than him and the rest. Each day some one was with me to play cards, or
checkers, or talk. Old Jim couldn't do enough for me. I think he'd spent
all his time in the house if it wasn't that he must take hold outside.
"Boy, I know what you did for me," he said. "There ain't no use talking
about it between us, but what I have is yours."
Just the same, I _knew_ that leg was all right, so one day, when I found
myself alone, I got up to walk to the water-pail. I laid down on the
floor so hard I near bu'sted my nose. "Guess I don't want any drink,"
thinks I. "I'll go to bed, instead." I couldn't make that, neither. My
arms only held me for a second, then they sprung out at the elbow. I
sweat and swore at the cussed contraptions that wouldn't work. Tears of
rage come free and fast. Them arms and legs of mine had served me so
long, I couldn't believe they'd gone back on me like that, and I was so
ashamed to have the doctor come and ketch me that I flew into a fit,
foamin' and fumin' and snarlin' like a trapped bear.
It was then the doctor entered on the scene. What he said was never
intended to be repeated. Lord save us! He put my case in juicy words!
"Now, you red-headed young fool!" says he, as he rolled me in bed, "I
want you to understand I'd beat your head off, if you were a well man,
for this trick!" He shook his fist under my nose. "Wait till you get
up!" says he.
"Ain't I?" says I, feeling good-natured once more to see him in such a
wax. "Ain't I waiting?"
"I won't talk to you!" says he, and slams himself out of the room.
XVI
RED PLAYS TRUMPS
Things went fast before I was around again. Jim met five hundred men
sent out by Zampeto to clear the country, and killed or captured every
man of 'em. The prisoners he penned close, but fed well, to teach 'em
white ways.
Then he sent deceiving messengers back to Zampeto, to report how well
the rebel army was doing. Victory kept perching on her standard till it
was near worn out. But, all the same, another detachment, working to the
east, to unite further south with the first body and sweep back toward
the capital, would do excellently. The detachment was sent by Zampeto
and gobbled the same as before. More victories were reported to the home
rebel government, and assurances given that with another body, the three
could descend on that part of the city held by Perez and Orinez and
crush it between their forces. Once more did Zampeto approve, to his bad
fortune. And this did him up. It was all over with Belknap, Zampeto &
Co., except the actual capture of their part of the town. They held
Santa Ana and the church, the time-respected custom with revolutions.
Zampeto must have been a plumb fool. I saw him afterward--a fat, pompous
man with a rolling, glaring eye. If Belknap had been able to step in, in
person, we shouldn't have had a walk over; but while Zampeto was
agreeable to advice in the beginning, he soon suffered from _cabeza
grande_, which swell-headed state Jim's reports of victories raised to a
fearful size, and Belknap could do nothing with him.
His losses were tremendous for that country, and there he sat at home,
serene in the belief of a conqueror! We had a cinch. Not a thing to do
but chase them out of their holes!
I had my plans concerning Saxton and Mary, so Jim held the final attack
on the city until I was able to ride. Then he sent word to Perez and our
army started--not in mass, because somebody in the rebel army might have
sense enough to scout a little, but by fives and tens, slipping along
back ways and short cuts until Belknap and Zampeto were surrounded on
the outside by two to one, and faced by an equal force in numbers, and a
far superior in courage and ability, from within.
I got Orinez and Perez to help me in the last act. We three wormed our
way into the rebel town, early one morning, lying quiet in a cellar
until evening came. Strange to say, the night before, Saxton met with an
accident. I was handling a revolver and it went off, somehow or other,
and burnt him across the back. "Christopher Columbus, Bill!" says he,
"what a careless cuss you are! You've put me out of commission!"
Gracious, but I was sorry! Yet, being the guilty party, I couldn't see
where with decency I might do less than carry the word to Mary. That's
one reason why we went into the rebels' camp. The other had to do with
Belknap. He was easily capable of explaining things to his own credit,
as long as he did all the talking. Now I wanted a hand in the
conversation. We hid in the trees back of the fountain. Soldiers came
and went. Zampeto himself, looking like a traveling jewelry-store, made
a visit, but all hands were so secure in the belief of the wonderful
success of the cause that they never suspected the existence of three
enemies in the same garden--or even in the same one hundred square
miles, for the matter of that. At last we saw Belknap; he came to the
door with Zampeto. Behind him we saw the women-folk. One looked like
Mary, but I couldn't be sure. Every time she moved somebody stuck his
head in the way. At last Zampeto dropped something, and as he stooped to
pick it up, I saw Mary plainly. She looked thin and worn, poor girl.
Certain that both were in the house, I made a quick sneak across to the
kitchen window, up the shutters, and in at a window on the second floor.
Mary had told me the room Belknap kept as his private office. It was
that window I went in.
I heard my man's heavy step in the hall, as I gathered myself. I heard
Mary's voice answer him in a sad and lifeless tone. "I hope it will soon
be over--it seems terrible, terrible! Although the end may be good." I
heard her door shut, and, Belknap coming again, I got my gun ready, put
on a bashful expression, and waited. I do not lie when I say that Mr.
Belknap was astonished to find me in his private room. That expression
was one of the few honest ones it had been my privilege to see upon his
face.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, savage.
"Why, I only came to speak to Mary--to tell her about Mr. Saxton," I
stammered, shyly, knowing that Saxton's name would wake him up.
"What about Saxton?" he asked, putting his wicked eye on me.
"Why, I want to tell Mary--I don't like to say--"
"What!" he said, dropping the sound of his voice still further and
sending the meaning of it high. "What? You come into my room and won't
answer my questions?" He took a quick cat-like step toward me. I saw I
had a lively man to deal with, and, weak as I was, it stood me in hand
to get ready. "There was a letter," I mumbled, reaching in my pocket for
my gun. With my hand on that, I changed my mind. "I guess I oughtn't to
let you have it, Mr. Belknap," I said.
He got gray around the mouth. "Give me that letter!" says he, in his
strained whispering. "Give it to me, or, so help me God, I'll kill you
where you stand."
I jumped back, terrified. "You wouldn't hurt me?" I gasped. "I shouldn't
give you the letter, sir; it was intended for Mary--please don't hurt
me! I've been sick!"
He drew a knife. "If you do not instantly hand me that letter," he says,
and he meant every word of it, "I shall put this in your heart."
That was the justification I needed. It's queer, but I never saw a man
who didn't have to have an excuse. Belknap had _his_, I reckon.
We stood there, me quivering with fear, and his bad light eyes murderous
on me, while slowly, slowly, I drew out ... my gun.
"Now," whispers I, "you petrified hunk of hypocrisy, I've got you! Hand
me that knife!"
He couldn't understand. He just stared. "Hand me that knife!" says I,
letting what I felt become apparent. He passed over the knife. With all
his faults, he was too smart a man not to know the fix he was in. Yet I
thought I'd clinch it.
"Mr. Belknap," says I, "your goose is cooked. The government army is
right outside, as your people could have seen, if they'd had the wit of
a mud-turtle. I've come into your lines prepared to do anything
necessary, as you can readily imagine. We're going to have a little
play-acting now, and you're to guess your part. If you guess
wrong--Well, heaven has missed you for some time, and she sha'n't be
defrauded any longer."
His eyes flickered with fury. He couldn't have said a word to save him.
"Understand," I whispers, "a crooked move and--_adios_!"
He understood. I kicked a table over and scuffled with my feet as if
there was a row, then lay down on the floor, where I could watch my man,
and yelled quietly for help. Orinez's head showed at the window. I
signaled him, and he lay behind the shutter with his artillery trained
on Belknap, the virtuous.
"Don't cause me the great grief, Senor," he whispers. Belknap turned
and, seeing him, the life went out of his face.
I hadn't yelled loud enough to alarm the house. Only Mary's quick feet
responded to the call.
She, too, was a trifle surprised to find me lying on the floor in
Belknap's room.
"Save me, Mary!" I cried. "Save me!"
What's a little foolish pride when your friend's good is at stake? Yet
it hurt to do that.
"Why, Will! Mr. Belknap!" she cried, astonished. "Whatever is the
matter? What does this mean?"
"I came to see you, Mary," I said, almost crying, "and Mr. Belknap
threatened to kill me."
"To kill _you_, Will?" she said, in a voice that rang like a man's. "To
_kill_ you?"
"Yes," I said piteously. "And I'm not fit to fight him--I've been
hurt--see my head, where I've been shot." I tore open my shirt sleeve.
"See the cuts! and the bullet holes!"
"Oh, poor boy! poor, poor boy!" she said in such loving pity that I felt
a skunk and had a mind to chuck the game. But it was out of my hands
now. Mary sprang up and faced Belknap, so strong, graceful, and daring
in her rage that I forgot my job in admiring her.
"Explain!" she said.
Belknap opened his mouth. Outside sounded a little click--like a creak
in the shutter-hinge. No words came.
The blood flamed in her face. "Have you _nothing_ to say to me, sir? I
shall ask you once more what this poor wounded boy has done to you, that
you propose to kill him?"
You never saw an uglier mug than Belknap's in all your days, as it
appeared then. Ordinarily, although I hate to say it, he was a
fine-looking man, but now his face was so twisted he looked like the
devil in person. And still he said nothing. He had plenty good reason
not to.
At this, Mary went at him. "I thought you a good man--a wise man," she
said, with a bitter quiet that burnt, in every word. "You are a cowardly
scoundrel. Attack the boy if you dare. I think I am a match for such as
you."
And so help me John Rodgers, if she didn't catch up the heavy ruler from
his desk and stand ready for him!
If I had the least remaining pity for Belknap, the look he threw at her
finished it. He would have struck her if he could. I know it. The man
was nothing but a rotten mess of selfishness.
"Bah!" says she, throwing down the ruler with disgust. "I am making much
out of little. You are not worth notice."
She turned to me, all womanly gentleness and pity.
"Never mind, Will dear," she said. "You are safe, he dare not touch you.
What was it you risked your life to tell me?"
"Mary," I said, speaking very slowly, to make it sound its worst.
"Arthur--is--shot."
She acted as if she was, too. I caught her just in time. She hung so for
a moment, not fainting, but as lifeless.
"Now," she said, scarcely above a breath--"now, when I have just begun
to see, it comes! And I have myself to thank for it."
She was so white it frightened me; besides, things were everlastingly
sliding along with Bill.
"Oh, he's not _dead_!" I explained, quickly. "He mayn't even be badly
hurt, but I felt sure you wanted to know."
Then the tears came. "Want to know?" she sobbed. "Of course I want to
know. Oh, what a fool of a woman I've been! And to think of your coming
to tell me at the risk of your life! I haven't deserved it! Where is
Arthur? Can we go there? Can we go, Will? You don't believe he'll die?
He mustn't! He can't!"
Last I saw of Saxton he was chuckling merrily over the doctor's mistake
concerning the value of aces up. Unless he'd changed his mind in the
meanwhile, he hadn't the remotest intention of dying.
"It's dodging through the lines, Mary, to get to him--risky."
She waved my objection off with an impatient hand, dried her eyes, and
made ready.
"Come with me until I get some things together," she said, practical, in
spite of her fire. I do sure like that combination.
"I'll stay here," says I. "You won't hurt me now, will you, Mr.
Belknap?" This I remarked in a very youthful, pleading tone.
He said, "No," after a struggle. It didn't sound like anything you ever
heard from a human throat.
"I'll just stay here," I said. I wanted a word with the man. Mary looked
doubtful for a moment, but at length left.
"Now, Belknap," says I, when she was safely in her room, and me almighty
glad to be my own self again, "because you've been a friend of
Mary's--that is, because she thought you were--you go free, if you wish.
When we leave we'll send you back a man. Take my advice and go with
him--don't get it into your fool head I'm working a plant on you this
time. You can guess what your carcass will be worth when we take the
city. Our men are due here in minutes."
He looked at me and ground his teeth--palsied with rage, shaking all
over.
"Better do it," I said.
And then came testimony: far-off firing, and yells.
"Our boys are closing in," I told him. "That's them, now."
The firing grew heavier and then quit. The yells increased.
Another look flashed on his face--fear. For a while I think the bigger
man in him determined to stick it out, but fear drew the pot.
The change grew.
"Of course," he said, "if I am to understand that you mean well by me--"
I cut him off.
"I don't mean well by you. I despise you altogether. You get away safely
because Mary thought once you were a friend. It's a fool notion that you
can take advantage of, or not, as pleases you. I won't attempt to
disguise the fact that you are wanted bad by some of our side. Orinez,
there, would like to have your hide to remember you by."
"_Si_, Senor!" says Orinez from the window. "It is only that my word is
given you are not dead now."
There came another burst of firing, nearer. Another street taken.
"I agree," said Belknap, and now he was anxious, fawning. "I can take a
few belongings? Trifles that I have picked up and wish to keep?"
"Leave your trifles and let them keep me," jeered Orinez.
"You can take what you can carry," I answered, short.
"Thank you--thank you," he said hurriedly. "Would you mind if I asked
you to leave me alone in the room? A stranger distracts one when it
comes to what to leave and what to keep."
"We won't steal your darned money, even if we see it," I said. "You'll
have time after we leave to gather your wealth."
He bit his nails. "The time seems short," he said. The firing broke out
nearer, and now you could hear our war-whoop. "Viva Perez! Down with the
traitors!" Each side called the other traitors. "Perez" was the key to
the party.
"Short or not, it's what you get," I answered him. Mary left her room
and the talk stopped.
"I am ready," she said.
I took her bundle and we started. At the head of the stairs she paused.
"Will," she said, "I hate that man; but as I hope to go to the happiness
of my life, I will not leave him so."
"Good for you!" says I.
She went in again and held out her hand.
"Mr. Belknap," she said, "I wish no ill-will between us. Forgive me as
fully as I forgive you."
He was on pins and needles to get his money; to be rid of us.
"Certainly, my dear young lady!" says he with haste and effusion.
"Certainly! Of course!" It meant nothing to him at all. And it meant a
ton to Mary. She stared at him until I pulled her away. "Is that a sane
man?" she asked me.
"I've no time for conundrums," I answered her. "We must be getting out
of this."
If I succeeded, I was to signal Perez. When we reached the garden, I
could walk freely, being in the company of the well-known Senorita
Maria. I undid my neckerchief, shook it carelessly, and Perez was off,
to bring Arthur by any kind of method to the arranged meeting-place.
Orinez struck off ahead to scout for possible danger.
There was none. We hadn't gone five squares before we ran into
panic-stricken rebels, and the firing-line was approaching on the jump.
Not wanting Mary to see the wounded men, and not caring to explain just
then why I couldn't have waited an hour or two for my message, I took
the back way.
We landed at the little ruined stone house before Saxton and Perez; they
had much farther to travel.
"We must wait here," I told Mary.
"Must we?" she asked pitifully. "Can't we go on?"
"Now, my dear girl, see here," says I, in a fatherly manner, "after I've
tried to do the best--"
"Yes, dear, yes--I'm ungrateful, I know." She cried a little. "But I've
been such a fool! You're _sure_ he isn't dangerously hurt?"
"Why, it may be," says I, with a wave of my hand, "that he's up and
around! I don't know much about these things, you know. I'm scart easy."
Then she petted me and said I had a wise reason, she was sure, and if it
was dangerous to go on, she wouldn't, and she'd be patient, and she was
all worn out and she looked a fright, and _what_ a fool she had been!
And she cried some more.
I heard a step. I'd strained my ears for it for the last twenty minutes.
"Now," I says to her, "I'll skip out to see what's doing."
I slid behind a tree in time to prevent Sax from seeing me. Perez was on
the hill waving his hands for joy. I felt pretty dum joyous myself,
hiding in the brush with the lovely feeling of putting through a
thoroughly successful put-up job added to the other.
Dead silence after Saxton stepped within the little house. Then come one
cry--"Arthur!"
The whole business, from the cradle to the grave, was done up in one
small word.
Perez come down the hill; I left my brush-pile. Arthur and Mary were
sitting on the stone step, hand in hand. I'll bet they never said a word
after that first cry, and they held hands like they was afraid to let
go, even for a minute. I thought we'd have lots of explaining to do, but
shucks! They didn't want any explanations. There they were, sitting on
the door-step, hand in hand. Good enough old explanation for anybody.
They didn't even see us.
I raised my voice, calling to Perez, "Your Excellency, I have the honor
to report Panama has fallen!"
And there they sat, hand in hand. They didn't even hear us, neither.
End of Project Gutenberg's Plain Mary Smith, by Henry Wallace Phillips