The Crimson Flash Part 4

The horse looked at him with eyes that said nothing.

"You won't tell," Johnny bantered. "Well, then, I'll have to find out for myself. Come on, you two o'clock!"

CHAPTER III THE FEASTERS SEE A HAUNT

Pant did not return to the neighborhood of the circus grounds until darkness had fallen. Then it was only to go skulking along the beach, and to perch himself at last, owl-like, on a huge pile of sand which overlooked a particular stretch of the beach on which a huge fire of driftwood had been built. The fire had died down now to a great, glowing bed of coals. About the fire eight negroes were seated.

"Razor-backs from the circus," was Pant's mental comment. "Something doing!"

So filled with their own thoughts were the minds of the colored gentlemen that they had failed to note Pant's arrival. Seated there in the darkness, motionless as an owl watching for the move of a mouse, his mask-like face expressionless, his slim, tapering fingers still, Pant appeared but a part of the dull drab scenery.

"Hey, Brother Mose; time to carb de turkey-buzzard," chuckled one of the darkies.

"Brother Mose" turned half about, stretched out a fat hand and drew toward him a thin object wrapped in a newspaper.

"Sambo," he commanded, "leave me have dat cleavah!"

Sambo handed over a butcher's cleaver.

The next instant the package was unwrapped, revealing a clean, white strip of meat, which had at one time been half the broad back of a porker.

"Po'k chops!" murmured Mose.

"Um! Um! Um!" came in a chorus.

"Ya-as, sir. Now you-all jes' stir up dem coals, an' put dem sweet 'taters roastin', while I does the slicin' an' de cleavin'." Mose drew a butcher knife from his hip pocket.

From a second bulging package on the beach, two of his comrades drew shining yellow tubers, while others stirred up the coals, and raked some out to a circular hole in the sand, which had previously been lined with ashes. Having tossed the coals in, they covered them lightly with ashes, at the same time calling:

"Le's hab dem 'taters!"

All this time with no observer save the unsuspected Pant, Mose was operating skillfully on that pork loin. With a slab of drift wood as chopping block, he sliced away with the skill of a hotel butcher. In a twinkle, the chops lay neatly piled in heaps on the slab. Then, while no one was looking, he caused a liberal handful of the chops to disappear into the huge pocket at the back of his coat.

Pant's lips curved in a smile. "Holding out," he whispered.

"Dere dey is," exulted Mose, like a rooster calling his brood to a meal.

"Dere dem po'k chops is, all carved an' cleaned an' ready fo' de roastin'."

"Um, um, um," chanted his companions in gurgling approval.

Whence had come these pork chops? This question did not trouble Pant.

They might have been bought at a butcher shop; then again, they might have been stolen. It was enough for Pant that they were there. He was glad. Not that he hoped to "horn in" on the feast; he had eaten bountifully but an hour before. Nevertheless, he was glad to be here.

This little festal occasion suited his purpose beautifully. He had hoped something like this might be going on down here. The pork chops stowed away in Mose's pocket amused him. As he thought of them his former plan changed slightly, his lips twisted in a smile.

"It's all plain enough," he thought to himself. "Moses and old Lankyshanks, his buddie, have a half hour longer to loaf than the rest of them; that gives them time for a little extra feast. The supplies belong to them all alike, but Mose and Lankyshanks get double portions if--"

Here he smiled again.

The preparation for the feast went on. Each man twisted out of tangled wire a rude but serviceable broiler. They joked and laughed as they worked, their dark faces shining like ebony.

"Po'k chops, po'k chops, po'k chops! Um! Um! Um!" they chanted now and then.

In time word was pa.s.sed around the circle, and then eight right hands shot out and eight broilers hung out over the coals.

Snapping and sputtering, flaring up with a sudden burning of grease, whirled now this way, now that, the pork chops rapidly turned a delicious brown. The odor which rose in air would have made a chronic dyspeptic's mouth water.

"Po'k chops, po'k chops, po'k chops! Um! Um! Um!"

Twice Pant lifted his eyes toward the stars. Twice he brought them down again.

"Haven't got the heart to do it," he whispered to himself; "I'll take a chance and wait."

The sweet potatoes had been dug from the roasting pit; the feasters had sunk their teeth deep in juicy fat, when Pant was suddenly startled by a groan close at hand.

Without moving, he turned his head to see a colored boy sitting near him.

Recognizing the round, close-cropped bullet head as one belonging not to the circus, but to South Water Street, he leaned over and whispered:

"'Lo, s...o...b..ll, what y' doin' here?"

"Same's you, I reckon." The boy showed all his teeth in a grin. "Jes'

sittin' an' a-wishin', dat's all."

"Pork chops, huh?"

"Ain't it so, Mister? Ain't dem the grandes' you ain't most never smelt?"

"Sh, not so loud," cautioned Pant. "Maybe there'll be some for you yet.

Sort of reserve rations."

"Think so, mebby?"

Pant nodded.

Then together they sat in silence while the feast went on; sat till the last bone and potato skin had been thrown upon the fast dulling coals.

"Huh!" sighed s...o...b..ll. "Hain't no mo'."

He half rose to go, but Pant pulled him back to his seat. Six of the colored gentlemen were wiping their hands on greasy bandanas, and were preparing to depart.

"Reckon me and Lanky'll jes' res' here for a while," grunted Mose.

"Eh-heh," a.s.sented Lankyshanks.

The six had hardly disappeared over the hill when Lankyshanks' eyes popped wide open.