Bunch Grass Part 42

We dined together, and I delivered the president's message in Thorpe's presence. He shook hands with Jim, and said quietly--

"I am happier to-night than I ever expected to be again."

Bounder or not, he meant it.

Only the other day I received a letter from Angela. She wrote at length concerning her eldest child, my G.o.dson, and she mentioned incidentally that Jim was now cashier of the San Lorenzo Bank.

XV

MARY

His real name was Quong Wo, but my brother Ajax always called him Mary, because the boy's round, childish face had a singular smoothness and delicacy. A good and faithful servant he proved during three years. Then he ran away at the time of the anti-Chinese riots, despite our a.s.surance that we wished to keep him and protect him.

"Me no likee c.o.o.n Dogs," said he, with a shiver.

The c.o.o.n Dogs were a pack of cowboys engaged in hunting Chinamen out of the peaceful, but sometimes ill-smelling, places which, by thrift, patience, and unremitting labour, they had made peculiarly their own.

From the c.o.o.n Dogs Ajax and I received a letter commanding us to discharge Mary. A skull and cross-bones, and a motto, "Beware the bite of the c.o.o.n Dogs!" embellished this billet, which was written in red ink. Courtesy constrained us to acknowledge the receipt of it. Next day we put up a sign by the corral gate--

NO HUNTING ALLOWED ON THIS RANCH!

In the afternoon Mary disappeared.

Uncle Jake was of opinion that Mary had divined the meaning of our sign. He had said to Uncle Jake: "I go. Me makee heap trouble for boss."

Later, upon the same day, we learned from a neighbour that the c.o.o.n Dogs had tarred and feathered one poor wretch; another had been stripped and whipped; a third was found half-strangled by his own queue; the market-gardens near San Lorenzo, miracles of industry, had been ravaged and destroyed. Before taking leave our neighbour mentioned the sign.

"Boys," said he, "take that down--and ship Mary. I'm mighty glad," he added reflectively, "that my ole woman does the cookin."

"Mary skedaddled after dinner," said Ajax, frowning, "but I'm going into town to-morrow to bring him back."

However, Mary brought himself back that same night. We were smoking our second pipes after supper, when Ajax, pointing an expressive finger at the window, exclaimed sharply: "Great Scot! What's that?"

Pressed against the pane, glaring in at us, was a face--a face so blanched and twisted by terror and pain that it seemed scarcely human.

We hurried out. Mary staggered towards us. In his face were the cruel, venomous spines of the p.r.i.c.kly pear. The tough boughs of the manzanita thickets through which he had plunged had scourged him like a cat-o'- nine tails. What clothes he wore were dripping with mud and slime.

"c.o.o.n Dogs come," he gasped. "I tellee you."

Then he bolted into the shadows of the oaks and sage brush. We pursued, but he ran fast, dodging like a rabbit, till he tumbled over and over--paralysed by fear and fatigue. We carried him back to the ranch-house, propped him up in a chair, and despatched Uncle Jake for a doctor. Before midnight we learned what little there was to know.

Mary had been chased by the c.o.o.n Dogs. He, of course, was a-foot; the cowboys were mounted. A couple of barbed-wire fences had saved him from capture. We had listened, that afternoon, too coolly, perhaps, to a tale of many outrages, but the horror and infamy of them were not brought home to us till we saw Mary, tattered scarred, bedraggled, lying crumpled up against the gay chintz of the arm-chair. The poor fellow kept muttering: "c.o.o.n Dogs come. I know. Killee you, killee me.

Heap bad men!"

Next morning Uncle Jake and the doctor rode up.

"I can do nothing," said the latter, presently. "It's a case of shock.

He may get over it; he may not. Another shock would kill him. I'll leave some medicine."

Upon further consultation we put Mary into Ajax's bed. The Chinaman's bunk-house was isolated, and the vaqueroes slept near the horse corral, a couple of hundred yards away. Mary feebly protested: "No likee. c.o.o.n Dogs--allee same debils--killee you, killee me. Heap bad men!"

We tried to a.s.sure him that the c.o.o.n Dogs were at heart rank curs.

Mary shook his head: "I know. You see."

The day pa.s.sed. Night set in. About ten, Mary said, convincingly--

"c.o.o.n Dogs coming! c.o.o.n Dogs coming!"

"No, no," said Ajax.

I slipped out of the house. From the marsh beyond the creek came the familiar croaking of the frogs; from the foothills in the cow-pasture came the shrilling of the crickets. A coyote was yapping far down the valley.

"It's all right, Mary," said I.

"Boss, c.o.o.n Dogs come, velly quick. I know."

Did he really know? What subtle instinct warned him of the approach of danger? Who can answer such questions? It is a fact that the c.o.o.n Dogs were on the road to our ranch, and that they arrived just one hour later. We heard them yelling and shouting at the big gate. Then the popping of pistols told us that the sign, clearly to be seen in the moonlight, was being riddled with bullets.

"We must face the music," said Ajax grimly. "Come on!"

Mary lay back on the pillow, senseless. Pa.s.sing through the sitting- room, I reminded Ajax that my duck-gun, an eight-bore, could carry two ounces of buck-shot about one hundred yards.

"We mustn't fight 'em with their own weapons," he answered curtly.

The popping ceased suddenly; silence succeeded.

"They're having their bad time, too," said Ajax. "They are hitching their plugs to the fence. Hullo!"

Uncle Jake slipped on to the verandah, six-shooter in hand. Before he spoke, he spat contemptuously; then he drawled out: "Our boys say it's none o' their doggoned business; they won't interfere."

"Good," said Ajax cheerfully. "Nip back, Uncle; we can play this hand alone."

"Sure?" The old man's voice expressed doubt.

"Quite sure. Shush-h-h!"

Uncle Jake slid off the verandah, but he retired--so we discovered later--no farther than the water-b.u.t.t behind it. Ajax and I went into the sitting-room. From the bed-room beyond came no sound whatever.

Through the windows the pack was seen--slowly advancing.

"Come in, gentlemen," said Ajax loudly.

He stood in the doorway, an unarmed man confronting a dozen desperadoes.

"Wheer's the Chinaman--Quong?"

I recognised the voice of a cowboy whom we had employed: a man known in the foothills as c.o.c.k-a-whoop Charlie.

"He's here," Ajax answered quietly.