by Frank Norris
Denser and denser grew the throng. In all directions nothing was to be seen but the loose mass of the moving jacks. The horns of the crescent of teams began to contract. Far off the corral came into sight. The disintegrated mass of rabbits commenced, as it were, to solidify, to coagulate. At first, each jack was some three feet distant from his nearest neighbor, but this space diminished to two feet, then to one, then to but a few inches. The rabbits began leaping over one another.
Then the strange scene defined itself. It was no longer a herd covering the earth. It was a sea, whipped into confusion, tossing incessantly, leaping, falling, agitated by unseen forces. At times the unexpected tameness of the rabbits all at once vanished. Throughout certain portions of the herd eddies of terror abruptly burst forth. A panic spread; then there would ensue a blind, wild rushing together of thousands of crowded bodies, and a furious scrambling over backs, till the scuffing thud of innumerable feet over the earth rose to a reverberating murmur as of distant thunder, here and there pierced by the strange, wild cry of the rabbit in distress.
The line of vehicles was halted. To go forward now meant to trample the rabbits under foot. The drive came to a standstill while the herd entered the corral. This took time, for the rabbits were by now too crowded to run. However, like an opened sluice-gate, the extending flanks of the entrance of the corral slowly engulfed the herd. The mass, packed tight as ever, by degrees diminished, precisely as a pool of water when a dam is opened. The last stragglers went in with a rush, and the gate was dropped.
“Come, just have a lock in here,” called Annixter.
Hilma, descending from the carry-all and joined by Presley and Harran, approached and looked over the high board fence.
“Oh, did you ever see anything like that?” she exclaimed.
The corral, a really large enclosure, had proved all too small for the number of rabbits collected by the drive. Inside it was a living, moving, leaping, breathing, twisting mass. The rabbits were packed two, three, and four feet deep. They were in constant movement; those beneath struggling to the top, those on top sinking and disappearing below their fellows. All wildness, all fear of man, seemed to have entirely disappeared. Men and boys reaching over the sides of the corral, picked up a jack in each hand, holding them by the ears, while two reporters from San Francisco papers took photographs of the scene. The noise made by the tens of thousands of moving bodies was as the noise of wind in a forest, while from the hot and sweating mass there rose a strange odor, penetrating, ammoniacal, savouring of wild life.
On signal, the killing began. Dogs that had been brought there for that purpose when let into the corral refused, as had been half expected, to do the work. They snuffed curiously at the pile, then backed off, disturbed, perplexed. But the men and boys — Portuguese for the most part — were more eager. Annixter drew Hilma away, and, indeed, most of the people set about the barbecue at once.
In the corral, however, the killing went forward. Armed with a club in each hand, the young fellows from Guadalajara and Bonneville, and the farm boys from the ranches, leaped over the rails of the corral. They walked unsteadily upon the myriad of crowding bodies underfoot, or, as space was cleared, sank almost waist deep into the mass that leaped and squirmed about them. Blindly, furiously, they struck and struck. The Anglo-Saxon spectators round about drew back in disgust, but the hot, degenerated blood of Portuguese, Mexican, and mixed Spaniard boiled up in excitement at this wholesale slaughter.
But only a few of the participants of the drive cared to look on. All the guests betook themselves some quarter of a mile farther on into the hills.
The picnic and barbecue were to be held around the spring where Broderson Creek took its rise. Already two entire beeves were roasting there; teams were hitched, saddles removed, and men, women, and children, a great throng, spread out under the shade of the live oaks. A vast confused clamour rose in the air, a babel of talk, a clatter of tin plates, of knives and forks. Bottles were uncorked, napkins and oil-cloths spread over the ground. The men lit pipes and cigars, the women seized the occasion to nurse their babies.
Osterman, ubiquitous as ever, resplendent in his boots and English riding breeches, moved about between the groups, keeping up an endless flow of talk, cracking jokes, winking, nudging, gesturing, putting his tongue in his cheek, never at a loss for a reply, playing the goat.
“That josher, Osterman, always at his monkey-shines, but a good fellow for all that; brainy too. Nothing stuck up about him either, like Magnus Derrick.”
“Everything all right, Buck?” inquired Osterman, coming up to where Annixter, Hilma and Mrs. Derrick were sitting down to their lunch.
“Yes, yes, everything right. But we’ve no cork-screw.”
“No screw-cork — no scare-crow? Here you are,” and he drew from his pocket a silver-plated jack-knife with a cork-screw attachment. Harran and Presley came up, bearing between them a great smoking, roasted portion of beef just off the fire. Hilma hastened to put forward a huge china platter.
Osterman had a joke to crack with the two boys, a joke that was rather broad, but as he turned about, the words almost on his lips, his glance fell upon Hilma herself, whom he had not seen for more than two months.
She had handed Presley the platter, and was now sitting with her back against the tree, between two boles of the roots. The position was a little elevated and the supporting roots on either side of her were like the arms of a great chair — a chair of state. She sat thus, as on a throne, raised above the rest, the radiance of the unseen crown of motherhood glowing from her forehead, the beauty of the perfect woman surrounding her like a glory.
And the josh died away on Osterman’s lips, and unconsciously and swiftly he bared his head. Something was passing there in the air about him that he did not understand, something, however, that imposed reverence and profound respect. For the first time in his life, embarrassment seized upon him, upon this joker, this wearer of clothes, this teller of funny stories, with his large, red ears, bald head and comic actor’s face. He stammered confusedly and took himself away, for the moment abstracted, serious, lost in thought.
By now everyone was eating. It was the feeding of the People, elemental, gross, a great appeasing of appetite, an enormous quenching of thirst. Quarters of beef, roasts, ribs, shoulders, haunches were consumed, loaves of bread by the thousands disappeared, whole barrels of wine went down the dry and dusty throats of the multitude. Conversation lagged while the People ate, while hunger was appeased. Everybody had their fill. One ate for the sake of eating, resolved that there should be nothing left, considering it a matter of pride to exhibit a clean plate.
After dinner, preparations were made for games. On a flat plateau at the top of one of the hills the contestants were to strive. There was to be a footrace of young girls under seventeen, a fat men’s race, the younger fellows were to put the shot, to compete in the running broad jump, and the standing high jump, in the hop, skip, and step and in wrestling.
Presley was delighted with it all. It was Homeric, this feasting, this vast consuming of meat and bread and wine, followed now by games of strength. An epic simplicity and directness, an honest Anglo-Saxon mirth and innocence, commended it. Crude it was; coarse it was, but no taint of viciousness was here. These people were good people, kindly, benignant even, always readier to give than to receive, always more willing to help than to be helped. They were good stock. Of such was the backbone of the nation — sturdy Americans everyone of them. Where else in the world round were such strong, honest men, such strong, beautiful women?
Annixter, Harran, and Presley climbed to the level plateau where the games were to be held, to lay out the courses, and mark the distances. It was the very place where once Presley had loved to lounge entire afternoons, reading his books of poems, smoking and dozing. From this high point one dominated the entire valley to the south and west. The view was superb. The three men paused for a moment on the crest of the hill to consider it.
Young Va
cca came running and panting up the hill after them, calling for Annixter.
“Well, well, what is it?”
“Mr. Osterman’s looking for you, sir, you and Mr. Harran. Vanamee, that cow-boy over at Derrick’s, has just come from the Governor with a message. I guess it’s important.”
“Hello, what’s up now?” muttered Annixter, as they turned back.
They found Osterman saddling his horse in furious haste. Near-by him was Vanamee holding by the bridle an animal that was one lather of sweat. A few of the picnickers were turning their heads curiously in that direction. Evidently something of moment was in the wind.
“What’s all up?” demanded Annixter, as he and Harran, followed by Presley, drew near.
“There’s hell to pay,” exclaimed Osterman under his breath. “Read that. Vanamee just brought it.”
He handed Annixter a sheet of note paper, and turned again to the cinching of his saddle.
“We’ve got to be quick,” he cried. “They’ve stolen a march on us.”
Annixter read the note, Harran and Presley looking over his shoulder.
“Ah, it’s them, is it,” exclaimed Annixter.
Harran set his teeth. “Now for it,” he exclaimed. “They’ve been to your place already, Mr. Annixter,” said Vanamee. “I passed by it on my way up. They have put Delaney in possession, and have set all your furniture out in the road.”
Annixter turned about, his lips white. Already Presley and Harran had run to their horses.
“Vacca,” cried Annixter, “where’s Vacca? Put the saddle on the buckskin, QUICK. Osterman, get as many of the League as are here together at THIS spot, understand. I’ll be back in a minute. I must tell Hilma this.”
Hooven ran up as Annixter disappeared. His little eyes were blazing, he was dragging his horse with him.
“Say, dose fellers come, hey? Me, I’m alretty, see I hev der guhn.”
“They’ve jumped the ranch, little girl,” said Annixter, putting one arm around Hilma. “They’re in our house now. I’m off. Go to Derrick’s and wait for me there.”
She put her arms around his neck.
“You’re going?” she demanded.
“I must. Don’t be frightened. It will be all right. Go to Derrick’s and — good-bye.”
She said never a word. She looked once long into his eyes, then kissed him on the mouth.
Meanwhile, the news had spread. The multitude rose to its feet. Women and men, with pale faces, looked at each other speechless, or broke forth into inarticulate exclamations. A strange, unfamiliar murmur took the place of the tumultuous gaiety of the previous moments. A sense of dread, of confusion, of impending terror weighed heavily in the air. What was now to happen?
When Annixter got back to Osterman, he found a number of the Leaguers already assembled. They were all mounted. Hooven was there and Harran, and besides these, Garnett of the Ruby ranch and Gethings of the San Pablo, Phelps the foreman of Los Muertos, and, last of all, Dabney, silent as ever, speaking to no one. Presley came riding up.
“Best keep out of this, Pres,” cried Annixter.
“Are we ready?” exclaimed Gethings.
“Ready, ready, we’re all here.”
“ALL. Is this all of us?” cried Annixter. “Where are the six hundred men who were going to rise when this happened?”
They had wavered, these other Leaguers. Now, when the actual crisis impended, they were smitten with confusion. Ah, no, they were not going to stand up and be shot at just to save Derrick’s land. They were not armed. What did Annixter and Osterman take them for? No, sir; the Railroad had stolen a march on them. After all his big talk Derrick had allowed them to be taken by surprise. The only thing to do was to call a meeting of the Executive Committee. That was the only thing. As for going down there with no weapons in their hands, NO, sir. That was asking a little TOO much. “Come on, then, boys,” shouted Osterman, turning his back on the others. “The Governor says to meet him at Hooven’s. We’ll make for the Long Trestle and strike the trail to Hooven’s there.”
They set off. It was a terrible ride. Twice during the scrambling descent from the hills, Presley’s pony fell beneath him. Annixter, on his buckskin, and Osterman, on his thoroughbred, good horsemen both, led the others, setting a terrific pace. The hills were left behind. Broderson Creek was crossed and on the levels of Quien Sabe, straight through the standing wheat, the nine horses, flogged and spurred, stretched out to their utmost. Their passage through the wheat sounded like the rip and tear of a gigantic web of cloth. The landscape on either hand resolved itself into a long blur. Tears came to the eyes, flying pebbles, clods of earth, grains of wheat flung up in the flight, stung the face like shot. Osterman’s thoroughbred took the second crossing of Broderson’s Creek in a single leap. Down under the Long Trestle tore the cavalcade in a shower of mud and gravel; up again on the further bank, the horses blowing like steam engines; on into the trail to Hooven’s, single file now, Presley’s pony lagging, Hooven’s horse bleeding at the eyes, the buckskin, game as a fighting cock, catching her second wind, far in the lead now, distancing even the English thoroughbred that Osterman rode.
At last Hooven’s unpainted house, beneath the enormous live oak tree, came in sight. Across the Lower Road, breaking through fences and into the yard around the house, thundered the Leaguers. Magnus was waiting for them.
The riders dismounted, hardly less exhausted than their horses.
“Why, where’s all the men?” Annixter demanded of Magnus.
“Broderson is here and Cutter,” replied the Governor, “no one else. I thought YOU would bring more men with you.”
“There are only nine of us.”
“And the six hundred Leaguers who were going to rise when this happened!” exclaimed Garnett, bitterly.
“Rot the League,” cried Annixter. “It’s gone to pot — went to pieces at the first touch.”
“We have been taken by surprise, gentlemen, after all,” said Magnus. “Totally off our guard. But there are eleven of us. It is enough.”
“Well, what’s the game? Has the marshal come? How many men are with him?”
“The United States marshal from San Francisco,” explained Magnus, “came down early this morning and stopped at Guadalajara. We learned it all through our friends in Bonneville about an hour ago. They telephoned me and Mr. Broderson. S. Behrman met him and provided about a dozen deputies. Delaney, Ruggles, and Christian joined them at Guadalajara. They left Guadalajara, going towards Mr. Annixter’s ranch house on Quien Sabe. They are serving the writs in ejectment and putting the dummy buyers in possession. They are armed. S. Behrman is with them.”
“Where are they now?”
“Cutter is watching them from the Long Trestle. They returned to Guadalajara. They are there now.”
“Well,” observed Gethings, “From Guadalajara they can only go to two places. Either they will take the Upper Road and go on to Osterman’s next, or they will take the Lower Road to Mr. Derrick’s.”
“That is as I supposed,” said Magnus. “That is why I wanted you to come here. From Hooven’s, here, we can watch both roads simultaneously.”
“Is anybody on the lookout on the Upper Road?”
“Cutter. He is on the Long Trestle.”
“Say,” observed Hooven, the instincts of the old-time soldier stirring him, “say, dose feller pretty demn schmart, I tink. We got to put some picket way oudt bei der Lower Roadt alzoh, und he tek dose glassus Mist’r Ennixt’r got bei um. Say, look at dose irregation ditsch. Dot ditsch he run righd across BOTH dose road, hey? Dat’s some fine entrenchment, you bedt. We fighd um from dose ditsch.”
In fact, the dry irrigating ditch was a natural trench, admirably suited to the purpose, crossing both roads as Hooven pointed out and barring approach from Guadalajara to all the ranches save Annixter’s — which had already been seized.
Gethings departed to join Cutter on the Long Trestle, while Phelps and Harran, taking Annixter’s field glasses
with them, and mounting their horses, went out towards Guadalajara on the Lower Road to watch for the marshal’s approach from that direction.
After the outposts had left them, the party in Hooven’s cottage looked to their weapons. Long since, every member of the League had been in the habit of carrying his revolver with him. They were all armed and, in addition, Hooven had his rifle. Presley alone carried no weapon.
The main room of Hooven’s house, in which the Leaguers were now assembled, was barren, poverty-stricken, but tolerably clean. An old clock ticked vociferously on a shelf. In one corner was a bed, with a patched, faded quilt. In the centre of the room, straddling over the bare floor, stood a pine table. Around this the men gathered, two or three occupying chairs, Annixter sitting sideways on the table, the rest standing.
“I believe, gentlemen,” said Magnus, “that we can go through this day without bloodshed. I believe not one shot need be fired. The Railroad will not force the issue, will not bring about actual fighting. When the marshal realises that we are thoroughly in earnest, thoroughly determined, I am convinced that he will withdraw.”
There were murmurs of assent.
“Look here,” said Annixter, “if this thing can by any means be settled peaceably, I say let’s do it, so long as we don’t give in.”
The others stared. Was this Annixter who spoke — the Hotspur of the League, the quarrelsome, irascible fellow who loved and sought a quarrel? Was it Annixter, who now had been the first and only one of them all to suffer, whose ranch had been seized, whose household possessions had been flung out into the road?
“When you come right down to it,” he continued, “killing a man, no matter what he’s done to you, is a serious business. I propose we make one more attempt to stave this thing off. Let’s see if we can’t get to talk with the marshal himself; at any rate, warn him of the danger of going any further. Boys, let’s not fire the first shot. What do you say?”
The others agreed unanimously and promptly; and old Broderson, tugging uneasily at his long beard, added: