Chapter XVI: Red Plays Trumps (5)

He walked to the corner where there stood an old suit of armor. It was made for a sizable man. Together we put the corselet on me, and then I fixed the helmet and followed Perez's lead.

He held a lamp before us, as we went down a passage into a small side room. There I thought I saw my image in a glass. Perez laughed at my face, when I found it was a picture. It seemed magic to me.

"What in the world!" says I.

"Behold the Marquis De La Tour!" says he.

"The devil it is!" says I. "Still respected, though forty greats removed! Perez, old man, that's my grandpa!"

"The face proves it," he answered. "He is also mine. Cousin, I felt the pull of blood this day. Your hand, and we shall have a bottle of wine."

"It ain't often that a man meets his forty-ply great-grandpa and so nice a Spanish cousin," says I. "I reckon I can square it with Mary later. Lead on, McDuff, and dammed be he who cannot hold enough."

A very tidy little tidal wave of joy broke over the Perez mansion. Everybody rejoiced; we had the man-servant and the maid-servant and the rest of the menagerie in drinking healths to the new-met relatives. To this day I ain't exactly sure how close connected Perez and I are. Grandpa De La Tour was a little nearer than Adam, to be sure, but not near enough, so there wouldn't have been some fussing about his will, if it should suddenly be discovered.

One of his daughters married a Spaniard that started the Perez line,--and My! but that line was spread out thin! There'd been pretty husky families on my side, too; however, I was durned proud to claim kin with a man like Perez, and I wouldn't have spoiled the lonesome little man's joy in finding a relative, anyhow. All his tribe but him had been wiped out completely. I was the only relative he had--that is, that he knew about. The United States was full of 'em, if he'd only known it. Europe, too, I reckon. Still, his talk about the pull of blood wasn't nonsense, neither. I felt drawn to him from the first, and who can say that in feeling and ways of acting we really weren't closer connected than some brothers are? And Grandpa De La Tour was all right for an excuse. I sure did look like him--not so much now, that I wear hair on my face, but then I wouldn't have known which was him and which was me if we met on the street.

Before we turned in for the night I spoke to Perez again about Sax and Mary. He listened eager enough now. What I suggested was all right--little peculiarities of a gentleman. As Perez put it, "The greater courtesy of the heart, that stops not at the puny fences of the fixed way." How different the same thing looks in different lights! He was dead right about the fences. I never saw a fence yet without wanting to tear a hole in it, but you've only to string a thread across, if I've no business there, to keep me out.

It appeared to me then, and it appears to me still, that I had a right to interfere in Mary's affair. At times, of course, you're a plain meddlesome Pete, if you cut in, and you deserve all you probably will get,--as many kicks as the parties can land on you before you escape; on the other hand, Perez was right when he said it sometimes was shameful not to interfere. And while marriage is the most private of all things, it's the most binding, too: you can lose money, get experience, and make more; fall out with your friends and make it up again, but a lifetime tied to one person is the stiffest proposition a human being is called upon to face. Here's Mary, a girl without much experience, putting herself in the way of being hooked for life to a man I knew to be a fraud--let her suffer for her folly? No, by the Lord! Let me suffer for my folly, if necessary, but in it I go. We're all kids and sometimes we've got to be made to do the right thing--and--here's the rub--if strict but kind papa is sure he's right (which he can't be) its easy; if not, I suppose it's up to us as per general orders, do the best you can and prepare to go down with the wreck. I envy the man who's sure he's right, but the Lord have mercy on his friends. Well, that's what Perez and I arrived at; that we were stacked against a blooming mystery and we'd shoot at the one glimmer of light we had. Mary _did_ care for Sax. Good. Belknap was a fraud. Good. To the devil with the rest of the argument.

However, I didn't reveal my full plan regarding Belknap to my kinsman. I had a hunch that even my likeness to Grandpa De La Tour wouldn't convince him. You see, like most kids, savages, and people not grown up in general, I believed in playing the game as it was played on me. I wouldn't let a rogue escape for want of a helpful lie in season, acted or spoken. I couldn't see why you shouldn't get him his way, so long as you got him. It took me some years to understand Saxton's saying, that it was better for a rascal to escape, than for an honest man to turn rascal in catching him. Plain enough when you think of it. If you work low down on the other feller, to trip him, there's two rascals, that's all. It comes medium hard to see it in that light, though, when before your eyes the rascal is having it all his own way. And, while I disapprove of my own methods, the results was great. No use talking, the wicked sometimes prosper and your Uncle William played in a full-jeweled streak of luck. The next day I opened my campaign.

XIII

RED MAKES A FEW REMARKS

It seemed to me it was only friendly for me to get some sympathy for Saxton, as he wouldn't try for himself. Yet this looked a delicate proposition. I can't give you the proper idea of how quick-witted Mary was, how easy she saw the behind-meaning of your words, or even saw things you didn't know yourself.

It's a good trait to its possessor, but, like everything else in this world, there's a price to pay for it. She sometimes saw things that weren't there. A man with extra good sight is more fooled by mirage than a man who doesn't trust his eyes so much. And it had fallen down on her, on the most important dealing of her life. She saw Saxton wrong, and couldn't see him right, for that trust in her own judgment. She had to root up the very foundation of her belief in everything to upset her wrong judgment of him. She felt the drawing toward him was something to be fought hard, the same as a man would fight a growing inclination to drink. And like a great many people (although it's a thing I can't understand myself), she swung to what was solemn, uninteresting, and hard, for safety.

And changed! Well, that morning, when I slid around to the house of the fountain, I scarcely knew her. It was Saturday, and no school. About a dozen or twenty young Panamans walked or sat about the yard. The Reconstructed looked stiff and unhappy in the boiled white shirt of progress, but out of native good nature tried to appear pleasant.

Lots of the Great Works, that spread misery over whole communities, wouldn't come off, if a sense of a joke was left in the conspirators. Mary was keen for a laugh, and saw the funny side of things as quick as any man, yet those poor little devils all out of place and condition didn't raise a smile on her face. It did on mine, though. I thought of 'em, happy in their fleas, sun, and dirt, and then looked at the early-Christian-martyr expression on their faces and choked, but that laugh rode on sorrow and anger at that. It was a downright wickedness to the children. I looked at Mary, knowing her for a kind woman--one who loved all innocent play. I hit myself on the head at the dumb-foolishness of it. How in the devil's name could she bring herself to approve of this? Why is it we lay a course for somebody else we'd never think of following ourselves? Well, I sat there and echo continued to answer "Why?" as usual, till the silence thickened.

She broke it with a lucky proposition. "You seem very serious this morning, Will," she said.

I told her that was so; looking at the poor little revolutionists in their white shirts of suffering, I made up my mind to let her have it.

"I wonder," I said, "if it's asking too much of you to listen to me for awhile. I had a miserable time of it, as a boy, and now and then it sits on me so hard I like to speak to a friend for comfort."

It was the surest way to claim her time. She caught my hand. "Certainly," she said. "If you only knew, Will, how anxious I am to be of some real service in this world, instead of being told that I'm--"

"Let it go!" I put in. "That you're good to look at, and so forth?"

She nodded. "I don't mean that I'm so lofty-minded that I don't like it sometimes, yet I mustn't grow to like it and--"

"For my part I'm glad there's some beauty in this little old world," said I. "I love to trig myself out as you see--give the folks a treat. Honest, I can't see the harm in brightening up the landscape all you're able. But, though I ain't much of a professional beauty, I can understand that too much sugar leads to seasickness."

"You're as handsome a young man as a young man should be!" says Mary, indignant. "Don't attempt a foolish modesty. I wish I were strong, and six-foot-three, and a man!"

"Throw in the red hair?"

"You have beautiful hair! I believe you know it, you vain boy, and let it grow purposely. And now you're just leading me to sound your praises!"

I laughed. "I'd stick at nothing, for that," I answered. "Oh, why ain't I ten years older! I'd have you out of here in a minute!"

"I believe you would," she said; "I don't believe you'd care for my protests nor prayers nor tears. You'd just selfishly pick me right up and walk away with me and bully me for the rest of my days!"

"Just that--Heavens! But I'd make it awful for you! Captain Jesse would be a lambkin beside me!"

We both laughed, thinking of Jesse the Terrible.

"The dear old _Matilda_!" she said,--almost whispered,--and her eyes grew softer.

"Happy times, weren't they? And coming after what I'd left--" I shook my head.

"Tell me, Will."

"I've wondered how much was my not understanding," I went on, "and how much I had to kick about. I suppose if I was older, I'd be like Sax--keep my troubles to myself--but I haven't learned how, yet. Still, I don't want to spoil your morning."

She frowned a little at Saxton's name, not an ill-tempered, but a thoughtful frown, as a new idea struck her. She put it away from her, and turned.

"That you should come to me, Will, is a high compliment. I know you're not the kind to give your woes to the world. If--" she smiled at me, "if you won't think it heartless of me, I'll say I'll enjoy hearing 'em."

"I understand," I answered; "just as, in a way, I'll enjoy telling them. Well, here we go."

So I put the facts to her as fair and calm as I could, patterning after Saxton's method. I hadn't his nerve; gradually heat swept into my discourse. I forgot where I was and who I was talking to, as the old wrongs boiled up.

When I finished I remembered, and sat back.

Mary was also still.

I rolled a cigarette and played for airiness. "Of course," I said, "it's all in a lifetime."

She put her hand on mine. "Don't," she said, "don't."

I shut up. The minutes slid by heavy-footed.

At last she spoke.

"For sheer inhumanity," she said, "I think that is without an equal."

"Oh, no!" I said. "I reckon the story's common enough wherever people let an idea ride 'em bareback. Father was a good man, with bad notions, that's all."

I purposely let my eye fall on the little revolutionists, standing in a melancholy line--nothing to do, nothing to think, all balloon-juice to them.

As I hoped, her eyes followed mine. She straightened, seeing the point. Color came into her face. "Children!" she called sharply in Spanish, "why do you not run and play?"

The line fell into embarrassment. They hooked the dirt with their feet and looked at each other.

"Alfonso!" said Mary, "start some game!"

The biggest boy took off his hat and smiled his grave, polite smile.

"_Si_, Senorita!" he replied; "but what is 'game'?"

"I've been so busy with--more important things that I haven't thought of amusements," Mary explained to me, aside. There was apology in the explanation; I heard with glad ears. "Is it possible they know no games?"

"Why, I suppose they do, of a kind," I answered; "but it seems to me the chief lack of these kids is real play; they're all little old men and women; the kid spring is knocked out of 'em; they've lived in war and slaughter so much they don't believe in anything else."

"Well," said she promptly, "that's a poor state of affairs."

"The worst," said I. "What kind of nation can you grow out of children who have no fun? Their God will look like a first cousin of our devil. I _did_ manage to rake some sport out of my time, or else I'd gone to the bad entirely, I reckon."

The color deepened in her face. She didn't have to be hit with a club.

"We wanted to furnish them a moral backbone, first," she apologized again. "It seemed necessary to give them some standards of conduct."

"I'd give 'em a good time, first--they're a hint young for standards."

"Just see them stand there! Why, they seem without an idea--what shall I do with them?" She was all at a loss. "It isn't right, poor children!" She suddenly turned to me, with eagerness in her face. "Couldn't you stir them up, Will?"

"Sure!" says I, throwing away the cigarette. "Come along! Tag, you're it!" and I lit out at a gallop, Mary after me, and the revolutionists watching, altogether too polite to appear astonished. My! but that girl could run! Jump, too; I cleared the fountain, thinking she'd have to go 'round, but she gathered her skirts in her hand and was over it in a flash of black and white, clean-motioned as a greyhound.

"_Qui dado, compadres!_" I yelled. "Here comes the government army!" Instantly they understood and scattered. By hollering at them, they finally got the idea. Tag wouldn't have interested them--revolution did. We divided into sides. As soon as they got going good, Mary and I dropped out of it.

"There," said I, watching 'em running and hollering and giggling, "I like that better."

"It is better," agreed Mary, "and my thanks to you for the change. I'm afraid one forgets the little needs in thinking of the great ones."

"Mary," I said, "it may sound strange coming from me; I hope you won't take it wrong; but do you know that in reading the New Testament plumb through, I can't remember coming on a place where it says anything about big needs? Please don't think I'm talking too careless for decency; Christ always acted like a kind friend, as I see it. I can't believe it would hurt His feelings a particle to hear me talk this way. He was above worrying about lots of things that bother the churches. He stopped to take a glass of wine and have a talk with a saloon-keeper. Now, if He was God, was that a little thing? Does God do little useless things? Remember, I thought these things over when I was getting it hard--stop me, if I seem disrespectful."

"No," she said, "it sounds queerly to me, but I know you are not disrespectful, Will. I wouldn't accuse you of being the kind of fool who'd play smart at the expense of the Almighty."

"All right--glad you understand me. Now, listen! Is it great to pull a long face? Is it right to get melancholy about religion, when the head of it always preached happiness? Is it sensible to try and make every one do your way, when you're told the nearer like little children we are, the better we are off? Don't you think you're acting as if you knew better than Christ Himself? You don't imagine that those kids, as they were ten minutes ago, was what He meant when He said, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me'? Seems to me you've altered the text to read: 'Suffer, little children, to come unto Me.' They sure were suffering in them starched white shirts, but I'm betting the words weren't meant to read like that."

"Will," she said earnestly, "I think I've made the common mistake of supposing that I alone cared. Even now, while I feel you have more the real spirit than I, your way of speaking jars on me." She sat down as if she had suddenly grown weak. "I have simply worshiped a certain way of doing things and forgotten the results and the reason for doing anything. Your straight way of putting it makes my life seem ridiculous."

She stopped with a miserable face. I hadn't, in the least, thought to convince her. Most people will hang on to a mistake of that kind harder than they will to a life-preserver. It was like turning a Republican into a Democrat by simply showing him he was wrong--who'd go into politics with that idea?

I stared at her, not believing. "Why, Mary," I said, hedging, as a person will in such circumstances, "it ain't a cinch that I'm right. I'm only a boy, and of course things appear to me boy fashion."

She cut me short. "To be honest, doubts have troubled me before this. Your history proves what can be done by extreme--"

Up to this she had spoken quite quietly. Now she put her head in her hands and burst out crying; fortunately we were in a little summer-house where no one could see us.

"Oh, Will!" she sobbed out, "the struggle for nothing at all! All fight, fight, and no peace! I want to be a good woman, I _do_; but what is there for me?"

"Listen to me again," says I, so sorry that I had another attack of reason. "There's this for you--to be a man's wife, and make him twice a man because you are his wife; to raise boys and girls that prove what's right--there's a job for you."

She dried her tears and smiled at me, ashamed of showing so much feeling. "Is this an offer?" she said.

I had to laugh. "You don't squirm out that way, young lady--you were in earnest and you know it. I'll take you, if necessary--by the Prophet Moses, I _will_, if some other feller doesn't show up soon--but I want to speak of a more suitable man."

She looked at me. It was a try at being stern, but, as a result, it was a good deal more scared.

"You can do a great deal with me, Will," she said, "but I'll not hear a word of Arthur Saxton."

"Then," says I, stern in dead earnest, "you are a foolish and an unfair woman. You've believed what was told you; now you _shall_ hear a friend."

"I will _not_," she cried, rising.

I caught her arms and forced her back into the seat. "You will," I answered.

"Very well," she said with quivering lips. "If you wish to take advantage of the friendship I have shown you, and, because you are strong, make me hear what I have forbidden you to say, I'm helpless."

"All the mean things you say sha'n't stop me. Now, as long as you _must_ listen, won't you pay attention?" I asked this in my most wheedling tone. I knew I'd fetch her. She stayed stiff for about ten seconds. Then the dimples came.

"It makes me so angry to think I can't get angry with you, I don't know what to do," she snapped at me. "You have no _business_ to talk to me this way. I shouldn't stand it for a minute. You're nothing but a great bully, bullying a poor little woman, you nice boy! Who ever heard of such an argument? Because you _make_ me listen, I must pay attention! Well, to show you what a friend I am, I will."

"Thank you, Mary," I said, holding out my hand. "Thank you, dear. You'll not be the worse for hearing the truth. It isn't like you to condemn a man unheard."

"I heard him."

"You heard a lunatic--he told me; why will you call up the worst of him and believe only in that?"

She sprang up, outraged. "I do _not_ call up the worst of him! That is a cowardly excuse--he should be man enough to--"

"Wait: I never meant you did it intentionally. Can't you see how anxious he might be to please you? Can't you believe that if he did something he thought would please you greatly, and you called him a rascal for it, that the worst of him would likely come on top?"

"Yes," she answered slowly; "I can see that--_I_ should, I know."

"Of course you would. Now listen. I have a story for you, that your love of kindness and nobility will find pleasure in."

Again I tried Saxton's method--there isn't a better one, if it's real stuff you have to tell. Very quietly I put it to her as he had to me. She had less color when I finished.

"If that is the truth, it _was_ noble," she said, when I finished. The breath fluttered in her throat.

"It _is_ the truth. Arthur isn't too good to lie, by any means, but he has too much pride and courage to lie about a thing like that."

She nodded her head in assent. I got excited, seeing victory in sight, but had sense enough to keep cool. I knew, even at that early age, there's snags sometimes underneath the smoothest water.

She sighed as if the life of her went out.

"Impulse," she said, "a noble impulse--and then? an ignoble one, followed with the same determination."

That had too much truth in it. I didn't approve of his drinking himself to death, because he couldn't have what he wanted.

"Yes," I answered smoothly, "and what he needs is a strong excuse to make them all good--he has the strength to do it, you don't deny that?"

"He has strength to do anything--there is the pity of it. There never lived a man who so had his life in his own hand as Arthur Saxton. Would you have me marry him to reform him? Have I no right to feel proud, on my side?"

"No, to the first," says I, "and yes, to the second. He has waked up at last, I feel sure--if only you could believe in him a little more."

"Oh, Will!" she said, "that is what I fear the most. I don't care if he demands much, for so do I, but to be dependent that way--I cannot trust him, till he trusts himself."

"Yes, Mary," I agreed; "but at the same time, he's lots more of a man than the average, handicap him with all his faults!"

She answered me with a curious smile. "Mine is an unhappy nature in one way," she said; "half a loaf is worse than no bread to me. I'd rather never know of Paradise than see and lose it." She threw her hands out suddenly, in a gesture that was little short of agony.

"Oh, I wish sometimes I had no moral sense at all--that I could just live and be happy--and I _can't_ be very good if I wish that--that's a comfort." She turned to me. "Now, Will, I have opened my heart to you as I could not have done to my own mother; will you believe me if I say I cannot talk about this any more?"

"Sure, sweetheart," I said, and kissed her. She let her head stay on my shoulder.

"You are a great comfort, brother Will," she said. The tone made something sting in my eyes. Poor little woman, fighting it out all alone, so unhappy under the smiles, so born to be happy!

I couldn't speak to save me. She looked up at my face. "You are a brave and noble gentleman, brother mine," she said. I think that would have finished me up--I am such a darned woman at times, but she changed quick as lightning.

"Let's play with the children," she said. "We've had enough of this."

I was glad to scamper around. One thing was certain. I'd hurt Sax none, and proved the value of my plan. Another thing I wanted to know I learned on leaving.

"Mary," I said, as if it was an understood thing between us, "why did Mr. Belknap speak against Saxton?"

She fell into the trap, unthinking. "Because he wished to warn me, of course. And in spite of all you say, Will--forgive me--he is a man of such insight, I cannot believe him altogether wrong."

"It would be bad if Belknap didn't turn out the man you think him, wouldn't it?" I asked, innocently.

"It would," she said. And with that I came away.

XIV

BROTHER BELKNAP'S REVOLUTION

The next thing needed in my calculations was time. My three-day vacation ended Monday; I had to have an extension or a sure thing on another, shortly. I was ready to throw up my job, but I felt it wouldn't come to that, likely, so I pulled for home and Jim.

At the store Pedro told me Jim had been there yesterday afternoon, but left at once in no pleasant frame of mind. Pedro didn't know where he had gone. Took out toward the east, riding fast.

I didn't know what to do. If I went after him, it was likely I'd miss him; if I waited, he mightn't be around again for days.

"What ailed him, Pede?" I asked.

"That is that which I am not to know," says Pedro. "He cuss and swear mos' fiercily. He also es-strike one stranger _hombre_ who has been here making conversation with the workers. _Si_, he strike heem verree strong, so that the stranger does not know anything for one hour. He also say he will to shoot that stranger if he put the foot on thees groun' again. The men that are there make protestation and Senor Holton say, 'You are fools.' And Pepe, the large one, say, 'I am not a fool,' and Senor Holton say, 'No--you are a jackass,' and Pepe say, 'You have abused us much.' I am astonish to hear that, for of all men I have seen none is so kind to the people as Senor Holton; and I am moved to say, 'Pepe, you lie!' He thereupon strike me at the nose, as you see. I say,'Pepe, you may strike my nose, but that does not make you not a liar--a liar is what you are.' And Senor Holton say, 'Mind them not, Pedro, you are an honest man; but now I shall to abuse them for the fair if I do hear one cheep,' and he draw out his peestol and say, 'Yap, you coyotes! Let me hear you!' and there is such silence that one may hear his heart. Then Senor Holton say to me, 'Pedro, this is bad business. Mind the store the best you can--I must ride. If they come at you h'run away--I do not care for these goods, and you have spoken up like a man.'" Pedro smote himself upon the lung with his clenched fist. "H'run I shall not," says he. "Thees store can only be obtain by making the es-step over my corpsey."

"Corpsey" sounded kind of frivolous for the occasion. However, underneath all the rolling eye and fine large gestures, the sand of the little man lay strong. I didn't understand the racket at all, but I knew it meant business or Jim would never have taken such a stand.

"Why didn't you tell me this first, Pedro?" I asked. "I might have gone away and left you alone."

"That was what I try to weesh," said he. "For you are young, and there is life before you. These are b-a-a-d fallows, these; if they keel Pedro, eet ees no harm, but you have been kin' to me, and I do not weesh you hurt. So I say, I shall let him go; they mus' not harm Beel; and then I feel so verree lonesome, and I think, He shall know and for himself decide."

"Why, you darned old Guinea!" I yelled at him, "d'you suppose I'd leave you to buck this through alone? I don't know what got into Jim not to put some men in with you."

Pedro shrugged his shoulders. "Senor Holton had no time--what it ees, ees emperative--and for those men, they are all mad, I think. They come and es-swear at me, who never have done them injury--I, never! Who can say Pedro harmed him? They only leave when you are to arrive."

I don't know why, but suddenly it came upon me that we were stacked against a crowd of men--I mean it came right _real_ to me, and I sat down in a chair, limp. I never admired a man more than I did Pedro, at that moment. There he was, the little man I so often laughed at, quietly going about his business, waiting for a crowd to come and kill him! I didn't mind one or two, or perhaps a few more men, so much, but the crowd threw a crimp into me. When you learn how much bigger a coward a crowd is, than any one man in it, you are not so troubled, but then! Well, it was the first time I'd been right down terrified in my life, and it was awful. I raked the sweat off my forehead, steadied myself the best I could, and says:

"Well, Pede, we're in for it!"

"_Tiene V. razon!_" says he; "but we will to do what we can. If I live, always shall I remember how Beel stay with me."

I've heard it said that a good example will steady you when you're scart. Out of my personal experience I beg to differ. I got mad at Pedro for not being frightened; and the more I thought how well he behaved, the worse rattled I got. I sat there, in a hot chill every time I heard a noise outdoors, till at last some sense came back to me. "This won't do!" says I. "Here, Pede, where's the hot-water bottle?"

He handed me a bottle of brandy. I put the neck to my neck and warmed my poor soul. Lord! but it tasted good. Dutch courage ain't on the same shelf with real courage, but it's a durned sight better than scart-to-death in a rumpus.

I hadn't more than time to give a "hoo" of satisfaction and put the bottle down, when there came a running and a yelling down the road. Pede and I jumped for the door together. The valley lay flat between the hills, north of us, and you could see a mile to the turn in the road. Down the road two men were running for their lives, a screeching gang after them, peppering 'em with rocks, clubs, and what not. Also there was the shine of knives--the shine that always sickens me. I waited for a gun-shot, but none came. The two had fifty yards' start, and they weren't losing it, if they could help it. As they drew nearer I could hear remarks about Papists from the crowd. In a second I saw the play--Brother Belknap's revolution!

That braced me. The victims ran with their arms over their heads for protection; when one dropped his arms and raised his head to cry for help, I recognized Tony Gonzales, the squarest, nicest man in the place. That steadied me more yet. Fifty men to the two!

"Come on, Pedro!" I hollered. We each grabbed a pick-handle, and with that in one hand and a gun in the other, we went to the door.

"Beel," says Pedro, "let us to remain here. They cannot be hurt now, for they run verree fas'. The es-store is a fort. If we stay, we do better."

I took in the situation. Tony and his mate were keeping distance nobly. I suppose they drew a clip or two from a stone, but they were in no deadly danger unless the crowd got hold of them. Pedro wasn't much of a hand to sell groceries and truck, but he was a durned good general when it came to war.

"Queeck, Beel!" says he. "For to defend us make closed the windows and doors, but the one!"

We worked sharp, rolling barrels against the doors and slapping boxes of canned goods against the window-shutters. The work did me a power of good. Anger had driven out most of my fear, yet getting my muscles into use was needed to remove the rest of the poison from my system.

Next I broke open a box of cartridges and spread them on the counter, while Pedro loaded revolvers taken from the stock. By the time the feet drew near, we were in fighting trim. Another cry for help sounded almost at the door. Pede and I rushed out.

"Get in, boys," I said, "and grab a gun!" They ducked under my arm and entered the store.

The rest drew up in a huddle, a ways off, and stopped.

"Now, gentlemen," I said in the best Spanish I could muster, "what's the matter?"

I got no answer, but bad looks. They talked and muttered among themselves, and shifted about, with ugly motions--as black and treacherous a mob as a man would like to dream of.

My temperature went right up. I naturally despise not getting an answer to a question. One lad shook his fist and growled something.

That was all. I waited. "Once more," says I, "what's the matter?" Same performance. I shot a hole through the hat of the lad who shook his fist. "Third and last call," says I, "what's the matter?" but they broke and ran.

My play held 'em for a minute. Our best show was to take the top hand at once, so I walked down to them.

"Now I want to know what ails you people," I said, getting the meaning into Spanish, if the words were a little mixed, "and I want to know quick, or there'll be a fuss right here."

A big feller jeered at me: "Put down the gun, and _I'll_ show you what's the matter," he said.

"You will?" says I, parting with what sense I had. "You yellow-bellied snake-in-the-grass! _You_ will show a white man, will you? Come on out here, you that's so brave in a crowd!"

I chucked the gun away and waited for him. I got just what I might have expected--they all come for me! Cursing my fool soul, I jumped for the gun. I almost had my hand on it when a rock took me behind the ear and laid me on the grass. It was up to Mr. William De La Tour Saunders to put his feet under him with celerity and hike out of that. It was painful--sufferin' Moses! How I hated to run from that crowd! I snorted, but run was the word, and run I did, with them hollering and laughing at me. Inside, I grabbed two of the guns from the counter, called to Pedro and the other two, and started back. I met the gang right at the door. It was curious how making me run had braved them; they were for tearing everything apart now. Well, our meeting was a surprise to both parties. I've had to be grateful all my life that my hands think faster than my head. I put four shots into that crowd before I thought at all. The man who picked up my revolver fired and missed me from a three-foot range. I got some of the powder, also a knife in the shoulder, but four men laid out discouraged 'em and they broke again. I put it to them with both hands, Pedro and the other boys cutting in before they found shelter.

By this time I was wild--wanted to go after them and hunt 'em out. Pedro and the other two fastened on me and dragged me in.

"More shall come, Beel!" cried Pedro.

"We must have care--do not to go, I implore!"

He not only implored, but half-strangled me; they hauled me back and shut the door.

"Listen, all," says Pedro. "This is not the end. Others will come with guns, and then!--But now to see what is outside." He stationed us each where we could peek through cracks, and so cover the store from all sides. There was barrels of ammunition, General Pedro issued commands to blaze away at a sight.

The folks outside kept up a stream of cursing and abuse, jeers and threats, and we returned a revolver fire just as effective. It was too far for a short gun.

We had two rifles in the shop. I wasn't then, and never have been, as good a shot with a rifle as with a pistol. Gonzales, though, had been a hunter. He took the rifle with a pleased smile.

"You make _me_ run," says he, playfully, to outdoors. "Now I make _you_ jump! It is thus we amuse ourselves." A man showed his head, to the sound of an instant crash from the rifle. He jumped, all right.

"The old church shall say mass for your soul, Juan," says Gonzales. "You are the best dead man in the country."

After that, they were careful. I thought they'd leave, seeing they couldn't do anything with us, till Pedro explained they were probably holding us till armed men came. I should have felt dismal once more at this news, if I'd had nothing to do. The darkened store wore on my feelings. One feller I shot wriggled in a funny fashion as he lay on the ground. He was still wriggling--I could see him every time I stopped to think. He gave a long twist, like a snake, bringing his face to the light, at the last. He looked as if he felt perfectly disgusted. He hadn't ought to have looked that way. It bothered me.

The other three stood the gaff of waiting much better than I. In fact, I was frantic inside me, though I made a good chest of it. "Pede," I says, "let me have the other rifle--I'm going scouting."

"That is well," says Gonzales. "If you can get up on the hill without being seen, you can drive them out, and we shall have a shot."

So I took the rifle and squirmed through the brush and rocks back of the store until I was a hundred yards or so up the hill. It was a steep slant. In going so far I'd risen nearly a hundred feet. I could see part of our besiegers plain. Some ten of 'em lay behind boulders, smoking cigarettes and taking it easy. Another batch sat under the bridge. The rest I couldn't see.

I had a particular grudge against the feller who challenged me to fight. I searched carefully, and finally made him out, under a rock about three hundred yards away, sitting with his back to me, and playing a game with the man in front of him.

His fat back made a corking target. I rested the gun between two stones and had him dead to rights. I was ready to listen to the report and see him fall over, when, by the gods of war! my finger wouldn't pull the trigger. I hadn't the least feeling about killing that treacherous skunk, so far as I knew, but all the same, I could _not_ pull that trigger. I was surprised, plenty. "Why, you damn fool!" I says to myself, "what's eating you! That lad would 'a' slaughtered your entire family, by this time!"

True, too, but it didn't make the gun go off. It's mighty queer how an unexpected "me" will jump out of you at times. There was one Bill Saunders just as anxious to do that blackguard as a man could be, and there was another--and the boss, too--who wouldn't stand for it.

I cussed between my teeth. "If you'd look at me, instead of turning your back, you dog!" I whispered, "I'd heap you up quick." I broke out into a sweat of shame, knowing how my friends were putting their faith in my gathering a man or two. I could have cried with mortification. Suddenly my lad jumped up and pointed, forgetting where he was. The next second the finger jammed into the ground, and the whang of Gonzales's rifle cut through the valley.

I looked where he pointed. Here come a string of men with guns, dog-trotting. I up and pasted into them. The shot started those below. Some jumped up. I could have whaled it to them all right now, but a shell jammed. Our boys socked it to them from the store, while I clawed at the durned cartridge. Got it out with my knife at last and banged away, first below and then at the approaching soldiers. I dropped a man and the soldiers scattered behind rocks and trees.

There was no use staying longer. I had only three cartridges left; nothing much I could do anyhow, as they would sneak up from this on; besides, I stood to get cut off from the store, so I carefully picked my way back, not wanting them to learn there was no one on the hill. In such a case as ours, you fight for time. I hoped nothing from time, but every minute you lived was clear gain. Out here in the country prisoners of war were stood against a wall.

So long as they thought we had men on the hill, they'd be cautious. Likely they'd send men around to clear the hill, first, and that would give us some minutes.

The other boys had seen the arrival of the soldiers. They were quiet, but hopeless. Gonzales shrugged his shoulders and examined his rifle. "How many?" he asked.

"Soldiers and all, or just soldiers?"

"All."

"Nigh a hundred."

"_Ay de mi! Adios el mundo!_ Four men against a hundred! Well, they shall speak of us after--not a hundred will they be, when we leave."

The feeling that you'll leave a good name behind to comfort your last minutes, is a mighty good thing. Wish I had it. It didn't matter a darn to me. All I could think of was that they shouldn't get me--not if they was a million--and I proposed to work on those lines with force.

"Perhaps they won't jump us," I said with more wish than hope. "If they try any other play, we can hold 'em a week."

I had some contempt for those soldiers. I parted with it later. You see, they were barefoot, ragged, and dirty. Not a thing marked 'em for soldiers, but the guns and the orders. I hadn't seen many soldiers, but what I had seen was gay with uniforms and a brass band. Now, if they'd come at our store with a brass band, it would have been something like. This was only a rucus, with us holding the working end of the mule. No glory, no uniforms, no band, no nothing, but just getting holes shot in you, and it wouldn't be no more than truthful for me to admit I was perfectly contented with my hide as she was.

We strengthened the doors and windows by piling more boxes up, leaving only holes to shoot through. Then we waited. The dark heat in the store just melted you; outside the sun hammered fit to knock your eye out. When it comes hot and still--deadly still--I can remember that hour's waiting in the store. I couldn't hold on to what I was thinking of for a minute; all my ideas flipped around like scart birds, and I sweat and sweat, and I was sick at my stomach, and the man I shot kept squirming. It was the same as sitting up in bed to find out your nightmare is real. To the devil with waiting! I tried to clamp my attention on mother, on Mary, on everybody I knew. Useless. I didn't seem to know anybody--they were only jokes, and mostly, the faces, as they skipped by, turned on me and grinned. At the same time I kept talking with the other boys and even laughed once in a while. I know they thought I was cool as a watermelon. I'm even with them there; I thought _they_ were, too.

When Gonzales called, with a click in his voice, "Hist! _Quid'ow!_ They come!" I could have raised both hands to heaven in thanks. There's nothing one-eighth as bad in getting killed as sitting around waiting for it.

I jumped for my window. There ain't a bit of what was in front of me but what's with me to stay. I could only see a small space that day--anything that wasn't in a ten-foot circle was dark. I leave the why to the doctors. It never troubled me again.

I had the south window, kind of slantwise facing the road, and about twenty foot from it, where it passed the store. There was a breastwork of canned goods shoulder high, with lots of loose cartridges spread on the inner top box. The box near me was open, and red labels on quart cans of tomatoes shone out--"Pride of the Garden." I wonder if the man that raised 'em, or he that canned 'em, ever imagined they were going to become the bulwarks of the State of Panama?

The shutters were heavy, with holes in 'em about four inches wide, which you could cover with a round piece of wood that swung on a screw. These holes were right in height for me to shoot through. The other boys had to stand on boxes, being shorter.

I took a peep through my gun-hole. There come the rebels, flap-flapping down the road in their bare feet, trailing their guns, their wide-brimmed hats shaking comical. And I felt happy when I saw it. These were real men, and for the last hour I'd been fighting ghosts. We didn't want 'em to hit us in a body, so I called cheerful to the other boys, "Bet you a can of tomatoes I draw first blood!" and let her flicker through the loop-hole.

XV

TOMATOES BY THE QUART

The barefoot soldiers expected to walk right through us. They come straight and fairly bunched, while we dropped them. They kept coming and we kept dropping them. Streaks of white flew out of the shutters and whiskers grew on the walls, but not a man of us was touched, while we laid them out something awful.

It wasn't we was crack shots, neither, excepting Gonzales. We were, for all practical purposes, cool.

Speaking for myself, I felt neither hope nor fear. I had but one ambition--to make the party that arrived as small as possible. It would surprise me to learn that our boys missed two shots out of five. And there isn't any crowd, white, brown, nor black, that can stand a gaffing like that.

They had no plan. As I say, they thought all they had to do was walk up and take us. When we put every third man on the grass, they halted, bunching closer, and we pumped it to 'em for keeps. They melted down the road, panic-struck.

We had no cheers of victory, being much too busy. By just keeping industriously at work instead of hollering we put three or four more out of the game. It was business, for us.

The smoke drifted slowly up the hillside; some of the wounded men began hollerin' for water; one got to his knees and emptied his gun at us. Gonzales was for removing him, but I held his hand. "Let him ease his mind," I said, "he can't hit anything." And just to make me out a liar, the beggar covered me with splinters from the shutter. Gonzales shot, and that was over. I began to wish they'd hustle us again.

The sweat poured off us. We panted like running dogs. Outside there, where the valley rippled with sun-heat, all was still, except that cry--"Water! water! For the love of God, water!" I've needed water since. I know what that screech means. Lord! that hour!--a blaze of sun, blue shadows, wisps of smoke curling up the hill, and the lonesome cry in the big silence--"Water! water! For the love of God, water!" That's what it come to; them fellers didn't care much for victory--they wanted water.

It wore on me, like the barking of a dog. I grabbed the water-pail and started for the door.

"Here!" cries Pedro, "what will you make?"

"I want to stop that noise."

"Put down the pail!" says Pedro. "Foolish fellow! Do you not know they keel you at once?"

"Pede," I says, "I can't sit here and hear 'em holler like that--there's no damn use in talking."

"Listen," says Pedro, grabbing me by the coat. "See what you do; here are friends; for them you care not. Eef you are keeled, so much the worse are we--are we not more than they? You leave us, and you shall be keeled and our hope goes--I ask you, is that good?"

"No," I says, putting down the pail. "It ain't, Pede. You're right," and one of 'em outside struck a new note that stuck in me and quivered. "Remember," I says, "that I died admitting you were right." Darn it, I was risking my own hide. But Pede had the truth of it. I oughtn't to have done it. So I grabbed the pail and went out.

I was considerable shot at, but not by the wounded men.

The first lad was a shock-headed half-Injun, with a face to scare a mule. He was blue-black from loss of blood. "Drink, pretty creature, drink," says I. He grabbed the pail and proceeded to surround the contents. "Whoa, there!" says I, "there are others!" I had to yank the pail away from him. He looked at me with his fevered eyes, and held out his big, gray, quivering hands--"For the love of God, Senor, _poquito--poquito_!"

"No more for you," I said, and he slumped back, his jaw shaking. It was a waste of water, really; he'd been bored plumb center. So I went the rounds, having to fight 'em away as if they was wolves. Lord! how they wanted that water!

When I got to next to the last man, some better marksmen up the road shot my hat off. That riled me. It would make anybody mad. I stopped on the spot and expressed my sentiments.

"You're a nice lot of rosy-cheeked gentlemen, you are," says I. "You damned greasy, smelly, flat-footed mix of bad Injun and bad white! If I could get hands on one of you, I'd shred him so fine he'd float on the breeze. Now, you sons of calamity, you shoot at me once more, and I'll call on you!"

I was ready to go right up. I waited a minute, but no more shots came.

"All right," says I. "_Sin vergueenza!_" and more I won't repeat. The Spaniard has nice ideas about a good many things, but he cusses by the hog-pen. So I told 'em what I could remember that was disrespectful, fed the last man his water, and returned. I stopped to look at my first man. He'd passed on. Well, I wasn't sorry he'd had a drink.

"Ha-ha, Pede!" says I when I got back, "I fooled you!"

"By one eench!" says he, looking at my hat.

"Inch is as good as a mile, and that cussed noise is stopped for a while, anyhow."

A stone rattled back of us.

"Look to the doors, quick!" says Pedro.

We hopped to our places.

"Many coming down the hill!" says Gonzales.