Lady Luck Part 24

"Hear dat?" The Wildcat turned again to the Spindlin' Spider. "Hear dat? You ain't got yours till you goes broke. How much is you got?

Shoots it all. Double or nuthin'."

The Spider weakly disgorged his roll. He counted out a total of two hundred dollars.

"Boy--one pa.s.s an' I cleans you. Li'l snow flakes, sof'ly fall. Come on, dice, C.O.D.--Bam! An' de black specs read--seven. Hot dam! Boy, you's done. Lady Luck, heah you is!"

The Wildcat pocketed his roll of bills and covered the money with a wide palm wherein lay the taper cubes. He edged through the crowd. With his left hand he reached for the Mud Turtle.

"Come on heah, boy. Dat San F'mcisco train gits nervous doggone soon."

In the vestibule of the Mud Turtle's car on the San Francisco train the Wildcat held out the taper cubes and a handful of winnings. "Ol' Mud Turtle, heah's yo' victory dice an' fo' hund'ed dollars. Dat gits you a new unifawm. Git in dere by de steampipes whilst I tells dem pa.s.senger folks where de San F'mcisco train goes to. Hot dam! I knowed dem smelt fish was lucky!"

The Mud Turtle pocketed his dice. "Wilecat, I's lucky too. Fall in de riveh an' comes out wid fo' hund'ed dollahs! You sho' got speed!"

"Call dat speed--wait till us 'c.u.mulates mah mascot goat. Den us heats up dem C.O.D. dice, an' Ah shows you what me an' Lady Luck kin do when de speed bell rings. You ain't seed no speed yet!"

CHAPTER XIV

Leaving Portland an hour after midnight, the deadhead Wildcat sat in the smoking room of the Mud Turtle's San Francis...o...b..und Pullman. The Pa.s.sengers were in bed. On the window end of the leather seat, s.h.i.+vering himself out of a coating of Columbia river mud which he had acc.u.mulated that afternoon during the smelt harvest, was the Mud Turtle.

"Boy, dem s.h.i.+vers is workin' overtime. Neveh seed such a partial-s.h.i.+verin' fool. How come yo' mis'ry gits you by fractions?

s.h.i.+ver all over an' git done wid it. Is you cold inside?"

The Mud Turtle forcibly arrested his chattering teeth. He calmed his vocal organs and answered the Wildcat, but when he became articulate his feet a.s.sumed the staccato movement.

The Wildcat looked at him. "Stan' up befo' you loses dat step. Leave me learn 'at new foot work. I nevah seed feet so anxious. Don't waste dem steps." The Mud Turtle grabbed his knees and shoved his feet firmly against the floor of the car. "Wilecat, what I needs is gin till I gits warmed up."

"You an' me bofe. Any boy needs gin. I been needin' it since away back.

You sho' looks cold. Was you a' ice man you'd be rich. I'se seed folks cold an' I'se seed 'em s.h.i.+ver, but it sho' looks to me, Mud Turtle, like you'se de champion s.h.i.+mmy king ob de worl'. Ketch dat leg!

Doggone, boy, you sho' would be pop'lar durin' de hot spell down where us comes f'um. You makes me cold lookin' at you."

The Mud Turtle's jaws started on another chattering ruckus.

"Dere you goes agin! Now you cain't talk. Whilst you'se dumb I'se a mind to use some cuss words on you what ol' Cap'n Jack learned me. Sho'

would use 'em, 'ceptin' dey'd burn you to a cinder. Stay here whilst I 'vestigates an' sees kin I 'c.u.mulate some stove juice to heat you up wid."

The Wildcat walked ahead through the train. He sought strong drink from every porter he encountered, but his search was unsuccessful until he came to the dining car.

"Whah at you think you is? Heavin? Cuba? Ain't nuthin' to drink on dis car." A burly chef answered the Wildcat's inquiry.

"Dey's a cold boy back dere. Fell in de river an' stood out in de night rain in Poteland. Can't git near him for' chips o' teeth flyin' through de air. When he gits to s.h.i.+verin' good he looks like him an' two twin brothehs."

"White boy?" The chef ventured a casual inquiry.

"Is I said white boy? White boy packs it wid 'em. It's mah ol' Mud Turtle podneh what craves de gin."

"'At's diff'unt." The chef grunted and got up from the poker game which was raging. "Come wid me." He led the Wildcat into the kitchen of the car. From one of the cupboards against the part.i.tion he lifted a pint bottle full of a light yellow fluid. He poured some of this into a smaller bottle. Out of another bottle containing a brown aromatic liquid he filled the third bottle. He shook the smaller bottle until the two liquids in it were mixed. He handed the bottle to the Wildcat.

"Give dat boy dis."

"Sho' will. What's de name o' dis licker?"

"Ain't got no public name. Us boys calls it 'hoof oil.' It kicks--some.

Better tie 'at boy's hind laigs does he take mo'n two drinks."

"What's de 'mgredients?"

"Dat's a church secret. Don't ask me no questions. 'At's five dollahs."

"Five dollahs! What you mean church secret?"

"I'se a hooch rabbi, off de run. I leads a Oakland ginagogue. I said five dollahs. How you spec' us rabbis gwine to thrive, 'ceptin' by takin' up de collection now an' den when we issues dis here rabbi juice?"

"How come dat rabbi name?"

The chef looked at him. "You sho' is a' ignorant n.i.g.g.ah. Ain't you met up wid no rabbis yet?"

"Cain't say I is. What is dey?"

In the chef's gaze was an expression of contempt. "Boy, when you sees me you sees a rabbi. I works at de rabbi business between trips. De rabbi lodge was o'ganized wid all de culled bartenders. Now days mos'

all we rabbis is union bootleggers. Git back dah wid dat hoof oil befo'

it blows up. Whereat's de five dollahs?"

The Wildcat handed the chef a five-dollar bill and returned to his car, where the Mud Turtle was doing the best he could to shake his arms off.

"Hot dam! Heah you is, ol' Mud Turtle. You sho' got a n.o.ble rattle in yo' right han'. 'Pears like wid a pair o' gallopin' cubes you might throw some killin' sevens. 'Sorb one drink o' dis heah rabbi juice an'

resurrect yo'self."

"One drink! Boy, gimme dat bottle. I handles mah licker!" The Wildcat uncorked the bottle and held it to the Mud Turtle's chattering lips.

The Mud Turtle took a whiff of the liquid. Its perfume seemed to inspire a new set of internal calisthenics in the Mud Turtle. After he had quit writhing the Wildcat again pressed the remedy upon him. "Drink it, fo' I drips it on you. Go ahead an' drink. I'll hol' yo' nose." He succeeded in pouring the contents of the bottle into the Mud Turtle.

The Mud Turtle absorbed the hoof oil as far as his equator. Then he reacted with a series of undulations in which was all of the reserve energy of the surging deep. Then he suddenly became quiet, except for his rolling eyeb.a.l.l.s, from which gleamed an exalted light.

"Dat sho' tamed you. Is yo' insides hot?"

The Mud Turtle's only reply was a sudden stiffening of his right leg, followed a second later by a similar movement with his left. His right arm extended violently; then the ham-sized fist on the end of his left arm went through the plate gla.s.s window beside him. He leaped to the centre of the smoking compartment. For a moment he danced on both feet, and then he began to stage a movement compared to which a cyclone was only a boy's-size disturbance. He combined the activity of a whirling dervish with the technique of an earthquake.

The Wildcat retreated to the safety of the tapestry curtain which hung in the doorway. There for a little while he conducted an innocent bystander business, which presently ended in disaster. Up to the moment, the Mud Turtle had been silent, but now from his throat came a yelp which drowned the rattle of the train.

The Wildcat sought to calm him down. "How come? Boy, git tame. You'll wake de white folks in dis car an' dey'll ma.s.sacre you. Shut up befo'

dey gits you."

The Mud Turtle's only answer was a renewed succession of yells.

Suddenly he stopped short where he stood, and for a s.p.a.ce of minutes he regarded his companion with a pair of gla.s.sy eyes under whose hypnotic spell the Wildcat began to shrivel.