Kindred of the Dust

by Peter B. Kyne

  XXIX

  Thanks to the constitution of a Nubian lion, Dirty Dan's wounds andcontusions had healed very rapidly and after he got out of hospital,he spent ten days in recuperating his sadly depleted strength. Hisdays he spent in the sunny lee of a lumber pile in the drying-yard,where, in defiance of the published ordinance, he smoked plug tobaccoand perused the _Gaelic American_.

  Now, Mr. O'Leary, as has been stated earlier in this chronicle, wasbad black Irish. Since the advent of Oliver Cromwell into Ireland, themales of every generation of the particular tribe of O'Leary to whichDirty Dan belonged had actively or passively supported the battles ofOuld Ireland against the hereditary enemy across the Channel, andDirty Dan had suckled this holy hatred at his mother's breast;wherefore he regarded it in the light of his Christian duty to keepthat hate alive by subscribing to the _Gaelic American_ and believingall he read therein anent the woes of the Emerald Isle. Mr. O'Learywas also a member of an Irish-American revolutionary society, and wastherefore aware that presently his kind of Irish were to rise, castoff their shackles (and, with the help o' God and the German kaiser)proclaim the Irish Republic.

  For several months past, Daniel's dreams had dwelt mostly withbayonet-practice. Ordinary bayonets, however, were not for him. Hedreamed his trusty steel was as long as a cross-cut saw, and nightlyhe skewered British soldiers on it after the fashion of kidneys andbacon _en brochette_. For two months he had been saving his moneytoward a passage home to Ireland and the purchase of a rifle and twothousand rounds of ammunition--soft-nose bullets preferred--with thepious intention of starting with "th' bhoys" at the very beginning andgoing through with them to the bloody and triumphant finish.

  Unfortunately for Dirty Dan, his battle in defense of Donald McKayehad delayed his sortie to the fields of martyrdom. On the morning thatNan Brent left Port Agnew, however, fortune had again smiled upon TheO'Leary. Meeting Judge Moore, who occupied two local offices--justiceof the peace and coroner--upon the street, that functionary hadinformed Dan that the public generally, and he and the town marshal inparticular, traced an analogy between the death of the mulatto inDarrow and Mr. O'Leary's recent sojourn in the Tyee Lumber Company'shospital, and thereupon, verbally subpoenaed him to appear before acoroner's jury the following day at ten o'clock A.M., then and thereto tell what he knew about said homicide.

  Dirty Dan received this summons with outward nonchalance buttremendous secret apprehensions, and immediately fled for advice to noless a person than Andrew Daney.

  However, the Fates ordained that Andrew Daney should be spared thetrouble of advising Dirty Dan, for as the latter came shuffling downthe hall toward Daney's office door, The Laird emerged from his oldoffice and accosted his henchman.

  "Well, Dan!" he greeted the convalescent, "how do you find yourselfthese days?"

  "Poorly, sir, poorly," Dirty Dan declared. "Twas only yisterd'y I hadto take the other side av the shtreet to av'id a swamper from Darrow,sir."

  The Laird smiled.

  "Well, Dan, I think it's about time I did something to make you feelbetter. I owe you considerable for that night's work, so here's athousand dollars for you, my boy. Go down to southern California orFlorida for a month or two, and when you're back in your old form,report for duty. I have an idea Mr. Donald intends to make you foremanof the loading-sheds and the drying-yard when you're ready for duty."

  "God bless ye, me lord, an' may the heavens be your bed!" murmured theastounded lumberjack, as The Laird produced his wallet and countedinto Dan's grimy quivering paw ten crisp hundred-dollar bills. "Oh,t'ank you, sor; t'ank you a t'ousand times, sor. An' ye'll promise me,won't ye, to sind for me firrst-off if ye should be wan tin' someblackguard kilt?"

  "I assure you, Dan, you are my sole official killer," laughed TheLaird, and shook the O'Leary's hand with great heartiness. "Bettertake my advice about a good rest, Dan."

  "Sor, I'll be afther havin' the vacation o' me life."

  "Good-by, then, and good luck to you, Dan!"

  "Good-by, an' God bless ye, sor!"

  Five minutes later, Daniel J. O'Leary was in the general store fittingon what he termed a "Sunday suit." Also, he bought himself two whiteshirts of the "b'iled" variety, a red necktie, a brown Derby hat, anda pair of shoes, all too narrow to accommodate comfortably hiscare-free toes. Next, he repaired to the barber-shop, where he had ahair-cut and a shave. His ragged red mustache, ordinarily of thesoup-strainer pattern, he had trimmed, waxed, and turned up at eachend; the barber put much pomade on his hair and combed it in aMazeppa, with the result that when! Daniel J. O'Leary appeared at therailroad station the following morning, and purchased a ticket for NewYork City, Hector McKaye, loitering in front of the station on thelookout for Nan Brent, looked at and through Mr. O'Leary withoutrecognizing him from Adam's off ox.

  It is, perhaps, superfluous to remark that Dirty Dan was about toembark upon an enterprise designed to make his dreams come true. Hewas headed for Ireland and close grips with the hated redcoats as fastas train and steamer could bear him.

  Now, Mr. O'Leary had never seen Nan Brent, although he had heard herdiscussed in one or two bunk-houses about the time her child had beenborn. Also, he was a lumberjack, and since lumberjacks never speak tothe "main push" unless first spoken to, he did not regard it as allnecessary to bring himself to Hector McKaye's notice when his alertintelligence informed him that The Laird had failed to recognize himin his going-away habiliments. Further, he could see with half an eyethat The Laird was waiting for somebody, and when that somebodyappeared on the scene, the imp of suspicion in Dirty Dan's characterwhispered: "Begorra, is the father up to some shenanigans like theson? Who's this girrl? I dunno. A young widder, belike, seem' she hasa youngster wit' her."

  He saw Nan and The Laird enter into earnest conversation, and hiscuriosity mastering him, he ventured to inquire of a roustabout whowas loading baggage on a truck who the young lady might be. Uponreceiving the desired information, he, with difficulty repressed awhistle of amazement and understanding; instantly his activeimagination was at work.

  The girl was leaving Port Agnew. That was evident. Also, The Lairdmust have known of this, for he had reached the station before thegirl and waited for her. Therefore, he must have had something to dowith inducing her to depart. Mr. O'Leary concluded that it was quitewithin the realm of possibility that The Laird had made it well worthher while to refrain from wrecking the honor of his house, and hewatched narrowly to observe whether or not money passed between them.

  One thing puzzled Dirty Dan extremely. That was the perfectly frank,friendly manner in which his employer and this outcast woman greetedeach other, the earnestness with which they conversed, and the effectof the woman's low-spoken words upon the color of Hector McKaye'sface. When The Laird took his leave, the lumberjack noted theincreased respect--the emotion, even--with which he parted from her.The lumberjack heard him say, "Good-by, my dear, and good luck to youwherever you go"; so it was obvious Nan Brent was not coming back toPort Agnew. Knowing what he knew, Mr. O'Leary decided that, upon thewhole, here was good riddance to the McKaye family of rubbish thatmight prove embarrassing if permitted to remain dumped on the SawdustPile.

  "Poor gurrl," he reflected as he followed Nan aboard the train. "Shehave a sweet face, that she have, God forgive her! An be th' Rock avCashel, she have a v'ice like an angel from heaven."

  He sat down in a seat behind her and across the aisle, and all the wayto Seattle he stared at the back of her neck or the beautiful roundedprofile of her cheek. From time to time, he wondered how much HectorMcKaye had paid her to disappear out of his son's life, and how thatson would feel, and what he would say to his father when he discoveredhis light o' love had flown the cage.

  The following morning Mr. O'Leary boarded a tourist-sleeper on theCanadian Pacific, and, to his profound amazement, discovered that NanBrent and her child occupied a section in the same car.

  "Begorra, she couldn't have shtuck the ould man very deep at that, or'tis in a standard shleeper an' not
a tourist she'd be riding," hereflected. "What the divil's up here at all, at all, I dunno."

  Dirty Dan saw her enter a taxicab at the Grand Central Station in NewYork.

  "I wonder if the young Caddyheck himself'll meet her here," Mr.O'Leary reflected, alive with sudden suspicion, and springing into thetaxicab that drew in at the stand the instant the taxi bearing Nan andher child pulled out, he directed the driver to follow the car ahead,and in due course found himself before the entrance to a hotel inlower Broadway--one of that fast disappearing number of fifth-classhotels which were first-class thirty years ago.

  Dirty Dan hovered in the offing until Nan had registered and gone upto her room. Immediately he registered also, and, while doing so,observed that Nan had signed her real name and given her address asPort Agnew, Washington. With unexpected nicety, Dirty Dan decided notto embarrass her by registering from Port Agnew also, so he gave hisaddress as Seattle.

  For two days, he forgot the woes of Ireland and sat round the stuffylobby, awaiting Nan Brent's next move. When he saw her at thecashier's window paying out, he concealed himself behind a newspaper,and watched her covertly as the clerk gave instructions to the headporter regarding the disposition of her baggage. The instant she leftthe hotel, accompanied by her child, Dirty Dan approached the porterand said with an insinuating smile:

  "I'd give a dollar to know the address the young lady wit' the babybhoy give you f'r the delivery av her trunk."

  The porter reached for the dollar and handed Dirty Dan a shipping tagcontaining the address. Mr. O'Leary laboriously wrote the address in afilthy little memorandum-book, and that afternoon made a point oflooking up Nan's new habitation. He discovered it to be an oldbrownstone front in lower Madison Avenue, and a blue-and-gold signover the area fence indicated to Mr. O'Leary that, from an abode ofancient New York aristocracy, the place had degenerated into arespectable boarding-house.

  "'Tis true," Dirty Dan murmured. "She's given the young fella thego-by. Hurro! An' I'm bettin' I'm the only lad in the wide, widewurrld that knows where she's gone. Faith, but wouldn't Misther Donaldpay handsomely for the information in me little book."

  Having, as he judged, followed the mystery to its logical conclusion,Mr. O'Leary was sensible of a sudden waning of his abnormal curiosityin Nan Brent's affairs. He acknowledged to himself that he had spenttime and money on a matter that was absolutely none of his business,but excused himself upon the ground that if he hadn't investigated thematter thoroughly, his failure to do so might annoy him in the future.If, for no other reason than the desirability of being on the insidetrack of this little romance of a rich man's son, his action was to becommended. People have no business disappearing without leaving atrace or saying good-by to those that love them. Dirty Dan hadn't theleast idea of selling his information to Donald McKaye, but somethingin his peculiar mental make-up caused him to cherish a secret for itsown sake; he had a true Irishman's passion for being "in the know,"and now that he was in it, he was tremendously satisfied with himselfand dismissed the entire matter from his mind. Old Ireland and herwoes were again paramount, so Mr. O'Leary presented himself before theproper authorities and applied for a passport to visit Ireland.

  Now, while Daniel J. did not know it, one of the first questions theapplicant for a passport is required to answer is his reason fordesiring to make the journey, and during the Great War, as everybodyof mature years will recall, civilians were not permitted to subjectthemselves to the dangers of a ruthless submarine war without good andsufficient reason. Mr. O'Leary had a reason--to his way of thinking,the noblest reason in all the world; consequently he was proud of itand not at all inclined to conceal it.

  "I'm goin' over there," he declared, with profane emphasis, "to killall the damned English I can before they kill me."

  His interlocutor gravely wrote this reply down in Mr. O'Leary's exactlanguage and proceeded to the other questions. When the applicationwas completed, Dirty Dan certified to the correctness of it, and wasthen smilingly informed that he had better go back where he came from,because his application for a passport was denied. Consumed with fury,the patriot thereupon aired his opinion of the Government of theUnited States, with particular reference to its representative thenpresent, and in the pious hope of drowning his sorrows, went forth andproceeded to get drunk.

  When drunk, Mr. O'Leary always insisted, in the early stages of hisdelirium, on singing Hibernian ballads descriptive of the unflinchingcourage, pure patriotism and heroic sacrifices of the late Owen RoeO'Neill and O'Donnell Abu. Later in the evening he would howl like atimber-wolf and throw glasses, and toward morning he always fought itout on the floor with some enemy. Of course, in the sawmill towns ofthe great Northwest, where folks knew Mr. O'Leary and others of hisilk, it was the custom to dodge the glasses and continue to discussthe price of logs. Toward Dirty Dan, however, New York turned asingularly cold shoulder. The instant he threw a glass, the barkeepertapped him with a "billy"; then a policeman took him in tow, and thefollowing morning, Dirty Dan, sick, sore, and repentant was explainingto a police judge that he was from Port Agnew, Washington, and reallyhadn't meant any harm. He was, therefore, fined five dollars andordered to depart forthwith for Port Agnew, Washington, which he did,arriving there absolutely penniless and as hungry as a cougar inmidwinter. He fled over to the mill kitchen, tossed about fivedollars worth of ham and eggs and hot biscuit into his empty being,and began to take stock of life. Naturally, the first thing herecalled in mind was The Laird's remark that Donald planned to makehim foreman of the loading-sheds and drying-yards; so he wasted notime in presenting himself before Donald's office door. To hisrepeated knocking there was no reply, so he sought Mr. Daney.

  "Hello, Dan! You back?" Daney greeted him. "Glad to see you. Lookingfor Mr. Donald?"

  "Yes, sor; thank you, sor."

  "Mr. Donald is ill in the company's hospital. We're afraid, Dan, thathe isn't going to pull through."

  "Glory be!" Mr. O'Leary gasped, horrified on two counts. First,because he revered his young boss, and, second, because the latter'sdeath might nullify his opportunity to become foreman of theloading-sheds and drying-yard. "Sure, what's happened to the poorbhoy?"

  Before Daney could answer, a terrible suspicion shot through the agileand imaginative O'Leary brain. In common with several million of hiscountrymen, he always voiced the first thought that popped into hishead; so he lowered that member, likewise his voice, peered cunninglyinto Andrew Daney's haggard face, and whispered:

  "Don't tell me he tried to commit suicide, what wit' his poor brokenheart an' all!"

  It was Andrew Daney's turn to peer suspiciously at Dirty Dan. For afew seconds, they faced each other like a pair of belligerentgame-cocks. Then said Daney:

  "How do you know his heart was broken?"

  Dirty Dan didn't know. The thought hadn't even occurred to him untilten seconds before; yet, from the solemnity of Daney's face andmanner, he knew instantly that once more his feet were about to treadthe trails of romance, and the knowledge imbued him with a deep senseof importance.

  He winked knowingly.

  "Beggin' yer pardon, Misther Daney an' not m'anin' the least offinsein life, but--I know a lot about that young man--yis, an' the youngleddy, too--that divil a sowl on earth knows or is goin' to find out."He tried a shot in the dark. "That was a clever bit o' wurrk gettin'her out o' Port Agnew--"

  Andrew Daney's hands closed about Dirty Dan's collar, and he wasjerked violently into the latter's office, while Daney closed andlocked the door behind them. The general manager was white andtrembling.

  "You damned, cunning mick, you!" he cried, in a low voice. "I believeyou're right. You do know a lot about this affair--"

  "Well, if I do, I haven't talked about it," Dirty Dan reminded himwith asperity.

  "You knew the girl had left Port Agnew and why, do you not?" Daneydemanded.

  "Of course I do. She left to plaze The Laird an' get rid o' the youngfella. Whether Th' Laird paid her to go or not, I don't know, but I'llsay t
his: 'If he gave her anythin' at all, 'twas damned little.'"

  "He didn't give her a red cent," Daney protested.

  "I believe you, sor," Mr. O'Leary assured him, as solemn as a SupremeCourt justice. "I judged so be the way she traveled an' the hotel sheshtopped at."

  Daney made another dive at the returned prodigal, but Mr. O'Learyevaded him.

  "Where did she travel, and what hotel did she put up at?" the generalmanager demanded.

  "She traveled to the same places an' put up at the same hotels that Idid," Dirty Dan replied evasively, for his natural love for intriguebade him hoard his secret to the last.

  Daney sat down and said very quietly: "Dan, do you know where NanBrent may be found?"

  "Where she _may_ be found? Faith, I can tell you where she can befound--but I'll not."

  "Why not?"

  "Because 'tis her secret, an' why should I share it wit' you, m'anin'no disrespect, sor, at that?"

  "Your sentiments do you honor, Dan--a heap more honor than I everthought you possessed. If Mr. Donald's life should happen to be theprice of your silence, however, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

  "I would. The young gintlemin's blood runs in my veins, sor."

  "Thank you, Dan. Give me her address."

  "Number one eighty-five Madison Avenue, Noo Yorrk City," Dirty Danreplied promptly. "More I do not know. Am I on the pay-roll agin?"

  "You bet! I'll pick out a good job for you as soon as I find time tothink about it."

  "Could I have a dollar or two in advance--" the wanderer began, asDaney hastened toward the door.

  "Certainly." The door slammed, and Dirty Dan could hear the generalmanager shouting in the general office. "Dirty Dan is back. Give himsome money."

  Mr. O'Leary sighed contentedly.

  "Oh-ho, 'tis the great life we live," he murmured, and hastenedoutside to present himself at the cashier's window, while Andrew Daneycontinued on to the Tyee Lumber Company's hospital, tiptoed down thecorridor to the room where the young Laird of Port Agnew lay dying,and rapped lightly on the door. A nurse came out and closed the doorafter her.

  "Well?" Daney demanded.

  "No change. His temperature fell two degrees during the night and heslept a little, but the fever is up again this morning, and he'sraving again. Any news at your end?"

  "Yes. I have the girl's address. She's in New York. Is his fatherinside?"

  "Yes."

  "Ask him to step into the reception room for a few minutes, please."

  The Laird appeared promptly in response to this message, and the twomen walked slowly down the hall to the reception-room. Daney closedthe door and resolutely faced The Laird.

  "The doctors and the nurses tell me things, sir, they're afraid totell you," he began. "Ordinarily, the boy should be able to fight thisthing through successfully, for he has a splendid body and a lot ofresistance, but the fact of the matter is, he isn't trying. He doesn'twant to get well."

  The Laird's face went white.

  "They believe this?" he cried sharply.

  "They do. His subconscious mind clings to the memory of his loss. Hekeeps calling for her in his delirium, doesn't he? Now that he isassured she has dropped out of his life forever, he doesn't give asnap whether school keeps or not--and the doctors cannot cure him. Ifthe girl were here--well, she might. Her very presence would bringabout a strong mental and physical reaction--" He paused a moment.Then, "I know where she can be found."

  The Laird raised his haggard face and though his stern gray eyes weredull with agony, yet Daney saw in them the light of an unfalteringresolution.

  "I have left my son's honor and his life in the hands of God Almighty.I have made my bed and I'll lie in it," he panted.

  "But if the boy should die--"

  "Rather that than--than--"

  "But you're not going to take a chance on his pulling through, in theface of the advice of the doctors that only the girl's presence canstimulate him to a desire to live. I tell you, Hector McKaye, man,he's dying because he is not interested in living."

  "God's will be done, Andrew. If I asked her to come back and save mylad, I'd have to surrender him to her, and I would be derelict in myduty as a father if I permitted that. Better that he should pass outnow than know the horror of a living death through all the years tocome. God knows best. It is up to Him. Let there be no talk of thisthing again, Andrew." Abruptly he quitted the room and returned to hisvigil by the side of the son who was at once the light and the shadowof his existence.

  The nurse came stealthily to the reception-room entrance and looked ininquiringly. Daney shook his head, so she came into the room andpointed at him a singularly commanding index-finger.

  "If that old man is permitted to have his stubborn way, Donald McKayewill die," she declared.

  "So will old Hector. He'll be dead of a broken heart within the year."

  "He's sacrificing his son to his Scotch pride. Now, his mother is farmore bitter against the girl than The Laird is; in her distress sheaccuses the Brent girl of destroying her son. Nevertheless, Mrs.McKaye's pride and resentment are not so intense that she willsacrifice her son to them."

  "Then give her this address," Daney suggested weakly, and handed itover. "I'm caught between the upper and nether millstone, and I don'tcare what happens to me. Damn the women, say I. Damn them! Damn them!They're the ones that do all the talking, set up a cruel moral code,and make a broad-minded, generous man follow it."

  "Thanks for the compliment," the nurse retorted blithely. "If I hadtime, I'd discuss the matter with you to your disadvantage, but,fortunately, I have other fish to fry. My job is to keep Donald McKayealive for the next five or six days until Nan Brent can get here.She'll come. I know she will. She'd lie down in the street and die forhim. I know it. I spent two days with her when her father was dead,and let me tell you something, Mr. Daney: 'She's too good for them.There! I feel better now.'"

  "What a remarkable woman!" Mr. Daney reflected, as he walked back tothe mill office. "What a truly remarkable woman!" Then he rememberedthe complications that were about to ensue, and to the wonderment ofseveral citizens of Port Agnew, he paused in front of thepost-office, threw both arms aloft in an agitated flourish, and criedaudibly:

  "Hell's bells and panther-tracks! I'd give a ripe peach to be in hellor some other seaport. O Lordy, Lordy, Lordy! And all the calves gotloose!"