CHAPTER XTHE WAGES OF SINIt was soon evident that the word had been passed round that there would be "something doing" at the Café de la Légion that evening. Never before had its hospitable roof covered so large an assembly of guests. Though it was not exactly what could be called "a packed house," it was far from being a selected gathering of the special friends of Il Signor Luigi Rivoli. To Legionaries John Bull, Reginald Rupert and 'Erb 'Iggins it was obvious that the Bucking Bronco had been at some pains to arrange that the spectators of whatever might befall that evening, were men who would witness the undoing of Luigi Rivoli--should that occur--with considerable equanimity. Scarcely a man there but had felt at some time the weight of his brutal fist and the indignity of helpless obedience to his tyrannous behest. Of one thing they were sure--whatever they might, or might not behold, they would see a Homeric fight, a struggle that would become historic in the annals of la Légion. The atmosphere was electric with suppressed excitement and a sense of pleasurable expectation.In a group by the bar, lounged the Bucking Bronco and the three Englishmen with a few of their more immediate intimates, chiefly Frenchmen, and members of theirescouade. Carmelita, a brilliant spot of colour glowing on either cheek, busied herself about her duties, flitting like a butterfly from table to table. Never had she appeared more light-hearted, gay, andinsouciante. But to John Bull, who watched her anxiously, it was clear that her gaiety was feverish and hectic, her laughter forced and hysterical."Reckon 'e's got an earthly, matey?" asked 'Erb of Rupert. "'E'll 'ave ter scrag an' kick, same as Rivoli, if 'e don't want ter be counted aht.""I'd give a hundred pounds to see him win, anyhow," was the reply. "I expect he'll fight the brute with his own weapons. He'll go in for what he calls 'rough-housing' I hope.... No good following Amateur Boxing Association rules if you're fighting a bear, or a Zulu, or a Fuzzy-wuzzy, or Luigi Rivoli...."And that was precisely the intention of the American, whose fighting had been learnt in a very rough and varied school. When earning his living as a professional boxer, he had given referees no more than the average amount of trouble; and in the ring, against a clean fighter, had put up a clean fight. A tricky opponent, resorting to fouls, had always found him able to respond with very satisfying tricks of his own--"and then some." But the Bucking Bronco had also done much mixed fighting as a hobo[#] with husky and adequate bulls[#] in many of the towns of the free and glorious United States of America, when guilty of having no visible means of support; with exasperated and homicidal shacks[#] on most of that proud country's railways, when "holding her down," and frustrating their endeavours to make him "hit the grit"; with terrible and dangerous lumber-jacks in timber camps when the rye whiskey was in and all sense and decency were out; with cow-punchers and ranchers, with miners, with Bowery toughs, and assorted desperadoes.[#] Tramp, a rough.[#] Policemen.[#] Train conductors.To-night, when he stood face to face with Luigi Rivoli, he intended to do precisely what his opponent would do, to use all Nature's weapons and every device, trick, shift and artifice that his unusually wide experience had taught him.He knew, and fully admitted, that, tremendously powerful and tough as he himself was, Rivoli was far stronger. Not only was the Italian a born Strong Man, but he had spent his life in developing his muscles, and it was probable that there were very few more finely developed athletes on the face of the earth. Moreover, he was a far younger man, far better fed (thanks to Carmelita), and a trained professional wrestler. Not only were his muscles of marvellous development, they were also trained and educated to an equally marvellous quickness, skill and poise. Add to this the fact that the man was no mean exponent of the arts ofla savateandla boxe, utterly devoid of any scruples of honour and fair-play, and infused with a bitter hatred of the American--and small blame accrues to the latter for his determination to meet the Italian on his own ground.As he stood leaning against the bar, his elbows on it and his face toward the big room, it would have required a very close observer to note any signs of the fact that he was about to fight for his life, and, far more important, for Carmelita, against an opponent in whose favour the odds were heavy. His hard strong face was calm, the eyes level and steady, and, more significant, the hands and fingers quiet and reposeful. Studying his friend, John Bull noticed the absence of any symptoms of excitement, nervousness, or anxiety. There was no moistening of lips, no working of jaw muscles, no change of posture, no quickening of speech. It was the same old Buck, large, lazy, and lethargic, with the same humorous eye, the same measured drawl, the same quaint turn of speech. In striking contrast with the immobility of the American, was the obvious excitement of the Cockney."It'll be an 'Ellova fight," he kept on saying. "Gawdstreuth, it'll be an 'Ellova fight," and bitterly regretted the self-denying ordinance which he had passed upon himself to the effect that no liquor should wet his lips till all was o'er....Luigi Rivoli, followed as usual by Malvin, Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat, Borges, Hirsch and Bauer, strode into the Café. He was accustomed to attracting attention and to the proud consciousness of nudges, glances and whisperings wherever he went. Not for nothing is one the strongest and most dangerous man in the Foreign Legion. But to-night he was aware of more than usual interest as silence fell upon the abnormally large gathering in Carmelita's Café. He at once ascribed it to the widespread interest in the public challenge he had received from John Bull to aduel à l'outranceand the rumour that the Englishman had as publicly withdrawn it. He felt that fresh lustre had been added to his brilliant name.... Carmelitahadbeen useful there, and had delivered him from a very real danger, positively from the fangs of a mad dog. Very useful. What a pity it was that he could not marry Madame, and run Carmelita. Might she not be brought to consent to some such arrangement? Not even when she found she could have him in no other way? ... Never!Absolutamente... Curse her.... Well, anyhow, there were a few more francs, dinners, and bottles of Chianti. One must take what one can, while one can--and after all the Canteen was worth ten Cafés. Madame had been very kind to-night and would give her final answer to-morrow. That had been a subtle idea of his, telling her that, unless she married him, she should marry no one, and remain a widow all the days of her life, for he'd break the back of any man who so much as looked at her. That had given the old sow something to think about. Ha! Ha! ...As he entered, John Bull was just saying to the Bucking Bronco, "Don't do it, Buck. I know all about that'Thrice-armed is he who hath his quarrel just,But four times is he who gets his blow in fust.'But thrice is quite enough, believe me, old chap. You've no need to descend to such a trick as hitting him unawares, by way of starting the fight.""Is this my night ter howl, John, or yourn? Whose funeral is it?"... "Fight him by his own methods if you like, Buck--but don't put yourself in the wrong for a start.... You'll win all right, or I shall cease to believe in Eternal Justice of Things."It had been the purpose of the Bucking Bronco to lessen the odds against himself, to some extent, by intimating his desire to fight, with a shattering blow which should begin, and, at the same time, half win the battle.Rivoli approached.Ha! There was that cursed Englishman, was he? Well, since he had given his promise to Carmelita and was debarred from a duel, he should repeat his apology of last night before this large assembly. Moreover, he would now be free to handle this English dog--to beat and torture and torment him like a new recruit. Bull's hands would be tied as far as weapons were concerned by his promise to Carmelita.... The dog was leaning against the flap of the bar which he would have to raise to pass through to his dinner. Should he take him by the ears and rub his face in the liquor-slops on the bar, or should he merely put him on the ground and wipe his feet on him? Better not perhaps, there was that thrice-accursed Americansceleratoand that indestructible young devil Rupert, who had smitten his jaw and ribs so vilely, and wanted to fight again directly he had left hospital andsalle de police. The Devil smite all Englishmen.... His wrath boiled over, his arm shot out and he seized John Bull by the collar, shook him, and slung him from his path.And then the Heavens fell.With his open, horny palm, the Bucking Bronco smote the Italian as cruelly stinging a slap as ever human face received. But for his friend's recent behest, he would have struck with his closed fist, and the Italian would have entered the fight, if not with a broken jaw, at least with a very badly "rattled" head."Ponk!" observed 'Erb, dancing from foot to foot in excitement and glee."Ah--h--h!" breathed Carmelita,The Italian recovered his balance and gathered himself for a spring."No you don't," shouted Rupert, and the three Englishmen simultaneously threw themselves in front of him, at the same time calling on the spectators to make a ring.In a moment, headed by Tant-de-Soif, the Englishmen's friends commenced pulling chairs, tables and benches to the walls of the big room. Old Tant-de-Soif had never received a sou or a drink from the bully, though many and many a blow and bitter humiliation. Long he had served and long he had hated. He felt that a great hour had struck.The scores and scores of willing hands assisting, the room was quickly cleared."This American would die, it appears, poor madman," observed M. Malvin ingratiatingly to Carmelita."I do not think he will die," replied the girl. "But I think that anyone who interferes with him will do so."The eyes of the good M. Malvin narrowed. Lay the wind in that quarter? The excellent Luigi was found out, was he? Well, there might be a successor....Meantime the Italian had removed and methodically folded his tunic and canvas shirt. A broad belt sustained his baggy red breeches.So it had come, had it? Well, so much the better. This American had been the fly in the ointment of his comfort too long. Why had he not strangled the insolent, or broken his back long ago? He would break him now, once and for all--maim him for life if he could; at least make a serious hospital case of him.Bidding Malvin mount guard over his discarded garments, Rivoli stepped forth Into the middle of the large cleared space, flexing and slapping his muscles. Having done so, he looked round the crowded sides of the room for the usual applause. To his surprise none followed. He gazed about him again. Was this a selected audience? It was certainly not the audience he would have selected for himself. It appeared to consist mostly ofmiserabilewhom he had frequently had to punish for insubordination and defiance of his orders. They should have a demonstration, that evening, of the danger of defying Luigi Rivoli.As the American stepped forward John Bull caught his sleeve. "Take off your tunic, Buck," he said in surprise."Take off nix," replied the American."But he'll get a better hold on you," remonstrated his friend."I should worry," was the cryptic reply, as the speaker unbuttoned the upper part of his tunic and pushed his collar well away from his neck at the back."'E'll cop 'old of 'im wiv that coller, an' bleed'n well strangle 'im," said 'Erb to Rupert."Fancy that now, sonny," said the Bucking Bronco, with an exaggerated air of surprise, and stepped into the arena.Complete silence fell upon the room as the two antagonists faced each other.Nom de nom de bon Dieu de Dieu! Why had not le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau stripped? Was it sheer bravado? How could he, or any other living man, afford to add to the already overwhelming risks when fighting the great Luigi Rivoli?...The Bucking Bronco got his "blow in fust" after all, and, as his friend had prophesied, was glad that it had not been a "foul poke"--taking his opponent unawares."Come hither, dog, and let me snap thy spine," growled the Italian as the Bucking Bronco faced him. As he spoke, he thrust his right hand forward, as though to seize the American in a wrestling-hold. With a swift snatch the latter grabbed the extended hand, gave a powerful jerking tug and released it before his enemy could free it and fasten upon him in turn. The violent pull upon his arm swung the Italian half left and before he could recover his balance and regain his position, the Bucking Bronco had let drive at the side of his face with all his weight and strength. It was a terrific blow and caught Rivoli on the right cheek-bone, laying the side of his face open.Only those who have seen--or experienced--it, know the effect of skilled blows struck by hands unhampered by boxing gloves.The Italian reeled and, like the skilled master of ringcraft that he was, the Bucking Bronco gave him no time in which to recover. With a leap he again put all his strength, weight, and skill behind a slashing right-hander on his enemy's face, and, as he raised his arms, a left-hander on his ribs. Had any of these three blows found the Italian's "point" or "mark," it is more than probable that the fight would have been decided. As it was, Rivoli was only shaken--and exasperated to the point of madness....Wait till he got his arms round the man! ... Corpo di Bacco! But wait! Let him wait till he got his hand on that collar that the rash fool had left undone and sticking out so temptingly?Ducking swiftly under a fourth blow, he essayed to fling his arms round the American's waist. As the mighty arms shot out for the deadly embrace, the Bucking Bronco's knee flew up with terrific force, to smash the face so temptingly passed above it. Like a flash the face swerved to the left, the knee missed it, and the American's leg was instantly seized as in a vice.The spectators held their breath. Was this the end? Rivoli had him! Could there be any hope for him?There could. This was "rough-housin'"--and at "rough-housin'" the Bucking Bronco had had few equals. He suddenly thought of one ofthefights of his life--at 'Frisco, with the bucko mate of a hell-ship on which he had made a trip as fo'c's'le-hand, from the Klondyke. The mate had done his best to kill him at sea, and the Bucking Bronco had "laid for him" ashore as the mate quitted the ship. It had been "some" fight and the mate had collared his leg in just the same way. He would try the method that had then been successful.... He seized the Italian's neck with both huge hands, and, with all his strength, started to throttle him--his thumbs on the back of his opponent's neck, his fingers crushing relentlessly into his throat. Of course Rivoli would throw him--that was to be expected--but that would not free Rivoli's throat. Not by any manner of means. With a fair and square two-handed hold on the skunk's throat, it would be no small thing to get that throat free again while there was any life left in its proprietor....With a heave and a thrust, the Italian threw the Bucking Bronco heavily and fell heavily upon him. The latter tightened his grip and saw his enemy going black in the face.... Swiftly Rivoli changed his hold. While keeping one arm round the American's leg, at the knee, he seized his foot with the other hand and pressed it backward with all his gigantic strength. As the leg bent back, he pressed his other arm more tightly into the back of the knee. In a moment the leg must snap like a carrot, and the American knew it--and also that he would be lame for life if his knee-joint were thus rent asunder. It was useless to hope that Rivoli would suffocate before the leg broke... Nor would a dead Rivoli be a sufficient compensation for perpetual lameness. Never to walk nor ride nor fight.... A lame husband for Carmelita.... Loosing his hold on his antagonist's throat, he punched him a paralysing blow on the muscle of the arm that was bending his leg back, and then seized the same arm by the wrist with both hands, and freed his foot.... A deadlock.... They glared into each other's eyes, mutually impotent, and then, by tacit mutual consent, released holds, rose, and confronted each other afresh.So far, honours were decidedly with the American, and a loud spontaneous cheer arose from the spectators. "Vive le Bouckaing Bronceau!" was the general sentiment.Carmelita sat like a statue on her high chair--lifeless save for her terrible eyes. Though her lips did not move, she prayed with all the fervour of her ardent nature.Breathing heavily, the antagonists faced each other like a pair of half-crouching tigers.... Suddenly Rivoli kicked. Not the horizontal kick ofla savatein which the leg is drawn up to the chest and the foot shot out sideways and parallel with the floor, so that the sole strikes the object flatly--but in the ordinary manner, the foot rising from the ground, to strike with the toe. The Bucking Bronco raised his right foot and crossed his right leg over his left, so that the Italian's rising shin met his own while the rising foot met nothing at all. Had the kick been delivered fully, the leg would have broken as the shin was suddenly arrested while the foot met nothing. (This is the deadliest defence there is against a kicker, other than a savatist.) But so fine was the poise and skill of the professional acrobat, that, in full flight, he arrested the kick ere it struck the parrying leg with full violence. He did not escape scot-free from this venture, however, for, even as he raised his leg in defence, the Bucking Bronco shot forth his right hand with one of the terrible punches for which Rivoli was beginning to entertain a wholesome respect. He saved his leg, but received a blow on the right eye which he knew must, before long, cause it to close completely. He saw red, lost his temper and became as an infuriated bull. As he had done under like circumstances with the Légionnaire Rupert, he rushed at his opponent with a roar, casting aside wisdom and prudence in the madness of his desire to get his enemy in his arms. He expected to receive a blow in the face as he sprang, and was prepared to dodge it by averting his head. With an agility surprising in so big a man, the Bucking Bronco ducked below the Italian's outstretched arms and, covering his face with his bent left arm, drove at his antagonist's "mark" with a blow like the kick of a horse. The gasping groan with which the wind was driven out of Rivoli's body was music to the Bucking Bronco's ears. He knew that, for some seconds, his foe, be he the strongest man alive, was at his mercy. Springing erect he punched with left and right at his doubled-up and gasping enemy, his arms working like piston-rods and his fists falling like sledge-hammers. The cheering became continuous as Rivoli shrank and staggered before that rain of terrific blows. Suddenly he recovered, drew a deep breath and flung his arms fairly round the Bucking Bronco's waist.Corpo di Bacco! He had got him!...Clasping his hands behind the American, he settled his head comfortably down into that wily man's neck, and bided his time. He had got him.... He would rest and wait until his breathing was more normal. He would then tire thesceleratodown ... tire him down ... and then ...This was his programme, but it was not that of the Bucking Bronco, or not in its entirety. He realised that "Loojey had the bulge on him." For the moment it was "Loojey's night ter howl." He would take a rest and permit Loojey to support him, also he would feign exhaustion and distress. It was a pity that it was his right arm that was imprisoned in the bear-hug of the wrestler. However, nothing much could happen so long as he kept his back convex.Seconds, which seemed like long minutes, passed.Suddenly the Italian made a powerful effort to draw him closer and decrease the convexity of his arched back. He resisted the constriction with all his strength, but realised that he had been drawn slightly inward.Again a tremendous tensing of mighty muscles, again a tremendous heave in opposition, and again he was a little nearer.The process was repeated. Soon the line of his back would be concave instead of convex. That would be the beginning of the end. Once he bent over backward there would be no hope; he would finally drop from the Italian's grasp with a sprained or broken back, to receive shattering kicks in the face, ribs and stomach, before Rivoli jumped upon him with both feet and twenty stone weight. For a moment he half regretted having so stringently prohibited any sort or kind of interference in the fight, whatever happened, short of Rivoli's producing a weapon. But only for a moment. He would not owe his life to the intervention of others, after having promised Carmelita to beat him up and bring him grovelling to her feet. He had been winning so far.... Hewouldwin.... As the Italian again put all his force into an inward-drawing hug, the American, for a fraction of a second, resisted with all his strength and then suddenly did precisely the opposite. Shooting his feet between the straddled legs of his adversary, he flung his left arm around his head, threw all his weight on to it and brought himself and Rivoli crashing heavily to the ground. As the arms of the latter burst asunder, the Bucking Bronco had time to seize his head and bang it twice, violently, upon the stone floor.Both scrambled to their feet.It had been a near thing. He must not get into that rib-crushing hug again, for the trick would not avail twice. Like a springing lion, Rivoli was on him. Ducking, he presented the top of his head to the charge and felt the Italian grip his collar. With an inarticulate cry of glee he braced his feet and with tremendous force and speed revolved his head and shoulders round and round in a small circle, the centre and axis of which was Rivoli's hand and forearm. The first lightning-like revolution entangled the tightly-gripping hand, the second twisted and wrenched the wrist and arm, the third completed the terrible work of mangling disintegration. In three seconds the bones, tendons, ligaments, and tissue of Rivoli's right hand and wrist were broken, wrenched and torn. The bones of the forearm were broken, the elbow and shoulder-joints were dislocated. Tearing himself free, the American sprang erect and struck the roaring, white-faced Italian between the eyes and then drove him before him, staggering backward under a ceaseless rain of violent punches. Drove him back and back, even as the bully put his uninjured left hand behind him for the dagger concealed in the hip pocket of his baggy trousers, and sent him reeling, stumbling and half-falling straight into the middle of his silent knot of jackals, Malvin, Borges, Hirsch, Bauer, and Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat. Against these he fell. Malvin was seen to put out his hands to stop him, Borges and Hirsch closed in on him to catch him, Bauer pressed against Malvin, Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat stooped with a swift movement. With a grunt Rivoli collapsed, his knees gave way and, in the middle of the dense throng, he slipped to the ground. As the Bucking Bronco thrust in, and the crowd pressed back, Rivoli lay on his face in the cleared space, a knife in his left hand, another in his back.He never moved nor spoke again, but M. Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat did both.As he left the Café he licked his lips, smiled and murmured: "Je m'en ai souvenu."CHAPTER XIGREATER LOVE...At the bottom of the alley, le bon Légionnaire Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat encountered Sergeant Legros.... A bright idea! ... Stepping up to the worthy Sergeant, he saluted, and informed him that, passing the notorious Café de la Légion, a minute since, he had heard a terribletohuwabohuand, looking in, had seen a crowd of excited Legionaries fighting with knives and side-arms. He had not entered, but from the door had seen at least one dead man upon the ground.The worthy Sergeant's face lit up as he smacked his lips with joy. Ah, ha! here were punishments.... Here were crimes.... Here were victims forsalle de policeandcellules.... Fodder for thepeloton des hommes punisand the Zephyrs.... Here was distinction for that keen disciplinarian, Sergeant Legros."V'la quelqu'un pour la boîte," quoth he, and betook himself to the Café at thepas gymastique.§2At the sight of the knife buried in the broad naked back of the Italian, the silence of horror fell upon the stupefied crowd.Nombril de Belzébuth! How had it happened?Sacré nom de nom de bon Dieu de Dieu de Dieu de sort! Who had done it? Certainly not le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau. Never for one second had the Légionnaire Rivoli's back been toward him. Never for one instant had there been a knife in the American's hand. Yet there lay the great Luigi Rivoli stabbed to the heart. There was the knife in his back.Dame!Men's mouths hung open stupidly, as they stared wide-eyed. Gradually it grew clear and obvious. Of course--he had been knocked backwards into that group of his jackals, Malvin, Borges, Hirsch and Bauer, and one of them, who hated him, had been so excited and uplifted by the sight of his defeat that he had turned upon him. Yes, he had been stabbed by one of those four."Malvin did it. I saw him," ejaculated Tant-de-Soif. He honestly thought he had--or thought he thought so. "God bless him," he added solemnly.He had many a score to settle with M. Malvin, but he could afford to give him generous praise--since he was booked for the firing-party beside the open grave, or five yearsrabiauin Biribi. It is not every day that one's most hated enemies destroy each other...."Wal! I allow thet's torn it," opined the Bucking Bronco as he surveyed his dead enemy.Carmelita came from behind the bar and down the room. What was happening? Why had the fight stopped? She saw the huddled heap that had been Rivoli.... She saw the knife--and thought she understood. This was as things should be. This was how justice and vengeance were executed in her own beloved Naples. Il Signor Americano was worthy to be a Neapolitan, worthy to inherit and transmitvendetta. How cruelly she had misjudged him in thinking him a barbarian...."Payé," she cried, turning in disgust from the body, and threw her arms round the Bucking Bronco's neck, as the Sergeant burst in at the door. Sergeant Legros was in his element. Not only was there here a grand harvest of military criminals for his reaping, but here was vengeance--and vengeance and cruelty were the favourite food of the soul of Sergeant Legros. Here was a grand opportunity for vengeance on the Italian trollop who had, when he was a private Legionary, not only rejected his importunities with scorn, but had soundly smacked his face withal. Striding forward, as soon as he had roared, "Attention!" he seized Carmelita roughly by the arm and shook her violently, with a shout of: "To your kennel,prostituée." Whereupon the Bucking Bronco felled his superior officer to the ground with a smashing blow upon the jaw, thereby establishing an indisputable claim to life-servitude in the terrible Penal Battalions.Among the vices of vile Sergeant Legros, physical cowardice found no place. Staggering to his feet, he spat out a tooth, wiped the blood from his face, drew his sword-bayonet, and rushed at the American intending to kill him forthwith, in "self-defence." At the best of times Sergeant Legros looked, and was, a dangerous person--but the blow had made him a savage, homicidal maniac. The Bucking Bronco was dazed and astonished at what he had done. Circumstances had been too strong for him. He had naturally been in an abnormal state at the end of such a fight, and in no condition to think and act calmly when his adored Carmelita was insulted and assaulted.... What had he done? This meant death or penal servitude from the General Court Martial at Oran. He had lost her in the moment of winning her, and he dropped his hands as the Sergeant flew at him with the sword-bayonet poised to strike. No--he would fight.... He would make his get-away.... He would skin out and Carmelita should join him.... He would fight... Too late! ... The bayonet was at his throat.... Crash! ... Good old Johnny! ... That had been a near call. As the maddened Legros was in the act to thrust, Legionary John Bull had struck him on the side of the head with all his strength, sending him staggering, and had leapt upon him to secure the bayonet as they went crashing to the ground. As they struggled, Legionary Rupert set his foot heavily on the Sergeant's wrist and wrenched the bayonet from his hand.The problem of Sir Montague Merline's future was settled and the hour for Reginald Rupert's desertion had struck.An ominous growl had rumbled round the room at the brutal words and action of the detested Legros, and an audible gasp of consternation had followed the Bucking Bronco's blow. Sacré Dieu! Here were doings of which ignorance would be bliss--and there was a rush to the door, headed by Messieurs Malvin, Borges, Hirsch and Bauer.Several Legionaries, as though rooted to the spot by a fearful fascination, or by the hope of seeing Legros share the fate of Rivoli, had stood their ground until John Bull struck him and Rupert snatched the bayonet as though to kill him. Then, with two exceptions, this remainder fled. These two were Tant-de-Soif and the Dutchman, Hans Djoolte; the former, absolutely unable to think of flight and the establishment of analibiwhile the man who had made his life a hell was fighting for his own life; the latter, clear of conscience, honestly innocent and wholly unafraid. Staring round-eyed, they saw Sergeant Legros mightily heave his body upward, his head pinned to the ground by 'Erb 'Iggins, his throat clutched by Légionnaire Jean Boule, his right hand held down by Légionnaire Rupert. Again he made a tremendous effort, emitted a hideous bellowing sound and then collapsed and lay curiously still. Meanwhile, Carmelita had closed and fastened the doors and shutters of the Café and was turning out the lamps. Within half a minute of the entrance of the Sergeant, the Café was closed and in semi-darkness."The bloomin' ol' fox is shammin' dead," panted 'Erb, and removed his own belt. "'Eave 'im up and shove this rahnd 'is elbers while 'e's a-playin' 'possum. Shove yourn rahnd 'is legs, Buck," he added.While still lying perfectly supine, the Sergeant was trussed like a fowl."Naow we gotter hit the high places. We gotter vamoose some," opined the Bucking Bronco, as the four arose, their task completed. They looked at each other in consternation. Circumstances had been too much for them. Fate and forces outside themselves had whirled them along in a spate of mischance, and cast them up, stranded and gasping. Entering the place with every innocent and praiseworthy intention, they now stood under the shadow of the gallows and the gaol. With them in that room was a murdered man, and an assaulted, battered and outraged superior....The croaking voice of Tant-de-Soif broke the silence. "Pour vous," quoth he, "il n'y a plus que l'Enfer.""Shut up, you ugly old crow," replied Reginald Rupert, "and clear out.... Look here, what are you going to do about it? What are you going to say?""I?" enquired Tant-de-Soif. "Le Légionnaire Djoolte and I have seen each other in the Bar de Madagascar off the Rue de Daya the whole evening. We have been herepeaudezébie. Is it not, my Djoolte? Eh,mon salop?"But the sturdy Dutch boy was of a different moral fibre."I have not been in the Bar de Madagascar," replied he, in halting Legion French. "I have been in le Café de la Légion the whole evening and seen all that happened.""'E's a-seekin' sorrer. 'E wants a fick ear," put in 'Erb in his own vernacular."If my evidence is demanded, I saw a fair fight between the Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau and le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli. I then saw le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli fall dead, having been stabbed by either le Légionnaire Malvin or le Légionnaire Bauer, if it were not le Légionnaire Hirsch, or le Légionnaire Borges. I believe Malvin stabbed him while these three held him, but I do not know. I then saw le Sergent Legros enter and assault and abuse Mam'zelle Carmelita. I then saw him fall as though someone had struck him and he then attempted to murder le Légionnaire Bronco with his Rosalie. I then saw some Légionnaires tie him up.... That is the evidence that I shall give if I give any at all. I may refuse to answer, but I shall tell no lies.""That is all right," said the Bucking Bronco. "Naow yew git up an' yew git--an' yew too, Tant-de-Soif, and tell the b'ys ter help Carmelita any they can, ef Legros gits 'er inter trouble an' gits 'er Caffy shut.... An' when yew gits the Gospel truth orf yure chest, Fatty, yew kin say, honest Injun, as haow I tol' yew, thet me an' John Bull was a-goin' on pump ter Merocker, an' Mounseers Rupert an' 'Erb was a-goin' fer ter do likewise ter Toonis. Naow git," and the two were hustled out of the Café."Now," said John Bull, taking command, "we've got to be quick, as it's just possible the news of what's happened may reach the picket and you may be looked for before you're missing. First thing is Carmelita, second thing's money, and third thing's plan of campaign.... Is Carmelita in any danger over this?""Don't see why she should be," said Rupert. "It's not her fault that there was a fight in her Café. It has never been in any sense a 'disorderly house,' and what happened, merely happened here.""Yep," agreed the Bucking Bronco. "But I'm plum' anxious. I'm sure tellin' yew, I don't like ter make my gitaway an' leave her hyar. But we can't take a gal on pump.""Arx the young lidy," suggested 'Erb, and with one consent they went to the bar, leaning on which Carmelita was sobbing painfully. The strain and agony of the last twenty-four hours had been too much and she had broken down. As they passed the two silent bodies, 'Erb stopped and bent over Sergeant Legros, remarking: "Knows 'ow ter lie doggo, don't 'e--the ol' cunnin'-chops?" He fell silent a moment, and then in a very different voice ejaculated, "Gawds-treuth 'e'smort, 'e is. 'E'stué."John Bull and Reginald Rupert looked at each other, and then turned back quietly to where the Sergeant was lying."Cerebral hemorrhage," suggested John Bull. "I struck him on the side of the head.""'Eart failure," suggested 'Erb. "I set on 'is 'ead till 'is 'eart stopped, blimey!""Apple Plexy, I opine," put in the Bucking Bronco. "All comes o' gittin' excited, don't it?""He certainly made himself perfectly miserable when I took his bayonet away," admitted Legionary Rupert."Anyhow, it's a fair swingin' job nah, wotever it was afore," said 'Erb. Whatever the cause and whosesoever the hand, Sergeant Legros was undoubtedly dead. They removed the belts, straightened his limbs, closed his eyes and 'Erb placed the dead man's képi over the face, bursting as he did so into semi-hysterical song--"Ours is a 'appy little 'ome,I wisht I was a kipper on the foam,There's no carpet on the door,There's no knocker on the floor,Oo! Ours is a 'appy little 'ome.""Shut that damned row," said Legionary Rupert."Carmelita, honey," said the Bucking Bronco, stroking the hair of the weeping girl. "Yew got the brains. Wot'll we do? Shall we stop an' look arter ye? Will yew come on pump with us? Will yew ketch the nine-fifteen ter Oran? Yew could light out fer the railroadde-pot right now--or will yew stick it out here, an' see ef they takes away yure licence? They couldn't do nuthin' more.... Give it a name, little gal--we've gotter hike quick, ef we ain't a-goin' ter stay."Carmelita controlled herself with an effort and dried her eyes. Not for nothing had her life been what it had."You must all go at once," she said unhesitatingly. "Take Signor Rupert's money and make for Mendoza's in the Ghetto. He'll sell you mufti and food. Change, and then run, all night, along the railway. Lie up all day, and then run all night again. Then take different trains at different wayside stations, one by one, and avoid each other like poison in Oran; and leave by different boats on different days. I shall stay here. After trying for some hours to revive Legros, I shall send for the picket. You will be far from Sidi then. I shall give the Police all information as to the fight, and as to the murder ofthat, by Malvin; and shall conceal nothing of Legros' murderous attempt upon the Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau and of his death byapoplessia.... They will see he has no wound.... This will give weight and truth to my evidence to the effect that it was a fair, clean fight and that no blame attaches to le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau.... Where am I to blame? ... No, you can leave me without fear. Also will I give evidence to having heard you plotting to make the promenade in different directions and to avoid the railway and Oran...."The Bucking Bronco was overcome with admiration."Ain't that horse-sense?" he ejaculated.Laying her hands upon his shoulders, Carmelita looked him in the eyes."And when you write to me to join you also, dear Americano, I will come," she said. "I, Carmelita, have said it.... Now thatthatis dead, I shall be able to save some money. Write to me when you are safe, and I will join you wherever you are--whether it be Napoli or Inghilterra or America.""God bless ye, little gal," growled the American, folding her in his arms, and for the first time of his life being on the verge of an exhibition of weakness. "We'll make our gitaway all right, an' we couldn't be no use ter yew in prison hyar.... I'll earn or steal some money ter send yer, Carmelita, honey.""I can help you there," put in Legionary Rupert."You and your loose cash are thedeus ex machina, Rupert, my boy," said John Bull.... "But for you, the Russians would hardly have got away so easily, and now a few pounds will make all the difference between life and death to Buck and Carmelita, not to mention yourself and 'Erb.""I am very fortunate," said Rupert, gracefully. "By the way, how much have we left Carmelita?" he added."Exactly seven hundred francs, Monsieur," she replied. "Monsieur drew one thousand, he will remember, and the Russians after all, needed only three hundred in addition to their own roubles.""What are you going to do, 'Erb?" asked John Bull. "You haven't committed yourself very deeply you know. Legros can't give evidence against you and I doubt whether Tant-de-Soif or Djoolte will.... I don't suppose any of the others noticed you, but there's a risk--and ten years of Dartmoor would be preferable to six months in the Penal Battalions. What shall you do?""Bung orf," replied 'Erb. "I'm fair fed full wiv Hafrica. Wot price the Ol' Kent Road on a Sat'day night!""Then seven hundred francs will be most ample for three of you, to get mufti, railway tickets and tramp-steamer passages from Oran to Hamburg.""Why three?" asked Rupert."You, Buck and 'Erb," replied John Bull."Oh, I see. You have money for your own needs?" observed Rupert in some surprise."I'm not going," announced John Bull."What?" exclaimed four voices simultaneously, three in English and one in French."I'm not going," he reiterated, "for several reasons.... To begin with, I've nowhere to go. Secondly, I don't want to go. Thirdly, I did not kill Legros," and, as an inducement to the Bucking Bronco to agree with his wishes, he added, "and fourthly, I may be able to be of some service to Carmelita if only by supporting her testimony with my evidence at the trial--supposing that I am arrested.""Come off it, old chap," said Rupert. "There are a hundred men whose testimony will support Carmelita's.""Wot's bitin' yew naow, John?" asked the Bucking Bronco. "Yew know it's a plum' sure thing as haow it'll come out thet yew slugged Legros in the year-'ole when we man-handled him. Won't that be enuff ter give yew five-spot in Biribi?""Yus. Wot cher givin' us, Ole Cock?" expostulated 'Erb. "Wot price them blokes Malvin, an' Bower, an' Borjis, an' 'Ersh? Fink they'll shut their 'eads? An' wot price that bloomin' psalm-smitin', Bible-puncher of a George Washington of a Joolt? Wot price ole Tarntderswoff? Git 'im in front of a court martial an' 'e wouldn't jabber, would 'e? Not arf, 'e wouldn't. Idon'tfink.""And don't talk tosh, my dear chap, about having nowhere to go, please," said Rupert. "You're coming home with me of course. My mother will love to have you.""Thanks awfully, but I'm afraid I can't go to England," was the reply. "I must...""Garn," interrupted 'Erb. "I'm wanted meself, but I'm a-goin' ter chawnst it. No need ter 'ang abaht Scotland Yard.... I knows lots o' quiet juggers. 'Sides, better go where it's a risk o' bein' pinched than stop where it's a dead cert.... Nuvver fing. You ain't goin' ter be put away fer wot you done, Gawd-knows-'ow-many years ago. That's all blowed over, long ago. Why you've bin 'ere pretty nigh fifteen year, ain't yer? Talk sinse, Ole Cock--ain't yer jest said yer'd raver do a ten stretch in Portland than 'arf a one in Biribi?"John Bull and Reginald Rupert smiled at each other."Thanks awfully, Rupert," said the former, "but I can't go to England." Turning to the Cockney he added, "You're a good sort, Herbert, my laddie--but I'm staying here.""Shucks," observed the American with an air of finality, and turning to Carmelita requested her to fetch the nuggets, the spondulicks, the dope--in short, the wad. Carmelita disappeared into her little room and returned in a few moments with a roll of notes."Well, good-bye, my dear old chap," said John Bull, taking the American's hand. "You understand all I can't say, don't you? ... Good-bye.""Nuthin' doin', John," was the answer."Hurry him off, Carmelita, we've wasted quite time enough," said John Bull, turning to the girl. "If he doesn't go now and do his best for himself, he doesn't love you. Do clear him out. It's death or penal servitude if he's caught. He struck Legros before Legros even threatened him--and Legros is dead.""You hear what Signor Jean Boule says. Are you going?" said Carmelita, turning to the American."No, my gal. I ain't," was the prompt reply. "How can I, Carmelita? ... I'm his pal.... Hev' I got ter choose between yew an' him?""Of course you have," put in John Bull. "Stay here and you will never see her again. It won't be a choice between me and her then; it'll be between death and penal servitude."The Bucking Bronco took Carmelita's face between his hands."Little gal," he said, "I didn't reckon there was no such thing as 'love,' outside books, ontil I saw yew. Life wasn't worth a red cent ontil yew came hyar. Then every time I gits inter my bunk, I thinks over agin every word I'd said ter yew thet night, an' every word yew'd said ter me. An' every mornin' when I gits up, I ses, 'I shall see Carmelita ter-night,' an' nuthin' didn't jar me so long as that was all right. An' when I knowed yew wasn't fer mine, because yew loved Loojey Rivoli, then I ses, 'Hell!' An' I didn't shoot 'im up because I see how much yew loved him. An' I put up with him when he uster git fresh, because ef I'd beat 'im up yew'd hev druv me away from the Caffy, an' life was jest Hell, 'cause I knowed 'e was a low-lifer reptile an' yew'd never believe it.... An' now yew've found 'im out, an' he's gorn, an' yure mine--an' it's too late.... Will yew think I don't love yew, little gal? ... Don't tell me ter go or I might sneak off an' leave John in the lurch.""You can't help me, Buck," put in John Bull. "I shall be all right. Who'll you benefit by walking into gaol?"The American looked appealingly at the girl, and his face was more haggard and anxious than when he was fighting for his life."This is my answer, Signor Bouckaing Bronceau," spake Carmelita. "Had you gone without Signor Jean Boule, I should not have followed you. Now I have heard you speak, I trust you for ever. Had you deserted your friend in trouble, you would have deserted me in trouble. If Signor Jean Boule will not go, then you must stay, for he struck Legros to save your life, as you struck him to avenge me. WouldIrun away while you paid for that blow?..."Carmelita then turned with feminine wiles upon John Bull."Since Signor Jean Boule will not go on pump," she continued, "you must stay and be shot, or sent to penal servitude, and I must be left to starve in the gutter."Sir Montague Merline came to the conclusion that after all the problem of his immediate future was not settled."Very well," said he, "come on. We'll cut over to Mendoza's and go to earth. As soon as he has rigged us out, we'll get clear of Sidi."(He could always give himself up when they had to separate and he could help them no more. Yes, that was it. He would pretend that he had changed his mind and when they had to separate he would pretend that he was going to continue his journey. He would return and give himself up. Having told the exact truth with regard to his share in the matter, he would take his chance and face whatever followed.)"A rivederci, Carmelita," said he and kissed her."Mille grazie, Signor," replied Carmelita. "Buon viaggio," and wept afresh."So-long, Miss," said 'Erb. "Are we dahn'arted?Naow!"Carmelita smiled through her tears at the quaint Englishribaldo, and brought confusion on Reginald Rupert by the warmth of her thanks for his actual and promised financial help...."We'd better go separately to Mendoza's," said John Bull. "Buck had better come last. I'll go first and bargain with the old devil. We shan't be missed until the morning, but we needn't exactly obtrude ourselves on people."He went out, followed a few minutes later by Rupert and 'Erb.Left alone with Carmelita, the Bucking Bronco picked her up in his arms and held her like a baby, as with haggard face and hoarse voice he tried to tell her of his love and of his misery in having to choose between losing her and leaving her. Having arranged with her that he should write to her in the name of Jules Lebrun from an address which would not be in France or any of her colonies, the Bucking Bronco allowed himself to be driven from the back door of the Café. Carmelita's last words were--"Good-bye,amato. When you send for me I shall come, and you need not wait until you can send me money."
CHAPTER X
THE WAGES OF SIN
It was soon evident that the word had been passed round that there would be "something doing" at the Café de la Légion that evening. Never before had its hospitable roof covered so large an assembly of guests. Though it was not exactly what could be called "a packed house," it was far from being a selected gathering of the special friends of Il Signor Luigi Rivoli. To Legionaries John Bull, Reginald Rupert and 'Erb 'Iggins it was obvious that the Bucking Bronco had been at some pains to arrange that the spectators of whatever might befall that evening, were men who would witness the undoing of Luigi Rivoli--should that occur--with considerable equanimity. Scarcely a man there but had felt at some time the weight of his brutal fist and the indignity of helpless obedience to his tyrannous behest. Of one thing they were sure--whatever they might, or might not behold, they would see a Homeric fight, a struggle that would become historic in the annals of la Légion. The atmosphere was electric with suppressed excitement and a sense of pleasurable expectation.
In a group by the bar, lounged the Bucking Bronco and the three Englishmen with a few of their more immediate intimates, chiefly Frenchmen, and members of theirescouade. Carmelita, a brilliant spot of colour glowing on either cheek, busied herself about her duties, flitting like a butterfly from table to table. Never had she appeared more light-hearted, gay, andinsouciante. But to John Bull, who watched her anxiously, it was clear that her gaiety was feverish and hectic, her laughter forced and hysterical.
"Reckon 'e's got an earthly, matey?" asked 'Erb of Rupert. "'E'll 'ave ter scrag an' kick, same as Rivoli, if 'e don't want ter be counted aht."
"I'd give a hundred pounds to see him win, anyhow," was the reply. "I expect he'll fight the brute with his own weapons. He'll go in for what he calls 'rough-housing' I hope.... No good following Amateur Boxing Association rules if you're fighting a bear, or a Zulu, or a Fuzzy-wuzzy, or Luigi Rivoli...."
And that was precisely the intention of the American, whose fighting had been learnt in a very rough and varied school. When earning his living as a professional boxer, he had given referees no more than the average amount of trouble; and in the ring, against a clean fighter, had put up a clean fight. A tricky opponent, resorting to fouls, had always found him able to respond with very satisfying tricks of his own--"and then some." But the Bucking Bronco had also done much mixed fighting as a hobo[#] with husky and adequate bulls[#] in many of the towns of the free and glorious United States of America, when guilty of having no visible means of support; with exasperated and homicidal shacks[#] on most of that proud country's railways, when "holding her down," and frustrating their endeavours to make him "hit the grit"; with terrible and dangerous lumber-jacks in timber camps when the rye whiskey was in and all sense and decency were out; with cow-punchers and ranchers, with miners, with Bowery toughs, and assorted desperadoes.
[#] Tramp, a rough.
[#] Policemen.
[#] Train conductors.
To-night, when he stood face to face with Luigi Rivoli, he intended to do precisely what his opponent would do, to use all Nature's weapons and every device, trick, shift and artifice that his unusually wide experience had taught him.
He knew, and fully admitted, that, tremendously powerful and tough as he himself was, Rivoli was far stronger. Not only was the Italian a born Strong Man, but he had spent his life in developing his muscles, and it was probable that there were very few more finely developed athletes on the face of the earth. Moreover, he was a far younger man, far better fed (thanks to Carmelita), and a trained professional wrestler. Not only were his muscles of marvellous development, they were also trained and educated to an equally marvellous quickness, skill and poise. Add to this the fact that the man was no mean exponent of the arts ofla savateandla boxe, utterly devoid of any scruples of honour and fair-play, and infused with a bitter hatred of the American--and small blame accrues to the latter for his determination to meet the Italian on his own ground.
As he stood leaning against the bar, his elbows on it and his face toward the big room, it would have required a very close observer to note any signs of the fact that he was about to fight for his life, and, far more important, for Carmelita, against an opponent in whose favour the odds were heavy. His hard strong face was calm, the eyes level and steady, and, more significant, the hands and fingers quiet and reposeful. Studying his friend, John Bull noticed the absence of any symptoms of excitement, nervousness, or anxiety. There was no moistening of lips, no working of jaw muscles, no change of posture, no quickening of speech. It was the same old Buck, large, lazy, and lethargic, with the same humorous eye, the same measured drawl, the same quaint turn of speech. In striking contrast with the immobility of the American, was the obvious excitement of the Cockney.
"It'll be an 'Ellova fight," he kept on saying. "Gawdstreuth, it'll be an 'Ellova fight," and bitterly regretted the self-denying ordinance which he had passed upon himself to the effect that no liquor should wet his lips till all was o'er....
Luigi Rivoli, followed as usual by Malvin, Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat, Borges, Hirsch and Bauer, strode into the Café. He was accustomed to attracting attention and to the proud consciousness of nudges, glances and whisperings wherever he went. Not for nothing is one the strongest and most dangerous man in the Foreign Legion. But to-night he was aware of more than usual interest as silence fell upon the abnormally large gathering in Carmelita's Café. He at once ascribed it to the widespread interest in the public challenge he had received from John Bull to aduel à l'outranceand the rumour that the Englishman had as publicly withdrawn it. He felt that fresh lustre had been added to his brilliant name.... Carmelitahadbeen useful there, and had delivered him from a very real danger, positively from the fangs of a mad dog. Very useful. What a pity it was that he could not marry Madame, and run Carmelita. Might she not be brought to consent to some such arrangement? Not even when she found she could have him in no other way? ... Never!
Absolutamente... Curse her.... Well, anyhow, there were a few more francs, dinners, and bottles of Chianti. One must take what one can, while one can--and after all the Canteen was worth ten Cafés. Madame had been very kind to-night and would give her final answer to-morrow. That had been a subtle idea of his, telling her that, unless she married him, she should marry no one, and remain a widow all the days of her life, for he'd break the back of any man who so much as looked at her. That had given the old sow something to think about. Ha! Ha! ...
As he entered, John Bull was just saying to the Bucking Bronco, "Don't do it, Buck. I know all about that
'Thrice-armed is he who hath his quarrel just,But four times is he who gets his blow in fust.'
'Thrice-armed is he who hath his quarrel just,But four times is he who gets his blow in fust.'
'Thrice-armed is he who hath his quarrel just,
But four times is he who gets his blow in fust.'
But thrice is quite enough, believe me, old chap. You've no need to descend to such a trick as hitting him unawares, by way of starting the fight."
"Is this my night ter howl, John, or yourn? Whose funeral is it?"
... "Fight him by his own methods if you like, Buck--but don't put yourself in the wrong for a start.... You'll win all right, or I shall cease to believe in Eternal Justice of Things."
It had been the purpose of the Bucking Bronco to lessen the odds against himself, to some extent, by intimating his desire to fight, with a shattering blow which should begin, and, at the same time, half win the battle.
Rivoli approached.
Ha! There was that cursed Englishman, was he? Well, since he had given his promise to Carmelita and was debarred from a duel, he should repeat his apology of last night before this large assembly. Moreover, he would now be free to handle this English dog--to beat and torture and torment him like a new recruit. Bull's hands would be tied as far as weapons were concerned by his promise to Carmelita.... The dog was leaning against the flap of the bar which he would have to raise to pass through to his dinner. Should he take him by the ears and rub his face in the liquor-slops on the bar, or should he merely put him on the ground and wipe his feet on him? Better not perhaps, there was that thrice-accursed Americansceleratoand that indestructible young devil Rupert, who had smitten his jaw and ribs so vilely, and wanted to fight again directly he had left hospital andsalle de police. The Devil smite all Englishmen.... His wrath boiled over, his arm shot out and he seized John Bull by the collar, shook him, and slung him from his path.
And then the Heavens fell.
With his open, horny palm, the Bucking Bronco smote the Italian as cruelly stinging a slap as ever human face received. But for his friend's recent behest, he would have struck with his closed fist, and the Italian would have entered the fight, if not with a broken jaw, at least with a very badly "rattled" head.
"Ponk!" observed 'Erb, dancing from foot to foot in excitement and glee.
"Ah--h--h!" breathed Carmelita,
The Italian recovered his balance and gathered himself for a spring.
"No you don't," shouted Rupert, and the three Englishmen simultaneously threw themselves in front of him, at the same time calling on the spectators to make a ring.
In a moment, headed by Tant-de-Soif, the Englishmen's friends commenced pulling chairs, tables and benches to the walls of the big room. Old Tant-de-Soif had never received a sou or a drink from the bully, though many and many a blow and bitter humiliation. Long he had served and long he had hated. He felt that a great hour had struck.
The scores and scores of willing hands assisting, the room was quickly cleared.
"This American would die, it appears, poor madman," observed M. Malvin ingratiatingly to Carmelita.
"I do not think he will die," replied the girl. "But I think that anyone who interferes with him will do so."
The eyes of the good M. Malvin narrowed. Lay the wind in that quarter? The excellent Luigi was found out, was he? Well, there might be a successor....
Meantime the Italian had removed and methodically folded his tunic and canvas shirt. A broad belt sustained his baggy red breeches.
So it had come, had it? Well, so much the better. This American had been the fly in the ointment of his comfort too long. Why had he not strangled the insolent, or broken his back long ago? He would break him now, once and for all--maim him for life if he could; at least make a serious hospital case of him.
Bidding Malvin mount guard over his discarded garments, Rivoli stepped forth Into the middle of the large cleared space, flexing and slapping his muscles. Having done so, he looked round the crowded sides of the room for the usual applause. To his surprise none followed. He gazed about him again. Was this a selected audience? It was certainly not the audience he would have selected for himself. It appeared to consist mostly ofmiserabilewhom he had frequently had to punish for insubordination and defiance of his orders. They should have a demonstration, that evening, of the danger of defying Luigi Rivoli.
As the American stepped forward John Bull caught his sleeve. "Take off your tunic, Buck," he said in surprise.
"Take off nix," replied the American.
"But he'll get a better hold on you," remonstrated his friend.
"I should worry," was the cryptic reply, as the speaker unbuttoned the upper part of his tunic and pushed his collar well away from his neck at the back.
"'E'll cop 'old of 'im wiv that coller, an' bleed'n well strangle 'im," said 'Erb to Rupert.
"Fancy that now, sonny," said the Bucking Bronco, with an exaggerated air of surprise, and stepped into the arena.
Complete silence fell upon the room as the two antagonists faced each other.
Nom de nom de bon Dieu de Dieu! Why had not le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau stripped? Was it sheer bravado? How could he, or any other living man, afford to add to the already overwhelming risks when fighting the great Luigi Rivoli?...
The Bucking Bronco got his "blow in fust" after all, and, as his friend had prophesied, was glad that it had not been a "foul poke"--taking his opponent unawares.
"Come hither, dog, and let me snap thy spine," growled the Italian as the Bucking Bronco faced him. As he spoke, he thrust his right hand forward, as though to seize the American in a wrestling-hold. With a swift snatch the latter grabbed the extended hand, gave a powerful jerking tug and released it before his enemy could free it and fasten upon him in turn. The violent pull upon his arm swung the Italian half left and before he could recover his balance and regain his position, the Bucking Bronco had let drive at the side of his face with all his weight and strength. It was a terrific blow and caught Rivoli on the right cheek-bone, laying the side of his face open.
Only those who have seen--or experienced--it, know the effect of skilled blows struck by hands unhampered by boxing gloves.
The Italian reeled and, like the skilled master of ringcraft that he was, the Bucking Bronco gave him no time in which to recover. With a leap he again put all his strength, weight, and skill behind a slashing right-hander on his enemy's face, and, as he raised his arms, a left-hander on his ribs. Had any of these three blows found the Italian's "point" or "mark," it is more than probable that the fight would have been decided. As it was, Rivoli was only shaken--and exasperated to the point of madness....
Wait till he got his arms round the man! ... Corpo di Bacco! But wait! Let him wait till he got his hand on that collar that the rash fool had left undone and sticking out so temptingly?
Ducking swiftly under a fourth blow, he essayed to fling his arms round the American's waist. As the mighty arms shot out for the deadly embrace, the Bucking Bronco's knee flew up with terrific force, to smash the face so temptingly passed above it. Like a flash the face swerved to the left, the knee missed it, and the American's leg was instantly seized as in a vice.
The spectators held their breath. Was this the end? Rivoli had him! Could there be any hope for him?
There could. This was "rough-housin'"--and at "rough-housin'" the Bucking Bronco had had few equals. He suddenly thought of one ofthefights of his life--at 'Frisco, with the bucko mate of a hell-ship on which he had made a trip as fo'c's'le-hand, from the Klondyke. The mate had done his best to kill him at sea, and the Bucking Bronco had "laid for him" ashore as the mate quitted the ship. It had been "some" fight and the mate had collared his leg in just the same way. He would try the method that had then been successful.... He seized the Italian's neck with both huge hands, and, with all his strength, started to throttle him--his thumbs on the back of his opponent's neck, his fingers crushing relentlessly into his throat. Of course Rivoli would throw him--that was to be expected--but that would not free Rivoli's throat. Not by any manner of means. With a fair and square two-handed hold on the skunk's throat, it would be no small thing to get that throat free again while there was any life left in its proprietor....
With a heave and a thrust, the Italian threw the Bucking Bronco heavily and fell heavily upon him. The latter tightened his grip and saw his enemy going black in the face.... Swiftly Rivoli changed his hold. While keeping one arm round the American's leg, at the knee, he seized his foot with the other hand and pressed it backward with all his gigantic strength. As the leg bent back, he pressed his other arm more tightly into the back of the knee. In a moment the leg must snap like a carrot, and the American knew it--and also that he would be lame for life if his knee-joint were thus rent asunder. It was useless to hope that Rivoli would suffocate before the leg broke... Nor would a dead Rivoli be a sufficient compensation for perpetual lameness. Never to walk nor ride nor fight.... A lame husband for Carmelita.... Loosing his hold on his antagonist's throat, he punched him a paralysing blow on the muscle of the arm that was bending his leg back, and then seized the same arm by the wrist with both hands, and freed his foot.... A deadlock.... They glared into each other's eyes, mutually impotent, and then, by tacit mutual consent, released holds, rose, and confronted each other afresh.
So far, honours were decidedly with the American, and a loud spontaneous cheer arose from the spectators. "Vive le Bouckaing Bronceau!" was the general sentiment.
Carmelita sat like a statue on her high chair--lifeless save for her terrible eyes. Though her lips did not move, she prayed with all the fervour of her ardent nature.
Breathing heavily, the antagonists faced each other like a pair of half-crouching tigers.... Suddenly Rivoli kicked. Not the horizontal kick ofla savatein which the leg is drawn up to the chest and the foot shot out sideways and parallel with the floor, so that the sole strikes the object flatly--but in the ordinary manner, the foot rising from the ground, to strike with the toe. The Bucking Bronco raised his right foot and crossed his right leg over his left, so that the Italian's rising shin met his own while the rising foot met nothing at all. Had the kick been delivered fully, the leg would have broken as the shin was suddenly arrested while the foot met nothing. (This is the deadliest defence there is against a kicker, other than a savatist.) But so fine was the poise and skill of the professional acrobat, that, in full flight, he arrested the kick ere it struck the parrying leg with full violence. He did not escape scot-free from this venture, however, for, even as he raised his leg in defence, the Bucking Bronco shot forth his right hand with one of the terrible punches for which Rivoli was beginning to entertain a wholesome respect. He saved his leg, but received a blow on the right eye which he knew must, before long, cause it to close completely. He saw red, lost his temper and became as an infuriated bull. As he had done under like circumstances with the Légionnaire Rupert, he rushed at his opponent with a roar, casting aside wisdom and prudence in the madness of his desire to get his enemy in his arms. He expected to receive a blow in the face as he sprang, and was prepared to dodge it by averting his head. With an agility surprising in so big a man, the Bucking Bronco ducked below the Italian's outstretched arms and, covering his face with his bent left arm, drove at his antagonist's "mark" with a blow like the kick of a horse. The gasping groan with which the wind was driven out of Rivoli's body was music to the Bucking Bronco's ears. He knew that, for some seconds, his foe, be he the strongest man alive, was at his mercy. Springing erect he punched with left and right at his doubled-up and gasping enemy, his arms working like piston-rods and his fists falling like sledge-hammers. The cheering became continuous as Rivoli shrank and staggered before that rain of terrific blows. Suddenly he recovered, drew a deep breath and flung his arms fairly round the Bucking Bronco's waist.
Corpo di Bacco! He had got him!...
Clasping his hands behind the American, he settled his head comfortably down into that wily man's neck, and bided his time. He had got him.... He would rest and wait until his breathing was more normal. He would then tire thesceleratodown ... tire him down ... and then ...
This was his programme, but it was not that of the Bucking Bronco, or not in its entirety. He realised that "Loojey had the bulge on him." For the moment it was "Loojey's night ter howl." He would take a rest and permit Loojey to support him, also he would feign exhaustion and distress. It was a pity that it was his right arm that was imprisoned in the bear-hug of the wrestler. However, nothing much could happen so long as he kept his back convex.
Seconds, which seemed like long minutes, passed.
Suddenly the Italian made a powerful effort to draw him closer and decrease the convexity of his arched back. He resisted the constriction with all his strength, but realised that he had been drawn slightly inward.
Again a tremendous tensing of mighty muscles, again a tremendous heave in opposition, and again he was a little nearer.
The process was repeated. Soon the line of his back would be concave instead of convex. That would be the beginning of the end. Once he bent over backward there would be no hope; he would finally drop from the Italian's grasp with a sprained or broken back, to receive shattering kicks in the face, ribs and stomach, before Rivoli jumped upon him with both feet and twenty stone weight. For a moment he half regretted having so stringently prohibited any sort or kind of interference in the fight, whatever happened, short of Rivoli's producing a weapon. But only for a moment. He would not owe his life to the intervention of others, after having promised Carmelita to beat him up and bring him grovelling to her feet. He had been winning so far.... Hewouldwin.... As the Italian again put all his force into an inward-drawing hug, the American, for a fraction of a second, resisted with all his strength and then suddenly did precisely the opposite. Shooting his feet between the straddled legs of his adversary, he flung his left arm around his head, threw all his weight on to it and brought himself and Rivoli crashing heavily to the ground. As the arms of the latter burst asunder, the Bucking Bronco had time to seize his head and bang it twice, violently, upon the stone floor.
Both scrambled to their feet.
It had been a near thing. He must not get into that rib-crushing hug again, for the trick would not avail twice. Like a springing lion, Rivoli was on him. Ducking, he presented the top of his head to the charge and felt the Italian grip his collar. With an inarticulate cry of glee he braced his feet and with tremendous force and speed revolved his head and shoulders round and round in a small circle, the centre and axis of which was Rivoli's hand and forearm. The first lightning-like revolution entangled the tightly-gripping hand, the second twisted and wrenched the wrist and arm, the third completed the terrible work of mangling disintegration. In three seconds the bones, tendons, ligaments, and tissue of Rivoli's right hand and wrist were broken, wrenched and torn. The bones of the forearm were broken, the elbow and shoulder-joints were dislocated. Tearing himself free, the American sprang erect and struck the roaring, white-faced Italian between the eyes and then drove him before him, staggering backward under a ceaseless rain of violent punches. Drove him back and back, even as the bully put his uninjured left hand behind him for the dagger concealed in the hip pocket of his baggy trousers, and sent him reeling, stumbling and half-falling straight into the middle of his silent knot of jackals, Malvin, Borges, Hirsch, Bauer, and Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat. Against these he fell. Malvin was seen to put out his hands to stop him, Borges and Hirsch closed in on him to catch him, Bauer pressed against Malvin, Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat stooped with a swift movement. With a grunt Rivoli collapsed, his knees gave way and, in the middle of the dense throng, he slipped to the ground. As the Bucking Bronco thrust in, and the crowd pressed back, Rivoli lay on his face in the cleared space, a knife in his left hand, another in his back.
He never moved nor spoke again, but M. Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat did both.
As he left the Café he licked his lips, smiled and murmured: "Je m'en ai souvenu."
CHAPTER XI
GREATER LOVE...
At the bottom of the alley, le bon Légionnaire Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat encountered Sergeant Legros.... A bright idea! ... Stepping up to the worthy Sergeant, he saluted, and informed him that, passing the notorious Café de la Légion, a minute since, he had heard a terribletohuwabohuand, looking in, had seen a crowd of excited Legionaries fighting with knives and side-arms. He had not entered, but from the door had seen at least one dead man upon the ground.
The worthy Sergeant's face lit up as he smacked his lips with joy. Ah, ha! here were punishments.... Here were crimes.... Here were victims forsalle de policeandcellules.... Fodder for thepeloton des hommes punisand the Zephyrs.... Here was distinction for that keen disciplinarian, Sergeant Legros.
"V'la quelqu'un pour la boîte," quoth he, and betook himself to the Café at thepas gymastique.
§2
At the sight of the knife buried in the broad naked back of the Italian, the silence of horror fell upon the stupefied crowd.
Nombril de Belzébuth! How had it happened?
Sacré nom de nom de bon Dieu de Dieu de Dieu de sort! Who had done it? Certainly not le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau. Never for one second had the Légionnaire Rivoli's back been toward him. Never for one instant had there been a knife in the American's hand. Yet there lay the great Luigi Rivoli stabbed to the heart. There was the knife in his back.Dame!
Men's mouths hung open stupidly, as they stared wide-eyed. Gradually it grew clear and obvious. Of course--he had been knocked backwards into that group of his jackals, Malvin, Borges, Hirsch and Bauer, and one of them, who hated him, had been so excited and uplifted by the sight of his defeat that he had turned upon him. Yes, he had been stabbed by one of those four.
"Malvin did it. I saw him," ejaculated Tant-de-Soif. He honestly thought he had--or thought he thought so. "God bless him," he added solemnly.
He had many a score to settle with M. Malvin, but he could afford to give him generous praise--since he was booked for the firing-party beside the open grave, or five yearsrabiauin Biribi. It is not every day that one's most hated enemies destroy each other....
"Wal! I allow thet's torn it," opined the Bucking Bronco as he surveyed his dead enemy.
Carmelita came from behind the bar and down the room. What was happening? Why had the fight stopped? She saw the huddled heap that had been Rivoli.... She saw the knife--and thought she understood. This was as things should be. This was how justice and vengeance were executed in her own beloved Naples. Il Signor Americano was worthy to be a Neapolitan, worthy to inherit and transmitvendetta. How cruelly she had misjudged him in thinking him a barbarian....
"Payé," she cried, turning in disgust from the body, and threw her arms round the Bucking Bronco's neck, as the Sergeant burst in at the door. Sergeant Legros was in his element. Not only was there here a grand harvest of military criminals for his reaping, but here was vengeance--and vengeance and cruelty were the favourite food of the soul of Sergeant Legros. Here was a grand opportunity for vengeance on the Italian trollop who had, when he was a private Legionary, not only rejected his importunities with scorn, but had soundly smacked his face withal. Striding forward, as soon as he had roared, "Attention!" he seized Carmelita roughly by the arm and shook her violently, with a shout of: "To your kennel,prostituée." Whereupon the Bucking Bronco felled his superior officer to the ground with a smashing blow upon the jaw, thereby establishing an indisputable claim to life-servitude in the terrible Penal Battalions.
Among the vices of vile Sergeant Legros, physical cowardice found no place. Staggering to his feet, he spat out a tooth, wiped the blood from his face, drew his sword-bayonet, and rushed at the American intending to kill him forthwith, in "self-defence." At the best of times Sergeant Legros looked, and was, a dangerous person--but the blow had made him a savage, homicidal maniac. The Bucking Bronco was dazed and astonished at what he had done. Circumstances had been too strong for him. He had naturally been in an abnormal state at the end of such a fight, and in no condition to think and act calmly when his adored Carmelita was insulted and assaulted.... What had he done? This meant death or penal servitude from the General Court Martial at Oran. He had lost her in the moment of winning her, and he dropped his hands as the Sergeant flew at him with the sword-bayonet poised to strike. No--he would fight.... He would make his get-away.... He would skin out and Carmelita should join him.... He would fight... Too late! ... The bayonet was at his throat.... Crash! ... Good old Johnny! ... That had been a near call. As the maddened Legros was in the act to thrust, Legionary John Bull had struck him on the side of the head with all his strength, sending him staggering, and had leapt upon him to secure the bayonet as they went crashing to the ground. As they struggled, Legionary Rupert set his foot heavily on the Sergeant's wrist and wrenched the bayonet from his hand.
The problem of Sir Montague Merline's future was settled and the hour for Reginald Rupert's desertion had struck.
An ominous growl had rumbled round the room at the brutal words and action of the detested Legros, and an audible gasp of consternation had followed the Bucking Bronco's blow. Sacré Dieu! Here were doings of which ignorance would be bliss--and there was a rush to the door, headed by Messieurs Malvin, Borges, Hirsch and Bauer.
Several Legionaries, as though rooted to the spot by a fearful fascination, or by the hope of seeing Legros share the fate of Rivoli, had stood their ground until John Bull struck him and Rupert snatched the bayonet as though to kill him. Then, with two exceptions, this remainder fled. These two were Tant-de-Soif and the Dutchman, Hans Djoolte; the former, absolutely unable to think of flight and the establishment of analibiwhile the man who had made his life a hell was fighting for his own life; the latter, clear of conscience, honestly innocent and wholly unafraid. Staring round-eyed, they saw Sergeant Legros mightily heave his body upward, his head pinned to the ground by 'Erb 'Iggins, his throat clutched by Légionnaire Jean Boule, his right hand held down by Légionnaire Rupert. Again he made a tremendous effort, emitted a hideous bellowing sound and then collapsed and lay curiously still. Meanwhile, Carmelita had closed and fastened the doors and shutters of the Café and was turning out the lamps. Within half a minute of the entrance of the Sergeant, the Café was closed and in semi-darkness.
"The bloomin' ol' fox is shammin' dead," panted 'Erb, and removed his own belt. "'Eave 'im up and shove this rahnd 'is elbers while 'e's a-playin' 'possum. Shove yourn rahnd 'is legs, Buck," he added.
While still lying perfectly supine, the Sergeant was trussed like a fowl.
"Naow we gotter hit the high places. We gotter vamoose some," opined the Bucking Bronco, as the four arose, their task completed. They looked at each other in consternation. Circumstances had been too much for them. Fate and forces outside themselves had whirled them along in a spate of mischance, and cast them up, stranded and gasping. Entering the place with every innocent and praiseworthy intention, they now stood under the shadow of the gallows and the gaol. With them in that room was a murdered man, and an assaulted, battered and outraged superior....
The croaking voice of Tant-de-Soif broke the silence. "Pour vous," quoth he, "il n'y a plus que l'Enfer."
"Shut up, you ugly old crow," replied Reginald Rupert, "and clear out.... Look here, what are you going to do about it? What are you going to say?"
"I?" enquired Tant-de-Soif. "Le Légionnaire Djoolte and I have seen each other in the Bar de Madagascar off the Rue de Daya the whole evening. We have been herepeaudezébie. Is it not, my Djoolte? Eh,mon salop?"
But the sturdy Dutch boy was of a different moral fibre.
"I have not been in the Bar de Madagascar," replied he, in halting Legion French. "I have been in le Café de la Légion the whole evening and seen all that happened."
"'E's a-seekin' sorrer. 'E wants a fick ear," put in 'Erb in his own vernacular.
"If my evidence is demanded, I saw a fair fight between the Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau and le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli. I then saw le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli fall dead, having been stabbed by either le Légionnaire Malvin or le Légionnaire Bauer, if it were not le Légionnaire Hirsch, or le Légionnaire Borges. I believe Malvin stabbed him while these three held him, but I do not know. I then saw le Sergent Legros enter and assault and abuse Mam'zelle Carmelita. I then saw him fall as though someone had struck him and he then attempted to murder le Légionnaire Bronco with his Rosalie. I then saw some Légionnaires tie him up.... That is the evidence that I shall give if I give any at all. I may refuse to answer, but I shall tell no lies."
"That is all right," said the Bucking Bronco. "Naow yew git up an' yew git--an' yew too, Tant-de-Soif, and tell the b'ys ter help Carmelita any they can, ef Legros gits 'er inter trouble an' gits 'er Caffy shut.... An' when yew gits the Gospel truth orf yure chest, Fatty, yew kin say, honest Injun, as haow I tol' yew, thet me an' John Bull was a-goin' on pump ter Merocker, an' Mounseers Rupert an' 'Erb was a-goin' fer ter do likewise ter Toonis. Naow git," and the two were hustled out of the Café.
"Now," said John Bull, taking command, "we've got to be quick, as it's just possible the news of what's happened may reach the picket and you may be looked for before you're missing. First thing is Carmelita, second thing's money, and third thing's plan of campaign.... Is Carmelita in any danger over this?"
"Don't see why she should be," said Rupert. "It's not her fault that there was a fight in her Café. It has never been in any sense a 'disorderly house,' and what happened, merely happened here."
"Yep," agreed the Bucking Bronco. "But I'm plum' anxious. I'm sure tellin' yew, I don't like ter make my gitaway an' leave her hyar. But we can't take a gal on pump."
"Arx the young lidy," suggested 'Erb, and with one consent they went to the bar, leaning on which Carmelita was sobbing painfully. The strain and agony of the last twenty-four hours had been too much and she had broken down. As they passed the two silent bodies, 'Erb stopped and bent over Sergeant Legros, remarking: "Knows 'ow ter lie doggo, don't 'e--the ol' cunnin'-chops?" He fell silent a moment, and then in a very different voice ejaculated, "Gawds-treuth 'e'smort, 'e is. 'E'stué."
John Bull and Reginald Rupert looked at each other, and then turned back quietly to where the Sergeant was lying.
"Cerebral hemorrhage," suggested John Bull. "I struck him on the side of the head."
"'Eart failure," suggested 'Erb. "I set on 'is 'ead till 'is 'eart stopped, blimey!"
"Apple Plexy, I opine," put in the Bucking Bronco. "All comes o' gittin' excited, don't it?"
"He certainly made himself perfectly miserable when I took his bayonet away," admitted Legionary Rupert.
"Anyhow, it's a fair swingin' job nah, wotever it was afore," said 'Erb. Whatever the cause and whosesoever the hand, Sergeant Legros was undoubtedly dead. They removed the belts, straightened his limbs, closed his eyes and 'Erb placed the dead man's képi over the face, bursting as he did so into semi-hysterical song--
"Ours is a 'appy little 'ome,I wisht I was a kipper on the foam,There's no carpet on the door,There's no knocker on the floor,Oo! Ours is a 'appy little 'ome."
"Ours is a 'appy little 'ome,I wisht I was a kipper on the foam,There's no carpet on the door,There's no knocker on the floor,Oo! Ours is a 'appy little 'ome."
"Ours is a 'appy little 'ome,
I wisht I was a kipper on the foam,
There's no carpet on the door,
There's no knocker on the floor,
Oo! Ours is a 'appy little 'ome."
"Shut that damned row," said Legionary Rupert.
"Carmelita, honey," said the Bucking Bronco, stroking the hair of the weeping girl. "Yew got the brains. Wot'll we do? Shall we stop an' look arter ye? Will yew come on pump with us? Will yew ketch the nine-fifteen ter Oran? Yew could light out fer the railroadde-pot right now--or will yew stick it out here, an' see ef they takes away yure licence? They couldn't do nuthin' more.... Give it a name, little gal--we've gotter hike quick, ef we ain't a-goin' ter stay."
Carmelita controlled herself with an effort and dried her eyes. Not for nothing had her life been what it had.
"You must all go at once," she said unhesitatingly. "Take Signor Rupert's money and make for Mendoza's in the Ghetto. He'll sell you mufti and food. Change, and then run, all night, along the railway. Lie up all day, and then run all night again. Then take different trains at different wayside stations, one by one, and avoid each other like poison in Oran; and leave by different boats on different days. I shall stay here. After trying for some hours to revive Legros, I shall send for the picket. You will be far from Sidi then. I shall give the Police all information as to the fight, and as to the murder ofthat, by Malvin; and shall conceal nothing of Legros' murderous attempt upon the Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau and of his death byapoplessia.... They will see he has no wound.... This will give weight and truth to my evidence to the effect that it was a fair, clean fight and that no blame attaches to le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau.... Where am I to blame? ... No, you can leave me without fear. Also will I give evidence to having heard you plotting to make the promenade in different directions and to avoid the railway and Oran...."
The Bucking Bronco was overcome with admiration.
"Ain't that horse-sense?" he ejaculated.
Laying her hands upon his shoulders, Carmelita looked him in the eyes.
"And when you write to me to join you also, dear Americano, I will come," she said. "I, Carmelita, have said it.... Now thatthatis dead, I shall be able to save some money. Write to me when you are safe, and I will join you wherever you are--whether it be Napoli or Inghilterra or America."
"God bless ye, little gal," growled the American, folding her in his arms, and for the first time of his life being on the verge of an exhibition of weakness. "We'll make our gitaway all right, an' we couldn't be no use ter yew in prison hyar.... I'll earn or steal some money ter send yer, Carmelita, honey."
"I can help you there," put in Legionary Rupert.
"You and your loose cash are thedeus ex machina, Rupert, my boy," said John Bull.... "But for you, the Russians would hardly have got away so easily, and now a few pounds will make all the difference between life and death to Buck and Carmelita, not to mention yourself and 'Erb."
"I am very fortunate," said Rupert, gracefully. "By the way, how much have we left Carmelita?" he added.
"Exactly seven hundred francs, Monsieur," she replied. "Monsieur drew one thousand, he will remember, and the Russians after all, needed only three hundred in addition to their own roubles."
"What are you going to do, 'Erb?" asked John Bull. "You haven't committed yourself very deeply you know. Legros can't give evidence against you and I doubt whether Tant-de-Soif or Djoolte will.... I don't suppose any of the others noticed you, but there's a risk--and ten years of Dartmoor would be preferable to six months in the Penal Battalions. What shall you do?"
"Bung orf," replied 'Erb. "I'm fair fed full wiv Hafrica. Wot price the Ol' Kent Road on a Sat'day night!"
"Then seven hundred francs will be most ample for three of you, to get mufti, railway tickets and tramp-steamer passages from Oran to Hamburg."
"Why three?" asked Rupert.
"You, Buck and 'Erb," replied John Bull.
"Oh, I see. You have money for your own needs?" observed Rupert in some surprise.
"I'm not going," announced John Bull.
"What?" exclaimed four voices simultaneously, three in English and one in French.
"I'm not going," he reiterated, "for several reasons.... To begin with, I've nowhere to go. Secondly, I don't want to go. Thirdly, I did not kill Legros," and, as an inducement to the Bucking Bronco to agree with his wishes, he added, "and fourthly, I may be able to be of some service to Carmelita if only by supporting her testimony with my evidence at the trial--supposing that I am arrested."
"Come off it, old chap," said Rupert. "There are a hundred men whose testimony will support Carmelita's."
"Wot's bitin' yew naow, John?" asked the Bucking Bronco. "Yew know it's a plum' sure thing as haow it'll come out thet yew slugged Legros in the year-'ole when we man-handled him. Won't that be enuff ter give yew five-spot in Biribi?"
"Yus. Wot cher givin' us, Ole Cock?" expostulated 'Erb. "Wot price them blokes Malvin, an' Bower, an' Borjis, an' 'Ersh? Fink they'll shut their 'eads? An' wot price that bloomin' psalm-smitin', Bible-puncher of a George Washington of a Joolt? Wot price ole Tarntderswoff? Git 'im in front of a court martial an' 'e wouldn't jabber, would 'e? Not arf, 'e wouldn't. Idon'tfink."
"And don't talk tosh, my dear chap, about having nowhere to go, please," said Rupert. "You're coming home with me of course. My mother will love to have you."
"Thanks awfully, but I'm afraid I can't go to England," was the reply. "I must..."
"Garn," interrupted 'Erb. "I'm wanted meself, but I'm a-goin' ter chawnst it. No need ter 'ang abaht Scotland Yard.... I knows lots o' quiet juggers. 'Sides, better go where it's a risk o' bein' pinched than stop where it's a dead cert.... Nuvver fing. You ain't goin' ter be put away fer wot you done, Gawd-knows-'ow-many years ago. That's all blowed over, long ago. Why you've bin 'ere pretty nigh fifteen year, ain't yer? Talk sinse, Ole Cock--ain't yer jest said yer'd raver do a ten stretch in Portland than 'arf a one in Biribi?"
John Bull and Reginald Rupert smiled at each other.
"Thanks awfully, Rupert," said the former, "but I can't go to England." Turning to the Cockney he added, "You're a good sort, Herbert, my laddie--but I'm staying here."
"Shucks," observed the American with an air of finality, and turning to Carmelita requested her to fetch the nuggets, the spondulicks, the dope--in short, the wad. Carmelita disappeared into her little room and returned in a few moments with a roll of notes.
"Well, good-bye, my dear old chap," said John Bull, taking the American's hand. "You understand all I can't say, don't you? ... Good-bye."
"Nuthin' doin', John," was the answer.
"Hurry him off, Carmelita, we've wasted quite time enough," said John Bull, turning to the girl. "If he doesn't go now and do his best for himself, he doesn't love you. Do clear him out. It's death or penal servitude if he's caught. He struck Legros before Legros even threatened him--and Legros is dead."
"You hear what Signor Jean Boule says. Are you going?" said Carmelita, turning to the American.
"No, my gal. I ain't," was the prompt reply. "How can I, Carmelita? ... I'm his pal.... Hev' I got ter choose between yew an' him?"
"Of course you have," put in John Bull. "Stay here and you will never see her again. It won't be a choice between me and her then; it'll be between death and penal servitude."
The Bucking Bronco took Carmelita's face between his hands.
"Little gal," he said, "I didn't reckon there was no such thing as 'love,' outside books, ontil I saw yew. Life wasn't worth a red cent ontil yew came hyar. Then every time I gits inter my bunk, I thinks over agin every word I'd said ter yew thet night, an' every word yew'd said ter me. An' every mornin' when I gits up, I ses, 'I shall see Carmelita ter-night,' an' nuthin' didn't jar me so long as that was all right. An' when I knowed yew wasn't fer mine, because yew loved Loojey Rivoli, then I ses, 'Hell!' An' I didn't shoot 'im up because I see how much yew loved him. An' I put up with him when he uster git fresh, because ef I'd beat 'im up yew'd hev druv me away from the Caffy, an' life was jest Hell, 'cause I knowed 'e was a low-lifer reptile an' yew'd never believe it.... An' now yew've found 'im out, an' he's gorn, an' yure mine--an' it's too late.... Will yew think I don't love yew, little gal? ... Don't tell me ter go or I might sneak off an' leave John in the lurch."
"You can't help me, Buck," put in John Bull. "I shall be all right. Who'll you benefit by walking into gaol?"
The American looked appealingly at the girl, and his face was more haggard and anxious than when he was fighting for his life.
"This is my answer, Signor Bouckaing Bronceau," spake Carmelita. "Had you gone without Signor Jean Boule, I should not have followed you. Now I have heard you speak, I trust you for ever. Had you deserted your friend in trouble, you would have deserted me in trouble. If Signor Jean Boule will not go, then you must stay, for he struck Legros to save your life, as you struck him to avenge me. WouldIrun away while you paid for that blow?..."
Carmelita then turned with feminine wiles upon John Bull.
"Since Signor Jean Boule will not go on pump," she continued, "you must stay and be shot, or sent to penal servitude, and I must be left to starve in the gutter."
Sir Montague Merline came to the conclusion that after all the problem of his immediate future was not settled.
"Very well," said he, "come on. We'll cut over to Mendoza's and go to earth. As soon as he has rigged us out, we'll get clear of Sidi."
(He could always give himself up when they had to separate and he could help them no more. Yes, that was it. He would pretend that he had changed his mind and when they had to separate he would pretend that he was going to continue his journey. He would return and give himself up. Having told the exact truth with regard to his share in the matter, he would take his chance and face whatever followed.)
"A rivederci, Carmelita," said he and kissed her.
"Mille grazie, Signor," replied Carmelita. "Buon viaggio," and wept afresh.
"So-long, Miss," said 'Erb. "Are we dahn'arted?Naow!"
Carmelita smiled through her tears at the quaint Englishribaldo, and brought confusion on Reginald Rupert by the warmth of her thanks for his actual and promised financial help....
"We'd better go separately to Mendoza's," said John Bull. "Buck had better come last. I'll go first and bargain with the old devil. We shan't be missed until the morning, but we needn't exactly obtrude ourselves on people."
He went out, followed a few minutes later by Rupert and 'Erb.
Left alone with Carmelita, the Bucking Bronco picked her up in his arms and held her like a baby, as with haggard face and hoarse voice he tried to tell her of his love and of his misery in having to choose between losing her and leaving her. Having arranged with her that he should write to her in the name of Jules Lebrun from an address which would not be in France or any of her colonies, the Bucking Bronco allowed himself to be driven from the back door of the Café. Carmelita's last words were--
"Good-bye,amato. When you send for me I shall come, and you need not wait until you can send me money."