and on Pine Street, between Fifth and Fourth, and in + immediate proximity to the great Southern Pacific railroad yards, Billy + and Saxon rented a neat cottage of four small rooms for ten dollars a + month. + </p> + <p> + “Dog-cheap is what I call it, when I think of the small rooms I've ben + soaked for,” was Billy's judgment. “Look at the one I got now, not as big + as the smallest here, an' me payin' six dollars a month for it.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's furnished,” Saxon reminded him. “You see, that makes a + difference.” + </p> + <p> + But Billy didn't see. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't much of a scholar, Saxon, but I know simple arithmetic; I've + soaked my watch when I was hard up, and I can calculate interest. How much + do you figure it will cost to furnish the house, carpets on the floor, + linoleum on the kitchen, and all?” + </p> + <p> + “We can do it nicely for three hundred dollars,” she answered. “I've been + thinking it over and I'm sure we can do it for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Three hundred,” he muttered, wrinkling his brows with concentration. + “Three hundred, say at six per cent.—that'd be six cents on the + dollar, sixty cents on ten dollars, six dollars on the hundred, on three + hundred eighteen dollars. Say—I'm a bear at multiplyin' by ten. Now + divide eighteen by twelve, that'd be a dollar an' a half a month + interest.” He stopped, satisfied that he had proved his contention. Then + his face quickened with a fresh thought. “Hold on! That ain't all. That'd + be the interest on the furniture for four rooms. Divide by four. What's a + dollar an' a half divided by four?” + </p> + <p> + “Four into fifteen, three times and three to carry,” Saxon recited glibly. + “Four into thirty is seven, twenty-eight, two to carry; and two-fourths is + one-half. There you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee! You're the real bear at figures.” He hesitated. “I didn't follow + you. How much did you say it was?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-seven and a half cents.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ha! Now we'll see how much I've ben gouged for my one room. Ten + dollars a month for four rooms is two an' a half for one. Add thirty-seven + an' a half cents interest on furniture, an' that makes two dollars an' + eighty-seven an' a half cents. Subtract from six dollars....” + </p> + <p> + “Three dollars and twelve and a half cents,” she supplied quickly. + </p> + <p> + “There we are! Three dollars an' twelve an' a half cents I'm jiggered out + of on the room I'm rentin'. Say! Bein' married is like savin' money, ain't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “But furniture wears out, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “By golly, I never thought of that. It ought to be figured, too. Anyway, + we've got a snap here, and next Saturday afternoon you've gotta get off + from the laundry so as we can go an' buy our furniture. I saw Salinger's + last night. I give'm fifty down, and the rest installment plan, ten + dollars a month. In twenty-five months the furniture's ourn. An' remember, + Saxon, you wanta buy everything you want, no matter how much it costs. No + scrimpin' on what's for you an' me. Get me?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, with no betrayal on her face of the myriad secret economies + that filled her mind. A hint of moisture glistened in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You're so good to me, Billy,” she murmured, as she came to him and was + met inside his arms. + </p> + <p> + “So you've gone an' done it,” Mary commented, one morning in the laundry. + They had not been at work ten minutes ere her eye had glimpsed the topaz + ring on the third finger of Saxon's left hand. “Who's the lucky one? + Charley Long or Billy Roberts?” + </p> + <p> + “Billy,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Takin' a young boy to raise, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon showed that the stab had gone home, and Mary was all contrition. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you take a josh? I'm glad to death at the news. Billy's a awful + good man, and I'm glad to see you get him. There ain't many like him + knockin' 'round, an' they ain't to be had for the askin'. An' you're both + lucky. You was just made for each other, an' you'll make him a better wife + than any girl I know. When is it to be?” + </p> + <p> + Going home from the laundry a few days later, Saxon encountered Charley + Long. He blocked the sidewalk, and compelled speech with her. + </p> + <p> + “So you're runnin' with a prizefighter,” he sneered. “A blind man can see + your finish.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time she was unafraid of this big-bodied, black-browed man + with the hairy-matted hands and fingers. She held up her left hand. + </p> + <p> + “See that? It's something, with all your strength, that you could never + put on my finger. Billy Roberts put it on inside a week. He got your + number, Charley Long, and at the same time he got me.” + </p> + <p> + “Skiddoo for you,” Long retorted. “Twenty-three's your number.” + </p> + <p> + “He's not like you,” Saxon went on. “He's a man, every bit of him, a fine, + clean man.” + </p> + <p> + Long laughed hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “He's got your goat all right.” + </p> + <p> + “And yours,” she flashed back. + </p> + <p> + “I could tell you things about him. Saxon, straight, he ain't no good. If + I was to tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better get out of my way,” she interrupted, “or I'll tell him, and + you know what you'll get, you great big bully.” + </p> + <p> + Long shuffled uneasily, then reluctantly stepped aside. + </p> + <p> + “You're a caution,” he said, half admiringly. + </p> + <p> + “So's Billy Roberts,” she laughed, and continued on her way. After half a + dozen steps she stopped. “Say,” she called. + </p> + <p> + The big blacksmith turned toward her with eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “About a block back,” she said, “I saw a man with hip disease. You might + go and beat him up.” + </p> + <p> + Of one extravagance Saxon was guilty in the course of the brief engagement + period. A full day's wages she spent in the purchase of half a dozen + cabinet photographs of herself. Billy had insisted that life was + unendurable could he not look upon her semblance the last thing when he + went to bed at night and the first thing when he got up in the morning. In + return, his photographs, one conventional and one in the stripped fighting + costume of the ring, ornamented her looking glass. It was while gazing at + the latter that she was reminded of her wonderful mother's tales of the + ancient Saxons and sea-foragers of the English coasts. From the chest of + drawers that had crossed the plains she drew forth another of her several + precious heirlooms—a scrap-book of her mother's in which was pasted + much of the fugitive newspaper verse of pioneer California days. Also, + there were copies of paintings and old wood engravings from the magazines + of a generation and more before. + </p> + <p> + Saxon ran the pages with familiar fingers and stopped at the picture she + was seeking. Between bold headlands of rock and under a gray cloud-blown + sky, a dozen boats, long and lean and dark, beaked like monstrous birds, + were landing on a foam-whitened beach of sand. The men in the boats, half + naked, huge-muscled and fair-haired, wore winged helmets. In their hands + were swords and spears, and they were leaping, waist-deep, into the + sea-wash and wading ashore. Opposed to them, contesting the landing, were + skin-clad savages, unlike Indians, however, who clustered on the beach or + waded into the water to their knees. The first blows were being struck, + and here and there the bodies of the dead and wounded rolled in the surf. + One fair-haired invader lay across the gunwale of a boat, the manner of + his death told by the arrow that transfixed his breast. In the air, + leaping past him into the water, sword in hand, was Billy. There was no + mistaking it. The striking blondness, the face, the eyes, the mouth were + the same. The very expression on the face was what had been on Billy's the + day of the picnic when he faced the three wild Irishmen. + </p> + <p> + Somewhere out of the ruck of those warring races had emerged Billy's + ancestors, and hers, was her afterthought, as she closed the book and put + it back in the drawer. And some of those ancestors had made this ancient + and battered chest of drawers which had crossed the salt ocean and the + plains and been pierced by a bullet in the fight with the Indians at + Little Meadow. Almost, it seemed, she could visualize the women who had + kept their pretties and their family homespun in its drawers—the + women of those wandering generations who were grandmothers and greater + great grandmothers of her own mother. Well, she sighed, it was a good + stock to be born of, a hard-working, hard-fighting stock. She fell to + wondering what her life would have been like had she been born a Chinese + woman, or an Italian woman like those she saw, head-shawled or bareheaded, + squat, ungainly and swarthy, who carried great loads of driftwood on their + heads up from the beach. Then she laughed at her foolishness, remembered + Billy and the four-roomed cottage on Pine Street, and went to bed with her + mind filled for the hundredth time with the details of the furniture. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + “Our cattle were all played out,” Saxon was saying, “and winter was so + near that we couldn't dare try to cross the Great American Desert, so our + train stopped in Salt Lake City that winter. The Mormons hadn't got bad + yet, and they were good to us.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk as though you were there,” Bert commented. + </p> + <p> + “My mother was,” Saxon answered proudly. “She was nine years old that + winter.” + </p> + <p> + They were seated around the table in the kitchen of the little Pine Street + cottage, making a cold lunch of sandwiches, tamales, and bottled beer. It + being Sunday, the four were free from work, and they had come early, to + work harder than on any week day, washing walls and windows, scrubbing + floors, laying carpets and linoleum, hanging curtains, setting up the + stove, putting the kitchen utensils and dishes away, and placing the + furniture. + </p> + <p> + “Go on with the story, Saxon,” Mary begged. “I'm just dyin' to hear. And + Bert, you just shut up and listen.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that winter was when Del Hancock showed up. He was Kentucky born, + but he'd been in the West for years. He was a scout, like Kit Carson, and + he knew him well. Many's a time Kit Carson and he slept under the same + blankets. They were together to California and Oregon with General + Fremont. Well, Del Hancock was passing on his way through Salt Lake, going + I don't know where to raise a company of Rocky Mountain trappers to go + after beaver some new place he knew about. He was a handsome man. He wore + his hair long like in pictures, and had a silk sash around his waist he'd + learned to wear in California from the Spanish, and two revolvers in his + belt. Any woman 'd fall in love with him first sight. Well, he saw Sadie, + who was my mother's oldest sister, and I guess she looked good to him, for + he stopped right there in Salt Lake and didn't go a step. He was a great + Indian fighter, too, and I heard my Aunt Villa say, when I was a little + girl, that he had the blackest, brightest eyes, and that the way he looked + was like an eagle. He'd fought duels, too, the way they did in those days, + and he wasn't afraid of anything. + </p> + <p> + “Sadie was a beauty, and she flirted with him and drove him crazy. Maybe + she wasn't sure of her own mind, I don't know. But I do know that she + didn't give in as easy as I did to Billy. Finally, he couldn't stand it + any more. He rode up that night on horseback, wild as could be. 'Sadie,' + he said, 'if you don't promise to marry me to-morrow, I'll shoot myself + to-night right back of the corral.' And he'd have done it, too, and Sadie + knew it, and said she would. Didn't they make love fast in those days?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Mary sniffed. “A week after you first laid eyes on + Billy you was engaged. Did Billy say he was going to shoot himself back of + the laundry if you turned him down?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't give him a chance,” Saxon confessed. “Anyway Del Hancock and + Aunt Sadie got married next day. And they were very happy afterward, only + she died. And after that he was killed, with General Custer and all the + rest, by the Indians. He was an old man by then, but I guess he got his + share of Indians before they got him. Men like him always died fighting, + and they took their dead with them. I used to know Al Stanley when I was a + little girl. He was a gambler, but he was game. A railroad man shot him in + the back when he was sitting at a table. That shot killed him, too. He + died in about two seconds. But before he died he'd pulled his gun and put + three bullets into the man that killed him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like fightin',” Mary protested. “It makes me nervous. Bert gives + me the willies the way he's always lookin' for trouble. There ain't no + sense in it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I wouldn't give a snap of my fingers for a man without fighting + spirit,” Saxon answered. “Why, we wouldn't be here to-day if it wasn't for + the fighting spirit of our people before us.” + </p> + <p> + “You've got the real goods of a fighter in Billy,” Bert assured her; “a + yard long and a yard wide and genuine A Number One, long-fleeced wool. + Billy's a Mohegan with a scalp-lock, that's what he is. And when he gets + his mad up it's a case of get out from under or something will fall on you—hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Just like that,” Mary added. + </p> + <p> + Billy, who had taken no part in the conversation, got up, glanced into the + bedroom off the kitchen, went into the parlor and the bedroom off the + parlor, then returned and stood gazing with puzzled brows into the kitchen + bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “What's eatin' you, old man,” Bert queried. “You look as though you'd lost + something or was markin' a three-way ticket. What you got on your chest? + Cough it up.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'm just thinkin' where in Sam Hill's the bed an' stuff for the back + bedroom.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any,” Saxon explained. “We didn't order any.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll see about it to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “What d'ye want another bed for?” asked Bert. “Ain't one bed enough for + the two of you?” + </p> + <p> + “You shut up, Bert!” Mary cried. “Don't get raw.” + </p> + <p> + “Whoa, Mary!” Bert grinned. “Back up. You're in the wrong stall as usual.” + </p> + <p> + “We don't need that room,” Saxon was saying to Billy. “And so I didn't + plan any furniture. That money went to buy better carpets and a better + stove.” + </p> + <p> + Billy came over to her, lifted her from the chair, and seated himself with + her on his knees. + </p> + <p> + “That's right, little girl. I'm glad you did. The best for us every time. + And to-morrow night I want you to run up with me to Salinger's an' pick + out a good bedroom set an' carpet for that room. And it must be good. + Nothin' snide.” + </p> + <p> + “It will cost fifty dollars,” she objected. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” he nodded. “Make it cost fifty dollars and not a cent + less. We're goin' to have the best. And what's the good of an empty room? + It'd make the house look cheap. Why, I go around now, seein' this little + nest just as it grows an' softens, day by day, from the day we paid the + cash money down an' nailed the keys. Why, almost every moment I'm drivin' + the horses, all day long, I just keep on seein' this nest. And when we're + married, I'll go on seein' it. And I want to see it complete. If that + room'd be bare-floored an' empty, I'd see nothin' but it and its bare + floor all day long. I'd be cheated. The house'd be a lie. Look at them + curtains you put up in it, Saxon. That's to make believe to the neighbors + that it's furnished. Saxon, them curtains are lyin' about that room, + makin' a noise for every one to hear that that room's furnished. Nitsky + for us. I'm goin' to see that them curtains tell the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You might rent it,” Bert suggested. “You're close to the railroad yards, + and it's only two blocks to a restaurant.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life. I ain't marryin' Saxon to take in lodgers. If I can't + take care of her, d'ye know what I'll do? Go down to Long Wharf, say 'Here + goes nothin',' an' jump into the bay with a stone tied to my neck. Ain't I + right, Saxon?” + </p> + <p> + It was contrary to her prudent judgment, but it fanned her pride. She + threw her arms around her lover's neck, and said, ere she kissed him: + </p> + <p> + “You're the boss, Billy. What you say goes, and always will go.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to that!” Bert gibed to Mary. “That's the stuff. Saxon's onto her + job.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess we'll talk things over together first before ever I do anything,” + Billy was saying to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to that,” Mary triumphed. “You bet the man that marries me'll have + to talk things over first.” + </p> + <p> + “Billy's only givin' her hot air,” Bert plagued. “They all do it before + they're married.” + </p> + <p> + Mary sniffed contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet Saxon leads him around by the nose. And I'm goin' to say, loud + an' strong, that I'll lead the man around by the nose that marries me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not if you love him,” Saxon interposed. + </p> + <p> + “All the more reason,” Mary pursued. + </p> + <p> + Bert assumed an expression and attitude of mournful dejection. + </p> + <p> + “Now you see why me an' Mary don't get married,” he said. “I'm some big + Indian myself, an' I'll be everlastingly jiggerooed if I put up for a + wigwam I can't be boss of.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'm no squaw,” Mary retaliated, “an' I wouldn't marry a big buck + Indian if all the rest of the men in the world was dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Well this big buck Indian ain't asked you yet.” + </p> + <p> + “He knows what he'd get if he did.” + </p> + <p> + “And after that maybe he'll think twice before he does ask you.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon, intent on diverting the conversation into pleasanter channels, + clapped her hands as if with sudden recollection. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I forgot! I want to show you something.” From her purse she drew a + slender ring of plain gold and passed it around. “My mother's wedding + ring. I've worn it around my neck always, like a locket. I cried for it so + in the orphan asylum that the matron gave it back for me to wear. And now, + just to think, after next Tuesday I'll be wearing it on my finger. Look, + Billy, see the engraving on the inside.” + </p> + <p> + “C to D, 1879,” he read. + </p> + <p> + “Carlton to Daisy—Carlton was my father's first name. And now, + Billy, you've got to get it engraved for you and me.” + </p> + <p> + Mary was all eagerness and delight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's fine,” she cried. “W to S, 1907.” + </p> + <p> + Billy considered a moment. + </p> + <p> + “No, that wouldn't be right, because I'm not giving it to Saxon.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what,” Saxon said. “W and S.” + </p> + <p> + “Nope.” Billy shook his head. “S and W, because you come first with me.” + </p> + <p> + “If I come first with you, you come first with us. Billy, dear, I insist + on W and S.” + </p> + <p> + “You see,” Mary said to Bert. “Having her own way and leading him by the + nose already.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon acknowledged the sting. + </p> + <p> + “Anyway you want, Billy,” she surrendered. His arms tightened about her. + </p> + <p> + “We'll talk it over first, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Sarah was conservative. Worse, she had crystallized at the end of her + love-time with the coming of her first child. After that she was as set in + her ways as plaster in a mold. Her mold was the prejudices and notions of + her girlhood and the house she lived in. So habitual was she that any + change in the customary round assumed the proportions of a revolution. Tom + had gone through many of these revolutions, three of them when he moved + house. Then his stamina broke, and he never moved house again. + </p> + <p> + So it was that Saxon had held back the announcement of her approaching + marriage until it was unavoidable. She expected a scene, and she got it. + </p> + <p> + “A prizefighter, a hoodlum, a plug-ugly,” Sarah sneered, after she had + exhausted herself of all calamitous forecasts of her own future and the + future of her children in the absence of Saxon's weekly four dollars and a + half. “I don't know what your mother'd thought if she lived to see the day + when you took up with a tough like Bill Roberts. Bill! Why, your mother + was too refined to associate with a man that was called Bill. And all I + can say is you can say good-bye to silk stockings and your three pair of + shoes. It won't be long before you'll think yourself lucky to go sloppin' + around in Congress gaiters and cotton stockin's two pair for a quarter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not afraid of Billy not being able to keep me in all kinds of + shoes,” Saxon retorted with a proud toss of her head. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know what you're talkin' about.” Sarah paused to laugh in + mirthless discordance. “Watch for the babies to come. They come faster + than wages raise these days.” + </p> + <p> + “But we're not going to have any babies... that is, at first. Not until + after the furniture is all paid for anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Wise in your generation, eh? In my days girls were more modest than to + know anything about disgraceful subjects.” + </p> + <p> + “As babies?” Saxon queried, with a touch of gentle malice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as babies.” + </p> + <p> + “The first I knew that babies were disgraceful. Why, Sarah, you, with your + five, how disgraceful you have been. Billy and I have decided not to be + half as disgraceful. We're only going to have two—a boy and a girl.” + </p> + <p> + Tom chuckled, but held the peace by hiding his face in his coffee cup. + Sarah, though checked by this flank attack, was herself an old hand in the + art. So temporary was the setback that she scarcely paused ere hurling her + assault from a new angle. + </p> + <p> + “An' marryin' so quick, all of a sudden, eh? If that ain't suspicious, + nothin' is. I don't know what young women's comin' to. They ain't decent, + I tell you. They ain't decent. That's what comes of Sunday dancin' an' all + the rest. Young women nowadays are like a lot of animals. Such fast an' + looseness I never saw....” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was white with anger, but while Sarah wandered on in her diatribe, + Tom managed to wink privily and prodigiously at his sister and to implore + her to help in keeping the peace. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, kid sister,” he comforted Saxon when they were alone. + “There's no use talkin' to Sarah. Bill Roberts is a good boy. I know a lot + about him. It does you proud to get him for a husband. You're bound to be + happy with him...” His voice sank, and his face seemed suddenly to be very + old and tired as he went on anxiously. “Take warning from Sarah. Don't + nag. Whatever you do, don't nag. Don't give him a perpetual-motion line of + chin. Kind of let him talk once in a while. Men have some horse sense, + though Sarah don't know it. Why, Sarah actually loves me, though she don't + make a noise like it. The thing for you is to love your husband, and, by + thunder, to make a noise of lovin' him, too. And then you can kid him into + doing 'most anything you want. Let him have his way once in a while, and + he'll let you have yourn. But you just go on lovin' him, and leanin' on + his judgement—he's no fool—and you'll be all hunky-dory. I'm + scared from goin' wrong, what of Sarah. But I'd sooner be loved into not + going wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll do it, Tom,” Saxon nodded, smiling through the tears his + sympathy had brought into her eyes. “And on top of it I'm going to do + something else, I'm going to make Billy love me and just keep on loving + me. And then I won't have to kid him into doing some of the things I want. + He'll do them because he loves me, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “You got the right idea, Saxon. Stick with it, an' you'll win out.” + </p> + <p> + Later, when she had put on her hat to start for the laundry, she found Tom + waiting for her at the corner. + </p> + <p> + “An', Saxon,” he said, hastily and haltingly, “you won't take anything + I've said... you know... —about Sarah... as bein' in any way + disloyal to her? She's a good woman, an' faithful. An' her life ain't so + easy by a long shot. I'd bite out my tongue before I'd say anything + against her. I guess all folks have their troubles. It's hell to be poor, + ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + “You've been awful good to me, Tom. I can never forget it. And I know + Sarah means right. She does do her best.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't be able to give you a wedding present,” her brother ventured + apologetically. “Sarah won't hear of it. Says we didn't get none from my + folks when we got married. But I got something for you just the same. A + surprise. You'd never guess it.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon waited. + </p> + <p> + “When you told me you was goin' to get married, I just happened to think + of it, an' I wrote to brother George, askin' him for it for you. An' by + thunder he sent it by express. I didn't tell you because I didn't know but + maybe he'd sold it. He did sell the silver spurs. He needed the money, I + guess. But the other, I had it sent to the shop so as not to bother Sarah, + an' I sneaked it in last night an' hid it in the woodshed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is something of my father's! What is it? Oh, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “His army sword.” + </p> + <p> + “The one he wore on his roan war horse! Oh, Tom, you couldn't give me a + better present. Let's go back now. I want to see it. We can slip in the + back way. Sarah's washing in the kitchen, and she won't begin hanging out + for an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “I spoke to Sarah about lettin' you take the old chest of drawers that was + your mother's,” Tom whispered, as they stole along the narrow alley + between the houses. “Only she got on her high horse. Said that Daisy was + as much my mother as yourn, even if we did have different fathers, and + that the chest had always belonged in Daisy's family and not Captain + Kit's, an' that it was mine, an' what was mine she had some say-so about.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” Saxon reassured him. “She sold it to me last night. She + was waiting up for me when I got home with fire in her eye.” + </p> + <p> + “Yep, she was on the warpath all day after I mentioned it. How much did + you give her for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Six dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Robbery—it ain't worth it,” Tom groaned. “It's all cracked at one + end and as old as the hills.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd have given ten dollars for it. I'd have given 'most anything for it, + Tom. It was mother's, you know. I remember it in her room when she was + still alive.” + </p> + <p> + In the woodshed Tom resurrected the hidden treasure and took off the + wrapping paper. Appeared a rusty, steel-scabbarded saber of the heavy type + carried by cavalry officers in Civil War days. It was attached to a + moth-eaten sash of thick-woven crimson silk from which hung heavy silk + tassels. Saxon almost seized it from her brother in her eagerness. She + drew forth the blade and pressed her lips to the steel. + </p> + <p> + It was her last day at the laundry. She was to quit work that evening for + good. And the next afternoon, at five, she and Billy were to go before a + justice of the peace and be married. Bert and Mary were to be the + witnesses, and after that the four were to go to a private room in + Barnum's Restaurant for the wedding supper. That over, Bert and Mary would + proceed to a dance at Myrtle Hall, while Billy and Saxon would take the + Eighth Street car to Seventh and Pine. Honeymoons are infrequent in the + working class. The next morning Billy must be at the stable at his regular + hour to drive his team out. + </p> + <p> + All the women in the fancy starch room knew it was Saxon's last day. Many + exulted for her, and not a few were envious of her, in that she had won a + husband and to freedom from the suffocating slavery of the ironing board. + Much of bantering she endured; such was the fate of every girl who married + out of the fancy starch room. But Saxon was too happy to be hurt by the + teasing, a great deal of which was gross, but all of which was + good-natured. + </p> + <p> + In the steam that arose from under her iron, and on the surfaces of the + dainty lawns and muslins that flew under her hands, she kept visioning + herself in the Pine Street cottage; and steadily she hummed under her + breath her paraphrase of the latest popular song: + </p> + <p> + “And when I work, and when I work, I'll always work for Billy.” + </p> + <p> + By three in the afternoon the strain of the piece-workers in the humid, + heated room grew tense. Elderly women gasped and sighed; the color went + out of the cheeks of the young women, their faces became drawn and dark + circles formed under their eyes; but all held on with weary, unabated + speed. The tireless, vigilant forewoman kept a sharp lookout for incipient + hysteria, and once led a narrow-chested, stoop-shouldered young thing out + of the place in time to prevent a collapse. + </p> + <p> + Saxon was startled by the wildest scream of terror she had ever heard. The + tense thread of human resolution snapped; wills and nerves broke down, and + a hundred women suspended their irons or dropped them. It was Mary who had + screamed so terribly, and Saxon saw a strange black animal flapping great + claw-like wings and nestling on Mary's shoulder. With the scream, Mary + crouched down, and the strange creature, darting into the air, fluttered + full into the startled face of a woman at the next board. This woman + promptly screamed and fainted. Into the air again, the flying thing darted + hither and thither, while the shrieking, shrinking women threw up their + arms, tried to run away along the aisles, or cowered under their ironing + boards. + </p> + <p> + “It's only a bat!” the forewoman shouted. She was furious. “Ain't you ever + seen a bat? It won't eat you!” + </p> + <p> + But they were ghetto people, and were not to be quieted. Some woman who + could not see the cause of the uproar, out of her overwrought apprehension + raised the cry of fire and precipitated the panic rush for the doors. All + of them were screaming the stupid, soul-sickening high note of terror, + drowning the forewoman's voice. Saxon had been merely startled at first, + but the screaming panic broke her grip on herself and swept her away. + Though she did not scream, she fled with the rest. When this horde of + crazed women debouched on the next department, those who worked there + joined in the stampede to escape from they knew not what danger. In ten + minutes the laundry was deserted, save for a few men wandering about with + hand grenades in futile search for the cause of the disturbance. + </p> + <p> + The forewoman was stout, but indomitable. Swept along half the length of + an aisle by the terror-stricken women, she had broken her way back through + the rout and quickly caught the light-blinded visitant in a clothes + basket. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I don't know what God looks like, but take it from me I've seen a + tintype of the devil,” Mary gurgled, emotionally fluttering back and forth + between laughter and tears. + </p> + <p> + But Saxon was angry with herself, for she had been as frightened as the + rest in that wild flight for out-of-doors. + </p> + <p> + “We're a lot of fools,” she said. “It was only a bat. I've heard about + them. They live in the country. They wouldn't hurt a fly. They can't see + in the daytime. That was what was the matter with this one. It was only a + bat.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh, you can't string me,” Mary replied. “It was the devil.” She sobbed a + moment, and then laughed hysterically again. “Did you see Mrs. Bergstrom + faint? And it only touched her in the face. Why, it was on my shoulder and + touching my bare neck like the hand of a corpse. And I didn't faint.” She + laughed again. “I guess, maybe, I was too scared to faint.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on back,” Saxon urged. “We've lost half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Not me. I'm goin' home after that, if they fire me. I couldn't iron for + sour apples now, I'm that shaky.” + </p> + <p> + One woman had broken a leg, another an arm, and a number nursed milder + bruises and bruises. No bullying nor entreating of the forewoman could + persuade the women to return to work. They were too upset and nervous, and + only here and there could one be found brave enough to re-enter the + building for the hats and lunch baskets of the others. Saxon was one of + the handful that returned and worked till six o'clock. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + “Why, Bert!—you're squiffed!” Mary cried reproachfully. + </h3> + <p> + The four were at the table in the private room at Barnum's. The wedding + supper, simple enough, but seemingly too expensive to Saxon, had been + eaten. Bert, in his hand a glass of California red wine, which the + management supplied for fifty cents a bottle, was on his feet endeavoring + a speech. His face was flushed; his black eyes were feverishly bright. + </p> + <p> + “You've ben drinkin' before you met me,” Mary continued. “I can see it + stickin' out all over you.” + </p> + <p> + “Consult an oculist, my dear,” he replied. “Bertram is himself to-night. + An' he is here, arisin' to his feet to give the glad hand to his old pal. + Bill, old man, here's to you. It's how-de-do an' good-bye, I guess. You're + a married man now, Bill, an' you got to keep regular hours. No more + runnin' around with the boys. You gotta take care of yourself, an' get + your life insured, an' take out an accident policy, an' join a buildin' + an' loan society, an' a buryin' association—” + </p> + <p> + “Now you shut up, Bert,” Mary broke in. “You don't talk about buryin's at + weddings. You oughta be ashamed of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Whoa, Mary! Back up! I said what I said because I meant it. I ain't + thinkin' what Mary thinks. What I was thinkin'.... Let me tell you what I + was thinkin'. I said buryin' association, didn't I? Well, it was not with + the idea of castin' gloom over this merry gatherin'. Far be it....” + </p> + <p> + He was so evidently seeking a way out of his predicament, that Mary tossed + her head triumphantly. This acted as a spur to his reeling wits. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you why,” he went on. “Because, Bill, you got such an + all-fired pretty wife, that's why. All the fellows is crazy over her, an' + when they get to runnin' after her, what'll you be doin'? You'll be + gettin' busy. And then won't you need a buryin' association to bury 'em? I + just guess yes. That was the compliment to your good taste in skirts I was + tryin' to come across with when Mary butted in.” + </p> + <p> + His glittering eyes rested for a moment in bantering triumph on Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Who says I'm squiffed? Me? Not on your life. I'm seein' all things in a + clear white light. An' I see Bill there, my old friend Bill. An' I don't + see two Bills. I see only one. Bill was never two-faced in his life. Bill, + old man, when I look at you there in the married harness, I'm sorry—” + He ceased abruptly and turned on Mary. “Now don't go up in the air, old + girl. I'm onto my job. My grandfather was a state senator, and he could + spiel graceful an' pleasin' till the cows come home. So can I.—Bill, + when I look at you, I'm sorry. I repeat, I'm sorry.” He glared + challengingly at Mary. “For myself when I look at you an' know all the + happiness you got a hammerlock on. Take it from me, you're a wise guy, + bless the women. You've started well. Keep it up. Marry 'em all, bless + 'em. Bill, here's to you. You're a Mohegan with a scalplock. An' you got a + squaw that is some squaw, take it from me. Minnehaha, here's to you—to + the two of you—an' to the papooses, too, gosh-dang them!” + </p> + <p> + He drained the glass suddenly and collapsed in his chair, blinking his + eyes across at the wedded couple while tears trickled unheeded down his + cheeks. Mary's hand went out soothingly to his, completing his break-down. + </p> + <p> + “By God, I got a right to cry,” he sobbed. “I'm losin' my best friend, + ain't I? It'll never be the same again never. When I think of the fun, an' + scrapes, an' good times Bill an' me has had together, I could darn near + hate you, Saxon, sittin' there with your hand in his.” + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up, Bert,” she laughed gently. “Look at whose hand you are + holding.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, it's only one of his cryin' jags,” Mary said, with a harshness that + her free hand belied as it caressed his hair with soothing strokes. “Buck + up, Bert. Everything's all right. And now it's up to Bill to say something + after your dandy spiel.” + </p> + <p> + Bert recovered himself quickly with another glass of wine. + </p> + <p> + “Kick in, Bill,” he cried. “It's your turn now.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm no hotair artist,” Billy grumbled. “What'll I say, Saxon? They ain't + no use tellin' 'em how happy we are. They know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell them we're always going to be happy,” she said. “And thank them for + all their good wishes, and we both wish them the same. And we're always + going to be together, like old times, the four of us. And tell them + they're invited down to 507 Pine Street next Sunday for Sunday dinner.—And, + Mary, if you want to come Saturday night you can sleep in the spare + bedroom.” + </p> + <p> + “You've told'm yourself, better'n I could.” Billy clapped his hands. “You + did yourself proud, an' I guess they ain't much to add to it, but just the + same I'm goin' to pass them a hot one.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up, his hand on his glass. His clear blue eyes under the dark + brows and framed by the dark lashes, seemed a deeper blue, and accentuated + the blondness of hair and skin. The smooth cheeks were rosy—not with + wine, for it was only his second glass—but with health and joy. + Saxon, looking up at him, thrilled with pride in him, he was so + well-dressed, so strong, so handsome, so clean-looking—her man-boy. + And she was aware of pride in herself, in her woman's desirableness that + had won for her so wonderful a lover. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Bert an' Mary, here you are at Saxon's and my wedding supper. We're + just goin' to take all your good wishes to heart, we wish you the same + back, and when we say it we mean more than you think we mean. Saxon an' I + believe in tit for tat. So we're wishin' for the day when the table is + turned clear around an' we're sittin' as guests at your weddin' supper. + And then, when you come to Sunday dinner, you can both stop Saturday night + in the spare bedroom. I guess I was wised up when I furnished it, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought it of you, Billy!” Mary exclaimed. “You're every bit as + raw as Bert. But just the same...” + </p> + <p> + There was a rush of moisture to her eyes. Her voice faltered and broke. + She smiled through her tears at them, then turned to look at Bert, who put + his arm around her and gathered her on to his knees. + </p> + <p> + When they left the restaurant, the four walked to Eighth and Broadway, + where they stopped beside the electric car. Bert and Billy were awkward + and silent, oppressed by a strange aloofness. But Mary embraced Saxon with + fond anxiousness. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, dear,” Mary whispered. “Don't be scared. It's all right. + Think of all the other women in the world.” + </p> + <p> + The conductor clanged the gong, and the two couples separated in a sudden + hubbub of farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you Mohegan!” Bert called after, as the car got under way. “Oh, you + Minnehaha!” + </p> + <p> + “Remember what I said,” was Mary's parting to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + The car stopped at Seventh and Pine, the terminus of the line. It was only + a little over two blocks to the cottage. On the front steps Billy took the + key from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Funny, isn't it?” he said, as the key turned in the lock. “You an' me. + Just you an' me.” + </p> + <p> + While he lighted the lamp in the parlor, Saxon was taking off her hat. He + went into the bedroom and lighted the lamp there, then turned back and + stood in the doorway. Saxon, still unaccountably fumbling with her + hatpins, stole a glance at him. He held out his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She came to him, and in his arms he could feel her trembling. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + The first evening after the marriage night Saxon met Billy at the door as + he came up the front steps. After their embrace, and as they crossed the + parlor hand in hand toward the kitchen, he filled his lungs through his + nostrils with audible satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “My, but this house smells good, Saxon! It ain't the coffee—I can + smell that, too. It's the whole house. It smells... well, it just smells + good to me, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + He washed and dried himself at the sink, while she heated the frying pan + on the front hole of the stove with the lid off. As he wiped his hands he + watched her keenly, and cried out with approbation as she dropped the + steak in the frying pan. + </p> + <p> + “Where'd you learn to cook steak on a dry, hot pan? It's the only way, but + darn few women seem to know about it.” + </p> + <p> + As she took the cover off a second frying pan and stirred the savory + contents with a kitchen knife, he came behind her, passed his arms under + her arm-pits with down-drooping hands upon her breasts, and bent his head + over her shoulder till cheek touched cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Um-um-um-m-m! Fried potatoes with onions like mother used to make. Me for + them. Don't they smell good, though! Um-um-m-m-m!” + </p> + <p> + The pressure of his hands relaxed, and his cheek slid caressingly past + hers as he started to release her. Then his hands closed down again. She + felt his lips on her hair and heard his advertised inhalation of delight. + </p> + <p> + “Um-um-m-m-m! Don't you smell good—yourself, though! I never + understood what they meant when they said a girl was sweet. I know, now. + And you're the sweetest I ever knew.” + </p> + <p> + His joy was boundless. When he returned from combing his hair in the + bedroom and sat down at the small table opposite her, he paused with knife + and fork in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Say, bein' married is a whole lot more than it's cracked up to be by most + married folks. Honest to God, Saxon, we can show 'em a few. We can give + 'em cards and spades an' little casino an' win out on big casino and the + aces. I've got but one kick comin'.” + </p> + <p> + The instant apprehension in her eyes provoked a chuckle from him. + </p> + <p> + “An' that is that we didn't get married quick enough. Just think. I've + lost a whole week of this.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes shone with gratitude and happiness, and in her heart she solemnly + pledged herself that never in all their married life would it be + otherwise. + </p> + <p> + Supper finished, she cleared the table and began washing the dishes at the + sink. When he evinced the intention of wiping them, she caught him by the + lapels of the coat and backed him into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “You'll sit right there, if you know what's good for you. Now be good and + mind what I say. Also, you will smoke a cigarette.—No; you're not + going to watch me. There's the morning paper beside you. And if you don't + hurry to read it, I'll be through these dishes before you've started.” + </p> + <p> + As he smoked and read, she continually glanced across at him from her + work. One thing more, she thought—slippers; and then the picture of + comfort and content would be complete. + </p> + <p> + Several minutes later Billy put the paper aside with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use,” he complained. “I can't read.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” she teased. “Eyes weak?” + </p> + <p> + “Nope. They're sore, and there's only one thing to do 'em any good, an' + that's lookin' at you.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, then, baby Billy; I'll be through in a jiffy.” + </p> + <p> + When she had washed the dish towel and scalded out the sink, she took off + her kitchen apron, came to him, and kissed first one eye and then the + other. + </p> + <p> + “How are they now. Cured?” + </p> + <p> + “They feel some better already.” + </p> + <p> + She repeated the treatment. + </p> + <p> + “And now?” + </p> + <p> + “Still better.” + </p> + <p> + “And now?” + </p> + <p> + “Almost well.” + </p> + <p> + After he had adjudged them well, he ouched and informed her that there was + still some hurt in the right eye. + </p> + <p> + In the course of treating it, she cried out as in pain. Billy was all + alarm. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? What hurt you?” + </p> + <p> + “My eyes. They're hurting like sixty.” + </p> + <p> + And Billy became physician for a while and she the patient. When the cure + was accomplished, she led him into the parlor, where, by the open window, + they succeeded in occupying the same Morris chair. It was the most + expensive comfort in the house. It had cost seven dollars and a half, and, + though it was grander than anything she had dreamed of possessing, the + extravagance of it had worried her in a half-guilty way all day. + </p> + <p> + The salt chill of the air that is the blessing of all the bay cities after + the sun goes down crept in about them. They heard the switch engines + puffing in the railroad yards, and the rumbling thunder of the Seventh + Street local slowing down in its run from the Mole to stop at West Oakland + station. From the street came the noise of children playing in the summer + night, and from the steps of the house next door the low voices of + gossiping housewives. + </p> + <p> + “Can you beat it?” Billy murmured. “When I think of that six-dollar + furnished room of mine, it makes me sick to think what I was missin' all + the time. But there's one satisfaction. If I'd changed it sooner I + wouldn't a-had you. You see, I didn't know you existed only until a couple + of weeks ago.” + </p> + <p> + His hand crept along her bare forearm and up and partly under the + elbow-sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Your skin's so cool,” he said. “It ain't cold; it's cool. It feels good + to the hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty soon you'll be calling me your cold-storage baby,” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “And your voice is cool,” he went on. “It gives me the feeling just as + your hand does when you rest it on my forehead. It's funny. I can't + explain it. But your voice just goes all through me, cool and fine. It's + like a wind of coolness—just right. It's like the first of the + sea-breeze settin' in in the afternoon after a scorchin' hot morning. An' + sometimes, when you talk low, it sounds round and sweet like the 'cello in + the Macdonough Theater orchestra. And it never goes high up, or sharp, or + squeaky, or scratchy, like some women's voices when they're mad, or fresh, + or excited, till they remind me of a bum phonograph record. Why, your + voice, it just goes through me till I'm all trembling—like with the + everlastin' cool of it. It's -- it's straight delicious. I guess angels in + heaven, if they is any, must have voices like that.” + </p> + <p> + After a few minutes, in which, so inexpressible was her happiness that she + could only pass her hand through his hair and cling to him, he broke out + again. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what you remind me of. Did you ever see a thoroughbred + mare, all shinin' in the sun, with hair like satin an' skin so thin an' + tender that the least touch of the whip leaves a mark—all fine + nerves, an' delicate an' sensitive, that'll kill the toughest bronco when + it comes to endurance an' that can strain a tendon in a flash or catch + death-of-cold without a blanket for a night? I wanta tell you they ain't + many beautifuler sights in this world. An' they're that fine-strung, an' + sensitive, an' delicate. You gotta handle 'em right-side up, glass, with + care. Well, that's what you remind me of. And I'm goin' to make it my job + to see you get handled an' gentled in the same way. You're as different + from other women as that kind of a mare is from scrub work-horse mares. + You're a thoroughbred. You're clean-cut an' spirited, an' your lines... + </p> + <p> + “Say, d'ye know you've got some figure? Well, you have. Talk about Annette + Kellerman. You can give her cards and spades. She's Australian, an' you're + American, only your figure ain't. You're different. You're nifty—I + don't know how to explain it. Other women ain't built like you. You belong + in some other country. You're Frenchy, that's what. You're built like a + French woman an' more than that—the way you walk, move, stand up or + sit down, or don't do anything.” + </p> + <p> + And he, who had never been out of California, or, for that matter, had + never slept a night away from his birthtown of Oakland, was right in his + judgment. She was a flower of Anglo-Saxon stock, a rarity in the + exceptional smallness and fineness of hand and foot and bone and grace of + flesh and carriage—some throw-back across the face of time to the + foraying Norman-French that had intermingled with the sturdy Saxon breed. + </p> + <p> + “And in the way you carry your clothes. They belong to you. They seem just + as much part of you as the cool of your voice and skin. They're always all + right an' couldn't be better. An' you know, a fellow kind of likes to be + seen taggin' around with a woman like you, that wears her clothes like a + dream, an' hear the other fellows say: 'Who's Bill's new skirt? She's a + peach, ain't she? Wouldn't I like to win her, though.' And all that sort + of talk.” + </p> + <p> + And Saxon, her cheek pressed to his, knew that she was paid in full for + all her midnight sewings and the torturing hours of drowsy stitching when + her head nodded with the weariness of the day's toil, while she recreated + for herself filched ideas from the dainty garments that had steamed under + her passing iron. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon, I got a new name for you. You're my Tonic Kid. That's what + you are, the Tonic Kid.” + </p> + <p> + “And you'll never get tired of me?” she queried. + </p> + <p> + “Tired? Why we was made for each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it wonderful, our meeting, Billy? We might never have met. It was + just by accident that we did.” + </p> + <p> + “We was born lucky,” he proclaimed. “That's a cinch.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it was more than luck,” she ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. It just had to be. It was fate. Nothing could a-kept us apart.” + </p> + <p> + They sat on in a silence that was quick with unuttered love, till she felt + him slowly draw her more closely and his lips come near to her ear as they + whispered: “What do you say we go to bed?” + </p> + <p> + Many evenings they spent like this, varied with an occasional dance, with + trips to the Orpheum and to Bell's Theater, or to the moving picture + shows, or to the Friday night band concerts in City Hall Park. Often, on + Sunday, she prepared a lunch, and he drove her out into the hills behind + Prince and King, whom Billy's employer was still glad to have him + exercise. + </p> + <p> + Each morning Saxon was called by the alarm clock. The first morning he had + insisted upon getting up with her and building the fire in the kitchen + stove. She gave in the first morning, but after that she laid the fire in + the evening, so that all that was required was the touching of a match to + it. And in bed she compelled him to remain for a last little doze ere she + called him for breakfast. For the first several weeks she prepared his + lunch for him. Then, for a week, he came down to dinner. After that he was + compelled to take his lunch with him. It depended on how far distant the + teaming was done. + </p> + <p> + “You're not starting right with a man,” Mary cautioned. “You wait on him + hand and foot. You'll spoil him if you don't watch out. It's him that + ought to be waitin' on you.” + </p> + <p> + “He's the bread-winner,” Saxon replied. “He works harder than I, and I've + got more time than I know what to do with—time to burn. Besides, I + want to wait on him because I love to, and because... well, anyway, I want + to.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Despite the fastidiousness of her housekeeping, Saxon, once she had + systematized it, found time and to spare on her hands. Especially during + the periods in which her husband carried his lunch and there was no midday + meal to prepare, she had a number of hours each day to herself. Trained + for years to the routine of factory and laundry work, she could not abide + this unaccustomed idleness. She could not bear to sit and do nothing, + while she could not pay calls on her girlhood friends, for they still + worked in factory and laundry. Nor was she acquainted with the wives of + the neighborhood, save for one strange old woman who lived in the house + next door and with whom Saxon had exchanged snatches of conversation over + the backyard division fence. + </p> + <p> + One time-consuming diversion of which Saxon took advantage was free and + unlimited baths. In the orphan asylum and in Sarah's house she had been + used to but one bath a week. As she grew to womanhood she had attempted + more frequent baths. But the effort proved disastrous, arousing, first, + Sarah's derision, and next, her wrath. Sarah had crystallized in the era + of the weekly Saturday night bath, and any increase in this cleansing + function was regarded by her as putting on airs and as an insinuation + against her own cleanliness. Also, it was an extravagant misuse of fuel, + and occasioned extra towels in the family wash. But now, in Billy's house, + with her own stove, her own tub and towels and soap, and no one to say her + nay, Saxon was guilty of a daily orgy. True, it was only a common washtub + that she placed on the kitchen floor and filled by hand; but it was a + luxury that had taken her twenty-four years to achieve. It was from the + strange woman next door that Saxon received a hint, dropped in casual + conversation, of what proved the culminating joy of bathing. A simple + thing—a few drops of druggist's ammonia in the water; but Saxon had + never heard of it before. + </p> + <p> + She was destined to learn much from the strange woman. The acquaintance + had begun one day when Saxon, in the back yard, was hanging out a couple + of corset covers and several pieces of her finest undergarments. The woman + leaning on the rail of her back porch, had caught her eye, and nodded, as + it seemed to Saxon, half to her and half to the underlinen on the line. + </p> + <p> + “You're newly married, aren't you?” the woman asked. “I'm Mrs. Higgins. I + prefer my first name, which is Mercedes.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'm Mrs. Roberts,” Saxon replied, thrilling to the newness of the + designation on her tongue. “My first name is Saxon.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange name for a Yankee woman,” the other commented. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I'm not Yankee,” Saxon exclaimed. “I'm Californian.” + </p> + <p> + “La la,” laughed Mercedes Higgins. “I forgot I was in America. In other + lands all Americans are called Yankees. It is true that you are newly + married?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded with a happy sigh. Mercedes sighed, too. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you happy, soft, beautiful young thing. I could envy you to hatred—you + with all the man-world ripe to be twisted about your pretty little + fingers. And you don't realize your fortune. No one does until it's too + late.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was puzzled and disturbed, though she answered readily: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I do know how lucky I am. I have the finest man in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Mercedes Higgins sighed again and changed the subject. She nodded her head + at the garments. + </p> + <p> + “I see you like pretty things. It is good judgment for a young woman. + They're the bait for men—half the weapons in the battle. They win + men, and they hold men—” She broke off to demand almost fiercely: + “And you, you would keep your husband?—always, always—if you + can?” + </p> + <p> + “I intend to. I will make him love me always and always.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon ceased, troubled and surprised that she should be so intimate with a + stranger. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a queer thing, this love of men,” Mercedes said. “And a failing of + all women is it to believe they know men like books. And with breaking + hearts, die they do, most women, out of their ignorance of men and still + foolishly believing they know all about them. Oh, la la, the little fools. + And so you say, little new-married woman, that you will make your man love + you always and always? And so they all say it, knowing men and the + queerness of men's love the way they think they do. Easier it is to win + the capital prize in the Little Louisiana, but the little new-married + women never know it until too late. But you—you have begun well. + Stay by your pretties and your looks. 'Twas so you won your man, 'tis so + you'll hold him. But that is not all. Some time I will talk with you and + tell what few women trouble to know, what few women ever come to know.—Saxon!—'tis + a strong, handsome name for a woman. But you don't look it. Oh, I've + watched you. French you are, with a Frenchiness beyond dispute. Tell Mr. + Roberts I congratulate him on his good taste.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, her hand on the knob of her kitchen door. + </p> + <p> + “And come and see me some time. You will never be sorry. I can teach you + much. Come in the afternoon. My man is night watchman in the yards and + sleeps of mornings. He's sleeping now.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon went into the house puzzling and pondering. Anything but ordinary + was this lean, dark-skinned woman, with the face withered as if scorched + in great heats, and the eyes, large and black, that flashed and flamed + with advertisement of an unquenched inner conflagration. Old she was—Saxon + caught herself debating anywhere between fifty and seventy; and her hair, + which had once been blackest black, was streaked plentifully with gray. + Especially noteworthy to Saxon was her speech. Good English it was, better + than that to which Saxon was accustomed. Yet the woman was not American. + On the other hand, she had no perceptible accent. Rather were her words + touched by a foreignness so elusive that Saxon could not analyze nor place + it. + </p> + <p> + “Uh, huh,” Billy said, when she had told him that evening of the day's + event. “So SHE'S Mrs. Higgins? He's a watchman. He's got only one arm. Old + Higgins an' her—a funny bunch, the two of them. The people's scared + of her—some of 'em. The Dagoes an' some of the old Irish dames + thinks she's a witch. Won't have a thing to do with her. Bert was tellin' + me about it. Why, Saxon, d'ye know, some of 'em believe if she was to get + mad at 'em, or didn't like their mugs, or anything, that all she's got to + do is look at 'em an' they'll curl up their toes an' croak. One of the + fellows that works at the stable—you've seen 'm—Henderson—he + lives around the corner on Fifth—he says she's bughouse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Saxon defended her new acquaintance. “She may be + crazy, but she says the same thing you're always saying. She says my form + is not American but French.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I take my hat off to her,” Billy responded. “No wheels in her head + if she says that. Take it from me, she's a wise gazabo.” + </p> + <p> + “And she speaks good English, Billy, like a school teacher, like what I + guess my mother used to speak. She's educated.” + </p> + <p> + “She ain't no fool, or she wouldn't a-sized you up the way she did.” + </p> + <p> + “She told me to congratulate you on your good taste in marrying me,” Saxon + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “She did, eh? Then give her my love. Me for her, because she knows a good + thing when she sees it, an' she ought to be congratulating you on your + good taste in me.” + </p> + <p> + It was on another day that Mercedes Higgins nodded, half to Saxon, and + half to the dainty women's things Saxon was hanging on the line. + </p> + <p> + “I've been worrying over your washing, little new-wife,” was her greeting. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I've worked in the laundry for years,” Saxon said quickly. + </p> + <p> + Mercedes sneered scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Steam laundry. That's business, and it's stupid. Only common things + should go to a steam laundry. That is their punishment for being common. + But the pretties! the dainties! the flimsies!—la la, my dear, their + washing is an art. It requires wisdom, genius, and discretion fine as the + clothes are fine. I will give you a recipe for homemade soap. It will not + harden the texture. It will give whiteness, and softness, and life. You + can wear them long, and fine white clothes are to be loved a long time. + Oh, fine washing is a refinement, an art. It is to be done as an artist + paints a picture, or writes a poem, with love, holily, a true sacrament of + beauty. + </p> + <p> + “I shall teach you better ways, my dear, better ways than you Yankees + know. I shall teach you new pretties.” She nodded her head to Saxon's + underlinen on the line. “I see you make little laces. I know all laces—the + Belgian, the Maltese, the Mechlin—oh, the many, many loves of laces! + I shall teach you some of the simpler ones so that you can make them for + yourself, for your brave man you are to make love you always and always.” + </p> + <p> + On her first visit to Mercedes Higgins, Saxon received the recipe for + home-made soap and her head was filled with a minutiae of instruction in + the art of fine washing. Further, she was fascinated and excited by all + the newness and strangeness of the withered old woman who blew upon her + the breath of wider lands and seas beyond the horizon. + </p> + <p> + “You are Spanish?” Saxon ventured. + </p> + <p> + “No, and yes, and neither, and more. My father was Irish, my mother + Peruvian-Spanish. 'Tis after her I took, in color and looks. In other ways + after my father, the blue-eyed Celt with the fairy song on his tongue and + the restless feet that stole the rest of him away to far-wandering. And + the feet of him that he lent me have led me away on as wide far roads as + ever his led him.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon remembered her school geography, and with her mind's eye she saw a + certain outline map of a continent with jiggly wavering parallel lines + that denoted coast. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she cried, “then you are South American.” + </p> + <p> + Mercedes shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I had to be born somewhere. It was a great ranch, my mother's. You could + put all Oakland in one of its smallest pastures.” + </p> + <p> + Mercedes Higgins sighed cheerfully and for the time was lost in + retrospection. Saxon was curious to hear more about this woman who must + have lived much as the Spanish-Californians had lived in the old days. + </p> + <p> + “You received a good education,” she said tentatively. “Your English is + perfect.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the English came afterward, and not in school. But, as it goes, yes, + a good education in all things but the most important—men. That, + too, came afterward. And little my mother dreamed—she was a grand + lady, what you call a cattle-queen—little she dreamed my fine + education was to fit me in the end for a night watchman's wife.” She + laughed genuinely at the grotesqueness of the idea. “Night watchman, + laborers, why, we had hundreds, yes, thousands that toiled for us. The + peons—they are like what you call slaves, almost, and the cowboys, + who could ride two hundred miles between side and side of the ranch. And + in the big house servants beyond remembering or counting. La la, in my + mother's house were many servants.” + </p> + <p> + Mercedes Higgins was voluble as a Greek, and wandered on in reminiscence. + </p> + <p> + “But our servants were lazy and dirty. The Chinese are the servants par + excellence. So are the Japanese, when you find a good one, but not so good + as the Chinese. The Japanese maidservants are pretty and merry, but you + never know the moment they'll leave you. The Hindoos are not strong, but + very obedient. They look upon sahibs and memsahibs as gods! I was a + memsahib—which means woman. I once had a Russian cook who always + spat in the soup for luck. It was very funny. But we put up with it. It + was the custom.” + </p> + <p> + “How you must have traveled to have such strange servants!” Saxon + encouraged. + </p> + <p> + The old woman laughed corroboration. + </p> + <p> + “And the strangest of all, down in the South Seas, black slaves, little + kinky-haired cannibals with bones through their noses. When they did not + mind, or when they stole, they were tied up to a cocoanut palm behind the + compound and lashed with whips of rhinoceros hide. They were from an + island of cannibals and head-hunters, and they never cried out. It was + their pride. There was little Vibi, only twelve years old—he waited + on me—and when his back was cut in shreds and I wept over him, he + would only laugh and say, 'Short time little bit I take 'm head belong big + fella white marster.' That was Bruce Anstey, the Englishman who whipped + him. But little Vibi never got the head. He ran away and the bushmen cut + off his own head and ate every bit of him.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon chilled, and her face was grave; but Mercedes Higgins rattled on. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, those were wild, gay, savage days. Would you believe it, my dear, in + three years those Englishmen of the plantation drank up oceans of + champagne and Scotch whisky and dropped thirty thousand pounds on the + adventure. Not dollars—pounds, which means one hundred and fifty + thousand dollars. They were princes while it lasted. It was splendid, + glorious. It was mad, mad. I sold half my beautiful jewels in New Zealand + before I got started again. Bruce Anstey blew out his brains at the end. + Roger went mate on a trader with a black crew, for eight pounds a month. + And Jack Gilbraith—he was the rarest of them all. His people were + wealthy and titled, and he went home to England and sold cat's meat, sat + around their big house till they gave him more money to start a rubber + plantation in the East Indies somewhere, on Sumatra, I think—or was + it New Guinea?” + </p> + <p> + And Saxon, back in her own kitchen and preparing supper for Billy, + wondered what lusts and rapacities had led the old, burnt-faced woman from + the big Peruvian ranch, through all the world, to West Oakland and Barry + Higgins. Old Barry was not the sort who would fling away his share of one + hundred and fifty thousand dollars, much less ever attain to such + opulence. Besides, she had mentioned the names of other men, but not his. + </p> + <p> + Much more Mercedes had talked, in snatches and fragments. There seemed no + great country nor city of the old world or the new in which she had not + been. She had even been in Klondike, ten years before, in a half-dozen + flashing sentences picturing the fur-clad, be-moccasined miners sowing the + barroom floors with thousands of dollars' worth of gold dust. Always, so + it seemed to Saxon, Mrs. Higgins had been with men to whom money was as + water. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Saxon, brooding over her problem of retaining Billy's love, of never + staling the freshness of their feeling for each other and of never + descending from the heights which at present they were treading, felt + herself impelled toward Mrs. Higgins. SHE knew; surely she must know. Had + she not hinted knowledge beyond ordinary women's knowledge? + </p> + <p> + Several weeks went by, during which Saxon was often with her. But Mrs. + Higgins talked of all other matters, taught Saxon the making of certain + simple laces, and instructed her in the arts of washing and of marketing. + And then, one afternoon, Saxon found Mrs. Higgins more voluble than usual, + with words, clean-uttered, that rippled and tripped in their haste to + escape. Her eyes were flaming. So flamed her face. Her words were flames. + There was a smell of liquor in the air and Saxon knew that the old woman + had been drinking. Nervous and frightened, at the same time fascinated, + Saxon hemstitched a linen handkerchief intended for Billy and listened to + Mercedes' wild flow of speech. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, my dear. I shall tell you about the world of men. Do not be + stupid like all your people, who think me foolish and a witch with the + evil eye. Ha! ha! When I think of silly Maggie Donahue pulling the shawl + across her baby's face when we pass each other on the sidewalk! A witch I + have been, 'tis true, but my witchery was with men. Oh, I am wise, very + wise, my dear. I shall tell you of women's ways with men, and of men's + ways with women, the best of them and the worst of them. Of the brute that + is in all men, of the queerness of them that breaks the hearts of stupid + women who do not understand. And all women are stupid. I am not stupid. La + la, listen. + </p> + <p> + “I am an old woman. And like a woman, I'll not tell you how old I am. Yet + can I hold men. Yet would I hold men, toothless and a hundred, my nose + touching my chin. Not the young men. They were mine in my young days. But + the old men, as befits my years. And well for me the power is mine. In all + this world I am without kin or cash. Only have I wisdom and memories—memories + that are ashes, but royal ashes, jeweled ashes. Old women, such as I, + starve and shiver, or accept the pauper's dole and the pauper's shroud. + Not I. I hold my man. True, 'tis only Barry Higgins—old Barry, + heavy, an ox, but a male man, my dear, and queer as all men are queer. + 'Tis true, he has one arm.” She shrugged her shoulders. “A compensation. + He cannot beat me, and old bones are tender when the round flesh thins to + strings. + </p> + <p> + “But when I think of my wild young lovers, princes, mad with the madness + of youth! I have lived. It is enough. I regret nothing. And with old Barry + I have my surety of a bite to eat and a place by the fire. And why? + Because I know men, and shall never lose my cunning to hold them. 'Tis + bitter sweet, the knowledge of them, more sweet than bitter—men and + men and men! Not stupid dolts, nor fat bourgeois swine of business men, + but men of temperament, of flame and fire; madmen, maybe, but a lawless, + royal race of madmen. + </p> + <p> + “Little wife-woman, you must learn. Variety! There lies the magic. 'Tis + the golden key. 'Tis the toy that amuses. Without it in the wife, the man + is a Turk; with it, he is her slave, and faithful. A wife must be many + wives. If you would have your husband's love you must be all women to him. + You must be ever new, with the dew of newness ever sparkling, a flower + that never blooms to the fulness that fades. You must be a garden of + flowers, ever new, ever fresh, ever different. And in your garden the man + must never pluck the last of your posies. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, little wife-woman. In the garden of love is a snake. It is the + commonplace. Stamp on its head, or it will destroy the garden. Remember + the name. Commonplace. Never be too intimate. Men only seem gross. Women + are more gross than men.—No, do not argue, little new-wife. You are + an infant woman. Women are less delicate than men. Do I not know? Of their + own husbands they will relate the most intimate love-secrets to other + women. Men never do this of their wives. Explain it. There is only one + way. In all things of love women are less delicate. It is their mistake. + It is the father and the mother of the commonplace, and it is the + commonplace, like a loathsome slug, that beslimes and destroys love. + </p> + <p> + “Be delicate, little wife-woman. Never be without your veil, without many + veils. Veil yourself in a thousand veils, all shimmering and glittering + with costly textures and precious jewels. Never let the last veil be + drawn. Against the morrow array yourself with more veils, ever more veils, + veils without end. Yet the many veils must not seem many. Each veil must + seem the only one between you and your hungry lover who will have nothing + less than all of you. Each time he must seem to get all, to tear aside the + last veil that hides you. He must think so. It must not be so. Then there + will be no satiety, for on the morrow he will find another last veil that + has escaped him. + </p> + <p> + “Remember, each veil must seem the last and only one. Always you must seem + to abandon all to his arms; always you must reserve more that on the + morrow and on all the morrows you may abandon. Of such is variety, + surprise, so that your man's pursuit will be everlasting, so that his eyes + will look to you for newness, and not to other women. It was the freshness + and the newness of your beauty and you, the mystery of you, that won your + man. When a man has plucked and smelled all the sweetness of a flower, he + looks for other flowers. It is his queerness. You must ever remain a + flower almost plucked yet never plucked, stored with vats of sweet + unbroached though ever broached. + </p> + <p> + “Stupid women, and all are stupid, think the first winning of the man the + final victory. Then they settle down and grow fat, and stale, and dead, + and heartbroken. Alas, they are so stupid. But you, little infant-woman + with your first victory, you must make your love-life an unending chain of + victories. Each day you must win your man again. And when you have won the + last victory, when you can find no more to win, then ends love. Finis is + written, and your man wanders in strange gardens. Remember, love must be + kept insatiable. It must have an appetite knife-edged and never satisfied. + You must feed your lover well, ah, very well, most well; give, give, yet + send him away hungry to come back to you for more.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Higgins stood up suddenly and crossed out of the room. Saxon had not + failed to note the litheness and grace in that lean and withered body. She + watched for Mrs. Higgins' return, and knew that the litheness and grace + had not been imagined. + </p> + <p> + “Scarcely have I told you the first letter in love's alphabet,” said + Mercedes Higgins, as she reseated herself. + </p> + <p> + In her hands was a tiny instrument, beautifully grained and richly brown, + which resembled a guitar save that it bore four strings. She swept them + back and forth with rhythmic forefinger and lifted a voice, thin and + mellow, in a fashion of melody that was strange, and in a foreign tongue, + warm-voweled, all-voweled, and love-exciting. Softly throbbing, voice and + strings arose on sensuous crests of song, died away to whisperings and + caresses, drifted through love-dusks and twilights, or swelled again to + love-cries barbarically imperious in which were woven plaintive calls and + madnesses of invitation and promise. It went through Saxon until she was + as this instrument, swept with passional strains. It seemed to her a + dream, and almost was she dizzy, when Mercedes Higgins ceased. + </p> + <p> + “If your man had clasped the last of you, and if all of you were known to + him as an old story, yet, did you sing that one song, as I have sung it, + yet would his arms again go out to you and his eyes grow warm with the old + mad lights. Do you see? Do you understand, little wife-woman?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon could only nod, her lips too dry for speech. + </p> + <p> + “The golden koa, the king of woods,” Mercedes was crooning over the + instrument. “The ukulele—that is what the Hawaiians call it, which + means, my dear, the jumping flea. They are golden-fleshed, the Hawaiians, + a race of lovers, all in the warm cool of the tropic night where the trade + winds blow.” + </p> + <p> + Again she struck the strings. She sang in another language, which Saxon + deemed must be French. It was a gayly-devilish lilt, tripping and + tickling. Her large eyes at times grew larger and wilder, and again + narrowed in enticement and wickedness. When she ended, she looked to Saxon + for a verdict. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like that one so well,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + Mercedes shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “They all have their worth, little infant-woman with so much to learn. + There are times when men may be won with wine. There are times when men + may be won with the wine of song, so queer they are. La la, so many ways, + so many ways. There are your pretties, my dear, your dainties. They are + magic nets. No fisherman upon the sea ever tangled fish more successfully + than we women with our flimsies. You are on the right path. I have seen + men enmeshed by a corset cover no prettier, no daintier, than these of + yours I have seen on the line. + </p> + <p> + “I have called the washing of fine linen an art. But it is not for itself + alone. The greatest of the arts is the conquering of men. Love is the sum + of all the arts, as it is the reason for their existence. Listen. In all + times and ages have been women, great wise women. They did not need to be + beautiful. Greater than all woman's beauty was their wisdom. Princes and + potentates bowed down before them. Nations battled over them. Empires + crashed because of them. Religions were founded on them. Aphrodite, + Astarte, the worships of the night—listen, infant-woman, of the + great women who conquered worlds of men.” + </p> + <p> + And thereafter Saxon listened, in a maze, to what almost seemed a wild + farrago, save that the strange meaningless phrases were fraught with dim, + mysterious significance. She caught glimmerings of profounds inexpressible + and unthinkable that hinted connotations lawless and terrible. The woman's + speech was a lava rush, scorching and searing; and Saxon's cheeks, and + forehead, and neck burned with a blush that continuously increased. She + trembled with fear, suffered qualms of nausea, thought sometimes that she + would faint, so madly reeled her brain; yet she could not tear herself + away, and sat on and on, her sewing forgotten on her lap, staring with + inward sight upon a nightmare vision beyond all imagining. At last, when + it seemed she could endure no more, and while she was wetting her dry lips + to cry out in protest, Mercedes ceased. + </p> + <p> + “And here endeth the first lesson,” she said quite calmly, then laughed + with a laughter that was tantalizing and tormenting. “What is the matter? + You are not shocked?” + </p> + <p> + “I am frightened,” Saxon quavered huskily, with a half-sob of nervousness. + “You frighten me. I am very foolish, and I know so little, that I had + never dreamed... THAT.” + </p> + <p> + Mercedes nodded her head comprehendingly. + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed to be frightened at,” she said. “It is solemn; it is + terrible; it is magnificent!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Saxon had been clear-eyed all her days, though her field of vision had + been restricted. Clear-eyed, from her childhood days with the saloonkeeper + Cady and Cady's good-natured but unmoral spouse, she had observed, and, + later, generalized much upon sex. She knew the post-nuptial problem of + retaining a husband's love, as few wives of any class knew it, just as she + knew the pre-nuptial problem of selecting a husband, as few girls of the + working class knew it. + </p> + <p> + She had of herself developed an eminently rational philosophy of love. + Instinctively, and consciously, too, she had made toward delicacy, and + shunned the perils of the habitual and commonplace. Thoroughly aware she + was that as she cheapened herself so did she cheapen love. Never, in the + weeks of their married life, had Billy found her dowdy, or harshly + irritable, or lethargic. And she had deliberately permeated her house with + her personal atmosphere of coolness, and freshness, and equableness. Nor + had she been ignorant of such assets as surprise and charm. Her + imagination had not been asleep, and she had been born with wisdom. In + Billy she had won a prize, and she knew it. She appreciated his lover's + ardor and was proud. His open-handed liberality, his desire for everything + of the best, his own personal cleanliness and care of himself she + recognized as far beyond the average. He was never coarse. He met delicacy + with delicacy, though it was obvious to her that the initiative in all + such matters lay with her and must lie with her always. He was largely + unconscious of what he did and why. But she knew in all full clarity of + judgment. And he was such a prize among men. + </p> + <p> + Despite her clear sight of her problem of keeping Billy a lover, and + despite the considerable knowledge and experience arrayed before her + mental vision, Mercedes Higgins had spread before her a vastly wider + panorama. The old woman had verified her own conclusions, given her new + ideas, clinched old ones, and even savagely emphasized the tragic + importance of the whole problem. Much Saxon remembered of that mad + preachment, much she guessed and felt, and much had been beyond her + experience and understanding. But the metaphors of the veils and the + flowers, and the rules of giving to abandonment with always more to + abandon, she grasped thoroughly, and she was enabled to formulate a bigger + and stronger love-philosophy. In the light of the revelation she + re-examined the married lives of all she had ever known, and, with sharp + definiteness as never before, she saw where and why so many of them had + failed. + </p> + <p> + With renewed ardor Saxon devoted herself to her household, to her + pretties, and to her charms. She marketed with a keener desire for the + best, though never ignoring the need for economy. From the women's pages + of the Sunday supplements, and from the women's magazines in the free + reading room two blocks away, she gleaned many ideas for the preservation + of her looks. In a systematic way she exercised the various parts of her + body, and a certain period of time each day she employed in facial + exercises and massage for the purpose of retaining the roundness and + freshness, and firmness and color. Billy did not know. These intimacies of + the toilette were not for him. The results, only, were his. She drew books + from the Carnegie Library and studied physiology and hygiene, and learned + a myriad of things about herself and the ways of woman's health that she + had never been taught by Sarah, the women of the orphan asylum, nor by + Mrs. Cady. + </p> + <p> + After long debate she subscribed to a woman's magazine, the patterns and + lessons of which she decided were the best suited to her taste and purse. + The other woman's magazines she had access to in the free reading room, + and more than one pattern of lace and embroidery she copied by means of + tracing paper. Before the lingerie windows of the uptown shops she often + stood and studied; nor was she above taking advantage, when small + purchases were made, of looking over the goods at the hand-embroidered + underwear counters. Once, she even considered taking up with hand-painted + china, but gave over the idea when she learned its expensiveness. + </p> + <p> + She slowly replaced all her simple maiden underlinen with garments which, + while still simple, were wrought with beautiful French embroidery, tucks, + and drawnwork. She crocheted fine edgings on the inexpensive knitted + underwear she wore in winter. She made little corset covers and chemises + of fine but fairly inexpensive lawns, and, with simple flowered designs + and perfect laundering, her nightgowns were always sweetly fresh and + dainty. In some publication she ran across a brief printed note to the + effect that French women were just beginning to wear fascinating beruffled + caps at the breakfast table. It meant nothing to her that in her case she + must first prepare the breakfast. Promptly appeared in the house a yard of + dotted Swiss muslin, and Saxon was deep in experimenting on patterns for + herself, and in sorting her bits of laces for suitable trimmings. The + resultant dainty creation won Mercedes Higgins' enthusiastic approval. + </p> + <p> + Saxon made for herself simple house slips of pretty gingham, with neat low + collars turned back from her fresh round throat. She crocheted yards of + laces for her underwear, and made Battenberg in abundance for her table + and for the bureau. A great achievement, that aroused Billy's applause, + was an Afghan for the bed. She even ventured a rag carpet, which, the + women's magazines informed her, had newly returned into fashion. As a + matter of course she hemstitched the best table linen and bed linen they + could afford. + </p> + <p> + As the happy months went by she was never idle. Nor was Billy forgotten. + When the cold weather came on she knitted him wristlets, which he always + religiously wore from the house and pocketed immediately thereafter. The + two sweaters she made for him, however, received a better fate, as did the + slippers which she insisted on his slipping into, on the evenings they + remained at home. + </p> + <p> + The hard practical wisdom of Mercedes Higgins proved of immense help, for + Saxon strove with a fervor almost religious to have everything of the best + and at the same time to be saving. Here she faced the financial and + economic problem of keeping house in a society where the cost of living + rose faster than the wages of industry. And here the old woman taught her + the science of marketing so thoroughly that she made a dollar of Billy's + go half as far again as the wives of the neighborhood made the dollars of + their men go. + </p> + <p> + Invariably, on Saturday night, Billy poured his total wages into her lap. + He never asked for an accounting of what she did with it, though he + continually reiterated that he had never fed so well in his life. And + always, the wages still untouched in her lap, she had him take out what he + estimated he would need for spending money for the week to come. Not only + did she bid him take plenty but she insisted on his taking any amount + extra that he might desire at any time through the week. And, further, she + insisted he should not tell her what it was for. + </p> + <p> + “You've always had money in your pocket,” she reminded him, “and there's + no reason marriage should change that. If it did, I'd wish I'd never + married you. Oh, I know about men when they get together. First one treats + and then another, and it takes money. Now if you can't treat just as + freely as the rest of them, why I know you so well that I know you'd stay + away from them. And that wouldn't be right... to you, I mean. I want you + to be together with men. It's good for a man.” + </p> + <p> + And Billy buried her in his arms and swore she was the greatest little bit + of woman that ever came down the pike. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he jubilated; “not only do I feed better, and live more + comfortable, and hold up my end with the fellows; but I'm actually saving + money—or you are for me. Here I am, with furniture being paid for + regular every month, and a little woman I'm mad over, and on top of it + money in the bank. How much is it now?” + </p> + <p> + “Sixty-two dollars,” she told him. “Not so bad for a rainy day. You might + get sick, or hurt, or something happen.” + </p> + <p> + It was in mid-winter, when Billy, with quite a deal of obvious reluctance, + broached a money matter to Saxon. His old friend, Billy Murphy, was laid + up with la grippe, and one of his children, playing in the street, had + been seriously injured by a passing wagon. Billy Murphy, still feeble + after two weeks in bed, had asked Billy for the loan of fifty dollars. + </p> + <p> + “It's perfectly safe,” Billy concluded to Saxon. “I've known him since we + was kids at the Durant School together. He's straight as a die.” + </p> + <p> + “That's got nothing to do with it,” Saxon chided. “If you were single + you'd have lent it to him immediately, wouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + Billy nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then it's no different because you're married. It's your money, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Not by a damn sight,” he cried. “It ain't mine. It's ourn. And I wouldn't + think of lettin' anybody have it without seein' you first.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you didn't tell him that,” she said with quick concern. + </p> + <p> + “Nope,” Billy laughed. “I knew, if I did, you'd be madder'n a hatter. I + just told him I'd try an' figure it out. After all, I was sure you'd stand + for it if you had it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy,” she murmured, her voice rich and low with love; “maybe you + don't know it, but that's one of the sweetest things you've said since we + got married.” + </p> + <p> + The more Saxon saw of Mercedes Higgins the less did she understand her. + That the old woman was a close-fisted miser, Saxon soon learned. And this + trait she found hard to reconcile with her tales of squandering. On the + other hand, Saxon was bewildered by Mercedes' extravagance in personal + matters. Her underlinen, hand-made of course, was very costly. The table + she set for Barry was good, but the table for herself was vastly better. + Yet both tables were set on the same table. While Barry contented himself + with solid round steak, Mercedes ate tenderloin. A huge, tough muttonchop + on Barry's plate would be balanced by tiny French chops on Mercedes' + plate. Tea was brewed in separate pots. So was coffee. While Barry gulped + twenty-five cent tea from a large and heavy mug, Mercedes sipped + three-dollar tea from a tiny cup of Belleek, rose-tinted, fragile as all + egg-shell. In the same manner, his twenty-five cent coffee was diluted + with milk, her eighty cent Turkish with cream. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis good enough for the old man,” she told Saxon. “He knows no better, + and it would be a wicked sin to waste it on him.” + </p> + <p> + Little traffickings began between the two women. After Mercedes had freely + taught Saxon the loose-wristed facility of playing accompaniments on the + ukulele, she proposed an exchange. Her time was past, she said, for such + frivolities, and she offered the instrument for the breakfast cap of which + Saxon had made so good a success. + </p> + <p> + “It's worth a few dollars,” Mercedes said. “It cost me twenty, though that + was years ago. Yet it is well worth the value of the cap.” + </p> + <p> + “But wouldn't the cap be frivolous, too?” Saxon queried, though herself + well pleased with the bargain. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis not for my graying hair,” Mercedes frankly disclaimed. “I shall sell + it for the money. Much that I do, when the rheumatism is not maddening my + fingers, I sell. La la, my dear, 'tis not old Barry's fifty a month + that'll satisfy all my expensive tastes. 'Tis I that make up the + difference. And old age needs money as never youth needs it. Some day you + will learn for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am well satisfied with the trade,” Saxon said. “And I shall make me + another cap when I can lay aside enough for the material.” + </p> + <p> + “Make several,” Mercedes advised. “I'll sell them for you, keeping, of + course, a small commission for my services. I can give you six dollars + apiece for them. We will consult about them. The profit will more than + provide material for your own.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Four eventful things happened in the course of the winter. Bert and Mary + got married and rented a cottage in the neighborhood three blocks away. + Billy's wages were cut, along with the wages of all the teamsters in + Oakland. Billy took up shaving with a safety razor. And, finally, Saxon + was proven a false prophet and Sarah a true one. + </p> + <p> + Saxon made up her mind, beyond any doubt, ere she confided the news to + Billy. At first, while still suspecting, she had felt a frightened sinking + of the heart and fear of the unknown and unexperienced. Then had come + economic fear, as she contemplated the increased expense entailed. But by + the time she had made surety doubly sure, all was swept away before a wave + of passionate gladness. HERS AND BILLY'S! The phrase was continually in + her mind, and each recurrent thought of it brought an actual physical + pleasure-pang to her heart. + </p> + <p> + The night she told the news to Billy, he withheld his own news of the + wage-cut, and joined with her in welcoming the little one. + </p> + <p> + “What'll we do? Go to the theater to celebrate?” he asked, relaxing the + pressure of his embrace so that she might speak. “Or suppose we stay in, + just you and me, and... and the three of us?” + </p> + <p> + “Stay in,” was her verdict. “I just want you to hold me, and hold me, and + hold me.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I wanted, too, only I wasn't sure, after bein' in the house + all day, maybe you'd want to go out.” + </p> + <p> + There was frost in the air, and Billy brought the Morris chair in by the + kitchen stove. She lay cuddled in his arms, her head on his shoulder, his + cheek against her hair. + </p> + <p> + “We didn't make no mistake in our lightning marriage with only a week's + courtin',” he reflected aloud. “Why, Saxon, we've been courtin' ever since + just the same. And now... my God, Saxon, it's too wonderful to be true. + Think of it! Ourn! The three of us! The little rascal! I bet he's goin' to + be a boy. An' won't I learn 'm to put up his fists an' take care of + himself! An' swimmin' too. If he don't know how to swim by the time he's + six...” + </p> + <p> + “And if HE'S a girl?” + </p> + <p> + “SHE'S goin' to be a boy,” Billy retorted, joining in the playful misuse + of pronouns. + </p> + <p> + And both laughed and kissed, and sighed with content. “I'm goin' to turn + pincher, now,” he announced, after quite an interval of meditation. “No + more drinks with the boys. It's me for the water wagon. And I'm goin' to + ease down on smokes. Huh! Don't see why I can't roll my own cigarettes. + They're ten times cheaper'n tailor-mades. An' I can grow a beard. The + amount of money the barbers get out of a fellow in a year would keep a + baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Just you let your beard grow, Mister Roberts, and I'll get a divorce,” + Saxon threatened. “You're just too handsome and strong with a smooth face. + I love your face too much to have it covered up.—Oh, you dear! you + dear! Billy, I never knew what happiness was until I came to live with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor me neither.” + </p> + <p> + “And it's always going to be so?” + </p> + <p> + “You can just bet,” he assured her. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I was going to be happy married,” she went on; “but I never + dreamed it would be like this.” She turned her head on his shoulder and + kissed his cheek. “Billy, it isn't happiness. It's heaven.” + </p> + <p> + And Billy resolutely kept undivulged the cut in wages. Not until two weeks + later, when it went into effect, and he poured the diminished sum into her + lap, did he break it to her. The next day, Bert and Mary, already a month + married, had Sunday dinner with them, and the matter came up for + discussion. Bert was particularly pessimistic, and muttered dark hints of + an impending strike in the railroad shops. + </p> + <p> + “If you'd all shut your traps, it'd be all right,” Mary criticized. “These + union agitators get the railroad sore. They give me the cramp, the way + they butt in an' stir up trouble. If I was boss I'd cut the wages of any + man that listened to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you belonged to the laundry workers' union,” Saxon rebuked gently. + </p> + <p> + “Because I had to or I wouldn't a-got work. An' much good it ever done + me.” + </p> + <p> + “But look at Billy,” Bert argued. “The teamsters ain't ben sayin' a word, + not a peep, an' everything lovely, and then, bang, right in the neck, a + ten per cent cut. Oh, hell, what chance have we got? We lose. There's + nothin' left for us in this country we've made and our fathers an' mothers + before us. We're all shot to pieces. We can see our finish—we, the + old stock, the children of the white people that broke away from England + an' licked the tar outa her, that freed the slaves, an' fought the + Indians, 'an made the West! Any gink with half an eye can see it comin'.” + </p> + <p> + “But what are we going to do about it?” Saxon questioned anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Fight. That's all. The country's in the hands of a gang of robbers. Look + at the Southern Pacific. It runs California.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, rats, Bert,” Billy interrupted. “You're talkin' through your lid. No + railroad can ran the government of California.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a bonehead,” Bert sneered. “And some day, when it's too late, you + an' all the other boneheads'll realize the fact. Rotten? I tell you it + stinks. Why, there ain't a man who wants to go to state legislature but + has to make a trip to San Francisco, an' go into the S. P. offices, an' + take his hat off, an' humbly ask permission. Why, the governors of + California has been railroad governors since before you and I was born. + Huh! You can't tell me. We're finished. We're licked to a frazzle. But + it'd do my heart good to help string up some of the dirty thieves before I + passed out. D'ye know what we are?—we old white stock that fought in + the wars, an' broke the land, an' made all this? I'll tell you. We're the + last of the Mohegans.” + </p> + <p> + “He scares me to death, he's so violent,” Mary said with unconcealed + hostility. “If he don't quit shootin' off his mouth he'll get fired from + the shops. And then what'll we do? He don't consider me. But I can tell + you one thing all right, all right. I'll not go back to the laundry.” She + held her right hand up and spoke with the solemnity of an oath. “Not so's + you can see it. Never again for yours truly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know what you're drivin' at,” Bert said with asperity. “An' all I + can tell you is, livin' or dead, in a job or out, no matter what happens + to me, if you will lead that way, you will, an' there's nothin' else to + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I kept straight before I met you,” she came back with a toss of + the head. “And I kept straight after I met you, which is going some if + anybody should ask you.” + </p> + <p> + Hot words were on Bert's tongue, but Saxon intervened and brought about + peace. She was concerned over the outcome of their marriage. Both were + highstrung, both were quick and irritable, and their continual clashes did + not augur well for their future. + </p> + <p> + The safety razor was a great achievement for Saxon. Privily she conferred + with a clerk she knew in Pierce's hardware store and made the purchase. On + Sunday morning, after breakfast, when Billy was starting to go to the + barber shop, she led him into the bedroom, whisked a towel aside, and + revealed the razor box, shaving mug, soap, brush, and lather all ready. + Billy recoiled, then came back to make curious investigation. He gazed + pityingly at the safety razor. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Call that a man's tool!” + </p> + <p> + “It'll do the work,” she said. “It does it for thousands of men every + day.” + </p> + <p> + But Billy shook his head and backed away. + </p> + <p> + “You shave three times a week,” she urged. “That's forty-five cents. Call + it half a dollar, and there are fifty-two weeks in the year. Twenty-six + dollars a year just for shaving. Come on, dear, and try it. Lots of men + swear by it.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head mutinously, and the cloudy deeps of his eyes grew more + cloudy. She loved that sullen handsomeness that made him look so boyish, + and, laughing and kissing him, she forced him into a chair, got off his + coat, and unbuttoned shirt and undershirt and turned them in. + </p> + <p> + Threatening him with, “If you open your mouth to kick I'll shove it in,” + she coated his face with lather. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” she checked him, as he reached desperately for the razor. + “I've been watching the barbers from the sidewalk. This is what they do + after the lather is on.” + </p> + <p> + And thereupon she proceeded to rub the lather in with her fingers. + </p> + <p> + “There,” she said, when she had coated his face a second time. “You're + ready to begin. Only remember, I'm not always going to do this for you. + I'm just breaking you in, you see.” + </p> + <p> + With great outward show of rebellion, half genuine, half facetious, he + made several tentative scrapes with the razor. He winced violently, and + violently exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Holy jumping Jehosaphat!” + </p> + <p> + He examined his face in the glass, and a streak of blood showed in the + midst of the lather. + </p> + <p> + “Cut!—by a safety razor, by God! Sure, men swear by it. Can't blame + 'em. Cut! By a safety!” + </p> + <p> + “But wait a second,” Saxon pleaded. “They have to be regulated. The clerk + told me. See those little screws. There.... That's it... turn them + around.” + </p> + <p> + Again Billy applied the blade to his face. After a couple of scrapes, he + looked at himself closely in the mirror, grinned, and went on shaving. + With swiftness and dexterity he scraped his face clean of lather. Saxon + clapped her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Fine,” Billy approved. “Great! Here. Give me your hand. See what a good + job it made.” + </p> + <p> + He started to rub her hand against his cheek. Saxon jerked away with a + little cry of disappointment, then examined him closely. + </p> + <p> + “It hasn't shaved at all,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It's a fake, that's what it is. It cuts the hide, but not the hair. Me + for the barber.” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon was persistent. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't given it a fair trial yet. It was regulated too much. Let me + try my hand at it. There, that's it, betwixt and between. Now, lather + again and try it.” + </p> + <p> + This time the unmistakable sand-papery sound of hair-severing could be + heard. + </p> + <p> + “How is it?” she fluttered anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “It gets the—ouch!—hair,” Billy grunted, frowning and making + faces. “But it—gee!—say!—ouch!—pulls like Sam + Hill.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay with it,” she encouraged. “Don't give up the ship, big Injun with a + scalplock. Remember what Bert says and be the last of the Mohegans.” + </p> + <p> + At the end of fifteen minutes he rinsed his face and dried it, sighing + with relief. + </p> + <p> + “It's a shave, in a fashion, Saxon, but I can't say I'm stuck on it. It + takes out the nerve. I'm as weak as a cat.” + </p> + <p> + He groaned with sudden discovery of fresh misfortune. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter now?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The back of my neck—how can I shave the back of my neck? I'll have + to pay a barber to do it.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon's consternation was tragic, but it only lasted a moment. She took + the brush in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “What?—you?” he demanded indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; me. If any barber is good enough to shave your neck, and then I am, + too.” + </p> + <p> + Billy moaned and groaned in the abjectness of humility and surrender, and + let her have her way. + </p> + <p> + “There, and a good job,” she informed him when she had finished. “As easy + as falling off a log. And besides, it means twenty-six dollars a year. And + you'll buy the crib, the baby buggy, the pinning blankets, and lots and + lots of things with it. Now sit still a minute longer.” + </p> + <p> + She rinsed and dried the back of his neck and dusted it with talcum + powder. + </p> + <p> + “You're as sweet as a clean little baby, Billy Boy.” + </p> + <p> + The unexpected and lingering impact of her lips on the back of his neck + made him writhe with mingled feelings not all unpleasant. + </p> + <p> + Two days later, though vowing in the intervening time to have nothing + further to do with the instrument of the devil, he permitted Saxon to + assist him to a second shave. This time it went easier. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't so bad,” he admitted. “I'm gettin' the hang of it. It's all in + the regulating. You can shave as close as you want an' no more close than + you want. Barbers can't do that. Every once an' awhile they get my face + sore.” + </p> + <p> + The third shave was an unqualified success, and the culminating bliss was + reached when Saxon presented him with a bottle of witch hazel. After that + he began active proselyting. He could not wait a visit from Bert, but + carried the paraphernalia to the latter's house to demonstrate. + </p> + <p> + “We've ben boobs all these years, Bert, runnin' the chances of barber's + itch an' everything. Look at this, eh? See her take hold. Smooth as silk. + Just as easy.... There! Six minutes by the clock. Can you beat it? When I + get my hand in, I can do it in three. It works in the dark. It works under + water. You couldn't cut yourself if you tried. And it saves twenty-six + dollars a year. Saxon figured it out, and she's a wonder, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + The trafficking between Saxon and Mercedes increased. The latter commanded + a ready market for all the fine work Saxon could supply, while Saxon was + eager and happy in the work. The expected babe and the cut in Billy's + wages had caused her to regard the economic phase of existence more + seriously than ever. Too little money was being laid away in the bank, and + her conscience pricked her as she considered how much she was laying out + on the pretty necessaries for the household and herself. Also, for the + first time in her life she was spending another's earnings. Since a young + girl she had been used to spending her own, and now, thanks to Mercedes + she was doing it again, and, out of her profits, assaying more expensive + and delightful adventures in lingerie. + </p> + <p> + Mercedes suggested, and Saxon carried out and even bettered, the dainty + things of thread and texture. She made ruffled chemises of sheer linen, + with her own fine edgings and French embroidery on breast and shoulders; + linen hand-made combination undersuits; and nightgowns, fairy and + cobwebby, embroidered, trimmed with Irish lace. On Mercedes' instigation + she executed an ambitious and wonderful breakfast cap for which the old + woman returned her twelve dollars after deducting commission. + </p> + <p> + She was happy and busy every waking moment, nor was preparation for the + little one neglected. The only ready made garments she bought were three + fine little knit shirts. As for the rest, every bit was made by her own + hands—featherstitched pinning blankets, a crocheted jacket and cap, + knitted mittens, embroidered bonnets; slim little princess slips of + sensible length; underskirts on absurd Lilliputian yokes; silk-embroidered + white flannel petticoats; stockings and crocheted boots, seeming to + burgeon before her eyes with wriggly pink toes and plump little calves; + and last, but not least, many deliciously soft squares of bird's-eye + linen. A little later, as a crowning masterpiece, she was guilty of a + dress coat of white silk, embroidered. And into all the tiny garments, + with every stitch, she sewed love. Yet this love, so unceasingly sewn, she + knew when she came to consider and marvel, was more of Billy than of the + nebulous, ungraspable new bit of life that eluded her fondest attempts at + visioning. + </p> + <p> + “Huh,” was Billy's comment, as he went over the mite's wardrobe and came + back to center on the little knit shirts, “they look more like a real kid + than the whole kit an' caboodle. Why, I can see him in them regular + manshirts.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon, with a sudden rush of happy, unshed tears, held one of the little + shirts up to his lips. He kissed it solemnly, his eyes resting on Saxon's. + </p> + <p> + “That's some for the boy,” he said, “but a whole lot for you.” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon's money-earning was doomed to cease ignominiously and + tragically. One day, to take advantage of a department store bargain sale, + she crossed the bay to San Francisco. Passing along Sutter Street, her eye + was attracted by a display in the small window of a small shop. At first + she could not believe it; yet there, in the honored place of the window, + was the wonderful breakfast cap for which she had received twelve dollars + from Mercedes. It was marked twenty-eight dollars. Saxon went in and + interviewed the shopkeeper, an emaciated, shrewd-eyed and middle-aged + woman of foreign extraction. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't want to buy anything,” Saxon said. “I make nice things like + you have here, and I wanted to know what you pay for them—for that + breakfast cap in the window, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + The woman darted a keen glance to Saxon's left hand, noted the innumerable + tiny punctures in the ends of the first and second fingers, then appraised + her clothing and her face. + </p> + <p> + “Can you do work like that?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I paid twenty dollars to the woman that made that.” Saxon repressed an + almost spasmodic gasp, and thought coolly for a space. Mercedes had given + her twelve. Then Mercedes had pocketed eight, while she, Saxon, had + furnished the material and labor. + </p> + <p> + “Would you please show me other hand-made things -- nightgowns, chemises, and + such things, and tell me the prices you pay?” + </p> + <p> + “Can you do such work?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And will you sell to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” Saxon answered. “That is why I am here.” + </p> + <p> + “We add only a small amount when we sell,” the woman went on; “you see, + light and rent and such things, as well as a profit or else we could not + be here.” + </p> + <p> + “It's only fair,” Saxon agreed. + </p> + <p> + Amongst the beautiful stuff Saxon went over, she found a nightgown and a + combination undersuit of her own manufacture. For the former she had + received eight dollars from Mercedes, it was marked eighteen, and the + woman had paid fourteen; for the latter Saxon received six, it was marked + fifteen, and the woman had paid eleven. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” Saxon said, as she drew on her gloves. “I should like to + bring you some of my work at those prices.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shall be glad to buy it... if it is up to the mark.” The woman + looked at her severely. “Mind you, it must be as good as this. And if it + is, I often get special orders, and I'll give you a chance at them.” + </p> + <p> + Mercedes was unblushingly candid when Saxon reproached her. + </p> + <p> + “You told me you took only a commission,” was Saxon's accusation. + </p> + <p> + “So I did; and so I have.” + </p> + <p> + “But I did all the work and bought all the materials, yet you actually + cleared more out of it than I did. You got the lion's share.” + </p> + <p> + “And why shouldn't I, my dear? I was the middleman. It's the way of the + world. 'Tis the middlemen that get the lion's share.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me most unfair,” Saxon reflected, more in sadness than anger. + </p> + <p> + “That is your quarrel with the world, not with me,” Mercedes rejoined + sharply, then immediately softened with one of her quick changes. “We + mustn't quarrel, my dear. I like you so much. La la, it is nothing to you, + who are young and strong with a man young and strong. Listen, I am an old + woman. And old Barry can do little for me. He is on his last legs. His + kidneys are 'most gone. Remember, 'tis I must bury him. And I do him + honor, for beside me he'll have his last long sleep. A stupid, dull old + man, heavy, an ox, 'tis true; but a good old fool with no trace of evil in + him. The plot is bought and paid for—the final installment was made + up, in part, out of my commissions from you. Then there are the funeral + expenses. It must be done nicely. I have still much to save. And Barry may + turn up his toes any day.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon sniffed the air carefully, and knew the old woman had been drinking + again. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear, let me show you.” Leading Saxon to a large sea chest in + the bedroom, Mercedes lifted the lid. A faint perfume, as of rose-petals, + floated up. “Behold, my burial trousseau. Thus I shall wed the dust.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon's amazement increased, as, article by article, the old woman + displayed the airiest, the daintiest, the most delicious and most complete + of bridal outfits. Mercedes held up an ivory fan. + </p> + <p> + “In Venice 'twas given me, my dear.—See, this comb, turtle shell; + Bruce Anstey made it for me the week before he drank his last bottle and + scattered his brave mad brains with a Colt's 44.—This scarf. La la, + a Liberty scarf—” + </p> + <p> + “And all that will be buried with you,” Saxon mused, “Oh, the extravagance + of it!” + </p> + <p> + Mercedes laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I shall die as I have lived. It is my pleasure. I go to the dust + as a bride. No cold and narrow bed for me. I would it were a coach, + covered with the soft things of the East, and pillows, pillows, without + end.” + </p> + <p> + “It would buy you twenty funerals and twenty plots,” Saxon protested, + shocked by this blasphemy of conventional death. “It is downright wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twill be as I have lived,” Mercedes said complacently. “And it's a fine + bride old Barry'll have to come and lie beside him.” She closed the lid + and sighed. “Though I wish it were Bruce Anstey, or any of the pick of my + young men to lie with me in the great dark and to crumble with me to the + dust that is the real death.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at Saxon with eyes heated by alcohol and at the same time cool + with the coolness of content. + </p> + <p> + “In the old days the great of earth were buried with their live slaves + with them. I but take my flimsies, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you aren't afraid of death?... in the least?” + </p> + <p> + Mercedes shook her head emphatically. + </p> + <p> + “Death is brave, and good, and kind. I do not fear death. 'Tis of men I am + afraid when I am dead. So I prepare. They shall not have me when I am + dead.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “They would not want you then,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Many are wanted,” was the answer. “Do you know what becomes of the aged + poor who have no money for burial? They are not buried. Let me tell you. + We stood before great doors. He was a queer man, a professor who ought to + have been a pirate, a man who lectured in class rooms when he ought to + have been storming walled cities or robbing banks. He was slender, like + Don Juan. His hands were strong as steel. So was his spirit. And he was + mad, a bit mad, as all my young men have been. 'Come, Mercedes,' he said; + 'we will inspect our brethren and become humble, and glad that we are not + as they—as yet not yet. And afterward, to-night, we will dine with a + more devilish taste, and we will drink to them in golden wine that will be + the more golden for having seen them. Come, Mercedes.' + </p> + <p> + “He thrust the great doors open, and by the hand led me in. It was a sad + company. Twenty-four, that lay on marble slabs, or sat, half erect and + propped, while many young men, bright of eye, bright little knives in + their hands, glanced curiously at me from their work.” + </p> + <p> + “They were dead?” Saxon interrupted to gasp. + </p> + <p> + “They were the pauper dead, my dear. 'Come, Mercedes,' said he. 'There is + more to show you that will make us glad we are alive.' And he took me + down, down to the vats. The salt vats, my dear. I was not afraid. But it + was in my mind, then, as I looked, how it would be with me when I was + dead. And there they were, so many lumps of pork. And the order came, 'A + woman; an old woman.' And the man who worked there fished in the vats. The + first was a man he drew to see. Again he fished and stirred. Again a man. + He was impatient, and grumbled at his luck. And then, up through the + brine, he drew a woman, and by the face of her she was old, and he was + satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not true!” Saxon cried out. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen, my dear, I know. And I tell you fear not the wrath of God + when you are dead. Fear only the salt vats. And as I stood and looked, and + as he who led me there looked at me and smiled and questioned and + bedeviled me with those mad, black, tired-scholar's eyes of his, I knew + that that was no way for my dear clay. Dear it is, my clay to me; dear it + has been to others. La la, the salt vat is no place for my kissed lips and + love-lavished body.” Mercedes lifted the lid of the chest and gazed fondly + at her burial pretties. “So I have made my bed. So I shall lie in it. Some + old philosopher said we know we must die; we do not believe it. But the + old do believe. I believe. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, remember the salt vats, and do not be angry with me because my + commissions have been heavy. To escape the vats I would stop at nothing -- + steal the widow's mite, the orphan's crust, and pennies from a dead man's + eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe in God?” Saxon asked abruptly, holding herself together + despite cold horror. + </p> + <p> + Mercedes dropped the lid and shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? I shall rest well.” + </p> + <p> + “And punishment?” Saxon probed, remembering the unthinkable tale of the + other's life. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, my dear. As some old poet said, 'God's a good fellow.' Some + time I shall talk to you about God. Never be afraid of him. Be afraid only + of the salt vats and the things men may do with your pretty flesh after + you are dead.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Billy quarreled with good fortune. He suspected he was too prosperous on + the wages he received. What with the accumulating savings account, the + paying of the monthly furniture installment and the house rent, the + spending money in pocket, and the good fare he was eating, he was puzzled + as to how Saxon managed to pay for the goods used in her fancy work. + Several times he had suggested his inability to see how she did it, and + been baffled each time by Saxon's mysterious laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I can't see how you do it on the money,” he was contending one evening. + </p> + <p> + He opened his mouth to speak further, then closed it and for five minutes + thought with knitted brows. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he said, “what's become of that frilly breakfast cap you was + workin' on so hard, I ain't never seen you wear it, and it was sure too + big for the kid.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon hesitated, with pursed lips and teasing eyes. With her, + untruthfulness had always been a difficult matter. To Billy it was + impossible. She could see the cloud-drift in his eyes deepening and his + face hardening in the way she knew so well when he was vexed. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon, you ain't... you ain't... sellin' your work?” + </p> + <p> + And thereat she related everything, not omitting Mercedes Higgins' part in + the transaction, nor Mercedes Higgins' remarkable burial trousseau. But + Billy was not to be led aside by the latter. In terms anything but + uncertain he told Saxon that she was not to work for money. + </p> + <p> + “But I have so much spare time, Billy, dear,” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doing. I won't listen to it. I married you, and I'll take care of + you. Nobody can say Bill Roberts' wife has to work. And I don't want to + think it myself. Besides, it ain't necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “But Billy—” she began again. + </p> + <p> + “Nope. That's one thing I won't stand for, Saxon. Not that I don't like + fancy work. I do. I like it like hell, every bit you make, but I like it + on YOU. Go ahead and make all you want of it, for yourself, an' I'll put + up for the goods. Why, I'm just whistlin' an' happy all day long, thinkin' + of the boy an' seein' you at home here workin' away on all them nice + things. Because I know how happy you are a-doin' it. But honest to God, + Saxon, it'd all be spoiled if I knew you was doin' it to sell. You see, + Bill Roberts' wife don't have to work. That's my brag—to myself, + mind you. An' besides, it ain't right.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a dear,” she whispered, happy despite her disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to have all you want,” he continued. “An' you're goin' to get + it as long as I got two hands stickin' on the ends of my arms. I guess I + know how good the things are you wear—good to me, I mean, too. I'm + dry behind the ears, an' maybe I've learned a few things I oughtn't to + before I knew you. But I know what I'm talkin' about, and I want to say + that outside the clothes down underneath, an' the clothes down underneath + the outside ones, I never saw a woman like you. Oh—” + </p> + <p> + He threw up his hands as if despairing of ability to express what he + thought and felt, then essayed a further attempt. + </p> + <p> + “It's not a matter of bein' only clean, though that's a whole lot. Lots of + women are clean. It ain't that. It's something more, an' different. + It's... well, it's the look of it, so white, an' pretty, an' tasty. It + gets on the imagination. It's something I can't get out of my thoughts of + you. I want to tell you lots of men can't strip to advantage, an' lots of + women, too. But you—well, you're a wonder, that's all, and you can't + get too many of them nice things to suit me, and you can't get them too + nice. + </p> + <p> + “For that matter, Saxon, you can just blow yourself. There's lots of easy + money layin' around. I'm in great condition. Billy Murphy pulled down + seventy-five round iron dollars only last week for puttin' away the Pride + of North Beach. That's what ha paid us the fifty back out of.” + </p> + <p> + But this time it was Saxon who rebelled. + </p> + <p> + “There's Carl Hansen,” Billy argued. “The second Sharkey, the alfalfa + sportin' writers are callin' him. An' he calls himself Champion of the + United States Navy. Well, I got his number. He's just a big stiff. I've + seen 'm fight, an' I can pass him the sleep medicine just as easy. The + Secretary of the Sportin' Life Club offered to match me. An' a hundred + iron dollars in it for the winner. And it'll all be yours to blow in any + way you want. What d'ye say?” + </p> + <p> + “If I can't work for money, you can't fight,” was Saxon's ultimatum, + immediately withdrawn. “But you and I don't drive bargains. Even if you'd + let me work for money, I wouldn't let you fight. I've never forgotten what + you told me about how prizefighters lose their silk. Well, you're not + going to lose yours. It's half my silk, you know. And if you won't fight, + I won't work—there. And more, I'll never do anything you don't want + me to, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Same here,” Billy agreed. “Though just the same I'd like most to death to + have just one go at that squarehead Hansen.” He smiled with pleasure at + the thought. “Say, let's forget it all now, an' you sing me 'Harvest Days' + on that dinky what-you-may-call-it.” + </p> + <p> + When she had complied, accompanying herself on the ukulele, she suggested + his weird “Cowboy's Lament.” In some inexplicable way of love, she had + come to like her husband's one song. Because he sang it, she liked its + inanity and monotonousness; and most of all, it seemed to her, she loved + his hopeless and adorable flatting of every note. She could even sing with + him, flatting as accurately and deliciously as he. Nor did she undeceive + him in his sublime faith. + </p> + <p> + “I guess Bert an' the rest have joshed me all the time,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You and I get along together with it fine,” she equivocated; for in such + matters she did not deem the untruth a wrong. + </p> + <p> + Spring was on when the strike came in the railroad shops. The Sunday + before it was called, Saxon and Billy had dinner at Bert's house. Saxon's + brother came, though he had found it impossible to bring Sarah, who + refused to budge from her household rut. Bert was blackly pessimistic, and + they found him singing with sardonic glee: + </p> + <p> + “Nobody loves a mil-yun-aire. Nobody likes his looks. Nobody'll share his + slightest care, He classes with thugs and crooks. Thriftiness has become a + crime, So spend everything you earn; We're living now in a funny time, + When money is made to burn.” + </p> + <p> + Mary went about the dinner preparation, flaunting unmistakable signals of + rebellion; and Saxon, rolling up her sleeves and tying on an apron, washed + the breakfast dishes. Bert fetched a pitcher of steaming beer from the + corner saloon, and the three men smoked and talked about the coming + strike. + </p> + <p> + “It oughta come years ago,” was Bert's dictum. “It can't come any too + quick now to suit me, but it's too late. We're beaten thumbs down. Here's + where the last of the Mohegans gets theirs, in the neck, ker-whop!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Tom, who had been smoking his pipe gravely, began to + counsel. “Organized labor's gettin' stronger every day. Why, I can + remember when there wasn't any unions in California. Look at us now—wages, + an' hours, an' everything.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk like an organizer,” Bert sneered, “shovin' the bull con on the + boneheads. But we know different. Organized wages won't buy as much now as + unorganized wages used to buy. They've got us whipsawed. Look at Frisco, + the labor leaders doin' dirtier politics than the old parties, pawin' an' + squabblin' over graft, an' goin' to San Quentin, while—what are the + Frisco carpenters doin'? Let me tell you one thing, Tom Brown, if you + listen to all you hear you'll hear that every Frisco carpenter is union + an' gettin' full union wages. Do you believe it? It's a damn lie. There + ain't a carpenter that don't rebate his wages Saturday night to the + contractor. An' that's your buildin' trades in San Francisco, while the + leaders are makin' trips to Europe on the earnings of the tenderloin—when + they ain't coughing it up to the lawyers to get out of wearin' stripes.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” Tom concurred. “Nobody's denyin' it. The trouble is + labor ain't quite got its eyes open. It ought to play politics, but the + politics ought to be the right kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Socialism, eh?” Bert caught him up with scorn. “Wouldn't they sell us out + just as the Ruefs and Schmidts have?” + </p> + <p> + “Get men that are honest,” Billy said. “That's the whole trouble. Not that + I stand for socialism. I don't. All our folks was a long time in America, + an' I for one won't stand for a lot of fat Germans an' greasy Russian Jews + tellin' me how to run my country when they can't speak English yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Your country!” Bert cried. “Why, you bonehead, you ain't got a country. + That's a fairy story the grafters shove at you every time they want to rob + you some more.” + </p> + <p> + “But don't vote for the grafters,” Billy contended. “If we selected honest + men we'd get honest treatment.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd come to some of our meetings, Billy,” Tom said wistfully. + “If you would, you'd get your eyes open an' vote the socialist ticket next + election.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life,” Billy declined. “When you catch me in a socialist + meeting'll be when they can talk like white men.” + </p> + <p> + Bert was humming: + </p> + <p> + “We're living now in a funny time, When money is made to burn.” + </p> + <p> + Mary was too angry with her husband, because of the impending strike and + his incendiary utterances, to hold conversation with Saxon, and the + latter, bepuzzled, listened to the conflicting opinions of the men. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we at?” she asked them, with a merriness that concealed her + anxiety at heart. + </p> + <p> + “We ain't at,” Bert snarled. “We're gone.” + </p> + <p> + “But meat and oil have gone up again,” she chafed. “And Billy's wages have + been cut, and the shop men's were cut last year. Something must be done.” + </p> + <p> + “The only thing to do is fight like hell,” Bert answered. “Fight, an' go + down fightin'. That's all. We're licked anyhow, but we can have a last run + for our money.” + </p> + <p> + “That's no way to talk,” Tom rebuked. + </p> + <p> + “The time for talkin' 's past, old cock. The time for fightin' 's come.” + </p> + <p> + “A hell of a chance you'd have against regular troops and machine guns,” + Billy retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not that way. There's such things as greasy sticks that go up with a + loud noise and leave holes. There's such things as emery powder—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ho!” Mary burst out upon him, arms akimbo. “So that's what it means. + That's what the emery in your vest pocket meant.” + </p> + <p> + Her husband ignored her. Tom smoked with a troubled air. Billy was hurt. + It showed plainly in his face. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't ben doin' that, Bert?” he asked, his manner showing his + expectancy of his friend's denial. + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing, if you want to know. I'd see'm all in hell if I could, before + I go.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a bloody-minded anarchist,” Mary complained. “Men like him killed + McKinley, and Garfield, an'—an' an' all the rest. He'll be hung. + You'll see. Mark my words. I'm glad there's no children in sight, that's + all.” + </p> + <p> + “It's hot air,” Billy comforted her. + </p> + <p> + “He's just teasing you,” Saxon soothed. “He always was a josher.” + </p> + <p> + But Mary shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I know. I hear him talkin' in his sleep. He swears and curses something + awful, an' grits his teeth. Listen to him now.” + </p> + <p> + Bert, his handsome face bitter and devil-may-care, had tilted his chair + back against the wall and was singing + </p> + <p> + “Nobody loves a mil-yun-aire, Nobody likes his looks, Nobody'll share his + slightest care, He classes with thugs and crooks.” + </p> + <p> + Tom was saying something about reasonableness and justice, and Bert ceased + from singing to catch him up. + </p> + <p> + “Justice, eh? Another pipe-dream. I'll show you where the working class + gets justice. You remember Forbes—J. Alliston Forbes—wrecked + the Alta California Trust Company an' salted down two cold millions. I saw + him yesterday, in a big hell-bent automobile. What'd he get? Eight years' + sentence. How long did he serve? Less'n two years. Pardoned out on account + of ill health. Ill hell! We'll be dead an' rotten before he kicks the + bucket. Here. Look out this window. You see the back of that house with + the broken porch rail. Mrs. Danaker lives there. She takes in washin'. Her + old man was killed on the railroad. Nitsky on damages—contributory + negligence, or fellow-servant-something-or-other flimflam. That's what the + courts handed her. Her boy, Archie, was sixteen. He was on the road, a + regular road-kid. He blew into Fresno an' rolled a drunk. Do you want to + know how much he got? Two dollars and eighty cents. Get that?—Two-eighty. + And what did the alfalfa judge hand'm? Fifty years. He's served eight of + it already in San Quentin. And he'll go on serving it till he croaks. Mrs. + Danaker says he's bad with consumption—caught it inside, but she + ain't got the pull to get'm pardoned. Archie the Kid steals two dollars + an' eighty cents from a drunk and gets fifty years. J. Alliston Forbes + sticks up the Alta Trust for two millions en' gets less'n two years. Who's + country is this anyway? Yourn an' Archie the Kid's? Guess again. It's J. + Alliston Forbes'—Oh: + </p> + <p> + “Nobody likes a mil-yun-aire, Nobody likes his looks, Nobody'll share his + slightest care, He classes with thugs and crooks.” + </p> + <p> + Mary, at the sink, where Saxon was just finishing the last dish, untied + Saxon's apron and kissed her with the sympathy that women alone feel for + each other under the shadow of maternity. + </p> + <p> + “Now you sit down, dear. You mustn't tire yourself, and it's a long way to + go yet. I'll get your sewing for you, and you can listen to the men talk. + But don't listen to Bert. He's crazy.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon sewed and listened, and Bert's face grew bleak and bitter as he + contemplated the baby clothes in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “There you go,” he blurted out, “bringin' kids into the world when you + ain't got any guarantee you can feed em.” + </p> + <p> + “You must a-had a souse last night,” Tom grinned. + </p> + <p> + Bert shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, what's the use of gettin' grouched?” Billy cheered. “It's a pretty + good country.” + </p> + <p> + “It WAS a pretty good country,” Bert replied, “when we was all Mohegans. + But not now. We're jiggerooed. We're hornswoggled. We're backed to a + standstill. We're double-crossed to a fare-you-well. My folks fought for + this country. So did yourn, all of you. We freed the niggers, killed the + Indians, an starved, an' froze, an' sweat, an' fought. This land looked + good to us. We cleared it, an' broke it, an' made the roads, an' built the + cities. And there was plenty for everybody. And we went on fightin' for + it. I had two uncles killed at Gettysburg. All of us was mixed up in that + war. Listen to Saxon talk any time what her folks went through to get out + here an' get ranches, an' horses, an' cattle, an' everything. And they got + 'em. All our folks' got 'em, Mary's, too—” + </p> + <p> + “And if they'd ben smart they'd a-held on to them,” she interpolated. + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing,” Bert continued. “That's the very point. We're the losers. + We've ben robbed. We couldn't mark cards, deal from the bottom, an' ring + in cold decks like the others. We're the white folks that failed. You see, + times changed, and there was two kinds of us, the lions and the plugs. The + plugs only worked, the lions only gobbled. They gobbled the farms, the + mines, the factories, an' now they've gobbled the government. We're the + white folks an' the children of white folks, that was too busy being good + to be smart. We're the white folks that lost out. We're the ones that's + ben skinned. D'ye get me?” + </p> + <p> + “You'd make a good soap-boxer,” Tom commended, “if only you'd get the + kinks straightened out in your reasoning.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds all right, Bert,” Billy said, “only it ain't. Any man can get + rich to-day—” + </p> + <p> + “Or be president of the United States,” Bert snapped. “Sure thing—if + he's got it in him. Just the same I ain't heard you makin' a noise like a + millionaire or a president. Why? You ain't got it in you. You're a + bonehead. A plug. That's why. Skiddoo for you. Skiddoo for all of us.” + </p> + <p> + At the table, while they ate, Tom talked of the joys of farm-life he had + known as a boy and as a young man, and confided that it was his dream to + go and take up government land somewhere as his people had done before + him. Unfortunately, as he explained, Sarah was set, so that the dream must + remain a dream. + </p> + <p> + “It's all in the game,” Billy sighed. “It's played to rules. Some one has + to get knocked out, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + A little later, while Bert was off on a fresh diatribe, Billy became aware + that he was making comparisons. This house was not like his house. Here + was no satisfying atmosphere. Things seemed to run with a jar. He + recollected that when they arrived the breakfast dishes had not yet been + washed. With a man's general obliviousness of household affairs, he had + not noted details; yet it had been borne in on him, all morning, in a + myriad ways, that Mary was not the housekeeper Saxon was. He glanced + proudly across at her, and felt the spur of an impulse to leave his seat, + go around, and embrace her. She was a wife. He remembered her dainty + undergarmenting, and on the instant, into his brain, leaped the image of + her so appareled, only to be shattered by Bert. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, Bill, you seem to think I've got a grouch. Sure thing. I have. You + ain't had my experiences. You've always done teamin' an' pulled down easy + money prizefightin'. You ain't known hard times. You ain't ben through + strikes. You ain't had to take care of an old mother an' swallow dirt on + her account. It wasn't until after she died that I could rip loose an' + take or leave as I felt like it. + </p> + <p> + “Take that time I tackled the Niles Electric an' see what a work-plug gets + handed out to him. The Head Cheese sizes me up, pumps me a lot of + questions, an' gives me an application blank. I make it out, payin' a + dollar to a doctor they sent me to for a health certificate. Then I got to + go to a picture garage an' get my mug taken for the Niles Electric rogues' + gallery. And I cough up another dollar for the mug. The Head Squirt takes + the blank, the health certificate, and the mug, an' fires more questions. + DID I BELONG TO A LABOR UNION?—ME? Of course I told'm the truth I + guess nit. I needed the job. The grocery wouldn't give me any more tick, + and there was my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Huh, thinks I, here's where I'm a real carman. Back platform for me, + where I can pick up the fancy skirts. Nitsky. Two dollars, please. Me—my + two dollars. All for a pewter badge. Then there was the uniform—nineteen + fifty, and get it anywhere else for fifteen. Only that was to be paid out + of my first month. And then five dollars in change in my pocket, my own + money. That was the rule.—I borrowed that five from Tom Donovan, the + policeman. Then what? They worked me for two weeks without pay, breakin' + me in.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you pick up any fancy skirts?” Saxon queried teasingly. + </p> + <p> + Bert shook his head glumly. + </p> + <p> + “I only worked a month. Then we organized, and they busted our union + higher'n a kite.” + </p> + <p> + “And you boobs in the shops will be busted the same way if you go out on + strike,” Mary informed him. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I've ben tellin' you all along,” Bert replied. “We ain't got + a chance to win.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why go out?” was Saxon's question. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with lackluster eyes for a moment, then answered + </p> + <p> + “Why did my two uncles get killed at Gettysburg?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Saxon went about her housework greatly troubled. She no longer devoted + herself to the making of pretties. The materials cost money, and she did + not dare. Bert's thrust had sunk home. It remained in her quivering + consciousness like a shaft of steel that ever turned and rankled. She and + Billy were responsible for this coming young life. Could they be sure, + after all, that they could adequately feed and clothe it and prepare it + for its way in the world? Where was the guaranty? She remembered, dimly, + the blight of hard times in the past, and the plaints of fathers and + mothers in those days returned to her with a new significance. Almost + could she understand Sarah's chronic complaining. + </p> + <p> + Hard times were already in the neighborhood, where lived the families of + the shopmen who had gone out on strike. Among the small storekeepers, + Saxon, in the course of the daily marketing, could sense the air of + despondency. Light and geniality seemed to have vanished. Gloom pervaded + everywhere. The mothers of the children that played in the streets showed + the gloom plainly in their faces. When they gossiped in the evenings, over + front gates and on door stoops, their voices were subdued and less of + laughter rang out. + </p> + <p> + Mary Donahue, who had taken three pints from the milkman, now took one + pint. There were no more family trips to the moving picture shows. + Scrap-meat was harder to get from the butcher. Nora Delaney, in the third + house, no longer bought fresh fish for Friday. Salted codfish, not of the + best quality, was now on her table. The sturdy children that ran out upon + the street between meals with huge slices of bread and butter and sugar + now came out with no sugar and with thinner slices spread more thinly with + butter. The very custom was dying out, and some children already had + desisted from piecing between meals. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere was manifest a pinching and scraping, a tightning and + shortening down of expenditure. And everywhere was more irritation. Women + became angered with one another, and with the children, more quickly than + of yore; and Saxon knew that Bert and Mary bickered incessantly. + </p> + <p> + “If she'd only realize I've got troubles of my own,” Bert complained to + Saxon. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him closely, and felt fear for him in a vague, numb way. His + black eyes seemed to burn with a continuous madness. The brown face was + leaner, the skin drawn tightly across the cheekbones. A slight twist had + come to the mouth, which seemed frozen into bitterness. The very carriage + of his body and the way he wore his hat advertised a recklessness more + intense than had been his in the past. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, in the long afternoons, sitting by the window with idle hands, + she caught herself reconstructing in her vision that folk-migration of her + people across the plains and mountains and deserts to the sunset land by + the Western sea. And often she found herself dreaming of the arcadian days + of her people, when they had not lived in cities nor been vexed with labor + unions and employers' associations. She would remember the old people's + tales of self-sufficingness, when they shot or raised their own meat, grew + their own vegetables, were their own blacksmiths and carpenters, made + their own shoes—yes, and spun the cloth of the clothes they wore. + And something of the wistfulness in Tom's face she could see as she + recollected it when he talked of his dream of taking up government land. + </p> + <p> + A farmer's life must be fine, she thought. Why was it that people had to + live in cities? Why had times changed? If there had been enough in the old + days, why was there not enough now? Why was it necessary for men to + quarrel and jangle, and strike and fight, all about the matter of getting + work? Why wasn't there work for all?—Only that morning, and she + shuddered with the recollection, she had seen two scabs, on their way to + work, beaten up by the strikers, by men she knew by sight, and some by + name, who lived in the neighhorhood. It had happened directly across the + street. It had been cruel, terrible—a dozen men on two. The children + had begun it by throwing rocks at the scabs and cursing them in ways + children should not know. Policemen had run upon the scene with drawn + revolvers, and the strikers had retreated into the houses and through the + narrow alleys between the houses. One of the scabs, unconscious, had been + carried away in an ambulance; the other, assisted by special railroad + police, had been taken away to the shops. At him, Mary Donahue, standing + on her front stoop, her child in her arms, had hurled such vile abuse that + it had brought the blush of shame to Saxon's cheeks. On the stoop of the + house on the other side, Saxon had noted Mercedes, in the height of the + beating up, looking on with a queer smile. She had seemed very eager to + witness, her nostrils dilated and swelling like the beat of pulses as she + watched. It had struck Saxon at the time that the old woman was quite + unalarmed and only curious to see. + </p> + <p> + To Mercedes, who was so wise in love, Saxon went for explanation of what + was the matter with the world. But the old woman's wisdom in affairs + industrial and economic was cryptic and unpalatable. + </p> + <p> + “La la, my dear, it is so simple. Most men are born stupid. They are the + slaves. A few are born clever. They are the masters. God made men so, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how about God and that terrible beating across the street this + morning?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid he was not interested,” Mercedes smiled. “I doubt he even + knows that it happened.” + </p> + <p> + “I was frightened to death,” Saxon declared. “I was made sick by it. And + yet you—I saw you—you looked on as cool as you please, as if + it was a show.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a show, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how could you?” + </p> + <p> + “La la, I have seen men killed. It is nothing strange. All men die. The + stupid ones die like oxen, they know not why. It is quite funny to see. + They strike each other with fists and clubs, and break each other's heads. + It is gross. They are like a lot of animals. They are like dogs wrangling + over bones. Jobs are bones, you know. Now, if they fought for women, or + ideas, or bars of gold, or fabulous diamonds, it would be splendid. But + no; they are only hungry, and fight over scraps for their stomach.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if I could only understand!” Saxon murmured, her hands tightly + clasped in anguish of incomprehension and vital need to know. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to understand. It is clear as print. There have always + been the stupid and the clever, the slave and the master, the peasant and + the prince. There always will be.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why is a peasant a peasant, my dear? Because he is a peasant. Why is a + flea a flea?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon tossed her head fretfully. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but my dear, I have answered. The philosophies of the world can give + no better answer. Why do you like your man for a husband rather than any + other man? Because you like him that way, that is all. Why do you like? + Because you like. Why does fire burn and frost bite? Why are there clever + men and stupid men? masters and slaves? employers and workingmen? Why is + black black? Answer that and you answer everything.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is not right that men should go hungry and without work when they + want to work if only they can get a square deal,” Saxon protested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it is right, just as it is right that stone won't burn like wood, + that sea sand isn't sugar, that thorns prick, that water is wet, that + smoke rises, that things fall down and not up.” + </p> + <p> + But such doctrine of reality made no impression on Saxon. Frankly, she + could not comprehend. It seemed like so much nonsense. + </p> + <p> + “Then we have no liberty and independence,” she cried passionately. “One + man is not as good as another. My child has not the right to live that a + rich mother's child has.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” Mercedes answered. + </p> + <p> + “Yet all my people fought for these things,” Saxon urged, remembering her + school history and the sword of her father. + </p> + <p> + “Democracy—the dream of the stupid peoples. Oh, la la, my dear, + democracy is a lie, an enchantment to keep the work brutes content, just + as religion used to keep them content. When they groaned in their misery + and toil, they were persuaded to keep on in their misery and toil by + pretty tales of a land beyond the skies where they would live famously and + fat while the clever ones roasted in everlasting fire. Ah, how the clever + ones must have chuckled! And when that lie wore out, and democracy was + dreamed, the clever ones saw to it that it should be in truth a dream, + nothing but a dream. The world belongs to the great and clever.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are of the working people,” Saxon charged. + </p> + <p> + The old woman drew herself up, and almost was angry. + </p> + <p> + “I? Of the working people? My dear, because I had misfortune with moneys + invested, because I am old and can no longer win the brave young men, + because I have outlived the men of my youth and there is no one to go to, + because I live here in the ghetto with Barry Higgins and prepare to die—why, + my dear, I was born with the masters, and have trod all my days on the + necks of the stupid. I have drunk rare wines and sat at feasts that would + have supported this neighborhood for a lifetime. Dick Golden and I—it + was Dickie's money, but I could have had it -- Dick Golden and I dropped four + hundred thousand francs in a week's play at Monte Carlo. He was a Jew, but + he was a spender. In India I have worn jewels that could have saved the + lives of ten thousand families dying before my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw them die?... and did nothing?” Saxon asked aghast. + </p> + <p> + “I kept my jewels—la la, and was robbed of them by a brute of a + Russian officer within the year.” + </p> + <p> + “And you let them die,” Saxon reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “They were cheap spawn. They fester and multiply like maggots. They meant + nothing—nothing, my dear, nothing. No more than your work people + mean here, whose crowning stupidity is their continuing to beget more + stupid spawn for the slavery of the masters.” + </p> + <p> + So it was that while Saxon could get little glimmering of common sense + from others, from the terrible old woman she got none at all. Nor could + Saxon bring herself to believe much of what she considered Mercedes' + romancing. As the weeks passed, the strike in the railroad shops grew + bitter and deadly. Billy shook his head and confessed his inability to + make head or tail of the troubles that were looming on the labor horizon. + </p> + <p> + “I don't get the hang of it,” he told Saxon. “It's a mix-up. It's like a + roughhouse with the lights out. Look at us teamsters. Here we are, the + talk just starting of going out on sympathetic strike for the + mill-workers. They've ben out a week, most of their places is filled, an' + if us teamsters keep on haulin' the mill-work the strike's lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you didn't consider striking for yourselves when your wages were + cut,” Saxon said with a frown. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we wasn't in position then. But now the Frisco teamsters and the + whole Frisco Water Front Confederation is liable to back us up. Anyway, + we're just talkin' about it, that's all. But if we do go out, we'll try to + get back that ten per cent cut.” + </p> + <p> + “It's rotten politics,” he said another time. “Everybody's rotten. If we'd + only wise up and agree to pick out honest men—” + </p> + <p> + “But if you, and Bert, and Tom can't agree, how do you expect all the rest + to agree?” Saxon asked. + </p> + <p> + “It gets me,” he admitted. “It's enough to give a guy the willies thinkin' + about it. And yet it's plain as the nose on your face. Get honest men for + politics, an' the whole thing's straightened out. Honest men'd make honest + laws, an' then honest men'd get their dues. But Bert wants to smash + things, an' Tom smokes his pipe and dreams pipe dreams about by an' by + when everybody votes the way he thinks. But this by an' by ain't the + point. We want things now. Tom says we can't get them now, an' Bert says + we ain't never goin' to get them. What can a fellow do when everybody's of + different minds? Look at the socialists themselves. They're always + disagreeing, splittin' up, an' firin' each other out of the party. The + whole thing's bughouse, that's what, an' I almost get dippy myself + thinkin' about it. The point I can't get out of my mind is that we want + things now.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off abruptly and stared at Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked, his voice husky with anxiety. “You ain't sick... + or... or anything?” + </p> + <p> + One hand she had pressed to her heart; but the startle and fright in her + eyes was changing into a pleased intentness, while on her mouth was a + little mysterious smile. She seemed oblivious to her husband, as if + listening to some message from afar and not for his ears. Then wonder and + joy transfused her face, and she looked at Billy, and her hand went out to + his. + </p> + <p> + “It's life,” she whispered. “I felt life. I am so glad, so glad.” + </p> + <p> + The next evening when Billy came home from work, Saxon caused him to know + and undertake more of the responsibilities of fatherhood. + </p> + <p> + “I've been thinking it over, Billy,” she began, “and I'm such a healthy, + strong woman that it won't have to be very expensive. There's Martha + Skelton—she's a good midwife.” + </p> + <p> + But Billy shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' doin' in that line, Saxon. You're goin' to have Doc Hentley. He's + Bill Murphy's doc, an' Bill swears by him. He's an old cuss, but he's a + wooz.” + </p> + <p> + “She confined Maggie Donahue,” Saxon argued; “and look at her and her + baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she won't confine you—not so as you can notice it.” + </p> + <p> + “But the doctor will charge twenty dollars,” Saxon pursued, “and make me + get a nurse because I haven't any womenfolk to come in. But Martha Skelton + would do everything, and it would be so much cheaper.” + </p> + <p> + But Billy gathered her tenderly in his arms and laid down the law. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, little wife. The Roberts family ain't on the cheap. Never + forget that. You've gotta have the baby. That's your business, an' it's + enough for you. My business is to get the money an' take care of you. An' + the best ain't none too good for you. Why, I wouldn't run the chance of + the teeniest accident happenin' to you for a million dollars. It's you + that counts. An' dollars is dirt. Maybe you think I like that kid some. I + do. Why, I can't get him outa my head. I'm thinkin' about'm all day long. + If I get fired, it'll be his fault. I'm clean dotty over him. But just the + same, Saxon, honest to God, before I'd have anything happen to you, break + your little finger, even, I'd see him dead an' buried first. That'll give + you something of an idea what you mean to me. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Saxon, I had the idea that when folks got married they just settled + down, and after a while their business was to get along with each other. + Maybe it's the way it is with other people; but it ain't that way with you + an' me. I love you more 'n more every day. Right now I love you more'n + when I began talkin' to you five minutes ago. An' you won't have to get a + nurse. Doc Hentley'll come every day, an' Mary'll come in an' do the + housework, an' take care of you an' all that, just as you'll do for her if + she ever needs it.” + </p> + <p> + As the days and weeks passed, Saxon was possessed by a conscious feeling + of proud motherhood in her swelling breasts. So essentially a normal woman + was she, that motherhood was a satisfying and passionate happiness. It was + true that she had her moments of apprehension, but they were so momentary + and faint that they tended, if anything, to give zest to her happiness. + </p> + <p> + Only one thing troubled her, and that was the puzzling and perilous + situation of labor which no one seemed to understand, her self least of + all. + </p> + <p> + “They're always talking about how much more is made by machinery than by + the old ways,” she told her brother Tom. “Then, with all the machinery + we've got now, why don't we get more?” + </p> + <p> + “Now you're talkin',” he answered. “It wouldn't take you long to + understand socialism.” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon had a mind to the immediate need of things. + </p> + <p> + “Tom, how long have you been a socialist?” + </p> + <p> + “Eight years.” + </p> + <p> + “And you haven't got anything by it?” + </p> + <p> + “But we will... in time.” + </p> + <p> + “At that rate you'll be dead first,” she challenged. + </p> + <p> + Tom sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid so. Things move so slow.” + </p> + <p> + Again he sighed. She noted the weary, patient look in his face, the bent + shoulders, the labor-gnarled hands, and it all seemed to symbolize the + futility of his social creed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + It began quietly, as the fateful unexpected so often begins. Children, of + all ages and sizes, were playing in the street, and Saxon, by the open + front window, was watching them and dreaming day dreams of her child soon + to be. The sunshine mellowed peacefully down, and a light wind from the + bay cooled the air and gave to it a tang of salt. One of the children + pointed up Pine Street toward Seventh. All the children ceased playing, + and stared and pointed. They formed into groups, the larger boys, of from + ten to twelve, by themselves, the older girls anxiously clutching the + small children by the hands or gathering them into their arms. + </p> + <p> + Saxon could not see the cause of all this, but she could guess when she + saw the larger boys rush to the gutter, pick up stones, and sneak into the + alleys between the houses. Smaller boys tried to imitate them. The girls, + dragging the tots by the arms, banged gates and clattered up the front + steps of the small houses. The doors slammed behind them, and the street + was deserted, though here and there front shades were drawn aside so that + anxious-faced women might peer forth. Saxon heard the uptown train puffing + and snorting as it pulled out from Center Street. Then, from the direction + of Seventh, came a hoarse, throaty manroar. Still, she could see nothing, + and she remembered Mercedes Higgins' words “THEY ARE LIKE DOGS WRANGLING + OVER BONES. JOBS ARE BONES, YOU KNOW.” + </p> + <p> + The roar came closer, and Saxon, leaning out, saw a dozen scabs, conveyed + by as many special police and Pinkertons, coming down the sidewalk on her + side of the street. They came compactly, as if with discipline, while + behind, disorderly, yelling confusedly, stooping to pick up rocks, were + seventy-five or a hundred of the striking shopmen. Saxon discovered + herself trembling with apprehension, knew that she must not, and + controlled herself. She was helped in this by the conduct of Mercedes + Higgins. The old woman came out of her front door, dragging a chair, on + which she coolly seated herself on the tiny stoop at the top of the steps. + </p> + <p> + In the hands of the special police were clubs. The Pinkertons carried no + visible weapons. The strikers, urging on from behind, seemed content with + yelling their rage and threats, and it remained for the children to + precipitate the conflict. From across the street, between the Olsen and + the Isham houses, came a shower of stones. Most of these fell short, + though one struck a scab on the head. The man was no more than twenty feet + away from Saxon. He reeled toward her front picket fence, drawing a + revolver. With one hand he brushed the blood from his eyes and with the + other he discharged the revolver into the Isham house. A Pinkerton seized + his arm to prevent a second shot, and dragged him along. At the same + instant a wilder roar went up from the strikers, while a volley of stones + came from between Saxon's house and Maggie Donahue's. The scabs and their + protectors made a stand, drawing revolvers. From their hard, determined + faces—fighting men by profession—Saxon could augur nothing but + bloodshed and death. An elderly man, evidently the leader, lifted a soft + felt hat and mopped the perspiration from the bald top of his head. He was + a large man, very rotund of belly and helpless looking. His gray beard was + stained with streaks of tobacco juice, and he was smoking a cigar. He was + stoop-shouldered, and Saxon noted the dandruff on the collar of his coat. + </p> + <p> + One of the men pointed into the street, and several of his companions + laughed. The cause of it was the little Olsen boy, barely four years old, + escaped somehow from his mother and toddling toward his economic enemies. + In his right he bore a rock so heavy that he could scarcely lift it. With + this he feebly threatened them. His rosy little face was convulsed with + rage, and he was screaming over and over “Dam scabs! Dam scabs! Dam + scabs!” The laughter with which they greeted him only increased his fury. + He toddled closer, and with a mighty exertion threw the rock. It fell a + scant six feet beyond his hand. + </p> + <p> + This much Saxon saw, and also Mrs. Olsen rushing into the street for her + child. A rattling of revolver-shots from the strikers drew Saxon's + attention to the men beneath her. One of them cursed sharply and examined + the biceps of his left arm, which hung limply by his side. Down the hand + she saw the blood beginning to drip. She knew she ought not remain and + watch, but the memory of her fighting forefathers was with her, while she + possessed no more than normal human fear—if anything, less. She + forgot her child in the eruption of battle that had broken upon her quiet + street. And she forgot the strikers, and everything else, in amazement at + what had happened to the round-bellied, cigar-smoking leader. In some + strange way, she knew not how, his head had become wedged at the neck + between the tops of the pickets of her fence. His body hung down outside, + the knees not quite touching the ground. His hat had fallen off, and the + sun was making an astounding high light on his bald spot. The cigar, too, + was gone. She saw he was looking at her. One hand, between the pickets, + seemed waving at her, and almost he seemed to wink at her jocosely, though + she knew it to be the contortion of deadly pain. + </p> + <p> + Possibly a second, or, at most, two seconds, she gazed at this, when she + was aroused by Bert's voice. He was running along the sidewalk, in front + of her house, and behind him charged several more strikers, while he + shouted: “Come on, you Mohegans! We got 'em nailed to the cross!” + </p> + <p> + In his left hand he carried a pick-handle, in his right a revolver, + already empty, for he clicked the cylinder vainly around as he ran. With + an abrupt stop, dropping the pick-handle, he whirled half about, facing + Saxon's gate. He was sinking down, when he straightened himself to throw + the revolver into the face of a scab who was jumping toward him. Then he + began swaying, at the same time sagging at the knees and waist. Slowly, + with infinite effort, he caught a gate picket in his right hand, and, + still slowly, as if lowering himself, sank down, while past him leaped the + crowd of strikers he had led. + </p> + <p> + It was battle without quarter—a massacre. The scabs and their + protectors, surrounded, backed against Saxon's fence, fought like cornered + rats, but could not withstand the rush of a hundred men. Clubs and + pick-handles were swinging, revolvers were exploding, and cobblestones + were flung with crushing effect at arm's distance. Saxon saw young Frank + Davis, a friend of Bert's and a father of several months' standing, press + the muzzle of his revolver against a scab's stomach and fire. There were + curses and snarls of rage, wild cries of terror and pain. Mercedes was + right. These things were not men. They were beasts, fighting over bones, + destroying one another for bones. + </p> + <p> + JOBS ARE BONES; JOBS ARE BONES. The phrase was an incessant iteration in + Saxon's brain. Much as she might have wished it, she was powerless now to + withdraw from the window. It was as if she were paralyzed. Her brain no + longer worked. She sat numb, staring, incapable of anything save seeing + the rapid horror before her eyes that flashed along like a moving picture + film gone mad. She saw Pinkertons, special police, and strikers go down. + One scab, terribly wounded, on his knees and begging for mercy, was kicked + in the face. As he sprawled backward another striker, standing over him, + fired a revolver into his chest, quickly and deliberately, again and + again, until the weapon was empty. Another scab, backed over the pickets + by a hand clutching his throat, had his face pulped by a revolver butt. + Again and again, continually, the revolver rose and fell, and Saxon knew + the man who wielded it—Chester Johnson. She had met him at dances + and danced with him in the days before she was married. He had always been + kind and good natured. She remembered the Friday night, after a City Hall + band concert, when he had taken her and two other girls to Tony's Tamale + Grotto on Thirteenth street. And after that they had all gone to Pabst's + Cafe and drunk a glass of beer before they went home. It was impossible + that this could be the same Chester Johnson. And as she looked, she saw + the round-bellied leader, still wedged by the neck between the pickets, + draw a revolver with his free hand, and, squinting horribly sidewise, + press the muzzle against Chester's side. She tried to scream a warning. + She did scream, and Chester looked up and saw her. At that moment the + revolver went off, and he collapsed prone upon the body of the scab. And + the bodies of three men hung on her picket fence. + </p> + <p> + Anything could happen now. Quite without surprise, she saw the strikers + leaping the fence, trampling her few little geraniums and pansies into the + earth as they fled between Mercedes' house and hers. Up Pine street, from + the railroad yards, was coming a rush of railroad police and Pinkertons, + firing as they ran. While down Pine street, gongs clanging, horses at a + gallop, came three patrol wagons packed with police. The strikers were in + a trap. The only way out was between the houses and over the back yard + fences. The jam in the narrow alley prevented them all from escaping. A + dozen were cornered in the angle between the front of her house and the + steps. And as they had done, so were they done by. No effort was made to + arrest. They were clubbed down and shot down to the last man by the + guardians of the peace who were infuriated by what had been wreaked on + their brethren. + </p> + <p> + It was all over, and Saxon, moving as in a dream, clutching the banister + tightly, came down the front steps. The round-bellied leader still leered + at her and fluttered one hand, though two big policemen were just bending + to extricate him. The gate was off its hinges, which seemed strange, for + she had been watching all the time and had not seen it happen. + </p> + <p> + Bert's eyes were closed. His lips were blood-flecked, and there was a + gurgling in his throat as if he were trying to say something. As she + stooped above him, with her handkerchief brushing the blood from his cheek + where some one had stepped on him, his eyes opened. The old defiant light + was in them. He did not know her. The lips moved, and faintly, almost + reminiscently, he murmured, “The last of the Mohegans, the last of the + Mohegans.” Then he groaned, and the eyelids drooped down again. He was not + dead. She knew that, the chest still rose and fell, and the gurgling still + continued in his throat. + </p> + <p> + She looked up. Mercedes stood beside her. The old woman's eyes were very + bright, her withered cheeks flushed. + </p> + <p> + “Will you help me carry him into the house?” Saxon asked. + </p> + <p> + Mercedes nodded, turned to a sergeant of police, and made the request to + him. The sergeant gave a swift glance at Bert, and his eyes were bitter + and ferocious as he refused. + </p> + <p> + “To hell with'm. We'll care for our own.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you and I can do it,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a fool.” Mercedes was beckoning to Mrs. Olsen across the street. + “You go into the house, little mother that is to be. This is bad for you. + We'll carry him in. Mrs. Olsen is coming, and we'll get Maggie Donahue.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon led the way into the back bedroom which Billy had insisted on + furnishing. As she opened the door, the carpet seemed to fly up into her + face as with the force of a blow, for she remembered Bert had laid that + carpet. And as the women placed him on the bed she recalled that it was + Bert and she, between them, who had set the bed up one Sunday morning. + </p> + <p> + And then she felt very queer, and was surprised to see Mercedes regarding + her with questioning, searching eyes. After that her queerness came on + very fast, and she descended into the hell of pain that is given to women + alone to know. She was supported, half-carried, to the front bedroom. Many + faces were about her—Mercedes, Mrs. Olsen, Maggie Donahue. It seemed + she must ask Mrs. Olsen if she had saved little Emil from the street, but + Mercedes cleared Mrs. Olsen out to look after Bert, and Maggie Donahue + went to answer a knock at the front door. From the street came a loud hum + of voices, punctuated by shouts and commands, and from time to time there + was a clanging of the gongs of ambulances and patrol wagons. Then + appeared the fat, comfortable face of Martha Shelton, and, later, Dr. + Hentley came. Once, in a clear interval, through the thin wall Saxon heard + the high opening notes of Mary's hysteria. And, another time, she heard + Mary repeating over and over. “I'll never go back to the laundry. Never. + Never.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Billy could never get over the shock, during that period, of Saxon's + appearance. Morning after morning, and evening after evening when he came + home from work, he would enter the room where she lay and fight a royal + battle to hide his feelings and make a show of cheerfulness and geniality. + She looked so small lying there so small and shrunken and weary, and yet + so child-like in her smallness. Tenderly, as he sat beside her, he would + take up her pale hand and stroke the slim, transparent arm, marveling at + the smallness and delicacy of the bones. + </p> + <p> + One of her first questions, puzzling alike to Billy and Mary, was: + </p> + <p> + “Did they save little Emil Olsen?” + </p> + <p> + And when she told them how he had attacked, singlehanded, the whole + twenty-four fighting men, Billy's face glowed with appreciation. + </p> + <p> + “The little cuss!” he said. “That's the kind of a kid to be proud of.” + </p> + <p> + He halted awkwardly, and his very evident fear that he had hurt her + touched Saxon. She put her hand out to his. + </p> + <p> + “Billy,” she began; then waited till Mary left the room. + </p> + <p> + “I never asked before—not that it matters... now. But I waited for + you to tell me. Was it...?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No; it was a girl. A perfect little girl. Only... it was too soon.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed his hand, and almost it was she that sympathized with him in + his affliction. + </p> + <p> + “I never told you, Billy—you were so set on a boy; but I planned, + just the same, if it was a girl, to call her Daisy. You remember, that was + my mother's name.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded his approbation. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon, you know I did want a boy like the very dickens... well, I + don't care now. I think I'm set just as hard on a girl, an', well, here's + hopin' the next will be called... you wouldn't mind, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “If we called it the same name, Daisy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy! I was thinking the very same thing.” + </p> + <p> + Then his face grew stern as he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Only there ain't goin' to be a next. I didn't know what havin' children + was like before. You can't run any more risks like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear the big, strong, afraid-man talk!” she jeered, with a wan smile. + “You don't know anything about it. How can a man? I am a healthy, natural + woman. Everything would have been all right this time if... if all that + fighting hadn't happened. Where did they bury Bert?” + </p> + <p> + “You knew?” + </p> + <p> + “All the time. And where is Mercedes? She hasn't been in for two days.” + </p> + <p> + “Old Barry's sick. She's with him.” + </p> + <p> + He did not tell her that the old night watchman was dying, two thin walls + and half a dozen feet away. + </p> + <p> + Saxon's lips were trembling, and she began to cry weakly, clinging to + Billy's hand with both of hers. + </p> + <p> + “I—I can't help it,” she sobbed. “I'll be all right in a minute.... + Our little girl, Billy. Think of it! And I never saw her!” + </p> + <p> + She was still lying on her bed, when, one evening, Mary saw fit to break + out in bitter thanksgiving that she had escaped, and was destined to + escape, what Saxon had gone through. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, what are you talkin' about?” Billy demanded. “You'll get married some + time again as sure as beans is beans.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to the best man living,” she proclaimed. “And there ain't no call for + it. There's too many people in the world now, else why are there two or + three men for every job? And, besides, havin' children is too terrible.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon, with a look of patient wisdom in her face that became glorified as + she spoke, made answer: + </p> + <p> + “I ought to know what it means. I've been through it, and I'm still in the + thick of it, and I want to say to you right now, out of all the pain and + the ache and the sorrow, that it is the most beautiful, wonderful thing in + the world.” + </p> + <p> + As Saxon's strength came back to her (and when Doctor Hentley had privily + assured Billy that she was sound as a dollar), she herself took up the + matter of the industrial tragedy that had taken place before her door. The + militia had been called out immediately, Billy informed her, and was + encamped then at the foot of Pine street on the waste ground next to the + railroad yards. As for the strikers, fifteen of them were in jail. A house + to house search had been made in the neighborhood by the police, and in + this way nearly the whole fifteen, all wounded, had been captured. It + would go hard with them, Billy foreboded gloomily. The newspapers were + demanding blood for blood, and all the ministers in Oakland had preached + fierce sermons against the strikers. The railroad had filled every place, + and it was well known that the striking shopmen not only would never get + their old jobs back but were blacklisted in every railroad in the United + States. Already they were beginning to scatter. A number had gone to + Panama, and four were talking of going to Ecuador to work in the shops of + the railroad that ran over the Andes to Quito. + </p> + <p> + With anxiety keenly concealed, she tried to feel out Billy's opinion on + what had happened. + </p> + <p> + “That shows what Bert's violent methods come to,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head slowly and gravely. + </p> + <p> + “They'll hang Chester Johnson, anyway,” he answered indirectly. “You know + him. You told me you used to dance with him. He was caught red-handed, + lyin' on the body of a scab he beat to death. Old Jelly Belly's got three + bullet holes in him, but he ain't goin' to die, and he's got Chester's + number. They'll hang'm on Jelly Belly's evidence. It was all in the + papers. Jelly Belly shot him, too, a-hangin' by the neck on our pickets.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shuddered. Jelly Belly must be the man with the bald spot and the + tobacco-stained whiskers. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. “I saw it all. It seemed he must have hung there for + hours.” + </p> + <p> + “It was all over, from first to last, in five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “It seemed ages and ages.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess that's the way it seemed to Jelly Belly, stuck on the pickets,” + Billy smiled grimly. “But he's a hard one to kill. He's been shot an' cut + up a dozen different times. But they say now he'll be crippled for life—have + to go around on crutches, or in a wheel-chair. That'll stop him from doin' + any more dirty work for the railroad. He was one of their top gun-fighters—always + up to his ears in the thick of any fightin' that was goin' on. He never + was leery of anything on two feet, I'll say that much for'm.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does he live?” Saxon inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Up on Adeline, near Tenth—fine neighborhood an' fine two-storied + house. He must pay thirty dollars a month rent. I guess the railroad paid + him pretty well.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he must be married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yep. I never seen his wife, but he's got one son, Jack, a passenger + engineer. I used to know him. He was a nifty boxer, though he never went + into the ring. An' he's got another son that's teacher in the high school. + His name's Paul. We're about the same age. He was great at baseball. I + knew him when we was kids. He pitched me out three times hand-runnin' + once, when the Durant played the Cole School.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon sat back in the Morris chair, resting and thinking. The problem was + growing more complicated than ever. This elderly, round-bellied, and + bald-headed gunfighter, too, had a wife and family. And there was Frank + Davis, married barely a year and with a baby boy. Perhaps the scab he shot + in the stomach had a wife and children. All seemed to be acquainted, + members of a very large family, and yet, because of their particular + families, they battered and killed each other. She had seen Chester + Johnson kill a scab, and now they were going to hang Chester Johnson, who + had married Kittie Brady out of the cannery, and she and Kittie Brady had + worked together years before in the paper box factory. + </p> + <p> + Vainly Saxon waited for Billy to say something that would show he did not + countenance the killing of the scabs. + </p> + <p> + “It was wrong,” she ventured finally. + </p> + <p> + “They killed Bert,” he countered. “An' a lot of others. An' Frank Davis. + Did you know he was dead? Had his whole lower jaw shot away—died in + the ambulance before they could get him to the receiving hospital. There + was never so much killin' at one time in Oakland before.” + </p> + <p> + “But it was their fault,” she contended. “They began it. It was murder.” + </p> + <p> + Billy did not reply, but she heard him mutter hoarsely. She knew he said + “God damn them”; but when she asked, “What?” he made no answer. His eyes + were deep with troubled clouds, while the mouth had hardened, and all his + face was bleak. + </p> + <p> + To her it was a heart-stab. Was he, too, like the rest? Would he kill + other men who had families, like Bert, and Frank Davis, and Chester + Johnson had killed? Was he, too, a wild beast, a dog that would snarl over + a bone? + </p> + <p> + She sighed. Life was a strange puzzle. Perhaps Mercedes Higgins was right + in her cruel statement of the terms of existence. + </p> + <p> + “What of it,” Billy laughed harshly, as if in answer to her unuttered + questions. “It's dog eat dog, I guess, and it's always ben that way. Take + that scrap outside there. They killed each other just like the North an' + South did in the Civil War.” + </p> + <p> + “But workingmen can't win that way, Billy. You say yourself that it + spoiled their chance of winning.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not,” he admitted reluctantly. “But what other chance they've + got to win I don't see. Look at 'us. We'll be up against it next.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the teamsters?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + He nodded gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “The bosses are cuttin' loose all along the line for a high old time. Say + they're goin' to beat us to our knees till we come crawlin' back a-beggin' + for our jobs. They've bucked up real high an' mighty what of all that + killin' the other day. Havin' the troops out is half the fight, along with + havin' the preachers an' the papers an' the public behind 'em. They're + shootin' off their mouths already about what they're goin' to do. They're + sure gunning for trouble. First, they're goin' to hang Chester Johnson an' + as many more of the fifteen as they can. They say that flat. The Tribune, + an' the Enquirer an' the Times keep sayin' it over an over every day. + They're all union-bustin' to beat the band. No more closed shop. To hell + with organized labor. Why, the dirty little Intelligencer come out this + morning an' said that every union official in Oakland ought to be run outa + town or stretched up. Fine, eh? You bet it's fine. + </p> + <p> + “Look at us. It ain't a case any more of sympathetic strike for the + mill-workers. We got our own troubles. They've fired our four best men—the + ones that was always on the conference committees. Did it without cause. + They're lookin' for trouble, as I told you, an' they'll get it, too, if + they don't watch out. We got our tip from the Frisco Water Front + Confederation. With them backin' us we'll go some.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you'll... strike?” Saxon asked. + </p> + <p> + He bent his head. + </p> + <p> + “But isn't that what they want you to do?—from the way they're + acting?” + </p> + <p> + “What's the difference?” Billy shrugged his shoulders, then continued. + “It's better to strike than to get fired. We beat 'em to it, that's all, + an' we catch 'em before they're ready. Don't we know what they're doin'? + They're collectin' gradin'-camp drivers an' mule-skinners all up an' down + the state. They got forty of 'em, feedin' 'em in a hotel in Stockton right + now, an' ready to rush 'em in on us an' hundreds more like 'em. So this + Saturday's the last wages I'll likely bring home for some time.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon closed her eyes and thought quietly for five minutes. It was not her + way to take things excitedly. The coolness of poise that Billy so admired + never deserted her in time of emergency. She realized that she herself was + no more than a mote caught up in this tangled, nonunderstandable conflict + of many motes. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have to draw from our savings to pay for this month's rent,” she + said brightly. + </p> + <p> + Billy's face fell. + </p> + <p> + “We ain't got as much in the bank as you think,” he confessed. “Bert had + to be buried, you know, an I coughed up what the others couldn't raise.” + </p> + <p> + “How much was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Forty dollars. I was goin' to stand off the butcher an' the rest for a + while. They knew I was good pay. But they put it to me straight. They'd + been carryin' the shopmen right along an was up against it themselves. An' + now with that strike smashed they're pretty much smashed themselves. So I + took it all out of the bank. I knew you wouldn't mind. You don't, do you?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled bravely, and bravely overcame the sinking feeling at her heart. + </p> + <p> + “It was the only right thing to do, Billy. I would have done it if you + were lying sick, and Bert would have done it for you an' me if it had been + the other way around.” + </p> + <p> + His face was glowing. + </p> + <p> + “Gee, Saxon, a fellow can always count on you. You're like my right hand. + That's why I say no more babies. If I lose you I'm crippled for life.” + </p> + <p> + “We've got to economize,” she mused, nodding her appreciation. “How much + is in bank?” + </p> + <p> + “Just about thirty dollars. You see, I had to pay Martha Skelton an' for + the... a few other little things. An' the union took time by the neck and + levied a four dollar emergency assessment on every member just to be ready + if the strike was pulled off. But Doc Hentley can wait. He said as much. + He's the goods, if anybody should ask you. How'd you like'm?” + </p> + <p> + “I liked him. But I don't know about doctors. He's the first I ever had—except + when I was vaccinated once, and then the city did that.” + </p> + <p> + “Looks like the street car men are goin' out, too. Dan Fallon's come to + town. Came all the way from New York. Tried to sneak in on the quiet, but + the fellows knew when he left New York, an' kept track of him all the way + acrost. They have to. He's Johnny-on-the-Spot whenever street car men are + licked into shape. He's won lots of street car strikes for the bosses. + Keeps an army of strike breakers an' ships them all over the country on + special trains wherever they're needed. Oakland's never seen labor + troubles like she's got and is goin' to get. All hell's goin' to break + loose from the looks of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Watch out for yourself, then, Billy. I don't want to lose you either.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, that's all right. I can take care of myself. An' besides, it ain't as + though we was licked. We got a good chance.” + </p> + <p> + “But you'll lose if there is any killing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yep; we gotta keep an eye out against that.” + </p> + <p> + “No violence.” + </p> + <p> + “No gun-fighting or dynamite,” he assented. “But a heap of scabs'll get + their heads broke. That has to be.” + </p> + <p> + “But you won't do any of that, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so as any slob can testify before a court to havin' seen me.” Then, + with a quick shift, he changed the subject. “Old Barry Higgins is dead. I + didn't want to tell you till you was outa bed. Buried'm a week ago. An' + the old woman's movin' to Frisco. She told me she'd be in to say good-bye. + She stuck by you pretty well them first couple of days, an' she showed + Martha Shelton a few that made her hair curl. She got Martha's goat from + the jump.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + With Billy on strike and away doing picket duty, and with the departure of + Mercedes and the death of Bert, Saxon was left much to herself in a + loneliness that even in one as healthy-minded as she could not fail to + produce morbidness. Mary, too, had left, having spoken vaguely of taking a + job at housework in Piedmont. + </p> + <p> + Billy could help Saxon little in her trouble. He dimly sensed her + suffering, without comprehending the scope and intensity of it. He was too + man-practical, and, by his very sex, too remote from the intimate tragedy + that was hers. He was an outsider at the best, a friendly onlooker who saw + little. To her the baby had been quick and real. It was still quick and + real. That was her trouble. By no deliberate effort of will could she fill + the aching void of its absence. Its reality became, at times, an + hallucination. Somewhere it still was, and she must find it. She would + catch herself, on occasion, listening with strained ears for the cry she + had never heard, yet which, in fancy, she had heard a thousand times in + the happy months before the end. Twice she left her bed in her sleep and + went searching—each time coming to herself beside her mother's chest + of drawers in which were the tiny garments. To herself, at such moments, + she would say, “I had a baby once.” And she would say it, aloud, as she + watched the children playing in the street. + </p> + <p> + One day, on the Eighth street cars, a young mother sat beside her, a + crowing infant in her arms. And Saxon said to her: + </p> + <p> + “I had a baby once. It died.” + </p> + <p> + The mother looked at her, startled, half-drew the baby tighter in her + arms, jealously, or as if in fear; then she softened as she said: + </p> + <p> + “You poor thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Saxon nodded. “It died.” + </p> + <p> + Tears welled into her eyes, and the telling of her grief seemed to have + brought relief. But all the day she suffered from an almost overwhelming + desire to recite her sorrow to the world—to the paying teller at the + bank, to the elderly floor-walker in Salinger's, to the blind woman, + guided by a little boy, who played on the concertina—to every one + save the policeman. The police were new and terrible creatures to her now. + She had seen them kill the strikers as mercilessly as the strikers had + killed the scabs. And, unlike the strikers, the police were professional + killers. They were not fighting for jobs. They did it as a business. They + could have taken prisoners that day, in the angle of her front steps and + the house. But they had not. Unconsciously, whenever approaching one, she + edged across the sidewalk so as to get as far as possible away from him. + She did not reason it out, but deeper than consciousness was the feeling + that they were typical of something inimical to her and hers. + </p> + <p> + At Eighth and Broadway, waiting for her car to return home, the policeman + on the corner recognized her and greeted her. She turned white to the + lips, and her heart fluttered painfully. It was only Ned Hermanmann, + fatter, broader-faced, jollier looking than ever. He had sat across the + aisle from her for three terms at school. He and she had been monitors + together of the composition books for one term. The day the powder works + blew up at Pinole, breaking every window in the school, he and she had not + joined in the panic rush for out-of-doors. Both had remained in the room, + and the irate principal had exhibited them, from room to room, to the + cowardly classes, and then rewarded them with a month's holiday from + school. And after that Ned Hermanmann had become a policeman, and married + Lena Highland, and Saxon had heard they had five children. + </p> + <p> + But, in spite of all that, he was now a policeman, and Billy was now a + striker. Might not Ned Hermanmann some day club and shoot Billy just as + those other policemen clubbed and shot the strikers by her front steps? + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Saxon?” he asked. “Sick?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded and choked, unable to speak, and started to move toward her car + which was coming to a stop. + </p> + <p> + “I'll help you,” he offered. + </p> + <p> + She shrank away from his hand. + </p> + <p> + “No; I'm all right,” she gasped hurriedly. “I'm not going to take it. I've + forgotten something.” + </p> + <p> + She turned away dizzily, up Broadway to Ninth. Two blocks along Ninth, she + turned down Clay and back to Eighth street, where she waited for another + car. + </p> + <p> + As the summer months dragged along, the industrial situation in Oakland + grew steadily worse. Capital everywhere seemed to have selected this city + for the battle with organized labor. So many men in Oakland were out on + strike, or were locked out, or were unable to work because of the + dependence of their trades on the other tied-up trades, that odd jobs at + common labor were hard to obtain. Billy occasionally got a day's work to + do, but did not earn enough to make both ends meet, despite the small + strike wages received at first, and despite the rigid economy he and Saxon + practiced. + </p> + <p> + The table she set had scarcely anything in common with that of their first + married year. Not alone was every item of cheaper quality, but many items + had disappeared. Meat, and the poorest, was very seldom on the table. + Cow's milk had given place to condensed milk, and even the sparing use of + the latter had ceased. A roll of butter, when they had it, lasted half a + dozen times as long as formerly. Where Billy had been used to drinking + three cups of coffee for breakfast, he now drank one. Saxon boiled this + coffee an atrocious length of time, and she paid twenty cents a pound for + it. + </p> + <p> + The blight of hard times was on all the neighborhood. The families not + involved in one strike were touched by some other strike or by the + cessation of work in some dependent trade. Many single young men who were + lodgers had drifted away, thus increasing the house rent of the families + which had sheltered them. + </p> + <p> + “Gott!” said the butcher to Saxon. “We working class all suffer together. + My wife she cannot get her teeth fixed now. Pretty soon I go smash broke + maybe.” + </p> + <p> + Once, when Billy was preparing to pawn his watch, Saxon suggested his + borrowing the money from Billy Murphy. + </p> + <p> + “I was plannin' that,” Billy answered, “only I can't now. I didn't tell + you what happened Tuesday night at the Sporting Life Club. You remember + that squarehead Champion of the United States Navy? Bill was matched with + him, an' it was sure easy money. Bill had 'm goin' south by the end of the + sixth round, an' at the seventh went in to finish 'm. And then—just + his luck, for his trade's idle now—he snaps his right forearm. Of + course the squarehead comes back at 'm on the jump, an' it's good night + for Bill. Gee! Us Mohegans are gettin' our bad luck handed to us in chunks + these days.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” Saxon cried, shuddering involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “What?” Billy asked with open mouth of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that word again. Bert was always saying it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mohegans. All right, I won't. You ain't superstitious, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but just the same there's too much truth in the word for me to like + it. Sometimes it seems as though he was right. Times have changed. They've + changed even since I was a little girl. We crossed the plains and opened + up this country, and now we're losing even the chance to work for a living + in it. And it's not my fault, it's not your fault. We've got to live well + or bad just by luck, it seems. There's no other way to explain it.” + </p> + <p> + “It beats me,” Billy concurred. “Look at the way I worked last year. Never + missed a day. I'd want to never miss a day this year, an' here I haven't + done a tap for weeks an' weeks an' weeks. Say! Who runs this country + anyway?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon had stopped the morning paper, but frequently Maggie Donahue's boy, + who served a Tribune route, tossed an “extra” on her steps. From its + editorials Saxon gleaned that organized labor was trying to run the + country and that it was making a mess of it. It was all the fault of + domineering labor—so ran the editorials, column by column, day by + day; and Saxon was convinced, yet remained unconvinced. The social puzzle + of living was too intricate. + </p> + <p> + The teamsters' strike, backed financially by the teamsters of San + Francisco and by the allied unions of the San Francisco Water Front + Confederation, promised to be long-drawn, whether or not it was + successful. The Oakland harness-washers and stablemen, with few + exceptions, had gone out with the teamsters. The teaming firms were not + half-filling their contracts, but the employers' association was helping + them. In fact, half the employers' associations of the Pacific Coast were + helping the Oakland Employers' Association. + </p> + <p> + Saxon was behind a month's rent, which, when it is considered that rent + was paid in advance, was equivalent to two months. Likewise, she was two + months behind in the installments on the furniture. Yet she was not + pressed very hard by Salinger's, the furniture dealers. + </p> + <p> + “We're givin' you all the rope we can,” said their collector. “My orders + is to make you dig up every cent I can and at the same time not to be too + hard. Salinger's are trying to do the right thing, but they're up against + it, too. You've no idea how many accounts like yours they're carrying + along. Sooner or later they'll have to call a halt or get it in the neck + themselves. And in the meantime just see if you can't scrape up five + dollars by next week—just to cheer them along, you know.” + </p> + <p> + One of the stablemen who had not gone out, Henderson by name, worked at + Billy's stables. Despite the urging of the bosses to eat and sleep in the + stable like the other men, Henderson had persisted in coming home each + morning to his little house around the corner from Saxon's on Fifth + street. Several times she had seen him swinging along defiantly, his + dinner pail in his hand, while the neighborhood boys dogged his heels at a + safe distance and informed him in yapping chorus that he was a scab and no + good. But one evening, on his way to work, in a spirit of bravado he went + into the Pile-Drivers' Home, the saloon at Seventh and Pine. There it was + his mortal mischance to encounter Otto Frank, a striker who drove from the + same stable. Not many minutes later an ambulance was hurrying Henderson to + the receiving hospital with a fractured skull, while a patrol wagon was no + less swiftly carrying Otto Frank to the city prison. + </p> + <p> + Maggie Donahue it was, eyes shining with gladness, who told Saxon of the + happening. + </p> + <p> + “Served him right, too, the dirty scab,” Maggie concluded. + </p> + <p> + “But his poor wife!” was Saxon's cry. “She's not strong. And then the + children. She'll never be able to take care of them if her husband dies.” + </p> + <p> + “An' serve her right, the damned slut!” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was both shocked and hurt by the Irishwoman's brutality. But Maggie + was implacable. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis all she or any woman deserves that'll put up an' live with a scab. + What about her children? Let'm starve, an' her man a-takin' the food out + of other children's mouths.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Olsen's attitude was different. Beyond passive sentimental pity for + Henderson's wife and children, she gave them no thought, her chief concern + being for Otto Frank and Otto Frank's wife and children—herself and + Mrs. Frank being full sisters. + </p> + <p> + “If he dies, they will hang Otto,” she said. “And then what will poor + Hilda do? She has varicose veins in both legs, and she never can stand on + her feet all day an' work for wages. And me, I cannot help. Ain't Carl out + of work, too?” + </p> + <p> + Billy had still another point of view. + </p> + <p> + “It will give the strike a black eye, especially if Henderson croaks,” he + worried, when he came home. “They'll hang Frank on record time. Besides, + we'll have to put up a defense, an' lawyers charge like Sam Hill. They'll + eat a hole in our treasury you could drive every team in Oakland through. + An' if Frank hadn't ben screwed up with whisky he'd never a-done it. He's + the mildest, good-naturedest man sober you ever seen.” + </p> + <p> + Twice that evening Billy left the house to find out if Henderson was dead + yet. In the morning the papers gave little hope, and the evening papers + published his death. Otto Frank lay in jail without bail. The Tribune + demanded a quick trial and summary execution, calling on the prospective + jury manfully to do its duty and dwelling at length on the moral effect + that would be so produced upon the lawless working class. It went further, + emphasizing the salutary effect machine guns would have on the mob that + had taken the fair city of Oakland by the throat. + </p> + <p> + And all such occurrences struck at Saxon personally. Practically alone in + the world, save for Billy, it was her life, and his, and their mutual + love-life, that was menaced. From the moment he left the house to the + moment of his return she knew no peace of mind. Rough work was afoot, of + which he told her nothing, and she knew he was playing his part in it. On + more than one occasion she noticed fresh-broken skin on his knuckles. At + such times he was remarkably taciturn, and would sit in brooding silence + or go almost immediately to bed. She was afraid to have this habit of + reticence grow on him, and bravely she bid for his confidence. She climbed + into his lap and inside his arms, one of her arms around his neck, and + with the free hand she caressed his hair back from the forehead and + smoothed out the moody brows. + </p> + <p> + “Now listen to me, Billy Boy,” she began lightly. “You haven't been + playing fair, and I won't have it. No!” She pressed his lips shut with her + fingers. “I'm doing the talking now, and because you haven't been doing + your share of the talking for some time. You remember we agreed at the + start to always talk things over. I was the first to break this, when I + sold my fancy work to Mrs. Higgins without speaking to you about it. And I + was very sorry. I am still sorry. And I've never done it since. Now it's + your turn. You're not talking things over with me. You are doing things + you don't tell me about. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, you're dearer to me than anything else in the world. You know + that. We're sharing each other's lives, only, just now, there's something + you're not sharing. Every time your knuckles are sore, there's something + you don't share. If you can't trust me, you can't trust anybody. And, + besides, I love you so that no matter what you do I'll go on loving you + just the same.” + </p> + <p> + Billy gazed at her with fond incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a pincher,” she teased. “Remember, I stand for whatever you do.” + </p> + <p> + “And you won't buck against me?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “How can I? I'm not your boss, Billy. I wouldn't boss you for anything in + the world. And if you'd let me boss you, I wouldn't love you half as + much.” + </p> + <p> + He digested this slowly, and finally nodded. + </p> + <p> + “An' you won't be mad?” + </p> + <p> + “With you? You've never seen me mad yet. Now come on and be generous and + tell me how you hurt your knuckles. It's fresh to-day. Anybody can see + that.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll tell you how it happened.” He stopped and giggled with + genuine boyish glee at some recollection. “It's like this. You won't be + mad, now? We gotta do these sort of things to hold our own. Well, here's + the show, a regular movin' picture except for file talkin'. Here's a big + rube comin' along, hayseed stickin' out all over, hands like hams an' feet + like Mississippi gunboats. He'd make half as much again as me in size an' + he's young, too. Only he ain't lookin' for trouble, an' he's as innocent + as... well, he's the innocentest scab that ever come down the pike an' + bumped into a couple of pickets. Not a regular strike-breaker, you see, + just a big rube that's read the bosses' ads an' come a-humpin' to town for + the big wages. + </p> + <p> + “An' here's Bud Strothers an' me comin' along. We always go in pairs that + way, an' sometimes bigger bunches. I flag the rube. 'Hello,' says I, + 'lookin' for a job?' 'You bet,' says he. 'Can you drive?' 'Yep.' 'Four + horses!' 'Show me to 'em,' says he. 'No josh, now,' says I; 'you're sure + wantin' to drive?' 'That's what I come to town for,' he says. 'You're the + man we're lookin' for,' says I. 'Come along, an' we'll have you busy in no + time.' + </p> + <p> + “You see, Saxon, we can't pull it off there, because there's Tom Scanlon—you + know, the red-headed cop only a couple of blocks away an' pipin' us off + though not recognizin' us. So away we go, the three of us, Bud an' me + leadin' that boob to take our jobs away from us I guess nit. We turn into + the alley back of Campwell's grocery. Nobody in sight. Bud stops short, + and the rube an' me stop. + </p> + <p> + “'I don't think he wants to drive,' Bud says, considerin'. An' the rube + says quick, 'You betcher life I do.' 'You're dead sure you want that job?' + I says. Yes, he's dead sure. Nothin's goin' to keep him away from that + job. Why, that job's what he come to town for, an' we can't lead him to it + too quick. + </p> + <p> + “'Well, my friend,' says I, 'it's my sad duty to inform you that you've + made a mistake.' 'How's that?' he says. 'Go on,' I says; 'you're standin' + on your foot.' And, honest to God, Saxon, that gink looks down at his feet + to see. 'I don't understand,' says he. 'We're goin' to show you,' says I. + </p> + <p> + “An' then—Biff! Bang! Bingo! Swat! Zooie! Ker-slambango-blam! + Fireworks, Fourth of July, Kingdom Come, blue lights, sky-rockets, an' + hell fire—just like that. It don't take long when you're scientific + an' trained to tandem work. Of course it's hard on the knuckles. But say, + Saxon, if you'd seen that rube before an' after you'd thought he was a + lightnin' change artist. Laugh? You'd a-busted.” + </p> + <p> + Billy halted to give vent to his own mirth. Saxon forced herself to join + with him, but down in her heart was horror. Mercedes was right. The stupid + workers wrangled and snarled over jobs. The clever masters rode in + automobiles and did not wrangle and snarl. They hired other stupid ones to + do the wrangling and snarling for them. It was men like Bert and Frank + Davis, like Chester Johnson and Otto Frank, like Jelly Belly and the + Pinkertons, like Henderson and all the rest of the scabs, who were beaten + up, shot, clubbed, or hanged. Ah, the clever ones were very clever. + Nothing happened to them. They only rode in their automobiles. + </p> + <p> + “'You big stiffs,' the rube snivels as he crawls to his feet at the end,” + Billy was continuing. “'You think you still want that job?' I ask. He + shakes his head. Then I read'm the riot act 'They's only one thing for you + to do, old hoss, an' that's beat it. D'ye get me? Beat it. Back to the + farm for YOU. An' if you come monkeyin' around town again, we'll be real + mad at you. We was only foolin' this time. But next time we catch you your + own mother won't know you when we get done with you.' + </p> + <p> + “An'—say!—you oughta seen'm beat it. I bet he's goin' yet. Ah' + when he gets back to Milpitas, or Sleepy Hollow, or wherever he hangs out, + an' tells how the boys does things in Oakland, it's dollars to doughnuts + they won't be a rube in his district that'd come to town to drive if they + offered ten dollars an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “It was awful,” Saxon said, then laughed well-simulated appreciation. + </p> + <p> + “But that was nothin',” Billy went on. “A bunch of the boys caught another + one this morning. They didn't do a thing to him. My goodness gracious, no. + In less'n two minutes he was the worst wreck they ever hauled to the + receivin' hospital. The evenin' papers gave the score: nose broken, three + bad scalp wounds, front teeth out, a broken collarbone, an' two broken + ribs. Gee! He certainly got all that was comin' to him. But that's + nothin'. D'ye want to know what the Frisco teamsters did in the big strike + before the Earthquake? They took every scab they caught an' broke both his + arms with a crowbar. That was so he couldn't drive, you see. Say, the + hospitals was filled with 'em. An' the teamsters won that strike, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But is it necessary, Billy, to be so terrible? I know they're scabs, and + that they're taking the bread out of the strikers' children's mouths to + put in their own children's mouths, and that it isn't fair and all that; + but just the same is it necessary to be so... terrible?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing,” Billy answered confidently. “We just gotta throw the fear of + God into them—when we can do it without bein' caught.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you're caught?” + </p> + <p> + “Then the union hires the lawyers to defend us, though that ain't much + good now, for the judges are pretty hostyle, an' the papers keep hammerin' + away at them to give stiffer an' stiffer sentences. Just the same, before + this strike's over there'll be a whole lot of guys a-wishin' they'd never + gone scabbin'.” + </p> + <p> + Very cautiously, in the next half hour, Saxon tried to feel out her + husband's attitude, to find if he doubted the rightness of the violence he + and his brother teamsters committed. But Billy's ethical sanction was + rock-bedded and profound. It never entered his head that he was not + absolutely right. It was the game. Caught in its tangled meshes, he could + see no other way to play it than the way all men played it. He did not + stand for dynamite and murder, however. But then the unions did not stand + for such. Quite naive was his explanation that dynamite and murder did not + pay; that such actions always brought down the condemnation of the public + and broke the strikes. But the healthy beating up of a scab, he contended—the + “throwing of the fear of God into a scab,” as he expressed it—was + the only right and proper thing to do. + </p> + <p> + “Our folks never had to do such things,” Saxon said finally. “They never + had strikes nor scabs in those times.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet they didn't,” Billy agreed. “Them was the good old days. I'd liked + to a-lived then.” He drew a long breath and sighed. “But them times will + never come again.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have liked living in the country?” Saxon asked. + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing.” + </p> + <p> + “There's lots of men living in the country now,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same I notice them a-hikin' to town to get our jobs,” was his + reply. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + A gleam of light came, when Billy got a job driving a grading team for the + contractors of the big bridge then building at Niles. Before he went he + made certain that it was a union job. And a union job it was for two days, + when the concrete workers threw down their tools. The contractors, + evidently prepared for such happening, immediately filled the places of + the concrete men with nonunion Italians. Whereupon the carpenters, + structural ironworkers and teamsters walked out; and Billy, lacking train + fare, spent the rest of the day in walking home. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't work as a scab,” he concluded his tale. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Saxon said; “you couldn't work as a scab.” + </p> + <p> + But she wondered why it was that when men wanted to work, and there was + work to do, yet they were unable to work because their unions said no. Why + were there unions? And, if unions had to be, why were not all workingmen + in them? Then there would be no scabs, and Billy could work every day. + Also, she wondered where she was to get a sack of flour, for she had long + since ceased the extravagance of baker's bread. And so many other of the + neighborhood women had done this, that the little Welsh baker had closed + up shop and gone away, taking his wife and two little daughters with him. + Look where she would, everybody was being hurt by the industrial strife. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon came a caller at her door, and that evening came Billy with + dubious news. He had been approached that day. All he had to do, he told + Saxon, was to say the word, and he could go into the stable as foreman at + one hundred dollars a month. + </p> + <p> + The nearness of such a sum, the possibility of it, was almost stunning to + Saxon, sitting at a supper which consisted of boiled potatoes, warmed-over + beans, and a small dry onion which they were eating raw. There was neither + bread, coffee, nor butter. The onion Billy had pulled from his pocket, + having picked it up in the street. One hundred dollars a month! She + moistened her lips and fought for control. + </p> + <p> + “What made them offer it to you?” she questioned. + </p> + <p> + “That's easy,” was his answer. “They got a dozen reasons. The guy the boss + has had exercisin' Prince and King is a dub. King has gone lame in the + shoulders. Then they're guessin' pretty strong that I'm the party that's + put a lot of their scabs outa commission. Macklin's ben their foreman for + years an' years—why I was in knee pants when he was foreman. Well, + he's sick an' all in. They gotta have somebody to take his place. Then, + too, I've been with 'em a long time. An' on top of that, I'm the man for + the job. They know I know horses from the ground up. Hell, it's all I'm + good for, except sluggin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Think of it, Billy!” she breathed. “A hundred dollars a month! A hundred + dollars a month!” + </p> + <p> + “An' throw the fellows down,” he said. + </p> + <p> + It was not a question. Nor was it a statement. It was anything Saxon chose + to make of it. They looked at each other. She waited for him to speak; but + he continued merely to look. It came to her that she was facing one of the + decisive moments of her life, and she gripped herself to face it in all + coolness. Nor would Billy proffer her the slightest help. Whatever his own + judgment might be, he masked it with an expressionless face. His eyes + betrayed nothing. He looked and waited. + </p> + <p> + “You... you can't do that, Billy,” she said finally. “You can't throw the + fellows down.” + </p> + <p> + His hand shot out to hers, and his face was a sudden, radiant dawn. + </p> + <p> + “Put her there!” he cried, their hands meeting and clasping. “You're the + truest true blue wife a man ever had. If all the other fellows' wives was + like you, we could win any strike we tackled.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have done if you weren't married, Billy?” + </p> + <p> + “Seen 'em in hell first.” + </p> + <p> + “Than it doesn't make any difference being married. I've got to stand by + you in everything you stand for. I'd be a nice wife if I didn't.” + </p> + <p> + She remembered her caller of the afternoon, and knew the moment was too + propitious to let pass. + </p> + <p> + “There was a man here this afternoon, Billy. He wanted a room. I told him + I'd speak to you. He said he would pay six dollars a month for the back + bedroom. That would pay half a month's installment on the furniture and + buy a sack of flour, and we're all out of flour.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's old hostility to the idea was instantly uppermost, and Saxon + watched him anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Some scab in the shops, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he's firing on the freight run to San Jose. Harmon, he said his name + was, James Harmon. They've just transferred him from the Truckee division. + He'll sleep days mostly, he said; and that's why he wanted a quiet house + without children in it.” + </p> + <p> + In the end, with much misgiving, and only after Saxon had insistently + pointed out how little work it entailed on her, Billy consented, though he + continued to protest, as an afterthought: + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want you makin' beds for any man. It ain't right, Saxon. I + oughta take care of you.” + </p> + <p> + “And you would,” she flashed back at him, “if you'd take the foremanship. + Only you can't. It wouldn't be right. And if I'm to stand by you it's only + fair to let me do what I can.” + </p> + <p> + James Harmon proved even less a bother than Saxon had anticipated. For a + fireman he was scrupulously clean, always washing up in the roundhouse + before he came home. He used the key to the kitchen door, coming and going + by the back steps. To Saxon he barely said how-do-you-do or good day; and, + sleeping in the day time and working at night, he was in the house a week + before Billy laid eyes on him. + </p> + <p> + Billy had taken to coming home later and later, and to going out after + supper by himself. He did not offer to tell Saxon where he went. Nor did + she ask. For that matter it required little shrewdness on her part to + guess. The fumes of whisky were on his lips at such times. His slow, + deliberate ways were even slower, even more deliberate. Liquor did not + affect his legs. He walked as soberly as any man. There was no hesitancy, + no faltering, in his muscular movements. The whisky went to his brain, + making his eyes heavy-lidded and the cloudiness of them more cloudy. Not + that he was flighty, nor quick, nor irritable. On the contrary, the liquor + imparted to his mental processes a deep gravity and brooding solemnity. He + talked little, but that little was ominous and oracular. At such times + there was no appeal from his judgment, no discussion. He knew, as God + knew. And when he chose to speak a harsh thought, it was ten-fold harsher + than ordinarily, because it seemed to proceed out of such profundity of + cogitation, because it was as prodigiously deliberate in its incubation as + it was in its enunciation. + </p> + <p> + It was not a nice side he was showing to Saxon. It was, almost, as if a + stranger had come to live with her. Despite herself, she found herself + beginning to shrink from him. And little could she comfort herself with + the thought that it was not his real self, for she remembered his + gentleness and considerateness, all his finenesses of the past. Then he + had made a continual effort to avoid trouble and fighting. Now he enjoyed + it, exulted in it, went looking for it. All this showed in his face. No + longer was he the smiling, pleasant-faced boy. He smiled infrequently now. + His face was a man's face. The lips, the eyes, the lines were harsh as his + thoughts were harsh. + </p> + <p> + He was rarely unkind to Saxon; but, on the other hand he was rarely kind. + His attitude toward her was growing negative. He was disinterested. + Despite the fight for the union she was enduring with him, putting up with + him shoulder to shoulder, she occupied but little space in his mind. When + he acted toward her gently, she could see that it was merely mechanical, + just as she was well aware that the endearing terms he used, the endearing + caresses he gave, were only habitual. The spontaneity and warmth had gone + out. Often, when he was not in liquor, flashes of the old Billy came back, + but even such flashes dwindled in frequency. He was growing preoccupied, + moody. Hard times and the bitter stresses of industrial conflict strained + him. Especially was this apparent in his sleep, when he suffered paroxysms + of lawless dreams, groaning and muttering, clenching his fists, grinding + his teeth, twisting with muscular tensions, his face writhing with + passions and violences, his throat guttering with terrible curses that + rasped and aborted on his lips. And Saxon, lying beside him, afraid of + this visitor to her bed whom she did not know, remembered what Mary had + told her of Bert. He, too, had cursed and clenched his fists, in his + nights fought out the battles of his days. + </p> + <p> + One thing, however, Saxon saw clearly. By no deliberate act of Billy's was + he becoming this other and unlovely Billy. Were there no strike, no + snarling and wrangling over jobs, there would be only the old Billy she + had loved in all absoluteness. This sleeping terror in him would have lain + asleep. It was something that was being awakened in him, an image + incarnate of outward conditions, as cruel, as ugly, as maleficent as were + those outward conditions. But if the strike continued, then, she feared, + with reason, would this other and grisly self of Billy strengthen to + fuller and more forbidding stature. And this, she knew, would mean the + wreck of their love-life. Such a Billy she could not love; in its nature + such a Billy was not lovable nor capable of love. And then, at the thought + of offspring, she shuddered. It was too terrible. And at such moments of + contemplation, from her soul the inevitable plaint of the human went up: + WHY? WHY? WHY? + </p> + <p> + Billy, too, had his unanswerable queries. + </p> + <p> + “Why won't the building trades come out?” he demanded wrathfuly of the + obscurity that veiled the ways of living and the world. “But no; O'Brien + won't stand for a strike, and he has the Building Trades Council under his + thumb. But why don't they chuck him and come out anyway? We'd win hands + down all along the line. But no, O'Brien's got their goat, an' him up to + his dirty neck in politics an' graft! An' damn the Federation of Labor! If + all the railroad boys had come out, wouldn't the shop men have won instead + of bein' licked to a frazzle? Lord, I ain't had a smoke of decent tobacco + or a cup of decent coffee in a coon's age. I've forgotten what a square + meal tastes like. I weighed myself yesterday. Fifteen pounds lighter than + when the strike begun. If it keeps on much more I can fight middleweight. + An' this is what I get after payin' dues into the union for years and + years. I can't get a square meal, an' my wife has to make other men's + beds. It makes my tired ache. Some day I'll get real huffy an' chuck that + lodger out.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's not his fault, Billy,” Saxon protested. + </p> + <p> + “Who said it was?” Billy snapped roughly. “Can't I kick in general if I + want to? Just the same it makes me sick. What's the good of organized + labor if it don't stand together? For two cents I'd chuck the whole thing + up an' go over to the employers. Only I wouldn't, God damn them! If they + think they can beat us down to our knees, let 'em go ahead an' try it, + that's all. But it gets me just the same. The whole world's clean dippy. + They ain't no sense in anything. What's the good of supportin' a union + that can't win a strike? What's the good of knockin' the blocks off of + scabs when they keep a-comin' thick as ever? The whole thing's bughouse, + an' I guess I am, too.” + </p> + <p> + Such an outburst on Billy's part was so unusual that it was the only time + Saxon knew it to occur. Always he was sullen, and dogged, and unwhipped; + while whisky only served to set the maggots of certitude crawling in his + brain. + </p> + <p> + One night Billy did not get home till after twelve. Saxon's anxiety was + increased by the fact that police fighting and head breaking had been + reported to have occurred. When Billy came, his appearance verified the + report. His coatsleeves were half torn off. The Windsor tie had + disappeared from under his soft turned-down collar, and every button had + been ripped off the front of the shirt. When he took his hat off, Saxon + was frightened by a lump on his head the size of an apple. + </p> + <p> + “D'ye know who did that? That Dutch slob Hermanmann, with a riot club. An' + I'll get'm for it some day, good an' plenty. An' there's another fellow I + got staked out that'll be my meat when this strike's over an' things is + settled down. Blanchard's his name, Roy Blanchard.” + </p> + <p> + “Not of Blanchard, Perkins and Company?” Saxon asked, busy washing Billy's + hurt and making her usual fight to keep him calm. + </p> + <p> + “Yep; except he's the son of the old man. What's he do, that ain't done a + tap of work in all his life except to blow the old man's money? He goes + strike-breakin'. Grandstand play, that's what I call it. Gets his name in + the papers an makes all the skirts he runs with fluster up an' say: 'My! + Some bear, that Roy Blanchard, some bear.' Some bear—the gazabo! + He'll be bear-meat for me some day. I never itched so hard to lick a man + in my life. + </p> + <p> + “And—oh, I guess I'll pass that Dutch cop up. He got his already. + Somebody broke his head with a lump of coal the size of a water bucket. + That was when the wagons was turnin' into Franklin, just off Eighth, by + the old Galindo Hotel. They was hard fightin' there, an' some guy in the + hotel lams that coal down from the second story window. + </p> + <p> + “They was fightin' every block of the way—bricks, cobblestones, an' + police-clubs to beat the band. They don't dast call out the troops. An' + they was afraid to shoot. Why, we tore holes through the police force, an' + the ambulances and patrol wagons worked over-time. But say, we got the + procession blocked at Fourteenth and Broadway, right under the nose of the + City Hall, rushed the rear end, cut out the horses of five wagons, an' + handed them college guys a few love-pats in passin'. All that saved 'em + from hospital was the police reserves. Just the same we had 'em jammed an + hour there. You oughta seen the street cars blocked, too—Broadway, + Fourteenth, San Pablo, as far as you could see.” + </p> + <p> + “But what did Blanchard do?” Saxon called him back. + </p> + <p> + “He led the procession, an' he drove my team. All the teams was from my + stable. He rounded up a lot of them college fellows—fraternity guys, + they're called—yaps that live off their fathers' money. They come to + the stable in big tourin' cars an' drove out the wagons with half the + police of Oakland to help them. Say, it was sure some day. The sky rained + cobblestones. An' you oughta heard the clubs on our heads—rat-tat-tat-tat, + rat-tat-tat-tat! An' say, the chief of police, in a police auto, sittin' + up like God Almighty—just before we got to Peralta street they was a + block an' the police chargin', an' an old woman, right from her front + gate, lammed the chief of police full in the face with a dead cat. Phew! + You could hear it. 'Arrest that woman!' he yells, with his handkerchief + out. But the boys beat the cops to her an' got her away. Some day? I guess + yes. The receivin' hospital went outa commission on the jump, an' the + overflow was spilled into St. Mary's Hospital, an' Fabiola, an' I don't + know where else. Eight of our men was pulled, an' a dozen of the Frisco + teamsters that's come over to help. They're holy terrors, them Frisco + teamsters. It seemed half the workingmen of Oakland was helpin' us, an' + they must be an army of them in jail. Our lawyers'll have to take their + cases, too. + </p> + <p> + “But take it from me, it's the last we'll see of Roy Blanchard an' yaps of + his kidney buttin' into our affairs. I guess we showed 'em some football. + You know that brick buildin' they're puttin' up on Bay street? That's + where we loaded up first, an', say, you couldn't see the wagon-seats for + bricks when they started from the stables. Blanchard drove the first + wagon, an' he was knocked clean off the seat once, but he stayed with it.” + </p> + <p> + “He must have been brave,” Saxon commented. + </p> + <p> + “Brave?” Billy flared. “With the police, an' the army an' navy behind him? + I suppose you'll be takin' their part next. Brave? A-takin' the food outa + the mouths of our women an children. Didn't Curley Jones's little kid die + last night? Mother's milk not nourishin', that's what it was, because she + didn't have the right stuff to eat. An' I know, an' you know, a dozen old + aunts, an' sister-in-laws, an' such, that's had to hike to the poorhouse + because their folks couldn't take care of 'em in these times.” + </p> + <p> + In the morning paper Saxon read the exciting account of the futile attempt + to break the teamsters' strike. Roy Blanchard was hailed a hero and held + up as a model of wealthy citizenship. And to save herself she could not + help glowing with appreciation of his courage. There was something fine in + his going out to face the snarling pack. A brigadier general of the + regular army was quoted as lamenting the fact that the troops had not been + called out to take the mob by the throat and shake law and order into it. + “This is the time for a little healthful bloodletting,” was the conclusion + of his remarks, after deploring the pacific methods of the police. “For + not until the mob has been thoroughly beaten and cowed will tranquil + industrial conditions obtain.” + </p> + <p> + That evening Saxon and Billy went up town. Returning home and finding + nothing to eat, he had taken her on one arm, his overcoat on the other. + The overcoat he had pawned at Uncle Sam's, and he and Saxon had eaten + drearily at a Japanese restaurant which in some miraculous way managed to + set a semi-satisfying meal for ten cents. After eating, they started on + their way to spend an additional five cents each on a moving picture show. + </p> + <p> + At the Central Bank Building, two striking teamsters accosted Billy and + took him away with them. Saxon waited on the corner, and when he returned, + three quarters of an hour later, she knew he had been drinking. + </p> + <p> + Half a block on, passing the Forum Cafe, he stopped suddenly. A limousine + stood at the curb, and into it a young man was helping several wonderfully + gowned women. A chauffeur sat in the driver's sent. Billy touched the + young man on the arm. He was as broad-shouldered as Billy and slightly + taller. Blue-eyed, strong-featured, in Saxon's opinion he was undeniably + handsome. + </p> + <p> + “Just a word, sport,” Billy said, in a low, slow voice. + </p> + <p> + The young man glanced quickly at Billy and Saxon, and asked impatiently: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “You're Blanchard,” Billy began. “I seen you yesterday lead out that bunch + of teams.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I do it all right?” Blanchard asked gaily, with a flash of glance + to Saxon and back again. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. But that ain't what I want to talk about.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” the other demanded with sudden suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “A striker. It just happens you drove my team, that's all. No; don't move + for a gun.” (As Blanchard half reached toward his hip pocket.) “I ain't + startin' anythin' here. But I just want to tell you something.” + </p> + <p> + “Be quick, then.” + </p> + <p> + Blanchard lifted one foot to step into the machine. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” Billy went on without any diminution of his exasperating slowness. + “What I want to tell you is that I'm after you. Not now, when the strike's + on, but some time later I'm goin' to get you an' give you the beatin' of + your life.” + </p> + <p> + Blanchard looked Billy over with new interest and measuring eyes that + sparkled with appreciation. + </p> + <p> + “You are a husky yourself,” he said. “But do you think you can do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. You're my meat.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, then, my friend. Look me up after the strike is settled, and + I'll give you a chance at me.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember,” Billy added, “I got you staked out.” + </p> + <p> + Blanchard nodded, smiled genially to both of them, raised his hat to + Saxon, and stepped into the machine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + From now on, to Saxon, life seemed bereft of its last reason and rhyme. It + had become senseless, nightmarish. Anything irrational was possible. There + was nothing stable in the anarchic flux of affairs that swept her on she + knew not to what catastrophic end. Had Billy been dependable, all would + still have been well. With him to cling to she would have faced everything + fearlessly. But he had been whirled away from her in the prevailing + madness. So radical was the change in him that he seemed almost an + intruder in the house. Spiritually he was such an intruder. Another man + looked out of his eyes—a man whose thoughts were of violence and + hatred; a man to whom there was no good in anything, and who had become an + ardent protagonist of the evil that was rampant and universal. This man no + longer condemned Bert, himself muttering vaguely of dynamite, and + sabotage, and revolution. + </p> + <p> + Saxon strove to maintain that sweetness and coolness of flesh and spirit + that Billy had praised in the old days. Once, only, she lost control. He + had been in a particularly ugly mood, and a final harshness and unfairness + cut her to the quick. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you speaking to?” she flamed out at him. + </p> + <p> + He was speechless and abashed, and could only stare at her face, which was + white with anger. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you ever speak to me like that again, Billy,” she commanded. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, can't you put up with a piece of bad temper?” he muttered, half + apologetically, yet half defiantly. “God knows I got enough to make me + cranky.” + </p> + <p> + After he left the house she flung herself on the bed and cried + heart-brokenly. For she, who knew so thoroughly the humility of love, was + a proud woman. Only the proud can be truly humble, as only the strong may + know the fullness of gentleness. But what was the use, she demanded, of + being proud and game, when the only person in the world who mattered to + her lost his own pride and gameness and fairness and gave her the worse + share of their mutual trouble? + </p> + <p> + And now, as she had faced alone the deeper, organic hurt of the loss of + her baby, she faced alone another, and, in a way, an even greater personal + trouble. Perhaps she loved Billy none the less, but her love was changing + into something less proud, less confident, less trusting; it was becoming + shot through with pity—with the pity that is parent to contempt. Her + own loyalty was threatening to weaken, and she shuddered and shrank from + the contempt she could see creeping in. + </p> + <p> + She struggled to steel herself to face the situation. Forgiveness stole + into her heart, and she knew relief until the thought came that in the + truest, highest love forgiveness should have no place. And again she + cried, and continued her battle. After all, one thing was incontestable: + THIS BILLY WAS NOT THE BILLY SHE HAD LOVED. This Billy was another man, a + sick man, and no more to be held responsible than a fever-patient in the + ravings of delirium. She must be Billy's nurse, without pride, without + contempt, with nothing to forgive. Besides, he was really bearing the + brunt of the fight, was in the thick of it, dizzy with the striking of + blows and the blows he received. If fault there was, it lay elsewhere, + somewhere in the tangled scheme of things that made men snarl over jobs + like dogs over bones. + </p> + <p> + So Saxon arose and buckled on her armor again for the hardest fight of all + in the world's arena—the woman's fight. She ejected from her thought + all doubting and distrust. She forgave nothing, for there was nothing + requiring forgiveness. She pledged herself to an absoluteness of belief + that her love and Billy's was unsullied, unperturbed—severe as it + had always been, as it would be when it came back again after the world + settled down once more to rational ways. + </p> + <p> + That night, when he came home, she proposed, as an emergency measure, that + she should resume her needlework and help keep the pot boiling until the + strike was over. But Billy would hear nothing of it. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” he assured her repeatedly. “They ain't no call for you + to work. I'm goin' to get some money before the week is out. An' I'll turn + it over to you. An' Saturday night we'll go to the show—a real show, + no movin' pictures. Harvey's nigger minstrels is comin' to town. We'll go + Saturday night. I'll have the money before that, as sure as beans is + beans.” + </p> + <p> + Friday evening he did not come home to supper, which Saxon regretted, for + Maggie Donahue had returned a pan of potatoes and two quarts of flour + (borrowed the week before), and it was a hearty meal that awaited him. + Saxon kept the stove going till nine o'clock, when, despite her + reluctance, she went to bed. Her preference would have been to wait up, + but she did not dare, knowing full well what the effect would be on him + did he come home in liquor. + </p> + <p> + The clock had just struck one, when she heard the click of the gate. + Slowly, heavily, ominously, she heard him come up the steps and fumble + with his key at the door. He entered the bedroom, and she heard him sigh + as he sat down. She remained quiet, for she had learned the + hypersensitiveness induced by drink and was fastidiously careful not to + hurt him even with the knowledge that she had lain awake for him. It was + not easy. Her hands were clenched till the nails dented the palms, and her + body was rigid in her passionate effort for control. Never had he come + home as bad as this. + </p> + <p> + “Saxon,” he called thickly. “Saxon.” + </p> + <p> + She stired and yawned. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you strike a light? My fingers is all thumbs.” + </p> + <p> + Without looking at him, she complied; but so violent was the nervous + trembling of her hands that the glass chimney tinkled against the globe + and the match went out. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't drunk, Saxon,” he said in the darkness, a hint of amusement in + his thick voice. “I've only had two or three jolts ... of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + On her second attempt with the lamp she succeeded. When she turned to look + at him she screamed with fright. Though she had heard his voice and knew + him to be Billy, for the instant she did not recognize him. His face was a + face she had never known. Swollen, bruised, discolored, every feature had + been beaten out of all semblance of familiarity. One eye was entirely + closed, the other showed through a narrow slit of blood-congested flesh. + One ear seemed to have lost most of its skin. The whole face was a swollen + pulp. His right jaw, in particular, was twice the size of the left. No + wonder his speech had been thick, was her thought, as she regarded the + fearfully cut and swollen lips that still bled. She was sickened by the + sight, and her heart went out to him in a great wave of tenderness. She + wanted to put her arms around him, and cuddle and soothe him; but her + practical judgment bade otherwise. + </p> + <p> + “You poor, poor boy,” she cried. “Tell me what you want me to do first. I + don't know about such things.” + </p> + <p> + “If you could help me get my clothes off,” he suggested meekly and + thickly. “I got 'em on before I stiffened up.” + </p> + <p> + “And then hot water—that will be good,” she said, as she began + gently drawing his coat sleeve over a puffed and helpless hand. + </p> + <p> + “I told you they was all thumbs,” he grimaced, holding up his hand and + squinting at it with the fraction of sight remaining to him. + </p> + <p> + “You sit and wait,” she said, “till I start the fire and get the hot water + going. I won't be a minute. Then I'll finish getting your clothes off.” + </p> + <p> + From the kitchen she could hear him mumbling to himself, and when she + returned he was repeating over and over: + </p> + <p> + “We needed the money, Saxon. We needed the money.” + </p> + <p> + Drunken he was not, she could see that, and from his babbling she knew he + was partly delirious. + </p> + <p> + “He was a surprise box,” he wandered on, while she proceeded to undress + him; and bit by bit she was able to piece together what had happened. “He + was an unknown from Chicago. They sprang him on me. The secretary of the + Acme Club warned me I'd have my hands full. An' I'd a-won if I'd been in + condition. But fifteen pounds off without trainin' ain't condition. Then + I'd been drinkin' pretty regular, an' I didn't have my wind.” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon, stripping his undershirt, no longer heard him. As with his + face, she could not recognize his splendidly muscled back. The white + sheath of silken skin was torn and bloody. The lacerations occurred + oftenest in horizontal lines, though there were perpendicular lines as + well. + </p> + <p> + “How did you get all that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The ropes. I was up against 'em more times than I like to remember. Gee! + He certainly gave me mine. But I fooled 'm. He couldn't put me out. I + lasted the twenty rounds, an' I wanta tell you he's got some marks to + remember me by. If he ain't got a couple of knuckles broke in the left + hand I'm a geezer.—Here, feel my head here. Swollen, eh? Sure thing. + He hit that more times than he's wishin' he had right now. But, oh, what a + lacin'! What a lacin'! I never had anything like it before. The Chicago + Terror, they call 'm. I take my hat off to 'm. He's some bear. But I could + a-made 'm take the count if I'd ben in condition an' had my wind.—Oh! + Ouch! Watch out! It's like a boil!” + </p> + <p> + Fumbling at his waistband, Saxon's hand had come in contact with a + brightly inflamed surface larger than a soup plate. + </p> + <p> + “That's from the kidney blows,” Billy explained. “He was a regular devil + at it. 'Most every clench, like clock work, down he'd chop one on me. It + got so sore I was wincin'... until I got groggy an' didn't know much of + anything. It ain't a knockout blow, you know, but it's awful wearin' in a + long fight. It takes the starch out of you.” + </p> + <p> + When his knees were bared, Saxon could see the skin across the knee-caps + was broken and gone. + </p> + <p> + “The skin ain't made to stand a heavy fellow like me on the knees,” he + volunteered. “An' the rosin in the canvas cuts like Sam Hill.” + </p> + <p> + The tears were in Saxon's eyes, and she could have cried over the + manhandled body of her beautiful sick boy. + </p> + <p> + As she carried his pants across the room to hang them up, a jingle of + money came from them. He called her back, and from the pocket drew forth a + handful of silver. + </p> + <p> + “We needed the money, we needed the money,” he kept muttering, as he + vainly tried to count the coins; and Saxon knew that his mind was + wandering again. + </p> + <p> + It cut her to the heart, for she could not but remember the harsh thoughts + that had threatened her loyalty during the week past. After all, Billy, + the splendid physical man, was only a boy, her boy. And he had faced and + endured all this terrible punishment for her, for the house and the + furniture that were their house and furniture. He said so, now, when he + scarcely knew what he said. He said “WE needed the money.” She was not so + absent from his thoughts as she had fancied. Here, down to the naked + tie-ribs of his soul, when he was half unconscious, the thought of her + persisted, was uppermost. We needed the money. WE! + </p> + <p> + The tears were trickling down her checks as she bent over him, and it + seemed she had never loved him so much as now. + </p> + <p> + “Here; you count,” he said, abandoning the effort and handing the money to + her. “... How much do you make it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nineteen dollars and thirty-five cents.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right... the loser's end... twenty dollars. I had some drinks, an' + treated a couple of the boys, an' then there was carfare. If I'd a-won, + I'd a-got a hundred. That's what I fought for. It'd a-put us on Easy + street for a while. You take it an' keep it. It's better 'n nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + In bed, he could not sleep because of his pain, and hour by hour she + worked over him, renewing the hot compresses over his bruises, soothing + the lacerations with witch hazel and cold cream and the tenderest of + finger tips. And all the while, with broken intervals of groaning, he + babbled on, living over the fight, seeking relief in telling her his + trouble, voicing regret at loss of the money, and crying out the hurt to + his pride. Far worse than the sum of his physical hurts was his hurt + pride. + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't put me out, anyway. He had full swing at me in the times when + I was too much in to get my hands up. The crowd was crazy. I showed 'em + some stamina. They was times when he only rocked me, for I'd evaporated + plenty of his steam for him in the openin' rounds. I don't know how many + times he dropped me. Things was gettin' too dreamy.... + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes, toward the end, I could see three of him in the ring at once, + an' I wouldn't know which to hit an' which to duck.... + </p> + <p> + “But I fooled 'm. When I couldn't see, or feel, an' when my knees was + shakin an my head goin' like a merry-go-round, I'd fall safe into clenches + just the same. I bet the referee's arms is tired from draggin' us + apart.... + </p> + <p> + “But what a lacin'! What a lacin'! Say, Saxon... where are you? Oh, there, + eh? I guess I was dreamin'. But, say, let this be a lesson to you. I broke + my word an' went fightin', an' see what I got. Look at me, an' take + warnin' so you won't make the same mistake an' go to makin' an' sellin' + fancy work again.... + </p> + <p> + “But I fooled 'em—everybody. At the beginnin' the bettin' was even. + By the sixth round the wise gazabos was offerin' two to one against me. I + was licked from the first drop outa the box—anybody could see that; + but he couldn't put me down for the count. By the tenth round they was + offerin' even that I wouldn't last the round. At the eleventh they was + offerin' I wouldn't last the fifteenth. An' I lasted the whole twenty. But + some punishment, I want to tell you, some punishment. + </p> + <p> + “Why, they was four rounds I was in dreamland all the time... only I kept + on my feet an' fought, or took the count to eight an' got up, an' stalled + an' covered an' whanged away. I don't know what I done, except I must + a-done like that, because I wasn't there. I don't know a thing from the + thirteenth, when he sent me to the mat on my head, till the eighteenth. + </p> + <p> + “Where was I? Oh, yes. I opened my eyes, or one eye, because I had only + one that would open. An' there I was, in my corner, with the towels goin' + an' ammonia in my nose an' Bill Murphy with a chunk of ice at the back of + my neck. An' there, across the ring, I could see the Chicago Terror, an' I + had to do some thinkin' to remember I was fightin' him. It was like I'd + been away somewhere an' just got back. 'What round's this comin'?' I ask + Bill. 'The eighteenth,' says he. 'The hell,' I says. 'What's come of all + the other rounds? The last I was fightin' in was the thirteenth.' 'You're + a wonder,' says Bill. 'You've ben out four rounds, only nobody knows it + except me. I've ben tryin' to get you to quit all the time.' Just then the + gong sounds, an' I can see the Terror startin' for me. 'Quit,' says Bill, + makin' a move to throw in the towel. 'Not on your life,' I says. 'Drop it, + Bill.' But he went on wantin' me to quit. By that time the Terror had come + across to my corner an' was standin' with his hands down, lookin' at me. + The referee was lookin', too, an' the house was that quiet, lookin', you + could hear a pin drop. An' my head was gettin' some clearer, but not much. + </p> + <p> + “'You can't win,' Bill says. + </p> + <p> + “'Watch me,' says I. An' with that I make a rush for the Terror, catchin' + him unexpected. I'm that groggy I can't stand, but I just keep a-goin', + wallopin' the Terror clear across the ring to his corner, where he slips + an' falls, an' I fall on top of 'm. Say, that crowd goes crazy. + </p> + <p> + “Where was I?—My head's still goin' round I guess. It's buzzin' like + a swarm of bees.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd just fallen on top of him in his corner,” Saxon prompted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. Well, no sooner are we on our feet—an' I can't stand—I + rush 'm the same way back across to my corner an' fall on 'm. That was + luck. We got up, an' I'd a-fallen, only I clenched an' held myself up by + him. 'I got your goat,' I says to him. 'An' now I'm goin' to eat you up.' + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't his goat, but I was playin' to get a piece of it, an' I got it, + rushin' 'm as soon as the referee drags us apart an' fetchin' 'm a lucky + wallop in the stomach that steadied 'm an' made him almighty careful. Too + almighty careful. He was afraid to chance a mix with me. He thought I had + more fight left in me than I had. So you see I got that much of his goat + anyway. + </p> + <p> + “An' he couldn't get me. He didn't get me. An' in the twentieth we stood + in the middle of the ring an' exchanged wallops even. Of course, I'd made + a fine showin' for a licked man, but he got the decision, which was right. + But I fooled 'm. He couldn't get me. An' I fooled the gazabos that was + bettin' he would on short order.” + </p> + <p> + At last, as dawn came on, Billy slept. He groaned and moaned, his face + twisting with pain, his body vainly moving and tossing in quest of + easement. + </p> + <p> + So this was prizefighting, Saxon thought. It was much worse than she had + dreamed. She had had no idea that such damage could be wrought with padded + gloves. He must never fight again. Street rioting was preferable. She was + wondering how much of his silk had been lost, when he mumbled and opened + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked, ere it came to her that his eyes were unseeing + and that he was in delirium. + </p> + <p> + “Saxon!... Saxon!” he called. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Billy. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + His hand fumbled over the bed where ordinarily it would have encountered + her. + </p> + <p> + Again he called her, and she cried her presence loudly in his ear. He + sighed with relief and muttered brokenly: + </p> + <p> + “I had to do it.... We needed the money.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes closed, and he slept more soundly, though his muttering + continued. She had heard of congestion of the brain, and was frightened. + Then she remembered his telling her of the ice Billy Murphy had held + against his head. + </p> + <p> + Throwing a shawl over her head, she ran to the Pile Drivers' Home on + Seventh street. The barkeeper had just opened, and was sweeping out. From + the refrigerator he gave her all the ice she wished to carry, breaking it + into convenient pieces for her. Back in the house, she applied the ice to + the base of Billy's brain, placed hot irons to his feet, and bathed his + head with witch hazel made cold by resting on the ice. + </p> + <p> + He slept in the darkened room until late afternoon, when, to Saxon's + dismay, he insisted on getting up. + </p> + <p> + “Gotta make a showin',” he explained. “They ain't goin' to have the laugh + on me.” + </p> + <p> + In torment he was helped by her to dress, and in torment he went forth + from the house so that his world should have ocular evidence that the + beating he had received did not keep him in bed. + </p> + <p> + It was another kind of pride, different from a woman's, and Saxon wondered + if it were the less admirable for that. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + In the days that followed Billy's swellings went down and the bruises + passed away with surprising rapidity. The quick healing of the lacerations + attested the healthiness of his blood. Only remained the black eyes, + unduly conspicuous on a face as blond as his. The discoloration was + stubborn, persisting half a month, in which time happened divers events of + importance. + </p> + <p> + Otto Frank's trial had been expeditious. Found guilty by a jury notable + for the business and professional men on it, the death sentence was passed + upon him and he was removed to San Quentin for execution. + </p> + <p> + The case of Chester Johnson and the fourteen others had taken longer, but + within the same week, it, too, was finished. Chester Johnson was sentenced + to be hanged. Two got life; three, twenty years. Only two were acquitted. + The remaining seven received terms of from two to ten years. + </p> + <p> + The effect on Saxon was to throw her into deep depression. Billy was made + gloomy, but his fighting spirit was not subdued. + </p> + <p> + “Always some men killed in battle,” he said. “That's to be expected. But + the way of sentencin' 'em gets me. All found guilty was responsible for + the killin'; or none was responsible. If all was, then they should get the + same sentence. They oughta hang like Chester Johnson, or else he oughtn't + to hang. I'd just like to know how the judge makes up his mind. It must be + like markin' China lottery tickets. He plays hunches. He looks at a guy + an' waits for a spot or a number to come into his head. How else could he + give Johnny Black four years an' Cal Hutchins twenty years? He played the + hunches as they came into his head, an' it might just as easy ben the + other way around an' Cal Hutchins got four years an' Johnny Black twenty. + </p> + <p> + “I know both them boys. They hung out with the Tenth an' Kirkham gang + mostly, though sometimes they ran with my gang. We used to go swimmin' + after school down to Sandy Beach on the marsh, an' in the Transit slip + where they said the water was sixty feet deep, only it wasn't. An' once, + on a Thursday, we dug a lot of clams together, an' played hookey Friday to + peddle them. An' we used to go out on the Rock Wall an' catch pogies an' + rock cod. One day—the day of the eclipse—Cal caught a perch + half as big as a door. I never seen such a fish. An' now he's got to wear + the stripes for twenty years. Lucky he wasn't married. If he don't get the + consumption he'll be an old man when he comes out. Cal's mother wouldn't + let 'm go swimmin', an' whenever she suspected she always licked his hair + with her tongue. If it tasted salty, he got a beltin'. But he was onto + himself. Comin' home, he'd jump somebody's front fence an' hold his head + under a faucet.” + </p> + <p> + “I used to dance with Chester Johnson,” Saxon said. “And I knew his wife, + Kittie Brady, long and long ago. She had next place at the table to me in + the paper-box factory. She's gone to San Francisco to her married + sister's. She's going to have a baby, too. She was awfully pretty, and + there was always a string of fellows after her.” + </p> + <p> + The effect of the conviction and severe sentences was a bad one on the + union men. Instead of being disheartening, it intensified the bitterness. + Billy's repentance for having fought and the sweetness and affection which + had flashed up in the days of Saxon's nursing of him were blotted out. At + home, he scowled and brooded, while his talk took on the tone of Bert's in + the last days ere that Mohegan died. Also, Billy stayed away from home + longer hours, and was again steadily drinking. + </p> + <p> + Saxon well-nigh abandoned hope. Almost was she steeled to the inevitable + tragedy which her morbid fancy painted in a thousand guises. Oftenest, it + was of Billy being brought home on a stretcher. Sometimes it was a call to + the telephone in the corner grocery and the curt information by a strange + voice that her husband was lying in the receiving hospital or the morgue. + And when the mysterious horse-poisoning cases occurred, and when the + residence of one of the teaming magnates was half destroyed by dynamite, + she saw Billy in prison, or wearing stripes, or mounting to the scaffold + at San Quentin while at the same time she could see the little cottage on + Pine street besieged by newspaper reporters and photographers. + </p> + <p> + Yet her lively imagination failed altogether to anticipate the real + catastrophe. Harmon, the fireman lodger, passing through the kitchen on + his way out to work, had paused to tell Saxon about the previous day's + train-wreck in the Alviso marshes, and of how the engineer, imprisoned + under the overturned engine and unhurt, being drowned by the rising tide, + had begged to be shot. Billy came in at the end of the narrative, and from + the somber light in his heavy-lidded eyes Saxon knew he had been drinking. + He glowered at Harmon, and, without greeting to him or Saxon, leaned his + shoulder against the wall. + </p> + <p> + Harmon felt the awkwardness of the situation, and did his best to appear + oblivious. + </p> + <p> + “I was just telling your wife—” he began, but was savagely + interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care what you was tellin' her. But I got something to tell you, + Mister Man. My wife's made up your bed too many times to suit me.” + </p> + <p> + “Billy!” Saxon cried, her face scarlet with resentment, and hurt, and + shame. + </p> + <p> + Billy ignored her. Harmon was saying: + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't like your mug,” Billy informed him. “You're standin' on + your foot. Get off of it. Get out. Beat it. D'ye understand that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what's got into him,” Saxon gasped hurriedly to the fireman. + “He's not himself. Oh, I am so ashamed, so ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + Billy turned on her. + </p> + <p> + “You shut your mouth an' keep outa this.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy,” she remonstrated. + </p> + <p> + “An' get outa here. You go into the other room.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, now,” Harmon broke in. “This is a fine way to treat a fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I've given you too much rope as it is,” was Billy's answer. + </p> + <p> + “I've paid my rent regularly, haven't I?” + </p> + <p> + “An' I oughta knock your block off for you. Don't see any reason I + shouldn't, for that matter.” + </p> + <p> + “If you do anything like that, Billy—” Saxon began. + </p> + <p> + “You here still? Well, if you won't go into the other room, I'll see that + you do.” + </p> + <p> + His hand clutched her arm. For one instant she resisted his strength; and + in that instant, the flesh crushed under his fingers, she realized the + fullness of his strength. + </p> + <p> + In the front room she could only lie back in the Morris chair sobbing, and + listen to what occurred in the kitchen. “I'll stay to the end of the + week,” the fireman was saying. “I've paid in advance.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't make no mistake,” came Billy's voice, so slow that it was almost a + drawl, yet quivering with rage. “You can't get out too quick if you wanta + stay healthy—you an' your traps with you. I'm likely to start + something any moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know you're a slugger—” the fireman's voice began. + </p> + <p> + Then came the unmistakable impact of a blow; the crash of glass; a scuffle + on the back porch; and, finally, the heavy bumps of a body down the steps. + She heard Billy reenter the kitchen, move about, and knew he was sweeping + up the broken glass of the kitchen door. Then he washed himself at the + sink, whistling while he dried his face and hands, and walked into the + front room. She did not look at him. She was too sick and sad. He paused + irresolutely, seeming to make up his mind. + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' up town,” he stated. “They's a meeting of the union. If I don't + come back it'll be because that geezer's sworn out a warrant.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the front door and paused. She knew he was looking at her. Then + the door closed and she heard him go down the steps. + </p> + <p> + Saxon was stunned. She did not think. She did not know what to think. The + whole thing was incomprehensible, incredible. She lay back in the chair, + her eyes closed, her mind almost a blank, crushed by a leaden feeling that + the end had come to everything. + </p> + <p> + The voices of children playing in the street aroused her. Night had + fallen. She groped her way to a lamp and lighted it. In the kitchen she + stared, lips trembling, at the pitiful, half prepared meal. The fire had + gone out. The water had boiled away from the potatoes. When she lifted the + lid, a burnt smell arose. Methodically she scraped and cleaned the pot, + put things in order, and peeled and sliced the potatoes for next day's + frying. And just as methodically she went to bed. Her lack of nervousness, + her placidity, was abnormal, so abnormal that she closed her eyes and was + almost immediately asleep. Nor did she awaken till the sunshine was + streaming into the room. + </p> + <p> + It was the first night she and Billy had slept apart. She was amazed that + she had not lain awake worrying about him. She lay with eyes wide open, + scarcely thinking, until pain in her arm attracted her attention. It was + where Billy had gripped her. On examination she found the bruised flesh + fearfully black and blue. She was astonished, not by the spiritual fact + that such bruise had been administered by the one she loved most in the + world, but by the sheer physical fact that an instant's pressure had + inflicted so much damage. The strength of a man was a terrible thing. + Quite impersonally, she found herself wondering if Charley Long were as + strong as Billy. + </p> + <p> + It was not until she dressed and built the fire that she began to think + about more immediate things. Billy had not returned. Then he was arrested. + What was she to do?—leave him in jail, go away, and start life + afresh? Of course it was impossible to go on living with a man who had + behaved as he had. But then, came another thought, WAS it impossible? + After all, he was her husband. FOR BETTER OR WORSE—the phrase + reiterated itself, a monotonous accompaniment to her thoughts, at the back + of her consciousness. To leave him was to surrender. She carried the + matter before the tribunal of her mother's memory. No; Daisy would never + have surrendered. Daisy was a fighter. Then she, Saxon, must fight. + Besides—and she acknowledged it—readily, though in a cold, + dead way—besides, Billy was better than most husbands. Better than + any other husband she had heard of, she concluded, as she remembered many + of his earlier nicenesses and finenesses, and especially his eternal + chant: NOTHING IS TOO GOOD FOR US. THE ROBERTSES AIN'T ON THE CHEAP. + </p> + <p> + At eleven o'clock she had a caller. It was Bud Strothers, Billy's mate on + strike duty. Billy, he told her, had refused bail, refused a lawyer, had + asked to be tried by the Court, had pleaded guilty, and had received a + sentence of sixty dollars or thirty days. Also, he had refused to let the + boys pay his fine. + </p> + <p> + “He's clean looney,” Strothers summed up. “Won't listen to reason. Says + he'll serve the time out. He's been tankin' up too regular, I guess. His + wheels are buzzin'. Here, he give me this note for you. Any time you want + anything send for me. The boys'll all stand by Bill's wife. You belong to + us, you know. How are you off for money?” + </p> + <p> + Proudly she disclaimed any need for money, and not until her visitor + departed did she read Billy's note: + </p> + <p> + Dear Saxon—Bud Strothers is going to give you this. Don't worry + about me. I am going to take my medicine. I deserve it—you know + that. I guess I am gone bughouse. Just the same, I am sorry for what I + done. Don't come to see me. I don't want you to. If you need money, the + union will give you some. The business agent is all right. I will be out + in a month. Now, Saxon, you know I love you, and just say to yourself that + you forgive me this time, and you won't never have to do it again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Billy. +</pre> + <p> + Bud Strothers was followed by Maggie Donahue, and Mrs. Olsen, who paid + neighborly calls of cheer and were tactful in their offers of help and in + studiously avoiding more reference than was necessary to Billy's + predicament. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon James Harmon arrived. He limped slightly, and Saxon + divined that he was doing his best to minimize that evidence of hurt. She + tried to apologize to him, but he would not listen. + </p> + <p> + “I don't blame you, Mrs. Roberts,” he said. “I know it wasn't your doing. + But your husband wasn't just himself, I guess. He was fightin' mad on + general principles, and it was just my luck to get in the way, that was + all.” + </p> + <p> + “But just the same—” + </p> + <p> + The fireman shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I know all about it. I used to punish the drink myself, and I done some + funny things in them days. And I'm sorry I swore that warrant out and + testified. But I was hot in the collar. I'm cooled down now, an' I'm sorry + I done it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're awfully good and kind,” she said, and then began hesitantly on + what was bothering her. “You... you can't stay now, with him... away, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that wouldn't do, would it? I'll tell you: I'll pack up right now, + and skin out, and then, before six o'clock, I'll send a wagon for my + things. Here's the key to the kitchen door.” + </p> + <p> + Much as he demurred, she compelled him to receive back the unexpired + portion of his rent. He shook her hand heartily at leaving, and tried to + get her to promise to call upon him for a loan any time she might be in + need. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” he assured her. “I'm married, and got two boys. One of + them's got his lungs touched, and she's with 'em down in Arizona campin' + out. The railroad helped with passes.” + </p> + <p> + And as he went down the steps she wondered that so kind a man should be in + so madly cruel a world. + </p> + <p> + The Donahue boy threw in a spare evening paper, and Saxon found half a + column devoted to Billy. It was not nice. The fact that he had stood up in + the police court with his eyes blacked from some other fray was noted. He + was described as a bully, a hoodlum, a rough-neck, a professional slugger + whose presence in the ranks was a disgrace to organized labor. The assault + he had pleaded guilty of was atrocious and unprovoked, and if he were a + fair sample of a striking teamster, the only wise thing for Oakland to do + was to break up the union and drive every member from the city. And, + finally, the paper complained at the mildness of the sentence. It should + have been six months at least. The judge was quoted as expressing regret + that he had been unable to impose a six months' sentence, this inability + being due to the condition of the jails, already crowded beyond capacity + by the many cases of assault committed in the course of the various + strikes. + </p> + <p> + That night, in bed, Saxon experienced her first loneliness. Her brain + seemed in a whirl, and her sleep was broken by vain gropings for the form + of Billy she imagined at her side. At last, she lighted the lamp and lay + staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed, conning over and over the details of + the disaster that had overwhelmed her. She could forgive, and she could + not forgive. The blow to her love-life had been too savage, too brutal. + Her pride was too lacerated to permit her wholly to return in memory to + the other Billy whom she loved. Wine in, wit out, she repeated to herself; + but the phrase could not absolve the man who had slept by her side, and to + whom she had consecrated herself. She wept in the loneliness of the + all-too-spacious bed, strove to forget Billy's incomprehensible cruelty, + even pillowed her cheek with numb fondness against the bruise of her arm; + but still resentment burned within her, a steady flame of protest against + Billy and all that Billy had done. Her throat was parched, a dull ache + never ceased in her breast, and she was oppressed by a feeling of + goneness. WHY, WHY?—And from the puzzle of the world came no + solution. + </p> + <p> + In the morning she received a visit from Sarah—the second in all the + period of her marriage; and she could easily guess her sister-in-law's + ghoulish errand. No exertion was required for the assertion of all of + Saxon's pride. She refused to be in the slightest on the defensive. There + was nothing to defend, nothing to explain. Everything was all right, and + it was nobody's business anyway. This attitude but served to vex Sarah. + </p> + <p> + “I warned you, and you can't say I didn't,” her diatribe ran. “I always + knew he was no good, a jailbird, a hoodlum, a slugger. My heart sunk into + my boots when I heard you was runnin' with a prizefighter. I told you so + at the time. But no; you wouldn't listen, you with your highfalutin' + notions an' more pairs of shoes than any decent woman should have. You + knew better'n me. An' I said then, to Tom, I said, 'It's all up with Saxon + now.' Them was my very words. Them that touches pitch is defiled. If you'd + only a-married Charley Long! Then the family wouldn't a-ben disgraced. An' + this is only the beginnin', mark me, only the beginnin'. Where it'll end, + God knows. He'll kill somebody yet, that plug-ugly of yourn, an' be hanged + for it. You wait an' see, that's all, an' then you'll remember my words. + As you make your bed, so you will lay in it” + </p> + <p> + “Best bed I ever had,” Saxon commented. + </p> + <p> + “So you can say, so you can say,” Sarah snorted. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't trade it for a queen's bed,” Saxon added. + </p> + <p> + “A jailbird's bed,” Sarah rejoined witheringly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's the style,” Saxon retorted airily. “Everybody's getting a taste + of jail. Wasn't Tom arrested at some street meeting of the socialists? + Everybody goes to jail these days.” + </p> + <p> + The barb had struck home. + </p> + <p> + “But Tom was acquitted,” Sarah hastened to proclaim. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same he lay in jail all night without bail.” + </p> + <p> + This was unanswerable, and Sarah executed her favorite tactic of attack in + flank. + </p> + <p> + “A nice come-down for you, I must say, that was raised straight an' right, + a-cuttin' up didoes with a lodger.” + </p> + <p> + “Who says so?” Saxon blazed with an indignation quickly mastered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a blind man can read between the lines. A lodger, a young married + woman with no self respect, an' a prizefighter for a husband—what + else would they fight about?” + </p> + <p> + “Just like any family quarrel, wasn't it?” Saxon smiled placidly. + </p> + <p> + Sarah was shocked into momentary speechlessness. + </p> + <p> + “And I want you to understand it,” Saxon continued. “It makes a woman + proud to have men fight over her. I am proud. Do you hear? I am proud. I + want you to tell them so. I want you to tell all your neighbors. Tell + everybody. I am no cow. Men like me. Men fight for me. Men go to jail for + me. What is a woman in the world for, if it isn't to have men like her? + Now, go, Sarah; go at once, and tell everybody what you've read between + the lines. Tell them Billy is a jailbird and that I am a bad woman whom + all men desire. Shout it out, and good luck to you. And get out of my + house. And never put your feet in it again. You are too decent a woman to + come here. You might lose your reputation. And think of your children. Now + get out. Go.” + </p> + <p> + Not until Sarah had taken an amazed and horrified departure did Saxon + fling herself on the bed in a convulsion of tears. She had been ashamed, + before, merely of Billy's inhospitality, and surliness, and unfairness. + But she could see, now, the light in which others looked on the affair. It + had not entered Saxon's head. She was confident that it had not entered + Billy's. She knew his attitude from the first. Always he had opposed + taking a lodger because of his proud faith that his wife should not work. + Only hard times had compelled his consent, and, now that she looked back, + almost had she inveigled him into consenting. + </p> + <p> + But all this did not alter the viewpoint the neighborhood must hold, that + every one who had ever known her must hold. And for this, too, Billy was + responsible. It was more terrible than all the other things he had been + guilty of put together. She could never look any one in the face again. + Maggie Donahue and Mrs. Olsen had been very kind, but of what must they + have been thinking all the time they talked with her? And what must they + have said to each other? What was everybody saying?—over front gates + and back fences,—the men standing on the corners or talking in + saloons? + </p> + <p> + Later, exhausted by her grief, when the tears no longer fell, she grew + more impersonal, and dwelt on the disasters that had befallen so many + women since the strike troubles began—Otto Frank's wife, Henderson's + widow, pretty Kittie Brady, Mary, all the womenfolk of the other workmen + who were now wearing the stripes in San Quentin. Her world was crashing + about her ears. No one was exempt. Not only had she not escaped, but hers + was the worst disgrace of all. Desperately she tried to hug the delusion + that she was asleep, that it was all a nightmare, and that soon the alarm + would go off and she would get up and cook Billy's breakfast so that he + could go to work. + </p> + <p> + She did not leave the bed that day. Nor did she sleep. Her brain whirled + on and on, now dwelling at insistent length upon her misfortunes, now + pursuing the most fantastic ramifications of what she considered her + disgrace, and, again, going back to her childhood and wandering through + endless trivial detail. She worked at all the tasks she had ever done, + performing, in fancy, the myriads of mechanical movements peculiar to each + occupation—shaping and pasting in the paper box factory, ironing in + the laundry, weaving in the jute mill, peeling fruit in the cannery and + countless boxes of scalded tomatoes. She attended all her dances and all + her picnics over again; went through her school days, recalling the face + and name and seat of every schoolmate; endured the gray bleakness of the + years in the orphan asylum; revisioned every memory of her mother, every + tale; and relived all her life with Billy. But ever—and here the + torment lay—she was drawn back from these far-wanderings to her + present trouble, with its parch in the throat, its ache in the breast, and + its gnawing, vacant goneness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + All that night Saxon lay, unsleeping, without taking off her clothes, and + when she arose in the morning and washed her face and dressed her hair she + was aware of a strange numbness, of a feeling of constriction about her + head as if it were bound by a heavy band of iron. It seemed like a dull + pressure upon her brain. It was the beginning of an illness that she did + not know as illness. All she knew was that she felt queer. It was not + fever. It was not cold. Her bodily health was as it should be, and, when + she thought about it, she put her condition down to nerves—nerves, + according to her ideas and the ideas of her class, being unconnected with + disease. + </p> + <p> + She had a strange feeling of loss of self, of being a stranger to herself, + and the world in which she moved seemed a vague and shrouded world. It + lacked sharpness of definition. Its customary vividness was gone. She had + lapses of memory, and was continually finding herself doing unplanned + things. Thus, to her astonishment, she came to in the back yard hanging up + the week's wash. She had no recollection of having done it, yet it had + been done precisely as it should have been done. She had boiled the sheets + and pillow-slips and the table linen. Billy's woolens had been washed in + warm water only, with the home-made soap, the recipe of which Mercedes had + given her. On investigation, she found she had eaten a mutton chop for + breakfast. This meant that she had been to the butcher shop, yet she had + no memory of having gone. Curiously, she went into the bedroom. The bed + was made up and everything in order. + </p> + <p> + At twilight she came upon herself in the front room, seated by the window, + crying in an ecstasy of joy. At first she did not know what this joy was; + then it came to her that it was because she had lost her baby. “A + blessing, a blessing,” she was chanting aloud, wringing her hands, but + with joy, she knew it was with joy that she wrung her hands. + </p> + <p> + The days came and went. She had little notion of time. Sometimes, + centuries agone, it seemed to her it was since Billy had gone to jail. At + other times it was no more than the night before. But through it all two + ideas persisted: she must not go to see Billy in jail; it was a blessing + she had lost her baby. + </p> + <p> + Once, Bud Strothers came to see her. She sat in the front room and talked + with him, noting with fascination that there were fringes to the heels of + his trousers. Another day, the business agent of the union called. She + told him, as she had told Bud Strothers, that everything was all right, + that she needed nothing, that she could get along comfortably until Billy + came out. + </p> + <p> + A fear began to haunt her. WHEN HE CAME OUT. No; it must not be. There + must not be another baby. It might LIVE. No, no, a thousand times no. It + must not be. She would run away first. She would never see Billy again. + Anything but that. Anything but that. + </p> + <p> + This fear persisted. In her nightmare-ridden sleep it became an + accomplished fact, so that she would awake, trembling, in a cold sweat, + crying out. Her sleep had become wretched. Sometimes she was convinced + that she did not sleep at all, and she knew that she had insomnia, and + remembered that it was of insomnia her mother had died. + </p> + <p> + She came to herself one day, sitting in Doctor Hentley's office. He was + looking at her in a puzzled way. + </p> + <p> + “Got plenty to eat?” he was asking. + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Any serious trouble?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Everything's all right, doctor... except...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he encouraged. + </p> + <p> + And then she knew why she had come. Simply, explicitly, she told him. He + shook his head slowly. + </p> + <p> + “It can't be done, little woman,” he said + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it can!” she cried. “I know it can.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean that,” he answered. “I mean I can't tell you. I dare not. It + is against the law. There is a doctor in Leavenworth prison right now for + that.” + </p> + <p> + In vain she pleaded with him. He instanced his own wife and children whose + existence forbade his imperiling. + </p> + <p> + “Besides, there is no likelihood now,” he told her. + </p> + <p> + “But there will be, there is sure to be,” she urged. + </p> + <p> + But he could only shake his head sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you want to know?” he questioned finally. + </p> + <p> + Saxon poured her heart out to him. She told of her first year of happiness + with Billy, of the hard times caused by the labor troubles, of the change + in Billy so that there was no love-life left, of her own deep horror. Not + if it died, she concluded. She could go through that again. But if it + should live. Billy would soon be out of jail, and then the danger would + begin. It was only a few words. She would never tell any one. Wild horses + could not drag it out of her. + </p> + <p> + But Doctor Hentley continued to shake his head. “I can't tell you, little + woman. It's a shame, but I can't take the risk. My hands are tied. Our + laws are all wrong. I have to consider those who are dear to me.” + </p> + <p> + It was when she got up to go that he faltered. “Come here,” he said. “Sit + closer.” + </p> + <p> + He prepared to whisper in her ear, then, with a sudden excess of caution, + crossed the room swiftly, opened the door, and looked out. When he sat + down again he drew his chair so close to hers that the arms touched, and + when he whispered his beard tickled her ear. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he shut her off when she tried to voice her gratitude. “I have + told you nothing. You were here to consult me about your general health. + You are run down, out of condition—” + </p> + <p> + As he talked he moved her toward the door. When he opened it, a patient + for the dentist in the adjoining office was standing in the hall. Doctor + Hentley lifted his voice. + </p> + <p> + “What you need is that tonic I prescribed. Remember that. And don't pamper + your appetite when it comes back. Eat strong, nourishing food, and + beefsteak, plenty of beefsteak. And don't cook it to a cinder. Good day.” + </p> + <p> + At times the silent cottage became unendurable, and Saxon would throw a + shawl about her head and walk out the Oakland Mole, or cross the railroad + yards and the marshes to Sandy Beach where Billy had said he used to swim. + Also, by going out the Transit slip, by climbing down the piles on a + precarious ladder of iron spikes, and by crossing a boom of logs, she won + access to the Rock Wall that extended far out into the bay and that served + as a barrier between the mudflats and the tide-scoured channel of Oakland + Estuary. Here the fresh sea breezes blew and Oakland sank down to a smudge + of smoke behind her, while across the bay she could see the smudge that + represented San Francisco. Ocean steamships passed up and down the + estuary, and lofty-masted ships, towed by red-stacked tugs. + </p> + <p> + She gazed at the sailors on the ships, wondered on what far voyages and to + what far lands they went, wondered what freedoms were theirs. Or were they + girt in by as remorseless and cruel a world as the dwellers in Oakland + were? Were they as unfair, as unjust, as brutal, in their dealings with + their fellows as were the city dwellers? It did not seem so, and sometimes + she wished herself on board, out-bound, going anywhere, she cared not + where, so long as it was away from the world to which she had given her + best and which had trampled her in return. + </p> + <p> + She did not know always when she left the house, nor where her feet took + her. Once, she came to herself in a strange part of Oakland. The street + was wide and lined with rows of shade trees. Velvet lawns, broken only by + cement sidewalks, ran down to the gutters. The houses stood apart and were + large. In her vocabulary they were mansions. What had shocked her to + consciousness of herself was a young man in the driver's seat of a touring + car standing at the curb. He was looking at her curiously and she + recognized him as Roy Blanchard, whom, in front of the Forum, Billy had + threatened to whip. Beside the car, bareheaded, stood another young man. + He, too, she remembered. He it was, at the Sunday picnic where she first + met Billy, who had thrust his cane between the legs of the flying + foot-racer and precipitated the free-for-all fight. Like Blanchard, he was + looking at her curiously, and she became aware that she had been talking + to herself. The babble of her lips still beat in her ears. She blushed, a + rising tide of shame heating her face, and quickened her pace. Blanchard + sprang out of the car and came to her with lifted hat. “Is anything the + matter?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, and, though she had stopped, she evinced her desire to + go on. + </p> + <p> + “I know you,” he said, studying her face. “You were with the striker who + promised me a licking.” + </p> + <p> + “He is my husband,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Good for him.” He regarded her pleasantly and frankly. “But about + yourself? Isn't there anything I can do for you? Something IS the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm all right,” she answered. “I have been sick,” she lied; for she + never dreamed of connecting her queerness with sickness. + </p> + <p> + “You look tired,” he pressed her. “I can take you in the machine and run + you anywhere you want. It won't be any trouble. I've plenty of time.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “If... if you would tell me where I can catch the Eighth street cars. I + don't often come to this part of town.” + </p> + <p> + He told her where to find an electric car and what transfers to make, and + she was surprised at the distance she had wandered. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said. “And good bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure I can't do anything now?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good bye,” he smiled good humoredly. “And tell that husband of + yours to keep in good condition. I'm likely to make him need it all when + he tangles up with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you can't fight with him,” she warned. “You mustn't. You haven't + got a show.” + </p> + <p> + “Good for you,” he admired. “That's the way for a woman to stand up for + her man. Now the average woman would be so afraid he was going to get + licked—” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not afraid... for him. It's for you. He's a terrible fighter. You + wouldn't have any chance. It would be like... like...” + </p> + <p> + “Like taking candy from a baby?” Blanchard finished for her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she nodded. “That's just what he would call it. And whenever he + tells you you are standing on your foot watch out for him. Now I must go. + Good bye, and thank you again.” + </p> + <p> + She went on down the sidewalk, his cheery good bye ringing in her ears. He + was kind—she admitted it honestly; yet he was one of the clever + ones, one of the masters, who, according to Billy, were responsible for + all the cruelty to labor, for the hardships of the women, for the + punishment of the labor men who were wearing stripes in San Quentin or + were in the death cells awaiting the scaffold. Yet he was kind, sweet + natured, clean, good. She could read his character in his face. But how + could this be, if he were responsible for so much evil? She shook her head + wearily. There was no explanation, no understanding of this world which + destroyed little babes and bruised women's breasts. + </p> + <p> + As for her having strayed into that neighborhood of fine residences, she + was unsurprised. It was in line with her queerness. She did so many things + without knowing that she did them. But she must be careful. It was better + to wander on the marshes and the Rock Wall. + </p> + <p> + Especially she liked the Rock Wall. There was a freedom about it, a wide + spaciousness that she found herself instinctively trying to breathe, + holding her arms out to embrace and make part of herself. It was a more + natural world, a more rational world. She could understand it—understand + the green crabs with white-bleached claws that scuttled before her and + which she could see pasturing on green-weeded rocks when the tide was low. + Here, hopelessly man-made as the great wall was, nothing seemed + artificial. There were no men here, no laws nor conflicts of men. The tide + flowed and ebbed; the sun rose and set; regularly each afternoon the brave + west wind came romping in through the Golden Gate, darkening the water, + cresting tiny wavelets, making the sailboats fly. Everything ran with + frictionless order. Everything was free. Firewood lay about for the + taking. No man sold it by the sack. Small boys fished with poles from the + rocks, with no one to drive them away for trespass, catching fish as Billy + had caught fish, as Cal Hutchins had caught fish. Billy had told her of + the great perch Cal Hutchins caught on the day of the eclipse, when he had + little dreamed the heart of his manhood would be spent in convict's garb. + </p> + <p> + And here was food, food that was free. She watched the small boys on a day + when she had eaten nothing, and emulated them, gathering mussels from the + rocks at low water, cooking them by placing them among the coals of a fire + she built on top of the wall. They tasted particularly good. She learned + to knock the small oysters from the rocks, and once she found a string of + fresh-caught fish some small boy had forgotten to take home with him. + </p> + <p> + Here drifted evidences of man's sinister handiwork—from a distance, + from the cities. One flood tide she found the water covered with + muskmelons. They bobbed and bumped along up the estuary in countless + thousands. Where they stranded against the rocks she was able to get them. + But each and every melon—and she patiently tried scores of them—had + been spoiled by a sharp gash that let in the salt water. She could not + understand. She asked an old Portuguese woman gathering driftwood. + </p> + <p> + “They do it, the people who have too much,” the old woman explained, + straightening her labor-stiffened back with such an effort that almost + Saxon could hear it creak. The old woman's black eyes flashed angrily, and + her wrinkled lips, drawn tightly across toothless gums, wry with + bitterness. “The people that have too much. It is to keep up the price. + They throw them overboard in San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + “But why don't they give them away to the poor people?” Saxon asked. + </p> + <p> + “They must keep up the price.” + </p> + <p> + “But the poor people cannot buy them anyway,” Saxon objected. “It would + not hurt the price.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. It is their way. They chop each melon so that the poor + people cannot fish them out and eat anyway. They do the same with the + oranges, with the apples. Ah, the fishermen! There is a trust. When the + boats catch too much fish, the trust throws them overboard from Fisherman + Wharf, boat-loads, and boat-loads, and boatloads of the beautiful fish. + And the beautiful good fish sink and are gone. And no one gets them. Yet + they are dead and only good to eat. Fish are very good to eat.” + </p> + <p> + And Saxon could not understand a world that did such things—a world + in which some men possessed so much food that they threw it away, paying + men for their labor of spoiling it before they threw it away; and in the + same world so many people who did not have enough food, whose babies died + because their mothers' milk was not nourishing, whose young men fought and + killed one another for the chance to work, whose old men and women went to + the poorhouse because there was no food for them in the little shacks they + wept at leaving. She wondered if all the world were that way, and + remembered Mercedes' tales. Yes; all the world was that way. Had not + Mercedes seen ten thousand families starve to death in that far away + India, when, as she had said, her own jewels that she wore would have fed + and saved them all? It was the poorhouse and the salt vats for the stupid, + jewels and automobiles for the clever ones. + </p> + <p> + She was one of the stupid. She must be. The evidence all pointed that way. + Yet Saxon refused to accept it. She was not stupid. Her mother had not been + stupid, nor had the pioneer stock before her. Still it must be so. Here + she sat, nothing to eat at home, her love-husband changed to a brute beast + and lying in jail, her arms and heart empty of the babe that would have + been there if only the stupid ones had not made a shambles of her front + yard in their wrangling over jobs. + </p> + <p> + She sat there, racking her brain, the smudge of Oakland at her back, + staring across the bay at the smudge of San Francisco. Yet the sun was + good; the wind was good, as was the keen salt air in her nostrils; the + blue sky, flecked with clouds, was good. All the natural world was right, + and sensible, and beneficent. It was the man-world that was wrong, and + mad, and horrible. Why were the stupid stupid? Was it a law of God? No; it + could not be. God had made the wind, and air, and sun. The man-world was + made by man, and a rotten job it was. Yet, and she remembered it well, the + teaching in the orphan asylum, God had made everything. Her mother, too, + had believed this, had believed in this God. Things could not be + different. It was ordained. + </p> + <p> + For a time Saxon sat crushed, helpless. Then smoldered protest, revolt. + Vainly she asked why God had it in for her. What had she done to deserve + such fate? She briefly reviewed her life in quest of deadly sins + committed, and found them not. She had obeyed her mother; obeyed Cady, the + saloon-keeper, and Cady's wife; obeyed the matron and the other women in + the orphan asylum; obeyed Tom when she came to live in his house, and + never run in the streets because he didn't wish her to. At school she had + always been honorably promoted, and never had her deportment report varied + from one hundred per cent. She had worked from the day she left school to + the day of her marriage. She had been a good worker, too. The little Jew + who ran the paper box factory had almost wept when she quit. It was the + same at the cannery. She was among the high-line weavers when the jute + mills closed down. And she had kept straight. It was not as if she had + been ugly or unattractive. She had known her temptations and encountered + her dangers. The fellows had been crazy about her. They had run after her, + fought over her, in a way to turn most girls' heads. But she had kept + straight. And then had come Billy, her reward. She had devoted herself to + him, to his house, to all that would nourish his love; and now she and + Billy were sinking down into this senseless vortex of misery and + heartbreak of the man-made world. + </p> + <p> + No, God was not responsible. She could have made a better world herself—a + finer, squarer world. This being so, then there was no God. God could not + make a botch. The matron had been wrong, her mother had been wrong. Then + there was no immortality, and Bert, wild and crazy Bert, falling at her + front gate with his foolish death-cry, was right. One was a long time + dead. + </p> + <p> + Looking thus at life, shorn of its superrational sanctions, Saxon + floundered into the morass of pessimism. There was no justification for + right conduct in the universe, no square deal for her who had earned + reward, for the millions who worked like animals, died like animals, and + were a long time and forever dead. Like the hosts of more learned thinkers + before her, she concluded that the universe was unmoral and without + concern for men. + </p> + <p> + And now she sat crushed in greater helplessness than when she had included + God in the scheme of injustice. As long as God was, there was always + chance for a miracle, for some supernatural intervention, some rewarding + with ineffable bliss. With God missing, the world was a trap. Life was a + trap. She was like a linnet, caught by small boys and imprisoned in a + cage. That was because the linnet was stupid. But she rebelled. She + fluttered and beat her soul against the hard face of things as did the + linnet against the bars of wire. She was not stupid. She did not belong in + the trap. She would fight her way out of the trap. There must be such a + way out. When canal boys and rail-splitters, the lowliest of the stupid + lowly, as she had read in her school history, could find their way out and + become presidents of the nation and rule over even the clever ones in + their automobiles, then could she find her way out and win to the tiny + reward she craved—Billy, a little love, a little happiness. She + would not mind that the universe was unmoral, that there was no God, no + immortality. She was willing to go into the black grave and remain in its + blackness forever, to go into the salt vats and let the young men cut her + dead flesh to sausage-meat, if—if only she could get her small meed + of happiness first. + </p> + <p> + How she would work for that happiness! How she would appreciate it, make + the most of each least particle of it! But how was she to do it. Where was + the path? She could not vision it. Her eyes showed her only the smudge of + San Francisco, the smudge of Oakland, where men were breaking heads and + killing one another, where babies were dying, born and unborn, and where + women were weeping with bruised breasts. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + Her vague, unreal existence continued. It seemed in some previous + life-time that Billy had gone away, that another life-time would have to + come before he returned. She still suffered from insomnia. Long nights + passed in succession, during which she never closed her eyes. At other + times she slept through long stupors, waking stunned and numbed, scarcely + able to open her heavy eyes, to move her weary limbs. The pressure of the + iron band on her head never relaxed. She was poorly nourished. Nor had she + a cent of money. She often went a whole day without eating. Once, + seventy-two hours elapsed without food passing her lips. She dug clams in + the marsh, knocked the tiny oysters from the rocks, and gathered mussels. + </p> + <p> + And yet, when Bud Strothers came to see how she was getting along, she + convinced him that all was well. One evening after work, Tom came, and + forced two dollars upon her. He was terribly worried. He would like to + help more, but Sarah was expecting another baby. There had been slack + times in his trade because of the strikes in the other trades. He did not + know what the country was coming to. And it was all so simple. All they + had to do was see things in his way and vote the way he voted. Then + everybody would get a square deal. Christ was a Socialist, he told her. + </p> + <p> + “Christ died two thousand years ago,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Tom queried, not catching her implication. + </p> + <p> + “Think,” she said, “think of all the men and women who died in those two + thousand years, and socialism has not come yet. And in two thousand years + more it may be as far away as ever. Tom, your socialism never did you any + good. It is a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't be if—” he began with a flash of resentment. + </p> + <p> + “If they believed as you do. Only they don't. You don't succeed in making + them.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are increasing every year,” he argued. + </p> + <p> + “Two thousand years is an awfully long time,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + Her brother's tired face saddened as he noted. Then he sighed: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Saxon, if it's a dream, it is a good dream.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to dream,” was her reply. “I want things real. I want them + now.” + </p> + <p> + And before her fancy passed the countless generations of the stupid lowly, + the Billys and Saxons, the Berts and Marys, the Toms and Sarahs. And to + what end? The salt vats and the grave. Mercedes was a hard and wicked + woman, but Mercedes was right. The stupid must always be under the heels + of the clever ones. Only she, Saxon, daughter of Daisy who had written + wonderful poems and of a soldier-father on a roan war-horse, daughter of + the strong generations who had won half a world from wild nature and the + savage Indian—no, she was not stupid. It was as if she suffered + false imprisonment. There was some mistake. She would find the way out. + </p> + <p> + With the two dollars she bought a sack of flour and half a sack of + potatoes. This relieved the monotony of her clams and mussels. Like the + Italian and Portuguese women, she gathered driftwood and carried it home, + though always she did it with shamed pride, timing her arrival so that it + would be after dark. One day, on the mud-flat side of the Rock Wall, an + Italian fishing boat hauled up on the sand dredged from the channel. From + the top of the wall Saxon watched the men grouped about the charcoal + brazier, eating crusty Italian bread and a stew of meat and vegetables, + washed down with long draughts of thin red wine. She envied them their + freedom that advertised itself in the heartiness of their meal, in the + tones of their chatter and laughter, in the very boat itself that was not + tied always to one place and that carried them wherever they willed. + Afterward, they dragged a seine across the mud-flats and up on the sand, + selecting for themselves only the larger kinds of fish. Many thousands of + small fish, like sardines, they left dying on the sand when they sailed + away. Saxon got a sackful of the fish, and was compelled to make two trips + in order to carry them home, where she salted them down in a wooden + washtub. + </p> + <p> + Her lapses of consciousness continued. The strangest thing she did while + in such condition was on Sandy Beach. There she discovered herself, one + windy afternoon, lying in a hole she had dug, with sacks for blankets. She + had even roofed the hole in rough fashion by means of drift wood and marsh + grass. On top of the grass she had piled sand. + </p> + <p> + Another time she came to herself walking across the marshes, a bundle of + driftwood, tied with bale-rope, on her shoulder. Charley Long was walking + beside her. She could see his face in the starlight. She wondered dully + how long he had been talking, what he had said. Then she was curious to + hear what he was saying. She was not afraid, despite his strength, his + wicked nature, and the loneliness and darkness of the marsh. + </p> + <p> + “It's a shame for a girl like you to have to do this,” he was saying, + apparently in repetition of what he had already urged. “Come on an' say + the word, Saxon. Come on an' say the word.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon stopped and quietly faced him. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Charley Long. Billy's only doing thirty days, and his time is + almost up. When he gets out your life won't be worth a pinch of salt if I + tell him you've been bothering me. Now listen. If you go right now away + from here, and stay away, I won't tell him. That's all I've got to say.” + </p> + <p> + The big blacksmith stood in scowling indecision, his face pathetic in its + fierce yearning, his hands making unconscious, clutching contractions. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you little, small thing,” he said desperately, “I could break you in + one hand. I could—why, I could do anything I wanted. I don't want to + hurt you, Saxon. You know that. Just say the word—” + </p> + <p> + “I've said the only word I'm going to say.” + </p> + <p> + “God!” he muttered in involuntary admiration. “You ain't afraid. You ain't + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + They faced each other for long silent minutes. + </p> + <p> + “Why ain't you afraid?” he demanded at last, after peering into the + surrounding darkness as if searching for her hidden allies. + </p> + <p> + “Because I married a man,” Saxon said briefly. “And now you'd better go.” + </p> + <p> + When he had gone she shifted the load of wood to her other shoulder and + started on, in her breast a quiet thrill of pride in Billy. Though behind + prison bars, still she leaned against his strength. The mere naming of him + was sufficient to drive away a brute like Charley Long. + </p> + <p> + On the day that Otto Frank was hanged she remained indoors. The evening + papers published the account. There had been no reprieve. In Sacramento + was a railroad Governor who might reprieve or even pardon bank-wreckers + and grafters, but who dared not lift his finger for a workingman. All this + was the talk of the neighborhood. It had been Billy's talk. It had been + Bert's talk. + </p> + <p> + The next day Saxon started out the Rock Wall, and the specter of Otto + Frank walked by her side. And with him was a dimmer, mistier specter that + she recognized as Billy. Was he, too, destined to tread his way to Otto + Frank's dark end? Surely so, if the blood and strike continued. He was a + fighter. He felt he was right in fighting. It was easy to kill a man. Even + if he did not intend it, some time, when he was slugging a scab, the scab + would fracture his skull on a stone curbing or a cement sidewalk. And then + Billy would hang. That was why Otto Frank hanged. He had not intended to + kill Henderson. It was only by accident that Henderson's skull was + fractured. Yet Otto Frank had been hanged for it just the same. + </p> + <p> + She wrung her hands and wept loudly as she stumbled among the windy rocks. + The hours passed, and she was lost to herself and her grief. When she came + to she found herself on the far end of the wall where it jutted into the + bay between the Oakland and Alameda Moles. But she could see no wall. It + was the time of the full moon, and the unusual high tide covered the + rocks. She was knee deep in the water, and about her knees swam scores of + big rock rats, squeaking and fighting, scrambling to climb upon her out of + the flood. She screamed with fright and horror, and kicked at them. Some + dived and swam away under water; others circled about her warily at a + distance; and one big fellow laid his teeth into her shoe. Him she stepped + on and crushed with her free foot. By this time, though still trembling, + she was able coolly to consider the situation. She waded to a stout stick + of driftwood a few feet away, and with this quickly cleared a space about + herself. + </p> + <p> + A grinning small boy, in a small, bright-painted and half-decked skiff, + sailed close in to the wall and let go his sheet to spill the wind. “Want + to get aboard?” he called. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. “There are thousands of big rats here. I'm afraid of + them.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded, ran close in, spilled the wind from his sail, the boat's way + carrying it gently to her. + </p> + <p> + “Shove out its bow,” he commanded. “That's right. I don't want to break my + centerboard.... An' then jump aboard in the stern—quick!—alongside + of me.” + </p> + <p> + She obeyed, stepping in lightly beside him. He held the tiller up with his + elbow, pulled in on the sheet, and as the sail filled the boat sprang away + over the rippling water. + </p> + <p> + “You know boats,” the boy said approvingly. + </p> + <p> + He was a slender, almost frail lad, of twelve or thirteen years, though + healthy enough, with sunburned freckled face and large gray eyes that were + clear and wistful. + </p> + <p> + Despite his possession of the pretty boat, Saxon was quick to sense that + he was one of them, a child of the people. + </p> + <p> + “First boat I was ever in, except ferryboats,” Saxon laughed. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her keenly. “Well, you take to it like a duck to water is all + I can say about it. Where d'ye want me to land you?” + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + He opened his mouth to speak, gave her another long look, considered for a + space, then asked suddenly: “Got plenty of time?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “All day?” + </p> + <p> + Again she nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Say—I'll tell you, I'm goin' out on this ebb to Goat Island for + rockcod, an' I'll come in on the flood this evening. I got plenty of lines + an' bait. Want to come along? We can both fish. And what you catch you can + have.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon hesitated. The freedom and motion of the small boat appealed to her. + Like the ships she had envied, it was outbound. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you'll drown me,” she parleyed. + </p> + <p> + The boy threw back his head with pride. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I've been sailin' many a long day by myself, an' I ain't drowned + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” she consented. “Though remember, I don't know anything about + boats.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, that's all right.—Now I'm goin' to go about. When I say 'Hard + a-lee!' like that, you duck your head so the boom don't hit you, an' shift + over to the other side.” + </p> + <p> + He executed the maneuver, Saxon obeyed, and found herself sitting beside + him on the opposite side of the boat, while the boat itself, on the other + tack, was heading toward Long Wharf where the coal bunkers were. She was + aglow with admiration, the more so because the mechanics of boat-sailing + was to her a complex and mysterious thing. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you learn it all?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Taught myself, just naturally taught myself. I liked it, you see, an' + what a fellow likes he's likeliest to do. This is my second boat. My first + didn't have a centerboard. I bought it for two dollars an' learned a lot, + though it never stopped leaking. What d 'ye think I paid for this one? + It's worth twenty-five dollars right now. What d 'ye think I paid for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I give up,” Saxon said. “How much?” + </p> + <p> + “Six dollars. Think of it! A boat like this! Of course I done a lot of + work, an' the sail cost two dollars, the oars one forty, an' the paint one + seventy-five. But just the same eleven dollars and fifteen cents is a real + bargain. It took me a long time saving for it, though. I carry papers + morning and evening—there's a boy taking my route for me this + afternoon—I give 'm ten cents, an' all the extras he sells is his; + and I'd a-got the boat sooner only I had to pay for my shorthand lessons. + My mother wants me to become a court reporter. They get sometimes as much + as twenty dollars a day. Gee! But I don't want it. It's a shame to waste + the money on the lessons.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” she asked, partly from idleness, and yet with genuine + curiosity; for she felt drawn to this boy in knee pants who was so + confident and at the same time so wistful. + </p> + <p> + “What do I want?” he repeated after her. + </p> + <p> + Turning his head slowly, he followed the sky-line, pausing especially when + his eyes rested landward on the brown Contra Costa hills, and seaward, + past Alcatraz, on the Golden Gate. The wistfulness in his eyes was + overwhelming and went to her heart. + </p> + <p> + “That,” he said, sweeping the circle of the world with a wave of his arm. + </p> + <p> + “That?” she queried. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, perplexed in that he had not made his meaning clear. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you ever feel that way?” he asked, bidding for sympathy with his + dream. “Don't you sometimes feel you'd die if you didn't know what's + beyond them hills an' what's beyond the other hills behind them hills? An' + the Golden Gate! There's the Pacific Ocean beyond, and China, an' Japan, + an' India, an'... an' all the coral islands. You can go anywhere out + through the Golden Gate—to Australia, to Africa, to the seal + islands, to the North Pole, to Cape Horn. Why, all them places are just + waitin' for me to come an' see 'em. I've lived in Oakland all my life, but + I'm not going to live in Oakland the rest of my life, not by a long shot. + I'm goin' to get away... away....” + </p> + <p> + Again, as words failed to express the vastness of his desire, the wave of + his arm swept the circle of the world. + </p> + <p> + Saxon thrilled with him. She too, save for her earlier childhood, had + lived in Oakland all her life. And it had been a good place in which to + live... until now. And now, in all its nightmare horror, it was a place to + get away from, as with her people the East had been a place to get away + from. And why not? The world tugged at her, and she felt in touch with the + lad's desire. Now that she thought of it, her race had never been given to + staying long in one place. Always it had been on the move. She remembered + back to her mother's tales, and to the wood engraving in her scrapbook + where her half-clad forebears, sword in hand, leaped from their lean + beaked boats to do battle on the blood-drenched sands of England. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever hear about the Anglo-Saxons?” she asked the boy. + </p> + <p> + “You bet!” His eyes glistened, and he looked at her with new interest. + “I'm an Anglo-Saxon, every inch of me. Look at the color of my eyes, my + skin. I'm awful white where I ain't sunburned. An' my hair was yellow when + I was a baby. My mother says it'll be dark brown by the time I'm grown up, + worse luck. Just the same, I'm Anglo-Saxon. I am of a fighting race. We + ain't afraid of nothin'. This bay—think I'm afraid of it!” He looked + out over the water with flashing eye of scorn. “Why, I've crossed it when + it was howlin' an' when the scow schooner sailors said I lied an' that I + didn't. Huh! They were only squareheads. Why, we licked their kind + thousands of years ago. We lick everything we go up against. We've + wandered all over the world, licking the world. On the sea, on the land, + it's all the same. Look at Ivory Nelson, look at Davy Crockett, look at + Paul Jones, look at Clive, an' Kitchener, an' Fremont, an' Kit Carson, an' + all of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded, while he continued, her own eyes shining, and it came to her + what a glory it would be to be the mother of a man-child like this. Her + body ached with the fancied quickening of unborn life. A good stock, a + good stock, she thought to herself. Then she thought of herself and Billy, + healthy shoots of that same stock, yet condemned to childlessness because + of the trap of the manmade world and the curse of being herded with the + stupid ones. + </p> + <p> + She came back to the boy. + </p> + <p> + “My father was a soldier in the Civil War,” he was telling her, “a scout + an' a spy. The rebels were going to hang him twice for a spy. At the + battle of Wilson's Creek he ran half a mile with his captain wounded on + his back. He's got a bullet in his leg right now, just above the knee. + It's been there all these years. He let me feel it once. He was a buffalo + hunter and a trapper before the war. He was sheriff of his county when he + was twenty years old. An' after the war, when he was marshal of Silver + City, he cleaned out the bad men an' gun-fighters. He's been in almost + every state in the Union. He could wrestle any man at the railings in his + day, an' he was bully of the raftsmen of the Susquehanna when he was only + a youngster. His father killed a man in a standup fight with a blow of his + fist when he was sixty years old. An' when he was seventy-four, his second + wife had twins, an' he died when he was plowing in the field with oxen + when he was ninety-nine years old. He just unyoked the oxen, an' sat down + under a tree, an' died there sitting up. An' my father's just like him. + He's pretty old now, but he ain't afraid of nothing. He's a regular + Anglo-Saxon, you see. He's a special policeman, an' he didn't do a thing + to the strikers in some of the fightin'. He had his face all cut up with a + rock, but he broke his club short off over some hoodlum's head.” + </p> + <p> + He paused breathlessly and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “Gee!” he said. “I'd hate to a-ben that hoodlum.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Saxon,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Your name?” + </p> + <p> + “My first name.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee!” he cried. “You're lucky. Now if mine had been only Erling—you + know, Erling the Bold—or Wolf, or Swen, or Jarl!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only John,” he admitted sadly. “But I don't let 'em call me John. + Everybody's got to call me Jack. I've scrapped with a dozen fellows that + tried to call me John, or Johnnie—wouldn't that make you sick?—Johnnie!” + </p> + <p> + They were now off the coal bunkers of Long Wharf, and the boy put the + skiff about, heading toward San Francisco. They were well out in the open + bay. The west wind had strengthened and was whitecapping the strong ebb + tide. The boat drove merrily along. When splashes of spray flew aboard, + wetting them, Saxon laughed, and the boy surveyed her with approval. They + passed a ferryboat, and the passengers on the upper deck crowded to one + side to watch them. In the swell of the steamer's wake, the skiff shipped + quarter-full of water. Saxon picked up an empty can and looked at the boy. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” he said. “Go ahead an' bale out.” And, when she had + finished: “We'll fetch Goat Island next tack. Right there off the Torpedo + Station is where we fish, in fifty feet of water an' the tide runnin' to + beat the band. You're wringing wet, ain't you? Gee! You're like your name. + You're a Saxon, all right. Are you married?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded, and the boy frowned. + </p> + <p> + “What'd you want to do that for? Now you can't wander over the world like + I'm going to. You're tied down. You're anchored for keeps.” + </p> + <p> + “It's pretty good to be married, though,” she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, everybody gets married. But that's no reason to be in a rush about + it. Why couldn't you wait a while, like me. I'm goin' to get married, too, + but not until I'm an old man an' have been everywheres.” + </p> + <p> + Under the lee of Goat Island, Saxon obediently sitting still, he took in + the sail, and, when the boat had drifted to a position to suit him, he + dropped a tiny anchor. He got out the fish lines and showed Saxon how to + bait her hooks with salted minnows. Then they dropped the lines to bottom, + where they vibrated in the swift tide, and waited for bites. + </p> + <p> + “They'll bite pretty soon,” he encouraged. “I've never failed but twice to + catch a mess here. What d'ye say we eat while we're waiting?” + </p> + <p> + Vainly she protested she was not hungry. He shared his lunch with her with + a boy's rigid equity, even to the half of a hard-boiled egg and the half + of a big red apple. + </p> + <p> + Still the rockcod did not bite. From under the stern-sheets he drew out a + cloth-bound book. + </p> + <p> + “Free Library,” he vouchsafed, as he began to read, with one hand holding + the place while with the other he waited for the tug on the fishline that + would announce rockcod. + </p> + <p> + Saxon read the title. It was “Afloat in the Forest.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to this,” he said after a few minutes, and he read several pages + descriptive of a great flooded tropical forest being navigated by boys on + a raft. + </p> + <p> + “Think of that!” he concluded. “That's the Amazon river in flood time in + South America. And the world's full of places like that—everywhere, + most likely, except Oakland. Oakland's just a place to start from, I + guess. Now that's adventure, I want to tell you. Just think of the luck of + them boys! All the same, some day I'm going to go over the Andes to the + headwaters of the Amazon, all through the rubber country, an' canoe down + the Amazon thousands of miles to its mouth where it's that wide you can't + see one bank from the other an' where you can scoop up perfectly fresh + water out of the ocean a hundred miles from land.” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon was not listening. One pregnant sentence had caught her fancy. + Oakland just a place to start from. She had never viewed the city in that + light. She had accepted it as a place to live in, as an end in itself. But + a place to start from! Why not! Why not like any railroad station or ferry + depot! Certainly, as things were going, Oakland was not a place to stop + in. The boy was right. It was a place to start from. But to go where? Here + she was halted, and she was driven from the train of thought by a strong + pull and a series of jerks on the line. She began to haul in, hand under + hand, rapidly and deftly, the boy encouraging her, until hooks, sinker, + and a big gasping rockcod tumbled into the bottom of the boat. The fish + was free of the hook, and she baited afresh and dropped the line over. The + boy marked his place and closed the book. + </p> + <p> + “They'll be biting soon as fast as we can haul 'em in,” he said. + </p> + <p> + But the rush of fish did not come immediately. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever read Captain Mayne Reid?” he asked. “Or Captain Marryatt? Or + Ballantyne?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “And you an Anglo-Saxon!” he cried derisively. “Why, there's stacks of 'em + in the Free Library. I have two cards, my mother's an' mine, an' I draw + 'em out all the time, after school, before I have to carry my papers. I + stick the books inside my shirt, in front, under the suspenders. That + holds 'em. One time, deliverin' papers at Second an' Market—there's + an awful tough gang of kids hang out there—I got into a fight with + the leader. He hauled off to knock my wind out, an' he landed square on a + book. You ought to seen his face. An' then I landed on him. An' then his + whole gang was goin' to jump on me, only a couple of iron-molders stepped + in an' saw fair play. I gave 'em the books to hold.” + </p> + <p> + “Who won?” Saxon asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody,” the boy confessed reluctantly. “I think I was lickin' him, but + the molders called it a draw because the policeman on the beat stopped us + when we'd only ben fightin' half an hour. But you ought to seen the + crowd. I bet there was five hundred—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off abruptly and began hauling in his line. Saxon, too, was + hauling in. And in the next couple of hours they caught twenty pounds of + fish between them. + </p> + <p> + That night, long after dark, the little, half-decked skiff sailed up the + Oakland Estuary. The wind was fair but light, and the boat moved slowly, + towing a long pile which the boy had picked up adrift and announced as + worth three dollars anywhere for the wood that was in it. The tide flooded + smoothly under the full moon, and Saxon recognized the points they passed—the + Transit slip, Sandy Beach, the shipyards, the nail works, Market street + wharf. The boy took the skiff in to a dilapidated boat-wharf at the foot + of Castro street, where the scow schooners, laden with sand and gravel, + lay hauled to the shore in a long row. He insisted upon an equal division + of the fish, because Saxon had helped catch them, though he explained at + length the ethics of flotsam to show her that the pile was wholly his. + </p> + <p> + At Seventh and Poplar they separated, Saxon walking on alone to Pine + street with her load of fish. Tired though she was from the long day, she + had a strange feeling of well-being, and, after cleaning the fish, she + fell asleep wondering, when good times came again, if she could persuade + Billy to get a boat and go out with her on Sundays as she had gone out + that day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + She slept all night, without stirring, without dreaming, and awoke + naturally and, for the first time in weeks, refreshed. She felt her old + self, as if some depressing weight had been lifted, or a shadow had been + swept away from between her and the sun. Her head was clear. The seeming + iron band that had pressed it so hard was gone. She was cheerful. She even + caught herself humming aloud as she divided the fish into messes for Mrs. + Olsen, Maggie Donahue, and herself. She enjoyed her gossip with each of + them, and, returning home, plunged joyfully into the task of putting the + neglected house in order. She sang as she worked, and ever as she sang the + magic words of the boy danced and sparkled among the notes: OAKLAND IS + JUST A PLACE TO START FROM. + </p> + <p> + Everything was clear as print. Her and Billy's problem was as simple as an + arithmetic problem at school: to carpet a room so many feet long, so many + feet wide, to paper a room so many feet high, so many feet around. She had + been sick in her head, she had had strange lapses, she had been + irresponsible. Very well. All this had been because of her troubles—troubles + in which she had had no hand in the making. Billy's case was hers + precisely. He had behaved strangely because he had been irresponsible. And + all their troubles were the troubles of the trap. Oakland was the trap. + Oakland was a good place to start from. + </p> + <p> + She reviewed the events of her married life. The strikes and the hard + times had caused everything. If it had not been for the strike of the + shopmen and the fight in her front yard, she would not have lost her baby. + If Billy had not been made desperate by the idleness and the hopeless + fight of the teamsters, he would not have taken to drinking. If they had + not been hard up, they would not have taken a lodger, and Billy would not + be in jail. + </p> + <p> + Her mind was made up. The city was no place for her and Billy, no place + for love nor for babies. The way out was simple. They would leave Oakland. + It was the stupid that remained and bowed their heads to fate. But she and + Billy were not stupid. They would not bow their heads. They would go forth + and face fate.—Where, she did not know. But that would come. The + world was large. Beyond the encircling hills, out through the Golden Gate, + somewhere they would find what they desired. The boy had been wrong in one + thing. She was not tied to Oakland, even if she was married. The world was + free to her and Billy as it had been free to the wandering generations + before them. It was only the stupid who had been left behind everywhere in + the race's wandering. The strong had gone on. Well, she and Billy were + strong. They would go on, over the brown Contra Costa hills or out through + the Golden Gate. + </p> + <p> + The day before Billy's release Saxon completed her meager preparations to + receive him. She was without money, and, except for her resolve not to + offend Billy in that way again, she would have borrowed ferry fare from + Maggie Donahue and journeyed to San Francisco to sell some of her personal + pretties. As it was, with bread and potatoes and salted sardines in the + house, she went out at the afternoon low tide and dug clams for a chowder. + Also, she gathered a load of driftwood, and it was nine in the evening + when she emerged from the marsh, on her shoulder a bundle of wood and a + short-handled spade, in her free hand the pail of clams. She sought the + darker side of the street at the corner and hurried across the zone of + electric light to avoid detection by the neighbors. But a woman came + toward her, looked sharply and stopped in front of her. It was Mary. + </p> + <p> + “My God, Saxon!” she exclaimed. “Is it as bad as this?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon looked at her old friend curiously, with a swift glance that + sketched all the tragedy. Mary was thinner, though there was more color in + her cheeks—color of which Saxon had her doubts. Mary's bright eyes + were handsomer, larger—too large, too feverish bright, too restless. + She was well dressed—too well dressed; and she was suffering from + nerves. She turned her head apprehensively to glance into the darkness + behind her. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” Saxon breathed. “And you...” She shut her lips, then began anew. + “Come along to the house,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “If you're ashamed to be seen with me—” Mary blurted, with one of + her old quick angers. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” Saxon disclaimed. “It's the driftwood and the clams. I don't + want the neighbors to know. Come along.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I can't, Saxon. I'd like to, but I can't. I've got to catch the next + train to Frisco. I've ben waitin' around. I knocked at your back door. + But the house was dark. Billy's still in, ain't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he gets out to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I read about it in the papers,” Mary went on hurriedly, looking behind + her. “I was in Stockton when it happened.” She turned upon Saxon almost + savagely. “You don't blame me, do you? I just couldn't go back to work + after bein' married. I was sick of work. Played out, I guess, an' no good + anyway. But if you only knew how I hated the laundry even before I got + married. It's a dirty world. You don't dream. Saxon, honest to God, you + could never guess a hundredth part of its dirtiness. Oh, I wish I was + dead, I wish I was dead an' out of it all. Listen—no, I can't now. + There's the down train puffin' at Adeline. I'll have to run for it. Can I + come—” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, get a move on, can't you?” a man's voice interrupted. + </p> + <p> + Behind her the speaker had partly emerged from the darkness. No + workingman, Saxon could see that—lower in the world scale, despite + his good clothes, than any workingman. + </p> + <p> + “I'm comin', if you'll only wait a second,” Mary placated. + </p> + <p> + And by her answer and its accents Saxon knew that Mary was afraid of this + man who prowled on the rim of light. + </p> + <p> + Mary turned to her. + </p> + <p> + “I got to beat it; good bye,” she said, fumbling in the palm of her glove. + </p> + <p> + She caught Saxon's free hand, and Saxon felt a small hot coin pressed into + it. She tried to resist, to force it back. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” Mary pleaded. “For old times. You can do as much for me some + day. I'll see you again. Good bye.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, sobbing, she threw her arms around Saxon's waist, crushing the + feathers of her hat against the load of wood as she pressed her face + against Saxon's breast. Then she tore herself away to arm's length, + passionate, quivering, and stood gazing at Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, get a hustle, get a hustle,” came from the darkness the peremptory + voice of the man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Saxon!” Mary sobbed; and was gone. + </p> + <p> + In the house, the lamp lighted, Saxon looked at the coin. It was a + five-dollar piece—to her, a fortune. Then she thought of Mary, and + of the man of whom she was afraid. Saxon registered another black mark + against Oakland. Mary was one more destroyed. They lived only five years, + on the average, Saxon had heard somewhere. She looked at the coin and + tossed it into the kitchen sink. When she cleaned the clams, she heard the + coin tinkle down the vent pipe. + </p> + <p> + It was the thought of Billy, next morning, that led Saxon to go under the + sink, unscrew the cap to the catchtrap, and rescue the five-dollar piece. + Prisoners were not well fed, she had been told; and the thought of placing + clams and dry bread before Billy, after thirty days of prison fare, was + too appalling for her to contemplate. She knew how he liked to spread his + butter on thick, how he liked thick, rare steak fried on a dry hot pan, + and how he liked coffee that was coffee and plenty of it. + </p> + <p> + Not until after nine o'clock did Billy arrive, and she was dressed in her + prettiest house gingham to meet him. She peeped on him as he came slowly + up the front steps, and she would have run out to him except for a group + of neighborhood children who were staring from across the street. The door + opened before him as his hand reached for the knob, and, inside, he closed + it by backing against it, for his arms were filled with Saxon. No, he had + not had breakfast, nor did he want any now that he had her. He had only + stopped for a shave. He had stood the barber off, and he had walked all + the way from the City Hall because of lack of the nickel carfare. But he'd + like a bath most mighty well, and a change of clothes. She mustn't come + near him until he was clean. + </p> + <p> + When all this was accomplished, he sat in the kitchen and watched her + cook, noting the driftwood she put in the stove and asking about it. While + she moved about, she told how she had gathered the wood, how she had + managed to live and not be beholden to the union, and by the time they + were seated at the table she was telling him about her meeting with Mary + the night before. She did not mention the five dollars. + </p> + <p> + Billy stopped chewing the first mouthful of steak. His expression + frightened her. He spat the meat out on his plate. + </p> + <p> + “You got the money to buy the meat from her,” he accused slowly. “You had + no money, no more tick with the butcher, yet here's meat. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon could only bend her head. + </p> + <p> + The terrifying, ageless look had come into his face, the bleak and + passionless glaze into his eyes, which she had first seen on the day at + Weasel Park when he had fought with the three Irishmen. + </p> + <p> + “What else did you buy?” he demanded—not roughly, not angrily, but + with the fearful coldness of a rage that words could not express. + </p> + <p> + To her surprise, she had grown calm. What did it matter? It was merely + what one must expect, living in Oakland—something to be left behind + when Oakland was a thing behind, a place started from. + </p> + <p> + “The coffee,” she answered. “And the butter.” + </p> + <p> + He emptied his plate of meat and her plate into the frying pan, likewise + the roll of butter and the slice on the table, and on top he poured the + contents of the coffee canister. All this he carried into the back yard + and dumped in the garbage can. The coffee pot he emptied into the sink. + “How much of the money you got left?” he next wanted to know. + </p> + <p> + Saxon had already gone to her purse and taken it out. + </p> + <p> + “Three dollars and eighty cents,” she counted, handing it to him. “I paid + forty-five cents for the steak.” + </p> + <p> + He ran his eye over the money, counted it, and went to the front door. She + heard the door open and close, and knew that the silver had been flung + into the street. When he came back to the kitchen, Saxon was already + serving him fried potatoes on a clean plate. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin's too good for the Robertses,” he said; “but, by God, that sort of + truck is too high for my stomach. It's so high it stinks.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced at the fried potatoes, the fresh slice of dry bread, and the + glass of water she was placing by his plate. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” she smiled, as he hesitated. “There's nothing left + that's tainted.” + </p> + <p> + He shot a swift glance at her face, as if for sarcasm, then sighed and sat + down. Almost immediately he was up again and holding out his arms to her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' to eat in a minute, but I want to talk to you first,” he said, + sitting down and holding her closely. “Besides, that water ain't like + coffee. Gettin' cold won't spoil it none. Now, listen. You're the only one + I got in this world. You wasn't afraid of me an' what I just done, an' I'm + glad of that. Now we'll forget all about Mary. I got charity enough. I'm + just as sorry for her as you. I'd do anything for her. I'd wash her feet + for her like Christ did. I'd let her eat at my table, an' sleep under my + roof. But all that ain't no reason I should touch anything she's earned. + Now forget her. It's you an' me, Saxon, only you an' me an' to hell with + the rest of the world. Nothing else counts. You won't never have to be + afraid of me again. Whisky an' I don't mix very well, so I'm goin' to cut + whisky out. I've been clean off my nut, an' I ain't treated you altogether + right. But that's all past. It won't never happen again. I'm goin' to + start out fresh. + </p> + <p> + “Now take this thing. I oughtn't to acted so hasty. But I did. I oughta + talked it over. But I didn't. My damned temper got the best of me, an' you + know I got one. If a fellow can keep his temper in boxin', why he can keep + it in bein' married, too. Only this got me too sudden-like. It's something + I can't stomach, that I never could stomach. An' you wouldn't want me to + any more'n I'd want you to stomach something you just couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + She sat up straight on his knees and looked at him, afire with an idea. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that, Billy?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll tell you something I can't stomach any more. I'll die if I have + to.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he questioned, after a searching pause. + </p> + <p> + “It's up to you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Then fire away.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know what you're letting yourself in for,” she warned. “Maybe + you'd better back out before it's too late.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + “What you don't want to stomach you ain't goin' to stomach. Let her go.” + </p> + <p> + “First,” she commenced, “no more slugging of scabs.” + </p> + <p> + His mouth opened, but he checked the involuntary protest. + </p> + <p> + “And, second, no more Oakland.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't get that last.” + </p> + <p> + “No more Oakland. No more living in Oakland. I'll die if I have to. It's + pull up stakes and get out.” + </p> + <p> + He digested this slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” he asked finally. + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere. Everywhere. Smoke a cigarette and think it over.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head and studied her. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that?” he asked at length. + </p> + <p> + “I do. I want to chuck Oakland just as hard as you wanted to chuck the + beefsteak, the coffee, and the butter.” + </p> + <p> + She could see him brace himself. She could feel him brace his very body + ere he answered. + </p> + <p> + “All right then, if that's what you want. We'll quit Oakland. We'll quit + it cold. God damn it, anyway, it never done nothin' for me, an' I guess + I'm husky enough to scratch for us both anywheres. An' now that's settled, + just tell me what you got it in for Oakland for.” + </p> + <p> + And she told him all she had thought out, marshaled all the facts in her + indictment of Oakland, omitting nothing, not even her last visit to Doctor + Hentley's office nor Billy's drinking. He but drew her closer and + proclaimed his resolves anew. The time passed. The fried potatoes grew + cold, and the stove went out. + </p> + <p> + When a pause came, Billy stood up, still holding her. He glanced at the + fried potatoes. + </p> + <p> + “Stone cold,” he said, then turned to her. “Come on. Put on your + prettiest. We're goin' up town for something to eat an' to celebrate. I + guess we got a celebration comin', seein' as we're going to pull up stakes + an' pull our freight from the old burg. An' we won't have to walk. I can + borrow a dime from the barber, an' I got enough junk to hock for a + blowout.” + </p> + <p> + His junk proved to be several gold medals won in his amateur days at + boxing tournaments. Once up town and in the pawnshop, Uncle Sam seemed + thoroughly versed in the value of the medals, and Billy jingled a handful + of silver in his pocket as they walked out. + </p> + <p> + He was as hilarious as a boy, and she joined in his good spirits. When he + stopped at a corner cigar store to buy a sack of Bull Durham, he changed + his mind and bought Imperials. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm a regular devil,” he laughed. “Nothing's too good to-day—not + even tailor-made smokes. An' no chop houses nor Jap joints for you an' me. + It's Barnum's.” + </p> + <p> + They strolled to the restaurant at Seventh and Broadway where they had had + their wedding supper. + </p> + <p> + “Let's make believe we're not married,” Saxon suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” he agreed, “—an' take a private room so as the waiter'll + have to knock on the door each time he comes in.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon demurred at that. + </p> + <p> + “It will be too expensive, Billy. You'll have to tip him for the knocking. + We'll take the regular dining room.” + </p> + <p> + “Order anything you want,” Billy said largely, when they were seated. + “Here's family porterhouse, a dollar an' a half. What d'ye say?” + </p> + <p> + “And hash-browned,” she abetted, “and coffee extra special, and some + oysters first—I want to compare them with the rock oysters.” + </p> + <p> + Billy nodded, and looked up from the bill of fare. + </p> + <p> + “Here's mussels bordelay. Try an order of them, too, an' see if they beat + your Rock Wall ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” Saxon cried, her eyes dancing. “The world is ours. We're just + travelers through this town.” + </p> + <p> + “Yep, that's the stuff,” Billy muttered absently. He was looking at the + theater column. He lifted his eyes from the paper. “Matinee at Bell's. We + can get reserved seats for a quarter.—Doggone the luck anyway!” + </p> + <p> + His exclamation was so aggrieved and violent that it brought alarm into + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “If I'd only thought,” he regretted, “we could a-gone to the Forum for + grub. That's the swell joint where fellows like Roy Blanchard hangs out, + blowin' the money we sweat for them.” + </p> + <p> + They bought reserved tickets at Bell's Theater; but it was too early for + the performance, and they went down Broadway and into the Electric Theater + to while away the time on a moving picture show. A cowboy film was run + off, and a French comic; then came a rural drama situated somewhere in the + Middle West. It began with a farm yard scene. The sun blazed down on a + corner of a barn and on a rail fence where the ground lay in the mottled + shade of large trees overhead. There were chickens, ducks, and turkeys, + scratching, waddling, moving about. A big sow, followed by a roly-poly + litter of seven little ones, marched majestically through the chickens, + rooting them out of the way. The hens, in turn, took it out on the little + porkers, pecking them when they strayed too far from their mother. And + over the top rail a horse looked drowsily on, ever and anon, at + mathematically precise intervals, switching a lazy tail that flashed high + lights in the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + “It's a warm day and there are flies—can't you just feel it?” Saxon + whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. An' that horse's tail! It's the most natural ever. Gee! I bet he + knows the trick of clampin' it down over the reins. I wouldn't wonder if + his name was Iron Tail.” + </p> + <p> + A dog ran upon the scene. The mother pig turned tail and with short + ludicrous jumps, followed by her progeny and pursued by the dog, fled out + of the film. A young girl came on, a sunbonnet hanging down her back, her + apron caught up in front and filled with grain which she threw to the + fluttering fowls. Pigeons flew down from the top of the film and joined in + the scrambling feast. The dog returned, wading scarcely noticed among the + feathered creatures, to wag his tail and laugh up at the girl. And, + behind, the horse nodded over the rail and switched on. A young man + entered, his errand immediately known to an audience educated in moving + pictures. But Saxon had no eyes for the love-making, the pleading + forcefulness, the shy reluctance, of man and maid. Ever her gaze wandered + back to the chickens, to the mottled shade under the trees, to the warm + wall of the barn, to the sleepy horse with its ever recurrent whisk of + tail. + </p> + <p> + She drew closer to Billy, and her hand, passed around his arm, sought his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy,” she sighed. “I'd just die of happiness in a place like that.” + And, when the film was ended. “We got lots of time for Bell's. Let's stay + and see that one over again.” + </p> + <p> + They sat through a repetition of the performance, and when the farm yard + scene appeared, the longer Saxon looked at it the more it affected her. + And this time she took in further details. She saw fields beyond, rolling + hills in the background, and a cloud-flecked sky. She identified some of + the chickens, especially an obstreperous old hen who resented the thrust + of the sow's muzzle, particularly pecked at the little pigs, and laid + about her with a vengeance when the grain fell. Saxon looked back across + the fields to the hills and sky, breathing the spaciousness of it, the + freedom, the content. Tears welled into her eyes and she wept silently, + happily. + </p> + <p> + “I know a trick that'd fix that old horse if he ever clamped his tail down + on me,” Billy whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Now I know where we're going when we leave Oakland,” she informed him. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “There.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, and followed her gaze to the screen. “Oh,” he said, and + cogitated. “An' why shouldn't we?” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Her lips trembled in her eagerness, and her whisper broke and was almost + inaudible “Sure,” he said. It was his day of royal largess. + </p> + <p> + “What you want is yourn, an' I'll scratch my fingers off for it. An' I've + always had a hankerin' for the country myself. Say! I've known horses like + that to sell for half the price, an' I can sure cure 'em of the habit.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + It was early evening when they got off the car at Seventh and Pine on + their way home from Bell's Theater. Billy and Saxon did their little + marketing together, then separated at the corner, Saxon to go on to the + house and prepare supper, Billy to go and see the boys—the teamsters + who had fought on in the strike during his month of retirement. + </p> + <p> + “Take care of yourself, Billy,” she called, as he started off. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” he answered, turning his face to her over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Her heart leaped at the smile. It was his old, unsullied love-smile which + she wanted always to see on his face—for which, armed with her own + wisdom and the wisdom of Mercedes, she would wage the utmost woman's war + to possess. A thought of this flashed brightly through her brain, and it + was with a proud little smile that she remembered all her pretty equipment + stored at home in the bureau and the chest of drawers. + </p> + <p> + Three-quarters of an hour later, supper ready, all but the putting on of + the lamb chops at the sound of his step, Saxon waited. She heard the gate + click, but instead of his step she heard a curious and confused scraping + of many steps. She flew to open the door. Billy stood there, but a + different Billy from the one she had parted from so short a time before. A + small boy, beside him, held his hat. His face had been fresh-washed, or, + rather, drenched, for his shirt and shoulders were wet. His pale hair lay + damp and plastered against his forehead, and was darkened by oozing blood. + Both arms hung limply by his side. But his face was composed, and he even + grinned. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” he reassured Saxon. “The joke's on me. Somewhat damaged + but still in the ring.” He stepped gingerly across the threshold. “—Come + on in, you fellows. We're all mutts together.” + </p> + <p> + He was followed in by the boy with his hat, by Bud Strothers and another + teamster she knew, and by two strangers. The latter were big, + hard-featured, sheepish-faced men, who stared at Saxon as if afraid of + her. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, Saxon,” Billy began, but was interrupted by Bud. + </p> + <p> + “First thing is to get him on the bed an' cut his clothes off him. Both + arms is broke, and here are the ginks that done it.” + </p> + <p> + He indicated the two strangers, who shuffled their feet with embarrassment + and looked more sheepish than ever. + </p> + <p> + Billy sat down on the bed, and while Saxon held the lamp, Bud and the + strangers proceeded to cut coat, shirt, and undershirt from him. + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn't go to the receivin' hospital,” Bud said to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life,” Billy concurred. “I had 'em send for Doc Hentley. + He'll be here any minute. Them two arms is all I got. They've done pretty + well by me, an' I gotta do the same by them.—No medical students + a-learnin' their trade on me.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did it happen?” Saxon demanded, looking from Billy to the two + strangers, puzzled by the amity that so evidently existed among them all. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they're all right,” Billy dashed in. “They done it through mistake. + They're Frisco teamsters, an' they come over to help us—a lot of + 'em.” + </p> + <p> + The two teamsters seemed to cheer up at this, and nodded their heads. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, missus,” one of them rumbled hoarsely. “It's all a mistake, an'... + well, the joke's on us.” + </p> + <p> + “The drinks, anyway,” Billy grinned. + </p> + <p> + Not only was Saxon not excited, but she was scarcely perturbed. What had + happened was only to be expected. + </p> + <p> + It was in line with all that Oakland had already done to her and hers, + and, besides, Billy was not dangerously hurt. Broken arms and a sore head + would heal. She brought chairs and seated everybody. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me what happened,” she begged. “I'm all at sea, what of you two + burleys breaking my husband's arms, then seeing him home and holding a + love-fest with him.” + </p> + <p> + “An' you got a right,” Bud Strothers assured her. “You see, it happened + this way—” + </p> + <p> + “You shut up, Bud,” Billy broke it. “You didn't see anything of it.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon looked to the San Francisco teamsters. + </p> + <p> + “We'd come over to lend a hand, seein' as the Oakland boys was gettin' + some the short end of it,” one spoke up, “an' we've sure learned some + scabs there's better trades than drivin' team. Well, me an' Jackson here + was nosin' around to see what we can see, when your husband comes moseyin' + along. When he—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” Jackson interrupted. “Get it straight as you go along. We + reckon we know the boys by sight. But your husband we ain't never seen + around, him bein'...” + </p> + <p> + “As you might say, put away for a while,” the first teamster took up the + tale. “So, when we sees what we thinks is a scab dodgin' away from us an' + takin' the shortcut through the alley—” + </p> + <p> + “The alley back of Campbell's grocery,” Billy elucidated. + </p> + <p> + “Yep, back of the grocery,” the first teamster went on; “why, we're sure + he's one of them squarehead scabs, hired through Murray an' Ready, makin' + a sneak to get into the stables over the back fences.” + </p> + <p> + “We caught one there, Billy an' me,” Bud interpolated. + </p> + <p> + “So we don't waste any time,” Jackson said, addressing himself to Saxon. + “We've done it before, an' we know how to do 'em up brown an' tie 'em with + baby ribbon. So we catch your husband right in the alley.” + </p> + <p> + “I was lookin' for Bud,” said Billy. “The boys told me I'd find him + somewhere around the other end of the alley. An' the first thing I know, + Jackson, here, asks me for a match.” + </p> + <p> + “An' right there's where I get in my fine work,” resumed the first + teamster. + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “That.” The man pointed to the wound in Billy's scalp. “I laid 'm out. He + went down like a steer, an' got up on his knees dippy, a-gabblin' about + somebody standin' on their foot. He didn't know where he was at, you see, + clean groggy. An' then we done it.” + </p> + <p> + The man paused, the tale told. + </p> + <p> + “Broke both his arms with the crowbar,” Bud supplemented. + </p> + <p> + “That's when I come to myself, when the bones broke,” Billy corroborated. + “An' there was the two of 'em givin' me the ha-ha. 'That'll last you some + time,' Jackson was sayin'. An' Anson says, 'I'd like to see you drive + horses with them arms.' An' then Jackson says, 'let's give 'm something + for luck.' An' with that he fetched me a wallop on the jaw—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” corrected Anson. “That wallop was mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it sent me into dreamland over again,” Billy sighed. “An' when I + come to, here was Bud an' Anson an' Jackson dousin' me at a water trough. + An' then we dodged a reporter an' all come home together.” + </p> + <p> + Bud Strothers held up his fist and indicated freshly abraded skin. + </p> + <p> + “The reporter-guy just insisted on samplin' it,” he said. Then, to Billy: + “That's why I cut around Ninth an' caught up with you down on Sixth.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Doctor Hentley arrived, and drove the men from the + rooms. They waited till he had finished, to assure themselves of Billy's + well being, and then departed. In the kitchen Doctor Hentley washed his + hands and gave Saxon final instructions. As he dried himself he sniffed + the air and looked toward the stove where a pot was simmering. + </p> + <p> + “Clams,” he said. “Where did you buy them?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't buy them,” replied Saxon. “I dug them myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the marsh?” he asked with quickened interest. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Throw them away. Throw them out. They're death and corruption. Typhoid—I've + got three cases now, all traced to the clams and the marsh.” + </p> + <p> + When he had gone, Saxon obeyed. Still another mark against Oakland, she + reflected—Oakland, the man-trap, that poisoned those it could not + starve. + </p> + <p> + “If it wouldn't drive a man to drink,” Billy groaned, when Saxon returned + to him. “Did you ever dream such luck? Look at all my fights in the ring, + an' never a broken bone, an' here, snap, snap, just like that, two arms + smashed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it might be worse,” Saxon smiled cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to know how. + </p> + <p> + It might have been your neck.” + </p> + <p> + “An' a good job. I tell you, Saxon, you gotta show me anything worse.” + </p> + <p> + “I can,” she said confidently. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, wouldn't it be worse if you intended staying on in Oakland where it + might happen again?” + </p> + <p> + “I can see myself becomin' a farmer an' plowin' with a pair of pipe-stems + like these,” he persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Hentley says they'll be stronger at the break than ever before. + And you know yourself that's true of clean-broken bones. Now you close + your eyes and go to sleep. You're all done up, and you need to keep your + brain quiet and stop thinking.” + </p> + <p> + He closed his eyes obediently. She slipped a cool hand under the nape of + his neck and let it rest. + </p> + <p> + “That feels good,” he murmured. “You're so cool, Saxon. Your hand, and + you, all of you. Bein' with you is like comin' out into the cool night + after dancin' in a hot room.” + </p> + <p> + After several minutes of quiet, he began to giggle. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin'. I was just thinkin'—thinking of them mutts doin' me up—me, + that's done up more scabs than I can remember.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning Billy awoke with his blues dissipated. From the kitchen Saxon + heard him painfully wrestling strange vocal acrobatics. + </p> + <p> + “I got a new song you never heard,” he told her when she came in with a + cup of coffee. “I only remember the chorus though. It's the old man + talkin' to some hobo of a hired man that wants to marry his daughter. + Mamie, that Billy Murphy used to run with before he got married, used to + sing it. It's a kind of a sobby song. It used to always give Mamie the + weeps. Here's the way the chorus goes—an' remember, it's the old man + spielin'.” + </p> + <p> + And with great solemnity and excruciating flatting, Billy sang: + </p> + <p> + “O treat my daughter kind-i-ly; An' say you'll do no harm, An' when I die + I'll will to you My little house an' farm—My horse, my plow, my + sheep, my cow, An' all them little chickens in the ga-a-rden. + </p> + <p> + “It's them little chickens in the garden that gets me,” he explained. + “That's how I remembered it—from the chickens in the movin' pictures + yesterday. An' some day we'll have little chickens in the garden, won't + we, old girl?” + </p> + <p> + “And a daughter, too,” Saxon amplified. + </p> + <p> + “An' I'll be the old geezer sayin' them same words to the hired man,” + Billy carried the fancy along. “It don't take long to raise a daughter if + you ain't in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon took her long-neglected ukulele from its case and strummed it into + tune. + </p> + <p> + “And I've a song you never heard, Billy. Tom's always singing it. He's + crazy about taking up government land and going farming, only Sarah won't + think of it. He sings it something like this: + </p> + <p> + “We'll have a little farm, A pig, a horse, a cow, And you will drive the + wagon, And I will drive the plow.” + </p> + <p> + “Only in this case I guess it's me that'll do the plowin',” Billy + approved. “Say, Saxon, sing 'Harvest Days.' That's a farmer's song, too.” + </p> + <p> + After that she feared the coffee was growing cold and compelled Billy to + take it. In the helplessness of two broken arms, he had to be fed like a + baby, and as she fed him they talked. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you one thing,” Billy said, between mouthfuls. “Once we get + settled down in the country you'll have that horse you've been wishin' for + all your life. An' it'll be all your own, to ride, drive, sell, or do + anything you want with.” + </p> + <p> + And, again, he ruminated: “One thing that'll come handy in the country is + that I know horses; that's a big start. I can always get a job at that—if + it ain't at union wages. An' the other things about farmin' I can learn + fast enough.—Say, d'ye remember that day you first told me about + wantin' a horse to ride all your life?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon remembered, and it was only by a severe struggle that she was able + to keep the tears from welling into her eyes. She seemed bursting with + happiness, and she was remembering many things—all the warm promise + of life with Billy that had been hers in the days before hard times. And + now the promise was renewed again. Since its fulfillment had not come to + them, they were going away to fulfill it for themselves and make the + moving pictures come true. + </p> + <p> + Impelled by a half-feigned fear, she stole away into the kitchen bedroom + where Bert had died, to study her face in the bureau mirror. No, she + decided; she was little changed. She was still equipped for the + battlefield of love. Beautiful she was not. She knew that. But had not + Mercedes said that the great women of history who had won men had not been + beautiful? And yet, Saxon insisted, as she gazed at her reflection, she + was anything but unlovely. She studied her wide gray eyes that were so + very gray, that were always alive with light and vivacities, where, in the + surface and depths, always swam thoughts unuttered, thoughts that sank + down and dissolved to give place to other thoughts. The brows were + excellent—she realized that. Slenderly penciled, a little darker + than her light brown hair, they just fitted her irregular nose that was + feminine but not weak, that if anything was piquant and that picturesquely + might be declared impudent. + </p> + <p> + She could see that her face was slightly thin, that the red of her lips + was not quite so red, and that she had lost some of her quick coloring. + But all that would come back again. Her mouth was not of the rosebud type + she saw in the magazines. She paid particular attention to it. A pleasant + mouth it was, a mouth to be joyous with, a mouth for laughter and to make + laughter in others. She deliberately experimented with it, smiled till the + corners dented deeper. And she knew that when she smiled her smile was + provocative of smiles. She laughed with her eyes alone—a trick of + hers. She threw back her head and laughed with eyes and mouth together, + between her spread lips showing the even rows of strong white teeth. + </p> + <p> + And she remembered Billy's praise of her teeth, the night at Germanic Hall + after he had told Charley Long he was standing on his foot. “Not big, and + not little dinky baby's teeth either,” Billy had said, “... just right, + and they fit you.” Also, he had said that to look at them made him hungry, + and that they were good enough to eat. + </p> + <p> + She recollected all the compliments he had ever paid her. Beyond all + treasures, these were treasures to her—the love phrases, praises, + and admirations. He had said her skin was cool—soft as velvet, too, + and smooth as silk. She rolled up her sleeve to the shoulder, brushed her + cheek with the white skin for a test, with deep scrutiny examined the + fineness of its texture. And he had told her that she was sweet; that he + hadn't known what it meant when they said a girl was sweet, not until he + had known her. And he had told her that her voice was cool, that it gave + him the feeling her hand did when it rested on his forehead. Her voice + went all through him, he had said, cool and fine, like a wind of coolness. + And he had likened it to the first of the sea breeze setting in the + afternoon after a scorching hot morning. And, also, when she talked low, + that it was round and sweet, like the 'cello in the Macdonough Theater + orchestra. + </p> + <p> + He had called her his Tonic Kid. He had called her a thoroughbred, + clean-cut and spirited, all fine nerves and delicate and sensitive. He had + liked the way she carried her clothes. She carried them like a dream, had + been his way of putting it. They were part of her, just as much as the + cool of her voice and skin and the scent of her hair. + </p> + <p> + And her figure! She got upon a chair and tilted the mirror so that she + could see herself from hips to feet. She drew her skirt back and up. The + slender ankle was just as slender. The calf had lost none of its + delicately mature swell. She studied her hips, her waist, her bosom, her + neck, the poise of her head, and sighed contentedly. Billy must be right, + and he had said that she was built like a French woman, and that in the + matter of lines and form she could give Annette Kellerman cards and + spades. + </p> + <p> + He had said so many things, now that she recalled them all at one time. + Her lips! The Sunday he proposed he had said: “I like to watch your lips + talking. It's funny, but every move they make looks like a tickly kiss.” + And afterward, that same day: “You looked good to me from the first moment + I spotted you.” He had praised her housekeeping. He had said he fed + better, lived more comfortably, held up his end with the fellows, and + saved money. And she remembered that day when he had crushed her in his + arms and declared she was the greatest little bit of a woman that had ever + come down the pike. + </p> + <p> + She ran her eyes over all herself in the mirror again, gathered herself + together into a whole, compact and good to look upon—delicious, she + knew. Yes, she would do. Magnificent as Billy was in his man way, in her + own way she was a match for him. Yes, she had done well by Billy. She + deserved much—all he could give her, the best he could give her. But + she made no blunder of egotism. Frankly valuing herself, she as frankly + valued him. When he was himself, his real self, not harassed by trouble, + not pinched by the trap, not maddened by drink, her man-boy and lover, he + was well worth all she gave him or could give him. + </p> + <p> + Saxon gave herself a farewell look. No. She was not dead, any more than + was Billy's love dead, than was her love dead. All that was needed was the + proper soil, and their love would grow and blossom. And they were turning + their backs upon Oakland to go and seek that proper soil. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy!” she called through the partition, still standing on the + chair, one hand tipping the mirror forward and back, so that she was able + to run her eyes from the reflection of her ankles and calves to her face, + warm with color and roguishly alive. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” she heard him answer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm loving myself,” she called back. + </p> + <p> + “What's the game?” came his puzzled query. “What are you so stuck on + yourself for!” + </p> + <p> + “Because you love me,” she answered. “I love every bit of me, Billy, + because... because... well, because you love every bit of me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + Between feeding and caring for Billy, doing the housework, making plans, + and selling her store of pretty needlework, the days flew happily for + Saxon. Billy's consent to sell her pretties had been hard to get, but at + last she succeeded in coaxing it out of him. + </p> + <p> + “It's only the ones I haven't used,” she urged; “and I can always make + more when we get settled somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + What she did not sell, along with the household linen and hers and Billy's + spare clothing, she arranged to store with Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead,” Billy said. “This is your picnic. What you say goes. You're + Robinson Crusoe an' I'm your man Friday. Make up your mind yet which way + you're goin' to travel?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Or how?” + </p> + <p> + She held up one foot and then the other, encased in stout walking shoes + which she had begun that morning to break in about the house. “Shank's + mare, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It's the way our people came into the West,” she said proudly. + </p> + <p> + “It'll be regular trampin', though,” he argued. “An' I never heard of a + woman tramp.” + </p> + <p> + “Then here's one. Why, Billy, there's no shame in tramping. My mother + tramped most of the way across the Plains. And 'most everybody else's + mother tramped across in those days. I don't care what people will think. + I guess our race has been on the tramp since the beginning of creation, + just like we'll be, looking for a piece of land that looked good to settle + down on.” + </p> + <p> + After a few days, when his scalp was sufficiently healed and the + bone-knitting was nicely in process, Billy was able to be up and about. He + was still quite helpless, however, with both his arms in splints. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Hentley not only agreed, but himself suggested, that his bill + should wait against better times for settlement. Of government land, in + response to Saxon's eager questioning, he knew nothing, except that he had + a hazy idea that the days of government land were over. + </p> + <p> + Tom, on the contrary, was confident that there was plenty of government + land. He talked of Honey Lake, of Shasta County, and of Humboldt. + </p> + <p> + “But you can't tackle it at this time of year, with winter comin' on,” he + advised Saxon. “The thing for you to do is head south for warmer weather—say + along the coast. It don't snow down there. I tell you what you do. Go down + by San Jose and Salinas an' come out on the coast at Monterey. South of + that you'll find government land mixed up with forest reserves and Mexican + rancheros. It's pretty wild, without any roads to speak of. All they do is + handle cattle. But there's some fine redwood canyons, with good patches of + farming ground that run right down to the ocean. I was talkin' last year + with a fellow that's been all through there. An' I'd a-gone, like you an' + Billy, only Sarah wouldn't hear of it. There's gold down there, too. Quite + a bunch is in there prospectin', an' two or three good mines have opened. + But that's farther along and in a ways from the coast. You might take a + look.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shook her head. “We're not looking for gold but for chickens and a + place to grow vegetables. Our folks had all the chance for gold in the + early days, and what have they got to show for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you're right,” Tom conceded. “They always played too big a game, + an' missed the thousand little chances right under their nose. Look at + your pa. I've heard him tell of selling three Market street lots in San + Francisco for fifty dollars each. They're worth five hundred thousand + right now. An' look at Uncle Will. He had ranches till the cows come home. + Satisfied? No. He wanted to be a cattle king, a regular Miller and Lux. + An' when he died he was a night watchman in Los Angeles at forty dollars a + month. There's a spirit of the times, an' the spirit of the times has + changed. It's all big business now, an' we're the small potatoes. Why, + I've heard our folks talk of livin' in the Western Reserve. That was all + around what's Ohio now. Anybody could get a farm them days. All they had + to do was yoke their oxen an' go after it, an' the Pacific Ocean thousands + of miles to the west, an' all them thousands of miles an' millions of + farms just waitin' to be took up. A hundred an' sixty acres? Shucks. In + the early days in Oregon they talked six hundred an' forty acres. That was + the spirit of them times—free land, an' plenty of it. But when we + reached the Pacific Ocean them times was ended. Big business begun; an' + big business means big business men; an' every big business man means + thousands of little men without any business at all except to work for the + big ones. They're the losers, don't you see? An' if they don't like it + they can lump it, but it won't do them no good. They can't yoke up their + oxen an' pull on. There's no place to pull on. China's over there, an' in + between's a mighty lot of salt water that's no good for farmin' purposes.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all clear enough,” Saxon commented. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” her brother went on. “We can all see it after it's happened, when + it's too late.” + </p> + <p> + “But the big men were smarter,” Saxon remarked. + </p> + <p> + “They were luckier,” Tom contended. “Some won, but most lost, an' just as + good men lost. It was almost like a lot of boys scramblin' on the sidewalk + for a handful of small change. Not that some didn't have far-seein'. But + just take your pa, for example. He come of good Down East stock that's got + business instinct an' can add to what it's got. Now suppose your pa had + developed a weak heart, or got kidney disease, or caught rheumatism, so he + couldn't go gallivantin' an' rainbow chasin', an' fightin' an' explorin' + all over the West. Why, most likely he'd a settled down in San Francisco—he'd + a-had to—an' held onto them three Market street lots, an' bought + more lots, of course, an' gone into steamboat companies, an' stock + gamblin', an' railroad buildin', an' Comstock-tunnelin'. + </p> + <p> + “Why, he'd a-become big business himself. I know 'm. He was the most + energetic man I ever saw, think quick as a wink, as cool as an icicle an' + as wild as a Comanche. Why, he'd a-cut a swath through the free an' easy + big business gamblers an' pirates of them days; just as he cut a swath + through the hearts of the ladies when he went gallopin' past on that big + horse of his, sword clatterin', spurs jinglin', his long hair flyin', + straight as an Indian, clean-built an' graceful as a blue-eyed prince out + of a fairy book an' a Mexican caballero all rolled into one; just as he + cut a swath through the Johnny Rebs in Civil War days, chargin' with his + men all the way through an' back again, an' yellin' like a wild Indian for + more. Cady, that helped raise you, told me about that. Cady rode with your + pa. + </p> + <p> + “Why, if your pa'd only got laid up in San Francisco, he would a-ben one + of the big men of the West. An' in that case, right now, you'd be a rich + young woman, travelin' in Europe, with a mansion on Nob Hill along with + the Floods and Crockers, an' holdin' majority stock most likely in the + Fairmount Hotel an' a few little concerns like it. An' why ain't you? + Because your pa wasn't smart? No. His mind was like a steel trap. It's + because he was filled to burstin' an' spillin' over with the spirit of the + times; because he was full of fire an' vinegar an' couldn't set down in + one place. That's all the difference between you an' the young women right + now in the Flood and Crocker families. Your father didn't catch rheumatism + at the right time, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon sighed, then smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same, I've got them beaten,” she said. “The Miss Floods and Miss + Crockers can't marry prize-fighters, and I did.” + </p> + <p> + Tom looked at her, taken aback for the moment, with admiration, slowly at + first, growing in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I got to say,” he enunciated solemnly, “is that Billy's so + lucky he don't know how lucky he is.” + </p> + <p> + Not until Doctor Hentley gave the word did the splints come off Billy's + arms, and Saxon insisted upon an additional two weeks' delay so that no + risk would be run. These two weeks would complete another month's rent, + and the landlord had agreed to wait payment for the last two months until + Billy was on his feet again. + </p> + <p> + Salinger's awaited the day set by Saxon for taking back their furniture. + Also, they had returned to Billy seventy-five dollars. + </p> + <p> + “The rest you've paid will be rent,” the collector told Saxon. “And the + furniture's second hand now, too. The deal will be a loss to Salinger's' + and they didn't have to do it, either; you know that. So just remember + they've been pretty square with you, and if you start over again don't + forget them.” + </p> + <p> + Out of this sum, and out of what was realized from Saxon's pretties, they + were able to pay all their small bills and yet have a few dollars + remaining in pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I hate owin' things worse 'n poison,” Billy said to Saxon. “An' now we + don't owe a soul in this world except the landlord an' Doc Hentley.” + </p> + <p> + “And neither of them can afford to wait longer than they have to,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “And they won't,” Billy answered quietly. + </p> + <p> + She smiled her approval, for she shared with Billy his horror of debt, + just as both shared it with that early tide of pioneers with a Puritan + ethic, which had settled the West. + </p> + <p> + Saxon timed her opportunity when Billy was out of the house to pack the + chest of drawers which had crossed the Atlantic by sailing ship and the + Plains by ox team. She kissed the bullet hole in it, made in the fight at + Little Meadow, as she kissed her father's sword, the while she visioned + him, as she always did, astride his roan warhorse. With the old religious + awe, she pored over her mother's poems in the scrap-book, and clasped her + mother's red satin Spanish girdle about her in a farewell embrace. She + unpacked the scrap-book in order to gaze a last time at the wood engraving + of the Vikings, sword in hand, leaping upon the English sands. Again she + identified Billy as one of the Vikings, and pondered for a space on the + strange wanderings of the seed from which she sprang. Always had her race + been land-hungry, and she took delight in believing she had bred true; for + had not she, despite her life passed in a city, found this same + land-hunger in her? And was she not going forth to satisfy that hunger, + just as her people of old time had done, as her father and mother before + her? She remembered her mother's tale of how the promised land looked to + them as their battered wagons and weary oxen dropped down through the + early winter snows of the Sierras to the vast and flowering sun-land of + California: In fancy, herself a child of nine, she looked down from the + snowy heights as her mother must have looked down. She recalled and + repeated aloud one of her mother's stanzas: + </p> + <p> + “'Sweet as a wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learned to sing + And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notes echoing.'” + </p> + <p> + She sighed happily and dried her eyes. Perhaps the hard times were past. + Perhaps they had constituted HER Plains, and she and Billy had won safely + across and were even then climbing the Sierras ere they dropped down into + the pleasant valley land. + </p> + <p> + Salinger's wagon was at the house, taking out the furniture, the morning + they left. The landlord, standing at the gate, received the keys, shook + hands with them, and wished them luck. “You're goin' at it right,” he + congratulated them. “Sure an' wasn't it under me roll of blankets I + tramped into Oakland meself forty year ago! Buy land, like me, when it's + cheap. It'll keep you from the poorhouse in your old age. There's plenty + of new towns springin' up. Get in on the ground floor. The work of your + hands'll keep you in food an' under a roof, an' the land 'll make you well + to do. An' you know me address. When you can spare send me along that + small bit of rent. An' good luck. An' don't mind what people think. 'Tis + them that looks that finds.” + </p> + <p> + Curious neighbors peeped from behind the blinds as Billy and Saxon strode + up the street, while the children gazed at them in gaping astonishment. On + Billy's back, inside a painted canvas tarpaulin, was slung the roll of + bedding. Inside the roll were changes of underclothing and odds and ends + of necessaries. Outside, from the lashings, depended a frying pan and + cooking pail. In his hand he carried the coffee pot. Saxon carried a small + telescope basket protected by black oilcloth, and across her back was the + tiny ukulele case. + </p> + <p> + “We must look like holy frights,” Billy grumbled, shrinking from every + gaze that was bent upon him. + </p> + <p> + “It'd be all right, if we were going camping,” Saxon consoled. “Only we're + not.” + </p> + <p> + “But they don't know that,” she continued. “It's only you know that, and + what you think they're thinking isn't what they're thinking at all. Most + probably they think we're going camping. And the best of it is we are + going camping. We are! We are!” + </p> + <p> + At this Billy cheered up, though he muttered his firm intention to knock + the block off of any guy that got fresh. He stole a glance at Saxon. Her + cheeks were red, her eyes glowing. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he said suddenly. “I seen an opera once, where fellows wandered + over the country with guitars slung on their backs just like you with that + strummy-strum. You made me think of them. They was always singin' songs.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I brought it along for,” Saxon answered. + </p> + <p> + “And when we go down country roads we'll sing as we go along, and we'll + sing by the campfires, too. We're going camping, that's all. Taking a + vacation and seeing the country. So why shouldn't we have a good time? + Why, we don't even know where we're going to sleep to-night, or any night. + Think of the fun!” + </p> + <p> + “It's a sporting proposition all right, all right,” Billy considered. + “But, just the same, let's turn off an' go around the block. There's some + fellows I know, standin' up there on the next corner, an' I don't want to + knock THEIR blocks off.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + The car ran as far as Hayward's, but at Saxon's suggestion they got off at + San Leandro. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter where we start walking,” she said, “for start to walk + somewhere we must. And as we're looking for land and finding out about + land, the quicker we begin to investigate the better. Besides, we want to + know all about all kinds of land, close to the big cities as well as back + in the mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee!—this must be the Porchugeeze headquarters,” was Billy's + reiterated comment, as they walked through San Leandro. + </p> + <p> + “It looks as though they'd crowd our kind out,” Saxon adjudged. + </p> + <p> + “Some tall crowdin', I guess,” Billy grumbled. “It looks like the + free-born American ain't got no room left in his own land.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's his own fault,” Saxon said, with vague asperity, resenting + conditions she was just beginning to grasp. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know about that. I reckon the American could do what the + Porchugeeze do if he wanted to. Only he don't want to, thank God. He ain't + much given to livin' like a pig offen leavin's.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the country, maybe,” Saxon controverted. “But I've seen an awful + lot of Americans living like pigs in the cities.” + </p> + <p> + Billy grunted unwilling assent. “I guess they quit the farms an' go to the + city for something better, an' get it in the neck.” + </p> + <p> + “Look at all the children!” Saxon cried. “School's letting out. And nearly + all are Portuguese, Billy, NOT Porchugeeze. Mercedes taught me the right + way.” + </p> + <p> + “They never wore glad rags like them in the old country,” Billy sneered. + “They had to come over here to get decent clothes and decent grub. They're + as fat as butterballs.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded affirmation, and a great light seemed suddenly to kindle in + her understanding. + </p> + <p> + “That's the very point, Billy. They're doing it—doing it farming, + too. Strikes don't bother THEM.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't call that dinky gardening farming,” he objected, pointing to a + piece of land barely the size of an acre, which they were passing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, your ideas are still big,” she laughed. “You're like Uncle Will, who + owned thousands of acres and wanted to own a million, and who wound up as + night watchman. That's what was the trouble with all us Americans. + Everything large scale. Anything less than one hundred and sixty acres was + small scale.” + </p> + <p> + “Just the same,” Billy held stubbornly, “large scale's a whole lot + better'n small scale like all these dinky gardens.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon sighed. “I don't know which is the dinkier,” she observed finally, “—owning + a few little acres and the team you're driving, or not owning any acres + and driving a team somebody else owns for wages.” + </p> + <p> + Billy winced. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Robinson Crusoe,” he growled good naturedly. “Rub it in good an' + plenty. An' the worst of it is it's correct. A hell of a free-born + American I've been, adrivin' other folkses' teams for a livin', a-strikin' + and a-sluggin' scabs, an' not bein' able to keep up with the installments + for a few sticks of furniture. Just the same I was sorry for one thing. I + hated worse 'n Sam Hill to see that Morris chair go back—you liked + it so. We did a lot of honeymoonin' in that chair.” + </p> + <p> + They were well out of San Leandro, walking through a region of tiny + holdings—“farmlets,” Billy called them; and Saxon got out her + ukulele to cheer him with a song. + </p> + <p> + First, it was “Treat my daughter kind-i-ly,” and then she swung into + old-fashioned darky camp-meeting hymns, beginning with: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! de Judgmen' Day am rollin' roun', Rollin', yes, a-rollin', I hear the + trumpets' awful soun', Rollin', yes, a-rollin'.” + </p> + <p> + A big touring car, dashing past, threw a dusty pause in her singing, and + Saxon delivered herself of her latest wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Billy, remember we're not going to take up with the first piece of + land we see. We've got to go into this with our eyes open—” + </p> + <p> + “An' they ain't open yet,” he agreed. + </p> + <p> + “And we've got to get them open. ''Tis them that looks that finds.' + There's lots of time to learn things. We don't care if it takes months and + months. We're footloose. A good start is better than a dozen bad ones. + We've got to talk and find out. We'll talk with everybody we meet. Ask + questions. Ask everybody. It's the only way to find out.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't much of a hand at askin' questions,” Billy demurred. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll ask,” she cried. “We've got to win out at this game, and the + way is to know. Look at all these Portuguese. Where are all the Americans? + They owned the land first, after the Mexicans. What made the Americans + clear out? How do the Portuguese make it go? Don't you see? We've got to + ask millions of questions.” + </p> + <p> + She strummed a few chords, and then her clear sweet voice rang out gaily: + </p> + <p> + “I's g'wine back to Dixie, I's g'wine back to Dixie, I's g'wine where de + orange blossoms grow, For I hear de chillun callin', I see de sad tears + fallin'—My heart's turned back to Dixie, An' I mus'go.” + </p> + <p> + She broke off to exclaim: “Oh! What a lovely place! See that arbor—just + covered with grapes!” + </p> + <p> + Again and again she was attracted by the small places they passed. Now it + was: “Look at the flowers!” or: “My! those vegetables!” or: “See! They've + got a cow!” + </p> + <p> + Men—Americans—driving along in buggies or runabouts looked at + Saxon and Billy curiously. This Saxon could brook far easier than could + Billy, who would mutter and grumble deep in his throat. + </p> + <p> + Beside the road they came upon a lineman eating his lunch. + </p> + <p> + “Stop and talk,” Saxon whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, what's the good? He's a lineman. What'd he know about farmin'?” + </p> + <p> + “You never can tell. He's our kind. Go ahead, Billy. You just speak to + him. He isn't working now anyway, and he'll be more likely to talk. See + that tree in there, just inside the gate, and the way the branches are + grown together. It's a curiosity. Ask him about it. That's a good way to + get started.” + </p> + <p> + Billy stopped, when they were alongside. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do,” he said gruffly. + </p> + <p> + The lineman, a young fellow, paused in the cracking of a hard-boiled egg + to stare up at the couple. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Billy swung his pack from his shoulders to the ground, and Saxon rested + her telescope basket. + </p> + <p> + “Peddlin'?” the young man asked, too discreet to put his question directly + to Saxon, yet dividing it between her and Billy, and cocking his eye at + the covered basket. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she spoke up quickly. “We're looking for land. Do you know of any + around here?” + </p> + <p> + Again he desisted from the egg, studying them with sharp eyes as if to + fathom their financial status. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what land sells for around here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Saxon answered. “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I ought to. I was born here. And land like this all around you + runs at from two to three hundred to four an' five hundred dollars an + acre.” + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” Billy whistled. “I guess we don't want none of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But what makes it that high? Town lots?” Saxon wanted to know. + </p> + <p> + “Nope. The Porchugeeze make it that high, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was pretty good land that fetched a hundred an acre,” Billy + said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, them times is past. They used to give away land once, an' if you was + good, throw in all the cattle runnin' on it.” + </p> + <p> + “How about government land around here?” was Billy'a next query. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't none, an' never was. This was old Mexican grants. My grandfather + bought sixteen hundred of the best acres around here for fifteen hundred + dollars—five hundred down an' the balance in five years without + interest. But that was in the early days. He come West in '48, tryin' to + find a country without chills an' fever.” + </p> + <p> + “He found it all right,” said Billy. + </p> + <p> + “You bet he did. An' if him an' father 'd held onto the land it'd been + better than a gold mine, an' I wouldn't be workin' for a livin'. What's + your business?” + </p> + <p> + “Teamster.” + </p> + <p> + “Ben in the strike in Oakland?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing. I've teamed there most of my life.” + </p> + <p> + Here the two men wandered off into a discussion of union affairs and the + strike situation; but Saxon refused to be balked, and brought back the + talk to the land. + </p> + <p> + “How was it the Portuguese ran up the price of land?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The young fellow broke away from union matters with an effort, and for a + moment regarded her with lack luster eyes, until the question sank into + his consciousness. + </p> + <p> + “Because they worked the land overtime. Because they worked mornin', noon, + an' night, all hands, women an' kids. Because they could get more out of + twenty acres than we could out of a hundred an' sixty. Look at old Silva—Antonio + Silva. I've known him ever since I was a shaver. He didn't have the price + of a square meal when he hit this section and begun leasin' land from my + folks. Look at him now—worth two hundred an' fifty thousan' cold, + an' I bet he's got credit for a million, an' there's no tellin' what the + rest of his family owns.” + </p> + <p> + “And he made all that out of your folks' land?” Saxon demanded. + </p> + <p> + The young man nodded his head with evident reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “Then why didn't your folks do it?” she pursued. + </p> + <p> + The lineman shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Search me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But the money was in the land,” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Blamed if it was,” came the retort, tinged slightly with color. “We never + saw it stickin' out so as you could notice it. The money was in the hands + of the Porchugeeze, I guess. They knew a few more 'n we did, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon showed such dissatisfaction with his explanation that he was stung + to action. He got up wrathfully. “Come on, an' I'll show you,” he said. + “I'll show you why I'm workin' for wages when I might a-ben a millionaire + if my folks hadn't been mutts. That's what we old Americans are, Mutts, + with a capital M.” + </p> + <p> + He led them inside the gate, to the fruit tree that had first attracted + Saxon's attention. From the main crotch diverged the four main branches of + the tree. Two feet above the crotch the branches were connected, each to + the ones on both sides, by braces of living wood. + </p> + <p> + “You think it growed that way, eh? Well, it did. But it was old Silva that + made it just the same—caught two sprouts, when the tree was young, + an' twisted 'em together. Pretty slick, eh? You bet. That tree'll never + blow down. It's a natural, springy brace, an' beats iron braces stiff. + Look along all the rows. Every tree's that way. See? An' that's just one + trick of the Porchugeeze. They got a million like it. + </p> + <p> + “Figure it out for yourself. They don't need props when the crop's heavy. + Why, when we had a heavy crop, we used to use five props to a tree. Now + take ten acres of trees. That'd be some several thousan' props. Which cost + money, an' labor to put in an' take out every year. These here natural + braces don't have to have a thing done. They're Johnny-on-the-spot all the + time. Why, the Porchugeeze has got us skinned a mile. Come on, I'll show + you.” + </p> + <p> + Billy, with city notions of trespass, betrayed perturbation at the freedom + they were making of the little farm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all right, as long as you don't step on nothin',” the lineman + reassured him. “Besides, my grandfather used to own this. They know me. + Forty years ago old Silva come from the Azores. Went sheep-herdin' in the + mountains for a couple of years, then blew in to San Leandro. These five + acres was the first land he leased. That was the beginnin'. Then he began + leasin' by the hundreds of acres, an' by the hundred-an'-sixties. An' his + sisters an' his uncles an' his aunts begun pourin' in from the Azores—they're + all related there, you know; an' pretty soon San Leandro was a regular + Porchugeeze settlement. + </p> + <p> + “An' old Silva wound up by buyin' these five acres from grandfather. + Pretty soon—an' father by that time was in the hole to the neck—he + was buyin' father's land by the hundred-an'-sixties. An' all the rest of + his relations was doin' the same thing. Father was always gettin' rich + quick, an' he wound up by dyin' in debt. But old Silva never overlooked a + bet, no matter how dinky. An' all the rest are just like him. You see + outside the fence there, clear to the wheel-tracks in the road—horse-beans. + We'd a-scorned to do a picayune thing like that. Not Silva. Why he's got a + town house in San Leandro now. An' he rides around in a + four-thousan'-dollar tourin' car. An' just the same his front door yard + grows onions clear to the sidewalk. He clears three hundred a year on that + patch alone. I know ten acres of land he bought last year,—a + thousan' an acre they asked'm, an' he never batted an eye. He knew it was + worth it, that's all. He knew he could make it pay. Back in the hills, + there, he's got a ranch of five hundred an' eighty acres, bought it dirt + cheap, too; an' I want to tell you I could travel around in a different + tourin' car every day in the week just outa the profits he makes on that + ranch from the horses all the way from heavy draughts to fancy steppers. + </p> + <p> + “But how?—how?—how did he get it all?” Saxon clamored. + </p> + <p> + “By bein' wise to farmin'. Why, the whole blame family works. They ain't + ashamed to roll up their sleeves an' dig—sons an' daughters an' + daughter-in-laws, old man, old woman, an' the babies. They have a sayin' + that a kid four years old that can't pasture one cow on the county road + an' keep it fat ain't worth his salt. Why, the Silvas, the whole tribe of + 'em, works a hundred acres in peas, eighty in tomatoes, thirty in + asparagus, ten in pie-plant, forty in cucumbers, an'—oh, stacks of + other things.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do they do it?” Saxon continued to demand. “We've never been + ashamed to work. We've worked hard all our lives. I can out-work any + Portuguese woman ever born. And I've done it, too, in the jute mills. + There were lots of Portuguese girls working at the looms all around me, + and I could out-weave them, every day, and I did, too. It isn't a case of + work. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + The lineman looked at her in a troubled way. + </p> + <p> + “Many's the time I've asked myself that same question. 'We're better'n + these cheap emigrants,' I'd say to myself. 'We was here first, an' owned + the land. I can lick any Dago that ever hatched in the Azores. I got a + better education. Then how in thunder do they put it all over us, get our + land, an' start accounts in the banks?' An' the only answer I know is that + we ain't got the sabe. We don't use our head-pieces right. Something's + wrong with us. Anyway, we wasn't wised up to farming. We played at it. + Show you? That's what I brung you in for—the way old Silva an' all + his tribe farms. Look at this place. Some cousin of his, just out from the + Azores, is makin' a start on it, an' payin' good rent to Silva. Pretty + soon he'll be up to snuff an' buyin' land for himself from some perishin' + American farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that—though you ought to see it in summer. Not an inch + wasted. Where we got one thin crop, they get four fat crops. An' look at + the way they crowd it—currants between the tree rows, beans between + the currant rows, a row of beans close on each side of the trees, an' rows + of beans along the ends of the tree rows. Why, Silva wouldn't sell these + five acres for five hundred an acre cash down. He gave grandfather fifty + an acre for it on long time, an' here am I, workin' for the telephone + company an' putting' in a telephone for old Silva's cousin from the Azores + that can't speak American yet. Horse-beans along the road—say, when + Silva swung that trick he made more outa fattenin' hogs with 'em than + grandfather made with all his farmin'. Grandfather stuck up his nose at + horse-beans. He died with it stuck up, an' with more mortgages on the land + he had left than you could shake a stick at. Plantin' tomatoes wrapped up + in wrappin' paper—ever heard of that? Father snorted when he first + seen the Porchugeeze doin' it. An' he went on snortin'. Just the same they + got bumper crops, an' father's house-patch of tomatoes was eaten by the + black beetles. We ain't got the sabe, or the knack, or something or other. + Just look at this piece of ground—four crops a year, an' every inch + of soil workin' over time. Why, back in town there, there's single acres + that earns more than fifty of ours in the old days. The Porchugeeze is + natural-born farmers, that's all, an' we don't know nothin' about farmin' + an' never did.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon talked with the lineman, following him about, till one o'clock, when + he looked at his watch, said good bye, and returned to his task of putting + in a telephone for the latest immigrant from the Azores. + </p> + <p> + When in town, Saxon carried her oilcloth-wrapped telescope in her hand; + but it was so arranged with loops, that, once on the road, she could + thrust her arms through the loops and carry it on her back. When she did + this, the tiny ukulele case was shifted so that it hung under her left + arm. + </p> + <p> + A mile on from the lineman, they stopped where a small creek, fringed with + brush, crossed the county road. Billy was for the cold lunch, which was + the last meal Saxon had prepared in the Pine street cottage; but she was + determined upon building a fire and boiling coffee. Not that she desired + it for herself, but that she was impressed with the idea that everything + at the starting of their strange wandering must be as comfortable as + possible for Billy's sake. Bent on inspiring him with enthusiasm equal to + her own, she declined to dampen what sparks he had caught by anything so + uncheerful as a cold meal. + </p> + <p> + “Now one thing we want to get out of our heads right at the start, Billy, + is that we're in a hurry. We're not in a hurry, and we don't care whether + school keeps or not. We're out to have a good time, a regular adventure + like you read about in books.—My! I wish that boy that took me + fishing to Goat Island could see me now. Oakland was just a place to start + from, he said. And, well, we've started, haven't we? And right here's + where we stop and boil coffee. You get the fire going, Billy, and I'll get + the water and the things ready to spread out.” + </p> + <p> + “Say,” Billy remarked, while they waited for the water to boil, “d'ye know + what this reminds me of?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was certain she did know, but she shook her head. She wanted to hear + him say it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the second Sunday I knew you, when we drove out to Moraga Valley + behind Prince and King. You spread the lunch that day.” + </p> + <p> + “Only it was a more scrumptious lunch,” she added, with a happy smile. + </p> + <p> + “But I wonder why we didn't have coffee that day,” he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it would have been too much like housekeeping,” she laughed; + “kind of what Mary would call indelicate—” + </p> + <p> + “Or raw,” Billy interpolated. “She was always springin' that word.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet look what became of her.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the way with all of them,” Billy growled somberly. “I've always + noticed it's the fastidious, la-de-da ones that turn out the rottenest. + They're like some horses I know, a-shyin' at the things they're the least + afraid of.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was silent, oppressed by a sadness, vague and remote, which the + mention of Bert's widow had served to bring on. + </p> + <p> + “I know something else that happened that day which you'd never guess,” + Billy reminisced. “I bet you couldn't. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” Saxon murmured, and guessed it with her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Billy's eyes answered, and quite spontaneously he reached over, caught her + hand, and pressed it caressingly to his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “It's little, but oh my,” he said, addressing the imprisoned hand. Then he + gazed at Saxon, and she warmed with his words. “We're beginnin' courtin' + all over again, ain't we?” + </p> + <p> + Both ate heartily, and Billy was guilty of three cups of coffee. + </p> + <p> + “Say, this country air gives some appetite,” he mumbled, as he sank his + teeth into his fifth bread-and-meat sandwich. “I could eat a horse, an' + drown his head off in coffee afterward.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon's mind had reverted to all the young lineman had told her, and she + completed a sort of general resume of the information. “My!” she + exclaimed, “but we've learned a lot!” + </p> + <p> + “An' we've sure learned one thing,” Billy said. “An' that is that this is + no place for us, with land a thousan' an acre an' only twenty dollars in + our pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we're not going to stop here,” she hastened to say. + </p> + <p> + “But just the same it's the Portuguese that gave it its price, and they + make things go on it—send their children to school... and have them; + and, as you said yourself, they're as fat as butterballs.” + </p> + <p> + “An' I take my hat off to them,” Billy responded. + </p> + <p> + “But all the same, I'd sooner have forty acres at a hundred an acre than + four at a thousan' an acre. Somehow, you know, I'd be scared stiff on four + acres—scared of fallin' off, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She was in full sympathy with him. In her heart of hearts the forty acres + tugged much the harder. In her way, allowing for the difference of a + generation, her desire for spaciousness was as strong as her Uncle Will's. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we're not going to stop here,” she assured Billy. “We're going in, + not for forty acres, but for a hundred and sixty acres free from the + government.” + </p> + <p> + “An' I guess the government owes it to us for what our fathers an' mothers + done. I tell you, Saxon, when a woman walks across the plains like your + mother done, an' a man an' wife gets massacred by the Indians like my + grandfather an' mother done, the government does owe them something.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's up to us to collect.” + </p> + <p> + “An' we'll collect all right, all right, somewhere down in them redwood + mountains south of Monterey.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + It was a good afternoon's tramp to Niles, passing through the town of + Haywards; yet Saxon and Billy found time to diverge from the main county + road and take the parallel roads through acres of intense cultivation + where the land was farmed to the wheel-tracks. Saxon looked with amazement + at these small, brown-skinned immigrants who came to the soil with nothing + and yet made the soil pay for itself to the tune of two hundred, of five + hundred, and of a thousand dollars an acre. + </p> + <p> + On every hand was activity. Women and children were in the fields as well + as men. The land was turned endlessly over and over. They seemed never to + let it rest. And it rewarded them. It must reward them, or their children + would not be able to go to school, nor would so many of them be able to + drive by in rattletrap, second-hand buggies or in stout light wagons. + </p> + <p> + “Look at their faces,” Saxon said. “They are happy and contented. They + haven't faces like the people in our neighborhood after the strikes + began.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sure, they got a good thing,” Billy agreed. “You can see it stickin' + out all over them. But they needn't get chesty with ME, I can tell you + that much—just because they've jiggerooed us out of our land an' + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “But they're not showing any signs of chestiness,” Saxon demurred. + </p> + <p> + “No, they're not, come to think of it. All the same, they ain't so wise. I + bet I could tell 'em a few about horses.” + </p> + <p> + It was sunset when they entered the little town of Niles. Billy, who had + been silent for the last half mile, hesitantly ventured a suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Say... I could put up for a room in the hotel just as well as not. What d + 'ye think?” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon shook her head emphatically. + </p> + <p> + “How long do you think our twenty dollars will last at that rate? Besides, + the only way to begin is to begin at the beginning. We didn't plan + sleeping in hotels.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he gave in. “I'm game. I was just thinkin' about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'd better think I'm game, too,” she flashed forgivingly. “And now + we'll have to see about getting things for supper.” + </p> + <p> + They bought a round steak, potatoes, onions, and a dozen eating apples, + then went out from the town to the fringe of trees and brush that + advertised a creek. Beside the trees, on a sand bank, they pitched camp. + Plenty of dry wood lay about, and Billy whistled genially while he + gathered and chopped. Saxon, keen to follow his every mood, was cheered by + the atrocious discord on his lips. She smiled to herself as she spread the + blankets, with the tarpaulin underneath, for a table, having first removed + all twigs from the sand. She had much to learn in the matter of cooking + over a camp-fire, and made fair progress, discovering, first of all, that + control of the fire meant far more than the size of it. When the coffee + was boiled, she settled the grounds with a part-cup of cold water and + placed the pot on the edge of the coals where it would keep hot and yet + not boil. She fried potato dollars and onions in the same pan, but + separately, and set them on top of the coffee pot in the tin plate she was + to eat from, covering it with Billy's inverted plate. On the dry hot pan, + in the way that delighted Billy, she fried the steak. This completed, and + while Billy poured the coffee, she served the steak, putting the dollars + and onions back into the frying pan for a moment to make them piping hot + again. + </p> + <p> + “What more d'ye want than this?” Billy challenged with deep-toned + satisfaction, in the pause after his final cup of coffee, while he rolled + a cigarette. He lay on his side, full length, resting on his elbow. The + fire was burning brightly, and Saxon's color was heightened by the + flickering flames. “Now our folks, when they was on the move, had to be + afraid for Indians, and wild animals and all sorts of things; an' here we + are, as safe as bugs in a rug. Take this sand. What better bed could you + ask? Soft as feathers. Say—you look good to me, heap little squaw. I + bet you don't look an inch over sixteen right now, Mrs. + Babe-in-the-Woods.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't I?” she glowed, with a flirt of the head sideward and a white flash + of teeth. “If you weren't smoking a cigarette I'd ask you if your mother + knew you're out, Mr. Babe-in-the-Sandbank.” + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he began, with transparently feigned seriousness. “I want to ask + you something, if you don't mind. Now, of course, I don't want to hurt + your feelin's or nothin', but just the same there's something important + I'd like to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” she inquired, after a fruitless wait. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's just this, Saxon. I like you like anything an' all that, but + here's night come on, an' we're a thousand miles from anywhere, and—well, + what I wanta know is: are we really an' truly married, you an' me?” + </p> + <p> + “Really and truly,” she assured him. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing; but I'd kind a-forgotten, an' I was gettin' embarrassed, you + know, because if we wasn't, seein' the way I was brought up, this'd be no + place—” + </p> + <p> + “That will do you,” she said severely. “And this is just the time and + place for you to get in the firewood for morning while I wash up the + dishes and put the kitchen in order.” + </p> + <p> + He started to obey, but paused to throw his arm about her and draw her + close. Neither spoke, but when he went his way Saxon's breast was + fluttering and a song of thanksgiving breathed on her lips. + </p> + <p> + The night had come on, dim with the light of faint stars. But these had + disappeared behind clouds that seemed to have arisen from nowhere. It was + the beginning of California Indian summer. The air was warm, with just the + first hint of evening chill, and there was no wind. + </p> + <p> + “I've a feeling as if we've just started to live,” Saxon said, when Billy, + his firewood collected, joined her on the blankets before the fire. “I've + learned more to-day than ten years in Oakland.” She drew a long breath and + braced her shoulders. “Farming's a bigger subject than I thought.” + </p> + <p> + Billy said nothing. With steady eyes he was staring into the fire, and she + knew he was turning something over in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “What is it,” she asked, when she saw he had reached a conclusion, at the + same time resting her hand on the back of his. + </p> + <p> + “Just been framin' up that ranch of ourn,” he answered. “It's all well + enough, these dinky farmlets. They'll do for foreigners. But we Americans + just gotta have room. I want to be able to look at a hilltop an' know it's + my land, and know it's my land down the other side an' up the next + hilltop, an' know that over beyond that, down alongside some creek, my + mares are most likely grazin', an' their little colts grazin' with 'em or + kickin' up their heels. You know, there's money in raisin' horses—especially + the big workhorses that run to eighteen hundred an' two thousand pounds. + They're payin' for 'em, in the cities, every day in the year, seven an' + eight hundred a pair, matched geldings, four years old. Good pasture an' + plenty of it, in this kind of a climate, is all they need, along with some + sort of shelter an' a little hay in long spells of bad weather. I never + thought of it before, but let me tell you that this ranch proposition is + beginnin' to look good to ME.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was all excitement. Here was new information on the cherished + subject, and, best of all, Billy was the authority. Still better, he was + taking an interest himself. + </p> + <p> + “There'll be room for that and for everything on a quarter section,” she + encouraged. + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing. Around the house we'll have vegetables an' fruit and chickens + an' everything, just like the Porchugeeze, an' plenty of room beside to + walk around an' range the horses.” + </p> + <p> + “But won't the colts cost money, Billy?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much. The cobblestones eat horses up fast. That's where I'll get my + brood mares, from the ones knocked out by the city. I know THAT end of it. + They sell 'em at auction, an' they're good for years an' years, only no + good on the cobbles any more.” + </p> + <p> + There ensued a long pause. In the dying fire both were busy visioning the + farm to be. + </p> + <p> + “It's pretty still, ain't it?” Billy said, rousing himself at last. He + gazed about him. “An' black as a stack of black cats.” He shivered, + buttoned his coat, and tossed several sticks on the fire. “Just the same, + it's the best kind of a climate in the world. Many's the time, when I was + a little kid, I've heard my father brag about California's bein' a blanket + climate. He went East, once, an' staid a summer an' a winter, an' got all + he wanted. Never again for him.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother said there never was such a land for climate. How wonderful it + must have seemed to them after crossing the deserts and mountains. They + called it the land of milk and honey. The ground was so rich that all they + needed to do was scratch it, Cady used to say.” + </p> + <p> + “And wild game everywhere,” Billy contributed. “Mr. Roberts, the one that + adopted my father, he drove cattle from the San Joaquin to the Columbia + river. He had forty men helpin' him, an' all they took along was powder + an' salt. They lived off the game they shot.” + </p> + <p> + “The hills were full of deer, and my mother saw whole herds of elk around + Santa Rosa. Some time we'll go there, Billy. I've always wanted to.” + </p> + <p> + “And when my father was a young man, somewhere up north of Sacramento, in + a creek called Cache Slough, the tules was full of grizzlies. He used to + go in an' shoot 'em. An' when they caught 'em in the open, he an' the + Mexicans used to ride up an' rope them—catch them with lariats, you + know. He said a horse that wasn't afraid of grizzlies fetched ten times as + much as any other horse. An' panthers!—all the old folks called 'em + painters an' catamounts an' varmints. Yes, we'll go to Santa Rosa some + time. Maybe we won't like that land down the coast, an' have to keep on + hikin'.” + </p> + <p> + By this time the fire had died down, and Saxon had finished brushing and + braiding her hair. Their bed-going preliminaries were simple, and in a few + minutes they were side by side under the blankets. Saxon closed her eyes, + but could not sleep. On the contrary, she had never been more wide awake. + She had never slept out of doors in her life, and by no exertion of will + could she overcome the strangeness of it. In addition, she was stiffened + from the long trudge, and the sand, to her surprise, was anything but + soft. An hour passed. She tried to believe that Billy was asleep, but felt + certain he was not. The sharp crackle of a dying ember startled her. She + was confident that Billy had moved slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Billy,” she whispered, “are you awake?” + </p> + <p> + “Yep,” came his low answer, “—an' thinkin' this sand is harder'n a + cement floor. It's one on me, all right. But who'd a-thought it?” + </p> + <p> + Both shifted their postures slightly, but vain was the attempt to escape + from the dull, aching contact of the sand. + </p> + <p> + An abrupt, metallic, whirring noise of some nearby cricket gave Saxon + another startle. She endured the sound for some minutes, until Billy broke + forth. + </p> + <p> + “Say, that gets my goat whatever it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it's a rattlesnake?” she asked, maintaining a calmness she + did not feel. + </p> + <p> + “Just what I've been thinkin'.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw two, in the window of Bowman's Drug Store. An' you know, Billy, + they've got a hollow fang, and when they stick it into you the poison runs + down the hollow.” + </p> + <p> + “Br-r-r-r,” Billy shivered, in fear that was not altogether mockery. + “Certain death, everybody says, unless you're a Bosco. Remember him?” + </p> + <p> + “He eats 'em alive! He eats 'em alive! Bosco! Bosco!” Saxon responded, + mimicking the cry of a side-show barker. “Just the same, all Bosco's + rattlers had the poison-sacs cut outa them. They must a-had. Gee! It's + funny I can't get asleep. I wish that damned thing'd close its trap. I + wonder if it is a rattlesnake.” + </p> + <p> + “No; it can't be,” Saxon decided. “All the rattlesnakes are killed off + long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Then where did Bosco get his?” Billy demanded with unimpeachable logic. + “An' why don't you get to sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it's all new, I guess,” was her reply. “You see, I never camped + out in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither did I. An' until now I always thought it was a lark.” He changed + his position on the maddening sand and sighed heavily. “But we'll get used + to it in time, I guess. What other folks can do, we can, an' a mighty lot + of 'em has camped out. It's all right. Here we are, free an' independent, + no rent to pay, our own bosses—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped abruptly. From somewhere in the brush came an intermittent + rustling. When they tried to locate it, it mysteriously ceased, and when + the first hint of drowsiness stole upon them the rustling as mysteriously + recommenced. + </p> + <p> + “It sounds like something creeping up on us,” Saxon suggested, snuggling + closer to Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it ain't a wild Indian, at all events,” was the best he could offer + in the way of comfort. He yawned deliberately. “Aw, shucks! What's there + to be scared of? Think of what all the pioneers went through.” + </p> + <p> + Several minutes later his shoulders began to shake, and Saxon knew he was + giggling. + </p> + <p> + “I was just thinkin' of a yarn my father used to tell about,” he + explained. “It was about old Susan Kleghorn, one of the Oregon pioneer + women. Wall-Eyed Susan, they used to call her; but she could shoot to beat + the band. Once, on the Plains, the wagon train she was in, was attacked by + Indians. They got all the wagons in a circle, an' all hands an' the oxen + inside, an' drove the Indians off, killin' a lot of 'em. They was too + strong that way, so what'd the Indians do, to draw 'em out into the open, + but take two white girls, captured from some other train, an' begin to + torture 'em. They done it just out of gunshot, but so everybody could see. + The idea was that the white men couldn't stand it, an' would rush out, an' + then the Indians'd have 'em where they wanted 'em. + </p> + <p> + “The white men couldn't do a thing. If they rushed out to save the girls, + they'd be finished, an' then the Indians'd rush the train. It meant death + to everybody. But what does old Susan do, but get out an old, + long-barreled Kentucky rifle. She rams down about three times the regular + load of powder, takes aim at a big buck that's pretty busy at the + torturin', an' bangs away. It knocked her clean over backward, an' her + shoulder was lame all the rest of the way to Oregon, but she dropped the + big Indian deado. He never knew what struck 'm. + </p> + <p> + “But that wasn't the yarn I wanted to tell. It seems old Susan liked John + Barleycorn. She'd souse herself to the ears every chance she got. An' her + sons an' daughters an' the old man had to be mighty careful not to leave + any around where she could get hands on it.” + </p> + <p> + “On what?” asked Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “On John Barleycorn.—Oh, you ain't on to that. It's the old + fashioned name for whisky. Well, one day all the folks was goin' away—that + was over somewhere at a place called Bodega, where they'd settled after + comin' down from Oregon. An' old Susan claimed her rheumatics was hurtin' + her an' so she couldn't go. But the family was on. There was a two-gallon + demijohn of whisky in the house. They said all right, but before they left + they sent one of the grandsons to climb a big tree in the barnyard, where + he tied the demijohn sixty feet from the ground. Just the same, when they + come home that night they found Susan on the kitchen floor dead to the + world.” + </p> + <p> + “And she'd climbed the tree after all,” Saxon hazarded, when Billy had + shown no inclination of going on. + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life,” he laughed jubilantly. “All she'd done was to put a + washtub on the ground square under the demijohn. Then she got out her old + rifle an' shot the demijohn to smithereens, an' all she had to do was lap + the whisky outa the tub.” + </p> + <p> + Again Saxon was drowsing, when the rustling sound was heard, this time + closer. To her excited apprehension there was something stealthy about it, + and she imagined a beast of prey creeping upon them. “Billy,” she + whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm a-listenin' to it,” came his wide awake answer. + </p> + <p> + “Mightn't that be a panther, or maybe... a wildcat?” + </p> + <p> + “It can't be. All the varmints was killed off long ago. This is peaceable + farmin' country.” + </p> + <p> + A vagrant breeze sighed through the trees and made Saxon shiver. The + mysterious cricket-noise ceased with suspicious abruptness. Then, from the + rustling noise, ensued a dull but heavy thump that caused both Saxon and + Billy to sit up in the blankets. There were no further sounds, and they + lay down again, though the very silence now seemed ominous. + </p> + <p> + “Huh,” Billy muttered with relief. “As though I don't know what it was. It + was a rabbit. I've heard tame ones bang their hind feet down on the floor + that way.” + </p> + <p> + In vain Saxon tried to win sleep. The sand grew harder with the passage of + time. Her flesh and her bones ached from contact with it. And, though her + reason flouted any possibility of wild dangers, her fancy went on + picturing them with unflagging zeal. + </p> + <p> + A new sound commenced. It was neither a rustling nor a rattling, and it + tokened some large body passing through the brush. Sometimes twigs + crackled and broke, and, once, they heard bush-branches press aside and + spring back into place. + </p> + <p> + “If that other thing was a panther, this is an elephant,” was Billy's + uncheering opinion. “It's got weight. Listen to that. An' it's comin' + nearer.” + </p> + <p> + There were frequent stoppages, then the sounds would begin again, always + louder, always closer. Billy sat up in the blankets once more, passing one + arm around Saxon, who had also sat up. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't slept a wink,” he complained. “—There it goes again. I wish + I could see.” + </p> + <p> + “It makes a noise big enough for a grizzly,” Saxon chattered, partly from + nervousness, partly from the chill of the night. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't no grasshopper, that's sure.” + </p> + <p> + Billy started to leave the blankets, but Saxon caught his arm. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I ain't scairt none,” he answered. “But, honest to God, this is + gettin' on my nerves. If I don't find what that thing is, it'll give me + the willies. I'm just goin' to reconnoiter. I won't go close.” + </p> + <p> + So intensely dark was the night, that the moment Billy crawled beyond the + reach of her hand he was lost to sight. She sat and waited. The sound had + ceased, though she could follow Billy's progress by the cracking of dry + twigs and limbs. After a few moments he returned and crawled under the + blankets. + </p> + <p> + “I scared it away, I guess. It's got better ears, an' when it heard me + comin' it skinned out most likely. I did my dangdest, too, not to make a + sound.—O Lord, there it goes again.” + </p> + <p> + They sat up. Saxon nudged Billy. + </p> + <p> + “There,” she warned, in the faintest of whispers. “I can hear it + breathing. It almost made a snort.” + </p> + <p> + A dead branch cracked loudly, and so near at hand, that both of them + jumped shamelessly. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't goin' to stand any more of its foolin',” Billy declared + wrathfully. “It'll be on top of us if I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” she queried anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Yell the top of my head off. I'll get a fall outa whatever it is.” + </p> + <p> + He drew a deep breath and emitted a wild yell. + </p> + <p> + The result far exceeded any expectation he could have entertained, and + Saxon's heart leaped up in sheer panic. On the instant the darkness + erupted into terrible sound and movement. There were trashings of + underbrush and lunges and plunges of heavy bodies in different directions. + Fortunately for their ease of mind, all these sounds receded and died + away. + </p> + <p> + “An' what d'ye think of that?” Billy broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Gee! all the fight fans used to say I was scairt of nothin'. Just the + same I'm glad they ain't seein' me to-night.” + </p> + <p> + He groaned. “I've got all I want of that blamed sand. I'm goin' to get up + and start the fire.” + </p> + <p> + This was easy. Under the ashes were live embers which quickly ignited the + wood he threw on. A few stars were peeping out in the misty zenith. He + looked up at them, deliberated, and started to move away. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going now?” Saxon called. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've got an idea,” he replied noncommittally, and walked boldly away + beyond the circle of the firelight. + </p> + <p> + Saxon sat with the blankets drawn closely under her chin, and admired his + courage. He had not even taken the hatchet, and he was going in the + direction in which the disturbance had died away. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later he came back chuckling. + </p> + <p> + “The sons-of-guns, they got my goat all right. I'll be scairt of my own + shadow next.—What was they? Huh! You couldn't guess in a thousand + years. A bunch of half-grown calves, an' they was worse scairt than us.” + </p> + <p> + He smoked a cigarette by the fire, then rejoined Saxon under the blankets. + </p> + <p> + “A hell of a farmer I'll make,” he chafed, “when a lot of little calves + can scare the stuffin' outa me. I bet your father or mine wouldn't + a-batted an eye. The stock has gone to seed, that's what it has.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it hasn't,” Saxon defended. “The stock is all right. We're just as + able as our folks ever were, and we're healthier on top of it. We've been + brought up different, that's all. We've lived in cities all our lives. We + know the city sounds and thugs, but we don't know the country ones. Our + training has been unnatural, that's the whole thing in a nutshell. Now + we're going in for natural training. Give us a little time, and we'll + sleep as sound out of doors as ever your father or mine did.” + </p> + <p> + “But not on sand,” Billy groaned. + </p> + <p> + “We won't try. That's one thing, for good and all, we've learned the very + first time. And now hush up and go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Their fears had vanished, but the sand, receiving now their undivided + attention, multiplied its unyieldingness. Billy dozed off first, and + roosters were crowing somewhere in the distance when Saxon's eyes closed. + But they could not escape the sand, and their sleep was fitful. + </p> + <p> + At the first gray of dawn, Billy crawled out and built a roaring fire. + Saxon drew up to it shiveringly. They were hollow-eyed and weary. Saxon + began to laugh. Billy joined sulkily, then brightened up as his eyes + chanced upon the coffee pot, which he immediately put on to boil. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + It is forty miles from Oakland to San Jose, and Saxon and Billy + accomplished it in three easy days. No more obliging and angrily garrulous + linemen were encountered, and few were the opportunities for conversation + with chance wayfarers. Numbers of tramps, carrying rolls of blankets, were + met, traveling both north and south on the county road; and from talks + with them Saxon quickly learned that they knew little or nothing about + farming. They were mostly old men, feeble or besotted, and all they knew + was work—where jobs might be good, where jobs had been good; but the + places they mentioned were always a long way off. One thing she did glean + from them, and that was that the district she and Billy were passing + through was “small-farmer” country in which labor was rarely hired, and + that when it was it generally was Portuguese. + </p> + <p> + The farmers themselves were unfriendly. They drove by Billy and Saxon, + often with empty wagons, but never invited them to ride. When chance + offered and Saxon did ask questions, they looked her over curiously, or + suspiciously, and gave ambiguous and facetious answers. + </p> + <p> + “They ain't Americans, damn them,” Billy fretted. “Why, in the old days + everybody was friendly to everybody.” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon remembered her last talk with her brother. + </p> + <p> + “It's the spirit of the times, Billy. The spirit has changed. Besides, + these people are too near. Wait till we get farther away from the cities, + then we'll find them more friendly.” + </p> + <p> + “A measly lot these ones are,” he sneered. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they've a right to be,” she laughed. “For all you know, more than + one of the scabs you've slugged were sons of theirs.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could only hope so,” Billy said fervently. “But I don't care if I + owned ten thousand acres, any man hikin' with his blankets might be just + as good a man as me, an' maybe better, for all I'd know. I'd give 'm the + benefit of the doubt, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Billy asked for work, at first, indiscriminately, later, only at the + larger farms. The unvarying reply was that there was no work. A few said + there would be plowing after the first rains. Here and there, in a small + way, dry plowing was going on. But in the main the farmers were waiting. + </p> + <p> + “But do you know how to plow?” Saxon asked Billy. + </p> + <p> + “No; but I guess it ain't much of a trick to turn. Besides, next man I see + plowing I'm goin' to get a lesson from.” + </p> + <p> + In the mid-afternoon of the second day his opportunity came. He climbed on + top of the fence of a small field and watched an old man plow round and + round it. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, shucks, just as easy as easy,” Billy commented scornfully. “If an old + codger like that can handle one plow, I can handle two.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on and try it,” Saxon urged. + </p> + <p> + “What's the good?” + </p> + <p> + “Cold feet,” she jeered, but with a smiling face. “All you have to do is + ask him. All he can do is say no. And what if he does? You faced the + Chicago Terror twenty rounds without flinching.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, but it's different,” he demurred, then dropped to the ground inside + the fence. “Two to one the old geezer turns me down.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he won't. Just tell him you want to learn, and ask him if he'll let + you drive around a few times. Tell him it won't cost him anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! If he gets chesty I'll take his blamed plow away from him.” + </p> + <p> + From the top of the fence, but too far away to hear, Saxon watched the + colloquy. After several minutes, the lines were transferred to Billy's + neck, the handles to his hands. Then the team started, and the old man, + delivering a rapid fire of instructions, walked alongside of Billy. When a + few turns had been made, the farmer crossed the plowed strip to Saxon, and + joined her on the rail. + </p> + <p> + “He's plowed before, a little mite, ain't he?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Never in his life. But he knows how to drive horses.” + </p> + <p> + “He showed he wasn't all greenhorn, an' he learns pretty quick.” Here the + farmer chuckled and cut himself a chew from a plug of tobacco. “I reckon + he won't tire me out a-settin' here.” + </p> + <p> + The unplowed area grew smaller and smaller, but Billy evinced no intention + of quitting, and his audience on the fence was deep in conversation. + Saxon's questions flew fast and furious, and she was not long in + concluding that the old man bore a striking resemblance to the description + the lineman had given of his father. + </p> + <p> + Billy persisted till the field was finished, and the old man invited him + and Saxon to stop for the night. There was a disused outbuilding where + they would find a small cook stove, he said, and also he would give them + fresh milk. Further, if Saxon wanted to test HER desire for farming, she + could try her hand on the cow. + </p> + <p> + The milking lesson did not prove as successful as Billy's plowing; but + when he had mocked sufficiently, Saxon challenged him to try, and he + failed as grievously as she. Saxon had eyes and questions for everything, + and it did not take her long to realize that she was looking upon the + other side of the farming shield. Farm and farmer were old-fashioned. + There was no intensive cultivation. There was too much land too little + farmed. Everything was slipshod. House and barn and outbuildings were fast + falling into ruin. The front yard was weed-grown. There was no vegetable + garden. The small orchard was old, sickly, and neglected. The trees were + twisted, spindling, and overgrown with a gray moss. The sons and daughters + were away in the cities, Saxon found out. One daughter had married a + doctor, the other was a teacher in the state normal school; one son was a + locomotive engineer, the second was an architect, and the third was a + police court reporter in San Francisco. On occasion, the father said, they + helped out the old folks. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” Saxon asked Billy as he smoked his after-supper + cigarette. + </p> + <p> + His shoulders went up in a comprehensive shrug. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! That's easy. The old geezer's like his orchard—covered with + moss. It's plain as the nose on your face, after San Leandro, that he + don't know the first thing. An' them horses. It'd be a charity to him, an' + a savin' of money for him, to take 'em out an' shoot 'em both. You bet you + don't see the Porchugeeze with horses like them. An' it ain't a case of + bein' proud, or puttin' on side, to have good horses. It's brass tacks an' + business. It pays. That's the game. Old horses eat more 'n young ones to + keep in condition an' they can't do the same amount of work. But you bet + it costs just as much to shoe them. An' his is scrub on top of it. Every + minute he has them horses he's losin' money. You oughta see the way they + work an' figure horses in the city.” + </p> + <p> + They slept soundly, and, after an early breakfast, prepared to start. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to give you a couple of days' work,” the old man regretted, at + parting, “but I can't see it. The ranch just about keeps me and the old + woman, now that the children are gone. An' then it don't always. Seems + times have been bad for a long spell now. Ain't never been the same since + Grover Cleveland.” + </p> + <p> + Early in the afternoon, on the outskirts of San Jose, Saxon called a halt. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going right in there and talk,” she declared, “unless they set the + dogs on me. That's the prettiest place yet, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Billy, who was always visioning hills and spacious ranges for his horses, + mumbled unenthusiastic assent. + </p> + <p> + “And the vegetables! Look at them! And the flowers growing along the + borders! That beats tomato plants in wrapping paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't see the sense of it,” Billy objected. “Where's the money come in + from flowers that take up the ground that good vegetables might be growin' + on?” + </p> + <p> + “And that's what I'm going to find out.” She pointed to a woman, stooped + to the ground and working with a trowel; in front of the tiny bungalow. “I + don't know what she's like, but at the worst she can only be mean. See! + She's looking at us now. Drop your load alongside of mine, and come on + in.” + </p> + <p> + Billy slung the blankets from his shoulder to the ground, but elected to + wait. As Saxon went up the narrow, flower-bordered walk, she noted two men + at work among the vegetables—one an old Chinese, the other old and + of some dark-eyed foreign breed. Here were neatness, efficiency, and + intensive cultivation with a vengeance—even her untrained eye could + see that. The woman stood up and turned from her flowers, and Saxon saw + that she was middle-aged, slender, and simply but nicely dressed. She wore + glasses, and Saxon's reading of her face was that it was kind but nervous + looking. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want anything to-day,” she said, before Saxon could speak, + administering the rebuff with a pleasant smile. + </p> + <p> + Saxon groaned inwardly over the black-covered telescope basket. Evidently + the woman had seen her put it down. + </p> + <p> + “We're not peddling,” she explained quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am sorry for the mistake.” + </p> + <p> + This time the woman's smile was even pleasanter, and she waited for Saxon + to state her errand. + </p> + <p> + Nothing loath, Saxon took it at a plunge. + </p> + <p> + “We're looking for land. We want to be farmers, you know, and before we + get the land we want to find out what kind of land we want. And seeing + your pretty place has just filled me up with questions. You see, we don't + know anything about farming. We've lived in the city all our life, and now + we've given it up and are going to live in the country and be happy.” + </p> + <p> + She paused. The woman's face seemed to grow quizzical, though the + pleasantness did not abate. + </p> + <p> + “But how do you know you will be happy in the country?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. All I do know is that poor people can't be happy in the + city where they have labor troubles all the time. If they can't be happy + in the country, then there's no happiness anywhere, and that doesn't seem + fair, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is sound reasoning, my dear, as far as it goes. But you must remember + that there are many poor people in the country and many unhappy people.” + </p> + <p> + “You look neither poor nor unhappy,” Saxon challenged. + </p> + <p> + “You ARE a dear.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon saw the pleased flush in the other's face, which lingered as she + went on. + </p> + <p> + “But still, I may be peculiarly qualified to live and succeed in the + country. As you say yourself, you've spent your life in the city. You + don't know the first thing about the country. It might even break your + heart.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon's mind went back to the terrible months in the Pine street cottage. + </p> + <p> + “I know already that the city will break my heart. Maybe the country will, + too, but just the same it's my only chance, don't you see. It's that or + nothing. Besides, our folks before us were all of the country. It seems + the more natural way. And better, here I am, which proves that 'way down + inside I must want the country, must, as you call it, be peculiarly + qualified for the country, or else I wouldn't be here.” + </p> + <p> + The other nodded approval, and looked at her with growing interest. + </p> + <p> + “That young man—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Is my husband. He was a teamster until the big strike came. My name is + Roberts, Saxon Roberts, and my husband is William Roberts.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am Mrs. Mortimer,” the other said, with a bow of acknowledgment. “I + am a widow. And now, if you will ask your husband in, I shall try to + answer some of your many questions. Tell him to put the bundles inside the + gate.. .. And now what are all the questions you are filled with?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all kinds. How does it pay? How did you manage it all? How much did + the land cost? Did you build that beautiful house? How much do you pay the + men? How did you learn all the different kinds of things, and which grew + best and which paid best? What is the best way to sell them? How do you + sell them?” Saxon paused and laughed. “Oh, I haven't begun yet. Why do you + have flowers on the borders everywhere? I looked over the Portuguese farms + around San Leandro, but they never mixed flowers and vegetables.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer held up her hand. “Let me answer the last first. It is the + key to almost everything.” + </p> + <p> + But Billy arrived, and the explanation was deferred until after his + introduction. + </p> + <p> + “The flowers caught your eyes, didn't they, my dear?” Mrs. Mortimer + resumed. “And brought you in through my gate and right up to me. And + that's the very reason they were planted with the vegetables—to + catch eyes. You can't imagine how many eyes they have caught, nor how many + owners of eyes they have lured inside my gate. This is a good road, and is + a very popular short country drive for townsfolk. Oh, no; I've never had + any luck with automobiles. They can't see anything for dust. But I began + when nearly everybody still used carriages. The townswomen would drive by. + My flowers, and then my place, would catch their eyes. They would tell + their drivers to stop. And—well, somehow, I managed to be in the + front within speaking distance. Usually I succeeded in inviting them in to + see my flowers... and vegetables, of course. Everything was sweet, clean, + pretty. It all appealed. And—” Mrs. Mortimer shrugged her shoulders. + “It is well known that the stomach sees through the eyes. The thought of + vegetables growing among flowers pleased their fancy. They wanted my + vegetables. They must have them. And they did, at double the market price, + which they were only too glad to pay. You see, I became the fashion, or a + fad, in a small way. Nobody lost. The vegetables were certainly good, as + good as any on the market and often fresher. And, besides, my customers + killed two birds with one stone; for they were pleased with themselves for + philanthropic reasons. Not only did they obtain the finest and freshest + possible vegetables, but at the same time they were happy with the + knowledge that they were helping a deserving widow-woman. Yes, and it gave + a certain tone to their establishments to be able to say they bought Mrs. + Mortimer's vegetables. But that's too big a side to go into. In short, my + little place became a show place—anywhere to go, for a drive or + anything, you know, when time has to be killed. And it became noised about + who I was, and who my husband had been, what I had been. Some of the + townsladies I had known personally in the old days. They actually worked + for my success. And then, too, I used to serve tea. My patrons became my + guests for the time being. I still serve it, when they drive out to show + me off to their friends. So you see, the flowers are one of the ways I + succeeded.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was glowing with appreciation, but Mrs. Mortimer, glancing at Billy, + noted not entire approval. His blue eyes were clouded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, out with it,” she encouraged. “What are you thinking?” + </p> + <p> + To Saxon's surprise, he answered directly, and to her double surprise, his + criticism was of a nature which had never entered her head. + </p> + <p> + “It's just a trick,” Billy expounded. “That's what I was gettin' at—” + </p> + <p> + “But a paying trick,” Mrs. Mortimer interrupted, her eyes dancing and + vivacious behind the glasses. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and no,” Billy said stubbornly, speaking in his slow, deliberate + fashion. “If every farmer was to mix flowers an' vegetables, then every + farmer would get double the market price, an' then there wouldn't be any + double market price. Everything'd be as it was before.” + </p> + <p> + “You are opposing a theory to a fact,” Mrs. Mortimer stated. “The fact is + that all the farmers do not do it. The fact is that I do receive double + the price. You can't get away from that.” + </p> + <p> + Billy was unconvinced, though unable to reply. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same,” he muttered, with a slow shake of the head, “I don't get + the hang of it. There's something wrong so far as we're concerned—my + wife an' me, I mean. Maybe I'll get hold of it after a while.” + </p> + <p> + “And in the meantime, we'll look around,” Mrs. Mortimer invited. “I want + to show you everything, and tell you how I make it go. Afterward, we'll + sit down, and I'll tell you about the beginning. You see—” she bent + her gaze on Saxon—“I want you thoroughly to understand that you can + succeed in the country if you go about it right. I didn't know a thing + about it when I began, and I didn't have a fine big man like yours. I was + all alone. But I'll tell you about that.” + </p> + <p> + For the next hour, among vegetables, berry-bushes and fruit trees, Saxon + stored her brain with a huge mass of information to be digested at her + leisure. Billy, too, was interested, but he left the talking to Saxon, + himself rarely asking a question. At the rear of the bungalow, where + everything was as clean and orderly as the front, they were shown through + the chicken yard. Here, in different runs, were kept several hundred small + and snow-white hens. + </p> + <p> + “White Leghorns,” said Mrs. Mortimer. “You have no idea what they netted + me this year. I never keep a hen a moment past the prime of her laying + period—” + </p> + <p> + “Just what I was tellin' you, Saxon, about horses,” Billy broke in. + </p> + <p> + “And by the simplest method of hatching them at the right time, which not + one farmer in ten thousand ever dreams of doing, I have them laying in the + winter when most hens stop laying and when eggs are highest. Another + thing: I have my special customers. They pay me ten cents a dozen more + than the market price, because my specialty is one-day eggs.” + </p> + <p> + Here she chanced to glance at Billy, and guessed that he was still + wrestling with his problem. + </p> + <p> + “Same old thing?” she queried. + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “Same old thing. If every farmer delivered day-old eggs, there + wouldn't be no ten cents higher 'n the top price. They'd be no better off + than they was before.” + </p> + <p> + “But the eggs would be one-day eggs, all the eggs would be one-day eggs, + you mustn't forget that,” Mrs. Mortimer pointed out. + </p> + <p> + “But that don't butter no toast for my wife an' me,” he objected. “An' + that's what I've been tryin' to get the hang of, an' now I got it. You + talk about theory an' fact. Ten cents higher than top price is a theory to + Saxon an' me. The fact is, we ain't got no eggs, no chickens, an' no land + for the chickens to run an' lay eggs on.” + </p> + <p> + Their hostess nodded sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “An' there's something else about this outfit of yourn that I don't get + the hang of,” he pursued. “I can't just put my finger on it, but it's + there all right.” + </p> + <p> + They were shown over the cattery, the piggery, the milkers, and the + kennelry, as Mrs. Mortimer called her live stock departments. None was + large. All were moneymakers, she assured them, and rattled off her profits + glibly. She took their breaths away by the prices given and received for + pedigreed Persians, pedigreed Ohio Improved Chesters, pedigreed Scotch + collies, and pedigreed Jerseys. For the milk of the last she also had a + special private market, receiving five cents more a quart than was fetched + by the best dairy milk. Billy was quick to point out the difference + between the look of her orchard and the look of the orchard they had + inspected the previous afternoon, and Mrs. Mortimer showed him scores of + other differences, many of which he was compelled to accept on faith. + </p> + <p> + Then she told them of another industry, her home-made jams and jellies, + always contracted for in advance, and at prices dizzyingly beyond the + regular market. They sat in comfortable rattan chairs on the veranda, + while she told the story of how she had drummed up the jam and jelly + trade, dealing only with the one best restaurant and one best club in San + Jose. To the proprietor and the steward she had gone with her samples, in + long discussions beaten down their opposition, overcome their reluctance, + and persuaded the proprietor, in particular, to make a “special” of her + wares, to boom them quietly with his patrons, and, above all, to charge + stiffly for dishes and courses in which they appeared. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the recital Billy's eyes were moody with dissatisfaction. Mrs. + Mortimer saw, and waited. + </p> + <p> + “And now, begin at the beginning,” Saxon begged. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Mortimer refused unless they agreed to stop for supper. Saxon + frowned Billy's reluctance away, and accepted for both of them. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” Mrs. Mortimer took up her tale, “in the beginning I was a + greenhorn, city born and bred. All I knew of the country was that it was a + place to go to for vacations, and I always went to springs and mountain + and seaside resorts. I had lived among books almost all my life. I was + head librarian of the Doncaster Library for years. Then I married Mr. + Mortimer. He was a book man, a professor in San Miguel University. He had + a long sickness, and when he died there was nothing left. Even his life + insurance was eaten into before I could be free of creditors. As for + myself, I was worn out, on the verge of nervous prostration, fit for + nothing. I had five thousand dollars left, however, and, without going + into the details, I decided to go farming. I found this place, in a + delightful climate, close to San Jose—the end of the electric line + is only a quarter of a mile on—and I bought it. I paid two thousand + cash, and gave a mortgage for two thousand. It cost two hundred an acre, + you see.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty acres!” Saxon cried. + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't that pretty small?” Billy ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Too large, oceans too large. I leased ten acres of it the first thing. + And it's still leased after all this time. Even the ten I'd retained was + much too large for a long, long time. It's only now that I'm beginning to + feel a tiny mite crowded.” + </p> + <p> + “And ten acres has supported you an' two hired men?” Billy demanded, + amazed. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer clapped her hands delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “Listen. I had been a librarian. I knew my way among books. First of all + I'd read everything written on the subject, and subscribed to some of the + best farm magazines and papers. And you ask if my ten acres have supported + me and two hired men. Let me tell you. I have four hired men. The ten + acres certainly must support them, as it supports Hannah—she's a + Swedish widow who runs the house and who is a perfect Trojan during the + jam and jelly season—and Hannah's daughter, who goes to school and + lends a hand, and my nephew whom I have taken to raise and educate. Also, + the ten acres have come pretty close to paying for the whole twenty, as + well as for this house, and all the outbuildings, and all the pedigreed + stock.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon remembered what the young lineman had said about the Portuguese. + </p> + <p> + “The ten acres didn't do a bit of it,” she cried. “It was your head that + did it all, and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + “And that's the point, my dear. It shows the right kind of person can + succeed in the country. Remember, the soil is generous. But it must be + treated generously, and that is something the old style American farmer + can't get into his head. So it IS head that counts. Even when his starving + acres have convinced him of the need for fertilizing, he can't see the + difference between cheap fertilizer and good fertilizer.” + </p> + <p> + “And that's something I want to know about,” Saxon exclaimed. “And I'll + tell you all I know, but, first, you must be very tired. I noticed you + were limping. Let me take you in—never mind your bundles; I'll send + Chang for them.” + </p> + <p> + To Saxon, with her innate love of beauty and charm in all personal things, + the interior of the bungalow was a revelation. Never before had she been + inside a middle class home, and what she saw not only far exceeded + anything she had imagined, but was vastly different from her imaginings. + Mrs. Mortimer noted her sparkling glances which took in everything, and + went out of her way to show Saxon around, doing it under the guise of + gleeful boastings, stating the costs of the different materials, + explaining how she had done things with her own hands, such as staining + the doors, weathering the bookcases, and putting together the big Mission + Morris chair. Billy stepped gingerly behind, and though it never entered + his mind to ape to the manner born, he succeeded in escaping conspicuous + awkwardness, even at the table where he and Saxon had the unique + experience of being waited on in a private house by a servant. + </p> + <p> + “If you'd only come along next year,” Mrs. Mortimer mourned; “then I + should have had the spare room I had planned—” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” Billy spoke up; “thank you just the same. But we'll + catch the electric cars into San Jose an' get a room.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer was still disturbed at her inability to put them up for the + night, and Saxon changed the conversation by pleading to be told more. + </p> + <p> + “You remember, I told you I'd paid only two thousand down on the land,” + Mrs. Mortimer complied. “That left me three thousand to experiment with. + Of course, all my friends and relatives prophesied failure. And, of + course, I made my mistakes, plenty of them, but I was saved from still + more by the thorough study I had made and continued to make.” She + indicated shelves of farm books and files of farm magazines that lined the + walls. “And I continued to study. I was resolved to be up to date, and I + sent for all the experiment station reports. I went almost entirely on the + basis that whatever the old type farmer did was wrong, and, do you know, + in doing that I was not so far wrong myself. It's almost unthinkable, the + stupidity of the old-fashioned farmers. Oh, I consulted with them, talked + things over with them, challenged their stereotyped ways, demanded + demonstration of their dogmatic and prejudiced beliefs, and quite + succeeded in convincing the last of them that I was a fool and doomed to + come to grief.” + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't! You didn't!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer smiled gratefully. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes, even now, I'm amazed that I didn't. But I came of a + hard-headed stock which had been away from the soil long enough to gain a + new perspective. When a thing satisfied my judgment, I did it forthwith + and downright, no matter how extravagant it seemed. Take the old orchard. + Worthless! Worse than worthless! Old Calkins nearly died of heart disease + when he saw the devastation I had wreaked upon it. And look at it now. + There was an old rattletrap ruin where the bungalow now stands. I put up + with it, but I immediately pulled down the cow barn, the pigsties, the + chicken houses, everything—made a clean sweep. They shook their + heads and groaned when they saw such wanton waste by a widow struggling to + make a living. But worse was to come. They were paralyzed when I told them + the price of the three beautiful O.I.C.'s—pigs, you know, Chesters—which + I bought, sixty dollars for the three, and only just weaned. Then I + hustled the nondescript chickens to market, replacing them with the White + Leghorns. The two scrub cows that came with the place I sold to the + butcher for thirty dollars each, paying two hundred and fifty for two + blue-blooded Jersey heifers... and coined money on the exchange, while + Calkins and the rest went right on with their scrubs that couldn't give + enough milk to pay for their board.” + </p> + <p> + Billy nodded approval. + </p> + <p> + “Remember what I told you about horses,” he reiterated to Saxon; and, + assisted by his hostess, he gave a very creditable disquisition on + horseflesh and its management from a business point of view. + </p> + <p> + When he went out to smoke Mrs. Mortimer led Saxon into talking about + herself and Billy, and betrayed not the slightest shock when she learned + of his prizefighting and scab-slugging proclivities. + </p> + <p> + “He's a splendid young man, and good,” she assured Saxon. “His face shows + that. And, best of all, he loves you and is proud of you. You can't + imagine how I have enjoyed watching the way he looks at you, especially + when you are talking. He respects your judgment. Why, he must, for here he + is with you on this pilgrimage which is wholly your idea.” Mrs. Mortimer + sighed. “You are very fortunate, dear child, very fortunate. And you don't + yet know what a man's brain is. Wait till he is quite fired with + enthusiasm for your project. You will be astounded by the way he takes + hold. You will have to exert yourself to keep up with him. In the + meantime, you must lead. Remember, he is city bred. It will be a struggle + to wean him from the only life he's known.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but he's disgusted with the city, too—” Saxon began. + </p> + <p> + “But not as you are. Love is not the whole of man, as it is of woman. The + city hurt you more than it hurt him. It was you who lost the dear little + babe. His interest, his connection, was no more than casual and incidental + compared with the depth and vividness of yours.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer turned her head to Billy, who was just entering. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the hang of what was bothering you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty close to it,” he answered, taking the indicated big Morris chair. + “It's this—” + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” Mrs. Mortimer checked him. “That is a beautiful, big, strong + chair, and so are you, at any rate big and strong, and your little wife is + very weary—no, no; sit down, it's your strength she needs. Yes, I + insist. Open your arms.” + </p> + <p> + And to him she led Saxon, and into his arms placed her. “Now, sir—and + you look delicious, the pair of you—register your objections to my + way of earning a living.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't your way,” Billy repudiated quickly. “Your way's all right. It's + great. What I'm trying to get at is that your way don't fit us. We + couldn't make a go of it your way. Why you had pull—well-to-do + acquaintances, people that knew you'd been a librarian an' your husband a + professor. An' you had....” Here he floundered a moment, seeking + definiteness for the idea he still vaguely grasped. “Well, you had a way + we couldn't have. You were educated, an'... an'—I don't know, I + guess you knew society ways an' business ways we couldn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear boy, you could learn what was necessary,” she contended. + </p> + <p> + Billy shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No. You don't quite get me. Let's take it this way. Just suppose it's me, + with jam an' jelly, a-wadin' into that swell restaurant like you did to + talk with the top guy. Why, I'd be outa place the moment I stepped into + his office. Worse'n that, I'd feel outa place. That'd make me have a chip + on my shoulder an' lookin' for trouble, which is a poor way to do + business. Then, too, I'd be thinkin' he was thinkin' I was a whole lot of + a husky to be peddlin' jam. What'd happen, I'd be chesty at the drop of + the hat. I'd be thinkin' he was thinkin' I was standin' on my foot, an' + I'd beat him to it in tellin' him he was standin' on HIS foot. Don't you + see? It's because I was raised that way. It'd be take it or leave it with + me, an' no jam sold.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say is true,” Mrs. Mortimer took up brightly. “But there is your + wife. Just look at her. She'd make an impression on any business man. He'd + be only too willing to listen to her.” + </p> + <p> + Billy stiffened, a forbidding expression springing into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What have I done now?” their hostess laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't got around yet to tradin' on my wife's looks,” he rumbled + gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “Right you are. The only trouble is that you, both of you, are fifty years + behind the times. You're old American. How you ever got here in the thick + of modern conditions is a miracle. You're Rip Van Winkles. Who ever heard, + in these degenerate times, of a young man and woman of the city putting + their blankets on their backs and starting out in search of land? Why, + it's the old Argonaut spirit. You're as like as peas in a pod to those who + yoked their oxen and held west to the lands beyond the sunset. I'll wager + your fathers and mothers, or grandfathers and grandmothers, were that very + stock.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon's eyes were glistening, and Billy's were friendly once more. Both + nodded their heads. + </p> + <p> + “I'm of the old stock myself,” Mrs. Mortimer went on proudly. “My + grandmother was one of the survivors of the Donner Party. My grandfather, + Jason Whitney, came around the Horn and took part in the raising of the + Bear Flag at Sonoma. He was at Monterey when John Marshall discovered gold + in Sutter's mill-race. One of the streets in San Francisco is named after + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” Billy put in. “Whitney Street. It's near Russian Hill. + Saxon's mother walked across the Plains.” + </p> + <p> + “And Billy's grandfather and grandmother were massacred by the Indians,” + Saxon contributed. “His father was a little baby boy, and lived with the + Indians, until captured by the whites. He didn't even know his name and + was adopted by a Mr. Roberts.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you two dear children, we're almost like relatives,” Mrs. Mortimer + beamed. “It's a breath of old times, alas! all forgotten in these fly-away + days. I am especially interested, because I've catalogued and read + everything covering those times. You—” she indicated Billy, “you are + historical, or at least your father is. I remember about him. The whole + thing is in Bancroft's History. It was the Modoc Indians. There were + eighteen wagons. Your father was the only survivor, a mere baby at the + time, with no knowledge of what happened. He was adopted by the leader of + the whites.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” said Billy. “It was the Modocs. His train must have ben + bound for Oregon. It was all wiped out. I wonder if you know anything + about Saxon's mother. She used to write poetry in the early days.” + </p> + <p> + “Was any of it printed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Saxon answered. “In the old San Jose papers.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you know any of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there's one beginning: + </p> + <p> + “'Sweet as the wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learned to + sing, And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notes echoing.'” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds familiar,” Mrs. Mortimer said, pondering. + </p> + <p> + “And there was another I remember that began: + </p> + <p> + “'I've stolen away from the crowd in the groves, Where the nude statues + stand, and the leaves point and shiver,'— + </p> + <p> + “And it run on like that. I don't understand it all. It was written to my + father—” + </p> + <p> + “A love poem!” Mrs. Mortimer broke in. “I remember it. Wait a minute.... + Da-da-dah, da-da-dah, da-da-dah, da-da—STANDS— + </p> + <p> + “'In the spray of a fountain, whose seed-amethysts Tremble lightly a + moment on bosom and hands, Then drip in their basin from bosom and + wrists.' + </p> + <p> + “I've never forgotten the drip of the seed-amethysts, though I don't + remember your mother's name.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Daisy—” Saxon began. + </p> + <p> + “No; Dayelle,” Mrs. Mortimer corrected with quickening recollection. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but nobody called her that.” + </p> + <p> + “But she signed it that way. What is the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “Daisy Wiley Brown.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer went to the bookshelves and quickly returned with a large, + soberly-bound volume. + </p> + <p> + “It's 'The Story of the Files,'” she explained. “Among other things, all + the good fugitive verse was gathered here from the old newspaper files.” + Her eyes running down the index suddenly stopped. “I was right. Dayelle + Wiley Brown. There it is. Ten of her poems, too: 'The Viking's Quest'; + 'Days of Gold'; 'Constancy'; 'The Caballero'; 'Graves at Little Meadow'—” + </p> + <p> + “We fought off the Indians there,” Saxon interrupted in her excitement. + “And mother, who was only a little girl, went out and got water for the + wounded. And the Indians wouldn't shoot at her. Everybody said it was a + miracle.” She sprang out of Billy's arms, reaching for the book and + crying: “Oh, let me see it! Let me see it! It's all new to me. I don't + know these poems. Can I copy them? I'll learn them by heart. Just to + think, my mother's!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer's glasses required repolishing; and for half an hour she and + Billy remained silent while Saxon devoured her mother's lines. At the end, + staring at the book which she had closed on her finger, she could only + repeat in wondering awe: + </p> + <p> + “And I never knew, I never knew.” + </p> + <p> + But during that half hour Mrs. Mortimer's mind had not been idle. A little + later, she broached her plan. She believed in intensive dairying as well + as intensive farming, and intended, as soon as the lease expired, to + establish a Jersey dairy on the other ten acres. This, like everything she + had done, would be model, and it meant that she would require more help. + Billy and Saxon were just the two. By next summer she could have them + installed in the cottage she intended building. In the meantime she could + arrange, one way and another, to get work for Billy through the winter. + She would guarantee this work, and she knew a small house they could rent + just at the end of the car-line. Under her supervision Billy could take + charge from the very beginning of the building. In this way they would be + earning money, preparing themselves for independent farming life, and have + opportunity to look about them. + </p> + <p> + But her persuasions were in vain. In the end Saxon succinctly epitomized + their point of view. + </p> + <p> + “We can't stop at the first place, even if it is as beautiful and kind as + yours and as nice as this valley is. We don't even know what we want. + We've got to go farther, and see all kinds of places and all kinds of + ways, in order to find out. We're not in a hurry to make up our minds. We + want to make, oh, so very sure! And besides....” She hesitated. “Besides, + we don't like altogether flat land. Billy wants some hills in his. And so + do I.” + </p> + <p> + When they were ready to leave Mrs. Mortimer offered to present Saxon with + “The Story of the Files”; but Saxon shook her head and got some money from + Billy. + </p> + <p> + “It says it costs two dollars,” she said. “Will you buy me one, and keep + it till we get settled? Then I'll write, and you can send it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you Americans,” Mrs. Mortimer chided, accepting the money. “But you + must promise to write from time to time before you're settled.” + </p> + <p> + She saw them to the county road. + </p> + <p> + “You are brave young things,” she said at parting. “I only wish I were + going with you, my pack upon my back. You're perfectly glorious, the pair + of you. If ever I can do anything for you, just let me know. You're bound + to succeed, and I want a hand in it myself. Let me know how that + government land turns out, though I warn you I haven't much faith in its + feasibility. It's sure to be too far away from markets.” + </p> + <p> + She shook hands with Billy. Saxon she caught into her arms and kissed. + </p> + <p> + “Be brave,” she said, with low earnestness, in Saxon's ear. “You'll win. + You are starting with the right ideas. And you were right not to accept my + proposition. But remember, it, or better, will always be open to you. + You're young yet, both of you. Don't be in a hurry. Any time you stop + anywhere for a while, let me know, and I'll mail you heaps of agricultural + reports and farm publications. Good-bye. Heaps and heaps and heaps of + luck.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Billy sat motionless on the edge of the bed in their little room in San + Jose that night, a musing expression in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he remarked at last, with a long-drawn breath, “all I've got to + say is there's some pretty nice people in this world after all. Take Mrs. + Mortimer. Now she's the real goods—regular old American.” + </p> + <p> + “A fine, educated lady,” Saxon agreed, “and not a bit ashamed to work at + farming herself. And she made it go, too.” + </p> + <p> + “On twenty acres—no, ten; and paid for 'em, an' all improvements, + an' supported herself, four hired men, a Swede woman an' daughter, an' her + own nephew. It gets me. Ten acres! Why, my father never talked less'n one + hundred an' sixty acres. Even your brother Tom still talks in quarter + sections.—An' she was only a woman, too. We was lucky in meetin' + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't it an adventure!” Saxon cried. “That's what comes of traveling. + You never know what's going to happen next. It jumped right out at us, + just when we were tired and wondering how much farther to San Jose. We + weren't expecting it at all. And she didn't treat us as if we were + tramping. And that house—so clean and beautiful. You could eat off + the floor. I never dreamed of anything so sweet and lovely as the inside + of that house.” + </p> + <p> + “It smelt good,” Billy supplied. + </p> + <p> + “That's the very thing. It's what the women's pages call atmosphere. I + didn't know what they meant before. That house has beautiful, sweet + atmosphere—” + </p> + <p> + “Like all your nice underthings,” said Billy. + </p> + <p> + “And that's the next step after keeping your body sweet and clean and + beautiful. It's to have your house sweet and clean and beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “But it can't be a rented one, Saxon. You've got to own it. Landlords + don't build houses like that. Just the same, one thing stuck out plain: + that house was not expensive. It wasn't the cost. It was the way. The wood + was ordinary wood you can buy in any lumber yard. Why, our house on Pine + street was made out of the same kind of wood. But the way it was made was + different. I can't explain, but you can see what I'm drivin' at.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon, revisioning the little bungalow they had just left, repeated + absently: “That's it—the way.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning they were early afoot, seeking through the suburbs of San + Jose the road to San Juan and Monterey. Saxon's limp had increased. + Beginning with a burst blister, her heel was skinning rapidly. Billy + remembered his father's talks about care of the feet, and stopped at a + butcher shop to buy five cents' worth of mutton tallow. + </p> + <p> + “That's the stuff,” he told Saxon. “Clean foot-gear and the feet well + greased. We'll put some on as soon as we're clear of town. An' we might as + well go easy for a couple of days. Now, if I could get a little work so as + you could rest up several days it'd be just the thing. I 'll keep my eye + peeled.” + </p> + <p> + Almost on the outskirts of town he left Saxon on the county road and went + up a long driveway to what appeared a large farm. He came back beaming. + </p> + <p> + “It's all hunkydory,” he called as he approached. “We'll just go down to + that clump of trees by the creek an' pitch camp. I start work in the + mornin', two dollars a day an' board myself. It'd been a dollar an' a half + if he furnished the board. I told 'm I liked the other way best, an' that + I had my camp with me. The weather's fine, an' we can make out a few days + till your foot's in shape. Come on. We'll pitch a regular, decent camp.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you get the job,” Saxon asked, as they cast about, determining + their camp-site. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till we get fixed an' I'll tell you all about it. It was a dream, a + cinch.” + </p> + <p> + Not until the bed was spread, the fire built, and a pot of beans boiling + did Billy throw down the last armful of wood and begin. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place, Benson's no old-fashioned geezer. You wouldn't think + he was a farmer to look at 'm. He's up to date, sharp as tacks, talks an' + acts like a business man. I could see that, just by lookin' at his place, + before I seen HIM. He took about fifteen seconds to size me up. + </p> + <p> + “'Can you plow?' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Sure thing,' I told 'm. + </p> + <p> + “'Know horses?' + </p> + <p> + “'I was hatched in a box-stall,' says I. + </p> + <p> + “An' just then—you remember that four-horse load of machinery that + come in after me?—just then it drove up. + </p> + <p> + “'How about four horses?' he asks, casual-like. + </p> + <p> + “'Right to home. I can drive 'm to a plow, a sewin' machine, or a + merry-go-round.' + </p> + <p> + “'Jump up an' take them lines, then,' he says, quick an' sharp, not + wastin' seconds. 'See that shed. Go 'round the barn to the right an' back + in for unloadin'.' + </p> + <p> + “An' right here I wanta tell you it was some nifty drivin' he was askin'. + I could see by the tracks the wagons'd all ben goin' around the barn to + the left. What he was askin' was too close work for comfort—a double + turn, like an S, between a corner of a paddock an' around the corner of + the barn to the last swing. An', to eat into the little room there was, + there was piles of manure just thrown outa the barn an' not hauled away + yet. But I wasn't lettin' on nothin'. The driver gave me the lines, an' I + could see he was grinnin', sure I'd make a mess of it. I bet he couldn't + a-done it himself. I never let on, an away we went, me not even knowin' + the horses—but, say, if you'd seen me throw them leaders clean to + the top of the manure till the nigh horse was scrapin' the side of the + barn to make it, an' the off hind hub was cuttin' the corner post of the + paddock to miss by six inches. It was the only way. An' them horses was + sure beauts. The leaders slacked back an' darn near sat down on their + singletrees when I threw the back into the wheelers an' slammed on the + brake an' stopped on the very precise spot. + </p> + <p> + “'You'll do,' Benson says. 'That was good work.' + </p> + <p> + “'Aw, shucks,' I says, indifferent as hell. 'Gimme something real hard.' + </p> + <p> + “He smiles an' understands. + </p> + <p> + “'You done that well,' he says. 'An' I'm particular about who handles my + horses. The road ain't no place for you. You must be a good man gone + wrong. Just the same you can plow with my horses, startin' in to-morrow + mornin'.' + </p> + <p> + “Which shows how wise he wasn't. I hadn't showed I could plow.” + </p> + <p> + When Saxon had served the beans, and Billy the coffee, she stood still a + moment and surveyed the spread meal on the blankets—the canister of + sugar, the condensed milk tin, the sliced corned beef, the lettuce salad + and sliced tomatoes, the slices of fresh French bread, and the steaming + plates of beans and mugs of coffee. + </p> + <p> + “What a difference from last night!” Saxon exclaimed, clapping her hands. + “It's like an adventure out of a book. Oh, that boy I went fishing with! + Think of that beautiful table and that beautiful house last night, and + then look at this. Why, we could have lived a thousand years on end in + Oakland and never met a woman like Mrs. Mortimer nor dreamed a house like + hers existed. And, Billy, just to think, we've only just started.” + </p> + <p> + Billy worked for three days, and while insisting that he was doing very + well, he freely admitted that there was more in plowing than he had + thought. Saxon experienced quiet satisfaction when she learned he was + enjoying it. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought I'd like plowin'—much,” he observed. “But it's + fine. It's good for the leg-muscles, too. They don't get exercise enough + in teamin'. If ever I trained for another fight, you bet I'd take a whack + at plowin'. An', you know, the ground has a regular good smell to it, + a-turnin' over an' turnin' over. Gosh, it's good enough to eat, that + smell. An' it just goes on, turnin' up an' over, fresh an' thick an' good, + all day long. An' the horses are Joe-dandies. They know their business as + well as a man. That's one thing, Benson ain't got a scrub horse on the + place.” + </p> + <p> + The last day Billy worked, the sky clouded over, the air grew damp, a + strong wind began to blow from the southeast, and all the signs were + present of the first winter rain. Billy came back in the evening with a + small roll of old canvas he had borrowed, which he proceeded to arrange + over their bed on a framework so as to shed rain. Several times he + complained about the little finger of his left hand. It had been bothering + him all day he told Saxon, for several days slightly, in fact, and it was + as tender as a boil—most likely a splinter, but he had been unable + to locate it. + </p> + <p> + He went ahead with storm preparations, elevating the bed on old boards + which he lugged from a disused barn falling to decay on the opposite bank + of the creek. Upon the boards he heaped dry leaves for a mattress. He + concluded by reinforcing the canvas with additional guys of odd pieces of + rope and bailing-wire. + </p> + <p> + When the first splashes of rain arrived Saxon was delighted. Billy + betrayed little interest. His finger was hurting too much, he said. + Neither he nor Saxon could make anything of it, and both scoffed at the + idea of a felon. + </p> + <p> + “It might be a run-around,” Saxon hazarded. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I remember Mrs. Cady had one once, but I was too small. It + was the little finger, too. She poulticed it, I think. And I remember she + dressed it with some kind of salve. It got awful bad, and finished by her + losing the nail. After that it got well quick, and a new nail grew out. + Suppose I make a hot bread poultice for yours.” + </p> + <p> + Billy declined, being of the opinion that it would be better in the + morning. Saxon was troubled, and as she dozed off she knew that he was + lying restlessly wide awake. A few minutes afterward, roused by a heavy + blast of wind and rain on the canvas, she heard Billy softly groaning. She + raised herself on her elbow and with her free hand, in the way she knew, + manipulating his forehead and the surfaces around his eyes, soothed him + off to sleep. + </p> + <p> + Again she slept. And again she was aroused, this time not by the storm, + but by Billy. She could not see, but by feeling she ascertained his + strange position. He was outside the blankets and on his knees, his + forehead resting on the boards, his shoulders writhing with suppressed + anguish. + </p> + <p> + “She's pulsin' to beat the band,” he said, when she spoke. “It's worsen a + thousand toothaches. But it ain't nothin'... if only the canvas don't blow + down. Think what our folks had to stand,” he gritted out between groans. + “Why, my father was out in the mountains, an' the man with 'm got mauled + by a grizzly—clean clawed to the bones all over. An' they was outa + grub an' had to travel. Two times outa three, when my father put 'm on the + horse, he'd faint away. Had to be tied on. An' that lasted five weeks, an' + HE pulled through. Then there was Jack Quigley. He blowed off his whole + right hand with the burstin' of his shotgun, an' the huntin' dog pup he + had with 'm ate up three of the fingers. An' he was all alone in the + marsh, an'—” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon heard no more of the adventures of Jack Quigley. A terrific + blast of wind parted several of the guys, collapsed the framework, and for + a moment buried them under the canvas. The next moment canvas, framework, + and trailing guys were whisked away into the darkness, and Saxon and Billy + were deluged with rain. + </p> + <p> + “Only one thing to do,” he yelled in her ear. “—Gather up the things + an' get into that old barn.” + </p> + <p> + They accomplished this in the drenching darkness, making two trips across + the stepping stones of the shallow creek and soaking themselves to the + knees. The old barn leaked like a sieve, but they managed to find a dry + space on which to spread their anything but dry bedding. Billy's pain was + heart-rending to Saxon. An hour was required to subdue him to a doze, and + only by continuously stroking his forehead could she keep him asleep. + Shivering and miserable, she accepted a night of wakefulness gladly with + the knowledge that she kept him from knowing the worst of his pain. + </p> + <p> + At the time when she had decided it must be past midnight, there was an + interruption. From the open doorway came a flash of electric light, like a + tiny searchlight, which quested about the barn and came to rest on her and + Billy. From the source of light a harsh voice said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ha! I've got you! Come out of that!” + </p> + <p> + Billy sat up, his eyes dazzled by the light. The voice behind the light + was approaching and reiterating its demand that they come out of that. + </p> + <p> + “What's up?” Billy asked. + </p> + <p> + “Me,” was the answer; “an' wide awake, you bet.” + </p> + <p> + The voice was now beside them, scarcely a yard away, yet they could see + nothing on account of the light, which was intermittent, frequently going + out for an instant as the operator's thumb tired on the switch. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, get a move on,” the voice went on. “Roll up your blankets an' + trot along. I want you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who in hell are you?” Billy demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I'm the constable. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “You, of course, the pair of you.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Vagrancy. Now hustle. I ain't goin' to loaf here all night.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, chase yourself,” Billy advised. “I ain't a vag. I'm a workingman.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you are an' maybe you ain't,” said the constable; “but you can tell + all that to Judge Neusbaumer in the mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Why you... you stinkin', dirty cur, you think you're goin' to pull me,” + Billy began. “Turn the light on yourself. I want to see what kind of an + ugly mug you got. Pull me, eh? Pull me? For two cents I'd get up there an' + beat you to a jelly, you—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Billy,” Saxon pleaded. “Don't make trouble. It would mean jail.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” the constable approved, “listen to your woman.” + </p> + <p> + “She's my wife, an' see you speak of her as such,” Billy warned. “Now get + out, if you know what's good for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen your kind before,” the constable retorted. “An' I've got my + little persuader with me. Take a squint.” + </p> + <p> + The shaft of light shifted, and out of the darkness, illuminated with + ghastly brilliance, they saw thrust a hand holding a revolver. This hand + seemed a thing apart, self-existent, with no corporeal attachment, and it + appeared and disappeared like an apparition as the thumb-pressure wavered + on the switch. One moment they were staring at the hand and revolver, the + next moment at impenetrable darkness, and the next moment again at the + hand and revolver. + </p> + <p> + “Now, I guess you'll come,” the constable gloated. + </p> + <p> + “You got another guess comin',” Billy began. + </p> + <p> + But at that moment the light went out. They heard a quick movement on the + officer's part and the thud of the light-stick on the ground. Both Billy + and the constable fumbled for it, but Billy found it and flashed it on the + other. They saw a gray-bearded man clad in streaming oilskins. He was an + old man, and reminded Saxon of the sort she had been used to see in Grand + Army processions on Decoration Day. + </p> + <p> + “Give me that stick,” he bullied. + </p> + <p> + Billy sneered a refusal. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll put a hole through you, by criminy.” + </p> + <p> + He leveled the revolver directly at Billy, whose thumb on the switch did + not waver, and they could see the gleaming bullet-tips in the chambers of + the cylinder. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you whiskery old skunk, you ain't got the grit to shoot sour + apples,” was Billy's answer. “I know your kind—brave as lions when + it comes to pullin' miserable, broken-spirited bindle stiffs, but as leery + as a yellow dog when you face a man. Pull that trigger! Why, you + pusillanimous piece of dirt, you'd run with your tail between your legs if + I said boo!” + </p> + <p> + Suiting action to the word, Billy let out an explosive “BOO!” and Saxon + giggled involuntarily at the startle it caused in the constable. + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you a last chance,” the latter grated through his teeth. “Turn + over that light-stick an' come along peaceable, or I'll lay you out.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was frightened for Billy's sake, and yet only half frightened. She + had a faith that the man dared not fire, and she felt the old familiar + thrills of admiration for Billy's courage. She could not see his face, but + she knew in all certitude that it was bleak and passionless in the + terrifying way she had seen it when he fought the three Irishmen. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't the first man I killed,” the constable threatened. “I'm an old + soldier, an' I ain't squeamish over blood—” + </p> + <p> + “And you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Saxon broke in, “trying to + shame and disgrace peaceable people who've done no wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “You've done wrong sleepin' here,” was his vindication. “This ain't your + property. It's agin the law. An' folks that go agin the law go to jail, as + the two of you'll go. I've sent many a tramp up for thirty days for + sleepin' in this very shack. Why, it's a regular trap for 'em. I got a + good glimpse of your faces an' could see you was tough characters.” He + turned on Billy. “I've fooled enough with you. Are you goin' to give in + an' come peaceable?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' to tell you a couple of things, old hoss,” Billy answered. + “Number one: you ain't goin' to pull us. Number two: we're goin' to sleep + the night out here.” + </p> + <p> + “Gimme that light-stick,” the constable demanded peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + “G'wan, Whiskers. You're standin' on your foot. Beat it. Pull your + freight. As for your torch you'll find it outside in the mud.” + </p> + <p> + Billy shifted the light until it illuminated the doorway, and then threw + the stick as he would pitch a baseball. They were now in total darkness, + and they could hear the intruder gritting his teeth in rage. + </p> + <p> + “Now start your shootin' an' see what'll happen to you,” Billy advised + menacingly. + </p> + <p> + Saxon felt for Billy's hand and squeezed it proudly. The constable + grumbled some threat. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” Billy demanded sharply. “Ain't you gone yet? Now listen to + me, Whiskers. I've put up with all your shenanigan I'm goin' to. Now get + out or I'll throw you out. An' if you come monkeyin' around here again + you'll get yours. Now get!” + </p> + <p> + So great was the roar of the storm that they could hear nothing. Billy + rolled a cigarette. When he lighted it, they saw the barn was empty. Billy + chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “Say, I was so mad I clean forgot my run-around. It's only just beginnin' + to tune up again.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon made him lie down and receive her soothing ministrations. + </p> + <p> + “There is no use moving till morning,” she said. “Then, just as soon as + it's light, we'll catch a car into San Jose, rent a room, get a hot + breakfast, and go to a drug store for the proper stuff for poulticing or + whatever treatment's needed.” + </p> + <p> + “But Benson,” Billy demurred. + </p> + <p> + “I'll telephone him from town. It will only cost five cents. I saw he had + a wire. And you couldn't plow on account of the rain, even if your finger + was well. Besides, we'll both be mending together. My heel will be all + right by the time it clears up and we can start traveling.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Early on Monday morning, three days later, Saxon and Billy took an + electric car to the end of the line, and started a second time for San + Juan. Puddles were standing in the road, but the sun shone from a blue + sky, and everywhere, on the ground, was a faint hint of budding green. At + Benson's Saxon waited while Billy went in to get his six dollars for the + three days' plowing. + </p> + <p> + “Kicked like a steer because I was quittin',” he told her when he came + back. “He wouldn't listen at first. Said he'd put me to drivin' in a few + days, an' that there wasn't enough good four-horse men to let one go + easily.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I just told 'm I had to be movin' along. An' when he tried to argue I + told 'm my wife was with me, an' she was blamed anxious to get along.” + </p> + <p> + “But so are you, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, Pete; but just the same I wasn't as keen as you. Doggone it, I was + gettin' to like that plowin'. I'll never be scairt to ask for a job at it + again. I've got to where I savvy the burro, an' you bet I can plow against + most of 'm right now.” + </p> + <p> + An hour afterward, with a good three miles to their credit, they edged to + the side of the road at the sound of an automobile behind them. But the + machine did not pass. Benson was alone in it, and he came to a stop + alongside. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you bound?” he inquired of Billy, with a quick, measuring + glance at Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Monterey—if you're goin' that far,” Billy answered with a chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “I can give you a lift as far as Watsonville. It would take you several + days on shank's mare with those loads. Climb in.” He addressed Saxon + directly. “Do you want to ride in front?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon glanced to Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he approved. “It's fine in front.—This is my wife, Mr. + Benson—Mrs. Roberts.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ho, so you're the one that took your husband away from me,” Benson + accused good humoredly, as he tucked the robe around her. + </p> + <p> + Saxon shouldered the responsibility and became absorbed in watching him + start the car. + </p> + <p> + “I'd be a mighty poor farmer if I owned no more land than you'd plowed + before you came to me,” Benson, with a twinkling eye, jerked over his + shoulder to Billy. + </p> + <p> + “I'd never had my hands on a plow but once before,” Billy confessed. “But + a fellow has to learn some time.” + </p> + <p> + “At two dollars a day?” + </p> + <p> + “If he can get some alfalfa artist to put up for it,” Billy met him + complacently. + </p> + <p> + Benson laughed heartily. + </p> + <p> + “You're a quick learner,” he complimented. “I could see that you and plows + weren't on speaking acquaintance. But you took hold right. There isn't one + man in ten I could hire off the county road that could do as well as you + were doing on the third day. But your big asset is that you know horses. + It was half a joke when I told you to take the lines that morning. You're + a trained horseman and a born horseman as well.” + </p> + <p> + “He's very gentle with horses,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + “But there's more than that to it,” Benson took her up. “Your husband's + got the WAY with him. It's hard to explain. But that's what it is—the + WAY. It's an instinct almost. Kindness is necessary. But GRIP is more so. + Your husband grips his horses. Take the test I gave him with the + four-horse load. It was too complicated and severe. Kindness couldn't have + done it. It took grip. I could see it the moment he started. There wasn't + any doubt in his mind. There wasn't any doubt in the horses. They got the + feel of him. They just knew the thing was going to be done and that it was + up to them to do it. They didn't have any fear, but just the same they + knew the boss was in the seat. When he took hold of those lines, he took + hold of the horses. He gripped them, don't you see. He picked them up and + put them where he wanted them, swung them up and down and right and left, + made them pull, and slack, and back—and they knew everything was + going to come out right. Oh, horses may be stupid, but they're not + altogether fools. They know when the proper horseman has hold of them, + though how they know it so quickly is beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + Benson paused, half vexed at his volubility, and gazed keenly at Saxon to + see if she had followed him. What he saw in her face and eyes satisfied + him, and he added, with a short laugh: + </p> + <p> + “Horseflesh is a hobby of mine. Don't think otherwise because I am running + a stink engine. I'd rather be streaking along here behind a pair of + fast-steppers. But I'd lose time on them, and, worse than that, I'd be too + anxious about them all the time. As for this thing, why, it has no nerves, + no delicate joints nor tendons; it's a case of let her rip.” + </p> + <p> + The miles flew past and Saxon was soon deep in talk with her host. Here + again, she discerned immediately, was a type of the new farmer. The + knowledge she had picked up enabled her to talk to advantage, and when + Benson talked she was amazed that she could understand so much. In + response to his direct querying, she told him her and Billy's plans, + sketching the Oakland life vaguely, and dwelling on their future + intentions. + </p> + <p> + Almost as in a dream, when they passed the nurseries at Morgan Hill, she + learned they had come twenty miles, and realized that it was a longer + stretch than they had planned to walk that day. And still the machine + hummed on, eating up the distance as ever it flashed into view. + </p> + <p> + “I wondered what so good a man as your husband was doing on the road,” + Benson told her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she smiled. “He said you said he must be a good man gone wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “But you see, I didn't know about YOU. Now I understand. Though I must say + it's extraordinary in these days for a young couple like you to pack your + blankets in search of land. And, before I forget it, I want to tell you + one thing.” He turned to Billy. “I am just telling your wife that there's + an all-the-year job waiting for you on my ranch. And there's a tight + little cottage of three rooms the two of you can housekeep in. Don't + forget.” + </p> + <p> + Among other things Saxon discovered that Benson had gone through the + College of Agriculture at the University of California—a branch of + learning she had not known existed. He gave her small hope in her search + for government land. + </p> + <p> + “The only government land left,” he informed her, “is what is not good + enough to take up for one reason or another. If it's good land down there + where you're going, then the market is inaccessible. I know no railroads + tap in there.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till we strike Pajaro Valley,” he said, when they had passed Gilroy + and were booming on toward Sargent's. “I'll show you what can be done with + the soil—and not by cow-college graduates but by uneducated + foreigners that the high and mighty American has always sneered at. I'll + show you. It's one of the most wonderful demonstrations in the state.” + </p> + <p> + At Sargent's he left them in the machine a few minutes while he transacted + business. + </p> + <p> + “Whew! It beats hikin',” Billy said. “The day's young yet and when he + drops us we'll be fresh for a few miles on our own. Just the same, when we + get settled an' well off, I guess I'll stick by horses. They'll always be + good enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + “A machine's only good to get somewhere in a hurry,” Saxon agreed. “Of + course, if we got very, very rich—” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon,” Billy broke in, suddenly struck with an idea. “I've learned + one thing. I ain't afraid any more of not gettin' work in the country. I + was at first, but I didn't tell you. Just the same I was dead leery when + we pulled out on the San Leandro pike. An' here, already, is two places + open—Mrs. Mortimer's an' Benson's; an' steady jobs, too. Yep, a man + can get work in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” Saxon amended, with a proud little smile, “you haven't said it + right. Any GOOD man can get work in the country. The big farmers don't + hire men out of charity.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure; they ain't in it for their health,” he grinned. + </p> + <p> + “And they jump at you. That's because you are a good man. They can see it + with half an eye. Why, Billy, take all the working tramps we've met on the + road already. There wasn't one to compare with you. I looked them over. + They're all weak—weak in their bodies, weak in their heads, weak + both ways.” + </p> + <p> + “Yep, they are a pretty measly bunch,” Billy admitted modestly. + </p> + <p> + “It's the wrong time of the year to see Pajaro Valley,” Benson said, when + he again sat beside Saxon and Sargent's was a thing of the past. “Just the + same, it's worth seeing any time. Think of it—twelve thousand acres + of apples! Do you know what they call Pajaro Valley now? New Dalmatia. + We're being squeezed out. We Yankees thought we were smart. Well, the + Dalmatians came along and showed they were smarter. They were miserable + immigrants—poorer than Job's turkey. First, they worked at day's + labor in the fruit harvest. Next they began, in a small way, buying the + apples on the trees. The more money they made the bigger became their + deals. Pretty soon they were renting the orchards on long leases. And now, + they are beginning to buy the land. It won't be long before they own the + whole valley, and the last American will be gone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, our smart Yankees! Why, those first ragged Slavs in their first + little deals with us only made something like two and three thousand per + cent. profits. And now they're satisfied to make a hundred per cent. It's + a calamity if their profits sink to twenty-five or fifty per cent.” + </p> + <p> + “It's like San Leandro,” Saxon said. “The original owners of the land are + about all gone already. It's intensive cultivation.” She liked that + phrase. “It isn't a case of having a lot of acres, but of how much they + can get out of one acre.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and more than that,” Benson answered, nodding his head emphatically. + “Lots of them, like Luke Scurich, are in it on a large scale. Several of + them are worth a quarter of a million already. I know ten of them who will + average one hundred and fifty thousand each. They have a WAY with apples. + It's almost a gift. They KNOW trees in much the same way your husband + knows horses. Each tree is just as much an individual to them as a horse + is to me. They know each tree, its whole history, everything that ever + happened to it, its every idiosyncrasy. They have their fingers on its + pulse. They can tell if it's feeling as well to-day as it felt yesterday. + And if it isn't, they know why and proceed to remedy matters for it. They + can look at a tree in bloom and tell how many boxes of apples it will + pack, and not only that—they'll know what the quality and grades of + those apples are going to be. Why, they know each individual apple, and + they pick it tenderly, with love, never hurting it, and pack it and ship + it tenderly and with love, and when it arrives at market, it isn't bruised + nor rotten, and it fetches top price. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's more than intensive. These Adriatic Slavs are long-headed in + business. Not only can they grow apples, but they can sell apples. No + market? What does it matter? Make a market. That's their way, while our + kind let the crops rot knee-deep under the trees. Look at Peter Mengol. + Every year he goes to England, and he takes a hundred carloads of yellow + Newton pippins with him. Why, those Dalmatians are showing Pajaro apples + on the South African market right now, and coining money out of it hand + over fist.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they do with all the money?” Saxon queried. + </p> + <p> + “Buy the Americans of Pajaro Valley out, of course, as they are already + doing.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” she questioned. + </p> + <p> + Benson looked at her quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Then they'll start buying the Americans out of some other valley. And the + Americans will spend the money and by the second generation start rotting + in the cities, as you and your husband would have rotted if you hadn't got + out.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon could not repress a shudder.—As Mary had rotted, she thought; + as Bert and all the rest had rotted; as Tom and all the rest were rotting. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's a great country,” Benson was continuing. “But we're not a great + people. Kipling is right. We're crowded out and sitting on the stoop. And + the worst of it is there's no reason we shouldn't know better. We're + teaching it in all our agricultural colleges, experiment stations, and + demonstration trains. But the people won't take hold, and the immigrant, + who has learned in a hard school, beats them out. Why, after I graduated, + and before my father died—he was of the old school and laughed at + what he called my theories—I traveled for a couple of years. I + wanted to see how the old countries farmed. Oh, I saw. + </p> + <p> + “We'll soon enter the valley. You bet I saw. First thing, in Japan, the + terraced hillsides. Take a hill so steep you couldn't drive a horse up it. + No bother to them. They terraced it—a stone wall, and good masonry, + six feet high, a level terrace six feet wide; up and up, walls and + terraces, the same thing all the way, straight into the air, walls upon + walls, terraces upon terraces, until I've seen ten-foot walls built to + make three-foot terraces, and twenty-foot walls for four or five feet of + soil they could grow things on. And that soil, packed up the mountainsides + in baskets on their backs! + </p> + <p> + “Same thing everywhere I went, in Greece, in Ireland, in Dalmatia—I + went there, too. They went around and gathered every bit of soil they + could find, gleaned it and even stole it by the shovelful or handful, and + carried it up the mountains on their backs and built farms—BUILT + them, MADE them, on the naked rock. Why, in France, I've seen hill + peasants mining their stream-beds for soil as our fathers mined the + streams of California for gold. Only our gold's gone, and the peasants' + soil remains, turning over and over, doing something, growing something, + all the time. Now, I guess I'll hush.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” Billy muttered in awe-stricken tones. “Our folks never done + that. No wonder they lost out.” + </p> + <p> + “There's the valley now,” Benson said. “Look at those trees! Look at those + hillsides! That's New Dalmatia. Look at it! An apple paradise! Look at + that soil! Look at the way it's worked!” + </p> + <p> + It was not a large valley that Saxon saw. But everywhere, across the + flat-lands and up the low rolling hills, the industry of the Dalmatians + was evident. As she looked she listened to Benson. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what the old settlers did with this beautiful soil? Planted + the flats in grain and pastured cattle on the hills. And now twelve + thousand acres of it are in apples. It's a regular show place for the + Eastern guests at Del Monte, who run out here in their machines to see the + trees in bloom or fruit. Take Matteo Lettunich—he's one of the + originals. Entered through Castle Garden and became a dish-washer. When he + laid eyes on this valley he knew it was his Klondike. To-day he leases + seven hundred acres and owns a hundred and thirty of his own—the + finest orchard in the valley, and he packs from forty to fifty thousand + boxes of export apples from it every year. And he won't let a soul but a + Dalmatian pick a single apple of all those apples. One day, in a banter, I + asked him what he'd sell his hundred and thirty acres for. He answered + seriously. He told me what it had netted him, year by year, and struck an + average. He told me to calculate the principal from that at six per cent. + I did. It came to over three thousand dollars an acre.” + </p> + <p> + “What are all the Chinks doin' in the Valley?” Billy asked. “Growin' + apples, too?” + </p> + <p> + Benson shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “But that's another point where we Americans lose out. There isn't + anything wasted in this valley, not a core nor a paring; and it isn't the + Americans who do the saving. There are fifty-seven apple-evaporating + furnaces, to say nothing of the apple canneries and cider and vinegar + factories. And Mr. John Chinaman owns them. They ship fifteen thousand + barrels of cider and vinegar each year.” + </p> + <p> + “It was our folks that made this country,” Billy reflected. “Fought for + it, opened it up, did everything—” + </p> + <p> + “But develop it,” Benson caught him up. “We did our best to destroy it, as + we destroyed the soil of New England.” He waved his hand, indicating some + place beyond the hills. “Salinas lies over that way. If you went through + there you'd think you were in Japan. And more than one fat little fruit + valley in California has been taken over by the Japanese. Their method is + somewhat different from the Dalmatians'. First they drift in fruit picking + at day's wages. They give better satisfaction than the American + fruit-pickers, too, and the Yankee grower is glad to get them. Next, as + they get stronger, they form in Japanese unions and proceed to run the + American labor out. Still the fruit-growers are satisfied. The next step + is when the Japs won't pick. The American labor is gone. The fruit-grower + is helpless. The crop perishes. Then in step the Jap labor bosses. They're + the masters already. They contract for the crop. The fruit-growers are at + their mercy, you see. Pretty soon the Japs are running the valley. The + fruit-growers have become absentee landlords and are busy learning higher + standards of living in the cities or making trips to Europe. Remains only + one more step. The Japs buy them out. They've got to sell, for the Japs + control the labor market and could bankrupt them at will.” + </p> + <p> + “But if this goes on, what is left for us?” asked Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “What is happening. Those of us who haven't anything rot in the cities. + Those of us who have land, sell it and go to the cities. Some become + larger capitalists; some go into the professions; the rest spend the money + and start rotting when it's gone, and if it lasts their life-time their + children do the rotting for them.” + </p> + <p> + Their long ride was soon over, and at parting Benson reminded Billy of the + steady job that awaited him any time he gave the word. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we'll take a peep at that government land first,” Billy answered. + “Don't know what we'll settle down to, but there's one thing sure we won't + tackle.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “Start in apple-growin' at three thousan' dollars an acre.” + </p> + <p> + Billy and Saxon, their packs upon the backs, trudged along a hundred + yards. He was the first to break silence. + </p> + <p> + “An' I tell you another thing, Saxon. We'll never be goin' around smellin' + out an' swipin' bits of soil an' carryin' it up a hill in a basket. The + United States is big yet. I don't care what Benson or any of 'em says, the + United States ain't played out. There's millions of acres untouched an' + waitin', an' it's up to us to find 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll tell you one thing,” Saxon said. “We're getting an education. + Tom was raised on a ranch, yet he doesn't know right now as much about + farming conditions as we do. And I'll tell you another thing. The more I + think of it, the more it seems we are going to be disappointed about that + government land.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't no use believin' what everybody tells you,” he protested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it isn't that. It's what I think. I leave it to you. If this land + around here is worth three thousand an acre, why is it that government + land, if it's any good, is waiting there, only a short way off, to be + taken for the asking.” + </p> + <p> + Billy pondered this for a quarter of a mile, but could come to no + conclusion. At last he cleared his throat and remarked: + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can wait till we see it first, can't we?” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” Saxon agreed. “We'll wait till we see it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + They had taken the direct county road across the hills from Monterey, + instead of the Seventeen Mile Drive around by the coast, so that Carmel + Bay came upon them without any fore-glimmerings of its beauty. Dropping + down through the pungent pines, they passed woods-embowered cottages, + quaint and rustic, of artists and writers, and went on across wind-blown + rolling sandhills held to place by sturdy lupine and nodding with pale + California poppies. Saxon screamed in sudden wonder of delight, then + caught her breath and gazed at the amazing peacock-blue of a breaker, shot + through with golden sunlight, overfalling in a mile-long sweep and + thundering into white ruin of foam on a crescent beach of sand scarcely + less white. + </p> + <p> + How long they stood and watched the stately procession of breakers, rising + from out the deep and wind-capped sea to froth and thunder at their feet, + Saxon did not know. She was recalled to herself when Billy, laughing, + tried to remove the telescope basket from her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “You kind of look as though you was goin' to stop a while,” he said. “So + we might as well get comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + “I never dreamed it, I never dreamed it,” she repeated, with passionately + clasped hands. “I... I thought the surf at the Cliff House was wonderful, + but it gave no idea of this.—Oh! Look! LOOK! Did you ever see such + an unspeakable color? And the sunlight flashing right through it! Oh! Oh! + Oh!” + </p> + <p> + At last she was able to take her eyes from the surf and gaze at the + sea-horizon of deepest peacock-blue and piled with cloud-masses, at the + curve of the beach south to the jagged point of rocks, and at the rugged + blue mountains seen across soft low hills, landward, up Carmel Valley. + </p> + <p> + “Might as well sit down an' take it easy,” Billy indulged her. “This is + too good to want to run away from all at once.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon assented, but began immediately to unlace her shoes. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't a-goin' to?” Billy asked in surprised delight, then began + unlacing his own. + </p> + <p> + But before they were ready to run barefooted on the perilous fringe of + cream-wet sand where land and ocean met, a new and wonderful thing + attracted their attention. Down from the dark pines and across the + sandhills ran a man, naked save for narrow trunks. He was smooth and + rosy-skinned, cherubic-faced, with a thatch of curly yellow hair, but his + body was hugely thewed as a Hercules'. + </p> + <p> + “Gee!—must be Sandow,” Billy muttered low to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + But she was thinking of the engraving in her mother's scrapbook and of the + Vikings on the wet sands of England. + </p> + <p> + The runner passed them a dozen feet away, crossed the wet sand, never + pausing, till the froth wash was to his knees while above him, ten feet at + least, upreared a wall of overtopping water. Huge and powerful as his body + had seemed, it was now white and fragile in the face of that imminent, + great-handed buffet of the sea. Saxon gasped with anxiety, and she stole a + look at Billy to note that he was tense with watching. + </p> + <p> + But the stranger sprang to meet the blow, and, just when it seemed he must + be crushed, he dived into the face of the breaker and disappeared. The + mighty mass of water fell in thunder on the beach, but beyond appeared a + yellow head, one arm out-reaching, and a portion of a shoulder. Only a few + strokes was he able to make ere he was compelled to dive through another + breaker. This was the battle—to win seaward against the sweep of the + shoreward hastening sea. Each time he dived and was lost to view Saxon + caught her breath and clenched her hands. Sometimes, after the passage of + a breaker, they could not find him, and when they did he would be scores + of feet away, flung there like a chip by a smoke-bearded breaker. Often it + seemed he must fail and be thrown upon the beach, but at the end of half + an hour he was beyond the outer edge of the surf and swimming strong, no + longer diving, but topping the waves. Soon he was so far away that only at + intervals could they find the speck of him. That, too, vanished, and Saxon + and Billy looked at each other, she with amazement at the swimmer's valor, + Billy with blue eyes flashing. + </p> + <p> + “Some swimmer, that boy, some swimmer,” he praised. “Nothing + chicken-hearted about him.—Say, I only know tank-swimmin', an' + bay-swimmin', but now I'm goin' to learn ocean-swimmin'. If I could do + that I'd be so proud you couldn't come within forty feet of me. Why, + Saxon, honest to God, I'd sooner do what he done than own a thousan' + farms. Oh, I can swim, too, I'm tellin' you, like a fish—I swum, one + Sunday, from the Narrow Gauge Pier to Sessions' Basin, an' that's miles—but + I never seen anything like that guy in the swimmin' line. An' I'm not + goin' to leave this beach until he comes back.—All by his lonely out + there in a mountain sea, think of it! He's got his nerve all right, all + right.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon and Billy ran barefooted up and down the beach, pursuing each other + with brandished snakes of seaweed and playing like children for an hour. + It was not until they were putting on their shoes that they sighted the + yellow head bearing shoreward. Billy was at the edge of the surf to meet + him, emerging, not white-skinned as he had entered, but red from the + pounding he had received at the hands of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “You're a wonder, and I just got to hand it to you,” Billy greeted him in + outspoken admiration. + </p> + <p> + “It was a big surf to-day,” the young man replied, with a nod of + acknowledgment. + </p> + <p> + “It don't happen that you are a fighter I never heard of?” Billy queried, + striving to get some inkling of the identity of the physical prodigy. + </p> + <p> + The other laughed and shook his head, and Billy could not guess that he + was an ex-captain of a 'Varsity Eleven, and incidentally the father of a + family and the author of many books. He looked Billy over with an eye + trained in measuring freshmen aspirants for the gridiron. + </p> + <p> + “You're some body of a man,” he appreciated. “You'd strip with the best of + them. Am I right in guessing that you know your way about in the ring?” + </p> + <p> + Billy nodded. “My name's Roberts.” + </p> + <p> + The swimmer scowled with a futile effort at recollection. + </p> + <p> + “Bill—Bill Roberts,” Billy supplemented. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ho!—Not BIG Bill Roberts? Why, I saw you fight, before the + earthquake, in the Mechanic's Pavilion. It was a preliminary to Eddie + Hanlon and some other fellow. You're a two-handed fighter, I remember + that, with an awful wallop, but slow. Yes, I remember, you were slow that + night, but you got your man.” He put out a wet hand. “My name's Hazard—Jim + Hazard.” + </p> + <p> + “An' if you're the football coach that was, a couple of years ago, I've + read about you in the papers. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + They shook hands heartily, and Saxon was introduced. She felt very small + beside the two young giants, and very proud, withal, that she belonged to + the race that gave them birth. She could only listen to them talk. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to put on the gloves with you every day for half an hour,” + Hazard said. “You could teach me a lot. Are you going to stay around + here?” + </p> + <p> + “No. We're goin' on down the coast, lookin' for land. Just the same, I + could teach you a few, and there's one thing you could teach me—surf + swimmin'.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll swap lessons with you any time,” Hazard offered. He turned to Saxon. + “Why don't you stop in Carmel for a while? It isn't so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “It's beautiful,” she acknowledged, with a grateful smile, “but—” + She turned and pointed to their packs on the edge of the lupine. “We're on + the tramp, and lookin' for government land.” + </p> + <p> + “If you're looking down past the Sur for it, it will keep,” he laughed. + “Well, I've got to run along and get some clothes on. If you come back + this way, look me up. Anybody will tell you where I live. So long.” + </p> + <p> + And, as he had first arrived, he departed, crossing the sandhills on the + run. + </p> + <p> + Billy followed him with admiring eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Some boy, some boy,” he murmured. “Why, Saxon, he's famous. If I've seen + his face in the papers once, I've seen it a thousand times. An' he ain't a + bit stuck on himself. Just man to man. Say!—I'm beginnin' to have + faith in the old stock again.” + </p> + <p> + They turned their backs on the beach and in the tiny main street bought + meat, vegetables, and half a dozen eggs. Billy had to drag Saxon away from + the window of a fascinating shop where were iridescent pearls of abalone, + set and unset. + </p> + <p> + “Abalones grow here, all along the coast,” Billy assured her; “an' I'll + get you all you want. Low tide's the time.” + </p> + <p> + “My father had a set of cuff-buttons made of abalone shell,” she said. + “They were set in pure, soft gold. I haven't thought about them for years, + and I wonder who has them now.” + </p> + <p> + They turned south. Everywhere from among the pines peeped the quaint + pretty houses of the artist folk, and they were not prepared, where the + road dipped to Carmel River, for the building that met their eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I know what it is,” Saxon almost whispered. “It's an old Spanish Mission. + It's the Carmel Mission, of course. That's the way the Spaniards came up + from Mexico, building missions as they came and converting the Indians.” + </p> + <p> + “Until we chased them out, Spaniards an' Indians, whole kit an' caboodle,” + Billy observed with calm satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same, it's wonderful,” Saxon mused, gazing at the big, + half-ruined adobe structure. “There is the Mission Dolores, in San + Francisco, but it's smaller than this and not as old.” + </p> + <p> + Hidden from the sea by low hillocks, forsaken by human being and human + habitation, the church of sun-baked clay and straw and chalk-rock stood + hushed and breathless in the midst of the adobe ruins which once had + housed its worshiping thousands. The spirit of the place descended upon + Saxon and Billy, and they walked softly, speaking in whispers, almost + afraid to go in through the open ports. There was neither priest nor + worshiper, yet they found all the evidences of use, by a congregation + which Billy judged must be small from the number of the benches. Later + they climbed the earthquake-racked belfry, noting the hand-hewn timbers; + and in the gallery, discovering the pure quality of their voices, Saxon, + trembling at her own temerity, softly sang the opening bars of “Jesus + Lover of My Soul.” Delighted with the result, she leaned over the railing, + gradually increasing her voice to its full strength as she sang: + </p> + <p> + “Jesus, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters + roll, While the tempest still is nigh. Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till + the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide And receive my soul + at last.” + </p> + <p> + Billy leaned against the ancient wall and loved her with his eyes, and, + when she had finished, he murmured, almost in a whisper: + </p> + <p> + “That was beautiful—just beautiful. An' you ought to a-seen your + face when you sang. It was as beautiful as your voice. Ain't it funny?—I + never think of religion except when I think of you.” + </p> + <p> + They camped in the willow bottom, cooked dinner, and spent the afternoon + on the point of low rocks north of the mouth of the river. They had not + intended to spend the afternoon, but found themselves too fascinated to + turn away from the breakers bursting upon the rocks and from the many + kinds of colorful sea life -- starfish, crabs, mussels, sea anemones, and, + once, in a rock-pool, a small devilfish that chilled their blood when it + cast the hooded net of its body around the small crabs they tossed to it. + As the tide grew lower, they gathered a mess of mussels—huge + fellows, five and six inches long and bearded like patriarchs. Then, while + Billy wandered in a vain search for abalones, Saxon lay and dabbled in the + crystal-clear water of a rock-pool, dipping up handfuls of glistening + jewels—ground bits of shell and pebble of flashing rose and blue and + green and violet. Billy came back and lay beside her, lazying in the + sea-cool sunshine, and together they watched the sun sink into the horizon + where the ocean was deepest peacock-blue. + </p> + <p> + She reached out her hand to Billy's and sighed with sheer repletion of + content. It seemed she had never lived such a wonderful day. It was as if + all old dreams were coming true. Such beauty of the world she had never + guessed in her fondest imagining. Billy pressed her hand tenderly. + </p> + <p> + “What was you thinkin' of?” he asked, as they arose finally to go. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know, Billy. Perhaps that it was better, one day like this, + than ten thousand years in Oakland.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + They left Carmel River and Carmel Valley behind, and with a rising sun + went south across the hills between the mountains and the sea. The road + was badly washed and gullied and showed little sign of travel. + </p> + <p> + “It peters out altogether farther down,” Billy said. “From there on it's + only horse trails. But I don't see much signs of timber, an' this soil's + none so good. It's only used for pasture—no farmin' to speak of.” + </p> + <p> + The hills were bare and grassy. Only the canyons were wooded, while the + higher and more distant hills were furry with chaparral. Once they saw a + coyote slide into the brush, and once Billy wished for a gun when a large + wildcat stared at them malignantly and declined to run until routed by a + clod of earth that burst about its ears like shrapnel. + </p> + <p> + Several miles along Saxon complained of thirst. Where the road dipped + nearly at sea level to cross a small gulch Billy looked for water. The bed + of the gulch was damp with hill-drip, and he left her to rest while he + sought a spring. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he hailed a few minutes afterward. “Come on down. You just gotta + see this. It'll 'most take your breath away.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon followed the faint path that led steeply down through the thicket. + Midway along, where a barbed wire fence was strung high across the mouth + of the gulch and weighted down with big rocks, she caught her first + glimpse of the tiny beach. Only from the sea could one guess its + existence, so completely was it tucked away on three precipitous sides by + the land, and screened by the thicket. Furthermore, the beach was the head + of a narrow rock cove, a quarter of a mile long, up which pent way the sea + roared and was subdued at the last to a gentle pulse of surf. Beyond the + mouth many detached rocks, meeting the full force of the breakers, spouted + foam and spray high in the air. The knees of these rocks, seen between the + surges, were black with mussels. On their tops sprawled huge sea-lions + tawny-wet and roaring in the sun, while overhead, uttering shrill cries, + darted and wheeled a multitude of sea birds. + </p> + <p> + The last of the descent, from the barbed wire fence, was a sliding fall of + a dozen feet, and Saxon arrived on the soft dry sand in a sitting posture. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I tell you it's just great,” Billy bubbled. “Look at it for a camping + spot. In among the trees there is the prettiest spring you ever saw. An' + look at all the good firewood, an'...” He gazed about and seaward with + eyes that saw what no rush of words could compass. “... An', an' + everything. We could live here. Look at the mussels out there. An' I bet + you we could catch fish. What d'ye say we stop a few days?—It's + vacation anyway—an' I could go back to Carmel for hooks an' lines.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon, keenly appraising his glowing face, realized that he was indeed + being won from the city. + </p> + <p> + “An' there ain't no wind here,” he was recommending. “Not a breath. An' + look how wild it is. Just as if we was a thousand miles from anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + The wind, which had been fresh and raw across the bare hills, gained no + entrance to the cove; and the beach was warm and balmy, the air sweetly + pungent with the thicket odors. Here and there, in the midst of the + thicket, severe small oak trees and other small trees of which Saxon did + not know the names. Her enthusiasm now vied with Billy's, and, hand in + hand, they started to explore. + </p> + <p> + “Here's where we can play real Robinson Crusoe,” Billy cried, as they + crossed the hard sand from highwater mark to the edge of the water. “Come + on, Robinson. Let's stop over. Of course, I'm your Man Friday, an' what + you say goes.” + </p> + <p> + “But what shall we do with Man Saturday!” She pointed in mock + consternation to a fresh footprint in the sand. “He may be a savage + cannibal, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “No chance. It's not a bare foot but a tennis shoe.” + </p> + <p> + “But a savage could get a tennis shoe from a drowned or eaten sailor, + couldn't he?” she contended. + </p> + <p> + “But sailors don't wear tennis shoes,” was Billy's prompt refutation. + </p> + <p> + “You know too much for Man Friday,” she chided; “but, just the same; if + you'll fetch the packs we'll make camp. Besides, it mightn't have been a + sailor that was eaten. It might have been a passenger.” + </p> + <p> + By the end of an hour a snug camp was completed. The blankets were spread, + a supply of firewood was chopped from the seasoned driftwood, and over a + fire the coffee pot had begun to sing. Saxon called to Billy, who was + improvising a table from a wave-washed plank. She pointed seaward. On the + far point of rocks, naked except for swimming trunks, stood a man. He was + gazing toward them, and they could see his long mop of dark hair blown by + the wind. As he started to climb the rocks landward Billy called Saxon's + attention to the fact that the stranger wore tennis shoes. In a few + minutes he dropped down from the rock to the beach and walked up to them. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh!” Billy whispered to Saxon. “He's lean enough, but look at his + muscles. Everybody down here seems to go in for physical culture.” + </p> + <p> + As the newcomer approached, Saxon glimpsed sufficient of his face to be + reminded of the old pioneers and of a certain type of face seen frequently + among the old soldiers: Young though he was—not more than thirty, + she decided—this man had the same long and narrow face, with the + high cheekbones, high and slender forehead, and nose high, lean, and + almost beaked. The lips were thin and sensitive; but the eyes were + different from any she had ever seen in pioneer or veteran or any man. + They were so dark a gray that they seemed brown, and there were a farness + and alertness of vision in them as of bright questing through profounds of + space. In a misty way Saxon felt that she had seen him before. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he greeted. “You ought to be comfortable here.” He threw down a + partly filled sack. “Mussels. All I could get. The tide's not low enough + yet.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon heard Billy muffle an ejaculation, and saw painted on his face the + extremest astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, honest to God, it does me proud to meet you,” he blurted out. + “Shake hands. I always said if I laid eyes on you I'd shake.—Say!” + </p> + <p> + But Billy's feelings mastered him, and, beginning with a choking giggle, + he roared into helpless mirth. + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked at him curiously across their clasped hands, and + glanced inquiringly to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “You gotta excuse me,” Billy gurgled, pumping the other's hand up and + down. “But I just gotta laugh. Why, honest to God, I've woke up nights an' + laughed an' gone to sleep again. Don't you recognize 'm, Saxon? He's the + same identical dude -- say, friend, you're some punkins at a hundred yards + dash, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + And then, in a sudden rush, Saxon placed him. He it was who had stood with + Roy Blanchard alongside the automobile on the day she had wandered, sick + and unwitting, into strange neighborhoods. Nor had that day been the first + time she had seen him. + </p> + <p> + “Remember the Bricklayers' Picnic at Weasel Park?” Billy was asking. “An' + the foot race? Why, I'd know that nose of yours anywhere among a million. + You was the guy that stuck your cane between Timothy McManus's legs an' + started the grandest roughhouse Weasel Park or any other park ever seen.” + </p> + <p> + The visitor now commenced to laugh. He stood on one leg as he laughed + harder, then stood on the other leg. Finally he sat down on a log of + driftwood. + </p> + <p> + “And you were there,” he managed to gasp to Billy at last. “You saw it. + You saw it.” He turned to Saxon. “—And you?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” Billy began again, as their laughter eased down, “what I wanta know + is what'd you wanta do it for. Say, what'd you wanta do it for? I've been + askin' that to myself ever since.” + </p> + <p> + “So have I,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't know Timothy McManus, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I'd never seen him before, and I've never seen him since.” + </p> + <p> + “But what'd you wanta do it for?” Billy persisted. + </p> + <p> + The young man laughed, then controlled himself. + </p> + <p> + “To save my life, I don't know. I have one friend, a most intelligent chap + that writes sober, scientific books, and he's always aching to throw an + egg into an electric fan to see what will happen. Perhaps that's the way + it was with me, except that there was no aching. When I saw those legs + flying past, I merely stuck my stick in between. I didn't know I was going + to do it. I just did it. Timothy McManus was no more surprised than I + was.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they catch you?” Billy asked. + </p> + <p> + “Do I look as if they did? I was never so scared in my life. Timothy + McManus himself couldn't have caught me that day. But what happened + afterward? I heard they had a fearful roughhouse, but I couldn't stop to + see.” + </p> + <p> + It was not until a quarter of an hour had passed, during which Billy + described the fight, that introductions took place. Mark Hall was their + visitor's name, and he lived in a bungalow among the Carmel pines. + </p> + <p> + “But how did you ever find your way to Bierce's Cove?” he was curious to + know. “Nobody ever dreams of it from the road.” + </p> + <p> + “So that's its name?” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + “It's the name we gave it. One of our crowd camped here one summer, and we + named it after him. I'll take a cup of that coffee, if you don't mind.”—This + to Saxon. “And then I'll show your husband around. We're pretty proud of + this cove. Nobody ever comes here but ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't get all that muscle from bein' chased by McManus,” Billy + observed over the coffee. + </p> + <p> + “Massage under tension,” was the cryptic reply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Billy said, pondering vacantly. “Do you eat it with a spoon?” + </p> + <p> + Hall laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I'll show you. Take any muscle you want, tense it, then manipulate it + with your fingers, so, and so.” + </p> + <p> + “An' that done all that?” Billy asked skeptically. + </p> + <p> + “All that!” the other scorned proudly. “For one muscle you see, there's + five tucked away but under command. Touch your finger to any part of me + and see.” + </p> + <p> + Billy complied, touching the right breast. + </p> + <p> + “You know something about anatomy, picking a muscleless spot,” scolded + Hall. + </p> + <p> + Billy grinned triumphantly, then, to his amazement, saw a muscle grow up + under his finger. He prodded it, and found it hard and honest. + </p> + <p> + “Massage under tension!” Hall exulted. “Go on—anywhere you want.” + </p> + <p> + And anywhere and everywhere Billy touched, muscles large and small rose + up, quivered, and sank down, till the whole body was a ripple of willed + quick. + </p> + <p> + “Never saw anything like it,” Billy marveled at the end; “an' I've seen + some few good men stripped in my time. Why, you're all living silk.” + </p> + <p> + “Massage under tension did it, my friend. The doctors gave me up. My + friends called me the sick rat, and the mangy poet, and all that. Then I + quit the city, came down to Carmel, and went in for the open air—and + massage under tension.” + </p> + <p> + “Jim Hazard didn't get his muscles that way,” Billy challenged. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, the lucky skunk; he was born with them. Mine's made. + That's the difference. I'm a work of art. He's a cave bear. Come along. + I'll show you around now. You'd better get your clothes off. Keep on only + your shoes and pants, unless you've got a pair of trunks.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother was a poet,” Saxon said, while Billy was getting himself ready + in the thicket. She had noted Hall's reference to himself. + </p> + <p> + He seemed incurious, and she ventured further. + </p> + <p> + “Some of it was printed.” + </p> + <p> + “What was her name?” he asked idly. + </p> + <p> + “Dayelle Wiley Brown. She wrote: 'The Viking's Quest'; 'Days of Gold'; + 'Constancy'; 'The Caballero'; 'Graves at Little Meadow'; and a lot more. + Ten of them are in 'The Story of the Files.'” + </p> + <p> + “I've the book at home,” he remarked, for the first time showing real + interest. “She was a pioneer, of course—before my time. I'll look + her up when I get back to the house. My people were pioneers. They came by + Panama, in the Fifties, from Long Island. My father was a doctor, but he + went into business in San Francisco and robbed his fellow men out of + enough to keep me and the rest of a large family going ever since.—Say, + where are you and your husband bound?” + </p> + <p> + When Saxon had told him of their attempt to get away from Oakland and of + their quest for land, he sympathized with the first and shook his head + over the second. + </p> + <p> + “It's beautiful down beyond the Sur,” he told her. “I've been all over + those redwood canyons, and the place is alive with game. The government + land is there, too. But you'd be foolish to settle. It's too remote. And + it isn't good farming land, except in patches in the canyons. I know a + Mexican there who is wild to sell his five hundred acres for fifteen + hundred dollars. Three dollars an acre! And what does that mean? That it + isn't worth more. That it isn't worth so much; because he can find no + takers. Land, you know, is worth what they buy and sell it for.” + </p> + <p> + Billy, emerging from the thicket, only in shoes and in pants rolled to the + knees, put an end to the conversation; and Saxon watched the two men, + physically so dissimilar, climb the rocks and start out the south side of + the cove. At first her eyes followed them lazily, but soon she grew + interested and worried. Hall was leading Billy up what seemed a + perpendicular wall in order to gain the backbone of the rock. Billy went + slowly, displaying extreme caution; but twice she saw him slip, the + weather-eaten stone crumbling away in his hand and rattling beneath him + into the cove. When Hall reached the top, a hundred feet above the sea, + she saw him stand upright and sway easily on the knife-edge which she knew + fell away as abruptly on the other side. Billy, once on top, contented + himself with crouching on hands and knees. The leader went on, upright, + walking as easily as on a level floor. Billy abandoned the hands and knees + position, but crouched closely and often helped himself with his hands. + </p> + <p> + The knife-edge backbone was deeply serrated, and into one of the notches + both men disappeared. Saxon could not keep down her anxiety, and climbed + out on the north side of the cove, which was less rugged and far less + difficult to travel. Even so, the unaccustomed height, the crumbling + surface, and the fierce buffets of the wind tried her nerve. Soon she was + opposite the men. They had leaped a narrow chasm and were scaling another + tooth. Already Billy was going more nimbly, but his leader often paused + and waited for him. The way grew severer, and several times the clefts + they essayed extended down to the ocean level and spouted spray from the + growling breakers that burst through. At other times, standing erect, they + would fall forward across deep and narrow clefts until their palms met the + opposing side; then, clinging with their fingers, their bodies would be + drawn across and up. + </p> + <p> + Near the end, Hall and Billy went out of sight over the south side of the + backbone, and when Saxon saw them again they were rounding the extreme + point of rock and coming back on the cove side. Here the way seemed + barred. A wide fissure, with hopelessly vertical sides, yawned skywards + from a foam-white vortex where the mad waters shot their level a dozen + feet upward and dropped it as abruptly to the black depths of battered + rock and writhing weed. + </p> + <p> + Clinging precariously, the men descended their side till the spray was + flying about them. Here they paused. Saxon could see Hall pointing down + across the fissure and imagined he was showing some curious thing to + Billy. She was not prepared for what followed. The surf-level sucked and + sank away, and across and down Hall jumped to a narrow foothold where the + wash had roared yards deep the moment before. Without pause, as the + returning sea rushed up, he was around the sharp corner and clawing upward + hand and foot to escape being caught. Billy was now left alone. He could + not even see Hall, much less be further advised by him, and so tensely did + Saxon watch, that the pain in her finger-tips, crushed to the rock by + which she held, warned her to relax. Billy waited his chance, twice made + tentative preparations to leap and sank back, then leaped across and down + to the momentarily exposed foothold, doubled the corner, and as he clawed + up to join Hall was washed to the waist but not torn away. + </p> + <p> + Saxon did not breathe easily till they rejoined her at the fire. One + glance at Billy told her that he was exceedingly disgusted with himself. + </p> + <p> + “You'll do, for a beginner,” Hall cried, slapping him jovially on the bare + shoulder. “That climb is a stunt of mine. Many's the brave lad that's + started with me and broken down before we were half way out. I've had a + dozen balk at that big jump. Only the athletes make it.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't ashamed of admittin' I was scairt,” Billy growled. “You're a + regular goat, an' you sure got my goat half a dozen times. But I'm mad + now. It's mostly trainin', an' I'm goin' to camp right here an' train till + I can challenge you to a race out an' around an' back to the beach.” + </p> + <p> + “Done,” said Hall, putting out his hand in ratification. “And some time, + when we get together in San Francisco, I'll lead you up against Bierce—the + one this cove is named after. His favorite stunt, when he isn't collecting + rattlesnakes, is to wait for a forty-mile-an-hour breeze, and then get up + and walk on the parapet of a skyscraper—on the lee side, mind you, + so that if he blows off there's nothing to fetch him up but the street. He + sprang that on me once.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you do it?” Billy asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't have if I hadn't been on. I'd been practicing it secretly for + a week. And I got twenty dollars out of him on the bet.” + </p> + <p> + The tide was now low enough for mussel gathering and Saxon accompanied the + men out the north wall. Hall had several sacks to fill. A rig was coming + for him in the afternoon, he explained, to cart the mussels back to + Carmel. When the sacks were full they ventured further among the rock + crevices and were rewarded with three abalones, among the shells of which + Saxon found one coveted blister-pearl. Hall initiated them into the + mysteries of pounding and preparing the abalone meat for cooking. + </p> + <p> + By this time it seemed to Saxon that they had known him a long time. It + reminded her of the old times when Bert had been with them, singing his + songs or ranting about the last of the Mohicans. + </p> + <p> + “Now, listen; I'm going to teach you something,” Hall commanded, a large + round rock poised in his hand above the abalone meat. “You must never, + never pound abalone without singing this song. Nor must you sing this song + at any other time. It would be the rankest sacrilege. Abalone is the food + of the gods. Its preparation is a religious function. Now listen, and + follow, and remember that it is a very solemn occasion.” + </p> + <p> + The stone came down with a thump on the white meat, and thereafter arose + and fell in a sort of tom-tom accompaniment to the poet's song: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! some folks boast of quail on toast, Because they think it's tony; But + I'm content to owe my rent And live on abalone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Mission Point's a friendly joint Where every crab's a crony, And true + and kind you'll ever find The clinging abalone. + </p> + <p> + “He wanders free beside the sea Where 'er the coast is stony; He flaps his + wings and madly sings—The plaintive abalone. + </p> + <p> + “Some stick to biz, some flirt with Liz Down on the sands of Coney; But + we, by hell, stay in Carmel, And whang the abalone.” + </p> + <p> + He paused with his mouth open and stone upraised. There was a rattle of + wheels and a voice calling from above where the sacks of mussels had been + carried. He brought the stone down with a final thump and stood up. + </p> + <p> + “There's a thousand more verses like those,” he said. “Sorry I hadn't time + to teach you them.” He held out his hand, palm downward. “And now, + children, bless you, you are now members of the clan of Abalone Eaters, + and I solemnly enjoin you, never, no matter what the circumstances, pound + abalone meat without chanting the sacred words I have revealed unto you.” + </p> + <p> + “But we can't remember the words from only one hearing,” Saxon + expostulated. + </p> + <p> + “That shall be attended to. Next Sunday the Tribe of Abalone Eaters will + descend upon you here in Bierce's Cove, and you will be able to see the + rites, the writers and writeresses, down even to the Iron Man with the + basilisk eyes, vulgarly known as the King of the Sacerdotal Lizards.” + </p> + <p> + “Will Jim Hazard come?” Billy called, as Hall disappeared into the + thicket. + </p> + <p> + “He will certainly come. Is he not the Cave-Bear Pot-Walloper and + Gridironer, the most fearsome, and, next to me, the most exalted, of all + the Abalone Eaters?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon and Billy could only look at each other till they heard the wheels + rattle away. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be doggoned,” Billy let out. “He's some boy, that. Nothing + stuck up about him. Just like Jim Hazard, comes along and makes himself at + home, you're as good as he is an' he's as good as you, an' we're all + friends together, just like that, right off the bat.” + </p> + <p> + “He's old stock, too,” Saxon said. “He told me while you were undressing. + His folks came by Panama before the railroad was built, and from what he + said I guess he's got plenty of money.” + </p> + <p> + “He sure don't act like it.” + </p> + <p> + “And isn't he full of fun!” Saxon cried. + </p> + <p> + “A regular josher. An' HIM!—a POET!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know, Billy. I've heard that plenty of poets are odd.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, come to think of it. There's Joaquin Miller, lives out in + the hills back of Fruitvale. He's certainly odd. It's right near his place + where I proposed to you. Just the same I thought poets wore whiskers and + eyeglasses, an' never tripped up foot-racers at Sunday picnics, nor run + around with as few clothes on as the law allows, gatherin' mussels an' + climbin' like goats.” + </p> + <p> + That night, under the blankets, Saxon lay awake, looking at the stars, + pleasuring in the balmy thicket-scents, and listening to the dull rumble + of the outer surf and the whispering ripples on the sheltered beach a few + feet away. Billy stirred, and she knew he was not yet asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Glad you left Oakland, Billy?” she snuggled. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” came his answer. “Is a clam happy?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Every half tide Billy raced out the south wall over the dangerous course + he and Hall had traveled, and each trial found him doing it in faster + time. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till Sunday,” he said to Saxon. “I'll give that poet a run for his + money. Why, they ain't a place that bothers me now. I've got the head + confidence. I run where I went on hands an' knees. I figured it out this + way: Suppose you had a foot to fall on each side, an' it was soft hay. + They'd be nothing to stop you. You wouldn't fall. You'd go like a streak. + Then it's just the same if it's a mile down on each side. That ain't your + concern. Your concern is to stay on top and go like a streak. An', d'ye + know, Saxon, when I went at it that way it never bothered me at all. Wait + till he comes with his crowd Sunday. I'm ready for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what the crowd will be like,” Saxon speculated. + </p> + <p> + “Like him, of course. Birds of a feather flock together. They won't be + stuck up, any of them, you'll see.” + </p> + <p> + Hall had sent out fish-lines and a swimming suit by a Mexican cowboy bound + south to his ranch, and from the latter they learned much of the + government land and how to get it. The week flew by; each day Saxon sighed + a farewell of happiness to the sun; each morning they greeted its return + with laughter of joy in that another happy day had begun. They made no + plans, but fished, gathered mussels and abalones, and climbed among the + rocks as the moment moved them. The abalone meat they pounded religiously + to a verse of doggerel improvised by Saxon. Billy prospered. Saxon had + never seen him at so keen a pitch of health. As for herself, she scarcely + needed the little hand-mirror to know that never, since she was a young + girl, had there been such color in her cheeks, such spontaneity of + vivacity. + </p> + <p> + “It's the first time in my life I ever had real play,” Billy said. “An' + you an' me never played at all all the time we was married. This beats + bein' any kind of a millionaire.” + </p> + <p> + “No seven o'clock whistle,” Saxon exulted. “I'd lie abed in the mornings + on purpose, only everything is too good not to be up. And now you just + play at chopping some firewood and catching a nice big perch, Man Friday, + if you expect to get any dinner.” + </p> + <p> + Billy got up, hatchet in hand, from where he had been lying prone, digging + holes in the sand with his bare toes. + </p> + <p> + “But it ain't goin' to last,” he said, with a deep sigh of regret. “The + rains'll come any time now. The good weather's hangin' on something + wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + On Saturday morning, returning from his run out the south wall, he missed + Saxon. After helloing for her without result, he climbed to the road. Half + a mile away, he saw her astride an unsaddled, unbridled horse that moved + unwillingly, at a slow walk, across the pasture. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky for you it was an old mare that had been used to ridin'—see + them saddle marks,” he grumbled, when she at last drew to a halt beside + him and allowed him to help her down. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy,” she sparkled, “I was never on a horse before. It was + glorious! I felt so helpless, too, and so brave.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm proud of you, just the same,” he said, in more grumbling tones than + before. “'Tain't every married woman'd tackle a strange horse that way, + especially if she'd never ben on one. An' I ain't forgot that you're goin' + to have a saddle animal all to yourself some day—a regular Joe + dandy.” + </p> + <p> + The Abalone Eaters, in two rigs and on a number of horses, descended in + force on Bierce's Cove. There were half a score of men and almost as many + women. All were young, between the ages of twenty-five and forty, and all + seemed good friends. Most of them were married. They arrived in a roar of + good spirits, tripping one another down the slippery trail and engulfing + Saxon and Billy in a comradeship as artless and warm as the sunshine + itself. Saxon was appropriated by the girls—she could not realize + them women; and they made much of her, praising her camping and traveling + equipment and insisting on hearing some of her tale. They were experienced + campers themselves, as she quickly discovered when she saw the pots and + pans and clothes-boilers for the mussels which they had brought. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Billy and the men had undressed and scattered out after + mussels and abalones. The girls lighted on Saxon's ukulele and nothing + would do but she must play and sing. Several of them had been to Honolulu, + and knew the instrument, confirming Mercedes' definition of ukulele as + “jumping flea.” Also, they knew Hawaiian songs she had learned from + Mercedes, and soon, to her accompaniment, all were singing: “Aloha Oe,” + “Honolulu Tomboy,” and “Sweet Lei Lehua.” Saxon was genuinely shocked when + some of them, even the more matronly, danced hulas on the sand. + </p> + <p> + When the men returned, burdened with sacks of shellfish, Mark Hall, as + high priest, commanded the due and solemn rite of the tribe. At a wave of + his hand, the many poised stones came down in unison on the white meat, + and all voices were uplifted in the Hymn to the Abalone. Old verses all + sang, occasionally some one sang a fresh verse alone, whereupon it was + repeated in chorus. Billy betrayed Saxon by begging her in an undertone to + sing the verse she had made, and her pretty voice was timidly raised in: + </p> + <p> + “We sit around and gaily pound, And bear no acrimony Because our ob—ject + is a gob Of sizzling abalone.” + </p> + <p> + “Great!” cried the poet, who had winced at ob—ject. “She speaks the + language of the tribe! Come on, children—now!” + </p> + <p> + And all chanted Saxon's lines. Then Jim Hazard had a new verse, and one of + the girls, and the Iron Man with the basilisk eyes of greenish-gray, whom + Saxon recognized from Hall's description. To her it seemed he had the face + of a priest. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! some like ham and some like lamb And some like macaroni; But bring me + in a pail of gin And a tub of abalone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! some drink rain and some champagne Or brandy by the pony; But I will + try a little rye With a dash of abalone. + </p> + <p> + “Some live on hope and some on dope And some on alimony. But our tom-cat, + he lives on fat And tender abalone.” + </p> + <p> + A black-haired, black-eyed man with the roguish face of a satyr, who, + Saxon learned, was an artist who sold his paintings at five hundred + apiece, brought on himself universal execration and acclamation by + singing: + </p> + <p> + “The more we take, the more they make In deep sea matrimony; Race suicide + cannot betide The fertile abalone.” + </p> + <p> + And so it went, verses new and old, verses without end, all in + glorification of the succulent shellfish of Carmel. Saxon's enjoyment was + keen, almost ecstatic, and she had difficulty in convincing herself of the + reality of it all. It seemed like some fairy tale or book story come true. + Again, it seemed more like a stage, and these the actors, she and Billy + having blundered into the scene in some incomprehensible way. Much of wit + she sensed which she did not understand. Much she did understand. And she + was aware that brains were playing as she had never seen brains play + before. The puritan streak in her training was astonished and shocked by + some of the broadness; but she refused to sit in judgment. They SEEMED + good, these light-hearted young people; they certainly were not rough or + gross as were many of the crowds she had been with on Sunday picnics. None + of the men got drunk, although there were cocktails in vacuum bottles and + red wine in a huge demijohn. + </p> + <p> + What impressed Saxon most was their excessive jollity, their childlike + joy, and the childlike things they did. This effect was heightened by the + fact that they were novelists and painters, poets and critics, sculptors + and musicians. One man, with a refined and delicate face—a dramatic + critic on a great San Francisco daily, she was told—introduced a + feat which all the men tried and failed at most ludicrously. On the beach, + at regular intervals, planks were placed as obstacles. Then the dramatic + critic, on all fours, galloped along the sand for all the world like a + horse, and for all the world like a horse taking hurdles he jumped the + planks to the end of the course. + </p> + <p> + Quoits had been brought along, and for a while these were pitched with + zest. Then jumping was started, and game slid into game. Billy took part + in everything, but did not win first place as often as he had expected. An + English writer beat him a dozen feet at tossing the caber. Jim Hazard beat + him in putting the heavy “rock.” Mark Hall out-jumped him standing and + running. But at the standing high back-jump Billy did come first. Despite + the handicap of his weight, this victory was due to his splendid back and + abdominal lifting muscles. Immediately after this, however, he was brought + to grief by Mark Hall's sister, a strapping young amazon in cross-saddle + riding costume, who three times tumbled him ignominiously heels over head + in a bout of Indian wrestling. + </p> + <p> + “You're easy,” jeered the Iron Man, whose name they had learned was Pete + Bideaux. “I can put you down myself, catch-as-catch-can.” + </p> + <p> + Billy accepted the challenge, and found in all truth that the other was + rightly nicknamed. In the training camps Billy had sparred and clinched + with giant champions like Jim Jeffries and Jack Johnson, and met the + weight of their strength, but never had he encountered strength like this + of the Iron Man. Do what he could, Billy was powerless, and twice his + shoulders were ground into the sand in defeat. + </p> + <p> + “You'll get a chance back at him,” Hazard whispered to Billy, off at one + side. “I've brought the gloves along. Of course, you had no chance with + him at his own game. He's wrestled in the music halls in London with + Hackenschmidt. Now you keep quiet, and we'll lead up to it in a casual + sort of way. He doesn't know about you.” + </p> + <p> + Soon, the Englishman who had tossed the caber was sparring with the + dramatic critic, Hazard and Hall boxed in fantastic burlesque, then, + gloves in hand, looked for the next appropriately matched couple. The + choice of Bideaux and Billy was obvious. + </p> + <p> + “He's liable to get nasty if he's hurt,” Hazard warned Billy, as he tied + on the gloves for him. “He's old American French, and he's got a devil of + a temper. But just keep your head and tap him—whatever you do, keep + tapping him.” + </p> + <p> + “Easy sparring now”; “No roughhouse, Bideaux”; “Just light tapping, you + know,” were admonitions variously addressed to the Iron Man. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on a second,” he said to Billy, dropping his hands. “When I get + rapped I do get a bit hot. But don't mind me. I can't help it, you know. + It's only for the moment, and I don't mean it.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon felt very nervous, visions of Billy's bloody fights and all the + scabs he had slugged rising in her brain; but she had never seen her + husband box, and but few seconds were required to put her at ease. The + Iron Man had no chance. Billy was too completely the master, guarding + every blow, himself continually and almost at will tapping the other's + face and body. There was no weight in Billy's blows, only a light and + snappy tingle; but their incessant iteration told on the Iron Man's + temper. In vain the onlookers warned him to go easy. His face purpled with + anger, and his blows became savage. But Billy went on, tap, tap, tap, + calmly, gently, imperturbably. The Iron Man lost control, and rushed and + plunged, delivering great swings and upper-cuts of man-killing quality. + Billy ducked, side-stepped, blocked, stalled, and escaped all damage. In + the clinches, which were unavoidable, he locked the Iron Man's arms, and + in the clinches the Iron Man invariably laughed and apologized, only to + lose his head with the first tap the instant they separated and be more + infuriated than ever. + </p> + <p> + And when it was over and Billy's identity had been divulged, the Iron Man + accepted the joke on himself with the best of humor. It had been a + splendid exhibition on Billy's part. His mastery of the sport, coupled + with his self-control, had most favorably impressed the crowd, and Saxon, + very proud of her man boy, could not but see the admiration all had for + him. + </p> + <p> + Nor did she prove in any way a social failure. When the tired and sweating + players lay down in the dry sand to cool off, she was persuaded into + accompanying their nonsense songs with the ukulele. Nor was it long, + catching their spirit, ere she was singing to them and teaching them + quaint songs of early days which she had herself learned as a little girl + from Cady—Cady, the saloonkeeper, pioneer, and ex-cavalryman, who + had been a bull-whacker on the Salt Intake Trail in the days before the + railroad. + </p> + <p> + One song which became an immediate favorite was: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! times on Bitter Creek, they never can be beat, Root hog or die is on + every wagon sheet; The sand within your throat, the dust within your eye, + Bend your back and stand it—root hog or die.” + </p> + <p> + After the dozen verses of “Root Hog or Die,” Mark Hall claimed to be + especially infatuated with: + </p> + <p> + “Obadier, he dreampt a dream, Dreampt he was drivin' a ten-mule team, But + when he woke he heaved a sigh, The lead-mule kicked e-o-wt the + swing-mule's eye.” + </p> + <p> + It was Mark Hall who brought up the matter of Billy's challenge to race + out the south wall of the cove, though he referred to the test as lying + somewhere in the future. Billy surprised him by saying he was ready at any + time. Forthwith the crowd clamored for the race. Hall offered to bet on + himself, but there were no takers. He offered two to one to Jim Hazard, + who shook his head and said he would accept three to one as a sporting + proposition. Billy heard and gritted his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take you for five dollars,” he said to Hall, “but not at those odds. + I'll back myself even.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't your money I want; it's Hazard's,” Hall demurred. “Though I'll + give either of you three to one.” + </p> + <p> + “Even or nothing,” Billy held out obstinately. + </p> + <p> + Hall finally closed both bets—even with Billy, and three to one with + Hazard. + </p> + <p> + The path along the knife-edge was so narrow that it was impossible for + runners to pass each other, so it was arranged to time the men, Hall to go + first and Billy to follow after an interval of half a minute. + </p> + <p> + Hall toed the mark and at the word was off with the form of a sprinter. + Saxon's heart sank. She knew Billy had never crossed the stretch of sand + at that speed. Billy darted forward thirty seconds later, and reached the + foot of the rock when Hall was half way up. When both were on top and + racing from notch to notch, the Iron Man announced that they had scaled + the wall in the same time to a second. + </p> + <p> + “My money still looks good,” Hazard remarked, “though I hope neither of + them breaks a neck. I wouldn't take that run that way for all the gold + that would fill the cove.” + </p> + <p> + “But you'll take bigger chances swimming in a storm on Carmel Beach,” his + wife chided. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” he retorted. “You haven't so far to fall when + swimming.” + </p> + <p> + Billy and Hall had disappeared and were making the circle around the end. + Those on the beach were certain that the poet had gained in the dizzy + spurts of flight along the knife-edge. Even Hazard admitted it. + </p> + <p> + “What price for my money now?” he cried excitedly, dancing up and down. + </p> + <p> + Hall had reappeared, the great jump accomplished, and was running + shoreward. But there was no gap. Billy was on his heels, and on his heels + he stayed, in to shore, down the wall, and to the mark on the beach. Billy + had won by half a minute. + </p> + <p> + “Only by the watch,” he panted. “Hall was over half a minute ahead of me + out to the end. I'm not slower than I thought, but he's faster. He's a + wooz of a sprinter. He could beat me ten times outa ten, except for + accident. He was hung up at the jump by a big sea. That's where I caught + 'm. I jumped right after 'm on the same sea, then he set the pace home, + and all I had to do was take it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said Hall. “You did better than beat me. That's the + first time in the history of Bierce's Cove that two men made that jump on + the same sea. And all the risk was yours, coming last.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a fluke,” Billy insisted. + </p> + <p> + And at that point Saxon settled the dispute of modesty and raised a + general laugh by rippling chords on the ukulele and parodying an old hymn + in negro minstrel fashion: + </p> + <p> + “De Lawd move in er mischievous way His blunders to perform.” + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon Jim Hazard and Hall dived into the breakers and swam to + the outlying rocks, routing the protesting sea-lions and taking possession + of their surf-battered stronghold. Billy followed the swimmers with his + eyes, yearning after them so undisguisedly that Mrs. Hazard said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you stop in Carmel this winter? Jim will teach you all he knows + about the surf. And he's wild to box with you. He works long hours at his + desk, and he really needs exercise.” + </p> + <p> + Not until sunset did the merry crowd carry their pots and pans and trove + of mussels up to the road and depart. Saxon and Billy watched them + disappear, on horses and behind horses, over the top of the first hill, + and then descended hand in hand through the thicket to the camp. Billy + threw himself on the sand and stretched out. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know when I've been so tired,” he yawned. “An' there's one thing + sure: I never had such a day. It's worth livin' twenty years for an' then + some.” + </p> + <p> + He reached out his hand to Saxon, who lay beside him. + </p> + <p> + “And, oh, I was so proud of you, Billy,” she said. “I never saw you box + before. I didn't know it was like that. The Iron Man was at your mercy all + the time, and you kept it from being violent or terrible. Everybody could + look on and enjoy—and they did, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh, I want to say you was goin' some yourself. They just took to you. + Why, honest to God, Saxon, in the singin' you was the whole show, along + with the ukulele. All the women liked you, too, an' that's what counts.” + </p> + <p> + It was their first social triumph, and the taste of it was sweet: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hall said he'd looked up the 'Story of the Files,'” Saxon recounted. + “And he said mother was a true poet. He said it was astonishing the fine + stock that had crossed the Plains. He told me a lot about those times and + the people I didn't know. And he's read all about the fight at Little + Meadow. He says he's got it in a book at home, and if we come back to + Carmel he'll show it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “He wants us to come back all right. D'ye know what he said to me, Saxon? + He gave me a letter to some guy that's down on the government land—some + poet that's holdin' down a quarter of a section—so we'll be able to + stop there, which'll come in handy if the big rains catch us. An'—Oh! + that's what I was drivin' at. He said he had a little shack he lived in + while the house was buildin'. The Iron Man's livin' in it now, but he's + goin' away to some Catholic college to study to be a priest, an' Hall said + the shack'd be ours as long as we wanted to use it. An' he said I could do + what the Iron Man was doin' to make a livin'. Hall was kind of bashful + when he was offerin' me work. Said it'd be only odd jobs, but that we'd + make out. I could help'm plant potatoes, he said; an' he got half savage + when he said I couldn't chop wood. That was his job, he said; an' you + could see he was actually jealous over it.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mrs. Hall said just about the same to me, Billy. Carmel wouldn't be + so bad to pass the rainy season in. And then, too, you could go swimming + with Mr. Hazard.” + </p> + <p> + “Seems as if we could settle down wherever we've a mind to,” Billy + assented. “Carmel's the third place now that's offered. Well, after this, + no man need be afraid of makin' a go in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “No good man,” Saxon corrected. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you're right.” Billy thought for a moment. “Just the same a dub, + too, has a better chance in the country than in the city.” + </p> + <p> + “Who'd have ever thought that such fine people existed?” Saxon pondered. + “It's just wonderful, when you come to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's only what you'd expect from a rich poet that'd trip up a foot-racer + at an Irish picnic,” Billy exposited. + </p> + <p> + “The only crowd such a guy'd run with would be like himself, or he'd make + a crowd that was. I wouldn't wonder that he'd make this crowd. Say, he's + got some sister, if anybody'd ride up on a sea-lion an' ask you. She's got + that Indian wrestlin' down pat, an' she's built for it. An' say, ain't his + wife a beaut?” + </p> + <p> + A little longer they lay in the warm sand. It was Billy who broke the + silence, and what he said seemed to proceed out of profound meditation. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon, d'ye know I don't care if I never see movie pictures again.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Saxon and Billy were gone weeks on the trip south, but in the end they + came back to Carmel. They had stopped with Hafler, the poet in the Marble + House, which he had built with his own hands. This queer dwelling was all + in one room, built almost entirely of white marble. Hafler cooked, as over + a campfire, in the huge marble fireplace, which he used in all ways as a + kitchen. There were divers shelves of books, and the massive furniture he + had made from redwood, as he had made the shakes for the roof. A blanket, + stretched across a corner, gave Saxon privacy. The poet was on the verge + of departing for San Francisco and New York, but remained a day over with + them to explain the country and run over the government land with Billy. + Saxon had wanted to go along that morning, but Hafler scornfully rejected + her, telling her that her legs were too short. That night, when the men + returned, Billy was played out to exhaustion. He frankly acknowledged that + Hafler had walked him into the ground, and that his tongue had been + hanging out from the first hour. Hafler estimated that they had covered + fifty-five miles. + </p> + <p> + “But such miles!” Billy enlarged. “Half the time up or down, an' 'most all + the time without trails. An' such a pace. He was dead right about your + short legs, Saxon. You wouldn't a-lasted the first mile. An' such country! + We ain't seen anything like it yet.” + </p> + <p> + Hafler left the next day to catch the train at Monterey. He gave them the + freedom of the Marble House, and told them to stay the whole winter if + they wanted. Billy elected to loaf around and rest up that day. He was + stiff and sore. Moreover, he was stunned by the exhibition of walking + prowess on the part of the poet. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody can do something top-notch down in this country,” he marveled. + “Now take that Hafler. He's a bigger man than me, an' a heavier. An' + weight's against walkin', too. But not with him. He's done eighty miles + inside twenty-four hours, he told me, an' once a hundred an' seventy in + three days. Why, he made a show outa me. I felt ashamed as a little kid.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember, Billy,” Saxon soothed him, “every man to his own game. And down + here you're a top-notcher at your own game. There isn't one you're not the + master of with the gloves.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess that's right,” he conceded. “But just the same it goes against + the grain to be walked off my legs by a poet—by a poet, mind you.” + </p> + <p> + They spent days in going over the government land, and in the end + reluctantly decided against taking it up. The redwood canyons and great + cliffs of the Santa Lucia Mountains fascinated Saxon; but she remembered + what Hafler had told her of the summer fogs which hid the sun sometimes + for a week or two at a time, and which lingered for months. Then, too, + there was no access to market. It was many miles to where the nearest + wagon road began, at Post's, and from there on, past Point Sur to Carmel, + it was a weary and perilous way. Billy, with his teamster judgment, + admitted that for heavy hauling it was anything but a picnic. There was + the quarry of perfect marble on Hafler's quarter section. He had said that + it would be worth a fortune if near a railroad; but, as it was, he'd make + them a present of it if they wanted it. + </p> + <p> + Billy visioned the grassy slopes pastured with his horses and cattle, and + found it hard to turn his back; but he listened with a willing ear to + Saxon's argument in favor of a farm-home like the one they had seen in the + moving pictures in Oakland. Yes, he agreed, what they wanted was an + all-around farm, and an all-around farm they would have if they hiked + forty years to find it. + </p> + <p> + “But it must have redwoods on it,” Saxon hastened to stipulate. “I've + fallen in love with them. And we can get along without fog. And there must + be good wagon-roads, and a railroad not more than a thousand miles away.” + </p> + <p> + Heavy winter rains held them prisoners for two weeks in the Marble House. + Saxon browsed among Hafler's books, though most of them were depressingly + beyond her, while Billy hunted with Hafler's guns. But he was a poor shot + and a worse hunter. His only success was with rabbits, which he managed to + kill on occasions when they stood still. With the rifle he got nothing, + although he fired at half a dozen different deer, and, once, at a huge + cat-creature with a long tail which he was certain was a mountain lion. + Despite the way he grumbled at himself, Saxon could see the keen joy he + was taking. This belated arousal of the hunting instinct seemed to make + almost another man of him. He was out early and late, compassing + prodigious climbs and tramps—once reaching as far as the gold mines + Tom had spoken of, and being away two days. + </p> + <p> + “Talk about pluggin' away at a job in the city, an' goin' to movie' + pictures and Sunday picnics for amusement!” he would burst out. “I can't + see what was eatin' me that I ever put up with such truck. Here's where I + oughta ben all the time, or some place like it.” + </p> + <p> + He was filled with this new mode of life, and was continually recalling + old hunting tales of his father and telling them to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Say, I don't get stiffened any more after an all-day tramp,” he exulted. + “I'm broke in. An' some day, if I meet up with that Hafler, I'll + challenge'm to a tramp that'll break his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Foolish boy, always wanting to play everybody's game and beat them at + it,” Saxon laughed delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, I guess you're right,” he growled. “Hafler can always out-walk me. + He's made that way. But some day, just the same, if I ever see 'm again, + I'll invite 'm to put on the gloves.. .. though I won't be mean enough to + make 'm as sore as he made me.” + </p> + <p> + After they left Post's on the way back to Carmel, the condition of the + road proved the wisdom of their rejection of the government land. They + passed a rancher's wagon overturned, a second wagon with a broken axle, + and the stage a hundred yards down the mountainside, where it had fallen, + passengers, horses, road, and all. + </p> + <p> + “I guess they just about quit tryin' to use this road in the winter,” + Billy said. “It's horse-killin' an' man-killin', an' I can just see 'm + freightin' that marble out over it I don't think.” + </p> + <p> + Settling down at Carmel was an easy matter. The Iron Man had already + departed to his Catholic college, and the “shack” turned out to be a + three-roomed house comfortably furnished for housekeeping. Hall put Billy + to work on the potato patch—a matter of three acres which the poet + farmed erratically to the huge delight of his crowd. He planted at all + seasons, and it was accepted by the community that what did not rot in the + ground was evenly divided between the gophers and trespassing cows. A plow + was borrowed, a team of horses hired, and Billy took hold. Also he built a + fence around the patch, and after that was set to staining the shingled + roof of the bungalow. Hall climbed to the ridge-pole to repeat his warning + that Billy must keep away from his wood-pile. One morning Hall came over + and watched Billy chopping wood for Saxon. The poet looked on covetously + as long as he could restrain himself. + </p> + <p> + “It's plain you don't know how to use an axe,” he sneered. “Here, let me + show you.” + </p> + <p> + He worked away for an hour, all the while delivering an exposition on the + art of chopping wood. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” Billy expostulated at last, taking hold of the axe. “I'll have to + chop a cord of yours now in order to make this up to you.” + </p> + <p> + Hall surrendered the axe reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let me catch you around my wood-pile, that's all,” he threatened. + “My wood-pile is my castle, and you've got to understand that.” + </p> + <p> + From a financial standpoint, Saxon and Billy were putting aside much + money. They paid no rent, their simple living was cheap, and Billy had all + the work he cared to accept. The various members of the crowd seemed in a + conspiracy to keep him busy. It was all odd jobs, but he preferred it so, + for it enabled him to suit his time to Jim Hazard's. Each day they boxed + and took a long swim through the surf. When Hazard finished his morning's + writing, he would whoop through the pines to Billy, who dropped whatever + work he was doing. After the swim, they would take a fresh shower at + Hazard's house, rub each other down in training camp style, and be ready + for the noon meal. In the afternoon Hazard returned to his desk, and Billy + to his outdoor work, although, still later, they often met for a few + miles' run over the hills. Training was a matter of habit to both men. + Hazard, when he had finished with seven years of football, knowing the + dire death that awaits the big-muscled athlete who ceases training + abruptly, had been compelled to keep it up. Not only was it a necessity, + but he had grown to like it. Billy also liked it, for he took great + delight in the silk of his body. + </p> + <p> + Often, in the early morning, gun in hand, he was off with Mark Hall, who + taught him to shoot and hunt. Hall had dragged a shotgun around from the + days when he wore knee pants, and his keen observing eyes and knowledge of + the habits of wild life were a revelation to Billy. This part of the + country was too settled for large game, but Billy kept Saxon supplied with + squirrels and quail, cottontails and jackrabbits, snipe and wild ducks. + And they learned to eat roasted mallard and canvasback in the California + style of sixteen minutes in a hot oven. As he became expert with shotgun + and rifle, he began to regret the deer and the mountain lion he had missed + down below the Sur; and to the requirements of the farm he and Saxon + sought he added plenty of game. + </p> + <p> + But it was not all play in Carmel. That portion of the community which + Saxon and Billy came to know, “the crowd,” was hard-working. Some worked + regularly, in the morning or late at night. Others worked spasmodically, + like the wild Irish playwright, who would shut himself up for a week at a + time, then emerge, pale and drawn, to play like a madman against the time + of his next retirement. The pale and youthful father of a family, with the + face of Shelley, who wrote vaudeville turns for a living and blank verse + tragedies and sonnet cycles for the despair of managers and publishers, + hid himself in a concrete cell with three-foot walls, so piped, that, by + turning a lever, the whole structure spouted water upon the impending + intruder. But in the main, they respected each other's work-time. They + drifted into one another's houses as the spirit prompted, but if they + found a man at work they went their way. This obtained to all except Mark + Hall, who did not have to work for a living; and he climbed trees to get + away from popularity and compose in peace. + </p> + <p> + The crowd was unique in its democracy and solidarity. It had little + intercourse with the sober and conventional part of Carmel. This section + constituted the aristocracy of art and letters, and was sneered at as + bourgeois. In return, it looked askance at the crowd with its rampant + bohemianism. The taboo extended to Billy and Saxon. Billy took up the + attitude of the clan and sought no work from the other camp. Nor was work + offered him. + </p> + <p> + Hall kept open house. The big living room, with its huge fireplace, + divans, shelves and tables of books and magazines, was the center of + things. Here, Billy and Saxon were expected to be, and in truth found + themselves to be, as much at home as anybody. Here, when wordy discussions + on all subjects under the sun were not being waged, Billy played at + cut-throat Pedro, horrible fives, bridge, and pinochle. Saxon, a favorite + of the young women, sewed with them, teaching them pretties and being + taught in fair measure in return. + </p> + <p> + It was Billy, before they had been in Carmel a week, who said shyly to + Saxon: + </p> + <p> + “Say, you can't guess how I'm missin' all your nice things. What's the + matter with writin' Tom to express 'm down? When we start trampin' again, + we'll express 'm back.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon wrote the letter, and all that day her heart was singing. Her man + was still her lover. And there were in his eyes all the old lights which + had been blotted out during the nightmare period of the strike. + </p> + <p> + “Some pretty nifty skirts around here, but you've got 'em all beat, or I'm + no judge,” he told her. And again: “Oh, I love you to death anyway. But if + them things ain't shipped down there'll be a funeral.” + </p> + <p> + Hall and his wife owned a pair of saddle horses which were kept at the + livery stable, and here Billy naturally gravitated. The stable operated + the stage and carried the mails between Carmel and Monterey. Also, it + rented out carriages and mountain wagons that seated nine persons. With + carriages and wagons a driver was furnished. The stable often found itself + short a driver, and Billy was quickly called upon. He became an extra man + at the stable. He received three dollars a day at such times, and drove + many parties around the Seventeen Mile Drive, up Carmel Valley, and down + the coast to the various points and beaches. + </p> + <p> + “But they're a pretty uppish sort, most of 'em,” he said to Saxon, + referring to the persons he drove. “Always MISTER Roberts this, an' MISTER + Roberts that—all kinds of ceremony so as to make me not forget they + consider themselves better 'n me. You see, I ain't exactly a servant, an' + yet I ain't good enough for them. I'm the driver—something half way + between a hired man and a chauffeur. Huh! When they eat they give me my + lunch off to one side, or afterward. No family party like with Hall an' + HIS kind. An' that crowd to-day, why, they just naturally didn't have no + lunch for me at all. After this, always, you make me up my own lunch. I + won't be be holdin' to 'em for nothin', the damned geezers. An' you'd + a-died to seen one of 'em try to give me a tip. I didn't say nothin'. I + just looked at 'm like I didn't see 'm, an' turned away casual-like after + a moment, leavin' him as embarrassed as hell.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, Billy enjoyed the driving, never more so than when he held + the reins, not of four plodding workhorses, but of four fast driving + animals, his foot on the powerful brake, and swung around curves and along + dizzy cliff-rims to a frightened chorus of women passengers. And when it + came to horse judgment and treatment of sick and injured horses even the + owner of the stable yielded place to Billy. + </p> + <p> + “I could get a regular job there any time,” he boasted quietly to Saxon. + “Why, the country's just sproutin' with jobs for any so-so sort of a + fellow. I bet anything, right now, if I said to the boss that I'd take + sixty dollars an' work regular, he'd jump for me. He's hinted as much.—And, + say! Are you onta the fact that yours truly has learnt a new trade. Well + he has. He could take a job stage-drivin' anywheres. They drive six on + some of the stages up in Lake County. If we ever get there, I'll get thick + with some driver, just to get the reins of six in my hands. An' I'll have + you on the box beside me. Some goin' that! Some goin'!” + </p> + <p> + Billy took little interest in the many discussions waged in Hall's big + living room. “Wind-chewin',” was his term for it. To him it was so much + good time wasted that might be employed at a game of Pedro, or going + swimming, or wrestling in the sand. Saxon, on the contrary, delighted in + the logomachy, though little enough she understood of it, following mainly + by feeling, and once in a while catching a high light. + </p> + <p> + But what she could never comprehend was the pessimism that so often + cropped up. The wild Irish playwright had terrible spells of depression. + Shelley, who wrote vaudeville turns in the concrete cell, was a chronic + pessimist. St. John, a young magazine writer, was an anarchic disciple of + Nietzsche. Masson, a painter, held to a doctrine of eternal recurrence + that was petrifying. And Hall, usually so merry, could outfoot them all + when he once got started on the cosmic pathos of religion and the + gibbering anthropomorphisms of those who loved not to die. At such times + Saxon was oppressed by these sad children of art. It was inconceivable + that they, of all people, should be so forlorn. + </p> + <p> + One night Hall turned suddenly upon Billy, who had been following dimly + and who only comprehended that to them everything in life was rotten and + wrong. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you pagan, you, you stolid and flesh-fettered ox, you monstrosity + of over-weening and perennial health and joy, what do you think of it?” + Hall demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've had my troubles,” Billy answered, speaking in his wonted slow + way. “I've had my hard times, an' fought a losin' strike, an' soaked my + watch, an' ben unable to pay my rent or buy grub, an' slugged scabs, an' + ben slugged, and ben thrown into jail for makin' a fool of myself. If I + get you, I'd be a whole lot better to be a swell hog fattenin' for market + an' nothin' worryin', than to be a guy sick to his stomach from not + savvyin' how the world is made or from wonderin' what's the good of + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good, that prize hog,” the poet laughed. “Least irritation, least + effort—a compromise of Nirvana and life. Least irritation, least + effort, the ideal existence: a jellyfish floating in a tideless, tepid, + twilight sea.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're missin' all the good things,” Billy objected. + </p> + <p> + “Name them,” came the challenge. + </p> + <p> + Billy was silent a moment. To him life seemed a large and generous thing. + He felt as if his arms ached from inability to compass it all, and he + began, haltingly at first, to put his feeling into speech. + </p> + <p> + “If you'd ever stood up in the ring an' out-gamed an' out-fought a man as + good as yourself for twenty rounds, you'd get what I'm drivin' at. Jim + Hazard an' I get it when we swim out through the surf an' laugh in the + teeth of the biggest breakers that ever pounded the beach, an' when we + come out from the shower, rubbed down and dressed, our skin an' muscles + like silk, our bodies an' brains all a-tinglin' like silk.. ..” + </p> + <p> + He paused and gave up from sheer inability to express ideas that were + nebulous at best and that in reality were remembered sensations. + </p> + <p> + “Silk of the body, can you beat it?” he concluded lamely, feeling that he + had failed to make his point, embarrassed by the circle of listeners. + </p> + <p> + “We know all that,” Hall retorted. “The lies of the flesh. Afterward come + rheumatism and diabetes. The wine of life is heady, but all too quickly it + turns to—” + </p> + <p> + “Uric acid,” interpolated the wild Irish playwright. + </p> + <p> + “They's plenty more of the good things,” Billy took up with a sudden rush + of words. “Good things all the way up from juicy porterhouse and the kind + of coffee Mrs. Hall makes to....” He hesitated at what he was about to + say, then took it at a plunge. “To a woman you can love an' that loves + you. Just take a look at Saxon there with the ukulele in her lap. There's + where I got the jellyfish in the dishwater an' the prize hog skinned to + death.” + </p> + <p> + A shout of applause and great hand-clapping went up from the girls, and + Billy looked painfully uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “But suppose the silk goes out of your body till you creak like a rusty + wheelbarrow?” Hall pursued. “Suppose, just suppose, Saxon went away with + another man. What then?” + </p> + <p> + Billy considered a space. + </p> + <p> + “Then it'd be me for the dishwater an' the jellyfish, I guess.” He + straightened up in his chair and threw back his shoulders unconsciously as + he ran a hand over his biceps and swelled it. Then he took another look at + Saxon. “But thank the Lord I still got a wallop in both my arms an' a wife + to fill 'em with love.” + </p> + <p> + Again the girls applauded, and Mrs. Hall cried: + </p> + <p> + “Look at Saxon! She blushing! What have you to say for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “That no woman could be happier,” she stammered, “and no queen as proud. + And that—” + </p> + <p> + She completed the thought by strumming on the ukulele and singing: + </p> + <p> + “De Lawd move in er mischievous way His blunders to perform.” + </p> + <p> + “I give you best,” Hall grinned to Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Billy disclaimed modestly. “You've read so much I + guess you know more about everything than I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh!” “Traitor!” “Taking it all back!” the girls cried variously. + </p> + <p> + Billy took heart of courage, reassured them with a slow smile, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Just the same I'd sooner be myself than have book indigestion. An' as for + Saxon, why, one kiss of her lips is worth more'n all the libraries in the + world.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + “There must be hills and valleys, and rich land, and streams of clear water, + good wagon roads and a railroad not too far away, plenty of sunshine, and + cold enough at night to need blankets, and not only pines but plenty of + other kinds of trees, with open spaces to pasture Billy's horses and + cattle, and deer and rabbits for him to shoot, and lots and lots of + redwood trees, and... and... well, and no fog,” Saxon concluded the + description of the farm she and Billy sought. + </p> + <p> + Mark Hall laughed delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “And nightingales roosting in all the trees,” he cried; “flowers that + neither fail nor fade, bees without stings, honey dew every morning, + showers of manna betweenwhiles, fountains of youth and quarries of + philosopher's stones—why, I know the very place. Let me show you.” + </p> + <p> + She waited while he pored over road-maps of the state. Failing in them, he + got out a big atlas, and, though all the countries of the world were in + it, he could not find what he was after. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” he said. “Come over to-night and I'll be able to show you.” + </p> + <p> + That evening he led her out on the veranda to the telescope, and she found + herself looking through it at the full moon. + </p> + <p> + “Somewhere up there in some valley you'll find that farm,” he teased. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hall looked inquiringly at them as they returned inside. + </p> + <p> + “I've been showing her a valley in the moon where she expects to go + farming,” he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “We started out prepared to go any distance,” Saxon said. “And if it's to + the moon, I expect we can make it.” + </p> + <p> + “But my dear child, you can't expect to find such a paradise on the + earth,” Hall continued. “For instance, you can't have redwoods without + fog. They go together. The redwoods grow only in the fog belt.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon debated a while. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we could put up with a little fog,” she conceded, “—almost + anything to have redwoods. I don't know what a quarry of philosopher's + stones is like, but if it's anything like Mr. Hafler's marble quarry, and + there's a railroad handy, I guess we could manage to worry along. And you + don't have to go to the moon for honey dew. They scrape it off of the + leaves of the bushes up in Nevada County. I know that for a fact, because + my father told my mother about it, and she told me.” + </p> + <p> + A little later in the evening, the subject of farming having remained + uppermost, Hall swept off into a diatribe against the “gambler's + paradise,” which was his epithet for the United States. + </p> + <p> + “When you think of the glorious chance,” he said. “A new country, bounded + by the oceans, situated just right in latitude, with the richest land and + vastest natural resources of any country in the world, settled by + immigrants who had thrown off all the leading strings of the Old World and + were in the humor for democracy. There was only one thing to stop them + from perfecting the democracy they started, and that thing was greediness. + </p> + <p> + “They started gobbling everything in sight like a lot of swine, and while + they gobbled democracy went to smash. Gobbling became gambling. It was a + nation of tin horns. Whenever a man lost his stake, all he had to do was + to chase the frontier west a few miles and get another stake. They moved + over the face of the land like so many locusts. They destroyed everything—the + Indians, the soil, the forests, just as they destroyed the buffalo and the + passenger pigeon. Their morality in business and politics was gambler + morality. Their laws were gambling laws—how to play the game. + Everybody played. Therefore, hurrah for the game. Nobody objected, because + nobody was unable to play. As I said, the losers chased the frontier for + fresh stakes. The winner of to-day, broke to-morrow, on the day following + might be riding his luck to royal flushes on five-card draws. + </p> + <p> + “So they gobbled and gambled from the Atlantic to the Pacific, until + they'd swined a whole continent. When they'd finished with the lands and + forests and mines, they turned back, gambling for any little stakes they'd + overlooked, gambling for franchises and monopolies, using politics to + protect their crooked deals and brace games. And democracy gone clean to + smash. + </p> + <p> + “And then was the funniest time of all. The losers couldn't get any more + stakes, while the winners went on gambling among themselves. The losers + could only stand around with their hands in their pockets and look on. + When they got hungry, they went, hat in hand, and begged the successful + gamblers for a job. The losers went to work for the winners, and they've + been working for them ever since, and democracy side-tracked up Salt + Creek. You, Billy Roberts, have never had a hand in the game in your life. + That's because your people were among the also-rans.” + </p> + <p> + “How about yourself?” Billy asked. “I ain't seen you holdin' any hands.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't have to. I don't count. I am a parasite.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “A flea, a woodtick, anything that gets something for nothing. I batten on + the mangy hides of the workingmen. I don't have to gamble. I don't have to + work. My father left me enough of his winnings.—Oh, don't preen + yourself, my boy. Your folks were just as bad as mine. But yours lost, and + mine won, and so you plow in my potato patch.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see it,” Billy contended stoutly. “A man with gumption can win + out to-day—” + </p> + <p> + “On government land?” Hall asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + Billy swallowed and acknowledged the stab. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same he can win out,” he reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “Surely—he can win a job from some other fellow? A young husky with + a good head like yours can win jobs anywhere. But think of the handicaps + on the fellows who lose. How many tramps have you met along the road who + could get a job driving four horses for the Carmel Livery Stable? And some + of them were as husky as you when they were young. And on top of it all + you've got no shout coming. It's a mighty big come-down from gambling for + a continent to gambling for a job.” + </p> + <p> + “Just the same—” Billy recommenced. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you've got it in your blood,” Hall cut him off cavalierly. “And why + not? Everybody in this country has been gambling for generations. It was + in the air when you were born. You've breathed it all your life. You, who + 've never had a white chip in the game, still go on shouting for it and + capping for it.” + </p> + <p> + “But what are all of us losers to do?” Saxon inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Call in the police and stop the game,” Hall recommended. “It's crooked.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Do what your forefathers didn't do,” he amplified. “Go ahead and perfect + democracy.” + </p> + <p> + She remembered a remark of Mercedes. “A friend of mine says that democracy + is an enchantment.” + </p> + <p> + “It is—in a gambling joint. There are a million boys in our public + schools right now swallowing the gump of canal boy to President, and + millions of worthy citizens who sleep sound every night in the belief that + they have a say in running the country.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk like my brother Tom,” Saxon said, failing to comprehend. “If we + all get into politics and work hard for something better maybe we'll get + it after a thousand years or so. But I want it now.” She clenched her + hands passionately. “I can't wait; I want it now.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is just what I've been telling you, my dear girl. That's what's + the trouble with all the losers. They can't wait. They want it now—a + stack of chips and a fling at the game. Well, they won't get it now. + That's what's the matter with you, chasing a valley in the moon. That's + what's the matter with Billy, aching right now for a chance to win ten + cents from me at Pedro cussing wind-chewing under his breath.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee! you'd make a good soap-boxer,” commented Billy. + </p> + <p> + “And I'd be a soap-boxer if I didn't have the spending of my father's + ill-gotten gains. It's none of my affair. Let them rot. They'd be just + as bad if they were on top. It's all a mess—blind bats, hungry + swine, and filthy buzzards—” + </p> + <p> + Here Mrs. Hall interfered. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mark, you stop that, or you'll be getting the blues.” + </p> + <p> + He tossed his mop of hair and laughed with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “No I won't,” he denied. “I'm going to get ten cents from Billy at a game + of Pedro. He won't have a look in.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon and Billy flourished in the genial human atmosphere of Carmel. They + appreciated in their own estimation. Saxon felt that she was something + more than a laundry girl and the wife of a union teamster. She was no + longer pent in the narrow working class environment of a Pine street + neighborhood. Life had grown opulent. They fared better physically, + materially, and spiritually; and all this was reflected in their features, + in the carriage of their bodies. She knew Billy had never been handsomer + nor in more splendid bodily condition. He swore he had a harem, and that + she was his second wife—twice as beautiful as the first one he had + married. And she demurely confessed to him that Mrs. Hall and several + others of the matrons had enthusiastically admired her form one day when + in for a cold dip in Carmel river. They had got around her, and called her + Venus, and made her crouch and assume different poses. + </p> + <p> + Billy understood the Venus reference; for a marble one, with broken arms, + stood in Hall's living room, and the poet had told him the world worshiped + it as the perfection of female form. + </p> + <p> + “I always said you had Annette Kellerman beat a mile,” Billy said; and so + proud was his air of possession that Saxon blushed and trembled, and hid + her hot face against his breast. + </p> + <p> + The men in the crowd were open in their admiration of Saxon, in an + above-board manner. But she made no mistake. She did not lose her head. + There was no chance of that, for her love for Billy beat more strongly + than ever. Nor was she guilty of over-appraisal. She knew him for what he + was, and loved him with open eyes. He had no book learning, no art, like + the other men. His grammar was bad; she knew that, just as she knew that + he would never mend it. Yet she would not have exchanged him for any of + the others, not even for Mark Hall with the princely heart whom she loved + much in the same way that she loved his wife. + </p> + <p> + For that matter, she found in Billy a certain health and rightness, a + certain essential integrity, which she prized more highly than all book + learning and bank accounts. It was by virtue of this health, and + rightness, and integrity, that he had beaten Hall in argument the night + the poet was on the pessimistic rampage. Billy had beaten him, not with + the weapons of learning, but just by being himself and by speaking out the + truth that was in him. Best of all, he had not even known that he had + beaten, and had taken the applause as good-natured banter. But Saxon knew, + though she could scarcely tell why; and she would always remember how the + wife of Shelley had whispered to her afterward with shining eyes: “Oh, + Saxon, you must be so happy.” + </p> + <p> + Were Saxon driven to speech to attempt to express what Billy meant to her, + she would have done it with the simple word “man.” Always he was that to + her. Always in glowing splendor, that was his connotation—MAN. + Sometimes, by herself, she would all but weep with joy at recollection of + his way of informing some truculent male that he was standing on his foot. + “Get off your foot. You're standin' on it.” It was Billy! It was + magnificently Billy. And it was this Billy who loved her. She knew it. She + knew it by the pulse that only a woman knows how to gauge. He loved her + less wildly, it was true; but more fondly, more maturely. It was the love + that lasted—if only they did not go back to the city where the + beautiful things of the spirit perished and the beast bared its fangs. + </p> + <p> + In the early spring, Mark Hall and his wife went to New York, the two + Japanese servants of the bungalow were dismissed, and Saxon and Billy were + installed as caretakers. Jim Hazard, too, departed on his yearly visit to + Paris; and though Billy missed him, he continued his long swims out + through the breakers. Hall's two saddle horses had been left in his + charge, and Saxon made herself a pretty cross-saddle riding costume of + tawny-brown corduroy that matched the glints in her hair. Billy no longer + worked at odd jobs. As extra driver at the stable he earned more than they + spent, and, in preference to cash, he taught Saxon to ride, and was out + and away with her over the country on all-day trips. A favorite ride was + around by the coast to Monterey, where he taught her to swim in the big + Del Monte tank. They would come home in the evening across the hills. + Also, she took to following him on his early morning hunts, and life + seemed one long vacation. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you one thing,” he said to Saxon, one day, as they drew their + horses to a halt and gazed down into Carmel Valley. “I ain't never going + to work steady for another man for wages as long as I live.” + </p> + <p> + “Work isn't everything,” she acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + “I should guess not. Why, look here, Saxon, what'd it mean if I worked + teamin' in Oakland for a million dollars a day for a million years and + just had to go on stayin' there an' livin' the way we used to? It'd mean + work all day, three squares, an' movin' pictures for recreation. Movin' + pictures! Huh! We're livin' movin' pictures these days. I'd sooner have + one year like what we're havin' here in Carmel and then die, than a + thousan' million years like on Pine street.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon had warned the Halls by letter that she and Billy intended starting + on their search for the valley in the moon as soon as the first of summer + arrived. Fortunately, the poet was put to no inconvenience, for Bideaux, + the Iron Man with the basilisk eyes, had abandoned his dreams of + priesthood and decided to become an actor. He arrived at Carmel from the + Catholic college in time to take charge of the bungalow. + </p> + <p> + Much to Saxon's gratification, the crowd was loth to see them depart. The + owner of the Carmel stable offered to put Billy in charge at ninety + dollars a month. Also, he received a similar offer from the stable in + Pacific Grove. + </p> + <p> + “Whither away,” the wild Irish playwright hailed them on the station + platform at Monterey. He was just returning from New York. + </p> + <p> + “To a valley in the moon,” Saxon answered gaily. + </p> + <p> + He regarded their business-like packs. + </p> + <p> + “By George!” he cried. “I'll do it! By George! Let me come along.” Then + his face fell. “And I've signed the contract,” he groaned. “Three acts! + Say, you're lucky. And this time of year, too.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + “We hiked into Monterey last winter, but we're ridin' out now, b 'gosh!” + Billy said as the train pulled out and they leaned back in their seats. + </p> + <p> + They had decided against retracing their steps over the ground already + traveled, and took the train to San Francisco. They had been warned by + Mark Hall of the enervation of the south, and were bound north for their + blanket climate. Their intention was to cross the Bay to Sausalito and + wander up through the coast counties. Here, Hall had told them, they would + find the true home of the redwood. But Billy, in the smoking car for a + cigarette, seated himself beside a man who was destined to deflect them + from their course. He was a keen-faced, dark-eyed man, undoubtedly a Jew; + and Billy, remembering Saxon's admonition always to ask questions, watched + his opportunity and started a conversation. It took but a little while to + learn that Gunston was a commission merchant, and to realize that the + content of his talk was too valuable for Saxon to lose. Promptly, when he + saw that the other's cigar was finished, Billy invited him into the next + car to meet Saxon. Billy would have been incapable of such an act prior to + his sojourn in Carmel. That much at least he had acquired of social + facility. + </p> + <p> + “He's just ben tellin' me about the potato kings, and I wanted him to + tell you,” Billy explained to Saxon after the introduction. “Go on and + tell her, Mr. Gunston, about that fan tan sucker that made nineteen + thousan' last year in celery an' asparagus.” + </p> + <p> + “I was just telling your husband about the way the Chinese make things go + up the San Joaquin river. It would be worth your while to go up there and + look around. It's the good season now—too early for mosquitoes. You + can get off the train at Black Diamond or Antioch and travel around among + the big farming islands on the steamers and launches. The fares are cheap, + and you'll find some of those big gasoline boats, like the Duchess and + Princess, more like big steamboats.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell her about Chow Lam,” Billy urged. + </p> + <p> + The commission merchant leaned back and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Chow Lam, several years ago, was a broken-down fan tan player. He hadn't + a cent, and his health was going back on him. He had worn out his back + with twenty years' work in the gold mines, washing over the tailings of + the early miners. And whatever he'd made he'd lost at gambling. Also, he + was in debt three hundred dollars to the Six Companies—you know, + they're Chinese affairs. And, remember, this was only seven years ago—health + breaking down, three hundred in debt, and no trade. Chow Lam blew into + Stockton and got a job on the peat lands at day's wages. It was a Chinese + company, down on Middle River, that farmed celery and asparagus. This was + when he got onto himself and took stock of himself. A quarter of a century + in the United States, back not so strong as it used to was, and not a + penny laid by for his return to China. He saw how the Chinese in the + company had done it—saved their wages and bought a share. + </p> + <p> + “He saved his wages for two years, and bought one share in a thirty-share + company. That was only five years ago. They leased three hundred acres of + peat land from a white man who preferred traveling in Europe. Out of the + profits of that one share in the first year, he bought two shares in + another company. And in a year more, out of the three shares, he organized + a company of his own. One year of this, with bad luck, and he just broke + even. That brings it up to three years ago. The following year, bumper + crops, he netted four thousand. The next year it was five thousand. And + last year he cleaned up nineteen thousand dollars. Pretty good, eh, for + old broken-down Chow Lam?” + </p> + <p> + “My!” was all Saxon could say. + </p> + <p> + Her eager interest, however, incited the commission merchant to go on. + </p> + <p> + “Look at Sing Kee—the Potato King of Stockton. I know him well. I've + had more large deals with him and made less money than with any man I + know. He was only a coolie, and he smuggled himself into the United States + twenty years ago. Started at day's wages, then peddled vegetables in a + couple of baskets slung on a stick, and after that opened up a store in + Chinatown in San Francisco. But he had a head on him, and he was soon onto + the curves of the Chinese farmers that dealt at his store. The store + couldn't make money fast enough to suit him. He headed up the San Joaquin. + Didn't do much for a couple of years except keep his eyes peeled. Then he + jumped in and leased twelve hundred acres at seven dollars an acre.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” Billy said in an awe-struck voice. “Eight thousan', four hundred + dollars just for rent the first year. I know five hundred acres I can buy + for three dollars an acre.” + </p> + <p> + “Will it grow potatoes?” Gunston asked. + </p> + <p> + Billy shook his head. “Nor nothin' else, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + All three laughed heartily and the commission merchant resumed: + </p> + <p> + “That seven dollars was only for the land. Possibly you know what it costs + to plow twelve hundred acres?” + </p> + <p> + Billy nodded solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “And he got a hundred and sixty sacks to the acre that year,” Gunston + continued. “Potatoes were selling at fifty cents. My father was at the + head of our concern at the time, so I know for a fact. And Sing Kee could + have sold at fifty cents and made money. But did he? Trust a Chinaman to + know the market. They can skin the commission merchants at it. Sing Kee + held on. When 'most everybody else had sold, potatoes began to climb. He + laughed at our buyers when we offered him sixty cents, seventy cents, a + dollar. Do you want to know what he finally did sell for? One dollar and + sixty-five a sack. Suppose they actually cost him forty cents. A hundred + and sixty times twelve hundred... let me see... twelve times nought is + nought and twelve times sixteen is a hundred and ninety-two... a hundred + and ninety-two thousand sacks at a dollar and a quarter net... four into a + hundred and ninety-two is forty-eight, plus, is two hundred and forty—there + you are, two hundred and forty thousand dollars clear profit on that + year's deal.” + </p> + <p> + “An' him a Chink,” Billy mourned disconsolately. He turned to Saxon. “They + ought to be some new country for us white folks to go to. Gosh!—we're + settin' on the stoop all right, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “But, of course, that was unusual,” Gunston hastened to qualify. “There + was a failure of potatoes in other districts, and a corner, and in some + strange way Sing Kee was dead on. He never made profits like that again. + But he goes ahead steadily. Last year he had four thousand acres in + potatoes, a thousand in asparagus, five hundred in celery and five hundred + in beans. And he's running six hundred acres in seeds. No matter what + happens to one or two crops, he can't lose on all of them.” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen twelve thousand acres of apple trees,” Saxon said. “And I'd + like to see four thousand acres in potatoes.” + </p> + <p> + “And we will,” Billy rejoined with great positiveness. “It's us for the + San Joaquin. We don't know what's in our country. No wonder we're out on + the stoop.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll find lots of kings up there,” Gunston related. “Yep Hong Lee—they + call him 'Big Jim,' and Ah Pock, and Ah Whang, and—then there's + Shima, the Japanese potato king. He's worth several millions. Lives like a + prince.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't Americans succeed like that?” asked Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Because they won't, I guess. There's nothing to stop them except + themselves. I'll tell you one thing, though—give me the Chinese to + deal with. He's honest. His word is as good as his bond. If he says he'll + do a thing, he'll do it. And, anyway, the white man doesn't know how to + farm. Even the up-to-date white farmer is content with one crop at a time + and rotation of crops. Mr. John Chinaman goes him one better, and grows + two crops at one time on the same soil. I've seen it—radishes and + carrots, two crops, sown at one time.” + </p> + <p> + “Which don't stand to reason,” Billy objected. “They'd be only a half crop + of each.” + </p> + <p> + “Another guess coming,” Gunston jeered. “Carrots have to be thinned when + they're so far along. So do radishes. But carrots grow slow. Radishes grow + fast. The slow-going carrots serve the purpose of thinning the radishes. + And when the radishes are pulled, ready for market, that thins the + carrots, which come along later. You can't beat the Chink.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't see why a white man can't do what a Chink can,” protested Billy. + </p> + <p> + “That sounds all right,” Gunston replied. “The only objection is that the + white man doesn't. The Chink is busy all the time, and he keeps the ground + just as busy. He has organization, system. Who ever heard of white farmers + keeping books? The Chink does. No guess work with him. He knows just where + he stands, to a cent, on any crop at any moment. And he knows the market. + He plays both ends. How he does it is beyond me, but he knows the market + better than we commission merchants. + </p> + <p> + “Then, again, he's patient but not stubborn. Suppose he does make a + mistake, and gets in a crop, and then finds the market is wrong. In such a + situation the white man gets stubborn and hangs on like a bulldog. But not + the Chink. He's going to minimize the losses of that mistake. That land + has got to work, and make money. Without a quiver or a regret, the moment + he's learned his error, he puts his plows into that crop, turns it under, + and plants something else. He has the savve. He can look at a sprout, just + poked up out of the ground, and tell how it's going to turn out—whether + it will head up or won't head up; or if it's going to head up good, + medium, or bad. That's one end. Take the other end. He controls his crop. + He forces it or holds it back with an eye on the market. And when the + market is just right, there's his crop, ready to deliver, timed to the + minute.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation with Gunston lasted hours, and the more he talked of the + Chinese and their farming ways the more Saxon became aware of a growing + dissatisfaction. She did not question the facts. The trouble was that they + were not alluring. Somehow, she could not find place for them in her + valley of the moon. It was not until the genial Jew left the train that + Billy gave definite statement to what was vaguely bothering her. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! We ain't Chinks. We're white folks. Does a Chink ever want to ride a + horse, hell-bent for election an' havin' a good time of it? Did you ever + see a Chink go swimmin' out through the breakers at Carmel?—or + boxin', wrestlin', runnin' an' jumpin' for the sport of it? Did you ever + see a Chink take a shotgun on his arm, tramp six miles, an' come back + happy with one measly rabbit? What does a Chink do? Work his damned head + off. That's all he's good for. To hell with work, if that's the whole of + the game—an' I've done my share of work, an' I can work alongside of + any of 'em. But what's the good? If they's one thing I've learned solid + since you an' me hit the road, Saxon, it is that work's the least part of + life. God!—if it was all of life I couldn't cut my throat quick + enough to get away from it. I want shotguns an' rifles, an' a horse + between my legs. I don't want to be so tired all the time I can't love my + wife. Who wants to be rich an' clear two hundred an' forty thousand on a + potato deal! Look at Rockefeller. Has to live on milk. I want porterhouse + and a stomach that can bite sole-leather. An' I want you, an' plenty of + time along with you, an' fun for both of us. What's the good of life if + they ain't no fun?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy!” Saxon cried. “It's just what I've been trying to get + straightened out in my head. It's been worrying me for ever so long. I was + afraid there was something wrong with me—that I wasn't made for the + country after all. All the time I didn't envy the San Leandro Portuguese. + I didn't want to be one, nor a Pajaro Valley Dalmatian, nor even a Mrs. + Mortimer. And you didn't either. What we want is a valley of the moon, + with not too much work, and all the fun we want. And we'll just keep on + looking until we find it. And if we don't find it, we'll go on having the + fun just as we have ever since we left Oakland. And, Billy... we're never, + never going to work our damned heads off, are we?” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life,” Billy growled in fierce affirmation. + </p> + <p> + They walked into Black Diamond with their packs on their backs. It was a + scattered village of shabby little cottages, with a main street that was a + wallow of black mud from the last late spring rain. The sidewalks bumped + up and down in uneven steps and landings. Everything seemed un-American. + The names on the strange dingy shops were unspeakably foreign. The one + dingy hotel was run by a Greek. Greeks were everywhere—swarthy men + in sea-boots and tam-o'-shanters, hatless women in bright colors, hordes + of sturdy children, and all speaking in outlandish voices, crying shrilly + and vivaciously with the volubility of the Mediterranean. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!—this ain't the United States,” Billy muttered. Down on the + water front they found a fish cannery and an asparagus cannery in the + height of the busy season, where they looked in vain among the toilers for + familiar American faces. Billy picked out the bookkeepers and foremen for + Americans. All the rest were Greeks, Italians, and Chinese. + </p> + <p> + At the steamboat wharf, they watched the bright-painted Greek boats + arriving, discharging their loads of glorious salmon, and departing. New + York Cut-Off, as the slough was called, curved to the west and north and + flowed into a vast body of water which was the united Sacramento and San + Joaquin rivers. + </p> + <p> + Beyond the steamboat wharf, the fishing wharves dwindled to stages for the + drying of nets; and here, away from the noise and clatter of the alien + town, Saxon and Billy took off their packs and rested. The tall, rustling + tules grew out of the deep water close to the dilapidated boat-landing + where they sat. Opposite the town lay a long flat island, on which a row + of ragged poplars leaned against the sky. + </p> + <p> + “Just like in that Dutch windmill picture Mark Hall has,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + Billy pointed out the mouth of the slough and across the broad reach of + water to a cluster of tiny white buildings, behind which, like a + glimmering mirage, rolled the low Montezuma Hills. + </p> + <p> + “Those houses is Collinsville,” he informed her. “The Sacramento river + comes in there, and you go up it to Rio Vista an' Isleton, and Walnut + Grove, and all those places Mr. Gunston was tellin' us about. It's all + islands and sloughs, connectin' clear across an' back to the San Joaquin.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't the sun good,” Saxon yawned. “And how quiet it is here, so short a + distance away from those strange foreigners. And to think! in the cities, + right now, men are beating and killing each other for jobs.” + </p> + <p> + Now and again an overland passenger train rushed by in the distance, + echoing along the background of foothills of Mt. Diablo, which bulked, + twin-peaked, greencrinkled, against the sky. Then the slumbrous quiet + would fall, to be broken by the far call of a foreign tongue or by a + gasoline fishing boat chugging in through the mouth of the slough. + </p> + <p> + Not a hundred feet away, anchored close in the tules, lay a beautiful + white yacht. Despite its tininess, it looked broad and comfortable. Smoke + was rising for'ard from its stovepipe. On its stern, in gold letters, they + read Roamer. On top of the cabin, basking in the sunshine, lay a man and + woman, the latter with a pink scarf around her head. The man was reading + aloud from a book, while she sewed. Beside them sprawled a fox terrier. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh! they don't have to stick around cities to be happy,” Billy + commented. + </p> + <p> + A Japanese came on deck from the cabin, sat down for'ard, and began + picking a chicken. The feathers floated away in a long line toward the + mouth of the slough. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Look!” Saxon pointed in her excitement. “He's fishing! And the line + is fast to his toe!” + </p> + <p> + The man had dropped the book face-downward on the cabin and reached for + the line, while the woman looked up from her sewing, and the terrier began + to bark. In came the line, hand under hand, and at the end a big catfish. + When this was removed, and the line rebaited and dropped overboard, the + man took a turn around his toe and went on reading. + </p> + <p> + A Japanese came down on the landing-stage beside Saxon and Billy, and + hailed the yacht. He carried parcels of meat and vegetables; one coat + pocket bulged with letters, the other with morning papers. In response to + his hail, the Japanese on the yacht stood up with the part-plucked + chicken. The man said something to him, put aside the book, got into the + white skiff lying astern, and rowed to the landing. As he came alongside + the stage, he pulled in his oars, caught hold, and said good morning + genially. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I know you,” Saxon said impulsively, to Billy's amazement. “You + are.. ..” + </p> + <p> + Here she broke off in confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” the man said, smiling reassurance. + </p> + <p> + “You are Jack Hastings, I 'm sure of it. I used to see your photograph in + the papers all the time you were war correspondent in the Japanese-Russian + War. You've written lots of books, though I've never read them.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Right you are,” he ratified. “And what's your name?” + </pre> + <p> + Saxon introduced herself and Billy, and, when she noted the writer's + observant eye on their packs, she sketched the pilgrimage they were on. + The farm in the valley of the moon evidently caught his fancy, and, though + the Japanese and his parcels were safely in the skiff, Hastings still + lingered. When Saxon spoke of Carmel, he seemed to know everybody in + Hall's crowd, and when he heard they were intending to go to Rio Vista, + his invitation was immediate. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we're going that way ourselves, inside an hour, as soon as slack + water comes,” he exclaimed. “It's just the thing. Come on on board. We'll + be there by four this afternoon if there's any wind at all. Come on. My + wife's on board, and Mrs. Hall is one of her best chums. We've been away + to South America—just got back; or you'd have seen us in Carmel. Hal + wrote to us about the pair of you.” + </p> + <p> + It was the second time in her life that Saxon had been in a small boat, + and the Roamer was the first yacht she had ever been on board. The + writer's wife, whom he called Clara, welcomed them heartily, and Saxon + lost no time in falling in love with her and in being fallen in love with + in return. So strikingly did they resemble each other, that Hastings was + not many minutes in calling attention to it. He made them stand side by + side, studied their eyes and mouths and ears, compared their hands, their + hair, their ankles, and swore that his fondest dream was shattered—namely, + that when Clara had been made the mold was broken. + </p> + <p> + On Clara's suggestion that it might have been pretty much the same mold, + they compared histories. Both were of the pioneer stock. Clara's mother, + like Saxon's, had crossed the Plains with ox-teams, and, like Saxon's, had + wintered in Salt Intake City—in fact, had, with her sisters, opened + the first Gentile school in that Mormon stronghold. And, if Saxon's father + had helped raise the Bear Flag rebellion at Sonoma, it was at Sonoma that + Clara's father had mustered in for the War of the Rebellion and ridden as + far east with his troop as Salt Lake City, of which place he had been + provost marshal when the Mormon trouble flared up. To complete it all, + Clara fetched from the cabin an ukulele of boa wood that was the twin to + Saxon's, and together they sang “Honolulu Tomboy.” + </p> + <p> + Hastings decided to eat dinner—he called the midday meal by its + old-fashioned name—before sailing; and down below Saxon was + surprised and delighted by the measure of comfort in so tiny a cabin. + There was just room for Billy to stand upright. A centerboard-case divided + the room in half longitudinally, and to this was attached the hinged table + from which they ate. Low bunks that ran the full cabin length, upholstered + in cheerful green, served as seats. A curtain, easily attached by hooks + between the centerboard-case and the roof, at night screened Mrs. + Hastings' sleeping quarters. On the opposite side the two Japanese bunked, + while for'ard, under the deck, was the galley. So small was it that there + was just room beside it for the cook, who was compelled by the low deck to + squat on his hands. The other Japanese, who had brought the parcels on + board, waited on the table. + </p> + <p> + “They are looking for a ranch in the valley of the moon,” Hastings + concluded his explanation of the pilgrimage to Clara. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—don't you know—” she cried; but was silenced by her + husband. + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” he said peremptorily, then turned to their guests. “Listen. + There's something in that valley of the moon idea, but I won't tell you + what. It is a secret. Now we've a ranch in Sonoma Valley about eight miles + from the very town of Sonoma where you two girls' fathers took up + soldiering; and if you ever come to our ranch you'll learn the secret. Oh, + believe me, it's connected with your valley of the moon.—Isn't it, + Mate?” + </p> + <p> + This last was the mutual name he and Clara had for each other. + </p> + <p> + She smiled and laughed and nodded her head. + </p> + <p> + “You might find our valley the very one you are looking for,” she said. + </p> + <p> + But Hastings shook his head at her to check further speech. She turned to + the fox terrier and made it speak for a piece of meat. + </p> + <p> + “Her name's Peggy,” she told Saxon. “We had two Irish terriers down in the + South Seas, brother and sister, but they died. We called them Peggy and + Possum. So she's named after the original Peggy.” + </p> + <p> + Billy was impressed by the ease with which the Roamer was operated. While + they lingered at table, at a word from Hastings the two Japanese had gone + on deck. Billy could hear them throwing down the halyards, casting off + gaskets, and heaving the anchor short on the tiny winch. In several + minutes one called down that everything was ready, and all went on deck. + Hoisting mainsail and jigger was a matter of minutes. Then the cook and + cabin-boy broke out anchor, and, while one hove it up, the other hoisted + the jib. Hastings, at the wheel, trimmed the sheet. The Roamer paid off, + filled her sails, slightly heeling, and slid across the smooth water and + out the mouth of New York Slough. The Japanese coiled the halyards and + went below for their own dinner. + </p> + <p> + “The flood is just beginning to make,” said Hastings, pointing to a + striped spar-buoy that was slightly tipping up-stream on the edge of the + channel. + </p> + <p> + The tiny white houses of Collinsville, which they were nearing, + disappeared behind a low island, though the Montezuma Hills, with their + long, low, restful lines, slumbered on the horizon apparently as far away + as ever. + </p> + <p> + As the Roamer passed the mouth of Montezuma Slough and entered the + Sacramento, they came upon Collinsville close at hand. Saxon clapped her + hands. + </p> + <p> + “It's like a lot of toy houses,” she said, “cut out of cardboard. And + those hilly fields are just painted up behind.” + </p> + <p> + They passed many arks and houseboats of fishermen moored among the tules, + and the women and children, like the men in the boats, were dark-skinned, + black-eyed, foreign. As they proceeded up the river, they began to + encounter dredges at work, biting out mouthfuls of the sandy river bottom + and heaping it on top of the huge levees. Great mats of willow brush, + hundreds of yards in length, were laid on top of the river-slope of the + levees and held in place by steel cables and thousands of cubes of cement. + The willows soon sprouted, Hastings told them, and by the time the mats + were rotted away the sand was held in place by the roots of the trees. + </p> + <p> + “It must cost like Sam Hill,” Billy observed. + </p> + <p> + “But the land is worth it,” Hastings explained. “This island land is the + most productive in the world. This section of California is like Holland. + You wouldn't think it, but this water we're sailing on is higher than the + surface of the islands. They're like leaky boats—calking, patching, + pumping, night and day and all the time. But it pays. It pays.” + </p> + <p> + Except for the dredgers, the fresh-piled sand, the dense willow thickets, + and always Mt. Diablo to the south, nothing was to be seen. Occasionally a + river steamboat passed, and blue herons flew into the trees. + </p> + <p> + “It must be very lonely,” Saxon remarked. + </p> + <p> + Hastings laughed and told her she would change her mind later. Much he + related to them of the river lands, and after a while he got on the + subject of tenant farming. Saxon had started him by speaking of the + land-hungry Anglo-Saxons. + </p> + <p> + “Land-hogs,” he snapped. “That's our record in this country. As one old + Reuben told a professor of an agricultural experiment station: 'They ain't + no sense in tryin' to teach me farmin'. I know all about it. Ain't I + worked out three farms?' It was his kind that destroyed New England. Back + there great sections are relapsing to wilderness. In one state, at least, + the deer have increased until they are a nuisance. There are abandoned + farms by the tens of thousands. I've gone over the lists of them—farms + in New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Connecticut. Offered for sale on + easy payment. The prices asked wouldn't pay for the improvements, while + the land, of course, is thrown in for nothing. + </p> + <p> + “And the same thing is going on, in one way or another, the same + land-robbing and hogging, over the rest of the country—down in + Texas, in Missouri, and Kansas, out here in California. Take tenant + farming. I know a ranch in my county where the land was worth a hundred + and twenty-five an acre. And it gave its return at that valuation. When + the old man died, the son leased it to a Portuguese and went to live in + the city. In five years the Portuguese skimmed the cream and dried up the + udder. The second lease, with another Portuguese for three years, gave + one-quarter the former return. No third Portuguese appeared to offer to + lease it. There wasn't anything left. That ranch was worth fifty thousand + when the old man died. In the end the son got eleven thousand for it. Why, + I've seen land that paid twelve per cent., that, after the skimming of a + five-years' lease, paid only one and a quarter per cent.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the same in our valley,” Mrs. Hastings supplemented. “All the old + farms are dropping into ruin. Take the Ebell Place, Mate.” Her husband + nodded emphatic indorsement. “When we used to know it, it was a perfect + paradise of a farm. There were dams and lakes, beautiful meadows, lush + hayfields, red hills of grape-lands, hundreds of acres of good pasture, + heavenly groves of pines and oaks, a stone winery, stone barns, grounds—oh, + I couldn't describe it in hours. When Mrs. Bell died, the family + scattered, and the leasing began. It's a ruin to-day. The trees have been + cut and sold for firewood. There's only a little bit of the vineyard that + isn't abandoned—just enough to make wine for the present Italian + lessees, who are running a poverty-stricken milk ranch on the leavings of + the soil. I rode over it last year, and cried. The beautiful orchard is a + horror. The grounds have gone back to the wild. Just because they didn't + keep the gutters cleaned out, the rain trickled down and dry-rotted the + timbers, and the big stone barn is caved in. The same with part of the + winery—the other part is used for stabling the cows. And the house!—words + can't describe!” + </p> + <p> + “It's become a profession,” Hastings went on. “The 'movers.' They lease, + clean out and gut a place in several years, and then move on. They're not + like the foreigners, the Chinese, and Japanese, and the rest. In the main + they're a lazy, vagabond, poor-white sort, who do nothing else but skin + the soil and move, skin the soil and move. Now take the Portuguese and + Italians in our country. They are different. They arrive in the country + without a penny and work for others of their countrymen until they've + learned the language and their way about. Now they're not movers. What + they are after is land of their own, which they will love and care for and + conserve. But, in the meantime, how to get it? Saving wages is slow. There + is a quicker way. They lease. In three years they can gut enough out of + somebody else's land to set themselves up for life. It is sacrilege, a + veritable rape of the land; but what of it? It's the way of the United + States.” + </p> + <p> + He turned suddenly on Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Roberts. You and your wife are looking for your bit of land. + You want it bad. Now take my advice. It's cold, hard advice. Become a + tenant farmer. Lease some place, where the old folks have died and the + country isn't good enough for the sons and daughters. Then gut it. Wring + the last dollar out of the soil, repair nothing, and in three years you'll + have your own place paid for. Then turn over a new leaf, and love your + soil. Nourish it. Every dollar you feed it will return you two. And have + nothing scrub about the place. If it's a horse, a cow, a pig, a chicken, + or a blackberry vine, see that it's thoroughbred.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's wicked!” Saxon wrung out. “It's wicked advice.” + </p> + <p> + “We live in a wicked age,” Hastings countered, smiling grimly. “This + wholesale land-skinning is the national crime of the United States to-day. + Nor would I give your husband such advice if I weren't absolutely certain + that the land he skins would be skinned by some Portuguese or Italian if + he refused. As fast as they arrive and settle down, they send for their + sisters and their cousins and their aunts. If you were thirsty, if a + warehouse were burning and beautiful Rhine wine were running to waste, + would you stay your hand from scooping a drink? Well, the national + warehouse is afire in many places, and no end of the good things are + running to waste. Help yourself. If you don't, the immigrants will.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't know him,” Mrs. Hastings hurried to explain. “He spends all + his time on the ranch in conserving the soil. There are over a thousand + acres of woods alone, and, though he thins and forests like a surgeon, he + won't let a tree be chopped without his permission. He's even planted a + hundred thousand trees. He's always draining and ditching to stop erosion, + and experimenting with pasture grasses. And every little while he buys + some exhausted adjoining ranch and starts building up the soil.” + </p> + <p> + “Wherefore I know what I 'm talking about,” Hastings broke in. “And my + advice holds. I love the soil, yet to-morrow, things being as they are and + if I were poor, I'd gut five hundred acres in order to buy twenty-five for + myself. When you get into Sonoma Valley, look me up, and I'll put you onto + the whole game, and both ends of it. I'll show you construction as well as + destruction. When you find a farm doomed to be gutted anyway, why jump in + and do it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he mortgaged himself to the eyes,” laughed Mrs. Hastings, “to + keep five hundred acres of woods out of the hands of the charcoal + burners.” + </p> + <p> + Ahead, on the left bank of the Sacramento, just at the fading end of the + Montezuma Hills, Rio Vista appeared. The Roamer slipped through the smooth + water, past steamboat wharves, landing stages, and warehouses. The two + Japanese went for'ard on deck. At command of Hastings, the jib ran down, + and he shot the Roomer into the wind, losing way, until he called, “Let go + the hook!” The anchor went down, and the yacht swung to it, so close to + shore that the skiff lay under overhanging willows. + </p> + <p> + “Farther up the river we tie to the bank,” Mrs. Hastings said, “so that + when you wake in the morning you find the branches of trees sticking down + into the cabin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ooh!” Saxon murmured, pointing to a lump on her wrist. “Look at that. A + mosquito.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty early for them,” Hastings said. “But later on they're terrible. + I've seen them so thick I couldn't back the jib against them.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was not nautical enough to appreciate his hyperbole, though Billy + grinned. + </p> + <p> + “There are no mosquitoes in the valley of the moon,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No, never,” said Mrs. Hastings, whose husband began immediately to regret + the smallness of the cabin which prevented him from offering sleeping + accommodations. + </p> + <p> + An automobile bumped along on top of the levee, and the young boys and + girls in it cried, “Oh, you kid!” to Saxon and Billy, and Hastings, who + was rowing them ashore in the skiff. Hastings called, “Oh, you kid!” back + to them; and Saxon, pleasuring in the boyishness of his sunburned face, + was reminded of the boyishness of Mark Hall and his Carmel crowd. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Crossing the Sacramento on an old-fashioned ferry a short distance above + Rio Vista, Saxon and Billy entered the river country. From the top of the + levee she got her revelation. Beneath, lower than the river, stretched + broad, flat land, far as the eye could see. Roads ran in every direction, + and she saw countless farmhouses of which she had never dreamed when + sailing on the lonely river a few feet the other side of the willowy + fringe. + </p> + <p> + Three weeks they spent among the rich farm islands, which heaped up levees + and pumped day and night to keep afloat. It was a monotonous land, with an + unvarying richness of soil and with only one landmark—Mt. Diablo, + ever to be seen, sleeping in the midday azure, limping its crinkled mass + against the sunset sky, or forming like a dream out of the silver dawn. + Sometimes on foot, often by launch, they criss-crossed and threaded the + river region as far as the peat lands of the Middle River, down the San + Joaquin to Antioch, and up Georgiana Slough to Walnut Grove on the + Sacramento. And it proved a foreign land. The workers of the soil teemed + by thousands, yet Saxon and Billy knew what it was to go a whole day + without finding any one who spoke English. They encountered—sometimes + in whole villages—Chinese, Japanese, Italians, Portuguese, Swiss, + Hindus, Koreans, Norwegians, Danes, French, Armenians, Slavs, almost every + nationality save American. One American they found on the lower reaches of + Georgiana who eked an illicit existence by fishing with traps. Another + American, who spouted blood and destruction on all political subjects, was + an itinerant bee-farmer. At Walnut Grove, bustling with life, the few + Americans consisted of the storekeeper, the saloonkeeper, the butcher, the + keeper of the drawbridge, and the ferryman. Yet two thriving towns were in + Walnut Grove, one Chinese, one Japanese. Most of the land was owned by + Americans, who lived away from it and were continually selling it to the + foreigners. + </p> + <p> + A riot, or a merry-making—they could not tell which—was taking + place in the Japanese town, as Saxon and Billy steamed out on the Apache, + bound for Sacramento. + </p> + <p> + “We're settin' on the stoop,” Billy railed. “Pretty soon they'll crowd us + off of that.” + </p> + <p> + “There won't be any stoop in the valley of the moon,” Saxon cheered him. + </p> + <p> + But he was inconsolable, remarking bitterly: + </p> + <p> + “An' they ain't one of them damn foreigners that can handle four horses + like me. + </p> + <p> + “But they can everlastingly farm,” he added. + </p> + <p> + And Saxon, looking at his moody face, was suddenly reminded of a + lithograph she had seen in her childhood. It was of a Plains Indian, in + paint and feathers, astride his horse and gazing with wondering eye at a + railroad train rushing along a fresh-made track. The Indian had passed, + she remembered, before the tide of new life that brought the railroad. And + were Billy and his kind doomed to pass, she pondered, before this new tide + of life, amazingly industrious, that was flooding in from Asia and Europe? + </p> + <p> + At Sacramento they stopped two weeks, where Billy drove team and earned + the money to put them along on their travels. Also, life in Oakland and + Carmel, close to the salt edge of the coast, had spoiled them for the + interior. Too warm, was their verdict of Sacramento and they followed the + railroad west, through a region of swamp-land, to Davisville. Here they + were lured aside and to the north to pretty Woodland, where Billy drove + team for a fruit farm, and where Saxon wrung from him a reluctant consent + for her to work a few days in the fruit harvest. She made an important and + mystifying secret of what she intended doing with her earnings, and Billy + teased her about it until the matter passed from his mind. Nor did she + tell him of a money order inclosed with a certain blue slip of paper in a + letter to Bud Strothers. + </p> + <p> + They began to suffer from the heat. Billy declared they had strayed out of + the blanket climate. + </p> + <p> + “There are no redwoods here,” Saxon said. “We must go west toward the + coast. It is there we'll find the valley of the moon.” + </p> + <p> + From Woodland they swung west and south along the county roads to the + fruit paradise of Vacaville. Here Billy picked fruit, then drove team; and + here Saxon received a letter and a tiny express package from Bud + Strothers. When Billy came into camp from the day's work, she bade him + stand still and shut his eyes. For a few seconds she fumbled and did + something to the breast of his cotton work-shirt. Once, he felt a slight + prick, as of a pin point, and grunted, while she laughed and bullied him + to continue keeping his eyes shut. + </p> + <p> + “Close your eyes and give me a kiss,” she sang, “and then I'll show you + what iss.” + </p> + <p> + She kissed him and when he looked down he saw, pinned to his shirt, the + gold medals he had pawned the day they had gone to the moving picture show + and received their inspiration to return to the land. + </p> + <p> + “You darned kid!” he exclaimed, as he caught her to him. “So that's what + you blew your fruit money in on? An' I never guessed!—Come here to + you.” + </p> + <p> + And thereupon she suffered the pleasant mastery of his brawn, and was + hugged and wrestled with until the coffee pot boiled over and she darted + from him to the rescue. + </p> + <p> + “I kinda always been a mite proud of 'em,” he confessed, as he rolled his + after-supper cigarette. “They take me back to my kid days when I amateured + it to beat the band. I was some kid in them days, believe muh.—But + say, d'ye know, they'd clean slipped my recollection. Oakland's a thousan' + years away from you an' me, an' ten thousan' miles.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this will bring you back to it,” Saxon said, opening Bud's letter + and reading it aloud. + </p> + <p> + Bud had taken it for granted that Billy knew the wind-up of the strike; so + he devoted himself to the details as to which men had got back their jobs, + and which had been blacklisted. To his own amazement he had been taken + back, and was now driving Billy's horses. Still more amazing was the + further information he had to impart. The old foreman of the West Oakland + stables had died, and since then two other foremen had done nothing but + make messes of everything. The point of all which was that the Boss had + spoken that day to Bud, regretting the disappearance of Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Don't make no mistake,” Bud wrote. “The Boss is onto all your curves. I + bet he knows every scab you slugged. Just the same he says to me—Strothers, + if you ain't at liberty to give me his address, just write yourself and + tell him for me to come a running. I'll give him a hundred and twenty-five + a month to take hold the stables.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon waited with well-concealed anxiety when the letter was finished. + Billy, stretched out, leaning on one elbow, blew a meditative ring of + smoke. His cheap workshirt, incongruously brilliant with the gold of the + medals that flashed in the firelight, was open in front, showing the + smooth skin and splendid swell of chest. He glanced around—at the + blankets bowered in a green screen and waiting, at the campfire and the + blackened, battered coffee pot, at the well-worn hatchet, half buried in a + tree trunk, and lastly at Saxon. His eyes embraced her; then into them + came a slow expression of inquiry. But she offered no help. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he uttered finally, “all you gotta do is write Bud Strothers, an' + tell 'm not on the Boss's ugly tintype.—An' while you're about it, + I'll send 'm the money to get my watch out. You work out the interest. The + overcoat can stay there an' rot.” + </p> + <p> + But they did not prosper in the interior heat. They lost weight. The + resilience went out of their minds and bodies. As Billy expressed it, + their silk was frazzled. So they shouldered their packs and headed west + across the wild mountains. In the Berryessa Valley, the shimmering heat + waves made their eyes ache, and their heads; so that they traveled on in + the early morning and late afternoon. Still west they headed, over more + mountains, to beautiful Napa Valley. The next valley beyond was Sonoma, + where Hastings had invited them to his ranch. And here they would have + gone, had not Billy chanced upon a newspaper item which told of the + writer's departure to cover some revolution that was breaking out + somewhere in Mexico. + </p> + <p> + “We'll see 'm later on,” Billy said, as they turned northwest, through the + vineyards and orchards of Napa Valley. “We're like that millionaire Bert + used to sing about, except it's time that we've got to burn. Any direction + is as good as any other, only west is best.” + </p> + <p> + Three times in the Napa Valley Billy refused work. Past St. Helena, Saxon + hailed with joy the unmistakable redwoods they could see growing up the + small canyons that penetrated the western wall of the valley. At + Calistoga, at the end of the railroad, they saw the six-horse stages + leaving for Middletown and Lower Lake. They debated their route. That way + led to Lake County and not toward the coast, so Saxon and Billy swung west + through the mountains to the valley of the Russian River, coming out at + Healdsburg. They lingered in the hop-fields on the rich bottoms, where + Billy scorned to pick hops alongside of Indians, Japanese, and Chinese. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't work alongside of 'em an hour before I'd be knockin' their + blocks off,” he explained. “Besides, this Russian River's some nifty. + Let's pitch camp and go swimmin'.” + </p> + <p> + So they idled their way north up the broad, fertile valley, so happy that + they forgot that work was ever necessary, while the valley of the moon was + a golden dream, remote, but sure, some day of realization. At Cloverdale, + Billy fell into luck. A combination of sickness and mischance found the + stage stables short a driver. Each day the train disgorged passengers for + the Geysers, and Billy, as if accustomed to it all his life, took the + reins of six horses and drove a full load over the mountains in stage + time. The second trip he had Saxon beside him on the high boxseat. By the + end of two weeks the regular driver was back. Billy declined a stable-job, + took his wages, and continued north. + </p> + <p> + Saxon had adopted a fox terrier puppy and named him Possum, after the dog + Mrs. Hastings had told them about. So young was he that he quickly became + footsore, and she carried him until Billy perched him on top of his pack + and grumbled that Possum was chewing his back hair to a frazzle. + </p> + <p> + They passed through the painted vineyards of Asti at the end of the + grape-picking, and entered Ukiah drenched to the skin by the first winter + rain. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” Billy said, “you remember the way the Roamer just skated along. + Well, this summer's done the same thing—gone by on wheels. An' now + it's up to us to find some place to winter. This Ukiah looks like a pretty + good burg. We'll get a room to-night an' dry out. An' to-morrow I'll + hustle around to the stables, an' if I locate anything we can rent a shack + an' have all winter to think about where we'll go next year.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + The winter proved much less exciting than the one spent in Carmel, and + keenly as Saxon had appreciated the Carmel folk, she now appreciated them + more keenly than ever. In Ukiah she formed nothing more than superficial + acquaintances. Here people were more like those of the working class she + had known in Oakland, or else they were merely wealthy and herded together + in automobiles. There was no democratic artist-colony that pursued + fellowship disregardful of the caste of wealth. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was a more enjoyable winter than any she had spent in Oakland. + Billy had failed to get regular employment; so she saw much of him, and + they lived a prosperous and happy hand-to-mouth existence in the tiny + cottage they rented. As extra man at the biggest livery stable, Billy's + spare time was so great that he drifted into horse-trading. It was + hazardous, and more than once he was broke, but the table never wanted for + the best of steak and coffee, nor did they stint themselves for clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Them blamed farmers—I gotta pass it to 'em,” Billy grinned one day, + when he had been particularly bested in a horse deal. “They won't tear + under the wings, the sons of guns. In the summer they take in boarders, + an' in the winter they make a good livin' doin' each other up at tradin' + horses. An' I just want to tell YOU, Saxon, they've sure shown me a few. + An' I 'm gettin' tough under the wings myself. I'll never tear again so as + you can notice it. Which means one more trade learned for yours truly. I + can make a livin' anywhere now tradin' horses.” + </p> + <p> + Often Billy had Saxon out on spare saddle horses from the stable, and his + horse deals took them on many trips into the surrounding country. Likewise + she was with him when he was driving horses to sell on commission; and in + both their minds, independently, arose a new idea concerning their + pilgrimage. Billy was the first to broach it. + </p> + <p> + “I run into an outfit the other day, that's stored in town,” he said, “an' + it's kept me thinkin' ever since. Ain't no use tryin' to get you to guess + it, because you can't. I'll tell you—the swellest wagon-campin' + outfit anybody ever heard of. First of all, the wagon's a peacherino. + Strong as they make 'em. It was made to order, upon Puget Sound, an' it + was tested out all the way down here. No load an' no road can strain it. + The guy had consumption that had it built. A doctor an' a cook traveled + with 'm till he passed in his checks here in Ukiah two years ago. But say—if + you could see it. Every kind of a contrivance—a place for everything—a + regular home on wheels. Now, if we could get that, an' a couple of plugs, + we could travel like kings, an' laugh at the weather.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Billy! it's just what I've been dreamin' all winter. It would be + ideal. And... well, sometimes on the road I 'm sure you can't help + forgetting what a nice little wife you've got... and with a wagon I could + have all kinds of pretty clothes along.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's blue eyes glowed a caress, cloudy and warm; as he said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “I've ben thinkin' about that.” + </p> + <p> + “And you can carry a rifle and shotgun and fishing poles and everything,” + she rushed along. “And a good big axe, man-size, instead of that hatchet + you're always complaining about. And Possum can lift up his legs and rest. + And—but suppose you can't buy it? How much do they want?” + </p> + <p> + “One hundred an' fifty big bucks,” he answered. “But dirt cheap at that. + It's givin' it away. I tell you that rig wasn't built for a cent less than + four hundred, an' I know wagon-work in the dark. Now, if I can put through + that dicker with Caswell's six horses—say, I just got onto that + horse-buyer to-day. If he buys 'em, who d'ye think he'll ship 'em to? To + the Boss, right to the West Oakland stables. I 'm goin' to get you to + write to him. Travelin', as we're goin' to, I can pick up bargains. An' if + the Boss'll talk, I can make the regular horse-buyer's commissions. He'll + have to trust me with a lot of money, though, which most likely he won't, + knowin' all his scabs I beat up.” + </p> + <p> + “If he could trust you to run his stable, I guess he isn't afraid to let + you handle his money,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + Billy shrugged his shoulders in modest dubiousness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyway, as I was sayin' if I can sell Caswell's six horses, why, we + can stand off this month's bills an' buy the wagon.” + </p> + <p> + “But horses!” Saxon queried anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “They'll come later—if I have to take a regular job for two or three + months. The only trouble with that 'd be that it'd run us pretty well + along into summer before we could pull out. But come on down town an' I'll + show you the outfit right now.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon saw the wagon and was so infatuated with it that she lost a night's + sleep from sheer insomnia of anticipation. Then Caswell's six horses were + sold, the month's bills held over, and the wagon became theirs. One rainy + morning, two weeks later, Billy had scarcely left the house, to be gone on + an all-day trip into the country after horses, when he was back again. + </p> + <p> + “Come on!” he called to Saxon from the street. “Get your things on an' + come along. I want to show you something.” + </p> + <p> + He drove down town to a board stable, and took her through to a large, + roofed inclosure in the rear. There he led to her a span of sturdy dappled + chestnuts, with cream-colored manes and tails. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the beauties! the beauties!” Saxon cried, resting her cheek against + the velvet muzzle of one, while the other roguishly nuzzled for a share. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't they, though?” Billy reveled, leading them up and down before her + admiring gaze. “Thirteen hundred an' fifty each, an' they don't look the + weight, they're that slick put together. I couldn't believe it myself, + till I put 'em on the scales. Twenty-seven hundred an' seven pounds, the + two of 'em. An' I tried 'em out—that was two days ago. Good + dispositions, no faults, an' true-pullers, automobile broke an' all the + rest. I'd back 'em to out-pull any team of their weight I ever seen.—Say, + how'd they look hooked up to that wagon of ourn?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon visioned the picture, and shook her head slowly in a reaction of + regret. + </p> + <p> + “Three hundred spot cash buys 'em,” Billy went on. “An' that's bed-rock. + The owner wants the money so bad he's droolin' for it. Just gotta sell, + an' sell quick. An' Saxon, honest to God, that pair'd fetch five hundred + at auction down in the city. Both mares, full sisters, five an' six years + old, registered Belgian sire, out of a heavy standard-bred mare that I + know. Three hundred takes 'em, an' I got the refusal for three days.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon's regret changed to indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why did you show them to me? We haven't any three hundred, and you + know it. All I've got in the house is six dollars, and you haven't that + much.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you think that's all I brought you down town for,” he replied + enigmatically. “Well, it ain't.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, licked his lips, and shifted his weight uneasily from one leg + to the other. + </p> + <p> + “Now you listen till I get all done before you say anything. Ready?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Won't open your mouth?” + </p> + <p> + This time she obediently shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's this way,” he began haltingly. “They's a youngster come up + from Frisco, Young Sandow they call 'm, an' the Pride of Telegraph Hill. + He's the real goods of a heavyweight, an' he was to fight Montana Red + Saturday night, only Montana Red, just in a little trainin' bout, snapped + his forearm yesterday. The managers has kept it quiet. Now here's the + proposition. Lots of tickets sold, an' they'll be a big crowd Saturday + night. At the last moment, so as not to disappoint 'em, they'll spring me + to take Montana's place. I 'm the dark horse. Nobody knows me—not + even Young Sandow. He's come up since my time. I'll be a rube fighter. I + can fight as Horse Roberts. + </p> + <p> + “Now, wait a minute. The winner'll pull down three hundred big round iron + dollars. Wait, I 'm tellin' you! It's a lead-pipe cinch. It's like robbin' + a corpse. Sandow's got all the heart in the world—regular + knock-down-an'-drag-out-an'-hang-on fighter. I've followed 'm in the + papers. But he ain't clever. I 'm slow, all right, all right, but I 'm + clever, an' I got a hay-maker in each arm. I got Sandow's number an' I + know it. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you got the say-so in this. If you say yes, the nags is ourn. If you + say no, then it's all bets off, an' everything all right, an' I'll take to + harness-washin' at the stable so as to buy a couple of plugs. Remember, + they'll only be plugs, though. But don't look at me while you're makin' up + your mind. Keep your lamps on the horses.” + </p> + <p> + It was with painful indecision that she looked at the beautiful animals. + </p> + <p> + “Their names is Hazel an' Hattie,” Billy put in a sly wedge. “If we get + 'em we could call it the 'Double H' outfit.” + </p> + <p> + But Saxon forgot the team and could only see Billy's frightfully bruised + body the night he fought the Chicago Terror. She was about to speak, when + Billy, who had been hanging on her lips, broke in: + </p> + <p> + “Just hitch 'em up to our wagon in your mind an' look at the outfit. You + got to go some to beat it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're not in training, Billy,” she said suddenly and without having + intended to say it. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” he snorted. “I've been in half trainin' for the last year. My legs + is like iron. They'll hold me up as long as I've got a punch left in my + arms, and I always have that. Besides, I won't let 'm make a long fight. + He's a man-eater, an' man-eaters is my meat. I eat 'm alive. It's the + clever boys with the stamina an' endurance that I can't put away. But this + young Sandow's my meat. I'll get 'm maybe in the third or fourth round—you + know, time 'm in a rush an' hand it to 'm just as easy. It's a lead-pipe + cinch, I tell you. Honest to God, Saxon, it's a shame to take the money.” + </p> + <p> + “But I hate to think of you all battered up,” she temporized. “If I didn't + love you so, it might be different. And then, too, you might get hurt.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed in contemptuous pride of youth and brawn. + </p> + <p> + “You won't know I've been in a fight, except that we'll own Hazel an' + Hattie there. An' besides, Saxon, I just gotta stick my fist in somebody's + face once in a while. You know I can go for months peaceable an' gentle as + a lamb, an' then my knuckles actually begin to itch to land on something. + Now, it's a whole lot sensibler to land on Young Sandow an' get three + hundred for it, than to land on some hayseed an' get hauled up an' fined + before some justice of the peace. Now take another squint at Hazel an' + Hattie. They're regular farm furniture, good to breed from when we get to + that valley of the moon. An' they're heavy enough to turn right into the + plowin', too.” + </p> + <p> + The evening of the fight at quarter past eight, Saxon parted from Billy. + At quarter past nine, with hot water, ice, and everything ready in + anticipation, she heard the gate click and Billy's step come up the porch. + She had agreed to the fight much against her better judgment, and had + regretted her consent every minute of the hour she had just waited; so + that, as she opened the front door, she was expectant of any sort of a + terrible husband-wreck. But the Billy she saw was precisely the Billy she + had parted from. + </p> + <p> + “There was no fight?” she cried, in so evident disappointment that he + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “They was all yellin' 'Fake! Fake!' when I left, an' wantin' their money + back.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've got YOU,” she laughed, leading him in, though secretly she + sighed farewell to Hazel and Hattie. + </p> + <p> + “I stopped by the way to get something for you that you've been wantin' + some time,” Billy said casually. “Shut your eyes an' open your hand; an' + when you open your eyes you'll find it grand,” he chanted. + </p> + <p> + Into her hand something was laid that was very heavy and very cold, and + when her eyes opened she saw it was a stack of fifteen twenty-dollar gold + pieces. + </p> + <p> + “I told you it was like takin' money from a corpse,” he exulted, as he + emerged grinning from the whirlwind of punches, whacks, and hugs in which + she had enveloped him. “They wasn't no fight at all. D 'ye want to know + how long it lasted? Just twenty-seven seconds—less 'n half a minute. + An' how many blows struck? One. An' it was me that done it. Here, I'll + show you. It was just like this—a regular scream.” + </p> + <p> + Billy had taken his place in the middle of the room, slightly crouching, + chin tucked against the sheltering left shoulder, fists closed, elbows in + so as to guard left side and abdomen, and forearms close to the body. + </p> + <p> + “It's the first round,” he pictured. “Gong's sounded, an' we've shook + hands. Of course, seein' as it's a long fight an' we've never seen each + other in action, we ain't in no rush. We're just feelin' each other out + an' fiddlin' around. Seventeen seconds like that. Not a blow struck. + Nothin'. An' then it's all off with the big Swede. It takes some time to + tell it, but it happened in a jiffy, in less'n a tenth of a second. I + wasn't expectin' it myself. We're awful close together. His left glove + ain't a foot from my jaw, an' my left glove ain't a foot from his. He + feints with his right, an' I know it's a feint, an' just hunch up my left + shoulder a bit an' feint with my right. That draws his guard over just + about an inch, an' I see my openin'. My left ain't got a foot to travel. I + don't draw it back none. I start it from where it is, corkscrewin' around + his right guard an' pivotin' at the waist to put the weight of my shoulder + into the punch. An' it connects!—Square on the point of the chin, + sideways. He drops deado. I walk back to my corner, an', honest to God, + Saxon, I can't help gigglin' a little, it was that easy. The referee + stands over 'm an' counts 'm out. He never quivers. The audience don't + know what to make of it an' sits paralyzed. His seconds carry 'm to his + corner an' set 'm on the stool. But they gotta hold 'm up. Five minutes + afterward he opens his eyes—but he ain't seein' nothing. They're + glassy. Five minutes more, an' he stands up. They got to help hold 'm, his + legs givin' under 'm like they was sausages. An' the seconds has to help + 'm through the ropes, an' they go down the aisle to his dressin' room + a-helpin' 'm. An' the crowd beginning to yell fake an' want its money + back. Twenty-seven seconds—one punch—n' a spankin' pair of + horses for the best wife Billy Roberts ever had in his long experience.” + </p> + <p> + All of Saxon's old physical worship of her husband revived and doubled on + itself many times. He was in all truth a hero, worthy to be of that + wing-helmeted company leaping from the beaked boats upon the bloody + English sands. The next morning he was awakened by her lips pressed on his + left hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hey!—what are you doin'?'” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Kissing Hazel and Hattie good morning,” she answered demurely. “And now I + 'm going to kiss you good morning.. .. And just where did your punch land? + Show me.” + </p> + <p> + Billy complied, touching the point of her chin with his knuckles. With + both her hands on his arm, she shoved it back and tried to draw it forward + sharply in similitude of a punch. But Billy withstrained her. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” he said. “You don't want to knock your jaw off. I'll show you. A + quarter of an inch will do.” + </p> + <p> + And at a distance of a quarter of an inch from her chin he administered + the slightest flick of a tap. + </p> + <p> + On the instant Saxon's brain snapped with a white flash of light, while + her whole body relaxed, numb and weak, volitionless, sad her vision reeled + and blurred. The next instant she was herself again, in her eyes terror + and understanding. + </p> + <p> + “And it was at a foot that you struck him,” she murmured in a voice of + awe. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and with the weight of my shoulders behind it,” Billy laughed. “Oh, + that's nothing.—Here, let me show you something else.” + </p> + <p> + He searched out her solar plexus, and did no more than snap his middle + finger against it. This time she experienced a simple paralysis, + accompanied by a stoppage of breath, but with a brain and vision that + remained perfectly clear. In a moment, however, all the unwonted + sensations were gone. + </p> + <p> + “Solar Plexus,” Billy elucidated. “Imagine what it's like when the other + fellow lifts a wallop to it all the way from his knees. That's the punch + that won the championship of the world for Bob Fitzsimmons.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon shuddered, then resigned herself to Billy's playful demonstration of + the weak points in the human anatomy. He pressed the tip of a finger into + the middle of her forearm, and she knew excruciating agony. On either side + of her neck, at the base, he dented gently with his thumbs, and she felt + herself quickly growing unconscious. + </p> + <p> + “That's one of the death touches of the Japs,” he told her, and went on, + accompanying grips and holds with a running exposition. “Here's the + toe-hold that Notch defeated Hackenschmidt with. I learned it from Farmer + Burns.—An' here's a half-Nelson.—An' here's you makin' + roughhouse at a dance, an' I 'm the floor manager, an' I gotta put you + out.” + </p> + <p> + One hand grasped her wrist, the other hand passed around and under her + forearm and grasped his own wrist. And at the first hint of pressure she + felt that her arm was a pipe-stem about to break. + </p> + <p> + “That's called the 'come along.'—An' here's the strong arm. A boy + can down a man with it. An' if you ever get into a scrap an' the other + fellow gets your nose between his teeth—you don't want to lose your + nose, do you? Well, this is what you do, quick as a flash.” + </p> + <p> + Involuntarily she closed her eyes as Billy's thumb-ends pressed into them. + She could feel the fore-running ache of a dull and terrible hurt. + </p> + <p> + “If he don't let go, you just press real hard, an' out pop his eyes, an' + he's blind as a bat for the rest of his life. Oh, he'll let go all right + all right.” + </p> + <p> + He released her and lay back laughing. + </p> + <p> + “How d'ye feel?” he asked. “Those ain't boxin' tricks, but they're all in + the game of a roughhouse.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel like revenge,” she said, trying to apply the “come along” to his + arm. + </p> + <p> + When she exerted the pressure she cried out with pain, for she had + succeeded only in hurting herself. Billy grinned at her futility. She dug + her thumbs into his neck in imitation of the Japanese death touch, then + gazed ruefully at the bent ends of her nails. She punched him smartly on + the point of the chin, and again cried out, this time to the bruise of her + knuckles. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this can't hurt me,” she gritted through her teeth, as she assailed + his solar plexus with her doubled fists. + </p> + <p> + By this time he was in a roar of laughter. Under the sheaths of muscles + that were as armor, the fatal nerve center remained impervious. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, do it some more,” he urged, when she had given up, breathing + heavily. “It feels fine, like you was ticklin' me with a feather.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mister Man,” she threatened balefully. “You can talk about + your grips and death touches and all the rest, but that's all man's game. + I know something that will beat them all, that will make a strong man as + helpless as a baby. Wait a minute till I get it. There. Shut your eyes. + Ready? I won't be a second.” + </p> + <p> + He waited with closed eyes, and then, softly as rose petals fluttering + down, he felt her lips on his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “You win,” he said in solemn ecstasy, and passed his arms around her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + In the morning Billy went down town to pay for Hazel and Hattie. It was + due to Saxon's impatient desire to see them, that he seemed to take a + remarkably long time about so simple a transaction. But she forgave him + when he arrived with the two horses hitched to the camping wagon. + </p> + <p> + “Had to borrow the harness,” he said. “Pass Possum up and climb in, an' + I'll show you the Double H Outfit, which is some outfit, I'm tellin' you.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon's delight was unbounded and almost speechless as they drove out into + the country behind the dappled chestnuts with the cream-colored tails and + manes. The seat was upholstered, high-backed, and comfortable; and Billy + raved about the wonders of the efficient brake. He trotted the team along + the hard county road to show the standard-going in them, and put them up a + steep earthroad, almost hub-deep with mud, to prove that the light Belgian + sire was not wanting in their make-up. + </p> + <p> + When Saxon at last lapsed into complete silence, he studied her anxiously, + with quick sidelong glances. She sighed and asked: + </p> + <p> + “When do you think we'll be able to start?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe in two weeks... or, maybe in two or three months.” He sighed with + solemn deliberation. “We're like the Irishman with the trunk an' nothin' + to put in it. Here's the wagon, here's the horses, an' nothin' to pull. I + know a peach of a shotgun I can get, second-hand, eighteen dollars; but + look at the bills we owe. Then there's a new '22 Automatic rifle I want + for you. An' a 30-30 I've had my eye on for deer. An' you want a good + jointed pole as well as me. An' tackle costs like Sam Hill. An' harness + like I want will cost fifty bucks cold. An' the wagon ought to be painted. + Then there's pasture ropes, an' nose-bags, an' a harness punch, an' all + such things. An' Hazel an' Hattie eatin' their heads off all the time + we're waitin'. An' I 'm just itchin' to be started myself.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped abruptly and confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Billy, what have you got up your sleeve?—I can see it in your + eyes,” Saxon demanded and indicted in mixed metaphors. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Saxon, you see, it's like this. Sandow ain't satisfied. He's madder + 'n a hatter. Never got one punch at me. Never had a chance to make a + showin', an' he wants a return match. He's blattin' around town that he + can lick me with one hand tied behind 'm, an' all that kind of hot air. + Which ain't the point. The point is, the fight-fans is wild to see a + return-match. They didn't get a run for their money last time. They'll + fill the house. The managers has seen me already. That was why I was so + long. They's three hundred more waitin' on the tree for me to pick two + weeks from last night if you'll say the word. It's just the same as I told + you before. He's my meat. He still thinks I 'm a rube, an' that it was a + fluke punch.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, you told me long ago that fighting took the silk out of you. + That was why you'd quit it and stayed by teaming.” + </p> + <p> + “Not this kind of fightin',” he answered. “I got this one all doped out. + I'll let 'm last till about the seventh. Not that it'll be necessary, but + just to give the audience a run for its money. Of course, I'll get a lump + or two, an' lose some skin. Then I'll time 'm to that glass jaw of his an' + drop 'm for the count. An' we'll be all packed up, an' next mornin' we'll + pull out. What d'ye say? Aw, come on.” + </p> + <p> + Saturday night, two weeks later, Saxon ran to the door when the gate + clicked. Billy looked tired. His hair was wet, his nose swollen, one cheek + was puffed, there was skin missing from his ears, and both eyes were + slightly bloodshot. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm darned if that boy didn't fool me,” he said, as he placed the roll + of gold pieces in her hand and sat down with her on his knees. “He's some + boy when he gets extended. Instead of stoppin' 'm at the seventh, he kept + me hustlin' till the fourteenth. Then I got 'm the way I said. It's too + bad he's got a glass jaw. He's quicker'n I thought, an' he's got a wallop + that made me mighty respectful from the second round—an' the + prettiest little chop an' come-again I ever saw. But that glass jaw! He + kept it in cotton wool till the fourteenth an' then I connected. + </p> + <p> + “—An', say. I 'm mighty glad it did last fourteen rounds. I still + got all my silk. I could see that easy. I wasn't breathin' much, an' every + round was fast. An' my legs was like iron. I could a-fought forty rounds. + You see, I never said nothin', but I've been suspicious all the time after + that beatin' the Chicago Terror gave me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!—you would have known it long before now,” Saxon cried. + “Look at all your boxing, and wrestling, and running at Carmel.” + </p> + <p> + “Nope.” Billy shook his head with the conviction of utter knowledge. + “That's different. It don't take it outa you. You gotta be up against the + real thing, fightin' for life, round after round, with a husky you know + ain't lost a thread of his silk yet—then, if you don't blow up, if + your legs is steady, an' your heart ain't burstin', an' you ain't wobbly + at all, an' no signs of queer street in your head—why, then you know + you still got all your silk. An' I got it, I got all mine, d'ye hear me, + an' I ain't goin' to risk it on no more fights. That's straight. Easy + money's hardest in the end. From now on it's horsebuyin' on commish, an' + you an' me on the road till we find that valley of the moon.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning, early, they drove out of Ukiah. Possum sat on the seat + between them, his rosy mouth agape with excitement. They had originally + planned to cross over to the coast from Ukiah, but it was too early in the + season for the soft earth-roads to be in shape after the winter rains; so + they turned east, for Lake County, their route to extend north through the + upper Sacramento Valley and across the mountains into Oregon. Then they + would circle west to the coast, where the roads by that time would be in + condition, and come down its length to the Golden Gate. + </p> + <p> + All the land was green and flower-sprinkled, and each tiny valley, as they + entered the hills, was a garden. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” Billy remarked scornfully to the general landscape. “They say a + rollin' stone gathers no moss. Just the same this looks like some outfit + we've gathered. Never had so much actual property in my life at one time—an' + them was the days when I wasn't rollin'. Hell—even the furniture + wasn't ourn. Only the clothes we stood up in, an' some old socks an' + things.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon reached out and touched his hand, and he knew that it was a hand + that loved his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I've only one regret,” she said. “You've earned it all yourself. I've had + nothing to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!—you've had everything to do with it. You're like my second in + a fight. You keep me happy an' in condition. A man can't fight without a + good second to take care of him. Hell, I wouldn't a-ben here if it wasn't + for you. You made me pull up stakes an' head out. Why, if it hadn't been + for you I'd a-drunk myself dead an' rotten by this time, or had my neck + stretched at San Quentin over hittin' some scab too hard or something or + other. An' look at me now. Look at that roll of greenbacks”—he + tapped his breast—“to buy the Boss some horses. Why, we're takin' an + unendin' vacation, an' makin' a good livin' at the same time. An' one more + trade I got—horse-buyin' for Oakland. If I show I've got the savve, + an' I have, all the Frisco firms'll be after me to buy for them. An' it's + all your fault. You're my Tonic Kid all right, all right, an' if Possum + wasn't lookin', I'd—well, who cares if he does look?” + </p> + <p> + And Billy leaned toward her sidewise and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + The way grew hard and rocky as they began to climb, but the divide was an + easy one, and they soon dropped down the canyon of the Blue Lakes among + lush fields of golden poppies. In the bottom of the canyon lay a wandering + sheet of water of intensest blue. Ahead, the folds of hills interlaced the + distance, with a remote blue mountain rising in the center of the picture. + </p> + <p> + They asked questions of a handsome, black-eyed man with curly gray hair, + who talked to them in a German accent, while a cheery-faced woman smiled + down at them out of a trellised high window of the Swiss cottage perched + on the bank. Billy watered the horses at a pretty hotel farther on, where + the proprietor came out and talked and told him he had built it himself, + according to the plans of the black-eyed man with the curly gray hair, who + was a San Francisco architect. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' up, goin' up,” Billy chortled, as they drove on through the winding + hills past another lake of intensest blue. “D'ye notice the difference in + our treatment already between ridin' an' walkin' with packs on our backs? + With Hazel an' Hattie an' Saxon an' Possum, an' yours truly, an' this + high-toned wagon, folks most likely take us for millionaires out on a + lark.” + </p> + <p> + The way widened. Broad, oak-studded pastures with grazing livestock lay on + either hand. Then Clear Lake opened before them like an inland sea, + flecked with little squalls and flaws of wind from the high mountains on + the northern slopes of which still glistened white snow patches. + </p> + <p> + “I've heard Mrs. Hazard rave about Lake Geneva,” Saxon recalled; “but I + wonder if it is more beautiful than this.” + </p> + <p> + “That architect fellow called this the California Alps, you remember,” + Billy confirmed. “An' if I don't mistake, that's Lakeport showin' up + ahead. An' all wild country, an' no railroads.” + </p> + <p> + “And no moon valleys here,” Saxon criticized. “But it is beautiful, oh, so + beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Hotter'n hell in the dead of summer, I'll bet,” was Billy's opinion. + “Nope, the country we're lookin' for lies nearer the coast. Just the same + it is beautiful... like a picture on the wall. What d'ye say we stop off + an' go for a swim this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + Ten days later they drove into Williams, in Colusa County, and for the + first time again encountered a railroad. Billy was looking for it, for the + reason that at the rear of the wagon walked two magnificent work-horses + which he had picked up for shipment to Oakland. + </p> + <p> + “Too hot,” was Saxon's verdict, as she gazed across the shimmering level + of the vast Sacramento Valley. “No redwoods. No hills. No forests. No + manzanita. No madronos. Lonely, and sad—” + </p> + <p> + “An' like the river islands,” Billy interpolated. “Richer 'n hell, but + looks too much like hard work. It'll do for those that's stuck on hard + work—God knows, they's nothin' here to induce a fellow to knock off + ever for a bit of play. No fishin', no huntin', nothin' but work. I'd work + myself, if I had to live here.” + </p> + <p> + North they drove, through days of heat and dust, across the California + plains, and everywhere was manifest the “new” farming—great + irrigation ditches, dug and being dug, the land threaded by power-lines + from the mountains, and many new farmhouses on small holdings newly + fenced. The bonanza farms were being broken up. However, many of the great + estates remained, five to ten thousand acres in extent, running from the + Sacramento bank to the horizon dancing in the heat waves, and studded with + great valley oaks. + </p> + <p> + “It takes rich soil to make trees like those,” a ten-acre farmer told + them. + </p> + <p> + They had driven off the road a hundred feet to his tiny barn in order to + water Hazel and Hattie. A sturdy young orchard covered most of his ten + acres, though a goodly portion was devoted to whitewashed henhouses and + wired runways wherein hundreds of chickens were to be seen. He had just + begun work on a small frame dwelling. + </p> + <p> + “I took a vacation when I bought,” he explained, “and planted the trees. + Then I went back to work an' stayed with it till the place was cleared. + Now I 'm here for keeps, an' soon as the house is finished I'll send for + the wife. She's not very well, and it will do her good. We've been + planning and working for years to get away from the city.” He stopped in + order to give a happy sigh. “And now we're free.” + </p> + <p> + The water in the trough was warm from the sun. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” the man said. “Don't let them drink that. I'll give it to them + cool.” + </p> + <p> + Stepping into a small shed, he turned an electric switch, and a motor the + size of a fruit box hummed into action. A five-inch stream of sparkling + water splashed into the shallow main ditch of his irrigation system and + flowed away across the orchard through many laterals. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it beautiful, eh?—beautiful! beautiful!” the man chanted in + an ecstasy. “It's bud and fruit. It's blood and life. Look at it! It makes + a gold mine laughable, and a saloon a nightmare. I know. I... I used to be + a barkeeper. In fact, I've been a barkeeper most of my life. That's how I + paid for this place. And I've hated the business all the time. I was a + farm boy, and all my life I've been wanting to get back to it. And here I + am at last.” + </p> + <p> + He wiped his glasses the better to behold his beloved water, then seized a + hoe and strode down the main ditch to open more laterals. + </p> + <p> + “He's the funniest barkeeper I ever seen,” Billy commented. “I took him + for a business man of some sort. Must a-ben in some kind of a quiet + hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't drive on right away,” Saxon requested. “I want to talk with him.” + </p> + <p> + He came back, polishing his glasses, his face beaming, watching the water + as if fascinated by it. It required no more exertion on Saxon's part to + start him than had been required on his part to start the motor. + </p> + <p> + “The pioneers settled all this in the early fifties,” he said. “The + Mexicans never got this far, so it was government land. Everybody got a + hundred and sixty acres. And such acres! The stories they tell about how + much wheat they got to the acre are almost unbelievable. Then several + things happened. The sharpest and steadiest of the pioneers held what they + had and added to it from the other fellows. It takes a great many quarter + sections to make a bonanza farm. It wasn't long before it was 'most all + bonanza farms.” + </p> + <p> + “They were the successful gamblers,” Saxon put in, remembering Mark Hall's + words. + </p> + <p> + The man nodded appreciatively and continued. + </p> + <p> + “The old folks schemed and gathered and added the land into the big + holdings, and built the great barns and mansions, and planted the house + orchards and flower gardens. The young folks were spoiled by so much + wealth and went away to the cities to spend it. And old folks and young + united in one thing: in impoverishing the soil. Year after year they + scratched it and took out bonanza crops. They put nothing back. All they + left was plow-sole and exhausted land. Why, there's big sections they + exhausted and left almost desert. + </p> + <p> + “The bonanza farmers are all gone now, thank the Lord, and here's where we + small farmers come into our own. It won't be many years before the whole + valley will be farmed in patches like mine. Look at what we're doing! + Worked-out land that had ceased to grow wheat, and we turn the water on, + treat the soil decently, and see our orchards! + </p> + <p> + “We've got the water—from the mountains, and from under the ground. + I was reading an account the other day. All life depends on food. All food + depends on water. It takes a thousand pounds of water to produce one pound + of food; ten thousand pounds to produce one pound of meat. How much water + do you drink in a year? About a ton. But you eat about two hundred pounds + of vegetables and two hundred pounds of meat a year—which means you + consume one hundred tons of water in the vegetables and one thousand tons + in the meat—which means that it takes eleven hundred and one tons of + water each year to keep a small woman like you going.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee!” was all Billy could say. + </p> + <p> + “You see how population depends upon water,” the ex-barkeeper went on. + “Well, we've got the water, immense subterranean supplies, and in not many + years this valley will be populated as thick as Belgium.” + </p> + <p> + Fascinated by the five-inch stream, sluiced out of the earth and back to + the earth by the droning motor, he forgot his discourse and stood and + gazed, rapt and unheeding, while his visitors drove on. + </p> + <p> + “An' him a drink-slinger!” Billy marveled. “He can sure sling the + temperance dope if anybody should ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “It's lovely to think about—all that water, and all the happy people + that will come here to live—” + </p> + <p> + “But it ain't the valley of the moon!” Billy laughed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she responded. “They don't have to irrigate in the valley of the + moon, unless for alfalfa and such crops. What we want is the water + bubbling naturally from the ground, and crossing the farm in little + brooks, and on the boundary a fine big creek—” + </p> + <p> + “With trout in it!” Billy took her up. “An' willows and trees of all kinds + growing along the edges, and here a riffle where you can flip out trout, + and there a deep pool where you can swim and high-dive. An' kingfishers, + an' rabbits comin' down to drink, an', maybe, a deer.” + </p> + <p> + “And meadowlarks in the pasture,” Saxon added. “And mourning doves in the + trees. We must have mourning doves—and the big, gray + tree-squirrels.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee!—that valley of the moon's goin' to be some valley,” Billy + meditated, flicking a fly away with his whip from Hattie's side. “Think + we'll ever find it?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded her head with great certitude. + </p> + <p> + “Just as the Jews found the promised land, and the Mormons Utah, and the + Pioneers California. You remember the last advice we got when we left + Oakland? 'Tis them that looks that finds.'” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Ever north, through a fat and flourishing rejuvenated land, stopping at + the towns of Willows, Red Bluff and Redding, crossing the counties of + Colusa, Glenn, Tehama, and Shasta, went the spruce wagon drawn by the + dappled chestnuts with cream-colored manes and tails. Billy picked up only + three horses for shipment, although he visited many farms; and Saxon + talked with the women while he looked over the stock with the men. And + Saxon grew the more convinced that the valley she sought lay not there. + </p> + <p> + At Redding they crossed the Sacramento on a cable ferry, and made a day's + scorching traverse through rolling foot-hills and flat tablelands. The + heat grew more insupportable, and the trees and shrubs were blasted and + dead. Then they came again to the Sacramento, where the great smelters of + Kennett explained the destruction of the vegetation. + </p> + <p> + They climbed out of the smelting town, where eyrie houses perched + insecurely on a precipitous landscape. It was a broad, well-engineered + road that took them up a grade miles long and plunged down into the Canyon + of the Sacramento. The road, rock-surfaced and easy-graded, hewn out of + the canyon wall, grew so narrow that Billy worried for fear of meeting + opposite-bound teams. Far below, the river frothed and flowed over pebbly + shallows, or broke tumultuously over boulders and cascades, in its race + for the great valley they had left behind. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, on the wider stretches of road, Saxon drove and Billy walked to + lighten the load. She insisted on taking her turns at walking, and when he + breathed the panting mares on the steep, and Saxon stood by their heads + caressing them and cheering them, Billy's joy was too deep for any turn of + speech as he gazed at his beautiful horses and his glowing girl, trim and + colorful in her golden brown corduroy, the brown corduroy calves swelling + sweetly under the abbreviated slim skirt. And when her answering look of + happiness came to him—a sudden dimness in her straight gray eyes—he + was overmastered by the knowledge that he must say something or burst. + </p> + <p> + “O, you kid!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + And with radiant face she answered, “O, you kid!” + </p> + <p> + They camped one night in a deep dent in the canyon, where was snuggled a + box-factory village, and where a toothless ancient, gazing with faded eyes + at their traveling outfit, asked: “Be you showin'?” + </p> + <p> + They passed Castle Crags, mighty-bastioned and glowing red against the + palpitating blue sky. They caught their first glimpse of Mt. Shasta, a + rose-tinted snow-peak rising, a sunset dream, between and beyond green + interlacing walls of canyon—a landmark destined to be with them for + many days. At unexpected turns, after mounting some steep grade, Shasta + would appear again, still distant, now showing two peaks and glacial + fields of shimmering white. Miles and miles and days and days they + climbed, with Shasta ever developing new forms and phases in her summer + snows. + </p> + <p> + “A moving picture in the sky,” said Billy at last. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,—it is all so beautiful,” sighed Saxon. “But there are no + moon-valleys here.” + </p> + <p> + They encountered a plague of butterflies, and for days drove through + untold millions of the fluttering beauties that covered the road with + uniform velvet-brown. And ever the road seemed to rise under the noses of + the snorting mares, filling the air with noiseless flight, drifting down + the breeze in clouds of brown and yellow soft-flaked as snow, and piling + in mounds against the fences, ever driven to float helplessly on the + irrigation ditches along the roadside. Hazel and Hattie soon grew used to + them though Possum never ceased being made frantic. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!—who ever heard of butterfly-broke horses?” Billy chaffed. + “That's worth fifty bucks more on their price.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till you get across the Oregon line into the Rogue River Valley,” + they were told. “There's God's Paradise—climate, scenery, and + fruit-farming; fruit ranches that yield two hundred per cent. on a + valuation of five hundred dollars an acre.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee!” Billy said, when he had driven on out of hearing; “that's too rich + for our digestion.” + </p> + <p> + And Saxon said, “I don't know about apples in the valley of the moon, but + I do know that the yield is ten thousand per cent. of happiness on a + valuation of one Billy, one Saxon, a Hazel, a Hattie, and a Possum.” + </p> + <p> + Through Siskiyou County and across high mountains, they came to Ashland + and Medford and camped beside the wild Rogue River. + </p> + <p> + “This is wonderful and glorious,” pronounced Saxon; “but it is not the + valley of the moon.” + </p> + <p> + “Nope, it ain't the valley of the moon,” agreed Billy, and he said it on + the evening of the day he hooked a monster steelhead, standing to his neck + in the ice-cold water of the Rogue and fighting for forty minutes, with + screaming reel, ere he drew his finny prize to the bank and with the + scalp-yell of a Comanche jumped and clutched it by the gills. + </p> + <p> + “'Them that looks finds,'” predicted Saxon, as they drew north out of + Grant's Pass, and held north across the mountains and fruitful Oregon + valleys. + </p> + <p> + One day, in camp by the Umpqua River, Billy bent over to begin skinning + the first deer he had ever shot. He raised his eyes to Saxon and remarked: + </p> + <p> + “If I didn't know California, I guess Oregon'd suit me from the ground + up.” + </p> + <p> + In the evening, replete with deer meat, resting on his elbow and smoking + his after-supper cigarette, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they ain't no valley of the moon. An' if they ain't, what of it? We + could keep on this way forever. I don't ask nothing better.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a valley of the moon,” Saxon answered soberly. “And we are going + to find it. We've got to. Why Billy, it would never do, never to settle + down. There would be no little Hazels and little Hatties, nor little... + Billies—” + </p> + <p> + “Nor little Saxons,” Billy interjected. + </p> + <p> + “Nor little Possums,” she hurried on, nodding her head and reaching out a + caressing hand to where the fox terrier was ecstatically gnawing a + deer-rib. A vicious snarl and a wicked snap that barely missed her fingers + were her reward. + </p> + <p> + “Possum!” she cried in sharp reproof, again extending her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” Billy warned. “He can't help it, and he's likely to get you next + time.” + </p> + <p> + Even more compelling was the menacing threat that Possum growled, his jaws + close-guarding the bone, eyes blazing insanely, the hair rising stiffly on + his neck. + </p> + <p> + “It's a good dog that sticks up for its bone,” Billy championed. “I + wouldn't care to own one that didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's my Possum,” Saxon protested. “And he loves me. Besides, he must + love me more than an old bone. And he must mind me.—Here, you, + Possum, give me that bone! Give me that bone, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Her hand went out gingerly, and the growl rose in volume and key till it + culminated in a snap. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you it's instinct,” Billy repeated. “He does love you, but he just + can't help doin' it.” + </p> + <p> + “He's got a right to defend his bones from strangers but not from his + mother,” Saxon argued. “I shall make him give up that bone to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Fox terriers is awful highstrung, Saxon. You'll likely get him + hysterical.” + </p> + <p> + But she was obstinately set in her purpose. She picked up a short stick of + firewood. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sir, give me that bone.” + </p> + <p> + She threatened with the stick, and the dog's growling became ferocious. + Again he snapped, then crouched back over his bone. Saxon raised the stick + as if to strike him, and he suddenly abandoned the bone, rolled over on + his back at her feet, four legs in the air, his ears lying meekly back, + his eyes swimming and eloquent with submission and appeal. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” Billy breathed in solemn awe. “Look at it!—presenting his + solar plexus to you, his vitals an' his life, all defense down, as much as + sayin': 'Here I am. Stamp on me. Kick the life outa me.' I love you, I am + your slave, but I just can't help defendin' my bone. My instinct's + stronger'n me. Kill me, but I can't help it.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was melted. Tears were in her eyes as she stooped and gathered the + mite of an animal in her arms. Possum was in a frenzy of agitation, + whining, trembling, writhing, twisting, licking her face, all for + forgiveness. + </p> + <p> + “Heart of gold with a rose in his mouth,” Saxon crooned, burying her face + in the soft and quivering bundle of sensibilities. “Mother is sorry. + She'll never bother you again that way. There, there, little love. See? + There's your bone. Take it.” + </p> + <p> + She put him down, but he hesitated between her and the bone, patently + looking to her for surety of permission, yet continuing to tremble in the + terrible struggle between duty and desire that seemed tearing him asunder. + Not until she repeated that it was all right and nodded her head + consentingly did he go to the bone. And once, a minute later, he raised + his head with a sudden startle and gazed inquiringly at her. She nodded + and smiled, and Possum, with a happy sigh of satisfaction, dropped his + head down to the precious deer-rib. + </p> + <p> + “That Mercedes was right when she said men fought over jobs like dogs over + bones,” Billy enunciated slowly. “It's instinct. Why, I couldn't no more + help reaching my fist to the point of a scab's jaw than could Possum from + snappin' at you. They's no explainin' it. What a man has to he has to. The + fact that he does a thing shows he had to do it whether he can explain it + or not. You remember Hall couldn't explain why he stuck that stick between + Timothy McManus's legs in the foot race. What a man has to, he has to. + That's all I know about it. I never had no earthly reason to beat up that + lodger we had, Jimmy Harmon. He was a good guy, square an' all right. But + I just had to, with the strike goin' to smash, an' everything so bitter + inside me that I could taste it. I never told you, but I saw 'm once after + I got out—when my arms was mendin'. I went down to the roundhouse + an' waited for 'm to come in off a run, an' apologized to 'm. Now why did + I apologize? I don't know, except for the same reason I punched 'm—I + just had to.” + </p> + <p> + And so Billy expounded the why of like in terms of realism, in the camp by + the Umpqua River, while Possum expounded it, in similar terms of fang and + appetite, on the rib of deer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + With Possum on the seat beside her, Saxon drove into the town of Roseburg. + She drove at a walk. At the back of the wagon were tied two heavy young + work-horses. Behind, half a dozen more marched free, and the rear was + brought up by Billy, astride a ninth horse. All these he shipped from + Roseburg to the West Oakland stables. + </p> + <p> + It was in the Umpqua Valley that they heard the parable of the white + sparrow. The farmer who told it was elderly and flourishing. His farm was + a model of orderliness and system. Afterwards, Billy heard neighbors + estimate his wealth at a quarter of a million. + </p> + <p> + “You've heard the story of the farmer and the white sparrow'” he asked + Billy, at dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of a white sparrow even,” Billy answered. + </p> + <p> + “I must say they're pretty rare,” the farmer owned. “But here's the story: + Once there was a farmer who wasn't making much of a success. Things just + didn't seem to go right, till at last, one day, he heard about the + wonderful white sparrow. It seems that the white sparrow comes out only + just at daybreak with the first light of dawn, and that it brings all + kinds of good luck to the farmer that is fortunate enough to catch it. + Next morning our farmer was up at daybreak, and before, looking for it. + And, do you know, he sought for it continually, for months and months, and + never caught even a glimpse of it.” Their host shook his head. “No; he + never found it, but he found so many things about the farm needing + attention, and which he attended to before breakfast, that before he knew + it the farm was prospering, and it wasn't long before the mortgage was + paid off and he was starting a bank account.” + </p> + <p> + That afternoon, as they drove along, Billy was plunged in a deep reverie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I got the point all right,” he said finally. “An' yet I ain't + satisfied. Of course, they wasn't a white sparrow, but by getting up early + an' attendin' to things he'd been slack about before—oh, I got it + all right. An' yet, Saxon, if that's what a farmer's life means, I don't + want to find no moon valley. Life ain't hard work. Daylight to dark, hard + at it—might just as well be in the city. What's the difference? Al' + the time you've got to yourself is for sleepin', an' when you're sleepin' + you're not enjoyin' yourself. An' what's it matter where you sleep, you're + deado. Might as well be dead an' done with it as work your head off that + way. I'd sooner stick to the road, an' shoot a deer an' catch a trout once + in a while, an' lie on my back in the shade, an' laugh with you an' have + fun with you, an'... an' go swimmin'. An' I 'm a willin' worker, too. But + they's all the difference in the world between a decent amount of work an' + workin' your head off.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was in full accord. She looked back on her years of toil and + contrasted them with the joyous life she had lived on the road. + </p> + <p> + “We don't want to be rich,” she said. “Let them hunt their white sparrows + in the Sacramento islands and the irrigation valleys. When we get up early + in the valley of the moon, it will be to hear the birds sing and sing with + them. And if we work hard at times, it will be only so that we'll have + more time to play. And when you go swimming I 'm going with you. And we'll + play so hard that we'll be glad to work for relaxation.” + </p> + <p> + “I 'm gettin' plumb dried out,” Billy announced, mopping the sweat from + his sunburned forehead. “What d'ye say we head for the coast?” + </p> + <p> + West they turned, dropping down wild mountain gorges from the height of + land of the interior valleys. So fearful was the road, that, on one + stretch of seven miles, they passed ten broken-down automobiles. Billy + would not force the mares and promptly camped beside a brawling stream + from which he whipped two trout at a time. Here, Saxon caught her first + big trout. She had been accustomed to landing them up to nine and ten + inches, and the screech of the reel when the big one was hooked caused her + to cry out in startled surprise. Billy came up the riffle to her and gave + counsel. Several minutes later, cheeks flushed and eyes dancing with + excitement, Saxon dragged the big fellow carefully from the water's edge + into the dry sand. Here it threw the hook out and flopped tremendously + until she fell upon it and captured it in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Sixteen inches,” Billy said, as she held it up proudly for inspection. “—Hey!—what + are you goin' to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Wash off the sand, of course,” was her answer. + </p> + <p> + “Better put it in the basket,” he advised, then closed his mouth and + grimly watched. + </p> + <p> + She stooped by the side of the stream and dipped in the splendid fish. It + flopped, there was a convulsive movement on her part, and it was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Saxon cried in chagrin. + </p> + <p> + “Them that finds should hold,” quoth Billy. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” she replied. “It was a bigger one than you ever caught + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I 'm not denyin' you're a peach at fishin',” he drawled. “You caught + me, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know about that,” she retorted. “Maybe it was like the man who + was arrested for catching trout out of season. His defense was self + defense.” + </p> + <p> + Billy pondered, but did not see. + </p> + <p> + “The trout attacked him,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + Billy grinned. Fifteen minutes later he said: + </p> + <p> + “You sure handed me a hot one.” + </p> + <p> + The sky was overcast, and, as they drove along the bank of the Coquille + River, the fog suddenly enveloped them. + </p> + <p> + “Whoof!” Billy exhaled joyfully. “Ain't it great! I can feel myself + moppin' it up like a dry sponge. I never appreciated fog before.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon held out her arms to receive it, making motions as if she were + bathing in the gray mist. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought I'd grow tired of the sun,” she said; “but we've had more + than our share the last few weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Ever since we hit the Sacramento Valley,” Billy affirmed. “Too much sun + ain't good. I've worked that out. Sunshine is like liquor. Did you ever + notice how good you felt when the sun come out after a week of cloudy + weather. Well, that sunshine was just like a jolt of whiskey. Had the same + effect. Made you feel good all over. Now, when you're swimmin', an' come + out an' lay in the sun, how good you feel. That's because you're lappin' + up a sun-cocktail. But suppose you lay there in the sand a couple of + hours. You don't feel so good. You're so slow-movin' it takes you a long + time to dress. You go home draggin' your legs an' feelin' rotten, with all + the life sapped outa you. What's that? It's the katzenjammer. You've been + soused to the ears in sunshine, like so much whiskey, an' now you're + payin' for it. That's straight. That's why fog in the climate is best.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we've been drunk for months,” Saxon said. “And now we're going to + sober up.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet. Why, Saxon, I can do two days' work in one in this climate.—Look + at the mares. Blame me if they ain't perkin' up already.” + </p> + <p> + Vainly Saxon's eye roved the pine forest in search of her beloved + redwoods. They would find them down in California, they were told in the + town of Bandon. + </p> + <p> + “Then we're too far north,” said Saxon. “We must go south to find our + valley of the moon.” + </p> + <p> + And south they went, along roads that steadily grew worse, through the + dairy country of Langlois and through thick pine forests to Port Orford, + where Saxon picked jeweled agates on the beach while Billy caught enormous + rockcod. No railroads had yet penetrated this wild region, and the way + south grew wilder and wilder. At Gold Beach they encountered their old + friend, the Rogue River, which they ferried across where it entered the + Pacific. Still wilder became the country, still more terrible the road, + still farther apart the isolated farms and clearings. + </p> + <p> + And here were neither Asiatics nor Europeans. The scant population + consisted of the original settlers and their descendants. More than one + old man or woman Saxon talked with, who could remember the trip across the + Plains with the plodding oxen. West they had fared until the Pacific + itself had stopped them, and here they had made their clearings, built + their rude houses, and settled. In them Farthest West had been reached. + Old customs had changed little. There were no railways. No automobile as + yet had ventured their perilous roads. Eastward, between them and the + populous interior valleys, lay the wilderness of the Coast Range—a + game paradise, Billy heard; though he declared that the very road he + traveled was game paradise enough for him. Had he not halted the horses, + turned the reins over to Saxon, and shot an eight-pronged buck from the + wagon-seat? + </p> + <p> + South of Gold Beach, climbing a narrow road through the virgin forest, + they heard from far above the jingle of bells. A hundred yards farther on + Billy found a place wide enough to turn out. Here he waited, while the + merry bells, descending the mountain, rapidly came near. They heard the + grind of brakes, the soft thud of horses' hoofs, once a sharp cry of the + driver, and once a woman's laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Some driver, some driver,” Billy muttered. “I take my hat off to 'm + whoever he is, hittin' a pace like that on a road like this.—Listen + to that! He's got powerful brakes.—Zooie! That WAS a chuck-hole! + Some springs, Saxon, some springs!” + </p> + <p> + Where the road zigzagged above, they glimpsed through the trees four + sorrel horses trotting swiftly, and the flying wheels of a small, + tan-painted trap. + </p> + <p> + At the bend of the road the leaders appeared again, swinging wide on the + curve, the wheelers flashed into view, and the light two-seated rig; then + the whole affair straightened out and thundered down upon them across a + narrow plank-bridge. In the front seat were a man and woman; in the rear + seat a Japanese was squeezed in among suit cases, rods, guns, saddles, and + a typewriter case, while above him and all about him, fastened most + intricately, sprouted a prodigious crop of deer- and elk-horns. + </p> + <p> + “It's Mr. and Mrs. Hastings,” Saxon cried. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa!” Hastings yelled, putting on the brake and gathering his horses in + to a stop alongside. Greetings flew back and forth, in which the Japanese, + whom they had last seen on the Roamer at Rio Vista, gave and received his + share. + </p> + <p> + “Different from the Sacramento islands, eh?” Hastings said to Saxon. + “Nothing but old American stock in these mountains. And they haven't + changed any. As John Fox, Jr., said, they're our contemporary ancestors. + Our old folks were just like them.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. and Mrs. Hastings, between them, told of their long drive. They were + out two months then, and intended to continue north through Oregon and + Washington to the Canadian boundary. + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll ship our horses and come home by train,” concluded Hastings. + </p> + <p> + “But the way you drive you oughta be a whole lot further along than this,” + Billy criticized. + </p> + <p> + “But we keep stopping off everywhere,” Mrs. Hastings explained. + </p> + <p> + “We went in to the Hoopa Reservation,” said Mr. Hastings, “and canoed + down the Trinity and Klamath Rivers to the ocean. And just now we've come + out from two weeks in the real wilds of Curry County.” + </p> + <p> + “You must go in,” Hastings advised. “You'll get to Mountain Ranch + to-night. And you can turn in from there. No roads, though. You'll have to + pack your horses. But it's full of game. I shot five mountain lions and + two bear, to say nothing of deer. And there are small herds of elk, too.—No; + I didn't shoot any. They're protected. These horns I got from the old + hunters. I'll tell you all about it.” + </p> + <p> + And while the men talked, Saxon and Mrs. Hastings were not idle. + </p> + <p> + “Found your valley of the moon yet?” the writer's wife asked, as they were + saying good-by. + </p> + <p> + Saxon shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “You will find it if you go far enough; and be sure you go as far as + Sonoma Valley and our ranch. Then, if you haven't found it yet, we'll see + what we can do.” + </p> + <p> + Three weeks later, with a bigger record of mountain lions and bear than + Hastings' to his credit, Billy emerged from Curry County and drove across + the line into California. At once Saxon found herself among the redwoods. + But they were redwoods unbelievable. Billy stopped the wagon, got out, and + paced around one. + </p> + <p> + “Forty-five feet,” he announced. “That's fifteen in diameter. And they're + all like it only bigger. No; there's a runt. It's only about nine feet + through. An' they're hundreds of feet tall.” + </p> + <p> + “When I die, Billy, you must bury me in a redwood grove,” Saxon adjured. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't goin' to let you die before I do,” he assured her. “An' then + we'll leave it in our wills for us both to be buried that way.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + South they held along the coast, hunting, fishing, swimming, and + horse-buying. Billy shipped his purchases on the coasting steamers. + Through Del Norte and Humboldt counties they went, and through Mendocino + into Sonoma—counties larger than Eastern states—threading the + giant woods, whipping innumerable trout-streams, and crossing countless + rich valleys. Ever Saxon sought the valley of the moon. Sometimes, when + all seemed fair, the lack was a railroad, sometimes madrono and manzanita + trees, and, usually, there was too much fog. + </p> + <p> + “We do want a sun-cocktail once in a while,” she told Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Yep,” was his answer. “Too much fog might make us soggy. What we're after + is betwixt an' between, an' we'll have to get back from the coast a ways + to find it.” + </p> + <p> + This was in the fall of the year, and they turned their backs on the + Pacific at old Fort Ross and entered the Russian River Valley, far below + Ukiah, by way of Cazadero and Guerneville. At Santa Rosa Billy was delayed + with the shipping of several horses, so that it was not until afternoon + that he drove south and east for Sonoma Valley. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we'll no more than make Sonoma Valley when it'll be time to + camp,” he said, measuring the sun with his eye. “This is called Bennett + Valley. You cross a divide from it and come out at Glen Ellen. Now this is + a mighty pretty valley, if anybody should ask you. An' that's some nifty + mountain over there.” + </p> + <p> + “The mountain is all right,” Saxon adjudged. “But all the rest of the + hills are too bare. And I don't see any big trees. It takes rich soil to + make big trees.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I ain't sayin' it's the valley of the moon by a long ways. All the + same, Saxon, that's some mountain. Look at the timber on it. I bet they's + deer there.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder where we'll spend this winter,” Saxon remarked. + </p> + <p> + “D'ye know, I've just been thinkin' the same thing. Let's winter at + Carmel. Mark Hall's back, an' so is Jim Hazard. What d'ye say?” + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Only you won't be the odd-job man this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Nope. We can make trips in good weather horse-buyin',” Billy confirmed, + his face beaming with self-satisfaction. “An' if that walkin' poet of the + Marble House is around, I'll sure get the gloves on with 'm just in memory + of the time he walked me off my legs—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh!” Saxon cried. “Look, Billy! Look!” + </p> + <p> + Around a bend in the road came a man in a sulky, driving a heavy stallion. + The animal was a bright chestnut-sorrel, with cream-colored mane and tail. + The tail almost swept the ground, while the mane was so thick that it + crested out of the neck and flowed down, long and wavy. He scented the + mares and stopped short, head flung up and armfuls of creamy mane tossing + in the breeze. He bent his head until flaring nostrils brushed impatient + knees, and between the fine-pointed ears could be seen a mighty and + incredible curve of neck. Again he tossed his head, fretting against the + bit as the driver turned widely aside for safety in passing. They could + see the blue glaze like a sheen on the surface of the horse's bright, wild + eyes, and Billy closed a wary thumb on his reins and himself turned + widely. He held up his hand in signal, and the driver of the stallion + stopped when well past, and over his shoulder talked draught-horses with + Billy. + </p> + <p> + Among other things, Billy learned that the stallion's name was Barbarossa, + that the driver was the owner, and that Santa Rosa was his headquarters. + </p> + <p> + “There are two ways to Sonoma Valley from here,” the man directed. “When + you come to the crossroads the turn to the left will take you to Glen + Ellen by Bennett Peak—that's it there.” + </p> + <p> + Rising from rolling stubble fields, Bennett Peak towered hot in the sun, a + row of bastion hills leaning against its base. But hills and mountains on + that side showed bare and heated, though beautiful with the sunburnt + tawniness of California. + </p> + <p> + “The turn to the right will take you to Glen Ellen, too, only it's longer + and steeper grades. But your mares don't look as though it'd bother them.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is the prettiest way?” Saxon asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the right hand road, by all means,” said the man. “That's Sonoma + Mountain there, and the road skirts it pretty well up, and goes through + Cooper's Grove.” + </p> + <p> + Billy did not start immediately after they had said good-by, and he and + Saxon, heads over shoulders, watched the roused Barbarossa plunging + mutinously on toward Santa Rosa. + </p> + <p> + “Gee!” Billy said. “I'd like to be up here next spring.” + </p> + <p> + At the crossroads Billy hesitated and looked at Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “What if it is longer?” she said. “Look how beautiful it is—all + covered with green woods; and I just know those are redwoods in the + canyons. You never can tell. The valley of the moon might be right up + there somewhere. And it would never do to miss it just in order to save + half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + They took the turn to the right and began crossing a series of steep + foothills. As they approached the mountain there were signs of a greater + abundance of water. They drove beside a running stream, and, though the + vineyards on the hills were summer-dry, the farmhouses in the hollows and + on the levels were grouped about with splendid trees. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it sounds funny,” Saxon observed; “but I 'm beginning to love that + mountain already. It almost seems as if I'd seen it before, somehow, it's + so all-around satisfying—oh!” + </p> + <p> + Crossing a bridge and rounding a sharp turn, they were suddenly enveloped + in a mysterious coolness and gloom. All about them arose stately trunks of + redwood. The forest floor was a rosy carpet of autumn fronds. Occasional + shafts of sunlight, penetrating the deep shade, warmed the somberness of + the grove. Alluring paths led off among the trees and into cozy nooks made + by circles of red columns growing around the dust of vanished ancestors—witnessing + the titanic dimensions of those ancestors by the girth of the circles in + which they stood. + </p> + <p> + Out of the grove they pulled to the steep divide, which was no more than a + buttress of Sonoma Mountain. The way led on through rolling uplands and + across small dips and canyons, all well wooded and a-drip with water. In + places the road was muddy from wayside springs. + </p> + <p> + “The mountain's a sponge,” said Billy. “Here it is, the tail-end of dry + summer, an' the ground's just leakin' everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I know I've never been here before,” Saxon communed aloud. “But it's all + so familiar! So I must have dreamed it. And there's madronos!—a + whole grove! And manzanita! Why, I feel just as if I was coming home... + Oh, Billy, if it should turn out to be our valley.” + </p> + <p> + “Plastered against the side of a mountain?” he queried, with a skeptical + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No; I don't mean that. I mean on the way to our valley. Because the way—all + ways—to our valley must be beautiful. And this; I've seen it all + before, dreamed it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's great,” he said sympathetically. “I wouldn't trade a square mile of + this kind of country for the whole Sacramento Valley, with the river + islands thrown in and Middle River for good measure. If they ain't deer up + there, I miss my guess. An' where they's springs they's streams, an' + streams means trout.” + </p> + <p> + They passed a large and comfortable farmhouse, surrounded by wandering + barns and cow-sheds, went on under forest arches, and emerged beside a + field with which Saxon was instantly enchanted. It flowed in a gentle + concave from the road up the mountain, its farther boundary an unbroken + line of timber. The field glowed like rough gold in the approaching + sunset, and near the middle of it stood a solitary great redwood, with + blasted top suggesting a nesting eyrie for eagles. The timber beyond + clothed the mountain in solid green to what they took to be the top. But, + as they drove on, Saxon, looking back upon what she called her field, saw + the real summit of Sonoma towering beyond, the mountain behind her field a + mere spur upon the side of the larger mass. + </p> + <p> + Ahead and toward the right, across sheer ridges of the mountains, + separated by deep green canyons and broadening lower down into rolling + orchards and vineyards, they caught their first sight of Sonoma Valley and + the wild mountains that rimmed its eastern side. To the left they gazed + across a golden land of small hills and valleys. Beyond, to the north, + they glimpsed another portion of the valley, and, still beyond, the + opposing wall of the valley—a range of mountains, the highest of + which reared its red and battered ancient crater against a rosy and + mellowing sky. From north to southeast, the mountain rim curved in the + brightness of the sun, while Saxon and Billy were already in the shadow of + evening. He looked at Saxon, noted the ravished ecstasy of her face, and + stopped the horses. All the eastern sky was blushing to rose, which + descended upon the mountains, touching them with wine and ruby. Sonoma + Valley began to fill with a purple flood, laving the mountain bases, + rising, inundating, drowning them in its purple. Saxon pointed in silence, + indicating that the purple flood was the sunset shadow of Sonoma Mountain. + Billy nodded, then chirruped to the mares, and the descent began through a + warm and colorful twilight. + </p> + <p> + On the elevated sections of the road they felt the cool, delicious breeze + from the Pacific forty miles away; while from each little dip and hollow + came warm breaths of autumn earth, spicy with sunburnt grass and fallen + leaves and passing flowers. + </p> + <p> + They came to the rim of a deep canyon that seemed to penetrate to the + heart of Sonoma Mountain. Again, with no word spoken, merely from watching + Saxon, Billy stopped the wagon. The canyon was wildly beautiful. Tall + redwoods lined its entire length. On its farther rim stood three rugged + knolls covered with dense woods of spruce and oak. From between the + knolls, a feeder to the main canyon and likewise fringed with redwoods, + emerged a smaller canyon. Billy pointed to a stubble field that lay at the + feet of the knolls. + </p> + <p> + “It's in fields like that I've seen my mares a-pasturing,” he said. + </p> + <p> + They dropped down into the canyon, the road following a stream that sang + under maples and alders. The sunset fires, refracted from the + cloud-driftage of the autumn sky, bathed the canyon with crimson, in which + ruddy-limbed madronos and wine-wooded manzanitas burned and smoldered. The + air was aromatic with laurel. Wild grape vines bridged the stream from + tree to tree. Oaks of many sorts were veiled in lacy Spanish moss. Ferns + and brakes grew lush beside the stream. From somewhere came the plaint of + a mourning dove. Fifty feet above the ground, almost over their heads, a + Douglas squirrel crossed the road—a flash of gray between two trees; + and they marked the continuance of its aerial passage by the bending of + the boughs. + </p> + <p> + “I've got a hunch,” said Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Let me say it first,” Saxon begged. + </p> + <p> + He waited, his eyes on her face as she gazed about her in rapture. + </p> + <p> + “We've found our valley,” she whispered. “Was that it?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded, but checked speech at sight of a small boy driving a cow up the + road, a preposterously big shotgun in one hand, in the other as + preposterously big a jackrabbit. “How far to Glen Ellen?” Billy asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mile an' a half,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “What creek is this?” inquired Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Wild Water. It empties into Sonoma Creek half a mile down.” + </p> + <p> + “Trout?”—this from Billy. + </p> + <p> + “If you know how to catch 'em,” grinned the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Deer up the mountain?” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't open season,” the boy evaded. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you never shot a deer,” Billy slyly baited, and was rewarded + with: + </p> + <p> + “I got the horns to show.” + </p> + <p> + “Deer shed their horns,” Billy teased on. “Anybody can find 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “I got the meat on mine. It ain't dry yet—” + </p> + <p> + The boy broke off, gazing with shocked eyes into the pit Billy had dug for + him. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, sonny,” Billy laughed, as he drove on. “I ain't the game + warden. I 'm buyin' horses.” + </p> + <p> + More leaping tree squirrels, more ruddy madronos and majestic oaks, more + fairy circles of redwoods, and, still beside the singing stream, they + passed a gate by the roadside. Before it stood a rural mail box, on which + was lettered “Edmund Hale.” Standing under the rustic arch, leaning upon + the gate, a man and woman composed a pieture so arresting and beautiful + that Saxon caught her breath. They were side by side, the delicate hand of + the woman curled in the hand of the man, which looked as if made to confer + benedictions. His face bore out this impression—a beautiful-browed + countenance, with large, benevolent gray eyes under a wealth of white hair + that shone like spun glass. He was fair and large; the little woman beside + him was daintily wrought. She was saffron-brown, as a woman of the white + race can well be, with smiling eyes of bluest blue. In quaint sage-green + draperies, she seemed a flower, with her small vivid face irresistibly + reminding Saxon of a springtime wake-robin. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the picture made by Saxon and Billy was equally arresting and + beautiful, as they drove down through the golden end of day. The two + couples had eyes only for each other. The little woman beamed joyously. + The man's face glowed into the benediction that had trembled there. To + Saxon, like the field up the mountain, like the mountain itself, it seemed + that she had always known this adorable pair. She knew that she loved + them. + </p> + <p> + “How d'ye do,” said Billy. + </p> + <p> + “You blessed children,” said the man. “I wonder if you know how dear you + look sitting there.” + </p> + <p> + That was all. The wagon had passed by, rustling down the road, which was + carpeted with fallen leaves of maple, oak, and alder. Then they came to + the meeting of the two creeks. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a place for a home,” Saxon cried, pointing across Wild Water. + “See, Billy, on that bench there above the meadow.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a rich bottom, Saxon; and so is the bench rich. Look at the big + trees on it. An' they's sure to be springs.” + </p> + <p> + “Drive over,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Forsaking the main road, they crossed Wild Water on a narrow bridge and + continued along an ancient, rutted road that ran beside an equally ancient + worm-fence of split redwood rails. They came to a gate, open and off its + hinges, through which the road led out on the bench. + </p> + <p> + “This is it—I know it,” Saxon said with conviction. “Drive in, + Billy.” + </p> + <p> + A small, whitewashed farmhouse with broken windows showed through the + trees. + </p> + <p> + “Talk about your madronos—” + </p> + <p> + Billy pointed to the father of all madronos, six feet in diameter at its + base, sturdy and sound, which stood before the house. + </p> + <p> + They spoke in low tones as they passed around the house under great oak + trees and came to a stop before a small barn. They did not wait to + unharness. Tying the horses, they started to explore. The pitch from the + bench to the meadow was steep yet thickly wooded with oaks and manzanita. + As they crashed through the underbrush they startled a score of quail into + flight. + </p> + <p> + “How about game?” Saxon queried. + </p> + <p> + Billy grinned, and fell to examining a spring which bubbled a clear stream + into the meadow. Here the ground was sunbaked and wide open in a multitude + of cracks. + </p> + <p> + Disappointment leaped into Saxon's face, but Billy, crumbling a clod + between his fingers, had not made up his mind. + </p> + <p> + “It's rich,” he pronounced; “—the cream of the soil that's been + washin' down from the hills for ten thousan' years. But—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off, stared all about, studying the configuration of the meadow, + crossed it to the redwood trees beyond, then came back. + </p> + <p> + “It's no good as it is,” he said. “But it's the best ever if it's handled + right. All it needs is a little common sense an' a lot of drainage. This + meadow's a natural basin not yet filled level. They's a sharp slope + through the redwoods to the creek. Come on, I'll show you.” + </p> + <p> + They went through the redwoods and came out on Sonoma Creek. At this spot + was no singing. The stream poured into a quiet pool. The willows on their + side brushed the water. The opposite side was a steep bank. Billy measured + the height of the bank with his eye, the depth of the water with a + driftwood pole. + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen feet,” he announced. “That allows all kinds of high-divin' from + the bank. An' it's a hundred yards of a swim up an' down.” + </p> + <p> + They followed down the pool. It emptied in a riffle, across exposed + bedrock, into another pool. As they looked, a trout flashed into the air + and back, leaving a widening ripple on the quiet surface. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we won't winter in Carmel,” Billy said. “This place was specially + manufactured for us. In the morning I'll find out who owns it.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, feeding the horses, he called Saxon's attention to a + locomotive whistle. + </p> + <p> + “You've got your railroad,” he said. “That's a train pulling into Glen + Ellen, an' it's only a mile from here.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was dozing off to sleep under the blankets when Billy aroused her. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose the guy that owns it won't sell?” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't the slightest doubt,” Saxon answered with unruffled + certainty. “This is our place. I know it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + They were awakened by Possum, who was indignantly reproaching a tree + squirrel for not coming down to be killed. The squirrel chattered + garrulous remarks that drove Possum into a mad attempt to climb the tree. + Billy and Saxon giggled and hugged each other at the terrier's frenzy. + </p> + <p> + “If this is goin' to be our place, they'll be no shootin' of tree + squirrels,” Billy said. + </p> + <p> + Saxon pressed his hand and sat up. From beneath the bench came the cry of + a meadow lark. + </p> + <p> + “There isn't anything left to be desired,” she sighed happily. + </p> + <p> + “Except the deed,” Billy corrected. + </p> + <p> + After a hasty breakfast, they started to explore, running the irregular + boundaries of the place and repeatedly crossing it from rail fence to + creek and back again. Seven springs they found along the foot of the bench + on the edge of the meadow. + </p> + <p> + “There's your water supply,” Billy said. “Drain the meadow, work the soil + up, and with fertilizer and all that water you can grow crops the year + round. There must be five acres of it, an' I wouldn't trade it for Mrs. + Mortimer's.” + </p> + <p> + They were standing in the old orchard, on the bench where they had counted + twenty-seven trees, neglected but of generous girth. + </p> + <p> + “And on top the bench, back of the house, we can grow berries.” Saxon + paused, considering a new thought. “If only Mrs. Mortimer would come up and + advise us!—Do you think she would, Billy?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure she would. It ain't more 'n four hours' run from San Jose. But first + we'll get our hooks into the place. Then you can write to her.” + </p> + <p> + Sonoma Creek gave the long boundary to the little farm, two sides were + worm fenced, and the fourth side was Wild Water. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we'll have that beautiful man and woman for neighbors,” Saxon + recollected. “Wild Water will be the dividing line between their place and + ours.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't ours yet,” Billy commented. “Let's go and call on 'em. They'll + be able to tell us all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's just as good as,” she replied. “The big thing has been the finding. + And whoever owns it doesn't care much for it. It hasn't been lived in for + a long time. And—Oh, Billy—are you satisfied!” + </p> + <p> + “With every bit of it,” he answered frankly, “as far as it goes. But the + trouble is, it don't go far enough.” + </p> + <p> + The disappointment in her face spurred him to renunciation of his + particular dream. + </p> + <p> + “We'll buy it—that's settled,” he said. “But outside the meadow, + they's so much woods that they's little pasture—not more 'n enough + for a couple of horses an' a cow. But I don't care. We can't have + everything, an' what they is is almighty good.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us call it a starter,” she consoled. “Later on we can add to it—maybe + the land alongside that runs up the Wild Water to the three knolls we saw + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Where I seen my horses pasturin',” he remembered, with a flash of eye. + “Why not? So much has come true since we hit the road, maybe that'll come + true, too. + </p> + <p> + “We'll work for it, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll work like hell for it,” he said grimly. + </p> + <p> + They passed through the rustic gate and along a path that wound through + wild woods. There was no sign of the house until they came abruptly upon + it, bowered among the trees. It was eight-sided, and so justly + proportioned that its two stories made no show of height. The house + belonged there. It might have sprung from the soil just as the trees had. + There were no formal grounds. The wild grew to the doors. The low porch of + the main entrance was raised only a step from the ground. “Trillium + Covert,” they read, in quaint carved letters under the eave of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “Come right upstairs, you dears,” a voice called from above, in response + to Saxon's knock. + </p> + <p> + Stepping back and looking up, she beheld the little lady smiling down from + a sleeping-porch. Clad in a rosy-tissued and flowing house gown, she again + reminded Saxon of a flower. + </p> + <p> + “Just push the front door open and find your way,” was the direction. + </p> + <p> + Saxon led, with Billy at her heels. They came into a room bright with + windows, where a big log smoldered in a rough-stone fireplace. On the + stone slab above stood a huge Mexican jar, filled with autumn branches and + trailing fluffy smoke-vine. The walls were finished in warm natural woods, + stained but without polish. The air was aromatic with clean wood odors. A + walnut organ loomed in a shallow corner of the room. All corners were + shallow in this octagonal dwelling. In another corner were many rows of + books. Through the windows, across a low couch indubitably made for use, + could be seen a restful picture of autumn trees and yellow grasses, + threaded by wellworn paths that ran here and there over the tiny estate. A + delightful little stairway wound past more windows to the upper story. + Here the little lady greeted them and led them into what Saxon knew at + once was her room. The two octagonal sides of the house which showed in + this wide room were given wholly to windows. Under the long sill, to the + floor, were shelves of books. Books lay here and there, in the disorder of + use, on work table, couch and desk. On a sill by an open window, a jar of + autumn leaves breathed the charm of the sweet brown wife, who seated + herself in a tiny rattan chair, enameled a cheery red, such as children + delight to rock in. + </p> + <p> + “A queer house,” Mrs. Hale laughed girlishly and contentedly. “But we love + it. Edmund made it with his own hands even to the plumbing, though he did + have a terrible time with that before he succeeded.” + </p> + <p> + “How about that hardwood floor downstairs?—an' the fireplace?” Billy + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “All, all,” she replied proudly. “And half the furniture. That cedar desk + there, the table—with his own hands.” + </p> + <p> + “They are such gentle hands,” Saxon was moved to say. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hale looked at her quickly, her vivid face alive with a grateful + light. + </p> + <p> + “They are gentle, the gentlest hands I have ever known,” she said softly. + “And you are a dear to have noticed it, for you only saw them yesterday in + passing.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help it,” Saxon said simply. + </p> + <p> + Her gaze slipped past Mrs. Hale, attracted by the wall beyond, which was + done in a bewitching honeycomb pattern dotted with golden bees. The walls + were hung with a few, a very few, framed pictures. + </p> + <p> + “They are all of people,” Saxon said, remembering the beautiful paintings + in Mark Hall's bungalow. + </p> + <p> + “My windows frame my landscape paintings,” Mrs. Hale answered, pointing + out of doors. “Inside I want only the faces of my dear ones whom I cannot + have with me always. Some of them are dreadful rovers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Saxon was on her feet and looking at a photograph. “You know Clara + Hastings!” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to. I did everything but nurse her at my breast. She came to me + when she was a little baby. Her mother was my sister. Do you know how + greatly you resemble her? I remarked it to Edmund yesterday. He had + already seen it. It wasn't a bit strange that his heart leaped out to you + two as you came drilling down behind those beautiful horses.” + </p> + <p> + So Mrs. Hale was Clara's aunt—old stock that had crossed the Plains. + Saxon knew now why she had reminded her so strongly of her own mother. + </p> + <p> + The talk whipped quite away from Billy, who could only admire the detailed + work of the cedar desk while he listened. Saxon told of meeting Clara and + Jack Hastings on their yacht and on their driving trip in Oregon. They + were off again, Mrs. Hale said, having shipped their horses home from + Vancouver and taken the Canadian Pacific on their way to England. Mrs. + Hale knew Saxon's mother or, rather, her poems; and produced, not only + “The Story of the Files,” but a ponderous scrapbook which contained many + of her mother's poems which Saxon had never seen. A sweet singer, Mrs. + Hale said; but so many had sung in the days of gold and been forgotten. + There had been no army of magazines then, and the poems had perished in + local newspapers. + </p> + <p> + Jack Hastings had fallen in love with Clara, the talk ran on; then, + visiting at Trillium Covert, he had fallen in love with Sonoma Valley and + bought a magnificent home ranch, though little enough he saw of it, being + away over the world so much of the time. Mrs. Hale talked of her own + Journey across the Plains, a little girl, in the late Fifties, and, like + Mrs. Mortimer, knew all about the fight at Little Meadow, and the tale of + the massacre of the emigrant train of which Billy's father had been the + sole survivor. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” Saxon concluded, an hour later, “we've been three years + searching for our valley of the moon, and now we've found it.” + </p> + <p> + “Valley of the Moon?” Mrs. Hale queried. “Then you knew about it all the + time. What kept you so long?” + </p> + <p> + “No; we didn't know. We just started on a blind search for it. Mark Hall + called it a pilgrimage, and was always teasing us to carry long staffs. He + said when we found the spot we'd know, because then the staffs would burst + into blossom. He laughed at all the good things we wanted in our valley, + and one night he took me out and showed me the moon through a telescope. + He said that was the only place we could find such a wonderful valley. He + meant it was moonshine, but we adopted the name and went on looking for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “What a coincidence!” Mrs. Hale exclaimed. “For this is the Valley of the + Moon.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” Saxon said with quiet confidence. “It has everything we + wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't understand, my dear. This is the Valley of the Moon. This + is Sonoma Valley. Sonoma is an Indian word, and means the Valley of the + Moon. That was what the Indians called it for untold ages before the first + white men came. We, who love it, still so call it.” + </p> + <p> + And then Saxon recalled the mysterious references Jack Hastings and his + wife had made to it, and the talk tripped along until Billy grew restless. + He cleared his throat significantly and interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “We want to find out about that ranch acrost the creek—who owns it, + if they'll sell, where we'll find 'em, an' such things.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hale stood up. + </p> + <p> + “We'll go and see Edmund,” she said, catching Saxon by the hand and + leading the way. + </p> + <p> + “My!” Billy ejaculated, towering above her. “I used to think Saxon was + small. But she'd make two of you.” + </p> + <p> + “And you're pretty big,” the little woman smiled; “but Edmund is taller + than you, and broader-shouldered.” + </p> + <p> + They crossed a bright hall, and found the big beautiful husband lying back + reading in a huge Mission rocker. Beside it was another tiny child's chair + of red-enameled rattan. Along the length of his thigh, the head on his + knee and directed toward a smoldering log in a fireplace, clung an + incredibly large striped cat. Like its master, it turned its head to greet + the newcomers. Again Saxon felt the loving benediction that abided in his + face, his eyes, his hands—toward which she involuntarily dropped her + eyes. Again she was impressed by the gentleness of them. They were hands + of love. They were the hands of a type of man she had never dreamed + existed. No one in that merry crowd of Carmel had prefigured him. They + were artists. This was the scholar, the philosopher. In place of the + passion of youth and all youth's mad revolt, was the benignance of wisdom. + Those gentle hands had passed all the bitter by and plucked only the sweet + of life. Dearly as she loved them, she shuddered to think what some of + those Carmelites would be like when they were as old as he—especially + the dramatic critic and the Iron Man. + </p> + <p> + “Here are the dear children, Edmund,” Mrs. Hale said. “What do you think! + They want to buy the Madrono Ranch. They've been three years searching for + it—I forgot to tell them we had searched ten years for Trillium + Covert. Tell them all about it. Surely Mr. Naismith is still of a mind to + sell!” + </p> + <p> + They seated themselves in simple massive chairs, and Mrs. Hale took the + tiny rattan beside the big Mission rocker, her slender hand curled like a + tendril in Edmund's. And while Saxon listened to the talk, her eyes took + in the grave rooms lined with books. She began to realize how a mere + structure of wood and stone may express the spirit of him who conceives + and makes it. Those gentle hands had made all this—the very + furniture, she guessed as her eyes roved from desk to chair, from work + table to reading stand beside the bed in the other room, where stood a + green-shaded lamp and orderly piles of magazines and books. + </p> + <p> + As for the matter of Madrono Ranch, it was easy enough he was saying. + Naismith would sell. Had desired to sell for the past five years, ever + since he had engaged in the enterprise of bottling mineral water at the + springs lower down the valley. It was fortunate that he was the owner, for + about all the rest of the surrounding land was owned by a Frenchman—an + early settler. He would not part with a foot of it. He was a peasant, with + all the peasant's love of the soil, which, in him, had become an + obsession, a disease. He was a land-miser. With no business capacity, old + and opinionated, he was land poor, and it was an open question which would + arrive first, his death or bankruptcy. + </p> + <p> + As for Madrono Ranch, Naismith owned it and had set the price at fifty + dollars an acre. That would be one thousand dollars, for there were twenty + acres. As a farming investment, using old-fashioned methods, it was not + worth it. As a business investment, yes; for the virtues of the valley + were on the eve of being discovered by the outside world, and no better + location for a summer home could be found. As a happiness investment in + joy of beauty and climate, it was worth a thousand times the price asked. + And he knew Naismith would allow time on most of the amount. Edmund's + suggestion was that they take a two years' lease, with option to buy, the + rent to apply to the purchase if they took it up. Naismith had done that + once with a Swiss, who had paid a monthly rental of ten dollars. But the + man's wife had died, and he had gone away. + </p> + <p> + Edmund soon divined Billy's renunciation, though not the nature of it; and + several questions brought it forth—the old pioneer dream of land + spaciousness; of cattle on a hundred hills; one hundred and sixty acres of + land the smallest thinkable division. + </p> + <p> + “But you don't need all that land, dear lad,” Edmund said softly. “I see + you understand intensive farming. Have you thought about intensive + horse-raising?” + </p> + <p> + Billy's jaw dropped at the smashing newness of the idea. He considered it, + but could see no similarity in the two processes. Unbelief leaped into his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You gotta show me!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + The elder man smiled gently. + </p> + <p> + “Let us see. In the first place, you don't need those twenty acres except + for beauty. There are five acres in the meadow. You don't need more than + two of them to make your living at selling vegetables. In fact, you and + your wife, working from daylight to dark, cannot properly farm those two + acres. Remains three acres. You have plenty of water for it from the + springs. Don't be satisfied with one crop a year, like the rest of the + old-fashioned farmers in this valley. Farm it like your vegetable plot, + intensively, all the year, in crops that make horse-feed, irrigating, + fertilizing, rotating your crops. Those three acres will feed as many + horses as heaven knows how huge an area of unseeded, uncared for, wasted + pasture would feed. Think it over. I'll lend you books on the subject. I + don't know how large your crops will be, nor do I know how much a horse + eats; that's your business. But I am certain, with a hired man to take + your place helping your wife on her two acres of vegetables, that by the + time you own the horses your three acres will feed, you will have all you + can attend to. Then it will be time to get more land, for more horses, for + more riches, if that way happiness lie.” + </p> + <p> + Billy understood. In his enthusiasm he dashed out: + </p> + <p> + “You're some farmer.” + </p> + <p> + Edmund smiled and glanced toward his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Give him your opinion of that, Annette.” + </p> + <p> + Her blue eyes twinkled as she complied. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the dear, he never farms. He has never farmed. But he knows.” She + waved her hand about the booklined walls. “He is a student of good. He + studies all good things done by good men under the sun. His pleasure is in + books and wood-working.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't forget Dulcie,” Edmund gently protested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and Dulcie.” Annette laughed. “Dulcie is our cow. It is a great + question with Jack Hastings whether Edmund dotes more on Dulcie, or Dulcie + dotes more on Edmund. When he goes to San Francisco Dulcie is miserable. + So is Edmund, until he hastens back. Oh, Dulcie has given me no few + jealous pangs. But I have to confess he understands her as no one else + does.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the one practical subject I know by experience,” Edmund + confirmed. “I am an authority on Jersey cows. Call upon me any time for + counsel.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up and went toward his book-shelves; and they saw how + magnificently large a man he was. He paused a book in his hand, to answer + a question from Saxon. No; there were no mosquitoes, although, one summer + when the south wind blew for ten days—an unprecedented thing—a + few mosquitoes had been carried up from San Pablo Bay. As for fog, it was + the making of the valley. And where they were situated, sheltered behind + Sonoma Mountain, the fogs were almost invariably high fogs. Sweeping in + from the ocean forty miles away, they were deflected by Sonoma Mountain + and shunted high into the air. Another thing, Trillium Covert and Madrono + Ranch were happily situated in a narrow thermal belt, so that in the + frosty mornings of winter the temperature was always several degrees + higher than in the rest of the valley. In fact, frost was very rare in the + thermal belt, as was proved by the successful cultivation of certain + orange and lemon trees. + </p> + <p> + Edmund continued reading titles and selecting books until he had drawn out + quite a number. He opened the top one, Bolton Hall's “Three Acres and + Liberty,” and read to them of a man who walked six hundred and fifty miles + a year in cultivating, by old-fashioned methods, twenty acres, from which + he harvested three thousand bushels of poor potatoes; and of another man, + a “new” farmer, who cultivated only five acres, walked two hundred miles, + and produced three thousand bushels of potatoes, early and choice, which + he sold at many times the price received by the first man. + </p> + <p> + Saxon received the books from Edmund, and, as she heaped them in Billy's + arms, read the titles. They were: Wickson's “California Fruits,” Wickson's + “California Vegetables,” Brooks' “Fertilizers,” Watson's “Farm Poultry,” + King's “Irrigation and Drainage,” Kropotkin's “Fields, Factories and + Workshops,” and Farmer's Bulletin No. 22 on “The Feeding of Farm Animals.” + </p> + <p> + “Come for more any time you want them,” Edmund invited. “I have hundreds + of volumes on farming, and all the Agricultural Bulletins... . And you + must come and get acquainted with Dulcie your first spare time,” he called + after them out the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer arrived with seed catalogs and farm books, to find Saxon + immersed in the farm books borrowed from Edmund. Saxon showed her around, + and she was delighted with everything, including the terms of the lease + and its option to buy. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” she said. “What is to be done? Sit down, both of you. This is a + council of war, and I am the one person in the world to tell you what to + do. I ought to be. Anybody who has reorganized and recatalogued a great + city library should be able to start you young people on in short order. + Now, where shall we begin?” + </p> + <p> + She paused for breath of consideration. + </p> + <p> + “First, Madrono Ranch is a bargain. I know soil, I know beauty, I know + climate. Madrono Ranch is a gold mine. There is a fortune in that meadow. + Tilth—I'll tell you about that later. First, here's the land. + Second, what are you going to do with it? Make a living? Yes. Vegetables? + Of course. What are you going to do with them after you have grown them? + Sell. Where?—Now listen. You must do as I did. Cut out the middle + man. Sell directly to the consumer. Drum up your own market. Do you know + what I saw from the car windows coming up the valley, only several miles + from here? Hotels, springs, summer resorts, winter resorts—population, + mouths, market. How is that market supplied? I looked in vain for truck + gardens.—Billy, harness up your horses and be ready directly after + dinner to take Saxon and me driving. Never mind everything else. Let + things stand. What's the use of starting for a place of which you haven't + the address. We'll look for the address this afternoon. Then we'll know + where we are—at.”—The last syllable a smiling concession to + Billy. + </p> + <p> + But Saxon did not accompany them. There was too much to be done in + cleaning the long-abandoned house and in preparing an arrangement for Mrs. + Mortimer to sleep. And it was long after supper time when Mrs. Mortimer + and Billy returned. + </p> + <p> + “You lucky, lucky children,” she began immediately. “This valley is just + waking up. Here's your market. There isn't a competitor in the valley. I + thought those resorts looked new—Caliente, Boyes Hot Springs, El + Verano, and all along the line. Then there are three little hotels in Glen + Ellen, right next door. Oh, I've talked with all the owners and managers.” + </p> + <p> + “She's a wooz,” Billy admired. “She'd brace up to God on a business + proposition. You oughta seen her.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer acknowledged the compliment and dashed on. + </p> + <p> + “And where do all the vegetables come from? Wagons drive down twelve to + fifteen miles from Santa Rosa, and up from Sonoma. Those are the nearest + truck farms, and when they fail, as they often do, I am told, to supply + the increasing needs, the managers have to express vegetables all the way + from San Francisco. I've introduced Billy. They've agreed to patronize + home industry. Besides, it is better for them. You'll deliver just as good + vegetables just as cheap; you will make it a point to deliver better, + fresher vegetables; and don't forget that delivery for you will be cheaper + by virtue of the shorter haul. + </p> + <p> + “No day-old egg stunt here. No jams nor jellies. But you've got lots of + space up on the bench here on which you can't grow vegetables. To-morrow + morning I'll help you lay out the chicken runs and houses. Besides, there + is the matter of capons for the San Francisco market. You'll start small. + It will be a side line at first. I'll tell you all about that, too, and + send you the literature. You must use your head. Let others do the work. + You must understand that thoroughly. The wages of superintendence are + always larger than the wages of the laborers. You must keep books. You + must know where you stand. You must know what pays and what doesn't and + what pays best. Your books will tell that. I'll show you all in good + time.” + </p> + <p> + “An' think of it—all that on two acres!” Billy murmured. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mortimer looked at him sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Two acres your granny,” she said with asperity. “Five acres. And then you + won't be able to supply your market. And you, my boy, as soon as the first + rains come will have your hands full and your horses weary draining that + meadow. We'll work those plans out to-morrow Also, there is the matter of + berries on the bench here—and trellised table grapes, the choicest. + They bring the fancy prices. There will be blackberries—Burbank's, + he lives at Santa Rosa—Loganberries, Mammoth berries. But don't fool + with strawberries. That's a whole occupation in itself. They're not vines, + you know. I've examined the orchard. It's a good foundation. We'll settle + the pruning and grafts later.” + </p> + <p> + “But Billy wanted three acres of the meadow,” Saxon explained at the first + chance. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To grow hay and other kinds of food for the horses he's going to raise.” + </p> + <p> + “Buy it out of a portion of the profits from those three acres,” Mrs. + Mortimer decided on the instant. + </p> + <p> + Billy swallowed, and again achieved renunciation. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said, with a brave show of cheerfulness. “Let her go. Us + for the greens.” + </p> + <p> + During the several days of Mrs. Mortimer's visit, Billy let the two women + settle things for themselves. Oakland had entered upon a boom, and from + the West Oakland stables had come an urgent letter for more horses. So + Billy was out, early and late, scouring the surrounding country for young + work animals. In this way, at the start, he learned his valley thoroughly. + There was also a clearing out at the West Oakland stables of mares whose + feet had been knocked out on the hard city pavements, and he was offered + first choice at bargain prices. They were good animals. He knew what they + were because he knew them of old time. The soft earth of the country, with + a preliminary rest in pasture with their shoes pulled off, would put them + in shape. They would never do again on hard-paved streets, but there were + years of farm work in them. And then there was the breeding. But he could + not undertake to buy them. He fought out the battle in secret and said + nothing to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + At night, he would sit in the kitchen and smoke, listening to all that the + two women had done and planned in the day. The right kind of horses was + hard to buy, and, as he put it, it was like pulling a tooth to get a + farmer to part with one, despite the fact that he had been authorized to + increase the buying sum by as much as fifty dollars. Despite the coming of + the automobile, the price of heavy draught animals continued to rise. From + as early as Billy could remember, the price of the big work horses had + increased steadily. After the great earthquake, the price had jumped; yet + it had never gone back. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, you make more money as a horse-buyer than a common laborer, don't + you?” Mrs. Mortimer asked. “Very well, then. You won't have to drain the + meadow, or plow it, or anything. You keep right on buying horses. Work + with your head. But out of what you make you will please pay the wages of + one laborer for Saxon's vegetables. It will be a good investment, with + quick returns.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” he agreed. “That's all anybody hires any body for—to make + money outa 'm. But how Saxon an' one man are goin' to work them five + acres, when Mr. Hale says two of us couldn't do what's needed on two + acres, is beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + “Saxon isn't going to work,” Mrs. Mortimer retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see me working at San Jose? Saxon is going to use her head. It's + about time you woke up to that. A dollar and a half a day is what is + earned by persons who don't use their heads. And she isn't going to be + satisfied with a dollar and a half a day. Now listen. I had a long talk + with Mr. Hale this afternoon. He says there are practically no efficient + laborers to be hired in the valley.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” Billy interjected. “All the good men go to the cities. It's + only the leavin's that's left. The good ones that stay behind ain't + workin' for wages.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is perfectly true, every word. Now listen, children. I knew about + it, and I spoke to Mr. Hale. He is prepared to make the arrangements for + you. He knows all about it himself, and is in touch with the Warden. In + short, you will parole two good-conduct prisoners from San Quentin; and + they will be gardeners. There are plenty of Chinese and Italians there, + and they are the best truck-farmers. You kill two birds with one stone. + You serve the poor convicts, and you serve yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon hesitated, shocked; while Billy gravely considered the question. + </p> + <p> + “You know John,” Mrs. Mortimer went on, “Mr. Hale's man about the place? + How do you like him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I was wishing only to-day that we could find somebody like him,” + Saxon said eagerly. “He's such a dear, faithful soul. Mrs. Hale told me a + lot of fine things about him.” + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing she didn't tell you,” smiled Mrs. Mortimer. “John is a + paroled convict. Twenty-eight years ago, in hot blood, he killed a man in + a quarrel over sixty-five cents. He's been out of prison with the Hales + three years now. You remember Louis, the old Frenchman, on my place? He's + another. So that's settled. When your two come—of course you will + pay them fair wages—and we'll make sure they're the same + nationality, either Chinese or Italians—well, when they come, John, + with their help, and under Mr. Hale's guidance, will knock together a + small cabin for them to live in. We'll select the spot. Even so, when your + farm is in full swing you'll have to have more outside help. So keep your + eyes open, Billy, while you're gallivanting over the valley.” + </p> + <p> + The next night Billy failed to return, and at nine o'clock a Glen Ellen + boy on horseback delivered a telegram. Billy had sent it from Lake County. + He was after horses for Oakland. + </p> + <p> + Not until the third night did he arrive home, tired to exhaustion, but + with an ill concealed air of pride. + </p> + <p> + “Now what have you been doing these three days?” Mrs. Mortimer demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Usin' my head,” he boasted quietly. “Killin' two birds with one stone; + an', take it from me, I killed a whole flock. Huh! I got word of it at + Lawndale, an' I wanta tell you Hazel an' Hattie was some tired when I + stabled 'm at Calistoga an' pulled out on the stage over St. Helena. I was + Johnny-on-the-spot, an' I nailed 'm—eight whoppers—the whole + outfit of a mountain teamster. Young animals, sound as a dollar, and the + lightest of 'em over fifteen hundred. I shipped 'm last night from + Calistoga. An', well, that ain't all. + </p> + <p> + “Before that, first day, at Lawndale, I seen the fellow with the teamin' + contract for the pavin'-stone quarry. Sell horses! He wanted to buy 'em. + He wanted to buy 'em bad. He'd even rent 'em, he said.” + </p> + <p> + “And you sent him the eight you bought!” Saxon broke in. + </p> + <p> + “Guess again. I bought them eight with Oakland money, an' they was shipped + to Oakland. But I got the Lawndale contractor on long distance, and he + agreed to pay me half a dollar a day rent for every work horse up to half + a dozen. Then I telegraphed the Boss, tellin' him to ship me six + sore-footed mares, Bud Strothers to make the choice, an' to charge to my + commission. Bud knows what I 'm after. Soon as they come, off go their + shoes. Two weeks in pasture, an' then they go to Lawndale. They can do the + work. It's a down-hill haul to the railroad on a dirt road. Half a dollar + rent each—that's three dollars a day they'll bring me six days a + week. I don't feed 'em, shoe 'm, or nothin', an' I keep an eye on 'm to + see they're treated right. Three bucks a day, eh! Well, I guess that'll + keep a couple of dollar-an '-a-half men goin' for Saxon, unless she works + 'em Sundays. Huh! The Valley of the Moon! Why, we'll be wearin' diamonds + before long. Gosh! A fellow could live in the city a thousan' years an' + not get such chances. It beats China lottery.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm goin' out to water Hazel an' Hattie, feed 'm, an' bed 'm down. I'll + eat soon as I come back.” + </p> + <p> + The two women were regarding each other with shining eyes, each on the + verge of speech when Billy returned to the door and stuck his head in. + </p> + <p> + “They's one thing maybe you ain't got,” he said. “I pull down them three + dollars every day; but the six mares is mine, too. I own 'm. They're mine. + Are you on?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + “I'm not done with you children,” had been Mrs. Mortimer's parting words; + and several times that winter she ran up to advise, and to teach Saxon how + to calculate her crops for the small immediate market, for the increasing + spring market, and for the height of summer, at which time she would be + able to sell all she could possibly grow and then not supply the demand. + In the meantime, Hazel and Hattie were used every odd moment in hauling + manure from Glen Ellen, whose barnyards had never known such a thorough + cleaning. Also there were loads of commercial fertilizer from the railroad + station, bought under Mrs. Mortimer's instructions. + </p> + <p> + The convicts paroled were Chinese. Both had served long in prison, and + were old men; but the day's work they were habitually capable of won Mrs. + Mortimer's approval. Gow Yum, twenty years before, had had charge of the + vegetable garden of one of the great Menlo Park estates. His disaster had + come in the form of a fight over a game of fan tan in the Chinese quarter + at Redwood City. His companion, Chan Chi, had been a hatchet-man of note, + in the old fighting days of the San Francisco tongs. But a quarter of + century of discipline in the prison vegetable gardens had cooled his blood + and turned his hand from hatchet to hoe. These two assistants had arrived + in Glen Ellen like precious goods in bond and been receipted for by the + local deputy sheriff, who, in addition, reported on them to the prison + authorities each month. Saxon, too, made out a monthly report and sent it + in. + </p> + <p> + As for the danger of their cutting her throat, she quickly got over the + idea of it. The mailed hand of the State hovered over them. The taking of + a single drink of liquor would provoke that hand to close down and jerk + them back to prison-cells. Nor had they freedom of movement. When old Gow + Yum needed to go to San Francisco to sign certain papers before the + Chinese Consul, permission had first to be obtained from San Quentin. + Then, too, neither man was nasty tempered. Saxon had been apprehensive of + the task of bossing two desperate convicts; but when they came she found + it a pleasure to work with them. She could tell them what to do, but it + was they who knew how to do. From them she learned all the ten thousand + tricks and quirks of artful gardening, and she was not long in realizing + how helpless she would have been had she depended on local labor. + </p> + <p> + Still further, she had no fear, because she was not alone. She had been + using her head. It was quickly apparent to her that she could not + adequately oversee the outside work and at the same time do the house + work. She wrote to Ukiah to the energetic widow who had lived in the + adjoining house and taken in washing. She had promptly closed with Saxon's + offer. Mrs. Paul was forty, short in stature, and weighed two hundred + pounds, but never wearied on her feet. Also she was devoid of fear, and, + according to Billy, could settle the hash of both Chinese with one of her + mighty arms. Mrs. Paul arrived with her son, a country lad of sixteen who + knew horses and could milk Hilda, the pretty Jersey which had successfully + passed Edmund's expert eye. Though Mrs. Paul ably handled the house, there + was one thing Saxon insisted on doing—namely, washing her own pretty + flimsies. + </p> + <p> + “When I 'm no longer able to do that,” she told Billy, “you can take a + spade to that clump of redwoods beside Wild Water and dig a hole. It will + be time to bury me.” + </p> + <p> + It was early in the days of Madrono Ranch, at the time of Mrs. Mortimer's + second visit, that Billy drove in with a load of pipe; and house, chicken + yards, and barn were piped from the second-hand tank he installed below + the house-spring. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! I guess I can use my head,” he said. “I watched a woman over on the + other side of the valley, packin' water two hundred feet from the spring + to the house; an' I did some figurin'. I put it at three trips a day and + on wash days a whole lot more; an' you can't guess what I made out she + traveled a year packin' water. One hundred an' twenty-two miles. D'ye get + that? One hundred and twenty-two miles! I asked her how long she'd been + there. Thirty-one years. Multiply it for yourself. Three thousan', seven + hundred an' eighty-two miles—all for the sake of two hundred feet of + pipe. Wouldn't that jar you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I ain't done yet. They's a bath-tub an' stationary tubs a-comin' soon + as I can see my way. An', say, Saxon, you know that little clear flat just + where Wild Water runs into Sonoma. They's all of an acre of it. An' it's + mine! Got that? An' no walkin' on the grass for you. It'll be my grass. I + 'm goin' up stream a ways an' put in a ram. I got a big second-hand one + staked out that I can get for ten dollars, an' it'll pump more water'n I + need. An' you'll see alfalfa growin' that'll make your mouth water. I + gotta have another horse to travel around on. You're usin' Hazel an' + Hattie too much to give me a chance; an' I'll never see 'm as soon as you + start deliverin' vegetables. I guess that alfalfa'll help some to keep + another horse goin'.” + </p> + <p> + But Billy was destined for a time to forget his alfalfa in the excitement + of bigger ventures. First, came trouble. The several hundred dollars he + had arrived with in Sonoma Valley, and all his own commissions since + earned, had gone into improvements and living. The eighteen dollars a week + rental for his six horses at Lawndale went to pay wages. And he was unable + to buy the needed saddle-horse for his horse-buying expeditions. This, + however, he had got around by again using his head and killing two birds + with one stone. He began breaking colts to drive, and in the driving drove + them wherever he sought horses. + </p> + <p> + So far all was well. But a new administration in San Francisco, pledged to + economy, had stopped all street work. This meant the shutting down of the + Lawndale quarry, which was one of the sources of supply for paving blocks. + The six horses would not only be back on his hands, but he would have to + feed them. How Mrs. Paul, Gow Yum, and Chan Chi were to be paid was beyond + him. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we've bit off more'n we could chew,” he admitted to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + That night he was late in coming home, but brought with him a radiant + face. Saxon was no less radiant. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” she greeted him, coming out to the barn where he was + unhitching a tired but fractious colt. “I've talked with all three. They + see the situation, and are perfectly willing to let their wages stand a + while. By another week I start Hazel and Hattie delivering vegetables. + Then the money will pour in from the hotels and my books won't look so + lopsided. And—oh, Billy—you'd never guess. Old Gow Yum has a + bank account. He came to me afterward—I guess he was thinking it + over—and offered to lend me four hundred dollars. What do you think + of that?” + </p> + <p> + “That I ain't goin' to be too proud to borrow it off 'm, if he IS a Chink. + He's a white one, an' maybe I'll need it. Because, you see—well, you + can't guess what I've been up to since I seen you this mornin'. I've been + so busy I ain't had a bite to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “Using your head?” She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You can call it that,” he joined in her laughter. “I've been spendin' + money like water.” + </p> + <p> + “But you haven't got any to spend,” she objected. + </p> + <p> + “I've got credit in this valley, I'll let you know,” he replied. “An' I + sure strained it some this afternoon. Now guess.” + </p> + <p> + “A saddle-horse?” + </p> + <p> + He roared with laughter, startling the colt, which tried to bolt and + lifted him half off the ground by his grip on its frightened nose and + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I mean real guessin',” he urged, when the animal had dropped back to + earth and stood regarding him with trembling suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “Two saddle-horses?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, you ain't got imagination. I'll tell you. You know Thiercroft. I + bought his big wagon from 'm for sixty dollars. I bought a wagon from the + Kenwood blacksmith—so-so, but it'll do—for forty-five dollars. + An' I bought Ping's wagon—a peach—for sixty-five dollars. I + could a-got it for fifty if he hadn't seen I wanted it bad.” + </p> + <p> + “But the money?” Saxon questioned faintly. “You hadn't a hundred dollars + left.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you I had credit? Well, I have. I stood 'm off for them + wagons. I ain't spent a cent of cash money to-day except for a couple of + long-distance switches. Then I bought three sets of work-harness—they're + chain harness an' second-hand—for twenty dollars a set. I bought 'm + from the fellow that's doin' the haulin' for the quarry. He don't need 'm + any more. An' I rented four wagons from 'm, an' four span of horses, too, + at half a dollar a day for each horse, an' half a dollar a day for each + wagon—that's six dollars a day rent I gotta pay 'm. The three sets + of spare harness is for my six horses. Then... lemme see... yep, I rented + two barns in Glen Ellen, an' I ordered fifty tons of hay an' a carload of + bran an' barley from the store in Glenwood—you see, I gotta feed all + them fourteen horses, an' shoe 'm, an' everything. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sure Pete, I've went some. I hired seven men to go drivin' for me at + two dollars a day, an'—ouch! Jehosaphat! What you doin'!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Saxon said gravely, having pinched him, “you're not dreaming.” She + felt his pulse and forehead. “Not a sign of fever.” She sniffed his + breath. “And you've not been drinking. Go on, tell me the rest of this... + whatever it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I want more. I want all.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. But I just want you to know, first, that the boss I used to + work for in Oakland ain't got nothin' on me. I 'm some man of affairs, if + anybody should ride up on a vegetable wagon an' ask you. Now, I 'm goin' + to tell you, though I can't see why the Glen Ellen folks didn't beat me to + it. I guess they was asleep. Nobody'd a-overlooked a thing like it in the + city. You see, it was like this: you know that fancy brickyard they're + gettin' ready to start for makin' extra special fire brick for inside + walls? Well, here was I worryin' about the six horses comin' back on my + hands, earnin' me nothin' an' eatin' me into the poorhouse. I had to get + 'm work somehow, an' I remembered the brickyard. I drove the colt down an' + talked with that Jap chemist who's been doin' the experimentin'. Gee! They + was foremen lookin' over the ground an' everything gettin' ready to hum. I + looked over the lay an' studied it. Then I drove up to where they're + openin' the clay pit—you know, that fine, white chalky stuff we saw + 'em borin' out just outside the hundred an' forty acres with the three + knolls. It's a down-hill haul, a mile, an' two horses can do it easy. In + fact, their hardest job'll be haulin' the empty wagons up to the pit. Then + I tied the colt an' went to figurin'. + </p> + <p> + “The Jap professor'd told me the manager an' the other big guns of the + company was comin' up on the mornin' train. I wasn't shoutin' things out + to anybody, but I just made myself into a committee of welcome; an', when + the train pulled in, there I was, extendin' the glad hand of the burg—likewise + the glad hand of a guy you used to know in Oakland once, a third-rate dub + prizefighter by the name of—lemme see—yep, I got it right—Big + Bill Roberts was the name he used to sport, but now he's known as William + Roberts, E. S. Q. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I was sayin', I gave 'm the glad hand, an' trailed along with + 'em to the brickyard, an' from the talk I could see things was doin'. Then + I watched my chance an' sprung my proposition. I was scared stiff all the + time for maybe the teamin' was already arranged. But I knew it wasn't when + they asked for my figures. I had 'm by heart, an' I rattled 'm off, and + the top-guy took 'm down in his note-book. + </p> + <p> + “'We're goin' into this big, an' at once,' he says, lookin' at me sharp. + 'What kind of an outfit you got, Mr. Roberts?'” + </p> + <p> + “Me!—with only Hazel an' Hattie, an' them too small for heavy + teamin'. + </p> + <p> + “'I can slap fourteen horses an' seven wagons onto the job at the jump,' + says I. 'An' if you want more, I'll get 'm, that's all.' + </p> + <p> + “'Give us fifteen minutes to consider, Mr. Roberts,' he says. + </p> + <p> + “'Sure,' says I, important as all hell—ahem—me!—'but a + couple of other things first. I want a two year contract, an' them figures + all depends on one thing. Otherwise they don't go.' + </p> + <p> + “'What's that,' he says. + </p> + <p> + “'The dump,' says I. 'Here we are on the ground, an' I might as well show + you.' + </p> + <p> + “An' I did. I showed 'm where I'd lose out if they stuck to their plan, on + account of the dip down an' pull up to the dump. 'All you gotta do,' I + says, 'is to build the bunkers fifty feet over, throw the road around the + rim of the hill, an' make about seventy or eighty feet of elevated + bridge.' + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon, that kind of talk got 'em. It was straight. Only they'd been + thinkin' about bricks, while I was only thinkin' of teamin'. + </p> + <p> + “I guess they was all of half an hour considerin', an' I was almost as + miserable waitin' as when I waited for you to say yes after I asked you. I + went over the figures, calculatin' what I could throw off if I had to. You + see, I'd given it to 'em stiff—regular city prices; an' I was + prepared to trim down. Then they come back. + </p> + <p> + “'Prices oughta be lower in the country,' says the top-guy. + </p> + <p> + “'Nope,' I says. 'This is a wine-grape valley. It don't raise enough hay + an' feed for its own animals. It has to be shipped in from the San Joaquin + Valley. Why, I can buy hay an' feed cheaper in San Francisco, laid down, + than I can here an' haul it myself.' + </p> + <p> + “An' that struck 'm hard. It was true, an' they knew it. But—say! If + they'd asked about wages for drivers, an' about horse-shoein' prices, I'd + a-had to come down; because, you see, they ain't no teamsters' union in + the country, an' no horseshoers' union, an' rent is low, an' them two + items come a whole lot cheaper. Huh! This afternoon I got a word bargain + with the blacksmith across from the post office; an' he takes my whole + bunch an' throws off twenty-five cents on each shoein', though it's on the + Q. T. But they didn't think to ask, bein' too full of bricks.” + </p> + <p> + Billy felt in his breast pocket, drew out a legal-looking document, and + handed it to Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “There it is,” he said, “the contract, full of all the agreements, prices, + an' penalties. I saw Mr. Hale down town an' showed it to 'm. He says it's + O.K. An' say, then I lit out. All over town, Kenwood, Lawndale, + everywhere, everybody, everything. The quarry teamin' finishes Friday of + this week. An' I take the whole outfit an' start Wednesday of next week + haulin' lumber for the buildin's, an' bricks for the kilns, an' all the + rest. An' when they're ready for the clay I 'm the boy that'll give it to + them. + </p> + <p> + “But I ain't told you the best yet. I couldn't get the switch right away + from Kenwood to Lawndale, and while I waited I went over my figures again. + You couldn't guess it in a million years. I'd made a mistake in addition + somewhere, an' soaked 'm ten per cent. more'n I'd expected. Talk about + findin' money! Any time you want them couple of extra men to help out with + the vegetables, say the word. Though we're goin' to have to pinch the next + couple of months. An' go ahead an' borrow that four hundred from Gow Yum. + An' tell him you'll pay eight per cent. interest, an' that we won't want + it more 'n three or four months.” + </p> + <p> + When Billy got away from Saxon's arms, he started leading the colt up and + down to cool it off. He stopped so abruptly that his back collided with + the colt's nose, and there was a lively minute of rearing and plunging. + Saxon waited, for she knew a fresh idea had struck Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he said, “do you know anything about bank accounts and drawin' + checks?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + It was on a bright June morning that Billy told Saxon to put on her riding + clothes to try out a saddle-horse. + </p> + <p> + “Not until after ten o'clock,” she said. “By that time I'll have the wagon + off on a second trip.” + </p> + <p> + Despite the extent of the business she had developed, her executive + ability and system gave her much spare time. She could call on the Hales, + which was ever a delight, especially now that the Hastings were back and + that Clara was often at her aunt's. In this congenial atmosphere Saxon + burgeoned. She had begun to read—to read with understanding; and she + had time for her books, for work on her pretties, and for Billy, whom she + accompanied on many expeditions. + </p> + <p> + Billy was even busier than she, his work being more scattered and diverse. + And, as well, he kept his eye on the home barn and horses which Saxon + used. In truth he had become a man of affairs, though Mrs. Mortimer had + gone over his accounts, with an eagle eye on the expense column, + discovering several minor leaks, and finally, aided by Saxon, bullied him + into keeping books. Each night, after supper, he and Saxon posted their + books. Afterward, in the big morris chair he had insisted on buying early + in the days of his brickyard contract, Saxon would creep into his arms and + strum on the ukulele; or they would talk long about what they were doing + and planning to do. Now it would be: + </p> + <p> + “I'm mixin' up in politics, Saxon. It pays. You bet it pays. If by next + spring I ain't got a half a dozen teams workin' on the roads an' pullin' + down the county money, it's me back to Oakland an' askin' the Boss for a + job.” + </p> + <p> + Or, Saxon: “They're really starting that new hotel between Caliente and + Eldridge. And there's some talk of a big sanitarium back in the hills.” + </p> + <p> + Or, it would be: “Billy, now that you've piped that acre, you've just got + to let me have it for my vegetables. I'll rent it from you. I'll take your + own estimate for all the alfalfa you can raise on it, and pay you full + market price less the cost of growing it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, take it.” Billy suppressed a sigh. “Besides, I 'm too + busy to fool with it now.” + </p> + <p> + Which prevarication was bare-faced, by virtue of his having just installed + the ram and piped the land. + </p> + <p> + “It will be the wisest, Billy,” she soothed, for she knew his dream of + land-spaciousness was stronger than ever. “You don't want to fool with an + acre. There's that hundred and forty. We'll buy it yet if old Chavon ever + dies. Besides, it really belongs to Madrono Ranch. The two together were + the original quarter section.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't wish no man's death,” Billy grumbled. “But he ain't gettin' no + good out of it, over-pasturin' it with a lot of scrub animals. I've sized + it up every inch of it. They's at least forty acres in the three cleared + fields, with water in the hills behind to beat the band. The horse feed I + could raise on it'd take your breath away. Then they's at least fifty + acres I could run my brood mares on, pasture mixed up with trees and steep + places and such. The other fifty's just thick woods, an' pretty places, + an' wild game. An' that old adobe barn's all right. With a new roof it'd + shelter any amount of animals in bad weather. Look at me now, rentin' that + measly pasture back of Ping's just to run my restin' animals. They could + run in the hundred an' forty if I only had it. I wonder if Chavon would + lease it.” + </p> + <p> + Or, less ambitious, Billy would say: “I gotta skin over to Petaluma + to-morrow, Saxon. They's an auction on the Atkinson Ranch an' maybe I can + pick up some bargains.” + </p> + <p> + “More horses!” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't I got two teams haulin' lumber for the new winery? An' Barney's got + a bad shoulder-sprain. He'll have to lay off a long time if he's to get it + in shape. An' Bridget ain't ever goin' to do a tap of work again. I can + see that stickin' out. I've doctored her an' doctored her. She's fooled + the vet, too. An' some of the other horses has gotta take a rest. That + span of grays is showin' the hard work. An' the big roan's goin' loco. + Everybody thought it was his teeth, but it ain't. It's straight loco. It's + money in pocket to take care of your animals, an' horses is the delicatest + things on four legs. Some time, if I can ever see my way to it, I 'm goin' + to ship a carload of mules from Colusa County—big, heavy ones, you + know. They'd sell like hot cakes in the valley here—them I didn't + want for myself.” + </p> + <p> + Or, in lighter vein, Billy: “By the way, Saxon, talkin' of accounts, what + d'you think Hazel an' Hattie is worth?—fair market price?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I 'm askin' you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, say, what you paid for them—three hundred dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum.” Billy considered deeply. “They're worth a whole lot more, but let + it go at that. An' now, gettin' back to accounts, suppose you write me a + check for three hundred dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Robber!” + </p> + <p> + “You can't show me. Why, Saxon, when I let you have grain an' hay from my + carloads, don't you give me a check for it? An' you know how you're stuck + on keepin' your accounts down to the penny,” he teased. “If you're any + kind of a business woman you just gotta charge your business with them two + horses. I ain't had the use of 'em since I don't know when.” + </p> + <p> + “But the colts will be yours,” she argued. “Besides, I can't afford brood + mares in my business. In almost no time, now, Hazel and Hattie will have + to be taken off from the wagon—they're too good for it anyway. And + you keep your eyes open for a pair to take their place. I'll give you a + check for THAT pair, but no commission.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” Billy conceded. “Hazel an' Hattie come back to me; but you + can pay me rent for the time you did use 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “If you make me, I'll charge you board,” she threatened. + </p> + <p> + “An' if you charge me board, I'll charge you interest for the money I've + stuck into this shebang.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't,” Saxon laughed. “It's community property.” + </p> + <p> + He grunted spasmodically, as if the breath had been knocked out of him. + </p> + <p> + “Straight on the solar plexus,” he said, “an' me down for the count. But + say, them's sweet words, ain't they—community property.” He rolled + them over and off his tongue with keen relish. “An' when we got married + the top of our ambition was a steady job an' some rags an' sticks of + furniture all paid up an' half-worn out. We wouldn't have had any + community property only for you.” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense! What could I have done by myself? You know very well that + you earned all the money that started us here. You paid the wages of Gow + Yum and Chan Chi, and old Hughie, and Mrs. Paul, and—why, you've + done it all.” + </p> + <p> + She drew her two hands caressingly across his shoulders and down along his + great biceps muscles. + </p> + <p> + “That's what did it, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw hell! It's your head that done it. What was my muscles good for with + no head to run 'em,—sluggin' scabs, beatin' up lodgers, an' crookin' + the elbow over a bar. The only sensible thing my head ever done was when + it run me into you. Honest to God, Saxon, you've been the makin' of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw hell, Billy,” she mimicked in the way that delighted him, “where would + I have been if you hadn't taken me out of the laundry? I couldn't take + myself out. I was just a helpless girl. I'd have been there yet if it + hadn't been for you. Mrs. Mortimer had five thousand dollars; but I had + you.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman ain't got the chance to help herself that a man has,” he + generalized. “I'll tell you what: It took the two of us. It's been + team-work. We've run in span. If we'd a-run single, you might still be in + the laundry; an', if I was lucky, I'd be still drivin' team by the day an' + sportin' around to cheap dances.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon stood under the father of all madronos, watching Hazel and Hattie go + out the gate, the full vegetable wagon behind them, when she saw Billy + ride in, leading a sorrel mare from whose silken coat the sun flashed + golden lights. + </p> + <p> + “Four-year-old, high-life, a handful, but no vicious tricks,” Billy + chanted, as he stopped beside Saxon. “Skin like tissue paper, mouth like + silk, but kill the toughest broncho ever foaled—look at them lungs + an' nostrils. They call her Ramona—some Spanish name: sired by + Morellita outa genuine Morgan stock.” + </p> + <p> + “And they will sell her?” Saxon gasped, standing with hands clasped in + inarticulate delight. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I brought her to show you for.” + </p> + <p> + “But how much must they want for her?” was Saxon's next question, so + impossible did it seem that such an amazement of horse-flesh could ever be + hers. + </p> + <p> + “That ain't your business,” Billy answered brusquely. “The brickyard's + payin' for her, not the vegetable ranch. She's yourn at the word. What + d'ye say?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon was trying to mount, but the animal danced nervously away. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on till I tie,” Billy said. “She ain't skirt-broke, that's the + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon tightly gripped reins and mane, stepped with spurred foot on Billy's + hand, and was lifted lightly into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “She's used to spurs,” Billy called after. “Spanish broke, so don't check + her quick. Come in gentle. An' talk to her. She's high-life, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon nodded, dashed out the gate and down the road, waved a hand to Clara + Hastings as she passed the gate of Trillium Covert, and continued up Wild + Water canyon. + </p> + <p> + When she came back, Ramona in a pleasant lather, Saxon rode to the rear of + the house, past the chicken houses and the flourishing berry-rows, to join + Billy on the rim of the bench, where he sat on his horse in the shade, + smoking a cigarette. Together they looked down through an opening among + the trees to the meadow which was a meadow no longer. With mathematical + accuracy it was divided into squares, oblongs, and narrow strips, which + displayed sharply the thousand hues of green of a truck garden. Gow Yum + and Chan Chi, under enormous Chinese grass hats, were planting green + onions. Old Hughie, hoe in hand, plodded along the main artery of running + water, opening certain laterals, closing others. From the work-shed beyond + the barn the strokes of a hammer told Saxon that Carlsen was wire-binding + vegetable boxes. Mrs. Paul's cheery soprano, lifted in a hymn, floated + through the trees, accompanied by the whirr of an egg-beater. A sharp + barking told where Possum still waged hysterical and baffled war on the + Douglass squirrels. Billy took a long draw from his cigarette, exhaled the + smoke, and continued to look down at the meadow. Saxon divined trouble in + his manner. His rein-hand was on the pommel, and her free hand went out + and softly rested on his. Billy turned his slow gaze upon her mare's + lather, seeming not to note it, and continued on to Saxon's face. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” he equivocated, as if waking up. “Them San Leandro Porchugeeze + ain't got nothin' on us when it comes to intensive farmin'. Look at that + water runnin'. You know, it seems so good to me that sometimes I just + wanta get down on hands an' knees an' lap it all up myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to have all the water you want in a climate like this!” Saxon + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “An' don't be scared of it ever goin' back on you. If the rains fooled + you, there's Sonoma Creek alongside. All we gotta do is install a gasolene + pump.” + </p> + <p> + “But we'll never have to, Billy. I was talking with 'Redwood' Thompson. + He's lived in the valley since Fifty-three, and he says there's never been + a failure of crops on account of drought. We always get our rain.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, let's go for a ride,” he said abruptly. “You've got the time.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, if you'll tell me what's bothering you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin',” he grunted. “Yes, there is, too. What's the difference? You'd + know it sooner or later. You ought to see old Chavon. His face is that + long he can't walk without bumpin' his knee on his chin. His gold-mine's + peterin' out.” + </p> + <p> + “Gold mine!” + </p> + <p> + “His clay pit. It's the same thing. He's gettin' twenty cents a yard for + it from the brickyard.” + </p> + <p> + “And that means the end of your teaming contract.” Saxon saw the disaster + in all its hugeness. “What about the brickyard people?” + </p> + <p> + “Worried to death, though they've kept secret about it. They've had men + out punchin' holes all over the hills for a week, an' that Jap chemist + settin' up nights analyzin' the rubbish they've brought in. It's peculiar + stuff, that clay, for what they want it for, an' you don't find it + everywhere. Them experts that reported on Chavon's pit made one hell of a + mistake. Maybe they was lazy with their borin's. Anyway, they slipped up + on the amount of clay they was in it. Now don't get to botherin'. It'd + come out somehow. You can't do nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can,” Saxon insisted. “We won't buy Ramona.” + </p> + <p> + “You ain't got a thing to do with that,” he answered. “I 'm buyin' her, + an' her price don't cut any figure alongside the big game I 'm playin'. Of + course, I can always sell my horses. But that puts a stop to their makin' + money, an' that brickyard contract was fat.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you get some of them in on the road work for the county?” she + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I got that in mind. An' I 'm keepin' my eyes open. They's a chance + the quarry will start again, an' the fellow that did that teamin' has gone + to Puget Sound. An' what if I have to sell out most of the horses? Here's + you and the vegetable business. That's solid. We just don't go ahead so + fast for a time, that's all. I ain't scared of the country any more. I + sized things up as we went along. They ain't a jerk burg we hit all the + time on the road that I couldn't jump into an' make a go. An' now where + d'you want to ride?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <p> + They cantered out the gate, thundered across the bridge, and passed + Trillium Covert before they pulled in on the grade of Wild Water Canyon. + Saxon had chosen her field on the big spur of Sonoma Mountains as the + objective of their ride. + </p> + <p> + “Say, I bumped into something big this mornin' when I was goin' to fetch + Ramona,” Billy said, the clay pit trouble banished for the time. “You know + the hundred an' forty. I passed young Chavon along the road, an'—I + don't know why—just for ducks, I guess—I up an' asked 'm if he + thought the old man would lease the hundred an' forty to me. An' what d + 'you think! He said the old man didn't own it. Was just leasin' it + himself. That's how we was always seein' his cattle on it. It's a gouge + into his land, for he owns everything on three sides of it. + </p> + <p> + “Next I met Ping. He said Hilyard owned it an' was willin' to sell, only + Chavon didn't have the price. Then, comin' back, I looked in on Payne. + He's quit blacksmithin'—his back's hurtin' 'm from a kick—an' + just startin' in for real estate. Sure, he said, Hilyard would sell, an' + had already listed the land with 'm. Chavon's over-pastured it, an' + Hilyard won't give 'm another lease.” + </p> + <p> + When they had climbed out of Wild Water Canyon they turned their horses + about and halted on the rim where they could look across at the three + densely wooded knolls in the midst of the desired hundred and forty. + </p> + <p> + “We'll get it yet,” Saxon said. + </p> + <p> + “Sure we will,” Billy agreed with careless certitude. “I've ben lookin' + over the big adobe barn again. Just the thing for a raft of horses, an' a + new roof'll be cheaper 'n I thought. Though neither Chavon or me'll be in + the market to buy it right away, with the clay pinchin' out.” + </p> + <p> + When they reached Saxon's field, which they had learned was the property + of Redwood Thompson, they tied the horses and entered it on foot. The hay, + just cut, was being raked by Thompson, who hallo'd a greeting to them. It + was a cloudless, windless day, and they sought refuge from the sun in the + woods beyond. They encountered a dim trail. + </p> + <p> + “It's a cow trail,” Billy declared. “I bet they's a teeny pasture tucked + away somewhere in them trees. Let's follow it.” + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later, several hundred feet up the side of the spur, + they emerged on an open, grassy space of bare hillside. Most of the + hundred and forty, two miles away, lay beneath them, while they were level + with the tops of the three knolls. Billy paused to gaze upon the + much-desired land, and Saxon joined him. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” she asked, pointing toward the knolls. “Up the little + canyon, to the left of it, there on the farthest knoll, right under that + spruce that's leaning over.” + </p> + <p> + What Billy saw was a white scar on the canyon wall. + </p> + <p> + “It's one on me,” he said, studying the scar. “I thought I knew every inch + of that land, but I never seen that before. Why, I was right in there at + the head of the canyon the first part of the winter. It's awful wild. + Walls of the canyon like the sides of a steeple an' covered with thick + woods.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked. “A slide?” + </p> + <p> + “Must be—brought down by the heavy rains. If I don't miss my guess—” + Billy broke off, forgetting in the intensity with which he continued to + look. + </p> + <p> + “Hilyard'll sell for thirty an acre,” he began again, disconnectedly. + “Good land, bad land, an' all, just as it runs, thirty an acre. That's + forty-two hundred. Payne's new at real estate, an' I'll make 'm split his + commission an' get the easiest terms ever. We can re-borrow that four + hundred from Gow Yum, an' I can borrow money on my horses an' wagons—” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to buy it to-day?” Saxon teased. + </p> + <p> + She scarcely touched the edge of his thought. He looked at her, as if he + had heard, then forgot her the next moment. + </p> + <p> + “Head work,” he mumbled. “Head work. If I don't put over a hot one—” + </p> + <p> + He started back down the cow trail, recollected Saxon, and called over his + shoulder: + </p> + <p> + “Come on. Let's hustle. I wanta ride over an' look at that.” + </p> + <p> + So rapidly did he go down the trail and across the field, that Saxon had + no time for questions. She was almost breathless from her effort to keep + up with him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she begged, as he lifted her to the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it's all a joke—I'll tell you about it afterward,” he put her + off. + </p> + <p> + They galloped on the levels, trotted down the gentler slopes of road, and + not until on the steep descent of Wild Water canyon did they rein to a + walk. Billy's preoccupation was gone, and Saxon took advantage to broach a + subject which had been on her mind for some time. + </p> + <p> + “Clara Hastings told me the other day that they're going to have a house + party. The Hazards are to be there, and the Halls, and Roy Blanchard....” + </p> + <p> + She looked at Billy anxiously. At the mention of Blanchard his head had + tossed up as to a bugle call. Slowly a whimsical twinkle began to glint up + through the cloudy blue of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It's a long time since you told any man he was standing on his foot,” she + ventured slyly. + </p> + <p> + Billy began to grin sheepishly. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, that's all right,” he said in mock-lordly fashion. “Roy Blanchard can + come. I'll let 'm. All that was a long time ago. Besides, I 'm too busy to + fool with such things.” + </p> + <p> + He urged his horse on at a faster walk, and as soon as the slope lessened + broke into a trot. At Trillium Covert they were galloping. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to stop for dinner first,” Saxon said, as they neared the + gate of Madrono Ranch. + </p> + <p> + “You stop,” he answered. “I don't want no dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to go with you,” she pleaded. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't dast tell you. You go on in an' get your dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Not after that,” she said. “Nothing can keep me from coming along now.” + </p> + <p> + Half a mile farther on, they left the highway, passed through a patent + gate which Billy had installed, and crossed the fields on a road which was + coated thick with chalky dust. This was the road that led to Chavon's clay + pit. The hundred and forty lay to the west. Two wagons, in a cloud of + dust, came into sight. + </p> + <p> + “Your teams, Billy,” cried Saxon. “Think of it! Just by the use of the + head, earning your money while you're riding around with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Makes me ashamed to think how much cash money each one of them teams is + bringin' me in every day,” he acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + They were turning off from the road toward the bars which gave entrance to + the one hundred and forty, when the driver of the foremost wagon hallo'd + and waved his hand. They drew in their horses and waited. + </p> + <p> + “The big roan's broke loose,” the driver said, as he stopped beside them. + “Clean crazy loco—bitin', squealin', strikin', kickin'. Kicked clean + out of the harness like it was paper. Bit a chunk out of Baldy the size of + a saucer, an' wound up by breakin' his own hind leg. Liveliest fifteen + minutes I ever seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure it's broke?” Billy demanded sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, after you unload, drive around by the other barn and get Ben. He's + in the corral. Tell Matthews to be easy with 'm. An' get a gun. Sammy's + got one. You'll have to see to the big roan. I ain't got time now.—Why + couldn't Matthews a-come along with you for Ben? You'd save time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's just stickin' around waitin',” the driver answered. “He reckoned + I could get Ben.” + </p> + <p> + “An' lose time, eh? Well, get a move on.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the way of it,” Billy growled to Saxon as they rode on. “No savve. + No head. One man settin' down an' holdin his hands while another team + drives outa its way doin what he oughta done. That's the trouble with + two-dollar-a-day men.” + </p> + <p> + “With two-dollar-a-day heads,” Saxon said quickly. “What kind of heads do + you expect for two dollars?” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, too,” Billy acknowledged the hit. “If they had better heads + they'd be in the cities like all the rest of the better men. An' the + better men are a lot of dummies, too. They don't know the big chances in + the country, or you couldn't hold 'm from it.” + </p> + <p> + Billy dismounted, took the three bars down, led his horse through, then + put up the bars. + </p> + <p> + “When I get this place, there'll be a gate here,” he announced. “Pay for + itself in no time. It's the thousan' an' one little things like this that + count up big when you put 'm together.” He sighed contentedly. “I never + used to think about such things, but when we shook Oakland I began to wise + up. It was them San Leandro Porchugeeze that gave me my first eye-opener. + I'd been asleep, before that.” + </p> + <p> + They skirted the lower of the three fields where the ripe hay stood uncut. + Billy pointed with eloquent disgust to a break in the fence, slovenly + repaired, and on to the standing grain much-trampled by cattle. + </p> + <p> + “Them's the things,” he criticized. “Old style. An' look how thin that + crop is, an' the shallow plowin'. Scrub cattle, scrub seed, scrub farmin'. + Chavon's worked it for eight years now, an' never rested it once, never + put anything in for what he took out, except the cattle into the stubble + the minute the hay was on.” + </p> + <p> + In a pasture glade, farther on, they came upon a bunch of cattle. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that bull, Saxon. Scrub's no name for it. They oughta be a state + law against lettin' such animals exist. No wonder Chavon's that land poor + he's had to sink all his clay-pit earnin's into taxes an' interest. He + can't make his land pay. Take this hundred an forty. Anybody with the + savve can just rake silver dollars offen it. I'll show 'm.” + </p> + <p> + They passed the big adobe barn in the distance. + </p> + <p> + “A few dollars at the right time would a-saved hundreds on that roof,” + Billy commented. “Well, anyway, I won't be payin' for any improvements + when I buy. An I'll tell you another thing. This ranch is full of water, + and if Glen Ellen ever grows they'll have to come to see me for their + water supply.” + </p> + <p> + Billy knew the ranch thoroughly, and took short-cuts through the woods by + way of cattle paths. Once, he reined in abruptly, and both stopped. + Confronting them, a dozen paces away, was a half-grown red fox. For half a + minute, with beady eyes, the wild thing studied them, with twitching + sensitive nose reading the messages of the air. Then, velvet-footed, it + leapt aside and was gone among the trees. + </p> + <p> + “The son-of-a-gun!” Billy ejaculated. + </p> + <p> + As they approached Wild Water; they rode out into a long narrow meadow. In + the middle was a pond. + </p> + <p> + “Natural reservoir, when Glen Ellen begins to buy water,” Billy said. + “See, down at the lower end there?—wouldn't cost anything hardly to + throw a dam across. An' I can pipe in all kinds of hill-drip. An' water's + goin' to be money in this valley not a thousan' years from now.—An' + all the ginks, an' boobs, an' dubs, an' gazabos poundin' their ear deado + an' not seein' it comin.—An' surveyors workin' up the valley for an + electric road from Sausalito with a branch up Napa Valley.” + </p> + <p> + They came to the rim of Wild Water canyon. Leaning far back in their + saddles, they slid the horses down a steep declivity, through big spruce + woods, to an ancient and all but obliterated trail. + </p> + <p> + “They cut this trail 'way back in the Fifties,” Billy explained. “I only + found it by accident. Then I asked Poppe yesterday. He was born in the + valley. He said it was a fake minin' rush across from Petaluma. The + gamblers got it up, an' they must a-drawn a thousan' suckers. You see that + flat there, an' the old stumps. That's where the camp was. They set the + tables up under the trees. The flat used to be bigger, but the creek's + eaten into it. Poppe said they was a couple of killin's an' one lynchin'.” + </p> + <p> + Lying low against their horses' necks, they scrambled up a steep cattle + trail out of the canyon, and began to work across rough country toward the + knolls. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon, you're always lookin' for something pretty. I'll show you + what'll make your hair stand up... soon as we get through this manzanita.” + </p> + <p> + Never, in all their travels, had Saxon seen so lovely a vista as the one + that greeted them when they emerged. The dim trail lay like a rambling red + shadow cast on the soft forest floor by the great redwoods and + over-arching oaks. It seemed as if all local varieties of trees and vines + had conspired to weave the leafy roof—maples, big madronos and + laurels, and lofty tan-bark oaks, scaled and wrapped and interwound with + wild grape and flaming poison oak. Saxon drew Billy's eyes to a mossy bank + of five-finger ferns. All slopes seemed to meet to form this basin and + colossal forest bower. Underfoot the floor was spongy with water. An + invisible streamlet whispered under broad-fronded brakes. On every hand + opened tiny vistas of enchantment, where young redwoods grouped still and + stately about fallen giants, shoulder-high to the horses, moss-covered and + dissolving into mold. + </p> + <p> + At last, after another quarter of an hour, they tied their horses on the + rim of the narrow canyon that penetrated the wilderness of the knolls. + Through a rift in the trees Billy pointed to the top of the leaning + spruce. + </p> + <p> + “It's right under that,” he said. “We'll have to follow up the bed of the + creek. They ain't no trail, though you'll see plenty of deer paths + crossin' the creek. You'll get your feet wet.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon laughed her joy and held on close to his heels, splashing through + pools, crawling hand and foot up the slippery faces of water-worn rocks, + and worming under trunks of old fallen trees. + </p> + <p> + “They ain't no real bed-rock in the whole mountain,” Billy elucidated, “so + the stream cuts deeper'n deeper, an' that keeps the sides cavin' in. + They're as steep as they can be without fallin' down. A little farther up, + the canyon ain't much more'n a crack in the ground—but a mighty deep + one if anybody should ask you. You can spit across it an' break your neck + in it.” + </p> + <p> + The climbing grew more difficult, and they were finally halted, in a + narrow cleft, by a drift-jam. + </p> + <p> + “You wait here,” Billy directed, and, lying flat, squirmed on through + crashing brush. + </p> + <p> + Saxon waited till all sound had died away. She waited ten minutes longer, + then followed by the way Billy had broken. Where the bed of the canyon + became impossible, she came upon what she was sure was a deer path that + skirted the steep side and was a tunnel through the close greenery. She + caught a glimpse of the overhanging spruce, almost above her head on the + opposite side, and emerged on a pool of clear water in a clay-like basin. + This basin was of recent origin, having been formed by a slide of earth + and trees. Across the pool arose an almost sheer wall of white. She + recognized it for what it was, and looked about for Billy. She heard him + whistle, and looked up. Two hundred feet above, at the perilous top of the + white wall, he was holding on to a tree trunk. The overhanging spruce was + nearby. + </p> + <p> + “I can see the little pasture back of your field,” he called down. “No + wonder nobody ever piped this off. The only place they could see it from + is that speck of pasture. An' you saw it first. Wait till I come down and + tell you all about it. I didn't dast before.” + </p> + <p> + It required no shrewdness to guess the truth. Saxon knew this was the + precious clay required by the brickyard. Billy circled wide of the slide + and came down the canyon-wall, from tree to tree, as descending a ladder. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't it a peach?” he exulted, as he dropped beside her. “Just look at it—hidden + away under four feet of soil where nobody could see it, an' just waitin' + for us to hit the Valley of the Moon. Then it up an' slides a piece of the + skin off so as we can see it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it the real clay?” Saxon asked anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “You bet your sweet life. I've handled too much of it not to know it in + the dark. Just rub a piece between your fingers.—Like that. Why, I + could tell by the taste of it. I've eaten enough of the dust of the teams. + Here's where our fun begins. Why, you know we've been workin' our heads + off since we hit this valley. Now we're on Easy street.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't own it,” Saxon objected. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you won't be a hundred years old before I do. Straight from here I + hike to Payne an' bind the bargain—an option, you know, while + title's searchin' an' I 'm raisin' money. We'll borrow that four hundred + back again from Gow Yum, an' I'll borrow all I can get on my horses an' + wagons, an' Hazel and Hattie, an' everything that's worth a cent. An' then + I get the deed with a mortgage on it to Hilyard for the balance. An' then—it's + takin' candy from a baby—I'll contract with the brickyard for twenty + cents a yard—maybe more. They'll be crazy with joy when they see it. + Don't need any borin's. They's nearly two hundred feet of it exposed up + an' down. The whole knoll's clay, with a skin of soil over it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you'll spoil all the beautiful canyon hauling out the clay,” Saxon + cried with alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Nope; only the knoll. The road'll come in from the other side. It'll be + only half a mile to Chavon's pit. I'll build the road an' charge steeper + teamin', or the brickyard can build it an' I'll team for the same rate as + before. An' twenty cents a yard pourin' in, all profit, from the jump. + I'll sure have to buy more horses to do the work.” + </p> + <p> + They sat hand in hand beside the pool and talked over the details. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Saxon,” Billy said, after a pause had fallen, “sing 'Harvest Days,' + won't you?” + </p> + <p> + And, when she had complied: “The first time you sung that song for me was + comin' home from the picnic on the train—” + </p> + <p> + “The very first day we met each other,” she broke in. “What did you think + about me that day?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what I've thought ever since—that you was made for me.—I + thought that right at the jump, in the first waltz. An' what'd you think + of me? + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wondered, and before the first waltz, too, when we were introduced + and shook hands—I wondered if you were the man. Those were the very + words that flashed into my mind.—IS HE THE MAN?” + </p> + <p> + “An' I kinda looked a little some good to you?” he queried. “<i>I</i> + thought so, and my eyesight has always been good.” + </p> + <p> + “Say!” Billy went off at a tangent. “By next winter, with everything + hummin' an' shipshape, what's the matter with us makin' a visit to Carmel? + It'll be slack time for you with the vegetables, an' I'll be able to + afford a foreman.” + </p> + <p> + Saxon's lack of enthusiasm surprised him. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrong?” he demanded quickly. + </p> + <p> + With downcast demurest eyes and hesitating speech, Saxon said: + </p> + <p> + “I did something yesterday without asking your advice, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + He waited. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote to Tom,” she added, with an air of timid confession. + </p> + <p> + Still he waited—for he knew not what. + </p> + <p> + “I asked him to ship up the old chest of drawers—my mother's, you + remember—that we stored with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! I don't see anything outa the way about that,” Billy said with + relief. “We need the chest, don't we? An' we can afford to pay the freight + on it, can't we?” + </p> + <p> + “You are a dear stupid man, that's what you are. Don't you know what is in + the chest?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, and what she added was so soft that it was almost a + whisper: + </p> + <p> + “The baby clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “True.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded her head, her cheeks flooding with quick color. + </p> + <p> + “It's what I wanted, Saxon, more'n anything else in the world. I've been + thinkin' a whole lot about it lately, ever since we hit the valley,” he + went on, brokenly, and for the first time she saw tears unmistakable in + his eyes. “But after all I'd done, an' the hell I'd raised, an' + everything, I... I never urged you, or said a word about it. But I wanted + it... oh, I wanted it like ... like I want you now.” + </p> + <p> + His open arms received her, and the pool in the heart of the canyon knew a + tender silence. + </p> + <p> + Saxon felt Billy's finger laid warningly on her lips. Guided by his hand, + she turned her head back, and together they gazed far up the side of the + knoll where a doe and a spotted fawn looked down upon them from a tiny + open space between the trees. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1449 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |