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diff --git a/59920-0.txt b/59920-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f329d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/59920-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6656 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59920 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Cover art] + + + + +[Frontispiece: "_The Deputy Supervisor revealed to them the thrilling +difference between a peach and an apple_." FRONTISPIECE. _See p._ 297] + + + + + The Little Gods + + A Masque of the Far East + + + BY + + ROWLAND THOMAS + + + Illustrated by Charles Sarka + + + + BOSTON + LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY + 1909 + + + + + _Copyright, 1907, by The Ridgway Company._ + _Copyright, 1905, 1906, 1907, 1908, by P. F. Collier & Son._ + _Copyright, 1909, by Little, Brown, and Company._ + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + Published March, 1909. + Second Impression. + + + + Electrotyped and Printed at + THE COLONIAL PRESS: + C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A. + + + + +To + +MY MOTHER AND MY FATHER + + + + +The author acknowledges the courtesy of the publishers of _Collier's_ +and _Everybody's Magazine_ in granting him permission to reprint the +stories which appeared in those magazines. + + + + + CONTENTS + + Prologue. The Little Gods + + Chapter I. Fagan + " II. God's Little Devils + " III. The Little Man + " IV. A Little Ripple of Patriotism + " V. The Superfalous Man + " VI. The Valley Of Sunshine and Shadow + " VII. What Okimi Learned + " VIII. Where There Is No Turning + " IX. An Optimist + " X. This Fortune + " XI. McGennis's Promotion + Epilogue + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +"The Deputy Supervisor revealed to them the thrilling difference +between a peach and an apple" (_McGennis's promotion_) . . . +Frontispiece + +"All I wanted was a fayah show" + +Fagan and Patricia + +"_Adiós_, Señor Don Augusto" + +"Fought with--dishes and--knives and forks" + +"Dolores gazed down on her little world as it went to sleep" + +"With loose reins rode off to his house" + + + + +THE LITTLE GODS + + + +PROLOGUE + +THE LITTLE GODS + +_For the life of me, as I was sitting here this sunny, late-October +morning, I could not write, a distressing condition, truly, for one +who lives by writing._ + +_Outside the windows of this quiet country house lay the lean fields +of New England, soberly beautiful enough in their fading autumnal +colorings, but somehow yielding no inspiration--forgive the +pretentious and convenient word--no inspiration for my pen._ + +_All around me my neighbors were busy; soberly engaged, each man of +them, in safe-guarding himself, his body, soul, and his possessions, +against the accidents of life and death. They too, somehow, failed +to inspire that sluggish bit of pointed gold. Neither do your sober +neighbors, friend, as I think of them. In all essentials they might +be my own. For we are all a care-worn people, we of this young West, +moving always circumspectly, hedging ourselves round with a tenfold +wall against surprises, with creeds and codes and philosophies +innumerable, all warranted Hell-proof and Heaven-kissing._ + +_We count him wisest who lives and loves and dies most by rule. And +the rule is that rule of our Tory Grecian forbears, "Never too much." +"We may be a wise people and a happy people," said I to myself, "but +we are quite too prudent to be counted young, in anything but years." +And so that bit of gold hung uninspired as when it left the shop. It +waited for livelier, more zestful topics than the daily grind of +sober middle age._ + +_Then all at once, it seemed, familiar voices called to me from that +East we deem so old, and I was back there. A street stretched +beneath me, such a street as only the Far East knows, and there only +in one enchanted city. It was a wide street, and a long one, all +aquiver with hot, stinging sunlight. It was walled with solid, +four-square houses, and above them roofs and pinnacles rose in a +hundred fantastic, airy shapes for which our Western architecture has +no names, and the fronts of the houses flashed with decorations of +barbaric red and gold. The street flamed with them. And all down +the spacious, sun-flooded length of it, filling it from brim to brim, +like a river, poured a current of tumultuous life._ + +_From out the crowd eyes met mine, just as they used to do. Eyes of +men intent on conquest, of goods, perhaps, or power, or pleasure, the +eyes of men who sought, not soberly. Mocking, inviting, smiling, +fathomless, straightforward eyes of women, who, forgetting, or +unknowing Heaven and Hell, still knew that they were women, +mistresses of a woman's joys and sorrows. Eyes of losers at the +game, unhopeful but uncowed. Thousands of eyes glanced up at me, and +not one solitary pair of them were like the eyes that look out +soberly from your neighbor's head, or mine._ + +_As my eyes questioned theirs, it seemed to me again, just as it used +to do, that there in the old East, where life began, it still throbs +most strongly, tingles most with the hot blood of youth; that there +men, eternally young, are still most unafraid, grasp with least +hesitation all life offers them, and accept the outcome of their +choice with most sincerity._ + +_As I was thinking that, it seemed to me that I went down into the +life and stinging sunshine of the street, and mingled with it, till +at last my steps led me down an alley and across a drawbridge that +spanned a green and pestilential moat, and I approached the low +gateway of a gray Walled City which was old when History was young. +I passed under the cavern of the gate--and my feet rang on the worn +flagstones as I passed--and came into a narrow street between low, +sombre houses without windows, and so presently to a temple which in +that city bears an unpleasant reputation. Not that scandal hangs +about it--it takes Christian tongues to make libertines and guzzlers +of Christian priests. But it is said that for some few centuries +experiments in--in Psychical Research, let us say--have been going on +in that old temple of Tzin Piaôu, with results that are not always +reassuring to a lay beholder. I was in too careless a mood to care +for that, that morning, and the porter let me pass, barbarian that I +was, and I crossed the great courtyard and came to a little cell +built in the thickness of the walls._ + +_Inside the cell I saw an old, old man, a priest, though but a +heathen one, half reclining on a hollowed slab of stone._ + +_He was a very gaunt old man, but a very tall and strong one, and his +face was like a mask of yellow parchment, seamed with a multitude of +tiny wrinkles, and his eyes were two slits set slantwise in it. But +as he heard my step and looked up, they widened, and the spark of a +smile glimmered in them._ + +_"It is you again, my son?" said that old heathen priest to me in +greeting, though I did not remember having seen him before that day. +"What is it now?"_ + +_Suddenly I knew why I had come. "My father," I said, though he was +but a heathen, "I want to see Life through your eyes."_ + +_He looked into me, and through me, and beyond me into vacancy, and +as he looked the spark of laughter in his eyes danced, and flickered +up into a tiny fire. "You are older now," said he. "Sit down. I +will tell you first of the Game of the Little Gods, and then you +shall see Life through my eyes."_ + +_"The Little Gods?" I asked, squatting on the floor. It was the only +seat he had to offer me._ + +_"The Great God," my heathen priest explained, unheeding me and +smiling into vacancy, "the Great God created us men in his own +image--and soon found us, as objects of His constant contemplation, +distinctly wearisome. If He could have laughed, it would not have +mattered much, but Amusement is beneath the ken of a Great God. +Therefore our inconsistencies, our pettinesses, our hopeless +contradictions, quickly wearied Him, as they would us if we had to +take them seriously, forever. And so," drawled my heathen tutor, +"the Great God, at last, in self-defense, created some Little Gods to +take charge of the everyday affairs of men. So far as they are Gods, +of course, these Little Gods are Eternal and Impartial, far raised +above Love and Aversion, Pity and Scorn, Admiration and Derision, and +all our other small emotions. To them all things are equal. But so +far as they are Little, and not Great, they are capable of Amusement. +And so," said he, "those lucky Little Gods while away Eternity by +playing games, wherein we men are counters. But we men too," he +added, smiling through me into vacancy, "if we are wise, can gain +amusement by looking on at the games we're part of."_ + +_"I," said I, "have never noticed anything which looked like games--"_ + +_"No?" he said, half mockingly. "You never watched a strong man +strive his utmost and grasp at last what he strove for, a handful of +ashes and dry leaves? Never saw a woman love with all her heart, +till she broke it, loving? Never saw Tragedy or Comedy or Farce +wherein the players were not actors? Have all Life's +contradictions--"_ + +_"But they've always taught me," I objected, "that in those seeming +contradictions, an inscrutable Wisdom was working for the ultimate +good of those--"_ + +_"My son," said my old heathen priest, stretching his old legs out on +his stony slab, "go and see for yourself. This is the hour when I +take one of my naps. See for yourself."_ + + + + +CHAPTER I + +FAGAN + +I found myself "up the railroad," as we used to say, in a +well-remembered town. It had not changed since I saw it last. The +railroad still ran through it, straight as a pencil-stroke ruled +across the flat lands, and the rails, on their embankment, shimmered +in the sun like two unending bars of white-hot metal. The cart road +still wallowed into it, and out of it, for the town is set on an +island in the marshy level of the paddies. The crazy huts of nipa, +and crazier, decaying houses, still stood thick on either side of the +one street. + +And brown women in skirts of gaudy calico still sat under the shadow +of wide shutters, dispensing such goods as Poverty can buy, while +their babies and their pigs rolled comfortably together in the dust. +The shaggy thatch still rustled in the sultry breeze, and a few +dejected palm-trees clicked their branches as of old. And, very far +away across the waveless green sea of the half-grown rice, the same +dark and threatening mountains towered into the clouds. It was all +unchanged. The merciless sun struck down just as hotly. The very +smells were smells I had often smelled before. + +Suddenly there was a stir of excitement in the town. The women +crawled from the litter of their wares. The men, lighting fresh +cigarettes from the remnants of their old ones, stood up to gaze. +For down the street was coming, with the curious in-toeing shuffle of +a barefoot mountaineer, a squat, huge-muscled, naked man. + +He carried a long, broad-bladed spear in his right hand, and a +head-axe was thrust through his belt, and at his back a bag, swollen +as if it held something big and round, bobbed and dangled heavily, +and something dripped from it slowly, thickly, in the dust. The +man's broad, sweat-streaked face was all agrin with excitement and +good-nature, but the natives of the town shrank back from him as he +passed. "Donde 'Mericanos?" he kept asking eagerly. + +A bystander pointed to a house, one a little taller than the others, +where a flag of dingy white, barred with dingier red and blue, hung +drooping, and a group of tall, lean, sun-bronzed men dressed in +frayed shirts of blue flannel, and breeches of stained and faded +khaki, and battered campaign hats, were lounging in the dusty shade. +The bystander pointed to them, and the naked man, his face stretching +in a wider grin, broke into a clumsy trot and ran to them. + +"Me got," he said, and pulled the heavy, bobbing bag from his +shoulders, and thrust it at them. They fell back hastily. "It's +something, all right," said one of them judicially. "Something +plenty dead. Sergeant," he called, "I reckon it's your deal. Here's +an Igaroot with another dead-head lookin' for you." And the others +laughed. + +At that an oldish man with a long, drooping, gray moustache, and gray +eyes that were bright below their sun-burned lids, stepped from the +door. The naked man cried out again, "Me got," and held out his +dripping bag. And the saturnine old sergeant fell back, as the men +had done. + +"You open it, Johnnie," he commanded. "It's too dead for me. +_Patay, sabe?_ Me no likum thataway. _Icao abieria_." + +So the man undid the string that bound his bag, and opened it, and +the sergeant took one peep inside. "It's a big American nigger, all +right," he announced. "And he's sure dead. It might be him. Better +call the Captain over here, some one; I don't reckon he wants _that_ +in his quarters. Where you catch him, hombre?" + +The little man jerked his chin over his shoulder at those distant +mountains. "You buy?" he asked anxiously. + +"You'll get the reward all right, if it's him," said the sergeant +reassuringly. "But you'll have to wait till it's identified. +There've been a lot of duplicates brought in, _sabe_." + +Presently other men in khaki and flannel, who in spite of their +undress showed, somehow, as officers, came down the street, and they, +and the sergeant, and the man with the bag, went into the house. + +After a long wait, an orderly came out, pale and shaken, and turned +toward the military telegraph station. "It's him," he said briefly, +to his waiting fellows. "That Contract Dentist in there knowed him +by his teeth. God! I'm plumb glad I ain't no kind of medico." + +The men looked at each other, silently, for a long minute. The +spirit of jesting seemed to have left them. The judicial one spoke +first. "Well, he got _his_ good and hard at last," said he. "But he +sure got a run for his money." + +Then I understood what it was all about. I wrote of that thing in +the bag once, not knowing it then for a pawn in the Game of the +Little Gods. There was a time when men called it Fagan. + +While Fagan was still a kinky-haired youngster, clad only in the +traditional shirt, a question forced itself on his attention. "Why +ain't I got a pappy?" he asked his mother, and the great, +deep-bosomed woman laughed the deep, melodious laugh of her race. + +"Lawszee, honey, I raickon you has," she replied. "Mos' chillen has." + +"Who is my pappy?" the child persisted. + +The woman laughed again. "Lawszee, chile, how you spaik me to +'maimber that? I'se got other things to 'maimber, I raickon." + +We couldn't expect much of a Fagan, born of that race and class, and +he learned not to expect much of us. A bit of food, a bit of +clothing, and a chance to roll around on the levee with the other +pickaninnies, and bask in the sunshine and sniff the sweety-sour +smells from the sugar-ships, sufficed him. For many years these +pleasures were his for the taking. And as he grew older they still +sufficed, with the addition of a little cheap tobacco and cheaper +gin, and he found that a modicum of labor and a care never to offend +one of the heaven-born white race would procure them. The labor was +easy, for the son of the deep-bosomed, supple-limbed woman had grown, +as the rank, free growth of a swamp shoots up, into a great, broad, +graceful man to whom the toil of others was mere play. And he was of +a nature so easy-going and joyous and childishly obliging that the +heaven-born pointed him out with approval as "a nigger like we had +before the war." + +He might have lived on thus indefinitely, but one day, over a lazy +roll of the dice, another black man took advantage of his known good +nature. And Fagan, the kindly, felt a sudden, blinding impulse to +strike. The huge black fist shot out like lightning under the +impulse of the supple, writhing muscles, and the other man dropped +with a broken neck. + +Then Fagan came to the Army, and the Army received him with joy. The +surgeon's eye glistened with an artist's fervor as he thumped and +kneaded the great, perfect animal, and a wise old recruiting sergeant +guided the pen for him to sign his name. Thus he was made welcome in +that most catholic of societies, which cares not a whit for your +past, your present, or your future, so long as you have mind and body +sufficient to obey orders. + +But even this slight requirement was much for Fagan. His careless, +soapless, buttonless existence was a poor training for the rigid +minutiæ of military life. And he was unfortunate in his immediate +commander. Most of the officers of the Fifty-fourth were of the +South, able to deal firmly yet kindly with the big black children +committed to their charge. But Sharpe was new to the Army, the son +of a small tradesman in the North, and had an exalted reverence for +the Regulations, and his own rank. So when he saw that the buttons +of Fagan's blouse were uncleaned, one morning at guard-mounting, he +did not announce the fact impersonally, as an officer should. + +And Fagan, in serene ignorance of any law against immediate +explanation, replied with boyish, surprised chuckle, "Lawszee, +Lootenant, I raickon I plumb forgot them buttons." + +"That's enough," snapped the officer. "Sergeant, put this man under +arrest." + +Fagan followed to the guard-house, mildly expostulant. "He suah'd +orter give me a fairah show," he said to the sergeant. "I was jus' a +gwine to tell him. I didn't mean no hahm. All I wanted was a fayah +show." + +[Illustration: "_All I wanted was a fayah show._"] + +Thus began a series of petty persecutions. Fagan, with his good +nature, tried his best, but the Lieutenant would not be pleased. He +was not a bad sort in intent, simply a common, weak, official bully. +Such men usually resign early, or if they linger on in the service, +learn to shun getting in front of their men when there is firing. + +By the time the regiment was ordered to the Philippines Fagan's +record loomed black with five trials. But the campaigning brought +relief. A man was required only to have his rifle in good condition, +and be on hand to use it. The regiment spent weary days, dragging +about like a slow snake under the burning sun, soaking and shivering +in the mists of evening, till men began to sicken. But not Fagan. +His melodious bellow would ring triumphant along the lines each +night, "I'se been wo'okin' on the ra'alroad," and cheer the drooping +men, till the voices of the company wits were demanding, "Who's dat +ar white man got a ra'alroad?" + +And then, one day, the scouts reported that the main body of the +enemy was near, that elusive body for which the regiment had been +groping so long. After a little the snake broke out into a fan, and +went crawling across a muddy rice-paddy toward a cane-brake. Then a +flight of strangely drawling insects sang overhead, and as always, +when firing is wild and high, some men in the reserve, 'way in the +rear, lay down very suddenly. + +The merry bugles rattled, and the fan dissolved into a thin brown +line of men who advanced swiftly to the edge of the brake, firing as +they went. And then, all at once, the brake was alive with dizzily +flashing steel. A little brown man rose in front of Fagan, and a +flash darted straight at his head. Instinctively his muscles +reacted, and he ducked backward like a boxer. So the bolo missed his +head, but the sharp point, tearing downward, ripped through shirt and +flesh on his breast. + +Fagan stared stupidly at the dripping red edges of the blue cloth +till the sharp tingle of the flesh stirred him. As before, he felt a +blinding impulse to strike, and whirled his heavy rifle in one hand, +as a boy might a stick. He looked down at the quivering, moaning +thing before him, and a mad joy of strength surged over him. A +little way apart a struggling group was weaving in and out with darts +of steel and quick flashes of rifles, and hoarse gruntings and +cursings. He ran toward it, swinging his broken rifle round his +head. "Give 'em heyell, boys," he shouted. "Kill the damn niggers." + +From that day he was called Wild Fagan, and Fagan the Nigger-Killer, +and as the campaign progressed, his renown passed beyond his +regiment. "Heard about that wild nigger in the Fifty-fourth?" asked +the Cavalry, borrowing a pinch of Durham and a pit of paper from the +Mountain Battery. "Don't sabe fire his rifle. Just butts in and +swats 'em with it, like he was wantin' to play gollf." The story +grew till the Marines, returning from shore service, told the Fleet, +half-seriously, of a wild regiment come straight from Africa, "what +only knew how to fight with war-clubs." And jacky, ever ready to +believe, swore softly in admiration, and spat over the rail, and +dreamed of having a little go with that regiment, some night in +Nagasaki, when every one had had about seven drinks all round. + +Even the officers began to boast. "Oh, you mean our man Fagan," the +Colonel would say to guests at mess. "Yes, he's a good man. +Expensive--a rifle lasts him about a day when things are lively;--but +efficient. Yes, highly efficient. The natives are beginning to +dodge the regiment. Yes, I'll let you see him after dinner. Finest +build of a man you ever laid eyes on. Like a cat, you know, like a +cat and a grizzly rolled into one." + +And Fagan through it all was unchanged, good-natured, childlike as +ever. He was even a bit ashamed of his strength. "That little scrap +down by the bridge?" he would say to a group of admirers. "Oh, that +all wa'n't nothin'. That big Fillypeeno? Oh, yes, I hit him. Yes, +I raickon I smashed him some," he would muse with his slow smile. "I +broke my gun on him. Anybody got any tobacca? I nevah can keep no +tobacca." + +It was after the fighting was done and the regiment went into +stations of companies in the villages that the change began to come. +The men, keyed to exertion and excitement, found the idleness of +barrack life first pleasant, then irksome. And they were at home in +these sunny islands, far more at home than ever in the States. They +read the freedom of the land in the burning sky, and the clicking +palms, and the lazy air. More than anywhere else, they read it in +the dark, admiring eyes of the brown, slim, soft-moving girls. The +men began to be absent at check roll-call at Taps. + +Then all the wisdom and tact of an officer was needed. Too great +easiness meant loss of control, harshness meant desertions. For a +time Lieutenant Sharpe did very well. He overlooked what he could, +and was unangered in his firmness when he must be firm. But nature +and fixed habit overcame him, and Fagan was naturally the chief +sufferer, for the officer had grown into the belief that Fagan was +the probable cause of every misdemeanor in the company. So it was a +reprimand, and then another sharper, and then the summary +court--where the Lieutenant was prosecutor and jury and +judge--sentenced Fagan to the loss of a month's pay for attempting to +run the guard at some unearthly hour of the night. Within a week he +repeated the offence, and Lieutenant Sharpe, with the fear of God and +the Regulations in his heart, and wondrous small understanding in his +head, sentenced him to a "month and a month." A month of confinement +will give any man much time for reflection, and the Lieutenant hoped +it might prove salutary. + +Fagan received his sentence with ominous lack of his former +protestations, and went quietly to the guard-house. But being +neither an accomplished thinker nor an expert in moral theory, he did +not reflect. He merely sat there and brooded. "All I'm lookin' for +is jus' a fayah show," he told himself, over and over again. "He use +me right, an' I'll use him right. Ain't I the bes' fightin' man in +the regiment, ain't the Kuhnel done said so, a whole plainty o' +times? When they's fightin', I'll be there. But that little +Lootenant--Lawszee, couldn' I smash him--all I want is jus' a +straight deal." + +Fagan emerged at the end of his month still a child, but a sullen +child now, moping over a bitter sense of injustice. "I ain' nevah +gwine to stay in theah anothah night," he told his friend the +Sergeant. "All I want is a fayah deal, an' I'll use ev'rybody +straight. But no one ain't gwine to keep me in theah again." The +Sergeant, wise as most old soldiers, made no answer. If the +Lieutenant and Wild Fagan were to fight it out, it was no affair of +the Sergeant's. + +But Fagan, over the drinks, repeated his ultimatum to other men, who +waited joyously for the clash, and were surprised and disappointed +when Fagan went quietly to the guard-house once again, placed there +to await the sitting of a general court martial. The quietness was +only because he was learning to plan. When the silence of midnight +came, he stole over to an inner window, braced a shoulder and a knee, +and the rusted bars yielded noiselessly. He crept up-stairs to his +squad-room and took the rifle and the belt, heavy with two hundred +rounds of ammunition, from the head of his bunk, and crept as +silently down. He tried to steal by the guard at the gate, but the +man turned and leveled his rifle, hardly six feet away. + +"Halt! Who goes theah?" he challenged, with the mechanical lilt of +the sentry. + +"You min' you' business, Sam, an' I'll ten' to mine," Fagan growled. + +But the man persisted, though with a tremor in his voice. "Yo' halt, +Fagan. Ah've got to fin'--" + +Fagan gripped his rifle by the muzzle, and stepped swiftly toward the +leveled one. "You git out o' heah, Sam," he ordered. "Git, or I'll +smash you." + +The sentry dropped his rifle. "Ah ain' nevah troubled you all, +Fagan," he whined. "Ah'm a frien' o' you all's. You lait me alone." +He sank to his knees. "You lait me alone. Don' you touch me, don' +you touch--" His voice rose to a shriek, but he was talking to empty +air. Fagan had picked up the extra rifle and slipped away toward the +town. + +"Ah couldn' he'ep it, sah. He done come up out o' the dahk, with his +eyes a buhnin', an' he sa-ays, 'Ah'll maash you, Sam.' Ah couldn' +he'ep mase'ef. Ah've seen him maash these yere Fillypeenos." Thus +the sentry to the Lieutenant next morning, with heartfelt +earnestness. "Ah wouldn' cared if he was gwine to shoot, but he +comes a grinnin', an' he sa-ays, 'Ah'll maash you, Sam.' That's what +he sa-ays, an' he'd a done it," he explained later, to a group of +sympathizing men. "Ah don' min' gettin' shot, but Ah suah don' +wantah git maashed. So Ah dropped ma rifle. Ah've seen him maash +these yere Fillypeenos. He ain' no man, he's a plumb bawn devil, +tha's what he is," and Sam wiped the sweat drops from his throat with +the back of his big, shaking hand. + +Then ensued many tentative pushings at the bars, to prove that no two +mere men could spring them back into position, and many side-long +glances at Fagan's ownerless cot and the chest which stood beside it, +closed and mysterious. When the men turned in, no one objected that +Sam placed a lighted candle on it. "They don' come roun' wheah it's +light," he explained vaguely to the room, and every one knew what +"they" meant. Even the old Sergeant, coming through at roll-call, +apparently did not see the forbidden light. + +And now the United States Army lapsed into a state of hysteria which +often amused and puzzled those who witnessed it. It became haunted +by a big black man who mashed people instead of shooting them +decently. There happened to be a recrudescence of fighting, and the +Army imputed it to Fagan. That stupid, brooding, grown-up child +became a tactician, a strategist, a second De Wet of guerilla warfare. + +"I have the honor to report," wrote young Shavetail to the +A.G.O.--through proper channels--"a sharp engagement wherein the +enemy hindered the development of my flanking movement by--unusual +brilliancy for native leaders--honor to suggest--deserter Fagan +rumored to be in vicinity." + +"Scouts report," wired Major Oakleaf, "two hours' ride southeast of +camp, huge negro. Request description renegade Fagan." + +"We're out gunnin' fer that big buck nigger answers to the name of +Fagan," remarked Mountain Battery to Cavalry, borrowing back the +"makings" and a match to boot. "He's seen up back here in the +foot-hills last night." + +"Wire through this mornin'," jeered Signal Corps, overhearing, +"reportin' him up Cagayan way. An' yesterday he was down in +Batangas. He sure must hike light." + +"Well, he's a lively nigger, from all I hear," said Cavalry +judicially. "Some one'll likely get hurt 'fore they get him." + +"He'll maybe get hurt a little bit himself, just a shade, if this old +girl falls on him," laughed Mountain Battery, patting the nose of the +vicious little gun in the packsaddle. "Ho' still, you old +mule-horse, you! Think I'll stand for you kickin' me?" + +So the little armies marched and sweated, and the wires carried +bulletins to every little post: "Inform troops and natives--renegade +Fagan, deserter Fifty-fourth--very big black negro, age twenty-one, +large bolo scar on breast--five hundred dollars, gold, alive or dead." + +And all the while Fagan was living quietly with the girl who had been +the chief cause of all his insubordination, in a little mountain +village not fifty miles from the place where his ghost first rose and +called for lighted candles. + +The reports of his evil fame brought him no joy. "Why can't they let +us alone," he complained to Patricia. "I never hurt them, and if +they don't trouble us we won't trouble them. Eh, Patsí?" and he +swept the slender girl up to his shoulder. + +"Pooh," cried Patricia disdainfully, from her height. "What do we +care for them! You will kill them all, won't you?" She pinched the +great supporting arm with a sigh of satisfaction. "Hola, there's +Enrique's cock fighting with Juan's. Let's go and watch them." And +as they walked down the narrow grassy street, the people stepped +aside with cheerful smiles, for all the world like the dusty +pickaninnies on the levee when one of the heaven-born passes by. + +For a long time Fagan and Patricia lived on in the village, till the +man was becoming a myth. A dozen enterprising hunters had brought in +his head, and the papers in Manila had ceased to give circumstantial +accounts of his capture even when news was short. But at last an +American prisoner came to the town, the only white man who saw Fagan +alive after his desertion. By a strange chance he was an officer of +the Fifty-fourth, and Fagan received him with sober joy. + +"I'se right glad to see you, Lootenant," he said. "I raickoned +they'd bring you up heah, when I hea'd you was done capchuhed. They +kind brings mos' ev'ything up to me, these days." + +The white man was not joyous, though undismayed. "What are you going +to do with me, now you've got me?" he demanded. + +"Don' you worry, Lootenant," Fagan answered. "I wouldn' huht you. +No, sir, you nevah troubled me. You jus' set down an' have a smoke. +I'se a gwine to send you down, jus' as soon as I can." + +They sat and smoked in silence, the giant negro, the prisoner in his +draggled uniform, the little brown guards with their naked bobs. At +last Fagan said, "I raickon we could talk bettah if these yere guards +was away. You git," he pointed to them. "Course you give you' wohd, +Lootenant, you won't try to 'scape." + +The officer nodded, and fell to watching the great, quiet, unshapen +black face. It roused his curiosity for a certain non-offensive air +of self-reliance which he had never seen in a black face before. +"Fagan," he asked suddenly, "why did you do it?" + +"Do what, Lootenant?" + +"Desert, and lead the natives against us, and all that." + +The negro clenched his great fist. "This yere fool talk makes me +plumb riled," he said. "I ain' nevah fought the 'Mericans. I'se a +'Merican myse'f, ain't I? An' what would I want to go yampin' roun' +the country for, anyway? I'se got all I want right heah, chickens, +an' yams, an' a good dry house, an'--" He reached out his hand and +grasped Patricia's little one, and they smiled at each other. "No, +sir, I don' want no moah fightin'. I'se got a good home, an' I goes +to sleep when I wants to, an' I gits up when I wants to, an' I has +clean clo'es ev'y day. You tell the Kuhnel, Lootenant, you tell him +Fagan nevah went to huht no 'Mericans, an' nevah will, less'n they +goes to huht me first. You believe that, don' you, Lootenant?" And +the officer gravely nodded "Yes." + +"Bout that desertin', now. I'se thought a whole lot about that, an' +I raickon I done it jus' because I had to have mo' room. I'se some +big, I raickon--" he let his eyes travel slowly down his body and +chuckled--"seems like I has to have a whole plainty o' room. Seems +like they wahn't room fo' me an' Lootenant Sha'ap in one ahmy. No, +sir. An' then, I dunno, Lootenant, maybe you nevah felt how a woman +can make you 'shamed of youse'f? This Patricia lady, maybe she don' +seem like much to you, but she's a heap to me--yes, sir,--an' she +kep' sayin', 'What for you go calabozo, Fagan? Kill the little pig +of a teniente,' she says. 'Kill ev'rybody. You'se big enough.' An' +then she laughs at me. 'Is you 'fraid, big man?' she says. 'Lend me +youah revolvah, then. I'se little, but I ain't afraid.' She jus' +made me plumb scairt of myse'f, an' we come away, 'cause Patsí an' me +needed more room 'n what Lootenant Sha'ap could give us. 'Pears like +you couldn' understan' it, but that's the way it was, I raickon. I +jus' had to desert or huht somebody bad." + +He stopped, and the woman began to speak to him. The white man +watched her, and a great light burst upon him. She was glorious, +this slim, soft brown thing with the dusky hair and the straight, +slender neck, and--"I'se little, but I ain't afraid." Ages of +civilization dropped from the man as he gazed, and with a graceless +pity he compared the pale fettered women he had known with this free, +wild, perfect thing whose feeling was her life. She was talking with +her tongue and eyes and hands, and Fagan answered a few words and +laughed, and she laughed, too, a sound as natural and sweet as the +ripple of a stream, and then her great eyes lighted with earnestness +as she went on. The Lieutenant felt a pang of something almost +jealousy. He could never bring fire to those eyes, he was not a man +to her, only a thing, not to be compared with that black giant. + +Fagan turned to him with an amused chuckle. "She's full o' ginger," +he said. "I raickon it's lucky I was heah when you come. She's jus' +been askin' when I was goin' to kill you. 'You must,' she says, 'or +else he'll lead soldiers up heah.' That's all right, Lootenant," he +said, as the officer moved uneasily. "That's you' duty, an' it's all +right, only she don' understand that. 'Le's kill him now,' she says. +'You keep a talkin' with him, an' I'll put the knife into him from +behin'. It won' be no trouble at all.' Lawszee," he chuckled +admiringly, "I raickon she'd a done it, too. She's got moah ginger!" + +The Lieutenant smiled with him, but he soon rose, unobtrusively, and +seated himself with his back to the solid corner-post of the house. +Patricia watched the manoeuvre with unfathomable eyes, and the men +burst into laughter; then she hung her head like a child caught in +some mischief. The gesture was adorable, and suddenly sadness +stifled the white man's laughter. + +"I'm sorry about reporting your presence here," he said. "I +understand, I think, and I believe you don't want to make trouble, +but--" + +"Don' you worry about that," Fagan broke in. "I'se a gwine to send +you down to the ra'alroad this afternoon. An' now Patsí's goin' to +get you some dinner." + +"Fagan," said the Lieutenant, yet more earnestly, while his guard +waited for him to mount, "I'm right sorry about this. But--why don't +you come down with me now and surrender?" he asked impulsively. +"That will help, and I can explain some things to the court, and +you'll only get six months or so, for desertion. Only six months, +and then--you can come back to Patricia," he ended almost enviously. + +The negro seemed to swell before the white man's astonished eyes. +"I'se sorry, too. It's been mighty pleasant, livin' heah," he said +simply. "An' thank you fer askin' me to come down. I know you means +it straight. But you can't see it like I do. Down theah I'se a +niggah soldier. Up heah I'se-- Nobody ain't got any right to try +me," he burst out. "I nevah troubled _them_. You tell the Kuhnel +that, I want he should understan'. I don' want to huht no one, but +I'se nevah gwine into no gahd-house again. Good-by, Lootenant, an' +luck. I don' raickon we all'll evah meet up again." + +[Illustration: _Fagan and Patricia_.] + +So Fagan and Patricia must needs leave the snug little house at the +end of the sleepy, grass-grown street, and go out on the High Trail, +the unknown of the people of the plains, a broad highway to things +with hoofs and claws and wings, and to men little less wild than +they, the men of the hills. At times the brown thread of the Trail +was twined amid the giant roots of trees, and they wandered in a cool +twilight, alone with the long creepers and the ferns and the bright +birds which played about some opening in the matted roof, far above +their heads, where the sun dropped through for a brief hour. +Sometimes it clung to the massive walls of a cañon, where a river +boiled so far below that the sound of its torment came to their ears +like the babble of a brook. Sometimes it shot upward to the realm of +the clouds, and from the bare, grassy heights they peered out through +shifting mist wreaths over all the cities and fields of the plains to +the blue hint of the distant sea. + +Fagan and Patricia followed the Trail steadily but leisurely, day +after day. There was no call for haste, no white pursuer knew that +road. So they laughed and played, and lay for hours beside some cool +spring, basking in the warm sunshine and the thin, sharp air, and +camped at night in little valleys under a pall of cloud. Once Fagan +shot a deer, and they delayed for days, drying the meat over pungent +wood-smoke. But as their muscles hardened to the Trail, they +insensibly made greater progress, in spite of their dallying. + +Two weeks brought them to the land of the Unknown, had they but known +it. The mountains were higher and wilder, the cloud-caps more +frequent. Often the forest on some huge hill, towering black above +the Trail, was thin and pointed at the top, as if it had been torn, +and there, unseen of them, was a village perched high on the trunks +of trees, whence keen-eyed men watched their progress. But they were +children of the plains and could not know, so they walked undismayed. +And the keen-eyed men walked with them, unseen, frisking along above +them over ground where others would have crept--short, huge-limbed +men, whose stiff black hair flowed over their shoulders, and was tied +out of their eyes with fillets, men who squatted naked in the mists +of evening and did not shiver, men who brought their sweethearts +hideous dowries of human heads. They hung about the Trail, watching +these strange creatures who walked openly and undismayed in the land +of Fear. Often, when the camp-fire was lighted, they stole up with +their muscles twitching like a cat's before she springs, and then +halted as a great voice rang over the forest--"I'se been wo'okin' on +the ra'alroad"--and they clawed their way up the slopes to the +long-legged villages, and took counsel together in the queer +fire-shadows. + +One evening as they camped, Patricia missed a little bundle of +venison and strolled back along the Trail to look for it. Fagan +kindled the fire and then strolled back, too. "Hoy, Patsí," he +called. The forest was silent. He turned a bend in the Trail, and +there--Fagan gazed at it stupidly. Then the blind impulse of wrath +swept over him again. But there was naught to strike. The long +shadows of the trees lay across the Trail, the creepers swayed lazily +in the evening breeze; far up, a crow called petulantly to her +belated mate. Fagan swung his arm helplessly at the forest. + +"Come out," he moaned, "come out wheah I can see you. Come out, you +cowards, you sneakin' dogs that kills women from behind. I'se not +afraid of you. Oh, I'll mash _you_! Come!" With a soft chug, a +lance stuck quivering in the tree beside him. Otherwise all was +silent; even the crow had ceased to scold. He looked down. A darker +shadow was stealing among the lengthening ones on the Trail. The +spirit of the forest gripped Fagan with an icy hand, the spirit of +Dread. He ran blindly to the fire, seized his rifle, and took up the +Trail alone. + +For three days and nights he hurried on. The empty pain of his +stomach, the dizzying, numbing lack of sleep, could not hold him +against the dread of his unseen escort. It gave little sign, simply +the rustling of a fern now and then, the swaying of one creeper when +others were still, but he felt its presence and staggered on. On the +evening of the third day, he stepped suddenly from the forest into a +little theatre among the hills. A clear brook bubbled over golden +gravel; the turf beneath a great solitary tree was thick and soft. +Wild cocks in the wood were crowing their families to roost. + +Everything was quiet and peaceful, and Fagan, as he gazed, became +peaceful and quiet, too. He flung himself on the soft turf, and +drank his fill from the little brook. As always, when he sought to +rest, the forest became vague with life. A covey of jungle-fowl, +flushed by a sudden fright, whirred across the opening. A stone +rolled somewhere close at hand, dislodged by a purposely careless +foot. But this time Fagan merely grinned, and shook off his clinging +cartridge-belt. "You can' bluff me no moah," he said to the forest, +a trick he had learned of late. A fern swayed not a dozen yards +away, and he clicked a cartridge into his Krag and fired. "You git +out," he chuckled. "I'se a gittin' tired of you' company." + +When he was rested a little, he kindled a fire and toasted a bit of +venison. Then he lay back lazily and twisted his last bit of tobacco +into a cigarette. Between puffs he bellowed his evening song, and +the rude melody took on the sweetness of a ballad. "Don' you heah +the bugle callin'?" Fagan sang, and tossed the butt of the cigarette +into the fire. It was quite dark now in the hollow, and he sat in a +little circle of dancing light. He looked at the wall of blackness +with quiet, unfrightened eyes that presently began to close with the +pressure of a mighty drowsiness. + +"I'se po'owful sleepy now," he announced at length, "an' I'se a gwine +to bed. I was hopin' to set up an' meet some of you all, but I can't +do it. When you all wants me, you all can wake me up." The fire +flickered, and he pillowed his head on his arm, and watched the dance +of the shadows grow shorter. "Lawszee," he murmured, drowsily, as +the great numbness of sleep overcame him, "I raickon Patricia'd think +I was scairt again. She'd a sat up an' waited foh them, but I can't. +That little girl did have the po'owf'les' lot o' ginger in her." He +threw his great arm protectingly over the empty ground beside him. +"Good night, Patsí," he murmured. + + +In that well-remembered town among the paddies, a squat and naked +man, huge-muscled, came out of the door of the quarters. In his hand +he carried a broad-bladed spear. A head-axe, bright as only +speckless steel can be in sunlight, flashed in his girdle. And at +his back a bag, plumply round, bobbed heavily, and as it bobbed it +gave out a dull jingle, as of coined metal. + +"Got his money, all right," said one of the group that watched him. + +The savage halted, and grinned widely at each in turn. "Me got," he +announced proudly. "_Mucho dinero_. _Mucho mucho dinero_. Me got." +He could scarcely contain his joy. + +One of the watchers growled. "I'm not in favior," said he, "of +payin' gu-gus for killin' white men, no matter whether they're white +or black. It's a catchin' habit." It was the judicial soldier. He +swung his lean bulk toward the grinning little man. "Now you've got +it," he commanded, "git!" + +The savage, half-comprehending, turned and passed down the path they +opened for him, and down the sun-beaten, dusty street, where the +silent people fell away before him as if he carried pestilence. And +so they saw the last of him, making for those distant, cloud-hung +hills of his, moving clumsily but swiftly across the paddies at his +shuffling trot, while the price of a man's rebellion bobbed, and +jingled dully at his back. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +GOD'S LITTLE DEVILS + +I was back in that ancient temple of Tzin Piaôu. My old heathen +priest, half reclining on his hollowed slab of stone, was looking at +me with a spark of laughter in his keen old eyes. + +"Have you seen for yourself?" he asked. + +I nodded. + +"And how," he asked me, "do you like to look at the Games of the +Little Gods?" + +"I think," said I angrily, "that they are Little Devils. That black +man was a man. If they had given him half a chance--" + +"Remember," said my heathen friend, quite calmly, "that I do not know +your black man, or what they did to him. Something unpleasant, it +appears. It does not matter. It is in the Game. But you think my +Little Gods are Little Devils?" + +"I do," I said. + +"I wonder," mused my heathen priest, smiling through me into vacancy, +"what he would think of Little Devils if he saw them." Suddenly his +eyes glinted into mine. He made a little imperative gesture with his +hand. "Go and see," he said. "This is the hour when I take another +nap. And would you mind," he added, "as you're going out, just +asking the porter to bring a jug of water?" + + +That night, when rice was eaten and the circle of darkness had shut +down about our fire, Fermin Majusay, the private of Native Scouts who +was my escort on the mountain, stretched out on his slim stomach and +gazed into the hypnotic flames. + +"I am going to tell you about my teniente," he said suddenly, "my +lieutenant who is dead six months. He was a devil, that man. +Listen! You have sat in the Café Puerta del Sol and watched the two +old Spaniards who play forever the game called chess? Well, when the +little man of Don Antonio gets in front of the little horse of Don +José, does Don José say, 'Bad little man, go to another little +square'? No, he says 'Muerto!'--'Dead!'--and takes the little man +away. That is the game, to take all the little men off the board, +and it is just the same with fighting. But all the white men I have +seen, except my teniente, were afraid of the end. My teniente always +laughed when the end came. He was born to be a soldier, like me. + +"I remember how he laughed at Don Augusto. We were in a very bad +province then. All the provinces are a little bad; that is why they +sent me to take care of you, because the mountains are not safe for a +white man. But that was an island in the south, and it was very bad. +All the middle of it was mountains where ladrones lived, and they +came down to the coast and made people give them food and money, and +they stole carabaos from the plantations and killed travelers, and +sometimes they burned a town and took the pretty girls away. + +"We were sent there to catch them. It was very hard work. We chased +them in the mountains and killed some, but that did no good. When we +were in one place they were somewhere else, and when a man guided us +in a little while he was dead. We knew what was the matter. It is +always the same. The ladrones are in the mountains, but some man in +the towns is their leader, and he gets so rich and strong that every +one is afraid of him. In that island it was a planter named Augusto +de los Reyes. Three times my lieutenant arrested Augusto de los +Reyes and sent him down to San Pablo; and every time the judge said +there was no proof and he came back, and in a little while all the +witnesses against him were dead. And the ladrones in the mountains +always knew when we were coming. + +"If my teniente had been like other white men, he would have given up +then. But he arrested Don Augusto once more. I remember the morning +very well. I was orderly that day, and we were in the guard-room +looking at some prisoners, and a guard came in, two in front and two +behind, with this Don Augusto. He was a big, fat Bisayan, and we all +looked at him, and he looked at us, and smiled. Then we didn't feel +very good, for we knew what he'd like to do to us. + +"But my teniente laughed when he saw him. He stood up and shook +hands with Don Augusto, and he said: '_Buenos dias_, Señor Don +Augusto de los Reyes.' Like that, making fun. 'It is not very long +since we met,' he said, 'but I am very glad to see you again. I +trust you found the prison at San Pablo pleasant?' + +"This Don Augusto knew how to play the game, too. He smiled with his +mouth and said: 'It is not bad, Señor Teniente. But it grows +tiresome to have the comedy of going there repeated so often. The +judge gets tired, too, deciding that I am not such a bad man as my +friend the teniente would have him think.' + +"My teniente laughed again. 'These judges!' he said. 'If only they +could see us as we are, Señor Don Augusto de los Reyes. It is so +hard to make them understand.' Then he stopped smiling, and talked +very slow, more as if he talked to himself. 'I could send him down +to San Pablo again, and I could say to the judge, "Señor Juez, this +is the Señor Don Augusto de los Reyes whom the Swiss Bobin accused of +giving information to the enemy, so that he lay in San Pablo jail for +three weeks, till you said there was no proof." And I could say to +the judge: "Last week this innocent gentleman came back from his +trial, and last Sunday, as the Swiss Bobin rode on a narrow trail, +four men attacked him and cut off his hand as he drew his revolver, +and then killed him." But what would that amount to?' + +"'Very little,' said Don Augusto. + +"'Nothing,' said my teniente. 'And I could tell the judge: "That +Sunday night men came to the house of the late Swiss Bobin and took +his woman away, and her muchacha found her next morning staked by the +four hands and feet to an ant-hill." But that would be no charge +against the Señor Don Augusto de los Reyes.' + +"'Precisely,' said Don Augusto, and he smiled. Oh, he was a big, +proud man, and he knew what he could do so well that he did not +pretend not to know. + +"'Precisely,' said my teniente. 'And I could tell the judge: "The +two weeks' baby of the late widow of the late Swiss Bobin died that +Monday afternoon, so to-day there is not a soul alive of the family +of the man who charged an innocent gentleman unjustly, as you +yourself decided, Señor Juez." + +"Don Augusto smiled and was going to speak, but my teniente only +moved his hand and went on, and all of us soldiers in the guard-room +held our breaths and listened, for we knew that he spoke the truth. +'We could tell the judge: "The four men who killed the man and the +woman and left the baby to starve live on the plantation of the +prisoner and owe him much money." But what does that prove? Even if +we tell him that all the enemies of the Señor Don Augusto de los +Reyes for twenty years have gone that way, and that no one any more +dares to be a witness against him for fear of his revenge, the judge +will not care about that. The judge wants proof, and we have no +proof. No matter how well we know each other, we have no proof. So +I shall not send my dear friend down to jail again. I am tired of +it, too.' + +"All we soldiers looked at the ground, for we thought our teniente +was a fool, like the judge, and would let Don Augusto go again. And +Don Augusto looked at us as if we were dogs--I wanted to give him my +bayonet--and he smiled and said: 'I thank you so much, Teniente mio, +for sparing me another of the comedies. It is better for every one. +_Adiós_, Señor.' + +"Oh, I told you that teniente of mine was a devil! He got up and +shook the hand of Don Augusto, and he smiled and said: '_Adiós_, +Señor Don Augusto de los Reyes. We shall not meet again for some +time, I think. I am getting very tired of it myself. But I will +give you a trustworthy escort. José!' + +[Illustration: "_Adiós, Señor Don Augusto_."] + +"We all jumped, his voice was so different, and the corporal of my +squad stepped out and saluted. 'You will be the Señor's escort as +far as he goes,' my teniente said. 'You will need only your +revolver.' He stopped a moment, and then he said: 'José, you must be +very careful that he does not escape.' + +"You know what that order meant then? Jos knew, and his face went +like ashes--he was a baby anyway--and he could hardly say 'Si, mi +teniente.' And that big fat pig of a Don Augusto, _he_ knew, and he +dropped all together, as if he had no bones, and he went down on his +knees. But my teniente only laughed, and said: 'A pleasant journey +to you, Señor Don Augusto de los Reyes, and a relief from comedies.' + +"And then he took the commissary reports and wrote on them till José +came back. José was shaking and green and my teniente looked at him. +'You are back quickly,' he said. 'What is the matter?' + +"'The prisoner tried to escape, mi teniente,' José said. + +"'That was very foolish of him,' said my teniente. 'Where is he now?' + +"'Across the river, mi teniente,' José answered. + +"'Sergeant,' said my lieutenant, 'send two men across the river with +shovels,' and then he tossed José a _peseta_ to buy _vino_, and then +he went on with the commissary reports." + +Fermin Majusay had forgotten everything else in thinking of his hero, +and the fire was almost out. He brought it to a blaze and lay down +on his blanket again. "That night while we whispered together in +barracks, and that chicken-hearted José sat by himself and muttered +prayers and drank vino out of his bottle, we named our teniente El +Diablito--the Little Devil. Not because he was little, but because +we loved him. You know Angel Bantiling calls his wife Chiquita--Tiny +One--and she is big as a carabao. El Diablito, I named my teniente, +and we were afraid. If he had come down-stairs that night, we would +all have run away. But what would you have? That Don Augusto was in +the way, so my teniente took him off the board just like one of Don +Antonio's little men of chewed bread. That is the game. If one is +afraid of it, there are other games one can play. One does not have +to be a soldier. But he made us afraid, just the same. + +"After Don Augusto was dead, all that part of the province was good, +so they sent us to another part. Barang was the name of the town +where we went. It was a better town; the people were good; we had +nothing to do but drill. And after drill, often, my teniente took me +to shoot with him. I would hold an empty bottle for beer in my hand, +like that, and my teniente would shoot it from twenty paces with his +revolver. Hoy, he was a devil at everything, my teniente! Hundreds +and hundreds we broke, and he never hurt me. And he took me to be +his servant in his quarters, and I was very happy, there in Barang." + +Fermin Majusay gazed into the fire again, and his keen animal face +was wonderfully softened in the flickering light. + +"_Diós_," he sighed, "I was happy, there in Barang! Only one thing I +did not like,--that was Isidro Abelarde. He was the leader of the +town, the son of a very rich _haciendero_, young and handsome. And +he became the friend of my teniente. They would laugh and talk +together for hours, and ride together, and I did not like it. We +Macabebes have many enemies--all the Filipinos are our enemies--and +we have to be suspicious always. I began to wonder why Isidro +Abelarde wanted to be with my lieutenant. 'Mi teniente,' I said to +him, 'I do not like it that Don Isidro comes here. It is not good +that he can pass the guard at any time, as if he were a white man. +If he means harm--' + +"My teniente laughed. 'You are more bother than a wife, Fermin,' he +said. 'Why should he mean harm to me?' + +"'He is the _pariente_--the relative--of Don Augusto,' I said. My +teniente looked at me, and I saw that he did not like to hear the +name of Don Augusto. For a minute I was frightened--he had terrible +eyes when he was angry. 'How do you know that?' he asked me. + +"I would not tell him--we have ways of knowing things--and he got +angrier, and struck me. It made my eye black, but I did not care. +He was my teniente, any way, and he had been drinking. Next day I +was glad of it, for Don Isidro came to dinner, and he looked at my +eye. Often, when he thought no one saw him, he looked at it. Then I +had an idea. My teniente was very short with me, because he was +sorry, and Don Isidro was so young it was not hard to make him think +that I was angry with my teniente. I scowled at him all the time +behind his back; you know how. + +"After a few days Don Isidro met me in the _plaza_ and said: 'Fermin, +I am very sorry that the teniente struck you.' + +"'Why are you sorry, Señor?' I asked him. + +"'Because,' he said, 'the teniente is a friend of mine, and I hope +that no harm will come to him. I have heard that a Macabebe never +forgives a blow, but I hope you will be patient.' + +"What a fool that young Isidro was! I looked very hard in his eyes, +and I said, 'If a Macabebe forgives a blow as easily as a Bisayan +forgets the death of his _pariente_, there is no danger for your +friend--from me.' + +"He looked at me, and all at once his lips twitched, and I knew I had +him. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a little paper. +'Fermin,' he said, 'there is a sleeping-powder. The teniente will +not strike you again if you do not wish it.' + +"That young fool knew nothing at all, like a baby! I took the paper +home and my teniente and I gave some of it to a monkey. The monkey +curled up and died, very quick. That was at night, and my teniente +stood for a while and looked at the dead monkey and the paper. And +he laughed just the way he did the morning the guard led in Don +Augusto. + +"Next morning I was putting the breakfast on the table, and my +teniente was standing at the window of the sola, looking down at the +_plaza_. And all at once I heard him laugh, not very loud, and he +called: 'Hoy, Don Isidro! Have the complacency to come up, amigo. I +have news for you.' And soon Don Isidro came up. + +"Jesus Maria, he was a _pisaverde_ that morning! White coat and +breeches, and high boots of black leather, and silver spurs, and long +gloves of soft white leather. + +"'Have the good-heartedness to share my poor breakfast,' my teniente +said, and Don Isidro sat down, and they ate till I had no patience +left. But at last Don Isidro pushed away his plate and leaned back +in his chair and said, 'Now, teniente mio, what is this wonderful +news?' + +"My teniente pushed back his chair and offered his cigarette-case to +Don Isidro. 'Take a long one, I beg,' he said. + +"So Don Isidro selected an _entrelargos_, and I held a match for him, +and then he smiled at my teniente through the smoke, and said: 'Our +news, _amigo mio_. I die of suspense.' + +"My teniente put the little packet which Don Isidro had given me on +the table, and he looked at Don Isidro. I think the young fool knew +then that the game was finished. But he was a brave one, I will say +that, if he was a fool. He looked at the packet, and he looked at +the teniente, and he looked at me and said, 'Traitor!' + +"'As you were, Fermin,' my teniente commanded me. 'Let me urge you +as a friend, Don Isidro, to smoke slowly and without excitement, for +when that cigarette is finished you will be finished.' + +"Don Isidro's hand trembled a little, but he was not afraid. 'My +compliments, Señor Teniente,' he said. 'You win again. Have our +traitor bring a little water, and when I am done smoking I will take +the sleeping-powder.' + +"'I am sorry,' said my teniente, 'but a monkey ate it. And it would +be unlawful to help you to commit suicide, anyway. Fermin, tell +Raymundo to buckle on his revolver and be ready to escort Don Isidro +down to--San Pablo.' + +"'_Dispensa_, mi teniente,' I said. 'Does one ask a Macabebe to kill +his officer, and call him a traitor, for nothing?' + +"My teniente looked at me, and laughed. 'Get your own revolver then, +Fermin,' he said. + +"When I came back, Don Isidro's cigarette was very short. They both +stood up, and my teniente said: '_Adios_, Don Isidro. An easy +journey to you in Fermin's friendly company, and a welcome in--San +Pablo. Remember me particularly to your _pariente_, Don Augusto. I +need not tell _you_, Fermin, that you must be very careful that he +does not escape.' + +"'I will be very careful, mi teniente,' I said, and we went away, and +my teniente never knew that I made Don Isidro carry along a spade I +saw in the guard-room. One does not call a Macabebe a traitor for +nothing.... There is no more wood, and it gets late and cold. Shall +we sleep, or will you hear the rest of my story while our fire dies? + +"_Bueno_. I will not be long. Some of this story got out, not much, +for only I and my teniente knew it all, but it frightened the other +Americans, and they said my teniente was crazy. _Sangre de Diós_! +He was not crazy then, but only one of God's own little devils. He +was crazy afterwards, perhaps, but they made him so. Listen while I +tell you what they did to him. + +"There is a little place very far back in the hills, Santo Spirito +they call it, where the _frailes_ used to go for a retreat. There is +nothing there, just a big convent of stone where no one lives, and a +few little dirty houses, and the mountains behind, and the jungle all +around, and the only people are lazy Bisayanos who do no work and are +half drunk with opium. And they sent my teniente there to eat his +heart! + +"Oh, he was brave! He was very brave, but there was nothing to do. +That's why they sent us there; they knew we could do no harm. The +mountain was empty, and there was no one in the jungle, and the +people of Santo Spirito were too lazy to be bad. But he was brave; +he made work. We drilled long every day, and we made a parade-ground +of the _plaza_ in front of the convent, with culverts of concrete at +the corners to carry off the water in the rainy season. That took +many hours. But always there was the evening coming, when my +teniente had to sit in the big _sola_, with the rats and the lizards +squealing above him, and drink and drink and drink, and wait for the +time when he could sleep. + +"Hoy, that drinking! It frightened me, and I spoke to him about it. +I could always speak to him, until the very end. He laughed at me. +'Give me something else to do, then,' he said. 'Shall I go and say a +mass in the chapel?' + +"So he would sit and drink aguardiente for hours, and look at his +boots. Sometimes he would be like himself for a little while, and +then he would go for a ride, or shoot some bottles from my hand. But +not for long. One day his hand was not steady, and he shot too +close--Aí, mi teniente! He just dropped the revolver on the ground +and said, 'That's the end of it at last, Fermin,' and he walked back +to the convent, and his shoulders were like the shoulders of an old +man. + +"After that he went out no more, and I took my blankets into his room +and slept on the floor, and all night long I could hear him tossing +on his cot. Sometimes he would say, 'Are you there, Fermin?' and I +would say, 'I am always here, mi teniente,' and then he would rest +for a little while. + +"But one night I woke and he was not on his cot. I got up to look +and he came in from the balcony--there was one of those closed +balconies all around the convent, outside the rooms--and he was +dressed in his full uniform, and had his two revolvers and his +shotgun. He did not seem to see me. + +"'Mi teniente!' I said. + +"He looked where I was, and still he did not seem to see me. 'Keep a +good lookout,' he said. 'They may come at any time.' He went out +into the balcony again, and I could hear his feet--tramp, tramp, very +slow--while he went down to the far end and came back on the other +side. + +"Aí, but I was scared! We were all scared, for every night after +that we could hear his feet, and he never seemed to see us, but +sometimes he would call: 'On guard, there! They may come at any +time.' We were all scared, but we did all we could, if we were +frightened. Not one of us ran away, not even that baby José. + +"And then the end came, the end of the game for my teniente. Five +days I brought his food and he never touched it, only drank +aguardiente instead. And five nights, all night long, we heard him +marching round and round the balcony, with his two revolvers and his +shotgun. The last night I was so tired that I fell asleep. I do not +know how long I slept, but all at once I heard my teniente call +'Halt!' and then I heard him laugh, and then his feet, quick, as if +he ran, and then a crash on the ground outside. I ran, and some of +the guard ran, and we found him lying on the flagstones of the patio, +dead where he had fallen. + +"That is the way they killed my teniente,--my teniente who might have +been Governor-General of the world if they had let him play the game. +He was not afraid of the end of it. Even when he was crazy, and +heard the enemies we could not see coming, he only laughed and ran +out to meet them." + +A last ember of the fire flamed up, and Fermin Majusay turned his +face quickly from the telltale light. "It was a long story," he +said, and loosened his revolver in the holster. "Sleep without fear, +Señor," he said. "No one will trouble us while I am here." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE LITTLE MAN + +It would be hard to say whether the porter or I was most bewildered +by our meeting, for I, mind you, had made a long journey on the +mountain with Fermin Majusay, looking for a certain butterfly you +wouldn't be interested in, and had spent a whole night by the fire +which Fermin made, while the porter had only to go to the other end +of the courtyard of the temple of Tzin Piaôu with his water-jug. Yet +we returned from our respective errands at the same moment, and met +at the door of my heathen tutor's cell! The porter came within an +ace of letting the jug fall, and I dare say I should have done the +same thing, if I had had a jug. + +The old gentleman looked up at Nang and me, and into us, and through +us, with eyes that smiled into vacancy, and at that moment, I think, +I first began to entertain some doubts of his complete benevolence. + +"Well, Nang," purred the old gentleman from his slab, "what's the +matter with you?" + +"Holy One," stammered the porter, "not two pipes ago I let this +gentleman out to go on a long journey. And here he is. And he has +not come back, for I barred the gate behind him." + +"Oh, well, Nang, what difference does that make?" purred the Holy +One, soothingly. "You may go now." + +The porter went away, shaking his head and muttering, and my heathen +priest and I were left alone together. + +"And have you had," said he, raising himself a little on his hollowed +slab, "an easy and a pleasant journey?" + +"I did not go for pleasure," I answered sulkily, for I felt that he +was mocking me. + +"Ah, yes," he answered quickly, "it was for instruction. I forgot. +And did you gain instruction from my Little Gods?" + +"This time you sent me," I reminded him, "to see some Little Devils." + +The spark in his eyes flickered into flame again. "Did I!" he +murmured, purringly as a cat. "How I keep forgetting. But after +all, it's merely a matter of names. Did you like what you saw?" + +"No," I answered bluntly, "I did not. Your Little Gods, or your +Little Devils, whatever you choose to call them, seem to me the +veriest fiends. And cowardly fiends, at that. They catch men like +rats, in traps, and drown them, helpless, as men drown rats." + +"My son," purred my old heathen priest, "I wouldn't call them +cowards, if I were you. They might not like it." + +"Like it or not," said I, hotly, "they are cowards, if what I've seen +of them is a fair sample of their ways. Do they never give a man a +fair chance, in the open, to fight for his life, and for things +dearer to him than life?" + +"For life and things dearer than life," echoed my old heathen priest, +and yawned, ever so slightly, and stretched his old legs out on his +slab. "Dear me, I don't see why they shouldn't. Though of course I +know nothing about it. Suppose," he suggested, "you look that up for +yourself. I dislike to seem selfish, but really this is an hour +which I invariably devote to a nap." + +He made a little imperative, dismissing gesture with his hand, and-- + +"An' this," says big Terry Clancy, reaching over and getting a grip +on the little man's collar, "this is our Scuts, the married man." + +I never served in a company yet--and I've served in so many, first +and last, that I'll never do anything else--I never served in a +company yet that didn't have a bully and a fool in it. You can +always tell them. No one ever dares to cuss out the bully, and +somebody is all the time cussin' out the fool. In the old company +the bully was Clancy, relieving me, as Special Orders says. We had +some argument about it at first, being about of a size and the +biggest men there, but Terry was younger than me, and he relieved me. +The fool was a poor little yellow dog that we called Scuts. I don't +even remember his name. He was the most helpless, discouraged, +weak-eyed little _hombre_ the sun ever dodged behind a cloud to keep +from shining on. Worse than that, he had cold feet. All through the +China campaign he was so scared he needn't have been afraid at all. +A bullet couldn't hit such a little wrinkled, pinched-up thing as he +was, even if it wanted to. But of course he got it worse than if +he'd been just plain fool. The company don't stand for cold feet. + +Even the officers got to jollyin' about him. "The little man," the +Captain always called him. "H'm," grunts the Captain, the day we was +getting it so bad in front of Tientsin. One of them club-footed +Chinese bullets had just bored through his leg, and it looked like +he'd bleed to death before the Doctor could fix him up. "H'm. +Artery gone, you say? Where's the little man? He's just about the +size to crawl in and hang onto it till you're ready to tie it. H'm." + +It was the boys telling that to each other, and the Old Man's sending +down the line afterwards to know if anybody had the makings of a +cigarette, that kept the company from breaking that day, I reckon. +We got it hard. If the Old Man had been with us after that, Scuts +would sure have had to go. But he being in hospital, the Lieutenant +just took the whole outfit with him, the part that could walk, +anyway, and Scuts went back to Manila with us, and down to Samar. + +"An' this," says Terry, picking Scuts off the bench and shaking him +careless, like he was a rag baby, "is the idol of his company, the +bold bad soldier lad that won the heart an' tuba-stand of the +prettiest little brown girl in Samar. Boys," says he, spinning the +little man round with a thumb and finger in the back of his neck, +"let me present the husband of the beauteous Marie. Bow to the +gentlemen, Scutsy." + +"Aw, lemme go, Terry," says Scuts, blushing pink inside of his yellow +skin, and grinning like a puppy that's just been kicked. "Aw, you +lemme go." + +"You set down, Scuts," says Terry, spinning him round again and +laying him on the bench. "Set down an' tell us all about it. Give +us a tip. We're all wantin' to know how you did it. We might want +to get married ourselves some day." + +"Aw, you gwan," says Scuts, twistin' round, with that little damp +grin of his. "You're joshin' me." + +"Man," says Terry, "'tis no josh. Honor bright, we're all envyin' +you gettin' a fine pretty little girl like that. Eh, Casey?" he says +to me. + +"Straight goods," says I. "The little man pulled down a cold hand +that deal." + +"Hear that, Scutsy?" says Terry. "Come on, now, and tell us about +it." + +"Aw," says Scuts, throwing a chest as big around as my arm, and +twisting a few white hairs on his upper lip, which was his way of +wagging his tail, "Aw," he says, "Marie, aw--I kind of helped her +keepin' her books, y' know, showin' her how to spell the boys' names +an' all that business, an' we got to be pretty good friends. An' one +day she says to me, 'Scuts, all the girls but me has got American +man, an' they laugh at me,' she says. 'Scuts, I want a 'Merican man +myself.' 'All right,' I says, never thinkin' of myself, 'I'll tell +the boys.' 'Scuts,' she says, 'I got plenty _dinero_ sellin' _tuba_ +to the boys, an' I likes you. You be my man.' Aw," says Scuts, +twistin' the hairs, "I looked at her, an' I seen she was pretty +fair-lookin', so I says, 'All right, Marie.' An' I ain't ashamed of +it, neither," says Scuts, looking round with his big blue eyes, as +the crowd begins to laugh. "She's 'bout th' nicest girl in this +town, I reckon," Scuts says. + +"Scuts, you gobble the pot," says Terry, twisting him off the bench. +"You run along to Marie right now, an' tell her to be sure and wrap a +blanket round you before she puts you to bed. Wouldn't that beat +hell, now," he says to us, watching the little man trot off +down-town. "They're all alike," he says. "Give a white one fifty +plunks to buy a dog, an' she'll come back with a blear-eyed, +knock-kneed pug, and give a brown one a chance at th' company, an' +she picks out Scuts. Marie's a good, girl, too. That's th' worst of +it. Th' better they are th' less they know," says Terry, "an' by th' +time they get all th' _sabe_ they need, nobody'd take th'm for a +gift. Who's comin' over in th' grove an' drink a cocoanut?" + +This was along before Balangiga, and things were running easy, the +Old Man being still in hospital, and the Lieutenant being only a boy. +A straight boy he was, but not sure yet how he ought to take us. The +country was quiet and the people friendly as bugs, and we got +careless. About half the boys was sleepin' out of quarters off and +on, and the Top didn't say anything. I don't blame him. Of course +me and Terry and a lot of other old-timers didn't go in for that way +of doing business, but it's different with a boy. The only home he +has while he's in the service is the kind he can make by hanging up +his hat and ordering the drinks, and he takes it pretty rough if you +don't let him have that in a place like the Philippines. So we went +drifting along with only two sentries posted, and the quarters half +empty every night, never looking for any trouble. + +But one afternoon Scuts came trotting in, looking as yellow as +Durham, and had a _hablar_ with the Top, and then they both went +across to the Lieutenant's quarters. They didn't come out till just +before Assembly went for Retreat, and we smelled something. Sure +enough, orders was read to keep magazines loaded, carry two hundred +rounds in the belt, and not be absent from quarters between sunset +and sunrise. Soon as we were dismissed, we got after Scuts. + +"The natives had it fixed to rush us at night," he says. "Marie +tipped me off. She told me not to be out of quarters to-night, an' +th' Top, he figured out the rest," says Scuts, shortsighting, you +might say, out into the underbrush as if he expected to see a gang of +bolomen, and holding tight to his rifle. + +"An' th' lady, she had another friend," sings out Piggy O'Neil. The +crowd laughs, and Scuts turns a dirty pink again. + +"Aw," he says, "she wouldn't tell me no lie. She's a good straight +girl." + +Then we began to debate it, the way we always do in the Army, if it's +only a question of how far it is from New York to the moon, and +finally everybody called everybody else a liar and we went to sleep. + +In the morning everything was quiet and peaceful, so after drill the +crowd was beginning to jolly Scuts for fair, when the operator stuck +his head out of the window. + +"Come up here, some of you, for God's sake," he says, and we didn't +stop to ask questions. He was bending over his ticker, white as a +sheet. "I'm a fool, all right," he says, "but this is sure gettin' +on my nerve. There was a message started to go through from +Balangiga ten minutes ago, and all to once-- Hear that!" he says. +The machine gave a jerky little chatter. "It's like a man sendin' in +his sleep," says the operator. "For ten mortal minutes that thing +has been stuttering halves of words." + +"Who is it?" asks Terry. + +"Murphy's sendin'," says the operator. + +"Then he's jokin' with ye," says Terry. "Billy always was a great +hand for his--" + +"Huh?" grunts the operator, bending over, as she begun to stutter +again. + +"What's he saying?" somebody asked, but the operator didn't seem to +hear him. Then all at once he began to talk in a voice that didn't +belong to him. + +"Balangiga," he read, "seven-ten A.M. Company--attacked +by--bolomen--while at--breakfast. Rifles in quarters. Fought +with--dishes and--knives and forks--but--no good--" + +[Illustration: "_Fought with--dishes and--knives and forks._"] + +"God!" says somebody, and a dozen say, "Shut up." + +But the operator didn't seem to mind. "Look out for--yourselves," he +read. And then he begun to call out a list of names, very slow, and +between each one you could hear the crowd draw a long breath. +"Sullivan--Brewster--Fleishart--Nickerson--" + +"Is that Tommy Nickerson?" says somebody. + +"Shut up," says Terry. + +"But Tommy was my bunky for three--" + +"--Slavin--" reads the operator--"Kelly--Hunt--" and so he goes on, +Terry checking off till we thought he never would stop. +"Fourty-five, fourty-six, fourty-seven, fourty-eight," he says. Then +the machine stopped talking. "That's all," says Terry. +"Fourty-eight good men that they've killed--" + +"Huh?" grunts the man again, and then the machine began to click very +slow, and the operator's eyes bulged out of his head. "Murphy!" he +says. "Christ," he says, "it can't be Murphy. Murphy's sendin'. +Billy," he says, jabbing at his key and then listening. The machine +clicked once or twice and then stopped. The operator turns round to +us. "It's Billy," he says. "Billy's been sendin' this, an' he's +dead." The big fellow just dropped down on his table and cried. + +We looked at him and we looked at each other, and then we went +down-stairs on tiptoe, like there was a dyin' man in the house. +"Fourty-nine," says Terry, whispering like--"fourty-nine men of the +regiment killed at breakfast, with no show to help themselves. God! +And we might a got the same thing only--Scuts," he says, "where's +that little woman o' yours?" + +"Warn't she straight?" says Scuts, throwing his chest. + +"You poor fool," Terry shouts, "go and get her up here before those +devils suspect she told us. Take your rifle, damn you," he says, as +the little man trotted off. "Fourty-nine o' them killed fightin' +with their mess-kits. God!" + +Just as we was getting into our kits, Scuts comes back. "I can't +find her," he says. "I ast her mother, an' she just grinned at me," +he says, staring out of the window as if he expects to see her there. +"I can't find her," he says. "Terry, do you s'pose--" + +"Scuts," Terry yells at him, "you get ready to go out on this patrol +with us. Do you hear, or have I got to bat you?" he says, like he +meant it. + +We scouted down through the town, the people smiling at us just as +friendly as ever, and never a sign of Marie could we get. So we +swung out through the paddies and circled the town, coming back +toward the quarters through the grove of cocoa-palms. The Lieutenant +was on the point, and all at once he stopped short. We pushed up, +and there, tied to a big palm-tree, was something I've tried hard to +forget. 'Twouldn't have been so bad if she had just been dead, but +all at once she-- + +"They cut her all to pieces an' it didn't kill her," says Scuts, +surprised like. + +The Lieutenant pulls his gun. "Right or wrong, I can't stand that," +he says, and fires. + +The little man never flinched at the report. "They cut her all to +pieces, an' it didn't kill her," he says again, kind of like a +phonograph. + +"You get out of here, Scuts," says Terry, grabbing him by the +shoulder and whirling him round. + +"You leave me be," whines the little man. "God!" he says. "Cut her +like that, an' it didn't kill her! An' her such a soft little +thing--" + +"Damn you, Scuts," says Terry, "will you cut it out, or have I got to +break your head?" + +"Aw, you lemme alone," whines Scuts, meek as ever. "I'm a goin', +ain't I?" And he turns and trots back to quarters, never saying +another word. + +When we told the boys, there was cursing like you won't hear often +outside the service, but after Terry had took them out in the grove +in squads of half a dozen, they just stopped talking and sat down +quiet in the sun, cleaning their rifles and looking at the town over +across the parade. All at once, a rifle cracked, and a native over +there cut for cover like a hen. The Lieutenant came running down. + +"Whose gun was that?" he asks. + +Old John Slattery, the oldest man in the company, with twenty-eight +years in, gets up slow and stiff, and salutes. "Mine, sir," he says. +"I was workin' the cartridges out of the magazine, an' she must've +gone off accidental." + +The boy just looks at us for about a minute. "The next one of you +that fires a shot without orders," he says, "will stand up against +the convent wall there in front of a squad, if I'm the only man in +the squad. When the time comes," he says, "you'll have all the +shooting you want. Until then, you'll leave the natives alone, or +you'll have to kill me." + +It was hard holding in, thinking of Marie over there among the +palm-trees, and the boys in Balangiga, and Billy Murphy making his +little speech over the wire; but the Lieutenant was right, and when +the orders did come, we didn't have any kick coming about the way he +let us carry them out. It was the roughest little old fighting I've +ever been through. + +You'd naturally thought the little man would brace up and get into +it, after seeing what he'd seen. But he just got peakeder and meeker +every day. Seemed like he was half asleep, and only woke up long +enough to talk about his dreams. And his talk was enough to drive +you loco. + +One night we'd just come into camp, when Terry pitched his rifle away +and dug for his boot as fast as he could. "Damn that ant," he says. +"Who'd think a little thing like that could bite worse'n a good big +horse-fly?" + +"Terry," says Scuts, "how do you reckon it feels to have millions of +red ants crawlin' all over you, an' you all cut an'--" + +"Damn you, Scuts," says Terry, reaching for him and cuffing him, +"will you shut up?" + +At last one day we ran into them in full force in a little meadow +that was broken up with clumps of bamboo and tall grass. We started +firing in close order, for it's dangerous to get spread out in +country like that, when you're fighting men with knives. But after a +while, them rushing first one side of the line and then the other, +and us getting after them with the bayonet, we opened out. Finally +we got 'em going just like we wanted 'em, in bunches. We'd fire as +they ran till they had to drop into cover, and then we'd rush 'em +with the bayonet and butt. It was the easiest sort of going, more +like chasing rabbits than men, and when the recall blowed we had only +five men missing, Scuts among them. The Lieutenant sent out half a +dozen of us to hunt them up, and in a little hollow, 'way ahead of +where anybody else had gone, we found the little man lying curled up +on his face looking comfortable, the way a man that's been killed +quick most always does. Around him there was a heap of dead natives, +no wounded ones. Terry turned him over. He had a bolo in his hand, +and he was smiling his little weak-eyed smile. + +"The son of a gun!" says Terry, gulping. "The damn little son of a +gun! What the hell are you fellers standin' there for?" he says to +us, picking up the little man and laying him over his shoulder. +"There's four other lads you've got to find before sundown." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A LITTLE RIPPLE OF PATRIOTISM + +"You are bold, my son, at any rate," murmured my heathen priest, +blandly smiling through me into vacancy. "The last man to knock at +the gate of Tzin Piaôu with his foot, found the foot grown fast to +the stone. They had to cut it off to set him free. That must have +been a hundred years ago, more or less. I forget. The foot, with +the gate-post attached to it, is standing in the Great Hall of the +Images. Relic, you know. It's rather interesting, it's so out of +the common run of relics. You might like to glance at it?" + +"No, indeed," I said hastily. Something in my old gentleman's +blandness was anything but reassuring. "I beg Tzin Piaôu's pardon, I +am sure," said I. "And," said I, pulling out my purse, "if in my +hurry I was unfortunate enough to injure the door in any way, I'd be +more than glad--" + +"Not at all, not at all," my old gentleman assured me. "It's a very +solid door, indeed." + +"I'm so glad of that," said I, putting up my purse. + +"Still," purred the old gentleman thoughtfully, "of course one can +never tell just how a god may feel about irreverence. In cases of +doubt, the small precaution of an offering--" + +I handed him a piece of gold, and he stowed it away, very carefully, +in his girdle, just over the pit of his stomach. "My son," he said +benignantly, "through me, his representative, T'zin Piaôu deigns to +thank you and assure you that all is forgotten." + +Receiving the thanks of a god was such an unwonted experience to me +that I was not sure I could acknowledge them in proper form. So I +bowed, and held my tongue. There are worse moves, in tight places, +for one who can bow with dignity. + +"And now, my son," said my old gentleman, poking subconsciously with +the forefinger of his right hand at a hard spot just over his +stomach, "tell me what has put you out. For you are put out." + +"It's your infernal Little Gods," said I, boldly. "I'm sick of them." + +"My infernal Little Gods!" he murmured. "What a curious conjunction +of contradictory terms. And so you are sick of them. Why?" + +"Their taste seems to run wholly to Tragedy," I complained, "and such +dingy Tragedy. And such unnecessary Tragedy. How they do work to +entangle some childish negro giant, some weak simpleton of a common +soldier--" + +My old gentleman yawned, hard as he strove to conceal the fact. "You +must excuse me," he purred, when he saw that I had seen, "but really, +at this hour-- Suppose," he suggested, sinking back on his slab, +"you watch a Farce or two, by way of change. How will that do?" + +"If you think there are any Farces in the Orient," I said doubtfully, +"I'm sure I'd be very glad--" + +"It's easy to find out," said he, and moved his hand a little, and--I +heard a voice speaking, an even, drawling, dryly humorous voice. +This is what it said. + + +"Want passes, eh? Twelve-hour passes? H'm," says the Captain. Me +and Big Terry Clancy and three or four others was standin' up in +front of him with three months' pay in our blouses, lookin' pleasant +and harmless for a fare-ye-well. "H'm," he says, "you're a fine +bunch. Can you remember you're in Maniller now, not Samar?" + +"We can, sir," says Terry. + +"H'm. Take your mouth out fr'm under your chin, Clancy," says th' +Old Man. "It looks better. H'm. Well, go along with ye, and if ye +get into trouble ast th' Lord to have mercy on your crazy heads, for +ye know well by this time that I won't," he says. + +With that he signs the passes, an' that's where he let us all in for +it. Yes, sir, me and Terry an' th' Old Man and the Regiment and the +Little Brown Brother and the C.G. all had ours comin' right then, +on'y we didn't know about it, not yet. We thought we was just +homeward bound, and we wanted a little fun with Maniller to make up +for the deeprivations of the Samar campaign. We got it all right. + +"H'm," says the Captain, dealin' us the passes. "I'm sorry f'r +Maniller, but ye have earned a little reelaxation. Don't forget +you're f'r guard to-morrer, Casey," he says to me, an' we saluted an' +hit th' trail. + +Terry and me clumb into a two-wheeled chicken-coop wagon outside the +Barracks, and th' horse not bein' only boy's size we lifted him by +th' slings, th' pair of us, and just naturally wandered on tiptoe +down to th' New Bridge. They give you th' biggest schooner of San +Magill f'r your _peseta_ there. New Bridge is th' name. Anybody can +tell you. + +We had some beers, and then we went across to Mrs. Smith's, and got a +steak that never seen a tin can, and then we went back to the New +Bridge and met up with some more of th' Army. There was an +Engineer't could deal himself th' coldest hand of talk I ever bucked +up against, and two Coast Artillerys, and a Marine, an Irishman named +Schleimacher, that Clancy remembered helpin' to stuff a jade idol +into his blouse, up in Peking those happy days. Maybe there was +others. I don't remember. + +I don't remember a whole lot of things about that day. Some way, the +beer was cold, and along in the middle of th' afternoon my thoughts +got to herdin' close, an' it was more'n I could do to cut some of +th'm out of th' bunch an' read th' brands on th'm. There must a been +strays around, too, for all of-a sudden I got to cryin' about me dear +ould mither an' th' little cabin--_Me_! I was born in Springfield, +Massachusetts, in a tenement, and I pulled my freight for Arizona as +soon as I could walk. But I sure was cryin' about that thought, +whoever it belonged to, and the Engineer ast me what th' trouble was, +and I told on myself. + +"Gentlemen o' France," says he--I ain't quotin' him exact, f'r I'm no +college graduate--"Gentlemen o' France, and Ireland, what say you to +charterin' a couple of wagons, large, glad wagons with rubber tires, +and carryin' our brother out to refresh his homesick eyes on th' +emerald, sunburnt sod of th' Luneta, whilst Professor Lovering's +gu-gu band flirts with sweet music and we watches th' sunset glow on +Mariveles?" + +Yes, sir, right off'n th' bat he showed down a hand of talk like +that, all aces an' better. It fazed us f'r a minute. He was a warm +boy, that Engineer. But old Terry was game. + +"Son of th' pick-axe an' th' thebobolite," he says, startin' to play +up, "lead on," he says, "that is--if--if ye mean go to th' band +concert, we're with ye while th' money lasts," he finishes, winded. + +So we gets a couple of victoriers, two horses apiece, footmen and +all, and strikes for th' Luneta, makin' full as much show as any +civilian clerk in th' Q.M.D. More, maybe, f'r that Irishman +Schleimacher wants to put his feet up on th' box. We tried to make +him ride decent, but th' Engineer butted in. "Let him be," he says. +"Otherwise what's th' use of th' footman, anyway?" So Sly kep' them +up there, and I reckon we attracted a lot of attention that didn't +cost us a cent. + +By the time we got out there by the beach, th' air had cleared up my +head some, and I sat up and began to take notice. And about the +first thing I noticed hard was Terry. He'd quit talkin', an' there +was a hell uv a disdainful look on that two-foot face of his, and he +took off his hat to the flagpole when we went by it, second trip +round. I'd ought to have stopped th' game right then. There's two +kinds of Irish, if y' ever noticed,--common wild ones that generally +has the luck to meet Old Trouble when she comes marchin' down th' +street, comp'ny front; and th' fancy kind that could recruit a whole +bunch o' trouble right in th' middle of Paco bone-heap. Terry's that +last kind, and when he gets low-spirited and patriotic and full of +beer, it's time to hunt for the tall and uncut. + +Well, the band kep' on a playin', an' th' sun kep' on a settin' and +we kep' on a drivin' round and round that mangy bunch o' grass, and +ev'ry trip Terry got glummer and glummer. After a while, he says to +me: "Look at th' pretty ladies, Casey, all th' pretty ladies in white +dresses an' talcum powder, if not worse. An' spot th' gay young +grafters in th' morgidged rigs. You and me can't speak to th' likes +of them, Casey. We're nothin' but soldiers. That's all. Just +soldiers, gettin' it in th' neck for fifteen-sixty per. Oh, hell!" +he says, and spits hard and straight at a swell native in white +clothes, that was waitin' for us to pass, "Look at him with shoes on, +like a white man! Ain't there a ripple o' patriotism in th' whole +damned outfit? There's th' old flag flyin' up above th'm, an' they +never think of it. Just ride around and flirt with each other, and +let natives walk around with shoes on, like white men. They make me +sick. I'm on'y a soldier, an' I suppose th' Army is th' on'y place +f'r lads like me and you--" he says. + +He's ready to cry, an' th' Engineer butts in to change th' subjick. + +"So say our long-suffering parents and sweethearts," he says. + +"Pontoons," says Terry, talkin' fr'm about an inch below his +stummick, "you're a lively lad with y'r tongue, but ye lack dep'. I +ain't known ye long, an' I hope I ain't to know ye much longer, but I +can see ye lack more dep' 'n any man I ever met. There's moments in +th' life of a real man ye couldn't no more understand 'n a Chinese +storekeeper. An' this is one of th'm," he says, pullin' his hat down +over his eyes. + +He didn't say no more, but when th' nigger band struck up th' +Umpty-dee-he-hee-_heee_ music, to show it was all over now, Terry got +up slow and stiff, and threw a chest and squeezed his hat to his left +breast and stood there in th' rig, lookin' considerable like some +gen'rals you and me've seen. He kep' on standin' there after th' +music had stopped, and after a while it got tiresome, and th' +Engineer told th' _cochero_ to _sigue_ ahead. + +"_Hindi!_" says Terry. "Don't you believe it. You're like all th' +rest," he says to us, plumb disgusted. "You call yourselves +soldiers, and all you think about is just chow. Chow, at a moment +like this! There ain't a ripple of patriotism in the whole bunch of +ye big enough to grease a twenty-two cartridge." And he made us drive +up and down th' Malecon twice in th' moonlight before he'd go to +supper. + +While we was chowin', he kep' gettin' grumper an' grumper, and after +supper, when th' Engineer wanted to be gettin' back to quarters--he +was livin' over'n old Santiaygo--Terry just busted loose. + +"Pontoons," he says, "I t'ought you was a man. You're big enough f'r +one. Run away an' join th' Naytional Guard. Go an' be a +pinkety-pink Vol'nteer, an' tell th' nurs'ry-sergeant not to wake you +up without your p'rmission. Go an' dog-rob f'r a c'mission. Go an' +do this an' do that," he says, thinkin' up a whole lot of places f'r +th' Engineer to go, till fin'lly he got so ugly-ugly we took him into +th' New Bridge again, and bought him a drink to calm him down. + +It didn't do no good. He kep' one eye on his glass an' th' other on +the Engineer, an' slung hot air till you wouldn't think a big guy +like that would stand f'r it. But th' Engineer just grins and drinks +his beer. + +"Gentlemen," he says, "gentlemen and friend Clancy, there's a +hard-hearted son of Plymouth Rock commands th' comp'ny that'll be +roundin' up all th' poor little devils to check roll-call six times a +day before he's been dead a month. He'll mult me a month's pay f'r +missin' Retreat to-night--not that th' pleasure of enjoyin' you ain't +worth th' price," he says to Terry, "but I might just as well miss +Taps now, an' get a month in th' jug besides. What's th' use of +freedom without money? To-night we have both, and we'll pour them +out like blood, to soothe th' feelin's of a friend whose heart is sad +to think th' flag which decked his cradle now floats over th' +school-houses of th' brave but ex-tremely eelusive Fillypeeners." + +Terry's mouth sort of hung open when th' Engineer struck his pace, +but he brightened up quick as he got on to the drift of it. + +"Ye read my feelin's like a _padre_," he says to him, "an' I like +your build. If you was on'y in th' comp'ny, it's many a fight we'd +have together, an' we may have one even yet. Here's lookin' at ye! +You're a soldier, you are, and a gentleman. Here's how." + +Of course we had a beer on the Engineer after that, and two on the +Coast Artillerys, who'd been sayin' little all day and drinkin' +hearty. Th' poor devils get that way, bein' stationed mostly near +big cities like Portland, Maine, an' Guam, where chanstes are few +since th' Christian Temp'rance persons got their strangle-holt. And +then our A.O.H. friend, Schleimacher, sets them up an' says: +"Fellers, a sailor like me--" + +"Don't you miscall yourself; you're more of soldier than a heap of +th' muts I herd with," says Terry, takin' a sling at us, "but ye do +loot like a sailor," he says. + +"I'm a soldier at sea, all right," says th' Marine. "I'm seasick as +an Army Transport ev'ry trip. I was talkin' when you butted in. A +sailor like me don't have many look-ins f'r what you might call +reefined amusements. Cavite's mostly give up to drill an' +cock-fights. I moves we all go to a nigger theayter to-night, where +there's sure to be plenty doin', such as it is." + +We went, victoriers and all, and Old Trouble must a been howlin' f'r +joy to see us comin'. When we got there, there was a big crowd +outside, and we got wedged up against one of th' stands where th' +girls sell bananas and cigarettes an' such truck. One of th'm--a +pretty good-lookin' girl she was, too--smiles at Terry, and he opens +up a conversation, and fin'lly he says to me: "'Tis a long time since +I've et a hard-boiled egg. I'm goin' to have a couple if they're +fresh. + +"_Frescoes?_" he asts, pointin' to the eggs. "_Wavoes frescoes?_" +_Fresco_ means cool in common bamboo Spanish, but he was usin' a +private Castilian brand of his own. "_Wavoes frescoes?_" he asts. +"Is the eggs cool?" Th' girl laughs. + +"_Como helados, chiquito mio_," she says, laughin'. "Like ice, my +honey-bunch," she says. + +"Give me two, then, an' keep th' change," says Terry. "_Dos_! +You're a neat little gu-gu," he says, holdin' up his two fingers. + +He broke one of his eggs, and he dropped it quick. + +"Ye little merrocker-leather daughter o' sin and shame," he says to +th' girl--I ain't quotin' _him_ exact neither--"ye little +two-f'r-a-cent bunch o' calicker," he says, mixin' in some other +words on the side, "bein' a lady, I can't say what I think of you, +but it ain't such a hell uv a much. Don't ye grin at _me_! I might +have _et_ that! If it had on'y knowed enough to _peep_," he says to +us, "it needn't never have got boiled alive. _Wavoes frescoes_! +Damn a country where a pretty girl will lie to you f'r half a cent. +I'll keep th' other one till I'm sure hungry," he says, an' slips his +other egg into his pocket. + +He kep' on mutterin' to himself while he was squeezin' up to th' +little window, and a good tight squeeze we had. Y' see, old Ma +Trouble[1] had c'llected a special crowd f'r the occasion, but we +never noticed that. We just hiked ahead, and havin' plenty of +money--though little of it was left by that time--we bought a box, +and went in. + + +[1] It is interesting to note that Private Casey himself seems half +aware that some maliciously mirthful over-power is concerned in his +adventures. But why does he feminize it? + + +Maybe you've never been in a gu-gu theayter. Th' floor is th' +ground, an' that's the orchestray. Around that runs a row of boxes +without any fronts or backs or tops or sides. Behind them is th' +balcony. Well, we swell guys pikes up to our box and starts in to be +th' real thing. In one of them theayters you want to keep your hat +on till th' curtain rises, an' smoke cigarettes an' look round at th' +women. They expects it. That was easy f'r us, an' th' Engineer gets +up a two-handed game of eyes with a chocolate-colored dame that +begins to look entanglin'. But Terry broke it up. + +"Turn round," he says. "Cut it out. She'll be settin' in your lap +in a minute, an' stealin' th' buttons off'n your blouse. Don't ye +trust any of th'm," he says. "_Wavoes frescoes!_" + +And right there old Ma plays her joker. That drayma we'd come so far +to see was called "Kahapon--" but maybe you don't _sabe hablar_ +Fillypeener. "Yesterday, To-day, and To-morrer," was th' name. Th' +first act was Yesterday. That was Spain. There was nothin' much +doin' f'r a while. Just talkin' slow an' keepin' your hand on your +knife, a good deal like that Greaser show that come to San Antone +once. But after a while, a priest showed up. He was one of th' +Friars, and they knocked him down first off, an' then they kicked him +all over th' stage, and sat on him and raised a rough-house with him +for fair. Them _Frailes_ must a been a long-sufferin' bunch, +Yesterday. + +They'd just tossed him out of sight, when a lot of Spanish soldiers +come on and th' real shootin' begun. Well, sir, th' Fillypeeners +cleaned them Greasers out for keeps, an' th' little leadin' lady +grabs th' Spanish flag an' rips it up th' middle an' promenades on +th' pieces. Th' house went wild at that, and while they was clappin' +an' shoutin', the sun of Fillypeener liberty begun to rise at th' +back of the stage. It was a shaky old sun with three K's on its +face, like freckles. I see Terry fumblin' in his pocket for +somethin', and then, just as th' sun is gettin' fairly up, somethin' +puts th' poor thing's eye out, and th' curtain falls quick. + +"_Wavoes frescoes!_" Terry sings out. + +Well, sir, things livened up somethin' wonderful just about then. +All th' natives in th' place, about a thousand of th'm, begun to yowl +like cats and crowd toward our box, and half a dozen Spaniards, or +half-Spaniards, was yellin' "_Brayvo el Americano!_" and some +Americans that was scattered round th' audience was movin' up at th' +double without sayin' anythin'. + +"Nothin' doin', boys," Terry yells to them, standin' up, and a big +man he looked. "Scat!" he says to th' natives. "_Sigue Dagupan_, +you _Kittycattypunanos_, before I chew you up," he says, and makes +like he was goin' to jump down among th'm. + +They scatted all right, and we pulled Terry down, quiet enough, on'y +his shoulders was twitchin' under his blouse. "Casey," he says to +me, "I always took the Fillypeeners f'r Catholics till I seen th'm +maul that _padre_, an' I've been gentle with th'm on that account. +God help th' next one I lay foot to." + +"I mistrust this is one of th' seditious plays we read about," th' +Engineer whispers to me, "and I reckon To-day will be worse than +Yesterday, f'r the big man. Hadn't we better get him out of here?" + +"His patriotism is sure ripplin' lively," I says. + +"An' did ye never read th' po'm," says th' lad, "about th' pebble +dropped in th' middle of th' ocean, an' th' ripples it kicked up?" + +"I never read no po'try," I says, "if I see it first, but +something'll be kicked up f'r keeps, if Terry ever drops down in that +crowd." And then th' house quieted down, an' th' curtain went up f'r +th' next act. + +To-day was us, th' Americans. A little gen'ral with pompydoor +hair--that looked natchral--walked round f'r a while, hablaring to +his crowd, and then six men in khaki came in, carryin' th' flag, and +th' other gang began to shoot them up. It warn't pretty to watch, +on'y we didn't have time to watch it much. Th' Engineer an' me had +one of Terry's arms, and Schleimacher was tryin' to keep a hand over +his mouth and not get bit. Th' talk he was tryin' to make was +shockin'. But we held him all right till th' Americans was lyin' +round th' stage picturesque and dead as hell. An' then th' little +girl grabs th' flag, and you could hear the audience draw a long +breath. + +I didn't think she'd dare to do it, but I suppose it was on th' +programme and they didn't want to give no money back. Sure enough +she spits on it an' tosses it on th' floor, and then--well, Terry +brushes the Engineer and me out of his way, and steps up on the edge +of the box and makes his little speech. "Boys!" he yells, "remember +Balangiga an' th' rest of th' tricks they've played us. That's th' +flag," and he hops down to the floor. + +"Come on," I yells to the Engineer. "If he gets on that stage alone, +it'll be murder," and down we jumps. + +It was like slippin' off a ford into quick water. The women was +screechin' and the men howlin' and the boys behind us was laughin' +and shoutin' and bangin' every head that came their way, and some +fool begun to let off a gun into the roof. But th' Engineer and me +just kep' on down that aisle after Terry. Just when he reached th' +musicians, the curtain came down, but he picks a fiddler, fiddle and +all, and tosses him into th' rotten old cloth like a sack of beans, +and goes through th' hole after him. + +But it stopped him up enough so't the Engineer and me clumb through +onto the stage right behind him. We piled onto him just as he was +makin' a rush f'r a bunch of actors, and there was a good lively +mix-up f'r a few seconds. Men began to come through the curtain in a +dozen places, and th' racket in the house doubled up. I don't know +just everythin' that happened, f'r th' minute Terry gave in a bit, we +drug him out th' back way and cut up an alley, never stoppin' to find +out where Schleimacher and the Artillerys was. And I s'pose them +victoriers is out front there yet, waitin' for their money. And I'll +bet there never was no To-morrer in that drayma, not that night. + +We got out onto the corner where there's a saloon, and then we +stopped to listen. Same as always, the minute Terry couldn't do no +more harm, he was gentle as a child. "There's patriotism around all +right," he says, cockin' his head toward the racket back at the +theayter. "It on'y needs somebody to stir it up. I'll bet anybody +five to one in beers that somebody gets hurt out of this before it's +over," he says, as a extry loud howl and a ripple of shots busts +loose fr'm the theayter, and a patrol-wagon comes ting-tingin' it +down the street. "I make it beer," says Terry, "because I'm thirsty." + +"Take you and lose," says th' Engineer. "Step in here and we'll pay +up one of th'm now." + +So we stepped in there, and we stepped in sev'ral other places, till +we sort of got th' habit. I reckon we traveled all over Maniller +after that, and had beers with about half th' Army. Th' last thing I +remember, Terry had got patriotic again, an' was sayin' a po'm about +th' flag. Then my thoughts got to advancin' in regimental formation, +and I sort of went to sleep. + +Th' dinky little guard-mount march was goin' next mornin'--I reckon +it was next mornin'--when I woke up, so I knew somethin' was wrong. +I reached f'r my rifle, me bein' warned for guard that day, and I +found I was in th' guard-house a'ready, and Terry was poundin' his +ear on a bunk beside me. My head felt like a caraboo had walked on +it, an' I yelled to the sentry for water. + +"The ice-water's over'n th' corner, same as always," he says, peekin' +in through th' bars. "You sure ain't forgotten this quick?" + +"What did we do?" I asts him, sizzlin' down about a quart in one gulp. + +"What didn't ye do? Pers'nally ye did up three of us while we was +puttin' you in th' cooler here. Ye came home singin' in a +carrermatter 'bout 3 A.M., an' Terry wanted to bring th' _cochero_ in +an' kneel him in front of th' flagpole an' cut his head off. You was +tryin' to borry a bay'net f'r th' ceremony. But I guess you'll get +to rememberin' most all you did, and some more, before th' Old Man +gets through with you. He's had a squad of cops _and_ an orderly +fr'm headquarters to call on him a'ready this mornin'. Fr'm what +they said, I should judge you tried to bust up the little old Civil +Gov'ment and clean up the L.B.B. Don't be bashful about th' water," +he says. "It's all f'r you." + +While I was sloshin' ice-water over my head, Terry woke up. We sat +on the edges of our bunks and talked it all over. We didn't feel +real affectionate. We was still talkin', sort of aimless but +effective, when the guard came an' took us out to the orderly-room +and lined us up in front of th' Old Man. + +"H'm," he says, swingin' back in his chair. "Do ye desire to call +any witnesses to prove ye didn't do it?" + +"No, sir," we both says quick. We'd known him f'r some time. + +"H'm. That's lucky f'r you," he says. "I don't mind havin' men try +to run my guard at three in th' mornin'," he says, talkin' to the +ceilin' like an old friend, "nor tryin' to murder a coachman on my +p'rade-ground, nor blackin' th' eye of th' sergeant of th' guard. +H'm. Ye've got to ex-pect them little things fr'm real soldiers, of +course," he says. "H'm. But when I have to drive away six policemen +before breakfast who've came to arrest two of my men f'r assaultin' +several hundred natives all to onct, I've got to draw th' line. +There's eddy-toryals about them men in all th' native papers this +mornin', or so I am informed accordin' to th' best of my ability, and +in th' _Cable-News_. A brutal attack on peaceable, well-disposed +Fillypeeners, and on hundreds of th'm at that, is an assault to the +foundations of government which I can't overlook. H'm." + +"She spit on th' flag, sir," says Terry. + +"Th' Colonel wanted them men for a G.C.M. this mornin'," says the Old +Man, "to say nothin' of what th' civil authorities want th'm for, and +that's a whole lot. But there ain't been a gen'ral pris'ner out of +this comp'ny for five year now, and I persuaded the Commandin' +Officer that I could attend to th' case. H'm. What do you think +about that, Casey?" + +"Yessir," I says. + +"H'm. And Clancy?" + +"Yessir," Terry says. + +"H'm," says he, "y'r confidence in me is flatterin'. I'll try not to +disappoint ye," he says, and gets up an' goes limpin' round th' room +on his Tientsin leg. He walks around there f'r five minutes, anyway, +before he says a word. Fin'lly he stops and looks out of the window. +"A very pretty p'rade-ground we have here, Mr. Boyd," he says to the +Lieutenant. + +"Very pretty, sir," says the Lieutenant, puzzled to know what the Old +Man would be carin' about parade-grounds just then. + +He hadn't served with him as long as me and Clancy had. You remember +how the old barracks is built, in a hollow square round a p'rade big +enough f'r a regimental corral, with th' post flagstaff stickin' up +in th' middle, and lookin' about three hundred foot high? + +"H'm," says th' Captain, gazin' out of his window. "Very pretty, +indeed. But do you notice how the grass is growin' up between th' +flagstones in the paths? That's not neat, Mr. Boyd. That's not +fittin' in a place where the shadder of th' Flag must fall," he says, +glancin' at us. "H'm. They tell me you're becomin' somethin' of a +patriot, Clancy?" + +"Yessir," says Terry. + +"H'm. And Casey?" + +"Yessir," I says. + +"That's fine," says th' Old Man. "That's a pleasant surprise. H'm. +But I hear ye have been wastin' y'r patriotism in wild firin'," he +says. "It's too vallyouble to waste, 'specially in Maniller. I must +try to help you make it flow in a gentle, steady stream. H'm. If +you let it fly in chunks, it closely resimbles annichy," he says, +"'specially in Maniller. H'm. Sentry, march these men to the p'rade +and see that they pluck the grass, all the grass, between the stones, +tie it in bundles of fifty stalks, neat bundles, and place the +bundles at the foot of the post flagstaff. H'm. And, Sentry, see +that after depositin' each bundle, they retire twelve paces and +salute their flag before resumin' work. After you have cleaned th' +p'rade," he says to us, "I trust I shall be able to find some other +work for you. If ye either of you feel y'r patriotism flaggin' under +th' strain, just tell th' sentry and he will bring you in to me and I +will try to revive it. H'm. You understand, Sentry?" + +"Yessir," says th' sentry. His mouth was twistin' up on him, an' th' +Lieutenant's, an' everybody's, but just us and the Old Man's. He +looks sort of surprised. + +"Is they any jokes around here I ain't noticed?" he says. "I do love +a joke. H'm. You seen any, Clancy?" + +"Nossir," says Terry, pretty sick. + +The sentry grinned all th' time he was marchin' us out, an' the news +spread quick, and they was grins to meet us all the way. An' then +th' sentry begins to guy us. + +"You've skipped a stalk on y'r left flank, Clancy," he says. "I +shall have to report it. And tie th'm in neat bundles of twelve +stalks, is the orders, retire fifty paces, and salute th' flag." + +"Cut it out, Skinny," says Terry. "He said bundles of fifty. I +heard him m'self." + +"Bundles o' hell an' fifty paces," says Skinny. "You can go an' ast +_him_ if ye won't believe _me_. Wouldn't ye like, perhaps, to go an' +ast him? I'll march ye in with pleasure." + +"Have y'r laugh while ye've got a place f'r it," says Terry. "I'll +make y'r face over for ye, ye hyeener, when I get a chanst." + +"Intimidatin' a sentry," says Skinny, but he shut up, far as talk +went. On'y he made a bugle of his nose, an' begun to hum little +tunes through it, and then th' crowd begun driftin' out on th' +verandahs and caught on, and all you could hear was that whole damn +parrot-faced battalion blowin' through their noses, +Umpty-dee-he-hee-_heee_-he-he-_hee_-hum-hum-_hum_! + +Terry and me said nothin' and picked busy f'r a while, but about th' +hundre'th bundle th' hot stones and th' sun an' yesterday's beer an' +th' crowd loafin' in th' cool verandahs an' ev'rything else all took +holt of me to onct. + +"You're an ornament to th' Service," I says, tryin' to crawl into th' +shadder of the pole. 'Twas about a mile long and an inch wide. + +"Stow y'r face," says Terry, tyin' a bundle with a thumb big as three +of it. + +"I'd enjoy tellin' you what I think of you," I says, "on'y I can't +think of it all to onct. How's y'r patriotism ripplin' now?" I says. +"Looka th' Flag, th' dear old Flag, floatin' up above y'r crazy head." + +Terry swallers hard. "Casey," he says, "I may uv let ye in f'r this, +but--" He picks up his little bundle and carries it over to th' foot +of th' pole. Then he falls back and salutes. Then he comes over to +me, an' his face was blossomin' into a grin! Yessir, there was a +hole in them rugged features of his you could've shoved a +blanket-roll into. "Oh, Casey," he says, "Casey, man, if th' Old Boy +soaks it to us this way f'r what we done, wouldn't ye, oh, wouldn't +ye just like to see what he'd a done to that theayter, if he was +runnin' this little old town?" + +An' thinkin' of that, I grinned too. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE SUPERFALOUS MAN + +I came back, but I am not certain that I had ever left the old temple +of Tzin Piaôu. I roused, then, but I am not sure that I had been +asleep. However it may have been, I was conscious of being there in +the temple of Tzin Piaôu for a moment, long enough to observe that my +old heathen priest, half reclining on his slab, was thoughtfully +fingering a hard lump in his girdle, just over the pit of his stomach. + +But the moment he saw me looking at him, he made an imperative little +gesture, and-- + + +"Tell th' Professor that other one, Casey," a husky voice commanded. +"_You_ know. Th' day we lost th' friend o' Sly's." + +Thereupon the even, drawling, dryly humorous voice began to speak. +This is what it said this time: + +"An' then Terry says, 'You're too skinny to fight, an' you ain't big +enough to kill, an' I wouldn't feel much lonesome if you was +somewheres else. You're what _I_ call superfalous.'" The voice +dwelt on the magnificent polysyllable lovingly. "An' th' mayreen +hobo, he lays his head down on th' table an' weeps some weeps into +his glass. It was empty. It always was. 'That's th' wye it gaos +with me,' he says. 'I can't never myke no friends. F'r twenty year +I've been sylin' th' seas fr'm the North Paole to th' South, fr'm th' +East Paole to th' West, chysin meridiums fr'm wyve to wyve, lookin' +f'r a friend. But ev'rywhere I gaos--' + +"'Hell,' says Terry, 'if you feel that bad about it, we'll have one +more. Casey,' he says to me, '_is_ they an East Pole? It _sounds_ +reas'nable, some way.' An' then," the voice mused blissfully, "we +had th' tamarin' cocktails, an' then we went to ride with the +accidental caraboo. That was a batty day." + +"Ain't I never told you about that day?" Suddenly the voice was coy. +"Oh, I don't dast to tell," it murmured. "Local 23 o' th' Christian +Temp'rance Union'll be gettin' after me f'r makin' it look like th' +Army still _drunk_. I don't want to spread no false impressions. +Ev'rybody knows that since th' vile canteen was took away, an' we was +give a real chance to lead th' sinful life, there ain't one soldier +in ten would even pass a saloon, willin'ly. No, sir," the voice +remarked thoughtfully, "I don't reckon there's more'n one in twenty +in th' whole Army would let a s'loon get by him, if he had to walk a +mile out of his road. + +"Who this superfalous man was," said the voice, "_I_ don' know. An' +where we was, I've been tryin' to find out ever since. We started in +on beer, but we switched to th' tamarin' cocktails, an' we ended in +th' Lord knows what. Don't you never drink a tamarin' cocktail, +'nless you want Local 23 startin' a grand guard patrol across your +trail. + +"That day begun," the voice continued, "with a terrible painful talk +me an' Terry had with th' Old Man. It was th' summer we laid in +Maniller after th' Samar campaign, an' me an' Terry an' the Irishman +named Schleimacher had that patriotic go with th' gu-gu theayter. +That coincident shook the Old Man's faith in us way down to th' +roots, an' f'r weeks afterwards he kep' us doin' double guard an' +double kitchen police an' stunts like that till we was all wore out. +So this mornin' we bucks up an' tells him we needs some more passes +an' a day off. + +"'H'm,' says the Old Man. 'If I done my duty by sersiety, you two'd +never get out together, less'n one was in a submarine an' th' other +in a b'loon, and then I'll bet,' he says, 'you'd manage to get your +trails tangled some ways. H'm. Who am I to butt into the stars in +their courses and get a sore head? I can't keep ye in quarters no +longer; y'r luck at poker is causin' too many hard feelin's. An' I +don't dass to let ye out sep'rate, f'r each of ye needs th' other one +to bring him home. H'm.' He gives us th' passes an' then, just when +we thought we was saved at last, he calls us back. 'How much money +have ye got, anyway?' he asts. + +"We hates to name th' size. Th' cards _had_ run favorable since last +pay-day. + +"'That had ought to keep ye in fines f'r quite a spell,' he says, +when we told him. 'H'm. Give it here. I'll help ye save it.' + +"We hands over, an' he peels two skinny little bills off them nice +fat rolls. 'I'll let ye have five apiece,' he says. 'That makes +three dollars f'r chow, an' a dollar to hire carrermatters, an' ten +beers apiece. Ten is all ye need. Y'r stummicks is only supposed to +hold a pint and a half, anyhow,' he says. 'I'll send th' rest of th' +money over to the Adjutant's safe, where you can get at it handy +after summary court to-morrer. H'm.' + +"Poor as we was, we'd a been glad to get away, but he stops us again. +'Won't ye be good this once?' he says. 'I can't make it out,' he +says, sad-like, to th' ceilin'. 'Here's Maniller layin' open before +them, with nice long walks stretchin' out all around her. All kinds +of nice long hot walks beckonin' them out among th' rice-paddies. +An' th' Luneta, where they could set and look at th' ships when they +was tired, and kill muskeeters. An' th' Y.M.C.A. readin'-room. +_An'_ th' Lib'ry. H'm. Yet I'm mor'lly certain they'll pass all +them things by on the off side, an' fetch up in some low groggery, +debauchin' young Engineers and Marines an' shatterin' th' Gover'ment. +Why can't my oldest soldiers ack decent?' he says, 'sos't I can take +some _pride_ in th'm?' + +"'May I ex-plain to th' Captain, sir?' asts Terry. 'That theayter +_biznai_ was an axxident.' + +"'An axxident!' says the Old Man. 'H'm. If you see any axxidents +comin' along to-day, give them the road. They'll get into just one +more axxident,' he says to th' ceilin', 'an' they'll break my heart +an' _then_,' he says, 'there'll be something noticeable doin'. +Something noticeable. H'm.' + +"We seen that was no place for us, and we sneaks out like a pair of +cats that had got caught in swimmin'. 'Did you see his eye?' I says, +when we was safe outside. 'It's up to us to walk cracks to-day.' + +"Terry just grunts, and the silence didn't really get broken till +we'd beat it down Real and was settin' on a bench in th' Luneta. +Terry spoke first. 'Any man that figures up my stummick,' he says, +'at a quart and a half, has got another guess.' + +"'That's a handsome Chink cattle-boat out by the end of the +breakwater,' I says. 'Ain't she got graceful lines?' + +"'Why,' asts Terry, scuffin' away at the gravel under the bench, +'didn't he give us a nickel and ast f'r the change? Whose money is +that, anyway?' + +"'That transport's a picture,' I says. 'If she was on'y a little +closer, we could almost see the stripes round her smoke-stack.' + +"'If,' says Terry, 'they was any way of makin' those dollars +_stretch_, I'd paint a first coat of blood-color all over Maniller, +just to show him what I could do. But he got th' bulge on us when he +got th' cash.' + +"'Get on to the ships,' says I. 'He'll ast us how they was lookin'.' + +"All to once Terry begins smoothin' the gravel back with his toe. +'Casey,' he says, 'they _will_ stretch! This is the day we walk on +our feet and save two dollars carrermatter money. It ain't such a +much, but--an' then,' he says, 'they's the chow money. I know a +hash-fact'ry where we can get a plate of beans f'r a _peseta y +media_, an' beans is fillin'. Y'r stummick don't hold but two quart +and a half, anyhow, and you don't want to overload it. Come on,' he +says, jumpin' up. 'Altogether there's about seventy-seven beers got +by the Old Man. Come on! We must have lost a lot of time.' + +"'As you were,' I says. 'If you take me f'r a low booze-fighter like +yourself,' I says, 'you're much mistaken; and besides,' I says, 'did +ye ever hear the Old Man talk like he did this mornin'?' + +"'Onct,' says Terry. + +"'An' you know what you _got_,' I says. 'It's up to you and me to +roost high and pull up our feet, f'r if old Ma Trouble gets her claws +into us this happy day, th' Old Man is plannin' to draw cards, too, +and they're a bad pair to buck. _Sabe?_' + +"Terry seen I was right, an' that's the way we come to land down +there on th' waterfront. Don't ast me where it was. We walked +through about six gates in th' Walled City and come out on the river, +an' took a canoe and landed somewhere way down on the other side. +That's all I know. There was the place waitin' for us. Café of the +400 Flags, it says in Spanish over the door, and underneath, in +English, Sailor's Friendly. + +"And it was a nice friendly sort of place. We was the only ones +there, and after we'd got sat down in a corner by a window, we +figured we'd fooled old Ma Trouble f'r once. There warn't anybody +within a mile to lead us astray, an' we just aimed to set there an' +look at th' boats on th' river till we'd had enough, and then go back +to Barracks and surprise the Old Man, and make him ashamed of +himself. But it warn't to be. + +"We hadn't been settin' there more'n half an hour, when that A.O.H. +sailorman Schleimacher from Cavite comes in the door, and th' +sorrerful lad was right behind him. It was all off then, on'y we +didn't know it. + +"'Ahoy, amigos,' says Schleimacher. 'Well, well, well, if it ain't +the two paytriots! Always sloppin' round in beer, ain't you? Don't +go dilutin' your insides with that stuff. Here, you,' he yells to +the Malay pirate behind the bar, 'fetch along th' thought-remover f'r +th' Señors.' + +"'W'isky?' asts th' pirate. + +"'If that ain't like a Marine!' says Terry. 'But then you ain't got +a canteen no more, either.' + +"'No, we ain't, _dankum Himmle_,' says Sly, an' th' sorrerful +sailorman butts in, layin' his head down on th' table and cryin' like +a child. 'Times ayn't what they ware,' he says. 'Men don't drink +like they used. Mytes, I remember a dye in Punt' Arenas, off Tristan +d'Acunha--' + +"'Who's y'r friend, Sly?' I asts. + +"'Damfino,' says Sly. 'He picked me up at th' Navy landin'. Said my +clo'es smelt so salt it made his mouth water. Some lime-juicer on +th' beach, I reckon. No, sir, _dankum Himmle_, there ain't no more +canteen. When I think,' Sly says, 'of th' pay I've wasted aboard, +f'r belly-wash, but now,' he says, 'you don't hit th' beach on'y +after pay-days, an' then you've got th' money, an' you've got the +_thirst_, an' Mine Gott!' he says, 'the load you can get on! No +canteens in mine. Fill th'm up. They's one f'r you, Barnacles, if +you can keep the tear-drops out of it.' + +"The guy sat up straight enough, soon as a drink was mentioned, and +we got a good look at him. Talk about y'r hoboes! That mayreener +looked like he'd been trampin' it way down on th' bottom, and hadn't +got around to shakin' himself and combin' the shells and seaweed out +of his hair. + +"'Well,' says Terry, when he'd took him in, 'he sure does look +superfalous to me.' + +"The guy mops up his drink, an' lays his head down on th' table +again. 'That's th' wye it gaos,' he blatters. 'I can't never myke +no friends, and so I gao chysin' meridiums over the angry wyves. I +_'ad_ a friend onct, to Valparaiso, as smart a 'and as ever reefed a +stuns'l--' he chokes up so bad he can't talk. + +"'Good Lord, Sly,' says Terry, 'have we got to set around with that +all day?' + +"'Chuck him overboard if you want,' says Sly. 'He ain't mine. But +let him stay, and I'll pay for his. I like a crowd around to kind of +keep them movin'.' + +"'I 'ad a shipmyte onct off Comorin,' bleats th' sorrerful lad, 'but +'e was lost, steppin' of th' bowsprit'--he chokes up. + +"'Oh, well,' says Terry, 'if you feel that bad about losin' him, +we'll have one more. We'll all pay f'r his rounds, Sly, if he's +broke. On'y, he does look superfalous to me.' + +"I reckon that wanderer must have felt near as bad as he looked! +Seemed like he'd been pretty near everywhere once or twice, an' ev'ry +place he remembered, something about it made him cry. We got ust to +him after a while, and he just sat with his head among th' glasses, +'ceptin' when a drink come by. + +"Long about noon we got to wonderin' what we'd better drink next. +Th' thought-remover warn't workin' to suit Sly. 'Th' ferry goes at +six,' he says, 'an' I ain't even got a start yet. Le's try an' find +somethin' certain.' Then th' weeper looks up. + +"'I can't 'ope to myke no friends,' he says, eyein' us mournful, 'but +I can myke a tamarin' Cocktail. A little lydy down to Macassar +learnt me. Mytes, w'en I think of that pore young girl an' the +'orrible wye I lost 'er--' it took two thought-removers to get him +sos't he could tell th' pirate what bottles to bring f'r th' +cocktail. They made a bunch. Th' sorrerful lad most looked happy +when he saw them. + +"'They ayn't no tamarin's,' he says, 'but _that_ don't myke no +differunce. Mytes, you'd ought to see th' tamarin's at Isle o' +France! W'en I think I'll never see no tamarin's like them no +more--' On'y th' bottles saved him. He took a swig out of the first +one he touched. Right there th' Sorrers o' Satan lad begun to look +fishy to me. Didn't seem like anybody'd need quite so many drinks to +drown anything but a thirst. But I forgot all that when he gave me +th' cocktail. + +"'Stead of a kick it had a kind of a pull to it, that drink did, like +a b'loon. 'Two more of them,' says Sly, settin' down his glass, 'an' +th' Cavite ferry can go when it very well pleases. _I_ can walk.' + +"'If so be I _'ad_ a friend,' says th' mayreener, sort of proud at +th' way we lapped them up, 'they's nothin' I'd love better'n to set +all dye long mykin' tamarin' cocktails for 'im.' I reckon that was no +lie. 'Mytes,' says he, 'w'en I think I'll never 'ave no real friend +to myke th'm for--' + +"'Brace up, Bo,' says Terry, like a father. Th' tamarin's had took +holt that quick. 'Brace up, old sport. We're all friends o' your'n +here. Ain't that so, boys?' + +"'_Is_ it, mytes?' says th' mayreener. '_Is_ it? Well, well, I +never thought to 'ave _three_ friends all to onct! W'en I think of +all the 'undreds of shipmytes--I'll be mykin' up another, mytes.' + +"So Barnacles, he got started makin' th'm, an' we got started +drinkin' th'm. So did he. I never seen a drink ack like them. +Didn't seem to have no real effeck, but things just moved away back +where they belonged an' let you alone. And sympathetic! Say, if we +could on'y manage to throw a few of them into Local 23, we'd get th' +canteen back. They sure are a funny drink. 'Bout th' sixth, we +couldn't do enough f'r that stranded mayreener. I'd forgot all about +his seemin' fishy, and me an' Terry an' Sly hung round him like a +bunch of old-maid aunts, givin' him drinks ev'ry time he remembered +anything. He sure had a great mem'ry. 'Twarn't till th' middle of +the afternoon it begun to show signs of givin' out. An' then he +thinks he wants to have a look at Maniller--sos't he could remember +_that_, I reckon. + +"His legs wouldn't quite hold him. 'Mytes,' he says, 'me knees ayn't +what they ware. W'en I remember them trips to Kerguelen's Land, down +round San Fernando Fo--in them dyes no smarter 'and rove a dead-eye +or 'auled a keel. But now--' + +"'Give him an arm, Casey,' says Terry. 'Can't you see he ain't as +young as us? Brace up, old sport, we'll look out f'r _you_.' + +"So th' three of us steers th' sorrerful sailorman out onto th' +_muelle_, an' there warn't a livin' soul on th' whole river front but +just the accidental caraboo! _He_ was standin' hitched to a cart, +right where old Ma had left him. + +"Th' mayreener breaks down when he sees that caraboo. 'A buffalao!' +he blatters. 'I ayn't seen one of them since I was a gye young +sheperd--fisherman, on me father's little farm in th' +valleys--beaches o' Bengal! Mytes, lead me to th' buffalao.' + +"'That ain't a buffalo, sport,' says Terry. 'Buffalos has hair. +That's a caraboo, an' you don't want no part of him. They ain't +safe.' + +"''E'll not 'urt me,' says th' mayreener. 'Aoh, th' buffalaos I've +fed and watered with these 'ands in th' dear old dyes. Lead me to +'im, mytes.' + +"We steers him over and he falls on that caraboo's neck and cries +into his ear and blubbers some kind of talk to him: an' th' caraboo +wriggles his ear an' waggles his little tail an' blubbers back. Them +two understood each other! It knocked me flat. All my respec' f'r +th' mayreener comes back. + +"'Ay, mytes,' he bleats, 'it mykes me young again to talk with 'im. +Put us up on th' cart, mytes.' + +"'Ye can't drive him, sport?' says Terry, doubtful. + +"'F'r years I done nothink else,' says th' mayreener. 'Aoh, the old, +'appy dyes! Put us up, mytes, an' pass us th' nose rope.' + +"'If th' caraboo kills him,' says Terry, 'it'll on'y put th' pore old +feller out of his mis'ry.' So we hists him up an' gives him th' nose +rope, and there he set cross-legged like a nigger, jerkin' th' rope +an' talkin' caraboo-talk, an' th' caraboo goes! Yes, sir, th' +mayreener drives him up an' down like he'd been born there! I never +seen no other white man that could do that. + +"'Come aboard, mytes,' he says, pullin' up. 'We'll tyke a little +turn about th' taown.' + +"Seems like I heard old Ma Trouble scratchin' herself somewheres. +'You go along an' help Ma, Terry,' I says, 'an' I'll report the +axxident to th' Old Man. When it comes to takin' a ride with a +stolen caraboo an' a hayseed mayreener fr'm th' beaches of Bengal---' + +"'I knowed I couldn't 'ope to 'ave _three_ friends,' says th' +mayreener, doublin' up an' cryin' like a child. It didn't touch my +heart, not hard, but Terry an' Sly was still full of tamarindy +feelin's. 'Don't spoil th' pore old feller's fun,' they says. +'We'll bring th' caraboo back, so it ain't as if we stole him. He's +just borrered.' + +"So I clumb on and we starts, th' mayreener settin' an' jerkin' th' +rope, and us hangin' our legs off th' back of th' wagon. And by th' +time we'd gone a ways, I begin to like it! It was somethin' new, an' +then I reckon perhaps th' joltin' freshened up my tamarin's some. +Anyhow, th' houses moved back and made room, an' th' people on th' +sidewalks, givin' us a glad hand an' a merry ha-ha, sounded far-away +an' soothin', and when we'd got up to Binondo bridge it seemed so +natchral I wasn't even wonderin' any more why a copper didn't pinch +us. I don't _sabe_ that yet, but I reckon old Ma kep' them off till +she got done with us. + +"Yes, sir, that ride went fine, till we come to th' foot of the +Escolta. You know what it's like at that time of day? Jam full! A +line of rigs was standin' along each side of that narrer little old +street, and inside of them two more lines was pokin' along, opposite +ways, and in what was left of th' middle th' horse-cars was doin' +rapid transit. Didn't look like you could crowd a thin dog through +that mess. + +"'Here's where we turn round, sport,' says Terry, but it was no use. +Th' mayreener whispers some messages down th' rope an' th' caraboo +swings into th' car-tracks, and next minute there we was plowin' a +road up the Escolta, and no way of backin' out till we hit the other +end, half a mile away. I never felt so conspectuous in my life! +Ev'rybody was lookin'. 'Tain't often they see three soldiers +caraboo-drivin' up the Escolta, with old man McGinty at th' rope! + +"We might have made it, I still think, if th' mayreener had stuck to +th' job. He sure sabed caraboo. But he lays down on us. Yes, sir, +right there he just curls up and goes sound asleep! 'My watch below, +mytes,' he says. 'Relieve th' w'eel,' an' he topples over. Sly +grabs th' rope. + +"And away we went! Seems like th' caraboo knowed something green had +took holt. He puts his nose down an' whoofs an' swings his head. +First wipe th' tip of a horn catches a chicken-coop wagon, an' +R-r-rip!--th' spokes is out of a wheel. He swings th' other way an' +takes a piece of varnish, with th' wood still on it, of a shiny new +victorier. Sly gets mad at that! + +"'Clear out of th' fairway, ye blinkety-blanked-blicked-zinked +longshoreman,' he yells, hittin' th' caraboo a crack with the end of +th' rope. Th' caraboo breaks into a gallop, swingin' them horns like +a scythe, and ev'ry jump Sly hands him another. 'Stand by to repel +boarders,' he sings out. 'Hit th' victorier guy in th' eye if he +sets a foot on deck. Wheee-ee-e! Luff up, ahead there, you're off +your course! Luff up! Well, _take_ it, then.' Zing! Bing! One of +our wheels--they was sawed solid off a log four foot through--hits a +carrermatter an' tosses it onto another, and them two piles up some +more. 'Whee-ee-ee!' Sly yells. 'Hold her as she is! Didn't carry +away nothin' that trip, did we? Whee-ee-eee!' + +"He lights in with th' rope and away we goes again, two ton of +caraboo and two ton of wagon, both built low, at a dead gallop! Rigs +was pilin' up all around us, an' horses was kickin' an' squealin', +an' wheels was lockin' up an' rippin' out spokes, an' _cocheros_ was +cussin' in ten languages. Away back I seen a mounted cop chasin' us, +but Ma had him headed off in that mess. + +"And then She sets her claws in! Right ahead of us a carrermatter +was streakin' it hell-bent through an open space, tryin' to get away. +We could see th' feller in it leanin' forrard and whalin' th' horse. +But, Lord, that caraboo'd a run down a thoroughbred. + +"'Sheer off to starboard!' Sly yells. 'What do ye _mean_, loafin' +round th' channel that way, ye blinkety-bling-blanked son of a mess +attendant? I report ye to th' Captain of th' Port. To starboard, I +tell ye. Port your helm! Hard over! Oh, well,' he says, 'if you +_want_ it--Collision bulkheads, boys, I'll have to ram him. Hold +hard, all! Whee-eee-eeee!' He hits th' caraboo a couple more, and +it seems like we go right through that carrermatter. It just fades +away. 'Take that!' yells Sly. 'An' I'll report ye, besides.' + +"An' right then, risin' up out of what had been th' carrermatter, I +seen a short chunky kind of a man, with a tire hung to one ear, and a +handful of spokes stickin' out of one pocket, and a piece of +dashboard in one hand. I didn't see him long, but I seen him awful +plain. It was _Him_! 'Looka there!' I whispers--I couldn't +talk--an' Terry takes one look, an' _he_ couldn't talk. + +"An' then th' Old Man catches sight of us, an' he stands up in th' +ruins and shakes th' piece of dashboard at us. 'H'm!' he says. +'H'm-mmm!' That's all. _He_ couldn't talk, neither. + +"Right there a street turns off the Escolta, an' I seen it was then +or never. 'Sly,' I says, 'can ye turn off here to th' lef'?' + +"'Sure,' he says. 'Anywheres. He's steerin' fine now. +Whoop-eee-eeee-ee!' Zing! Bing! Sly leans back on th' rope, an' +th' caraboo puts his nose down, an' Whoof!--he hits that line of rigs +between us an' th' road we needed. Talk about football. Two bumps +and a hard swaller, an' we was gallopin' down that side street, with +th' racket dyin' away behind us. + +"'Keep him goin', Sly,' I says. ''Twas th' Old Man we hit!' + +"'Mine Gott!' says Sly, and lights in with th' rope. Th' caraboo +tries to fly, but that didn't bother us. We wouldn't a cared if he +had. We just hangs on and lets him go it. + +"When he did stop it was in front of a s'loon! Funny coincident, +warn't it? We seen there was just one thing to do, an' th' mayreener +thinks so, too. He slep' through all that, but th' minute we was +sneakin' up quiet on a drink he comes to life! + +"''As anythink 'appened, mytes?' he asts. We tells him. + +"'Aoh,' he says, 'I do 'ope ye 'aven't 'urt me buffalao! They're +dillikit creachures, mytes. In the old, 'appy dyes--' he has to cry +in th' caraboo's ear before he can take his drink. + +"Don't ast me how we spent th' rest of the afternoon. Ast th' +caraboo; he was boss. We couldn't steer him none to speak of, but we +could start him goin'. He stopped himself. Always in front of a +s'loon, too. I'd like to see th' guy that owned him. + +"An' ev'ry time he stopped, th' mayreener would wake up an' mix a +tamarin' cocktail an' have a weep. His mem'ry was workin' fine +again. An' so we follered th' trail of that intemp'rate caraboo +through all th' back streets of Maniller, wanderin' on fr'm one low +haunt of vice to another till the houses moved back where they +belonged again, an' th' sun got nice and hot and shiny, and even th' +Old Man didn't seem to matter--much--an' we went to sleep on th' +cart, still wanderin'. + +"When I woke up, Sly was gone, but Terry and th' mayreener was still +poundin' their ears, and th' caraboo was still walkin', quiet, like +he was loafin' home with his dinner-pail and pipe after a hard day's +work, along a road between some rice-paddies. Things looked new to +me and I set up and took a look. We was lost! Th' sun was settin' +'way over across th' paddies, and there warn't no Maniller in sight, +nor nothin' but just th' paddies and th' road--and us. And I warn't +sure whether it was yestidday or to-morrer! I felt so lonesome I +woke Terry up. + +"We set lookin' round a spell, and things begun to come back to us. +'Old Ma cert'nly hooked th'm in this time,' I says. 'Th' Old Man's +heart is broke now, all right. Did ye spot th' look in his eye when +he reco'nized us? That spelt G.C.M. to me.' + +"'Th' carrermatter was just an axxi--' Terry stops short. 'I donno,' +he says, 'but what it would be safer to desert.' + +"'Maybe we've deserted a'ready,' I says. 'Lord knows how long we've +overstayed our leave. I feel like I'd slep' a month.' + +"'I've got a head, too,' says Terry. 'It was them tamarin' cocktails +done it. Swelp me if I ever drink another drink.' + +"That hits th' mayreener. 'Lead me to it, mytes,' he says, sleepy. +'Me legs ayn't what they ware, but lead me to it.' + +"'That's what done it,' I says to Terry. + +"Terry looks at th' mayreener a spell. 'Casey,' he says, 'you're +right. He done it, th' shrimp. It was him invented th' tamarin's, +and _him_ st-- borrered th' caraboo, and him went to sleep on the +Escolta. And us aimin' to ack decent, an' gettin' th' Old Man to +save our money for us. Th' cock-eyed old cod-fish!' says Terry, +eyein' th' slumberin' mayreener. 'I'd like to bat his head off. +Swelp me if ever I drink another--' + +"'Mytes,' th' mayreener begins, but Terry claps a hand over his +mouth. 'What'll we do to him, Casey?' he says. + +"'Le's think,' I says. + +"Th' caraboo was still loafin' along with his pick and shovel over +his shoulder, and we sets and looks at him, and th' mayreener, and +th' paddies, thinkin'. It was gettin' pretty near dark, and 'way +ahead of us was some mountains th' caraboo looked to be makin' for. +Then th' plan come to us. + +"'Give us th' rope, Casey,' Terry says. 'He might roll off 'n muddy +his cloes.' They was a coil of pack-rope on th' cart, and we takes +and rolls th' mayreener all up in it and fastens him to th' cart, all +safe and sound. He never yips till we're settin' th' last knot. +'_Three_ friends,' he says. 'Mytes, I never thought to 'ave--' + +"'Friends!' says Terry. '_Friends_! Ain't he got a nerve!' + +"We drops off behind and leaves him and his buffalao to jog along. +It was gettin' dark, but we set down and watched them out of sight. +They was passin' out of our lives slow but sure, joggin' along, him +and his buffalao. + +"'There may be ladrones in them mountains,' I says. + +"'Ladrones,' says Terry, 'wouldn't bother _him_. He's too +superfalous f'r ladrones.' + +"It got darker and darker, and pretty soon old Mr. Caraboo grunts up +over a little rise and they was gone. 'Well,' says Terry, 'if he +ever does get back, he'll have somethin' _real_ to remember this +time. Come along, Casey.' + +"So we hits th' road. We reckoned if we follered it long enough, we +prob'ly strike some place. So we plugs along through th' dark. We +warn't worryin' none about Schleimacher. Nothin' ever happens to a +full-blooded Marine, anyhow, and we had other things to think about. + +"'Did ye notice th' tire round his neck?' I says. 'That tire'll cost +us a mont' extry.' + +"Terry grunts. 'Considerin' th' months we'll get anyhow,' he says, +disgusted-like, 'an extry one is what _I'd_ call superfalous.' + +"And so," the voice concluded thoughtfully, "we plugs along." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE VALLEY OF SUNSHINE AND SHADOW + +The voice died away and it was still, with a breathless silence which +made the beating of my heart ring in my ears. It was as though I +stood outside the world, in the Empty Places. And then slowly +consciousness returned, if I had been unconscious, and I opened my +eyes and found that I was no longer in that old temple of Tzin Piaôu. +I was glad of that. I had grown weary and half afraid of seeing that +old man who lay there on his slab of stone, looking, looking, looking +into vacancy, watching the strivings and disasters and the grimy +ludicrousness of his fellows, while a little flame of derisive +laughter danced and flickered in his eyes. He seemed to me in truth +a heathen man. + +Now I lay in a spacious, dusky chamber, on a wide divan cushioned +with softest stuff, and above me, suspended from the lofty ceiling by +curiously wrought chains of silver and swaying slowly, silver lamps +burned very dimly, and the swaying light and shadow of them moved on +the age-blackened teak-wood of the floor and the mellowed silken +tapestries with which the walls were hung. The air was sweet, and +very heavy, with the fumes of burning incense, and it was vibrant +with the rise and fall of many distant voices, as if they spoke +softly, or prayed, perhaps, in unison. + +In my wonderment, I stirred a little on my couch, and from a dusky +corner of the chamber a woman came swiftly forward and stood before +me,--such a woman as I had never thought to behold. If every +perfection of every perfect beauty men have famed could have been +stolen to deck one woman only, and have been blended cunningly +together by a master hand and made instinct with life, that might +have been the birth of her I looked on then. + +A thin gold circlet glinted dully in the darkness of her hair, and +she was robed in a single garment of some thin, clinging, gauzy, +precious stuff which revealed the more fully her womanly perfections, +the while it pretended to conceal them. She walked swiftly and +lightly, with lithe hips swaying in the way of Eastern women, and her +rosy feet twinkled in the swaying yellow lamplight; she came and +stood before me and looked down with serious, starry eyes. + +"Where am I?" I asked. "And who are you? A Heathen Goddess?" + +She laughed softly. "You are in the temple of Lal," she said, "and I +am a priestess of Lal." + +"Why am I here?" I asked. + +"I do not know," she said, "but you were sent, I think, to see." + +"What," I asked, "is that murmur of voices, as if many prayed +together?" + +"They are praying," she said. "Look and see!" + +She drew aside a fold of the tapestry, and I looked into the cavern +of a temple. Around a lofty, mystic figure other swaying lamps of +silver burned, and other priestesses in shining, gauzy robes held +offerings aloft. And all the vast floor of the temple was one +heaving sea of the women of the East, who knelt, and held their hands +on high, imploringly, and laid their foreheads on the flagstones. +And as they knelt they prayed, and the soft ripple of their voices +made all the arches of the temple murmur. + +"What do they pray for," I asked, "so many of them together?" + +"For fruitfulness," said the priestess of Lal softly. "For fruitful +love. They know that if a woman has that, she has all that the world +can give her. So they pray for it." + +"That," said I, "is the fate of women. The bitter fate, for when +their love must prove unfruitful--" + +"It is still love," said the priestess of Lal softly, "and sweeter +than all else in life." + +In the dimness behind me, I thought I heard the echo of a chuckle of +cynical laughter, but I did not heed it. "Yes," I said, "any love +that's true is sweeter than all else--" + +"Sweeter than life itself," murmured the priestess of Lal, and +started, half afraid. For louder, more unmistakable, sounded that +mocking chuckle. + +But I did not heed it. Her words had stirred old memories in me, and +once again I was wandering in the sun-flooded length and breadth of a +Valley of Sunshine and Shadow intermingled. + + +Far up in the northern end of Luzon the cloud-hung cordillera divides +to east and west before it sinks abruptly in the sea, enclosing the +great central valley of the Cagayan. A dim, far-off region it has +always been, of which the good folk of Manila spoke with vague words, +as old men on the hills of Spain used to speak of Ultramar, that +unknown somewhere into which their sons were forever disappearing. +And even the people of the valley did not know it. At Aparri, on the +coast, where in the old days bales of tobacco were piled like houses +along the sandy streets while the shipping season lasted, the busy +laborers would tell you that it all came from "up there," with a wide +vague sweep of the hand toward the south. You took a canoe and went +southward for days between gray forests where the parrots screamed +and monkeys climbed lazily down the creepers to scoop up water in +their tiny hands, and you found Tuguegarao, the little city, sleeping +on the bluffs, perched high and safe above the river; and men still +told you of the wonders to be seen "up there." And then, after lazy +days and days, poling upward past endless fields of corn and tobacco, +you came to Ilagan, and the clerks in the offices of the Compañia +General spoke to you of great plantations to be seen "up there." But +at Ilagan most men wearied of the journey, and gave up their quest +before they had gone half way. + +They should have persisted, for the real "up there" is the wonderful +place they dreamed of, a land of magnificent spaces, of great +stretches of plain and rolling hills. In every little valley is a +forest where deer and wild boars and buffalo hide. And all the +reaches of the river and the clear tributary mountain streams, the +_pinaucanauanes_, are covered with clouds of ducks. And everywhere +is tobacco--in the fields and in the houses, and in the big, +flat-bottomed boats, the _barangayanes_, on the river. There is a +stretch of country where it seems the rich, deep, warm soil never +tires of growing things--tobacco and corn and flowers and canes and +grasses and bamboo--and men have called it "_La Flor de la Isabela_," +the flower of the land of good Queen Ysabel. It is a very quiet +region, but there is a charm in the broad fields, and the hot, sunny +air, and the wild hunts over plain and hill, and the expeditions now +and then in search of gold in the distant, purple mountains where the +wild men live. The valley grows upon one till one forgets the hills +of Spain and the people one knew, and even the nearer delights of +Manila, and stays on "up there" till one passes from the world which +already has, and is, forgotten. + +Sometimes they emerged for a moment, even came down to "el Capital" +for the Christmas festivities,--lean, bronzed, bearded men who +wandered silent through the gay crowds. How should they speak when +they knew nothing of all the gossip of Manila,--the ball his +Excellency was giving, and Don Fulano's promotion, and the match +between that young Diego de Tal and the General's daughter? But let +two of them meet in a café, over the tiny glasses of cognac, and they +could talk readily enough, though always in that quiet, self-retained +way which men of the open have. + +"Brr-r-gh, it's chilly here; it would not be like this in the +valley!"--"No, they will be planting now. And the river must be +rising; the young daredevils will be having great sport shooting the +rapids at Alcala. Remember the whirlpool on the west bank?"--"_Do_ +I? Have you heard that Don Enrique will hold a great _fiesta_ on +Shrove Tuesday?"--"Well, he can afford it, with this crop. Don +Enrique has covered more thousands this year than you have hairs on +your chin, _hombre_." + +Always the valley and the river and tobacco, and Don Enrique. For +Don Enrique was their lord. The Company back in Barcelona and Madrid +might own everything--the lean, silent, white men, and the brown, +toiling thousands in the fields, and the boats on the river, and the +great white fortresses of warehouses--but in the valley Don Enrique +was Company and King. For him they toiled and died forgotten, from +him they thankfully received their meagre wage, and when an order +came signed in his heavy hand, "_Valdez y de las Vegas_," all men +hurried to do his will. Any one would be proud to serve such a man. +There was a Valdez with every great captain that ever sailed, and a +Vegas keeps his hat on with the highest yet. And since this is a +commercial age, and mere family renown can count for little in the +balance against hard cash, each year brought Don Enrique one hundred +thousand _pesos_, five hundred thousand_ pesetas_, eight hundred +thousand _reales_! _Mira, amigo_, you could buy your bread and +sausage with that, eh? and have something left for a bit of a present +for the wife? + +And then he was no make-believe ruler, this Don Enrique. He knew the +valley, every day's journey of it, from lonely Cordón lying in the +threatening shadows of the pass, to the latest change in the bar +outside Aparri; knew the capacity of each warehouse to the last bale; +knew the shifting channel of the river, and could foretell the +treacherous floods. And he knew what each subordinate of his was +doing. No one knew when to expect a visit from him, and there were +few who did not dread being called to ride with him. Yet he would +dismount at the end of a long day in the saddle with as much calm +grace as though he were merely returning from a canter round the town. + +For he was always calm and dignified and silent, as only a gentleman +of Castile can be. Not taciturn or insolent, or overbearing, but +merely closed in himself. He treated all men--all white men, of +course I mean, for natives do not count--with quiet courtesy, and +made neither enemies nor friends. Even the guests who shared the +hospitality of the great house at Echague knew very little of their +host. + +It was a house, that place at Echague, built four-square and heavy as +a fort, of great blocks of sandstone, and back of it was a huge +walled garden. Of course Don Enrique had other houses, three of +them, at Ilagan and Aparri and Manila. But he was as much a man of +the open as any of his world-searching forebears, and he loved +far-off Echague better than all the rest. Here, when the shipping +was over and the last _barangayan_ lay loaded to the water's edge +above the rapids at Alcala, waiting for the first gentle lift of the +rains to carry her safe down to Aparri, Don Enrique would retire with +a band of chosen companions to hunt and game hard and long. Few men +were invited a second time, or wished to be, for with all his +courtesy Don Enrique was an exacting host in the hunting season. +Long before dawn, the hounds would be belling in the _patio_, the +great tiled courtyard, and the sleepy guest, turning on his pillow +for another nap, would hear a mighty splashing from the room of his +host, and the vicious squeals of the fiery little stallions in the +stables, and the clink of bits and stirrups and spears. And before +the unhappy sportsman could quite fall asleep, there would come a +peal of trumpets in the haunting reveille and boys pounding at each +door: "Ready, Señor. Ready. Your coffee is ready." And so they +were up and away in a mad rush over hill and valley in the gloom, +anything but attractive to a man who had a decent regard for his neck. + +And when they returned, Don Enrique would come riding at the head of +the long line, grave and composed as ever, while the huntsmen were +loaded down with a beautiful great buck or a boar, killed by a single +thrust of which any matador in Madrid need not have been ashamed. +Then, after the huge hunt breakfast, would come the welcome torpor of +the siesta, and in the evening a mighty game, _malilla_ or monte or +billiards, for Don Enrique played as he worked and rode, with a +carelessness of consequences not at all pleasant to a man with a +decent regard for his purse. + +So, one by one, the guests sailed away down the mysterious river, and +left Don Enrique alone in the great house at Echague, to be master of +all he surveyed. And there he moved about his lost world, and was +capped and bowed down to, and had his courteous, imperious way, until +I think he began to feel that he was really a very great man indeed. +And perhaps he was, as great as any other. + +But solitary grandeur has its drawbacks, even to as grave and great a +man as Don Enrique; and as the summers came treading on each other's +heels with their burden of endless days, Don Enrique, sipping his +Rioja in solitary state in the great dining-room, where the sweetness +of orange-blossoms stole in through the wide windows, began to dream +dreams of a companion who should sit always with him of an evening +across the big, gleaming table, or come close beside him and share +his thoughts. No, Don Enrique was not thinking of a wife; he had had +a wife, and "lost" her, as he told the world. But there was his +"little girl," Mercedes, back in a great gray convent in Madrid. His +little girl, he called her in the letters he sent back every month, +for she lived in his memory as the shy little maid he had given to a +sweet-voiced Mother Superior, so many years before. It was for her +he had been working all these years and piling up these princely +possessions, and a look of almost womanish tenderness would come over +his proud, grave face when he thought of her. This thought of her +had sustained him in all the loneliness, and he had always dreamed of +her coming as the crowning touch to his life. "Sometime," said Don +Enrique often to the lizards darting across the table in the evening, +as lizards will, "sometime she shall come to us." And somehow +sometime always lingered in the future. + +But at last, one evening when the odor of the blossoms hung very +heavy in the damp, still air, and the thunder was muttering in the +pass far back of Santa Lucia, Don Enrique stopped his sipping to look +very hard at the great-grandfather of all the lizards, a tremendous +old fellow almost five inches long. And the lizard returned the +stare with his bright, beady eyes. + +"_Por Diós_, my big friend," said Don Enrique to the lizard, at last, +"she shall come to us at once." And if you realize what a very great +man Don Enrique was, you will understand that when he began to make +companions of the lizards, even the biggest and most respectable of +them, it was quite time that he sent for Doña Mercedes. + +Letters came and went, and in the Christmas season Don Enrique found +himself in Manila waiting for the good old _Ysla de Panay_ to bring +his little girl to him. Many longing hearts have followed those old +ships of the Spanish Mail in the days that are gone. For all this +was long ago. Not long as you count, perhaps, but I have seen Doña +Mercedes' eyes, and they told me that it happened long, long ago, +when the world was very young indeed. + +But the old ship did not bring Don Enrique his little girl, after +all. I wish you might have seen the Doña Mercedes who did come. +Your heart would have beaten as fast, I hope, as that of the spruce +young lieutenant who almost let her fall as he was helping her into +the launch, and retired quite as full of confusion and blushes and +speechlessness as if he had never worn shoulder-straps and a smart +small-sword, and been aide-de-camp to his Excellency the +Gobernador-General. For Doña Mercedes was tall and slight, with all +the stateliness of her house, and her head was poised like a queen's +on her slender neck, and her little, high-arched feet seemed scarce +to touch the deck. Yet it was not the proud lady who made the young +lieutenant's hand unsteady--he lived and moved among proud +ladies,--it was the eyes of the young girl. For Doña Mercedes still +looked out on the world from the shelter of her convent window, with +such a gentle, timid, inquiring smile in the depths of her great dark +eyes that she was far more dangerous to the peace and happiness of +his Majesty's forces than all the natives of the Philippines, with +Cuba thrown in besides. + +When Don Enrique saw the eyes of the stately lady who had come to him +in place of his little girl, he was comforted, for so the little maid +whom he gave to the Mother Superior had looked at him. And Tia Maria +had good report to make. + +"She is the best, dearest, kindest child in the world," said Tia +Maria. "She is as good as the Virgin herself, and never has a fault. +Only she will not keep her feet dry; and oh! Don Enrique, if you knew +how I have to work to make her take care of her complexion--" I +suppose old servants are the same all the world over. + +So Don Enrique received his little girl, the very finest little girl +in all the world, which is not surprising when you consider what a +very great man her father was. + +While the two were getting acquainted, as Don Enrique put it, he +condescended to share Doña Mercedes with the little world of Manila. +He gave a great ball, and his Excellency danced the old minuet with +her, whereat the beholders cried that the days of chivalry were come +again. Doña Mercedes smiled a little, and blushed a little, and the +stout, red-faced old soldier led her to his stout, jolly old wife +with the remark: "My dear, when you are good enough to die, here is +your successor, if--" and he dropped forty years and a dozen +campaigns to make Mercedes a wonderful bow. + +"Tush, old wives are good enough for such as you," said her +Excellency bluntly. "Sit down here beside me, my dear, and tell me +how you like Manila." + +"It is very good to be with my father again," said Doña Mercedes +simply, "and you are all so kind to me." + +And then the young officers, who had been tugging at their fierce +moustaches and settling their chins in their stocks, came tramping +stiffly up and begging for the honor. So it went on for several +weeks, till one day her Excellency called. "Valdez," said she, in +her straightforward way, "are you going to marry your daughter or +not?" + +"That, madame," he replied, "depends on--" + +"On whether you find any one good enough for her, eh?" said her +Excellency. "And there is no one, is there?" + +"Not one in the world," he replied gravely, but with the gleam of a +smile. Most people smiled when that simple old lady was near. "Not +one in the world, madame," said Don Enrique. "But marriage is not a +necessity of life; my little girl and I will be happy together for a +time, I hope." + +"Love of the saints," cried her Excellency, "he is as young as his +daughter! He thinks to keep the bees always from his honey. Look at +their eyes; they are boy and girl together! God grant you may be +successful, Valdez. She is a dear, sweet child. But take her away +to your kingdom," she added. "Take an old woman's advice. They are +busy bees, and gay uniforms are unsettling for little girls who are +to love only their fathers. And, besides, I can't find an aide to do +an errand for me while she's in town!" + +So Doña Mercedes, having had only a sip of the life most people lead, +passed from the lost world of the convent to the lost world of the +valley, with her proud, dainty ways, and a friendly, inquiring smile +in her eyes for every one she met. I suppose you and I can't +understand how Doña Mercedes felt; one must step directly from the +convent to the world to do that. But of course her smile was +friendly, for she had never known any one who was not a friend; and +it was inquiring, for the world was all one great puzzle to her, and +she was interested in the multitude of people she saw doing so many +seemingly hard and disagreeable and useless things. Of bad things, +of course, she knew nothing, except for some words in her prayers. +So Doña Mercedes, young woman and little girl, looked into the world +with frank, interested eyes. + +And a very delightful place she found it. There was the great house, +with its thick walls and heavily barred windows and big, cool, dark +rooms. There was the garden, with the old familiar orange and lemon +trees and tinkling fountains. There were strange, sweet, new trees +as well, ylang-ylang and clove and cinnamon, and a hundred other +cool, fragrant, snowy-blossomed things, and poincianas, and orchids, +and great ferns, and palms. Best of all, trained up and about her +windows, were real Spanish roses, big white and pink and red and +yellow fellows. And at the far end of the garden was a +wide-spreading old veteran of a mango, big as a small mountain, and +in its shade a little summer-house for her, almost hidden in a tangle +of roses. Here she used to sit through the day, embroidering or +reading, or dozing. It might have seemed a dull life to you and me, +but then we never knew the quiet of the convent, and the peace of it. + +Besides, she looked forward always to the evening. You never knew +that either, perhaps--the coolness and delight of the tropical +evening coming after the long glare of the day, when through the +windows steals a fresh damp air, heavy with the scent of flowers and +moist earth, and one hears the strange cries of birds and insects, +and sees the big, silent, fluttering bats and the fireflies that make +a living fountain of every tree; and all these but passing shadows on +the background of a dim, happy, sleepy world of darkness. + +Most of all, Doña Mercedes was interested in the creatures who worked +and played in this huge new world. First there was her father. The +long evenings were never too long with him, for Don Enrique cast +aside all the gravity and dignity and silence, and laughed and jested +and talked and dreamed with his little girl, till the grandfather of +all the lizards became disgusted at the unseemly disturbance of the +established order, and retired with an indignant flip of the tail, +which nearly lost him that brittle member. + +Then there was good, grumbling Tia Maria, who found it hard to adjust +herself to new conditions. "How can one live in a country where +there are no sidewalks?" Tia Maria mourned, "and where there are +monkeys and bats--ur-gh-h--and scorpions and spiders--oogh-h! +Spiders big as _that_, child!" cried Tia Maria, pushing out a sturdy +foot from under her limp black skirts. + +Then there were the servants, with their eternal cheery smiles and +careless ways, who first revealed to Doña Mercedes that she inherited +the family temper. And the women and the little brown babies in the +town, and the dull men in the fields--Mercedes wondered if it was not +very hot and unpleasant to work in the fields, and so smiled most +kindly at them, till they forgot their sullenness and smiled back. + +There were the treacherous river and the great clumsy boats, and the +fierce-looking river-men with their knives and the bright +handkerchiefs about their heads. And once she met some wild men in +the streets--sturdy fellows with great muscles and long black hair, +stiff and rough as the mane of a horse, dressed mostly, to her +frightened gaze, in shields and spears and head-axes and knives. But +when she smiled timidly, they responded with wide grins, and tried to +sell her little silver pipes and copper betelnut-boxes. + +So Doña Mercedes moved about, learning many things concerning life, +even in that far-off valley. She was destined to learn the greatest +thing of all there, but that came later. I've often wished I could +have seen the stately, slender child-woman in those days, with her +big, inquisitive eyes--seen her just as the Captain did, when he came +tearing into town to see her and nearly ran over her. + +It was characteristic of Captain Manuel to come that way, forty miles +in four hours, when after two slow months the news of her arrival +penetrated far into the mountains, where he was happily busy hunting +outlaws. It was characteristic of him to gallop full tilt down on +the lady he had come to see, before he knew she was there. And it +was characteristic of him also to rein his horse back on its haunches +with one tug, and sweep his hat off with a gesture that would have +done honor to Quixote himself, and insist on escorting the lady home, +despite the uneasy grumbling of Tia Maria, and a sudden access of +stateliness on Doña Mercedes' part. + +Everything Captain Manuel did was characteristic, for he was a +Catalan. And while no one can foretell what a Catalan may do, it is +always safe to say that he will do what he pleases, and do it with +all his might. And this gray-eyed, fair-haired boy with the frank, +smiling face, had chosen to play at living, thus far. He was the +commander of the Guardia Civil in all the southern valley, put in +that unenviable post that puzzled bureaucrats might be saved from his +unbounded energy. And he played with the bandits and outlaws and +savages, purposely left them undisturbed that they might grow bold +and troublesome, and then went out with a laugh and destroyed them, +as you might a cage of rats. When the fighting was over, he would +come back unwearied and amuse himself with wondrous speculations in +tobacco, or stake his last peso on a stroke at billiards with Don +Enrique. The most fascinating of all the playthings he had +discovered in his brief life was something he was pleased to call +love. He played at that with his usual wholeheartedness, till a +score of girls up and down the valley were ever watching for the +lithe figure on the wild black horse, and more than a score of men +were breathing threats of vengeance. Whereat the Captain laughed +boyishly, and invited the discontented to step out and settle it once +for all with pistol or rifle or knife or spear or bolo or bare hands. + +I'm sorry you couldn't have known Captain Manuel instead of merely +hearing about him from me, for you may get the idea that he was a +good-for-nothing young reprobate, whereas he was only a gay, +good-hearted boy, dissipating his splendid strength in a hundred +useless ways, just because no one had ever shown him a useful one. +But he was a dangerous person, with his ready tongue and tossing +hair, to come prancing before the wondering eyes of that bewildered +woman-child, Doña Mercedes. Dangerous, I mean, to Don Enrique's +dreams of the future. For of course he fell in love with Doña +Mercedes at once. He was quite sure of that, before he had walked a +dozen steps with the lady, that first night. + +With him, to decide that he was in love was to be there; so behold +the Captain, of a morning after drill, come clanking to the little +summer-house, all brave in sword and spurs, to sit and regale Doña +Mercedes with weird tales of the little fights, till terrified Tia +Maria crossed herself and peered anxiously up into the branches of +the great mango, more than half expecting to see a naked head-hunter +there ready to leap upon her venerable wig. + +And Doña Mercedes, poor, little, stately Mercedes, watched this +strange newcomer as she watched all others, but with a shade more +interest, for she felt that she understood him. The frank, friendly +smile in his eyes seemed so exactly what she felt to all the world. + +Soon she began to find his presence a welcome relief to the length of +the days, and missed him when he did not come. Don Enrique should +have taken care then. But Don Enrique was careless. In the first +place, it was rather a strenuous undertaking to keep Captain Manuel +away from where he chose to be. And in the second place, any fear +that he could awaken the heart in Doña Mercedes was absurd. He was a +penniless youngster, without a "de" or an "Y" or a "Don" to his name, +and she was Doña Mercedes, a Valdez and a Vegas; and, furthermore, +she had him, Don Enrique, to fill her every want. So Don Enrique +smiled and jested and talked and dreamed of an evening in the great +dining-room, and was very happy with his little girl. And Captain +Manuel laughed and joked and sang in the little summer-house of a +morning, and was in heaven, or thought he was, which, after all, +amounts to just as much while it lasts. And Doña Mercedes looked on +them all with friendly, inquiring eyes. + +At last one morning, the Captain was holding a skein of silk for her +to wind. Tia Maria had fallen into an uneasy doze through very +excess of terror at the latest tale. Several times their eyes met +when the skein was tangled--such a tiny skein of golden-yellow silk +to mean so much. And each time Doña Mercedes became more stately and +more timid, while the Captain's cheeks burned like a boy's. Their +talk died away to broken sentences, and then the hush of noontide lay +over the great, hot, fragrant garden, and only the heavy droning of +bees among the roses broke the stillness. Doña Mercedes put out a +trembling hand to clear another snarl, and--Tia Maria popped bolt +upright in her chair. "Blood of all the blessed saints!" she cried. +"What was that I heard?" And she peered up into the gently stirring +branches of the old tree, and made ready to flee. + +"It was a wild man, perhaps," said the Captain, with a tremulous +laugh; and Doña Mercedes took up the conversation quite as composedly +as if she had lived in the world all her life. But when the Captain +was going, she murmured: "You must tell Don Enrique for me." + +Of course he told Don Enrique at once, and of course Don Enrique was +quite astonished at the commonplace thing which had been going on +right under his patrician nose, and quite scandalized, and very +positive, in his grave, courteous way, that all such thoughts must be +dropped at once--positive as only a great man who ruled a valley +could be. And Captain Manuel was quite sure that he loved the lady, +could not live without her, would win her in the end--sure as only a +big, impetuous heart like his could make a man. So Don Enrique +politely regretted that he could not have the honor of receiving the +Captain in his home again, and the Captain bowed very low and clanked +out under the big, gloomy arch of the gateway for almost the last +time. + +Now I doubt if either of them had really been in love. But they were +ready to grow into it, and forced separation has been a fertile soil +for propagating love, ever since the world began. The little girl +was very dutiful and sat with her father every evening, merry and +smiling and tender as ever; but across the big, gleaming table she +may sometimes have seen a vision of a longing, boyish face. Don +Enrique had seen visions across that same table, you remember. +Perhaps in time Doña Mercedes might have watched the vision till it +came to mean more to her than the great house and the family name and +the love of her father himself. + +And the Captain fell into a very fever of devotion, and for more than +a month he stayed in his quarters, writing Catalan love-songs on the +edges of commissary returns, and gazing gloomily at his sword and +spurs. Billiards and cards knew him no more; the black horse fretted +in the paddock and looked unsayable things at the frightened groom; +the brown-skinned girls of the countryside lived in peace and amity +with their reconciled lovers. Perhaps the Captain's devotion might +have endured, and all that splendid energy of his might have been +turned to good and useful things at last. + +All that is mere speculation. We shall never know, and it does not +matter. The day of Spain was passing in the Islands. Outside there +had long been rumors of ugly things; sudden, secret death and +smoldering insurrection, killing of priests and burning of towns and +terror-stricken people everywhere. Now at last they penetrated even +to the valley,--stories of raids on distant _haciendas_, and +assassinations on lonely trails, and a little army massed in the +foot-hills back of Santa Lucia. It was as if a chill wind swept over +the sunny plains and rolling hills and busy, treacherous river, and +none of the lean, bearded, sun-bronzed men could tell whence it came. + +Don Enrique, that great man, did not heed it. When news came of a +wondrous great buck seen near Ascaris, he insisted on setting out to +capture it. "A bit of venison is what you need to put the roses +back," he said to Doña Mercedes, standing tall and strong in his +boots, and tapping her cheek with his gauntlet. "Insurrection! +Nonsense, _chiquita_, it is only the talk of these poor, foolish +Indians. I wave my riding-whip at them, and phooh!"--he blew a quick +breath, kissed her, and rode off in the gray chill of the morning. + +But toward evening a man dragged himself in--old Canute the huntsman, +cut and bleeding--and told Doña Mercedes how the party had been +ambuscaded and had fought its way to a thicket of bamboo, and how +they must have help or perish. + +While she stood half stunned and helpless, came Captain Manuel, +uncalled, and said simply: "I am going to him, Doña mia." He did not +tell her that all the country was up in arms, that he was going to +his death. I doubt if he even thought of that, as he stood before +her and saw her big, beseeching eyes. All the carelessness and +lightness of his nature fell away, as he stood before the lady for +whom he was to die. And yet, as he turned to go, a bit of the spirit +of old Spain stirred in him, and he bent toward her. "I kiss your +hand, my lady," he said. + +Then Doña Mercedes understood, and with a little cry she flung +herself into his arms. One little moment she knew that all the +secret of life was hers--and then she took a white rose from her hair +and gave it to him. "My colors!" she said, and none of her ancient +house had ever stood more proud and stately to watch her knight go +out to battle, and none ever went more steadfast and strong and +lovable than that boy of the common folk of Cataluña. + +There's not much more to tell, of course. The Captain found Don +Enrique, and at dawn they went out together, with their men, in one +of those deeds of splendid courage which once made their country +mistress of half the world. But a poor, foolish Indian, with a +well-cleaned Mauser and a firm rest at five hundred _metres_, and the +wrongs of three centuries to right, stopped their poor, proud, +Spanish hearts. + +The few men who were left brought them back to Doña Mercedes, +standing pale and stately in the great courtyard, and on Don +Enrique's breast they found a miniature which might have been his +little girl, but was not, and on the Captain's a white rose dabbled +with red. + +As I said, all this happened when the world was young. I know, for I +rode through Echague once, and I saw Doña Mercedes' eyes. They are +friendly and inquiring still, but the smile comes from an old, old +heart. And yet, after all, is it so bad? Don Enrique and the +Captain are very quiet indeed in the great garden, and perhaps the +valley is none the less happy that their imperious wills are quiet, +too. The river still runs, and the boatmen sing on its long reaches, +and the hot sunny air floats over field and hill and forest with +vivifying strength, and you would hardly know that they were gone. +Perhaps Don Enrique might never have been reconciled. Perhaps the +Captain might have changed. There are a dozen perhapses. And now +Doña Mercedes has the great house--after all it is not unlike a +convent in its quiet and its peace--and the memory of two strong men +who loved her until death. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +WHAT OKIMI LEARNED + +Slowly the picture faded, and somewhere near me I heard the priestess +of Lal sobbing. + +"You saw it, too?" I asked. + +"Yes," she said, "I saw it too. And oh! I'm sorry for her, but it +was better that than nothing. Far better that than nothing! There's +nothing else in life like love--" + +Suddenly, in the solemn hush of that dim, lamp-lighted room, I heard +a chuckle of cynical amusement. The priestess of Lal heard it, too, +and faced me with beautiful, blazing eyes, and flaming cheeks still +damp with tears. + +"Did you dare to laugh at me!" she cried. "I could kill you. Did +you _dare_?" + +"No," I said. "I believe, as you do, that love--" + +Again that rustle of malicious laughter crept across the +incense-laden air. In the eyes of the woman a sudden terror showed, +and she shrank close to me. + +"Who is it laughs?" she whispered. "This is not the first time I've +heard it, when I spoke and thought of love. It--frightens me. But," +she cried with sudden energy, "I _will_ believe that love is +everything. If it is not, what becomes of us poor women? Are our +lives all wasted on a dream?" + +"I do not know what it is that laughs," I said. "Some evil influence +seems to dog my path, that turns all the smiling face of the earth to +dust and ashes. But do not doubt, and I will not. True love is the +one eternal thing in our mortal lives. It is greater than we are +ourselves, and it is never wasted--" + +Suddenly the flames, in their silver sockets, sucked upward once and +then were gone, and we were left in inky darkness, the priestess of +Lal and I, cowering close together like two frightened children, +while ghostly garments rustled all about us, and ghostly voices +whispered, and we saw what Okimi learned. + + +The girl Okimi is the daughter of parents who are poor and so honest +that they sold their daughter for money to pay their debts, just as +soon as it was possible. The girl went down to the ship and away +across the radiant Inland Sea without shame, and without a murmur at +her fate, for such things happen so often that the gods have no time +to listen to complaints. + +That is how she came to be living in a strange land, in a gilded +house in a garden where big paper lanterns glow in the shrubbery +every night. Okimi soon discovered the garden, and learned to be +fairly happy there in her placid, childish way, tickling the +gold-fish in the fountain basin with long blades of grass, and +laughing to see them dart away, playing with the monkeys, and +crooning little flower-songs to the big, unfriendly ylang-ylang. + +It was all very well while the day lasted. But when the evening +shadows began to gather in the corners, Mama San would call from the +balcony, "Now, girls!" Okimi tried to be very obedient, and when Mama +San called she would rush away as fast as she could, with her funny +little toed-in steps, to dab on the rouge and put on the silken +kimono and smile bravely over the samisen. Mama San said men like a +girl who smiles and sings and is gay, and even Okimi was wise enough +to know that the more men liked her, the sooner she would be free and +back in sight of dear old Fuji. That's what she always called him, +"dear old Fuji," a rather familiar name to give to a sacred mountain, +but then Okimi was a little girl, and big Fujiyama had never seemed +to mind. + +Okimi never knew just how it came about that the girls, Haristo and +Ghana and the rest, began to laugh at her and to say things in the +English she found it so hard to understand. She just managed to make +out these words: "Okimi San got sooeetart! Okimi San got sooeetart!" +She ran to find her oracle, Mama San. + +"What is this 'sooeetart'?" she demanded. + +"It is a foreign custom," said Mama San. "These white men, they +become as mad. It is one girl always, and if she speaks with another +they are very 'jalous' and wish to fight." + +"Oh, I know!" cried Okimi. "It is like their honorable marriage." + +"It is not like the marriage of Nippon. They have somewhat that they +call 'love.' They say always, 'I love yeeoo, sooeetart.' I have +heard them. When I was young like you, I had many sooeetart," said +Mama San, puffing complacently at her cigarette. + +"And what is this thing 'love'?" Okimi persisted. + +"Pshaw, child, how should I know? It is some madness inside one; we +have it not in Japan. Run and play with the monkeys." + +So Okimi went and played with the monkeys, and asked them what love +is. She was a curious little thing. But they only grinned horribly +at her and chattered, and the goldfish did not seem to know, and the +ylang-ylang blossoms were silent about it, though she sang them her +very prettiest song. + +"Foolish flowers," she cried, "you do not know our tongue," and she +flung them in the fountain basin and set the bright fish scurrying. + +And still the girls, the tired-looking, laughing little girls, would +cry, "Okimi San got sooeetart! Okimi San got sooeetart!" And still +Okimi San went on asking the trees and the flowers and the birds, +"What is sooeetart? What is this 'love'?" And they never could +understand and answer. + +Even Buddh would not tell her, even black, ugly, good little Buddh, +who sat cross-legged above the pyramid of dough-cakes on the dresser +and protected Okimi. Buddh would not tell her, though she asked him +time and time again, with her head on the floor at his feet, as +humbly as could be. + +So one night when the man they called Sweetheart came, Okimi asked +him. He looked blank at first, and she was afraid he was not going +to tell her. Then suddenly he gathered her up in his arms, and +kissed her on her laughing eyes and pouting lips and little, dimpled +chin. "That is love," said he. + +Now Okimi had long been practising that honorably foolish and +disgusting foreign habit, the kiss. She tried hard, for Mama San, +the oracle, said men like girls who know how to kiss. Generally she +shut her eyes very tight and screwed up her lips and held her breath. +But this time, when Sooeetart said, "This is love," and his lips +touched hers, she seemed to have no breath at all, and her eyes +stayed open and looked right into his, and--Okimi wriggled out of +Sweetheart's arms and ran away as fast as she could with her funny +little toed-in steps. + +And all the girls together couldn't pull her back. But next morning +she gave the juiciest orange to dear, ugly little Buddh who sat +cross-legged in the corner and protected her. + +She called Sweetheart "Jiji" after that. Jiji means old man, but if +you know how to say it just right, it can mean dearest, littlest, +biggest, belovedest old man. Okimi said it that way. + +Jiji made a most delightful playmate, after Okimi had learned not to +be afraid of him. He was so big; when he knelt on a cushion, one of +his feet went under the bed, and she had to move a chair to make room +for the other. And he was so strong, and insisted on carrying her +all about the house in a sort of triumphal procession, whereat the +monkeys and parrots chattered and shrieked in amazement, while Okimi +kicked him in the ribs and cried "Gid ap" in Japanese, and swore at +him innocently in Tagalo, the way she had heard the native coachman +talk to his horses. Such romps as they used to have. + +But she liked the quiet hours best, when they were alone together, +and the samisen waked the echoes of a thousand sorrows. It was sweet +to hear the echoes of the sorrows, and then look into Jiji's eyes. +And then he had to see if anything had changed since his last visit, +and they would make an important tour of inspection, hand in hand. +There was the little pot of iris which she was trying so hard to make +live in this strange land. And the wrinkled old dwarf of a +pine-tree, not much taller than Jiji's longest finger. And there was +Buddh, who sat behind the little bowl of blazing oil and protected +Okimi. Often, after Jiji was asleep, she would creep out very softly +to kneel and say, "Dear Buddh, mighty Buddh, now we know what love +is. We thank thee for telling us." And ugly little Buddh, sitting +there cross-legged in the tiny, flickering spot of light, smiled back +at her most knowingly. + +All the girls liked Jiji. He was always making them laugh, and +laughter is a pleasant thing. Somehow the food wouldn't stay on his +chop-sticks, and so one or two of them must come to his relief. They +would pick out the snowiest grains of rice for him, and the juiciest +bits of fish and seaweed, and the fattest of the little green plums. +Sometimes they would get to racing with each other, and pop things +into Jiji's mouth till he could only hold up his hands and shake his +head in mournful protest. Then, when he got his breath, he was as +likely to say "_Doyo mashi tashi_" as anything. + +Jiji was very proud of his accomplishment in the language. He had +one phrase which he used as often as he could. It was "_Sayonara de +gans_," and it always made the girls laugh very heartily, for they +didn't know what "_de gans_" meant. Jiji didn't know either, so when +they laughed he thought he had made a joke in an unfamiliar tongue, +and he laughed, too. Then they would all laugh, and Jiji would go +swinging down to his carriage with his big strides, and the girls +would all crowd to the window and call after him, as he drove away, +"_Sayonara_! Goo' bye, Jiji San. _Sayonara de gons_!" + +Okimi didn't run to the window with the rest, but hid in her room, +those days, and was very busy. A festival of her people was +approaching, and she had determined to make for Jiji the very +beautifullest kimono that ever was known. From Kobe came a bolt of +silk, the wonderful crepe which makes you catch your breath when the +man unrolls it. Blue, it was, and softly blended from the deep, +quiet shadow of the Inland Sea to the tint that trembles in the +throat of an unfolding iris, and the artist-weaver had even caught +the hint of color which rests on Fujiyama when the springtime days +are near. And over all he had scattered handful after lavish handful +of snowy cherry-blossoms. + +Okimi hung over it for many days, not daring to cut a thing so +precious. And she called in her dearest friend, sweet-faced little +Misao San, and they held it up to the light and draped it about them, +and fondled it, and feasted their starved little souls on it. + +When at last it was cut, Okimi would sit on the floor to sew while +Misao sang to her. One day Misao happened to remember an old, old +song. It goes something like this: + + White is all the cherry-garden + In the moonlight there below; + Poor lost petals fluttering downward + Cold, like snow. + + I am lost as are the blossoms-- + My heart is full of lonely pain-- + Come for me, dear lord my master + E'er the cherries bloom again. + + +Misao sang, and Okimi, listening, gazed at something very far away. +And she gathered up the pictured blossoms, and pressed them very +softly. Misao, looking as fluffy and gentle and bewildered as a +kitten, let the samisen fall with a crash, and Okimi came back to her. + +"Okimi, dear," said Misao timidly, "do you know what love is?" + +"Love?" echoed Okimi. "Why, love is--" She went over to the window. +"Look, Misao San, the iris will surely blossom soon. Here is a bud. +Love is--and see, the so-strong little pine-tree has sent out +three--four--six sharp new needles!" She patted him gently. +"Love--why, love is everything." + +"Can you see it?" asked dreamy, practical little Misao. + +Okimi looked at the swelling iris, and the pure, delicate +cherry-blossoms on the silk, and Buddh, sitting cross-legged above +his dough-cakes. + +"Yes," said Okimi, "you can see it everywhere." + +"Can you feel it?" + +The breeze came creeping in, sweet with the scents of the green +world, and stirred Okimi's sleeve. + +"Yes," she answered, "everywhere you feel it." + +"And hear it?" asked Misao, wondering. + +A cock crowed bravely in the yard, and there came a burst of distant, +childish laughter. + +"And hear it everywhere," said Okimi, and she began to hum: "White is +all the cherry-garden." + +"This love must be a strange thing," said Misao sleepily, curling up +on the cushions. "I do not understand it. Why cannot I see it, and +hear it, and feel it, if it is everywhere?" + +So Okimi hid in her room and sewed away, day after day, till she +sewed a hole into the end of her little pink finger. Jiji San +discovered it and demanded an explanation. + +"It is nothing," Okimi answered. "I am just making a worthless gift +for thee. Soon it will be the New Year's of Nippon, and it is a +custom to bring gifts." + +"What gift shall I bring for thee?" Jiji asked. + +Okimi made a wrinkle come in her forehead before she could answer +that question. "I think," she said at last, "I think I should like a +monkey." + +"But there are many monkeys already," Jiji objected. + +"Chungo pinches me, and Bungsaksan is very dirty," Okimi answered +gravely. "I want a monkey all my own. Just a very little monkey, +little as that--" She held out her absurd little hand, no bigger +than a baby's. "I could talk to him when you are not here." + +"Child," Jiji promised laughingly, "you shall have a monkey little +enough to go climbing about our pine-tree." + +When New Year's came, Okimi was busy as could be. There was the +"Christmas-tree" to make, a bare branch hung from the ceiling. It +took a long time to tie the fluttering strips of red and gilded paper +on all the twigs, and fasten the tiny white storks in their places. +Then there were new dough-cakes to be made for Buddh, and his bowl to +be filled with special, perfumed oil. And she must hunt for the very +sweetest spray of ylang-ylang, and go to buy an orange. He fared +very well that day, the good little Buddh who sat cross-legged in the +corner and smiled back at Okimi. + +When all that was finished, and Misao San had done her hair and she +had dressed in her gayest and laid out the new kimono, done at last, +for Jiji, it was dusk and she had not long to wait, there in the +happy, expectant silence. + +"Here is thy monkey," Jiji said. His voice was strained, but Okimi +did not notice it. She was busy with the frightened, clinging, furry +thing. + +"I cannot thank thee," she said. "Here is an insignificant gift I +have made for thee. Put it on." + +Jiji fingered the soft folds of the kimono nervously. "Not now," he +said. "I have to go now." + +"What, on our night?" cried Okimi. "It is well," she added bravely. +"Thou wilt return after a little--be still, little brown one, I will +not hurt thee--and we will eat then. Mama San gave me a beautiful +chicken for us. She is very good to me." + +Jiji grew still more nervous. "Okimi ca," he said at last, "I--well, +the Regiment sails to-morrow." + +"Sails?" Okimi repeated dully, sliding to the floor. + +"To America," Jiji explained. "The Regiment is ordered home, and I +must go with it. I am a soldier." + +"Oh," said Okimi. Her face, as she huddled there on the floor, was +hidden under the gay pink lining of her sleeve. "America? Is it--is +it far to America?" + +"Very far," he answered. + +"Oh," said Okimi. The monkey tugged at her sleeve, and she raised +her head a little. "It does not matter," she said sturdily. "Very +soon now I shall have bought myself from Mama San. I shall be free, +and I will come to thee. I will go anywhere for thee, so it does not +matter--much. Put on thy kimono." + +Jiji's nails were cutting into his palms and he did not know it. +"Thou canst not come, Okimi. In America I--I--" there are some +things it's hard to say, even to a broken plaything. "I am married +in America." + +"Oh," said Okimi. She gave the monkey a little push and he went +scuttling under the bed, with shrill cries of alarm. "But, oh, my +beloved, let me come to thee! I will be her servant. Let me but +come. She will not care. In Nippon are many who live so." + +"In America," said Jiji, "they do not understand. You cannot come, +Okimi. It would ruin me." + +Then Okimi did what all her sisters of the East, and some not of the +East, have learned to do. She bowed her head and said very quietly: +"Thou knowest what is best for thee. It shall be so." + +The little monkey, in the silence, poked out his head and looked up +at big Jiji with a quick, silent grin, as a frightened monkey will. +And Jiji, looking down at the gay rumpled figure at his feet, said +something that sounded like "Godamit." Then he cleared his throat +very harshly. "_Sayonara, Okimi ca_," he muttered. "_Sayonara de +gans_," and he laughed unsteadily as he went out. + +"_Sayonara_, Jiji San," said Okimi. + +For a long time she lay quite still. So long that the frightened, +curious monkey crept out to look about him. He stretched out his +claw-like hand and plucked inquiringly at the gay bundle on the +floor. Okimi did not stir, and he drew back his lips in a nervous +grin. He made a little rush and grinned back inquiringly at the +bundle, another and another, and took heart. The flame attracted +him, and he scrambled to the dresser and stood face to face with +Buddh. He jumped back with his grin of frightened surprise, but +Buddh did not even deign to look at him. After a moment he sidled +closer, glancing with quick hard eyes now at the bundle, now at the +god. At last he stretched out his tiny brown hand and touched +Buddh's knee. He dipped a wee finger in Buddh's perfumed oil, and +tasted it. Then he dipped in both hands and splattered, as you have +seen a baby in its bath, and grinned up maliciously, ready to run. +But Buddh gazed straight ahead, unmoved, and the monkey, bold at +last, gave the orange a most tremendous little shove. It tottered, +and bumped down to the floor, and went rolling under the bed, and the +monkey followed it with shrill little cries of triumph. + +The noise startled Okimi and she raised her head. Then she went +blindly over to Buddh, ugly, wrinkled, good little Buddh, who sat +cross-legged and protected her. She patted the ridiculous little +dough-cakes with lingering, caressing hands, and stirred the spray of +flowers so that they gave out their sweetest odor. She bent very low +before the god. + +"Mighty Buddh," she pleaded, "he is my sooeetart. I am just a little +girl, and I love him. Please give him back to me, dear Buddh." + +She looked up at him timidly, seeking assurance, but he did not smile +back at her. She was going to say more, trying to make Buddh +understand how extremely important it was, but just then Mama San +knocked at the door and told her she must come down-stairs. + +So Okimi dabbed on the rouge, and smoothed out her gay silken kimono, +and took her samisen, and hurried down as fast as she could with her +funny little toed-in steps. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHERE THERE IS NO TURNING + +Again the swaying lamps burned dim above us, and the priestess of +Lal, all trembling, looked up at me with terror-haunted eyes. + +"Poor little child," she whispered. "Poor little life-mocked child! +That is the bitter fate which women fear, to be sucked dry of their +fresh sweetness, of their life, and then be tossed aside. Oh, I have +seen it many times. We give our all, and it is wasted because men--" + +"Not all men," I said. "Not all men are like Okimi's warrior +sweetheart." + +"They are all alike," cried the priestess of Lal vehemently. "In +their hearts they are all alike, lighter than air, unstabler than +water, more fickle than nectar-seeking butterflies. They love our +beauty, and when that is gone-- Look you," she cried. "This is the +tragedy of a woman, to be beautiful, to be loved, and to grow old. +Look," she said. "I will show you." + +Once again the light of the silver lamps was quenched, and silent, +side by side, the priestess of Lal and I looked far down the weary +path which Eastern women travel not knowing where an end shall be. + + +In all the ride from Segovia along the beach, Hazlitt met only three +living things, three women staring at him out of the folds of dingy +calico which shielded their faces from the glare of sun and sea. One +was young and very graceful; another was not so young, a comely, +ox-like thing, laden with comfortable fat. The third was old and +bent, with a hideously wrinkled, hopeless face, the mask of that +impatient death which shrivels away the women of the hot Eastern +world, outside and in. For a moment they startled him. They were +like phantoms risen to confront him on the lifeless beach, for the +youngest was but a memory of what the eldest had been a little time +before, and the eldest only a prophecy of what the youngest soon +would be. As they stood and watched him passing by, shifting their +worn feet uneasily on the blistering sand, Hazlitt felt a mild +stirring of pity at the familiar sight. + +"Hoy, friends," he hailed them. "Can one of you tell me the way to +the plantation of Don Raymundo?" + +The girl looked at him shyly under lowered lids; the grandmother, +squatting on her haunches, puffed at a ragged fragment of cigar she +carried and gazed out to sea; but the mother clutched volubly at the +opportunity of speech. + +"Go on till you come to the mango which blew down in the typhoon of +ten years ago," she said, "and the road is there. It is called the +'Trail that has no Turning.' Don Raymundo is a Castilian of the +noblest, and he is the richest _haciendero_ in the world. Each year +he loads a hundred ships with sugar. The plantation is called the +'Hacienda without a Name.' Don Raymundo has a daughter whose name is +Señorita Dolores. She is the most beautiful woman in the world. His +wife is Doña Ceferina." For a moment a look of dislike crossed the +broad, good-natured face. "They call her Doña, and she is very +proud, but after all she is just a mestizo, almost a Filipina like +us. She--" + +Hazlitt broke into her chatter with his thanks, flipped a coin in the +air, and jogged on till he had left them far behind, three moving +dots on the waste, plodding the way of Malay womenfolk. + + +Hidden in the green-shrouded wilderness of the lower hills, the +Hacienda without a Name lay under the sunset enchanting as a lost +fragment of some old world, where labor next the soil was the +happiest thing in life. And up in the _sala_ of the great house on +the hill, the mistress of the _hacienda_ stared at Hazlitt over her +cup. She was a beautiful woman, but under the Caucasian mold of her +features another face was beginning to show dimly, the face of a race +whose very heat and strength of life fuses all lines down to mere +shapelessness of flesh. A part of Doña Ceferina had been overtaken +by the unrelenting advance of middle age. + +"You say my husband is a prince, Señor?" Doña Ceferina echoed +doubtfully over her cup, and her soft forehead wrinkled in +bewilderment. This strange young visitor had puzzling notions of +what constitutes conversation, a diversion of which Doña Ceferina was +extremely fond. "Without doubt," she said, "I think that is a +mistake." + +Hazlitt looked at her in mingled amusement and vexation. In all his +wonderful day of discovery, this talkative, commonplace woman had +been the sole jarring note. But Doña Ceferina, oblivious to his +emotions, sat in the cool twilight of the big room and poised her +cup, like some hybrid goddess of justice about to render a decision. + +"Beyond doubt, it is a mistake," said Doña Ceferina. "Don Raymundo's +family is one of the oldest in Spain, but it has never married with +royalty. There are few princes in Spain not of the royal blood; it +is not like Russia." The word gave her a clue to a topic of real +interest, and she brightened. "When I was a girl, back at school, I +met a Russian prince, one summer at Biarritz--" + +Over _his_ cup, Don Raymundo's tiny Mephistophelian moustache lifted +slightly in the mocking smile which was his extremest expression of +emotion, and Hazlitt rushed to the righting of his false lead. + +"Of course I did not mean that Don Raymundo was a prince in name," he +explained, "but in fact, you know." + +Doña Ceferina raised her cup and sipped her chocolate resignedly, but +Hazlitt did not heed her. + +"The startling, the wonderful thing to an American like me is that he +is not only a prince in power, but a prince of another age. The +people here on the plantation are his, belong to him personally. +Take that thing we saw just now, for example, all those hundreds of +people coming in to the plantation kitchen for their suppers--" + +Doña Ceferina rose to her opportunity. "If you only knew," she said, +"how much rice it takes to feed five thousand people--" + +Hazlitt, brimming with the enthusiasm the day had brought him, swept +on. "Think of having a jail of your own, and putting people in it +when you like, being their law! Why, I dare say they'd follow him to +war if he told them to, and--and sack the next plantation. +It's--it's positively feudal, you know. That's the only word; all +this doesn't belong to our day at all. And yet they say there's no +romance left in trade!" + +He stopped abruptly, for Doña Ceferina was gazing at him with round +eyes. If one could picture the eyes of a ruminative cow, watching +with mild curiosity a serpent which sought to charm her, one would +have seen the eyes of Doña Ceferina just then. Don Raymundo smiled +inscrutably, and the pause grew awkward. + +Suddenly a soft voice came to Hazlitt's relief. "You remember +'feudal,' mama," it said reassuringly. "Ever so long ago, when they +had knights and squires and--and _gens-d'armes_, and people lived in +castles, and they had the Inquisition in Spain, and the friars, +and--and everything. That was 'feudal.'" + +Doña Ceferina sighed with relief and sipped: "Dolores has just come +back from school, so she remembers all those things," she explained +to Hazlitt. "I learned them once, of course, but one forgets, out +here. And so you think we're feudal? I don't know, I'm sure. Of +course there aren't any knights any more, or castles, but we _do_ +have the friars. Listen, señor," and she set her cup on a little +table, to give freedom to her hands, and plunged into the story of +the latest exaction by the local representative of the hierarchy of +the Philippines. + +No one minded her much. Her husband sat with half-closed eyes and +puffed at his cigarette, Dolores turned to her window and gazed down +on her little world as it went to sleep, and Hazlitt's eyes persisted +in wandering to the girlish figure, glowing in a belated, ruddy shaft +of light. Decidedly, the talkative woman on the beach had shown some +discrimination in placing Señorita Dolores on the pinnacle of beauty. +Suddenly Hazlitt became aware that Doña Ceferina's tale was told, and +that her talk had taken a more personal turn. + +[Illustration: "_Dolores gazed down on her little world as it went to +sleep._"] + +"It's so good to have one from our own world to talk to again," she +said enthusiastically. "One gets lonely here, with only natives for +neighbors. I tremble to think what my existence would have been, +after I came back from school, if Don Raymundo had not been here to +rescue me." She smiled radiantly at her black and white spouse, as +if to include him in the conversation, but he only drew long on his +cigarette and puffed the smoke very deliberately toward the ceiling. +Hazlitt's eyes wandered to the window again, and Doña Ceferina's +followed them. + +"Isn't she beautiful?" she whispered. + +"Yes," said Hazlitt, half to himself. "She's like a Madonna, a +Madonna whom some great man dreamed of painting and gave up in +despair." + +"Exactly," Doña Ceferina agreed hastily. "That's just it. She's +beautiful as the Virgin herself, and good! Poor child, after three +years of Paris and Madrid, to come back to this!" She swept an +over-jeweled hand at the great, simple, dignified room. "No wonder +she's lonely, poor little dear. Go and talk to her, Señor Hasleet." + +Hazlitt accepted his permission with alacrity. As he approached, +Doña Dolores glanced timidly at him across the gulf of sex, which +tradition and training had fixed between her and all male things not +of her blood, and retreated into herself. Her shyness was part of +her attraction, Hazlitt thought, and did not find the silence awkward +as he stood beside her and looked down with her on the _hacienda_. + +In the shaggy village clustered about the squat stone chimney of the +mill, groups of girls and young men were laughing and splashing about +the wells; from the little groves which embowered the houses, the +evening fires glowed red; the light breeze carried, even to that +distance, a hint of the pungent wood-smoke. As Hazlitt watched the +peaceful scene, all the love of the open which had led him wandering +through life rolled over him in a wave. + +"Jove, it's a good old world, after all," he said. + +The girl glanced up at him quickly. "After all?" she echoed +plaintively. "Tell me, señor. The Sisters always said that the +world was bad, and we must be afraid of it. When you speak so, +_saying_ that it is good, I wonder if you also do not think it is +bad. Why isn't it good, if we are happy in it?" + +Hazlitt smiled down into her puzzled eyes. Decidedly they were +matter-of-fact, these women of the _hacienda_. "It is good," he +assured her, with the calm philosophy of his thirty years behind him. +"Of course it's good." Still she looked up at him, forgetting her +shyness, and a gust of protectiveness and elder-brotherly affection +for this tender, budding woman-thing took hold of him. "It's good," +he urged, "and you will always be happy in it." + +Back in the dimness Doña Ceferina was sipping her third cup of +chocolate, while Raymundo smoked with half shut eyes and smiled +inscrutably. + + +Like Dorcas or Abigail or whoever she was of old, Doña Ceferina sat +among her maidens. There were half a dozen of them on the floor, +sewing and spinning and chattering in subdued voices, while the +mistress of the _hacienda_ sat enthroned in the midst of them. But +unlike whoever she was of old, Doña Ceferina had a card-table before +her, and on the other side of the table Hazlitt sat, and the two +smiled companionably across at each other as they sorted fat bundles +of cards. + +They were playing _panguingui_. One plays _panguingui_ with six +packs of cards and much patience. Doña Ceferina and Hazlitt had +played a good deal of it since they first met, six months before, and +Hazlitt's patience had never wearied. Neither had the patience of +Señorita Dolores, which is more to the point, for she had to stand +behind Hazlitt's chair and help him with the unfamiliar cards. She +was standing there now. + +"Hazleet, it is your lead," said Doña Ceferina, gathering up her +hand. It was a sign of the fellowship established between them that +she called him Hazlitt in the good, round, Spanish way, without any +fuss over titles. It was a stronger sign that she sat with her feet +tucked up in her chair, native-fashion. "One gets used to it," she +had explained, the first time she ventured it in his presence, "and +it's much more comfortable." + +"Hazleet, I shall beat you again," said Doña Ceferina. "Lead!" + +Hazlitt laid his finger inquiringly on a card, and looked back over +his shoulder, where a pair of interested eyes signalled approval. +Suddenly he spied a forgotten card down in the corner of his fistful. +Señorita Dolores gave a small wail of dismay as he played it, and +Doña Ceferina smiled in pleasant derision. + +"I mistook it for a King," said Hazlitt in apology. + +"It is a mistake," said the remorseless Doña Ceferina, "which costs +you a _media peseta_. Now play again." + +Hazlitt played again and again, and lost each time, and enjoyed Doña +Ceferina's little triumph almost as much as she did. She wasn't half +bad, if she was not exciting, this plump good-natured Doña Ceferina, +with her eternal cigarette and her cards or novel or conversation. +Hazlitt smiled whimsically at that last thought. "What are you +laughing at, Hazleet?" his opponent demanded. + +He had been thinking of the Frenchwoman who was famed for having such +a marvellous gift for conversation, and none at all for dialogue, but +he couldn't very well tell Doña Ceferina that. "At the way I'm +playing," he replied. + +"You couldn't well play worse," said Doña Ceferina good-humoredly, +taking toll of her bit of silver. "Lead again." + +Hazlitt _could_ play worse, and promptly did it. There are infinite +possibilities of badness, even in _panguingui_. Not at all a bad +person to share a secret with, this simple, matter-of-fact Doña +Ceferina. And he believed they were sharing one. In Doña Ceferina's +placidly romantic bosom, he guessed, had grown a vision of a young +prince come out of the West to rescue her imprisoned princess from +this tropical Castle of Indolence. A vision had come to him, too, a +vision which made him lean back and forget his cards. Six months ago +a beach-comber, gilded and respectable, of course, but still a +beach-comber, an adventurer, without a country; and now, perhaps, a +man whom many a petty prince might envy. Fancy ruling undisputed +with Señorita Dolores over the quiet domain of the "Hacienda without +a Name!" Jove, what a queen she'd make. + +A hand stole down over his and pityingly pointed out the proper card, +and Hazlitt sternly repressed an impulse to fling away the cards and +take the hand, and keep it. The time was drawing near when he must +put his fortune to the test. + +The cards ran out, and Doña Ceferina glowed triumphant. "Another +game, Hazleet?" she asked. + +Hazlitt laughingly turned his pocket out to show that the modest sum +allotted for the stakes of the day was exhausted, and Doña Ceferina +swept up her little heap of silver. "You play worse than ever, I +think," she said frankly. + +"Still, I may learn _panguingui_ before I die," said Hazlitt. A +sudden impulse seized him. He leaned forward and fixed the mistress +of the _hacienda_ with his eye. "I rather think, Doña Ceferina," he +said, with slow emphasis, "that I shall have to stay out here till I +die. There seems to be no escape. I shall have to stay and--learn +to play _panguingui_. What do you think?" + +In the heavy eyes of Doña Ceferina a small glow kindled, as of the +surviving remnants of a very tiny fire. Hazlitt had seen them light +that way before, when Doña Ceferina reached the climax of a novel. +The glow deepened, and she looked at his understandingly. Her hand +trembled a little on the table. "Why not, Hazleet?" she said. +"It--it would be very pleasant for all of us. I--" She rose +hastily. "I shall have to leave you for a minute. I hope you and +Dolores can amuse yourselves till luncheon," she said with elaborate +innocence, and went away. + +Hazlitt followed poor unsuspecting Dolores, thus left as a ewe lamb +to the wolf, over to the window, and stood looking down with her, +while the half-dozen maidens let needle and spindle fall, and +exchanged knowing glances. + +The rains had come and gone, and the tropical world was thrilling +with the swift rush of its springtime. The black fields were mistily +green with the new-set spikes of cane, the sky was fleecy with white +banks of cloud, the very air was sweet and full of life. Hazlitt +drew a deep breath of it. "God!" he said, "what a good old place +this old world is to live in." + +Dolores glanced up at him. No one would have called her a Madonna +now. The spring-tide had entered into her, and she was vibrant with +a thrill of living of which no monkish painter ever dreamed. "Why do +you talk like that?" she demanded. "Of course it's a good world." + +Hazlitt gazed down into the upturned eyes. "And you are happy in it, +Dolores?" he asked. + +At his tone Dolores flushed rosy and turned away, and her hand +gripped the edge of the broad sill with little, helpless, useless +fingers. Hazlitt laid his hand over it protectingly, and it did not +draw away. "You are happy, Dolores?" he repeated. + +"Of course," said Dolores faintly. "Why shouldn't I be, when +everything is--so beautiful and--and good?" + +"Happy Dolores," said Hazlitt. And then Don Raymundo rode round the +turn in the shrubbery below and swung from the saddle. Dolores +shrank back, but Don Raymundo only smiled up inscrutably. If he had +seen the little comedy, he gave no sign. "I'll join you in a +minute," he called to them. + +A flash of anger swept over Hazlitt at this man whose mere approach +took all the witchery from life. He pressed Dolores' hand before he +released it. "She shall be happy," he muttered defiantly, to Don +Raymundo and the world. "She shall be happy always." + + +"There seems to be a great deal of unnecessary time in the world," +Don Raymundo observed with his perverse triviality. He and Hazlitt +had run across each other in the _sala_ after their siesta, and now +they were sitting with their long chairs drawn up before a window, +waiting for the end of the day. + +"Perhaps there is," Hazlitt agreed, slowly gathering resolution for +his plunge. "And yet, with agreeable companionship, and perhaps a +wife--Don Raymundo, we Americans are blunt. I want to marry Doña +Dolores." + +Don Raymundo smoked placidly for a moment. "I have been expecting +this," he said at last. "I have--shall _I_ be blunt?--been fearing +this." + +Hazlitt flushed. "I know it seems presumptuous," he said. "People +will call me a climber. And yet-- We have no aristocracy in my +country, no recognized aristocracy, as perhaps you know. But of such +families as we have, mine is not the worst. For five generations--" + +"I care little about families," said Don Raymundo coolly. + +The tone was courteous, but the words stung Hazlitt. "I am not a +rich man," he said, "but I have enough. I was afraid at first that +it was the _hacienda_ I cared for, not the wealth of it, but the +power and romance of the life here. That was what took me at first, +but now it's Doña Dolores herself. I know it. I had hoped--" he +hesitated. After six months of almost daily intercourse it was as +impossible to break through Don Raymundo's smiling reserve as it had +been at first. "I had hoped that you might find the company of +another white man not disagreeable, that we might perhaps even become +friends, but--all that doesn't matter, but simply this: it isn't the +_hacienda_ I want." + +Don Raymundo spread out his hands with a gesture of utter weariness. +"I care so little for the _hacienda_ and who has it and what becomes +of it," he said, "that if the burden of it could be lifted from me I +should be almost happy, I think." And while scorn for the eternal +posing of the man was setting Hazlitt's lips, he went on: "My friend, +and I call you friend because I feel a friendliness for you, I am +going to tell you a story I never thought to tell to any one." Don +Raymundo's momentary energy dropped from him. "If you care to +listen," he amended, in his most uninterested manner. + +"Go on, please," said Hazlitt impatiently. + +"It is a story of a young man in Spain," said Don Raymundo, "a boy +who had a mama and a sister and a name, all of them associated with a +rambling stone house that perched on a sunburnt hill. He also had a +somewhat lively and energetic brain, and a very moderate education. +All he lacked was an income. I hope I do not bore you more than +usual?" + +Hazlitt moved restlessly, and Don Raymundo continued: "Observe the +sequence. The wealth of dreams is traditionally Oriental, and the +Philippines lie in the Orient. So the boy, lying there beneath the +broken roof of the gaunt stone house, and being sadly in need of an +income, dreams of a journey over sunny seas to a region where +Spaniards dwell in palaces and gain untold gold, living like little +gods together on broad acres where cane rustles and coffee-blossoms +gleam and the hemp sends up its never-dying stalk. Demonio!" said +Don Raymundo, with a mocking lightness bitter as it well could be, "I +seem to be falling into the mood of that boy who dreamed." + +Don Raymundo's silence seemed expectant, somehow, and Hazlitt asked: +"He came?" + +"He came," said Don Raymundo, "and he awoke. They say that he found +the rustling cane and the gleaming blossoms a bit monotonous, even +while they turned to gold beneath his touch. His environment, I take +it, must have been rather like--" He motioned toward the window and +the world that lay outside it, the fields stretching away in the +burning light to the dim edge of the forest, the endless sweep of the +jungle, the distant glow of the sleeping sea, all the untamable world +that pressed around the "Hacienda without a Name." + +"Like this," Hazlitt assented reluctantly. + +"Like this," Don Raymundo agreed. "People say he said at last that +proper companionship, and perhaps a wife--_Diós mio_, I grow stupid. +His nearest neighbor, who was half a native, was--blessed, I believe +the proper word is--blessed with a daughter. A most charming young +woman in those days, they tell me, very gay, very gentle, very +affectionate, most accomplished; she had spent many years on the +Continent, I believe. In short, she was an unusually beautiful and +attractive young person, very like--" + +"Like--" Hazlitt began unwillingly, and stopped. + +"Like Dolores," Don Raymundo assented for him. "And this interesting +young woman naturally felt ill at ease among her homestaying +half-countrymen, and naturally had much in common--but all that is +easily understood. They were married. And that," Don Raymundo said +with languid brutality, "seems to have been the ending of the young +man's second dream. Since then he has lived with open eyes." + +Hazlitt felt a twinge of shame come over him at listening. After +all, the law which establishes a neutral strip of silence between men +is based on something deeper than mere convention. + +"Don't you think," Hazlitt asked at last--he had to say +something--"that this young man took himself too seriously, too +tragically? If he had given more to life, had gone about among +people--" + +"I understand," Don Raymundo interrupted him, "that he declined to go +out among his countrymen, where his wife was received only as a favor +to himself and his name. He was a somewhat Quixotic young man, you +see. And his Filipino friends, though worthy people doubtless, were +somewhat unattractive and dull to both the young man and his wife. +So in the end he was restricted to the joys of home. And his wife +grew old more rapidly than he. There seemed to be something in her +blood that made her grow old quickly." + +For a moment Hazlitt felt a gleam of pity for the lonely man beside +him. Then his back stiffened. + +"I do not think," said Hazlitt, and for his life could not keep the +vibration of scorn from his voice, "that I love Doña Dolores merely +because she is young and beautiful. What I want is to make _her_ +happy. We can grow old together." + +Don Raymundo smiled, and for once his smile was patient instead of +mocking. "You are like that young man of mine now," he said gently. +"You remind me very much of him. When you are older, you will judge +less harshly. And aren't you overlooking something? Is it my +happiness that counts, or yours, or even Dolores', though it's hard +that she should suffer for the mistake her father made." He drew +himself up in his chair and looked at Hazlitt with a new light in his +eyes. + +"Have you any right to marry her?" he asked almost sternly. "What of +your children? And their children? A hundred years from now, will +they be--_white_? Or must they go on forever belonging nowhere, +despised by half the brothers of their blood, and themselves +despising the other half? Where will it end?" + +Enlightenment burst on Hazlitt in a flash. This was no lover's +obstacle, to be surmounted by theatric leaps and bounds. He had come +face to face with one of the truths of life, Nature's unescapable law +of blood. He saw them coming, the slow generations, men of no race +and country. "My God!" he said, and gripped the arms of his chair +till the cane splintered. + +A door opened at the other end of the big room. "Our companions are +coming," said Don Raymundo quietly, and rose with punctilious +courtesy. + +After the greetings Doña Ceferina went directly to the gleaming tray +which bore the chocolate and biscuits which buoy one from the dead +languor of the siesta to the full tide of evening life. Hazlitt sank +back in his chair again. Suddenly a soft voice asked over his +shoulder: "You haven't forgotten to save this day week for our +_baile_, have you? You must come, you know, because then," Dolores +hesitated at her boldness but rattled on, "because then I sha'n't +have to dance so often with these stupid native boys." + +Hazlitt gripped the arms of his chair again. The moment for decision +had come. All those unborn generations were waiting for his answer. +Dolores was waiting too, poor, helpless, innocent Dolores. He looked +to Don Raymundo for relief, but Don Raymundo, at a window, had turned +his back and was puffing at his eternal cigarette. The pause grew +long. Then slowly Hazlitt straightened in his chair, and as he +looked up at the wondering face behind him, the law and the prophets +were swept away in a gush of pitying affection. Pitying, and then? +She seemed so rarely, wonderfully beautiful to him, rare and precious +as some golden flower from supernal gardens. He could not let her +go, could not give up her surpassing loveliness. "Yes," he said very +firmly, "yes, I will come." + +"_Lalalá!_" Doña Ceferina laughed from her place behind the cups. +"He speaks as seriously as if he made a vow to Our Lady. It's only a +ball, you know, Hazleet. Give the men their chocolate, Dolorcita." +She raised her cup and sipped happily. "After all," she said, in a +tone of deep content, "there are few things in life more delightful +than one's chocolate and cigarette." + +Don Raymundo was gazing from his window off into the distance, where +the gathering shadows were blending forest and cane-field. + +"Chocolate is very good," he said thoughtfully. + + +Three women tramped in the glare of endless Segovia beach. One was +young and graceful; another was a comely, ox-like thing of middle +age; the third was at the end of life. They halted for a moment to +rest, and the grandmother squatted on her haunches and gazed, +unseeing, out over the water. + +"There will be a wedding at the _hacienda_ next month," said the girl. + +"Yes," said her mother, "the young American will marry Señorita +Dolores. They say he is very rich, richer than Don Raymundo." + +"He is very big and handsome," said the girl wistfully. "And Doña +Dolores--she is very beautiful and kind." + +A flash of jealousy crossed the mother's broad, good-natured face. +"Yes," she said, "she is beautiful. But after all she is only a +_mestiza_, almost a Filipina like the rest of us. And she will grow +old." + +Then, having halted a moment, they tramped on along their path like +phantoms risen on the lifeless beach, for the youngest was but a +memory of what the eldest had been a little time before, and the +eldest was only a prophecy of what the youngest soon would be. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +AN OPTIMIST + +I cannot hope to describe to you my dismay at finding myself back in +that ancient temple of Tzin Piaôu, nor the dislike with which I +looked into the eyes of that old heathen priest, those slant eyes +where cynical amusement, like a little, undying flame, danced and +flickered. + +"And so," said the bland old gentleman, raising himself languidly on +his hollowed slab of stone, "and so you find the company of the +ladies more agreeable than mine? I do not wonder. How did you leave +them all in the temple of Lal?" It would be impossible to indicate +the sly mockery which rustled in his tone. + +"So that was your doing, too?" I asked. + +He moved a deprecatory hand, smiling blandly through me into space. +"I may have been used as an unworthy instrument," he murmured, "but +for most of your experience, I fancy, you're indebted to the Little +Gods themselves. Did you find amusement, or instruction, was +it?--forgive me, I forget--in the Games they showed you?" + +"I'm very tired of your Little Gods, if they exist," I said bluntly, +for he made me angry. "As I told you once, and as I would tell them +to their faces, I think them cowards. I ask you again, do they never +give their victims a fair chance? Is there never a single plaything +of theirs which, fighting bravely and in good faith, is permitted to +win? Are the dice always cogged?" + +"You like to see them win?" my old heathen priest asked in bland +surprise. "What a very commonplace taste; for people are always +winning what they strive for, thousands of them every day. It's only +the exceptions, the surprises, which are interesting. I thought you +asked to see Life through my eyes. But since your taste runs that +way--" he yawned ever so slightly behind his hand--"You'll excuse me, +won't you?" he apologized, "but this is an hour which I invariably +devote to a nap." He made a little careless, dismissing gesture. +"Wander where you choose," said he, "and watch men fight, since +that's your taste, and win--what they may win." + +It was my dismissal, and there I saw him last, as I had seen him +first, lying motionless on his hollowed slab, smiling blandly, +cynically, into Emptiness, with light yet bitter mockery in his smile. + +Then, or so it seemed to me, I wandered far and long, and saw many +men striving mightily for many things, and most of them were winners, +and most of them, winning, found themselves no nearer their hearts' +desires. But among them I marked three, and have remembered them, +whose striving seemed to me not wholly without interest. The first +of them was a very common-seeming man indeed, and the only thing +about him which made him worthy of remark was, that he was an +optimist. + + +Samar is a sorry strip of island which rises in gray-green, +commonplace, and yet sinister ugliness from a green and treacherous +sea. Its coasts are a desolation of over-thrifty vegetation. Its +interior, so far as it has been explored, is a wilderness of forest +and precipitous mountains. And the people who inhabit it are worthy +of the place, outcasts and refugees from other islands, outlawed men +for whom no other spot of earth holds a future. + +Toward the end of 1901, soldiers and marines and sailors, the 41st +Infantry, U.S.A., among them, were rushed to Samar to punish the +murderers of Balangiga and cleanse the plague-spot of the Philippines +of its spawn. The work proved to be difficult and slow. The blazing +summer had darkened into such winter as the Eastern tropics know, a +season of lowering skies and deluges of rain, and dank cold and +boisterous winds, and still the quarry flitted elusively from +stronghold to stronghold of the untracked mountains, emerging at rare +intervals to strike with murderous suddenness at unexpected places +and then disappear, as hard to bring to bay as any other beast of +prey which makes cunning atone for its lack of strength and courage. + +At Sabey, a hopeless town half-way up the east coast of the island, +Company B of the 41st was stationed, as hard-fisted, hard-mouthed, +hard-living, hard-fighting a set of terriers as ever was enlisted. +Its Captain, one Burrell, delighted in catching his pets wild and +taming them to his peculiar taste. B's ranks, for the most part, +were filled by transfer from other organizations whose officers were +glad to turn over their black sheep. Burrell, by some method of his +own, speedily made soldiers, his sort of soldiers, of them, and they +swore by him. + +It was unusual for B to sit in garrison when the 41st was afield, for +the company had a reputation consonant with its character, and was +welcome at the front whenever there was action. But all that autumn +it was held in quarters, while the rain drummed on the iron roof and +reports came in of little battles north and south and west. + +"Ev'rybody had a man's size grouch on, fr'm th' Old Man down," they +reported afterward. "Ev'rybody but just John Henry Sullivan, him we +called Peaceful Henry. You couldn't hammer a grouch onto Peaceful +with an axe." + +Sullivan was the humorist of the company, a long, lank, freckled +figure-of-fun who was tolerated, ordinarily, though unmercifully +mocked, for a certain likable simplicity of mind and a childish +friendliness for everything. But that fall his antics palled on B. +"They was times when we'd a been glad to kill him," as they said, "if +it hadn't been for havin' to look forrard to a long enlistment with +him down below." + +But at the very end of the year a hope of cornering the enemy +appeared, and the spirits of B Company rose accordingly. Midway of +its length, Samar narrows till a scant thirty-five miles separates +the long rollers of the Pacific shore from the quieter waters of the +Visayan Sea. So, at least, the triangulation of the Coast Survey +bore witness, then. Until that winter there was no record of men who +had crossed the savage island. But a local tradition asserted that +an old and long-abandoned trail led from Sabey on the east coast, +that very Sabey where B was stationed, to Nalang on the west. + +If that ancient trail could be opened once more, Samar would be cut +in two, the activity of the skulking outlaws would be impeded, and a +scheme of effective reconcentration would be possible at last. The +men of B Company felt that their old luck was with them when the duty +of making the first reconnaissance of the old trail fell to them. + +They were ready to move at once, and soon after reveille, on the +morning of December 25th, Captain Burrell, Lieutenant Roberts, and +twenty men, all dressed in the blue and khaki of field service, and +bearing haversacks bulging with four days' rations, assembled on the +beach at Sabey to make an attempt at crossing Samar. + +It was an inauspiciously gray and threatening morning. Behind the +explorers, breakers crashed thunderously on the sand, and a roaring +northeast monsoon whipped spume about in frothy sheets. Before them, +the wilderness lay grim and forbidding, in the cold light. But they +accepted the rawness and the gloom with the indifference of long +acquaintance. Four marches straight westward, of ten miles each at +most, child's play to men like them, should bring them to Nalang. +There was no breath of adventure in the air. + +Yet of the party which faced the hills that morning, seven lie within +the shadow still, and only one came out again unaided, seventeen days +later, to report that somewhere behind him fourteen men of B, +including the Old Man who made it B, lay starving and delirious with +fever. + +On the morning of the start, they had of course no premonition of all +this. Burrell and Roberts waved careless farewells to the one lady +of Sabey, the post surgeon's young wife, the men grumbled aimlessly +at the prospect of a wet march and a wet camp, and Sullivan, settling +his haversack strap more comfortably, grinned at the disappointed +ones in front of quarters who could not go. "Reckon we'll locate +that overland route for the Sumner this time, sure," he remarked, +with a fatuous attempt at humor. + +"Fall in," the Captain ordered, and the little column set its front +westward and swung off along the drenched banks of Sabey River. + + +Four days later, as an early nightfall was closing down, eighteen of +the party struggled to the summit of a half-wooded ridge in the +interior of the island, and the worn-out men straightened up with +momentary eagerness to peer into the cloud-hung west. Only the +blankness of further up-tumbled ridges and black waves of forest +veiled in sheets of rain lay before them, and to north, south, and +east as well. Nowhere on the circle of the horizon was a leaden +gleam of the guiding sea. + +The men seemed dazed. They had made their four marches, of far more +than ten miles each, it seemed, at such cost of strength and courage +as no one who has not travelled in that land can comprehend. They +had made the last march on all but a remnant of their food, and the +baffling trail they followed had led them nowhere. An hour before it +had vanished in a thicket. Since then they had cut a trail with +their bayonets, pushing for this ridge in the hope that from its +summit they might see the coast at last. Instead, they found that +they were lost in the Samar hills. Faint from hunger and exertion, +chilled to the bone from tramping in clammy clothing and sleeping in +drenched blankets, with shoes that burst from their swollen feet like +pulp and hung in shreds, already halting of speech and step with the +burning weakness of fever, half a dozen of them, they stood there in +the beating downpour, stunned, and daunted. + +All this had come to them in four days,--that was the paralyzing +fact. It appalled them that all their pride of strength should have +vanished in that little space, when other days were coming, how many +no one knew, of uglier promise. Foiled, while they still had food +and strength, by the task they had set themselves, each day of +increased weakness and privation now would call them to increased +exertion till the sea was reached--the sea which might, and might +not, lie beyond the furthest of those mountains to the west, if it +was west. Dumbly they stared at them, avoiding each other's eyes. + +Captain Burrell, still weakened by the wound he got in front of +Tientsin, was one of the hardest-hit of the fever-victims, and his +teeth chattered when he talked, but he retained a humor dryer than +the weather. "I reckon we'll camp right here," he said. "H'm. We +can't quite fetch the coast to-night, and this ridge is well-drained, +anyway. H'm." + +The least weary of the men smiled forlornly in response to the spirit +that lived in their Old Man, and Sullivan laughed outright. "I've +been lookin' for a well-dreened place like this to start my +cactus-farm in, sir," he remarked. Already the formalities of rank +had vanished, and discipline meant obedience for the common good, not +ceremony. + +"Might do it, by irrigating," said the Captain. "H'm." He cast a +sharp glance at his one unapprehensive subordinate. "The rest of you +camp right here," he ordered. "Sullivan and I are going back along +to stir up those loafers who fell out." + +"See here, sir," Lieutenant Roberts cried, in half-hearted protest, +for every inch of his six feet of young body was aching dully, "that +leg of yours--" + +"Is a corker," said the Captain shortly. "H'm. Come along, +Sullivan." + +An hour later the two, staggering with sleep, herded the last of the +sodden, half-delirious stragglers up to the fire which spluttered in +the wet and gloom, and the sick men sprawled obediently among their +unconscious fellows. For an instant the officer stared down at them. +"Hopeful lot, ain't they?" he muttered. "H'm." + +"It sure looks some like a graveyard, Captain," said Sullivan +cheerfully. The Captain glanced at him again. + +"Don't you ever get--blue, Sullivan?" he asked curiously. + +Sullivan seemed doubtful. "I--I do' know's I ever thought much about +it, sir," he said. + +"I reckoned not," said the Captain. "H'm. Well, don't. Go to +sleep." + +"I was thinkin' I'd keep th' fire goin' a while, it looked so kind of +homelike," Sullivan objected. "I ain't much sleepy. You turn in, +sir." + +"I'm not sleepy, either," said the other gruffly. "H'm. Roll in +now. _Pronto_." Obediently Sullivan sank down where he stood, and +was asleep. + +Burrell sat long, brooding over the fire, listening to the deep +breaths and smothered groanings of his men. One of them babbled in +delirium, piteously, for a moment, and the Captain went and soothed +him, awkwardly. Then he stood above him, gazing off into the gulf of +blackness to the west. He glanced down at the muttering soldier, and +away again into the night. "God damn you," he said to the Island of +Samar gravely, courteously, as one might deliver a challenge to +mortal combat. + + +Next morning they breakfasted on what was left of their food, +consuming all but a precious emergency ration of two tins of bacon, a +pound and a half in all. Then they pushed on in what was meant to be +a last desperate dash for the coast, going down into a long wide +valley smothered in primeval forest. Every trail had vanished, each +step of advance had to be slashed from a jungle of underbrush and +creepers, and for all their suffering they gained a scant five miles. +They halted at nightfall in a little opening, where they shed their +equipments as they stood, and sprawled among them. Sullivan and the +Captain, going back for the many stragglers, failed to discover two +of them. + +They camped that night without food or fire, in a rain that came down +harder than ever, if such a thing could be. Next day, without +breakfast, they resumed their dogged advance, halting often to rest +and search for food. But in that dead season the forest yielded +nothing more edible than leaves and bark, and a few woody seed pods +like rose-haws in size and shape. + +"Hell-apples," Sullivan named those, after he had had opportunity to +observe their effects. "They look all right, and they taste all +right," he explained, "but they sure do raise hell with your insides." + +The men munched them greedily, despite their uncomforting properties. +A time was coming when a rotting log that harbored store of grubs +would seem a treasure-house to them. + +The bayonets did not hack out a trail as rapidly as they had on the +day before, and they had made no more than three miles and a half +when night shut down. Yet, slow as the advance was, only half a +dozen men were up with it, and, when Burrell would have gone back for +the others, his wounded leg crumpled under him. Without a word, +Lieutenant Roberts joined Sullivan, and it was midnight when the pair +brought in the last straggler they could find. Three were still +missing, and the Captain forbade further search. "They'll have to +take a chance," he said. "H'm." + +When the next day broke, merely a lightening of the gloom under the +dripping branches, Lieutenant Roberts rose stiffly from the pool that +had formed about him in the night and stood, blue-lipped and shaking, +over the Captain, whose tortured leg would not permit him to do more +than raise himself on one elbow. The two officers faced the +situation together. They needed no words. All about them lay the +forest of that deadly central valley. Somewhere beyond it, +unattainably far for the majority of the men, rose the western +rampart of the island. For thirty-six hours they had had no food but +hell-apples, the fever was growing on them, and three-fourths of the +command, any doctor would have said, could not march a mile. + +The Captain spoke at last, staring sullenly at the ground. "Call the +men, will you?" he asked. "H'm. I reckon it's time to split." + +Roberts' face brightened. "I'll make it out all right," he declared. +"Never felt huskier in my life. I could break world's records from +here to a plate of grub." + +Only ten men of the seventeen who were left responded to the call. +The others, roused from the stupor of deep sleep, merely stared up +vacantly and muttered, so Roberts let them lie. "Boys," said +Burrell, when they had formed a little circle round him, "'most of us +need a lay-off. H'm. So we're goin' to rest up here for a couple of +days and then push on slow. Mr. Roberts and a couple of you can plug +ahead now, though, so's to have some grub cooked up to meet us. I +reckon we'll raise a famine in Nalang. H'm. Roberts, who'll you +take with you?" + +Despite the lightness of the officer's tone, every man knew what he +asked for, and as the subaltern's eyes swept round the circle, +shrewdly weighing each man's serviceability, shoulders squared and +faces took on looks of quite ferocious good cheer. + +"I seen you first, sir," Terry Clancy cried all at once, and stumbled +to his feet. + +"I've got a fine healthy appetite, myself," Sullivan remarked +plaintively. "I'm with you for a sprint, Lieutenant." + +"You're too old, Clancy," said Roberts kindly. "I want yearlings for +this. And you, Sullivan,"--his voice held good-natured +condescension, as he glanced down at his own bulging chest and sturdy +limbs,--"you're too spindly. You're liable to double up, any time." + +At last he chose Red Hannigan and Peter Kelley, two men of his own +kind, bull-necked, thick-limbed and heavy-shouldered. The Captain +handed him one of the two tins of bacon. "We'll look for you back," +he said, "long about--H'm--day after to-morrow. Or day after that. +H'm." + +The eyes of the officers glinted into each other. "Sure," said +Roberts, gravely shaking his commander's hand. "Come along, you +fellows." + +Twelve days later a party from Nalang found Lieutenant Roberts, the +first white man to win across Samar, sitting contentedly on the beach +in the sunshine, forty miles above the town, eating snails and +aimlessly tossing the shells at what had been his feet. Red Hannigan +and Peter Kelley were never found, for Roberts never could remember +where they left him. + + +After the departure of the rescue party, apathy settled over the camp +in the valley. The Captain straightened his bad leg and lay back +with closed eyes. The others lay about him, dozing. Even the worst +of the fever-victims only cried out occasionally. Beside the relief +of not having to march, cold and wet and hunger and sickness were +little things. + +It was well on in the afternoon when Clancy was roused by a sound +which puzzled him. Stumbling out of camp, he came upon a sight which +struck him speechless. + +Sullivan, sitting astride a mouldering log, was wrenching off strips +of sodden bark and digging his fingers deep into the punky wood. +Suddenly the meaning of it burst on Terry. "Quit that!" he cried. +"Quit it, I tell you." + +Sullivan, glancing up, had the grace to redden. Then he lowered his +eyes, and resumed his pecking. "I don't care," he muttered +defiantly. "I'm hungry enough to eat anything." + +Clancy turned away. Presently, from behind a clump of undergrowth, +there came the sound of ripping bark. For a while Sullivan, still +busy, preserved discreet silence. But his grin broadened slowly, and +at last he sang out, "Hi, Terry! Pick for the little white ones. +The others has kind of soured, I reckon." + +There was no answer. After a time another man limped out, watched +Sullivan for a little, and soon the sounds of the chase rose from +another secluded spot. There was no element of sociability in those +meals as yet. + +Then came a slow succession of days not so tremendously hard to bear, +as the pangs of hunger faded into the milder discomfort of +starvation, and the fever felled them one by one. Days so like each +other that only the calendar notched in the grip of the Captain's +revolver kept their count. + +Each morning fewer of them were able to join Sullivan in the search +for grubs and seed pods, and he began bringing them what spoil of the +forest he could find. They took it unquestioningly from his hand, +those who were conscious, like children. Indeed, as the days passed, +the rough fellows turned for all their needs to the man who had been +their butt, and he never failed to meet their primitive wants. That +lanky body of his held a surprising store of tough endurance, and he +seemed fever-proof. As for his cheerfulness, it was inexhaustible. + +Big Terry Clancy and the Captain were the last to yield to their +weakness, refusing, gently, the food Sullivan brought them. Hard men +as those of B were, not one of them, in his sane moments, spoke a +word of discontent or of complaint during those days. I like to +remember that of them, as I like to remember that I never heard an +American regular soldier, traditional grumbler that he is, grumble +when he had a reason for it. + +On the fourth evening after the departure of Lieutenant Roberts, the +tenth night out from Sabey and the fifth since they had eaten food +for human beings, Sullivan was the only man left stirring in the +camp. In spite of the rain--and I would have you read always to the +torrential beat of a tropical downpour and the soughing of cold, +damp-laden winds--he had managed, with the last of the matches and +the powder from half a dozen cartridges, to kindle a fire in a fallen +trunk, and had kept it going, and had dragged his comrades round it. +He sat beside the Captain, and presently, glancing down, he saw that +the officer's eyes were fixed steadily on him. "Anything you want, +sir?" he asked. + +"How many of us," Burrell asked abruptly, "are what you could call +fit?" + +Sullivan surveyed the prostrate men about him. "Well," he said +imperturbably, "I reckon there's me. And you." + +"H'm," the Captain grunted, and even in his sickness his eyes +brightened. "Then," he said, "I reckon it's up to--us. H'm." + +For a moment he mused, and then he went on, "It's no use trying +Nalang. Roberts tried that. But if some one could get back to Sabey +I think some of the men would try--" + +"The boys would get you out of hell, sir," said Sullivan gravely, "if +you sent th'm word." + +"Think so?" said Burrell. "H'm. Well, to-morrow you'd better send +word to 'em." The Captain's eyes had a queer brightness as he stared +at Sullivan, reading his face. "H'm," he muttered at last, "if I +ever do have to get a message out of there, I hope you'll be round to +carry it." + +Something in his tone dragged Sullivan toward him with suddenly +blazing eyes. "Captain," he begged, demanding assurance from the man +who was his deity, "do you mean that? No jollyin' now, sir. You +sure think I can do it?" + +"Think?" said the Captain. "H'm. I'm bankin' on you, Sullivan. I +know you can do it." + +"Then," said Sullivan blissfully, "by God, I will, sir." + +Early as it was next morning when Sullivan rose for his start, he +found the Captain's steady eyes on him. "You don't need your rifle," +he said. "Nor your belt." + +"I reckon not, sir," said Sullivan whimsically, "not for buggin'." + +"You take that can of bacon out of my haversack," his officer +continued. "I've saved it for this." + +"I don't need it none, sir," said Sullivan, edging away. "There'd +ought to be fine buggin' back along. An' hell-apples, I reckon." + +"Take it," said Burrell shortly, and Sullivan yielded to the habit of +obedience. He turned for his journey. + +"Hold on," his officer commanded. "You're forgettin' something." He +lifted a clawlike hand, and Sullivan gripped it for a minute in +silence. He strode across the little opening to the beginning of the +back trail. There he halted, turned, and hurled the tin of bacon at +his commander. "You go to hell, sir," he shrilled defiantly. "I'll +do fine, buggin',"--and he ran stumblingly down the trail. + +The Captain twisted his head--it was the only movement he could +make--and watched the retreating figure of the mutineer. "H'm," he +muttered after it, and shut his eyes, to wait. + + +For the first few hours Sullivan, uplifted by the thought of his +mission, went on at what seemed to him a tremendous pace. In reality +his knees lifted jerkily, his feet came down flat and stiff, and his +stride was that of a child. A giddiness, too, overtook him now and +then, and a white mist drifted before his eyes. At such times the +walls of the trail seemed to rush by in a blur of green, and he had +an exhilarating sense of rapid movement. + +Long before noon he had covered the three miles and a half to the +first camp on the back trail. There he hesitated. A temptingly +crumbly log lay beside the trail, and his stomach was cramped with +such hunger as he had not felt for days. But he halted only a +moment. "Time enough to eat to-night," he muttered, and went on. + +The afternoon was harder. The giddiness and the mist assailed him +oftener, and several times, when the blankness became complete, he +was roused by finding that his face had come into not ungentle +contact with the ground. Once, doubling limply, he struck his face +on his knee instead, and a cut lip gave him the pleasant salty taste +of blood. Sharp pains of breathlessness stabbed his sides at +intervals, and his heart had fits of throbbing suffocatingly. But he +never halted as long as he could see. When the trail was only +blackness in the night he sank down. + +The rain and the light woke him to an accusing sense that it had long +been day. He moved on at once. "I'll eat when I've made that up," +he muttered, as the blur enclosed him. + +That day was mostly blur until, along in the afternoon, his mind +cleared suddenly. The ground sloped upward under his feet. A rocky, +sparsely-wooded ridge rose above him. Remembrance tingled through +him. "My cactus-farm!" he cried, in delighted recognition. "I'm +gettin' almost there." + +With his knees doubling under him, he clawed his way to the ridge, +and a well-remembered landscape lay about him, dark billows of +unbroken forest and a horizon of up-tumbled hills. The huge +emptiness of it smote him like a blow and he turned to the old camp. +The signs of human occupation, the remembrance of men who had spoken +there and of the words they had said, comforted him wonderfully. +"Here," he said, having fallen into a way of thinking aloud, "is +where I _eat_. They'd ought to be fine buggin' here." + +But the ridge was disappointingly bare of provender. Not a rotten +log, not a seed pod, rewarded his toilsome search. At last, where a +hanging corner of rock had sheltered it, he came upon a torpid colony +of tiger-ants. He looked at them dubiously. "I wonder," he +muttered, "if anybody ever _et_ an ant? I reckon not. Don't seem to +be much _to_ th'm." + +As he stirred the sluggish insects with a doubtful finger, one of +them set its mandibles in his flesh. Sullivan's eyes lit with +determination. "I'm hungrier'n you be, I reckon," he said gravely. + +With the refreshing acidity of his experiment strong on his tongue, +he rose at last, regretfully. "It would seem kind of home-like +sleepin' here," he said. "But I reckon I'd better be gallopin' +along." And he pushed on till once more darkness brought him +merciful oblivion. + +He woke to daylight with all his senses clear but one. He +understood--there had been times when he forgot even that--that he +was Sullivan, that behind him lay his comrades, starving, that before +him the trail led to men who needed but a word, and that he had been +chosen to take it. But his sense of time was gone. How long he had +slept he could not guess. It might have been one night, or many. +They might all have died behind him, those sick men and the Old Man +who banked on him. + +In torture at the uncertainty, he rose and stumbled forward again. +After a while--it might have been an hour or many days--the trail +brought him to a torrential river. He recognized it dimly as the +Sabey. They had come up it once, sometime, any time, walking in its +rocky bed. Now its swirling waters covered the trail. + +Painstakingly Sullivan collected his misty faculties. There was a +general feeling of morning in the air. By night he must be at Sabey, +he was convinced. He must hurry, therefore. A clear idea flashed +across his mind. A raft! He must build a raft and hurry with the +rushing river, since there was no more trail. He drew his heavy +knife-bayonet and turned to the woods. After a while darkness shut +down and stopped his work. But he had cut a good many poles. + +The next thing he knew it was light again, so he dragged one of his +poles to the river and dropped it in. It sank. Another and another +did the same. When they touched the water they sank. When Sullivan +understood that his poles would not float, he lost his steady +hopefulness for the first time. + +But after a while he turned wearily, and stumbled off along the +rocky, overhanging banks of Sabey River. When he had walked dizzily +a little distance, he fell and lay still. A fall on that cutting +volcanic rock was another matter from a fall on the trail. At last +he recovered enough to stagger on for a few more steps. Then he fell +again. That time he did not rise. + +But the shock and the loss of blood cleared his head. At last he +recognized his predicament. He was through. There was no bitterness +in the thought. He had done his best, and failed. The torment of +hurry was gone, and he lay and watched the foaming river and the +overarching trees. "I can't do it," Sullivan told himself simply, +and quit. + +But suddenly his merciless self assailed him. "There's another way," +it urged. "You can do it. Th' Old Man said so. Try it." + +Weakly, half-sobbing, Sullivan obeyed the summons, and got to his +knees. He put out a hand and planted it on the rock, drew up his +knee toward it, and his body swayed forward. He put out his other +hand, drew up his other knee, swayed forward again. He had gained a +foot, at least. + +"By God," shouted Sullivan's self to him exultantly, "you can do it! +Try it again. You can't walk, but you can _crawl_, I reckon. +Whoop-eee-ee! Hit her up!" + +And Sullivan, obedient as always, hit her up. + + +And so at last, seventeen days from the time he left Sabey, he +returned to it, a blind, gaunt, rain-beaten, silent, grimly crawling +thing. He had almost reached the barracks when a soldier, hurrying +through the rain, spied him and raised a shout. He revived for a +moment when they lifted him, and opened his eyes. + +"Back along," faltered the messenger. "Starvin'. Hurry up. God!" +he sighed, and collapsed in their arms. + +They carried him to the shack they called a hospital, and while the +relief party gathered and went out, twenty silent men loaded down +with rations, the post surgeon and his wife worked over him. +Suddenly the girl broke down. + +"Oh!" she cried. "Look at his poor hands and knees! Oh, Will, what +did _that_ to him?" + +"What?" stuttered the young surgeon gruffly. "What! Why, the--the +nervy son--son of a gun _walked_ on 'em, God knows how far, that's +all! Fill those water bottles, will you. And _hurry_ up." + +Two days later Sullivan opened his eyes, and stared wonderingly at +the room, and the lamplight, and the _olla_ hanging in the window, +and the post surgeon's pretty wife, who sat beside his cot. At last +his eyes rested on his own hands, shapeless in bandages. And as he +looked at them his lips trembled, and he began to cry, weakly, like a +child. + +The post surgeon's wife thought she understood, and her own breath +caught. She was very new to the Army, and she was trying to make a +hero of Sullivan. "Poor fellow," she murmured, "I know they're bad. +But we'll fix them up. Don't cry about them." + +"I ain't c-cryin'!" Sullivan whispered, in tremulous indignation. +"I'm l-laughin'. I reckon," he muttered, and a ripple of the old +whimsicality swept across his face, "I must be about th' first man +ever wore his hands to a blister, walkin'." The wonder of the +thought held him entranced. + +The girl thought he was light-headed. "Is there anything you'd +like?" she asked soothingly. + +Sullivan considered. "Salt," he announced emphatically. "I want +salt. Ev'ry drop you've got in th' place. What're you lookin' at? +Salt's cheap enough, ain't it? Well, I want some. Seems like I +hadn't had no salt f'r years." + + +How the relief party did its work is another story, and a brave one. +It is hard to kill strong men by exhaustion, and, by the time +Sullivan could walk a little, the Captain and the other rescued men +were sitting up in bed. At last a day came when Burrell was +permitted to have one visitor. "Send Sullivan," he ordered. + +The lanky fellow shuffled in bashfully, and stood with averted eyes. +"Glad to see you're back, sir," he muttered. + +"Well," asked Burrell gruffly, "you can shake hands, can't you?" + +Sullivan, grinning sheepishly, held up a muffled paw. "I reckon not, +sir," he said. + +"What's the matter with 'em?" the Captain demanded. + +"Blistered th'm, sir," Sullivan responded with solemn joy. +"Blistered th'm, walkin'." + +"H'm," the Captain muttered. His eyes were burning into the man. +"Sullivan," he said abruptly, "there's a can of bacon in my haversack +that belongs to you." + +Sullivan gulped. Discipline had him by the heels again. "Beg y' +pardon, sir," he mumbled nervously. "I reckon I must a been sort of +loco that day." + +"Well," said the Old Man of B Company gravely, "maybe I'll let it go +this time. But see it don't happen again. H'm." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THIS FORTUNE + +This Fortune you speak of, tell me, what sort of creature is she, to +have the good things of the world so in her hands?--_The Inferno of +Dante Alighieri_. + + +The second of my Argonauts was of quite another sort. Whatever +graces of body and mind Nature has to give, she had given him--and he +had wasted them. With his invincible and dauntless youth he might +have been a companion for Cortez and stout Bernal Diaz, a Crusader, +almost anything he chose, and he was--I borrow the phrase of a better +man than I--a Camp-Follower of Fortune, a wasted man. The outskirts +of the world are full of them. That such things can be, that men can +be born so strong, so lovable, and then be wasted, seems to me the +most inexplicable of the caprices of that Fortune which puzzled Dante +Alighieri long ago. + + +Mid-heaven high, the morning sun blazed above the forlorn little +lumber-port, calling the inhabitants thereof to arise and make hay +diligently during the few weeks it still had to shine before the +change of monsoons and the rainy season blotted the world in mist. +The call seemed to arouse little enthusiasm. Over the channel, where +the Rio Bagalayag winds out by the bar, a pair of gulls wheeled +aimlessly, plunging into the yellow water now and then, and rising +with harsh cries. Out beyond them in the distance, where Point +Bagalayag wavered in the heat, a lorcha drifted with limp sails, +becalmed in the lee of Mount Bagalayag. In the one street of +Bagalayag itself, the grassy lane which follows the curve of the +shore, two Chinamen with a long whip-saw were gnawing a plank from a +four-foot log of molave, sawing steadily with the patient endurance +of their race, brown arms swinging in and out, brown bodies swaying. +At the end of each stroke, they grunted rhythmically, and the music +of their industry--_Ugh! Kch-chee-e-e-Arghh! +Kch-chee-e-e-Ugh!_--was the only sound in Bagalayag that morning, +save the raucous complaint of the distant gulls. + +As a matter of fact, Bagalayag was waiting in hushed expectancy for +something inevitable to happen. On the shady side of the nipa +church, which still manages to rear its rickety walls at the corner +of the brown and weedy _plaza_, the populace was gathered--forty-one +men, fifty-two women, fifty-two babes in arms, and seventy-three +children of varying sex and age, speechless for once, with the smoke +of their cigarettes dissolving above them like unfragrant incense. +And the gaze of all that multitude was fixed unwinkingly on a +tin-roofed house--the only one in town--which stands on the other +side of the street, close to the water's edge. + +In that pretentious dwelling an unprecedented event seemed likely to +happen, for in its upper chamber one of the lords of the earth lay +deathly sick of a fever. Bagalayag as yet recorded no death of a +white man in its simple annals, therefore it sat and smoked and +waited, all except its stolid, alien Chinamen, who cared nothing for +life or death or anything but planks. + +Occasionally a voice floated out from the Tin-Roofed House, weak and +thin but full of helpless rage, and at the sound the inhabitants of +Bagalayag wagged their heads and spoke softly. "The Señor Ess-soffti +is not dead--yet," they murmured. + +In Hamburg, far enough from Bagalayag in miles, there is a house +which sells anything, from elephants to orchids. Every product of +the animal or vegetable kingdom from one pole to the other, 'round +with the equator and back again, is included in the complete line +which the _Hamburgische Gesellschaft_ carries, for this body is a +true body whose busy nerve-ends net the round world. Men on grimy +ships whose battered fore feet are set across uncharted leagues of +sea, men who rot in unheard-of towns--yet continue to live and trade +in defiance of every hygienic law--men who plod untracked continents +and unknown, sleeping islands with savage followers, are the organs +by which it acts. + +Set above all these is the good Right Eye of the Company, the man +who, by virtue of wild-wood lore and craftsmanship, and first-hand +knowledge of the far nooks and byways of the earth, by right of +energy and perseverance, outranks the army of traders and collectors +and stands next the Brain. Herr Felix Schrofft is his name, always +spoken with respect and envy by his associates and rivals in his +strong man's calling. And now, become the Señor Ess-soffti on liquid +Malay tongues, he lay alone at bay in the Tin-Roofed House, and held +the breathless attention of the populace of Bagalayag in Mindoro. + +The arena where he fought, that small, bare, upper chamber, was very +simply furnished with a round table, a couple of chairs, a +camphor-wood chest, a bamboo cage imprisoning a parrot, and a folding +cot upholstered in the severest taste with dingy gray canvas. The +table held the fly- and lizard-bitten remnants of a meal, the chairs +were draped with the muddy garments their owner had flung there +hastily three days before, a litter of other clothing sprawled from +beneath the lid of the chest, and on the cot, which stood before a +seaward-facing window, was stretched the redoubtable Señor Ess-soffti +himself, not at all in the mental attitude which our Christian +convention prescribes for those _in articulo mortis_. Despite the +pallor of the cheeks beneath the smut of the newly sprouted beard and +the yellow gleam of the eyeballs and the leaden inertness of the +shrunken limbs which barely hollowed the taut canvas where they lay, +the shaggy, wizened monkey of a man was plainly beset by the very +worst of tempers, which only his extreme weakness kept from violent +expression. + +So he lay chafing there that morning, just as he had lain for days. +Occasionally his restless eyes met the beady ones of the parrot, and +the imprisoned bird shrieked with silly laughter. On such occasions +the Señor Ess-soffti shook his fist, a menace which showed mostly in +the convulsions of his face, and muttered weakly, "Sing, you deffel, +sing!" falling thereafter into a murmured torrent of words, as he +consigned the Philippine Islands and all things in them to +everlasting torment. + +Even a hidebound moralist, knowing all the circumstances, might have +found some palliation for Herr Schrofft's unspiritual estate. Fever +had stricken him at an inopportune season, and, for the first time in +his life, he faced a possibility of failure with which he could not +cope. Even now the freighter _Sarstoon_ had turned her stubby nose +Mindoro-ward at Schrofft's suggestion. In ten days she would be +lying off Bagalayag, waiting for the cargo he had promised her, and +even when one has no fever, ten days are little time in which to fell +and trim a hundred cubic meters of a wood so dense that it eats an +axe like granulated metal, and float it down the miles of oozing mud +they call the Rio Bagalayag, and load it before the northeast +monsoon--already threatening in the clouds--comes to lash the open +roadstead into a fury of spume and breaking rollers. + +He could foresee it all, the excessive sympathy of the _Sarstoon's_ +skipper, the meek explanation of the House to the impatient customer, +the commiseration and sly elation of his acquaintances and rivals +that he had failed at last, the universal grunt of "Hard luck, +Schrofft"--hard luck in a trade whose frankly brutal creed discredits +a man for one adverse stroke of fortune as for any other sign of +personal weakness and unfitness. All that must come, unless he could +find some means of thwarting Dame Fate. And so, not finding the +means, he cursed the officious beldame heartily. + +Suddenly he noticed that the drone of the saw had ceased. Doubtless +the coolies had stopped to wipe their streaming faces, but Schrofft +was in no mood to seek excuses for them. "Loaf, you deffels, loaf!" +he shouted venomously. + +As if in response to his taunt, the music of the saw began again, but +mingled with it came the chatter of many voices and the soft flop, +flop of many padding feet. Raising his head a wearisome half-inch to +peer from his window, Herr Schrofft saw, with supreme disgust, the +sprung masts and frowsy rigging of the monthly packet from Batangas +in the river. Somehow or other the hours had dragged by uncounted; +it was afternoon, and the crazy lorcha had drifted to her haven in +spite of calm and childish seamanship; while he, Herr Schrofft the +indomitable, had one day less in which to do his work. For the first +time in his illness, the hard-pressed little man groaned for +sympathy, and pitying, sentimental, Teutonic tears burned his eyes. +"If I only had just one white man with me," he muttered. + +The confusion without came nearer, drawing down the street, and +presently the stairs of the Tin-Roofed House clattered under booted +feet and its fabric trembled slightly. The invalid's face brightened +with curiosity. No native of the Philippines has the combined weight +and energy necessary to make a house shake when he walks. _Deus ex +Machina!_ That was a favorite phrase of Schrofft's, almost the only +Latin of Gymnasium days that had stuck. Perhaps the Man had come +with the Hour. Schrofft watched the door with feverish intentness. + +It opened and a white man entered, white at least in fundamental +coloring, although his skin was a raw, beefy red from newly acquired +sunburn, tall, broad-shouldered, clad serviceably in sombrero, the +relic of an army shirt, the ruins of khaki riding-breeches and, most +incongruously, a pair of handsome riding-boots, whose russet leather +was cleaned and polished till it glittered. So far all was well, but +the face--the hollowed cheeks, the dark puffy rims beneath the eyes, +the wavering glance of the bright blue eyes themselves, the nervous +twitching of the full red lips, set in a smile of deprecating +impudence, the keen, high-bred features blunted and battered by +dissipation, all spoke of one thing. Schrofft sized up his visitor +with narrowed lids, and spoke his opinion briefly. "I haf no use for +bums," he said. + +Like a mask, the wheedling smirk dropped from the newcomer's face. +"Hock the Kaiser, a wandering Dutchman!" he cried airily, advancing +to the cot. + +Schrofft's little eyes burned red. "I am Herr Felix Schrofft, +Explorer for the _Hamburgische Gesellschaft_," he said with dignity, +"and I haf no use for bums. Get out." + +"'Tis a certain matter of delayed remittances," the stranger +explained, as he unceremoniously dumped the encumbering garments from +a chair, and sat down by the table. "I must identify myself, Herr +Softy. I am Richard Roe, Esquire, ward of the famous John Doe, of +whom you may have heard. While the remittances delay, I wander, +seeking whom and what I may devour." Mr. Richard Roe gazed ruefully +at the dusty viands before him. "As usual, I seem to have come to +the wrong shop," he murmured. "But here at least are cigarettes. I +will not stand on ceremony." + +While the match flared, Schrofft stared at his tormentor with at +least as much of bewilderment as of wrath. "If I could hold my +revolver," he said at last, "I think I would shoot you. I haf no use +for bums." + +Through a cloud of smoke, Mr. Richard Roe gazed whimsically at the +invalid. "The question seems to be," he suggested mildly, "whether +the bum has a use for you. And I rather think he has." He crossed +one leg over the other and became pleasantly didactic. "I am not +always what you see me now, Herr Softy. One short week ago I sat in +Don Miguel Rafferty's establishment in Batangas, wooing fickle +Fortune at the wheel. The jade stripped me, I was sold out, up +against it; so I became a thorough bum, in manners, morals, and in +dress. The boots," he digressed, glancing complacently at his +well-shod feet, "are somewhat out of character, I admit. Otherwise I +am a bum pure and simple, as you have three times observed, but a bum +of a quality of which you never dreamed, a masterless man reduced to +his primal elements, three appetites and a sense of humor. Herr +Softy, beware of me. I am a dangerous character, I warn you frankly +at the start." + +Mr. Richard Roe approached the cot once more. "Speaking of +revolvers," he remarked, "reminds me that I left my own in Batangas, +in care of Uncle Monte de Piedad." He drew Schrofft's weapon from +beneath the pillow, and inspected it rapidly. "A poor thing, but a +Colt's," he muttered. "Calibre 41, of course. How European!" + +Herr Schrofft, his eyes still closed, groaned weakly. It was hard +that his respectable and well-ordered brain should conjure up a +nightmare of vagabondage like this, and supply fitting words for the +figure. + +"I came southward to Mindoro," the drawling voice went on, "and at +the first stroke I am half a man again. I have a gun. Here is a +Tin-Roofed House in which to sleep; here is tobacco to smoke; through +the chinks in the floor I perceive sleeping chickens which promise +food. Best of all, I find here a companion for my solitude. Herr +Softy, you may need an heir before long. Behold him here in me." + +"_Herr Gott!_" Schrofft groaned again, "I am going crazier every +minute." Suddenly he opened his eyes, for the door swung on its +hinges and a head surmounted by a shock of coarse black hair was +thrust within. At the sight of it, all his aggressiveness returned. +"Son of fifty fathers!" he screamed. "Because you think I am dying +you run away, and now you have the shamelessness to come back! Go +and be a _muchacho_ for the deffel! I shall not die; in two days I +shall be strong enough to kill you." + +"It was only his canny Filipino way," Mr. Richard Roe broke in, +coming to the rescue of the unfaithful servant. "He wanted an alibi +for the inquest. Slave," he announced sternly, "I have saved your +life. Fetch more cigarettes and a bottle of whatever burning water +the market offers. Then kill three chickens and cook them with +plenty rice--and no grease. The Señor Softy and I will have a mucho +grande chow-chow to celebrate my home-coming. I am his heir. +_Sigue! Pronto! Madili!_" + +Schrofft glared hopelessly at Mr. Richard Roe. "Then you are real!" +he cried. "That boy, he sees you also, he hears you, he obeys! +_Mein Gott!_ You are a bum. You haf no home, you haf no money, you +haf no grub, you haf no chob. And I would gif a hundert dollars for +just one man!" + +"Alas," said Mr. Richard Roe hollowly, "I am not a man, and the +hundred is unclaimed. I am the stuff that dreams are made of, bad +dreams. But I have my better impulses, and I feel them stirring at +the prospect of food. I will be a ministering angel to you, an airy, +fairy, army nurse, pressing my cool hand softly on your fevered +brow." He suited the action to the word, save that the hand was hot +and gritty. "Herr Softy, your pulse is rapid, your temperature is +rising, you tremble on the verge of a paroxysm of fever. Where is +the quinine?" + +The recurrent hot stage of his disease had indeed seized the patient, +and as it grew upon him he lost more and more his grip of reality +under the mad contradictions of Mr. Richard Roe's speech and conduct, +and the potent spell of the drug which he administered with a lavish +hand. Dimly, as in a dream, the room stretched wider and higher +about him, and as the pulse boomed and roared in his ears, he saw in +the distance a phantasm which he knew was called Mr. Richard Roe, +sitting at a table and going through the motions of a real man. It +drank thirstily from a bottle which a frightened _muchacho_ brought; +it smoked endless cigarettes; it dismembered a steaming chicken with +its fingers, and ate it daintily, ate another, stretched back in its +chair and grunted with content. Phantom or reality, Mr. Richard Roe +began to be a comfort, he made himself so much at home. Schrofft +closed his eyes and dozed. + +Suddenly through his slumber cut a well-remembered sound: _Ugh! +Kch-chee-e-e-Arghh! Kch-chee-e-e-Ugh!_ He woke to a moment of +clear-headedness and the sense of his predicament. It was almost +sunset; only eight days were left. "My trees, my trees!" he +quavered, trying weakly to sit up. "I must go and get them." + +Instantly the "cool hand" rested on his forehead and, not unkindly, +he was shoved back on his pillows. "You've been dozing," the voice +of Mr. Richard Roe explained soothingly. "What's the matter?" + +Brokenly, still as in a dream, Schrofft heard his own voice go +croaking on, speaking ramblingly of trees, always of trees. The +clump of iron-woods that grow at the corner where the mangroves are +thickest on the bank, thirty miles up-stream. The twelve huge trees +that stand up so high and have their tops pleached together. Those +were the ones; they must be cut without delay. He must start at +once, because, you see, the _Sarstoon_ would be in on the 18th, and, +if she didn't get the trees, the monsoon would change. And then her +voyage would be wasted, and the customer would not have for six more +months the wood of unique density which he wanted for non-magnetic +gears, and the House would have to bear the blame, when it was all +the fault of a fool named Schrofft, who lay around with fever when +there was work to do. + +At a great distance he saw Mr. Richard Roe sitting with crossed legs, +smoking in long, meditative purr's, and inspecting him narrowly with +keen, unwavering blue eyes. + +"You're a rather game little man," said Mr. Richard Roe approvingly. +After a long time he spoke again. "Thirty miles up, you say. Is +there any one around who knows an iron-wood when he sees one?" + +There was a new, a compelling quality in the voice, which Schrofft +had not heard before. "That coward muchacho, that Juan, he knows. +He has been there with me," said Schrofft. + +"And the tools, where are they?" asked the compelling tones. + +"In the canoes, all ready," Schrofft answered obediently. + +"I can't understand his getting so excited about a few trees," Mr. +Richard Roe muttered. "_I_ never could. But he's a game little man, +and if he wants his trees as bad as all this, by Jove, he's got to +have 'em." He rose lazily, and stood towering above the cot. "It's +all right, Schrofft. Go to sleep. I'll have your trees here by the +eighteenth." + +"You can't," Schrofft objected sleepily, with the unmalicious +frankness of one who states a well-established fact. "You're nothing +but a bum." + +"Go to sleep," Mr. Richard Roe repeated soothingly. "Perhaps, since +there's so much hurry, I'd better start to-night. There's a lovely +moon now, like a Swiss cheese. Last night it made me think of beer." + +"Those trees on the right bank," Schrofft muttered, trying to rise +once more. + +Strong hands pressed him back and held him there. "Schrofft," Mr. +Richard Roe said slowly and impressively, "pay attention just one +minute, and then you can go to sleep. When I want anything I go and +get it, _sabe_? Same as I came here and got grub. Same as I'd go to +the devil for a drink, when I want _that_. I never happened to want +trees, but I'll get some for you. Now go to sleep." + +Under the spell of the assuring voice and the comforting grip of the +strong hands on his shoulders, Schrofft's eyelids drooped lower and +lower, till even the clatter of energetic feet descending the stairs +did not cause them to flutter. + +He must have dreamed still more then, for strange things happened. +Outside in the village, even in peaceful Bagalayag, a riot rose, +voices of men angry and protesting, voices of women tearful and +imploring, voices of children shrill with excitement, and, dominating +all, a languid, vibrant voice speaking sometimes in English, +sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in crude but vigorous Bisayan, +threatening, cajoling, domineering. Gradually all the others died +away into a murmur of resignation, and then, suddenly, the song of +the saw stopped with a spluttering drawl not unlike the squawk of a +frightened hen. "Come along, you chaps," said the masterful voice. +"Got a job for you other place, _sabe_?" + +The response slid in falsetto semitones from a Mongolian tongue. +"Got plenty worl-luk this side," it said sullenly. "No can do." + +"Sure can do," said the master. "Got to do, _sabe_? Come along, you +beggars, before I tie your pigtails together." + +Then gradually all the tumult ceased, and restful quiet enveloped the +Tin-Roofed House and endured so long that Schrofft craftily opened +his eyes a crack, and gazed about his chamber. It was quite empty. +The heavy lids drooped once more, and he fell into a deep, untroubled +sleep. And as he slept, the cooling sweat bathed his worn body. +Together, the quinine and the excitement of the day had conquered his +disease; the fever was broken. + +The first impression borne in on Schrofft's consciousness when he +woke next morning, sufficiently clear in mind, but weak beyond belief +in body, was that Bagalayag was uncommonly quiet, even for Bagalayag. +The droning saw was silent; there was no rustle of bare feet on the +grassy ways, no low murmur of gossip from sleepy tongues, no +straw-muffled booming of rice mortars, no whine of carabao or shriek +of wooden axle-boxes as the tuba was brought in from the palm-grove. +For a moment he lay with an empty mind. Then Memory returned. +"_Himmel!_" he muttered. "I did not dream it _all_!" + +At the sound, a doddering old man rose from the corner and approached +the cot. "Does the señor want anything?" he asked. + +"Where is everybody?" Schrofft demanded. "Where is Juan?" + +"They are all gone," the old man replied. "Only I am left behind. +The Señor Duque took them all." + +"The Señor Duque took them all!" Schrofft echoed. Dukes are rare in +Mindoro. + +"Si, señ-o-or. El Duque de la Calle Milochentaitres in America. He +took them all, the men, the boys, the Chinese pigs who saw; all +Bagalayag but me--because I am very old. Only I am left, and the +women and children who hide in the houses to pray. They go to cut +down trees, all the trees in Mindoro, I think. It is an order from +Ouashingtone. The Señor Duque says so." + +The Duke of 1083rd Street in America! Decidedly, if Schrofft had +been delirious, all Bagalayag now outdid him in delusion. + +"Does the señor want anything?" the old man repeated. "If we had +guessed that the señor had el Duque de la Calle Milochentaitres for a +friend, we would not have left him alone to be sick. It was very +wicked, but the Duque says he will forgive us if we get the trees." + +At the mention of trees, Schrofft's lips had contracted. But his +mind, as unstrung as his body, was at the mercy of every emotional +catspaw that ruffled it, and the childlike awe and faith in the voice +of the old man brought a long-forgotten sensation clutching at his +diaphragm. "We have been very wicked; but the Duke says he will +forgive us if we get the trees." For all his weakness, Schrofft +chuckled a little at the audacity of it. An unwonted feeling of +dependence took hold of the self-reliant little man. He combated it +feebly. "He cannot do it; he is only a bum," Reason urged. But the +protest of Reason was purely formal, and triumphant Cheerfulness +retorted, "He can do anything--when he wishes to." + +"What would the señor like for breakfast?" the old man's voice broke +in. "He may have six little oysters, or two eggs passed through +water, or a cup of milk with one egg in it, or a very small fish not +fried--the Duque says to fry is not good for sick ones--but cooked on +a sharp stick, as He Himself taught me." + +Once more Schrofft relaxed in the new and comfortable sense of utter +dependence. "Oysters," he murmured unctuously, and gave himself up +to the anticipation of the plump, brassy-flavored morsels which were +soon to cool his throat. _Deus ex Machina!_ A God from the Machine +of Things had taken his affairs in hand. + +As the days wore on, the words became more than a mere phrase. In +the long, lazy, roseate hours which a convalescent knows, Schrofft +thought much, and the well-timed arrival of the mysterious Mr. +Richard Roe at the crisis of his illness and his fortunes, the +unbelievable eccentricity of the man, the nonchalant confidence with +which he had undertaken a task in which he had no part either by +interest or training, all combined to rouse in Schrofft's mind that +superstition which is so fundamental an element in all us Aryans. +The manifestation took the guise of Hero-Worship. An unreasoning +faith in Mr. Richard Roe got hold of him. + +The atmosphere in which he lived strengthened the conviction. Mr. +Roe was absent only in the body; the power of his masterful +personality still moulded life and thought in Bagalayag. The +blear-eyed, tottering attendant he had left for Schrofft, anxious, +fussy, mentally helpless, had one warrant for all his load of +troublesome attentions: "The Señor Duque told me to do it." + +As Schrofft grew stronger, and strolled out into the village, he +found its people under the same spell. Women and children had +gradually stolen out from the shacks; one by one they took up their +daily occupation; the patter of their anxious prayers was no longer +one of the street-sounds of Bagalayag; they asked Schrofft +trustingly, "When will the Duque bring our husbands back?" + +And Schrofft answered just as trustingly, "On the eighteenth." + +Dimly he felt the thrill of the contrast, saw primeval Nature and the +lean, sardonic American face each other, and felt no doubt of the +outcome. Many times, as the slow days passed, he looked away to the +black mantle of forest which clothed all the land to the south, +close-fitting and unbroken up to the rough crest of Mount Bagalayag +itself. "He'll do it," he repeated continually. + +And Mr. Richard Roe did do it. On the evening of the seventeenth, a +shrill clamor of women's voices ran through the town, and their +owners gathered on the river bank to meet an unwieldy raft that was +warping in on the brown and sluggish current. The huge sullen logs +seemed bound to sink, in spite of the bulk of chambered bamboo which +buoyed them, but standing springily erect on their backs, Mr. Richard +Roe dominated the raft as he did all things else. When it grounded, +he swung himself to the shoulders of two of his men and was borne +triumphantly ashore. + +"By Jove, Schrofft," was his greeting, "glad to see you looking that +way." He flipped a hand behind him, and added casually, "There are +your trees," and that was all of the little epic of the forest which +Schrofft ever heard from his lips, except for fragments which he +tossed out to laugh at. But from the tales which the restored +husbands and fathers of Bagalayag chattered to their families, he +gathered a picture of heart-breaking toil and endurance, and +cheerful, laughing resourcefulness which filled him with a yearning +admiration for its central figure. + +That night, had Mr. Richard Roe so chosen, he might have become +hereditary lord of Bagalayag in Mindoro, and laughed at the law, the +Constitution and the flag, schoolhouses, benevolent assimilation, and +human progress. Like a travel-worn, unshaven monarch, he sat in +Schrofft's long cane chair, puffing contentedly at Schrofft's +cherished china pipe, while the unfaithful servant Juan knelt at his +feet and revived the tarnished glories of the shining boots, and his +primitive worshippers poured in a stream of tribute, herbs of the +field and fruits, fish and flesh and fowl, indigestible sweets and +death-dealing drinks of home manufacture. On all alike he smiled +kindly yet wearily, with the affable condescension of one who by +divine right might be severe, yet chooses to be kind. But once his +smile broadened into feeling. + +"You won't find Lame Duck and Gouty Hen bringing me any thanks for +stringing 'em that way," he remarked to Schrofft, who sat in the +background, as proud as the mother of one chicken. + +"Lame Duck and Gouty Hen?" Schrofft echoed, puzzled. + +"My untamed Chinks," the Duke of 1083rd Street explained. "That was +a stroke of genius, taking them. They did the work, while the +Filipinos did the kicking. We sawed the trees down, you know--may +not be the way to do it, but we _did_ it--and we three took turns--" + +"Lame Duck and Gouty Hen!" Schrofft spluttered with delight. +"_Himmel!_ Such names!" Then he became serious. "How can I pay +you! When you come I say to you, 'I would gif a hundert dollars for +a man,' and you _are_ a man, the finest I efer--" + +"That's all right," said Mr. Richard Roe benevolently. "It was good +sport. I wouldn't work that hard for money." + +"Of course there's the--the other side too--" Schrofft stumbled over +his words, bashful as a maiden with her lover. "I cannot thank you. +You save my life, you save my reputation, you--" + +"Cut out the thanks, Schrofft," Mr. Roe interrupted, with a touch of +smiling haughtiness. "I don't like 'em. You'd better be clearing +out now," the weary monarch added to his thronging admirers. "You're +nice little brown men enough, but I'm sleepy. _Sigue Dagupan_, the +whole bunch." + +Two mornings later, after breakfast, Herr Schrofft again brought up +the subject of Mr. Richard Roe's reward. In the intervening day the +_Sarstoon_ had come and gone with her hard-won load, and Schrofft's +admiration for his miraculous helper had grown exceedingly. With the +passion for work still on him, Mr. Richard Roe had been everywhere, +and everywhere had been effective, on the beach, in the canoes, on +the _Sarstoon's_ deck and in her hold, even on her bridge. + +Mingled with the boundless admiration, was another feeling which +filled Schrofft with confusion, while it opened a vista to the +sky-line of his lonely life. Since young Erich Schmidt was killed +before his eyes, twenty years gone in Africa, he had wanted no +friend, no bunkie, _kein Kamerad._ But now--Mr. Richard Roe sat +across his table irresistibly reminiscent of some wandering, _roué_ +god, who needed but a whiff of Olympian air to refreshen his eternal +youth. Sun and wind and work had erased the signs of dissipated +strength, sleep had rubbed out the aging lines of work, and now he +sat in the _sala_ of the Tin-Roofed House lean, brown, and hard, with +his rumpled yellow hair and trace of yellow beard, and sparkling eyes +half smiling at Life and Fate--not defiantly or deprecatingly, but +with the faint amusement one may find in the vagaries of equals one +knows well. + +Mingled emotions made expression difficult for Schrofft, and he gave +speech its most practical form. "Here is the hundert," he said +gruffly, and pushed a chunky little bag across. "It don't pay you, +nothin' efer can--" + +"The hundred?" Mr. Richard Roe stared at the bag as if surprised, +but he drew it to him. "Oh, yes. I'll take it if you like, +Schrofft, of course. Much obliged." As he weighed it in his hand, +his eyes darkened suddenly, and the under lids drew tight, as if he +were gazing at something far away over the blue water which lay +before him. Almost unconsciously he untied the cord that bound it, +and a little stream of gold ran chinking out. "Yellow ones," Mr. Roe +muttered. + +"It's not much," Schrofft said apologetically, "but-- What are you +going to do now?" + +Still unconsciously, Mr. Roe's long supple fingers had arranged the +heap into four little orderly piles, and he was shoving them back and +forth, like counters in some game. "Four stacks of blue ones," he +muttered. + +"What will you do now?" Schrofft repeated. + +"Eh?" said Mr. Richard Roe. "Oh, yes. What'll I do? Well, +Schrofft, I never bother to plan that out far ahead." + +"I'll tell you," said Schrofft, gathering head for a flood of speech, +"you stay with me. I--I called you a bum once. I take it back. +You're all right. The quickness to decide, the way to make +everything do what you want, the good luck, you have it all!" + +"If I _did_ have luck," Mr. Roe muttered thoughtfully, "that'd be +enough to clean out Rafferty's bank. By Jove, I'll do it. I'll play +the twelve." + +"You come with me," Schrofft urged. "You are young, you have had +your fling; now it's time to settle down. I'll help you, I'll +be--what-you-call?--the balance w'eel. I teach you all I know, and +in two three year you'll be the boss of us all. You'll have a chob +better'n mine." + +He hesitated, for Mr. Roe was gazing at him with a whimsical smile. +"Go ahead, Schrofft," he said. "What kind of a job _is_ yours? What +do you get out of it?" + +"Ten thousand mark a year, und expenses," said Schrofft, uneasy for +some mockery to come. + +"Ten thousand marks! That's twenty-five hundred dollars," Mr. Roe +commented. "_And_ expenses. That's a lot of money, Schrofft. But I +live simply; my expenses wouldn't be high enough to make it pay. So +I'll just go back to Batangas and play the twelve. Twelve trees, you +know." + +Desperately, imploringly, Schrofft argued with him, dangled larger +and juicier bait before his eyes. "You might be a partner in the +House!" he cried. But Mr. Roe remained unmoved, even at that +dazzling prospect, and at last Schrofft lost his temper. + +"You are a bum," he shouted angrily. "It's chust what I say before. +You haf no home, no food, no chob, no money, and--" he finished +helplessly, "_Mein Gott!_ You do not care!" + +"Money could not buy the glorious uncertainty I enjoy," Mr. Roe +replied pleasantly. "Calm down, Schrofft. I'm going out to tell 'em +to get a canoe ready for me." + +Late that afternoon he left, with his tattered clothing and his +shining boots and his little bag of gold, and his smile, which he +shed benignantly on the worshippers who thronged the beach. Only +three residents of all Bagalayag were missing. Down the street Lame +Duck and Gouty Hen stolidly made up lost time--_Ugh! +Kch-chee-e-e-Arghh! Kch-chee-e-e-Ugh!_ And up in the _sala_ of the +Tin-Roofed House a shaggy little man, his back resolutely turned to +the window and the leave-taking, puffed savagely at a big china pipe, +and exploded every now and then: "Chust a bum! A good-for-nothin' +bum!" But when the sun was gone and all the shadows on the mountain +had thickened into one, he laid down the pipe and went to the window +and gazed out long over the darkening sea. "My poor little bum god +from the machine," he said wistfully. "Now I must forget him." + +It was not so easy to forget Mr. Richard Roe. The memory of him +clung to Schrofft even after his work was done in Mindoro, and he had +bidden Bagalayag an everlasting farewell. In Manila, Mr. Richard +Roe's image dogged his busy footsteps, and when at last he climbed +the side of the _Rosetta Maru_, bound for Hongkong and home, Mr. Roe +was at the surface of his thoughts. "_Mein Gott!_" Schrofft mused, +as he leaned on the rail that first night out and saw Bolinao looming +faintly in the gulf of blackness, far to leeward, "he saved my life, +and now I leave him in the Philippines." + +He leaned there, absorbed in a vision of the companionship which +could never be, till the last shadow of the islands had faded in the +night. Then brusquely, as if he awakened himself, he turned forward +to the smoking-room and the nightcap of rum and lime-juice which was +his concession to the luxury of rest. "My poor little bum god," he +muttered, "if he was here, I'd buy him a drink. He's had too many +drinks already, though, poor deffel." + +At the door of the smoking-room he stopped abruptly. "Butterflies," +he grunted in disgust, and turned aside to a settee which stood near +in the shadow, to wait for his drink till they were done. And then, +suddenly, he leaned forward and gazed into the brightly lighted room, +for a voice there had set all his nerves aquiver. "_So?_" he +muttered incredulously. "_Kann nicht sein!_" + +Inside the room three men were sitting at a little table with a +bottle between them, all dressed alike in spotless and unrumpled +linen. Their likeness ended with their dress. One was a boy, the +down still soft on his chin, but his cheeks were pasty and he had the +dead eyes of an evil old man. The second was a flabby man of middle +age, whose red face was an expressionless mask, from behind which he +looked out watchfully. And the third, brilliant, flashing, shedding +a glow of life and strength around him, was Mr. Richard Roe in a new +guise. + +"How'd you clean up over here this time, Billy?" asked the boy in a +dry, professional tone. + +"Well enough," Mr. Richard Roe answered. "Went on my uppers once, +down in Mindoro." + +"I travel on 'em all the time," said the wan youth. "Never saw such +luck as I have." + +"Get a mascot, Mike," Mr. Richard Roe advised mockingly. "That's +what I did. Finest little mannikin of a mascot the Luck Machine ever +ground out. Found a little Dutchman down there--down on his luck, +sick, almost crying for some trees he'd got to cut or lose his job or +his reputation or something. I got 'em for him. The little beggar +was so glad he gave me a hundred, and I played it on the twelve at +Rafferty's--there were twelve trees--and the twelve came. They +wouldn't let me bet again, so I came up to Manila." + +"Hell," said the aged young man apathetically, "what's thirty-six +hundred? I could cash up that myself." + +"And," said the other man, speaking through motionless lips, "the +lucky devil struck Manila just when that tin-horn Haines had sold a +mine down Mindanao way. Haines got to working his bellows out to the +Country Club, wanting to back the wheel, no limit, and Billy took him +up and played the twelve, and the twelve came up--twice running. +That's all." + +The aged young man stared at Mr. Richard Roe with dropped jaw. "Good +Lord!"--his voice was an awe-struck whisper--"that's over a million!" + +"Considerably over, theoretically," Mr. Richard Roe agreed, smiling +coolly at the disconcerted young man. "Unfortunately, Mr. Haines +couldn't cash it all, so I took his notes for everything but a goodly +number of thou's. You may have the notes if you'd like 'em, Mike. +I've got all I want. And get a mascot." + +The aged young man went off into a stream of oaths. "Where are you +goin' now, Billy?" he asked at last. "Goin'--home?" His voice +dropped as he spoke the tabooed word, and for a moment, through the +lines with which greed and cunning and indulgence had marked him, the +face of a wistful, heart-sick youngster came out dimly. + +"_And_ a wife, _and_ a baby?" said Mr. Roe, smiling whimsically. +"No, thank you, Mike. I'm going over to Siam and buy a small +tin-mine. It's a thing I've always wanted. I may breed a line of +white elephants on the side." Abruptly, as if a sudden thought had +come to him, he rose and filled the glasses, emptying the bottle. +"Gentlemen," he cried, holding his glass aloft, "I ask for bottoms +up. To the Señor Ess-soffti, the prince of mascots. May he live +long and die busy." The glasses clinked and were emptied. Mr. Roe +set his on the table. "Good night, gentlemen," he said, and departed. + +But his progress was soon interrupted. Blinded by the sudden +darkness of the deck, he lost his way, and was nearly sent sprawling +by the legs of a man who sat huddled on a settee, a shabby little +man, even in the dark. "What the devil," Mr. Roe began, with lofty +displeasure. He checked himself. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure," he +said with the elaborate courtesy of one who, having the divine right +to be insolent, yet chooses to be kind. + +Shrinking as at a blow, the shabby little man drew in his legs. Even +in the gloom the movement had an appealing humbleness about it that +went to the ready sympathy of Mr. Richard Roe. "It's all right, old +chap," he said. "No harm done. Good night." + +The shabby little man mumbled something inarticulate, and Mr. Roe, +immaculate, self-sufficient, free from care, strode on and left his +mascot staring blindly out at the dim, jumbled waters flashing by. +"What luck!" the mascot mumbled to the waters, after a long time. +And then again, "What luck!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +MCGENNIS'S PROMOTION + +My third adventurer was of still another type, a young man, a boy, if +you like, who was fresh and unsullied in body and mind and heart, +with life all before him. The opponents he fought with were all +inside himself, and of the worth of what he won you shall judge for +yourselves. + + +Within a minute or two of six o'clock that morning the sun rose, and +it was broad, staring day. One instant the world was smothered in a +damp, impenetrable, almost tangible grayness; the next, its nakedness +lay discovered in a glare of light. + +There was a sea of limpid lukewarm water heaving slowly; a ribbon of +beach, metallic-white; a tangle of untended, unproductive vegetation; +a village equally untended and unproductive, except of unnecessary +babies, where listless brown people moved without much purpose, or, +lacking the ambition even to make a show of activity, lolled where +they were. + +The tropical sun had no magic of half-lights to tinge it all with +romance or stir it into fugitive beauty. Such as Sicaba was at +heart, it stood revealed. + +When the sun rose, John McGennis rose too, and stood for a moment, +unshivering in the lukewarm air, to look down on the poverty of his +town, before he turned to pour water over himself out of an old +tomato-can. + +Like the morning and the sea and the air, the water had no tang in +it, and McGennis, drying himself slowly and methodically, felt no +fresher for his bath. When a youthful and well-tempered body fails +to respond to the caress of sluicing water, there is generally +something wrong with the mind which inhabits it. There was with the +mind of McGennis. + +The trouble lay outside his window. That compound of staring sky and +sea and stared-at village which the day revealed had overwhelmed him. +As mere geological and botanical facts, Sicaba, Pagros, the Tropics, +had proved too big for him. They made of him just a spot of life, +meaningless as an ant toiling unendingly in the forest of the +grass-stems. Tiny dot of intelligence that he found himself, in the +midst of those triumphant physical forces, McGennis had come to +wonder whether anything he could do among them mattered much. + +Slowly and methodically, as he had bathed, he dressed--right sock, +left sock, right shoe, left shoe, right puttee, left puttee, put the +strap twice round, haul it through the buckle and tuck the end back +neatly--and when he was trim in his khaki and yellow leather he stood +for a moment with the irresolution of inertia on him. Then he pulled +his knife from his pocket, strode across to the thick corner-post of +his room, stooped, and with elaborate care cut a notch in the tough, +dense wood. + +The post, from the upward limit of his reach to well down toward his +knees, was jagged with such notches lying in groups of seven, six +side by side, and another cut diagonally across them. They were a +calendar of more than ordinary significance, in the mind of its +maker. Each of them represented a day of "Grin, gabble, gobble," +each checked off twenty-four hours in which he had stuck by his +traditions, greeting every comer with that contortion of the lips +which, conventionally at least, expresses pleasure, eating sufficient +food to keep his body in repair--McGennis reverenced his body +unthinkingly as an ancient Greek--and in which he had, both in his +office and in the primitive society of Sicaba, "waggled his jaw," and +thereby overcome a growing disposition to speechlessness. + +With the fierce enthusiasm of an ascetic, he cut these records, +ineffaceably deep, on the mornings of the days for which they stood. +Thus there could be no going back. Staring at him from the +undecaying wood, they warned him that for one more stretch, at least, +he must grin, gobble, and gabble, or be a quitter. + +They served a more immediately practical purpose also. McGennis had +found that it was the first grimace, the first nibble at the food his +Occidental stomach loathed, the first burst of inane chatter, which +came hard. Once fairly started, the grin became a veritable +smile--how boyish and appealing he had never guessed--the chatter +became animated question and answer, and his stomach, more +fundamentally human than Occidental, found even the food Sicaba +afforded preferable to emptiness. But somehow the quiet of the +evenings and the stillness of the long nights and the flatness of the +dawns brought back continually the question: "What's the use?" and he +would have his fight to make all over, with his notch. + +On this particular morning, he stood for a while staring at the +jagged post which was at once a cenotaph to his departed days and an +altar prepared for the sacrifice of days to come. Without counting, +McGennis knew that his latest notch rounded out a tale of three +hundred and sixty-five. The possibilities of that one post were not +exhausted yet, and his house held a dozen other posts, virgin still, +and smooth. And even if he should endure to notch all the posts in +all the houses of Sicaba and all the fringing palms along the beach, +and all the trees in the primeval forest round about, it would result +in--what? + +McGennis had met a man once, down in Bacolot, who made a practice of +getting as drunk as possible once each month, once and no more. It +gave one something definite to look forward and back to, and hope for +and regret, he had explained without embarrassment, and that was an +achievement for a white man in the tropics. McGennis, staring glumly +at the record of his featureless year, felt that perhaps that man was +as reasonable as any other. + +Then, impulsively, he stooped again and the knife-blade flashed with +mimic fierceness as he hacked at his post. When he rose there were +fourteen new notches in it. He had mortgaged a fortnight of his new +year. There was no sense in it, very likely, but it was done, and +irrevocable, and therefore comforting in a way. He stood back, and +the first smile of the day curled his lips. The fool part of him +amused the rest, and he turned to the _sala_ and breakfast with some +cheerfulness. + +He was making his last few conscientious pecks at that meal, when the +Municipal Secretary, exalted and short-winded personage, climbed his +stairs puffingly and stood blinking in the door. McGennis set his +cup down and uttered the sound which trustful Sicaba interpreted as +the outburst of uncontrollable joy. + +"Well, Secretario!" he cried, in his atrocious and unfaltering +Spanish. "You're just in time for chocolate. Milicio!" he shouted +to his cook. + +The Secretary raised a pudgy hand in deprecation, the dignity of an +official mission being on him. "It iss dhe lattair, Mr. Magheenis," +he announced, holding out a crumpled official envelope. "Dhe +Supervisor Provincial sends it wiv a man to running." + +Smiling the contented smile of a fat man whose exertion is over, the +Secretary sank into a chair and fanned himself with his hat. "_Sena +muy importante_," he explained more familiarly. "The courier cost +two _pesos_. I brought it over at once." + +"A letter by courier and two _pesos_!" McGennis cried, knowing that +surprise was expected. "We're getting up in the world. Excuse me if +I read it, Secretario?" + +"With pleasure," the Secretary murmured, but McGennis did not hear +him. He heard nothing, saw nothing, but those surprising words in +the crabbed writing of his chief, which changed life in a flash and +settled that tormenting question once for all. + +Twice he read the letter through greedily, before he dropped it to +stare out through the open window. A kaleidoscopic change had +overtaken Botany and Geology. The corner of the weedy _plaza_ on +which his house fronted now lay fresh and clean under the early +sunshine and the salty breeze. Beyond it rose a grove of +cocoa-palms, with brown-thatched houses nestled in their shade, and +between the tall columns of the tree-trunks shot the crisp sparkle of +the blue Visayan Sea. All at once, even Sicaba was exuberant with +life, youthful in beauty, friendly. Half noting the change, McGennis +raced along beside his thronging thoughts. + +What the chief said was true. He _had_ thought he was forgotten and +stranded in Sicaba. Hastily his mind swept back over the dragging +year he was just finishing. Again he saw himself an enthusiastic +pilgrim with a work to do. Again he went through the disenchantment; +felt the vastness and wildness of the Islands, triumphant Geology and +Botany, burst upon him, reminding him for the first time that even an +Engineer is only a man at bottom. And once again he felt his +disappointment in the people, the simple, childlike, obstinately +pliant folk who listened so interestedly, and opposed the inertia of +dead centuries to every improvement. How was one to teach them +anything? And why should a deputy provincial supervisor, placed in +charge of the roads and bridges and harbors of the whole North Coast, +with headquarters at Sicaba, try to create roads and harbors and +bridges to supervise? That had become the question finally. + +But he had kept on trying, and now a year was up and he had +accomplished something, even in hopeless Sicaba. The town was a +little cleaner for his having lived there. A few people had come to +trust "America." And there _were_ roads and bridges and harbors, on +the blue-prints in his office. Perhaps it had paid after all. At +any rate the people liked him, and he liked them. The fat old +Secretario, now-- + +Just then that patient man interrupted him with the most suppressed +of coughs. "Well, Secretario," said McGennis, rousing, "let's drink +our chocolate. I must have been dreaming. I hope I haven't kept you +waiting long?" + +"Only a moment," the visitor assured him, though the Deputy +Supervisor's day-dream had lasted long for any dream, "only a moment. +I hope," he added, curiosity struggling with courtesy, "that I did +not bring bad news." + +"Bad news!" McGennis beamed on him. "You brought the best little +old news _you'll_ ever tote. Secretario, if you never promulgate +worse news than that, you'll boost your circulation a thousand a day. +It was red news with green edges." + +The Secretary could understand the tone, if the words were beyond +him, and his smile matched McGennis's own. "I could almost believe," +he hinted with elephantine archness, "that the Government has +increased your salary." + +"Secretario," said McGennis approvingly, "you hit the truth in the +eye that time. But that isn't the best of it." + +"Ah," said the Secretary promptly, "then you are also to be married." + +"Not on your life!" McGennis shouted scornfully. "Not on your life, +Secretario. They've raised me." + +"Raised you," the Secretary murmured uncomprehendingly. Most of +McGennis's conversation was half incomprehensible to him, and all the +more entertaining just for that. It brought him into touch with +words he had never heard of. + +"Sure," McGennis repeated. "Raised me. Shoved me up a peg. +Promoted me." + +"Ah, promoted!" said the Secretary, catching at the flying tails of a +word he knew. + +"In the eye again," McGennis applauded. "Secretario," he began +impressively, smoothing out the crumpled letter, "the Old Man,"--so +he spoke of his chief, the engineer in charge of the battle with +Botany and Geology in the two great provinces of _Pagros Oriental y +Occidental_--"the Old Man has had his eye on me, so he says. And I +reckon he means it. Yes, sir, the old telescope has had a sight on +yours respectfully clear up here in Sicaba." + +"Yes?" murmured the Secretary, heroically sipping his detestable, +lukewarm chocolate. + +"And he says," McGennis quoted freely, "that I haven't made good so +worse, and that having watered and weeded the banana tree I shall now +open my mouth and let something drop therein. And what, Secretario," +McGennis demanded excitedly, "_what_ do you suppose is going to drop?" + +"Yes," the Secretary agreed placidly, "I comprehend. It is a very +good idea." + +"You bet it is," McGennis shouted. "But you don't comprehend enough +to notice. Look here, Secretario. You know they're building a road +up in the Igorrote country, and the Igarooters won't work, and +they're going to put me in charge of the worst section of it and see +if I can make 'em work. Will I _make_ them?" he demanded, +rhetorically. "_Will_ I? I'm sorry for them already yet." + +"Yes," murmured the Secretary. "It is a very good idea. I +comprehend with clearness, and up to a certain point I agree--" + +"I don't believe it," said McGennis flatly. "Listen, Secretario. +I'm going away, _sabe_? No more Sicaba in mine! No more bridges and +harbors in a cat's eye, but some real live Igaroots and a bunch of +picks and shovels and a road you can _see_! And _dynamite_! Lord, +Secretario, you don't know how good it'll seem to hear a real noise +again, and--" + +McGennis stopped suddenly, for something in his words had at last +penetrated to the Secretary's understanding. Slowly the worthy +officer put down his cup. Slowly he got to his feet, and over his +broad, dull face a little procession of emotions made its slow way. +Jovial interest gave place to surprise, surprise to dismay, and at +last a heavy hopelessness settled on it. "You go away from Sicaba, +Magheenis?" he asked. And then he plumped down into his chair again +and sat there, an embodiment of chuckle-headed woe. + +"Lord," said McGennis to himself, looking at his victim contritely, +"I ought not to have tossed it out at him that way." + +It was a relief that just at that moment a white-clad native teacher +should come to the door of the schoolhouse on the far side of the +_plaza_ and ring a bell with nervous, insistent strokes. McGennis +jerked out his watch, and realized that for the first time in Sicaba +he was late in beginning his day. "Stay as long as you want to, +Secretario," he called back, rushing for the stairs. The Secretary +sat motionless, and McGennis, plunging out into the sunshine, felt a +second pang of contrition for having tossed it out so suddenly. + +But his regret was only momentary. Somehow the morning sparkled as +never morning had outside God's own country, and the Deputy +Supervisor, pushing across the _plaza_ with long, boyish strides, +responded to it. "Going away, going away," was the refrain his feet +patted out. Away from Sicaba, away from isolation and obscurity, out +to the big, big chance which waited him. And the chief had been +watching him, canny old Stewart who said so little and saw so much +with those narrowed gray eyes of his; hard-mouthed Stewart, who +handled his forces for the overthrow of Botany and Geology, down +there in Bacolot, as a general handles his troops. And Stewart, +whose approval was a grunt, had said in so many words that he, +McGennis, had made good. Truly, it paid to cut your notches and let +the Stewarts look out for the meaning of them. + +His eager, keen face was so bright, as he cut across the angle where +church and convent wall a corner of the _plaza_, that the men who had +been puttering there with stones and cement dropped their work to +sing out cheery "_Maayong agas_" a dozen of them in a volley. + +"_Maayong aga, amigos_," returned McGennis, and hesitated. He was +already late for school, but then school is not one of the duties of +an engineer in charge of half a province. One of the few duties that +isn't his, McGennis had thought sometimes. Still, this school of +Sicaba, in a way-- + +Somehow McGennis's mind was working in quick flashes, and even as he +hung there on his heel he saw again just how that school had become +one of his duties, and laughed grimly to think of it. + +There had been a Maestro in Sicaba once, a bespectacled American from +an East effete beyond words, but chronic indigestion--coupled with a +coldness in the feet equally chronic, thought McGennis, with light +scorn--had caused his early departure. And then the school, in the +hands of four warring native teachers, male and female, had been +going to the dogs, until McGennis, with his inherent dislike for +seeing anything go to the dogs uncombatted, had, with a deft jerk of +the wrist, straightened those four warring pedagogues into their +collars and kept them there, till a Deputy Superintendent of Schools +had come riding up from Bacolot to see what was to be done about it. +McGennis still remembered that trim, slim, innocent-eyed Deputy with +regretful admiration. + +"I reckon," McGennis had remarked, with the impersonal contempt of an +Engineer speaking to a Teacher, "you'll be sending up another +glass-eyed Dictionary to snarl 'em all up--" + +"I don't know," the Deputy Superintendent had said thoughtfully. +"You've done surprisingly well with them yourself." + +"That," McGennis retorted, with huge sarcasm, "is because I've got +nothing else to do." + +"In that case," the Deputy had said, looking at him with smiling +innocence, "I'll let you keep the school, just to fill up the time." +And then, unexpectedly, he had swung to his saddle and flicked a +spurred heel, and gone galloping away, his big Colt's swinging at his +trim waist, and left McGennis wrathful yet admiring. + +"I say, Mr. McGennis," had been his parting shot, "try to keep their +accent and vocabulary back as close to the Mississippi as you can, +won't you?" + +Rather than quit, McGennis had taken the school and kept the restive +teachers in line by counsel and admonition, and had even, when he was +in town, taught for an hour each morning himself, smiling with lofty +contempt for his womanish occupation as he revealed to his pupils an +accent and vocabulary which had never been east of the Missouri. In +a way it was his school, but the work those men were doing at the +angle of the _plaza_ was infinitely more his work, and, late or not, +he swung on his heel for a look at it. + +Of all his schemes for the redemption of Sicaba, that culvert and its +tributary ditches was his pet. It had been a nice problem in +drainage in a town whose highest ridge rose only a meter above high +water, and which yet seemed to have an inexhaustible capacity for +getting wet and staying wetter. The water had lain two feet deep all +over the _plaza_, the last rains, and a score of men, fathers of +families, had wrapped their faces in their clammy cotton blankets and +died stolidly of fever, to say nothing of the women and the babies. +The babies had been the worst of it. It made him growl out ugly +curses to see the tiny coffins borne out of the church, two and three +and four a day, with their tawdry draperies of pink calico draggled +and beaten by wind and rain. He had made up his mind that it must +stop. And it was stopped now, if Yankee ingenuity counted for +anything, McGennis thought, as he looked down at the clean green +mortar of his culvert. + +"Is it good?" the foreman of the masons asked anxiously. + +The Deputy Supervisor surveyed the work with puckered brows. "Fine, +Miguel," he said genially. "Couldn't be better," and the workmen +smiled at each other like pleased children. + +"Two, three, four days, it will be done," Miguel said proudly. + +"Great!" cried his ruler. "You're a hustler. You and I've got a +little Irish in us, I reckon, hey?" And then, chuckling over the +bewilderment his speech had caused, he resumed his light-hearted way +to school. + +The big, sunny boys' room, where blackboards were fastened +incongruously and perilously to nipa walls and bright-eyed, +white-frocked Oriental youngsters sat at American desks when they +must, and drew their legs up to squat comfortably at other times, was +very cheerful ordinarily, far and away the homiest place in Sicaba. +But as McGennis entered, he met a chilly air. For eleven months he +had been impressing the beauty of punctuality on his charges, and now +he had his reward. The children stared with round-eyed disapproval. +The teachers greeted him with frosty courtesy. + +With twinkling eyes, McGennis marched to the desk. "I am late," he +reported meekly, "and--I will let Alejandro Angel name my punishment." + +That was an inspiration. The angelic Alexander turned stiff with +responsibility. "I sink," he announced at last, "we s'all all estay +after eschool an' Meestair Magheenis s'all tell dhe estory of dhe +Princesa who wass esleepy." A stir of approval greeted his +pronouncement. The Sleeping Beauty was dear to the hearts of younger +Sicaba. + +Having made his peace, McGennis passed on to his own little room. +And there, while detachments advanced to storm under his leadership +the rough terrain of English speech, he fell to thinking again of his +wonderful fortune. He would make those Igorrotes work, and he would +learn all their legends and crafts and games, and they would be his +people. Just as the people of Sicaba were. + +McGennis, glancing down at the long bench where a platoon of his +people sat with the impishly angelic Alexander at one end--the lower +one--and the wan-faced village hunchback at the other, felt a sudden +pang. For the first time he realized that some professional +pedagogue, some glass-eyed Dictionary, some heavy-handed, solemn +fellow, might have those boys he had made his. If any one must come, +he hoped it might be--McGennis ransacked his fancy for the sort of +man he wanted. And he could not find one! At that he laughed +outright. "You're getting green-eyed," he said to himself, in +humorous surprise. + +"Teacher, what is green-eye?" demanded the hunchback, and McGennis +knew that he had spoken his thought. + +"Green-eyed means a gazabo that thinks he's It," he explained +promptly; and "What is gazabo, Teacher?" demanded the tireless +pursuer after knowledge. + +"Time's up," said McGennis laughing. "Rush along the next gang, +Alejandro, and if I catch you chewing _bunga_ in school again I'll +wring your neck, _sabe_?" + +When the one hour of his unmanly work was done and the last +detachment had departed, McGennis lingered for a moment in the little +room, looking out on the _plaza_, and his eyes were very thoughtful, +almost wistful. "I reckon," he muttered, "a fellow'd hate to leave +the Hot Place if he'd been there long enough to get acquainted," and +he seized his hat and hurried over to his office in the big, +half-ruinous convent which served Sicaba for municipal headquarters. +His step was not so wholly buoyant as it had been in the morning, and +the world was not quite so youthfully exuberant. Not that it was +dead, as he had seen it so often from his window at sunrise. It was +simply--homelike. + +And in his office, too, buoyancy was lacking. Instead of taking up +the work he had laid aside the night before, and it was work which +must be finished quickly if he meant to leave his house in order, he +sat stupidly for a while, and then, half unconsciously, he reached up +to a shelf and took down some blue-prints of work which could not be +done for years. Not till all those roads and bridges had some +habitation more local than a cat's eye. There was the swamp, Manapla +way, a hundred good square miles of rich black mud where cacao would +grow like a weed, and only a thousand cubic meters of drainage canal +were needed, twelve hundred at the outside-- + +There was the growing bar at the mouth of Cadiz Viejo river. One +jetty, placed knowingly, would scoop that out, and there was an ideal +place for a dock--McGennis's short brown hand smoothed the curling +blue-prints lovingly, as he fell to thinking again of an unescapable +successor. Whom could Stewart send? There was Haskins. Haskins had +the education, McGennis admitted reverently, and could draw like a +ruling-machine and figure like a comptometer. But Haskins couldn't +make a monkey catch fleas, and the North Coast needed a driver, a +hard-handed--and yet not too hard. Brown could make 'em hustle all +right, but he would have a new fight on every day. What the North +Coast needed was a jollier--like Henry? No, Henry was a good fellow +all right, but he made things cost like contract work in Frisco, and +the North Coast was pitifully poor. What it needed was a contriver +like--like--well, like-- + +"Oh, hell!" said McGennis profanely. Suddenly he stood very straight +above his draughting-table, for his door had opened. + +The Municipal Secretary and the Municipal Presidente came in. They +seemed to radiate an air of funerals, and McGennis's boisterous +greeting died in his throat. The Secretary halted just inside the +door and stood looking down, a lumpish statue of grief. The +Presidente, a spare, eager-faced young native, came forward to +McGennis's table. + +"Damn!" said McGennis softly, looking at him. + +"Señor Magheenis," said the Presidente, "the Señor Secretario says +that you will go away. Assure me that he is mistaken." + +McGennis started a light answer, and cut it short. "It's true, +Presidente," he said briefly. + +"But," said the Presidente, "where go all our plans which we made +together? Remember how we talked? You shall teach me how the good +Presidentes--the Mayors--in America do, and so shall even Sicaba be +made American also." + +"I'm sorry, Presidente," said McGennis, "but you see--" + +"I comprehend," said the Presidente. "We are too little, too poor, +too worthless, to take the strength, the teaching, of a man like +you--" + +"Oh, cut it out!" McGennis begged. + +"It is not to be expected, and I do not expect it, now that I +comprehend." There was a simple and impressive dignity in the little +Presidente. "But what comes to Sicaba, and to me? Excuse me, +_Magheenis amigo_. I can not talk more now. Before you go I shall +see you and thank you, but excuse me now." + +"Damn!" said McGennis savagely, looking after the two silent figures +as they went out. "What right have they got," he demanded sharply of +Some One, "to expect me to drool away my whole life up here in this +God-forsaken hole? Here, you," he shouted roughly to the +man-of-all-work about his office, "get my horse saddled up, quick. +I've got to ride out and take a look at that cut on the Segovia road." + +And so he rode away and escaped a day of unwonted excitement in +Sicaba as the news spread. People told it to each other as they +stood in twos and threes before the little _tiendas_, and the greater +men of the town, gathered in the earthen-floored café, drank cognac +in unusual and dangerous quantities, three and four thimblefuls, some +of them; and the school children talked of it, tearfully, and the +monkeyish little constabulary soldiers in their lime-washed +barrack--McGennis had given _them_ a touch of that pliant +mule-driver's wrist of his, once or twice, when their inspector had +been absent riding along the eighty miles of ladrone-harried coast +which was his charge. + +In all Sicaba only the Municipal Secretary, sitting in his office +with an unlighted cigar between his pudgy fingers, and the young +Presidente pacing up and down somewhere in his big house beside +Sicaba River, did not speak of McGennis's going. + +It was toward the end of the afternoon when the Deputy Supervisor +rode back, himself again. Out there in the open, with the sun and +wind about him, his brain had cleared. These people had no mortgage +on his future. It was a wrench breaking old ties, but not to do it +in this case would be a piece +of--back-beyond-the-foot-hills--sentimentality. + +So when he turned into the first street of the little city and a man +stepped out from a tienda and asked: "You go away, Señor Magheenis?" +McGennis, jogging along with a smile on his face, was ready for him. +"Sure," he said carelessly. + +But he was not ready for what followed. For the man put a hand to +his mouth and called shrilly: "It is true," and from every _tienda_ +down the length of that long street, men and women came out and stood +looking up at him, silently, sorrowfully, questioningly, as if there +were something they wanted to understand, and couldn't. Before +McGennis was half-way to the _plaza_, his smile was a savage grin, +and he had kicked the big horse into a thundering gallop. And so he +rode down between the rows of silent people, looking straight ahead. + +He had reached the _plaza_, and was swinging his horse for the corner +where his house was, when the sight of the schoolhouse on the farther +side checked him. This hour, just before sunset, had come to be the +one playtime hour of his busy days, and he spent it at the school. +Not as a teacher, nor among the boys who were his unofficial pupils. +At the other end of the school from the boys' room was another +equally big room crowded full of girls, and it was there, oddly +enough, that McGennis spent the one happy hour when he did not have +to be a Deputy Supervisor. + +Oddly, for, as McGennis put it, he "had no use for skirts." In his +short, tempestuous life he had seen many good men wasted for love of +women, and far from being curious at their fate and the causes of it, +he had drawn back into himself till he regarded the softer half of +humankind with a suspicion which bordered on hatred. + +But there were women of another sort. Tiny things whose little +clinging fingers could hardly circle one of his stubby ones. Wee +things of such primal innocence that, as they stood unclad at the +village wells, with their plump little brown bodies shining in the +sun, and their wisps of black hair hanging all draggled about their +faces, while their mothers poured water over them, they looked up +unabashed if he came riding by, and smiled up friendlily, and lisped +"Good-a-mornin'." + +Of such women McGennis had no fear, and so it had come about, very +gradually, that after all the others were gone, these little ones +waited in the big room till McGennis came with a wonderfully colored +book, and then, with shining eyes and tiny gurgles of excited +laughter, they closed about him and wormed their warm little selves +inside his arms and balanced precariously on his shoulders, steadying +themselves by his hair, and lay piled, a heap of eager heads and +forgotten arms and legs, on the big table where the book was, while +the Deputy Supervisor revealed to them the thrilling difference +between a peach and an apple, and the astonishing unlikeness of +either to a violet. And any one who had come unseen on McGennis +then, would hardly have known him for a Deputy Supervisor. + +McGennis, at the _plaza_ corner, felt suddenly that these friends of +his were waiting for him then, and he could not bear to disappoint +them. So he swung the big horse and galloped across and rolled from +his saddle at the schoolhouse door and pushed it open and took one +step inside, and stopped. + +For from the benches and the crowded table there rose a wail of +infantile despair, so shrill and queerly, pipingly minor, so very +manifestly the outpouring of very tiny broken hearts, that it was +like a toy wail, almost ludicrous in its imitation of the real thing. + +But McGennis did not smile at it. For an instant he stood, and then +he turned and closed the door with fumbling fingers, and took the few +steps to his horse stumblingly, and climbed heavily into his saddle, +and with loose reins rode off to his house and went up to his _ssla_ +and sat down there, looking blindly out on Sicaba. + +[Illustration: "_With loose reins rode off to his house._"] + +The sunset came, brightened, and faded, and passed away, and night +shut down over Sicaba, and still he sat there. His muchacho came to +light a lamp, and McGennis sent him away. Later his cook came, +speaking authoritatively of dinner, and McGennis sent his cook away, +too, and sat on in the dark. + +At last it was the hour when even Sicaba, for a little while, must +seem beautiful to the most hostile critic. It is the hour when the +full power of night descends upon the world, when the wind dies away +to the merest murmur, and the drone of the surf becomes deep and +solemn, and the great yellow stars burn very steadily against the +soft velvet of the sky. + +When that hour came, McGennis stirred, and stood up suddenly, and +laid his hands on the broad sill of his window and looked down at +Sicaba and up to the stars. "Of course I'm going to stay," he +muttered impatiently, as if Some One had asked him a question. "But +it's up to You. You butted into this game, and now You've got to +play the cards. Pedro," he called, in quite another voice, "bring a +light." + +When the light was brought, he sat down at his table and drew pen and +paper to him and began to write. + +"Donald G. Stewart, C.E.," he wrote, tracing the magic initials with +reverent care. McGennis would never write C.E. after his own name, +unless some day he did the big, big thing which would lead a college +to give him the right, _honoris causa_. He had not the education, he +knew that. + + + "DONALD G. STEWART, C.E. + "_Supervisor in Charge + "Provinces Pagros Oriental y Occidental._ + +"SIR:--I have the honor to request that I do not be transferred to +Luzon, because there are some jobs here which are not done yet." + + +His eyes lighted with whimsical amusement as he thought of those +"jobs"; teaching a presidente how to be straight, teaching brown, +monkeyish soldiers not to run away, teaching the children-- + + +"The fact is, Mr. Stewart," he wrote with less formality, "that I +cannot leave the school which the Dep. Super. Schools kindly gave me +to occupy my time. I am the best teacher he has got now, I think. +You can ask him." + + +Then formality returned: + + +"I have the honor to thank you for the kind words you say about me +making good. Of course I know they are not so. + + "Very respectfully, + "JOHN McGENNIS." + + +"There," said McGennis, looking down thankfully at his completed +letter, for he hated letter-writing, did McGennis, "I reckon that +cinches it. When the Old Man reads that, he'll sabe I'm loco enough +to let alone. Anyway," he added, "Haskins'll never get the chance to +blow about draining Manapla swamp. Haskins has got the education all +right, but he couldn't make a bald monkey catch his own fleas." + +As he entered his bedroom, holding his chimneyless lamp high that the +reek of it might not draw into his nostrils, his eye lighted on the +jagged post in the corner. "Well," said McGennis, looking at it, +"she's all notched up for a couple of weeks, anyhow. I'm that much +ahead." The boyish smile curled his firm young lips once more, as +the fool part of him began to amuse the other parts. And then, +contentedly, he turned to his canvas cot, with the heavy, blue-gray +blankets spread upon it. + +It is hard and narrow and monkish, that couch which the world +provides for so many of her fighting men and pioneers, but to +McGennis it seemed a Place of Rest. + +So may they find it, all my far-wandering friends, when to-night they +stretch themselves on the rasping canvas and draw the honest, +blue-gray blankets over them. + + + + +EPILOGUE + +_That is the East which called me with all its old familiar voices, +with all the glamour and color of its pulsating life. And now, +having relived that life for an hour, I have come back again to the +old house which stands so quiet among the frost-bitten New England +woods and fields where sober-living men are providing cannily against +the coming winter, in full faith that their precautions will avail, +that a Great God rules who permits no Little Gods to turn His world +topsyturvy. I am not sorry to be back. The East for the tasting of +life, the West for living it._ + +_I feel, regretfully, as you must have felt accusingly or +uninterestedly, that these stories are far from pleasant. That is +because they are true. Each of them was taken raw from Life. The +people of the mimic dramas you have watched are no puppets of my +imagination; there is no bit of tragedy or of comedy written here, +however dingy, that some man or woman has not lived. Whether you +accept that old heathen man's hypothesis of Little Gods or not, you +have looked on at Games which were played by Some One, or by blind +Fate. The East you have seen is the real East, stripped of its +glamour and its color, a land where nothing is sacred, where there +are indeed no Ten Commandments--no Commander, it seems sometimes--a +land of uncertainty and empty Fatalism._ + +_Better, it seems to me, a little less of zest and color, and a +little more of ballasting Hope._ + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Gods, by Rowland Thomas + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59920 *** |