Stephen Crane..........................................................................................................................................1

The great Pullman was whirling onward with such dignity of motion that a glance from the window seemed

simply to prove that the plains of Texas were pouring eastward. Vast flats of green grass, dullhued spaces of

mesquite and cactus, little groups of frame houses, woods of light and tender trees, all were sweeping into the

A newly married pair had boarded this coach at San Antonio. The man's face was reddened from many days

in the wind and sun, and a direct result of his new black clothes was that his brickcolored hands were

constantly performing in a most conscious fashion. From time to time he looked down respectfully at his

attire. He sat with a hand on each knee, like a man waiting in a barber's shop. The glances he devoted to other

The bride was not pretty, nor was she very young. She wore a dress of blue cashmere, with small reservations

of velvet here and there and with steel buttons abounding. She continually twisted her head to regard her puff

sleeves, very stiff, straight, and high. They embarrassed her. It was quite apparent that she had cooked, and

that she expected to cook, dutifully. The blushes caused by the careless scrutiny of some passengers as she

had entered the car were strange to see upon this plain, underclass countenance, which was drawn in placid,

They were evidently very happy. "Ever been in a parlorcar before?" he asked, smiling with delight.

"Great! And then after a while we'll go forward to the diner and get a big layout. Finest meal in the world.

"Oh, do they?" cried the bride. "Charge a dollar? Why, that's too much for us ain't it, Jack?"

"Not this trip, anyhow," he answered bravely. "We're going to go the whole thing."

Later, he explained to her about the trains. "You see, it's a thousand miles from one end of Texas to the other,

and this train runs right across it and never stops but four times." He had the pride of an owner. He pointed

out to her the dazzling fittings of the coach, and in truth her eyes opened wider as she contemplated the

seagreen figured velvet, the shining brass, silver, and glass, the wood that gleamed as darkly brilliant as the

surface of a pool of oil. At one end a bronze figure sturdily held a support for a separated chamber, and at

To the minds of the pair, their surroundings reflected the glory of their marriage that morning in San Antonio.

This was the environment of their new estate, and the man's face in particular beamed with an elation that

made him appear ridiculous to the negro porter. This individual at times surveyed them from afar with an

amused and superior grin. On other occasions he bullied them with skill in ways that did not make it exactly

plain to them that they were being bullied. He subtly used all the manners of the most unconquerable kind of

snobbery. He oppressed them, but of this oppression they had small knowledge, and they speedily forgot that

infrequently a number of travelers covered them with stares of derisive enjoyment. Historically there was

"Oh, are we?" she said, as if she had not been aware of it. To evince surprise at her husband's statement was

part of her wifely amiability. She took from a pocket a little silver watch, and as she held it before her and

"It's seventeen minutes past twelve," she said, looking up at him with a kind of shy and clumsy coquetry. A

passenger, noting this play, grew excessively sardonic, and winked at himself in one of the numerous mirrors.

At last they went to the diningcar. Two rows of negro waiters, in glowing white suits, surveyed their

entrance with the interest and also the equanimity of men who had been forewarned. The pair fell to the lot of

a waiter who happened to feel pleasure in steering them through their meal. He viewed them with the manner

of a fatherly pilot, his countenance radiant with benevolence. The patronage, entwined with the ordinary

deference, was not plain to them. And yet, as they returned to their coach, they showed in their faces a sense

To the left, miles down a long purple slope, was a little ribbon of mist where moved the keening Rio Grande.

The train was approaching it at an angle, and the apex was Yellow Sky. Presently it was apparent that, as the

distance from Yellow Sky grew shorter, the husband became commensurately restless. His brickred hands

were more insistent in their prominence. Occasionally he was even rather absentminded and faraway when

As a matter of truth, Jack Potter was beginning to find the shadow of a deed weigh upon him like a leaden

slab. He, the town marshal of Yellow Sky, a man known, liked, and feared in his corner, a prominent person,

had gone to San Antonio to meet a girl he believed he loved, and there, after the usual prayers, had actually

induced her to marry him, without consulting Yellow Sky for any part of the transaction. He was now

Of course, people in Yellow Sky married as it pleased them, in accordance with a general custom; but such

was Potter's thought of his duty to his friends, or of their idea of his duty, or of an unspoken form which does

not control men in these matters, that he felt he was heinous. He had committed an extraordinary crime. Face

to face with this girl in San Antonio, and spurred by his sharp impulse, he had gone headlong over all the

social hedges. At San Antonio he was like a man hidden in the dark. A knife to sever any friendly duty, any

form, was easy to his hand in that remote city. But the hour of Yellow Sky, the hour of daylight, was

He knew full well that his marriage was an important thing to his town. It could only be exceeded by the

burning of the new hotel. His friends could not forgive him. Frequently he had reflected on the advisability of

He feared to do it. And now the train was hurrying him toward a scene of amazement, glee, and reproach. He

glanced out of the window at the line of haze swinging slowly in towards the train.

Yellow Sky had a kind of brass band, which played painfully, to the delight of the populace. He laughed

without heart as he thought of it. If the citizens could dream of his prospective arrival with his bride, they

would parade the band at the station and escort them, amid cheers and laughing congratulations, to his adobe

He resolved that he would use all the devices of speed and plainscraft in making the journey from the

station to his house. Once within that safe citadel he could issue some sort of a vocal bulletin, and then not go

among the citizens until they had time to wear off a little of their enthusiasm.

A sense of mutual guilt invaded their minds and developed a finer tenderness. They looked at each other with

eyes softly aglow. But Potter often laughed the same nervous laugh. The flush upon the bride's face seemed

The traitor to the feelings of Yellow Sky narrowly watched the speeding landscape. "We're nearly there," he

Presently the porter came and announced the proximity of Potter's home. He held a brush in his hand and,

with all his airy superiority gone, he brushed Potter's new clothes as the latter slowly turned this way and that

way. Potter fumbled out a coin and gave it to the porter, as he had seen others do. It was a heavy and

The porter took their bag, and as the train began to slow they moved forward to the hooded platform of the

car. Presently the two engines and their long string of coaches rushed into the station of Yellow Sky.

"They have to take water here," said Potter, from a constricted throat and in mournful cadence, as one

announcing death. Before the train stopped, his eye had swept the length of the platform, and he was glad and

astonished to see there was none upon it but the stationagent, who, with a slightly hurried and anxious air,

was walking toward the watertanks. When the train had halted, the porter alighted first and placed in

"Come on, girl," said Potter hoarsely. As he helped her down they each laughed on a false note. He took the

bag from the negro, and bade his wife cling to his arm. As they slunk rapidly away, his hangdog glance

perceived that they were unloading the two trunks, and also that the stationagent far ahead near the

baggagecar had turned and was running toward him, making gestures. He laughed, and groaned as he

laughed, when he noted the first effect of his marital bliss upon Yellow Sky. He gripped his wife's arm firmly

THE California Express on the Southern Railway was due at Yellow Sky in twentyone minutes. There were

six men at the bar of the "Weary Gentleman" saloon. One was a drummer who talked a great deal and

rapidly; three were Texans who did not care to talk at that time; and two were Mexican sheepherders who

did not talk as a general practice in the "Weary Gentleman" saloon. The barkeeper's dog lay on the board

walk that crossed in front of the door. His head was on his paws, and he glanced drowsily here and there with

the constant vigilance of a dog that is kicked on occasion. Across the sandy street were some vivid green

grass plots, so wonderful in appearance amid the sands that burned near them in a blazing sun that they

caused a doubt in the mind. They exactly resembled the grass mats used to represent lawns on the stage. At

the cooler end of the railway station a man without a coat sat in a tilted chair and smoked his pipe. The

freshcut bank of the Rio Grande circled near the town, and there could be seen beyond it a great,

Save for the busy drummer and his companions in the saloon, Yellow Sky was dozing. The newcomer

leaned gracefully upon the bar, and recited many tales with the confidence of a bard who has come upon a

" and at the moment that the old man fell down stairs with the bureau in his arms, the old woman was

The drummer's tale was interrupted by a young man who suddenly appeared in the open door. He cried:

"Scratchy Wilson's drunk, and has turned loose with both hands." The two Mexicans at once set down their

The drummer, innocent and jocular, answered: "All right, old man. S'pose he has. Come in and have a drink,

But the information had made such an obvious cleft in every skull in the room that the drummer was obliged

to see its importance. All had become instantly solemn. "Say," said he, mystified, "what is this?" His three

companions made the introductory gesture of eloquent speech, but the young man at the door forestalled

"It means, my friend," he answered, as he came into the saloon, "that for the next two hours this town won't

The barkeeper went to the door and locked and barred it. Reaching out of the window, he pulled in heavy

wooden shutters and barred them. Immediately a solemn, chapellike gloom was upon the place. The

"But, say," he cried, "what is this, anyhow? You don't mean there is going to be a gunfight?"

"Don't know whether there'll be a fight or not," answered one man grimly. "But there'll be some shootin'

The young man who had warned them waved his hand. "Oh, there'll be a fight fast enough if anyone wants it.

The drummer seemed to be swayed between the interest of a foreigner and a perception of personal danger.

"And will he kill anybody? What are you going to do? Does this happen often? Does he rampage around like

"No, he can't break down that door," replied the barkeeper. "He's tried it three times. But when he comes

you'd better lay down on the floor, stranger. He's dead sure to shoot at it, and a bullet may come through."

Thereafter the drummer kept a strict eye upon the door. The time had not yet been called for him to hug the

floor, but, as a minor precaution, he sidled near to the wall. "Will he kill anybody?" he said again.

"He's out to shoot, and he's out for trouble. Don't see any good in experimentin' with him."

"Oh, he's the town marshal. He goes out and fights Scratchy when he gets on one of these tears."

The voices had toned away to mere whisperings. The drummer wished to ask further questions which were

born of an increasing anxiety and bewilderment; but when he attempted them, the men merely looked at him

in irritation and motioned him to remain silent. A tense waiting hush was upon them. In the deep shadows of

the room their eyes shone as they listened for sounds from the street. One man made three gestures at the

barkeeper, and the latter, moving like a ghost, handed him a glass and a bottle. The man poured a full glass of

whisky, and set down the bottle noiselessly. He gulped the whisky in a swallow, and turned again toward the

door in immovable silence. The drummer saw that the barkeeper, without a sound, had taken a Winchester

from beneath the bar. Later he saw this individual beckoning to him, so he tiptoed across the room.

"No, thanks," said the drummer, perspiring. "I'd rather be where I can make a break for the back door."

Whereupon the man of bottles made a kindly but peremptory gesture. The drummer obeyed it, and finding

himself seated on a box with his head below the level of the bar, balm was laid upon his soul at sight of

various zinc and copper fittings that bore a resemblance to armorplate. The barkeeper took a seat

"You see," he whispered, "this here Scratchy Wilson is a wonder with a gun a perfect wonder and

when he goes on the war trail, we hunt our holes naturally. He's about the last one of the old gang that

used to hang out along the river here. He's a terror when he's drunk. When he's sober he's all right kind of

There were periods of stillness. "I wish Jack Potter was back from San Anton'," said the barkeeper. "He shot

Wilson up once in the leg and he would sail in and pull out the kinks in this thing."

Presently they heard from a distance the sound of a shot, followed by three wild yowls. It instantly removed a

bond from the men in the darkened saloon. There was a shuffling of feet. They looked at each other. "Here he

A MAN in a marooncolored flannel shirt, which had been purchased for purposes of decoration and made,

principally, by some Jewish women on the east side of New York, rounded a corner and walked into the

middle of the main street of Yellow Sky. In either hand the man held a long, heavy, blueblack revolver.

Often he yelled, and these cries rang through a semblance of a deserted village, shrilly flying over the roofs in

a volume that seemed to have no relation to the ordinary vocal strength of a man. It was as if the surrounding

stillness formed the arch of a tomb over him. These cries of ferocious challenge rang against walls of silence.

And his boots had red tops with gilded imprints, of the kind beloved in winter by little sledding boys on the

The man's face flamed in a rage begot of whisky. His eyes, rolling and yet keen for ambush, hunted the still

doorways and windows. He walked with the creeping movement of the midnight cat. As it occurred to him,

he roared menacing information. The long revolvers in his hands were as easy as straws; they were moved

with an electric swiftness. The little fingers of each hand played sometimes in a musician's way. Plain from

the low collar of the shirt, the cords of his neck straightened and sank, straightened and sank, as passion

moved him. The only sounds were his terrible invitations. The calm adobes preserved their demeanor at the

There was no offer of fight; no offer of fight. The man called to the sky. There were no attractions. He

The dog of the barkeeper of the "Weary Gentleman" saloon had not appreciated the advance of events. He yet

lay dozing in front of his master's door. At sight of the dog, the man paused and raised his revolver

humorously. At sight of the man, the dog sprang up and walked diagonally away, with a sullen head, and

growling. The man yelled, and the dog broke into a gallop. As it was about to enter an alley, there was a loud

noise, a whistling, and something spat the ground directly before it. The dog screamed, and, wheeling in

terror, galloped headlong in a new direction. Again there was a noise, a whistling, and sand was kicked

viciously before it. Fearstricken, the dog turned and flurried like an animal in a pen. The man stood

Ultimately the man was attracted by the closed door of the "Weary Gentleman" saloon. He went to it, and

The door remaining imperturbable, he picked a bit of paper from the walk and nailed it to the framework with

a knife. He then turned his back contemptuously upon this popular resort, and walking to the opposite side of

the street, and spinning there on his heel quickly and lithely, fired at the bit of paper. He missed it by a half

inch. He swore at himself, and went away. Later, he comfortably fusilladed the windows of his most intimate

But still there was no offer of fight. The name of Jack Potter, his ancient antagonist, entered his mind, and he

concluded that it would be a glad thing if he should go to Potter's house and by bombardment induce him to

come out and fight. He moved in the direction of his desire, chanting Apache scalpmusic.

When he arrived at it, Potter's house presented the same still front as had the other adobes. Taking up a

strategic position, the man howled a challenge. But this house regarded him as might a great stone god. It

gave no sign. After a decent wait, the man howled further challenges, mingling with them wonderful epithets.

Presently there came the spectacle of a man churning himself into deepest rage over the immobility of a

house. He fumed at it as the winter wind attacks a prairie cabin in the North. To the distance there should

have gone the sound of a tumult like the fighting of 200 Mexicans. As necessity bade him, he paused for

POTTER and his bride walked sheepishly and with speed. Sometimes they laughed together shamefacedly

They put forth the efforts of a pair walking bowed against a strong wind. Potter was about to raise a finger to

point the first appearance of the new home when, as they circled the corner, they came face to face with a

man in a marooncolored shirt who was feverishly pushing cartridges into a large revolver. Upon the instant

the man dropped his revolver to the ground, and, like lightning, whipped another from its holster. The second

There was silence. Potter's mouth seemed to be merely a grave for his tongue. He exhibited an instinct to at

once loosen his arm from the woman's grip, and he dropped the bag to the sand. As for the bride, her face had

gone as yellow as old cloth. She was a slave to hideous rites gazing at the apparitional snake.

The two men faced each other at a distance of three paces. He of the revolver smiled with a new and quiet

"Tried to sneak up on me," he said. "Tried to sneak up on me!" His eyes grew more baleful. As Potter made a

slight movement, the man thrust his revolver venomously forward. "No, don't you do it, Jack Potter. Don't

you move a finger toward a gun just yet. Don't you move an eyelash. The time has come for me to settle with

you, and I'm goin' to do it my own way and loaf along with no interferin'. So if you don't want a gun bent on

Potter looked at his enemy. "I ain't got a gun on me, Scratchy," he said. "Honest, I ain't." He was stiffening

and steadying, but yet somewhere at the back of his mind a vision of the Pullman floated, the seagreen

figured velvet, the shining brass, silver, and glass, the wood that gleamed as darkly brilliant as the surface of

a pool of oil all the glory of the marriage, the environment of the new estate. "You know I fight when it

comes to fighting, Scratchy Wilson, but I ain't got a gun on me. You'll have to do all the shootin' yourself."

His enemy's face went livid. He stepped forward and lashed his weapon to and fro before Potter's chest.

"Don't you tell me you ain't got no gun on you, you whelp. Don't tell me no lie like that. There ain't a man in

Texas ever seen you without no gun. Don't take me for no kid." His eyes blazed with light, and his throat

"I ain't takin' you for no kid," answered Potter. His heels had not moved an inch backward. "I'm takin' you for

a fool. I tell you I ain't got a gun, and I ain't. If you're goin' to shoot me up, you better begin now.

So much enforced reasoning had told on Wilson's rage. He was calmer. "If you ain't got a gun, why ain't you

"I ain't got a gun because I've just come from San Anton' with my wife. I'm married," said Potter. "And if I'd

thought there was going to be any galoots like you prowling around when I brought my wife home, I'd had a

"Married?" said Scratchy. Seemingly for the first time he saw the drooping, drowning woman at the other

man's side. "No!" he said. He was like a creature allowed a glimpse of another world. He moved a pace

backward, and his arm with the revolver dropped to his side. "Is this the lady?" he asked.

"It's all off if you say so, Scratchy. You know I didn't make the trouble." Potter lifted his valise.

"Well, I 'low it's off, Jack," said Wilson. He was looking at the ground. "Married!" He was not a student of

chivalry; it was merely that in the presence of this foreign condition he was a simple child of the earlier

plains. He picked up his starboard revolver, and placing both weapons in their holsters, he went away. His

NONE of them knew the color of the sky. Their eyes glanced level, and were fastened upon the waves that

swept toward them. These waves were of the hue of slate, save for the tops, which were of foaming white,

and all of the men knew the colors of the sea. The horizon narrowed and widened, and dipped and rose, and

at all times its edge was jagged with waves that seemed thrust up in points like rocks. Many a man ought to

have a bathtub larger than the boat which here rode upon the sea. These waves were most wrongfully and

barbarously abrupt and tall, and each frothtop was a problem in small boat navigation.

The cook squatted in the bottom and looked with both eyes at the six inches of gunwale which separated him

from the ocean. His sleeves were rolled over his fat forearms, and the two flaps of his unbuttoned vest

dangled as he bent to bail out the boat. Often he said: "Gawd! That was a narrow clip." As he remarked it he

The oiler, steering with one of the two oars in the boat, sometimes raised himself suddenly to keep clear of

water that swirled in over the stern. It was a thin little oar and it seemed often ready to snap.

The correspondent, pulling at the other oar, watched the waves and wondered why he was there.

The injured captain, lying in the bow, was at this time buried in that profound dejection and indifference

which comes, temporarily at least, to even the bravest and most enduring when, willy nilly, the firm fails, the

army loses, the ship goes down. The mind of the master of a vessel is rooted deep in the timbers of her,

though he command for a day or a decade, and this captain had on him the stern impression of a scene in the

grays of dawn of seven turned faces, and later a stump of a topmast with a white ball on it that slashed to

and fro at the waves, went low and lower, and down. Thereafter there was something strange in his voice.

Although steady, it was deep with mourning, and of a quality beyond oration or tears.

A seat in this boat was not unlike a seat upon a bucking broncho, and, by the same token, a broncho is not

much smaller. The craft pranced and reared, and plunged like an animal. As each wave came, and she rose for

it, she seemed like a horse making at a fence outrageously high. The manner of her scramble over these walls

of water is a mystic thing, and, moreover, at the top of them were ordinarily these problems in white water,

the foam racing down from the summit of each wave, requiring a new leap, and a leap from the air. Then,

after scornfully bumping a crest, she would slide, and race, and splash down a long incline and arrive bobbing

A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the fact that after successfully surmounting one wave you discover

that there is another behind it just as important and just as nervously anxious to do something effective in the

way of swamping boats. In a tenfoot dingey one can get an idea of the resources of the sea in the line of

waves that is not probable to the average experience, which is never at sea in a dingey. As each slaty wall of

water approached, it shut all else from the view of the men in the boat, and it was not difficult to imagine that

this particular wave was the final outburst of the ocean, the last effort of the grim water. There was a terrible

grace in the move of the waves, and they came in silence, save for the snarling of the crests.

In the wan light, the faces of the men must have been gray. Their eyes must have glinted in strange ways as

they gazed steadily astern. Viewed from a balcony, the whole thing would doubtlessly have been weirdly

picturesque. But the men in the boat had no time to see it, and if they had had leisure there were other things

to occupy their minds. The sun swung steadily up the sky, and they knew it was broad day because the color

of the sea changed from slate to emeraldgreen, streaked with amber lights, and the foam was like tumbling

snow. The process of the breaking day was unknown to them. They were aware only of this effect upon the

In disjointed sentences the cook and the correspondent argued as to the difference between a lifesaving

station and a house of refuge. The cook had said: "There's a house of refuge just north of the Mosquito Inlet

Light, and as soon as they see us, they'll come off in their boat and pick us up."

"Houses of refuge don't have crews," said the correspondent. "As I understand them, they are only places

where clothes and grub are stored for the benefit of shipwrecked people. They don't carry crews."

"Well," said the cook, "perhaps it's not a house of refuge that I'm thinking of as being near Mosquito Inlet

As the boat bounced from the top of each wave, the wind tore through the hair of the hatless men, and as the

craft plopped her stern down again the spray slashed past them. The crest of each of these waves was a hill,

from the top of which the men surveyed, for a moment, a broad tumultuous expanse; shining and windriven.

It was probably splendid. It was probably glorious, this play of the free sea, wild with lights of emerald and

"Bully good thing it's an onshore wind," said the cook. "If not, where would we be? Wouldn't have a show."

Then the captain, in the bow, chuckled in a way that expressed humor, contempt, tragedy, all in one. "Do you

Whereupon the three were silent, save for a trifle of hemming and hawing. To express any particular

optimism at this time they felt to be childish and stupid, but they all doubtless possessed this sense of the

situation in their mind. A young man thinks doggedly at such times. On the other hand, the ethics of their

condition was decidedly against any open suggestion of hopelessness. So they were silent.

"Oh, well," said the captain, soothing his children, "we'll get ashore all right."

But there was that in his tone which made them think, so the oiler quoth: "Yes! If this wind holds!"

Canton flannel gulls flew near and far. Sometimes they sat down on the sea, near patches of brown seaweed

that rolled over the waves with a movement like carpets on line in a gale. The birds sat comfortably in

groups, and they were envied by some in the dingey, for the wrath of the sea was no more to them than it was

to a covey of prairie chickens a thousand miles inland. Often they came very close and stared at the men with

black beadlike eyes. At these times they were uncanny and sinister in their unblinking scrutiny, and the men

hooted angrily at them, telling them to be gone. One came, and evidently decided to alight on the top of the

captain's head. The bird flew parallel to the boat and did not circle, but made short sidelong jumps in the air

in chickenfashion. His black eyes were wistfully fixed upon the captain's head. "Ugly brute," said the oiler

to the bird. "You look as if you were made with a jackknife." The cook and the correspondent swore darkly

at the creature. The captain naturally wished to knock it away with the end of the heavy painter, but he did

not dare do it, because anything resembling an emphatic gesture would have capsized this freighted boat, and

so with his open hand, the captain gently and carefully waved the gull away. After it had been discouraged

from the pursuit the captain breathed easier on account of his hair, and others breathed easier because the bird

They sat together in the same seat, and each rowed an oar. Then the oiler took both oars; then the

correspondent took both oars; then the oiler; then the correspondent. They rowed and they rowed. The very

ticklish part of the business was when the time came for the reclining one in the stern to take his turn at the

oars. By the very last star of truth, it is easier to steal eggs from under a hen than it was to change seats in the

dingey. First the man in the stern slid his hand along the thwart and moved with care, as if he were of Sevres.

Then the man in the rowing seat slid his hand along the other thwart. It was all done with the most

extraordinary care. As the two sidled past each other, the whole party kept watchful eyes on the coming

The brown mats of seaweed that appeared from time to time were like islands, bits of earth. They were

travelling, apparently, neither one way nor the other. They were, to all intents stationary. They informed the

The captain, rearing cautiously in the bow, after the dingey soared on a great swell, said that he had seen the

lighthouse at Mosquito Inlet. Presently the cook remarked that he had seen it. The correspondent was at the

oars, then, and for some reason he too wished to look at the lighthouse, but his back was toward the far shore

and the waves were important, and for some time he could not seize an opportunity to turn his head. But at

last there came a wave more gentle than the others, and when at the crest of it he swiftly scoured the western

At the top of another wave, the correspondent did as he was bid, and this time his eyes chanced on a small

still thing on the edge of the swaying horizon. It was precisely like the point of a pin. It took an anxious eye

"If this wind holds and the boat don't swamp, we can't do much else," said the captain.

The little boat, lifted by each towering sea, and splashed viciously by the crests, made progress that in the

absence of seaweed was not apparent to those in her. She seemed just a wee thing wallowing, miraculously,

topup, at the mercy of five oceans. Occasionally, a great spread of water, like white flames, swarmed into

IT would be difficult to describe the subtle brotherhood of men that was here established on the seas. No one

said that it was so. No one mentioned it. But it dwelt in the boat, and each man felt it warm him. They were a

captain, an oiler, a cook, and a correspondent, and they were friends, friends in a more curiously ironbound

degree than may be common. The hurt captain, lying against the waterjar in the bow, spoke always in a low

voice and calmly, but he could never command a more ready and swiftly obedient crew than the motley three

of the dingey. It was more than a mere recognition of what was best for the common safety. There was surely

in it a quality that was personal and heartfelt. And after this devotion to the commander of the boat there was

this comradeship that the correspondent, for instance, who had been taught to be cynical of men, knew even

at the time was the best experience of his life. But no one said that it was so. No one mentioned it.

"I wish we had a sail," remarked the captain. "We might try my overcoat on the end of an oar and give you

two boys a chance to rest." So the cook and the correspondent held the mast and spread wide the overcoat.

The oiler steered, and the little boat made good way with her new rig. Sometimes the oiler had to scull

sharply to keep a sea from breaking into the boat, but otherwise sailing was a success.

Meanwhile the lighthouse had been growing slowly larger. It had now almost assumed color, and appeared

like a little gray shadow on the sky. The man at the oars could not be prevented from turning his head rather

At last, from the top of each wave the men in the tossing boat could see land. Even as the lighthouse was an

upright shadow on the sky, this land seemed but a long black shadow on the sea. It certainly was thinner than

paper. "We must be about opposite New Smyrna," said the cook, who had coasted this shore often in

schooners. "Captain, by the way, I believe they abandoned that lifesaving station there about a year ago."

The wind slowly died away. The cook and the correspondent were not now obliged to slave in order to hold

high the oar. But the waves continued their old impetuous swooping at the dingey, and the little craft, no

longer under way, struggled woundily over them. The oiler or the correspondent took the oars again.

Shipwrecks are apropos of nothing. If men could only train for them and have them occur when the men had

reached pink condition, there would be less drowning at sea. Of the four in the dingey none had slept any

time worth mentioning for two days and two nights previous to embarking in the dingey, and in the

excitement of clambering about the deck of a foundering ship they had also forgotten to eat heartily.

For these reasons, and for others, neither the oiler nor the correspondent was fond of rowing at this time. The

correspondent wondered ingenuously how in the name of all that was sane could there be people who thought

it amusing to row a boat. It was not an amusement; it was a diabolical punishment, and even a genius of

mental aberrations could never conclude that it was anything but a horror to the muscles and a crime against

the back. He mentioned to the boat in general how the amusement of rowing struck him, and the wearyfaced

oiler smiled in full sympathy. Previously to the foundering, by the way, the oiler had worked doublewatch

"Take her easy, now, boys," said the captain. "Don't spend yourselves. If we have to run a surf you'll need all

Slowly the land arose from the sea. From a black line it became a line of black and a line of white, trees, and

sand. Finally, the captain said that he could make out a house on the shore. "That's the house of refuge, sure,"

The distant lighthouse reared high. "The keeper ought to be able to make us out now, if he's looking through

"None of those other boats could have got ashore to give word of the wreck," said the oiler, in a low voice.

Slowly and beautifully the land loomed out of the sea. The wind came again. It had veered from the northeast

to the southeast. Finally, a new sound struck the ears of the men in the boat. It was the low thunder of the surf

on the shore. "We'll never be able to make the lighthouse now," said the captain. "Swing her head a little

Whereupon the little boat turned her nose once more down the wind, and all but the oarsman watched the

shore grow. Under the influence of this expansion doubt and direful apprehension was leaving the minds of

the men. The management of the boat was still most absorbing, but it could not prevent a quiet cheerfulness.

Their backbones had become thoroughly used to balancing in the boat and they now rode this wild colt of a

dingey like circus men. The correspondent thought that he had been drenched to the skin, but happening to

feel in the top pocket of his coat, he found therein eight cigars. Four of them were soaked with seawater;

four were perfectly scatheless. After a search, somebody produced three dry matches, and thereupon the four

waifs rode in their little boat, and with an assurance of an impending rescue shining in their eyes, puffed at

the big cigars and judged well and ill of all men. Everybody took a drink of water.

"COOK," remarked the captain, "there don't seem to be any signs of life about your house of refuge."

A broad stretch of lowly coast lay before the eyes of the men. It was of low dunes topped with dark

vegetation. The roar of the surf was plain, and sometimes they could see the white lip of a wave as it spun up

the beach. A tiny house was blocked out black upon the sky. Southward, the slim lighthouse lifted its little

Tide, wind, and waves were swinging the dingey northward. "Funny they don't see us," said the men.

The surf's roar was here dulled, but its tone was, nevertheless, thunderous and mighty. As the boat swam over

the great rollers, the men sat listening to this roar. "We'll swamp sure," said everybody.

It is fair to say here that there was not a lifesaving station within twenty miles in either direction, but the

men did not know this fact and in consequence they made dark and opprobrious remarks concerning the

eyesight of the nation's lifesavers. Four scowling men sat in the dingey and surpassed records in the

The lightheartedness of a former time had completely faded. To their sharpened minds it was easy to

conjure pictures of all kinds of incompetency and blindness and indeed, cowardice. There was the shore of

the populous land, and it was bitter and bitter to them that from it came no sign.

"Well," said the captain, ultimately, "I suppose we'll have to make a try for ourselves. If we stay out here too

And so the oiler, who was at the oars, turned the boat straight for the shore. There was a sudden tightening of

"If we don't all get ashore" said the captain. "If we don't all get ashore, I suppose you fellows know where

They then briefly exchanged some addresses and admonitions. As for the reflections of the men, there was a

great deal of rage in them. Perchance they might be formulated thus: "If I am going to be drownedif I am

going to be drownedif I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the

sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees? Was I brought here merely to have my

nose dragged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life? It is preposterous. If this old

ninnywoman, Fate, cannot do better than this, she should be deprived of the management of men's fortunes.

She is an old hen who knows not her intention. If she has decided to drown me, why did she not do it in the

beginning and save me all this trouble. The whole affair is absurd. . . . But, no, she cannot mean to drown me.

She dare not drown me. She cannot drown me. Not after all this work." Afterward the man might have had an

impulse to shake his fist at the clouds: "Just you drown me, now, and then hear what I call you!"

The billows that came at this time were more formidable. They seemed always just about to break and roll

over the little boat in a turmoil of foam. There was a preparatory and long growl in the speech of them. No

mind unused to the sea would have concluded that the dingey could ascend these sheer heights in time. The

shore was still afar. The oiler was a wily surfman. "Boys," he said, swiftly, "she won't live three minutes

This oiler, by a series of quick miracles, and fast and steady oarsmanship, turned the boat in the middle of the

There was a considerable silence as the boat bumped over the furrowed sea to deeper water. Then somebody

The gulls went in slanting flight up the wind toward the gray desolate east. A squall, marked by dingy clouds,

and clouds brickred, like smoke from a burning building, appeared from the southeast.

"Maybe they think we're out here for sport! Maybe they think we're fishin'. Maybe they think we're damned

It was a long afternoon. A changed tide tried to force them southward, but wind and wave said northward. Far

ahead, where coastline, sea, and sky formed their mighty angle, there were little dots which seemed to

And the oiler rowed, and then the correspondent rowed. Then the oiler rowed. It was a weary business. The

human back can become the seat of more aches and pains than are registered in books for the composite

anatomy of a regiment. It is a limited area, but it can become the theatre of innumerable muscular conflicts,

When one exchanged the rowingseat for a place in the bottom of the boat, he suffered a bodily depression

that caused him to be careless of everything save an obligation to wiggle one finger. There was cold

seawater swashing to and fro in the boat, and he lay in it. His head, pillowed on a thwart, was within an inch

of the swirl of a wave crest, and sometimes a particularly obstreperous sea came inboard and drenched him

once more. But these matters did not annoy him. It is almost certain that if the boat had capsized he would

have tumbled comfortably out upon the ocean as if he felt sure it was a great soft mattress.

"Ah, now, we're all right! Now we're all right! There'll be a boat out here for us in half an hour."

The remote beach seemed lower than the sea, and it required a searching glance to discern the little black

figure. The captain saw a floating stick and they rowed to it. A bathtowel was by some weird chance in the

boat, and, tying this on the stick, the captain waved it. The oarsman did not dare turn his head, so he was

"He's standing still again. He's looking, I think. . . . There he goes again. Toward the house. . . . Now he's

"Why, he's on a bicycle. Now he's met the other man. They're both waving at us. Look!"

"Yes, so it is. Well, that must be the lifeboat. They drag them along shore on a wagon."

"It is not! It's an omnibus. I can see it plain. See? One of these big hotel omnibuses."

"By thunder, you're right. It's an omnibus, sure as fate. What do you suppose they are doing with an omnibus?

"That's it, likely. Look! There's a fellow waving a little black flag. He's standing on the steps of the omnibus.

There come those other two fellows. Now they're all talking together. Look at the fellow with the flag. Maybe

"So it is. It's his coat. He's taken it off and is waving it around his head. But would you look at him swing it."

"Oh, say, there isn't any lifesaving station there. That's just a winter resort hotel omnibus that has brought

"It looks as if he were trying to tell us to go north. There must be a lifesaving station up there."

"No! He thinks we're fishing. Just giving us a merry hand. See? Ah, there, Willie."

"Well, I wish I could make something out of those signals. What do you suppose he means?"

"Well, if he'd just signal us to try the surf again, or to go to sea and wait, or go north, or go south, or go to

hellthere would be some reason in it. But look at him. He just stands there and keeps his coat revolving

"He must think we like to see him do that. Why don't he quit it. It don't mean anything."

"I don't know. I think he is trying to make us go north. It must be that there's a lifesaving station there

"Wonder how long he can keep that up. He's been revolving his coat ever since he caught sight of us. He's an

idiot. Why aren't they getting men to bring a boat out. A fishing boatone of those big yawlscould come

"They'll have a boat out here for us in less than no time, now that they've seen us."

A faint yellow tone came into the sky over the low land. The shadows on the sea slowly deepened. The wind

"Holy smoke!" said one, allowing his voice to express his impious mood, "if we keep on monkeying out here!

"Oh, we'll never have to stay here all night! Don't you worry. They've seen us now, and it won't be long

The shore grew dusky. The man waving a coat blended gradually into this gloom, and it swallowed in the

same manner the omnibus and the group of people. The spray, when it dashed uproariously over the side,

"I'd like to catch the chump who waved the coat. I feel like soaking him one, just for luck."

In the meantime the oiler rowed, and then the correspondent rowed, and then the oiler rowed. Grayfaced and

bowed forward, they mechanically, turn by turn, plied the leaden oars. The form of the lighthouse had

vanished from the southern horizon, but finally a pale star appeared, just lifting from the sea. The streaked

saffron in the west passed before the allmerging darkness, and the sea to the east was black. The land had

"If I am going to be drownedif I am going to be drownedif I am going to be drowned, why, in the name

of the seven mad gods, who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees? Was

I brought here merely to have my nose dragged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life?"

The patient captain, drooped over the waterjar, was sometimes obliged to speak to the oarsman.

This was surely a quiet evening. All save the oarsman lay heavily and listlessly in the boat's bottom. As for

him, his eyes were just capable of noting the tall black waves that swept forward in a most sinister silence,

The cook's head was on a thwart, and he looked without interest at the water under his nose. He was deep in

other scenes. Finally he spoke. "Billie," he murmured, dreamfully, "what kind of pie do you like best?"

"PIE," said the oiler and the correspondent, agitatedly. "Don't talk about those things, blast you!"

A night on the sea in an open boat is a long night. As darkness settled finally, the shine of the light, lifting

from the sea in the south, changed to full gold. On the northern horizon a new light appeared, a small bluish

gleam on the edge of the waters. These two lights were the furniture of the world. Otherwise there was

Two men huddled in the stern, and distances were so magnificent in the dingey that the rower was enabled to

keep his feet partly warmed by thrusting them under his companions. Their legs indeed extended far under

the rowingseat until they touched the feet of the captain forward. Sometimes, despite the efforts of the tired

oarsman, a wave came piling into the boat, an icy wave of the night, and the chilling water soaked them

anew. They would twist their bodies for a moment and groan, and sleep the dead sleep once more, while the

The plan of the oiler and the correspondent was for one to row until he lost the ability, and then arouse the

The oiler plied the oars until his head drooped forward, and the overpowering sleep blinded him. And he

rowed yet afterward. Then he touched a man in the bottom of the boat, and called his name. "Will you spell

"Sure, Billie," said the correspondent, awakening and dragging himself to a sitting position. They exchanged

places carefully, and the oiler, cuddling down to the seawater at the cook's side, seemed to go to sleep

The particular violence of the sea had ceased. The waves came without snarling. The obligation of the man at

the oars was to keep the boat headed so that the tilt of the rollers would not capsize her, and to preserve her

from filling when the crests rushed past. The black waves were silent and hard to be seen in the darkness.

In a low voice the correspondent addressed the captain. He was not sure that the captain was awake, although

this iron man seemed to be always awake. "Captain, shall I keep her making for that light north, sir?"

The same steady voice answered him. "Yes. Keep it about two points off the port bow."

The cook had tied a lifebelt around himself in order to get even the warmth which this clumsy cork

contrivance could donate, and he seemed almost stovelike when a rower, whose teeth invariably chattered

The correspondent, as he rowed, looked down at the two men sleeping under foot. The cook's arm was

around the oiler's shoulders, and, with their fragmentary clothing and haggard faces, they were the babes of

Later he must have grown stupid at his work, for suddenly there was a growling of water, and a crest came

with a roar and a swash into the boat, and it was a wonder that it did not set the cook afloat in his lifebelt.

The cook continued to sleep, but the oiler sat up, blinking his eyes and shaking with the new cold.

Presently it seemed that even the captain dozed, and the correspondent thought that he was the one man afloat

on all the oceans. The wind had a voice as it came over the waves, and it was sadder than the end.

There was a long, loud swishing astern of the boat, and a gleaming trail of phosphorescence, like blue flame,

Then there came a stillness, while the correspondent breathed with the open mouth and looked at the sea.

Suddenly there was another swish and another long flash of bluish light, and this time it was alongside the

boat, and might almost have been reached with an oar. The correspondent saw an enormous fin speed like a

shadow through the water, hurling the crystalline spray and leaving the long glowing trail.

The correspondent looked over his shoulder at the captain. His face was hidden, and he seemed to be asleep.

He looked at the babes of the sea. They certainly were asleep. So, being bereft of sympathy, he leaned a little

But the thing did not then leave the vicinity of the boat. Ahead or astern, on one side or the other, at intervals

long or short, fled the long sparkling streak, and there was to be heard the whirroo of the dark fin. The speed

and power of the thing was greatly to be admired. It cut the water like a gigantic and keen projectile.

The presence of this biding thing did not affect the man with the same horror that it would if he had been a

Nevertheless, it is true that he did not wish to be alone with the thing. He wished one of his companions to

awaken by chance and keep him company with it. But the captain hung motionless over the waterjar and the

"IF I am going to be drownedif I am going to be drownedif I am going to be drowned, why, in the name

of the seven mad gods, who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees?"

During this dismal night, it may be remarked that a man would conclude that it was really the intention of the

seven mad gods to drown him, despite the abominable injustice of it. For it was certainly an abominable

injustice to drown a man who had worked so hard, so hard. The man felt it would be a crime most unnatural.

Other people had drowned at sea since galleys swarmed with painted sails, but still

When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important, and that she feels she would not maim

the universe by disposing of him, he at first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply the fact

that there are no bricks and no temples. Any visible expression of nature would surely be pelleted with his

Then, if there be no tangible thing to hoot he feels, perhaps, the desire to confront a personification and

indulge in pleas, bowed to one knee, and with hands supplicant, saying: "Yes, but I love myself."

A high cold star on a winter's night is the word he feels that she says to him. Thereafter he knows the pathos

The men in the dingey had not discussed these matters, but each had, no doubt, reflected upon them in silence

and according to his mind. There was seldom any expression upon their faces save the general one of

To chime the notes of his emotion, a verse mysteriously entered the correspondent's head. He had even

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers; There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of

woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, and he took that comrade's hand And he said: "I shall never

In his childhood, the correspondent had been made acquainted with the fact that a soldier of the Legion lay

dying in Algiers, but he had never regarded the fact as important. Myriads of his schoolfellows had

informed him of the soldier's plight, but the dinning had naturally ended by making him perfectly indifferent.

He had never considered it his affair that a soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, nor had it appeared to

him as a matter for sorrow. It was less to him than breaking of a pencil's point.

Now, however, it quaintly came to him as a human, living thing. It was no longer merely a picture of a few

throes in the breast of a poet, meanwhile drinking tea and warming his feet at the grate; it was an

The correspondent plainly saw the soldier. He lay on the sand with his feet out straight and still. While his

pale left hand was upon his chest in an attempt to thwart the going of his life, the blood came between his

fingers. In the far Algerian distance, a city of low square forms was set against a sky that was faint with the

last sunset hues. The correspondent, plying the oars and dreaming of the slow and slower movements of the

lips of the soldier, was moved by a profound and perfectly impersonal comprehension. He was sorry for the

The thing which had followed the boat and waited had evidently grown bored at the delay. There was no

longer to be heard the slash of the cutwater, and there was no longer the flame of the long trail. The light in

the north still glimmered, but it was apparently no nearer to the boat. Sometimes the boom of the surf rang in

the correspondent's ears, and he turned the craft seaward then and rowed harder. Southward, someone had

evidently built a watchfire on the beach. It was too low and too far to be seen, but it made a shimmering,

roseate reflection upon the bluff back of it, and this could be discerned from the boat. The wind came

stronger, and sometimes a wave suddenly raged out like a mountaincat and there was to be seen the sheen

The captain, in the bow, moved on his waterjar and sat erect. "Pretty long night," he observed to the

correspondent. He looked at the shore. "Those lifesaving people take their time."

"Billie!" There was a slow and gradual disentanglement. "Billie, will you spell me?"

As soon as the correspondent touched the cold comfortable seawater in the bottom of the boat, and had

huddled close to the cook's lifebelt he was deep in sleep, despite the fact that his teeth played all the popular

airs. This sleep was so good to him that it was but a moment before he heard a voice call his name in a tone

The light in the north had mysteriously vanished, but the correspondent took his course from the wideawake

Later in the night they took the boat farther out to sea, and the captain directed the cook to take one oar at the

stern and keep the boat facing the seas. He was to call out if he should hear the thunder of the surf. This plan

enabled the oiler and the correspondent to get respite together. "We'll give those boys a chance to get into

shape again," said the captain. They curled down and, after a few preliminary chatterings and trembles, slept

once more the dead sleep. Neither knew they had bequeathed to the cook the company of another shark, or

As the boat caroused on the waves, spray occasionally bumped over the side and gave them a fresh soaking,

but this had no power to break their repose. The ominous slash of the wind and the water affected them as it

"Boys," said the cook, with the notes of every reluctance in his voice, "she's drifted in pretty close. I guess

one of you had better take her to sea again." The correspondent, aroused, heard the crash of the toppled

As he was rowing, the captain gave him some whiskey and water, and this steadied the chills out of him. "If I

WHEN the correspondent again opened his eyes, the sea and the sky were each of the gray hue of the

dawning. Later, carmine and gold was painted upon the waters. The morning appeared finally, in its splendor

On the distant dunes were set many little black cottages, and a tall white windmill reared above them. No

man, nor dog, nor bicycle appeared on the beach. The cottages might have formed a deserted village.

The voyagers scanned the shore. A conference was held in the boat. "Well," said the captain, "if no help is

coming, we might better try a run through the surf right away. If we stay out here much longer we will be too

weak to do anything for ourselves at all." The others silently acquiesced in this reasoning. The boat was

headed for the beach. The correspondent wondered if none ever ascended the tall windtower, and if then

they never looked seaward. This tower was a giant, standing with its back to the plight of the ants. It

represented in a degree, to the correspondent, the serenity of nature amid the struggles of the

individualnature in the wind, and nature in the vision of men. She did not seem cruel to him, nor

beneficent, nor treacherous, nor wise. But she was indifferent, flatly indifferent. It is, perhaps, plausible that a

man in this situation, impressed with the unconcern of the universe, should see the innumerable flaws of his

life and have them taste wickedly in his mind and wish for another chance. A distinction between right and

wrong seems absurdly clear to him, then, in this new ignorance of the graveedge, and he understands that if

he were given another opportunity he would mend his conduct and his words, and be better and brighter

"Now, boys," said the captain, "she is going to swamp sure. All we can do is to work her in as far as possible,

and then when she swamps, pile out and scramble for the beach. Keep cool now and don't jump until she

The oiler took the oars. Over his shoulders he scanned the surf. "Captain," he said, "I think I'd better bring her

"All right, Billie," said the captain. "Back her in." The oiler swung the boat then and, seated in the stern, the

cook and the correspondent were obliged to look over their shoulders to contemplate the lonely and

The monstrous inshore rollers heaved the boat high until the men were again enabled to see the white sheets

of water scudding up the slanted beach. "We won't get in very close," said the captain. Each time a man could

wrest his attention from the rollers, he turned his glance toward the shore, and in the expression of the eyes

during this contemplation there was a singular quality. The correspondent, observing the others, knew that

As for himself, he was too tired to grapple fundamentally with the fact. He tried to coerce his mind into

thinking of it, but the mind was dominated at this time by the muscles, and the muscles said they did not care.

There were no hurried words, no pallor, no plain agitation. The men simply looked at the shore. "Now,

Seaward the crest of a roller suddenly fell with a thunderous crash, and the long white comber came roaring

"Steady now," said the captain. The men were silent. They turned their eyes from the shore to the comber and

waited. The boat slid up the incline, leaped at the furious top, bounced over it, and swung down the long back

But the next crest crashed also. The tumbling boiling flood of white water caught the boat and whirled it

almost perpendicular. Water swarmed in from all sides. The correspondent had his hands on the gunwale at

this time, and when the water entered at that place he swiftly withdrew his fingers, as if he objected to

The little boat, drunken with this weight of water, reeled and snuggled deeper into the sea.

"Now, boys, the next one will do for us, sure," said the oiler. "Mind to jump clear of the boat."

The third wave moved forward, huge, furious, implacable. It fairly swallowed the dingey, and almost

simultaneously the men tumbled into the sea. A piece of lifebelt had lain in the bottom of the boat, and as

The January water was icy, and he reflected immediately that it was colder than he had expected to find it off

the coast of Florida. This appeared to his dazed mind as a fact important enough to be noted at the time. The

coldness of the water was sad; it was tragic. This fact was somehow mixed and confused with his opinion of

his own situation that it seemed almost a proper reason for tears. The water was cold.

When he came to the surface he was conscious of little but the noisy water. Afterward he saw his companions

in the sea. The oiler was ahead in the race. He was swimming strongly and rapidly. Off to the correspondent's

left, the cook's great white and corked back bulged out of the water, and in the rear the captain was hanging

There is a certain immovable quality to a shore, and the correspondent wondered at it amid the confusion of

It seemed also very attractive, but the correspondent knew that it was a long journey, and he paddled

leisurely. The piece of lifepreserver lay under him, and sometimes he whirled down the incline of a wave as

But finally he arrived at a place in the sea where travel was beset with difficulty. He did not pause swimming

to inquire what manner of current had caught him, but there his progress ceased. The shore was set before

him like a bit of scenery on a stage, and he looked at it and understood with his eyes each detail of it.

As the cook passed, much farther to the left, the captain was calling to him, "Turn over on your back, cook!

"All right, sir!" The cook turned on his back, and, paddling with an oar, went ahead as if he were a canoe.

Presently the boat also passed to the left of the correspondent with the captain clinging with one hand to the

keel. He would have appeared like a man raising himself to look over a board fence, if it were not for the

extraordinary gymnastics of the boat. The correspondent marvelled that the captain could still hold to it.

They passed on, nearer to shorethe oiler, the cook, the captainand following them went the waterjar,

The correspondent remained in the grip of this strange new enemya current. The shore, with its white slope

of sand and its green bluff, topped with little silent cottages, was spread like a picture before him. It was very

near to him then, but he was impressed as one who in a gallery looks at a scene from Brittany or Algiers.

He thought: "I am going to drown? Can it be possible? Can it be possible? Can it be possible?" Perhaps an

But later a wave perhaps whirled him out of this small deadly current, for he found suddenly that he could

again make progress toward the shore. Later still, he was aware that the captain, clinging with one hand to the

keel of the dingey, had his face turned away from the shore and toward him, and was calling his name.

In his struggle to reach the captain and the boat, he reflected that when one gets properly wearied, drowning

must really be a comfortable arrangement, a cessation of hostilities accompanied by a large degree of relief,

and he was glad of it, for the main thing in his mind for some moments had been horror of the temporary

Presently he saw a man running along the shore. He was undressing with most remarkable speed. Coat,

"All right, captain." As the correspondent paddled, he saw the captain let himself down to bottom and leave

the boat. Then the correspondent performed his one little marvel of the voyage. A large wave caught him and

flung him with ease and supreme speed completely over the boat and far beyond it. It struck him even then as

an event in gymnastics, and a true miracle of the sea. An overturned boat in the surf is not a plaything to a

The correspondent arrived in water that reached only to his waist, but his condition did not enable him to

stand for more than a moment. Each wave knocked him into a heap, and the undertow pulled at him.

Then he saw the man who had been running and undressing, and undressing and running, come bounding into

the water. He dragged ashore the cook, and then waded toward the captain, but the captain waved him away,

and sent him to the correspondent. He was naked, naked as a tree in winter, but a halo was about his head,

and he shone like a saint. He gave a strong pull, and a long drag, and a bully heave at the correspondent's

hand. The correspondent, schooled in the minor formulae, said: "Thanks, old man." But suddenly the man

In the shallows, face downward, lay the oiler. His forehead touched sand that was periodically, between each

The correspondent did not know all that transpired afterward. When he achieved safe ground he fell, striking

the sand with each particular part of his body. It was as if he had dropped from a roof, but the thud was

It seems that instantly the beach was populated with men with blankets, clothes, and flasks, and women with

coffeepots and all the remedies sacred to their minds. The welcome of the land to the men from the sea was

warm and generous, but a still and dripping shape was carried slowly up the beach, and the land's welcome

When it came night, the white waves paced to and fro in the moonlight, and the wind brought the sound of

the great sea's voice to the men on shore, and they felt that they could then be interpreters.

The Palace Hotel at Fort Romper was painted a light blue, a shade that is on the legs of a kind of heron,

causing the bird to declare its position against any background. The Palace Hotel, then, was always screaming

and howling in a way that made the dazzling winter landscape of Nebraska seem only a gray swampish hush.

It stood alone on the prairie, and when the snow was falling the town two hundred yards away was not

visible. But when the traveler alighted at the railway station he was obliged to pass the Palace Hotel before he

could come upon the company of low clapboard houses which composed Fort Romper, and it was not to be

thought that any traveler could pass the Palace Hotel without looking at it. Pat Scully, the proprietor, had

proved himself a master of strategy when he chose his paints. It is true that on clear days, when the great

transcontinental expresses, long lines of swaying Pullmans, swept through Fort Romper, passengers were

overcome at the sight, and the cult that knows the brownreds and the subdivisions of the dark greens of the

East expressed shame, pity, horror, in a laugh. But to the citizens of this prairie town, and to the people who

would naturally stop there, Pat Scully had performed a feat. With this opulence and splendor, these creeds,

classes, egotisms, that streamed through Romper on the rails day after day, they had no color in common. As

if the displayed delights of such a blue hotel were not sufficiently enticing, it was Scully's habit to go every

morning and evening to meet the leisurely trains that stopped at Romper and work his seductions upon any

One morning, when a snowcrusted engine dragged its long string of freight cars and its one passenger coach

to the station, Scully performed the marvel of catching three men. One was a shaky and quickeyed Swede,

with a great shining cheap valise; one was a tall bronzed cowboy, who was on his way to a ranch near the

Dakota line; one was a little silent man from the East, who didn't look it, and didn't announce it. Scully

practically made them prisoners. He was so nimble and merry and kindly that each probably felt it would be

the height of brutality to try to escape. They trudged off over the creaking board sidewalks in the wake of the

eager little Irishman. He wore a heavy fur cap squeezed tightly down on his head. It caused his two red ears

At last, Scully, elaborately, with boisterous hospitality, conducted them through the portals of the blue hotel.

The room which they entered was small. It seemed to be merely a proper temple for an enormous stove,

which, in the center, was humming with godlike violence. At various points on its surface the iron had

become luminous and glowed yellow from the heat. Beside the stove Scully's son Johnnie was playing

HighFive with an old farmer who had whiskers both gray and sandy. They were quarreling. Frequently the

old farmer turned his face toward a box of sawdustcolored brown from tobacco juicethat was behind the

stove, and spat with an air of great impatience and irritation. With a loud flourish of words Scully destroyed

the game of cards, and bustled his son upstairs with part of the baggage of the new guests. He himself

conducted them to three basins of the coldest water in the world. The cowboy and the Easterner burnished

themselves fiery red with this water, until it seemed to be some kind of a metal polish. The Swede, however,

merely dipped his fingers gingerly and with trepidation. It was notable that throughout this series of small

ceremonies the three travelers were made to feel that Scully was very benevolent. He was conferring great

favors upon them. He handed the towel from one to the other with an air of philanthropic impulse.

Afterward they went to the first room, and, sitting about the stove, listened to Scully's officious clamor at his

daughters, who were preparing the midday meal. They reflected in the silence of experienced men who tread

carefully amid new people. Nevertheless, the old farmer, stationary, invincible in his chair near the warmest

part of the stove, turned his face from the sawdust box frequently and addressed a glowing commonplace to

the strangers. Usually he was answered in short but adequate sentences by either the cowboy or the Easterner.

The Swede said nothing. He seemed to be occupied in making furtive estimates of each man in the room. One

might have thought that he had the sense of silly suspicion which comes to guilt. He resembled a badly

Later, at dinner, he spoke a little, addressing his conversation entirely to Scully. He volunteered that he had

come from New York, where for ten years he had worked as a tailor. These facts seems to strike Scully as

fascinating, and afterward he volunteered that he had lived at Romper for fourteen years. The Swede asked

about the crops and the price of labor. He seemed barely to listen to Scully's extended replies. His eyes

Finally, with a laugh and a wink, he said that some of these Western communities were very dangerous; and

after his statement he straightened his legs under the table, tilted his head, and laughed again, loudly. It was

plain that the demonstration had no meaning to the others. They looked at him wondering and in silence.

As the men trooped heavily back into the front room, the two little windows presented views of a turmoiling

sea of snow. The huge arms of the wind were making attemptsmighty, circular, futileto embrace the

flakes as they sped. A gatepost like a still man with a blanched face stood aghast amid this profligate fury.

In a hearty voice Scully announced the presence of a blizzard. The guests of the blue hotel, lighting their

pipes, assented with grunts of lazy masculine contentment. No island of the sea could be exempt in the degree

of this little room with its humming stove. Johnnie, son of Scully, in a tone which defined his opinion of his

ability as a cardplayer, challenged the old farmer of both gray and sandy whiskers to a game of HighFive.

The farmer agreed with a contemptuous and bitter scoff. They sat close to the stove, and squared their knees

under a wide board. The cowboy and the Easterner watched the game with interest. The Swede remained near

the window, aloof, but with a countenance that showed signs of an inexplicable excitement.

The play of Johnnie and the graybeard was suddenly ended by another quarrel. The old man arose while

casting a look of heated scorn at his adversary. He slowly buttoned his coat, and then stalked with fabulous

dignity from the room. In the discreet silence of all other men the Swede laughed. His laughter rang somehow

childish. Men by this time had begun to look at him askance, as if they wished to inquire what ailed him.

A new game was formed jocosely. The cowboy volunteered to become the partner of Johnnie, and they all

then turned to ask the Swede to throw in his lot with the little Easterner. He asked some questions about the

game, and learning that it wore many names, and that he had played it when it was under an alias, he

accepted the invitation. He strode toward the men nervously, as if he expected to be assaulted. Finally, seated,

he gazed from face to face and laughed shrilly. This laugh was so strange that the Easterner looked up

quickly, the cowboy sat intent and with his mouth open, and Johnnie paused, holding the cards with still

Afterward there was a short silence. Then Johnnie said: "Well, let's get at it. Come on now!" They pulled

their chairs forward until their knees were bunched under the board. They began to play, and their interest in

The cowboy was a boardwhacker. Each time that he held superior cards he whanged them, one by one, with

exceeding force, down upon the improvised table, and took the tricks with a glowing air of prowess and pride

that sent thrills of indignation into the hearts of his opponents. A game with a boardwhacker in it is sure to

become intense. The countenances of the Easterner and the Swede were miserable whenever the cowboy

thundered down his aces and kings, while Johnnie, his eyes gleaming with joy, chuckled and chuckled.

Because of the absorbing play none considered the strange ways of the Swede. They paid strict heed to the

game. Finally, during a lull caused by a new deal, the Swede suddenly addressed Johnnie: "I suppose there

have been a good many men killed in this room." The jaws of the others dropped and they looked at him.

The Swede laughed again his blatant laugh, full of a kind of false courage and defiance. "Oh, you know what

"I'm a liar if I do!" Johnnie protested. The card was halted, and the men stared at the Swede. Johnnie

evidently felt that as the son of the proprietor he should make a direct inquiry. "Now, what might you be

drivin' at, mister?" he asked. The Swede winked at him. It was a wink full of cunning. His fingers shook on

the edge of the board. "Oh, maybe you think I have been to nowheres. Maybe you think I'm a tenderfoot?"

"I don't know nothin' about you," answered Johnnie, "and I don't give a damn where you've been. All I got to

say is that I don't know what you're driving at. There hain't never been nobody killed in this room."

The cowboy, who had been steadily gazing at the Swede, then spoke. "What's wrong with you, mister?"

Apparently it seemed to the Swede that he was formidably menaced. He shivered and turned white near the

corners of his mouth. He sent an appealing glance in the direction of the little Easterner. During these

moments he did not forget to wear his air of advanced potvalor. "They say they don't know what I mean," he

The latter answered after prolonged and cautious reflection. "I don't understand you," he said, impassively.

The Swede made a movement then which announced that he thought he had encountered treachery from the

only quarter where he had expected sympathy if not help. "Oh, I see you are all against me. I see"

The cowboy was in a state of deep stupefaction. "Say," he cried, as he tumbled the deck violently down upon

The Swede sprang up with the celerity of a man escaping from a snake on the floor. "I don't want to fight!" he

The cowboy stretched his long legs indolently and deliberately. His hands were in his pockets. He spat into

The Swede backed rapidly toward a corner of the room. His hands were out protectingly in front of his chest,

but he was making an obvious struggle to control his fright. "Gentlemen," he quavered, "I suppose I am going

to be killed before I can leave this house! I suppose I am going to be killed before I can leave this house." In

his eyes was the dying swan look. Through the windows could be seen the snow turning blue in the shadow

of dusk. The wind tore at the house and some loose thing beat regularly against the clapboards like a spirit

A door opened, and Scully himself entered. He paused in surprise as he noted the tragic attitude of the Swede.

The lad had grown sullen. "Damned if I know," he answered. "I can't make no sense to it." He began to

shuffle the cards, fluttering them together with an angry snap. "He says a good many men have been killed in

this room, or something like that. And he says he's goin' to be killed here too. I don't know what ails him.

Scully then looked for explanation to the cowboy, but the cowboy simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Kill you?" said Scully again to the Swede. "Kill you? Man, you're off your nut."

"Oh, I know," burst out the Swede. "I know what will happen. Yes, I'm crazyyes. Yes, of course, I'm

crazyyes. But I know one thing" There was a sort of sweat of misery and terror upon his face. "I know I

The cowboy drew a deep breath, as if his mind was passing into the last stages of dissolution. "Well, I'm

Johnnie's voice was loud with its burden of grievance. "Why, good Gawd, I ain't done nothin' to 'im."

The Swede broke in. "Gentlemen, do not disturb yourselves. I will leave this house. I will go 'way because"

He accused them dramatically with his glance. "Because I do not want to be killed."

Scully was furious with his son. "Will you tell me what is the matter, you young divil? What's the matter,

"Blame it," cried Johnnie in despair, "don't I tell you I don't know. Hehe says we want to kill him, and

The Swede continued to repeat: "Never mind, Mr. Scully, never mind. I will leave this house. I will go away,

because I do not wish to be killed. Yes, of course, I am crazyyes. But I know one thing! I will go away. I

"You will not go 'way," said Scully. "You will not go 'way until I hear the reason of this business. If anybody

has troubled you I will take care of him. This is my house. You are under my roof, and I will not allow any

peaceable man to be troubled here." He cast a terrible eye upon Johnnie, the cowboy, and the Easterner.

"Never mind, Mr. Scully; never mind. I will go 'way. I do not wish to be killed." The Swede moved toward

the door, which opened upon the stairs. It was evidently his intention to go at once for his baggage.

"No, no," shouted Scully peremptorily; but the whitefaced man slid by him and disappeared. "Now," said

Johnnie swore a deep oath. "Why, this is the wildest loon I ever see. We didn't do nothin' at all. We were jest

The father suddenly spoke to the Easterner. "Mr. Blanc," he asked, "what has these boys been doin'?"

The Easterner reflected again. "I didn't see anything wrong at all," he said at last slowly.

Scully began to howl. "But what does it mane?" He stared ferociously at his son. "I have a mind to lather you

"I think you are tonguetied," said Scully finally to his son, the cowboy and the Easterner, and at the end of

Upstairs the Swede was swiftly fastening the straps of his great valise. Once his back happened to be

halfturned toward the door, and hearing a noise there, he wheeled and sprang up, uttering a loud cry.

Scully's wrinkled visage showed grimly in the light of the small lamp he carried. This yellow effulgence,

streaming upward, colored only his prominent features, and left his eyes, for instance, in mysterious shadow.

"Oh, no! Oh, no!" rejoined the other. "There are people in this world who know pretty nearly as much as you

For a moment they stood gazing at each other. Upon the Swede's deathly pale cheeks were two spots brightly

crimson and sharply edged, as if they had been carefully painted. Scully placed the light on the table and sat

himself on the edge of the bed. He spoke ruminatively. "By cracky, I never heard of such a thing in my life.

It's a complete muddle. I can't for the soul of me think how you ever got this idea into your head." Presently

he lifted his eyes and asked: "And did you sure think they were going to kill you?"

The Swede scanned the old man as if he wished to see into his mind. "I did," he said at last. He obviously

suspected that this answer might precipitate an outbreak. As he pulled on a strap his whole arm shook, the

Scully banged his hand impressively on the footboard of the bed. "Why, man, we're goin' to have a line of

"And," said Scully, "there's a new railroad goin' to be built down from Broken Arm to here. Not to mintion

the four churches and the smashin' big brick schoolhouse. Then there's the big factory, too. Why, in two years

Having finished the preparation of his baggage, the Swede straightened himself. "Mr. Scully," he said with

"Yes, I do," retorted the Swede. He took seventyfive cents from his pocket and tendered it to Scully; but the

latter snapped his fingers in disdainful refusal. However, it happened that they both stood gazing in a strange

"I'll not take your money," said Scully at last. "Not after what's been goin' on here." Then a plan seemed to

strike him. "Here," he cried, picking up his lamp and moving toward the door. "Here! Come with me a

"Yes," urged the old man. "Come on! I want you to come and see a picterjust across the hallin my

The Swede must have concluded that his hour was come. His jaw dropped and his teeth showed like a dead

man's. He ultimately followed Scully across the corridor, but he had the step of one hung in chains.

Scully flashed the light high on the wall of his own chamber. There was revealed a ridiculous photograph of a

little girl. She was leaning against a balustrade of gorgeous decoration, and the formidable bang to her hair

was prominent. The figure was as graceful as an upright sledstake, and, withal, it was of the hue of lead.

"There," said Scully tenderly. "That's the picter of my little girl that died. Her name was Carrie. She had the

Turning then he saw that the Swede was not contemplating the picture at all, but, instead, was keeping keen

"Look, man!" shouted Scully heartily. "That's the picter of my little gal that died. Her name was Carrie. And

then here's the picter of my oldest boy, Michael. He's a lawyer in Lincoln an' doin' well. I gave that boy a

grand eddycation, and I'm glad for it now. He's a fine boy. Look at 'im now. Ain't he bold as blazes, him there

in Lincoln, an honored an' respicted gintleman. An honored an' respicted gintleman," concluded Scully with a

"Now," said the old man, "there's only one more thing." He dropped suddenly to the floor and thrust his head

beneath the bed. The Swede could hear his muffled voice. "I'd keep it under me piller if it wasn't for that boy

Johnnie. Then there's the old womanWhere is it now? I never put it twice in the same place. Ah, now come

Presently he backed clumsily from under the bed, dragging with him an old coat rolled into a bundle. "I've

fetched him" he muttered. Kneeling on the floor he unrolled the coat and extracted from its heart a large

His first maneuver was to hold the bottle up to the light. Reassured, apparently, that nobody had been

The weakkneed Swede was about to eagerly clutch this element of strength, but he suddenly jerked his hand

"Drink," said the old man affectionately. He had arisen to his feet, and now stood facing the Swede.

The Swede laughed wildly. He grabbed the bottle, put it to his mouth, and as his lips curled absurdly around

the opening and his throat worked, he kept his glance burning with hatred upon the old man's face.

After the departure of Scully the three men, with the cardboard still upon their knees, preserved for a long

time an astounded silence. Then Johnnie said: "That's the doddangest Swede I ever see."

"It's my opinion," replied the cowboy deliberately, "he's some kind of a Dutchman." It was a venerable

custom of the country to entitle as Swedes all lighthaired men who spoke with a heavy tongue. In

consequence the idea of the cowboy was not without its daring. "Yes, sir," he repeated. "It's my opinion this

"Well, he says he's a Swede, anyhow," muttered Johnnie sulkily. He turned to the Easterner: "What do you

"Why, he's frightened!" The Easterner knocked his pipe against a rim of the stove. "He's clear frightened out

"Oh, I don't know, but it seems to me this man has been reading dimenovels, and he thinks he's right out in

"But," said the cowboy, deeply scandalized, "this ain't Wyoming, ner none of them places. This is

The traveled Easterner laughed. "It isn't different there evennot in these days. But he thinks he's right in the

"Yes," said the cowboy. "This is a queer game. I hope we don't git snowed in, because then we'd have to

stand this here man bein' around with us all the time. That wouldn't be no good."

Presently they heard a loud stamping on the stairs, accompanied by ringing jokes in the voice of old Scully,

and laughter, evidently from the Swede. The men around the stove stared vacantly at each other. "Gosh," said

the cowboy. The door flew open, and old Scully, flushed and anecdotal, came into the room. He was

jabbering at the Swede, who followed him, laughing bravely. It was the entry of two roysterers from a

"Come now," said Scully sharply to the three seated men, "move up and give us a chance at the stove." The

cowboy and the Easterner obediently sidled their chairs to make room for the newcomers. Johnnie, however,

simply arranged himself in a more indolent attitude, and then remained motionless.

But the Swede here interposed with a grandeur of confidence. "No, no. Let the boy sit where he likes," he

"All right! All right!" said Scully deferentially. The cowboy and the Easterner exchanged glances of wonder.

The five chairs were formed in a crescent about one side of the stove. The Swede began to talk; he talked

arrogantly, profanely, angrily. Johnnie, the cowboy and the Easterner maintained a morose silence, while old

Scully appeared to be receptive and eager, breaking in constantly with sympathetic ejaculations.

Finally the Swede announced that he was thirsty. He moved in his chair, and said that he would go for a drink

"No," said the Swede contemptuously. "I'll get it for myself." He arose and stalked with the air of an owner

As soon as the Swede was out of hearing Scully sprang to his feet and whispered intensely to the others.

"Say," said Johnnie, "this makes me sick. Why don't you throw 'im out in the snow?"

"Why, he's all right now," declared Scully. "It was only that he was from the East and he thought this was a

The cowboy looked with admiration upon the Easterner. "You were straight," he said, "You were on to that

"Well," said Johnnie to his father, "he may be all right now, but I don't see it. Other time he was scared, and

Scully's speech was always a combination of Irish brogue and idiom, Western twang and idiom, and scraps of

curiously formal diction taken from the storybooks and newspapers. He now hurled a strange mass of

language at the head of his son. "What do I keep? What do I keep? What do I keep?" he demanded in a voice

of thunder. He slapped his knee impressively, to indicate that he himself was going to make reply, and that all

should heed. "I keep a hotel," he shouted. "A hotel, do you mind? A guest under my roof has sacred

privileges. He is to be intimidated by none. Not one word shall he hear that would prijudice him in favor of

goin' away. I'll not have it. There's no place in this here town where they can say they iver took in a guest of

mine because he was afraid to stay here." He wheeled suddenly upon the cowboy and the Easterner. "Am I

At sixo'clock supper, the Swede fizzed like a firewheel. He sometimes seemed on the point of bursting into

riotous song, and in all his madness he was encouraged by old Scully. The Easterner was incased in reserve;

the cowboy sat in widemouthed amazement, forgetting to eat, while Johnnie wrathily demolished great

plates of food. The daughters of the house when they were obliged to replenish the biscuits approached as

warily as Indians, and, having succeeded in their purposes, fled with illconcealed trepidation. The Swede

domineered the whole feast, and he gave it the appearance of a cruel bacchanal. He seemed to have grown

suddenly taller; he gazed, brutally disdainful, into every face. His voice rang through the room. Once when he

jabbed out harpoonfashion with his fork to pinion a biscuit the weapon nearly impaled the hand of the

After supper, as the men filed toward the other room, the Swede smote Scully ruthlessly on the shoulder.

"Well, old boy, that was a good square meal." Johnnie looked hopefully at his father; he knew that shoulder

was tender from an old fall; and indeed it appeared for a moment as if Scully was going to flame out over the

matter, but in the end he smiled a sickly smile and remained silent. The others understood from his manner

Johnnie, however, addressed his parent in an aside. "Why don't you license somebody to kick you

When they were gathered about the stove, the Swede insisted on another game of HighFive. Scully gently

deprecated the plan at first, but the Swede turned a wolfish glare upon him. The old man subsided, and the

Swede canvassed the others. In his tone there was always a great threat. The cowboy and the Easterner both

remarked indifferently that they would play. Scully said that he would presently have to go to meet the 6.58

train, and so the Swede turned menacingly upon Johnnie. For a moment their glances crossed like blades, and

They formed a square with the little board on their knees. The Easterner and the Swede were again partners.

As the play went on, it was noticeable that the cowboy was not boardwhacking as usual. Meanwhile, Scully,

near the lamp, had put on his spectacles and, with an appearance curiously like an old priest, was reading a

newspaper. In time he went out to meet the 6.58 train, and, despite his precautions, a gust of polar wind

whirled into the room as he opened the door. Besides scattering the cards, it chilled the players to the marrow.

The Swede cursed frightfully. When Scully returned, his entrance disturbed a cozy and friendly scene. The

Swede again cursed. But presently they were once more intent, their heads bent forward and their hands

Scully took up his paper and for a long time remained immersed in matters which were extraordinarily

remote from him. The lamp burned badly, and once he stopped to adjust the wick. The newspaper as he

turned from page to page rustled with a slow and comfortable sound. Then suddenly he heard three terrible

Such scenes often prove that there can be little of dramatic import in environment. Any room can present a

tragic front; any room can be comic. This little den was now hideous as a torturechamber. The new faces of

the men themselves had changed it upon the instant. The Swede held a huge fist in front of Johnnie's face,

while the latter looked steadily over it into the blazing orbs of his accuser. The Easterner had grown pallid;

the cowboy's jaw had dropped in that expression of bovine amazement which was one of his important

mannerisms. After the three words, the first sound in the room was made by Scully's paper as it floated

forgotten to his feet. His spectacles had also fallen from his nose, but by a clutch he had saved them in air.

His hand, grasping the spectacles, now remained poised awkwardly and near his shoulder. He stared at the

Probably the silence was while a second elapsed. Then, if the floor had been suddenly twitched out from

under the men they could not have moved quicker. The five had projected themselves headlong toward a

common point. It happened that Johnnie in rising to hurl himself upon the Swede had stumbled slightly

because of his curiously instinctive care for the cards and the board. The loss of the moment allowed time for

the arrival of Scully, and also allowed the cowboy time to give the Swede a great push which sent him

staggering back. The men found tongue together, and hoarse shouts or rage, appeal or fear burst from every

throat. The cowboy pushed and jostled feverishly at the Swede, and the Easterner and Scully clung wildly to

Johnnie; but, through the smoky air, above the swaying bodies of the peacecompellers, the eyes of the two

warriors ever sought each other in glances of challenge that were at once hot and steely.

Of course the board had been overturned, and now the whole company of cards was scattered over the floor,

where the boots of the men trampled the fat and painted kings and queens as they gazed with their silly eyes

Johnnie, as he struggled to burst through the rank formed by Scully and the Easterner, was crying: "Well, he

says I cheated! He says I cheated! I won't allow no man to say I cheated! If he says I cheated, he's a!"

As for the Easterner, he was importuning in a voice that was not heeded. "Wait a moment, can't you? Oh,

In this tumult no complete sentences were clear. "Cheat""Quit""He says"These fragments pierced the

uproar and rang out sharply. It was remarkable that whereas Scully undoubtedly made the most noise, he was

Then suddenly there was a great cessation. It was as if each man had paused for breath, and although the

room was still lighted with the anger of men, it could be seen that there was no danger of immediate conflict,

and at once Johnnie, shouldering his ways forward, almost succeeded in confronting the Swede. "What did

you say I cheated for? What did you say I cheated for? I don't cheat and I won't let no man say I do!"

The quiet was sufficient to allow the Easterner's voice to be heard. He was repeating: "Oh, wait a moment,

Johnnie, his red face appearing above his father's shoulder, hailed the Swede again. "Did you say I cheated?"

"Yes, fight," roared the Swede. He was like a demoniac. "Yes, fight! I'll show you what kind of a man I am!

I'll show you who you want to fight! Maybe you think I can't fight! Maybe you think I can't! I'll show you,

The cowboy's brow was beaded with sweat from his efforts in intercepting all sorts of raids. He turned in

A change had come over the Celtic visage of the old man. He now seemed all eagerness; his eyes glowed.

"We'll let them fight," he answered stalwartly. "I can't put up with it any longer. I've stood this damned

The men prepared to go out of doors. The Easterner was so nervous that he had great difficulty in getting his

arms into the sleeves of his new leathercoat. As the cowboy drew his furcap down over his ears his hands

trembled. In fact, Johnnie and old Scully were the only ones who displayed no agitation. These preliminaries

Scully threw open the door. "Well, come on," he said. Instantly a terrific wind caused the flame of the lamp

to struggle at its wick, while a puff of black smoke sprang from the chimneytop. The stove was in

midcurrent of the blast, and its voice swelled to equal the roar of the storm. Some of the scarred and

bedabbled cards were caught up from the floor and dashed helplessly against the further wall. The men

No snow was falling, but great whirls and clouds of flakes, swept up from the ground by the frantic winds,

were streaming southward with the speed of bullets. The covered land was blue with the sheen of an

unearthly satin, and there was no other hue save where at the low black railway stationwhich seemed

incredibly distantone light gleamed like a tiny jewel. As the men floundered into a thighdeep drift, it was

known that the Swede was bawling out something. Scully went to him, put a hand on his shoulder and

"I say," bawled the Swede again, "I won't stand much show against this gang. I know you'll all pitch on me."

Scully smote him reproachfully on the arm. "Tut, man," he yelled. The wind tore the words from Scully's lips

"You are all a gang of" boomed the Swede, but the storm also seized the remainder of this sentence.

Immediately turning their backs upon the wind, the men had swung around a corner to the sheltered side of

the hotel. It was the function of the little house to preserve here, amid this great devastation of snow, an

irregular Vshape of heavilyincrusted grass, which crackled beneath the feet. One could imagine the great

drifts piled against the windward side. When the party reached the comparative peace of this spot it was

"Oh, I know what kind of a thing this is! I know you'll all pitch on me. I can't lick you all!"

Scully turned upon him pantherfashion. "You'll not have to whip all of us. You'll have to whip my son

Johnnie. An' the man what troubles you durin' that time will have me to dale with."

The arrangements were swiftly made. The two men faced each other, obedient to the harsh commands of

Scully, whose face, in the subtly luminous gloom, could be seen set in the austere impersonal lines that are

pictured on the countenances of the Roman veterans. The Easterner's teeth were chattering, and he was

The contestants had not stripped off any clothing. Each was in his ordinary attire. Their fists were up, and

During this pause, the Easterner's mind, like a film, took lasting impressions of three menthe ironnerved

master of the ceremony; the Swede, pale, motionless, terrible; and Johnnie, serene yet ferocious, brutish yet

heroic. The entire prelude had in it a tragedy greater than the tragedy of action, and this aspect was

accentuated by the long mellow cry of the blizzard, as it sped the tumbling and wailing flakes into the black

The two combatants leaped forward and crashed together like bullocks. There was heard the cushioned sound

As for the spectators, the Easterner's pentup breath exploded from him with a pop of relief, absolute relief

from the tension of the preliminaries. The cowboy bounded into the air with a yowl. Scully was immovable

as from supreme amazement and fear at the fury of the fight which he himself had permitted and arranged.

For a time the encounter in the darkness was such a perplexity of flying arms that it presented no more detail

than would a swiftlyrevolving wheel. Occasionally a face, as if illumined by a flash of light, would shine

out, ghastly and marked with pink spots. A moment later, the men might have been known as shadows, if it

were not for the involuntary utterance of oaths that came from them in whispers.

Suddenly a holocaust of warlike desire caught the cowboy, and he bolted forward with the speed of a

Scully confronted him. "Kape back," he said; and by his glance the cowboy could tell that this man was

To the Easterner there was a monotony of unchangeable fighting that was an abomination. This confused

mingling was eternal to his sense, which was concentrated in a longing for the end, the priceless end. Once

the fighters lurched near him, and as he scrambled hastily backward, he heard them breathe like men on the

"Kill him, Johnnie! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" The cowboy's face was contorted like one of those agony

Then there was a sudden loud grunt, incomplete, cut short, and Johnnie's body swung away from the Swede

and fell with sickening heaviness to the grass. The cowboy was barely in time to prevent the mad Swede from

flinging himself upon his prone adversary. "No, you don't," said the cowboy, interposing an arm. "Wait a

Scully was at his son's side. "Johnnie! Johnnie, me boy?" His voice had a quality of melancholy tenderness.

"Johnnie? Can you go on with it?" He looked anxiously down into the bloody pulpy face of his son.

There was a moment of silence, and then Johnnie answered in his ordinary voice: "Yes, Iityes."

Assisted by his father he struggled to his feet. "Wait a bit now till you git your wind," said the old man.

A few paces away the cowboy was lecturing the Swede. "No, you don't! Wait a second!"

The Easterner was plucking at Scully's sleeve. "Oh, this is enough," he pleaded. "This is enough! Let it go as

"Bill," said Scully, "git out of the road." The cowboy stepped aside. "Now." The combatants were actuated by

a new caution as they advanced toward collision. They glared at each other, and then the Swede aimed a

lightning blow that carried with it his entire weight. Johnnie was evidently halfstupid from weakness, but he

The cowboy, Scully and the Easterner burst into a cheer that was like a chorus of triumphant soldiery, but

before its conclusion the Swede had scuffled agilely to his feet and come in berserk abandon at his foe. There

was another perplexity of flying arms, and Johnnie's body again swung away and fell, even as a bundle might

fall from a roof. The Swede instantly staggered to a little windwaved tree and leaned upon it, breathing like

an engine, while his savage and flamelit eyes roamed from face to face as the men bent over Johnnie. There

was a splendor of isolation in his situation at this time which the Easterner felt once when, lifting his eyes

from the man on the ground, he beheld that mysterious and lonely figure, waiting.

The son gasped and opened his eyes languidly. After a moment he answered: "NoI ain'tany

goodanymore." Then, from shame and bodily ill, he began to weep, the tears furrowing down through

Scully straightened and addressed the waiting figure. "Stranger," he said, evenly, "it's all up with our side."

Then his voice changed into that vibrant huskiness which is commonly the tone of the most simple and

Without replying, the victor moved off on the route to the front door of the hotel.

The cowboy was formulating new and unspellable blasphemies. The Easterner was startled to find that they

were out in a wind that seemed to come direct from the shadowed arctic floes. He heard again the wail of the

snow as it was flung to its grave in the south. He knew now that all this time the cold had been sinking into

him deeper and deeper, and he wondered that he had not perished. He felt indifferent to the condition of the

Johnnie's voice was suddenly strong. There was a robust impatience in it. "I asked you whether I hurt him

They raised him from the ground, and as soon as he was on his feet he went tottering off, rebuffing all

attempts at assistance. When the party rounded the corner they were fairly blinded by the pelting of the snow.

It burned their faces like fire. The cowboy carried Johnnie through the drift to the door. As they entered some

The Easterner rushed to the stove. He was so profoundly chilled that he almost dared to embrace the glowing

iron. The Swede was not in the room. Johnnie sank into a chair, and folding his arms on his knees, buried his

face in them. Scully, warming one foot and then the other at the rim of the stove, muttered to himself with

Celtic mournfulness. The cowboy had removed his furcap, and with a dazed and rueful air he was now

running one hand through his tousled locks. From overhead they could hear the creaking of boards, as the

The sad quiet was broken by the sudden flinging open of a door that led toward the kitchen. It was instantly

followed by an inrush of women. They precipitated themselves upon Johnnie amid a chorus of lamentation.

Before they carried their prey off to the kitchen, there to be bathed and harangued with a mixture of sympathy

and abuse which is a feat of their sex, the mother straightened herself and fixed old Scully with an eye of

stern reproach. "Shame be upon you, Patrick Scully!" she cried, "Your own son, too. Shame be upon you!"

"Shame be upon you, Patrick Scully!" The girls rallying to this slogan, sniffed disdainfully in the direction of

those trembling accomplices, the cowboy and the Easterner. Presently they bore Johnnie away, and left the

"I'd like to fight this here Dutchman myself," said the cowboy, breaking a long silence.

Scully wagged his head sadly. "No, that wouldn't do. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be right."

"No," answered Scully with mournful heroism. "It wouldn't be right. It was Johnnie's fight, and now we

"Yes, that's true enough," said the cowboy; "buthe better not get fresh with me, because I couldn't stand no

"You'll not say a word to him," commanded Scully, and even then they heard the tread of the Swede on the

stairs. His entrance was made theatric. He swept the door back with a bang and swaggered to the middle of

the room. No one looked at him. "Well," he cried, insolently, at Scully, "I s'pose you'll tell me now how much

The cowboy addressed the Swede. "Stranger, I don't see how you come to be so gay around here."

Old Scully was instantly alert. "Stop!" he shouted, holding his hand forth, fingers upward. "Bill, you shut

The cowboy spat carelessly into the sawdust box. "I didn't say a word, did I?" he asked.

"Mr. Scully," called the Swede, "how much do I owe you?" It was seen that he was attired for departure, and

"Huh!" said the Swede. "I guess you're right. I guess if it was any way at all, you'd owe me somethin'. That's

what I guess." He turned to the cowboy, "'Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!'" he mimicked, and then guffawed

But he might have been jeering the dead. The three men were immovable and silent, staring with glassy eyes

The Swede opened the door and passed into the storm, giving one derisive glance backward at the still group.

As soon as the door was closed, Scully and the cowboy leaped to their feet and began to curse. They trampled

to and fro, waving their arms and smashing into the air with their fists. "Oh, but that was a hard minute! Him

there leerin' and scoffin'! One bang at his nose was worth forty dollars to me that minute! How did you stand

"How did I stand it?" cried the cowboy in a quivering voice. "How did I stand it? Oh!"

The old man burst into sudden brogue. "I'd loike to take that Swade," he wailed, "and hould 'im down on a

The cowboy groaned in sympathy. "I'd like to git him by the neck and haammer him"he brought his hand

down on a chair with a noise like a pistolshot"hammer that there Dutchman until he couldn't tell himself

The Swede, tightly gripping his valise, tacked across the face of the storm as if he carried sails. He was

following a line of little naked gasping trees, which he knew must mark the way of the road. His face, fresh

from the pounding of Johnnie's fists, felt more pleasure than pain in the wind and the driving snow. A number

of square shapes loomed upon him finally, and he knew them as the houses of the main body of the town. He

found a street and made travel along it, leaning heavily upon the wind whenever, at a corner, a terrific blast

He might have been in a deserted village. We picture the world as thick with conquering and elate humanity,

but here, with the bugles of the tempest pealing, it was hard to imagine a peopled earth. One viewed the

existence of man then as a marvel, and conceded a glamour of wonder to these lice which were caused to

cling to a whirling, firesmote, icelocked, diseasestricken, spacelost bulb. The conceit of man was

explained by this storm to be the very engine of life. One was a coxcomb not to die in it. However, the Swede

In front of it an indomitable red light was burning, and the snowflakes were made bloodcolor as they flew

through the circumscribed territory of the lamp's shining. The Swede pushed open the door of the saloon and

entered. A sanded expanse was before him, and at the end of it four men sat about a table drinking. Down one

side of the room extended a radiant bar, and its guardian was leaning upon his elbows listening to the talk of

the men at the table. The Swede dropped his valise upon the floor, and, smiling fraternally upon the

barkeeper, said: "Gimme some whisky, will you?" The man placed a bottle, a whiskyglass, and glass of

icethick water upon the bar. The Swede poured himself an abnormal portion of whisky and drank it in three

gulps. "Pretty bad night," remarked the bartender indifferently. He was making the pretension of blindness,

which is usually a distinction of his class; but it could have been seen that he was furtively studying the

"Oh, it's good enough for me," replied the Swede, hardily, as he poured himself some more whisky. The

barkeeper took his coin and maneuvered it through its reception by the highlynickeled cashmachine. A bell

"No," continued the Swede, "this isn't too bad weather. It's good enough for me."

The copious drams made the Swede's eyes swim, and he breathed a trifle heavier. "Yes, I like this weather. I

like it. It suits me." It was apparently his design to impart a deep significance to these words.

"So?" murmured the bartender again. He turned to gaze dreamily at the scrolllike birds and birdlike scrolls

"Well, I guess I'll take another drink," said the Swede presently. "Have something?"

"No, thanks; I'm not drinkin'," answered the bartender. Afterward he asked: "How did you hurt your face?"

The Swede immediately began to boast loudly. "Why, in a fight. I thumped the soul out of a man down here

"Johnnie Scully," blustered the Swede. "Son of the man what runs it. He will be pretty near dead for some

weeks, I can tell you. I made a nice thing of him, I did. He couldn't get up. They carried him in the house.

Instantly the men in some subtle way incased themselves in reserve. "No, thanks," said one. The group was of

curious formation. Two were prominent local business men; one was the districtattorney; and one was a

professional gambler of the kind known as "square." But a scrutiny of the group would not have enabled an

observer to pick the gambler from the men of more reputable pursuits. He was, in fact, a man so delicate in

manner, when among people of fair class, and so judicious in his choice of victims, that in the strictly

masculine part of the town's life he had come to be explicitly trusted and admired. People called him a

thoroughbred. The fear and contempt with which his craft was regarded was undoubtedly the reason that his

quiet dignity shone conspicuous above the quiet dignity of men who might be merely hatters,

billiardmarkers or grocery clerks. Beyond an occasional unwary traveler, who came by rail, this gambler

was supposed to prey solely upon reckless and senile farmers, who, when flush with good crops, drove into

town in all the pride and confidence of an absolutely invulnerable stupidity. Hearing at times in circuitous

fashion of the despoilment of such a farmer, the important men of Romper invariably laughed in contempt of

the victim, and if they thought of the wolf at all, it was with a kind of pride at the knowledge that he would

never dare think of attacking their wisdom and courage. Besides, it was popular that this gambler had a real

wife, and two real children in a neat cottage in a suburb, where he led an exemplary home life, and when any

one even suggested a discrepancy in his character, the crowd immediately vociferated descriptions of this

virtuous family circle. Then men who led exemplary home lives, and men who did not lead exemplary home

lives, all subsided in a bunch, remarking that there was nothing more to be said.

However, when a restriction was placed upon himas, for instance, when a strong clique of members of the

new Pollywog Club refused to permit him, even as a spectator, to appear in the rooms of the

organizationthe candor and gentleness with which he accepted the judgment disarmed many of his foes

and made his friends more desperately partisan. He invariably distinguished between himself and a

respectable Romper man so quickly and frankly that his manner actually appeared to be a continual broadcast

And one must not forget to declare the fundamental fact of his entire position in Romper. It is irrefutable that

in all affairs outside of his business, in all matters that occur eternally and commonly between man and man,

this thieving cardplayer was so generous, so just, so moral, that, in a contest, he could have put to flight the

And so it happened that he was seated in this saloon with the two prominent local merchants and the

The Swede continued to drink raw whisky, meanwhile babbling at the barkeeper and trying to induce him to

indulge in potations. "Come on. Have a drink. Come on. Whatno? Well, have a little one then. By gawd,

I've whipped a man tonight, and I want to celebrate. I whipped him good, too. Gentlemen," the Swede cried

The group at the table, although furtively attentive, had been pretending to be deep in talk, but now a man

lifted his eyes toward the Swede and said shortly: "Thanks. We don't want any more."

At this reply the Swede ruffled out his chest like a rooster. "Well," he exploded, "it seems I can't get anybody

"Say," snarled the Swede, "don't you try to shut me up. I won't have it. I'm a gentleman, and I want people to

drink with me. And I want 'em to drink with me now. Nowdo you understand?" He rapped the bar with his

Years of experience had calloused the bartender. He merely grew sulky. "I hear you," he answered.

"Well," cried the Swede, "listen hard then. See those men over there? Well, they're going to drink with me,

"Why won't it?" demanded the Swede. He stalked over to the table, and by chance laid his hand upon the

shoulder of the gambler. "How about this?" he asked, wrathfully. "I asked you to drink with me."

The gambler simply twisted his head and spoke over his shoulder. "My friend, I don't know you."

"Now, my boy," advised the gambler kindly, "take your hand off my shoulder and go 'way and mind your

own business." He was a little slim man, and it seemed strange to hear him use this tone of heroic patronage

"What? You won't drink with me, you little dude! I'll make you then! I'll make you!" The Swede had grasped

the gambler frenziedly at the throat, and was dragging him from his chair. The other men sprang up. The

barkeeper dashed around the corner of his bar. There was a great tumult, and then was seen a long blade in

the hand of the gambler. It shot forward, and a human body, this citadel of virtue, wisdom, power, was

pierced as easily as if it had been a melon. The Swede fell with a cry of supreme astonishment.

The prominent merchants and the districtattorney must have at once tumbled out of the place backward. The

bartender found himself hanging limply to the arm of a chair and gazing into the eyes of a murderer.

"Henry," said the latter, as he wiped his knife on one of the towels that hung beneath the barrail, "you tell

'em where to find me. I'll be home, waiting for 'em." Then he vanished. A moment afterward the barkeeper

was in the street dinning through the storm for help, and, moreover, companionship.

The corpse of the Swede, alone in the saloon, had its eyes fixed upon a dreadful legend that dwelt atop of

Months later, the cowboy was frying pork over the stove of a little ranch near the Dakota line, when there

was a quick thud of hoofs outside, and, presently, the Easterner entered with the letters and the papers.

"Well," said the Easterner at once, "the chap that killed the Swede has got three years. Wasn't much, was it?"

"He has? Three years?" The cowboy poised his pan of pork, while he ruminated upon the news. "Three years.

"No. It was a light sentence," replied the Easterner as he unbuckled his spurs. "Seems there was a good deal

"If the bartender had been any good," observed the cowboy thoughtfully, "he would have gone in and cracked

that there Dutchman on the head with a bottle in the beginnin' of it and stopped all this here murderin'."

The cowboy returned his pan of pork to the fire, but his philosophy continued. "It's funny, ain't it? If he hadn't

said Johnnie was cheatin' he'd be alive this minute. He was an awful fool. Game played for fun, too. Not for

"Oh, so do I," said the cowboy. "He don't deserve none of it for killin' who he did."

"Might not have been killed?" exclaimed the cowboy. "Everythin' square? Why, when he said that Johnnie

was cheatin' and acted like such a jackass? And then in the saloon he fairly walked up to git hurt?" With these

"You're a fool!" cried the Easterner viciously. "You're a bigger jackass than the Swede by a million majority.

Now let me tell you one thing. Let me tell you something. Listen! Johnnie was cheating!"

"'Johnnie,'" said the cowboy blankly. There was a minute of silence, and then he said robustly: "Why, no. The

"Fun or not," said the Easterner, "Johnnie was cheating. I saw him. I know it. I saw him. And I refused to

stand up and be a man. I let the Swede fight it out alone. And youyou were simply puffing around the

place and wanting to fight. And then old Scully himself! We are all in it! This poor gambler isn't even a noun.

He is kind of an adverb. Every sin is the result of a collaboration. We, five of us, have collaborated in the

murder of this Swede. Usually there are from a dozen to forty women really involved in every murder, but in

this case it seems to be only five menyou, I, Johnnie, old Scully, and that fool of an unfortunate gambler

came merely as a culmination, the apex of a human movement, and gets all the punishment."

The cowboy, injured and rebellious, cried out blindly into this fog of mysterious theory. "Well, I didn't do