Fate Knocks at the Door | Page 6

excellent as cook of the outfit.
It is to be doubted if history furnishes a more picturesque service than
that which fell to Luzon pack-trains throughout the following two years.
It was like Indian fighting, but more compact, rapid and surprising. The
actions were small enough to be seen entire; they fell clean-cut into
pictures and were instantly comprehensive. As the typhoon confirmed
Carreras, this Luzon service brought to Bedient an important
relation--his first real friendship with a boy of his own age.
In the fall of 1899, David Cairns, the youngest of the American
war-correspondents, stood hungry and desolate in the plaza of the little

town of Alphonso, two days' cavalry march below Manila--when
Pack-train Thirteen arrived with provisions. The mules swung in with
drooping heads and lolling tongues, under three-hundred-pound packs.
The roars of Healy, the boss-packer, filled the dome of sky where a
young moon was rising in a twilight of heavenly blue--dusk of the gods,
indeed. A battalion of infantry in Alphonso had been hungry for three
days--so the Train had come swiftly, ten hours on the trail, and forced
going. It was a volunteer infantry outfit, and apt to be a bit lawless in
the sight of food. Some of the men began pulling at the packs. Healy
and his iron-handed, vitriol-tongued crew beat them back with the
ferocity of devils--and had the battalion cowed and whimpering, before
the officers withdrew the men and arranged an orderly issue of rations.
Meanwhile, David Cairns watched the tall, young cook, lean, tanned,
and with an ugly triangle of fresh sunburn under his left shoulder-blade,
where his shirt had been torn with a thorn that day. He loosed the
aparejos and mantas, containing the kitchen-kit; almost magically a
fire was started. Water was heating a moment later and slabs of bacon
began to writhe.... Savage as he was from hunger, it was marvellously
colorful to the fresh-eyed Cairns--his first view of a pack-train. The
mules, relieved of their burdens, were rolling on the dusty turf. Thirty
mountain-mules, under packs one-third their own weight, and through
the pressure of a Luzon day; dry, empty, caked with sweat-salt--yet
there were not a few of those gritty beasts that went into the air
squealing, and launched a hind-foot at the nearest rib or the nearest star,
or pressed close to muzzle the bell-mare--after the restoring roll. Then,
some of the packers drove them down to water, while others made
ready the forage and grain-bags; infantry fires were lit; the provisions
turned over; detachments came meekly forward for rations, and the
lifting aroma of coffee enchanted the warm winds. Cairns remembered
all this when the sharp profile of battle-fronts grew dull in memory.
And now Bedient had three great pans of bacon sizzling, a young
mountain of brown sugar piled upon a Poncho, a big can of hard-tack
broken open, and the coffee had come to boil under his hands--three
gallons at least. The watered mules had to do just so much kicking, so
much braying at the young moon; had to be assured just so often,

through their queer communications, that the bell-mare was still in the
land of picket-line--before nose-bags were fastened. Then, with all the
pack rigging in neat piles before the picket-line, and the untouched
stores covered and piled, the packers came in with their mess-tins and
coffee-cups.
Bedient had seen the hunger in the eyes of David Cairns, the empty
haversack, and noted that he was neither officer nor enlisted man.
Bedient had plenty of water, but with a smile he offered the other a pail
and pointed to the stream. This was a pleasantry for the eyes of Boss
Healy. Cairns appeared presently through the infantry, and around the
end of the picket-line--a correspondent serving mule-riders with all the
enthusiasm of a pitifully-tightened belt.... The packers were at their
pipes and cigarettes and were spreading blanket-rolls, and groups of
"chucked" infantry had warmed into singing--when the two boys sat
down to supper. The cook said:
"I'm Andrew Bedient--and are you a correspondent?"
"A cub--and pretty nearly a starved cub.... There's been nothing to buy,
you know, and this outfit was hung up here grubless. The trails aren't
open enough to travel alone. Some of the officers might have taken me
in----"
"We have plenty. The packers hadn't had their coffee when I gave you
the pail," Bedient whispered. "They hate the doughboys. I wanted them
to see you weren't enlisted.... I should say the trails _weren't_ open for
travelling alone. The niggers peppered at us all day. Healy rides
through anything--says we make better time when the natives are
shooting----"
"I saw how he went through the bunch that started to help you unpack,"
Cairns said laughing.
... Theirs was a quick love for each other. They had