THE SUPERFALOUS MAN
I came back, but I am not certain that I had ever left the old temple
of Tzin Piaôu. I roused, then, but I am not sure that I had been
asleep. However it may have been, I was conscious of being there in
the temple of Tzin Piaôu for a moment, long enough to observe that my
old heathen priest, half reclining on his slab, was thoughtfully
fingering a hard lump in his girdle, just over the pit of his stomach.
But the moment he saw me looking at him, he made an imperative little
gesture, and--
"Tell th' Professor that other one, Casey," a husky voice commanded.
"_You_ know. Th' day we lost th' friend o' Sly's."
Thereupon the even, drawling, dryly humorous voice began to speak.
This is what it said this time:
"An' then Terry says, 'You're too skinny to fight, an' you ain't big
enough to kill, an' I wouldn't feel much lonesome if you was
somewheres else. You're what _I_ call superfalous.'" The voice
dwelt on the magnificent polysyllable lovingly. "An' th' mayreen
hobo, he lays his head down on th' table an' weeps some weeps into
his glass. It was empty. It always was. 'That's th' wye it gaos
with me,' he says. 'I can't never myke no friends. F'r twenty year
I've been sylin' th' seas fr'm the North Paole to th' South, fr'm th'
East Paole to th' West, chysin meridiums fr'm wyve to wyve, lookin'
f'r a friend. But ev'rywhere I gaos--'
"'Hell,' says Terry, 'if you feel that bad about it, we'll have one
more. Casey,' he says to me, '_is_ they an East Pole? It _sounds_
reas'nable, some way.' An' then," the voice mused blissfully, "we
had th' tamarin' cocktails, an' then we went to ride with the
accidental caraboo. That was a batty day."
"Ain't I never told you about that day?" Suddenly the voice was coy.
"Oh, I don't dast to tell," it murmured. "Local 23 o' th' Christian
Temp'rance Union'll be gettin' after me f'r makin' it look like th'
Army still _drunk_. I don't want to spread no false impressions.
Ev'rybody knows that since th' vile canteen was took away, an' we was
give a real chance to lead th' sinful life, there ain't one soldier
in ten would even pass a saloon, willin'ly. No, sir," the voice
remarked thoughtfully, "I don't reckon there's more'n one in twenty
in th' whole Army would let a s'loon get by him, if he had to walk a
mile out of his road.
"Who this superfalous man was," said the voice, "_I_ don' know. An'
where we was, I've been tryin' to find out ever since. We started in
on beer, but we switched to th' tamarin' cocktails, an' we ended in
th' Lord knows what. Don't you never drink a tamarin' cocktail,
'nless you want Local 23 startin' a grand guard patrol across your
trail.
"That day begun," the voice continued, "with a terrible painful talk
me an' Terry had with th' Old Man. It was th' summer we laid in
Maniller after th' Samar campaign, an' me an' Terry an' the Irishman
named Schleimacher had that patriotic go with th' gu-gu theayter.
That coincident shook the Old Man's faith in us way down to th'
roots, an' f'r weeks afterwards he kep' us doin' double guard an'
double kitchen police an' stunts like that till we was all wore out.
So this mornin' we bucks up an' tells him we needs some more passes
an' a day off.
"'H'm,' says the Old Man. 'If I done my duty by sersiety, you two'd
never get out together, less'n one was in a submarine an' th' other
in a b'loon, and then I'll bet,' he says, 'you'd manage to get your
trails tangled some ways. H'm. Who am I to butt into the stars in
their courses and get a sore head? I can't keep ye in quarters no
longer; y'r luck at poker is causin' too many hard feelin's. An' I
don't dass to let ye out sep'rate, f'r each of ye needs th' other one
to bring him home. H'm.' He gives us th' passes an' then, just when
we thought we was saved at last, he calls us back. 'How much money
have ye got, anyway?' he asts.
"We hates to name th' size. Th' cards _had_ run favorable since last
pay-day.
"'That had ought to keep ye in fines f'r quite a spell,' he says,
when we told him. 'H'm. Give it here. I'll help ye save it.'
"We hands over, an' he peels two skinny little bills off them nice
fat rolls. 'I'll let ye have five apiece,' he says. 'That makes
three dollars f'r chow, an' a dollar to hire carrermatters, an' ten
beers apiece. Ten is all ye need. Y'r stummicks is only supposed to
hold a pint and a half, anyhow,' he says. 'I'll send th' rest of th'
money over to the Adjutant's safe, where you can get at it handy
after summary court to-morrer. H'm.'
"Poor as we was, we'd a been glad to get away, but he stops us again.
'Won't ye be good this once?' he says. 'I can't make it out,' he
says, sad-like, to th' ceilin'. 'Here's Maniller layin' open before
them, with nice long walks stretchin' out all around her. All kinds
of nice long hot walks beckonin' them out among th' rice-paddies.
An' th' Luneta, where they could set and look at th' ships when they
was tired, and kill muskeeters. An' th' Y.M.C.A. readin'-room.
_An'_ th' Lib'ry. H'm. Yet I'm mor'lly certain they'll pass all
them things by on the off side, an' fetch up in some low groggery,
debauchin' young Engineers and Marines an' shatterin' th' Gover'ment.
Why can't my oldest soldiers ack decent?' he says, 'sos't I can take
some _pride_ in th'm?'
"'May I ex-plain to th' Captain, sir?' asts Terry. 'That theayter
_biznai_ was an axxident.'
"'An axxident!' says the Old Man. 'H'm. If you see any axxidents
comin' along to-day, give them the road. They'll get into just one
more axxident,' he says to th' ceilin', 'an' they'll break my heart
an' _then_,' he says, 'there'll be something noticeable doin'.
Something noticeable. H'm.'
"We seen that was no place for us, and we sneaks out like a pair of
cats that had got caught in swimmin'. 'Did you see his eye?' I says,
when we was safe outside. 'It's up to us to walk cracks to-day.'
"Terry just grunts, and the silence didn't really get broken till
we'd beat it down Real and was settin' on a bench in th' Luneta.
Terry spoke first. 'Any man that figures up my stummick,' he says,
'at a quart and a half, has got another guess.'
"'That's a handsome Chink cattle-boat out by the end of the
breakwater,' I says. 'Ain't she got graceful lines?'
"'Why,' asts Terry, scuffin' away at the gravel under the bench,
'didn't he give us a nickel and ast f'r the change? Whose money is
that, anyway?'
"'That transport's a picture,' I says. 'If she was on'y a little
closer, we could almost see the stripes round her smoke-stack.'
"'If,' says Terry, 'they was any way of makin' those dollars
_stretch_, I'd paint a first coat of blood-color all over Maniller,
just to show him what I could do. But he got th' bulge on us when he
got th' cash.'
"'Get on to the ships,' says I. 'He'll ast us how they was lookin'.'
"All to once Terry begins smoothin' the gravel back with his toe.
'Casey,' he says, 'they _will_ stretch! This is the day we walk on
our feet and save two dollars carrermatter money. It ain't such a
much, but--an' then,' he says, 'they's the chow money. I know a
hash-fact'ry where we can get a plate of beans f'r a _peseta y
media_, an' beans is fillin'. Y'r stummick don't hold but two quart
and a half, anyhow, and you don't want to overload it. Come on,' he
says, jumpin' up. 'Altogether there's about seventy-seven beers got
by the Old Man. Come on! We must have lost a lot of time.'
"'As you were,' I says. 'If you take me f'r a low booze-fighter like
yourself,' I says, 'you're much mistaken; and besides,' I says, 'did
ye ever hear the Old Man talk like he did this mornin'?'
"'Onct,' says Terry.
"'An' you know what you _got_,' I says. 'It's up to you and me to
roost high and pull up our feet, f'r if old Ma Trouble gets her claws
into us this happy day, th' Old Man is plannin' to draw cards, too,
and they're a bad pair to buck. _Sabe?_'
"Terry seen I was right, an' that's the way we come to land down
there on th' waterfront. Don't ast me where it was. We walked
through about six gates in th' Walled City and come out on the river,
an' took a canoe and landed somewhere way down on the other side.
That's all I know. There was the place waitin' for us. Café of the
400 Flags, it says in Spanish over the door, and underneath, in
English, Sailor's Friendly.
"And it was a nice friendly sort of place. We was the only ones
there, and after we'd got sat down in a corner by a window, we
figured we'd fooled old Ma Trouble f'r once. There warn't anybody
within a mile to lead us astray, an' we just aimed to set there an'
look at th' boats on th' river till we'd had enough, and then go back
to Barracks and surprise the Old Man, and make him ashamed of
himself. But it warn't to be.
"We hadn't been settin' there more'n half an hour, when that A.O.H.
sailorman Schleimacher from Cavite comes in the door, and th'
sorrerful lad was right behind him. It was all off then, on'y we
didn't know it.
"'Ahoy, amigos,' says Schleimacher. 'Well, well, well, if it ain't
the two paytriots! Always sloppin' round in beer, ain't you? Don't
go dilutin' your insides with that stuff. Here, you,' he yells to
the Malay pirate behind the bar, 'fetch along th' thought-remover f'r
th' Señors.'
"'W'isky?' asts th' pirate.
"'If that ain't like a Marine!' says Terry. 'But then you ain't got
a canteen no more, either.'
"'No, we ain't, _dankum Himmle_,' says Sly, an' th' sorrerful
sailorman butts in, layin' his head down on th' table and cryin' like
a child. 'Times ayn't what they ware,' he says. 'Men don't drink
like they used. Mytes, I remember a dye in Punt' Arenas, off Tristan
d'Acunha--'
"'Who's y'r friend, Sly?' I asts.
"'Damfino,' says Sly. 'He picked me up at th' Navy landin'. Said my
clo'es smelt so salt it made his mouth water. Some lime-juicer on
th' beach, I reckon. No, sir, _dankum Himmle_, there ain't no more
canteen. When I think,' Sly says, 'of th' pay I've wasted aboard,
f'r belly-wash, but now,' he says, 'you don't hit th' beach on'y
after pay-days, an' then you've got th' money, an' you've got the
_thirst_, an' Mine Gott!' he says, 'the load you can get on! No
canteens in mine. Fill th'm up. They's one f'r you, Barnacles, if
you can keep the tear-drops out of it.'
"The guy sat up straight enough, soon as a drink was mentioned, and
we got a good look at him. Talk about y'r hoboes! That mayreener
looked like he'd been trampin' it way down on th' bottom, and hadn't
got around to shakin' himself and combin' the shells and seaweed out
of his hair.
"'Well,' says Terry, when he'd took him in, 'he sure does look
superfalous to me.'
"The guy mops up his drink, an' lays his head down on th' table
again. 'That's th' wye it gaos,' he blatters. 'I can't never myke
no friends, and so I gao chysin' meridiums over the angry wyves. I
_'ad_ a friend onct, to Valparaiso, as smart a 'and as ever reefed a
stuns'l--' he chokes up so bad he can't talk.
"'Good Lord, Sly,' says Terry, 'have we got to set around with that
all day?'
"'Chuck him overboard if you want,' says Sly. 'He ain't mine. But
let him stay, and I'll pay for his. I like a crowd around to kind of
keep them movin'.'
"'I 'ad a shipmyte onct off Comorin,' bleats th' sorrerful lad, 'but
'e was lost, steppin' of th' bowsprit'--he chokes up.
"'Oh, well,' says Terry, 'if you feel that bad about losin' him,
we'll have one more. We'll all pay f'r his rounds, Sly, if he's
broke. On'y, he does look superfalous to me.'
"I reckon that wanderer must have felt near as bad as he looked!
Seemed like he'd been pretty near everywhere once or twice, an' ev'ry
place he remembered, something about it made him cry. We got ust to
him after a while, and he just sat with his head among th' glasses,
'ceptin' when a drink come by.
"Long about noon we got to wonderin' what we'd better drink next.
Th' thought-remover warn't workin' to suit Sly. 'Th' ferry goes at
six,' he says, 'an' I ain't even got a start yet. Le's try an' find
somethin' certain.' Then th' weeper looks up.
"'I can't 'ope to myke no friends,' he says, eyein' us mournful, 'but
I can myke a tamarin' Cocktail. A little lydy down to Macassar
learnt me. Mytes, w'en I think of that pore young girl an' the
'orrible wye I lost 'er--' it took two thought-removers to get him
sos't he could tell th' pirate what bottles to bring f'r th'
cocktail. They made a bunch. Th' sorrerful lad most looked happy
when he saw them.
"'They ayn't no tamarin's,' he says, 'but _that_ don't myke no
differunce. Mytes, you'd ought to see th' tamarin's at Isle o'
France! W'en I think I'll never see no tamarin's like them no
more--' On'y th' bottles saved him. He took a swig out of the first
one he touched. Right there th' Sorrers o' Satan lad begun to look
fishy to me. Didn't seem like anybody'd need quite so many drinks to
drown anything but a thirst. But I forgot all that when he gave me
th' cocktail.
"'Stead of a kick it had a kind of a pull to it, that drink did, like
a b'loon. 'Two more of them,' says Sly, settin' down his glass, 'an'
th' Cavite ferry can go when it very well pleases. _I_ can walk.'
"'If so be I _'ad_ a friend,' says th' mayreener, sort of proud at
th' way we lapped them up, 'they's nothin' I'd love better'n to set
all dye long mykin' tamarin' cocktails for 'im.' I reckon that was no
lie. 'Mytes,' says he, 'w'en I think I'll never 'ave no real friend
to myke th'm for--'
"'Brace up, Bo,' says Terry, like a father. Th' tamarin's had took
holt that quick. 'Brace up, old sport. We're all friends o' your'n
here. Ain't that so, boys?'
"'_Is_ it, mytes?' says th' mayreener. '_Is_ it? Well, well, I
never thought to 'ave _three_ friends all to onct! W'en I think of
all the 'undreds of shipmytes--I'll be mykin' up another, mytes.'
"So Barnacles, he got started makin' th'm, an' we got started
drinkin' th'm. So did he. I never seen a drink ack like them.
Didn't seem to have no real effeck, but things just moved away back
where they belonged an' let you alone. And sympathetic! Say, if we
could on'y manage to throw a few of them into Local 23, we'd get th'
canteen back. They sure are a funny drink. 'Bout th' sixth, we
couldn't do enough f'r that stranded mayreener. I'd forgot all about
his seemin' fishy, and me an' Terry an' Sly hung round him like a
bunch of old-maid aunts, givin' him drinks ev'ry time he remembered
anything. He sure had a great mem'ry. 'Twarn't till th' middle of
the afternoon it begun to show signs of givin' out. An' then he
thinks he wants to have a look at Maniller--sos't he could remember
_that_, I reckon.
"His legs wouldn't quite hold him. 'Mytes,' he says, 'me knees ayn't
what they ware. W'en I remember them trips to Kerguelen's Land, down
round San Fernando Fo--in them dyes no smarter 'and rove a dead-eye
or 'auled a keel. But now--'
"'Give him an arm, Casey,' says Terry. 'Can't you see he ain't as
young as us? Brace up, old sport, we'll look out f'r _you_.'
"So th' three of us steers th' sorrerful sailorman out onto th'
_muelle_, an' there warn't a livin' soul on th' whole river front but
just the accidental caraboo! _He_ was standin' hitched to a cart,
right where old Ma had left him.
"Th' mayreener breaks down when he sees that caraboo. 'A buffalao!'
he blatters. 'I ayn't seen one of them since I was a gye young
sheperd--fisherman, on me father's little farm in th'
valleys--beaches o' Bengal! Mytes, lead me to th' buffalao.'
"'That ain't a buffalo, sport,' says Terry. 'Buffalos has hair.
That's a caraboo, an' you don't want no part of him. They ain't
safe.'
"''E'll not 'urt me,' says th' mayreener. 'Aoh, th' buffalaos I've
fed and watered with these 'ands in th' dear old dyes. Lead me to
'im, mytes.'
"We steers him over and he falls on that caraboo's neck and cries
into his ear and blubbers some kind of talk to him: an' th' caraboo
wriggles his ear an' waggles his little tail an' blubbers back. Them
two understood each other! It knocked me flat. All my respec' f'r
th' mayreener comes back.
"'Ay, mytes,' he bleats, 'it mykes me young again to talk with 'im.
Put us up on th' cart, mytes.'
"'Ye can't drive him, sport?' says Terry, doubtful.
"'F'r years I done nothink else,' says th' mayreener. 'Aoh, the old,
'appy dyes! Put us up, mytes, an' pass us th' nose rope.'
"'If th' caraboo kills him,' says Terry, 'it'll on'y put th' pore old
feller out of his mis'ry.' So we hists him up an' gives him th' nose
rope, and there he set cross-legged like a nigger, jerkin' th' rope
an' talkin' caraboo-talk, an' th' caraboo goes! Yes, sir, th'
mayreener drives him up an' down like he'd been born there! I never
seen no other white man that could do that.
"'Come aboard, mytes,' he says, pullin' up. 'We'll tyke a little
turn about th' taown.'
"Seems like I heard old Ma Trouble scratchin' herself somewheres.
'You go along an' help Ma, Terry,' I says, 'an' I'll report the
axxident to th' Old Man. When it comes to takin' a ride with a
stolen caraboo an' a hayseed mayreener fr'm th' beaches of Bengal---'
"'I knowed I couldn't 'ope to 'ave _three_ friends,' says th'
mayreener, doublin' up an' cryin' like a child. It didn't touch my
heart, not hard, but Terry an' Sly was still full of tamarindy
feelin's. 'Don't spoil th' pore old feller's fun,' they says.
'We'll bring th' caraboo back, so it ain't as if we stole him. He's
just borrered.'
"So I clumb on and we starts, th' mayreener settin' an' jerkin' th'
rope, and us hangin' our legs off th' back of th' wagon. And by th'
time we'd gone a ways, I begin to like it! It was somethin' new, an'
then I reckon perhaps th' joltin' freshened up my tamarin's some.
Anyhow, th' houses moved back and made room, an' th' people on th'
sidewalks, givin' us a glad hand an' a merry ha-ha, sounded far-away
an' soothin', and when we'd got up to Binondo bridge it seemed so
natchral I wasn't even wonderin' any more why a copper didn't pinch
us. I don't _sabe_ that yet, but I reckon old Ma kep' them off till
she got done with us.
"Yes, sir, that ride went fine, till we come to th' foot of the
Escolta. You know what it's like at that time of day? Jam full! A
line of rigs was standin' along each side of that narrer little old
street, and inside of them two more lines was pokin' along, opposite
ways, and in what was left of th' middle th' horse-cars was doin'
rapid transit. Didn't look like you could crowd a thin dog through
that mess.
"'Here's where we turn round, sport,' says Terry, but it was no use.
Th' mayreener whispers some messages down th' rope an' th' caraboo
swings into th' car-tracks, and next minute there we was plowin' a
road up the Escolta, and no way of backin' out till we hit the other
end, half a mile away. I never felt so conspectuous in my life!
Ev'rybody was lookin'. 'Tain't often they see three soldiers
caraboo-drivin' up the Escolta, with old man McGinty at th' rope!
"We might have made it, I still think, if th' mayreener had stuck to
th' job. He sure sabed caraboo. But he lays down on us. Yes, sir,
right there he just curls up and goes sound asleep! 'My watch below,
mytes,' he says. 'Relieve th' w'eel,' an' he topples over. Sly
grabs th' rope.
"And away we went! Seems like th' caraboo knowed something green had
took holt. He puts his nose down an' whoofs an' swings his head.
First wipe th' tip of a horn catches a chicken-coop wagon, an'
R-r-rip!--th' spokes is out of a wheel. He swings th' other way an'
takes a piece of varnish, with th' wood still on it, of a shiny new
victorier. Sly gets mad at that!
"'Clear out of th' fairway, ye blinkety-blanked-blicked-zinked
longshoreman,' he yells, hittin' th' caraboo a crack with the end of
th' rope. Th' caraboo breaks into a gallop, swingin' them horns like
a scythe, and ev'ry jump Sly hands him another. 'Stand by to repel
boarders,' he sings out. 'Hit th' victorier guy in th' eye if he
sets a foot on deck. Wheee-ee-e! Luff up, ahead there, you're off
your course! Luff up! Well, _take_ it, then.' Zing! Bing! One of
our wheels--they was sawed solid off a log four foot through--hits a
carrermatter an' tosses it onto another, and them two piles up some
more. 'Whee-ee-ee!' Sly yells. 'Hold her as she is! Didn't carry
away nothin' that trip, did we? Whee-ee-eee!'
"He lights in with th' rope and away we goes again, two ton of
caraboo and two ton of wagon, both built low, at a dead gallop! Rigs
was pilin' up all around us, an' horses was kickin' an' squealin',
an' wheels was lockin' up an' rippin' out spokes, an' _cocheros_ was
cussin' in ten languages. Away back I seen a mounted cop chasin' us,
but Ma had him headed off in that mess.
"And then She sets her claws in! Right ahead of us a carrermatter
was streakin' it hell-bent through an open space, tryin' to get away.
We could see th' feller in it leanin' forrard and whalin' th' horse.
But, Lord, that caraboo'd a run down a thoroughbred.
"'Sheer off to starboard!' Sly yells. 'What do ye _mean_, loafin'
round th' channel that way, ye blinkety-bling-blanked son of a mess
attendant? I report ye to th' Captain of th' Port. To starboard, I
tell ye. Port your helm! Hard over! Oh, well,' he says, 'if you
_want_ it--Collision bulkheads, boys, I'll have to ram him. Hold
hard, all! Whee-eee-eeee!' He hits th' caraboo a couple more, and
it seems like we go right through that carrermatter. It just fades
away. 'Take that!' yells Sly. 'An' I'll report ye, besides.'
"An' right then, risin' up out of what had been th' carrermatter, I
seen a short chunky kind of a man, with a tire hung to one ear, and a
handful of spokes stickin' out of one pocket, and a piece of
dashboard in one hand. I didn't see him long, but I seen him awful
plain. It was _Him_! 'Looka there!' I whispers--I couldn't
talk--an' Terry takes one look, an' _he_ couldn't talk.
"An' then th' Old Man catches sight of us, an' he stands up in th'
ruins and shakes th' piece of dashboard at us. 'H'm!' he says.
'H'm-mmm!' That's all. _He_ couldn't talk, neither.
"Right there a street turns off the Escolta, an' I seen it was then
or never. 'Sly,' I says, 'can ye turn off here to th' lef'?'
"'Sure,' he says. 'Anywheres. He's steerin' fine now.
Whoop-eee-eeee-ee!' Zing! Bing! Sly leans back on th' rope, an'
th' caraboo puts his nose down, an' Whoof!--he hits that line of rigs
between us an' th' road we needed. Talk about football. Two bumps
and a hard swaller, an' we was gallopin' down that side street, with
th' racket dyin' away behind us.
"'Keep him goin', Sly,' I says. ''Twas th' Old Man we hit!'
"'Mine Gott!' says Sly, and lights in with th' rope. Th' caraboo
tries to fly, but that didn't bother us. We wouldn't a cared if he
had. We just hangs on and lets him go it.
"When he did stop it was in front of a s'loon! Funny coincident,
warn't it? We seen there was just one thing to do, an' th' mayreener
thinks so, too. He slep' through all that, but th' minute we was
sneakin' up quiet on a drink he comes to life!
"''As anythink 'appened, mytes?' he asts. We tells him.
"'Aoh,' he says, 'I do 'ope ye 'aven't 'urt me buffalao! They're
dillikit creachures, mytes. In the old, 'appy dyes--' he has to cry
in th' caraboo's ear before he can take his drink.
"Don't ast me how we spent th' rest of the afternoon. Ast th'
caraboo; he was boss. We couldn't steer him none to speak of, but we
could start him goin'. He stopped himself. Always in front of a
s'loon, too. I'd like to see th' guy that owned him.
"An' ev'ry time he stopped, th' mayreener would wake up an' mix a
tamarin' cocktail an' have a weep. His mem'ry was workin' fine
again. An' so we follered th' trail of that intemp'rate caraboo
through all th' back streets of Maniller, wanderin' on fr'm one low
haunt of vice to another till the houses moved back where they
belonged again, an' th' sun got nice and hot and shiny, and even th'
Old Man didn't seem to matter--much--an' we went to sleep on th'
cart, still wanderin'.
"When I woke up, Sly was gone, but Terry and th' mayreener was still
poundin' their ears, and th' caraboo was still walkin', quiet, like
he was loafin' home with his dinner-pail and pipe after a hard day's
work, along a road between some rice-paddies. Things looked new to
me and I set up and took a look. We was lost! Th' sun was settin'
'way over across th' paddies, and there warn't no Maniller in sight,
nor nothin' but just th' paddies and th' road--and us. And I warn't
sure whether it was yestidday or to-morrer! I felt so lonesome I
woke Terry up.
"We set lookin' round a spell, and things begun to come back to us.
'Old Ma cert'nly hooked th'm in this time,' I says. 'Th' Old Man's
heart is broke now, all right. Did ye spot th' look in his eye when
he reco'nized us? That spelt G.C.M. to me.'
"'Th' carrermatter was just an axxi--' Terry stops short. 'I donno,'
he says, 'but what it would be safer to desert.'
"'Maybe we've deserted a'ready,' I says. 'Lord knows how long we've
overstayed our leave. I feel like I'd slep' a month.'
"'I've got a head, too,' says Terry. 'It was them tamarin' cocktails
done it. Swelp me if I ever drink another drink.'
"That hits th' mayreener. 'Lead me to it, mytes,' he says, sleepy.
'Me legs ayn't what they ware, but lead me to it.'
"'That's what done it,' I says to Terry.
"Terry looks at th' mayreener a spell. 'Casey,' he says, 'you're
right. He done it, th' shrimp. It was him invented th' tamarin's,
and _him_ st-- borrered th' caraboo, and him went to sleep on the
Escolta. And us aimin' to ack decent, an' gettin' th' Old Man to
save our money for us. Th' cock-eyed old cod-fish!' says Terry,
eyein' th' slumberin' mayreener. 'I'd like to bat his head off.
Swelp me if ever I drink another--'
"'Mytes,' th' mayreener begins, but Terry claps a hand over his
mouth. 'What'll we do to him, Casey?' he says.
"'Le's think,' I says.
"Th' caraboo was still loafin' along with his pick and shovel over
his shoulder, and we sets and looks at him, and th' mayreener, and
th' paddies, thinkin'. It was gettin' pretty near dark, and 'way
ahead of us was some mountains th' caraboo looked to be makin' for.
Then th' plan come to us.
"'Give us th' rope, Casey,' Terry says. 'He might roll off 'n muddy
his cloes.' They was a coil of pack-rope on th' cart, and we takes
and rolls th' mayreener all up in it and fastens him to th' cart, all
safe and sound. He never yips till we're settin' th' last knot.
'_Three_ friends,' he says. 'Mytes, I never thought to 'ave--'
"'Friends!' says Terry. '_Friends_! Ain't he got a nerve!'
"We drops off behind and leaves him and his buffalao to jog along.
It was gettin' dark, but we set down and watched them out of sight.
They was passin' out of our lives slow but sure, joggin' along, him
and his buffalao.
"'There may be ladrones in them mountains,' I says.
"'Ladrones,' says Terry, 'wouldn't bother _him_. He's too
superfalous f'r ladrones.'
"It got darker and darker, and pretty soon old Mr. Caraboo grunts up
over a little rise and they was gone. 'Well,' says Terry, 'if he
ever does get back, he'll have somethin' _real_ to remember this
time. Come along, Casey.'
"So we hits th' road. We reckoned if we follered it long enough, we
prob'ly strike some place. So we plugs along through th' dark. We
warn't worryin' none about Schleimacher. Nothin' ever happens to a
full-blooded Marine, anyhow, and we had other things to think about.
"'Did ye notice th' tire round his neck?' I says. 'That tire'll cost
us a mont' extry.'
"Terry grunts. 'Considerin' th' months we'll get anyhow,' he says,
disgusted-like, 'an extry one is what _I'd_ call superfalous.'
"And so," the voice concluded thoughtfully, "we plugs along."