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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..99b3006 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68278 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68278) diff --git a/old/68278-0.txt b/old/68278-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6fb0647..0000000 --- a/old/68278-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8355 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Off duty, by Wilhelmina Harper - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Off duty - A dozen yarns for soldiers and sailors - -Compiler: Wilhelmina Harper - -Release Date: June 10, 2022 [eBook #68278] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images - made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OFF DUTY *** - - - - - -OFF DUTY - -A Dozen Yarns for Soldiers and Sailors - -Compiled by Wilhelmina Harper - -Assistant Librarian, Camp Library, - -Naval Training Station, Pelham Bay Park, N.Y. - -NEW YORK - -THE CENTURY CO. - -1919 - - - - -Copyright, 1919, by The Century Co. - -Published, August, 1919 - - - - -TO MY BROTHER - -LIEUTENANT FRANCIS HARPER - - - - -FOREWORD - -In my work here at Pelham Bay Camp with our wounded from abroad, -with our sick boys who did not get “over there,” and with the well -but often lonely men, who frequent our library, I have discovered a -distinct need for some collection of the best stories, especially -adapted to the “genus homo.” To meet this want, I have prepared this -compilation for our soldiers and sailors, and incidentally for all -to read who will. - -Work with our American youth is most inspiring because of his open -mind, his courage, and his great appreciation of any service -rendered him. This fact I have learned through becoming acquainted -with the brave lads on the hospital cots at Pelham, who have needed -help in whiling away the long hours of waiting. - -In all camps there are many men not acquainted with books. My aim -has been to introduce them to some of our best writers, knowing that -friendship and liking would soon follow. The work has been a -pleasant one, made doubly so because of the willing co-operation -given me by the distinguished authors whose stories are contained -herein; and by the equally generous response which the various -publishers have made to my requests. It was not done for me, but for -the purpose of the compilation. To authors and publishers I hereby -express my gratitude. - - W. H. - April, 1919. - - - - -CONTENTS - - Keeping Up With Lizzie -- Irving Bacheller - The Tide Takes a Hand -- Rex Beach - The Gay Old Dog -- Edna Ferber - Ole Skjarsen’s First Touchdown -- George Fitch - The Outlaw -- Hamlin Garland - Naza! Naza! Naza! -- Zane Grey - A Case of Metaphantasmia -- W. D. Howells - The Outcasts of Poker Flat -- Bret Harte - The Handbook of Hymen -- O. Henry - Jack and the King -- Seumas MacManus - Billy’s Tenderfoot -- Stewart Edward White - The Nightingale and the Rose -- Oscar Wilde - - - - -I. KEEPING UP WITH LIZZIE - -By Irving Bacheller - -From “Keeping Up with Lizzie,” copyright, 1911, by Harper & -Brothers. Used by special permission of the author. - - -(In part) - -“Sam Henshaw’s girl had graduated an’ gone abroad with her mother. -One Sunday ’bout a year later, Sam flew up to the door o’ my house -in his automobile. He lit on the sidewalk an’ struggled up the steps -with two hundred an’ forty-seven pounds o’ meat on him. He walked -like a man carryin’ a barrel o’ pork. He acted as if he was glad to -see me an’ the big arm-chair on the piaz’. - -“‘What’s the news?’ I asked. - -“‘Lizzie an’ her mother got back this mornin’,’ he gasped. ‘They’ve -been six months in Europe. Lizzie is in love with it. She’s -hobnobbed with kings an’ queens. She talks art beautiful. I wish -you’d come over an’ hear her hold a conversation. It’s wonderful. -She’s goin’ to be a great addition to this community. She’s got me -faded an’ on the run. I ran down to the store for a few minutes this -mornin’, an’ when I got back she says to me: - -“‘“Father, you always smell o’ ham an’ mustard. Have you been in -that disgusting store? Go an’ take a bahth at once.” That’s what she -called it--a “bahth.” Talks just like the English people--she’s been -among ’em so long. Get into my car an’ I’ll take ye over an’ fetch -ye back.’ - -“Sam regarded his humiliation with pride an’ joy. At last Lizzie had -convinced him that her education had paid. My curiosity was excited. -I got in an’ we flew over to his house. Sam yelled up the stairway -kind o’ joyful as we come in, an’ his wife answered at the top o’ -the stairs an’ says: - -“‘Mr. Henshaw, I wish you wouldn’t shout in this house like a boy -calling the cows.’ - -“I guess she didn’t know I was there. Sam ran up-stairs an’ back, -an’ then we turned into that splendid parlor o’ his an’ set down. -Purty soon Liz an’ her mother swung in an’ smiled very pleasant an’ -shook hands an’ asked how was my family, etc., an’ went right on -talkin’. I saw they didn’t ask for the purpose of gettin’ -information. Liz was dressed to kill an’ purty as a picture--cheeks -red as a rooster’s comb an’ waist like a hornet’s. The cover was off -her show-case, an’ there was a diamond sunburst in the middle of it, -an’ the jewels were surrounded by charms to which I am not wholly -insensible even now. - -“‘I wanted ye to tell Mr. Potter about yer travels,’ says Sam. - -“Lizzie smiled an’ looked out o’ the window a minute an’ fetched a -sigh an’ struck out, lookin’ like Deacon Bristow the day he give ten -dollars to the church. She told about the cities an’ the folks an’ -the weather in that queer, English way she had o’ talkin’. - -“‘Tell how ye hobnobbed with the Queen o’ Italy,’ Sam says. - -“‘Oh, father! Hobnobbed!’ says she. ‘Anybody would think that she -and I had manicured each other’s hands. She only spoke a few words -of Italian and looked very gracious an’ beautiful an’ complimented -my color.’ - -“Then she lay back in her chair, kind o’ weary, an’ Sam asked me how -was business--just to fill in the gap, I guess. Liz woke up an’ -showed how far she’d got ahead in the race. - -“‘Business!’ says she, with animation. ‘That’s why I haven’t any -patience with American men. They never sit down for ten minutes -without talking business. Their souls are steeped in commercialism. -Don’t you see how absurd it is, father? There are plenty of lovely -things to talk about.’ - -“Sam looked guilty, an’ I felt sorry for him. It had cost heavy to -educate his girl up to a p’int where she could give him so much -advice an’ information. The result was natural. She was irritated by -the large cubic capacity--the length, breadth and thickness of his -ignorance and unrefinement; he was dazed by the length, breadth, an’ -thickness of her learning an’ her charm. He didn’t say a word. He -bowed his head before this pretty, perfumed casket of erudition. - -“‘You like Europe,’ I says. - -“‘I love it,’ says she. ‘It’s the only place to live. There one -finds so much of the beautiful in art and music and so many -cultivated people.’ - -“Lizzie was a handsome girl, an’ had more sense than any o’ the -others that tried to keep up with her. After all, she was Sam’s -fault, an’ Sam was a sin conceived an’ committed by his wife, as ye -might say. She had made him what he was. - -“‘Have you seen Dan Pettigrew lately?’ Lizzie asked. - -“‘Yes,’ I says. ‘Dan is goin’ to be a farmer.’ - -“‘A farmer!’ says she, an’ covered her face with her handkerchief -an’ shook with merriment. - -“‘Yes,’ I says. ‘Dan has come down out o’ the air. He’s abandoned -folly. He wants to do something to help along.’ - -“‘Yes, of course,’ says Lizzie, in a lofty manner. ‘Dan is really an -excellent boy--isn’t he?’ - -“‘Yes, an’ he’s livin’ within his means--that’s the first mile-stone -in the road to success,’ I says. ‘I’m goin’ buy him a thousand acres -o’ land, an’ one o’ these days he’ll own it an’ as much more. You -wait. He’ll have a hundred men in his employ an’ flocks an’ herds -an’ a market of his own in New York. He’ll control prices in this -county, an’ they’re goin’ down. He’ll be a force in the State.’ - -“They were all sitting up. The faces o’ the Lady Henshaw an’ her -daughter turned red. - -“‘I’m very glad to hear it, I’m sure,’ said her Ladyship. - -“I wasn’t so sure o’ that as she was, an’ there, for me, was the -milk in the cocoanut. I was joyful. - -“‘Why, it’s perfectly lovely!’ says Lizzie, as she fetched her -pretty hands together in her lap. - -“‘Yes, you want to cultivate Dan,’ I says. ‘He’s a man to be -reckoned with.’ - -“‘Oh, indeed!’ says her Ladyship. - -“‘Yes, indeed!’ I says, ‘an’ the girls are all after him.’ - -“I just guessed that. I knew it was unscrupulous, but livin’ here in -this atmosphere does affect the morals even of a lawyer. Lizzie grew -red in the face. - -“‘He could marry one o’ the Four Hundred if he wanted to,’ I says. -‘The other evening he was seen in the big red tourin’-car o’ the Van -Alstynes. What do you think o’ that?’ - -“Now that was true, but the chauffeur had been a college friend of -Dan’s, an’ I didn’t mention that. - -“Lizzie had a dreamy smile on her face. - -“‘Why, it’s wonderful!’ says she. ‘I didn’t know he’d improved so.’ - -“‘I hear that his mother is doing her own work,’ says the Lady -Henshaw, with a forced smile. - -“‘Yes, think of it,’ I says. ‘The woman is earning her daily -bread--actually helpin’ her husband. Did you ever hear o’ such a -thing! I’ll have to scratch ’em off my list. It’s too uncommon. It -ain’t respectable.’ - -“Her ladyship began to suspect me an’ retreated with her chin in the -air. She’d had enough. - -“I thought that would do an’ drew out o’ the game. Lizzie looked -confident. She seemed to have something up her sleeve besides that -lovely arm o’ hers. - -“I went home, an’ two days later Sam looked me up again. Then the -secret came out o’ the bag. He’d heard that I had some money in the -savings-bank over at Bridgeport payin’ me only three and a half per -cent, an’ he wanted to borrow it an’ pay me six per cent. His -generosity surprised me. It was not like Sam. - -“‘What’s the matter with you?’ I asked. ‘Is it possible that your -profits have all gone into gasoline an’ rubber an’ silk an’ -education an’ hardwood finish an’ human fat?’ - -“‘Well, it costs so much to live,’ he says, ‘an’ the wholesalers -have kept liftin’ the prices on me. Now there’s the meat -trust--their prices are up thirty-five per cent.’ - -“‘Of course,’ I says, ‘the directors have to have their luxuries. -You taxed us for yer new house an’ yer automobile an’ yer daughter’s -education, an’ they’re taxin’ you for their steam-yachts an’ private -cars an’ racin’ stables. You can’t expect to do all the taxin’. The -wholesalers learnt about the profits that you an’ others like ye was -makin’, an’ they concluded that they needed a part of ’em. Of course -they had to have their luxuries, an’ they’re taxin’ you--they -couldn’t afford to have ’em if they didn’t. Don’t complain.’ - -“‘I’ll come out all right,’ he says. ‘I’m goin’ to raise my whole -schedule fifteen per cent.’ - -“‘The people won’t stand it--they can’t,’ says I. ‘You’ll be -drownin’ the miller. They’ll leave you.’ - -“‘It won’t do ’em any good,’ says he. ‘Bill an’ Eph will make their -prices agree with mine.’ - -“‘Folks will go back to the land, as I have,’ says I. - -“‘They don’t know enough,’ says Sam. ‘Farmin’ is a lost art here in -the East. You take my word for it--they’ll pay our prices--they’ll -have to--an’ the rich folks, they don’t worry about prices. I pay a -commission to every steward an’ butler in this neighborhood.’ - -“‘I won’t help you,’ says I. ‘It’s wicked. You ought to have saved -your money.’ - -“‘In a year from now I’ll have money to burn,’ he says. ‘For one -thing, my daughter’s education is finished, an’ that has cost -heavy.’ - -“‘How much would it cost to unlearn it?’ I asked. ‘That’s goin’ to -cost more than it did to get it, I’m ’fraid. In my opinion the first -thing to do with her is to uneducate her.’ - -“That was like a red-hot iron to Sam. It kind o’ het him up. - -“‘Why, sir, you don’t appreciate her,’ says he. ‘That girl is far -above us all here in Pointview. She’s a queen.’ - -“‘Well, Sam,’ I says, ‘if there’s anything you don’t need just now -it’s a queen. If I were you I wouldn’t graft that kind o’ fruit on -the grocery-tree. Hams an’ coronets don’t flourish on the same bush. -They have a different kind of a bouquet. They don’t harmonize. Then, -Sam, what do you want of a girl that’s far above ye? Is it any -comfort to you to be despised in your own home?’ - -“‘Mr. Potter, I haven’t educated her for my own home or for this -community, but for higher things,’ says Sam. - -“‘You hairy old ass! The first you know,’ I says, ‘they’ll have your -skin off an’ layin’ on the front piaz’ for a door-mat.’ - -“Sam started for the open air. I hated to be ha’sh with him, but he -needed some education himself, an’ it took a beetle an’ wedge to -open his mind for it. He lifted his chin so high that the fat -swelled out on the back of his neck an’ unbuttoned his collar. Then -he turned an’ said: ‘My daughter is too good for this town, an’ I -don’t intend that she shall stay here. She has been asked to marry a -man o’ fortune in the old country.’ - -“‘So I surmise, an’ I suppose you find that the price o’ husbands -has gone up,’ I says. - -“Sam didn’t answer me. - -“‘They want you to settle some money on the girl--don’t they?’ I -asked. - -“‘My wife says it’s the custom in the old country,’ says Sam. - -“‘Suppose he ain’t worth the price?’ - -“‘They say he’s a splendid fellow,’ says Sam. - -“‘You let me investigate him,’ I says, ‘an’ if he’s really worth the -price I’ll help ye to pay it.’ - -“Sam said that was fair, an’ thanked me for the offer, an’ gave me -the young man’s address. He was a Russian by the name of Alexander -Rolanoff, an’ Sam insisted that he belonged to a very old family of -large means an’ noble blood, an’ said that the young man would be in -Pointview that summer. I wrote to the mayor of the city in which he -was said to live, but got no answer. - -“Alexander came. He was a costly an’ beautiful young man, about -thirty years old, with red cheeks an’ curly hair an’ polished -finger-nails, an’ wrote poetry. Sometimes ye meet a man that excites -yer worst suspicions. Your right hand no sooner lets go o’ his than -it slides down into your pocket to see if anything has happened; or -maybe you take the arm o’ yer wife or yer daughter an’ walk away. -Aleck leaned a little in both directions. But, sir, Sam didn’t care -to know my opinion of him. Never said another word to me on the -subject, but came again to ask about the money. - -“‘Look here, Sam,’ I says. ‘You tell Lizzie that I want to have a -talk with her at four o’clock in this office. If she really wants to -buy this man, I’ll see what can be done about it.’ - -“‘All right, you talk with her,’ says he, an’ went out. - -“In a few minutes Dan showed up. - -“‘Have you seen Lizzie?’ says I. - -“‘Not to speak to her,’ says Dan. ‘Looks fine, doesn’t she?’ - -“‘Beautiful,’ I says. ‘How is Marie Benson?’ - -“‘Oh, the second time I went to see her she was trying to keep up -with Lizzie,’ says he. She’s changed her gait. Was going to New York -after a lot o’ new frills. I suppose she thought that I wanted a -grand lady. That’s the trouble with all the girls here. A man might -as well marry the real thing as an imitation. I wish Lizzie would -get down off her high horse.’ - -“‘She’s goin’ to swap him for one with still longer legs,’ I says. -‘Lizzie is engaged to a gentleman o’ fortune in the old country.’ - -“Dan’s face began to stretch out long as if it was made of -injy-rubber. - -“‘It’s too bad,’ says he. ‘Lizzie is a good-hearted girl, if she is -spoilt.’ - -“‘Fine girl!’ I says. ‘An’, Dan, I was in hopes that she would -discover her own folly before it was too late. But she saw that -others had begun to push her in the race an’ that she had to let out -another link or fall behind.’ - -“‘Well, I wish her happiness,’ says Dan, with a sigh. - -“‘Go an’ tell her so,’ I says. ‘Show her that you have some care as -to whether she lives or dies.’ - -“I could see that his feelin’s had been honed ’til they were sharp -as a razor. - -“‘I’ve seen that fellow,’ he says, ‘an’ he’ll never marry Lizzie if -I can prevent it. I hate the looks of him. I shall improve the first -opportunity I have to insult him.’ - -“‘That might be impossible,’ I suggested. - -“‘But I’ll make the effort,’ says Dan. - -“As an insulter I wouldn’t wonder if Dan had large capacity when -properly stirred up. - -“‘Better let him alone. I have lines out that will bring -information. Be patient.’ - -“Dan rose and said he would see me soon, an’ left with a rather -stern look on his face.” - - * * * * * - -“Lizzie was on hand at the hour appointed. We sat down here all by -ourselves. - -“‘Lizzie,’ I says, ‘why in the world did you go to Europe for a -husband? It’s a slight to Pointview--a discouragement of home -industry.’ - -“‘There was nobody here that seemed to want me,’ she says, blushin’ -very sweet. - -“She had dropped her princess manner an’ seemed to be ready for -straight talk. - -“‘If that’s so, Lizzie, it’s your fault,’ I says. - -“‘I don’t understand you,’ says she. - -“‘Why, my dear child, it’s this way,’ I says. ‘Your mother an’ -father have meant well, but they’ve been foolish. They’ve educated -you for a millionairess, an’ all that’s lackin’ is the millions. You -over-awed the boys here in Pointview. They thought that you felt -above ’em, whether you did or not; an’ the boys on Fifth Avenue were -glad to play with you, but they didn’t care to marry you. I say it -kindly, Lizzie, an’ I’m a friend o’ yer father’s, an’ you can afford -to let me say what I mean. Those young fellows wanted the millions -as well as the millionairess. One of our boys fell in love with ye -an’ tried to keep up, but your pace was too hot for him. His father -got in trouble, an’ the boy had to drop out. Every well-born girl in -the village entered the race with ye. An era of extravagance set in -that threatened the solvency, the honor, o’ this sober old -community. Their fathers had to borrow money to keep agoin’. They -worked overtime, they importuned their creditors, they wallowed in -low finance while their daughters revelled in the higher walks o’ -life an’ sang in different languages. Even your father--I tell you -in confidence, for I suppose he wouldn’t have the courage to do -it--is in financial difficulties. Now, Lizzie, I want to be kind to -you, for I believe you’re a good girl at heart, but you ought to -know that all this is what your accomplishments have accomplished.’ - -“She rose an’ walked across the room, with trembling lips. She had -seized her parachute an’ jumped from her balloon and was slowly -approachin’ the earth. I kept her comin’. ‘These clothes an’ jewels -that you wear, Lizzie--these silks an’ laces, these sunbursts an’ -solitaires--don’t seem to harmonize with your father’s desire to -borrow money. Pardon me, but I can’t make ’em look honest. They are -not paid for--or if they are they are paid for with other men’s -money. They seem to accuse you. They’d accuse me if I didn’t speak -out plain to ye.’ - -“All of a sudden Lizzie dropped into a chair an’ began to cry. She -had lit safely on the ground. - -“It made me feel like a murderer, but it had to be. Poor girl! I -wanted to pick her up like a baby an’ kiss her. It wasn’t that I -loved Lizzie less but Rome more. She wasn’t to blame. Every spoilt -woman stands for a fool-man. Most o’ them need--not a _master_--but -a frank counsellor. I locked the door. She grew calm an’ leaned on -my table, her face covered with her hands. My clock shouted the -seconds in the silence. Not a word was said for two or three -minutes. - -“‘I have been brutal,’ I says, by-an’-by. ‘Forgive me.’ - -“‘Mr. Potter,’ she says, ‘you’ve done me a great kindness. I’ll -never forget it. What shall I do?’ - -“‘Well, for one thing,’ says I, ‘go back to your old simplicity an’ -live within your means.’ - -“‘I’ll do it,’ she says; ‘but--I--I supposed my father was rich. Oh, -I wish we could have had this talk before!’ - -“‘Did you know that Dan Pettigrew was in love with you?’ I put it -straight from the shoulder. ‘He wouldn’t dare to tell ye, but you -ought to know it. You are regarded as a kind of a queen here, an’ -it’s customary for queens to be approached by ambassadors.’ - -“Her face lighted up. - -“‘In love with me?’ she whispered. ‘Why, Mr. Potter, I never dreamed -of such a thing. Are you sure? How do you know? I thought he felt -above me.’ - -“‘An’ he thought you felt above him,’ I says. - -“‘How absurd! how unfortunate!’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t marry him -now if he asked me. This thing has gone too far. I wouldn’t treat -any man that way.’ - -“‘You are engaged to Alexander, are you?’ I says. - -“‘Well, there is a sort of understanding, and I think we are to be -married if--if--’ - -“She paused, and tears came to her eyes again. - -“‘You are thinking o’ the money,’ says I. - -“‘I am thinking o’ the money,’ says she. ‘It has been promised to -him. He will expect it.’ - -“‘Do you think he is an honest man? Will he treat you well?’ - -“‘I suppose so.’ - -“‘Then let me talk with him. Perhaps he would take you without -anything to boot.’ - -“‘Please don’t propose that,’ says she. ‘I think he’s getting the -worst of it now. Mr. Potter, would you lend _me_ the money? I ask it -because I don’t want the family to be disgraced or Mr. Rolanoff to -be badly treated. He is to invest the money in my name in a very -promising venture. He says he can double it within three months.’ - -“It would have been easy for me to laugh, but I didn’t. Lizzie’s -attitude in the whole matter pleased me. I saw that her heart was -sound. I promised to have a talk with her father and see her again. -I looked into his affairs carefully and put him on a new financial -basis with a loan of fifteen thousand dollars. - -“One day he came around to my office with Alexander an’ wanted me to -draw up a contract between him an’ the young man. It was a rather -crude proposition, an’ I laughed, an’ Aleck sat with a bored smile -on his face. - -“‘Oh, if he’s good enough for your daughter,’ I said, ‘his word -ought to be good enough for you.’ - -“‘That’s all right,’ says Sam, ‘but business is business. I want it -down in black an’ white that the income from this money is to be -paid to my daughter, and that neither o’ them shall make any further -demand on me.’ - -“Well, I drew that fool contract, an’, after it was signed, Sam -delivered ten one-thousand-dollar bills to the young man, who was to -become his son-in-law the following month with the assistance of a -caterer and a florist and a string-band, all from New Haven. - -“Within half an hour Dan Pettigrew came roarin’ up in front o’ my -office in the big red automobile of his father’s. In a minute he -came in to see me. He out with his business soon as he lit in a -chair. - -“‘I’ve learned that this man Rolanoff is a scoundrel,’ says he. - -“‘A scoundrel!’ says I. - -“‘Of purest ray serene,’ says he. - -“I put a few questions, but he’d nothing in the way o’ proof to -offer--it was only the statement of a newspaper. - -“‘Is that all you know against him?’ I asked. - -“‘He won’t fight,’ says Dan. ‘I’ve tried him--begged him to fight.’ - -“‘Well, I’ve got better evidence than you have,’ I says. ‘It came a -few minutes before you did.’ - -“I showed him a cablegram from a London barrister that said: - -“‘Inquiry complete. The man is pure adventurer, character nil.’ - -“‘We must act immediately,’ says Dan. - -“‘I have telephoned all over the village for Sam,’ I says. ‘They say -he’s out in his car with Aleck an’ Lizzie. I asked them to send him -here as soon as he returns.’ - -“‘They’re down on the Post Road. I met ’em on my way here,’ says -Dan. ‘We can overtake that car easy.’ - -“Well, the wedding-day was approaching an’ Aleck had the money, an’ -the thought occurred to me that he might give ’em the slip somewhere -on the road an’ get away with it. I left word in the store that if -Sam got back before I saw him he was to wait with Aleck in my office -until I returned, an’ off we started like a baseball on its way from -the box to the catcher. - -“An officer on his motor-cycle overhauled us on the Post Road. He -knew me. - -“‘It’s a case o’ sickness,’ I says, ‘an’ we’re after Sam Henshaw.’ - -“‘He’s gone down the road an’ hasn’t come back yet,’ says the -officer. - -“I passed him a ten-dollar bill. - -“‘Keep within sight of us,’ I says. ‘We may need you any minute.’ - -“He nodded and smiled, an’ away we went. - -“‘I’m wonderin’ how we’re agoin’ to get the money,’ I says, havin’ -told Dan about it. - -“‘I’ll take it away from him,’ says Dan. - -“‘That wouldn’t do,’ says I. - -“‘Why not?’ - -“‘Why not?’ says I. ‘You wouldn’t want to be arrested for highway -robbery. Then, too, we must think o’ Lizzie. Poor girl! It’s agoin’ -to be hard on her, anyhow. I’ll try a bluff. It’s probable that he’s -worked this game before. If so, we can rob him without violence an’ -let him go.’ - -“Dan grew joyful as we sped along. - -“‘Lizzie is mine,’ he says. ‘She wouldn’t marry him now.’ - -“He told me how fond they had been of each other until they got -accomplishments an’ began to put up the price o’ themselves. He said -that in their own estimation they had riz in value like beef an’ -ham, an’ he confessed how foolish he had been. We were excited an’ -movin’ fast. - -“‘Something’ll happen soon,’ he says. - -“An’ it did, within ten minutes from date. We could see a blue car -half a mile ahead. - -“I’ll go by that ol’ freight-car o’ the Henshaws’,’ says Dan. -‘They’ll take after me, for Sam is vain of his car. We can halt them -in that narrow cut on the hill beyond the Byron River.’ - -“We had rounded the turn at Chesterville, when we saw the Henshaw -car just ahead of us, with Aleck at the wheel an’ Lizzie beside him -an’ Sam on the back seat. I saw the peril in the situation. - -“The long rivalry between the houses of Henshaw an’ Pettigrew, -reinforced by that of the young men, was nearing its climax. - -“‘See me go by that old soap-box o’ the Henshaws’,’ says Dan, as he -pulled out to pass ’em. - -“Then Dan an’ Aleck began a duel with automobiles. Each had a -forty-horse-power engine in his hands, with which he was resolved to -humble the other. Dan knew that he was goin’ to bring down the price -o’ Alecks an’ Henshaws. First we got ahead; then they scraped by us, -crumpling our fender on the nigh side. Lizzie an’ I lost our hats in -the scrimmage. We gathered speed an’ ripped off a section o’ their -bulwarks, an’ roared along neck an’ neck with ’em. The broken -fenders rattled like drums in a battle. A hen flew up an’ hit me in -the face, an’ came nigh unhorsin’ me. I hung on. It seemed as if -Fate was tryin’ to halt us, but our horse-power was too high. A dog -went under us. It began to rain a little. We were a length ahead at -the turn by the Byron River. We swung for the bridge an’ skidded an’ -struck a telephone pole, an’ I went right on over the stone fence -an’ the clay bank an’ lit on my head in the water. Dan Pettigrew lit -beside me. Then came Lizzie an’ Sam--they fairly rained into the -river. I looked up to see if Aleck was comin’, but he wasn’t. Sam, -bein’ so heavy, had stopped quicker an’ hit in shallow water near -the shore, but, as luck would have it, the bottom was soft an’ he -had come down feet foremost, an’ a broken leg an’ some bad bruises -were all he could boast of. Lizzie was in hysterics, but seemed to -be unhurt. Dan an’ I got ’em out on the shore, an’ left ’em cryin’ -side by side, an’ scrambled up the bank to find Aleck. He had aimed -too low an’ hit the wall, an’ was stunned, an’ apparently, for the -time, dead as a herrin’ on the farther side of it. I removed the ten -one-thousand bills from his person to prevent complications an’ -tenderly laid him down. Then he came to very sudden. - -“‘Stop!’ he murmured. ‘You’re robbin’ me.’ - -“‘Well, you begun it,’ I says. ‘Don’t judge me hastily. I’m a -philanthropist. I’m goin’ to leave you yer liberty an’ a hundred -dollars. You take it an’ get. If you ever return to Connecticut I’ll -arrest you at sight.’ - -“I gave him the money an’ called the officer, who had just come up. -A traveller in a large tourin’ car had halted near us. - -“‘Put him into that car an’ take him to Chesterville,’ I said. - -“He limped to the car an’ left without a word. - -“I returned to my friends an’ gently broke the news. - -“Sam blubbered. ‘Education done it,’ says he, as he mournfully shook -his head. - -“‘Yes,’ I says. ‘Education is responsible for a damned lot of -ignorance.’ - -“‘An’ some foolishness,’ says Sam, as he scraped the mud out of his -hair. ‘Think of our goin’ like that. We ought to have known better.’ - -“‘We knew better,’ I says, ‘but we had to keep up with Lizzie.’ - -“Sam turned toward Lizzie an’ moaned in a broken voice, ‘I wish it -had killed me.’ - -“‘Why so?’ I asked. - -“‘It costs so much to live,’ Sam sobbed, in a half-hysterical way. -‘I’ve got an expensive family on my hands.’ - -“‘You needn’t be afraid o’ havin’ Lizzie on your hands,’ says Dan, -who held the girl in his arms. - -“‘What do you mean?’ Sam inquired. - -“She’s on my hands an’ she’s goin’ to stay there,’ says the young -man. ‘I’m in love with Lizzie myself. I’ve always been in love with -Lizzie.’ - -“‘Your confession is ill-timed,’ says Lizzie, as she pulled away an’ -tried to smooth her hair. She began to cry again, an’ added, between -sobs: ‘My heart is about broken, and I must go home and get help for -my poor father.’ - -“‘I’ll attend to that,’ says Dan; ‘but I warn you that I’m goin’ to -offer a Pettigrew for a Henshaw even. If I had a million dollars I’d -give it all to boot.’ - -“Sam turned toward me, his face red as a beet. - -“‘The money!’ he shouted. ‘Get it, quick!’ - -“‘Here it is!’ I said, as I put the roll o’ bills in his hand. - -“‘Did you take it off him?’ - -“‘I took it off him.’ - -“‘Poor Aleck!’ he says, mournfully, as he counted the money. ‘It’s -kind o’ hard on him.’ - -“Soon we halted a passin’ automobile an’ got Sam up the bank an’ -over the wall. It was like movin’ a piano with somebody playin’ on -it, but we managed to seat him on the front floor o’ the car, which -took us all home. - -“So the affair ended without disgrace to any one, if not without -violence, and no one knows of the cablegram save the few persons -directly concerned. But the price of Alecks took a big slump in -Pointview. No han’some foreign gent could marry any one in this -village, unless it was a chambermaid in a hotel. - -“That was the end of the first heat of the race with Lizzie in -Pointview.” - - - - -II. THE TIDE TAKES A HAND - -By Rex Beach - -From “The Iron Trail”, copyright, 1913, by Harper & Brothers. -By special permission from the publishers. - - -The ship stole through the darkness with extremest caution, feeling -her way past bay and promontory. Around her was none of that -phosphorescent glow which lies above the open ocean, even on the -darkest night, for the mountains ran down to the channel on either -side. In places they overhung, and where they lay upturned against -the dim sky it could be seen that they were mantled with heavy -timber. All day long the _Nebraska_ had made her way through an -endless succession of straits and sounds, now squeezing through an -inlet so narrow that the somber spruce trees seemed to be within a -short stone’s throw, again plowing across some open reach where the -pulse of the north Pacific could be felt. Out through the openings -to seaward stretched the restless ocean, on across uncounted -leagues, to Saghalien and the rim of Russia’s prison-yard. - -Always near at hand was the deep green of the Canadian forests, -denser, darker than a tropic jungle, for this was the land of -“plenty waters.” The hillsides were carpeted knee-deep with moss, -wet to saturation. Out of every gulch came a brawling stream whipped -to milk-white frenzy; snow lay heavy upon the higher levels, while -now and then from farther inland peered a glacier, like some dead -monster crushed between the granite peaks. There were villages, too, -and fishing-stations, and mines and quarries. These burst suddenly -upon the view, then slipped past with dreamlike swiftness. Other -ships swung into sight, rushed by, and were swallowed up in the -labyrinthine maze astern. - -Those passengers of the _Nebraska_ who had never before traversed -the “Inside Passage” were loud in the praises of its -picturesqueness, while those to whom the route was familiar seemed -to find an everfresh fascination in its shifting scenes. - -Among the latter was Murray O’Neil. The whole north coast from -Flattery to St. Elias was as well mapped in his mind as the face of -an old friend, yet he was forever discovering new vistas, surprising -panoramas, amazing variations of color and topography. The -mysterious rifts and passageways that opened and closed as if to -lure the ship astray, the trackless confusion of islets, the siren -song of the waterfalls, the silent hills and glaciers and -snow-soaked forests--all appealed to him strongly, for he was at -heart a dreamer. - -Yet he did not forget that scenery such as this, lovely as it is by -day, may be dangerous at night, for he knew the weakness of steel -hulls. On some sides his experience and business training had made -him sternly practical and prosaic. Ships aroused no manner of -enthusiasm in him except as means to an end. Railroads had no -glamour of romance in his eyes, for, having built a number of them, -he had outlived all poetic notions regarding the “Iron horse,” and -once the rails were laid he was apt to lose interest in them. -Nevertheless, he was almost poetic in his own quiet way, -interweaving practical thoughts with fanciful visions, and he loved -his dreams. He was dreaming now as he leaned upon the bridge rail of -the _Nebraska_, peering into the gloom with watchful eyes. From -somewhere to port came the occasional commands of the officer on -watch, echoed instantly from the inky interior of the wheelhouse. Up -overside rose the whisper of rushing waters; from underfoot came the -rhythmic beat of the engines far below. O’Neil shook off his mood -and began to wonder idly how long it would be before Captain Johnny -would be ready for his “nightcap.” - -He always traveled with Johnny Brennan when he could manage it, for -the two men were boon companions. O’Neil was wont to live in -Johnny’s cabin, or on the bridge, and their nightly libation to -friendship had come to be a matter of some ceremony. - -The ship’s master soon appeared from the shadows--a short, trim man -with gray hair. - -“Come,” he cried. “It’s waiting for us.” - -O’Neil followed into Brennan’s luxurious, well-lit quarters, where -on a mahogany sideboard was a tray holding decanter, siphon, and -glasses, together with a bottle of ginger ale. The captain, after he -had mixed a beverage for his passenger, opened the bottle for -himself. They raised their glasses silently. - -“Now that you’re past the worst of it,” remarked O’Neil, “I suppose -you’ll turn in. You’re getting old for a hard run like this, -Johnny.” - -Captain Brennan snorted. “Old? I’m a better man than you, yet. I’m a -teetotaler, that’s why. I discovered long ago that salt water and -whiskey don’t mix.” - -O’Neil stretched himself out in one of Brennan’s easy chairs. -“Really,” he said, “I don’t understand why a ship carries a captain. -Now of what earthly use to the line are you, for instance, except -for your beauty, which, no doubt, has its value with the women? I’ll -admit you preside with some grace at the best table in the -dining-salon, but your officers know these channels as well as you -do. They could make the run from Seattle to Juneau with their eyes -shut.” - -“Indeed, they could not; and neither could I.” - -“Oh, well, of course I have no respect for you as a man, having seen -you without your uniform.” - -The captain grinned in thorough enjoyment of this raillery. “I’ll -say nothing at all of my seamanship,” he said, relapsing into the -faintest of brogues, “but there’s no denying that the master of a -ship has many unpleasant and disgusting duties to perform. He has to -amuse the prominent passengers who can’t amuse themselves, for one -thing, and that takes tact and patience. Why, some people make -themselves at home on the bridge, in the chart-room, and even in my -living-quarters, to say nothing of consuming my expensive wines, -liquors, and cigars.” - -“Meaning me?” - -“I’m a brutal seafaring man, and you’ll have to make allowances for -my well-known brusqueness. Maybe I did mean you. But I’ll say that -next to you Curtis Gordon is the worst grafter I ever saw.” - -“You don’t like Gordon, do you?” O’Neil queried with a change of -tone. - -“I do not! He went up with me again this spring, and he had his -widow with him, too.” - -“His widow?” - -“You know who I mean--Mrs. Gerard. They say it’s her money he’s -using in his schemes. Perhaps it’s because of her that I don’t like -him.” - -“Ah-h! I see.” - -“You don’t see, or you wouldn’t grin like an ape. I’m a married man, -I’ll have you know, and I’m still on good terms with Mrs. Brennan, -thank God. But I don’t like men who use women’s money, and that’s -just what our friend Gordon is doing. What money the widow didn’t -put up he’s grabbed from the schoolma’ams and servant-girls and -society matrons in the East. What has he got to show them for it?” - -“A railroad project, a copper-mine, some coal claims--” - -“Bah! A menagerie of wildcats!” - -“You can’t prove that. What’s your reason for distrusting him?” - -“Well, for one thing, he knows too much. Why, he knows everything, -he does. Art, literature, politics, law, finance, and draw poker -have no secrets from him. He’s been everywhere--and back--twice; he -speaks a dozen different languages. He out-argued me on -poultry-raising and I know more about that than any man living. He -can handle a drill or a coach-and-four; he can tell all about the -art of ancient Babylon; and he beat me playing cribbage, which shows -that he ain’t on the level. He’s the best informed man outside of a -university, and he drinks tea of an afternoon--with his legs crossed -and the saucer balanced on his heel. Now, it takes years of hard -work for an honest man to make a success at one thing, but Gordon -never failed at anything. I ask you if a living authority on all the -branches of human endeavor and a man who can beat me at ‘crib’ -doesn’t make you suspicious.” - -“Not at all, I’ve beaten you myself!” - -“I was sick,” said Captain Brennan. - -“The man is brilliant and well educated and wealthy. It’s only -natural that he should excite the jealousy of a weaker intellect.” - -Johnny opened his lips for an explosion, then changed his mind and -agreed sourly. - -“He’s got money, all right, and he knows how to spend it. He and his -valet occupied three cabins on this ship. They say his quarters at -Hope are palatial.” - -“My dear grampus, the mere love of luxury doesn’t argue that a -person is dishonest.” - -“Would _you_ let a hired man help you on with your underclothes?” -demanded the mariner. - -“There’s nothing criminal about it.” - -“Humph! Mrs. Gerard is different. She’s all class! You don’t mind -her having a maid and speaking French when she runs short of -English. Her daughter is like her.” - -“I haven’t seen Miss Gerard.” - -“If you’d stir about the ship instead of wearing out my Morris chair -you’d have that pleasure. She was on deck all morning.” Captain -Brennan fell silent and poked with a stubby forefinger at the ice in -his glass. - -“Well, out with it!” said O’Neil after a moment. - -“I’d like to know the inside story of Curtis Gordon and this girl’s -mother.” - -“Why bother your head about something that doesn’t concern you?” The -speaker rose and began to pace the cabin floor, then, in an altered -tone, inquired, “Tell me, are you going to land me and my horses at -Kyak Bay?” - -“That depends on the weather. It’s a rotten harbor; you’ll have to -swim them ashore.” - -“Suppose it should be rough?” - -“Then we’ll go on, and drop you there coming back. I don’t want to -be caught on that shore with a southerly wind, and that’s the way it -usually blows.” - -“I can’t wait,” O’Neil declared. “A week’s delay might ruin me. -Rather than go on I’d swim ashore myself, without the horses.” - -“I don’t make the weather at Kyak Bay. Satan himself does that. -Twenty miles offshore it may be calm, and inside it may be blowing a -gale. That’s due to the glaciers. Those ice-fields inland and the -warm air from the Japanese Current offshore kick up some funny -atmospheric pranks. It’s the worst spot on the coast and we’ll lose -a ship there some day. Why, the place isn’t properly charted, let -alone buoyed.” - -“That’s nothing unusual for this coast.” - -“True for you. This is all a graveyard of ships and there’s been -many a good master’s license lost because of half-baked laws from -Washington. Think of a coast like this with almost no lights, no -beacons nor buoys; and yet we’re supposed to make time. It’s fine in -clear weather, but in the dark we go by guess and by God. I’ve stood -the run longer than most of the skippers, but--” - -Even as Brennan spoke the _Nebraska_ seemed to halt, to jerk -backward under his feet. O’Neil, who was standing, flung out an arm -to steady himself; the empty ginger ale bottle fell from the -sideboard with a thump. Loose articles hanging against the side -walls swung to and fro; the heavy draperies over Captain Johnny’s -bed swayed. - -Brennan leaped from his chair; his ruddy face was mottled, his eyes -were wide and horror-stricken. - -“Damnation!” he gasped. The cabin door crashed open ahead of him and -he was on the bridge, with O’Neil at his heels. They saw the first -officer clinging limply to the rail; from the pilot-house window -came an excited burst of Norwegian, then out of the door rushed a -quartermaster. - -Brennan cursed, and met the fellow with a blow which drove him -sprawling back. - -“Get in there, Swan,” he bellowed, “and take your wheel.” - -“The tide swung her in!” exclaimed the mate. “The tide--My God!” - -“Sweet Queen Anne!” said Brennan, more quietly. “You’ve ripped her -belly out!” - -“It--was the tide,” chattered the officer. - -The steady, muffled beating of the machinery ceased, the ship seemed -suddenly to lose her life, but it was plain that she was not -aground, for she kept moving through the gloom. From down forward -came excited voices as the crew poured up out of the forecastle. - -Brennan leaped to the telegraph and signaled the engine-room. He was -calm now, and his voice was sharp and steady. - -“Go below, Mr. James, and find the extent of the damage,” he -directed, and a moment later the hull began to throb once more to -the thrust of the propeller. Inside the wheelhouse Swan had -recovered from his panic and repeated the master’s orders -mechanically. - -The second and third officers arrived upon the bridge now, dressing -as they came, and they were followed by the chief engineer. To them -Johnny spoke, his words crackling like the sparks from a wireless. -In an incredibly short time he had the situation in hand and turned -to O’Neil, who had been a silent witness of the scene. - -“Glory be!” exclaimed the captain. “Most of our good passengers are -asleep; the jar would scarcely wake them.” - -“Tell me where and how I can help,” Murray offered. His first -thought had been of the possible effect of this catastrophe upon his -plans, for time was pressing. As for danger, he had looked upon it -so often and in so many forms that it had little power to stir him; -but a shipwreck, which would halt his northward rush, was another -matter. Whether the ship sank or floated could make little -difference, now that the damage had been done. She was crippled and -would need assistance. His fellow-passengers, he knew, were safe -enough. Fortunately there were not many of them--a scant two -hundred, perhaps--and if worse came to worst there was room in the -life-boats for all. But the _Nebraska_ had no watertight bulkheads -and the plight of his twenty horses between-decks filled him with -alarm and pity. There were no life-boats for those poor dumb animals -penned down yonder in the rushing waters. - -Brennan had stepped into the chart-room, but returned in a moment to -say: - -“There’s no place to beach her this side of Halibut Bay.” - -“How far is that?” - -“Five or six miles.” - -“You’ll--have to beach her?” - -“I’m afraid so. She feels queer.” - -Up from the cabin deck came a handful of men passengers to inquire -what had happened; behind them a woman began calling shrilly for her -husband. - -“We touched a rock,” the skipper explained briefly. “Kindly go below -and stop that squawking. There’s no danger.” - -There followed a harrowing wait of several minutes; then James, the -first officer, came to report. He had regained his nerve and spoke -with swift precision. - -“She loosened three plates on her port quarter and she’s filling -fast.” - -“How long will she last?” snapped Brennan. - -“Not long, sir. Half an hour, perhaps.” - -The captain rang for full speed, and the decks began to strain as -the engine increased its labor. “Get your passengers out and stand -by the boats,” he ordered. “Take it easy and don’t alarm the women. -Have them dress warmly, and don’t allow any crowding by the men. Mr. -Tomlinson, you hold the steerage gang in check. Take your revolver -with you.” He turned to his silent friend, in whose presence he -seemed to feel a cheering sympathy. “I knew it would come sooner or -later, Murray,” he said. “But--magnificent mummies! To touch on a -clear night with the sea like glass!” He sighed dolefully. “It’ll be -tough on my missus.” - -O’Neil laid a hand upon his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, and -there will be room in the last boat for you. Understand?” Brennan -hesitated, and the other continued, roughly: “No nonsense, now! -Don’t make a damned fool of yourself by sticking to the bridge. -Promise?” - -“I promise.” - -“Now what do you want me to do?” - -“Keep those dear passengers quiet. I’ll run for Halibut Bay, where -there’s a sandy beach. If she won’t make it I’ll turn her into the -rocks. Tell ’em they won’t wet a foot if they keep their heads.” - -“Good! I’ll be back to see that you behave yourself.” The speaker -laughed lightly and descended to the deck, where he found an -incipient panic. Stewards were pounding on stateroom doors, -half-clad men were rushing about aimlessly, pallid faces peered -forth from windows, and there was the sound of running feet, of -slamming doors, of shrill, hysterical voices. - -O’Neil saw a waiter thumping lustily upon a door and heard him -shout, hoarsely: - -“Everybody out! The ship is sinking!” As he turned away Murray -seized him roughly by the arm and thrusting his face close to the -other’s, said harshly: - -“If you yell again like that I’ll toss you overboard.” - -“God help us, we’re going--” - -O’Neil shook the fellow until his teeth rattled; his own -countenance, ordinarily so quiet, was blazing. - -“There’s no danger. Act like a man and don’t start a stampede.” - -The steward pulled himself together and answered in a calmer tone: - -“Very well, sir. I--I’m sorry, sir.” - -Murray O’Neil was known to most of the passengers, for his name had -gone up and down the coast, and there were few places from San -Francisco to Nome where his word did not carry weight. As he went -among his fellow-travelers now, smiling, self-contained, unruffled, -his presence had its effect. Women ceased their shrilling, men -stopped their senseless questions and listened to his directions -with some comprehension. In a short time the passengers were -marshaled upon the upper deck where the life-boats hung between -their davits. Each little craft was in charge of its allotted crew, -the electric lights continued to burn brightly, and the panic -gradually wore itself out. Meanwhile the ship was running a -desperate race with the sea, striving with every ounce of steam in -her boilers to find a safe berth for her multilated body before the -inrush of waters drowned her fires. That the race was close even the -dullest understood, for the _Nebraska_ was settling forward, and -plowed into the night head down, like a thing maddened with pain. -She was becoming unmanageable, too, and O’Neil thought with pity of -that little iron-hearted skipper on the bridge who was fighting her -furiously. There was little confusion, little talking upon the upper -deck now; only a child whimpered or a woman sobbed hysterically. But -down forward among the steerage passengers the case was different. -These were mainly Montenegrins, Polacks, or Slavs bound for the -construction camps to the westward, and they surged from side to -side like cattle, requiring Tomlinson’s best efforts to keep them -from rushing aft. - -O’Neil had employed thousands of such men; in fact, many of these -very fellows had cashed his timechecks and knew him by sight. He -went forward among them, and his appearance proved instantly -reassuring. He found his two hostlers, and with their aid he soon -reduced the mob to comparative order. - -But in spite of his confident bearing he felt a great uneasiness. -The _Nebraska_ seemed upon the point of diving; he judged she must -be settling very fast, and wondered that the forward tilt did not -lift her propeller out of the water. Fortunately, however, the -surface of the sound was like a polished floor and there were no -swells to submerge her. - -Over-side to starboard he could see the dim black outlines of -mountains slipping past, but where lay Halibut Bay or what distance -remained to be covered he could but vaguely guess. - -In these circumstances the wait became almost unbearable. The race -seemed hours long, the miles stretched into leagues, and with every -moment of suspense the ship sank lower. The end came unexpectedly. -There was a sudden startled outcry as the _Nebraska_ struck for a -second time that night. She rose slightly, rolled and bumped, grated -briefly, then came to rest. - -Captain Brennan shouted from the bridge: - -“Fill your life-boats, Mr. James, and lower away carefully.” - -A cheer rose from the huddled passengers. - -The boiler-room was still dry, it seemed, for the incandescent -lights burned without a flicker, even after the grimy oilers and -stokers had come pouring up on deck. - -O’Neil climbed to the bridge. “Is this Halibut Bay?” he asked -Captain Johnny. - -“It is. But we’re piled up on the reef outside. She may hold fast--I -hope so, for there’s deep water astern, and if she slips off she’ll -go down.” - -“I’d like to save my horses,” said the younger man, wistfully. -Through all the strain of the past half-hour or more his uppermost -thought had been for them. But Brennan had no sympathy for such -sentiments. - -“Hell’s bells!” he exclaimed. “Don’t talk of horses while we’ve got -women and children aboard.” He hastened away to assist in -transferring his passengers. - -Instead of following, O’Neil turned and went below. He found that -the water was knee-deep on the port side of the deck where his -animals were quartered, which showed that the ship had listed -heavily. He judged that she must be much deeper by the head than he -had imagined, and that her nose was crushed in among the rocks. -Until she settled at the stern, therefore, the case was not quite -hopeless. - -His appearance, the sound of his voice, were the signals for a -chorus of eager whinnies and a great stamping of hoofs. Heads were -thrust toward him from the stalls, alert ears were pricked forward, -satin muzzles rubbed against him as he calmed their terror. This -blind trust made the man’s throat tighten achingly. He loved animals -as he loved children, and above all he cared for horses. He -understood them, he spoke their language as nearly as any human can -be said to do so. Quivering muscles relaxed beneath his soothing -palm; he called them by name and they answered with gently twitching -lips against his cheek. Some of them even began to eat and switch -their tails contentedly. - -He cursed aloud and made his way down the sloping deck to the square -iron door, or port, through which he had loaded them. But he found -that it was jammed, or held fast by the pressure outside, and after -a few moments’ work in water above his knees he climbed to the -starboard side. Here the entrance was obstructed by a huge pile of -baled hay and grain in sacks. It would be no easy task to clear it -away, and he fell to work with desperate energy, for the ship was -slowly changing her level. Her stern, which had been riding high, -was filling; the sea stole in upon him silently. It crept up toward -him until the horses, stabled on the lower side, were belly-deep in -it. Their distress communicated itself to the others. O’Neil knew -that his position might prove perilous if the hulk should slip -backward off the reef, yet he continued to toil, hurling heavy sacks -behind him, bundling awkward bales out of the way, until his hands -were bleeding and his muscles ached. He was perspiring furiously; -the commotion around him was horrible. Then abruptly the lights went -out, leaving him in utter blackness; the last fading yellow gleam -was photographed briefly upon his retina. - -Tears mingled with the sweat that drained down his cheeks as he felt -his way slowly out of the place, splashing, stumbling, groping -uncertainly. A horse screamed in a loud, horribly human note, and he -shuddered. He was sobbing curses as he emerged into the cool open -air on the forward deck. - -His eyes were accustomed to the darkness now, and he could see -something of his surroundings. He noted numerous lights out on the -placid bosom of the bay, evidently lanterns on the life-boats, and -he heard distant voices. He swept the moisture from his face; then -with a start he realized his situation. He listened intently; his -eyes roved back along the boatdeck; there was no doubt about it--the -ship was deserted. Stepping to the rail, he observed how low the -_Nebraska_ lay and also that her bow was higher than her stern. From -somewhere beneath his feet came a muffled grinding and a movement -which told him that the ship was seeking a more comfortable berth. -He recalled stories of explosions and of the boiling eddies which -sometimes accompany sinking hulls. Turning, he scrambled up to the -cabin-deck and ran swiftly toward his stateroom. - - II - -O’Neil felt for the little bracket-lamp on the wall of his stateroom -and lit it. By its light he dragged a life-preserver from the rack -overhead and slipped the tapes about his shoulders, reflecting that -Alaskan waters are disagreeably cold. Then he opened his -traveling-bags and dumped their contents upon the white counterpane -of his berth, selecting out of the confusion certain documents and -trinkets. The latter he thrust into his pockets as he found them, -the former he wrapped in handkerchiefs before stowing them away. The -ship had listed now so that it was difficult to maintain a footing; -the lamp hung at a grotesque angle and certain articles had become -dislodged from their resting places. From outside came the gentle -lapping of waters, a gurgling and hissing as of air escaping through -the decks. He could feel the ship strain. He acknowledged that it -was not pleasant thus to be left alone on a sinking hulk, -particularly on an ink-black night-- - -All at once he whirled and faced the door with an exclamation of -astonishment, for a voice had addressed him. - -There, clinging to the casing, stood a woman--a girl--evidently -drawn out of the darkness by the light which streamed down across -the sloping deck from his stateroom. Plainly she had but just -awakened, for she was clothed in a silken nightrobe. She had flung a -quilted dressing-gown of some sort over her shoulders and with one -bare arm and hand strove to hold it in place. He saw that her pink -feet were thrust into soft, heelless slippers--that her hair, black -in this light, cascaded down to her waist, and that her eyes, which -were very dark and very large, were fixed upon him with a stare like -that of a sleep-walker. - -“It is so dark--so strange--so still!” she murmured. “What has -happened?” - -“God! Didn’t they waken you?” he cried in sharp surprise. - -“Is the ship--sinking?” Her odd bewilderment of voice and gaze -puzzled him. - -He nodded. “We struck a rock. The passengers have been taken off. -We’re the only ones left. In Heaven’s name where have you been?” - -“I was asleep.” - -He shook his head in astonishment. “How you failed to hear that -hubbub--” - -“I heard something, but I was ill. My head--I took something to ease -the pain.” - -“Ah! Medicine! It hasn’t worn off yet, I see! You shouldn’t have -taken it. Drugs are nothing but poison to young people. Now at my -age there might be some excuse for resorting to them, but you--” He -was talking to cover the panic of his thoughts, for his own -predicament had been serious enough, and her presence rendered it -doubly embarrassing. What in the world to do with her he scarcely -knew. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were grave as they roved -over the cabin and out into the blackness of the night. - -“Are we going to drown?” she asked, dully. - -“Nonsense!” He laughed in apparent amusement, showing his large -strong teeth. - -She came closer, glancing behind her and shrinking from the oily -waters which could be seen over the rail and which had stolen up -nearly to the sill of the door. She steadied herself by laying hold -of him uncertainly. Involuntarily he turned his eyes away, for he -felt shame at profaning her with his gaze. She was very soft and -white, a fragile thing utterly unfit to cope with the night air and -the freezing waters of Halibut Bay. - -“I’m wretchedly afraid!” she whispered through white lips. - -“None of that,” he said, brusquely. “I’ll see that nothing happens -to you.” He slipped out of his life-preserver and adjusted it over -her shoulders, first drawing her arms through the sleeves of her -dressing-gown and knotting the cord snugly around her waist. - -“Just as a matter of precaution!” he assured her. - -“We may get wet. Can you swim?” - -She shook her head. - -“Never mind; I can.” He found another life-belt, fitted it to his -own form, and led her out upon the deck. The scuppers were awash now -and she gasped as the sea licked her bare feet. “Cold, isn’t it?” he -remarked. “But there’s no time to dress, and it’s just as well, -perhaps, for heavy clothes would only hamper you.” - -She strove to avoid the icy waters and finally paused, moaning: “I -can’t! I can’t go on!” - -Slipping his arm about her, he bore her to the door of the main -cabin and entered. He could feel her warm, soft body quivering -against his own. She had clasped his neck so tightly that he could -scarcely breathe, but, lowering her until her feet were on the dry -carpet, he gently loosed her arms. - -“Now, my dear child,” he told her, “you must do exactly as I tell -you. Come! Calm yourself or I won’t take you any farther.” He held -her off by her shoulders. “I may have to swim with you; you mustn’t -cling to me so!” - -He heard her gasp and felt her draw away abruptly. Then he led her -by the hand out upon the starboard deck, and together they made -their way forward to the neighborhood of the bridge. - -The lights he had seen upon coming from the forward hold were still -in view and he hailed them at the top of his voice. But other voices -were calling through the night, some of them comparatively close at -hand, others answering faintly from far in-shore. The boats first -launched were evidently landing, and those in charge of them were -shouting directions to the ones behind. Some women had started -singing and the chorus floated out to the man and the girl: - - Pull for the shore, sailor, - Pull for the shore. - -It helped to drown their cries for assistance. - -O’Neil judged that the ship was at least a quarter of a mile from -the beach, and his heart sank, for he doubted that either he or his -companion could last long in these waters. It occurred to him that -Brennan might be close by, waiting for the _Nebraska_ to sink--it -would be unlike the little captain to forsake his trust until the -last possible moment--but he reasoned that the cargo of lives in the -skipper’s boat would induce him to stand well off to avoid accident. -He called lustily time after time, but no answer came. - -Meanwhile the girl stood quietly beside him. - -“Can’t we make a raft?” she suggested, timidly, when he ceased to -shout. “I’ve read of such things.” - -“There’s no time,” he told her. “Are you very cold?” - -She nodded. “Please forgive me for acting so badly just now. It was -all so sudden and--so awful! I think I can behave better. Oh! What -was that?” She clutched him nervously, for from the forward end of -the ship had come a muffled scream, like that of a woman. - -“It’s my poor horses,” said the man, and she looked at him -curiously, prompted by the catch in his throat. - -There followed a wait which seemed long, but was in reality of but a -few minutes, for the ship was sliding backward and the sea was -creeping upward faster and faster. At last they heard a shuddering -sigh as she parted from the rocks and the air rushed up through the -deck openings with greater force. The _Nebraska_ swung sluggishly -with the tide; then, when her upper structure had settled flush with -the sea, Murray O’Neil took the woman in his arms and leaped clear -of the rail. - -The first gasping moment of immersion was fairly paralyzing; after -that the reaction came, and the two began to struggle away from the -sinking ship. But the effect of the reaction soon wore off. The -water was cruelly cold and their bodies ached in every nerve and -fiber. O’Neil did his best to encourage his companion. He talked to -her through his chattering teeth, and once she had recovered from -the mental shock of the first fearful plunge she responded pluckily. -He knew that his own heart was normal and strong, but he feared that -the girl’s might not be equal to the strain. Had he been alone, he -felt sure that he could have gained the shore, but with her upon his -hands he was able to make but little headway. The expanse of waters -seemed immense; it fairly crushed hope out of him. The lights upon -the shore were as distant as fixed stars. This was a country of -heavy tides, he reflected, and he began to fear that the current was -sweeping them out. He turned to look for the ship, but could see no -traces of her, and since it was inconceivable that the _Nebraska_ -could have sunk so quietly, her disappearance confirmed his fears. -More than once he fancied he heard an answer to his cries for -help--the rattle of rowlocks or the splash of oars--but his ears -proved unreliable. - -After a time the girl began to moan with pain and terror, but as -numbness gradually robbed her of sensation she became quiet. A -little later her grip upon his clothing relaxed and he saw that she -was collapsing. He drew her to him and held her so that her face lay -upturned and her hair floated about his shoulders. In this position -she could not drown, at least while his strength lasted. But he was -rapidly losing control of himself; his teeth were clicking loosely, -his muscles shook and twitched. It required a great effort to shout, -and he thought that his voice did not carry so far as at first. -Therefore he fell silent, paddling with his free arm and kicking, to -keep his blood stirring. - -Several times he gave up and floated quietly, but courage was -ingrained in him; deep down beneath his consciousness was a -vitality, an inherited stubborn resistance to death, of which he -knew nothing. It was that unidentified quality of mind which -supports one man through a great sickness or a long period of -privation, while another of more robust physique succumbs. It was -the same quality which brings one man out from desert wastes, or the -white silence of the polar ice, while the bodies of his fellows -remain to mark the trail. This innate power of supreme resistance is -found in chosen individuals throughout the animal kingdom, and it -was due to it alone that Murray O’Neil continued to fight the tide -long after he had ceased to exert conscious control. - -At length there came through the man’s dazed sensibilities a sound -different from those he had been hearing: it was a human voice, -mingled with the measured thud of oars in their sockets. It roused -him like an electric current and gave him strength to cry out -hoarsely. Some one answered him; then out of the darkness to seaward -emerged a deeper blot, which loomed up hugely yet proved to be no -more than a life-boat banked full of people. It came to a stop -within an oar’s-length of him. From the babble of voices he -distinguished one that was familiar, and cried the name of Johnny -Brennan. His brain had cleared now, a great dreamlike sense of -thanksgiving warmed him, and he felt equal to any effort. He was -vaguely amazed to find that his limbs refused to obey him. - -His own name was being pronounced in shocked tones; the splash from -an oar filled his face and strangled him, but he managed to lay hold -of the blade, and was drawn in until outstretched hands seized him. - -An oarsman was saying: “Be careful, there! We can’t take him in -without swamping.” - -But Brennan’s voice shouted: “Make room or I’ll bash in your bloody -skull.” - -Another protest arose, and O’Neil saw that the craft was indeed -loaded to the gunwales. - -“Take the girl--quick,” he implored. “I’ll hang on. You can tow me.” - -The limp form was removed from his side and dragged over the thwarts -while a murmur of excited voices went up. - -“Can you hold out for a minute, Murray?” asked Brennan. - -“Yes--I think so.” - -“I’d give you my place, but you’re too big to be taken in without -danger.” - -“Go ahead,” chattered the man in the water. “Look after the girl -before it’s--too late.” - -The captain’s stout hand was in his collar now and he heard him -crying: - -“Pull, you muscle-bound heathens! Everybody sit still! Now away with -her, men. Keep up your heart, Murray, my boy; remember it takes more -than water to kill a good Irishman. It’s only a foot or two farther, -and they’ve started a fire. Serves you right, you big idiot, for -going overboard, with all those boats. Man dear, but you’re pulling -the arm out of me; it’s stretched out like a garden hose! Hey! Cover -up that girl, and you, lady, rub her feet and hands. Good! Move over -please--so the men can bail.” - -The next thing O’Neil knew he was feeling very miserable and very -cold, notwithstanding the fact that he was wrapped in dry clothing -and lay so close to a roaring spruce fire that its heat blistered -him. - -Brennan was bending over him with eyes wet. He was swearing, too, in -a weak, faltering way, calling upon all the saints to witness that -the prostrate man was the embodiment of every virtue, and that his -death would be a national calamity. Others were gathered about, men -and women, and among them O’Neil saw the doctor from Sitka whom he -had met on shipboard. - -As soon as he was able to speak he inquired for the safety of the -girl he had helped to rescue. Johnny promptly reassured him. - -“Man, dear, she’s doing fine. A jigger of brandy brought her to, -gasping like a blessed mermaid.” - -“Was anybody lost?” - -“Praise God, not a soul! But it’s lucky I stood by to watch the old -tub go down, or we’d be mourning two. You’ll be well by morning, for -there’s a crew for help. And now, my boy, lay yourself down again -and take a sleep, won’t you? It’ll be doing you a lot of good.” - -But O’Neil shook his head and struggled to a sitting posture. - -“Thanks, Johnny,” said he, “but I couldn’t. I can hear those horses -screaming, and besides--I must make new plans.” - - - - -III. THE GAY OLD DOG - -By Edna Ferber - -From “Cheerful--By Request,” copyright, 1918, by F. A. Stokes Co. -By special permission from the author. - - -Those of you who have dwelt--or even lingered--in Chicago, Illinois -(this is not a humorous story), are familiar with the region known -as the Loop. For those others of you to whom Chicago is a transfer -point between New York and San Francisco there is presented this -brief explanation: - -The Loop is a clamorous, smoke-infested district embraced by the -iron arms of the elevated tracks. In a city boasting fewer millions, -it would be known familiarly as downtown. From Congress to Lake -Street, from Wabash almost to the river, those thunderous tracks -make a complete circle, or loop. Within it lie the retail shops, the -commercial hotels, the theaters, the restaurants. It is the Fifth -Avenue (diluted) and the Broadway (deleted) of Chicago. And he who -frequents it by night in search of amusement and cheer is known, -vulgarly, as a Loop-hound. - -Jo Hertz was a Loop-hound. On the occasion of those sparse first -nights granted the metropolis of the Middle West he was always -present, third row, aisle left. When a new loop café was opened Jo’s -table always commanded an unobstructed view of anything worth -viewing. On entering he was wont to say, “Hello, Gus,” with careless -cordiality to the head waiter, the while his eye roved expertly from -table to table as he removed his gloves. He ordered things under -glass, so that his table, at midnight or thereabouts, resembled a -hot-bed that favors the bell system. The waiters fought for him. He -was the kind of man who mixes his own salad dressing. He liked to -call for a bowl, some cracked ice, lemon, garlic, paprika, salt, -pepper, vinegar, and oil and make a rite of it. People at near-by -tables would lay down their knives and forks to watch, fascinated. -The secret of it seemed to lie in using all the oil in sight and -calling for more. - -That was Jo--a plump and lonely bachelor of fifty. A plethoric, -roving-eyed and kindly man, clutching vainly at the garments of a -youth that had long slipped past him. Jo Hertz, in one of those -pinch-waist belted suits and a trench coat and a little green hat, -walking up Michigan Avenue of a bright winter’s afternoon, trying to -take the curb with a jaunty youthfulness against which every one of -his fat-encased muscles rebelled, was a sight for mirth or pity, -depending on one’s vision. - -The gay-dog business was a late phase in the life of Jo Hertz. He -had been a quite different sort of canine. The staid and harassed -brother of three unwed and selfish sisters is an under dog. The tale -of how Jo Hertz came to be a Loop-hound should not be compressed -within the limits of a short story. It should be told as are the -photo plays, with frequent throwbacks and many cut-ins. To condense -twenty-three years of a man’s life into some five or six thousand -words requires a verbal economy amounting to parsimony. - -At twenty-seven Jo had been the dutiful, hardworking son (in the -wholesale harness business) of a widowed and gummidging mother, who -called him Joey. If you had looked close you would have seen that -now and then a double wrinkle would appear between Jo’s eyes--a -wrinkle that had no business there at twenty-seven. Then Jo’s mother -died, leaving him handicapped by a death-bed promise, the three -sisters and a three-story-and-basement house on Calumet Avenue. Jo’s -wrinkle became a fixture. - -Death-bed promises should be broken as lightly as they are seriously -made. The dead have no right to lay their clammy fingers upon the -living. - -“Joey,” she had said, in her high, thin voice, “take care of the -girls.” - -“I will, Ma,” Jo had choked. - -“Joey,” and the voice was weaker, “promise me you won’t marry till -the girls are all provided for.” Then as Joe had hesitated, -appalled: “Joey, it’s my dying wish. Promise!” - -“I promise, Ma,” he had said. - -Whereupon his mother had died, comfortably, leaving him with a -completely ruined life. - -They were not bad-looking girls, and they had a certain style, too. -That is, Stell and Eva had. Carrie, the middle one, taught school -over on the West Side. In those days it took her almost two hours -each way. She said the kind of costume she required should have been -corrugated steel. But all three knew what was being worn, and they -wore it--or fairly faithful copies of it. Eva, the housekeeping -sister, had a needle knack. She could skim the State Street windows -and come away with a mental photograph of every separate tuck, hem, -yoke, and ribbon. Heads of departments showed her the things they -kept in drawers, and she went home and reproduced them with the aid -of a two-dollar-a-day seamstress. Stell, the youngest, was the -beauty. They called her Babe. She wasn’t really a beauty, but some -one had once told her that she looked like Janice Meredith (it was -when that work of fiction was at the height of popularity). For -years afterward, whenever she went to parties, she affected a -single, fat curl over her right shoulder, with a rose stuck through -it. - -Twenty-three years ago one’s sisters did not strain at the household -leash, nor crave a career. Carrie taught school, and hated it. Eva -kept house expertly and complainingly. Babe’s profession was being -the family beauty, and it took all her spare time. Eva always let -her sleep until ten. - -This was Jo’s household, and he was the nominal head of it. But it -was an empty title. The three women dominated his life. They weren’t -consciously selfish. If you had called them cruel they would have -put you down as mad. When you are the lone brother of three sisters, -it means that you must constantly be calling for, escorting, or -dropping one of them somewhere. Most men of Jo’s age were standing -before their mirror of a Saturday night, whistling blithely and -abstractedly while they discarded a blue polka-dot for a maroon tie, -whipped off the maroon for a shot-silk in favor of a plain -black-and-white, because she had once said she preferred quiet ties. -Jo, when he should have been preening his feathers for conquest, was -saying: - -“Well, my God, I am hurrying! Give a man time, can’t you? I just got -home. You girls have been laying around the house all day. No wonder -you’re ready.” - -He took a certain pride in seeing his sisters well dressed, at a -time when he should have been revelling in fancy waistcoats and -brilliant-hued socks, according to the style of that day, and the -inalienable right of any unwed male under thirty, in any day. On -those rare occasions when his business necessitated an out-of-town -trip, he would spend half a day floundering about the shops -selecting handkerchiefs, or stockings, or feathers, or fans, or -gloves for the girls. They always turned out to be the wrong kind, -judging by their reception. - -From Carrie, “What in the world do I want of a fan!” - -“I thought you didn’t have one,” Jo would say. - -“I haven’t. I never go to dances.” - -Joe would pass a futile hand over the top of his head, as was his -way when disturbed. “I just thought you’d like one. I thought every -girl liked a fan. Just,” feebly, “just to--to have.” - -“Oh, for pity’s sake!” - -And from Eva or Babe, “I’ve got silk stockings, Jo.” Or, “You -brought me handkerchiefs the last time.” - -There was something selfish in his giving, as there always is in any -gift freely and joyfully made. They never suspected the exquisite -pleasure it gave him to select these things; these fine, soft, -silken things. There were many things about this slow-going, amiable -brother of theirs that they never suspected. If you had told them he -was a dreamer of dreams, for example, they would have been amused. -Sometimes, dead-tired by nine o’clock, after a hard day downtown, he -would doze over the evening paper. At intervals he would wake, -red-eyed, to a snatch of conversation such as, “Yes, but if you get -a blue you can wear it anywhere. It’s dressy, and at the same time -it’s quiet, too.” Eva, the expert, wrestling with Carrie over the -problem of the new spring dress. They never guessed that the -commonplace man in the frayed old smoking-jacket had banished them -all from the room long ago; had banished himself, for that matter. -In his place was a tall, debonair, and rather dangerously handsome -man to whom six o’clock spelled evening clothes. The kind of man who -can lean up against a mantel, or propose a toast, or give an order -to a man-servant, or whisper a gallant speech in a lady’s ear with -equal ease. The shabby old house on Calumet Avenue was transformed -into a brocaded and chandeliered rendezvous for the brilliance of -the city. Beauty was here, and wit. But none so beautiful and witty -as She. Mrs.--er--Jo Hertz. There was wine, of course; but no -regular display. There was music; the soft sheen of satin; laughter. -And he the gracious, tactful host, king of his own domain-- - -“Jo, for heaven’s sake, if you’re going to snore go to bed!” - -“Why--did I fall asleep?” - -“You haven’t been doing anything else all evening. A person would -think you were fifty instead of thirty.” - -And Jo Hertz was again just the dull, gray, commonplace brother of -three well-meaning sisters. - -Babe used to say petulantly, “Jo, why don’t you ever bring home any -of your men friends? A girl might as well not have any brother, all -the good you do.” - -Jo, conscience-stricken, did his best to make amends. But a man who -has been petticoat-ridden for years loses the knack, somehow, of -comradeship with men. He acquires, too, a knowledge of women, and a -distaste for them, equalled only, perhaps, by that of an -elevator-starter in a department store. - -Which brings us to one Sunday in May. Jo came home from a late -Sunday afternoon walk to find company for supper. Carrie often had -in one of her school-teacher friends, or Babe one of her frivolous -intimates, or even Eva a staid guest of the old-girl type. There was -always a Sunday night supper of potato salad, and cold meat, and -coffee, and perhaps a fresh cake. Jo rather enjoyed it, being a -hospitable soul. But he regarded the guests with the undazzled eyes -of a man to whom they were just so many petticoats, timid of the -night streets and requiring escort home. If you had suggested to him -that some of his sisters’ popularity was due to his own presence, or -if you had hinted that the more kittenish of these visitors were -probably making eyes at him, he would have stared in amazement and -unbelief. - -This Sunday night it turned out to be one of Carrie’s friends. - -“Emily,” said Carrie, “this is my brother, Jo.” - -Jo had learned what to expect in Carrie’s friends. Drab-looking -women in the late thirties, whose facial lines all slanted downward. - -“Happy to meet you,” said Jo, and looked down at a different sort -altogether. A most surprisingly different sort, for one of Carrie’s -friends. This Emily person was very small, and fluffy, and -blue-eyed, and sort of--well, crinkly looking. You know. The corners -of her mouth when she smiled, and her eyes when she looked up at -you, and her hair, which was brown, but had the miraculous effect, -somehow, of being golden. - -Jo shook hands with her. Her hand was incredibly small, and soft, so -that you were afraid of crushing it, until you discovered she had a -firm little grip all her own. It surprised and amused you, that -grip, as does a baby’s unexpected clutch on your patronizing -forefinger. As Jo felt it in his own big clasp, the strangest thing -happened to him. Something inside Jo Hertz stopped working for a -moment, then lurched sickenly, then thumped like mad. It was his -heart. He stood staring down at her, and she up at him, until the -others laughed. Then their hands fell apart, lingeringly. - -“Are you a school-teacher, Emily?” he said. - -“Kindergarten. It’s my first year. And don’t call me Emily, please.” - -“Why not? It’s your name. I think it’s the prettiest name in all the -world.” Which he hadn’t meant to say at all. In fact, he was -perfectly aghast to find himself saying it. But he meant it. - -At supper he passed her things, and stared, until everybody laughed -again, and Eva said acidly, “Why don’t you feed her?” - -It wasn’t that Emily had an air of helplessness. She just made you -feel you wanted her to be helpless, so that you could help her. - -Jo took her home, and from that Sunday night he began to strain at -the leash. He took his sisters out, dutifully, but he would suggest, -with a carelessness that deceived no one, “Don’t you want one of -your girl friends to come along? That little What’s-her-name--Emily, -or something. So long’s I’ve got three of you, I might as well have -a full squad.” - -For a long time he didn’t know what was the matter with him. He only -knew he was miserable, and yet happy. Sometimes his heart seemed to -ache with an actual physical ache. He realized that he wanted to do -things for Emily. He wanted to buy things for Emily--useless, -pretty, expensive things that he couldn’t afford. He wanted to buy -everything that Emily needed, and everything that Emily desired. He -wanted to marry Emily. That was it. He discovered that one day, with -a shock, in the midst of a transaction in the harness business. He -stared at the man with whom he was dealing until that startled -person grew uncomfortable. - -“What’s the matter, Hertz?” - -“Matter?” - -“You look as if you’d seen a ghost or found a gold mine. I don’t -know which.” - -“Gold mine,” said Jo. And then, “No. Ghost.” - -For he remembered that high, thin voice, and his promise. And the -harness business was slithering downhill with dreadful rapidity, as -the automobile business began its amazing climb. Jo tried to stop -it. But he was not that kind of business man. It never occurred to -him to jump out of the down-going vehicle and catch the up-going -one. He stayed on, vainly applying brakes that refused to work. - -“You know, Emily, I couldn’t support two households now. Not the way -things are. But if you’ll wait. If you’ll only wait. The girls -might--that is, Babe and Carrie--” - -She was a sensible little thing, Emily. “Of course I’ll wait. But we -mustn’t just sit back and let the years go by. We’ve got to help.” - -She went about it as if she were already a little match-making -matron. She corralled all the men she had ever known and introduced -them to Babe, Carrie, and Eva separately, in pairs, and en masse. -She arranged parties at which Babe could display the curl. She got -up picnics. She stayed home while Jo took the three about. When she -was present she tried to look as plain and obscure as possible, so -that the sisters should show up to advantage. She schemed, and -planned, and contrived, and hoped; and smiled into Jo’s despairing -eyes. - -And three years went by. Three precious years. Carrie taught school, -and hated it. Eva kept house, more and more complainingly as prices -advanced and allowances retreated. Stell was still Babe, the family -beauty; but even she knew that the time was past for curls. Emily’s -hair, somehow, lost its glint and began to look just plain brown. -Her crinkliness began to iron out. - -“Now, look here!” Jo argued, desperately, one night. “We could be -happy, anyway. There’s plenty of room at the house. Lots of people -begin that way. Of course, I couldn’t give you all I’d like to, at -first. But maybe, after a while--” - -No dreams of salons, and brocade, and velvet-footed servitors, and -satin damask now. Just two rooms, all their own, all alone, and -Emily to work for. That was his dream. But it seemed less possible -than that other absurd one had been. - -You know that Emily was as practical a little thing as she looked -fluffy. She knew women. Especially did she know Eva, and Carrie, and -Babe. She tried to imagine herself taking the household affairs and -the housekeeping pocketbook out of Eva’s expert hands. Eva had once -displayed to her a sheaf of aigrettes she had bought with what she -saved out of the housekeeping money. So then she tried to picture -herself allowing the reins of Jo’s house to remain in Eva’s hands. -And everything feminine and normal in her rebelled. Emily knew she’d -want to put away her own freshly laundered linen, and smooth it, and -pat it. She was that kind of woman. She knew she’d want to do her -own delightful haggling with butcher and vegetable pedlar. She knew -she’d want to muss Jo’s hair, and sit on his knee, and even quarrel -with him, if necessary, without the awareness of three ever-present -pairs of maiden eyes and ears. - -“No! No! We’d only be miserable. I know. Even if they didn’t object. -And they would, Jo. Wouldn’t they?” - -His silence was miserable assent. Then, “But you do love me, don’t -you, Emily?” - -“I do, Jo. I love you--and love you--and love you. But, Jo, -I--can’t.” - -“I know it, dear. I knew it all the time, really. I just thought -maybe, somehow--” - -The two sat staring for a moment into space, their hands clasped. -Then they both shut their eyes, with a little shudder, as though -what they saw was terrible to look upon. Emily’s hand, the tiny hand -that was so unexpectedly firm, tightened its hold on him, and his -crushed the absurd fingers until she winced with pain. - -That was the beginning of the end, and they knew it. - -Emily wasn’t the kind of girl who would be left to pine. There are -too many Jo’s in the world whose hearts are prone to lurch and then -thump at the feel of a soft, fluttering, incredibly small hand in -their grip. One year later Emily was married to a young man whose -father owned a large, pie-shaped slice of the prosperous state of -Michigan. - -That being safely accomplished, there was something grimly humorous -in the trend taken by affairs in the old house on Calumet. For Eva -married. Of all people, Eva! Married well, too, though he was a -great deal older than she. She went off in a hat she had copied from -a French model at Field’s, and a suit she had contrived with a home -dressmaker, aided by pressing on the part of the little tailor in -the basement over on Thirty-first Street. It was the last of that, -though. The next time they saw her, she had on a hat that even she -would have despaired of copying, and a suit that sort of melted into -your gaze. She moved to the North Side (trust Eva for that), and -Babe assumed the management of the household on Calumet Avenue. It -was rather a pinched little household now, for the harness business -shrank and shrank. - -“I don’t see how you can expect me to keep house decently on this!” -Babe would say contemptuously. Babe’s nose, always a little inclined -to sharpness, had whittled down to a point of late. “If you knew -what Ben gives Eva.” - -“It’s the best I can do, Sis. Business is something rotten.” - -“Ben says if you had the least bit of--” Ben was Eva’s husband, and -quotable, as are all successful men. - -“I don’t care what Ben says,” shouted Jo, goaded into rage. “I’m -sick of your everlasting Ben. Go and get a Ben of your own, why -don’t you, if you’re so stuck on the way he does things.” - -And Babe did. She made a last desperate drive, aided by Eva, and she -captured a rather surprised young man in the brokerage way, who had -made up his mind not to marry for years and years. Eva wanted to -give her her wedding things, but at that Jo broke into sudden -rebellion. - -“No, sir! No Ben is going to buy my sister’s wedding clothes, -understand? I guess I’m not broke--yet. I’ll furnish the money for -her things, and there’ll be enough of them, too.” - -Babe had as useless a trousseau, and as filled with extravagant -pink-and-blue and lacy and frilly things as any daughter of doting -parents. Jo seemed to find a grim pleasure in providing them. But it -left him pretty well pinched. After Babe’s marriage (she insisted -that they call her Estelle now) Jo sold the house on Calumet. He and -Carrie took one of those little flats that were springing up, -seemingly over night, all through Chicago’s South Side. - -There was nothing domestic about Carrie. She had given up teaching -two years before, and had gone into Social Service work on the West -Side. She had what is known as a legal mind--hard, clear, -orderly--and she made a great success of it. Her dream was to live -at the Settlement House and give all her time to the work. Upon the -little household she bestowed a certain amount of grim, capable -attention. It was the same kind of attention she would have given a -piece of machinery whose oiling and running had been entrusted to -her care. She hated it, and didn’t hesitate to say so. - -Jo took to prowling about department store basements, and household -goods sections. He was always sending home a bargain in a ham, or a -sack of potatoes, or fifty pounds of sugar, or a window clamp, or a -new kind of paring knife. He was forever doing odd little jobs that -the janitor should have done. It was the domestic in him claiming -its own. - -Then, one night, Carrie came home with a dull glow in her leathery -cheeks, and her eyes alight with resolve. They had what she called a -plain talk. - -“Listen, Jo. They’ve offered me the job of first assistant resident -worker. And I’m going to take it. Take it! I know fifty other girls -who’d give their ears for it. I go in next month.” - -They were at dinner. Jo looked up from his plate, dully. Then he -glanced around the little dining-room, with its ugly tan walls and -its heavy, dark furniture (the Calumet Avenue pieces fitted -cumbersomely into the five-room flat). - -“Away? Away from here, you mean--to live?” - -Carrie laid down her fork. “Well, really, Jo! After all that -explanation.” - -“But to go over there to live! Why, that neighborhood’s full of -dirt, and disease, and crime, and the Lord knows what all. I can’t -let you do that, Carrie.” - -Carrie’s chin came up. She laughed a short little laugh. “Let me! -That’s eighteenth-century talk, Jo. My life’s my own to live. I’m -going.” - -And she went. - -Jo stayed on in the apartment until the lease was up. Then he sold -what furniture he could, stored or gave away the rest, and took a -room on Michigan Avenue in one of the old stone mansions whose -decayed splendor was being put to such purpose. - -Jo Hertz was his own master. Free to marry. Free to come and go. And -he found he didn’t even think of marrying. He didn’t want to come or -go, particularly. A rather frumpy old bachelor, with thinning hair -and a thickening neck. Much has been written about the unwed, -middle-aged woman; her fussiness, her primness, her angularity of -mind and body. In the male that same fussiness develops, and a -certain primness, too. But he grows flabby where she grows lean. - -Every Thursday evening he took dinner at Eva’s, and on Sunday noon -at Stell’s. He tucked his napkin under his chin and openly enjoyed -the homemade soup and the well-cooked meats. After dinner he tried -to talk business with Eva’s husband, or Stell’s. His business talks -were the old-fashioned kind, beginning: - -“Well, now, looka here. Take, f’rinstance your raw hides and -leathers.” - -But Ben and George didn’t want to “take, f’rinstance, your raw hides -and leathers.” They wanted, when they took anything at all, to take -golf, or politics or stocks. They were the modern type of business -man who prefers to leave his work out of his play. Business, with -them, was a profession--a finely graded and balanced thing, -differing from Jo’s clumsy, downhill style as completely as does the -method of a great criminal detective differ from that of a village -constable. They would listen, restively, and say, “Uh-uh,” at -intervals, and at the first chance they would sort of fade out of -the room, with a meaning glance at their wives. Eva had two children -now. Girls. They treated Uncle Jo with good-natured tolerance. Stell -had no children. Uncle Jo degenerated, by almost imperceptible -degrees, from the position of honored guest, who is served with -white meat, to that of one who is content with a leg and one of -those obscure and bony sections which, after much turning with a -bewildered and investigating knife and fork, leave one baffled and -unsatisfied. - -Eva and Stell got together and decided that Jo ought to marry. - -“It isn’t natural,” Eva told him. “I never saw a man who took so -little interest in women.” - -“Me!” protested Jo, almost shyly. “Women!” - -“Yes. Of course. You act like a frightened schoolboy.” - -So they had in for dinner certain friends and acquaintances of -fitting age. They spoke of them as “splendid girls.” Between -thirty-six and forty. They talked awfully well, in a firm, clear -way, about civics, and classes, and politics, and economics, and -boards. They rather terrified Jo. He didn’t understand much that -they talked about, and he felt humbly inferior, and yet a little -resentful, as if something had passed him by. He escorted them home, -dutifully, though they told him not to bother, and they evidently -meant it. They seemed capable, not only of going home quite -unattended, but of delivering a pointed lecture to any highwayman or -brawler who might molest them. - -The following Thursday Eva would say, “How did you like her, Joe?” - -“Like who?” Jo would spar feebly. - -“Miss Matthews.” - -“Who’s she?” - -“Now, don’t be funny, Jo. You know very well I mean the girl who was -here for dinner. The one who talked so well on the emigration -question.” - -“Oh, her! Why, I liked her all right. Seems to be a smart woman.” - -“Smart! She’s a perfectly splendid girl.” - -“Sure,” Jo would agree cheerfully. - -“But didn’t you like her?” - -“I can’t say I did, Eve. And I can’t say I didn’t. She made me think -a lot of a teacher I had in the fifth reader. Name of Himes. As I -recall her, she must have been a fine woman. But I never thought of -her as a woman at all. She was just Teacher.” - -“You make me tired,” snapped Eva impatiently. “A man of your age. -You don’t expect to marry a girl, do you? A child!” - -“I don’t expect to marry anybody,” Jo had answered. - -And that was the truth, lonely though he often was. - -The following spring Eva moved to Winnetka. Any one who got the -meaning of the Loop knows the significance of a move to a -north-shore suburb, and a house. Eva’s daughter, Ethel, was growing -up, and her mother had an eye on society. - -That did away with Jo’s Thursday dinner. Then Stell’s husband bought -a car. They went out into the country every Sunday. Stell said it -was getting so that maids objected to Sunday dinners, anyway. -Besides, they were unhealthy, old-fashioned things. They always -meant to ask Jo to come along, but by the time their friends were -placed, and the lunch, and the boxes, and sweaters, and George’s -camera, and everything, there seemed to be no room for a man of Jo’s -bulk. So that eliminated the Sunday dinners. - -“Just drop in any time during the week,” Stell said, “for dinner. -Except Wednesday--that’s our bridge night--and Saturday. And, of -course, Thursday. Cook is out that night. Don’t wait for me to -’phone.” - -And so Jo drifted into that sad-eyed, dyspeptic family made up of -those you see dining in second-rate restaurants, their paper propped -up against the bowl of oyster crackers, munching solemnly and with -indifference to the stare of the passer-by surveying them through -the brazen plate-glass window. - -And then came the War. The war that spelled death and destruction to -millions. The war that brought a fortune to Jo Hertz, and -transformed him, over night, from a baggy-kneed old bachelor, whose -business was a failure, to a prosperous manufacturer whose only -trouble was the shortage in hides for the making of his -product--leather! The armies of Europe called for it. Harnesses! -More harnesses! Straps! Millions of straps. More! More! - -The musty old harness business over on Lake Street was magically -changed from a dust-covered, dead-alive concern to an orderly hive -that hummed and glittered with success. Orders poured in. Jo Hertz -had inside information on the War. He knew about troops and horses. -He walked with French and English and Italian buyers--noblemen, many -of them--commissioned by their countries to get American-made -supplies. And now, when he said to Ben or George, “Take f’rinstance -your raw hides and leathers,” they listened with respectful -attention. - -And then began the gay-dog business in the life of Jo Hertz. He -developed into a Loop-hound, ever keen on the scent of fresh -pleasure. That side of Jo Hertz which had been repressed and crushed -and ignored began to bloom, unhealthily. At first he spent money on -his rather contemptuous nieces. He sent them gorgeous fans, and -watch bracelets, and velvet bags. He took two expensive rooms at a -downtown hotel, and there was something more tear-compelling than -grotesque about the way he gloated over the luxury of a separate -ice-water tap in the bathroom. He explained it. - -“Just turn it on. Ice-water! Any hour of the day or night.” - -He bought a car. Naturally. A glittering affair; in color a bright -blue, with pale-blue leather straps and a great deal of gold -fittings, and wire wheels. Eva said it was the kind of thing a -soubrette would use, rather than an elderly business man. You saw -him, too, in the Pompeian room at the Congress Hotel of a Saturday -afternoon when doubtful and roving-eyed matrons in kolinsky capes -are wont to congregate to sip pale amber drinks. Actors grew to -recognize the semi-bald head and the shining, round, good-natured -face looming out at them from the dim well of the parquet, and -sometimes, in a musical show, they directed a quip at him, and he -liked it. He could pick out the critics as they came down the aisle, -and even had a nodding acquaintance with two of them. - -“Kelly, of the ‘Herald,’” he would say carelessly. “Bean, of the -‘Trib.’ They’re all afraid of him.” - -So he frolicked, ponderously. In New York he might have been called -a Man About Town. - -And he was lonesome. He was very lonesome. So he searched about in -his mind and brought from the dim past the memory of the luxuriously -furnished establishment of which he used to dream in the evenings -when he dozed over his paper in the old house on Calumet. So he -rented an apartment, many-roomed and expensive, with a man-servant -in charge, and furnished it in styles and periods ranging through -all the Louises. The living-room was mostly rose color. It was like -an unhealthy and bloated boudoir. And yet there was nothing -sybaritic or uncleanly in the sight of this paunchy, middle-aged man -sinking into the rosy-cushioned luxury of his ridiculous home. It -was a frank and naïve indulgence of long-starved senses, and there -was in it a great resemblance to the rolling-eyed ecstasy of a -schoolboy smacking his lips over an all-day sucker. - -The War went on, and on, and on. And the money continued to roll -in--a flood of it. Then, one afternoon, Eva, in town on shopping -bent, entered a small, exclusive, and expensive shop on Michigan -Avenue. Exclusive, that is, in price. Eva’s weakness, you may -remember, was hats. She was seeking a hat now. She described what -she sought with a languid conciseness, and stood looking about her -after the saleswoman had vanished in quest of it. The room was -becomingly rose-illumined and somewhat dim, so that some minutes had -passed before she realized that a man seated on a raspberry brocade -settee not five feet away--a man with a walking stick, and yellow -gloves, and tan spats, and a check suit--was her brother Jo. From -him Eva’s wild-eyed glance leaped to the woman who was trying on -hats before one of the many long mirrors. She was seated, and a -saleswoman was exclaiming discreetly at her elbow. - -Eva turned sharply and encountered her own saleswoman returning, -hat-laden. “Not to-day,” she gasped. “I’m feeling ill. Suddenly.” -And almost ran from the room. - -That evening she told Stell, relating her news in that telephone -pidgin-English devised by every family of married sisters as -protection against the neighbors and Central. Translated, it ran -thus: - -“He looked straight at me. My dear, I thought I’d die! But at least -he had sense enough not to speak. She was one of those limp, willowy -creatures with the greediest eyes that she tried to keep softened to -a baby stare, and couldn’t, she was so crazy to get her hands on -those hats. I saw it all in one awful minute. You know the way I do. -I suppose some people would call her pretty. I don’t. And her color! -Well! And the most expensive-looking hats. Aigrettes, and paradise, -and feathers. Not one of them under seventy-five. Isn’t it -disgusting! At his age! Suppose Ethel had been with me!” - -The next time it was Stell who saw them. In a restaurant. She said -it spoiled her evening. And the third time it was Ethel. She was one -of the guests at a theater party given by Nicky Overton II. You -know. The North Shore Overtons. Lake Forest. They came in late, and -occupied the entire third row at the opening performance of “Believe -Me!” And Ethel was Nicky’s partner. She was glowing like a rose. -When the lights went up after the first act Ethel saw that her Uncle -Jo was seated just ahead of her with what she afterward described as -a blonde. Then her uncle had turned around, and seeing her, had been -surprised into a smile that spread genially all over his plump and -rubicund face. Then he had turned to face forward again, quickly. - -“Who’s the old bird?” Nicky had asked. Ethel had pretended not to -hear, so he had asked again. - -“My uncle,” Ethel answered, and flushed all over her delicate face, -and down to her throat. Nicky had looked at the blonde, and his -eyebrows had gone up ever so slightly. - -It spoiled Ethel’s evening. More than that, as she told her mother -of it later, weeping, she declared it had spoiled her life. - -Eva talked it over with her husband in that intimate, kimonoed hour -that precedes bedtime. She gesticulated heatedly with her hair -brush. - -“It’s disgusting, that’s what it is. Perfectly disgusting. There’s -no fool like an old fool. Imagine! A creature like that. At his time -of life.” - -There exists a strange and loyal kinship among men. “Well, I don’t -know,” Ben said now, and even grinned a little. “I suppose a boy’s -got to sow his wild oats sometime.” - -“Don’t be any more vulgar than you can help,” Eva retorted. “And I -think you know, as well as I, what it means to have that Overton boy -interested in Ethel.” - -“If he’s interested in her,” Ben blundered, “I guess the fact that -Ethel’s uncle went to the theater with some one who wasn’t Ethel’s -aunt won’t cause a shudder to run up and down his frail young frame, -will it?” - -“All right,” Eva retorted. “If you’re not man enough to stop it, -I’ll have to, that’s all. I’m going up there with Stell this week.” - -They did not notify Jo of their coming. Eva telephoned his apartment -when she knew he would be out, and asked his man if he expected his -master home to dinner that evening. The man had said yes. Eva -arranged to meet Stell in town. They would drive to Jo’s apartment -together, and wait for him there. - -When she reached the city Eva found turmoil there. The first of the -American troops to be sent to France were leaving. Michigan -Boulevard was a billowing, surging mass: flags, pennants, banners, -crowds. All the elements that make for demonstration. And over the -whole--quiet. No holiday crowd, this. A solid, determined mass of -people waiting patient hours to see the khaki-clads go by. Three -years of indefatigable reading had brought them to a clear knowledge -of what these boys were going to. - -“Isn’t it dreadful!” Stell gasped. - -“Nicky Overton’s only nineteen, thank goodness.” - -Their car was caught in the jam. When they moved at all it was by -inches. When at last they reached Jo’s apartment they were flushed, -nervous, apprehensive. But he had not yet come in. So they waited. - -No, they were not staying to dinner with their brother, they told -the relieved houseman. - -Jo’s home has already been described to you. Stell and Eva, sunk in -rose-colored cushions, viewed it with disgust, and some mirth. They -rather avoided each other’s eyes. - -“Carrie ought to be here,” Eva said. They both smiled at the thought -of the austere Carrie in the midst of those rosy cushions, and -hangings, and lamps. Stell rose and began to walk about, restlessly. -She picked up a vase and laid it down; straightened a picture. Eva -got up, too, and wandered into the hall. She stood there a moment, -listening. Then she turned and passed into Jo’s bedroom. And there -you knew Jo for what he was. - -This room was as bare as the other had been ornate. It was Jo, the -clean-minded and simple-hearted, in revolt against the cloying -luxury with which he had surrounded himself. The bedroom, of all -rooms in any house, reflects the personality of its occupant. True, -the actual furniture was panelled, cupid-surmounted, and ridiculous. -It had been the fruit of Jo’s first orgy of the senses. But now it -stood out in that stark little room with an air as incongruous and -ashamed as that of a pink tarleton _danseuse_ who finds herself in -a monk’s cell. None of those wall-pictures with which bachelor -bedrooms are reputed to be hung. No satin slippers. No scented -notes. Two plain-backed military brushes on the chiffonier (and he -so nearly hairless). A little orderly stack of books on the table -near the bed. Eva fingered their titles and gave a little gasp. One -of them was on gardening. - -“Well, of all things!” exclaimed Stell. A book on the War, by an -Englishman. A detective story of the lurid type that lulls us to -sleep. His shoes ranged in a careful row in the closet, with a -shoe-tree in every one of them. There was something speaking about -them. They looked human. Eva shut the door on them, quickly. Some -bottles on the dresser. A jar of pomade. An ointment such as a man -uses who is growing bald and is panic-stricken too late. An -insurance calendar on the wall. Some rhubarb-and-soda mixture on the -shelf in the bathroom, and a little box of pepsin tablets. - -“Eats all kinds of things at all hours of the night,” Eva said, and -wandered out into the rose-colored front room again with the air of -one who is chagrined at her failure to find what she has sought. -Stell followed her furtively. - -“Where do you suppose he can be?” she demanded. “It’s”--she glanced -at her wrist--“Why, it’s after six!” - -And then there was a little click. The two women sat up, tense. The -door opened. Jo came in. He blinked a little. The two women in the -rosy room stood up. - -“Why--Eve! Why, Babe! Well! Why didn’t you let me know?” - -“We were just about to leave. We thought you weren’t coming home.” - -Jo came in, slowly. - -“I was in the jam on Michigan, watching the boys go by.” He sat -down, heavily. The light from the window fell on him. And you saw -that his eyes were red. - -And you’ll have to learn why. He had found himself one of the -thousands in the jam on Michigan Avenue, as he said. He had a place -near the curb, where his big frame shut off the view of the -unfortunates behind him. He waited with the placid interest of one -who has subscribed to all the funds and societies to which a -prosperous, middle-aged business man is called upon to subscribe in -war time. Then, just as he was about to leave, impatient at the -delay, the crowd had cried, with a queer, dramatic, exultant note in -its voice, “Here they come! Here come the boys!” - -Just at that moment two little, futile, frenzied fists began to beat -a mad tattoo on Jo Hertz’s broad back. Jo tried to turn in the -crowd, all indignant resentment. “Say, looka here!” - -The little fists kept up their frantic beating and pushing. And a -voice--a choked, high little voice--cried, “Let me by! I can’t see! -You man, you! You big fat man! My boy’s going by--to war--and I -can’t see! Let me by!” - -Jo scrooged around, still keeping his place. He looked down. And -upturned to him in agonized appeal was the face of little Emily. -They stared at each other for what seemed a long, long time. It was -really only the fraction of a second. Then Jo put one great arm -firmly around Emily’s waist and swung her around in front of him. -His great bulk protected her. Emily was clinging to his hand. She -was breathing rapidly, as if she had been running. Her eyes were -straining up the street. - -“Why, Emily, how in the world!--” - -“I ran away. Fred didn’t want me to come. He said it would excite me -too much.” - -“Fred?” - -“My husband. He made me promise to say good-by to Jo at home.” - -“Jo?” - -“Jo’s my boy. And he’s going to war. So I ran away. I had to see -him. I had to see him go.” - -She was dry-eyed. Her gaze was straining up the street. - -“Why, sure,” said Jo. “Of course you want to see him.” And then the -crowd gave a great roar. There came over Jo a feeling of weakness. -He was trembling. The boys went marching by. - -“There he is!” Emily shrilled, above the din. “There he is! There he -is! There he--” And waved a futile little hand. It wasn’t so much a -wave as a clutching. A clutching after something beyond her reach. - -“Which one? Which one, Emily?” - -“The handsome one. The handsome one. There!” Her voice quavered and -died. - -Jo put a steady hand on her shoulder. “Point him out,” he commanded. -“Show me.” And the next instant. “Never mind. I see him.” - -Somehow, miraculously, he had picked him from among the hundreds. -Had picked him as surely as his own father might have. It was -Emily’s boy. He was marching by, rather stiffy. He was nineteen, and -fun-loving, and he had a girl, and he didn’t particularly want to go -to France and--to go to France. But more than he had hated going, he -had hated not to go. So he marched by, looking straight ahead, his -jaw set so that his chin stuck out just a little. Emily’s boy. - -Jo looked at him, and his face flushed purple. His eyes, the -hard-boiled eyes of a Loop-hound, took on the look of a sad old man. -And suddenly he was no longer Jo, the sport; old J. Hertz, the gay -dog. He was Jo Hertz, thirty, in love with life, in love with Emily, -and with the stinging blood of young manhood coursing through his -veins. - -Another minute and the boy had passed on up the broad street--the -fine, flag-bedecked street--just one of a hundred service-hats -bobbing in rhythmic motion like sandy waves lapping a shore and -flowing on. - -Then he disappeared altogether. - -Emily was clinging to Jo. She was mumbling something, over and over. -“I can’t. I can’t. Don’t ask me to. I can’t let him go. Like that. I -can’t.” - -Jo said a queer thing. - -“Why, Emily! We wouldn’t have him stay home, would we? We wouldn’t -want him to do anything different, would we? Not our boy. I’m glad -he enlisted. I’m proud of him. So are you glad.” - -Little by little he quieted her. He took her to the car that was -waiting, a worried chauffeur in charge. They said good-by, -awkwardly. Emily’s face was a red, swollen mass. - -So it was that when Jo entered his own hallway half an hour later he -blinked, dazedly, and when the light from the window fell on him you -saw that his eyes were red. - -Eva was not one to beat about the bush. She sat forward in her -chair, clutching her bag rather nervously. - -“Now, look here, Jo. Stell and I are here for a reason. We’re here -to tell you that this thing’s got to stop.” - -“Thing? Stop?” - -“You know very well what I mean. You saw me at the milliner’s that -day. And night before last, Ethel. We’re all disgusted. If you must -go about with people like that, please have some sense of decency.” - -Something gathering in Jo’s face should have warned her. But he was -slumped down in his chair in such a huddle, and he looked so old and -fat that she did not heed it. She went on: “You’ve got us to -consider. Your sisters. And your nieces. Not to speak of your own--” - -But he got to his feet then, shaking, and at what she saw in his -face even Eva faltered and stopped. It wasn’t at all the face of a -fat, middle-aged sport. It was a face Jovian, terrible. - -“You!” he began, low-voiced, ominous. “You!” He raised a great fist -high. “You two murderers! You didn’t consider me, twenty years ago. -You come to me with talk like that. Where’s my boy! You killed him, -you two, twenty years ago. And now he belongs to somebody else. -Where’s my son! that should have gone marching by to-day?” He flung -his arms out in a great gesture of longing. The red veins stood out -on his forehead. “Where’s my son! Answer me that, you two selfish, -miserable women. Where’s my son!” Then, as they huddled together, -frightened, wild-eyed, “Out of my house! Out of my house! Before I -hurt you!” - -They fled, terrified. The door banged behind them. - -Jo stood, shaking, in the center of the room. Then he reached for a -chair, gropingly, and sat down. He passed one moist, flabby hand -over his forehead and it came away wet. The telephone rang. He sat -still. It sounded far away and unimportant, like something -forgotten. I think he did not even hear it with his conscious ear. -But it rang and rang insistently. Jo liked to answer his telephone, -when at home. - -“Hello!” He knew instantly the voice at the other end. - -“That you, Jo?” it said. - -“Yes.” - -“How’s my boy?” - -“I’m all right.” - -“Listen, Jo. The crowd’s coming over to-night. I’ve fixed up a -little poker game for you. Just eight of us.” - -“I can’t come to-night, Gert.” - -“Can’t! Why not?” - -“I’m not feeling so good.” - -“You just said you were all right.” - -“I am all right. Just kind of tired.” - -The voice took on a cooing note. “Is my Joey tired? Then he doesn’t -need to play if he don’t want to. No, sir.” - -Jo stood staring at the black mouthpiece of the telephone. He was -seeing a procession go marching by. Boys, hundreds of boys, in -khaki. - -“Hello! Hello!” the voice took on an anxious note. “Are you there?” - -“Yes,” wearily. - -“Jo, there’s something the matter. You’re sick. I’m coming right -over.” - -“No!” - -“Why not? You sound as if you’d been sleeping. Look here--” - -“Leave me alone!” cried Jo, suddenly, and the receiver clacked onto -the hook. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone.” Long after the -connection had been broken. - -He stood staring at the instrument with unseeing eyes. Then he -turned and walked into the front room. All the light had gone out of -it. Dusk had come on. All the light had gone out of everything. The -zest had gone out of life. The game was over--the game he had been -playing against loneliness and disappointment. And he was just a -tired old man. A lonely, tired old man in a ridiculous, rose-colored -room that had grown, all of a sudden, drab. - - - - -IV. OLE SKJARSEN’S FIRST TOUCHDOWN - -By George Fitch - -From “At Good Old Siwash,” copyright, 1911, by Little, Brown -and Company. By special permission of the author. - - -Am I going to the game Saturday? Am I? Me? Am I going to eat some -more food this year? Am I going to draw my pay this month? Am I -going to do any more breathing after I get this lungful used up? All -foolish questions, pal. Very silly conversation. Pshaw! - -Am I going to the game, you ask me? Is the sun going to get up -to-morrow? You couldn’t keep me away from that game if you put a -protective tariff of seventy-eight per cent ad valorem, whatever -that means, on the front gate. I came out to this town on business, -and I’ll have to take an extra fare train home to make up the time; -but what of that? I’m going to the game, and when the Siwash team -comes out I’m going to get up and give as near a correct imitation -of a Roman mob and a Polish riot as my throat will stand; and if we -put a crimp in the large-footed, humpy-shouldered behemoths we’re -going up against this afternoon, I’m going out to-night and burn the -City Hall. Any Siwash man who is a gentleman would do it. I’ll -probably have to run like thunder to beat some of them to it. - -You know how it is, old man. Or maybe you don’t, because you made -all your end runs on the Glee Club. But I played football all -through my college course and the microbe is still there. In the -fall I think football, talk football, dream football. Even though I -go out to the field and see little old Siwash lining up against a -bunch of overgrown hippos from a university with a catalogue as -thick as a city directory, the old mud-and-perspiration smell gets -in my nostrils, and the desire to get under the bunch and feel the -feet jabbing into my ribs boils up so strong that I have to hold on -to myself with both hands. If you’ve never sat on a hard board and -wanted to be between two halfbacks with your hands on their -shoulders, and the quarter ready to sock a ball into your solar -plexus, and eleven men daring you to dodge ’em, and nine thousand -friends and enemies raising Cain and keeping him well propped up in -the grandstands--if you haven’t had that want you wouldn’t know a -healthy, able-bodied want if you ran into it on the street. - -Of course, I never got any further along than a scrub. But what’s -the odds? A broken bone feels just as grand to a scrub as to a star. -I sometimes think a scrub gets more real football knowledge than a -varsity man, because he doesn’t have to addle his brain by worrying -about holding his job and keeping his wind, and by dreaming that he -has fumbled a punt and presented ninety-five yards to the hereditary -enemies of his college. I played scrub football five years, four of -’em under Bost, the greatest coach who ever put wings on the heels -of a two-hundred-pound hunk of meat; and while my ribs never lasted -long enough to put me on the team, what I didn’t learn about the -game you could put in the other fellow’s eye. - -Say, but it’s great, learning football under a good coach. It’s the -finest training a man can get anywhere on this old globule. Football -is only the smallest thing you learn. You learn how to be patient -when what you want to do is to chew somebody up and spit him into -the gutter. You learn to control your temper when it is on the high -speed, with the throttle jerked wide open and buzzing like a hornet -convention. You learn, by having it told you, just how small and -foolish and insignificant you are, and how well this earth could -stagger along without you if some one were to take a fly-killer and -mash you with it. And you learn all this at the time of life when -your head is swelling up until you mistake it for a planet, and -regard whatever you say as a volcanic disturbance. - -I suppose you think, like the rest of the chaps who never came out -to practice but observed the game from the dollar-and-a-half seats, -that being coached in football is like being instructed in German or -calculus. You are told what to do and how to do it, and then you -recite. Far from it, my boy! They don’t bother telling you what to -do and how to do it on a big football field. Mostly they tell you -what to do and how you do it. And they do it artistically, too. They -use plenty of language. A football coach is picked out for his ready -tongue. He must be a conversationalist. He must be able to talk to a -greenhorn, with fine shoulders and a needle-shaped head, until that -greenhorn would pick up the ball and take it through a Sioux war -dance to get away from the conversation. You can’t reason with -football men. They’re not logical, most of them. They are selected -for their heels and shoulders and their leg muscles, and not for -their ability to look at you with luminous eyes and say: “Yes, -Professor, I think I understand.” The way to make ’em understand is -to talk about them. Any man can understand you while you are telling -him that if he were just a little bit slower he would have to be -tied to the earth to keep up with it. That hurts his pride. And when -you hurt his pride he takes it out on whatever is in front of -him--which is the other team. Never get in front of a football -player when you are coaching him. - -But this brings me to the subject of Bost again. Bost is still -coaching Siwash. This makes his ’steenth year. I guess he can stay -there forever. He’s coached all these years and has never used the -same adjective to the same man twice. There’s a record for you! He’s -a little man, Bost is. He played end on some Western team when he -only weighed one hundred and forty. Got his football knowledge -there. But where he got his vocabulary is still a mystery. He has a -way of convincing a man that a dill pickle would make a better guard -than he is, and of making that man so jealous of the pickle that he -will perform perfectly unreasonable feats for a week to beat it out -for the place. He has a way of saying “Hurry up,” with a few -descriptive adjectives tacked on, that makes a man rub himself in -the stung place for an hour; and oh, how mad he can make you while -he is telling you pleasantly that while the little fellow playing -against you is only a prep and has sloping shoulders and weighs one -hundred and eleven stripped, he is making you look like a bale of -hay that has been dumped by mistake on an athletic field. And when -he gets a team in the gymnasium between halves, with the game going -wrong, and stands up before them and sizes up their nerve and rubber -backbone and hereditary awkwardness and incredible talent in doing -the wrong thing, to say nothing of describing each individual -blunder in that queer nasal clack of his--well, I’d rather be tied -up in a great big frying-pan over a good hot stove for the same -length of time, any day in the week. The reason Bost is a great -coach is because his men don’t dare play poorly. When they do he -talks to them. If he would only hit them, or skin them by inches, or -shoot at them, they wouldn’t mind it so much; but when you get on -the field with him and realize that if you miss a tackle he is going -to get you out before the whole gang and tell you what a great -mistake the Creator made when He put joints in your arms instead of -letting them stick out stiff as they do any other signpost, you’re -not going to miss that tackle, that’s all. - -When Bost came to Siwash he succeeded a line of coaches who had been -telling the fellows to get down low and hit the line hard, and had -been showing them how to do it very patiently. Nice fellows, those -coaches. Perfect gentlemen. Make you proud to associate with them. -They could take a herd of green farmer boys, with wrists like mules’ -ankles, and by Thanksgiving they would have them familiar with all -the rudiments of the game. By that time the season would be over and -all the schools in the vicinity would have beaten us by big scores. -The next year the last year’s crop of big farmer boys would stay at -home to husk corn, and the coach would begin all over on a new crop. -The result was, we were a dub school at football. Any school that -could scare up a good rangy halfback and a line that could hold -sheep could get up an adding festival at our expense any time. We -lived in a perpetual state of fear. Some day we felt that the normal -school would come down and beat us. That would be the limit of -disgrace. After that there would be nothing left to do but disband -the college and take to drink to forget the past. - -But Bost changed all that in one year. He didn’t care to show any -one how to play football. He was just interested in making the -player afraid not to play it. When you went down the field on a punt -you knew that if you missed your man he would tell you when you came -back that two stone hitching-posts out of three could get past you -in a six-foot alley. If you missed a punt you could expect to be -told that you might catch a haystack by running with your arms wide -open, but that was no way to catch a football. Maybe things like -that don’t sound jabby when two dozen men hear them! They kept us -catching punts between classes, and tackling each other all the way -to our rooms and back. We simply had to play football to keep from -being bawled out. It’s an awful thing to have a coach with a tongue -like a cheese knife swinging away at you, and to know that if you -get mad and quit, no one but the dear old coll. will suffer--but it -gets the results. They use the same system in the East, but there -they only swear at a man, I believe. Siwash is a mighty proper -college and you can’t swear on its campus, whatever else you do. -Swearing is only a lazy man’s substitute for thinking, anyway; and -Bost wasn’t lazy. He preferred the descriptive; he sat up nights -thinking it out. - -We began to see the results before Bost had been tracing our -pedigrees for two weeks. First game of the season was with that -little old dinky Normal School which had been scaring us so for the -past five years. We had been satisfied to push some awkward halfback -over the line once, and then hold on to the enemy so tight he -couldn’t run; and we started out that year in the same old way. -First half ended 0 to 0, with our boys pretty satisfied because they -had kept the ball in Normal’s territory. Bost led the team and the -substitutes into the overgrown barn we used for a gymnasium, and -while we were still patting ourselves approvingly in our minds he -cut loose: - -“You pasty-faced, overfed, white-livered beanbag experts, what do -you mean by running a beauty show instead of a football game?” he -yelled. “Do you suppose I came out here to be art director of a -statuary exhibit? Does any one of you imagine for a holy minute that -he knows the difference between a football game and ushering in a -church? Don’t fool yourselves. You don’t; you don’t know anything. -All you ever knew about football I could carve on granite and put in -my eye and never feel it. Nothing to nothing against a crowd of -farmer boys who haven’t known a football from a duck’s egg for more -than a week! Bah! If I ever turned the Old Folks’ Home loose on you -doll babies they’d run up a century while you were hunting for your -handkerchiefs. Jackson, what do you suppose a halfback is for? I -don’t want cloak models. I want a man who can stick his head down -and run. Don’t be afraid of that bean of yours; it hasn’t got -anything worth saving in it. When you get the ball you’re supposed -to run with it and not sit around trying to hatch it. You, Saunders! -You held that other guard just like a sweet-pea vine. Where did you -ever learn that sweet, lovely way of falling down on your nose when -a real man sneezes at you? Did you ever hear of sand? Eat it! Eat -it! Fill your self up with it. I want you to get in that line this -half and stop something or I’ll make you play left end in a -fancy-work club. Johnson, the only way to get you around the field -is to put you on wheels and haul you. Next time you grow fast to the -ground I’m going to violate some forestry regulations and take an -axe to you. Same to you, Briggs. You’d make the All-American -boundary posts, but that’s all. Vance, I picked you for a -quarterback, but I made a mistake; you ought to be sorting eggs. -That ball isn’t red hot. You don’t have to let go of it as soon as -you get it. Don’t be afraid, nobody will step on you. This isn’t a -rude game. It’s only a game of post-office. You needn’t act so -nervous about it. Maybe some of the big girls will kiss you, but it -won’t hurt.” - -Bost stopped for breath and eyed us. We were a sick-looking crowd. -You could almost see the remarks sticking into us and quivering. We -had come in feeling pretty virtuous, and what we were getting was a -hideous surprise. - -“Now I want to tell this tea-party something,” continued Bost. -“Either you’re going out on that field and score thirty points this -last half or I’m going to let the girls of Siwash play your football -for you. I’m tired of coaching men that aren’t good at anything but -falling down scientifically when they’re tackled. There isn’t a -broken nose among you. Every one of you will run back five yards to -pick out a soft spot to fall on. It’s got to stop. You’re going to -hold on to that ball this half and take it places. If some little -fellow from Normal crosses his fingers and says ‘naughty, naughty,’ -don’t fall on the ball and yell ‘down’ until they can hear it -uptown. Thirty points is what I want out of you this half, and if -you don’t get ’em--well, you just dare to come back here without -them, that’s all. Now get out on that field and jostle somebody. -Git!” - -Did we git? Well, rather. We were so mad our clothes smoked. We -would have quit the game right there and resigned from the team, but -we didn’t dare to. Bost would have talked to us some more. And we -didn’t dare not to make those thirty points, either. It was an awful -tough job, but we did it with a couple over. We raged like wild -beasts. We scared those gentle Normalites out of their boots. I -can’t imagine how we ever got it into our heads that they could play -football, anyway. When it was all over we went back to the gymnasium -feeling righteously triumphant, and had another hour with Bost in -which he took us all apart without anesthetics, and showed us how -Nature would have done a better job if she had used a better grade -of lumber in our composition. - -That day made the Siwash team. The school went wild over the score. -Bost rounded up two or three more good players, and every afternoon -he lashed us around the field with that wire-edged tongue of his. On -Saturdays we played, and oh, how we worked! In the first half we -were afraid of what Bost would say to us when we came off the field. -In the second half we were mad at what he had said. And how he did -drive us down the field in practice! I can remember whole cross -sections of his talk yet: - -“Faster, faster, you scows. Line up. Quick! Johnson, are you waiting -for a stone-mason to set you? Snap the ball. Tear into them. Low! -Low! Hi-i! You end, do you think you’re the quarter pole in a horse -race? Nine men went past you that time. If you can’t touch ’em drop -’em a souvenir card. Line up. Faster, faster! Oh, thunder, hurry up! -If you ran a funeral, center, the corpse would spoil on your hands. -Wow! Fumble! Drop on that ball. Drop on it! Hogboom, you’d fumble a -loving-cup. Use your hand instead of your jaw to catch that ball. It -isn’t good to eat. That’s four chances you’ve had. I could lose two -games a day if I had you all the time. Now try that signal -again--low, you linemen; there’s no girls watching you. Snap it; -snap it. Great Scott! Say, Hogboom, come here. When you get that -ball, don’t think we gave it to you to nurse. You’re supposed to -start the same day with the line. We give you that ball to take -forward. Have you got to get a legal permit to start those legs of -yours? You’d make a good vault to store footballs in, but you’re too -stationary for a fullback. Now I’ll give you one more chance--” - -And maybe Hogboom wouldn’t go some with that chance! - -In a month we had a team that wouldn’t have used past Siwash teams -to hold its sweaters. It was mad all the time, and it played the -game carnivorously. Siwash was delirious with joy. The whole school -turned out for practice, and to see those eleven men snapping -through signals up and down the field as fast as an ordinary man -could run just congested us with happiness. You’ve no idea what a -lovely time of the year autumn is when you can go out after classes -and sit on a pine seat in the soft dusk and watch your college team -pulling off end runs in as pretty formation as if they were chorus -girls, while you discuss lazily with your friends just how many -points it is going to run up on the neighboring schools. I never -expect to be a Captain of Industry, but it couldn’t make me feel any -more contented or powerful or complacent than to be a busted-up -scrub in Siwash, with a team like that to watch. I’m pretty sure of -that. - -But, happy as we were, Bost wasn’t nearly content. He had ideals. I -believe one of them must have been to run that team through a couple -of brick flats without spoiling the formation. Nothing satisfied -him. He was particularly distressed about the fullback. Hogboom was -a good fellow and took signal practice perfectly, but he was no -fiend. He lacked the vivacity of a real, first-class Bengal tiger. -He wouldn’t eat any one alive. He’d run until he was pulled down, -but you never expected him to explode in the midst of seven hostiles -and ricochet down the field for forty yards. He never jumped over -two men and on to another, and he never dodged two ways at once and -laid out three men with stiff arms on his way to the goal. It wasn’t -his style. He was good for two and a half yards every time, but that -didn’t suit Bost. He was after statistics, and what does a -three-yard buck amount to when you want 70 to 0 scores? - -The result of this dissatisfaction was Ole Skjarsen. Late in -September Bost disappeared for three days and came back leading Ole -by a rope--at least, he was towing him by an old carpet-bag when we -sighted him. Bost found him in a lumber camp, he afterward told us, -and had to explain to him what college was before he would quit his -job. He thought it was something good to eat at first, I believe. -Ole was a timid young Norwegian giant, with a rick of white hair and -a reënforced concrete physique. He escaped from his clothes in all -directions, and was so green and bashful that you would have thought -we were cannibals from the way he shied at us--though, as that was -the year the bright hat-ribbons came in, I can’t blame him. He -wasn’t like anything we had ever seen before in college. He was as -big as a carthorse, as graceful as a dray and as meek as a -missionary. He had a double width smile and a thin little old faded -voice that made you think you could tip him over and shine your -shoes on him with impunity. But I wouldn’t have tried it for a -month’s allowance. His voice and his arms didn’t harmonize worth a -cent. They were as big as ordinary legs--those arms, and they ended -in hands that could have picked up a football and mislaid it among -their fingers. - -No wonder Ole was a sensation. He didn’t look exactly like football -material to us, I’ll admit. He seemed more especially designed for -light derrick work. But we trusted Bost implicitly by that time and -we gave him a royal reception. We crowded around him as if he had -been a T. R. capture straight from Africa. Everybody helped him -register third prep, with business-college extras. Then we took him -out, harnessed him in football armor, and set to work to teach him -the game. - -Bost went right to work on Ole in a businesslike manner. He tossed -him the football and said, “Catch it.” Ole watched it sail past and -then tore after it like a pup retrieving a stick. He got it in a few -minutes and brought it back to where Bost was raving. - -“See here, you overgrown fox terrier,” he shouted, “catch it on the -fly. Here!” He hurled it at him. - -“Aye ent seen no fly,” said Ole, allowing the ball to pass on as he -conversed. - -“You cotton-headed Scandinavian cattleship ballast, catch that ball -in your arms when I throw it to you, and don’t let go of it!” -shrieked Bost, shooting it at him again. - -“Oll right,” said Ole patiently. He cornered the ball after a short -struggle and stood hugging it faithfully. - -“Toss it back, toss it back!” howled Bost, jumping up and down. - -“Yu tal me to hold it,” said Ole reproachfully, hugging it tighter -than ever. - -“Drop it, you Mammoth Cave of ignorance!” yelled Bost. “If I had -your head I’d sell it for cordwood. Drop it!” - -Ole dropped the ball placidly. “Das ban fule game,” he smiled -dazedly. “Aye ent care for it. Eny faller got a Yewsharp?” - -That was the opening chapter of Ole’s instruction. The rest were -just like it. You had to tell him to do a thing. You then had to -show him how to do it. You then had to tell him how to stop doing -it. After that you had to explain that he wasn’t to refrain -forever--just until he had to do it again. Then you had to persuade -him to do it again. He was as good-natured as a lost puppy, and just -as hard to reason with. In three nights Bost was so hoarse that he -couldn’t talk. He had called Ole everything in the dictionary that -is fit to print; and the knowledge that Ole didn’t understand more -than a hundredth part of it, and didn’t mind that, was wormwood to -his soul. - -For all that, we could see that if any one could teach Ole the game -he would make a fine player. He was as hard as flint and so fast on -his feet that we couldn’t tackle him any more than we could have -tackled a jack-rabbit. He learned to catch the ball in a night, and -as for defense--his one-handed catches of flying players would have -made a National League fielder envious. But with all of it he was -perfectly useless. You had to start him, stop him, back him, speed -him up, throttle him down and run him off the field just as if he -had been a close-coupled next year’s model scootcart. If we could -have rigged up a driver’s seat and chauffeured Ole, it would have -been all right. But every other method of trying to get him to -understand what he was expected to do was a failure. He just -grinned, took orders, executed them, and waited for more. When a -two-hundred-and-twenty-pound man takes a football, wades through -eleven frantic scrubs, shakes them all off, and then stops dead with -a clear field to the goal before him--because his instructions ran -out when he shook the last scrub--you can be pardoned for feeling -hopeless about him. - -That was what happened the day before the Muggledorfer game. Bost -had been working Ole at fullback all evening. He and the captain had -steered him up and down the field as carefully as if he had been a -sea-going yacht. It was a wonderful sight. Ole was under perfect -control. He advanced the ball five yards, ten yards, or twenty at -command. Nothing could stop him. The scrubs represented only so many -doormats to him. Every time he made a play he stopped at the latter -end of it for instructions. - -When he stopped the last time, with nothing before him but the goal, -and asked placidly, “Vere skoll I take das ball now, Master Bost?” I -thought the coach would expire of the heat. He positively steamed -with suppressed emotion. He swelled and got purple about the face. -We were alarmed and were getting ready to hoop him like a barrel, -when he found his tongue at last. - -“You pale-eyed, prehistoric mudhead,” he spluttered, “I’ve spent a -week trying to get through that skull lining of yours. It’s no use, -you field boulder. Where do you keep your brains? Give me a chance -at them. I just want to get into them one minute and stir them up -with my finger. To think that I have to use you to play football -when they are paying five dollars and a half for ox meat in Kansas -City. Skjarsen, do you know anything at all?” - -“Aye ban getting gude eddication,” said Ole serenely. “Aye tank I -ban college faller purty sune, I don’t know. I like I skoll -understand all das har big vorts yu make.” - -“You’ll understand them, I don’t think,” moaned Bost. “You couldn’t -understand a swift kick in the ribs. You are a fool. Understand -that, muttonhead?” - -Ole understood. “Vy for ye call me fule?” he said indignantly. “Aye -du yust vat you say.” - -“Ar-r-r-r!” bubbled Bost, walking around himself three or four -times. “You do just what I say! Of course you do. Did I tell you to -stop in the middle of the field? What would Muggledorfer do to you -if you stopped there?” - -“Ye ent tal me to go on,” said Ole sullenly. “Aye go on, Aye gass, -pooty qveek den.” - -“You bet you’ll go on,” said Bost. “Now, look here, you sausage -material, to-morrow you play fullback. You stop everything that -comes at you from the other side. Hear? You catch the ball when it -comes to you. Hear? And when they give you the ball you take it, and -don’t you dare to stop with it. Get that? Can I get that into your -head without a drill and a blast? If you dare to stop with that ball -I’ll ship you back to the lumber camp in a cattle car. Stop in the -middle of the field--Ow!” - -But at this point we took Bost away. - -The next afternoon we dressed Ole up in his armor--he invariably got -it on wrong side out if we didn’t help him--and took him out to the -field. We confidently expected to promenade all over -Muggledorfer--their coach was an innocent child beside Bost--and -that was the reason why Ole was going to play. It didn’t matter much -what he did. - -Ole was just coming to a boil when we got him into his clothes. -Bost’s remarks had gotten through his hide at last. He was pretty -slow, Ole was, but he had begun getting mad the night before and had -kept at the job all night and all morning. By afternoon he was -seething, mostly in Norwegian. The injustice of being called a -muttonhead all week for not obeying orders, and then being called a -mudhead for stopping for orders, churned his soul, to say nothing of -his language. He only averaged one English word in three, as he told -us on the way out that to-day he was going to do exactly as he had -been told or fill a martyr’s grave--only that wasn’t the way he put -it. - -The Muggledorfers were a pruny-looking lot. We had the game won when -our team came out and glared at them. Bost had filled most of the -positions with regular young mammoths, and when you dressed them up -in football armor they were enough to make a Dreadnought a little -nervous. The Muggleses kicked off to our team, and for a few plays -we plowed along five or ten yards at a time. Then Ole was given the -ball. He went twenty-five yards. Any other man would have been -crushed to earth in five. He just waded through the middle of the -line and went down the field, a moving mass of wrigging men. It was -a wonderful play. They disinterred him at last and he started -straight across the field for Bost. - -“Aye ent mean to stop, Master Bost,” he shouted. “Dese fallers har, -dey squash me down--” - -We hauled him into line and went to work again. Ole had performed so -well that the captain called his signal again. This time I hope I -may be roasted in a subway in July if Ole didn’t run twenty-five -yards with four Muggledorfer men hanging on his legs. We stood up -and yelled until our teeth ached. It took about five minutes to get -Ole dug out, and then he started for Bost again. - -“Honest, Master Bost, Aye ent mean to stop,” he said imploringly. -“Aye yust tal you, dese fallers ban devils. Aye fule dem naxt -time--” - -“Line up and shut up!” the captain shouted. The ball wasn’t over -twenty yards from the line, and as a matter of course the quarter -shot it back to Ole. He put his head down, gave one mad-bull plunge, -laid a windrow of Muggledorfer players out on either side, and shot -over the goal line like a locomotive. - -We rose up to cheer a few lines, but stopped to stare. Ole didn’t -stop at the goal line. He didn’t stop at the fence. He put up one -hand, hurdled it, and disappeared across the campus like a young -whirlwind. - -“He doesn’t know enough to stop!” yelled Bost, rushing up to the -fence. “Hustle up, you fellows, and bring him back!” - -Three or four of us jumped the fence, but it was a hopeless game. -Ole was disappearing up the campus and across the street. The -Muggledorfer team was nonplussed and sort of indignant. To be bowled -over by a cyclone, and then to have said cyclone break up the game -by running away with the ball was to them a new idea in football. It -wasn’t to those of us who knew Ole, however. One of us telephoned -down to the “Leader” office where Hinckley, an old team man, worked, -and asked him to head off Ole and send him back. Muggledorfer kindly -consented to call time, and we started after the fugitive ourselves. - -Ten minutes later we met Hinckley downtown. He looked as if he had -had a slight argument with a thirteen-inch shell. He was also mad. - -“What was that you asked me to stop?” he snorted, pinning himself -together. “Was it a gorilla or a high explosive? When did you -fellows begin importing steam rollers for the team? I asked him to -stop. I ordered him to stop. Then I went around in front of him to -stop him--and he ran right over me. I held on for thirty yards, but -that’s no way to travel. I could have gone to the next town just as -well, though. What sort of a game is this, and where is that -tow-headed holy terror bound for?” - -We gave the answer up, but we couldn’t give up Ole. He was too -valuable to lose. How to catch him was the sticker. An awful uproar -in the street gave us an idea. It was Ted Harris in the only auto in -town--one of the earliest brands of sneeze vehicles. In a minute -more four of us were in, and Ted was chiveying the thing up the -street. - -If you’ve never chased an escaping fullback in one of those pioneer -automobiles you’ve got something coming. Take it all around, a good, -swift man, running all the time, could almost keep ahead of one. We -pumped up a tire, fixed a wire or two, and cranked up a few times; -and the upshot of it was we were two miles out on the state road -before we caught sight of Ole. - -He was trotting briskly when we caught up with him, the ball under -his arm, and that patient, resigned expression on his face that he -always had when Bost cussed him. “Stop, Ole,” I yelled; “this is no -Marathon. Come back. Climb in here with us.” - -Ole shook his head and let out a notch of speed. - -“Stop, you mullethead,” yelled Simpson above the roar of the -auto--those old machines could roar some, too. “What do you mean by -running off with our ball? You’re not supposed to do hare-and-hounds -in football.” - -Ole kept on running. We drove the car on ahead, stopped it across -the road, and jumped out to stop him. When the attempt was over -three of us picked up the fourth and put him aboard. Ole had tramped -on us and had climbed over the auto. - -Force wouldn’t do, that was plain. “Where are you going, Ole?” we -pleaded as we tore along beside him. - -“Aye ent know,” he panted, laboring up a hill; “das ban fule game, -Aye tenk.” - -“Come on back and play some more,” we urged. “Bost won’t like it, -your running all over the country this way.” - -“Das ban my orders,” panted Ole. “Aye ent no fule, yentlemen; Aye -know ven Aye ban doing right teng. Master Bost he say ‘Keep on -running!’ Aye gass I run till hal freeze on top. Aye ent know why. -Master Bost he know, I tenk.” - -“This is awful,” said Lambert, the manager of the team. “He’s taken -Bost literally again--the chump. He’ll run till he lands up in those -pine woods again. And that ball cost the association five dollars. -Besides, we want him. What are we going to do?” - -“I know,” I said. “We’re going back to get Bost. I guess the man who -started him can stop him.” - -We left Ole still plugging north and ran back to town. The game was -still hanging fire. Bost was tearing his hair. Of course, the -Muggledorfer fellows could have insisted on playing, but they -weren’t anxious. Ole or no Ole, we could have walked all over them, -and they knew it. Besides, they were having too much fun with Bost. -They were sitting around, Indian-like, in their blankets, and every -three minutes their captain would go and ask Bost with perfect -politeness whether he thought they had better continue the game -there or move it on to the next town in time to catch his fullback -as he came through. - -“Of course, we are in no hurry,” he would explain pleasantly; “we’re -just here for amusement, anyway; and it’s as much fun watching you -try to catch your players as it is to get scored on. Why don’t you -hobble them, Mr. Bost? A fifty-yard rope wouldn’t interfere much -with that gay young Percheron of yours, and it would save you lots -of time rounding him up. Do you have to use a lariat when you put -his harness on?” - -Fancy Bost having to take all that conversation, with no adequate -reply to make. When I got there he was blue in the face. It didn’t -take him half a second to decide what to do. Telling the captain of -the Siwash team to go ahead and play if Muggledorfer insisted, and -on no account to use that 32 double-X play except on first downs, he -jumped into the machine and we started for Ole. - -There were no speed records in those days. Wouldn’t have made any -difference if there were. Harris just turned on all the juice his -old double-opposed motor could soak up, and when we hit the wooden -crossings on the outskirts of town we fellows in the tonneau went up -so high that we changed sides coming down. It wasn’t over twenty -minutes till we sighted a little cloud of dust just beyond a little -town to the north. Pretty soon we saw it was Ole. He was still doing -his six miles per. We caught up and Bost hopped out, still mad. - -“Where in Billy-be-blamed are you going, you human trolley car?” he -spluttered, sprinting along beside Skjarsen. “What do you mean by -breaking up a game in the middle and vamoosing with the ball? Do you -think we’re going to win this game on mileage? Turn around, you -chump, and climb into this car.” - -Ole looked around him sadly. He kept on running as he did. “Aye ent -care to stop,” he said. “Aye kent suit you, Master Bost. You tal me -Aye skoll du a teng, den you cuss me for duing et. You tal me not to -du a teng and you cuss me some more den. Aye tenk I yust keep on -a-running, lak yu tal me tu last night. Et ent so hard bein’ cussed -ven yu ban running.” - -“I tell you to stop, you potato-top,” gasped Bost. By this time he -was fifteen yards behind and losing at every step. He had wasted too -much breath on oratory. We picked him up in the car and set him -alongside of Ole again. - -“See here, Ole, I’m tired of this,” he said, sprinting up by him -again. “The game’s waiting. Come on back. You’re making a fool of -yourself.” - -“Eny teng Aye du Aye ban beeg fule,” said Ole gloomily. “Aye yust -keep on runnin’. Fallers ent got breath to call me fule ven Aye run. -Aye tenk das best vay.” - -We picked Bost up again thirty yards behind. Maybe he would have run -better if he hadn’t choked so in his conversation. In another minute -we landed him abreast of Ole again. He got out and sprinted for the -third time. He wabbled as he did it. - -“Ole,” he panted, “I’ve been mistaken in you. You are all right, -Ole. I never saw a more intelligent fellow. I won’t cuss you any -more, Ole. If you’ll stop now we’ll take you back in an -automobile--hold on there a minute; can’t you see I’m all out of -breath?” - -“Aye ban gude faller, den?” asked Ole, letting out another link of -speed. - -“You are a”--puff-puff--“peach, Ole,” gasped Bost. -“I’ll”--puff-puff--“never cuss you again. Please”--puff-puff--“stop! -Oh, hang it, I’m all in.” And Bost sat down in the road. - -A hundred yards on we noticed Ole slacken speed. “It’s sinking -through his skull,” said Harris eagerly. In another minute he had -stopped. We picked up Bost again and ran up to him. He surveyed us -long and critically. - -“Das ben qveer masheen,” he said finally. “Aye tenk Aye lak Aye -skoll be riding back in it. Aye ent care for das futball game, Aye -gass. It ban tu much running in it.” - -We took Ole back to town in twenty-two minutes, three chickens, a -dog and a back spring. It was close to five o’clock when he ran out -on the field again. The Muggledorfer team was still waiting. Time -was no object to them. They would only play ten minutes, but in that -ten minutes Ole made three scores. Five substitutes stood back of -either goal and asked him with great politeness to stop as he tore -over the line. And he did it. If any one else had run six miles -between halves he would have stopped a good deal short of the line. -But as far as we could see, it hadn’t winded Ole. - -Bost went home by himself that night after the game, not stopping -even to assure us that as a team we were beneath his contempt. The -next afternoon he was, if anything, a little more vitriolic than -ever--but not with Ole. Toward the middle of the signal practice he -pulled himself together and touched Ole gently. - -“My dear Mr. Skjarsen,” he said apologetically, “if it will not -annoy you too much, would you mind running the same way the rest of -the team does? I don’t insist on it, mind you, but it looks so much -better to the audience, you know.” - -“Jas,” said Ole; “Aye ban fule, Aye gass, but yu ban tu polite to -say it.” - - - - -V. THE OUTLAW - -By Hamlin Garland - -From “They of the High Trails,” copyright, 1916, by Harper -& Brothers. By special permission of the author. - - - I - -Freeman Ward, geologist for the government, was not altogether easy -in his mind as he led his little pack-train out of Pinedale, a -frontier settlement on the western slope of the Rocky Mountain -divide, for he had permitted the girl of his deepest interest to -accompany him on his expedition. - -Alice Mansfield, accustomed to having her way, and in this case -presuming upon Ward’s weakness, insisted on going. Outwardly he had -argued against it, making much of the possible storms, of the rough -trails, of the cold and dampness. But she argued that she was quite -as able to go as Mrs. Adams, the wife of the botanist of the -expedition. So Ward had yielded, and here these women were forming -part of a cavalcade which was headed for Frémont Peak, concerning -whose height and formation the leader wished to inform himself. -Alice was, however, a bit dashed by Ward’s change of manner as he -laid upon his train his final instructions. - -“There is to be no skylarking,” he said, “and no back-tracking. Each -one is to exercise great care. We cannot afford to lose a horse nor -waste our provisions. This is not a picnic excursion, but a serious -government enterprise. I cannot turn back because of any discomfort -you may encounter in camp.” - -“I am ready for what comes,” Alice answered, smilingly. - -But she rode for the rest of the day remarkably silent. There had -been times when she was certain that Ward cared a great deal for -her--not in the impersonal way indicated by his reprimand--but in -the way of a lover, and she was very fond of him, had indeed looked -forward to this trip in his company as one sure to yield hours of -delightful intimacy. On the train he had been very devoted, “almost -lover-like,” Peggy Adams insisted. But now she was dismayed by his -tone of military command. - -Their first day’s march brought them to a beautiful water called -Heart Lake, which shone dark and deep amid its martial firs at the -head of one of the streams which descended into the East Fork, and -there the guides advised a camp. They were now above the hunters, -almost above the game, in a region “delightfully primeval,” as the -women put it, and very beautiful and peaceful. - -After the tents were in order and the supper eaten, Alice, having -tuned up her little metal banjo, began to twitter tender melodies -(to the moon, of course), and the long face of the man of science -broadened and he seemed less concerned about rocks and fauna and -flora. - -The camp was maintained at Heart Lake for a day while Ward and his -men explored the various gorges in order to discover a way into -Blizzard Basin, which was their goal. They returned to camp each -time more and more troubled about the question of taking the women -over the divide into the “rough country” which lay to the north. - -“It is a totally different world,” Adams explained to his wife. “It -is colder and stormier over there. The forest on the north slopes is -full of down-timber and the cliffs are stupendous. I wish you girls -were back in the settlement,” and in this wish Ward heartily joined. - -However, the more they talked the more determined the women were to -go. - -It was like a May day the following noon as they left timber-line -and, following the row of tiny monuments set up by the foresters, -entered upon the wide and undulating stretch of low edges which led -to the summit. The air was clear and the verdureless shapes of the -monstrous peaks stood sharp as steel against the sky. The tender -grass was filled with minute glistening flowers. The wind was -gentle, sweet, moist, and cool. - -“Pooh!” said Alice, “this is absurdly easy. Freeman has been telling -us dreadful tales all along just to be rid of us.” - -But she began to admit that her escort of four strong men was a -comfort, as the guide explained that this “rough country” had long -been known as the retreat of cattle-thieves and outlaws. - -“Do you think there are any such men in here now?” asked Mrs. Adams. - -“Undoubtedly,” Ward said; “but I don’t think, from the condition of -this trail, that they come in on this side of the range. I suspect -it’s too lonely even for a cattle-thief.” - -They unsaddled that night on the bank of a stream near a small -meadow, and around the camp-fire discussed the trail which they were -to take next day. The guides agreed that it was “a holy terror,” -which made Alice the more eager to traverse it. - -“I like trails that make men quake. I welcome adventure--that’s what -I came for,” she said. - -Early the next forenoon, as they were descending the steep -north-slope trail, Alice gave out a cry of pain, and Adams called to -Ward: - -“Hold on! Allie’s horse is down.” - -Ward was not surprised. He rode in continual expectation of trouble. -She was forever trying short cuts and getting snared in the fallen -logs. Once she had been scraped from her saddle by an overhanging -bough, and now, in attempting to find an easier path down a slippery -ridge, her horse had fallen with her. Ward was ungracious enough to -say: - -“Precisely what I’ve warned her against,” but he hurried to her -relief, nevertheless. - -“Are you badly hurt?” he asked, as she stood before him, striving to -keep back her tears of pain. - -“Oh no, not at all badly. My foot was jammed a little. Please help -me on to my horse; I’ll be all right in a minute.” - -She put so good a face on her accident that he helped her into her -saddle and ordered the train to move on; but Peggy perceived that -the girl was suffering keenly. - -“Sha’n’t we stop, Allie?” she called, a few minutes later. - -“No. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.” - -She rode on for nearly half an hour, bravely enduring her pain, but -at last she turned to Mrs. Adams and cried out: “I can’t stand it, -Peggy! My foot pains me frightfully!” - -Adams again called to Ward and the procession halted, while Ward -came back, all his anger gone. - -“We’ll go into camp,” he said, as he examined her bruised foot. -“You’re badly hurt.” - -“It’s a poor place to camp, Professor,” protested Gage. “If she can -go on for about fifteen minutes--” - -“I’ll try,” she said; “but I can’t bear the stirrup, and my shoe is -full of blood.” - -Ward, who was now keenly sympathetic, put her on his own horse and -walked beside her while they slowly crawled down into the small -valley, which held a deep and grassy tarn. Here they went into camp -and the day was lost. - -Alice was profoundly mortified to find herself the cause of the -untimely halt, and as she watched the men making camp with anxious, -irritated faces she wept with shame at her folly. She had seized the -worst possible moment, in the most inaccessible spot of their -journey, to commit her crowning indiscretion. - -She was ill in every nerve, shivering and weak, and remained for -that day the center of all the activities of the camp. Ward, very -tender even in his chagrin, was constantly at her side, his brow -knotted with care. He knew what it meant to be disabled two hundred -miles from a hospital, with fifty miles of mountain trail between -one’s need and a roof, but Alice buoyed herself up with the belief -that no bones were broken, and that in the clear air of the germless -world her wound would quickly heal. - -She lay awake a good part of that night, hearing, above the roar of -the water, the far-off noises of the wild-animal world. A wolf -howled, a cat screamed, and their voices were fear-inspiring. - -She began also to worry about the effect of her mishap on the -expedition, for she heard Ward say to Adams: “This delay is very -unfortunate. Our stay is so limited. I fear we will not be able to -proceed for some days, and snow is likely to fall at any time.” - -What they said after that Alice could not hear, but she was in full -possession of their trouble. It was not a question of the loss of a -few days; it meant the possible failure of the entire attempt to -reach the Summit. - -“Peggy,” she declared, next morning, “the men must push on and leave -you with me here in the camp. I will not permit the expedition to -fail on my account.” - -This seemed a heroic resolution at the moment, with the menacing -sounds of the night still fresh in her ears, but it was the most -natural and reasonable thing in the world at the moment, for the sun -was rising warm and clear and the valley was as peaceful and as -beautiful as a park. - -Mrs. Adams readily agreed to stay, for she was wholly free from the -ordinary timidities of women, but Ward, though sorely tempted, -replied: - -“No. We’ll wait a day or two longer and see how you come on.” - -At this point one of the guides spoke up, saying: “If the women -would be more comfortable in a cabin, there’s one down here in the -brush by the lake. I found it this morning when I was wranglin’ the -horses.” - -“A cabin! In this wild place?” said Alice. - -“Yes, ma’am--must be a ranger’s cabin.” - -Ward mused. “If it’s habitable it would be warmer and safer than a -tent. Let’s go see about it.” - -He came back jubilant. “It doesn’t seem to have been occupied very -recently, but is in fair shape. We’ll move you right down there.” - -The wounded girl welcomed the shelter of a roof, and it was good to -feel solid logs about her helpless self. The interior of the hut was -untidy and very rude, but it stood in a delightful nook on the bank -of a pond just where a small stream fell into the valley, and it -required but a few minutes of Mrs. Adams’ efforts to clear the place -out and make it cozy, and soon Alice, groaning faintly, was -deposited in the rough pole bunk at the dark end of the room. What -an inglorious end to her exalted ride! - -Ward seemed to understand her tears as he stood looking down upon -her, but he only said: “I dislike leaving you, even for the day. I -shall give up my trip.” - -“No, no! you must go on!” she cried out. “I shall hate myself if you -don’t go on.” - -He reluctantly yielded to her demand, but said: “If I find that we -can’t get back to-morrow I will send Gage back. He’s a trusty -fellow. I can’t spare Adams, and Smith and Todd--as you know--are -paying for their trip.” - -Mrs. Adams spoke up firmly. “You need not worry about us. We can get -along very well without anybody. If you climb the peak you’ll need -Gage. I’m not afraid. We’re the only people in this valley, and with -this staunch little cabin I feel perfectly at home.” - -“That’s quite true,” replied Ward in a relieved tone. “We are above -the hunters--no one ever crosses here now. But it will be lonely.” - -“Not at all!” Alice assured him. “We shall enjoy being alone in the -forest.” - -With slow and hesitating feet Ward left the two women and swung into -his saddle. “I guess I’ll send Gage back, anyhow,” he said. - -“Don’t think of it!” called Peggy. - -As a matter of fact, Alice was glad to have the men pull out. Their -pity, their reproach, irritated her. It was as if they repeated -aloud a scornful phrase--“You’re a lovely and tempting creature, but -you’re a fool-hen just the same.” - -The two women spent the day peacefully, save now and then when -Alice’s wounded foot ached and needed care; but as night began to -rise in the cañon like the smoke of some hidden, silent, -subterranean fire, and the high crags glowed in the last rays of the -sun, each of them acknowledged a touch of that immemorial awe of the -darkness with which the race began. - -Peggy, seating herself in the doorway, described the scene to her -patient, who could see but little of it. “Oh, but it’s gloriously -uncanny to be here. Only think! We are now alone with God and His -animals, and the night.” - -“I hope none of God’s bears is roaming about,” replied Alice, -flippantly. - -“There aren’t any bears above the berries. We’re perfectly safe. My -soul! but it’s a mighty country! I wish you could see the glow on -the peaks.” - -“I’m taking my punishment,” replied Alice. “Freeman was very angry, -wasn’t he?” - -“If it breaks off the match I won’t be surprised,” replied Peggy, -with resigned intonation. - -“There wasn’t any match to break off.” - -“Well!” replied the other, and as she slowly rose she added: “I -won’t say that he is perfectly distracted about you, but I do know -that he thinks more of you than of any other woman in the world, and -I’ve no doubt he is worrying about you this minute.” - - II - -It was deep moonless night when Alice woke with a start. For a few -moments she lay wondering what had roused her--then a bright light -flashed and her companion screamed. - -“Who’s there!” demanded the girl. - -In that instant flare she saw a man’s face, young, smooth, with dark -eyes gleaming beneath a broad hat. He stood like a figure of bronze -while his match was burning, then exclaimed in breathless wonder: - -“Great Peter’s ghost! a woman!” Finally he stepped forward and -looked down upon the white, scared faces as if uncertain of his -senses. “Two of them!” he whispered. As he struck his second match -he gently asked: “Would you mind saying how you got here?” - -Alice spoke first. “We came up with a geological survey. I got hurt -and they had to leave us behind.” - -“Where’s your party gone?” - -“Up to the glaciers.” - -“When did they leave?” - -“Yesterday morning.” - -“When do you expect them back?” - -“Not for two or three days.” - -He seemed to ponder a moment. “You say you’re hurt? Where?” - -“My horse slipped and fell on my foot.” - -“Wait a minute,” he commanded. “I’ll rustle a candle. I left one -here.” - -When his form came out of the dark blur behind his candle Alice -perceived that he was no ordinary hunter. He was young, alert, and -very good-looking, although his face was stern and his mouth bitter. -He laid aside his hat as he approached the bunk in which the two -women were cowering as mice tremble before a cat. For a full minute -he looked down at them, but at last he smiled and said, in a jocular -tone: - -“You’re sure-enough women, I can see that. You’ll excuse me--but -when a man comes back to a shack in the middle of the night in a -place like this and finds a couple of women in a bunk he’s likely to -think he’s seeing pictures in his sleep.” - -“I can understand that,” Alice returned, recovering her -self-command. “You’re the ranger, I suppose? I told my friend here -that you might return.” - -“I’m mighty glad I did,” he said, heartily. - -“Thank you; you’re very kind.” - -He bent a keen glare upon her. “What’s your name?” - -“Alice Mansfield.” - -“What’s your friend’s name?” - -“Mrs. Adams.” - -“Are you a missis, too?” - -She hesitated. This was impertinent, but then she herself was an -intrusive guest. “No,” she answered, “I am not married.” - -“Where are you from?” - -“New York City.” - -“You’re a long way from home.” - -“Yes, I’m feeling that this minute.” She drew the coverlet a little -closer to her chin. - -He quickly read this sign. “You needn’t be afraid of me.” - -“I’m not.” - -“Yes, you are. You’re both all of a tremble and white as two -sheep--” - -“It isn’t that,” wailed the girl; “but I’ve twisted my foot again.” -Her moan of pain broke the spell that bound Peggy. - -“Would you leave, please, for a moment?” she called to the owner of -the cabin. “I’ve got to get up and doctor my patient.” - -“Sure!” he exclaimed, moving toward the door. “If I can do anything -let me know.” - -As soon as her patient’s aching foot was eased Peggy opened the door -and peeped out. A faint flare of yellow had come into the east, and -beside the fire, rolled in his blanket, the ranger was sleeping. -Frost covered everything and the air was keen. - -“He’s out there on the cold ground--with only one blanket.” - -“What a shame! Tell him to come inside--I’m not afraid of him.” - -“Neither am I--but I don’t believe he’ll come. It’s ’most morning, -anyway--perhaps I’d better not disturb him.” - -“Take one of these quilts to him--that will help some.” - -Mrs. Adams lifted one of the coverlets and, stealing softly up, was -spreading it over the sleeper when he woke with a start, a wild -glare of alarm in his eyes. - -“Oh, it’s you!” he said in relief. Then he added, as he felt the -extra cover: “That’s mighty white of you. Sure you don’t need it?” - -“We can spare it. But won’t you come inside? I’m sorry we drove you -out of your cabin.” - -“That’s all right. I’m used to this. Good night. I’m just about dead -for sleep.” - -Thus dismissed, Peggy went back and lay down beside Alice. “He says -he’s quite comfortable,” she remarked, “and I hope he is, but he -doesn’t look it.” - -When she woke again it was broad daylight and Alice was turning -restlessly on her hard bed. In the blaze of the sun all the mystery -of the night vanished. The incident of the return of the ranger to -his cabin was as natural as the coming of dawn. - -“He probably makes regular trips through here,” said Mrs. Adams. - -But the wounded girl silently differed, for she had read in the -man’s eyes and voice a great deal more than belonged to the -commonplace character of a forest-ranger. That first vision of his -face burned deep. - -She had seen on the wall of the station at “the road” the -description of a train-robber which tallied closely with this man’s -general appearance, and the conviction that she was living in the -hidden hut of an outlaw grew into a certainty. “I must not let him -suspect my discovery,” she thought. - -Mrs. Adams (who had not read the placard) treated the young fellow -as if he were one of the forest wardens, manifesting complete -confidence in him. - -He deftly helped her about breakfast, and when she invited him into -the cabin he came readily, almost eagerly, but he approached Alice’s -bed with a touch of hesitation, and his glance was softer and his -voice gentler as he said: - -“Well, how do you stack up this morning?” - -“Much better, thank you.” - -“Must have been a jolt--my coming in last night the way I did?” - -“I guess the ‘jolt’ was mutual. You looked surprised.” - -He smiled again, a faint, swift half-smile. “Surprised! That’s no -name for it. For a minute I thought I’d fallen clear through. I hope -you didn’t get a back-set on account of it.” - -“Oh no, thank you.” - -“How many men are in your party?” - -“Six, counting the guides.” - -“Who are the men?” - -She named them, and he mused darkly, his eyes on her face. “I reckon -I can’t wait to make their acquaintance. I’m going on down the Green -River to-day. I’m sorry to miss ’em. They must be a nice bunch--to -leave two women alone this way.” - -He ate heartily, but with a nicety which betrayed better training -than is usual to men in his position. He remained silent and in deep -thought, though his eyes were often on Alice’s face. - -As he rose to go he said to Peggy: “Would you mind doing up a little -grub for me? I don’t know just when I’ll strike another camp.” - -“Why, of course! I’ll be glad to. Do you have to go?” - -“Yes, I must pull out,” he replied, and while she was preparing his -lunch he rolled a blanket and tied it behind his saddle. At last he -re-entered the cabin and, again advancing to Alice’s bedside, -musingly remarked: “I hate to leave you women here alone. It doesn’t -seem right. Are you sure your party will return to-night?” - -“Either to-night or to-morrow. Professor Ward intends to climb -Frémont Peak.” - -“Then you won’t see him for three days.” His tone was that of one -who communes with himself. “I reckon I’d better stay till to-morrow. -I don’t like the feeling of the air.” - -She explained that Gage, one of the guides, would return in case the -professor wished to remain in the heights. - -“Well, I’ll hang around till toward night, anyhow.” - -He went away for half an hour, and upon his return presented a -cleanly shaven face and a much less savage look and bearing. He -hovered about the door, apparently listening to Peggy’s chatter, but -having eyes only for the wounded girl. He seized every slightest -excuse to come in, and his voice softened and his manner changed -quite as markedly, and at last, while Mrs. Adams was momentarily -absent, he abruptly said: - -“You are afraid of me; I can see it in your eyes. I know why. You -think you know who I am.” - -“Yes; I’m sure of it.” - -“What makes you think so?” - -“I saw your picture in the railway station.” - -He regarded her darkly. “Well, I trust you. You won’t give me away. -I’m not so sure of her.” He nodded his head toward the open door. - -“What would be the good of my betraying you?” - -“Two thousand dollars’ reward is a big temptation.” - -“Nonsense! If I told--it would be for other reasons. If I were to -betray your hiding-place it would be because society demands the -punishment of criminals.” - -“I’m not a criminal. I never lifted a cent from any man. I didn’t -get a dollar from the express company--but I tried--I want you to -know, anyway,” he continued, “that I wouldn’t rob an individual--and -I wouldn’t have tried this, only I was blind drunk and desperate. I -needed cash, and needed it bad.” - -“What did you need it for?” asked Alice, with a steady look. - -He hesitated, and a flush crept across his brown face. His eyes -wavered. “Well, you see, the old home was mortgaged--and mother was -sick--” - -“Oh, bosh! Tell me the truth,” she demanded. “The papers said you -did it for a girl. Why not be honest with me?” - -“I will,” he responded, impulsively. “Yes, that’s right. I did it -for a girl--and afterward, when I was on the run, what did she do? -Threw me down! Told everything she knew--the little coyote--and here -I am hunted like a wolf on account of it.” His face settled into -savage lines for a moment. But even as he sat thus another light -came into his eyes. His gaze took account of Alice’s lips and the -delicate rounded whiteness of her neck and chin. Her like he had -never met before. The girls he had known giggled; this one smiled. -His sweetheart used slang and talked of cattle like a herder, but -this woman’s voice, so sweet and flexible, made delightfully strange -music to his ears. - -Peggy’s return cut short his confidence, and while she was in the -cabin he sat in silence, his eyes always on the girl. He seized -every opportunity to speak to her, and each time his voice betrayed -increasing longing for her favor. - -Mrs. Adams, who had conceived a liking for him, ordered him about as -freely as though he were a hired guide, and he made himself useful -on the slightest hint. - -Alice, on her part, was profoundly interested in him, and whenever -her foot would permit her to think of anything else, she pitied him. -In the madness of his need, his love, he had committed an act which -made all the world his enemy, and yet, as she studied his form and -expression, her heart filled with regret. He was very attractive in -the Western way, with nothing furtive or evasive about him. - -With a directness quite equal to his own she questioned him about -his reckless deed. - -“Why did you do it?” she exclaimed in despair of his problem. - -“I don’t know. Hanged if I do, especially now. Since seeing you I -think I was crazy--crazy as a loon. If I’d done it for you, now, it -wouldn’t have been so wild. You’re worth a man’s life. I’d die for -you.” - -This outburst of passion, so fierce and wild, thrilled the girl; she -grew pale with comprehension of his mood. It meant that the sight of -her lying there had replaced the old madness with a new one. She was -unprepared for this furious outflaming of primitive admiration. - -“You mustn’t talk like that to me,” she protested, as firmly as she -could. - -He sensed her alarm. “Don’t you be scared,” he said, gently. “I -didn’t mean to jar you. I only meant that I didn’t know such women -as you were in the world. I’d trust you. You’ve got steady eyes. -You’d stick by the man that played his whole soul for you, I can see -that. I come of pretty good stock. I reckon that’s why you mean so -much to me. You get hold of me in a way I can’t explain.” - -“Why don’t you fly?” she asked him. “Every minute you spend here -increases your danger. The men may return at any moment.” - -“That’s funny, too,” he answered, and a look of singular, musing -tenderness fell over his face. “I’d rather sit here with you and -take my chances.” - -“But you must not! You are imperiling your life for nothing.” - -“You’re mistaken there. I’m getting something every -minute--something that will stay with me all my life. After I leave -you it doesn’t matter. I came into the hills just naturally, the way -the elk does. After that girl reported me, life didn’t count. Seeing -you has changed me. It matters a whole lot to me this minute, and -when I leave you it’s stormy sunset for me, sure thing.” - -Alice gazed upon him with steady eyes, but her bosom rose and fell -with the emotion which filled her heart. She debated calling for -Mrs. Adams, but there was something in the droop of the outlaw’s -head, in the tone of his voice, which arrested her. However sudden -and frenzied his admiration might seem to others, it was sincere and -manly, of that she was persuaded. Nevertheless, she was deeply -perturbed. - -“I wish you would go,” she entreated at last, huskily. “I don’t want -to see you taken. You have made yourself a criminal and I ought not -to find excuses for you, but I do. You’re so young. It doesn’t seem -as if you knew what you were doing. Why don’t you ride away into the -wild north country and begin a new life somewhere? Can’t you escape -to Canada?” - -He seized eagerly upon her suggestion. “Will you write to me if I -do?” - -“No, I cannot promise that.” - -“Why can’t I play the ranger here and wait upon you till the men -return?” - -“Because Professor Ward read that placard with me. He will know you -instantly. I wish you’d go. Gage may come at any moment now.” - -Peggy came in with a disturbed look. “It looks like rain,” she -announced; “the clouds are settling down all over the peaks.” - -The outlaw sprang up and went to the door. “It looked bad when I got -up,” he said, as he studied the sky. “I guess we’re in for trouble. -It may be snow.” - -His fears were soon realized. Rain began to fall in a thin drizzle, -and at four o’clock the first faint flakes of snow began to flash -amid the gray veils of the water-drops. The women looked at each -other in alarm as the cabin’s interior darkened with the ominous -shadow of the storm. - -“I don’t like this a bit,” said Peggy, after a while. “This is no -mountain squall. I wish the men were here.” - -“It can’t be anything that will last,” replied Alice. “It isn’t time -for the winter snows.” - -“I know,” replied Peggy. “But it’s snowing perfect feather beds now, -and no wind. Lucky this forest-ranger is here. The men may get lost -in this storm.” - -“Mercy! Don’t speak of such a thing!” exclaimed Alice; but she knew, -just the same, that Ward and his party were high in the peaks, far, -far above the cabin, and that the storm there would be -proportionately fiercer. She listened with growing thankfulness to -the outlaw’s blows upon the dry limbs of wood that he was chopping -for the fire. He was very capable and would not desert them--of that -she felt assured. - -As the man worked on, the women both came to keen realization of the -serious view he took of the storm. He mounted his horse and with his -rope dragged great bundles of fagots from the thickets. As he came -up, laden with one of his bundles of hard-won fuel, Mrs. Adams -asked: - -“You don’t think it will keep this up, do you?” - -“You never can tell what will happen in these mountains. It doesn’t -generally snow much till later, but you can’t bank on anything in -this range.” - -Alice called to him and he stepped inside. “What do you think we’d -better do?” she asked. - -“There isn’t a thing you can do, miss. It’s just a case of stick it -out. It may let up by sundown; but, as it is, your party can’t get -back to-night, and if you don’t mind I’ll camp down just outside the -door and keep the fire going.” - -“You will be a comfort to us,” she replied, “but I feel that--that -you ought to be going. Isn’t it dangerous for you? I mean you will -be shut in here.” - -“If I’m shut in, others are shut out,” he answered, with a grim -smile. “My job is to keep fire.” With these words he returned to his -work of breaking limbs from the dead firs. - -Alice said: “If it does turn out as this--this ranger says--if the -storm keeps up, you mustn’t let him sleep out in the snow.” - -“Of course not,” said Peggy. “He can sleep inside. I trust him -perfectly--and, besides, you have your revolver.” - -Alice smiled a little, wondering how Peggy’s trust would stand the -strain of a fuller knowledge concerning their guardian’s stirring -career. - - III - -In spite of her knowledge of the mountains and her natural -intrepidity of character the wounded girl’s heart sank as the snow -and the night closed down over the tiny cabin in its covert of firs. -To be on foot in such gloom in the heart of such a wilderness, was -sufficiently awe-inspiring, but to be helpless on a hard bed was to -feel the utter inconsequence of humankind. “Suppose the storm blocks -the trails so that the men cannot return for a week? What will we do -for food?” - -Each time she heard the outlaw deliver his burden of wood her heart -warmed to him. He was now her comfort and very present stay. “If it -should happen that the trails become impassable he alone will stand -between us and death,” she thought. - -The outlaw came in to say, abruptly, “If you weren’t hurt and if I -weren’t in such a hurry I’d rather enjoy this.” - -He slashed his sombrero against his thigh as he spoke, and Mrs. -Adams answered his remark without knowledge of its inner meaning. - -“You mustn’t think of sleeping outdoors to-night--Mr.----?” - -“Smith. I belong to the big family, the Smiths,” he promptly -replied. - -“Why don’t you take away that improvised table by the wall and make -your bed there?” - -“We’ll need the table,” he responded in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll -just crawl under it. What’s giving me most trouble is the question -of grub. They didn’t leave you any too much, did they?” - -“But you can kill game, can’t you?” asked Peggy. - -“We’re pretty high up for elk, and the blue grouse are scarce this -year, but I reckon I can jump a deer or a ground-hog. We won’t -starve, anyway.” - -Alice perceived in his voice a note of exultation. He was glad of -his reprieve, and the thought of being her protector, at least for -the night, filled him with joy. She read his mind easily and the -romance of this relationship stirred her own heart. The dramatic -possibilities of the situation appealed to her. At any moment the -men might return and force her into the rôle of defender. On the -other hand, they might be confined for days together in this little -cabin, and in this enforced intimacy Peggy was sure to discover his -secret and his adoration. - -The little hovel was filled with the golden light of the blazing -fagots, and through the open door Alice could see the feathery -crystals falling in a wondrous, glittering curtain across the night. -The stream roared in subdued voice as though oppressed by the snows, -and the shadow of the fugitive as he moved about the fire had a -savage, primal significance which awed the girl into silence. - -He was very deft in camp work, and cooked their supper for them -almost as well as they could have done it themselves, but he refused -to sit at the table with Peggy. “I’ll just naturally stick to my -slicker, if you don’t mind. I’m wet and my hands are too grimy to -eat with a lady.” - -Alice continued to talk to him, always with an under-current of -meaning which he easily read and adroitly answered. This care, this -double meaning, drew them ever closer in spirit, and the girl took -an unaccountable pleasure in it. - -After supper he took his seat in the open doorway, and the girl in -the bunk looked upon him with softened glance. She had no fear of -him now; on the contrary, she mentally leaned upon him. Without him -the night would be a terror, the dawn an uncertainty. The brave -self-reliance of his spirit appeared in stronger light as she -considered that for weeks he had been camping alone, and that but -for this accident to her he would be facing this rayless wintry -night in solitude. - -He began again to question her. “I wish you’d tell me more about -yourself,” he said, his dark eyes fixed upon her. “I can’t -understand why any girl like you should come up here with a bunch of -rock-sharps. Are you tied up to the professor?” - -If Peggy expected her patient to resent this question she must have -been surprised, for Alice merely smiled as if at the impertinence of -a child. - -Mrs. Adams replied: “I can tell you that she is--and a very -fortunate girl her friends think her.” - -He turned to her with unmoved face. “You mean he’s got money, I -reckon.” - -“Money and brains and good looks and a fine position.” - -“That’s about the whole works, ain’t it--leastwise he will have it -all when he gets you. A man like that doesn’t deserve what he’s got. -He’s a chump. Do you suppose I’d go off and leave you alone in a -hole like this with a smashed leg? I’d never bring you into such a -country, in the first place. And I certainly wouldn’t leave you just -to study a shack of ice on the mountainside.” - -“I urged him to go, and, besides, Peggy is mistaken; we’re not -engaged.” - -“But he left you! That’s what sticks in my crop. He can’t be just -right in his head. If I had any chance of owning you I’d never let -you out of my sight. I wouldn’t take a chance. I don’t understand -these city fellows. I reckon their blood is thinned with ice-water. -If I had you I’d be scared every minute for fear of losing you. I’d -be as dangerous to touch as a silver-tip. If I had any place to take -you I’d steal you right now.” - -This was more than banter. Even Mrs. Adams perceived the passion -quivering beneath his easy, low-toned speech. He was in truth -playing with the conception of seizing this half-smiling, -half-musing girl whose helpless body was at once a lure and an -inspiration. It was perfectly evident that he was profoundly -stirred. - -And so was Alice. “What,” she dared ask herself, “will become of -this?” - - IV - -To the outlaw in the Rocky Mountain cabin in that stormy night it -was in every respect the climax of his life. As he sat in the -doorway, looking at the fire and over into the storm beyond, he -realized that he was shaken by a wild, crude lyric of passion. Here -was, to him, the pure emotion of love. All the beautiful things he -had ever heard or read of girlhood, of women, of marriage, rose in -his mind to make this night an almost intolerable blending of joy -and sorrow, hope and despair. - -To stay time in its flight, to make this hour his own, to cheat the -law, to hold the future at bay--these were the avid desires, the -vague resolutions, of his brain. So sure as the day came this -happiness would end. To-morrow he must resume his flight, resigning -his new-found jewel into the hands of another. To this thought he -returned again and again, each time with new adoration for the girl -and added fury and hate against his relentless pursuers and himself. -He did not spare himself! “Gad! what a fool I’ve been--and yet, if I -had been less a fool I would not be here and I would never have met -her.” He ended with a glance toward Alice. - -Then he arose, closed the door of the cabin, and stood without -beside the fire, so that the women might prepare for bed. His first -thought of suicide came to him. Why not wait with his love as long -as possible--stay till the law’s hand was in the air above his head, -uplifted to strike, and then, in this last moment, die with this -latest, more glorious passion as climax to his career? To flee meant -endless fear, torment. To be captured meant defeat, utter and final -dismay. - -A knock upon the door startled him, and Peggy’s voice cut short his -meditation. “You can come in now, Mr. Smith,” she said. - -The broad crystals were still falling thickly and the fire was -hissing and spluttering around a huge root which he had rolled upon -it. In its light the cabin stood hardly higher than a kennel, and -yet it housed the woman whose glance had transformed his world into -something mystical. A man of commonplace ancestry would have felt -only an animal delight in shelter and warmth, but this youth was -stirred to a spiritual exaltation. The girl’s bosom, the rounded -beauty of her neck, appealed to him, but so also did the steady -candor of her gaze and the sweet courage of her lips. Her -helplessness roused his protective instinct, and her words, the -sound of her voice, so precise, so alien-sweet, filled him with -bitter sadness, and he re-entered the house in such spirit of -self-abasement as he had never known before. - -He lay down upon the hard floor in silence, his audacity gone, his -reckless courage deep-sunk in gloomy foreboding. - -Alice, on her part, could not free her mind from the burden of his -crime. He was so young, and so handsome, to be hunted like a noxious -beast! She had at the moment more concern of him than of Ward, and -in this lay a certain disloyalty. She sighed deeply as she thought -of the outlaw resuming his flight next day. Would it not be better -for him to sacrifice himself to the vengeance of the state at once -and so end it? What right had she to shield him from the law’s -demand? “He is a criminal, after all. He must pay for his rash act.” - -She could not sleep, and when he rose to feed the fire she softly -asked, “Does it still storm?” - -“No,” he answered in a tone that voiced disappointment; “the sky is -clear.” - -“Isn’t that cheering!” she exclaimed, still in the same hushed -voice. - -“For you,” he replied. “For me it’s another story.” He felt the -desire for a secret consultation which moved her, and on his way -back to his corner he halted and fixed his eyes upon her in hungry -admiration of her fire-lit face. Then he spoke. “I should have -pulled out before the storm quit. They can trail me now. But no -matter; I’ve known you.” - -She still kept to ambiguous speech. “Wouldn’t it be better to give -up and take your--misfortune, and begin again? Professor Ward and I -will do all we can to help you.” - -“That’s mighty white of you,” he responded, slowly. “But I can’t -stand the thought of confinement. I’ve been free as an Injun all my -life. Every way of the wind has been open to me. No; just as long as -I can find a wild spot I must keep moving. If it comes to ‘hands -up!’ I take the short cut.” He tapped his revolver as he spoke. - -“You mustn’t do that,” she entreated. “Promise me you won’t think of -that!” - -He made a stride toward her, but a movement of her companion checked -him. - -“Is it morning?” Peggy sleepily asked. - -“Not quite,” answered the outlaw, “but it’s time for me to be -moving. I’d like to hear from you sometime,” he said to Alice, and -his voice betrayed his sadness and tenderness. “Where could I reach -you?” - -She gave her address with a curious sense of wrongdoing. - -He listened intently. “I’ll remember that,” he said, “when I’ve -forgotten everything else. And now--” He reached his hand to her and -she took it. - -“Poor boy! I’m sorry for you!” she whispered. - -Her words melted his heart. Dropping on his knees beside her bed, he -pressed her fingers to his lips, then rose. “I’ll see you -again--somewhere--sometime,” he said, brokenly. “Good-by.” - -No sooner had the door closed behind the outlaw than Peggy rose in -her place beside Alice and voiced her mystification. “Now what is -the meaning of all that?” - -“Don’t ask me,” replied the girl. “I don’t feel like talking, and my -foot is aching dreadfully. Can’t you get up and bathe it? I hate to -ask you--but it hurts me so.” - -Peggy sprang up and began to dress, puffing and whistling with -desperation. As soon as she was dressed she ran to the door and -opened it. All was still, a world of green and white. “The fire is -almost out,” she reported, “and I can see Mr. Smith’s horse’s -tracks.” - - V - -It was about ten o’clock when a couple of horsemen suddenly rounded -the point of the forest and rode into the clearing. One of them, a -slender, elderly man with gray, curly beard and a skin like red -leather, dismounted and came slowly to the door, and though his eyes -expressed surprise at meeting women in such a place, he was very -polite. - -“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, with suave inflection. - -“Good morning,” Peggy replied. - -“Fine snowy mornin’.” - -“It is so.” She was a little irritated by the fixed stare of his -round, gray eyes. - -He became more direct. “May I ask who you are and how you happen to -be here, ma’am?” - -“You may. I’m Mrs. Adams. I came up here with my husband, Professor -Adams.” - -“Where is he?” - -“He has gone up the trail toward Frémont. He is a botanist.” - -“Is that his horse’s tracks?” - -Alice called sharply, “Peggy!” - -Mrs. Adams turned abruptly and went in. - -The stranger turned a slow gaze upon his companion. - -“Well, this beats me. ’Pears like we’re on the wrong trail, Bob. I -reckon we’ve just naturally overhauled a bunch of tourists.” - -“Better go in and see what’s inside,” suggested the other man, -slipping from his horse. - -“All right. You stay where you are.” - -As he stepped to the door and rapped, Peggy opened it, but Alice -took up the inquiry. - -“What do you want?” she asked, imperiously. - -The man, after looking keenly about, quietly replied: “I’m wonderin’ -how you women come to be here alone, but first of all I want to know -who made them tracks outside the door?” - -Alice ignored the latter part of his question and set about -satisfying his wonder. “We came up here with a geological survey, -but my horse fell on my foot and I couldn’t ride, so the men had to -leave me behind--” - -“Alone?” sharply interrogated the man. - -“No; one man stayed.” - -“What was his name?” - -“I don’t know. We called him Smith.” - -“Was he the man that rode away this morning?” - -“What does that matter to you?” asked the girl. “Why are you so -inquisitive?” - -He maintained his calm tone of mild authority. “I’m the sheriff of -Uinta County, ma’am, and I’m looking for a man who’s been hiding out -in this basin. I was trailin’ him close when the snow came on -yesterday, and I didn’t know but what these tracks was his.” - -Peggy turned toward Alice with an involuntary expression of -enlightenment, and the sheriff read it quickly. Slipping between the -two women, he said: - -“Jest a minute, miss. What sort of a looking man was this Smith?” - -Alice took up the story. “He was rather small and dark--wasn’t he, -Peggy?” - -Peggy considered. “I didn’t notice him particularly. Yes, I think he -was.” - -The man outside called: “Hurry up, Cap. It’s beginning to snow -again.” - -The sheriff withdrew toward the door. “You’re both lying,” he -remarked without heat, “but it don’t matter. We’ll mighty soon -overhaul this man on the horse--whoever he is. If you’ve been -harboring Hall McCord we’ll have to take you, too.” With that threat -as a farewell he mounted his horse and rode away. - -Peggy turned to Alice. “Did you know that young fellow was an -outlaw?” - -“Yes: I saw his picture and description on a placard in the railway -station. I recognized him at once.” - -“Why didn’t you tell me?” - -“Well, I liked his looks, and, besides, I wanted to find out if he -were really bad or only unfortunate.” - -“What has he done?” - -“They say he held up a train!” - -“Merciful Heavens! a train-robber! What’s his real name?” - -“The name on the placard was Hall McCord.” - -“And to think he was in the same room with us last night, and you -were chumming with him! I can’t understand you. Are you sure he is -the robber?” - -“Yes. He confessed to having tried to rob the express car.” - -“He seemed such a nice fellow. How did he come to do it?” - -Alice concluded not to honor the other girl by bringing her into the -discussion. “Oh, it is hard to say. Need of money, I suppose. Poor -boy, I pity him.” - -“They’ll get him, sure. They can follow his tracks as easy as -anything. I don’t suppose I ought to say it, but I hope he’ll get -away. Don’t you?” - -“Yes, I do!” was Alice’s fervent response. “But see! it’s snowing -again. It may cover his trail.” - -Peggy went to the door and gazed long and keenly at the peaks. When -she turned her face was solemn. “Allie, this is getting pretty -serious for us. If the men don’t come to-day they may get snowed up -entirely.” - -Alice stifled a wail. “Oh, if I were only able to walk I wouldn’t -mind. I could help gather fuel and keep the fire going.” - -“There’s plenty of wood for another day, but I’m worried about the -men. Suppose they are up on that glacier?” - -“I’m not worried about them, but I know they are worrying about us. -They’ll surely start back this morning; but they may not be able to -reach us till night.” - -The light of the morning had turned gray and feeble. The air was -still and the forest soundless, save now and then when a snow-laden -branch creaked with its burden. - -There was something majestic as well as menacing in this -all-pervading solemn hush. - -Peggy went about her duties as cheerfully as she could, but with a -wider knowledge of mountaineering than Alice had. She was at heart -quite terrified. “We’re going to miss our nice outlaw,” she -remarked. “He was so effective as a purveyor of wood.” Then she went -to the door and looked out. “That sheriff will never keep his -trail,” she said. - -“What’s that?” suddenly asked Alice. - -Both listened. “I hear it!” whispered Peggy. “It’s a horse--there! -Some one spoke.” - -“It’s Freeman!” Alice joyously called out. “Coo-hoo!” - -No one replied, and Peggy, rushing to the door, met the young -outlaw, who appeared on the threshold with stern, set face. - -“Who’s been here since I left? Your party?” - -Peggy recoiled in surprise and alarm, and Alice cried out, “Why did -you come back?” - -“Two men on horseback have been here since I left. Who were they?” -His voice was full of haste. - -“One of them said--he was the--the sheriff,” Alice replied, faintly. - -He smiled then, a kind of terrifying humor in his eyes. “Well, the -chances are he knew. They took my trail, of course, and left in a -hurry. Expected to overhaul me on the summit. They’ve got their work -cut out for ’em.” - -“How did they miss you?” the girl asked, huskily. - -“Well, you see, when I got up where I could view the sky I was dead -sure we were in for a whooping big snow-storm, and I just couldn’t -leave you girls up here all alone, so I struck right down the cañon -in the bed of the creek--the short cut. I don’t like to backtrail, -anyway; it’s a bad habit to get into. I like to leave as blind a -trail as I can.” His face lightened up, grew boyish again. “They’re -sure up against a cold proposition about now. They’ll lose my track -among the rocks, but they’ll figure I’ve hustled right on over into -Pine Creek, and if they don’t freeze to death in the pass they’ll -come out at Glover’s haymeadow to-morrow night. How’s the wood-pile -holding out?” - -“Please go!” cried Alice. “Take your chance now and hurry away.” - -“I’m not used to leaving women in such a fix. The moment I saw that -blizzard was beginning all over again I turned back.” - -“You haven’t had any breakfast?” said Peggy. - -“Nothing to speak of,” he replied, dryly. “I wasn’t thinking of -breakfast when I pulled out.” - -“I’ll get you some.” - -Alice could not throw off the burden of his danger. “What will you -do when my people return?” - -“I don’t know--trust to luck.” - -“You are very foolish. They are certain to come to-day.” - -“They won’t know who I am if you women don’t give me away.” - -“I’m sure Freeman--Professor Ward--will know you, for he also saw -the placard.” - -“That’s no sign. Suppose he does--maybe he won’t think it is his job -to interfere. Anyway”--here his voice became decisive--“I won’t -leave you in such a fix as this.” His eyes spoke to her of that -which his tongue could not utter. “I wanted an excuse to come back, -anyway,” he concluded. “No matter what comes now, my job is here to -protect you.” - -She did not rebuke him, and Peggy--though she wondered at his -tone--was too grateful for his presence even to question Alice’s -motive in permitting such remarks. - -As for Alice, she felt herself more and more involved in the tangled -skein of his mysterious life. His sudden and reckless abandonment of -the old love which had ruined him, and the new and equally -irrational regard which he now professed for her, filled her with a -delicious marveling. - -He appealed to a woman’s imagination. He had the spice of the -unknown. In her relationship with Ward there was no danger, no -mystery--his courtship narrowly escaped being commonplace. She had -accepted his attentions and expected to marry him, and yet the -thought of the union produced, at its warmest, merely a glow of -comfort, a sense of security, whereas the hint of being loved and -protected by this Rob Roy of the hills, this reckless Rough Rider of -the wilderness, was instinct with romance. Of course his devotion -was a crazy folly, and yet, lying there in her rough bunk, with an -impenetrable wall of snow shutting out the rest of the world, it was -hard not to feel that this man and his future had become an -inescapable part of her life--a part which grew in danger and in -charm from hour to hour. - -Full two miles above the level of her own home, surrounded by peaks -unscalably wild and lonely, deserted by those who should care for -her, was it strange that she should return this man’s adoring gaze -with something of the primal woman’s gratitude and submission? - -The noon darkened into dusk as they talked, slowly, with long -pauses, and one by one the stirring facts of the rover’s life came -out. From his boyhood he had always done the reckless thing. He had -known no restraint till, as a member of the Rough Riders, he yielded -a partial obedience to his commanders. When the excitement of the -campaigns was over he had deserted and gone back to the round-up -wagon and the campfire. - -In the midst of his confidences he maintained a reserve about his -family which showed more self-mastery than anything else about him. -That he was the black sheep of an honorable flock became -increasingly evident. He had been the kind of lad who finds in the -West a fine field for dare-devil adventure. And yet there were -unstirred depths in the man. He was curious about a small book which -Alice kept upon her bed, and which she read from time to time with -serene meditation on her face. - -“What is that?” he asked. - -“My Bible.” - -“Can I see it?” - -“Certainly.” - -He took it carefully and read the title on the back, then turned a -few of the leaves. “I’m not much on reading,” he said, “but I’ve got -a sister that sends me tracts, and the like.” He returned to the -fly-leaf. - -“Is this your name?” - -“Yes.” - -“‘Alice Mansfield,’” he read; “beautiful name! ‘New York City’! -That’s pretty near the other side of the world to me.” He studied -the address with intent look. “I’d like to buy this book. How much -will you take for it?” - -“I’ll trade it for your weapon,” she replied. - -He looked at her narrowly. “You mean something by that. I reckon I -follow you. No, I can’t do that--not now. If I get into business -over the line I’ll disarm, but in this country a fellow needs to be -protected. I want this book!” - -“For the fly-leaf?” - -He smiled in return. “You’ve hit it.” - -She hesitated. “I’ll give you the book if you’ll promise to read -it.” - -He clapped the covers together and put the volume in his pocket. -“It’s mine! I’ll read every word of it, if it takes an age, and -here’s my hand on it.” - -She gave him her hand, and in this clasp something came to her from -his clutching fingers which sobered her. She drew her hand away -hastily and said: “If you read that book--and think about it--it -will change your whole world.” - -He, too, lost his brightness. “Well, I’m not so anxious to keep up -this kind of life. But if anybody changes me it will be you.” - -“Hush!” she warned with lifted finger. - -He fell back, and after a little silence went out to wait upon the -fire. - -“It seems to me,” said Peggy, reprovingly, “that you’re too gracious -with this mountaineer; he’s getting presumptuous.” - -“He doesn’t mean to be. It’s his unsophisticated way. Anyhow, we -can’t afford to be captious to our host.” - -“That’s true,” admitted Peggy. - -The night shut down with the snow still falling, but with a growing -chill in the air. - -“The flakes are finer,” the outlaw announced, as he came in a little -later. “That is a good sign. It is growing colder and the wind is -changing. It will pinch hard before sun-up, and the worst of it, -there’s no way to warm this cabin. We can’t have the door open -to-night. I’m worried about you,” he said to Alice. “If only those -chumps had left a man-size ax!” - -The two women understood that this night was to bring them into -closer intimacy with the stranger than before. He could not remain -outdoors, and though they now knew something of his desperate -character, they had no fear of him. He had shown his chivalry. No -one could have been more considerate of them, for he absented -himself at Peggy’s request instantly and without suggestion of -jocularity, and when he came in and found them both in bed he said: - -“I reckon I’ll not make down to-night--you’ll need all your blankets -before morning”; and thereupon without weighing their protests, -proceeded to spread the extra cover over them. - -Alice looked up at him in the dim light of the candle and softly -asked: “What will you do? You will suffer with cold!” - -“Don’t worry about me; I’m an old campaigner. I still have a blanket -to wrap around my shoulders. I’ll snooze in a corner. If you hear me -moving around don’t be worried; I’m hired to keep the fire going -even if it doesn’t do us much good inside.” - -The chill deepened. The wind began to roar, and great masses of -snow, dislodged from the tall trees above the cabin, fell upon its -roof with sounds like those of soft, slow footfalls. Strange noises -of creaking and groaning and rasping penetrated to Alice’s ears, and -she cowered half in fear, half in joy of her shelter and her male -protector. Men were fine animals for the wild. - -She fell asleep at last, seeing her knight’s dim form propped -against the wall, wrapped in a blanket Indian-wise, his head bowed -over the book she had given him, a candle smoking in his hand. - -She woke when he rose to feed the fire, and the current of cold air -which swept in caused her to cover her mouth with the blanket. He -turned toward her. - -“It’s all over for sure, this time,” he said. “It’s cold and goin’ -to be colder. How are you standing it? If your feet are cold I can -heat a stone. How is the hurt foot?” He drew near and looked down -upon her anxiously. - -“Very much easier, thank you.” - -“I’m mighty glad of that. I wish I could take the pain all on -myself.” - -“You have troubles of your own,” she answered, as lightly as she -could. - -“That’s true, too,” he agreed in the same tone. “So many that a -little one more or less wouldn’t count.” - -“Do you call my wound little?” - -“I meant the foot was little--” - -She checked him. - -“I didn’t mean to make light of it. It sure is no joke.” He added, -“I’ve made a start on the book.” - -“How do you like it?” - -“I don’t know yet,” he answered, and went back to his corner. - -She snuggled under her warm quilts again, remorseful, yet not daring -to suggest a return of the blanket he had lent. When she woke again -he was on his feet, swinging his arms silently. His candle had gone -out, but a faint light was showing in the room. - -“Is it morning?” she asked. - -“Just about,” he replied, stretching like a cat. - -The dawn came gloriously. The sun in far-splashing splendor slanted -from peak to peak, painting purple shadows on the snow and warming -the boles of the tall trees till they shone like fretted gold. The -jays cried out as if in exultation of the ending of the tempest, and -the small stream sang over its icy pebbles with resolute cheer. It -was a land to fill a poet with awe and ecstatic praise--a radiant, -imperial, and merciless landscape. Trackless, almost soundless, the -mountain world lay waiting for the alchemy of the sun. - - VI - -The morning was well advanced when a far, faint halloo broke through -the silence of the valley. The ranger stood like a statue, while -Peggy cried out: - -“It’s one of our men!” - -Alice turned to the outlaw with anxious face. “If it’s the sheriff -stay in here with me. Let me plead for you. I want him to know what -you’ve done for us.” - -The look that came upon his face turned her cold with fear. “If it -is the sheriff--” He did not finish, but she understood. - -The halloo sounded nearer and the outlaw’s face lightened. “It’s one -of your party. He is coming up from below.” - -Impatiently they waited for the new-comer to appear, and though he -seemed to draw nearer at every shout, his progress was very slow. At -last the man appeared on the opposite bank of the stream. He was -covered with snow and stumbling along like a man half dead with -hunger and fatigue. - -“Why, it’s Gage!” exclaimed Peggy. - -It was indeed the old hunter, and as he drew near his gaunt and -bloodless face was like that of a starved and hunted animal. His -first word was an anxious inquiry, “How are ye?” - -“All well,” Peggy answered. - -“And the crippled girl?” - -“Doing nicely. Thanks to Mr. Smith here, we did not freeze. Are you -hungry?” - -The guide looked upon the outlaw with glazed, protruding eyes. -“Hungry? I’m done. I’ve been wallerin’ in the snow all night and I’m -just about all in.” - -“Where are the others?” called Alice from her bed. - -Gage staggered to the door. “They’re up at timber-line. I left them -day before yesterday. I tried to get here, but I lost my bearin’s -and got on the wrong side o’ the creek. ’Pears like I kept on the -wrong side o’ the hog-back. Then my horse gave out, and that set me -afoot. I was plum scared to death about you folks. I sure was.” - -Peggy put some food before him and ordered him into silence. “Talk -later,” she said. - -The outlaw turned to Alice. “That explains it. Your Professor Ward -trusted to this man to take care of you and stayed in camp. You -can’t blame him.” - -Gage seemed to have suddenly become old, almost childish. “I never -was lost before,” he muttered, sadly. “I reckon something must have -went wrong in my head. ’Pears like I’m gettin’ old and foolish.” - -Alice exchanged glances with the outlaw. It was plain that he was in -no danger from this dazed and weakened old man who could think of -nothing but the loss of his sense of direction. - -As the day advanced the sun burned clear. At noon it was warm enough -to leave the door open, and Alice, catching glimpses of the flaming -world of silver and purple and gold, was filled with a desire to -quit her dark corner. - -“I’m going to get up!” she exclaimed. “I won’t lie here any longer.” - -“Don’t try it!” protested Peggy. - -“I’m going to do it!” she insisted. “I can hobble to the door if you -help me.” - -“I’ll carry you,” said the outlaw. “Wrap her up and I’ll get her a -seat.” - -And so, while Mrs. Adams wrapped her patient in a blanket, the -outlaw dragged one of the rough, ax-hewn benches to the door and -covered it with blankets. He put a stone to heat and then re-entered -just as Alice, supported by Peggy, was setting foot to the floor. -Swiftly, unhesitatingly, and very tenderly he put his arms about her -and lifted her to the bench in the doorway before the fire. - -It was so sweet to feel that wondrous body in his arms. His daring -to do it surprised her, but her own silent acquiescence, and the -shiver of pleasure which came with the embarrassment of it, confused -and troubled her. - -“That’s better,” he said as he dropped to the ground and drew the -blankets close about her feet. “I’ll have a hot stone for you in a -minute.” - -He went about these ministrations with an inward ecstasy which shone -in his eyes and trembled in his voice. But as she furtively studied -his face and observed the tremor of his hands in tender ministration -she lost all fear of him. - -After three days in her dark corner of the hut the sunshine was -wondrously inspiring to the girl, although the landscape on which -she gazed was white and wild as December. It was incredible that -only a few hours lay between the flower-strewn valley of her -accident and this silent and desolate, yet beautiful, wilderness of -snow. And so, as she looked into the eyes of the outlaw, it seemed -as though she had known him from spring to winter, and her wish to -help him grew with every hour of their acquaintanceship. - -She planned his defense before Ward and Adams. “When they know how -kind and helpful he has been they can but condone his one rash -deed,” she argued in conclusion. - -He was sitting at her feet, careless of time, the law, content with -her nearness, and mindful only of her comfort, when a distant -rifle-shot brought him to his feet with the swiftness of the -startled stag. - -“That’s your expedition,” he said, “or some one who needs help.” - -Again the shots rang out, _one_, _two_, _three_--_one_, _two_, -_three_. - -“It’s a signal! It’s your party!” - -Peggy uttered a cry of joy and rushed outside, but Alice turned an -unquiet gaze on the outlaw. “You’d better fly!” - -“What is the use?” he answered, bitterly. “The snow is so deep there -is no show to cross the range, and my horse is weak and hungry.” - -Gage appeared at the door. “Lemme take your gun, stranger; I want to -answer the signal.” - -“Where’s your own?” - -“I left it on my horse,” the old man answered, sheepishly. - -The young fellow looked at Alice with a keen glitter in his eyes. -“I’ll make answer myself,” he said; “I’m very particular about my -barkers.” - -Alice, as she heard his revolver’s answering word leap into the -silent air and bound and rebound along the cliffs, was filled with a -sudden fear that the sheriff might be guided back by the sound--and -this indeed the fugitive himself remarked as he came back to his -seat beside her. - -“If he’s anywhere on this side of the divide he’ll sure come back. -But I’ve done my best. The Lord God Almighty has dropped the snow -down here and shut me in with you, and I’m not complaining.” - -There was no answer to be made to this fatalism of utterance, and -none to the worship of his eyes. - -“Lift me up!” commanded Alice; “I want to look out and see if I can -see anybody.” - -The outlaw took her in his arms, supporting her in the threshold in -order that she might see over the vast sea of white. But no human -being was to be seen. - -“Take me back--inside,” Alice said to the man who had her in his -arms. “I feel cold here.” - -Once again, and with a feeling that it was, perhaps, for the last -time, he carried her back to her bench and re-enveloped her in her -blankets. - -“Stay here with me now,” she whispered to him, as she looked up into -his face. - -And the outlaw, filled with gladness and pride, threw himself on the -floor beside her. - - VII - -The signal pistol-shots came nearer and nearer, but very slowly; and -as the outlaw sat beside Alice’s couch he took her Bible from his -pocket and said: - -“I made a stab at reading this last night.” - -She smiled. “I saw you. How did you like it?” - -“I didn’t exactly get aboard someway.” - -“What was the trouble?” - -“I guess it was because I kept thinking of you--and my own place in -the game. Three days ago I didn’t care what became of me, but now I -want a chance. I don’t see any chance coming my way, but if I had -I’d make use of it.” He looked at her a moment in silence, then with -sudden intensity broke forth. “Do you know what you mean to me? When -I look at your face and eyes I’m hungry for you.” - -She shrank from him and called to Mrs. Adams. - -He went on. “Oh, you needn’t be afraid. I just wanted to say it, -that’s all. If there was only some other way to straighten -myself--but I can’t go to jail. I can’t stand up to be clipped like -a poodle-dog, then put on striped clothing and walk lock-step--I -can’t do it! They’ll put me in for ten years. I’d be old when I got -out.” He shuddered. “No, I won’t do that! I’d rather die here in the -hills.” - -She grew white in sympathy. “It is a frightful price to pay for one -insane act, and yet--crime should be punished.” - -“I’m getting my punishment now,” he replied, with darkly brooding -glance. “There’s a good old man and two women, my sisters, waiting -for me down the slope. If I could reach home I’d try to live -straight, but it’s a long and dangerous trail between here and -there.” - -Peggy now ran into the cabin. “It’s the expedition,” she announced. -“I can see Freeman.” - -“I reckon this is where I get off,” said the outlaw in a tone of -mingled relief and dismay. - -“No, no!” Alice entreated. “Stay till Freeman comes. He will help -you. Let me explain to him. I know he will not betray you.” - -He looked at her again with that intent, longing worship in his -eyes, and answered, “I accept the chance for the sake of one more -hour with you.” - -The outlaw stepped to the door, and he saw a man at the head of his -train mid-leg deep in snow, leading his horse, breaking the way for -his followers, who were on foot, crawling, stumbling, and twisting -among the down-timber, unmindful of the old trail. - -At sight of that big and resolute leader, with flowing black beard -and ruddy face, the outlaw was filled with jealous sadness. To find -Ward a man of superb physical prowess, the kind that measures peaks -for the fun of it, was disturbing, and without defining his feeling -he was plunged into melancholy musing. And when later Ward entered, -and, stooping over the couch, kissed Alice, the end of his idyl -seemed to him announced. - -In the bustle of the moment, in the interchange of anxious, hurried -inquiries, the outlaw stood aside in the corner, unnoticed, till -Alice caught Ward’s arm and said: - -“Freeman, this is Mr. Smith, to whom we owe a great deal. He has -taken the utmost care of us. We would have frozen but for him.” - -Ward shook hands with the outlaw, but wonderingly asked of Alice, -“But where was Gage?” - -The outlaw answered, “Gage got lost and only turned up a couple of -hours ago.” - -Ward turned to Alice in horror. “Good Lord! And you were here -alone--crippled--in this storm?” - -“No--that’s what I’m telling you. Mr. Smith came and took care of -us. He brought our wood, he cooked for us, he kept our fire going. -He gave up his bed, even his blankets, for us. You should be very -generous to him.” - -Ward again reached a hearty hand. “I’m tremendously obliged to you.” - -The outlaw quailed under all this praise. “There was mighty little -to do,” he answered. “I only shared my fire with them.” - -Ward studied him closer. “Haven’t we met before?” - -“No, I reckon not.” - -“I’m quite sure I’ve see you somewhere. What are you doing up in -here?” - -Alice interposed. “What are we going to do?” - -Ward turned to the outlaw. “What would you advise? I’ve only had one -idea, and that was to reach this cabin. Now what would you do?” - -The outlaw was ready. “I would send a part of the men with the -horses down the valley to grass and I’d wait here till Miss -Mansfield is able to ride.” - -“Will this snow go off?” - -“That’s my notion.” - -“It’s certain we can’t camp here--the horses must have grass.” - -“I’ll be able to ride in a day or two,” Alice said, bravely. - -“We could frame up a portable bed and carry you,” suggested the -outlaw; “but it can’t be done to-night, so you’d better send your -outfit down to the marsh to camp. The horses are worn out and so are -the men.” - -“Will you guide them to grass and help them find shelter?” - -The outlaw hesitated for an instant, and Alice interposed: “No, no! -Let Gage do that. I want Mr. Smith to remain here.” - -Ward perceived in her entreaty something of anxiety and fear, and -after the men and horses had started down the slope he turned to the -outlaw and said: “I’m mighty grateful to you, Mr. Smith. It must -have surprised you to find these women here.” - -The outlaw dryly replied, “It did!” - -Alice added: “It was in the middle of the night, too; but Mr. Smith -was very nice about it. He slept outdoors without a word of -complaint.” - -Ward had figured the situation to conclusion: “Smith is a poacher,” -and though he had a savage dislike of these illicit -game-slaughterers, he could not but be glad of the presence of this -particular outlaw, and resolved to overlook his trade in gratitude -for his cabin and service. - -The outlaw helped Adams and Ward to clear away the snow for a tent, -and Alice, seeing the three men thus amicably joined in her defense, -could not find it in her heart to condemn one of them as a criminal. -Here in the white isolation of the peaks the question of crime and -its punishment became personal. To have this man’s fate in her hand -was like grasping the executioner’s sword for herself. - -“If women had to punish criminals themselves, with their own hand,” -she asked, “how many of them would do it?” - -Peggy came in and whispered to her: “No one else seems to have -recognized him. He may get away safely. I hope he will. Shall we -tell the men who he is?” - -“Yes, we shall have to do that soon, but I’m afraid they won’t take -the sentimental view of him that we do. I tremble to think of what -they will do when they know.” - -Ward explained to Adams: “Our friend Smith here is a poacher--but as -our account stands I don’t feel it my duty to report him, do you?” - -“No; Peggy tells me he has acted like a gentleman all through.” - -In this spirit they made themselves comfortable for the night. - -The sun set gloriously, but the air bit ever sharper, and while -Peggy went about her cooking, assisted by her husband and the -outlaw, Alice pulled Ward down to her bedside and hurriedly began: - -“You remember that placard we read in the station--the one about the -train-robber?” - -“Yes!” - -“Well, this is the man--our Mr. Smith.” - -Ward looked at her a moment with reflective eyes, then exclaimed: -“You’re right! I thought I’d seen him somewhere.” - -“And the sheriff is after him. He was here yesterday morning.” - -“Here?” - -“Yes. You see, Mr. Smith stayed with us till he thought the storm -was over, then rode away, intending to cross the divide, but when -the snow began again he turned back. He said he couldn’t leave us -alone. He left us just before dawn, and four or five hours afterward -the sheriff came. Of course he saw the poor fellow’s trail and -instantly set off after him.” - -“But why didn’t they meet?” - -“Because Mr. Smith came back a different way and then the blizzard -came on and covered up his tracks. He thinks the sheriff has gone on -over the divide. You must help him, Freeman. Help him to get away -and find some way to give him a start. Nobody could have been more -considerate, and I can’t see him taken by these cold-blooded men who -want that two thousand dollars’ reward. He really could have -escaped, only for us. He came back to protect us.” - -Ward pondered. “The problem is not so easy of solution. A train -robbery is a pretty serious matter. I’m very grateful to him, but to -connive at his escape is itself a punishable act. Why did you tell -me? I could have passed it over--” - -“Because I’m afraid the sheriff may come back at any moment.” - -Ward’s brow was troubled. “I could ignore his deed and pretend not -to know who he is, but definitely to assist a bandit to escape is a -very serious matter.” - -“I know it is; but remember he gave up his chance to cross the -divide in order to keep us from suffering.” - -“I wish you hadn’t told me,” he repeated, almost in irritation. “If -the sheriff only keeps on over the range Smith can take care of -himself.” - -As the outlaw re-entered the cabin Alice acknowledged in him -something worth a woman to love. In the older man was power, -security, moral, mental, and physical health, the qualities her -reason demanded in a husband; but in the other was grace and charm, -something wildly admirable. He allured as the warrior, intrepid and -graceful, allured the maiden, as the forest calls the householder. -Something primordial and splendid and very sweet was in her feeling -toward him. There could be no peaceful wedlock there, no security of -home, no comfort, only the exquisite thrill of perilous union, the -madness of a few short weeks--perhaps only a few swift days of -self-surrender, and then, surely, disaster and despair. To yield to -him was impossible, and yet the thought of it was tantalizingly -sweet. - -When she looked toward Ward she perceived herself sitting serenely -in matronly grace behind a shining coffee-urn in a well-ordered, -highly civilized breakfast-room, facing a most considerate husband -who nevertheless was able to read the morning paper in her presence. -When she thought of life with the outlaw all was dark, stormy, -confused, and yet the way was lit by his adoring eyes. A magical -splendor lay in the impulse. His love, sudden as it seemed, was -real--she was certain of that. She felt the burning power, the -conjury of its flame, and it made her future with Ward, at the -moment, seem dull and drab. - -“Why, why could not such a man and such a passion come with the -orderly and the ethical?” she asked herself. - -At the best he was fitted only for the mine or the ranch, and the -thought of life in a lonely valley, even with his love to lighten -it, made her shudder. On one side she was a very practical and -far-seeing woman. The instant she brought her reason to bear on the -problem she perceived that any further acquaintance with this man -was dangerous. They must part here at this moment, and yet she could -not let him go without in some way making him feel her wish to help -him. - - VIII - -Ward and the outlaw were discussing plans for getting out of the -basin when Adams came in to say, “A couple of other weary wanderers -are turning up.” - -“The sheriff!” instantly exclaimed Alice, her face whitening in -swift dismay. - -In that moment the forester was transformed. With a weapon in his -hand he stood aside, his eyes on the door, a scowl of battle on his -face. He resembled a wolf with bared fangs ready to die desperately. - -Ward, quick to read his purpose, interposed. “Wait!” he commanded. -“Stay here; I’ll see them. Don’t be rash.” - -As he passed out into the firelight the outlaw, without relaxing his -vigilance, said in a low voice, “Well, girl, I reckon here’s where I -say good night.” - -“Don’t resist,” she pleaded. “Don’t fight, please! Please! What is -the use? Oh, it’s too horrible! If you resist they will kill you!” - -There was no fear in his voice as he replied: “They may not; I’m -handy with my gun.” - -She was breathless, chilled by the shadow of the impending tragedy. -“But that would be worse. To kill them would only stain your soul -the deeper. You must not fight!” - -“It’s self-defense.” - -“But they are officers of the law.” - -“No matter; I will not be taken alive.” - -She moaned in her distress, helplessly wringing her hands. “O God! -Why should I be witness of this?” - -“You won’t be. If this is the sheriff I am going to open that door -and make a dash. What happens will happen outside. You need not see -it. I’m sorry you have to hear it. But I give you my word--if you -must hear something I will see to it that you hear as little as -possible.” - -The latch clicked--he stepped back, and again stood waiting, silent, -rigid, ready to act, murderous in design. - -Mrs. Adams entered quickly, and, closing the door behind her, -hurriedly whispered: “It’s the sheriff. Hide! The men will hold them -as long as they can. Hide!” - -The outlaw looked about and smiled. “Where?” he asked, almost -humorously. “I’m not a squirrel.” - -“Under the bunk. See, there is room.” - -He shook his head. “No, I refuse to crawl. I won’t sneak. I never -have. I take ’em as they come.” - -“For my sake,” pleaded Alice. “I can’t bear to see you killed. Hide -yourself. Go to the door,” she said to Peggy. “Don’t let them in. -Tell Freeman--” She rose and stood unsteadily, forgetful of her own -pain. - -Mrs. Adams urged her to lie down, but she would not. The moments -passed in suspense almost too great to be endured. - -“Listen!” commanded the outlaw. “They’re coming in.” - -As they harkened Ward’s voice rose clearly. “You can’t miss the -camp,” he was saying, as if speaking to some one at a distance. -“Just keep the trail in the snow and you’ll find them. I’m sorry we -can’t put you up--but you see how it is.” - -“They’re going!” exclaimed Alice. “Thank God, they’re going!” - -“It can’t be they’ll go without searching the shack,” the fugitive -muttered, in no measure relaxing his attitude of watchful menace. -“They’re playing a game on us.” - -Again the latch clicked, and this time it was Ward who confronted -the outlaw’s revolver mouth. - -“It’s all right,” Ward called, instantly understanding the -situation. “They’re gone. The old man was about played out, for -they’ve been fighting snow all day, but I told him we couldn’t take -care of them here and they have gone on down to the camp. He thinks -you got over the divide. You are all right for the present.” - -“They’ll come back,” replied the other. “It only puts the deal off a -few hours. They’ll return, trailin’ the whole camp after them. What -can I do? My horse is down there in the herd.” - -“That’s bad,” exclaimed Ward. “I wonder if I could get him for you?” - -“If I had him he’s weak and hungry, and the high places are feet -deep in drifts. It doesn’t signify. I’m corralled any way you look -at it, and the only thing left is to fight.” - -“There’s our trail to the glacier,” Ward musingly suggested; “it’s a -pretty deep furrow--you might make it that way.” - -A spark of light leaped into the man’s eyes. “How far up does it -run? Where does it end?” - -“In Glacier Basin, just at timber-line.” - -The outlaw pondered, speaking his thoughts aloud. “From there across -to the Indian reservation there isn’t a wolf track.... It’s a man’s -job crossing there, almost sure death, but it’s my only show.” He -had replaced his weapon in his belt and was weighing his chance, his -eyes fixed on Alice’s face. To leave this shelter, this warm circle -of light, this sweet girlish presence, and plunge into the dark, the -cold, and the snow, was hard. No one but a man of unconquerable -courage would have considered it. This man was both desperate and -heroic. “It’s my only chance and I’ll take it,” he said, drawing his -breath sharply. “I’ll need your prayers,” he added, grimly, with -eyes that saw only the girl. “If I fail you’ll find me up there. I -carry my sleeping-powder with me.” He touched his revolver as he -spoke. - -Alice’s mind, sweeping out over that desolate expanse, had a -moment’s vision of him as he would appear toiling across those -towering cliffs, minute as a fly, and her heart grew small and sick. - -“Why don’t you stay and take your lawful punishment?” she asked. -“You will surely perish up there in the cold. Wait for sunlight at -least.” - -“I’m ready to stay and to die here, near you,” he replied, with a -significant glance. - -“No, no, not that!” she cried out. “Talk to him, Freeman; persuade -him to give himself up. I’ve done my best to influence him. Don’t -let him uselessly sacrifice himself.” - -Ward perceived something hidden in her voice, some emotion which was -more than terror, deeper than pity, but his words were grave and -kindly. “It is a frightful risk, young man, but the trail to the -glacier is your only open road. The sheriff is tired. Even if he -finds out that you are here he may not come back to-night. He will -know you cannot escape. You can’t stir without leaving a telltale -mark. If you could only get below the snow on the west slope--” - -“Whichever trail I take it’s good-by,” interrupted the fugitive, -still addressing Alice. “If there was anything to live for--if you’d -say the word!”--she knew what he meant--“I’d stay and take my -schooling.” He waited a moment, and she, looking from his asking -face to Ward’s calm brow, could not utter a sound. What could she -promise? The outlaw’s tone softened to entreaty. “If you’ll only say -I may see you again on the other side of the range ’twill keep my -heart warm. Can’t you promise me that? It’s mighty little.” - -He was going to almost certain death, and she could not refuse this. -“You may write to me--” she faltered. “You know my address--” - -He struck the little book in his pocket. “Yes, I have it safe. Then -I may see you again?” - -Alice, supported by Mrs. Adams, unsteadily rose. “Yes, yes, only go. -They are coming back! I can hear them.” - -He took her hand. “Good-by,” he said, chokingly. “You’ve given me -heart.” He bent swiftly and kissed her forehead. “I’ll win! You’ll -hear from me.” - -“Hurry!” she wildly cried. “I hear voices!” - -He caught up his hat and opened the door. As he faced them his lips -were resolute and his eyes glowing. “It’s only good night,” he said, -and closed the door behind him. - -“Hold!” shouted Ward. “You must take some food.” He tore the door -open. “Wait--” - -Even as he spoke a pistol-shot resounded through the night. It cut -through the deathly silence of the forest like a spiteful curse, and -was answered by another--then, after a short pause, a swift-tearing -volley followed. - -“They are killing him!” cried Alice. - -They brought him in and laid him at her feet. He had requested this, -but when she bent to peer into his face he had gone beyond speech. -Limp and bloody and motionless he lay, with eyes of unfathomable -regret and longing, staring up at her, and as the men stood about -with uncovered heads she stooped to him, forgetful of all else; -knelt to lay her hand upon his brow. - -“Poor boy! Poor boy!” she said, her eyes blinded with tears. - -His hand stirred, seeking her own, and she took it and pressed it in -both of hers. “Jesus be merciful!” she prayed, softly. - -He smiled faintly in acknowledgment of her presence and her prayer, -and in this consolation died. - -Wonderingly, with imperious frown, she rose and confronted the -sheriff. “How is it that you are unhurt? Did he not fight?” - -“That’s what I can’t understand, miss,” he answered. “He fired only -once, and then into the air. ’Pears like he wanted to die.” - -Alice understood. His thought was of her. “You shall hear as little -as possible,” he had said. - -“And you killed him--as he surrendered,” she exclaimed, bitterly, -and turned toward the dead man, whose face was growing very peaceful -now, and with a blinding pain in her eyes she bent and laid a final -caressing hand upon his brow. - -As she faced the sheriff again she said, with merciless severity: -“I’d rather be in his place than yours.” Then, with a tired droop in -her voice, she appealed to Ward: “Take me away from here. I’m tired -of this savage world.” - - - - -VI. NAZA! NAZA! NAZA! - -By Zane Grey - -From “The Last of the Plainsmen,” copyright, 1908, by -A. C. McClurg & Co. By special permission from the author. - - -It was a waiting day at Fort Chippewayan. The lonesome, far-northern -Hudson’s Bay Trading Post seldom saw such life. Tepees dotted the -banks of the Slave River and lines of blanketed Indians paraded its -shores. Near the boat landing a group of chiefs, grotesque in -semi-barbaric, semi-civilized splendor, but black-browed, -austere-eyed, stood in savage dignity with folded arms and high-held -heads. Lounging on the grassy bank were white men, traders, trappers -and officials of the post. - -All eyes were on the distant curve of the river where, as it lost -itself in a fine-fringed bend of dark green, white-glinting waves -danced and fluttered. A June sky lay blue in the majestic stream; -ragged, spear-topped, dense green trees massed down to the water; -beyond rose bold, bald-knobbed hills, in remote purple relief. - -A long Indian arm stretched south. The waiting eyes discerned a -black speck on the green, and watched it grow. A flatboat, with a -man standing to the oars, bore down swiftly. - -Not a red hand, nor a white one, offered to help the voyager in the -difficult landing. The oblong, clumsy, heavily laden boat surged -with the current and passed the dock despite the boatman’s efforts. -He swung his craft in below upon a bar and roped it fast to a tree. -The Indians crowded above him on the bank. The boatman raised his -powerful form erect, lifted a bronzed face which seemed set in -craggy hardness, and cast from narrow eyes a keen, cool glance on -those above. The silvery gleam in his fair hair told of years. - -Silence, impressive as it was ominous, broke only to the rattle of -camping paraphernalia, which the voyager threw to a level, grassy -beach on the bank. Evidently this unwelcome visitor had journeyed -from afar, and his boat, sunk deep into the water with its load of -barrels, boxes and bags, indicated that the journey had only begun. -Significant, too, were a couple of Winchester rifles shining on a -tarpaulin. - -The cold-faced crowd stirred and parted to permit the passage of a -tall, thin, gray personage of official bearing, in a faded military -coat. - -“Are you the musk-ox hunter?” he asked, in tones that contained no -welcome. - -The boatman greeted this peremptory interlocutor with a cool -laugh--a strange laugh, in which the muscles of his face appeared -not to play. - -“Yes, I am the man,” he said. - -“The chiefs of the Chippewayan and Great Slave tribes have been -apprised of your coming. They have held council and are here to -speak with you.” - -At a motion from the commandant, the line of chieftains piled down -to the level beach and formed a half-circle before the voyager. To a -man who had stood before grim Sitting Bull and noble Black Thunder -of the Sioux, and faced the falcon-eyed Geronimo, and glanced over -the sights of a rifle at gorgeous-feathered, wild, free Comanches, -this semi-circle of savages--lords of the north--was a sorry -comparison. Bedaubed and betrinketed, slouchy and slovenly, these -low-statured chiefs belied in appearance their scorn-bright eyes and -lofty mien. They made a sad group. - -One who spoke in unintelligible language, rolled out a haughty -sonorous voice over the listening multitude. When he had finished, a -half-breed interpreter, in the dress of a white man, spoke at a -signal from the commandant. - -“He says listen to the great orator of the Chippewayan. He has -summoned all the chiefs of the tribes south of Great Slave Lake. He -has held council. The cunning of the pale-face, who comes to take -the musk-oxen, is well known. Let the pale-face hunter return to his -own hunting-grounds; let him turn his face from the north. Never -will the chiefs permit the white man to take musk-oxen alive from -their country. The Ageter, the musk-ox, is their god. He gives them -food and fur. He will never come back if he is taken away, and the -reindeer will follow him. The chiefs and their people would starve. -They command the pale-face hunter to go back. They cry Naza! Naza! -Naza!” - -“Say, for a thousand miles I’ve heard that word Naza!” returned the -hunter, with mingled curiosity and disgust. “At Edmonton Indian -runners started ahead of me, and every village I struck the redskins -would crowd round me and an old chief would harangue at me, and -motion me back, and point north with Naza! Naza! Naza! What does it -mean?” - -“No white man knows; no Indian will tell,” answered the interpreter. -“The traders think it means the Great Slave, the North Star, the -North Spirit, the North Wind, the North Lights and Ageter, the -musk-ox god.” - -“Well, say to the chiefs to tell Ageter I have been four moons on -the way after some of his little Ageters, and I’m going to keep on -after them.” - -“Hunter, you are most unwise,” broke in the commandant, in his -officious voice. “The Indians will never permit you to take a -musk-ox alive from the north. They worship him, pray to him. It is a -wonder you have not been stopped.” - -“Who’ll stop me?” - -“The Indians. They will kill you if you do not turn back.” - -“Faugh! to tell an American plainsman that!” The hunter paused a -steady moment, with his eyelids narrowing over slits of blue fire. -“There is no law to keep me out, nothing but Indian superstition and -the greed of the Hudson’s Bay people. And I am an old fox, not to be -fooled by pretty baits. For years the officers of this fur-trading -company have tried to keep out explorers. Even Sir John Franklin, an -Englishman, could not buy food of them. The policy of the company is -to side with the Indians, to keep out traders and trappers. Why? So -they can keep on cheating the poor savages out of clothing and food -by trading a few trinkets and blankets, a little tobacco and rum for -millions of dollars’ worth of furs. Have I failed to hire man after -man, Indian after Indian, not to know why I cannot get a helper? -Have I, a plainsman, come a thousand miles alone to be scared by -you, or a lot of craven Indians? Have I been dreaming of musk-oxen -for forty years, to slink south now, when I begin to feel the north? -Not I.” - -Deliberately every chief, with the sound of a hissing snake, spat in -the hunter’s face. He stood immovable while they perpetrated the -outrage, then calmly wiped his cheeks, and in his strange, cool -voice addressed the interpreter. - -“Tell them thus they show their true qualities, to insult in -council. Tell them they are not chiefs, but dogs. Tell them they are -not even squaws, only poor, miserable starved dogs. Tell them I turn -my back on them. Tell them the paleface has fought real chiefs, -fierce, bold, like eagles, and he turns his back on dogs. Tell them -he is the one who could teach them to raise the musk-oxen and the -reindeer, and to keep out the cold and the wolf. But they are -blinded. Tell them the hunter goes north.” - -Through the council of chiefs ran a low mutter as of gathering -thunder. - -True to his word, the hunter turned his back on them. As he brushed -by, his eye caught a gaunt savage slipping from the boat. At the -hunter’s stern call, the Indian leaped ashore, and started to run. -He had stolen a parcel, and would have succeeded in eluding its -owner but for an unforeseen obstacle, as striking as it was -unexpected. - -A white man of colossal stature had stepped in the thief’s passage, -and laid two great hands on him. Instantly the parcel flew from the -Indian, and he spun in the air to fall into the river with a -sounding splash. Yells signaled the surprise and alarm caused by -this unexpected incident. The Indian frantically swam to the shore. -Whereupon the champion of the stranger in a strange land lifted a -bag, which gave forth a musical clink of steel, and throwing it with -the camp articles on the grassy bench, he extended a huge, friendly -hand. - -“My name is Rea,” said he, in deep, cavernous tones. - -“Mine is Jones,” replied the hunter, and right quickly did he grip -the proffered hand. He saw in Rea a giant, of whom he was but a -stunted shadow. Six and one-half feet Rea stood, with yard-wide -shoulders, a hulk of bone and brawn. His ponderous, shaggy head -rested on a bull neck. His broad face, with its low forehead, its -close-shut mastiff under jaw, its big, opaque eyes, pale and cruel -as those of a jaguar, marked him a man of terrible brute force. - -“Free-trader!” called the commandant. “Better think twice before you -join fortunes with the musk-ox hunter.” - -“To hell with you an’ your rantin’, dog-eared redskins!” cried Rea. -“I’ve run agin a man of my own kind, a man of my own country, an’ -I’m goin’ with him.” With this he thrust aside some encroaching, -gaping Indians so unconcernedly and urgently that they sprawled upon -the grass. - -Slowly the crowd mounted and once more lined the bank. - -Jones realized that by some late-turning stroke of fortune, he had -fallen in with one of the few free-traders of the province. These -free-traders, from the very nature of their calling--which was to -defy the fur company, and to trap and trade on their own -account--were a hardy and intrepid class of men. Rea’s worth to -Jones exceeded that of a dozen ordinary men. He knew the ways of the -north, the language of the tribes, the habits of animals, the -handling of dogs, the uses of food and fuel. Moreover, it soon -appeared that he was a carpenter and blacksmith. - -“There’s my kit,” he said, dumping the contents of his bag. It -consisted of a bunch of steel traps, some tools, a broken ax, a box -of miscellaneous things such as trappers used, and a few articles of -flannel. “Thievin’ redskins,” he added, in explanation of his -poverty. “Not much of an outfit. But I’m the man for you. Besides, I -had a pal onct who knew you on the plains, called you ‘Buff’ Jones. -Old Jim Bent he was.” - -“I recollect Jim,” said Jones. “He went down in Custer’s last -charge. So you were Jim’s pal. That’d be a recommendation if you -needed one. But the way you chucked the Indian overboard got me.” - -Rea soon manifested himself as a man of few words and much action. -With the planks Jones had on board he heightened the stern and bow -of the boat to keep out the beating waves in the rapids; he -fashioned a steering-gear and a less awkward set of oars, and -shifted the cargo so as to make more room in the craft. - -“Buff, we’re in for a storm. Set up a tarpaulin an’ make a fire. -We’ll pretend to camp to-night. These Indians won’t dream we’d try -to run the river after dark, and we’ll slip by under cover.” - -The sun glazed over; clouds moved up from the north; a cold wind -swept the tips of the spruces, and rain commenced to drive in gusts. -By the time it was dark not an Indian showed himself. They were -housed from the storm. Lights twinkled in the tepees and the big log -cabins of the trading company. Jones scouted round till pitchy black -night, when a freezing, pouring blast sent him back to the -protection of the tarpaulin. When he got there he found that Rea had -taken it down and awaited him. “Off!” said the free-trader; and with -no more noise than a drifting feather the boat swung into the -current and glided down till the twinkling fires no longer -accentuated the darkness. - -By night the river, in common with all swift rivers, had a sullen -voice, and murmured its hurry, its restraint, its menace, its -meaning. The two boatmen, one at the steering gear, one at the oars, -faced the pelting rain and watched the dim, dark line of trees. The -craft slid noiselessly onward into the gloom. - -And into Jones’ ears, above the storm, poured another sound, a -steady, muffled rumble, like the roll of giant chariot wheels. It -had come to be a familiar roar to him, and the only thing which, in -his long life of hazard, had ever sent the cold, prickling, tight -shudder over his warm skin. Many times on the Athabasca that rumble -had presaged the dangerous and dreaded rapids. - -“Hell Bend Rapids!” shouted Rea. “Bad water but no rocks.” - -The rumble expanded to a roar, the roar to a boom that charged the -air with heaviness, with a dreamy burr. The whole indistinct world -appeared to be moving to the lash of wind, to the sound of rain, to -the roar of the river. The boat shot down and sailed aloft, met -shock on shock, breasted leaping dim white waves, and in a hollow, -unearthly blend of watery sounds, rode on and on, buffeted, tossed, -pitched into a black chaos that yet gleamed with obscure shrouds of -light. Then the convulsive stream shrieked out a last defiance, -changed its course abruptly to slow down and drown the sound of -rapids in muffling distance. Once more the craft swept on smoothly, -to the drive of the wind and the rush of the rain. - -By midnight the storm cleared. Murky clouds split to show shining, -blue-white stars and a fitful moon, that silvered the crests of the -spruces and sometimes hid like a gleaming, black-threaded pearl -behind the dark branches. - -Jones, a plainsman all his days, wonderingly watched the -moon-blanched water. He saw it shade and darken under shadowy walls -of granite, where it swelled with hollow song and gurgle. He heard -again the far-off rumble, faint on the night wind. High cliff banks -appeared, walled out the mellow light, and the river suddenly -narrowed. Yawning holes, whirlpools of a second, opened with a -gurgling suck and raced with the boat. - -On the craft flew. Far ahead, a long, declining plane of jumping -frosted waves played dark and white with the moonbeams. The Slave -plunged to his freedom, down his riven, stone-spiked bed, knowing no -patient eddy, and white-wreathed his dark, shiny rocks in spume and -spray. - - - - -VII. A CASE OF METAPHANTASMIA - -By W. D. Howells - -From “Between the Dark and the Daylight,” copyright, 1907, -by Harper and Brothers. By special permission from the author. - - -The stranger was a guest of Halson’s, and Halson himself was a -comparative stranger, for he was of recent election to our -dining-club, and was better known to Minver than to the rest of our -little group, though one could not be sure that he was very well -known to Minver. The stranger had been dining with Halson, and we -had found the two smoking together, with their cups of black coffee -at their elbows, before the smoldering fire in the Turkish room when -we came in from dinner--my friend Wanhope the psychologist, Rulledge -the sentimentalist, Minver the painter, and myself. It struck me for -the first time that a fire on the hearth was out of keeping with a -Turkish room, but I felt that the cups of black coffee restored the -lost balance in some measure. - -Before we had settled into our wonted places--in fact, almost as we -entered--Halson looked over his shoulder and said: “Mr. Wanhope, I -want you to hear this story of my friend’s. Go on, Newton--or, -rather, go back and begin again--and I’ll introduce you afterwards.” - -The stranger made a becoming show of deprecation. He said he did not -think the story would bear immediate repetition, or was even worth -telling once, but, if we had nothing better to do, perhaps we might -do worse than hear it; the most he could say for it was that the -thing really happened. He wore a large drooping, gray mustache, -which, with the imperial below it, quite hid his mouth, and gave -him, somehow, a martial effect, besides accurately dating him of the -period between the latest sixties and earliest seventies, when his -beard would have been black; I liked his mustache not being stubbed -in the modern manner, but allowed to fall heavily over his lips, and -then branch away from the corners of his mouth as far as it would. -He lighted the cigar which Halson gave him, and, blowing the -bitten-off tip towards the fire, began: - -“It was about that time when we first had a ten-o’clock night train -from Boston to New York. Train used to start at nine, and lag along -around by Springfield, and get into the old Twenty-sixth Street -Station here at six in the morning, where they let you sleep as long -as you liked. They call you up now at half-past five, and, if you -don’t turn out, they haul you back to Mott Haven or New Haven, I’m -not sure which. I used to go into Boston and turn in at the old -Worcester Depot, as we called it then, just about the time the train -began to move, and I usually got a fine night’s rest in the course -of the nine or ten hours we were on the way to New York; it didn’t -seem quite the same after we began saying Albany Depot: shortened up -the run, somehow. - -“But that night I wasn’t very sleepy, and the porter had got the -place so piping hot with the big stoves, one at each end of the car, -to keep the good, old-fashioned Christmas cold out, that I thought I -should be more comfortable with a smoke before I went to bed; and, -anyhow, I could get away from the heat better in the smoking-room. I -hated to be leaving home on Christmas Eve, for I never had done that -before, and I hated to be leaving my wife alone with the children -and the two girls in our little house in Cambridge. Before I started -in on the old horse-car for Boston, I had helped her to tuck the -young ones in and to fill the stockings hung along the wall over the -register--the nearest we could come to a fireplace--and I thought -those stockings looked very weird, five of them, dangling lumpily -down, and I kept seeing them, and her sitting up sewing in front of -them, and afraid to go to bed on account of burglars. I suppose she -was shyer of burglars than any woman ever was that had never seen a -sign of them. She was always calling me up, to go down-stairs and put -them out, and I used to wander all over the house, from attic to -cellar, in my nighty, with a lamp in one hand and a poker in the -other, so that no burglar could have missed me if he had wanted an -easy mark. I always kept a lamp and a poker handy.” - -The stranger heaved a sigh as of fond reminiscence, and looked round -for the sympathy which in our company of bachelors he failed of; -even the sympathetic Rulledge failed of the necessary experience to -move him in compassionate response. - -“Well,” the stranger went on, a little damped perhaps by his -failure, but supported apparently by the interest of the fact in -hand, “I had the smoking-room to myself for a while, and then a -fellow put his head in that I thought I knew after I had thought I -didn’t know him. It dawned on me more and more, and I had to -acknowledge to myself, by and by, that it was a man named Melford, -whom I used to room with in Holworthy at Harvard: that is, we had an -apartment of two bedrooms and a study; and I suppose there were -never two fellows knew less of each other than we did at the end of -our four years together. I can’t say what Melford knew of me, but -the most I knew of Melford was his particular brand of nightmare.” - -Wanhope gave the first sign of his interest in the matter. He took -his cigar from his lips, and softly emitted an “Ah!” - -Rulledge went further and interrogatively repeated the word -“Nightmare?” - -“Nightmare,” the stranger continued, firmly. “The curious thing -about it was that I never exactly knew the subject of his nightmare, -and a more curious thing yet was Melford himself never knew it, when -I woke him up. He said he couldn’t make out anything but a kind of -scraping in a door-lock. His theory was that in his childhood it had -been a much completer thing, but that the circumstances had broken -down in a sort of decadence, and now there was nothing left of it -but that scraping in the door-lock, like somebody trying to turn a -misfit key. I used to throw things at his door, and once I tried a -cold-water douche from the pitcher, when he was very hard to waken; -but that was rather brutal, and after a while I used to let him roar -himself awake; he would always do it, if I trusted to nature; and -before our junior year was out I got so that I could sleep through, -pretty calmly; I would just say to myself when he fetched me to the -surface with a yell, ‘That’s Melford dreaming,’ and doze off -sweetly.” - -“Jove! I don’t see how you could stand it.” - -“There’s everything in habit, Rulledge,” Minver put in. “Perhaps our -friend only dreamt that he heard a dream.” - -“That’s quite possible,” the stranger owned, politely. “But the case -is superficially as I state it. However, it was all past, long ago, -when I recognized Melford in the smoking-room that night; it must -have been ten or a dozen years. I was wearing a full beard then, and -so was he; we wore as much beard as we could in those days. I had -been through the war since college, and he had been in California, -most of the time, and, as he told me, he had been up north, in -Alaska, just after we bought it, and hurt his eyes--had -snowblindness--and he wore spectacles. In fact, I had to do most of -the recognizing, but after we found out who we were we were rather -comfortable; and I liked him better than I remembered to have liked -him in our college days. I don’t suppose there was ever much harm in -him; it was only my grudge about his nightmare. We talked along and -smoked along for about an hour, and I could hear the porter outside, -making up the berths, and the train rumbled away towards Framingham, -and then towards Worcester, and I began to be sleepy, and to think I -would go to bed myself; and just then the door of the smoking-room -opened, and a young girl put in her face a moment, and said: ‘Oh, I -beg your pardon. I thought it was the stateroom,’ and then she shut -the door, and I realized that she looked like a girl I used to -know.” - -The stranger stopped, and I fancied from a note in his voice that -this girl was perhaps like an early love. We silently waited for him -to resume how and when he would. He sighed, and after an appreciable -interval he began again. “It is curious how things are related to -one another. My wife had never seen her, and yet, somehow, this girl -that looked like the one I mean brought my mind back to my wife with -a quick turn, after I had forgotten her in my talk with Melford for -the time being. I thought how lonely she was in that little house of -ours in Cambridge, on rather an outlying street, and I knew she was -thinking of me, and hating to have me away on Christmas Eve, which -isn’t such a lively time after you’re grown up and begin to look -back on a good many other Christmas Eves, when you were a child -yourself; in fact, I don’t know a dismaler night in the whole year. -I stepped out on the platform before I began to turn in, for a -mouthful of the night air, and I found it was spitting snow--a -regular Christmas Eve of the true pattern; and I didn’t believe, -from the business feel of those hard little pellets, that it was -going to stop in a hurry, and I thought if we got into New York on -time we should be lucky. The snow made me think of a night when my -wife was sure there were burglars in the house; and in fact I heard -their tramping on the stairs myself--thump, thump, thump, and then a -stop, and then down again. Of course it was the slide and thud of -the snow from the roof of the main part of the house to the roof of -the kitchen, which was in an L, a story lower, but it was as good an -imitation of burglars as I want to hear at one o’clock in the -morning; and the recollection of it made me more anxious about my -wife, not because I believed she was in danger, but because I knew -how frightened she must be. - -“When I went into the car, that girl passed me on the way to her -stateroom, and I concluded that she was the only woman on board, and -her friends had taken the stateroom for her, so that she needn’t -feel strange. I usually go to bed in a sleeper as I do in my own -house, but that night I somehow couldn’t. I got to thinking of -accidents, and I thought how disagreeable it would be to turn out -into the snow in my nighty. I ended by turning in with my clothes -on, all except my coat; and, in spite of the red-hot stoves, I -wasn’t any too warm. I had a berth in the middle of the car, and -just as I was parting my curtains to lie down, old Melford came to -take the lower berth opposite. It made me laugh a little, and I was -glad of the relief. ‘Why, hello, Melford,’ said I. ‘This is like the -old Holworthy times.’ ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said he, and then I asked -something that I had kept myself from asking all through our talk in -the smoking-room, because I knew he was rather sensitive about it, -or used to be. ‘Do you ever have that regulation nightmare of yours -nowadays, Melford?’ He gave a laugh, and said: ‘I haven’t had it, I -suppose, once in ten years. What made you think of it?’ I said: ‘Oh, -I don’t know. It just came into my mind. Well, good-night, old -fellow. I hope you’ll rest well,’ and suddenly I began to feel -light-hearted again, and I went to sleep as gayly as ever I did in -my life. - -“... I didn’t go to sleep at once, though I felt so much at peace. -In fact, Melford beat me, and I could hear him far in advance, -steaming and whistling away, in a style that I recalled as -characteristic, over a space of intervening years that I hadn’t -definitely summed up yet. It made me think of a night near -Narragansett Bay, where two friends of mine and I had had a mighty -good dinner at a sort of wild club-house, and had hurried into our -bunks, each one so as to get the start of the others, for the -fellows that were left behind knew they had no chance of sleep after -the first began to get in his work. I laughed, and I suppose I must -have gone to sleep almost simultaneously, for I don’t recollect -anything afterwards till I was wakened by a kind of muffled bellow, -that I remembered only too well. It was the unfailing sign of -Melford’s nightmare. - -“I was ready to swear, and I was ashamed for the fellow who had no -more self-control than that: when a fellow snores, or has a -nightmare, you always think first off that he needn’t have had it if -he had tried. As usual, I knew Melford didn’t know what his -nightmare was about, and that made me madder still, to have him -bellowing into the air like that, with no particular aim. All at -once there came a piercing scream from the stateroom, and then I -knew that the girl there had heard Melford, and been scared out of a -year’s growth.” - -The stranger made a little break, and Wanhope asked, “Could you make -out what she screamed, or was it quite inarticulate?” - -“It was plain enough, and it gave me a clew, somehow, to what -Melford’s nightmare was about. She was calling out ‘Help! help! -help! Burglars!’ till I thought she would raise the roof of the -car.” - -“And did she wake anybody?” Rulledge inquired. - -“That was the strange part of it. Not a soul stirred, and after the -first burst the girl seemed to quiet down again and yield the floor -to Melford, who kept bellowing steadily away. I was so furious that -I reached out across the aisle to shake him, but the attempt was too -much for me. I lost my balance and fell out of my berth onto the -floor. You may imagine the state of mind I was in. I gathered myself -up and pulled Melford’s curtains open and was just going to fall on -him tooth and nail, when I was nearly taken off my feet again by an -apparition: well, it looked like an apparition, but it was a tall -fellow in his nighty--for it was twenty years before pajamas--and he -had a small dark lantern in his hand, such as we used to carry in -those days so as to read in our berths when we couldn’t sleep. He -was gritting his teeth, and growling between them: ‘Out o’ this! Out -o’ this! I’m going to shoot to kill, you blasted thieves!’ I could -see by the strange look in his eyes that he was sleep-walking, and I -didn’t wait to see if he had a pistol. I popped in behind the -curtains, and found myself on top of another fellow, for I had -popped into the wrong berth in my confusion. The man started up and -yelled: ‘Oh, don’t kill me! There’s my watch on the stand, and all -the money in the house is in my pantaloons pocket. The silver’s in -the sideboard down-stairs, and it’s plated, anyway.’ Then I -understood what his complaint was, and I rolled onto the floor -again. By that time every man in the car was out of his berth, too, -except Melford, who was devoting himself strictly to business; and -every man was grabbing some other, and shouting, ‘Police’ or -‘Burglars!’ or ‘Help!’ or ‘Murder!’ just as the fancy took him.” - -“Most extraordinary!” Wanhope commented as the stranger paused for -breath. - -“... Yes,” the stranger owned, “but I don’t know that there wasn’t -something more extraordinary still. From time to time the girl in -the stateroom kept piping up, with a shriek for help. She had got -past the burglar stage, but she wanted to be saved, anyhow, from -some danger which she didn’t specify. It went through me that it was -very strange nobody called the porter, and I set up a shout of -‘Porter!’ on my own account. I decided that if there were burglars -the porter was the man to put them out, and that if there were no -burglars the porter could relieve our groundless fears. Sure enough, -he came rushing in, as soon as I called for him, from the little -corner by the smoking-room where he was blacking boots between -dozes. He was wide enough awake, if having his eyes open meant that, -and he had a shoe on one hand and a shoe-brush in the other. But he -merely joined in the general uproar and shouted for the police. - -“... Then I didn’t know what to do, for a minute. The porter was a -pretty thick-headed darky, but he was lion-hearted; and his idea was -to lay hold of a burglar wherever he could find him. There were -plenty of burglars in the aisle there, or people that were afraid of -burglars, and they seemed to think the porter had a good idea. They -had hold of one another already, and now began to pull up and down -the aisles in a way that reminded me of the old-fashioned mesmeric -lectures, when they told their subjects that they were this or that, -and set them to acting the part. I remembered how once when the -mesmerist gave out that they were at a horse-race, and his subjects -all got astride of their chairs, and galloped up and down the hall -like a lot of little boys on laths. I thought of that now, and -although it was rather serious business, for I didn’t know what -minute they would come to blows, I couldn’t help laughing. The sight -was weird enough. Every one looked like a somnambulist as he pulled -and hauled. The young lady in the stateroom was doing her full -share. She was screaming, ‘Won’t somebody let me out?’ and hammering -on the door. I guess it was her screaming and hammering that brought -the conductor at last, or maybe he just came round in the course of -nature to take up the tickets. It was before the time when they took -the tickets at the gate, and you used to stick them into a little -slot at the side of your berth, and the conductor came along and -took them in the night, somewhere between Worcester and Springfield, -I should say.” - -“I remember,” Rulledge assented, but very carefully, so as not to -interrupt the flow of the narrative. “Used to wake up everybody in -the car.” - -“Exactly,” the stranger said. “But this time they were all wide -awake to receive him, or fast asleep, and dreaming their rôles. He -came along with the wire of his lantern over his arm, the way the -old-time conductors did, and calling out, ‘Tickets!’ just as if it -was broad day, and he believed every man was trying to beat his way -to New York. The oddest thing about it was that the sleep-walkers -all stopped their pulling and hauling a moment, and each man reached -down to the little slot alongside of his berth and handed over his -ticket. Then they took hold and began pulling and hauling again. I -suppose the conductor asked what the matter was; but I couldn’t hear -him, and I couldn’t make out exactly what he did say. But the -passengers understood, and they all shouted ‘Burglars!’ and that -girl in the stateroom gave a shriek that you could have heard from -one end of the train to the other, and hammered on the door, and -wanted to be let out. - -“It seemed to take the conductor by surprise, and he faced round -towards the stateroom and let the lantern slip off his arm, and it -dropped onto the floor and went out; I remember thinking what a good -thing it was it didn’t set the car on fire. But there in the -dark--for the car lamps went out at the same time with the -lantern--I could hear those fellows pulling and hauling up and down -the aisle and scuffling over the floor, and through all Melford -bellowing away, like an orchestral accompaniment to a combat in -Wagner opera, but getting quieter and quieter till his bellow died -away altogether. At the same time the row in the aisle of the car -stopped, and there was perfect silence, and I could hear the snow -rattling against my window. Then I went off into a sound sleep, and -never woke till we got into New York.” - -The stranger seemed to have reached the end of his story, or at -least to have exhausted the interest it had for him, and he smoked -on, holding his knee between his hands and looking thoughtfully into -the fire. - -He had left us rather breathless, or, better said, blank, and each -looked at the other for some initiative; then we united in looking -at Wanhope; that is, Rulledge and I did. Minver rose and stretched -himself with what I must describe as a sardonic yawn; Halson had -stolen away, before the end, as one to whom the end was known. -Wanhope seemed by no means averse to the inquiry delegated to him, -but only to be formulating its terms. - -“... I wonder”--he turned to the stranger, who sat absently staring -into the fire--“if you happened to speak to your friend about his -nightmare in the morning, and whether he was by any chance aware of -the participation of the others in it?” - -“I certainly spoke to him pretty plain when we got into New York.” - -“And what did he say?” - -“He said he had never slept better in his life, and he couldn’t -remember having a trace of nightmare. He said he heard _me_ groaning -at one time, but I stopped just as he woke, and so he didn’t rouse -me as he thought of doing. It was at Hartford, and he went to sleep -again, and slept through without a break.” - -“And what was your conclusion from that?” Wanhope asked. - -“That he was lying, I should say,” Rulledge replied for the -stranger. - -Wanhope still waited, and the stranger said, “I suppose one -conclusion might be that I had dreamed the whole thing myself.” - -“Then you wish me to infer,” the psychologist pursued, “that the -entire incident was a figment of your sleeping brain? That there was -no sort of sleeping thought-transference, no metaphantasmia, -no-- Excuse me. Do you remember verifying your impression of being -between Worcester and Springfield when the affair occurred, by -looking at your watch, for instance?” - -The stranger suddenly pulled out his watch at the word. “Good -Heavens!” he called out. “It’s twenty minutes of eleven, and I have -to take the eleven-o’clock train to Boston. I must bid you -good-evening, gentlemen. I’ve just time to get it if I can catch a -cab. Good-night. I hope if you come to Boston--eh--Good-night! -Sometimes,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ve thought it might have -been that girl in the stateroom that started the dreaming.” - -He had wrung our hands one after another, and now he ran out of the -room. - - - - -VIII. THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT - -By Bret Harte - -From “Luck of Roaring Camp,” copyright, 1915, by Houghton Mifflin -Company. By special permission from the publishers. - - -As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker -Flat on the morning of the twenty-third of November, 1850, he was -conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding -night. Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he -approached, and exchanged significant glances. There was a Sabbath -lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath -influences, looked ominous. - -Mr. Oakhurst’s calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in these -indications. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause, was -another question. “I reckon they’re after somebody,” he reflected; -“likely it’s me.” He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with -which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his -neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further -conjecture. - -In point of fact, Poker Flat was “after somebody.” - -It had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two -valuable horses, and a prominent citizen. It was experiencing a -spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as lawless and ungovernable as any -of the acts that had provoked it. A secret committee had determined -to rid the town of all improper persons. This was done permanently -in regard of two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a -sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of certain -other objectionable characters. I regret to say that some of these -were ladies. It is but due to the sex, however, to state that their -impropriety was professional, and it was only in such easily -established standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit in -judgment. - -Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he was included in this -category. A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possible -example, and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his -pockets of the sums he had won from them. “It’s agin justice,” said -Jim Wheeler, “to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire -stranger--carry away our money.” But a crude sentiment of equity -residing in the breasts of those who had been fortunate enough to -win from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower local prejudice. - -Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none -the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges. -He was too much of a gambler not to accept Fate. With him life was -at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in -favor of the dealer. - -A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker -Flat to the outskirts of the settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who -was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation -the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a -young woman familiarly known as “The Duchess”; another, who had won -the title of “Mother Shipton”; and “Uncle Billy,” a suspected -sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard. The cavalcade provoked no -comments from the spectators, nor was any word uttered by the -escort. Only, when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of -Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point. -The exiles were forbidden to return at the peril of their lives. - -As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a -few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother -Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy. The -philosophic Oakhurst alone remained silent. He listened calmly to -Mother Shipton’s desire to cut somebody’s heart out, to the repeated -statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the -alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he -rode forward. With the easy good-humor characteristic of his class, -he insisted upon exchanging his own riding-horse, “Five Spot,” for -the sorry mule which the Duchess rode. But even this act did not -draw the party into any closer sympathy. The young woman readjusted -her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother -Shipton eyed the possessor of “Five Spot” with malevolence, and -Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema. - -The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced -the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to -offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain -range. It was distant a day’s severe travel. In that advanced -season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of -the foothills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras. The -trail was narrow and difficult. At noon the Duchess, rolling out of -her saddle upon the ground, declared her intention of going no -farther, and the party halted. - -The spot was singularly wild and impressive. A wooded amphitheater, -surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, -sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked -the valley. It was, undoubtedly, the most suitable spot for a camp, -had camping been advisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely half -the journey to Sandy Bar was accomplished, and the party were not -equipped or provisioned for delay. This fact he pointed out to his -companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of -“throwing up their hand before the game was played out.” But they -were furnished with liquor, which in this emergency stood them in -place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience. In spite of his -remonstrances, it was not long before they were more or less under -its influence. Uncle Billy passed rapidly from a bellicose state -into one of stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother Shipton -snored. Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against a rock, -calmly surveying them. - -Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with a profession which -required coolness, impassiveness, and presence of mind, and, in his -own language, he “couldn’t afford it.” As he gazed at his recumbent -fellow-exiles, the loneliness begotten of his pariah-trade, his -habits of life, his very vices, for the first time seriously -oppressed him. He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, -washing his hands and face, and other acts characteristic of his -studiously neat habits, and for a moment forgot his annoyance. The -thought of deserting his weaker and more pitiable companions never -perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could not help feeling the want of -that excitement which, singularly enough, was most conducive to that -calm equanimity for which he was notorious. He looked at the gloomy -walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines -around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, -already deepening into shadow. And, doing so, suddenly he heard his -own name called. - -A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the fresh, open face of the -new-comer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as -“The Innocent” of Sandy Bar. He had met him some months before over -a “little game,” and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entire -fortune--amounting to some forty dollars--of that guileless youth. -After the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful -speculator behind the door and thus addressed him: “Tommy, you’re a -good little man, but you can’t gamble worth a cent. Don’t try it -over again.” He then handed him his money back, pushed him gently -from the room, and so made a devoted slave of Tom Simson. - -There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic -greeting of Mr. Oakhurst. He had started, he said, to go to Poker -Flat to seek his fortune. “Alone?” No, not exactly alone; in fact (a -giggle), he had run away with Piney Woods. Didn’t Mr. Oakhurst -remember Piney? She that used to wait on the table at the Temperance -House? They had been engaged a long time, but old Jake Woods had -objected, and so they had run away, and were going to Poker Flat to -be married, and here they were. And they were tired out, and how -lucky it was they had found a place to camp and company. All this -the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel -of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine tree, where she had been -blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover. - -Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less with -propriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not -fortunate. He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently -to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy -was sober enough to recognize in Mr. Oakhurst’s kick a superior -power that would not bear trifling. He then endeavored to dissuade -Tom Simson from delaying further, but in vain. He even pointed out -the fact that there was no provision, nor means of making a camp. -But, unluckily, the Innocent met this objection by assuring the -party that he was provided with an extra mule loaded with -provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a loghouse -near the trail. “Piney can stay with Mrs. Oakhurst,” said the -Innocent, pointing to the Duchess, “and I can shift for myself.” - -Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst’s admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy from -bursting into a roar of laughter. As it was, he felt compelled to -retire up the cañon until he could recover his gravity. There he -confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his -leg, contortions of his face, and the usual profanity. But when he -returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire--for the air -had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast--in apparently -amicable conversation. Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, -girlish fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an interest -and animation she had not shown for many days. The Innocent was -holding forth, apparently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and -Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into amiability. “Is this -yer a d--d picnic?” said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he -surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered -animals in the foreground. Suddenly an idea mingled with the -alcoholic fumes that disturbed his brain. It was apparently of a -jocular nature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram -his fist into his mouth. - -As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight breeze rocked -the tops of the pine-trees, and moaned through their long and gloomy -aisles. The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine-boughs, was -set apart for the ladies. As the lovers parted, they unaffectedly -exchanged a kiss, so honest and sincere that it might have been -heard above the swaying pines. The frail Duchess and the malevolent -Mother Shipton were probably too stunned to remark upon this last -evidence of simplicity, and so turned without a word to the hut. The -fire was replenished, the men lay down before the door, and in a few -minutes were asleep. - -Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward morning he awoke benumbed -and cold. As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now -blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood -to leave it,--snow! - -He started to his feet with the intention of awakening the sleepers, -for there was no time to lose. But turning to where Uncle Billy had -been lying, he found him gone. A suspicion leaped to his brain and a -curse to his lips. He ran to the spot where the mules had been -tethered; they were no longer there. The tracks were already rapidly -disappearing in the snow. - -The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oakhurst back to the fire with -his usual calm. He did not waken the sleepers. The Innocent -slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled -face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly -as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing -his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustache and waited for -the dawn. It came slowly in a whirling mist of snow-flakes, that -dazzled and confused the eye. What could be seen of the landscape -appeared magically changed. He looked over the valley, and summed up -the present and future in two words,--“snowed in!” - -A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the -party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious -fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and -prudence they might last ten days longer. “That is,” said Mr. -Oakhurst, sotto voce to the Innocent, “if you’re willing to board -us. If you ain’t--and perhaps you’d better not--you can wait till -Uncle Billy gets back with provisions.” For some occult reason, Mr. -Oakhurst could not bring himself to disclose Uncle Billy’s -rascality, and so offered the hypothesis that he had wandered from -the camp and had accidentally stampeded the animals. He dropped a -warning to the Duchess and Mother Shipton, who of course knew the -facts of their associate’s defection. “They’ll find out the truth -about us all when they find out anything,” he added, significantly, -“and there’s no good frightening them now.” - -Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at the disposal of Mr. -Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy the prospect of their enforced -seclusion. “We’ll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow’ll -melt, and we’ll all go back together.” The cheerful gayety of the -young man, and Mr. Oakhurst’s calm infected the others. The Innocent -with the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless -cabin, and the Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement of the -interior with a taste and tact that opened the blue eyes of that -provincial maiden to their fullest extent. “I reckon now you’re used -to fine things at Poker Flat,” said Piney. The Duchess turned away -sharply to conceal something that reddened her cheeks through their -professional tint, and Mother Shipton requested Piney not to -“chatter.” But when Mr. Oakhurst returned from a weary search for -the trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoed from the -rocks. He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts first naturally -reverted to the whiskey, which he had prudently cached. “And yet it -don’t somehow sound like whiskey,” said the gambler. It was not -until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still-blinding -storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that -it was “square fun.” - -Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cached his cards with the whiskey as -something debarred the free access of the community, I cannot say. -It was certain that, in Mother Shipton’s words, he “didn’t say cards -once” during that evening. Haply the time was beguiled by an -accordion, produced somewhat ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his -pack. Notwithstanding some difficulties attending the manipulation -of this instrument, Piney Woods managed to pluck several reluctant -melodies from its keys, to an accompaniment by the Innocent on a -pair of bone castanets. But the crowning festivity of the evening -was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining -hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation. I fear that a -certain defiant tone and Covenanter’s swing to its chorus, rather -than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the -others, who at last joined in the refrain:-- - - “‘I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord, - And I’m bound to die in His army.’” - -The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserable -group, and the flames of their altar leaped heaven-ward, as if in -token of the vow. - -At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and the -stars glittered keenly above the sleeping camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whose -professional habits had enabled him to live on the smallest possible -amount of sleep, in dividing the watch with Tom Simson, somehow -managed to take upon himself the greater part of that duty. He -excused himself to the Innocent, by saying that he had “often been a -week without sleep.” “Doing what?” asked Tom. “Poker!” replied -Oakhurst, sententiously; “when a man gets a streak of -luck,--nigger-luck,--he don’t get tired. The luck gives in first. -Luck,” continued the gambler, reflectively, “is a mighty queer -thing. All you know about it for certain is that it’s bound to -change. And it’s finding out when it’s going to change that makes -you. We’ve had a streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat,--you -come along, and slap you get into it, too. If you can hold your -cards right along you’re all right. For,” added the gambler, with -cheerful irrelevance,-- - - “‘I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord, - And I’m bound to die in His army.’” - -The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained -valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of -provisions for the morning meal. It was one of the peculiarities of -that mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over -the wintry landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past. -But it revealed drift on drift of snow piled high around the hut,--a -hopeless, uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky -shores to which the castaways still clung. Through the marvellously -clear air the smoke of the pastoral village of Poker Flat rose miles -away. Mother Shipton saw it, and from a remote pinnacle of her rocky -fastness, hurled in that direction a final malediction. It was her -last vituperative attempt, and perhaps for that reason was invested -with a certain degree of sublimity. It did her good, she privately -informed the Duchess. “Just you go out there and cuss, and see.” She -then set herself to the task of amusing “the child,” as she and the -Duchess were pleased to call Piney. Piney was no chicken, but it was -a soothing and original theory of the pair thus to account for the -fact that she didn’t swear and wasn’t improper. - -When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of the -accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the -flickering campfire. But music failed to fill entirely the aching -void left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed by -Piney,--story-telling. Neither Mr. Oakhurst nor his female -companions caring to relate their personal experiences, this plan -would have failed, too, but for the Innocent. Some months before he -had chanced upon a stray copy of Mr. Pope’s ingenious translation of -the “Iliad.” He now proposed to narrate the principal incidents of -that poem--having thoroughly mastered the argument and fairly -forgotten the words--in the current vernacular of Sandy Bar. And so -for the rest of that night the Homeric demigods again walked the -earth. Trojan bully and wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and the -great pines in the cañon seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of -Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst listened with quiet satisfaction. Most -especially was he interested in the fate of “Ash-heels,” as the -Innocent persisted in denominating the “swift-footed Achilles.” - -So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week -passed over the heads of the outcasts. The sun again forsook them, -and again from leaden skies the snow-flakes were sifted over the -land. Day by day closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at -last they looked from their prison over drifted walls of dazzling -white, that towered twenty feet above their heads. It became more -and more difficult to replenish their fires, even from the fallen -trees beside them, now half hidden in the drifts. And yet no one -complained. The lovers turned from the dreary prospect and looked -into each other’s eyes, and were happy. Mr. Oakhurst settled himself -coolly to the losing game before him. The Duchess, more cheerful -than she had been, assumed the care of Piney. Only Mother -Shipton--once the strongest of the party--seemed to sicken and fade. -At midnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to her side. “I’m -going,” she said, in a voice of querulous weakness, “but don’t say -anything about it. Don’t waken the kids. Take the bundle from under -my head and open it.” Mr. Oakhurst did so. It contained Mother -Shipton’s rations for the last week, untouched. “Give ’em to the -child,” she said, pointing to the sleeping Piney. “You’ve starved -yourself,” said the gambler. “That’s what they call it,” said the -woman, querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning her face to -the wall, passed quietly away. - -The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was -forgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the -snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and showed him a pair of -snow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle. -“There’s one chance in a hundred to save her yet,” he said, pointing -toward Poker Flat. “If you can reach there in two days she’s safe.” - -“And you?” asked Tom Simson. “I’ll stay here,” was the curt reply. - -The lovers parted with a long embrace. “You are not going, too?” -said the Duchess, as she saw Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to -accompany him. “As far as the cañon,” he replied. He turned -suddenly, and kissed the Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame, -and her trembling limbs rigid with amazement. - -Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the storm again and the -whirling snow. Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some -one had quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days -longer. The tears rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney. - -The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each -other’s faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke; but Piney, -accepting the position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm -around the Duchess’s waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of -the day. That night the storm reached its greatest fury, and, -rending asunder the protecting pines, invaded the very hut. - -Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which -gradually died away. As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess -crept closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: “Piney, -can you pray?” “No, dear,” said Piney, simply. The Duchess, without -knowing exactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon -Piney’s shoulder, spoke no more. And so reclining, the younger and -purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin -breast, they fell asleep. - -The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery drifts of -snow, shaken from the long pineboughs, flew like white-winged birds, -and settled about them as they slept. The moon through the rifted -clouds looked down upon what had been the camp. But all human stain, -all trace of earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle -mercifully flung from above. - -They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken when voices -and footsteps broke the silence of the camp. And when pitying -fingers brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely -have told from the equal peace that dwelt upon them, which was she -that had sinned. Even the law of Poker Flat recognized this, and -turned away, leaving them still locked in each other’s arms. - -But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine-trees, they -found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife. It -bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand:-- - - Beneath this tree - Lies the body - of - John Oakhurst, - Who struck a streak of bad luck - on the 23d of November, 1850, - and - Handed in his checks - on the 7th December, 1850. - -And pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his side and a bullet in -his heart, though still calm as in life, beneath the snow lay he who -was at once the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of -Poker Flat. - - - - -IX. THE HANDBOOK OF HYMEN - -By O. Henry - -From “The Heart of the West,” copyright, 1913, by Doubleday, -Page & Co. By special permission from the publishers. - - -’Tis the opinion of myself, Sanderson Pratt, who sets this down, -that the educational system of the United States should be in the -hands of the weather bureau. I can give you good reasons for it; and -you can’t tell me why our college professors shouldn’t be -transferred to the meteorological department. They have been learned -to read; and they could very easily glance at the morning papers and -then wire in to the main office what kind of weather to expect. But -there’s the other side of the proposition. I am going on to tell you -how the weather furnished me and Idaho Green with an elegant -education. - -We was up in the Bitter Root Mountains over the Montana line -prospecting for gold. A chin-whiskered man in Walla-Walla, carrying -a line of hope as excess baggage, had grubstaked us; and there we -was in the foothills pecking away, with enough grub on hand to last -an army through a peace conference. Along one day comes a mail-rider -over the mountains from Carlos, and stops to eat three cans of -greengages, and leave us a newspaper of modern date. This paper -prints a system of premonitions of the weather, and the card it -dealt Bitter Root Mountains from the bottom of the deck was “warmer -and fair, with light westerly breezes.” - -That evening it began to snow, with the wind strong in the east. Me -and Idaho moved camp into an old empty cabin higher up the mountain, -thinking it was only a November flurry. But after falling three foot -on a level it went to work in earnest; and we knew we was snowed in. -We got in plenty of firewood before it got deep, and we had grub -enough for two months, so we let the elements rage and cut up all -they thought proper. - -If you want to instigate the art of manslaughter just shut two men -up in a eighteen by twenty-foot cabin for a month. Human nature -won’t stand it. - -When the first snowflakes fell me and Idaho Green laughed at each -other’s jokes and praised the stuff we turned out of a skillet and -called bread. At the end of three weeks Idaho makes this kind of a -edict to me. Says he: - -“I never exactly heard sour milk dropping out of a balloon on the -bottom of a tin pan, but I have an idea it would be music of the -spears compared to this attenuated stream of asphyxiated thought -that emanates out of your organs of conversation. The kind of -half-masticated noises that you emit every day puts me in mind of a -cow’s cud, only she’s lady enough to keep hers to herself, and you -ain’t.” - -“Mr. Green,” says I, “you having been a friend of mine once, I have -some hesitations in confessing to you that if I had my choice for -society between you and a common yellow, three-legged cur pup, one -of the inmates of this here cabin would be wagging a tail just at -present.” - -This way we goes on for two or three days, and then we quits -speaking to one another. We divides up the cooking implements, and -Idaho cooks his grub on one side of the fireplace, and me on the -other. The snow is up to the windows, and we have to keep a fire all -day. - -You see me and Idaho never had any education beyond reading and -doing “if John had three apples and James five” on a slate. We never -felt any special need for a university degree, though we had -acquired a species of intrinsic intelligence in knocking around the -world that we could use in emergencies. But snowbound in that cabin -in the Bitter Roots, we felt for the first time that if we had -studied Homer or Greek and fractions and the higher branches of -information, we’d have had some resources in the line of meditation -and private thought. I’ve seen them Eastern college fellows working -in camps all through the West, and I never noticed but what -education was less of a drawback to ’em than you would think. Why -once over on Snake River, when Andrew McWilliams’ saddle horse got -the botts, he sent a buckboard ten miles for one of these strangers -that claimed to be a botanist. But that horse died. - -One morning Idaho was poking around with a stick on top of a little -shelf that was too high to reach. Two books fell down to the floor. -I started toward ’em, but caught Idaho’s eye. He speaks for the -first time in a week. - -“Don’t burn your fingers,” says he. “In spite of the fact that -you’re only fit to be the companion of a sleeping mud-turtle, I’ll -give you a square deal. And that’s more than your parents did when -they turned you loose in the world with the sociability of a -rattlesnake and the bedside manner of a frozen turnip. I’ll play you -a game of seven-up, the winner to pick up his choice of the book, -the loser to take the other.” - -We played; and Idaho won. He picked up his book; and I took mine. -Then each of us got on his side of the house and went to reading. - -I never was as glad to see a ten-ounce nugget as I was that book. -And Idaho looked at his like a kid looks at a stick of candy. - -Mine was a little book about five by six inches called “Herkimer’s -Handbook of Indispensable Information.” I may be wrong, but I think -that was the greatest book that ever was written. I’ve got it -to-day; and I can stump you or any man fifty times in five minutes -with the information in it. Talk about Solomon or the “New York -Tribune”! Herkimer had cases on both of ’em. That man must have put -in fifty years and travelled a million miles to find out all that -stuff. There was the population of all cities in it, and the way to -tell a girl’s age, and the number of teeth a camel has. It told you -the longest tunnel in the world, the number of the stars, how long -it takes for chicken pox to break out, what a lady’s neck ought to -measure, the veto powers of Governors, the dates of the Roman -aqueducts, how many pounds of rice going without three beers a day -would buy, the average annual temperature of Augusta, Maine, the -quantity of seed required to plant an acre of carrots in drills, -antidotes for poisons, the number of hairs on a blond lady’s head, -how to preserve eggs, the height of all the mountains in the world, -and the dates of all wars and battles and how to restore drowned -persons, and sunstroke, and the number of tacks in a pound, and how -to make dynamite and flowers and beds, and what to do before the -doctor comes--and a hundred times as many things besides. If there -was anything Herkimer didn’t know I didn’t miss it out of the book. - -I sat and read that book for four hours. All the wonders of -education was compressed in it. I forgot the snow, and I forgot that -me and old Idaho was on the outs. He was sitting still on a stool -reading away with a kind of partly soft and partly mysterious look -shining through his tan-bark whiskers. - -“Idaho,” says I, “what kind of a book is yours?” - -Idaho must have forgot, too, for he answered moderate, without any -slander or malignity. - -“Why,” says he, “this here seems to be a volume by Homer K. M.” - -“Homer K. M. what?” I asks. - -“Why, just Homer K. M.,” says he. - -“You’re a liar,” says I, a little riled that Idaho should try to put -me up a tree. “No man is going ’round signing books with his -initials. If it’s Homer K. M. Spoopendyke, or Homer K. M. McSweeney, -or Homer K. M. Jones, why don’t you say so like a man instead of -bitting off the end of it like a calf chewing off the tail of a -shirt on a clothes-line?” - -“I put it to you straight, Sandy,” says Idaho, quiet. “It’s a poem -book,” says he, “by Homer K. M. I couldn’t get color out of it at -first, but there’s a vein if you follow it up. I wouldn’t have -missed this book for a pair of red blankets.” - -“You’re welcome to it,” says I. “What I want is a disinterested -statement of facts for the mind to work on, and that’s what I seem -to find in the book I’ve drawn.” - -“What you’ve got,” says Idaho, “is statistics, the lowest grade of -information that exists. They’ll poison your mind. Give me old K. -M.’s system of surmises. He seems to be a kind of a wine agent. His -regular toast is ‘nothing doing,’ and he seems to have a grouch, but -he keeps it so well lubricated with booze that his worst kicks sound -like an invitation to split a quart. But it’s poetry,” says Idaho, -“and I have sensations of scorn for that truck of yours that tries -to convey sense in feet and inches. When it comes to explaining the -instinct of philosophy through the art of nature, old K. M. has got -your man beat by drills, rows, paragraphs, chest measurement, and -average annual rainfall.” - -So that’s the way me and Idaho had it. Day and night all the -excitement we got was studying our books. That snowstorm sure fixed -us with a fine lot of attainments apiece. By the time the snow -melted, if you had stepped up to me suddenly and said: “Sanderson -Pratt, what would it cost per square foot to lay a roof with -twenty-eight tin at nine dollars and fifty cents per box?” I’d have -told you as quick as light could travel the length of a spade handle -at the rate of one hundred and ninety-two thousand miles per second. -How many can do it? You wake up ’most any man you know in the middle -of the night and ask him quick to tell you the number of bones in -the human skeleton exclusive of the teeth, or what percentage of the -vote of the Nebraska Legislature overrules a veto. Will he tell you? -Try him and see. - -About what benefit Idaho got out of his poetry book I didn’t exactly -know. Idaho boosted the wine-agent every time he opened his mouth; -but I wasn’t so sure. - -This Homer K. M., from what leaked out of his libretto through -Idaho, seemed to me to be a kind of a dog who looked at life like it -was a tin can tied to his tail. After running himself half to death, -he sits down, hangs his tongue out, and looks at the can and says: - -“Oh, well, since we can’t shake the growler, let’s get it filled at -the corner, and all have a drink on me.” - -Besides that, it seems he was a Persian; and I never hear of Persia -producing anything worth mentioning unless it was Turkish rugs and -Maltese cats. - -That spring me and Idaho struck pay ore. It was a habit of ours to -sell out quick and keep moving. We unloaded on our grubstaker for -eight thousand dollars apiece; and then we drifted down to this -little town of Rosa, on the Salmon River, to rest up, and get some -human grub, and have our whiskers harvested. - -Rosa was no mining-camp. It laid in the valley, and was as free of -uproar and pestilence as one of them rural towns in the country. -There was a three-mile trolley line champing its bit in the -environs; and me and Idaho spent a week riding on one of the cars, -dropping off of nights at the Sunset View Hotel. Being now well read -as well as travelled, we was soon _pro re nata_, with the best -society in Rosa, and was invited out to the most dressed-up and -high-toned entertainments. It was at a piano recital and -quail-eating contest in the city hall, for the benefit of the fire -company, that me and Idaho first met Mrs. De Ormond Sampson, the -queen of Rosa society. - -Mrs. Sampson was a widow, and owned the only two-story house in -town. It was painted yellow, and whichever way you looked from you -could see it as plain as egg on the chin of an O’Grady on a Friday. -Twenty-two men in Rosa besides me and Idaho was trying to stake a -claim on that yellow house. - -There was a dance after the song books and quail bones had been -raked out of the Hall. Twenty-three of the bunch galloped over to -Mrs. Sampson and asked for a dance. I side-stepped the two-step, and -asked permission to escort her home. That’s where I made a hit. - -On the way home says she: - -“Ain’t the stars lovely and bright to-night, Mr. Pratt?” - -“For the chance they’ve got,” says I, “they’re humping themselves in -a mighty creditable way. That big one you see is sixty-six billions -of miles distant. It took thirty-six years for its light to reach -us. With an eighteen-foot telescope you can see forty-three millions -of ’em, including them of the thirteenth magnitude, which, if one -was to go out now, you would keep on seeing it for twenty-seven -hundred years.” - -“My!” says Mrs. Sampson. “I never knew that before. How warm it is! -I’m as damp as I can be from dancing so much.” - -“That’s easy to account for,” says I, “when you happen to know that -you’ve got two million sweat glands working all at once. If every -one of your perspiratory ducts, which are a quarter of an inch long, -was placed end to end, they would reach a distance of seven miles.” - -“Lawsy!” says Mrs. Sampson. “It sounds like an irrigation ditch you -was describing, Mr. Pratt. How do you get all this knowledge of -information?” - -“From observation, Mrs. Sampson,” I tells her. “I keep my eyes open -when I go about the world.” - -“Mr. Pratt,” says she, “I always did admire a man of education. -There are so few scholars among the sap-headed plug-uglies of this -town that it is a real pleasure to converse with a gentleman of -culture. I’d be gratified to have you call at my house whenever you -feel so inclined.” - -And that was the way I got the goodwill of the lady in the yellow -house. Every Tuesday and Friday evenings I used to go there and tell -her about the wonders of the universe as discovered, tabulated, and -compiled from nature by Herkimer. Idaho and the other gay Lutherans -of the town got every minute of the rest of the week that they -could. - -I never imagined that Idaho was trying to work on Mrs. Sampson with -old K. M.’s rules of courtship till one afternoon when I was on my -way over to take her a basket of wild hog-plums. I met the lady -coming down the lane that led to her house. Her eyes was snapping, -and her hat made a dangerous dip over one eye. - -“Mr. Pratt,” she opens up, “this Mr. Green is a friend of yours, I -believe.” - -“For nine years,” says I. - -“Cut him out,” says she. “He’s no gentleman!” - -“Why, ma’am,” says I, “he’s a plain incumbent of the mountains, with -asperities and the usual failings of a spendthrift and a liar, but I -never on the most momentous occasion had the heart to deny that he -was a gentleman. It may be that in haberdashery and the sense of -arrogance and display Idaho offends the eye, but inside, ma’am, I’ve -found him impervious to the lower grades of crime and obesity. After -nine years of Idaho’s society, Mrs. Sampson,” I winds up, “I should -hate to impute him, and I should hate to see him imputed.” - -“It’s right plausible of you, Mr. Pratt,” says Mrs. Sampson, “to -take up the curmudgeons in your friend’s behalf; but it don’t alter -the fact that he has made proposals to me sufficiently obnoxious to -ruffle the ignominy of any lady.” - -“Why, now, now, now!” says I. “Old Idaho do that! I could believe it -of myself sooner. I never knew but one thing to deride in him; and a -blizzard was responsible for that. Once while we was snowbound in -the mountains he became a prey to a kind of spurious and uneven -poetry, which may have corrupted his demeanor.” - -“It has,” says Mrs. Sampson. “Ever since I knew him he has been -reciting to me a lot of irreligious rhymes by some person he calls -Ruby Ott, and who is no better than she should be, if you judge by -her poetry.” - -“Then Idaho has struck a new book,” says I, “for the one he had was -by a man who writes under the nom de plume of K. M.” - -“He’d better have stuck to it,” says Mrs. Sampson, “whatever it was. -And to-day he caps the vortex. I get a bunch of flowers from him, -and on ’em is pinned a note. Now, Mr. Pratt, you know a lady when -you see her; and you know how I stand in Rosa society. Do you think -for a moment that I’d skip out to the woods with a man along with a -jug of wine and a loaf of bread, and go singing and cavorting up and -down under the trees with him? I take a little claret with my meals, -but I’m not in the habit of packing a jug of it into the brush and -raising Cain in any such style as that. And of course he’d bring his -book of verses along, too. He said so. Let him go on his scandalous -picnics alone! Or let him take his Ruby Ott with him. I reckon she -wouldn’t kick unless it was on account of there being too much bread -along. And what do you think of your gentleman friend now, Mr. -Pratt?” - -“Well, ’m,” says I, “it may be that Idaho’s invitation was a kind of -poetry, and meant no harm. May be it belonged to the class of rhymes -they call figurative. They offend law and order, but they get sent -through the mails on the grounds that they mean something that they -don’t say. I’d be glad on Idaho’s account if you’d overlook it,” -says I, “and let us extricate our minds from the low regions of -poetry to the higher planes of fact and fancy. On a beautiful -afternoon like this, Mrs. Sampson,” I goes on, “we should let our -thoughts dwell accordingly. Though it is warm here, we should -remember that at the equator the line of perpetual frost is at an -altitude of fifteen thousand feet. Between the latitudes of forty -degrees and forty-nine degrees it is from four thousand to nine -thousand feet.” - -“Oh, Mr. Pratt,” says Mrs. Sampson, “it’s such a comfort to hear you -say them beautiful facts after getting such a jar from that minx of -a Ruby’s poetry!” - -“Let us sit on this log at the roadside,” says I, “and forget the -inhumanity and ribaldry of the poets. It is in the glorious columns -of ascertained facts and legalized measures that beauty is to be -found. In this very log we sit upon, Mrs. Sampson,” says I, “is -statistics more wonderful than any poem. The rings show it was sixty -years old. At the depth of two thousand feet it would become coal in -three thousand years. The deepest coal mine in the world is at -Killingworth, near Newcastle. A box four feet long, three feet wide, -and two feet eight inches deep will hold one ton of coal. If an -artery is cut, compress it above the wound. A man’s leg contains -thirty bones. The Tower of London was burned in 1841.” - -“Go on, Mr. Pratt,” says Mrs. Sampson. “Them ideas is so original -and soothing. I think statistics are just as lovely as they can be.” - -But it wasn’t till two weeks later that I got all that was coming to -me out of Herkimer. - -One night I was waked up by folks hollering “Fire!” all around. I -jumped up and dressed and went out of the hotel to enjoy the scene. -When I seen it was Mrs. Sampson’s house, I gave forth a kind of -yell, and I was there in two minutes. - -The whole lower story of the yellow house was in flames, and every -masculine, feminine, and canine in Rosa was there, screeching and -barking and getting in the way of the firemen. I saw Idaho trying to -get away from six firemen who were holding him. They was telling him -the whole place was on fire down-stairs, and no man could go in it -and come out alive. - -“Where’s Mrs. Sampson?” I asks. - -“She hasn’t been seen,” says one of the firemen. “She sleeps -up-stairs. We’ve tried to get in, but we can’t, and our company -hasn’t any ladders yet.” - -I runs around to the light of the big blaze, and pulls the Handbook -out of my inside pocket. I kind of laughed when I felt it in my -hands--I reckon I was some daffy with the sensation of excitement. - -“Herky, old boy,” I says to it, as I flipped over the pages, “you -ain’t ever lied to me yet, and you ain’t ever throwed me down at a -scratch yet. Tell me what, old boy, tell me what!” says I. - -I turned to “What to do in Case of Accidents,” on page 117. I run my -finger down the page, and struck it. Good old Herkimer, he never -overlooked anything! It said: - - Suffocation from Inhaling Smoke or Gas.--There is nothing - better than flaxseed. Place a few seed in the outer corner - of the eye. - -I shoved the Handbook back in my pocket, and grabbed a boy that was -running by. - -“Here,” says I, giving him some money, “run to the drug store and -bring a dollar’s worth of flaxseed. Hurry, and you’ll get another -one for yourself. Now,” I sings out to the crowd, “we’ll have Mrs. -Sampson!” And I throws away my coat and hat. - -Four of the firemen and citizens grabs hold of me. It’s sure death, -they say, to go in the house, for the floors was beginning to fall -through. - -“How in blazes,” I sings out, kind of laughing yet, but not feeling -like it, “do you expect me to put flaxseed in a eye without the -eye?” - -I jabbed each elbow in a fireman’s face, kicked the bark off of one -citizen’s shin, and tripped the other one with a side hold. And then -I busted into the house. If I die first I’ll write you a letter and -tell you if it’s any worse down there than the inside of that yellow -house was; but don’t believe it yet. I was a heap more cooked than -the hurry-up orders of broiled chicken that you get in restaurants. -The fire and smoke had me down on the floor twice, and was about to -shame Herkimer, but the firemen helped me with their little stream -of water, and I got to Mrs. Sampson’s room. She’d lost consciousness -from the smoke, so I wrapped her in the bed clothes and got her on -my shoulder. Well, the floors wasn’t as bad as they said, or I never -could have done it--not by no means. - -I carried her out fifty yards from the house and laid her on the -grass. Then, of course, every one of them other twenty-two -plaintiffs to the lady’s hand crowded around with tin dippers of -water ready to save her. And up runs the boy with the flaxseed. - -I unwrapped the covers from Mrs. Sampson’s head. She opened her eyes -and says: - -“Is that you, Mr. Pratt?” - -“S-s-sh,” says I. “Don’t talk till you’ve had the remedy.” - -I runs my arm around her neck and raises her head, gentle, and -breaks the bag of flaxseed with the other hand; and as easy as I -could I bends over and slips three or four of the seeds in the outer -corner of her eye. - -Up gallops the village doc by this time, and snorts around, and -grabs at Mrs. Sampson’s pulse, and wants to know what I mean by any -such sandblasted nonsense. - -“Well, old Jalap and Jerusalem oakseed,” says I, “I’m no regular -practitioner, but I’ll show you my authority, anyway.” - -They fetched my coat, and I gets out the Handbook. - -“Look on page 117,” says I, “at the remedy for suffocation by smoke -or gas. Flaxseed in the outer corner of the eye, it says. I don’t -know whether it works as a smoke consumer or whether it hikes the -compound gastro-hippopotamus nerve into action, but Herkimer says -it, and he was called to the case first. If you want to make it a -consultation, there’s no objection.” - -Old doc takes the book and looks at it by means of his specs and a -fireman’s lantern. - -“Well, Mr. Pratt,” says he, “you evidently got on the wrong line in -reading your diagnosis. The recipe for suffocation says: ‘Get the -patient into fresh air as quickly as possible, and place in a -reclining position.’ The flaxseed remedy is for ‘Dust and Cinders in -the Eye,’ on the line above. But after all--” - -“See here,” interrupts Mrs. Sampson, “I reckon I’ve got something to -say in this consultation. That flaxseed done me more good than -anything I ever tried.” And then she raises up her head and lays it -back on my arm again, and says: “Put some in the other eye, Sandy -dear.” - -And so if you was to stop off at Rosa to-morrow, or any other day, -you’d see a fine new yellow house with Mrs. Pratt, that was Mrs. -Sampson, embellishing and adorning it. And if you was to step inside -you’d see on the marble-top center table in the parlor “Herkimer’s -Handbook of Indispensable Information,” all rebound in red morocco, -and ready to be consulted on any subject pertaining to human -happiness and wisdom. - - - - -X. JACK AND THE KING - -By Seumas MacManus - -From “In Chimney Corners,” copyright, 1899, by Doubleday, -Page & Company. By special permission from the author. - - -Wanst upon a time, when pigs was swine, there was a poor widdy woman -lived all alone with her wan son Jack in a wee hut of a house, that -on a dark night ye might aisily walk over it by mistake, not knowin’ -at all, at all, it was there, barrin’ ye’d happen to strike yer toe -again’ it. An’ Jack an’ his mother lived for lee an’ long, as happy -as hard times would allow them, in this wee hut of a house, Jack -sthrivin’ to ’arn a little support for them both by workin’ out, an’ -doin’ wee turns back an’ forrid to the neighbors. But there was one -winter, an’ times come to look black enough for them--nothin’ to do, -an’ less to ate, an’ clothe themselves as best they might; an’ the -winther wore on, gettin’ harder an’ harder, till at length when Jack -got up out of his bed on a mornin’, an’ axed his mother to make -ready the drop of stirabout for their little brakwus as usual, -“Musha, Jack,” says his mother, says she, “the male-chist--thanks be -to the Lord!--is as empty as Paddy Ruadh’s donkey that used to ate -his brakwus at supper-time. It stood out long an’ well, but it’s -empty at last, Jack, an’ no sign of how we’re goin’ to get it filled -again--only we trust in the good Lord that niver yet disarted the -widow and the orphan--He’ll not see us wantin’, Jack.” - -“The Lord helps them that help themselves, Mother,” says Jack back -again to her. - -“Thrue for ye, Jack,” says she, “but I don’t see how we’re goin’ to -help ourselves.” - -“He’s a mortial dead mule out an’ out that hasn’t a kick in him,” -says Jack. “An’, Mother, with the help of Providence--not comparin’ -the Christian to the brute baste--I have a kick in me yet; if you -thought ye could only manage to sthrive along the best way you could -for a week, or maybe two weeks, till I get back again off a little -journey I’d like to undhertake.” - -“An’ may I make bould to ax, Jack,” says his mother to him, “where -would ye be afther makin’ the little journey to?” - -“You may that, then, Mother,” says Jack. “It’s this: You know the -King of Munsther is a great jintleman entirely. It’s put on him, -he’s so jintlemanly, that he was niver yet known to make use of a -wrong or disrespectable word. An’ he prides himself on it so much -that he has sent word over all the known airth that he’ll give his -beautiful daughter--the loveliest picthur in all Munsther, an’ maybe -in all Irelan’, if we’d say it--an’ her weight in goold, to any man -that in three trials will make him use the unrespectful word, an’ -say, ‘Ye’re a liar!’ But every man that tries him, an’ fails, loses -his head. All sorts and descriptions of people, from prences an’ -peers down to bagmen an’ beggars, have come from all parts of the -known world to thry for the great prize, an’ all of them up to this -has failed, an’ by consequence lost their heads. But, Mother dear,” -says Jack, “where’s the use in a head to a man if he can’t get mail -for it to ate? So I’m goin’ to thry me fortune, only axin’ your -blissin’ an’ God’s blissin’ to help me on the way.” - -“Why, Jack,” says his mother, “it’s a dangersome task; but as you -remark, where’s the good of the head to ye when ye can’t get mail to -put in it? So, I give ye my blissin’, an’ night, noon, an’ mornin’ -I’ll be prayin’ for ye to prosper.” - -An’ Jack set out, with his heart as light as his stomach, an’ his -pocket as light as them both together; but a man ’ill not travel far -in ould Irelan’ (thanks be to God!) on the bare-footed stomach--as -we’ll call it--or it’ll be his own fault if he does; an’ Jack didn’t -want for plenty of first-class aitin’ an’ dhrinkin’ lashin’s an’ -lavin’s and pressin’ him to more. An’ in this way he thravelled away -before him for five long days till he come to the King of Munsther’s -castle. And when he was comed there he rattled on the gate, an’ out -come the King. - -“Well, me man,” says the King, “what might be your business here?” - -“I’m come here, your Kingship,” says Jack, mighty polite, an’ -pullin’ his forelock, be raison his poor ould mother had always -insthructed him in the heighth of good breedin’--“I’m come here, -your R’yal Highness,” says Jack, “to thry for yer daughter.” - -“Hum!” says the King. “Me good young man,” says he, “don’t ye think -it a poor thing to lose yer head?” - -“If I lose it,” says Jack, “sure one consolation’ll be that I’ll -lose it in a glorious cause.” - -An’ who do ye think would be listenin’ to this same deludherin’ -speech of Jack’s, from over the wall, but the King’s beautiful -daughter herself. She took an eyeful out of Jack, an’ right well -plaised she was with his appearance, for,-- - -“Father,” says she at once, “hasn’t the boy as good a right to get a -chance as another? What’s his head to you? Let the boy in,” says -she. - -An’ sure enough, without another word, the King took Jack within the -gates, an’ handin’ him over to the sarvints, tould him to be well -looked afther an’ cared for till mornin’. - -Next mornin’ the King took Jack with him an’ fetched him out into -the yard. “Now then, Jack,” says he, “we’re goin’ to begin. We’ll -drop into the stables here, an’ I’ll give you your first chance.” - -So he took Jack into the stables an’ showed him some wondherful big -horses, the likes of which poor Jack never saw afore, an’ everyone -of which was the heighth of the side wall of the castle an’ could -step over the castle walls, which were twenty-five feet high, -without strainin’ themselves. - -“Them’s purty big horses, Jack,” says the King. “I don’t suppose -ever ye saw as big or as wondherful as them in yer life.” - -“Oh, they’re purty big indeed,” says Jack, takin’ it as cool as if -there was nothin’ whatsomever astonishin’ to him about them. -“They’re purty big indeed,” says Jack, “for this counthry. But at -home with us in Donegal we’d only count them little nags, shootable -for the young ladies to dhrive in pony-carriages.” - -“What!” says the King, “do ye mane to tell me ye have seen bigger in -Donegal?” - -“Bigger!” says Jack. “Phew! Blood alive, yer Kingship, I seen horses -in my father’s stable that could step over your horses without -thrippin’. My father owned one big horse--the greatest, I believe, -in the world again.” - -“What was he like?” says the King. - -“Well, yer Highness,” says Jack, “it’s quite beyond me to tell ye -what he was like. But I know when we wanted to mount it could only -be done by means of a step-laddher, with nine hundred and ninety -steps to it, every step a mile high, an’ you had to jump seven mile -off the topmost step to get on his back. He ate nine ton of turnips, -nine ton of oats, an’ nine ton of hay in the day, an’ it took -ninety-nine men in the daytime, an’ ninety-nine more in the -night-time, carrying his feeds to him; an’ when he wanted a drink, -the ninety-nine men had to lead him to a lough that was nine mile -long, nine mile broad, an’ nine mile deep, an’ he used to drink it -dry every time,” says Jack, an’ then he looked at the King, -expectin’ he’d surely have to make a liar of him for that. - -But the King only smiled at Jack, an’ says he, “Jack, that was a -wonderful horse entirely, an’ no mistake.” - -Then he took Jack with him out into the garden for his second trial, -an’ showed him a beeskep, the size of the biggest rick of hay ever -Jack had seen; an’ every bee in the skep was the size of a thrush -an’ queeny bee as big as a jackdaw. - -“Jack,” says the King, says he, “isn’t them wondherful bees? I’ll -warrant ye, ye never saw anything like them?” - -“Oh, they’re middlin’--middlin’ fairish,” says Jack--“for this -counthry. But they’re nothin’ at all to the bees we have in Donegal. -If one of our bees was flying across the fields,” says Jack, “and -one of your bees happened to come in its way, an’ fall into our -bee’s eye our bee would fly to the skep, an’ ax another bee to take -the mote out of his eye.” - -“Do you tell me so, Jack?” says the King. “You must have great -monsthers of bees.” - -“Monsthers,” says Jack. “Ah, yer Highness, monsthers is no name for -some of them. I remimber,” says he, “a mighty great breed of bees me -father owned. They were that big that when my father’s new castle -was a-buildin’ (in the steddin’ of the old one which he consaived to -be too small for a man of his mains), and when the workmen closed in -the roof, it was found there was a bee inside, an’ the hall door not -bein’ wide enough, they had to toss the side wall to let it out. -Then the queeny bee--ah! she was a wonderful baste entirely!” says -Jack. “Whenever she went out to take the air she used to overturn -all the ditches and hedges in the country; the wind of her wings -tossed houses and castles; she used to swallow whole flower gardens; -an’ one day she flew against a ridge of mountains nineteen thousand -feet high and knocked a piece out from top to bottom, an’ it’s -called Barnesmore Gap to this day. This queeny bee was a great -trouble an’ annoyance to my father, seein’ all the harm she done the -naybours round about; and once she took it in her head to fly over -to England, an’ she created such mischief an’ disolation there that -the King of Englan’ wrote over to my father if he didn’t come -immediately an’ take home his queeny bee that was wrackin’ an’ -ruinin’ all afore her he’d come over himself at the head of all his -army, and wipe my father off the face of the airth. So my father -ordhered me to mount our wondherful big horse that I tould ye about, -an’ that could go nineteen mile at every step, an’ go over to -Englan’ an’ bring home our queeny bee. An’ I mounted the horse an’ -started, an’ when I come as far as the sea I had to cross to get -over to Englan’, I put the horse’s two fore feet into my hat, an’ in -that way he thrashed the sea dry all the way across an’ landed me -safely. When I come to the King of Englan’ he had to supply me with -nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand men an’ ninety-nine thousand -mile of chains an’ ropes to catch the queeny bee an’ bind her. It -took us nine years to catch her, nine more to tie her, an’ nine -years and nine millions of men to drag her home, an’ the King of -Englan’ was a beggar afther from that day till the day of his death. -Now what do ye think of that bee?” says Jack, thinkin’ he had the -King this time sure enough. - -But the King was a cuter one than Jack took him for, an’ he only -smiled again, an’ says he,-- - -“Well, Jack, that was a wondherful great queeny bee entirely.” - -Next, for poor Jack’s third an’ last chance the King took him to -show him a wondherful field of beans he had, with every bean-stalk -fifteen feet high, an’ every bean the size of a goose’s egg. - -“Well, Jack,” says the King, says he, “I’ll engage ye never saw more -wondherful bean-stalks than them?” - -“Is it them?” says Jack. “Arrah, man yer Kingship,” says he, “they -may be very good--for this counthry; but sure we’d throw them out of -the ground for useless afther-shoots in Donegal. I mind one -bean-stalk in partickler, that my father had for a show an’ a -cur’osity, that he used to show as a great wondher entirely to -sthrangers. It stood on ninety-nine acres of ground, it was nine -hundred mile high, an’ every leaf covered nine acres. It fed nine -thousand horses, nine thousand mules, an’ nine thousand jackasses -for nineteen years. He used to send nine thousand harvestmen up the -stalk in the spring to cut and gather off the soft branches at the -top. They used to cut these off when they’d reach up as far as them -(which was always in the harvest time), an’ throw them down, an’ -nine hundred and ninety-nine horses an’ carts were kept busy for -nine months carting the stuff away. Then the harvestmen always -reached down to the foot of the stalk at Christmas again.” - -“Faix, Jack,” says the King, “it was a wondherful bean-stalk, that, -entirely.” - -“You might say that,” says Jack, trying to make the most of it, for -he was now on his last leg. “You might say that,” says he. “Why, I -mind one year I went up the stalk with the harvestmen, an’ when I -was nine thousand mile up, doesn’t I miss my foot, and down I come. -I fell feet foremost, and sunk up to my chin in a whinstone rock -that was at the foot. There I was in a quandhary--but I was not long -ruminatin’ till I hauled out my knife, an’ cut off my head, an’ sent -it home to look for help. I watched after it, as it went away, an’ -lo an’ behould ye, afore it had gone a mile I saw a fox set on it, -and begin to worry it. ‘By this an’ by that,’ says I to meself, ‘but -this is too bad!’--an’ I jumped out an’ away as hard as I could run, -to the assistance of my head. An’ when I come up, I lifted my foot -an’ give the fox three kicks, an’ knocked three kings out of -him--every one of them a nicer an’ a better jintleman than you.” - -“Ye’re a liar, an’ a rascally liar,” says the King. - -“More power to ye!” says Jack, givin’ three buck leaps clean into -the air, “an’ it’s proud I am to get you to confess it; for I have -won yer daughter.” - -Right enough the King had to give up to Jack the daughter--an’ be -the same token, from the first time she clapped her two eyes on Jack -she wasn’t the girl to gainsay him--an’ her weight in goold. An’ -they were both of them marrid, an’ had such a weddin’ as surpassed -all the weddin’s ever was heerd tell of afore or since in that -country or in this. An’ Jack lost no time in sendin’ for his poor -ould mother, an’ neither herself nor Jack ever after knew what it -was to be in want. An’ may you an’ I never know that same naither. - - - - -XI. BILLY’S TENDERFOOT - -By Stewart Edward White - -From “Blazed Trail Stories,” copyright, 1904, by Doubleday, -Page & Company. By special permission from the author. - - -During one spring of the early seventies Billy Knapp ran a species -of road-house and hotel at the crossing of the Deadwood and Big Horn -trails through Custer Valley. Travellers changing from one to the -other frequently stopped there over night. He sold accommodations -for man and beast, the former comprising plenty of whiskey, the -latter plenty of hay. That was the best anyone could say of it. The -hotel was of logs, two-storied, with partitions of sheeting to -insure a certain privacy of sight if not of sound; had three beds -and a number of bunks; and boasted of a woman cook--one of the first -in the Hills. Billy did not run it long. He was too restless. For -the time being, however, he was interested and satisfied. - -The personnel of the establishment consisted of Billy and the woman, -already mentioned, and an ancient Pistol of the name of Charley. The -latter wore many firearms, and had a good deal to say, but had -never, as Billy expressed it, “made good.” This in the West could -not be for lack of opportunity. His functions were those of general -factotum. - -One evening Billy sat chair-tilted against the walls of the hotel -waiting for the stage. By and by it drew in. Charley hobbled out, -carrying buckets of water for the horses. The driver flung the reins -from him with the lordly insolence of his privileged class, -descended slowly, and swaggered to the barroom for his drink. Billy -followed to serve it. - -“Luck,” said the driver, and crooked his elbow. - -“Anything new?” queried Billy. - -“Nope.” - -“Held up?” - -“Nope. Black Hank’s over in th’ limestone.” - -That exhausted the situation. The two men puffed silently for a -moment at their pipes. In an instant the driver turned to go. - -“I got you a tenderfoot,” he remarked then, casually; “I reckon he’s -outside.” - -“Guess I ambles forth and sees what fer a tenderfoot it is,” replied -Billy, hastening from behind the bar. - -The tenderfoot was seated on a small trunk just outside the door. As -he held his hat in his hand, Billy could see his dome-like bald -head. Beneath the dome was a little pink-and-white face, and below -that narrow, sloping shoulders, a flat chest, and bandy legs. He -wore a light check suit, and a flannel shirt whose collar was much -too large for him. Billy took this all in while passing. As the -driver climbed to the seat, the hotel-keeper commented. - -“Say, Hen,” said he, “would you stuff it or put it under a glass -case?” - -“I’d serve it, a lay Tooloose,” replied the driver, briefly, and -brought his long lash 8-shaped across the four startled backs of his -horses. - -Billy turned to the reinspection of his guest, and met a deprecating -smile. - -“Can I get a room here fer to-night?” he inquired in a high, piping -voice. - -“You kin,” said Billy, shortly, and began to howl for Charley. - -That patriarch appeared around the corner, as did likewise the cook, -a black-eyed, red-cheeked creature, afterward counted by Billy as -one of his eight matrimonial ventures. - -“Snake this stranger’s war-bag into th’ shack,” commanded Billy, -“and, Nell, jest nat’rally rustle a few grub.” - -The stranger picked up a small hand-satchel and followed Charley -into the building. When, a little later, he reappeared for supper, -he carried the handbag with him, and placed it under the bench which -flanked the table. Afterward he deposited it near his hand while -enjoying a pipe outside. Naturally, all this did not escape Billy. - -“Stranger,” said he, “yo’ seems mighty wedded to that thar satchel.” - -“Yes, sir,” piped the stranger. Billy snorted at the title. “I has -some personal belongin’s which is valuable to me.” He opened the bag -and produced a cheap portrait of a rather cheap-looking woman. “My -mother that was,” said he. - -Billy snorted again and went inside. He hated sentiment of all -kinds. - -The two men sat opposite each other and ate supper, which was served -by the red-cheeked girl. The stranger kept his eyes on his plate -while she was in the room. He perched on the edge of the bench with -his feet tucked under him and resting on the toes. When she -approached, the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms grew rigid -with embarrassment, causing strange awkward movements of the hands. -He answered in monosyllables. - -Billy ate expansively and earnestly. Toward the close of the meal -Charley slipped into place beside him. Charley was out of humor, and -found the meat cold. - -“Damn yore soul, Nell,” he cried, “this yere ain’t fitten fer a -_hog_ to eat!” - -The girl did not mind; nor did Billy. It was the country’s mode of -speech. The stranger dropped his knife. - -“I don’t wonder you don’t like it, then,” said he, with a funny -little blaze of anger. - -“Meanin’ what?” shouted Charley, threateningly. - -“You mustn’t speak to a lady that way,” replied the stranger, -firmly, in his little piping voice. - -Billy caught the point and exploded in a mighty guffaw. - -“Bully fer you!” he cried, slapping his knee; “struck pyrites (he -pronounced it pie-rights) fer shore that trip, Charley.” - -The girl, too, laughed, but quietly. She was just a little touched, -though only this winter she had left Bismarck because the place -would have no more of her. - -In the face of Billy’s approval, the patriarch fell silent. - -About midnight the four inmates of the frontier hotel were awakened -by a tremendous racket outside. The stranger arose, fully clothed, -from his bunk, and peered through the narrow open window. A dozen -horses were standing grouped in charge of a single mounted man, -indistinguishable in the dark. Out of the open door a broad band of -light streamed from the saloon, whence came the noise of voices and -of boots tramping about. - -“It is Black Hank,” said Billy, at his elbow, “Black Hank and his -outfit. He hitches to this yere snubbin’-post occasional.” - -Black Hank in the Hills would have translated to Jesse James farther -south. - -The stranger turned suddenly energetic. - -“Don’t you make no fight?” he asked. - -“Fight?” said Billy, wondering. “Fight? Co’se not. Hank don’t -plunder _me_ none. He jest ambles along an’ helps himself, and -leaves th’ dust fer it every time. I jest lays low an’ lets him -operate. I never has no _dealin’s_ with him, understand. He jest -nat’rally waltzes in an’ plants his grub-hooks on what he needs. I -don’t know nothin’ about it. I’m dead asleep.” - -He bestowed a shadowy wink on the stranger. - -Below, the outlaws moved here and there. - -“Billy!” shouted a commanding voice, “Billy Knapp!” - -The hotel-keeper looked perplexed. - -“Now, what’s he tollin’ _me_ for?” he asked of the man by his side. - -“Billy!” shouted the voice again, “come down here, you Siwash. I -want to palaver with you.” - -“All right, Hank,” replied Billy. - -He went to his “room,” and buckled on a heavy belt; then descended -the steep stairs. The barroom was lighted and filled with men. Some -of them were drinking and eating; others were strapping provisions -into portable form. Against the corner of the bar a tall figure of a -man leaned smoking--a man lithe, active, and muscular, with a keen -dark face, and black eyebrows which met over his nose. Billy walked -silently to this man. - -“What is it?” he asked, shortly. “This yere ain’t in th’ agreement.” - -“I know that,” replied the stranger. - -“Then leave yore dust and vamoose.” - -“My dust is there,” replied Black Hank, placing his hand on a -buckskin bag at his side, “and you’re paid, Billy Knapp. I want to -ask you a question. Standing Rock has sent fifty thousand dollars in -greenbacks to Spotted Tail. The messenger went through here to-day. -Have you seen him?” - -“Nary messenger,” replied Billy, in relief. “Stage goes empty.” - -Charley had crept down the stairs and into the room. - -“What in hell are yo’ doin’ yere, yo’ ranikaboo ijit?” inquired -Billy, truculently. - -“That thar stage ain’t what you calls _empty_,” observed Charley, -unmoved. - -A light broke on Billy’s mind. He remarked the valise which the -stranger had so carefully guarded; and though his common-sense told -him that an inoffensive non-combatant such as the guest would hardly -be chosen as express messenger, still the bare possibility remained. - -“Yo’re right,” he agreed, carelessly, “thar is one tenderfoot who -knows as much of ridin’ express as a pig does of a ruffled shirt.” - -“I notes he’s almighty particular about that carpetbag of his’n,” -insisted Charley. - -The man against the counter had lost nothing of the scene. Billy’s -denial, his hesitation, his half-truth all looked suspicious to him. -With one swift, round sweep of the arm he had Billy covered. Billy’s -hands shot over his head without the necessity of command. - -The men ceased their occupations and gathered about. Scenes of this -sort were too common to elicit comment or arouse excitement. They -knew perfectly well the _laissez-faire_ relations which obtained -between the two Westerners. - -“Now,” said Black Hank, angrily, in a low tone, “I want to know why -in hell you tried that monkey game.” - -Billy, wary and unafraid, replied that he had tried no game, that he -had forgotten the tenderfoot for the moment, and that he did not -believe the latter would prove to be the sought-for express -messenger. - -One of the men, at a signal from his leader, relieved Billy’s heavy -belt of considerable weight. Then the latter was permitted to sit on -a cracker-box. Two more mounted the stairs. In a moment they -returned to report that the upper story contained no human beings, -strange or otherwise, except the girl, but that there remained a -small trunk. Under further orders, they dragged the trunk down into -the barroom. It was broken open and found to contain nothing but -clothes--of the plainsman’s cut, material, and state of wear; a -neatly folded Mexican saddle showing use, and a rawhide quirt. - -“Hell of a tenderfoot!” said Black Hank, contemptuously. - -The outlaws had already scattered outside to look for the trail. In -this they were unsuccessful, reporting, indeed, that not the -faintest sign indicated escape in any direction. - -Billy knew his man. The tightening of Black Hank’s close-knit brows -meant but one thing. One does not gain chieftainship of any kind in -the West without propping his ascendancy with acts of ruthless -decision. Billy leaped from his cracker-box with the suddenness of -the puma, seized Black Hank firmly about the waist, whirled him into -a sort of shield, and began an earnest struggle for the instant -possession of the outlaw’s drawn revolver. It was a gallant attempt, -but an unsuccessful one. In a moment Billy was pinioned to the -floor, and Black Hank was rubbing his abraded forearm. After that -the only question was whether it should be rope or bullet. - -Now, when Billy had gone downstairs, the stranger had wasted no -further time at the window. He had in his possession fifty thousand -dollars in greenbacks which he was to deliver as soon as possible to -the Spotted Tail agency in Wyoming. The necessary change of stage -lines had forced him to stay over night at Billy Knapp’s hotel. - -The messenger seized his bag and softly ran along through the -canvas-partitioned room wherein Billy slept, to a narrow window -which he had already noticed gave out almost directly into the pine -woods. The window was of oiled paper, and its catch baffled him. He -knew it should slide back; but it refused to slide. He did not dare -break the paper because of the crackling noise. A voice at his -shoulder startled him. - -“I’ll show you,” whispered the red-cheeked girl. - -She was wrapped loosely in a blanket, her hair falling about her -shoulders, and her bare feet showed beneath her coverings. - -The little man suffered at once an agony of embarrassment in which -the thought of his errand was lost. It was recalled to him by the -girl. - -“There you are,” she whispered, showing him the open window. - -“Thank you,” he stammered painfully. “I assure you--I wish--” - -The girl laughed under her breath. - -“That’s all right,” she said, heartily, “I owe you that for calling -old whiskers off his bronc,” and she kissed him. - -The messenger, trembling with self-consciousness, climbed hastily -through the window, ran the broad loop of the satchel up his arm, -and instead of dropping to the ground, as the girl had expected, -swung himself lightly into the branches of a rather large scrub-oak -that grew near. She listened to the rustle of the leaves for a -moment as he neared the trunk, and then, unable to restrain her -curiosity in regard to the doings below, turned to the stairway. - -As she did so, two men mounted. They examined the three rooms of the -upper story hastily but carefully, paying scant attention to her, -and departed swearing. In a few moments they returned for the -stranger’s trunk. Nell followed them down the stairs as far as the -doorway. There she heard and saw things, and fled in bitter dismay -to the back of the house when Billy Knapp was overpowered. - -At the window she knelt, clasping her hands and sinking her head -between her arms. Women in the West, at least women like Nell, do -not weep. But she came near it. Suddenly she raised her head. A -voice next her ear had addressed her. - -She looked here and there and around, but could discover nothing. - -“Here, outside,” came the low, guarded voice, “in the tree.” - -Then she saw that the little stranger had not stirred from his first -alighting-place. - -“Beg yore pardon, ma’am, fer startling you or fer addressing you at -all, which I shouldn’t, but--” - -“Oh, never mind that,” said the girl, impatiently, shaking back her -hair. So deprecating and timid were the tones, that almost without -an effort of the imagination she could picture the little man’s -blushes and his half-sidling method of delivery. At this supreme -moment his littleness and lack of self-assertion jarred on her mood. -“What’re you doin’ there? Thought you’d vamoosed.” - -“It was safer here,” explained the stranger, “I left no trail.” - -She nodded comprehension of the common-sense of this. - -“But, ma’am, I took the liberty of speakin’ to you because you seems -to be in trouble. Of course, I ain’t got no right to _ask_, an’ if -you don’t care to tell me--” - -“They’re goin’ to kill Billy,” broke in Nell, with a sob. - -“What for?” - -“I don’t just rightly make out. They’s after someone, and they -thinks Billy’s caching him. I reckon it’s you. Billy ain’t caching -nothin’, but they thinks he is.” - -“It’s me they’s after, all right. Now, you know where I am, why -don’t you tell them and save Billy?” - -The girl started, but her keen Western mind saw the difficulty at -once. - -“They thinks Billy pertects you just th’ same.” - -“Do you love him?” asked the stranger. - -“God knows I’m purty tough,” confessed Nell, sobbing, “but I jest do -that!” and she dropped her head again. - -The invisible stranger in the gloom fell silent, considering. - -“I’m a pretty rank proposition, myself,” said he at last, as if to -himself, “and I’ve got a job on hand which same I oughta put through -without givin’ attention to anything else. As a usual thing folks -don’t care fer me, and I don’t care much fer folks. Women especial. -They drives me plumb tired. I reckon I don’t stack up very high in -th’ blue chips when it comes to cashin’ in with the gentle sex, -anyhow; but in general they gives me as much notice as they lavishes -on a doodle-bug. I ain’t kickin’, you understand, nary bit; but onct -in a dog’s age I kind of hankers fer a decent look from one of ’em. -I ain’t never had no women-folks of my own, never. Sometimes I -thinks it would be some scrumptious to know a little gal waitin’ fer -me somewhere. They ain’t none. They never will be. I ain’t built -that way. You treated me white to-night. You’re th’ first woman that -ever kissed me of her own accord.” - -The girl heard a faint scramble, then the soft _pat_ of someone -landing on his feet. Peering from the window she made out a faint, -shadowy form stealing around the corner of the hotel. She put her -hand to her heart and listened. Her understanding of the stranger’s -motives was vague at best, but she had caught his confession that -her kiss had meant much to him, and even in her anxiety she felt an -inclination to laugh. She had bestowed that caress as she would have -kissed the cold end of a dog’s nose. - -The men below stairs had, after some discussion, decided on bullet. -This was out of consideration for Billy’s standing as a -frontiersman. Besides, he had stolen no horses. In order not to -delay matters, the execution was fixed for the present time and -place. Billy stood with his back to the logs of his own hotel, his -hands and feet bound, but his eyes uncovered. He had never lost his -nerve. In the short respite which preparation demanded, he told his -opponents what he thought of them. - -“Proud?” he concluded a long soliloquy as if to the reflector of the -lamp. “Proud?” he repeated reflectively. “This yere Hank’s jest that -proud he’s all swelled up like a poisoned pup. Ain’t everyone kin -corall a man sleepin’ and git fifty thousand without turnin’ a -hair.” - -Black Hank distributed three men to do the business. There were no -heroics. The execution of this man was necessary to him, not because -he was particularly angry over the escape of the messenger--he -expected to capture that individual in due time--but in order to -preserve his authority over his men. He was in the act of moving -back to give the shooters room, when he heard behind him the door -open and shut. - -He turned. Before the door stood a small consumptive-looking man in -a light check suit. The tenderfoot carried two short-barreled Colt’s -revolvers, one of which he presented directly at Black Hank. - -“’Nds up!” he commanded, sharply. - -Hank was directly covered, so he obeyed. The new-comer’s eye had a -strangely restless quality. Of the other dozen inmates of the room, -eleven were firmly convinced that the weapon and eye not directly -levelled at their leader were personally concerned with themselves. -The twelfth thought he saw his chance. To the bewildered onlookers -there seemed to be a flash and a bang, instantaneous; then things -were as before. One of the stranger’s weapons still pointed at Black -Hank’s breast; the other at each of the rest. - -Only the twelfth man, he who had seen his chance, had collapsed -forward to the floor. No one could assure himself positively that he -had discerned the slightest motion on the part of the stranger. - -“Now,” said the latter, sharply, “one at a time, gentlemen. Drop -yore gun,” this last to Black Hank, “muzzle down. Drop it! Correct!” - -One of the men in the back of the room stirred slightly on the ball -of his foot. - -“Steady, there!” warned the stranger. The man stiffened. - -“Next gent,” went on the little man, subtly indicating another. The -latter obeyed without hesitation. “Next. Now you. Now you in th’ -corner.” - -One after another the pistols clattered to the floor. Not for an -instant could a single inmate of the apartment, armed or unarmed, -flatter himself that his slightest motion was unobserved. They were -like tigers on the crouch, ready to spring the moment the man’s -guard lowered. It did not lower. The huddled figure on the floor -reminded them of what might happen. They obeyed. - -“Step back,” commanded the stranger next. In a moment he had them -standing in a row against the wall, rigid, upright, their hands over -their heads. Then for the first time the stranger moved from his -position by the door. - -“Call her,” he said to Billy, “th’ girl.” - -Billy raised his voice. “Nell! Oh, Nell!” - -In a moment she appeared in the doorway at the foot of the stairs, -without hesitation or fear. When she perceived the state of affairs, -she brightened almost mischievously. - -“Would you jest as soon, ma’am, if it ain’t troubling you too much, -jest nat’rally sort of untie Billy?” requested the stranger. - -She did so. The hotel-keeper stretched his arms. - -“Now, pick up th’ guns, please.” - -The two set about it. - -“Where’s that damn ol’ reprobate?” inquired Billy, truculently, -looking about for Charley. - -The patriarch had quietly slipped away. - -“You kin drop them hands,” advised the stranger, lowering the -muzzles of his weapons. The leader started to say something. - -“You shut up!” said Billy, selecting his own weapons from the heap. - -The stranger suddenly picked up one of the Colt’s single-action -revolvers which lay on the floor, and, holding the trigger back -against the guard, exploded the six charges by hitting the hammer -smartly with the palm of his hand. In the thrusting motion of this -discharge he evidently had design, for the first six wine-glasses on -Billy’s bar were shivered. It was wonderful work, rattling fire, -quicker than a self-cocker even. He selected another weapon. From a -pile of tomato-cans he took one and tossed it into the air. Before -it had fallen he had perforated it twice, and as it rolled along the -floor he helped its progression by four more bullets which left -streams of tomato-juice where they had hit. The room was full of -smoke. - -The group watched, fascinated. - -Then the men against the wall grew rigid. Out of the film of smoke -long, vivid streams of fire flashed toward them, now right, now -left, like the alternating steam of a locomotive’s pistons. SMASH, -SMASH! SMASH, SMASH! hit the bullets with regular thud. With the -twelfth discharge the din ceased. Midway in the space between the -heads of each pair of men against the wall was a round hole. No one -was touched. - -A silence fell. The smoke lightened and blew slowly through the open -door. The horses, long since deserted by their guardians in favor of -the excitement within, whinnied. The stranger dropped the smoking -Colts, and quietly reproduced his own short-barrelled arms from his -side-pockets, where he had thrust them. Billy broke the silence at -last. - -“That’s _shootin’_!” he observed, with a sigh. - -“Them fifty thousand is outside,” clicked the stranger. “Do you want -them?” - -There was no reply. - -“I aims to pull out on one of these-yere hosses of yours,” said he. -“Billy he’s all straight. He doesn’t know nothin’ about me.” - -He collected the six-shooters from the floor. - -“I jest takes these with me for a spell,” he continued. “You’ll find -them, if you look hard enough, along on th’ trail--also yore -broncs.” - -He backed toward the door. - -“I’m layin’ fer th’ man that sticks his head out that door,” he -warned. - -“Stranger,” said Black Hank as he neared the door. - -The little man paused. - -“Might I ask yore name?” - -“My name is Alfred,” replied the latter. - -Black Hank looked chagrined. - -“I’ve hearn tell of you,” he acknowledged. - -The stranger’s eye ran over the room, and encountered that of the -girl. He shrank into himself and blushed. - -“Good-night,” he said, hastily, and disappeared. A moment later the -beat of hoofs became audible as he led the bunch of horses away. - -For a time there was silence. Then Billy, “By God, Hank, I means to -stand in with you, but you let that kid alone, or I plugs you!” - -“Kid, huh!” grunted Hank. “Alfred a kid! I’ve hearn tell of him.” - -“What’ve you heard?” inquired the girl. - -“He’s th’ plumb best scout on th’ southern trail,” replied Black -Hank. - -The year following, Billy Knapp, Alfred, and another man named Jim -Buckley took across to the hills the only wagon-train that dared set -out that summer. - - - - -XII. THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE - -By Oscar Wilde - -From “Fairy Tales,” copyright, 1913, by G. P. Putnam’s Sons. -By special permission from the publishers. - - -“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” -cried the young Student; “but in all my garden there is no red -rose.” - -From her nest in the Holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and -she looked out through the leaves, and wondered. - -“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes -filled with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend. -I have read all the wise men have written and all the secrets of -philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made -wretched.” - -“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after -night have I sung of him, though I knew him not; night after night -have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is -dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips as red as the rose of his -desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow -has set her seal upon his brow.” - -“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young -Student, “and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red -rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon -my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no -red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me -by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.” - -“Here indeed is the true lover,” said the Nightingale. “What I sing -of, he suffers; what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a -wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than -fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set -forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, -nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.” - -“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student, -“and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to -the sound of the harp and violin. She will dance so lightly that her -feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay -dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I -have no red rose to give her”; and he flung himself down on the -grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept. - -“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him -with his tail in the air. - -“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering after a sunbeam. - -“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft low -voice. - -“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale. - -“For a red rose!” they cried; “how very ridiculous!” and the Lizard, -who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. - -But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, -and she sat silent in the Oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of -love. - -Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight and soared into the -air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow -she sailed across the garden. - -In the center of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, -and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray. - -“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest -song.” - -But the Tree shook its head. - -“My roses are white,” it answered; “as white as the foam of the sea -and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who -grows round the sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you -want.” - -So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round -the old sun-dial. - -“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest -song.” - -But the Tree shook its head. - -“My roses are yellow,” it answered; “as yellow as the hair of the -mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the -daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his -scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window, -and perhaps he will give you what you want.” - -So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing -beneath the Student’s window. - -“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest -song.” - -But the Tree shook its head. - -“My roses are red,” it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove, -and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the -ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has -nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall -have no roses at all this year.” - -“One red rose is all I want,” cried the Nightingale, “only one red -rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?” - -“There is a way,” answered the Tree; “but it is so terrible that I -dare not tell it to you.” - -“Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale; “I am not afraid.” - -“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of -music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. You -must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you -must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your -life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.” - -“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the -Nightingale, “and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in -the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the -Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, -and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather -that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is -the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?” - -So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. -She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she -sailed through the grove. - -The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left -him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. - -“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy; you shall have your -red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it -with my own heart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that -you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though -she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. -Flame-colored are his wings, and colored like flame is his body. His -lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.” - -The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not -understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew -the things that are written down in books. - -But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of -the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches. - -“Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely -when you are gone.” - -So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like -water bubbling from a silver jar. - -When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a -note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket. - -“She has form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the -grove--“that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am -afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, -without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. -She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are -selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful -notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean -anything, or do any practical good.” And he went into his room, and -lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; -and, after a time, he fell asleep. - -And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the -Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she -sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon -leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn -went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life blood ebbed -away from her. - -She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and girl. -And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a -marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale -was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river--pale as the -feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the -shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a -water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of -the Tree. - -But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the -thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the -Day will come before the rose is finished.” - -So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and -louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the -soul of a man and a maid. - -And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like -the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of -the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the -rose’s heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart-blood -can crimson the heart of a rose. - -And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the -thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the -Day will come before the rose is finished.” - -So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn -touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. -Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, -for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love -that dies not in the tomb. - -And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern -sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the -heart. - -But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter, and her little wings began -to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her -song, and she felt something choking her in her throat. - -Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and -she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard -it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to -the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the -hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated -through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the -sea. - -“Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now”; but the -Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long -grass, with the thorn in her heart. - -And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out. - -“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!” he cried; “here is a red -rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so -beautiful that I am sure that it has a long Latin name”; and he -leaned down and plucked it. - -Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the -rose in his hand. - -The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding -blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet. - -“You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,” -cried the Student. “Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You -will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it -will tell you how I love you.” - -But the girl frowned. - -“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” she answered; “and -besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew sent me some real jewels, and -everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.” - -“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,” said the Student -angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into -the gutter, and a cartwheel went over it - -“Ungrateful!” said the girl. “I tell you what, you are very rude; -and after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don’t believe you -have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s -nephew has”; and she got up from her chair and went into the house. - -“What a silly thing Love is,” said the Student as he walked away. -“It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, -and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, -and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is -quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is -everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.” - -So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and -began to read. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OFF DUTY *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Off duty</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>A dozen yarns for soldiers and sailors</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Compiler: Wilhelmina Harper</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 10, 2022 [eBook #68278]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OFF DUTY ***</div> - - <div class='section'> - <div class='ce'> - <h1 style='font-size:1.4em;'>OFF DUTY </h1> - <div style='margin-bottom:2em; font-size:1.2em;'>A Dozen Yarns for Soldiers and Sailors </div> - <div style='font-size:1.1em;'>Compiled by Wilhelmina Harper</div> - <div>Assistant Librarian, Camp Library,</div> - <div style='margin-bottom:2em;'>Naval Training Station, Pelham Bay Park, N.Y. </div> - <div>NEW YORK</div> - <div>THE CENTURY CO.</div> - <div>1919</div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class='section'> - <div class='ce'> - <div>Copyright, 1919, by</div> - <div>The Century Co.</div> - <div>Published, August, 1919 </div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class='section'> - <div class='ce'> - <div>TO MY BROTHER</div> - <div>LIEUTENANT FRANCIS HARPER</div> - </div> - </div> - - <div class='section' style='margin-left:6%; margin-right:6%;'> - <div class='ce'> - <div style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>FOREWORD</div> - </div> - - <p>In my work here at Pelham Bay Camp with our wounded from abroad, - with our sick boys who did not get “over there,” and with the well - but often lonely men, who frequent our library, I have discovered a - distinct need for some collection of the best stories, especially - adapted to the “genus homo.” To meet this want, I have prepared this - compilation for our soldiers and sailors, and incidentally for all - to read who will.</p> - - <p>Work with our American youth is most inspiring because of his open - mind, his courage, and his great appreciation of any service - rendered him. This fact I have learned through becoming acquainted - with the brave lads on the hospital cots at Pelham, who have needed - help in whiling away the long hours of waiting.</p> - - <p>In all camps there are many men not acquainted with books. My aim - has been to introduce them to some of our best writers, knowing that - friendship and liking would soon follow. The work has been a - pleasant one, made doubly so because of the willing co-operation - given me by the distinguished authors whose stories are contained - herein; and by the equally generous response which the various - publishers have made to my requests. It was not done for me, but for - the purpose of the compilation. To authors and publishers I hereby - express my gratitude.</p> - - <div style='text-align:right; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> - <div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> - <div class='cbline'>W. H.</div> - <div class='cbline'>April, 1919.</div> - </div> - </div> - - </div> - - <div class='section'> - <div style="text-align:center; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto"> - <div style="display:inline-block; text-align:left;"> - <table class='toc tcenter' style='margin-bottom:3em'> - <tbody> - <tr> - <th colspan='2' style='text-align:center'>CONTENTS</th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssI'>Keeping Up With Lizzie</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Irving Bacheller</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssII'>The Tide Takes a Hand</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Rex Beach</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssIII'>The Gay Old Dog</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Edna Ferber</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssIV'>Ole Skjarsen’s First Touchdown</a></td> - <td class='c2'>George Fitch</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssV'>The Outlaw</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Hamlin Garland</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssVI'>Naza! Naza! Naza!</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Zane Grey</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssVII'>A Case of Metaphantasmia</a></td> - <td class='c2'>W. D. Howells</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssVIII'>The Outcasts of Poker Flat</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Bret Harte</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssIX'>The Handbook of Hymen</a></td> - <td class='c2'>O. Henry</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssX'>Jack and the King</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Seumas MacManus</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssXI'>Billy’s Tenderfoot</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Stewart Edward White</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'><a href='#ssXII'>The Nightingale and the Rose</a></td> - <td class='c2'>Oscar Wilde</td> - </tr> - </tbody> - </table> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssI' title='I. Keeping Up With Lizzie'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>I</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>KEEPING UP WITH LIZZIE</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Irving Bacheller</div> - - <div class='attrb'> - From “Keeping Up with Lizzie,” copyright, 1911, by Harper & - Brothers. Used by special permission of the author. - </div> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-bottom:1em;'>(In part)</div> - </div> - - <p>“Sam Henshaw’s girl had graduated an’ gone abroad with her mother. - One Sunday ’bout a year later, Sam flew up to the door o’ my house - in his automobile. He lit on the sidewalk an’ struggled up the steps - with two hundred an’ forty-seven pounds o’ meat on him. He walked - like a man carryin’ a barrel o’ pork. He acted as if he was glad to - see me an’ the big arm-chair on the piaz’.</p> - - <p>“‘What’s the news?’ I asked.</p> - - <p>“‘Lizzie an’ her mother got back this mornin’,’ he gasped. ‘They’ve - been six months in Europe. Lizzie is in love with it. She’s - hobnobbed with kings an’ queens. She talks art beautiful. I wish - you’d come over an’ hear her hold a conversation. It’s wonderful. - She’s goin’ to be a great addition to this community. She’s got me - faded an’ on the run. I ran down to the store for a few minutes this - mornin’, an’ when I got back she says to me:</p> - - <p>“‘“Father, you always smell o’ ham an’ mustard. Have you been in - that disgusting store? Go an’ take a bahth at once.” That’s what she - called it—a “bahth.” Talks just like the English people—she’s been - among ’em so long. Get into my car an’ I’ll take ye over an’ fetch - ye back.’</p> - - <p>“Sam regarded his humiliation with pride an’ joy. At last Lizzie had - convinced him that her education had paid. My curiosity was excited. - I got in an’ we flew over to his house. Sam yelled up the stairway - kind o’ joyful as we come in, an’ his wife answered at the top o’ - the stairs an’ says:</p> - - <p>“‘Mr. Henshaw, I wish you wouldn’t shout in this house like a boy - calling the cows.’</p> - - <p>“I guess she didn’t know I was there. Sam ran up-stairs an’ back, - an’ then we turned into that splendid parlor o’ his an’ set down. - Purty soon Liz an’ her mother swung in an’ smiled very pleasant an’ - shook hands an’ asked how was my family, etc., an’ went right on - talkin’. I saw they didn’t ask for the purpose of gettin’ - information. Liz was dressed to kill an’ purty as a picture—cheeks - red as a rooster’s comb an’ waist like a hornet’s. The cover was off her - show-case, an’ there was a diamond sunburst in the middle of it, an’ - the jewels were surrounded by charms to which I am not wholly - insensible even now.</p> - - <p>“‘I wanted ye to tell Mr. Potter about yer travels,’ says Sam.</p> - - <p>“Lizzie smiled an’ looked out o’ the window a minute an’ fetched a - sigh an’ struck out, lookin’ like Deacon Bristow the day he give ten - dollars to the church. She told about the cities an’ the folks an’ - the weather in that queer, English way she had o’ talkin’.</p> - - <p>“‘Tell how ye hobnobbed with the Queen o’ Italy,’ Sam says.</p> - - <p>“‘Oh, father! Hobnobbed!’ says she. ‘Anybody would think that she - and I had manicured each other’s hands. She only spoke a few words - of Italian and looked very gracious an’ beautiful an’ complimented - my color.’</p> - - <p>“Then she lay back in her chair, kind o’ weary, an’ Sam asked me how - was business—just to fill in the gap, I guess. Liz woke up an’ - showed how far she’d got ahead in the race.</p> - - <p>“‘Business!’ says she, with animation. ‘That’s why I haven’t any - patience with American men. They never sit down for ten minutes - without talking business. Their souls are steeped in commercialism. - Don’t you see how absurd it is, father? There are plenty of lovely - things to talk about.’</p> - - <p>“Sam looked guilty, an’ I felt sorry for him. It had cost heavy to - educate his girl up to a p’int where she could give him so much - advice an’ information. The result was natural. She was irritated by - the large cubic capacity—the length, breadth and thickness of his - ignorance and unrefinement; he was dazed by the length, breadth, an’ - thickness of her learning an’ her charm. He didn’t say a word. He - bowed his head before this pretty, perfumed casket of erudition.</p> - - <p>“‘You like Europe,’ I says.</p> - - <p>“‘I love it,’ says she. ‘It’s the only place to live. There one - finds so much of the beautiful in art and music and so many - cultivated people.’</p> - - <p>“Lizzie was a handsome girl, an’ had more sense than any o’ the - others that tried to keep up with her. After all, she was Sam’s - fault, an’ Sam was a sin conceived an’ committed by his wife, as ye - might say. She had made him what he was.</p> - - <p>“‘Have you seen Dan Pettigrew lately?’ Lizzie asked.</p> - - <p>“‘Yes,’ I says. ‘Dan is goin’ to be a farmer.’</p> - - <p>“‘A farmer!’ says she, an’ covered her face with her handkerchief - an’ shook with merriment.</p> - - <p>“‘Yes,’ I says. ‘Dan has come down out o’ the air. He’s abandoned - folly. He wants to do something to help along.’</p> - - <p>“‘Yes, of course,’ says Lizzie, in a lofty manner. ‘Dan is really an - excellent boy—isn’t he?’</p> - - <p>“‘Yes, an’ he’s livin’ within his means—that’s the first mile-stone - in the road to success,’ I says. ‘I’m goin’ buy him a thousand acres - o’ land, an’ one o’ these days he’ll own it an’ as much more. You - wait. He’ll have a hundred men in his employ an’ flocks an’ herds - an’ a market of his own in New York. He’ll control prices in this - county, an’ they’re goin’ down. He’ll be a force in the State.’</p> - - <p>“They were all sitting up. The faces o’ the Lady Henshaw an’ her - daughter turned red.</p> - - <p>“‘I’m very glad to hear it, I’m sure,’ said her Ladyship.</p> - - <p>“I wasn’t so sure o’ that as she was, an’ there, for me, was the - milk in the cocoanut. I was joyful.</p> - - <p>“‘Why, it’s perfectly lovely!’ says Lizzie, as she fetched her - pretty hands together in her lap.</p> - - <p>“‘Yes, you want to cultivate Dan,’ I says. ‘He’s a man to be - reckoned with.’</p> - - <p>“‘Oh, indeed!’ says her Ladyship.</p> - - <p>“‘Yes, indeed!’ I says, ‘an’ the girls are all after him.’</p> - - <p>“I just guessed that. I knew it was unscrupulous, but livin’ here in - this atmosphere does affect the morals even of a lawyer. Lizzie grew - red in the face.</p> - - <p>“‘He could marry one o’ the Four Hundred if he wanted to,’ I says. - ‘The other evening he was seen in the big red tourin’-car o’ the Van - Alstynes. What do you think o’ that?’</p> - - <p>“Now that was true, but the chauffeur had been a college friend of - Dan’s, an’ I didn’t mention that.</p> - - <p>“Lizzie had a dreamy smile on her face.</p> - - <p>“‘Why, it’s wonderful!’ says she. ‘I didn’t know he’d improved so.’</p> - - <p>“‘I hear that his mother is doing her own work,’ says the Lady - Henshaw, with a forced smile.</p> - - <p>“‘Yes, think of it,’ I says. ‘The woman is earning her daily - bread—actually helpin’ her husband. Did you ever hear o’ such a - thing! I’ll have to scratch ’em off my list. It’s too uncommon. It - ain’t respectable.’</p> - - <p>“Her ladyship began to suspect me an’ retreated with her chin in the - air. She’d had enough.</p> - - <p>“I thought that would do an’ drew out o’ the game. Lizzie looked - confident. She seemed to have something up her sleeve besides that - lovely arm o’ hers.</p> - - <p>“I went home, an’ two days later Sam looked me up again. Then the - secret came out o’ the bag. He’d heard that I had some money in the - savings-bank over at Bridgeport payin’ me only three and a half per - cent, an’ he wanted to borrow it an’ pay me six per cent. His - generosity surprised me. It was not like Sam.</p> - - <p>“‘What’s the matter with you?’ I asked. ‘Is it possible that your - profits have all gone into gasoline an’ rubber an’ silk an’ - education an’ hardwood finish an’ human fat?’</p> - - <p>“‘Well, it costs so much to live,’ he says, ‘an’ the wholesalers - have kept liftin’ the prices on me. Now there’s the meat trust—their - prices are up thirty-five per cent.’</p> - - <p>“‘Of course,’ I says, ‘the directors have to have their luxuries. - You taxed us for yer new house an’ yer automobile an’ yer daughter’s - education, an’ they’re taxin’ you for their steam-yachts an’ private - cars an’ racin’ stables. You can’t expect to do all the taxin’. The - wholesalers learnt about the profits that you an’ others like ye was - makin’, an’ they concluded that they needed a part of ’em. Of course - they had to have their luxuries, an’ they’re taxin’ you—they - couldn’t afford to have ’em if they didn’t. Don’t complain.’</p> - - <p>“‘I’ll come out all right,’ he says. ‘I’m goin’ to raise my whole - schedule fifteen per cent.’</p> - - <p>“‘The people won’t stand it—they can’t,’ says I. ‘You’ll be drownin’ - the miller. They’ll leave you.’</p> - - <p>“‘It won’t do ’em any good,’ says he. ‘Bill an’ Eph will make their - prices agree with mine.’</p> - - <p>“‘Folks will go back to the land, as I have,’ says I.</p> - - <p>“‘They don’t know enough,’ says Sam. ‘Farmin’ is a lost art here in - the East. You take my word for it—they’ll pay our prices—they’ll - have to—an’ the rich folks, they don’t worry about prices. I pay a - commission to every steward an’ butler in this neighborhood.’</p> - - <p>“‘I won’t help you,’ says I. ‘It’s wicked. You ought to have saved - your money.’</p> - - <p>“‘In a year from now I’ll have money to burn,’ he says. ‘For one - thing, my daughter’s education is finished, an’ that has cost - heavy.’</p> - - <p>“‘How much would it cost to unlearn it?’ I asked. ‘That’s goin’ to - cost more than it did to get it, I’m ’fraid. In my opinion the first - thing to do with her is to uneducate her.’</p> - - <p>“That was like a red-hot iron to Sam. It kind o’ het him up.</p> - - <p>“‘Why, sir, you don’t appreciate her,’ says he. ‘That girl is far - above us all here in Pointview. She’s a queen.’</p> - - <p>“‘Well, Sam,’ I says, ‘if there’s anything you don’t need just now - it’s a queen. If I were you I wouldn’t graft that kind o’ fruit on - the grocery-tree. Hams an’ coronets don’t flourish on the same bush. - They have a different kind of a bouquet. They don’t harmonize. Then, - Sam, what do you want of a girl that’s far above ye? Is it any - comfort to you to be despised in your own home?’</p> - - <p>“‘Mr. Potter, I haven’t educated her for my own home or for this - community, but for higher things,’ says Sam.</p> - - <p>“‘You hairy old ass! The first you know,’ I says, ‘they’ll have your - skin off an’ layin’ on the front piaz’ for a door-mat.’</p> - - <p>“Sam started for the open air. I hated to be ha’sh with him, but he - needed some education himself, an’ it took a beetle an’ wedge to - open his mind for it. He lifted his chin so high that the fat - swelled out on the back of his neck an’ unbuttoned his collar. Then - he turned an’ said: ‘My daughter is too good for this town, an’ I - don’t intend that she shall stay here. She has been asked to marry a - man o’ fortune in the old country.’</p> - - <p>“‘So I surmise, an’ I suppose you find that the price o’ husbands - has gone up,’ I says.</p> - - <p>“Sam didn’t answer me.</p> - - <p>“‘They want you to settle some money on the girl—don’t they?’ I - asked.</p> - - <p>“‘My wife says it’s the custom in the old country,’ says Sam.</p> - - <p>“‘Suppose he ain’t worth the price?’</p> - - <p>“‘They say he’s a splendid fellow,’ says Sam.</p> - - <p>“‘You let me investigate him,’ I says, ‘an’ if he’s really worth the - price I’ll help ye to pay it.’</p> - - <p>“Sam said that was fair, an’ thanked me for the offer, an’ gave me - the young man’s address. He was a Russian by the name of Alexander - Rolanoff, an’ Sam insisted that he belonged to a very old family of - large means an’ noble blood, an’ said that the young man would be in - Pointview that summer. I wrote to the mayor of the city in which he - was said to live, but got no answer.</p> - - <p>“Alexander came. He was a costly an’ beautiful young man, about - thirty years old, with red cheeks an’ curly hair an’ polished - finger-nails, an’ wrote poetry. Sometimes ye meet a man that excites - yer worst suspicions. Your right hand no sooner lets go o’ his than - it slides down into your pocket to see if anything has happened; or - maybe you take the arm o’ yer wife or yer daughter an’ walk away. - Aleck leaned a little in both directions. But, sir, Sam didn’t care - to know my opinion of him. Never said another word to me on the - subject, but came again to ask about the money.</p> - - <p>“‘Look here, Sam,’ I says. ‘You tell Lizzie that I want to have a - talk with her at four o’clock in this office. If she really wants to - buy this man, I’ll see what can be done about it.’</p> - - <p>“‘All right, you talk with her,’ says he, an’ went out.</p> - - <p>“In a few minutes Dan showed up.</p> - - <p>“‘Have you seen Lizzie?’ says I.</p> - - <p>“‘Not to speak to her,’ says Dan. ‘Looks fine, doesn’t she?’</p> - - <p>“‘Beautiful,’ I says. ‘How is Marie Benson?’</p> - - <p>“‘Oh, the second time I went to see her she was trying to keep up - with Lizzie,’ says he. She’s changed her gait. Was going to New York - after a lot o’ new frills. I suppose she thought that I wanted a - grand lady. That’s the trouble with all the girls here. A man might - as well marry the real thing as an imitation. I wish Lizzie would - get down off her high horse.’</p> - - <p>“‘She’s goin’ to swap him for one with still longer legs,’ I says. - ‘Lizzie is engaged to a gentleman o’ fortune in the old country.’</p> - - <p>“Dan’s face began to stretch out long as if it was made of - injy-rubber.</p> - - <p>“‘It’s too bad,’ says he. ‘Lizzie is a good-hearted girl, if she is - spoilt.’</p> - - <p>“‘Fine girl!’ I says. ‘An’, Dan, I was in hopes that she would - discover her own folly before it was too late. But she saw that - others had begun to push her in the race an’ that she had to let out - another link or fall behind.’</p> - - <p>“‘Well, I wish her happiness,’ says Dan, with a sigh.</p> - - <p>“‘Go an’ tell her so,’ I says. ‘Show her that you have some care as - to whether she lives or dies.’</p> - - <p>“I could see that his feelin’s had been honed ’til they were sharp - as a razor.</p> - - <p>“‘I’ve seen that fellow,’ he says, ‘an’ he’ll never marry Lizzie if - I can prevent it. I hate the looks of him. I shall improve the first - opportunity I have to insult him.’</p> - - <p>“‘That might be impossible,’ I suggested.</p> - - <p>“‘But I’ll make the effort,’ says Dan.</p> - - <p>“As an insulter I wouldn’t wonder if Dan had large capacity when - properly stirred up.</p> - - <p>“‘Better let him alone. I have lines out that will bring - information. Be patient.’</p> - - <p>“Dan rose and said he would see me soon, an’ left with a rather - stern look on his face.”</p> - - <div style='height:1em;'></div> - - <p>“Lizzie was on hand at the hour appointed. We sat down here all by - ourselves.</p> - - <p>“‘Lizzie,’ I says, ‘why in the world did you go to Europe for a - husband? It’s a slight to Pointview—a discouragement of home - industry.’</p> - - <p>“‘There was nobody here that seemed to want me,’ she says, blushin’ - very sweet.</p> - - <p>“She had dropped her princess manner an’ seemed to be ready for - straight talk.</p> - - <p>“‘If that’s so, Lizzie, it’s your fault,’ I says.</p> - - <p>“‘I don’t understand you,’ says she.</p> - - <p>“‘Why, my dear child, it’s this way,’ I says. ‘Your mother an’ - father have meant well, but they’ve been foolish. They’ve educated - you for a millionairess, an’ all that’s lackin’ is the millions. You - over-awed the boys here in Pointview. They thought that you felt - above ’em, whether you did or not; an’ the boys on Fifth Avenue were - glad to play with you, but they didn’t care to marry you. I say it - kindly, Lizzie, an’ I’m a friend o’ yer father’s, an’ you can afford - to let me say what I mean. Those young fellows wanted the millions - as well as the millionairess. One of our boys fell in love with ye - an’ tried to keep up, but your pace was too hot for him. His father - got in trouble, an’ the boy had to drop out. Every well-born girl in - the village entered the race with ye. An era of extravagance set in - that threatened the solvency, the honor, o’ this sober old - community. Their fathers had to borrow money to keep agoin’. They - worked overtime, they importuned their creditors, they wallowed in - low finance while their daughters revelled in the higher walks o’ - life an’ sang in different languages. Even your father—I tell you in - confidence, for I suppose he wouldn’t have the courage to do it—is - in financial difficulties. Now, Lizzie, I want to be kind to you, - for I believe you’re a good girl at heart, but you ought to know - that all this is what your accomplishments have accomplished.’</p> - - <p>“She rose an’ walked across the room, with trembling lips. She had - seized her parachute an’ jumped from her balloon and was slowly - approachin’ the earth. I kept her comin’. ‘These clothes an’ jewels - that you wear, Lizzie—these silks an’ laces, these sunbursts an’ - solitaires—don’t seem to harmonize with your father’s desire to - borrow money. Pardon me, but I can’t make ’em look honest. They are - not paid for—or if they are they are paid for with other men’s - money. They seem to accuse you. They’d accuse me if I didn’t speak - out plain to ye.’</p> - - <p>“All of a sudden Lizzie dropped into a chair an’ began to cry. She - had lit safely on the ground.</p> - - <p>“It made me feel like a murderer, but it had to be. Poor girl! I - wanted to pick her up like a baby an’ kiss her. It wasn’t that I - loved Lizzie less but Rome more. She wasn’t to blame. Every spoilt - woman stands for a fool-man. Most o’ them need—not a <i>master</i>—but a - frank counsellor. I locked the door. She grew calm an’ leaned on my - table, her face covered with her hands. My clock shouted the seconds - in the silence. Not a word was said for two or three minutes.</p> - - <p>“‘I have been brutal,’ I says, by-an’-by. ‘Forgive me.’</p> - - <p>“‘Mr. Potter,’ she says, ‘you’ve done me a great kindness. I’ll - never forget it. What shall I do?’</p> - - <p>“‘Well, for one thing,’ says I, ‘go back to your old simplicity an’ - live within your means.’</p> - - <p>“‘I’ll do it,’ she says; ‘but—I—I supposed my father was rich. Oh, I - wish we could have had this talk before!’</p> - - <p>“‘Did you know that Dan Pettigrew was in love with you?’ I put it - straight from the shoulder. ‘He wouldn’t dare to tell ye, but you - ought to know it. You are regarded as a kind of a queen here, an’ - it’s customary for queens to be approached by ambassadors.’</p> - - <p>“Her face lighted up.</p> - - <p>“‘In love with me?’ she whispered. ‘Why, Mr. Potter, I never dreamed - of such a thing. Are you sure? How do you know? I thought he felt - above me.’</p> - - <p>“‘An’ he thought you felt above him,’ I says.</p> - - <p>“‘How absurd! how unfortunate!’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t marry him - now if he asked me. This thing has gone too far. I wouldn’t treat - any man that way.’</p> - - <p>“‘You are engaged to Alexander, are you?’ I says.</p> - - <p>“‘Well, there is a sort of understanding, and I think we are to be - married if—if—’</p> - - <p>“She paused, and tears came to her eyes again.</p> - - <p>“‘You are thinking o’ the money,’ says I.</p> - - <p>“‘I am thinking o’ the money,’ says she. ‘It has been promised to - him. He will expect it.’</p> - - <p>“‘Do you think he is an honest man? Will he treat you well?’</p> - - <p>“‘I suppose so.’</p> - - <p>“‘Then let me talk with him. Perhaps he would take you without - anything to boot.’</p> - - <p>“‘Please don’t propose that,’ says she. ‘I think he’s getting the - worst of it now. Mr. Potter, would you lend <i>me</i> the money? I ask it - because I don’t want the family to be disgraced or Mr. Rolanoff to - be badly treated. He is to invest the money in my name in a very - promising venture. He says he can double it within three months.’</p> - - <p>“It would have been easy for me to laugh, but I didn’t. Lizzie’s - attitude in the whole matter pleased me. I saw that her heart was - sound. I promised to have a talk with her father and see her again. - I looked into his affairs carefully and put him on a new financial - basis with a loan of fifteen thousand dollars.</p> - - <p>“One day he came around to my office with Alexander an’ wanted me to - draw up a contract between him an’ the young man. It was a rather - crude proposition, an’ I laughed, an’ Aleck sat with a bored smile - on his face.</p> - - <p>“‘Oh, if he’s good enough for your daughter,’ I said, ‘his word - ought to be good enough for you.’</p> - - <p>“‘That’s all right,’ says Sam, ‘but business is business. I want it - down in black an’ white that the income from this money is to be - paid to my daughter, and that neither o’ them shall make any further - demand on me.’</p> - - <p>“Well, I drew that fool contract, an’, after it was signed, Sam - delivered ten one-thousand-dollar bills to the young man, who was to - become his son-in-law the following month with the assistance of a - caterer and a florist and a string-band, all from New Haven.</p> - - <p>“Within half an hour Dan Pettigrew came roarin’ up in front o’ my - office in the big red automobile of his father’s. In a minute he - came in to see me. He out with his business soon as he lit in a - chair.</p> - - <p>“‘I’ve learned that this man Rolanoff is a scoundrel,’ says he.</p> - - <p>“‘A scoundrel!’ says I.</p> - - <p>“‘Of purest ray serene,’ says he.</p> - - <p>“I put a few questions, but he’d nothing in the way o’ proof to - offer—it was only the statement of a newspaper.</p> - - <p>“‘Is that all you know against him?’ I asked.</p> - - <p>“‘He won’t fight,’ says Dan. ‘I’ve tried him—begged him to fight.’</p> - - <p>“‘Well, I’ve got better evidence than you have,’ I says. ‘It came a - few minutes before you did.’</p> - - <p>“I showed him a cablegram from a London barrister that said:</p> - - <p>“‘Inquiry complete. The man is pure adventurer, character nil.’</p> - - <p>“‘We must act immediately,’ says Dan.</p> - - <p>“‘I have telephoned all over the village for Sam,’ I says. ‘They say - he’s out in his car with Aleck an’ Lizzie. I asked them to send him - here as soon as he returns.’</p> - - <p>“‘They’re down on the Post Road. I met ’em on my way here,’ says - Dan. ‘We can overtake that car easy.’</p> - - <p>“Well, the wedding-day was approaching an’ Aleck had the money, an’ - the thought occurred to me that he might give ’em the slip somewhere - on the road an’ get away with it. I left word in the store that if - Sam got back before I saw him he was to wait with Aleck in my office - until I returned, an’ off we started like a baseball on its way from - the box to the catcher.</p> - - <p>“An officer on his motor-cycle overhauled us on the Post Road. He - knew me.</p> - - <p>“‘It’s a case o’ sickness,’ I says, ‘an’ we’re after Sam Henshaw.’</p> - - <p>“‘He’s gone down the road an’ hasn’t come back yet,’ says the - officer.</p> - - <p>“I passed him a ten-dollar bill.</p> - - <p>“‘Keep within sight of us,’ I says. ‘We may need you any minute.’</p> - - <p>“He nodded and smiled, an’ away we went.</p> - - <p>“‘I’m wonderin’ how we’re agoin’ to get the money,’ I says, havin’ - told Dan about it.</p> - - <p>“‘I’ll take it away from him,’ says Dan.</p> - - <p>“‘That wouldn’t do,’ says I.</p> - - <p>“‘Why not?’</p> - - <p>“‘Why not?’ says I. ‘You wouldn’t want to be arrested for highway - robbery. Then, too, we must think o’ Lizzie. Poor girl! It’s agoin’ - to be hard on her, anyhow. I’ll try a bluff. It’s probable that he’s - worked this game before. If so, we can rob him without violence an’ - let him go.’</p> - - <p>“Dan grew joyful as we sped along.</p> - - <p>“‘Lizzie is mine,’ he says. ‘She wouldn’t marry him now.’</p> - - <p>“He told me how fond they had been of each other until they got - accomplishments an’ began to put up the price o’ themselves. He said - that in their own estimation they had riz in value like beef an’ - ham, an’ he confessed how foolish he had been. We were excited an’ - movin’ fast.</p> - - <p>“‘Something’ll happen soon,’ he says.</p> - - <p>“An’ it did, within ten minutes from date. We could see a blue car - half a mile ahead.</p> - - <p>“I’ll go by that ol’ freight-car o’ the Henshaws’,’ says Dan. - ‘They’ll take after me, for Sam is vain of his car. We can halt them - in that narrow cut on the hill beyond the Byron River.’</p> - - <p>“We had rounded the turn at Chesterville, when we saw the Henshaw - car just ahead of us, with Aleck at the wheel an’ Lizzie beside him - an’ Sam on the back seat. I saw the peril in the situation.</p> - - <p>“The long rivalry between the houses of Henshaw an’ Pettigrew, - reinforced by that of the young men, was nearing its climax.</p> - - <p>“‘See me go by that old soap-box o’ the Henshaws’,’ says Dan, as he - pulled out to pass ’em.</p> - - <p>“Then Dan an’ Aleck began a duel with automobiles. Each had a - forty-horse-power engine in his hands, with which he was resolved to - humble the other. Dan knew that he was goin’ to bring down the price - o’ Alecks an’ Henshaws. First we got ahead; then they scraped by us, - crumpling our fender on the nigh side. Lizzie an’ I lost our hats in - the scrimmage. We gathered speed an’ ripped off a section o’ their - bulwarks, an’ roared along neck an’ neck with ’em. The broken - fenders rattled like drums in a battle. A hen flew up an’ hit me in - the face, an’ came nigh unhorsin’ me. I hung on. It seemed as if - Fate was tryin’ to halt us, but our horse-power was too high. A dog - went under us. It began to rain a little. We were a length ahead at - the turn by the Byron River. We swung for the bridge an’ skidded an’ - struck a telephone pole, an’ I went right on over the stone fence - an’ the clay bank an’ lit on my head in the water. Dan Pettigrew lit - beside me. Then came Lizzie an’ Sam—they fairly rained into the - river. I looked up to see if Aleck was comin’, but he wasn’t. Sam, - bein’ so heavy, had stopped quicker an’ hit in shallow water near - the shore, but, as luck would have it, the bottom was soft an’ he - had come down feet foremost, an’ a broken leg an’ some bad bruises - were all he could boast of. Lizzie was in hysterics, but seemed to - be unhurt. Dan an’ I got ’em out on the shore, an’ left ’em cryin’ - side by side, an’ scrambled up the bank to find Aleck. He had aimed - too low an’ hit the wall, an’ was stunned, an’ apparently, for the - time, dead as a herrin’ on the farther side of it. I removed the ten - one-thousand bills from his person to prevent complications an’ - tenderly laid him down. Then he came to very sudden.</p> - - <p>“‘Stop!’ he murmured. ‘You’re robbin’ me.’</p> - - <p>“‘Well, you begun it,’ I says. ‘Don’t judge me hastily. I’m a - philanthropist. I’m goin’ to leave you yer liberty an’ a hundred - dollars. You take it an’ get. If you ever return to Connecticut I’ll - arrest you at sight.’</p> - - <p>“I gave him the money an’ called the officer, who had just come up. - A traveller in a large tourin’ car had halted near us.</p> - - <p>“‘Put him into that car an’ take him to Chesterville,’ I said.</p> - - <p>“He limped to the car an’ left without a word.</p> - - <p>“I returned to my friends an’ gently broke the news.</p> - - <p>“Sam blubbered. ‘Education done it,’ says he, as he mournfully shook - his head.</p> - - <p>“‘Yes,’ I says. ‘Education is responsible for a damned lot of - ignorance.’</p> - - <p>“‘An’ some foolishness,’ says Sam, as he scraped the mud out of his - hair. ‘Think of our goin’ like that. We ought to have known better.’</p> - - <p>“‘We knew better,’ I says, ‘but we had to keep up with Lizzie.’</p> - - <p>“Sam turned toward Lizzie an’ moaned in a broken voice, ‘I wish it - had killed me.’</p> - - <p>“‘Why so?’ I asked.</p> - - <p>“‘It costs so much to live,’ Sam sobbed, in a half-hysterical way. - ‘I’ve got an expensive family on my hands.’</p> - - <p>“‘You needn’t be afraid o’ havin’ Lizzie on your hands,’ says Dan, - who held the girl in his arms.</p> - - <p>“‘What do you mean?’ Sam inquired.</p> - - <p>“She’s on my hands an’ she’s goin’ to stay there,’ says the young - man. ‘I’m in love with Lizzie myself. I’ve always been in love with - Lizzie.’</p> - - <p>“‘Your confession is ill-timed,’ says Lizzie, as she pulled away an’ - tried to smooth her hair. She began to cry again, an’ added, between - sobs: ‘My heart is about broken, and I must go home and get help for - my poor father.’</p> - - <p>“‘I’ll attend to that,’ says Dan; ‘but I warn you that I’m goin’ to - offer a Pettigrew for a Henshaw even. If I had a million dollars I’d - give it all to boot.’</p> - - <p>“Sam turned toward me, his face red as a beet.</p> - - <p>“‘The money!’ he shouted. ‘Get it, quick!’</p> - - <p>“‘Here it is!’ I said, as I put the roll o’ bills in his hand.</p> - - <p>“‘Did you take it off him?’</p> - - <p>“‘I took it off him.’</p> - - <p>“‘Poor Aleck!’ he says, mournfully, as he counted the money. ‘It’s - kind o’ hard on him.’</p> - - <p>“Soon we halted a passin’ automobile an’ got Sam up the bank an’ - over the wall. It was like movin’ a piano with somebody playin’ on - it, but we managed to seat him on the front floor o’ the car, which - took us all home.</p> - - <p>“So the affair ended without disgrace to any one, if not without - violence, and no one knows of the cablegram save the few persons - directly concerned. But the price of Alecks took a big slump in - Pointview. No han’some foreign gent could marry any one in this - village, unless it was a chambermaid in a hotel.</p> - - <p>“That was the end of the first heat of the race with Lizzie in - Pointview.”</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssII' title='II. The Tide Takes a Hand'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>II</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>THE TIDE TAKES A HAND</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Rex Beach</div> - - <div class='attrb tac mb07'> - From “The Iron Trail”, copyright, 1913, by Harper & Brothers. - By special permission from the publishers. - </div> - - <p>The ship stole through the darkness with extremest caution, feeling - her way past bay and promontory. Around her was none of that - phosphorescent glow which lies above the open ocean, even on the - darkest night, for the mountains ran down to the channel on either - side. In places they overhung, and where they lay upturned against - the dim sky it could be seen that they were mantled with heavy - timber. All day long the <i>Nebraska</i> had made her way through an - endless succession of straits and sounds, now squeezing through an - inlet so narrow that the somber spruce trees seemed to be within a - short stone’s throw, again plowing across some open reach where the - pulse of the north Pacific could be felt. Out through the openings - to seaward stretched the restless ocean, on across uncounted - leagues, to Saghalien and the rim of Russia’s prison-yard.</p> - - <p>Always near at hand was the deep green of the Canadian forests, - denser, darker than a tropic jungle, for this was the land of - “plenty waters.” The hillsides were carpeted knee-deep with moss, - wet to saturation. Out of every gulch came a brawling stream whipped - to milk-white frenzy; snow lay heavy upon the higher levels, while - now and then from farther inland peered a glacier, like some dead - monster crushed between the granite peaks. There were villages, too, - and fishing-stations, and mines and quarries. These burst suddenly - upon the view, then slipped past with dreamlike swiftness. Other - ships swung into sight, rushed by, and were swallowed up in the - labyrinthine maze astern.</p> - - <p>Those passengers of the <i>Nebraska</i> who had never before traversed - the “Inside Passage” were loud in the praises of its - picturesqueness, while those to whom the route was familiar seemed - to find an everfresh fascination in its shifting scenes.</p> - - <p>Among the latter was Murray O’Neil. The whole north coast from - Flattery to St. Elias was as well mapped in his mind as the face of - an old friend, yet he was forever discovering new vistas, surprising - panoramas, amazing variations of color and topography. The - mysterious rifts and passageways that opened and closed as if to - lure the ship astray, the trackless confusion of islets, the siren - song of the waterfalls, the silent hills and glaciers and - snow-soaked forests—all appealed to him strongly, for he was at - heart a dreamer.</p> - - <p>Yet he did not forget that scenery such as this, lovely as it is by - day, may be dangerous at night, for he knew the weakness of steel - hulls. On some sides his experience and business training had made - him sternly practical and prosaic. Ships aroused no manner of - enthusiasm in him except as means to an end. Railroads had no - glamour of romance in his eyes, for, having built a number of them, - he had outlived all poetic notions regarding the “Iron horse,” and - once the rails were laid he was apt to lose interest in them. - Nevertheless, he was almost poetic in his own quiet way, - interweaving practical thoughts with fanciful visions, and he loved - his dreams. He was dreaming now as he leaned upon the bridge rail of - the <i>Nebraska</i>, peering into the gloom with watchful eyes. From - somewhere to port came the occasional commands of the officer on - watch, echoed instantly from the inky interior of the wheelhouse. Up - overside rose the whisper of rushing waters; from underfoot came the - rhythmic beat of the engines far below. O’Neil shook off his mood - and began to wonder idly how long it would be before Captain Johnny - would be ready for his “nightcap.”</p> - - <p>He always traveled with Johnny Brennan when he could manage it, for - the two men were boon companions. O’Neil was wont to live in - Johnny’s cabin, or on the bridge, and their nightly libation to - friendship had come to be a matter of some ceremony.</p> - - <p>The ship’s master soon appeared from the shadows—a short, trim man - with gray hair.</p> - - <p>“Come,” he cried. “It’s waiting for us.”</p> - - <p>O’Neil followed into Brennan’s luxurious, well-lit quarters, where - on a mahogany sideboard was a tray holding decanter, siphon, and - glasses, together with a bottle of ginger ale. The captain, after he - had mixed a beverage for his passenger, opened the bottle for - himself. They raised their glasses silently.</p> - - <p>“Now that you’re past the worst of it,” remarked O’Neil, “I suppose - you’ll turn in. You’re getting old for a hard run like this, - Johnny.”</p> - - <p>Captain Brennan snorted. “Old? I’m a better man than you, yet. I’m a - teetotaler, that’s why. I discovered long ago that salt water and - whiskey don’t mix.”</p> - - <p>O’Neil stretched himself out in one of Brennan’s easy chairs. - “Really,” he said, “I don’t understand why a ship carries a captain. - Now of what earthly use to the line are you, for instance, except - for your beauty, which, no doubt, has its value with the women? I’ll - admit you preside with some grace at the best table in the - dining-salon, but your officers know these channels as well as you - do. They could make the run from Seattle to Juneau with their eyes - shut.”</p> - - <p>“Indeed, they could not; and neither could I.”</p> - - <p>“Oh, well, of course I have no respect for you as a man, having seen - you without your uniform.”</p> - - <p>The captain grinned in thorough enjoyment of this raillery. “I’ll - say nothing at all of my seamanship,” he said, relapsing into the - faintest of brogues, “but there’s no denying that the master of a - ship has many unpleasant and disgusting duties to perform. He has to - amuse the prominent passengers who can’t amuse themselves, for one - thing, and that takes tact and patience. Why, some people make - themselves at home on the bridge, in the chart-room, and even in my - living-quarters, to say nothing of consuming my expensive wines, - liquors, and cigars.”</p> - - <p>“Meaning me?”</p> - - <p>“I’m a brutal seafaring man, and you’ll have to make allowances for - my well-known brusqueness. Maybe I did mean you. But I’ll say that - next to you Curtis Gordon is the worst grafter I ever saw.”</p> - - <p>“You don’t like Gordon, do you?” O’Neil queried with a change of - tone.</p> - - <p>“I do not! He went up with me again this spring, and he had his - widow with him, too.”</p> - - <p>“His widow?”</p> - - <p>“You know who I mean—Mrs. Gerard. They say it’s her money he’s using - in his schemes. Perhaps it’s because of her that I don’t like him.”</p> - - <p>“Ah-h! I see.”</p> - - <p>“You don’t see, or you wouldn’t grin like an ape. I’m a married man, - I’ll have you know, and I’m still on good terms with Mrs. Brennan, - thank God. But I don’t like men who use women’s money, and that’s - just what our friend Gordon is doing. What money the widow didn’t - put up he’s grabbed from the schoolma’ams and servant-girls and - society matrons in the East. What has he got to show them for it?”</p> - - <p>“A railroad project, a copper-mine, some coal claims—”</p> - - <p>“Bah! A menagerie of wildcats!”</p> - - <p>“You can’t prove that. What’s your reason for distrusting him?”</p> - - <p>“Well, for one thing, he knows too much. Why, he knows everything, - he does. Art, literature, politics, law, finance, and draw poker - have no secrets from him. He’s been everywhere—and back—twice; he - speaks a dozen different languages. He out-argued me on - poultry-raising and I know more about that than any man living. He - can handle a drill or a coach-and-four; he can tell all about the - art of ancient Babylon; and he beat me playing cribbage, which shows - that he ain’t on the level. He’s the best informed man outside of a - university, and he drinks tea of an afternoon—with his legs crossed - and the saucer balanced on his heel. Now, it takes years of hard - work for an honest man to make a success at one thing, but Gordon - never failed at anything. I ask you if a living authority on all the - branches of human endeavor and a man who can beat me at ‘crib’ - doesn’t make you suspicious.”</p> - - <p>“Not at all, I’ve beaten you myself!”</p> - - <p>“I was sick,” said Captain Brennan.</p> - - <p>“The man is brilliant and well educated and wealthy. It’s only - natural that he should excite the jealousy of a weaker intellect.”</p> - - <p>Johnny opened his lips for an explosion, then changed his mind and - agreed sourly.</p> - - <p>“He’s got money, all right, and he knows how to spend it. He and his - valet occupied three cabins on this ship. They say his quarters at - Hope are palatial.”</p> - - <p>“My dear grampus, the mere love of luxury doesn’t argue that a - person is dishonest.”</p> - - <p>“Would <i>you</i> let a hired man help you on with your underclothes?” - demanded the mariner.</p> - - <p>“There’s nothing criminal about it.”</p> - - <p>“Humph! Mrs. Gerard is different. She’s all class! You don’t mind - her having a maid and speaking French when she runs short of - English. Her daughter is like her.”</p> - - <p>“I haven’t seen Miss Gerard.”</p> - - <p>“If you’d stir about the ship instead of wearing out my Morris chair - you’d have that pleasure. She was on deck all morning.” Captain - Brennan fell silent and poked with a stubby forefinger at the ice in - his glass.</p> - - <p>“Well, out with it!” said O’Neil after a moment.</p> - - <p>“I’d like to know the inside story of Curtis Gordon and this girl’s - mother.”</p> - - <p>“Why bother your head about something that doesn’t concern you?” The - speaker rose and began to pace the cabin floor, then, in an altered - tone, inquired, “Tell me, are you going to land me and my horses at - Kyak Bay?”</p> - - <p>“That depends on the weather. It’s a rotten harbor; you’ll have to - swim them ashore.”</p> - - <p>“Suppose it should be rough?”</p> - - <p>“Then we’ll go on, and drop you there coming back. I don’t want to - be caught on that shore with a southerly wind, and that’s the way it - usually blows.”</p> - - <p>“I can’t wait,” O’Neil declared. “A week’s delay might ruin me. - Rather than go on I’d swim ashore myself, without the horses.”</p> - - <p>“I don’t make the weather at Kyak Bay. Satan himself does that. - Twenty miles offshore it may be calm, and inside it may be blowing a - gale. That’s due to the glaciers. Those ice-fields inland and the - warm air from the Japanese Current offshore kick up some funny - atmospheric pranks. It’s the worst spot on the coast and we’ll lose - a ship there some day. Why, the place isn’t properly charted, let - alone buoyed.”</p> - - <p>“That’s nothing unusual for this coast.”</p> - - <p>“True for you. This is all a graveyard of ships and there’s been - many a good master’s license lost because of half-baked laws from - Washington. Think of a coast like this with almost no lights, no - beacons nor buoys; and yet we’re supposed to make time. It’s fine in - clear weather, but in the dark we go by guess and by God. I’ve stood - the run longer than most of the skippers, but—”</p> - - <p>Even as Brennan spoke the <i>Nebraska</i> seemed to halt, to jerk - backward under his feet. O’Neil, who was standing, flung out an arm - to steady himself; the empty ginger ale bottle fell from the - sideboard with a thump. Loose articles hanging against the side - walls swung to and fro; the heavy draperies over Captain Johnny’s - bed swayed.</p> - - <p>Brennan leaped from his chair; his ruddy face was mottled, his eyes - were wide and horror-stricken.</p> - - <p>“Damnation!” he gasped. The cabin door crashed open ahead of him and - he was on the bridge, with O’Neil at his heels. They saw the first - officer clinging limply to the rail; from the pilot-house window - came an excited burst of Norwegian, then out of the door rushed a - quartermaster.</p> - - <p>Brennan cursed, and met the fellow with a blow which drove him - sprawling back.</p> - - <p>“Get in there, Swan,” he bellowed, “and take your wheel.”</p> - - <p>“The tide swung her in!” exclaimed the mate. “The tide—My God!”</p> - - <p>“Sweet Queen Anne!” said Brennan, more quietly. “You’ve ripped her - belly out!”</p> - - <p>“It—was the tide,” chattered the officer.</p> - - <p>The steady, muffled beating of the machinery ceased, the ship seemed - suddenly to lose her life, but it was plain that she was not - aground, for she kept moving through the gloom. From down forward - came excited voices as the crew poured up out of the forecastle.</p> - - <p>Brennan leaped to the telegraph and signaled the engine-room. He was - calm now, and his voice was sharp and steady.</p> - - <p>“Go below, Mr. James, and find the extent of the damage,” he - directed, and a moment later the hull began to throb once more to - the thrust of the propeller. Inside the wheelhouse Swan had - recovered from his panic and repeated the master’s orders - mechanically.</p> - - <p>The second and third officers arrived upon the bridge now, dressing - as they came, and they were followed by the chief engineer. To them - Johnny spoke, his words crackling like the sparks from a wireless. - In an incredibly short time he had the situation in hand and turned - to O’Neil, who had been a silent witness of the scene.</p> - - <p>“Glory be!” exclaimed the captain. “Most of our good passengers are - asleep; the jar would scarcely wake them.”</p> - - <p>“Tell me where and how I can help,” Murray offered. His first - thought had been of the possible effect of this catastrophe upon his - plans, for time was pressing. As for danger, he had looked upon it - so often and in so many forms that it had little power to stir him; - but a shipwreck, which would halt his northward rush, was another - matter. Whether the ship sank or floated could make little - difference, now that the damage had been done. She was crippled and - would need assistance. His fellow-passengers, he knew, were safe - enough. Fortunately there were not many of them—a scant two hundred, - perhaps—and if worse came to worst there was room in the life-boats - for all. But the <i>Nebraska</i> had no watertight bulkheads and the - plight of his twenty horses between-decks filled him with alarm and - pity. There were no life-boats for those poor dumb animals penned - down yonder in the rushing waters.</p> - - <p>Brennan had stepped into the chart-room, but returned in a moment to - say:</p> - - <p>“There’s no place to beach her this side of Halibut Bay.”</p> - - <p>“How far is that?”</p> - - <p>“Five or six miles.”</p> - - <p>“You’ll—have to beach her?”</p> - - <p>“I’m afraid so. She feels queer.”</p> - - <p>Up from the cabin deck came a handful of men passengers to inquire - what had happened; behind them a woman began calling shrilly for her - husband.</p> - - <p>“We touched a rock,” the skipper explained briefly. “Kindly go below - and stop that squawking. There’s no danger.”</p> - - <p>There followed a harrowing wait of several minutes; then James, the - first officer, came to report. He had regained his nerve and spoke - with swift precision.</p> - - <p>“She loosened three plates on her port quarter and she’s filling - fast.”</p> - - <p>“How long will she last?” snapped Brennan.</p> - - <p>“Not long, sir. Half an hour, perhaps.”</p> - - <p>The captain rang for full speed, and the decks began to strain as - the engine increased its labor. “Get your passengers out and stand - by the boats,” he ordered. “Take it easy and don’t alarm the women. - Have them dress warmly, and don’t allow any crowding by the men. Mr. - Tomlinson, you hold the steerage gang in check. Take your revolver - with you.” He turned to his silent friend, in whose presence he - seemed to feel a cheering sympathy. “I knew it would come sooner or - later, Murray,” he said. “But—magnificent mummies! To touch on a - clear night with the sea like glass!” He sighed dolefully. “It’ll be - tough on my missus.”</p> - - <p>O’Neil laid a hand upon his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, and - there will be room in the last boat for you. Understand?” Brennan - hesitated, and the other continued, roughly: “No nonsense, now! - Don’t make a damned fool of yourself by sticking to the bridge. - Promise?”</p> - - <p>“I promise.”</p> - - <p>“Now what do you want me to do?”</p> - - <p>“Keep those dear passengers quiet. I’ll run for Halibut Bay, where - there’s a sandy beach. If she won’t make it I’ll turn her into the - rocks. Tell ’em they won’t wet a foot if they keep their heads.”</p> - - <p>“Good! I’ll be back to see that you behave yourself.” The speaker - laughed lightly and descended to the deck, where he found an - incipient panic. Stewards were pounding on stateroom doors, - half-clad men were rushing about aimlessly, pallid faces peered - forth from windows, and there was the sound of running feet, of - slamming doors, of shrill, hysterical voices.</p> - - <p>O’Neil saw a waiter thumping lustily upon a door and heard him - shout, hoarsely:</p> - - <p>“Everybody out! The ship is sinking!” As he turned away Murray - seized him roughly by the arm and thrusting his face close to the - other’s, said harshly:</p> - - <p>“If you yell again like that I’ll toss you overboard.”</p> - - <p>“God help us, we’re going—”</p> - - <p>O’Neil shook the fellow until his teeth rattled; his own - countenance, ordinarily so quiet, was blazing.</p> - - <p>“There’s no danger. Act like a man and don’t start a stampede.”</p> - - <p>The steward pulled himself together and answered in a calmer tone:</p> - - <p>“Very well, sir. I—I’m sorry, sir.”</p> - - <p>Murray O’Neil was known to most of the passengers, for his name had - gone up and down the coast, and there were few places from San - Francisco to Nome where his word did not carry weight. As he went - among his fellow-travelers now, smiling, self-contained, unruffled, - his presence had its effect. Women ceased their shrilling, men - stopped their senseless questions and listened to his directions - with some comprehension. In a short time the passengers were - marshaled upon the upper deck where the life-boats hung between - their davits. Each little craft was in charge of its allotted crew, - the electric lights continued to burn brightly, and the panic - gradually wore itself out. Meanwhile the ship was running a - desperate race with the sea, striving with every ounce of steam in - her boilers to find a safe berth for her multilated body before the - inrush of waters drowned her fires. That the race was close even the - dullest understood, for the <i>Nebraska</i> was settling forward, and - plowed into the night head down, like a thing maddened with pain. - She was becoming unmanageable, too, and O’Neil thought with pity of - that little iron-hearted skipper on the bridge who was fighting her - furiously. There was little confusion, little talking upon the upper - deck now; only a child whimpered or a woman sobbed hysterically. But - down forward among the steerage passengers the case was different. - These were mainly Montenegrins, Polacks, or Slavs bound for the - construction camps to the westward, and they surged from side to - side like cattle, requiring Tomlinson’s best efforts to keep them - from rushing aft.</p> - - <p>O’Neil had employed thousands of such men; in fact, many of these - very fellows had cashed his timechecks and knew him by sight. He - went forward among them, and his appearance proved instantly - reassuring. He found his two hostlers, and with their aid he soon - reduced the mob to comparative order.</p> - - <p>But in spite of his confident bearing he felt a great uneasiness. - The <i>Nebraska</i> seemed upon the point of diving; he judged she must - be settling very fast, and wondered that the forward tilt did not - lift her propeller out of the water. Fortunately, however, the - surface of the sound was like a polished floor and there were no - swells to submerge her.</p> - - <p>Over-side to starboard he could see the dim black outlines of - mountains slipping past, but where lay Halibut Bay or what distance - remained to be covered he could but vaguely guess.</p> - - <p>In these circumstances the wait became almost unbearable. The race - seemed hours long, the miles stretched into leagues, and with every - moment of suspense the ship sank lower. The end came unexpectedly. - There was a sudden startled outcry as the <i>Nebraska</i> struck for a - second time that night. She rose slightly, rolled and bumped, grated - briefly, then came to rest.</p> - - <p>Captain Brennan shouted from the bridge:</p> - - <p>“Fill your life-boats, Mr. James, and lower away carefully.”</p> - - <p>A cheer rose from the huddled passengers.</p> - - <p>The boiler-room was still dry, it seemed, for the incandescent - lights burned without a flicker, even after the grimy oilers and - stokers had come pouring up on deck.</p> - - <p>O’Neil climbed to the bridge. “Is this Halibut Bay?” he asked - Captain Johnny.</p> - - <p>“It is. But we’re piled up on the reef outside. She may hold fast—I - hope so, for there’s deep water astern, and if she slips off she’ll - go down.”</p> - - <p>“I’d like to save my horses,” said the younger man, wistfully. - Through all the strain of the past half-hour or more his uppermost - thought had been for them. But Brennan had no sympathy for such - sentiments.</p> - - <p>“Hell’s bells!” he exclaimed. “Don’t talk of horses while we’ve got - women and children aboard.” He hastened away to assist in - transferring his passengers.</p> - - <p>Instead of following, O’Neil turned and went below. He found that - the water was knee-deep on the port side of the deck where his - animals were quartered, which showed that the ship had listed - heavily. He judged that she must be much deeper by the head than he - had imagined, and that her nose was crushed in among the rocks. - Until she settled at the stern, therefore, the case was not quite - hopeless.</p> - - <p>His appearance, the sound of his voice, were the signals for a - chorus of eager whinnies and a great stamping of hoofs. Heads were - thrust toward him from the stalls, alert ears were pricked forward, - satin muzzles rubbed against him as he calmed their terror. This - blind trust made the man’s throat tighten achingly. He loved animals - as he loved children, and above all he cared for horses. He - understood them, he spoke their language as nearly as any human can - be said to do so. Quivering muscles relaxed beneath his soothing - palm; he called them by name and they answered with gently twitching - lips against his cheek. Some of them even began to eat and switch - their tails contentedly.</p> - - <p>He cursed aloud and made his way down the sloping deck to the square - iron door, or port, through which he had loaded them. But he found - that it was jammed, or held fast by the pressure outside, and after - a few moments’ work in water above his knees he climbed to the - starboard side. Here the entrance was obstructed by a huge pile of - baled hay and grain in sacks. It would be no easy task to clear it - away, and he fell to work with desperate energy, for the ship was - slowly changing her level. Her stern, which had been riding high, - was filling; the sea stole in upon him silently. It crept up toward - him until the horses, stabled on the lower side, were belly-deep in - it. Their distress communicated itself to the others. O’Neil knew - that his position might prove perilous if the hulk should slip - backward off the reef, yet he continued to toil, hurling heavy sacks - behind him, bundling awkward bales out of the way, until his hands - were bleeding and his muscles ached. He was perspiring furiously; - the commotion around him was horrible. Then abruptly the lights went - out, leaving him in utter blackness; the last fading yellow gleam - was photographed briefly upon his retina.</p> - - <p>Tears mingled with the sweat that drained down his cheeks as he felt - his way slowly out of the place, splashing, stumbling, groping - uncertainly. A horse screamed in a loud, horribly human note, and he - shuddered. He was sobbing curses as he emerged into the cool open - air on the forward deck.</p> - - <p>His eyes were accustomed to the darkness now, and he could see - something of his surroundings. He noted numerous lights out on the - placid bosom of the bay, evidently lanterns on the life-boats, and - he heard distant voices. He swept the moisture from his face; then - with a start he realized his situation. He listened intently; his - eyes roved back along the boatdeck; there was no doubt about it—the - ship was deserted. Stepping to the rail, he observed how low the - <i>Nebraska</i> lay and also that her bow was higher than her stern. From - somewhere beneath his feet came a muffled grinding and a movement - which told him that the ship was seeking a more comfortable berth. - He recalled stories of explosions and of the boiling eddies which - sometimes accompany sinking hulls. Turning, he scrambled up to the - cabin-deck and ran swiftly toward his stateroom. - </p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>II</div> - </div> - - <p>O’Neil felt for the little bracket-lamp on the wall of his stateroom - and lit it. By its light he dragged a life-preserver from the rack - overhead and slipped the tapes about his shoulders, reflecting that - Alaskan waters are disagreeably cold. Then he opened his - traveling-bags and dumped their contents upon the white counterpane - of his berth, selecting out of the confusion certain documents and - trinkets. The latter he thrust into his pockets as he found them, - the former he wrapped in handkerchiefs before stowing them away. The - ship had listed now so that it was difficult to maintain a footing; - the lamp hung at a grotesque angle and certain articles had become - dislodged from their resting places. From outside came the gentle - lapping of waters, a gurgling and hissing as of air escaping through - the decks. He could feel the ship strain. He acknowledged that it - was not pleasant thus to be left alone on a sinking hulk, - particularly on an ink-black night—</p> - - <p>All at once he whirled and faced the door with an exclamation of - astonishment, for a voice had addressed him.</p> - - <p>There, clinging to the casing, stood a woman—a girl—evidently drawn - out of the darkness by the light which streamed down across the - sloping deck from his stateroom. Plainly she had but just awakened, - for she was clothed in a silken nightrobe. She had flung a quilted - dressing-gown of some sort over her shoulders and with one bare arm - and hand strove to hold it in place. He saw that her pink feet were - thrust into soft, heelless slippers—that her hair, black in this - light, cascaded down to her waist, and that her eyes, which were - very dark and very large, were fixed upon him with a stare like that - of a sleep-walker.</p> - - <p>“It is so dark—so strange—so still!” she murmured. “What has - happened?”</p> - - <p>“God! Didn’t they waken you?” he cried in sharp surprise.</p> - - <p>“Is the ship—sinking?” Her odd bewilderment of voice and gaze - puzzled him.</p> - - <p>He nodded. “We struck a rock. The passengers have been taken off. - We’re the only ones left. In Heaven’s name where have you been?”</p> - - <p>“I was asleep.”</p> - - <p>He shook his head in astonishment. “How you failed to hear that - hubbub—”</p> - - <p>“I heard something, but I was ill. My head—I took something to ease - the pain.”</p> - - <p>“Ah! Medicine! It hasn’t worn off yet, I see! You shouldn’t have - taken it. Drugs are nothing but poison to young people. Now at my - age there might be some excuse for resorting to them, but you—” He - was talking to cover the panic of his thoughts, for his own - predicament had been serious enough, and her presence rendered it - doubly embarrassing. What in the world to do with her he scarcely - knew. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were grave as they roved - over the cabin and out into the blackness of the night.</p> - - <p>“Are we going to drown?” she asked, dully.</p> - - <p>“Nonsense!” He laughed in apparent amusement, showing his large - strong teeth.</p> - - <p>She came closer, glancing behind her and shrinking from the oily - waters which could be seen over the rail and which had stolen up - nearly to the sill of the door. She steadied herself by laying hold - of him uncertainly. Involuntarily he turned his eyes away, for he - felt shame at profaning her with his gaze. She was very soft and - white, a fragile thing utterly unfit to cope with the night air and - the freezing waters of Halibut Bay.</p> - - <p>“I’m wretchedly afraid!” she whispered through white lips.</p> - - <p>“None of that,” he said, brusquely. “I’ll see that nothing happens - to you.” He slipped out of his life-preserver and adjusted it over - her shoulders, first drawing her arms through the sleeves of her - dressing-gown and knotting the cord snugly around her waist.</p> - - <p>“Just as a matter of precaution!” he assured her.</p> - - <p>“We may get wet. Can you swim?”</p> - - <p>She shook her head.</p> - - <p>“Never mind; I can.” He found another life-belt, fitted it to his - own form, and led her out upon the deck. The scuppers were awash now - and she gasped as the sea licked her bare feet. “Cold, isn’t it?” he - remarked. “But there’s no time to dress, and it’s just as well, - perhaps, for heavy clothes would only hamper you.”</p> - - <p>She strove to avoid the icy waters and finally paused, moaning: “I - can’t! I can’t go on!”</p> - - <p>Slipping his arm about her, he bore her to the door of the main - cabin and entered. He could feel her warm, soft body quivering - against his own. She had clasped his neck so tightly that he could - scarcely breathe, but, lowering her until her feet were on the dry - carpet, he gently loosed her arms.</p> - - <p>“Now, my dear child,” he told her, “you must do exactly as I tell - you. Come! Calm yourself or I won’t take you any farther.” He held - her off by her shoulders. “I may have to swim with you; you mustn’t - cling to me so!”</p> - - <p>He heard her gasp and felt her draw away abruptly. Then he led her - by the hand out upon the starboard deck, and together they made - their way forward to the neighborhood of the bridge.</p> - - <p>The lights he had seen upon coming from the forward hold were still - in view and he hailed them at the top of his voice. But other voices - were calling through the night, some of them comparatively close at - hand, others answering faintly from far in-shore. The boats first - launched were evidently landing, and those in charge of them were - shouting directions to the ones behind. Some women had started - singing and the chorus floated out to the man and the girl:</p> - - <div class='poetry-container'> - <div class='poetry'> - <div class='stanza'> - <div class='verse'>Pull for the shore, sailor,</div> - <div class='verse'>  Pull for the shore.</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - - <p>It helped to drown their cries for assistance.</p> - - <p>O’Neil judged that the ship was at least a quarter of a mile from - the beach, and his heart sank, for he doubted that either he or his - companion could last long in these waters. It occurred to him that - Brennan might be close by, waiting for the <i>Nebraska</i> to sink—it - would be unlike the little captain to forsake his trust until the - last possible moment—but he reasoned that the cargo of lives in the - skipper’s boat would induce him to stand well off to avoid accident. - He called lustily time after time, but no answer came.</p> - - <p>Meanwhile the girl stood quietly beside him.</p> - - <p>“Can’t we make a raft?” she suggested, timidly, when he ceased to - shout. “I’ve read of such things.”</p> - - <p>“There’s no time,” he told her. “Are you very cold?”</p> - - <p>She nodded. “Please forgive me for acting so badly just now. It was - all so sudden and—so awful! I think I can behave better. Oh! What - was that?” She clutched him nervously, for from the forward end of - the ship had come a muffled scream, like that of a woman.</p> - - <p>“It’s my poor horses,” said the man, and she looked at him - curiously, prompted by the catch in his throat.</p> - - <p>There followed a wait which seemed long, but was in reality of but a - few minutes, for the ship was sliding backward and the sea was - creeping upward faster and faster. At last they heard a shuddering - sigh as she parted from the rocks and the air rushed up through the - deck openings with greater force. The <i>Nebraska</i> swung sluggishly - with the tide; then, when her upper structure had settled flush with - the sea, Murray O’Neil took the woman in his arms and leaped clear - of the rail.</p> - - <p>The first gasping moment of immersion was fairly paralyzing; after - that the reaction came, and the two began to struggle away from the - sinking ship. But the effect of the reaction soon wore off. The - water was cruelly cold and their bodies ached in every nerve and - fiber. O’Neil did his best to encourage his companion. He talked to - her through his chattering teeth, and once she had recovered from - the mental shock of the first fearful plunge she responded pluckily. - He knew that his own heart was normal and strong, but he feared that - the girl’s might not be equal to the strain. Had he been alone, he - felt sure that he could have gained the shore, but with her upon his - hands he was able to make but little headway. The expanse of waters - seemed immense; it fairly crushed hope out of him. The lights upon - the shore were as distant as fixed stars. This was a country of - heavy tides, he reflected, and he began to fear that the current was - sweeping them out. He turned to look for the ship, but could see no - traces of her, and since it was inconceivable that the <i>Nebraska</i> - could have sunk so quietly, her disappearance confirmed his fears. - More than once he fancied he heard an answer to his cries for - help—the rattle of rowlocks or the splash of oars—but his ears - proved unreliable.</p> - - <p>After a time the girl began to moan with pain and terror, but as - numbness gradually robbed her of sensation she became quiet. A - little later her grip upon his clothing relaxed and he saw that she - was collapsing. He drew her to him and held her so that her face lay - upturned and her hair floated about his shoulders. In this position - she could not drown, at least while his strength lasted. But he was - rapidly losing control of himself; his teeth were clicking loosely, - his muscles shook and twitched. It required a great effort to shout, - and he thought that his voice did not carry so far as at first. - Therefore he fell silent, paddling with his free arm and kicking, to - keep his blood stirring.</p> - - <p>Several times he gave up and floated quietly, but courage was - ingrained in him; deep down beneath his consciousness was a - vitality, an inherited stubborn resistance to death, of which he - knew nothing. It was that unidentified quality of mind which - supports one man through a great sickness or a long period of - privation, while another of more robust physique succumbs. It was - the same quality which brings one man out from desert wastes, or the - white silence of the polar ice, while the bodies of his fellows - remain to mark the trail. This innate power of supreme resistance is - found in chosen individuals throughout the animal kingdom, and it - was due to it alone that Murray O’Neil continued to fight the tide - long after he had ceased to exert conscious control.</p> - - <p>At length there came through the man’s dazed sensibilities a sound - different from those he had been hearing: it was a human voice, - mingled with the measured thud of oars in their sockets. It roused - him like an electric current and gave him strength to cry out - hoarsely. Some one answered him; then out of the darkness to seaward - emerged a deeper blot, which loomed up hugely yet proved to be no - more than a life-boat banked full of people. It came to a stop - within an oar’s-length of him. From the babble of voices he - distinguished one that was familiar, and cried the name of Johnny - Brennan. His brain had cleared now, a great dreamlike sense of - thanksgiving warmed him, and he felt equal to any effort. He was - vaguely amazed to find that his limbs refused to obey him.</p> - - <p>His own name was being pronounced in shocked tones; the splash from - an oar filled his face and strangled him, but he managed to lay hold - of the blade, and was drawn in until outstretched hands seized him.</p> - - <p>An oarsman was saying: “Be careful, there! We can’t take him in - without swamping.”</p> - - <p>But Brennan’s voice shouted: “Make room or I’ll bash in your bloody - skull.”</p> - - <p>Another protest arose, and O’Neil saw that the craft was indeed - loaded to the gunwales.</p> - - <p>“Take the girl—quick,” he implored. “I’ll hang on. You can tow me.”</p> - - <p>The limp form was removed from his side and dragged over the thwarts - while a murmur of excited voices went up.</p> - - <p>“Can you hold out for a minute, Murray?” asked Brennan.</p> - - <p>“Yes—I think so.”</p> - - <p>“I’d give you my place, but you’re too big to be taken in without - danger.”</p> - - <p>“Go ahead,” chattered the man in the water. “Look after the girl - before it’s—too late.”</p> - - <p>The captain’s stout hand was in his collar now and he heard him - crying:</p> - - <p>“Pull, you muscle-bound heathens! Everybody sit still! Now away with - her, men. Keep up your heart, Murray, my boy; remember it takes more - than water to kill a good Irishman. It’s only a foot or two farther, - and they’ve started a fire. Serves you right, you big idiot, for - going overboard, with all those boats. Man dear, but you’re pulling - the arm out of me; it’s stretched out like a garden hose! Hey! Cover - up that girl, and you, lady, rub her feet and hands. Good! Move over - please—so the men can bail.”</p> - - <p>The next thing O’Neil knew he was feeling very miserable and very - cold, notwithstanding the fact that he was wrapped in dry clothing - and lay so close to a roaring spruce fire that its heat blistered - him.</p> - - <p>Brennan was bending over him with eyes wet. He was swearing, too, in - a weak, faltering way, calling upon all the saints to witness that - the prostrate man was the embodiment of every virtue, and that his - death would be a national calamity. Others were gathered about, men - and women, and among them O’Neil saw the doctor from Sitka whom he - had met on shipboard.</p> - - <p>As soon as he was able to speak he inquired for the safety of the - girl he had helped to rescue. Johnny promptly reassured him.</p> - - <p>“Man, dear, she’s doing fine. A jigger of brandy brought her to, - gasping like a blessed mermaid.”</p> - - <p>“Was anybody lost?”</p> - - <p>“Praise God, not a soul! But it’s lucky I stood by to watch the old - tub go down, or we’d be mourning two. You’ll be well by morning, for - there’s a crew for help. And now, my boy, lay yourself down again - and take a sleep, won’t you? It’ll be doing you a lot of good.”</p> - - <p>But O’Neil shook his head and struggled to a sitting posture.</p> - - <p>“Thanks, Johnny,” said he, “but I couldn’t. I can hear those horses - screaming, and besides—I must make new plans.”</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssIII' title='III. The Gay Old Dog'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>III</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>THE GAY OLD DOG</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Edna Ferber</div> - - <div class="attrb tac mb07"> - From “Cheerful—By Request,” copyright, 1918, by F. A. - Stokes Co. By special permission from the author. - </div> - - <p>Those of you who have dwelt—or even lingered—in Chicago, Illinois - (this is not a humorous story), are familiar with the region known - as the Loop. For those others of you to whom Chicago is a transfer - point between New York and San Francisco there is presented this - brief explanation:</p> - - <p>The Loop is a clamorous, smoke-infested district embraced by the - iron arms of the elevated tracks. In a city boasting fewer millions, - it would be known familiarly as downtown. From Congress to Lake - Street, from Wabash almost to the river, those thunderous tracks - make a complete circle, or loop. Within it lie the retail shops, the - commercial hotels, the theaters, the restaurants. It is the Fifth - Avenue (diluted) and the Broadway (deleted) of Chicago. And he who - frequents it by night in search of amusement and cheer is known, - vulgarly, as a Loop-hound.</p> - - <p>Jo Hertz was a Loop-hound. On the occasion of those sparse first - nights granted the metropolis of the Middle West he was always - present, third row, aisle left. When a new loop café was opened Jo’s - table always commanded an unobstructed view of anything worth - viewing. On entering he was wont to say, “Hello, Gus,” with careless - cordiality to the head waiter, the while his eye roved expertly from - table to table as he removed his gloves. He ordered things under - glass, so that his table, at midnight or thereabouts, resembled a - hot-bed that favors the bell system. The waiters fought for him. He - was the kind of man who mixes his own salad dressing. He liked to - call for a bowl, some cracked ice, lemon, garlic, paprika, salt, - pepper, vinegar, and oil and make a rite of it. People at near-by - tables would lay down their knives and forks to watch, fascinated. - The secret of it seemed to lie in using all the oil in sight and - calling for more.</p> - - <p>That was Jo—a plump and lonely bachelor of fifty. A plethoric, - roving-eyed and kindly man, clutching vainly at the garments of a - youth that had long slipped past him. Jo Hertz, in one of those - pinch-waist belted suits and a trench coat and a little green hat, - walking up Michigan Avenue of a bright winter’s afternoon, trying to - take the curb with a jaunty youthfulness against which every one of - his fat-encased muscles rebelled, was a sight for mirth or pity, - depending on one’s vision.</p> - - <p>The gay-dog business was a late phase in the life of Jo Hertz. He - had been a quite different sort of canine. The staid and harassed - brother of three unwed and selfish sisters is an under dog. The tale - of how Jo Hertz came to be a Loop-hound should not be compressed - within the limits of a short story. It should be told as are the - photo plays, with frequent throwbacks and many cut-ins. To condense - twenty-three years of a man’s life into some five or six thousand - words requires a verbal economy amounting to parsimony.</p> - - <p>At twenty-seven Jo had been the dutiful, hardworking son (in the - wholesale harness business) of a widowed and gummidging mother, who - called him Joey. If you had looked close you would have seen that - now and then a double wrinkle would appear between Jo’s eyes—a - wrinkle that had no business there at twenty-seven. Then Jo’s mother - died, leaving him handicapped by a death-bed promise, the three - sisters and a three-story-and-basement house on Calumet Avenue. Jo’s - wrinkle became a fixture.</p> - - <p>Death-bed promises should be broken as lightly as they are seriously - made. The dead have no right to lay their clammy fingers upon the - living.</p> - - <p>“Joey,” she had said, in her high, thin voice, “take care of the - girls.”</p> - - <p>“I will, Ma,” Jo had choked.</p> - - <p>“Joey,” and the voice was weaker, “promise me you won’t marry till - the girls are all provided for.” Then as Joe had hesitated, - appalled: “Joey, it’s my dying wish. Promise!”</p> - - <p>“I promise, Ma,” he had said.</p> - - <p>Whereupon his mother had died, comfortably, leaving him with a - completely ruined life.</p> - - <p>They were not bad-looking girls, and they had a certain style, too. - That is, Stell and Eva had. Carrie, the middle one, taught school - over on the West Side. In those days it took her almost two hours - each way. She said the kind of costume she required should have been - corrugated steel. But all three knew what was being worn, and they - wore it—or fairly faithful copies of it. Eva, the housekeeping - sister, had a needle knack. She could skim the State Street windows - and come away with a mental photograph of every separate tuck, hem, - yoke, and ribbon. Heads of departments showed her the things they - kept in drawers, and she went home and reproduced them with the aid - of a two-dollar-a-day seamstress. Stell, the youngest, was the - beauty. They called her Babe. She wasn’t really a beauty, but some - one had once told her that she looked like Janice Meredith (it was - when that work of fiction was at the height of popularity). For - years afterward, whenever she went to parties, she affected a - single, fat curl over her right shoulder, with a rose stuck through - it.</p> - - <p>Twenty-three years ago one’s sisters did not strain at the household - leash, nor crave a career. Carrie taught school, and hated it. Eva - kept house expertly and complainingly. Babe’s profession was being - the family beauty, and it took all her spare time. Eva always let - her sleep until ten.</p> - - <p>This was Jo’s household, and he was the nominal head of it. But it - was an empty title. The three women dominated his life. They weren’t - consciously selfish. If you had called them cruel they would have - put you down as mad. When you are the lone brother of three sisters, - it means that you must constantly be calling for, escorting, or - dropping one of them somewhere. Most men of Jo’s age were standing - before their mirror of a Saturday night, whistling blithely and - abstractedly while they discarded a blue polka-dot for a maroon tie, - whipped off the maroon for a shot-silk in favor of a plain - black-and-white, because she had once said she preferred quiet ties. - Jo, when he should have been preening his feathers for conquest, was - saying:</p> - - <p>“Well, my God, I am hurrying! Give a man time, can’t you? I just got - home. You girls have been laying around the house all day. No wonder - you’re ready.”</p> - - <p>He took a certain pride in seeing his sisters well dressed, at a - time when he should have been revelling in fancy waistcoats and - brilliant-hued socks, according to the style of that day, and the - inalienable right of any unwed male under thirty, in any day. On - those rare occasions when his business necessitated an out-of-town - trip, he would spend half a day floundering about the shops - selecting handkerchiefs, or stockings, or feathers, or fans, or - gloves for the girls. They always turned out to be the wrong kind, - judging by their reception.</p> - - <p>From Carrie, “What in the world do I want of a fan!”</p> - - <p>“I thought you didn’t have one,” Jo would say.</p> - - <p>“I haven’t. I never go to dances.”</p> - - <p>Joe would pass a futile hand over the top of his head, as was his - way when disturbed. “I just thought you’d like one. I thought every - girl liked a fan. Just,” feebly, “just to—to have.”</p> - - <p>“Oh, for pity’s sake!”</p> - - <p>And from Eva or Babe, “I’ve got silk stockings, Jo.” Or, “You - brought me handkerchiefs the last time.”</p> - - <p>There was something selfish in his giving, as there always is in any - gift freely and joyfully made. They never suspected the exquisite - pleasure it gave him to select these things; these fine, soft, - silken things. There were many things about this slow-going, amiable - brother of theirs that they never suspected. If you had told them he - was a dreamer of dreams, for example, they would have been amused. - Sometimes, dead-tired by nine o’clock, after a hard day downtown, he - would doze over the evening paper. At intervals he would wake, - red-eyed, to a snatch of conversation such as, “Yes, but if you get - a blue you can wear it anywhere. It’s dressy, and at the same time - it’s quiet, too.” Eva, the expert, wrestling with Carrie over the - problem of the new spring dress. They never guessed that the - commonplace man in the frayed old smoking-jacket had banished them - all from the room long ago; had banished himself, for that matter. - In his place was a tall, debonair, and rather dangerously handsome - man to whom six o’clock spelled evening clothes. The kind of man who - can lean up against a mantel, or propose a toast, or give an order - to a man-servant, or whisper a gallant speech in a lady’s ear with - equal ease. The shabby old house on Calumet Avenue was transformed - into a brocaded and chandeliered rendezvous for the brilliance of - the city. Beauty was here, and wit. But none so beautiful and witty - as She. Mrs.—er—Jo Hertz. There was wine, of course; but no regular - display. There was music; the soft sheen of satin; laughter. And he - the gracious, tactful host, king of his own domain—</p> - - <p>“Jo, for heaven’s sake, if you’re going to snore go to bed!”</p> - - <p>“Why—did I fall asleep?”</p> - - <p>“You haven’t been doing anything else all evening. A person would - think you were fifty instead of thirty.”</p> - - <p>And Jo Hertz was again just the dull, gray, commonplace brother of - three well-meaning sisters.</p> - - <p>Babe used to say petulantly, “Jo, why don’t you ever bring home any - of your men friends? A girl might as well not have any brother, all - the good you do.”</p> - - <p>Jo, conscience-stricken, did his best to make amends. But a man who - has been petticoat-ridden for years loses the knack, somehow, of - comradeship with men. He acquires, too, a knowledge of women, and a - distaste for them, equalled only, perhaps, by that of an - elevator-starter in a department store.</p> - - <p>Which brings us to one Sunday in May. Jo came home from a late - Sunday afternoon walk to find company for supper. Carrie often had - in one of her school-teacher friends, or Babe one of her frivolous - intimates, or even Eva a staid guest of the old-girl type. There was - always a Sunday night supper of potato salad, and cold meat, and - coffee, and perhaps a fresh cake. Jo rather enjoyed it, being a - hospitable soul. But he regarded the guests with the undazzled eyes - of a man to whom they were just so many petticoats, timid of the - night streets and requiring escort home. If you had suggested to him - that some of his sisters’ popularity was due to his own presence, or - if you had hinted that the more kittenish of these visitors were - probably making eyes at him, he would have stared in amazement and - unbelief.</p> - - <p>This Sunday night it turned out to be one of Carrie’s friends.</p> - - <p>“Emily,” said Carrie, “this is my brother, Jo.”</p> - - <p>Jo had learned what to expect in Carrie’s friends. Drab-looking - women in the late thirties, whose facial lines all slanted downward.</p> - - <p>“Happy to meet you,” said Jo, and looked down at a different sort - altogether. A most surprisingly different sort, for one of Carrie’s - friends. This Emily person was very small, and fluffy, and - blue-eyed, and sort of—well, crinkly looking. You know. The corners - of her mouth when she smiled, and her eyes when she looked up at - you, and her hair, which was brown, but had the miraculous effect, - somehow, of being golden.</p> - - <p>Jo shook hands with her. Her hand was incredibly small, and soft, so - that you were afraid of crushing it, until you discovered she had a - firm little grip all her own. It surprised and amused you, that - grip, as does a baby’s unexpected clutch on your patronizing - forefinger. As Jo felt it in his own big clasp, the strangest thing - happened to him. Something inside Jo Hertz stopped working for a - moment, then lurched sickenly, then thumped like mad. It was his - heart. He stood staring down at her, and she up at him, until the - others laughed. Then their hands fell apart, lingeringly.</p> - - <p>“Are you a school-teacher, Emily?” he said.</p> - - <p>“Kindergarten. It’s my first year. And don’t call me Emily, please.”</p> - - <p>“Why not? It’s your name. I think it’s the prettiest name in all the - world.” Which he hadn’t meant to say at all. In fact, he was - perfectly aghast to find himself saying it. But he meant it.</p> - - <p>At supper he passed her things, and stared, until everybody laughed - again, and Eva said acidly, “Why don’t you feed her?”</p> - - <p>It wasn’t that Emily had an air of helplessness. She just made you - feel you wanted her to be helpless, so that you could help her.</p> - - <p>Jo took her home, and from that Sunday night he began to strain at - the leash. He took his sisters out, dutifully, but he would suggest, - with a carelessness that deceived no one, “Don’t you want one of - your girl friends to come along? That little What’s-her-name—Emily, - or something. So long’s I’ve got three of you, I might as well have - a full squad.”</p> - - <p>For a long time he didn’t know what was the matter with him. He only - knew he was miserable, and yet happy. Sometimes his heart seemed to - ache with an actual physical ache. He realized that he wanted to do - things for Emily. He wanted to buy things for Emily—useless, pretty, - expensive things that he couldn’t afford. He wanted to buy - everything that Emily needed, and everything that Emily desired. He - wanted to marry Emily. That was it. He discovered that one day, with - a shock, in the midst of a transaction in the harness business. He - stared at the man with whom he was dealing until that startled - person grew uncomfortable.</p> - - <p>“What’s the matter, Hertz?”</p> - - <p>“Matter?”</p> - - <p>“You look as if you’d seen a ghost or found a gold mine. I don’t - know which.”</p> - - <p>“Gold mine,” said Jo. And then, “No. Ghost.”</p> - - <p>For he remembered that high, thin voice, and his promise. And the - harness business was slithering downhill with dreadful rapidity, as - the automobile business began its amazing climb. Jo tried to stop - it. But he was not that kind of business man. It never occurred to - him to jump out of the down-going vehicle and catch the up-going - one. He stayed on, vainly applying brakes that refused to work.</p> - - <p>“You know, Emily, I couldn’t support two households now. Not the way - things are. But if you’ll wait. If you’ll only wait. The girls - might—that is, Babe and Carrie—”</p> - - <p>She was a sensible little thing, Emily. “Of course I’ll wait. But we - mustn’t just sit back and let the years go by. We’ve got to help.”</p> - - <p>She went about it as if she were already a little match-making - matron. She corralled all the men she had ever known and introduced - them to Babe, Carrie, and Eva separately, in pairs, and en masse. - She arranged parties at which Babe could display the curl. She got - up picnics. She stayed home while Jo took the three about. When she - was present she tried to look as plain and obscure as possible, so - that the sisters should show up to advantage. She schemed, and - planned, and contrived, and hoped; and smiled into Jo’s despairing - eyes.</p> - - <p>And three years went by. Three precious years. Carrie taught school, - and hated it. Eva kept house, more and more complainingly as prices - advanced and allowances retreated. Stell was still Babe, the family - beauty; but even she knew that the time was past for curls. Emily’s - hair, somehow, lost its glint and began to look just plain brown. - Her crinkliness began to iron out.</p> - - <p>“Now, look here!” Jo argued, desperately, one night. “We could be - happy, anyway. There’s plenty of room at the house. Lots of people - begin that way. Of course, I couldn’t give you all I’d like to, at - first. But maybe, after a while—”</p> - - <p>No dreams of salons, and brocade, and velvet-footed servitors, and - satin damask now. Just two rooms, all their own, all alone, and - Emily to work for. That was his dream. But it seemed less possible - than that other absurd one had been.</p> - - <p>You know that Emily was as practical a little thing as she looked - fluffy. She knew women. Especially did she know Eva, and Carrie, and - Babe. She tried to imagine herself taking the household affairs and - the housekeeping pocketbook out of Eva’s expert hands. Eva had once - displayed to her a sheaf of aigrettes she had bought with what she - saved out of the housekeeping money. So then she tried to picture - herself allowing the reins of Jo’s house to remain in Eva’s hands. - And everything feminine and normal in her rebelled. Emily knew she’d - want to put away her own freshly laundered linen, and smooth it, and - pat it. She was that kind of woman. She knew she’d want to do her - own delightful haggling with butcher and vegetable pedlar. She knew - she’d want to muss Jo’s hair, and sit on his knee, and even quarrel - with him, if necessary, without the awareness of three ever-present - pairs of maiden eyes and ears.</p> - - <p>“No! No! We’d only be miserable. I know. Even if they didn’t object. - And they would, Jo. Wouldn’t they?”</p> - - <p>His silence was miserable assent. Then, “But you do love me, don’t - you, Emily?”</p> - - <p>“I do, Jo. I love you—and love you—and love you. But, Jo, I—can’t.”</p> - - <p>“I know it, dear. I knew it all the time, really. I just thought - maybe, somehow—”</p> - - <p>The two sat staring for a moment into space, their hands clasped. - Then they both shut their eyes, with a little shudder, as though - what they saw was terrible to look upon. Emily’s hand, the tiny hand - that was so unexpectedly firm, tightened its hold on him, and his - crushed the absurd fingers until she winced with pain.</p> - - <p>That was the beginning of the end, and they knew it.</p> - - <p>Emily wasn’t the kind of girl who would be left to pine. There are - too many Jo’s in the world whose hearts are prone to lurch and then - thump at the feel of a soft, fluttering, incredibly small hand in - their grip. One year later Emily was married to a young man whose - father owned a large, pie-shaped slice of the prosperous state of - Michigan.</p> - - <p>That being safely accomplished, there was something grimly humorous - in the trend taken by affairs in the old house on Calumet. For Eva - married. Of all people, Eva! Married well, too, though he was a - great deal older than she. She went off in a hat she had copied from - a French model at Field’s, and a suit she had contrived with a home - dressmaker, aided by pressing on the part of the little tailor in - the basement over on Thirty-first Street. It was the last of that, - though. The next time they saw her, she had on a hat that even she - would have despaired of copying, and a suit that sort of melted into - your gaze. She moved to the North Side (trust Eva for that), and - Babe assumed the management of the household on Calumet Avenue. It - was rather a pinched little household now, for the harness business - shrank and shrank.</p> - - <p>“I don’t see how you can expect me to keep house decently on this!” - Babe would say contemptuously. Babe’s nose, always a little inclined - to sharpness, had whittled down to a point of late. “If you knew - what Ben gives Eva.”</p> - - <p>“It’s the best I can do, Sis. Business is something rotten.”</p> - - <p>“Ben says if you had the least bit of—” Ben was Eva’s husband, and - quotable, as are all successful men.</p> - - <p>“I don’t care what Ben says,” shouted Jo, goaded into rage. “I’m - sick of your everlasting Ben. Go and get a Ben of your own, why - don’t you, if you’re so stuck on the way he does things.”</p> - - <p>And Babe did. She made a last desperate drive, aided by Eva, and she - captured a rather surprised young man in the brokerage way, who had - made up his mind not to marry for years and years. Eva wanted to - give her her wedding things, but at that Jo broke into sudden - rebellion.</p> - - <p>“No, sir! No Ben is going to buy my sister’s wedding clothes, - understand? I guess I’m not broke—yet. I’ll furnish the money for - her things, and there’ll be enough of them, too.”</p> - - <p>Babe had as useless a trousseau, and as filled with extravagant - pink-and-blue and lacy and frilly things as any daughter of doting - parents. Jo seemed to find a grim pleasure in providing them. But it - left him pretty well pinched. After Babe’s marriage (she insisted - that they call her Estelle now) Jo sold the house on Calumet. He and - Carrie took one of those little flats that were springing up, - seemingly over night, all through Chicago’s South Side.</p> - - <p>There was nothing domestic about Carrie. She had given up teaching - two years before, and had gone into Social Service work on the West - Side. She had what is known as a legal mind—hard, clear, orderly—and - she made a great success of it. Her dream was to live at the - Settlement House and give all her time to the work. Upon the little - household she bestowed a certain amount of grim, capable attention. - It was the same kind of attention she would have given a piece of - machinery whose oiling and running had been entrusted to her care. - She hated it, and didn’t hesitate to say so.</p> - - <p>Jo took to prowling about department store basements, and household - goods sections. He was always sending home a bargain in a ham, or a - sack of potatoes, or fifty pounds of sugar, or a window clamp, or a - new kind of paring knife. He was forever doing odd little jobs that - the janitor should have done. It was the domestic in him claiming - its own.</p> - - <p>Then, one night, Carrie came home with a dull glow in her leathery - cheeks, and her eyes alight with resolve. They had what she called a - plain talk.</p> - - <p>“Listen, Jo. They’ve offered me the job of first assistant resident - worker. And I’m going to take it. Take it! I know fifty other girls - who’d give their ears for it. I go in next month.”</p> - - <p>They were at dinner. Jo looked up from his plate, dully. Then he - glanced around the little dining-room, with its ugly tan walls and - its heavy, dark furniture (the Calumet Avenue pieces fitted - cumbersomely into the five-room flat).</p> - - <p>“Away? Away from here, you mean—to live?”</p> - - <p>Carrie laid down her fork. “Well, really, Jo! After all that - explanation.”</p> - - <p>“But to go over there to live! Why, that neighborhood’s full of - dirt, and disease, and crime, and the Lord knows what all. I can’t - let you do that, Carrie.”</p> - - <p>Carrie’s chin came up. She laughed a short little laugh. “Let me! - That’s eighteenth-century talk, Jo. My life’s my own to live. I’m - going.”</p> - - <p>And she went.</p> - - <p>Jo stayed on in the apartment until the lease was up. Then he sold - what furniture he could, stored or gave away the rest, and took a - room on Michigan Avenue in one of the old stone mansions whose - decayed splendor was being put to such purpose.</p> - - <p>Jo Hertz was his own master. Free to marry. Free to come and go. And - he found he didn’t even think of marrying. He didn’t want to come or - go, particularly. A rather frumpy old bachelor, with thinning hair - and a thickening neck. Much has been written about the unwed, - middle-aged woman; her fussiness, her primness, her angularity of - mind and body. In the male that same fussiness develops, and a - certain primness, too. But he grows flabby where she grows lean.</p> - - <p>Every Thursday evening he took dinner at Eva’s, and on Sunday noon - at Stell’s. He tucked his napkin under his chin and openly enjoyed - the homemade soup and the well-cooked meats. After dinner he tried - to talk business with Eva’s husband, or Stell’s. His business talks - were the old-fashioned kind, beginning:</p> - - <p>“Well, now, looka here. Take, f’rinstance your raw hides and - leathers.”</p> - - <p>But Ben and George didn’t want to “take, f’rinstance, your raw hides - and leathers.” They wanted, when they took anything at all, to take - golf, or politics or stocks. They were the modern type of business - man who prefers to leave his work out of his play. Business, with - them, was a profession—a finely graded and balanced thing, differing - from Jo’s clumsy, downhill style as completely as does the method of - a great criminal detective differ from that of a village constable. - They would listen, restively, and say, “Uh-uh,” at intervals, and at - the first chance they would sort of fade out of the room, with a - meaning glance at their wives. Eva had two children now. Girls. They - treated Uncle Jo with good-natured tolerance. Stell had no children. - Uncle Jo degenerated, by almost imperceptible degrees, from the - position of honored guest, who is served with white meat, to that of - one who is content with a leg and one of those obscure and bony - sections which, after much turning with a bewildered and - investigating knife and fork, leave one baffled and unsatisfied.</p> - - <p>Eva and Stell got together and decided that Jo ought to marry.</p> - - <p>“It isn’t natural,” Eva told him. “I never saw a man who took so - little interest in women.”</p> - - <p>“Me!” protested Jo, almost shyly. “Women!”</p> - - <p>“Yes. Of course. You act like a frightened schoolboy.”</p> - - <p>So they had in for dinner certain friends and acquaintances of - fitting age. They spoke of them as “splendid girls.” Between - thirty-six and forty. They talked awfully well, in a firm, clear - way, about civics, and classes, and politics, and economics, and - boards. They rather terrified Jo. He didn’t understand much that - they talked about, and he felt humbly inferior, and yet a little - resentful, as if something had passed him by. He escorted them home, - dutifully, though they told him not to bother, and they evidently - meant it. They seemed capable, not only of going home quite - unattended, but of delivering a pointed lecture to any highwayman or - brawler who might molest them.</p> - - <p>The following Thursday Eva would say, “How did you like her, Joe?”</p> - - <p>“Like who?” Jo would spar feebly.</p> - - <p>“Miss Matthews.”</p> - - <p>“Who’s she?”</p> - - <p>“Now, don’t be funny, Jo. You know very well I mean the girl who was - here for dinner. The one who talked so well on the emigration - question.”</p> - - <p>“Oh, her! Why, I liked her all right. Seems to be a smart woman.”</p> - - <p>“Smart! She’s a perfectly splendid girl.”</p> - - <p>“Sure,” Jo would agree cheerfully.</p> - - <p>“But didn’t you like her?”</p> - - <p>“I can’t say I did, Eve. And I can’t say I didn’t. She made me think - a lot of a teacher I had in the fifth reader. Name of Himes. As I - recall her, she must have been a fine woman. But I never thought of - her as a woman at all. She was just Teacher.”</p> - - <p>“You make me tired,” snapped Eva impatiently. “A man of your age. - You don’t expect to marry a girl, do you? A child!”</p> - - <p>“I don’t expect to marry anybody,” Jo had answered.</p> - - <p>And that was the truth, lonely though he often was.</p> - - <p>The following spring Eva moved to Winnetka. Any one who got the - meaning of the Loop knows the significance of a move to a - north-shore suburb, and a house. Eva’s daughter, Ethel, was growing - up, and her mother had an eye on society.</p> - - <p>That did away with Jo’s Thursday dinner. Then Stell’s husband bought - a car. They went out into the country every Sunday. Stell said it - was getting so that maids objected to Sunday dinners, anyway. - Besides, they were unhealthy, old-fashioned things. They always - meant to ask Jo to come along, but by the time their friends were - placed, and the lunch, and the boxes, and sweaters, and George’s - camera, and everything, there seemed to be no room for a man of Jo’s - bulk. So that eliminated the Sunday dinners.</p> - - <p>“Just drop in any time during the week,” Stell said, “for dinner. - Except Wednesday—that’s our bridge night—and Saturday. And, of - course, Thursday. Cook is out that night. Don’t wait for me to - ’phone.”</p> - - <p>And so Jo drifted into that sad-eyed, dyspeptic family made up of - those you see dining in second-rate restaurants, their paper propped - up against the bowl of oyster crackers, munching solemnly and with - indifference to the stare of the passer-by surveying them through - the brazen plate-glass window.</p> - - <p>And then came the War. The war that spelled death and destruction to - millions. The war that brought a fortune to Jo Hertz, and - transformed him, over night, from a baggy-kneed old bachelor, whose - business was a failure, to a prosperous manufacturer whose only - trouble was the shortage in hides for the making of his - product—leather! The armies of Europe called for it. Harnesses! More - harnesses! Straps! Millions of straps. More! More!</p> - - <p>The musty old harness business over on Lake Street was magically - changed from a dust-covered, dead-alive concern to an orderly hive - that hummed and glittered with success. Orders poured in. Jo Hertz - had inside information on the War. He knew about troops and horses. - He walked with French and English and Italian buyers—noblemen, many - of them—commissioned by their countries to get American-made - supplies. And now, when he said to Ben or George, “Take f’rinstance - your raw hides and leathers,” they listened with respectful - attention.</p> - - <p>And then began the gay-dog business in the life of Jo Hertz. He - developed into a Loop-hound, ever keen on the scent of fresh - pleasure. That side of Jo Hertz which had been repressed and crushed - and ignored began to bloom, unhealthily. At first he spent money on - his rather contemptuous nieces. He sent them gorgeous fans, and - watch bracelets, and velvet bags. He took two expensive rooms at a - downtown hotel, and there was something more tear-compelling than - grotesque about the way he gloated over the luxury of a separate - ice-water tap in the bathroom. He explained it.</p> - - <p>“Just turn it on. Ice-water! Any hour of the day or night.”</p> - - <p>He bought a car. Naturally. A glittering affair; in color a bright - blue, with pale-blue leather straps and a great deal of gold - fittings, and wire wheels. Eva said it was the kind of thing a - soubrette would use, rather than an elderly business man. You saw - him, too, in the Pompeian room at the Congress Hotel of a Saturday - afternoon when doubtful and roving-eyed matrons in kolinsky capes - are wont to congregate to sip pale amber drinks. Actors grew to - recognize the semi-bald head and the shining, round, good-natured - face looming out at them from the dim well of the parquet, and - sometimes, in a musical show, they directed a quip at him, and he - liked it. He could pick out the critics as they came down the aisle, - and even had a nodding acquaintance with two of them.</p> - - <p>“Kelly, of the ‘Herald,’” he would say carelessly. “Bean, of the - ‘Trib.’ They’re all afraid of him.”</p> - - <p>So he frolicked, ponderously. In New York he might have been called - a Man About Town.</p> - - <p>And he was lonesome. He was very lonesome. So he searched about in - his mind and brought from the dim past the memory of the luxuriously - furnished establishment of which he used to dream in the evenings - when he dozed over his paper in the old house on Calumet. So he - rented an apartment, many-roomed and expensive, with a man-servant - in charge, and furnished it in styles and periods ranging through - all the Louises. The living-room was mostly rose color. It was like - an unhealthy and bloated boudoir. And yet there was nothing - sybaritic or uncleanly in the sight of this paunchy, middle-aged man - sinking into the rosy-cushioned luxury of his ridiculous home. It - was a frank and naïve indulgence of long-starved senses, and there - was in it a great resemblance to the rolling-eyed ecstasy of a - schoolboy smacking his lips over an all-day sucker.</p> - - <p>The War went on, and on, and on. And the money continued to roll - in—a flood of it. Then, one afternoon, Eva, in town on shopping - bent, entered a small, exclusive, and expensive shop on Michigan - Avenue. Exclusive, that is, in price. Eva’s weakness, you may - remember, was hats. She was seeking a hat now. She described what - she sought with a languid conciseness, and stood looking about her - after the saleswoman had vanished in quest of it. The room was - becomingly rose-illumined and somewhat dim, so that some minutes had - passed before she realized that a man seated on a raspberry brocade - settee not five feet away—a man with a walking stick, and yellow - gloves, and tan spats, and a check suit—was her brother Jo. From him - Eva’s wild-eyed glance leaped to the woman who was trying on hats - before one of the many long mirrors. She was seated, and a - saleswoman was exclaiming discreetly at her elbow.</p> - - <p>Eva turned sharply and encountered her own saleswoman returning, - hat-laden. “Not to-day,” she gasped. “I’m feeling ill. Suddenly.” - And almost ran from the room.</p> - - <p>That evening she told Stell, relating her news in that telephone - pidgin-English devised by every family of married sisters as - protection against the neighbors and Central. Translated, it ran - thus:</p> - - <p>“He looked straight at me. My dear, I thought I’d die! But at least - he had sense enough not to speak. She was one of those limp, willowy - creatures with the greediest eyes that she tried to keep softened to - a baby stare, and couldn’t, she was so crazy to get her hands on - those hats. I saw it all in one awful minute. You know the way I do. - I suppose some people would call her pretty. I don’t. And her color! - Well! And the most expensive-looking hats. Aigrettes, and paradise, - and feathers. Not one of them under seventy-five. Isn’t it - disgusting! At his age! Suppose Ethel had been with me!”</p> - - <p>The next time it was Stell who saw them. In a restaurant. She said - it spoiled her evening. And the third time it was Ethel. She was one - of the guests at a theater party given by Nicky Overton II. You - know. The North Shore Overtons. Lake Forest. They came in late, and - occupied the entire third row at the opening performance of “Believe - Me!” And Ethel was Nicky’s partner. She was glowing like a rose. - When the lights went up after the first act Ethel saw that her Uncle - Jo was seated just ahead of her with what she afterward described as - a blonde. Then her uncle had turned around, and seeing her, had been - surprised into a smile that spread genially all over his plump and - rubicund face. Then he had turned to face forward again, quickly.</p> - - <p>“Who’s the old bird?” Nicky had asked. Ethel had pretended not to - hear, so he had asked again.</p> - - <p>“My uncle,” Ethel answered, and flushed all over her delicate face, - and down to her throat. Nicky had looked at the blonde, and his - eyebrows had gone up ever so slightly.</p> - - <p>It spoiled Ethel’s evening. More than that, as she told her mother - of it later, weeping, she declared it had spoiled her life.</p> - - <p>Eva talked it over with her husband in that intimate, kimonoed hour - that precedes bedtime. She gesticulated heatedly with her hair - brush.</p> - - <p>“It’s disgusting, that’s what it is. Perfectly disgusting. There’s - no fool like an old fool. Imagine! A creature like that. At his time - of life.”</p> - - <p>There exists a strange and loyal kinship among men. “Well, I don’t - know,” Ben said now, and even grinned a little. “I suppose a boy’s - got to sow his wild oats sometime.”</p> - - <p>“Don’t be any more vulgar than you can help,” Eva retorted. “And I - think you know, as well as I, what it means to have that Overton boy - interested in Ethel.”</p> - - <p>“If he’s interested in her,” Ben blundered, “I guess the fact that - Ethel’s uncle went to the theater with some one who wasn’t Ethel’s - aunt won’t cause a shudder to run up and down his frail young frame, - will it?”</p> - - <p>“All right,” Eva retorted. “If you’re not man enough to stop it, - I’ll have to, that’s all. I’m going up there with Stell this week.”</p> - - <p>They did not notify Jo of their coming. Eva telephoned his apartment - when she knew he would be out, and asked his man if he expected his - master home to dinner that evening. The man had said yes. Eva - arranged to meet Stell in town. They would drive to Jo’s apartment - together, and wait for him there.</p> - - <p>When she reached the city Eva found turmoil there. The first of the - American troops to be sent to France were leaving. Michigan - Boulevard was a billowing, surging mass: flags, pennants, banners, - crowds. All the elements that make for demonstration. And over the - whole—quiet. No holiday crowd, this. A solid, determined mass of - people waiting patient hours to see the khaki-clads go by. Three - years of indefatigable reading had brought them to a clear knowledge - of what these boys were going to.</p> - - <p>“Isn’t it dreadful!” Stell gasped.</p> - - <p>“Nicky Overton’s only nineteen, thank goodness.”</p> - - <p>Their car was caught in the jam. When they moved at all it was by - inches. When at last they reached Jo’s apartment they were flushed, - nervous, apprehensive. But he had not yet come in. So they waited.</p> - - <p>No, they were not staying to dinner with their brother, they told - the relieved houseman.</p> - - <p>Jo’s home has already been described to you. Stell and Eva, sunk in - rose-colored cushions, viewed it with disgust, and some mirth. They - rather avoided each other’s eyes.</p> - - <p>“Carrie ought to be here,” Eva said. They both smiled at the thought - of the austere Carrie in the midst of those rosy cushions, and - hangings, and lamps. Stell rose and began to walk about, restlessly. - She picked up a vase and laid it down; straightened a picture. Eva - got up, too, and wandered into the hall. She stood there a moment, - listening. Then she turned and passed into Jo’s bedroom. And there - you knew Jo for what he was.</p> - - <p>This room was as bare as the other had been ornate. It was Jo, the - clean-minded and simple-hearted, in revolt against the cloying - luxury with which he had surrounded himself. The bedroom, of all - rooms in any house, reflects the personality of its occupant. True, - the actual furniture was panelled, cupid-surmounted, and ridiculous. - It had been the fruit of Jo’s first orgy of the senses. But now it - stood out in that stark little room with an air as incongruous and - ashamed as that of a pink tarleton <i>danseuse</i> who finds herself in a - monk’s cell. None of those wall-pictures with which bachelor - bedrooms are reputed to be hung. No satin slippers. No scented - notes. Two plain-backed military brushes on the chiffonier (and he - so nearly hairless). A little orderly stack of books on the table - near the bed. Eva fingered their titles and gave a little gasp. One - of them was on gardening.</p> - - <p>“Well, of all things!” exclaimed Stell. A book on the War, by an - Englishman. A detective story of the lurid type that lulls us to - sleep. His shoes ranged in a careful row in the closet, with a - shoe-tree in every one of them. There was something speaking about - them. They looked human. Eva shut the door on them, quickly. Some - bottles on the dresser. A jar of pomade. An ointment such as a man - uses who is growing bald and is panic-stricken too late. An - insurance calendar on the wall. Some rhubarb-and-soda mixture on the - shelf in the bathroom, and a little box of pepsin tablets.</p> - - <p>“Eats all kinds of things at all hours of the night,” Eva said, and - wandered out into the rose-colored front room again with the air of - one who is chagrined at her failure to find what she has sought. - Stell followed her furtively.</p> - - <p>“Where do you suppose he can be?” she demanded. “It’s”—she glanced - at her wrist—“Why, it’s after six!”</p> - - <p>And then there was a little click. The two women sat up, tense. The - door opened. Jo came in. He blinked a little. The two women in the - rosy room stood up.</p> - - <p>“Why—Eve! Why, Babe! Well! Why didn’t you let me know?”</p> - - <p>“We were just about to leave. We thought you weren’t coming home.”</p> - - <p>Jo came in, slowly.</p> - - <p>“I was in the jam on Michigan, watching the boys go by.” He sat - down, heavily. The light from the window fell on him. And you saw - that his eyes were red.</p> - - <p>And you’ll have to learn why. He had found himself one of the - thousands in the jam on Michigan Avenue, as he said. He had a place - near the curb, where his big frame shut off the view of the - unfortunates behind him. He waited with the placid interest of one - who has subscribed to all the funds and societies to which a - prosperous, middle-aged business man is called upon to subscribe in - war time. Then, just as he was about to leave, impatient at the - delay, the crowd had cried, with a queer, dramatic, exultant note in - its voice, “Here they come! Here come the boys!”</p> - - <p>Just at that moment two little, futile, frenzied fists began to beat - a mad tattoo on Jo Hertz’s broad back. Jo tried to turn in the - crowd, all indignant resentment. “Say, looka here!”</p> - - <p>The little fists kept up their frantic beating and pushing. And a - voice—a choked, high little voice—cried, “Let me by! I can’t see! - You man, you! You big fat man! My boy’s going by—to war—and I can’t - see! Let me by!”</p> - - <p>Jo scrooged around, still keeping his place. He looked down. And - upturned to him in agonized appeal was the face of little Emily. - They stared at each other for what seemed a long, long time. It was - really only the fraction of a second. Then Jo put one great arm - firmly around Emily’s waist and swung her around in front of him. - His great bulk protected her. Emily was clinging to his hand. She - was breathing rapidly, as if she had been running. Her eyes were - straining up the street.</p> - - <p>“Why, Emily, how in the world!—”</p> - - <p>“I ran away. Fred didn’t want me to come. He said it would excite me - too much.”</p> - - <p>“Fred?”</p> - - <p>“My husband. He made me promise to say good-by to Jo at home.”</p> - - <p>“Jo?”</p> - - <p>“Jo’s my boy. And he’s going to war. So I ran away. I had to see - him. I had to see him go.”</p> - - <p>She was dry-eyed. Her gaze was straining up the street.</p> - - <p>“Why, sure,” said Jo. “Of course you want to see him.” And then the - crowd gave a great roar. There came over Jo a feeling of weakness. - He was trembling. The boys went marching by.</p> - - <p>“There he is!” Emily shrilled, above the din. “There he is! There he - is! There he—” And waved a futile little hand. It wasn’t so much a - wave as a clutching. A clutching after something beyond her reach.</p> - - <p>“Which one? Which one, Emily?”</p> - - <p>“The handsome one. The handsome one. There!” Her voice quavered and - died.</p> - - <p>Jo put a steady hand on her shoulder. “Point him out,” he commanded. - “Show me.” And the next instant. “Never mind. I see him.”</p> - - <p>Somehow, miraculously, he had picked him from among the hundreds. - Had picked him as surely as his own father might have. It was - Emily’s boy. He was marching by, rather stiffy. He was nineteen, and - fun-loving, and he had a girl, and he didn’t particularly want to go - to France and—to go to France. But more than he had hated going, he - had hated not to go. So he marched by, looking straight ahead, his - jaw set so that his chin stuck out just a little. Emily’s boy.</p> - - <p>Jo looked at him, and his face flushed purple. His eyes, the - hard-boiled eyes of a Loop-hound, took on the look of a sad old man. - And suddenly he was no longer Jo, the sport; old J. Hertz, the gay - dog. He was Jo Hertz, thirty, in love with life, in love with Emily, - and with the stinging blood of young manhood coursing through his - veins.</p> - - <p>Another minute and the boy had passed on up the broad street—the - fine, flag-bedecked street—just one of a hundred service-hats - bobbing in rhythmic motion like sandy waves lapping a shore and - flowing on.</p> - - <p>Then he disappeared altogether.</p> - - <p>Emily was clinging to Jo. She was mumbling something, over and over. - “I can’t. I can’t. Don’t ask me to. I can’t let him go. Like that. I - can’t.”</p> - - <p>Jo said a queer thing.</p> - - <p>“Why, Emily! We wouldn’t have him stay home, would we? We wouldn’t - want him to do anything different, would we? Not our boy. I’m glad - he enlisted. I’m proud of him. So are you glad.”</p> - - <p>Little by little he quieted her. He took her to the car that was - waiting, a worried chauffeur in charge. They said good-by, - awkwardly. Emily’s face was a red, swollen mass.</p> - - <p>So it was that when Jo entered his own hallway half an hour later he - blinked, dazedly, and when the light from the window fell on him you - saw that his eyes were red.</p> - - <p>Eva was not one to beat about the bush. She sat forward in her - chair, clutching her bag rather nervously.</p> - - <p>“Now, look here, Jo. Stell and I are here for a reason. We’re here - to tell you that this thing’s got to stop.”</p> - - <p>“Thing? Stop?”</p> - - <p>“You know very well what I mean. You saw me at the milliner’s that - day. And night before last, Ethel. We’re all disgusted. If you must - go about with people like that, please have some sense of decency.”</p> - - <p>Something gathering in Jo’s face should have warned her. But he was - slumped down in his chair in such a huddle, and he looked so old and - fat that she did not heed it. She went on: “You’ve got us to - consider. Your sisters. And your nieces. Not to speak of your own—”</p> - - <p>But he got to his feet then, shaking, and at what she saw in his - face even Eva faltered and stopped. It wasn’t at all the face of a - fat, middle-aged sport. It was a face Jovian, terrible.</p> - - <p>“You!” he began, low-voiced, ominous. “You!” He raised a great fist - high. “You two murderers! You didn’t consider me, twenty years ago. - You come to me with talk like that. Where’s my boy! You killed him, - you two, twenty years ago. And now he belongs to somebody else. - Where’s my son! that should have gone marching by to-day?” He flung - his arms out in a great gesture of longing. The red veins stood out - on his forehead. “Where’s my son! Answer me that, you two selfish, - miserable women. Where’s my son!” Then, as they huddled together, - frightened, wild-eyed, “Out of my house! Out of my house! Before I - hurt you!”</p> - - <p>They fled, terrified. The door banged behind them.</p> - - <p>Jo stood, shaking, in the center of the room. Then he reached for a - chair, gropingly, and sat down. He passed one moist, flabby hand - over his forehead and it came away wet. The telephone rang. He sat - still. It sounded far away and unimportant, like something - forgotten. I think he did not even hear it with his conscious ear. - But it rang and rang insistently. Jo liked to answer his telephone, - when at home.</p> - - <p>“Hello!” He knew instantly the voice at the other end.</p> - - <p>“That you, Jo?” it said.</p> - - <p>“Yes.”</p> - - <p>“How’s my boy?”</p> - - <p>“I’m all right.”</p> - - <p>“Listen, Jo. The crowd’s coming over to-night. I’ve fixed up a - little poker game for you. Just eight of us.”</p> - - <p>“I can’t come to-night, Gert.”</p> - - <p>“Can’t! Why not?”</p> - - <p>“I’m not feeling so good.”</p> - - <p>“You just said you were all right.”</p> - - <p>“I am all right. Just kind of tired.”</p> - - <p>The voice took on a cooing note. “Is my Joey tired? Then he doesn’t - need to play if he don’t want to. No, sir.”</p> - - <p>Jo stood staring at the black mouthpiece of the telephone. He was - seeing a procession go marching by. Boys, hundreds of boys, in - khaki.</p> - - <p>“Hello! Hello!” the voice took on an anxious note. “Are you there?”</p> - - <p>“Yes,” wearily.</p> - - <p>“Jo, there’s something the matter. You’re sick. I’m coming right - over.”</p> - - <p>“No!”</p> - - <p>“Why not? You sound as if you’d been sleeping. Look here—”</p> - - <p>“Leave me alone!” cried Jo, suddenly, and the receiver clacked onto - the hook. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone.” Long after the - connection had been broken.</p> - - <p>He stood staring at the instrument with unseeing eyes. Then he - turned and walked into the front room. All the light had gone out of - it. Dusk had come on. All the light had gone out of everything. The - zest had gone out of life. The game was over—the game he had been - playing against loneliness and disappointment. And he was just a - tired old man. A lonely, tired old man in a ridiculous, rose-colored - room that had grown, all of a sudden, drab.</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssIV' title='IV. Ole Skjarsen’s First Touchdown'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>IV</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>OLE SKJARSEN’S FIRST TOUCHDOWN</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By George Fitch</div> - - <div class="attrb tac mb07">From “At Good Old Siwash,” copyright, 1911, - by Little, Brown and Company. By special permission of the author.</div> - - <p>Am I going to the game Saturday? Am I? Me? Am I going to eat some - more food this year? Am I going to draw my pay this month? Am I - going to do any more breathing after I get this lungful used up? All - foolish questions, pal. Very silly conversation. Pshaw!</p> - - <p>Am I going to the game, you ask me? Is the sun going to get up - to-morrow? You couldn’t keep me away from that game if you put a - protective tariff of seventy-eight per cent ad valorem, whatever - that means, on the front gate. I came out to this town on business, - and I’ll have to take an extra fare train home to make up the time; - but what of that? I’m going to the game, and when the Siwash team - comes out I’m going to get up and give as near a correct imitation - of a Roman mob and a Polish riot as my throat will stand; and if we - put a crimp in the large-footed, humpy-shouldered behemoths we’re - going up against this afternoon, I’m going out to-night and burn the - City Hall. Any Siwash man who is a gentleman would do it. I’ll - probably have to run like thunder to beat some of them to it.</p> - - <p>You know how it is, old man. Or maybe you don’t, because you made - all your end runs on the Glee Club. But I played football all - through my college course and the microbe is still there. In the - fall I think football, talk football, dream football. Even though I - go out to the field and see little old Siwash lining up against a - bunch of overgrown hippos from a university with a catalogue as - thick as a city directory, the old mud-and-perspiration smell gets - in my nostrils, and the desire to get under the bunch and feel the - feet jabbing into my ribs boils up so strong that I have to hold on - to myself with both hands. If you’ve never sat on a hard board and - wanted to be between two halfbacks with your hands on their - shoulders, and the quarter ready to sock a ball into your solar - plexus, and eleven men daring you to dodge ’em, and nine thousand - friends and enemies raising Cain and keeping him well propped up in - the grandstands—if you haven’t had that want you wouldn’t know a - healthy, able-bodied want if you ran into it on the street.</p> - - <p>Of course, I never got any further along than a scrub. But what’s - the odds? A broken bone feels just as grand to a scrub as to a star. - I sometimes think a scrub gets more real football knowledge than a - varsity man, because he doesn’t have to addle his brain by worrying - about holding his job and keeping his wind, and by dreaming that he - has fumbled a punt and presented ninety-five yards to the hereditary - enemies of his college. I played scrub football five years, four of - ’em under Bost, the greatest coach who ever put wings on the heels - of a two-hundred-pound hunk of meat; and while my ribs never lasted - long enough to put me on the team, what I didn’t learn about the - game you could put in the other fellow’s eye.</p> - - <p>Say, but it’s great, learning football under a good coach. It’s the - finest training a man can get anywhere on this old globule. Football - is only the smallest thing you learn. You learn how to be patient - when what you want to do is to chew somebody up and spit him into - the gutter. You learn to control your temper when it is on the high - speed, with the throttle jerked wide open and buzzing like a hornet - convention. You learn, by having it told you, just how small and - foolish and insignificant you are, and how well this earth could - stagger along without you if some one were to take a fly-killer and - mash you with it. And you learn all this at the time of life when - your head is swelling up until you mistake it for a planet, and - regard whatever you say as a volcanic disturbance.</p> - - <p>I suppose you think, like the rest of the chaps who never came out - to practice but observed the game from the dollar-and-a-half seats, - that being coached in football is like being instructed in German or - calculus. You are told what to do and how to do it, and then you - recite. Far from it, my boy! They don’t bother telling you what to - do and how to do it on a big football field. Mostly they tell you - what to do and how you do it. And they do it artistically, too. They - use plenty of language. A football coach is picked out for his ready - tongue. He must be a conversationalist. He must be able to talk to a - greenhorn, with fine shoulders and a needle-shaped head, until that - greenhorn would pick up the ball and take it through a Sioux war - dance to get away from the conversation. You can’t reason with - football men. They’re not logical, most of them. They are selected - for their heels and shoulders and their leg muscles, and not for - their ability to look at you with luminous eyes and say: “Yes, - Professor, I think I understand.” The way to make ’em understand is - to talk about them. Any man can understand you while you are telling - him that if he were just a little bit slower he would have to be - tied to the earth to keep up with it. That hurts his pride. And when - you hurt his pride he takes it out on whatever is in front of - him—which is the other team. Never get in front of a football player - when you are coaching him.</p> - - <p>But this brings me to the subject of Bost again. Bost is still - coaching Siwash. This makes his ’steenth year. I guess he can stay - there forever. He’s coached all these years and has never used the - same adjective to the same man twice. There’s a record for you! He’s - a little man, Bost is. He played end on some Western team when he - only weighed one hundred and forty. Got his football knowledge - there. But where he got his vocabulary is still a mystery. He has a - way of convincing a man that a dill pickle would make a better guard - than he is, and of making that man so jealous of the pickle that he - will perform perfectly unreasonable feats for a week to beat it out - for the place. He has a way of saying “Hurry up,” with a few - descriptive adjectives tacked on, that makes a man rub himself in - the stung place for an hour; and oh, how mad he can make you while - he is telling you pleasantly that while the little fellow playing - against you is only a prep and has sloping shoulders and weighs one - hundred and eleven stripped, he is making you look like a bale of - hay that has been dumped by mistake on an athletic field. And when - he gets a team in the gymnasium between halves, with the game going - wrong, and stands up before them and sizes up their nerve and rubber - backbone and hereditary awkwardness and incredible talent in doing - the wrong thing, to say nothing of describing each individual - blunder in that queer nasal clack of his—well, I’d rather be tied up - in a great big frying-pan over a good hot stove for the same length - of time, any day in the week. The reason Bost is a great coach is - because his men don’t dare play poorly. When they do he talks to - them. If he would only hit them, or skin them by inches, or shoot at - them, they wouldn’t mind it so much; but when you get on the field - with him and realize that if you miss a tackle he is going to get - you out before the whole gang and tell you what a great mistake the - Creator made when He put joints in your arms instead of letting them - stick out stiff as they do any other signpost, you’re not going to - miss that tackle, that’s all.</p> - - <p>When Bost came to Siwash he succeeded a line of coaches who had been - telling the fellows to get down low and hit the line hard, and had - been showing them how to do it very patiently. Nice fellows, those - coaches. Perfect gentlemen. Make you proud to associate with them. - They could take a herd of green farmer boys, with wrists like mules’ - ankles, and by Thanksgiving they would have them familiar with all - the rudiments of the game. By that time the season would be over and - all the schools in the vicinity would have beaten us by big scores. - The next year the last year’s crop of big farmer boys would stay at - home to husk corn, and the coach would begin all over on a new crop. - The result was, we were a dub school at football. Any school that - could scare up a good rangy halfback and a line that could hold - sheep could get up an adding festival at our expense any time. We - lived in a perpetual state of fear. Some day we felt that the normal - school would come down and beat us. That would be the limit of - disgrace. After that there would be nothing left to do but disband - the college and take to drink to forget the past.</p> - - <p>But Bost changed all that in one year. He didn’t care to show any - one how to play football. He was just interested in making the - player afraid not to play it. When you went down the field on a punt - you knew that if you missed your man he would tell you when you came - back that two stone hitching-posts out of three could get past you - in a six-foot alley. If you missed a punt you could expect to be - told that you might catch a haystack by running with your arms wide - open, but that was no way to catch a football. Maybe things like - that don’t sound jabby when two dozen men hear them! They kept us - catching punts between classes, and tackling each other all the way - to our rooms and back. We simply had to play football to keep from - being bawled out. It’s an awful thing to have a coach with a tongue - like a cheese knife swinging away at you, and to know that if you - get mad and quit, no one but the dear old coll. will suffer—but it - gets the results. They use the same system in the East, but there - they only swear at a man, I believe. Siwash is a mighty proper - college and you can’t swear on its campus, whatever else you do. - Swearing is only a lazy man’s substitute for thinking, anyway; and - Bost wasn’t lazy. He preferred the descriptive; he sat up nights - thinking it out.</p> - - <p>We began to see the results before Bost had been tracing our - pedigrees for two weeks. First game of the season was with that - little old dinky Normal School which had been scaring us so for the - past five years. We had been satisfied to push some awkward halfback - over the line once, and then hold on to the enemy so tight he - couldn’t run; and we started out that year in the same old way. - First half ended 0 to 0, with our boys pretty satisfied because they - had kept the ball in Normal’s territory. Bost led the team and the - substitutes into the overgrown barn we used for a gymnasium, and - while we were still patting ourselves approvingly in our minds he - cut loose:</p> - - <p>“You pasty-faced, overfed, white-livered beanbag experts, what do - you mean by running a beauty show instead of a football game?” he - yelled. “Do you suppose I came out here to be art director of a - statuary exhibit? Does any one of you imagine for a holy minute that - he knows the difference between a football game and ushering in a - church? Don’t fool yourselves. You don’t; you don’t know anything. - All you ever knew about football I could carve on granite and put in - my eye and never feel it. Nothing to nothing against a crowd of - farmer boys who haven’t known a football from a duck’s egg for more - than a week! Bah! If I ever turned the Old Folks’ Home loose on you - doll babies they’d run up a century while you were hunting for your - handkerchiefs. Jackson, what do you suppose a halfback is for? I - don’t want cloak models. I want a man who can stick his head down - and run. Don’t be afraid of that bean of yours; it hasn’t got - anything worth saving in it. When you get the ball you’re supposed - to run with it and not sit around trying to hatch it. You, Saunders! - You held that other guard just like a sweet-pea vine. Where did you - ever learn that sweet, lovely way of falling down on your nose when - a real man sneezes at you? Did you ever hear of sand? Eat it! Eat - it! Fill your self up with it. I want you to get in that line this - half and stop something or I’ll make you play left end in a - fancy-work club. Johnson, the only way to get you around the field - is to put you on wheels and haul you. Next time you grow fast to the - ground I’m going to violate some forestry regulations and take an - axe to you. Same to you, Briggs. You’d make the All-American - boundary posts, but that’s all. Vance, I picked you for a - quarterback, but I made a mistake; you ought to be sorting eggs. - That ball isn’t red hot. You don’t have to let go of it as soon as - you get it. Don’t be afraid, nobody will step on you. This isn’t a - rude game. It’s only a game of post-office. You needn’t act so - nervous about it. Maybe some of the big girls will kiss you, but it - won’t hurt.”</p> - - <p>Bost stopped for breath and eyed us. We were a sick-looking crowd. - You could almost see the remarks sticking into us and quivering. We - had come in feeling pretty virtuous, and what we were getting was a - hideous surprise.</p> - - <p>“Now I want to tell this tea-party something,” continued Bost. - “Either you’re going out on that field and score thirty points this - last half or I’m going to let the girls of Siwash play your football - for you. I’m tired of coaching men that aren’t good at anything but - falling down scientifically when they’re tackled. There isn’t a - broken nose among you. Every one of you will run back five yards to - pick out a soft spot to fall on. It’s got to stop. You’re going to - hold on to that ball this half and take it places. If some little - fellow from Normal crosses his fingers and says ‘naughty, naughty,’ - don’t fall on the ball and yell ‘down’ until they can hear it - uptown. Thirty points is what I want out of you this half, and if - you don’t get ’em—well, you just dare to come back here without - them, that’s all. Now get out on that field and jostle somebody. - Git!”</p> - - <p>Did we git? Well, rather. We were so mad our clothes smoked. We - would have quit the game right there and resigned from the team, but - we didn’t dare to. Bost would have talked to us some more. And we - didn’t dare not to make those thirty points, either. It was an awful - tough job, but we did it with a couple over. We raged like wild - beasts. We scared those gentle Normalites out of their boots. I - can’t imagine how we ever got it into our heads that they could play - football, anyway. When it was all over we went back to the gymnasium - feeling righteously triumphant, and had another hour with Bost in - which he took us all apart without anesthetics, and showed us how - Nature would have done a better job if she had used a better grade - of lumber in our composition.</p> - - <p>That day made the Siwash team. The school went wild over the score. - Bost rounded up two or three more good players, and every afternoon - he lashed us around the field with that wire-edged tongue of his. On - Saturdays we played, and oh, how we worked! In the first half we - were afraid of what Bost would say to us when we came off the field. - In the second half we were mad at what he had said. And how he did - drive us down the field in practice! I can remember whole cross - sections of his talk yet:</p> - - <p>“Faster, faster, you scows. Line up. Quick! Johnson, are you waiting - for a stone-mason to set you? Snap the ball. Tear into them. Low! - Low! Hi-i! You end, do you think you’re the quarter pole in a horse - race? Nine men went past you that time. If you can’t touch ’em drop - ’em a souvenir card. Line up. Faster, faster! Oh, thunder, hurry up! - If you ran a funeral, center, the corpse would spoil on your hands. - Wow! Fumble! Drop on that ball. Drop on it! Hogboom, you’d fumble a - loving-cup. Use your hand instead of your jaw to catch that ball. It - isn’t good to eat. That’s four chances you’ve had. I could lose two - games a day if I had you all the time. Now try that signal - again—low, you linemen; there’s no girls watching you. Snap it; snap - it. Great Scott! Say, Hogboom, come here. When you get that ball, - don’t think we gave it to you to nurse. You’re supposed to start the - same day with the line. We give you that ball to take forward. Have - you got to get a legal permit to start those legs of yours? You’d - make a good vault to store footballs in, but you’re too stationary - for a fullback. Now I’ll give you one more chance—”</p> - - <p>And maybe Hogboom wouldn’t go some with that chance!</p> - - <p>In a month we had a team that wouldn’t have used past Siwash teams - to hold its sweaters. It was mad all the time, and it played the - game carnivorously. Siwash was delirious with joy. The whole school - turned out for practice, and to see those eleven men snapping - through signals up and down the field as fast as an ordinary man - could run just congested us with happiness. You’ve no idea what a - lovely time of the year autumn is when you can go out after classes - and sit on a pine seat in the soft dusk and watch your college team - pulling off end runs in as pretty formation as if they were chorus - girls, while you discuss lazily with your friends just how many - points it is going to run up on the neighboring schools. I never - expect to be a Captain of Industry, but it couldn’t make me feel any - more contented or powerful or complacent than to be a busted-up - scrub in Siwash, with a team like that to watch. I’m pretty sure of - that.</p> - - <p>But, happy as we were, Bost wasn’t nearly content. He had ideals. I - believe one of them must have been to run that team through a couple - of brick flats without spoiling the formation. Nothing satisfied - him. He was particularly distressed about the fullback. Hogboom was - a good fellow and took signal practice perfectly, but he was no - fiend. He lacked the vivacity of a real, first-class Bengal tiger. - He wouldn’t eat any one alive. He’d run until he was pulled down, - but you never expected him to explode in the midst of seven hostiles - and ricochet down the field for forty yards. He never jumped over - two men and on to another, and he never dodged two ways at once and - laid out three men with stiff arms on his way to the goal. It wasn’t - his style. He was good for two and a half yards every time, but that - didn’t suit Bost. He was after statistics, and what does a - three-yard buck amount to when you want 70 to 0 scores?</p> - - <p>The result of this dissatisfaction was Ole Skjarsen. Late in - September Bost disappeared for three days and came back leading Ole - by a rope—at least, he was towing him by an old carpet-bag when we - sighted him. Bost found him in a lumber camp, he afterward told us, - and had to explain to him what college was before he would quit his - job. He thought it was something good to eat at first, I believe. - Ole was a timid young Norwegian giant, with a rick of white hair and - a reënforced concrete physique. He escaped from his clothes in all - directions, and was so green and bashful that you would have thought - we were cannibals from the way he shied at us—though, as that was - the year the bright hat-ribbons came in, I can’t blame him. He - wasn’t like anything we had ever seen before in college. He was as - big as a carthorse, as graceful as a dray and as meek as a - missionary. He had a double width smile and a thin little old faded - voice that made you think you could tip him over and shine your - shoes on him with impunity. But I wouldn’t have tried it for a - month’s allowance. His voice and his arms didn’t harmonize worth a - cent. They were as big as ordinary legs—those arms, and they ended - in hands that could have picked up a football and mislaid it among - their fingers.</p> - - <p>No wonder Ole was a sensation. He didn’t look exactly like football - material to us, I’ll admit. He seemed more especially designed for - light derrick work. But we trusted Bost implicitly by that time and - we gave him a royal reception. We crowded around him as if he had - been a T. R. capture straight from Africa. Everybody helped him - register third prep, with business-college extras. Then we took him - out, harnessed him in football armor, and set to work to teach him - the game.</p> - - <p>Bost went right to work on Ole in a businesslike manner. He tossed - him the football and said, “Catch it.” Ole watched it sail past and - then tore after it like a pup retrieving a stick. He got it in a few - minutes and brought it back to where Bost was raving.</p> - - <p>“See here, you overgrown fox terrier,” he shouted, “catch it on the - fly. Here!” He hurled it at him.</p> - - <p>“Aye ent seen no fly,” said Ole, allowing the ball to pass on as he - conversed.</p> - - <p>“You cotton-headed Scandinavian cattleship ballast, catch that ball - in your arms when I throw it to you, and don’t let go of it!” - shrieked Bost, shooting it at him again.</p> - - <p>“Oll right,” said Ole patiently. He cornered the ball after a short - struggle and stood hugging it faithfully.</p> - - <p>“Toss it back, toss it back!” howled Bost, jumping up and down.</p> - - <p>“Yu tal me to hold it,” said Ole reproachfully, hugging it tighter - than ever.</p> - - <p>“Drop it, you Mammoth Cave of ignorance!” yelled Bost. “If I had - your head I’d sell it for cordwood. Drop it!”</p> - - <p>Ole dropped the ball placidly. “Das ban fule game,” he smiled - dazedly. “Aye ent care for it. Eny faller got a Yewsharp?”</p> - - <p>That was the opening chapter of Ole’s instruction. The rest were - just like it. You had to tell him to do a thing. You then had to - show him how to do it. You then had to tell him how to stop doing - it. After that you had to explain that he wasn’t to refrain - forever—just until he had to do it again. Then you had to persuade - him to do it again. He was as good-natured as a lost puppy, and just - as hard to reason with. In three nights Bost was so hoarse that he - couldn’t talk. He had called Ole everything in the dictionary that - is fit to print; and the knowledge that Ole didn’t understand more - than a hundredth part of it, and didn’t mind that, was wormwood to - his soul.</p> - - <p>For all that, we could see that if any one could teach Ole the game - he would make a fine player. He was as hard as flint and so fast on - his feet that we couldn’t tackle him any more than we could have - tackled a jack-rabbit. He learned to catch the ball in a night, and - as for defense—his one-handed catches of flying players would have - made a National League fielder envious. But with all of it he was - perfectly useless. You had to start him, stop him, back him, speed - him up, throttle him down and run him off the field just as if he - had been a close-coupled next year’s model scootcart. If we could - have rigged up a driver’s seat and chauffeured Ole, it would have - been all right. But every other method of trying to get him to - understand what he was expected to do was a failure. He just - grinned, took orders, executed them, and waited for more. When a - two-hundred-and-twenty-pound man takes a football, wades through - eleven frantic scrubs, shakes them all off, and then stops dead with - a clear field to the goal before him—because his instructions ran - out when he shook the last scrub—you can be pardoned for feeling - hopeless about him.</p> - - <p>That was what happened the day before the Muggledorfer game. Bost - had been working Ole at fullback all evening. He and the captain had - steered him up and down the field as carefully as if he had been a - sea-going yacht. It was a wonderful sight. Ole was under perfect - control. He advanced the ball five yards, ten yards, or twenty at - command. Nothing could stop him. The scrubs represented only so many - doormats to him. Every time he made a play he stopped at the latter - end of it for instructions.</p> - - <p>When he stopped the last time, with nothing before him but the goal, - and asked placidly, “Vere skoll I take das ball now, Master Bost?” I - thought the coach would expire of the heat. He positively steamed - with suppressed emotion. He swelled and got purple about the face. - We were alarmed and were getting ready to hoop him like a barrel, - when he found his tongue at last.</p> - - <p>“You pale-eyed, prehistoric mudhead,” he spluttered, “I’ve spent a - week trying to get through that skull lining of yours. It’s no use, - you field boulder. Where do you keep your brains? Give me a chance - at them. I just want to get into them one minute and stir them up - with my finger. To think that I have to use you to play football - when they are paying five dollars and a half for ox meat in Kansas - City. Skjarsen, do you know anything at all?”</p> - - <p>“Aye ban getting gude eddication,” said Ole serenely. “Aye tank I - ban college faller purty sune, I don’t know. I like I skoll - understand all das har big vorts yu make.”</p> - - <p>“You’ll understand them, I don’t think,” moaned Bost. “You couldn’t - understand a swift kick in the ribs. You are a fool. Understand - that, muttonhead?”</p> - - <p>Ole understood. “Vy for ye call me fule?” he said indignantly. “Aye - du yust vat you say.”</p> - - <p>“Ar-r-r-r!” bubbled Bost, walking around himself three or four - times. “You do just what I say! Of course you do. Did I tell you to - stop in the middle of the field? What would Muggledorfer do to you - if you stopped there?”</p> - - <p>“Ye ent tal me to go on,” said Ole sullenly. “Aye go on, Aye gass, - pooty qveek den.”</p> - - <p>“You bet you’ll go on,” said Bost. “Now, look here, you sausage - material, to-morrow you play fullback. You stop everything that - comes at you from the other side. Hear? You catch the ball when it - comes to you. Hear? And when they give you the ball you take it, and - don’t you dare to stop with it. Get that? Can I get that into your - head without a drill and a blast? If you dare to stop with that ball - I’ll ship you back to the lumber camp in a cattle car. Stop in the - middle of the field—Ow!”</p> - - <p>But at this point we took Bost away.</p> - - <p>The next afternoon we dressed Ole up in his armor—he invariably got - it on wrong side out if we didn’t help him—and took him out to the - field. We confidently expected to promenade all over - Muggledorfer—their coach was an innocent child beside Bost—and that - was the reason why Ole was going to play. It didn’t matter much what - he did.</p> - - <p>Ole was just coming to a boil when we got him into his clothes. - Bost’s remarks had gotten through his hide at last. He was pretty - slow, Ole was, but he had begun getting mad the night before and had - kept at the job all night and all morning. By afternoon he was - seething, mostly in Norwegian. The injustice of being called a - muttonhead all week for not obeying orders, and then being called a - mudhead for stopping for orders, churned his soul, to say nothing of - his language. He only averaged one English word in three, as he told - us on the way out that to-day he was going to do exactly as he had - been told or fill a martyr’s grave—only that wasn’t the way he put - it.</p> - - <p>The Muggledorfers were a pruny-looking lot. We had the game won when - our team came out and glared at them. Bost had filled most of the - positions with regular young mammoths, and when you dressed them up - in football armor they were enough to make a Dreadnought a little - nervous. The Muggleses kicked off to our team, and for a few plays - we plowed along five or ten yards at a time. Then Ole was given the - ball. He went twenty-five yards. Any other man would have been - crushed to earth in five. He just waded through the middle of the - line and went down the field, a moving mass of wrigging men. It was - a wonderful play. They disinterred him at last and he started - straight across the field for Bost.</p> - - <p>“Aye ent mean to stop, Master Bost,” he shouted. “Dese fallers har, - dey squash me down—”</p> - - <p>We hauled him into line and went to work again. Ole had performed so - well that the captain called his signal again. This time I hope I - may be roasted in a subway in July if Ole didn’t run twenty-five - yards with four Muggledorfer men hanging on his legs. We stood up - and yelled until our teeth ached. It took about five minutes to get - Ole dug out, and then he started for Bost again.</p> - - <p>“Honest, Master Bost, Aye ent mean to stop,” he said imploringly. - “Aye yust tal you, dese fallers ban devils. Aye fule dem naxt time—”</p> - - <p>“Line up and shut up!” the captain shouted. The ball wasn’t over - twenty yards from the line, and as a matter of course the quarter - shot it back to Ole. He put his head down, gave one mad-bull plunge, - laid a windrow of Muggledorfer players out on either side, and shot - over the goal line like a locomotive.</p> - - <p>We rose up to cheer a few lines, but stopped to stare. Ole didn’t - stop at the goal line. He didn’t stop at the fence. He put up one - hand, hurdled it, and disappeared across the campus like a young - whirlwind.</p> - - <p>“He doesn’t know enough to stop!” yelled Bost, rushing up to the - fence. “Hustle up, you fellows, and bring him back!”</p> - - <p>Three or four of us jumped the fence, but it was a hopeless game. - Ole was disappearing up the campus and across the street. The - Muggledorfer team was nonplussed and sort of indignant. To be bowled - over by a cyclone, and then to have said cyclone break up the game - by running away with the ball was to them a new idea in football. It - wasn’t to those of us who knew Ole, however. One of us telephoned - down to the “Leader” office where Hinckley, an old team man, worked, - and asked him to head off Ole and send him back. Muggledorfer kindly - consented to call time, and we started after the fugitive ourselves.</p> - - <p>Ten minutes later we met Hinckley downtown. He looked as if he had - had a slight argument with a thirteen-inch shell. He was also mad.</p> - - <p>“What was that you asked me to stop?” he snorted, pinning himself - together. “Was it a gorilla or a high explosive? When did you - fellows begin importing steam rollers for the team? I asked him to - stop. I ordered him to stop. Then I went around in front of him to - stop him—and he ran right over me. I held on for thirty yards, but - that’s no way to travel. I could have gone to the next town just as - well, though. What sort of a game is this, and where is that - tow-headed holy terror bound for?”</p> - - <p>We gave the answer up, but we couldn’t give up Ole. He was too - valuable to lose. How to catch him was the sticker. An awful uproar - in the street gave us an idea. It was Ted Harris in the only auto in - town—one of the earliest brands of sneeze vehicles. In a minute more - four of us were in, and Ted was chiveying the thing up the street.</p> - - <p>If you’ve never chased an escaping fullback in one of those pioneer - automobiles you’ve got something coming. Take it all around, a good, - swift man, running all the time, could almost keep ahead of one. We - pumped up a tire, fixed a wire or two, and cranked up a few times; - and the upshot of it was we were two miles out on the state road - before we caught sight of Ole.</p> - - <p>He was trotting briskly when we caught up with him, the ball under - his arm, and that patient, resigned expression on his face that he - always had when Bost cussed him. “Stop, Ole,” I yelled; “this is no - Marathon. Come back. Climb in here with us.”</p> - - <p>Ole shook his head and let out a notch of speed.</p> - - <p>“Stop, you mullethead,” yelled Simpson above the roar of the - auto—those old machines could roar some, too. “What do you mean by - running off with our ball? You’re not supposed to do hare-and-hounds - in football.”</p> - - <p>Ole kept on running. We drove the car on ahead, stopped it across - the road, and jumped out to stop him. When the attempt was over - three of us picked up the fourth and put him aboard. Ole had tramped - on us and had climbed over the auto.</p> - - <p>Force wouldn’t do, that was plain. “Where are you going, Ole?” we - pleaded as we tore along beside him.</p> - - <p>“Aye ent know,” he panted, laboring up a hill; “das ban fule game, - Aye tenk.”</p> - - <p>“Come on back and play some more,” we urged. “Bost won’t like it, - your running all over the country this way.”</p> - - <p>“Das ban my orders,” panted Ole. “Aye ent no fule, yentlemen; Aye - know ven Aye ban doing right teng. Master Bost he say ‘Keep on - running!’ Aye gass I run till hal freeze on top. Aye ent know why. - Master Bost he know, I tenk.”</p> - - <p>“This is awful,” said Lambert, the manager of the team. “He’s taken - Bost literally again—the chump. He’ll run till he lands up in those - pine woods again. And that ball cost the association five dollars. - Besides, we want him. What are we going to do?”</p> - - <p>“I know,” I said. “We’re going back to get Bost. I guess the man who - started him can stop him.”</p> - - <p>We left Ole still plugging north and ran back to town. The game was - still hanging fire. Bost was tearing his hair. Of course, the - Muggledorfer fellows could have insisted on playing, but they - weren’t anxious. Ole or no Ole, we could have walked all over them, - and they knew it. Besides, they were having too much fun with Bost. - They were sitting around, Indian-like, in their blankets, and every - three minutes their captain would go and ask Bost with perfect - politeness whether he thought they had better continue the game - there or move it on to the next town in time to catch his fullback - as he came through.</p> - - <p>“Of course, we are in no hurry,” he would explain pleasantly; “we’re - just here for amusement, anyway; and it’s as much fun watching you - try to catch your players as it is to get scored on. Why don’t you - hobble them, Mr. Bost? A fifty-yard rope wouldn’t interfere much - with that gay young Percheron of yours, and it would save you lots - of time rounding him up. Do you have to use a lariat when you put - his harness on?”</p> - - <p>Fancy Bost having to take all that conversation, with no adequate - reply to make. When I got there he was blue in the face. It didn’t - take him half a second to decide what to do. Telling the captain of - the Siwash team to go ahead and play if Muggledorfer insisted, and - on no account to use that 32 double-X play except on first downs, he - jumped into the machine and we started for Ole.</p> - - <p>There were no speed records in those days. Wouldn’t have made any - difference if there were. Harris just turned on all the juice his - old double-opposed motor could soak up, and when we hit the wooden - crossings on the outskirts of town we fellows in the tonneau went up - so high that we changed sides coming down. It wasn’t over twenty - minutes till we sighted a little cloud of dust just beyond a little - town to the north. Pretty soon we saw it was Ole. He was still doing - his six miles per. We caught up and Bost hopped out, still mad.</p> - - <p>“Where in Billy-be-blamed are you going, you human trolley car?” he - spluttered, sprinting along beside Skjarsen. “What do you mean by - breaking up a game in the middle and vamoosing with the ball? Do you - think we’re going to win this game on mileage? Turn around, you - chump, and climb into this car.”</p> - - <p>Ole looked around him sadly. He kept on running as he did. “Aye ent - care to stop,” he said. “Aye kent suit you, Master Bost. You tal me - Aye skoll du a teng, den you cuss me for duing et. You tal me not to - du a teng and you cuss me some more den. Aye tenk I yust keep on - a-running, lak yu tal me tu last night. Et ent so hard bein’ cussed - ven yu ban running.”</p> - - <p>“I tell you to stop, you potato-top,” gasped Bost. By this time he - was fifteen yards behind and losing at every step. He had wasted too - much breath on oratory. We picked him up in the car and set him - alongside of Ole again.</p> - - <p>“See here, Ole, I’m tired of this,” he said, sprinting up by him - again. “The game’s waiting. Come on back. You’re making a fool of - yourself.”</p> - - <p>“Eny teng Aye du Aye ban beeg fule,” said Ole gloomily. “Aye yust - keep on runnin’. Fallers ent got breath to call me fule ven Aye run. - Aye tenk das best vay.”</p> - - <p>We picked Bost up again thirty yards behind. Maybe he would have run - better if he hadn’t choked so in his conversation. In another minute - we landed him abreast of Ole again. He got out and sprinted for the - third time. He wabbled as he did it.</p> - - <p>“Ole,” he panted, “I’ve been mistaken in you. You are all right, - Ole. I never saw a more intelligent fellow. I won’t cuss you any - more, Ole. If you’ll stop now we’ll take you back in an - automobile—hold on there a minute; can’t you see I’m all out of - breath?”</p> - - <p>“Aye ban gude faller, den?” asked Ole, letting out another link of - speed.</p> - - <p>“You are a”—puff-puff—“peach, Ole,” gasped Bost. - “I’ll”—puff-puff—“never cuss you again. Please”—puff-puff—“stop! Oh, - hang it, I’m all in.” And Bost sat down in the road.</p> - - <p>A hundred yards on we noticed Ole slacken speed. “It’s sinking - through his skull,” said Harris eagerly. In another minute he had - stopped. We picked up Bost again and ran up to him. He surveyed us - long and critically.</p> - - <p>“Das ben qveer masheen,” he said finally. “Aye tenk Aye lak Aye - skoll be riding back in it. Aye ent care for das futball game, Aye - gass. It ban tu much running in it.”</p> - - <p>We took Ole back to town in twenty-two minutes, three chickens, a - dog and a back spring. It was close to five o’clock when he ran out - on the field again. The Muggledorfer team was still waiting. Time - was no object to them. They would only play ten minutes, but in that - ten minutes Ole made three scores. Five substitutes stood back of - either goal and asked him with great politeness to stop as he tore - over the line. And he did it. If any one else had run six miles - between halves he would have stopped a good deal short of the line. - But as far as we could see, it hadn’t winded Ole.</p> - - <p>Bost went home by himself that night after the game, not stopping - even to assure us that as a team we were beneath his contempt. The - next afternoon he was, if anything, a little more vitriolic than - ever—but not with Ole. Toward the middle of the signal practice he - pulled himself together and touched Ole gently.</p> - - <p>“My dear Mr. Skjarsen,” he said apologetically, “if it will not - annoy you too much, would you mind running the same way the rest of - the team does? I don’t insist on it, mind you, but it looks so much - better to the audience, you know.”</p> - - <p>“Jas,” said Ole; “Aye ban fule, Aye gass, but yu ban tu polite to - say it.”</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssV' title='V. The Outlaw'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>V</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>THE OUTLAW</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Hamlin Garland</div> - - <div class="attrb tac mb07">From “They of the High Trails,” copyright, 1916, by Harper - & Brothers. By special permission of the author.</div> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>I </div> - </div> - - <p>Freeman Ward, geologist for the government, was not altogether easy - in his mind as he led his little pack-train out of Pinedale, a - frontier settlement on the western slope of the Rocky Mountain - divide, for he had permitted the girl of his deepest interest to - accompany him on his expedition.</p> - - <p>Alice Mansfield, accustomed to having her way, and in this case - presuming upon Ward’s weakness, insisted on going. Outwardly he had - argued against it, making much of the possible storms, of the rough - trails, of the cold and dampness. But she argued that she was quite - as able to go as Mrs. Adams, the wife of the botanist of the - expedition. So Ward had yielded, and here these women were forming - part of a cavalcade which was headed for Frémont Peak, concerning - whose height and formation the leader wished to inform himself. - Alice was, however, a bit dashed by Ward’s change of manner as he - laid upon his train his final instructions.</p> - - <p>“There is to be no skylarking,” he said, “and no back-tracking. Each - one is to exercise great care. We cannot afford to lose a horse nor - waste our provisions. This is not a picnic excursion, but a serious - government enterprise. I cannot turn back because of any discomfort - you may encounter in camp.”</p> - - <p>“I am ready for what comes,” Alice answered, smilingly.</p> - - <p>But she rode for the rest of the day remarkably silent. There had - been times when she was certain that Ward cared a great deal for - her—not in the impersonal way indicated by his reprimand—but in the - way of a lover, and she was very fond of him, had indeed looked - forward to this trip in his company as one sure to yield hours of - delightful intimacy. On the train he had been very devoted, “almost - lover-like,” Peggy Adams insisted. But now she was dismayed by his - tone of military command.</p> - - <p>Their first day’s march brought them to a beautiful water called - Heart Lake, which shone dark and deep amid its martial firs at the - head of one of the streams which descended into the East Fork, and - there the guides advised a camp. They were now above the hunters, - almost above the game, in a region “delightfully primeval,” as the - women put it, and very beautiful and peaceful.</p> - - <p>After the tents were in order and the supper eaten, Alice, having - tuned up her little metal banjo, began to twitter tender melodies - (to the moon, of course), and the long face of the man of science - broadened and he seemed less concerned about rocks and fauna and - flora.</p> - - <p>The camp was maintained at Heart Lake for a day while Ward and his - men explored the various gorges in order to discover a way into - Blizzard Basin, which was their goal. They returned to camp each - time more and more troubled about the question of taking the women - over the divide into the “rough country” which lay to the north.</p> - - <p>“It is a totally different world,” Adams explained to his wife. “It - is colder and stormier over there. The forest on the north slopes is - full of down-timber and the cliffs are stupendous. I wish you girls - were back in the settlement,” and in this wish Ward heartily joined.</p> - - <p>However, the more they talked the more determined the women were to - go.</p> - - <p>It was like a May day the following noon as they left timber-line - and, following the row of tiny monuments set up by the foresters, - entered upon the wide and undulating stretch of low edges which led - to the summit. The air was clear and the verdureless shapes of the - monstrous peaks stood sharp as steel against the sky. The tender - grass was filled with minute glistening flowers. The wind was - gentle, sweet, moist, and cool.</p> - - <p>“Pooh!” said Alice, “this is absurdly easy. Freeman has been telling - us dreadful tales all along just to be rid of us.”</p> - - <p>But she began to admit that her escort of four strong men was a - comfort, as the guide explained that this “rough country” had long - been known as the retreat of cattle-thieves and outlaws.</p> - - <p>“Do you think there are any such men in here now?” asked Mrs. Adams.</p> - - <p>“Undoubtedly,” Ward said; “but I don’t think, from the condition of - this trail, that they come in on this side of the range. I suspect - it’s too lonely even for a cattle-thief.”</p> - - <p>They unsaddled that night on the bank of a stream near a small - meadow, and around the camp-fire discussed the trail which they were - to take next day. The guides agreed that it was “a holy terror,” - which made Alice the more eager to traverse it.</p> - - <p>“I like trails that make men quake. I welcome adventure—that’s what - I came for,” she said.</p> - - <p>Early the next forenoon, as they were descending the steep - north-slope trail, Alice gave out a cry of pain, and Adams called to - Ward:</p> - - <p>“Hold on! Allie’s horse is down.”</p> - - <p>Ward was not surprised. He rode in continual expectation of trouble. - She was forever trying short cuts and getting snared in the fallen - logs. Once she had been scraped from her saddle by an overhanging - bough, and now, in attempting to find an easier path down a slippery - ridge, her horse had fallen with her. Ward was ungracious enough to - say:</p> - - <p>“Precisely what I’ve warned her against,” but he hurried to her - relief, nevertheless.</p> - - <p>“Are you badly hurt?” he asked, as she stood before him, striving to - keep back her tears of pain.</p> - - <p>“Oh no, not at all badly. My foot was jammed a little. Please help - me on to my horse; I’ll be all right in a minute.”</p> - - <p>She put so good a face on her accident that he helped her into her - saddle and ordered the train to move on; but Peggy perceived that - the girl was suffering keenly.</p> - - <p>“Sha’n’t we stop, Allie?” she called, a few minutes later.</p> - - <p>“No. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.”</p> - - <p>She rode on for nearly half an hour, bravely enduring her pain, but - at last she turned to Mrs. Adams and cried out: “I can’t stand it, - Peggy! My foot pains me frightfully!”</p> - - <p>Adams again called to Ward and the procession halted, while Ward - came back, all his anger gone.</p> - - <p>“We’ll go into camp,” he said, as he examined her bruised foot. - “You’re badly hurt.”</p> - - <p>“It’s a poor place to camp, Professor,” protested Gage. “If she can - go on for about fifteen minutes—”</p> - - <p>“I’ll try,” she said; “but I can’t bear the stirrup, and my shoe is - full of blood.”</p> - - <p>Ward, who was now keenly sympathetic, put her on his own horse and - walked beside her while they slowly crawled down into the small - valley, which held a deep and grassy tarn. Here they went into camp - and the day was lost.</p> - - <p>Alice was profoundly mortified to find herself the cause of the - untimely halt, and as she watched the men making camp with anxious, - irritated faces she wept with shame at her folly. She had seized the - worst possible moment, in the most inaccessible spot of their - journey, to commit her crowning indiscretion.</p> - - <p>She was ill in every nerve, shivering and weak, and remained for - that day the center of all the activities of the camp. Ward, very - tender even in his chagrin, was constantly at her side, his brow - knotted with care. He knew what it meant to be disabled two hundred - miles from a hospital, with fifty miles of mountain trail between - one’s need and a roof, but Alice buoyed herself up with the belief - that no bones were broken, and that in the clear air of the germless - world her wound would quickly heal.</p> - - <p>She lay awake a good part of that night, hearing, above the roar of - the water, the far-off noises of the wild-animal world. A wolf - howled, a cat screamed, and their voices were fear-inspiring.</p> - - <p>She began also to worry about the effect of her mishap on the - expedition, for she heard Ward say to Adams: “This delay is very - unfortunate. Our stay is so limited. I fear we will not be able to - proceed for some days, and snow is likely to fall at any time.”</p> - - <p>What they said after that Alice could not hear, but she was in full - possession of their trouble. It was not a question of the loss of a - few days; it meant the possible failure of the entire attempt to - reach the Summit.</p> - - <p>“Peggy,” she declared, next morning, “the men must push on and leave - you with me here in the camp. I will not permit the expedition to - fail on my account.”</p> - - <p>This seemed a heroic resolution at the moment, with the menacing - sounds of the night still fresh in her ears, but it was the most - natural and reasonable thing in the world at the moment, for the sun - was rising warm and clear and the valley was as peaceful and as - beautiful as a park.</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams readily agreed to stay, for she was wholly free from the - ordinary timidities of women, but Ward, though sorely tempted, - replied:</p> - - <p>“No. We’ll wait a day or two longer and see how you come on.”</p> - - <p>At this point one of the guides spoke up, saying: “If the women - would be more comfortable in a cabin, there’s one down here in the - brush by the lake. I found it this morning when I was wranglin’ the - horses.”</p> - - <p>“A cabin! In this wild place?” said Alice.</p> - - <p>“Yes, ma’am—must be a ranger’s cabin.”</p> - - <p>Ward mused. “If it’s habitable it would be warmer and safer than a - tent. Let’s go see about it.”</p> - - <p>He came back jubilant. “It doesn’t seem to have been occupied very - recently, but is in fair shape. We’ll move you right down there.”</p> - - <p>The wounded girl welcomed the shelter of a roof, and it was good to - feel solid logs about her helpless self. The interior of the hut was - untidy and very rude, but it stood in a delightful nook on the bank - of a pond just where a small stream fell into the valley, and it - required but a few minutes of Mrs. Adams’ efforts to clear the place - out and make it cozy, and soon Alice, groaning faintly, was - deposited in the rough pole bunk at the dark end of the room. What - an inglorious end to her exalted ride!</p> - - <p>Ward seemed to understand her tears as he stood looking down upon - her, but he only said: “I dislike leaving you, even for the day. I - shall give up my trip.”</p> - - <p>“No, no! you must go on!” she cried out. “I shall hate myself if you - don’t go on.”</p> - - <p>He reluctantly yielded to her demand, but said: “If I find that we - can’t get back to-morrow I will send Gage back. He’s a trusty - fellow. I can’t spare Adams, and Smith and Todd—as you know—are - paying for their trip.”</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams spoke up firmly. “You need not worry about us. We can get - along very well without anybody. If you climb the peak you’ll need - Gage. I’m not afraid. We’re the only people in this valley, and with - this staunch little cabin I feel perfectly at home.”</p> - - <p>“That’s quite true,” replied Ward in a relieved tone. “We are above - the hunters—no one ever crosses here now. But it will be lonely.”</p> - - <p>“Not at all!” Alice assured him. “We shall enjoy being alone in the - forest.”</p> - - <p>With slow and hesitating feet Ward left the two women and swung into - his saddle. “I guess I’ll send Gage back, anyhow,” he said.</p> - - <p>“Don’t think of it!” called Peggy.</p> - - <p>As a matter of fact, Alice was glad to have the men pull out. Their - pity, their reproach, irritated her. It was as if they repeated - aloud a scornful phrase—“You’re a lovely and tempting creature, but - you’re a fool-hen just the same.”</p> - - <p>The two women spent the day peacefully, save now and then when - Alice’s wounded foot ached and needed care; but as night began to - rise in the cañon like the smoke of some hidden, silent, - subterranean fire, and the high crags glowed in the last rays of the - sun, each of them acknowledged a touch of that immemorial awe of the - darkness with which the race began.</p> - - <p>Peggy, seating herself in the doorway, described the scene to her - patient, who could see but little of it. “Oh, but it’s gloriously - uncanny to be here. Only think! We are now alone with God and His - animals, and the night.”</p> - - <p>“I hope none of God’s bears is roaming about,” replied Alice, - flippantly.</p> - - <p>“There aren’t any bears above the berries. We’re perfectly safe. My - soul! but it’s a mighty country! I wish you could see the glow on - the peaks.”</p> - - <p>“I’m taking my punishment,” replied Alice. “Freeman was very angry, - wasn’t he?”</p> - - <p>“If it breaks off the match I won’t be surprised,” replied Peggy, - with resigned intonation.</p> - - <p>“There wasn’t any match to break off.”</p> - - <p>“Well!” replied the other, and as she slowly rose she added: “I - won’t say that he is perfectly distracted about you, but I do know - that he thinks more of you than of any other woman in the world, and - I’ve no doubt he is worrying about you this minute.”</p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>II </div> - </div> - <p>It was deep moonless night when Alice woke with a start. For a few - moments she lay wondering what had roused her—then a bright light - flashed and her companion screamed.</p> - - <p>“Who’s there!” demanded the girl.</p> - - <p>In that instant flare she saw a man’s face, young, smooth, with dark - eyes gleaming beneath a broad hat. He stood like a figure of bronze - while his match was burning, then exclaimed in breathless wonder:</p> - - <p>“Great Peter’s ghost! a woman!” Finally he stepped forward and - looked down upon the white, scared faces as if uncertain of his - senses. “Two of them!” he whispered. As he struck his second match - he gently asked: “Would you mind saying how you got here?”</p> - - <p>Alice spoke first. “We came up with a geological survey. I got hurt - and they had to leave us behind.”</p> - - <p>“Where’s your party gone?”</p> - - <p>“Up to the glaciers.”</p> - - <p>“When did they leave?”</p> - - <p>“Yesterday morning.”</p> - - <p>“When do you expect them back?”</p> - - <p>“Not for two or three days.”</p> - - <p>He seemed to ponder a moment. “You say you’re hurt? Where?”</p> - - <p>“My horse slipped and fell on my foot.”</p> - - <p>“Wait a minute,” he commanded. “I’ll rustle a candle. I left one - here.”</p> - - <p>When his form came out of the dark blur behind his candle Alice - perceived that he was no ordinary hunter. He was young, alert, and - very good-looking, although his face was stern and his mouth bitter. - He laid aside his hat as he approached the bunk in which the two - women were cowering as mice tremble before a cat. For a full minute - he looked down at them, but at last he smiled and said, in a jocular - tone:</p> - - <p>“You’re sure-enough women, I can see that. You’ll excuse me—but when - a man comes back to a shack in the middle of the night in a place - like this and finds a couple of women in a bunk he’s likely to think - he’s seeing pictures in his sleep.”</p> - - <p>“I can understand that,” Alice returned, recovering her - self-command. “You’re the ranger, I suppose? I told my friend here - that you might return.”</p> - - <p>“I’m mighty glad I did,” he said, heartily.</p> - - <p>“Thank you; you’re very kind.”</p> - - <p>He bent a keen glare upon her. “What’s your name?”</p> - - <p>“Alice Mansfield.”</p> - - <p>“What’s your friend’s name?”</p> - - <p>“Mrs. Adams.”</p> - - <p>“Are you a missis, too?”</p> - - <p>She hesitated. This was impertinent, but then she herself was an - intrusive guest. “No,” she answered, “I am not married.”</p> - - <p>“Where are you from?”</p> - - <p>“New York City.”</p> - - <p>“You’re a long way from home.”</p> - - <p>“Yes, I’m feeling that this minute.” She drew the coverlet a little - closer to her chin.</p> - - <p>He quickly read this sign. “You needn’t be afraid of me.”</p> - - <p>“I’m not.”</p> - - <p>“Yes, you are. You’re both all of a tremble and white as two sheep—”</p> - - <p>“It isn’t that,” wailed the girl; “but I’ve twisted my foot again.” - Her moan of pain broke the spell that bound Peggy.</p> - - <p>“Would you leave, please, for a moment?” she called to the owner of - the cabin. “I’ve got to get up and doctor my patient.”</p> - - <p>“Sure!” he exclaimed, moving toward the door. “If I can do anything - let me know.”</p> - - <p>As soon as her patient’s aching foot was eased Peggy opened the door - and peeped out. A faint flare of yellow had come into the east, and - beside the fire, rolled in his blanket, the ranger was sleeping. - Frost covered everything and the air was keen.</p> - - <p>“He’s out there on the cold ground—with only one blanket.”</p> - - <p>“What a shame! Tell him to come inside—I’m not afraid of him.”</p> - - <p>“Neither am I—but I don’t believe he’ll come. It’s ’most morning, - anyway—perhaps I’d better not disturb him.”</p> - - <p>“Take one of these quilts to him—that will help some.”</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams lifted one of the coverlets and, stealing softly up, was - spreading it over the sleeper when he woke with a start, a wild - glare of alarm in his eyes.</p> - - <p>“Oh, it’s you!” he said in relief. Then he added, as he felt the - extra cover: “That’s mighty white of you. Sure you don’t need it?”</p> - - <p>“We can spare it. But won’t you come inside? I’m sorry we drove you - out of your cabin.”</p> - - <p>“That’s all right. I’m used to this. Good night. I’m just about dead - for sleep.”</p> - - <p>Thus dismissed, Peggy went back and lay down beside Alice. “He says - he’s quite comfortable,” she remarked, “and I hope he is, but he - doesn’t look it.”</p> - - <p>When she woke again it was broad daylight and Alice was turning - restlessly on her hard bed. In the blaze of the sun all the mystery - of the night vanished. The incident of the return of the ranger to - his cabin was as natural as the coming of dawn.</p> - - <p>“He probably makes regular trips through here,” said Mrs. Adams.</p> - - <p>But the wounded girl silently differed, for she had read in the - man’s eyes and voice a great deal more than belonged to the - commonplace character of a forest-ranger. That first vision of his - face burned deep.</p> - - <p>She had seen on the wall of the station at “the road” the - description of a train-robber which tallied closely with this man’s - general appearance, and the conviction that she was living in the - hidden hut of an outlaw grew into a certainty. “I must not let him - suspect my discovery,” she thought.</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams (who had not read the placard) treated the young fellow - as if he were one of the forest wardens, manifesting complete - confidence in him.</p> - - <p>He deftly helped her about breakfast, and when she invited him into - the cabin he came readily, almost eagerly, but he approached Alice’s - bed with a touch of hesitation, and his glance was softer and his - voice gentler as he said:</p> - - <p>“Well, how do you stack up this morning?”</p> - - <p>“Much better, thank you.”</p> - - <p>“Must have been a jolt—my coming in last night the way I did?”</p> - - <p>“I guess the ‘jolt’ was mutual. You looked surprised.”</p> - - <p>He smiled again, a faint, swift half-smile. “Surprised! That’s no - name for it. For a minute I thought I’d fallen clear through. I hope - you didn’t get a back-set on account of it.”</p> - - <p>“Oh no, thank you.”</p> - - <p>“How many men are in your party?”</p> - - <p>“Six, counting the guides.”</p> - - <p>“Who are the men?”</p> - - <p>She named them, and he mused darkly, his eyes on her face. “I reckon - I can’t wait to make their acquaintance. I’m going on down the Green - River to-day. I’m sorry to miss ’em. They must be a nice bunch—to - leave two women alone this way.”</p> - - <p>He ate heartily, but with a nicety which betrayed better training - than is usual to men in his position. He remained silent and in deep - thought, though his eyes were often on Alice’s face.</p> - - <p>As he rose to go he said to Peggy: “Would you mind doing up a little - grub for me? I don’t know just when I’ll strike another camp.”</p> - - <p>“Why, of course! I’ll be glad to. Do you have to go?”</p> - - <p>“Yes, I must pull out,” he replied, and while she was preparing his - lunch he rolled a blanket and tied it behind his saddle. At last he - re-entered the cabin and, again advancing to Alice’s bedside, - musingly remarked: “I hate to leave you women here alone. It doesn’t - seem right. Are you sure your party will return to-night?”</p> - - <p>“Either to-night or to-morrow. Professor Ward intends to climb - Frémont Peak.”</p> - - <p>“Then you won’t see him for three days.” His tone was that of one - who communes with himself. “I reckon I’d better stay till to-morrow. - I don’t like the feeling of the air.”</p> - - <p>She explained that Gage, one of the guides, would return in case the - professor wished to remain in the heights.</p> - - <p>“Well, I’ll hang around till toward night, anyhow.”</p> - - <p>He went away for half an hour, and upon his return presented a - cleanly shaven face and a much less savage look and bearing. He - hovered about the door, apparently listening to Peggy’s chatter, but - having eyes only for the wounded girl. He seized every slightest - excuse to come in, and his voice softened and his manner changed - quite as markedly, and at last, while Mrs. Adams was momentarily - absent, he abruptly said:</p> - - <p>“You are afraid of me; I can see it in your eyes. I know why. You - think you know who I am.”</p> - - <p>“Yes; I’m sure of it.”</p> - - <p>“What makes you think so?”</p> - - <p>“I saw your picture in the railway station.”</p> - - <p>He regarded her darkly. “Well, I trust you. You won’t give me away. - I’m not so sure of her.” He nodded his head toward the open door.</p> - - <p>“What would be the good of my betraying you?”</p> - - <p>“Two thousand dollars’ reward is a big temptation.”</p> - - <p>“Nonsense! If I told—it would be for other reasons. If I were to - betray your hiding-place it would be because society demands the - punishment of criminals.”</p> - - <p>“I’m not a criminal. I never lifted a cent from any man. I didn’t - get a dollar from the express company—but I tried—I want you to - know, anyway,” he continued, “that I wouldn’t rob an individual—and - I wouldn’t have tried this, only I was blind drunk and desperate. I - needed cash, and needed it bad.”</p> - - <p>“What did you need it for?” asked Alice, with a steady look.</p> - - <p>He hesitated, and a flush crept across his brown face. His eyes - wavered. “Well, you see, the old home was mortgaged—and mother was - sick—”</p> - - <p>“Oh, bosh! Tell me the truth,” she demanded. “The papers said you - did it for a girl. Why not be honest with me?”</p> - - <p>“I will,” he responded, impulsively. “Yes, that’s right. I did it - for a girl—and afterward, when I was on the run, what did she do? - Threw me down! Told everything she knew—the little coyote—and here I - am hunted like a wolf on account of it.” His face settled into - savage lines for a moment. But even as he sat thus another light - came into his eyes. His gaze took account of Alice’s lips and the - delicate rounded whiteness of her neck and chin. Her like he had - never met before. The girls he had known giggled; this one smiled. - His sweetheart used slang and talked of cattle like a herder, but - this woman’s voice, so sweet and flexible, made delightfully strange - music to his ears.</p> - - <p>Peggy’s return cut short his confidence, and while she was in the - cabin he sat in silence, his eyes always on the girl. He seized - every opportunity to speak to her, and each time his voice betrayed - increasing longing for her favor.</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams, who had conceived a liking for him, ordered him about as - freely as though he were a hired guide, and he made himself useful - on the slightest hint.</p> - - <p>Alice, on her part, was profoundly interested in him, and whenever - her foot would permit her to think of anything else, she pitied him. - In the madness of his need, his love, he had committed an act which - made all the world his enemy, and yet, as she studied his form and - expression, her heart filled with regret. He was very attractive in - the Western way, with nothing furtive or evasive about him.</p> - - <p>With a directness quite equal to his own she questioned him about - his reckless deed.</p> - - <p>“Why did you do it?” she exclaimed in despair of his problem.</p> - - <p>“I don’t know. Hanged if I do, especially now. Since seeing you I - think I was crazy—crazy as a loon. If I’d done it for you, now, it - wouldn’t have been so wild. You’re worth a man’s life. I’d die for - you.”</p> - - <p>This outburst of passion, so fierce and wild, thrilled the girl; she - grew pale with comprehension of his mood. It meant that the sight of - her lying there had replaced the old madness with a new one. She was - unprepared for this furious outflaming of primitive admiration.</p> - - <p>“You mustn’t talk like that to me,” she protested, as firmly as she - could.</p> - - <p>He sensed her alarm. “Don’t you be scared,” he said, gently. “I - didn’t mean to jar you. I only meant that I didn’t know such women - as you were in the world. I’d trust you. You’ve got steady eyes. - You’d stick by the man that played his whole soul for you, I can see - that. I come of pretty good stock. I reckon that’s why you mean so - much to me. You get hold of me in a way I can’t explain.”</p> - - <p>“Why don’t you fly?” she asked him. “Every minute you spend here - increases your danger. The men may return at any moment.”</p> - - <p>“That’s funny, too,” he answered, and a look of singular, musing - tenderness fell over his face. “I’d rather sit here with you and - take my chances.”</p> - - <p>“But you must not! You are imperiling your life for nothing.”</p> - - <p>“You’re mistaken there. I’m getting something every minute—something - that will stay with me all my life. After I leave you it doesn’t - matter. I came into the hills just naturally, the way the elk does. - After that girl reported me, life didn’t count. Seeing you has - changed me. It matters a whole lot to me this minute, and when I - leave you it’s stormy sunset for me, sure thing.”</p> - - <p>Alice gazed upon him with steady eyes, but her bosom rose and fell - with the emotion which filled her heart. She debated calling for - Mrs. Adams, but there was something in the droop of the outlaw’s - head, in the tone of his voice, which arrested her. However sudden - and frenzied his admiration might seem to others, it was sincere and - manly, of that she was persuaded. Nevertheless, she was deeply - perturbed.</p> - - <p>“I wish you would go,” she entreated at last, huskily. “I don’t want - to see you taken. You have made yourself a criminal and I ought not - to find excuses for you, but I do. You’re so young. It doesn’t seem - as if you knew what you were doing. Why don’t you ride away into the - wild north country and begin a new life somewhere? Can’t you escape - to Canada?”</p> - - <p>He seized eagerly upon her suggestion. “Will you write to me if I - do?”</p> - - <p>“No, I cannot promise that.”</p> - - <p>“Why can’t I play the ranger here and wait upon you till the men - return?”</p> - - <p>“Because Professor Ward read that placard with me. He will know you - instantly. I wish you’d go. Gage may come at any moment now.”</p> - - <p>Peggy came in with a disturbed look. “It looks like rain,” she - announced; “the clouds are settling down all over the peaks.”</p> - - <p>The outlaw sprang up and went to the door. “It looked bad when I got - up,” he said, as he studied the sky. “I guess we’re in for trouble. - It may be snow.”</p> - - <p>His fears were soon realized. Rain began to fall in a thin drizzle, - and at four o’clock the first faint flakes of snow began to flash - amid the gray veils of the water-drops. The women looked at each - other in alarm as the cabin’s interior darkened with the ominous - shadow of the storm.</p> - - <p>“I don’t like this a bit,” said Peggy, after a while. “This is no - mountain squall. I wish the men were here.”</p> - - <p>“It can’t be anything that will last,” replied Alice. “It isn’t time - for the winter snows.”</p> - - <p>“I know,” replied Peggy. “But it’s snowing perfect feather beds now, - and no wind. Lucky this forest-ranger is here. The men may get lost - in this storm.”</p> - - <p>“Mercy! Don’t speak of such a thing!” exclaimed Alice; but she knew, - just the same, that Ward and his party were high in the peaks, far, - far above the cabin, and that the storm there would be - proportionately fiercer. She listened with growing thankfulness to - the outlaw’s blows upon the dry limbs of wood that he was chopping - for the fire. He was very capable and would not desert them—of that - she felt assured.</p> - - <p>As the man worked on, the women both came to keen realization of the - serious view he took of the storm. He mounted his horse and with his - rope dragged great bundles of fagots from the thickets. As he came - up, laden with one of his bundles of hard-won fuel, Mrs. Adams - asked:</p> - - <p>“You don’t think it will keep this up, do you?”</p> - - <p>“You never can tell what will happen in these mountains. It doesn’t - generally snow much till later, but you can’t bank on anything in - this range.”</p> - - <p>Alice called to him and he stepped inside. “What do you think we’d - better do?” she asked.</p> - - <p>“There isn’t a thing you can do, miss. It’s just a case of stick it - out. It may let up by sundown; but, as it is, your party can’t get - back to-night, and if you don’t mind I’ll camp down just outside the - door and keep the fire going.”</p> - - <p>“You will be a comfort to us,” she replied, “but I feel that—that - you ought to be going. Isn’t it dangerous for you? I mean you will - be shut in here.”</p> - - <p>“If I’m shut in, others are shut out,” he answered, with a grim - smile. “My job is to keep fire.” With these words he returned to his - work of breaking limbs from the dead firs.</p> - - <p>Alice said: “If it does turn out as this—this ranger says—if the - storm keeps up, you mustn’t let him sleep out in the snow.”</p> - - <p>“Of course not,” said Peggy. “He can sleep inside. I trust him - perfectly—and, besides, you have your revolver.”</p> - - <p>Alice smiled a little, wondering how Peggy’s trust would stand the - strain of a fuller knowledge concerning their guardian’s stirring - career.</p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>III </div> - </div> - <p>In spite of her knowledge of the mountains and her natural - intrepidity of character the wounded girl’s heart sank as the snow - and the night closed down over the tiny cabin in its covert of firs. - To be on foot in such gloom in the heart of such a wilderness, was - sufficiently awe-inspiring, but to be helpless on a hard bed was to - feel the utter inconsequence of humankind. “Suppose the storm blocks - the trails so that the men cannot return for a week? What will we do - for food?”</p> - - <p>Each time she heard the outlaw deliver his burden of wood her heart - warmed to him. He was now her comfort and very present stay. “If it - should happen that the trails become impassable he alone will stand - between us and death,” she thought.</p> - - <p>The outlaw came in to say, abruptly, “If you weren’t hurt and if I - weren’t in such a hurry I’d rather enjoy this.”</p> - - <p>He slashed his sombrero against his thigh as he spoke, and Mrs. - Adams answered his remark without knowledge of its inner meaning.</p> - - <p>“You mustn’t think of sleeping outdoors to-night—Mr.——?”</p> - - <p>“Smith. I belong to the big family, the Smiths,” he promptly - replied.</p> - - <p>“Why don’t you take away that improvised table by the wall and make - your bed there?”</p> - - <p>“We’ll need the table,” he responded in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll - just crawl under it. What’s giving me most trouble is the question - of grub. They didn’t leave you any too much, did they?”</p> - - <p>“But you can kill game, can’t you?” asked Peggy.</p> - - <p>“We’re pretty high up for elk, and the blue grouse are scarce this - year, but I reckon I can jump a deer or a ground-hog. We won’t - starve, anyway.”</p> - - <p>Alice perceived in his voice a note of exultation. He was glad of - his reprieve, and the thought of being her protector, at least for - the night, filled him with joy. She read his mind easily and the - romance of this relationship stirred her own heart. The dramatic - possibilities of the situation appealed to her. At any moment the - men might return and force her into the rôle of defender. On the - other hand, they might be confined for days together in this little - cabin, and in this enforced intimacy Peggy was sure to discover his - secret and his adoration.</p> - - <p>The little hovel was filled with the golden light of the blazing - fagots, and through the open door Alice could see the feathery - crystals falling in a wondrous, glittering curtain across the night. - The stream roared in subdued voice as though oppressed by the snows, - and the shadow of the fugitive as he moved about the fire had a - savage, primal significance which awed the girl into silence.</p> - - <p>He was very deft in camp work, and cooked their supper for them - almost as well as they could have done it themselves, but he refused - to sit at the table with Peggy. “I’ll just naturally stick to my - slicker, if you don’t mind. I’m wet and my hands are too grimy to - eat with a lady.”</p> - - <p>Alice continued to talk to him, always with an under-current of - meaning which he easily read and adroitly answered. This care, this - double meaning, drew them ever closer in spirit, and the girl took - an unaccountable pleasure in it.</p> - - <p>After supper he took his seat in the open doorway, and the girl in - the bunk looked upon him with softened glance. She had no fear of - him now; on the contrary, she mentally leaned upon him. Without him - the night would be a terror, the dawn an uncertainty. The brave - self-reliance of his spirit appeared in stronger light as she - considered that for weeks he had been camping alone, and that but - for this accident to her he would be facing this rayless wintry - night in solitude.</p> - - <p>He began again to question her. “I wish you’d tell me more about - yourself,” he said, his dark eyes fixed upon her. “I can’t - understand why any girl like you should come up here with a bunch of - rock-sharps. Are you tied up to the professor?”</p> - - <p>If Peggy expected her patient to resent this question she must have - been surprised, for Alice merely smiled as if at the impertinence of - a child.</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams replied: “I can tell you that she is—and a very fortunate - girl her friends think her.”</p> - - <p>He turned to her with unmoved face. “You mean he’s got money, I - reckon.”</p> - - <p>“Money and brains and good looks and a fine position.”</p> - - <p>“That’s about the whole works, ain’t it—leastwise he will have it - all when he gets you. A man like that doesn’t deserve what he’s got. - He’s a chump. Do you suppose I’d go off and leave you alone in a - hole like this with a smashed leg? I’d never bring you into such a - country, in the first place. And I certainly wouldn’t leave you just - to study a shack of ice on the mountainside.”</p> - - <p>“I urged him to go, and, besides, Peggy is mistaken; we’re not - engaged.”</p> - - <p>“But he left you! That’s what sticks in my crop. He can’t be just - right in his head. If I had any chance of owning you I’d never let - you out of my sight. I wouldn’t take a chance. I don’t understand - these city fellows. I reckon their blood is thinned with ice-water. - If I had you I’d be scared every minute for fear of losing you. I’d - be as dangerous to touch as a silver-tip. If I had any place to take - you I’d steal you right now.”</p> - - <p>This was more than banter. Even Mrs. Adams perceived the passion - quivering beneath his easy, low-toned speech. He was in truth - playing with the conception of seizing this half-smiling, - half-musing girl whose helpless body was at once a lure and an - inspiration. It was perfectly evident that he was profoundly - stirred.</p> - - <p>And so was Alice. “What,” she dared ask herself, “will become of - this?”</p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>IV </div> - </div> - <p>To the outlaw in the Rocky Mountain cabin in that stormy night it - was in every respect the climax of his life. As he sat in the - doorway, looking at the fire and over into the storm beyond, he - realized that he was shaken by a wild, crude lyric of passion. Here - was, to him, the pure emotion of love. All the beautiful things he - had ever heard or read of girlhood, of women, of marriage, rose in - his mind to make this night an almost intolerable blending of joy - and sorrow, hope and despair.</p> - - <p>To stay time in its flight, to make this hour his own, to cheat the - law, to hold the future at bay—these were the avid desires, the vague - resolutions, of his brain. So sure as the day came this happiness - would end. To-morrow he must resume his flight, resigning his - new-found jewel into the hands of another. To this thought he - returned again and again, each time with new adoration for the girl - and added fury and hate against his relentless pursuers and himself. - He did not spare himself! “Gad! what a fool I’ve been—and yet, if I - had been less a fool I would not be here and I would never have met - her.” He ended with a glance toward Alice.</p> - - <p>Then he arose, closed the door of the cabin, and stood without - beside the fire, so that the women might prepare for bed. His first - thought of suicide came to him. Why not wait with his love as long - as possible—stay till the law’s hand was in the air above his head, - uplifted to strike, and then, in this last moment, die with this - latest, more glorious passion as climax to his career? To flee meant - endless fear, torment. To be captured meant defeat, utter and final - dismay.</p> - - <p>A knock upon the door startled him, and Peggy’s voice cut short his - meditation. “You can come in now, Mr. Smith,” she said.</p> - - <p>The broad crystals were still falling thickly and the fire was - hissing and spluttering around a huge root which he had rolled upon - it. In its light the cabin stood hardly higher than a kennel, and - yet it housed the woman whose glance had transformed his world into - something mystical. A man of commonplace ancestry would have felt - only an animal delight in shelter and warmth, but this youth was - stirred to a spiritual exaltation. The girl’s bosom, the rounded - beauty of her neck, appealed to him, but so also did the steady - candor of her gaze and the sweet courage of her lips. Her - helplessness roused his protective instinct, and her words, the - sound of her voice, so precise, so alien-sweet, filled him with - bitter sadness, and he re-entered the house in such spirit of - self-abasement as he had never known before.</p> - - <p>He lay down upon the hard floor in silence, his audacity gone, his - reckless courage deep-sunk in gloomy foreboding.</p> - - <p>Alice, on her part, could not free her mind from the burden of his - crime. He was so young, and so handsome, to be hunted like a noxious - beast! She had at the moment more concern of him than of Ward, and - in this lay a certain disloyalty. She sighed deeply as she thought - of the outlaw resuming his flight next day. Would it not be better - for him to sacrifice himself to the vengeance of the state at once - and so end it? What right had she to shield him from the law’s - demand? “He is a criminal, after all. He must pay for his rash act.”</p> - - <p>She could not sleep, and when he rose to feed the fire she softly - asked, “Does it still storm?”</p> - - <p>“No,” he answered in a tone that voiced disappointment; “the sky is - clear.”</p> - - <p>“Isn’t that cheering!” she exclaimed, still in the same hushed - voice.</p> - - <p>“For you,” he replied. “For me it’s another story.” He felt the - desire for a secret consultation which moved her, and on his way - back to his corner he halted and fixed his eyes upon her in hungry - admiration of her fire-lit face. Then he spoke. “I should have - pulled out before the storm quit. They can trail me now. But no - matter; I’ve known you.”</p> - - <p>She still kept to ambiguous speech. “Wouldn’t it be better to give - up and take your—misfortune, and begin again? Professor Ward and I - will do all we can to help you.”</p> - - <p>“That’s mighty white of you,” he responded, slowly. “But I can’t - stand the thought of confinement. I’ve been free as an Injun all my - life. Every way of the wind has been open to me. No; just as long as - I can find a wild spot I must keep moving. If it comes to ‘hands - up!’ I take the short cut.” He tapped his revolver as he spoke.</p> - - <p>“You mustn’t do that,” she entreated. “Promise me you won’t think of - that!”</p> - - <p>He made a stride toward her, but a movement of her companion checked - him.</p> - - <p>“Is it morning?” Peggy sleepily asked.</p> - - <p>“Not quite,” answered the outlaw, “but it’s time for me to be - moving. I’d like to hear from you sometime,” he said to Alice, and - his voice betrayed his sadness and tenderness. “Where could I reach - you?”</p> - - <p>She gave her address with a curious sense of wrongdoing.</p> - - <p>He listened intently. “I’ll remember that,” he said, “when I’ve - forgotten everything else. And now—” He reached his hand to her and - she took it.</p> - - <p>“Poor boy! I’m sorry for you!” she whispered.</p> - - <p>Her words melted his heart. Dropping on his knees beside her bed, he - pressed her fingers to his lips, then rose. “I’ll see you - again—somewhere—sometime,” he said, brokenly. “Good-by.”</p> - - <p>No sooner had the door closed behind the outlaw than Peggy rose in - her place beside Alice and voiced her mystification. “Now what is - the meaning of all that?”</p> - - <p>“Don’t ask me,” replied the girl. “I don’t feel like talking, and my - foot is aching dreadfully. Can’t you get up and bathe it? I hate to - ask you—but it hurts me so.”</p> - - <p>Peggy sprang up and began to dress, puffing and whistling with - desperation. As soon as she was dressed she ran to the door and - opened it. All was still, a world of green and white. “The fire is - almost out,” she reported, “and I can see Mr. Smith’s horse’s - tracks.”</p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>V </div> - </div> - <p>It was about ten o’clock when a couple of horsemen suddenly rounded - the point of the forest and rode into the clearing. One of them, a - slender, elderly man with gray, curly beard and a skin like red - leather, dismounted and came slowly to the door, and though his eyes - expressed surprise at meeting women in such a place, he was very - polite.</p> - - <p>“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, with suave inflection.</p> - - <p>“Good morning,” Peggy replied.</p> - - <p>“Fine snowy mornin’.”</p> - - <p>“It is so.” She was a little irritated by the fixed stare of his - round, gray eyes.</p> - - <p>He became more direct. “May I ask who you are and how you happen to - be here, ma’am?”</p> - - <p>“You may. I’m Mrs. Adams. I came up here with my husband, Professor - Adams.”</p> - - <p>“Where is he?”</p> - - <p>“He has gone up the trail toward Frémont. He is a botanist.”</p> - - <p>“Is that his horse’s tracks?”</p> - - <p>Alice called sharply, “Peggy!”</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams turned abruptly and went in.</p> - - <p>The stranger turned a slow gaze upon his companion.</p> - - <p>“Well, this beats me. ’Pears like we’re on the wrong trail, Bob. I - reckon we’ve just naturally overhauled a bunch of tourists.”</p> - - <p>“Better go in and see what’s inside,” suggested the other man, - slipping from his horse.</p> - - <p>“All right. You stay where you are.”</p> - - <p>As he stepped to the door and rapped, Peggy opened it, but Alice - took up the inquiry.</p> - - <p>“What do you want?” she asked, imperiously.</p> - - <p>The man, after looking keenly about, quietly replied: “I’m wonderin’ - how you women come to be here alone, but first of all I want to know - who made them tracks outside the door?”</p> - - <p>Alice ignored the latter part of his question and set about - satisfying his wonder. “We came up here with a geological survey, - but my horse fell on my foot and I couldn’t ride, so the men had to - leave me behind—”</p> - - <p>“Alone?” sharply interrogated the man.</p> - - <p>“No; one man stayed.”</p> - - <p>“What was his name?”</p> - - <p>“I don’t know. We called him Smith.”</p> - - <p>“Was he the man that rode away this morning?”</p> - - <p>“What does that matter to you?” asked the girl. “Why are you so - inquisitive?”</p> - - <p>He maintained his calm tone of mild authority. “I’m the sheriff of - Uinta County, ma’am, and I’m looking for a man who’s been hiding out - in this basin. I was trailin’ him close when the snow came on - yesterday, and I didn’t know but what these tracks was his.”</p> - - <p>Peggy turned toward Alice with an involuntary expression of - enlightenment, and the sheriff read it quickly. Slipping between the - two women, he said:</p> - - <p>“Jest a minute, miss. What sort of a looking man was this Smith?”</p> - - <p>Alice took up the story. “He was rather small and dark—wasn’t he, - Peggy?”</p> - - <p>Peggy considered. “I didn’t notice him particularly. Yes, I think he - was.”</p> - - <p>The man outside called: “Hurry up, Cap. It’s beginning to snow - again.”</p> - - <p>The sheriff withdrew toward the door. “You’re both lying,” he - remarked without heat, “but it don’t matter. We’ll mighty soon - overhaul this man on the horse—whoever he is. If you’ve been - harboring Hall McCord we’ll have to take you, too.” With that threat - as a farewell he mounted his horse and rode away.</p> - - <p>Peggy turned to Alice. “Did you know that young fellow was an - outlaw?”</p> - - <p>“Yes: I saw his picture and description on a placard in the railway - station. I recognized him at once.”</p> - - <p>“Why didn’t you tell me?”</p> - - <p>“Well, I liked his looks, and, besides, I wanted to find out if he - were really bad or only unfortunate.”</p> - - <p>“What has he done?”</p> - - <p>“They say he held up a train!”</p> - - <p>“Merciful Heavens! a train-robber! What’s his real name?”</p> - - <p>“The name on the placard was Hall McCord.”</p> - - <p>“And to think he was in the same room with us last night, and you - were chumming with him! I can’t understand you. Are you sure he is - the robber?”</p> - - <p>“Yes. He confessed to having tried to rob the express car.”</p> - - <p>“He seemed such a nice fellow. How did he come to do it?”</p> - - <p>Alice concluded not to honor the other girl by bringing her into the - discussion. “Oh, it is hard to say. Need of money, I suppose. Poor - boy, I pity him.”</p> - - <p>“They’ll get him, sure. They can follow his tracks as easy as - anything. I don’t suppose I ought to say it, but I hope he’ll get - away. Don’t you?”</p> - - <p>“Yes, I do!” was Alice’s fervent response. “But see! it’s snowing - again. It may cover his trail.”</p> - - <p>Peggy went to the door and gazed long and keenly at the peaks. When - she turned her face was solemn. “Allie, this is getting pretty - serious for us. If the men don’t come to-day they may get snowed up - entirely.”</p> - - <p>Alice stifled a wail. “Oh, if I were only able to walk I wouldn’t - mind. I could help gather fuel and keep the fire going.”</p> - - <p>“There’s plenty of wood for another day, but I’m worried about the - men. Suppose they are up on that glacier?”</p> - - <p>“I’m not worried about them, but I know they are worrying about us. - They’ll surely start back this morning; but they may not be able to - reach us till night.”</p> - - <p>The light of the morning had turned gray and feeble. The air was - still and the forest soundless, save now and then when a snow-laden - branch creaked with its burden.</p> - - <p>There was something majestic as well as menacing in this - all-pervading solemn hush.</p> - - <p>Peggy went about her duties as cheerfully as she could, but with a - wider knowledge of mountaineering than Alice had. She was at heart - quite terrified. “We’re going to miss our nice outlaw,” she - remarked. “He was so effective as a purveyor of wood.” Then she went - to the door and looked out. “That sheriff will never keep his - trail,” she said.</p> - - <p>“What’s that?” suddenly asked Alice.</p> - - <p>Both listened. “I hear it!” whispered Peggy. “It’s a horse—there! - Some one spoke.”</p> - - <p>“It’s Freeman!” Alice joyously called out. “Coo-hoo!”</p> - - <p>No one replied, and Peggy, rushing to the door, met the young - outlaw, who appeared on the threshold with stern, set face.</p> - - <p>“Who’s been here since I left? Your party?”</p> - - <p>Peggy recoiled in surprise and alarm, and Alice cried out, “Why did - you come back?”</p> - - <p>“Two men on horseback have been here since I left. Who were they?” - His voice was full of haste.</p> - - <p>“One of them said—he was the—the sheriff,” Alice replied, faintly.</p> - - <p>He smiled then, a kind of terrifying humor in his eyes. “Well, the - chances are he knew. They took my trail, of course, and left in a - hurry. Expected to overhaul me on the summit. They’ve got their work - cut out for ’em.”</p> - - <p>“How did they miss you?” the girl asked, huskily.</p> - - <p>“Well, you see, when I got up where I could view the sky I was dead - sure we were in for a whooping big snow-storm, and I just couldn’t - leave you girls up here all alone, so I struck right down the cañon - in the bed of the creek—the short cut. I don’t like to backtrail, - anyway; it’s a bad habit to get into. I like to leave as blind a - trail as I can.” His face lightened up, grew boyish again. “They’re - sure up against a cold proposition about now. They’ll lose my track - among the rocks, but they’ll figure I’ve hustled right on over into - Pine Creek, and if they don’t freeze to death in the pass they’ll - come out at Glover’s haymeadow to-morrow night. How’s the wood-pile - holding out?”</p> - - <p>“Please go!” cried Alice. “Take your chance now and hurry away.”</p> - - <p>“I’m not used to leaving women in such a fix. The moment I saw that - blizzard was beginning all over again I turned back.”</p> - - <p>“You haven’t had any breakfast?” said Peggy.</p> - - <p>“Nothing to speak of,” he replied, dryly. “I wasn’t thinking of - breakfast when I pulled out.”</p> - - <p>“I’ll get you some.”</p> - - <p>Alice could not throw off the burden of his danger. “What will you - do when my people return?”</p> - - <p>“I don’t know—trust to luck.”</p> - - <p>“You are very foolish. They are certain to come to-day.”</p> - - <p>“They won’t know who I am if you women don’t give me away.”</p> - - <p>“I’m sure Freeman—Professor Ward—will know you, for he also saw the - placard.”</p> - - <p>“That’s no sign. Suppose he does—maybe he won’t think it is his job - to interfere. Anyway”—here his voice became decisive—“I won’t leave - you in such a fix as this.” His eyes spoke to her of that which his - tongue could not utter. “I wanted an excuse to come back, anyway,” - he concluded. “No matter what comes now, my job is here to protect - you.”</p> - - <p>She did not rebuke him, and Peggy—though she wondered at his - tone—was too grateful for his presence even to question Alice’s - motive in permitting such remarks.</p> - - <p>As for Alice, she felt herself more and more involved in the tangled - skein of his mysterious life. His sudden and reckless abandonment of - the old love which had ruined him, and the new and equally - irrational regard which he now professed for her, filled her with a - delicious marveling.</p> - - <p>He appealed to a woman’s imagination. He had the spice of the - unknown. In her relationship with Ward there was no danger, no - mystery—his courtship narrowly escaped being commonplace. She had - accepted his attentions and expected to marry him, and yet the - thought of the union produced, at its warmest, merely a glow of - comfort, a sense of security, whereas the hint of being loved and - protected by this Rob Roy of the hills, this reckless Rough Rider of - the wilderness, was instinct with romance. Of course his devotion - was a crazy folly, and yet, lying there in her rough bunk, with an - impenetrable wall of snow shutting out the rest of the world, it was - hard not to feel that this man and his future had become an - inescapable part of her life—a part which grew in danger and in - charm from hour to hour.</p> - - <p>Full two miles above the level of her own home, surrounded by peaks - unscalably wild and lonely, deserted by those who should care for - her, was it strange that she should return this man’s adoring gaze - with something of the primal woman’s gratitude and submission?</p> - - <p>The noon darkened into dusk as they talked, slowly, with long - pauses, and one by one the stirring facts of the rover’s life came - out. From his boyhood he had always done the reckless thing. He had - known no restraint till, as a member of the Rough Riders, he yielded - a partial obedience to his commanders. When the excitement of the - campaigns was over he had deserted and gone back to the round-up - wagon and the campfire.</p> - - <p>In the midst of his confidences he maintained a reserve about his - family which showed more self-mastery than anything else about him. - That he was the black sheep of an honorable flock became - increasingly evident. He had been the kind of lad who finds in the - West a fine field for dare-devil adventure. And yet there were - unstirred depths in the man. He was curious about a small book which - Alice kept upon her bed, and which she read from time to time with - serene meditation on her face.</p> - - <p>“What is that?” he asked.</p> - - <p>“My Bible.”</p> - - <p>“Can I see it?”</p> - - <p>“Certainly.”</p> - - <p>He took it carefully and read the title on the back, then turned a - few of the leaves. “I’m not much on reading,” he said, “but I’ve got - a sister that sends me tracts, and the like.” He returned to the - fly-leaf.</p> - - <p>“Is this your name?”</p> - - <p>“Yes.”</p> - - <p>“‘Alice Mansfield,’” he read; “beautiful name! ‘New York City’! - That’s pretty near the other side of the world to me.” He studied - the address with intent look. “I’d like to buy this book. How much - will you take for it?”</p> - - <p>“I’ll trade it for your weapon,” she replied.</p> - - <p>He looked at her narrowly. “You mean something by that. I reckon I - follow you. No, I can’t do that—not now. If I get into business over - the line I’ll disarm, but in this country a fellow needs to be - protected. I want this book!”</p> - - <p>“For the fly-leaf?”</p> - - <p>He smiled in return. “You’ve hit it.”</p> - - <p>She hesitated. “I’ll give you the book if you’ll promise to read - it.”</p> - - <p>He clapped the covers together and put the volume in his pocket. - “It’s mine! I’ll read every word of it, if it takes an age, and - here’s my hand on it.”</p> - - <p>She gave him her hand, and in this clasp something came to her from - his clutching fingers which sobered her. She drew her hand away - hastily and said: “If you read that book—and think about it—it will - change your whole world.”</p> - - <p>He, too, lost his brightness. “Well, I’m not so anxious to keep up - this kind of life. But if anybody changes me it will be you.”</p> - - <p>“Hush!” she warned with lifted finger.</p> - - <p>He fell back, and after a little silence went out to wait upon the - fire.</p> - - <p>“It seems to me,” said Peggy, reprovingly, “that you’re too gracious - with this mountaineer; he’s getting presumptuous.”</p> - - <p>“He doesn’t mean to be. It’s his unsophisticated way. Anyhow, we - can’t afford to be captious to our host.”</p> - - <p>“That’s true,” admitted Peggy.</p> - - <p>The night shut down with the snow still falling, but with a growing - chill in the air.</p> - - <p>“The flakes are finer,” the outlaw announced, as he came in a little - later. “That is a good sign. It is growing colder and the wind is - changing. It will pinch hard before sun-up, and the worst of it, - there’s no way to warm this cabin. We can’t have the door open - to-night. I’m worried about you,” he said to Alice. “If only those - chumps had left a man-size ax!”</p> - - <p>The two women understood that this night was to bring them into - closer intimacy with the stranger than before. He could not remain - outdoors, and though they now knew something of his desperate - character, they had no fear of him. He had shown his chivalry. No - one could have been more considerate of them, for he absented - himself at Peggy’s request instantly and without suggestion of - jocularity, and when he came in and found them both in bed he said:</p> - - <p>“I reckon I’ll not make down to-night—you’ll need all your blankets - before morning”; and thereupon without weighing their protests, - proceeded to spread the extra cover over them.</p> - - <p>Alice looked up at him in the dim light of the candle and softly - asked: “What will you do? You will suffer with cold!”</p> - - <p>“Don’t worry about me; I’m an old campaigner. I still have a blanket - to wrap around my shoulders. I’ll snooze in a corner. If you hear me - moving around don’t be worried; I’m hired to keep the fire going - even if it doesn’t do us much good inside.”</p> - - <p>The chill deepened. The wind began to roar, and great masses of - snow, dislodged from the tall trees above the cabin, fell upon its - roof with sounds like those of soft, slow footfalls. Strange noises - of creaking and groaning and rasping penetrated to Alice’s ears, and - she cowered half in fear, half in joy of her shelter and her male - protector. Men were fine animals for the wild.</p> - - <p>She fell asleep at last, seeing her knight’s dim form propped - against the wall, wrapped in a blanket Indian-wise, his head bowed - over the book she had given him, a candle smoking in his hand.</p> - - <p>She woke when he rose to feed the fire, and the current of cold air - which swept in caused her to cover her mouth with the blanket. He - turned toward her.</p> - - <p>“It’s all over for sure, this time,” he said. “It’s cold and goin’ - to be colder. How are you standing it? If your feet are cold I can - heat a stone. How is the hurt foot?” He drew near and looked down - upon her anxiously.</p> - - <p>“Very much easier, thank you.”</p> - - <p>“I’m mighty glad of that. I wish I could take the pain all on - myself.”</p> - - <p>“You have troubles of your own,” she answered, as lightly as she - could.</p> - - <p>“That’s true, too,” he agreed in the same tone. “So many that a - little one more or less wouldn’t count.”</p> - - <p>“Do you call my wound little?”</p> - - <p>“I meant the foot was little—”</p> - - <p>She checked him.</p> - - <p>“I didn’t mean to make light of it. It sure is no joke.” He added, - “I’ve made a start on the book.”</p> - - <p>“How do you like it?”</p> - - <p>“I don’t know yet,” he answered, and went back to his corner.</p> - - <p>She snuggled under her warm quilts again, remorseful, yet not daring - to suggest a return of the blanket he had lent. When she woke again - he was on his feet, swinging his arms silently. His candle had gone - out, but a faint light was showing in the room.</p> - - <p>“Is it morning?” she asked.</p> - - <p>“Just about,” he replied, stretching like a cat.</p> - - <p>The dawn came gloriously. The sun in far-splashing splendor slanted - from peak to peak, painting purple shadows on the snow and warming - the boles of the tall trees till they shone like fretted gold. The - jays cried out as if in exultation of the ending of the tempest, and - the small stream sang over its icy pebbles with resolute cheer. It - was a land to fill a poet with awe and ecstatic praise—a radiant, - imperial, and merciless landscape. Trackless, almost soundless, the - mountain world lay waiting for the alchemy of the sun.</p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>VI </div> - </div> - <p>The morning was well advanced when a far, faint halloo broke through - the silence of the valley. The ranger stood like a statue, while - Peggy cried out:</p> - - <p>“It’s one of our men!”</p> - - <p>Alice turned to the outlaw with anxious face. “If it’s the sheriff - stay in here with me. Let me plead for you. I want him to know what - you’ve done for us.”</p> - - <p>The look that came upon his face turned her cold with fear. “If it - is the sheriff—” He did not finish, but she understood.</p> - - <p>The halloo sounded nearer and the outlaw’s face lightened. “It’s one - of your party. He is coming up from below.”</p> - - <p>Impatiently they waited for the new-comer to appear, and though he - seemed to draw nearer at every shout, his progress was very slow. At - last the man appeared on the opposite bank of the stream. He was - covered with snow and stumbling along like a man half dead with - hunger and fatigue.</p> - - <p>“Why, it’s Gage!” exclaimed Peggy.</p> - - <p>It was indeed the old hunter, and as he drew near his gaunt and - bloodless face was like that of a starved and hunted animal. His - first word was an anxious inquiry, “How are ye?”</p> - - <p>“All well,” Peggy answered.</p> - - <p>“And the crippled girl?”</p> - - <p>“Doing nicely. Thanks to Mr. Smith here, we did not freeze. Are you - hungry?”</p> - - <p>The guide looked upon the outlaw with glazed, protruding eyes. - “Hungry? I’m done. I’ve been wallerin’ in the snow all night and I’m - just about all in.”</p> - - <p>“Where are the others?” called Alice from her bed.</p> - - <p>Gage staggered to the door. “They’re up at timber-line. I left them - day before yesterday. I tried to get here, but I lost my bearin’s - and got on the wrong side o’ the creek. ’Pears like I kept on the - wrong side o’ the hog-back. Then my horse gave out, and that set me - afoot. I was plum scared to death about you folks. I sure was.”</p> - - <p>Peggy put some food before him and ordered him into silence. “Talk - later,” she said.</p> - - <p>The outlaw turned to Alice. “That explains it. Your Professor Ward - trusted to this man to take care of you and stayed in camp. You - can’t blame him.”</p> - - <p>Gage seemed to have suddenly become old, almost childish. “I never - was lost before,” he muttered, sadly. “I reckon something must have - went wrong in my head. ’Pears like I’m gettin’ old and foolish.”</p> - - <p>Alice exchanged glances with the outlaw. It was plain that he was in - no danger from this dazed and weakened old man who could think of - nothing but the loss of his sense of direction.</p> - - <p>As the day advanced the sun burned clear. At noon it was warm enough - to leave the door open, and Alice, catching glimpses of the flaming - world of silver and purple and gold, was filled with a desire to - quit her dark corner.</p> - - <p>“I’m going to get up!” she exclaimed. “I won’t lie here any longer.”</p> - - <p>“Don’t try it!” protested Peggy.</p> - - <p>“I’m going to do it!” she insisted. “I can hobble to the door if you - help me.”</p> - - <p>“I’ll carry you,” said the outlaw. “Wrap her up and I’ll get her a - seat.”</p> - - <p>And so, while Mrs. Adams wrapped her patient in a blanket, the - outlaw dragged one of the rough, ax-hewn benches to the door and - covered it with blankets. He put a stone to heat and then re-entered - just as Alice, supported by Peggy, was setting foot to the floor. - Swiftly, unhesitatingly, and very tenderly he put his arms about her - and lifted her to the bench in the doorway before the fire.</p> - - <p>It was so sweet to feel that wondrous body in his arms. His daring - to do it surprised her, but her own silent acquiescence, and the - shiver of pleasure which came with the embarrassment of it, confused - and troubled her.</p> - - <p>“That’s better,” he said as he dropped to the ground and drew the - blankets close about her feet. “I’ll have a hot stone for you in a - minute.”</p> - - <p>He went about these ministrations with an inward ecstasy which shone - in his eyes and trembled in his voice. But as she furtively studied - his face and observed the tremor of his hands in tender ministration - she lost all fear of him.</p> - - <p>After three days in her dark corner of the hut the sunshine was - wondrously inspiring to the girl, although the landscape on which - she gazed was white and wild as December. It was incredible that - only a few hours lay between the flower-strewn valley of her - accident and this silent and desolate, yet beautiful, wilderness of - snow. And so, as she looked into the eyes of the outlaw, it seemed - as though she had known him from spring to winter, and her wish to - help him grew with every hour of their acquaintanceship.</p> - - <p>She planned his defense before Ward and Adams. “When they know how - kind and helpful he has been they can but condone his one rash - deed,” she argued in conclusion.</p> - - <p>He was sitting at her feet, careless of time, the law, content with - her nearness, and mindful only of her comfort, when a distant - rifle-shot brought him to his feet with the swiftness of the - startled stag.</p> - - <p>“That’s your expedition,” he said, “or some one who needs help.”</p> - - <p>Again the shots rang out, <i>one</i>, <i>two</i>, <i>three</i>—<i>one</i>, <i>two</i>, - <i>three</i>. - </p> - - <p>“It’s a signal! It’s your party!”</p> - - <p>Peggy uttered a cry of joy and rushed outside, but Alice turned an - unquiet gaze on the outlaw. “You’d better fly!”</p> - - <p>“What is the use?” he answered, bitterly. “The snow is so deep there - is no show to cross the range, and my horse is weak and hungry.”</p> - - <p>Gage appeared at the door. “Lemme take your gun, stranger; I want to - answer the signal.”</p> - - <p>“Where’s your own?”</p> - - <p>“I left it on my horse,” the old man answered, sheepishly.</p> - - <p>The young fellow looked at Alice with a keen glitter in his eyes. - “I’ll make answer myself,” he said; “I’m very particular about my - barkers.”</p> - - <p>Alice, as she heard his revolver’s answering word leap into the - silent air and bound and rebound along the cliffs, was filled with a - sudden fear that the sheriff might be guided back by the sound—and - this indeed the fugitive himself remarked as he came back to his - seat beside her.</p> - - <p>“If he’s anywhere on this side of the divide he’ll sure come back. - But I’ve done my best. The Lord God Almighty has dropped the snow - down here and shut me in with you, and I’m not complaining.”</p> - - <p>There was no answer to be made to this fatalism of utterance, and - none to the worship of his eyes.</p> - - <p>“Lift me up!” commanded Alice; “I want to look out and see if I can - see anybody.”</p> - - <p>The outlaw took her in his arms, supporting her in the threshold in - order that she might see over the vast sea of white. But no human - being was to be seen.</p> - - <p>“Take me back—inside,” Alice said to the man who had her in his - arms. “I feel cold here.”</p> - - <p>Once again, and with a feeling that it was, perhaps, for the last - time, he carried her back to her bench and re-enveloped her in her - blankets.</p> - - <p>“Stay here with me now,” she whispered to him, as she looked up into - his face.</p> - - <p>And the outlaw, filled with gladness and pride, threw himself on the - floor beside her.</p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>VII </div> - </div> - <p>The signal pistol-shots came nearer and nearer, but very slowly; and - as the outlaw sat beside Alice’s couch he took her Bible from his - pocket and said:</p> - - <p>“I made a stab at reading this last night.”</p> - - <p>She smiled. “I saw you. How did you like it?”</p> - - <p>“I didn’t exactly get aboard someway.”</p> - - <p>“What was the trouble?”</p> - - <p>“I guess it was because I kept thinking of you—and my own place in - the game. Three days ago I didn’t care what became of me, but now I - want a chance. I don’t see any chance coming my way, but if I had - I’d make use of it.” He looked at her a moment in silence, then with - sudden intensity broke forth. “Do you know what you mean to me? When - I look at your face and eyes I’m hungry for you.”</p> - - <p>She shrank from him and called to Mrs. Adams.</p> - - <p>He went on. “Oh, you needn’t be afraid. I just wanted to say it, - that’s all. If there was only some other way to straighten - myself—but I can’t go to jail. I can’t stand up to be clipped like a - poodle-dog, then put on striped clothing and walk lock-step—I can’t - do it! They’ll put me in for ten years. I’d be old when I got out.” - He shuddered. “No, I won’t do that! I’d rather die here in the - hills.”</p> - - <p>She grew white in sympathy. “It is a frightful price to pay for one - insane act, and yet—crime should be punished.”</p> - - <p>“I’m getting my punishment now,” he replied, with darkly brooding - glance. “There’s a good old man and two women, my sisters, waiting - for me down the slope. If I could reach home I’d try to live - straight, but it’s a long and dangerous trail between here and - there.”</p> - - <p>Peggy now ran into the cabin. “It’s the expedition,” she announced. - “I can see Freeman.”</p> - - <p>“I reckon this is where I get off,” said the outlaw in a tone of - mingled relief and dismay.</p> - - <p>“No, no!” Alice entreated. “Stay till Freeman comes. He will help - you. Let me explain to him. I know he will not betray you.”</p> - - <p>He looked at her again with that intent, longing worship in his - eyes, and answered, “I accept the chance for the sake of one more - hour with you.”</p> - - <p>The outlaw stepped to the door, and he saw a man at the head of his - train mid-leg deep in snow, leading his horse, breaking the way for - his followers, who were on foot, crawling, stumbling, and twisting - among the down-timber, unmindful of the old trail.</p> - - <p>At sight of that big and resolute leader, with flowing black beard - and ruddy face, the outlaw was filled with jealous sadness. To find - Ward a man of superb physical prowess, the kind that measures peaks - for the fun of it, was disturbing, and without defining his feeling - he was plunged into melancholy musing. And when later Ward entered, - and, stooping over the couch, kissed Alice, the end of his idyl - seemed to him announced.</p> - - <p>In the bustle of the moment, in the interchange of anxious, hurried - inquiries, the outlaw stood aside in the corner, unnoticed, till - Alice caught Ward’s arm and said:</p> - - <p>“Freeman, this is Mr. Smith, to whom we owe a great deal. He has - taken the utmost care of us. We would have frozen but for him.”</p> - - <p>Ward shook hands with the outlaw, but wonderingly asked of Alice, - “But where was Gage?”</p> - - <p>The outlaw answered, “Gage got lost and only turned up a couple of - hours ago.”</p> - - <p>Ward turned to Alice in horror. “Good Lord! And you were here - alone—crippled—in this storm?”</p> - - <p>“No—that’s what I’m telling you. Mr. Smith came and took care of us. - He brought our wood, he cooked for us, he kept our fire going. He - gave up his bed, even his blankets, for us. You should be very - generous to him.”</p> - - <p>Ward again reached a hearty hand. “I’m tremendously obliged to you.”</p> - - <p>The outlaw quailed under all this praise. “There was mighty little - to do,” he answered. “I only shared my fire with them.”</p> - - <p>Ward studied him closer. “Haven’t we met before?”</p> - - <p>“No, I reckon not.”</p> - - <p>“I’m quite sure I’ve see you somewhere. What are you doing up in - here?”</p> - - <p>Alice interposed. “What are we going to do?”</p> - - <p>Ward turned to the outlaw. “What would you advise? I’ve only had one - idea, and that was to reach this cabin. Now what would you do?”</p> - - <p>The outlaw was ready. “I would send a part of the men with the - horses down the valley to grass and I’d wait here till Miss - Mansfield is able to ride.”</p> - - <p>“Will this snow go off?”</p> - - <p>“That’s my notion.”</p> - - <p>“It’s certain we can’t camp here—the horses must have grass.”</p> - - <p>“I’ll be able to ride in a day or two,” Alice said, bravely.</p> - - <p>“We could frame up a portable bed and carry you,” suggested the - outlaw; “but it can’t be done to-night, so you’d better send your - outfit down to the marsh to camp. The horses are worn out and so are - the men.”</p> - - <p>“Will you guide them to grass and help them find shelter?”</p> - - <p>The outlaw hesitated for an instant, and Alice interposed: “No, no! - Let Gage do that. I want Mr. Smith to remain here.”</p> - - <p>Ward perceived in her entreaty something of anxiety and fear, and - after the men and horses had started down the slope he turned to the - outlaw and said: “I’m mighty grateful to you, Mr. Smith. It must - have surprised you to find these women here.”</p> - - <p>The outlaw dryly replied, “It did!”</p> - - <p>Alice added: “It was in the middle of the night, too; but Mr. Smith - was very nice about it. He slept outdoors without a word of - complaint.”</p> - - <p>Ward had figured the situation to conclusion: “Smith is a poacher,” - and though he had a savage dislike of these illicit - game-slaughterers, he could not but be glad of the presence of this - particular outlaw, and resolved to overlook his trade in gratitude - for his cabin and service.</p> - - <p>The outlaw helped Adams and Ward to clear away the snow for a tent, - and Alice, seeing the three men thus amicably joined in her defense, - could not find it in her heart to condemn one of them as a criminal. - Here in the white isolation of the peaks the question of crime and - its punishment became personal. To have this man’s fate in her hand - was like grasping the executioner’s sword for herself.</p> - - <p>“If women had to punish criminals themselves, with their own hand,” - she asked, “how many of them would do it?”</p> - - <p>Peggy came in and whispered to her: “No one else seems to have - recognized him. He may get away safely. I hope he will. Shall we - tell the men who he is?”</p> - - <p>“Yes, we shall have to do that soon, but I’m afraid they won’t take - the sentimental view of him that we do. I tremble to think of what - they will do when they know.”</p> - - <p>Ward explained to Adams: “Our friend Smith here is a poacher—but as - our account stands I don’t feel it my duty to report him, do you?”</p> - - <p>“No; Peggy tells me he has acted like a gentleman all through.”</p> - - <p>In this spirit they made themselves comfortable for the night.</p> - - <p>The sun set gloriously, but the air bit ever sharper, and while - Peggy went about her cooking, assisted by her husband and the - outlaw, Alice pulled Ward down to her bedside and hurriedly began:</p> - - <p>“You remember that placard we read in the station—the one about the - train-robber?”</p> - - <p>“Yes!”</p> - - <p>“Well, this is the man—our Mr. Smith.”</p> - - <p>Ward looked at her a moment with reflective eyes, then exclaimed: - “You’re right! I thought I’d seen him somewhere.”</p> - - <p>“And the sheriff is after him. He was here yesterday morning.”</p> - - <p>“Here?”</p> - - <p>“Yes. You see, Mr. Smith stayed with us till he thought the storm - was over, then rode away, intending to cross the divide, but when - the snow began again he turned back. He said he couldn’t leave us - alone. He left us just before dawn, and four or five hours afterward - the sheriff came. Of course he saw the poor fellow’s trail and - instantly set off after him.”</p> - - <p>“But why didn’t they meet?”</p> - - <p>“Because Mr. Smith came back a different way and then the blizzard - came on and covered up his tracks. He thinks the sheriff has gone on - over the divide. You must help him, Freeman. Help him to get away - and find some way to give him a start. Nobody could have been more - considerate, and I can’t see him taken by these cold-blooded men who - want that two thousand dollars’ reward. He really could have - escaped, only for us. He came back to protect us.”</p> - - <p>Ward pondered. “The problem is not so easy of solution. A train - robbery is a pretty serious matter. I’m very grateful to him, but to - connive at his escape is itself a punishable act. Why did you tell - me? I could have passed it over—”</p> - - <p>“Because I’m afraid the sheriff may come back at any moment.”</p> - - <p>Ward’s brow was troubled. “I could ignore his deed and pretend not - to know who he is, but definitely to assist a bandit to escape is a - very serious matter.”</p> - - <p>“I know it is; but remember he gave up his chance to cross the - divide in order to keep us from suffering.”</p> - - <p>“I wish you hadn’t told me,” he repeated, almost in irritation. “If - the sheriff only keeps on over the range Smith can take care of - himself.”</p> - - <p>As the outlaw re-entered the cabin Alice acknowledged in him - something worth a woman to love. In the older man was power, - security, moral, mental, and physical health, the qualities her - reason demanded in a husband; but in the other was grace and charm, - something wildly admirable. He allured as the warrior, intrepid and - graceful, allured the maiden, as the forest calls the householder. - Something primordial and splendid and very sweet was in her feeling - toward him. There could be no peaceful wedlock there, no security of - home, no comfort, only the exquisite thrill of perilous union, the - madness of a few short weeks—perhaps only a few swift days of - self-surrender, and then, surely, disaster and despair. To yield to - him was impossible, and yet the thought of it was tantalizingly - sweet.</p> - - <p>When she looked toward Ward she perceived herself sitting serenely - in matronly grace behind a shining coffee-urn in a well-ordered, - highly civilized breakfast-room, facing a most considerate husband - who nevertheless was able to read the morning paper in her presence. - When she thought of life with the outlaw all was dark, stormy, - confused, and yet the way was lit by his adoring eyes. A magical - splendor lay in the impulse. His love, sudden as it seemed, was - real—she was certain of that. She felt the burning power, the - conjury of its flame, and it made her future with Ward, at the - moment, seem dull and drab.</p> - - <p>“Why, why could not such a man and such a passion come with the - orderly and the ethical?” she asked herself.</p> - - <p>At the best he was fitted only for the mine or the ranch, and the - thought of life in a lonely valley, even with his love to lighten - it, made her shudder. On one side she was a very practical and - far-seeing woman. The instant she brought her reason to bear on the - problem she perceived that any further acquaintance with this man - was dangerous. They must part here at this moment, and yet she could - not let him go without in some way making him feel her wish to help - him.</p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>VIII </div> - </div> - <p>Ward and the outlaw were discussing plans for getting out of the - basin when Adams came in to say, “A couple of other weary wanderers - are turning up.”</p> - - <p>“The sheriff!” instantly exclaimed Alice, her face whitening in - swift dismay.</p> - - <p>In that moment the forester was transformed. With a weapon in his - hand he stood aside, his eyes on the door, a scowl of battle on his - face. He resembled a wolf with bared fangs ready to die desperately.</p> - - <p>Ward, quick to read his purpose, interposed. “Wait!” he commanded. - “Stay here; I’ll see them. Don’t be rash.”</p> - - <p>As he passed out into the firelight the outlaw, without relaxing his - vigilance, said in a low voice, “Well, girl, I reckon here’s where I - say good night.”</p> - - <p>“Don’t resist,” she pleaded. “Don’t fight, please! Please! What is - the use? Oh, it’s too horrible! If you resist they will kill you!”</p> - - <p>There was no fear in his voice as he replied: “They may not; I’m - handy with my gun.”</p> - - <p>She was breathless, chilled by the shadow of the impending tragedy. - “But that would be worse. To kill them would only stain your soul - the deeper. You must not fight!”</p> - - <p>“It’s self-defense.”</p> - - <p>“But they are officers of the law.”</p> - - <p>“No matter; I will not be taken alive.”</p> - - <p>She moaned in her distress, helplessly wringing her hands. “O God! - Why should I be witness of this?”</p> - - <p>“You won’t be. If this is the sheriff I am going to open that door - and make a dash. What happens will happen outside. You need not see - it. I’m sorry you have to hear it. But I give you my word—if you - must hear something I will see to it that you hear as little as - possible.”</p> - - <p>The latch clicked—he stepped back, and again stood waiting, silent, - rigid, ready to act, murderous in design.</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams entered quickly, and, closing the door behind her, - hurriedly whispered: “It’s the sheriff. Hide! The men will hold them - as long as they can. Hide!”</p> - - <p>The outlaw looked about and smiled. “Where?” he asked, almost - humorously. “I’m not a squirrel.”</p> - - <p>“Under the bunk. See, there is room.”</p> - - <p>He shook his head. “No, I refuse to crawl. I won’t sneak. I never - have. I take ’em as they come.”</p> - - <p>“For my sake,” pleaded Alice. “I can’t bear to see you killed. Hide - yourself. Go to the door,” she said to Peggy. “Don’t let them in. - Tell Freeman—” She rose and stood unsteadily, forgetful of her own - pain.</p> - - <p>Mrs. Adams urged her to lie down, but she would not. The moments - passed in suspense almost too great to be endured.</p> - - <p>“Listen!” commanded the outlaw. “They’re coming in.”</p> - - <p>As they harkened Ward’s voice rose clearly. “You can’t miss the - camp,” he was saying, as if speaking to some one at a distance. - “Just keep the trail in the snow and you’ll find them. I’m sorry we - can’t put you up—but you see how it is.”</p> - - <p>“They’re going!” exclaimed Alice. “Thank God, they’re going!”</p> - - <p>“It can’t be they’ll go without searching the shack,” the fugitive - muttered, in no measure relaxing his attitude of watchful menace. - “They’re playing a game on us.”</p> - - <p>Again the latch clicked, and this time it was Ward who confronted - the outlaw’s revolver mouth.</p> - - <p>“It’s all right,” Ward called, instantly understanding the - situation. “They’re gone. The old man was about played out, for - they’ve been fighting snow all day, but I told him we couldn’t take - care of them here and they have gone on down to the camp. He thinks - you got over the divide. You are all right for the present.”</p> - - <p>“They’ll come back,” replied the other. “It only puts the deal off a - few hours. They’ll return, trailin’ the whole camp after them. What - can I do? My horse is down there in the herd.”</p> - - <p>“That’s bad,” exclaimed Ward. “I wonder if I could get him for you?”</p> - - <p>“If I had him he’s weak and hungry, and the high places are feet - deep in drifts. It doesn’t signify. I’m corralled any way you look - at it, and the only thing left is to fight.”</p> - - <p>“There’s our trail to the glacier,” Ward musingly suggested; “it’s a - pretty deep furrow—you might make it that way.”</p> - - <p>A spark of light leaped into the man’s eyes. “How far up does it - run? Where does it end?”</p> - - <p>“In Glacier Basin, just at timber-line.”</p> - - <p>The outlaw pondered, speaking his thoughts aloud. “From there across - to the Indian reservation there isn’t a wolf track.... It’s a man’s - job crossing there, almost sure death, but it’s my only show.” He - had replaced his weapon in his belt and was weighing his chance, his - eyes fixed on Alice’s face. To leave this shelter, this warm circle - of light, this sweet girlish presence, and plunge into the dark, the - cold, and the snow, was hard. No one but a man of unconquerable - courage would have considered it. This man was both desperate and - heroic. “It’s my only chance and I’ll take it,” he said, drawing his - breath sharply. “I’ll need your prayers,” he added, grimly, with - eyes that saw only the girl. “If I fail you’ll find me up there. I - carry my sleeping-powder with me.” He touched his revolver as he - spoke.</p> - - <p>Alice’s mind, sweeping out over that desolate expanse, had a - moment’s vision of him as he would appear toiling across those - towering cliffs, minute as a fly, and her heart grew small and sick.</p> - - <p>“Why don’t you stay and take your lawful punishment?” she asked. - “You will surely perish up there in the cold. Wait for sunlight at - least.”</p> - - <p>“I’m ready to stay and to die here, near you,” he replied, with a - significant glance.</p> - - <p>“No, no, not that!” she cried out. “Talk to him, Freeman; persuade - him to give himself up. I’ve done my best to influence him. Don’t - let him uselessly sacrifice himself.”</p> - - <p>Ward perceived something hidden in her voice, some emotion which was - more than terror, deeper than pity, but his words were grave and - kindly. “It is a frightful risk, young man, but the trail to the - glacier is your only open road. The sheriff is tired. Even if he - finds out that you are here he may not come back to-night. He will - know you cannot escape. You can’t stir without leaving a telltale - mark. If you could only get below the snow on the west slope—”</p> - - <p>“Whichever trail I take it’s good-by,” interrupted the fugitive, - still addressing Alice. “If there was anything to live for—if you’d - say the word!”—she knew what he meant—“I’d stay and take my - schooling.” He waited a moment, and she, looking from his asking - face to Ward’s calm brow, could not utter a sound. What could she - promise? The outlaw’s tone softened to entreaty. “If you’ll only say - I may see you again on the other side of the range ’twill keep my - heart warm. Can’t you promise me that? It’s mighty little.”</p> - - <p>He was going to almost certain death, and she could not refuse this. - “You may write to me—” she faltered. “You know my address—”</p> - - <p>He struck the little book in his pocket. “Yes, I have it safe. Then - I may see you again?”</p> - - <p>Alice, supported by Mrs. Adams, unsteadily rose. “Yes, yes, only go. - They are coming back! I can hear them.”</p> - - <p>He took her hand. “Good-by,” he said, chokingly. “You’ve given me - heart.” He bent swiftly and kissed her forehead. “I’ll win! You’ll - hear from me.”</p> - - <p>“Hurry!” she wildly cried. “I hear voices!”</p> - - <p>He caught up his hat and opened the door. As he faced them his lips - were resolute and his eyes glowing. “It’s only good night,” he said, - and closed the door behind him.</p> - - <p>“Hold!” shouted Ward. “You must take some food.” He tore the door - open. “Wait—”</p> - - <p>Even as he spoke a pistol-shot resounded through the night. It cut - through the deathly silence of the forest like a spiteful curse, and - was answered by another—then, after a short pause, a swift-tearing - volley followed.</p> - - <p>“They are killing him!” cried Alice.</p> - - <p>They brought him in and laid him at her feet. He had requested this, - but when she bent to peer into his face he had gone beyond speech. - Limp and bloody and motionless he lay, with eyes of unfathomable - regret and longing, staring up at her, and as the men stood about - with uncovered heads she stooped to him, forgetful of all else; - knelt to lay her hand upon his brow.</p> - - <p>“Poor boy! Poor boy!” she said, her eyes blinded with tears.</p> - - <p>His hand stirred, seeking her own, and she took it and pressed it in - both of hers. “Jesus be merciful!” she prayed, softly.</p> - - <p>He smiled faintly in acknowledgment of her presence and her prayer, - and in this consolation died.</p> - - <p>Wonderingly, with imperious frown, she rose and confronted the - sheriff. “How is it that you are unhurt? Did he not fight?”</p> - - <p>“That’s what I can’t understand, miss,” he answered. “He fired only - once, and then into the air. ’Pears like he wanted to die.”</p> - - <p>Alice understood. His thought was of her. “You shall hear as little - as possible,” he had said.</p> - - <p>“And you killed him—as he surrendered,” she exclaimed, bitterly, and - turned toward the dead man, whose face was growing very peaceful - now, and with a blinding pain in her eyes she bent and laid a final - caressing hand upon his brow.</p> - - <p>As she faced the sheriff again she said, with merciless severity: - “I’d rather be in his place than yours.” Then, with a tired droop in - her voice, she appealed to Ward: “Take me away from here. I’m tired - of this savage world.”</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssVI' title='VI. Naza! Naza! Naza!'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>VI</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>NAZA! NAZA! NAZA!</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Zane Grey</div> - - <div class='attrb tac mb07'>From “The Last of the Plainsmen,” - copyright, 1908, by A. C. McClurg & Co. By special permission from the author.</div> - - <p>It was a waiting day at Fort Chippewayan. The lonesome, far-northern - Hudson’s Bay Trading Post seldom saw such life. Tepees dotted the - banks of the Slave River and lines of blanketed Indians paraded its - shores. Near the boat landing a group of chiefs, grotesque in - semi-barbaric, semi-civilized splendor, but black-browed, - austere-eyed, stood in savage dignity with folded arms and high-held - heads. Lounging on the grassy bank were white men, traders, trappers - and officials of the post.</p> - - <p>All eyes were on the distant curve of the river where, as it lost - itself in a fine-fringed bend of dark green, white-glinting waves - danced and fluttered. A June sky lay blue in the majestic stream; - ragged, spear-topped, dense green trees massed down to the water; - beyond rose bold, bald-knobbed hills, in remote purple relief.</p> - - <p>A long Indian arm stretched south. The waiting eyes discerned a - black speck on the green, and watched it grow. A flatboat, with a - man standing to the oars, bore down swiftly.</p> - - <p>Not a red hand, nor a white one, offered to help the voyager in the - difficult landing. The oblong, clumsy, heavily laden boat surged - with the current and passed the dock despite the boatman’s efforts. - He swung his craft in below upon a bar and roped it fast to a tree. - The Indians crowded above him on the bank. The boatman raised his - powerful form erect, lifted a bronzed face which seemed set in - craggy hardness, and cast from narrow eyes a keen, cool glance on - those above. The silvery gleam in his fair hair told of years.</p> - - <p>Silence, impressive as it was ominous, broke only to the rattle of - camping paraphernalia, which the voyager threw to a level, grassy - beach on the bank. Evidently this unwelcome visitor had journeyed - from afar, and his boat, sunk deep into the water with its load of - barrels, boxes and bags, indicated that the journey had only begun. - Significant, too, were a couple of Winchester rifles shining on a - tarpaulin.</p> - - <p>The cold-faced crowd stirred and parted to permit the passage of a - tall, thin, gray personage of official bearing, in a faded military - coat.</p> - - <p>“Are you the musk-ox hunter?” he asked, in tones that contained no - welcome.</p> - - <p>The boatman greeted this peremptory interlocutor with a cool laugh—a - strange laugh, in which the muscles of his face appeared not to - play.</p> - - <p>“Yes, I am the man,” he said.</p> - - <p>“The chiefs of the Chippewayan and Great Slave tribes have been - apprised of your coming. They have held council and are here to - speak with you.”</p> - - <p>At a motion from the commandant, the line of chieftains piled down - to the level beach and formed a half-circle before the voyager. To a - man who had stood before grim Sitting Bull and noble Black Thunder - of the Sioux, and faced the falcon-eyed Geronimo, and glanced over - the sights of a rifle at gorgeous-feathered, wild, free Comanches, - this semi-circle of savages—lords of the north—was a sorry - comparison. Bedaubed and betrinketed, slouchy and slovenly, these - low-statured chiefs belied in appearance their scorn-bright eyes and - lofty mien. They made a sad group.</p> - - <p>One who spoke in unintelligible language, rolled out a haughty - sonorous voice over the listening multitude. When he had finished, a - half-breed interpreter, in the dress of a white man, spoke at a - signal from the commandant.</p> - - <p>“He says listen to the great orator of the Chippewayan. He has - summoned all the chiefs of the tribes south of Great Slave Lake. He - has held council. The cunning of the pale-face, who comes to take - the musk-oxen, is well known. Let the pale-face hunter return to his - own hunting-grounds; let him turn his face from the north. Never - will the chiefs permit the white man to take musk-oxen alive from - their country. The Ageter, the musk-ox, is their god. He gives them - food and fur. He will never come back if he is taken away, and the - reindeer will follow him. The chiefs and their people would starve. - They command the pale-face hunter to go back. They cry Naza! Naza! - Naza!”</p> - - <p>“Say, for a thousand miles I’ve heard that word Naza!” returned the - hunter, with mingled curiosity and disgust. “At Edmonton Indian - runners started ahead of me, and every village I struck the redskins - would crowd round me and an old chief would harangue at me, and - motion me back, and point north with Naza! Naza! Naza! What does it - mean?”</p> - - <p>“No white man knows; no Indian will tell,” answered the interpreter. - “The traders think it means the Great Slave, the North Star, the - North Spirit, the North Wind, the North Lights and Ageter, the - musk-ox god.”</p> - - <p>“Well, say to the chiefs to tell Ageter I have been four moons on - the way after some of his little Ageters, and I’m going to keep on - after them.”</p> - - <p>“Hunter, you are most unwise,” broke in the commandant, in his - officious voice. “The Indians will never permit you to take a - musk-ox alive from the north. They worship him, pray to him. It is a - wonder you have not been stopped.”</p> - - <p>“Who’ll stop me?”</p> - - <p>“The Indians. They will kill you if you do not turn back.”</p> - - <p>“Faugh! to tell an American plainsman that!” The hunter paused a - steady moment, with his eyelids narrowing over slits of blue fire. - “There is no law to keep me out, nothing but Indian superstition and - the greed of the Hudson’s Bay people. And I am an old fox, not to be - fooled by pretty baits. For years the officers of this fur-trading - company have tried to keep out explorers. Even Sir John Franklin, an - Englishman, could not buy food of them. The policy of the company is - to side with the Indians, to keep out traders and trappers. Why? So - they can keep on cheating the poor savages out of clothing and food - by trading a few trinkets and blankets, a little tobacco and rum for - millions of dollars’ worth of furs. Have I failed to hire man after - man, Indian after Indian, not to know why I cannot get a helper? - Have I, a plainsman, come a thousand miles alone to be scared by - you, or a lot of craven Indians? Have I been dreaming of musk-oxen - for forty years, to slink south now, when I begin to feel the north? - Not I.”</p> - - <p>Deliberately every chief, with the sound of a hissing snake, spat in - the hunter’s face. He stood immovable while they perpetrated the - outrage, then calmly wiped his cheeks, and in his strange, cool - voice addressed the interpreter.</p> - - <p>“Tell them thus they show their true qualities, to insult in - council. Tell them they are not chiefs, but dogs. Tell them they are - not even squaws, only poor, miserable starved dogs. Tell them I turn - my back on them. Tell them the paleface has fought real chiefs, - fierce, bold, like eagles, and he turns his back on dogs. Tell them - he is the one who could teach them to raise the musk-oxen and the - reindeer, and to keep out the cold and the wolf. But they are - blinded. Tell them the hunter goes north.”</p> - - <p>Through the council of chiefs ran a low mutter as of gathering - thunder.</p> - - <p>True to his word, the hunter turned his back on them. As he brushed - by, his eye caught a gaunt savage slipping from the boat. At the - hunter’s stern call, the Indian leaped ashore, and started to run. - He had stolen a parcel, and would have succeeded in eluding its - owner but for an unforeseen obstacle, as striking as it was - unexpected.</p> - - <p>A white man of colossal stature had stepped in the thief’s passage, - and laid two great hands on him. Instantly the parcel flew from the - Indian, and he spun in the air to fall into the river with a - sounding splash. Yells signaled the surprise and alarm caused by - this unexpected incident. The Indian frantically swam to the shore. - Whereupon the champion of the stranger in a strange land lifted a - bag, which gave forth a musical clink of steel, and throwing it with - the camp articles on the grassy bench, he extended a huge, friendly - hand.</p> - - <p>“My name is Rea,” said he, in deep, cavernous tones.</p> - - <p>“Mine is Jones,” replied the hunter, and right quickly did he grip - the proffered hand. He saw in Rea a giant, of whom he was but a - stunted shadow. Six and one-half feet Rea stood, with yard-wide - shoulders, a hulk of bone and brawn. His ponderous, shaggy head - rested on a bull neck. His broad face, with its low forehead, its - close-shut mastiff under jaw, its big, opaque eyes, pale and cruel - as those of a jaguar, marked him a man of terrible brute force.</p> - - <p>“Free-trader!” called the commandant. “Better think twice before you - join fortunes with the musk-ox hunter.”</p> - - <p>“To hell with you an’ your rantin’, dog-eared redskins!” cried Rea. - “I’ve run agin a man of my own kind, a man of my own country, an’ - I’m goin’ with him.” With this he thrust aside some encroaching, - gaping Indians so unconcernedly and urgently that they sprawled upon - the grass.</p> - - <p>Slowly the crowd mounted and once more lined the bank.</p> - - <p>Jones realized that by some late-turning stroke of fortune, he had - fallen in with one of the few free-traders of the province. These - free-traders, from the very nature of their calling—which was to - defy the fur company, and to trap and trade on their own - account—were a hardy and intrepid class of men. Rea’s worth to Jones - exceeded that of a dozen ordinary men. He knew the ways of the - north, the language of the tribes, the habits of animals, the - handling of dogs, the uses of food and fuel. Moreover, it soon - appeared that he was a carpenter and blacksmith.</p> - - <p>“There’s my kit,” he said, dumping the contents of his bag. It - consisted of a bunch of steel traps, some tools, a broken ax, a box - of miscellaneous things such as trappers used, and a few articles of - flannel. “Thievin’ redskins,” he added, in explanation of his - poverty. “Not much of an outfit. But I’m the man for you. Besides, I - had a pal onct who knew you on the plains, called you ‘Buff’ Jones. - Old Jim Bent he was.”</p> - - <p>“I recollect Jim,” said Jones. “He went down in Custer’s last - charge. So you were Jim’s pal. That’d be a recommendation if you - needed one. But the way you chucked the Indian overboard got me.”</p> - - <p>Rea soon manifested himself as a man of few words and much action. - With the planks Jones had on board he heightened the stern and bow - of the boat to keep out the beating waves in the rapids; he - fashioned a steering-gear and a less awkward set of oars, and - shifted the cargo so as to make more room in the craft.</p> - - <p>“Buff, we’re in for a storm. Set up a tarpaulin an’ make a fire. - We’ll pretend to camp to-night. These Indians won’t dream we’d try - to run the river after dark, and we’ll slip by under cover.”</p> - - <p>The sun glazed over; clouds moved up from the north; a cold wind - swept the tips of the spruces, and rain commenced to drive in gusts. - By the time it was dark not an Indian showed himself. They were - housed from the storm. Lights twinkled in the tepees and the big log - cabins of the trading company. Jones scouted round till pitchy black - night, when a freezing, pouring blast sent him back to the - protection of the tarpaulin. When he got there he found that Rea had - taken it down and awaited him. “Off!” said the free-trader; and with - no more noise than a drifting feather the boat swung into the - current and glided down till the twinkling fires no longer - accentuated the darkness.</p> - - <p>By night the river, in common with all swift rivers, had a sullen - voice, and murmured its hurry, its restraint, its menace, its - meaning. The two boatmen, one at the steering gear, one at the oars, - faced the pelting rain and watched the dim, dark line of trees. The - craft slid noiselessly onward into the gloom.</p> - - <p>And into Jones’ ears, above the storm, poured another sound, a - steady, muffled rumble, like the roll of giant chariot wheels. It - had come to be a familiar roar to him, and the only thing which, in - his long life of hazard, had ever sent the cold, prickling, tight - shudder over his warm skin. Many times on the Athabasca that rumble - had presaged the dangerous and dreaded rapids.</p> - - <p>“Hell Bend Rapids!” shouted Rea. “Bad water but no rocks.”</p> - - <p>The rumble expanded to a roar, the roar to a boom that charged the - air with heaviness, with a dreamy burr. The whole indistinct world - appeared to be moving to the lash of wind, to the sound of rain, to - the roar of the river. The boat shot down and sailed aloft, met - shock on shock, breasted leaping dim white waves, and in a hollow, - unearthly blend of watery sounds, rode on and on, buffeted, tossed, - pitched into a black chaos that yet gleamed with obscure shrouds of - light. Then the convulsive stream shrieked out a last defiance, - changed its course abruptly to slow down and drown the sound of - rapids in muffling distance. Once more the craft swept on smoothly, - to the drive of the wind and the rush of the rain.</p> - - <p>By midnight the storm cleared. Murky clouds split to show shining, - blue-white stars and a fitful moon, that silvered the crests of the - spruces and sometimes hid like a gleaming, black-threaded pearl - behind the dark branches.</p> - - <p>Jones, a plainsman all his days, wonderingly watched the - moon-blanched water. He saw it shade and darken under shadowy walls - of granite, where it swelled with hollow song and gurgle. He heard - again the far-off rumble, faint on the night wind. High cliff banks - appeared, walled out the mellow light, and the river suddenly - narrowed. Yawning holes, whirlpools of a second, opened with a - gurgling suck and raced with the boat.</p> - - <p>On the craft flew. Far ahead, a long, declining plane of jumping - frosted waves played dark and white with the moonbeams. The Slave - plunged to his freedom, down his riven, stone-spiked bed, knowing no - patient eddy, and white-wreathed his dark, shiny rocks in spume and - spray.</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssVII' title='VII. A Case of Metaphantasmia'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>VII</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>A CASE OF METAPHANTASMIA</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By W. D. Howells</div> - - <div class='attrb tac mb07'>From “Between the Dark and the Daylight,” copyright, 1907, - by Harper and Brothers. By special permission from the author.</div> - - <p>The stranger was a guest of Halson’s, and Halson himself was a - comparative stranger, for he was of recent election to our - dining-club, and was better known to Minver than to the rest of our - little group, though one could not be sure that he was very well - known to Minver. The stranger had been dining with Halson, and we - had found the two smoking together, with their cups of black coffee - at their elbows, before the smoldering fire in the Turkish room when - we came in from dinner—my friend Wanhope the psychologist, Rulledge - the sentimentalist, Minver the painter, and myself. It struck me for - the first time that a fire on the hearth was out of keeping with a - Turkish room, but I felt that the cups of black coffee restored the - lost balance in some measure.</p> - - <p>Before we had settled into our wonted places—in fact, almost as we - entered—Halson looked over his shoulder and said: “Mr. Wanhope, I - want you to hear this story of my friend’s. Go on, Newton—or, - rather, go back and begin again—and I’ll introduce you afterwards.”</p> - - <p>The stranger made a becoming show of deprecation. He said he did not - think the story would bear immediate repetition, or was even worth - telling once, but, if we had nothing better to do, perhaps we might - do worse than hear it; the most he could say for it was that the - thing really happened. He wore a large drooping, gray mustache, - which, with the imperial below it, quite hid his mouth, and gave - him, somehow, a martial effect, besides accurately dating him of the - period between the latest sixties and earliest seventies, when his - beard would have been black; I liked his mustache not being stubbed - in the modern manner, but allowed to fall heavily over his lips, and - then branch away from the corners of his mouth as far as it would. - He lighted the cigar which Halson gave him, and, blowing the - bitten-off tip towards the fire, began:</p> - - <p>“It was about that time when we first had a ten-o’clock night train - from Boston to New York. Train used to start at nine, and lag along - around by Springfield, and get into the old Twenty-sixth Street - Station here at six in the morning, where they let you sleep as long - as you liked. They call you up now at half-past five, and, if you - don’t turn out, they haul you back to Mott Haven or New Haven, I’m - not sure which. I used to go into Boston and turn in at the old - Worcester Depot, as we called it then, just about the time the train - began to move, and I usually got a fine night’s rest in the course - of the nine or ten hours we were on the way to New York; it didn’t - seem quite the same after we began saying Albany Depot: shortened up - the run, somehow.</p> - - <p>“But that night I wasn’t very sleepy, and the porter had got the - place so piping hot with the big stoves, one at each end of the car, - to keep the good, old-fashioned Christmas cold out, that I thought I - should be more comfortable with a smoke before I went to bed; and, - anyhow, I could get away from the heat better in the smoking-room. I - hated to be leaving home on Christmas Eve, for I never had done that - before, and I hated to be leaving my wife alone with the children - and the two girls in our little house in Cambridge. Before I started - in on the old horse-car for Boston, I had helped her to tuck the - young ones in and to fill the stockings hung along the wall over the - register—the nearest we could come to a fireplace—and I thought - those stockings looked very weird, five of them, dangling lumpily - down, and I kept seeing them, and her sitting up sewing in front of - them, and afraid to go to bed on account of burglars. I suppose she - was shyer of burglars than any woman ever was that had never seen a - sign of them. She was always calling me up, to go down-stairs and put - them out, and I used to wander all over the house, from attic to - cellar, in my nighty, with a lamp in one hand and a poker in the - other, so that no burglar could have missed me if he had wanted an - easy mark. I always kept a lamp and a poker handy.”</p> - - <p>The stranger heaved a sigh as of fond reminiscence, and looked round - for the sympathy which in our company of bachelors he failed of; - even the sympathetic Rulledge failed of the necessary experience to - move him in compassionate response.</p> - - <p>“Well,” the stranger went on, a little damped perhaps by his - failure, but supported apparently by the interest of the fact in - hand, “I had the smoking-room to myself for a while, and then a - fellow put his head in that I thought I knew after I had thought I - didn’t know him. It dawned on me more and more, and I had to - acknowledge to myself, by and by, that it was a man named Melford, - whom I used to room with in Holworthy at Harvard: that is, we had an - apartment of two bedrooms and a study; and I suppose there were - never two fellows knew less of each other than we did at the end of - our four years together. I can’t say what Melford knew of me, but - the most I knew of Melford was his particular brand of nightmare.”</p> - - <p>Wanhope gave the first sign of his interest in the matter. He took - his cigar from his lips, and softly emitted an “Ah!”</p> - - <p>Rulledge went further and interrogatively repeated the word - “Nightmare?”</p> - - <p>“Nightmare,” the stranger continued, firmly. “The curious thing - about it was that I never exactly knew the subject of his nightmare, - and a more curious thing yet was Melford himself never knew it, when - I woke him up. He said he couldn’t make out anything but a kind of - scraping in a door-lock. His theory was that in his childhood it had - been a much completer thing, but that the circumstances had broken - down in a sort of decadence, and now there was nothing left of it - but that scraping in the door-lock, like somebody trying to turn a - misfit key. I used to throw things at his door, and once I tried a - cold-water douche from the pitcher, when he was very hard to waken; - but that was rather brutal, and after a while I used to let him roar - himself awake; he would always do it, if I trusted to nature; and - before our junior year was out I got so that I could sleep through, - pretty calmly; I would just say to myself when he fetched me to the - surface with a yell, ‘That’s Melford dreaming,’ and doze off - sweetly.”</p> - - <p>“Jove! I don’t see how you could stand it.”</p> - - <p>“There’s everything in habit, Rulledge,” Minver put in. “Perhaps our - friend only dreamt that he heard a dream.”</p> - - <p>“That’s quite possible,” the stranger owned, politely. “But the case - is superficially as I state it. However, it was all past, long ago, - when I recognized Melford in the smoking-room that night; it must - have been ten or a dozen years. I was wearing a full beard then, and - so was he; we wore as much beard as we could in those days. I had - been through the war since college, and he had been in California, - most of the time, and, as he told me, he had been up north, in - Alaska, just after we bought it, and hurt his eyes—had - snowblindness—and he wore spectacles. In fact, I had to do most of - the recognizing, but after we found out who we were we were rather - comfortable; and I liked him better than I remembered to have liked - him in our college days. I don’t suppose there was ever much harm in - him; it was only my grudge about his nightmare. We talked along and - smoked along for about an hour, and I could hear the porter outside, - making up the berths, and the train rumbled away towards Framingham, - and then towards Worcester, and I began to be sleepy, and to think I - would go to bed myself; and just then the door of the smoking-room - opened, and a young girl put in her face a moment, and said: ‘Oh, I - beg your pardon. I thought it was the stateroom,’ and then she shut - the door, and I realized that she looked like a girl I used to - know.”</p> - - <p>The stranger stopped, and I fancied from a note in his voice that - this girl was perhaps like an early love. We silently waited for him - to resume how and when he would. He sighed, and after an appreciable - interval he began again. “It is curious how things are related to - one another. My wife had never seen her, and yet, somehow, this girl - that looked like the one I mean brought my mind back to my wife with - a quick turn, after I had forgotten her in my talk with Melford for - the time being. I thought how lonely she was in that little house of - ours in Cambridge, on rather an outlying street, and I knew she was - thinking of me, and hating to have me away on Christmas Eve, which - isn’t such a lively time after you’re grown up and begin to look - back on a good many other Christmas Eves, when you were a child - yourself; in fact, I don’t know a dismaler night in the whole year. - I stepped out on the platform before I began to turn in, for a - mouthful of the night air, and I found it was spitting snow—a - regular Christmas Eve of the true pattern; and I didn’t believe, - from the business feel of those hard little pellets, that it was - going to stop in a hurry, and I thought if we got into New York on - time we should be lucky. The snow made me think of a night when my - wife was sure there were burglars in the house; and in fact I heard - their tramping on the stairs myself—thump, thump, thump, and then a - stop, and then down again. Of course it was the slide and thud of - the snow from the roof of the main part of the house to the roof of - the kitchen, which was in an L, a story lower, but it was as good an - imitation of burglars as I want to hear at one o’clock in the - morning; and the recollection of it made me more anxious about my - wife, not because I believed she was in danger, but because I knew - how frightened she must be.</p> - - <p>“When I went into the car, that girl passed me on the way to her - stateroom, and I concluded that she was the only woman on board, and - her friends had taken the stateroom for her, so that she needn’t - feel strange. I usually go to bed in a sleeper as I do in my own - house, but that night I somehow couldn’t. I got to thinking of - accidents, and I thought how disagreeable it would be to turn out - into the snow in my nighty. I ended by turning in with my clothes - on, all except my coat; and, in spite of the red-hot stoves, I - wasn’t any too warm. I had a berth in the middle of the car, and - just as I was parting my curtains to lie down, old Melford came to - take the lower berth opposite. It made me laugh a little, and I was - glad of the relief. ‘Why, hello, Melford,’ said I. ‘This is like the - old Holworthy times.’ ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said he, and then I asked - something that I had kept myself from asking all through our talk in - the smoking-room, because I knew he was rather sensitive about it, - or used to be. ‘Do you ever have that regulation nightmare of yours - nowadays, Melford?’ He gave a laugh, and said: ‘I haven’t had it, I - suppose, once in ten years. What made you think of it?’ I said: ‘Oh, - I don’t know. It just came into my mind. Well, good-night, old - fellow. I hope you’ll rest well,’ and suddenly I began to feel - light-hearted again, and I went to sleep as gayly as ever I did in - my life.</p> - - <p>“... I didn’t go to sleep at once, though I felt so much at peace. - In fact, Melford beat me, and I could hear him far in advance, - steaming and whistling away, in a style that I recalled as - characteristic, over a space of intervening years that I hadn’t - definitely summed up yet. It made me think of a night near - Narragansett Bay, where two friends of mine and I had had a mighty - good dinner at a sort of wild club-house, and had hurried into our - bunks, each one so as to get the start of the others, for the - fellows that were left behind knew they had no chance of sleep after - the first began to get in his work. I laughed, and I suppose I must - have gone to sleep almost simultaneously, for I don’t recollect - anything afterwards till I was wakened by a kind of muffled bellow, - that I remembered only too well. It was the unfailing sign of - Melford’s nightmare.</p> - - <p>“I was ready to swear, and I was ashamed for the fellow who had no - more self-control than that: when a fellow snores, or has a - nightmare, you always think first off that he needn’t have had it if - he had tried. As usual, I knew Melford didn’t know what his - nightmare was about, and that made me madder still, to have him - bellowing into the air like that, with no particular aim. All at - once there came a piercing scream from the stateroom, and then I - knew that the girl there had heard Melford, and been scared out of a - year’s growth.”</p> - - <p>The stranger made a little break, and Wanhope asked, “Could you make - out what she screamed, or was it quite inarticulate?”</p> - - <p>“It was plain enough, and it gave me a clew, somehow, to what - Melford’s nightmare was about. She was calling out ‘Help! help! - help! Burglars!’ till I thought she would raise the roof of the - car.”</p> - - <p>“And did she wake anybody?” Rulledge inquired.</p> - - <p>“That was the strange part of it. Not a soul stirred, and after the - first burst the girl seemed to quiet down again and yield the floor - to Melford, who kept bellowing steadily away. I was so furious that - I reached out across the aisle to shake him, but the attempt was too - much for me. I lost my balance and fell out of my berth onto the - floor. You may imagine the state of mind I was in. I gathered myself - up and pulled Melford’s curtains open and was just going to fall on - him tooth and nail, when I was nearly taken off my feet again by an - apparition: well, it looked like an apparition, but it was a tall - fellow in his nighty—for it was twenty years before pajamas—and he - had a small dark lantern in his hand, such as we used to carry in - those days so as to read in our berths when we couldn’t sleep. He - was gritting his teeth, and growling between them: ‘Out o’ this! Out - o’ this! I’m going to shoot to kill, you blasted thieves!’ I could - see by the strange look in his eyes that he was sleep-walking, and I - didn’t wait to see if he had a pistol. I popped in behind the - curtains, and found myself on top of another fellow, for I had - popped into the wrong berth in my confusion. The man started up and - yelled: ‘Oh, don’t kill me! There’s my watch on the stand, and all - the money in the house is in my pantaloons pocket. The silver’s in - the sideboard down-stairs, and it’s plated, anyway.’ Then I - understood what his complaint was, and I rolled onto the floor - again. By that time every man in the car was out of his berth, too, - except Melford, who was devoting himself strictly to business; and - every man was grabbing some other, and shouting, ‘Police’ or - ‘Burglars!’ or ‘Help!’ or ‘Murder!’ just as the fancy took him.”</p> - - <p>“Most extraordinary!” Wanhope commented as the stranger paused for - breath.</p> - - <p>“... Yes,” the stranger owned, “but I don’t know that there wasn’t - something more extraordinary still. From time to time the girl in - the stateroom kept piping up, with a shriek for help. She had got - past the burglar stage, but she wanted to be saved, anyhow, from - some danger which she didn’t specify. It went through me that it was - very strange nobody called the porter, and I set up a shout of - ‘Porter!’ on my own account. I decided that if there were burglars - the porter was the man to put them out, and that if there were no - burglars the porter could relieve our groundless fears. Sure enough, - he came rushing in, as soon as I called for him, from the little - corner by the smoking-room where he was blacking boots between - dozes. He was wide enough awake, if having his eyes open meant that, - and he had a shoe on one hand and a shoe-brush in the other. But he - merely joined in the general uproar and shouted for the police.</p> - - <p>“... Then I didn’t know what to do, for a minute. The porter was a - pretty thick-headed darky, but he was lion-hearted; and his idea was - to lay hold of a burglar wherever he could find him. There were - plenty of burglars in the aisle there, or people that were afraid of - burglars, and they seemed to think the porter had a good idea. They - had hold of one another already, and now began to pull up and down - the aisles in a way that reminded me of the old-fashioned mesmeric - lectures, when they told their subjects that they were this or that, - and set them to acting the part. I remembered how once when the - mesmerist gave out that they were at a horse-race, and his subjects - all got astride of their chairs, and galloped up and down the hall - like a lot of little boys on laths. I thought of that now, and - although it was rather serious business, for I didn’t know what - minute they would come to blows, I couldn’t help laughing. The sight - was weird enough. Every one looked like a somnambulist as he pulled - and hauled. The young lady in the stateroom was doing her full - share. She was screaming, ‘Won’t somebody let me out?’ and hammering - on the door. I guess it was her screaming and hammering that brought - the conductor at last, or maybe he just came round in the course of - nature to take up the tickets. It was before the time when they took - the tickets at the gate, and you used to stick them into a little - slot at the side of your berth, and the conductor came along and - took them in the night, somewhere between Worcester and Springfield, - I should say.”</p> - - <p>“I remember,” Rulledge assented, but very carefully, so as not to - interrupt the flow of the narrative. “Used to wake up everybody in - the car.”</p> - - <p>“Exactly,” the stranger said. “But this time they were all wide - awake to receive him, or fast asleep, and dreaming their rôles. He - came along with the wire of his lantern over his arm, the way the - old-time conductors did, and calling out, ‘Tickets!’ just as if it - was broad day, and he believed every man was trying to beat his way - to New York. The oddest thing about it was that the sleep-walkers - all stopped their pulling and hauling a moment, and each man reached - down to the little slot alongside of his berth and handed over his - ticket. Then they took hold and began pulling and hauling again. I - suppose the conductor asked what the matter was; but I couldn’t hear - him, and I couldn’t make out exactly what he did say. But the - passengers understood, and they all shouted ‘Burglars!’ and that - girl in the stateroom gave a shriek that you could have heard from - one end of the train to the other, and hammered on the door, and - wanted to be let out.</p> - - <p>“It seemed to take the conductor by surprise, and he faced round - towards the stateroom and let the lantern slip off his arm, and it - dropped onto the floor and went out; I remember thinking what a good - thing it was it didn’t set the car on fire. But there in the - dark—for the car lamps went out at the same time with the lantern—I - could hear those fellows pulling and hauling up and down the aisle - and scuffling over the floor, and through all Melford bellowing - away, like an orchestral accompaniment to a combat in Wagner opera, - but getting quieter and quieter till his bellow died away - altogether. At the same time the row in the aisle of the car - stopped, and there was perfect silence, and I could hear the snow - rattling against my window. Then I went off into a sound sleep, and - never woke till we got into New York.”</p> - - <p>The stranger seemed to have reached the end of his story, or at - least to have exhausted the interest it had for him, and he smoked - on, holding his knee between his hands and looking thoughtfully into - the fire.</p> - - <p>He had left us rather breathless, or, better said, blank, and each - looked at the other for some initiative; then we united in looking - at Wanhope; that is, Rulledge and I did. Minver rose and stretched - himself with what I must describe as a sardonic yawn; Halson had - stolen away, before the end, as one to whom the end was known. - Wanhope seemed by no means averse to the inquiry delegated to him, - but only to be formulating its terms.</p> - - <p>“... I wonder”—he turned to the stranger, who sat absently staring - into the fire—“if you happened to speak to your friend about his - nightmare in the morning, and whether he was by any chance aware of - the participation of the others in it?”</p> - - <p>“I certainly spoke to him pretty plain when we got into New York.”</p> - - <p>“And what did he say?”</p> - - <p>“He said he had never slept better in his life, and he couldn’t - remember having a trace of nightmare. He said he heard <i>me</i> groaning - at one time, but I stopped just as he woke, and so he didn’t rouse - me as he thought of doing. It was at Hartford, and he went to sleep - again, and slept through without a break.”</p> - - <p>“And what was your conclusion from that?” Wanhope asked.</p> - - <p>“That he was lying, I should say,” Rulledge replied for the - stranger.</p> - - <p>Wanhope still waited, and the stranger said, “I suppose one - conclusion might be that I had dreamed the whole thing myself.”</p> - - <p>“Then you wish me to infer,” the psychologist pursued, “that the - entire incident was a figment of your sleeping brain? That there was - no sort of sleeping thought-transference, no metaphantasmia, - no— Excuse me. Do you remember verifying your impression of being - between Worcester and Springfield when the affair occurred, by - looking at your watch, for instance?”</p> - - <p>The stranger suddenly pulled out his watch at the word. “Good - Heavens!” he called out. “It’s twenty minutes of eleven, and I have - to take the eleven-o’clock train to Boston. I must bid you - good-evening, gentlemen. I’ve just time to get it if I can catch a - cab. Good-night. I hope if you come to Boston—eh—Good-night! - Sometimes,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ve thought it might have - been that girl in the stateroom that started the dreaming.”</p> - - <p>He had wrung our hands one after another, and now he ran out of the - room.</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssVIII' title='VIII. The Outcasts of Poker Flat'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>VIII</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Bret Harte</div> - - <div class='attrb tac mb07'>From “Luck of Roaring Camp,” - copyright, 1915, by Houghton Mifflin Company. By special - permission from the publishers.</div> - - <p>As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker - Flat on the morning of the twenty-third of November, 1850, he was - conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding - night. Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he - approached, and exchanged significant glances. There was a Sabbath - lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath - influences, looked ominous.</p> - - <p>Mr. Oakhurst’s calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in these - indications. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause, was - another question. “I reckon they’re after somebody,” he reflected; - “likely it’s me.” He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with - which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his - neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further - conjecture.</p> - - <p>In point of fact, Poker Flat was “after somebody.”</p> - - <p>It had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two - valuable horses, and a prominent citizen. It was experiencing a - spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as lawless and ungovernable as any - of the acts that had provoked it. A secret committee had determined - to rid the town of all improper persons. This was done permanently - in regard of two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a - sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of certain - other objectionable characters. I regret to say that some of these - were ladies. It is but due to the sex, however, to state that their - impropriety was professional, and it was only in such easily - established standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit in - judgment.</p> - - <p>Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he was included in this - category. A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possible - example, and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his - pockets of the sums he had won from them. “It’s agin justice,” said - Jim Wheeler, “to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp—an entire - stranger—carry away our money.” But a crude sentiment of equity - residing in the breasts of those who had been fortunate enough to - win from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower local prejudice.</p> - - <p>Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none - the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges. - He was too much of a gambler not to accept Fate. With him life was - at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in - favor of the dealer.</p> - - <p>A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker - Flat to the outskirts of the settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who - was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation - the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a - young woman familiarly known as “The Duchess”; another, who had won - the title of “Mother Shipton”; and “Uncle Billy,” a suspected - sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard. The cavalcade provoked no - comments from the spectators, nor was any word uttered by the - escort. Only, when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of - Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point. - The exiles were forbidden to return at the peril of their lives.</p> - - <p>As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a - few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother - Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy. The - philosophic Oakhurst alone remained silent. He listened calmly to - Mother Shipton’s desire to cut somebody’s heart out, to the repeated - statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the - alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he - rode forward. With the easy good-humor characteristic of his class, - he insisted upon exchanging his own riding-horse, “Five Spot,” for - the sorry mule which the Duchess rode. But even this act did not - draw the party into any closer sympathy. The young woman readjusted - her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother - Shipton eyed the possessor of “Five Spot” with malevolence, and - Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.</p> - - <p>The road to Sandy Bar—a camp that, not having as yet experienced the - regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer - some invitation to the emigrants—lay over a steep mountain range. It - was distant a day’s severe travel. In that advanced season, the - party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the - foothills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras. The trail - was narrow and difficult. At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her - saddle upon the ground, declared her intention of going no farther, - and the party halted.</p> - - <p>The spot was singularly wild and impressive. A wooded amphitheater, - surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, - sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked - the valley. It was, undoubtedly, the most suitable spot for a camp, - had camping been advisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely half - the journey to Sandy Bar was accomplished, and the party were not - equipped or provisioned for delay. This fact he pointed out to his - companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of - “throwing up their hand before the game was played out.” But they - were furnished with liquor, which in this emergency stood them in - place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience. In spite of his - remonstrances, it was not long before they were more or less under - its influence. Uncle Billy passed rapidly from a bellicose state - into one of stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother Shipton - snored. Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against a rock, - calmly surveying them.</p> - - <p>Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with a profession which - required coolness, impassiveness, and presence of mind, and, in his - own language, he “couldn’t afford it.” As he gazed at his recumbent - fellow-exiles, the loneliness begotten of his pariah-trade, his - habits of life, his very vices, for the first time seriously - oppressed him. He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, - washing his hands and face, and other acts characteristic of his - studiously neat habits, and for a moment forgot his annoyance. The - thought of deserting his weaker and more pitiable companions never - perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could not help feeling the want of - that excitement which, singularly enough, was most conducive to that - calm equanimity for which he was notorious. He looked at the gloomy - walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines - around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, - already deepening into shadow. And, doing so, suddenly he heard his - own name called.</p> - - <p>A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the fresh, open face of the - new-comer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as - “The Innocent” of Sandy Bar. He had met him some months before over - a “little game,” and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entire - fortune—amounting to some forty dollars—of that guileless youth. - After the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful - speculator behind the door and thus addressed him: “Tommy, you’re a - good little man, but you can’t gamble worth a cent. Don’t try it - over again.” He then handed him his money back, pushed him gently - from the room, and so made a devoted slave of Tom Simson.</p> - - <p>There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic - greeting of Mr. Oakhurst. He had started, he said, to go to Poker - Flat to seek his fortune. “Alone?” No, not exactly alone; in fact (a - giggle), he had run away with Piney Woods. Didn’t Mr. Oakhurst - remember Piney? She that used to wait on the table at the Temperance - House? They had been engaged a long time, but old Jake Woods had - objected, and so they had run away, and were going to Poker Flat to - be married, and here they were. And they were tired out, and how - lucky it was they had found a place to camp and company. All this - the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel - of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine tree, where she had been - blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover.</p> - - <p>Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less with - propriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not - fortunate. He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently - to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy - was sober enough to recognize in Mr. Oakhurst’s kick a superior - power that would not bear trifling. He then endeavored to dissuade - Tom Simson from delaying further, but in vain. He even pointed out - the fact that there was no provision, nor means of making a camp. - But, unluckily, the Innocent met this objection by assuring the - party that he was provided with an extra mule loaded with - provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a loghouse - near the trail. “Piney can stay with Mrs. Oakhurst,” said the - Innocent, pointing to the Duchess, “and I can shift for myself.”</p> - - <p>Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst’s admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy from - bursting into a roar of laughter. As it was, he felt compelled to - retire up the cañon until he could recover his gravity. There he - confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his - leg, contortions of his face, and the usual profanity. But when he - returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire—for the air - had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast—in apparently - amicable conversation. Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, - girlish fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an interest - and animation she had not shown for many days. The Innocent was - holding forth, apparently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and - Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into amiability. “Is this - yer a d—d picnic?” said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he - surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered - animals in the foreground. Suddenly an idea mingled with the - alcoholic fumes that disturbed his brain. It was apparently of a - jocular nature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram - his fist into his mouth.</p> - - <p>As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight breeze rocked - the tops of the pine-trees, and moaned through their long and gloomy - aisles. The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine-boughs, was - set apart for the ladies. As the lovers parted, they unaffectedly - exchanged a kiss, so honest and sincere that it might have been - heard above the swaying pines. The frail Duchess and the malevolent - Mother Shipton were probably too stunned to remark upon this last - evidence of simplicity, and so turned without a word to the hut. The - fire was replenished, the men lay down before the door, and in a few - minutes were asleep.</p> - - <p>Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward morning he awoke benumbed - and cold. As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now - blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood - to leave it,—snow!</p> - - <p>He started to his feet with the intention of awakening the sleepers, - for there was no time to lose. But turning to where Uncle Billy had - been lying, he found him gone. A suspicion leaped to his brain and a - curse to his lips. He ran to the spot where the mules had been - tethered; they were no longer there. The tracks were already rapidly - disappearing in the snow.</p> - - <p>The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oakhurst back to the fire with - his usual calm. He did not waken the sleepers. The Innocent - slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled - face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly - as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing - his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustache and waited for - the dawn. It came slowly in a whirling mist of snow-flakes, that - dazzled and confused the eye. What could be seen of the landscape - appeared magically changed. He looked over the valley, and summed up - the present and future in two words,—“snowed in!”</p> - - <p>A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the - party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious - fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and - prudence they might last ten days longer. “That is,” said Mr. - Oakhurst, sotto voce to the Innocent, “if you’re willing to board - us. If you ain’t—and perhaps you’d better not—you can wait till - Uncle Billy gets back with provisions.” For some occult reason, Mr. - Oakhurst could not bring himself to disclose Uncle Billy’s - rascality, and so offered the hypothesis that he had wandered from - the camp and had accidentally stampeded the animals. He dropped a - warning to the Duchess and Mother Shipton, who of course knew the - facts of their associate’s defection. “They’ll find out the truth - about us all when they find out anything,” he added, significantly, - “and there’s no good frightening them now.”</p> - - <p>Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at the disposal of Mr. - Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy the prospect of their enforced - seclusion. “We’ll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow’ll - melt, and we’ll all go back together.” The cheerful gayety of the - young man, and Mr. Oakhurst’s calm infected the others. The Innocent - with the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless - cabin, and the Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement of the - interior with a taste and tact that opened the blue eyes of that - provincial maiden to their fullest extent. “I reckon now you’re used - to fine things at Poker Flat,” said Piney. The Duchess turned away - sharply to conceal something that reddened her cheeks through their - professional tint, and Mother Shipton requested Piney not to - “chatter.” But when Mr. Oakhurst returned from a weary search for - the trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoed from the - rocks. He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts first naturally - reverted to the whiskey, which he had prudently cached. “And yet it - don’t somehow sound like whiskey,” said the gambler. It was not - until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still-blinding - storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that - it was “square fun.”</p> - - <p>Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cached his cards with the whiskey as - something debarred the free access of the community, I cannot say. - It was certain that, in Mother Shipton’s words, he “didn’t say cards - once” during that evening. Haply the time was beguiled by an - accordion, produced somewhat ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his - pack. Notwithstanding some difficulties attending the manipulation - of this instrument, Piney Woods managed to pluck several reluctant - melodies from its keys, to an accompaniment by the Innocent on a - pair of bone castanets. But the crowning festivity of the evening - was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining - hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation. I fear that a - certain defiant tone and Covenanter’s swing to its chorus, rather - than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the - others, who at last joined in the refrain:—</p> - - <div class='poetry-container'> - <div class='poetry'> - <div class='stanza'> - <div class='verse'>“‘I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord,</div> - <div class='verse'>And I’m bound to die in His army.’”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - <p>The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserable - group, and the flames of their altar leaped heaven-ward, as if in - token of the vow.</p> - - <p>At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and the - stars glittered keenly above the sleeping camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whose - professional habits had enabled him to live on the smallest possible - amount of sleep, in dividing the watch with Tom Simson, somehow - managed to take upon himself the greater part of that duty. He - excused himself to the Innocent, by saying that he had “often been a - week without sleep.” “Doing what?” asked Tom. “Poker!” replied - Oakhurst, sententiously; “when a man gets a streak of - luck,—nigger-luck,—he don’t get tired. The luck gives in first. - Luck,” continued the gambler, reflectively, “is a mighty queer - thing. All you know about it for certain is that it’s bound to - change. And it’s finding out when it’s going to change that makes - you. We’ve had a streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat,—you - come along, and slap you get into it, too. If you can hold your - cards right along you’re all right. For,” added the gambler, with - cheerful irrelevance,—</p> - - <div class='poetry-container'> - <div class='poetry'> - <div class='stanza'> - <div class='verse'>“‘I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord,</div> - <div class='verse'>And I’m bound to die in His army.’”</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - <p>The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained - valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of - provisions for the morning meal. It was one of the peculiarities of - that mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over - the wintry landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past. - But it revealed drift on drift of snow piled high around the hut,—a - hopeless, uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky - shores to which the castaways still clung. Through the marvellously - clear air the smoke of the pastoral village of Poker Flat rose miles - away. Mother Shipton saw it, and from a remote pinnacle of her rocky - fastness, hurled in that direction a final malediction. It was her - last vituperative attempt, and perhaps for that reason was invested - with a certain degree of sublimity. It did her good, she privately - informed the Duchess. “Just you go out there and cuss, and see.” She - then set herself to the task of amusing “the child,” as she and the - Duchess were pleased to call Piney. Piney was no chicken, but it was - a soothing and original theory of the pair thus to account for the - fact that she didn’t swear and wasn’t improper.</p> - - <p>When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of the - accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the - flickering campfire. But music failed to fill entirely the aching - void left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed by - Piney,—story-telling. Neither Mr. Oakhurst nor his female companions - caring to relate their personal experiences, this plan would have - failed, too, but for the Innocent. Some months before he had chanced - upon a stray copy of Mr. Pope’s ingenious translation of the - “Iliad.” He now proposed to narrate the principal incidents of that - poem—having thoroughly mastered the argument and fairly forgotten - the words—in the current vernacular of Sandy Bar. And so for the - rest of that night the Homeric demigods again walked the earth. - Trojan bully and wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great - pines in the cañon seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of Peleus. - Mr. Oakhurst listened with quiet satisfaction. Most especially was - he interested in the fate of “Ash-heels,” as the Innocent persisted - in denominating the “swift-footed Achilles.”</p> - - <p>So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week - passed over the heads of the outcasts. The sun again forsook them, - and again from leaden skies the snow-flakes were sifted over the - land. Day by day closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at - last they looked from their prison over drifted walls of dazzling - white, that towered twenty feet above their heads. It became more - and more difficult to replenish their fires, even from the fallen - trees beside them, now half hidden in the drifts. And yet no one - complained. The lovers turned from the dreary prospect and looked - into each other’s eyes, and were happy. Mr. Oakhurst settled himself - coolly to the losing game before him. The Duchess, more cheerful - than she had been, assumed the care of Piney. Only Mother - Shipton—once the strongest of the party—seemed to sicken and fade. - At midnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to her side. “I’m - going,” she said, in a voice of querulous weakness, “but don’t say - anything about it. Don’t waken the kids. Take the bundle from under - my head and open it.” Mr. Oakhurst did so. It contained Mother - Shipton’s rations for the last week, untouched. “Give ’em to the - child,” she said, pointing to the sleeping Piney. “You’ve starved - yourself,” said the gambler. “That’s what they call it,” said the - woman, querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning her face to - the wall, passed quietly away.</p> - - <p>The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was - forgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the - snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and showed him a pair of - snow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle. - “There’s one chance in a hundred to save her yet,” he said, pointing - toward Poker Flat. “If you can reach there in two days she’s safe.”</p> - - <p>“And you?” asked Tom Simson. “I’ll stay here,” was the curt reply.</p> - - <p>The lovers parted with a long embrace. “You are not going, too?” - said the Duchess, as she saw Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to - accompany him. “As far as the cañon,” he replied. He turned - suddenly, and kissed the Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame, - and her trembling limbs rigid with amazement.</p> - - <p>Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the storm again and the - whirling snow. Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some - one had quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days - longer. The tears rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney.</p> - - <p>The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each - other’s faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke; but Piney, - accepting the position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm - around the Duchess’s waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of - the day. That night the storm reached its greatest fury, and, - rending asunder the protecting pines, invaded the very hut.</p> - - <p>Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which - gradually died away. As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess - crept closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: “Piney, - can you pray?” “No, dear,” said Piney, simply. The Duchess, without - knowing exactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon - Piney’s shoulder, spoke no more. And so reclining, the younger and - purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin - breast, they fell asleep.</p> - - <p>The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery drifts of - snow, shaken from the long pineboughs, flew like white-winged birds, - and settled about them as they slept. The moon through the rifted - clouds looked down upon what had been the camp. But all human stain, - all trace of earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle - mercifully flung from above.</p> - - <p>They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken when voices - and footsteps broke the silence of the camp. And when pitying - fingers brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely - have told from the equal peace that dwelt upon them, which was she - that had sinned. Even the law of Poker Flat recognized this, and - turned away, leaving them still locked in each other’s arms.</p> - - <p>But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine-trees, they - found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife. It - bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand:—</p> - - <div class='ce'> - <div> Beneath this tree</div> - <div> Lies the body</div> - <div> of</div> - <div> John Oakhurst,</div> - <div> Who struck a streak of bad luck</div> - <div> on the 23d of November, 1850,</div> - <div> and</div> - <div> Handed in his checks</div> - <div> on the 7th December, 1850.</div> - </div> - - <p style='text-indent:0'>And pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his side and a bullet in - his heart, though still calm as in life, beneath the snow lay he who - was at once the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of - Poker Flat.</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssIX' title='IX. The Handbook of Hymen'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em;'>IX</span> - <br /> - <span style='font-size:1.0em'>THE HANDBOOK OF HYMEN</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By O. Henry</div> - - <div class='attrb tac mb07'>From “The Heart of the West,” copyright, 1913, by Doubleday, - Page & Co. By special permission from the publishers.</div> - - <p>’Tis the opinion of myself, Sanderson Pratt, who sets this down, - that the educational system of the United States should be in the - hands of the weather bureau. I can give you good reasons for it; and - you can’t tell me why our college professors shouldn’t be - transferred to the meteorological department. They have been learned - to read; and they could very easily glance at the morning papers and - then wire in to the main office what kind of weather to expect. But - there’s the other side of the proposition. I am going on to tell you - how the weather furnished me and Idaho Green with an elegant - education.</p> - - <p>We was up in the Bitter Root Mountains over the Montana line - prospecting for gold. A chin-whiskered man in Walla-Walla, carrying - a line of hope as excess baggage, had grubstaked us; and there we - was in the foothills pecking away, with enough grub on hand to last - an army through a peace conference. Along one day comes a mail-rider - over the mountains from Carlos, and stops to eat three cans of - greengages, and leave us a newspaper of modern date. This paper - prints a system of premonitions of the weather, and the card it - dealt Bitter Root Mountains from the bottom of the deck was “warmer - and fair, with light westerly breezes.”</p> - - <p>That evening it began to snow, with the wind strong in the east. Me - and Idaho moved camp into an old empty cabin higher up the mountain, - thinking it was only a November flurry. But after falling three foot - on a level it went to work in earnest; and we knew we was snowed in. - We got in plenty of firewood before it got deep, and we had grub - enough for two months, so we let the elements rage and cut up all - they thought proper.</p> - - <p>If you want to instigate the art of manslaughter just shut two men - up in a eighteen by twenty-foot cabin for a month. Human nature - won’t stand it.</p> - - <p>When the first snowflakes fell me and Idaho Green laughed at each - other’s jokes and praised the stuff we turned out of a skillet and - called bread. At the end of three weeks Idaho makes this kind of a - edict to me. Says he:</p> - - <p>“I never exactly heard sour milk dropping out of a balloon on the - bottom of a tin pan, but I have an idea it would be music of the - spears compared to this attenuated stream of asphyxiated thought - that emanates out of your organs of conversation. The kind of - half-masticated noises that you emit every day puts me in mind of a - cow’s cud, only she’s lady enough to keep hers to herself, and you - ain’t.”</p> - - <p>“Mr. Green,” says I, “you having been a friend of mine once, I have - some hesitations in confessing to you that if I had my choice for - society between you and a common yellow, three-legged cur pup, one - of the inmates of this here cabin would be wagging a tail just at - present.”</p> - - <p>This way we goes on for two or three days, and then we quits - speaking to one another. We divides up the cooking implements, and - Idaho cooks his grub on one side of the fireplace, and me on the - other. The snow is up to the windows, and we have to keep a fire all - day.</p> - - <p>You see me and Idaho never had any education beyond reading and - doing “if John had three apples and James five” on a slate. We never - felt any special need for a university degree, though we had - acquired a species of intrinsic intelligence in knocking around the - world that we could use in emergencies. But snowbound in that cabin - in the Bitter Roots, we felt for the first time that if we had - studied Homer or Greek and fractions and the higher branches of - information, we’d have had some resources in the line of meditation - and private thought. I’ve seen them Eastern college fellows working - in camps all through the West, and I never noticed but what - education was less of a drawback to ’em than you would think. Why - once over on Snake River, when Andrew McWilliams’ saddle horse got - the botts, he sent a buckboard ten miles for one of these strangers - that claimed to be a botanist. But that horse died.</p> - - <p>One morning Idaho was poking around with a stick on top of a little - shelf that was too high to reach. Two books fell down to the floor. - I started toward ’em, but caught Idaho’s eye. He speaks for the - first time in a week.</p> - - <p>“Don’t burn your fingers,” says he. “In spite of the fact that - you’re only fit to be the companion of a sleeping mud-turtle, I’ll - give you a square deal. And that’s more than your parents did when - they turned you loose in the world with the sociability of a - rattlesnake and the bedside manner of a frozen turnip. I’ll play you - a game of seven-up, the winner to pick up his choice of the book, - the loser to take the other.”</p> - - <p>We played; and Idaho won. He picked up his book; and I took mine. - Then each of us got on his side of the house and went to reading.</p> - - <p>I never was as glad to see a ten-ounce nugget as I was that book. - And Idaho looked at his like a kid looks at a stick of candy.</p> - - <p>Mine was a little book about five by six inches called “Herkimer’s - Handbook of Indispensable Information.” I may be wrong, but I think - that was the greatest book that ever was written. I’ve got it - to-day; and I can stump you or any man fifty times in five minutes - with the information in it. Talk about Solomon or the “New York - Tribune”! Herkimer had cases on both of ’em. That man must have put - in fifty years and travelled a million miles to find out all that - stuff. There was the population of all cities in it, and the way to - tell a girl’s age, and the number of teeth a camel has. It told you - the longest tunnel in the world, the number of the stars, how long - it takes for chicken pox to break out, what a lady’s neck ought to - measure, the veto powers of Governors, the dates of the Roman - aqueducts, how many pounds of rice going without three beers a day - would buy, the average annual temperature of Augusta, Maine, the - quantity of seed required to plant an acre of carrots in drills, - antidotes for poisons, the number of hairs on a blond lady’s head, - how to preserve eggs, the height of all the mountains in the world, - and the dates of all wars and battles and how to restore drowned - persons, and sunstroke, and the number of tacks in a pound, and how - to make dynamite and flowers and beds, and what to do before the - doctor comes—and a hundred times as many things besides. If there - was anything Herkimer didn’t know I didn’t miss it out of the book.</p> - - <p>I sat and read that book for four hours. All the wonders of - education was compressed in it. I forgot the snow, and I forgot that - me and old Idaho was on the outs. He was sitting still on a stool - reading away with a kind of partly soft and partly mysterious look - shining through his tan-bark whiskers.</p> - - <p>“Idaho,” says I, “what kind of a book is yours?”</p> - - <p>Idaho must have forgot, too, for he answered moderate, without any - slander or malignity.</p> - - <p>“Why,” says he, “this here seems to be a volume by Homer K. M.”</p> - - <p>“Homer K. M. what?” I asks.</p> - - <p>“Why, just Homer K. M.,” says he.</p> - - <p>“You’re a liar,” says I, a little riled that Idaho should try to put - me up a tree. “No man is going ’round signing books with his - initials. If it’s Homer K. M. Spoopendyke, or Homer K. M. McSweeney, - or Homer K. M. Jones, why don’t you say so like a man instead of - bitting off the end of it like a calf chewing off the tail of a - shirt on a clothes-line?”</p> - - <p>“I put it to you straight, Sandy,” says Idaho, quiet. “It’s a poem - book,” says he, “by Homer K. M. I couldn’t get color out of it at - first, but there’s a vein if you follow it up. I wouldn’t have - missed this book for a pair of red blankets.”</p> - - <p>“You’re welcome to it,” says I. “What I want is a disinterested - statement of facts for the mind to work on, and that’s what I seem - to find in the book I’ve drawn.”</p> - - <p>“What you’ve got,” says Idaho, “is statistics, the lowest grade of - information that exists. They’ll poison your mind. Give me old K. - M.’s system of surmises. He seems to be a kind of a wine agent. His - regular toast is ‘nothing doing,’ and he seems to have a grouch, but - he keeps it so well lubricated with booze that his worst kicks sound - like an invitation to split a quart. But it’s poetry,” says Idaho, - “and I have sensations of scorn for that truck of yours that tries - to convey sense in feet and inches. When it comes to explaining the - instinct of philosophy through the art of nature, old K. M. has got - your man beat by drills, rows, paragraphs, chest measurement, and - average annual rainfall.”</p> - - <p>So that’s the way me and Idaho had it. Day and night all the - excitement we got was studying our books. That snowstorm sure fixed - us with a fine lot of attainments apiece. By the time the snow - melted, if you had stepped up to me suddenly and said: “Sanderson - Pratt, what would it cost per square foot to lay a roof with - twenty-eight tin at nine dollars and fifty cents per box?” I’d have - told you as quick as light could travel the length of a spade handle - at the rate of one hundred and ninety-two thousand miles per second. - How many can do it? You wake up ’most any man you know in the middle - of the night and ask him quick to tell you the number of bones in - the human skeleton exclusive of the teeth, or what percentage of the - vote of the Nebraska Legislature overrules a veto. Will he tell you? - Try him and see.</p> - - <p>About what benefit Idaho got out of his poetry book I didn’t exactly - know. Idaho boosted the wine-agent every time he opened his mouth; - but I wasn’t so sure.</p> - - <p>This Homer K. M., from what leaked out of his libretto through - Idaho, seemed to me to be a kind of a dog who looked at life like it - was a tin can tied to his tail. After running himself half to death, - he sits down, hangs his tongue out, and looks at the can and says:</p> - - <p>“Oh, well, since we can’t shake the growler, let’s get it filled at - the corner, and all have a drink on me.”</p> - - <p>Besides that, it seems he was a Persian; and I never hear of Persia - producing anything worth mentioning unless it was Turkish rugs and - Maltese cats.</p> - - <p>That spring me and Idaho struck pay ore. It was a habit of ours to - sell out quick and keep moving. We unloaded on our grubstaker for - eight thousand dollars apiece; and then we drifted down to this - little town of Rosa, on the Salmon River, to rest up, and get some - human grub, and have our whiskers harvested.</p> - - <p>Rosa was no mining-camp. It laid in the valley, and was as free of - uproar and pestilence as one of them rural towns in the country. - There was a three-mile trolley line champing its bit in the - environs; and me and Idaho spent a week riding on one of the cars, - dropping off of nights at the Sunset View Hotel. Being now well read - as well as travelled, we was soon <i>pro re nata</i>, with the best - society in Rosa, and was invited out to the most dressed-up and - high-toned entertainments. It was at a piano recital and - quail-eating contest in the city hall, for the benefit of the fire - company, that me and Idaho first met Mrs. De Ormond Sampson, the - queen of Rosa society.</p> - - <p>Mrs. Sampson was a widow, and owned the only two-story house in - town. It was painted yellow, and whichever way you looked from you - could see it as plain as egg on the chin of an O’Grady on a Friday. - Twenty-two men in Rosa besides me and Idaho was trying to stake a - claim on that yellow house.</p> - - <p>There was a dance after the song books and quail bones had been - raked out of the Hall. Twenty-three of the bunch galloped over to - Mrs. Sampson and asked for a dance. I side-stepped the two-step, and - asked permission to escort her home. That’s where I made a hit.</p> - - <p>On the way home says she:</p> - - <p>“Ain’t the stars lovely and bright to-night, Mr. Pratt?”</p> - - <p>“For the chance they’ve got,” says I, “they’re humping themselves in - a mighty creditable way. That big one you see is sixty-six billions - of miles distant. It took thirty-six years for its light to reach - us. With an eighteen-foot telescope you can see forty-three millions - of ’em, including them of the thirteenth magnitude, which, if one - was to go out now, you would keep on seeing it for twenty-seven - hundred years.”</p> - - <p>“My!” says Mrs. Sampson. “I never knew that before. How warm it is! - I’m as damp as I can be from dancing so much.”</p> - - <p>“That’s easy to account for,” says I, “when you happen to know that - you’ve got two million sweat glands working all at once. If every - one of your perspiratory ducts, which are a quarter of an inch long, - was placed end to end, they would reach a distance of seven miles.”</p> - - <p>“Lawsy!” says Mrs. Sampson. “It sounds like an irrigation ditch you - was describing, Mr. Pratt. How do you get all this knowledge of - information?”</p> - - <p>“From observation, Mrs. Sampson,” I tells her. “I keep my eyes open - when I go about the world.”</p> - - <p>“Mr. Pratt,” says she, “I always did admire a man of education. - There are so few scholars among the sap-headed plug-uglies of this - town that it is a real pleasure to converse with a gentleman of - culture. I’d be gratified to have you call at my house whenever you - feel so inclined.”</p> - - <p>And that was the way I got the goodwill of the lady in the yellow - house. Every Tuesday and Friday evenings I used to go there and tell - her about the wonders of the universe as discovered, tabulated, and - compiled from nature by Herkimer. Idaho and the other gay Lutherans - of the town got every minute of the rest of the week that they - could.</p> - - <p>I never imagined that Idaho was trying to work on Mrs. Sampson with - old K. M.’s rules of courtship till one afternoon when I was on my - way over to take her a basket of wild hog-plums. I met the lady - coming down the lane that led to her house. Her eyes was snapping, - and her hat made a dangerous dip over one eye.</p> - - <p>“Mr. Pratt,” she opens up, “this Mr. Green is a friend of yours, I - believe.”</p> - - <p>“For nine years,” says I.</p> - - <p>“Cut him out,” says she. “He’s no gentleman!”</p> - - <p>“Why, ma’am,” says I, “he’s a plain incumbent of the mountains, with - asperities and the usual failings of a spendthrift and a liar, but I - never on the most momentous occasion had the heart to deny that he - was a gentleman. It may be that in haberdashery and the sense of - arrogance and display Idaho offends the eye, but inside, ma’am, I’ve - found him impervious to the lower grades of crime and obesity. After - nine years of Idaho’s society, Mrs. Sampson,” I winds up, “I should - hate to impute him, and I should hate to see him imputed.”</p> - - <p>“It’s right plausible of you, Mr. Pratt,” says Mrs. Sampson, “to - take up the curmudgeons in your friend’s behalf; but it don’t alter - the fact that he has made proposals to me sufficiently obnoxious to - ruffle the ignominy of any lady.”</p> - - <p>“Why, now, now, now!” says I. “Old Idaho do that! I could believe it - of myself sooner. I never knew but one thing to deride in him; and a - blizzard was responsible for that. Once while we was snowbound in - the mountains he became a prey to a kind of spurious and uneven - poetry, which may have corrupted his demeanor.”</p> - - <p>“It has,” says Mrs. Sampson. “Ever since I knew him he has been - reciting to me a lot of irreligious rhymes by some person he calls - Ruby Ott, and who is no better than she should be, if you judge by - her poetry.”</p> - - <p>“Then Idaho has struck a new book,” says I, “for the one he had was - by a man who writes under the nom de plume of K. M.”</p> - - <p>“He’d better have stuck to it,” says Mrs. Sampson, “whatever it was. - And to-day he caps the vortex. I get a bunch of flowers from him, - and on ’em is pinned a note. Now, Mr. Pratt, you know a lady when - you see her; and you know how I stand in Rosa society. Do you think - for a moment that I’d skip out to the woods with a man along with a - jug of wine and a loaf of bread, and go singing and cavorting up and - down under the trees with him? I take a little claret with my meals, - but I’m not in the habit of packing a jug of it into the brush and - raising Cain in any such style as that. And of course he’d bring his - book of verses along, too. He said so. Let him go on his scandalous - picnics alone! Or let him take his Ruby Ott with him. I reckon she - wouldn’t kick unless it was on account of there being too much bread - along. And what do you think of your gentleman friend now, Mr. - Pratt?”</p> - - <p>“Well, ’m,” says I, “it may be that Idaho’s invitation was a kind of - poetry, and meant no harm. May be it belonged to the class of rhymes - they call figurative. They offend law and order, but they get sent - through the mails on the grounds that they mean something that they - don’t say. I’d be glad on Idaho’s account if you’d overlook it,” - says I, “and let us extricate our minds from the low regions of - poetry to the higher planes of fact and fancy. On a beautiful - afternoon like this, Mrs. Sampson,” I goes on, “we should let our - thoughts dwell accordingly. Though it is warm here, we should - remember that at the equator the line of perpetual frost is at an - altitude of fifteen thousand feet. Between the latitudes of forty - degrees and forty-nine degrees it is from four thousand to nine - thousand feet.”</p> - - <p>“Oh, Mr. Pratt,” says Mrs. Sampson, “it’s such a comfort to hear you - say them beautiful facts after getting such a jar from that minx of - a Ruby’s poetry!”</p> - - <p>“Let us sit on this log at the roadside,” says I, “and forget the - inhumanity and ribaldry of the poets. It is in the glorious columns - of ascertained facts and legalized measures that beauty is to be - found. In this very log we sit upon, Mrs. Sampson,” says I, “is - statistics more wonderful than any poem. The rings show it was sixty - years old. At the depth of two thousand feet it would become coal in - three thousand years. The deepest coal mine in the world is at - Killingworth, near Newcastle. A box four feet long, three feet wide, - and two feet eight inches deep will hold one ton of coal. If an - artery is cut, compress it above the wound. A man’s leg contains - thirty bones. The Tower of London was burned in 1841.”</p> - - <p>“Go on, Mr. Pratt,” says Mrs. Sampson. “Them ideas is so original - and soothing. I think statistics are just as lovely as they can be.”</p> - - <p>But it wasn’t till two weeks later that I got all that was coming to - me out of Herkimer.</p> - - <p>One night I was waked up by folks hollering “Fire!” all around. I - jumped up and dressed and went out of the hotel to enjoy the scene. - When I seen it was Mrs. Sampson’s house, I gave forth a kind of - yell, and I was there in two minutes.</p> - - <p>The whole lower story of the yellow house was in flames, and every - masculine, feminine, and canine in Rosa was there, screeching and - barking and getting in the way of the firemen. I saw Idaho trying to - get away from six firemen who were holding him. They was telling him - the whole place was on fire down-stairs, and no man could go in it - and come out alive.</p> - - <p>“Where’s Mrs. Sampson?” I asks.</p> - - <p>“She hasn’t been seen,” says one of the firemen. “She sleeps - up-stairs. We’ve tried to get in, but we can’t, and our company - hasn’t any ladders yet.”</p> - - <p>I runs around to the light of the big blaze, and pulls the Handbook - out of my inside pocket. I kind of laughed when I felt it in my - hands—I reckon I was some daffy with the sensation of excitement.</p> - - <p>“Herky, old boy,” I says to it, as I flipped over the pages, “you - ain’t ever lied to me yet, and you ain’t ever throwed me down at a - scratch yet. Tell me what, old boy, tell me what!” says I.</p> - - <p>I turned to “What to do in Case of Accidents,” on page 117. I run my - finger down the page, and struck it. Good old Herkimer, he never - overlooked anything! It said:</p> - - <blockquote> - <p>Suffocation from Inhaling - Smoke or Gas.—There is nothing better than flaxseed. Place a few seed - in the outer corner of the eye.</p> - </blockquote> - - <p>I shoved the Handbook back in my pocket, and grabbed a boy that was - running by.</p> - - <p>“Here,” says I, giving him some money, “run to the drug store and - bring a dollar’s worth of flaxseed. Hurry, and you’ll get another - one for yourself. Now,” I sings out to the crowd, “we’ll have Mrs. - Sampson!” And I throws away my coat and hat.</p> - - <p>Four of the firemen and citizens grabs hold of me. It’s sure death, - they say, to go in the house, for the floors was beginning to fall - through.</p> - - <p>“How in blazes,” I sings out, kind of laughing yet, but not feeling - like it, “do you expect me to put flaxseed in a eye without the - eye?”</p> - - <p>I jabbed each elbow in a fireman’s face, kicked the bark off of one - citizen’s shin, and tripped the other one with a side hold. And then - I busted into the house. If I die first I’ll write you a letter and - tell you if it’s any worse down there than the inside of that yellow - house was; but don’t believe it yet. I was a heap more cooked than - the hurry-up orders of broiled chicken that you get in restaurants. - The fire and smoke had me down on the floor twice, and was about to - shame Herkimer, but the firemen helped me with their little stream - of water, and I got to Mrs. Sampson’s room. She’d lost consciousness - from the smoke, so I wrapped her in the bed clothes and got her on - my shoulder. Well, the floors wasn’t as bad as they said, or I never - could have done it—not by no means.</p> - - <p>I carried her out fifty yards from the house and laid her on the - grass. Then, of course, every one of them other twenty-two - plaintiffs to the lady’s hand crowded around with tin dippers of - water ready to save her. And up runs the boy with the flaxseed.</p> - - <p>I unwrapped the covers from Mrs. Sampson’s head. She opened her eyes - and says:</p> - - <p>“Is that you, Mr. Pratt?”</p> - - <p>“S-s-sh,” says I. “Don’t talk till you’ve had the remedy.”</p> - - <p>I runs my arm around her neck and raises her head, gentle, and - breaks the bag of flaxseed with the other hand; and as easy as I - could I bends over and slips three or four of the seeds in the outer - corner of her eye.</p> - - <p>Up gallops the village doc by this time, and snorts around, and - grabs at Mrs. Sampson’s pulse, and wants to know what I mean by any - such sandblasted nonsense.</p> - - <p>“Well, old Jalap and Jerusalem oakseed,” says I, “I’m no regular - practitioner, but I’ll show you my authority, anyway.”</p> - - <p>They fetched my coat, and I gets out the Handbook.</p> - - <p>“Look on page 117,” says I, “at the remedy for suffocation by smoke - or gas. Flaxseed in the outer corner of the eye, it says. I don’t - know whether it works as a smoke consumer or whether it hikes the - compound gastro-hippopotamus nerve into action, but Herkimer says - it, and he was called to the case first. If you want to make it a - consultation, there’s no objection.”</p> - - <p>Old doc takes the book and looks at it by means of his specs and a - fireman’s lantern.</p> - - <p>“Well, Mr. Pratt,” says he, “you evidently got on the wrong line in - reading your diagnosis. The recipe for suffocation says: ‘Get the - patient into fresh air as quickly as possible, and place in a - reclining position.’ The flaxseed remedy is for ‘Dust and Cinders in - the Eye,’ on the line above. But after all—”</p> - - <p>“See here,” interrupts Mrs. Sampson, “I reckon I’ve got something to - say in this consultation. That flaxseed done me more good than - anything I ever tried.” And then she raises up her head and lays it - back on my arm again, and says: “Put some in the other eye, Sandy - dear.”</p> - - <p>And so if you was to stop off at Rosa to-morrow, or any other day, - you’d see a fine new yellow house with Mrs. Pratt, that was Mrs. - Sampson, embellishing and adorning it. And if you was to step inside - you’d see on the marble-top center table in the parlor “Herkimer’s - Handbook of Indispensable Information,” all rebound in red morocco, - and ready to be consulted on any subject pertaining to human - happiness and wisdom.</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssX' title='X. Jack and the King'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>X</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>JACK AND THE KING</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Seumas MacManus</div> - - <div class='attrb tac mb07'>From “In Chimney Corners,” copyright, 1899, by Doubleday, - Page & Company. By special permission from the author.</div> - - <p>Wanst upon a time, when pigs was swine, there was a poor widdy woman - lived all alone with her wan son Jack in a wee hut of a house, that - on a dark night ye might aisily walk over it by mistake, not knowin’ - at all, at all, it was there, barrin’ ye’d happen to strike yer toe - again’ it. An’ Jack an’ his mother lived for lee an’ long, as happy - as hard times would allow them, in this wee hut of a house, Jack - sthrivin’ to ’arn a little support for them both by workin’ out, an’ - doin’ wee turns back an’ forrid to the neighbors. But there was one - winter, an’ times come to look black enough for them—nothin’ to do, - an’ less to ate, an’ clothe themselves as best they might; an’ the - winther wore on, gettin’ harder an’ harder, till at length when Jack - got up out of his bed on a mornin’, an’ axed his mother to make - ready the drop of stirabout for their little brakwus as usual, - “Musha, Jack,” says his mother, says she, “the male-chist—thanks be - to the Lord!—is as empty as Paddy Ruadh’s donkey that used to ate - his brakwus at supper-time. It stood out long an’ well, but it’s - empty at last, Jack, an’ no sign of how we’re goin’ to get it filled - again—only we trust in the good Lord that niver yet disarted the - widow and the orphan—He’ll not see us wantin’, Jack.”</p> - - <p>“The Lord helps them that help themselves, Mother,” says Jack back - again to her.</p> - - <p>“Thrue for ye, Jack,” says she, “but I don’t see how we’re goin’ to - help ourselves.”</p> - - <p>“He’s a mortial dead mule out an’ out that hasn’t a kick in him,” - says Jack. “An’, Mother, with the help of Providence—not comparin’ - the Christian to the brute baste—I have a kick in me yet; if you - thought ye could only manage to sthrive along the best way you could - for a week, or maybe two weeks, till I get back again off a little - journey I’d like to undhertake.”</p> - - <p>“An’ may I make bould to ax, Jack,” says his mother to him, “where - would ye be afther makin’ the little journey to?”</p> - - <p>“You may that, then, Mother,” says Jack. “It’s this: You know the - King of Munsther is a great jintleman entirely. It’s put on him, - he’s so jintlemanly, that he was niver yet known to make use of a - wrong or disrespectable word. An’ he prides himself on it so much - that he has sent word over all the known airth that he’ll give his - beautiful daughter—the loveliest picthur in all Munsther, an’ maybe - in all Irelan’, if we’d say it—an’ her weight in goold, to any man - that in three trials will make him use the unrespectful word, an’ - say, ‘Ye’re a liar!’ But every man that tries him, an’ fails, loses - his head. All sorts and descriptions of people, from prences an’ - peers down to bagmen an’ beggars, have come from all parts of the - known world to thry for the great prize, an’ all of them up to this - has failed, an’ by consequence lost their heads. But, Mother dear,” - says Jack, “where’s the use in a head to a man if he can’t get mail - for it to ate? So I’m goin’ to thry me fortune, only axin’ your - blissin’ an’ God’s blissin’ to help me on the way.”</p> - - <p>“Why, Jack,” says his mother, “it’s a dangersome task; but as you - remark, where’s the good of the head to ye when ye can’t get mail to - put in it? So, I give ye my blissin’, an’ night, noon, an’ mornin’ - I’ll be prayin’ for ye to prosper.”</p> - - <p>An’ Jack set out, with his heart as light as his stomach, an’ his - pocket as light as them both together; but a man ’ill not travel far - in ould Irelan’ (thanks be to God!) on the bare-footed stomach—as - we’ll call it—or it’ll be his own fault if he does; an’ Jack didn’t - want for plenty of first-class aitin’ an’ dhrinkin’ lashin’s an’ - lavin’s and pressin’ him to more. An’ in this way he thravelled away - before him for five long days till he come to the King of Munsther’s - castle. And when he was comed there he rattled on the gate, an’ out - come the King.</p> - - <p>“Well, me man,” says the King, “what might be your business here?”</p> - - <p>“I’m come here, your Kingship,” says Jack, mighty polite, an’ - pullin’ his forelock, be raison his poor ould mother had always - insthructed him in the heighth of good breedin’—“I’m come here, your - R’yal Highness,” says Jack, “to thry for yer daughter.”</p> - - <p>“Hum!” says the King. “Me good young man,” says he, “don’t ye think - it a poor thing to lose yer head?”</p> - - <p>“If I lose it,” says Jack, “sure one consolation’ll be that I’ll - lose it in a glorious cause.”</p> - - <p>An’ who do ye think would be listenin’ to this same deludherin’ - speech of Jack’s, from over the wall, but the King’s beautiful - daughter herself. She took an eyeful out of Jack, an’ right well - plaised she was with his appearance, for,—</p> - - <p>“Father,” says she at once, “hasn’t the boy as good a right to get a - chance as another? What’s his head to you? Let the boy in,” says - she.</p> - - <p>An’ sure enough, without another word, the King took Jack within the - gates, an’ handin’ him over to the sarvints, tould him to be well - looked afther an’ cared for till mornin’.</p> - - <p>Next mornin’ the King took Jack with him an’ fetched him out into - the yard. “Now then, Jack,” says he, “we’re goin’ to begin. We’ll - drop into the stables here, an’ I’ll give you your first chance.”</p> - - <p>So he took Jack into the stables an’ showed him some wondherful big - horses, the likes of which poor Jack never saw afore, an’ everyone - of which was the heighth of the side wall of the castle an’ could - step over the castle walls, which were twenty-five feet high, - without strainin’ themselves.</p> - - <p>“Them’s purty big horses, Jack,” says the King. “I don’t suppose - ever ye saw as big or as wondherful as them in yer life.”</p> - - <p>“Oh, they’re purty big indeed,” says Jack, takin’ it as cool as if - there was nothin’ whatsomever astonishin’ to him about them. - “They’re purty big indeed,” says Jack, “for this counthry. But at - home with us in Donegal we’d only count them little nags, shootable - for the young ladies to dhrive in pony-carriages.”</p> - - <p>“What!” says the King, “do ye mane to tell me ye have seen bigger in - Donegal?”</p> - - <p>“Bigger!” says Jack. “Phew! Blood alive, yer Kingship, I seen horses - in my father’s stable that could step over your horses without - thrippin’. My father owned one big horse—the greatest, I believe, in - the world again.”</p> - - <p>“What was he like?” says the King.</p> - - <p>“Well, yer Highness,” says Jack, “it’s quite beyond me to tell ye - what he was like. But I know when we wanted to mount it could only - be done by means of a step-laddher, with nine hundred and ninety - steps to it, every step a mile high, an’ you had to jump seven mile - off the topmost step to get on his back. He ate nine ton of turnips, - nine ton of oats, an’ nine ton of hay in the day, an’ it took - ninety-nine men in the daytime, an’ ninety-nine more in the - night-time, carrying his feeds to him; an’ when he wanted a drink, - the ninety-nine men had to lead him to a lough that was nine mile - long, nine mile broad, an’ nine mile deep, an’ he used to drink it - dry every time,” says Jack, an’ then he looked at the King, - expectin’ he’d surely have to make a liar of him for that.</p> - - <p>But the King only smiled at Jack, an’ says he, “Jack, that was a - wonderful horse entirely, an’ no mistake.”</p> - - <p>Then he took Jack with him out into the garden for his second trial, - an’ showed him a beeskep, the size of the biggest rick of hay ever - Jack had seen; an’ every bee in the skep was the size of a thrush - an’ queeny bee as big as a jackdaw.</p> - - <p>“Jack,” says the King, says he, “isn’t them wondherful bees? I’ll - warrant ye, ye never saw anything like them?”</p> - - <p>“Oh, they’re middlin’—middlin’ fairish,” says Jack—“for this - counthry. But they’re nothin’ at all to the bees we have in Donegal. - If one of our bees was flying across the fields,” says Jack, “and - one of your bees happened to come in its way, an’ fall into our - bee’s eye our bee would fly to the skep, an’ ax another bee to take - the mote out of his eye.”</p> - - <p>“Do you tell me so, Jack?” says the King. “You must have great - monsthers of bees.”</p> - - <p>“Monsthers,” says Jack. “Ah, yer Highness, monsthers is no name for - some of them. I remimber,” says he, “a mighty great breed of bees me - father owned. They were that big that when my father’s new castle - was a-buildin’ (in the steddin’ of the old one which he consaived to - be too small for a man of his mains), and when the workmen closed in - the roof, it was found there was a bee inside, an’ the hall door not - bein’ wide enough, they had to toss the side wall to let it out. - Then the queeny bee—ah! she was a wonderful baste entirely!” says - Jack. “Whenever she went out to take the air she used to overturn - all the ditches and hedges in the country; the wind of her wings - tossed houses and castles; she used to swallow whole flower gardens; - an’ one day she flew against a ridge of mountains nineteen thousand - feet high and knocked a piece out from top to bottom, an’ it’s - called Barnesmore Gap to this day. This queeny bee was a great - trouble an’ annoyance to my father, seein’ all the harm she done the - naybours round about; and once she took it in her head to fly over - to England, an’ she created such mischief an’ disolation there that - the King of Englan’ wrote over to my father if he didn’t come - immediately an’ take home his queeny bee that was wrackin’ an’ - ruinin’ all afore her he’d come over himself at the head of all his - army, and wipe my father off the face of the airth. So my father - ordhered me to mount our wondherful big horse that I tould ye about, - an’ that could go nineteen mile at every step, an’ go over to - Englan’ an’ bring home our queeny bee. An’ I mounted the horse an’ - started, an’ when I come as far as the sea I had to cross to get - over to Englan’, I put the horse’s two fore feet into my hat, an’ in - that way he thrashed the sea dry all the way across an’ landed me - safely. When I come to the King of Englan’ he had to supply me with - nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand men an’ ninety-nine thousand - mile of chains an’ ropes to catch the queeny bee an’ bind her. It - took us nine years to catch her, nine more to tie her, an’ nine - years and nine millions of men to drag her home, an’ the King of - Englan’ was a beggar afther from that day till the day of his death. - Now what do ye think of that bee?” says Jack, thinkin’ he had the - King this time sure enough.</p> - - <p>But the King was a cuter one than Jack took him for, an’ he only - smiled again, an’ says he,—</p> - - <p>“Well, Jack, that was a wondherful great queeny bee entirely.”</p> - - <p>Next, for poor Jack’s third an’ last chance the King took him to - show him a wondherful field of beans he had, with every bean-stalk - fifteen feet high, an’ every bean the size of a goose’s egg.</p> - - <p>“Well, Jack,” says the King, says he, “I’ll engage ye never saw more - wondherful bean-stalks than them?”</p> - - <p>“Is it them?” says Jack. “Arrah, man yer Kingship,” says he, “they - may be very good—for this counthry; but sure we’d throw them out of - the ground for useless afther-shoots in Donegal. I mind one - bean-stalk in partickler, that my father had for a show an’ a - cur’osity, that he used to show as a great wondher entirely to - sthrangers. It stood on ninety-nine acres of ground, it was nine - hundred mile high, an’ every leaf covered nine acres. It fed nine - thousand horses, nine thousand mules, an’ nine thousand jackasses - for nineteen years. He used to send nine thousand harvestmen up the - stalk in the spring to cut and gather off the soft branches at the - top. They used to cut these off when they’d reach up as far as them - (which was always in the harvest time), an’ throw them down, an’ - nine hundred and ninety-nine horses an’ carts were kept busy for - nine months carting the stuff away. Then the harvestmen always - reached down to the foot of the stalk at Christmas again.”</p> - - <p>“Faix, Jack,” says the King, “it was a wondherful bean-stalk, that, - entirely.”</p> - - <p>“You might say that,” says Jack, trying to make the most of it, for - he was now on his last leg. “You might say that,” says he. “Why, I - mind one year I went up the stalk with the harvestmen, an’ when I - was nine thousand mile up, doesn’t I miss my foot, and down I come. - I fell feet foremost, and sunk up to my chin in a whinstone rock - that was at the foot. There I was in a quandhary—but I was not long - ruminatin’ till I hauled out my knife, an’ cut off my head, an’ sent - it home to look for help. I watched after it, as it went away, an’ - lo an’ behould ye, afore it had gone a mile I saw a fox set on it, - and begin to worry it. ‘By this an’ by that,’ says I to meself, ‘but - this is too bad!’—an’ I jumped out an’ away as hard as I could run, - to the assistance of my head. An’ when I come up, I lifted my foot - an’ give the fox three kicks, an’ knocked three kings out of - him—every one of them a nicer an’ a better jintleman than you.”</p> - - <p>“Ye’re a liar, an’ a rascally liar,” says the King.</p> - - <p>“More power to ye!” says Jack, givin’ three buck leaps clean into - the air, “an’ it’s proud I am to get you to confess it; for I have - won yer daughter.”</p> - - <p>Right enough the King had to give up to Jack the daughter—an’ be the - same token, from the first time she clapped her two eyes on Jack she - wasn’t the girl to gainsay him—an’ her weight in goold. An’ they - were both of them marrid, an’ had such a weddin’ as surpassed all - the weddin’s ever was heerd tell of afore or since in that country - or in this. An’ Jack lost no time in sendin’ for his poor ould - mother, an’ neither herself nor Jack ever after knew what it was to - be in want. An’ may you an’ I never know that same naither.</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssXI' title='XI. Billy’s Tenderfoot'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>XI</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>BILLY’S TENDERFOOT</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Stewart Edward White</div> - - <div class='attrb tac mb07'>From “Blazed Trail Stories,” copyright, 1904, by Doubleday, - Page & Company. By special permission from the author.</div> - - <p>During one spring of the early seventies Billy Knapp ran a species - of road-house and hotel at the crossing of the Deadwood and Big Horn - trails through Custer Valley. Travellers changing from one to the - other frequently stopped there over night. He sold accommodations - for man and beast, the former comprising plenty of whiskey, the - latter plenty of hay. That was the best anyone could say of it. The - hotel was of logs, two-storied, with partitions of sheeting to - insure a certain privacy of sight if not of sound; had three beds - and a number of bunks; and boasted of a woman cook—one of the first - in the Hills. Billy did not run it long. He was too restless. For - the time being, however, he was interested and satisfied.</p> - - <p>The personnel of the establishment consisted of Billy and the woman, - already mentioned, and an ancient Pistol of the name of Charley. The - latter wore many firearms, and had a good deal to say, but had - never, as Billy expressed it, “made good.” This in the West could - not be for lack of opportunity. His functions were those of general - factotum.</p> - - <p>One evening Billy sat chair-tilted against the walls of the hotel - waiting for the stage. By and by it drew in. Charley hobbled out, - carrying buckets of water for the horses. The driver flung the reins - from him with the lordly insolence of his privileged class, - descended slowly, and swaggered to the barroom for his drink. Billy - followed to serve it.</p> - - <p>“Luck,” said the driver, and crooked his elbow.</p> - - <p>“Anything new?” queried Billy.</p> - - <p>“Nope.”</p> - - <p>“Held up?”</p> - - <p>“Nope. Black Hank’s over in th’ limestone.”</p> - - <p>That exhausted the situation. The two men puffed silently for a - moment at their pipes. In an instant the driver turned to go.</p> - - <p>“I got you a tenderfoot,” he remarked then, casually; “I reckon he’s - outside.”</p> - - <p>“Guess I ambles forth and sees what fer a tenderfoot it is,” replied - Billy, hastening from behind the bar.</p> - - <p>The tenderfoot was seated on a small trunk just outside the door. As - he held his hat in his hand, Billy could see his dome-like bald - head. Beneath the dome was a little pink-and-white face, and below - that narrow, sloping shoulders, a flat chest, and bandy legs. He - wore a light check suit, and a flannel shirt whose collar was much - too large for him. Billy took this all in while passing. As the - driver climbed to the seat, the hotel-keeper commented.</p> - - <p>“Say, Hen,” said he, “would you stuff it or put it under a glass - case?”</p> - - <p>“I’d serve it, a lay Tooloose,” replied the driver, briefly, and - brought his long lash 8-shaped across the four startled backs of his - horses.</p> - - <p>Billy turned to the reinspection of his guest, and met a deprecating - smile.</p> - - <p>“Can I get a room here fer to-night?” he inquired in a high, piping - voice.</p> - - <p>“You kin,” said Billy, shortly, and began to howl for Charley.</p> - - <p>That patriarch appeared around the corner, as did likewise the cook, - a black-eyed, red-cheeked creature, afterward counted by Billy as - one of his eight matrimonial ventures.</p> - - <p>“Snake this stranger’s war-bag into th’ shack,” commanded Billy, - “and, Nell, jest nat’rally rustle a few grub.”</p> - - <p>The stranger picked up a small hand-satchel and followed Charley - into the building. When, a little later, he reappeared for supper, - he carried the handbag with him, and placed it under the bench which - flanked the table. Afterward he deposited it near his hand while - enjoying a pipe outside. Naturally, all this did not escape Billy.</p> - - <p>“Stranger,” said he, “yo’ seems mighty wedded to that thar satchel.”</p> - - <p>“Yes, sir,” piped the stranger. Billy snorted at the title. “I has - some personal belongin’s which is valuable to me.” He opened the bag - and produced a cheap portrait of a rather cheap-looking woman. “My - mother that was,” said he.</p> - - <p>Billy snorted again and went inside. He hated sentiment of all - kinds.</p> - - <p>The two men sat opposite each other and ate supper, which was served - by the red-cheeked girl. The stranger kept his eyes on his plate - while she was in the room. He perched on the edge of the bench with - his feet tucked under him and resting on the toes. When she - approached, the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms grew rigid - with embarrassment, causing strange awkward movements of the hands. - He answered in monosyllables.</p> - - <p>Billy ate expansively and earnestly. Toward the close of the meal - Charley slipped into place beside him. Charley was out of humor, and - found the meat cold.</p> - - <p>“Damn yore soul, Nell,” he cried, “this yere ain’t fitten fer a - <i>hog</i> to eat!” - </p> - - <p>The girl did not mind; nor did Billy. It was the country’s mode of - speech. The stranger dropped his knife.</p> - - <p>“I don’t wonder you don’t like it, then,” said he, with a funny - little blaze of anger.</p> - - <p>“Meanin’ what?” shouted Charley, threateningly.</p> - - <p>“You mustn’t speak to a lady that way,” replied the stranger, - firmly, in his little piping voice.</p> - - <p>Billy caught the point and exploded in a mighty guffaw.</p> - - <p>“Bully fer you!” he cried, slapping his knee; “struck pyrites (he - pronounced it pie-rights) fer shore that trip, Charley.”</p> - - <p>The girl, too, laughed, but quietly. She was just a little touched, - though only this winter she had left Bismarck because the place - would have no more of her.</p> - - <p>In the face of Billy’s approval, the patriarch fell silent.</p> - - <p>About midnight the four inmates of the frontier hotel were awakened - by a tremendous racket outside. The stranger arose, fully clothed, - from his bunk, and peered through the narrow open window. A dozen - horses were standing grouped in charge of a single mounted man, - indistinguishable in the dark. Out of the open door a broad band of - light streamed from the saloon, whence came the noise of voices and - of boots tramping about.</p> - - <p>“It is Black Hank,” said Billy, at his elbow, “Black Hank and his - outfit. He hitches to this yere snubbin’-post occasional.”</p> - - <p>Black Hank in the Hills would have translated to Jesse James farther - south.</p> - - <p>The stranger turned suddenly energetic.</p> - - <p>“Don’t you make no fight?” he asked.</p> - - <p>“Fight?” said Billy, wondering. “Fight? Co’se not. Hank don’t - plunder <i>me</i> none. He jest ambles along an’ helps himself, and - leaves th’ dust fer it every time. I jest lays low an’ lets him - operate. I never has no <i>dealin’s</i> with him, understand. He jest - nat’rally waltzes in an’ plants his grub-hooks on what he needs. I - don’t know nothin’ about it. I’m dead asleep.”</p> - - <p>He bestowed a shadowy wink on the stranger.</p> - - <p>Below, the outlaws moved here and there.</p> - - <p>“Billy!” shouted a commanding voice, “Billy Knapp!”</p> - - <p>The hotel-keeper looked perplexed.</p> - - <p>“Now, what’s he tollin’ <i>me</i> for?” he asked of the man by his side.</p> - - <p>“Billy!” shouted the voice again, “come down here, you Siwash. I - want to palaver with you.”</p> - - <p>“All right, Hank,” replied Billy.</p> - - <p>He went to his “room,” and buckled on a heavy belt; then descended - the steep stairs. The barroom was lighted and filled with men. Some - of them were drinking and eating; others were strapping provisions - into portable form. Against the corner of the bar a tall figure of a - man leaned smoking—a man lithe, active, and muscular, with a keen - dark face, and black eyebrows which met over his nose. Billy walked - silently to this man.</p> - - <p>“What is it?” he asked, shortly. “This yere ain’t in th’ agreement.”</p> - - <p>“I know that,” replied the stranger.</p> - - <p>“Then leave yore dust and vamoose.”</p> - - <p>“My dust is there,” replied Black Hank, placing his hand on a - buckskin bag at his side, “and you’re paid, Billy Knapp. I want to - ask you a question. Standing Rock has sent fifty thousand dollars in - greenbacks to Spotted Tail. The messenger went through here to-day. - Have you seen him?”</p> - - <p>“Nary messenger,” replied Billy, in relief. “Stage goes empty.”</p> - - <p>Charley had crept down the stairs and into the room.</p> - - <p>“What in hell are yo’ doin’ yere, yo’ ranikaboo ijit?” inquired - Billy, truculently.</p> - - <p>“That thar stage ain’t what you calls <i>empty</i>,” observed Charley, - unmoved.</p> - - <p>A light broke on Billy’s mind. He remarked the valise which the - stranger had so carefully guarded; and though his common-sense told - him that an inoffensive non-combatant such as the guest would hardly - be chosen as express messenger, still the bare possibility remained.</p> - - <p>“Yo’re right,” he agreed, carelessly, “thar is one tenderfoot who - knows as much of ridin’ express as a pig does of a ruffled shirt.”</p> - - <p>“I notes he’s almighty particular about that carpetbag of his’n,” - insisted Charley.</p> - - <p>The man against the counter had lost nothing of the scene. Billy’s - denial, his hesitation, his half-truth all looked suspicious to him. - With one swift, round sweep of the arm he had Billy covered. Billy’s - hands shot over his head without the necessity of command.</p> - - <p>The men ceased their occupations and gathered about. Scenes of this - sort were too common to elicit comment or arouse excitement. They - knew perfectly well the <i>laissez-faire</i> relations which obtained - between the two Westerners.</p> - - <p>“Now,” said Black Hank, angrily, in a low tone, “I want to know why - in hell you tried that monkey game.”</p> - - <p>Billy, wary and unafraid, replied that he had tried no game, that he - had forgotten the tenderfoot for the moment, and that he did not - believe the latter would prove to be the sought-for express - messenger.</p> - - <p>One of the men, at a signal from his leader, relieved Billy’s heavy - belt of considerable weight. Then the latter was permitted to sit on - a cracker-box. Two more mounted the stairs. In a moment they - returned to report that the upper story contained no human beings, - strange or otherwise, except the girl, but that there remained a - small trunk. Under further orders, they dragged the trunk down into - the barroom. It was broken open and found to contain nothing but - clothes—of the plainsman’s cut, material, and state of wear; a - neatly folded Mexican saddle showing use, and a rawhide quirt.</p> - - <p>“Hell of a tenderfoot!” said Black Hank, contemptuously.</p> - - <p>The outlaws had already scattered outside to look for the trail. In - this they were unsuccessful, reporting, indeed, that not the - faintest sign indicated escape in any direction.</p> - - <p>Billy knew his man. The tightening of Black Hank’s close-knit brows - meant but one thing. One does not gain chieftainship of any kind in - the West without propping his ascendancy with acts of ruthless - decision. Billy leaped from his cracker-box with the suddenness of - the puma, seized Black Hank firmly about the waist, whirled him into - a sort of shield, and began an earnest struggle for the instant - possession of the outlaw’s drawn revolver. It was a gallant attempt, - but an unsuccessful one. In a moment Billy was pinioned to the - floor, and Black Hank was rubbing his abraded forearm. After that - the only question was whether it should be rope or bullet.</p> - - <p>Now, when Billy had gone downstairs, the stranger had wasted no - further time at the window. He had in his possession fifty thousand - dollars in greenbacks which he was to deliver as soon as possible to - the Spotted Tail agency in Wyoming. The necessary change of stage - lines had forced him to stay over night at Billy Knapp’s hotel.</p> - - <p>The messenger seized his bag and softly ran along through the - canvas-partitioned room wherein Billy slept, to a narrow window - which he had already noticed gave out almost directly into the pine - woods. The window was of oiled paper, and its catch baffled him. He - knew it should slide back; but it refused to slide. He did not dare - break the paper because of the crackling noise. A voice at his - shoulder startled him.</p> - - <p>“I’ll show you,” whispered the red-cheeked girl.</p> - - <p>She was wrapped loosely in a blanket, her hair falling about her - shoulders, and her bare feet showed beneath her coverings.</p> - - <p>The little man suffered at once an agony of embarrassment in which - the thought of his errand was lost. It was recalled to him by the - girl.</p> - - <p>“There you are,” she whispered, showing him the open window.</p> - - <p>“Thank you,” he stammered painfully. “I assure you—I wish—”</p> - - <p>The girl laughed under her breath.</p> - - <p>“That’s all right,” she said, heartily, “I owe you that for calling - old whiskers off his bronc,” and she kissed him.</p> - - <p>The messenger, trembling with self-consciousness, climbed hastily - through the window, ran the broad loop of the satchel up his arm, - and instead of dropping to the ground, as the girl had expected, - swung himself lightly into the branches of a rather large scrub-oak - that grew near. She listened to the rustle of the leaves for a - moment as he neared the trunk, and then, unable to restrain her - curiosity in regard to the doings below, turned to the stairway.</p> - - <p>As she did so, two men mounted. They examined the three rooms of the - upper story hastily but carefully, paying scant attention to her, - and departed swearing. In a few moments they returned for the - stranger’s trunk. Nell followed them down the stairs as far as the - doorway. There she heard and saw things, and fled in bitter dismay - to the back of the house when Billy Knapp was overpowered.</p> - - <p>At the window she knelt, clasping her hands and sinking her head - between her arms. Women in the West, at least women like Nell, do - not weep. But she came near it. Suddenly she raised her head. A - voice next her ear had addressed her.</p> - - <p>She looked here and there and around, but could discover nothing.</p> - - <p>“Here, outside,” came the low, guarded voice, “in the tree.”</p> - - <p>Then she saw that the little stranger had not stirred from his first - alighting-place.</p> - - <p>“Beg yore pardon, ma’am, fer startling you or fer addressing you at - all, which I shouldn’t, but—”</p> - - <p>“Oh, never mind that,” said the girl, impatiently, shaking back her - hair. So deprecating and timid were the tones, that almost without - an effort of the imagination she could picture the little man’s - blushes and his half-sidling method of delivery. At this supreme - moment his littleness and lack of self-assertion jarred on her mood. - “What’re you doin’ there? Thought you’d vamoosed.”</p> - - <p>“It was safer here,” explained the stranger, “I left no trail.”</p> - - <p>She nodded comprehension of the common-sense of this.</p> - - <p>“But, ma’am, I took the liberty of speakin’ to you because you seems - to be in trouble. Of course, I ain’t got no right to <i>ask</i>, an’ if - you don’t care to tell me—”</p> - - <p>“They’re goin’ to kill Billy,” broke in Nell, with a sob.</p> - - <p>“What for?”</p> - - <p>“I don’t just rightly make out. They’s after someone, and they - thinks Billy’s caching him. I reckon it’s you. Billy ain’t caching - nothin’, but they thinks he is.”</p> - - <p>“It’s me they’s after, all right. Now, you know where I am, why - don’t you tell them and save Billy?”</p> - - <p>The girl started, but her keen Western mind saw the difficulty at - once.</p> - - <p>“They thinks Billy pertects you just th’ same.”</p> - - <p>“Do you love him?” asked the stranger.</p> - - <p>“God knows I’m purty tough,” confessed Nell, sobbing, “but I jest do - that!” and she dropped her head again.</p> - - <p>The invisible stranger in the gloom fell silent, considering.</p> - - <p>“I’m a pretty rank proposition, myself,” said he at last, as if to - himself, “and I’ve got a job on hand which same I oughta put through - without givin’ attention to anything else. As a usual thing folks - don’t care fer me, and I don’t care much fer folks. Women especial. - They drives me plumb tired. I reckon I don’t stack up very high in - th’ blue chips when it comes to cashin’ in with the gentle sex, - anyhow; but in general they gives me as much notice as they lavishes - on a doodle-bug. I ain’t kickin’, you understand, nary bit; but onct - in a dog’s age I kind of hankers fer a decent look from one of ’em. - I ain’t never had no women-folks of my own, never. Sometimes I - thinks it would be some scrumptious to know a little gal waitin’ fer - me somewhere. They ain’t none. They never will be. I ain’t built - that way. You treated me white to-night. You’re th’ first woman that - ever kissed me of her own accord.”</p> - - <p>The girl heard a faint scramble, then the soft <i>pat</i> of someone - landing on his feet. Peering from the window she made out a faint, - shadowy form stealing around the corner of the hotel. She put her - hand to her heart and listened. Her understanding of the stranger’s - motives was vague at best, but she had caught his confession that - her kiss had meant much to him, and even in her anxiety she felt an - inclination to laugh. She had bestowed that caress as she would have - kissed the cold end of a dog’s nose.</p> - - <p>The men below stairs had, after some discussion, decided on bullet. - This was out of consideration for Billy’s standing as a - frontiersman. Besides, he had stolen no horses. In order not to - delay matters, the execution was fixed for the present time and - place. Billy stood with his back to the logs of his own hotel, his - hands and feet bound, but his eyes uncovered. He had never lost his - nerve. In the short respite which preparation demanded, he told his - opponents what he thought of them.</p> - - <p>“Proud?” he concluded a long soliloquy as if to the reflector of the - lamp. “Proud?” he repeated reflectively. “This yere Hank’s jest that - proud he’s all swelled up like a poisoned pup. Ain’t everyone kin - corall a man sleepin’ and git fifty thousand without turnin’ a - hair.”</p> - - <p>Black Hank distributed three men to do the business. There were no - heroics. The execution of this man was necessary to him, not because - he was particularly angry over the escape of the messenger—he - expected to capture that individual in due time—but in order to - preserve his authority over his men. He was in the act of moving - back to give the shooters room, when he heard behind him the door - open and shut.</p> - - <p>He turned. Before the door stood a small consumptive-looking man in - a light check suit. The tenderfoot carried two short-barreled Colt’s - revolvers, one of which he presented directly at Black Hank.</p> - - <p>“’Nds up!” he commanded, sharply.</p> - - <p>Hank was directly covered, so he obeyed. The new-comer’s eye had a - strangely restless quality. Of the other dozen inmates of the room, - eleven were firmly convinced that the weapon and eye not directly - levelled at their leader were personally concerned with themselves. - The twelfth thought he saw his chance. To the bewildered onlookers - there seemed to be a flash and a bang, instantaneous; then things - were as before. One of the stranger’s weapons still pointed at Black - Hank’s breast; the other at each of the rest.</p> - - <p>Only the twelfth man, he who had seen his chance, had collapsed - forward to the floor. No one could assure himself positively that he - had discerned the slightest motion on the part of the stranger.</p> - - <p>“Now,” said the latter, sharply, “one at a time, gentlemen. Drop - yore gun,” this last to Black Hank, “muzzle down. Drop it! Correct!”</p> - - <p>One of the men in the back of the room stirred slightly on the ball - of his foot.</p> - - <p>“Steady, there!” warned the stranger. The man stiffened.</p> - - <p>“Next gent,” went on the little man, subtly indicating another. The - latter obeyed without hesitation. “Next. Now you. Now you in th’ - corner.”</p> - - <p>One after another the pistols clattered to the floor. Not for an - instant could a single inmate of the apartment, armed or unarmed, - flatter himself that his slightest motion was unobserved. They were - like tigers on the crouch, ready to spring the moment the man’s - guard lowered. It did not lower. The huddled figure on the floor - reminded them of what might happen. They obeyed.</p> - - <p>“Step back,” commanded the stranger next. In a moment he had them - standing in a row against the wall, rigid, upright, their hands over - their heads. Then for the first time the stranger moved from his - position by the door.</p> - - <p>“Call her,” he said to Billy, “th’ girl.”</p> - - <p>Billy raised his voice. “Nell! Oh, Nell!”</p> - - <p>In a moment she appeared in the doorway at the foot of the stairs, - without hesitation or fear. When she perceived the state of affairs, - she brightened almost mischievously.</p> - - <p>“Would you jest as soon, ma’am, if it ain’t troubling you too much, - jest nat’rally sort of untie Billy?” requested the stranger.</p> - - <p>She did so. The hotel-keeper stretched his arms.</p> - - <p>“Now, pick up th’ guns, please.”</p> - - <p>The two set about it.</p> - - <p>“Where’s that damn ol’ reprobate?” inquired Billy, truculently, - looking about for Charley.</p> - - <p>The patriarch had quietly slipped away.</p> - - <p>“You kin drop them hands,” advised the stranger, lowering the - muzzles of his weapons. The leader started to say something.</p> - - <p>“You shut up!” said Billy, selecting his own weapons from the heap.</p> - - <p>The stranger suddenly picked up one of the Colt’s single-action - revolvers which lay on the floor, and, holding the trigger back - against the guard, exploded the six charges by hitting the hammer - smartly with the palm of his hand. In the thrusting motion of this - discharge he evidently had design, for the first six wine-glasses on - Billy’s bar were shivered. It was wonderful work, rattling fire, - quicker than a self-cocker even. He selected another weapon. From a - pile of tomato-cans he took one and tossed it into the air. Before - it had fallen he had perforated it twice, and as it rolled along the - floor he helped its progression by four more bullets which left - streams of tomato-juice where they had hit. The room was full of - smoke.</p> - - <p>The group watched, fascinated.</p> - - <p>Then the men against the wall grew rigid. Out of the film of smoke - long, vivid streams of fire flashed toward them, now right, now - left, like the alternating steam of a locomotive’s pistons. SMASH, - SMASH! SMASH, SMASH! hit the bullets with regular thud. With the - twelfth discharge the din ceased. Midway in the space between the - heads of each pair of men against the wall was a round hole. No one - was touched.</p> - - <p>A silence fell. The smoke lightened and blew slowly through the open - door. The horses, long since deserted by their guardians in favor of - the excitement within, whinnied. The stranger dropped the smoking - Colts, and quietly reproduced his own short-barrelled arms from his - side-pockets, where he had thrust them. Billy broke the silence at - last.</p> - - <p>“That’s <i>shootin’</i>!” he observed, with a sigh.</p> - - <p>“Them fifty thousand is outside,” clicked the stranger. “Do you want - them?”</p> - - <p>There was no reply.</p> - - <p>“I aims to pull out on one of these-yere hosses of yours,” said he. - “Billy he’s all straight. He doesn’t know nothin’ about me.”</p> - - <p>He collected the six-shooters from the floor.</p> - - <p>“I jest takes these with me for a spell,” he continued. “You’ll find - them, if you look hard enough, along on th’ trail—also yore broncs.”</p> - - <p>He backed toward the door.</p> - - <p>“I’m layin’ fer th’ man that sticks his head out that door,” he - warned.</p> - - <p>“Stranger,” said Black Hank as he neared the door.</p> - - <p>The little man paused.</p> - - <p>“Might I ask yore name?”</p> - - <p>“My name is Alfred,” replied the latter.</p> - - <p>Black Hank looked chagrined.</p> - - <p>“I’ve hearn tell of you,” he acknowledged.</p> - - <p>The stranger’s eye ran over the room, and encountered that of the - girl. He shrank into himself and blushed.</p> - - <p>“Good-night,” he said, hastily, and disappeared. A moment later the - beat of hoofs became audible as he led the bunch of horses away.</p> - - <p>For a time there was silence. Then Billy, “By God, Hank, I means to - stand in with you, but you let that kid alone, or I plugs you!”</p> - - <p>“Kid, huh!” grunted Hank. “Alfred a kid! I’ve hearn tell of him.”</p> - - <p>“What’ve you heard?” inquired the girl.</p> - - <p>“He’s th’ plumb best scout on th’ southern trail,” replied Black - Hank.</p> - - <p>The year following, Billy Knapp, Alfred, and another man named Jim - Buckley took across to the hills the only wagon-train that dared set - out that summer.</p> - - </section> - - <section class='chapter'> - - <h2 class='nobreak' id='ssXII' title='XII. The Nightingale and the Rose'> - <span style='font-size:1.1em'>XII</span><br /><span style='font-size:1.0em'>THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE</span> - </h2> - - <div class='ce sc'>By Oscar Wilde</div> - - <div class='attrb'>From “Fairy Tales,” copyright, 1913, by G. P. Putnam’s Sons. - By special permission from the publishers.</div> - - <p>“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” - cried the young Student; “but in all my garden there is no red - rose.”</p> - - <p>From her nest in the Holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and - she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.</p> - - <p>“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes - filled with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend. - I have read all the wise men have written and all the secrets of - philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made - wretched.”</p> - - <p>“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after - night have I sung of him, though I knew him not; night after night - have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is - dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips as red as the rose of his - desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow - has set her seal upon his brow.”</p> - - <p>“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young - Student, “and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red - rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon - my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no - red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me - by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.”</p> - - <p>“Here indeed is the true lover,” said the Nightingale. “What I sing - of, he suffers; what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a - wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than - fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set - forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, - nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.”</p> - - <p>“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student, - “and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to - the sound of the harp and violin. She will dance so lightly that her - feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay - dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I - have no red rose to give her”; and he flung himself down on the - grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.</p> - - <p>“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him - with his tail in the air.</p> - - <p>“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering after a sunbeam.</p> - - <p>“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft low - voice.</p> - - <p>“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.</p> - - <p>“For a red rose!” they cried; “how very ridiculous!” and the Lizard, - who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.</p> - - <p>But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, - and she sat silent in the Oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of - love.</p> - - <p>Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight and soared into the - air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow - she sailed across the garden.</p> - - <p>In the center of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, - and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.</p> - - <p>“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest - song.”</p> - - <p>But the Tree shook its head.</p> - - <p>“My roses are white,” it answered; “as white as the foam of the sea - and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who - grows round the sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you - want.”</p> - - <p>So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round - the old sun-dial.</p> - - <p>“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest - song.”</p> - - <p>But the Tree shook its head.</p> - - <p>“My roses are yellow,” it answered; “as yellow as the hair of the - mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the - daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his - scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window, - and perhaps he will give you what you want.”</p> - - <p>So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing - beneath the Student’s window.</p> - - <p>“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest - song.”</p> - - <p>But the Tree shook its head.</p> - - <p>“My roses are red,” it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove, - and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the - ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has - nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall - have no roses at all this year.”</p> - - <p>“One red rose is all I want,” cried the Nightingale, “only one red - rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?”</p> - - <p>“There is a way,” answered the Tree; “but it is so terrible that I - dare not tell it to you.”</p> - - <p>“Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale; “I am not afraid.”</p> - - <p>“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of - music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. You - must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you - must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your - life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.”</p> - - <p>“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the - Nightingale, “and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in - the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the - Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, - and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather - that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is - the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?”</p> - - <p>So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. - She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she - sailed through the grove.</p> - - <p>The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left - him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.</p> - - <p>“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy; you shall have your - red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it - with my own heart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that - you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though - she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. - Flame-colored are his wings, and colored like flame is his body. His - lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.”</p> - - <p>The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not - understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew - the things that are written down in books.</p> - - <p>But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of - the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches.</p> - - <p>“Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely - when you are gone.”</p> - - <p>So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like - water bubbling from a silver jar.</p> - - <p>When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a - note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.</p> - - <p>“She has form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the - grove—“that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am - afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, - without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. - She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are - selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful - notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean - anything, or do any practical good.” And he went into his room, and - lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; - and, after a time, he fell asleep.</p> - - <p>And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the - Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she - sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon - leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn - went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life blood ebbed - away from her.</p> - - <p>She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and girl. - And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a - marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale - was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river—pale as the - feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the - shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a - water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of - the Tree.</p> - - <p>But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the - thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the - Day will come before the rose is finished.”</p> - - <p>So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and - louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the - soul of a man and a maid.</p> - - <p>And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like - the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of - the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the - rose’s heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart-blood - can crimson the heart of a rose.</p> - - <p>And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the - thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the - Day will come before the rose is finished.”</p> - - <p>So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn - touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. - Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, - for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love - that dies not in the tomb.</p> - - <p>And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern - sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the - heart.</p> - - <p>But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter, and her little wings began - to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her - song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.</p> - - <p>Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and - she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard - it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to - the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the - hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated - through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the - sea.</p> - - <p>“Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now”; but the - Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long - grass, with the thorn in her heart.</p> - - <p>And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.</p> - - <p>“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!” he cried; “here is a red - rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so - beautiful that I am sure that it has a long Latin name”; and he - leaned down and plucked it.</p> - - <p>Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the - rose in his hand.</p> - - <p>The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding - blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.</p> - - <p>“You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,” - cried the Student. “Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You - will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it - will tell you how I love you.”</p> - - <p>But the girl frowned.</p> - - <p>“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” she answered; “and - besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew sent me some real jewels, and - everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.”</p> - - <p>“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,” said the Student - angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into - the gutter, and a cartwheel went over it</p> - - <p>“Ungrateful!” said the girl. “I tell you what, you are very rude; - and after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don’t believe you - have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s - nephew has”; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.</p> - - <p>“What a silly thing Love is,” said the Student as he walked away. - “It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, - and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, - and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is - quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is - everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”</p> - - <p>So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and - began to read.</p> - - <div style='text-align:center; padding-top:2em; padding-bottom:2em;'> - <span style='background-color:#EFEFEF; padding:0.3em;'> - [Transcriber’s Note: The cover image was created by the transcriber and is in the public domain.] - </span> - </div> - - </section> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OFF DUTY ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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