Over the Border Part 32

"Bah!" he snorted his disgust. "Don't talk to me of republics. Do you suppose that either England or Germany would have stood for the anarchy which rules here? For centuries John Bull has been ruling brown peoples and he knows his job. 'Be good and you'll be happy!' he tells them. If they're not-they get it, hot and heavy, on the spot where it will do most good. The brown man is all right in his place-which isn't on top of the white man-but your government, so far, has failed to perceive it."

He went on from a pause: "Republics are incapacitated by nature in any case for the job. They are too divided in their counsels-swayed to-day by capital that will accept any dishonor rather than jeopardize its revenues; to-morrow by sentimentalists who hold up hands of horror at the very thought of war; governed most of the time by a ridiculous yellow press. Individually, you Yanks are good people, but taken collectively, as represented by your government and papers, you are hypocritical, weak, hysterical, sentimental, without dignity or force.

You are grown fat with wealth, soft with luxury, too lazy and indifferent to undertake your responsibilities abroad, and if you were not, you lack the first essentials-centralized federal authority and military strength to enforce your will. If you do anything here it will be accidental-such as when the blowing up of the _Maine_ aroused one of your periodical brainstorms, stung you into action. But in the mean time the destruction of Mexico will be complete. There will be nothing left of the civilization built up at such enormous pains by Diaz and which it was your duty to maintain."

Silence followed, the uncomfortable silence that attends the digestion of unpalatable truth. While they talked, the cars had resolved into dim ma.s.ses that swayed and swung through hot dusk that was splashed, here and there, with the red glow of charcoal cooking fires. On those immediately ahead and behind, dim sombreroed figures still loomed in half-gloom. The flash of a match occasionally set a dark face out in startling relief. The tinkle of a guitar accompanying a high, nasal _peon_ chant, mingled with the roar and rattle of wheels. For some time its whine rose under the stars before the voice of the dean broke the silence.

"What you say is true-most of it. We have been tried in the balance and found wanting. We've neglected our duty to the Mexicans and our own people-that's the h.e.l.l of it! But nations, like individuals, learn their lessons through painful mistakes. We've had bad leadership and worse counsels-so much of it that it would almost seem that we were irrevocably stamped as incapable. But it's only a phase. Under it all the heart of the people still beats sound and true. Sooner or later its voice will be heard. And when it is-the bleating of the sentimentalists will be drowned in the tramp of marching men."

"You bet you!" It rolled out in chorus.

"In the mean time," a voice added, "what's the matter with a little drink?"

Instantly the rec.u.mbent figures rose in a shadowy ma.s.s, and as its units made their way down over the edge of the swaying car, the correspondent jogged Bull's elbow. "Come along, Diogenes!"

But though a flame, sudden and fierce, had leaped within him; though he trembled under the intensity of his desire, he shook his head. "Thanks, I'm not drinking."

"Why-Diogenes? Whatever is the matter? If parental responsibilities do this, d.a.m.ned if I know whether I'll ever dare to hook up-providing my San Francisco girl ever consents. Is this straight?"

"Straight."

Warned, perhaps, by a certain earnestness, the other answered: "All right, old man-only-if you change your mind, come on down."

Bull made no answer, could not, for as he lay there, huge bulk stretched out on the running-board, face turned up to the stars, every ounce of his energy, even the bit that would have been used up in speech, was consumed in the fight against the furious desire that brought the sweat starting on his brow, shook him like a leaf. Out of the rack and bang of the swinging cars, click and roar of the wheels, his ear presently picked the clink of gla.s.ses. Out through the lamp-lit doorway floated Benson's rough voice.

"Well, here's to Uncle Sam! wishing him better counselors and quicker understanding!"

Bull heard no more, for he had rolled over, buried his face in his arms to hide from his snuffing nostrils whiffs of spirits. Once he half rose, looking toward the ladder. But, strengthening his resolution, there rose in his mind just then a picture of Betty and her mother as he had seen them at parting-her hands on the child's shoulders, stooped in slight dejection, yet radiating faith and trust.

Lying down again, he lay, hands clasped under his head, gazing up at the fire of stars, while his mind traveled back to the _rancho_, lived over and over again the slow, sweet hours of last night. Below, an undertone to the roar of the speeding train, he now caught the hum of talk. But he took no heed-even when it ceased. He dreamed on till a hand shook his foot.

"Aren't you coming down to bed?"

"No; I reckon I'll lay out here. It's cooler." He did not acknowledge to himself his fear of sniffing the spirituous odors.

"All right, only don't roll off." The correspondent paused on his way back to the ladder. "Say! did your friend mean what he said? Or was it just talk?"

When Bull answered with a sketch of Benson's violent temper, ill.u.s.trated by a few instances, the correspondent shook his head. "Well, don't let him see Valles alone." Going down the ladder, he called back, "If you should change your mind about the drink, you'll find the jug on the table."

Instantly it materialized in Bull's vision, a round stone jug and gla.s.ses, as solid and real as though it stood within the reach of his hand. Nor could he shut out the vision, as he had the odor, by burying his face. With the cars swinging and swaying through the night, shut out, it stood forth clearer than ever. He saw himself s.n.a.t.c.hing out the cork; felt the burning liquid coursing down his throat.

"My G.o.d! why did I come? I'll never be able to stan' it!"

The thought of the temptation, ever present, growing more powerful through the coming days, gaining in strength while he grew weaker, brought out of him a cry of dismay: "I'll never be able to stan' it!"

Then, very quickly, "I'll have to! If I don't-then I'm no fit man for her!"

The thought brought her face again in all its sweet wholesomeness.

Through the warm dusk, as it were beside him, he saw her hand fluttering like a homing dove into his. He felt it lifting, raising him above his temptation. The memory of its soft pressures strengthened and comforted.

Presently his fingers relaxed their convulsive grip on the running-board. Exhausted, he fell asleep.

XXVIII: A "REQUISITION"

Slipping in over the patio wall, a golden sunbeam struck behind where Gordon sat writing and flooded the _portales_ with topaz lights. From the kitchen came the soft spat, spat of _tortillas_ in the course of shapement between Teresa's palms, competing splash and flop of Maria's cloth as she washed off the brown-tiled floor. No other sound disturbed the morning freshness, for Gordon had risen early to get off a letter with Lovell, who had dropped in last night on his way to El Paso to attend Phbe's wedding.

So engrossed was he that a gentle agitation of the sheet which hung across Lee's bedroom doorway on the gallery above pa.s.sed unnoticed. The rail hid from his view the small, bare feet, but he missed a glimpse of white shoulder, flash of brown eyes under her hair's bright tousle, round, red mouth opened in a yawn before, seeing him, she hastily dropped the sheet. He did not see her even when she came out in kimono and slippers and soft-footed it down the stone stairs at his back.

Though, sitting up on her heels, Maria looked on smiling, Gordon's first notice came from the soft palms that slipped over his eyes.

With loose treachery the kimono sleeves had slipped back and he could feel the soft coolness of her forearms on his neck and cheeks; wherefore it is not to be wondered at that he found difficulty in guessing whom she might be. Jake, Sliver, Maria, Teresa, Lovell, the _ancianos_, he was enumerating by name all the women, children, cats, and dogs of the _hacienda_ when she cut him off.

"Your stupidity is suspicious, sir. But it punishes itself. If you had guessed right I might have given you a-"

He took it-in triplicate, then pulled her down on his knee. "To my father and mother," he replied to her question. "I thought it was about time I dropped them a line-haven't written home since I came down."

"What?" She uttered a small shocked scream. "You've let them suffer all this time in suspense and alarm?"

He looked up in innocent surprise. "Why should _they_ suffer? I didn't."

_He hadn't?_ Her hands went up, appealing to the wide heavens against such utter lack of imagination-but dropped again quickly, owing to a second base treachery on the part of the sleeves.

"Oh, you men! What fools women are ever to bother about you. _You_ didn't suffer? _Oooooh!_" She pulled his ear till he yelled. "If you ever dare to treat me like that!"

"That would be impossible, for you see we shall always be together."

After he had placed the customary seals on this affidavit of intent, she asked: "But why this sudden plunge into correspondence-after such long abstinence?"

"To inform them," he replied, with great dignity, "of a certain momentous change impending in my condition."

"Oh, you are telling them about-_me_? May I see what you have written?"

She could! And did! With one arm around his neck, heads so close that his face was hidden in an aura of flying hair, she began. As her eyes pa.s.sed along the lines, her smooth cheek came harder and harder against his. Her clasp on his neck tightened until, just before she sat up, it had evolved into a bear hug.

"Oh, what a liar they will think you!"

"To guard against that, I want you to let me have the photo in the silver frame on your writing-table. Seeing's believing."

Of course she declared it "wasn't a bit like her" and the rest of it.

Nevertheless, she brought it and, having resumed her perch on his knee, picked out the bad points and dwelt thereon while her eyes appealed for the contradiction which he voluminously furnished. While he severally and _in toto_ denied her scathing indictments and subst.i.tuted therefor panegyrics, she glowed radiantly and finally gave consent.

"Only you are so blind. They'll hate me when they see it."

"Trust dad for that!" he laughed. "He still has a soft spot for a pretty damsel. When he sees this-well, he'll go straight out and buy a fatted calf."

"But your mother and sister? They'll never forgive me for taking you from that other girl."

"Wrong again! They weren't a bit anxious about it. It was all my father-with his nonsense about rounding out fortunes. They'll love you as much as I-no, that's impossible! But they'll love you, all right."