Читать книгу The Tide of Empire - Peter B. Kyne - Страница 8

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The prisoners in Bejabers Harmon’s charge proved to be an assorted lot. The two men who had killed their opponents in street duels were tall, slim, wiry Texans, who looked D’Arcy clearly in the eyes and apparently felt themselves as good citizens as any in San Francisco. Their men, it appeared, had “called them out,” they had accepted, and the duels had both been fought according to the rough and ready code of the period. Placing themselves back to back they had walked fifteen paces, then remained standing until each had assured the other he was ready; then a count of “One—two—three”; at the third count they had whirled and fired. Their names were Allen Judson and Martin McCready.

The bigamist was a little, furtive, undeveloped man, in whose history D’Arcy could find no interest. Indeed a brief interview sufficed to inform him that this man would not make a desirable addition to his party.

“Turn him loose,” D’Arcy whispered to the jailer. “We cannot use him.”

The three alleged horse thieves proved to be Americans, by name Ord, Sargent, and Lundy. Hardy men they were and, like Judson and McCready, they lent a ready ear to the proposal that, if Bejabers should consent to turn them loose, they should join D’Arcy’s caravan and work for him at the going rate of wages, inclusive of board and lodging, then in vogue at the diggings.

Of the two sailors, one was a cockney, by name Pye; the other, Vilmont, was a huge Gascon, who spoke no English. He was quite at home with D’Arcy’s French, however, and he and Pye readily—indeed, gratefully—agreed to D’Arcy’s plans.

The afternoon was spent loading into the Black Maria such supplies as the jail afforded that might be likely to prove of value to the expedition. About six o’clock work was discontinued, and D’Arcy and his fellows repaired to a restaurant for dinner. Pathfinder had, in the meantime, found sanctuary in the jail stable. After dinner D’Arcy saddled him and returned to his camp near Mission Dolores, while Bejabers Harmon and his ex-prisoners again sought the cold comforts of the jail.

About seven o’clock next morning D’Arcy appeared with his string of pack-mules and Francisco. At the stores where he had ordered his provisions and other goods, the mules were packed, each mule bearing two hundred pounds of cargo; the evidence in the horse-stealing cases were also saddled, and a splendid team of black horses was hitched to the loaded Black Maria. D’Arcy’s cash reserve was down to two hundred and fifty dollars when, eventually, the expedition was ready for the road. Following a hearty luncheon, they were about to start when the restaurant cook, a diminutive Cantonese, who had been an interested listener to their conversation at luncheon, approached Bejabers Harmon, whom he knew rather well.

“You no ketchum cookee?” he murmured. “Maybeso you likum China boy for cookee? Can do. Jim Toy him likum go with boss to ketchum gold.”

“Climb up on that wagon seat in front, Jim,” Bejabers replied promptly. “You’ve got a steady job.”

Jim Toy put on a Mexican sombrero, removed his apron, brought forth a bundle of clothing and—alas, a couple of packages of firecrackers, for like all of his race he feared malignant devils might dog the expedition at the outset, and as every Chinaman knows, it is well to frighten such spirits away by exploding firecrackers at the command “March!”

The inevitable occurred. The pack-mules stampeded, and only the heavy load in the black Maria prevented the team from running away. Over Montgomery Street they bumped through the half-dry mudholes and ruts and out through the deep sand of Market Street, while the envious citizens who still remained in the city whooped and cheered and fired their pistols in the air, thus adding to the confusion but, according to Jim Toy’s theology, effectually dissipating whatever of evil might have attended the departure. He sat on the seat beside the big Gascon, and grinned happily until Vilmont, having at length controlled the team, released one huge paw from that service long enough to cuff Jim Toy heartily.

Within a few minutes after leaving the heart of San Francisco the expedition was in the open country, following El Camino Real, down the peninsula up which D’Arcy had journeyed so recently. There had been no opportunity to secure transportation across San Francisco Bay; consequently they were forced to make a one-hundred-mile march around the bay, at the conclusion of which they would find themselves some seven miles from their starting point!

Owing to the necessity for rating their progress on that of the wagon and the additional necessity for providing ample time for their animals to graze en route, they averaged less than twenty miles per day; indeed, after the first five days D’Arcy cut that down to fifteen, for the animals lost flesh rapidly. They required grain for such work as this, and the ranchos were too few and far between to permit of purchasing much of that. Game was plentiful, however, and they had fresh meat in camp at all times. Also, Jim Toy proved to be a pearl of great price, and his excellent cooking and cheerful disposition went far toward developing esprit de corps in the strange cavalcade. D’Arcy had the rare gift for leadership, and as leader the men accepted him.

They crossed the northern end of the Santa Clara Valley, skirting the bay shore between where the town of Mountain View now stands on the western side and the town of Alviso on the eastern. At the latter point they found a well-defined trail leading north along the bay shore, through what is now Alameda and Contra Costa counties, and on the forenoon of the tenth day they came to Martinez and their first objective—Semple’s Ferry across Carquinez Straits.

D’Arcy and Bejabers rode forward to make arrangements for the crossing of their party, but long before they reached the rough board shanty of the agent on the Martinez side, it was apparent to them that they would have to wait at least three days for an opportunity to cross. An accident to the machinery of the steam-launch which shunted the ferry barge backward and forward had terminated the service for almost a week, and as a result gold-seekers and some Hispano-Californian rancheros from Alta California were camped in a long queue from the bay shore out into the little valley where a city now stands.

“You’ll have to take your place in line, gentlemen,” the agent informed them. “First come, first served.”

“That’s fair,” D’Arcy agreed. “Well, Bejabers, I suppose we may as well ride back to our people and make camp at the end of this line until our turn to board the ferry arrives. It’s a tiny ferry and was never meant for the glut of business presented for it now.”

“Supposin’ you buy our tickets now, Dermod,” the canny Yankee suggested. “And make him date them today. That’ll show we got prior rights to cross over some Johnny-come-lately who may try to euchre us out of our place, like that feller on the gray horse is doin’ now.”

He pointed down toward the tiny dock, and D’Arcy saw a big bearded man astride a gray horse, and accompanied by half a dozen other mounted men, forcibly herding out of line a little company of Hispano-Californians. The Americans had their pistols out, and before this menace the Californians were falling back.

D’Arcy called the attention of the agent to the outrage. “I thought your policy was ‘First come, first served.’ That company of horsemen passed us a mile up the road, so I know they have but this moment arrived, yet they are making place for themselves at the head of the line by force of arms.”

“I know,” the agent replied miserably, “but they’re a hard lot and you can’t expect me to fight a gang of desperadoes.”

“I expect you to refrain from sending your ferry to the Benicia shore with them until I give the word,” D’Arcy replied with spirit. “These fellows feel quite safe in hustling a party of gentle Californians out of their way, but by the Lord they still have me and my party to reckon with. Those rascals shall go back to the end of the line and camp there in their proper place, or as sure as my name is Dermod D’Arcy they’ll never cross Carquinez Straits alive.”

“Them’s my sentiments,” Bejabers Harmon assured the agent. “You don’t have to fight this gang o’ desperadoes. We’ll relieve you o’ that detail. Just you hold the ferry here until I can ride to the rear and hustle up our reserves. Me, I’m for law and order every time, and as for the feller that can euchre me out o’ my just rights, all I want to see is his picture.”

“Bravo, Bejabers. Mr. Ferry Agent, I warn you not to send that ferry away with those men aboard. Come, Bejabers.”

They galloped back, rejoined their company and led it into position in a field close to that of the last arrival on the ground. D’Arcy explained the situation to them and without exception other than Jim Toy, they voted unanimously to rectify it.

“Vilmont, you’re not at home on a horse, and you’re too big to ride one,” D’Arcy commanded. “You remain here and help Jim Toy and Francisco unpack and care for the stock. The remainder of you men arm yourselves and follow me.”

He led his company back to the ferry. A little distance from the craft, which was now tied up at the landing-place, the group of Hispano-Californians sat their horses together, cowed by the seven men who had forced them back and who now, at the head of the line, awaited permission from the agent to embark.

D’Arcy rode up to the man on the gray horse. “You’re evidently spoiling for a fight, my friend,” he announced in ringing tones, “so I’m here to accommodate you. Get back to the end of this line, you bullies, or fight—I don’t care which.”

The man on the gray horse turned—and D’Arcy gazed into the face of his late companion of the road, Alvah Cannon.

“So,” Cannon muttered, “it’s you?”

“Aye, Cannon, my lad—and with the drop on you. I have as many bullies at my back as you have—and with this advantage: every man of yours is covered by a pistol in the hands of one of my men. There’ll be no government by force here, I’m thinking. Will you depart peaceably, or must we shoot it out here and now?”

“I reckon you’re still givin’ me orders, D’Arcy.”

“Sensible man. Ride back with your followers and take your place at the end of the line.”

Under the menace of D’Arcy’s long-barreled pistol Alvah Cannon rode off the dock; one by one his followers fell in behind him. D’Arcy sat Pathfinder until assured the enemy was out of pistol range; then, returning his weapon to the holster, he rode up to the group of Californians, lifted his hat and bowed to the lady among them.

“Señorita, I have pleasure in announcing that these ruffians will think twice before attempting further discourtesy. My men and I will see that you are not again molested.”

The girl raised a little white hand and flung back from her face a fold of her mantilla, which hitherto had served to protect it from the gray dust of the trail. She rode her horse—a black mare—straight to his side.

“I knew you would come, Señor D’Arcy,” she said in a low voice. “You did not look back when we parted at San Juan Bautista, but—I knew we should meet again. I am grateful.”

Eagerly he reached for her hand, and a smile of intense pleasure illumined his dark, dust-streaked face. “You will believe me when I assure you I did not wish to look back? To go thus was sufficiently painful. I would not reopen the wound by looking back to see that which I had lost. But where is Don José?”

“He has already crossed to Benicia, leaving my brother Romauldo and me and two muleteers to come on the next trip of the ferry. You did not meet my brother, I believe. Romauldo!”

A good-looking young man of twenty-four or -five spurred his horse to her side and surveyed D’Arcy with a haughty, slightly truculent stare. His sister presented D’Arcy.

“I am the señor’s debtor,” Romauldo assured D’Arcy with the typical graciousness of his class. “Had I some fighting men at my back I would not now be under obligations to you for a gallant courtesy.” He dismissed the incident with a careless wave of his hand. “They were too many.”

D’Arcy stared at the young man with equal truculence. “You are armed with two pistols, young man,” he replied pointedly, “and there are six shots in each pistol, whereas there were but seven men in that rabble. Until you learn to fight for your rights—until you learn the value of the swift and merciless attack, you will find this class of Americans running over you and yours.”

The agent came running down the dock. “All aboard,” he cried, much relieved. “Step lively or make way for others.”

Romauldo raised his hat. “Come, my sister.”

The girl extended her hand to their deliverer, but D’Arcy did not raise it to his lips. Instead he held it for several seconds, while their eyes searched each other.

“I did not ask you where one might find the Rancho Arroyo Chico, señorita,” he murmured, “nor shall I ask you now. I shall find it. Not soon, perhaps, but some day——”

“I shall wait,” she murmured breathlessly. “Go with God. Adios!”

D’Arcy backed his horse to the side of the trail and watched the Guerrero party ride aboard the tiny ferry. The girl was riding Kitty, the black mare he had given her, and he noted, with the instinct of the trained horseman, how gracefully she sat the side-saddle and with what ease and confidence she controlled the high-spirited animal. When she was well forward on the ferry he saw her dismount and stand to horse, soothing the mare as the lumbering ox-drawn carretas, the mounted men, foot-travelers, and a stylish four-in-hand drawing a high-wheeled buggy followed in their turn.

A stiff breeze was blowing up Carquinez Straits and in the short, choppy seat the ferry rolled at its moorings; as a result some of the horses, panic-stricken, reared and plunged, the principal offender in this regard being Romauldo Guerrero’s mount.

“Dismount, blindfold him and stand to his head,” D’Arcy shouted.

But the native egotism in Romauldo forbade such evidence of timidity or prudence. He sawed brutally on the cruel Spanish bit and roweled the frightened brute from shoulder to flank in a vain effort to assert his mastery—and suddenly the horse commenced to pitch. Instantly a panic appeared imminent, and D’Arcy’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Josepha, by a quick dodge in under Kitty’s neck, barely escape the mad horse’s front hoofs.

The situation clarified with electric suddenness. Romauldo’s horse obligingly leaped overboard and swam ashore, but not until with his last frantic jump he had unseated his rider, who went overboard with him. As Romauldo’s black head appeared on the surface a gurgling cry for help reached D’Arcy; then the head disappeared again.

“The cocksure young ass is drowning,” D’Arcy thought. “He deserves drowning, but——”

A touch of the spur to Pathfinder and they were off the tule-clad bank into deep water, swimming for the spot where Romauldo had gone down. He had come up and disappeared once more before D’Arcy could reach him, and the latter realized that in all probability the boy would not come up again. Straight past the spot Pathfinder plowed with swift, easy strokes, while D’Arcy swung himself almost under his mount’s belly and groped swiftly.

His hands closed over Romauldo’s head; his strong fingers twined themselves in the boy’s hair; and when D’Arcy’s torso emerged from the muddy waters Romauldo’s head was held clear; a furious jerk and the limp body was lying across Pathfinder’s neck while the horse, answering the pressure of his rider’s leg, turned and swam back to the shore.

Bejabers Harmon received the unconscious Romauldo while Pathfinder was still struggling to get his forelegs on the bank, and having a rather difficult task to do it, until D’Arcy slid off, whereupon the horse clambered up, catlike, shook himself and stood patiently awaiting orders.

“I reckon we’d better dreen this hombre a mite, Dermod,” the practical-minded Harmon suggested, and threw Romauldo face down across Pathfinder’s back, permitting him to slide far down the opposite side. “Roll the danged fool,” he commanded D’Arcy.

So D’Arcy rolled him in the saddle and the muddy water drained out the boy’s mouth and nostrils. “One of these here danged smart Alecks,” Bejabers growled. “His sister got off and held her hoss, but of course this here young peacock knew more’n she did. Reckon he’s dead, pardner? I hope so.”

Romauldo was not dead, but he was unconscious and it required fast and intelligent first-aid work on the part of D’Arcy and Bejabers before he opened his eyes. Meanwhile his sister, having given her horse to one of the muleteers to hold, had come ashore to render what aid she could. D’Arcy paid little attention to her, being quite sufficiently engrossed in the task before him. Meanwhile the ferry agent had approached and stood by, plainly impatient at having his schedule dislocated, for from the gold-seekers whose turn it was to go aboard the ferry on its next trip came profane protests at the delay.

“Why didn’t you let that fool greaser drown?” one of them demanded loudly.

Josepha Guerrero spoke furiously and in English. “Animal! You call theese brother of me greaser? Why you call theese name to a Guerrero?”

D’Arcy looked up at the man who had addressed him. “Come over here and apologize for that insult,” he commanded.

“I ain’t apologizin’ to no greasers for nothin’ I say. You hear me, don’t you?”

“Don’t challenge him, pardner,” Bejabers Harmon suggested calmly. “You’re a gentleman and a gentleman can’t fight his kind. This job belongs to me. I’m your pardner and half of every insult to my pardner and his friends belongs to me. You’re the first man with brains I’ve met in a blue moon and I don’t figure to let this cheap bully blow ’em out.” He strolled over to the man who had offended. “Take your choice, mister. Apologize or argy it in the smoke.”

“I reckon we’ll have to argue it.”

“At fifteen paces? Is that agreeable?”

The other nodded. “Follow me,” said Bejabers Harmon. “Pardner, you got your hands full. Lemme tend to this detail.”

D’Arcy smiled affectionately upon Bejabers. “Why should I?”

“Why, ’tain’t the least bit o’ trouble for me to give this feller a lesson in manners. He can’t shoot. I’ve seed him in action down to San Francisco. He was a boarder o’ mine once, but somebody bailed him out.”

“But we must not make a brawl in the presence of Señorita Guerrero.”

“Oh, nothin’ so indelicate as that, amigo! Ain’t I movin’ off down the trail a piece?”

“Bejabers, I love you like a brother, but—I’ll do my own fighting until the battle becomes general; then you can help me. I’ll attend to that fellow after this boy and his sister have gone aboard the ferry.”

Bejabers was not pleased. “You take the sunshine out of my life, Dermod,” he complained. “’Tain’t no use argyin’ a matter o’ principle with you, though.”

The ferry agent now spoke up. “This young man and his sister have had their chance to get aboard. They’ve lost it. I can’t hold the ferry any longer.”

“That is fair,” Josepha told D’Arcy in Spanish. “We have no wish to discommode the traveling public because of my brother’s foolish effort to control an uncontrollable horse. Our men will deliver my horse to my father while I remain here with Romauldo. When he is able to travel we will cross, but not until Romauldo has taken this ruffian to task. It is generous of you, Don Dermod, to offer to fight the battles of the Guerreros, but that is an obligation of the Guerreros, is it not?”

Instantly D’Arcy made his decision. “Very well, if Romauldo cares to bell the cat, I dare say that is his privilege. The man yonder alluded to him as a greaser. If he feels himself insulted he will resent the insult. If he does not, I am at your service.”

The ferry pulled out. In an hour it was back, but in that hour Romauldo Guerrero had regained consciousness and, although still weak, shaken and not a little nauseated, was able to lead his horse aboard the ferry. Before following him his sister whispered to D’Arcy:

“He is in no condition to resent the insult now, Don Dermod, but tomorrow he will.”

D’Arcy bowed gravely, carried her hand to his lips and watched her go aboard the ferry; as it pulled away from the landing he and Bejabers mounted and rode back to join their party at the end of the long line of waiting adventurers.

“You reckon the young feller’ll call him out, Dermod? Seems as if it’s his job, after all,” Bejabers decided, after D’Arcy had related to him the substitute for their joint plans to inculcate a lesson in ordinary courtesy.

“I have a suspicion he will not, my friend.”

“Can’t say I like the boy myself, Dermod. I figger him a mite loco in the head. If he’d had the nerve to make half a stand ag’in that man Cannon there wouldn’t have been no necessity for us to interfere.”

“I think he realized that, Bejabers; hence his insistence when his horse commenced pitching, to demonstrate what a brave and reckless young fellow he really is! Romauldo is in a fine temper now, I imagine. He realizes, undoubtedly, that he has succeeded admirably in making a fool of himself.”

“The girl’s a thoroughbred, though. Speaks fair English. Wonder where she learned it?”

D’Arcy was silent. His unexpected meeting with Josepha Guerrero, together with the near-tragic events of the last half-hour had set his mercurial soul in tumult, albeit no hint of this showed in his impassive countenance. He did not care to discuss the girl or her brother; rather he was trying to analyze a growing presentiment that the Guerrero family was destined to play no inconsiderable part in the adventures that awaited him in this new land.

“I think the gal’s plumb beautiful,” Bejabers ruminated. “In particular when she’s got her dander up. If she’d been a man there’d been a fight or a foot-race about two seconds after that chuckle-headed fool alluded to her brother as a greaser. I like a spunky woman.”

D’Arcy looked at his companion. Bejabers was a man close to forty years old, a short, compact, keen-visaged man with a singularly uncomplicated outlook on life. With Bejabers Harmon, right was right and wrong was wrong; he was congenitally incapable of compromises with either. D’Arcy had already discovered that Bejabers was a traitor to the grim religious concepts of his New England ancestry. He had a hazy notion, of course, that there might be a Supreme Being, but he was not at all interested in Him and certainly he did not fear Him.

The man was slow of temper but possessed of an amazing temperament which manifested itself in an almost overbalanced sense of equity, a passionate love of justice, a contempt for weakness or cowardice, and an incurable belief in the doctrine of personal responsibility. D’Arcy believed the little man to be capable of the most amazing loyalties and friendships, but weak on pronounced hatreds. Bejabers had had such meager education, up to his sixteenth year, as the times afforded, but he was immensely wise in the ways of the world; he had a keen sense of humor, and his demure impulsiveness was of a character to render him singularly lovable. Withal, a trustworthy person.

D’Arcy, thinking now of the perfectly natural manner in which his companion had offered to fight a duel in his behalf, was moved to a sudden affection for Bejabers. He rode close to the little man and laid his hand affectionately on his shoulder.

“I like you, Bejabers. I hope we’ll be friends and partners always.”

Bejabers nodded appreciatively. “If we keep our feet on the ground an’ our heads out o’ the air, Dermod,” he replied with a flash of his Yankee horsesense, “we’ll find our place in the sun. I’ll stick to you, boy, while you play me fair.”

“Wouldn’t you stick just a little longer than that, Bejabers? Long enough to make a big effort to convince me I wasn’t playing you fair, and in order that, thereafter, I would play you fair?”

“Well, I reckon I might be tempted to overlook a lot in you,” Bejabers confessed, just a trifle embarrassed. “But you got to make me one promise, son. Whenever you’re in trouble, don’t you ever set yourself to git out of it until you’ve notified me. I want to be on hand to make sartin you git a square deal.”

“I promise—provided you accord me the same privilege, Bejabers.”

“Seguro, amigo! Dermod, it occurs to me that Spanish gal thinks you’re quite an up-an’-comin’ young feller.”

“Nonsense.”

“I wouldn’t think much of her if she didn’t. You goin’ to see her ag’in?”

“Perhaps. The world is wide. We may meet sometime.”

“The boy won’t like you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You showed him up; you as much as told him—I understand enough Spanish to git the drift of what you said—that if he’d had the guts to tackle Cannon there wouldn’t have been no call for us to interfere. Then you saved his fool life, an’ it’s been my experience that whenever I put a feller under obligation to me I made an enemy.”

“Nonsense. The boy was outnumbered.”

Bejabers grinned tolerantly. “Well, any time us two are outnumbered in a deal like that, there won’t be so many odds left by the time the smoke clears away. Me, I’d ruther die than eat dirt. An’ another thing. That young feller won’t foller this matter up, an’ that’ll make his sister ashamed of him. Hell’s fire, Dermod, if you hadn’t been so high an’ mighty I could have saved her that humiliation.”

“Señorita Guerrero’s decision was just. If there are any rats to be killed because of this affair it is the privilege of the Guerreros to kill them. She claimed the right for her people and, of course, she couldn’t be denied.”

“The feller seemed willin’ enough to argy rather than ’pologize. I’d have liked to oblige him.”

“In heaven’s name, why? All parties to the incident are total strangers to you, Bejabers.”

Bejabers Harmon turned in his saddle and looked his partner in the eyes. “I seen a look on your face, son, when you recognized that gal—an’ I seen a look on hers. An’ I seen another look when you said good-by to her. So I couldn’t see no sense in bustin’ up a romance by lettin’ you fight that coyote. If a feller can’t serve his friends, what good is he?”

D’Arcy was profoundly touched at this simple profession of faith. “It was a lucky day for me that I met you, partner.”

“An’ a lucky day for me. I got a notion you an’ me’ll do big things together in this country. But we got to start right.”

“That is true.”

“Well, then, the minute we’re settled down to minin’ on some creek, I’m goin’ to leave you long enough to drive the black Maria back to San Francisco. That an’ the team plumb overdrew my credit with the city an’ I’m worried. It’s one thing to borrow somethin’ without askin’ for it and another thing to steal it.”

D’Arcy threw back his head and laughed. He was young and the world seemed very bright to him just then.