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Plain Mary Smith: A Romance of Red Saunders

<h2>XIV</h2> <h3>BROTHER BELKNAP'S REVOLUTION</h3> The next thing needed in my calculations was time. My three-day vacation ended Monday; I had to have an extension or a sure thing on another, shortly. I was ready to throw up my job, but I felt it wouldn't come to that, likely, so I pulled for home and Jim. At the store Pedro told me Jim had been there yesterday afternoon, but left at once in no pleasant frame of mind. Pedro didn't know where he had gone. Took out toward the east, riding fast. I didn't know what to do. If I went after him, it was likely I'd miss him; if I waited, he mightn't be around again for days. "What ailed him, Pede?" I asked. "That is that which I am not to know," says Pedro. "He cuss and swear mos' fiercily. He also es-strike one stranger hombre who has been here making conversation with the workers. Si, he strike heem verree strong, so that the stranger does not know anything for one hour. He also say he will to shoot that stranger if he put the foot on thees groun' again. The men that are there make protestation and Señor Holton say, 'You are fools.' And Pepe, the large one, say, 'I am not a fool,' and Señor Holton say, 'No—you are a jackass,' and Pepe say, 'You have abused us much.' I am astonish to hear that, for of all men I have seen none is so kind to the people as Señor Holton; and I am moved to say, 'Pepe, you lie!' He thereupon strike me at the nose, as you see. I say,'Pepe, you may strike my nose, but that does not make you not a liar—a liar is what you are.' And Señor Holton say, 'Mind them not, Pedro, you are an honest man; but now I shall to abuse them for the fair if I do hear one cheep,' and he draw out his peestol and say, 'Yap, you coyotes! Let me hear you!' and there is such silence that one may hear his heart. Then Señor Holton say to me, 'Pedro, this is bad business. Mind the store the best you can—I must ride. If they come at you h'run away—I do not care for these goods, and you have spoken up like a man.'" Pedro smote himself upon the lung with his clenched fist. "H'run I shall not," says he. "Thees store can only be obtain by making the es-step over my corpsey." "Corpsey" sounded kind of frivolous for the occasion. However, underneath all the rolling eye and fine large gestures, the sand of the little man lay strong. I didn't understand the racket at all, but I knew it meant business or Jim would never have taken such a stand. "Why didn't you tell me this first, Pedro?" I asked. "I might have gone away and left you alone." "That was what I try to weesh," said he. "For you are young, and there is life before you. These are b-a-a-d fallows, these; if they keel Pedro, eet ees no harm, but you have been kin' to me, and I do not weesh you hurt. So I say, I shall let him go; they mus' not harm Beel; and then I feel so verree lonesome, and I think, He shall know and for himself decide." "Why, you darned old Guinea!" I yelled at him, "d'you suppose I'd leave you to buck this through alone? I don't know what got into Jim not to put some men in with you." Pedro shrugged his shoulders. "Señor Holton had no time—what it ees, ees emperative—and for those men, they are all mad, I think. They come and es-swear at me, who never have done them injury—I, never! Who can say Pedro harmed him? They only leave when you are to arrive." I don't know why, but suddenly it came upon me that we were stacked against a crowd of men—I mean it came right real to me, and I sat down in a chair, limp. I never admired a man more than I did Pedro, at that moment. There he was, the little man I so often laughed at, quietly going about his business, waiting for a crowd to come and kill him! I didn't mind one or two, or perhaps a few more men, so much, but the crowd threw a crimp into me. When you learn how much bigger a coward a crowd is, than any one man in it, you are not so troubled, but then! Well, it was the first time I'd been right down terrified in my life, and it was awful. I raked the sweat off my forehead, steadied myself the best I could, and says: "Well, Pede, we're in for it!" "Tiene V. razon!" says he; "but we will to do what we can. If I live, always shall I remember how Beel stay with me." I've heard it said that a good example will steady you when you're scart. Out of my personal experience I beg to differ. I got mad at Pedro for not being frightened; and the more I thought how well he behaved, the worse rattled I got. I sat there, in a hot chill every time I heard a noise outdoors, till at last some sense came back to me. "This won't do!" says I. "Here, Pede, where's the hot-water bottle?" He handed me a bottle of brandy. I put the neck to my neck and warmed my poor soul. Lord! but it tasted good. Dutch courage ain't on the same shelf with real courage, but it's a durned sight better than scart-to-death in a rumpus. I hadn't more than time to give a "hoo" of satisfaction and put the bottle down, when there came a running and a yelling down the road. Pede and I jumped for the door together. The valley lay flat between the hills, north of us, and you could see a mile to the turn in the road. Down the road two men were running for their lives, a screeching gang after them, peppering 'em with rocks, clubs, and what not. Also there was the shine of knives—the shine that always sickens me. I waited for a gun-shot, but none came. The two had fifty yards' start, and they weren't losing it, if they could help it. As they drew nearer I could hear remarks about Papists from the crowd. In a second I saw the play—Brother Belknap's revolution! That braced me. The victims ran with their arms over their heads for protection; when one dropped his arms and raised his head to cry for help, I recognized Tony Gonzales, the squarest, nicest man in the place. That steadied me more yet. Fifty men to the two! "Come on, Pedro!" I hollered. We each grabbed a pick-handle, and with that in one hand and a gun in the other, we went to the door. "Beel," says Pedro, "let us to remain here. They cannot be hurt now, for they run verree fas'. The es-store is a fort. If we stay, we do better." I took in the situation. Tony and his mate were keeping distance nobly. I suppose they drew a clip or two from a stone, but they were in no deadly danger unless the crowd got hold of them. Pedro wasn't much of a hand to sell groceries and truck, but he was a durned good general when it came to war. "Queeck, Beel!" says he. "For to defend us make closed the windows and doors, but the one!" We worked sharp, rolling barrels against the doors and slapping boxes of canned goods against the window-shutters. The work did me a power of good. Anger had driven out most of my fear, yet getting my muscles into use was needed to remove the rest of the poison from my system. Next I broke open a box of cartridges and spread them on the counter, while Pedro loaded revolvers taken from the stock. By the time the feet drew near, we were in fighting trim. Another cry for help sounded almost at the door. Pede and I rushed out. "Get in, boys," I said, "and grab a gun!" They ducked under my arm and entered the store. The rest drew up in a huddle, a ways off, and stopped. "Now, gentlemen," I said in the best Spanish I could muster, "what's the matter?" I got no answer, but bad looks. They talked and muttered among themselves, and shifted about, with ugly motions—as black and treacherous a mob as a man would like to dream of. My temperature went right up. I naturally despise not getting an answer to a question. One lad shook his fist and growled something. That was all. I waited. "Once more," says I, "what's the matter?" Same performance. I shot a hole through the hat of the lad who shook his fist. "Third and last call," says I, "what's the matter?" but they broke and ran. My play held 'em for a minute. Our best show was to take the top hand at once, so I walked down to them. "Now I want to know what ails you people," I said, getting the meaning into Spanish, if the words were a little mixed, "and I want to know quick, or there'll be a fuss right here." A big feller jeered at me: "Put down the gun, and I'll show you what's the matter," he said. "You will?" says I, parting with what sense I had. "You yellow-bellied snake-in-the-grass! You will show a white man, will you? Come on out here, you that's so brave in a crowd!" I chucked the gun away and waited for him. I got just what I might have expected—they all come for me! Cursing my fool soul, I jumped for the gun. I almost had my hand on it when a rock took me behind the ear and laid me on the grass. It was up to Mr. William De La Tour Saunders to put his feet under him with celerity and hike out of that. It was painful—sufferin' Moses! How I hated to run from that crowd! I snorted, but run was the word, and run I did, with them hollering and laughing at me. Inside, I grabbed two of the guns from the counter, called to Pedro and the other two, and started back. I met the gang right at the door. It was curious how making me run had braved them; they were for tearing everything apart now. Well, our meeting was a surprise to both parties. I've had to be grateful all my life that my hands think faster than my head. I put four shots into that crowd before I thought at all. The man who picked up my revolver fired and missed me from a three-foot range. I got some of the powder, also a knife in the shoulder, but four men laid out discouraged 'em and they broke again. I put it to them with both hands, Pedro and the other boys cutting in before they found shelter. By this time I was wild—wanted to go after them and hunt 'em out. Pedro and the other two fastened on me and dragged me in. "More shall come, Beel!" cried Pedro. "We must have care—do not to go, I implore!" He not only implored, but half-strangled me; they hauled me back and shut the door. "Listen, all," says Pedro. "This is not the end. Others will come with guns, and then!—But now to see what is outside." He stationed us each where we could peek through cracks, and so cover the store from all sides. There was barrels of ammunition, General Pedro issued commands to blaze away at a sight. The folks outside kept up a stream of cursing and abuse, jeers and threats, and we returned a revolver fire just as effective. It was too far for a short gun. We had two rifles in the shop. I wasn't then, and never have been, as good a shot with a rifle as with a pistol. Gonzales, though, had been a hunter. He took the rifle with a pleased smile. "You make me run," says he, playfully, to outdoors. "Now I make you jump! It is thus we amuse ourselves." A man showed his head, to the sound of an instant crash from the rifle. He jumped, all right. "The old church shall say mass for your soul, Juan," says Gonzales. "You are the best dead man in the country." After that, they were careful. I thought they'd leave, seeing they couldn't do anything with us, till Pedro explained they were probably holding us till armed men came. I should have felt dismal once more at this news, if I'd had nothing to do. The darkened store wore on my feelings. One feller I shot wriggled in a funny fashion as he lay on the ground. He was still wriggling—I could see him every time I stopped to think. He gave a long twist, like a snake, bringing his face to the light, at the last. He looked as if he felt perfectly disgusted. He hadn't ought to have looked that way. It bothered me. The other three stood the gaff of waiting much better than I. In fact, I was frantic inside me, though I made a good chest of it. "Pede," I says, "let me have the other rifle—I'm going scouting." "That is well," says Gonzales. "If you can get up on the hill without being seen, you can drive them out, and we shall have a shot." So I took the rifle and squirmed through the brush and rocks back of the store until I was a hundred yards or so up the hill. It was a steep slant. In going so far I'd risen nearly a hundred feet. I could see part of our besiegers plain. Some ten of 'em lay behind boulders, smoking cigarettes and taking it easy. Another batch sat under the bridge. The rest I couldn't see. I had a particular grudge against the feller who challenged me to fight. I searched carefully, and finally made him out, under a rock about three hundred yards away, sitting with his back to me, and playing a game with the man in front of him. His fat back made a corking target. I rested the gun between two stones and had him dead to rights. I was ready to listen to the report and see him fall over, when, by the gods of war! my finger wouldn't pull the trigger. I hadn't the least feeling about killing that treacherous skunk, so far as I knew, but all the same, I could not pull that trigger. I was surprised, plenty. "Why, you damn fool!" I says to myself, "what's eating you! That lad would 'a' slaughtered your entire family, by this time!" True, too, but it didn't make the gun go off. It's mighty queer how an unexpected "me" will jump out of you at times. There was one Bill Saunders just as anxious to do that blackguard as a man could be, and there was another—and the boss, too—who wouldn't stand for it. I cussed between my teeth. "If you'd look at me, instead of turning your back, you dog!" I whispered, "I'd heap you up quick." I broke out into a sweat of shame, knowing how my friends were putting their faith in my gathering a man or two. I could have cried with mortification. Suddenly my lad jumped up and pointed, forgetting where he was. The next second the finger jammed into the ground, and the whang of Gonzales's rifle cut through the valley. I looked where he pointed. Here come a string of men with guns, dog-trotting. I up and pasted into them. The shot started those below. Some jumped up. I could have whaled it to them all right now, but a shell jammed. Our boys socked it to them from the store, while I clawed at the durned cartridge. Got it out with my knife at last and banged away, first below and then at the approaching soldiers. I dropped a man and the soldiers scattered behind rocks and trees. There was no use staying longer. I had only three cartridges left; nothing much I could do anyhow, as they would sneak up from this on; besides, I stood to get cut off from the store, so I carefully picked my way back, not wanting them to learn there was no one on the hill. In such a case as ours, you fight for time. I hoped nothing from time, but every minute you lived was clear gain. Out here in the country prisoners of war were stood against a wall. So long as they thought we had men on the hill, they'd be cautious. Likely they'd send men around to clear the hill, first, and that would give us some minutes. The other boys had seen the arrival of the soldiers. They were quiet, but hopeless. Gonzales shrugged his shoulders and examined his rifle. "How many?" he asked. "Soldiers and all, or just soldiers?" "All." "Nigh a hundred." "Ay de mi! Adios el mundo! Four men against a hundred! Well, they shall speak of us after—not a hundred will they be, when we leave." The feeling that you'll leave a good name behind to comfort your last minutes, is a mighty good thing. Wish I had it. It didn't matter a darn to me. All I could think of was that they shouldn't get me—not if they was a million—and I proposed to work on those lines with force. "Perhaps they won't jump us," I said with more wish than hope. "If they try any other play, we can hold 'em a week." I had some contempt for those soldiers. I parted with it later. You see, they were barefoot, ragged, and dirty. Not a thing marked 'em for soldiers, but the guns and the orders. I hadn't seen many soldiers, but what I had seen was gay with uniforms and a brass band. Now, if they'd come at our store with a brass band, it would have been something like. This was only a rucus, with us holding the working end of the mule. No glory, no uniforms, no band, no nothing, but just getting holes shot in you, and it wouldn't be no more than truthful for me to admit I was perfectly contented with my hide as she was. We strengthened the doors and windows by piling more boxes up, leaving only holes to shoot through. Then we waited. The dark heat in the store just melted you; outside the sun hammered fit to knock your eye out. When it comes hot and still—deadly still—I can remember that hour's waiting in the store. I couldn't hold on to what I was thinking of for a minute; all my ideas flipped around like scart birds, and I sweat and sweat, and I was sick at my stomach, and the man I shot kept squirming. It was the same as sitting up in bed to find out your nightmare is real. To the devil with waiting! I tried to clamp my attention on mother, on Mary, on everybody I knew. Useless. I didn't seem to know anybody—they were only jokes, and mostly, the faces, as they skipped by, turned on me and grinned. At the same time I kept talking with the other boys and even laughed once in a while. I know they thought I was cool as a watermelon. I'm even with them there; I thought they were, too. When Gonzales called, with a click in his voice, "Hist! Quid'ow! They come!" I could have raised both hands to heaven in thanks. There's nothing one-eighth as bad in getting killed as sitting around waiting for it. I jumped for my window. There ain't a bit of what was in front of me but what's with me to stay. I could only see a small space that day—anything that wasn't in a ten-foot circle was dark. I leave the why to the doctors. It never troubled me again. I had the south window, kind of slantwise facing the road, and about twenty foot from it, where it passed the store. There was a breastwork of canned goods shoulder high, with lots of loose cartridges spread on the inner top box. The box near me was open, and red labels on quart cans of tomatoes shone out—"Pride of the Garden." I wonder if the man that raised 'em, or he that canned 'em, ever imagined they were going to become the bulwarks of the State of Panama? The shutters were heavy, with holes in 'em about four inches wide, which you could cover with a round piece of wood that swung on a screw. These holes were right in height for me to shoot through. The other boys had to stand on boxes, being shorter. I took a peep through my gun-hole. There come the rebels, flap-flapping down the road in their bare feet, trailing their guns, their wide-brimmed hats shaking comical. And I felt happy when I saw it. These were real men, and for the last hour I'd been fighting ghosts. We didn't want 'em to hit us in a body, so I called cheerful to the other boys, "Bet you a can of tomatoes I draw first blood!" and let her flicker through the loop-hole. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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