BONAPARTE'S WATERLOO
Bonaparte lay on the little front porch--the loafing place which
opened into Billy Buch's bar-room. Apparently, he was asleep and
basking in the warm Autumn sunshine. In reality he was doing his star
trick and one which could have originated only in the brains of a
born genius. Feigning sleep, he thus enticed within striking distance
all the timid country dogs visiting Cottontown for the first time,
and viewing its wonders with a palpitating heart. Then, like a bolt
from the sky, he would fall on them, appalled and paralyzed--a demon
with flashing teeth and abbreviated tail.
When finally released, with lacerated hides and wounded feelings,
they went rapidly homeward, and they told it in dog language, from
Dan to Beersheba, that Cottontown was full of the terrible and the
unexpected.
And a great morning he had had of it--for already three humble and
unsuspecting curs, following three humble and unsuspecting countrymen
who had walked in to get their morning's dram, had fallen victims to
his guile.
Each successful raid of Bonaparte brought forth shouts of laughter
from within, in which Billy Buch, the Dutch proprietor, joined. It
always ended in Bonaparte being invited in and treated to a cuspidor
of beer--the drinking, with the cuspidor as his drinking horn, being
part of his repertoire. After each one Billy Buch would proudly
exclaim:
"Mine Gott, but dat Ponyparte ees one greet dog!"
Then Bonaparte would reel around in a half drunken swagger and go
back to watch for other dogs.
"I tell you, Billy," said Jud Carpenter--"Jes' watch that dog. They
ain't no dog on earth his e'kal when it comes to brains. Them country
dogs aflyin' up the road reminds me of old Uncle Billy Alexander who
paid for his shoes in bacon, and paid every spring in advance for the
shoes he was to get in the fall. But one fall when he rid over after
his shoes, the neighbors said the shoemaker had gone--gone for
good--to Texas to live--gone an' left his creditors behin'. Uncle
Billy looked long an' earnestly t'wards the settin' sun, raised his
han's to heaven an' said: 'Good-bye, my bacon!'"
Billy Buch laughed loudly.
"Dat ees goot--goot--goot-bye, mine bac'n! I dus remember dat."
Bonaparte had partaken of his fourth cuspidor of beer and was in a
delightful state of swagger and fight when he saw an unusual
commotion up the street. What was it, thought Bonaparte--a crowd of
boys and men surrounding another man with an organ and leading a
little devil of a hairy thing, dressed up like a man.
His hair bristled with indignation. That little thing dividing honors
with him in Cottontown? It was not to be endured for a moment!
Bonaparte stood gazing in indignant wonder. He slowly arose and
shambled along half drunkenly to see what it all meant. A crowd had
gathered around the thing--the insignificant thing which was
attracting more attention in Cottontown than himself, the champion
dog. Among them were some school boys, and one of them, a red-headed
lad, was telling his brother all about it.
"Now, Ozzie B., this is a monkey--the furst you've ever seed. He
looks jes' like I told you--sorter like a man an' sorter like a
nigger an' sorter like a groun' hog."
"The pretties' thing I ever seed," said Ozzie B., walking around and
staring delightedly.
The crowd grew larger. It was a show Cottontown had never seen
before.
Then two men came out of the bar-room--one, the bar-keeper, fat and
jolly, and the other lank and with malicious eyes.
This gave Bonaparte his cue and he bristled and growled.
"Look out, mister," said the tender-hearted Ozzie B. to the Italian,
"watch this here dog, Bonaparte; he's terrible 'bout fightin'. He'll
eat yo' monkey if he gets a chance."
"Monk he noo 'fear'd ze dog," grinned the Italian. "Monk he whup ze
dog."
"Vot's dat?" exclaimed Billy Buch--"Vot's dat, man, you say? Mine
Gott, I bet ten to one dat Ponyparte eats him oop!"
To prove it Bonaparte ran at the monkey savagely. But the monkey ran
up on the Italian's shoulder, where he grinned at the dog.
The Italian smiled. Then he ran his hand into a dirty leathern belt
which he carried around his waist--and slowly counted out some gold
coins. With a smile fresh as the skies of Italy, full of all
sweetness, gentleness and suavity:
"Cover zees, den, py Gar!"
Billy gasped and grasped Jud around the neck where he clung, with his
Dutch smile frozen on his lips. Jud, with collapsed under jaw, looked
sheepishly around. Bonaparte tried to stand, but he, too, sat down in
a heap.
The crowd cheered the Italian.
"We will do it, suh," said Jud, who was the first to recover, and who
knew he would get his part of it from Billy.
"Ve vill cover eet," said Billy, with ashen face.
"We will!" barked Bonaparte, recovering his equilibrium and snarling
at the monkey.
There was a sob and a wail on the outskirts of the crowd.
"Oh, don't let him kill the monkey--oh, don't!"
It was Ozzie B.
Archie B. ran hastily around to him, made a cross mark in the road
with his toe and spat in it.
"You're a fool as usual, Ozzie B.," he said, shaking his brother.
"Can't you see that Italian knows what he's about? If he'd risk that
twenty, much as he loves money, he'd risk his soul. _Venture pee-wee
under the bridge--bam--bam--bam!_"
Ozzie B. grew quieter. Somehow, what Archie B. said always made
things look differently. Then Archie B. came up and whispered in his
ear: "I'm fur the monkey--the Lord is on his side."
Ozzie B. thought this was grand.
Then Archie B. hunted for his Barlow pocket knife. Around his neck,
tied with a string, was a small greasy, dirty bag, containing a piece
of gum asafoetida and a ten-dollar gold piece. The asafoetida was worn
to keep off contagious diseases, and the gold piece, which
represented all his earthly possessions, had been given him by his
grandmother the year she died.
Archie B. was always ready to "swap sight under seen." He played
marbles for keeps, checkers for apples, ran foot-races for stakes,
and even learned his Sunday School lessons for prizes.
The Italian still stood, smiling, when a small red-headed boy came up
and touched him on the arm. He put a ten-dollar gold piece into the
Italian's hand.
"Put this in for me, mister--an' make 'em put up a hundred mo'. I
want some of that lucre."
The Italian was touched. He patted Archie B.'s head:
"Breens," he said, "breens uppa da."
Again he shook the gold in the face of Jud and Bill.
"Now bring on ze ten to one, py Gar!"
The cheers of the crowd nettled Billy and Jud.
"Jes' wait till we come back," said Jud. "'He laughs bes' who laughs
las'.'"
They retired for consultation.
Bonaparte followed.
Within the bar-room they wiped the cold perspiration from their faces
and looked speechlessly into each other's eyes. Billy spoke first.
"Mine Gott, but we peek it oop in de road, Jud?"
"It seems that way to me--a dead cinch."
Bonaparte was positive--only let him get to the monkey, he said with
his wicked eyes.
Billy looked at Bonaparte, big, swarthy, sinewy and savage. He
thought of the little monkey.
"Dees is greet!--dees is too goot!--Jud, we peek it oop in de road,
heh?"
"I'm kinder afraid we'll wake an' find it a dream, Billy--hurry up.
Get the cash."
Billy was thoughtful: "Tree hun'd'd dollars--Jud--eef--eef--" he
shook his head.
"Now, Billy," said Jud patronizingly--"that's nonsense. Bonaparte
will eat him alive in two minutes. Now, he bein' my dorg, jes' you
put up the coin an' let me in on the ground floor. I'll pay it
back--if we lose--" he laughed. "_If_ we lose--it's sorter like
sayin' if the sun don't rise."
"Dat ees so, Jud, we peek eet oop in de road. But eef we don't peek
eet oop, Billy ees pusted!"
"Oh," said Jud, "it's all like takin' candy from your own child."
The news had spread and a crowd had gathered to see the champion dog
of the Tennessee Valley eat up a monkey. All the loafers and
ne'er-do-wells of Cottontown were there. The village had known no
such excitement since the big mill had been built.
They came up and looked sorrowfully at the monkey, as they would
look in the face of the dead. But, considering that he had so short a
time to live, he returned the grin with a reverence which was
sacrilegious.
"So han'sum--so han'sum," said Uncle Billy Caldwell, the squire. "So
bright an' han'sum an' to die so young!"
"It's nothin' but murder," said another.
This proved too much for Ozzie B.--
"Don't--d-o-n-'t--let him kill the monkey," he cried.
There was an electric flash of red as Archie B. ran around the tree
and kicked the sobs back into his brother.
"Just wait, Ozzie B., you fool."
"For--what?" sobbed Ozzie.
"For what the monkey does to Bonaparte," he shouted triumphantly.
The crowd yelled derisively: "_What the monkey does to
Bonaparte--that's too good?_"
"Boy," said Uncle Billy kindly--"don't you know it's ag'in
nachur--why, the dorg'll eat him up!"
"That's rot," said Archie B. disdainfully. Then hotly: "Yes, it wus
ag'in nachur when David killed Goliath--when Sampson slew the lion,
and when we licked the British. Oh, it wus ag'in nachur then, but it
looks mighty nach'ul now, don't it? Jes' you wait an' see what the
monkey does to Bonaparte. I tell you, Uncle Billy, the Lord's on the
monkey's side--can't you see it?"
Uncle Billy smiled and shook his head. He was interrupted by low
laughter and cheers. A villager had drawn a crude picture on a white
paste-board and was showing it around. A huge dog was shaking a
lifeless monkey and under it was written:
"What Bonaparte Done To The Monkey!"
Archie B. seized it and spat on it derisively: "Oh, well, that's the
way of the worl'," he said. "God makes one wise man to see befo', an'
a million fools to see afterwards."
The depths of life's mysteries have never yet been sounded, and one
of the wonders of it all is that one small voice praying for flowers
in a wilderness of thorns may live to see them blossom at his feet.
"I've seed stranger things than that," remarked Uncle Billy
thoughtfully. "The boy mout be right."
And now Jud and Billy were seen coming out of the store, with their
hands full of gold.
"Eet's robbery--eet's stealin'"--winked Billy at the crowd--"eet's
like takin' it from a babe--"
With one accord the crowd surged toward the back lot, where
Bonaparte, disgusted with the long delay, had lain down on a pile of
newly-blown leaves and slept. Around the lot was a solid plank fence,
with one gate open, and here in the lot, sound asleep in the
sunshine, lay the champion.
The Italian brought along the monkey in his arms. Archie B. calmly
and confidently acting as his bodyguard. Jud walked behind to see
that the monkey did not get away, and behind him came Ozzie B.
sobbing in his hiccoughy way:
"Don't let him kill the po' little thing!"
He could go no farther than the gate. There he stood weeping and
looking at the merciless crowd.
Bonaparte was still asleep on his pile of leaves. Jud would have
called and wakened him, but Archie B. said: "Oh, the monkey will
waken him quick enough--let him alone."
In the laugh which followed, Jud yielded and Archie B. won the first
blood in the battle of brains.
The crowd now stood silent and breathless in one corner of the lot.
Only Ozzie B.'s sobs were heard. In the far corner lay Bonaparte.
The Italian stooped, and unlinking the chain of the monkey's collar,
sat him on the ground and, pointing to the sleeping dog, whispered
something in Italian into his pet's ear.
The crowd scarcely drew its breath as it saw the little animal
slipping across the yard to its death.
Within three feet of the dog he stopped, then springing quickly on
Bonaparte, with a screeching, bloodcurdling yell, grabbed his stump
of a tail in both hands, and as the crowd rushed up, they heard its
sharp teeth close on Bonaparte's most sensitive member with the
deadly click of a steel trap.
The effect was instantaneous. A battery could not have brought the
champion to his feet quicker. With him came the monkey--glued
there--a continuation of the dog's tail.
Around and around went Bonaparte, snarling and howling and making
maddening efforts to reach the monkey. But owing to the shortness of
Bonaparte's tail, the monkey kept just out of reach, its hind legs
braced against the dog, its teeth and nails glued to the two inches
of tail.
Around and around whirled Bonaparte, trying to throw off the things
which had dropped on him, seemingly, from the skies. His growls of
defiance turned to barks, then to bowls of pain and finally, as he
ran near to Archie B., he was heard to break into yelps of fright as
he broke away dashing around the lot in a whirlwind of leaves and
dust.
The champion dog was running!
"Sick him, Bonaparte, grab him--turn round an' grab him!" shouted Jud
pale to his eyes, and shaking with shame.
"Seek heem, Ponyparte--O mine Gott, seek him," shouted Billy.
Jud rushed and tried to head the dog, but the champion seemed to have
only one idea in his head--to get away from the misery which brought
up his rear.
Around he went once more, then seeing the gate open, he rushed out,
knocking Ozzie B. over into the dust, and when the crowd rushed out,
nothing could be seen except a cloud of dust going down the village
street, in the hind most cloud of it a pair of little red coat tails
flapping in the breeze.
Then the little red coat tails suddenly dropped out of the cloud of
dust and came running back up the road to meet its master.
Jud watched the vanishing cloud of dust going toward the distant
mountains.
"My God--not Bonaparte--not the champion," he said.
Billy stood also looking with big Dutch tears in his eyes. He
watched the cloud of dust go over the distant hills. Then he waved
his hand sadly--
"Goot-pye, mine bac'n!"
The monkey came up grinning triumphantly.
Thinking he had done something worthy of a penny, he added to Billy
Buch's woe by taking off his comical cap and passing it around for a
collection.
He was honest in it, but the crowd took it as irony, and amid their
laughter Jud and Billy slipped away.
Uncle Billy, the stake-holder, in handing the money over to the
Italian, remarked:
"Wal, it don't look so much ag'in nachur now, after all."
"Breens uppa dar"--smiled the Italian as he put ten eagles into
Archie B.'s hand. All of which made Archie B. vain, for the crowd now
cheered him as they had jeered before.
"Come, let's go, Ozzie B.," he said. "They ain't no man livin' can
stand too much heroism."