The World for Sale, Complete

by Gilbert Parker

  CHAPTER XVI. THE MAYOR FILLS AN OFFICE

  It was a false alarm which had startled Gabriel Druse, but it hadsignificance. The Orange funeral was not to take place until eleveno'clock, and it was only eight o'clock when the Ry left his home. Arifle-shot had, however, been fired across the Sagalac from the Manitouside, and it had been promptly acknowledged from Lebanon. There was ashort pause, and then came another from the Lebanon side. It was merelya warning and a challenge. The only man who could have controlled theposition was blind and helpless.

  As Druse walked rapidly towards the bridge, he met Jowett. Jowett wasone of the few men in either town for whom the Ry had regard, and thefriendliness had had its origin in Jowett's knowledge of horseflesh.This was a field in which the Ry was himself a master. He had ever beentoo high-placed among his own people to trade and barter horses exceptwhen, sending a score of Romanys on a hunt for wild ponies on the hillsof Eastern Europe, he had afterwards sold the tamed herd to the highestbidders in some Balkan town; but he had an infallible eye for a horse.

  It was a curious anomaly also that the one man in Lebanon who wouldnot have been expected to love and pursue horse-flesh was the ReverendReuben Tripple to whom Ingolby had given his conge, but who loved ahorse as he loved himself.

  He was indeed a greater expert in horses than in souls. One of thesights of Lebanon had been the appearance in the field of the "ReverendTripple," who owned a great, raw-boned bay mare of lank proportions, thewinner of a certain great trotting-race which had delighted the mockers.

  For two years Jowett had eyed Mr. Tripple's rawbone with a piraticaleye.

  Though it had won only a single great race, that, in Jowett's view,was its master's fault. As the Arabs say, however, Allah is with thepatient; and so it was that on the evening of the day in which Ingolbymet disaster, Mr. Tripple informed Jowett that he was willing to sellhis rawbone.

  He was mounted on the gawky roadster when he met Gabriel Druse makingfor the bridge. Their greeting was as cordial as hasty. Anxious as wasthe Ry to learn what was going on in the towns, Jowett's mount caughthis eye. It was but a little time since they had met at Ingolby'shouse, and they were both full of the grave events afoot, but here was ahorse-deal of consequence, and the bridle-rein was looseflung.

  "Yes, I got it," said Jowett, with a chuckle, interpreting the oldman's look. "I got it for good--a wonder from Wonderville. Damnedqueer-looking critter, but there, I guess we know what I've got.Outside like a crinoline, inside like a pair of ankles of the Lady JanePlantagenet. Yes, I got it, Mr. Druse, got it dead-on!"

  "How?" asked the Ry, feeling the clean fetlocks with affectionateapproval.

  "He's off East, so he says," was the joyous reply; "sudden but sure,and I dunno why. Anyway, he's got the door-handle offered, and he's offwithout his camel." He stroked the neck of the bay lovingly. "How much?"

  Jowett held up his fingers. The old man lifted his eyebrows quizzically."That-h'm! Does he preach as well as that?" he asked.

  Jowett chuckled. "He knows the horse-country better than the NewJerusalem, I guess; and I wasn't off my feed, nor hadn't lost my headneither. I wanted that dust-hawk, and he knew it; but I got in on himwith the harness and the sulky. The bridle he got from a Mexican thatcome up here a year ago, and went broke and then went dead; and therebeing no padre, Tripple did the burying, and he took the bridle as hisfee, I s'pose. It had twenty dollars' worth of silver on it--look atthese conchs."

  He trifled with the big beautiful buttons on the head-stall. "Thesulky's as good as new, and so's the harness almost; and there's thenose-bag and the blankets, and a saddle and a monkey-wrench and twobottles of horse-liniment, and odds and ends. I only paid that"--and heheld up his fingers again as though it was a sacred rite--"for the lot.Not bad, I want to say. Isn't he good for all day, this one?"

  The old man nodded, then turned towards the bridge. "Thegun-shots--what?" he asked, setting forward at a walk which taxed therawbone's stride.

  "An invite--come to the wedding; that's all. Only it's a funeral thistime, and, if something good doesn't happen, there'll be more than onefuneral on the Sagalac to-morrow. I've had my try, but I dunno how it'llcome out. He's not a man of much dictionary is the Monseenoor."

  "The Monseigneur Lourde? What does he say?"

  "He says what we all say, that he is sorry. 'But why have the Orangefuneral while things are as they are?' he says, and he asks for the redflag not to be shook in the face of the bull."

  "That is not the talk of a fool, as most priests are," growled theother.

  "Sure. But it wants a real wind-warbler to make them see it in Lebanon.They've got the needle. They'll pray to-day with the taste of blood intheir mouths. It's gone too far. Only a miracle can keep things right.The Mayor has wired for the mounted police--our own battalion of militiawouldn't serve, and there'd be no use ordering them out--but the Riderscan't get here in time. The train's due the very time the funeral's tostart, but that train's always late, though they say the ingine-driveris an Orangeman! And the funeral will start at the time fixed, or Idon't know the boys that belong to the lodge. So it's up to We, Us & Co.to see the thing through, or go bust. It don't suit me. It wouldn't havebeen like this, if it hadn't been for what happened to the Chief lastnight. There's no holding the boys in. One thing's sure, the Gipsy thatgive Ingolby away has got to lie low if he hasn't got away, or there'llbe one less of his tribe to eat the juicy hedgehog. Yes, sir-ee!"

  To the last words of Jowett the Ry seemed to pay no attention, thoughhis lips shut tight and a menacing look came into his eyes. They werenow upon the bridge, and could see what was forward on both sides of theSagalac. There was unusual bustle and activity in the streets and on theriver-bank of both towns. It was noticeable also that though the millswere running in Manitou, there were fewer chimneys smoking, and farmore men in the streets than usual. Tied up to the Manitou shore werea half-dozen cribs or rafts of timber which should be floating eastwarddown the Sagalac.

  "If the Monseenoor can't, or don't, step in, we're bound for a shindyover a corpse," continued Jowett after a moment.

  "Can the Monseigneur cast a spell over them all?" remarked the Ryironically, for he had little faith in priests, though he had for thisparticular one great respect.

  "He's a big man, that preelate," answered Jowett quickly and forcibly."He kept the Crees quiet when they was going to rise. If they'd got up,there'd have been hundreds of settlers massacreed. He risked his lifeto do that--went right into the camp in face of levelled rifles, andsat down and begun to talk. A minute afterwards all the chiefs wassquatting, too. Then the tussle begun between a man with a soul anda heathen gang that eat dog, kill their old folks, their cripples andtheir deformed children, and run sticks of wood through their bleedingchests, just to show that they're heathens. But he won out, thisJesueete friend o' man. That's why I'm putting my horses and my landand my pants and my shirt and the buff that's underneath on the littlepreelate."

  Gabriel Druse's face did not indicate the same confidence. "It is not anage of miracles; the priest is not enough," he said sceptically.

  By twos, by threes, by tens, men from Manitou came sauntering across thebridge into Lebanon, until a goodly number were scattered at differentpoints through the town. They seemed to distribute themselves by apreconceived plan, and they were all habitants. There were no Russians,Finns, Swedes, Norwegians, or Germans among them. They were low-browed,sturdy men, dressed in red or blue serge shirts, some with sashes aroundtheir waists, some with ear-rings in their ears, some in knee-boots, andsome with the heavy spiked boots of the river-driver. None appearedto carry any weapon that would shoot, yet in their belts was thesheath-knife, the invariable equipment of their class. It would haveseemed more suspicious if they had not carried them. The railwaymen,miners, carters, mill-hands, however, appeared to carry nothing savetheir strong arms and hairy hands, and some were as hairy as animals.These backwoodsmen also could, without weapons, turn a town into ageneral hospital. In battle they fought not only with
hands but alsowith teeth and hoofs like wild stallions. Teeth tore off an ear orsliced away a nose, hands smote like hammers or gouged out eyes,and their nailed boots were weapons of as savage a kind as could beinvented. They could spring and strike an opponent with one foot in thechest or in the face, and spoil the face for many a day, or for ever. Itwas a gift of the backwoods and the lumber-camps, practised in hours ofstark monotony when the devils which haunt places of isolation devoid offamily life, where men herd together like dogs in a kennel, break loose.There the man that dips his fingers "friendly-like" in the dish of hisneighbour one minute wants the eye of that neighbour the next notso much in innate or momentary hatred, as in innate savagery and theprimeval sense of combat, the war which was in the blood of the firstman.

  The unarmed appearance of these men did not deceive the pioneer folkof Lebanon. To them the time had come when the reactionary forcesof Manitou must receive a check. Even those who thought the funeralfanatical and provocative were ready to defend it.

  The person who liked the whole business least was Rockwell. He wassubject to the same weariness of the flesh and fatigue of the spirit asall men; yet it was expected of him that at any hour he should be atthe disposal of suffering humanity--of criminal or idiotichumanity--patient, devoted, calm, nervestrung, complete. He was the oneperson in the community who was the universal necessity, and yet forwhom the community had no mercy in its troubles or out of them. Therewere three doctors in Lebanon, but none was an institution, none hadprestige save Rockwell, and he often wished that he had less prestige,since he cared nothing for popularity.

  He had made his preparations for possible "accidents" in no happy mood.Fresh from the bedside of Ingolby, having had no sleep, and with manysick people on his list, he inwardly damned the foolishness ofboth towns. He even sharply rebuked the Mayor, who urged surgicalpreparations upon him, for not sending sooner to the Government for aforce which could preserve order or prevent the procession.

  It was while he was doing so that Jowett appeared with Gabriel Druse tointerview the Mayor.

  "It's like this," said Jowett. "In another hour the funeral will start.There's a lot of Manitou huskies in Lebanon now, and their feet isloaded, if their guns ain't. They're comin' by driblets, and by-and-bye,when they've all distributed themselves, there'll be a marching columnof them from Manitou. It's all arranged to make trouble and break thelaw. It's the first real organized set-to we've had between the towns,and it'll be nasty. If the preelate doesn't dope them, there'll bepertikler hell to pay."

  He then gave the story of his visit to Monseigneur Lourde, and thedetails of what was going forward in Manitou so far as he had learned.Also the ubiquitous Osterhaut had not been idle, and his bulletin hadjust been handed to Jowett.

  "There's one thing ought to be done and has got to be done," Jowettadded, "if the Monseenoor don't pull if off. The leaders have to bearrested, and it had better be done by one that, in a way, don't belongto either Lebanon or Manitou."

  The Mayor shook his head. "I don't see how I can authorize Marchand'sarrest--not till he breaks the law, in any case."

  "It's against the law to conspire to break the law," replied Jowett."You've been making a lot of special constables. Make Mr. Gabriel Drusehere a special constable, then if the law's broke, he can have a rightto take a hand in."

  The giant Ry had stood apart, watchful and ruminant, but he now steppedforward, as the Mayor turned to him and stretched out a hand.

  "I am for peace," the old man said. "To keep the peace the law must bestrong."

  In spite of the gravity of the situation the Mayor smiled. "You wouldn'tneed much disguise to stand for the law, Mr. Druse," he remarked. "Whenthe law is seven feet high, it stands well up."

  The Ry did not smile. "Make me the head of the constables, and I willkeep the peace," he said. There was a sudden silence. The proposal hadcome so quietly, and it was so startling, that even the calm Rockwellwas taken aback. But his eye and the eye of the Mayor met, and the lookin both their faces was the same.

  "That's bold play," the Mayor said, "but I guess it goes. Yesterdayit couldn't be done. To-day it can. The Chief Constable's down withsmallpox. Got it from an Injun prisoner days ago. He's been bad forthree days, but hung on. Now he's down, and there's no Chief. I wasgoing to act myself, but the trouble was, if anything happened to me,there'd be no head of anything. It's better to have two strings toyour bow. It's a go-it's a straight go, Mr. Druse. Seven foot of ChiefConstable ought to have its weight with the roughnecks."

  A look of hopefulness came into his face. This sage, huge, commandingfigure would have a good moral effect on the rude elements of disorder.

  "I'll have you read the Riot Act instead of doing it myself," addedthe Mayor. "It'll be a good introduction for you, and as you live inManitou, it'll be a knock-out blow to the toughs. Sometimes one man isas good as a hundred. Come on to the Courthouse with me," he continuedcheerfully. "We'll fix the whole thing. All the special constables arewaiting there with the regular police. An extra foot on a captain'sshoulders is as good as a battery of guns."

  "You're sure it's according to Hoyle?" asked Jowett quizzically.

  He was so delighted that he felt he must "make the Mayor show off self,"as he put it afterwards. He did not miscalculate; the Mayor rose to hischallenge.

  "I'm boss of this show," he said, "and I can go it alone if necessarywhen the town's in danger and the law's being hustled. I've had ameeting of the Council and I've got the sailing-orders I want. I'm bossof the place, and Mr. Druse is my--" he stopped, because there was alook in the eyes of the Ry which demanded consideration--"And Mr. Druseis lawboss," he added.

  The old ineradicable look of command shone in the eyes of Gabriel Druse.Leadership was written all over him. Power spoke in every motion. Thesquare, unbowed shoulders, the heavily lined face, with the patriarchalbeard, the gnarled hands, the rough-hewn limbs, the eye of bright,brooding force proclaimed authority.

  Indeed in that moment there came into the face of the old Nomad the lookit had not worn for many a day. The self-exiled ruler had paid a heavyprice for his daughter's vow, though he had never acknowledged it tohimself. His self-ordained impotency, in a camp that was never moved,within walls which never rose with the sunset and fell with the morning;where his feet trod the same roadway day after day; where no man askedfor justice or sought his counsel or fell back on his protection; wherehe drank from the same spring and tethered his horse in the same paddockfrom morn to morn: all these things had eaten at his heart and bowed hisspirit in spite of himself.

  He was not now of the Romany world, and he was not of the Gorgio world;but here at last was the old thing come back to him in a new way, andhis bones rejoiced. He would entitle his daughter to her place among theGorgios. Perhaps also it would be given him, in the name of the law, todeal with a man he hated.

  "We've got Mister Marchand now," said Jowett softly to the oldchieftain.

  The Ry's eyes lighted and his jaw set. He did not speak, but his handsclenched, opened and clenched again. Jowett saw and grinned.

  "The Mayor and the law-boss'll win out, I guess," he said to himself.