Beth Norvell Part 24

"It ban't true."

"It's a loiar ye are! Bad cess to ye, ain't Oi had to be bunk-mate wid some o' ye dhirty foreigners afore now? Ye 're _sons_, the whole kit and caboodle o' ye--Nelsons, an' Olesons, an' Swansons, an' Andersons.

Blissed Mary! an' ye call them things names? If ye have anny other cognomen, it's somethin' ye stole from some Christian all unbeknownst to him. Holy Mother! but ye ought to be 'shamed to be a Swade, ye miserable, slab-sided haythen."

"My name ban Swanson; it ban all right, hey?"

"Swanson! Swanson! Oh, ye poor benighted, ignorant foreigner!" and Mike straightened up, slapping his chest proudly. "Jist ye look at me, now! Oi'm an O'Brien, do ye moind that? An O'Brien! Mother o' G.o.d!

we was...o...b..iens whin the Ark first landed; we was...o...b..iens whin yer ancestors--if iver ye had anny--was wigglin' pollywogs pokin' in the mud. We was kings in ould Oireland, begorry, whin ye was a mollusk, or maybe a poi-faced baboon swingin' by the tail. The gall of the loikes of ye to call yerselves min, and dhraw pay wid that sort of thing ferninst ye for a name! Oi 'll bet ye niver had no grandfather; ye 're nothin' but a it, a son of a say-cook, be the powers! An' ye come over here to work for a thafe--a dhirty, low-down thafe. Do ye moind that, yer lanthern-jawed spalpeen? What was it yer did over beyant?"

"Ay ban shovel-man fer Meester Burke--hard vork."

"Ye don't look that intilligent from here. Work!" with a snort, and waving his pipe in the air. "Work, is it? Sure, an' it's all the loikes of ye are iver good for. It 's not brains ye have at all, or ye 'd take it a bit aisier. Oi had a haythen Swade foreman oncet over at the 'Last Chance.' G.o.d forgive me for workin' undher the loikes of him. Sure he near worked me to death, he did that, the ignorant furriner. Work! why, Oi 'm dommed if a green Swade did n't fall the full length of the shaft one day, an' whin we wint over to pick him up, what was it ye think the poor haythen said? He opened his oies an'

asked, 'Is the boss mad?' afeared he 'd lose his job! An' so ye was workin' for a thafe, was ye? An' what for?"

"Two tollar saxty cint."

Mike leaped to his feet as though a spring had suddenly uncoiled beneath him, waving his arms in wild excitement, and dancing about on his short legs.

"Two dollars an' sixty cints! Did ye hear that, now? For the love of Hivin! an' the union wages three sixty! Ye 're a dommed scab, an' it's meself that 'll wallup ye just for luck. It's crazy Oi am to do the job. What wud the loikes of ye work for Misther Hicks for?"

Swanson's impa.s.sive face remained imperturbable; he stroked the moustaches dangling over the corners of his dejected mouth.

"Two tollar saxty cint."

Mike glared at him, and then at the girl, his own lips puckering.

"Bedad, Oi belave the poor cr'ater do n't know anny betther. Shure, 't is not for an O'Brien to be wastin' his toime thryin' to tache the loikes of him the great sacrets of thrade. It wud be castin' pearls afore swine, as Father Kinny says. Did iver ye hear tell of the Boible, now?"

"Ay ban Lutheran."

"An' what's that? It's a Dimocrat Oi am, an' dom the O'Brien that's annything else. But Oi niver knew thar was anny of thim other things hereabout. It's no prohibitioner ye are, annyhow, fer that stuff in yer bottle wud cook a snake. Sufferin' ages! but it had an edge to it that wud sharpen a saw. What do ye think of ther blatherin' baste annyhow, seenorita?"

The little Mexican gave sudden vent to her pent-up laughter, clapping her hands in such an ecstasy of delight as to cause the unemotional Swanson to open his mild blue eyes in solemn wonder.

"He all right, I rink," she exclaimed eagerly. "He no so mooch fool as you tink him--no, no. See, senor, he busy eat all de time dat you talk; he has de meal, you has de fin' air. Vich ees de bettair, de air or de meat, senor? _Bueno_, I tink de laugh vas vid him."

Mr. O'Brien, his attention thus suddenly recalled to practical affairs, gazed into the emptied frying-pan, a decided expression of bewildered despair upon his wizened face. For the moment even speech failed him as he confronted that scene of total devastation. Then he dashed forward to face the victim of his righteous wrath.

"Ye dom Swade, ye!" He shook a dirty fist beneath the other's nose.

"Shmell o' that! It's now Oi know ye 're a thafe, a low-down haythen thafe. What are ye sittin' thar for, grinnin' at yer betthers?"

"Two tollar saxty cint."

The startled Irishman stared at him with mouth wide open.

"An' begorry, did ye hear that, seenorita? For the love of Hivin, it's only a poll-parrot sittin' there ferninst us, barrin' the appet.i.te of him. Saints aloive! but Oi 'd love to paste the crature av it was n't a mortal sin to bate a dumb baste. An' he 's a Lutheran! G.o.d be marciful an' keep me from iver ketchin' that same dis'ase, av it wud lave me loike this wan. What's that? What was it the haythen said then, seenorita?"

"Not von vord, senor; he only vink von eye like maybe he flirt vid me."

"The Swade did that! Holy Mother! an' wid an O'Brien here to take the part of any dacent gurl. Wait till I strip the coat off me. It's an O'Brien that'll tache him how to trate a lady. Say, Swanson, ye son of a gun, ye son of a say-cook, ye son--Sure, Oi 'd loike to tell ye what ye are av it was n't for the prisince of the seenorita. It's Michael O'Brien who 's about to paste ye in the oye fer forgittin' yer manners, an' growin' too gay in good company. Whoop! begorry, it's the grane above the red!"

There was a dull noise of a heavily struck blow. A pair of short legs, waving frantically, traversed a complete semicircle, coming down with a crash at the edge of the bushes. Through a rapidly swelling and badly damaged optic the pessimistic O'Brien gazed up in dazed bewilderment at the man already astride of his prostrate body. It was a regenerated Norseman, the fierce battle-l.u.s.t of the Vikings glowing in his blue eyes. With fingers like steel claws he gripped the Irishman's s.h.i.+rt collar, driving his head back against the earth with every mad utterance.

"Ay ban Nels Swanson!" he exploded defiantly. "Ay ban Nels Swanson!

Ay ban Nels Swanson! Ay ban shovel-man by Meester Burke! Ay ban Lutheran! Ay ban work two tollar saxty cint! You hear dose tings?

Tamn the Irish--Ay show you!"

With the swift, noiseless motion of a bird Mercedes flitted across the narrow s.p.a.ce, forcing her slender figure in between the two contestants, her white teeth gleaming merrily, the bright suns.h.i.+ne s.h.i.+mmering across her black hair. Like two stars her great eyes flashed up imploringly into the Swede's angry face.

"No, no, senors! You no fight like de dogs vid me here. I not like dat, I not let you. See! you strike him, you strike me. _Dios de Dios_! I not have eet so--nevah."

A strong, compelling hand fell suddenly on Winston's shoulder, and he glanced about into the grave, boyish countenance of Stutter Brown.

"Th-thar 's quite c-c-consid'able of a c-crowd comin' up the t-t-trail t-ter the 'Independence,' an' B-Bill wants yer," he announced, his calm eyes on the controversy being waged beyond in the open. "Th-thar 'll be somethin' d-doin' presently, but I r-reckon I better s-s-straighten out t-this yere i-i-international fracas first."

CHAPTER XX

THE GAME OF FOILS

The grave-faced, yet good-natured giant pressed his way through the tangled ma.s.s of obstructing bushes, and unceremoniously proceeded to proclaim peace. His methods were characteristic of one slow of speech, yet swift of action. With one great hand gripping the Swede, he suddenly swung that startled individual at full length backward into the still smouldering embers of the fire, holding the gasping Mike down to earth with foot planted heavily upon his chest. It was over in an instant, Swanson sputtering unintelligible oaths while beating sparks from his overalls, the Irishman profanely conscious of the damage wrought to his eye, and the overwhelming odds against him. Senorita Mercedes clapped her little hands in delight at the spectacle, her steps light as those of the dance, the girlish joy in her eyes frank and unreserved.

"Ah, de Senor Brown--_bueno_! Dey vas just children to you even ven dey fight, hey? It vas good to see such tings doin', just like de play."

She circled swiftly up toward him, a happy bird of gay, fluttering plumage, pressing her fingers almost caressingly along the swelling muscle of his arm, and gazing with earnest admiration up into his face.

Beneath the witching spell of her eyes the man's cheeks reddened. He took the way of savagery out of unexpected embarra.s.sment.

"Th-that 's enough, now, Swanson," he commanded, the stutter largely vanis.h.i.+ng before the requirement of deeds. "Th-this is no c-continuous vaudeville, an' ther curtain's rung d-down on yer act. Mike, yer ol'

varmint, if yer do any more swearin' while ther lady's yere I 'll knock ther words back down yer throat. Yer know me, so shut up. Th-thar'll be fightin' in p-plenty fer both o' yer presently, the way things look.

Now, vamoose, the two o' yer, an' be quiet about it. Mike, y-yer better do something fer yer eyes if yer wanter see well 'nough ter take a pot-shot at Farnham's gang."

The two discomfited combatants slouched off unwillingly enough, but the slender white fingers of the Mexican remained clasping the speaker's arm, her upturned face filled with undisguised enthusiasm. Brown, after pretending to watch the fighters disappear, glanced uneasily down into her wondrous dark eyes, shuffling his feet awkwardly, his appearance that of a bashful boy. Mercedes laughed out of the depths of a heart apparently untroubled.

"My, but eet vas so ver' big, senor. See! I cannot make de fingers to go round--no, no. I nevah see such arm--nevah. But you no care? You vas dat great big all over, hey? _Sapristi_! who de woman help like such a big Americano?"

"B-but that ain't it, M-M-M-Mercedes," blurted out the perturbed giant, in desperation. "I-I want yer t-t-ter love me."

"_No comprende, senor_."

"O-oh, yes yer do. L-Lord! didn't I t-tell it all ter yer s-s-straight 'nough last n-night? Maybe I ain't m-much on ther t-talk, but I r-reckon I sh-sh-shot that all right. C-can't yer make over th-that like inter l-love somehow?"

She released her clasp upon his arm, her eyes drooping behind their long lashes, the merry laughter fading from her lips.

"Dat vas not von bit nice of you, senor. Vy you ever keep bodder me so, ven I good to you? No, I tol' you not ask me dat so quick soon again. Did I not do dis? I tol' you den I know not; I meet you only de twice--how I lofe ven I meet you only de twice?"

"You 've m-m-met me as often a-as I h-h-have you," he interrupted, "an'

I kn-know I l-love you all right."