The Valley of the Moon E-Book

Jack London

• Herausgeber: ShadowPOET
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The Al Vista band'll be along, an' you know it plays heavenly. An' you just love dancin'—-"
Twenty feet away, a stout, elderly woman interrupted the girl's persuasions. 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 down the big whitewashed room that panted with heat and that was thickly humid with the steam that sizzled from the damp cloth under the irons of the many ironers.

Leseprobe

The Valley of the Moon

ByJackLondon

Publisher: ShadowPOET

THEVALLEYOFTHEMOON

BOOK ICHAPTER1

"You hear me, Saxon? Come on along. What if it is the Bricklayers? I'll havegentlemen friends there, and so'll you. The Al Vista band'll be along, an' youknowitplaysheavenly.An'youjustlovedancin'—-"

Twenty feet away, a stout, elderly woman interrupted the girl's persuasions.Theelderlywoman'sbackwasturned,andtheback--loose,bulging,andmisshapen—beganaconvulsiveheaving.

"Gawd!"shecriedout."OGawd!"

Sheflungwildglances,likethoseofanentrappedanimal,upanddownthebigwhitewashed room that panted with heat and that was thickly humid with thesteam that sizzled from the damp cloth under the irons of the many ironers.From the girls and women near her, all swinging irons steadily but at highpace,camequickglances,andlaborefficiencysufferedtotheextentofascoreofsuspendedorinadequatemovements.Theelderlywoman'scryhadcausedatremorofmoney-losstopassamongthepiece-workironersoffancystarch.

Shegrippedherselfandherironwithavisibleeffort,anddabbedfutilelyatthefrail,frilledgarmentontheboardunderherhand.

"Ithoughtshe'dgot'emagain—didn'tyou?"thegirlsaid.

"It's a shame, a woman of her age, and... condition," Saxon answered, as shefrilled a lace ruffle with a hot fluting-iron. Her movements were delicate, safe,andswift,andthoughherfacewaswanwithfatigueandexhaustingheat,therewasnoslackeninginherpace.

"An'herwithseven,an'twoof'eminreformschool,"thegirlatthenextboardsniffed sympathetic agreement. "But you just got to come to Weasel Park to-morrow,Saxon.TheBricklayers'isalwayslively—tugs-of-war,fat-manraces,realIrishjiggin',an'...an'everything.An'thefloorofthepavilion'sswell."

But the elderly woman brought another interruption. She dropped her iron ontheshirtwaist,clutchedattheboard,fumbledit,cavedinatthekneesandhips,and like a half-empty sack collapsed on the floor, her long shriek rising in thepent room to the acrid smell of scorching cloth. The women at the boards nearto her scrambled, first, to the hot iron to save the cloth, and then to her, whilethe forewoman hurried belligerently down the aisle. The women farther awaycontinuedunsteadilyattheirwork,losingmovementstotheextentofaminute'sset-backtothetotalityoftheefficiencyofthefancy-starchroom.

"Enough to kill a dog," the girl muttered, thumping her iron down on its restwith reckless determination. "Workin' girls' life ain't what it's cracked up. Metoquit—that'swhatI'mcomin'to."

"Mary!" Saxon uttered the other's name with a reproach so profound that shewascompelledtorestherownironforemphasisandsoloseadozenmovements.

Maryflashedahalf-frightenedlookacross.

"I didn't mean it, Saxon," she whimpered. "Honest, I didn't. I wouldn't nevergo that way. But I leave it to you, if a day like this don't get on anybody'snerves.Listentothat!"

The stricken woman, on her back, drumming her heels on the floor, wasshriekingpersistentlyandmonotonously,likeamechanicalsiren.Twowomen,clutching her under the arms, were dragging her down the aisle. She drummedand shrieked the length of it. The door opened, and a vast, muffled roar ofmachinery burst in; and in the roar of it the drumming and the shrieking weredrowned ere the door swung shut. Remained of the episode only the scorch ofclothdriftingominouslythroughtheair.

"It'ssickenin',"saidMary.

And thereafter, for a long time, the many irons rose and fell, the pace of theroominnowisediminished;whiletheforewomanstrodetheaisleswitha

threatening eye for incipient breakdown and hysteria. Occasionally an ironerlost the stride for an instant, gasped or sighed, then caught it up again withwearydetermination.Thelongsummerdaywaned,butnottheheat,andundertherawflareofelectriclighttheworkwenton.

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 theboards,wheretheironersstilllabored.

SaxonfinishedaheadofMary,atwhoseboardshepausedonthewayout.

"Saturday night an' another week gone," Mary said mournfully, her youngcheeks pallid and hollowed, her black eyes blue-shadowed and tired. "Whatd'youthinkyou'vemade,Saxon?"

"Twelve and a quarter," was the answer, just touched with pride. "And I'd a-mademoreifitwasn'tforthatfakebunchofstarchers."

"My!I gotto passit toyou," Marycongratulated. "You're asure fiercehustler

—just eat it up. Me—I've only ten an' a half, an' for a hard week... See you onthe nine-forty. Sure now. We can just fool around until the dancin' begins. Alotofmygentlemenfriends'llbethereintheafternoon."

Two blocks from the laundry, where an arc-light showed a gang of toughs onthecorner,Saxonquickenedherpace.Unconsciouslyherfacesetandhardened as she passed. She did not catch the words of the muttered comment,but the rough laughter it raised made her guess and warmed her checks withresentful blood. Three blocks more, turning once to left and once to right, shewalked on through the night that was already growing cool. On either sidewere workingmen's houses, of weathered wood, the ancient paint grimed withthedustofyears,conspicuousonlyforcheapnessandugliness.

Darkitwas,butshemadenomistake,thefamiliarsagandscreechingreproachofthefrontgatewelcomeunderherhand.Shewentalongthenarrowwalk to the rear, avoided the missing step without thinking about it, andentered the kitchen, where a solitary gas-jet flickered. She turned it up to thebest of its flame. It was a small room, not disorderly, because of lack offurnishings to disorder it. The plaster, discolored by the steam of many wash-days, was crisscrossed with cracks from the big earthquake of the previousspring. The floor was ridged, wide-cracked, and uneven, and in front of thestove it was worn through and repaired with a five-gallon oil-can hammeredflat and double. A sink, a dirty roller-towel, several chairs, and a wooden tablecompletedthepicture.

An apple-core crunched under her foot as she drew a chair to the table. On thefrayed oilcloth, a supper waited. She attempted the cold beans, thick withgrease,butgavethemup,andbutteredasliceofbread.

Thericketyhouseshooktoaheavy,pridelesstread,andthroughtheinnerdoorcame Sarah, middle-aged, lop-breasted, hair-tousled, her face lined with careandfatpetulance.

"Huh,it'syou,"shegruntedagreeting."Ijustcouldn'tkeepthingswarm.Suchaday!Ineardiedoftheheat.An'littleHenrycuthislipawful.Thedoctorhadtoputfourstitchesinit."

Sarahcameoverandstoodmountainouslybythetable."What'sthematterwiththembeans?"shechallenged.

"Nothing,only..."Saxoncaughtherbreathandavoidedthethreatenedoutburst. "Only I'm not hungry. It's been so hot all day. It was terrible in thelaundry."

Recklessly she took a mouthful of the cold tea that had been steeped so longthatitwaslikeacidinhermouth,andrecklessly,undertheeyeofhersister-in-law, she swallowed it and the rest of the cupful. She wiped her mouth on herhandkerchiefandgotup.

"IguessI'llgotobed."

"Wonder you ain't out to a dance," Sarah sniffed. "Funny, ain't it, you comehome so dead tired every night, an' yet any night in the week you can get outan'danceunearthlyhours."

Saxonstartedtospeak,suppressedherselfwithtightenedlips,thenlostcontrolandblazedout."Wasn'tyoueveryoung?"

Without waiting for reply, she turned to her bedroom, which opened directlyoff the kitchen. It was a small room, eight by twelve, and the earthquake hadleft its marks upon the plaster. A bed and chair of cheap pine and a veryancient chest of drawers constituted the furniture. Saxon had known this chestofdrawersallherlife.Thevisionofitwaswovenintoherearliestrecollections. She knew it had crossed the plains with her people in a prairieschooner.Itwasofsolidmahogany.Oneendwascrackedanddentedfromthecapsize of the wagon in Rock Canyon. A bullet-hole, plugged, in the face ofthe top drawer, told of the fight with the Indians at Little Meadow. Of thesehappenings her mother had told her; also had she told that the chest had comewith the family originally from England in a day even earlier than the day onwhichGeorgeWashingtonwasborn.

Above the chest of drawers, on the wall, hung a small looking-glass. Thrustunder the molding were photographs of young men and women, and of picnicgroups wherein the young men, with hats rakishly on the backs of their heads,encircled the girls with their arms. Farther along on the wall were a coloredcalendarandnumerouscoloredadvertisementsandsketchestornoutofmagazines.Mostofthesesketcheswereofhorses.Fromthegas-fixturehunga

tangledbunchofwell-scribbleddanceprograms.

Saxon started to take off her hat, but suddenly sat down on the bed. Shesobbed softly, with considered repression, but the weak-latched door swungnoiselesslyopen,andshewasstartledbyhersister-in-law'svoice.

"NOWwhat'sthematterwithyou?Ifyoudidn'tlikethembeans—"

"No, no," Saxon explained hurriedly. "I'm just tired, that's all, and my feethurt.Iwasn'thungry,Sarah.I'mjustbeatout."

"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 something to be beat outabout. You've got a snap, you have. But just wait." Sarah broke off to cacklegloatingly. "Just wait, that's all, an' you'll be fool enough to get married someday, like me, an' then you'll get yours—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'vegot a cinch--nobody to think of but your own precious self—an' a lot of younghoodlums makin' eyes at you an' tellin' you how beautiful your eyes are. Huh!Some fine day you'll tie up to one of 'em, an' then, mebbe, on occasion, you'llwearblackeyesforachange."

"Don'tsaythat,Sarah,"Saxonprotested."Mybrotherneverlaidhandsonyou.Youknowthat."

"No more he didn't. He never had the gumption. Just the same, he's betterstock than that tough crowd you run with, if he can't make a livin' an' keep hiswife in three pairs of shoes. Just the same he's oodles better'n your bunch ofhoodlums that no decent woman'd wipe her one pair of shoes on. How you'vemissed trouble this long is beyond me. Mebbe the younger generation is wiserin such things—I don't know. But I do know that a young woman that hasthree pairs of shoes ain't thinkin' of anything but her own enjoyment, an' she'sgoin' to get hers, I can tell her that much. When I was a girl there wasn't suchdoin's. My mother'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 your brother,a-runnin' around to socialist meetin's, an' chewin' hot air, an' diggin' up extrastrike dues to the union that means so much bread out of the mouths of hischildren,insteadofmakin'goodwithhisbosses.Why,thedueshepayswouldkeep me in seventeen pairs of shoes if I was nannygoat enough to want 'em.Some day, mark my words, he'll get his time, an' then what'll we do? What'll Ido,withfivemouthstofeedan'nothin'comin'in?"

Shestopped,outofbreathbutseethingwiththetiradeyettocome."Oh,Sarah,pleasewon'tyoushutthedoor?"Saxonpleaded.

Thedoorslammedviolently,andSaxon,ereshefelltocryingagain,couldhearhersister-in-lawlumberingaboutthekitchenandtalkingloudlyto

herself.

CHAPTERII

Each bought her own ticket at the entrance to Weasel Park. And each, as shelaid her half-dollar down, was distinctly aware of how many pieces of fancystarchwererepresentedbythecoin.It wastooearlyforthecrowd,butbricklayers and their families, laden with huge lunch-baskets and armfuls ofbabies, were already going in—a healthy, husky race of workmen, well-paidand robustly fed. And with them, here and there, undisguised by their decentAmerican clothing, smaller in bulk and stature, weazened not alone by age butby the pinch of lean years and early hardship, were grandfathers and motherswho had patently first seen the light of day on old Irish soil. Their facesshowed content and pride as they limped along with this lusty progeny oftheirsthathadfedonbetterfood.

Not with these did Mary and Saxon belong. They knew them not, had noacquaintances among them. It did not matter whether the festival were Irish,German, or Slavonian; whether the picnic was the Bricklayers', the Brewers',or the Butchers'. They, the girls, were of the dancing crowd that swelled by acertainconstantpercentagethegatereceiptsofallthepicnics.

Theystrolledaboutamongtheboothswherepeanutsweregrindingandpopcornwasroastinginpreparationfortheday,andwentonandinspectedthedance floor of the pavilion. Saxon, clinging to an imaginary partner, essayed afewstepsofthedip-waltz.Maryclappedherhands.

"My!"shecried."You'rejustswell!An'themstockin'sispeaches."

Saxon smiled with appreciation, pointed out her foot, velvet-slippered withhighCubanheels,andslightlyliftedthetightblackskirt,exposingatrimankle and delicate swell of calf, the white flesh gleaming through the thinnestand flimsiest of fifty-cent black silk stockings. She was slender, not tall, yetthe due round lines of womanhood were hers. On her white shirtwaist was apleated jabot of cheap lace, caught with a large novelty pin of imitation coral.Over the shirtwaist was a natty jacket, elbow-sleeved, and to the elbows shewore gloves of imitation suede. The one essentially natural touch about herappearance was the few curls, strangers to curling-irons, that escaped fromunderthelittlenaughtyhatofblackvelvetpulledlowovertheeyes.

Mary's dark eyes flashed with joy at the sight, and with a swift little run shecaught the other girl in her arms and kissed her in a breast-crushing embrace.Shereleasedher,blushingatherownextravagance.

"Youlookgoodtome,"shecried,inextenuation."IfIwasamanIcouldn't

keepmyhandsoffyou.I'deatyou,Isurewould."

They went out of the pavilion hand in hand, and on through the sunshine theystrolled,swinginghandsgaily,reactingexuberantlyfromtheweekofdeadeningtoil.Theyhungovertherailingofthebear-pit,shiveringatthehugeand lonely denizen, and passed quickly on to ten minutes of laughter at themonkeycage.Crossingthegrounds,theylookeddownintothelittleracetrackon the bed of a natural amphitheater where the early afternoon games were totake place. After that they explored the woods, threaded by countless paths,everopeningoutinnewsurprisesofgreen-paintedrustictablesandbenchesinleafy nooks, many of which were already pre-empted by family parties. On agrassy slope, tree-surrounded, they spread a newspaper and sat down on theshortgrassalreadytawny-dryundertheCaliforniasun.Halfweretheymindedto do this because of the grateful indolence after six days of insistent motion,halfinconservationforthehoursofdancingtocome.

"Bert Wanhope'll be sure to come," Mary chattered. "An' he said he was goingto bring Billy Roberts—'Big Bill,' all the fellows call him. He's just a big boy,but he's awfully tough. He's a prizefighter, an' all the girls run after him. I'mafraid of him. He ain't quick in talkin'. He's more like that big bear we saw.Brr-rf!Brr-rf!—biteyourheadoff,justlikethat.Heain'treallyaprize-fighter.He's a teamster—belongs to the union. Drives for Coberly and Morrison. Butsometimes he fights in the clubs. Most of the fellows are scared of him. He'sgot a bad temper, an' he'd just as soon hit a fellow as eat, just like that. Youwon'tlikehim,buthe'saswelldancer.He'sheavy,youknow,an'hejustslidesand glides around. You wanta have a dance with'm anyway. He's a goodspender,too.Neverpinches.Butmy!—he'sgotonetemper."

The talk wandered on, a monologue on Mary's part, that centered always onBertWanhope.

"Youandheareprettythick,"Saxonventured.

"I'd marry'm to-morrow," Mary flashed out impulsively. Then her face wentbleakly forlorn, hard almost in its helpless pathos. "Only, he never asks me.He's..." Her pause was broken by sudden passion. "You watch out for him,Saxon, if he ever comes foolin' around you. He's no good. Just the same, I'dmarry him to-morrow. He'll never get me any other way." Her mouth opened,but instead of speaking she drew a long sigh. "It's a funny world, ain't it?" sheadded. "More like a scream. And all the stars are worlds, too. I wonder whereGod hides. Bert Wanhope says there ain't no God. But he's just terrible. Hesays the most terrible things. I believe in God. Don't you? What do you thinkaboutGod,Saxon?"

Saxonshruggedhershouldersandlaughed.

"Butifwedowrongwegetours,don'twe?"Marypersisted."That'swhatthey

all say, except Bert. He says he don't care what he does, he'll never get his,becausewhenhedieshe'sdead,an'whenhe'sdeadhe'dliketoseeanyoneputanything across on him that'd wake him up. Ain't he terrible, though? But it'sall so funny. Sometimes I get scared when I think God's keepin' an eye on meall the time. Do you think he knows what I'm sayin' now? What do you thinkhelookslike,anyway?"

"Idon'tknow,"Saxonanswered."He'sjustafunnyproposition.""Oh!"theothergasped.

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

"An' I never think of him with his hair parted," Mary confessed, daring thethoughtandshiveringwithapprehension."Hejustcouldn'thavehishairparted.THAT'Dbefunny."

"Youknowthatlittle,wrinklyMexicanthatsellswirepuzzles?"Saxonqueried."Well,Godsomehowalwaysremindsmeofhim."

Marylaughedoutright.

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

"Well,justlikethelittleMexican,heseemstospendhistimepeddlingpuzzles. He passes a puzzle out to everybody, and they spend all their livestryin' to work it out. They all get stuck. I can't work mine out. I don't knowwheretostart.AndlookatthepuzzlehepassedSarah.Andshe'spartofTom'spuzzle, and she only makes his worse. And they all, an' everybody I know—you,too—arepartofmypuzzle."

"Mebbe the puzzles is all right," Mary considered. "But God don't look likethat yellow little Greaser. THAT I won't fall for. God don't look like anybody.Don't you remember on the wall at the Salvation Army it says 'God is aspirit'?"

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

"That's right, too." Mary shuddered with reminiscent fear. "Whenever I try tothink of God as a spirit, I can see Hen Miller all wrapped up in a sheet an'runnin' us girls. We didn't know, an' it scared the life out of us. Little MaggieMurphy fainted dead away, and Beatrice Peralta fell an' scratched her facehorrible. When I think of a spirit all I can see is a white sheet runnin' in thedark. Just the same, God don't look like a Mexican, an' he don't wear his hairparted."

A strain of music from the dancing pavilion brought both girls scrambling totheirfeet.

"We can get a couple of dances in before we eat," Mary proposed. "An' thenit'll be afternoon an' all the fellows 'll be here. Most of them are pinchers—that's why they don't come early, so as to get out of taking the girls to dinner.But Bert's free with his money, an' so is Billy. If we can beat the other girls toit,they'lltakeustotherestaurant.Comeon,hurry,Saxon."

There were few couples on the floor when they arrived at the pavilion, and thetwogirlsessayedthefirstwaltztogether.

"There'sBertnow,"Saxonwhispered,astheycamearoundthesecondtime.

"Don't take any notice of them," Mary whispered back. "We'll just keep ongoin'.Theyneedn'tthinkwe'rechasin'afterthem."

But Saxon noted the heightened color in the other's cheek, and felt her quickerbreathing.

"Did you see that other one?" Mary asked, as she backed Saxon in a long slideacross the far end of the pavilion. "That was Billy Roberts. Bert said he'dcome. He'll take you to dinner, and Bert'll take me. It's goin' to be a swell day,you'll see. My! I only wish the music'll hold out till we can get back to theotherend."

Down the floor they danced, on man-trapping and dinner-getting intent, twofresh young things that undeniably danced well and that were delightfullysurprisedwhenthemusicstrandedthemperilouslyneartotheirdesire.

Bert and Mary addressed each other by their given names, but to Saxon Bertwas"Mr.Wanhope,"thoughhecalledherbyherfirstname.Theonlyintroduction was of Saxon and Billy Roberts. Mary carried it off with a flurryofnervouscarelessness.

"Mr. Robert—Miss Brown. She's my best friend. Her first name's Saxon. Ain'titascreamofaname?"

"Sounds good to me," Billy retorted, hat off and hand extended. "Pleased tomeetyou,MissBrown."

As their hands clasped and she felt the teamster callouses on his palm, herquick eyes saw a score of things. About all that he saw was her eyes, and thenit was with a vague impression that they were blue. Not till later in the day didherealizethattheyweregray.She,onthecontrary,sawhiseyesastheyreallywere—deep blue, wide, and handsome in a sullen-boyish way. She saw thatthey were straight-looking, and she liked them, as she had liked the glimpseshe had 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-set nose, therosinessofcheek,andthefirm,shortupperlip,eredelightcenteredherflash

of gaze on the well-modeled, large clean mouth where red lips smiled clear ofthewhite,enviableteeth.A BOY,A GREAT BIGMAN-BOY,washerthought; and, as they smiled at each other and their hands slipped apart, shewas startled by a glimpse of his hair—short and crisp and sandy, hintingalmostofpalestgoldsavethatitwastooflaxentohintofgoldatall.

So blond was he that she was reminded of stage-types she had seen, such asOle Olson and Yon Yonson; but there resemblance ceased. It was a matter ofcolor only, for the eyes were dark-lashed and -browed, and were cloudy withtemperamentratherthanstaringachild-gazeofwonder,andthesuitofsmoothbrownclothhadbeenmadebyatailor.Saxonappraisedthesuitontheinstant,and her secret judgment was NOT A CENT LESS THAN FIFTY DOLLARS.Further, he had none of the awkwardness of the Scandinavian immigrant. Onthe contrary, he was one of those rare individuals that radiate muscular gracethrough the ungraceful man-garments of civilization. Every movement wassupple, slow, and apparently considered. This she did not see nor analyze. Shesaw only a clothed man with grace of carriage and movement. She felt, ratherthan perceived, the calm and certitude of all the muscular play of him, and shefelt, too, the promise of easement and rest that was especially grateful andcraved-for by one who had incessantly, for six days and at top-speed, ironedfancy starch. As the touch of his hand had been good, so, to her, this subtlerfeelofallofhim,bodyandmind,wasgood.

Ashetookherprogramandskirmishedandjokedafterthewayofyoungmen,she realized the immediacy of delight she had taken in him. Never in her lifehad she been so affected by any man. She wondered to herself: IS THIS THEMAN?

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. Therewas never doubt, never a betrayal of indecision. She glanced at Bert, dancing"tough"withMary,caromingdownthelongfloorwithmorethanonecollisionwiththeincreasingcouples.Gracefulhimselfinhisslender,tall,lean-stomachedway,Bertwasaccountedagooddancer;yetSaxondidnotremember ever having danced with him with keen pleasure. Just a hit of a jerkspoiledhisdancing—ajerkthatdidnotoccur,usually,butthatalwaysimpended. There was something spasmodic in his mind. He was too quick, orhe continually threatened to be too quick. He always seemed just on the vergeofoverrunningthetime.Itwasdisquieting.Hemadeforunrest.

"You're a dream of a dancer," Billy Roberts was saying. "I've heard lots of thefellowstalkaboutyourdancing."

"Iloveit,"sheanswered.

But from the way she said it he sensed her reluctance to speak, and danced onin silence, while she warmed with the appreciation of a woman for gentleconsideration. Gentle consideration was a thing rarely encountered in the lifeshe lived. IS THIS THE MAN? She remembered Mary's "I'd marry him to-morrow," and caught herself speculating on marrying Billy Roberts by thenextday—ifheaskedher.

With eyes that dreamily desired to close, she moved on in the arms of thismasterful, guiding pressure. A PRIZE-FIGHTER! She experienced a thrill ofwickedness as she thought of what Sarah would say could she see her now.Onlyhewasn'taprizefighter,butateamster.

Cameanabruptlengtheningofstep,theguidingpressuregrewmorecompelling, and she was caught up and carried along, though her velvet-shodfeetneverleftthefloor.Thencamethesuddencontroldowntotheshorterstepagain, and she felt herself being held slightly from him so that he might lookinto her face and laugh with her in joy at the exploit. At the end, as the bandslowed in the last bars, they, too, slowed, their dance fading with the music inalengtheningglidethatceasedwiththelastlingeringtone.

"We're sure cut out for each other when it comes to dancin'," he said, as theymadetheirwaytorejointheothercouple.

"Itwasadream,"shereplied.

So low was her voice that he bent to hear, and saw the flush in her cheeks thatseemed communicated to her eyes, which were softly warm and sensuous. Hetook the program from her and gravely and gigantically wrote his name acrossallthelengthofit.

"An'nowit'snogood,"hedared."Ain'tnoneedforit."Hetoreitacrossandtosseditaside.

"Meforyou,Saxon,forthenext,"wasBert'sgreeting,astheycameup."YoutakeMaryforthenextwhirl,Bill."

"Nothin'doin',Bo,"wastheretort."Mean'Saxon'sframeduptolasttheday."

"Watchoutforhim,Saxon,"Marywarnedfacetiously."He'sliabletogetacrushonyou."

"IguessIknowagoodthingwhenIseeit,"Billyrespondedgallantly."AndsodoI,"Saxonaidedandabetted.

"I'd'a'knownyouifI'dseenyouinthedark,"Billyadded.

Maryregardedthemwithmockalarm,andBertsaidgood-naturedly:

"AllIgottosayisyouain'twastin'anytimegettin'together.Justthesame,if'youcanspareafewminutesfromeachotherafteracouplemorewhirls,Mary

an'me'dbecomplimentedtohaveyourpresenceatdinner.""Justlikethat,"chimedMary.

"Quit your kiddin'," Billy laughed back, turning his head to look into Saxon'seyes."Don'tlistento'em.They'regrouchedbecausetheygottodancetogether. Bert's a rotten dancer, and Mary ain't so much. Come on, there shegoes.Seeyouaftertwomoredances."

CHAPTERIII

They had dinner in the open-air, tree-walled dining-room, and Saxon notedthat it was Billy who paid the reckoning for the four. They knew many of theyoung men and women at the other tables, and greetings and fun flew backand forth. Bert was very possessive with Mary, almost roughly so, resting hishand on hers, catching and holding it, and, once, forcibly slipping off her tworings and refusing to return them for a long while. At times, when he put hisarm around her waist, Mary promptly disengaged it; and at other times, withelaborateobliviousnessthatdeceivednoone,sheallowedittoremain.

AndSaxon,talkinglittlebutstudyingBillyRobertsveryintently,wassatisfiedthat there would be an utter difference in the way he would do such things... ifever he would do them. Anyway, he'd never paw a girl as Bert and lots of theotherfellowsdid.ShemeasuredthebreadthofBilly'sheavyshoulders.

"Whydotheycallyou'Big'Bill?"sheasked."You'renotsoverytall."

"Nope," he agreed. "I'm only five feet eight an' three-quarters. I guess it mustbemyweight."

"Hefightsatahundredan'eighty,"Bertinterjected.

"Oh, cut it," Billy said quickly, a cloud-rift of displeasure showing in his eyes."Iain'tafighter.Iain'tfoughtinsixmonths.I'vequitit.Itdon'tpay."

"Yon got two hundred the night you put the Frisco Slasher to the bad," Berturgedproudly.

"Cutit.Cutitnow.—Say,Saxon,youain'tsobigyourself,areyou?Butyou'rebuiltjustrightifanybodyshouldaskyou.You'reroundan'slenderatthesametime.IbetIcanguessyourweight."

"Everybody guesses over it," she warned, while inwardly she was puzzled thatshe should at the same time be glad and regretful that he did not fight anymore.

"Not me," he was saying. "I'm a wooz at weight-guessin'. Just you watch me."Heregardedhercritically,anditwaspatentthatwarmapprovalplayedits

littlerivalrywiththejudgmentofhisgaze."Waitaminute."

He reached over to her and felt her arm at the biceps. The pressure of theencircling fingers was firm and honest, and Saxon thrilled to it. There wasmagic in this man-boy. She would have known only irritation had Bert or anyother man felt her arm. But this man! IS HE THE MAN? she was questioning,whenhevoicedhisconclusion.

"Your clothes don't weigh more'n seven pounds. And seven from—hum—sayonehundredan'twenty-three—onehundredan'sixteenisyourstrippedweight."

Butatthepenultimateword,Marycriedoutwithsharpreproof:"Why,BillyRoberts,peopledon'ttalkaboutsuchthings."

Helookedatherwithslow-growing,uncomprehendingsurprise."Whatthings?"hedemandedfinally.

"Thereyougoagain!Yououghttobeashamedofyourself.Look!You'vegotSaxonblushing!"

"Iamnot,"Saxondeniedindignantly.

"An' if you keep on, Mary, you'll have me blushing," Billy growled. "I guess Iknow what's right an' what ain't. It ain't what a guy says, but what he thinks.An' I'm thinkin' right, an' Saxon knows it. An' she an' I ain't thinkin' whatyou'rethinkin'atall."

"Oh! Oh!" Mary cried. "You're gettin' worse an' worse. I never think suchthings."

"Whoa,Mary!Backup!"Bertcheckedherperemptorily."You'reinthewrongstall.Billynevermakesmistakeslikethat."

"Butheneedn'tbesoraw,"shepersisted.

"Come on, Mary, an' be good, an' cut that stuff," was Billy's dismissal of her,asheturnedtoSaxon."HowneardidIcometoit?"

"One hundred and twenty-two," she answered, looking deliberately at Mary."Onetwentytwowithmyclothes."

Billyburstintoheartylaughter,inwhichBertjoined.

"Idon'tcare,"Maryprotested,"You'reterrible,bothofyou—an'you,too,Saxon.I'dnevera-thoughtitofyou."

"Listentome,kid,"Bertbegansoothingly,ashisarmslippedaroundherwaist.

Butinthefalseexcitementshehadworkedherselfinto,Maryrudelyrepulsedthearm,andthen,fearingthatshehadwoundedherlover'sfeelings,shetook

advantage of the teasing and banter to recover her good humor. His arm waspermittedtoreturn,andwithheadsbenttogether,theytalkedinwhispers.

BillydiscreetlybegantomakeconversationwithSaxon.

"Say,youknow,yournameisafunnyone.Ineverheardittaggedonanybodybefore.Butit'sallright.Ilikeit."

"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 lots andlots. I've got some of her poetry published in a San Jose newspaper long ago.The Saxons were a race of people—she told me all about them when I was alittle girl. They were wild, like Indians, only they were white. And they hadblueeyes,andyellowhair,andtheywereawfulfighters."

As she talked, Billy followed her solemnly, his eyes steadily turned on hers."Neverheardofthem,"heconfessed."Didtheyliveanywherearoundhere?"Shelaughed.

"No. They lived in England. They were the first English, and you know theAmericans came from the English. We're Saxons, you an' me, an' Mary, an'Bert,andalltheAmericansthatarerealAmericans,youknow,andnotDagoesandJapsandsuch."

"My folks lived in America a long time," Billy said slowly, digesting theinformation she had given and relating himself to it. "Anyway, my mother'sfolksdid.TheycrossedtoMainehundredsofyearsago."

"My father was 'State of Maine," she broke in, with a little gurgle of joy. "Andmy mother was born in Ohio, or where Ohio is now. She used to call it theGreatWesternReserve.Whatwasyourfather?"

"Don'tknow."Billyshruggedhisshoulders."Hedidn'tknowhimself.Nobodyeverknew,thoughhewasAmerican,allright,allright."

"His name's regular old American," Saxon suggested. "There's a big EnglishgeneralrightnowwhosenameisRoberts.I'vereaditinthepapers."

"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 was thisway. When they was Indian-fightin' up there with the Modoc Indians, a lot oftheminersan'settlerstookahand.Robertswascaptainofoneoutfit,andonce, after a fight, they took a lot of prisoners—squaws, an' kids an' babies.An' one of the kids was my father. They figured he was about five years old.Hedidn'tknownothin'butIndian."

Saxon clapped her hands, and her eyes sparkled: "He'd been captured on anIndianraid!"

"That'sthewaytheyfiguredit,"Billynodded."Theyrecollectedawagon-train

of Oregon settlers that'd been killed by the Modocs four years before. Robertsadopted him, and that's why I don't know his real name. But you can bank onit,hecrossedtheplainsjustthesame."

"Sodidmyfather,"Saxonsaidproudly.

"An' my mother, too," Billy added, pride touching his own voice. "Anyway,she came pretty close to crossin' the plains, because she was born in a wagonontheRiverPlatteonthewayout."

"My mother, too," said Saxon. "She was eight years old, an' she walked mostofthewayaftertheoxenbegantogiveout."

Billythrustouthishand.

"Put her there, kid," he said. "We're just like old friends, what with the samekindoffolksbehindus."

Withshiningeyes,Saxonextendedherhandtohis,andgravelytheyshook.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she murmured. "We're both old American stock. And ifyou aren't a Saxon there never was one—your hair, your eyes, your skin,everything.Andyou'reafighter,too."

"I guess all our old folks was fighters when it comes to that. It come natural to'em,an'dog-goneit,theyjusthadtofightorthey'dnevercomethrough."

"Whatareyoutwotalkin'about?"Marybrokeinuponthem.

"They're thicker'n mush in no time," Bert girded. "You'd think they'd knowneachotheraweekalready."

"Oh, we knew each other longer than that," Saxon returned. "Before ever wewerebornourfolkswerewalkin'acrosstheplainstogether."

"When your folks was waitin' for the railroad to be built an' all the IndianskilledoffbeforetheydastedtostartforCalifornia,"wasBilly'swayofproclaiming the new alliance. "We're the real goods, Saxon an' me, if anybodyshouldrideuponabuzz-wagonan'askyou."

"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 he didn'tcometoCaliforniauntilafterward."

"AndmyfatherwentbacktofightintheCivilWar,"Saxonsaid."Andmine,too,"saidBilly.

Theylookedateachothergleefully.Againtheyhadfoundanewcontact.

"Well, they're all dead, ain't they?" was Bert's saturnine comment. "There ain'tno difference dyin' in battle or in the poorhouse. The thing is they're deado. Iwouldn't care a rap if my father'd been hanged. It's all the same in a thousandyears.Thisbraggin'aboutfolksmakesmetired.Besides,myfathercouldn'ta-

fought. He wasn't born till two years after the war. Just the same, two of myuncleswerekilledatGettysburg.Guesswedoneourshare."

"Justlikethat,"Maryapplauded.

Bert'sarmwentaroundherwaistagain.

"We're here, ain't we?" he said. "An' that's what counts. The dead are dead, an'youcanbetyoursweetlifetheyjustkeeponstayin'dead."

Mary put her hand over his mouth and began to chide him for his awfulness,whereuponhekissedthepalmofherhandandputhisheadclosertohers.

The merry clatter of dishes was increasing as the dining-room filled up. Hereandtherevoiceswereraisedinsnatchesofsong.Therewereshrillsquealsandscreams and bursts of heavier male laughter as the everlasting skirmishingbetweentheyoungmenandgirlsplayedon.Amongsomeofthementhesignsof drink were already manifest. At a near table girls were calling out to Billy.And Saxon, the sense of temporary possession already strong on her, notedwithjealouseyesthathewasafavoriteanddesiredobjecttothem.

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

"Oh,youBill,you,"oneofthem,abuxomyoungbrunette,wascalling."Hopeyouain'tforgottenme,Bill."

"Oh,youchicken,"hecalledbackgallantly.

Saxonflatteredherselfthatheshowedvexation,andsheconceivedanimmensedislikeforthebrunette.

"Goin'todance?"thelattercalled.

"Mebbe," he answered, and turned abruptly to Saxon. "Say, we old Americansoughtasticktogether,don'tyouthink?Theyain'tmanyofusleft.Thecountry'sfillin'upwithallkindsofforeigners."

He talked on steadily, in a low, confidential voice, head close to hers, asadvertisementtotheothergirlthathewasoccupied.

From the next table on the opposite side, a young man had singled out Saxon.His dress was tough. His companions, male and female, were tough. His facewasinflamed,hiseyestouchedwithwildness.

"Hey,you!"hecalled."Youwiththevelvetslippers.Meforyou."

The girl beside him put her arm around his neck and tried to hush him, andthroughthemufflementofherembracetheycouldhearhimgurgling:

"Itellyoushe'ssomegoods.Watchmegoacrossan'winherfromthemcheapskates."

"Butchertownhoodlums,"Marysniffed.

Saxon's eyes encountered the eyes of the girl, who glared hatred across at her.And in Billy's eyes she saw moody anger smouldering. The eyes were moresullen, more handsome than ever, and clouds and veils and lights and shadowsshifted and deepened in the blue of them until they gave her a sense ofunfathomabledepth.Hehadstoppedtalking,andhemadenoefforttotalk.

"Don't start a rough house, Bill," Bert cautioned. "They're from across the bayan'theydon'tknowyou,that'sall."

Bert stood up suddenly, stepped over to the other table, whispered briefly, andcame back. Every face at the table was turned on Billy. The offender arosebrokenly, shook off the detaining hand of his girl, and came over. He was alarge man, with a hard, malignant face and bitter eyes. Also, he was a subduedman.

"You're Big Bill Roberts," he said thickly, clinging to the table as he reeled. "Itake my hat off to you. I apologize. I admire your taste in skirts, an' take itfrom me that's a compliment; but I didn't know who you was. If I'd knowedyou was Bill Roberts there wouldn't been a peep from my fly-trap. D'ye getme?Iapologize.Willyoushakehands?"

Gruffly, Billy said, "It's all right—forget it, sport;" and sullenly he shookhands and with a slow, massive movement thrust the other back toward hisowntable.

Saxonwasglowing.Herewasaman,aprotector,somethingtoleanagainst,ofwhom even the Butchertown toughs were afraid as soon as his name wasmentioned.

CHAPTERIV

After dinner there were two dances in the pavilion, and then the band led theway to the race track for the games. The dancers followed, and all through thegrounds the picnic parties left their tables to join in. Five thousand packed thegrassy slopes of the amphitheater and swarmed inside the race track. Here,first of the events, the men were lining up for a tug of war. The contest wasbetween the Oakland Bricklayers and the San Francisco Bricklayers, and thepicked braves, huge and heavy, were taking their positions along the rope.They kicked heel-holds in the soft earth, rubbed their hands with the soil fromunderfoot,andlaughedandjokedwiththecrowdthatsurgedaboutthem.

The judges and watchers struggled vainly to keep back this crowd of relativesandfriends.TheCelticbloodwasup,andtheCelticfactionspiritranhigh.

The air was filled with cries of cheer, advice, warning, and threat. Manyelected to leave the side of their own team and go to the side of the other teamwith the intention of circumventing foul play. There were as many women asmenamongthejostlingsupporters.Thedustfromthetrampling,scufflingfeetrose in the air, and Mary gasped and coughed and begged Bert to take heraway. But he, the imp in him elated with the prospect of trouble, insisted onurging in closer. Saxon clung to Billy, who slowly and methodically elbowedandshoulderedawayforher.

"Noplaceforagirl,"hegrumbled,lookingdownatherwithamaskedexpression of absent-mindedness, while his elbow powerfully crushed on theribs of a big Irishman who gave room. "Things'll break loose when they startpullin'. They's been too much drink, an' you know what the Micks are for aroughhouse."

Saxonwasverymuchoutofplaceamongtheselarge-bodiedmenandwomen.She seemed very small and childlike, delicate and fragile, a creature fromanotherrace.OnlyBilly'sskilledbulkandmusclesavedher.Hewascontinually glancing from face to face of the women and always returning tostudyherface,norwassheunawareofthecontrasthewasmaking.

Someexcitementoccurredascoreoffeetawayfromthem,andtothesoundofexclamations and blows a surge ran through the crowd. A large man, wedgedsidewise in the jam, was shoved against Saxon, crushing her closely againstBilly, who reached across to the man's shoulder with a massive thrust that wasnot so slow as usual. An involuntary grunt came from the victim, who turnedhishead,showingsun-reddenedblondskinandunmistakableangryIrisheyes.

"What'seatin'yeh?"hesnarled.

"Getoffyourfoot;you'restandin'onit,"wasBilly'scontemptuousreply,emphasizedbyanincreaseofthrust.

TheIrishmangruntedagainandmadeafranticstruggletotwisthisbodyaround,butthewedgingbodiesoneithersideheldhiminavise.

"I'llbreakyeruglyfaceforyehinaminute,"heannouncedinwrath-thicktones.

Thenhisownfaceunderwenttransformation.Thesnarlleftthelips,andtheangryeyesgrewgenial.

"An'surean'it'syerself,"hesaid."Ididn'tknowitwasyeha-shovin'.IseenyehlicktheTerribleSwede,ifyehWASrobbedonthedecision."

"No,youdidn't,Bo,"Billyansweredpleasantly."Yousawmetakeagoodbeatin'thatnight.Thedecisionwasallright."

TheIrishmanwasnowbeaming.Hehadendeavoredtopayacomplimentwithalie,andthepromptrepudiationofthelieservedonlytoincreasehishero-

worship.

"Sure, an' a bad beatin' it was," he acknowledged, "but yeh showed the grit ofa bunch of wildcats. Soon as I can get me arm free I'm goin' to shake yeh bythehandan'helpyehaiseyeryounglady."

Frustrated in the struggle to get the crowd back, the referee fired his revolverin 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 to see much thatensued. The men on the rope pulled and strained till their faces were red witheffort and their joints crackled. The rope was new, and, as their hands slipped,their wives and daughters sprang in, scooping up the earth in double handfulsandpouringitontheropeandthehandsoftheirmentogivethembettergrip.

A stout, middle-aged woman, carried beyond herself by the passion of thecontest, seized the rope and pulled beside her husband, encouraged him withloud cries. A watcher from the opposing team dragged her screaming awayand was dropped like a steer by an ear-blow from a partisan from the woman'steam. He, in turn, went down, and brawny women joined with their men in thebattle. Vainly the judges and watchers begged, pleaded, yelled, and swungwith their fists. Men, as well as women, were springing in to the rope andpulling. No longer was it team against team, but all Oakland against all SanFrancisco, festooned with a free-for-all fight. Hands overlaid hands two andthree deep in the struggle to grasp the rope. And hands that found no holds,doubled into bunches of knuckles that impacted on the jaws of the watcherswhostrovetotearhand-holdsfromtherope.

Bert yelped with joy, while Mary clung to him, mad with fear. Close to therope the fighters were going down and being trampled. The dust arose inclouds, while from beyond, all around, unable to get into the battle, could beheardtheshrillandimpotentrage-screamsandrage-yellsofwomenandmen.

"Dirty work, dirty work," Billy muttered over and over; and, though he sawmuch that occurred, assisted by the friendly Irishman he was coolly and safelyworkingSaxonbackoutofthemelee.

Atlastthebreakcame.Thelosingteam,accompaniedbyitshostofvolunteers, was dragged in a rush over the ground and disappeared under theavalancheofbattlingformsoftheonlookers.

Leaving Saxon under the protection of the Irishman in an outer eddy of calm,Billy plunged back into the mix-up. Several minutes later he emerged with themissingcouple—Bertbleedingfromablowontheear,buthilarious,andMaryrumpledandhysterical.

"Thisain'tsport,"shekeptrepeating."It'sashame,adirtyshame.""Wegottogetoutathis,"Billysaid."Thefun'sonlycommenced."

"Aw,wait,"Bertbegged."It'swortheightdollars.It'scheapatanyprice.Iain'tseensomanyblackeyesandbloodynosesinamonthofSundays."

"Well, go on back an' enjoy yourself," Billy commended. "I'll take the girls upthere on the side hill where we can look on. But I won't give much for yourgoodlooksifsomeofthemMickslandsonyou."

The trouble was over in an amazingly short time, for from the judges' standbeside the track the announcer was bellowing the start of the boys' foot-race;and Bert, disappointed, joined Billy and the two girls on the hillside lookingdownuponthetrack.

Therewereboys'racesandgirls'races,racesofyoungwomenandoldwomen,offatmenandfatwomen,sackracesandthree-leggedraces,andthecontestantsstrovearoundthesmalltrackthroughaBedlamofcheeringsupporters. The tug-of-war was already forgotten, and good nature reignedagain.

Five young men toed the mark, crouching with fingertips to the ground andwaiting the starter's revolver-shot. Three were in their stocking-feet, and theremainingtwoworespikedrunning-shoes.

"Young men's race," Bert read from the program. "An' only one prize—twenty-five dollars. See the red-head with the spikes—the one next to theoutside. San Francisco's set on him winning. He's their crack, an' there's a lotofbetsup."

"Who'sgoin'towin?"MarydeferredtoBilly'ssuperiorathleticknowledge.

"How can I tell!" he answered. "I never saw any of 'em before. But they alllookgoodtome.Maythebestonewin,that'sall."

The revolver was fired, and the five runners were off and away. Three wereoutdistanced at the start. Redhead led, with a black-haired young man at hisshoulder,anditwasplainthattheracelaybetweenthesetwo.Halfwayaround, the black-haired one took the lead in a spurt that was intended to lasttothefinish.Tenfeethegained,norcouldRed-headcutitdownaninch.

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

Still ten feet in the lead, the black-haired one breasted the tape in a hubbub ofcheers. Yet yells of disapproval could be distinguished. Bert hugged himselfwithjoy.

"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 agang behind him. Oh! Oh! Oh! Ain't had so much fun since my old womanbrokeherleg!"

"Whydon'ttheypayhim,Billy?"Saxonasked."Hewon."

"The Frisco bunch is challengin' him for a professional," Billy elucidated."That's what they're all beefin' about. But it ain't right. They all ran for thatmoney,sothey'reallprofessional."

The crowd surged and argued and roared in front of the judges' stand. Thestand was a rickety, two-story affair, the second story open at the front, andherethejudgescouldbeseendebatingasheatedlyasthecrowdbeneaththem.

"Thereshestarts!"Bertcried."Oh,yourough-house!"

Theblack-hairedracer,backedbyadozensupporters,wasclimbingtheoutsidestairstothejudges.

"The purse-holder's his friend," Billy said. "See, he's paid him, an' some of thejudges is willin' an' some are beefin'. An' now that other gang's going up—they're Redhead's." He turned to Saxon with a reassuring smile. "We're welloutofitthistime.There'sgoin'toberoughstuffdownthereinaminute."

"Thejudgesaretryin'tomakehimgivethemoneyback,"Bertexplained."An'if he don't the other gang'll take it away from him. See! They're reachin' for itnow."

High above his head, the winner held the roll of paper containing the twenty-five silver dollars. His gang, around him, was shouldering back those whotried to seize the money. No blows had been struck yet, but the struggleincreased until the frail structure shook and swayed. From the crowd beneaththe winner was variously addressed: "Give it back, you dog!" "Hang on to it,Tim!" "Youwonfair,Timmy!""Giveitback,youdirtyrobber!"Abuseunprintableaswellasfriendlyadvicewashurledathim.

The struggle grew more violent. Tim's supporters strove to hold him off thefloor so that his hand would still be above the grasping hands that shot up.Once,foraninstant,hisarmwasjerkeddown.Againitwentup.Butevidentlythe paper had broken, and with a last desperate effort, before he went down,Tim flung the coin out in a silvery shower upon the heads of the crowdbeneath.Thenensuedawearyperiodofarguingandquarreling.

"Iwishthey'dfinish,soaswecouldgetbacktothedancin',"Marycomplained."Thisain'tnofun."

Slowlyandpainfullythejudges'standwascleared,andanannouncer,stepping to the front of the stand, spread his arms appealing forsilence.Theangryclamordieddown.

"Thejudgeshavedecided,"heshouted,"thatthisdayofgoodfellowshipan'brotherhood—"

"Hear! Hear!" Many of the cooler heads applauded. "That's the stuff!" "Nofightin'!""Nohardfeelin's!"

"An'therefore,"theannouncerbecameaudibleagain,"thejudgeshavedecided to put up another purse of twenty-five dollars an' run the race overagain!"

"An'Tim?"bellowedscoresofthroats."WhataboutTim?""He'sbeenrobbed!""Thejudgesisrotten!"

Againtheannouncerstilledthetumultwithhisarmappeal.

"Thejudgeshavedecided,forthesakeofgoodfeelin',thatTimothyMcManuswillalsorun.Ifhewins,themoney'shis."

"Now wouldn't that jar you?" Billy grumbled disgustedly. "If Tim's eligiblenow,hewaseligiblethefirsttime.An'ifhewaseligiblethefirsttime,thenthemoneywashis."

"Red-head'llbusthimselfwideopenthistime,"Bertjubilated.

"An' so will Tim," Billy rejoined. "You can bet he's mad clean through, andhe'llletoutthelinkshewasholdin'inlasttime."

Another quarter of an hour was spent in clearing the track of the excitedcrowd, and this time only Tim and Red-head toed the mark. The other threeyoungmenhadabandonedthecontest.

TheleapofTim,atthereportoftherevolver,puthimacleanyardinthelead.

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

Half-way around, Tim led by fifty feet, and, running swiftly, maintaining thesame lead, he came down the homestretch an easy winner. When directlybeneath the group on the hillside, the incredible and unthinkable happened.Standing close to the inside edge of the track was a dapper young man with alight switch cane. He was distinctly out of place in such a gathering, for uponhim was no ear-mark of the working class. Afterward, Bert was of the opinionthathelookedlikeaswelldancingmaster,whileBillycalledhim"thedude."

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 in aheadlong pitch, struck spread-eagled on his face, and plowed along in a cloudofdust.

There was an instant of vast and gasping silence. The young man, too, seemedpetrified by the ghastliness of his deed. It took an appreciable interval of timefor him, as well as for the onlookers, to realize what he had done. Theyrecoveredfirst,andfromathousandthroatsthewildIrishyellwentup.Red-

head won the race without a cheer. The storm center had shifted to the youngman with the cane. After the yell, he had one moment of indecision; then heturnedanddartedupthetrack.

"Go it, sport!" Bert cheered, waving his hat in the air. "You're the goods forme! Who'd a-thought it? Who'd a-thought it? Say!—wouldn't it, now? Justwouldn'tit?"

"Phew! He's a streak himself," Billy admired. "But what did he do it for? He'snobricklayer."

Like a frightened rabbit, the mad roar at his heels, the young man tore up thetrack to an open space on the hillside, up which he clawed and disappearedamongthetrees.Behindhimtoiledahundredvengefulrunners.

"It'stoobadhe'smissingtherestofit,"Billysaid."Lookat'emgoin'toit."Bert was beside himself. He leaped up and down and cried continuously."Lookat'em!Lookat'em!Lookat'em!"

The Oakland faction was outraged. Twice had its favorite runner been jobbedout of the race. This last was only another vile trick of the Frisco faction. SoOaklanddoubleditsbrawnyfistsandswungintoSanFranciscoforblood.And San Francisco, consciously innocent, was no less willing to join issues.To be charged with such a crime was no less monstrous than the crime itself.Besides,fortoomanytedioushourshadtheIrishheroicallysuppressedthemselves. Five thousands of them exploded into joyous battle. The womenjoined with them. The whole amphitheater was filled with the conflict. Therewererallies,retreats,charges,andcounter-charges.Weakergroupswereforced fighting up the hillsides. Other groups, bested, fled among the trees tocarry on guerrilla warfare, emerging in sudden dashes to overwhelm isolatedenemies.Halfadozenspecialpolicemen,hiredbytheWeaselParkmanagement,receivedanimpartialtrouncingfrombothsides.

"Nobody's the friend of a policeman," Bert chortled, dabbing his handkerchieftohisinjuredear,whichstillbled.

Thebushescrackledbehindhim,andhesprangasidetoletthelockedformsof two men go by, rolling over and over down the hill, each striking whenuppermost, and followed by a screaming woman who rained blows on the onewhowaspatentlynotofherclan.

The judges, in the second story of the stand, valiantly withstood a fierceassaultuntilthefrailstructuretoppledtothegroundinsplinters.

"What's that woman doing?" Saxon asked, calling attention to an elderlywomanbeneaththemonthe