CHAPTER XIX
THE FIRST BATTLE
The promptitude and despatch with which the Kid had attended to thegentleman with the black-jack had not been without its effect on thefollowers of the stricken one. Physical courage is not an outstandingquality of the New York gangsman. His personal preference is forretreat when it is a question of unpleasantness with a stranger. And,in any case, even when warring among themselves, the gangs exhibit alively distaste for the hard knocks of hand-to-hand fighting. Theirchosen method of battling is to lie down on the ground and shoot.
The Kid's rapid work on the present occasion created a good deal ofconfusion. There was no doubt that much had been hoped for from speedyattack. Also, the generalship of the expedition had been in the handsof the fallen warrior. His removal from the sphere of active influencehad left the party without a head. And, to add to their discomfiture,they could not account for the Kid. Smith they knew, and John was to beaccounted for, but who was this stranger with the square shoulders andthe uppercut that landed like a cannon ball? Something approaching apanic prevailed among the gang.
It was not lessened by the behavior of the intended victims. John wasthe first to join issue. He had been a few paces behind the othersduring the black-jack incident, but, dark as it was, he had seen enoughto show him that the occasion was, as Smith would have said, one forthe shrewd blow rather than the prolonged parley. With a shout, he madea football rush into the confused mass of the enemy. A moment laterSmith and the Kid followed, and there raged over the body of the fallenleader a battle of Homeric type.
It was not a long affair. The rules and conditions governing theencounter offended the delicate sensibilities of the gang. Like artistswho feel themselves trammeled by distasteful conventions, they weredamped and could not do themselves justice. Their forte was long-rangefighting with pistols. With that they felt en rapport. But this vulgarbrawling in the darkness with muscular opponents who hit hard and oftenwith the clenched fist was distasteful to them. They could not developany enthusiasm for it. They carried pistols, but it was too dark andthe combatants were too entangled to allow them to use these.
There was but one thing to be done. Reluctant as they might be toabandon their fallen leader, it must be done. Already they weresuffering grievously from John, the black-jack, and the lightning blowsof the Kid. For a moment they hung, wavering, then stampeded inhalf-a-dozen different directions, melting into the night whence theyhad come.
John, full of zeal, pursued one fugitive some fifty yards down thestreet, but his quarry, exhibiting a rare turn of speed, easilyoutstripped him.
He came back, panting, to find Smith and the Kid examining the fallenleader of the departed ones with the aid of a match, which went outjust as John arrived.
The Kid struck another. The head of it fell off and dropped upon theup-turned face. The victim stirred, shook himself, sat up, and began tomutter something in a foggy voice.
"He's still woozy," said the Kid.
"Still--what exactly, Comrade Brady?"
"In the air," explained the Kid. "Bats in the belfry. Dizzy. See what Imean? It's often like that when a feller puts one in with a bit ofweight behind it just where that one landed. Gee! I remember when Ifought Martin Kelly; I was only starting to learn the game then. Martinand me was mixing it good and hard all over the ring, when suddenly heputs over a stiff one right on the point. What do you think I done?Fall down and take the count? Not on your life. I just turns round andwalks straight out of the ring to my dressing-room. Willie Harvey, whowas seconding me, comes tearing in after me, and finds me getting intomy clothes. 'What's doing, Kid?' he asks. 'I'm going fishin', Willie,'I says. 'It's a lovely day.' 'You've lost the fight,' he says. 'Fight?'says I. 'What fight?' See what I mean? I hadn't a notion of what hadhappened. It was half an hour and more before I could remember athing."
During this reminiscence, the man on the ground had contrived to clearhis mind of the mistiness induced by the Kid's upper cut. The firstsign he showed of returning intelligence was a sudden dash for safetyup the road. But he had not gone five yards when he sat down limply.
The Kid was inspired to further reminiscence.
"Guess he's feeling pretty poor," he said. "It's no good him trying torun for a while after he's put his chin in the way of a real live one.I remember when Joe Peterson put me out, way back when I was new to thegame--it was the same year I fought Martin Kelly. He had an awfulpunch, had old Joe, and he put me down and out in the eighth round.After the fight they found me on the fire-escape outside mydressing-room. 'Come in, Kid,' says they. 'It's all right, chaps,' Isays, 'I'm dying.' Like that. 'It's all right, chaps, I'm dying.'Same with this guy. See what I mean?"
They formed a group about the fallen black-jack expert.
"Pardon us," said Smith courteously, "for breaking in upon yourreverie, but if you could spare us a moment of your valuable time,there are one or two things which we would like to know."
"Sure thing," agreed the Kid.
"In the first place," continued Smith, "would it be betrayingprofessional secrets if you told us which particular bevy of energeticcutthroats it is to which you are attached?"
"Gent," explained the Kid, "wants to know what's your gang."
The man on the ground muttered something that to Smith and John wasunintelligible.
"It would be a charity," said the former, "if some philanthropist wouldgive this fellow elocution lessons. Can you interpret, Comrade Brady?"
"Says it's the Three Points," said the Kid.
"The Three Points? That's Spider Reilly's lot. Perhaps this _is_Spider Reilly?"
"Nope," said the Kid. "I know the Spider. This ain't him. This is someother mutt."
"Which other mutt in particular?" asked Smith. "Try and find out,Comrade Brady. You seem to be able to understand what he says. To me,personally, his remarks sound like the output of a gramophone with ahot potato in its mouth."
"Says he's Jack Repetto," announced the interpreter.
There was another interruption at this moment. The bashful Mr. Repetto,plainly a man who was not happy in the society of strangers, madeanother attempt to withdraw. Reaching out a pair of lean hands, hepulled the Kid's legs from under him with a swift jerk, and, wrigglingto his feet, started off again down the road. Once more, however,desire outran performance. He got as far as the nearest street-lamp,but no further. The giddiness seemed to overcome him again, for hegrasped the lamp-post, and, sliding slowly to the ground, sat theremotionless.
The Kid, whose fall had jolted and bruised him, was inclined to bewrathful and vindictive. He was the first of the three to reach theelusive Mr. Repetto, and if that worthy had happened to be standinginstead of sitting it might have gone hard with him. But the Kid wasnot the man to attack a fallen foe. He contented himself with brushingthe dust off his person and addressing a richly abusive flow of remarksto Mr. Repetto.
Under the rays of the lamp it was possible to discern more closely thefeatures of the black-jack exponent. There was a subtle but noticeableresemblance to those of Mr. Bat Jarvis. Apparently the latter's oiledforelock, worn low over the forehead, was more a concession to thegeneral fashion prevailing in gang circles than an expression ofpersonal taste. Mr. Repetto had it, too. In his case it was almostwhite, for the fallen warrior was an albino. His eyes, which wereclosed, had white lashes and were set as near together as Nature hadbeen able to manage without actually running them into one another. Hisunderlip protruded and drooped. Looking at him, one felt instinctivelythat no judging committee of a beauty contest would hesitate a momentbefore him.
It soon became apparent that the light of the lamp, though bestowingthe doubtful privilege of a clearer view of Mr. Repetto's face, heldcertain disadvantages. Scarcely had the staff of _PeacefulMoments_ reached the faint yellow pool of light, in the center ofwhich Mr. Repetto reclined, than, with a suddenness which caused themto leap into the air, there sounded from the darkness down the road thecrack-crack-crack of a revolver. Instantly from the opposite dir
ectioncame other shots. Three bullets cut grooves in the roadway almost atJohn's feet. The Kid gave a sudden howl. Smith's hat, suddenly imbuedwith life, sprang into the air and vanished, whirling into the night.
The thought did not come to them consciously at the moment, there beinglittle time to think, but it was evident as soon as, diving out of thecircle of light into the sheltering darkness, they crouched down andwaited for the next move, that a somewhat skilful ambush had beeneffected. The other members of the gang, who had fled with suchremarkable speed, had by no means been eliminated altogether from thegame. While the questioning of Mr. Repetto had been in progress, theyhad crept back, unperceived except by Mr. Repetto himself. It being toodark for successful shooting, it had become Mr. Repetto's task to lurehis captors into the light, which he had accomplished with considerableskill.
For some minutes the battle halted. There was dead silence. The circleof light was empty now. Mr. Repetto had vanished. A tentative shot fromnowhere ripped through the air close to where Smith lay flattened onthe pavement. And then the pavement began to vibrate and give out acurious resonant sound. Somewhere--it might be near or far--a policemanhad heard the shots, and was signaling for help to other policemenalong the line by beating on the flagstones with his night stick. Thenoise grew, filling the still air. From somewhere down the road soundedthe ring of running feet.
"De cops!" cried a voice. "Beat it!"
Next moment the night was full of clatter. The gang was "beating it."
Smith rose to his feet and felt his wet and muddy clothes ruefully.
The rescue party was coming up at the gallop.
"What's doing?" asked a voice.
"Nothing now," said the disgusted voice of the Kid from the shadows."They've beaten it."
The circle of lamplight became as if by mutual consent a generalrendezvous. Three gray-clad policemen, tough, clean-shaven men withkeen eyes and square jaws, stood there, revolvers in one hand, nightsticks in the other. Smith, hatless and muddy, joined them. John andthe Kid, the latter bleeding freely from his left ear, the lobe ofwhich had been chipped by a bullet, were the last to arrive.
"What's been the rough-house?" inquired one of the policemen, mildlyinterested.
"Do you know a sport of the name of Repetto?" enquired Smith.
"Jack Repetto? Sure."
"He belongs to the Three Points," said another intelligent officer, asone naming some fashionable club.
"When next you see him," said Smith, "I should be obliged if you woulduse your authority to make him buy me a new hat. I could do withanother pair of trousers, too, but I will not press the trousers. A newhat is, however, essential. Mine has a six-inch hole in it."
"Shot at you, did they?" said one of the policemen, as who should say,"Tut, tut!"
"Shot at us!" burst out the ruffled Kid. "What do you think's beenhappening? Think an aeroplane ran into my ear and took half of it off?Think the noise was somebody opening bottles of pop? Think those guysthat sneaked off down the road was just training for a Marathon?"
"Comrade Brady," said Smith, "touches the spot. He--"
"Say, are you Kid Brady?" enquired one of the officers. For the firsttime the constabulary had begun to display real animation.
"Reckoned I'd seen you somewhere!" said another. "You licked CycloneDick all right, Kid, I hear."
"And who but a bone-head thought he wouldn't?" demanded the thirdwarmly. "He could whip a dozen Cyclone Dicks in the same evening withhis eyes shut."
"He's the next champeen," admitted the first speaker.
"If he juts it over Jimmy Garvin," argued the second.
"Jimmy Garvin!" cried the third. "He can whip twenty Jimmy Garvins withhis feet tied. I tell you--"
"I am loath," observed Smith, "to interrupt this very impressive brainbarbecue, but, trivial as it may seem to you, to me there is a certaininterest in this other little matter of my ruined hat. I know that itmay strike you as hypersensitive of us to protest against being riddledwith bullets, but--"
"Well, what's been doin'?" inquired the Force. It was a nuisance, thisperpetual harping on trifles when the deep question of the light-weightchampionship of the world was under discussion, but the sooner it wasattended to, the sooner it would be over.
John undertook to explain.
"The Three Points laid for us," he said. "This man, Jack Repetto, wasbossing the crowd. The Kid put one over on to Jack Repetto's chin, andwe were asking him a few questions when the rest came back, and startedshooting. Then we got to cover quick, and you came up and they beatit."
"That," said Smith, nodding, "is a very fair _precis_ of theevening's events. We should like you, if you will be so good, to corralthis Comrade Repetto, and see that he buys me a new hat."
"We'll round Jack up," said one of the policemen indulgently.
"Do it nicely," urged Smith. "Don't go hurting his feelings."
The second policeman gave it as his opinion that Jack was getting toogay. The third policeman conceded this. Jack, he said, had shown signsfor some time past of asking for it in the neck. It was an error onJack's part, he gave his hearers to understand, to assume that the lidwas completely off the great city of New York.
"Too blamed fresh he's gettin'," the trio agreed. They seemed to thinkit was too bad of Jack.
"The wrath of the Law," said Smith, "is very terrible. We will leavethe matter, then, in your hands. In the meantime, we should be glad ifyou would direct us to the nearest subway station. Just at the moment,the cheerful lights of the Great White Way are what I seem chiefly toneed."
* * * * *
So ended the opening engagement of the campaign, in a satisfactory butfar from decisive victory for the _Peaceful Moments_' army.
"The victory," said Smith, "was not bloodless. Comrade Brady's ear, myhat--these are not slight casualties. On the other hand, theelimination of Comrade Repetto is pleasant. I know few men whom I wouldnot rather meet on a lonely road than Comrade Repetto. He is one ofnature's black-jackers. Probably the thing crept upon him slowly. Hestarted, possibly, in a merely tentative way by slugging one of thefamily circle. His aunt, let us say, or his small brother. But, oncestarted, he is unable to resist the craving. The thing grips him likedram-drinking. He black-jacks now not because he really wants to, butbecause he cannot help himself. There's something singularly consolingin the thought that Comrade Repetto will no longer be among thosepresent."
"There are others," said John.
"As you justly remark," said Smith, "there are others. I am glad wehave secured Comrade Brady's services. We may need them."
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