Fate Knocks at the Door | Page 9

to some people. He shouldn't have been hurt like that....
There was another who had needed but one shot. The Remington had
gone into his throat in front the size of a lead-pencil--and come out
behind like a tea-cup. The natives had filed the tip of the lead, so that it
accumulated destruction in the ugly way. It was like some one putting a
stone in a snow-ball--so vicious. You can't blame the natives--but the
war-game----"
Boss Healy growled at them to go to sleep.
* * * * *
Cairns remained with the Pack-train after that until the Rains. Never
did a boy have more to write about in three months. Every phase and
angle of that service, now half-forgotten, unfolded for his eyes. And the
impossible theme running through it all, was the carabao--the great
horned sponge that pulls vastly like an elephant and dies easily like a
rabbit--when the water is out.... They make no noise about their dying,
these mountains of flesh, merely droop farther and farther forward
against the yoke, when their skins crack from dryness; the whites of
their eyes become wider and wider--until they lay their tongues upon
the sand. The Chinese call them "cow-cows" and understand them
better than the Tagals, as they understand better the rice and the
paddies.
Once Thirteen was yanked out of Healy's hand--as no volley of native
shots had ever disordered. The mules were in a gorge trotting into the
town of Indang. Natives in the high places about, were waiting for the
Train to debouch upon the river-bank--so as to take a few shots at the
outfit. Every one expected this, but just as the Train broke out of the
gorge into the open, at the edge of the river-bed--there was a great
sucking transfiguration from the shallows, a hideous sort of giving birth

from the mud.
It was just a soaked carabao rising from his deep wallow in the stream,
but that she-devil, the gray bell-mare, tried to climb the cliffs about it.
The mules felt her panic, as if an electrode ran from her to the quick of
every hide of them. When the fragments of the Train were finally
gathered together in Indang, they formed an undone, hysterical mess.
The packers were too tired to eat, but sat around dazed, softly cursing,
and smoking cigarettes; as they did one day after a big fight, in which
one of their number, Jimmy the Tough, was shot through the brain. For
days the mules were nervous over the delicate condition of the bell.
Study of Andrew Bedient and weeks in which he learned, past the
waver of a doubt, that his friend was knit with a glistening and
imperishable fabric of courage, brought David Cairns to that high
astonishing point, where he could say impatiently, "Rot!"--as his
former ideals of manhood rose to mind. It was good for him to get this
so young.... One morning something went wrong with Benton, the
farrier. He had been silent for days. Bedient had sensed some trouble in
the little man's heart, and had often left Cairns to ride with him. Then
came the evening when the farrier was missed. It was in the mountains
near Naig. At length, just as the sun went down, the Train saw him gain
a high cliff--and stand there for a moment against the red sky. Bedient
reached over and gripped Cairns' arm. Turning, the latter saw that his
friend's eyes were closed. The remarkable thing was that not one of the
packers called to Benton--but all observed the lean tough little figure of
one of the neatest men that ever lived afield--regarded in silence the
hard handsome profile. Finally Benton drew out his pistol and looked at
it, as if to see that the oil had kept out the dust from the hard day on the
trail. Then he looked into the muzzle and fired--going over the cliff, as
he had intended, and burying himself.
"Some awful inner hunger," Bedient whispered hours afterward. "You
see, he couldn't talk--as you and I do.... I've noticed it so long--that
these men can't talk to one another--only swear and joke."
Early the next morning Cairns awoke, doubtless missing Bedient
subconsciously. It was in the first gray, an hour before Healy kicked his

outfit awake. Bedient was back in camp in time to start breakfast,
having made a big detour to reach the base of the gorge. It wasn't a
thing to speak about, but he had made a pilgrimage to the pit where the
farrier had fallen.... Another time, Cairns awoke in the same way. It
was the absence of Bedient, not the actual leaving, that aroused him.
The Train had camped in a little nameless town. Cairns, this time,
found his companion playing with a