Fate Knocks at the Door | Page 8

whispering in the night? They have not been frightened by
their first real failure, and the latest, most delicate bloom of the race has
not yet been brushed from their thoughts. Curled within their minds,
like an endless scroll, are the marvellous scriptures of millenniums, and
yet their brain-surfaces are fresh for earth's newest concept.... What are
they whispering? Their voices falter with emotion over vague bits of
dreaming. They ask no greater stimulus to fly to the uttermost bounds
of their limitations--than each other and the night. Reason dawns upon
their stammered expressions, and farther they fly--thrilling like young
birds, when their wings for the first time catch the sustaining cushions
of air.... These are the vessels of the future--seals yet unbroken.

THIRD

CHAPTER
RED PIGMENT OF SERVICE
Bedient explained that he had come to the Philippines pleased with the
thought of seeing his own people, the Americans. He realized that he
was not seeing them at their best under martial law. The pair exchanged
narratives of action. Cairns pictured his first time under fire, ending:
"... First you see the smoke; then you hear the bullets--then the sound of
the guns last----"
"Yes, that's the order," said Bedient, who laughed softly, and presently
was telling of a recent and terrible baptism of fire. The Pack-train had
spurred to the rescue of a small party of sick and footsore, making their
way to garrison.
"Why that was the Pony Pack Massacre!" Cairns exclaimed. "I heard
about it--one of the worst affairs we've had over here--and you saw it?"
"I wish I hadn't," Bedient answered. "The little party of Americans
were down when I first saw them. Six or seven of the sixteen were dead;
nearly all the rest wounded. The natives had fired from three sides--and
would have finished their work with knives, except for Thirteen. The

American lieutenant in charge was clear-grained. He had been trying to
withdraw toward the town and carry his wounded--think of that. There
were not two others besides himself unscathed. I'll never forget
him--striding up and down praying and cursing--his first fight, you
know--and his boy's voice--'Be cock sure they're dead, fellows, before
you leave 'em behind for the bolos!... For the love of God don't leave
your bunkies behind for the butchers!'
"In a half minute, I saw it all--what a thing for white men to be
gathered for slaughter on a trail over here. The boys knew it--and
fought horribly against it...."
Cairns started to say something about this, but the words didn't come
quickly enough, and Bedient went on:
"There is a picture of that day which always means war to me. The
soldier was hit mortally just as I got to him, but didn't fall at once, as
one does when the spine or brain is touched. As my hands went out to
him, he got it again and lost his legs, as if they were shot from under.
His body, you see, fell the length of his legs. This second bullet was a
Remington slug that shattered his hip. He had a full canteen strung over
his shoulder, infantry fashion. The bullet that dropped him sitting on
the trail, had gone through this to his hip. The canteen was spurting
water. Mind you, it was the other wound that was killing him. There he
sat dying on the road. I felt like dying for him--felt that I couldn't bear
it if it took long. He was in my arms--and the canteen was emptying
itself through the bullet-holes. Then he seemed to hear the water
flopping out on the sand, and wriggled around to look at his hip, and I
heard him mutter thickly: 'Look--look at the b-bl-blood run!'"
Cairns felt that his companion suffered in this telling--that behind the
dark, the face close to his was deadly pale. He couldn't quite understand
the depths of Bedient's horror. It was war. All America was behind it.
One boy can't stand up against his nation. It was all very queer. He felt
that Bedient had a crystal gameness, but here was the sensitiveness of a
girl. Cairns thought of the heroes he had read of who were brave as a
lion and gentle as a woman, and these memories helped him now to
grasp his companion's point of view.... Hesitating, Bedient finished:

"You know, to me all else was hushed when I felt that boy in my arms.
It was like a shouting and laughing suddenly ceased--as when a
company of boys discover that one of their playmates is terribly hurt....
I imagine it would be like that--the sudden silence and sickness. It was
all so unnecessary. And that boy's mother--he should have been in her
arms, not mine. Poor little chap, he was all pimpled from beans, which
are poison