"Damned if I don't think you have. Cool devil you are, Clung. It was the girl; the thought of her drove me on, Clung."
"You have lost her," said the prisoner. "She is gone from you."
"Nonsense! The moment you are gone she'll come and cry her shame away on my shoulder. A Chinaman! Gad, poor Winifred
will be under the whip!"
"The flowers,” said Clung faintly., "they will save her from you.”
"Damn your yellow hide!” muttered Kirk, "I wonder if I understand you?”
"No, you can never understand. Marshal Clauson; will you take me?”
They led him outside and helped him to the saddle of his own grey horse.
"Now,” said the marshal, "there's something about you — damned if I know why, Clung, that makes me start sympathizin’ with you. Foolish, I know, but I can't help it. Listen here. If you'll give me your word, I’ll let you ride back to Mortimer, with your hands free and no rope around you to suggest a lynching to the crowd. Gimme your word?”
"The marshal is kind to Clung,” said the other. "He has a garden of flowers —
"Best in Mortimer, eh, lad? First I remember of you, Clung, is seeing you snook around that same garden. Here, Johnson, unlock those irons.”
And so it came to pass that Clung rode like a free man into Mortimer. A crowd gathered at the first appearance of the cavalcade and there were murmurs and some threatening shouts.
"But they won't do nothing,” said the marshal to Clung, "partly because they know me, and partly because they see you got your hands free — and because you look so damned — well, white, Clung!”
The marshal himself turned the key on Clung’s cell. He said through the bars: "If there's anything I can do to make you easy, lad, speak out.”
"The marshal has a garden of flowers,” said Clung.
"Well?”
"Clung has often passed by the garden, slowly, in the cool of the evening.”
"Damn my soul! You want flowers? Clung, I’ll bring 'em up myself; yep, me and the old woman’ll pick 'em for you together.”
And he went away swearing reverently. A love for flowers is like a love for little children; it brings men together through strange distances. The marshal that evening sat in his house, in his office, sorting the flowers for Clung, when Mrs. Clauson appeared with word that old Li Clung was at the front door.
"But you’d better let him stay there,” said Mrs. Clauson, "unless you want a lot of Chinese tears on the rug.”
"Tears?” snorted the marshal. "There won't be no tears; more likely a knife. Show the old scoundrel in.”
But the visit of Li was both short and silent. He came to the door, nodded, grinned, produced a little canvas bag which he left on the edge of the marshal's desk, nodded, and was gone, silent-footed. The marshal, as soon as he recovered from the first astonishment, opened the bag, with some fear lest it be an infernal machine. What he found was a neat little pile of ten-dollar gold pieces, with some twenties to crown the lot. Old Li had arranged the bag like a basket of fruit, putting the best on top.
Clauson started to tell his wife of the marvel, but he changed his mind and went instead to the laundry of old Li. There he called the proprietor to one side, cursed him softly and fluently in languages of both sides of the border, and then returned to his home. He was much moved; gold has a singular power of touching the emotions, and the gold which is earned through the sweat and labor of a Chinese laundry — Marshal Clauson was forced to loosen his collar. He swore his way through his supper and would not speak to his wife; so she knew that he was moved by some gentle emotion and watched him with a gleaming eye. They had no children; he was the beginning and the end to her.
Old Li, however, evidently had heard the legend that constant dropping of water wears through the stoutest stone. In the morning he appeared again and placed another canvas bag on the edge of the marshal's desk. Clauson seized a large ledger and hurled it after the disappearing form of Li, but he dodged through the front door and was gone.
Left to his leisure, Clauson, wiping perspiration from his forehead, examined the contents. It was more; it was double the size of the first bag. Marshal Clauson weighed the bag, sighed, closed it, and then rode in a fury to the laundry of old Li Clung. He hurled the bag at the head of Li and followed it with a tremendous tirade. He informed the Oriental that bribery was a prison offense, and that any more damned monkeyshines would land Li behind the bars. Moreover, it was hopeless for him to attempt to save his son. The boy was done for — too bad — but impossible to change the law. Life had to pay for life.
But there was not much peace in store for the marshal. He had scarcely installed himself in his office again and eaten an orange to cool the thirst of his rage, when the door opened once more, and Li, nodding, smiling, was once more in the doorway. He was dressed in robes of state, a black silk cap with a crimson tassel, long sleeved tunic braided with gold, a pig-tail of prodigious length. He produced from the mysterious depths of one of his sleeves the third bag of money and deposited it with a bow on the edge of the desk. The marshal reared himself up slowly from his chair. He seized first a massive book, and then on the butt of a gun, but still old Li did not move; Marshal Clauson delivered himself of his favorite curse, famous through the length and breadth of Arizona.
"Thunderin' hell!" he roared, "am I a fool or jest plain crazy?”
Chapter 11
The Chinese drew himself erect; dignity fell about him as visibly as the toga of a Roman senator carrying an appeal to the leader of plundering barbarians at the gates of the imperial city.
"It is all that Li Clung has," he said in his faultless English. "And his money is not stolen."
He opened the bag and spilled the contents across the desk. There was gold of three denominations and there was an intermixture of silver.
"Li Clung," he said, "has gone to his friends. Li Clung has borrowed what they would give. Li Clung makes a gift to the
The marshal, with wildly staring eyes, gathered the money and poured it back into the bag-Li Clung held out his calloused hands.
"Li Clung will work,” he said, "he will be the slave of the marshal Clauson, if this money is not enough.”
"You damn fool,” said the marshal hoarsely, "it's getting’ too near my price. Take your fool money away!”
"Li Clung,” said the unmoved Chinese, "is a poor man, but he will bring much money. He will sell his house. He has silks and pictures. He will sell them and bring the money to the marshal. He will eat stale bread and drink only water and bring to the marshal all that he makes. Every month he will bring money — a little money. A present to the marshal from Li Clung. Li Clung will bow to his gods, who are very strong, every day. He will beg them to bring a long life to the marshal and much happiness. They are strong gods. They will bring children to the wife of the marshal. They will fill his house with peace and happiness and many voices of his friends.”
"My God!” whispered the marshal, staring as if he saw a ghost.
He rubbed his knuckles across his eyes, which were dim.
"Can a Chink be like this? Li Clung, you hear me swear to God that if there was a chance for your boy he'd get it, but he ain't got a chance. The law won't give him no look in. If it would, I'd see that he got out, and it wouldn't cost you no money. But it can't be done, Li. The boys want blood for the death of old Boyce. A Chink can't get away with a white man's death. You ought to know that."
A pallor fell on the face of Li Clung; it was like a shower of ashes.
"Li Clung will tell the marshal a little story," he said, "if he will be heard."
"Li," said the marshal, "there's something inside me that's aching as if I had a son of my own. Sit down and talk, Li."
"It is not a good story," said Li, overlooking the proffered chair. "Li Clung has been a strong man and a bad man. Li Clung was in Cripple Creek."
"The hell you were!"
"And there was a man called John Pem-berton."
"I knew Joh
n well. He was a hard one, was old John."
"Li Clung had a young wife, and Li Clung had two little sons. Li Clung loved them all. Sometimes it seemed to Li that his heart would break, there was so much love in it for his wife, and for his two sons. He had room for them all, but it swelled the heart of Li Clung. And every morning and every evening Li Clung bowed before his gods and made himself humble for fear his gods should be jealous, Li Clung was so happy.
"But the gods of Li Clung are fierce gods and strong gods. They grew angry with him. They took all his happiness — see! they took it as suddenly as Li Clung takes the stalk of this flower and bends it and breaks it — there are three flowers gone because that stalk is broken. So it was with the gods of Li Clung.
"They sent John Pemberton to the house of Li for money, for John Pemberton needed gold. He came to find money and he came very drunk. He found no money but he found my wife and my sons. She made crying out, being a woman. He struck her in the face and she fell and struck her head against a stone, and died so — being a woman. And the two sons, when they saw their mother die, they made much noise, screaming together, so that John Pemberton, he feared that they would bring in many men upon him, so he took them by their heels —"
"God!" whispered the marshal, and tore the bandana from his throat.
"Li Clung came home that night and his heart was singing with happiness. He found his two little buds dead, and he found his flower faded and dying. But there was a small voice left in her no bigger than the humming of a fly, and with that voice she told Li Clung how all that had filled his heart had been poured out again and thrown away like water on the sand.
"Then Li Clung buried his dead.
"He waited. John Pemberton took a woman to his house. The woman bore him a son and died. Then Li Clung was ready. He went in the middle of the night and tied the mouth of John Pemberton with clothes so that he could not cry out."
"But Pemberton was a big, strong man, Li."
"Li Clung was not weak,” said the Chinaman. "He tied the mouth of John Pemberton so that he could not cry out, and then he made him know by signs that Li Clung would take his son and go away.
"And Li Clung went away with the boy; afterwards John Pemberton died.”
"By God,” cried the marshal, "then your boy is young Pemberton!”
"My boy is Clung,” said Li solemnly.
"I begin to see. Yet you've got a yellow skin, Li. Well, my eyes are getting wide open.”
"Li Clung hated the little boy he had stolen, but after a while he came to love him. The hands of a baby are strong hands."
He made a gesture which the marshal did not see, for his face was buried in his hands.
"Li Clung loved the boy and took him into his heart, which was empty. He gave him all things that he could give him. Then he saw that Clung carried the blood of a white father in him and that he was a destroyer, and sometimes Li was glad, because he did not wish well for white people and Clung would be like a plague of locusts, consuming. But now the son of Li Clung is about to die, and Li Clung is very weary. He has no strength, and he is sick about the heart. He has brought gold to the marshal. Is it worth this life?"
"Li, if this yarn would be believed — we'd get off Clung. He's only killed one white man, and that was in self-defense, more or less. But d'you think you could convince the boys that Clung is all white? Nope; they're out for blood. I'd take a chance and let him go, but there's another appointment due for this job, and if I let Clung go another man is pretty sure to get my place, and —"
But Li Clung was already disappearing through the doorway.
Marshal Clauson sent his wife to the jail with fresh flowers for Clung, and took a long, hard ride through the country to shake off the thought of Clung. But when he came back the same case attacked him again.
This time it was in the person of the girl whom he had seen in the room at the time of Clung's capture. She was all in white, and she seemed to Marshal Clauson the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Chapter 12
"I suppose," said the marshal, after he had seen her seated, "that you've come about the Clung case? Want to make sure that he will get his? Well, he will. There ain't no reasonable doubt about that."
She winced deeper in the big chair, and then raised her head in the way she had caught from Clung.
"I have come to find out if money will be of any use to him in securing a good lawyer," she said steadily.
"That's the way of it, eh?" queried the marshal, and he shifted the lamp so that the light fell more directly on her face. "Well, lady, I'll tell you now that it would be simply throwing away good coin. There's only one verdict a jury would bring in a case like this, an Arizona jury, anyway. Josiah Boyce wasn't much account, but then he wasn't no harm to anybody neither. He's dead and there's a life owing somewhere to the law — a Chink's life at that."
Every time he used the word, carelessly — he noted that the girl winced. He went on: "Boyce ain't the only one. There might be a ghost of a chance if he was. There's others. Clung has left a trail behind him a mile long, and it's thick with dead Mexicans. He's a natural born killer, Miss Sampson, and that's the shortest way to the truth of the thing. He shoots too straight not to kill."
And the girl thinking back to the keen picture of Clung, saw how he might be both a lover of all things beautiful and also a dealer in death. The marshal, watching, saw the hardening of her face. He was thinking many things.
She said, rising: "There are a great many twists in the law. Good counsel may save him, and if it may, I want him to have the chance."
"Ma'am," said the marshal, "there ain't many twists in Arizona law — not in a case like this. You can lay to that. Maybe I can ask why you're so interested in this — Chink?"
The blood stained her face at that.
She said with some dignity: "Why do you keep forcing the word down my throat? I know he's a — Chinaman, but he's a rare man, Marshal Clauson, no matter what his nationality. If he took a white man's life, he also saved a white man's life."
"Clung did?"
"The man who betrayed him to you," said the girl, whitening with scorn and anger. "He was sick, nearly dead. We had given him up. Then Clung came and healed him, sat by him day and night, would not leave him until the man was cured."
"H-m-m," murmured the marshal, and his hand moved automatically towards the butt of his gun. "May I ask if this William Kirk person is still at your house?"
"No," she said, "he has gone north."
"Speaking personal," said the marshal slowly, "he'd better stay in his north. He was a bit too far south for it to be healthy. That kind don't never prosper in Arizona. Clung saved him, eh?"
"If there's a law of compensation," said the girl, "it ought to appear. A life for a life; that's what Clung gives."
"You'd throw in the Mexicans he finished off, eh?" grinned the marshal, "and the white men he didn't kill but just shot up bad? Throw 'em in for good measure, eh? Well, I don't mind saying — but I got no right to say anything. Miss Sampson, I’ll have to be saying good-evening to you. I got a pile of things to do this night.”
"And you'll see that the very best counsel is retained for him? Can we make you our agent in that, Marshal Clauson? I know you'll keep the murdering cowpunchers away from him."
"Lady," said the marshal rising with her, "I've spread the news around among the boys that if they tackle the jail to get Clung, I'll turn him loose on 'em with two guns. There ain't no better way of keeping Mortimer quiet. They've all seen him in action and it makes a pile of 'em sick to remember. Good-night."
She went, with bowed head; but the moment she had gone the marshal set to work, cheerily, whistling as he proceeded. First he opened a door so cunningly set into the wall that the cunningest eye of suspicion would never have detected it, and he took from it a small saw, a lever of diminutive proportions, rope, and a stout knife. These things he bestowed about his person, adding to his load an extra cartridge belt and two long forty-fives. T
hus equipped he started straight for the jail and went to the cell of Clung.
Clung, as usual, was slowly pacing up and down inside the bars, utterly oblivious of all that passed in the corridor. He did not even turn when the door opened and then clanged shut; but when he discovered that it was Clauson his face softened to a smile of infinite gentleness.
"Flowers!” he said, and stretched out the delicate hands.
"Flowers be damned,” murmured the marshal cautiously. "Something better than that, lad. Freedom!”
"For me? If I go — what will come of the marshal?”
"Shut up. Before I was a marshal I done my share of hell-raising. I know. Also I know another thing. I’ve heard the story of old Li Clung. You're young Pemberton, all white — whiter than your dad by a damn sight.”
"No,” said the other, "I am Clung. I am not ashamed.”
"Neither would I be. Old Li is a rare one. And you’d never have a chance of making the world believe that you're not a half-breed. Let it go. Arizona ain’t the only place. Hit out — let the wind take you, south or north. And here's a word in your ear. If you go north, on the right trail, you'll find a girl that hasn't forgotten you. I think she might believe you. Anyway, she'd try like hell to believe you."
"And her friends?" answered Clung.
"That's the stickler. Rumor would follow you; you'd still be the Chink to most of the world."
"I am Clung. I shall not change the name. It is my pride. I will be what I am. It is the better way."
"The girl, Clung?"
In another man the change of expression would have been almost negligible, but knowing Clung, the marshal moved a pace back, wondering.
"She knew me for what I am," said Clung, stiffening, "and when she heard that I was 'Clung, the Chink,' you saw her as she passed me in the room. The pain of it is still with me. If I had been all white, the pain was so great when she turned from me that I should have groaned and fallen on my knees and wept and begged her to come back to me. But I made no sound. I am Clung."
Brand, Max - 1924 Page 5