Plain Mary Smith: A Romance of Red Saunders

by Henry Wallace Phillips

  X

  "YOUR LIFE, IF YOU HURT HIM!"

  I hadn't thought to ask what Saxton was at in a business way. I didn'tknow where to find him; there was no use in going back, so I rode atrandom through the streets.

  As I swung into a dark alley I came upon a fierce and quiet littlefight. Two men set upon a third, who had his back against the wall. Theknives flashed, they ducked, parried, got away, cut and come again witha quickness and a savageness that lifted my hair. Jeeminy! There wasspirit in that row! And not a sound except the soft sliding of feet andthe noise of blows. They'd all been touched, too; red showed here andthere on them, as well as on the stones.

  While I looked the one man slipped and came down on his back, strikinghis head and his right elbow, the knife flying out of his hand.

  I breathed quicker--some fights make you feel warlike--and when I seethe other two dive right at the man, down and helpless, I broke thesilence and the peace at one and the same instant. The mouse-coloredhorse butted a lad sailing down the alley. I grabbed the other up on thesaddle and cuffed him with all my heart.

  "You dirty Mut!" says I. "Two of you on one man! Have something withme," and I slapped his black face to a blister. He tried to get at mewith the knife, but a pinch on the neck loosened his grip.

  The feller the little horse rammed got on his feet, looking like he wasgoing to return for a minute; it was me against the two. I crowded myvictim down against the saddle with my left hand--Lord! how hesquawked!--and drew my gun with the right. "Take either way that suitsyou," says I. The bucko didn't sabe English, maybe, but a forty-four gunis easy translated in any language. He chose the other end of the alley.

  "I crowded my victim against the saddle with my lefthand"]

  The feller that fell got on his feet. He was a good-looking chap, inspite of a big scar across his face and the careless way his whiteclothes were daubed with red.

  "_Mushisimas gracias_, Senor," says he, "_me alegro mucho de ver austed_."

  "Don't mention it," says I. "I understand a little Spanish, but I speakEnglish. I wouldn't have cut in if they hadn't played it crooked onyou--here's your boy, not damaged much, if you want to have it out."

  "I spike Anglish veree splendidlee," says he, "I th-thank ju. Eef youweel so kindly han' me dthat man, I keel heem."

  "Holy Christmas!" says I--he asked as cool as he would a light for hiscigar--"What do you mean? Just _stick_ him?"

  "_Certamente_," says he, "he ees no good."

  I chucked my victim as far as I could throw him. "Run, you fool!" Isays, and he scuttled out of that like a jack-rabbit.

  He was gone before my friend could start after him. I got the full blastof the disappointment.

  "I do not quite understand, Senor," says he, with his hand on his knife.

  "Hold!" says I, "you've no call to jump me--I can't stand for a manbeing slit in cold blood--no offense meant."

  "I forget your service," says he. "Pardon--here ees my han'." We shookhands. "But you have made the foolish thing," he says. "There ees a manwho ees to be keeled dead, and you let heem go--that ees more foolish asto let the Fer-de-lance free."

  "Well, I know," says I, "I suppose you're right, but my ideas ain'tquite foreign enough yet."

  He smiled. "Your largeness made me mistake," says he. "I see you are agentleman not of so many years, but of the heart strong and the armstronger--you play with that man--chuckee--chuckee--chuckee--like heesmother. Eet was lovelee. May I ask the name?"

  "William De La Tour Saunders," says I, "commonly called Bill."

  "Ah, Beel!" says he, "I r-r-remember. Here is Antonio Orinez--yourfrien' when you wish."

  "Well, Mr. Orinez," says I, "hadn't we better be walking along? You'rebleeding pretty free."

  "_Ta!_" says he, shrugging his shoulders. "I am used to eet--still, Igo. Thees ees not a healthy land for me."

  "What was the row about?" I asked, my kid curiosity coming up.

  "I cannot tell even my best frien'," he answers, smiling so pleasantthere was no injury. "_Quiere poqnito de aguardiente?_"

  "No," I says, "I'm not drinking at present--it's a promise I made." (Oh,the vanity of a boy!) "But I'll trot along with you."

  He shook his head. "Do not," he says, "believe me, I have reason--can Ido you any service, now?"

  I was a little anxious to get on my own business. The lull from thefight had come in the shape of a seasick feeling.

  "Do you know a man by the name of Saxton?" I inquired.

  He gave me a quick look--a friendly look, "ArthurSaxton--tall--grande--play the violeen like the davil?"

  "That's him."

  "Around that corner, not far, on thees side," waving his left hand, "yousee the name--eet ees a es-store for food."

  I was surprised enough to find that Sax had opened a grocery store.

  "Thanks," says I, and swung in the saddle.

  Orinez raised a hand, playful.

  "Geeve me some other ho-r-r-r-se!" says he. "Bin' opp my wounds!" helaughed. "By-by, Beel, r-remember me, as I shall remember ju!"

  "Good-by, Mr. Orinez," says I. He called after me, "Eef you need afrien', there is Orinez!"

  "Same to you, old man!" I says, and swings around the corner.

  Saxton was working outside the store, overseeing the unloading of somewagons. It was a large store, with a big stock, and Sax was busy as ahound-pup at a rabbit-hole. I rubbed my eyes. Somehow the last thing Iexpected to see Sax was a storekeeper. I slipped up and put my hands onhis shoulders to surprise him. It surprised him all right. I felt themuscles jump under the coat, although he stood still enough, and hewhirled on me with an ugly look in his eye.

  I think, perhaps, of all the unpleasant positions a man can get himselfinto, that of a playful friendly fit gone wrong will bring the sweat outthe quickest--you do feel such a fool!

  "Beg your pardon, Arthur," says I, fairly cool, as really I hadn't doneanything for him to get so wrathy about.

  But he got the best of himself at once, and the old, kind smile came,taking out the lines that changed his face so.

  "What are you talking about?" says he, playful in his turn--forcedplayful, painful to see. He gave me a slap on the back and I let herflicker at that--always willing to take a friend's intentions ratherthan the results. I never went into friendship as a money-makingbusiness.

  "I thought I startled you," I said. He laughed loud, so loud that Ilooked at him and backed away a little. "Startled me!" he says. "Whatnonsense! When did you come in? How do you like your job? Going to staylong?"

  He fired these questions at me as fast as he could talk. I, dumb-struck,answered somehow, while I felt around for something to think with.

  He was here and there and all over, doing everything with the samefever-hurry. Popping a string of questions at me and away before I couldanswer the half of them, as if he couldn't hold his mind to one thingmore than a minute--and this was Arthur Saxton!

  Part of my mind talked to him, part wrastled with Mary's hints and theother part kept up a wondering why and what, for I felt for that man awhole-hearted kid's worship.

  A sack of flour fell from the wagon and split. Instantly Sax broke outinto a fit of cursing. I never heard anything like it. He cursed theflour, the man that dropped it, Panama, the business, and everythingabove and below, his eyes two balls of wild-fire.

  The man jumped back scared. Sax's jaws worked hard; he got back anoutside appearance of humanity.

  "This heat makes me irritable, Bill," he said. "Besides, there's lots ofannoyance in a new business."

  "Sure," says I. I saw the flour sack was only an excuse--a little holeto let out the strain. A person's wits will outfoot his judgmentsometimes. I had no experience to guide me, yet I knew Saxton neededhumoring.

  I've heard people say that things--like liquor, for instance--couldn'tget the best of such and such a man, because he was strong-willed. Whatkind of argument is that? Suppose he _wants_ to drink. Ain't his strongwill going to make him drink just that much harder, and be
that muchharder to turn back, than a man with a putty spine? The only backbonesome men has is what their neighbors think. Them you can handle. But theman that rules himself generally finds it quite different from being thelady boss of an old woman's home. Just because he's fit to rule, he'llrebel, and he'll scrap with himself till they put a stone up, markingthe place of a drawn battle. But the neighbors won't know it. They'llenvy him the dead easy time he had, or get mad when he does somethingfoolish--loses one heat out of many that the neighbors didn't even dareto run--and gossip over him. "Who'd think a man that's lived as good alife as Mr. Smith would," and so forth. But you can't blame theneighbors neither. Most people reasonably prefer peace to war, and witha man like Sax it's war most of the time. You have to care a heap tostay with him.

  Well, he was in a bad way for sure. He talked fast--often not finishingwhat he had to say. He laughed a great deal, too, and when the laughpassed and the dreary look came on his face again, it was enough to makeyou shiver.

  Presently a nice little man came up--a Spaniard and a gentleman.

  From the time I took hold of his hand I felt more cheerful. You knew byhis eye he understood things.

  Sax introduced him as an old friend and as his partner in the business."Perez puts up the money and the experience," says he, "and I put up abold front."

  "After I've begged you not to speak in that way?" says Perez, smiling,but reproachful.

  "I'm not sailing under false colors," says Sax, sharp. "You've made anasylum for an empty head--you'll have to listen to it."

  Perez dropped the subject at once.

  The Spaniard turned to me and asked me most courteously about my aims inthe country. We were talking along when Saxton interrupted us. "We'llnever get enough to drink this way," says he; "come into the office."

  We went back into the little room where they entertained the bigcustomers. Saxton called a boy and ordered brandy. When it came hegrabbed the bottle feverishly. As he did so, Perez glanced at me. Weunderstood each other.

  Sax couldn't drink until we joined him--habit again--how she pulls! Hewanted that drink. It was the one thing he did want in the world, yetthere he waited while we fooled away as much time as we could.

  "Well, here's regards!" he said at last, and his lower jaw trembled witheagerness. Perez drank and I made the motions.

  "That's the stuff!" says Sax, with a cheap swagger that knocked meharder than anything I'd seen so far. "The good old truck that youSpaniards mollify under the name of aguardiente is the solution of allproblems, Perez."

  "_Si, si_, Senor?" says Perez. "It is a great solvent." He stirred thered sugar in the bottom of his glass. "I have seen it dissolve many agood manhood--like that."

  "None of your friends, I hope?" sneers Sax.

  "I hope not."

  Saxton looked at him a minute; a hundred different fits showed in hiseye, but the hurry of his mind let none stay long enough for action.

  The shadow settled on him again. I never in my life saw more misery in ahuman face, and to save me I couldn't tell you where the expression camefrom, because the man kept his muscles in an iron grip. There wasn't adroop of the mouth, nor a line in the forehead, nor a twitch of theeye--it was just powerful enough to make itself felt, without signs.

  He came back again with a snap.

  "Why, you're not drinking, Bill!" says he, noticing my glass. It was notArthur Saxton, to urge a boy to drink.

  "No," I says, easy, "I'm not used to tropical beverages--I expect tofind it full of red peppers. Lord, what a dose I got in my first _chilecon carne_--"

  He cut into my attempt at a diversion.

  "Why don't you drink?" he asked.

  "Because I promised Mary not to."

  The mention of the name was too much. He took a quick breath.

  "Oh, I wouldn't mind that," he says, light enough on the outside, butbeginning to heat up inside again.

  "I mind my word," I answered.

  Perez looked quickly across at me and smiled.

  "She makes mistakes like the rest of us," says Saxton.

  "She makes mistakes," says I, "but _not_ like the rest of us."

  Perez stretched out his hand. "I am again glad to have met Mr.Saunders," he said.

  Sax looked from one to the other of us. Suddenly he sprang up, givingthe table such a push it landed on its back against the wall. "I hate tobe the _only_ blackguard in the party," he said, and stood furious,panting.

  Perez slipped to me and whispered, "Mind him not--for two weeks, day andnight, brandy, brandy, brandy--it has not drunken him--but the man ismad."

  "What are you whispering about?" demanded Sax, so savagely I got readyfor action. "If you've anything to say about me, let me hear it--I yearnfor interesting news." He had his fist drawn back as he came up toPerez.

  The little man's face went white. "Arthur," he said, "would you strikeme?"

  "I'd strike any one--any dirty sneak who'd talk about me behind myback."

  "Arthur," said Perez, slowly, "when I was a poor, sickly, sad little boyat a Northern school I had a friend who protected me, who took many ablow for my sake; when I was a young man, sick with _la viruela_, I hada friend who risked his life to save mine; as an older man, I have afriend who can take my life if he wishes--strike."

  And so help me! He would have struck! Never tell me a man is this andthat. A man is everything. In his right mind, nothing an Apache inventedwould have forced Arthur Saxton to do such a thing--no fear on earth,nor no profit on earth would have tempted him for an instant. But now hewould have struck.

  I grabbed his wrist.

  "You fool!" I cried, "what are you doing?" He clipped me bang in theeye. Saxton was a strong man, weakened by whisky. I was twice as strongand braced with rage.

  I whirled him around and slammed him on the floor.

  Something cold pressed against my temple. It was a revolver in the handsof Perez. "Your life for it, if you hurt him," said he.

  For a second, I meant to quit that place in disgust. Then the size of ittook hold of me. It doesn't matter whether a thing is wise or not--infact, you never can tell whether a thing is wise or not--but if it has asize to it, it suits me.

  I thought for a minute. There we stood, me holding Saxton, Perez holdingme--just that little, cold touch, you'd think might be pleasant on a hotday.

  "I hope you ain't nervous, Mr. Perez?" says I, to gain time.

  "What?" says he, kind of befuzzled. "No, I am not nervous."

  "That's right," says I, hearty. "Don't try to see how hard that triggerpulls, or you'll disturb my thoughts." Then I made up my mind.

  "Saxton," says I, "if there's a remnant in you of the man you once was,get your friend to leave, and take the licking you deserve."

  I looked down at him--the man was back again! Talk about your moralsuasion, I tell you there's a time when only one thing counts. I'd donemore for Arthur Saxton by slamming him down on the floor than thedoctors and preachers could have brought about in ten years. He wentdown _hard_, mind you. Yes, sir, there was the old Saxton, with hisforehead frowned up because his head hurt, but the old, kindly, funnylittle smile on his lips.

  "Perez," he said, "run away and let the bad little boy get hisspanking--although, Bill," he went on, "if it's reformation you'reafter, I don't need it." He laughed up at me. "You think I'm trying tododge payment, but, so help me, I'm not, Billy boy."

  To see him like that, his laughing self again, after the nightmare we'djust been through, set me to sniveling--darn it, I was excited and onlya kid, but I cried--yes, I cried. And Perez, he cried.

  "N-nice way for you to act," says I, "and s-spoil all a poor boy's gotto respect."

  The awful slush of that struck us all, and we broke out into a laughtogether--a wibbly kind of laugh, but it served.

  Arthur got up and dusted his clothes. He shook fearfully. I never saw aman in worse shape and still be able to stand. Two weeks of a steadydiet of French brandy on top of trouble will put a man outside theordinary run, or inside his long home
.

  It was fine, the way he gathered himself. He brought something like whathe ought to be out of the wreck in two minutes.

  "Now," he says steady, "I owe you fellows something--I owe you a greatdeal, Perez--I'd started to finish on the alcohol route. I don't likethe company I keep. If I'm going to die I'll die with a better man thanyou stopped, Bill. In fact, I think my kid fit is over. I reckon I'lltry to live like a man, and as a start I'm going to tell you both whatails me--to have it out for once. So help me, it isn't for myself--it'sfor you, Henry. You've invested time and money in me, and you sha'n'tlose it. If you know what you're up against, you may be able to help mehelp myself. I'm sick of myself. All my life I have kept my mouth shut,out of a foolish pride. The little sacrifice will be something on thealtar of friendship, Henry, old man. Come along to my room."