spirit against the bully's dilated nostrils and vociferous mouth, “thar,
smell that, and taste it, it will do ye good; it was powerful kammin' to
ME last night.”
The ruffian gasped, coughed, choked, but his blaspheming voice died away
in a suffocating hiccough.
“Thar,” continued Allen, as his now subdued captive relaxed his
struggling, “ye 'r' better, and so am I. It's quieter here now, and ye
ain't affectin' my heart so bad. A little fresh air will make us both
all right.” He turned again to Kane in his former subdued confidential
manner.
“Would ye mind openin' that door?”
Kane flew to the door, unlocked it, and held it wide open. The bully
again began to struggle, but a second inhalation of the hartshorn
quelled him, and enabled his captor to drag him to the door. As they
emerged upon the sidewalk, the bully, with a final desperate struggle,
freed his arm and grasped his pistol at his hip-pocket, but at the same
moment Allen deliberately caught his hand, and with a powerful side
throw cast him on the pavement, retaining the weapon in his own hand.
“I've one of my own,” he said to the prostrate man, “but I reckon I'll
keep this yer too, until you're better.”
The crowd that had collected quickly, recognizing the notorious and
discomfited bully, were not of a class to offer him any sympathy, and he
slunk away followed by their jeers. Allen returned quietly to the
shop. Kane was profuse in his thanks, and yet oppressed with his simple
friend's fatuous admiration for a woman who could keep such ruffians in
her employ. “You know who that man was, I suppose?” he said.
“I reckon it was that 'er prize-fighter belongin' to that high-toned
lady,” returned Allen simply. “But he don't know anything about
RASTLIN', b'gosh; only that I was afraid o' bringin' on that heart
trouble, I mout hev hurt him bad.”
“They think”--hesitated Kane, “that--I--was rough in my treatment
of that woman and maliciously cut off her hair. This attack was
revenge--or”--he hesitated still more, as he remembered Dr. Sparlow's
indication of the woman's feeling--“or that bully's idea of revenge.”
“I see,” nodded Allen, opening his small sympathetic eyes on Kane with
an exasperating air of secrecy--“just jealousy.”
Kane reddened in sheer hopelessness of explanation. “No; it was earning
his wages, as he thought.”
“Never ye mind, pard,” said Allen confidentially. “I'll set 'em
both right. Ye see, this sorter gives me a show to call at that thar
restaurant and give HIM back his six-shooter, and set her on the right
trail for you. Why, Lordy! I was here when you was fixin' her--I'm
testimony o' the way you did it--and she'll remember me. I'll sorter
waltz round thar this afternoon. But I reckon I won't be keepin' YOU
from your work any longer. And look yar!--I say, pard!--this is seein'
life in 'Frisco--ain't it? Gosh! I've had more high times in this very
shop in two days, than I've had in two years of St. Jo. So long, Mr.
Kane!” He waved his hand, lounged slowly out of the shop, gave a parting
glance up the street, passed the window, and was gone.
The next day being a half-holiday for Kane, he did not reach the shop
until afternoon. “Your mining friend Allen has been here,” said Doctor
Sparlow. “I took the liberty of introducing myself, and induced him to
let me carefully examine him. He was a little shy, and I am sorry for
it, as I fear he has some serious organic trouble with his heart and
ought to have a more thorough examination.” Seeing Kane's unaffected
concern, he added, “You might influence him to do so. He's a good fellow
and ought to take some care of himself. By the way, he told me to tell
you that he'd seen Madame le Blanc and made it all right about you. He
seems to be quite infatuated with the woman.”
“I'm sorry he ever saw her,” said Kane bitterly.
“Well, his seeing her seems to have saved the shop from being smashed
up, and you from getting a punched head,” returned the Doctor with a
laugh. “He's no fool--yet it's a freak of human nature that a simple
hayseed like that--a man who's lived in the backwoods all his life, is
likely to be the first to tumble before a pot of French rouge like her.”
Indeed, in a couple of weeks, there was no further doubt of Mr. Reuben
Allen's infatuation. He dropped into the shop frequently on his way to
and from the restaurant, where he now regularly took his meals; he spent
his evenings in gambling in its private room. Yet Kane was by no means
sure that he was losing his money there unfairly, or that he was used
as a pigeon by the proprietress and her friends. The bully O'Ryan was
turned away; Sparlow grimly suggested that Allen had simply taken his
place, but Kane ingeniously retorted that the Doctor was only piqued
because Allen had evaded his professional treatment. Certainly the
patient had never consented to another examination, although he
repeatedly and gravely bought medicines, and was a generous customer.
Once or twice Kane thought it his duty to caution Allen against his new
friends and enlighten him as to Madame le Blanc's reputation, but his
suggestions were received with a good-humored submission that was either
the effect of unbelief or of perfect resignation to the fact, and he
desisted. One morning Dr. Sparlow said cheerfully:--
“Would you like to hear the last thing about your friend and the
Frenchwoman? The boys can't account for her singling out a fellow like
that for her friend, so they say that the night that she cut herself at
the fete and dropped in here for assistance, she found nobody here but
Allen--a chance customer! That it was HE who cut off her hair and bound
up her wounds in that sincere fashion, and she believed he had saved her
life.” The Doctor grinned maliciously as he added: “And as that's the
way history is written you see your reputation is safe.”
It may have been a month later that San Francisco was thrown into a
paroxysm of horror and indignation over the assassination of a prominent
citizen and official in the gambling-rooms of Madame le Blanc, at the
hands of a notorious gambler. The gambler had escaped, but in one
of those rare spasms of vengeful morality which sometimes overtakes
communities who have too long winked at and suffered the existence of
evil, the fair proprietress and her whole entourage were arrested and
haled before the coroner's jury at the inquest. The greatest excitement
prevailed; it was said that if the jury failed in their duty,
the Vigilance Committee had arranged for the destruction of the
establishment and the deportation of its inmates. The crowd that had
collected around the building was reinforced by Kane and Dr. Sparlow,
who had closed their shop in the next block to attend. When Kane had
fought his way into the building and the temporary court, held in the
splendidly furnished gambling saloon, whose gilded mirrors reflected the
eager faces of the crowd, the Chief of Police was giving his testimony
in a formal official manner, impressive only for its relentless
and impassive revelation of the character and antecedents of the
proprietress. The house had been long under the espionage of the police;
Madame le Blanc had a dozen aliases; she was “wanted” in New Orleans,
in New York, in Havana! It was in HER house that Dyer, the bank clerk,
committed suicide; it was there that Colonel Hooley was set upon by her
bully, O'Ryan; it was she--Kane heard with reddening cheeks--who defied
the police with riotous conduct at a fete two months ago. As he coolly
recited the counts of this shameful indictment, Kane looked eagerly
around for Allen, whom he knew had been arrested as a witness. How would
HE take this terrible disclosure? He was sitting with the others, his
arm thrown over the back of his chair, and his good-humored face turned
towards the woman, in his old confidential attitude. SHE, gorgeously
dressed, painted, but unblushing, was cool, collected, and cynical.
The Coroner next called the only witness of the actual tragedy, “Reuben
Allen.” The man did not move nor change his position. The summons was
repeated; a policeman touched him on the shoulder. There was a pause,
and the officer announced: “He has fainted, your Honor!”
“Is there a physician present?” asked the Coroner.
Sparlow edged his way quickly to the front. “I'm a medical man,” he said
to the Coroner, as he passed quickly to the still, upright, immovable
figure and knelt beside it with his head upon his heart. There was an
awed silence as, after a pause, he rose slowly to his feet.
“The witness is a patient, your Honor, whom I examined some weeks ago
and found suffering from valvular disease of the heart. He is dead.”
THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD
“Oh! it's you, is it?” said the Editor.
The Chinese boy to whom the colloquialism was addressed answered
literally, after his habit:--
“Allee same Li Tee; me no changee. Me no ollee China boy.”
“That's so,” said the Editor with an air of conviction. “I don't suppose
there's another imp like you in all Trinidad County. Well, next time
don't scratch outside there like a gopher, but come in.”
“Lass time,” suggested Li Tee blandly, “me tap tappee. You no like tap
tappee. You say, alle same dam woodpeckel.”
It was quite true--the highly sylvan surroundings of the Trinidad
“Sentinel” office--a little clearing in a pine forest--and its attendant
fauna, made these signals confusing. An accurate imitation of a
woodpecker was also one of Li Tee's accomplishments.
The Editor without replying finished the note he was writing; at which
Li Tee, as if struck by some coincident recollection, lifted up his long
sleeve, which served him as a pocket, and carelessly shook out a letter
on the table like a conjuring trick. The Editor, with a reproachful
glance at him, opened it. It was only the ordinary request of an
agricultural subscriber--one Johnson--that the Editor would “notice” a
giant radish grown by the subscriber and sent by the bearer.
“Where's the radish, Li Tee?” said the Editor suspiciously.
“No hab got. Ask Mellikan boy.”
“What?”
Here Li Tee condescended to explain that on passing the schoolhouse he
had been set upon by the schoolboys, and that in the struggle the big
radish--being, like most such monstrosities of the quick Californian
soil, merely a mass of organized water--was “mashed” over the head of
some of his assailants. The Editor, painfully aware of these regular
persecutions of his errand boy, and perhaps realizing that a radish
which could not be used as a bludgeon was not of a sustaining nature,
forebore any reproof. “But I cannot notice what I haven't seen, Li Tee,”
he said good-humoredly.
“S'pose you lie--allee same as Johnson,” suggested Li with equal
cheerfulness. “He foolee you with lotten stuff--you foolee Mellikan man,
allee same.”
The Editor preserved a dignified silence until he had addressed his
letter. “Take this to Mrs. Martin,” he said, handing it to the boy; “and
mind you keep clear of the schoolhouse. Don't go by the Flat either if
the men are at work, and don't, if you value your skin, pass Flanigan's
shanty, where you set off those firecrackers and nearly burnt him out
the other day. Look out for Barker's dog at the crossing, and keep
off the main road if the tunnel men are coming over the hill.” Then
remembering that he had virtually closed all the ordinary approaches to
Mrs. Martin's house, he added, “Better go round by the woods, where you
won't meet ANY ONE.”
The boy darted off through the open door, and the Editor stood for a
moment looking regretfully after him. He liked his little protege ever
since that unfortunate child--a waif from a Chinese wash-house--was
impounded by some indignant miners for bringing home a highly imperfect
and insufficient washing, and kept as hostage for a more proper
return of the garments. Unfortunately, another gang of miners, equally
aggrieved, had at the same time looted the wash-house and driven off the
occupants, so that Li Tee remained unclaimed. For a few weeks he
became a sporting appendage of the miners' camp; the stolid butt
of good-humored practical jokes, the victim alternately of careless
indifference or of extravagant generosity. He received kicks and
half-dollars intermittently, and pocketed both with stoical fortitude.
But under this treatment he presently lost the docility and frugality
which was part of his inheritance, and began to put his small wits
against his tormentors, until they grew tired of their own mischief and
his. But they knew not what to do with him. His pretty nankeen-yellow
skin debarred him from the white “public school,” while, although as
a heathen he might have reasonably claimed attention from the
Sabbath-school, the parents who cheerfully gave their contributions to
the heathen ABROAD, objected to him as a companion of their children in
the church at home. At this juncture the Editor offered to take him
into his printing office as a “devil.” For a while he seemed to be
endeavoring, in his old literal way, to act up to that title. He inked
everything but the press. He scratched Chinese characters of an abusive
import on “leads,” printed them, and stuck them about the office; he put
“punk” in the foreman's pipe, and had been seen to swallow small type
merely as a diabolical recreation. As a messenger he was fleet of foot,
but uncertain of delivery. Some time previously the Editor had enlisted
the sympathies of Mrs. Martin, the good-natured wife of a farmer, to
take him in her household on trial, but on the third day Li Tee had
run away. Yet the Editor had not despaired, and it was to urge her to a
second attempt that he dispatched that letter.
He was still gazing abstractedly into the depths of the wood when he was
conscious of a slight movement--but no sound--in a clump of hazel near
him, and a stealthy figure glided from it. He at once recognized it as
“Jim,” a well-known drunken Indian vagrant of the settlement--tied
to its civilization by the single link of “fire water,” for which he
forsook equally the Reservation where it was forbidden and his own camps
where it was unknown. Unconscious of his silent observer, he dropped
upon all fours, with his ear and nose alternately to the ground like
some tracking animal. Then having satisfied himself, he rose, and
bending forward in a dogged trot, made a straight line for the woods.
He was followed a few seconds later by his dog--a slinking, rough,
wolf-like brute, whose superior instinct, however, made him detect the
silent presence of some alien humanity in the person of the Editor, and
to recognize it with a yelp of habit, anticipatory of the stone that he
knew was always thrown at him.
“That's cute,” said a voice, “but it's just what I expected all along.”
The Editor turned quickly. His foreman was standing behind him, and had
evidently noticed the whole incident.
“It's what I allus said,” continued the man. “That boy and that Injin
are thick as thieves. Ye can't see one without the other--and they've
got their little tricks and signals by which they follow each other.
T'other day when you was kalkilatin' Li Tee was doin' your errands I
tracked him out on the marsh, just by followin' that ornery,
pizenous dog o' Jim's. There was the whole caboodle of 'em--including
Jim--campin' out, and eatin' raw fish that Jim had ketched, and green
stuff they had both sneaked outer Johnson's garden. Mrs. Martin may TAKE
him, but she won't keep him long while Jim's round. What makes Li foller
that blamed old Injin soaker, and what makes Jim, who, at least, is a
'Merican, take up with a furrin' heathen, just gets me.”
The Editor did not reply. He had heard something of this before. Yet,
after all, why should not these equal outcasts of civilization cling
together!
*****
Li Tee's stay with Mrs. Martin was brief. His departure was hastened by
an untoward event--apparently ushered in, as in the case of other
great calamities, by a mysterious portent in the sky. One morning an
extraordinary bird of enormous dimensions was seen approaching from the
horizon, and eventually began to hover over the devoted town. Careful
scrutiny of this ominous fowl, however, revealed the fact that it was a
monstrous Chinese kite, in the shape of a flying dragon. The spectacle
imparted considerable liveliness to the community, which, however,
presently changed to some concern and indignation. It appeared that
the kite was secretly constructed by Li Tee in a secluded part of Mrs.
Martin's clearing, but when it was first tried by him he found that
through some error of design it required a tail of unusual proportions.
This he hurriedly supplied by the first means he found--Mrs. Martin's
clothes-line, with part of the weekly wash depending from it. This fact
was not at first noticed by the ordinary sightseer, although the tail
seemed peculiar--yet, perhaps, not more peculiar than a dragon's tail
ought to be. But when the actual theft was discovered and reported
through the town, a vivacious interest was created, and spy-glasses were
used to identify the various articles of apparel still hanging on that
ravished clothes-line. These garments, in the course of their slow
disengagement from the clothes-pins through the gyrations of the kite,
impartially distributed themselves over the town--one of Mrs. Martin's
stockings falling upon the veranda of the Polka Saloon, and the other
being afterwards discovered on the belfry of the First Methodist
Church--to the scandal of the congregation. It would have been well if
the result of Li Tee's invention had ended here. Alas! the kite-flyer
and his accomplice, “Injin Jim,” were tracked by means of the kite's
tell-tale cord to a lonely part of the marsh and rudely dispossessed of
their charge by Deacon Hornblower and a constable. Unfortunately,
the captors overlooked the fact that the kite-flyers had taken the
precaution of making a “half-turn” of the stout cord around a log to
ease the tremendous pull of the kite--whose power the captors had not
reckoned upon--and the Deacon incautiously substituted his own body for
the log. A singular spectacle is said to have then presented itself to
the on-lookers. The Deacon was seen to be running wildly by leaps and
bounds over the marsh after the kite, closely followed by the constable
in equally wild efforts to restrain him by tugging at the end of the
line. The extraordinary race continued to the town until the constable
fell, losing his hold of the line. This seemed to impart a singular
specific levity to the Deacon, who, to the astonishment of everybody,
incontinently sailed up into a tree! When he was succored and cut down
from the demoniac kite, he was found to have sustained a dislocation
of the shoulder, and the constable was severely shaken. By that one
infelicitous stroke the two outcasts made an enemy of the Law and the
Gospel as represented in Trinidad County. It is to be feared also that
the ordinary emotional instinct of a frontier community, to which they
were now simply abandoned, was as little to be trusted. In this dilemma
they disappeared from the town the next day--no one knew where. A
pale blue smoke rising from a lonely island in the bay for some days
afterwards suggested their possible refuge. But nobody greatly cared.
The sympathetic mediation of the Editor was characteristically opposed
by Mr. Parkin Skinner, a prominent citizen:--
“It's all very well for you to talk sentiment about niggers, Chinamen,
and Injins, and you fellers can laugh about the Deacon being snatched
up to heaven like Elijah in that blamed Chinese chariot of a kite--but
I kin tell you, gentlemen, that this is a white man's country! Yes, sir,
you can't get over it! The nigger of every description--yeller,
brown, or black, call him 'Chinese,' 'Injin,' or 'Kanaka,' or what
you like--hez to clar off of God's footstool when the Anglo-Saxon gets
started! It stands to reason that they can't live alongside o' printin'
presses, M'Cormick's reapers, and the Bible! Yes, sir! the Bible; and
Deacon Hornblower kin prove it to you. It's our manifest destiny to clar
them out--that's what we was put here for--and it's just the work we've
got to do!”
I have ventured to quote Mr. Skinner's stirring remarks to show that
probably Jim and Li Tee ran away only in anticipation of a possible
lynching, and to prove that advanced sentiments of this high and
ennobling nature really obtained forty years ago in an ordinary American
frontier town which did not then dream of Expansion and Empire!
Howbeit, Mr. Skinner did not make allowance for mere human nature.
One morning Master Bob Skinner, his son, aged twelve, evaded the
schoolhouse, and started in an old Indian “dug-out” to invade the
island of the miserable refugees. His purpose was not clearly defined
to himself, but was to be modified by circumstances. He would either
capture Li Tee and Jim, or join them in their lawless existence. He
had prepared himself for either event by surreptitiously borrowing
his father's gun. He also carried victuals, having heard that Jim ate
grasshoppers and Li Tee rats, and misdoubting his own capacity for
either diet. He paddled slowly, well in shore, to be secure from
observation at home, and then struck out boldly in his leaky canoe for
the island--a tufted, tussocky shred of the marshy promontory torn off
in some tidal storm. It was a lovely day, the bay being barely ruffled
by the afternoon “trades;” but as he neared the island he came upon the
swell from the bar and the thunders of the distant Pacific, and grew a
little frightened. The canoe, losing way, fell into the trough of the
swell, shipping salt water, still more alarming to the prairie-bred boy.
Forgetting his plan of a stealthy invasion, he shouted lustily as the
helpless and water-logged boat began to drift past the island; at which
a lithe figure emerged from the reeds, threw off a tattered blanket, and
slipped noiselessly, like some animal, into the water. It was Jim, who,
half wading, half swimming, brought the canoe and boy ashore. Master
Skinner at once gave up the idea of invasion, and concluded to join the
refugees.