"Oh, oho, the toketie papoosh: I love the papoosh, Jenny's papoosh,"
said Annawillee, as she held the baby. The shack was lighted by the
burning Mill rather than by the stinking slush lamp on the foul
table. Jenny cried for her baby, but Annawillee was after all a
woman and loved children in her own way. For years she hadn't
handled one. Her only child had died. Its father was not Chihuahua.
"Oh, give him me, Annawillee," said Jenny. He was George's child,
and now she knew that "Tchorch" was out on the great lonely river,
hunting unhappy Pete. Men said they would never come back. Her soul
was burning even as the Mill burnt. "Tchorch" loved her and yet had
forgotten her.
"Give him to me."
But Annawillee sat on the floor and sang about the papoosh, a song of
a poor Klootchman deserted by her man and left with her child:
"Oh, nika tenas
Hyas nika klahowyam,
Hyu keely,
Konaway sun,
Nika tenas.
"Ah, my little one,
Sad am I----
I mourn and weep,
Ah, still must cry,
Ah, my little one, every day!"
Annie screamed at her.
"Pelton Annawillee, halo mamook Jenny keely, make her not mournful,
pelton, oh, fool!"
"I love papoosh," said Annawillee. She burst into tears.
"Take heem, Jenny, take yo' papoosh. Mine mimaloose, is dead."
Jenny took the baby to her bosom, and sat down desolately on the edge
of Annie's bed. Her body shivered at the foulness of things, even as
her soul shivered for fear about George. An hour ago she had been
happy, happy, happy! Now----
"Oh, God," she prayed. But she could not weep.
"Jenny, you have dlink, you tak' one dlink, tenas toketie?" said
Annie. What else was there but "dlink" for misery, for the loss of a
home, for the loss of her man?
But Jenny shook her head.
"I got one," said Annie. For she remembered she had not finished the
bottle before she went to sleep by the fire. She hunted for the
bottle and found it. It was empty!
"Some dam' tief stealum," screamed Annie. Who could it have been but
Annawillee?
"I never takum," yelled Annawillee when the old hag got her by the
hair and tugged at it. "You old beast, leggo me. I never tak' um."
Jenny cried out to Annie. It was awful to see this in her agony of
grief.
"I get mo'," said Annie. "I got dolla. I find Chihuahua, he buy
bottle whisky!"
She went out. Annawillee wrung her hair into a horrid coil and
knotted it clumsily at the back of her neck. She cried about her
dead papoosh. The tears ran down her dirty face.
Outside the hum and murmur of the crowd still endured. Every now and
again there was a crash, as some of the great Mill fell in. Piles of
lumber caught: they roared to the skies in wavering columns. The
crowd laughed and moaned and roared and was silent, as the sea beach
is silent between great breakers.
And George was on the river hunting Pete! Jenny clutched her baby to
her bosom. Annawillee went on crying. Then the door opened and
Annie came back.
"I send Chihuahua. He get dlink. Dlink velly good for you, Jenny.
By-by Shautch Quin come back and say I good to you, and he be good to
poor old Annie, who get you for heem, tenas!"
But Jenny only heard her words as part of the sounds of the night.
If George did not come back! She moaned dreadfully, and shivered in
spite of the heat of the great fire, which made itself felt even in
the shack.
"Tchorch, Tchorch!"
She felt him in her arms, as she had held to him when he bore her
through the fire. He was a man, a real man. She saw poor Ned, who
wasn't one. She saw Mary. But Mary had no child. Poor Mary and
poor Annawillee!
The door opened and Chihuahua came in with a bottle.
"You dam' thief, you open um and dlink," said Annie furiously.
Chihuahua laughed.
"Hey, hermosa Annie, why you tink I no do dat?"
He was half drunk already. He saw Jenny.
"Hallo, Jenny, peretty Jenny! Peretty womans make mischief. All for
dis Pete burn the Moola, and we all out of jhob!"
That was true enough, and Jenny knew it. But Chihuahua was a beast.
He came over to her and put his arm about her waist and hugged her.
"I love you, peretty," he whispered; "if de boss no come back, I kick
Annawillee out and have you for klootchman!"
It was as if he had struck her down and dragged her in the mud. She
turned cold with horror. Oh, if George didn't come back what would
she do: what would she do?
"I love you, peretty Jenny!" said the hot breath of the beast. And
Annawillee mourned upon the floor, but heard not. Annie took a drink.
"Now, toketie, my own tenas Jenny, you have dlink," said Annie. She
spoke in Chinook, and Jenny answered in it. It was the first time
she had used the Jargon since she went to George.
"Nika halo tikegh, I no want it," said Jenny.
"You have it, pelton," said Annie. "What for, kahta you so fool?
Him velly good whisky."
"Take it, Jenny," said the hot breath in her ear.
"I won't," said Jenny. She knew all it meant now. Again Chihuahua
put his arm about her. She wrenched herself away from him and
Annawillee saw what her man was doing, and scrambled to her feet.
"Oh, you dam' man you do dat," she screamed jealously, forgetting her
dead child and its dead father.
"You s'ut up, dry up," said Chihuahua, "or I keek you, Annawillee."
He took the bottle from Annie and drank.
"I lov' Jenny, toketie Jenny; Jenny mia hermosa muchacha, and she
lov' me."
He caught at her again, and Annawillee came at him with her claws.
He knocked her down, and she lay where she fell. Annie screamed at
him.
"You no do dat, Chihuahua. You leave Jenny alone, man. When Shautch
Quin come back he keel you----"
Chihuahua grinned.
"He no come back no more. Pete fix him on the river, I sure of dat,
Annie. Jenny she be my klootchman, eh, Jenny!"
Jenny was as white as death. She had lived for more than a year with
George and this was hell for her. And if George didn't come back!
Chihuahua came staggering to her. She caught the empty bottle by the
neck and stared at him with blazing eyes. He stopped.
"You peretty devil!" said Chihuahua. "I lik' kees you all same,
Jenny."
"I'll keel you," she whispered. There was murder in her eyes, and
drunk as he was he knew it. And Annie had picked up a burnt bar of
iron that served her as a poker. Chihuahua quailed before them.
"I on'y jhoke," he said. "My klootchman she Annawillee, very good
woman, Annawillee. You geeve me one mo' dolla I get mo' whisky,
Annie."
But all Annie had to give him was the iron bar.
"You bad man, you beas', you go!"
And Chihuahua whitened, as he had done more than once before when
Annie got mad. He went out like a lamb, and Jenny sat down on the
bed, and sobbed for the first time as if her heart would break.
And the fire still burnt, but without great flames. Some of the
crowd went home. It was past two o'clock and soon would be dawn.
"You no tak' my man, Jenny?" moaned Annawillee.
"No, no, no," said Jenny.
"Chihuahua him a beas' to me," said Annawillee. "I hat' heem, but I
hav' no other man now and I no more a pretty klootchman. What I do
if he tak' other klootchman?"
"I rather die, Annawillee," said Jenny.
"Him no so velly bad," said Annawillee, "but easy for young and
toketie gal lik' you fin' nodder man."
She murmured, snuffling, a song that the Siwash women often sing:
"Kultus kopet nika,
Spose mika mahsh nika,
Hyu tenas men koolie kopa town,
Alkie wekt nika iskum,
Wake kul kopa nika."
"'Tis naught to me,
If you act so,
For I can see,
Young men who go
About the town, and when I can
I soon will take another man."
"You soon fin' a man, you," said Annawillee. "All men say you
toketie. S'pose Shautch Quin mimaloose any man tak' you, Jenny."
"Dat so," said Annie soothingly. "I fin' you Shautch, Jenny, and I
queek fin' other one, my pretty Jenny!"
And Jenny's heart was cold within her. For her child's sake
perhaps----
And then there came a knock at the door, and her heart leapt again
like a babe. Annie opened the door, and outside stood Sam.
"My Missus here, oh, where my Missus?" he cried dolorously. "My
loosee my Missus in the clowd!"
Jenny cried out to him.
"Oh, Sam, Sam!"
He had always been good and kind and was clean and bright.
"Oh, Missus here, my heap glad, Missus. What for Missus stay inside
house like t'is, no good for Missus, no clean, bah!"
She cried out for George, and Sam shook his head mournfully.
"Boss no come back, Missus, Moola-man say Boss low boat in liver,
looksee t'at tief makee fy in Moola and house. Bymby boss catchee.
You come, Missus."
But Annie had no mind to let her go.
"Dam' Shinaman, klatawa, you go. Jenny she stay wit' Annie."
She stood in the doorway, and Jenny was behind her. Annawillee went
on with her song. "Soon Jenny get another man. That easy for Jenny!"
"Oh, where I go, Sam?"
"My tinkee you go Wong's, Missus. Him velly good man, house heap
clean."
"She no go dam' Shinaman," roared Annie.
"I will go," said Jenny.
But Annie slammed the door in Sam's face. The boy was furious.
"All light, Missus! One Moola-man, him Long Mac, wantshee you. My
tellee Wong and him. Bymby my comee back. Yah, old cow-woman,
Annie!"
He ran to Wong's shack and told the old man he had found the
"Missus." By the time they came again to Annie's, Chihuahua and
Spanish Joe had gone there and, being more drunk than ever, Chihuahua
had burst the door in. Joe tackled Annie and took the iron bar from
her. She screamed like a wild-cat in a trap. Both the men went for
Jenny, who stood in the corner and shrieked for George and Sam.
"'Ole your tongue, peretty one," said handsome Joe. "I always lov'
you; now you be my woman----"
Chihuahua trampled over Annie to get to Jenny.
"She mine, Joe, she mine!"
Joe turned on Chihuahua with a very evil smile, and spoke to him in
Spanish.
"I take her, see, Chihuahua!"
Outside, Wong knocked at the door. Perhaps he was not a very brave
man. It is not wise to be very brave in an alien country, but he
owed a good deal to George Quin and liked him. Sam stood behind him
wringing his hands and crying out, "Missus, Missus!"
Joe had her round the waist. Annawillee screamed and held to
Chihuahua's legs. He kicked her hard, and panted furiously at Joe.
"You say you help me, Joe!"
"I help myself, you fool," said Joe. Chihuahua had been a mat for
him to wipe his feet on for years. "I wait for her; now I have her."
Chihuahua kicked Annawillee again and got free. Annie got up and ran
to their end of the room. She caught Joe by the arm: he sent her
headlong and she fell against the table. It went over and the lamp
fell on the floor. The only light in the room came from the live
embers of the great dead Mill.
And suddenly Jenny felt Joe loose her. He made an awful sound, which
was not a cry, and something hot and warm gushed upon her bosom. She
saw him stagger, saw his arms go up in the air, and heard a growl
from Chihuahua.
"Fool," said the Mexican. He had sliced Joe's throat right open and
cut his voice and his cry asunder. The Castilian reeled again and
fell, and then the door was burst open. Long Mac stood in the
opening.
"Jenny, my girl," he cried; But Jenny did not answer. She lay
insensible on the bed: she was dyed crimson. Her child screamed, but
she heard nothing.
"Long Mac!" said Chihuahua. He feared him always, and now feared all
men.
"Jenny here," he said in a quavering voice. And Mac strode in. He
stepped across Joe and found Jenny and her child. He took them in
his arms, though he ached dreadfully in his set shoulder, and carried
them out.
"Missus, oh, Missus," said Sam. Chihuahua crept out after them and
then ran into the shadows, casting away his stained knife.
Annawillee had lost her man, and the police found him the next day.
A poor fool of a white woman in the City shrieked about the dead
Castilian. No one but that poor fool was sorry.