IV
VENDETTA
By the evening lamp in the Arrowhead living room I did my bit, for themoment, by holding a hank of gray wool for Ma Pettengill to wind. Whilethis minor war measure went forward the day's mail came. From a canvassack Lew Wee spilled letters and papers on the table. Whereupon the yarnwas laid by while Ma Pettengill eagerly shuffled the letters. She thoughtfit to extenuate this eagerness. She said if people lived forever theywould still get foolishly excited over their mail; whereas everyoneknew well enough that nothing important ever came in it. To prove thisshe sketched a rapid and entirely unexciting summary of the six unopenedletters she held.
One of them, she conceded, might be worth reading; and this she laidaside. Of the remaining five she correctly guessed the contents of four.Of the fifth she remarked that it would be from a poor feckless dub witha large family who had owed her three hundred dollars for nine years. Shesaid it would tell a new hard-luck tale for non-payment of a note now duefor the eighth time. Here she was wrong. The letter inclosed a perfectlynew note for four hundred and fifty dollars; and would Mrs. Pettengillsend on the extra one hundred and fifty dollars that would enable thedebtor to get on his feet and pay all his debts, as there was a goodseason of hog buying ahead of him!
"I guessed wrong," admitted the lady. "I certainly did that little man aninjustice, not suspecting he could think up something novel after nineyears." Grimly she scanned the new note. "As good as a treaty withGermany!" she murmured and threw it aside, though I knew that the oldnote and the new hundred and fifty would go forward on the morrow; forshe had spoken again of the debtor's large family. She said it waswonderful what good breeders the shiftless are.
"Ain't I right, though, about the foolish way people fly at their mail?"she demanded. "You might think they'd get wise after years and yearsof being fooled; but--no, sir! Take me day after to-morrow, when thenext mail comes. I'll fall on it like I fell on this, with all my olddelusions uninjured. There sure does seem to be a lot of human naturein most of us."
Then she opened the possibly interesting letter that had been put aside.The envelope, at least, was interesting, bearing as it did the stamp ofa military censor for the American Expedition to France.
"You remember Squat Tyler, that long cow-puncher working for me when youwere here last time?"
I remembered Squat, who was indeed a long cow-puncher--long enough to beknown, also, to his intimates as Timberline.
"Well, Squat is over there in the trenches helping to make the world apleasant place to live in. He's a good shot, too."
The lady read the letter hurriedly to herself; then regaled me with bitsof it.
"The life here is very," she read. "That's all he says, at first--'Thelife here is very.' I should judge it might be that from what I read inthe papers. Or mebbe he couldn't just think of the word. Let's see!What else? Oh, yes--about digging. He says he didn't take to digging atfirst, not having gone there for any common purpose, but one day he wastold to dig, and while he was thinking up something to say a million gunsbegan to go off; so he dug without saying a word. Hard and fast he sayshe dug. He says: 'If a badger would of been there he would of been in myway.' I'll bet! Squat wouldn't like to be shot at in all seriousness.What next? Here he says I wouldn't dream what a big outfit this here U.S.outfit is; he says it's the biggest outfit he ever worked for--not evenexcepting Miller & Lux. What next? Oh, yes; here he tells about gettingone.
"'Last night I captured a big fat enemy; you know--a Heinie. It was asdark as a cave, but I heard one snooping close. I says to my pardner Ikeep hearing one snoop close; and he says forget it, because my hive isswarming or something; and I says no; I will go out there and molest thatGerman. So I sneaked over the bank and through our barbed-wire fence thateveryone puts up here, and out a little ways to where I had heard onesnoop; and, sure enough--what do you think? He seen me first and knockedmy gun out of my hands with the butt of his. It got me mad, because it isa new gun and I am taking fine care of it; so I clanched him'--that'swhat Squat says, clanched. 'And, first, he run his finger into my righteye, clear up to the knuckle it felt like; so I didn't say a word, buthauled off quick and landed a hard right on the side of his jaw anddropped him just like that. It was one peach I handed him and he slumpeddown like a sack of mush. I am here to tell you it was just one punch,though a dandy; but he had tried to start a fight, so it was his ownfault. So I took all his weapons away and when he come alive I kicked hima few times and made him go into the U.S. trenches. He didn't turn out tobe much--only a piano tuner from Milwaukee; and I wish it had of been ageneral I caught snooping. I certainly did molest him a-plenty, allright. Just one punch and I brought him down out of control. Ha! Ha! Thelife here is very different.'
"There; that must of been what he tried to say at the beginning--'Thelife here is very different.' I should think he'd find it so, seeing theonly danger that boy was ever in here was the sleeping sickness."
Hereupon the lady removed the wrapper from a trade journal and scannedcertain market quotations. They pleased her little. She said it wasdarned queer that the war should send every price in the world up but theprice of beef, beef quotations being just where the war had found them.Not that she wanted to rob any one! Still and all, why give everyone achance but cattle raisers? She muttered hugely of this discriminationand a moment later seemed to be knitting her remarks into a gray sock.The mutterings had gradually achieved the coherence of remarks. And Ipresently became aware that the uninflated price of beef was no longertheir burden.
They now concerned the singular reticence of all losers of fist fights.Take Squat's German. Squat would be telling for the rest of his life howhe put that Wisconsin alien out with one punch. But if I guessed theGerman would be telling it as often as Squat told it I was plumb foolish.He wouldn't tell it at all. Losers never do. Any one might think thatparties getting licked lost their powers of speech. Not so with thewinners of fights; not so at all!
At this very minute, while we sat there in that room at a quarter pasteight, all over the wide world modest-seeming men were telling how theyhad licked the other man with one punch, or two or three at the most. Itwas being told in Kulanche County, Washington, and in Patagonia andPhiladelphia and Africa and China, and them places; in clubs and lumbercamps and Pullman cars and ships and saloons--in states that remainedfree of the hydrant-headed monster, Prohibition--in tents and palaces; inburning deserts and icy wastes. At that very second, in an ice hut up bythe North Pole, a modest Eskimo was telling and showing his admiring wifeand relatives just how he had put out another Eskimo that had come roundand tried to start something. Which was another mystery, the man winningthe fight being always put upon and invariably in the right. In every oneof these world-wide encounters justice always prevailed and only thewinner talked about it afterward.
"And lots of times," continued the lady, "this talkative winner has beenset upon by as many as three others. But he licks 'em all. Sometimes headmits he had a little luck with the third man; but he gets two of thecowards easy. Why, down in Red Gap only the other night I saw a kind of aslight young man in a full-dress suit lick three big huskies that set onhim. He put two out with a punch apiece and got the third after about oneround of sparring. There he stood winner over all three, and hardly hishair mussed; and you wouldn't of thought in the beginning that he couldlick one of the bunch. It was a good picture, all right, with this fightcoming in the first reel to start things off lively. But what I want toknow is why, out of these million fights that come off, you never hear aword out of a loser! I'll bet all my Liberty Bonds right now that younever yet heard a man tell about how he was licked in a fair fight."
I had to decline the wager. The most I could submit was that I had heardsome plausible excuses. The lady waved her entire knitting indeprecation.
"Oh, excuses! You hear 'em a-plenty when the loser can't deny he waslicked. Most losers will odd things along till they sound even. I heard alovely excuse down in Red Gap. Hyman Leftowitz, who does business thereas
Abercrombie, the Quality Tailor, made a suit for Eddie Pierce thatdrives the depot hack, and Eddie was slow pay. So Hyman lost his nativetact one night and dunned Eddie when he was walking down Fourth Streetwith his girl. Eddie left his girl in at the Owl Drug Store and went backand used Hyman hard; and all Hyman did was to yell 'Help!' and 'Murder!'I was in his shop for a fitting next day and Hyman's face arrested theattention much more than usual. It showed that Eddie had done somethingwith him. So I says: 'Why didn't you fight back? What was your fistsfor?' And Hyman says: 'I pledge you my word I didn't know it was afight.' Oh, excuses--sure! But that ain't what I'm getting at. You'veheard the winners talk, like we all have, how they did it with the goodold right hook to the jaw, or how they landed one straight left and allwas over; but did you ever hear any talk from a loser without excuses,one who come out plain and said he was licked by a better man?"
We debated this briefly. We agreed that the reticence of losers is dueto something basic in human nature; a determination of the noblest sortto disregard failure--that is, Ma Pettengill said you couldn't expecteverything of human nature when it had its earrings in, and I agreed inas few words as would suffice. I had suddenly become aware that the womanwas holding something back. The signs in her discourse are not to bemistaken. I taxed her with this. She denied it. Then she said that, evenif she was holding back something, it was nothing to rave about. Just ananecdote that this here talk about fighting characters had reminded herof. She wouldn't of thought of it even now if Ben Steptoe hadn't told herlast spring why he didn't lick his Cousin Ed that last time. And thishere Ed Steptoe was the only honest male she had ever known. But thatwas because something was wrong in his head, he being a born nut. Andit wasn't really worth going back over; but--well--she didn't know.Possibly. Anyway--
These Steptoe cousins come from a family back in the East that was remotekin to mine and they looked me up in Red Gap when they come out into thegreat boundless West to carve out a name for themselves. About fifteenyears ago they come. Ben was dark and short and hulky, with his headjammed down between his shoulders. Ed was blond and like a cat, beingquick. Ben had a simple but emphatic personality, seeing what he wantedand going for it, and that never being more than one thing at a time. Edwas all over the place with his own aspirations and never anything longat a time; kind of a romantic temperament, or, like they say in stories,a creature of moods. He was agent for the Home Queen sewing machine whenhe first come out. But that didn't mean sewing machines was his lifework. He'd done a lot of things before that, like lecturing for apatent-medicine professor and canvassing for crayon portraits with agold frame, and giving lessons in hypnotism, and owning one-half ora two-headed pig that went great at county fairs.
Ben had come along the year before Ed and got a steady job as brakemanon the railroad, over on the Coeur d'Alene Branch. He told me he wasgoing to make railroading his life work and had started in at the bottom,which was smart of him, seeing he'd just come off a farm. They probablywouldn't of let him start in at the top. Anyway, he was holding down hisjob as brakeman when Ed sailed in, taking orders for the Home Queen, andtaking 'em in plenty, too, being not only persuasive in his methods buta wizard on this here sewing machine. He could make it do everythingbut play accompaniments for songs--hemming, tucking, frilling, fancyembroidering. He knew every last little dingus that went on it; thingsI certainly have never learned in all my life, having other matters on mymind. He'd take a piece of silk ribbon and embroider a woman's initialson it in no time at all, leaving her dead set to have this householdtreasure.
But Ed had tired of sewing machines, like he had of hypnotism and thedouble-headed Berkshire; and he never kept at anything a minute after itquit exciting him. Ben come down to Red Gap to see his cousin and theyhad quite a confab about what Ed should next take up for his life work.Ben said it was railroading for his, and some day he'd be a generalmanager, riding round in his private car and giving orders right andleft, though nothing but a humble brakeman now, and finally he talked Edinto the same exalted ambitions. Ed said he had often wanted to ride in aprivate car himself, and if it didn't take too long from the time youstarted in he might give railroading a chance to show what it could dofor him. Ben said all right, come over with him and he'd get him startedas brakeman, with a fine chance to work up to the top.
So, after infesting a few more houses with the Home Queen, Ed wentinto his new profession. He told me, the last thing, that, even if hedidn't stick till he got to the top, it was, anyway, a fine chance foradventure, which was really the thing he had come west of Chicago for.He said night and day he pined for adventure.
He got his adventure right soon after the company's pay roll was adornedwith his name. He'd been twisting up brakes on freight cars for ten daystill the life looked tame to him, even with a private car at the end,and then all his wildest dreams of adventure was glutted in somethinglike four minutes and thirty seconds. On this eleventh day after he'dbegun at the bottom he started to let two big freight cars loaded withconcentrates down the spur track, from one of the mines at Burke, havingorders to put 'em where the regular train for Wallace could pick 'em up.Burke is seven miles up the canon from Wallace and the grade drops twohundred and thirty-five feet to the mile, being a masterpiece ofengineering. Ed gets his two cars to the main line, all right, whistlinga careless ditty. Then when they should of stopped they did not. Theykept sneaking and creaking along on him. He couldn't get the brake ofthe forward car up very tight, and in setting the brake of the rear car,with a brakeman's stick for a lever, he broke the chain. Then his twocars really started out looking for adventure.
Ed admits that he had the thrill of his life for seven miles. I guess hiswildest cravings for adventure was appeased for the time. He flattenedout at the rear end of the last car and let the scenery flash by. He saidafterward it looked just one blurred mess to him. His two cars droppedthe sixteen hundred and forty-five feet and made the seven-mile distancein four and one-half minutes by standard railroad time. Ed was feelingfairly good, never having rode so fast in his life before, and he washoping nothing serious would get in the way before the cars slowed up ona level somewhere. He didn't have long to hope this. His cars struck afrog at the upper end of the Wallace yard and left the track. The forwardends plowed into the ground and the rear ends swung over. Ed was shotthrough the air two hundred and thirty-five feet, as afterward measuredby a conscientious employee of the road, and landed in a dump of sawdustby the ice house.
It seems Ben was working in the Wallace yard that day and was the firstman to look things over. He put a report on the wire promptly and had awrecking outfit there to minister to these two injured box cars, and agang of Swedes repairing the track in no time at all. Then someone withpresence of mind said they ought to look for Ed, and Ben agreed; soeverybody searched and they found him in this sawdust. He lookedextremely ruined and like this little adventure had effected structuralmodifications in him. He certainly had been brought down out of control,like Squat says, but he was still breathing; so they took him over to theWallace Hospital on a chance that he could be put together again, like apuzzle. A doctor got to work and set a lot of bones and did much plainand fancy sewing on Ed the adventurer.
So there he was, bedfast for about three months; but, of course, he begunto enjoy his accident long before that--almost as soon as he come to, infact. It seemed to Ed that there had never been so good an accident asthat in the whole history of railroading, and he was the sole hero of it.He passed his time telling the doctor all about it, and anyone else thatwould drop in to listen: just how he felt when the cars started downhill;how his whole past life flashed before him and just what he was thinkingabout when the cars poured him off. He was remembering every second of itby the time he was able to get on crutches. He never used that old sayingabout making a long story short.
First thing he did when he could hobble was to take a man from theresident engineer's office out to the point where he'd left the rails andtape his flight, finding it to be two hundred and thirty-fiv
e feet. Thathurt his story, because he had been estimating it at five hundred feet;but he was strictly honest and accepted the new figures like a littleman.
That night Ben come in, who'd been up round Spokane mostly since theaccident, and Ed told him all about it; how his flight was two hundredand thirty-five feet. And wasn't it the greatest accident that everhappened to anybody?
Ed noticed that Ben didn't seem to be excited about it the way he hadought to be. He was sympathetic enough for Ed's bone crashes, but he saidit was all in the day's work for a railroad man; and he told Ed aboutsome other accidents that was right in a class along with his and mebbeeven a shade better. Ed was peeved at this; so Ben tried to soothe him.He said, yes, indeed, all hands had been lucky--especially the company.He said if them two cars hadn't happened to strike soft ground that tookthe wheels they'd been smashed to kindling; whereas the damage wastrifling. This sounded pretty cold to Ed. He said this railroad companydidn't seem to set any exaggerated value on human life. Ben said norailroad company could let mere sentiment interfere with business if itwanted to pay dividends, and most of them did. He said it was a matter ofdollars and cents like any other business, and Ed had already cost 'em alot of good hard cash for doctor's bills. Then he admitted that theaccident had been a good thing for him, in a way, he being there on thespot and the first to make a report over to the superintendent at Tekoa.
"I bet you made a jim-dandy good report," says Ed, taking heart againafter this sordid dollars-and-cents talk. "It was certainly a fine chanceto write something exciting if a man had any imagination. You probablywon't have another chance like that in all your career."
"My report pleased the Old Man all right," says Ben. "He's kind of hadhis eye on me ever since. He said the way I worded that report showed Iwasn't one to lose my head and get hysterical, the way he had known somegreen hands to do."
"I'll certainly have to have a look at that report," says Ed. "Probablyyou did get a little bit hysterical at that seeing there was lots ofexcuse for it."
Ben says no, he can't remember that he was hysterical any, because thehigh-class railroad man must always keep his head in emergencies. Edsays, anyway he knows it must of been a corking good report, and he'llsure have a look at it when he gets to stepping again.
All the same, it begun to look to Ed like his accident wasn't being madeenough of. It come over him gradually. Of course he'd got to be an oldstory round the hospital and people was beginning to duck when he startedtalking. Then, after he got on crutches he'd hobble about the fatal spot,pointing out his route to parties that would stay by him, and getting 'emto walk over two hundred and thirty-five feet to where he was picked uplifeless. And pretty soon even this outside trade fell off. And rightafter that he begun to meet new trainmen and others that had never hearda word about the accident and looked at him like they thought he was aliar when he told the details. He was coming to be a grouchy nuisanceround Wallace. Even the doctor said he'd be glad when Ed got entirelywell again.
Ed couldn't understand it. He must of thought the company should stop alltrains for five minutes every day at the hour of his mix-up, or at thevery least that the president of the road and the board of directorsought to come down in a special car and have their pictures taken withhim; and a brass tablet should be put up on the ice house, showing wherehis lifeless carcass was recovered. And of course they would send hima solid gold engraved pass, good for life between all stations on alldivisions. But these proper attentions was being strangely withheld. Sofar as Ed could see, the road had gone right on doing business as usual.
He couldn't understand it at all. It seemed like he must be dreaming. Hewrote to Ben, who was still up the line, that this here fine report hehad made must of got lost; anyway, it seemed like the company had nevergot round to reading it or they wouldn't have took things so placid. Bynow he was pinning all his hopes to this report of Ben's if any justicewas going to be done him in this world. He'd tell parties who doubtedhis story that he guessed they'd believe him fast enough if they evergot an eye on Ben's report, which was made on the spot, and was so gooda report, though not hysterical, that it had drawn compliments from thedivision superintendent.
It occurs to him one day that he ought to have a copy of this report ifhe is ever going to be set right before the world. He suspects crookedwork by this time. He suspects mebbe the company is keeping the thingquiet on purpose, not wanting the public to know that such wonderfulaccidents could happen to its faithful employees. So he talks to CharlieHolzman, the conductor of Number 18, and wants to know would it bepossible to sneak this report of Ben's out of the files over at Tekoa.Charlie says that wouldn't be possible, but he's going to lay over atTekoa the very next night and he'll be glad to make a copy of the report.
Ed says he hates to keep Charlie setting up half the night writing, ormebbe all night, because Ben has told him the report was a good one.Charlie says he'll get help if necessary. Ed says get all the helpnecessary and he'll pay the bill, and not to leave out even the longerdescriptive parts, because if it's as well written as Ben says it is hemay have it printed in a little volume for sending round to his friends.
The next day Ed is sunning himself on the station platform when Number 18steams in. He's told a lot of people that Charlie is bringing this reportand he's aiming to read it aloud, just to show 'em what a man can passthrough and live to tell of it. Charlie swings down and hands him onefolded sheet of yellow paper. Ed says, what's the matter--couldn't he getto copy the report? Charlie says the report is all there on that sheet,every word of it. One sheet! And Ed had been expecting at least fortypages of able narrative, even without hysteria. Even before he looks atit Ed says there is crooked work somewhere.
Then he read Ben's report. It didn't fill even the one sheet--not morethan half of it. It merely says: "Brakeman Steptoe had trouble holdingtwo cars of concentrates he was letting down from the Tiger-Poormanmine at Burke. Cars ran to Wallace and left track. Steptoe thrown somedistance. Right leg and arm broken; left shoulder dislocated; head cutsome. Not serious."
It was unbelievable; so Ed did the simple thing and didn't believe it.Not for one minute! He says to Charlie Holzman: "Charlie, I know you'rehonest; and, furthermore, you are a brother Moose. You've brought mewhat's on file in that office; so now I know there's a conspiracy to hushmy accident up. I've thought so a long time--the way people acted roundhere. Now I know it. Don't say a word; but I'm going to take it up withBen at once. Good old Ben! Won't he be in a frenzy when he finds thispaltry insult has been sneaked into the files in place of his report onme!" So into the station he goes and wires Ben up the line to come thereat once on account of something serious.
Ben gets in that night. He thought Ed must be dying and had got alay-off. He goes over to the hospital and is a mite disappointed tofind Ed ain't even worse, but is almost well and using only one crutch.
Ed first makes sure no one can overhear, then tells Ben about thisconspiracy, showing him the false report that has been smuggled into thefiles in place of the real one Ben had sent in. It takes Ben a couple ofminutes to get the idea of what Ed is so worked up over. But he finallydoes get it. He then sweeps all ideas of a conspiracy out of Ed's mindforever. He says his talk is all nonsense; that this here is the veryreport he made, every word of it; and, as to that, if he had it to writeover again he could shorten it by at least six words, but he must ofbeen excited at the time. He says he has already told Ed that the OldMan complimented him on it because he hadn't lost his head and gothysterical, showing he had the makings of a good railroad man in him. Andwhat had Ed expected, anyway? Didn't he know that your superiors want thesimple facts in cases of this kind and no fancy work, wanting chiefly toknow about damage to the rolling stock and how long before the main linewill be open? Ed must be crazy, making him get a lay-off just for this!Had he looked for some verses of poetry about his accident, or a novel?Ben wasn't any novelist and wouldn't be one if you give him a chance. Hewas just a brakeman, with a bright future before him.
; Ben was quite indignant himself by this time thinking of two days' paylost, and Ed could hardly believe his own ears. He just set there,swelling up like a toad in a very feverish way. "But 'some distance,'"says Ed in low tones of awe. "You say I was thrown 'some distance,' likeit was a casual remark. Is that any way to talk about a man hurled twohundred and thirty-five feet from start to finish?--which I can proveby the man that taped it. Why, any one would think them two cheap boxcars was the real heroes of this accident. No one would dream that aprecious human life was at stake. And 'Not serious!' And 'Head cut some!'Great suffering cats! Was that any way to talk about a fellowman--not tosay a first cousin?"
Ben was pretty mad himself now and swore right out--at least the onlyoath he ever swears, which is "By doggie!" He says, by doggie, it ain'this fault that Ed was so brittle! And, by doggie, he wasn't going to letfamily affection interfere none with his career, because it wouldn't beright by the children he hopes some day to be the father of! Then he gothis temper back and tried patiently to explain once more to Ed that whata railroad company wants in such cases is facts and figures, and notpoetry--chiefly about the rolling stock. He says Ed can't expect a greatcorporation, with heavy freight and passenger traffic, to take any deeppersonal interest in the bone troubles of a mere brakeman.
It was about here, I guess, that Ed's feelings must of overcome him.He saw it was no use bandying words any more; so he started to do foulmurder. He committed several acts of frightfulness on Ben with hiscrutch, seeming quite active for a cripple. Ben finally got out of rangeand went and had some stitches took in his own scalp. He swore, bydoggie, he was through with that maniac forever! But he wasn't through.Not by no means!
Ed was now well enough to stand shipping; so he come down to Red Gap andstarted to work. He couldn't get round with his machines yet; so he got anew Home Queen and parked himself in the doorway of a vacant store andmade embroidered hat marks for the multitude at one dollar a throw. Yes,sir; he congested traffic there on Fourth Street for about two weeks,taking a strip of satin ribbon and embroidering people's initials on it,so they could sew it in their hats and know whose hat it was. Hardly ahat in town that didn't have one, with thrilled crowds looking on whilehe done it.
I begged him to take it easy and stay at my house till he was strongagain; but he wouldn't. He said he had to do something just to keep fromthinking. Of course the poor lollop had never been able to think underany circumstances; but it sounded good. And, of course, he told me histrouble. I don't believe he held back the least little thing from thebeginning of the accident down to the time he lammed Ben with his crutch.He now blamed everything on Ben. He said neither the company nor any oneelse could take his accident seriously after that lying report Ben putin. No wonder there hadn't been any real excitement about it. He wasright bitter.
"'Some distance' Ben says I was thrown. I should think it was somedistance! I'll bet it's farther than any other man was ever thrown ontheir whole rotten system. And 'Not serious'! Great Jeeminetty! Whatwould have to happen to a person before he'd call it serious? Oh, I'llmake him take that back if ever I get to be the man I once was! The onlytrouble with Ben is, he hasn't anything here and he hasn't anythinghere"--Ed put his hand first on his head and next on his heart, to showme where Ben hadn't got anything--"and that kind of trash may make finerailroad men, but they hadn't ought to be classed with human beings.Just wait till I get firmly knitted together again! You'll see! I'llcertainly interfere with that man's career a-plenty. 'Not serious!' Hewon't make any such report about himself when I get through fussing withhim. He certainly does need handling--that Ben Steptoe."
And so on for half an hour at a time, while he might be stitching G. W.G. in purple letters on a strip of yellow satin ribbon. I used to stop onpurpose to hear some more about what he was going to do to Ben when hegot to be the man he once was.
Pretty soon he had identified all the hats in Red Gap; so he moved overto Colfax with his Home Queen, and then on to other towns. It was springagain before he seemed to be the man he once was. He wrote me from Tekoathat if I read in the papers about something sad happening to Ben Iwasn't to be alarmed, because, though it would be serious enough, itwould probably not prove fatal if he had skilled nursing. So I watchedthe papers, but couldn't find any crime of interest. And a few dayslater Ed come over to Red Gap again. He looked pretty good, except foran overripe spot round his left eye.
"Well, did you lick Ben?" I says.
"No; Ben licked me," he says.
I'd never heard such a simple and astounding speech from any man on earthbefore. I started to find out what his excuse was--whether he wasn't ingood shape yet, or his foot slipped, or Ben took a coupling pin to him,or something. But he didn't have a single word of excuse. He ought to ofbeen locked up in a glass case in a museum right there. He said he was infine shape and it had been a fair fight, and Ben had nearly knocked hishead off.
I says what is he going to do now; and he says oh, he'll wait a while andgive Cousin Ben another go.
I says: "Mebbe you can't lick Ben."
He says: "Possibly so; but I can keep on trying. I have to protect myhonour, don't I?"
That's how it seemed to the poor fish by this time--his honour! And Iknew he was going to keep on trying, like he had said. If he had made theusual excuses that men put up when they've had the worst of it I'd ofknown he'd been well licked, and once would be a-plenty. But, seeing thathe was probably the only man who had been honest under such conditionssince the world began, I had a feeling he would keep on. He was suregoing to annoy Ben from time to time, even if he didn't panic him much.He was just as turbulent as ever. Now he went off and joined a circus,being engaged to lecture in front of the side show about the world'ssmallest midget, and Lulu the snake empress, and the sheep-headed twinsfrom Ecuador. And Ben could devote the whole summer to his career withoutworry. I saw him over at Colfax one day.
"Mark my words; that lad was never cut out for a railroad man," says Ben."He lets his emotions excite his head too much. Oh, I give him a goodtalking to, by doggie! I says to him: 'Why, you poor little hopeless,slant-headed, weak-minded idiot, you'--you know I always talk to Ed likehe was my own brother--'what did you expect?' I says. 'I'm quite sorryfor your injuries; but that was the first chance I'd ever had to make areport and I couldn't write one of these continuous stories about you.You ought to see that.' And what does he do but revile me for thiscommonsense talk! Tightminded--that's what he is; self-headed, not tosay mulish, by doggie! And then pestering round me to have a fistaltercation till I had to give in to keep him quiet, though I'm not afighting character. I settled him, all right. I don't know where he isnow; but I hope he has three doctors at his bedside, all lookingdoubtful. That little cuss always did contrary me."
I told him Ed had gone with this circus side show. "Side show!" he says."That's just where he belongs. He ought to be setting right up with theother freaks, because he's a worse freak than the living skeleton or alady with a full beard--that's what he is. And yet he's sane on everysubject but that. Sometimes he'll talk along for ten minutes as rationalas you or me; but let him hear the word accident and off he goes. But,by doggie, he won't bother me again after what I give him back of theWallace freight shed." "He solemnly promised he would," I says, "whenI saw him last. He was still some turbulent."
And he did bother Ben again, late that fall. When the circus closed hetravelled back a thousand miles in a check suit and a red necktie, justto get another good licking. Ben must of been quite aggravated by thattime, for he wound up by throwing Ed into the crick in all his proudclothes.
Ed was just as honest about it as before. He says Ben licked him fair.But it hadn't changed his mind. He felt that Ben's report had knockedhis just celebrity and he was still hostile.
"Mebbe you can't lick Ben," I says to him again. "I can keep on doing myendeavours," he says. "I had to come off in a friend of mine's coatbecause my own was practically destroyed; but I'll be back again beforeBen has clumb very high on that ladder of his caree
r."
The adventurer was interned at my house for ten days, till his bruiseslost their purple glow and he looked a little less like a bad case oferysipelas. Then he started out again, crazy as a loon! I didn't hearfrom him for nearly two years. Then I got a letter telling about hislife of adventure down on the Border. It seems he'd got in with a goodcapable stockman down there and they was engaged in the cattle business.The business was to go over into Mexico, attracting as little notice aspossible, cut out a bunch of cattle, and drive 'em across into the landof the free. Naturally what they sold for was clear profit.
Ed said he was out for adventure and this had a-plenty. He said Iwouldn't believe how exciting it could be at times. He wanted to knowwhat Ben was promoted to by this time, and was he looking as heartyas ever? Some day he was coming back and force Ben to set him rightbefore the world.
About a year later he writes that the cattle business is getting tootame. He's done it so much that all the excitement has gone. He says Iwouldn't believe how tame it can be, with hardly any risk of gettingshot. He says he wouldn't keep on running off these Mexican cattle if itwasn't for the money in it; and, furthermore, it sometimes seems to himwhen he's riding along in the beautiful still night, with only God'sstars for companions, that there's something about it that ain't right.
But it's another year before he writes that he has disposed of his stockinterests and is coming North to lick Ben proper. He does come North. Hewas correct to that extent. He outfitted at the Chicago Store in Tucson,getting the best all-wool ready-made suit in Arizona, with fine fruit andflower and vegetable effects, shading from mustard yellow to beet colour;and patent-leather ties, with plaid socks--and so on. He stopped off atRed Gap on his way up to do this outrage. His face was baked a rich redbrown; so I saw it wouldn't show up marks as legibly as when he was pale.
He said Ben wasn't a right bad fellow and he had no personal grudgeagainst him, except he needed to have his head beat off on account of hisinhumanity.
I told him Ben had worked up from yardmaster at Wallace to assistantdivision superintendent at Tekoa, where he would probably find him; and Iwished him God-speed.
He said he rejoiced to know of Ben's promotion, because he had probablysoftened some, setting round an office. He promised to let me know theresult at once. He did. It was the same old result. The fight had gone afew more rounds, I gathered, but Ed still gave the decision againsthimself in the same conscientious way. He said Ben had licked him fair.It was uncanny the way he took these defeats. No other human being butwould of made some little excuse. He came back in another suit and a bitblemished in the face, and said Ben seemed to be getting a fair amountof exercise in spite of his confining office duties; but--mark hiswords--that indoor work would get him in time. He'd never seen a man yetthat could set at a desk all day and keep in shape to resent fightingtalk, even from a lighter man by twenty pounds. He said he might have towait till Ben was general manager, or something; but his day was coming,and it would be nothing for Ben to cheer about when it got here. He nowonce more drifted out over the high horizon, only one eye being much helpto him in seeing the way.
Then Ben come down and had a wholehearted session with me. He said Iought to have a talk with Ed and reason him out of his folly. I said Edwould listen to a number of things, but not to reason. He said he knewit; that the poor coot should be in some good institution right now,where the state could look after him. He said he couldn't answer for theconsequences if Ed kept on in this mad way. He said here he was, climbingup in his profession, and yet with this scandal in his private life thatmight crop out any time and blast his career; and, by doggie, it was ashame! He said it was hanging over him like a doom and sometimes he evenwoke up in the night and wished he had made a different report about theaccident--one with a little hysterics or description in it, like thismaniac had seemed to crave.
"It ain't that I can't lick him," says Ben--"I've proved that threetimes; but having to do it every so often, which is beneath the dignityof a high railroad official. I might as well be a common rowdy and bedone with it, by doggie! And no telling what will happen if he don't gethis mind back. The little devil is an awful scrapper. I noticed it morethan ever this last time. One of these times he might get me. He mightget me good."
"You better let him, then," I says, "and have it over. That's the onlything which will ever stop him. You take a man that says he was lickedfair, but still keeps at it, and he's deadly. Next time he comes alongyou lay down after making a decent resistance. Then he'll probably beyour friend for life, especially if you tell him you been thinking abouthis accident and it now seems like the most horrible accident that everhappened to man."
It was the most encouragement I could give and he went off gloomy. Benwas certainly one conscientious objector.
Nothing come from Ed for over a year. Then he writes that he has give upthe cattle business for good, because Mexico is in a state of downrightanarchy and he has been shot through the shoulder. He put it well. Hesaid he had been shot from ambush by a cowardly Mexican and I wouldn'tbelieve how lawless that country was. So now he was going to take upmining in God's own country, where a man could get a square deal if hekept out of railroading. And was Ben keeping up his exercise?
He stayed under the surface for about three years. Neither Ben nor Iheard a word from him. I told Ben it was many chances to one that he hadgone under at the hands of someone that wanted to keep his cattle or hismine or something. Ben looked solemn and relieved at this suggestion. Hesaid if the Grim Reaper had done its work, well and good! Life was fullof danger for the best of us, with people dropping off every day or so;and why should Ed have hoped to be above the common lot?
But the very next week comes a letter from the deceased wanting to knowwhether Ben has been promoted some more and how he is looking by thistime. Is he vigorous and hearty, or does office work seem to be sappinghis vitality? It was the same old Ed. He goes on to say that the reasonhe writes is that the other night in Globe, Arizona, he licked a man inthe Miners' Rest saloon that looked enough like Ben to be his twin; notonly looked the image of him but had his style of infighting. And hehad licked him right and made him quit. He said the gent finally fled,going through the little swinging doors with such force that they keptswinging for three minutes afterward. So now is the time for him to comeup and have another go at Ben.
Of course he ain't superstitious, but it does seem like Providence hastaken this means of pointing out the time to him. But he is in reducedcircumstances at this moment, owing to complications it would take toolong to explain; so will I lend him about two hundred and fifty dollarsto make the trip on? And he will have Ben off his mind forever and beable to settle down to some life work. Just as sane as ever--Ed was.
I sent the letter to Ben, not wishing him to rest in false security.But I wrote Ed firmly that I couldn't see my money's worth in hisproposition. I told him Ben was keeping in splendid condition, havingthe glow of health in his cheeks and a grip like an osteopath, and I'dbe darned if I was going to back a three-time loser in the same oldfight. I said he wasn't the only sensitive person in the world. I wasa little fussy myself about what people might think of my judgment. AndI gave him some good advice which was to forget his nonsense and settledown to something permanent before he died of penury.
He wrote a kind, forgiving answer. He said he couldn't blame me forturning against him after his repeated failures to lick Ben, but hisnature was one I should never understand. He said he would amass themoney by slow grinding toil, and when he next come North and got throughhandling Ben I would be the very first to grasp him by the hand andconfess that I had wronged him. It was as nutty a letter as Ed everwrote; which is some tribute. I sent it on to Ben and I believe it wasright after that he ordered one of these exercising machines put up inhis bedroom, with a book showing how to become a Greek god by pullingthe weights five minutes, morning and evening.
But this time come silence so long that I guess even Ben forgot he hada doom hanging above his head by
a single hair. I know I did. Let'ssee. It must of been a good five years before I hear from Ed again. Itwas another hard-luck letter. He had just worked a whole season for acontractor that blew up and left him with one span of mules in place ofhis summer's wages; which was a great disappointment, because he had beenlooking forward to an active reunion with Ben. How was Ben, anyway? Anddid he show the ravages of time?
And no one had wanted these mules, because they was inferior mules; butwhen he was on the point of shooting them to stop their feed bill alongcome two men that had a prospect over in the Bradshaw Mountains andoffered him a one third interest in it for his span. So he had sawed themules off onto these poor dubs and told 'em all right about the thirdinterest in their claim, and forget it; but they insisted on his takingit. So he did, and was now working in the B.&.B. store at Prescott,selling saddles and jewellery and molasses and canned fruit and lumber,and such things. He didn't care much for the life, but it was neck-meator nothing with him now.
No wonder these men that cheated him out of his mules had made him take athird interest in their claim. It was now taking all his salary to payassessments and other expenses on it. But he was trying to trade thisthird interest off for something that wouldn't be a burden to him; thenhe should have a chance to put his money by and come up to give Ben whathe was sooner or later bound to get if there was a just God in Heaven.He spoke as freshly about Ben as if his trouble had begun the day before.You wouldn't think twelve years had gone by. He was now saying Ben hadput a stigma on him. It had got to be a stigma by this time, though heprobably hadn't any idea what a stigma really is. He'd read it somewhere.
Then the waves closed over the injured man for about three years more.This time it looked as if he'd gone down for good, stigma and all. Benthought the same. He said it was a great relief not to be looking forwardany more to these brutal affrays that Ed insisted on perpetrating. Andhigh time, too, because he was now in line for general manager, and howwould it look for him to be mixed up in brawls?
And everything was serene till the papers broke out into headlines abouta big strike made in the Bradshaw Mountains of Arizona by three partners,of whom one was named Steptoe. They seemed to have found all the valuableminerals in that claim of theirs except platinum. Ben tried first tobelieve it was someone else named Steptoe; but no such luck. We read thata half interest in the property had been sold to an Eastern syndicate forthree million dollars and a company organized of which Edward J. Steptoewas president.
"It may be all for the best, anyway," Ben says to me. "Now that he's abig mining man he'll probably have other aims in life than being a thug."
You could see he was hoping to make a separate peace with the newmillionaire, who would forget the grudge of his old days when he hadto work for what he got, or at least run the risk of getting shot forit. But I wasn't so sure. I reminded Ben that Ed had never yet doneanything you'd think a human being would do, so why expect him to beginnow, when he had abundant leisure? I advised him to give deep thought tothe matter of his defense, and if the battle went against him to withdrawto a position previously prepared, like the war reports say. Ben said afew warm things about Ed, by doggie, that no cousin ought to say ofanother cousin, and went off, hoping against hope.
And, sure enough, Ed came promptly to the front. It seems he waitedonly long enough to get a new suit and an assorted lot of the snappiestdiamond jewellery he could find. Then he wired me he was coming to rightthe wrongs of a lifetime. Reaching San Francisco, it occurred to himthat he could put it all over Ben in another way that would cut himto the heart; so he there chartered the largest, goldest, and mostexpensive private car on the market, having boudoirs and shower bathsand conservatories and ballrooms, and so on; something that would makeBen's dinky little private car look like a nester's shack or a place fora construction gang to bunk in. And in this rolling palace Ed invadedour peaceful country, getting lots of notice. The papers said this newmining millionaire was looking us over with an eye to investment in ourrich lands. Little they knew he merely meant to pull off a brutal fistaltercation with a prominent railroad official that was somewhat out ofcondition.
Ben was one worried man, especially after he heard of Ed's private car.It was one thing to lick an exbrakeman, but entirely different to havean affray with a prominent capitalist that come after you regardless ofexpense. Furthermore, this was the time for the annual tour of inspectionby the officers of the road, and they was now on the way to Ben'sdivision, with him hoping to create a fine impression by showing hismiracles of management. And here was Ed, meaning to start somethingscandalous at sight! No wonder Ben lost his nerve and tried to run outon his antagonist. He was trying to put it off at least till after hisofficials had come and gone.
So for six days he kept about thirty miles of standard-gauge trackbetween his car and Ed's. Ed would get word that he was at such astation and have his car dropped there, only to find that Ben had goneon. Ed would follow on the next train, or mebbe hire a special engine;and Ben would hide off on some blind spur track. They covered the wholedivision about three times without clashing, thanks to Ben's superiorinformation bureau; it being no trick at all to keep track of thiswheeled apartment house of Ed's.
Ed couldn't understand it at first. Here he'd come up to lick Ben, andBen was acting queer about it. Ed would send messages every day wantingto know when and where he could have a nice quiet chat with Ben thatwould not be interfered with by bystanders; and Ben would wire back thathis time wasn't his own and company business was keeping him on the jump,but as soon as this rush was over he would arrange an interview; and kindregards, and so on. Or he might say he would be at some station all thefollowing day; which would be a clumsy falsehood, because he was at thatmoment pulling out, as Ed would find when he got there. The operatingdepartment must of thought them a couple of very busy men, wanting somuch to meet, yet never seeming able to get together.
Ed got peeved at last by the way Ben was putting him off. It wasn'tsquare and it wasn't businesslike. He had large mining interests incharge and here was Ben acting like he had all summer to devote just tothis one little matter. He called Ben's attention to this by telegraph,but Ben continued to be somewhere else from where he said he was goingto be.
After a week of this pussy-wants-a-corner stuff Ed got wise that thething had come to be a mere vulgar chase, and that his private car washampering him by being so easy to keep track of. So he disguised himselfby taking off his diamond ornaments and leaving his private car atColfax, and started out to stalk Ben as a common private citizen in aday coach. He got results that way, Ben supposing he was still with hiscar. After a couple of scouting trips up and down the line he getsreliable word that Ben, with his bunch of high officials, is over atWallace.
So much the better, thinks Ed. It will be fine to have this nextdisturbance right on the spot where a great wrong was done him fifteenyears before. So he starts for Wallace, wiring for his car to follow himthere. He'd found this car poor for the bloodhound stuff, but he wantedBen to have a good look at it and eat his heart out with envy, eitherbefore or after what was going to happen to him.
He gets to Wallace on the noon train and finds that Ben with hisofficials has gone up the canon, past Burke, on the president's privatecar, to return in about an hour. After Ed's inquiries the agent kindlywires up to Ben that his cousin from Arizona is waiting for him. Edspends the time walking round Ben's shabby little private car andsneering at it. He has his plans all made, now that he has run his manto earth. He won't pull anything rough before the officials, but abouttwenty miles out on the line is a siding with a shipping corral besideit and nothing else in sight but vistas. They'll get an engine to runthe two cars out there that night and leave 'em, and everything can bedone decently and in order. No hurry and no worry and no scandal.
Ed is just playing the coming fight over in his mind for the fifth time,correcting some of his blows here and there, when he hears a whistle upthe canon and in comes the special. The officials pile off and Ben comesrush
ing up to Ed with a glad smile and effusive greetings and heartyslaps on the back; and how is everything, old man?--and so on--with ahighly worried look lurking just back of it all; and says what raregood luck to find Ed here, because he's the very man they been talkingabout all the way down from Burke.
Ed says if they come down as fast as he did one time they didn't get achance to say much about him; but Ben is introducing him to the presidentof the road and the general manager and the chief engineer and three orfour directors, and they all shake hands with him till it seems likequite a reception. The president says is this really the gentleman whohas made that last big strike in Arizona! And if it is he knows somethingstill more interesting about him, because he has just listened to a mostremarkable tale of his early days as a brakeman on this very line. Theirdivision superintendent has been telling of his terrific drop down thecanon and his incredible flight through the air of three hundred andthirty-five feet.
"How far did he say I was hurled?" says Ed, and the president again saysthree hundred and thirty-five feet, which was a hundred more than Ed hadever claimed; so he looks over at Ben pretty sharp.
Ben is still talking hurriedly about the historic accident, saying thatin all his years of railroad experience he never heard of anythingapproaching it, and if they will step up the track a piece he will showthem just where the cars left the rails. Ben must of done a lot of quickthinking that day. He had the bunch over to see the exact spot, and theyall stood and looked over to the ice house and said it was incredible;and a director from Boston said it was perfectly preposterous; reallynow! And Ben kept on reciting rapidly about the details. He said Ed hadcome down the seven miles in less than three minutes, which was loppinga minute and a half off the official time; and that when picked up hehadn't a whole bone left in his body, which was also a lie; and thathis cousin never could of survived if he hadn't probably had the mostmarvellous constitution a man was ever endowed with. He then made thebunch go over to the ice house to see the other exact spot, and theylooked back to where he started from, and again said it was incredibleand preposterous.
I don't know. Mebbe they wouldn't of thought it preposterous that a merebrakeman was hurled that far, but Ed was a capitalist now. Anyway, thepresident had him into his car for lunch with the party, and they mightpossibly of got to talking about other things of less importance, but Benwouldn't have any thing else. He made 'em insist that Ed should tell hisversion of the whole thing; how he felt when the cars started, and howthe scenery was blurred, and how his whole past life flashed before him,and the last thing he remembered before he hit the sawdust. And Ben setthere looking so proud of Ed, like a mother having her little tot recitesomething. And when Ed had finally lit, Ben made him tell about his slowrecovery. And after Ed got himself well again Ben would go back to thestart and ask for more details, such as whether he hadn't wanted to jumpoff on the way down, or whether he had been conscious while going throughthe air for nearly four hundred feet.
Ed got little food; but much he cared! He'd come into his own at last.And suddenly he was surprised by finding a warm glow in his heart forBen, especially after Ben had said for about the third time: "I wascertainly a green hand in those days; so green that I didn't begin torealize what a whale of an occurrence this was." Ed was getting a newlight on Ben.
After lunch Ed's own car got in from Colfax and he had the party overthere for cigars and more talk about himself, which was skillfully ledby Ben. Then the president invited Ed to hitch his car on and come alongwith them for a little trip, and talk over mining and investments, andso on, and what the outlook was in the Southwest. So Ed went with 'emand continued to hear talk of his accident. Ben would bring it up andharp back to it, and bring it forward and sandwich it in whenever theconversation had an open moment. It was either the wild thoughts Ed mustof had sliding down the canon, or the preposterous constitution he hadbeen endowed with, or the greenness of himself for not recognizing it asthe prize accident of the ages. And I don't wonder Ben went on that wayfor the next two days. He knew what a tenacious idiot Ed was, and that hehad come miles out of his way to try something he had often tried before.The most he could hope for was to stave off the collision till hisofficials got away.
And it looked, the second night, like he wasn't going to be able to doeven this much. He'd been detecting cold looks from Ed all day, in spiteof his putting on another record about the accident every ten minutes orso. They was laid out at some little station, and just before dinner Edgive Ben the office that he wanted a word private with him. Ben thinks tohimself it's coming now in spite of all his efforts to smooth it over.But he leaves the car with Ed and they walk a piece up the track, Benhoping they can make the lee of a freight car before Ed starts his crimeof violence. He makes up his mind quick. If Ed jumps him there in theopen he will certainly do his best to win the contest. But if he waitstill they get this freight car between them and the public, then he willlet Ed win the fight and get the scandal out of his life forever.
Ben walks quite briskly, but Ed begins to slow up when they ain't morethan a hundred yards from the president's car. Finally Ed stops short.
"The little foci is going to pull the fight here in the open!" thinksBen; so he gets ready to do his best.
Then Ed says:
"Say, Ben, what's the matter with you, anyway? Are you losing your mind?It ain't so much on my account; I could make allowance for you. Buthere's these officials of yours, and you want to make a good impressionon 'em; instead of which you are making yourself the grandest bore thatever needed strangling for continuous talk on one subject."
Ben didn't get him yet. He says come on up the other side of them freightcars, where they can be more private for their consultation.
Ed says no; this is far enough to tell him for his own good not to besuch a bore; an' Ben says how is he a bore?
"A bore?" says Ed. "Why, for forty-eight hours you ain't been able totalk about anything but that stale old accident of mine, and you got meso sick of it I could jump on you every time you begin. You got everybodyin the party sick of it. Don't you see how they all try to get away fromyou? For the Lord's sake, can't you think up something else to talk aboutnow and then--at least for five minutes, just to give your silly chattera little different flavour? I never been so sick of anything in my lifeas I am of this everlasting prattle of yours about something that wasover and forgotten fifteen long years ago! What's got into you to keepdragging that accident up out of the dead past that way? Anyway, youbetter cut it out. I have to listen because you're my cousin; but theseofficials don't. Your next pay check is liable to be your last on thisroad if you don't think up some other kind of gossip. Darned if it don'tseem like you had been getting weak-minded in your old age!"
Ben had got his bearings by this time. He apologized warmly to Ed; hesaid it was true this magnificent catastrophe had lately taken possessionof his mind, but now that he finds Ed is so sensitive about it he'll tryto keep it out of his talk, and he hopes Ed won't cherish hard feelingsagainst him.
Ed says no, he won't cherish anything if Ben will only quit his loathsomegushing about the accident; and Ben says he will quit. And so they shookhands on it.
That's the way the feud ended. The champion grudge hoarder of theuniverse had been dosed to a finish with his own medicine. It showed Benhas a weakness for diplomacy; kind of an iron hand in a velvet glove, orsomething.
Ed is still a nut, though. There was a piece in a Sunday paper not longago about this new mining millionaire. He spoke some noble words to theyouth of our land. He said young American manhood could still make itsfortune in this glorious country of opportunity by strict attention toindustry and good habits and honest dealing and native pluck--him thathad had these mules forced on him in the first place, and then hisinterest in this claim forced on him for the mules, and then hadn'tbeen able to get shut of the claim. Ain't it lovely how men will dig upa license to give themselves all credit for hog luck they couldn't help!
Ma Pettengill busied herself with a
final cigarette and remarked that shenever knew when to stop talking. Some parties did, but not her; and shehaving to be up and on the way to Horsefly Mountain by six-thirty in theA.M.! Her last apology was for a longing she had not been able toconquer: She couldn't help a debased wish to know how that last fightwould of come out.
"Of course it ain't nice to want men to act like the brutes," said thelady. "Still, I can't help wondering; not that I'm inquisitive, but justout of curiosity."