THE VALLEY OF THE MOON

By Jack London

BOOK I

CHAPTER 1

"You hear me, Saxon? Come on along. What if it is the Bricklayers? I'llhave gentlemen friends there, and so'll you. The Al Vista band'll bealong, an' you know it plays heavenly. An' you just love dancin'---"

Twenty feet away, a stout, elderly woman interrupted the girl'spersuasions. The elderly woman's back was turned, and the back-loose, bulging, and misshapen--began a convulsive heaving. 

"Gawd!" she cried out. "O Gawd!"

She flung wild glances, like those of an entrapped animal, up and downthe big whitewashed room that panted with heat and that was thicklyhumid with the steam that sizzled from the damp cloth under the irons ofthe many ironers. From the girls and women near her, all swinging ironssteadily but at high pace, came quick glances, and labor efficiencysuffered to the extent of a score of suspended or inadequate movements. The elderly woman's cry had caused a tremor of money-loss to pass amongthe piece-work ironers of fancy starch. 

She gripped herself and her iron with a visible effort, and dabbedfutilely at the frail, frilled garment on the board under her hand. 

"I thought she'd got'em again--didn't you?" the girl said. 

"It's a shame, a women of her age, and. .. Condition, " Saxon answered, as she frilled a lace ruffle with a hot fluting-iron. Her movements weredelicate, safe, and swift, and though her face was wan with fatigue andexhausting heat, there was no slackening in her pace. 

"An' her with seven, an' two of 'em in reform school, " the girl at thenext board sniffed sympathetic agreement. "But you just got to cometo Weasel Park to-morrow, Saxon. The Bricklayers' is alwayslively--tugs-of-war, fat-man races, real Irish jiggin', an'. .. An'everything. An' The floor of the pavilion's swell. "

But the elderly woman brought another interruption. She dropped her ironon the shirtwaist, clutched at the board, fumbled it, caved in at theknees and hips, and like a half-empty sack collapsed on the floor, herlong shriek rising in the pent room to the acrid smell of scorchingcloth. The women at the boards near to her scrambled, first, to the hotiron to save the cloth, and then to her, while the forewoman hurriedbelligerently down the aisle. The women farther away continuedunsteadily at their work, losing movements to the extent of a minute'sset-back to the totality of the efficiency of the fancy-starch room. 

"Enough to kill a dog, " the girl muttered, thumping her iron down on itsrest with reckless determination. "Workin' girls' life ain't what it'scracked up. Me to quit--that's what I'm comin' to. "

"Mary!" Saxon uttered the other's name with a reproach so profound thatshe was compelled to rest her own iron for emphasis and so lose a dozenmovements. 

Mary flashed a half-frightened look across. 

"I didn't mean it, Saxon, " she whimpered. "Honest, I didn't. I wouldn'tnever go that way. But I leave it to you, if a day like this don't geton anybody's nerves. Listen to that!"

The stricken woman, on her back, drumming her heels on the floor, wasshrieking persistently and monotonously, like a mechanical siren. Twowomen, clutching her under the arms, were dragging her down the aisle. She drummed and shrieked the length of it. The door opened, and a vast, muffled roar of machinery burst in; and in the roar of it the drummingand the shrieking were drowned ere the door swung shut. Remained of theepisode only the scorch of cloth drifting ominously through the air. 

"It's sickenin', " said Mary. 

And thereafter, for a long time, the many irons rose and fell, the paceof the room in no wise diminished; while the forewoman strode theaisles with a threatening eye for incipient breakdown and hysteria. Occasionally an ironer lost the stride for an instant, gasped or sighed, then caught it up again with weary determination. The long summer daywaned, but not the heat, and under the raw flare of electric light thework went on. 

By nine o'clock the first women began to go home. The mountain of fancystarch had been demolished--all save the few remnants, here and there, on the boards, where the ironers still labored. 

Saxon finished ahead of Mary, at whose board she paused on the way out. 

"Saturday night an' another week gone, " Mary said mournfully, her youngcheeks pallid and hollowed, her black eyes blue-shadowed and tired. "What d'you think you've made, Saxon?"

"Twelve and a quarter, " was the answer, just touched with pride "And I'da-made more if it wasn't for that fake bunch of starchers. "

"My! I got to pass it to you, " Mary congratulated. "You're a sure fiercehustler--just eat it up. Me--I've only ten an' a half, an' for a hardweek. .. See you on the nine-forty. Sure now. We can just fool arounduntil the dancin' begins. A lot of my gentlemen friends'll be there inthe afternoon. "

Two blocks from the laundry, where an arc-light showed a gang of toughson the corner, Saxon quickened her pace. Unconsciously her face setand hardened as she passed. She did not catch the words of the mutteredcomment, but the rough laughter it raised made her guess and warmed herchecks with resentful blood. Three blocks more, turning once to left andonce to right, she walked on through the night that was already growingcool. On either side were workingmen's houses, of weathered wood, the ancient paint grimed with the dust of years, conspicuous only forcheapness and ugliness. 

Dark it was, but she made no mistake, the familiar sag and screechingreproach of the front gate welcome under her hand. She went along thenarrow walk to the rear, avoided the missing step without thinking aboutit, and entered the kitchen, where a solitary gas-jet flickered. She turned it up to the best of its flame. It was a small room, notdisorderly, because of lack of furnishings to disorder it. The plaster, discolored by the steam of many wash-days, was crisscrossed with cracksfrom the big earthquake of the previous spring. The floor was ridged, wide-cracked, and uneven, and in front of the stove it was worn throughand repaired with a five-gallon oil-can hammered flat and double. Asink, a dirty roller-towel, several chairs, and a wooden table completedthe picture. 

An apple-core crunched under her foot as she drew a chair to the table. On the frayed oilcloth, a supper waited. She attempted the cold beans, thick with grease, but gave them up, and buttered a slice of bread. 

The rickety house shook to a heavy, prideless tread, and through theinner door came Sarah, middle-aged, lop-breasted, hair-tousled, her facelined with care and fat petulance. 

"Huh, it's you, " she grunted a greeting. "I just couldn't keep thingswarm. Such a day! I near died of the heat. An' little Henry cut his lipawful. The doctor had to put four stitches in it. "

Sarah came over and stood mountainously by the table. 

"What's the matter with them beans?" she challenged. 

"Nothing, only. .. " Saxon caught her breath and avoided the threatenedoutburst. "Only I'm not hungry. It's been so hot all day. It wasterrible in the laundry. "

Recklessly she took a mouthful of the cold tea that had been steeped solong that it was like acid in her mouth, and recklessly, under the eyeof her sister-in-law, she swallowed it and the rest of the cupful. Shewiped her mouth on her handkerchief and got up. 

"I guess I'll go to bed. "

"Wonder you ain't out to a dance, " Sarah sniffed. "Funny, ain't it, youcome home so dead tired every night, an' yet any night in the week youcan get out an' dance unearthly hours. "

Saxon started to speak, suppressed herself with tightened lips, thenlost control and blazed out. "Wasn't you ever young?"

Without waiting for reply, she turned to her bedroom, which openeddirectly off the kitchen. It was a small room, eight by twelve, and theearthquake had left its marks upon the plaster. A bed and chair of cheappine and a very ancient chest of drawers constituted the furniture. Saxon had known this chest of drawers all her life. The vision of itwas woven into her earliest recollections. She knew it had crossed theplains with her people in a prairie schooner. It was of solid mahogany. One end was cracked and dented from the capsize of the wagon in RockCanyon. A bullet-hole, plugged, in the face of the top drawer, told ofthe fight with the Indians at Little Meadow. Of these happenings hermother had told her; also had she told that the chest had come with thefamily originally from England in a day even earlier than the day onwhich George Washington was born. 

Above the chest of drawers, on the wall, hung a small looking-glass. Thrust under the molding were photographs of young men and women, and ofpicnic groups wherein the young men, with hats rakishly on the backs oftheir heads, encircled the girls with their arms. Farther along on thewall were a colored calendar and numerous colored advertisements andsketches torn out of magazines. Most of these sketches were of horses. From the gas-fixture hung a tangled bunch of well-scribbled danceprograms. 

Saxon started to take off her hat, but suddenly sat down on the bed. She sobbed softly, with considered repression, but the weak-latcheddoor swung noiselessly open, and she was startled by her sister-in-law'svoice. 

"NOW what's the matter with you? If you didn't like them beans--"

"No, no, " Saxon explained hurriedly. "I'm just tired, that's all, and myfeet hurt. I wasn't hungry, Sarah. I'm just beat out. "

"If you took care of this house, " came the retort, "an' cooked an'baked, an' washed, an' put up with what I put up, you'd have somethingto be beat out about. You've got a snap, you have. But just wait. " Sarahbroke off to cackle gloatingly. "Just wait, that's all, an' you'llbe fool enough to get married some day, like me, an' then you'll getyours--an' it'll be brats, an' brats, an' brats, an' no more dancin', an' silk stockin's, an' three pairs of shoes at one time. You've got acinch-nobody to think of but your own precious self--an' a lot of younghoodlums makin' eyes at you an' tellin' you how beautiful your eyesare. Huh! Some fine day you'll tie up to one of 'em, an' then, mebbe, onoccasion, you'll wear black eyes for a change. "

"Don't say that, Sarah, " Saxon protested. "My brother never laid handson you. You know that. "

"No more he didn't. He never had the gumption. Just the same, he'sbetter stock than that tough crowd you run with, if he can't make alivin' an' keep his wife in three pairs of shoes. Just the same he'soodles better'n your bunch of hoodlums that no decent woman'd wipe herone pair of shoes on. How you've missed trouble this long is beyond me. Mebbe the younger generation is wiser in such thins--I don't know. But Ido know that a young woman that has three pairs of shoes ain't thinkin'of anything but her own enjoyment, an' she's goin' to get hers, I cantell her that much. When I was a girl there wasn't such doin's. Mymother'd taken the hide off me if I done the things you do. An' shewas right, just as everything in the world is wrong now. Look at yourbrother, a-runnin' around to socialist meetin's, an' chewin' hot air, an' diggin' up extra strike dues to the union that means so much breadout of the mouths of his children, instead of makin' good with hisbosses. Why, the dues he pays would keep me in seventeen pairs of shoesif I was nannygoat enough to want 'em. Some day, mark my words, he'llget his time, an' then what'll we do? What'll I do, with five mouths tofeed an' nothin' comin' in?"

She stopped, out of breath but seething with the tirade yet to come. 

"Oh, Sarah, please won't you shut the door?" Saxon pleaded. 

The door slammed violently, and Saxon, ere she fell to crying again, could hear her sister-in-law lumbering about the kitchen and talkingloudly to herself. 

CHAPTER II

Each bought her own ticket at the entrance to Weasel Park. And each, asshe laid her half-dollar down, was distinctly aware of how many piecesof fancy starch were represented by the coin. It was too early for thecrowd, but bricklayers and their families, laden with huge lunch-basketsand armfuls of babies, were already going in--a healthy, husky raceof workmen, well-paid and robustly fed. And with them, here and there, undisguised by their decent American clothing, smaller in bulk andstature, weazened not alone by age but by the pinch of lean years andearly hardship, were grandfathers and mothers who had patently firstseen the light of day on old Irish soil. Their faces showed content andpride as they limped along with this lusty progeny of theirs that hadfed on better food. 

Not with these did Mary and Saxon belong. They knew them not, had noacquaintances among them. It did not matter whether the festival wereIrish, German, or Slavonian; whether the picnic was the Bricklayers', the Brewers', or the Butchers'. They, the girls, were of the dancingcrowd that swelled by a certain constant percentage the gate receipts ofall the picnics. 

They strolled about among the booths where peanuts were grindingand popcorn was roasting in preparation for the day, and went onand inspected the dance floor of the pavilion. Saxon, clinging to animaginary partner, essayed a few steps of the dip-waltz. Mary clappedher hands. 

"My!" she cried. "You're just swell! An' them stockin's is peaches. "

Saxon smiled with appreciation, pointed out her foot, velvet-slipperedwith high Cuban heels, and slightly lifted the tight black skirt, exposing a trim ankle and delicate swell of calf, the white fleshgleaming through the thinnest and flimsiest of fifty-cent black silkstockings. She was slender, not tall, yet the due round lines ofwomanhood were hers. On her white shirtwaist was a pleated jabot ofcheap lace, caught with a large novelty pin of imitation coral. Over theshirtwaist was a natty jacket, elbow-sleeved, and to the elbows she woregloves of imitation suede. The one essentially natural touch about herappearance was the few curls, strangers to curling-irons, that escapedfrom under the little naughty hat of black velvet pulled low over theeyes. 

Mary's dark eyes flashed with joy at the sight, and with a swiftlittle run she caught the other girl in her arms and kissed her ina breast-crushing embrace. She released her, blushing at her ownextravagance. 

"You look good to me, " she cried, in extenuation. "If I was a man Icouldn't keep my hands off you. I'd eat you, I sure would. "

They went out of the pavilion hand in hand, and on through the sunshinethey strolled, swinging hands gaily, reacting exuberantly from the weekof deadening toil. They hung over the railing of the bear-pit, shiveringat the huge and lonely denizen, and passed quickly on to ten minutes oflaughter at the monkey cage. Crossing the grounds, they looked down intothe little race track on the bed of a natural amphitheater where theearly afternoon games were to take place. After that they explored thewoods, threaded by countless paths, ever opening out in new surprisesof green-painted rustic tables and benches in leafy nooks, many ofwhich were already pre-empted by family parties. On a grassy slope, tree-surrounded, they spread a newspaper and sat down on the short grassalready tawny-dry under the California sun. Half were they minded todo this because of the grateful indolence after six days of insistentmotion, half in conservation for the hours of dancing to come. 

"Bert Wanhope'll be sure to come, " Mary chattered. "An' he said he wasgoing to bring Billy Roberts--'Big Bill, ' all the fellows call him. He'sjust a big boy, but he's awfully tough. He's a prizefighter, an' all thegirls run after him. I'm afraid of him. He ain't quick in talkin'. He'smore like that big bear we saw. Brr-rf! Brr-rf!--bite your headoff, just like that. He ain't really a prize-fighter. He's ateamster--belongs to the union. Drives for Coberly and Morrison. Butsometimes he fights in the clubs. Most of the fellows are scared of him. He's got a bad temper, an' he'd just as soon hit a fellow as eat, justlike that. You won't like him, but he's a swell dancer. He's heavy, you know, an' he just slides and glides around. You wanta have a dancewith'm anyway. He's a good spender, too. Never pinches. But my!--he'sgot one temper. "

The talk wandered on, a monologue on Mary's part, that centered alwayson Bert Wanhope. 

"You and he are pretty thick, " Saxon ventured. 

"I'd marry'm to-morrow, " Mary flashed out impulsively. Then her facewent bleakly forlorn, hard almost in its helpless pathos. "Only, henever asks me. He's. .. " Her pause was broken by sudden passion. "Youwatch out for him, Saxon, if he ever comes foolin' around you. He's nogood. Just the same, I'd marry him to-morrow. He'll never get me anyother way. " Her mouth opened, but instead of speaking she drew a longsigh. "It's a funny world, ain't it?" she added. "More like a scream. And all the stars are worlds, too. I wonder where God hides. BertWanhope says there ain't no God. But he's just terrible. He says themost terrible things. I believe in God. Don't you? What do you thinkabout God, Saxon?"

Saxon shrugged her shoulders and laughed. 

"But if we do wrong we get ours, don't we?" Mary persisted. "That's whatthey all say, except Bert. He says he don't care what he does, he'llnever get his, because when he dies he's dead, an' when he's dead he'dlike to see any one put anything across on him that'd wake him up. Ain'the terrible, though? But it's all so funny. Sometimes I get scared whenI think God's keepin' an eye on me all the time. Do you think he knowswhat I'm sayin' now? What do you think he looks like, anyway?"

"I don't know, " Saxon answered. "He's just a funny proposition. "

"Oh!" the other gasped. 

"He IS, just the same, from what all people say of him, " Saxon went onstoutly. "My brother thinks he looks like Abraham Lincoln. Sarah thinkshe has whiskers. "

"An' I never think of him with his hair parted, " Mary confessed, daringthe thought and shivering with apprehension. "He just couldn't have hishair parted. THAT'D be funny. "

"You know that little, wrinkly Mexican that sells wire puzzles?" Saxonqueried. "Well, God somehow always reminds me of him. "

Mary laughed outright. 

"Now that IS funny. I never thought of him like that How do you make itout?"

"Well, just like the little Mexican, he seems to spend his time peddlingpuzzles. He passes a puzzle out to everybody, and they spend all theirlives tryin' to work it out They all get stuck. I can't work mine out. I don't know where to start. And look at the puzzle he passed Sarah. Andshe's part of Tom's puzzle, and she only makes his worse. And they all, an' everybody I know--you, too--are part of my puzzle. "

"Mebbe the puzzles is all right, " Mary considered. "But God don't looklike that yellow little Greaser. THAT I won't fall for. God don't looklike anybody. Don't you remember on the wall at the Salvation Army itsays 'God is a spirit'?"

"That's another one of his puzzles, I guess, because nobody knows what aspirit looks like. "

"That's right, too. " Mary shuddered with reminiscent fear. "Whenever Itry to think of God as a spirit, I can see Hen Miller all wrapped up ina sheet an' runnin' us girls. We didn't know, an' it scared the life outof us. Little Maggie Murphy fainted dead away, and Beatrice Peralta fellan' scratched her face horrible. When I think of a spirit all I can seeis a white sheet runnin' in the dark. Just the same, God don't look likea Mexican, an' he don't wear his hair parted. "

A strain of music from the dancing pavilion brought both girlsscrambling to their feet. 

"We can get a couple of dances in before we eat, " Mary proposed. "An'then it'll be afternoon an' all the fellows 'll be here. Most of themare pinchers--that's why they don't come early, so as to get out oftaking the girls to dinner. But Bert's free with his money, an' so isBilly. If we can beat the other girls to it, they'll take us to therestaurant. Come on, hurry, Saxon. "

There were few couples on the floor when they arrived at the pavilion, and the two girls essayed the first waltz together. 

"There's Bert now, " Saxon whispered, as they came around the secondtime. 

"Don't take any notice of them, " Mary whispered back. "We'll just keepon goin'. They needn't think we're chasin' after them. "

But Saxon noted the heightened color in the other's cheek, and felt herquicker breathing. 

"Did you see that other one?" Mary asked, as she backed Saxon in a longslide across the far end of the pavilion. "That was Billy Roberts. Bertsaid he'd come. He'll take you to dinner, and Bert'll take me. It'sgoin' to be a swell day, you'll see. My! I only wish the music'll holdout till we can get back to the other end. "

Down the floor they danced, on man-trapping and dinner-getting intent, two fresh young things that undeniably danced well and that weredelightfully surprised when the music stranded them perilously near totheir desire. 

Bert and Mary addressed each other by their given names, but to SaxonBert was "Mr. Wanhope, " though he called her by her first name. The onlyintroduction was of Saxon and Billy Roberts. Mary carried it off with aflurry of nervous carelessness. 

"Mr. Robert--Miss Brown. She's my best friend. Her first name's Saxon. Ain't it a scream of a name?"

"Sounds good to me, " Billy retorted, hat off and hand extended. "Pleasedto meet you, Miss Brown. "

As their hands clasped and she felt the teamster callouses on his palm, her quick eyes saw a score of things. About all that he saw was hereyes, and then it was with a vague impression that they were blue. Nottill later in the day did he realize that they were gray. She, onthe contrary, saw his eyes as they really were--deep blue, wide, and handsome in a sullen-boyish way. She saw that they werestraight-looking, and she liked them, as she had liked the glimpse shehad caught of his hand, and as she liked the contact of his hand itself. Then, too, but not sharply, she had perceived the short, square-setnose, the rosiness of cheek, and the firm, short upper lip, ere delightcentered her flash of gaze on the well-modeled, large clean mouth wherered lips smiled clear of the white, enviable teeth. A BOY, A GREAT BIGMAN-BOY, was her thought; and, as they smiled at each other and theirhands slipped apart, she was startled by a glimpse of his hair--shortand crisp and sandy, hinting almost of palest gold save that it was tooflaxen to hint of gold at all. 

So blond was he that she was reminded of stage-types she had seen, suchas Ole Olson and Yon Yonson; but there resemblance ceased. It was amatter of color only, for the eyes were dark-lashed and -browed, andwere cloudy with temperament rather than staring a child-gaze of wonder, and the suit of smooth brown cloth had been made by a tailor. Saxonappraised the suit on the instant, and her secret judgment was NOT ACENT LESS THAN FIFTY DOLLARS. Further, he had none of the awkwardnessof the Scandinavian immigrant. On the contrary, he was one of thoserare individuals that radiate muscular grace through the ungracefulman-garments of civilization. Every movement was supple, slow, andapparently considered. This she did not see nor analyze. She saw only aclothed man with grace of carriage and movement. She felt, rather thanperceived, the calm and certitude of all the muscular play of him, andshe felt, too, the promise of easement and rest that was especiallygrateful and craved-for by one who had incessantly, for six days and attop-speed, ironed fancy starch. As the touch of his hand had been good, so, to her, this subtler feel of all of him, body and mind, was good. 

As he took her program and skirmished and joked after the way of youngmen, she realized the immediacy of delight she had taken in him. Never in her life had she been so affected by any man. She wondered toherself: IS THIS THE MAN?

He danced beautifully. The joy was hers that good dancers take when theyhave found a good dancer for a partner. The grace of those slow-moving, certain muscles of his accorded perfectly with the rhythm of the music. There was never doubt, never a betrayal of indecision. She glanced atBert, dancing "tough" with Mary, caroming down the long floor with morethan one collision with the increasing couples. Graceful himself in hisslender, tall, lean-stomached way, Bert was accounted a good dancer; yetSaxon did not remember ever having danced with him with keen pleasure. Just a hit of a jerk spoiled his dancing--a jerk that did not occur, usually, but that always impended. There was something spasmodic in hismind. He was too quick, or he continually threatened to be too quick. He always seemed just on the verge of overrunning the time. It wasdisquieting. He made for unrest. 

"You're a dream of a dancer, " Billy Roberts was saying. "I've heard lotsof the fellows talk about your dancing. "

"I love it, " she answered. 

But from the way she said it he sensed her reluctance to speak, anddanced on in silence, while she warmed with the appreciation of awoman for gentle consideration. Gentle consideration was a thing rarelyencountered in the life she lived. IS THIS THE MAN? She rememberedMary's "I'd marry him to-morrow, " and caught herself speculating onmarrying Billy Roberts by the next day--if he asked her. 

With eyes that dreamily desired to close, she moved on in the arms ofthis masterful, guiding pressure. A PRIZE-FIGHTER! She experienced athrill of wickedness as she thought of what Sarah would say could shesee her now. Only he wasn't a prizefighter, but a teamster. 

Came an abrupt lengthening of step, the guiding pressure grew morecompelling, and she was caught up and carried along, though hervelvet-shod feet never left the floor. Then came the sudden control downto the shorter step again, and she felt herself being held slightly fromhim so that he might look into her face and laugh with her in joy atthe exploit. At the end, as the band slowed in the last bars, they, too, slowed, their dance fading with the music in a lengthening glide thatceased with the last lingering tone. 

"We're sure cut out for each other when it comes to dancin', " he said, as they made their way to rejoin the other couple. 

"It was a dream, " she replied. 

So low was her voice that he bent to hear, and saw the flush in hercheeks that seemed communicated to her eyes, which were softly warmand sensuous. He took the program from her and gravely and giganticallywrote his name across all the length of it. 

"An' now it's no good, " he dared. "Ain't no need for it. "

He tore it across and tossed it aside. 

"Me for you, Saxon, for the next, " was Bert's greeting, as they came up. "You take Mary for the next whirl, Bill. "

"Nothin' doin', Bo, " was the retort. "Me an' Saxon's framed up to lastthe day. "

"Watch out for him, Saxon, " Mary warned facetiously. "He's liable to geta crush on you. "

"I guess I know a good thing when I see it, " Billy responded gallantly. 

"And so do I, " Saxon aided and abetted. 

"I'd 'a' known you if I'd seen you in the dark, " Billy added. 

Mary regarded them with mock alarm, and Bert said good-naturedly:

"All I got to say is you ain't wastin' any time gettin' together. Justthe same, if' you can spare a few minutes from each other after a couplemore whirls, Mary an' me'd be complimented to have your presence atdinner. "

"Just like that, " chimed Mary. 

"Quit your kiddin', " Billy laughed back, turning his head to look intoSaxon's eyes. "Don't listen to 'em. They're grouched because they got todance together. Bert's a rotten dancer, and Mary ain't so much. Come on, there she goes. See you after two more dances. "

CHAPTER III

They had dinner in the open-air, tree-walled dining-room, and Saxonnoted that it was Billy who paid the reckoning for the four. They knewmany of the young men and women at the other tables, and greetings andfun flew back and forth. Bert was very possessive with Mary, almostroughly so, resting his hand on hers, catching and holding it, and, once, forcibly slipping off her two rings and refusing to return themfor a long while. At times, when he put his arm around her waist, Marypromptly disengaged it; and at other times, with elaborate obliviousnessthat deceived no one, she allowed it to remain. 

And Saxon, talking little but studying Billy Roberts very intently, wassatisfied that there would be an utter difference in the way he would dosuch things. .. If ever he would do them. Anyway, he'd never paw a girlas Bert and lots of the other fellows did. She measured the breadth ofBilly's heavy shoulders. 

"Why do they call you 'Big' Bill?" she asked. "You're not so very tall. "

"Nope, " he agreed. "I'm only five feet eight an' three-quarters. I guessit must be my weight. "

"He fights at a hundred an' eighty, " Bert interjected. 

"Oh, out it, " Billy said quickly, a cloud-rift of displeasure showingin his eyes. "I ain't a fighter. I ain't fought in six months. I've quitit. It don't pay. "

"Yon got two hundred the night you put the Frisco Slasher to the bad, "Bert urged proudly. 

"Cut it. Cut it now. --Say, Saxon, you ain't so big yourself, are you?But you're built just right if anybody should ask you. You're round an'slender at the same time. I bet I can guess your weight. "

"Everybody guesses over it, " she warned, while inwardly she was puzzledthat she should at the same time be glad and regretful that he did notfight any more. 

"Not me, " he was saying. "I'm a wooz at weight-guessin'. Just you watchme. " He regarded her critically, and it was patent that warm approvalplayed its little rivalry with the judgment of his gaze. "Wait aminute. "

He reached over to her and felt her arm at the biceps. The pressure ofthe encircling fingers was firm and honest, and Saxon thrilled to it. There was magic in this man-boy. She would have known only irritationhad Bert or any other man felt her arm. But this man! IS HE THE MAN? shewas questioning, when he voiced his conclusion. 

"Your clothes don't weigh more'n seven pounds. And seven from--hum--sayone hundred an' twenty-three--one hundred an' sixteen is your strippedweight. "

But at the penultimate word, Mary cried out with sharp reproof:

"Why, Billy Roberts, people don't talk about such things. "

He looked at her with slow-growing, uncomprehending surprise. 

"What things?" he demanded finally. 

"There you go again! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Look! You'vegot Saxon blushing!"

"I am not, " Saxon denied indignantly. 

"An' if you keep on, Mary, you'll have me blushing, " Billy growled. "Iguess I know what's right an' what ain't. It ain't what a guy says, butwhat he thinks. An' I'm thinkin' right, an' Saxon knows it. An' she an'I ain't thinkin' what you're thinkin' at all. "

"Oh! Oh!" Mary cried. "You're gettin' worse an' worse. I never thinksuch things. "

"Whoa, Mary! Backup!" Bert checked her peremptorily. "You're in thewrong stall. Billy never makes mistakes like that. "

"But he needn't be so raw, " she persisted. 

"Come on, Mary, an' be good, an' cut that stuff, " was Billy's dismissalof her, as he turned to Saxon. "How near did I come to it?"

"One hundred and twenty-two, " she answered, looking deliberately atMary. "One twenty two with my clothes. "

Billy burst into hearty laughter, in which Bert joined. 

"I don't care, " Mary protested, "You're terrible, both of you--an' you, too, Saxon. I'd never a-thought it of you. "

"Listen to me, kid, " Bert began soothingly, as his arm slipped aroundher waist. 

But in the false excitement she had worked herself into, Mary rudelyrepulsed the arm, and then, fearing that she had wounded her lover'sfeelings, she took advantage of the teasing and banter to recoverher good humor. His arm was permitted to return, and with heads benttogether, they talked in whispers. 

Billy discreetly began to make conversation with Saxon. 

"Say, you know, your name is a funny one. I never heard it tagged onanybody before. But it's all right. I like it. "

"My mother gave it to me. She was educated, and knew all kinds of words. She was always reading books, almost until she died. And she wrote lotsand lots. I've got some of her poetry published in a San Jose newspaperlong ago. The Saxons were a race of people--she told me all about themwhen I was a little girl. They were wild, like Indians, only they werewhite. And they had blue eyes, and yellow hair, and they were awfulfighters. "

As she talked, Billy followed her solemnly, his eyes steadily turned onhers. 

"Never heard of them, " he confessed. "Did they live anywhere aroundhere?"

She laughed. 

"No. They lived in England. They were the first English, and you knowthe Americans came from the English. We're Saxons, you an' me, an' Mary, an' Bert, and all the Americans that are real Americans, you know, andnot Dagoes and Japs and such. "

"My folks lived in America a long time, " Billy said slowly, digestingthe information she had given and relating himself to it. "Anyway, mymother's folks did. They crossed to Maine hundreds of years ago. "

"My father was 'State of Maine, " she broke in, with a little gurgle ofjoy. "And my mother was horn in Ohio, or where Ohio is now. She used tocall it the Great Western Reserve. What was your father?"

"Don't know. " Billy shrugged his shoulders. "He didn't know himself. Nobody ever knew, though he was American, all right, all right. "

"His name's regular old American, " Saxon suggested. "There's a bigEnglish general right now whose name is Roberts. I've read it in thepapers. "

"But Roberts wasn't my father's name. He never knew what his name was. Roberts was the name of a gold-miner who adopted him. You see, it wasthis way. When they was Indian-fightin' up there with the Modoc Indians, a lot of the miners an' settlers took a hand. Roberts was captain of oneoutfit, and once, after a fight, they took a lot of prisoners--squaws, an' kids an' babies. An' one of the kids was my father. They figured hewas about five years old. He didn't know nothin' but Indian. "

Saxon clapped her hands, and her eyes sparkled: "He'd been captured onan Indian raid!"

"That's the way they figured it, " Billy nodded. "They recollected awagon-train of Oregon settlers that'd been killed by the Modocs fouryears before. Roberts adopted him, and that's why I don't know his realname. But you can bank on it, he crossed the plains just the same. "

"So did my father, " Saxon said proudly. 

"An' my mother, too, " Billy added, pride touching his own voice. "Anyway, she came pretty close to crossin' the plains, because she wasborn in a wagon on the River Platte on the way out. "

"My mother, too, " said Saxon. "She was eight years old, an' she walkedmost of the way after the oxen began to give out. "

Billy thrust out his hand. 

"Put her there, kid, " he said. "We're just like old friends, what withthe same kind of folks behind us. "

With shining eyes, Saxon extended her hand to his, and gravely theyshook. 

"Isn't it wonderful?" she murmured. "We're both old American stock. Andif you aren't a Saxon there never was one--your hair, your eyes, yourskin, everything. And you're a fighter, too. "

"I guess all our old folks was fighters when it comes to that. It comenatural to 'em, an' dog-gone it, they just had to fight or they'd nevercome through. "

"What are you two talkin' about?" Mary broke in upon them. 

"They're thicker'n mush in no time, " Bert girded. "You'd think they'dknown each other a week already. "

"Oh, we knew each other longer than that, " Saxon returned. "Before everwe were born our folks were walkin' across the plains together. "

"When your folks was waitin' for the railroad to be built an' all theIndians killed off before they dasted to start for California, " wasBilly's way of proclaiming the new alliance. "We're the real goods, Saxon an'n me, if anybody should ride up on a buzz-wagon an' ask you. "

"Oh, I don't know, " Mary boasted with quiet petulance. "My father stayedbehind to fight in the Civil War. He was a drummer-boy. That's why hedidn't come to California until afterward. "

"And my father went back to fight in the Civil War, " Saxon said. 

"And mine, too, " said Billy. 

They looked at each other gleefully. Again they had found a new contact. 

"Well, they're all dead, ain't they?" was Bert's saturnine comment. "There ain't no difference dyin' in battle or in the poorhouse. Thething is they're deado. I wouldn't care a rap if my father'd beenhanged. It's all the same in a thousand years. This braggin' about folksmakes me tired. Besides, my father couldn't a-fought. He wasn't borntill two years after the war. Just the same, two of my uncles werekilled at Gettysburg. Guess we done our share. "

"Just like that, " Mary applauded. 

Bert's arm went around her waist again. 

"We're here, ain't we?" he said. "An' that's what counts. The dead aredead, an' you can bet your sweet life they just keep on stayin' dead. "

Mary put her hand over his mouth and began to chide him for hisawfulness, whereupon he kissed the palm of her hand and put his headcloser to hers. 

The merry clatter of dishes was increasing as the dining-room filled up. Here and there voices were raised in snatches of song. There wereshrill squeals and screams and bursts of heavier male laughter as theeverlasting skirmishing between the young men and girls played on. Amongsome of the men the signs of drink were already manifest. At a neartable girls were calling out to Billy. And Saxon, the sense of temporarypossession already strong on her, noted with jealous eyes that he was afavorite and desired object to them. 

"Ain't they awful?" Mary voiced her disapproval. "They got a nerve. Iknow who they are. No respectable girl 'd have a thing to do with them. Listen to that!"

"Oh, you Bill, you, " one of them, a buxom young brunette, was calling. "Hope you ain't forgotten me, Bill. "

"Oh, you chicken, " he called back gallantly. 

Saxon flattered herself that he showed vexation, and she conceived animmense dislike for the brunette. 

"Goin' to dance?" the latter called. 

"Mebbe, " he answered, and turned abruptly to Saxon. "Say, we oldAmericans oughta stick together, don't you think? They ain't many of usleft. The country's fillin' up with all kinds of foreigners. "

He talked on steadily, in a low, confidential voice, head close to hers, as advertisement to the other girl that he was occupied. 

From the next table on the opposite side, a young man had singled outSaxon. His dress was tough. His companions, male and female, were tough. His face was inflamed, his eyes touched with wildness. 

"Hey, you!" he called. "You with the velvet slippers. Me for you. "

The girl beside him put her arm around his neck and tried to hush him, and through the mufflement of her embrace they could hear him gurgling:

"I tell you she's some goods. Watch me go across an' win her from themcheap skates. "

"Butchertown hoodlums, " Mary sniffed. 

Saxon's eyes encountered the eyes of the girl, who glared hatred acrossat her. And in Billy's eyes she saw moody anger smouldering. The eyeswere more sullen, more handsome than ever, and clouds and veils andlights and shadowe shifted and deepened in the blue of them until theygave her a sense of unfathomable depth. He had stopped talking, and hemade no effort to talk. 

"Don't start a rough house, Bill, " Bert cautioned. "They're from acrossthe hay an' they don't know you, that's all. "

Bert stood up suddenly, stepped over to the other table, whisperedbriefly, and came back. Every face at the table was turned on Billy. Theoffender arose brokenly, shook off the detaining hand of his girl, andcame over. He was a large man, with a hard, malignant face and bittereyes. Also, he was a subdued man. 

"You're Big Bill Roberts, " he said thickly, clinging to the table as hereeled. "I take my hat off to you. I apologize. I admire your taste inskirts, an' take it from me that's a compliment; but I did'nt know whoyou was. If I'd knowed you was Bill Roberts there wouldn't been a peepfrom my fly-trap. D'ye get me? I apologize. Will you shake hands?"

Gruffly, Billy said, "It's all right--forget it, sport;" and sullenlyhe shook hands and with a slow, massive movement thrust the other backtoward his own table. 

Saxon was glowing. Here was a man, a protector, something to leanagainst, of whom even the Butchertown toughs were afraid as soon as hisname was mentioned. 

CHAPTER IV

After dinner there were two dances in the pavilion, and then the bandled the way to the race track for the games. The dancers followed, andall through the grounds the picnic parties left their tables to join in. Five thousand packed the grassy slopes of the amphitheater and swarmedinside the race track. Here, first of the events, the men were liningup for a tug of war. The contest was between the Oakland Bricklayers andthe San Francisco Bricklayers, and the picked braves, huge and heavy, were taking their positions along the rope. They kicked heel-holds inthe soft earth, rubbed their hands with the soil from underfoot, andlaughed and joked with the crowd that surged about them. 

The judges and watchers struggled vainly to keep back this crowd ofrelatives and friends. The Celtic blood was up, and the Celtic factionspirit ran high. The air was filled with cries of cheer, advice, warning, and threat. Many elected to leave the side of their own teamand go to the side of the other team with the intention of circumventingfoul play. There were as many women as men among the jostlingsupporters. The dust from the trampling, scuffling feet rose in the air, and Mary gasped and coughed and begged Bert to take her away. But he, the imp in him elated with the prospect of trouble, insisted on urgingin closer. Saxon clung to Billy, who slowly and methodically elbowed andshouldered a way for her. 

"No place for a girl, " he grumbled, looking down at her with a maskedexpression of absent-mindedness, while his elbow powerfully crushed onthe ribs of a big Irishman who gave room. "Things'll break loose whenthey start pullin'. They's been too much drink, an' you know what theMicks are for a rough house. "

Saxon was very much out of place among these large-bodied men and women. She seemed very small and childlike, delicate and fragile, a creaturefrom another race. Only Billy's skilled bulk and muscle saved her. He was continually glancing from face to face of the women and alwaysreturning to study her face, nor was she unaware of the contrast he wasmaking. 

Some excitement occurred a score of feet away from them, and to thesound of exclamations and blows a surge ran through the crowd. A largeman, wedged sidewise in the jam, was shoved against Saxon, crushing herclosely against Billy, who reached across to the man's shoulder with amassive thrust that was not so slow as usual. An involuntary grunt camefrom the victim, who turned his head, showing sun-reddened blond skinand unmistakable angry Irish eyes. 

"What's eatin' yeh?" he snarled. 

"Get off your foot; you're standin' on it, " was Billy's contemptuousreply, emphasized by an increase of thrust. 

The Irishman grunted again and made a frantic struggle to twist his bodyaround, but the wedging bodies on either side held him in a vise. 

"I'll break yer ugly face for yeh in a minute, " he announced inwrath-thick tones. 

Then his own face underwent transformation. The snarl left the lips, andthe angry eyes grew genial. 

"An' sure an' it's yerself, " he said. "I didn't know it was yeha-shovin'. I seen yeh lick the Terrible Swede, if yeh WAS robbed on thedecision. "

"No, you didn't, Bo, " Billy answered pleasantly. "You saw me take a goodbeatin' that night. The decision was all right. "

The Irishman was now beaming. He had endeavored to pay a compliment witha lie, and the prompt repudiation of the lie served only to increase hishero-worship. 

"Sure, an' a bad beatin' it was, " he acknowledged, "but yeh showed thegrit of a bunch of wildcats. Soon as I can get me arm free I'm goin' toshake yeh by the hand an' help yeh aise yer young lady. "

Frustrated in the struggle to get the crowd back, the referee fired hisrevolver in the air, and the tug-of-war was on. Pandemonium broke loose. Saxon, protected by the two big men, was near enough to the front tosee much that ensued. The men on the rope pulled and strained till theirfaces were red with effort and their joints crackled. The rope wasnew, and, as their hands slipped, their wives and daughters sprang in, scooping up the earth in double handfuls and pouring it on the rope andthe hands of their men to give them better grip. 

A stout, middle-aged woman, carried beyond herself by the passion of thecontest, seized the rope and pulled beside her husband, encouraged himwith loud cries. A watcher from the opposing team dragged her screamingaway and was dropped like a steer by an ear-blow from a partisan fromthe woman's team. He, in turn, went down, and brawny women joined withtheir men in the battle. Vainly the judges and watchers begged, pleaded, yelled, and swung with their fists. Men, as well as women, were springing in to the rope and pulling. No longer was it team againstteam, but all Oakland against all San Francisco, festooned with afree-for-all fight. Hands overlaid hands two and three deep in thestruggle to grasp the rope. And hands that found no holds, doubled intobunches of knuckles that impacted on the jaws of the watchers who stroveto tear hand-holds from the rope. 

Bert yelped with joy, while Mary clung to him, mad with fear. Close tothe rope the fighters were going down and being trampled. The dust arosein clouds, while from beyond, all around, unable to get into the battle, could be heard the shrill and impotent rage-screams and rage-yells ofwomen and men. 

"Dirty work, dirty work, " Billy muttered over and over; and, though hesaw much that occurred, assisted by the friendly Irishman he was coollyand safely working Saxon back out of the melee. 

At last the break came. The losing team, accompanied by its host ofvolunteers, was dragged in a rush over the ground and disappeared underthe avalanche of battling forms of the onlookers. 

Leaving Saxon under the protection of the Irishman in an outer eddyof calm, Billy plunged back into the mix-up. Several minutes later heemerged with the missing couple--Bert bleeding from a blow on the ear, but hilarious, and Mary rumpled and hysterical. 

"This ain't sport, " she kept repeating. "It's a shame, a dirty shame. "

"We got to get outa this, " Billy said. "The fun's only commenced. "

"Aw, wait, " Bert begged. "It's worth eight dollars. It's cheap at anyprice. I ain't seen so many black eyes and bloody noses in a month ofSundays. "

"Well, go on back an' enjoy yourself, " Billy commended. "I'll take thegirls up there on the side hill where we can look on. But I won't givemuch for your good looks if some of them Micks lands on you. "

The trouble was over in an amazingly short time, for from the judges'stand beside the track the announcer was bellowing the start of theboys' foot-race; and Bert, disappointed, joined Billy and the two girlson the hillside looking down upon the track. 

There were boys' races and girls' races, races of young women and oldwomen, of fat men and fat women, sack races and three-legged races, and the contestants strove around the small track through a Bedlam ofcheering supporters. The tug-of-war was already forgotten, and goodnature reigned again. 

Five young men toed the mark, crouching with fingertips to theground and waiting the starter's revolver-shot. Three were in theirstocking-feet, and the remaining two wore spiked running-shoes. 

"Young men's race, " Bert read from the program. "An' only oneprize--twenty-five dollars. See the red-head with the spikes--the onenext to the outside. San Francisco's set on him winning. He's theircrack, an' there's a lot of bets up. "

"Who's goin' to win?" Mary deferred to Billy's superior athleticknowledge. 

"How can I tell!" he answered. "I never saw any of 'em before. But theyall look good to me. May the best one win, that's all. "

The revolver was fired, and the five runners were off and away. Threewere outdistanced at the start. Redhead led, with a black-haired youngman at his shoulder, and it was plain that the race lay between thesetwo. Halfway around, the black-haired one took the lead in a spurtthat was intended to last to the finish. Ten feet he gained, nor couldRed-head cut it down an inch. 

"The boy's a streak, " Billy commented. "He ain't tryin' his hardest, an'Red-head's just bustin' himself. "

Still ten feet in the lead, the black-haired one breasted the tape in ahubbub of cheers. Yet yells of disapproval could be distinguished. Berthugged himself with joy. 

"Mm-mm, " he gloated. "Ain't Frisco sore? Watch out for fireworks now. See! He's bein' challenged. The judges ain't payin' him the money. An'he's got a gang behind him. Oh! Oh! Oh! Ain't had so much fun since myold woman broke her leg!"

"Why don't they pay him, Billy?" Saxon asked. "He won. "

"The Frisco bunch is challengin' him for a professional, " Billyelucidated. "That's what they're all beefin' about. But it ain't right. They all ran for that money, so they're all professional. "

The crowd surged and argued and roared in front of the judges' stand. The stand was a rickety, two-story affair, the second story open at thefront, and here the judges could be seen debating as heatedly as thecrowd beneath them. 

"There she starts!" Bert cried. "Oh, you rough-house!"

The black-haired racer, backed by a dozen supporters, was climbing theoutside stairs to the judges. 

"The purse-holder's his friend, " Billy said. "See, he's paid him, an'some of the judges is willin' an' some are beefin'. An' now thatother gang's going up--they're Redhead's. " He turned to Saxon with areassuring smile. "We're well out of it this time. There's goin' to berough stuff down there in a minute. "

"The judges are tryin' to make him give the money back, " Bert explained. "An' if he don't the other gang'll take it away from him. See! They'rereachin' for it now. "

High above his head, the winner held the roll of paper containing thetwenty-five silver dollars. His gang, around him, was shouldering backthose who tried to seize the money. No blows had been struck yet, butthe struggle increased until the frail structure shook and swayed. Fromthe crowd beneath the winner was variously addressed: "Give it back, youdog!" "Hang on to it, Tim!" "You won fair, Timmy!" "Give it back, youdirty robber!" Abuse unprintable as well as friendly advice was hurledat him. 

The struggle grew more violent. Tim's supporters strove to hold him offthe floor so that his hand would still be above the grasping hands thatshot up. Once, for an instant, his arm was jerked down. Again it wentup. But evidently the paper had broken, and with a last desperateeffort, before he went down, Tim flung the coin out in a silvery showerupon the heads of the crowd beneath. Then ensued a weary period ofarguing and quarreling. 

"I wish they'd finish, so as we could get back to the dancin', " Marycomplained. "This ain't no fun. "

Slowly and painfully the judges' stand was cleared, and an announcer, stepping to the front of the stand, spread his arms appealing forsilence. The angry clamor died down. 

 "The judges have decided, " he shouted, "that this day of goodfellowship an' brotherhood--"

"Hear! Hear!" Many of the cooler heads applauded. "That's the stuff!""No fightin'!" "No hard feelin's!"

"An' therefore, " the announcer became audible again, "the judges havedecided to put up another purse of twenty-five dollars an' run the raceover again!"

"An' Tim?" bellowed scores of throats. "What about Tim?" "He's beenrobbed!" "The judges is rotten!"

Again the announcer stilled the tumult with his arm appeal. 

"The judges have decided, for the sake of good feelin', that TimothyMcManus will also run. If he wins, the money's his. "

"Now wouldn't that jar you?" Billy grumbled disgustedly. "If Tim'seligible now, he was eligible the first time. An' if he was eligible thefirst time, then the money was his. "

"Red-head'll bust himself wide open this time, " Bert jubilated. 

"An' so will Tim, " Billy rejoined. "You can bet he's mad clean through, and he'll let out the links he was holdin' in last time. "

Another quarter of an hour was spent in clearing the track of theexcited crowd, and this time only Tim and Red-head toed the mark. Theother three young men had abandoned the contest. 

The leap of Tim, at the report of the revolver, put him a clean yard inthe lead. 

"I guess he's professional, all right, all right, " Billy remarked. "An'just look at him go!"

Half-way around, Tim led by fifty feet, and, running swiftly, maintaining the same lead, he came down the homestretch an easy winner. When directly beneath the group on the hillside, the incredible andunthinkable happened. Standing close to the inside edge of the track wasa dapper young man with a light switch cane. He was distinctly out ofplace in such a gathering, for upon him was no ear-mark of the workingclass. Afterward, Bert was of the opinion that he looked like a swelldancing master, while Billy called him "the dude. "

So far as Timothy McManus was concerned, the dapper young man wasdestiny; for as Tim passed him, the young man, with utmost deliberation, thrust his cane between Tim's flying legs. Tim sailed through the air ina headlong pitch, struck spread-eagled on his face, and plowed along ina cloud of dust. 

There was an instant of vast and gasping silence. The young man, too, seemed petrified by the ghastliness of his deed. It took an appreciableinterval of time for him, as well as for the onlookers, to realize whathe had done. They recovered first, and from a thousand throats the wildIrish yell went up. Red-head won the race without a cheer. The stormcenter had shifted to the young man with the cane. After the yell, hehad one moment of indecision; then he turned and darted up the track. 

"Go it, sport!" Bert cheered, waving his hat in the air. "You're thegoods for me! Who'd a-thought it? Who'd a-thought it? Say!--wouldn't it, now? Just wouldn't it?"

"Phew! He's a streak himself, " Billy admired. "But what did he do itfor? He's no bricklayer. "

Like a frightened rabbit, the mad roar at his heels, the young man toreup the track to an open space on the hillside, up which he clawedand disappeared among the trees. Behind him toiled a hundred vengefulrunners. 

"It's too bad he's missing the rest of it, " Billy said. "Look at 'emgoin' to it. "

Bert was beside himself. He leaped up and down and cried continuously. 

"Look at 'em! Look at 'em! Look at 'em!"

The Oakland faction was outraged. Twice had its favorite runner beenjobbed out of the race. This last was only another vile trick of theFrisco faction. So Oakland doubled its brawny fists and swung into SanFrancisco for blood. And San Francisco, consciously innocent, was noless willing to join issues. To be charged with such a crime was no lessmonstrous than the crime itself. Besides, for too many tedious hourshad the Irish heroically suppressed themselves. Five thousands of themexploded into joyous battle. The women joined with them. The wholeamphitheater was filled with the conflict. There were rallies, retreats, charges, and counter-charges. Weaker groups were forced fighting upthe hillsides. Other groups, bested, fled among the trees to carryon guerrilla warfare, emerging in sudden dashes to overwhelm isolatedenemies. Half a dozen special policemen, hired by the Weasel Parkmanagement, received an impartial trouncing from both sides. 

"Nobody's the friend of a policeman, " Bert chortled, dabbing hishandkerchief to his injured ear, which still bled. 

The bushes crackled behind him, and he sprang aside to let the lockedforms of two men go by, rolling over and over down the hill, eachstriking when uppermost, and followed by a screaming woman who rainedblows on the one who was patently not of her clan. 

The judges, in the second story of the stand, valiantly withstooda fierce assault until the frail structure toppled to the ground insplinters. 

"What's that woman doing?" Saxon asked, calling attention to an elderlywoman beneath them on the track, who had sat down and was pulling fromher foot an elastic-sided shoe of generous dimensions. 

"Goin' swimming, " Bert chuckled, as the stocking followed. 

They watched, fascinated. The shoe was pulled on again over the barefoot. Then the woman slipped a rock the size of her fist into thestocking, and, brandishing this ancient and horrible weapon, lumberedinto the nearest fray. 

"Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" Bert screamed, with every blow she struck "Hey, oldflannel-mouth! Watch out! You'll get yours in a second. Oh! Oh! A peach!Did you see it? Hurray for the old lady! Look at her tearin' into 'em!Watch out, old girl!. .. Ah-h-h. "

His voice died away regretfully, as the one with the stocking, whosehair had been clutched from behind by another Amazon, was whirled aboutin a dizzy semicircle. 

Vainly Mary clung to his arm, shaking him back and forth andremonstrating. 

"Can't you be sensible?" she cried. "It's awful! I tell you it's awful!"

But Bert was irrepressible. 

"Go it, old girl!" he encouraged. "You win! Me for you every time! Now'syour chance! Swat! Oh! My! A peach! A peach!"

"It's the biggest rough-house I ever saw, " Billy confided to Saxon. "Itsure takes the Micks to mix it. But what did that dude wanta do it for?That's what gets me. He wasn't a bricklayer--not even a workingman--justa regular sissy dude that didn't know a livin' soul in the grounds. Butif he wanted to raise a rough-house he certainly done it. Look at 'em. They're fightin' everywhere. "

He broke into sudden laughter, so hearty that the tears came into hiseyes. 

"What is it?" Saxon asked, anxious not to miss anything. 

"It's that dude, " Billy explained between gusts. "What did he wanta doit for? That's what gets my goat. What'd he wanta do it for?"

There was more crashing in the brush, and two women erupted upon thescene, one in flight, the other pursuing. Almost ere they could realizeit, the little group found itself merged in the astounding conflict thatcovered, if not the face of creation, at least all the visible landscapeof Weasel Park. 

The fleeing woman stumbled in rounding the end of a picnic bench, andwould have been caught had she not seized Mary's arm to recover balance, and then flung Mary full into the arms of the woman who pursued. Thiswoman, largely built, middle-aged, and too irate to comprehend, clutchedMary's hair by one hand and lifted the other to smack her. Before theblow could fall, Billy had seized both the woman's wrists. 

"Come on, old girl, cut it out, " he said appeasingly. "You're in wrong. She ain't done nothin'. "

Then the woman did a strange thing. Making no resistance, butmaintaining her hold on the girl's hair, she stood still and calmlybegan to scream. The scream was hideously compounded of fright and fear. Yet in her face was neither fright nor fear. She regarded Billy coollyand appraisingly, as if to see how he took it--her scream merely the cryto the clan for help. 

"Aw, shut up, you battleax!" Bert vociferated, trying to drag her off bythe shoulders. 

The result was that The four rocked back and forth, while the womancalmly went on screaming. The scream became touched with triumph as morecrashing was heard in the brush. 

Saxon saw Billy's slow eyes glint suddenly to the hardness of steel, andat the same time she saw him put pressure on his wrist-holds. The womanreleased her grip on Mary and was shoved back and free. Then the firstman of the rescue was upon them. He did not pause to inquire into themerits of the affair. It was sufficient that he saw the woman reelingaway from Billy and screaming with pain that was largely feigned. 

"It's all a mistake, " Billy cried hurriedly. "We apologize, sport--"

The Irishman swung ponderously. Billy ducked, cutting his apology short, and as the sledge-like fist passed over his head, he drove his left tothe other's jaw. The big Irishman toppled over sidewise and sprawledon the edge of the slope. Half-scrambled back to his feet and out ofbalance, he was caught by Bert's fist, and this time went clawing downthe slope that was slippery with short, dry grass. Bert was redoubtable. "That for you, old girl--my compliments, " was his cry, as he shoved thewoman over the edge on to the treacherous slope. Three more men wereemerging from the brush. 

In the meantime, Billy had put Saxon in behind the protection of thepicnic table. Mary, who was hysterical, had evinced a desire to cling tohim, and he had sent her sliding across the top of the table to Saxon. 

"Come on, you flannel-mouths!" Bert yelled at the newcomers, himselfswept away by passion, his black eyes flashing wildly, his dark faceinflamed by the too-ready blood. "Come on, you cheap skates! Talk aboutGettysburg. We'll show you all the Americans ain't dead yet!"

"Shut your trap--we don't want a scrap with the girls here, " Billygrowled harshly, holding his position in front of the table. He turnedto the three rescuers, who were bewildered by the lack of anythingvisible to rescue. "Go on, sports. We don't want a row. You're in wrong. They ain't nothin' doin' in the fight line. We don't wanta fight--d'yeget me?"

They still hesitated, and Billy might have succeeded in avoiding troublehad not the man who had gone down the bank chosen that unfortunatemoment to reappear, crawling groggily on hands and knees and showing ableeding face. Again Bert reached him and sent him downslope, and theother three, with wild yells, sprang in on Billy, who punched, shiftedposition, ducked and punched, and shifted again ere he struck the thirdtime. His blows were clean end hard, scientifically delivered, with theweight of his body behind. 

Saxon, looking on, saw his eyes and learned more about him. She wasfrightened, but clear-seeing, and she was startled by the disappearanceof all depth of light and shadow in his eyes. They showed surfaceonly--a hard, bright surface, almost glazed, devoid of all expressionsave deadly seriousness. Bert's eyes showed madness. The eyes of theIrishmen were angry and serious, and yet not all serious. There was awayward gleam in them, as if they enjoyed the fracas. But in Billy'seyes was no enjoyment. It was as if he had certain work to do and haddoggedly settled down to do it. 

Scarcely more expression did she note in the face, though there wasnothing in common between it and the one she had seen all day. Theboyishness had vanished. This face was mature in a terrifying, agelessway. There was no anger in it, nor was it even pitiless. It seemed tohave glazed as hard and passionlessly as his eyes. Something came to herof her wonderful mother's tales of the ancient Saxons, and he seemed toher one of those Saxons, and she caught a glimpse, on the well of herconsciousness, of a long, dark boat, with a prow like the beak of a birdof prey, and of huge, half-naked men, wing-helmeted, and one of theirfaces, it seemed to her, was his face. She did not reason this. She feltit, and visioned it as by an unthinkable clairvoyance, and gasped, forthe flurry of war was over. It had lasted only seconds, Bert was dancingon the edge of the slippery slope and mocking the vanquished who hadslid impotently to the bottom. But Billy took charge. 

"Come on, you girls, " he commanded. "Get onto yourself, Bert. We got toget onta this. We can't fight an army. "

He led the retreat, holding Saxon's arm, and Bert, giggling andjubilant, brought up the rear with an indignant Mary who protestedvainly in his unheeding ears. 

For a hundred yards they ran and twisted through the trees, and then, no signs of pursuit appearing, they slowed down to a dignified saunter. Bert, the trouble-seeker, pricked his ears to the muffled sound of blowsand sobs, and stepped aside to investigate. 

"Oh! look what I've found!" he called. 

They joined him on the edge of a dry ditch and looked down. In thebottom were two men, strays from the fight, grappled together and stillfighting. They were weeping out of sheer fatigue and helplessness, and the blows they only occasionally struck were open-handed andineffectual. 

"Hey, you, sport--throw sand in his eyes, " Bert counseled. "That's it, blind him an' he's your'n. "

"Stop that!" Billy shouted at the man, who was following instructions, "Or I'll come down there an' beat you up myself. It's all over--d'ye getme? It's all over an' everybody's friends. Shake an' make up. The drinksare on both of you. That's right--here, gimme your hand an' I'll pullyou out. "

They left them shaking hands and brushing each other's clothes. 

"It soon will be over, " Billy grinned to Saxon. "I know 'em. Fight's funwith them. An' this big scrap's made the days howlin' success. What didI tell you!--look over at that table there. "

A group of disheveled men and women, still breathing heavily, wereshaking hands all around. 

"Come on, let's dance, " Mary pleaded, urging them in the direction ofthe pavilion. 

All over the park the warring bricklayers were shaking hands and makingup, while the open-air bars were crowded with the drinkers. 

Saxon walked very close to Billy. She was proud of him. He could fight, and he could avoid trouble. In all that had occurred he had strivento avoid trouble. And, also, consideration for her and Mary had beenuppermost in his mind. 

"You are brave, " she said to him. 

"It's like takin' candy from a baby, " he disclaimed. "They onlyrough-house. They don't know boxin'. They're wide open, an' all yougotta do is hit 'em. It ain't real fightin', you know. " With a troubled, boyish look in his eyes, he stared at his bruised knuckles. "An' I'llhave to drive team to-morrow with 'em, " he lamented. "Which ain't fun, I'm tellin' you, when they stiffen up. "

CHAPTER V

At eight o'clock the Al Vista band played "Home, Sweet Home, " and, following the hurried rush through the twilight to the picnic train, thefour managed to get double seats facing each other. When the aisles andplatforms were packed by the hilarious crowd, the train pulled out forthe short run from the suburbs into Oakland. All the car was singinga score of songs at once, and Bert, his head pillowed on Mary's breastwith her arms around him, started "On the Banks of the Wabash. " And hesang the song through, undeterred by the bedlam of two general fights, one on the adjacent platform, the other at the opposite end of the car, both of which were finally subdued by special policemen to the screamsof women and the crash of glass. 

Billy sang a lugubrious song of many stanzas about a cowboy, the refrainof which was, "Bury me out on the lone pr-rairie. "

"That's one you never heard before; my father used to sing it, " he toldSaxon, who was glad that it was ended. 

She had discovered the first flaw in him. He was tonedeaf. Not once hadhe been on the key. 

"I don't sing often, " he added. 

"You bet your sweet life he don't, " Bert exclaimed. "His friends'd killhim if he did. "

"They all make fun of my singin', " he complained to Saxon. "Honest, now, do you find it as rotten as all that?"

"It's. .. It's maybe flat a bit, " she admitted reluctantly. 

"It don't sound flat to me, " he protested. "It's a regular josh on me. I'll bet Bert put you up to it. You sing something now, Saxon. I bet yousing good. I can tell it from lookin' at you. "

She began "When the Harvest Days Are Over. " Bert and Mary joined in; butwhen Billy attempted to add his voice he was dissuaded by a shin-kickfrom Bert. Saxon sang in a clear, true soprano, thin but sweet, and shewas aware that she was singing to Billy. 

"Now THAT is singing what is, " he proclaimed, when she had finished. "Sing it again. Aw, go on. You do it just right. It's great. "

His hand slipped to hers and gathered it in, and as she sang again shefelt the tide of his strength flood warmingly through her. 

"Look at 'em holdin' hands, " Bert jeered. "Just a-holdin' handslike they was afraid. Look at Mary an' me. Come on an' kick in, youcold-feets. Get together. If you don't, it'll look suspicious. I got mysuspicions already. You're framin' somethin' up. "

There was no mistaking his innuendo, and Saxon felt her cheeks flaming. 

"Get onto yourself, Bert, " Billy reproved. 

"Shut up!" Mary added the weight of her indignation. "You'reawfully raw, Bert Wanhope, an' I won't have anything more to do withyou--there!"

She withdrew her arms and shoved him away, only to receive himforgivingly half a dozen seconds afterward. 

 "Come on, the four of us, " Bert went on irrepressibly. "Thenight's young. Let's make a time of it--Pabst's Cafe first, and thensome. What you say, Bill? What you say, Saxon? Mary's game. "

Saxon waited and wondered, half sick with apprehension of this manbeside her whom she had known so short a time. 

"Nope, " he said slowly. "I gotta get up to a hard day's work to-morrow, and I guess the girls has got to, too. "

Saxon forgave him his tone-deafness. Here was the kind of man she alwayshad known existed. It was for some such man that she had waited. She wastwenty-two, and her first marriage offer had come when she was sixteen. The last had occurred only the month before, from the foreman of thewashing-room, and he had been good and kind, but not young. But thisone beside her--he was strong and kind and good, and YOUNG. She was tooyoung herself not to desire youth. There would have been rest from fancystarch with the foreman, but there would have been no warmth. But thisman beside her. .. . She caught herself on the verge involuntarily ofpressing his hand that held hers. 

"No, Bert, don't tease he's right, " Mary was saying. "We've got to getsome sleep. It's fancy starch to-morrow, and all day on our feet. "

It came to Saxon with a chill pang that she was surely older than Billy. She stole glances at the smoothness of his face, and the essentialboyishness of him, so much desired, shocked her. Of course he wouldmarry some girl years younger than himself, than herself. How old washe? Could it be that he was too young for her? As he seemed to growinaccessible, she was drawn toward him more compellingly. He was sostrong, so gentle. She lived over the events of the day. There was noflaw there. He had considered her and Mary, always. And he had tornthe program up and danced only with her. Surely he had liked her, or hewould not have done it. 

She slightly moved her hand in his and felt the harsh contact of histeamster callouses. The sensation was exquisite. He, too, moved hishand, to accommodate the shift of hers, and she waited fearfully. Shedid not want him to prove like other men, and she could have hated himhad he dared to take advantage of that slight movement of her fingersand put his arm around her. He did not, and she flamed toward him. There was fineness in him. He was neither rattle-brained, like Bert, norcoarse like other men she had encountered. For she had had experiences, not nice, and she had been made to suffer by the lack of what was termedchivalry, though she, in turn, lacked that word to describe what shedivined and desired. 

And he was a prizefighter. The thought of it almost made her gasp. Yethe answered not at all to her conception of a prizefighter. But, then, he wasn't a prizefighter. He had said he was not. She resolved to askhim about it some time if. .. If he took her out again. Yet there waslittle doubt of that, for when a man danced with one girl a whole dayhe did not drop her immediately. Almost she hoped that he was aprizefighter. There was a delicious tickle of wickedness about it. Prizefighters were such terrible and mysterious men. In so far as theywere out of the ordinary and were not mere common workingmen such ascarpenters and laundrymen, they represented romance. Power also theyrepresented. They did not work for bosses, but spectacularly andmagnificently, with their own might, grappled with the great world andwrung splendid living from its reluctant hands. Some of them evenowned automobiles and traveled with a retinue of trainers and servants. Perhaps it had been only Billy's modesty that made him say he had quitfighting. And yet, there were the callouses on his hands. That showed hehad quit. 

CHAPTER VI

They said good-bye at the gate. Billy betrayed awkwardness that wassweet to Saxon. He was not one of the take-it-for-granted young men. There was a pause, while she feigned desire to go into the house, yetwaited in secret eagerness for the words she wanted him to say. 

"When am I goin' to see you again?" he asked, holding her hand in his. 

She laughed consentingly. 

"I live 'way up in East Oakland, " he explained. "You know there's wherethe stable is, an' most of our teaming is done in that section, so Idon't knock around down this way much. But, say--" His hand tightenedon hers. "We just gotta dance together some more. I'll tell you, theOrindore Club has its dance Wednesday. If you haven't a date--have you?"

"No, " she said. 

"Then Wednesday. What time'll I come for you?"

And when they had arranged the details, and he had agreed that sheshould dance some of the dances with the other fellows, and said goodnight again, his hand closed more tightly on hers and drew her towardhim. She resisted slightly, but honestly. It was the custom, but shefelt she ought not for fear he might misunderstand. And yet she wantedto kiss him as she had never wanted to kiss a man. When it came, herface upturned to his, she realized that on his part it was an honestkiss. There hinted nothing behind it. Rugged and kind as himself, itwas virginal almost, and betrayed no long practice in the art of sayinggood-bye. All men were not brutes after all, was her thought. 

"Good night, " she murmured; the gate screeched under her hand; andshe hurried along the narrow walk that led around to the corner of thehouse. 

"Wednesday, " he celled softly. 

"Wednesday, " she answered. 

But in the shadow of the narrow alley between the two houses she stoodstill and pleasured in the ring of his foot falls down the cementsidewalk. Not until they had quite died away did she go on. She creptup the back stairs and across the kitchen to her room, registering herthanksgiving that Sarah was asleep. 

She lighted the gas, and, as she removed the little velvet hat, she felther lips still tingling with the kiss. Yet it had meant nothing. It wasthe way of the young men. They all did it. But their good-night kisseshad never tingled, while this one tingled in her brain as wall as on herlip. What was it? What did it mean? With a sudden impulse she lookedat herself in the glass. The eyes were happy and bright. The color thattinted her cheeks so easily was in them and glowing. It was a prettyreflection, and she smiled, partly in joy, partly in appreciation, andthe smile grew at sight of the even rows of strong white teeth. Whyshouldn't Billy like that face? was her unvoiced query. Other men hadliked it. Other men did like it. Even the other girls admitted she wasa good-looker. Charley Long certainly liked it from the way he made lifemiserable for her. 

She glanced aside to the rim of the looking-glass where his photographwas wedged, shuddered, and made a moue of distaste. There was crueltyin those eyes, and brutishness. He was a brute. For a year, now, he hadbullied her. Other fellows were afraid to go with her. He warned themoff. She had been forced into almost slavery to his attentions. Sheremembered the young bookkeeper at the laundry--not a workingman, buta soft-handed, soft-voiced gentleman--whom Charley had beaten up atthe corner because he had been bold enough to come to take her to thetheater. And she had been helpless. For his own sake she had never daredaccept another invitation to go out with him. 

And now, Wednesday night, she was going with Billy. Billy! Her heartleaped. There would be trouble, but Billy would save her from him. She'dlike to see him try and beat Billy up. 

With a quick movement, she jerked the photograph from its niche andthrew it face down upon the chest of drawers. It fell beside a smallsquare case of dark and tarnished leather. With a feeling as ofprofanation she again seized the offending photograph and flung itacross the room into a corner. At the same time she picked up theleather case. Springing it open, she gazed at the daguerreotype of aworn little woman with steady gray eyes and a hopeful, pathetic mouth. Opposite, on the velvet lining, done in gold lettering, was, CARLTONFROM DAISY. She read it reverently, for it represented the father shehad never known, and the mother she had so little known, though shecould never forget that those wise sad eyes were gray. 

Despite lack of conventional religion, Saxon's nature was deeplyreligious. Her thoughts of God were vague and nebulous, and thereshe was frankly puzzled. She could not vision God. Here, in thedaguerreotype, was the concrete; much she had grasped from it, andalways there seemed an infinite more to grasp. She did not go to church. This was her high altar and holy of holies. She came to it in trouble, in loneliness, for counsel, divination, end comfort. In so far as shefound herself different from the girls of her acquaintance, she questedhere to try to identify her characteristics in the pictured face. Hermother had been different from other women, too. This, forsooth, meantto her what God meant to others. To this she strove to be true, and notto hurt nor vex. And how little she really knew of her mother, and ofhow much was conjecture and surmise, she was unaware; for it was throughmany years she had erected this mother-myth. 

Yet was it all myth? She resented the doubt with quick jealousy, and, opening the bottom drawer of the chest, drew forth a battered portfolio. Out rolled manuscripts, faded and worn, and arose a faint far scent ofsweet-kept age. The writing was delicate and curled, with the quaintfineness of half a century before. She read a stanza to herself:

"Sweet as a wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learned tosing, And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notes echoing. "

She wondered, for the thousandth time, what a windlute was; yet muchof beauty, much of beyondness, she sensed of this dimly rememberedbeautiful mother of hers. She communed a while, then unrolled a secondmanuscript. "To C. B. , " it read. To Carlton Brown, she knew, to herfather, a love-poem from her mother. Saxon pondered the opening lines:

"I have stolen away from the crowd in the groves, Where the nude statuesstand, and the leaves point and shiver At ivy-crowned Bacchus, the Queenof the Loves, Pandora and Psyche, struck voiceless forever. "

This, too, was beyond her. But she breathed the beauty of it. Bacchus, and Pandora and Psyche--talismans to conjure with! But alas! thenecromancy was her mother's. Strange, meaningless words that meant somuch! Her marvelous mother had known their meaning. Saxon spelledthe three words aloud, letter by letter, for she did not dare theirpronunciation; and in her consciousness glimmered august connotations, profound and unthinkable. Her mind stumbled and halted on thestar-bright and dazzling boundaries of a world beyond her world in whichher mother had roamed at will. Again and again, solemnly, she went overthe four lines. They were radiance and light to the world, haunted withphantoms of pain and unrest, in which she had her being. There, hiddenamong those cryptic singing lines, was the clue. If she could only graspit, all would be made clear. Of this she was sublimely confident. Shewould understand Sarah's sharp tongue, her unhappy brother, the crueltyof Charley Long, the justness of the bookkeeper's beating, the day-long, month-long, year-long toil at the ironing-board. 

She skipped a stanza that she knew was hopelessly beyond her, and triedagain:

 "The dusk of the greenhouse is luminous yet With quivers of opal and tremors of gold; For the sun is at rest, and the light from the west, Like delicate wine that is mellow and old, "Flushes faintly the brow of a naiad that stands In the spray of afountain, whose seed-amethysts Tremble lightly a moment on bosom andhands, Then dip in their basin from bosom and wrists. "

"It's beautiful, just beautiful, " she sighed. And then, appalled at thelength of all the poem, at the volume of the mystery, she rolled themanuscript and put it away. Again she dipped in the drawer, seeking theclue among the cherished fragments of her mother's hidden soul. 

This time it was a small package, wrapped in tissue paper and tied withribbon. She opened it carefully, with the deep gravity and circumstanceof a priest before an altar. Appeared a little red-satin Spanishgirdle, whale-boned like a tiny corset, pointed, the pioneer finery ofa frontier woman who had crossed the plains. It was hand-made after theCalifornia-Spanish model of forgotten days. The very whalebone had beenhome-shaped of the raw material from the whaleships traded for in hidesand tallow. The black lace trimming her mother had made. The tripleedging of black velvet strips--her mother's hands had sewn the stitches. 

Saxon dreamed over it in a maze of incoherent thought. This wasconcrete. This she understood. This she worshiped as man-created godshave been worshiped on less tangible evidence of their sojourn on earth. 

Twenty-two inches it measured around. She knew it out of manyverifications. She stood up and put it about her waist. This was part ofthe ritual. It almost met. In places it did meet. Without her dress itwould meet everywhere as it had met on her mother. Closest of all, thissurvival of old California-Ventura days brought Saxon in touch. Hers washer mother's form. Physically, she was like her mother. Her grit, herability to turn off work that was such an amazement to others, wereher mother's. Just so had her mother been an amazement to hergeneration--her mother, the toy-like creature, the smallest and theyoungest of the strapping pioneer brood, who nevertheless had motheredthe brood. Always it had been her wisdom that was sought, even by thebrothers and sisters a dozen years her senior. Daisy, it was, whohad put her tiny foot down and commanded the removal from the feverflatlands of Colusa to the healthy mountains of Ventura; who had backedthe savage old Indian-fighter of a father into a corner and fought theentire family that Vila might marry the man of her choice; who had flownin the face of the family and of community morality and demanded thedivorce of Laura from her criminally weak husband; and who on theother hand, had held the branches of the family together when onlymisunderstanding and weak humanness threatened to drive them apart. 

The peacemaker and the warrior! All the old tales trooped before Saxon'seyes. They were sharp with detail, for she had visioned them many times, though their content was of things she had never seen. So far as detailswere concerned, they were her own creation, for she had never seen anox, a wild Indian, nor a prairie schooner. Yet, palpitating and real, shimmering in the sun-flashed dust of ten thousand hoofs, she sawpass, from East to West, across a continent, the great hegira of theland-hungry Anglo-Saxon. It was part and fiber of her. She had beennursed on its traditions and its facts from the lips of those who hadtaken part. Clearly she saw the long wagon-train, the lean, gaunt menwho walked before, the youths goading the lowing oxen that fell andwere goaded to their feet to fall again. And through it all, a flyingshuttle, weaving the golden dazzling thread of personality, moved theform of her little, indomitable mother, eight years old, and nine erethe great traverse was ended, a necromancer and a law-giver, willing herway, and the way and the willing always good and right. 

Saxon saw Punch, the little, rough-coated Skye-terrier with the honesteyes (who had plodded for weary months), gone lame and abandoned; shesaw Daisy, the chit of a child, hide Punch in the wagon. She saw thesavage old worried father discover the added burden of the severalpounds to the dying oxen. She saw his wrath, as he held Punch bythe scruff of the neck. And she saw Daisy, between the muzzle of thelong-barreled rifle and the little dog. And she saw Daisy thereafter, through days of alkali and heat, walking, stumbling, in the dust of thewagons, the little sick dog, like a baby, in her arms. 

But most vivid of all, Saxon saw the fight at Little Meadow--and Daisy, dressed as for a gala day, in white, a ribbon sash about her waist, ribbons and a round-comb in her hair, in her hands small water-pails, step forth into the sunshine on the flower-grown open ground from thewagon circle, wheels interlocked, where the wounded screamed theirdelirium and babbled of flowing fountains, and go on, through thesunshine and the wonder-inhibition of the bullet-dealing Indians, ahundred yards to the waterhole and back again. 

Saxon kissed the little, red satin Spanish girdle passionately, andwrapped it up in haste, with dewy eyes, abandoning the mystery andgodhead of mother and all the strange enigma of living. 

In bed, she projected against her closed eyelids the few rich scenes ofher mother that her child-memory retained. It was her favorite wayof wooing sleep. She had done it all her life--sunk into thedeath-blackness of sleep with her mother limned to the last on herfading consciousness. But this mother was not the Daisy of the plainsnor of the daguerreotype. They had been before Saxon's time. This thatshe saw nightly was an older mother, broken with insomnia and bravewith sorrow, who crept, always crept, a pale, frail creature, gentleand unfaltering, dying from lack of sleep, living by will, and by willrefraining from going mad, who, nevertheless, could not will sleep, andwhom not even the whole tribe of doctors could make sleep. Crept--alwaysshe crept, about the house, from weary bed to weary chair and back againthrough long days and weeks of torment, never complaining, though herunfailing smile was twisted with pain, and the wise gray eyes, stillwise and gray, were grown unutterably larger and profoundly deep. 

But on this night Saxon did not win to sleep quickly; the littlecreeping mother came and went; and in the intervals the face of Billy, with the cloud-drifted, sullen, handsome eyes, burned against hereyelids. And once again, as sleep welled up to smother her, she put toherself the question IS THIS THE MAN?

CHAPTER VII

Tun work in the ironing-room slipped off, but the three days untilWednesday night were very long. She hummed over the fancy starch thatflew under the iron at an astounding rate. 

"I can't see how you do it, " Mary admired. "You'll make thirteen orfourteen this week at that rate. "

Saxon laughed, and in the steam from the iron she saw dancing goldenletters that spelled WEDNESDAY. 

"What do you think of Billy?" Mary asked. 

"I like him, " was the frank answer. 

"Well, don't let it go farther than that. "

"I will if I want to, " Saxon retorted gaily. 

"Better not, " came the warning. "You'll only make trouble for yourself. He ain't marryin'. Many a girl's found that out. They just throwthemselves at his head, too. "

"I'm not going to throw myself at him, or any other man. "

"Just thought I'd tell you, " Mary concluded. "A word to the wise. "

Saxon had become grave. 

"He's not. .. Not. .. " she began, than looked the significance of thequestion she could not complete. 

"Oh, nothin' like that--though there's nothin' to stop him. He'sstraight, all right, all right. But he just won't fall for anythingin skirts. He dances, an' runs around, an' has a good time, an' beyondthat--nitsky. A lot of 'em's got fooled on him. I bet you there's adozen girls in love with him right now. An' he just goes on turnin''em down. There was Lily Sanderson--you know her. You seen her at thatSlavonic picnic last summer at Shellmound--that tall, nice-lookin'blonde that was with Butch Willows?"

"Yes, I remember her, " Saxon sald. "What about her?"

"Well, she'd been runnin' with Butch Willows pretty steady, an' justbecause she could dance, Billy dances a lot with her. Butch ain't afraidof nothin'. He wades right in for a showdown, an' nails Billy outside, before everybody, an' reads the riot act. An' Billy listens in thatslow, sleepy way of his, an' Butch gets hotter an' hotter, an' everybodyexpects a scrap. 

"An' then Billy says to Butch, 'Are you done?' 'Yes, ' Butch says; 'I'vesaid my say, an' what are you goin' to do about it?' An' Billy says--an'what d'ye think he said, with everybody lookin' on an' Butch with bloodin his eye? Well, he said, 'I guess nothin', Butch. ' Just like that. Butch was that surprised you could knocked him over with a feather. 'An'never dance with her no more?' he says. 'Not if you say I can't, Butch, 'Billy says. Just like that. 

"Well, you know, any other man to take water the way he did fromButch--why, everybody'd despise him. But not Billy. You see, he canafford to. He's got a rep as a fighter, an' when he just stood back'an' let Butch have his way, everybody knew he wasn't scared, or backin'down, or anything. He didn't care a rap for Lily Sanderson, that wasall, an' anybody could see she was just crazy after him. "

The telling of this episode caused Saxon no little worry. Hers was theaverage woman's pride, but in the matter of man-conquering prowessshe was not unduly conceited. Billy had enjoyed her dancing, and shewondered if that were all. If Charley Long bullied up to him would helet her go as he had let Lily Sanderson go? He was not a marryingman; nor could Saxon blind her eyes to the fact that he was eminentlymarriageable. No wonder the girls ran after him. And he was aman-subduer as well as a woman-subduer. Men liked him. Bert Wanhopeseemed actually to love him. She remembered the Butchertown tough in thedining-room at Weasel Park who had come over to the table to apologize, and the Irishman at the tug-of-war who had abandoned all thought offighting with him the moment he learned his identity. 

A very much spoiled young man was a thought that flitted frequentlythrough Saxon's mind; and each time she condemned it as ungenerous. Hewas gentle in that tantalizing slow way of his. Despite his strength, he did not walk rough-shod over others. There was the affair with LilySanderson. Saxon analysed it again and again. He had not cared for thegirl, and he had immediately stepped from between her and Butch. It wasjust the thing that Bert, out of sheer wickedness and love of trouble, would not have done. There would have been a fight, hard feelings, Butchturned into an enemy, and nothing profited to Lily. But Billy had donethe right thing--done it slowly and imperturbably and with the leasthurt to everybody. All of which made him more desirable to Saxon andless possible. 

She bought another pair of silk stockings that she had hesitated atfor weeks, and on Tuesday night sewed and drowsed wearily over a newshirtwaist and earned complaint from Sarah concerning her extravagantuse of gas. 

Wednesday night, at the Orindore dance, was not all undiluted pleasure. It was shameless the way the girls made up to Billy, and, at times, Saxon found his easy consideration for them almost irritating. Yet shewas compelled to acknowledge to herself that he hurt none of the otherfellows' feelings in the way the girls hurt hers. They all but askedhim outright to dance with them, and little of their open pursuit of himescaped her eyes. She resolved that she would not be guilty of throwingherself at him, and withheld dance after dance, and yet was secretlyand thrillingly aware that she was pursuing the right tactics. Shedeliberately demonstrated that she was desirable to other men, as heinvoluntarily demonstrated his own desirableness to the women. 

Her happiness came when he coolly overrode her objections and insistedon two dances more than she had allotted him. And she was pleased, aswell as angered, when she chanced to overhear two of the strapping youngcannery girls. "The way that little sawed-off is monopolizin' him, " saidone. And the other: "You'd think she might have the good taste to runafter somebody of her own age. " "Cradle-snatcher, " was the final stingthat sent the angry blood into Saxon's cheeks as the two girls movedaway, unaware that they had been overheard. 

Billy saw her home, kissed her at the gate, and got her consent to gowith him to the dance at Germania Hall on Friday night. 

"I wasn't thinkin' of goin', " he sald. "But if you'll say the word. .. Bert's goin' to be there. "

Next day, at the ironing boards, Mary told her that she and Bert weredated for Germania Hall. 

"Are you goin'?" Mary asked. 

Saxon nodded. 

"Billy Roberts?"

The nod was repeated, and Mary, with suspended iron, gave her a long andcurions look. 

"Say, an' what if Charley Long butts in?"

Saxon shrugged her shoulders. 

They ironed swiftly and silently for a quarter of an hour. 

"Well, " Mary decided, "if he does butt in maybe he'll get his. I'd liketo see him get it--the big stiff! It all depends how Billy feels--aboutyou, I mean. "

"I'm no Lily Sanderson, " Saxon answered indignantly. "I'll never giveBilly Roberts a chance to turn me down. "

"You will, if Charley Long butts in. Take it from me, Saxon, he ain't nogentleman. Look what he done to Mr. Moody. That was a awful beatin'. An' Mr. Moody only a quiet little man that wouldn't harm a fly. Well, hewon't find Billy Roberts a sissy by a long shot. "

That night, outside the laundry entrance, Saxon found Charley Longwaiting. As he stepped forward to greet her and walk alongside, she feltthe sickening palpitation that he had so thoroughly taught her toknow. The blood ebbed from her face with the apprehension and fear hisappearance caused. She was afraid of the rough bulk of the man; of theheavy brown eyes, dominant and confident; of the big blacksmith-handsand the thick strong fingers with the hair-pads on the back to everyfirst joint. He was unlovely to the eye, and he was unlovely to all herfiner sensibilities. It was not his strength itself, but the quality ofit and the misuse of it, that affronted her. The beating he had giventhe gentle Mr. Moody had meant half-hours of horror to her afterward. Always did the memory of it come to her accompanied by a shudder. Andyet, without shock, she had seen Billy fight at Weasel Park in the sameprimitive man-animal way. But it had been different. She recognized, butcould not analyze, the difference. She was aware only of the brutishnessof this man's hands and mind. 

"You're lookin' white an' all beat to a frazzle, " he was saying. "Whydon't you cut the work? You got to some time, anyway. You can't lose me, kid. "

"I wish I could, " she replied. 

He laughed with harsh joviality. "Nothin' to it, Saxon. You're just cutout to be Mrs. Long, an' you're sure goin' to be. "

"I wish I was as certain about all things as you are, " she said withmild sarcasm that missed. 

"Take it from me, " he went on, "there's just one thing you can becertain of--an' that is that I am certain. " He was pleased with thecleverness of his idea and laughed approvingly. "When I go afteranything I get it, an' if anything gets in between it gets hurt. D'yeget that? It's me for you, an' that's all there is to it, so you mightas well make up your mind and go to workin' in my home instead of thelaundry. Why, it's a snap. There wouldn't be much to do. I make goodmoney, an' you wouldn't want for anything. You know, I just washed upfrom work an' skinned over here to tell it to you once more, so youwouldn't forget. I ain't ate yet, an' that shows how much I think ofyou. "

"You'd better go and eat then, " she advised, though she knew thefutility of attempting to get rid of him. 

She scarcely heard what he said. It had come upon her suddenly that shewas very tired and very small and very weak alongside this colossus ofa man. Would he dog her always? she asked despairingly, and seemed toglimpse a vision of all her future life stretched out before her, withalways the form and face of the burly blacksmith pursuing her. 

"Come on, kid, an' kick in, " he continued. "It's the good old summertime, an' that's the time to get married. "

"But I'm not going to marry you, " she protested. "I've told you athousand times already. "

"Aw, forget it. You want to get them ideas out of your think-box. Ofcourse, you're goin' to marry me. It's a pipe. An' I'll tell you anotherpipe. You an' me's goin' acrost to Frisco Friday night. There's goin' tobe big doin's with the Horseshoers. "

"Only I'm not, " she contradicted. 

"Oh, yes you are, " he asserted with absolute assurance. "We'll catch thelast boat back, an' you'll have one fine time. An' I'll put you nextto some of the good dancers. Oh, I ain't a pincher, an' I know you likedancin'. "

"But I tell you I can't, " she reiterated. 

He shot a glance of suspicion at her from under the black thatch ofbrows that met above his nose and were as one brow. 

"Why can't you?"

"A date, " she said. 

"Who's the bloke?"

"None of your business, Charley Long. I've got a date, that's all. "

"I'll make it my business. Remember that lah-de-dah bookkeeper rummy?Well, just keep on rememberin' him an' what he got. "

"I wish you'd leave me alone, " she pleaded resentfully. "Can't you bekind just for once?"

The blacksmith laughed unpleasantly. 

"If any rummy thinks he can butt in on you an' me, he'll learndifferent, an' I'm the little boy that'll learn 'm. --Friday night, eh?Where?"

"I won't tell you. "

"Where?" he repeated. 

Her lips were drawn in tight silence, and in her cheeks were littleangry spots of blood. 

"Huh!--As if I couldn't guess! Germania Hall. Well, I'll be there, an'I'll take you home afterward. D'ye get that? An' you'd better tell therummy to beat it unless you want to see'm get his face hurt. "

Saxon, hurt as a prideful woman can be hurt by cavalier treatment, wastempted to cry out the name and prowess of her new-found protector. Andthen came fear. This was a big man, and Billy was only a boy. That wasthe way he affected her. She remembered her first impression of hishands and glanced quickly at the hands of the man beside her. Theyseemed twice as large as Billy's, and the mats of hair seemed toadvertise a terrible strength. No, Billy could not fight this big brute. He must not. And then to Saxon came a wicked little hope that by themysterious and unthinkable ability that prizefighters possessed, Billymight be able to whip this bully and rid her of him. With the nextglance doubt came again, for her eye dwelt on the blacksmith's broadshoulders, the cloth of the coat muscle-wrinkled and the sleeves bulgingabove the biceps. 

"If you lay a hand on anybody I'm going with again---" she began. 

"Why, they'll get hurt, of course, " Long grinned. "And they'll deserveit, too. Any rummy that comes between a fellow an' his girl ought to gethurt. "

"But I'm not your girl, and all your saying so doesn't make it so. "

"That's right, get mad, " he approved. "I like you for that, too. You'vegot spunk an' fight. I like to see it. It's what a man needs in hiswife--and not these fat cows of women. They're the dead ones. Now you'rea live one, all wool, a yard long and a yard wide. "

She stopped before the house and put her hand on the gate. 

"Good-bye, " she said. "I'm going in. "

"Come on out afterward for a run to Idora Park, " he suggested. 

"No, I'm not feeling good, and I'm going straight to bed as soon as Ieat supper. "

"Huh!" he sneered. "Gettin' in shape for the fling to-morrow night, eh?"

With an impatient movement she opened the gate and stepped inside. 

"I've given it to you straight, " he went on. "If you don't go with meto-morrow night somebody'll get hurt. "

"I hope it will be you, " she cried vindictively. 

He laughed as he threw his head back, stretched his big chest, andhalf-lifted his heavy arms. The action reminded her disgustingly of agreat ape she had once seen in a circus. 

"Well, good-bye, " he said. "See you to-morrow night at Germania Hall. "

"I haven't told you it was Germania Hall. "

"And you haven't told me it wasn't. All the same, I'll be there. AndI'll take you home, too. Be sure an' keep plenty of round dances openfer me. That's right. Get mad. It makes you look fine. "

CHAPTER VIII

The music stopped at the end of the waltz, leaving Billy and Saxon atthe big entrance doorway of the ballroom. Her hand rested lightly onhis arm, and they were promenading on to find seats, when Charley Long, evidently just arrived, thrust his way in front of them. 

"So you're the buttinsky, eh?" he demanded, his face malignant withpassion and menace. 

"Who?--me?" Billy queried gently. "Some mistake, sport. I never buttin. "

"You're goin' to get your head beaten off if you don't make yourselfscarce pretty lively. "

"I wouldn't want that to happen for the world, " Billy drawled. "Come on, Saxon. This neighborhood's unhealthy for us. "

He started to go on with her, but Long thrust in front again. 

"You're too fresh to keep, young fellow, " he snarled. "You need saltin'down. D'ye get me?"

Billy scratched his head, on his face exaggerated puzzlement. 

"No, I don't get you, " he said. "Now just what was it you said?"

But the big blacksmith turned contemptuously away from him to Saxon. 

"Come here, you. Let's see your program. "

"Do you want to dance with him?" Billy asked. 

She shook her head. 

"Sorry, sport, nothin' doin', " Billy said, again making to start on. 

For the third time the blacksmith blocked the way. 

"Get off your foot, " said Billy. "You're standin' on it. "

Long all but sprang upon him, his hands clenched, one arm just startingback for the punch while at the same instant shoulders and chest werecoming forward. But he restrained himself at sight of Billy's unstartledbody and cold and cloudy ayes. He had made no move of mind or muscle. It was as if he were unaware of the threatened attack. All of whichconstituted a new thing in Long's experience. 

"Maybe you don't know who I am, " he bullied. 

"Yep, I do, " Billy answered airily. "You're a record-breaker atrough-housin'. " (Here Long's face showed pleasure. ) "You ought to havethe Police Gazette diamond belt for rough-bousin' baby buggies'. I guessthere ain't a one you're afraid to tackle. "

"Leave 'm alone, Charley, " advised one of the young men who had crowdedabout them. "He's Bill Roberts, the fighter. You know'm. Big Bill. "

"I don't care if he's Jim Jeffries. He can't butt in on me this way. "

Nevertheless it was noticeable, even to Saxon, that the fire had goneout of his fierceness. Billy's name seemed to have a quieting effect onobstreperous males. 

"Do you know him?" Billy asked her. 

She signified yes with her eyes, though it seemed she must cry out athousand things against this man who so steadfastly persecuted her. Billy turned to the blacksmith. 

"Look here, sport, you don't want trouble with me. I've got your number. Besides, what do we want to fight for? Hasn't she got a say so in thematter?"

"No, she hasn't. This is my affair an' yourn. "

Billy shook his head slowly. "No; you're in wrong. I think she has a sayin the matter. "

"Well, say it then, " Long snarled at Saxon, "who're you goin' to gowith?--me or him? Let's get it settled. "

For reply, Saxon reached her free hand over to the hand that rested onBilly's arm. 

"Nuff said, " was Billy's remark. 

Long glared at Saxon, then transferred the glare to her protector. 

"I've a good mind to mix it with you anyway, " Long gritted through histeeth. 

Saxon was elated as they started to move away. Lily Sanderson's fate hadnot been hers, and her wonderful man-boy, without the threat of a blow, slow of speech and imperturbable, had conquered the big blacksmith. 

"He's forced himself upon me all the time, " she whispered to Billy. "He's tried to run me, and beaten up every man that came near me. Inever want to see him again. "

Billy halted immediately. Long, who was reluctantly moving to get out ofthe way, also halted. 

"She says she don't want anything more to do with you, " Billy said tohim. "An' what she says goes. If I get a whisper any time that you'vebeen botherin' her, I'll attend to your case. D'ye get that?"

Long glowered and remained silent. 

"D'ye get that?" Billy repeated, more imperatively. 

A growl of assent came from the blacksmith

"All right, then. See you remember it. An' now get outa the way or I'llwalk over you. "

Long slunk back, muttering inarticulate threats, and Saxon moved on asin a dream. Charley Long had taken water. He had been afraid of thissmooth-skinned, blue-eyed boy. She was quit of him--something no otherman had dared attempt for her. And Billy had liked her better than LilySanderson. 

Twice Saxon tried to tell Billy the details of her acquaintance withLong, but each time was put off. 

"I don't care a rap about it, " Billy said the second time. "You're here, ain't you?"

But she insisted, and when, worked up and angry by the recital, she hadfinished, he patted her hand soothingly. 

"It's all right, Saxon, " he said. "He's just a big stiff. I took hismeasure as soon as I looked at him. He won't bother you again. I knowhis kind. He's a dog. Roughhouse? He couldn't rough-house a milk wagon. "

"But how do you do it?" she asked breathlessly. "Why are men so afraidof you? You're just wonderful. "

He smiled in an embarrassed way and changed the subject. 

"Say, " he said, "I like your teeth. They're so white an' regular, an'not big, an' not dinky little baby's teeth either. They're . .. They'rejust right, an' they fit you. I never seen such fine teeth on a girlyet. D'ye know, honest, they kind of make me hungry when I look at 'em. They're good enough to eat. "

At midnight, leaving the insatiable Bert and Mary still dancing, Billyand Saxon started for home. It was on his suggestion that they leftearly, and he felt called upon to explain. 

"It's one thing the fightin' game's taught me, " he said. "To take careof myself. A fellow can't work all day and dance all night and keep incondition. It's the same way with drinkin'--an' not that I'm a littletin angel. I know what it is. I've been soused to the guards an' all therest of it. I like my beer--big schooners of it; but I don't drink allI want of it. I've tried, but it don't pay. Take that big stiff to-nightthat butted in on us. He ought to had my number. He's a dog anyway, butbesides he had beer bloat. I sized that up the first rattle, an' that'sthe difference about who takes the other fellow's number. Condition, that's what it is. "

"But he is so big, " Saxon protested. "Why, his fists are twice as big asyours. "

"That don't mean anything. What counts is what's behind the fists. He'dturn loose like a buckin' bronco. If I couldn't drop him at the start, all I'd do is to keep away, smother up, an' wait. An' all of a suddenhe'd blow up--go all to pieces, you know, wind, heart, everything, andthen I'd have him where I wanted him. And the point is he knows it, too. "

"You're the first prizefighter I ever knew, " Saxon said, after a pause. 

"I'm not any more, " he disclaimed hastily. "That's one thing thefightin' game taught me--to leave it alone. It don't pay. A fellowtrains as fine as silk--till he's all silk, his skin, everything, andhe's fit to live for a hundred years; an' then he climbs through theropes for a hard twenty rounds with some tough customer that's just asgood as he is, and in those twenty rounds he frazzles out all his silkan' blows in a year of his life. Yes, sometimes he blows in five yearsof it, or cuts it in half, or uses up all of it. I've watched 'em. I'veseen fellows strong as bulls fight a hard battle and die inside the yearof consumption, or kidney disease, or anything else. Now what's the goodof it? Money can't buy what they throw away. That's why I quit the gameand went back to drivin' team. I got my silk, an' I'm goin' to keep it, that's all. "

"It must make you feel proud to know you are the master of other men, "she said softly, aware herself of pride in the strength and skill ofhim. 

"It does, " he admitted frankly. "I'm glad I went into the game--just asglad as I am that I pulled out of it. .. . Yep, it's taught me a lot--tokeep my eyes open an' my head cool. Oh, I've got a temper, a peach of atemper. I get scared of myself sometimes. I used to be always breakin'loose. But the fightin' taught me to keep down the steam an' not dothings I'd be sorry for afterward. "

"Why, you're the sweetest, easiest tempered man I know, " sheinterjected. 

"Don't you believe it. Just watch me, and sometime you'll see me breakout that bad that I won't know what I'm doin' myself. Oh, I'm a holyterror when I get started!"

This tacit promise of continued acquaintance gave Saxon a littlejoy-thrill. 

"Say, " he said, as they neared her neighborhood, "what are you doin'next Sunday?"

"Nothing. No plans at all. "

"Well, suppose you an' me go buggy-riding all day out in the hills?"

She did not answer immediately, and for the moment she was seeing thenightmare vision of her last buggy-ride; of her fear and her leap fromthe buggy; and of the long miles and the stumbling through the darknessin thin-soled shoes that bruised her feet on every rock. And then itcame to her with a great swell of joy that this man beside her was notsuch a man. 

"I love horses, " she said. "I almost love them better than I do dancing, only I don't know anything about them. My father rode a great roanwar-horse. He was a captain of cavalry, you know. I never saw him, butsomehow I always can see him on that big horse, with a sash around hiswaist and his sword at his side. My brother George has the sword now, but Tom--he's the brother I live with says it is mine because it wasn'this father's. You see, they're only my half-brothers. I was the onlychild by my mother's second marriage. That was her real marriage--herlove-marriage, I mean. "

Saxon ceased abruptly, embarrassed by her own garrulity; and yet theimpulse was strong to tell this young man all about herself, and itseemed to her that these far memories were a large part of her. 

"Go on an' tell me about it, " Billy urged. "I like to hear about the oldpeople of the old days. My people was along in there, too, an' somehowI think it was a better world to live in than now. Things was moresensible and natural. I don't exactly say what I mean. But it's likethis: I don't understand life to-day. There's the labor unions an'employers' associations, an' strikes', an' hard times, an' huntin'for jobs, an' all the rest. Things wasn't like that in the old days. Everybody farmed, an' shot their meat, an' got enough to eat, an'took care of their old folks. But now it's all a mix-up that I can'tunderstand. Mebbe I'm a fool, I don't know. But, anyway, go ahead an'tell us about your mother. "

"Well, you see, when she was only a young woman she and Captain Brownfell in love. He was a soldier then, before the war. And he was orderedEast for the war when she was away nursing her sister Laura. And thencame the news that he was killed at Shiloh. And she married a man whohad loved her for years and years. He was a boy in the same wagon-traincoming across the plains. She liked him, but she didn't love him. Andafterward came the news that my father wasn't killed after all. So itmade her very sad, but it did not spoil her life. She was a good motherend a good wife and all that, but she was always sad, and sweet, andgentle, and I think her voice was the most beautiful in the world. "

"She was game, all right, " Billy approved. 

"And my father never married. He loved her all the time. I've got alovely poem home that she wrote to him. It's just wonderful, and itsings like music. Well, long, long afterward her husband died, and thenshe and my father made their love marriage. They didn't get marrieduntil 1882, and she was pretty well along. "

More she told him, as they stood by the gate, and Saxon tried to thinkthat the good-bye kiss was a trifle longer than just ordinary. 

"How about nine o'clock?" he queried across the gate. "Don't botherabout lunch or anything. I'll fix all that up. You just be ready atnine. "

CHAPTER IX

Sunday morning Saxon was beforehand in getting ready, and on herreturn to the kitchen from her second journey to peep through the frontwindows, Sarah began her customary attack. 

"It's a shame an' a disgrace the way some people can afford silkstockings, " she began. "Look at me, a-toilin' and a-stewin' day an'night, and I never get silk stockings--nor shoes, three pairs of themall at one time. But there's a just God in heaven, and there'll be somemighty big surprises for some when the end comes and folks get passedout what's comin' to them. "

Tom, smoking his pipe and cuddling his youngest-born on his knees, dropped an eyelid surreptitiously on his cheek in token that Sarah wasin a tantrum. Saxon devoted herself to tying a ribbon in the hair of oneof the little girls. Sarah lumbered heavily about the kitchen, washingand putting away the breakfast dishes. She straightened her back fromthe sink with a groan and glared at Saxon with fresh hostility. 

"You ain't sayin' anything, eh? An' why don't you? Because I guess youstill got some natural shame in you a-runnin' with a prizefighter. Oh, I've heard about your goings-on with Bill Roberts. A nice specimen heis. But just you wait till Charley Long gets his hands on him, that'sall. "

"Oh, I don't know, " Tom intervened. "Bill Roberts is a pretty good boyfrom what I hear. "

Saxon smiled with superior knowledge, and Sarah, catching her, wasinfuriated. 

"Why don't you marry Charley Long? He's crazy for you, and he ain't adrinkin' man. "

"I guess he gets outside his share of beer, " Saxon retorted. 

"That's right, " her brother supplemented. "An' I know for a fact that hekeeps a keg in the house all the time as well. "

"Maybe you've been guzzling from it, " Sarah snapped. 

"Maybe I have, " Tom said, wiping his mouth reminiscently with the backof his hand. 

"Well, he can afford to keep a keg in the house if he wants to, " shereturned to the attack, which now was directed at her husband as well. "He pays his bills, and he certainly makes good money--better than mostmen, anyway. "

"An' he hasn't a wife an' children to watch out for, " Tom said. 

"Nor everlastin' dues to unions that don't do him no good. "

"Oh, yes, he has, " Tom urged genially. "Blamed little he'd work in thatshop, or any other shop in Oakland, if he didn't keep in good standingwith the Blacksmiths. You don't understand labor conditions, Sarah. Theunions have got to stick, if the men aren't to starve to death. "

"Oh, of course not, " Sarah sniffed. "I don't understand anything. I ain't got a mind. I'm a fool, an' you tell me so right before thechildren. " She turned savagely on her eldest, who startled and shrankaway. "Willie, your mother is a fool. Do you get that? Your father saysshe's a fool--says it right before her face and yourn. She's just aplain fool. Next he'll be sayin' she's crazy an' puttin' her away inthe asylum. An' how will you like that, Willie? How will you like to seeyour mother in a straitjacket an' a padded cell, shut out from the lightof the sun an' beaten like a nigger before the war, Willie, beaten an'clubbed like a regular black nigger? That's the kind of a father you'vegot, Willie. Think of it, Willie, in a padded cell, the mother thatbore you, with the lunatics screechin' an' screamin' all around, an' thequick-lime eatin' into the dead bodies of them that's beaten to death bythe cruel wardens--"

She continued tirelessly, painting with pessimistic strokes the growingblack future her husband was meditating for her, while the boy, fearfulof some vague, incomprehensible catastrophe, began to weep silently, with a pendulous, trembling underlip. Saxon, for the moment, lostcontrol of herself. 

"Oh, for heaven's sake, can't we be together five minutes withoutquarreling?" she blazed. 

Sarah broke off from asylum conjurations and turned upon hersister-in-law. 

"Who's quarreling? Can't I open my head without bein' jumped on by thetwo of you?"

Saxon shrugged her shoulders despairingly, and Sarah swung about on herhusband. 

"Seein' you love your sister so much better than your wife, why did youwant to marry me, that's borne your children for you, an' slaved foryou, an' toiled for you, an' worked her fingernails off for you, withno thanks, an 'insultin' me before the children, an' sayin' I'm crazyto their faces. An' what have you ever did for me? That's what I want toknow--me, that's cooked for you, an' washed your stinkin' clothes, and fixed your socks, an' sat up nights with your brats when they wasailin'. Look at that!"

She thrust out a shapeless, swollen foot, encased in a monstrous, untended shoe, the dry, raw leather of which showed white on the edgesof bulging cracks. 

"Look at that! That's what I say. Look at that!" Her voice waspersistently rising and at the same time growing throaty. "The onlyshoes I got. Me. Your wife. Ain't you ashamed? Where are my three pairs?Look at that stockin'. "

Speech failed her, and she sat down suddenly on a chair at the table, glaring unutterable malevolence and misery. She arose with the abruptstiffness of an automaton, poured herself a cup of cold coffee, andin the same jerky way sat down again. As if too hot for her lips, she filled her saucer with the greasy-looking, nondescript fluid, andcontinued her set glare, her breast rising and falling with staccato, mechanical movement. 

"Now, Sarah, be c'am, be c'am, " Tom pleaded anxiously. 

In response, slowly, with utmost deliberation, as if the destiny ofempires rested on the certitude of her act, she turned the saucer ofcoffee upside down on the table. She lifted her right hand, slowly, hugely, and in the same slow, huge way landed the open palm with asounding slap on Tom's astounded cheek. Immediately thereafter sheraised her voice in the shrill, hoarse, monotonous madness of hysteria, sat down on the floor, and rocked back and forth in the throes of anabysmal grief. 

Willie's silent weeping turned to noise, and the two little girls, withthe fresh ribbons in their hair, joined him. Tom's face was drawn andwhite, though the smitten cheek still blazed, and Saxon wanted to puther arms comfortingly around him, yet dared not. He bent over his wife. 

"Sarah, you ain't feelin' well. Let me put you to bed, and I'll finishtidying up. "

"Don't touch me!--don't touch me!" she screamed, jerking violently awayfrom him. 

"Take the children out in the yard, Tom, for a walk, anything--get themaway, " Saxon said. She was sick, and white, and trembling. "Go, Tom, please, please. There's your hat. I'll take care of her. I know justhow. "

Left to herself, Saxon worked with frantic haste, assuming the calm shedid not possess, but which she must impart to the screaming bedlamiteupon the floor. The light frame house leaked the noise hideously, andSaxon knew that the houses on either side were hearing, and the streetitself and the houses across the street. Her fear was that Billy shouldarrive in the midst of it. Further, she was incensed, violated. Everyfiber rebelled, almost in a nausea; yet she maintained cool control andstroked Sarah's forehead and hair with slow, soothing movements. Soon, with one arm around her, she managed to win the first diminution inthe strident, atrocious, unceasing scream. A few minutes later, sobbingheavily, the elder woman lay in bed, across her forehead and eyes awet-pack of towel for easement of the headache she and Saxon tacitlyaccepted as substitute for the brain-storm. 

When a clatter of hoofs came down the street and stopped, Saxon was ableto slip to the front door and wave her hand to Billy. In the kitchen shefound Tom waiting in sad anxiousness. 

"It's all right, " she said. "Billy Roberts has come, and I've got to go. You go in and sit beside her for a while, and maybe she'll go to sleep. But don't rush her. Let her have her own way. If she'll let you take herhand, why do it. Try it, anyway. But first of all, as an opener and justas a matter of course, start wetting the towel over her eyes. "

He was a kindly, easy-going man; but, after the way of a largepercentage of the Western stock, he was undemonstrative. He nodded, turned toward the door to obey, and paused irresolutely. The look hegave back to Saxon was almost dog-like in gratitude and all-brotherly inlove. She felt it, and in spirit leapt toward it. 

"It's all right--everything's all right, " she cried hastily. 

Tom shook his head. 

"No, it ain't. It's a shame, a blamed shame, that's what it is. " Heshrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I don't care for myself. But it's for you. You got your life before you yet, little kid sister. You'll get old, and all that means, fast enough. But it's a bad start for a day off. The thing for you to do is to forget all this, and skin out with yourfellow, an' have a good time. " In the open door, his hand on the knobto close it after him, he halted a second time. A spasm contracted hisbrow. "Hell! Think of it! Sarah and I used to go buggy-riding once ona time. And I guess she had her three pairs of shoes, too. Can you beatit?"

In her bedroom Saxon completed her dressing, for an instant steppingupon a chair so as to glimpse critically in the small wall-mirrorthe hang of her ready-made linen skirt. This, and the jacket, she hadaltered to fit, and she had double-stitched the seams to achieve thecoveted tailored effect. Still on the chair, all in the moment of quickclear-seeing, she drew the skirt tightly back and raised it. The sightwas good to her, nor did she under-appraise the lines of the slenderankle above the low tan tie nor did she under-appraise the delicateyet mature swell of calf outlined in the fresh brown of a new cottonstocking. Down from the chair, she pinned on a firm sailor hat of whitestraw with a brown ribbon around the crown that matched her ribbon belt. She rubbed her cheeks quickly and fiercely to bring back the color Sarahhad driven out of them, and delayed a moment longer to put on her tanlisle-thread gloves. Once, in the fashion-page of a Sunday supplement, she had read that no lady ever put on her gloves after she left thedoor. 

With a resolute self-grip, as she crossed the parlor and passed thedoor to Sarah's bedroom, through the thin wood of which came elephantinemoanings and low slubberings, she steeled herself to keep the color inher cheeks and the brightness in her eyes. And so well did she succeedthat Billy never dreamed that the radiant, live young thing, trippinglightly down the steps to him, had just come from a bout withsoul-sickening hysteria and madness. 

To her, in the bright sun, Billy's blondness was startling. His cheeks, smooth as a girl's, were touched with color. The blue eyes seemed morecloudily blue than usual, and the crisp, sandy hair hinted more thanever of the pale straw-gold that was not there. Never had she seen himquite so royally young. As he smiled to greet her, with a slow whiteflash of teeth from between red lips, she caught again the promiseof easement and rest. Fresh from the shattering chaos of hersister-in-law's mind, Billy's tremendous calm was especially satisfying, and Saxon mentally laughed to scorn the terrible temper he had chargedto himself. 

She had been buggy-riding before, but always behind one horse, jaded, and livery, in a top-buggy, heavy and dingy, such as livery stablesrent because of sturdy unbreakableness. But here stood two horses, head-tossing and restless, shouting in every high-light glint of theirsatin, golden-sorrel coats that they had never been rented out inall their glorious young lives. Between them was a pole inconceivablyslender, on them were harnesses preposterously string-like and fragile. And Billy belonged here, by elemental right, a part of them and of it, a master-part and a component, along with the spidery-delicate, narrow-boxed, wide- and yellow-wheeled, rubber-tired rig, efficient andcapable, as different as he was different from the other man who hadtaken her out behind stolid, lumbering horses. He held the reins inone hand, yet, with low, steady voice, confident and assuring, held thenervous young animals more by the will and the spirit of him. 

It was no time for lingering. With the quick glance and fore-knowledgeof a woman, Saxon saw, not merely the curious children clustering about, but the peering of adult faces from open doors and windows, and pastwindow-shades lifted up or held aside. With his free hand, Billydrew back the linen robe and helped her to a place beside him. Thehigh-backed, luxuriously upholstered seat of brown leather gave hera sense of great comfort; yet even greater, it seemed to her, was thenearness and comfort of the man himself and of his body. 

"How d'ye like 'em?" he asked, changing the reins to both hands andchirruping the horses, which went out with a jerk in an immediacy ofaction that was new to her. "They're the boss's, you know. Couldn't rentanimals like them. He lets me take them out for exercise sometimes. Ifthey ain't exercised regular they're a handful. --Look at King, there, prancin'. Some style, eh? Some style! The other one's the real goods, though. Prince is his name. Got to have some bit on him to hold'm. --Ah!Would you?--Did you see'm, Saxon? Some horse! Some horse!"

From behind came the admiring cheer of the neighborhood children, andSaxon, with a sigh of content, knew that the happy day had at lastbegun. 

CHAPTER X

"I don't know horses, " Saxon said. "I've never been on one's back, and the only ones I've tried to drive were single, and lame, or almostfalling down, or something. But I'm not afraid of horses. I just lovethem. I was born loving them, I guess. "

Billy threw an admiring, appreciative glance at her. 

"That's the stuff. That's what I like in a woman--grit. Some of thegirls I've had out--well, take it from me, they made me sick. Oh, I'mhep to 'em. Nervous, an' trembly, an' screechy, an' wabbly. I reckonthey come out on my account an' not for the ponies. But me for the bravekid that likes the ponies. You're the real goods, Saxon, honest to Godyou are. Why, I can talk like a streak with you. The rest of 'em make mesick. I'm like a clam. They don't know nothin', an' they're that scaredall the time--well, I guess you get me"

"You have to be born to love horses, maybe, " she answered. "Maybe it'sbecause I always think of my father on his roan war-horse that makes melove horses. But, anyway, I do. When I was a little girl I was drawinghorses all the time. My mother always encouraged me. I've a scrapbookmostly filled with horses I drew when I was little. Do you know, Billy, sometimes I dream I actually own a horse, all my own. And lots of timesI dream I'm on a horse's back, or driving him. "

"I'll let you drive 'em, after a while, when they've worked their edgeoff. They're pullin' now. --There, put your hands in front of mine--takehold tight. Feel that? Sure you feel it. An' you ain't feelin' it all bya long shot. I don't dast slack, you bein' such a lightweight. "

Her eyes sparkled as she felt the apportioned pull of the mouths of thebeautiful, live things; and he, looking at her, sparkled with her in herdelight. 

"What's the good of a woman if she can't keep up with a man?" he brokeout enthusiastically. 

"People that like the same things always get along best together, " sheanswered, with a triteness that concealed the joy that was hers at beingso spontaneously in touch with him. 

"Why, Saxon, I've fought battles, good ones, frazzlin' my silk awayto beat the band before whisky-soaked, smokin' audiences of rottenfight-fans, that just made me sick clean through. An' them, thatcouldn't take just one stiff jolt or hook to jaw or stomach, a-cheerin'me an' yellin' for blood. Blood, mind you! An' them without the blood ofa shrimp in their bodies. Why, honest, now, I'd sooner fight before anaudience of one--you for instance, or anybody I liked. It'd do me proud. But them sickenin', sap-headed stiffs, with the grit of rabbits and thesilk of mangy ky-yi's, a-cheerin' me--ME! Can you blame me for quittin'the dirty game?--Why, I'd sooner fight before broke-down old plugs ofwork-horses that's candidates for chicken-meat, than before them rottenbunches of stiffs with nothin' thicker'n water in their veins, an'Contra Costa water at that when the rains is heavy on the hills. "

"I. .. I didn't know prizefighting was like that, " she faltered, as shereleased her hold on the lines and sank back again beside him. 

"It ain't the fightin', it's the fight-crowds, " he defended with instantjealousy. "Of course, fightin' hurts a young fellow because it frazzlesthe silk outa him an' all that. But it's the low-lifers in the audiencethat gets me. Why the good things they say to me, the praise an'that, is insulting. Do you get me? It makes me cheap. Think ofit--booze-guzzlin' stiffs that 'd be afraid to mix it with a sick cat, not fit to hold the coat of any decent man, think of them a-standin' upon their hind legs an' yellin' an' cheerin' me--ME!"

"Ha! ha! What d'ye think of that? Ain't he a rogue?"

A big bulldog, sliding obliquely and silently across the street, unconcerned with the team he was avoiding, had passed so close thatPrince, baring his teeth like a stallion, plunged his head down againstreins and check in an effort to seize the dog. 

"Now he's some fighter, that Prince. An' he's natural. He didn't makethat reach just for some low-lifer to yell'm on. He just done it outapure cussedness and himself. That's clean. That's right. Because it'snatural. But them fight-fans! Honest to God, Saxon. .. . "

And Saxon, glimpsing him sidewise, as he watched the horses and theirway on the Sunday morning streets, checking them back suddenly andswerving to avoid two boys coasting across street on a toy wagon, sawin him deeps and intensities, all the magic connotations of temperament, the glimmer and hint of rages profound, bleaknesses as cold and far asthe stars, savagery as keen as a wolf's and clean as a stallion's, wrathas implacable as a destroying angel's, and youth that was fire and lifebeyond time and place. She was awed and fascinated, with the hunger ofwoman bridging the vastness to him, daring to love him with arms andbreast that ached to him, murmuring to herself and through all the hallsof her soul, "You dear, you dear. "

"Honest to God, Saxon, " he took up the broken thread, "they's timeswhen I've hated them, when I wanted to jump over the ropes and wade intothem, knock-down and drag-out, an' show'm what fightin' was. Take thatnight with Billy Murphy. Billy Murphy!--if you only knew him. My friend. As clean an' game a boy as ever jumped inside the ropes to take thedecision. Him! We went to the Durant School together. We grew up chums. His fight was my fight. My trouble was his trouble. We both took to thefightin' game. They matched us. Not the first time. Twice we'd foughtdraws. Once the decision was his; once it was mine. The fifth fight oftwo lovin' men that just loved each other. He's three years older'n me. He's a wife and two or three kids, an' I know them, too. And he's myfriend. Get it?

"I'm ten pounds heavier--but with heavyweights that 'a all right. Hecan't time an' distance as good as me, an' I can keep set better, too. But he's cleverer an' quicker. I never was quick like him. We both cantake punishment, an' we're both two-handed, a wallop in all our fists. I know the kick of his, an' he knows my kick, an' we're both realrespectful. And we're even-matched. Two draws, and a decision to each. Honest, I ain't any kind of a hunch who's gain' to win, we're that even. 

"Now, the fight. --You ain't squeamish, are you?"

"No, no, " she cried. "I'd just love to hear--you are so wonderful. "

He took the praise with a clear, unwavering look, and without hint ofacknowledgment. 

"We go along--six rounds--seven rounds--eight rounds; an' honors even. I've been timin' his rushes an' straight-leftin' him, an' meetin' hisduck with a wicked little right upper-cut, an' he's shaken me on thejaw an' walloped my ears till my head's all singin' an' buzzin'. An'everything lovely with both of us, with a noise like a draw decision insight. Twenty rounds is the distance, you know. 

"An' then his bad luck comes. We're just mixin' into a clinch that ain'tarrived yet, when he shoots a short hook to my head--his left, an' areal hay-maker if it reaches my jaw. I make a forward duck, not quickenough, an' he lands bingo on the side of my head. Honest to God, Saxon, it's that heavy I see some stars. But it don't hurt an' ain't serious, that high up where the bone's thick. An' right there he finisheshimself, for his bad thumb, which I've known since he first got it as akid fightin' in the sandlot at Watts Tract--he smashes that thumb rightthere, on my hard head, back into the socket with an out-twist, an' allthe old cords that'd never got strong gets theirs again. I didn't meanit. A dirty trick, fair in the game, though, to make a guy smash hishand on your head. But not between friends. I couldn't a-done that toBill Murphy for a million dollars. It was a accident, just because I wasslow, because I was born slow. 

"The hurt of it! Honest, Saxon, you don't know what hurt is till you'vegot a old hurt like that hurt again. What can Billy Murphy do but slowdown? He's got to. He ain't fightin' two-handed any more. He knows it; Iknow it; The referee knows it; but nobody else. He goes on a-moving thatleft of his like it's all right. But it ain't. It's hurtin' him like aknife dug into him. He don't dast strike a real blow with that left ofhis. But it hurts, anyway. Just to move it or not move it hurts, an'every little dab-feint that I'm too wise to guard, knowin' there's noweight behind, why them little dab-touches on that poor thumb goes rightto the heart of him, an' hurts worse than a thousand boils or a thousandknockouts--just hurts all over again, an' worse, each time an' touch. 

"Now suppose he an' me was boxin' for fun, out in the back yard, an' hehurts his thumb that way, why we'd have the gloves off in a jiffy an'I'd be putting cold compresses on that poor thumb of his an' bandagin'it that tight to keep the inflammation down. But no. This is a fightfor fight-fans that's paid their admission for blood, an' blood they'regoin' to get. They ain't men. They're wolves. 

"He has to go easy, now, an' I ain't a-forcin' him none. I'm all shot topieces. I don't know what to do. So I slow down, an' the fans get hep toit. 'Why don't you fight?' they begin to yell; 'Fake! Fake!' 'Why don'tyou kiss'm?' 'Lovin' cup for yours, Bill Roberts!' an' that sort ofbunk. 

"'Fight!' says The referee to me, low an' savage. 'Fight, or I'lldisqualify you--you, Bill, I mean you. ' An' this to me, with a touch onthe shoulder 'so they's no mistakin'. 

"It ain't pretty. It ain't right. D'ye know what we was fightin' for? Ahundred bucks. Think of it! An' the game is we got to do our best toput our man down for the count because of the fans has bet on us. Sweet, ain't it? Well, that's my last fight. It finishes me deado. Never againfor yours truly. 

"'Quit, ' I says to Billy Murphy in a clinch; 'for the love of God, Bill, quit. ' An' he says back, in a whisper, 'I can't, Bill--you know that. '

"An' then the referee drags us apart, an' a lot of the fans begins tohoot an' boo. 

"'Now kick in, damn you, Bill Roberts, an' finish'm' the referee says tome, an' I tell'm to go to hell as Bill an' me flop into the next clinch, not hittin', an' Bill touches his thumb again, an' I see the pain shootacross his face. Game? That good boy's the limit. An' to look into theeyes of a brave man that's sick with pain, an' love 'm, an' see lovein them eyes of his, an' then have to go on givin' 'm pain--call thatsport? I can't see it. But the crowd's got its money on us. We don'tcount. We've sold ourselves for a hundred bucks, an' we gotta deliverthe goods. 

"Let me tell you, Saxon, honest to God, that was one of the times Iwanted to go through the ropes an' drop them fans a-yellin' for bloodan' show 'em what blood is. 

"'For God's sake finish me, Bill, ' Bill says to me in that clinch; 'puther over an' I'll fall for it, but I can't lay down. '

"D'ye want to know? I cry there, right in the ring, in that clinch. Theweeps for me. 'I can't do it, Bill, ' I whisper back, hangin' onto'm likea brother an' the referee ragin' an' draggin' at us to get us apart, an'all the wolves in the house snarlin'. 

"'You got 'm!' the audience is yellin'. 'Go in an' finish 'm!' 'The hayfor him, Bill; put her across to the jaw an' see 'm fall!'

"'You got to, Bill, or you're a dog, ' Bill says, lookin' love at me inhis eyes as the referee's grip untangles us clear. 

"An' them wolves of fans yellin': 'Fake! Fake! Fake!' like that, an'keepin' it up. 

"Well, I done it. They's only that way out. I done it. By God, I doneit. I had to. I feint for 'm, draw his left, duck to the right past it, takin' it across my shoulder, an come up with my right to his jaw. An'he knows the trick. He's hep. He's beaten me to it an' blocked it withhis shoulder a thousan' times. But this time he don't. He keeps himselfwide open on purpose. Blim! It lands. He's dead in the air, an' he goesdown sideways, strikin' his face first on the rosin-canvas an' thenlayin' dead, his head twisted under 'm till you'd a-thought his neck wasbroke. ME--I did that for a hundred bucks an' a bunch of stiffs I'dbe ashamed to wipe my feet on. An' then I pick Bill up in my arms an'carry'm to his corner, an' help bring'm around. Well, they ain't no kickcomin'. They pay their money an' they get their blood, an' a knockout. An' a better man than them, that I love, layin' there dead to the worldwith a skinned face on the mat. "

For a moment he was still, gazing straight before him at the horses, hisface hard and angry. He sighed, looked at Saxon, and smiled. 

"An' I quit the game right there. An' Billy Murphy's laughed at me forit. He still follows it. A side-line, you know, because he works at agood trade. But once in a while, when the house needs paintin', or thedoctor bills are up, or his oldest kid wants a bicycle, he jumps out an'makes fifty or a hundred bucks before some of the clubs. I want you tomeet him when it comes handy. He's some boy I'm tellin' you. But it didmake me sick that night. "

Again the harshness and anger were in his face, and Saxon amazed herselfby doing unconsciously what women higher in the social scale have donewith deliberate sincerity. Her hand went out impulsively to his holdingthe lines, resting on top of it for a moment with quick, firm pressure. Her reward was a smile from lips and eyes, as his face turned towardher. 

"Gee!" he exclaimed. "I never talk a streak like this to anybody. I justhold my hush an' keep my thinks to myself. But, somehow, I guess it'sfunny, I kind of have a feelin' I want to make good with you. An' that'swhy I'm tellin' you my thinks. Anybody can dance. "

The way led uptown, past the City Hall and the Fourteenth Streetskyscrapers, and out Broadway to Mountain View. Turning to the rightat the cemetery, they climbed the Piedmont Heights to Blair Park andplunged into the green coolness of Jack Hayes Canyon. Saxon could notsuppress her surprise and joy at the quickness with which they coveredthe ground. 

"They are beautiful, " she said. "I never dreamed I'd ever ride behindhorses like them. I'm afraid I'll wake up now and find it's a dream. You know, I dream horses all the time. I'd give anything to own one sometime. "

"It's funny, ain't it?" Billy answered. "I like horses that way. Theboss says I'm a wooz at horses. An' I know he's a dub. He don't know thefirst thing. An' yet he owns two hundred big heavy draughts besides thislight drivin' pair, an' I don't own one. "

"Yet God makes the horses, " Saxon said. 

"It's a sure thing the boss don't. Then how does he have so many?--twohundred of 'em, I'm tellin' you. He thinks he likes horses. Honest toGod, Saxon, he don't like all his horses as much as I like the lasthair on the last tail of the scrubbiest of the bunch. Yet they're his. Wouldn't it jar you?"

"Wouldn't it?" Saxon laughed appreciatively. "I just love fancyshirtwaists, an' I spent my life ironing some of the beautifullest I'veever seen. It's funny, an' it isn't fair. "

Billy gritted his teeth in another of his rages. 

"An' the way some of them women gets their shirtwaists. It makes mesick, thinkin' of you ironin' 'em. You know what I mean, Saxon. Theyain't no use wastin' words over it. You know. I know. Everybody knows. An' it's a hell of a world if men an' women sometimes can't talk to eachother about such things. " His manner was almost apologetic yet it wasdefiantly and assertively right. "I never talk this way to other girls. They'd think I'm workin up to designs on 'em. They make me sick the waythey're always lookin' for them designs. But you're different I can talkto you that way. I know I've got to. It's the square thing. You're likeBilly Murphy, or any other man a man can talk to. "

She sighed with a great happiness, and looked at him with unconscious, love-shining eyes. 

"It's the same way with me, " she said. "The fellows I've run with I'venever dared let talk about such things, because I knew they'd takeadvantage of it. Why, all the time, with them, I've a feeling that we'recheating and lying to each other, playing a game like at a masqueradeball. " She paused for a moment, hesitant and debating, then went on ina queer low voice. "I haven't been asleep. I've seen. .. And heard. I've had my chances, when I was that tired of the laundry I'd have donealmost anything. I could have got those fancy shirtwaists. .. An' all therest. .. And maybe a horse to ride. There was a bank cashier. .. Married, too, if you please. He talked to me straight out. I didn't count, you know. I wasn't a girl, with a girl's feelings, or anything. I wasnobody. It was just like a business talk. I learned about men from him. He told me what he'd do. He. .. "

Her voice died away in sadness, and in the silence she could hear Billygrit his teeth. 

"You can't tell me, " he cried. "I know. It's a dirty world--an unfair, lousy world. I can't make it out. They's no squareness in it. --Women, with the best that's in 'em, bought an' sold like horses. I don'tunderstand women that way. I don't understand men that way. I can'tsee how a man gets anything but cheated when he buys such things. It'sfunny, ain't it? Take my boss an' his horses. He owns women, too. Hemight a-owned you, just because he's got the price. An', Saxon, you wasmade for fancy shirtwaists an' all that, but, honest to God, I can't seeyou payin' for them that way. It'd be a crime--"

He broke off abruptly and reined in the horses. Around a sharp turn, speeding down the grade upon them, had appeared an automobile. Withslamming of brakes it was brought to a stop, while the faces of theoccupants took new lease of interest of life and stared at the young manand woman in the light rig that barred the way. Billy held up his hand. 

"Take the outside, sport, " he said to the chauffeur. 

"Nothin' doin', kiddo, " came the answer, as the chauffeur measured withhard, wise eyes the crumbling edge of the road and the downfall of theoutside bank. 

"Then we camp, " Billy announced cheerfully. "I know the rules of theroad. These animals ain't automobile broke altogether, an' if you thinkI'm goin' to have 'em shy off the grade you got another guess comin'. "

A confusion of injured protestation arose from those that sat in thecar. 

"You needn't be a road-hog because you're a Rube, " said the chauffeur. "We ain't a-goin' to hurt your horses. Pull out so we can pass. If youdon't. .. "

"That'll do you, sport, " was Billy's retort. "You can't talk that way toyours truly. I got your number an' your tag, my son. You're standin' onyour foot. Back up the grade an' get off of it. Stop on the outside atthe first psssin'-place an' we'll pass you. You've got the juice. Throwon the reverse. "

After a nervous consultation, the chauffeur obeyed, and the car backedup the hill and out of sight around the turn. 

"Them cheap skates, " Billy sneered to Saxon, "with a couple of gallonsof gasoline an' the price of a machine a-thinkin' they own the roadsyour folks an' my folks made. "

"Talkin' all night about it?" came the chauffeur's voice from around thebend. "Get a move on. You can pass. "

"Get off your foot, " Billy retorted contemptuously. "I'm a-comin' whenI'm ready to come, an' if you ain't given room enough I'll go clean overyou an' your load of chicken meat. "

He slightly slacked the reins on the restless, head-tossing animals, andwithout need of chirrup they took the weight of the light vehicle andpassed up the hill and apprehensively on the inside of the purringmachine. 

"Where was we?" Billy queried, as the clear road showed in front. "Yep, take my boss. Why should he own two hundred horses, an' women, an' therest, an' you an' me own nothin'?"

"You own your silk, Billy, " she said softly. 

"An' you yours. Yet we sell it to 'em like it was cloth across thecounter at so much a yard. I guess you're hep to what a few more yearsin the laundry'll do to you. Take me. I'm sellin' my silk slow every dayI work. See that little finger?" He shifted the reins to one hand for amoment and held up the free hand for inspection. "I can't straightenit like the others, an' it's growin'. I never put it out fightin'. Theteamin's done it. That's silk gone across the counter, that's all. Eversee a old four-horse teamster's hands? They look like claws they're thatcrippled an' twisted. "

"Things weren't like that in the old days when our folks crossed theplains, " she answered. "They might a-got their fingers twisted, but theyowned the best goin' in the way of horses and such. "

"Sure. They worked for themselves. They twisted their fingers forthemselves. But I'm twistin' my fingers for my boss. Why, d'ye know, Saxon, his hands is soft as a woman's that's never done any work. Yethe owns the horses an' the stables, an' never does a tap of work, an'I manage to scratch my meal-ticket an' my clothes. It's got my goatthe way things is run. An' who runs 'em that way? That's what I want toknow. Times has changed. Who changed 'em?"

"God didn't. "

"You bet your life he didn't. An' that's another thing that gets me. Who's God anyway? If he's runnin' things--an' what good is he if heain't?--then why does he let my boss, an' men like that cashier youmentioned, why does he let them own the horses, an' buy the women, thenice little girls that oughta be lovin' their own husbands, an' havin'children they're not ashamed of, an' just bein' happy accordin' to theirnature?"

CHAPTER XI

The horses, resting frequently and lathered by the work, had climbed thesteep grade of the old road to Moraga Valley, and on the divide of theContra Costa hills the way descended sharply through the green and sunnystillness of Redwood Canyon. 

"Say, ain't it swell?" Billy queried, with a wave of his hand indicatingthe circled tree-groups, the trickle of unseen water, and the summer humof bees. 

"I love it"' Saxon affirmed. "It makes me want to live in the country, and I never have. "

"Me, too, Saxon. I've never lived in the country in my life--an' all myfolks was country folks. "

"No cities then. Everybody lived in the country. "

"I guess you're right, " he nodded. "They just had to live in thecountry. "

There was no brake on the light carriage, and Billy became absorbed inmanaging his team down the steep, winding road. Saxon leaned back, eyesclosed, with a feeling of ineffable rest. Time and again he shot glancesat her closed eyes. 

"What's the matter?" he asked finally, in mild alarm. "You ain't sick?"

"It's so beautiful I'm afraid to look, " she answered. "It's so brave ithurts. "

"BRAVE?--now that's funny. "

"Isn't it? But it just makes me feel that way. It's brave. Now thehouses and streets and things in the city aren't brave. But this is. Idon't know why. It just is. "

"By golly, I think you're right, " he exclaimed. "It strikes me that way, now you speak of it. They ain't no games or tricks here, no cheatin'an' no lyin'. Them trees just stand up natural an' strong an' cleanlike young boys their first time in the ring before they've learned itsrottenness an' how to double-cross an' lay down to the bettin' odds an'the fight-fans. Yep; it is brave. Say, Saxon, you see things, don't you?"His pause was almost wistful, and he looked at her and studied her witha caressing softness that ran through her in resurgent thrills. "D'yeknow, I'd just like you to see me fight some time--a real fight, withsomething doin' every moment. I'd be proud to death to do it for you. An' I'd sure fight some with you lookin' on an' understandin'. That'd bea fight what is, take it from me. An' that's funny, too. I never wantedto fight before a woman in my life. They squeal and screech an' don'tunderstand. But you'd understand. It's dead open an' shut you would. "

A little later, swinging along the flat of the valley, through thelittle clearings of the farmers and the ripe grain-stretches golden inthe sunshine, Billy turned to Saxon again. 

"Say, you've ben in love with fellows, lots of times. Tell me about it. What's it like?"

She shook her head slowly. 

"I only thought I was in love--and not many times, either--"

"Many times!" he cried. 

"Not really ever, " she assured him, secretly exultant at his unconsciousjealousy. "I never was really in love. If I had been I'd be marriednow. You see, I couldn't see anything else to it but to marry a man if Iloved him. "

"But suppose he didn't love you?"

"Oh, I don't know, " she smiled, half with facetiousness and half withcertainty and pride. "I think I could make him love me. "

"I guess you sure could, " Billy proclaimed enthusiastically. 

"The trouble is, " she went on, "the men that loved me I never cared forthat way. --Oh, look!"

A cottontail rabbit had scuttled across the road, and a tiny dust cloudlingered like smoke, marking the way of his flight. At the next turn adozen quail exploded into the air from under the noses of the horses. Billy and Saxon exclaimed in mutual delight. 

"Gee, " he muttered, "I almost wisht I'd ben born a farmer. Folks wasn'tmade to live in cities. "

"Not our kind, at least, " she agreed. Followed a pause and a long sigh. "It's all so beautiful. It would be a dream just to live all your lifein it. I'd like to be an Indian squaw sometimes. "

Several times Billy checked himself on the verge of speech. 

"About those fellows you thought you was in love with, " he said finally. "You ain't told me, yet. "

"You want to know?" she asked. "They didn't amount to anything. "

"Of course I want to know. Go ahead. Fire away. "

"Well, first there was Al Stanley--"

"What did he do for a livin'?" Billy demanded, almost as with authority. 

"He was a gambler. "

Billy's face abruptly stiffened, and she could see his eyes cloudy withdoubt in the quick glance he flung at her. 

"Oh, it was all right, " she laughed. "I was only eight years old. Yousee, I'm beginning at the beginning. It was after my mother died andwhen I was adopted by Cady. He kept a hotel and saloon. It was downin Los Angeles. Just a small hotel. Workingmen, just common laborers, mostly, and some railroad men, stopped at it, and I guess Al Stanleygot his share of their wages. He was so handsome and so quiet andsoft-spoken. And he had the nicest eyes and the softest, cleanest hands. I can see them now. He played with me sometimes, in the afternoon, andgave me candy and little presents. He used to sleep most of the day. Ididn't know why, then. I thought he was a fairy prince in disguise. Andthen he got killed, right in the bar-room, but first he killed the manthat killed him. So that was the end of that love affair. 

"Next was after the asylum, when I was thirteen and living with mybrother--I've lived with him ever since. He was a boy that drove abakery wagon. Almost every morning, on the way to school, I used topass him. He would come driving down Wood Street and turn in on Twelfth. Maybe it was because he drove a horse that attracted me. Anyway, Imust have loved him for a couple of months. Then he lost his job, orsomething, for another boy drove the wagon. And we'd never even spokento each other. 

"Then there was a bookkeeper when I was sixteen. I seem to run tobookkeepers. It was a bookkeeper at the laundry that Charley Long beatup. This other one was when I was working in Hickmeyer's Cannery. He hadsoft hands, too. But I quickly got all I wanted of him. He was. .. Well, anyway, he had ideas like your boss. And I never really did love him, truly and honest, Billy. I felt from the first that he wasn't justright. And when I was working in the paper-box factory I thought I loveda clerk in Kahn's Emporium--you know, on Eleventh and Washington. He wasall right. That was the trouble with him. He was too much all right. Hedidn't have any life in him, any go. He wanted to marry me, though. But somehow I couldn't see it. That shows I didn't love him. He wasnarrow-chested and skinny, and his hands were always cold and fishy. Butmy! he could dress--just like he came out of a bandbox. He said he wasgoing to drown himself, and all kinds of things, but I broke with himjust the same. 

"And after that. .. Well, there isn't any after that. I must have gotparticular, I guess, but I didn't see anybody I could love. It seemedmore like a game with the men I met, or a fight. And we never foughtfair on either side. Seemed as if we always had cards up our sleeves. Weweren't honest or outspoken, but instead it seemed as if we were tryingto take advantage of each other. Charley Long was honest, though. Andso was that bank cashier. And even they made me have the fight feelingharder than ever. All of them always made me feel I had to take care ofmyself. They wouldn't. That was sure. "

She stopped and looked with interest at the clean profile of his face ashe watched and guided the homes. He looked at her inquiringly, and hereyes laughed lazily into his as she stretched her arms. 

"That's all, " she concluded. "I've told you everything, which I've neverdone before to any one. And it's your turn now. "

"Not much of a turn, Saxon. I've never cared for girls--that is, notenough to want to marry 'em. I always liked men better--fellows likeBilly Murphy. Besides, I guess I was too interested in trainin' an'fightin' to bother with women much. Why, Saxon, honest, while I ain'tben altogether good--you understand what I mean--just the same I ain'tnever talked love to a girl in my life. They was no call to. "

"The girls have loved you just the same, " she teased, while in her heartwas a curious elation at his virginal confession. 

He devoted himself to the horses. 

"Lots of them, " she urged. 

Still he did not reply. 

"Now, haven't they?"

"Well, it wasn't my fault, " he said slowly. "If they wanted to looksideways at me it was up to them. And it was up to me to sidestep if Iwanted to, wasn't it? You've no idea, Saxon, how a prizefighter is runafter. Why, sometimes it's seemed to me that girls an' women ain't gotan ounce of natural shame in their make-up. Oh, I was never afraid ofthem, believe muh, but I didn't hanker after 'em. A man's a fool that'dlet them kind get his goat. 

"Maybe you haven't got love in you, " she challenged. 

"Maybe I haven't, " was his discouraging reply. "Anyway, I don'tsee myself lovin' a girl that runs after me. It's all right forCharley-boys, but a man that is a man don't like bein' chased by women. "

"My mother always said that love was the greatest thing in the world, "Saxon argued. "She wrote poems about it, too. Some of them werepublished in the San Jose Mercury. "

"What do you think about it?"

"Oh, I don't know, " she baffled, meeting his eyes with another lazysmile. "All I know is it's pretty good to be alive a day like this. "

"On a trip like this--you bet it is, " he added promptly. 

At one o'clock Billy turned off the road and drove into an open spaceamong the trees. 

"Here's where we eat, " he announced. "I thought it'd be better to havea lunch by ourselves than atop at one of these roadside dinner counters. An' now, just to make everything safe an' comfortable, I'm goin' tounharness the horses. We got lots of time. You can get the lunch basketout an' spread it on the lap-robe. "

As Saxon unpacked she basket she was appalled at his extravagance. She spread an amazing array of ham and chicken sandwiches, crab salad, hard-boiled eggs, pickled pigs' feet, ripe olives and dill pickles, Swiss cheese, salted almonds, oranges and bananas, and several pintbottles of beer. It was the quantity as well as the variety thatbothered her. It had the appearance of a reckless attempt to buy out awhole delicatessen shop. 

"You oughtn't to blow yourself that way, " she reproved him as he satdown beside her. "Why it's enough for half a dozen bricklayers. "

"It's all right, isn't it?"

"Yes, " she acknowledged. "But that's the trouble. It's too much so. "

"Then it's all right, " he concluded. "I always believe in havin' plenty. Have some beer to wash the dust away before we begin? Watch out for theglasses. I gotta return them. "

Later, the meal finished, he lay on his back, smoking a cigarette, andquestioned her about her earlier history. She had been telling him ofher life in her brother's house, where she paid four dollars and a halfa week board. At fifteen she had graduated from grammar school and goneto work in the jute mills for four dollars a week, three of which shehad paid to Sarah. 

"How about that saloonkeeper?" Billy asked. "How come it he adoptedyou?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, except that all my relativeswere hard up. It seemed they just couldn't get on. They managed toscratch a lean living for themselves, and that was all. Cady--he was thesaloonkeeper--had been a soldier in my father's company, and he alwaysswore by Captain Kit, which was their nickname for him. My father hadkept the surgeons from amputating his leg in the war, and he neverforgot it. He was making money in the hotel and saloon, and I found outafterward he helped out a lot to pay the doctors and to bury my motheralongside of father. I was to go to Uncle Will--that was my mother'swish; but there had been fighting up in the Ventura Mountains where hisranch was, and men had been killed. It was about fences and cattlemenor something, and anyway he was in jail a long time, and when he gothis freedom the lawyers had got his ranch. He was an old man, then, andbroken, and his wife took sick, and he got a job as night watchmanfor forty dollars a month. So he couldn't do anything for me, and Cadyadopted me. 

"Cady was a good man, if he did run a saloon. His wife was a big, handsome-looking woman. I don't think she was all right. .. And I'veheard so since. But she was good to me. I don't care what they say abouther, or what she was. She was awful good to me. After he died, she wentaltogether bad, and so I went into the orphan asylum. It wasn't any toogood there, and I had three years of it. And then Tom had marriedand settled down to steady work, and he took me out to live with him. And--well, I've been working pretty steady ever since. "

She gazed sadly away across the fields until her eyes came to rest ona fence bright-splashed with poppies at its base. Billy, who from hissupine position had been looking up at her, studying and pleasuring inthe pointed oval of her woman's face, reached his hand out slowly as hemurmured:

"You poor little kid. "

His hand closed sympathetically on her bare forearm, and as she lookeddown to greet his eyes she saw in them surprise and delight. 

"Say, ain't your skin cool though, " he said. "Now me, I'm always warm. Feel my hand. "

It was warmly moist, and she noted microscopic beads of sweat on hisforehead and clean-shaven upper lip. 

"My, but you are sweaty. "

She bent to him and with her handkerchief dabbed his lip and foreheaddry, then dried his palms. 

"I breathe through my skin, I guess, " he explained. "The wise guys inthe trainin' camps and gyms say it's a good sign for health. But somehowI'm sweatin' more than usual now. Funny, ain't it?"

She had been forced to unclasp his hand from her arm in order to dry it, and when she finished, it returned to its old position. 

"But, say, ain't your skin cool, " he repeated with renewed wonder. "Softas velvet, too, an' smooth as silk. It feels great. "

Gently explorative, he slid his hand from wrist to elbow and came torest half way back. Tired and languid from the morning in the sun, shefound herself thrilling to his touch and half-dreamily deciding thathere was a man she could love, hands and all. 

"Now I've taken the cool all out of that spot. " He did not look up toher, and she could see the roguish smile that curled on his lips. "So Iguess I'll try another. "

He shifted his hand along her arm with soft sensuousness, and she, looking down at his lips, remembered the long tingling they had givenhers the first time they had met. 

"Go on and talk, " he urged, after a delicious five minutes of silence. "I like to watch your lips talking. It's funny, but every move they makelooks like a tickly kiss. "

Greatly she wanted to stay where she was. Instead, she said:

"If I talk, you won't like what I say. "

"Go on, " he insisted. "You can't say anything I won't like. "

"Well, there's some poppies over there by the fence I want to pick. Andthen it's time for us to be going. "

"I lose, " he laughed. "But you made twenty-five tickle kisses just thesame. I counted 'em. I'll tell you what: you sing 'When the Harvest DaysAre Over, ' and let me have your other cool arm while you're doin' it, and then we'll go. "

She sang looking down into his eyes, which ware centered, not on hers, but on her lips. When she finished, she slipped his hands from her armsand got up. He was about to start for the horses, when she held herjacket out to him. Despite the independence natural to a girl whoearned her own living, she had an innate love of the little services andfinenesses; and, also, she remembered from her childhood the talk by thepioneer women of the courtesy and attendance of the caballeros of theSpanish-California days. 

Sunset greeted them when, after a wide circle to the east and south, they cleared the divide of the Contra Costa hills and began droppingdown the long grade that led past Redwood Peak to Fruitvale. Beneaththem stretched the flatlands to the bay, checkerboarded into fields andbroken by the towns of Elmhurst, San Leandro, and Haywards. The smoke ofOakland filled the western sky with haze and murk, while beyond, acrossthe bay, they could see the first winking lights of San Francisco. 

Darkness was on them, and Billy had become curiously silent. For halfan hour he had given no recognition of her existence save once, whenthe chill evening wind caused him to tuck the robe tightly about herand himself. Half a dozen times Saxon found herself on the verge of theremark, "What's on your mind?" but each time let it remain unuttered. She sat very close to him. The warmth of their bodies intermingled, andshe was aware of a great restfulness and content. 

"Say, Saxon, " he began abruptly. "It's no use my holdin' it in anylonger. It's ben in my mouth all day, ever since lunch. What's thematter with you an' me gettin' married?"

She knew, very quietly and very gladly, that he meant it. Instinctivelyshe was impelled to hold off, to make him woo her, to make herself moredesirably valuable ere she yielded. Further, her woman's sensitivenessand pride were offended. She had never dreamed of so forthright and balda proposal from the man to whom she would give herself. The simplicityand directness of Billy's proposal constituted almost a hurt. On theother hand she wanted him so much--how much she had not realized untilnow, when he had so unexpectedly made himself accessible. 

"Well you gotta say something, Saxon. Hand it to me, good or bad; butanyway hand it to me. An' just take into consideration that I love you. Why, I love you like the very devil, Saxon. I must, because I'm askin'you to marry me, an' I never asked any girl that before. "

Another silence fell, and Saxon found herself dwelling on the warmth, tingling now, under the lap-robe. When she realized whither her thoughtsled, she blushed guiltily in the darkness. 

"How old are you, Billy?" she questioned, with a suddenness andirrelevance as disconcerting as his first words had been. 

"Twenty-two, " he answered. 

"I am twenty-four. "

"As if I didn't know. When you left the orphan asylum and how old youwere, how long you worked in the jute mills, the cannery, the paper-boxfactory, the laundry--maybe you think I can't do addition. I knew howold you was, even to your birthday. "

"That doesn't change the fact that I'm two years older. "

"What of it? If it counted for anything, I wouldn't be lovin' you, wouldI? Your mother was dead right. Love's the big stuff. It's what counts. Don't you see? I just love you, an' I gotta have you. It's natural, Iguess; and I've always found with horses, dogs, and other folks, thatwhat's natural is right. There's no gettin' away from it, Saxon; I gottahave you, an' I'm just hopin' hard you gotta have me. Maybe my handsain't soft like bookkeepers' an' clerks, but they can work for you, an'fight like Sam Hill for you, and, Saxon, they can love you. "

The old sex antagonism which she had always experienced with men seemedto have vanished. She had no sense of being on the defensive. This wasno game. It was what she had been looking for and dreaming about. BeforeBilly she was defenseless, and there was an all-satisfaction in theknowledge. She could deny him nothing. Not even if he proved to belike the others. And out of the greatness of the thought rose a greaterthought--he would not so prove himself. 

She did not speak. Instead, in a glow of spirit and flesh, she reachedout to his left hand and gently tried to remove it from the rein. He didnot understand; but when she persisted he shifted the rein to his rightand let her have her will with the other hand. Her head bent over it, and she kissed the teamster callouses. 

For the moment he was stunned. 

"You mean it?" he stammered. 

For reply, she kissed the hand again and murmured:

"I love your hands, Billy. To me they are the most beautiful hands inthe world, and it would take hours of talking to tell you all they meanto me. "

"Whoa!" he called to the horses. 

He pulled them in to a standstill, soothed them with his voice, and madethe reins fast around the whip. Then he turned to her with arms aroundher and lips to lips. 

"Oh, Billy, I'll make you a good wife, " she sobbed, when the kiss wasbroken. 

He kissed her wet eyes and found her lips again. 

"Now you know what I was thinkin' and why I was sweatin' when we waseatin' lunch. Just seemed I couldn't hold in much longer from tellin'you. Why, you know, you looked good to me from the first moment Ispotted you. "

"And I think I loved you from that first day, too, Billy. And I was soproud of you all that day, you were so kind and gentle, and so strong, and the way the men all respected you and the girls all wanted you, andthe way you fought those three Irishmen when I was behind the picnictable. I couldn't love or marry a man I wasn't proud of, and I'm soproud of you, so proud. "

"Not half as much as I am right now of myself, " he answered, "for havingwon you. It's too good to be true. Maybe the alarm clock'll go off andwake me up in a couple of minutes. Well, anyway, if it does, I'm goin'to make the best of them two minutes first. Watch out I don't eat you, I'm that hungry for you. "

He smothered her in an embrace, holding her so tightly to him that italmost hurt. After what was to her an age-long period of bliss, his armsrelaxed and he seemed to make an effort to draw himself together. 

 "An' the clock ain't gone off yet, " he whispered against hercheek. "And it's a dark night, an' there's Fruitvale right ahead, an' ifthere ain't King and Prince standin' still in the middle of the road. Inever thought the time'd come when I wouldn't want to take the ribbonson a fine pair of horses. But this is that time. I just can't let goof you, and I've gotta some time to-night. It hurts worse'n poison, buthere goes. "

He restored her to herself, tucked the disarranged robe about her, andchirruped to the impatient team. 

Half an hour later he called "Whoa!"

"I know I'm awake now, but I don't know but maybe I dreamed all therest, and I just want to make sure. "

And again be made the reins fast and took her in his arms. 

CHAPTER XII

The days flew by for Saxon. She worked on steadily at the laundry, even doing more overtime than usual, and all her free waking hours weredevoted to preparations for the great change and to Billy. He had provedhimself God's own impetuous lover by insisting on getting marriedthe next day after the proposal, and then by resolutely refusing tocompromise on more than a week's delay. 

"Why wait?" he demanded. "We're not gettin' any younger so far as I cannotice, an' think of all we lose every day we wait. "

In the end, he gave in to a month, which was well, for in two weeks hewas transferred, with half a dozen other drivers, to work from the bigstables of Corberly and Morrison in West Oakland. House-hunting in theother end of town ceased, and on Pine Street, between Fifth and Fourth, and in immediate proximity to the great Southern Pacific railroadyards, Billy and Saxon rented a neat cottage of four small rooms for tendollars a month. 

"Dog-cheap is what I call it, when I think of the small rooms I've bensoaked for, " was Billy's judgment. "Look at the one I got now, not asbig as the smallest here, an' me payin' six dollars a month for it. "

"But it's furnished, " Saxon reminded him. "You see, that makes adifference. "

But Billy didn't see. 

"I ain't much of a scholar, Saxon, but I know simple arithmetic; I'vesoaked my watch when I was hard up, and I can calculate interest. Howmuch do you figure it will cost to furnish the house, carpets on thefloor, linoleum on the kitchen, and all?"

"We can do it nicely for three hundred dollars, " she answered. "I'vebeen thinking it over and I'm sure we can do it for that. "

"Three hundred, " he muttered, wrinkling his brows with concentration. "Three hundred, say at six per cent. --that'd be six cents on the dollar, sixty cents on ten dollars, six dollars on the hundred, on three hundredeighteen dollars. Say--I'm a bear at multiplyin' by ten. Now divideeighteen by twelve, that'd be a dollar an' a half a month interest. "He stopped, satisfied that he had proved his contention. Then his facequickened with a fresh thought. "Hold on! That ain't all. That'd bethe interest on the furniture for four rooms. Divide by four. What's adollar an' a half divided by four?"

"Four into fifteen, three times and three to carry, " Saxon recitedglibly. "Four into thirty is seven, twenty-eight, two to carry; andtwo-fourths is one-half. There you are. "

"Gee! You're the real bear at figures. " He hesitated. "I didn't followyou. How much did you say it was?"

"Thirty-seven and a half cents. "

"Ah, ha! Now we'll see how much I've ben gouged for my one room. Ten dollars a month for four rooms is two an' a half for one. Addthirty-seven an' a half cents interest on furniture, an' that makestwo dollars an' eighty-seven an' a half cents. Subtract from sixdollars. .. . "

"Three dollars and twelve and a half cents, " she supplied quickly. 

"There we are! Three dollars an' twelve an' a half cents I'm jiggeredout of on the room I'm rentin'. Say! Bein' married is like savin' money, ain't it?"

"But furniture wears out, Billy. "

"By golly, I never thought of that. It ought to be figured, too. Anyway, we've got a snap here, and next Saturday afternoon you've gotta get offfrom the laundry so as we can go an' buy our furniture. I saw Salinger'slast night. I give'm fifty down, and the rest installment plan, tendollars a month. In twenty-five months the furniture's ourn. An'remember, Saxon, you wanta buy everything you want, no matter how muchit costs. No scrimpin' on what's for you an' me. Get me?"

She nodded, with no betrayal on her face of the myriad secret economiesthat filled her mind. A hint of moisture glistened in her eyes. 

"You're so good to me, Billy, " she murmured, as she came to him and wasmet inside his arms. 

"So you've gone an' done it, " Mary commented, one morning in thelaundry. They had not been at work ten minutes ere her eye had glimpsedthe topaz ring on the third finger of Saxon's left hand. "Who's thelucky one? Charley Long or Billy Roberts?"

"Billy, " was the answer. 

"Huh! Takin' a young boy to raise, eh?"

Saxon showed that the stab had gone home, and Mary was all contrition. 

"Can't you take a josh? I'm glad to death at the news. Billy's a awfulgood man, and I'm glad to see you get him. There ain't many like himknockin' 'round, an' they ain't to be had for the askin'. An' you'reboth lucky. You was just made for each other, an' you'll make him abetter wife than any girl I know. When is it to be?"

Going home from the laundry a few days later, Saxon encountered CharleyLong. He blocked the sidewalk, and compelled speech with her. 

"So you're runnin' with a prizefighter, " he sneered. "A blind man cansee your finish. "

For the first time she was unafraid of this big-bodied, black-browed menwith the hairy-matted hands and fingers. She held up her left hand. 

"See that? It's something, with all your strength, that you could neverput on my finger. Billy Roberts put it on inside a week. He got yournumber, Charley Long, and at the same time he got me. "

"Skiddoo for you, " Long retorted. "Twenty-three's your number. "

"He's not like you, " Saxon went on. "He's a man, every bit of him, afine, clean man. "

Long laughed hoarsely. 

"He's got your goat all right. "

"And yours, " she flashed back. 

"I could tell you things about him. Saxon, straight, he ain't no good. If I was to tell you--"

"You'd better get out of my way, " she interrupted, "or I'll tell him, and you know what you'll get, you great big bully. "

Long shuffled uneasily, then reluctantly stepped aside. 

"You're a caution, " he said, half admiringly. 

"So's Billy Roberts, " she laughed, and continued on her way. After halfa dozen steps she stopped. "Say, " she called. 

The big blacksmith turned toward her with eagerness. 

"About a block back, " she said, "I saw a man with hip disease. You mightgo and beat him up. "

Of one extravagance Saxon was guilty in the course of the briefengagement period. A full day's wages she spent in the purchase of halfa dozen cabinet photographs of herself. Billy had insisted that life wasunendurable could he not look upon her semblance the last thing when hewent to bed at night and the first thing when he got up in the morning. In return, his photographs, one conventional and one in the strippedfighting costume of the ring, ornamented her looking glass. It was whilegazing at the latter that she was reminded of her wonderful mother'stales of the ancient Saxons and sea-foragers of the English coasts. Fromthe chest of drawers that had crossed the plains she drew forth anotherof her several precious heirloom--a scrap-book of her mother's in whichwas pasted much of the fugitive newspaper verse of pioneer Californiadays. Also, there were copies of paintings and old wood engravings fromthe magazines of a generation and more before. 

Saxon ran the pages with familiar fingers and stopped at the picture shewas seeking. Between bold headlands of rock and under a gray cloud-blownsky, a dozen boats, long and lean and dark, beaked like monstrous birds, were landing on a foam-whitened beach of sand. The men in the boats, half naked, huge-muscled and fair-haired, wore winged helmets. In theirhands were swords and spears, and they were leaping, waist-deep, intothe sea-wash and wading ashore. Opposed to them, contesting the landing, were skin-clad savages, unlike Indians, however, who clustered on thebeach or waded into the water to their knees. The first blows were beingstruck, and here and there the bodies of the dead and wounded rolled inthe surf. One fair-haired invader lay across the gunwale of a boat, themanner of his death told by the arrow that transfixed his breast. In theair, leaping past him into the water, sword in hand, was Billy. Therewas no mistaking it. The striking blondness, the face, the eyes, themouth were the same. The very expression on the face was what had beenon Billy's the day of the picnic when he faced the three wild Irishmen. 

Somewhere out of the ruck of those warring races had emerged Billy'sancestors, and hers, was her afterthought, as she closed the book andput it back in the drawer. And some of those ancestors had made thisancient and battered chest of drawers which had crossed the salt oceanand the plains and been pierced by a bullet in the fight with theIndians at Little Meadow. Almost, it seemed, she could visualize thewomen who had kept their pretties and their family homespun in itsdrawers--the women of those wandering generations who were grandmothersand greater great grandmothers of her own mother. Well, she sighed, itwas a good stock to be born of, a hard-working, hard-fighting stock. Shefell to wondering what her life would have been like had she been borna Chinese woman, or an Italian woman like those she saw, head-shawledor bareheaded, squat, ungainly and swarthy, who carried great loadsof driftwood on their heads up from the beach. Then she laughed ather foolishness, remembered Billy and the four-roomed cottage on PineStreet, and went to bed with her mind filled for the hundredth time withthe details of the furniture. 

CHAPTER XIII

"Our cattle were all played out, " Saxon was saying, "and winter was sonear that we couldn't dare try to cross the Great American Desert, soour train stopped in Salt Lake City that winter. The Mormons hadn't gotbad yet, and they were good to us. "

"You talk as though you were there, " Bert commented. 

"My mother was, " Saxon answered proudly. "She was nine years old thatwinter. "

They were seated around the table in the kitchen of the little PineStreet cottage, making a cold lunch of sandwiches, tamales, and bottledbeer. It being Sunday, the four were free from work, and they had comeearly, to work harder than on any week day, washing walls and windows, scrubbing floors, laying carpets and linoleum, hanging curtains, settingup the stove, putting the kitchen utensils and dishes away, and placingthe furniture. 

"Go on with the story, Saxon, " Mary begged. "I'm just dyin' to hear. AndBert, you just shut up and listen. "

"Well, that winter was when Del Hancock showed up. He was Kentucky born, but he'd been in the West for years. He was a scout, like Kit Carson, and he knew him well. Many's a time Kit Carson and he slept under thesame blankets. They were together to California and Oregon with GeneralFremont. Well, Del Hancock was passing on his way through Salt Lake, going I don't know where to raise a company of Rocky Mountain trappersto go after beaver some new place he knew about. Ha was a handsome man. He wore his hair long like in pictures, and had a silk sash aroundhis waist he'd learned to wear in California from the Spanish, and tworevolvers in his belt. Any woman 'd fall in love with him first sight. Well, he saw Sadie, who was my mother's oldest sister, and I guess shelooked good to him, for he stopped right there in Salt Lake and didn'tgo a step. He was a great Indian fighter, too, and I heard my Aunt Villasay, when I was a little girl, that he had the blackest, brightest eyes, and that the way he looked was like an eagle. He'd fought duels, too, the way they did in those days, and he wasn't afraid of anything. 

"Sadie was a beauty, and she flirted with him and drove him crazy. Maybeshe wasn't sure of her own mind, I don't know. But I do know that shedidn't give in as easy as I did to Billy. Finally, he couldn't stand itany more. Ha rode up that night on horseback, wild as could be. 'Sadie, 'he said, 'if you don't promise to marry me to-morrow, I'll shoot myselfto-night right back of the corral. ' And he'd have done it, too, andSadie knew it, and said she would. Didn't they make love fast in thosedays?"

"Oh, I don't know, " Mary sniffed. "A week after you first laid eyes onBilly you was engaged. Did Billy say he was going to shoot himself backof the laundry if you turned him down?"

"I didn't give him a chance, " Saxon confessed. "Anyway Del Hancock andAunt Sadie got married next day. And they were very happy afterward, only she died. And after that he was killed, with General Custer and allthe rest, by the Indians. He was an old man by then, but I guess hegot his share of Indians before they got him. Men like him always diedfighting, and they took their dead with them. I used to know Al Stanleywhen I was a little girl. He was a gambler, but he was game. A railroadman shot him in the back when he was sitting at a table. That shotkilled him, too. He died in about two seconds. But before he died he'dpulled his gun and put three bullets into the man that killed him. "

"I don't like fightin', " Mary protested. "It makes me nervous. Bertgives me the willies the way he's always lookin' for trouble. Thereain't no sense in it. "

"And I wouldn't give a snap of my fingers for a man without fightingspirit, " Saxon answered. "Why, we wouldn't be here to-day if it wasn'tfor the fighting spirit of our people before us. "

"You've got the real goods of a fighter in Billy, " Bert assured her; "ayard long and a yard wide and genuine A Number One, long-fleeced wool. Billy's a Mohegan with a scalp-lock, that's what he is. And when he getshis mad up it's a case of get out from under or something will fall onyou--hard. "

"Just like that, " Mary added. 

Billy, who had taken no part in the conversation, got up, glanced intothe bedroom off the kitchen, went into the parlor and the bedroom offthe parlor, then returned and stood gazing with puzzled brows into thekitchen bedroom. 

"What's eatin' you, old man, " Bert queried. "You look as though you'dlost something or was markin' a three-way ticket. What you got on yourchest? Cough it up. "

"Why, I'm just thinkin' where in Sam Hill's the bed an' stuff for theback bedroom. "

"There isn't any, " Saxon explained. "We didn't order any. "

"Then I'll see about it to-morrow. "

"What d'ye want another bed for?" asked Bert. "Ain't one bed enough forthe two of you?"

"You shut up, Bert!" Mary cried. "Don't get raw. "

"Whoa, Mary!" Bert grinned. "Back up. You're in the wrong stall asusual. "

"We don't need that room, " Saxon was saying to Billy. "And so I didn'tplan any furniture. That money went to buy better carpets and a betterstove. "

Billy came over to her, lifted her from the chair, and seated himselfwith her on his knees. 

"That's right, little girl. I'm glad you did. The best for us everytime. And to-morrow night I want you to run up with me to Salinger'san' pick out a good bedroom set an' carpet for that room. And it must begood. Nothin' snide. "

"It will cost fifty dollars, " she objected. 

"That's right, " he nodded. "Make it cost fifty dollars and not a centless. We're goin' to have the best. And what's the good of an emptyroom? It'd make the house look cheap. Why, I go around now, seein' thislittle nest just as it grows an' softens, day by day, from the day wepaid the cash money down an' nailed the keys. Why, almost every momentI'm drivin' the horses, all day long, I just keep on seein' this nest. And when we're married, I'll go on seein' it. And I want to see itcomplete. If that room'd he bare-floored an' empty, I'd see nothin' butit and its bare floor all day long. I'd be cheated. The house'd bea lie. Look at them curtains you put up in it, Saxon. That's to makebelieve to the neighbors that it's furnished. Saxon, them curtains arelyin' about that room, makin' a noise for every one to hear that thatroom's furnished. Nitsky for us. I'm goin' to see that them curtainstell the truth. "

"You might rent it, " Bert suggested. "You're close to the railroadyards, and it's only two blocks to a restaurant. "

"Not on your life. I ain't marryin' Saxon to take in lodgers. If I can'ttake care of her, d'ye know what I'll do? Go down to Long Wharf, say'Here goes nothin', ' an' jump into the bay with a stone tied to my neck. Ain't I right, Saxon?"

It was contrary to her prudent judgment, but it fanned her pride. Shethrew her arms around her lover's neck, and said, ere she kissed him:

"You're the boss, Billy. What you say goes, and always will go. "

"Listen to that!" Bert gibed to Mary. "That's the stuff. Saxon's ontoher job. "

"I guess we'll talk things over together first before ever I doanything, " Billy was saying to Saxon. 

"Listen to that, " Mary triumphed. "You bet the man that marries me'llhave to talk things over first. "

"Billy's only givin' her hot air, " Bert plagued. "They all do it beforethey're married. "

Mary sniffed contemptuously. 

"I'll bet Saxon leads him around by the nose. And I'm goin' to say, loudan' strong, that I'll lead the man around by the nose that marries me. "

"Not if you love him, " Saxon interposed. 

"All the more reason, " Mary pursued. 

Bert assumed an expression and attitude of mournful dejection. 

"Now you see why me an' Mary don't get married, " he said. "I'm some bigIndian myself, an' I'll be everlastingly jiggerooed if I put up for awigwam I can't be boss of. "

"And I'm no squaw, " Mary retaliated, "an' I wouldn't marry a big buckIndian if all the rest of the men in the world was dead. "

"Well this big buck Indian ain't asked you yet. "

"He knows what he'd get if he did. "

"And after that maybe he'll think twice before he does ask you. "

Saxon, intent on diverting the conversation into pleasanter channels, clapped her hands as if with sudden recollection. 

"Oh! I forgot! I want to show you something. " From her purse she drewa slender ring of plain gold and passed it around. "My mother's weddingring. I've worn it around my neck always, like a locket. I cried for itso in the orphan asylum that the matron gave it back for me to wear. Andnow, just to think, after next Tuesday I'll be wearing it on my finger. Look, Billy, see the engraving on the inside. "

"C to D, 1879, " he read. 

"Carlton to Daisy--Carlton was my father's first name. And now, Billy, you've got to get it engraved for you and me. "

Mary was all eagerness and delight. 

"Oh, it's fine, " she cried. "W to S, 1907. "

Billy considered a moment. 

"No, that wouldn't be right, because I'm not giving it to Saxon. "

"I'll tell you what, " Saxon said. "W and S. "

"Nope. " Billy shook his head. "S and W, because you come first with me. "

"If I come first with you, you come first with us. Billy, dear, I insiston W and S. "

"You see, " Mary said to Bert. "Having her own way and leading him by thenose already. "

Saxon acknowledged the sting. 

"Anyway you want, Billy, " she surrendered. His arms tightened about her. 

"We'll talk it over first, I guess. "

CHAPTER XIV

Sarah was conservative. Worse, she had crystallized at the end of herlove-time with the coming of her first child. After that she was asset in her ways as plaster in a mold. Her mold was the prejudices andnotions of her girlhood and the house she lived in. So habitual wasshe that any change in the customary round assumed the proportions ofa revolution. Tom had gone through many of these revolutions, three ofthem when he moved house. Then his stamina broke, and he never movedhouse again. 

So it was that Saxon had held back the announcement of her approachingmarriage until it was unavoidable. She expected a scene, and she got it. 

"A prizefighter, a hoodlum, a plug-ugly, " Sarah sneered, after she hadexhausted herself of all calamitous forecasts of her own future and thefuture of her children in the absence of Saxon's weekly four dollars anda half. "I don't know what your mother'd thought if she lived to seethe day when you took up with a tough like Bill Roberts. Bill! Why, yourmother was too refined to associate with a man that was called Bill. Andall I can say is you can say good-bye to silk stockings and your threepair of shoes. It won't be long before you'll think yourself lucky to gosloppin' around in Congress gaiters and cotton stockin's two pair for aquarter. "

"Oh, I'm not afraid of Billy not being able to keep me in all kinds ofshoes, " Saxon retorted with a proud toss of her head. 

"You don't know what you're talkin' about. " Sarah paused to laugh inmirthless discordance. "Watch for the babies to come. They come fasterthan wages raise these days. "

"But we're not going to have any babies. .. That is, at first. Not untilafter the furniture is all paid for anyway. "

"Wise in your generation, eh? In my days girls were more modest than toknow anything about disgraceful subjects. "

"As babies?" Saxon queried, with a touch of gentle malice. 

"Yes, as babies. "

"The first I knew that babies were disgraceful. Why, Sarah, you, withyour five, how disgraceful you have been. Billy and I have decided notto be half as disgraceful. We're only going to have two--a boy and agirl. "

Tom chuckled, but held the peace by hiding his face in his coffee cup. Sarah, though checked by this flank attack, was herself an old handin the art. So temporary was the setback that she scarcely paused erehurling her assault from a new angle. 

"An' marryin' so quick, all of a sudden, eh? If that ain't suspicious, nothin' is. I don't know what young women's comin' to. They ain'tdecent, I tell you. They ain't decent. That's what comes of Sundaydancin' an' all the rest. Young women nowadays are like a lot ofanimals. Such fast an' looseness I never saw. .. . "

Saxon was white with anger, but while Sarah wandered on in her diatribe, Tom managed to wink privily and prodigiously at his sister and toimplore her to help in keeping the peace. 

"It's all right, kid sister, " he comforted Saxon when they were alone. "There's no use talkin' to Sarah. Bill Roberts is a good boy. I know alot about him. It does you proud to get him for a husband. You're boundto be happy with him. .. " His voice sank, and his face seemed suddenly tobe very old and tired as he went on anxiously. "Take warning from Sarah. Don't nag. Whatever you do, don't nag. Don't give him a perpetual-motionline of chin. Kind of let him talk once in a while. Men have some horsesense, though Sarah don't know it. Why, Sarah actually loves me, thoughshe don't make a noise like it. The thing for you is to love yourhusband, and, by thunder, to make a noise of lovin' him, too. And thenyou can kid him into doing 'most anything you want. Let him have his wayonce in a while, and he'll let you have yourn. But you just go on lovin'him, and leanin' on his judgement--he's no fool--and you'll be allhunky-dory. I'm scared from goin' wrong, what of Sarah. But I'd soonerbe loved into not going wrong. "

"Oh, I'll do it, Tom, " Saxon nodded, smiling through the tears hissympathy had brought into her eyes. "And on top of it I'm going to dosomething else, I'm going to make Billy love me and just keep on lovingme. And then I won't have to kid him into doing some of the things Iwant. He'll do them because he loves me, you see. "

"You got the right idea, Saxon. Stick with it, an' you'll win out. "

Later, when she had put on her hat to start for the laundry, she foundTom waiting for her at the corner. 

"An', Saxon, " he said, hastily and haltingly, "you won't take anythingI've said. .. You know. .. --about Sarah. .. As bein' in any way disloyalto her? She's a good woman, an' faithful. An' her life ain't so easy bya long shot. I'd bite out my tongue before I'd say anything against her. I guess all folks have their troubles. It's hell to be poor, ain't it?"

"You've been awful good to me, Tom. I can never forget it. And I knowSarah means right. She does do her best. "

"I won't be able to give you a wedding present, " her brother venturedapologetically. "Sarah won't hear of it. Says we didn't get none from myfolks when we got married. But I got something for you just the same. Asurprise. You'd never guess it. "

Saxon waited. 

"When you told me you was goin' to get married, I just happened to thinkof it, an' I wrote to brother George, askin' him for it for you. An' bythunder he sent it by express. I didn't tell you because I didn't knowbut maybe he'd sold it. He did sell the silver spurs. He needed themoney, I guess. But the other, I had it sent to the shop so as notto bother Sarah, an' I sneaked it in last night an' hid it in thewoodshed. "

"Oh, it is something of my father's! What is it? Oh, what is it?"

"His army sword. "

"The one he wore on his roan war horse! Oh, Tom, you couldn't give me abetter present. Let's go back now. I want to see it. We can slip in theback way. Sarah's washing in the kitchen, and she won't begin hangingout for an hour. "

"I spoke to Sarah about lettin' you take the old chest of drawers thatwas your mother's, " Tom whispered, as they stole along the narrow alleybetween the houses. "Only she got on her high horse. Said that Daisy wasas much my mother as yourn, even if we did have different fathers, andthat the chest had always belonged in Daisy's family and not CaptainKit's, an' that it was mine, an' what was mine she had some say-soabout. "

"It's all right, " Saxon reassured him. "She sold it to me last night. She was waiting up for me when I got home with fire in her eye. "

"Yep, she was on the warpath all day after I mentioned it. How much didyou give her for it?"

"Six dollars. "

"Robbery--it ain't worth it, " Tom groaned. "It's all cracked at one endand as old as the hills. "

"I'd have given ten dollars for it. I'd have given 'most anything forit, Tom. It was mother's, you know. I remember it in her room when shewas still alive. "

In the woodshed Tom resurrected the hidden treasure and took off thewrapping paper. Appeared a rusty, steel-scabbarded saber of the heavytype carried by cavalry officers in Civil War days. It was attached toa moth-eaten sash of thick-woven crimson silk from which hung heavy silktassels. Saxon almost seized it from her brother in her eagerness. Shedrew forth the blade and pressed her lips to the steel. 

It was her last day at the laundry. She was to quit work that eveningfor good. And the next afternoon, at five, she and Billy were to gobefore a justice of the peace and be married. Bert and Mary were to bethe witnesses, and after that the four were to go to a private room inBarnum's Restaurant for the wedding supper. That over, Bert and Marywould proceed to a dance at Myrtle Hall, while Billy and Saxonwould take the Eighth Street car to Seventh and Pine. Honeymoons areinfrequent in the working class. The next morning Billy must be at thestable at his regular hour to drive his team out. 

All the women in the fancy starch room knew it was Saxon's last day. Many exulted for her, and not a few were envious of her, in that she hadwon a husband and to freedom from the suffocating slavery of the ironingboard. Much of bantering she endured; such was the fate of every girlwho married out of the fancy starch room. But Saxon was too happy to behurt by the teasing, a great deal of which was gross, but all of whichwas good-natured. 

In the steam that arose from under her iron, and on the surfaces of thedainty lawns and muslins that flew under her hands, she kept visioningherself in the Pine Street cottage; and steadily she hummed under herbreath her paraphrase of the latest popular song:

"And when I work, and when I work, I'll always work for Billy. "

By three in the afternoon the strain of the piece-workers in the humid, heated room grew tense. Elderly women gasped and sighed; the color wentout of the cheeks of the young women, their faces became drawn and darkcircles formed under their eyes; but all held on with weary, unabatedspeed. The tireless, vigilant forewoman kept a sharp lookout forincipient hysteria, and once led a narrow-chested, stoop-shoulderedyoung thing out of the place in time to prevent a collapse. 

Saxon was startled by the wildest scream of terror she had ever heard. The tense thread of human resolution snapped; wills and nerves brokedown, and a hundred women suspended their irons or dropped them. It wasMary who had screamed so terribly, and Saxon saw a strange black animalflapping great claw-like wings and nestling on Mary's shoulder. With thescream, Mary crouched down, and the strange creature, darting into theair, fluttered full into the startled face of a woman at the next board. This woman promptly screamed and fainted. Into the air again, the flyingthing darted hither and thither, while the shrieking, shrinking womenthrew up their arms, tried to run away along the aisles, or coweredunder their ironing boards. 

"It's only a bat!" the forewoman shouted. She was furious. "Ain't youever seen a bat? It won't eat you!"

But they were ghetto people, and were not to be quieted. Some womanwho could not see the cause of the uproar, out of her overwroughtapprehension raised the cry of fire and precipitated the panic rush forthe doors. All of them were screaming the stupid, soul-sickening highnote of terror, drowning the forewoman's voice. Saxon had been merelystartled at first, but the screaming panic broke her grip on herself andswept her away. Though she did not scream, she fled with the rest. Whenthis horde of crazed women debouched on the next department, those whoworked there joined in the stampede to escape from they knew not whatdanger. In ten minutes the laundry was deserted, save for a few menwandering about with hand grenades in futile search for the cause of thedisturbance. 

The forewoman was stout, but indomitable. Swept along half the lengthof an aisle by the terror-stricken women, she had broken her way backthrough the rout and quickly caught the light-blinded visitant in aclothes basket. 

"Maybe I don't know what God looks like, but take it from me I've seena tintype of the devil, " Mary gurgled, emotionally fluttering back andforth between laughter and tears. 

But Saxon was angry with herself, for she had been as frightened as therest in that wild flight for out-of-doors. 

"We're a lot of fools, " she said. "It was only a bat. I've heard aboutthem. They live in the country. They wouldn't hurt a fly. They can't seein the daytime. That was what was the matter with this one. It was onlya bat. "

"Huh, you can't string me, " Mary replied. "It was the devil. " Shesobbed a moment, and then laughed hysterically again. "Did you see Mrs. Bergstrom faint? And it only touched her in the face. Why, it was onmy shoulder and touching my bare neck like the hand of a corpse. And Ididn't faint. " She laughed again. "I guess, maybe, I was too scared tofaint. "

"Come on back, " Saxon urged. "We've lost half an hour. "

"Not me. I'm goin' home after that, if they fire me. I couldn't iron forsour apples now, I'm that shaky. "

One woman had broken a leg, another an arm, and a number nursed milderbruises and bruises. No bullying nor entreating of the forewoman couldpersuade the women to return to work. They were too upset and nervous, and only here and there could one be found brave enough to re-enter thebuilding for the hats and lunch baskets of the others. Saxon was one ofthe handful that returned and worked till six o'clock. 

CHAPTER XV

"Why, Bert!--you're squiffed!" Mary cried reproachfully. 

The four were at the table in the private room at Barnum's. The weddingsupper, simple enough, but seemingly too expensive to Saxon, had beeneaten. Bert, in his hand a glass of California red wine, whichthe management supplied for fifty cents a bottle, was on his feetendeavoring a speech. His face was flushed; his black eyes werefeverishly bright. 

"You've ben drinkin' before you met me, " Mary continued. "I can see itstickin' out all over you. "

"Consult an oculist, my dear, " he replied. "Bertram is himself to-night. An' he is here, arisin' to his feet to give the glad hand to his oldpal. Bill, old man, here's to you. It's how-de-do an' good-bye, I guess. You're a married man now, Bill, an' you got to keep regular hours. Nomore runnin' around with the boys. You gotta take care of yourself, an' get your life insured, an' take out an accident policy, an' join abuildin' an' loan society, an' a buryin' association--"

"Now you shut up, Bert, " Mary broke in. "You don't talk about buryin'sat weddings. You oughta be ashamed of yourself. "

"Whoa, Mary! Back up! I said what I said because I meant it. I ain'tthinkin' what Mary thinks. What I was thinkin'. .. . Let me tell you whatI was thinkin'. I said buryin' association, didn't I? Well, it was notwith the idea of castin' gloom over this merry gatherin'. Far be it. .. . "

He was so evidently seeking a way out of his predicament, that Marytossed her head triumphantly. This acted as a spur to his reeling wits. 

"Let me tell you why, " he went on. "Because, Bill, you got such anall-fired pretty wife, that's why. All the fellows is crazy over her, an' when they get to runnin' after her, what'll you be doin'? You'll begettin' busy. And then won't you need a buryin' association to bury 'em?I just guess yes. That was the compliment to your good taste in skirts Iwas tryin' to come across with when Mary butted in. "

His glittering eyes rested for a moment in bantering triumph on Mary. 

"Who says I'm squiffed? Me? Not on your life. I'm seein' all things in aclear white light. An' I see Bill there, my old friend Bill. An' I don'tsee two Bills. I see only one. Bill was never two-faced in his life. Bill, old man, when I look at you there in the married harness, I'msorry--" He ceased abruptly and turned on Mary. "Now don't go up in theair, old girl. I'm onto my job. My grandfather was a state senator, andhe could spiel graceful an' pleasin' till the cows come home. So canI. --Bill, when I look at you, I'm sorry. I repeat, I'm sorry. " He glaredchallengingly at Mary. "For myself when I look at you an' know all thehappiness you got a hammerlock on. Take it from me, you're a wise guy, bless the women. You've started well. Keep it up. Marry 'em all, bless'em. Bill, here's to you. You're a Mohegan with a scalplock. An' yougot a squaw that is some squaw, take it from me. Minnehaha, here's toyou--to the two of you--an' to the papooses, too, gosh-dang them!"

He drained the glass suddenly and collapsed in his chair, blinking hiseyes across at the wedded couple while tears trickled unheeded downhis cheeks. Mary's hand went out soothingly to his, completing hisbreak-down. 

"By God, I got a right to cry, " he sobbed. "I'm losin' my best friend, ain't I? It'll never be the same again never. When I think of the fun, an' scrapes, an' good times Bill an' me has had together, I could darnnear hate you, Saxon, sittin' there with your hand in his. "

"Cheer up, Bert, " she laughed gently. "Look at whose hand you areholding. "

"Aw, it's only one of his cryin' jags, " Mary said, with a harshnessthat her free hand belied as it caressed his hair with soothing strokes. "Buck up, Bert. Everything's all right. And now it's up to Bill to saysomething after your dandy spiel. "

Bert recovered himself quickly with another glass of wine. 

"Kick in, Bill, " he cried. "It's your turn now. "

"I'm no hotair artist, " Billy grumbled. "What'll I say, Saxon? Theyain't no use tellin' 'em how happy we are. They know that. "

"Tell them we're always going to be happy, " she said. "And thank themfor all their good wishes, and we both wish them the same. And we'realways going to be together, like old times, the four of us. And tellthem they're invited down to 507 Pine Street next Sunday for Sundaydinner. --And, Mary, if you want to come Saturday night you can sleep inthe spare bedroom. "

"You've told'm yourself, better'n I could. " Billy clapped his hands. "You did yourself proud, an' I guess they ain't much to add to it, butjust the same I'm goin' to pass them a hot one. "

He stood up, his hand on his glass. His clear blue eyes under thedark brows and framed by the dark lashes, seemed a deeper blue, andaccentuated the blondness of hair and skin. The smooth cheeks wererosy--not with wine, for it was only his second glass--but with healthand joy. Saxon, looking up at him, thrilled with pride in him, he was sowell-dressed, so strong, so handsome, so clean-looking--her man-boy. Andshe was aware of pride in herself, in her woman's desirableness that hadwon for her so wonderful a lover. 

"Well, Bert an' Mary, here you are at Saxon's and my wedding supper. We're just goin' to take all your good wishes to heart, we wish you thesame back, and when we say it we mean more than you think we mean. Saxonan' I believe in tit for tat. So we're wishin' for the day when thetable is turned clear around an' we're sittin' as guests at your weddin'supper. And then, when you come to Sunday dinner, you can both stopSaturday night in the spare bedroom. I guess I was wised up when Ifurnished it, eh?"

"I never thought it of you, Billy!" Mary exclaimed. "You're every hit asraw as Bert. But just the same. .. "

There was a rush of moisture to her eyes. Her voice faltered and broke. She smiled through her tears at them, then turned to look at Bert, whoput his arm around her and gathered her on to his knees. 

When they left the restaurant, the four walked to Eighth and Broadway, where they stopped beside the electric car. Bert and Billy were awkwardand silent, oppressed by a strange aloofness. But Mary embraced Saxonwith fond anxiousness. 

"It's all right, dear, " Mary whispered. "Don't be scared. It's allright. Think of all the other women in the world. "

The conductor clanged the gong, and the two couples separated in asudden hubbub of farewell. 

"Oh, you Mohegan!" Bert called after, as the car got under way. "Oh, youMinnehaha!"

"Remember what I said, " was Mary's parting to Saxon. 

The car stopped at Seventh and Pine, the terminus of the line. It wasonly a little over two blocks to the cottage. On the front steps Billytook the key from his pocket. 

"Funny, isn't it?" he said, as the key turned in the lock. "You an' me. Just you an' me. "

While he lighted the lamp in the parlor, Saxon was taking off her hat. He went into the bedroom and lighted the lamp there, then turned backand stood in the doorway. Saxon, still unaccountably fumbling with herhatpins, stole a glance at him. He held out his arms. 

"Now, " he said. 

She came to him, and in his arms he could feel her trembling. 

BOOK II

CHAPTER I

The first evening after the marriage night Saxon met Billy at the dooras he came up the front steps. After their embrace, and as they crossedthe parlor hand in hand toward the kitchen, he filled his lungs throughhis nostrils with audible satisfaction. 

"My, but this house smells good, Saxon! It ain't the coffee--I can smellthat, too. It's the whole house. It smells. .. Well, it just smells goodto me, that's all. "

He washed and dried himself at the sink, while she heated the frying panon the front hole of the stove with the lid off. As he wiped his handshe watched her keenly, and cried out with approbation as she dropped thesteak in the fryin pan. 

"Where'd you learn to cook steak on a dry, hot pan? It's the only way, but darn few women seem to know about it. "

As she took the cover off a second frying pan and stirred the savorycontents with a kitchen knife, he came behind her, passed his arms underher arm-pits with down-drooping hands upon her breasts, and bent hishead over her shoulder till cheek touched cheek. 

"Um-um-um-m-m! Fried potatoes with onions like mother used to make. Mefor them. Don't they smell good, though! Um-um-m-m-m!"

The pressure of his hands relaxed, and his cheek slid caressingly pasthers as he started to release her. Then his hands closed down again. She felt his lips on her hair and heard his advertised inhalation ofdelight. 

"Um-um-m-m-m! Don't you smell good--yourself, though! I never understoodwhat they meant when they said a girl was sweet. I know, now. And you'rethe sweetest I ever knew. "

His joy was boundless. When he returned from combing his hair in thebedroom and sat down at the small table opposite her, he paused withknife and fork in hand. 

"Say, bein' married is a whole lot more than it's cracked up to be bymost married folks. Honest to God, Saxon, we can show 'em a few. We cangive 'em cards and spades an' little casino an' win out on big casinoand the aces. I've got but one kick comin'. "

The instant apprehension in her eyes provoked a chuckle from him. 

"An' that is that we didn't get married quick enough. Just think. I'velost a whole week of this. "

Her eyes shone with gratitude and happiness, and in her heart shesolemnly pledged herself that never in all their married life would itbe otherwise. 

Supper finished, she cleared the table and began washing the dishes atthe sink. When he evinced the intention of wiping them, she caught himby the lapels of the coat and backed him into a chair. 

"You'll sit right there, if you know what's good for you. Now be goodand mind what I say. Also, you will smoke a cigarette. --No; you're notgoing to watch me. There's the morning paper beside you. And if youdon't hurry to read it, I'll be through these dishes before you'vestarted. "

As he smoked and read, she continually glanced across at him from herwork. One thing more, she thought--slippers; and then the picture ofcomfort and content would be complete. 

Several minutes later Billy put the paper aside with a sigh. 

"It's no use, " he complained. "I can't read. "

"What's the matter?" she teased. "Eyes weak?"

"Nope. They're sore, and there's only one thing to do 'em any good, an'that's lookin' at you. "

"All right, then, baby Billy; I'll be through in a jiffy. "

When she had washed the dish towel and scalded out the sink, she tookoff her kitchen apron, came to him, and kissed first one eye and thenthe other. 

"How are they now. Cured?"

"They feel some better already. "

She repeated the treatment. 

"And now?"

"Still better. "

"And now?"

"Almost well. "

After he had adjudged them well, he ouched and informed her that therewas still some hurt in the right eye. 

In the course of treating it, she cried out as in pain. Billy was allalarm. 

"What is it? What hurt you?"

"My eyes. They're hurting like sixty. "

And Billy became physician for a while and she the patient. When thecure was accomplished, she led him into the parlor, where, by the openwindow, they succeeded in occupying the same Morris chair. It was themost expensive comfort in the house. It had cost seven dollars anda half, and, though it was grander than anything she had dreamed ofpossessing, the extravagance of it had worried her in a half-guilty wayall day. 

The salt chill of the air that is the blessing of all the bay citiesafter the sun goes down crept in about them. They heard the switchengines puffing in the railroad yards, and the rumbling thunder of theSeventh Street local slowing down in its run from the Mole to stop atWest Oakland station. From the street came the noise of children playingin the summer night, and from the steps of the house next door the lowvoices of gossiping housewives. 

"Can you beat it?" Billy murmured. "When I think of that six-dollarfurnished room of mine, it makes me sick to think what I was missin'all the time. But there's one satisfaction. If I'd changed it soonerI wouldn't a-had you. You see, I didn't know you existed only until acouple of weeks ago. "

His hand crept along her bare forearm and up and partly under theelbow-sleeve. 

"Your skin's so cool, " he said. "It ain't cold; it's cool. It feels goodto the hand. "

"Pretty soon you'll be calling me your cold-storage baby, " she laughed. 

"And your voice is cool, " he went on. "It gives me the feeling justas your hand does when you rest it on my forehead. It's funny. I can'texplain it. But your voice just goes all through me, cool and fine. It's like a wind of coolness--just right. It's like the first of thesea-breeze settin' in in the afternoon after a scorchin' hot morning. An' sometimes, when you talk low, it sounds round and sweet like the'cello in the Macdonough Theater orchestra. And it never goes high up, or sharp, or squeaky, or scratchy, like some women's voices when they'remad, or fresh, or excited, till they remind me of a bum phonographrecord. Why, your voice, it just goes through me till I'm alltrembling--like with the everlastin' cool of it. It's it's straightdelicious. I guess angels in heaven, if they is any, must have voiceslike that. "

After a few minutes, in which, so inexpressible was her happiness thatshe could only pass her hand through his hair and cling to him, he brokeout again. 

"I'll tell you what you remind me of. Did you ever see a thoroughbredmare, all shinin' in the sun, with hair like satin an' skin so thin an'tender that the least touch of the whip leaves a mark--all fine nerves, an' delicate an' sensitive, that'll kill the toughest bronco when itcomes to endurance an' that can strain a tendon in a flash or catchdeath-of-cold without a blanket for a night? I wanta tell you they ain'tmany beautifuler sights in this world. An' they're that fine-strung, an'sensitive, an' delicate. You gotta handle 'em right-side up, glass, withcare. Well, that's what you remind me of. And I'm goin' to make itmy job to see you get handled an' gentled in the same way. You'reas different from other women as that kind of a mare is from scrubwork-horse mares. You're a thoroughbred. You're clean-cut an' spirited, an' your lines. .. 

"Say, d'ye know you've got some figure? Well, you have. Talk aboutAnnette Kellerman. You can give her cards and spades. She's Australian, an' you're American, only your figure ain't. You're different. You'renifty--I don't know how to explain it. Other women ain't built like you. You belong in some other country. You're Frenchy, that's what. You'rebuilt like a French woman an' more than that--the way you walk, move, stand up or sit down, or don't do anything. "

And he, who had never been out of California, or, for that matter, hadnever slept a night away from his birthtown of Oakland, was right inhis judgment. She was a flower of Anglo-Saxon stock, a rarity in theexceptional smallness and fineness of hand and foot and bone and graceof flesh and carriage--some throw-back across the face of time to theforaying Norman-French that had intermingled with the sturdy Saxonbreed. 

"And in the way you carry your clothes. They belong to you. They seemjust as much part of you as the cool of your voice and skin. They'realways all right an' couldn't be better. An' you know, a fellow kind oflikes to be seen taggin' around with a woman like you, that wears herclothes like a dream, an' hear the other fellows say: 'Who's Bill's newskirt? She's a peach, ain't she? Wouldn't I like to win her, though. 'And all that sort of talk. "

And Saxon, her cheek pressed to his, knew that she was paid in full forall her midnight sewings and the torturing hours of drowsy stitchingwhen her head nodded with the weariness of the day's toil, while sherecreated for herself filched ideas from the dainty garments that hadsteamed under her passing iron. 

"Say, Saxon, I got a new name for you. You're my Tonic Kid. That's whatyou are, the Tonic Kid. "

"And you'll never get tired of me?" she queried. 

"Tired? Why we was made for each other. "

"Isn't it wonderful, our meeting, Billy? We might never have met. It wasjust by accident that we did. "

"We was born lucky, " he proclaimed. "That's a cinch. "

"Maybe it was more than luck, " she ventured. 

"Sure. It just had to be. It was fate. Nothing could a-kept us apart. "

They sat on in a silence that was quick with unuttered love, till shefelt him slowly draw her more closely and his lips come near to her earas they whispered: "What do you say we go to bed?"

Many evenings they spent like this, varied with an occasional dance, with trips to the Orpheum and to Bell's Theater, or to the movingpicture shows, or to the Friday night band concerts in City Hall Park. Often, on Sunday, she prepared a lunch, and he drove her out into thehills behind Prince and King, whom Billy's employer was still glad tohave him exercise. 

Each morning Saxon was called by the alarm clock. The first morninghe had insisted upon getting up with her and building the fire in thekitchen stove. She gave in the first morning, but after that she laidthe fire in the evening, so that all that was required was the touchingof a match to it. And in bed she compelled him to remain for a lastlittle doze ere she called him for breakfast. For the first severalweeks she prepared his lunch for him. Then, for a week, he came downto dinner. After that he was compelled to take his lunch with him. Itdepended on how far distant the teaming was done. 

"You're not starting right with a man, " Mary cautioned. "You wait on himhand and foot. You'll spoil him if you don't watch out. It's him thatought to be waitin' on you. "

"He's the bread-winner, " Saxon replied. "He works harder than I, andI've got more time than I know what to do with--time to burn. Besides, I want to wait on him because I love to, and because. .. Well, anyway, Iwant to. "

CHAPTER II

Despite the fastidiousness of her housekeeping, Saxon, once she hadsystematized it, found time and to spare on her hands. Especially duringthe periods in which her husband carried his lunch and there was nomidday meal to prepare, she had a number of hours each day to herself. Trained for years to the routine of factory and laundry work, she couldnot abide this unaccustomed idleness. She could not bear to sit and donothing, while she could not pay calls on her girlhood friends, for theystill worked in factory and laundry. Nor was she acquainted with thewives of the neighborhood, save for one strange old woman who livedin the house next door and with whom Saxon had exchanged snatches ofconversation over the backyard division fence. 

One time-consuming diversion of which Saxon took advantage was free andunlimited baths. In the orphan asylum and in Sarah's house she had beenused to but one bath a week. As she grew to womanhood she had attemptedmore frequent baths. But the effort proved disastrous, arousing, first, Sarah's derision, and next, her wrath. Sarah had crystallized in the eraof the weekly Saturday night bath, and any increase in this cleansingfunction was regarded by her as putting on airs and as an insinuationagainst her own cleanliness. Also, it was an extravagant misuse of fuel, and occasioned extra towels in the family wash. But now, in Billy'shouse, with her own stove, her own tub and towels and soap, and no oneto say her nay, Saxon was guilty of a daily orgy. True, it was only acommon washtub that she placed on the kitchen floor and filled by hand;but it was a luxury that had taken her twenty-four years to achieve. Itwas from the strange woman next door that Saxon received a hint, droppedin casual conversation, of what proved the culminating joy of bathing. Asimple thing--a few drops of druggist's ammonia in the water; but Saxonhad never heard of it before. 

She was destined to learn much from the strange woman. The acquaintancehad begun one day when Saxon, in the back yard, was hanging out a coupleof corset covers and several pieces of her finest undergarments. Thewoman leaning on the rail of her back porch, had caught her eye, andnodded, as it seemed to Saxon, half to her and half to the underlinen onthe line. 

"You're newly married, aren't you?" the woman asked. "I'm Mrs. Higgins. I prefer my first name, which is Mercedes. "

"And I'm Mrs. Roberts, " Saxon replied, thrilling to the newness of thedesignation on her tongue. "My first name is Saxon. "

"Strange name for a Yankee woman, " the other commented. 

"Oh, but I'm not Yankee, " Saxon exclaimed. "I'm Californian. "

"La la, " laughed Mercedes Higgins. "I forgot I was in America. In otherlands all Americans are called Yankees. It is true that you are newlymarried?"

Saxon nodded with a happy sigh. Mercedes sighed, too. 

"Oh, you happy, soft, beautiful young thing. I could envy you tohatred--you with all the man-world ripe to be twisted about your prettylittle fingers. And you don't realize your fortune. No one does untilit's too late. "

Saxon was puzzled and disturbed, though she answered readily:

"Oh, but I do know how lucky I am. I have the finest man in the world. "

Mercedes Higgins sighed again and changed the subject. She nodded herhead at the garments. 

"I see you like pretty things. It is good judgment for a young woman. They're the bait for men--half the weapons in the battle. They win men, and they hold men--" She broke off to demand almost fiercely: "And you, you would keep your husband?--always, always--if you can?"

"I intend to. I will make him love me always and always. "

Saxon ceased, troubled and surprised that she should be so intimate witha stranger. 

"'Tis a queer thing, this love of men, " Mercedes said. "And a failing ofall women is it to believe they know men like books. And with breakinghearts, die they do, most women, out of their ignorance of men and stillfoolishly believing they know all about them. Oh, la la, the littlefools. And so you say, little new-married woman, that you will make yourman love you always and always? And so they all say it, knowing men andthe queerness of men's love the way they think they do. Easier it isto win the capital prize in the Little Louisiana, but the littlenew-married women never know it until too late. But you--you have begunwell. Stay by your pretties and your looks. 'Twas so you won your man, 'tis so you'll hold him. But that is not all. Some time I will talk withyou and tell what few women trouble to know, what few women ever come toknow. --Saxon!--'tis a strong, handsome name for a woman. But you don'tlook it. Oh, I've watched you. French you are, with a Frenchiness beyonddispute. Tell Mr. Roberts I congratulate him on his good taste. "

She paused, her hand on the knob of her kitchen door. 

"And come and see me some time. You will never be sorry. I can teach youmuch. Come in the afternoon. My man is night watchman in the yards andsleeps of mornings. He's sleeping now. "

Saxon went into the house puzzling and pondering. Anything but ordinarywas this lean, dark-skinned woman, with the face withered as if scorchedin great heats, and the eyes, large and black, that flashed and flamedwith advertisement of an unquenched inner conflagration. Old shewas--Saxon caught herself debating anywhere between fifty and seventy;and her hair, which had once been blackest black, was streakedplentifully with gray. Especially noteworthy to Saxon was her speech. Good English it was, better than that to which Saxon was accustomed. Yetthe woman was not American. On the other hand, she had no perceptibleaccent. Rather were her words touched by a foreignness so elusive thatSaxon could not analyze nor place it. 

"Uh, huh, " Billy said, when she had told him that evening of the day'sevent. "So SHE'S Mrs. Higgins? He's a watchman. He's got only one arm. Old Higgins an' her--a funny bunch, the two of them. The people's scaredof her--some of 'em. The Dagoes an' some of the old Irish dames thinksshe's a witch. Won't have a thing to do with her. Bert was tellin' meabout it. Why, Saxon, d'ye know, some of 'em believe if she was to getmad at 'em, or didn't like their mugs, or anything, that all she's gotto do is look at 'em an' they'll curl up their toes an' croak. One ofthe fellows that works at the stable--you've seen 'm--Henderson--helives around the corner on Fifth--he says she's bughouse. "

"Oh, I don't know, " Saxon defended her new acquaintance. "She may becrazy, but she says the same thing you're always saying. She says myform is not American but French. "

"Then I take my hat off to her, " Billy responded. "No wheels in her headif she says that. Take it from me, she's a wise gazabo. "

"And she speaks good English, Billy, like a school teacher, like what Iguess my mother used to speak. She's educated. "

"She ain't no fool, or she wouldn't a-sized you up the way she did. "

"She told me to congratulate you on your good taste in marrying me, "Saxon laughed. 

"She did, eh? Then give her my love. Me for her, because she knows agood thing when she sees it, an' she ought to be congratulating you onyour good taste in me. "

It was on another day that Mercedes Higgins nodded, half to Saxon, andhalf to the dainty women's things Saxon was hanging on the line. 

"I've been worrying over your washing, little new-wife, " was hergreeting. 

"Oh, but I've worked in the laundry for years, " Saxon said quickly. 

Mercedes sneered scornfully. 

"Steam laundry. That's business, and it's stupid. Only common thingsshould go to a steam laundry. That is their punishment for being common. But the pretties! the dainties! the flimsies!--la la, my dear, theirwashing is an art. It requires wisdom, genius, and discretion fine asthe clothes are fine. I will give you a recipe for homemade soap. Itwill not harden the texture. It will give whiteness, and softness, andlife. You can wear them long, and fine white clothes are to be loved along time. Oh, fine washing is a refinement, an art. It is to be done asan artist paints a picture, or writes a poem, with love, holily, a truesacrament of beauty. 

"I shall teach you better ways, my dear, better ways than you Yankeesknow. I shall teach you new pretties. " She nodded her head to Saxon'sunderlinen on the line. "I see you make little laces. I know alllaces--the Belgian, the Maltese, the Mechlin--oh, the many, many lovesof laces! I shall teach you some of the simpler ones so that you canmake them for yourself, for your brave man you are to make love youalways and always. "

On her first visit to Mercedes Higgins, Saxon received the recipe forhome-made soap and her head was filled with a minutiae of instruction inthe art of fine washing. Further, she was fascinated and excited by allthe newness and strangeness of the withered old woman who blew upon herthe breath of wider lands and seas beyond the horizon. 

"You are Spanish?" Saxon ventured. 

"No, and yes, and neither, and more. My father was Irish, my motherPeruvian-Spanish. 'Tis after her I took, in color and looks. In otherways after my father, the blue-eyed Celt with the fairy song onhis tongue and the restless feet that stole the rest of him away tofar-wandering. And the feet of him that he lent me have led me away onas wide far roads as ever his led him. "

Saxon remembered her school geography, and with her mind's eye she sawa certain outline map of a continent with jiggly wavering parallel linesthat denoted coast. 

"Oh, " she cried, "then you are South American. "

Mercedes shrugged her shoulders. 

"I had to be born somewhere. It was a great ranch, my mother's. Youcould put all Oakland in one of its smallest pastures. "

Mercedes Higgins sighed cheerfully and for the time was lost inretrospection. Saxon was curious to hear more about this woman who musthave lived much as the Spanish-Californians had lived in the old days. 

"You received a good education, " she said tentatively. "Your English isperfect. "

"Ah, the English came afterward, and not in school. But, as it goes, yes, a good education in all things but the most important--men. That, too, came afterward. And little my mother dreamed--she was a grand lady, what you call a cattle-queen--little she dreamed my fine education wasto fit me in the end for a night watchman's wife. " She laughed genuinelyat the grotesqueness of the idea. "Night watchman, laborers, why, we hadhundreds, yes, thousands that toiled for us. The peons--they are likewhat you call slaves, almost, and the cowboys, who could ride twohundred miles between side and side of the ranch. And in the big houseservants beyond remembering or counting. La la, in my mother's housewere many servants. "

Mercedes Higgins was voluble as a Greek, and wandered on inreminiscence. 

"But our servants were lazy and dirty. The Chinese are the servants parexcellence. So are the Japanese, when you find a good one, but not sogood as the Chinese. The Japanese maidservants are pretty and merry, butyou never know the moment they'll leave you. The Hindoos are not strong, but very obedient. They look upon sahibs and memsahibs as gods! I was amemsahib--which means woman. I once had a Russian cook who always spatin the soup for luck. It was very funny. But we put up with it. It wasthe custom. "

"How you must have traveled to have such strange servants!" Saxonencouraged. 

The old woman laughed corroboration. 

"And the strangest of all, down in the South Seas, black slaves, littlekinky-haired cannibals with bones through their noses. When they did notmind, or when they stole, they were tied up to a cocoanut palm behindthe compound and lashed with whips of rhinoceros hide. They were from anisland of cannibals and head-hunters, and they never cried out. It wastheir pride. There was little Vibi, only twelve years old--he waited onme--and when his back was cut in shreds and I wept over him, he wouldonly laugh and say, 'Short time little bit I take 'm head belong bigfella white marster. ' That was Bruce Anstey, the Englishman who whippedhim. But little Vibi never got the head. He ran away and the bushmen cutoff his own head and ate every bit of him. "

Saxon chilled, and her face was grave; but Mercedes Higgins rattled on. 

"Ah, those were wild, gay, savage days. Would you believe it, my dear, in three years those Englishmen of the plantation drank up oceans ofchampagne and Scotch whisky and dropped thirty thousand pounds onthe adventure. Not dollars--pounds, which means one hundred and fiftythousand dollars. They were princes while it lasted. It was splendid, glorious. It was mad, mad. I sold half my beautiful jewels in NewZealand before I got started again. Bruce Anstey blew out his brains atthe end. Roger went mate on a trader with a black crew, for eight poundsa month. And Jack Gilbraith--he was the rarest of them all. His peoplewere wealthy and titled, and he went home to England and sold cat'smeat, sat around their big house till they gave him more money tostart a rubber plantation in the East Indies somewhere, on Sumatra, Ithink--or was it New Guinea?"

And Saxon, back in her own kitchen and preparing supper for Billy, wondered what lusts and rapacities had led the old, burnt-faced womanfrom the big Peruvian ranch, through all the world, to West Oakland andBarry Higgins Old Barry was not the sort who would fling away his shareof one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, much less ever attain to suchopulence. Besides, she had mentioned the names of other men, but nothis. 

Much more Mercedes had talked, in snatches and fragments. There seemedno great country nor city of the old world or the new in which shehad not been. She had even been in Klondike, ten years before, in ahalf-dozen flashing sentences picturing the fur-clad, be-moccasinedminers sowing the barroom floors with thousands of dollars' worth ofgold dust. Always, so it seemed to Saxon, Mrs. Higgins had been with mento whom money was as water. 

CHAPTER III

Saxon, brooding over her problem of retaining Billy's love, of neverstaling the freshness of their feeling for each other and of neverdescending from the heights which at present they were treading, feltherself impelled toward Mrs. Higgins. SHE knew; surely she must know. Had she not hinted knowledge beyond ordinary women's knowledge?

Several weeks went by, during which Saxon was often with her. But Mrs. Higgins talked of all other matters, taught Saxon the making ofcertain simple laces, and instructed her in the arts of washing andof marketing. And then, one afternoon, Saxon found Mrs. Higgins morevoluble than usual, with words, clean-uttered, that rippled and trippedin their haste to escape. Her eyes were flaming. So flamed her face. Herwords were flames. There was a smell of liquor in the air and Saxon knewthat the old woman had been drinking. Nervous and frightened, at thesame time fascinated, Saxon hemstitched a linen handkerchief intendedfor Billy and listened to Mercedes' wild flow of speech. 

"Listen, my dear. I shall tell you about the world of men. Do not bestupid like all your people, who think me foolish and a witch with theevil eye. Ha! ha! When I think of silly Maggie Donahue pulling the shawlacross her baby's face when we pass each other on the sidewalk! A witchI have been, 'tis true, but my witchery was with men. Oh, I am wise, very wise, my dear. I shall tell you of women's ways with men, and ofmen's ways with women, the best of them and the worst of them. Of thebrute that is in all men, of the queerness of them that breaks thehearts of stupid women who do not understand. And all women are stupid. I am not stupid. La la, listen. 

"I am an old woman. And like a woman, I'll not tell you how old I am. Yet can I hold men. Yet would I hold men, toothless and a hundred, mynose touching my chin. Not the young men. They were mine in my youngdays. But the old men, as befits my years. And well for me the power ismine. In all this world I am without kin or cash. Only have I wisdom andmemories--memories that are ashes, but royal ashes, jeweled ashes. Oldwomen, such as I, starve and shiver, or accept the pauper's dole andthe pauper's shroud. Not I. I hold my man. True, 'tis only BarryHiggins--old Barry, heavy, an ox, but a male man, my dear, and queeras all men are queer. 'Tis true, he has one arm. " She shrugged hershoulders. "A compensation. He cannot beat me, and old bones are tenderwhen the round flesh thins to strings. 

"But when I think of my wild young lovers, princes, mad with the madnessof youth! I have lived. It is enough. I regret nothing. And with oldBarry I have my surety of a bite to eat and a place by the fire. Andwhy? Because I know men, and shall never lose my cunning to hold them. 'Tis bitter sweet, the knowledge of them, more sweet than bitter--menand men and men! Not stupid dolts, nor fat bourgeois swine of businessmen, but men of temperament, of flame and fire; madmen, maybe, but alawless, royal race of madmen. 

"Little wife-woman, you must learn. Variety! There lies the magic. 'Tisthe golden key. 'Tis the toy that amuses. Without it in the wife, theman is a Turk; with it, he is her slave, and faithful. A wife must bemany wives. If you would have your husband's love you must be all womento him. You must be ever new, with the dew of newness ever sparkling, aflower that never blooms to the fulness that fades. You must be a gardenof flowers, ever new, ever fresh, ever different. And in your garden theman must never pluck the last of your posies. 

"Listen, little wife-woman. In the garden of love is a snake. It is thecommonplace. Stamp on its head, or it will destroy the garden. Rememberthe name. Commonplace. Never be too intimate. Men only seem gross. Womenare more gross than men. --No, do not argue, little new-wife. You are aninfant woman. Women are less delicate than men. Do I not know? Of theirown husbands they will relate the most intimate love-secrets to otherwomen. Men never do this of their wives. Explain it. There is only oneway. In all things of love women are less delicate. It is their mistake. It is the father and the mother of the commonplace, and it is thecommonplace, like a loathsome slug, that beslimes and destroys love. 

"Be delicate, little wife-woman. Never be without your veil, withoutmany veils. Veil yourself in a thousand veils, all shimmering andglittering with costly textures and precious jewels. Never let the lastveil be drawn. Against the morrow array yourself with more veils, evermore veils, veils without end. Yet the many veils must not seem many. Each veil must seem the only one between you and your hungry lover whowill have nothing less than all of you. Each time he must seem to getall, to tear aside the last veil that hides you. He must think so. Itmust not be so. Then there will be no satiety, for on the morrow he willfind another last veil that has escaped him. 

"Remember, each veil must seem the last and only one. Always you mustseem to abandon all to his arms; always you must reserve more that onthe morrow and on all the morrows you may abandon. Of such is variety, surprise, so that your man's pursuit will be everlasting, so that hiseyes will look to you for newness, and not to other women. It was thefreshness and the newness' of your beauty and you, the mystery of you, that won your man. When a man has plucked and smelled all the sweetnessof a flower, he looks for other flowers. It is his queerness. You mustever remain a flower almost plucked yet never plucked, stored with vatsof sweet unbroached though ever broached. 

"Stupid women, and all are stupid, think the first winning of the manthe final victory. Then they settle down and grow fat, and state, and dead, and heartbroken. Alas, they are so stupid. But you, littleinfant-woman with your first victory, you must make your love-life anunending chain of victories. Each day you must win your man again. Andwhen you have won the last victory, when you can find no more to win, then ends love. Finis is written, and your man wanders in strangegardens. Remember, love must be kept insatiable. It must have anappetite knife-edged and never satisfied. You must feed your lover well, ah, very well, most well; give, give, yet send him away hungry to comeback to you for more. "

Mrs. Higgins stood up suddenly and crossed out of the room. Saxon hadnot failed to note the litheness and grace in that lean and witheredbody. She watched for Mrs. Higgins' return, and knew that the lithenessand grace had not been imagined. 

"Scarcely have I told you the first letter in love's alphabet, " saidMercedes Higgins, as she reseated herself. 

In her hands was a tiny instrument, beautifully grained and richlybrown, which resembled a guitar save that it bore four strings. Sheswept them back and forth with rhythmic forefinger and lifted a voice, thin and mellow, in a fashion of melody that was strange, and in aforeign tongue, warm-voweled, all-voweled, and love-exciting. Softlythrobbing, voice and strings arose on sensuous crests of song, died awayto whisperings and caresses, drifted through love-dusks and twilights, or swelled again to love-cries barbarically imperious in which werewoven plaintive calls and madnesses of invitation and promise. It wentthrough Saxon until she was as this instrument, swept with passionalstrains. It seemed to her a dream, and almost was she dizzy, whenMercedes Higgins ceased. 

"If your man had clasped the last of you, and if all of you were knownto him as an old story, yet, did you sing that one song, as I have sungit, yet would his arms again go out to you and his eyes grow warm withthe old mad lights. Do you see? Do you understand, little wife-woman?"

Saxon could only nod, her lips too dry for speech. 

"The golden koa, the king of woods, " Mercedes was crooning over theinstrument. "The ukulele--that is what the Hawaiians call it, whichmeans, my dear, the jumping flea. They are golden-fleshed, theHawalians, a race of lovers, all in the warm cool of the tropic nightwhere the trade winds blow. "

Again she struck the strings. She sang in another language, whichSaxon deemed must be French. It was a gayly-devilish lilt, trippingand tickling. Her large eyes at times grew larger and wilder, and againnarrowed in enticement and wickedness. When she ended, she looked toSaxon for a verdict. 

"I don't like that one so well, " Saxon said. 

Mercedes shrugged her shoulders. 

"They all have their worth, little infant-woman with so much to learn. There are times when men may be won with wine. There are times whenmen may be won with the wine of song, so queer they are. La la, so manyways, so many ways. There are your pretties, my dear, your dainties. They are magic nets. No fisherman upon the sea ever tangled fish moresuccessfully than we women with our flimsies. You are on the right path. I have seen men enmeshed by a corset cover no prettier, no daintier, than these of yours I have seen on the line. 

"I have called the washing of fine linen an art. But it is not foritself alone. The greatest of the arts is the conquering of men. Loveis the sum of all the arts, as it is the reason for their existence. Listen. In all times and ages have been women, great wise women. Theydid not need to be beautiful. Greater then all woman's beauty was theirwisdom. Princes end potentates bowed down before them. Nations battledover them. Empires crashed because of them. Religions were foundedon them. Aphrodite, Astarte, the worships of the night--listen, infant-woman, of the great women who conquered worlds of men. "

And thereafter Saxon listened, in a maze, to what almost seemed a wildfarrago, save that the strange meaningless phrases were fraught withdim, mysterious significance. She caught glimmerings of profoundsinexpressible and unthinkable that hinted connotations lawless andterrible. The woman's speech was a lava rush, scorching and searing;and Saxon's cheeks, and forehead, and neck burned with a blush thatcontinuously increased. She trembled with fear, suffered qualms ofnausea, thought sometimes that she would faint, so madly reeled herbrain; yet she could not tear herself away, sad sat on and on, hersewing forgotten on her lap, staring with inward sight upon a nightmarevision beyond all imagining. At last, when it seemed she could endureno more, and while she was wetting her dry lips to cry out in protest, Mercedes ceased. 

"And here endeth the first lesson, " she said quite calmly, then laughedwith a laughter that was tantalizing and tormenting. "What is thematter? You are not shocked?"

"I am frightened, " Saxon quavered huskily, with a half-sob ofnervousness. "You frighten me. I am very foolish, and I know so little, that I had never dreamed. .. THAT. "

Mercedes nodded her head comprehendingly. 

"It is indeed to be frightened at, " she said. "It is solemn; it isterrible; it is magnificent!"

CHAPTER IV

Saxon had been clear-eyed all her days, though her field of visionhad been restricted. Clear-eyed, from her childhood days with thesaloonkeeper Cady and Cady's good-natured but unmoral spouse, shehad observed, and, later, generalized much upon sex. She knew thepost-nuptial problem of retaining a husband's love, as few wives of anyclass knew it, just as she knew the pre-nuptial problem of selecting ahusband, as few girls of the working class knew it. 

She had of herself developed an eminently rational philosophy of love. Instinctively, and consciously, too, she had made toward delicacy, andshunned the perils of the habitual and commonplace. Thoroughly aware shewas that as she cheapened herself so did she cheapen love. Never, inthe weeks of their married life, had Billy found her dowdy, or harshlyirritable, or lethargic. And she had deliberately permeated herhouse with her personal atmosphere of coolness, and freshness, andequableness. Nor had she been ignorant of such assets as surprise andcharm. Her imagination had not been asleep, and she had been born withwisdom. In Billy she had won a prize, and she knew it. She appreciatedhis lover's ardor and was proud. His open-handed liberality, his desirefor everything of the best, his own personal cleanliness and care ofhimself she recognized as far beyond the average. He was never coarse. He met delicacy with delicacy, though it was obvious to her that theinitiative in all such matters lay with her and must lie with heralways. He was largely unconscious of what he did and why. But she knewin all full clarity of judgment. And he was such a prize among men. 

Despite her clear sight of her problem of keeping Billy a lover, anddespite the considerable knowledge and experience arrayed before hermental vision, Mercedes Higgins had spread before her a vastly widerpanorama. The old woman had verified her own conclusions, given hernew ideas, clinched old ones, and even savagely emphasized the tragicimportance of the whole problem. Much Saxon remembered of that madpreachment, much she guessed and felt, and much had been beyond herexperience and understanding. But the metaphors of the veils and theflowers, and the rules of giving to abandonment with always more toabandon, she grasped thoroughly, and she was enabled to formulate abigger and stronger love-philosophy. In the light of the revelation shere-examined the married lives of all she had ever known, and, with sharpdefiniteness as never before, she saw where and why so many of them hadfailed. 

With renewed ardor Saxon devoted herself to her household, to herpretties, and to her charms. She marketed with a keener desire for thebest, though never ignoring the need for economy. From the women's pagesof the Sunday supplements, and from the women's magazines in thefree reading room two blocks away, she gleaned many ideas for thepreservation of her looks. In a systematic way she exercised the variousparts of her body, and a certain period of time each day she employed infacial exercises and massage for the purpose of retaining the roundnessand freshness, and firmness and color. Billy did not know. Theseintimacies of the toilette were not for him. The results, only, werehis. She drew books from the Carnegie Library and studied physiology andhygiene, and learned a myriad of things about herself and the ways ofwoman's health that she had never been taught by Sarah, the women of theorphan asylum, nor by Mrs. Cady. 

After long debate she subscribed to a woman's magazine, the patternsand lessons of which she decided were the best suited to her taste andpurse. The other woman's magazines she had access to in the free readingroom, and more than one pattern of lace and embroidery she copied bymeans of tracing paper. Before the lingerie windows of the uptown shopsshe often stood and studied; nor was she above taking advantage, when small purchases were made, of looking over the goods at thehand-embroidered underwear counters. Once, she even considered takingup with hand-painted china, but gave over the idea when she learned itsexpensiveness. 

She slowly replaced all her simple maiden underlinen with garmentswhich, while still simple, were wrought with beautiful Frenchembroidery, tucks, and drawnwork. She crocheted fine edgings on theinexpensive knitted underwear she wore in winter. She made little corsetcovers and chemises of fine but fairly inexpensive lawns, and, withsimple flowered designs and perfect laundering, her nightgowns werealways sweetly fresh and dainty. In some publication she ran across abrief printed note to the effect that French women were just beginningto wear fascinating beruffled caps at the breakfast table. It meantnothing to her that in her case she must first prepare the breakfast. Promptly appeared in the house a yard of dotted Swiss muslin, and Saxonwas deep in experimenting on patterns for herself, and in sorting herbits of laces for suitable trimmings. The resultant dainty creation wonMercedes Higgins' enthusiastic approval. 

Saxon made for herself simple house slips of pretty gingham, with neatlow collars turned back from her fresh round throat. She crocheted yardsof laces for her underwear, and made Battenberg in abundance for hertable and for the bureau. A great achievement, that aroused Billy'sapplause, was an Afghan for the bed. She even ventured a rag carpet, which, the women's magazines informed her, had newly returned intofashion. As a matter of course she hemstitched the best table linen andbed linen they could afford. 

As the happy months went by she was never idle. Nor was Billy forgotten. When the cold weather came on she knitted him wristlets, which he alwaysreligiously wore from the house and pocketed immediately thereafter. Thetwo sweaters she made for him, however, received a better fate, as didthe slippers which she insisted on his slipping into, on the eveningsthey remained at home. 

The hard practical wisdom of Mercedes Higgins proved of immense help, for Saxon strove with a fervor almost religious to have everything ofthe best and at the same time to be saving. Here she faced the financialand economic problem of keeping house in a society where the cost ofliving rose faster than the wages of industry. And here the old womantaught her the science of marketing so thoroughly that she made a dollarof Billy's go half as far again as the wives of the neighborhood madethe dollars of their men go. 

Invariably, on Saturday night, Billy poured his total wages into herlap. He never asked for an accounting of what she did with it, thoughhe continually reiterated that he had never fed so well in his life. Andalways, the wages still untouched in her lap, she had him take out whathe estimated he would need for spending money for the week to come. Not only did she bid him take plenty but she insisted on his taking anyamount extra that he might desire at any time through the week. And, further, she insisted he should not tell her what it was for. 

"You've always had money in your pocket, " she reminded him, "and there'sno reason marriage should change that. If it did, I'd wish I'd nevermarried you. Oh, I know about men when they get together. First onetreats and then another, and it takes money. Now if you can't treat justas freely as the rest of them, why I know you so well that I know you'dstay away from them. And that wouldn't be right. .. To you, I mean. Iwant you to be together with men. It's good for a man. "

And Billy buried her in his arms and swore she was the greatest littlebit of woman that ever came down the pike. 

"Why, " he jubilated; "not only do I feed better, and live morecomfortable, and hold up my end with the fellows; but I'm actuallysaving money--or you are for me. Here I am, with furniture being paidfor regular every month, and a little woman I'm mad over, and on top ofit money in the bank. How much is it now?"

"Sixty-two dollars, " she told him. "Not so bad for a rainy day. Youmight get sick, or hurt, or something happen. "

It was in mid-winter, when Billy, with quite a deal of obviousreluctance, broached a money matter to Saxon. His old friend, BillyMurphy, was laid up with la grippe, and one of his children, playing inthe street, had been seriously injured by a passing wagon. Billy Murphy, still feeble after two weeks in bed, had asked Billy for the loan offifty dollars. 

"It's perfectly safe, " Billy concluded to Saxon. "I've known him sincewe was kids at the Durant School together. He's straight as a die. "

"That's got nothing to do with it, " Saxon chided. "If you were singleyou'd have lent it to him immediately, wouldn't you?"

Billy nodded. 

"Then it's no different because you're married. It's your money, Billy. "

"Not by a damn sight, " he cried. "It ain't mine. It's ourn. And Iwouldn't think of lettin' anybody have it without seein' you first. "

"I hope you didn't tell him that, " she said with quick concern. 

"Nope, " Billy laughed. "I knew, if I did, you'd be madder'n a hatter. I just told him I'd try an' figure it out. After all, I was sure you'dstand for it if you had it. "

"Oh, Billy, " she murmured, her voice rich and low with love; "maybe youdon't know it, but that's one of the sweetest things you've said sincewe got married. "

The more Saxon saw of Mercedes Higgins the less did she understand her. That the old woman was a close-fisted miser, Saxon soon learned. Andthis trait she found hard to reconcile with her tales of squandering. On the other hand, Saxon was bewildered by Mercedes' extravagance inpersonal matters. Her underlinen, hand-made of course, was very costly. The table she set for Barry was good, but the table for herself wasvastly better. Yet both tables were set on the same table. While Barrycontented himself with solid round steak, Mercedes ate tenderloin. Ahuge, tough muttonchop on Barry's plate would be balanced by tinyFrench chops on Mercedes' plate. Tea was brewed in separate pots. So wascoffee. While Barry gulped twenty-five cent tea from a large and heavymug, Mercedes sipped three-dollar tea from a tiny cup of Belleek, rose-tinted, fragile as all egg-shell. In the same manner, histwenty-five cent coffee was diluted with milk, her eighty cent Turkishwith cream. 

"'Tis good enough for the old man, " she told Saxon. "He knows no better, and it would be a wicked sin to waste it on him. "

Little traffickings began between the two women. After Mercedes hadfreely taught Saxon the loose-wristed facility of playing accompanimentson the ukulele, she proposed an exchange. Her time was past, she said, for such frivolities, and she offered the instrument for the breakfastcap of which Saxon had made so good a success. 

"It's worth a few dollars, " Mercedes said. "It cost me twenty, thoughthat was years ago. Yet it is well worth the value of the cap. "

"But wouldn't the cap be frivolous, too?" Saxon queried, though herselfwell pleased with the bargain. 

"'Tis not for my graying hair, " Mercedes frankly disclaimed. "I shallsell it for the money. Much that I do, when the rheumatism is notmaddening my fingers, I sell. La la, my dear, 'tis not old Barry's fiftya month that'll satisfy all my expensive tastes. 'Tis I that make up thedifference. And old age needs money as never youth needs it. Some dayyou will learn for yourself. "

"I am well satisfied with the trade, " Saxon said. "And I shall make meanother cap when I can lay aside enough for the material. "

"Make several, " Mercedes advised. "I'll sell them for you, keeping, ofcourse, a small commission for my services. I can give you six dollarsapiece for them. We will consult about them. The profit will more thanprovide material for your own. "

CHAPTER V

Four eventful things happened in the course of the winter. Bert and Marygot married and rented a cottage in the neighborhood three blocks away. Billy's wages were cut, along with the wages of all the teamsters inOakland. Billy took up shaving with a safety razor. And, finally, Saxonwas proven a false prophet and Sarah a true one. 

Saxon made up her mind, beyond any doubt, ere she confided the newsto Billy. At first, while still suspecting, she had felt a frightenedsinking of the heart and fear of the unknown and unexperienced. Then hadcome economic fear, as she contemplated the increased expense entailed. But by the time she had made surety doubly sure, all was swept awaybefore a wave of passionate gladness. HERS AND BILLY'S! The phrase wascontinually in her mind, and each recurrent thought of it brought anactual physical pleasure-pang to her heart. 

The night she told the news to Billy, he withheld his own news of thewage-cut, and joined with her in welcoming the little one. 

"What'll we do? Go to the theater to celebrate?" he asked, relaxing thepressure of his embrace so that she might speak. "Or suppose we stay in, just you and me, and. .. And the three of us?"

"Stay in, " was her verdict. "I just want you to hold me, and hold me, and hold me. "

"That's what I wanted, too, only I wasn't sure, after bein' in the houseall day, maybe you'd want to go out. "

There was frost in the air, and Billy brought the Morris chair in by thekitchen stove. She lay cuddled in his arms, her head on his shoulder, his cheek against her hair. 

"We didn't make no mistake in our lightning marriage with only a week'scourtin', " he reflected aloud. "Why, Saxon, we've been courtin' eversince just the same. And now. .. My God, Saxon, it's too wonderful to betrue. Think of it! Ourn! The three of us! The little rascal! I bet he'sgoin' to be a boy. An' won't I learn 'm to put up his fists an' takecare of himself! An' swimmin' too. If he don't know how to swim by thetime he's six. .. "

"And if HE'S a girl?"

"SHE'S goin' to be a boy, " Billy retorted, joining in the playful misuseof pronouns. 

And both laughed and kissed, and sighed with content. "I'm goin' to turnpincher, now, " he announced, after quite an interval of meditation. "Nomore drinks with the boys. It's me for the water wagon. And I'm goin' toease down on smokes. Huh! Don't see why I can't roll my own cigarettes. They're ten times cheaper'n tailor-mades. An' I can grow a beard. Theamount of money the barbers get out of a fellow in a year would keep ababy. "

"Just you let your beard grow, Mister Roberts, and I'll get a divorce, "Saxon threatened. "You're just too handsome and strong with a smoothface. I love your face too much to have it covered up. --Oh, you dear!you dear! Billy, I never knew what happiness was until I came to livewith you. "

"Nor me neither. "

"And it's always going to be so?"

"You can just bet, " he assured her. 

"I thought I was going to be happy married, " she went on; "but I neverdreamed it would be like this. " She turned her head on his shoulder andkissed his cheek. "Billy, it isn't happiness. It's heaven. "

And Billy resolutely kept undivulged the cut in wages. Not until twoweeks later, when it went into effect, and he poured the diminishedsum into her lap, did he break it to her. The next day, Bert and Mary, already a month married, had Sunday dinner with them, and the mattercame up for discussion. Bert was particularly pessimistic, and muttereddark hints of an impending strike in the railroad shops. 

"If you'd all shut your traps, it'd be all right, " Mary criticized. "These union agitators get the railroad sore. They give me the cramp, the way they butt in an' stir up trouble. If I was boss I'd cut thewages of any man that listened to them. "

"Yet you belonged to the laundry workers' union, " Saxon rebuked gently. 

"Because I had to or I wouldn't a-got work. An' much good it ever doneme. "

"But look at Billy, " Bert argued "The teamsters ain't ben sayin' a word, not a peep, an' everything lovely, and then, bang, right in the neck, a ten per cent cut. Oh, hell, what chance have we got? We lose. There'snothin' left for us in this country we've made and our fathers an'mothers before us. We're all shot to pieces. We Can see our finish--we, the old stock, the children of the white people that broke away fromEngland an' licked the tar outa her, that freed the slaves, an' foughtthe Indians, 'an made the West! Any gink with half an eye can see itcomin'. "

"But what are we going to do about it?" Saxon questioned anxiously. 

"Fight. That's all. The country's in the hands of a gang of robbers. Look at the Southern Pacific. It runs California. "

"Aw, rats, Bert, " Billy interrupted. "You're takin' through your lid. Norailroad can ran the government of California. "

"You're a bonehead, " Bert sneered. "And some day, when it's too late, you an' all the other boneheads'll realize the fact. Rotten? I tell youit stinks. Why, there ain't a man who wants to go to state legislaturebut has to make a trip to San Francisco, an' go into the S. P. Offices, an' take his hat off, an' humbly ask permission. Why, the governors ofCalifornia has been railroad governors since before you and I was born. Huh! You can't tell me. We're finished. We're licked to a frazzle. Butit'd do my heart good to help string up some of the dirty thieves beforeI passed out. D'ye know what we are?--we old white stock that fought inthe wars, an' broke the land, an' made all this? I'll tell you. We'rethe last of the Mohegans. "

"He scares me to death, he's so violent, " Mary said with unconcealedhostility. "If he don't quit shootin' off his mouth he'll get fired fromthe shops. And then what'll we do? He don't consider me. But I can tellyou one thing all right, all right. I'll not go back to the laundry. "She held her right hand up and spoke with the solemnity of an oath. "Notso's you can see it. Never again for yours truly. "

"Oh, I know what you're drivin' at, " Bert said with asperity. "An' all Ican tell you is, livin' or dead, in a job or out, no matter what happensto me, if you will lead that way, you will, an' there's nothin' else toit. "

"I guess I kept straight before I met you, " she came back with a toss ofthe head. "And I kept straight after I met you, which is going some ifanybody should ask you. "

Hot words were on Bert's tongue, but Saxon intervened and brought aboutpeace. She was concerned over the outcome of their marriage. Both werehighstrung, both were quick and irritable, and their continual clashesdid not augur well for their future. 

The safety razor was a great achievement for Saxon. Privily sheconferred with a clerk she knew in Pierce's hardware store and made thepurchase. On Sunday morning, after breakfast, when Billy was startingto go to the barber shop, she led him into the bedroom, whisked a towelaside, and revealed the razor box, shaving mug, soap, brush, and latherall ready. Billy recoiled, then came back to make curious investigation. He gazed pityingly at the safety razor. 

"Huh! Call that a man's tool!"

"It'll do the work, " she said. "It does it for thousands of men everyday. "

But Billy shook his head and backed away. 

"You shave three times a week, " she urged. "That's forty-five cents. Call it half a dollar, and there are fifty-two weeks in the year. Twenty-six dollars a year just for shaving. Come on, dear, and try it. Lots of men swear by it. "

He shook his head mutinously, and the cloudy deeps of his eyes grew morecloudy. She loved that sullen handsomeness that made him look so boyish, and, laughing and kissing him, she forced him into a chair, got off hiscoat, and unbuttoned shirt and undershirt and turned them in. 

Threatening him with, "If you open your mouth to kick I'll shove it in, "she coated his face with lather. 

"Wait a minute, " she checked him, as he reached desperately for therazor. "I've been watching the barbers from the sidewalk. This is whatthey do after the lather is on. "

And thereupon she proceeded to rub the lather in with her fingers. 

"There, " she said, when she had coated his face a second time. "You'reready to begin. Only remember, I'm not always going to do this for you. I'm just breaking you in, you see. "

With great outward show of rebellion, half genuine, half facetious, hemade several tentative scrapes with the razor. He winced violently, andviolently exclaimed:

"Holy jumping Jehosaphat!"

He examined his face in the glass, and a streak of blood showed in themidst of the lather. 

"Cut!--by a safety razor, by God! Sure, men swear by it. Can't blame'em. Cut! By a safety!"

"But wait a second, " Saxon pleaded. "They have to be regulated. Theclerk told me. See those little screws. There. .. . That's it. .. Turn themaround. "

Again Billy applied the blade to his face. After a couple of scrapes, helooked at himself closely in the mirror, grinned, and went on shaving. With swiftness and dexterity he scraped his face clean of lather. Saxonclapped her hands. 

"Fine, " Billy approved. "Great! Here. Give me your hand. See what a goodjob it made. "

He started to rub her hand against his cheek. Saxon jerked away with alittle cry of disappointment, then examined him closely. 

"It hasn't shaved at all, " she said. 

"It's a fake, that's what it is. It cuts the hide, but not the hair. Mefor the barber. "

But Saxon was persistent. 

"You haven't given it a fair trial yet. It was regulated too much. Letme try my hand at it. There, that's it, betwixt and between. Now, latheragain and try it. "

This time the unmistakable sand-papery sound of hair-severing could beheard. 

"How is it?" she fluttered anxiously. 

"It gets the--ouch!--hair, " Billy grunted, frowning and making faces. "But it--gee!--say!--ouch!--pulls like Sam Hill. "

"Stay with it, " she encouraged. "Don't give up the ship, big Injun witha scalplock. Remember what Bert says and be the last of the Mohegans. "

At the end of fifteen minutes he rinsed his face and dried it, sighingwith relief. 

"It's a shave, in a fashion, Saxon, but I can't say I'm stuck on it. Ittakes out the nerve. I'm as weak as a cat. "

He groaned with sudden discovery of fresh misfortune. 

"What's the matter now?" she asked. 

"The back of my neck--how can I shave the back of my neck? I'll have topay a barber to do it. "

Saxon's consternation was tragic, but it only lasted a moment. She tookthe brush in her hand. 

"Sit down, Billy. "

"What?--you?" he demanded indignantly. 

"Yes; me. If any barber is good enough to shave your neck, and then Iam, too. "

Billy moaned and groaned in the abjectness of humility and surrender, and let her have her way. 

"There, and a good job, " she informed him when she had finished. "Aseasy as falling off a log. And besides, it means twenty-six dollars ayear. And you'll buy the crib, the baby buggy, the pinning blankets, andlots and lots of things with it. Now sit still a minute longer. "

She rinsed and dried the back of his neck and dusted it with talcumpowder. 

"You're as sweet as a clean little baby, Billy Boy. "

The unexpected and lingering impact of her lips on the back of his neckmade him writhe with mingled feelings not all unpleasant. 

Two days later, though vowing in the intervening time to have nothingfurther to do with the instrument of the devil, he permitted Saxon toassist him to a second shave. This time it went easier. 

"It ain't so bad, " he admitted. "I'm gettin' the hang of it. It's allin the regulating. You can shave as close as you want an' no more closethan you want. Barbers can't do that. Every once an' awhile they get myface sore. "

The third shave was an unqualified success, and the culminating blisswas reached when Saxon presented him with a bottle of witch hazel. Afterthat he began active proselyting. He could not wait a visit from Bert, but carried the paraphernalia to the latter's house to demonstrate. 

"We've ben boobs all these years, Bert, runnin' the chances of barber'sitch an' everything. Look at this, eh? See her take hold. Smooth assilk. Just as easy. .. . There! Six minutes by the clock. Can you beat it?When I get my hand in, I can do it in three. It works in the dark. Itworks under water. You couldn't cut yourself if you tried. And it savestwenty-six dollars a year. Saxon figured it out, and she's a wonder, Itell you. "

CHAPTER VI

The trafficking between Saxon and Mercedes increased. The lattercommanded a ready market for all the fine work Saxon could supply, whileSaxon was eager and happy in the work. The expected babe and the cut inBilly's wages had caused her to regard the economic phase of existencemore seriously than ever. Too little money was being laid away in thebank, and her conscience pricked her as she considered how much shewas laying out on the pretty necessaries for the household and herself. Also, for the first time in her life she was spending another'searnings. Since a young girl she had been used to spending her own, andnow, thanks to Mercedes she was doing it again, and, out of her profits, assaying more expensive and delightful adventures in lingerie. 

Mercedes suggested, and Saxon carried out and even bettered, the daintythings of thread and texture. She made ruffled chemises of sheer linen, with her own fine edgings and French embroidery on breast and shoulders;linen hand-made combination undersuits; and nightgowns, fairy andcobwebby, embroidered, trimmed with Irish lace. On Mercedes' instigationshe executed an ambitious and wonderful breakfast cap for which the oldwoman returned her twelve dollars after deducting commission. 

She was happy and busy every waking moment, nor was preparation for thelittle one neglected. The only ready made garments she bought were threefine little knit shirts. As for the rest, every bit was made by her ownhands--featherstitched pinning blankets, a crocheted jacket and cap, knitted mittens, embroidered bonnets; slim little princess slipsof sensible length; underskirts on absurd Lilliputian yokes;silk-embroidered white flannel petticoats; stockings and crochetedboots, seeming to burgeon before her eyes with wriggly pink toes andplump little calves; and last, but not least, many deliciously softsquares of bird's-eye linen. A little later, as a crowning masterpiece, she was guilty of a dress coat of white silk, embroidered. And into allthe tiny garments, with every stitch, she sewed love. Yet this love, so unceasingly sewn, she knew when she came to consider and marvel, wasmore of Billy than of the nebulous, ungraspable new bit of life thateluded her fondest attempts at visioning. 

"Huh, " was Billy's comment, as he went over the mite's wardrobe and cameback to center on the little knit shirts, "they look more like a realkid than the whole kit an' caboodle. Why, I can see him in them regularmanshirts. "

Saxon, with a sudden rush of happy, unshed tears, held one of thelittle shirts up to his lips. He kissed it solemnly, his eyes resting onSaxon's. 

"That's some for the boy, " he said, "but a whole lot for you. "

But Saxon's money-earning was doomed to cease ignominiously andtragically. One day, to take advantage of a department store bargainsale, she crossed the bay to San Francisco. Passing along Sutter Street, her eye was attracted by a display in the small window of a small shop. At first she could not believe it; yet there, in the honored place ofthe window, was the wonderful breakfast cap for which she had receivedtwelve dollars from Mercedes. It was marked twenty-eight dollars. Saxonwent in and interviewed the shopkeeper, an emaciated, shrewd-eyed andmiddle-aged woman of foreign extraction. 

"Oh, I don't want to buy anything, " Saxon said. "I make nice thingslike you have here, and I wanted to know what you pay for them--for thatbreakfast cap in the window, for instance. "

The woman darted a keen glance to Saxon's left hand, noted theinnumerable tiny punctures in the ends of the first and second fingers, then appraised her clothing and her face. 

"Can you do work like that?"

Saxon nodded. 

"I paid twenty dollars to the woman that made that. " Saxon repressedan almost spasmodic gasp, and thought coolly for a space. Mercedes hadgiven her twelve. Then Mercedes had pocketed eight, while she, Saxon, had furnished the material and labor. 

"Would you please show me other hand-made things nightgowns, chemises, and such things, and tell me the prices you pay?"

"Can you do such work?"

"Yes. "

"And will you sell to me?"

"Certainly, " Saxon answered. "That is why I am here. "

"We add only a small amount when we sell, " the woman went on; "you see, light and rent and such things, as well as a profit or else we could notbe here. "

"It's only fair, " Saxon agreed. 

Amongst the beautiful stuff Saxon went over, she found a nightgown anda combination undersuit of her own manufacture. For the former she hadreceived eight dollars from Mercedes, it was marked eighteen, and thewoman had paid fourteen; for the latter Saxon received six, it wasmarked fifteen, and the woman had paid eleven. 

"Thank you, " Saxon said, as she drew on her gloves. "I should like tobring you some of my work at those prices. "

"And I shall be glad to buy it. .. If it is up to the mark. " The womanlooked at her severely. "Mind you, it must be as good as this. And if itis, I often get special orders, and I'll give you a chance at them. "

Mercedes was unblushingly candid when Saxon reproached her. 

"You told me you took only a commission, " was Saxon's accusation. 

"So I did; and so I have. "

"But I did all the work and bought all the materials, yet you actuallycleared more out of it than I did. You got the lion's share. "

"And why shouldn't I, my dear? I was the middleman. It's the way of theworld. 'Tis the middlemen that get the lion's share. "

"It seems to me most unfair, " Saxon reflected, more in sadness thananger. 

"That is your quarrel with the world, not with me, " Mercedes rejoinedsharply, then immediately softened with one of her quick changes. "Wemustn't quarrel, my dear. I like you so much. La la, it is nothing toyou, who are young and strong with a man young and strong. Listen, Iam an old woman. And old Barry can do little for me. He is on his lastlegs. His kidneys are 'most gone. Remember, 'tis I must bury him. AndI do him honor, for beside me he'll have his last long steep. A stupid, dull old man, heavy, an ox, 'tis true; but a good old fool with no traceof evil in him. The plot is bought and paid for--the final installmentwas made up, in part, out of my commissions from you. Then there are thefuneral expenses. It must be done nicely. I have still much to save. AndBarry may turn up his toes any day. "

Saxon sniffed the air carefully, and knew the old woman had beendrinking again. 

"Come, my dear, let me show you. " Leading Saxon to a large sea chestin the bedroom, Mercedes lifted the lid. A faint perfume, as ofrose-petals, floated up. "Behold, my burial trousseau. Thus I shall wedthe dust. "

Saxon's amazement increased, as, article by article, the old womandisplayed the airiest, the daintiest, the most delicious and mostcomplete of bridal outfits. Mercedes held up an ivory fan. 

"In Venice 'twas given me, my dear. --See, this comb, turtle shell;Bruce Anstey made it for me the week before he drank his last bottle andscattered his brave mad brains with a Colt's 44. --This scarf. La la, aLiberty scarf--"

"And all that will be buried with you, " Saxon mused, "Oh, theextravagance of it!"

Mercedes laughed. 

"Why not? I shall die as I have lived. It is my pleasure. I go to thedust as a bride. No cold and narrow bed for me. I would it were a coach, covered with the soft things of the East, and pillows, pillows, withoutend. "

"It would buy you twenty funerals and twenty plots, " Saxon protested, shocked by this blasphemy of conventional death. "It is downrightwicked. "

"'Twill be as I have lived, " Mercedes said complacently. "And it's afine bride old Barry'll have to come and lie beside him. " She closed thelid and sighed. "Though I wish it were Bruce Anstey, or any of the pickof my young men to lie with me in the great dark and to crumble with meto the dust that is the real death. "

She gazed at Saxon with eyes heated by alcohol and at the same time coolwith the coolness of content. 

"In the old days the great of earth were buried with their live slaveswith them. I but take my flimsies, my dear. "

"Then you aren't afraid of death?. .. In the least?"

Mercedes shook her head emphatically. 

"Death is brave, and good, and kind. I do not fear death. 'Tis of men Iam afraid when I am dead. So I prepare. They shall not have me when I amdead. "

Saxon was puzzled. 

"They would not want you then, " she said. 

"Many are wanted, " was the answer. "Do you know what becomes of the agedpoor who have no money for burial? They are not buried. Let me tell you. We stood before great doors. He was a queer man, a professor who oughtto have been a pirate, a man who lectured in class rooms when he oughtto have been storming walled cities or robbing banks. He was slender, like Don Juan. His hands were strong as steel. So was his spirit. And hewas mad, a bit mad, as all my young men have been. 'Come, Mercedes, ' hesaid; 'we will inspect our brethren and become humble, and glad that weare not as they--as yet not yet. And afterward, to-night, we will dinewith a more devilish taste, and we will drink to them in golden winethat will be the more golden for having seen them. Come, Mercedes. '

"He thrust the great doors open, and by the hand led me in. It was a sadcompany. Twenty-four, that lay on marble slabs, or sat, half erect andpropped, while many young men, bright of eye, bright little knives intheir hands, glanced curiously at me from their work. "

"They were dead?" Saxon interrupted to gasp. 

"They were the pauper dead, my dear. 'Come, Mercedes, ' said he. 'Thereis more to show you that will make us glad we are alive. ' And he took medown, down to the vats. The salt vats, my dear. I was not afraid. Butit was in my mind, then, as I looked, how it would be with me when I wasdead. And there they were, so many lumps of pork. And the order came, 'Awoman; an old woman. ' And the man who worked there fished in the vats. The first was a man he drew to see. Again he fished and stirred. Againa man. He was impatient, and grumbled at his luck. And then, up throughthe brine, he drew a woman, and by the face of her she was old, and hewas satisfied. "

"It is not true!" Saxon cried out. 

"I have seen, my dear, I know. And I tell you fear not the wrath of Godwhen you are dead. Fear only the salt vats. And as I stood and looked, and as he who led me there looked at me and smiled and questioned andbedeviled me with those mad, black, tired-scholar's eyes of his, I knewthat that was no way for my dear clay. Dear it is, my clay to me; dearit has been to others. La la, the salt vat is no place for my kissedlips and love-lavished body. " Mercedes lifted the lid of the chest andgazed fondly at her burial pretties. "So I have made my bed. So I shalllie in it. Some old philosopher said we know we must die; we do notbelieve it. But the old do believe. I believe. 

"My dear, remember the salt vats, and do not be angry with me because mycommissions have been heavy. To escape the vats I would stop at nothingsteal the widow's mite, the orphan's crust, and pennies from a deadman's eyes. "

"Do you believe in God?" Saxon asked abruptly, holding herself togetherdespite cold horror. 

Mercedes dropped the lid and shrugged her shoulders. 

"Who knows? I shall rest well. "

"And punishment?" Saxon probed, remembering the unthinkable tale of theother's life. 

"Impossible, my dear. As some old poet said, 'God's a good fellow. ' Sometime I shall talk to you about God. Never be afraid of him. Be afraidonly of the salt vats and the things men may do with your pretty fleshafter you are dead. "

CHAPTER VII

Billy quarreled with good fortune. He suspected he was too prosperous onthe wages he received. What with the accumulating savings account, thepaying of the monthly furniture installment and the house rent, thespending money in pocket, and the good fare he was eating, he waspuzzled as to how Saxon managed to pay for the goods used in her fancywork. Several times he had suggested his inability to see how she didit, and been baffled each time by Saxon's mysterious laugh. 

"I can't see how you do it on the money, " he was contending one evening. 

He opened his mouth to speak further, then closed it and for fiveminutes thought with knitted brows. 

"Say, " he said, "what's become of that frilly breakfast cap you wasworkin' on so hard, I ain't never seen you wear it, and it was sure toobig for the kid. "

Saxon hesitated, with pursed lips and teasing eyes. With her, untruthfulness had always been a difficult matter. To Billy it wasimpossible. She could see the cloud-drift in his eyes deepening and hisface hardening in the way she knew so well when he was vexed. 

"Say, Saxon, you ain't. .. You ain't. .. Sellin' your work?"

And thereat she related everything, not omitting Mercedes Higgins' partin the transaction, nor Mercedes Higgins' remarkable burial trousseau. But Billy was not to be led aside by the latter. In terms anything butuncertain he told Saxon that she was not to work for money. 

"But I have so much spare time, Billy, dear, " she pleaded. 

He shook his head. 

"Nothing doing. I won't listen to it. I married you, and I'll take careof you. Nobody can say Bill Roberts' wife has to work. And I don't wantto think it myself. Besides, it ain't necessary. "

"But Billy--" she began again. 

"Nope. That's one thing I won't stand for, Saxon. Not that I don't likefancy work. I do. I like it like hell, every bit you make, but I like iton YOU. Go ahead and make all you want of it, for yourself, an' I'llput up for the goods. Why, I'm just whistlin' an' happy all day long, thinkin' of the boy an' seein' you at home here workin' away on all themnice things. Because I know how happy you are a-doin' it. But honest toGod, Saxon, it'd all be spoiled if I knew you was doin' it to sell. Yousee, Bill Roberts' wife don't have to work. That's my brag--to myself, mind you. An' besides, it ain't right. "

"You're a dear, " she whispered, happy despite her disappointment. 

"I want you to have all you want, " he continued. "An' you're goin' toget it as long as I got two hands stickin' on the ends of my arms. Iguess I know how good the things are you wear--good to me, I mean, too. I'm dry behind the ears, an' maybe I've learned a few things I oughtn'tto before I knew you. But I know what I'm talkin' about, and I wantto say that outside the clothes down underneath, an' the clothes downunderneath the outside ones, I never saw a woman like you. Oh--"

He threw up his hands as if despairing of ability to express what hethought and felt, then essayed a further attempt. 

"It's not a matter of bein' only clean, though that's a whole lot. Lotsof women are clean. It ain't that. It's something more, an' different. It's. .. Well, it's the look of it, so white, an' pretty, an' tasty. Itgets on the imagination. It's something I can't get out of my thoughtsof you. I want to tell you lots of men can't strip to advantage, an'lots of women, too. But you--well, you're a wonder, that's all, and youcan't get too many of them nice things to suit me, and you can't getthem too nice. 

"For that matter, Saxon, you can just blow yourself. There's lots ofeasy money layin' around. I'm in great condition. Billy Murphy pulleddown seventy-five round iron dollars only last week for puttin' away thePride of North Beach. That's what ha paid us the fifty back out of. "

But this time it was Saxon who rebelled. 

"There's Carl Hansen, " Billy argued. "The second Sharkey, the alfalfasportin' writers are callin' him. An' he calls himself Champion of theUnited States Navy. Well, I got his number. He's just a big stiff. I'veseen 'm fight, an' I can pass him the sleep medicine just as easy. TheSecretary of the Sportin' Life Club offered to match me. An' a hundrediron dollars in it for the winner. And it'll all be yours to blow in anyway you want. What d'ye say?"

"If I can't work for money, you can't fight, " was Saxon's ultimatum, immediately withdrawn. "But you and I don't drive bargains. Even ifyou'd let me work for money, I wouldn't let you fight. I've neverforgotten what you told me about how prizefighters lose their silk. Well, you're not going to lose yours. It's half my silk, you know. And if you won't fight, I won't work--there. And more, I'll never doanything you don't want me to, Billy. "

"Same here, " Billy agreed. "Though just the same I'd like most to deathto have just one go at that squarehead Hansen. " He smiled with pleasureat the thought. "Say, let's forget it all now, an' you sing me 'HarvestDays' on that dinky what-you-may-call-it. "

When she had complied, accompanying herself on the ukulele, shesuggested his weird "Cowboy's Lament. " In some inexplicable way of love, she had come to like her husband's one song. Because he sang it, sheliked its inanity and monotonousness; and most of all, it seemed to her, she loved his hopeless and adorable flatting of every note. She couldeven sing with him, flatting as accurately and deliciously as he. Nordid she undeceive him in his sublime faith. 

"I guess Bert an' the rest have joshed me all the time, " he said. 

"You and I get along together with it fine, " she equivocated; for insuch matters she did not deem the untruth a wrong. 

Spring was on when the strike came in the railroad shops. The Sundaybefore it was called, Saxon and Billy had dinner at Bert's house. Saxon's brother came, though he had found it impossible to bringSarah, who refused to budge from her household rut. Bert was blacklypessimistic, and they found him singing with sardonic glee:

"Nobody loves a mil-yun-aire. Nobody likes his looks. Nobody'll sharehis slightest care, He classes with thugs and crooks. Thriftiness hasbecome a crime, So spend everything you earn; We're living now in afunny time, When money is made to burn. "

Mary went about the dinner preparation, flaunting unmistakable signalsof rebellion; and Saxon, rolling up her sleeves and tying on an apron, washed the breakfast dishes. Bert fetched a pitcher of steaming beerfrom the corner saloon, and the three men smoked and talked about thecoming strike. 

"It oughta come years ago, " was Bert's dictum. "It can't come any tooquick now to suit me, but it's too late. We're beaten thumbs donn. Here's where the last of the Mohegans gets theirs, in the neck, ker-whop!"

"Oh, I don't know, " Tom, who had been smoking his pipe gravely, beganto counsel. "Organized labor's gettin' stronger every day. Why, Ican remember when there wasn't any unions in California, Look at usnow--wages, an' hours, an' everything. "

"You talk like an organizer, " Bert sneered, "shovin' the bull con on theboneheads. But we know different. Organized wages won't buy as muchnow as unorganized wages used to buy. They've got us whipsawed. Look atFrisco, the labor leaders doin' dirtier polities than the old parties, pawin' an' squabblin' over graft, an' goin' to San Quentin, while--whatare the Frisco carpenters doin'? Let me tell you one thing, Tom Brown, if you listen to all you hear you'll hear that every Frisco carpenter isunion an' gettin' full union wages. Do you believe it? It's a damn lie. There ain't a carpenter that don't rebate his wages Saturday night tothe contractor. An' that's your buildin' trades in San Francisco, while the leaders are makin' trips to Europe on the earnings of thetenderloin--when they ain't coughing it up to the lawyers to get out ofwearin' stripes. "

"That's all right, " Tom concurred. "Nobody's denyin' it. The trouble islabor ain't quite got its eyes open. It ought to play politics, but thepolitics ought to be the right kind. "

"Socialism, eh?" Bert caught him up with scorn. "Wouldn't they sell usout just as the Ruefs and Schmidts have?"

"Get men that are honest, " Billy said. "That's the whole trouble. Notthat I stand for socialism. I don't. All our folks was a long time inAmerica, an' I for one won't stand for a lot of fat Germans an' greasyRussian Jews tellin' me how to run my country when they can't speakEnglish yet. "

"Your country!" Bert cried. "Why, you bonehead, you ain't got a country. That's a fairy story the grafters shove at you every time they want torob you some more. "

"But don't vote for the grafters, " Billy contended. "If we selectedhonest men we'd get honest treatment. "

"I wish you'd come to some of our meetings, Billy, " Tom said wistfully. "If you would, you'd get your eyes open an' vote the socialist ticketnext election. "

"Not on your life, " Billy declined. "When you catch me in a socialistmeeting'll be when they can talk like white men. "

Bert was humming:

"We're living now in a funny time, When money is made to burn. "

Mary was too angry with her husband, because of the impending strikeand his incendiary utterances, to hold conversation with Saxon, and thelatter, bepuzzled, listened to the conflicting opinions of the men. 

"Where are we at?" she asked them, with a merriness that concealed heranxiety at heart. 

"We ain't at, " Bert snarled. "We're gone. "

"But meat and oil have gone up again, " she chafed. "And Billy's wageshave been cut, and the shop men's were cut last year. Something must bedone. "

"The only thing to do is fight like hell, " Bert answered. "Fight, an' godown fightin'. That's all. We're licked anyhow, but we can have a lastrun for our money. "

"That's no way to talk, " Tom rebuked. 

"The time for talkin' 's past, old cock. The time for fightin' 's come. "

"A hell of a chance you'd have against regular troops and machine guns, "Billy retorted. 

"Oh, not that way. There's such things as greasy sticks that go up witha loud noise and leave holes. There's such things as emery powder--"

"Oh, ho!" Mary burst out upon him, arms akimbo. "So that's what itmeans. That's what the emery in your vest pocket meant. "

Her husband ignored her. Tom smoked with a troubled air. Billy was hurt. It showed plainly in his face. 

"You ain't ben doin' that, Bert?" he asked, his manner showing hisexpectancy of his friend's denial. 

"Sure thing, if you wont to know. I'd see'm all in hell if I could, before I go. "

"He's a bloody-minded anarchist, " Mary complained. "Men like him killedMcKinley, and Garfield, an'--an' an' all the rest. He'll be hung. You'llsee. Mark my words. I'm glad there's no children in sight, that's all. "

"It's hot air, " Billy comforted her. 

"He's just teasing you, " Saxon soothed. "He always was a josher. "

But Mary shook her head. 

"I know. I hear him talkin' in his sleep. He swears and curses somethingawful, an' grits his teeth. Listen to him now. "

Bert, his handsome face bitter and devil-may-care, had tilted his chairback against the wall and was singing

"Nobody loves a mil-yun-aire, Nobody likes his looks, Nobody'll sharehis slightest care, He classes with thugs and crooks. "

Tom was saying something about reasonableness and justice, and Bertceased from singing to catch him up. 

"Justice, eh? Another pipe-dream. I'll show you where the working classgets justice. You remember Forbes--J. Alliston Forbes--wrecked the AltaCalifornia Trust Company an' salted down two cold millions. I saw himyesterday, in a big hell-bent automobile. What'd he get? Eight years'sentence. How long did he serve? Less'n two years. Pardoned out onaccount of ill health. Ill hell! We'll be dead an' rotten before hekicks the bucket. Here. Look out this window. You see the back of thathouse with the broken porch rail. Mrs. Danaker lives there. She takesin washin'. Her old man was killed on the railroad. Nitsky ondamages--contributory negligence, or fellow-servant-something-or-otherflimflam. That's what the courts handed her. Her boy, Archie, wassixteen. He was on the road, a regular road-kid. He blew into Fresnoan' rolled a drunk. Do you want to know how much he got? Two dollarsand eighty cents. Get that?--Two-eighty. And what did the alfalfa judgehand'm? Fifty years. He's served eight of it already in San Quentin. Andhe'll go on serving it till he croaks. Mrs. Danaker says he's bad withconsumption--caught it inside, but she ain't got the pull to get'mpardoned. Archie the Kid steals two dollars an' eighty cents from adrunk and gets fifty years. J. Alliston Forbes sticks up the AltaTrust for two millions en' gets less'n two years. Who's country isthis anyway? Yourn an' Archie the Kid's? Guess again. It's J. AllistonForbes'--Oh:

"Nobody likes a mil-yun-aire, Nobody likes his looks, Nobody'll sharehis slightest care, He classes with thugs and crooks. "

Mary, at the sink, where Saxon was just finishing the last dish, untiedSaxon's apron and kissed her with the sympathy that women alone feel foreach other under the shadow of maternity. 

"Now you sit down, dear. You mustn't tire yourself, and it's a long wayto go yet. I'll get your sewing for you, and you can listen to the mentalk. But don't listen to Bert. He's crazy. "

Saxon sewed and listened, and Bert's face grew bleak and bitter as hecontemplated the baby clothes in her lap. 

"There you go, " he blurted out, "bringin' kids into the world when youain't got any guarantee you can feed em. 

"You must a-had a souse last night, " Tom grinned. 

Bert shook his head. 

"Aw, what's the use of gettin' grouched?" Billy cheered. "It's a prettygood country. "

"It WAS a pretty good country, " Bert replied, "when we was all Mohegans. But not now. We're jiggerooed. We're hornswoggled. We're backed to astandstill. We're double-crossed to a fare-you-well. My folks fought forthis country. So did yourn, all of you. We freed the niggers, killed theIndians, an starved, an' froze, an' sweat, an' fought. This land lookedgood to us. We cleared it, an' broke it, an' made the roads, an' builtthe cities. And there was plenty for everybody. And we went on fightin'for it. I had two uncles killed at Gettysburg. All of us was mixed up inthat war. Listen to Saxon talk any time what her folks went through toget out here an' get ranches, an' horses, an' cattle, an' everything. And they got 'em. All our folks' got 'em, Mary's, too--"

"And if they'd ben smart they'd a-held on to them, " she interpolated. 

"Sure thing, " Bert continued. "That's the very point. We're the losers. We've ben robbed. We couldn't mark cards, deal from the bottom, an' ringin cold decks like the others. We're the white folks that failed. Yousee, times changed, and there was two kinds of us, the lions and theplugs. The plugs only worked, the lions only gobbled. They gobbled thefarms, the mines, the factories, an' now they've gobbled the government. We're the white folks an' the children of white folks, that was too busybeing good to be smart. We're the white folks that lost out. We're theones that's ben skinned. D'ye get me?"

"You'd make a good soap-boxer, " Tom commended, "if only you'd get thekinks straightened out in your reasoning. "

"It sounds all right, Bert, " Billy said, "only it ain't. Any man can getrich to-day--"

"Or be president of the United States, " Bert snapped. "Sure thing--ifhe's got it in him. Just the same I ain't heard you makin' a noise likea millionaire or a president. Why? You ain't got it in you. You're abonehead. A plug. That's why. Skiddoo for you. Skiddoo for all of us. "

At the table, while they ate, Tom talked of the joys of farm-life he hadknown as a boy and as a young man, and confided that it was his dream togo and take up government land somewhere as his people had done beforehim. Unfortunately, as he explained, Sarah was set, so that the dreammust remain a dream. 

"It's all in the game, " Billy sighed. "It's played to rules. Some onehas to get knocked out, I suppose. "

A little later, while Bert was off on a fresh diatribe, Billy becameaware that he was making comparisons. This house was not like his house. Here was no satisfying atmosphere. Things seemed to run with a jar. Herecollected that when they arrived the breakfast dishes had not yet beenwashed. With a man's general obliviousness of household affairs, he hadnot noted details; yet it had been borne in on him, all morning, in amyriad ways, that Mary was not the housekeeper Saxon was. He glancedproudly across at her, and felt the spur of an impulse to leave hisseat, go around, and embrace her. She was a wife. He remembered herdainty undergarmenting, and on the instant, into his brain, leaped theimage of her so appareled, only to be shattered by Bert. 

"Hey, Bill, you seem to think I've got a grouch. Sure thing. I have. You ain't had my experiences. You've always done teamin' an' pulleddown easy money prizefightin'. You ain't known hard times. You ain't benthrough strikes. You ain't had to take care of an old mother an' swallowdirt on her account. It wasn't until after she died that I could riploose an' take or leave as I felt like it. 

"Take that time I tackled the Niles Electric an' see what a work-pluggets handed out to him. The Head Cheese sizes me up, pumps me a lot ofquestions, an' gives me an application blank. I make it out, payin' adollar to a doctor they sent me to for a health certificate. Then I gotto go to a picture garage an' get my mug taken for the Niles Electricrogues' gallery. And I cough up another dollar for the mug. The HeadSquirt takes the blank, the health certificate, and the mug, an' firesmore questions. DID I BELONG TO A LABOR UNION?--ME? Of course I told'mthe truth I guess nit. I needed the job. The grocery wouldn't give meany more tick, and there was my mother. 

"Huh, thinks I, here's where I'm a real carman. Back platform for me, where I can pick up the fancy skirts. Nitsky. Two dollars, please. Me--my two dollars. All for a pewter badge. Then there was theuniform--nineteen fifty, and get it anywhere else for fifteen. Only thatwas to be paid out of my first month. And then five dollars in change inmy pocket, my own money. That was the rule. --I borrowed that five fromTom Donovan, the policeman. Then what? They worked me for two weekswithout pay, breakin' me in. "

"Did you pick up any fancy skirts?" Saxon queried teasingly. 

Bert shook his head glumly. 

"I only worked a month. Then we organized, and they busted our unionhigher'n a kite. "

"And you boobs in the shops will be busted the same way if you go out onstrike, " Mary informed him. 

"That's what I've ben tellin' you all along, " Bert replied. "We ain'tgot a chance to win. "

"Then why go out?" was Saxon's question. 

He looked at her with lackluster eyes for a moment, then answered

"Why did my two uncles get killed at Gettysburg?"

CHAPTER VIII

Saxon went about her housework greatly troubled. She no longer devotedherself to the making of pretties. The materials cost money, and shedid not dare. Bert's thrust had sunk home. It remained in her quiveringconsciousness like a shaft of steel that ever turned and rankled. Sheand Billy were responsible for this coming young life. Could they besure, after all, that they could adequately feed and clothe it andprepare it for its way in the world? Where was the guaranty? Sheremembered, dimly, the blight of hard times in the past, and theplaints of fathers and mothers in those days returned to her with a newsignificance. Almost could she understand Sarah's chronic complaining. 

Hard times were already in the neighborhood, where lived the familiesof the shopmen who had gone out on strike. Among the small storekeepers, Saxon, in the course of the daily marketing, could sense the air ofdespondency. Light and geniality seemed to have vanished. Gloom pervadedeverywhere. The mothers of the children that played in the streetsshowed the gloom plainly in their faces. When they gossiped in theevenings, over front gates and on door stoops, their voices were subduedand less of laughter rang out. 

Mary Donahue, who had taken three pints from the milkman, now tookone pint. There were no more family trips to the moving picture shows. Scrap-meat was harder to get from the butcher. Nora Delaney, in thethird house, no longer bought fresh fish for Friday. Salted codfish, notof the best quality, was now on her table. The sturdy children that ranout upon the street between meals with huge slices of bread and butterand sugar now came out with no sugar and with thinner slices spread morethinly with butter. The very custom was dying out, and some childrenalready had desisted from piecing between meals. 

Everywhere was manifest a pinching and scraping, a tightning andshortening down of expenditure. And everywhere was more irritation. Women became angered with one another, and with the children, morequickly than of yore; and Saxon knew that Bert and Mary bickeredincessantly. 

"If she'd only realize I've got troubles of my own, " Bert complained toSaxon. 

She looked at him closely, and felt fear for him in a vague, numb way. His black eyes seemed to burn with a continuous madness. The brown facewas leaner, the skin drawn tightly across the cheekbones. A slight twisthad come to the mouth, which seemed frozen into bitterness. Thevery carriage of his body and the way he wore his hat advertised arecklessness more intense than had been his in the past. 

Sometimes, in the long afternoons, sitting by the window withidle hands, she caught herself reconstructing in her vision thatfolk-migration of her people across the plains and mountains and desertsto the sunset land by the Western sea. And often she found herselfdreaming of the arcadian days of her people, when they had not lived incities nor been vexed with labor unions and employers' associations. Shewould remember the old people's tales of self-sufficingness, when theyshot or raised their own meat, grew their own vegetables, were theirown blacksmiths and carpenters, made their own shoes--yes, and spunthe cloth of the clothes they wore. And something of the wistfulnessin Tom's face she could see as she recollected it when he talked of hisdream of taking up government land. 

A farmer's life must be fine, she thought. Why was it that people had tolive in cities? Why had times changed? If there had been enough in theold days, why was there not enough now? Why was it necessary for mento quarrel and jangle, and strike and fight, all about the matter ofgetting work? Why wasn't there work for all?--Only that morning, and sheshuddered with the recollection, she had seen two scabs, on their way towork, beaten up by the strikers, by men she knew by sight, and some byname, who lived in the neighhorhood. It had happened directly across thestreet. It had been cruel, terrible--a dozen men on two. The childrenhad begun it by throwing rocks at the scabs and cursing them in wayschildren should not know. Policemen had run upon the scene with drawnrevolvers, and the strikers had retreated into the houses and throughthe narrow alleys between the houses. One of the scabs, unconscious, had been carried away in an ambulance; the other, assisted by specialrailroad police, had been taken away to the shops. At him, Mary Donahue, standing on her front stoop, her child in her arms, had hurled such vileabuse that it had brought the blush of shame to Saxon's cheeks. On thestoop of the house on the other side, Saxon had noted Mercedes, in theheight of the beating up, looking on with a queer smile. She had seemedvery eager to witness, her nostrils dilated and swelling like the beatof pulses as she watched. It had struck Saxon at the time that the oldwoman was quite unalarmed and only curious to see. 

To Mercedes, who was so wise in love, Saxon went for explanation of whatwas the matter with the world. But the old woman's wisdom in affairsindustrial and economic was cryptic and unpalatable. 

"La la, my dear, it is so simple. Most men are born stupid. They are theslaves. A few are born clever. They are the masters. God made men so, Isuppose. "

"Then how about God and that terrible beating across the street thismorning?"

"I'm afraid he was not interested, " Mercedes smiled. "I doubt he evenknows that it happened. "

"I was frightened to death, " Saxon declared. "I was made sick by it. Andyet you--I saw you--you looked on as cool as you please, as if it was ashow. "

"It was a show, my dear. "

"Oh, how could you?"

"La la, I have seen men killed. It is nothing strange. All men die. Thestupid ones die like oxen, they know not why. It is quite funny to see. They strike each other with fists and clubs, and break each other'sheads. It is gross. They are like a lot of animals. They are like dogswrangling over bones. Jobs are bones, you know. Now, if they foughtfor women, or ideas, or bars of gold, or fabulous diamonds, it would besplendid. But no; they are only hungry, and fight over scraps for theirstomach. "

"Oh, if I could only understand!" Saxon murmured, her hands tightlyclasped in anguish of incomprehension and vital need to know. 

"There is nothing to understand. It is clear as print. There have alwaysbeen the stupid and the clever, the slave and the master, the peasantand the prince. There always will be. "

"But why?"

"Why is a peasant a peasant, my dear? Because he is a peasant. Why is aflea a flea?"

Saxon tossed her head fretfully. 

"Oh, but my dear, I have answered. The philosophies of the world cangive no better answer. Why do you like your man for a husband ratherthan any other man? Because you like him that way, that is all. Why doyou like? Because you like. Why does fire burn and frost bite? Whyare there clever men and stupid men? masters and slaves? employers andworkingmen? Why is black black? Answer that and you answer everything. "

"But it is not right That men should go hungry and without work whenthey want to work if only they can get a square deal, " Saxon protested. 

"Oh, but it is right, just as it is right that stone won't burn likewood, that sea sand isn't sugar, that thorns prick, that water is wet, that smoke rises, that things fall down and not up. "

But such doctrine of reality made no impression on Saxon. Frankly, shecould not comprehend. It seemed like so much nonsense. 

"Then we have no liberty and independence, " she cried passionately. "Oneman is not as good as another. My child has not the right to live that arich mother's child has. "

"Certainly not, " Mercedes answered. 

"Yet all my people fought for these things, " Saxon urged, rememberingher school history and the sword of her father. 

"Democracy--the dream of the stupid peoples. Oh, la la, my dear, democracy is a lie, an enchantment to keep the work brutes content, justas religion used to keep them content. When they groaned in their miseryand toil, they were persuaded to keep on in their misery and toil bypretty tales of a land beyond the skies where they would live famouslyand fat while the clever ones roasted in everlasting fire. Ah, howthe clever ones must have chuckled! And when that lie wore out, anddemocracy was dreamed, the clever ones saw to it that it should be intruth a dream, nothing but a dream. The world belongs to the great andclever. "

"But you are of the working people, " Saxon charged. 

The old woman drew herself up, and almost was angry. 

"I? Of the working people? My dear, because I had misfortune with moneysinvested, because I am old and can no longer win the brave young men, because I have outlived the men of my youth and there is no one to goto, because I live here in the ghetto with Barry Higgins and prepareto die--why, my dear, I was born with the masters, and have trod allmy days on the necks of the stupid. I have drunk rare wines and sat atfeasts that would have supported this neighborhood for a lifetime. DickGolden and I--it was Dickie's money, but I could have had it Dick Goldenand I dropped four hundred thousand francs in a week's play at MonteCarlo. He was a Jew, but he was a spender. In India I have worn jewelsthat could have saved the lives of ten thousand families dying before myeyes. "

"You saw them die?. .. And did nothing?" Saxon asked aghast. 

"I kept my jewels--la la, and was robbed of them by a brute of a Russianofficer within the year. "

"And you let them die, " Saxon reiterated. 

"They were cheap spawn. They fester and multiply like maggots. Theymeant nothing--nothing, my dear, nothing. No more than your work peoplemean here, whose crowning stupidity is their continuing to beget morestupid spawn for the slavery of the masters. "

So it was that while Saxon could get little glimmering of common sensefrom others, from the terrible old woman she got none at all. Nor couldSaxon bring herself to believe much of what she considered Mercedes'romancing. As the weeks passed, the strike in the railroad shops grewbitter and deadly. Billy shook his head and confessed his inabilityto make head or tail of the troubles that were looming on the laborhorizon. 

"I don't get the hang of it, " he told Saxon. "It's a mix-up. It's likea roughhouse with the lights out. Look at us teamsters. Here we are, the talk just starting of going out on sympathetic strike for themill-workers. They've ben out a week, most of their places is filled, an' if us teamsters keep on haulin' the mill-work the strike's lost. "

"Yet you didn't consider striking for yourselves when your wages werecut, " Saxon said with a frown. 

"Oh, we wasn't in position then. But now the Frisco teamsters and thewhole Frisco Water Front Confederation is liable to back us up. Anyway, we're just talkin' about it, that's all. But if we do go out, we'll tryto get back that ten per cent cut. "

"It's rotten politics, " he said another time. "Everybody's rotten. Ifwe'd only wise up and agree to pick out honest men--"

"But if you, and Bert, and Tom can't agree, how do you expect all therest to agree?" Saxon asked. 

"It gets me, " he admitted. "It's enough to give a guy the williesthinkin' about it. And yet it's plain as the nose on your face. Gethonest men for politics, an' the whole thing's straightened out. Honestmen'd make honest laws, an' then honest men'd get their dues. But Bertwants to smash things, an' Tom smokes his pipe and dreams pipe dreamsabout by an' by when everybody votes the way he thinks. But this by an'by ain't the point. We want things now. Tom says we can't get them now, an' Bert says we ain't never goin' to get them. What can a fellow dowhen everybody's of different minds? Look at the socialists themselves. They're always disagreeing, splittin' up, an' firin' each other out ofthe party. The whole thing's bughouse, that's what, an' I almost getdippy myself thinkin' about it. The point I can't get out of my mind isthat we want things now. "

He broke off abruptly and stared at Saxon. 

"What is it?" he asked, his voice husky with anxiety. "You ain't sick. .. Or. .. Or anything?"

One hand she had pressed to her heart; but the startle and fright in hereyes was changing into a pleased intentness, while on her mouth wasa little mysterious smile. She seemed oblivious to her husband, as iflistening to some message from afar and not for his ears. Then wonderand joy transfused her face, and she looked at Billy, and her hand wentout to his. 

"It's life, " she whispered. "I felt life. I am so glad, so glad. "

The next evening when Billy came home from work, Saxon caused him toknow and undertake more of the responsibilities of fatherhood. 

"I've been thinking it over, Billy, " she began, "and I'm such a healthy, strong woman that it won't have to be very expensive. There's MarthaSkelton--she's a good midwife. "

But Billy shook his head. 

"Nothin' doin' in that line, Saxon. You're goin' to have Doc Hentley. He's Bill Murphy's doc, an' Bill swears by him. He's an old cuss, buthe's a wooz. "

"She confined Maggie Donahue, " Saxon argued; "and look at her and herbaby. "

"Well, she won't confine you--not so as you can notice it. "

"But the doctor will charge twenty dollars, " Saxon pursued, "and makeme get a nurse because I haven't any womenfolk to come in. But MarthaSkelton would do everything, and it would be so much cheaper. "

But Billy gathered her tenderly in his arms and laid down the law. 

"Listen to me, little wife. The Roberts family ain't on the cheap. Neverforget that. You've gotta have the baby. That's your business, an' it'senough for you. My business is to get the money an' take care of you. An' the best ain't none too good for you. Why, I wouldn't run the chanceof the teeniest accident happenin' to you for a million dollars. It'syou that counts. An' dollars is dirt. Maybe you think I like that kidsome. I do. Why, I can't get him outa my head. I'm thinkin' about'm allday long. If I get fired, it'll be his fault. I'm clean dotty over him. But just the same, Saxon, honest to God, before I'd have anything happento you, break your little finger, even, I'd see him dead an' buriedfirst. That'll give you something of an idea what you mean to me. 

"Why, Saxon, I had the idea that when folks got married they justsettled down, and after a while their business was to get along witheach other. Maybe it's the way it is with other people; but it ain'tthat way with you an' me. I love you more 'n more every day. Right nowI love you more'n when I began talkin' to you five minutes ago. An' youwon't have to get a nurse. Doc Hentley'll come every day, an' Mary'llcome in an' do the housework, an' take care of you an' all that, just asyou'll do for her if she ever needs it. "

As the days and weeks pussed, Saxon was possessed by a conscious feelingof proud motherhood in her swelling breasts. So essentially a normalwoman was she, that motherhood was a satisfying and passionatehappiness. It was true that she had her moments of apprehension, butthey were so momentary and faint that they tended, if anything, to givezest to her happiness. 

Only one thing troubled her, and that was the puzzling and periloussituation of labor which no one seemed to understand, her self least ofall. 

"They're always talking about how much more is made by machinery than bythe old ways, " she told her brother Tom. "Then, with all the machinerywe've got now, why don't we get more?"

"Now you're talkin', " he answered. "It wouldn't take you long tounderstand socialism. "

But Saxon had a mind to the immediate need of things. 

"Tom, how long have you been a socialist?"

"Eight years. "

"And you haven't got anything by it?"

"But we will. .. In time. "

"At that rate you'll be dead first, " she challenged. 

Tom sighed. 

"I'm afraid so. Things move so slow. "

Again he sighed. She noted the weary, patient look in his face, the bentshoulders, the labor-gnarled hands, and it all seemed to symbolize thefutility of his social creed. 

CHAPTER IX

It began quietly, as the fateful unexpected so often begins. Children, of all ages and sizes, were playing in the street, and Saxon, by theopen front window, was watching them and dreaming day dreams of herchild soon to be. The sunshine mellowed peacefully down, and a lightwind from the bay cooled the air and gave to it a tang of salt. One ofthe children pointed up Pine Street toward Seventh. All the childrenceased playing, and stared and pointed. They formed into groups, thelarger boys, of from ten to twelve, by themselves, the older girlsanxiously clutching the small children by the hands or gathering theminto their arms. 

Saxon could not see the cause of all this, but she could guess when shesaw the larger boys rush to the gutter, pick up stones, and sneak intothe alleys between the houses. Smaller boys tried to imitate them. Thegirls, dragging the tots by the arms, banged gates and clattered up thefront steps of the small houses. The doors slammed behind them, and thestreet was deserted, though here and there front shades were drawn asideso that anxious-faced women might peer forth. Saxon heard the uptowntrain puffing and snorting as it pulled out from Center Street. Then, from the direction of Seventh, came a hoarse, throaty manroar. Still, she could see nothing, and she remembered Mercedes Higgins' words "THEYARE LIKE DOGS WRANGLING OVER BONES. JOBS ARE BONES, YOU KNOW"

The roar came closer, and Saxon, leaning out, saw a dozen scabs, conveyed by as many special police and Pinkertons, coming down thesidewalk on her side of the street. They came compactly, as if withdiscipline, while behind, disorderly, yelling confusedly, stooping topick up rocks, were seventy-five or a hundred of the striking shopmen. Saxon discovered herself trembling with apprehension, knew that she mustnot, and controlled herself. She was helped in this by the conduct ofMercedes Higgins. The old woman came out of her front door, dragging achair, on which she coolly seated herself on the tiny stoop at the topof the steps. 

In the hands of the special police were clubs. The Pinkertons carriedno visible weapons. The strikers, urging on from behind, seemed contentwith yelling their rage and threats, and it remained for the children toprecipitate the conflict. From across the street, between the Olsen andthe Isham houses, came a shower of stones. Most of these fell short, though one struck a scab on the head. The man was no more than twentyfeet away from Saxon. He reeled toward her front picket fence, drawing arevolver. With one hand he brushed the blood from his eyes and withthe other he discharged the revolver into the Isham house. A Pinkertonseized his arm to prevent a second shot, and dragged him along. At thesame instant a wilder roar went up from the strikers, while a volley ofstones came from between Saxon's house and Maggie Donahue's. The scabsand their protectors made a stand, drawing revolvers. From their hard, determined faces--fighting men by profession--Saxon could augur nothingbut bloodshed and death. An elderly man, evidently the leader, lifted asoft felt hat and mopped the perspiration from the bald top of his head. He was a large man, very rotund of belly and helpless looking. His graybeard was stained with streaks of tobacco juice, and he was smokinga cigar. He was stoop-shouldered, and Saxon noted the dandruff on thecollar of his coat. 

One of the men pointed into the street, and several of his companionslaughed. The cause of it was the little Olsen boy, barely four yearsold, escaped somehow from his mother and toddling toward his economicenemies. In his right he bore a rock so heavy that he could scarcelylift it. With this he feebly threatened them. His rosy little face wasconvulsed with rage, and he was screaming over and over "Dam scabs!Dam scabs! Dam scabs!" The laughter with which they greeted him onlyincreased his fury. He toddled closer, and with a mighty exertion threwthe rock. It fell a scant six feet beyond his hand. 

This much Saxon saw, and also Mrs. Olsen rushing into the street forher child. A rattling of revolver-shots from the strikers drew Saxon'sattention to the men beneath her. One of them cursed sharply andexamined the biceps of his left arm, which hung limply by his side. Downthe hand she saw the blood beginning to drip. She knew she ought notremain and watch, but the memory of her fighting forefathers was withher, while she possessed no more than normal human fear--if anything, less. She forgot her child in the eruption of battle that had brokenupon her quiet street. And she forgot the strikers, and everything else, in amazement at what had happened to the round-bellied, cigar-smokingleader. In some strange way, she knew not how, his head had becomewedged at the neck between the tops of the pickets of her fence. Hisbody hung down outside, the knees not quite touching the ground. His hathad fallen off, and the sun was making an astounding high light on hisbald spot. The cigar, too, was gone. She saw he was looking at her. Onehand, between the pickets, seemed waving at her, and almost he seemed towink at her jocosely, though she knew it to be the contortion of deadlypain. 

Possibly a second, or, at most, two seconds, she gazed at this, when shewas aroused by Bert's voice. He was running along the sidewalk, in frontof her house, and behind him charged several more strikers, while heshouted: "Come on, you Mohegans! We got 'em nailed to the cross!"

In his left hand he carried a pick-handle, in his right a revolver, already empty, for he clicked the cylinder vainly around as he ran. Withan abrupt stop, dropping the pick-handle, he whirled half about, facingSaxon's gate. He was sinking down, when he straightened himself to throwthe revolver into the face of a scab who was jumping toward him. Then hebegan swaying, at the same time sagging at the knees and waist. Slowly, with infinite effort, he caught a gate picket in his right hand, and, still slowly, as if lowering himself, sank down, while past him leapedthe crowd of strikers he had led. 

It was battle without quarter--a massacre. The scabs and theirprotectors, surrounded, backed against Saxon's fence, fought likecornered rats, but could not withstand the rush of a hundred men. Clubs and pick-handles were swinging, revolvers were exploding, andcobblestones were flung with crushing effect at arm's distance. Saxonsaw young Frank Davis, a friend of Bert's and a father of severalmonths' standing, press the muzzle of his revolver against a scab'sstomach and fire. There were curses and snarls of rage, wild cries ofterror and pain. Mercedes was right. These things were not men. Theywere beasts, fighting over bones, destroying one another for bones. 

JOBS ARE BONES; JOBS ARE BONES. The phrase was an incessant iteration inSaxon's brain. Much as she might have wished it, she was powerless nowto withdraw from the window. It was as if she were paralyzed. Her brainno longer worked. She sat numb, staring, incapable of anything saveseeing the rapid horror before her eyes that flashed along like a movingpicture film gone mad. She saw Pinkertons, special police, and strikersgo down. One scab, terribly wounded, on his knees and begging formercy, was kicked in the face. As he sprawled backward another striker, standing over him, fired a revolver into his chest, quickly anddeliberately, again and again, until the weapon was empty. Another scab, backed over the pickets by a hand clutching his throat, had his facepulped by a revolver butt. Again and again, continually, the revolverrose and fell, and Saxon knew the man who wielded it--Chester Johnson. She had met him at dances and danced with him in the days before she wasmarried. He had always been kind and good natured. She remembered theFriday night, after a City Hall band concert, when he had taken her andtwo other girls to Tony's Tamale Grotto on Thirteenth street. And afterthat they had all gone to Pabst's Cafe and drunk a glass of beer beforethey went home. It was impossible that this could be the same ChesterJohnson. And as she looked, she saw the round-bellied leader, stillwedged by the neck between the pickets, draw a revolver with hisfree hand, and, squinting horribly sidewise, press the muzzle againstChester's side. She tried to scream a warning. She did scream, andChester looked up and saw her. At that moment the revolver went off, andhe collapsed prone upon the body of the scab. And the bodies of threemen hung on her picket fence. 

Anything could happen now. Quite without surprise, she saw the strikersleaping the fence, trampling her few little geraniums and pansies intothe earth as they fled between Mercedes' house and hers. Up Pine street, from the railroad yards, was coming a rush of railroad police andPinkertons, firing as they ran. While down Pine street, gongs clanging, horses at a gallop, came three patrol wagons packed with police. Thestrikers were in a trap. The only way out was between the houses andover the back yard fences. The jam in the narrow alley prevented themall from escaping. A dozen were cornered in the angle between the frontof her house and the steps. And as they had done, so were they done by. No effort was made to arrest. They were clubbed down and shot down tothe last man by the guardians of the peace who were infuriated by whathad been wreaked on their brethren. 

It was all over, and Saxon, moving as in a dream, clutching the banistertightly, came down the front steps. The round-bellied leader stillleered at her and fluttered one hand, though two big policemen werejust bending to extricate him. The gate was off its hinges, which seemedstrange, for she had been watching all the time and had not seen ithappen. 

Bert's eyes were closed. His lips were blood-flecked, and there was agurgling in his throat as if he were trying to say something. As shestooped above him, with her handkerchief brushing the blood from hischeek where some one had stepped on him, his eyes opened. The olddefiant light was in them. He did not know her. The lips moved, andfaintly, almost reminiscently, he murmured, "The last of the Mohegans, the last of the Mohegans. " Then he groaned, and the eyelids drooped downagain. He was not dead. She knew that, the chest still rose and fell, and the gurgling still continued in his throat. 

She looked up. Mercedes stood beside her. The old woman's eyes were verybright, her withered cheeks flushed. 

"Will you help me carry him into the house?" Saxon asked. 

Mercedes nodded, turned to a sergeant of police, and made the request tohim. The sergeant gave a swift glance at Bert, and his eyes were bitterand ferocious as he refused. 

"To hell with'm. We'll care for our own. "

"Maybe you and I can do it, " Saxon said. 

"Don't be a fool. " Mercedes was beckoning to Mrs. Olsen across thestreet. "You go into the house, little mother that is to be. This is badfor you. We'll carry him in. Mrs. Olsen is coming, and we'll get MaggieDonahue. "

Saxon led the way into the back bedroom which Billy had insisted onfurnishing. As she opened the door, the carpet seemed to fly up into herface as with the force of a blow, for she remembered Bert had laid thatcarpet. And as the women placed him on the bed she recalled that it wasBert and she, between them, who had set the bed up one Sunday morning. 

And then she felt very queer, and was surprised to see Mercedesregarding her with questioning, searching eyes. After that her queernesscame on very fast, and she descended into the hell of pain that is givento women alone to know. She was supported, half-carried, to the frontbedroom. Many faces were about her--Mercedes, Mrs. Olsen, MaggieDonahue. It seemed she must ask Mrs. Olsen if she had saved little Emilfrom the street, but Mercedes cleared Mrs. Olsen out to look after Bert, and Maggie Donahue went to answer a knock at the front door. From thestreet came a loud hum of voices, punctuated by shouts and commands, andfrom time to time there was a clanging of the gongs of ambulancesand patrol wagon's. Then appeared the fat, comfortable face of MarthaShelton, and, later, Dr. Hentley came. Once, in a clear interval, through the thin wall Saxon heard the high opening notes of Mary'shysteria. And, another time, she heard Mary repeating over and over. "I'll never go back to the laundry. Never. Never. "

CHAPTER X

Billy could never get over the shock, during that period, of Saxon'sappearance. Morning after morning, and evening after evening when hecame home from work, he would enter the room where she lay and fight aroyal battle to hide his feelings and make a show of cheerfulness andgeniality. She looked so small lying there so small and shrunken andweary, and yet so child-like in her smallness. Tenderly, as he satbeside her, he would take up her pale hand and stroke the slim, transparent arm, marveling at the smallness and delicacy of the bones. 

One of her first questions, puzzling alike to Billy and Mary, was:

"Did they save little Emil Olsen?"

And when she told them how he had attacked, singlehanded, the wholetwenty-four fighting men, Billy's face glowed with appreciation. 

"The little cuss!" he said. "That's the kind of a kid to be proud of. "

He halted awkwardly, and his very evident fear that he had hurt hertouched Saxon. She put her hand out to his. 

"Billy, " she began; then waited till Mary left the room. 

"I never asked before--not that it matters. .. Now. But I waited for youto tell me. Was it. .. ?"

He shook his head. 

"No; it was a girl. A perfect little girl. Only. .. It was too soon. "

She pressed his hand, and almost it was she that sympathized with him inhis affliction. 

"I never told you, Billy--you were so set on a boy; but I planned, justthe same, if it was a girl, to call her Daisy. You remember, that was mymother's name. "

He nodded his approbation. 

"Say, Saxon, you know I did want a boy like the very dickens. .. Well, I don't care now. I think I'm set just as hard on a girl, an', well, here's hopin' the next will be called. .. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"What?"

"If we called it the same name, Daisy?"

"Oh, Billy! I was thinking the very same thing. "

Then his face grew stern as he went on. 

"Only there ain't goin' to be a next. I didn't know what havin' childrenwas like before. You can't run any more risks like that. "

"Hear the big, strong, afraid-man talk!" she jeered, with a wan smile. "You don't know anything about it. How can a man? I am a healthy, natural woman. Everything would have been all right this time if. .. Ifall that fighting hadn't happened. Where did they bury Bert?"

"You knew?"

"All the time. And where is Mercedes? She hasn't been in for two days. "

"Old Barry's sick. She's with him. "

He did not tell her that the old night watchman was dying, two thinwalls and half a dozen feet away. 

Saxon's lips were trembling, and she began to cry weakly, clinging toBilly's hand with both of hers. 

"I--I can't help it, " she sobbed. "I'll be all right in a minute. .. . Ourlittle girl, Billy. Think of it! And I never saw her!"

She was still lying on her bed, when, one evening, Mary saw fit to breakout in bitter thanksgiving that she had escaped, and was destined toescape, what Saxon had gone through. 

"Aw, what are you talkin' about?" Billy demanded. "You'll get marriedsome time again as sure as beans is beans. "

"Not to the best man living, " she proclaimed. "And there ain't no callfor it. There's too many people in the world now, else why are theretwo or three men for every job? And, besides, havin' children is tooterrible. "

Saxon, with a look of patient wisdom in her face that became glorifiedas she spoke, made answer:

"I ought to know what it means. I've been through it, and I'm still inthe thick of it, and I want to say to you right now, out of all the painand the ache and the sorrow, that it is the most beautiful, wonderfulthing in the world. "

As Saxon's strength came back to her (and when Doctor Hentley hadprivily assured Billy that she was sound as a dollar), she herself tookup the matter of the industrial tragedy that had taken place before herdoor. The militia had been called out immediately, Billy informed her, and was encamped then at the foot of Pine street on the waste groundnext to the railroad yards. As for the strikers, fifteen of them were injail. A house to house search had been made in the neighborhood by thepolice, and in this way nearly the whole fifteen, all wounded, had beencaptured. It would go hard with them, Billy foreboded gloomily. Thenewspapers were demanding blood for blood, and all the ministers inOakland had preached fierce sermons against the strikers. The railroadhad filled every place, and it was well known that the striking shopmennot only would never get their old jobs back but were blacklisted inevery railroad in the United States. Already they were beginning toscatter. A number had gone to Panama, and four were talking of going toEcuador to work in the shops of the railroad that ran over the Andes toQuito. 

With anxiety keenly concealed, she tried to feel out Billy's opinion onwhat had happened. 

"That shows what Bert's violent methods come to, " she said. 

He shook his head slowly and gravely. 

"They'll hang Chester Johnson, anyway, " he answered indirectly. "You know him. You told me you used to dance with him. He was caughtred-handed, lyin' on the body of a scab he beat to death. Old JellyBelly's got three bullet holes in him, but he ain't goin' to die, andhe's got Chester's number. They'll hang'm on Jelly Belly's evidence. Itwas all in the papers. Jelly Belly shot him, too, a-hangin' by the neckon our pickets. "

Saxon shuddered. Jelly Belly must be the man with the bald spot and thetobacco-stained whiskers. 

"Yes, " she said. "I saw it all. It seemed he must have hung there forhours. "

"It was all over, from first to last, in five minutes. "

"It seemed ages and ages. "

"I guess that's the way it seemed to Jelly Belly, stuck on the pickets, "Billy smiled grimly. "But he's a hard one to kill. He's been shot an'cut up a dozen different times. But they say now he'll be crippled forlife--have to go around on crutches, or in a wheel-chair. That'll stophim from doin' any more dirty work for the railroad. He was one of theirtop gun-fighters--always up to his ears in the thick of any fightin'that was goin' on. He never was leery of anything on two feet, I'll saythat much for'm. "

"Where does he live?" Saxon inquired. 

"Up on Adeline, near Tenth--fine neighborhood an' fine two-storiedhouse. He must pay thirty dollars a month rent. I guess the railroadpaid him pretty well. "

"Then he must be married?"

"Yep. I never seen his wife, but he's got one son, Jack, a passengerengineer. I used to know him. He was a nifty boxer, though he neverwent into the ring. An' he's got another son that's teacher in thehigh school. His name's Paul. We're about the same age. He was greatat baseball. I knew him when we was kids. He pitched me out three timeshand-runnin' once, when the Durant played the Cole School. "

Saxon sat back in the Morris chair, resting and thinking. The problemwas growing more complicated than ever. This elderly, round-bellied, andbald-headed gunfighter, too, had a wife and family. And there was FrankDavis, married barely a year and with a baby boy. Perhaps the scabhe shot in the stomach had a wife and children. All seemed to beacquainted, members of a very large family, and yet, because of theirparticular families, they battered and killed each other. She had seenChester Johnson kill a scab, and now they were going to hang ChesterJohnson, who had married Kittie Brady out of the cannery, and she andKittie Brady had worked together years before in the paper box factory. 

Vainly Saxon waked for Billy to say something that would show he did notcountenance the killing of the scabs. 

"It was wrong, " she ventured finally. 

"They killed Bert, " he countered. "An' a lot of others. An' Frank Davis. Did you know he was dead? Had his whole lower jaw shot away--died in theambulance before they could get him to the receiving hospital. There wasnever so much killin' at one time in Oakland before. "

"But it was their fault, " she contended. "They began it. It was murder. "

Billy did not reply, but she heard him mutter hoarsely. She knew he said"God damn them"; but when she asked, "What?" he made no answer. His eyeswere deep with troubled clouds, while the mouth had hardened, and allhis face was bleak. 

To her it was a heart-stab. Was he, too, like the rest? Would he killother men who had families, like Bert, and Frank Davis, and ChesterJohnson had killed? Was he, too, a wild beast, a dog that would snarlover a bone?

She sighed. Life was a strange puzzle. Perhaps Mercedes Higgins wasright in her cruel statement of the terms of existence. 

"What of it, " Billy laughed harshly, as if in answer to her unutteredquestions. "It's dog eat dog, I guess, and it's always ben that way. Take that scrap outside there. They killed each other just like theNorth an' South did in the Civil War. "

"But workingmen can't win that way, Billy. You say yourself that itspoiled their chance of winning. "

"I suppose not, " he admitted reluctantly. "But what other chance they'vegot to win I don't see. Look at 'us. We'll be up against it next. "

"Not the teamsters?" she cried. 

He nodded gloomily. 

"The bosses are cuttin' loose all along the line for a high old time. Say they're goin' to beat us to our knees till we come crawlin' backa-beggin' for our jobs. They've bucked up real high an' mighty what ofall that killin' the other day. Havin' the troops out is half the fight, along with havin' the preachers an' the papers an' the public behind'em. They're shootin' off their mouths already about what they're goin'to do. They're sure gunning for trouble. First, they're goin' to hangChester Johnson an' as many more of the fifteen as they can. They saythat flat. The Tribune, an' the Enquirer an' the Times keep sayin' itover an over every day. They're all union-hustin' to beat the band. Nomore closed shop. To hell with organized labor. Why, the dirty littleIntelligencer come out this morning an' said that every union officialin Oakland ought to be run outa town or stretched up. Fine, eh? You betit's fine. 

"Look at us. It ain't a case any more of sympathetic strike for themill-workers. We got our own troubles. They've fired our four bestmen--the ones that was always on the conference committees. Did itwithout cause. They're lookin' for trouble, as I told you, an' they'llget it, too, if they don't watch out. We got our tip from the FriscoWater Front Confederation. With them backin' us we'll go some. "

"You mean you'll. .. Strike?" Saxon asked. 

He bent his head. 

"But isn't that what they want you to do?--from the way they're acting?"

"What's the difference?" Billy shrugged his shoulders, then continued. "It's better to strike than to get fired. We beat 'em to it, that's all, an' we catch 'em before they're ready. Don't we know what they're doin'?They're collectin' gradin'-camp drivers an' mule-skinners all upan' down the state. They got forty of 'em, feedin' 'em in a hotel inStockton right now, an' ready to rush 'em in on us an' hundreds morelike 'em. So this Saturday's the last wages I'll likely bring home forsome time. "

Saxon closed her eyes and thought quietly for five minutes. It was nother way to take things excitedly. The coolness of poise that Billy soadmired never deserted her in time of emergency. She realized thatshe herself was no more than a mote caught up in this tangled, nonunderstandable conflict of many motes. 

"We'll have to draw from our savings to pay for this month's rent, " shesaid brightly. 

Billy's face fell. 

"We ain't got as much in the bank as you think, " he confessed. "Bert hadto be buried, you know, an I coughed up what the others couldn't raise. "

"How much was it?"

"Forty dollars. I was goin' to stand off the butcher an' the rest for awhile. They knew I was good pay. But they put it to me straight. They'dbeen carryin' the shopmen right along an was up against it themselves. An' now with that strike smashed they're pretty much smashed themselves. So I took it all out of the bank. I knew you wouldn't mind. You don't, do you?"

She smiled bravely, and bravely overcame the sinking feeling at herheart. 

"It was the only right thing to do, Billy. I would have done it if youwere lying sick, and Bert would have done it for you an' me if it hadbeen the other way around. "

His face was glowing. 

"Gee, Saxon, a fellow can always count on you. You're like my righthand. That's why I say no more babies. If I lose you I'm crippled forlife. "

"We've got to economize, " she mused, nodding her appreciation. "How muchis in bank?"

"Just about thirty dollars. You see, I had to pay Martha Skelton an' forthe. .. A few other little things. An' the union took time by the neckand levied a four dollar emergency assessment on every member just to beready if the strike was pulled off. But Doc Hentley can wait. He said asmuch. He's the goods, if anybody should ask you. How'd you like'm?"

"I liked him. But I don't know about doctors. He's the first I everhad--except when I was vaccinated once, and then the city did that. "

"Looks like the street car men are goin' out, too. Dan Fallon's come totown. Came all the way from New York. Tried to sneak in on the quiet, but the fellows knew when he left New York, an' kept track of him allthe way acrost. They have to. He's Johnny-on-the-Spot whenever streetcar men are licked into shape. He's won lots of street car strikes forthe bosses. Keeps an army of strike breakers an' ships them all over thecountry on special trains wherever they're needed. Oakland's never seenlabor troubles like she's got and is goin' to get. All hell's goin' tobreak loose from the looks of it. "

"Watch out for yourself, then, Billy. I don't want to lose you either. "

"Aw, that's all right. I can take care of myself. An' besides, it ain'tas though we was licked. We got a good chance. "

"But you'll lose if there is any killing. "

"Yep; we gotta keep an eye out against that. "

"No violence. "

"No gun-fighting or dynamite, " he assented. "But a heap of scabs'll gettheir heads broke. That has to be. "

"But you won't do any of that, Billy. "

"Not so as any slob can testify before a court to havin' seen me. " Then, with a quick shift, he changed the subject. "Old Barry Higgins is dead. I didn't want to tell you till you was outa bed. Buried'm a week ago. An' the old woman's movin' to Frisco. She told me she'd be in to saygood-bye. She stuck by you pretty well them first couple of days, an' she showed Martha Shelton a few that made her hair curl. She gotMartha's goat from the jump. "

CHAPTER XI

With Billy on strike and away doing picket duty, and with the departureof Mercedes and the death of Bert, Saxon was left much to herself in aloneliness that even in one as healthy-minded as she could not fail toproduce morbidness. Mary, too, had left, having spoken vaguely of takinga job at housework in Piedmont. 

Billy could help Saxon little in her trouble. He dimly sansed hersuffering, without comprehending the scope and intensity of it. He wastoo man-practical, and, by his very sex, too remote from the intimatetragedy that was hers. He was an outsider at the best, a friendlyonlooker who saw little. To her the baby had been quick and real. It wasstill quick and real. That was her trouble. By no deliberate effort ofwill could she fill the aching void of its absence. Its reality became, at times, an hallucination. Somewhere it still was, and she must findit. She would catch herself, on occasion, listening with strained earsfor the cry she had never heard, yet which, in fancy, she had heard athousand times in the happy months before the end. Twice she left herbed in her sleep and went searching--each time coming to herself besideher mother's chest of drawers in which were the tiny garments. Toherself, at such moments, she would say, "I had a baby once. " And shewould say it, aloud, as she watched the children playing in the street. 

One day, on the Eighth street cars, a young mother sat beside her, acrowing infant in her arms. And Saxon said to her:

"I had a baby once. It died. "

The mother looked at her, startled, half-drew the baby tighter in herarms, jealously, or as if in fear; then she softened as she said:

"You poor thing. "

"Yes, " Saxon nodded. "It died. "

Tear's welled into her eyes, and the telling of her grief seemed to havebrought relief. But all the day she suffered from an almost overwhelmingdesire to recite her sorrow to the world--to the paying teller at thebank, to the elderly floor-walker in Salinger's, to the blind woman, guided by a little boy, who played on the concertina--to every one savethe policeman. The police were new and terrible creatures to her now. She had seen them kill the strikers as mercilessly as the strikers hadkilled the scabs. And, unlike the strikers, the police were professionalkillers. They were not fighting for jobs. They did it as a business. They could have taken prisoners that day, in the angle of her frontsteps and the house. But they had not. Unconsciously, wheneverapproaching one, she edged across the sidewalk so as to get as faras possible away from him. She did not reason it out, but deeper thanconsciousness was the feeling that they were typical of somethinginimical to her and hers. 

At Eighth and Broadway, waiting for her car to return home, thepoliceman on the corner recognized her and greeted her. She turnedwhite to the lips, and her heart fluttered painfully. It was only NedHermanmann, fatter, bronder-faced, jollier looking than ever. He had satacross the aisle from her for three terms at school. He and she had beenmonitors together of the composition books for one term. The day thepowder works blew up at Pinole, breaking every window in the school, he and she had not joined in the panic rush for out-of-doors. Both hadremained in the room, and the irate principal had exhibited them, fromroom to room, to the cowardly classes, and then rewarded them with amonth's holiday from school. And after that Ned Hermanmann had become apoliceman, and married Lena Highland, and Saxon had heard they had fivechildren. 

But, in spite of all that, he was now a policeman, and Billy was now astriker. Might not Ned Hermanmann some day club and shoot Billy just asthose other policemen clubbed and shot the strikers by her front steps?

"What's the matter, Saxon?" he asked. "Sick?"

She nodded and choked, unable to speak, and started to move toward hercar which was coming to a stop. 

"I'll help you, " he offered. 

She shrank away from his hand. 

"No; I'm all right, " she gasped hurriedly. "I'm not going to take it. I've forgotten something. "

She turned away dizzily, up Broadway to Ninth. Two blocks along Ninth, she turned down Clay and back to Eighth street, where she waited foranother car. 

As the summer months dragged along, the industrial situation in Oaklandgrew steadily worse. Capital everywhere seemed to have selected thiscity for the battle with organized labor. So many men in Oakland wereout on strike, or were locked out, or were unable to work because of thedependence of their trades on the other tied-up trade's, that odd jobsat common labor were hard to obtain. Billy occasionally got a day's workto do, but did not earn enough to make both ends meet, despite the smallstrike wages received at first, and despite the rigid economy he andSaxon practiced. 

The table she set had scarcely anything in common with that of theirfirst married year. Not alone was every item of cheaper quality, butmany items had disappeared. Meat, and the poorest, was very seldom onthe table. Cow's milk had given place to condensed milk, and even thesparing use of the latter had ceased. A roll of butter, when they hadit, lasted half a dozen times as long as formerly. Where Billy had beenused to drinking three cups of coffee for breakfast, he now drank one. Saxon boiled this coffee an atrocious length of time, and she paidtwenty cents a pound for it. 

The blight of hard times was on all the neighborhood. The familiesnot involved in one strike were touched by some other strike or by thecessation of work in some dependent trade. Many single young men whowere lodgers had drifted away, thus increasing the house rent of thefamilies which had sheltered them. 

"Gott!" said the butcher to Saxon. "We working class all suffertogether. My wife she cannot get her teeth fixed now. Pretty soon I gosmash broke maybe. "

Once, when Billy was preparing to pawn his watch, Saxon suggested hisborrowing the money from Billy Murphy. 

"I was plannin' that, " Billy answered, "only I can't now. I didn't tellyou what happened Tuesday night at the Sporting Life Club. You rememberthat squarehead Champion of the United States Navy? Bill was matchedwith him, an' it was sure easy money. Bill had 'm goin' south by theend of the sixth round, an' at the seventh went in to finish 'm. Andthen--just his luck, for his trade's idle now--he snaps his rightforearm. Of course the squarehead comes back at 'm on the jump, an' it'sgood night for Bill. Gee! Us Mohegans are gettin' our bad luck handed tous in chunks these days. "

"Don't!" Saxon cried, shuddering involuntarily. 

"What?" Billy asked with open mouth of surprise. 

"Don't say that word again. Bert was always saying it. "

"Oh, Mohegans. All right, I won't. You ain't superstitions, are you?"

"No; but just the same there's too much truth in the word for me tolike it. Sometimes it seems as though he was right. Times have changed. They've changed even since I was a little girl. We crossed the plainsand opened up this country, and now we're losing even the chance to workfor a living in it. And it's not my fault, it's not your fault. We'vegot to live well or bad just by luck, it seems. There's no other way toexplain it. "

"It beats me, " Billy concurred. "Look at the way I worked last year. Never missed a day. I'd want to never miss a day this year, an' hereI haven't done a tap for weeks an' weeks an' weeks. Say! Who runs thiscountry anyway?"

Saxon had stopped the morning paper, but frequently Maggie Donahue'sboy, who served a Tribune route, tossed an "extra" on her steps. Fromits editorials Saxon gleaned that organized labor was trying to run thecountry and that it was making a mess of it. It was all the fault ofdomineering labor--so ran the editorials, column by column, day by day;and Saxon was convinced, yet remained unconvinced. The social puzzle ofliving was too intricate. 

The teamsters' strike, backed financially by the teamsters of SanFrancisco and by the allied unions of the San Francisco Water FrontConfederation, promised to be long-drawn, whether or not it wassuccessful. The Oakland harness-washers and stablemen, with fewexceptions, had gone out with the teamsters. The teaming firm's were nothalf-filling their contracts, but the employers' association was helpingthem. In fact, half the employers' associations of the Pacific Coastwere helping the Oakland Employers' Association. 

Saxon was behind a month's rent, which, when it is considered that rentwas paid in advance, was equivalent to two months. Likewise, she wastwo months behind in the installments on the furniture. Yet she was notpressed very hard by Salinger's, the furniture dealers. 

"We're givin' you all the rope we can, " said their collector. "My ordersis to make you dig up every cent I can and at the same time not to betoo hard. Salinger's are trying to do the right thing, but they're upagainst it, too. You've no idea how many accounts like yours they'recarrying along. Sooner or later they'll have to call a halt or get it inthe neck themselves. And in the meantime just see if you can't scrape upfive dollars by next week--just to cheer them along, you know. "

One of the stablemen who had not gone out, Henderson by name, worked atBilly's stables. Despite the urging of the bosses to eat and sleep inthe stable like the other men, Henderson had persisted in coming homeeach morning to his little house around the corner from Saxon's on Fifthstreet. Several times she had seen him swinging along defiantly, hisdinner pail in his hand, while the neighborhood boys dogged his heelsat a safe distance and informed him in yapping chorus that he was a scaband no good. But one evening, on his way to work, in a spirit of bravadohe went into the Pile-Drivers' Home, the saloon at Seventh and Pine. There it was his mortal mischance to encounter Otto Frank, a strikerwho drove from the same stable. Not many minutes later an ambulance washurrying Henderson to the receiving hospital with a fractured skull, while a patrol wagon was no less swiftly carrying Otto Frank to the cityprison. 

Maggie Donahue it was, eyes shining with gladness, who told Saxon of thehappening. 

"Served him right, too, the dirty scab, " Maggie concluded. 

"But his poor wife!" was Saxon's cry. "She's not strong. And then thechildren. She'll never be able to take care of them if her husbanddies. "

"An' serve her right, the damned slut!"

Saxon was both shocked and hurt by the Irishwoman's brutality. ButMaggie was implacable. 

"'Tis all she or any woman deserves that'll put up an' live with a scab. What about her children? Let'm starve, an' her man a-takin' the food outof other children's mouths. "

Mrs. Olsen's attitude was different. Beyond passive sentimental pityfor Henderson's wife and children, she gave them no thought, her chiefconcern being for Otto Frank and Otto Frank's wife and children--herselfand Mrs. Frank being full sisters. 

"If he dies, they will hang Otto, " she said. "And then what will poorHilda do? She has varicose veins in both legs, and she never can standon her feet all day an' work for wages. And me, I cannot help. Ain'tCarl out of work, too?"

Billy had still another point of view. 

"It will give the strike a black eye, especially if Henderson croaks, "he worried, when he came home. "They'll hang Frank on record time. Besides, we'll have to put up a defense, an' lawyers charge like SamHill. They'll eat a hole in our treasury you could drive every team inOakland through. An' if Frank hadn't ben screwed up with whisky he'dnever a-done it. He's the mildest, good-naturedest man sober you everseen. "

Twice that evening Billy left the house to find out if Henderson wasdead yet. In the morning the papers gave little hope, and the eveningpapers published his death. Otto Frank lay in jail without bail. TheTribune demanded a quick trial and summary execution, calling on theprospective jury manfully to do its duty and dwelling at length on themoral effect that would be so produced upon the lawless working class. It went further, emphasizing the salutary effect machine guns would haveon the mob that had taken the fair city of Oakland by the throat. 

And all such occurrences struck at Saxon personally. Practically alonein the world, save for Billy, it was her life, and his, and their mutuallove-life, that was menaced. From the moment he left the house to themoment of his return she knew no peace of mind. Rough work was afoot, ofwhich he told her nothing, and she knew he was playing his part in it. On more than one occasion she noticed fresh-broken skin on his knuckles. At such times he was remarkably taciturn, and would sit in broodingsilence or go almost immediately to bed. She was afraid to have thishabit of reticence grow on him, and bravely she bid for his confidence. She climbed into his lap and inside his arms, one of her arms aroundhis neck, and with the free hand she caressed his hair back from theforehead and smoothed out the moody brows. 

"Now listen to me, Billy Boy, " she began lightly. "You haven't beenplaying fair, and I won't have it. No!" She pressed his lips shut withher fingers. "I'm doing the talking now, and because you haven't beendoing your share of the talking for some time. You remember we agreedat the start to always talk things over. I was the first to break this, when I sold my fancy work to Mrs. Higgins without speaking to you aboutit. And I was very sorry. I am still sorry. And I've never done itsince. Now it's your turn. You're not talking things over with me. Youare doing things you don't tell me about. 

"Billy, you're dearer to me than anything else in the world. Youknow that. We're sharing each other's lives, only, just now, there'ssomething you're not sharing. Every time your knuckles are sore, there'ssomething you don't share. If you can't trust me, you can't trustanybody. And, besides, I love you so that no matter what you do I'll goon loving you just the same. "

Billy gazed at her with fond incredulity. 

"Don't be a pincher, " she teased. "Remember, I stand for whatever youdo. "

"And you won't buck against me?" he queried. 

"How can I? I'm not your boss, Billy. I wouldn't boss you for anythingin the world. And if you'd let me boss you, I wouldn't love you half asmuch. "

He digested this slowly, and finally nodded. 

"An' you won't be mad?"

"With you? You've never seen me mad yet. Now come on and be generous andtell me how you hurt your knuckles. It's fresh to-day. Anybody can seethat. "

"All right. I'll tell you how it happened. " He stopped and giggled withgenuine boyish glee at some recollection. "It's like this. You won't bemad, now? We gotta do these sort of things to hold our own. Well, here'sthe show, a regular movin' picture except for file talkin'. Here's a bigrube comin' along, hayseed stickin' out all over, hands like hams an'feet like Mississippi gunboats. He'd make half as much again as me insize an' he's young, too. Only he ain't lookin' for trouble, an' he's asinnocent as. .. Well, he's the innocentest scab that ever come down thepike an' bumped into a couple of pickets. Not a regular strike-breaker, you see, just a big rube that's read the bosses' ads an' come a-humpin'to town for the big wages. 

"An' here's Bud Strothers an' me comin' along. We always go in pairsthat way, an' sometimes bigger bunches. I flag the rube. 'Hello, ' saysI, 'lookin' for a job?' 'You bet, ' says he. 'Can you drive?' 'Yep. ''Four horses!' 'Show me to 'em, ' says he. 'No josh, now, ' says I;'you're sure wantin' to drive?' 'That's what I come to town for, ' hesays. 'You're the man we're lookin' for, ' says I. 'Come along, an' we'llhave you busy in no time. '

"You see, Saxon, we can't pull it off there, because there's TomScanlon--you know, the red-headed cop only a couple of blocks away an'pipin' us off though not recognizin' us. So away we go, the three of us, Bud an' me leadin' that boob to take our jobs away from us I guess nit. We turn into the alley back of Campwell's grocery. Nobody in sight. Budstops short, and the rube an' me stop. 

"'I don't think he wants to drive, ' Bud says, considerin'. An' the rubesays quick, 'You betcher life I do. ' 'You're dead sure you want thatjob?' I says. Yes, he's dead sure. Nothin's goin' to keep him away fromthat job. Why, that job's what he come to town for, an' we can't leadhim to it too quick. 

"'Well, my friend, ' says I, 'it's my sad duty to inform you thatyou've made a mistake. ' 'How's that?' he says. 'Go on, ' I says; 'you'restandin' on your foot. ' And, honest to God, Saxon, that gink looks downat his feet to see. 'I don't understand, ' says he. 'We're goin' to showyou, ' says I. 

"An' then--Biff! Bang! Bingo! Swat! Zooie! Ker-slambango-blam!Fireworks, Fourth of July, Kingdom Come, blue lights, sky-rockets, an'hell fire--just like that. It don't take long when you're scientific an'trained to tandem work. Of course it's hard on the knuckles. But say, Saxon, if you'd seen that rube before an' after you'd thought he was alightnin' change artist. Laugh? You'd a-busted. "

Billy halted to give vent to his own mirth. Saxon forced herself tojoin with him, but down in her heart was horror. Mercedes was right. Thestupid workers wrangled and snarled over jobs. The clever masters rodein automobiles and did not wrangle and snarl. They hired other stupidones to do the wrangling and snarling for them. It was men like Bert andFrank Davis, like Chester Johnson and Otto Frank, like Jelly Belly andthe Pinkertons, like Henderson and all the rest of the scabs, who werebeaten up, shot, clubbed, or hanged. Ah, the clever ones were veryclever. Nothing happened to them. They only rode in their automobiles. 

"'You big stiffs, ' the rube snivels as he crawls to his feet at theend, " Billy was continuing. "'You think you still want that job?' I ask. He shakes his head. Then I read'm the riot act 'They's only one thingfor you to do, old hoss, an' that's beat it. D'ye get me? Beat it. Backto the farm for YOU. An' if you come monkeyin' around town again, we'llbe real mad at you. We was only foolin' this time. But next time wecatch you your own mother won't know you when we get done with you. '

"An'--say!--you oughta seen'm beat it. I bet he's goin' yet. Ah' when hegets back to Milpitas, or Sleepy Hollow, or wherever he hangs out, an'tells how the boys does things in Oakland, it's dollars to doughnutsthey won't be a rube in his district that'd come to town to drive ifthey offered ten dollars an hour. "

"It was awful, " Saxon said, then laughed well-simulated appreciation. 

"But that was nothin', " Billy went on. "A bunch of the boys caughtanother one this morning. They didn't do a thing to him. My goodnessgracious, no. In less'n two minutes he was the worst wreck they everhauled to the receivin' hospital. The evenin' papers gave the score:nose broken, three bad scalp wounds, front teeth out, a brokencollarbone, an' two broken ribs. Gee! He certainly got all that wascomin' to him. But that's nothin'. D'ye want to know what the Friscoteamsters did in the big strike before the Earthquake? They took everyscab they caught an' broke both his arms with a crowbar. That was so hecouldn't drive, you see. Say, the hospitals was filled with 'em. An' theteamsters won that strike, too. "

"But is it necessary, Billy, to be so terrible? I know they're scabs, and that they're taking the bread out of the strikers' children's mouthsto put in their own children's mouths, and that it isn't fair and allthat; but just the same is it necessary to be so. .. Terrible?"

"Sure thing, " Billy answered confidently. "We just gotta throw the fearof God into them--when we can do it without bein' caught. "

"And if you're caught?"

"Then the union hires the lawyers to defend us, though that ain'tmuch good now, for the judges are pretty hostyle, an' the papers keephammerin' away at them to give stiffer an' stiffer sentences. Justthe same, before this strike's over there'll be a whole lot of guysa-wishin' they'd never gone scabbin'. "

Very cautiously, in the next half hour, Saxon tried to feel out herhusband's attitude, to find if he doubted the rightness of the violencehe and his brother teamsters committed. But Billy's ethical sanctionwas rock-bedded and profound. It never entered his head that he wasnot absolutely right. It was the game. Caught in its tangled meshes, hecould see no other way to play it than the way all men played it. He didnot stand for dynamite and murder, however. But then the unions did notstand for such. Quite naive was his explanation that dynamite and murderdid not pay; that such actions always brought down the condemnation ofthe public and broke the strikes. But the healthy beating up of a scab, he contended--the "throwing of the fear of God into a scab, " as heexpressed it--was the only right and proper thing to do. 

"Our folks never had to do such things, " Saxon said finally. "They neverhad strikes nor scabs in those times. "

"You bet they didn't, " Billy agreed "Them was the good old days. I'dliked to a-lived then. " He drew a long breath and sighed. "But themtimes will never come again. "

"Would you have liked living in the country?" Saxon asked. 

"Sure thing. "

"There's lots of men living in the country now, " she suggested. 

"Just the same I notice them a-hikin' to town to get our jobs, " was hisreply. 

CHAPTER XII

A gleam of light came, when Billy got a job driving a grading team forthe contractors of the big bridge then building at Niles. Before he wenthe made certain that it was a union job. And a union job it was for twodays, when the concrete workers threw down their tools. The contractors, evidently prepared for such happening, immediately filled the placesof the concrete men with nonunion Italians. Whereupon the carpenters, structural ironworkers and teamsters walked out; and Billy, lackingtrain fare, spent the rest of the day in walking home. 

"I couldn't work as a scab, " he concluded his tale. 

"No, " Saxon said; "you couldn't work as a scab. "

But she wondered why it was that when men wanted to work, and there waswork to do, yet they were unable to work because their unions saidno. Why were there unions? And, if unions had to be, why were not allworkingmen in them? Then there would be no scabs, and Billy could workevery day. Also, she wondered where she was to get a sack of flour, forshe had long since ceased the extravagance of baker's bread. And so manyother of the neighborhood women had done this, that the little Welshbaker had closed up shop and gone away, taking his wife and two littledaughters with him. Look where she would, everybody was being hurt bythe industrial strife. 

One afternoon came a caller at her door, and that evening came Billywith dubious news. He had been approached that day. All he had to do, he told Saxon, was to say the word, and he could go into the stable asforeman at one hundred dollars a month. 

The nearness of such a sum, the possibility of it, was almost stunningto Saxon, sitting at a supper which consisted of boiled potatoes, warmed-over beans, and a small dry onion which they were eating raw. There was neither bread, coffee, nor butter. The onion Billy had pulledfrom his pocket, having picked it up in the street. One hundred dollarsa month! She moistened her lips and fought for control. 

"What made them offer it to you?" she questioned. 

"That's easy, " was his answer. "They got a dozen reasons. The guy theboss has had exercisin' Prince and King is a dub. King has gone lame inthe shoulders. Then they're guessin' pretty strong that I'm the partythat's put a lot of their scabs outa commission. Macklin's ben theirforeman for years an' years--why I was in knee pants when he wasforeman. Well, he's sick an' all in. They gotta have somebody to takehis place. Then, too, I've been with 'em a long time. An' on top ofthat, I'm the man for the job. They know I know horses from the groundup. Hell, it's all I'm good for, except sluggin'. "

"Think of it, Billy!" she breathed. "A hundred dollars a month! Ahundred dollars a month!"

"An' throw the fellows down, " he said. 

It was not a question. Nor was it a statement. It was anything Saxonchose to make of it. They looked at each other. She waited for him tospeak; but he continued merely to look. It came to her that she wasfacing one of the decisive moments of her life, and she gripped herselfto face it in all coolness. Nor would Billy proffer her the slightesthelp. Whatever his own judgment might be, he masked it with anexpressionless face. His eyes betrayed nothing. He looked and waited. 

"You. .. You can't do that, Billy, " she said finally. "You can't throwthe fellows down. "

His hand shot out to hers, and his face was a sudden, radiant dawn. 

"Put her there!" he cried, their hands meeting and clasping. "You're thetruest true blue wife a man ever had. If all the other fellows' wiveswas like you, we could win any strike we tackled. "

"What would you have done if you weren't married, Billy?"

"Seen 'em in hell first. "

"Than it doesn't make any difference being married. I've got to stand byyou in everything you stand for. I'd be a nice wife if I didn't. "

She remembered her caller of the afternoon, and knew the moment was toopropitious to let pass. 

"There was a man here this afternoon, Billy. He wanted a room. I toldhim I'd speak to you. He said he would pay six dollars a month for theback bedroom. That would pay half a month's installment on the furnitureand buy a sack of flour, and we're all out of flour. "

Billy's old hostility to the idea was instantly uppermost, and Saxonwatched him anxiously. 

"Some scab in the shops, I suppose?"

"No; he's firing on the freight run to San Jose. Harmon, he said hisname was, James Harmon. They've just transferred him from the Truckeedivision. He'll sleep days mostly, he said; and that's why he wanted aquiet house without children in it. "

In the end, with much misgiving, and only after Saxon had insistentlypointed out how little work it entailed on her, Billy consented, thoughhe continued to protest, as an afterthought:

"But I don't want you makin' beds for any man. It ain't right, Saxon. Ioughta take care of you. "

"And you would, " she flashed back at him, "if you'd take theforemanship. Only you can't. It wouldn't be right. And if I'm to standby you it's only fair to let me do what I can. "

James Harmon proved even less a bother than Saxon had anticipated. Fora fireman he was scrupulously clean, always washing up in the roundhousebefore he came home. He used the key to the kitchen door, coming andgoing by the back steps. To Saxon he barely said how-do-you-do or goodday; and, sleeping in the day time and working at night, he was in thehouse a week before Billy laid eyes on him. 

Billy had taken to coming home later and later, and to going out aftersupper by himself. He did not offer to tell Saxon where he went. Nor didshe ask. For that matter it required little shrewdness on her part toguess. The fumes of whisky were on his lips at such times. His slow, deliberate ways were even slower, even more deliberate. Liquor didnot affect his legs. He walked as soberly as any man. There was nohesitancy, no faltering, in his muscular movements. The whisky went tohis brain, making his eyes heavy-lidded and the cloudiness of themmore cloudy. Not that he was flighty, nor quick, nor irritable. On thecontrary, the liquor imparted to his mental processes a deep gravity andbrooding solemnity. He talked little, but that little was ominousand oracular. At such times there was no appeal from his judgment, nodiscussion. He knew, as God knew. And when he chose to speak a harshthought, it was ten-fold harsher than ordinarily, because it seemedto proceed out of such profundity of cogitation, because it was asprodigiously deliberate in its incubation as it was in its enunciation. 

It was not a nice side he was showing to Saxon. It was, almost, as if astranger had come to live with her. Despite herself, she found herselfbeginning to shrink from him. And little could she comfort herselfwith the thought that it was not his real self, for she remembered hisgentleness and considerateness, all his finenesses of the past. Thenhe had made a continual effort to avoid trouble and fighting. Now heenjoyed it, exulted in it, went looking for it. All this showed inhis face. No longer was he the smiling, pleasant-faced boy. He smiledinfrequently now. His face was a man's face. The lips, the eyes, thelines were harsh as his thoughts were harsh. 

He was rarely unkind to Saxon; but, on the other hand he wasrarely kind. His attitude toward her was growing negative. He wasdisinterested. Despite the fight for the union she was enduring withhim, putting up with him shoulder to shoulder, she occupied but littlespace in his mind. When he acted toward her gently, she could see thatit was merely mechanical, just as she was well aware that the endearingterms he used, the endearing caresses he gave, were only habitual. Thespontaneity and warmth had gone out. Often, when he was not in liquor, flashes of the old Billy came back, but even such flashes dwindled infrequency. He was growing preoccupied, moody. Hard times and the bitterstresses of industrial conflict strained him. Especially was thisapparent in his sleep, when he suffered paroxysms of lawless dreams, groaning and muttering, clenching his fists, grinding his teeth, twisting with muscular tensions, his face writhing with passions andviolences, his throat guttering with terrible curses that rasped andaborted on his lips. And Saxon, lying beside him, afraid of this visitorto her bed whom she did not know, remembered what Mary had told her ofBert. He, too, had cursed and clenched his fists, in his nights foughtout the battles of his days. 

One thing, however, Saxon saw clearly. By no deliberate act of Billy'swas he becoming this other and unlovely Billy. Were there no strike, nosnarling and wrangling over jobs, there would be only the old Billy shehad loved in all absoluteness. This sleeping terror in him would havelain asleep. It was something that was being awakened in him, an imageincarnate of outward conditions, as cruel, as ugly, as maleficent aswere those outward conditions. But if the strike continued, then, she feared, with reason, would this other and grisly self of Billystrengthen to fuller and more forbidding stature. And this, she knew, would mean the wreck of their love-life. Such a Billy she could notlove; in its nature such a Billy was not lovable nor capable of love. And then, at the thought of offspring, she shuddered. It was tooterrible. And at such moments of contemplation, from her soul theinevitable plaint of the human went up: WHY? WHY? WHY?

Billy, too, had his unanswerable queries. 

"Why won't the building trades come out?" he demanded wrathfuly of theobscurity that veiled the ways of living and the world. "But no; O'Brienwon't stand for a strike, and he has the Building Trades Council underhis thumb. But why don't they chuck him and come out anyway? We'd winhands down all along the line. But no, O'Brien's got their goat, an' himup to his dirty neck in politics an' graft! An' damn the Federation ofLabor! If all the railroad boys had come out, wouldn't the shop men havewon instead of bein' licked to a frazzle? Lord, I ain't had a smoke ofdecent tobacco or a cup of decent coffee in a coon's age. I've forgottenwhat a square meal tastes like. I weighed myself yesterday. Fifteenpounds lighter than when the strike begun. If it keeps on much more Ican fight middleweight. An' this is what I get after payin' dues intothe union for years and years. I can't get a square meal, an' my wifehas to make other men's beds. It makes my tired ache. Some day I'll getreal huffy an' chuck that lodger out. "

"But it's not his fault, Billy, " Saxon protested. 

"Who said it was?" Billy snapped roughly. "Can't I kick in general ifI want to? Just the same it makes me sick. What's the good of organizedlabor if it don't stand together? For two cents I'd chuck the wholething up an' go over to the employers. Only I wouldn't, God damn them!If they think they can beat us down to our knees, let 'em go ahead an'try it, that's all. But it gets me just the same. The whole world'sclean dippy. They ain't no sense in anything. What's the good ofsupportin' a union that can't win a strike? What's the good of knockin'the blocks off of scabs when they keep a-comin' thick as ever? The wholething's bughouse, an' I guess I am, too. "

Such an outburst on Billy's part was so unusual that it was the onlytime Saxon knew it to occur. Always he was sullen, and dogged, andunwhipped; while whisky only served to set the maggots of certitudecrawling in his brain. 

One night Billy did not get home till after twelve. Saxon's anxiety wasincreased by the fact that police fighting and head breaking had beenreported to have occurred. When Billy came, his appearance verifiedthe report. His coatsleeves were half torn off. The Windsor tie haddisappeared from under his soft turned-down collar, and every button hadbeen ripped off the front of the shirt. When he took his hat off, Saxonwas frightened by a lump on his head the size of an apple. 

"D'ye know who did that? That Dutch slob Hermanmann, with a riot club. An' I'll get'm for it some day, good an' plenty. An' there's anotherfellow I got staked out that'll be my meat when this strike's over an'things is settled down. Blanchard's his name, Roy Blanchard. "

"Not of Blanchard, Perkins and Company?" Saxon asked, busy washingBilly's hurt and making her usual fight to keep him calm. 

"Yep; except he's the son of the old man. What's he do, that ain't donea tap of work in all his life except to blow the old man's money? Hegoes strike-breakin'. Grandstand play, that's what I call it. Gets hisname in the papers an makes all the skirts he runs with fluster up an'say: 'My! Some bear, that Roy Blanchard, some bear. ' Some bear--thegazabo! He'll be bear-meat for me some day. I never itched so hard tolick a man in my life. 

"And--oh, I guess I'll pass that Dutch cop up. He got his already. Somebody broke his head with a lump of coal the size of a water bucket. That was when the wagons was turnin' into Franklin, just off Eighth, bythe old Galindo Hotel. They was hard fightin' there, an' some guy in thehotel lams that coal down from the second story window. 

"They was fightin' every block of the way--bricks, cobblestones, an'police-clubs to beat the band. They don't dast call out the troops. An'they was afraid to shoot. Why, we tore holes through the police force, an' the ambulances and patrol wagons worked over-time. But say, we gotthe procession blocked at Fourteenth and Broadway, right under thenose of the City Hall, rushed the rear end, cut out the horses of fivewagons, an' handed them college guys a few love-pats in passin'. Allthat saved 'em from hospital was the police reserves. Just the same wehad 'em jammed an hour there. You oughta seen the street cars blocked, too--Broadway, Fourteenth, San Pablo, as far as you could see. "

"But what did Blanchard do?" Saxon called him back. 

"He led the procession, an' he drove my team. All the teams was from mystable. He rounded up a lot of them college fellows--fraternity guys, they're called--yaps that live off their fathers' money. They come tothe stable in big tourin' cars an' drove out the wagons with half thepolice of Oakland to help them. Say, it was sure some day. Thesky rained cobblestones. An' you oughta heard the clubs on ourheads--rat-tat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat-tat! An' say, the chief of police, in a police auto, sittin' up like God Almighty--just before we got toPeralta street they was a block an' the police chargin', an' an oldwoman, right from her front gate, lammed the chief of police full in theface with a dead cat. Phew! You could hear it. 'Arrest that woman!' heyells, with his handkerchief out. But the boys beat the cops to her an'got her away. Some day? I guess yes. The receivin' hospital went outacommission on the jump, an' the overflow was spilled into St. Mary'sHospital, an' Fabiola, an' I don't know where else. Eight of our men waspulled, an' a dozen of the Frisco teamsters that's come over tohelp. They're holy terrors, them Frisco teamsters. It seemed half theworkingmen of Oakland was helpin' us, an' they must be an army of themin jail. Our lawyers'll have to take their cases, too. 

"But take it from me, it's the last we'll see of Roy Blanchard an'yaps of his kidney buttin' into our affairs. I guess we showed 'em somefootball. You know that brick buildin' they're puttin' up on Baystreet? That's where we loaded up first, an', say, you couldn't see thewagon-seats for bricks when they started from the stables. Blancharddrove the first wagon, an' he was knocked clean off the seat once, buthe stayed with it. "

"He must have been brave, " Saxon commented. 

"Brave?" Billy flared. "With the police, an' the army an' navy behindhim? I suppose you'll be takin' their part next. Brave? A-takin' thefood outa the mouths of our women an children. Didn't Curley Jones'slittle kid die last night? Mother's milk not nourishin', that's what itwas, because she didn't have the right stuff to eat. An' I know, an'you know, a dozen old aunts, an' sister-in-laws, an' such, that's had tohike to the poorhouse because their folks couldn't take care of 'em inthese times. "

In the morning paper Saxon read the exciting account of the futileattempt to break the teamsters' strike. Roy Blanchard was hailed a heroand held up as a model of wealthy citizenship. And to save herselfshe could not help glowing with appreciation of his courage. There wassomething fine in his going out to face the snarling pack. A brigadiergeneral of the regular army was quoted as lamenting the fact that thetroops had not been called out to take the mob by the throat andshake law and order into it. "This is the time for a little healthfulbloodletting, " was the conclusion of his remarks, after deploringthe pacific methods of the police. "For not until the mob has beenthoroughly beaten and cowed will tranquil industrial conditions obtain. "

That evening Saxon and Billy went up town. Returning home and findingnothing to eat, he had taken her on one arm, his overcoat on the other. The overcoat he had pawned at Uncle Sam's, and he and Saxon had eatendrearily at a Japanese restaurant which in some miraculous way managedto set a semi-satisfying meal for ten cents. After eating, they startedon their way to spend an additional five cents each on a moving pictureshow. 

At the Central Bank Building, two striking teamsters accosted Billyand took him away with them. Saxon waited on the corner, and whenhe returned, three quarters of an hour later, she knew he had beendrinking. 

Half a block on, passing the Forum Cafe, he stopped suddenly. Alimousine stood at the curb, and into it a young man was helping severalwonderfully gowned women. A chauffeur sat in the driver's sent. Billytouched the young man on the arm. He was as broad-shouldered as Billyand slightly taller. Blue-eyed, strong-featured, in Saxon's opinion hewas undeniably handsome. 

"Just a word, sport, " Billy said, in a low, slow voice. 

The young man glanced quickly at Billy and Saxon, and asked impatiently:

"Well, what is it?"

"You're Blanchard, " Billy began. "I seen you yesterday lead out thatbunch of teams. "

"Didn't I do it all right?" Blanchard asked gaily, with a flash ofglance to Saxon and back again. 

"Sure. But that ain't what I want to talk about. "

"Who are you?" the other demanded with sudden suspicion. 

"A striker. It just happens you drove my team, that's all. No; don'tmove for a gun. " (As Blanchard half reached toward his hip pocket. ) "Iain't startin' anythin' here. But I just want to tell you something. "

"Be quick, then. "

Blanchard lifted one foot to step into the machine. 

"Sure, " Billy went on without any diminution of his exasperatingslowness. "What I want to tell you is that I'm after you. Not now, whenthe strike's on, but some time later I'm goin' to get you an' give youthe beatin' of your life. "

Blanchard looked Billy over with new interest and measuring eyes thatsparkled with appreciation. 

"You are a husky yourself, " he said. "But do you think you can do it?"

"Sure. You're my meat. "

"All right, then, my friend. Look me up after the strike is settled, andI'll give you a chance at me. "

"Remember, " Billy added, "I got you staked out. "

Blanchard nodded, smiled genially to both of them, raised his hat toSaxon, and stepped into the machine. 

CHAPTER XIII

From now on, to Saxon, life seemed bereft of its last reason and rhyme. It had become senseless, nightmarish. Anything irrational was possible. There was nothing stable in the anarchic flux of affairs that swept heron she knew not to what catastrophic end. Had Billy been dependable, allwould still have been well. With him to cling to she would have facedeverything fearlessly. But he had been whirled away from her in theprevailing madness. So radical was the change in him that he seemedalmost an intruder in the house. Spiritually he was such an intruder. Another man looked out of his eyes--a man whose thoughts were ofviolence and hatred; a man to whom there was no good in anything, andwho had become an ardent protagonist of the evil that was rampant anduniversal. This man no longer condemned Bert, himself muttering vaguelyof dynamite, end sabotage, and revolution. 

Saxon strove to maintain that sweetness and coolness of flesh and spiritthat Billy had praised in the old days. Once, only, she lost control. He had been in a particularly ugly mood, and a final harshness andunfairness cut her to the quick. 

"Who are you speaking to?" she flamed out at him. 

He was speechless and abashed, and could only stare at her face, whichwas white with anger. 

"Don't you ever speak to me like that again, Billy, " she commanded. 

"Aw, can't you put up with a piece of bad temper?" he muttered, halfapologetically, yet half defiantly. "God knows I got enough to make mecranky. "

After he left the house she flung herself on the bed and criedheart-brokenly. For she, who knew so thoroughly the humility of love, was a proud woman. Only the proud can be truly humble, as only thestrong may know the fullness of gentleness. But what was the use, shedemanded, of being proud and game, when the only person in the world whomattered to her lost his own pride and gameness and fairness and gaveher the worse share of their mutual trouble?

And now, as she had faced alone the deeper, organic hurt of the lossof her baby, she faced alone another, and, in a way, an even greaterpersonal trouble. Perhaps she loved Billy none the less, but her lovewas changing into something less proud, less confident, less trusting;it was becoming shot through with pity--with the pity that is parent tocontempt. Her own loyalty was threatening to weaken, and she shudderedand shrank from the contempt she could see creeping in. 

She struggled to steel herself to face the situation. Forgiveness stoleinto her heart, and she knew relief until the thought came that in thetruest, highest love forgiveness should have no place. And again shecried, and continued her battle. After all, one thing was incontestable:THIS BILLY WES NOT THE BILLY SHE HAD LOVED. This Billy was another man, a sick man, and no more to be held responsible than a fever-patientin the ravings of delirium. She must be Billy's nurse, without pride, without contempt, with nothing to forgive. Besides, he was reallybearing the brunt of the fight, was in the thick of it, dizzy with thestriking of blows and the blows he received. If fault there was, it layelsewhere, somewhere in the tangled scheme of things that made men snarlover jobs like dogs over bones. 

So Saxon arose and buckled on her armor again for the hardest fightof all in the world's arena--the woman's fight. She ejected from herthought all doubting and distrust. She forgave nothing, for there wasnothing requiring forgiveness. She pledged herself to an absoluteness ofbelief that her love and Billy's was unsullied, unperturbed--severe asit had always been, as it would be when it came back again after theworld settled down once more to rational ways. 

That night, when he came home, she proposed, as an emergency measure, that she should resume her needlework and help keep the pot boilinguntil the strike was over. But Billy would hear nothing of it. 

"It's all right, " he assured her repeatedly. "They ain't no call for youto work. I'm goin' to get some money before the week is out. An' I'llturn it over to you. An' Saturday night we'll go to the show--a realshow, no movin' pictures. Harvey's nigger minstrels is comin' to town. We'll go Saturday night. I'll have the money before that, as sure asbeans is beans. "

Friday evening he did not come home to supper, which Saxon regretted, for Maggie Donahue had returned a pan of potatoes and two quarts offlour (borrowed the week before), and it was a hearty meal that awaitedhim. Saxon kept the stove going till nine o'clock, when, despite herreluctance, she went to bed. Her preference would have been to wait up, but she did not dare, knowing full well what the effect would be on himdid he come home in liquor. 

The clock had just struck one, when she heard the click of the gate. Slowly, heavily, ominously, she heard him come up the steps and fumblewith his key at the door. He entered the bedroom, and she heard himsigh as he sat down. She remained quiet, for she had learned thehypersensitiveness induced by drink and was fastidiously careful not tohurt him even with the knowledge that she had lain awake for him. It wasnot easy. Her hands were clenched till the nails dented the palms, andher body was rigid in her passionate effort for control. Never had hecome home as bad as this. 

"Saxon, " he called thickly. "Saxon. "

She stired and yawned. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Won't you strike a light? My fingers is all thumbs. "

Without looking at him, she complied; but so violent was the nervoustrembling of her hands that the glass chimney tinkled against the globeand the match went out. 

"I ain't drunk, Saxon, " he said in the darkness, a hint of amusement inhis thick voice. "I've only had two or three jolts . .. Of that sort. "

On her second attempt with the lamp she succeeded. When she turned tolook at him she screamed with fright. Though she had heard his voiceand knew him to be Billy, for the instant she did not recognize him. Hisface was a face she had never known. Swollen, bruised, discolored, everyfeature had been beaten out of all semblance of familiarity. One eyewas entirely closed, the other showed through a narrow slit ofblood-congested flesh. One ear seemed to have lost most of its skin. Thewhole face was a swollen pulp. His right jaw, in particular, was twicethe size of the left. No wonder his speech had been thick, was herthought, as she regarded the fearfully cut and swollen lips that stillbled. She was sickened by the sight, and her heart went out to him ina great wave of tenderness. She wanted to put her arms around him, andcuddle and soothe him; but her practical judgment bade otherwise. 

"You poor, poor boy, " she cried. "Tell me what you want me to do first. I don't know about such things. "

"If you could help me get my clothes off, " he suggested meekly andthickly. "I got 'em on before I stiffened up. "

"And then hot water--that will be good, " she said, as she began gentlydrawing his coat sleeve over a puffed and helpless hand. 

"I told you they was all thumbs, " he grimaced, holding up his hand andsquinting at it with the fraction of sight remaining to him. 

"You sit and wait, " she said, "till I start the fire and get the hotwater going. I won't be a minute. Then I'll finish getting your clothesoff. "

From the kitchen she could hear him mumbling to himself, and when shereturned he was repeating over and over:

"We needed the money, Saxon. We needed the money. "

Drunken he was not, she could see that, and from his babbling she knewhe was partly delirious. 

"He was a surprise box, " he wandered on, while she proceeded to undresshim; and bit by bit she was able to piece together what had happened. "He was an unknown from Chicago. They sprang him on me. The secretaryof the Acme Club warned me I'd have my hands full. An' I'd a-won ifI'd been in condition. But fifteen pounds off without trainin' ain'tcondition. Then I'd been drinkin' pretty regular, an' I didn't have mywind. "

But Saxon, stripping his undershirt, no longer heard him. As with hisface, she could not recognize his splendidly muscled back. The whitesheath of silken skin was torn and bloody. The lacerations occurredoftenest in horizontal lines, though there were perpendicular lines aswell. 

"How did you get all that?" she asked. 

"The ropes. I was up against 'em more times than I like to remember. Gee! He certainly gave me mine. But I fooled 'm. He couldn't put me out. I lasted the twenty rounds, an' I wanta tell you he's got some marks toremember me by. If he ain't got a couple of knuckles broke in the lefthand I'm a geezer. --Here, feel my head here. Swollen, eh? Sure thing. Hehit that more times than he's wishin' he had right now. But, oh, what alacin'! What a lacin'! I never had anything like it before. The ChicagoTerror, they call 'm. I take my hat off to 'm. He's some bear. ButI could a-made 'm take the count if I'd ben in condition an' had mywind. --Oh! Ouch! Watch out! It's like a boil!"

Fumbling at his waistband, Saxon's hand had come in contact with abrightly inflamed surface larger than a soup plate. 

"That's from the kidney blows, " Billy explained. "He was a regular devilat it. 'Most every clench, like clock work, down he'd chop one on me. Itgot so sore I was wincin'. .. Until I got groggy an' didn't know much ofanything. It ain't a knockout blow, you know, but it's awful wearin' ina long fight. It takes the starch out of you. "

When his knees were bared, Saxon could see the skin across the knee-capswas broken and gone. 

"The skin ain't made to stand a heavy fellow like me on the knees, " hevolunteered. "An' the rosin in the canvas cuts like Sam Hill. "

The tears were in Saxon's eyes, and she could have cried over themanhandled body of her beautiful sick boy. 

As she carried his pants across the room to hang them up, a jingle ofmoney came from them. He called her back, and from the pocket drew fortha handful of silver. 

"We needed the money, we needed the money, " he kept muttering, ashe vainly tried to count the coins; and Saxon knew that his mind waswandering again. 

It cut her to the heart, for she could not but remember the harshthoughts that had threatened her loyalty during the week past. Afterall, Billy, the splendid physical man, was only a boy, her boy. Andhe had faced and endured all this terrible punishment for her, for thehouse and the furniture that were their house and furniture. He said so, now, when he scarcely knew what he said. He said "WE needed the money. "She was not so absent from his thoughts as she had fancied. Here, downto the naked tie-ribs of his soul, when he was half unconscious, thethought of her persisted, was uppermost. We needed the money. WE!

The tears were trickling down her checks as she bent over him, and itseemed she had never loved him so much as now. 

"Here; you count, " he said, abandoning the effort and handing the moneyto her. ". .. How much do you make it?"

"Nineteen dollars and thirty-five cents. "

"That's right. .. The loser's end. .. Twenty dollars. I had some drinks, an' treated a couple of the boys, an' then there was carfare. If I'da-won, I'd a-got a hundred. That's what I fought for. It'd a-put uson Easy street for a while. You take it an' keep it. It's better 'nnothin'. "

In bed, he could not sleep because of his pain, and hour by hour sheworked over him, renewing the hot compresses over his bruises, soothingthe lacerations with witch hazel and cold cream and the tenderest offinger tips. And all the while, with broken intervals of groaning, hebabbled on, living over the fight, seeking relief in telling her histrouble, voicing regret at loss of the money, and crying out the hurtto his pride. Far worse than the sum of his physical hurts was his hurtpride. 

"He couldn't put me out, anyway. He had full swing at me in the timeswhen I was too much in to get my hands up. The crowd was crazy. Ishowed 'em some stamina. They was times when he only rocked me, for I'devaporated plenty of his steam for him in the openin' rounds. I don'tknow how many times he dropped me. Things was gettin' too dreamy. .. . 

"Sometimes, toward the end, I could see three of him in the ring atonce, an' I wouldn't know which to hit an' which to duck. .. . 

"But I fooled 'm. When I couldn't see, or feel, an' when my kneeswas shakin an my head goin' like a merry-go-round, I'd fall safe intoclenches just the same. I bet the referee's arms is tired from draggin'us apart. .. . 

"But what a lacin'! What a lacin'! Say, Saxon. .. Where are you? Oh, there, eh? I guess I was dreamin'. But, say, let this be a lesson toyou. I broke my word an' went fightin', an' see what I got. Look at me, an' take warnin' so you won't make the same mistake an' go to makin' an'sellin' fancy work again. .. . 

"But I fooled 'em--everybody. At the beginnin' the bettin' was even. Bythe sixth round the wise gazabos was offerin' two to one against me. Iwas licked from the first drop outa the box--anybody could see that;but he couldn't put me down for the count. By the tenth round they wasofferin' even that I wouldn't last the round. At the eleventh they wasofferin' I wouldn't last the fifteenth. An' I lasted the whole twenty. But some punishment, I want to tell you, some punishment. 

"Why, they was four rounds I was in dreamland all the time. .. Only Ikept on my feet an' fought, or took the count to eight an' got up, an'stalled an' covered an' whanged away. I don't know what I done, except Imust a-done like that, because I wasn't there. I don't know a thingfrom the thirteenth, when he sent me to the mat on my head, till theeighteenth. 

"Where was I? Oh, yes. I opened my eyes, or one eye, because I had onlyone that would open. An' there I was, in my corner, with the towelsgoin' an' ammonia in my nose an' Bill Murphy with a chunk of ice at theback of my neck. An' there, across the ring, I could see the ChicagoTerror, an' I had to do some thinkin' to remember I was fightin' him. Itwas like I'd been away somewhere an' just got back. 'What round's thiscomin'?' I ask Bill. 'The eighteenth, ' says he. 'The hell, ' I says. 'What's come of all the other rounds? The last I was fightin' in was thethirteenth. ' 'You're a wonder, ' says Bill. 'You've ben out four rounds, only nobody knows it except me. I've ben tryin' to get you to quit allthe time. ' Just then the gong sounds, an' I can see the Terror startin'for me. 'Quit, ' says Bill, makin' a move to throw in the towel. 'Not onyour life, ' I says. 'Drop it, Bill. ' But he went on wantin' me to quit. By that time the Terror had come across to my corner an' was standin'with his hands down, lookin' at me. The referee was lookin', too, an'the house was that quiet, lookin', you could hear a pin drop. An' myhead was gettin' some clearer, but not much. 

"'You can't win, ' Bill says. 

"'Watch me, ' says I. An' with that I make a rush for the Terror, catchin' him unexpected. I'm that groggy I can't stand, but I just keepa-goin', wallopin' the Terror clear across the ring to his corner, wherehe slips an' falls, an' I fall on top of 'm. Say, that crowd goes crazy. 

"Where was I?--My head's still goin' round I guess. It's buzzin' like aswarm of bees. "

"You'd just fallen on top of him in his corner, " Saxon prompted. 

"Oh, yes. Well, no sooner are we on our feet--an' I can't stand--I rush'm the same way back across to my corner an' fall on 'm. That was luck. We got up, an' I'd a-fallen, only I clenched an' held myself up by him. 'I got your goat, ' I says to him. 'An' now I'm goin' to eat you up. '

"I hadn't his goat, but I was playin' to get a piece of it, an' I gotit, rushin' 'm as soon as the referee drags us apart an' fetchin' 'ma lucky wallop in the stomach that steadied 'm an' made him almightycareful. Too almighty careful. He was afraid to chance a mix with me. He thought I had more fight left in me than I had. So you see I got thatmuch of his goat anyway. 

"An' he couldn't get me. He didn't get me. An' in the twentieth we stoodin the middle of the ring an' exchanged wallops even. Of course, I'dmade a fine showin' for a licked man, but he got the decision, whichwas right. But I fooled 'm. He couldn't get me. An' I fooled the gazabosthat was bettin' he would on short order. "

At last, as dawn came on, Billy slept. He groaned and moaned, his facetwisting with pain, his body vainly moving and tossing in quest ofeasement. 

So this was prizefighting, Saxon thought. It was much worse than shehad dreamed. She had had no idea that such damage could be wrought withpadded gloves. He must never fight again. Street rioting was preferable. She was wondering how much of his silk had been lost, when he mumbledand opened his eyes. 

"What is it?" she asked, ere it came to her that his eyes were unseeingand that he was in delirium. 

"Saxon!. .. Saxon!" he called. 

"Yes, Billy. What is it?"

His hand fumbled over the bed where ordinarily it would have encounteredher. 

Again he called her, and she cried her presence loudly in his ear. Hesighed with relief and muttered brokenly:

"I had to do it. .. . We needed the money. "

His eyes closed, and he slept more soundly, though his mutteringcontinued. She had heard of congestion of the brain, and was frightened. Then she remembered his telling her of the ice Billy Murphy had heldagainst his head. 

Throwing a shawl over her head, she ran to the Pile Drivers' Home onSeventh street. The barkeeper had just opened, and was sweeping out. From the refrigerator he gave her all the ice she wished to carry, breaking it into convenient pieces for her. Back in the house, sheapplied the ice to the base of Billy's brain, placed hot irons to hisfeet, and bathed his head with witch hazel made cold by resting on theice. 

He slept in the darkened room until late afternoon, when, to Saxon'sdismay, he insisted on getting up. 

"Gotta make a showin', " he explained. "They ain't goin' to have thelaugh on me. "

In torment he was helped by her to dress, and in torment he went forthfrom the house so that his world should have ocular evidence that thebeating he had received did not keep him in bed. 

It was another kind of pride, different from a woman's, and Saxonwondered if it were the less admirable for that. 

CHAPTER XIV

In the days that followed Billy's swellings went down and the bruisespassed away with surprising rapidity. The quick healing of thelacerations attested the healthiness of his blood. Only remainedthe black eyes, unduly conspicuous on a face as blond as his. Thediscoloration was stubborn, persisting half a month, in which timehappened divers events of importance. 

Otto Frank's trial had been expeditious. Found guilty by a jury notablefor the business and professional men on it, the death sentence waspassed upon him and he was removed to San Quentin for execution. 

The case of Chester Johnson and the fourteen others had taken longer, but within the same week, it, too, was finished. Chester Johnson wassentenced to be hanged. Two got life; three, twenty years. Only two wereacquitted. The remaining seven received terms of from two to ten years. 

The effect on Saxon was to throw her into deep depression. Billy wasmade gloomy, but his fighting spirit was not subdued. 

"Always some men killed in battle, " he said. "That's to be expected. Butthe way of sentencin' 'em gets me. All found guilty was responsible forthe killin'; or none was responsible. If all was, then they should getthe same sentence. They oughta hang like Chester Johnson, or else heoughtn't to hang. I'd just like to know how the judge makes up his mind. It must be like markin' China lottery tickets. He plays hunches. Helooks at a guy an' waits for a spot or a number to come into his head. How else could he give Johnny Black four years an' Cal Hutchins twentyyears? He played the hunches as they came into his head, an' it mightjust as easy ben the other way around an' Cal Hutchins got four yearsan' Johnny Black twenty. 

"I know both them boys. They hung out with the Tenth an' Kirkham gangmostly, though sometimes they ran with my gang. We used to go swimmin'after school down to Sandy Beach on the marsh, an' in the Transit slipwhere they said the water was sixty feet deep, only it wasn't. An' once, on a Thursday, we dug a lot of clams together, an' played hookey Fridayto peddle them. An' we used to go out on the Rock Wall an' catch pogiesan' rock cod. One day--the day of the eclipse--Cal caught a perch halfas big as a door. I never seen such a fish. An' now he's got to wear thestripes for twenty years. Lucky he wasn't married. If he don't get theconsumption he'll be an old man when he comes out. Cal's mother wouldn'tlet 'm go swimmin', an' whenever she suspected she always licked hishair with her tongue. If it tasted salty, he got a beltin'. But he wasonto himself. Comin' home, he'd jump somebody's front fence an' hold hishead under a faucet. "

"I used to dance with Chester Johnson, " Saxon said. "And I knew hiswife, Kittie Brady, long and long ago. She had next place at the tableto me in the paper-box factory. She's gone to San Francisco to hermarried sister's. She's going to have a baby, too. She was awfullypretty, and there was always a string of fellows after her. "

The effect of the conviction and severe sentences was a bad one onthe union men. Instead of being disheartening, it intensified thebitterness. Billy's repentance for having fought and the sweetness andaffection which had flashed up in the days of Saxon's nursing of himwere blotted out. At home, he scowled and brooded, while his talk tookon the tone of Bert's in the last days ere that Mohegan died. Also, Billy stayed away from home longer hours, and was again steadilydrinking. 

Saxon well-nigh abandoned hope. Almost was she steeled to the inevitabletragedy which her morbid fancy painted in a thousand guises. Oftenest, it was of Billy being brought home on a stretcher. Sometimes it was acall to the telephone in the corner grocery and the curt information bya strange voice that her husband was lying in the receiving hospital orthe morgue. And when the mysterious horse-poisoning cases occurred, andwhen the residence of one of the teaming magnates was half destroyed bydynamite, she saw Billy in prison, or wearing stripes, or mounting tothe scaffold at San Quentin while at the same time she could see thelittle cottage on Pine street besieged by newspaper reporters andphotographers. 

Yet her lively imagination failed altogether to anticipate the realcatastrophe. Harmon, the fireman lodger, passing through the kitchen onhis way out to work, had paused to tell Saxon about the previous day'strain-wreck in the Alviso marshes, and of how the engineer, imprisonedunder the overturned engine and unhurt, being drowned by the risingtide, had begged to be shot. Billy came in at the end of the narrative, and from the somber light in his heavy-lidded eyes Saxon knew he hadbeen drinking. He glowered at Harmon, and, without greeting to him orSaxon, leaned his shoulder against the wall. 

Harmon felt the awkwardness of the situation, and did his best to appearoblivious. 

"I was just telling your wife--" he began, but was savagely interrupted. 

"I don't care what you was tellin' her. But I got something to tell you, Mister Man. My wife's made up your bed too many times to suit me. "

"Billy!" Saxon cried, her face scarlet with resentment, and hurt, andshame. 

Billy ignored her. Harmon was saying:

"I don't understand--"

"Well, I don't like your mug, " Billy informed him. "You're standin' onyour foot. Get off of it. Get out. Beat it. D'ye understand that?"

"I don't know what's got into him, " Saxon gasped hurriedly to thefireman. "He's not himself. Oh, I am so ashamed, so ashamed. "

Billy turned on her. 

"You shut your mouth an' keep outa this. "

"But, Billy, " she remonstrated. 

"An' get outa here. You go into the other room. "

"Here, now, " Harmon broke in. "This is a fine way to treat a fellow. "

"I've given you too much rope as it is, " was Billy's answer. 

"I've paid my rent regularly, haven't I?"

"An' I oughta knock your block off for you. Don't see any reason Ishouldn't, for that matter. "

"If you do anything like that, Billy--" Saxon began. 

"You here still? Well, if you won't go into the other room, I'll seethat you do. "

His hand clutched her arm. For one instant she resisted his strength;and in that instant, the flesh crushed under his fingers, she realizedthe fullness of his strength. 

In the front room she could only lie back in the Morris chair sobbing, and listen to what occurred in the kitchen. "I'll stay to the end of theweek, " the fireman was saying. "I've paid in advance. "

"Don't make no mistake, " came Billy's voice, so slow that it was almosta drawl, yet quivering with rage. "You can't get out too quick if youwanta stay healthy--you an' your traps with you. I'm likely to startsomething any moment. "

"Oh, I know you're a slugger--" the fireman's voice began. 

Then came the unmistakable impact of a blow; the crash of glass; ascuffle on the back porch; and, finally, the heavy bumps of a body downthe steps. She heard Billy reenter the kitchen, move about, and knewhe was sweeping up the broken glass of the kitchen door. Then he washedhimself at the sink, whistling while he dried his face and hands, andwalked into the front room. She did not look at him. She was too sickand sad. He paused irresolutely, seeming to make up his mind. 

"I'm goin' up town, " he stated. "They's a meeting of the union. If Idon't come back it'll be because that geezer's sworn out a warrant. "

He opened the front door and paused. She knew he was looking at her. Then the door closed and she heard him go down the steps. 

Saxon was stunned. She did not think. She did not know what to think. The whole thing was incomprehensible, incredible. She lay back in thechair, her eyes closed, her mind almost a blank, crushed by a leadenfeeling that the end had come to everything. 

The voices of children playing in the street aroused her. Night hadfallen. She groped her way to a lamp and lighted it. In the kitchen shestared, lips trembling, at the pitiful, half prepared meal. The fire hadgone out. The water had boiled away from the potatoes. When she liftedthe lid, a burnt smell arose. Methodically she scraped and cleaned thepot, put things in order, and peeled and sliced the potatoes for nextday's frying. And just as methodically she went to bed. Her lack ofnervousness, her placidity, was abnormal, so abnormal that she closedher eyes and was almost immediately asleep. Nor did she awaken till thesunshine was streaming into the room. 

It was the first night she and Billy had slept apart. She was amazedthat she had not lain awake worrying about him. She lay with eyes wideopen, scarcely thinking, until pain in her arm attracted her attention. It was where Billy had gripped her. On examination she found the bruisedflesh fearfully black and blue. She was astonished, not by the spiritualfact that such bruise had been administered by the one she loved most inthe world, but by the sheer physical fact that an instant's pressure hadinflicted so much damage. The strength of a man was a terrible thing. Quite impersonally, she found herself wondering if Charley Long were asstrong as Billy. 

It was not until she dressed and built the fire that she began tothink about more immediate things. Billy had not returned. Then he wasarrested. What was she to do?--leave him in jail, go away, and startlife afresh? Of course it was impossible to go on living with a manwho had behaved as he had. But then, came another thought, WAS itimpossible? After all, he was her husband. FOR BETTER OR WORSE--thephrase reiterated itself, a monotonous accompaniment to her thoughts, at the back of her consciousness. To leave him was to surrender. Shecarried the matter before the tribunal of her mother's memory. No; Daisywould never have surrendered. Daisy was a fighter. Then she, Saxon, mustfight. Besides--and she acknowledged it--readily, though in a cold, deadway--besides, Billy was better than most husbands. Better than any otherhusband she had heard of, she concluded, as she remembered many of hisearlier nicenesses and finenesses, and especially his eternal chant:NOTHING IS TOO GOOD FOR US. THE ROBERTSES AIN'T ON THE CHEAP. 

At eleven o'clock she had a caller. It was Bud Strothers, Billy's mateon strike duty. Billy, he told her, had refused bail, refused a lawyer, had asked to be tried by the Court, had pleaded guilty, and had receiveda sentence of sixty dollars or thirty days. Also, he had refused to letthe boys pay his fine. 

"He's clean looney, " Strothers summed up. "Won't listen to reason. Sayshe'll serve the time out. He's been tankin' up too regular, I guess. His wheels are buzzin'. Here, he give me this note for you. Any timeyou want anything send for me. The boys'll all stand by Bill's wife. Youbelong to us, you know. How are you off for money?"

Proudly she disclaimed any need for money, and not until her visitordeparted did she read Billy's note:

Dear Saxon--Bud Strothers is going to give you this. Don't worry aboutme. I am going to take my medicine. I deserve it--you know that. I guessI am gone bughouse. Just the same, I am sorry for what I done. Don'tcome to see me. I don't want you to. If you need money, the union willgive you some. The business agent is all right. I will be out in amonth. Now, Saxon, you know I love you, and just say to yourself thatyou forgive me this time, and you won't never have to do it again. 

 Billy. 

Bud Strothers was followed by Maggie Donahue, and Mrs. Olsen, who paidneighborly calls of cheer and were tactful in their offers of help andin studiously avoiding more reference than was necessary to Billy'spredicament. 

In the afternoon James Harmon arrived. He limped slightly, and Saxondivined that he was doing his best to minimize that evidence of hurt. She tried to apologize to him, but he would not listen. 

"I don't blame you, Mrs. Roberts, " he said. "I know it wasn't yourdoing. But your husband wasn't just himself, I guess. He was fightin'mad on general principles, and it was just my luck to get in the way, that was all. "

"But just the same--"

The fireman shook his head. 

"I know all about it. I used to punish the drink myself, and I done somefunny things in them days. And I'm sorry I swore that warrant out andtestified. But I was hot in the collar. I'm cooled down now, an' I'msorry I done it. "

"You're awfully good and kind, " she said, and then began hesitantly onwhat was bothering her. "You. .. You can't stay now, with him. .. Away, you know. "

"Yes; that wouldn't do, would it? I'll tell you: I'll pack up right now, and skin out, and then, before six o'clock, I'll send a wagon for mythings. Here's the key to the kitchen door. "

Much as he demurred, she compelled him to receive back the unexpiredportion of his rent. He shook her hand heartily at leaving, and tried toget her to promise to call upon him for a loan any time she might be inneed. 

"It's all right, " he assured her. "I'm married, and got two boys. One ofthem's got his lungs touched, and she's with 'em down in Arizona campin'out. The railroad helped with passes. "

And as he went down the steps she wondered that so kind a man should bein so madly cruel a world. 

The Donahue boy threw in a spare evening paper, and Saxon found half acolumn devoted to Billy. It was not nice. The fact that he had stoodup in the police court with his eyes blacked from some other fraywas noted. He was described as a bully, a hoodlum, a rough-neck, aprofessional slugger whose presence in the ranks was a disgrace toorganized labor. The assault he had pleaded guilty of was atrocious andunprovoked, and if he were a fair sample of a striking teamster, theonly wise thing for Oakland to do was to break up the union and driveevery member from the city. And, finally, the paper complained at themildness of the sentence. It should have been six months at least. Thejudge was quoted as expressing regret that he had been unable to imposea six months' sentence, this inability being due to the condition ofthe jails, already crowded beyond capacity by the many eases of assaultcommitted in the course of the various strikes. 

That night, in bed, Saxon experienced her first loneliness. Her brainseemed in a whirl, and her sleep was broken by vain gropings for theform of Billy she imagined at her side. At last, she lighted the lampand lay staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed, conning over and over thedetails of the disaster that had overwhelmed her. She could forgive, andshe could not forgive. The blow to her love-life had been too savage, too brutal. Her pride was too lacerated to permit her wholly to returnin memory to the other Billy whom she loved. Wine in, wit out, sherepeated to herself; but the phrase could not absolve the man who hadslept by her side, and to whom she had consecrated herself. She weptin the loneliness of the all-too-spacious bed, strove to forget Billy'sincomprehensible cruelty, even pillowed her cheek with numb fondnessagainst the bruise of her arm; but still resentment burned within her, a steady flame of protest against Billy and all that Billy had done. Herthroat was parched, a dull ache never ceased in her breast, and she wasoppressed by a feeling of goneness. WHY, WHY?--And from the puzzle ofthe world came no solution. 

In the morning she received a visit from Sarah--the second in all theperiod of her marriage; and she could easily guess her sister-in-law'sghoulish errand. No exertion was required for the assertion of all ofSaxon's pride. She refused to be in the slightest on the defensive. There was nothing to defend, nothing to explain. Everything was allright, and it was nobody's business anyway. This attitude but served tovex Sarah. 

"I warned you, and you can't say I didn't, " her diatribe ran. "I alwaysknew he was no good, a jailbird, a hoodlum, a slugger. My heart sunkinto my boots when I heard you was runnin' with a prizefighter. Itold you so at the time. But no; you wouldn't listen, you with yourhighfalutin' notions an' more pairs of shoes than any decent womanshould have. You knew better'n me. An' I said then, to Tom, I said, 'It's all up with Saxon now. ' Them was my very words. Them that touchespitch is defiled. If you'd only a-married Charley Long! Then the familywouldn't a-ben disgraced. An' this is only the beginnin', mark me, onlythe beginnin'. Where it'll end, God knows. He'll kill somebody yet, thatplug-ugly of yourn, an' be hanged for it. You wait an' see, that's all, an' then you'll remember my words. As you make your bed, so you will layin it"

"Best bed I ever had, " Saxon commented. 

"So you can say, so you can say, " Sarah snorted. 

"I wouldn't trade it for a queen's bed, " Saxon added. 

"A jailbird's bed, " Sarah rejoined witheringly. 

"Oh, it's the style, " Saxon retorted airily. "Everybody's gettinga taste of jail. Wasn't Tom arrested at some street meeting of thesocialists? Everybody goes to jail these days. "

The barb had struck home. 

"But Tom was acquitted, " Sarah hastened to proclaim. 

"Just the same he lay in jail all night without bail. "

This was unanswerable, and Sarah executed her favorite tactic of attackin flank. 

"A nice come-down for you, I must say, that was raised straight an'right, a-cuttin' up didoes with a lodger. "

"Who says so?" Saxon blazed with an indignation quickly mastered. 

"Oh, a blind man can read between the lines. A lodger, a young marriedwoman with no self respect, an' a prizefighter for a husband--what elsewould they fight about?"

"Just like any family quarrel, wasn't it?" Saxon smiled placidly. 

Sarah was shocked into momentary speechlessness. 

"And I want you to understand it, " Saxon continued. "It makes a womanproud to have men fight over her. I am proud. Do you hear? I am proud. I want you to tell them so. I want you to tell all your neighbors. Telleverybody. I am no cow. Men like me. Men fight for me. Men go to jailfor me. What is a woman in the world for, if it isn't to have men likeher? Now, go, Sarah; go at once, and tell everybody what you've readbetween the lines. Tell them Billy is a jailbird and that I am a badwoman whom all men desire. Shout it out, and good luck to you. And getout of my house. And never put your feet in it again. You are too decenta woman to come here. You might lose your reputation. And think of yourchildren. Now get out. Go. "

Not until Sarah had taken an amazed and horrified departure did Saxonfling herself on the bed in a convulsion of tears. She had been ashamed, before, merely of Billy's inhospitality, and surliness, and unfairness. But she could see, now, the light in which others looked on the affair. It had not entered Saxon's head. She was confident that it had notentered Billy's. She knew his attitude from the first. Always he hadopposed taking a lodger because of his proud faith that his wife shouldnot work. Only hard times had compelled his consent, and, now that shelooked back, almost had she inveigled him into consenting. 

But all this did not alter the viewpoint the neighborhood must hold, that every one who had ever known her must hold. And for this, too, Billy was responsible. It was more terrible than all the other thingshe had been guilty of put together. She could never look any one in theface again. Maggie Donahue and Mrs. Olsen had been very kind, but ofwhat must they have been thinking all the time they talked with her? Andwhat must they have said to each other? What was everybody saying?--overfront gates and back fences, --the men standing on the corners or talkingin saloons?

Later, exhausted by her grief, when the tears no longer fell, she grewmore impersonal, and dwelt on the disasters that had befallen so manywomen since the strike troubles began--Otto Frank's wife, Henderson'swidow, pretty Kittie Brady, Mary, all the womenfolk of the other workmenwho were now wearing the stripes in San Quentin. Her world was crashingabout her ears. No one was exempt. Not only had she not escaped, buthers was the worst disgrace of all. Desperately she tried to hug thedelusion that she was asleep, that it was all a nightmare, and that soonthe alarm would go off and she would get up and cook Billy's breakfastso that he could go to work. 

She did not leave the bed that day. Nor did she sleep. Her brain whirledon and on, now dwelling at insistent length upon her misfortunes, nowpursuing the most fantastic ramifications of what she considered herdisgrace, and, again, going back to her childhood and wandering throughendless trivial detail. She worked at all the tasks she had ever done, performing, in fancy, the myriads of mechanical movements peculiar toeach occupation--shaping and pasting in the paper box factory, ironingin the laundry, weaving in the jute mill, peeling fruit in the canneryand countless boxes of scalded tomatoes. She attended all her dances andall her picnics over again; went through her school days, recalling theface and name and seat of every schoolmate; endured the gray bleaknessof the years in the orphan asylum; revisioned every memory of hermother, every tale; and relived all her life with Billy. But ever--andhere the torment lay--she was drawn back from these far-wanderingsto her present trouble, with its parch in the throat, its ache in thebreast, and its gnawing, vacant goneness. 

CHAPTER XV

All that night Saxon lay, unsleeping, without taking off her clothes, and when she arose in the morning and washed her face and dressed herhair she was aware of a strange numbness, of a feeling of constrictionabout her head as if it were bound by a heavy band of iron. It seemedlike a dull pressure upon her brain. It was the beginning of an illnessthat she did not know as illness. All she knew was that she felt queer. It was not fever. It was not cold. Her bodily health was as it shouldbe, and, when she thought about it, she put her condition down tonerves--nerves, according to her ideas and the ideas of her class, beingunconnected with disease. 

She had a strange feeling of loss of self, of being a stranger toherself, and the world in which she moved seemed a vague and shroudedworld. It lacked sharpness of definition. Its customary vividness wasgone. She had lapses of memory, and was continually finding herselfdoing unplanned things. Thus, to her astonishment, she came to in theback yard hanging up the week's wash. She had no recollection of havingdone it, yet it had been done precisely as it should have been done. She had boiled the sheets and pillow-slips and the table linen. Billy'swoolens had been washed in warm water only, with the home-made soap, therecipe of which Mercedes had given her. On investigation, she found shehad eaten a mutton chop for breakfast. This meant that she had been tothe butcher shop, yet she had no memory of having gone. Curiously, shewent into the bedroom. The bed was made up and everything in order. 

At twilight she came upon herself in the front room, seated by thewindow, crying in an ecstasy of joy. At first she did not know what thisjoy was; then it came to her that it was because she had lost her baby. "A blessing, a blessing, " she was chanting aloud, wringing her hands, but with joy, she knew it was with joy that she wrung her hands. 

The days came and went. She had little notion of time. Sometimes, centuries agone, it seemed to her it was since Billy had gone to jail. At other times it was no more than the night before. But through itall two ideas persisted: she must not go to see Billy in jail; it was ablessing she had lost her baby. 

Once, Bud Strothers came to see her. She sat in the front room andtalked with him, noting with fascination that there were fringes tothe heels of his trousers. Another day, the business agent of the unioncalled. She told him, as she had told Bud Strothers, that everything wasall right, that she needed nothing, that she could get along comfortablyuntil Billy came out. 

A fear began to haunt her. WHEN HE CAME OUT. No; it must not be. Theremust not be another baby. It might LIVE. No, no, a thousand times no. Itmust not be. She would run away first. She would never see Billy again. Anything but that. Anything but that. 

This fear persisted. In her nightmare-ridden sleep it became anaccomplished fact, so that she would awake, trembling, in a cold sweat, crying out. Her sleep had become wretched. Sometimes she was convincedthat she did not sleep at all, and she knew that she had insomnia, andremembered that it was of insomnia her mother had died. 

She came to herself one day, sitting in Doctor Hentley's office. He waslooking at her in a puzzled way. 

"Got plenty to eat?" he was asking. 

She nodded. 

"Any serious trouble?"

She shook her head. 

"Everything's all right, doctor. .. Except. .. "

"Yes, yes, " he encouraged. 

And then she knew why she had come. Simply, explicitly, she told him. Heshook his head slowly. 

"It can't be done, little woman, " he said

"Oh, but it can!" she cried. "I know it can. "

"I don't mean that, " he answered. "I mean I can't tell you. I dare not. It is against the law. There is a doctor in Leavenworth prison right nowfor that. "

In vain she pleaded with him. He instanced his own wife and childrenwhose existence forbade his imperiling. 

"Besides, there is no likelihood now, " he told her. 

"But there will be, there is sure to be, " she urged. 

But he could only shake his head sadly. 

"Why do you want to know?" he questioned finally. 

Saxon poured her heart out to him. She told of her first year ofhappiness with Billy, of the hard times caused by the labor troubles, ofthe change in Billy so that there was no love-life left, of her own deephorror. Not if it died, she concluded. She could go through that again. But if it should live. Billy would soon be out of jail, and then thedanger would begin. It was only a few words. She would never tell anyone. Wild horses could not drag it out of her. 

But Doctor Hentley continued to shake his head. "I can't tell you, little woman. It's a shame, but I can't take the risk. My hands aretied. Our laws are all wrong. I have to consider those who are dear tome. "

It was when she got up to go that he faltered. "Come here, " he said. "Sit closer. "

He prepared to whisper in her ear, then, with a sudden excess ofcaution, crossed the room swiftly, opened the door, and looked out. When he sat down again he drew his chair so close to hers that the armstouched, and when he whispered his beard tickled her ear. 

"No, no, " he shut her off when she tried to voice her gratitude. "I havetold you nothing. You were here to consult me about your general health. You are run down, out of condition--"

As he talked he moved her toward the door. When he opened it, a patientfor the dentist in the adjoining office was standing in the hall. DoctorHentley lifted his voice. 

"What you need is that tonic I prescribed. Remember that. And don'tpamper your appetite when it comes back. Eat strong, nourishing food, and beefsteak, plenty of beefsteak. And don't cook it to a cinder. Goodday. "

At times the silent cottage became unendurable, and Saxon would throwa shawl about her head and walk out the Oakland Mole, or cross therailroad yards and the marshes to Sandy Beach where Billy had said heused to swim. Also, by going out the Transit slip, by climbing down thepiles on a precarious ladder of iron spikes, and by crossing a boom oflogs, she won access to the Rock Wall that extended far out into the bayand that served as a barrier between the mudflats and the tide-scouredchannel of Oakland Estuary. Here the fresh sea breezes blew and Oaklandsank down to a smudge of smoke behind her, while across the bay shecould see the smudge that represented San Francisco. Ocean steamshipspassed up and down the estuary, and lofty-masted ships, towed byred-stacked tugs. 

She gazed at the sailors on the ships, wondered on what far voyages andto what far lands they went, wondered what freedoms were theirs. Orwere they girt in by as remorseless and cruel a world as the dwellersin Oakland were? Were they as unfair, as unjust, as brutal, in theirdealings with their fellows as were the city dwellers? It did notseem so, and sometimes she wished herself on board, out-bound, goinganywhere, she cared not where, so long as it was away from the world towhich she had given her best and which had trampled her in return. 

She did not know always when she left the house, nor where her feet tookher. Once, she came to herself in a strange part of Oakland. The streetwas wide and lined with rows of shade trees. Velvet lawns, broken onlyby cement sidewalks, ran down to the gutters. The houses stood apart andwere large. In her vocabulary they were mansions. What had shocked herto consciousness of herself was a young man in the driver's seat of atouring car standing at the curb. He was looking at her curiously andshe recognized him as Roy Blanchard, whom, in front of the Forum, Billyhad threatened to whip. Beside the car, bareheaded, stood another youngman. He, too, she remembered. He it was, at the Sunday picnic where shefirst met Billy, who had thrust his cane between the legs of the flyingfoot-racer and precipitated the free-for-all fight. Like Blanchard, hewas looking at her curiously, and she became aware that she had beentalking to herself. The babble of her lips still beat in her ears. Sheblushed, a rising tide of shame heating her face, and quickened herpace. Blanchard sprang out of the car and came to her with lifted hat. "Is anything the matter?" he asked. 

She shook her head, and, though she had stopped, she evinced her desireto go on. 

"I know you, " he said, studying her face. "You were with the striker whopromised me a licking. "

"He is my husband, " she said. 

"Oh! Good for him. " He regarded her pleasantly and frankly. "But aboutyourself? Isn't there anything I can do for you? Something IS thematter. "

"No, I'm all right, " she answered. "I have been sick, " she lied; for shenever dreamed of connecting her queerness with sickness. 

"You look tired, " he pressed her. "I can take you in the machine and runyou anywhere you want. It won't be any trouble. I've plenty of time. "

Saxon shook her head. 

"If. .. If you would tell me where I can catch the Eighth street cars. Idon't often come to this part of town. "

He told her where to find an electric car and what transfers to make, and she was surprised at the distance she had wandered. 

"Thank you, " she said. "And good bye. "

"Sure I can't do anything now?"

"Sure. "

"Well, good bye, " he smiled good humoredly. "And tell that husband ofyours to keep in good condition. I'm likely to make him need it all whenhe tangles up with me. "

"Oh, but you can't fight with him, " she warned. "You mustn't. Youhaven't got a show. "

"Good for you, " he admired. "That's the way for a woman to stand up forher man. Now the average woman would be so afraid he was going to getlicked--"

"But I'm not afraid. .. For him. It's for you. He's a terrible fighter. You wouldn't have any chance. It would be like. .. Like. .. "

"Like taking candy from a baby?" Blanchard finished for her. 

"Yes, " she nodded. "That's just what he would call it. And whenever hetells you you are standing on your foot watch out for him. Now I mustgo. Good bye, and thank you again. "

She went on down the sidewalk, his cheery good bye ringing in her ears. He was kind--she admitted it honestly; yet he was one of the cleverones, one of the masters, who, according to Billy, were responsiblefor all the cruelty to labor, for the hardships of the women, for thepunishment of the labor men who were wearing stripes in San Quentin orwere in the death cells awaiting the scaffold. Yet he was kind, sweetnatured, clean, good. She could read his character in his face. But howcould this be, if he were responsible for so much evil? She shook herhead wearily. There was no explanation, no understanding of this worldwhich destroyed little babes and bruised women's breasts. 

As for her having strayed into that neighborhood of fine residences, she was unsurprised. It was in line with her queerness. She did so manythings without knowing that she did them. But she must be careful. Itwas better to wander on the marshes and the Rock Wall. 

Especially she liked the Rock Wall. There was a freedom about it, a widespaciousness that she found herself instinctively trying to breathe, holding her arms out to embrace and make part of herself. It was amore natural world, a more rational world. She could understandit--understand the green crabs with white-bleached claws that scuttledbefore her and which she could see pasturing on green-weeded rockswhen the tide was low. Here, hopelessly man-made as the great wall was, nothing seemed artificial. There were no men here, no laws nor conflictsof men. The tide flowed and ebbed; the sun rose and set; regularly eachafternoon the brave west wind came romping in through the Golden Gate, darkening the water, cresting tiny wavelets, making the sailboats fly. Everything ran with frictionless order. Everything was free. Firewoodlay about for the taking. No man sold it by the sack. Small boys fishedwith poles from the rocks, with no one to drive them away for trespass, catching fish as Billy had caught fish, as Cal Hutchins had caught fish. Billy had told her of the great perch Cal Hutchins caught on the day ofthe eclipse, when he had little dreamed the heart of his manhood wouldbe spent in convict's garb. 

And here was food, food that was free. She watched the small boys ona day when she had eaten nothing, and emulated them, gathering musselsfrom the rocks at low water, cooking them by placing them among thecoals of a fire she built on top of the wall. They tasted particularlygood. She learned to knock the small oysters from the rocks, and onceshe found a string of fresh-caught fish some small boy had forgotten totake home with him. 

Here drifted evidences of man's sinister handiwork--from a distance, from the cities. One flood tide she found the water covered withmuskmelons. They bobbed and bumped along up the estuary in countlessthousands. Where they stranded against the rocks she was able to getthem. But each and every melon--and she patiently tried scores ofthem--had been spoiled by a sharp gash that let in the salt water. She could not understand. She asked an old Portuguese woman gatheringdriftwood. 

"They do it, the people who have too much, " the old woman explained, straightening her labor-stiffened back with such an effort that almostSaxon could hear it creak. The old woman's black eyes flashed angrily, and her wrinkled lips, drawn tightly across toothless gums, wry withbitterness. "The people that have too much. It is to keep up the price. They throw them overboard in San Francisco. "

"But why don't they give them away to the poor people?" Saxon asked. 

"They must keep up the price. "

"But the poor people cannot buy them anyway, " Saxon objected. "It wouldnot hurt the price. "

The old woman shrugged her shoulders. 

"I do not know. It is their way. They chop each melon so that the poorpeople cannot fish them out and eat anyway. They do the same with theoranges, with the apples. Ah, the fishermen! There is a trust. Whenthe boats catch too much fish, the trust throws them overboard fromFisherman Wharf, boat-loads, and boat-loads, and boatloads of thebeautiful fish. And the beautiful good fish sink and are gone. And noone gets them. Yet they are dead and only good to eat. Fish are verygood to eat. "

And Saxon could not understand a world that did such things--a world inwhich some men possessed so much food that they threw it away, payingmen for their labor of spoiling it before they threw it away; and inthe same world so many people who did not have enough food, whose babiesdied because their mothers' milk was not nourishing, whose young menfought and killed one another for the chance to work, whose old men andwomen went to the poorhouse because there was no food for them in thelittle shacks they wept at leaving. She wondered if all the world werethat way, and remembered Mercedes' tales. Yes; all the world was thatway. Had not Mercedes seen ten thousand families starve to death inthat far away India, when, as she had said, her own jewels that she worewould have fed and saved them all? It was the poorhouse and the saltvats for the stupid, jewels and automobiles for the clever ones. 

She was one of the stupid. She must be. The evidence all pointed thatway. Yet Saxon refused to accept it. She was not stupid. Her mother hadnot been stupid, nor had the pioneer stock before her. Still it must beso. Here she sat, nothing to eat at home, her love-husband changed to abrute beast and lying in jail, her arms and heart empty of the babe thatwould have been there if only the stupid ones had not made a shambles ofher front yard in their wrangling over jobs. 

She sat there, racking her brain, the smudge of Oakland at her back, staring across the bay at the smudge of Ban Francisco. Yet the sun wasgood; the wind was good, as was the keen salt air in her nostrils;the blue sky, flecked with clouds, was good. All the natural worldwas right, and sensible, and beneficent. It was the man-world that waswrong, and mad, and horrible. Why were the stupid stupid? Was it a lawof God? No; it could not be. God had made the wind, and air, and sun. The man-world was made by man, and a rotten job it was. Yet, and sheremembered it well, the teaching in the orphan asylum, God had madeeverything. Her mother, too, had believed this, had believed in thisGod. Things could not be different. It was ordained. 

For a time Saxon sat crushed, helpless. Then smoldered protest, revolt. Vainly she asked why God had it in for her. What had she done todeserve such fate? She briefly reviewed her life in quest of deadly sinscommitted, and found them not. She had obeyed her mother; obeyed Cady, the saloon-keeper, and Cady's wife; obeyed the matron and the otherwomen in the orphan asylum; obeyed Tom when she came to live in hishouse, and never run in the streets because he didn't wish her to. At school she had always been honorably promoted, and never had herdeportment report varied from one hundred per cent. She had worked fromthe day she left school to the day of her marriage. She had been a goodworker, too. The little Jew who ran the paper box factory had almostwept when she quit. It was the same at the cannery. She was among thehigh-line weavers when the jute mills closed down. I And she had keptstraight. It was not as if she had been ugly or unattractive. She hadknown her temptations and encountered her dangers. The fellows had beencrazy about her. They had run after her, fought over her, in a way toturn most girls' heads. But she had kept straight. And then had comeBilly, her reward. She had devoted herself to him, to his house, to allthat would nourish his love; and now she and Billy were sinking downinto this senseless vortex of misery and heartbreak of the man-madeworld. 

No, God was not responsible. She could have made a better worldherself--a finer, squarer world. This being so, then there was no God. God could not make a botch. The matron had been wrong, her mother hadbeen wrong. Then there was no immortality, and Bert, wild and crazyBert, falling at her front gate with his foolish death-cry, was right. One was a long time dead. 

Looking thus at life, shorn of its superrational sanctions, Saxonfloundered into the morass of pessimism. There was no justification forright conduct in the universe, no square deal for her who had earnedreward, for the millions who worked like animals, died like animals, and were a long time and forever dead. Like the hosts of more learnedthinkers before her, she concluded that the universe was unmoral andwithout concern for men. 

And now she sat crushed in greater helplessness than when she hadincluded God in the scheme of injustice. As long as God was, there wasalways chance for a miracle, for some supernatural intervention, somerewarding with ineffable bliss. With God missing, the world was atrap. Life was a trap. She was like a linnet, caught by small boys andimprisoned in a cage. That was because the linnet was stupid. But sherebelled. She fluttered and beat her soul against the hard face ofthings as did the linnet against the bars of wire. She was not stupid. She did not belong in the trap. She would fight her way out of the trap. There must be such a way out. When canal boys and rail-splitters, thelowliest of the stupid lowly, as she had read in her school history, could find their way out and become presidents of the nation and ruleover even the clever ones in their automobiles, then could she find herway out and win to the tiny reward she craved--Billy, a little love, alittle happiness. She would not mind that the universe was unmoral, thatthere was no God, no immortality. She was willing to go into the blackgrave and remain in its blackness forever, to go into the salt vats andlet the young men cut her dead flesh to sausage-meat, if--if only shecould get her small meed of happiness first. 

How she would work for that happiness! How she would appreciate it, makethe most of each least particle of it! But how was she to do it. Wherewas the path? She could not vision it. Her eyes showed her only thesmudge of San Francisco, the smudge of Oakland, where men were breakingheads and killing one another, where babies were dying, born and unborn, and where women were weeping with bruised breasts. 

CHAPTER XVI

Her vague, unreal existence continued. It seemed in some previouslife-time that Billy had gone away, that another life-time would have tocome before he returned. She still suffered from insomnia. Long nightspassed in succession, during which she never closed her eyes. Atother times she slept through long stupors, waking stunned and numbed, scarcely able to open her heavy eyes, to move her weary limbs. Thepressure of the iron band on her head never relaxed. She was poorlynourished. Nor had she a cent of money. She often went a whole daywithout eating. Once, seventy-two hours elapsed without food passingher lips. She dug clams in the marsh, knocked the tiny oysters from therocks, and gathered mussels. 

And yet, when Bud Strothers came to see how she was getting along, sheconvinced him that all was well. One evening after work, Tom came, andforced two dollars upon her. He was terribly worried. He would like tohelp more, but Sarah was expecting another baby. There had been slacktimes in his trade because of the strikes in the other trades. He didnot know what the country was coming to. And it was all so simple. Allthey had to do was see things in his way and vote the way he voted. Theneverybody would get a square deal. Christ was a Socialist, he told her. 

"Christ died two thousand years ago, " Saxon said. 

"Well?" Tom queried, not catching her implication. 

"Think, " she said, "think of all the men and women who died in thosetwo thousand years, and socialism has not come yet. And in two thousandyears more it may be as far away as ever. Tom, your socialism never didyou any good. It is a dream. "

"It wouldn't be if--" he began with a flash of resentment. 

"If they believed as you do. Only they don't. You don't succeed inmaking them. "

"But we are increasing every year, " he argued. 

"Two thousand years is an awfully long time, " she said quietly. 

Her brother's tired face saddened as he noted. Then he sighed:

"Well, Saxon, if it's a dream, it is a good dream. "

"I don't want to dream, " was her reply. "I want things real. I want themnow. "

And before her fancy passed the countless generations of the stupidlowly, the Billys and Saxons, the Berts and Marys, the Toms and Sarahs. And to what end? The salt vats and the grave. Mercedes was a hard andwicked woman, but Mercedes was right. The stupid must always be underthe heels of the clever ones. Only she, Saxon, daughter of Daisy whohad written wonderful poems and of a soldier-father on a roan war-horse, daughter of the strong generations who hall won half a world from wildnature and the savage Indian--no, she was not stupid. It was as if shesuffered false imprisonment. There was some mistake. She would find theway out. 

With the two dollars she bought a sack of flour and half a sack ofpotatoes. This relieved the monotony of her clams and mussels. Likethe Italian and Portuguese women, she gathered driftwood and carried ithome, though always she did it with shamed pride, timing her arrival sothat it would be after dark. One day, on the mud-flat side of the RockWall, an Italian fishing boat hauled up on the sand dredged from thechannel. From the top of the wall Saxon watched the men grouped aboutthe charcoal brazier, eating crusty Italian bread and a stew of meat andvegetables, washed down with long draughts of thin red wine. She enviedthem their freedom that advertised itself in the heartiness of theirmeal, in the tones of their chatter and laughter, in the very boatitself that was not tied always to one place and that carried themwherever they willed. Afterward, they dragged a seine across themud-flats and up on the sand, selecting for themselves only the largerkinds of fish. Many thousands of small fish, like sardines, they leftdying on the sand when they sailed away. Saxon got a sackful of thefish, and was compelled to make two trips in order to carry them home, where she salted them down in a wooden washtubs. 

Her lapses of consciousness continued. The strangest thing she did whilein such condition was on Sandy Beach. There she discovered herself, onewindy afternoon, lying in a hole she had dug, with sacks for blankets. She had even roofed the hole in rough fashion by means of drift wood andmarsh grass. On top of the grass she had piled sand. 

Another time she came to herself walking across the marshes, a bundleof driftwood, tied with bale-rope, on her shoulder. Charley Longwas walking beside her. She could see his face in the starlight. Shewondered dully how long he had been talking, what he had said. Then shewas curious to hear what he was saying. She was not afraid, despitehis strength, his wicked nature, and the loneliness and darkness of themarsh. 

"It's a shame for a girl like you to have to do this, " he was saying, apparently in repetition of what he had already urged. "Come on an' saythe word, Saxon. Come on an' say the word. "

Saxon stopped and quietly faced him. 

"Listen, Charley Long. Billy's only doing thirty days, and his time isalmost up. When he gets out your life won't be worth a pinch of saltif I tell him you've been bothering me. Now listen. If you go right nowaway from here, and stay away, I won't tell him. That's all I've got tosay. "

The big blacksmith stood in scowling indecisions his face patheticin its fierce yearning, his hands making unconscious, clutchingcontractions. 

"Why, you little, small thing, " he said desperately, "I could break youin one hand. I could--why, I could do anything I wanted. I don't want tohurt you, Saxon. You know that. Just say the word--"

"I've said the only word I'm going to say. "

"God!" he muttered in involuntary admiration. "You ain't afraid. Youain't afraid. "

They faced each other for long silent minutes. 

"Why ain't you afraid?" he demanded at last, after peering into thesurrounding darkness as if searching for her hidden allies. 

"Because I married a man, " Saxon said briefly. "And now you'd bettergo. "

When he had gone she shifted the load of wood to her other shoulderand started on, in her breast a quiet thrill of pride in Billy. Thoughbehind prison bars, still she leaned against his strength. The merenaming of him was sufficient to drive away a brute like Charley Long. 

On the day that Otto Frank was hanged she remained indoors. The eveningpapers published the account. There had been no reprieve. In Sacramentowas a railroad Governor who might reprieve or even pardon bank-wreckersand grafters, but who dared not lift his finger for a workingman. Allthis was the talk of the neighborhood. It had been Billy's talk. It hadbeen Bert's talk. 

The next day Saxon started out the Rock Wall, and the specter of OttoFrank walked by her side. And with him was a dimmer, mistier specterthat she recognized as Billy. Was he, too, destined to tread his way toOtto Frank's dark end? Surely so, if the blood and strike continued. Hewas a fighter. He felt he was right in fighting. It was easy to killa man. Even if he did not intend it, some time, when he was slugging ascab, the scab would fracture his skull on a stone curbing or a cementsidewalk. And then Billy would hang. That was why Otto Frank hanged. He had not intended to kill Henderson. It was only by accident thatHenderson's skull was fractured. Yet Otto Frank had been hanged for itjust the same. 

She wrung her hands and wept loudly as she stumbled among the windyrocks. The hours passed, and she was lost to herself and her grief. Whenshe came to she found herself on the far end of the wall where it juttedinto the bay between the Oakland and Alameda Moles. But she could seeno wall. It was the time of the full moon, and the unusual high tidecovered the rocks. She was knee deep in the water, and about her kneesswam scores of big rock rats, squeaking and fighting, scrambling toclimb upon her out of the flood. She screamed with fright and horror, and kicked at them. Some dived and swam away under water; others circledabout her warily at a distance; and one big fellow laid his teeth intoher shoe. Him she stepped on and crushed with her free foot. By thistime, though still trembling, she was able coolly to consider thesituation. She waded to a stout stick of driftwood a few feet away, andwith this quickly cleared a space about herself. 

A grinning small boy, in a small, bright-painted and half-decked skiff, sailed close in to the wall and let go his sheet to spill the wind. "Want to get aboard?" he called. 

"Yes, " she answered. "There are thousands of big rats here. I'm afraidof them. "

He nodded, ran close in, spilled the wind from his sail, the boat's waycarrying it gently to her. 

"Shove out its bow, " he commanded. "That's right. I don't want to breakmy centerboard. .. . An' then jump aboard in the stern--quick!--alongsideof me. "

She obeyed, stepping in lightly beside him. He held the tiller up withhis elbow, pulled in on the sheet, and as the sail filled the boatsprang away over the rippling water. 

"You know boats, " the boy said approvingly. 

He was a slender, almost frail lad, of twelve or thirteen years, thoughhealthy enough, with sunburned freckled face and large gray eyes thatwere clear and wistful. 

Despite his possession of the pretty boat, Saxon was quick to sense thathe was one of them, a child of the people. 

"First boat I was ever in, except ferryboats, " Saxon laughed. 

He looked at her keenly. "Well, you take to it like a duck to water isall I can say about it. Where d'ye want me to land you?"

"Anywhere. "

He opened his mouth to speak, gave her another long look, considered fora space, then asked suddenly: "Got plenty of time?"

She nodded. 

"All day?"

Again she nodded. 

"Say--I'll tell you, I'm goin' out on this ebb to Goat Island forrockcod, an' I'll come in on the flood this evening. I got plenty oflines an' bait. Want to come along? We can both fish. And what you catchyou can have. "

Saxon hesitated. The freedom and motion of the small boat appealed toher. Like the ships she had envied, it was outbound. 

"Maybe you'll drown me, " she parleyed. 

The boy threw back his head with pride. 

"I guess I've been sailin' many a long day by myself, an' I ain'tdrowned yet. "

"All right, " she consented. "Though remember, I don't know anythingabout boats. "

"Aw, that's all right. --Now I'm goin' to go about. When I say 'Harda-lee!' like that, you duck your head so the boom don't hit you, an'shift over to the other side. "

He executed the maneuver, Saxon obeyed, and found herself sitting besidehim on the opposite side of the boat, while the boat itself, on theother tack, was heading toward Long Wharf where the coal bunkers were. She was aglow with admiration, the more so because the mechanics ofboat-sailing was to her a complex and mysterious thing. 

"Where did you learn it all?" she inquired. 

"Taught myself, just naturally taught myself. I liked it, you see, an'what a fellow likes he's likeliest to do. This is my second boat. Myfirst didn't have a centerboard. I bought it for two dollars an' learneda lot, though it never stopped leaking. What d 'ye think I paid for thisone? It's worth twenty-five dollars right now. What d 'ye think I paidfor it?"

"I give up, " Saxon said. "How much?"

"Six dollars. Think of it! A boat like this! Of course I done a lot ofwork, an' the sail cost two dollars, the oars one forty, an' the paintone seventy-five. But just the same eleven dollars and fifteen cents isa real bargain. It took me a long time saving for it, though. I carrypapers morning and evening--there's a boy taking my route for me thisafternoon--I give 'm ten cents, an' all the extras he sells is his; andI'd a-got the boat sooner only I had to pay for my shorthand lessons. Mymother wants me to become a court reporter. They get sometimes as muchas twenty dollars a day. Gee! But I don't want it. It's a shame to wastethe money on the lessons. "

"What do you want?" she asked, partly from idleness, and yet withgenuine curiosity; for she felt drawn to this boy in knee pants who wasso confident and at the same time so wistful. 

"What do I want?" he repeated after her. 

Turning his head slowly, he followed the sky-line, pausing especiallywhen his eyes rested landward on the brown Contra Costa hills, andseaward, past Alcatraz, on the Golden Glate. The wistfulness in his eyeswas overwhelming and went to her heart. 

"That, " he said, sweeping the circle of the world with a wave of hisarm. 

"That?" she queried. 

He looked at her, perplexed in that he had not made his meaning clear. 

"Don't you ever feel that way?" he asked, bidding for sympathy with hisdream. "Don't you sometimes feel you'd die if you didn't know what'sbeyond them hills an' what's beyond the other hills behind them hills?An' the Golden Gate! There's the Pacific Ocean beyond, and China, an'Japan, an' India, an'. .. An' all the coral islands. You can go anywhereout through the Golden Gate--to Australia, to Africa, to the sealislands, to the North Pole, to Cape Horn. Why, all them places are justwaitin' for me to come an' see 'em. I've lived in Oakland all my life, but I'm not going to live in Oakland the rest of my life, not by a longshot. I'm goin' to get away. .. Away. .. . "

Again, as words failed to express the vastness of his desire, the waveof his arm swept the circle of the world. 

Saxon thrilled with him. She too, save for her earlier childhood, hadlived in Oakland all her life. And it had been a good place in which tolive. .. Until now. And now, in all its nightmare horror, it was a placeto get away from, as with her people the East had been a place to getaway from. And why not? The world tugged at her, and she felt in touchwith the lad's desire. Now that she thought of it, her race had neverbeen given to staying long in one place. Always it had been on the move. She remembered back to her mother's tales, and to the wood engraving inher scrapbook where her half-clad forebears, sword in hand, leaped fromtheir lean beaked boats to do battle on the blood-drenched sands ofEngland. 

"Did you ever hear about the Anglo-Saxons?" she asked the boy. 

"You bet!" His eyes glistened, and he looked at her with new interest. "I'm an Anglo-Saxon, every inch of me. Look at the color of my eyes, myskin. I'm awful white where I ain't sunburned. An' my hair was yellowwhen I was a baby. My mother says it'll be dark brown by the time I'mgrown up, worse luck. Just the same, I'm Anglo-Saxon. I am of a fightingrace. We ain't afraid of nothin'. This bay--think I'm afraid of it!" Helooked out over the water with flashing eye of scorn. "Why, I've crossedit when it was howlin' an' when the scow schooner sailors said I liedan' that I didn't. Huh! They were only squareheads. Why, we licked theirkind thousands of years ago. We lick everything we go up against. We'vewandered all over the world, licking the world. On the sea, on the land, it's all the same. Look at Ivory Nelson, look at Davy Crockett, look atPaul Jones, look at Clive, an' Kitchener, an' Fremont, an' Kit Carson, an' all of 'em. "

Saxon nodded, while he continued, her own eyes shining, and it came toher what a glory it would be to be the mother of a man-child like this. Her body ached with the fancied quickening of unborn life. A good stock, a good stock, she thought to herself. Then she thought of herself andBilly, healthy shoots of that same stock, yet condemned to childlessnessbecause of the trap of the manmade world and the curse of being herdedwith the stupid ones. 

She came back to the boy. 

"My father was a soldier in the Civil War, " he was telling her, "a scoutan' a spy. The rebels were going to hang him twice for a spy. At thebattle of Wilson's Creek he ran half a mile with his captain wounded onhis back. He's got a bullet in his leg right now, just above the knee. It's been there all these years. He let me feel it once. He was abuffalo hunter and a trapper before the war. He was sheriff of hiscounty when he was twenty years old. An' after the war, when he wasmarshal of Silver City, he cleaned out the bad men an' gun-fighters. He's been in almost every state in the Union. He could wrestle any manat the railings in his day, an' he was bully of the raftsmen of theSusquehanna when he was only a youngster. His father killed a man in astandup fight with a blow of his fist when he was sixty years old. An'when he was seventy-four, his second wife had twins, an' he died when hewas plowing in the field with oxen when he was ninety-nine years old. Hejust unyoked the oxen, an' sat down under a tree, an' died there sittingup. An' my father's just like him. He's pretty old now, but he ain'tafraid of nothing. He's a regular Anglo-Saxon, you see. He's a specialpoliceman, an' he didn't do a thing to the strikers in some of thefightin'. He had his face all cut up with a rock, but he broke his clubshort off over some hoodlum's head. "

He paused breathlessly and looked at her. 

"Gee!" he said. "I'd hate to a-ben that hoodlum. "

"My name is Saxon, " she said. 

"Your name?"

"My first name. "

"Gee!" he cried. "You're lucky. Now if mine had been only Erling--youknow, Erling the Bold--or Wolf, or Swen, or Jarl!"

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Only John, " he admitted sadly. "But I don't let 'em call one John. Everybody's got to call me Jack. I've scrapped with a dozen fellowsthat tried to call me John, or Johnnie--wouldn't that make yousick?--Johnnie!"

They were now off the coal bunkers of Long Wharf, and the boy put theskiff about, heading toward San Francisco. They were well out in theopen bay. The west wind had strengthened and was whitecapping the strongebb tide. The boat drove merrily along. When splashes of spray flewaboard, wetting them, Saxon laughed, and the boy surveyed her withapproval. They passed a ferryboat, and the passengers on the upper deckcrowded to one side to watch them. In the swell of the steamer's wake, the skiff shipped quarter-full of water. Saxon picked up an empty canand looked at the boy. 

"That's right, " he said. "Go ahead an' bale out. " And, when she hadfinished: "We'll fetch Goat Island next tack. Right there off theTorpedo Station is where we fish, in fifty feet of water an' the tiderunnin' to beat the band. You're wringing wet, ain't you? Gee! You'relike your name. You're a Saxon, all right. Are you married?"

Saxon nodded, and the boy frowned. 

"What'd you want to do that for. Now you can't wander over the worldlike I'm going to. You're tied down. You're anchored for keeps. "

"It's pretty good to be married, though, " she smiled. 

"Sure, everybody gets married. But that's no reason to be in a rushabout it. Why couldn't you wait a while, like me, I'm goin' to getmarried, too, but not until I'm an old man an' have been everywheres. "

Under the lee of Goat Island, Saxon obediently sitting still, he took inthe sail, and, when the boat had drifted to a position to suit him, hedropped a tiny anchor. He got out the fish lines and showed Saxon howto bait her hooks with salted minnows. Then they dropped the lines tobottom, where they vibrated in the swift tide, and waited for bites. 

"They'll bite pretty soon, " he encouraged. "I've never failed but twiceto catch a mess here. What d'ye say we eat while we're waiting?"

Vainly she protested she was not hungry. He shared his lunch with herwith a boy's rigid equity, even to the half of a hard-boiled egg and thehalf of a big red apple. 

Still the rockcod did not bite. From under the stern-sheets he drew outa cloth-bound book. 

"Free Library, " he vouchsafed, as he began to read, with one handholding the place while with the other he waited for the tug on thefishline that would announce rockcod. 

Saxon read the title. It was "Afloat in the Forest. "

"Listen to this, " he said after a few minutes, and he read several pagesdescriptive of a great flooded tropical forest being navigated by boyson a raft. 

"Think of that!" he concluded. "That's the Amazon river in flood timein South America. And the world's full of places like that--everywhere, most likely, except Oakland. Oakland's just a place to start from, Iguess. Now that's adventure, I want to tell you. Just think of the luckof them boys! All the same, some day I'm going to go over the Andes tothe headwaters of the Amazon, all through the rubber country, an' canoedown the Amazon thousands of miles to its mouth where it's that wide youcan't see one bank from the other an' where you can scoop up perfectlyfresh water out of the ocean a hundred miles from land. "

But Saxon was not listening. One pregnant sentence had caught her fancy. Oakland just a place to start from. She had never viewed the city inthat light. She had accepted it as a place to live in, as an end initself. But a place to start from! Why not! Why not like any railroadstation or ferry depot! Certainly, as things were going, Oakland was nota place to stop in. The boy was right. It was a place to start from. Butto go where? Here she was halted, and she was driven from the train ofthought by a strong pull and a series of jerks on the line. She began tohaul in, hand under hand, rapidly and deftly, the boy encouraging her, until hooks, sinker, and a big gasping rockcod tumbled into the bottomof the boat. The fish was free of the hook, and she baited afresh anddropped the line over. The boy marked his place and closed the book. 

"They'll be biting soon as fast as we can haul 'em in, " he said. 

But the rush of fish did not come immediately. 

"Did you ever read Captain Mayne Reid?" he asked. "Or Captain Marryatt?Or Ballantyne?"

She shook her head. 

"And you an Anglo-Saxon!" he cried derisively. "Why, there's stacks of'em in the Free Library. I have two cards, my mother's an' mine, an'I draw 'em out all the time, after school, before I have to carrymy papers. I stick the books inside my shirt, in front, under thesuspenders. That holds 'em. One time, deliverin' papers at Second an'Market--there's an awful tough gang of kids hang out there--I got into afight with the leader. He hauled off to knock my wind out, an' he landedsquare on a book. You ought to seen his face. An' then I landed onhim. An' then his whole gang was goin' to jump on me, only a coupleof iron-molders stepped in an' saw fair play. I gave 'em the books tohold. "

"Who won?" Saxon asked. 

"Nobody, " the boy confessed reluctantly. "I think I was lickin' him, butthe molders called it a draw because the policeman on the beat stoppedus when we'd only teen fightin' half an hour. But you ought to seen thecrowd. I bet there was five hundred--"

He broke off abruptly and began hauling in his line. Saxon, too, washauling in. And in the next couple of hours they caught twenty pounds offish between them. 

That night, long after dark, the little, half-decked skiff sailed up theOakland Estuary. The wind was fair but light, and the boat moved slowly, towing a long pile which the boy had picked up adrift and announcedas worth three dollars anywhere for the wood that was in it. The tideflooded smoothly under the full moon, and Saxon recognized the pointsthey passed--the Transit slip, Sandy Beach, the shipyards, the nailworks, Market street wharf. The boy took the skiff in to a dilapidatedboat-wharf at the foot of Castro street, where the scow schooners, ladenwith sand and gravel, lay hauled to the shore in a long row. He insistedupon an equal division of the fish, because Saxon had helped catch them, though he explained at length the ethics of flotsam to show her that thepile was wholly his. 

At Seventh and Poplar they separated, Saxon walking on alone to Pinestreet with her load of fish. Tired though she was from the long day, she had a strange feeling of well-being, and, after cleaning the fish, she fell asleep wondering, when good times came again, if she couldpersuade Billy to get a boat and go out with her on Sundays as she hadgone out that day. 

CHAPTER VII

She slept all night, without stirring, without dreaming, and awokenaturally and, for the first time in weeks, refreshed. She felt her oldself, as if some depressing weight had been lifted, or a shadow had beenswept away from between her and the sun. Her head was clear. The seemingiron band that had pressed it so hard was gone. She was cheerful. Sheeven caught herself humming aloud as she divided the fish into messesfor Mrs. Olsen, Maggie Donahue, and herself. She enjoyed her gossip witheach of them, and, returning home, plunged joyfully into the task ofputting the neglected house in order. She sang as she worked, and everas she sang the magic words of the boy danced and sparkled among thenotes: OAKLAND IS JUST A PLACE TO START FROM. 

Everything was clear as print. Her and Billy's problem was as simple asan arithmetic problem at school: to carpet a room so many feet long, somany feet wide, to paper a room so many feet high, so many feet around. She had been sick in her head, she had had strange lapses, she hadbeen irresponsible. Very well. All this had been because of hertroubles--troubles in which she had had no hand in the making. Billy'scase was hers precisely. He had behaved strangely because he had beenirresponsible. And all their troubles were the troubles of the trap. Oakland was the trap. Oakland was a good place to start from. 

She reviewed the events of her married life. The strikes and the hardtimes had caused everything. If it had not been for the strike of theshopmen and the fight in her front yard, she would not have lost herbaby. If Billy had not been made desperate by the idleness and thehopeless fight of the teamsters, he would not have taken to drinking. Ifthey had not been hard up, they would not have taken a lodger, and Billywould not be in jail. 

Her mind was made up. The city was no place for her and Billy, noplace for love nor for babies. The way out was simple. They would leaveOakland. It was the stupid that remained and bowed their heads to fate. But she and Billy were not stupid. They would not bow their heads. Theywould go forth and face fate. --Where, she did not know. But that wouldcome. The world was large. Beyond the encircling hills, out through theGolden Gate, somewhere they would find what they desired. The boy hadbeen wrong in one thing. She was not tied to Oakland, even if she wasmarried. The world was free to her and Billy as it had been free to thewandering generations before them. It was only the stupid who had beenleft behind everywhere in the race's wandering. The strong had gone on. Well, she and Billy were strong. They would go on, over the brown ContraCosta hills or out through the Golden Gate. 

The day before Billy's release Saxon completed her meager preparationsto receive him. She was without money, and, except for her resolve notto offend Billy in that way again, she would have borrowed ferry farefrom Maggie Donahue and journeyed to San Francisco to sell some ofher personal pretties. As it was, with bread and potatoes and saltedsardines in the house, she went out at the afternoon low tide and dugclams for a chowder. Also, she gathered a load of driftwood, and it wasnine in the evening when she emerged from the marsh, on her shoulder abundle of wood and a short-handled spade, in her free hand the pailof clams. She sought the darker side of the street at the corner andhurried across the zone of electric light to avoid detection by theneighbors. But a woman came toward her, looked sharply and stopped infront of her. It was Mary. 

"My God, Saxon!" she exclaimed. "Is it as bad as this?"

Saxon looked at her old friend curiously, with a swift glance thatsketched all the tragedy. Mary was thinner, though there was more colorin her cheeks--color of which Saxon had her doubts. Mary's bright eyeswere handsomer, larger--too large, too feverish bright, too restless. She was well dressed--too well dressed; and she was suffering fromnerves. She turned her head apprehensively to glance into the darknessbehind her. 

"My God!" Saxon breathed. "And you. .. " She shut her lips, then begananew. "Come along to the house, " she said. 

"If you're ashamed to be seen with me--" Mary blurted, with one of herold quick angers. 

"No, no, " Saxon disclaimed. "It's the driftwood and the clams. I don'twant the neighbors to know. Come along. "

"No; I can't, Saxon. I'd like to, but I can't. I've got to catch thenext train to F'risco. I've ben waitin' around. I knocked at your backdoor. But the house was dark. Billy's still in, ain't he?"

"Yes, he gets out to-morrow. "

"I read about it in the papers, " Mary went on hurriedly, looking behindher. "I was in Stockton when it happened. " She turned upon Saxon almostsavagely. "You don't blame me, do you? I just couldn't go back to workafter bein' married. I was sick of work. Played out, I guess, an' nogood anyway. But if you only knew how I hated the laundry even before Igot married. It's a dirty world. You don't dream. Saxon, honest to God, you could never guess a hundredth part of its dirtiness. Oh, I wish Iwas dead, I wish I was dead an' out of it all. Listen--no, I can't now. There's the down train puffin' at Adeline. I'll have to run for it. CanI come--"

"Aw, get a move on, can't you?" a man's voice interrupted. 

Behind her the speaker had partly emerged from the darkness. Noworkingman, Saxon could see that--lower in the world scale, despite hisgood clothes, than any workingman. 

"I'm comin', if you'll only wait a second, " Mary placated. 

And by her answer and its accents Saxon knew that Mary was afraid ofthis man who prowled on the rim of light. 

Mary turned to her. 

"I got to beat it; good bye, " she said, fumbling in the palm of herglove. 

She caught Saxon's free hand, and Saxon felt a small hot coin pressedinto it. She tried to resist, to force it back. 

"No, no, " Mary pleaded. "For old times. You can do as much for me someday. I'll see you again. Good bye. "

Suddenly, sobbing, she threw her arms around Saxon's waist, crushingthe feathers of her hat against the load of wood as she pressed herface against Saxon's breast. Then she tore herself away to arm's length, passionate, queering, and stood gazing at Saxon. 

"Aw, get a hustle, get a hustle, " came from the darkness the peremptoryvoice of the man. 

"Oh, Saxon!" Mary sobbed; and was gone. 

In the house, the lamp lighted, Saxon looked at the coin. It was afive-dollar piece--to her, a fortune. Then she thought of Mary, andof the man of whom she was afraid. Saxon registered another black markagainst Oakland. Mary was one more destroyed. They lived only fiveyears, on the average, Saxon had heard somewhere. She looked at the coinand tossed it into the kitchen sink. When she cleaned the clams, sheheard the coin tinkle down the vent pipe. 

It was the thought of Billy, next morning, that led Saxon to go underthe sink, unscrew the cap to the catchtrap, and rescue the five-dollarpiece. Prisoners were not well fed, she had been told; and the thoughtof placing clams and dry bread before Billy, after thirty days of prisonfare, was too appalling for her to contemplate. She knew how he likedto spread his butter on thick, how he liked thick, rare steak fried on adry hot pan, and how he liked coffee that was coffee and plenty of it. 

Not until after nine o'clock did Billy arrive, and she was dressed inher prettiest house gingham to meet him. She peeped on him as he cameslowly up the front steps, and she would have run out to him exceptfor a group of neighborhood children who were staring from across thestreet. The door opened before him as his hand reached for the knob, and, inside, he closed it by backing against it, for his arms werefilled with Saxon. No, he had not had breakfast, nor did he want anynow that he had her. He had only stopped for a shave. He had stood thebarber off, and he had walked all the way from the City Hall because oflack of the nickel carfare. But he'd like a bath most mighty well, and achange of clothes. She mustn't come near him until he was clean. 

When all this was accomplished, he sat in the kitchen and watched hercook, noting the driftwood she put in the stove and asking about it. While she moved about, she told how she had gathered the wood, how shehad managed to live and not be beholden to the union, and by the timethey were seated at the table she was telling him about her meeting withMary the night before. She did not mention the five dollars. 

Billy stopped chewing the first mouthful of steak. His expressionfrightened her. He spat the meat out on his plate. 

"You got the money to buy the meat from her, " he accused slowly. "Youhad no money, no more tick with the butcher, yet here's meat. Am Iright?"

Saxon could only bend her head. 

The terrifying, ageless look had come into his face, the bleak andpassionless glaze into his eyes, which she had first seen on the day atWeasel Park when he had fought with the three Irishmen. 

"What else did you buy?" he demanded--not roughly, not angrily, but withthe fearful coldness of a rage that words could not express. 

To her surprise, she had grown calm. What did it matter? It was merelywhat one must expect, living in Oakland--something to be left behindwhen Oakland was a thing behind, a place started from. 

"The coffee, " she answered. "And the butter. "

He emptied his plate of meat and her plate into the frying pan, likewisethe roll of butter and the slice on the table, and on top he poured thecontents of the coffee canister. All this he carried into the back yardand dumped in the garbage can. The coffee pot he emptied into the sink. "How much of the money you got left?" he next wanted to know. 

Saxon had already gone to her purse and taken it out. 

"Three dollars and eighty cents, " she counted, handing it to him. "Ipaid forty-five cents for the steak. "

He ran his eye over the money, counted it, and went to the front door. She heard the door open and close, and knew that the silver had beenflung into the street. When he came back to the kitchen, Saxon wasalready serving him fried potatoes on a clean plate. 

"Nothin's too good for the Robertses, " he said; "but, by God, that sortof truck is too high for my stomach. It's so high it stinks. "

He glanced at the fried potatoes, the fresh slice of dry bread, and theglass of water she was placing by his plate. 

"It's all right, " she smiled, as he hesitated. "There's nothing leftthat's tainted. "

He shot a swift glance at her face, as if for sarcasm, then sighed andsat down. Almost immediately he was up again and holding out his arms toher. 

"I'm goin' to eat in a minute, but I want to talk to you first, " hesaid, sitting down and holding her closely. "Besides, that water ain'tlike coffee. Gettin' cold won't spoil it none. Now, listen. You're theonly one I got in this world. You wasn't afraid of me an' what I justdone, an' I'm glad of that. Now we'll forget all about Mary. I gotcharity enough. I'm just as sorry for her as you. I'd do anything forher. I'd wash her feet for her like Christ did. I'd let her eat at mytable, an' sleep under my roof. But all that ain't no reason I shouldtouch anything she's earned. Now forget her. It's you an' me, Saxon, only you an' me an' to hell with the rest of the world. Nothing elsecounts. You won't never have to be afraid of me again. Whisky an' Idon't mix very well, so I'm goin' to cut whisky out. I've been clean offmy nut, an' I ain't treated you altogether right. But that's all past. It won't never happen again. I'm goin' to start out fresh. 

"Now take this thing. I oughtn't to acted so hasty. But I did. I oughtatalked it over. But I didn't. My damned temper got the best of me, an'you know I got one. If a fellow can keep his temper in boxin', why hecan keep it in bein' married, too. Only this got me too sudden-like. It's something I can't stomach, that I never could stomach. An' youwouldn't want me to any more'n I'd want you to stomach something youjust couldn't. "

She sat up straight on his knees and looked at him, afire with an idea. 

"You mean that, Billy?"

"Sure I do. "

"Then I'll tell you something I can't stomach any more. I'll die if Ihave to. "

"Well?" he questioned, after a searching pause. 

"It's up to you, " she said. 

"Then fire away. "

"You don't know what you're letting yourself in for, " she warned. "Maybeyou'd better back out before it's too late. "

He shook his head stubbornly. 

"What you don't want to stomach you ain't goin' to stomach. Let her go. "

"First, " she commenced, "no more slugging of scabs. "

His mouth opened, but he checked the involuntary protest. 

"And, second, no more Oakland. "

"I don't get that last. "

"No more Oakland. No more living in Oakland. I'll die if I have to. It'spull up stakes and get out. "

He digested this slowly. 

"Where?" he asked finally. 

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Smoke a cigarette and think it over. "

He shook his head and studied her. 

"You mean that?" he asked at length. 

"I do. I want to chuck Oakland just as hard as you wanted to chuck thebeefsteak, the coffee, and the butter. "

She could see him brace himself. She could feel him brace his very bodyere he answered. 

"All right then, if that's what you want. We'll quit Oakland. We'll quitit cold. God damn it, anyway, it never done nothin' for me, an' Iguess I'm husky enough to scratch for us both anywheres. An' now that'ssettled, just tell me what you got it in for Oakland for. "

And she told him all she had thought out, marshaled all the facts inher indictment of Oakland, omitting nothing, not even her last visit toDoctor Hentley's office nor Billy's drinking. He but drew her closer andproclaimed his resolves anew. The time passed. The fried potatoes grewcold, and the stove went out. 

When a pause came, Billy stood up, still holding her. He glanced at thefried potatoes. 

"Stone cold, " he said, then turned to her. "Come on. Put on yourprettiest. We're goin' up town for something to eat an' to celebrate. I guess we got a celebration comin', seein' as we're going to pull upstakes an' pull our freight from the old burg. An' we won't have towalk. I can borrow a dime from the barber, an' I got enough junk to hockfor a blowout. "

His junk proved to be several gold medals won in his amateur days atboxing tournaments. Once up town and in the pawnshop, Uncle Sam seemedthoroughly versed in the value of the medals, and Billy jingled ahandful of silver in his pocket as they walked out. 

He was as hilarious as a boy, and she joined in his good spirits. Whenhe stopped at a corner cigar store to buy a sack of Bull Durham, hechanged his mind and bought Imperials. 

"Oh, I'm a regular devil, " he laughed. "Nothing's too good to-day--noteven tailor-made smokes. An' no chop houses nor Jap joints for you an'me. It's Barnum's. "

They strolled to the restaurant at Seventh and Broadway where they hadhad their wedding supper. 

"Let's make believed we're not married, " Saxon suggested. 

"Sure, " he agreed, "--an' take a private room so as the waiter'll haveto knock on the door each time he comes in. "

Saxon demurred at that. 

"It will be too expensive, Billy. You'll have to tip him for theknocking. We'll take the regular dining room. "

"Order anything you want, " Billy said largely, when they were seated. "Here's family porterhouse, a dollar an' a half. What d'ye say?"

"And hash-browned, " she abetted, "and coffee extra special, and someoysters first--I want to compare them with the rock oysters. "

Billy nodded, and looked up from the bill of fare. 

"Here's mussels bordelay. Try an order of them, too, an' see if theybeat your Rock Wall ones. "

"Why not?" Saxon cried, her eyes dancing. "The world is ours. We're justtravelers through this town. "

"Yep, that's the stuff, " Billy muttered absently. He was looking at thetheater column. He lifted his eyes from the paper. "Matinee at Bell's. We can get reserved seats for a quarter. --Doggone the luck anyway!"

His exclamation was so aggrieved and violent that it brought alarm intoher eyes. 

"If I'd only thought, " he regretted, "we could a-gone to the Forum forgrub. That's the swell joint where fellows like Roy Blanchard hangs out, blowin' the money we sweat for them. "

They bought reserved tickets at Bell's Theater; but it was too earlyfor the performance, and they went down Broadway and into the ElectricTheater to while away the time on a moving picture show. A cowboyfilm was run off, and a French comic; then came a rural drama situatedsomewhere in the Middle West. It began with a farm yard scene. The sunblazed down on a corner of a barn and on a rail fence where the groundlay in the mottled shade of large trees overhead. There were chickens, ducks, and turkeys, scratching, waddling, moving about. A bigsow, followed by a roly-poly litter of seven little ones, marchedmajestically through the chickens, rooting them out of the way. Thehens, in turn, took it out on the little porkers, pecking them when theystrayed too far from their mother. And over the top rail a horselooked drowsily on, ever and anon, at mathematically precise intervals, switching a lazy tail that flashed high lights in the sunshine. 

"It's a warm day and there are flies--can't you just feel it?" Saxonwhispered. 

"Sure. An' that horse's tail! It's the most natural ever. Gee! I bet heknows the trick of clampin' it down over the reins. I wouldn't wonder ifhis name was Iron Tail. "

A dog ran upon the scene. The mother pig turned tail and with shortludicrous jumps, followed by her progeny and pursued by the dog, fledout of the film. A young girl came on, a sunbonnet hanging down herback, her apron caught up in front and filled with grain which she threwto the buttering fowls. Pigeons flew down from the top of the filmand joined in the scrambling feast. The dog returned, wading scarcelynoticed among the feathered creatures, to wag his tail and laugh up atthe girl. And, behind, the horse nodded over the rail and switched on. Ayoung man entered, his errand immediately known to an audience educatedin moving pictures. But Saxon had no eyes for the love-making, thepleading forcefulness, the shy reluctance, of man and maid. Ever hergaze wandered back to the chickens, to the mottled shade under thetrees, to the warm wall of the barn, to the sleepy horse with its everrecurrent whisk of tail. 

She drew closer to Billy, and her hand, passed around his arm, soughthis hand. 

"Oh, Billy, " she sighed. "I'd just die of happiness in a place likethat. " And, when the film was ended. "We got lots of time for Bell's. Let's stay and see that one over again. "

They sat through a repetition of the performance, and when the farm yardscene appeared, the longer Saxon looked at it the more it affectedher. And this time she took in further details. She saw fields beyond, rolling hills in the background, and a cloud-flecked sky. She identifiedsome of the chickens, especially an obstreperous old hen who resentedthe thrust of the sow's muzzle, particularly pecked at the little pigs, and laid about her with a vengeance when the grain fell. Saxon lookedback across the fields to the hills and sky, breathing the spaciousnessof it, the freedom, the content. Tears welled into her eyes and she weptsilently, happily. 

"I know a trick that'd fix that old horse if he ever clamped his taildown on me, " Billy whispered. 

"Now I know where we're going when we leave Oakland, " she informed him. 

"Where?"

"There. "

He looked at her, and followed her gaze to the screen. "Oh, " he said, and cogitated. "An' why shouldn't we?" he added. 

"Oh, Billy, will you?"

Her lips trembled in her eagerness, and her whisper broke and was almostinaudible "Sure, " he said. It was his day of royal largess. 

"What you want is yourn, an' I'll scratch my fingers off for it. An'I've always had a hankerin' for the country myself. Say! I've knownhorses like that to sell for half the price, an' I can sure cure 'em ofthe habit. "

CHAPTER XVIII

It was early evening when they got off the car at Seventh and Pine ontheir way home from Bell's Theater. Billy and Saxon did their littlemarketing together, then separated at the corner, Saxon to go on to thehouse and prepare supper, Billy to go and see the boys--the teamsterswho had fought on in the strike during his month of retirement. 

"Take care of yourself, Billy, " she called, as he started off. 

"Sure, " he answered, turning his face to her over his shoulder. 

Her heart leaped at the smile. It was his old, unsullied love-smilewhich she wanted always to see on his face--for which, armed with herown wisdom and the wisdom of Mercedes, she would wage the utmost woman'swar to possess. A thought of this flashed brightly through her brain, and it was with a proud little smile that she remembered all her prettyequipment stored at home in the bureau and the chest of drawers. 

Three-quarters of an hour later, supper ready, all but the putting onof the lamb chops at the sound of his step, Saxon waited. She heard thegate click, but instead of his step she heard a curious and confusedscraping of many steps. She flew to open the door. Billy stood there, but a different Billy from the one she had parted from so short atime before. A small boy, beside him, held his hat. His face had beenfresh-washed, or, rather, drenched, for his shirt and shoulders werewet. His pale hair lay damp and plastered against his forehead, and wasdarkened by oozing blood. Both arms hung limply by his side. But hisface was composed, and he even grinned. 

"It's all right, " he reassured Saxon. "The joke's on me. Somewhatdamaged but still in the ring. " He stepped gingerly across thethreshold. "--Come on in, you fellows. We're all mutts together. "

He was followed in by the boy with his hat, by Bud Strothers andanother teamster she knew, and by two strangers. The latter were big, hard-featured, sheepish-faced men, who stared at Saxon as if afraid ofher. 

"It's all right, Saxon, " Billy began, but was interrupted by Bud. 

"First thing is to get him on the bed an' cut his clothes off him. Botharms is broke, and here are the ginks that done it. "

He indicated the two strangers, who shuffled their feet withembarrassment and looked more sheepish than ever. 

Billy sat down on the bed, and while Saxon held the lamp, Bud and thestrangers proceeded to cut coat, shirt, and undershirt from him. 

"He wouldn't go to the receivin' hospital, " Bud said to Saxon. 

"Not on your life, " Billy concurred. "I had 'em send for Doc Hentley. He'll be here any minute. Them two arms is all I got. They've donepretty well by me, an' I gotta do the same by them. --No medical studentsa-learnin' their trade on me. "

"But how did it happens" Saxon demanded, looking from Billy to the twostrangers, puzzled by the amity that so evidently existed among themall. 

"Oh, they're all right, " Billy dashed in. "They done it through mistake. They're Frisco teamsters, an' they come over to help us--a lot of 'em. "

The two teamsters seemed to cheer up at this, and nodded their heads. 

"Yes, missus, " one of them rumbled hoarsely. "It's all a mistake, an'. .. Well, the joke's on us. "

"The drinks, anyway, " Billy grinned. 

Not only was Saxon not excited, but she was scarcely perturbed. What hadhappened was only to be expected. 

It was in line with all that Oakland had already done to her and hers, and, besides, Billy was not dangerously hurt. Broken arms and a sorehead would heal. She brought chairs and seated everybody. 

"Now tell me what happened, " she begged. "I'm all at sea, what of youtwo burleys breaking my husband's arms, then seeing him home and holdinga love-fest with him. "

"An' you got a right, " Bud Strothers assured her. "You see, it happenedthis way--"

"You shut up, Bud, " Billy broke it. "You didn't see anything of it. "

Saxon looked to the San Francisco teamsters. 

"We'd come over to lend a hand, seein' as the Oakland boys was gettin'some the short end of it, " one spoke up, "an' we've sure learned somescabs there's better trades than drivin' team. Well, me an' Jacksonhere was nosin' around to see what we can see, when your husband comesmoseyin' along. When he--"

"Hold on, " Jackson interrupted. "Get it straight as you go along. Wereckon we know the boys by sight. But your husband we ain't never seenaround, him bein'. .. "

"As you might say, put away for a while, " the first teamster took up thetale. "So, when we sees what we thinks is a scab dodgin' away from usan' takin' the shortcut through the alley--"

"The alley back of Campbell's grocery, " Billy elucidated. 

"Yep, back of the grocery, " the first teamster went on; "why, we'resure he's one of them squarehead scabs, hired through Murray an' Ready, makin' a sneak to get into the stables over the back fences. "

"We caught one there, Billy an' me, " Bud interpolated. 

"So we don't waste any time, " Jackson said, addressing himself to Saxon. "We've done it before, an' we know how to do 'em up brown an' tie 'emwith baby ribbon. So we catch your husband right in the alley. "

"I was lookin' for Bud, " said Billy. "The boys told me I'd find himsomewhere around the other end of the alley. An' the first thing I know, Jackson, here, asks me for a match. "

"An' right there's where I get in my fine work, " resumed the firstteamster. 

"What?" asked Saxon. 

"That. " The man pointed to the wound in Billy's scalp. "I laid 'm out. He went down like a steer, an' got up on his knees dippy, a-gabblin'about somebody standin' on their foot. He didn't know where he was at, you see, clean groggy. An' then we done it. "

The man paused, the tale told. 

"Broke both his arms with the crowbar, " Bud supplemented. 

"That's when I come to myself, when the bones broke, " Billycorroborated. "An' there was the two of 'em givin' me the ha-ha. 'That'll last you some time, ' Jackson was sayin'. An' Anson says, 'I'dlike to see you drive horses with them arms. ' An' then Jackson says, 'let's give 'm something for luck. ' An' with that he fetched me a wallopon the jaw--"

"No, " corrected Anson. "That wallop was mine. "

"Well, it sent me into dreamland over again, " Billy sighed. "An' whenI come to, here was Bud an' Anson an' Jackson dousin' me at a watertrough. An' then we dodged a reporter an' all come home together. "

Bud Strothers held up his fist and indicated freshly abraded skin. 

"The reporter-guy just insisted on samplin' it, " he said. Then, toBilly: "That's why I cut around Ninth an' caught up with you down onSixth. "

A few minutes later Doctor Hentley arrived, and drove the men from therooms. They waited till he had finished, to assure themselves of Billy'swell being, and then departed. In the kitchen Doctor Hentley washed hishands and gave Saxon final instructions. As he dried himself he sniffedthe air and looked toward the stove where a pot was simmering. 

"Clams, " he said. "Where did you buy them?"

"I didn't buy them, " replied Saxon. "I dug them myself. "

"Not in the marsh?" he asked with quickened interest. 

"Yes. "

"Throw them away. Throw them out. They're death and corruption. Typhoid--I've got three cases now, all traced to the clams and themarsh. "

When he had gone, Saxon obeyed. Still another mark against Oakland, she reflected--Oakland, the man-trap, that poisoned those it could notstarve. 

"If it wouldn't drive a man to drink, " Billy groaned, when Saxonreturned to him. "Did you ever dream such luck? Look at all my fights inthe ring, an' never a broken bone, an' here, snap, snap, just like that, two arms smashed. "

"Oh, it might be worse, " Saxon smiled cheerfully. 

"I'd like to know how. It might have been your neck. "

"An' a good job. I tell you, Saxon, you gotta show me anything worse. "

"I can, " she said confidently. 

"Well?"

"Well, wouldn't it be worse if you intended staying on in Oakland whereit might happen again?"

"I can see myself becomin' a farmer an' plowin' with a pair ofpipe-stems like these, " he persisted. 

"Doctor Hentley says they'll be stronger at the break than ever before. And you know yourself that's true of clean-broken bones. Now you closeyour eyes and go to sleep. You're all done up, and you need to keep yourbrain quiet and stop thinking. "

He closed his eyes obediently. She slipped a cool hand under the nape ofhis neck and let it rest. 

"That feels good, " he murmured. "You're so cool, Saxon. Your hand, andyou, all of you. Bein' with you is like comin' out into the cool nightafter dancin' in a hot room. "

After several minutes of quiet, he began to giggle. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Oh, nothin'. I was just thinkin'--thinking of them mutts doin' meup--me, that's done up more scabs than I can remember. "

Next morning Billy awoke with his blues dissipated. From the kitchenSaxon heard him painfully wrestling strange vocal acrobatics. 

"I got a new song you never heard, " he told her when she came in witha cup of coffee. "I only remember the chorus though. It's the old mantalkin' to some hobo of a hired man that wants to marry his daughter. Mamie, that Billy Murphy used to run with before he got married, used tosing it. It's a kind of a sobby song. It used to always give Mamie theweeps. Here's the way the chorus goes--an' remember, it's the old manspielin'. "

And with great solemnity and excruciating Batting, Billy sang:

"O treat my daughter kind-i-ly; An' say you'll do no harm, An' when Idie I'll will to you My little house an' farm--My horse, my plow, mysheep, my cow, An' all them little chickens in the ga-a-rden. 

"It's them little chickens in the garden that gets me, " he explained. "That's how I remembered it--from the chickens in the movin' picturesyesterday. An' some day we'll have little chickens in the garden, won'twe, old girl?"

"And a daughter, too, " Saxon amplified. 

"An' I'll be the old geezer sayin' them same words to the hired man, "Billy carried the fancy along. "It don't take long to raise a daughterif you ain't in a hurry. "

Saxon took her long-neglected ukulele from its case and strummed it intotune. 

"And I've a song you never heard, Billy. Tom's always singing it. He'scrazy about taking up government land and going farming, only Sarahwon't think of it. He sings it something like this:

"We'll have a little farm, A pig, a horse, a cow, And you will drive thewagon, And I will drive the plow. "

"Only in this case I guess it's me that'll do the plowin', " Billyapproved. "Say, Saxon, sing 'Harvest Days. ' That's a farmer's song, too. "

After that she feared the coffee was growing cold and compelled Billy totake it. In the helplessness of two broken arms, he had to be fed like ababy, and as she fed him they talked. 

"I'll tell you one thing, " Billy said, between mouthfuls. "Once we getsettled down in the country you'll have that horse you've been wishin'for all your life. An' it'll be all your own, to ride, drive, sell, ordo anything you want with. "

And, again, he ruminated: "One thing that'll come handy in the countryis that I know horses; that's a big start. I can always get a job atthat--if it ain't at union wages. An' the other things about farmin' Ican learn fast enough. --Say, d'ye remember that day you first told meabout wantin' a horse to ride all your life?"

Saxon remembered, and it was only by a severe struggle that she was ableto keep the tears from welling into her eyes. She seemed bursting withhappiness, and she was remembering many things--all the warm promise oflife with Billy that had been hers in the days before hard times. Andnow the promise was renewed again. Since its fulfillment had not cometo them, they were going away to fulfill it for themselves and make themoving pictures come true. 

Impelled by a half-feigned fear, she stole away into the kitchen bedroomwhere Bert had died, to study her face in the bureau mirror. No, she decided; she was little changed. She was still equipped for thebattlefield of love. Beautiful she was not. She knew that. But had notMercedes said that the great women of history who had won men had notbeen beautiful? And yet, Saxon insisted, as she gazed at her reflection, she was anything but unlovely. She studied her wide gray eyes that wereso very gray, that were always alive with light and vivacities, where, in the surface and depths, always swam thoughts unuttered, thoughts thatsank down and dissolved to give place to other thoughts. The brows wereexcellent--she realized that. Slenderly penciled, a little darker thanher light brown hair, they just fitted her irregular nose thatwas feminine but not weak, that if anything was piquant and thatpicturesquely might be declared impudent. 

She could see that her face was slightly thin, that the red of her lipswas not quite so red, and that she had lost some of her quick coloring. But all that would come back again. Her mouth was not of the rosebudtype she saw in the magazines. She paid particular attention to it. Apleasant mouth it was, a mouth to be joyous with, a mouth for laughterand to make laughter in others. She deliberately experimented with it, smiled till the corners dented deeper. And she knew that when she smiledher smile was provocative of smiles. She laughed with her eyes alone--atrick of hers. She threw back her head and laughed with eyes and mouthtogether, between her spread lips showing the even rows of strong whiteteeth. 

And she remembered Billy's praise of her teeth, the night at GermanicHall after he had told Charley Long he was standing on his foot. "Notbig, and not little dinky baby's teeth either, " Billy had said, ". .. Just right, and they fit you. " Also, he had said that to look at themmade him hungry, and that they were good enough to eat. 

She recollected all the compliments he had ever paid her. Beyond alltreasures, these were treasures to her--the love phrases, praises, andadmirations. He had said her skin was cool--soft as velvet, too, andsmooth as silk. She rolled up her sleeve to the shoulder, brushed hercheek with the white skin for a test, with deep scrutiny examined thefineness of its texture. And he had told her that she was sweet; that hehadn't known what it meant when they said a girl was sweet, not until hehad known her. And he had told her that her voice was cool, that it gavehim the feeling her hand did when it rested on his forehead. Hervoice went all through him, he had said, cool and fine, like a wind ofcoolness. And he had likened it to the first of the sea breeze settingin the afternoon after a scorching hot morning. And, also, whenshe talked low, that it was round and sweet, like the 'cello in theMacdonough Theater orchestra. 

He had called her his Tonic Kid. He had called her a thoroughbred, clean-cut and spirited, all fine nerves and delicate and sensitive. He had liked the way she carried her clothes. She carried them like adream, had been his way of putting it. They were part of her, just asmuch as the cool of her voice and skin and the scent of her hair. 

And her figure! She got upon a chair and tilted the mirror so that shecould see herself from hips to feet. She drew her skirt back and up. The slender ankle was just as slender. The calf had lost none of itsdelicately mature swell. She studied her hips, her waist, her bosom, her neck, the poise of her head, and sighed contentedly. Billy must beright, and he had said that she was built like a French woman, and thatin the matter of lines and form she could give Annette Kellerman cardsand spades. 

He had said so many things, now that she recalled them all at one time. Her lips! The Sunday he proposed he had said: "I like to watch your lipstalking. It's funny, but every move they make looks like a tickly kiss. "And afterward, that same day: "You looked good to me from the firstmoment I spotted you. " He had praised her housekeeping. He had said hefed better, lived more comfortably, held up his end with the fellows, and saved money. And she remembered that day when he had crushed her inhis arms and declared she was the greatest little bit of a woman thathad ever come down the pike. 

She ran her eyes over all herself in the mirror again, gathered herselftogether into a whole, compact and good to look upon--delicious, sheknew. Yes, she would do. Magnificent as Billy was in his man way, in herown way she was a match for him. Yes, she had done well by Billy. Shedeserved much--all he could give her, the best he could give her. Butshe made no blunder of egotism. Frankly valuing herself, she as franklyvalued him. When he was himself, his real self, not harassed by trouble, not pinched by the trap, not maddened by drink, her man-boy and lover, he was well worth all she gave him or could give him. 

Saxon gave herself a farewell look. No. She was not dead, any more thanwas Billy's love dead, than was her love dead. All that was needed wasthe proper soil, and their love would grow and blossom. And they wereturning their backs upon Oakland to go and seek that proper soil. 

"Oh, Billy!" she called through the partition, still standing on thechair, one hand tipping the mirror forward and back, so that she wasable to run her eyes from the reflection of her ankles and calves to herface, warm with color and roguishly alive. 

"Yes?" she heard him answer. 

"I'm loving myself, " she called back. 

"What's the game?" came his puzzled query. "What are you so stuck onyourself for!"

"Because you love me, " she answered. "I love every bit of me, Billy, because. .. Because. .. Well, because you love every bit of me. "

CHAPTER XIX

Between feeding and caring for Billy, doing the housework, making plans, and selling her store of pretty needlework, the days flew happily forSaxon. Billy's consent to sell her pretties had been hard to get, but atlast she succeeded in coaxing it out of him. 

"It's only the ones I haven't used, " she urged; "and I can always makemore when we get settled somewhere. "

What she did not sell, along with the household linen and hers andBilly's spare clothing, she arranged to store with Tom. 

"Go ahead, " Billy said. "This is your picnic. What you say goes. You'reRobinson Crusoe an' I'm your man Friday. Make up your mind yet which wayyou're goin' to travel?"

Saxon shook her head. 

"Or how?"

She held up one foot and then the other, encased in stout walking shoeswhich she had begun that morning to break in about the house. "Shank'smare, eh?"

"It's the way our people came into the West, " she said proudly. 

"It'll be regular trampin', though, " he argued. "An' I never heard of awoman tramp. "

"Then here's one. Why, Billy, there's no shame in tramping. My mothertramped most of the way across the Plains. And 'most everybody else'smother tramped across in those days. I don't care what people willthink. I guess our race has been on the tramp since the beginning ofcreation, just like we'll be, looking for a piece of land that lookedgood to settle down on. "

After a few days, when his scalp was sufficiently healed and thebone-knitting was nicely in process, Billy was able to be up and about. He was still quite helpless, however, with both his arms in splints. 

Doctor Hentley not only agreed, but himself suggested, that his billshould wait against better times for settlement. Of government land, inresponse to Saxon's eager questioning, he knew nothing, except that hehad a hazy idea that the days of government land were over. 

Tom, on the contrary, was confident that there was plenty of governmenthand. He talked of Honey Lake, of Shasta County, and of Humboldt. 

"But you can't tackle it at this time of year, with winter comin' on, "he advised Saxon. "The thing for you to do is head south for warmerweather--say along the coast. It don't snow down there. I tell you whatyou do. Go down by San Jose and Salinas an' come out on the coast atMonterey. South of that you'll find government land mixed up with forestreserves and Mexican rancheros. It's pretty wild, without any roads tospeak of. All they do is handle cattle. But there's some fine redwoodcanyons, with good patches of farming ground that run right down to theocean. I was talkin' last year with a fellow that's been all throughthere. An' I'd a-gone, like you an' Billy, only Sarah wouldn't hear ofit. There's gold down there, too. Quite a bunch is in there prospectin', an' two or three good mines have opened. But that's farther along and ina ways from the coast. You might take a look. "

Saxon shook her head. "We're not looking for gold but for chickens anda place to grow vegetables. Our folks had all the chance for gold in theearly days, and what have they got to show for it?"

"I guess you're right, " Tom conceded. "They always played too big agame, an' missed the thousand little chances right under their nose. Look at your pa. I've heard him tell of selling three Market streetlots in San Francisco for fifty dollars each. They're worth five hundredthousand right now. An' look at Uncle Will. He had ranches till thecows come home. Satisfied? No. He wanted to be a cattle king, a regularMiller and Lux. An' when he died he was a night watchman in Los Angelesat forty dollars a month. There's a spirit of the times, an' the spiritof the times has changed. It's all big business now, an' we're thesmall potatoes. Why, I've heard our folks talk of livin' in the WesternReserve. That was all around what's Ohio now. Anybody could get a farmthem days. All they had to do was yoke their oxen an' go after it, an'the Pacific Ocean thousands of miles to the west, an' all them thousandsof miles an' millions of farms just waitin' to be took up. A hundred an'sixty acres? Shucks. In the early days in Oregon they talked six hundredan' forty acres. That was the spirit of them times--free land, an'plenty of it. But when we reached the Pacific Ocean them times wasended. Big business begun; an' big business means big business men;an' every big business man means thousands of little men without anybusiness at all except to work for the big ones. They're the losers, don't you see? An' if they don't like it they can lump it, but it won'tdo them no good. They can't yoke up their oxen an' pull on. There's noplace to pull on. China's over there, an' in between's a mighty lot ofsalt water that's no good for farmin' purposes. "

"That's all clear enough, " Saxon commented. 

"Yes, " her brother went on. "We can all see it after it's happened, whenit's too late. "

"But the big men were smarter, " Saxon remarked. 

"They were luckier, " Tom contended. "Some won, but most lost, an' justas good men lost. It was almost like a lot of boys scramblin' on thesidewalk for a handful of small change. Not that some didn't havefar-seein'. But just take your pa, for example. He come of good DownEast stock that's got business instinct an' can add to what it's got. Now suppose your pa had developed a weak heart, or got kidney disease, or caught rheumatism, so he couldn't go gallivantin' an' rainbowchasin', an' fightin' an' explorin' all over the West. Why, most likelyhe'd a settled down in San Francisco--he'd a-had to--an' held onto themthree Market street lots, an' bought more lots, of course, an' goneinto steamboat companies, an' stock gamblin', an' railroad buildin', an'Comstock-tunnelin'. 

"Why, he'd a-become big business himself. I know 'm. He was the mostenergetic man I ever saw, think quick as a wink, as cool as an iciclean' as wild as a Comanche. Why, he'd a-cut a swath through the free an'easy big business gamblers an' pirates of them days; just as he cut aswath through the hearts of the ladies when he went gallopin' past onthat big horse of his, sword clatterin', spurs jinglin', his long hairflyin', straight as an Indian, clean-built an' graceful as a blue-eyedprince out of a fairy book an' a Mexican caballero all rolled intoone; just as he cut a swath through the Johnny Rebs in Civil War days, chargin' with his men all the way through an' back again, an' yellin'like a wild Indian for more. Cady, that helped raise you, told me aboutthat. Cady rode with your pa. 

"Why, if your pa'd only got laid up in San Francisco, he would a-ben oneof the big men of the West. An' in that case, right now, you'd be a richyoung woman, travelin' in Europe, with a mansion on Nob Hill along withthe Floods and Crockers, an' holdin' majority stock most likely in theFairmount Hotel an' a few little concerns like it. An' why ain't you?Because your pa wasn't smart? No. His mind was like a steel trap. It'sbecause he was filled to burstin' an' spillin' over with the spirit ofthe times; because he was full of fire an' vinegar an' couldn't set downin one place. That's all the difference between you an' the young womenright now in the Flood and Crocker families. Your father didn't catchrheumatism at the right time, that's all. "

Saxon sighed, then smiled. 

"Just the same, I've got them beaten, " she said. "The Miss Floods andMiss Crockers can't marry prize-fighters, and I did. "

Tom looked at her, taken aback for the moment, with admiration, slowlyat first, growing in his face. 

"Well, all I got to say, " he enunciated solemnly, "is that Billy's solucky he don't know how lucky he is. "

Not until Doctor Hentley gave the word did the splints come off Billy'sarms, and Saxon insisted upon an additional two weeks' delay so that norisk would be run. These two weeks would complete another month's rent, and the landlord had agreed to wait payment for the last two monthsuntil Billy was on his feet again. 

Salinger's awaited the day set by Saxon for taking back their furniture. Also, they had returned to Billy seventy-five dollars. 

"The rest you've paid will be rent, " the collector told Saxon. "And thefurniture's second hand now, too. The deal will be a loss to Salinger's'and they didn't have to do it, either; you know that. So just rememberthey've been pretty square with you, and if you start over again don'tforget them. "

Out of this sum, and out of what was realized from Saxon's pretties, they were able to pay all their small bills and yet have a few dollarsremaining in pocket. 

"I hate owin' things worse 'n poison, " Billy said to Saxon. "An' now wedon't owe a soul in this world except the landlord an' Doc Hentley. "

"And neither of them can afford to wait longer than they have to, " shesaid. 

"And they won't, " Billy answered quietly. 

She smiled her approval, for she shared with Billy his horror of debt, just as both shared it with that early tide of pioneers with a Puritanethic, which had settled the West. 

Saxon timed her opportunity when Billy was out of the house to pack thechest of drawers which had crossed the Atlantic by sailing ship and thePlains by ox team. She kissed the bullet hole in it, made in the fightat Little Meadow, as she kissed her father's sword, the while shevisioned him, as she always did, astride his roan warhorse. With the oldreligious awe, she pored over her mother's poems in the scrap-book, andclasped her mother's red satin Spanish girdle about her in a farewellembrace. She unpacked the scrap-book in order to gaze a last time at thewood engraving of the Vikings, sword in hand, leaping upon the Englishsands. Again she identified Billy as one of the Vikings, and ponderedfor a space on the strange wanderings of the seed from which she sprang. Always had her race been land-hungry, and she took delight in believingshe had bred true; for had not she, despite her life passed in a city, found this same land-hunger in her? And was she not going forth tosatisfy that hunger, just as her people of old time had done, as herfather and mother before her? She remembered her mother's tale of howthe promised land looked to them as their battered wagons and weary oxendropped down through the early winter snows of the Sierras to the vastand flowering sun-land of California: In fancy, herself a child of nine, she looked down from the snowy heights as her mother must have lookeddown. She recalled and repeated aloud one of her mother's stanzas:

"'Sweet as a wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learned tosing And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notes echoing. '"

She sighed happily and dried her eyes. Perhaps the hard times werepast. Perhaps they had constituted HER Plains, and she and Billy had wonsafely across and were even then climbing the Sierras ere they droppeddown into the pleasant valley land. 

Salinger's wagon was at the house, taking out the furniture, the morningthey left. The landlord, standing at the gate, received the keys, shookhands with them, and wished them luck. "You're goin' at it right, " hecongratulated them. "Sure an' wasn't it under me roll of blankets Itramped into Oakland meself forty year ago! Buy land, like me, when it'scheap. It'll keep you from the poorhouse in your old age. There's plentyof new towns springin' up. Get in on the ground floor. The work of yourhands'll keep you in food an' under a roof, an' the lend 'll make youwell to do. An' you know me address. When you can spare send me alongthat small bit of rent. An' good luck. An' don't mind what people think. 'Tis them that looks that finds. "

Curious neighbors peeped from behind the blinds as Billy and Saxonstrode up the street, while the children gazed at them in gapingastonishment. On Billy's back, inside a painted canvas tarpaulin, wasslung the roll of bedding. Inside the roll were changes of underclothingand odds and ends of necessaries. Outside, from the lashings, dependeda frying pan and cooking pail. In his hand he carried the coffee pot. Saxon carried a small telescope basket protected by black oilcloth, andacross her back was the tiny ukulele case. 

"We must look like holy frights, " Billy grumbled, shrinking from everygaze that was bent upon him. 

"It'd be all right, if we were going camping, " Saxon consoled. "Onlywe're not. "

"But they don't know that, " she continued. "It's only you know that, andwhat you think they're thinking isn't what they're thinking at all. Mostprobably they think we're going camping. And the best of it is we aregoing camping. We are! We are!"

At this Billy cheered up, though he muttered his firm intention to knockthe block off of any guy that got fresh. He stole a glance at Saxon. Hercheeks were red, her eyes glowing. 

"Say, " he said suddenly. "I seen an opera once, where fellows wanderedover the country with guitars slung on their backs just like you withthat strummy-strum. You made me think of them. They was always singin'songs. "

"That's what I brought it along for, " Saxon answered. 

"And when we go down country roads we'll sing as we go along, and we'llsing by the campfires, too. We're going camping, that's all. Taking avacation and seeing the country. So why shouldn't we have a good time?Why, we don't even know where we're going to sleep to-night, or anynight. Think of the fun!"

"It's a sporting proposition all right, all right, " Billy considered. "But, just the same, let's turn off an' go around the block. There'ssome fellows I know, standin' up there on the next corner, an' I don'twant to knock THEIR blocks off. "

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

The car ran as far as Hayward's, but at Saxon's suggestion they got offat San Leandro. 

"It doesn't matter where we start walking, " she said, "for start to walksomewhere we must. And as we're looking for land and finding out aboutland, the quicker we begin to investigate the better. Besides, we wantto know all about all kinds of land, close to the big cities as well asback in the mountains. "

"Gee!--this must be the Porchugeeze headquarters, " was Billy'sreiterated comment, as they walked through San Leandro. 

"It looks as though they'd crowd our kind out, " Saxon adjudged. 

"Some tall crowdin', I guess, " Billy grumbled. "It looks like thefree-born American ain't got no room left in his own land. "

"Then it's his own fault, " Saxon said, with vague asperity, resentingconditions she was just beginning to grasp. 

"Oh, I don't know about that. I reckon the American could do what thePorchugeeze do if he wanted to. Only he don't want to, thank God. Heain't much given to livin' like a pig often leavin's. "

"Not in the country, maybe, " Saxon controverted. "But I've seen an awfullot of Americans living like pigs in the cities. "

Billy grunted unwilling assent. "I guess they quit the farms an' go tothe city for something better, an' get it in the neck. "

"Look at all the children!" Saxon cried. "School's letting out. Andnearly all are Portuguese, Billy, NOT Porchugeeze. Mercedes taught methe right way. "

"They never wore glad rags like them in the old country, " Billy sneered. "They had to come over here to get decent clothes and decent grub. They're as fat as butterballs. "

Saxon nodded affirmation, and a great light seemed suddenly to kindle inher understanding. 

"That's the very point, Billy. They're doing it--doing it farming, too. Strikes don't bother THEM. "

"You don't call that dinky gardening farming, " he objected, pointing toa piece of land barely the size of an acre, which they were passing. 

"Oh, your ideas are still big, " she laughed. "You're like Uncle Will, who owned thousands of acres and wanted to own a million, and who woundup as night watchman. That's what was the trouble with all us Americans. Everything large scale. Anything less than one hundred and sixty acreswas small scale. "

"Just the same, " Billy held stubbornly, "large scale's a whole lotbetter'n small scale like all these dinky gardens. "

Saxon sighed. "I don't know which is the dinkier, " she observed finally, "--owning a few little acres and the team you're driving, or not owningany acres and driving a team somebody else owns for wages. "

Billy winced. 

"Go on, Robinson Crusoe, " he growled good naturedly. "Rub it in goodan' plenty. An' the worst of it is it's correct. A hell of a free-bornAmerican I've been, adrivin' other folkses' teams for a livin', a-strikin' and a-sluggin' scabs, an' not bein' able to keep up with theinstallments for a few sticks of furniture. Just the same I was sorryfor one thing. I hated worse in Sam Hill to see that Morris chair goback--you liked it so. We did a lot of honeymoonin' in that chair. "

They were well out of San Leandro, walking through a region of tinyholdings--"farmlets, " Billy called them; and Saxon got out her ukuleleto cheer him with a song. 

First, it was "Treat my daughter kind-i-ly, " and then she swung intoold-fashioned darky camp-meeting hymns, beginning with:

"Oh! de Judgmen' Day am rollin' roan', Rollin', yes, a-rollin', I hearthe trumpets' awful soun', Rollin', yes, a-rollin'. "

A big touring car, dashing past, threw a dusty pause in her singing, andSaxon delivered herself of her latest wisdom. 

"Now, Billy, remember we're not going to take up with the first piece ofland we see. We've got to go into this with our eyes open--"

"An' they ain't open yet, " he agreed. 

"And we've got to get them open. ''Tis them that looks that finds. 'There's lots of time to learn things. We don't care if it takes monthsand months. We're footloose. A good start is better than a dozen badones. We've got to talk and find out. We'll talk with everybody we meet. Ask questions. Ask everybody. It's the only way to find out. "

"I ain't much of a hand at askin' questions, " Billy demurred. 

"Then I'll ask, " she cried. "We've got to win out at this game, andthe way is to know. Look at all these Portuguese. Where are all theAmericans? They owned the land first, after the Mexicans. What made theAmericans clear out? How do the Portuguese make it go? Don't you see?We've got to ask millions of questions. "

She strummed a few chords, and then her clear sweet voice rang outgaily:

"I's g'wine back to Dixie, I's g'wine back to Dixie, I's g'wine where deorange blossoms grow, For I hear de chillun callin', I see de sad tearsfallin'--My heart's turned back to Dixie, An' I mus'go. "

She broke off to exclaim: "Oh! What a lovely place! See that arbor--justcovered with grapes!"

Again and again she was attracted by the small places they passed. Nowit was: "Look at the flowers!" or: "My! those vegetables!" or: "See!They've got a cow!"

Men--Americans--driving along in buggies or runabouts looked at Saxonand Billy curiously. This Saxon could brook far easier than could Billy, who would mutter and grumble deep in his throat. 

Beside the road they came upon a lineman eating his lunch. 

"Stop and talk, " Saxon whispered. 

"Aw, what's the good? He's a lineman. What'd he know about farmin'?"

"You never can tell. He's our kind. Go ahead, Billy. You just speak tohim. He isn't working now anyway, and he'll be more likely to talk. Seethat tree in there, just inside the gate, and the way the branches aregrown together. It's a curiosity. Ask him about it. That's a good way toget started. "

Billy stopped, when they were alongside. 

"How do you do, " he said gruffly. 

The lineman, a young fellow, paused in the cracking of a hard-boiled eggto stare up at the couple. 

"How do you do, " he said. 

Billy swung his pack from his shoulders to the ground, and Saxon restedher telescope basket. 

"Peddlin'?" the young man asked, too discreet to put his questiondirectly to Saxon, yet dividing it between her and Billy, and cockinghis eye at the covered basket. 

"No, " she spoke up quickly. "We're looking for land. Do you know of anyaround here?"

Again he desisted from the egg, studying them with sharp eyes as if tofathom their financial status. 

"Do you know what land sells for around here?" he asked. 

"No, " Saxon answered. "Do you?"

"I guess I ought to. I was born here. And land like this all around youruns at from two to three hundred to four an' five hundred dollars anacre. "

"Whew!" Billy whistled. "I guess we don't want none of it. "

"But what makes it that high? Town lots?" Saxon wanted to know. 

"Nope. The Porchugeeze make it that high, I guess. "

"I thought it was pretty good land that fetched a hundred an acre, "Billy said. 

"Oh, them times is past. They used to give away land once, an' if youwas good, throw in all the cattle runnin' on it. "

"How about government land around here?" was Billy'a next query. 

"Ain't none, an' never was. This was old Mexican grants. My grandfatherbought sixteen hundred of the best acres around here for fifteenhundred dollars--five hundred down an' the balance in five years withoutinterest. But that was in the early days. He come West in '48, tryin' tofind a country without chills an' fever. "

"He found it all right, " said Billy. 

"You bet he did. An' if him an' father 'd held onto the land it'd beenbetter than a gold mine, an' I wouldn't be workin' for a livin'. What'syour business?"

"Teamster. "

"Ben in the strike in Oakland?"

"Sure thing. I've teamed there most of my life. "

Here the two men wandered off into a discussion of union affairs and thestrike situation; but Saxon refused to be balked, and brought back thetalk to the land. 

"How was it the Portuguese ran up the price of lend?" she asked. 

The young fellow broke away from union matters with an effort, and for amoment regarded her with lack luster eyes, until the question sank intohis consciousness. 

"Because they worked the land overtime. Because they worked mornin', noon, an' night, all hands, women an' kids. Because they could get moreout of twenty acres than we could out of a hundred an' sixty. Look atold Silva--Antonio Silva. I've known him ever since I was a shaver. He didn't have the price of a square meal when he hit this section andbegun leasin' land from my folks. Look at him now--worth two hundredan' fifty thousan' cold, an' I bet he's got credit for a million, an'there's no tellin' what the rest of his family owns. "

"And he made all that out of your folks' land?" Saxon demanded. 

The young man nodded his head with evident reluctance. 

"Then why didn't your folks do it?" she pursued. 

The lineman shrugged his shoulders. 

"Search me, " he said. 

"But the money was in the land, " she persisted. 

"Blamed if it was, " came the retort, tinged slightly with color. "Wenever saw it stickin' out so as you could notice it. The money was inthe hands of the Porchugeeze, I guess. They knew a few more 'n we did, that's all. "

Saxon showed such dissatisfaction with his explanation that he was stungto action. He got up wrathfully. "Come on, an' I'll show you, " hesaid. "I'll show you why I'm workin' for wages when I might a-ben amillionaire if my folks hadn't been mutts. That's what we old Americansare, Mutts, with a capital M. "

He led them inside the gate, to the fruit tree that had first attractedSaxon's attention. From the main crotch diverged the four main branchesof the tree. Two feet above the crotch the branches were connected, eachto the ones on both sides, by braces of living wood. 

"You think it growed that way, eh? Well, it did. But it was old Silvathat made it just the same--caught two sprouts, when the tree was young, an' twisted 'em together. Pretty slick, eh? You bet. That tree'll neverblow down. It's a natural, springy brace, an' beats iron braces stiff. Look along all the rows. Every tree's that way. See? An' that's just onetrick of the Porchugeeze. They got a million like it. 

"Figure it out for yourself. They don't need props when the crop'sheavy. Why, when we had a heavy crop, we used to use five props toa tree. Now take ten acres of trees. That'd be some several thousan'props. Which cost money, an' labor to put in an' take out every year. These here natural braces don't have to have a thing done. They'reJohnny-on-the-spot all the time. Why, the Porchugeeze has got us skinneda mile. Come on, I'll show you. "

Billy, with city notions of trespass, betrayed perturbation at thefreedom they were making of the little farm. 

"Oh, it's all right, as long as you don't step on nothin', " the linemanreassured him. "Besides, my grandfather used to own this. They know me. Forty years ago old Silva come from the Azores. Went sheep-herdin' inthe mountains for a couple of years, then blew in to San Leandro. Thesefive acres was the first land he leased. That was the beginnin'. Then hebegan leasin' by the hundreds of acres, an' by the hundred-an'-sixties. An' his sisters an' his uncles an' his aunts begun pourin' in from theAzores--they're all related there, you know; an' pretty soon San Leandrowas a regular Porchugeeze settlement. 

"An' old Silva wound up by buyin' these five acres from grandfather. Pretty soon--an' father by that time was in the hole to the neck--he wasbuyin' father's land by the hundred-an'-sixties. An' all the rest ofhis relations was coin' the same thing. Father was always gettin' richquick, an' he wound up by dyin' in debt. But old Silva never overlookeda bet, no matter how dinky. An' all the rest are just like him. Yousee outside the fence there, clear to the wheel-tracks in theroad--horse-beans. We'd a-scorned to do a picayune thing like that. NotSilva. Why he's got a town house in San Leandro now. An' he rides aroundin a four-thousan'-dollar tourin' car. An' just the same his front dooryard grows onions clear to the sidewalk. He clears three hundred a yearon that patch alone. I know ten acres of land he bought last year, --athousan' an acre they asked'm, an' he never batted an eye. He knew itwas worth it, that's all. He knew he could make it pay. Back in thehills, there, he's got a ranch of five hundred an' eighty acres, boughtit dirt cheap, too; an' I want to tell you I could travel around in adifferent tourin' car every day in the week just outa the profits hemakes on that ranch from the horses all the way from heavy draughts tofancy steppers. 

"But how?--how?--how did he get it all?" Saxon clamored. 

"By bein' wise to farmin'. Why, the whole blame family works. Theyain't ashamed to roll up their sleeves an' dig--sons an' daughters an'daughter-in-laws, old man, old woman, an' the babies. They have a sayin'that a kid four years old that can't pasture one cow on the county roadan' keep it fat ain't worth his salt. Why, the Silvas, the whole tribeof 'em, works a hundred acres in peas, eighty in tomatoes, thirty inasparagus, ten in pie-plant, forty in cucumbers, an'--oh, stacks ofother things. "

"But how do they do it?" Saxon continued to demand. "We've never beenashamed to work. We've worked hard all our lives. I can out-work anyPortuguese woman ever born. And I've done it, too, in the jute mills. There were lots of Portuguese girls working at the looms all around me, and I could out-weave them, every day, and I did, too. It isn't a caseof work. What is it?"

The lineman looked at her in a troubled way. 

"Many's the time I've asked myself that same question. 'We're better'nthese cheap emigrants, ' I'd say to myself. 'We was here first, an' ownedthe land. I can lick any Dago that ever hatched in the Azores. I got abetter education. Then how in thunder do they put it all over us, getour land, an' start accounts in the banks?' An' the only answer I knowis that we ain't got the sabe. We don't use our head-pieces right. Something's wrong with us. Anyway, we wasn't wised up to farming. Weplayed at it. Show you? That's what I brung you in for--the way oldSilva an' all his tribe farms. Book at this place. Some cousin of his, just out from the Azores, is makin' a start on it, an' payin' good rentto Silva. Pretty soon he'll be up to snuff an' buyin' land for himselffrom some perishin' American farmer. 

"Look at that--though you ought to see it in summer. Not an inch wasted. Where we got one thin crop, they get four fat crops. An' look at the waythey crowd it--currants between the tree rows, beans between the currantrows, a row of beans close on each side of the trees, an' rows of beansalong the ends of the tree rows. Why, Silva wouldn't sell these fiveacres for five hundred an acre cash down. He gave grandfather fiftyan acre for it on long time, an' here am I, workin' for the telephonecompany an' putting' in a telephone for old Silva's cousin from theAzores that can't speak American yet. Horse-beans along the road--say, when Silva swung that trick he made more outa fattenin' hogs with 'emthan grandfather made with all his farmin'. Grandfather stuck up hisnose at horse-beans. He died with it stuck up, an' with more mortgageson the land he had left than you could shake a stick at. Plantin'tomatoes wrapped up in wrappin' paper--ever heard of that? Fathersnorted when he first seen the Porchugeeze doin' it. An' he went onsnortin'. Just the same they got bumper crops, an' father's house-patchof tomatoes was eaten by the black beetles. We ain't got the sabe, or the knack, or something or other. Just look at this piece ofground--four crops a year, an' every inch of soil workin' over time. Why, back in town there, there's single acres that earns more than fiftyof ours in the old days. The Porchugeeze is natural-born farmers, that'sall, an' we don't know nothin' about farmin' an' never did. "

Saxon talked with the lineman, following him about, till one o'clock, when he looked at his watch, said good bye, and returned to his task ofputting in a telephone for the latest immigrant from the Azores. 

When in town, Saxon carried her oilcloth-wrapped telescope in her hand;but it was so arranged with loops, that, once on the road, she couldthrust her arms through the loops and carry it on her back. When she didthis, the tiny ukulele case was shifted so that it hung under her leftarm. 

A mile on from the lineman, they stopped where a small creek, fringedwith brush, crossed the county road. Billy was for the cold lunch, whichwas the last meal Saxon had prepared in the Pine street cottage; butshe was determined upon building a fire and boiling coffee. Not that shedesired it for herself, but that she was impressed with the ideathat everything at the starting of their strange wandering must be ascomfortable as possible for Billy's sake. Bent on inspiring him withenthusiasm equal to her own, she declined to dampen what sparks he hadcaught by anything so uncheerful as a cold meal. 

"Now one thing we want to get out of our heads right at the start, Billy, is that we're in a hurry. We're not in a hurry, and we don't carewhether school keeps or not. We're out to have a good time, a regularadventure like you read about in books. --My! I wish that boy that tookme fishing to Goat Island could see me now. Oakland was just a placeto start from, he said. And, well, we've started, haven't we? And righthere's where we stop and boil coffee. You get the fire going, Billy, andI'll get the water and the things ready to spread out. "

"Say, " Billy remarked, while they waited for the water to boil, "d'yeknow what this reminds me of?"

Saxon was certain she did know, but she shook her head. She wanted tohear him say it. 

"Why, the second Sunday I knew you, when we drove out to Moraga Valleybehind Prince and King. You spread the lunch that day. "

"Only it was a more scrumptious lunch, " she added, with a happy smile. 

"But I wonder why we didn't have coffee that day, " he went on. 

"Perhaps it would have been too much like housekeeping, " she laughed;"kind of what Mary would call indelicate--"

"Or raw, " Billy interpolated. "She was always springin' that word. "

"And yet look what became of her. "

"That's the way with all of them, " Billy growled somberly. "I've alwaysnoticed it's the fastidious, la-de-da ones that turn out the rottenest. They're like some horses I know, a-shyin' at the things they're theleast afraid of. "

Saxon was silent, oppressed by a sadness, vague and remote, which themention of Bert's widow had served to bring on. 

"I know something else that happened that day which you'd never guess, "Billy reminisced. "I bet you couldn't. 

"I wonder, " Saxon murmured, and guessed it with her eyes. 

Billy's eyes answered, and quite spontaneously he reached over, caughther hand, and pressed it caressingly to his cheek. 

"It's little, but oh my, " he said, addressing the imprisoned hand. Then he gazed at Saxon, and she warmed with his words. "We're beginnin'courtin' all over again, ain't we?"

Both ate heartily, and Billy was guilty of three cups of coffee. 

"Say, this country air gives some appetite, " he mumbled, as he sank histeeth into his fifth bread-and-meat sandwich. "I could eat a horse, an'drown his head off in coffee afterward. "

Saxon's mind had reverted to all the young lineman had told her, andshe completed a sort of general resume of the information. "My!" sheexclaimed, "but we've learned a lot!"

"An' we've sure learned one thing, " Billy said. "An' that is that thisis no place for us, with land a thousan' an acre an' only twenty dollarsin our pockets. "

"Oh, we're not going to stop here, " she hastened to say. 

"But just the same it's the Portuguese that gave it its price, and theymake things go on it--send their children to school. .. And have them;and, as you said yourself, they're as fat as butterballs. "

"An' I take my hat off to them, " Billy responded. 

"But all the same, I'd sooner have forty acres at a hundred an acre thanfour at a thousan' an acre. Somehow, you know, I'd be scared stiff onfour acres--scared of fallin' off, you know. "

She was in full sympathy with him. In her heart of hearts the fortyacres tugged much the harder. In her way, allowing for the differenceof a generation, her desire for spaciousness was as strong as her UncleWill's. 

"Well, we're not going to stop here, " she assured Billy. "We're goingin, not for forty acres, but for a hundred and sixty acres free from thegovernment. "

"An' I guess the government owes it to us for what our fathers an'mothers done. I tell you, Saxon, when a woman walks across the plainslike your mother done, an' a man an' wife gets massacred by the Indianslike my grandfather an' mother done, the government does owe themsomething. "

"Well, it's up to us to collect. "

"An' we'll collect all right, all right, somewhere down in them redwoodmountains south of Monterey. "

CHAPTER II

It was a good afternoon's tramp to Niles, passing through the town ofHaywards; yet Saxon and Billy found time to diverge from the main countyroad and take the parallel roads through acres of intense cultivationwhere the land was farmed to the wheel-tracks. Saxon looked withamazement at these small, brown-skinned immigrants who came to the soilwith nothing and yet made the soil pay for itself to the tune of twohundred, of five hundred, and of a thousand dollars an acre. 

On every hand was activity. Women and children were in the fields aswell as men. The land was turned endlessly over and over. They seemednever to let it rest. And it rewarded them. It must reward them, ortheir children would not be able to go to school, nor would so many ofthem be able to drive by in rattletrap, second-hand buggies or in stoutlight wagons. 

"Look at their faces, " Saxon said. "They are happy and contented. Theyhaven't faces like the people in our neighborhood after the strikesbegan. "

"Oh, sure, they got a good thing, " Billy agreed. "You can see itstickin' out all over them. But they needn't get chesty with ME, I cantell you that much--just because they've jiggerooed us out of our landan' everything. "

"But they're not showing any signs of chestiness, " Saxon demurred. 

"No, they're not, come to think of it. All the same, they ain't so wise. I bet I could tell 'em a few about horses. "

It was sunset when they entered the little town of Niles. Billy, who hadbeen silent for the last half mile, hesitantly ventured a suggestion. 

"Say. .. I could put up for a room in the hotel just as well as not. Whatd 'ye think?"

But Saxon shook her head emphatically. 

"How long do you think our twenty dollars will last at that rate?Besides, the only way to begin is to begin at the beginning. We didn'tplan sleeping in hotels. "

"All right, " he gave in. "I'm game. I was just thinkin' about you. "

"Then you'd better think I'm game, too, " she flashed forgivingly. "Andnow we'll have to see about getting things for supper. "

They bought a round steak, potatoes, onions, and a dozen eating apples, then went out from the town to the fringe of trees and brush thatadvertised a creek. Beside the trees, on a sand bank, they pitchedcamp. Plenty of dry wood lay about, and Billy whistled genially while hegathered and chopped. Saxon, keen to follow his every mood, was cheeredby the atrocious discord on his lips. She smiled to herself as shespread the blankets, with the tarpaulin underneath, for a table, havingfirst removed all twigs from the sand. She had much to learn in thematter of cooking over a camp-fire, and made fair progress, discovering, first of all, that control of the fire meant far more than the size ofit. When the coffee was boiled, she settled the grounds with a part-cupof cold water and placed the pot on the edge of the coals where it wouldkeep hot and yet not boil. She fried potato dollars and onions in thesame pan, but separately, and set them on top of the coffee pot in thetin plate she was to eat from, covering it with Billy's inverted plate. On the dry hot pan, in the way that delighted Billy, she fried thesteak. This completed, and while Billy poured the coffee, she servedthe steak, putting the dollars and onions back into the frying pan for amoment to make them piping hot again. 

"What more d'ye want than this?" Billy challenged with deep-tonedsatisfaction, in the pause after his final cup of coffee, while herolled a cigarette. He lay on his side, full length, resting on hiselbow. The fire was burning brightly, and Saxon's color was heightenedby the flickering flames. "Now our folks, when they was on the move, hadto be afraid for Indians, and wild animals and all sorts of things; an'here we are, as safe as bugs in a rug. Take this sand. What better bedcould you ask? Soft as feathers. Say--you look good to me, heap littlesquaw. I bet you don't look an inch over sixteen right now, Mrs. Babe-in-the-Woods. "

"Don't I?" she glowed, with a flirt of the head sideward and a whiteflash of teeth. "If you weren't smoking a cigarette I'd ask you if yourmother knew you're out, Mr. Babe-in-the-Sandbank. "

"Say, " he began, with transparently feigned seriousness. "I want to askyou something, if you don't mind. Now, of course, I don't want to hurtyour feelin's or nothin', but just the same there's something importantI'd like to know. "

"Well, what is it?" she inquired, after a fruitless wait. 

"Well, it's just this, Saxon. I like you like anything an' all that, but here's night come on, an' we're a thousand miles from anywhere, and--well, what I wanta know is: are we really an' truly married, youan' me?"

"Really and truly, " she assured him. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing; but I'd kind a-forgotten, an' I was gettin' embarrassed, you know, because if we wasn't, seein' the way I was brought up, this'dbe no place--"

"That will do you, " she said severely. "And this is just the time andplace for you to get in the firewood for morning while I wash up thedishes and put the kitchen in order. "

He started to obey, but paused to throw his arm about her and drawher close. Neither spoke, but when he went his way Saxon's breast wasfluttering and a song of thanksgiving breathed on her lips. 

The night had come on, dim with the light of faint stars. But these haddisappeared behind clouds that seemed to have arisen from nowhere. Itwas the beginning of California Indian summer. The air was warm, withjust the first hint of evening chill, and there was no wind. 

"I've a feeling as if we've just started to live, " Saxon said, whenBilly, his firewood collected, joined her on the blankets before thefire. "I've learned more to-day than ten years in Oakland. " She drew along breath and braced her shoulders. "Farming's a bigger subject than Ithought. "

Billy said nothing. With steady eyes he was staring into the fire, andshe knew he was turning something over in his mind. 

"What is it, " she asked, when she saw he had reached a conclusion, atthe same time resting her hand on the back of his. 

"Just been framin' up that ranch of ourn, " he answered. "It's allwell enough, these dinky farmlets. They'll do for foreigners. But weAmericans just gotta have room. I want to be able to look at a hilltopan' know it's my land, and know it's my land down the other side an' upthe next hilltop, an' know that over beyond that, down alongside somecreek, my mares are most likely grazin', an' their little colts grazin'with 'em or kickin' up their heels. You know, there's money in raisin'horses--especially the big workhorses that run to eighteen hundred an'two thousand pounds. They're payin' for 'em, in the cities, every day inthe year, seven an' eight hundred a pair, matched geldings, four yearsold. Good pasture an' plenty of it, in this kind of a climate, is allthey need, along with some sort of shelter an' a little hay in longspells of bad weather. I never thought of it before, but let me tell youthat this ranch proposition is beginnin' to look good to ME. "

Saxon was all excitement. Here was new information on the cherishedsubject, and, best of all, Billy was the authority. Still better, he wastaking an interest himself. 

"There'll be room for that and for everything on a quarter section, " sheencouraged. 

"Sure thing. Around the house we'll have vegetables an' fruit andchickens an' everything, just like the Porchugeeze, an' plenty of roombeside to walk around an' range the horses. "

"But won't the colts cost money, Billy?"

"Not much. The cobblestones eat horses up fast. That's where I'll get mybrood mares, from the ones knocked out by the city. I know THAT end ofit. They sell 'em at auction, an' they're good for years an' years, onlyno good on the cobbles any more. "

There ensued a long pause. In the dying fire both were busy visioningthe farm to be. 

"It's pretty still, ain't it?" Billy said, rousing himself at last. He gazed about him. "An' black as a stack of black cats. " He shivered, buttoned his coat, and tossed several sticks on the fire. "Just thesame, it's the best kind of a climate in the world. Many's the time, when I was a little kid, I've heard my father brag about California'sbein' a blanket climate. He went East, once, an' staid a summer an' awinter, an' got all he wanted. Never again for him. "

"My mother said there never was such a land for climate. How wonderfulit must have seemed to them after crossing the deserts and mountains. They called it the land of milk and honey. The ground was so rich thatall they needed to do was scratch it, Cady used to say. "

"And wild game everywhere, " Billy contributed. "Mr. Roberts, the onethat adopted my father, he drove cattle from the San Josquin to theColumbia river. He had forty men helpin' him, an' all they took alongwas powder an' salt. They lived off the game they shot. "

"The hills were full of deer, and my mother saw whole herds of elkaround Santa Rosa. Some time we'll go there, Billy. I've always wantedto. "

"And when my father was a young man, somewhere up north of Sacramento, in a creek called Cache Slough, the tules was full of grizzliest He usedto go in an' shoot 'em. An' when they caught 'em in the open, he an'the Mexicans used to ride up an' rope them--catch them with lariats, youknow. He said a horse that wasn't afraid of grizzlies fetched ten timesas much as any other horse An' panthers!--all the old folks called 'empainters an' catamounts an' varmints. Yes, we'll go to Santa Rosa sometime. Maybe we won't like that land down the coast, an' have to keep onhikin'. "

By this time the fire had died down, and Saxon had finished brushing andbraiding her hair. Their bed-going preliminaries were simple, and in afew minutes they were side by side under the blankets. Saxon closed hereyes, but could not sleep. On the contrary, she had never been more wideawake. She had never slept out of doors in her life, and by no exertionof will could she overcome the strangeness of it. In addition, shewas stiffened from the long trudge, and the sand, to her surprise, wasanything but soft. An hour passed. She tried to believe that Billy wasasleep, but felt certain he was not. The sharp crackle of a dying emberstartled her. She was confident that Billy had moved slightly. 

"Billy, " she whispered, "are you awake?"

"Yep, " came his low answer, "--an' thinkin' this sand is harder'n acement floor. It's one on me, all right. But who'd a-thought it?"

Both shifted their postures slightly, but vain was the attempt to escapefrom the dull, aching contact of the sand. 

An abrupt, metallic, whirring noise of some nearby cricket gave Saxonanother startle. She endured the sound for some minutes, until Billybroke forth. 

"Say, that gets my goat whatever it is. "

"Do you think it's a rattlesnake?" she asked, maintaining a calmness shedid not feel. 

"Just what I've been thinkin'. "

"I saw two, in the window of Bowman's Drug Store An' you know, Billy, they've got a hollow fang, and when they stick it into you the poisonruns down the hollow. "

"Br-r-r-r, " Billy shivered, in fear that was not altogether mockery. "Certain death, everybody says, unless you're a Bosco. Remember him?"

"He eats 'em alive! He eats 'em alive! Bosco! Bosco!" Saxon responded, mimicking the cry of a side-show barker. "Just the same, all Bosco'srattlers had the poison-sacs cut outa them. They must a-had. Gee! It'sfunny I can't get asleep. I wish that damned thing'd close its trap. Iwonder if it is a rattlesnake. "

"No; it can't be, " Saxon decided. "All the rattlesnakes are killed offlong ago. "

"Then where did Bosco get his?" Billy demanded with unimpeachable logic. "An' why don't you get to sleep?"

"Because it's all new, I guess, " was her reply. "You see, I never campedout in my life. "

"Neither did I. An' until now I always thought it was a lark. " Hechanged his position on the maddening sand and sighed heavily. "Butwe'll get used to it in time, I guess. What other folks can do, we can, an' a mighty lot of 'em has camped out. It's all right. Here we are, free an' independent, no rent to pay, our own bosses--"

He stopped abruptly. From somewhere in the brush came an intermittentrustling. When they tried to locate it, it mysteriously ceased, andwhen the first hint of drowsiness stole upon them the rustling asmysteriously recommenced. 

"It sounds like something creeping up on us, " Saxon suggested, snugglingcloser to Billy. 

"Well, it ain't a wild Indian, at all events, " was the best he couldoffer in the way of comfort. He yawned deliberately. "Aw, shucks! What'sthere to be scared of? Think of what all the pioneers went through. "

Several minutes later his shoulders began to shake, and Saxon knew hewas giggling. 

"I was just thinkin' of a yarn my father used to tell about, " heexplained. "It was about old Susan Kleghorn, one of the Oregon pioneerwomen. Wall-Eyed Susan, they used to call her; but she could shoot tobeat the band. Once, on the Plains, the wagon train she was in, wasattacked by Indians. They got all the wagons in a circle, an' all handsan' the oxen inside, an' drove the Indians off, killin' a lot of 'em. They was too strong that way, so what'd the Indians do, to draw 'em outinto the open, but take two white girls, captured from some other train, an' begin to torture 'em. They done it just out of gunshot, but soeverybody could see. The idea was that the white men couldn't stand it, an' would rush out, an' then the Indians'd have 'em where they wanted'em. 

"The white men couldn't do a thing. If they rushed out to save thegirls, they'd be finished, an' then the Indians'd rush the train. Itmeant death to everybody. But what does old Susan do, but get out anold, long-barreled Kentucky rifle. She rams down about three times theregular load of powder, takes aim at a big buck that's pretty busy atthe torturin', an' bangs away. It knocked her clean over backward, an'her shoulder was lame all the rest of the way to Oregon, but she droppedthe big Indian deado. He never knew what struck 'm. 

"But that wasn't the yarn I wanted to tell. It seems old Susan likedJohn Barleycorn. She'd souse herself to the ears every chance she got. An' her sons an' daughters an' the old man had to be mighty careful notto leave any around where she could get hands on it. "

"On what?" asked Saxon. 

"On John Barleycorn. --Oh, you ain't on to that. It's the old fashionedname for whisky. Well, one day all the folks was goin' away--that wasover somewhere at a place called Bodega, where they'd settled aftercomin' down from Oregon. An' old Susan claimed her rheumatics washurtin' her an' so she couldn't go. But the family was on. There wasa two-gallon demijohn of whisky in the house. They said all right, butbefore they left they sent one of the grandsons to climb a big tree inthe barnyard, where he tied the demijohn sixty feet from the ground. Just the same, when they come home that night they found Susan on thekitchen floor dead to the world. "

"And she'd climbed the tree after all, " Saxon hazarded, when Billy hadshown no inclination of going on. 

"Not on your life, " he laughed jubilantly. "All she'd done was to puta washtub on the ground square under the demijohn. Then she got out herold rifle an' shot the demijohn to smithereens, an' all she had to dowas lap the whisky outa the tub. "

Again Saxon was drowsing, when the rustling sound was heard, this timecloser. To her excited apprehension there was something stealthy aboutit, and she imagined a beast of prey creeping upon them. "Billy, " shewhispered. 

"Yes, I'm a-listenin' to it, " came his wide awake answer. 

"Mightn't that be a panther, or maybe. .. A wildcat?"

"It can't be. All the varmints was killed off long ago. This ispeaceable farmin' country. "

A vagrant breeze sighed through the trees and made Saxon shiver. Themysterious cricket-noise ceased with suspicious abruptness. Then, fromthe rustling noise, ensued a dull but heavy thump that caused both Saxonand Billy to sit up in the blankets. There were no further sounds, andthey lay down again, though the very silence now seemed ominous. 

"Huh, " Billy muttered with relief. "As though I don't know what it was. It was a rabbit. I've heard tame ones bang their hind feet down on thefloor that way. "

In vain Saxon tried to win sleep. The sand grew harder with the passageof time. Her flesh and her bones ached from contact with it. And, thoughher reason flouted any possibility of wild dangers, her fancy went onpicturing them with unflagging zeal. 

A new sound commenced. It was neither a rustling nor a rattling, andit tokened some large body passing through the brush. Sometimes twigscrackled and broke, and, once, they heard bush-branches press aside andspring back into place. 

"If that other thing was a panther, this is an elephant, " was Billy'suncheering opinion. "It's got weight. Listen to that. An' it's comin'nearer. "

There were frequent stoppages, then the sounds would begin again, alwayslouder, always closer. Billy sat up in the blankets once more, passingone arm around Saxon, who had also sat up. 

"I ain't slept a wink, " he complained. "--There it goes again. I wish Icould see. "

"It makes a noise big enough for a grizzly, " Saxon chattered, partlyfrom nervousness, partly from the chill of the night. 

"It ain't no grasshopper, that's sure. "

Billy started to leave the blankets, but Saxon caught his arm. 

"What are you going to do?"

"Oh, I ain't scairt none, " he answered. "But, honest to God, this isgettin' on my nerves. If I don't find what that thing is, it'll give methe willies. I'm just goin' to reconnoiter. I won't go close. "

So intensely dark was the night, that the moment Billy crawled beyondthe reach of her hand he was lost to sight. She sat and waited. Thesound had ceased, though she could follow Billy's progress by thecracking of dry twigs and limbs. After a few moments he returned andcrawled under the blankets. 

"I scared it away, I guess. It's got better ears, an' when it heard mecomin' it skinned out most likely. I did my dangdest, too, not to make asound. --O Lord, there it goes again. "

They sat up. Saxon nudged Billy. 

"There, " she warned, in the faintest of whispers. "I can hear itbreathing. It almost made a snort. "

A dead branch cracked loudly, and so near at hand, that both of themjumped shamelessly. 

"I ain't goin' to stand any more of its foolin', " Billy declaredwrathfully. "It'll be on top of us if I don't. "

"What are you going to do?" she queried anxiously. 

"Yell the top of my head off. I'll get a fall outa whatever it is. "

He drew a deep breath and emitted a wild yell. 

The result far exceeded any expectation he could have entertained, andSaxon's heart leaped up in sheer panic. On the instant the darknesserupted into terrible sound and movement. There were trashingsof underbrush and lunges and plunges of heavy bodies in differentdirections. Fortunately for their ease of mind, all these sounds recededand died away. 

"An' what d'ye think of that?" Billy broke the silence. 

"Gee! all the fight fans used to say I was scairt of nothin'. Just thesame I'm glad they ain't seein' me to-night. "

He groaned. "I've got all I want of that blamed sand. I'm goin' to getup and start the fire. "

This was easy. Under the ashes were live embers which quickly ignitedthe wood he threw on. A few stars were peeping out in the misty zenith. He looked up at them, deliberated, and started to move away. 

"Where are you going now?" Saxon called. 

"Oh, I've got an idea, " he replied noncommittally, and walked boldlyaway beyond the circle of the firelight. 

Saxon sat with the blankets drawn closely under her chin, and admiredhis courage. He had not even taken the hatchet, and he was going in thedirection in which the disturbance had died away. 

Ten minutes later he came back chuckling. 

"The sons-of-guns, they got my goat all right. I'll be scairt of myown shadow next. --What was they? Huh! You couldn't guess in a thousandyears. A bunch of half-grown calves, an' they was worse scairt than us. "

He smoked a cigarette by the fire, then rejoined Saxon under theblankets. 

"A hell of a farmer I'll make, " he chafed, "when a lot of little calvescan scare the stuffin' outa me. I bet your father or mine wouldn'ta-batted an eye. The stock has gone to seed, that's what it has. "

"No, it hasn't, " Saxon defended. "The stock is all right. We're justas able as our folks ever were, and we're healthier on top of it. We'vebeen brought up different, that's all. We've lived in cities all ourlives. We know the city sounds and thugs, but we don't know the countryones. Our training has been unnatural, that's the whole thing in anutshell. Now we're going in for natural training. Give us a littletime, and we'll sleep as sound out of doors as ever your father or minedid. "

"But not on sand, " Billy groaned. 

"We won't try. That's one thing, for good and all, we've learned thevery first time. And now hush up and go to sleep. "

Their fears had vanished, but the sand, receiving now their undividedattention, multiplied its unyieldingness. Billy dozed off first, androosters were crowing somewhere in the distance when Saxon's eyesclosed. But they could not escape the sand, and their sleep was fitful. 

At the first gray of dawn, Billy crawled out and built a roaring fire. Saxon drew up to it shiveringly. They were hollow-eyed and weary. Saxonbegan to laugh. Billy joined sulkily, then brightened up as his eyeschanced upon the coffee pot, which he immediately put on to boil. 

CHAPTER III

It is forty miles from Oakland to San Jose, and Saxon and Billyaccomplished it in three easy days. No more obliging and angrilygarrulous linemen were encountered, and few were the opportunities forconversation with chance wayfarers. Numbers of tramps, carrying rolls ofblankets, were met, traveling both north and south on the county road;and from talks with them Saxon quickly learned that they knew little ornothing about farming. They were mostly old men, feeble or besotted, andall they knew was work--where jobs might be good, where jobs had beengood; but the places they mentioned were always a long way off. Onething she did glean from them, and that was that the district she andBilly were passing through was "small-farmer" country in which labor wasrarely hired, and that when it was it generally was Portuguese. 

The farmers themselves were unfriendly. They drove by Billy and Saxon, often with empty wagons, but never invited them to ride. When chanceoffered and Saxon did ask questions, they looked her over curiously, orsuspiciously, and gave ambiguous and facetious answers. 

"They ain't Americans, damn them, " Billy fretted. "Why, in the old dayseverybody was friendly to everybody. "

But Saxon remembered her last talk with her brother. 

"It's the spirit of the times, Billy. The spirit has changed. Besides, these people are too near. Wait till we get farther away from thecities, then we'll find them more friendly. "

"A measly lot these ones are, " he sneered. 

"Maybe they've a right to be, " she laughed. "For all you know, more thanone of the scabs you've slugged were sons of theirs. "

"If I could only hope so, " Billy said fervently. "But I don't care if Iowned ten thousand acres, any man hikin' with his blankets might be justas good a man as me, an' maybe better, for all I'd know. I'd give 'm thebenefit of the doubt, anyway. "

Billy asked for work, at first, indiscriminately, later, only at thelarger farms. The unvarying reply was that there was no work. A few saidthere would be plowing after the first rains. Here and there, in a smallway, dry plowing was going on. But in the main the farmers were waiting. 

"But do you know how to plow?" Saxon asked Billy. 

"No; but I guess it ain't much of a trick to turn. Besides, next man Isee plowing I'm goin' to get a lesson from. "

In the mid-afternoon of the second day his opportunity came. He climbedon top of the fence of a small field and watched an old man plow roundand round it. 

"Aw, shucks, just as easy as easy, " Billy commented scornfully. "If anold codger like that can handle one plow, I can handle two. "

"Go on and try it, " Saxon urged. 

"What's the good?"

"Cold feet, " she jeered, but with a smiling face. "All you have to dois ask him. All he can do is say no. And what if he does? You faced theChicago Terror twenty rounds without flinching. "

"Aw, but it's different, " he demurred, then dropped to the ground insidethe fence. "Two to one the old geezer turns me down. "

"No, he won't. Just tell him you want to learn, and ask him if he'll letyou drive around a few times. Tell him it won't cost him anything. "

"Huh! If he gets chesty I'll take his blamed plow away from him. "

From the top of the fence, but too far away to hear, Saxon watched thecolloquy. After several minutes, the lines were transferred to Billy'sneck, the handles to his hands. Then the team started, and the old man, delivering a rapid fire of instructions, walked alongside of Billy. Whena few turns had been made, the farmer crossed the plowed strip to Saxon, and joined her on the rail. 

"He's plowed before, a little mite, ain't he?"

Saxon shook her head. 

"Never in his life. But he knows how to drive horses. "

"He showed he wasn't all greenhorn, an' he learns pretty quick. " Herethe farmer chuckled and cut himself a chew from a plug of tobacco. "Ireckon he won't tire me out a-settin' here. "

The unplowed area grew smaller and smaller, but Billy evinced nointention of quitting, and his audience on the fence was deep inconversation. Saxon's questions flew fast and furious, and she was notlong in concluding that the old man bore a striking resemblance to thedescription the lineman had given of his father. 

Billy persisted till the field was finished, and the old man invited himand Saxon to stop for the night. There was a disused outbuilding wherethey would find a small cook stove, he said, and also he would give themfresh milk. Further, if Saxon wanted to test HER desire for farming, shecould try her hand on the cow. 

The milking lesson did not prove as successful as Billy's plowing; butwhen he had mocked sufficiently, Saxon challenged him to try, andhe failed as grievously as she. Saxon had eyes and questions foreverything, and it did not take her long to realize that she waslooking upon the other side of the farming shield. Farm and farmer wereold-fashioned. There was no intensive cultivation. There was too muchland too little farmed. Everything was slipshod. House and barn andoutbuildings were fast falling into ruin. The front yard was weed-grown. There was no vegetable garden. The small orchard was old, sickly, andneglected. The trees were twisted, spindling, and overgrown with a graymoss. The sons and daughters were away in the cities, Saxon found out. One daughter had married a doctor, the other was a teacher in the statenormal school; one son was a locomotive engineer, the second was anarchitect, and the third was a police court reporter in San Francisco. On occasion, the father said, they helped out the old folks. 

"What do you think?" Saxon asked Billy as he smoked his after-suppercigarette. 

His shoulders went up in a comprehensive shrug. 

"Huh! That's easy. The old geezer's like his orchard--covered with moss. It's plain as the nose on your face, after San Leandro, that he don'tknow the first thing. An' them horses. It'd be a charity to him, an' asavin' of money for him, to take 'em out an' shoot 'em both. You bet youdon't see the Porchugeeze with horses like them. An' it ain't a case ofbein' proud, or puttin' on side, to have good horses. It's brass tacksan' business. It pays. That's the game. Old horses eat more in youngones to keep in condition an' they can't do the same amount of work. Butyou bet it costs just as much to shoe them. An' his is scrub on top ofit. Every minute he has them horses he's losin' money. You oughta seethe way they work an' figure horses in the city. "

They slept soundly, and, after an early breakfast, prepared to start. 

"I'd like to give you a couple of days' work, " the old man regretted, atparting, "but I can't see it. The ranch just about keeps me and the oldwoman, now that the children are gone. An' then it don't always. Seemstimes have been bad for a long spell now. Ain't never been the samesince Grover Cleveland. "

Early in the afternoon, on the outskirts of San Jose, Saxon called ahalt. 

"I'm going right in there and talk, " she declared, "unless they set thedogs on me. That's the prettiest place yet, isn't it?"

Billy, who was always visioning hills and spacious ranges for hishorses, mumbled unenthusiastic assent. 

"And the vegetables! Look at them! And the flowers growing along theborders! That beats tomato plants in wrapping paper. "

"Don't see the sense of it, " Billy objected. "Where's the money comein from flowers that take up the ground that good vegetables might begrowin' on?"

"And that's what I'm going to find out. " She pointed to a woman, stoopedto the ground and working with a trowel; in front of the tiny bungalow. "I don't know what she's like, but at the worst she can only be mean. See! She's looking at us now. Drop your load alongside of mine, and comeon in. "

Billy slung the blankets from his shoulder to the ground, but elected towait. As Saxon went up the narrow, flower-bordered walk, she noted twomen at work among the vegetables--one an old Chinese, the other old andof some dark-eyed foreign breed. Here were neatness, efficiency, andintensive cultivation with a vengeance--even her untrained eye could seethat. The woman stood up and turned from her flowers, and Saxon saw thatshe was middle-aged, slender, and simply but nicely dressed. She woreglasses, and Saxon's reading of her face was that it was kind butnervous looking. 

"I don't want anything to-day, " she said, before Saxon could speak, administering the rebuff with a pleasant smile. 

Saxon groaned inwardly over the black-covered telescope basket. Evidently the woman had seen her put it down. 

"We're not peddling, " she explained quickly. 

"Oh, I am sorry for the mistake. "

This time the woman's smile was even pleasanter, and she waited forSaxon to state her errand. 

Nothing loath, Saxon took it at a plunge. 

"We're looking for land. We want to be farmers, you know, and before weget the land we want to find out what kind of land we want. And seeingyour pretty place has just filled me up with questions. You see, wedon't know anything about farming. We've lived in the city all our life, and now we've given it up and are going to live in the country and behappy. "

She paused. The woman's face seemed to grow quizzical, though thepleasantness did not abate. 

"But how do you know you will be happy in the country?" she asked. 

"I don't know. All I do know is that poor people can't be happy in thecity where they have labor troubles all the time. If they can't be happyin the country, then there's no happiness anywhere, and that doesn'tseem fair, does it?"

"It is sound reasoning, my dear, as far as it goes. But you mustremember that there are many poor people in the country and many unhappypeople. "

"You look neither poor nor unhappy, " Saxon challenged. 

"You ARE a dear. "

Saxon saw the pleased flush in the other's face, which lingered as shewent on. 

"But still, I may be peculiarly qualified to live and succeed in thecountry. As you say yourself, you've spent your life in the city. Youdon't know the first thing about the country. It might even break yourheart. "

Saxon's mind went back to the terrible months in the Pine streetcottage. 

"I know already that the city will break my heart. Maybe the countrywill, too, but just the same it's my only chance, don't you see. It'sthat or nothing. Besides, our folks before us were all of the country. It seems the more natural way. And better, here I am, which provesthat 'way down inside I must want the country, must, as you call it, bepeculiarly qualified for the country, or else I wouldn't be here. "

The other nodded approval, and looked at her with growing interest. 

"That young man--" she began. 

"Is my husband. He was a teamster until the big strike came. My name isRoberts, Saxon Roberts, and my husband is William Roberts. "

"And I am Mrs. Mortimer, " the other said, with a bow of acknowledgment. "I am a widow. And now, if you will ask your husband in, I shall try toanswer some of your many questions. Tell him to put the bundles insidethe gate. . . . And now what are all the questions you are filled with?"

"Oh, all kinds. How does it pay? How did you manage it all? How much didthe land cost? Did you build that beautiful house? How much do you paythe men? How did you learn all the different kinds of things, and whichgrew best and which paid best? What is the best way to sell them? How doyou sell them?" Saxon paused and laughed. "Oh, I haven't begun yet. Why do you have flowers on the borders everywhere? I looked over thePortuguese farms around San Leandro, but they never mixed flowers andvegetables. "

Mrs. Mortimer held up her hand. "Let me answer the last first. It is thekey to almost everything. "

But Billy arrived, and the explanation was deferred until after hisintroduction. 

"The flowers caught your eyes, didn't they, my dear?" Mrs. Mortimerresumed. "And brought you in through my gate and right up to me. Andthat's the very reason they were planted with the vegetables--to catcheyes. You can't imagine how many eyes they have caught, nor how manyowners of eyes they have lured inside my gate. This is a good road, andis a very popular short country drive for townsfolk. Oh, no; I've neverhad any luck with automobiles. They can't see anything for dust. But Ibegan when nearly everybody still used carriages. The townswomen woulddrive by. My flowers, and then my place, would catch their eyes. Theywould tell their drivers to stop. And--well, somehow, I managed to be inthe front within speaking distance. Usually I succeeded in inviting themin to see my flowers. .. And vegetables, of course. Everything wassweet, clean, pretty. It all appealed. And--" Mrs. Mortimer shrugged hershoulders. "It is well known that the stomach sees through the eyes. Thethought of vegetables growing among flowers pleased their fancy. Theywanted my vegetables. They must have them. And they did, at double themarket price, which they were only too glad to pay. You see, I becamethe fashion, or a fad, in a small way. Nobody lost. The vegetables werecertainly good, as good as any on the market and often fresher. And, besides, my customers killed two birds with one stone; for they werepleased with themselves for philanthropic reasons. Not only did theyobtain the finest and freshest possible vegetables, but at the same timethey were happy with the knowledge that they were helping a deservingwidow-woman. Yes, and it gave a certain tone to their establishments tobe able to say they bought Mrs. Mortimer's vegetables. But that'stoo big a side to go into. In short, my little place became a showplace--anywhere to go, for a drive or anything, you know, when time hasto be killed. And it became noised about who I was, and who myhusband had been, what I had been. Some of the townsladies I had knownpersonally in the old days. They actually worked for my success. Andthen, too, I used to serve tea. My patrons became my guests for the timebeing. I still serve it, when they drive out to show me off to theirfriends. So you see, the flowers are one of the ways I succeeded. "

Saxon was glowing with appreciation, but Mrs. Mortimer, glancing atBilly, noted not entire approval. His blue eyes were clouded. 

"Well, out with it, " she encouraged. "What are you thinking?"

To Saxon's surprise, he answered directly, and to her double surprise, his criticism was of a nature which had never entered her head. 

"It's just a trick, " Billy expounded. "That's what I was gettin' at--"

"But a paying trick, " Mrs. Mortimer interrupted, her eyes dancing andvivacious behind the glasses. 

"Yes, and no, " Billy said stubbornly, speaking in his slow, deliberatefashion. "If every farmer was to mix flowers an' vegetables, then everyfarmer would get double the market price, an' then there wouldn't be anydouble market price. Everything'd be as it was before. "

"You are opposing a theory to a fact, " Mrs. Mortimer stated. "The factis that all the farmers do not do it. The fact is that I do receivedouble the price. You can't get away from that. "

Billy was unconvinced, though unable to reply. 

"Just the same, " he muttered, with a slow shake of the head, "Idon't get the hang of it. There's something wrong so far as we'reconcerned--my wife an' me, I mean. Maybe I'll get hold of it after awhile. "

"And in the meantime, we'll look around, " Mrs. Mortimer invited. "I wantto show you everything, and tell you how I make it go. Afterward, we'llsit down, and I'll tell you about the beginning. You see--" she bent hergaze on Saxon--"I want you thoroughly to understand that you can succeedin the country if you go about it right. I didn't know a thing aboutit when I began, and I didn't have a fine big man like yours. I was allalone. But I'll tell you about that. "

For the next hour, among vegetables, berry-bushes and fruit trees, Saxonstored her brain with a huge mass of information to be digested at herleisure. Billy, too, was interested, but he left the talking to Saxon, himself rarely asking a question. At the rear of the bungalow, whereeverything was as clean and orderly as the front, they were shownthrough the chicken yard. Here, in different runs, were kept severalhundred small and snow-white hens. 

"White Leghorns, " said Mrs. Mortimer. "You have no idea what they nettedme this year. I never keep a hen a moment past the prime of her layingperiod--"

"Just what I was tellin' you, Saxon, about horses, " Billy broke in. 

"And by the simplest method of hatching them at the right time, whichnot one farmer in ten thousand ever dreams of doing, I have them layingin the winter when most hens stop laying and when eggs are highest. Another thing: I have my special customers. They pay me ten cents adozen more than the market price, because my specialty is one-day eggs. "

Here she chanced to glance at Billy, and guessed that he was stillwrestling with his problem. 

"Same old thing?" she queried. 

He nodded. "Same old thing. If every farmer delivered day-old eggs, there wouldn't be no ten cents higher 'n the top price. They'd be nobetter off than they was before. "

"But the eggs would be one-day eggs, all the eggs would be one-day eggs, you mustn't forget that, " Mrs. Mortimer pointed out. 

"But that don't butter no toast for my wife an' me, " he objected. "An'that's what I've been tryin' to get the hang of, an' now I got it. Youtalk about theory an' fact. Ten cents higher than top price is a theoryto Saxon an' me. The fact is, we ain't got no eggs, no chickens, an' noland for the chickens to run an' lay eggs on. "

Their hostess nodded sympathetically. 

"An' there's something else about this outfit of yourn that I don't getthe hang of, " he pursued. "I can't just put my finger on it, but it'sthere all right. "

They were shown over the cattery, the piggery, the milkers, and thekennelry, as Mrs. Mortimer called her live stock departments. Nonewas large. All were moneymakers, she assured them, and rattled off herprofits glibly. She took their breaths away by the prices given andreceived for pedigreed Persians, pedigreed Ohio Improved Chesters, pedigreed Scotch collies, and pedigreed Jerseys. For the milk of thelast she also had a special private market, receiving five cents more aquart than was fetched by the best dairy milk. Billy was quick to pointout the difference between the look of her orchard and the look of theorchard they had inspected the previous afternoon, and Mrs. Mortimershowed him scores of other differences, many of which he was compelledto accept on faith. 

Then she told them of another industry, her home-made jams and jellies, always contracted for in advance, and at prices dizzyingly beyond theregular market. They sat in comfortable rattan chairs on the veranda, while she told the story of how she had drummed up the jam and jellytrade, dealing only with the one best restaurant and one best clubin San Jose. To the proprietor and the steward she had gone with hersamples, in long discussions beaten down their opposition, overcometheir reluctance, and persuaded the proprietor, in particular, to makea "special" of her wares, to boom them quietly with his patrons, and, above all, to charge stiffly for dishes and courses in which theyappeared. 

Throughout the recital Billy's eyes were moody with dissatisfaction. Mrs. Mortimer saw, and waited. 

"And now, begin at the beginning, " Saxon begged. 

But Mrs. Mortimer refused unless they agreed to stop for supper. Saxonfrowned Billy's reluctance away, and accepted for both of them. 

"Well, then, " Mrs. Mortimer took up her tale, "in the beginning I was agreenhorn, city born and bred. All I knew of the country was that itwas a place to go to for vacations, and I always went to springs andmountain and seaside resorts. I had lived among books almost all mylife. I was head librarian of the Doncaster Library for years. ThenI married Mr. Mortimer. He was a book man, a professor in San MiguelUniversity. He had a long sickness, and when he died there was nothingleft. Even his life insurance was eaten into before I could be freeof creditors. As for myself, I was worn out, on the verge of nervousprostration, fit for nothing. I had five thousand dollars left, however, and, without going into the details, I decided to go farming. I foundthis place, in a delightful climate, close to San Jose--the end of theelectric line is only a quarter of a mile on--and I bought it. I paidtwo thousand cash, and gave a mortgage for two thousand. It cost twohundred an acre, you see. "

"Twenty acres!" Saxon cried. 

"Wasn't that pretty small?" Billy ventured. 

"Too large, oceans too large. I leased ten acres of it the first thing. And it's still leased after all this time. Even the ten I'd retained wasmuch too large for a long, long time. It's only now that I'm beginningto feel a tiny mite crowded. "

"And ten acres has supported you an' two hired men?" Billy demanded, amazed. 

Mrs. Mortimer clapped her hands delightedly. 

"Listen. I had been a librarian. I knew my way among books. First of allI'd read everything written on the subject, and subscribed to some ofthe best farm magazines and papers. And you ask if my ten acres havesupported me and two hired men. Let me tell you. I have four hired men. The ten acres certainly must support them, as it supports Hannah--she'sa Swedish widow who runs the house and who is a perfect Trojan duringthe jam and jelly season--and Hannah's daughter, who goes to schooland lends a hand, and my nephew whom I have taken to raise and educate. Also, the ten acres have come pretty close to paying for the wholetwenty, as well as for this house, and all the outbuildings, and all thepedigreed stock. "

Saxon remembered what the young lineman had said about the Portuguese. 

"The ten acres didn't do a bit of it, " she cried. "It was your head thatdid it all, and you know it. "

"And that's the point, my dear. It shows the right kind of person cansucceed in the country. Remember, the soil is generous. But it must betreated generously, and that is something the old style American farmercan't get into his head. So it IS head that counts. Even when hisstarving acres have convinced him of the need for fertilizing, he can'tsee the difference between cheap fertilizer and good fertilizer. "

"And that's something I want to know about, " Saxon exclaimed. "And I'lltell you all I know, but, first, you must be very tired. I noticed youwere limping. Let me take you in--never mind your bundles; I'll sendChang for them. "

To Saxon, with her innate love of beauty and charm in all personalthings, the interior of the bungalow was a revelation. Never beforehad she been inside a middle class home, and what she saw not only farexceeded anything she had imagined, but was vastly different from herimaginings. Mrs. Mortimer noted her sparkling glances which took ineverything, and went out of her way to show Saxon around, doing itunder the guise of gleeful boastings, stating the costs of the differentmaterials, explaining how she had done things with her own hands, suchas staining the doors, weathering the bookcases, and putting togetherthe big Mission Morris chair. Billy stepped gingerly behind, and thoughit never entered his mind to ape to the manner born, he succeeded inescaping conspicuous awkwardness, even at the table where he and Saxonhad the unique experience of being waited on in a private house by aservant. 

"If you'd only come along next year, " Mrs. Mortimer mourned; "then Ishould have had the spare room I had planned--"

"That's all right, " Billy spoke up; "thank you just the same. But we'llcatch the electric cars into San Jose an' get a room. "

Mrs. Mortimer was still disturbed at her inability to put them up forthe night, and Saxon changed the conversation by pleading to be toldmore. 

"You remember, I told you I'd paid only two thousand down on the land, "Mrs. Mortimer complied. "That left me three thousand to experiment with. Of course, all my friends and relatives prophesied failure. And, ofcourse, I made my mistakes, plenty of them, but I was saved from stillmore by the thorough study I had made and continued to make. " Sheindicated shelves of farm books and files of farm magazines that linedthe walls. "And I continued to study. I was resolved to be up todate, and I sent for all the experiment station reports. I went almostentirely on the basis that whatever the old type farmer did was wrong, and, do you know, in doing that I was not so far wrong myself. It'salmost unthinkable, the stupidity of the old-fashioned farmers. Oh, I consulted with them, talked things over with them, challengedtheir stereotyped ways, demanded demonstration of their dogmatic andprejudiced beliefs, and quite succeeded in convincing the last of themthat I was a fool and doomed to come to grief. "

"But you didn't! You didn't!"

Mrs. Mortimer smiled gratefully. 

"Sometimes, even now, I'm amazed that I didn't. But I came of ahard-headed stock which had been away from the soil long enough togain a new perspective. When a thing satisfied my judgment, I did itforthwith and downright, no matter how extravagant it seemed. Take theold orchard. Worthless! Worse than worthless! Old Calkins nearly diedof heart disease when he saw the devastation I had wreaked upon it. Andlook at it now. There was an old rattletrap ruin where the bungalow nowstands. I put up with it, but I immediately pulled down the cow barn, the pigsties, the chicken houses, everything--made a clean sweep. Theyshook their heads and groaned when they saw such wanton waste by a widowstruggling to make a living. But worse was to come. They were paralyzedwhen I told them the price of the three beautiful O. I. C. 's--pigs, youknow, Chesters--which I bought, sixty dollars for the three, andonly just weaned. Then I hustled the nondescript chickens to market, replacing them with the White Leghorns. The two scrub cows that camewith the place I sold to the butcher for thirty dollars each, payingtwo hundred and fifty for two blue-blooded Jersey heifers. .. And coinedmoney on the exchange, while Calkins and the rest went right on withtheir scrubs that couldn't give enough milk to pay for their board. "

Billy nodded approval. 

"Remember what I told you about horses, " he reiterated to Saxon; and, assisted by his hostess, he gave a very creditable disquisition onhorseflesh and its management from a business point of view. 

When he went out to smoke Mrs. Mortimer led Saxon into talking aboutherself and Billy, and betrayed not the slightest shock when she learnedof his prizefighting and scab-slugging proclivities. 

"He's a splendid young man, and good, " she assured Saxon. "His faceshows that. And, best of all, he loves you and is proud of you. Youcan't imagine how I have enjoyed watching the way he looks at you, especially when you are talking. He respects your judgment. Why, hemust, for here he is with you on this pilgrimage which is wholly youridea. " Mrs. Mortimer sighed. "You are very fortunate, dear child, veryfortunate. And you don't yet know what a man's brain is. Wait till he isquite fired with enthusiasm for your project. You will be astounded bythe way he takes hold. You will have to exert yourself to keep up withhim. In the meantime, you must lead. Remember, he is city bred. It willbe a struggle to wean him from the only life he's known. "

"Oh, but he's disgusted with the city, too--" Saxon began. 

"But not as you are. Love is not the whole of man, as it is of woman. The city hurt you more than it hurt him. It was you who lost the dearlittle babe. His interest, his connection, was no more than casual andincidental compared with the depth and vividness of yours. "

Mrs. Mortimer turned her head to Billy, who was just entering. 

"Have you got the hang of what was bothering you?" she asked. 

"Pretty close to it, " he answered, taking the indicated big Morrischair. "It's this--"

"One moment, " Mrs. Mortimer checked him. "That is a beautiful, big, strong chair, and so are you, at any rate big and strong, and yourlittle wife is very weary--no, no; sit down, it's your strength sheneeds. Yes, I insist. Open your arms. "

And to him she led Saxon, and into his arms placed her. "Now, sir--andyou look delicious, the pair of you--register your objections to my wayof earning a living. "

"It ain't your way, " Billy repudiated quickly. "Your way's all right. It's great. What I'm trying to get at is that your way don't fit us. We couldn't make a go of it your way. Why you had pull--well-to-doacquaintances, people that knew you'd been a librarian an' your husbanda professor. An' you had. .. . " Here he floundered a moment, seekingdefiniteness for the idea he still vaguely grasped. "Well, you had a waywe couldn't have. You were educated, an'. .. An'--I don't know, I guessyou knew society ways an' business ways we couldn't know. "

"But, my dear boy, you could learn what was necessary, " she contended. 

Billy shook his head. 

"No. You don't quite get me. Let's take it this way. Just suppose it'sme, with jam an' jelly, a-wadin' into that swell restaurant like you didto talk with the top guy. Why, I'd be outa place the moment I steppedinto his office. Worse'n that, I'd feel outa place. That'd make me havea chip on my shoulder an' lookin' for trouble, which is a poor way to dobusiness. Then, too, I'd be thinkin' he was thinkin' I was a whole lotof a husky to be peddlin' jam. What'd happen, I'd be chesty at the dropof the hat. I'd be thinkin' he was thinkin' I was standin' on my foot, an' I'd beat him to it in tellin' him he was standin' on HIS foot. Don'tyou see? It's because I was raised that way. It'd be take it or leave itwith me, an' no jam sold. "

"What you say is true, " Mrs. Mortimer took up brightly. "But there isyour wife. Just look at her. She'd make an impression on any businessman. He'd be only too willing to listen to her. "

Billy stiffened, a forbidding expression springing into his eyes. 

"What have I done now?" their hostess laughed. 

"I ain't got around yet to tradin' on my wife's looks, " he rumbledgruffly. 

"Right you are. The only trouble is that you, both of you, are fiftyyears behind the times. You're old American. How you ever got here inthe thick of modern conditions is a miracle. You're Rip Van Winkles. Whoever heard, in these degenerate times, of a young man and woman of thecity putting their blankets on their backs and starting out in search ofland? Why, it's the old Argonaut spirit. You're as like as peas in apod to those who yoked their oxen and held west to the lands beyondthe sunset. I'll wager your fathers and mothers, or grandfathers andgrandmothers, were that very stock. "

Saxon's eyes were glistening, and Billy's were friendly once more. Bothnodded their heads. 

"I'm of the old stock myself, " Mrs. Mortimer went on proudly. "My grandmother was one of the survivors of the Donner Party. Mygrandfather, Jason Whitney, came around the Horn and took part inthe raising of the Bear Flag at Sonoma. He was at Monterey when JohnMarshall discovered gold in Sutter's mill-race. One of the streets inSan Francisco is named after him. "

"I know it, " Billy put in. "Whitney Street. It's near Russian Hill. Saxon's mother walked across the Plains. "

"And Billy's grandfather and grandmother were massacred by the Indians, "Saxon contributed. "His father was a little baby boy, and lived with theIndians, until captured by the whites. He didn't even know his name andwas adopted by a Mr. Roberts. "

"Why, you two dear children, we're almost like relatives, " Mrs. Mortimerbeamed. "It's a breath of old times, alas! all forgotten in thesefly-away days. I am especially interested, because I've catalogued andread everything covering those times. You--" she indicated Billy, "youare historical, or at least your father is. I remember about him. Thewhole thing is in Bancroft's History. It was the Modoc Indians. Therewere eighteen wagons. Your father was the only survivor, a mere babyat the time, with no knowledge of what happened. He was adopted by theleader of the whites. "

"That's right, " said Billy. "It was the Modocs. His train must have benbound for Oregon. It was all wiped out. I wonder if you know anythingabout Saxon's mother. She used to write poetry in the early days. "

"Was any of it printed?"

"Yes, " Saxon answered. "In the old San Jose papers. "

"And do you know any of it?"

"Yes, there's one beginning:

"'Sweet as the wind-lute's airy strains Your gentle muse has learnedto sing, And California's boundless plains Prolong the soft notesechoing. '"

"It sounds familiar, " Mrs. Mortimer said, pondering. 

"And there was another I remember that began:

"'I've stolen away from the crowd in the groves, Where the nude statuesstand, and the leaves point and shiver, '--

"And it run on like that. I don't understand it all. It was written tomy father--"

"A love poem!" Mrs. Mortimer broke in. "I remember it. Wait a minute. .. . Da-da-dah, da-da-dah, da-da-dah, da-da--STANDS--

"'In the spray of a fountain, whose seed-amethysts Tremble lightlya moment on bosom and hands, Then drip in their basin from bosom andwrists. '

"I've never forgotten the drip of the seed-amethysts, though I don'tremember your mother's name. "

"It was Daisy--" Saxon began. 

"No; Dayelle, " Mrs. Mortimer corrected with quickening recollection. 

"Oh, but nobody called her that. "

"But she signed it that way. What is the rest?"

"Daisy Wiley Brown. "

Mrs. Mortimer went to the bookshelves and quickly returned with a large, soberly-bound volume. 

"It's 'The Story of the Files, '" she explained. "Among other things, allthe good fugitive verse was gathered here from the old newspaper files. "Her eyes running down the index suddenly stopped. "I was right. DayelleWiley Brown. There it is. Ten of her poems, too: 'The Viking's Quest';'Days of Gold'; 'Constancy'; 'The Caballero'; 'Graves at LittleMeadow'--"

"We fought off the Indians there, " Saxon interrupted in her excitement. "And mother, who was only a little girl, went out and got water for thewounded. And the Indians wouldn't shoot at her. Everybody said it wasa miracle. " She sprang out of Billy's arms, reaching for the book andcrying: "Oh, let me see it! Let me see it! It's all new to me. I don'tknow these poems. Can I copy them? I'll learn them by heart. Just tothink, my mother's!"

Mrs. Mortimer's glasses required repolishing; and for half an hour sheand Billy remained silent while Saxon devoured her mother's lines. Atthe end, staring at the book which she had closed on her finger, shecould only repeat in wondering awe:

"And I never knew, I never knew. "

But during that half hour Mrs. Mortimer's mind had not been idle. Alittle later, she broached her plan. She believed in intensive dairyingas well as intensive farming, and intended, as soon as the leaseexpired, to establish a Jersey dairy on the other ten acres. This, likeeverything she had done, would be model, and it meant that she wouldrequire more help. Billy and Saxon were just the two. By next summer shecould have them installed in the cottage she intended building. In themeantime she could arrange, one way and another, to get work for Billythrough the winter. She would guarantee this work, and she knew asmall house they could rent just at the end of the car-line. Underher supervision Billy could take charge from the very beginning of thebuilding. In this way they would be earning money, preparing themselvesfor independent farming life, and have opportunity to look about them. 

But her persuasions were in vain. In the end Saxon succinctly epitomizedtheir point of view. 

"We can't stop at the first place, even if it is as beautiful and kindas yours and as nice as this valley is. We don't even know what we want. We've got to go farther, and see all kinds of places and all kinds ofways, in order to find out. We're not in a hurry to make up our minds. We want to make, oh, so very sure! And besides. .. . " She hesitated. "Besides, we don't like altogether flat land. Billy wants some hills inhis. And so do I. "

When they were ready to leave Mrs. Mortimer offered to present Saxonwith "The Story of the Files"; but Saxon shook her head and got somemoney from Billy. 

"It says it costs two dollars, " she said. "Will you buy me one, and keepit till we get settled? Then I'll write, and you can send it to me. "

"Oh, you Americans, " Mrs. Mortimer chided, accepting the money. "But youmust promise to write from time to time before you're settled. "

She saw them to the county road. 

"You are brave young things, " she said at parting. "I only wish I weregoing with you, my pack upon my back. You're perfectly glorious, thepair of you. If ever I can do anything for you, just let me know. You'rebound to succeed, and I want a hand in it myself. Let me know how thatgovernment land turns out, though I warn you I haven't much faith in itsfeasibility. It's sure to be too far away from markets. "

She shook hands with Billy. Saxon she caught into her arms and kissed. 

"Be brave, " she said, with low earnestness, in Saxon's ear. "You'll win. You are starting with the right ideas. And you were right not to acceptmy proposition. But remember, it, or better, will always be open to you. You're young yet, both of you. Don't be in a hurry. Any time youstop anywhere for a while, let me know, and I'll mail you heaps ofagricultural reports and farm publications. Good-bye. Heaps and heapsand heaps of luck. "

CHAPTER IV

Bill sat motionless on the edge of the bed in their little room in SanJose that night, a musing expression in his eyes. 

"Well, " he remarked at last, with a long-drawn breath, "all I've gotto say is there's some pretty nice people in this world after all. TakeMrs. Mortimer. Now she's the real goods--regular old American. "

"A fine, educated lady, " Saxon agreed, "and not a bit ashamed to work atfarming herself. And she made it go, too. "

"On twenty acres--no, ten; and paid for 'em, an' all improvements, an'supported herself, four hired men, a Swede woman an' daughter, an' herown nephew. It gets me. Ten acres! Why, my father never talked less'none hundred an' sixty acres. Even your brother Tom still talks inquarter sections. --An' she was only a woman, too. We was lucky inmeetin' her. "

"Wasn't it an adventure!" Saxon cried. "That's what comes of traveling. You never know what's going to happen next. It jumped right out at us, just when we were tired and wondering how much farther to San Jose. We weren't expecting it at all. And she didn't treat us as if we weretramping. And that house--so clean and beautiful. You could eat off thefloor. I never dreamed of anything so sweet and lovely as the inside ofthat house. "

"It smelt good, " Billy supplied. 

"That's the very thing. It's what the women's pages call atmosphere. I didn't know what they meant before. That house has beautiful, sweetatmosphere--"

"Like all your nice underthings, " said Billy. 

"And that's the next step after keeping your body sweet and clean andbeautiful. It's to have your house sweet and clean and beautiful. "

"But it can't be a rented one, Saxon. You've got to own it. Landlordsdon't build houses like that. Just the same, one thing stuck out plain:that house was not expensive. It wasn't the cost. It was the way. Thewood was ordinary wood you can buy in any lumber yard. Why, our houseon Pine street was made out of the same kind of wood. But the way it wasmade was different. I can't explain, but you can see what I'm drivin'at. "

Saxon, revisioning the little bungalow they had just left, repeatedabsently: "That's it--the way. "

The next morning they were early afoot, seeking through the suburbs ofSan Jose the road to San Juan and Monterey. Saxon's limp had increased. Beginning with a burst blister, her heel was skinning rapidly. Billyremembered his father's talks about care of the feet, and stopped at abutcher shop to buy five cents' worth of mutton tallow. 

"That's the stuff, " he told Saxon. "Clean foot-gear and the feet wellgreased. We'll put some on as soon as we're clear of town. An' we mightas well go easy for a couple of days. Now, if I could get a little workso as you could rest up several days it'd be just the thing. I '11 keepmy eye peeled. "

Almost on the outskirts of town he left Saxon on the county road andwent up a long driveway to what appeared a large farm. He came backbeaming. 

"It's all hunkydory, " he called as he approached. "We'll just go downto that clump of trees by the creek an' pitch camp. I start work in themornin', two dollars a day an' board myself. It'd been a dollar an' ahalf if he furnished the board. I told 'm I liked the other way best, an' that I had my camp with me. The weather's fine, an' we can make outa few days till your foot's in shape. Come on. We'll pitch a regular, decent camp. "

"How did you get the job, " Saxon asked, as they cast about, determiningtheir camp-site. 

"Wait till we get fixed an' I'll tell you all about it. It was a dream, a cinch. "

Not until the bed was spread, the fire built, and a pot of beans boilingdid Billy throw down the last armful of wood and begin. 

"In the first place, Benson's no old-fashioned geezer. You wouldn'tthink he was a farmer to look at 'm. He's up to date, sharp as tacks, talks an' acts like a business man. I could see that, just by lookin' athis place, before I seen HIM. He took about fifteen seconds to size meup. 

"'Can you plow?' says he. 

"'Sure thing, ' I told 'm. 

"'Know horses?'

"'I was hatched in a box-stall, ' says I. 

"An' just then--you remember that four-horse load of machinery that comein after me?--just then it drove up. 

"'How about four horses?' he asks, casual-like. 

"'Right to home. I can drive 'm to a plow, a sewin' machine, or amerry-go-round. '

"'Jump up an' take them lines, then, ' he says, quick an' sharp, notwastin' seconds. 'See that shed. Go 'round the barn to the right an'back in for unloadin'. '

"An' right here I wanta tell you it was some nifty drivin' he wasaskin'. I could see by the tracks the wagons'd all ben goin' around thebarn to the left. What he was askin' was too close work for comfort--adouble turn, like an S, between a corner of a paddock an' around thecorner of the barn to the last swing. An', to eat into the little roomthere was, there was piles of manure just thrown outa the barn an' nothauled away yet. But I wasn't lettin' on nothin'. The driver gave me thelines, an' I could see he was grinnin', sure I'd make a mess of it. Ibet he couldn't a-done it himself. I never let on, an away we went, me not even knowin' the horses--but, say, if you'd seen me throw themleaders clean to the top of the manure till the nigh horse was scrapin'the side of the barn to make it, an' the off hind hub was cuttin' thecorner post of the paddock to miss by six inches. It was the only way. An' them horses was sure beauts. The leaders slacked back an' darn nearsat down on their singletrees when I threw the back into the wheelersan' slammed on the brake an' stopped on the very precise spot. 

"'You'll do, ' Benson says. 'That was good work. '

"'Aw, shucks, ' I says, indifferent as hell. 'Gimme something real hard. '

"He smiles an' understands. 

"'You done that well, ' he says. 'An' I'm particular about who handlesmy horses. The road ain't no place for you. You must be a good man gonewrong. Just the same you can plow with my horses, startin' in to-morrowmornin'. '

"Which shows how wise he wasn't. I hadn't showed I could plow. "

When Saxon had served the beans, and Billy the coffee, she stood stilla moment and surveyed the spread meal on the blankets--the canister ofsugar, the condensed milk tin, the sliced corned beef, the lettuce saladand sliced tomatoes, the slices of fresh French bread, and the steamingplates of beans and mugs of coffee. 

"What a difference from last night!" Saxon exclaimed, clapping herhands. "It's like an adventure out of a book. Oh, that boy I wentfishing with! Think of that beautiful table and that beautiful houselast night, and then look at this. Why, we could have lived a thousandyears on end in Oakland and never met a woman like Mrs. Mortimer nordreamed a house like hers existed. And, Billy, just to think, we've onlyjust started. "

Billy worked for three days, and while insisting that he was doing verywell, he freely admitted that there was more in plowing than he hadthought. Saxon experienced quiet satisfaction when she learned he wasenjoying it. 

"I never thought I'd like plowin'--much, " he observed. "But it's fine. It's good for the leg-muscles, too. They don't get exercise enough inteamin'. If ever I trained for another fight, you bet I'd take a whackat plowin'. An', you know, the ground has a regular good smell to it, a-turnin' over an' turnin' over. Gosh, it's good enough to eat, thatsmell. An' it just goes on, turnin' up an' over, fresh an' thick an'good, all day long. An' the horses are Joe-dandies. They know theirbusiness as well as a man. That's one thing, Benson ain't got a scrubhorse on the place. "

The last day Billy worked, the sky clouded over, the air grew damp, astrong wind began to blow from the southeast, and all the signs werepresent of the first winter rain. Billy came back in the evening with asmall roll of old canvas he had borrowed, which he proceeded to arrangeover their bed on a framework so as to shed rain. Several times hecomplained about the little finger of his left hand. It had beenbothering him all day he told Saxon, for several days slightly, in fact, and it was as tender as a boil--most likely a splinter, but he had beenunable to locate it. 

He went ahead with storm preparations, elevating the bed on old boardswhich he lugged from a disused barn falling to decay on the oppositebank of the creek. Upon the boards he heaped dry leaves for a mattress. He concluded by reinforcing the canvas with additional guys of oddpieces of rope and bailing-wire. 

When the first splashes of rain arrived Saxon was delighted. Billybetrayed little interest. His finger was hurting too much, he said. Neither he nor Saxon could make anything of it, and both scoffed at theidea of a felon. 

"It might be a run-around, " Saxon hazarded. 

"What's that?"

"I don't know. I remember Mrs. Cady had one once, but I was too small. It was the little finger, too. She poulticed it, I think. And I remembershe dressed it with some kind of salve. It got awful bad, and finishedby her losing the nail. After that it got well quick, and a new nailgrew out. Suppose I make a hot bread poultice for yours. "

Billy declined, being of the opinion that it would be better in themorning. Saxon was troubled, and as she dozed off she knew that he waslying restlessly wide awake. A few minutes afterward, roused by a heavyblast of wind and rain on the canvas, she heard Billy softly groaning. She raised herself on her elbow and with her free hand, in the wayshe knew, manipulating his forehead and the surfaces around his eyes, soothed him off to sleep. 

Again she slept. And again she was aroused, this time not by the storm, but by Billy. She could not see, but by feeling she ascertained hisstrange position. He was outside the blankets and on his knees, hisforehead resting on the boards, his shoulders writhing with suppressedanguish. 

"She's pulsin' to beat the band, " he said, when she spoke. "It's worsena thousand toothaches. But it ain't nothin'. .. If only the canvas don'tblow down. Think what our folks had to stand, " he gritted out betweengroans. "Why, my father was out in the mountains, an' the man with 'mgot mauled by a grizzly--clean clawed to the bones all over. An' theywas outa grub an' had to travel. Two times outa three, when my fatherput 'm on the horse, he'd faint away. Had to be tied on. An' that lastedfive weeks, an' HE pulled through. Then there was Jack Quigley. Heblowed off his whole right hand with the burstin' of his shotgun, an'the huntin' dog pup he had with 'm ate up three of the fingers. An' hewas all alone in the marsh, an'--"

But Saxon heard no more of the adventures of Jack Quigley. A terrificblast of wind parted several of the guys, collapsed the framework, and for a moment buried them under the canvas. The next moment canvas, framework, and trailing guys were whisked away into the darkness, andSaxon and Billy were deluged with rain. 

"Only one thing to do, " he yelled in her ear. "--Gather up the thingsan' get into that old barn. "

They accomplished this in the drenching darkness, making two tripsacross the stepping stones of the shallow creek and soaking themselvesto the knees. The old barn leaked like a sieve, but they managed to finda dry space on which to spread their anything but dry bedding. Billy'spain was heart-rending to Saxon. An hour was required to subdue him to adoze, and only by continuously stroking his forehead could she keep himasleep. Shivering and miserable, she accepted a night of wakefulnessgladly with the knowledge that she kept him from knowing the worst ofhis pain. 

At the time when she had decided it must be past midnight, there was aninterruption. From the open doorway came a flash of electric light, likea tiny searchlight, which quested about the barn and came to rest on herand Billy. From the source of light a harsh voice said:

"Ah! ha! I've got you! Come out of that!"

Billy sat up, his eyes dazzled by the light. The voice behind the lightwas approaching and reiterating its demand that they come out of that. 

"What's up?" Billy asked. 

"Me, " was the answer; "an' wide awake, you bet. "

The voice was now beside them, scarcely a yard away, yet they couldsee nothing on account of the light, which was intermittent, frequentlygoing out for an instant as the operator's thumb tired on the switch. 

"Come on, get a move on, " the voice went on. "Roll up your blankets an'trot along. I want you. "

"Who in hell are you?" Billy demanded. 

"I'm the constable. Come on. "

"Well, what do you want?"

"You, of course, the pair of you. "

"What for?"

"Vagrancy. Now hustle. I ain't goin' to loaf here all night. "

"Aw, chase yourself, " Billy advised. "I ain't a vag. I'm a workingman. "

"Maybe you are an' maybe you ain't, " said the constable; "but you cantell all that to Judge Neusbaumer in the mornin'. "

"Why you. .. You stinkin', dirty cur, you think you're goin' to pull me, "Billy began. "Turn the light on yourself. I want to see what kind of anugly mug you got. Pull me, eh? Pull me? For two cents I'd get up therean' beat you to a jelly, you--"

"No, no, Billy, " Saxon pleaded. "Don't make trouble. It would meanjail. "

"That's right, " the constable approved, "listen to your woman. "

"She's my wife, an' see you speak of her as such, " Billy warned. "Nowget out, if you know what's good for yourself. "

"I've seen your kind before, " the constable retorted. "An' I've got mylittle persuader with me. Take a squint. "

The shaft of light shifted, and out of the darkness, illuminated withghastly brilliance, they saw thrust a hand holding a revolver. This handseemed a thing apart, self-existent, with no corporeal attachment, andit appeared and disappeared like an apparition as the thumb-pressurewavered on the switch. One moment they were staring at the hand andrevolver, the next moment at impenetrable darkness, and the next momentagain at the hand and revolver. 

"Now, I guess you'll come, " the constable gloated. 

"You got another guess comin', " Billy began. 

But at that moment the light went out. They heard a quick movement onthe officer's part and the thud of the light-stick on the ground. BothBilly and the constable fumbled for it, but Billy found it and flashedit on the other. They saw a gray-bearded man clad in streaming oilskins. He was an old man, and reminded Saxon of the sort she had been used tosee in Grand Army processions on Decoration Day. 

"Give me that stick, " he bullied. 

Billy sneered a refusal. 

"Then I'll put a hole through you, by criminy. "

He leveled the revolver directly at Billy, whose thumb on the switch didnot waver, and they could see the gleaming bullet-tips in the chambersof the cylinder. 

"Why, you whiskery old skunk, you ain't got the grit to shoot sourapples, " was Billy's answer. "I know your kind--brave as lions when itcomes to pullin' miserable, broken-spirited bindle stiffs, but asleery as a yellow dog when you face a man. Pull that trigger! Why, youpusillanimous piece of dirt, you'd run with your tail between your legsif I said boo!"

Suiting action to the word, Billy let out an explosive "BOO!" and Saxongiggled involuntarily at the startle it caused in the constable. 

"I'll give you a last chance, " the latter grated through his teeth. "Turn over that light-stick an' come along peaceable, or I'll lay youout. "

Saxon was frightened for Billy's sake, and yet only half frightened. Shehad a faith that the man dared not fire, and she felt the old familiarthrills of admiration for Billy's courage. She could not see his face, but she knew in all certitude that it was bleak and passionless in theterrifying way she had seen it when he fought the three Irishmen. 

"You ain't the first man I killed, " the constable threatened. "I'm anold soldier, an' I ain't squeamish over blood--"

"And you ought to be ashamed of yourself, " Saxon broke in, "trying toshame and disgrace peaceable people who've done no wrong. "

"You've done wrong sleepin' here, " was his vindication. "This ain't yourproperty. It's agin the law. An' folks that go agin the law go to jail, as the two of you'll go. I've sent many a tramp up for thirty days forsleepin' in this very shack. Why, it's a regular trap for 'em. I got agood glimpse of your faces an' could see you was tough characters. " Heturned on Billy. "I've fooled enough with you. Are you goin' to give inan' come peaceable?"

"I'm goin' to tell you a couple of things, old boss, " Billy answered. "Number one: you ain't goin' to pull us. Number two: we're goin' tosleep the night out here. "

"Gimme that light-stick, " the constable demanded peremptorily. 

"G'wan, Whiskers. You're standin' on your foot. Beat it. Pull yourfreight. As for your torch you'll find it outside in the mud. "

Billy shifted the light until it illuminated the doorway, and then threwthe stick as he would pitch a baseball. They were now in total darkness, and they could hear the intruder gritting his teeth in rage. 

"Now start your shootin' an' see what'll happen to you, " Billy advisedmenacingly. 

Saxon felt for Billy's hand and squeezed it proudly. The constablegrumbled some threat. 

"What's that?" Billy demanded sharply. "Ain't you gone yet? Now listento me, Whiskers. I've put up with all your shenanigan I'm goin' to. Nowget out or I'll throw you out. An' if you come monkeyin, around hereagain you'll get yours. Now get!"

So great was the roar of the storm that they could hear nothing. Billyrolled a cigarette. When he lighted it, they saw the barn was empty. Billy chuckled. 

"Say, I was so mad I clean forgot my run-around. It's only justbeginnin' to tune up again. "

Saxon made him lie down and receive her soothing ministrations. 

"There is no use moving till morning, " she said. "Then, just as soonas it's light, we'll catch a car into San Jose, rent a room, get a hotbreakfast, and go to a drug store for the proper stuff for poulticing orwhatever treatment's needed. "

"But Benson, " Billy demurred. 

"I'll telephone him from town. It will only cost five cents. I saw hehad, a wire. And you couldn't plow on account of the rain, even if yourfinger was well. Besides, we'll both be mending together. My heel willbe all right by the time it clears up and we can start traveling. "

CHAPTER V

Early on Monday morning, three days later, Saxon and Billy took anelectric car to the end of the line, and started a second time for SanJuan. Puddles were standing in the road, but the sun shone from a bluesky, and everywhere, on the ground, was a faint hint of budding green. At Benson's Saxon waited while Billy went in to get his six dollars forthe three days' plowing. 

"Kicked like a steer because I was quittin', " he told her when he cameback. "He wouldn't listen at first. Said he'd put me to drivin' in afew days, an' that there wasn't enough good four-horse men to let one goeasily. "

"And what did you say?"

"Oh, I just told 'm I had to be movin' along. An' when he tried to argueI told 'm my wife was with me, an' she was blamed anxious to get along. "

"But so are you, Billy. "

"Sure, Pete; but just the same I wasn't as keen as you. Doggone it, Iwas gettin' to like that plowin'. I'll never be scairt to ask for a jobat it again. I've got to where I savvy the burro, an' you bet I can plowagainst most of 'm right now. "

An hour afterward, with a good three miles to their credit, they edgedto the side of the road at the sound of an automobile behind them. Butthe machine did not pass. Benson was alone in it, and he came to a stopalongside. 

"Where are you bound?" he inquired of Billy, with a quick, measuringglance at Saxon. 

"Monterey--if you're goin' that far, " Billy answered with a chuckle. 

"I can give you a lift as far as Watsonville. It would take you severaldays on shank's mare with those loads. Climb in. " He addressed Saxondirectly. "Do you want to ride in front?"

Saxon glanced to Billy. 

"Go on, " he approved. "It's fine in front. --This is my wife, Mr. Benson--Mrs. Roberts. "

"Oh, ho, so you're the one that took your husband away from me, " Bensonaccused good humoredly, as he tucked the robe around her. 

Saxon shouldered the responsibility and became absorbed in watching himstart the car. 

"I'd be a mighty poor farmer if I owned no more land than you'd plowedbefore you came to me, " Benson, with a twinkling eye, jerked over hisshoulder to Billy. 

"I'd never had my hands on a plow but once before, " Billy confessed. "But a fellow has to learn some time. "

"At two dollars a day?"

"If he can get some alfalfa artist to put up for it, " Billy met himcomplacently. 

Benson laughed heartily. 

"You're a quick learner, " he complimented. "I could see that you andplows weren't on speaking acquaintance. But you took hold right. Thereisn't one man in ten I could hire off the county road that could do aswell as you were doing on the third day. But your big asset is that youknow horses. It was half a joke when I told you to take the lines thatmorning. You're a trained horseman and a born horseman as well. "

"He's very gentle with horses, " Saxon said. 

"But there's more than that to it, " Benson took her up. "Your husband'sgot the WAY with him. It's hard to explain. But that's what it is--theWAY. It's an instinct almost. Kindness is necessary. But GRIP is moreso. Your husband grips his horses. Take the test I gave him with thefour-horse load. It was too complicated and severe. Kindness couldn'thave done it. It took grip. I could see it the moment he started. Therewasn't any doubt in his mind. There wasn't any doubt in the horses. Theygot the feel of him. They just knew the thing was going to be done andthat it was up to them to do it. They didn't have any fear, but justthe same they knew the boss was in the seat. When he took hold of thoselines, he took hold of the horses. He gripped them, don't you see. Hepicked them up and put them where he wanted them, swung them up and downand right and left, made them pull, and slack, and back--and they kneweverything was going to come out right. Oh, horses may be stupid, butthey're not altogether fools. They know when the proper horseman hashold of them, though how they know it so quickly is beyond me. "

Benson paused, half vexed at his volubility, and gazed keenly atSaxon to see if she had followed him. What he saw in her face and eyessatisfied him, and he added, with a short laugh:

"Horseflesh is a hobby of mine. Don't think otherwise because I amrunning a stink engine. I'd rather be streaking along here behind a pairof fast-steppers. But I'd lose time on them, and, worse than that, I'dbe too anxious about them all the time. As for this thing, why, it hasno nerves, no delicate joints nor tendons; it's a case of let her rip. "

The miles flew past and Saxon was soon deep in talk with her host. Hereagain, she discerned immediately, was a type of the new farmer. Theknowledge she had picked up enabled her to talk to advantage, and whenBenson talked she was amazed that she could understand so much. Inresponse to his direct querying, she told him her and Billy's plans, sketching the Oakland life vaguely, and dwelling on their futureintentions. 

Almost as in a dream, when they passed the nurseries at Morgan Hill, shelearned they had come twenty miles, and realized that it was a longerstretch than they had planned to walk that day. And still the machinehummed on, eating up the distance as ever it flashed into view. 

"I wondered what so good a man as your husband was doing on the road, "Benson told her. 

"Yes, " she smiled. "He said you said he must be a good man gone wrong. "

"But you see, I didn't know about YOU. Now I understand. Though I mustsay it's extraordinary in these days for a young couple like you to packyour blankets in search of land. And, before I forget it, I want to tellyou one thing. " He turned to Billy. "I am just telling your wife thatthere's an all-the-year job waiting for you on my ranch. And there'sa tight little cottage of three rooms the two of you can housekeep in. Don't forget. "

Among other things Saxon discovered that Benson had gone through theCollege of Agriculture at the University of California--a branch oflearning she had not known existed. He gave her small hope in her searchfor government land. 

"The only government land left, " he informed her, "is what is not goodenough to take up for one reason or another. If it's good land downthere where you're going, then the market is inaccessible. I know norailroads tap in there. "

"Wait till we strike Pajaro Valley, " he said, when they had passedGilroy and were booming on toward Sargent's. "I'll show you what can bedone with the soil--and not by cow-college graduates but by uneducatedforeigners that the high and mighty American has always sneered at. I'llshow you. It's one of the most wonderful demonstrations in the state. "

At Sargent's he left them in the machine a few minutes while hetransacted business. 

"Whew! It beats hikin', " Billy said. "The day's young yet and when hedrops us we'll be fresh for a few miles on our own. Just the same, when we get settled an' well off, I guess I'll stick by horses. They'llalways be good enough for me. "

"A machine's only good to get somewhere in a hurry, " Saxon agreed. "Ofcourse, if we got very, very rich--"

"Say, Saxon, " Billy broke in, suddenly struck with an idea. "I'velearned one thing. I ain't afraid any more of not gettin' work in thecountry. I was at first, but I didn't tell you. Just the same I was deadleery when we pulled out on the San Leandro pike. An' here, already, is two places open--Mrs. Mortimer's an' Benson's; an' steady jobs, too. Yep, a man can get work in the country. "

"Ah, " Saxon amended, with a proud little smile, "you haven't said itright. Any GOOD man can get work in the country. The big farmers don'thire men out of charity. "

"Sure; they ain't in it for their health, " he grinned. 

"And they jump at you. That's because you are a good man. They can seeit with half an eye. Why, Billy, take all the working tramps we've meton the road already. There wasn't one to compare with you. I looked themover. They're all weak--weak in their bodies, weak in their heads, weakboth ways. "

"Yep, they are a pretty measly bunch, " Billy admitted modestly. 

"It's the wrong time of the year to see Pajaro Valley, " Benson said, when he again sat beside Saxon and Sargent's was a thing of the past. "Just the same, it's worth seeing any time. Think of it--twelve thousandacres of apples! Do you know what they call Pajaro Valley now? NewDalmatia. We're being squeezed out. We Yankees thought we were smart. Well, the Dalmatians came along and showed they were smarter. They weremiserable immigrants--poorer than Job's turkey. First, they workedat day's labor in the fruit harvest. Next they began, in a small way, buying the apples on the trees. The more money they made the biggerbecame their deals. Pretty soon they were renting the orchards on longleases. And now, they are beginning to buy the land. It won't be longbefore they own the whole valley, and the last American will be gone. 

"Oh, our smart Yankees! Why, those first ragged Slavs in their firstlittle deals with us only made something like two and three thousandper cent. Profits. And now they're satisfied to make a hundred per cent. It's a calamity if their profits sink to twenty-five or fifty per cent. "

"It's like San Leandro, " Saxon said. "The original owners of the landare about all gone already. It's intensive cultivation. " She liked thatphrase. "It isn't a case of having a lot of acres, but of how much theycan get out of one acre. "

"Yes, and more than that, " Benson answered, nodding his heademphatically. "Lots of them, like Luke Scurich, are in it on a largescale. Several of them are worth a quarter of a million already. I knowten of them who will average one hundred and fifty thousand each. Theyhave a WAY with apples. It's almost a gift. They KNOW trees in muchthe same way your husband knows horses. Each tree is just as much anindividual to them as a horse is to me. They know each tree, its wholehistory, everything that ever happened to it, its every idiosyncrasy. They have their fingers on its pulse. They can tell if it's feeling aswell to-day as it felt yesterday. And if it isn't, they know why andproceed to remedy matters for it. They can look at a tree in bloom andtell how many boxes of apples it will pack, and not only that--they'llknow what the quality and grades of those apples are going to be. Why, they know each individual apple, and they pick it tenderly, with love, never hurting it, and pack it and ship it tenderly and with love, andwhen it arrives at market, it isn't bruised nor rotten, and it fetchestop price. 

"Yes, it's more than intensive. These Adriatic Slavs are long-headed inbusiness. Not only can they grow apples, but they can sell apples. Nomarket? What does it matter? Make a market. That's their way, while ourkind let the crops rot knee-deep under the trees. Look at Peter Mengol. Every year he goes to England, and he takes a hundred carloads of yellowNewton pippins with him. Why, those Dalmatians are showing Pajaro appleson the South African market right now, and coining money out of it handover fist. "

"What do they do with all the money?" Saxon queried. 

"Buy the Americans of Pajaro Valley out, of course, as they are alreadydoing. "

"And then?" she questioned. 

Benson looked at her quickly. 

"Then they'll start buying the Americans out of some other valley. Andthe Americans will spend the money and by the second generation startrotting in the cities, as you and your husband would have rotted if youhadn't got out. "

Saxon could not repress a shudder. --As Mary had rotted, she thought; asBert and all the rest had rotted; as Tom and all the rest were rotting. 

"Oh, it's a great country, " Benson was continuing. "But we're not agreat people. Kipling is right. We're crowded out and sitting on thestoop. And the worst of it is there's no reason we shouldn't knowbetter. We're teaching it in all our agricultural colleges, experimentstations, and demonstration trains. But the people won't take hold, andthe immigrant, who has learned in a hard school, beats them out. Why, after I graduated, and before my father died--he was of the old schooland laughed at what he called my theories--I traveled for a couple ofyears. I wanted to see how the old countries farmed. Oh, I saw. 

"We'll soon enter the valley. You bet I saw. First thing, in Japan, theterraced hillsides. Take a hill so steep you couldn't drive a horse upit. No bother to them. They terraced it--a stone wall, and good masonry, six feet high, a level terrace six feet wide; up and up, walls andterraces, the same thing all the way, straight into the air, walls uponwalls, terraces upon terraces, until I've seen ten-foot walls built tomake three-foot terraces, and twenty-foot walls for four or five feetof soil they could grow things on. And that soil, packed up themountainsides in baskets on their backs!

"Same thing everywhere I went, in Greece, in Ireland, in Dalmatia--Iwent there, too. They went around and gathered every bit of soil theycould find, gleaned it and even stole it by the shovelful or handful, and carried it up the mountains on their backs and built farms--BUILTthem, MADE them, on the naked rock. Why, in France, I've seen hillpeasants mining their stream-beds for soil as our fathers mined thestreams of California for gold. Only our gold's gone, and the peasants'soil remains, turning over and over, doing something, growing something, all the time. Now, I guess I'll hush. "

"My God!" Billy muttered in awe-stricken tones. "Our folks never donethat. No wonder they lost out. "

"There's the valley now, " Benson said. "Look at those trees! Look atthose hillsides! That's New Dalmatia. Look at it! An apple paradise!Look at that soil! Look at the way it's worked!"

It was not a large valley that Saxon saw. But everywhere, across theflat-lands and up the low rolling hills, the industry of the Dalmatianswas evident. As she looked she listened to Benson. 

"Do you know what the old settlers did with this beautiful soil? Plantedthe flats in grain and pastured cattle on the hills. And now twelvethousand acres of it are in apples. It's a regular show place for theEastern guests at Del Monte, who run out here in their machines to seethe trees in bloom or fruit. Take Matteo Lettunich--he's one of theoriginals. Entered through Castle Garden and became a dish-washer. When he laid eyes on this valley he knew it was his Klondike. To-day heleases seven hundred acres and owns a hundred and thirty of his own--thefinest orchard in the valley, and he packs from forty to fifty thousandboxes of export apples from it every year. And he won't let a soul but aDalmatian pick a single apple of all those apples. One day, in a banter, I asked him what he'd sell his hundred and thirty acres for. He answeredseriously. He told me what it had netted him, year by year, and struckan average. He told me to calculate the principal from that at six percent. I did. It came to over three thousand dollars an acre. "

"What are all the Chinks doin' in the Valley?" Billy asked. "Growin'apples, too?"

Benson shook his head. 

"But that's another point where we Americans lose out. There isn'tanything wasted in this valley, not a core nor a paring; and it isn'tthe Americans who do the saving. There are fifty-seven apple-evaporatingfurnaces, to say nothing of the apple canneries and cider and vinegarfactories. And Mr. John Chinaman owns them. They ship fifteen thousandbarrels of cider and vinegar each year. "

"It was our folks that made this country, " Billy reflected. "Fought forit, opened it up, did everything--"

"But develop it, " Benson caught him up. "We did our best to destroy it, as we destroyed the soil of New England. " He waved his hand, indicatingsome place beyond the hills. "Salinas lies over that way. If you wentthrough there you'd think you were in Japan. And more than one fatlittle fruit valley in California has been taken over by the Japanese. Their method is somewhat different from the Dalmatians'. First theydrift in fruit picking at day's wages. They give better satisfactionthan the American fruit-pickers, too, and the Yankee grower is glad toget them. Next, as they get stronger, they form in Japanese unionsand proceed to run the American labor out. Still the fruit-growers aresatisfied. The next step is when the Japs won't pick. The American laboris gone. The fruit-grower is helpless. The crop perishes. Then in stepthe Jap labor bosses. They're the masters already. They contract forthe crop. The fruit-growers are at their mercy, you see. Pretty soonthe Japs are running the valley. The fruit-growers have become absenteelandlords and are busy learning higher standards of living in the citiesor making trips to Europe. Remains only one more step. The Japs buythem out. They've got to sell, for the Japs control the labor market andcould bankrupt them at will. "

"But if this goes on, what is left for us?" asked Saxon. 

"What is happening. Those of us who haven't anything rot in the cities. Those of us who have land, sell it and go to the cities. Some becomelarger capitalists; some go into the professions; the rest spend themoney and start rotting when it's gone, and if it lasts their life-timetheir children do the rotting for them. "

Their long ride was soon over, and at parting Benson reminded Billy ofthe steady job that awaited him any time he gave the word. 

"I guess we'll take a peep at that government land first, " Billyanswered. "Don't know what we'll settle down to, but there's one thingsure we won't tackle. "

"What's that?"

"Start in apple-growin' at three thousan' dollars an acre. "

Billy and Saxon, their packs upon the backs, trudged along a hundredyards. He was the first to break silence. 

"An' I tell you another thing, Saxon. We'll never be goin' aroundsmellin' out an' swipin' bits of soil an' carryin' it up a hill in abasket. The United States is big yet. I don't care what Benson or any of'em says, the United States ain't played out. There's millions of acresuntouched an' waitin', an' it's up to us to find 'em. "

"And I'll tell you one thing, " Saxon said. "We're getting an education. Tom was raised on a ranch, yet he doesn't know right now as much aboutfarming conditions as we do. And I'll tell you another thing. The moreI think of it, the more it seems we are going to be disappointed aboutthat government land. "

"Ain't no use believin' what everybody tells you, " he protested. 

"Oh, it isn't that. It's what I think. I leave it to you. If this landaround here is worth three thousand an acre, why is it that governmentland, if it's any good, is waiting there, only a short way off, to betaken for the asking. "

Billy pondered this for a quarter of a mile, but could come to noconclusion. At last he cleared his throat and remarked:

"Well, we can wait till we see it first, can't we?"

"All right, " Saxon agreed. "We'll wait till we see it. "

CHAPTER VI

They had taken the direct county road across the hills from Monterey, instead of the Seventeen Mile Drive around by the coast, so that CarmelBay came upon them without any fore-glimmerings of its beauty. Droppingdown through the pungent pines, they passed woods-embowered cottages, quaint and rustic, of artists and writers, and went on across wind-blownrolling sandhills held to place by sturdy lupine and nodding with paleCalifornia poppies. Saxon screamed in sudden wonder of delight, thencaught her breath and gazed at the amazing peacock-blue of a breaker, shot through with golden sunlight, overfalling in a mile-long sweep andthundering into white ruin of foam on a crescent beach of sand scarcelyless white. 

How long they stood and watched the stately procession of breakers, rising from out the deep and wind-capped sea to froth and thunder attheir feet, Saxon did not know. She was recalled to herself when Billy, laughing, tried to remove the telescope basket from her shoulders. 

"You kind of look as though you was goin' to stop a while, " he said. "Sowe might as well get comfortable. "

"I never dreamed it, I never dreamed it, " she repeated, withpassionately clasped hands. "I. .. I thought the surf at the Cliff Housewas wonderful, but it gave no idea of this. --Oh! Look! LOOK! Did youever see such an unspeakable color? And the sunlight flashing rightthrough it! Oh! Oh! Oh!"

At last she was able to take her eyes from the surf and gaze at thesea-horizon of deepest peacock-blue and piled with cloud-masses, at thecurve of the beach south to the jagged point of rocks, and at the ruggedblue mountains seen across soft low hills, landward, up Carmel Valley. 

"Might as well sit down an' take it easy, " Billy indulged her. "This istoo good to want to run away from all at once. "

Saxon assented, but began immediately to unlace her shoes. 

"You ain't a-goin' to?" Billy asked in surprised delight, then beganunlacing his own. 

But before they were ready to run barefooted on the perilous fringeof cream-wet sand where land and ocean met, a new and wonderful thingattracted their attention. Down from the dark pines and across thesandhills ran a man, naked save for narrow trunks. He was smooth androsy-skinned, cherubic-faced, with a thatch of curly yellow hair, buthis body was hugely thewed as a Hercules'. 

"Gee!--must be Sandow, " Billy muttered low to Saxon. 

But she was thinking of the engraving in her mother's scrapbook and ofthe Vikings on the wet sands of England. 

The runner passed them a dozen feet away, crossed the wet sand, neverparsing, till the froth wash was to his knees while above him, ten feetat least, upreared a was of overtopping water. Huge and powerful ashis body had seemed, it was now white and fragile in the face of thatimminent, great-handed buffet of the sea. Saxon gasped with anxiety, andshe stole a look at Billy to note that he was tense with watching. 

But the stranger sprang to meet the blow, and, just when it seemed hemust be crushed, he dived into the face of the breaker and disappeared. The mighty mass of water fell in thunder on the beach, but beyondappeared a yellow head, one arm out-reaching, and a portion of ashoulder. Only a few strokes was he able to make are he was come peltedto dye through another breaker. This was the battle--to win seawardagainst the Creep of the shoreward hastening sea. Each time he divedand was lost to view Saxon caught her breath and clenched her hands. Sometimes, after the passage of a breaker, they enfold not find him, andwhen they did he would be scores of feet away, flung there like a chipby a smoke-bearded breaker. Often it seemed he must fail and be thrownupon the beach, but at the end of half an hour he was beyond the outeredge of the surf and swimming strong, no longer diving, but topping thewaves. Soon he was so far away that only at intervals could they findthe speck of him. That, too, vanished, and Saxon and Billy looked ateach other, she with amazement at the swimmer's valor, Billy with blueeyes flashing. 

"Some swimmer, that boy, some swimmer, " he praised. "Nothingchicken-hearted about him. --Say, I only know tank-swimmin', an'bay-swimmin', but now I'm goin' to learn ocean-swimmin'. If I could dothat I'd be so proud you couldn't come within forty feet of me. Why, Saxon, honest to God, I'd sooner do what he done than own a thousan'farms. Oh, I can swim, too, I'm tellin' you, like a fish--I swum, one Sunday, from the Narrow Gauge Pier to Sessions' Basin, an' that'smiles--but I never seen anything like that guy in the swimmin' line. An' I'm not goin' to leave this beach until he comes back. --All by hislonely out there in a mountain sea, think of it! He's got his nerve allright, all right. "

Saxon and Billy ran barefooted up and down the beach, pursuing eachother with brandished snakes of seaweed and playing like children foran hour. It was not until they were putting on their shoes that theysighted the yellow head bearing shoreward. Billy was at the edge of thesurf to meet him, emerging, not white-skinned as he had entered, but redfrom the pounding he had received at the hands of the sea. 

"You're a wonder, and I just got to hand it to you, " Billy greeted himin outspoken admiration. 

"It was a big surf to-day, " the young man replied, with a nod ofacknowledgment. 

"It don't happen that you are a fighter I never heard of?" Billyqueried, striving to get some inkling of the identity of the physicalprodigy. 

The other laughed and shook his head, and Billy could not guess that hewas an ex-captain of a 'Varsity Eleven, and incidentally the father ofa family and the author of many books. He looked Billy over with an eyetrained in measuring freshmen aspirants for the gridiron. 

"You're some body of a man, " he appreciated. "You'd strip with the bestof them. Am I right in guessing that you know your way about in thering?"

Billy nodded. "My name's Roberts. "

The swimmer scowled with a futile effort at recollection. 

"Bill--Bill Roberts, " Billy supplemented. 

"Oh, ho!--Not BIG Bill Roberts? Why, I saw you fight, before theearthquake, in the Mechanic's Pavilion. It was a preliminary to EddieHanlon and some other fellow. You're a two-handed fighter, I rememberthat, with an awful wallop, but slow. Yes, I remember, you were slowthat night, but you got your man. " He put out a wet hand. "My name'sHazard--Jim Hazard. "

"An' if you're the football coach that was, a couple of years ago, I'veread about you in the papers. Am I right?"

They shook hands heartily, and Saxon was introduced. She felt very smallbeside the two young giants, and very proud, withal, that she belongedto the race that gave them birth. She could only listen to them talk. 

"I'd like to put on the gloves with you every day for half an hour, "Hazard said. "You could teach me a lot. Are you going to stay aroundhere?"

"No. We're goin' on down the coast, lookin' for land. Just the same, Icould teach you a few, and there's one thing you could teach me--surfswimmin'. "

"I'll swap lessons with you any time, " Hazard offered. He turned toSaxon. "Why don't you stop in Carmel for a while? It isn't so bad. "

"It's beautiful, " she acknowledged, with a grateful smile, "but--" Sheturned and pointed to their packs on the edge of the lupine. "We're onthe tramp, and lookin' for government land. "

"If you're looking down past the Sur for it, it will keep, " he laughed. "Well, I've got to run along and get some clothes on. If you come backthis way, look me up. Anybody will tell you where I live. So long. "

And, as he had first arrived, he departed, crossing the sandhills on therun. 

Billy followed him with admiring eyes. 

"Some boy, some boy, " he murmured. "Why, Saxon, he's famous. If I'veseen his face in the papers once, I've seen it a thousand times. An' heain't a bit stuck on himself. Just man to man. Say!--I'm beginnin' tohave faith in the old stock again. "

They turned their backs on the beach and in the tiny main street boughtmeat, vegetables, and half a dozen eggs. Billy had to drag Saxon awayfrom the window of a fascinating shop where were iridescent pearls ofabalone, set and unset. 

"Abalones grow here, all along the coast, " Billy assured her; "an' I'llget you all you want. Low tide's the time. "

"My father had a set of cuff-buttons made of abalone shell, " she said. "They were set in pure, soft gold. I haven't thought about them foryears, and I wonder who has them now. "

They turned south. Everywhere from among the pines peeped the quaintpretty houses of the artist folk, and they were not prepared, where theroad dipped to Carmel River, for the building that met their eyes. 

"I know what it is, " Saxon almost whispered. "It's an old SpanishMission. It's the Carmel Mission, of course. That's the way theSpaniards came up from Mexico, building missions as they came andconverting the Indians. "

"Until we chased them out, Spaniards an' Indians, whole kit an'caboodle, " Billy observed with calm satisfaction. 

"Just the same, it's wonderful, " Saxon mused, gazing at the big, half-ruined adobe structure. "There is the Mission Dolores, in SanFrancisco, but it's smaller than this and not as old. "

Hidden from the sea by low hillocks, forsaken by human being and humanhabitation, the church of sun-baked clay and straw and chalk-rock stoodhushed and breathless in the midst of the adobe ruins which once hadhoused its worshiping thousands. The spirit of the place descended uponSaxon and Billy, and they walked softly, speaking in whispers, almostafraid to go in through the open ports. There was neither priest norworshiper, yet they found all the evidences of use, by a congregationwhich Billy judged must be small from the number of the benches. Interthey climbed the earthquake-racked belfry, noting the hand-hewn timbers;and in the gallery, discovering the pure quality of their voices, Saxon, trembling at her own temerity, softly sang the opening bars of "JesusLover of My Soul. " Delighted with the result, she leaned over therailing, gradually increasing her voice to its full strength as shesang:

"Jesus, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearerwaters roll, While the tempest still is nigh. Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide Andreceive my soul at last. "

Billy leaned against the ancient wall and loved her with his eyes, and, when she had finished, he murmured, almost in a whisper:

"That was beautiful--just beautiful. An' you ought to a-seen your facewhen you sang. It was as beautiful as your voice. Ain't it funny?--Inever think of religion except when I think of you. "

They camped in the willow bottom, cooked dinner, and spent the afternoonon the point of low rocks north of the mouth of the river. They had notintended to spend the afternoon, but found themselves too fascinated toturn away from the breakers bursting upon the rocks and from the manykinds of colorful sea life starfish, crabs, mussels, sea anemones, and, once, in a rock-pool, a small devilfish that chilled their blood whenit cast the hooded net of its body around the small crabs they tossedto it. As the tide grew lower, they gathered a mess of mussels--hugefellows, five and six inches long and bearded like patriarchs. Then, while Billy wandered in a vain search for abalones, Saxon lay anddabbled in the crystal-clear water of a roak-pool, dipping up handfulsof glistening jewels--ground bits of shell and pebble of flashing roseand blue and green and violet. Billy came back and lay beside her, lazying in the sea-cool sunshine, and together they watched the sun sinkinto the horizon where the ocean was deepest peacock-blue. 

She reached out her hand to Billy's and sighed with sheer repletion ofcontent. It seemed she had never lived such a wonderful day. It was asif all old dreams were coming true. Such beauty of the world she hadnever guessed in her fondest imagining. Billy pressed her hand tenderly. 

"What was you thinkin' of?" he asked, as they arose finally to go. 

"Oh, I don't know, Billy. Perhaps that it was better, one day like this, than ten thousand years in Oakland. "

CHAPTER VII

They left Carmel River and Carmel Valley behind, and with a rising sunwent south across the hills between the mountains and the sea. The roadwas badly washed and gullied and showed little sign of travel. 

"It peters out altogether farther down, " Billy said. "From there on it'sonly horse trails. But I don't see much signs of timber, an' this soil'snone so good. It's only used for pasture--no farmin' to speak of. "

The hills were bare and grassy. Only the canyons were wooded, while thehigher and more distant hills were furry with chaparral. Once they sawa coyote slide into the brush, and once Billy wished for a gun whena large wildcat stared at them malignantly and declined to run untilrouted by a clod of earth that burst about its ears like shrapnel. 

Several miles along Saxon complained of thirst. Where the road dippednearly at sea level to cross a small gulch Billy looked for water. Thebed of the gulch was damp with hill-drip, and he left her to rest whilehe sought a spring. 

"Say, " he hailed a few minutes afterward. "Come on down. You just gottasee this. It'll 'most take your breath away. "

Saxon followed the faint path that led steeply down through the thicket. Midway along, where a barbed wire fence was strung high across the mouthof the gulch and weighted down with big rocks, she caught her firstglimpse of the tiny beach. Only from the sea could one guess itsexistence, so completely was it tucked away on three precipitous sidesby the land, and screened by the thicket. Furthermore, the beach was thehead of a narrow rock cove, a quarter of a mile long, up which pent waythe sea roared and was subdued at the last to a gentle pulse of surf. Beyond the mouth many detached rocks, meeting the full force of thebreakers, spouted foam and spray high in the air. The knees of theserocks, seen between the surges, were black with mussels. On theirtops sprawled huge sea-lions tawny-wet and roaring in the sun, whileoverhead, uttering shrill cries, darted and wheeled a multitude of seabirds. 

The last of the descent, from the barbed wire fence, was a sliding fallof a dozen feet, and Saxon arrived on the soft dry sand in a sittingposture. 

"Oh, I tell you it's just great, " Billy bubbled. "Look at it for acamping spot. In among the trees there is the prettiest spring youever saw. An' look at all the good firewood, an'. .. " He gazed about andseaward with eyes that saw what no rush of words could compass. ". .. An', an' everything. We could live here. Look at the mussels outthere. An' I bet you we could catch fish. What d'ye say we stop a fewdays?--It's vacation anyway--an' I could go back to Carmel for hooks an'lines. "

Saxon, keenly appraising his glowing face, realized that he was indeedbeing won from the city. 

"An' there ain't no wind here, " he was recommending. "Not a breath. An'look how wild it is. Just as if we was a thousand miles from anywhere. "

The wind, which had been fresh and raw across the bare hills, gained noentrance to the cove; and the beach was warm and balmy, the air sweetlypungent with the thicket odors. Here and there, in the midst of thethicket, severe small oak trees and other small trees of which Saxon didnot know the names. Her enthusiasm now vied with Billy's, and, hand inhand, they started to explore. 

"Here's where we can play real Robinson Crusoe, " Billy cried, as theycrossed the hard sand from highwater mark to the edge of the water. "Come on, Robinson. Let's stop over. Of course, I'm your Man Friday, an'what you say goes. "

"But what shall we do with Man Saturday!" She pointed in mockconsternation to a fresh footprint in the sand. "He may be a savagecannibal, you know. "

"No chance. It's not a bare foot but a tennis shoe. "

"But a savage could get a tennis shoe from a drowned or eaten sailor, couldn't hey" she contended. 

"But sailors don't wear tennis shoes, " was Billy's prompt refutation. 

"You know too much for Man Friday, " she chided; "but, just the same; ifyou'll fetch the packs we'll make camp. Besides, it mightn't have been asailor that was eaten. It might have been a passenger. "

By the end of an hour a snug camp was completed. The blankets werespread, a supply of firewood was chopped from the seasoned driftwood, and over a fire the coffee pot had begun to sing. Saxon called toBilly, who was improvising a table from a wave-washed plank. She pointedseaward. On the far point of rocks, naked except for swimming trunks, stood a man. He was gazing toward them, and they could see his longmop of dark hair blown by the wind. As he started to climb the rockslandward Billy called Saxon's attention to the fact that the strangerwore tennis shoes. In a few minutes he dropped down from the rock to thebeach and walked up to them. 

"Gosh!" Billy whispered to Saxon. "He's lean enough, but look at hismuscles. Everybody down here seems to go in for physical culture. "

As the newcomer approached, Saxon glimpsed sufficient of his face tobe reminded of the old pioneers and of a certain type of face seenfrequently among the old soldiers: Young though he was--not more thanthirty, she decided--this man had the same long and narrow face, withthe high cheekbones, high and slender forehead, and nose high, lean, and almost beaked. The lips were thin and sensitive; but the eyes weredifferent from any she had ever seen in pioneer or veteran or anyman. They were so dark a gray that they seemed brown, and there were afarness and alertness of vision in them as of bright questing throughprofounds of space. In a misty way Saxon felt that she had seen himbefore. 

"Hello, " he greeted. "You ought to be comfortable here. " He threw down apartly filled sack. "Mussels. All I could get. The tide's not low enoughyet. "

Saxon heard Billy muffle an ejaculation, and saw painted on his face theextremest astonishment. 

"Well, honest to God, it does me proud to meet you, " he blurted out. "Shake hands. I always said if I laid eyes on you I'd shake. --Say!"

But Billy's feelings mastered him, and, beginning with a choking giggle, he roared into helpless mirth. 

The stranger looked at him curiously across their clasped hands, andglanced inquiringly to Saxon. 

"You gotta excuse me, " Billy gurgled, pumping the other's hand up anddown. "But I just gotta laugh. Why, honest to God, I've woke up nightsan' laughed an' gone to sleep again. Don't you recognize 'm, Saxon? He'sthe same identical dude say, friend, you're some punkins at a hundredyards dash, ain't you?"

And then, in a sudden rush, Saxon placed him. He it was who had stoodwith Roy Blanchard alongside the automobile on the day she had wandered, sick and unwitting, into strange neighborhoods. Nor had that day beenthe first time she had seen him. 

"Remember the Bricklayers' Picnic at Weasel Park?" Billy was asking. "An' the foot race? Why, I'd know that nose of yours anywhere among amillion. You was the guy that stuck your cane between Timothy McManus'slegs an' started the grandest roughhouse Weasel Park or any other parkever seen. "

The visitor now commenced to laugh. He stood on one leg as he laughedharder, then stood on the other leg. Finally he sat down on a log ofdriftwood. 

"And you were there, " he managed to gasp to Billy at last. "You saw it. You saw it. " He turned to Saxon. "--And you?"

She nodded. 

"Say, " Billy began again, as their laughter eased down, "what I wantsknow is what'd you wanta do it for. Say, what'd you wants do it for?I've been askin' that to myself ever since. "

"So have I, " was the answer. 

"You didn't know Timothy McManus, did you?"

"No; I'd never seen him before, and I've never seen him since. "

"But what'd you wanta do it for?" Billy persisted. 

The young man laughed, then controlled himself. 

"To save my life, I don't know. I have one friend, a most intelligentchap that writes sober, scientific books, and he's always aching tothrow an egg into an electric fan to see what will happen. Perhapsthat's the way it was with me, except that there was no aching. When Isaw those legs flying past, I merely stuck my stick in between. I didn'tknow I was going to do it. I just did it. Timothy McManus was no moresurprised than I was. "

"Did they catch you?" Billy asked. 

"Do I look as if they did? I was never so scared in my life. TimothyMcManus himself couldn't have caught me that day. But what happenedafterward? I heard they had a fearful roughhouse, but I couldn't stop tosee. "

It was not until a quarter of an hour had passed, during which Billydescribed the fight, that introductions took place. Mark Hall was theirvisitor's name, and he lived in a bungalow among the Carmel pines. 

"But how did you ever find your way to Bierce's Cove?" he was curious toknow. "Nobody ever dreams of it from the road. "

"So that's its name?" Saxon said. 

"It's the name we gave it. One of our crowd camped here one summer, and we named it after him. I'll take a cup of that coffee, if you don'tmind. "--This to Saxon. "And then I'll show your husband around. We'repretty proud of this cove. Nobody ever comes here but ourselves. "

"You didn't get all that muscle from bein' chased by McManus, " Billyobserved over the coffee. 

"Massage under tension, " was the cryptic reply. 

"Yes, " Billy said, pondering vacantly. "Do you eat it with a spoon?"

Hall laughed. 

"I'll show you. Take any muscle you want, tense it, then manipulate itwith your fingers, so, and so. "

"An' that done all that'" Billy asked skeptically. 

"All that!" the other scorned proudly. "For one muscle you see, there'sfive tucked away but under command. Touch your finger to any part of meand see. "

Billy complied, touching the right breast. 

"You know something about anatomy, picking a muscleless spot, " scoldedHall. 

Billy grinned triumphantly, then, to his amazement, saw a muscle grow upunder his finger. He prodded it, and found it hard and honest. 

"Massage under tension!" Hall exulted. "Go on--anywhere you want. "

And anywhere and everywhere Billy touched, muscles large and small roseup, quivered, and sank down, till the whole body was a ripple of willedquick. 

"Never saw anything like it, " Billy marveled at the end; "an' I've seensome few good men stripped in my time. Why, you're all living silk. "

"Massage under tension did it, my friend. The doctors gave me up. Myfriends called me the sick rat, and the mangy poet, and all that. ThenI quit the city, came down to Carmel, and went in for the open air--andmassage under tension. "

"Jim Hazard didn't get his muscles that way, " Billy challenged. 

"Certainly not, the lucky skunk; he was born with them. Mine's made. That's the difference. I'm a work of art. He's a cave bear. Come along. I'll show you around now. You'd better get your clothes off. Keep ononly your shoes and pants, unless you've got a pair of trunks. "

"My mother was a poet, " Saxon said, while Billy was getting himselfready in the thicket. She had noted Hall's reference to himself. 

He seemed incurious, and she ventured further. 

"Some of it was printed. "

"What was her name?" he asked idly. 

"Dayelle Wiley Brown. She wrote: 'The Viking's Quest'; 'Days of Gold';'Constancy'; 'The Caballero'; 'Graves at Little Meadow'; and a lot more. Ten of them are in 'The Story of the Files. '"

"I've the book at home, " he remarked, for the first time showing realinterest. "She was a pioneer, of course--before my time. I'll look herup when I get back to the house. My people were pioneers. They came byPanama, in the Fifties, from Long Island. My father was a doctor, buthe went into business in San Francisco and robbed his fellow men out ofenough to keep me and the rest of a large family going ever since. --Say, where are you and your husband bound?"

When Saxon had told him of their attempt to get away from Oakland and oftheir quest for land, he sympathized with the first and shook his headover the second. 

"It's beautiful down beyond the Sur, " he told her. "I've been all overthose redwood canyons, and the place is alive with game. The governmentland is there, too. But you'd be foolish to settle. It's too remote. Andit isn't good farming land, except in patches in the canyons. I knowa Mexican there who is wild to sell his five hundred acres for fifteenhundred dollars. Three dollars an acre! And what does that mean? Thatit isn't worth more. That it isn't worth so much; because he can find notakers. Land, you know, is worth what they buy and sell it for. "

Billy, emerging from the thicket, only in shoes and in pants rolled tothe knees, put an end to the conversation; and Saxon watched the twomen, physically so dissimilar, climb the rocks and start out the southside of the cove. At first her eyes followed them lazily, but soon shegrew interested and worried. Hall was leading Billy up what seemed aperpendicular wall in order to gain the backbone of the rock. Billywent slowly, displaying extreme caution; but twice she saw him slip, theweather-eaten stone crumbling away in his hand and rattling beneath himinto the cove. When Hall reached the top, a hundred feet above the sea, she saw him stand upright and sway easily on the knife-edge whichshe knew fell away as abruptly on the other side. Billy, once on top, contented himself with crouching on hands and knees. The leader wenton, upright, walking as easily as on a level floor. Billy abandoned thehands and knees position, but crouched closely and often helped himselfwith his hands. 

The knife-edge backbone was deeply serrated, and into one of the notchesboth men disappeared. Saxon could not keep down her anxiety, and climbedout on the north side of the cove, which was less rugged and far lessdifficult to travel. Even so, the unaccustomed height, the crumblingsurface, and the fierce buffets of the wind tried her nerve. Soon shewas opposite the men. They had leaped a narrow chasm and were scalinganother tooth. Already Billy was going more nimbly, but his leader oftenpaused and waited for him. The way grew severer, and several times theclefts they essayed extended down to the ocean level and spouted sprayfrom the growling breakers that burst through. At other times, standingerect, they would fall forward across deep and narrow clefts until theirpalms met the opposing side; then, clinging with their fingers, theirbodies would be drawn across and up. 

Near the end, Hall and Billy went out of sight over the south sideof the backbone, and when Saxon saw them again they were rounding theextreme point of rock and coming back on the cove side. Here the wayseemed barred. A wide fissure, with hopelessly vertical sides, yawnedskywards from a foam-white vortex where the mad waters shot their levela dozen feet upward and dropped it as abruptly to the black depths ofbattered rock and writhing weed. 

Clinging precariously, the men descended their side till the spray wasflying about them. Here they paused. Saxon could see Hall pointing downacross the fissure and imagined he was showing some curious thing toBilly. She was not prepared for what followed. The surf-level sucked andsank away, and across and down Hall jumped to a narrow foothold wherethe wash had roared yards deep the moment before. Without pause, asthe returning sea rushed up, he was around the sharp corner and clawingupward hand and foot to escape being caught. Billy was now left alone. He could not even see Hall, much less be further advised by him, and sotensely did Saxon watch, that the pain in her finger-tips, crushedto the rock by which she held, warned her to relax. Billy waited hischance, twice made tentative preparations to leap and sank back, thenleaped across and down to the momentarily exposed foothold, doubled thecorner, and as he clawed up to join Hall was washed to the waist but nottorn away. 

Saxon did not breathe easily till they rejoined her at the fire. Oneglance at Billy told her that he was exceedingly disgusted with himself. 

"You'll do, for a beginner, " Hall cried, slapping him jovially on thebare shoulder. "That climb is a stunt of mine. Many's the brave ladthat's started with me and broken down before we were half way out. I'vehad a dozen balk at that big jump. Only the athletes make it. "

"I ain't ashamed of admittin' I was scairt, " Billy growled. "You're aregular goat, an' you sure got my goat half a dozen times. But I'm madnow. It's mostly trainin', an' I'm goin' to camp right here an' traintill I can challenge you to a race out an' around an' back to thebeach. "

"Done, " said Hall, putting out his hand in ratification. "And sometime, when we get together in San Francisco, I'll lead you up againstBierce--the one this cove is named after. His favorite stunt, whenhe isn't collecting rattlesnakes, is to wait for a forty-mile-an-hourbreeze, and then get up and walk on the parapet of a skyscraper--on thelee side, mind you, so that if he blows off there's nothing to fetch himup but the street. He sprang that on me once. "

"Did you do it!" Billy asked eagerly. 

"I wouldn't have if I hadn't been on. I'd been practicing it secretlyfor a week. And I got twenty dollars out of him on the bet. "

The tide was now low enough for mussel gathering and Saxon accompaniedthe men out the north wall. Hall had several sacks to fill. A rig wascoming for him in the afternoon, he explained, to cart the mussels backto Carmel. When the sacks were full they ventured further among therock crevices and were rewarded with three abalones, among the shellsof which Saxon found one coveted blister-pearl. Hall initiated them intothe mysteries of pounding and preparing the abalone meat for cooking. 

By this time it seemed to Saxon that they had known him a long time. Itreminded her of the old times when Bert had been with them, singing hissongs or ranting about the last of the Mohicans. 

"Now, listen; I'm going to teach you something, " Hall commanded, a largeround rock poised in his hand above the abalone meat. "You must never, never pound abalone without singing this song. Nor must you sing thissong at any other time. It would be the rankest sacrilege. Abaloneis the food of the gods. Its preparation is a religious function. Nowlisten, and follow, and remember that it is a very solemn occasion. "

The stone came down with a thump on the white meat, and thereafter aroseand fell in a sort of tom-tom accompaniment to the poet's song:

"Oh! some folks boast of quail on toast, Because they think it's tony;But I'm content to owe my rent And live on abalone. 

"Oh! Mission Point's a friendly joint Where every crab's a crony, Andtrue and kind you'll ever find The clinging abalone. 

"He wanders free beside the sea Where 'er the coast is stony; He flapshis wings and madly sings--The plaintive abalone. 

"Some stick to biz, some flirt with Liz Down on the sands of Coney; Butwe, by hell, stay in Carmel, And whang the abalone. "

He paused with his mouth open and stone upraised. There was a rattleof wheels and a voice calling from above where the sacks of mussels hadbeen carried. He brought the stone down with a final thump and stood up. 

"There's a thousand more verses like those, " he said. "Sorry I hadn'ttime to teach you them. " He held out his hand, palm downward. "And now, children, bless you, you are now members of the clan of Abalone Eaters, and I solemnly enjoin you, never, no matter what the circumstances, pound abalone meat without chanting the sacred words I have revealedunto you. "

"But we can't remember the words from only one hearing, " Saxonexpostulated. 

"That shall be attended to. Next Sunday the Tribe of Abalone Eaters willdescend upon you here in Bierce's Cove, and you will be able to see therites, the writers and writeresses, down even to the Iron Man with thebasilisk eyes, vulgarly known as the King of the Sacerdotal Lizards. "

"Will Jim Hazard come?" Billy called, as Hall disappeared into thethicket. 

"He will certainly come. Is he not the Cave-Bear Pot-Walloper andGridironer, the most fearsome, and, next to me, the most exalted, of allthe Abalone Eaters?"

Saxon and Billy could only look at each other till they heard the wheelsrattle away. 

"Well, I'll be doggoned, " Billy let out. "He's some boy, that. Nothingstuck up about him. Just like Jim Hazard, comes along and makes himselfat home, you're as good as he is an' he's as good as you, an' we're allfriends together, just like that, right off the bat. "

"He's old stock, too, " Saxon said. "He told me while you wereundressing. His folks came by Panama before the railroad was built, andfrom what he said I guess he's got plenty of money. "

"He sure don't act like it. "

"And isn't he full of fun!" Saxon cried. 

"A regular josher. An' HIM!--a POET!"

"Oh, I don't know, Billy. I've heard that plenty of poets are odd. "

"That's right, come to think of it. There's Joaquin Miller, lives outin the hills back of Fruitvale. He's certainly odd. It's right nearhis place where I proposed to you. Just the same I thought poets worewhiskers and eyeglasses, an' never tripped up foot-racers at Sundaypicnics, nor run around with as few clothes on as the law allows, gatherin' mussels an' climbin' like goats. "

That night, under the blankets, Saxon lay awake, looking at the stars, pleasuring in the balmy thicket-scents, and listening to the dull rumbleof the outer surf and the whispering ripples on the sheltered beach afew feet away. Billy stirred, and she knew he was not yet asleep. 

"Glad you left Oakland, Billy?" she snuggled. 

"Huh!" came his answer. "Is a clam happy?"

CHAPTER VIII

Every half tide Billy raced out the south wall over the dangerous coursehe and Hall had traveled, and each trial found him doing it in fastertime. 

"Wait till Sunday, " he said to Saxon. "I'll give that poet a run for hismoney. Why, they ain't a place that bothers me now. I've got the headconfidence. I run where I went on hands an' knees. I figured it out thisway: Suppose you had a foot to fall on each side, an' it was softhay. They'd be nothing to stop you. You wouldn't fall. You'd go like astreak. Then it's just the same if it's a mile down on each side. Thatain't your concern. Your concern is to stay on top and go like a streak. An', d'ye know, Saxon, when I went at it that way it never bothered meat all. Wait till he comes with his crowd Sunday. I'm ready for him. "

"I wonder what the crowd will be like, " Saxon speculated. 

"Like him, of course. Birds of a feather flock together. They won't bestuck up, any of them, you'll see. "

Hall had sent out fish-lines and a swimming suit by a Mexican cowboybound south to his ranch, and from the latter they learned much of thegovernment land and how to get it. The week flew by; each day Saxonsighed a farewell of happiness to the sun; each morning they greeted itsreturn with laughter of joy in that another happy day had begun. Theymade no plans, but fished, gathered mussels and abalones, and climbedamong the rocks as the moment moved them. The abalone meat they poundedreligiously to a verse of doggerel improvised by Saxon. Billy prospered. Saxon had never seen him at so keen a pitch of health. As for herself, she scarcely needed the little hand-mirror to know that never, sinceshe was a young girl, had there been such color in her cheeks, suchspontaneity of vivacity. 

"It's the first time in my life I ever had real play, " Billy said. "An'you an' me never played at all all the time we was married. This beatsbein' any kind of a millionaire. "

"No seven o'clock whistle, " Saxon exulted. "I'd lie abed in the morningson purpose, only everything is too good not to be up. And now youjust play at chopping some firewood and catching a nice big perch, ManFriday, if you expect to get any dinner. "

Billy got up, hatchet in hand, from where he had been lying prone, digging holes in the sand with his bare toes. 

"But it ain't goin' to last, " he said, with a deep sigh of regret. "Therains'll come any time now. The good weather's hangin' on somethingwonderful. "

On Saturday morning, returning from his run out the south wall, hemissed Saxon. After helloing for her without result, he climbed to theroad. Half a mile away, he saw her astride an unsaddled, unbridled horsethat moved unwillingly, at a slow walk, across the pasture. 

"Lucky for you it was an old mare that had been used to ridin'--see themsaddle marks, " he grumbled, when she at last drew to a halt beside himand allowed him to help her down. 

"Oh, Billy, " she sparkled, "I was never on a horse before. It wasglorious! I felt so helpless, too, and so brave. "

"I'm proud of you, just the same, " he said, in more grumbling tones thanbefore. "'Tain't every married women'd tackle a strange horse that way, especially if she'd never ben on one. An' I ain't forgot that you'regoin' to have a saddle animal all to yourself some day--a regular Joedandy. "

The Abalone Eaters, in two rigs and on a number of horses, descendedin force on Bierce's Cove. There were half a score of men and almost asmany women. All were young, between the ages of twenty-five and forty, and all seemed good friends. Most of them were married. They arrived ina roar of good spirits, tripping one another down the slippery trail andengulfing Saxon and Billy in a comradeship as artless and warm as thesunshine itself. Saxon was appropriated by the girls--she could notrealize them women; and they made much of her, praising her camping andtraveling equipment and insisting on hearing some of her tale. They wereexperienced campers themselves, as she quickly discovered when she sawthe pots and pans and clothes-boilers for the mussels which they hadbrought. 

In the meantime Billy and the men had undressed and scattered out aftermussels and abalones. The girls lighted on Saxon's ukulele and nothingwould do but she must play and sing. Several of them had been toHonolulu, and knew the instrument, confirming Mercedes' definitionof ukulele as "jumping flea. " Also, they knew Hawaiian songs she hadlearned from Mercedes, and soon, to her accompaniment, all weresinging: "Aloha Oe, " "Honolulu Tomboy, " and "Sweet Lei Lehua. " Saxonwas genuinely shocked when some of them, even the more matronly, dancedhulas on the sand. 

When the men returned, burdened with sacks of shellfish, Mark Hall, ashigh priest, commanded the due and solemn rite of the tribe. At a waveof his hand, the many poised stones came down in unison on the whitemeat, and all voices were uplifted in the Hymn to the Abalone. Oldverses all sang, occasionally some one sang a fresh verse alone, whereupon it was repeated in chorus. Billy betrayed Saxon by begging herin an undertone to sing the verse she had made, and her pretty voice wastimidly raised in:

"We sit around and gaily pound, And bear no acrimony Because ourob--ject is a gob Of sizzling abalone. "

"Great!" cried the poet, who had winced at ob--ject. "She speaks thelanguage of the tribe! Come on, children--now!"

And all chanted Saxon's lines. Then Jim Hazard had a new verse, and oneof the girls, and the Iron Man with the basilisk eyes of greenish-gray, whom Saxon recognized from Hall's description. To her it seemed he hadthe face of a priest. 

"Oh! some like ham and some like lamb And some like macaroni; But bringme in a pail of gin And a tub of abalone. 

"Oh! some drink rain and some champagne Or brandy by the pony; But Iwill try a little rye With a dash of abalone. 

"Some live on hope and some on dope And some on alimony. But ourtom-cat, he lives on fat And tender abalone. "

A black-haired, black-eyed man with the roguish face of a satyr, who, Saxon learned, was an artist who sold his paintings at five hundredapiece, brought on himself universal execration and acclamation bysinging:

"The more we take, the more they make In deep sea matrimony; Racesuicide cannot betide The fertile abalone. "

And so it went, verses new and old, verses without end, all inglorification of the succulent shellfish of Carmel. Saxon's enjoymentwas keen, almost ecstatic, and she had difficulty in convincing herselfof the reality of it all. It seemed like some fairy tale or book storycome true. Again, it seemed more like a stage, and these the actors, sheand Billy having blundered into the scene in some incomprehensibleway. Much of wit she sensed which she did not understand. Much she didunderstand. And she was aware that brains were playing as she hadnever seen brains play before. The puritan streak in her training wasastonished and shocked by some of the broadness; but she refused to sitin judgment. They SEEMED good, these light-hearted young people; theycertainly were not rough or gross as were many of the crowds she hadbeen with on Sunday picnics. None of the men got drunk, although therewere cocktails in vacuum bottles and red wine in a huge demijohn. 

What impressed Saxon most was their excessive jollity, their childlikejoy, and the childlike things they did. This effect was heightenedby the fact that they were novelists and painters, poets and critics, sculptors and musicians. One man, with a refined and delicate face--adramatic critic on a great San Francisco daily, she was told--introduceda feat which all the men tried and failed at most ludicrously. On thebeach, at regular intervals, planks were placed as obstacles. Then thedramatic critic, on all fours, galloped along the sand for all theworld like a horse, and for all the world like a horse taking hurdles hejumped the planks to the end of the course. 

Quoits had been brought along, and for a while these were pitched withzest. Then jumping was started, and game slid into game. Billy took partin everything, but did not win first place as often as he had expected. An English writer beat him a dozen feet at tossing the caber. Jim Hazardbeat him in putting the heavy "rock. " Mark Hall out-jumped him standingand running. But at the standing high back-jump Billy did come first. Despite the handicap of his weight, this victory was due to his splendidback and abdominal lifting muscles. Immediately after this, however, hewas brought to grief by Mark Hall's sister, a strapping young amazon incross-saddle riding costume, who three times tumbled him ignominiouslyheels over head in a bout of Indian wrestling. 

"You're easy, " jeered the Iron Man, whose name they had learned was PeteBideaux. "I can put you down myself, catch-as-catch-can. "

Billy accepted the challenge, and found in all truth that the other wasrightly nicknamed. In the training camps Billy had sparred and clinchedwith giant champions like Jim Jeffries and Jack Johnson, and met theweight of their strength, but never had he encountered strength likethis of the Iron Man. Do what he could, Billy was powerless, and twicehis shoulders were ground into the sand in defeat. 

"You'll get a chance back at him, " Hazard whispered to Billy, off at oneside. "I've brought the gloves along. Of course, you had no chance withhim at his own game. He's wrestled in the music halls in London withHackenschmidt. Now you keep quiet, and we'll lead up to it in a casualsort of way. He doesn't know about you. "

Soon, the Englishman who had tossed the caber was sparring with thedramatic critic, Hazard and Hall boxed in fantastic burlesque, then, gloves in hand, looked for the next appropriately matched couple. Thechoice of Bideaux and Billy was obvious. 

"He's liable to get nasty if he's hurt, " Hazard warned Billy, as he tiedon the gloves for him. "He's old American French, and he's got a devilof a temper. But just keep your head and tap him--whatever you do, keeptapping him. "

"Easy sparring now"; "No roughhouse, Bideaux"; "Just light tapping, youknow, " were admonitions variously addressed to the Iron Man. 

"Hold on a second, " he said to Billy, dropping his hands. "When I getrapped I do get a bit hot. But don't mind me. I can't help it, you know. It's only for the moment, and I don't mean it. "

Saxon felt very nervous, visions of Billy's bloody fights and all thescabs he had slugged rising in her brain; but she had never seen herhusband box, and but few seconds were required to put her at ease. TheIron Man had no chance. Billy was too completely the master, guardingevery blow, himself continually and almost at will tapping the other'sface and body. There was no weight in Billy's blows, only a light andsnappy tingle; but their incessant iteration told on the Iron Man'stemper. In vain the onlookers warned him to go easy. His face purpledwith anger, and his blows became savage. But Billy went on, tap, tap, tap, calmly, gently, imperturbably. The Iron Man lost control, and rushed and plunged, delivering great swings and upper-cuts ofman-killing quality. Billy ducked, side-stepped, blocked, stalled, andescaped all damage. In the clinches, which were unavoidable, he lockedthe Iron Man's arms, and in the clinches the Iron Man invariably laughedand apologized, only to lose his head with the first tap the instantthey separated and be more infuriated than ever. 

And when it was over and Billy's identity had been divulged, the IronMan accepted the joke on himself with the best of humor. It had been asplendid exhibition on Billy's part. His mastery of the sport, coupledwith his self-control, had most favorably impressed the crowd, andSaxon, very proud of her man boy, could not but see the admiration allhad for him. 

Nor did she prove in any way a social failure. When the tired andsweating players lay down in the dry sand to cool off, she was persuadedinto accompanying their nonsense songs with the ukulele. Nor was itlong, catching their spirit, ere she was singing to them and teachingthem quaint songs of early days which she had herself learned asa little girl from Cady--Cady, the saloonkeeper, pioneer, andax-cavalryman, who had been a bull-whacker on the Salt Intake Trail inthe days before the railroad. 

One song which became an immediate favorite was:

"Oh! times on Bitter Creek, they never can be beat, Root hog or die ison every wagon sheet; The sand within your throat, the dust within youreye, Bend your back and stand it--root hog or die. "

After the dozen verses of "Root Hog or Die, " Mark Hall claimed to beespecially infatuated with:

"Obadier, he dreampt a dream, Dreampt he was drivin' a ten-mule team, But when he woke he heaved a sigh, The lead-mule kicked e-o-wt theswing-mule's eye. "

It was Mark Hall who brought up the matter of Billy's challenge to raceout the south wall of the cove, though he referred to the test as lyingsomewhere in the future. Billy surprised him by saying he was ready atany time. Forthwith the crowd clamored for the race. Hall offered tobet on himself, but there were no takers. He offered two to one to JimHazard, who shook his head and said he would accept three to one as asporting proposition. Billy heard and gritted his teeth. 

"I'll take you for five dollars, " he said to Hall, "but not at thoseodds. I'll back myself even. "

"It isn't your money I want; it's Hazard's, " Hall demurred. "Though I'llgive either of you three to one. "

"Even or nothing, " Billy held out obstinately. 

Hall finally closed both bets--even with Billy, and three to one withHazard. 

The path along the knife-edge was so narrow that it was impossible forrunners to pass each other, so it was arranged to time the men, Hall togo first and Billy to follow after an interval of half a minute. 

Hall toed the mark and at the word was off with the form of a sprinter. Saxon's heart sank. She knew Billy had never crossed the stretch of sandat that speed. Billy darted forward thirty seconds later, and reachedthe foot of the rock when Hall was half way up. When both were on topand racing from notch to notch, the Iron Man announced that they hadscaled the wall in the same time to a second. 

"My money still looks good, " Hazard remarked, "though I hope neither ofthem breaks a neck. I wouldn't take that run that way for all the goldthat would fill the cove. "

"But you'll take bigger chances swimming in a storm on Carmel Beach, "his wife chided. 

"Oh, I don't know, " he retorted. "You haven't so far to fall whenswimming. "

Billy and Hall had disappeared and were making the circle around theend. Those on the beach were certain that the poet had gained in thedizzy spurts of flight along the knife-edge. Even Hazard admitted it. 

"What price for my money now?" he cried excitedly, dancing up and down. 

Hall had reappeared, the great jump accomplished, and was runningshoreward. But there was no gap. Billy was on his heels, and on hisheels he stayed, in to shore, down the wall, and to the mark on thebeach. Billy had won by half a minute. 

"Only by the watch, " he panted. "Hall was over half a minute ahead of meout to the end. I'm not slower than I thought, but he's faster. He'sa wooz of a sprinter. He could beat me ten times outa ten, except foraccident. He was hung up at the jump by a big sea. That's where I caught'm. I jumped right after 'm on the same sea, then he set the pace home, and all I had to do was take it. "

"That's all right, " said Hall. "You did better than beat me. That's thefirst time in the history of Bierce's Cove that two men made that jumpon the same sea. And all the risk was yours, coming last. "

"It was a fluke, " Billy insisted. 

And at that point Saxon settled the dispute of modesty and raised ageneral laugh by rippling chords on the ukulele and parodying an oldhymn in negro minstrel fashion:

"De Lawd move in er mischievous way His blunders to perform. "

In the afternoon Jim Hazard and Hall dived into the breakers and swamto the outlying rocks, routing the protesting sea-lions and takingpossession of their surf-battered stronghold. Billy followed theswimmers with his eyes, yearning after them so undisguisedly that Mrs. Hazard said to him:

"Why don't you stop in Carmel this winter? Jim will teach you all heknows about the surf. And he's wild to box with you. He works long hoursat his desk, and he really needs exercise. "

Not until sunset did the merry crowd carry their pots and pans andtrove of mussels up to the road and depart. Saxon and Billy watched themdisappear, on horses and behind horses, over the top of the first hill, and then descended hand in hand through the thicket to the camp. Billythrew himself on the sand and stretched out. 

"I don't know when I've been so tired, " he yawned. "An' there's onething sure: I never had such a day. It's worth livin' twenty years foran' then some. "

He reached out his hand to Saxon, who lay beside him. 

"And, oh, I was so proud of you, Billy, " she said. "I never saw you boxbefore. I didn't know it was like that. The Iron Man was at your mercyall the time, and you kept it from being violent or terrible. Everybodycould look on and enjoy--and they did, too. "

"Huh, I want to say you was goin' some yourself. They just took to you. Why, honest to God, Saxon, in the singin' you was the whole show, alongwith the ukulele. All the women liked you, too, an' that's what counts. "

It was their first social triumph, and the taste of it was sweet:

"Mr. Hall said he'd looked up the 'Story of the Files, '" Saxonrecounted. "And he said mother was a true poet. He said it wasastonishing the fine stock that had crossed the Plains. He told me a lotabout those times and the people I didn't know. And he's read all aboutthe fight at Little Meadow. He says he's got it in a book at home, andif we come back to Carmel he'll show it to me. "

"He wants us to come back all right. D'ye know what he said to me, Saxon t He gave me a letter to some guy that's down on the governmentland--some poet that's holdin' down a quarter of a section--so we'll beable to stop there, which'll come in handy if the big rains catch us. An'--Oh! that's what I was drivin' at. He said he had a little shack helived in while the house was buildin'. The Iron Man's livin' in it now, but he's goin' away to some Catholic college to study to be a priest, an' Hall said the shack'd be ours as long as we wanted to use it. An' hesaid I could do what the Iron Man was doin' to make a livin'. Hall waskind of bashful when he was offerin' me work. Said it'd be only oddjobs, but that we'd make out. I could help'm plant potatoes, he said;an' he got half savage when he said I couldn't chop wood. That was hisjob, he said; an' you could see he was actually jealous over it. "

"And Mrs. Hall said just about the same to me, Billy. Carmel wouldn't beso bad to pass the rainy season in. And then, too, you could go swimmingwith Mr. Hazard. "

"Seems as if we could settle down wherever we've a mind to, " Billyassented. "Carmel's the third place now that's offered. Well, afterthis, no man need be afraid of makin' a go in the country. "

"No good man, " Saxon corrected. 

"I guess you're right. " Billy thought for a moment. "Just the same adub, too, has a better chance in the country than in the city. "

"Who'd have ever thought that such fine people existed?" Saxon pondered. "It's just wonderful, when you come to think of it. "

"It's only what you'd expect from a rich poet that'd trip up afoot-racer at an Irish picnic, " Billy exposited. 

"The only crowd such a guy'd run with would be like himself, or he'dmake a crowd that was. I wouldn't wonder that he'd make this crowd. Say, he's got some sister, if anybody'd ride up on a sea-lion an' ask you. She's got that Indian wrestlin' down pat, an' she's built for it. An'say, ain't his wife a beaut?"

A little longer they lay in the warm sand. It was Billy who broke thesilence, and what he said seemed to proceed out of profound meditation. 

"Say, Saxon, d'ye know I don't care if I never see movie picturesagain. "

CHAPTER IX

Saxon and Billy were gone weeks on the trip south, but in the end theycame back to Carmel. They had stopped with Hafler, the poets in theMarble House, which he had built with his own hands. This queer dwellingwas all in one room, built almost entirely of white marble. Hailercooked, as over a campfire, in the huge marble fireplace, which he usedin all ways as a kitchen. There were divers shelves of books, and themassive furniture he had made from redwood, as he had made the shakesfor the roof. A blanket, stretched across a corner, gave Saxon privacy. The poet was on the verge of departing for San Francisco and New York, but remained a day over with them to explain the country and run overthe government land with Billy. Saxon had wanted to go along thatmorning, but Hafler scornfully rejected her, telling her that her legswere too short. That night, when the men returned, Billy was played outto exhaustion. He frankly acknowledged that Hafler had walked him intothe ground, and that his tongue had been hanging out from the firsthour. Hafler estimated that they had covered fifty-five miles. 

"But such miles!" Billy enlarged. "Half the time up or down, an' 'mostall the time without trails. An' such a pace. He was dead right aboutyour short legs, Saxon. You wouldn't a-lasted the first mile. An' suchcountry! We ain't seen anything like it yet. "

Hafler left the next day to catch the train at Monterey. He gave themthe freedom of the Marble House, and told them to stay the whole winterif they wanted. Billy elected to loaf around and rest up that day. He was stiff and sore. Moreover, he was stunned by the exhibition ofwalking prowess on the part of the poet. 

"Everybody can do something top-notch down in this country, " hemarveled. "Now take that Hafler. He's a bigger man than me, an' aheavier. An' weight's against walkin', too. But not with him. He's doneeighty miles inside twenty-four hours, he told me, an' once a hundredan' seventy in three days. Why, he made a show outa me. I felt ashamedas a little kid. "

"Remember, Billy, " Saxon soothed him, "every man to his own game. Anddown here you're a top-notcher at your own game. There isn't one you'renot the master of with the gloves. "

"I guess that's right, " he conceded. "But just the same it goes againstthe grain to be walked off my legs by a poet--by a poet, mind you. "

They spent days in going over the government land, and in the endreluctantly decided against taking it up. The redwood canyons and greatcliffs of the Santa Lucia Mountains fascinated Saxon; but she rememberedwhat Hafler had told her of the summer fogs which hid the sun sometimesfor a week or two at a time, and which lingered for months. Then, too, there was no access to market. It was many miles to where the nearestwagon road began, at Post's, and from there on, past Point Sur toCarmel, it was a weary and perilous way. Billy, with his teamsterjudgment, admitted that for heavy hauling it was anything but a picnic. There was the quarry of perfect marble on Hafler's quarter section. Hehad said that it would be worth a fortune if near a railroad; but, as itwas, he'd make them a present of it if they wanted it. 

Billy visioned the grassy slopes pastured with his horses and cattle, and found it hard to turn his back; but he listened with a willing earto Saxon's argument in favor of a farm-home like the one they had seenin the moving pictures in Oakland. Yes, he agreed, what they wanted wasan all-around farm, and an all-around farm they would have if they hikedforty years to find it. 

"But it must have redwoods on it, " Saxon hastened to stipulate. "I'vefallen in love with them. And we can get along without fog. And theremust be good wagon-roads, and a railroad not more than a thousand milesaway. "

Heavy winter rains held them prisoners for two weeks in the MarbleHouse. Saxon browsed among Hafler's books, though most of them weredepressingly beyond her, while Billy hunted with Hafler's guns. But hewas a poor shot and a worse hunter. His only success was with rabbits, which he managed to kill on occasions when they stood still. With therifle he got nothing, although he fired at half a dozen different deer, and, once, at a huge cat-creature with a long tail which he was certainwas a mountain lion. Despite the way he grumbled at himself, Saxon couldsee the keen joy he was taking. This belated arousal of the huntinginstinct seemed to make almost another man of him. He was out early andlate, compassing prodigious climbs and tramps--once reaching as far asthe gold mines Tom had spoken of, and being away two days. 

"Talk about pluggin' away at a job in the city, an' goin' to movie'pictures and Sunday picnics for amusement!" he would burst out. "I can'tsee what was eatin' me that I ever put up with such truck. Here's whereI oughta ben all the time, or some place like it. "

He was filled with this new mode of life, and was continually recallingold hunting tales of his father and telling them to Saxon. 

"Say, I don't get stiffened any more after an all-day tramp, " heexulted. "I'm broke in. An' some day, if I meet up with that Hafler, I'll challenge'm to a tramp that'll break his heart. "

"Foolish boy, always wanting to play everybody's game and beat them atit, " Saxon laughed delightedly. 

"Aw, I guess you're right, " he growled. "Hafler can always out-walk me. He's made that way. But some day, just the same, if I ever see 'm again, I'll invite 'm to put on the gloves. . . . Though I won't be mean enoughto make 'm as sore as he made me. "

After they left Post's on the way back to Carmel, the condition of theroad proved the wisdom of their rejection of the government land. Theypassed a rancher's wagon overturned, a second wagon with a brokenaxle, and the stage a hundred yards down the mountainside, where it hadfallen, passengers, horses, road, and all. 

"I guess they just about quit tryin' to use this road in the winter, "Billy said. "It's horse-killin' an' man-killin', an' I can just see 'mfreightin' that marble out over it I don't think. "

Settling down at Carmel was an easy matter. The Iron Man had alreadydeparted to his Catholic college, and the "shack" turned out to be athree-roomed house comfortably furnished for housekeeping. Hall putBilly to work on the potato patch--a matter of three acres which thepoet farmed erratically to the huge delight of his crowd. He planted atall seasons, and it was accepted by the community that what did not rotin the ground was evenly divided between the gophers and trespassingcows. A plow was borrowed, a team of horses hired, and Billy tookhold. Also he built a fence around the patch, and after that was setto staining the shingled roof of the bungalow. Hall climbed to theridge-pole to repeat his warning that Billy must keep away from hiswood-pile. One morning Hall came over and watched Billy chopping woodfor Saxon. The poet looked on covetously as long as he could restrainhimself. 

"It's plain you don't know how to use an axe, " he sneered. "Here, let meshow you. "

He worked away for an hour, all the while delivering an exposition onthe art of chopping wood. 

"Here, " Billy expostulated at last, taking hold of the axe. "I'll haveto chop a cord of yours now in order to make this up to you. "

Hall surrendered the axe reluctantly. 

"Don't let me catch you around my wood-pile, that's all, " he threatened. "My wood-pile is my castle, and you've got to understand that. "

From a financial standpoint, Saxon and Billy were putting aside muchmoney. They paid no rent, their simple living was cheap, and Billy hadall the work he cared to accept. The various members of the crowd seemedin a conspiracy to keep him busy. It was all odd jobs, but he preferredit so, for it enabled him to suit his time to Jim Hazard's. Each daythey boxed and took a long swim through the surf. When Hazard finishedhis morning's writing, he would whoop through the pines to Billy, whodropped whatever work he was doing. After the swim, they would take afresh shower at Hazard's house, rub each other down in training campstyle, and be ready for the noon meal. In the afternoon Hazard returnedto his desk, and Billy to his outdoor work, although, still later, theyoften met for a few miles' run over the hills. Training was a matterof habit to both men. Hazard, when he had finished with seven years offootball, knowing the dire death that awaits the big-muscled athlete whoceases training abruptly, had been compelled to keep it up. Not only wasit a necessity, but he had grown to like it. Billy also liked it, for hetook great delight in the silk of his body. 

Often, in the early morning, gun in hand, he was off with Mark Hall, whotaught him to shoot and hunt. Hall had dragged a shotgun around from thedays when he wore knee pants, and his keen observing eyes and knowledgeof the habits of wild life were a revelation to Billy. This part of thecountry was too settled for large game, but Billy kept Saxon suppliedwith squirrels and quail, cottontails and jackrabbits, snipe and wildducks. And they learned to eat roasted mallard and canvasback in theCalifornia style of sixteen minutes in a hot oven. As he became expertwith shotgun and rifle, he began to regret the deer and the mountainlion he had missed down below the Sur; and to the requirements of thefarm he and Saxon sought he added plenty of game. 

But it was not all play in Carmel. That portion of the community whichSaxon and Billy came to know, "the crowd, " was hard-working. Some workedregularly, in the morning or late at night. Others worked spasmodically, like the wild Irish playwright, who would shut himself up for a week ata time, then emerge, pale and drawn, to play like a madman against thetime of his next retirement. The pale and youthful father of a family, with the face of Shelley, who wrote vaudeville turns for a living andblank verse tragedies and sonnet cycles for the despair of managers andpublishers, hid himself in a concrete cell with three-foot walls, sopiped, that, by turning a lever, the whole structure spouted water uponthe impending intruder. But in the main, they respected each other'swork-time. They drifted into one another's houses as the spiritprompted, but if they found a man at work they went their way. Thisobtained to all except Mark Hall, who did not have to work for a living;and he climbed trees to get away from popularity and compose in peace. 

The crowd was unique in its democracy and solidarity. It had littleintercourse with the sober and conventional part of Carmel. This sectionconstituted the aristocracy of art and letters, and was sneered at asbourgeois. In return, it looked askance at the crowd with its rampantbohemianism. The taboo extended to Billy and Saxon. Billy took up theattitude of the clan and sought no work from the other camp. Nor waswork offered him. 

Hall kept open house. The big living room, with its huge fireplace, divans, shelves and tables of books and magazines, was the center ofthings. Here, Billy and Saxon were expected to be, and in truthfound themselves to be, as much at home as anybody. Here, when wordydiscussions on all subjects under the sun were not being waged, Billyplayed at cut-throat Pedro, horrible fives, bridge, and pinochle. Saxon, a favorite of the young women, sewed with them, teaching them prettiesand being taught in fair measure in return. 

It was Billy, before they had been in Carmel a week, who said shyly toSaxon:

"Say, you can't guess how I'm missin' all your nice things. What'sthe matter with writin' Tom to express 'm down? When we start trampin'again, we'll express 'm back. "

Saxon wrote the letter, and all that day her heart was singing. Her manwas still her lover. And there were in his eyes all the old lights whichhad been blotted out during the nightmare period of the strike. 

"Some pretty nifty skirts around here, but you've got 'em all beat, orI'm no judge, " he told her. And again: "Oh, I love you to death anyway. But if them things ain't shipped down there'll be a funeral. "

Hall and his wife owned a pair of saddle horses which were kept at thelivery stable, and here Billy naturally gravitated. The stable operatedthe stage and carried the mails between Carmel and Monterey. Also, itrented out carriages and mountain wagons that seated nine persons. With carriages and wagons a driver was furnished The stable often founditself short a driver, and Billy was quickly called upon. He became anextra man at the stable. He received three dollars a day at such times, and drove many parties around the Seventeen Mile Drive, up CarmelValley, and down the coast to the various points and beaches. 

"But they're a pretty uppish sort, most of 'em, " he said to Saxon, referring to the persons he drove. "Always MISTER Roberts this, an'MISTER Roberts that--all kinds of ceremony so as to make me not forgetthey consider themselves better 'n me. You see, I ain't exactly aservant, an' yet I ain't good enough for them. I'm the driver--somethinghalf way between a hired man and a chauffeur. Huh! When they eat theygive me my lunch off to one side, or afterward. No family party likewith Hall an' HIS kind. An' that crowd to-day, why, they just naturallydidn't have no lunch for me at all. After this, always, you make meup my own lunch. I won't be be holdin' to 'em for nothin', the damnedgeezers. An' you'd a-died to seen one of 'em try to give me a tip. Ididn't say nothin'. I just looked at 'm like I didn't see 'm, an' turnedaway casual-like after a moment, leavin' him as embarrassed as hell. "

Nevertheless, Billy enjoyed the driving, never more so than when he heldthe reins, not of four plodding workhorses, but of four fast drivinganimals, his foot on the powerful brake, and swung around curves andalong dizzy cliff-rims to a frightened chorus of women passengers. Andwhen it came to horse judgment and treatment of sick and injured horseseven the owner of the stable yielded place to Billy. 

"I could get a regular job there any time, " he boasted quietly to Saxon. "Why, the country's just sproutin' with jobs for any so-so sort of afellow. I bet anything, right now, if I said to the boss that I'dtake sixty dollars an' work regular, he'd jump for me. He's hinted asmuch. --And, say! Are you onta the fact that yours truly has learnt a newtrade. Well he has. He could take a job stage-drivin' anywheres. Theydrive six on some of the stages up in Lake County. If we ever get there, I'll get thick with some driver, just to get the reins of six in myhands. An' I'll have you on the box beside me. Some goin' that! Somegoin'!"

Billy took little interest in the many discussions waged in Hall's bigliving room. "Wind-chewin', " was his term for it. To him it was so muchgood time wasted that might be employed at a game of Pedro, or goingswimming, or wrestling in the sand. Saxon, on the contrary, delightedin the logomachy, though little enough she understood of it, followingmainly by feeling, and once in a while catching a high light. 

But what she could never comprehend was the pessimism that so oftencropped up. The wild Irish playwright had terrible spells of depression. Shelley, who wrote vaudeville turns in the concrete cell, was a chronicpessimist. St. John, a young magazine writer, was an anarchic discipleof Nietzsche. Masson, a painter, held to a doctrine of eternalrecurrence that was petrifying. And Hall, usually so merry, couldoutfoot them all when he once got started on the cosmic pathos ofreligion and the gibbering anthropomorphisms of those who loved not todie. At such times Saxon was oppressed by these sad children of art. Itwas inconceivable that they, of all people, should be so forlorn. 

One night Hall turned suddenly upon Billy, who had been following dimlyand who only comprehended that to them everything in life was rotten andwrong. 

"Here, you pagan, you, you stolid and flesh-fettered ox, you monstrosityof over-weening and perennial health and joy, what do you think of it?"Hall demanded. 

"Oh, I've had my troubles, " Billy answered, speaking in his wonted slowway. "I've had my hard times, an' fought a losin' strike, an' soaked mywatch, an' ben unable to pay my rent or buy grub, an' slugged scabs, an'ben slugged, and ben thrown into jail for makin' a fool of myself. IfI get you, I'd be a whole lot better to be a swell hog fattenin' formarket an' nothin' worryin', than to be a guy sick to his stomach fromnot savvyin' how the world is made or from wonderin' what's the good ofanything. "

"That's good, that prize hog, " the poet laughed. "Least irritation, least effort--a compromise of Nirvana and life. Least irritation, leasteffort, the ideal existence: a jellyfish floating in a tideless, tepid, twilight sea. "

"But you're missin' all the good things, " Billy objected. 

"Name them, " came the challenge. 

Billy was silent a moment. To him life seemed a large and generousthing. He felt as if his arms ached from inability to compass it all, and he began, haltingly at first, to put his feeling into speech. 

"If you'd ever stood up in the ring an' out-gamed an' out-fought a manas good as yourself for twenty rounds, you'd get what I'm drivin' at. Jim Hazard an' I get it when we swim out through the surf an' laugh inthe teeth of the biggest breakers that ever pounded the beach, an'when we come out from the shower, rubbed down and dressed, our skin an'muscles like silk, our bodies an' brains all a-tinglin' like silk. . . . "

He paused and gave up from sheer inability to express ideas that werenebulous at best and that in reality were remembered sensations. 

"Silk of the body, can you beat it?" he concluded lamely, feeling thathe had failed to make his point, embarrassed by the circle of listeners. 

"We know all that, " Hall retorted. "The lies of the flesh. Afterwardcome rheumatism and diabetes. The wine of life is heady, but all tooquickly it turns to--"

"Uric acid, " interpolated the wild Irish playwright. 

"They's plenty more of the good things, " Billy took up with a suddenrush of words. "Good things all the way up from juicy porterhouse andthe kind of coffee Mrs. Hall makes to. .. . " He hesitated at what he wasabout to say, then took it at a plunge. "To a woman you can love an'that loves you. Just take a look at Saxon there with the ukulele in herlap. There's where I got the jellyfish in the dishwater an' the prizehog skinned to death. "

A shout of applause and great hand-clapping went up from the girls, andBilly looked painfully uncomfortable. 

"But suppose the silk goes out of your body till you creak like a rustywheelbarrow?" Hall pursued. "Suppose, just suppose, Saxon went away withanother man. What then?"

Billy considered a space. 

"Then it'd be me for the dishwater an' the jellyfish, I guess. " Hestraightened up in his chair and threw back his shoulders unconsciouslyas he ran a hand over his biceps and swelled it. Then he took anotherlook at Saxon. "But thank the Lord I still got a wallop in both my armsan' a wife to fill 'em with love. "

Again the girls applauded, and Mrs. Hall cried:

"Look at Saxon! She blushing! What have you to say for yourself?"

"That no woman could be happier, " she stammered, "and no queen as proud. And that--"

She completed the thought by strumming on the ukulele and singing:

"De Lawd move in or mischievous way His blunders to perform. "

"I give you best, " Hall grinned to Billy. 

"Oh, I don't know, " Billy disclaimed modestly. "You've read so much Iguess you know more about everything than I do. "

"Oh! Oh!" "Traitor!" "Taking it all back!" the girls cried variously. 

Billy took heart of courage, reassured them with a slow smile, and said:

"Just the same I'd sooner be myself than have book indigestion. An' asfor Saxon, why, one kiss of her lips is worth more'n all the librariesin the world. "

CHAPTER X

"There be hills and valleys, and rich land, and streams of clear water, good wagon roads and a railroad not too far away, plenty of sunshine, and cold enough at night to need blankets, and not only pines but plentyof other kinds of trees, with open spaces to pasture Billy's horsesand cattle, and deer and rabbits for him to shoot, and lots and lotsof redwood trees, and. .. And. .. Well, and no fog, " Saxon concluded thedescription of the farm she and Billy sought. 

Mark Hall laughed delightedly. 

"And nightingales roosting in all the trees, " he cried; "flowers thatneither fail nor fade, bees without stings, honey dew every morning, showers of manna betweenwhiles, fountains of youth and quarries ofphilosopher's stones--why, I know the very place. Let me show you. "

She waited while he pored over road-maps of the state. Failing in them, he got out a big atlas, and, though all the countries of the world werein it, he could not find what he was after. 

"Never mind, " he said. "Come over to-night and I'll be able to showyou. "

That evening he led her out on the veranda to the telescope, and shefound herself looking through it at the full moon. 

"Somewhere up there in some valley you'll find that farm, " he teased. 

Mrs. Hall looked inquiringly at them as they returned inside. 

"I've been showing her a valley in the moon where she expects to gofarming, " he laughed. 

"We started out prepared to go any distance, " Saxon said. "And if it'sto the moon, I expect we can make it. "

"But my dear child, you can't expect to find such a paradise on theearth, " Hall continued. "For instance, you can't have redwoods withoutfog. They go together. The redwoods grow only in the fog belt. "

Saxon debated a while. 

"Well, we could put up with a little fog, " she conceded, "--almostanything to have redwoods. I don't know what a quarry of philosopher'sstones is like, but if it's anything like Mr. Hafler's marble quarry, and there's a railroad handy, I guess we could manage to worry along. And you don't have to go to the moon for honey dew. They scrape it offof the leaves of the bushes up in Nevada County. I know that for a fact, because my father told my mother about it, and she told me. "

A little later in the evening, the subject of farming having remaineduppermost, Hall swept off into a diatribe against the "gambler'sparadise, " which was his epithet for the United States. 

"When you think of the glorious chance, " he said. "A new country, bounded by the oceans, situated just right in latitude, with the richestland and vastest natural resources of any country in the world, settledby immigrants who had thrown off all the leading strings of the OldWorld and were in the humor for democracy. There was only one thing tostop them from perfecting the democracy they started, and that thing wasgreediness. 

"They started gobbling everything in sight like a lot of swine, andwhile they gobbled democracy went to smash. Gobbling became gambling. Itwas a nation of tin horns. Whenever a man lost his stake, all he hadto do was to chase the frontier west a few miles and get anotherstake. They moved over the face of the land like so many locusts. Theydestroyed everything--the Indians, the soil, the forests, just asthey destroyed the buffalo and the passenger pigeon. Their morality inbusiness and politics was gambler morality. Their laws were gamblinglaws--how to play the game. Everybody played. Therefore, hurrah for thegame. Nobody objected, because nobody was unable to play. As I said, thelosers chased the frontier for fresh stakes. The winner of to-day, broke to-morrow, on the day following might be riding his luck to royalflushes on five-card draws. 

"So they gobbled and gambled from the Atlantic to the Pacific, untilthey'd swined a whole continent. When they'd finished with the landsand forests and mines, they turned back, gambling for any littlestakes they'd overlooked, gambling for franchises and monopolies, usingpolitics to protect their crooked deals and brace games. And democracygone clean to smash. 

"And then was the funniest time of all. The losers couldn't get any morestakes, while the winners went on gambling among themselves. The loserscould only stand around with their hands in their pockets and look on. When they got hungry, they went, hat in hand, and begged the successfulgamblers for a job. The losers went to work for the winners, and they'vebeen working for them ever since, and democracy side-tracked up SaltCreek. You, Billy Roberts, have never had a hand in the game in yourlife. That's because your people were among the also-rans. "

"How about yourself?" Billy asked. "I ain't seen you holdin' any hands. "

"I don't have to. I don't count. I am a parasite. "

"What's that?"

"A flea, a woodtick, anything that gets something for nothing. I battenon the mangy hides of the workingmen. I don't have to gamble. I don'thave to work. My father left me enough of his winnings. --Oh, don't preenyourself, my boy. Your folks were just as bad as mine. But yours lost, and mine won, and so you plow in my potato patch. "

"I don't see it, " Billy contended stoutly. "A man with gumption can winout to-day--"

"On government land?" Hall asked quickly. 

Billy swallowed and acknowledged the stab. 

"Just the same he can win out, " he reiterated. 

"Surely--he can win a job from some other fellow? A young husky with agood head like yours can win jobs anywhere. But think of the handicapson the fellows who lose. How many tramps have you met along the road whocould get a job driving four horses for the Carmel Livery Stabler Andsome of them were as husky as you when they were young. And on top ofit all you've got no shout coming. It's a mighty big come-down fromgambling for a continent to gambling for a job. "

"Just the same--" Billy recommenced. 

"Oh, you've got it in your blood, " Hall cut him off cavalierly. "And whynot? Everybody in this country has been gambling for generations. It wasin the air when you were born. You've breathed it all your life. You, who 've never had a white chip in the game, still go on shouting for itand capping for it. "

"But what are all of us losers to do?" Saxon inquired. 

"Call in the police and stop the game, " Hall recommended. "It'scrooked. "

Saxon frowned. 

"Do what your forefathers didn't do, " he amplified. "Go ahead andperfect democracy. "

She remembered a remark of Mercedes. "A friend of mine says thatdemocracy is an enchantment. "

"It is--in a gambling joint. There are a million boys in our publicschools right now swallowing the gump of canal boy to President, andmillions of worthy citizens who sleep sound every night in the beliefthat they have a say in running the country. "

"You talk like my brother Tom, " Saxon said, failing to comprehend. "Ifwe all get into politics and work hard for something better maybe we'llget it after a thousand years or so. But I want it now. " She clenchedher hands passionately. "I can't wait; I want it now. "

"But that is just what I've been telling you, my dear girl. That'swhat's the trouble with all the losers. They can't wait. They want itnow--a stack of chips and a fling at the game. Well, they won't get itnow. That's what's the matter with you, chasing a valley in the moon. That's what's the matter with Billy, aching right now for a chance towin ten cents from me at Pedro cussing wind-chewing under his breath. "

"Gee! you'd make a good soap-boxer, " commented Billy. 

"And I'd be a soap-boxer if I didn't have the spending of my father'sill-gotten gains. It's none of my affair. Islet them rot. They'd be justas bad if they were on top. It's all a mess--blind bats, hungry swine, and filthy buzzards--"

Here Mrs. Hall interferred. 

"Now, Mark, you stop that, or you'll be getting the blues. "

He tossed his mop of hair and laughed with an effort. 

"No I won't, " he denied. "I'm going to get ten cents from Billy at agame of Pedro. He won't have a look in. "

Saxon and Billy flourished in the genial human atmosphere of Carmel. They appreciated in their own estimation. Saxon felt that she wassomething more than a laundry girl and the wife of a union teamster. She was no longer pent in the narrow working class environment of aPine street neighborhood. Life had grown opulent. They fared betterphysically, materially, and spiritually; and all this was reflectedin their features, in the carriage of their bodies. She knew Billy hadnever been handsomer nor in more splendid bodily condition. He swore hehad a harem, and that she was his second wife--twice as beautiful as thefirst one he had married. And she demurely confessed to him that Mrs. Hall and several others of the matrons had enthusiastically admired herform one day when in for a cold dip in Carmel river. They had got aroundher, and called her Venus, and made her crouch and assume differentposes. 

Billy understood the Venus reference; for a marble one, with brokenarms, stood in Hall's living room, and the poet had told him the worldworshiped it as the perfection of female form. 

"I always said you had Annette Kellerman beat a mile, " Billy said; andso proud was his air of possession that Saxon blushed and trembled, andhid her hot face against his breast. 

The men in the crowd were open in their admiration of Saxon, in anabove-board manner. But she made no mistake. She did not lose her head. There was no chance of that, for her love for Billy beat more stronglythan ever. Nor was she guilty of over-appraisal. She knew him for whathe was, and loved him with open eyes. He had no book learning, no art, like the other men. His grammar was bad; she knew that, just as she knewthat he would never mend it. Yet she would not have exchanged him forany of the others, not even for Mark Hall with the princely heart whomshe loved much in the same way that she loved his wife. 

For that matter, she found in Billy a certain health and rightness, acertain essential integrity, which she prized more highly than allbook learning and bank accounts. It was by virtue of this health, andrightness, and integrity, that he had beaten Hall in argument the nightthe poet was on the pessimistic rampage. Billy had beaten him, not withthe weapons of learning, but just by being himself and by speaking outthe truth that was in him. Best of all, he had not even known that hehad beaten, and had taken the applause as good-natured banter. But Saxonknew, though she could scarcely tell why; and she would always rememberhow the wife of Shelley had whispered to her afterward with shiningeyes: "Oh, Saxon, you must be so happy. "

Were Saxon driven to speech to attempt to express what Billy meant toher, she would have done it with the simple word "man. " Always he wasthat to her. Always in glowing splendor, that was his connotation--MAN. Sometimes, by herself, she would all but weep with joy at recollectionof his way of informing some truculent male that he was standing on hisfoot. "Get off your foot. You're standin' on it. " It was Billy! It wasmagnificently Billy. And it was this Billy who loved her. She knew it. She knew it by the pulse that only a woman knows how to gauge. He lovedher less wildly, it was true; but more fondly, more maturely. It wasthe love that lasted--if only they did not go back to the city where thebeautiful things of the spirit perished and the beast bared its fangs. 

In the early spring, Mark Hall and his wife went to New York, the twoJapanese servants of the bungalow were dismissed, and Saxon and Billywere installed as caretakers. Jim Hazard, too, departed on his yearlyvisit to Paris; and though Billy missed him, he continued his long swimsout through the breakers. Hall's two saddle horses had been left in hischarge, and Saxon made herself a pretty cross-saddle riding costumeof tawny-brown corduroy that matched the glints in her hair. Billy nolonger worked at odd jobs. As extra driver at the stable he earned morethan they spent, and, in preference to cash, he taught Saxon to ride, and was out and away with her over the country on all-day trips. Afavorite ride was around by the coast to Monterey, where he taught herto swim in the big Del Monte tank. They would come home in the eveningacross the hills. Also, she took to following him on his early morninghunts, and life seemed one long vacation. 

"I'll tell you one thing, " he said to Saxon, one day, as they drew theirhorses to a halt and gazed down into Carmel Valley. "I ain't never goingto work steady for another man for wages as long as I live. "

"Work isn't everything, " she acknowledged. 

"I should guess not. Why, look here, Saxon, what'd it mean if I workedteamin' in Oakland for a million dollars a day for a million years andjust had to go on stayin' there an' livin' the way we used to? It'd meanwork all day, three squares, an' movie' pictures for recreation. Movin'pictures! Huh! We're livin' movie' pictures these days. I'd sooner haveone year like what we're havin' here in Carmel and then die, than athousan' million years like on Pine street. "

Saxon had warned the Halls by letter that she and Billy intendedstarting on their search for the valley in the moon as soon as the firstof summer arrived. Fortunately, the poet was put to no inconvenience, for Bideaux, the Iron Man with the basilisk eyes, had abandoned hisdreams of priesthood and decided to become an actor. He arrived atCarmel from the Catholic college in time to take charge of the bungalow. 

Much to Saxon's gratification, the crowd was loth to see them depart. The owner of the Carmel stable offered to put Billy in charge at ninetydollars a month. Also, he received a similar offer from the stable inPacific Grove. 

"Whither away, " the wild Irish playwright hailed them on the stationplatform at Monterey. He was just returning from New York. 

"To a valley in the moon, " Saxon answered gaily. 

He regarded their business-like packs. 

"By George!" he cried. "I'll do it! By George! Let me come along. " Thenhis face fell. "And I've signed the contract, " he groaned. "Three acts!Say, you're lucky. And this time of year, too. "

CHAPTER XI

"We hiked into Monterey last winter, but we're ridin' out now, b 'gosh!"Billy said as the train pulled out and they leaned back in their seats. 

They had decided against retracing their steps over the ground alreadytraveled, and took the train to San Francisco. They had been warned byMark Hall of the enervation of the south, and were bound north for theirblanket climate. Their intention was to cross the Bay to Sausalito andwander up through the coast counties Here, Hall had told them, theywould find the true home of the redwood. But Billy, in the smoking carfor a cigarette, seated himself beside a man who was destined to deflectthem from their course. He was a keen-faced, dark-eyed man, undoubtedlya Jew; and Billy, remembering Saxon's admonition always to askquestions, watched his opportunity and started a conversation. It tookbut a little while to learn that Gunston was a commission merchant, andto realize that the content of his talk was too valuable for Saxon tolose. Promptly, when he saw that the other's cigar was finished, Billyinvited him into the next car to meet Saxon. Billy would have beenincapable of such an act prior to his sojourn in Carmel. That much atleast he had acquired of social facility. 

"He's just teen tellin' me about the potato kings, and I wanted him totell you, " Billy explained to Saxon after the introduction. "Go on andtell her, Mr. Gunston, about that fan tan sucker that made nineteenthousan' last year in celery an' asparagus. "

"I was just telling your husband about the way the Chinese make thingsgo up the San Joaquin river. It would be worth your while to go up thereand look around. It's the good season now--too early for mosquitoes. You can get off the train at Black Diamond or Antioch and travel aroundamong the big farming islands on the steamers and launches. The faresare cheap, and you'll find some of those big gasoline boats, like theDuchess and Princess, more like big steamboats. "

"Tell her about Chow Lam, " Billy urged. 

The commission merchant leaned back and laughed. 

"Chow Lam, several years ago, was a broken-down fan tan player. Hehadn't a cent, and his health was going back on him. He had worn outhis back with twenty years' work in the gold mines, washing over thetailings of the early miners. And whatever he'd made he'd lost atgambling. Also, he was in debt three hundred dollars to the SixCompanies--you know, they're Chinese affairs. And, remember, this wasonly seven years ago--health breaking down, three hundred in debt, andno trade. Chow Lam blew into Stockton and got a job on the peat lands atday's wages. It was a Chinese company, down on Middle River, that farmedcelery and asparagus. This was when he got onto himself and took stockof himself. A quarter of a century in the United States, back not sostrong as it used to was, and not a penny laid by for his return toChina. He saw how the Chinese in the company had done it--saved theirwages and bought a share. 

"He saved his wages for two years, and bought one share in athirty-share company. That was only five years ago. They leased threehundred acres of peat land from a white man who preferred travelingin Europe. Out of the profits of that one share in the first year, hebought two shares in another company. And in a year more, out of thethree shares, he organized a company of his own. One year of this, withbad luck, and he just broke even. That brings it up to three years ago. The following year, bumper crops, he netted four thousand. The nextyear it wan five thousand. And last year he cleaned up nineteen thousanddollars. Pretty good, eh, for old broken-down Chow Lam?"

"My!" was all Saxon could say. 

Her eager interest, however, incited the commission merchant to go on. 

"Look at Sing Kee--the Potato King of Stockton. I know him well. I'vehad more large deals with him and made less money than with any manI know. He was only a coolie, and he smuggled himself into the UnitedStates twenty years ago. Started at day's wages, then peddled vegetablesin a couple of baskets slung on a stick, and after that opened up astore in Chinatown in San Francisco. But he had a head on him, and hewas soon onto the curves of the Chinese farmers that dealt at his store. The store couldn't make money fast enough to suit him. He headed up theSan Joaquin. Didn't do much for a couple of years except keep his eyespeeled. Then he jumped in and leased twelve hundred acres at sevendollars an acre. "

"My God!" Billy said in an awe-struck voice. "Eight thousan', fourhundred dollars just for rent the first year. I know five hundred acresI can buy for three dollars an acre. "

"Will it grow potatoes?" Gunston asked. 

Billy shook his head. "Nor nothin' else, I guess. "

All three laughed heartily and the commission merchant resumed:

"That seven dollars was only for the land. Possibly you know what itcosts to plow twelve hundred acres?"

Billy nodded solemnly. 

"And he got a hundred and sixty sacks to the acre that year, " Gunstoncontinued. "Potatoes were selling at fifty cents. My father was at thehead of our concern at the time, so I know for a fact. And Sing Keecould have sold at fifty cents and made money. But did he? Trust aChinaman to know the market. They can skin the commission merchants atit. Sing Kee held on. When 'most everybody else had sold, potatoes beganto climb. He laughed at our buyers when we offered him sixty cents, seventy cents, a dollar. Do you want to know what he finally did sellfor? One dollar and sixty-five a sack. Suppose they actually cost himforty cents. A hundred and sixty times twelve hundred. .. Let me see. .. Twelve times nought is nought and twelve times sixteen is a hundred andninety-two. .. A hundred and ninety-two thousand sacks at a dollar and aquarter net. .. Four into a hundred and ninety-two is forty-eight, plus, is two hundred and forty--there you are, two hundred and forty thousanddollars clear profit on that year's deal. "

"An' him a Chink, " Billy mourned disconsolately. He turned to Saxon. "They ought to be some new country for us white folks to go to. Gosh!--we're settin' on the stoop all right, all right. "

"But, of course, that was unusual, " Glunston hastened to qualify. "Therewas a failure of potatoes in other districts, and a corner, and in somestrange way Sing Kee was dead on. He never made profits like that again. But he goes ahead steadily. Last year he had four thousand acres inpotatoes, a thousand in asparagus, five hundred in celery and fivehundred in beans. And he's running six hundred acres in seeds. No matterwhat happens to one or two crops, he can't lose on all of them. "

"I've seen twelve thousand acres of apple trees, " Saxon said. "And I'dlike to see four thousand acres in potatoes. "

"And we will, " Billy rejoined with great positiveness. "It's us for theSan Joaquin. We don't know what's in our country. No wonder we're out onthe stoop. "

"You'll find lots of kings up there, " Gunston related. "Yep HongLee--they call him 'Big Jim, ' and Ah Pock, and Ah Whang, and--thenthere's Shima, the Japanese potato king. He's worth several millions. Lives like a prince. "

"Why don't Americans succeed like that?" asked Saxon. 

"Because they won't, I guess. There's nothing to stop them exceptthemselves. I'll tell you one thing, though--give me the Chinese to dealwith. He's honest. His word is as good as his bond. If he says he'lldo a thing, he'll do it. And, anyway, the white man doesn't know howto farm. Even the up-to-date white farmer is content with one crop at atime and rotation of crops. Mr. John Chinaman goes him one better, andgrows two crops at one time on the same soil. I've seen it--radishes andcarrots, two crops, sown at one time. "

"Which don't stand to reason, " Billy objected. "They'd be only a halfcrop of each. "

"Another guess coming, " Gunston jeered. "Carrots have to be thinned whenthey're so far along. So do radishes. But carrots grow slow. Radishesgrow fast. The slow-going carrots serve the purpose of thinning theradishes. And when the radishes are pulled, ready for market, that thinsthe carrots, which come along later. You can't beat the Chink. "

"Don't see why a white man can't do what a Chink can, " protested Billy. 

"That sounds all right, " Gunston replied. "The only objection is thatthe white man doesn't. The Chink is busy all the time, and he keepsthe ground just as busy. He has organization, system. Who ever heard ofwhite farmers keeping books? The Chink does. No guess work with him. Heknows just where he stands, to a cent, on any crop at any moment. And heknows the market. He plays both ends. How he does it is beyond me, buthe knows the market better than we commission merchants. 

"Then, again, he's patient but not stubborn. Suppose he does make amistake, and gets in a crop, and then finds the market is wrong. In sucha situation the white man gets stubborn and hangs on like a bulldog. Butnot the Chink. He's going to minimize the losses of that mistake. Thatland has got to work, and make money. Without a quiver or a regret, themoment he's learned his error, he puts his plows into that crop, turnsit under, and plants something else. He has the savve. He can look at asprout, just poked up out of the ground, and tell how it's going to turnout--whether it will head up or won't head up; or if it's going to headup good, medium, or bad. That's one end. Take the other end. He controlshis crop. He forces it or holds it back with an eye on the market. Andwhen the market is just right, there's his crop, ready to deliver, timedto the minute. "

The conversation with Gunston lasted hours, and the more he talked ofthe Chinese and their farming ways the more Saxon became aware of agrowing dissatisfaction. She did not question the facts. The trouble wasthat they were not alluring. Somehow, she could not find place for themin her valley of the moon. It was not until the genial Jew left thetrain that Billy gave definite statement to what was vaguely botheringher. 

"Huh! We ain't Chinks. We're white folks. Does a Chink ever want to ridea horse, hell-bent for election an' havin' a good time of it? Did youever see a Chink go swimmin' out through the breakers at Carmel?--orboxin', wrestlin', runnin' an' jumpin' for the sport of it? Did you eversee a Chink take a shotgun on his arm, tramp six miles, an' come backhappy with one measly rabbit? What does a Chink do? Work his damned headoff. That's all he's good for. To hell with work, if that's the wholeof the game--an' I've done my share of work, an' I can work alongside ofany of 'em. But what's the good? If they's one thing I've learned solidsince you an' me hit the road, Saxon, it is that work's the least partof life. God!--if it was all of life I couldn't cut my throat quickenough to get away from it. I want shotguns an' rifles, an' a horsebetween my legs. I don't want to be so tired all the time I can't lovemy wife. Who wants to be rich an' clear two hundred an' forty thousandon a potato deal! Look at Rockefeller. Has to live on milk. I wantporterhouse and a stomach that can bite sole-leather. An' I want you, an' plenty of time along with you, an' fun for both of us. What's thegood of life if they ain't no fun?"

"Oh, Billy!" Saxon cried. "It's just what I've been trying to getstraightened out in my head. It's been worrying me for ever so long. Iwas afraid there was something wrong with me--that I wasn't made forthe country after all. All the time I didn't envy the San LeandroPortuguese. I didn't want to be one, nor a Pajaro Valley Dalmatian, noreven a Mrs. Mortimer. And you didn't either. What we want is a valleyof the moon, with not too much work, and all the fun we want. And we'lljust keep on looking until we find it. And if we don't find it, we'llgo on having the fun just as we have ever since we left Oakland. And, Billy. .. We're never, never going to work our damned heads off, are we?"

"Not on your life, " Billy growled in fierce affirmation. 

They walked into Black Diamond with their packs on their backs. It was ascattered village of shabby little cottages, with a main street thatwas a wallow of black mud from the last late spring rain. The sidewalksbumped up and down in uneven steps and landings. Everything seemedun-American. The names on the strange dingy shops were unspeakablyforeign. The one dingy hotel was run by a Greek. Greeks wereeverywhere--swarthy men in sea-boots and tam-o'-shanters, hatlesswomen in bright colors, hordes of sturdy children, and all speaking inoutlandish voices, crying shrilly and vivaciously with the volubility ofthe Mediterranean. 

"Huh!--this ain't the United States, " Billy muttered. Down on the waterfront they found a fish cannery and an asparagus cannery in the heightof the busy season, where they looked in vain among the toilers forfamiliar American faces. Billy picked out the bookkeepers and foremenfor Americans. All the rest were Greeks, Italians, and Chinese. 

At the steamboat wharf, they watched the bright-painted Greek boatsarriving, discharging their loads of glorious salmon, and departing. NewYork Cut-Off, as the slough was called, curved to the west and north andflowed into a vast body of water which was the united Sacramento and SanJoaquin rivers. 

Beyond the steamboat wharf, the fishing wharves dwindled to stages forthe drying of nets; and here, away from the noise and clatter of thealien town, Saxon and Billy took off their packs and rested. The tall, rustling tules grew out of the deep water close to the dilapidatedboat-landing where they sat. Opposite the town lay a long flat island, on which a row of ragged poplars leaned against the sky. 

"Just like in that Dutch windmill picture Mark Hall has, " Saxon said. 

Billy pointed out the mouth of the slough and across the broad reachof water to a cluster of tiny white buildings, behind which, like aglimmering mirage, rolled the low Montezuma Hills. 

"Those houses is Collinsville, " he informed her. "The Sacramento rivercomes in there, and you go up it to Rio Vista an' Isleton, and WalnutGrove, and all those places Mr. Gunston was tellin' us about. It'sall islands and sloughs, connectin' clear across an' back to the SanJoaquin. "

"Isn't the sun good, " Saxon yawned. "And how quiet it is here, so shorta distance away from those strange foreigners. And to think! in thecities, right now, men are beating and killing each other for jobs. "

Now and again an overland passenger train rushed by in the distance, echoing along the background of foothills of Mt. Diablo, which bulked, twin-peaked, greencrinkled, against the sky. Then the slumbrous quietwould fall, to be broken by the far call of a foreign tongue or by agasoline fishing boat chugging in through the mouth of the slough. 

Not a hundred feet away, anchored close in the tules, lay a beautifulwhite yacht. Despite its tininess, it looked broad and comfortable. Smoke was rising for'ard from its stovepipe. On its stern, in goldletters, they read Roamer. On top of the cabin, basking in the sunshine, lay a man and woman, the latter with a pink scarf around her head. Theman was reading aloud from a book, while she sewed. Beside them sprawleda fox terrier. 

"Gosh! they don't have to stick around cities to be happy, " Billycommented. 

A Japanese came on deck from the cabin, sat down for'ard, and beganpicking a chicken. The feathers floated away in a long line toward themouth of the slough. 

"Oh! Look!" Saxon pointed in her excitement. "He's fishing! And the lineis fast to his toe!"

The man had dropped the book face-downward on the cabin and reached forthe line, while the woman looked up from her sewing, and the terrierbegan to bark. In came the line, hand under hand, and at the end abig catfish. When this was removed, and the line rebaited and droppedoverboard, the man took a turn around his toe and went on reading. 

A Japanese came down on the landing-stage beside Saxon and Billy, andhailed the yacht. He carried parcels of meat and vegetables; one coatpocket bulged with letters, the other with morning papers. In responseto his hail, the Japanese on the yacht stood up with the part-pluckedchicken. The man said something to him, put aside the book, got into thewhite skiff lying astern, and rowed to the landing. As he came alongsidethe stage, he pulled in his oars, caught hold, and said good morninggenially. 

"Why, I know you, " Saxon said impulsively, to Billy's amazement. "Youare. . . . "

Here she broke off in confusion. 

"Go on, " the man said, smiling reassurance. 

"You are Jack Hastings, I 'm sure of it. I used to see your photographin the papers all the time you were war correspondent in theJapanese-Russian War. You've written lots of books, though I've neverread them. "

 "Right you are, " he ratified. "And what's your name?"

Saxon introduced herself and Billy, and, when she noted the writer'sobservant eye on their packs, she sketched the pilgrimage they wereon. The farm in the valley of the moon evidently caught his fancy, and, though the Japanese and his parcels were safely in the skiff, Hastingsstill lingered. When Saxon spoke of Carmel, he seemed to know everybodyin Hall's crowd, and when he heard they were intending to go to RioVista, his invitation was immediate. 

"Why, we're going that way ourselves, inside an hour, as soon as slackwater comes, " he exclaimed. "It's just the thing. Come on on board. We'll be there by four this afternoon if there's any wind at all. Comeon. My wife's on board, and Mrs. Hall is one of her best chums. We'vebeen away to South America--just got back; or you'd have seen us inCarmel. Hal wrote to us about the pair of you. "

It was the second time in her life that Saxon had been in a small boat, and the Roamer was the first yacht she had ever been on board. Thewriter's wife, whom he called Clara, welcomed them heartily, and Saxonlost no time in falling in love with her and in being fallen in lovewith in return. So strikingly did they resemble each other, thatHastings was not many minutes in calling attention to it. He made themstand side by side, studied their eyes and mouths and ears, comparedtheir hands, their hair, their ankles, and swore that his fondestdream was shattered--namely, that when Clara had been made the mold wasbroken. 

On Clara's suggestion that it might have been pretty much the same mold, they compared histories. Both were of the pioneer stock. Clara's mother, like Saxon's, had crossed the Plains with ox-teams, and, like Saxon's, had wintered in Salt Intake City--in fact, had, with her sisters, openedthe first Gentile school in that Mormon stronghold. And, if Saxon'sfather had helped raise the Bear Flag rebellion at Sonoma, it was atSonoma that Clara's father had mustered in for the War of the Rebellionand ridden as far east with his troop as Salt Lake City, of whichplace he had been provost marshal when the Mormon trouble flared up. To complete it all, Clara fetched from the cabin an ukulele of boa woodthat was the twin to Saxon's, and together they sang "Honolulu Tomboy. "

Hastings decided to eat dinner--he called the midday meal by itsold-fashioned name--before sailing; and down below Saxon was surprisedand delighted by the measure of comfort in so tiny a cabin. There wasjust room for Billy to stand upright. A centerboard-case divided theroom in half longitudinally, and to this was attached the hingedtable from which they ate. Low bunks that ran the full cabin length, upholstered in cheerful green, served as seats. A curtain, easilyattached by hooks between the centerboard-case and the roof, at nightscreened Mrs. Hastings' sleeping quarters. On the opposite side the twoJapanese bunked, while for'ard, under the deck, was the galley. Sosmall was it that there was just room beside it for the cook, who wascompelled by the low deck to squat on his hands. The other Japanese, whohad brought the parcels on board, waited on the table. 

"They are looking for a ranch in the valley of the moon, " Hastingsconcluded his explanation of the pilgrimage to Clara. 

"Oh!--don't you know--" she cried; but was silenced by her husband. 

"Hush, " he said peremptorily, then turned to their guests. "Listen. There's something in that valley of the moon idea, but I won't tell youwhat. It is a secret. Now we've a ranch in Sonoma Valley about eightmiles from the very town of Sonoma where you two girls' fathers took upsoldiering; and if you ever come to our ranch you'll learn the secret. Oh, believe me, it's connected with your valley of the moon. --Isn't it, Mate?"

This last was the mutual name he and Clara had for each other. 

She smiled and laughed and nodded her head. 

"You might find our valley the very one you are looking for, " she said. 

But Hastings shook his head at her to check further speech. She turnedto the fox terrier and made it speak for a piece of meat. 

"Her name's Peggy, " she told Saxon. "We had two Irish terriers down inthe South Seas, brother and sister, but they died. We called them Peggyand Possum. So she's named after the original Peggy. "

Billy was impressed by the ease with which the Roamer was operated. While they lingered at table, at a word from Hastings the two Japanesehad gone on deck. Billy could hear them throwing down the halyards, casting off gaskets, and heaving the anchor short on the tiny winch. Inseveral minutes one called down that everything was ready, and all wenton deck. Hoisting mainsail and jigger was a matter of minutes. Thenthe cook and cabin-boy broke out anchor, and, while one hove it up, theother hoisted the jib. Hastings, at the wheel, trimmed the sheet. TheRoamer paid off, filled her sails, slightly heeling, and slid across thesmooth water and out the mouth of New York Slough. The Japanese coiledthe halyards and went below for their own dinner. 

"The flood is just beginning to make, " said Hastings, pointing to astriped spar-buoy that was slightly tipping up-stream on the edge of thechannel. 

The tiny white houses of Collinsville, which they were nearing, disappeared behind a low island, though the Montezuma Hills, with theirlong, low, restful lines, slumbered on the horizon apparently as faraway as ever. 

As the Roamer passed the mouth of Montezuma Slough and entered theSacramento, they came upon Collinsville close at hand. Saxon clapped herhands. 

"It's like a lot of toy houses, " she said, "cut out of cardboard. Andthose hilly fields are just painted up behind. "

They passed many arks and houseboats of fishermen moored among thetules, and the women and children, like the men in the boats, weredark-skinned, black-eyed, foreign. As they proceeded up the river, theybegan to encounter dredges at work, biting out mouthfuls of the sandyriver bottom and heaping it on top of the huge levees. Great mats ofwillow brush, hundreds of yards in length, were laid on top of theriver-slope of the levees and held in place by steel cables andthousands of cubes of cement. The willows soon sprouted, Hastings toldthem, and by the time the mats were rotted away the sand was held inplace by the roots of the trees. 

"It must cost like Sam Hill, " Billy observed. 

"But the land is worth it, " Hastings explained. "This island land isthe most productive in the world. This section of California is likeHolland. You wouldn't think it, but this water we're sailing onis higher than the surface of the islands. They're like leakyboats--calking, patching, pumping, night and day and all the time. Butit pays. It pays. "

Except for the dredgers, the fresh-piled sand, the dense willowthickets, and always Mt. Diablo to the south, nothing was to be seen. Occasionally a river steamboat passed, and blue herons flew into thetrees. 

"It must be very lonely, " Saxon remarked. 

Hastings laughed and told her she would change her mind later. Muchhe related to them of the river lands, and after a while he got on thesubject of tenant farming. Saxon had started him by speaking of theland-hungry Anglo-Saxons. 

"Land-hogs, " he snapped. "That's our record in this country. As one oldReuben told a professor of an agricultural experiment station: 'Theyain't no sense in tryin' to teach me farmin'. I know all about it. Ain'tI worked out three farms?' It was his kind that destroyed New England. Back there great sections are relapsing to wilderness. In one state, at least, the deer have increased until they are a nuisance. There areabandoned farms by the tens of thousands. I've gone over the lists ofthem--farms in New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Connecticut. Offered for sale on easy payment. The prices asked wouldn't pay for theimprovements, while the land, of course, is thrown in for nothing. 

"And the same thing is going on, in one way or another, the sameland-robbing and hogging, over the rest of the country--down in Texas, in Missouri, and Kansas, out here in California. Take tenant farming. I know a ranch in my county where the land was worth a hundred andtwenty-five an acre. And it gave its return at that valuation. When theold man died, the son leased it to a Portuguese and went to live in thecity. In five years the Portuguese skimmed the cream and dried up theudder. The second lease, with another Portuguese for three years, gaveone-quarter the former return. No third Portuguese appeared to offerto lease it. There wasn't anything left. That ranch was worth fiftythousand when the old man died. In the end the son got eleven thousandfor it. Why, I've seen land that paid twelve per cent. , that, after theskimming of a five-years' lease, paid only one and a quarter per cent. "

"It's the same in our valley, " Mrs. Hastings supplemented. "All the oldfarms are dropping into ruin. Take the Ebell Place, Mate. " Her husbandnodded emphatic indorsement. "When we used to know it, it was a perfectparadise of a farm. There were dams and lakes, beautiful meadows, lushhayfields, red hills of grape-lands, hundreds of acres of good pasture, heavenly groves of pines and oaks, a stone winery, stone barns, grounds--oh, I couldn't describe it in hours. When Mrs. Bell died, thefamily scattered, and the leasing began. It's a ruin to-day. The treeshave been cut and sold for firewood. There's only a little bit of thevineyard that isn't abandoned--just enough to make wine for the presentItalian lessees, who are running a poverty-stricken milk ranch on theleavings of the soil. I rode over it last year, and cried. The beautifulorchard is a horror. The grounds have gone back to the wild. Justbecause they didn't keep the gutters cleaned out, the rain trickled downand dry-rotted the timbers, and the big stone barn is caved in. The samewith part of the winery--the other part is used for stabling the cows. And the house!--words can't describe!"

"It's become a profession, " Hastings went on. "The 'movers. ' They lease, clean out and gut a place in several years, and then move on. They'renot like the foreigners, the Chinese, and Japanese, and the rest. In themain they're a lazy, vagabond, poor-white sort, who do nothing else butskin the soil and move, skin the soil and move. Now take the Portugueseand Italians in our country. They are different. They arrive in thecountry without a penny and work for others of their countrymen untilthey've learned the language and their way about. Now they're notmovers. What they are after is land of their own, which they will loveand care for and conserve. But, in the meantime, how to get it? Savingwages is slow. There is a quicker way. They lease. In three years theycan gut enough out of somebody else's land to set themselves up forlife. It is sacrilege, a veritable rape of the land; but what of it?It's the way of the United States. "

He turned suddenly on Billy. 

"Look here, Roberts. You and your wife are looking for your bit of land. You want it bad. Now take my advice. It's cold, hard advice. Become atenant farmer. Lease some place, where the old folks have died and thecountry isn't good enough for the sons and daughters. Then gut it. Wringthe last dollar out of the soil, repair nothing, and in three yearsyou'll have your own place paid for. Then turn over a new leaf, and loveyour soil. Nourish it. Every dollar you feed it will return you two. Lend have nothing scrub about the place. If it's a horse, a cow, a pig, a chicken, or a blackberry vine, see that it's thoroughbred. "

"But it's wicked!" Saxon wrung out. "It's wicked advice. "

"We live in a wicked age, " Hastings countered, smiling grimly. "Thiswholesale land-skinning is the national crime of the United Statesto-day. Nor would I give your husband such advice if I weren'tabsolutely certain that the land he skins would be skinned by somePortuguese or Italian if he refused. As fast as they arrive and settledown, they send for their sisters and their cousins and their aunts. Ifyou were thirsty, if a warehouse were burning and beautiful Rhine winewere running to waste, would you stay your hand from scooping a drink?Well, the national warehouse is afire in many places, and no end ofthe good things are running to waste. Help yourself. If you don't, theimmigrants will. "

"Oh, you don't know him, " Mrs. Hastings hurried to explain. "He spendsall his time on the ranch in conserving the soil. There are over athousand acres of woods alone, and, though he thins and forests likea surgeon, he won't let a tree be chopped without his permission. He'seven planted a hundred thousand trees. He's always draining and ditchingto stop erosion, and experimenting with pasture grasses. And everylittle while he buys some exhausted adjoining ranch and starts buildingup the soil. "

"Wherefore I know what I 'm talking about, " Hastings broke in. "And myadvice holds. I love the soil, yet to-morrow, things being as theyare and if I were poor, I'd gut five hundred acres in order to buytwenty-five for myself. When you get into Sonoma Valley, look me up, and I'll put you onto the whole game, and both ends of it. I'll show youconstruction as well as destruction. When you find a farm doomed to begutted anyway, why jump in and do it yourself. "

"Yes, and he mortgaged himself to the eyes, " laughed Mrs. Hastings, "to keep five hundred acres of woods out of the hands of the charcoalburners. "

Ahead, on the left bank of the Sacramento, just at the fading end ofthe Montezuma Hills, Rio Vista appeared. The Roamer slipped through thesmooth water, past steamboat wharves, landing stages, and warehouses. The two Japanese went for'ard on deck. At command of Hastings, the jibran down, and he shot the Roomer into the wind, losing way, until hecalled, "Let go the hook!" The anchor went down, and the yacht swung toit, so close to shore that the skiff lay under overhanging willows. 

"Farther up the river we tie to the bank, " Mrs. Hastings said, "so thatwhen you wake in the morning you find the branches of trees stickingdown into the cabin. "

"Ooh!" Saxon murmured, pointing to a lump on her wrist. "Look at that. Amosquito. "

"Pretty early for them, " Hastings said. "But later on they're terrible. I've seen them so thick I couldn't back the jib against them. "

Saxon was not nautical enough to appreciate his hyperbole, though Billygrinned. 

"There are no mosquitoes in the valley of the moon, " she said. 

"No, never, " said Mrs. Hastings, whose husband began immediately toregret the smallness of the cabin which prevented him from offeringsleeping accommodations. 

An automobile bumped along on top of the levee, and the young boys andgirls in it cried, "Oh, you kid!" to Saxon and Billy, and Hastings, whowas rowing them ashore in the skiff. Hastings called, "Oh, you kid!"back to them; and Saxon, pleasuring in the boyishness of his sunburnedface, was reminded of the boyishness of Mark Hall and his Carmel crowd. 

CHAPTER XII

Crossing the Sacramento on an old-fashioned ferry a short distance aboveRio Vista, Saxon and Billy entered the river country. From the topof the levee she got her revelation. Beneath, lower than the river, stretched broad, flat land, far as the eye could see. Roads ran inevery direction, and she saw countless farmhouses of which she had neverdreamed when sailing on the lonely river a few feet the other side ofthe willowy fringe. 

Three weeks they spent among the rich farm islands, which heaped uplevees and pumped day and night to keep afloat. It was a monotonousland, with an unvarying richness of soil and with only one landmark--Mt. Diablo, ever to be seen, sleeping in the midday azure, limping itscrinkled mass against the sunset sky, or forming like a dream out of thesilver dawn. Sometimes on foot, often by launch, they cries-crossed andthreaded the river region as far as the peat lands of the Middle River, down the San Joaquin to Antioch, and up Georgiana Slough to Walnut Groveon the Sacramento. And it proved a foreign land. The workers of the soilteemed by thousands, yet Saxon and Billy knew what it was to go awhole day without finding any one who spoke English. Theyencountered--sometimes in whole villages--Chinese, Japanese, Italians, Portuguese, Swiss, Hindus, Koreans, Norwegians, Danes, French, Armenians, Slavs, almost every nationality save American. One Americanthey found on the lower reaches of Georgiana who eked an illicitexistence by fishing with traps. Another American, who spouted blood anddestruction on all political subjects, was an itinerant bee-farmer. AtWalnut Grove, bustling with life, the few Americans consisted ofthe storekeeper, the saloonkeeper, the butcher, the keeper of thedrawbridge, and the ferryman. Yet two thriving towns were in WalnutGrove, one Chinese, one Japanese. Most of the land was owned byAmericans, who lived away from it and were continually selling it to theforeigners. 

A riot, or a merry-making--they could not tell which--was taking placein the Japanese town, as Saxon and Billy steamed out on the Apache, bound for Sacramento. 

"We're settin' on the stoop, " Billy railed. "Pretty soon they'll crowdus off of that. "

"There won't be any stoop in the valley of the moon, " Saxon cheered him. 

But he was inconsolable, remarking bitterly:

"An' they ain't one of them damn foreigners that can handle four horseslike me. 

"But they can everlastingly farm, " he added. 

And Saxon, looking at his moody face, was suddenly reminded of alithograph she had seen in her childhood It was of a Plains Indian, inpaint and feathers, astride his horse and gazing with wondering eye at arailroad train rushing along a fresh-made track. The Indian had passed, she remembered, before the tide of new life that brought the railroad. And were Billy and his kind doomed to pass, she pondered, before thisnew tide of life, amazingly industrious, that was flooding in from Asiaand Europe?

At Sacramento they stopped two weeks, where Billy drove team and earnedthe money to put them along on their travels. Also, life in Oakland andCarmel, close to the salt edge of the coast, had spoiled them for theinterior. Too warm, was their verdict of Sacramento and they followedthe railroad west, through a region of swamp-land, to Davisville. Herethey were lured aside and to the north to pretty Woodland, where Billydrove team for a fruit farm, and where Saxon wrung from him a reluctantconsent for her to work a few days in the fruit harvest. She made animportant and mystifying secret of what she intended doing with herearnings, and Billy teased her about it until the matter passed from hismind. Nor did she tell him of a money order inclosed with a certain blueslip of paper in a letter to Bud Strothers. 

They began to suffer from the heat. Billy declared they had strayed outof the blanket climate. 

"There are no redwoods here, " Saxon said. "We must go west toward thecoast. It is there we'll find the valley of the moon. "

From Woodland they swung west and south along the county roads to thefruit paradise of Vacaville. Here Billy picked fruit, then drove team;and here Saxon received a letter and a tiny express package from BudStrothers. When Billy came into camp from the day's work, she bade himstand still and shut his eyes. For a few seconds she fumbled and didsomething to the breast of his cotton work-shirt. Once, he felt a slightprick, as of a pin point, and grunted, while she laughed and bullied himto continue keeping his eyes shut. 

"Close your eyes and give me a kiss, " she sang, "and then I'll show youwhat iss. "

She kissed him and when he looked down he saw, pinned to his shirt, thegold medals he had pawned the day they had gone to the moving pictureshow and received their inspiration to return to the land. 

"You darned kid!" he exclaimed, as he caught her to him. "So that'swhat you blew your fruit money in on? An' I never guessed!--Come here toyou. "

And thereupon she suffered the pleasant mastery of his brawn, and washugged and wrestled with until the coffee pot boiled over and she dartedfrom him to the rescue. 

"I kinda always been a mite proud of 'em, " he confessed, as he rolledhis after-supper cigarette. "They take me back to my kid days when Iamateured it to beat the band. I was some kid in them days, believemuh. --But say, d'ye know, they'd clean slipped my recollection. Oakland's a thousan' years away from you an' me, an' ten thousan'miles. "

"Then this will bring you back to it, " Saxon said, opening Bud's letterand reading it aloud. 

Bud had taken it for granted that Billy knew the wind-up of the strike;so he devoted himself to the details as to which men had got back theirjobs, and which had been blacklisted. To his own amazement he had beentaken back, and was now driving Billy's horses. Still more amazing wasthe further information he had to impart. The old foreman of the WestOakland stables had died, and since then two other foremen had donenothing but make messes of everything. The point of all which was thatthe Boss had spoken that day to Bud, regretting the disappearance ofBilly. 

"Don't make no mistake, " Bud wrote. "The Boss is onto all your curves. I bet he knows every scab you slugged. Just the same he says tome--Strothers, if you ain't at liberty to give me his address, justwrite yourself and tell him for me to come a running. I'll give him ahundred and twenty-five a month to take hold the stables. "

Saxon waited with well-concealed anxiety when the letter was finished. Billy, stretched out, leaning on one elbow, blew a meditative ring ofsmoke. His cheap workshirt, incongruously brilliant with the gold ofthe medals that flashed in the firelight, was open in front, showingthe smooth skin and splendid swell of chest. He glanced around--at theblankets bowered in a green screen and waiting, at the campfire and theblackened, battered coffee pot, at the well-worn hatchet, half buried ina tree trunk, and lastly at Saxon. His eyes embraced her; then into themcame a slow expression of inquiry. But she offered no help. 

"Well, " he uttered finally, "all you gotta do is write Bud Strothers, an' tell 'm not on the Boss's ugly tintype. --An' while you're about it, I'll send 'm the money to get my watch out. You work out the interest. The overcoat can stay there an' rot. "

But they did not prosper in the interior heat. They lost weight. Theresilience went out of their minds and bodies. As Billy expressed it, their silk was frazzled. So they shouldered their packs and headed westacross the wild mountains. In the Berryessa Valley, the shimmering heatwaves made their eyes ache, and their heads; so that they traveled on inthe early morning and late afternoon. Still west they headed, over moremountains, to beautiful Napa Valley. The next valley beyond was Sonoma, where Hastings had invited them to his ranch. And here they would havegone, had not Billy chanced upon a newspaper item which told of thewriter's departure to cover some revolution that was breaking outsomewhere in Mexico. 

"We'll see 'm later on, " Billy said, as they turned northwest, throughthe vineyards and orchards of Napa Valley. "We're like that millionaireBert used to sing about, except it's time that we've got to burn. Anydirection is as good as any other, only west is best. "

Three times in the Napa Valley Billy refused work. Past St. Helena, Saxon hailed with joy the unmistakable redwoods they could see growingup the small canyons that penetrated the western wall of the valley. At Calistoga, at the end of the railroad, they saw the six-horse stagesleaving for Middletown and Lower Lake. They debated their route. Thatway led to Lake County and not toward the coast, so Saxon and Billyswung west through the mountains to the valley of the Russian River, coming out at Healdsburg. They lingered in the hop-fields on therich bottoms, where Billy scorned to pick hops alongside of Indians, Japanese, and Chinese. 

"I couldn't work alongside of 'em an hour before I'd be knockin' theirblocks off, " he explained. "Besides, this Russian River's some nifty. Let's pitch camp and go swimmin'. "

So they idled their way north up the broad, fertile valley, so happythat they forgot that work was ever necessary, while the valley of themoon was a golden dream, remote, but sure, some day of realization. At Cloverdale, Billy fell into luck. A combination of sickness andmischance found the stage stables short a driver. Each day the traindisgorged passengers for the Geysers, and Billy, as if accustomed to itall his life, took the reins of six horses and drove a full load overthe mountains in stage time. The second trip he had Saxon beside him onthe high boxseat. By the end of two weeks the regular driver was back. Billy declined a stable-job, took his wages, and continued north. 

Saxon had adopted a fox terrier puppy and named him Possum, after thedog Mrs. Hastings had told them about. So young was he that he quicklybecame footsore, and she carried him until Billy perched him on topof his pack and grumbled that Possum was chewing his back hair to afrazzle. 

They passed through the painted vineyards of Asti at the end of thegrape-picking, and entered Ukiah drenched to the skin by the firstwinter rain. 

"Say, " Billy said, "you remember the way the Roamer just skated along. Well, this summer's done the same thing--gone by on wheels. An' now it'sup to us to find some place to winter. This Ukiah looks like a prettygood burg. We'll get a room to-night an' dry out. An' to-morrow I'llhustle around to the stables, an' if I locate anything we can rent ashack an' have all winter to think about where we'll go next year. "

CHAPTER XIII

The winter proved much less exciting than the one spent in Carmel, andkeenly as Saxon had appreciated the Carmel folk, she now appreciatedthem more keenly than ever. In Ukiah she formed nothing more thansuperficial acquaintances. Here people were more like those of theworking class she had known in Oakland, or else they were merelywealthy and herded together in automobiles. There was no democraticartist-colony that pursued fellowship disregardful of the caste ofwealth. 

Yet it was a more enjoyable winter than any she had spent in Oakland. Billy had failed to get regular employment; so she saw much of him, andthey lived a prosperous and happy hand-to-mouth existence in the tinycottage they rented. As extra man at the biggest livery stable, Billy'sspare time was so great that he drifted into horse-trading. It washazardous, and more than once he was broke, but the table never wantedfor the best of steak and coffee, nor did they stint themselves forclothes. 

"Them blamed farmers--I gotta pass it to 'em, " Billy grinned one day, when he had been particularly bested in a horse deal. "They won't tearunder the wings, the sons of guns. In the summer they take in boarders, an' in the winter they make a good livin' coin' each other up at tradin'horses. An' I just want to tell YOU, Saxon, they've sure shown me a few. An' I 'm gettin' tough under the wings myself. I'll never tear againso as you can notice it. Which means one more trade learned for yourstruly. I can make a livin' anywhere now tradin' horses. "

Often Billy had Saxon out on spare saddle horses from the stable, andhis horse deals took them on many trips into the surrounding country. Likewise she was with him when he was driving horses to sell oncommission; and in both their minds, independently, arose a new ideaconcerning their pilgrimage. Billy was the first to broach it. 

"I run into an outfit the other day, that's stored in town, " he said, "an' it's kept me thinkin' ever since. Ain't no use tryin' to get you toguess it, because you can't. I'll tell you--the swellest wagon-campin'outfit; anybody ever heard of. First of all, the wagon's a peacherino. Strong as they make 'em. It was made to order, upon Puget Sound, an' itwas tested out all the way down here. No load an' no road can strain it. The guy had consumption that had it built. A doctor an' a cook traveledwith 'm till he passed in his checks here in Ukiah two years ago. Butsay--if you could see it. Every kind of a contrivance--a place foreverything--a regular home on wheels. Now, if we could get that, an' acouple of plugs, we could travel like kings, an' laugh at the weather. "

"Oh! Billy! it's just what I've been dreamin' all winter. It wouldbe ideal. And. .. Well, sometimes on the road I 'm sure you can't helpforgetting what a nice little wife you've got. .. And with a wagon Icould have all kinds of pretty clothes along. "

Billy's blue eyes glowed a caress, cloudy and warm; as he said quietly:

"I've ben thinkin' about that. "

"And you can carry a rifle and shotgun and fishing poles andeverything, " she rushed along. "And a good big axe, man-size, instead ofthat hatchet you're always complaining about. And Possum can lift uphis legs and rest. And--but suppose you can't buy it? How much do theywant?"

"One hundred an' fifty big bucks, " he answered. "But dirt cheap at that. It's givin' it away. I tell you that rig wasn't built for a cent lessthan four hundred, an' I know wagon-work in the dark. Now, if I can putthrough that dicker with Caswell's six horses--say, I just got onto thathorse-buyer to-day. If he buys 'em, who d'ye think he'll ship 'em to?To the Boss, right to the West Oakland stables. I 'm goin' to get you towrite to him. Travelin', as we're goin' to, I can pick up bargains. An'if the Boss'll talk, I can make the regular horse-buyer's commissions. He'll have to trust me with a lot of money, though, which most likely hewon't, knowin' all his scabs I beat up. "

"If he could trust you to run his stable, I guess he isn't afraid to letyou handle his money, " Saxon said. 

Billy shrugged his shoulders in modest dubiousness. 

"Well, anyway, as I was sayin' if I can sell Caswell's six horses, why, we can stand off this month's bills an' buy the wagon. "

"But horses!" Saxon queried anxiously. 

"They'll come later--if I have to take a regular job for two or threemonths. The only trouble with that 'd be that it'd run us pretty wellalong into summer before we could pull out. But come on down town an'I'll show you the outfit right now. "

Saxon saw the wagon and was so infatuated with it that she lost anight's sleep from sheer insomnia of anticipation. Then Caswell's sixhorses were sold, the month's bills held over, and the wagon becametheirs. One rainy morning, two weeks later, Billy had scarcely left thehouse, to be gone on an all-day trip into the country after horses, whenhe was back again. 

"Come on!" he called to Saxon from the street. "Get your things on an'come along. I want to show you something. "

He drove down town to a board stable, and took her through to a large, roofed inclosure in the rear. There he led to her a span of sturdydappled chestnuts, with cream-colored manes and tails. 

"Oh, the beauties! the beauties!" Saxon cried, resting her cheek againstthe velvet muzzle of one, while the other roguishly nuzzled for a share. 

"Ain't they, though?" Billy reveled, leading them up and down before heradmiring gaze. "Thirteen hundred an' fifty each, an' they don't look theweight, they're that slick put together. I couldn't believe it myself, till I put 'em on the scales. Twenty-seven hundred an' seven pounds, the two of 'em. An' I tried 'em out--that was two days ago. Gooddispositions, no faults, an' true-pullers, automobile broke an' allthe rest. I'd back 'em to out-pull any team of their weight I everseen. --Say, how'd they look hooked up to that wagon of ourn?"

Saxon visioned the picture, and shook her head slowly in a reaction ofregret. 

"Three hundred spot cash buys 'em, " Billy went on. "An' that's bed-rock. The owner wants the money so bad he's droolin' for it. Just gotta sell, an' sell quick. An' Saxon, honest to God, that pair'd fetch five hundredat auction down in the city. Both mares, full sisters, five an' sixyears old, registered Belgian sire, out of a heavy standard-bred marethat I know. Three hundred takes 'em, an' I got the refusal for threedays. "

Saxon's regret changed to indignation. 

"Oh, why did you show them to me? We haven't any three hundred, and youknow it. All I've got in the house is six dollars, and you haven't thatmuch. "

"Maybe you think that's all I brought you down town for, " he repliedenigmatically. "Well, it ain't. "

He paused, licked his lips, and shifted his weight uneasily from one legto the other. 

"Now you listen till I get all done before you say anything. Ready?"

She nodded. 

"Won't open your mouth?"

This time she obediently shook her head. 

"Well, it's this way, " he began haltingly. "They's a youngster come upfrom Frisco, Young Sandow they call 'm, an' the Pride of Telegraph Hill. He's the real goods of a heavyweight, an' he was to fight MontanaRed Saturday night, only Montana Red, just in a little trainin' bout, snapped his forearm yesterday. The managers has kept it quiet. Nowhere's the proposition. Lots of tickets sold, an' they'll be a big crowdSaturday night. At the last moment, so as not to disappoint 'em, they'llspring me to take Montana's place. I 'm the dark horse. Nobody knowsme--not even Young Sandow. He's come up since my time. I'll be a rubefighter. I can fight as Horse Roberts. 

"Now, wait a minute. The winner'll pull down three hundred big roundiron dollars. Wait, I 'm tellin' you! It's a lead-pipe cinch. It'slike robbin' a corpse. Sandow's got all the heart in the world--regularknock-down-an'-drag-out-an'-hang-on fighter. I've followed 'm in thepapers. But he ain't clever. I 'm slow, all right, all right, but I 'mclever, an' I got a hay-maker in each arm. I got Sandow's number an' Iknow it. 

"Now, you got the say-so in this. If you say yes, the nags is ourn. Ifyou say no, then it's all bets off, an' everything all right, an' I'lltake to harness-washin' at the stable so as to buy a couple of plugs. Remember, they'll only be plugs, though. But don't look at me whileyou're makin' up your mind. Keep your lamps on the horses. "

It was with painful indecision that she looked at the beautiful animals. 

"Their names is Hazel an' Hattie, " Billy put in a sly wedge. "If we get'em we could call it the 'Double H' outfit. "

But Saxon forgot the team and could only see Billy's frightfully bruisedbody the night he fought the Chicago Terror. She was about to speak, when Billy, who had been hanging on her lips, broke in:

"Just hitch 'em up to our wagon in your mind an' look at the outfit. Yougot to go some to beat it. "

"But you're not in training, Billy, " she said suddenly and withouthaving intended to say it. 

"Huh!" he snorted. "I've been in half trainin' for the last year. Mylegs is like iron. They'll hold me up as long as I've got a punch leftin my arms, and I always have that. Besides, I won't let 'm make a longfight. He's a man-eater, an' man-eaters is my meat. I eat 'm alive. It'sthe clever boys with the stamina an' endurance that I can't put away. But this young Sandow's my meat. I'll get 'm maybe in the third orfourth round--you know, time 'm in a rush an' hand it to 'm just aseasy. It's a lead-pipe cinch, I tell you. Honest to God, Saxon, it's ashame to take the money. "

"But I hate to think of you all battered up, " she temporized. "If Ididn't love you so, it might be different. And then, too, you might gethurt. "

Billy laughed in contemptuous pride of youth and brawn. 

"You won't know I've been in a fight, except that we'll own Hazelan' Hattie there. An' besides, Saxon, I just gotta stick my fist insomebody's face once in a while. You know I can go for months peaceablean' gentle as a lamb, an' then my knuckles actually begin to itch toland on something. Now, it's a whole lot sensibler to land on YoungSandow an' get three hundred for it, than to land on some hayseed an'get hauled up an' fined before some justice of the peace. Now takeanother squint at Hazel an' Hattie. They're regular farm furniture, goodto breed from when we get to that valley of the moon. An' they're heavyenough to turn right into the plowin', too. "

The evening of the fight at quarter past eight, Saxon parted from Billy. At quarter past nine, with hot water, ice, and everything ready inanticipation, she heard the gate click and Billy's step come up theporch. She had agreed to the fight much against her better judgment, andhad regretted her consent every minute of the hour she had just waited;so that, as she opened the front door, she was expectant of any sort ofa terrible husband-wreck. But the Billy she saw was precisely the Billyshe had parted from. 

"There was no fights" she cried, in so evident disappointment that helaughed. 

"They was all yellin' 'Fake! Fake!' when I left, an' wantin' their moneyback. "

"Well, I've got YOU, " she laughed, leading him in, though secretly shesighed farewell to Hazel and Hattie. 

"I stopped by the way to get something for you that you've been wantin'some time, " Billy said casually. "Shut your eyes an' open your hand; an'when you open your eyes you'll find it grand, " he chanted. 

Into her hand something was laid that was very heavy and very cold, andwhen her eyes opened she saw it was a stack of fifteen twenty-dollargold pieces. 

"I told you it was like takin' money from a corpse, " he exulted, ashe emerged grinning from the whirlwind of punches, whacks, and hugs inwhich she had enveloped him. "They wasn't no fight at all. D 'ye wantto know how long it lasted? Just twenty-seven seconds--less 'n halfa minute. An' how many blows struck? One. An' it was me that done it. Here, I'll show you. It was just like this--a regular scream. "

Billy had taken his place in the middle of the room, slightly crouching, chin tucked against the sheltering left shoulder, fists closed, elbowsin so as to guard left side and abdomen, and forearms close to the body. 

"It's the first round, " he pictured. "Gong's sounded, an' we've shookhands. Of course, seein' as it's a long fight an' we've never seen eachother in action, we ain't in no rush. We're just feelin' each other outan' fiddlin' around. Seventeen seconds like that. Not a blow struck. Nothin'. An' then it's all off with the big Swede. It takes some time totell it, but it happened in a jiffy, in fess In a tenth of a second. Iwasn't expectin' it myself. We're awful close together. His left gloveain't a foot from my jaw, an' my left glove ain't a foot from his. Hefeints with his right, an' I know it's a feint, an' just hunch up myleft shoulder a bit an' feint with my right. That draws his guard overjust about an inch, an' I see my openin'. My left ain't got a footto travel. I don't draw it back none. I start it from where it is, corkscrewin' around his right guard an' pivotin' at the waist to put theweight of my shoulder into the punch. An' it connects!--Square on thepoint of the chin, sideways. He drops deado. I walk back to my corner, an', honest to God, Saxon, I can't help gigglin' a little, it was thateasy. The referee stands over 'm an' counts 'm out. He never quivers. The audience don't know what to make of it an' sits paralyzed. Hisseconds carry 'm to his corner an' set 'm on the stool. But they gottahold 'm up. Five minutes afterward he opens his eyes--but he ain'tseein' nothing. They're glassy. Five minutes more, an' he standsup. They got to help hold 'm, his legs givin' under 'm like they wassausages. An' the seconds has to help 'm through the ropes, an' theygo down the aisle to his dressin' room a-helpin' 'm. An' thecrowd beginning to yell fake an' want its money back. Twenty-sevenseconds--one punch--n' a spankin' pair of horses for the best wife BillyRoberts ever had in his long experience. "

All of Saxon's old physical worship of her husband revived and doubledon itself many times. He was in all truth a hero, worthy to be of thatwing-helmeted company leaping from the beaked boats upon the bloodyEnglish sands. The next morning he was awakened by her lips pressed onhis left hand. 

"Hey!--what are you doin'?'" he demanded. 

"Kissing Hazel and Hattie good morning, " she answered demurely. "And nowI 'm going to kiss you good morning. . . . And just where did your punchland? Show me. "

Billy complied, touching the point of her chin with his knuckles. Withboth her hands on his arm, she shored it back and tried to draw itforward sharply in similitude of a punch. But Billy withstrained her. 

"Wait, " he said. "You don't want to knock your jaw off. I'll show you. Aquarter of an inch will do. "

And at a distance of a quarter of an inch from her chin he administeredthe slightest flick of a tap. 

On the instant Saxon's brain snapped with a white flash of light, whileher whole body relaxed, numb and weak, volitionless, sad her visionreeled and blurred. The next instant she was herself again, in her eyesterror and understanding. 

"And it was at a foot that you struck him, " she murmured in a voice ofawe. 

"Yes, and with the weight of my shoulders behind it, " Billy laughed. "Oh, that's nothing. --Here, let me show you something else. "

He searched out her solar plexus, and did no more than snap his middlefinger against it. This time she experienced a simple paralysis, accompanied by a stoppage of breath, but with a brain and visionthat remained perfectly clear. In a moment, however, all the unwontedsensations were gone. 

"Solar Plexus, " Billy elucidated. "Imagine what it's like when the otherfellow lifts a wallop to it all the way from his knees. That's the punchthat won the championship of the world for Bob Fitzsimmons. "

Saxon shuddered, then resigned herself to Billy's playful demonstrationof the weak points in the human anatomy. He pressed the tip of a fingerinto the middle of her forearm, and she knew excruciating agony. Oneither side of her neck, at the base, he dented gently with his thumbs, and she felt herself quickly growing unconscious. 

"That's one of the death touches of the Japs, " he told her, and wenton, accompanying grips and holds with a running exposition. "Here'sthe toe-hold that Notch defeated Hackenschmidt with. I learned itfrom Farmer Burns. --An' here's a half-Nelson. --An' here's you makin'roughhouse at a dance, an' I 'm the floor manager, an' I gotta put youout. "

One hand grasped her wrist, the other hand passed around and under herforearm and grasped his own wrist. And at the first hint of pressure shefelt that her arm was a pipe-stem about to break. 

"That's called the 'come along. '--An' here's the strong arm. A boycan down a man with it. An' if you ever get into a scrap an' the otherfellow gets your nose between his teeth--you don't want to lose yournose, do you? Well, this is what you do, quick as a flash. "

Involuntarily she closed her eyes as Billy's thumb-ends pressed intothem. She could feel the fore-running ache of a dull and terrible hurt. 

"If he don't let go, you just press real hard, an' out pop his eyes, an'he's blind as a bat for the rest of his life. Oh, he'll let go all rightall right. "

He released her and lay back laughing. 

"How d'ye feel?" he asked. "Those ain't boxin' tricks, but they're allin the game of a roughhouse. "

"I feel like revenge, " she said, trying to apply the "come along" to hisarm. 

When she exerted the pressure she cried out with pain, for she hadsucceeded only in hurting herself. Billy grinned at her futility. Shedug her thumbs into his neck in imitation of the Japanese death touch, then gazed ruefully at the bent ends of her nails. She punched himsmartly on the point of the chin, and again cried out, this time to thebruise of her knuckles. 

"Well, this can't hurt me, " she gritted through her teeth, as sheassailed his solar plexus with her doubled fists. 

By this time he was in a roar of laughter. Under the sheaths of musclesthat were as armor, the fatal nerve center remained impervious. 

"Go on, do it some more, " he urged, when she had given up, breathingheavily. "It feels fine, like you was ticklin' me with a feather. "

"All right, Mister Man, " she threatened balefully. "You can talk aboutyour grips and death touches and all the rest, but that's all man'sgame. I know something that will beat them all, that will make a strongman as helpless as a baby. Wait a minute till I get it. There. Shut youreyes. Ready? I won't be a second. "

He waited with closed eyes, and then, softly as rose petals flutteringdown, he felt her lips on his mouth. 

"You win, " he said in solemn ecstasy, and passed his arms around her. 

CHAPTER XIV

In the morning Billy went down town to pay for Hazel and Hattie. It wasdue to Saxon's impatient desire to see them, that he seemed to take aremarkably long time about so simple a transaction. But she forgave himwhen he arrived with the two horses hitched to the camping wagon. 

"Had to borrow the harness, " he said. "Pass Possum up and climb in, an'I'll show you the Double H Outfit, which is some outfit, I'm tellin'you. "

Saxon's delight was unbounded and almost speechless as they drove outinto the country behind the dappled chestnuts with the cream-coloredtails and manes. The seat was upholstered, high-backed, and comfortable;and Billy raved about the wonders of the efficient brake. He trotted theteam along the hard county road to show the standard-going in them, andput them up a steep earthroad, almost hub-deep with mud, to prove thatthe light Belgian sire was not wanting in their make-up. 

When Saxon at last lapsed into complete silence, he studied heranxiously, with quick sidelong glances. She sighed and asked:

"When do you think we'll be able to start?"

"Maybe in two weeks. .. Or, maybe in two or three months. " He sighed withsolemn deliberation. "We're like the Irishman with the trunk an' nothin'to put in it. Here's the wagon, here's the horses, an' nothin' to pull. I know a peach of a shotgun I can get, second-hand, eighteen dollars;but look at the bills we owe. Then there's a new '22 Automatic rifle Iwant for you. An' a 30-30 I've had my eye on for deer. An' you want agood jointed pole as well as me. An' tackle costs like Sam Hill. An'harness like I want will cost fifty bucks cold. An' the wagon ought tobe painted. Then there's pasture ropes, an' nose-bags, an' a harnesspunch, an' all such things. An' Hazel an' Hattie eatin' their heads offall the time we're waitin'. An' I 'm just itchin' to be started myself. "

He stopped abruptly and confusedly. 

"Now, Billy, what have you got up your sleeve?--I can see it in youreyes, " Saxon demanded and indicted in mixed metaphors. 

"Well, Saxon, you see, it's like this. Sandow ain't satisfied. He'smadder 'n a hatter. Never got one punch at me. Never had a chance tomake a showin', an' he wants a return match. He's blattin' around townthat he can lick me with one hand tied behind 'm, an' all that kind ofhot air. Which ain't the point. The point is, the fight-fans is wildto see a return-match. They didn't get a run for their money last time. They'll fill the house. The managers has seen me already. That was whyI was so long. They's three hundred more waitin' on the tree for me topick two weeks from last night if you'll say the word. It's just thesame as I told you before. He's my meat. He still thinks I 'm a rube, an' that it was a fluke punch. "

"But, Billy, you told me long ago that fighting took the silk out ofyou. That was why you'd quit it and stayed by teaming. "

"Not this kind of fightin', " he answered. "I got this one all doped out. I'll let 'm last till about the seventh. Not that it'll be necessary, but just to give the audience a run for its money. Of course, I'll get alump or two, an' lose some skin. Then I'll time 'm to that glass jawof his an' drop 'm for the count. An' we'll be all packed up, an' nextmornin' we'll pull out. What d'ye say? Aw, come on. "

Saturday night, two weeks later, Saxon ran to the door when the gateclicked. Billy looked tired. His hair was wet, his nose swollen, onecheek was puffed, there was skin missing from his ears, and both eyeswere slightly bloodshot. 

"I 'm darned if that boy didn't fool me, " he said, as he placed the rollof gold pieces in her hand and sat down with her on his knees. "He'ssome boy when he gets extended. Instead of stoppin' 'm at the seventh, he kept me hustlin' till the fourteenth. Then I got 'm the way I said. It's too bad he's got a glass jaw. He's quicker'n I thought, an' he'sgot a wallop that made me mighty respectful from the second round--an'the prettiest little chop an' come-again I ever saw. But that glass jaw!He kept it in cotton wool till the fourteenth an' then I connected. 

"--An', say. I 'm mighty glad it did last fourteen rounds. I still gotall my silk. I could see that easy. I wasn't breathin' much, an' everyround was fast. An' my legs was like iron. I could a-fought fortyrounds. You see, I never said nothin', but I've been suspicious all thetime after that beatin' the Chicago Terror gave me. "

"Nonsense!--you would have known it long before now, " Saxon cried. "Lookat all your boxing, and wrestling, and running at Carmel. "

"Nope. " Billy shook his head with the conviction of utter knowledge. "That's different. It don't take it outa you. You gotta be up againstthe real thing, fightin' for life, round after round, with a husky youknow ain't lost a thread of his silk yet--then, if you don't blow up, ifyour legs is steady, an' your heart ain't burstin', an' you ain't wobblyat all, an' no signs of queer street in your head--why, then you knowyou still got all your silk. An' I got it, I got all mine, d'ye hear me, an' I ain't goin' to risk it on no more fights. That's straight. Easymoney's hardest in the end. From now on it's horsebuyin' on commish, an'you an' me on the road till we find that valley of the moon. "

Next morning, early, they drove out of Ukiah. Possum sat on the seatbetween them, his rosy mouth agape with excitement. They had originallyplanned to cross over to the coast from Ukiah, but it was too earlyin the season for the soft earth-roads to be in shape after the winterrains; so they turned east, for Lake County, their route to extendnorth through the upper Sacramento Valley and across the mountains intoOregon. Then they would circle west to the coast, where the roads bythat time would be in condition, and come down its length to the GoldenGate. 

All the land was green and flower-sprinkled, and each tiny valley, asthey entered the hills, was a garden. 

"Huh!" Billy remarked scornfully to the general landscape. "They say arollin' stone gathers no moss. Just the same this looks like some outfitwe've gathered. Never had so much actual property in my life at onetime--an' them was the days when I wasn't rollin'. Hell--even thefurniture wasn't ourn. Only the clothes we stood up in, an' some oldsocks an' things. "

Saxon reached out and touched his hand, and he knew that it was a handthat loved his hand. 

"I've only one regret, " she said. "You've earned it all yourself. I'vehad nothing to do with it. "

"Huh!--you've had everything to do with it. You're like my second in afight. You keep me happy an' in condition. A man can't fight withouta good second to take care of him. Hell, I wouldn't a-ben here if itwasn't for you. You made me pull up stakes an' head out. Why, if ithadn't been for you I'd a-drunk myself dead an' rotten by this time, orhad my neck stretched at San Quentin over hittin' some scab too hardor something or other. An' look at me now. Look at that roll ofgreenbacks"--he tapped his breast--"to buy the Boss some horses. Why, we're takin' an unendin' vacation, an' makin' a good livin' at the sametime. An' one more trade I got--horse-buyin' for Oakland. If I show I'vegot the savve, an' I have, all the Frisco firms'll be after me to buyfor them. An' it's all your fault. You're my Tonic Kid all right, allright, an' if Possum wasn't lookin', I'd--well, who cares if he doeslook?"

And Billy leaned toward her sidewise and kissed her. 

The way grew hard and rocky as they began to climb, but the divide wasan easy one, and they soon dropped down the canyon of the Blue Lakesamong lush fields of golden poppies. In the bottom of the canyon lay awandering sheet of water of intensest blue. Ahead, the folds of hillsinterlaced the distance, with a remote blue mountain rising in thecenter of the picture. 

They asked questions of a handsome, black-eyed man with curly gray hair, who talked to them in a German accent, while a cheery-faced woman smileddown at them out of a trellised high window of the Swiss cottage perchedon the bank. Billy watered the horses at a pretty hotel farther on, where the proprietor came out and talked and told him he had built ithimself, according to the plans of the black-eyed man with the curlygray hair, who was a San Francisco architect. 

"Goin' up, goin' up, " Billy chortled, as they drove on through thewinding hills past another lake of intensest blue. "D'ye notice thedifference in our treatment already between ridin' an' walkin' withpacks on our backs? With Hazel an' Hattie an' Saxon an' Possum, an'yours truly, an' this high-toned wagon, folks most likely take us formillionaires out on a lark. "

The way widened. Broad, oak-studded pastures with grazing livestock layon either hand. Then Clear Lake opened before them like an inland sea, flecked with little squalls and flaws of wind from the high mountains onthe northern slopes of which still glistened white snow patches. 

"I've heard Mrs. Hazard rave about Lake Geneva, " Saxon recalled; "but Iwonder if it is more beautiful than this. "

"That architect fellow called this the California Alps, you remember, "Billy confirmed. "An' if I don't mistake, that's Lakeport showin' upahead. An' all wild country, an' no railroads. "

"And no moon valleys here, " Saxon criticized. "But it is beautiful, oh, so beautiful. "

"Hotter'n hell in the dead of summer, I'll bet, " was Billy's opinion. "Nope, the country we're lookin' for lies nearer the coast. Just thesame it is beautiful. .. Like a picture on the wall. What d'ye say westop off an' go for a swim this afternoon?"

Ten days later they drove into Williams, in Colusa County, and for thefirst time again encountered a railroad. Billy was looking for it, for the reason that at the rear of the wagon walked two magnificentwork-horses which he had picked up for shipment to Oakland. 

"Too hot, " was Saxon's verdict, as she gazed across the shimmering levelof the vast Sacramento Valley. "No redwoods. No hills. No forests. Nomanzanita. No madronos. Lonely, and sad--"

"An' like the river islands, " Billy interpolated. "Richer in hell, butlooks too much like hard work. It'll do for those that's stuck on hardwork--God knows, they's nothin' here to induce a fellow to knock offever for a bit of play. No fishin', no huntin', nothin' but work. I'dwork myself, if I had to live here. "

North they drove, through days of heat and dust, across the Californiaplains, and everywhere was manifest the "new" farming--great irrigationditches, dug and being dug, the land threaded by power-lines from themountains, and many new farmhouses on small holdings newly fenced. Thebonanza farms were being broken up. However, many of the great estatesremained, five to ten thousand acres in extent, running from theSacramento bank to the horizon dancing in the heat waves, and studdedwith great valley oaks. 

"It takes rich soil to make trees like those, " a ten-acre farmer toldthem. 

They had driven off the road a hundred feet to his tiny barn in order towater Hazel and Hattie. A sturdy young orchard covered most of his tenacres, though a goodly portion was devoted to whitewashed henhouses andwired runways wherein hundreds of chickens were to be seen. He had justbegun work on a small frame dwelling. 

"I took a vacation when I bought, " he explained, "and planted the trees. Then I went back to work an' stayed with it till the place was cleared. Now I 'm here for keeps, an' soon as the house is finished I'll sendfor the wife. She's not very well, and it will do her good. We've beenplanning and working for years to get away from the city. " He stopped inorder to give a happy sigh. "And now we're free. "

The water in the trough was warm from the sun. 

"Hold on, " the man said. "Don't let them drink that. I'll give it tothem cool. "

Stepping into a small shed, he turned an electric switch, and a motorthe size of a fruit box hummed into action. A five-inch stream ofsparkling water splashed into the shallow main ditch of his irrigationsystem and flowed away across the orchard through many laterals. 

"Isn' tit beautiful, eh?--beautiful! beautiful!" the man chanted in anecstasy. "It's bud and fruit. It's blood and life. Look at it! It makesa gold mine laughable, and a saloon a nightmare. I know. I. .. I used tobe a barkeeper. In fact, I've been a barkeeper most of my life. That'show I paid for this place. And I've hated the business all the time. Iwas a farm boy, and all my life I've been wanting to get back to it. Andhere I am at last. "

He wiped his glasses the better to behold his beloved water, then seizeda hoe and strode down the main ditch to open more laterals. 

"He's the funniest barkeeper I ever seen, " Billy commented. "I tookhim for a business man of some sort. Must a-ben in some kind of a quiethotel. "

"Don't drive on right away, " Saxon requested. "I want to talk with him. "

He came back, polishing his glasses, his face beaming, watching thewater as if fascinated by it. It required no more exertion on Saxon'spart to start him than had been required on his part to start the motor. 

"The pioneers settled all this in the early fifties, " he said. "TheMexicans never got this far, so it was government land. Everybody got ahundred and sixty acres. And such acres! The stories they tell about howmuch wheat they got to the acre are almost unbelievable. Then severalthings happened. The sharpest and steadiest of the pioneers held whatthey had and added to it from the other fellows. It takes a great manyquarter sections to make a bonanza farm. It wasn't long before it was'most all bonanza farms. "

"They were the successful gamblers, " Saxon put in, remembering MarkHall's words. 

The man nodded appreciatively and continued. 

"The old folks schemed and gathered and added the land into the bigholdings, and built the great barns and mansions, and planted the houseorchards and flower gardens. The young folks were spoiled by so muchwealth and went away to the cities to spend it. And old folks and youngunited in one thing: in impoverishing the soil. Year after year theyscratched it and took out bonanza crops. They put nothing back. All theyleft was plow-sole and exhausted land. Why, there's big sections theyexhausted and left almost desert. 

"The bonanza farmers are all gone now, thank the Lord, and here's wherewe small farmers come into our own. It won't be many years before thewhole valley will be farmed in patches like mine. Look at what we'redoing! Worked-out land that had ceased to grow wheat, and we turn thewater on, treat the soil decently, and see our orchards!

"We've got the water--from the mountains, and from under the ground. Iwas reading an account the other day. All life depends on food. All fooddepends on water. It takes a thousand pounds of water to produce onepound of food; ten thousand pounds to produce one pound of meat. Howmuch water do you drink in a year? About a ton. But you eat abouttwo hundred pounds of vegetables and two hundred pounds of meata year--which means you consume one hundred tons of water in thevegetables and one thousand tons in the meat--which means that it takeseleven hundred and one tons of water each year to keep a small womanlike you going. "

"Gee!" was all Billy could say. 

"You see how population depends upon water, " the ax-barkeeper went on. "Well, we've got the water, immense subterranean supplies, and in notmany years this valley will be populated as thick as Belgium. "

Fascinated by the five-inch stream, sluiced out of the earth and backto the earth by the droning motor, he forgot his discourse and stood andgazed, rapt and unheeding, while his visitors drove on. 

"An' him a drink-slinger!" Billy marveled. "He can sure sling thetemperance dope if anybody should ask you. "

"It's lovely to think about--all that water, and all the happy peoplethat will come here to live--"

"But it ain't the valley of the moon!" Billy laughed. 

"No, " she responded. "They don't have to irrigate in the valley ofthe moon, unless for alfalfa and such crops. What we want is the waterbubbling naturally from the ground, and crossing the farm in littlebrooks, and on the boundary a fine big creek--"

"With trout in it!" Billy took her up. "An' willows and trees of allkinds growing along the edges, and here a riffle where you can flipout trout, and there a deep pool where you can swim and high-dive. An'kingfishers, an' rabbits comin' down to drink, an', maybe, a deer. "

"And meadowlarks in the pasture, " Saxon added. "And mourning dovesin the trees. We must have mourning doves--and the big, graytree-squirrels. "

"Gee!--that valley of the moon's goin' to be some valley, " Billymeditated, flicking a fly away with his whip from Hattie's side. "Thinkwe'll ever find it?"

Saxon nodded her head with great certitude. 

"Just as the Jews found the promised land, and the Mormons Utah, and thePioneers California. You remember the last advice we got when we leftOakland' ''Tis them that looks that finds. '"

CHAPTER XV

Ever north, through a fat and flourishing rejuvenated land, stopping atthe towns of Willows, Red Bluff and Redding, crossing the counties ofColusa, Glenn, Tehama, and Shasta, went the spruce wagon drawn by thedappled chestnuts with cream-colored manes and tails. Billy picked uponly three horses for shipment, although he visited many farms; andSaxon talked with the women while he looked over the stock with the men. And Saxon grew the more convinced that the valley she sought lay notthere. 

At Redding they crossed the Sacramento on a cable ferry, and made aday's scorching traverse through rolling foot-hills and flat tablelands. The heat grew more insupportable, and the trees and shrubs were blastedand dead. Then they came again to the Sacramento, where the greatsmelters of Kennett explained the destruction of the vegetation. 

They climbed out of the smelting town, where eyrie houses perchedinsecurely on a precipitous landscape. It was a broad, well-engineeredroad that took them up a grade miles long and plunged down into theCanyon of the Sacramento. The road, rock-surfaced and easy-graded, hewnout of the canyon wall, grew so narrow that Billy worried for fear ofmeeting opposite-bound teams. Far below, the river frothed and flowedover pebbly shallows, or broke tumultuously over boulders and cascades, in its race for the great valley they had left behind. 

Sometimes, on the wider stretches of road, Saxon drove and Billy walkedto lighten the load. She insisted on taking her turns at walking, andwhen he breathed the panting mares on the steep, and Saxon stood bytheir heads caressing them and cheering them, Billy's joy was too deepfor any turn of speech as he gazed at his beautiful horses and hisglowing girl, trim and colorful in her golden brown corduroy, the browncorduroy calves swelling sweetly under the abbreviated slim skirt. Andwhen her answering look of happiness came to him--a sudden dimness inher straight gray eyes--he was overmastered by the knowledge that hemust say something or burst. 

"O, you kid!" he cried. 

And with radiant face she answered, "O, you kid!"

They camped one night in a deep dent in the canyon, where was snuggleda box-factory village, and where a toothless ancient, gazing with fadedeyes at their traveling outfit, asked: "Be you showin'?"

They passed Castle Crags, mighty-bastioned and glowing red against thepalpitating blue sky. They caught their first glimpse of Mt. Shasta, arose-tinted snow-peak rising, a sunset dream, between and beyond greeninterlacing walls of canyon--a landmark destined to be with them formany days. At unexpected turns, after mounting some steep grade, Shastawould appear again, still distant, now showing two peaks and glacialfields of shimmering white. Miles and miles and days and days theyclimbed, with Shasta ever developing new forms and phases in her summersnows. 

"A moving picture in the sky, " said Billy at last. 

"Oh, --it is all so beautiful, " sighed Saxon. "But there are nomoon-valleys here. "

They encountered a plague of butterflies, and for days drove throughuntold millions of the fluttering beauties that covered the road withuniform velvet-brown. And ever the road seemed to rise under the nosesof the snorting mares, filling the air with noiseless flight, driftingdown the breeze in clouds of brown and yellow soft-flaked as snow, andpiling in mounds against the fences, ever driven to float helplessly onthe irrigation ditches along the roadside. Hazel and Hattie soon grewused to them though Possum never ceased being made frantic. 

"Huh!--who ever heard of butterfly-broke horses?" Billy chaffed. "That'sworth fifty bucks more on their price. "

"Wait till you get across the Oregon line into the Rogue RiverValley, " they were told. "There's God's Paradise--climate, scenery, and fruit-farming; fruit ranches that yield two hundred per cent. On avaluation of five hundred dollars an acre. "

"Gee!" Billy said, when he had driven on out of hearing; "that's toorich for our digestion. "

And Saxon said, "I don't know about apples in the valley of the moon, but I do know that the yield is ten thousand per cent. Of happiness on avaluation of one Billy, one Saxon, a Hazel, a Hattie, and a Possum. "

Through Siskiyou County and across high mountains, they came to Ashlandand Medford and camped beside the wild Rogue River. 

"This is wonderful and glorious, " pronounced Saxon; "but it is not thevalley of the moon. "

"Nope, it ain't the valley of the moon, " agreed Billy, and he said iton the evening of the day he hooked a monster steelhead, standing to hisneck in the ice-cold water of the Rogue and fighting for forty minutes, with screaming reel, ere he drew his finny prize to the bank and withthe scalp-yell of a Comanche jumped and clutched it by the gills. 

"'Them that looks finds, '" predicted Saxon, as they drew north out ofGrant's Pass, and held north across the mountains and fruitful Oregonvalleys. 

One day, in camp by the Umpqua River, Billy bent over to begin skinningthe first deer he had ever shot. He raised his eyes to Saxon andremarked:

"If I didn't know California, I guess Oregon'd suit me from the groundup. "

In the evening, replete with deer meat, resting on his elbow and smokinghis after-supper cigarette, he said:

"Maybe they ain't no valley of the moon. An' if they ain't, what of it?We could keep on this way forever. I don't ask nothing better. "

"There is a valley of the moon, " Saxon answered soberly. "And we aregoing to find it. We've got to. Why Billy, it would never do, never tosettle down. There would be no little Hazels and little Hatties, norlittle. .. Billies--"

"Nor little Saxons, " Billy interjected. 

"Nor little Possums, " she hurried on, nodding her head and reaching outa caressing hand to where the fox terrier was ecstatically gnawinga deer-rib. A vicious snarl and a wicked snap that barely missed herfingers were her reward. 

"Possum!" she cried in sharp reproof, again extending her hand. 

"Don't, " Billy warned. "He can't help it, and he's likely to get younext time. "

Even more compelling was the menacing threat that Possum growled, hisjaws close-guarding the bone, eyes blazing insanely, the hair risingstiffly on his neck. 

"It's a good dog that sticks up for its bone, " Billy championed. "Iwouldn't care to own one that didn't. "

"But it's my Possum, " Saxon protested. "And he loves me. Besides, hemust love me more than an old bone. And he must mind me. --Here, you, Possum, give me that bone! Give me that bone, sir!"

Her hand went out gingerly, and the growl rose in volume and key till itculminated in a snap. 

"I tell you it's instinct, " Billy repeated. "He does love you, but hejust can't help doin' it. "

"He's got a right to defend his bones from strangers but not from hismother, " Saxon argued. "I shall make him give up that bone to me. "

"Fox terriers is awful highstrung, Saxon. You'll likely get himhysterical. "

But she was obstinately set in her purpose. She picked up a short stickof firewood. 

"Now, sir, give me that bone. "

She threatened with the stick, and the dog's growling became ferocious. Again he snapped, then crouched back over his bone. Saxon raised thestick as if to strike him, and he suddenly abandoned the bone, rolledover on his back at her feet, four legs in the air, his ears lyingmeekly back, his eyes swimming and eloquent with submission and appeal. 

"My God!" Billy breathed in solemn awe. "Look at it!--presenting hissolar plexus to you, his vitals an' his life, all defense down, as muchas sayin': 'Here I am. Stamp on me. Kick the life outa me. ' I love you, I am your slave, but I just can't help defendin' my bone. My instinct'sstronger'n me. Kill me, but I can't help it. "

Saxon was melted. Tears were in her eyes as she stooped and gatheredthe mite of an animal in her arms. Possum was in a frenzy of agitation, whining, trembling, writhing, twisting, licking her face, all forforgiveness. 

"Heart of gold with a rose in his mouth, " Saxon crooned, burying herface in the soft and quivering bundle of sensibilities. "Mother issorry. She'll never bother you again that way. There, there, littlelove. See? There's your bone. Take it. "

She put him down, but he hesitated between her and the bone, patentlylooking to her for surety of permission, yet continuing to tremble inthe terrible struggle between duty and desire that seemed tearing himasunder. Not until she repeated that it was all right and nodded herhead consentingly did he go to the bone. And once, a minute later, heraised his head with a sudden startle and gazed inquiringly at her. She nodded and smiled, and Possum, with a happy sigh of satisfaction, dropped his head down to the precious deer-rib. 

"That Mercedes was right when she said men fought over jobs like dogsover bones, " Billy enunciated slowly. "It's instinct. Why, I couldn'tno more help reaching my fist to the point of a scab's jaw than couldPossum from snappin' at you. They's no explainin' it. What a man has tohe has to. The fact that he does a thing shows he had to do it whetherhe can explain it or not. You remember Hall couldn't explain why hestuck that stick between Timothy McManus's legs in the foot race. Whata man has to, he has to. That's all I know about it. I never had noearthly reason to beat up that lodger we had, Jimmy Harmon. He was agood guy, square an' all right. But I just had to, with the strike goin'to smash, an' everything so bitter inside me that I could taste it. I never told you, but I saw 'm once after I got out--when my arms wasmendin'. I went down to the roundhouse an' waited for 'm to come inoff a run, an' apologized to 'm. Now why did I apologize? I don't know, except for the same reason I punched 'm--I just had to. "

And so Billy expounded the why of like in terms of realism, in the campby the Umpqua River, while Possum expounded it, in similar terms of fangand appetite, on the rib of deer. 

CHAPTER XVI

With Possum on the seat beside her, Saxon drove into the town ofRoseburg. She drove at a walk. At the back of the wagon were tied twoheavy young work-horses. Behind, half a dozen more marched free, andthe rear was brought up by Billy, astride a ninth horse. All these heshipped from Roseburg to the West Oakland stables. 

It was in the Umpqua Valley that they heard the parable of the whitesparrow. The farmer who told it was elderly and flourishing. His farmwas a model of orderliness and system. Afterwards, Billy heard neighborsestimate his wealth at a quarter of a million. 

"You've heard the story of the farmer and the white sparrow'" he askedBilly, at dinner. 

"Never heard of a white sparrow even, " Billy answered. 

"I must say they're pretty rare, " the farmer owned. "But here's thestory: Once there was a farmer who wasn't making much of a success. Things just didn't seem to go right, till at last, one day, he heardabout the wonderful white sparrow. It seems that the white sparrow comesout only just at daybreak with the first light of dawn, and that itbrings all kinds of good luck to the farmer that is fortunate enoughto catch it. Next morning our farmer was up at daybreak, and before, looking for it. And, do you know, he sought for it continually, formonths and months, and never caught even a glimpse of it. " Their hostshook his head. "No; he never found it, but he found so many thingsabout the farm needing attention, and which he attended to beforebreakfast, that before he knew it the farm was prospering, and itwasn't long before the mortgage was paid off and he was starting a bankaccount. "

That afternoon, as they drove along, Billy was plunged in a deepreverie. 

"Oh, I got the point all right, " he said finally. "An' yet I ain'tsatisfied. Of course, they wasn't a white sparrow, but by getting upearly an' attendin' to things he'd been slack about before--oh, I got itall right. An' yet, Saxon, if that's what a farmer's life means, I don'twant to find no moon valley. Life ain't hard work. Daylight to dark, hard at it--might just as well be in the city. What's the difference?Al' the time you've got to yourself is for sleepin', an' when you'resleepin' you're not enjoyin' yourself. An' what's it matter where yousleep, you're deado. Might as well be dead an' done with it as work yourhead off that way. I'd sooner stick to the road, an' shoot a deer an'catch a trout once in a while, an' lie on my back in the shade, an'laugh with you an' have fun with you, an'. .. An' go swimmin'. An' I 'm awillin' worker, too. But they's all the difference in the world betweena decent amount of work an' workin' your head off. "

Saxon was in full accord. She looked back on her years of toil andcontrasted them with the joyous life she had lived on the road. 

"We don't want to be rich, " she said. "Let them hunt their whitesparrows in the Sacramento islands and the irrigation valleys. When weget up early in the valley of the moon, it will be to hear the birdssing and sing with them. And if we work hard at times, it will be onlyso that we'll have more time to play. And when you go swimming I 'mgoing with you. And we'll play so hard that we'll be glad to work forrelaxation. "

"I 'm gettin' plumb dried out, " Billy announced, mopping the sweat fromhis sunburned forehead. "What d'ye say we head for the coast?"

West they turned, dropping down wild mountain gorges from the heightof land of the interior valleys. So fearful was the road, that, on onestretch of seven miles, they passed ten broken-down automobiles. Billywould not force the mares and promptly camped beside a brawling streamfrom which he whipped two trout at a time. Here, Saxon caught her firstbig trout. She had been accustomed to landing them up to nine and teninches, and the screech of the reel when the big one was hooked causedher to cry out in startled surprise. Billy came up the riffle to herand gave counsel. Several minutes later, cheeks flushed and eyes dancingwith excitement, Saxon dragged the big fellow carefully from thewater's edge into the dry sand. Here it threw the hook out and floppedtremendously until she fell upon it and captured it in her hands. 

"Sixteen inches, " Billy said, as she held it up proudly for inspection. "--Hey!--what are you goin' to do?"

"Wash off the sand, of course, " was her answer. 

"Better put it in the basket, " he advised, then closed his mouth andgrimly watched. 

She stooped by the side of the stream and dipped in the splendid fish. It flopped, there was a convulsive movement on her part, and it wasgone. 

"Oh!" Saxon cried in chagrin. 

"Them that finds should hold, " quoth Billy. 

"I don't care, " she replied. "It was a bigger one than you ever caughtanyway. "

"Oh, I 'm not denyin' you're a peach at fishin', " he drawled. "Youcaught me, didn't you?"

"I don't know about that, " she retorted. "Maybe it was like the manwho was arrested for catching trout out of season. His defense was selfdefense. "

Billy pondered, but did not see. 

"The trout attacked him, " she explained. 

Billy grinned. Fifteen minutes later he said:

"You sure handed me a hot one. "

The sky was overcast, and, as they drove along the bank of the CoquilleRiver, the fog suddenly enveloped them. 

"Whoof!" Billy exhaled joyfully. "Ain't it great! I can feel myselfmoppin' it up like a dry sponge. I never appreciated fog before. "

Saxon held out her arms to receive it, making motions as if she werebathing in the gray mist. 

"I never thought I'd grow tired of the sun, " she said; "but we've hadmore than our share the last few weeks. "

"Ever since we hit the Sacramento Valley, " Billy affirmed. "Too much sunain't good. I've worked that out. Sunshine is like liquor. Did you evernotice how good you felt when the sun come out after a week of cloudyweather. Well, that sunshine was just like a jolt of whiskey. Had thesame effect. Made you feel good all over. Now, when you're swimmin', an'come out an' lay in the sun, how good you feel. That's because you'relappin' up a sun-cocktail. But suppose you lay there in the sand acouple of hours. You don't feel so good. You're so slow-movin' it takesyou a long time to dress. You go home draggin' your legs an' feelin'rotten, with all the life sapped outa you. What's that? It's thekatzenjammer. You've been soused to the ears in sunshine, like so muchwhiskey, an' now you're payin' for it. That's straight. That's why fogin the climate is best. "

"Then we've been drunk for months, " Saxon said. "And now we're going tosober up. "

"You bet. Why, Saxon, I can do two days' work in one in thisclimate. --Look at the mares. Blame me if they ain't perkin' up already. "

Vainly Saxon's eye roved the pine forest in search of her belovedredwoods. They would find them down in California, they were told in thetown of Bandon. 

"Then we're too far north, " said Saxon. "We must go south to find ourvalley of the moon. "

And south they went, along roads that steadily grew worse, through thedairy country of Langlois and through thick pine forests to Port Orford, where Saxon picked jeweled agates on the beach while Billy caughtenormous rockcod. No railroads had yet penetrated this wild region, andthe way south grew wilder and wilder. At Gold Beach they encounteredtheir old friend, the Rogue River, which they ferried across whereit entered the Pacific. Still wilder became the country, still moreterrible the road, still farther apart the isolated farms and clearings. 

And here were neither Asiatics nor Europeans. The scant populationconsisted of the original settlers and their descendants. More than oneold man or woman Saxon talked with, who could remember the trip acrossthe Plains with the plodding oxen. West they had fared until the Pacificitself had stopped them, and here they had made their clearings, builttheir rude houses, and settled. In them Farthest West had been reached. Old customs had changed little. There were no railways. No automobileas yet had ventured their perilous roads. Eastward, between them and thepopulous interior valleys, lay the wilderness of the Coast Range--a gameparadise, Billy heard; though he declared that the very road he traveledwas game paradise enough for him. Had he not halted the horses, turnedthe reins over to Saxon, and shot an eight-pronged buck from thewagon-seat?

South of Gold Beach, climbing a narrow road through the virgin forest, they heard from far above the jingle of bells. A hundred yards fartheron Billy found a place wide enough to turn out. Here he waited, whilethe merry bells, descending the mountain, rapidly came near. They heardthe grind of brakes, the soft thud of horses' hoofs, once a sharp cry ofthe driver, and once a woman's laughter. 

"Some driver, some driver, " Billy muttered. "I take my hat off to 'mwhoever he is, hittin' a pace like that on a road like this. --Listento that! He's got powerful brakes. --Zocie! That WAS a chuck-hole! Somesprings, Saxon, some springs!"

Where the road zigzagged above, they glimpsed through the trees foursorrel horses trotting swiftly, and the flying wheels of a small, tan-painted trap. 

At the bend of the road the leaders appeared again, swinging wide onthe curve, the wheelers flashed into view, and the light two-seatedrig; then the whole affair straightened out and thundered down upon themacross a narrow plank-bridge. In the front seat were a man and woman; inthe rear seat a Japanese was squeezed in among suit cases, rods, guns, saddles, and a typewriter case, while above him and all about him, fastened most intricately, sprouted a prodigious crop of deer- andelk-horns. 

"It's Mr. And Mrs. Hastings, " Saxon cried. 

"Whoa!" Hastings yelled, putting on the brake and gathering his horsesin to a stop alongside. Greetings flew back and forth, in which theJapanese, whom they had last seen on the Roamer at Rio Vista, gave andreceived his share. 

"Different from the Sacramento islands, eh?" Hastings said to Saxon. "Nothing but old American stock in these mountains. And they haven'tchanged any. As John Fox, Jr. , said, they're our contemporary ancestors. Our old folks were just like them. "

Mr. And Mrs. Hastings, between them, told of their long drive. They wereout two months then, and intended to continue north through Oregon andWashington to the Canadian boundary. 

"Then we'll ship our horses and come home by train, " concluded Hastings. 

"But the way you drive you oughta be a whole lot further along thanthis, " Billy criticized. 

"But we keep stopping off everywhere, " Mrs. Hastings explained. 

"We went in to the Hoopa Reservation, " said Mr. Elastings, "and canoeddown the Trinity and Klamath Rivers to the ocean. And just now we'vecome out from two weeks in the real wilds of Curry County. "

"You must go in, " Hastings advised. "You'll get to Mountain Ranchto-night. And you can turn in from there. No roads, though. You'll haveto pack your horses. But it's full of game. I shot five mountain lionsand two bear, to say nothing of deer. And there are small herds of elk, too. --No; I didn't shoot any. They're protected. These horns I got fromthe old hunters. I'll tell you all about it. "

And while the men talked, Saxon and Mrs. Hastings were not idle. 

"Found your valley of the moon yet?" the writer's wife asked, as theywere saying good-by. 

Saxon shook her head. 

"You will find it if you go far enough; and be sure you go as far asSonoma Valley and our ranch. Then, if you haven't found it yet, we'llsee what we can do. "

Three weeks later, with a bigger record of mountain lions and bearthan Hastings' to his credit, Billy emerged from Curry County and droveacross the line into California. At once Saxon found herself among theredwoods. But they were redwoods unbelievable. Billy stopped the wagon, got out, and paced around one. 

"Forty-five feet, " he announced. "That's fifteen in diameter. Andthey're all like it only bigger. No; there's a runt. It's only aboutnine feet through. An' they're hundreds of feet tall. "

"When I die, Billy, you must bury me in a redwood grove, " Saxon adjured. 

"I ain't goin' to let you die before I do, " he assured her. "An' thenwe'll leave it in our wills for us both to be buried that way. "

CHAPTER XVII

South they held along the coast, hunting, fishing, swimming, andhorse-buying. Billy shipped his purchases on the coasting steamers. Through Del Norte and Humboldt counties they went, and through Mendocinointo Sonoma--counties larger than Eastern states--threading the giantwoods, whipping innumerable trout-streams, and crossing countless richvalleys. Ever Saxon sought the valley of the moon. Sometimes, when allseemed fair, the lack was a railroad, sometimes madrono and manzanitatrees, and, usually, there was too much fog. 

"We do want a sun-cocktail once in a while, " she told Billy. 

"Yep, " was his answer. "Too much fog might make us soggy. What we'reafter is betwixt an' between, an' we'll have to get back from the coasta ways to find it. "

This was in the fall of the year, and they turned their backs on thePacific at old Fort Ross and entered the Russian River Valley, farbelow Ukiah, by way of Cazadero and Guerneville. At Santa Rosa Billy wasdelayed with the shipping of several horses, so that it was not untilafternoon that he drove south and east for Sonoma Valley. 

"I guess we'll no more than make Sonoma Valley when it'll be time tocamp, " he said, measuring the sun with his eye. "This is called BennettValley. You cross a divide from it and come out at Glen Ellen. Now thisis a mighty pretty valley, if anybody should ask you. An' that's somenifty mountain over there. "

"The mountain is all right, " Saxon adjudged. "But all the rest of thehills are too bare. And I don't see any big trees. It takes rich soil tomake big trees. "

"Oh, I ain't sayin' it's the valley of the moon by a long ways. Allthe same, Saxon, that's some mountain. Look at the timber on it. I betthey's deer there. "

"I wonder where we'll spend this winter, " Saxon remarked. 

"D'ye know, I've just been thinkin' the same thing. Let's winter atCarmel. Mark Hall's back, an' so is Jim Hazard. What d'ye say?"

Saxon nodded. 

"Only you won't be the odd-job man this time. "

"Nope. We can make trips in good weather horse-buyin', " Billy confirmed, his face beaming with self-satisfaction. "An' if that walkin' poet ofthe Marble House is around, I'll sure get the gloves on with 'm just inmemory of the time he walked me off my legs--"

"Oh! Oh!" Saxon cried. "Look, Billy! Look!"

Around a bend in the road came a man in a sulky, driving a heavystallion. The animal was a bright chestnut-sorrel, with cream-coloredmane and tail. The tail almost swept the ground, while the mane was sothick that it crested out of the neck and flowed down, long and wavy. Hescented the mares and stopped short, head flung up and armfuls of creamymane tossing in the breeze. He bent his head until flaring nostrilsbrushed impatient knees, and between the fine-pointed ears could beseen a mighty and incredible curve of neck. Again he tossed his head, fretting against the bit as the driver turned widely aside for safetyin passing. They could see the blue glaze like a sheen on the surfaceof the horse's bright, wild eyes, and Billy closed a wary thumb on hisreins and himself turned widely. He held up his hand in signal, and thedriver of the stallion stopped when well past, and over his shouldertalked draught-horses with Billy. 

Among other things, Billy learned that the stallion's name wasBarbarossa, that the driver was the owner, and that Santa Rosa was hisheadquarters. 

"There are two ways to Sonoma Valley from here, " the man directed. "Whenyou come to the crossroads the turn to the left will take you to GlenEllen by Bennett Peak--that's it there. "

Rising from rolling stubble fields, Bennett Peak towered hot in the sun, a row of bastion hills leaning against its base. But hills and mountainson that side showed bare and heated, though beautiful with the sunburnttawniness of California. 

"The turn to the right will take you to Glen Ellen, too, only it'slonger and steeper grades. But your mares don't look as though it'dbother them. "

"Which is the prettiest way?" Saxon asked. 

"Oh, the right hand road, by all means, " said the man. "That's SonomaMountain there, and the road skirts it pretty well up, and goes throughCooper's Grove. "

Billy did not start immediately after they had said good-by, and heand Saxon, heads over shoulders, watched the roused Barbarossa plungingmutinously on toward Santa Rosa. 

"Gee!" Billy said. "I'd like to be up here next spring. "

At the crossroads Billy hesitated and looked at Saxon. 

"What if it is longer?" she said. "Look how beautiful it is--all coveredwith green woods; and I just know those are redwoods in the canyons. You never can tell. The valley of the moon might be right up theresomewhere. And it would never do to miss it just in order to save halfan hour. "

They took the turn to the right and began crossing a series of steepfoothills. As they approached the mountain there were signs of a greaterabundance of water. They drove beside a running stream, and, though thevineyards on the hills were summer-dry, the farmhouses in the hollowsand on the levels were grouped about with splendid trees. 

"Maybe it sounds funny, " Saxon observed; "but I 'm beginning to lovethat mountain already. It almost seems as if I d seen it before, somehow, it's so all-around satisfying--oh!"

Crossing a bridge and rounding a sharp turn, they were suddenlyenveloped in a mysterious coolness and gloom. All about them arosestately trunks of redwood. The forest floor was a rosy carpet of autumnfronds. Occasional shafts of sunlight, penetrating the deep shade, warmed the somberness of the grove. Alluring paths led off among thetrees and into cozy nooks made by circles of red columns growing aroundthe dust of vanished ancestors--witnessing the titantic dimensions ofthose ancestors by the girth of the circles in which they stood. 

Out of the grove they pulled to the steep divide, which was no more thana buttress of Sonoma Mountain. The way led on through rolling uplandsand across small dips and canyons, all well wooded and a-drip withwater. In places the road was muddy from wayside springs. 

"The mountain's a sponge, " said Billy. "Here it is, the tail-end of drysummer, an' the ground's just leakin' everywhere. "

"I know I've never been here before, " Saxon communed aloud. "But it'sall so familiar! So I must have dreamed it. And there's madronos!--awhole grove! And manzanita! Why, I feel just as if I was coming home. .. Oh, Billy, if it should turn out to be our valley. "

"Plastered against the side of a mountain?" he queried, with a skepticallaugh. 

"No; I don't mean that. I mean on the way to our valley. Because theway--all ways--to our valley must be beautiful. And this; I've seen itall before, dreamed it. "

"It's great, " he said sympathetically. "I wouldn't trade a square mileof this kind of country for the whole Sacramento Valley, with the riverislands thrown in and Middle River for good measure. If they ain't deerup there, I miss my guess. An' where they's springs they's streams, an'streams means trout. "

They passed a large and comfortable farmhouse, surrounded by wanderingbarns and cow-sheds, went on under forest arches, and emerged beside afield with which Saxon was instantly enchanted. It flowed in a gentleconcave from the road up the mountain, its farther boundary an unbrokenline of timber. The field glowed like rough gold in the approachingsunset, and near the middle of it stood a solitary great redwood, withblasted top suggesting a nesting eyrie for eagles. The timber beyondclothed the mountain in solid green to what they took to be the top. But, as they drove on, Saxon, looking back upon what she called herfield, saw the real summit of Sonoma towering beyond, the mountainbehind her field a mere spur upon the side of the larger mass. 

Ahead and toward the right, across sheer ridges of the mountains, separated by deep green canyons and broadening lower down into rollingorchards and vineyards, they caught their first sight of Sonoma Valleyand the wild mountains that rimmed its eastern side. To the left theygazed across a golden land of small hills and valleys. Beyond, to thenorth, they glimpsed another portion of the valley, and, still beyond, the opposing wall of the valley--a range of mountains, the highest ofwhich reared its red and battered ancient crater against a rosy andmellowing sky. From north to southeast, the mountain rim curved in thebrightness of the sun, while Saxon and Billy were already in the shadowof evening. He looked at Saxon, noted the ravished ecstasy of her face, and stopped the horses. All the eastern sky was blushing to rose, whichdescended upon the mountains, touching them with wine and ruby. SonomaValley began to fill with a purple flood, laying the mountain bases, rising, inundating, drowning them in its purple. Saxon pointed insilence, indicating that the purple flood was the sunset shadow ofSonoma Mountain. Billy nodded, then chirruped to the mares, and thedescent began through a warm and colorful twilight. 

On the elevated sections of the road they felt the cool, deliciousbreeze from the Pacific forty miles away; while from each little dip andhollow came warm breaths of autumn earth, spicy with sunburnt grass andfallen leaves and passing flowers. 

They came to the rim of a deep canyon that seemed to penetrate tothe heart of Sonoma Mountain. Again, with no word spoken, merelyfrom watching Saxon, Billy stopped the wagon. The canyon was wildlybeautiful. Tall redwoods lined its entire length. On its farther rimstood three rugged knolls covered with dense woods of spruce and oak. From between the knolls, a feeder to the main canyon and likewisefringed with redwoods, emerged a smaller canyon. Billy pointed to astubble field that lay at the feet of the knolls. 

"It's in fields like that I've seen my mares a-pasturing, " he said. 

They dropped down into the canyon, the road following a stream thatsang under maples and alders. The sunset fires, refracted from thecloud-driftage of the autumn sky, bathed the canyon with crimson, in which ruddy-limbed madronos and wine-wooded manzanitas burned andsmoldered. The air was aromatic with laurel. Wild grape vines bridgedthe stream from tree to tree. Oaks of many sorts were veiled in lacySpanish moss. Ferns and brakes grew lush beside the stream. Fromsomewhere came the plaint of a mourning dove. Fifty feet above theground, almost over their heads, a Douglas squirrel crossed the road--aflash of gray between two trees; and they marked the continuance of itsaerial passage by the bending of the boughs. 

"I've got a hunch, " said Billy. 

"Let me say it first, " Saxon begged. 

He waited, his eyes on her face as she gazed about her in rapture. 

"We've found our valley, " she whispered. "Was that it?"

He nodded, but checked speech at sight of a small boy driving a cowup the road, a preposterously big shotgun in one hand, in the other aspreposterously big a jackrabbit. "How far to Glen Ellen?" Billy asked. 

"Mile an' a half, " was the answer. 

"What creek is this?" inquired Saxon. 

"Wild Water. It empties into Sonoma Creek half a mile down. "

"Trout?"--this from Billy. 

"If you know how to catch 'em, " grinned the boy. 

"Deer up the mountain?"

"It ain't open season, " the boy evaded. 

"I guess you never shot a deer, " Billy slyly baited, and was rewardedwith:

"I got the horns to show. "

"Deer shed their horns, " Billy teased on. "Anybody can find 'em. "

"I got the meat on mine. It ain't dry yet--"

The boy broke off, gazing with shocked eyes into the pit Billy had dugfor him. 

"It's all right, sonny, " Billy laughed, as he drove on. "I ain't thegame warden. I 'm buyin' horses. "

More leaping tree squirrels, more ruddy madronos and majestic oaks, morefairy circles of redwoods, and, still beside the singing stream, theypassed a gate by the roadside. Before it stood a rural mail box, onwhich was lettered "Edmund Hale. " Standing under the rustic arch, leaning upon the gate, a man and woman composed a pieture so arrestingand beautiful that Saxon caught her breath. They were side by side, thedelicate hand of the woman curled in the hand of the man, which lookedas if made to confer benedictions. His face bore out this impression--abeautiful-browed countenance, with large, benevolent gray eyes under awealth of white hair that shone like spun glass. He was fair and large;the little woman beside him was daintily wrought. She was saffron-brown, as a woman of the white race can well be, with smiling eyes of bluestblue. In quaint sage-green draperies, she seemed a flower, withher small vivid face irresistibly reminding Saxon of a springtimewake-robin. 

Perhaps the picture made by Saxon and Billy was equally arresting andbeautiful, as they drove down through the golden end of day. The twocouples had eyes only for each other. The little woman beamed joyously. The man's face glowed into the benediction that had trembled there. To Saxon, like the field up the mountain, like the mountain itself, itseemed that she had always known this adorable pair. She knew that sheloved them. 

"How d'ye do, " said Billy. 

"You blessed children, " said the man. "I wonder if you know how dear youlook sitting there. "

That was all. The wagon had passed by, rustling down the road, which wascarpeted with fallen leaves of maple, oak, and alder. Then they came tothe meeting of the two creeks. 

"Oh, what a place for a home, " Saxon cried, pointing across Wild Water. "See, Billy, on that bench there above the meadow. "

"It's a rich bottom, Saxon; and so is the bench rich. Look at the bigtrees on it. An' they's sure to be springs. "

"Drive over, " she said. 

Forsaking the main road, they crossed Wild Water on a narrow bridgeand continued along an ancient, rutted road that ran beside an equallyancient worm-fence of split redwood rails. They came to a gate, open andoff its hinges, through which the road led out on the bench. 

"This is it--I know it, " Saxon said with conviction. "Drive in, Billy. "

A small, whitewashed farmhouse with broken windows showed through thetrees. 

"Talk about your madronos--"

Billy pointed to the father of all madronos, six feet in diameter at itsbase, sturdy and sound, which stood before the house. 

They spoke in low tones as they passed around the house under greatoak trees and came to a stop before a small barn. They did not wait tounharness. Tying the horses, they started to explore. The pitch fromthe bench to the meadow was steep yet thickly wooded with oaks andmanzanita. As they crashed through the underbrush they startled a scoreof quail into flight. 

"How about game?" Saxon queried. 

Billy grinned, and fell to examining a spring which bubbled a clearstream into the meadow. Here the ground was sunbaked and wide open in amultitude of cracks. 

Disappointment leaped into Saxon's face, but Billy, crumbling a clodbetween his fingers, had not made up his mind. 

"It's rich, " he pronounced; "--the cream of the soil that's been washin'down from the hills for ten thousan' years. But--"

He broke off, stared all about, studying the configuration of themeadow, crossed it to the redwood trees beyond, then came back. 

"It's no good as it is, " he said. "But it's the best ever if it'shandled right. All it needs is a little common sense an' a lot ofdrainage. This meadow's a natural basin not yet filled level. They's asharp slope through the redwoods to the creek. Come on, I'll show you. "

They went through the redwoods and came out on Sonoma Creek. At thisspot was no singing. The stream poured into a quiet pool. The willows ontheir side brushed the water. The opposite side was a steep bank. Billymeasured the height of the bank with his eye, the depth of the waterwith a driftwood pole. 

"Fifteen feet, " he announced. "That allows all kinds of high-divin' fromthe bank. An' it's a hundred yards of a swim up an' down. "

They followed down the pool. It emptied in a riffle, across exposedbedrock, into another pool. As they looked, a trout flashed into the airand back, leaving a widening ripple on the quiet surface. 

"I guess we won't winter in Carmel, " Billy said. "This place wasspecially manufactured for us. In the morning I'll find out who ownsit. "

Half an hour later, feeding the horses, he called Saxon's attention to alocomotive whistle. 

"You've got your railroad, " he said. "That's a train pulling into GlenEllen, an' it's only a mile from here. "

Saxon was dozing off to sleep under the blankets when Billy aroused her. 

"Suppose the guy that owns it won't sell?"

"There isn't the slightest doubt, " Saxon answered with unruffledcertainty. "This is our place. I know it. "

CHAPTER XVIII

They were awakened by Possum, who was indignantly reproaching a treesquirrel for not coming down to be killed. The squirrel chatteredgarrulous remarks that drove Possum into a mad attempt to climb thetree. Billy and Saxon giggled and hugged each other at the terrier'sfrenzy. 

"If this is goin' to be our place, they'll be no shootin' of treesquirrels, " Billy said. 

Saxon pressed his hand and sat up. From beneath the bench came the cryof a meadow lark. 

"There isn't anything left to be desired, " she sighed happily. 

"Except the deed, " Billy corrected. 

After a hasty breakfast, they started to explore, running the irregularboundaries of the place and repeatedly crossing it from rail fence tocreek and back again. Seven springs they found along the foot of thebench on the edge of the meadow. 

"There's your water supply, " Billy said. "Drain the meadow, work thesoil up, and with fertilizer and all that water you can grow crops theyear round. There must be five acres of it, an' I wouldn't trade it forMrs. Mortimer's. "

They were standing in the old orchard, on the bench where they hadcounted twenty-seven trees, neglected but of generous girth. 

"And on top the bench, back of the house, we can grow berries. " Saxonpaused, considering a new thought "If only Mrs. Mortimer would come upand advise us!--Do you think she would, Billy?"

"Sure she would. It ain't more 'n four hours' run from San Jose. Butfirst we'll get our hooks into the place. Then you can write to her. "

Sonoma Creek gave the long boundary to the little farm, two sides wereworm fenced, and the fourth side was Wild Water. 

"Why, we'll have that beautiful man and woman for neighbors, " Saxonrecollected. "Wild Water will be the dividing line between their placeand ours. "

"It ain't ours yet, " Billy commented. "Let's go and call on 'em. They'llbe able to tell us all about it. "

"It's just as good as, " she replied. "The big thing has been thefinding. And whoever owns it doesn't care much for it. It hasn't beenlived in for a long time. And--Oh, Billy--are you satisfied!"

"With every bit of it, " he answered frankly, "as far as it goes. But thetrouble is, it don't go far enough. "

The disappointment in her face spurred him to renunciation of hisparticular dream. 

"We'll buy it--that's settled, " he said. "But outside the meadow, they'sso much woods that they's little pasture--not more 'n enough for acouple of horses an' a cow. But I don't care. We can't have everything, an' what they is is almighty good. "

"Let us call it a starter, " she consoled. "Later on we can add toit--maybe the land alongside that runs up the Wild Water to the threeknolls we saw yesterday. "

"Where I seen my horses pasturin', " he remembered, with a flash of eye. "Why not? So much has come true since we hit the road, maybe that'llcome true, too. 

"We'll work for it, Billy. "

"We'll work like hell for it, " he said grimly. 

They passed through the rustic gate and along a path that wound throughwild woods. There was no sign of the house until they came abruptlyupon it, bowered among the trees. It was eight-sided, and so justlyproportioned that its two stories made no show of height. The housebelonged there. It might have sprung from the soil just as the treeshad. There were no formal grounds. The wild grew to the doors. Thelow porch of the main entrance was raised only a step from the ground. "Trillium Covert, " they read, in quaint carved letters under the eave ofthe porch. 

"Come right upstairs, you dears, " a voice called from above, in responseto Saxon's knock. 

Stepping back and looking up, she beheld the little lady smiling downfrom a sleeping-porch. Clad in a rosy-tissued and flowing house gown, she again reminded Saxon of a flower. 

"Just push the front door open and find your way, " was the direction. 

Saxon led, with Billy at her heels. They came into a room bright withwindows, where a big log smoldered in a rough-stone fireplace. On thestone slab above stood a huge Mexican jar, filled with autumn branchesand trailing fluffy smoke-vine. The walls were finished in warm naturalwoods, stained but without polish. The air was aromatic with cleanwood odors. A walnut organ loomed in a shallow corner of the room. Allcorners were shallow in this octagonal dwelling. In another corner weremany rows of books. Through the windows, across a low couch indubitablymade for use, could be seen a restful picture of autumn trees and yellowgrasses, threaded by wellworn paths that ran here and there over thetiny estate. A delightful little stairway wound past more windows to theupper story. Here the little lady greeted them and led them into whatSaxon knew at once was her room. The two octagonal sides of the housewhich showed in this wide room were given wholly to windows. Underthe long sill, to the floor, were shelves of books. Books lay here andthere, in the disorder of use, on work table, couch and desk. On a sillby an open window, a jar of autumn leaves breathed the charm of thesweet brown wife, who seated herself in a tiny rattan chair, enameled acheery red, such as children delight to rock in. 

"A queer house, " Mrs. Hale laughed girlishly and contentedly. "But welove it. Edmund made it with his own hands even to the plumbing, thoughhe did have a terrible time with that before he succeeded. "

"How about that hardwood floor downstairs?--an' the fireplace?" Billyinquired. 

"All, all, " she replied proudly. "And half the furniture. That cedardesk there, the table--with his own hands. "

"They are such gentle hands, " Saxon was moved to say. 

Mrs. Hale looked at her quickly, her vivid face alive with a gratefullight. 

"They are gentle, the gentlest hands I have ever known, " she saidsoftly. "And you are a dear to have noticed it, for you only saw themyesterday in passing. "

"I couldn't help it, " Saxon said simply. 

Her gaze slipped past Mrs. Hale, attracted by the wall beyond, whichwas done in a bewitching honeycomb pattern dotted with golden bees. Thewalls were hung with a few, a very few, framed pictures. 

"They are all of people, " Saxon said, remembering the beautifulpaintings in Mark Hall's bungalow. 

"My windows frame my landscape paintings, " Mrs. Hale answered, pointingout of doors. "Inside I want only the faces of my dear ones whom Icannot have with me always. Some of them are dreadful rovers. "

"Oh!" Saxon was on her feet and looking at a photograph. "You know ClaraHastings!"

"I ought to. I did everything but nurse her at my breast. She came tome when she was a little baby. Her mother was my sister. Do you knowhow greatly you resemble her? I remarked it to Edmund yesterday. He hadalready seen it. It wasn't a bit strange that his heart leaped out toyou two as you came drilling down behind those beautiful horses. "

So Mrs. Hale was Clara's aunt--old stock that had crossed the Plains. Saxon knew now why she had reminded her so strongly of her own mother. 

The talk whipped quite away from Billy, who could only admire thedetailed work of the cedar desk while he listened. Saxon told of meetingClara and Jack Hastings on their yacht and on their driving trip inOregon. They were off again, Mrs. Hale said, having shipped their horseshome from Vancouver and taken the Canadian Pacific on their way toEngland. Mrs. Hale knew Saxon's mother or, rather, her poems; andproduced, not only "The Story of the Files, " but a ponderous scrapbookwhich contained many of her mother's poems which Saxon had never seen. A sweet singer, Mrs. Hale said; but so many had sung in the days of goldand been forgotten. There had been no army of magazines then, and thepoems had perished in local newspapers. 

Jack Hastings had fallen in love with Clara, the talk ran on; then, visiting at Trillium Covert, he had fallen in love with Sonoma Valleyand bought a magnificent home ranch, though little enough he saw of it, being away over the world so much of the time. Mrs. Hale talked of herown Journey across the Plains, a little girl, in the late Fifties, and, like Mrs. Mortimer, knew all about the fight at Little Meadow, and thetale of the massacre of the emigrant train of which Billy's father hadbeen the sole survivor. 

"And so, " Saxon concluded, an hour later, "we've been three yearssearching for our valley of the moon, and now we've found it. "

"Valley of the Moon?" Mrs. Hale queried. "Then you knew about it all thetime. What kept you so long?"

"No; we didn't know. We just started on a blind search for it. Mark Hallcalled it a pilgrimage, and was always teasing us to carry long staffs. He said when we found the spot we'd know, because then the staffs wouldburst into blossom. He laughed at all the good things we wanted in ourvalley, and one night he took me out and showed me the moon througha telescope. He said that was the only place we could find such awonderful valley. He meant it was moonshine, but we adopted the name andwent on looking for it. "

"What a coincidence!" Mrs. Hale exclaimed. "For this is the Valley ofthe Moon. "

"I know it, " Saxon said with quiet confidence. "It has everything wewanted. "

"But you don't understand, my dear. This is the Valley of the Moon. Thisis Sonoma Valley. Sonoma is an Indian word, and means the Valley of theMoon. That was what the Indians called it for untold ages before thefirst white men came. We, who love it, still so call it. "

And then Saxon recalled the mysterious references Jack Hastings andhis wife had made to it, and the talk tripped along until Billy grewrestless. He cleared his throat significantly and interrupted. 

"We want to find out about that ranch acrost the creek--who owns it, ifthey'll sell, where we'll find 'em, an' such things. "

Mrs. Hale stood up. 

"We'll go and see Edmund, " she said, catching Saxon by the hand andleading the way. 

"My!" Billy ejaculated, towering above her. "I used to think Saxon wassmall. But she'd make two of you. "

"And you're pretty big, " the little woman smiled; "but Edmund is tallerthan you, and broader-shouldered. "

They crossed a bright hall, and found the big beautiful husband lyingback reading in a huge Mission rocker. Beside it was another tinychild's chair of red-enameled rattan. Along the length of his thigh, thehead on his knee and directed toward a smoldering log in a fireplace, clung an incredibly large striped cat. Like its master, it turned itshead to greet the newcomers. Again Saxon felt the loving benedictionthat abided in his face, his eyes, his hands--toward which sheinvoluntarily dropped her eyes. Again she was impressed by thegentleness of them. They were hands of love. They were the hands of atype of man she had never dreamed existed. No one in that merry crowd ofCarmel had prefigured him. They were artists. This was the scholar, the philosopher. In place of the passion of youth and all youth's madrevolt, was the benignance of wisdom. Those gentle hands had passed allthe bitter by and plucked only the sweet of life. Dearly as she lovedthem, she shuddered to think what some of those Carmelites would be likewhen they were as old as he--especially the dramatic critic and the IronMan. 

"Here are the dear children, Edmund, " Mrs. Hale said. "What do youthink! They want to buy the Madrono Ranch. They've been three yearssearching for it--I forgot to tell them we had searched ten years forTrillium Covert. Tell them all about it. Surely Mr. Naismith is still ofa mind to sell!"

They seated themselves in simple massive chairs, and Mrs. Hale took thetiny rattan beside the big Mission rocker, her slender hand curled likea tendril in Edmund's. And while Saxon listened to the talk, her eyestook in the grave rooms lined with books. She began to realize howa mere structure of wood and stone may express the spirit of him whoconceives and makes it. Those gentle hands had made all this--the veryfurniture, she guessed as her eyes roved from desk to chair, from worktable to reading stand beside the bed in the other room, where stood agreen-shaded lamp and orderly piles of magazines and books. 

As for the matter of Madrono Ranch, it was easy enough he was saying. Naismith would sell. Had desired to sell for the past five years, eversince he had engaged in the enterprise of bottling mineral water at thesprings lower down the valley. It was fortunate that he was theowner, for about all the rest of the surrounding land was owned by aFrenchman--an early settler. He would not part with a foot of it. He wasa peasant, with all the peasant's love of the soil, which, in him, hadbecome an obsession, a disease. He was a land-miser. With no businesscapacity, old and opinionated, he was land poor, and it was an openquestion which would arrive first, his death or bankruptcy. 

As for Madrono Ranch, Naismith owned it and had set the price at fiftydollars an acre. That would be one thousand dollars, for there weretwenty acres. As a farming investment, using old-fashioned methods, itwas not worth it. As a business investment, yes; for the virtues of thevalley were on the eve of being discovered by the outside world, andno better location for a summer home could be found. As a happinessinvestment in joy of beauty and climate, it was worth a thousand timesthe price asked. And he knew Naismith would allow time on most of theamount. Edmund's suggestion was that they take a two years' lease, withoption to buy, the rent to apply to the purchase if they took it up. Naismith had done that once with a Swiss, who had paid a monthly rentalof ten dollars. But the man's wife had died, and he had gone away. 

Edmund soon divined Billy's renunciation, though not the nature of it;and several questions brought it forth--the old pioneer dream of landspaciousness; of cattle on a hundred hills; one hundred and sixty acresof land the smallest thinkable division. 

"But you don't need all that land, dear lad, " Edmund said softly. "Isee you understand intensive farming. Have you thought about intensivehorse-raising?"

Billy's jaw dropped at the smashing newness of the idea. He consideredit, but could see no similarity in the two processes. Unbelief leapedinto his eyes. 

"You gotta show me!" he cried. 

The elder man smiled gently. 

"Let us see. In the first place, you don't need those twenty acresexcept for beauty. There are five acres in the meadow. You don't needmore than two of them to make your living at selling vegetables. Infact, you and your wife, working from daylight to dark, cannot properlyfarm those two acres. Remains three acres. You have plenty of water forit from the springs. Don't be satisfied with one crop a year, like therest of the old-fashioned farmers in this valley. Farm it likeyour vegetable plot, intensively, all the year, in crops that makehorse-feed, irrigating, fertilizing, rotating your crops. Those threeacres will feed as many horses as heaven knows how huge an area ofunseeded, uncared for, wasted pasture would feed. Think it over. I'lllend you books on the subject. I don't know how large your crops willbe, nor do I know how much a horse eats; that's your business. But I amcertain, with a hired man to take your place helping your wife on hertwo acres of vegetables, that by the time you own the horses your threeacres will feed, you will have all you can attend to. Then it will betime to get more land, for more horses, for more riches, if that wayhappiness lie. "

Billy understood. In his enthusiasm he dashed out:

"You're some farmer. "

Edmund smiled and glanced toward his wife. 

"Give him your opinion of that, Annette. "

Her blue eyes twinkled as she complied. 

"Why, the dear, he never farms. He has never farmed. But he knows. " Shewaved her hand about the booklined walls. "He is a student of good. Hestudies all good things done by good men under the sun. His pleasure isin books and wood-working. "

"Don't forget Dulcie, " Edmund gently protested. 

"Yes, and Dulcie. " Annette laughed. "Dulcie is our cow. It is a greatquestion with Jack Hastings whether Edmund dotes more on Dulcie, orDulcie dotes more on Edmund. When he goes to San Francisco Dulcie ismiserable. So is Edmund, until he hastens back. Oh, Dulcie has given meno few jealous pangs. But I have to confess he understands her as no oneelse does. "

"That is the one practical subject I know by experience, " Edmundconfirmed. "I am an authority on Jersey cows. Call upon me any time forcounsel. "

He stood up and went toward his book-shelves; and they saw howmagnificently large a man he was. He paused a book in his hand, toanswer a question from Saxon. No; there were no mosquitoes, although, one summer when the south wind blew for ten days--an unprecedentedthing--a few mosquitoes had been carried up from San Pablo Bay. As forfog, it was the making of the valley. And where they were situated, sheltered behind Sonoma Mountain, the fogs were almost invariably highfogs. Sweeping in from the ocean forty miles away, they were deflectedby Sonoma Mountain and shunted high into the air. Another thing, Trillium Covert and Madrono Ranch were happily situated in a narrowthermal belt, so that in the frosty mornings of winter the temperaturewas always several degrees higher than in the rest of the valley. Infact, frost was very rare in the thermal belt, as was proved by thesuccessful cultivation of certain orange and lemon trees. 

Edmund continued reading titles and selecting books until he had drawnout quite a number. He opened the top one, Bolton Hall's "Three Acresand Liberty, " and read to them of a man who walked six hundred and fiftymiles a year in cultivating, by old-fashioned methods, twenty acres, from which he harvested three thousand bushels of poor potatoes; and ofanother man, a "new" farmer, who cultivated only five acres, walked twohundred miles, and produced three thousand bushels of potatoes, earlyand choice, which he sold at many times the price received by the firstman. 

Saxon receded the books from Edmund, and, as she heaped them in Billy'sarms, read the titles. They were: Wickson's "California Fruits, "Wickson's "California Vegetables, " Brooks' "Fertilizers, " Watson's"Farm Poultry, " King's "Irrigation and Drainage, " Kropotkin's "Fields, Factories and Workshops, " and Farmer's Bulletin No. 22 on "The Feedingof Farm Animals. "

"Come for more any time you want them, " Edmund invited. "I have hundredsof volumes on farming, and all the Agricultural Bulletins. .. . And youmust come and get acquainted with Dulcie your first spare time, " hecalled after them out the door. 

CHAPTER XIX

Mrs. Mortimer arrived with seed catalogs and farm books, to find Saxonimmersed in the farm books borrowed from Edmund. Saxon showed heraround, and she was delighted with everything, including the terms ofthe lease and its option to buy. 

"And now, " she said. "What is to be done? Sit down, both of you. This isa council of war, and I am the one person in the world to tell you whatto do. I ought to be. Anybody who has reorganized and recatalogued agreat city library should be able to start you young people on in shortorder. Now, where shall we begin?"

She paused for breath of consideration. 

"First, Madrono Ranch is a bargain. I know soil, I know beauty, Iknow climate. Madrono Ranch is a gold mine. There is a fortune in thatmeadow. Tilth--I'll tell you about that later. First, here's theland. Second, what are you going to do with it? Make a living? Yes. Vegetables? Of course. What are you going to do with them after you havegrown them? Sell. Where?--Now listen. You must do as I did. Cut out themiddle man. Sell directly to the consumer. Drum up your own market. Do you know what I saw from the car windows coming up the valley, only several miles from here? Hotels, springs, summer resorts, winterresorts--population, mouths, market. How is that market supplied? Ilooked in vain for truck gardens. --Billy, harness up your horses andbe ready directly after dinner to take Saxon and me driving. Never mindeverything else. Let things stand. What's the use of starting for aplace of which you haven't the address. We'll look for the addressthis afternoon. Then we'll know where we are--at. "--The last syllable asmiling concession to Billy. 

But Saxon did not accompany them. There was too much to be done incleaning the long-abandoned house and in preparing an arrangement forMrs. Mortimer to sleep. And it was long after supper time when Mrs. Mortimer and Billy returned. 

"You lucky, lucky children, " she began immediately. "This valley is justwaking up. Here's your market. There isn't a competitor in the valley. I thought those resorts looked new--Caliente, Boyes Hot Springs, ElVerano, and all along the line. Then there are three little hotels inGlen Ellen, right next door. Oh, I've talked with all the owners andmanagers. "

"She's a wooz, " Billy admired. "She'd brace up to God on a businessproposition. You oughta seen her. "

Mrs. Mortimer acknowledged the compliment and dashed on. 

"And where do all the vegetables come from? Wagons drive down twelve tofifteen miles from Santa Rosa, and up from Sonoma. Those are the nearesttruck farms, and when they fail, as they often do, I am told, to supplythe increasing needs, the managers have to express vegetables allthe way from San Francisco. I've introduced Billy. They've agreed topatronize home industry. Besides, it is better for them. You'll deliverjust as good vegetables just as cheap; you will make it a point todeliver better, fresher vegetables; and don't forget that delivery foryou will be cheaper by virtue of the shorter haul. 

"No day-old egg stunt here. No jams nor jellies. But you've got lots ofspace up on the bench here on which you can't grow vegetables. To-morrowmorning I'll help you lay out the chicken runs and houses. Besides, there is the matter of capons for the San Francisco market. You'll startsmall. It will be a side line at first. I'll tell you all about that, too, and send you the literature. You must use your head. Let othersdo the work. You must understand that thoroughly. The wages ofsuperintendence are always larger than the wages of the laborers. Youmust keep books. You must know where you stand. You must know what paysand what doesn't and what pays best. Your books will tell that. I'llshow you all in good time. "

"An' think of it--all that on two acres!" Billy murmured. 

Mrs. Mortimer looked at him sharply. 

"Two acres your granny, " she said with asperity. "Five acres. And thenyou won't be able to supply your market. And you, my boy, as soon asthe first rains come will have your hands full and your horses wearydraining that meadow. We'll work those plans out to-morrow Also, thereis the matter of berries on the bench here--and trellised tablegrapes, the choicest. They bring the fancy prices. There will beblackberries--Burbank's, he lives at Santa Rosa--Loganberries, Mammothberries. But don't fool with strawberries. That's a whole occupation initself. They're not vines, you know. I've examined the orchard. It's agood foundation. We'll settle the pruning and grafts later. "

"But Billy wanted three acres of the meadow, " Saxon explained at thefirst chance. 

"What for?"

"To grow hay and other kinds of food for the horses he's going toraise. "

"Buy it out of a portion of the profits from those three acres, " Mrs. Mortimer decided on the instant. 

Billy swallowed, and again achieved renunciation. 

"All right, " he said, with a brave show of cheerfulness. "Let her go. Usfor the greens. "

During the several days of Mrs. Mortimer's visit, Billy let the twowomen settle things for themselves. Oakland had entered upon a boom, andfrom the West Oakland stables had come an urgent letter for more horses. So Billy was out, early and late, scouring the surrounding country foryoung work animals. In this way, at the start, he learned his valleythoroughly. There was also a clearing out at the West Oakland stables ofmares whose feet had been knocked out on the hard city pave meets, andhe was offered first choice at bargain prices. They were good animals. He knew what they were because he knew them of old time. The soft earthof the country, with a preliminary rest in pasture with their shoespulled off, would put them in shape. They would never do again onhard-paved streets, but there were years of farm work in them. Andthen there was the breeding. But he could not undertake to buy them. Hefought out the battle in secret and said nothing to Saxon. 

At night, he would sit in the kitchen and smoke, listening to all thatthe two women had done and planned in the day. The right kind of horseswas hard to buy, and, as he put it, it was like pulling a tooth to get afarmer to part with one, despite the fact that he had been authorized toincrease the buying sum by as much as fifty dollars. Despite the comingof the automobile, the price of heavy draught animals continued to rise. From as early as Billy could remember, the price of the big work horseshad increased steadily. After the great earthquake, the price hadjumped; yet it had never gone back. 

"Billy, you make more money as a horse-buyer than a common laborer, don't you?" Mrs. Mortimer asked. "Very well, then. You won't have todrain the meadow, or plow it, or anything. You keep right on buyinghorses. Work with your head. But out of what you make you will pleasepay the wages of one laborer for Saxon's vegetables. It will be a goodinvestment, with quick returns. "

"Sure, " he agreed. "That's all anybody hires any body for--to make moneyouta 'm. But how Saxon an' one man are goin' to work them five acres, when Mr. Hale says two of us couldn't do what's needed on two acres, isbeyond me. "

"Saxon isn't going to work, " Mrs. Mortimer retorted. 

"Did you see me working at San Jose? Saxon is going to use her head. It's about time you woke up to that. A dollar and a half a day is whatis earned by persons who don't use their heads. And she isn't going tobe satisfied with a dollar and a half a day. Now listen. I had a longtalk with Mr. Hale this afternoon. He says there are practically noefficient laborers to be hired in the valley. "

"I know that, " Billy interjected. "All the good men go to the cities. It's only the leavin's that's left. The good ones that stay behind ain'tworkin' for wages. "

"Which is perfectly true, every word. Now listen, children. I knew aboutit, and I spoke to Mr. Hale. He is prepared to make the arrangements foryou. He knows all about it himself, and is in touch with the Warden. Inshort, you will parole two good-conduct prisoners from San Quentin; andthey will be gardeners. There are plenty of Chinese and Italians there, and they are the best truck-farmers. You kill two birds with one stone. You serve the poor convicts, and you serve yourselves. "

Saxon hesitated, shocked; while Billy gravely considered the question. 

"You know John, " Mrs. Mortimer went on, "Mr. Hale's man about the place?How do you like him?"

"Oh, I was wishing only to-day that we could find somebody like him, "Saxon said eagerly. "He's such a dear, faithful soul. Mrs. Hale told mea lot of fine things about him. "

"There's one thing she didn't tell you, " smiled Mrs. Mortimer. "John isa paroled convict. Twenty-eight years ago, in hot blood, he killed aman in a quarrel over sixty-five cents. He's been out of prison withthe Hales three years now. You remember Louis, the old Frenchman, on myplace? He's another. So that's settled. When your two come--of courseyou will pay them fair wages--and we'll make sure they're the samenationality, either Chinese or Italians--well, when they come, John, with their help, and under Mr. Hale's guidance, will knock together asmall cabin for them to live in. We'll select the spot. Even so, whenyour farm is in full swing you'll have to have more outside help. Sokeep your eyes open, Billy, while you're gallivanting over the valley. "

The next night Billy failed to return, and at nine o'clock a Glen Ellenboy on horseback delivered a telegram. Billy had sent it from LakeCounty. He was after horses for Oakland. 

Not until the third night did he arrive home, tired to exhaustion, butwith an ill concealed air of pride. 

"Now what have you been doing these three days?" Mrs. Mortimer demanded. 

"Usin' my head, " he boasted quietly. "Killin' two birds with one stone;an', take it from me, I killed a whole flock. Huh! I got word of it atLawndale, an' I wanta tell you Hazel an' Hattie was some tired when Istabled 'm at Calistoga an' pulled out on the stage over St. Helena. I was Johnny-on-the-spot, an' I nailed 'm--eight whoppers--the wholeoutfit of a mountain teamster. Young animals, sound as a-dollar, andthe lightest of 'em over fifteen hundred. I shipped 'm last night fromCalistoga. An', well, that ain't all. 

"Before that, first day, at Lawndale, I seen the fellow with the teamin'contract for the pavin'-stone quarry. Sell horses! He wanted to buy 'em. He wanted to buy 'em bad. He'd even rent 'em, he said. "

"And you sent him the eight you bought!" Saxon broke in. 

"Guess again. I bought them eight with Oakland money, an' they wasshipped to Oakland. But I got the Lawndale contractor on long distance, and he agreed to pay me half a dollar a day rent for every work horse upto half a dozen. Then I telegraphed the Boss, tellin' him to ship me sixsore-footed mares, Bud Strothers to make the choice, an' to charge to mycommission. Bud knows what I 'm after. Soon as they come, off go theirshoes. Two weeks in pasture, an' then they go to Lawndale. They can dothe work. It's a down-hill haul to the railroad on a dirt road. Half adollar rent each--that's three dollars a day they'll bring me six days aweek. I don't feed 'em, shoe 'm, or nothin', an' I keep an eye on 'm tosee they're treated right. Three bucks a day, eh! Well, I guess that'llkeep a couple of dollar-an '-a-half men goin' for Saxon, unless sheworks 'em Sundays. Huh! The Valley of the Moon! Why, we'll be wearin'diamonds before long. Gosh! A fellow could live in the city a thousan'years an' not get such chances. It beats China lottery. "

He stood up. 

"I 'm goin' out to water Hazel an' Hattie, feed 'm, an' bed 'm down. I'll eat soon as I come back. "

The two women were regarding each other with shining eyes, each on theverge of speech when Billy returned to the door and stuck his head in. 

"They's one thing maybe you ain't got, " he said. "I pull down them threedollars every day; but the six mares is mine, too. I own 'm. They'remine. Are you on?"

CHAPTER XX

"I'm not done with you children, " had been Mrs. Mortimer's partingwords; and several times that winter she ran up to advise, and to teachSaxon how to calculate her crops for the small immediate market, for theincreasing spring market, and for the height of summer, at which timeshe would be able to sell all she could possibly grow and then notsupply the demand. In the meantime, Hazel and Hattie were used everyodd moment in hauling manure from Glen Ellen, whose barnyards had neverknown such a thorough cleaning. Also there were loads of commercialfertilizer from the railroad station, bought under Mrs. Mortimer'sinstructions. 

The convicts paroled were Chinese. Both had served long in prison, andwere old men; but the day's work they were habitually capable of wonMrs. Mortimer's approval. Gow Yum, twenty years before, had had chargeof the vegetable garden of one of the great Menlo Park estates. Hisdisaster had come in the form of a fight over a game of fan tan in theChinese quarter at Redwood City. His companion, Chan Chi, had beena hatchet-man of note, in the old fighting days of the San Franciscotongs. But a quarter of century of discipline in the prison vegetablegardens had cooled his blood and turned his hand from hatchet to hoe. These two assistants had arrived in Glen Ellen like precious goodsin bond and been receipted for by the local deputy sheriff, who, inaddition, reported on them to the prison authorities each month. Saxon, too, made out a monthly report and sent it in. 

As for the danger of their cutting her throat, she quickly got over theidea of it. The mailed hand of the State hovered over them. The takingof a single drink of liquor would provoke that hand to close down andjerk them back to prison-cells. Nor had they freedom of movement. Whenold Gow Yum needed to go to San Francisco to sign certain papersbefore the Chinese Consul, permission had first to be obtained fromSan Quentin. Then, too, neither man was nasty tempered. Saxon had beenapprehensive of the task of bossing two desperate convicts; but whenthey came she found it a pleasure to work with them. She could tell themwhat to do, but it was they who knew how do. Prom them she learned allthe ten thousand tricks and quirks of artful gardening, and she was notlong in realizing how helpless she would have been had she depended onlocal labor. 

Still further, she had no fear, because she was not alone. She hadbeen using her head. It was quickly apparent to her that she could notadequately oversee the outside work and at the same time do the housework. She wrote to Ukiah to the energetic widow who had lived in theadjoining house and taken in washing. She had promptly closed withSaxon's offer. Mrs. Paul was forty, short in stature, and weighed twohundred pounds, but never wearied on her feet. Also she was devoid offear, and, according to Billy, could settle the hash of both Chinesewith one of her mighty arms. Mrs. Paul arrived with her son, a countrylad of sixteen who knew horses and could milk Hilda, the pretty Jerseywhich had successfully passed Edmund's expert eye. Though Mrs. Paul ablyhandled the house, there was one thing Saxon insisted on doing--namely, washing her own pretty flimsies. 

"When I 'm no longer able to do that, " she told Billy, "you can takea spade to that clump of redwoods beside Wild Water and dig a hole. Itwill be time to bury me. "

It was early in the days of Madrono Ranch, at the time of Mrs. Mortimer's second visit, that Billy drove in with a load of pipe; andhouse, chicken yards, and barn were piped from the second-hand tank heinstalled below the house-spring. 

"Huh! I guess I can use my head, " he said. "I watched a woman over onthe other side of the valley, packin' water two hundred feet from thespring to the house; an' I did some figurin'. I put it at three trips aday and on wash days a whole lot more; an' you can't guess what I madeout she traveled a year packin' water. One hundred an' twenty-two miles. D'ye get that? One hundred and twenty-two miles! I asked her how longshe'd been there. Thirty-one years. Multiply it for yourself. Threethousan', seven hundred an' eighty-two miles--all for the sake of twohundred feet of pipe. Wouldn't that jar you?"

"Oh, I ain't done yet. They's a bath-tub an' stationary tubs a-comin'soon as I can see my way. An', say, Saxon, you know that little clearflat just where Wild Water runs into Sonoma. They's all of an acre ofit. An' it's mine! Got that? An' no walkin' on the grass for you. It'llbe my grass. I 'm goin' up stream a ways an' put in a ram. I got a bigsecond-hand one staked out that I can get for ten dollars, an' it'llpump more water'n I need. An' you'll see alfalfa growin' that'll makeyour mouth water. I gotta have another horse to travel around on. You'reusin' Hazel an' Hattie too much to give me a chance; an' I'll never see'm as soon as you start deliverin' vegetables. I guess that alfalfa'llhelp some to keep another horse goin'. "

But Billy was destined for a time to forget his alfalfa in theexcitement of bigger ventures. First, came trouble. The severalhundred dollars he had arrived with in Sonoma Valley, and all his owncommissions since earned, had gone into improvements and living. Theeighteen dollars a week rental for his six horses at Lawndale went topay wages. And he was unable to buy the needed saddle-horse for hishorse-buying expeditions. This, however, he had got around by againusing his head and killing two birds with one stone. He began breakingcolts to drive, and in the driving drove them wherever he sought horses. 

So far all was well. But a new administration in San Francisco, pledgedto economy, had stopped all street work. This meant the shutting down ofthe Lawndale quarry, which was one of the sources of supply for pavingblocks. The six horses would not only be back on his hands, but he wouldhave to feed them. How Mrs. Paul, Gow Yum, and Chan Chi were to be paidwas beyond him. 

"I guess we've bit off more'n we could chew, " he admitted to Saxon. 

That night he was late in coming home, but brought with him a radiantface. Saxon was no less radiant. 

"It's all right, " she greeted him, coming out to the barn where he wasunhitching a tired but fractious colt. "I've talked with all three. Theysee the situation, and are perfectly willing to let their wages stand awhile. By another week I start Hazel and Hattie delivering vegetables. Then the money will pour in from the hotels and my books won't lookso lopsided. And--oh, Billy--you'd never guess. Old Gow Yum has a bankaccount. He came to me afterward--I guess he was thinking it over--andoffered to lend me four hundred dollars. What do you think of that?"

"That I ain't goin' to be too proud to borrow it off 'm, if he IS aChink. He's a white one, an' maybe I'll need it. Because, you see--well, you can't guess what I've been up to since I seen you this mornin'. I'vebeen so busy I ain't had a bite to eat. "

"Using your head?" She laughed. 

"You can call it that, " he joined in her laughter. "I've been spendin'money like water. "

"But you haven't got any to spend, " she objected. 

"I've got credit in this valley, I'll let you know, " he replied. "An' Isure strained it some this afternoon. Now guess. "

"A saddle-horse?"

He roared with laughter, startling the colt, which tried to bolt andlifted him half off the ground by his grip on its frightened nose andneck. 

"Oh, I mean real guessin', " he urged, when the animal had dropped backto earth and stood regarding him with trembling suspicion. 

"Two saddle-horses?"

"Aw, you ain't got imagination. I'll tell you. You know Thiercroft. Ibought his big wagon from 'm for sixty dollars. I bought a wagon fromthe Kenwood blacksmith--so-so, but it'll do--for forty-five dollars. An'I bought Ping's wagon--a peach--for sixty-five dollars. I could a-got itfor fifty if he hadn't seen I wanted it bad. "

"But the money?" Saxon questioned faintly. "You hadn't a hundred dollarsleft. "

"Didn't I tell you I had credit? Well, I have. I stood 'm off for themwagons. I ain't spent a cent of cash money to-day except for acouple of long-distance switches. Then I bought three sets ofwork-harness--they're chain harness an' second-hand--for twenty dollarsa set. I bought 'm from the fellow that's doin' the haulin' for thequarry. He don't need 'm any more. An' I rented four wagons from 'm, an' four span of horses, too, at half a dollar a day for each horse, an' half a dollar a day for each wagon--that's six dollars a day rentI gotta pay 'm. The three sets of spare harness is for my six horses. Then. .. Lemme see. .. Yep, I rented two barns in Glen Ellen, an' Iordered fifty tons of hay an' a carload of bran an' barley from thestore in Glenwood--you see, I gotta feed all them fourteen horses, an'shoe 'm, an' everything. 

"Oh, sure Pete, I've went some. I hired seven men to go drivin' for meat two dollars a day, an'--ouch! Jehosaphat! What you doin'!"

"No, " Saxon said gravely, having pinched him, "you're not dreaming. "She felt his pulse and forehead. "Not a sign of fever. " She sniffedhis breath. "And you've not been drinking. Go on, tell me the rest ofthis. .. Whatever it is. "

"Ain't you satisfied?"

"No. I want more. I want all. "

"All right. But I just want you to know, first, that the boss I used towork for in Oakland ain't got nothin' on me. I 'm some man of affairs, if anybody should ride up on a vegetable wagon an' ask you. Now, I 'mgoin' to tell you, though I can't see why the Glen Ellen folks didn'tbeat me to it. I guess they was asleep. Nobody'd a-overlooked a thinglike it in the city. You see, it was like this: you know that fancybrickyard they're gettin' ready to start for makin' extra special firebrick for inside walls? Well, here was I worryin' about the six horsescomin' back on my hands, earnin' me nothin' an' eatin' me into thepoorhouse. I had to get 'm work somehow, an' I remembered the brickyard. I drove the colt down an' talked with that Jap chemist who's been doin'the experimentin'. Gee! They was foremen lookin' over the ground an'everything gettin' ready to hum. I looked over the lay an' studied it. Then I drove up to where they're openin' the clay pit--you know, thatfine, white chalky stuff we saw 'em borin' out just outside the hundredan' forty acres with the three knolls. It's a down-hill haul, a mile, an' two horses can do it easy. In fact, their hardest job'll be haulin'the empty wagons up to the pit. Then I tied the colt an' went tofigurin'. 

"The Jap professor'd told me the manager an' the other big guns of thecompany was comin' up on the mornin' train. I wasn't shoutin' thingsout to anybody, but I just made myself into a committee of welcome; an', when the train pulled in, there I was, extendin' the glad hand of theburg--likewise the glad hand of a guy you used to know in Oakland once, a third-rate dub prizefighter by the name of--lemme see--yep, I gotit right--Big Bill Roberts was the name he used to sport, but now he'sknown as William Roberts, E. S. Q. 

"Well, as I was sayin', I gave 'm the glad hand, an' trailed along with'em to the brickyard, an' from the talk I could see things was doin'. Then I watched my chance an' sprung my proposition. I was scared stiffall the time for maybe the teamin' was already arranged. But I knew itwasn't when they asked for my figures. I had 'm by heart, an' I rattled'm off, and the top-guy took 'm down in his note-book. 

"'We're goin' into this big, an' at once, ' he says, lookin' at me sharp. 'What kind of an outfit you got, Mr. Roberts?'"

"Me!--with only Hazel an' Hattie, an' them too small for heavy teamin'. 

"'I can slap fourteen horses an' seven wagons onto the job at the jump, 'says I. 'An' if you want more, I'll get 'm, that's all. '

"'Give us fifteen minutes to consider, Mr. Roberts, ' he says. 

"'Sure, ' says I, important as all hell--ahem--me!--'but a couple ofother things first. I want a two year contract, an' them figures alldepends on one thing. Otherwise they don't go. '

"'What's that, ' he says. 

"'The dump, ' says I. 'Here we are on the ground, an' I might as wellshow you. '

"An' I did. I showed 'm where I'd lose out if they stuck to their plan, on account of the dip down an' pull up to the dump. 'All you gotta do, 'I says, 'is to build the bunkers fifty feet over, throw the road aroundthe rim of the hill, an' make about seventy or eighty feet of elevatedbridge. '

"Say, Saxon, that kind of talk got 'em. It was straight. Only they'dbeen thinkin' about bricks, while I was only thinkin' of teamin'. 

"I guess they was all of half an hour considerin', an' I was almost asmiserable waitin' as when I waited for you to say yes after I asked you. I went over the figures, calculatin' what I could throw off if I hadto. You see, I'd given it to 'em stiff--regular city prices; an' I wasprepared to trim down. Then they come back. 

"'Prices oughta be lower in the country, ' says the top-guy. 

"'Nope, ' I says. 'This is a wine-grape valley. It don't raise enoughhay an' feed for its own animals. It has to be shipped in from the SanJoaquin Valley. Why, I can buy hay an' feed cheaper in San Francisco, laid down, than I can here an' haul it myself. '

"An' that struck 'm hard. It was true, an' they knew it. But--say! Ifthey'd asked about wages for drivers, an' about horse-shoein' prices, I'd a-had to come down; because, you see, they ain't no teamsters' unionin the country, an' no horseshoers' union, an' rent is low, an' them twoitems come a whole lot cheaper. Huh! This afternoon I got a word bargainwith the blacksmith across from the post office; an' he takes my wholebunch an' throws off twenty-five cents on each shoein', though it's onthe Q. T. But they didn't think to ask, bein' too full of bricks. "

Billy felt in his breast pocket, drew out a legal-looking document, andhanded it to Saxon. 

"There it is, " he said, "the contract, full of all the agreements, prices, an' penalties. I saw Mr. Hale down town an' showed it to 'm. He says it's O. K. An' say, then I lit out. All over town, Kenwood, Lawndale, everywhere, everybody, everything. The quarry teamin' finishesFriday of this week. An' I take the whole outfit an' start Wednesday ofnext week haulin' lumber for the buildin's, an' bricks for the kilns, an' all the rest. An' when they're ready for the clay I 'm the boythat'll give it to them. 

"But I ain't told you the best yet. I couldn't get the switch rightaway from Kenwood to Lawndale, and while I waited I went over my figuresagain. You couldn't guess it in a million years. I'd made a mistake inaddition somewhere, an' soaked 'm ten per cent. More'n I'd expected. Talk about findin' money! Any time you want them couple of extra men tohelp out with the vegetables, say the word. Though we're goin' to haveto pinch the next couple of months. An' go ahead an' borrow that fourhundred from Gow Yum. An' tell him you'll pay eight per cent. Interest, an' that we won't want it more 'n three or four months. "

When Billy got away from Saxon's arms, he started leading the colt upand down to cool it off. He stopped so abruptly that his back collidedwith the colt's nose, and there was a lively minute of rearing andplunging. Saxon waited, for she knew a fresh idea had struck Billy. 

"Say, " he said, "do you know anything about bank accounts and drawin'checks?"

CHAPTER XXI

It was on a bright June morning that Billy told Saxon to put on herriding clothes to try out a saddle-horse. 

"Not until after ten o'clock, " she said "By that time I'll have thewagon off on a second trip. "

Despite the extent of the business she had developed, her executiveability and system gave her much spare time. She could call on theHales, which was ever a delight, especially now that the Hastingswere back and that Clara was often at her aunt's. In this congenialatmosphere Saxon Burgeoned. She had begun to read--to read withunderstanding; and she had time for her books, for work on her pretties, and for Billy, whom she accompanied on many expeditions. 

Billy was even busier than she, his work being more scattered anddiverse. And, as well, he kept his eye on the home barn and horseswhich Saxon used. In truth he had become a man of affairs, though Mrs. Mortimer had gone over his accounts, with an eagle eye on the expensecolumn, discovering several minor leaks, and finally, aided by Saxon, bullied him into keeping books. Each night, after supper, he and Saxonposted their books. Afterward, in the big morris chair he had insistedon buying early in the days of his brickyard contract, Saxon would creepinto his arms and strum on the ukelele; or they would talk long aboutwhat they were doing and planning to do. Now it would be:

"I'm mixin' up in politics, Saxon. It pays. You bet it pays. If by nextspring I ain't got a half a dozen teams workin' on the roads an' pullin'down the county money, it's me back to Oakland an' askin' the Boss for ajob. "

Or, Saxon: "They're really starting that new hotel between Caliente andEldridge. And there's some talk of a big sanitarium back in the hills. "

Or, it would be: "Billy, now that you've piped that acre, you've justgot to let me have it for my vegetables. I'll rent it from you. I'lltake your own estimate for all the alfalfa you can raise on it, and payyou full market price less the cost of growing it. "

"It's all right, take it. " Billy suppressed a sigh. "Besides, I 'm toobusy to fool with it now. "

Which prevarication was bare-faced, by virtue of his having justinstalled the ram and piped the land. 

"It will be the wisest, Billy, " she soothed, for she knew his dream ofland-spaciousness was stronger than ever. "You don't want to fool withan acre. There's that hundred and forty. We'll buy it yet if old Chavonever dies. Besides, it really belongs to Madrono Ranch. The two togetherwere the original quarter section. "

"I don't wish no man's death, " Billy grumbled. "But he ain't gettin'no good out of it, over-pasturin' it with a lot of scrub animals. I'vesized it up every inch of it. They's at least forty acres in the threecleared fields, with water in the hills behind to beat the band. Thehorse feed I could raise on it'd take your breath away. Then they's atleast fifty acres I could run my brood mares on, pasture mixed up withtrees and steep places and such. The other fifty's just thick woods, an'pretty places, an' wild game. An' that old adobe barn's all right. Witha new roof it'd shelter any amount of animals in bad weather. Cook at menow, rentin' that measly pasture back of Ping's just to run my restin'animals. They could run in the hundred an' forty if I only had it. Iwonder if Chavon would lease it. "

Or, less ambitious, Billy would say: "I gotta skin over to Petalumato-morrow, Saxon. They's an auction on the Atkinson Ranch an' maybe Ican pick up some bargains. "

"More horses!"

"Ain't I got two teams haulin' lumber for the new winery? An' Barney'sgot a bad shoulder-sprain. He'll have to lay off a long time if he's toget it in shape. An' Bridget ain't ever goin' to do a tap of work again. I can see that stickin' out. I've doctored her an' doctored her. She'sfooled the vet, too. An' some of the other horses has gotta take a rest. That span of grays is showin' the hard work. An' the big roan's goin'loco. Everybody thought it was his teeth, but it ain't. It's straightloco. It's money in pocket to take care of your animals, an' horses isthe delicatest things on four legs. Some time, if I can ever see my wayto it, I 'm goin' to ship a carload of mules from Colusa County--big, heavy ones, you know. They'd sell like hot cakes in the valleyhere--them I didn't want for myself. "

Or, in lighter vein, Billy: "By the way, Saxon, talkin' of accounts, what d'you think Hazel an' Hattie is worth?--fair market price?"

"Why?"

"I 'm askin' you. "

"Well, say, what you paid for them--three hundred dollars. "

"Hum. " Billy considered deeply. "They're worth a whole lot more, but letit go at that. An' now, gettin' back to accounts, suppose you write me acheck for three hundred dollars. "

"Oh! Robber!"

"You can't show me. Why, Saxon, when I let you have grain an' hay frommy carloads, don't you give me a check for it? An' you know how you'restuck on keepin' your accounts down to the penny, " he teased. "If you'reany kind of a business woman you just gotta charge your business withthem two horses. I ain't had the use of 'em since I don't know when. "

"But the colts will be yours, " she argued. "Besides, I can't affordbrood mares in my business. In almost no time, now, Hazel and Hattiewill have to be taken off from the wagon--they're too good for itanyway. And you keep your eyes open for a pair to take their place. I'llgive you a check for THAT pair, but no commission. "

"All right, " Billy conceded. "Hazel an' Hattie come back to me; but youcan pay me rent for the time you did use 'em. "

"If you make me, I'll charge you board, " she threatened. 

"An' if you charge me board, I'll charge you interest for the money I'vestuck into this shebang. "

"You can't, " Saxon laughed. "It's community property. "

He grunted spasmodically, as if the breath had been knocked out of him. 

"Straight on the solar plexus, " he said, "an' me down for the count. Butsay, them's sweet words, ain't they--community property. " He rolled themover and off his tongue with keen relish. "An' when we got marriedthe top of our ambition was a steady job an' some rags an' sticksof furniture all paid up an' half-worn out. We wouldn't have had anycommunity property only for you. "

"What nonsense! What could I have done by myself? You know very wellthat you earned all the money that started us here. You paid the wagesof Gow Yum and Chan Chi, and old Hughie, and Mrs. Paul, and--why, you'vedone it all. "

She drew her two hands caressingly across his shoulders and down alonghis great biceps muscles. 

"That's what did it, Billy. "

"Aw hell! It's your head that done it. What was my muscles good for withno head to run 'em, --sluggin' scabs, beatin' up lodgers, an' crookin'the elbow over a bar. The only sensible thing my head ever done was whenit run me into you. Honest to God, Saxon, you've been the makin' of me. "

"Aw hell, Billy, " she mimicked in the way that delighted him, "wherewould I have been if you hadn't taken me out of the laundry? I couldn'ttake myself out. I was just a helpless girl. I'd have been there yet ifit hadn't been for you. Mrs. Mortimer had five thousand dollars; but Ihad you. "

"A woman ain't got the chance to help herself that a man has, " hegeneralized. "I'll tell you what: It took the two of us. It's beenteam-work. We've run in span. If we'd a-run single, you might still bein the laundry; an', if I was lucky, I'd be still drivin' team by theday an' sportin' around to cheap dances. "

Saxon stood under the father of all madronos, watching Hazel and Hattiego out the gate, the full vegetable wagon behind them, when she sawBilly ride in, leading a sorrel mare from whose silken coat the sunflashed golden lights. 

"Four-year-old, high-life, a handful, but no vicious tricks, " Billychanted, as he stopped beside Saxon. "Skin like tissue paper, mouth likesilk, but kill the toughest broncho ever foaled--look at them lungs an'nostrils. They call her Ramona--some Spanish name: sired by Morellitaouta genuine Morgan stock. "

"And they will sell her?" Saxon gasped, standing with hands clasped ininarticulate delight. 

"That's what I brought her to show you for. "

"But how much must they want for her?" was Saxon's next question, soimpossible did it seem that such an amazement of horse-flesh could everbe hers. 

"That ain't your business, " Billy answered brusquely. "The brickyard'spayin' for her, not the vegetable ranch. She's yourn at the word. Whatd'ye say?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. "

Saxon was trying to mount, but the animal danced nervously away. 

"Hold on till I tie, " Billy said. "She ain't skirt-broke, that's thetrouble. "

Saxon tightly gripped reins and mane, stepped with spurred foot onBilly's hand, and was lifted lightly into the saddle. 

"She's used to spurs, " Billy called after. "Spanish broke, so don'tcheck her quick. Come in gentle. An' talk to her. She's high-life, youknow. "

Saxon nodded, dashed out the gate and down the road, waved a hand toClara Hastings as she passed the gate of Trillium Covert, and continuedup Wild Water canyon. 

When she came back, Ramona in a pleasant lather, Saxon rode to the rearof the house, past the chicken houses and the flourishing berry-rows, to join Billy on the rim of the bench, where he sat on his horse in theshade, smoking a cigarette. Together they looked down through anopening among the trees to the meadow which was a meadow no longer. Withmathematical accuracy it was divided into squares, oblongs, and narrowstrips, which displayed sharply the thousand hues of green of a truckgarden. Gow Yum and Chan Chi, under enormous Chinese grass hats, wereplanting green onions. Old Hughie, hoe in hand, plodded along the mainartery of running water, opening certain laterals, closing others. Fromthe work-shed beyond the barn the strokes of a hammer told Saxon thatCarlsen was wire-binding vegetable boxes. Mrs. Paul's cheery soprano, lifted in a hymn, doated through the trees, accompanied by the whirr ofan egg-beater. A sharp barking told where Possum still waged hystericaland baffled war on the Douglass squirrels. Billy took a long draw fromhis cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and continued to look down at themeadow. Saxon divined trouble in his manner. His rein-hand was on thepommel, and her free hand went out and softly rested on his. Billyturned his slow gaze upon her mare's lather, seeming not to note it, andcontinued on to Saxon's face. 

"Huh!" he equivocated, as if waking up. "Them San Leandro Porchugeezeain't got nothin' on us when it comes to intensive farmin'. Look at thatwater runnin'. You know, it seems so good to me that sometimes I justwanta get down on hands an' knees an' lap it all up myself. "

"Oh, to have all the water you want in a climate like this!" Saxonexclaimed. 

"An' don't be scared of it ever goin' back on you. If the rains fooledyou, there's Sonoma Creek alongside. All we gotta do is install agasolene pump. "

"But we'll never have to, Billy. I was talking with 'Redwood' Thompson. He's lived in the valley since Fifty-three, and he says there's neverbeen a failure of crops on account of drought. We always get our rain. "

"Come on, let's go for a ride, " he said abruptly. "You've got the time. "

"All right, if you'll tell me what's bothering you. "

He looked at her quickly. 

"Nothin', " he grunted. "Yes, there is, too. What's the difference? You'dknow it sooner or later. You ought to see old Chavon. His face is thatlong he can't walk without bumpin' his knee on his chin. His gold-mine'speterin' out. "

"Gold mine!"

"His clay pit. It's the same thing. He's gettin' twenty cents a yard forit from the brickyard. "

"And that means the end of your teaming contract. " Saxon saw thedisaster in all its hugeness. "What about the brickyard people?"

"Worried to death, though they've kept secret about it. They've had menout punchin' holes all over the hills for a week, an' that Jap chemistsettin' up nights analyzin' the rubbish they've brought in. It'speculiar stuff, that clay, for what they want it for, an' you don't findit everywhere. Them experts that reported on Chavon's pit made onehell of a mistake. Maybe they was lazy with their borin's. Anyway, they slipped up on the amount of clay they was in it. Now don't get tobotherin'. It'd come out somehow. You can't do nothin'. "

"But I can, " Saxon insisted. "We won't buy Ramona. "

"You ain't got a thing to do with that, " he answered. "I 'm buyin' her, an' her price don't cut any figure alongside the big game I 'm playin'. Of course, I can always sell my horses. But that puts a stop to theirmakin' money, an' that brickyard contract was fat. "

"But if you get some of them in on the road work for the county?" shesuggested. 

"Oh, I got that in mind. An' I 'm keepin' my eyes open. They's a chancethe quarry will start again, an' the fellow that did that teamin' hasgone to Puget Sound. An' what if I have to sell out most of the horses?Here's you and the vegetable business. That's solid. We just don't goahead so fast for a time, that's all. I ain't scared of the country anymore. I sized things up as we went along. They ain't a jerk burg we hitall the time on the road that I couldn't jump into an' make a go. An'now where d'you want to ride?"

CHAPTER XXII

They cantered out the gate, thundered across the bridge, and passedTrillium Covert before they pulled in on the grade of Wild Water Canyon. Saxon had chosen her field on the big spur of Sonoma Mountains as theobjective of their ride. 

"Say, I bumped into something big this mornin' when I was goin' to fetchRamona, " Billy said, the clay pit trouble banished for the time. "Youknow the hundred an' forty. I passed young Chavon along the road, an'--Idon't know why--just for ducks, I guess--I up an' asked 'm if he thoughtthe old man would lease the hundred an' forty to me. An' what d 'youthink! He said the old man didn't own it. Was just leasin' it himself. That's how we was always seein' his cattle on it. It's a gouge into hisland, for he owns everything on three sides of it. 

"Next I met Ping. He said Hilyard owned it an' was willin' to sell, onlyChavon didn't have the price. Then, comin' back, I looked in on Payne. He's quit blacksmithin'--his back's hurtin' 'm from a kick--an' juststartin' in for real estate. Sure, he said, Hilyard would sell, an' hadalready listed the land with 'm. Chavon's over-pastured it, an' Hilyardwon't give 'm another lease. "

When they had climbed out of Wild Water Canyon they turned their horsesabout and halted on the rim where they could look across at the threedensely wooded knolls in the midst of the desired hundred and forty. 

"We'll get it yet, " Saxon said. 

"Sure we will, " Billy agreed with careless certitude. "I've ben lookin'over the big adobe barn again. Just the thing for a raft of horses, an'a new roof'll be cheaper 'n I thought. Though neither Chavon or me'll bein the market to buy it right away, with the clay pinchin' out. "

When they reached Saxon's field, which they had learned was the propertyof Redwood Thompson, they tied the horses and entered it on foot. Thehay, just cut, was being raked by Thompson, who hallo'd a greeting tothem. It was a cloudless, windless day, and they sought refuge from thesun in the woods beyond. They encountered a dim trail. 

"It's a cow trail, " Billy declared. "I bet they's a teeny pasture tuckedaway somewhere in them trees. Let's follow it. "

A quarter of an hour later, several hundred feet up the side of thespur, they emerged on an open, grassy space of bare hillside. Most ofthe hundred and forty, two miles away, lay beneath them, while they werelevel with the tops of the three knolls. Billy paused to gaze upon themuch-desired land, and Saxon joined him. 

"What is that?" she asked, pointing toward the knolls. "Up the littlecanyon, to the left of it, there on the farthest knoll, right under thatspruce that's leaning over. "

What Billy saw was a white scar on the canyon wall. 

"It's one on me, " he said, studying the scar. "I thought I knew everyinch of that land, but I never seen that before. Why, I was right inthere at the head of the canyon the first part of the winter. It's awfulwild. Walls of the canyon like the sides of a steeple an' covered withthick woods. "

"What is it?" she asked. "A slide?"

"Must be--brought down by the heavy rains. If I don't miss my guess--"Billy broke off, forgetting in the intensity with which he continued tolook. 

"Hilyard'll sell for thirty an acre, " he began again, disconnectedly. "Good land, bad land, an' all, just as it runs, thirty an acre. That'sforty-two hundred. Payne's new at real estate, an' I'll make 'm splithis commission an' get the easiest terms ever. We can re-borrow thatfour hundred from Gow Yum, an' I can borrow money on my horses an'wagons--"

"Are you going to buy it to-day?" Saxon teased. 

She scarcely touched the edge of his thought. He looked at her, as if hehad heard, then forgot her the next moment. 

"Head work, " he mumbled. "Head work. If I don't put over a hot one--"

He started back down the cow trail, recollected Saxon, and called overhis shoulder:

"Come on. Let's hustle. I wanta ride over an' look at that. "

So rapidly did he go down the trail and across the field, that Saxon hadno time for questions. She was almost breathless from her effort to keepup with him. 

"What is it?" she begged, as he lifted her to the saddle. 

"Maybe it's all a joke--I'll tell you about it afterward, " he put heroff. 

They galloped on the levels, trotted down the gentler slopes of road, and not until on the steep descent of Wild Water canyon did they reinto a walk. Billy's preoccupation was gone, and Saxon took advantage tobroach a subject which had been on her mind for some time. 

"Clara Hastings told me the other day that they're going to have ahouse party. The Hazards are to be there, and the Halls, and RoyBlanchard. .. . "

She looked at Billy anxiously. At the mention of Blanchard his head hadtossed up as to a bugle call. Slowly a whimsical twinkle began to glintup through the cloudy blue of his eyes. 

"It's a long time since you told any man he was standing on his foot, "she ventured slyly. 

Billy began to grin sheepishly. 

"Aw, that's all right, " he said in mock-lordly fashion. "Roy Blanchardcan come. I'll let 'm. All that was a long time ago. Besides, I 'm toobusy to fool with such things. "

He urged his horse on at a faster walk, and as soon as the slopelessened broke into a trot. At Trillium Covert they were galloping. 

"You'll have to stop for dinner first, " Saxon said, as they neared thegate of Madrono Ranch. 

"You stop, " he answered. "I don't want no dinner. "

"But I want to go with you, " she pleaded. "What is it?"

"I don't dast tell you. You go on in an' get your dinner. "

"Not after that, " she said. "Nothing can keep me from coming along now. "

Half a mile farther on, they left the highway, passed through a patentgate which Billy had installed, and crossed the fields on a roadwhich was coated thick with chalky dust. This was the road that led toChavon's clay pit. The hundred and forty lay to the west. Two wagons, ina cloud of dust, came into sight. 

"Your teams, Billy, " cried Saxon. "Think of it! Just by the use of thehead, earning your money while you're riding around with me. "

"Makes me ashamed to think how much cash money each one of them teams isbringin' me in every day, " he acknowledged. 

They were turning off from the road toward the bars which gave entranceto the one hundred and forty, when the driver of the foremost wagonhallo'd and waved his hand. They drew in their horses and waited. 

"The big roan's broke loose, " the dryer said, as he stopped beside them. "Clean crazy loco--bitin', squealin', strikin', kickin'. Kicked cleanout of the harness like it was paper. Bit a chunk out of Baldy thesize of a saucer, an' wound up by breakin' his own hind leg. Liveliestfifteen minutes I ever seen. "

"Sure it's broke?" Billy demanded sharply. 

"Sure thing. "

"Well, after you unload, drive around by the other barn and get Ben. He's in the corral. Tell Matthews to be easy with 'm. An' get a gun. Sammy's got one. You'll have to see to the big roan. I ain't got timenow. --Why couldn't Matthews a-come along with you for Ben? You'd savetime. "

"Oh, he's just stickin' around waitin', " the driver answered. "Hereckoned I could get Ben. "

"An' lose time, eh? Well, get a move on. "

"That's the way of it, " Billy growled to Saxon as they rode on. "Nosavve. No head. One man settin' down an' holdin his hands while anotherteam drives outa its way doin what he oughta done. That's the troublewith two-dollar-a-day men. "

"With two-dollar-a-day heads, " Saxon said quickly. "What kind of headsdo you expect for two dollars?"

"That's right, too, " Billy acknowledged the hit. "If they had betterheads they'd be in the cities like all the rest of the better men. An' the better men are a lot of dummies, too. They don't know the bigchances in the country, or you couldn't hold 'm from it. "

Billy dismounted, took the three bars down, led his horse through, thenput up the bars. 

"When I get this place, there'll be a gate here, " he announced. "Payfor itself in no time. It's the thousan' an' one little things like thisthat count up big when you put 'm together. " He sighed contentedly. "Inever used to think about such things, but when we shook Oakland I beganto wise up. It was them San Leandro Porchugeeze that gave me my firsteye-opener. I'd been asleep, before that. "

They skirted the lower of the three fields where the ripe hay stooduncut. Billy pointed with eloquent disgust to a break in the fence, slovenly repaired, and on to the standing grain much-trampled by cattle. 

"Them's the things, " he criticized. "Old style. An' look how thinthat crop is, an' the shallow plowin'. Scrub cattle, scrub seed, scrubfarmin'. Chavon's worked it for eight years now, an' never rested itonce, never put anything in for what he took out, except the cattle intothe stubble the minute the hay was on. "

In a pasture glade, farther on, they came upon a bunch of cattle. 

"Look at that bull, Saxon. Scrub's no name for it. They oughta be astate law against lettin' such animals exist. No wonder Chavon's thatland poor he's had to sink all his clay-pit earnin's into taxes an'interest. He can't make his land pay. Take this hundred an forty. Anybody with the savve can just rake silver dollars offen it. I'll show'm. "

They passed the big adobe barn in the distance. 

"A few dollars at the right time would a-saved hundreds on that roof, "Billy commented. "Well, anyway, I won't be payin' for any improvementswhen I buy. An I'll tell you another thing. This ranch is full of water, and if Glen Ellen ever grows they'll have to come to see me for theirwater supply. "

Billy knew the ranch thoroughly, and took short-cuts through the woodsby way of cattle paths. Once, he reined in abruptly, and both stopped. Confronting them, a dozen paces away, was a half-grown red fox. For halfa minute, with beady eyes, the wild thing studied them, with twitchingsensitive nose reading the messages of the air. Then, velvet-footed, itleapt aside and was gone among the trees. 

"The son-of-a-gun!" Billy ejaculated. 

As they approached Wild Water; they rode out into a long narrow meadow. In the middle was a pond. 

"Natural reservoir, when Glen Ellen begins to buy water, " Billy said. "See, down at the lower end there?--wouldn't cost anything hardlyto throw a dam across. An' I can pipe in all kinds of hill-drip. An'water's goin' to be money in this valley not a thousan' years fromnow. --An' all the ginks, an' boobs, an' dubs, an' gazabos poundin' theirear deado an' not seein' it comin. --An' surveyors workin' up the valleyfor an electric road from Sausalito with a branch up Napa Valley. "

They came to the rim of Wild Water canyon. Leaning far back in theirsaddles, they slid the horses down a steep declivity, through big sprucewoods, to an ancient and all but obliterated trail. 

"They cut this trail 'way back in the Fifties, " Billy explained. "I onlyfound it by accident. Then I asked Poppe yesterday. He was born in thevalley. He said it was a fake minin' rush across from Petaluma. Thegamblers got it up, an' they must a-drawn a thousan' suckers. You seethat flat there, an' the old stumps. That's where the camp was. Theyset the tables up under the trees. The flat used to be bigger, but thecreek's eaten into it. Poppe said they was a couple of killin's an' onelynchin'. "

Lying low against their horses' necks, they scrambled up a steep cattletrail out of the canyon, and began to work across rough country towardthe knolls. 

"Say, Saxon, you're always lookin' for something pretty. I'll showyou what'll make your hair stand up. .. Soon as we get through thismanzanita. "

Never, in all their travels, had Saxon seen so lovely a vista as the onethat greeted them when they emerged. The dim trail lay like a ramblingred shadow cast on the soft forest floor by the great redwoods andover-arching oaks. It seemed as if all local varieties of trees andvines had conspired to weave the leafy roof--maples, big madronos andlaurels, and lofty tan-bark oaks, scaled and wrapped and interwound withwild grape and flaming poison oak. Saxon drew Billy's eyes to a mossybank of five-finger ferns. All slopes seemed to meet to form this basinand colossal forest bower. Underfoot the floor was spongy with water. Aninvisible streamlet whispered under broad-fronded brakes. On every handopened tiny vistas of enchantment, where young redwoods groupedstill and stately about fallen giants, shoulder-high to the horses, moss-covered and dissolving into mold. 

At last, after another quarter of an hour, they tied their horses on therim of the narrow canyon that penetrated the wilderness of the knolls. Through a rift in the trees Billy pointed to the top of the leaningspruce. 

"It's right under that, " he said. "We'll have to follow up the bed ofthe creek. They ain't no trail, though you'll see plenty of deer pathscrossin' the creek. You'll get your feet wet. "

Saxon laughed her joy and held on close to his heels, splashing throughpools, crawling hand and foot up the slippery faces of water-worn rocks, and worming under trunks of old fallen trees. 

"They ain't no real bed-rock in the whole mountain, " Billy elucidated, "so the stream cuts deeper'n deeper, an' that keeps the sides cavin' in. They're as steep as they can be without fallin' down. A little fartherup, the canyon ain't much more'n a crack in the ground--but a mightydeep one if anybody should ask you. You can spit across it an' breakyour neck in it. "

The climbing grew more difficult, and they were finally halted, in anarrow cleft, by a drift-jam. 

"You wait here, " Billy directed, and, lying flat, squirmed on throughcrashing brush. 

Saxon waited till all sound had died away. She waited ten minuteslonger, then followed by the way Billy had broken. Where the bed of thecanyon became impossible, she came upon what she was sure was a deerpath that skirted the steep side and was a tunnel through the closegreenery. She caught a glimpse of the overhanging spruce, almost aboveher head on the opposite side, and emerged on a pool of clear water in aclay-like basin. This basin was of recent origin, having been formed bya slide of earth and trees. Across the pool arose an almost sheer wallof white. She recognized it for what it was, and looked about for Billy. She heard him whistle, and looked up. Two hundred feet above, at theperilous top of the white wall, he was holding on to a tree trunk. Theoverhanging spruce was nearby. 

"I can see the little pasture back of your field, " he called down. "Nowonder nobody ever piped this off. The only place they could see it fromis that speck of pasture. An' you saw it first. Wait till I come downand tell you all about it. I didn't dast before. "

It required no shrewdness to guess the truth. Saxon knew this was theprecious clay required by the brickyard. Billy circled wide of theslide and came down the canyon-wall, from tree to tree, as descending aladder. 

"Ain't it a peach?" he exulted, as he dropped beside her. "Just look atit--hidden away under four feet of soil where nobody could see it, an'just waitin' for us to hit the Valley of the Moon. Then it up an' slidesa piece of the skin off so as we can see it. "

"Is it the real clay?" Saxon asked anxiously. 

"You bet your sweet life. I've handled too much of it not to know itin the dark. Just rub a piece between your fingers. --Like that. Why, I could tell by the taste of it. I've eaten enough of the dust of theteams. Here's where our fun begins. Why, you know we've been workin' ourheads off since we hit this valley. Now we're on Easy street. "

"But you don't own it, " Saxon objected. 

"Well, you won't be a hundred years old before I do. Straight from hereI hike to Payne an' bind the bargain--an option, you know, while title'ssearchin' an' I 'm raisin' money. We'll borrow that four hundred backagain from Gow Yum, an' I'll borrow all I can get on my horses an'wagons, an' Hazel and Hattie, an' everything that's worth a cent. An'then I get the deed with a mortgage on it to Hilyard for the balance. An' then--it's takin' candy from a baby--I'll contract with thebrickyard for twenty cents a yard--maybe more. They'll be crazy with joywhen they see it. Don't need any borin's. They's nearly two hundred feetof it exposed up an' down. The whole knoll's clay, with a skin of soilover it. "

"But you'll spoil all the beautiful canyon hauling out the clay, " Saxoncried with alarm. 

"Nope; only the knoll. The road'll come in from the other side. It'll beonly half a mile to Chavon's pit. I'll build the road an' charge steeperteamin', or the brickyard can build it an' I'll team for the same rateas before. An' twenty cents a yard pourin' in, all profit, from thejump. I'll sure have to buy more horses to do the work. "

They sat hand in hand beside the pool and talked over the details. 

"Say, Saxon, " Billy said, after a pause had fallen, "sing 'HarvestDays, ' won't you?"

And, when she had complied: "The first time you sung that song for mewas comin' home from the picnic on the train--"

"The very first day we met each other, " she broke in. "What did youthink about me that day?"

"Why, what I've thought ever since--that you was made for me. --I thoughtthat right at the jump, in the first waltz. An' what'd you think of me?

"Oh, I wondered, and before the first waltz, too, when we wereintroduced and shook hands--I wondered if you were the man. Those werethe very words that flashed into my mind. --IS HE THE MAN?"

"An' I kinda looked a little some good to you?" he queried. "_I_ thoughtso, and my eyesight has always been good. "

"Say!" Billy went off at a tangent. "By next winter, with everythinghummin' an' shipshape, what's the matter with us makin' a visit toCarmel? It'll be slack time for you with the vegetables, an' I'll beable to afford a foreman. "

Saxon's lack of enthusiasm surprised him. 

"What's wrong?" he demanded quickly. 

With downcast demurest eyes and hesitating speech, Saxon said:

"I did something yesterday without asking your advice, Billy. "

He waited. 

"I wrote to Tom, " she added, with an air of timid confession. 

Still he waited--for he knew not what. 

"I asked him to ship up the old chest of drawers--my mother's, youremember--that we stored with him. "

"Huh! I don't see anything outa the way about that, " Billy said withrelief. "We need the chest, don't we? An' we can afford to pay thefreight on it, can't we?"

"You are a dear stupid man, that's what you are. Don't you know what isin the chest?"

He shook his head, and what she added was so soft that it was almost awhisper:

"The baby clothes. "

"No!" he exclaimed. 

"True. "

"Sure?"

She nodded her head, her cheeks flooding with quick color. 

"It's what I wanted, Saxon, more'n anything else in the world. I've beenthinkin' a whole lot about it lately, ever since we hit the valley, " hewent on, brokenly, and for the first time she saw tears unmistakablein his eyes. "But after all I'd done, an' the hell I'd raised, an'everything, I. .. I never urged you, or said a word about it. But Iwanted it. .. Oh, I wanted it like . .. Like I want you now. "

His open arms received her, and the pool in the heart of the canyon knewa tender silence. 

Saxon felt Billy's finger laid warningly on her lips. Guided by hishand, she turned her head back, and together they gazed far up the sideof the knoll where a doe and a spotted fawn looked down upon them from atiny open space between the trees.