The Lonesome Gods (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures)

by Louis L'Amour

  “Most boys in schools,” Papa said, “hit for the face. Keep your hands up, and when you can, hit ’em in the belly.”

  Later he said, “These are rough boys. If they push or shove you, don’t talk, don’t call names, don’t argue. Hit them first, and hard.”

  I did, and it worked. It worked on that same boy who gave me the bloody nose. He shoved me and I swung a backhanded blow and hit him in the belly, knocking his wind out. Before he could fall, I hit him in the face. That day he had the bloody nose.

  Now I had it to do again. There were two boys, and I could be sure one of them would think he was something big.

  Miss Nesselrode, I was afraid, would not look kindly upon fistfighting.

  Nowhere in Los Angeles was far from anywhere else in those days. The school was only about three or four minutes’ walk from Miss Nesselrode’s, and it was a little before eight o’clock when I showed up.

  Two boys and two girls were sitting on benches outside, but not together. They all looked up when I came into the yard, but nobody said anything. One of the boys was bigger than me, both taller and heavier, and he was older, too, I thought.

  “What do you want here?” he demanded aggressively.

  “I am going to school.”

  “Supposin’ I said I wouldn’t let you?”

  This was the beginning of trouble which I did not want, but one does not avoid trouble by backing away from it, not in all cases. I walked toward him.

  He had not expected that, and it bothered him a little.

  “Mr. Fraser knows me. He expects me this morning.”

  “Ol’ Fraser doesn’t run things out here. He runs things in the schoolroom. I run ’em in the yard.”

  I said nothing, I simply waited. My heart was pounding heavily. Big as he was, I did not think he was any stronger than some of the Indian boys with whom I had wrestled.

  “Who are you, anyway? I never saw you before.”

  “I have just come from the sea. I came around the Horn in a Boston ship.”

  The other boy was fascinated. “Around the Horn? Gee!”

  “My name,” I said, “is Johannes Vickery.”

  “That ain’t so much,” the big boy said. “Anybody can come around the Horn.”

  “Of course. But I did it.”

  I was lying. I had not come around the Horn, but there was need to establish my story. Miss Nesselrode had told me that, and so had Jacob Finney.

  At that moment Thomas Fraser turned into the yard from the street. “Good morning, Johannes. I see you have met Rad Huber. And this”—he indicated the smaller boy—“is Philo Burns.

  “The young ladies,” he said, “are Della Court and Kelda O’Brien.” He glanced around. “Where is Meghan?”

  “She’s coming.” It was the girl called Della who answered. “She was expecting her father to come in.”

  Fraser glanced at me. “Her father is Captain Laurel, of the Queen Bess,” he explained.

  We went inside and took seats at the table. The others had seats occupied before I arrived, and I waited until they were seated, then sat down.

  “That’s where Meghan sits,” Rad said belligerently.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and moved over one space.

  “You go sit at the other table,” Rad ordered.

  “Where he’s sitting will be quite all right,” Fraser said, and Rad shifted irritably, started as if to speak, then subsided, muttering.

  “This morning,” Fraser said, “we will continue with the study of inflection and emphasis in the spoken language.”

  That was how my school days began.

  CHAPTER 21

  For three days I attended school, and each day the seat beside me was empty.

  On the fourth day, Rad Huber stopped me in the yard as I approached the school. He stood squarely in front of me, feet spread apart. Philo Burns stood at one side, but the girls had not yet come to school. Or I did not see them.

  “Meghan’s coming back to school today,” Rad said. “You move to that other table.”

  “Mr. Fraser told me where to sit. I shall stay there.”

  “Meghan’s my girl! You move or I’ll move you!”

  “I do not know Meghan,” I said, “but I shall stay where I am.”

  He struck me. I was not expecting it, and he knocked me down. Dazed, I sat on the ground, and when I put my hand to my mouth, there was blood on it. Angry, I started up, and he hit me again before I got to my feet, knocking me down again.

  Rolling over, I tried to get up, and he kicked me in the ribs. Time and time again I tried to rise; each time, he kicked me or knocked me down. Stunned, bleeding, and hurt, I kept trying. I did not know why I kept trying, but something inside me drove me to it.

  One of the girls was crying. “Rad! You leave him alone!”

  “Come on, Rad! Leave him be!” Philo demanded.

  “Shut up!” Rad said rudely. “He thinks he’s smart! I’ll show him!”

  Again I started up, and when I was on my hands and knees, he kicked me in the ribs. I gasped painfully, but struggled to get up.

  “See?” Rad sneered. “He ain’t so much! Just a big baby!”

  He backed off and turned away, and I struggled up, then rushed at him, swinging both fists. Somebody yelled, and Rad turned. One of my flailing fists caught him in the mouth, cutting his lip, but then he pushed me away and rushed at me, swinging both fists. He was larger, and had longer arms. He hit me again and again. Suddenly Mr. Fraser was there.

  “Here, here! What’s going on? Rad, stop that! Leave him alone!”

  “Hah! He had it coming!”

  He walked away. Slowly, painfully, I got up and tried to brush off my clothes.

  Thomas Fraser came over to me. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied.

  “Wash your face, then, and come to school.”

  There was a washbasin on a shelf around the corner from the schoolroom door. I washed the blood and dust from my face and dried it on the towel. I felt sore and stiff. Limping, I went into the school.

  Rad turned, sneering at me. Walking over, I sat down in my usual place. Rad started up, but Mr. Fraser said, “Rad! Sit down!”

  “You tell him to move, or I’ll move him!”

  “I shall do no such thing. If there is any more of this, I’ll dismiss you from school.”

  “Hah!” Rad said. “You’ll do no such thing. Pa paid for the term, and you try dismissing me. Pa would be down here to see you. He’d be down mighty quick!”

  Meanwhile, I opened my books, getting out my slate. Mr. Fraser looked at me but said nothing. His face was pale and he was angry. Perhaps he was frightened, too. His existence depended on the school, and I suspected he hadn’t the money to return to Rad’s father if he dismissed him.

  Rad glared at me, but subsided. He opened his books; then he whispered, “You wait until school’s out! You just wait!”

  Something fell from my lips to the slate. It was a drop of blood. I wiped it off, staring bitterly at the place where it had fallen.

  What was I to do? He would beat me and kick me again when school was out. Nobody would stop him. Still dazed, I hung my head over my slate and felt like crying, but I did not cry. I would not give him the satisfaction. Somehow, I would…

  He could hit very hard. He would hit me again and again. He would kick me. “Hit them in the stomach,” my father had advised, but Rad’s arms were too long. I knew so little about fistfighting, but I had wrestled with the Indian boys. I could throw them all, except Francisco, and once in a while I could throw him.

  When Mr. Fraser called on me to read from the story of William Tell, I almost did not hear him. Then I stood up and read. Slowly, because of my swollen lips, but I read well.

  “Very good, Johannes,” Mr. Fraser s
aid.

  “Hah!” Rad sneered.

  Seated again, I scarcely listened to what was happening. I was thinking, thinking hard, and I was scared. I didn’t want to be hit again. I did not want to take a beating and have them all seeing me lying in the dust. I had to do something.

  One thing I knew. I was not going to move. I did not know Meghan. I did not care to know Meghan, but I was not going to move. He could kill me, but I would stay right where I was.

  Yet, what could I do? Something…My father used to say there was always a way. There was an answer to everything. If I could only…

  Maybe…

  Soon the class would break up and I must go outside again. Thomas Fraser might protect me here, but away from the school he could do nothing.

  There was movement at the door, and I looked up.

  She stood just inside, the sunlight touching her hair. It was red-gold.

  She was slender, graceful as a willow, and beautiful.

  This was Meghan…and I was in love.

  CHAPTER 22

  She paused for a moment in the doorway, the sunlight on her red-gold hair. Then she crossed the room and sat down beside me. Automatically I arose, stepping back for her. She gave me a quick smile and I trembled. She seated herself and I sat down beside her. The edge of her dress brushed my trouser leg.

  “Miss Laurel,” Fraser said, “our new student, Mr. Vickery, has just read a part of William Tell. You might read the conclusion, up as far as the shooting of the apple.”

  She read easily, beautifully, in a low, well-modulated tone, but I did not look up. My eyes remained riveted to the lines, although scarcely seeing them. I was conscious of a faint perfume, fresh, flowerlike.

  When I did look up, Rad was glaring at me, and I felt myself go sick and empty. He would attack me again, as he had threatened. He would beat me, and I would go down in the dust again, as before. Only now it would be different.

  She would be there. She would see it. She would think me contemptible.

  In fear and agony I waited for the class to be over. Jacob Finney was coming by for me with my horse. We were riding out to the tar pits along the old Indian trail.

  As I started to rise, I turned toward Meghan and she gasped. “Oh, your poor face! What happened?”

  “It was a fight. I think there will be another now.”

  “Rad! It was Rad, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “He should be ashamed of himself! Picking on someone smaller than himself!”

  “He’s not so big.”

  We had started toward the door, but as I stepped back to allow her to go through the door ahead of me, a hand grasped my shoulder and I was shoved aside. Rad stepped into my place and moved up beside her.

  Now I was angry. Out in the yard he started walking away beside her. He had brushed me aside as if I were nothing. Inside me there was cold fury. I fought it down.

  “What’s the matter?” I called after him. “Are you scared?”

  He stopped abruptly and turned around. They all did, even Mr. Fraser, who stopped in the doorway as he started back inside.

  “Scared? Scared of you?” He put down his books and started toward me.

  Now you’re in for it, I told myself. Don’t let him hit you. Wrestle!

  He was larger in every way, and much heavier, but how much did he know? He had his fists up ready to strike, and mine were up too; then suddenly I dove, grasping his ankle with both hands and throwing my weight against his knee as I jerked up on the ankle. He toppled over on his back.

  Instantly, holding his ankle in my right armpit, I stepped across his body, half-turning him toward the ground. Then I dropped to a sitting position on his buttocks, facing the opposite way. The Indians had taught me this, and I knew I had only to put more pressure on his ankle and his hip would be dislocated.

  I leaned back a little, and he cried out. Fraser had turned and was coming toward us. Out on the street Jacob Finney had come up with my horse and his. He sat his saddle, watching.

  Meghan stood with the other girls, their faces showing excitement and shock.

  “Let him up!” Mr. Fraser ordered.

  “Ask him first if he will let me alone. I want no more trouble.”

  “Will you let him alone, Rad?” Fraser asked.

  “I’ll kill him!”

  I leaned back again, and this time he screamed. Then he said, “No! No! Get off me! I won’t do nothin’!”

  Letting go, I got up. Rad lay still for a moment, then got up painfully. Wary, I backed off.

  “Now, that’s quite enough!” Fraser spoke sharply. “We’ll have no more of this! Any more trouble between you, and I shall dismiss you both, do you understand?”

  “I never wanted trouble,” I said.

  Rad glowered but said nothing. Meghan glanced at me, then turned her back and walked away with the other girls, Della and Kelda.

  Turning to Mr. Fraser, I said, “I am sorry, sir. I wanted no trouble.”

  When I reached my horse, Jacob looked at my face. “Looks like you taken a few,” he said.

  “That was earlier. His arms are too long.”

  “You done all right, seemed to me. Where’d you learn that fancy stuff?”

  “From the Indian boys. They wrestle all the time.”

  “Feller downtown. Man I know. He’s pretty good with his mitts. He’s boxed in New Orleans, New York, an’ London. We got to get you with him. You fight that boy again an’ he mayn’t let you get hold of him. Not if he’s smart. He’ll just stand off an’ punch your lights out.”

  We rode in silence for a few minutes and then he said, “This place we’re goin’. They call it the tar pits. Comes right up out of the ground. The water has oil in it, too, seems like. An’ gas. It bubbles right up through the water, the bubble floats a minute or two, then busts. Animals get stuck in it. Other animals an’ buzzards come there to feed on the ones that get trapped.

  “Folks hereabout, Injuns, Californios an’ such, they use the tar on their roofs. Use it to watertight their boats, too. The Chumash Injuns who live along the coast, they used it first.

  “The Chumash make mighty fine boats. Some carry eight to ten people, maybe more. They use tar along the seams to make the boats watertight.

  “They used to go out to the islands off the coast, to Catalina, Santa Barbara, an’ the like. The Chumash were right handy with boats, but they’re gettin’ fewer and fewer all the time.”

  He pointed off to his left. “Off down there’s a big ciénaga. Sort of swamplike. The river used to run down there and just spread out. Then about fifteen years ago she broke through to the sea an’ drained most of that. Still mighty good grazing land. Green grass and some water down there most of the time. The Californios have some of their roundups down thataway.

  “This trail runs all the way to the sea. There’s a bay along there, Santa Monica Bay. Not much protection, though, in bad weather. She’s too open.

  “Miss Nesselrode, she wants you to know the country around, and the folks.”

  “What’s off there?” I pointed toward the mountains.

  “There’s the mountains, and over beyond, a wide valley. The pass they call the Little Door. The Injun name is Cahuenga.

  “There’s trails through most of the canyons. Just horse trails, mostly, but there are bears back in there, lots of them, and more than likely they won’t get out of the way, in which case you’d better turn around and get out of there, ’less you want to fight.”

  “I heard there were bandits.”

  “Oh, sure! Plenty of those. Some just steal horses, some raid lonely stations, murder travelers and the like. You got to be careful.”

  The day was warm and pleasant. All around us was a wide sweep of grassland dotted with clumps of oak and other brush, with here and there a small g
rove or a patch where someone was planting. Scattered everywhere, although not in great numbers, there were cattle.

  “Once in a while a man has to fight,” Jacob said, “but you avoid it if you can. Fightin’ attracts attention, and that’s the last thing you need.

  “This is a small town with not much to talk about. Fortunately the Californios don’t pay a lot of attention to us Anglos. There’s a few of us here, and although Stearns and a few others are doing well, they go about their business without blowing up a storm.

  “The old don keeps to himself, mostly. They say he thinks himself better than the others because he is of pure Castilian blood. Your grandmother has been dead for a good many years, so the old don’s house is run by his younger sister, the Doña Elena.

  “She runs a mighty fine house, or so they say. Stoneflagged floors ’n everything. I suspect there aren’t more’n a half-dozen houses in town with anything but dirt floors. Out here folks make do with mighty little. Nothin’ fancy to be had.

  “Back t’ home my ma never had much to do with, but we lived better than these folks who have thousands of acres. The government doesn’t permit trade with anybody but themselves, although there’s a good deal of business done with the Boston ships.”

  “You mean, they’re not supposed to?”

  “They got laws against it, but what’re these folks to do? They are needful of things, and the ships come in. Usually those who are supposed to enforce the laws look the other way.”

  Jacob Finney drew up. “Back yonder, that’s Rancho Las Ciénagas. I told you about the swampland. Francisco Avila owns that, and off to the northwest where those low hills are, that ranch is called Rodeo de las Aguas. Means ‘the gathering of the waters,’ likely because of the springs. A widow woman owns that. Her husband was a soldier named Valdez.

  “La Brea, where we’re headed, that’s owned by a Portugee named Rocha. Good man. I helped his folks catch up some horses here a while back. Injuns had started to run them off an’ we had a bit of a set-to.

  “One of these times, you an’ me, we’ll take ourselves an outfit and ride off up the San Joaquin Valley. That’s over yonder. A long, long valley with herds of wild horses everywhere, two, three hundred in a bunch. Some fine stock, too.”