Laughing Bill Hyde and Other Stories by Rex Beach

R >> Rex Beach >> Laughing Bill Hyde and Other Stories

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

LAUGHING BILL HYDE

And Other Stories

By REX BEACH

AUTHOR OF

"Rainbow's End," "Heart of the Sunset," "The Spoilers," Etc.

1917

[Illustration: "LIKE ME?" HE ASKED. PONATAH TURNED AWAY BLINDLY]

Mr. William Hyde was discharged from Deer Lodge Penitentiary a changed
man. That was quite in line with the accepted theory of criminal
jurisprudence, the warden's discipline, and the chaplain's prayers.
Yes, Mr. Hyde was changed, and the change had bitten deep; his
humorous contempt for the law had turned to abiding hatred; his
sunburned cheeks were pallid, his lungs were weak, and he coughed
considerably. Balanced against these results, to be sure, were the
benefits accruing from three years of corrective discipline at the
State's expense; the knack of conversing through stone walls, which
Mr. Hyde had mastered, and the plaiting of wonderful horsehair
bridles, which he had learned. Otherwise he was the same "Laughing
Bill" his friends had known, neither more nor less regenerate.

Since the name of Montana promised to associate itself with unpleasant
memories, Mr. Hyde determined at once to bury his past and begin life
anew in a climate more suited to weak lungs. To that end he stuck up a
peaceful citizen of Butte who was hurrying homeward with an armful of
bundles, and in the warm dusk of a pleasant evening relieved him
of eighty-three dollars, a Swiss watch with an elk's-tooth fob, a
pearl-handled penknife, a key-ring, and a bottle of digestive tablets.

Three wasted years of industry had not robbed Mr. Hyde of the
technique of his trade, hence there was nothing amateurish or
uproarious about the procedure. He merely back-heeled the pedestrian
against a bill-board, held him erect and speechless by placing his
left hand upon his victim's shoulder and pressing his left forearm
firmly across the gentleman's apple, the while with his own dexterous
right mit he placed the eighty-three dollars in circulation. During
the transaction he laughed constantly. An hour later he was en route
for the sunny South, there being good and sufficient reasons why he
preferred that direction to any other.

Arizona helped Mr. Hyde's lungs, for the random town which he selected
was high and dry, but, unfortunately, so was Laughing Bill soon after
his arrival, and in consequence he was forced to engage promptly in
a new business enterprise. This time he raised a pay-roll. It was an
easy task, for the custodian of the pay-roll was a small man with a
kindly and unsuspicious nature. As a result of this operation Bill was
enabled to maintain himself, for some six weeks, in a luxury to which
of late he had been unaccustomed. At the end of this time the original
bearer of the payroll tottered forth from the hospital and, chancing
to overhear Mr. Hyde in altercation with a faro dealer, he was struck
by some haunting note in the former's laughter, and lost no time in
shuffling his painful way to the sheriff's office.

Seeing the man go, Laughing Bill realized that his health again
demanded a change of climate, and since it lacked nearly an hour of
train time he was forced to leave on horseback. Luckily for him he
found a horse convenient. It was a wild horse, with nothing whatever
to indicate that it belonged to any one, except the fact that it
carried a silver-mounted saddle and bridle, the reins of which were
fastened to a post in front of a saloon.

Mr. Hyde enjoyed the ride, for it kept him out in the open air. It
grieved him to part with the horse, a few hours later, but being
prodigal with personal property he presented the animal to a poor
Mexican woman, leaving her to face any resulting embarrassments. Ten
minutes later he swung himself under a west-bound freight, and in
due time arrived in California, somewhat dirty and fatigued, but in
excellent humor.

Laughing Bill's adventures and his aliases during his slow progress up
the coast form no part of this story. It might be said, with a great
deal of truth, that he was missed, if not mourned, in many towns.
Finally, having found the climates of California, Oregon and
Washington uniformly unsuited to one of his habits, force of
circumstance in the shape of numerous hand-bills adorned with an
unflattering half-tone of himself, but containing certain undeniably
accurate data such as diameter of skull, length of nose, angle of ear,
and the like, drove him still north and west. Bill was a modest man;
he considered these statistics purely personal in character; to see
them blazoned publicly on the walls of post-offices, and in the
corridors of county buildings, outraged his finer feelings, so he went
away from there, in haste, as usual.

Having never sailed the sea, he looked forward to such an experience
with lively anticipation, only to be disappointed in the realization.
It was rough off Flattery, and he suffered agonies strange and
terrifying. In due time, however, he gained his sea legs and, being
forever curious, even prying, he explored the ship. His explorations
were interesting, for they took him into strange quarters--into
the forecastle, the steerage, even into some of the first-class
state-rooms, the doors of which had been left "on the hook" while
their occupants were at meals. No small benefit accrued to Mr. Hyde
from these investigations.

One day during the dinner-hour, as he was occupied in admiring the
contents of a strange suit-case, a voice accosted him over his
shoulder, and he looked up to discover a face in the cabin window.
Bill realized that an explanation was due, for it was evident that
the speaker had been watching him for some little time; but under the
circumstances, even though the face in the window was round, youthful,
good-humored, explanations promised to be embarrassing.

"How d'y?" said Mr. Hyde.

"What luck?" inquired the stranger.

Mr. Hyde sat back upon his heels and grinned engagingly. "Not much,"
he confessed. "Can't find it nowhere. This guy must be a missionary."

The new-comer opened the door and entered. He was a medium-sized,
plump young man. "Oh, I say!" he protested. "Is it as bad as that?"
Bill nodded vaguely, meanwhile carefully measuring the physical
proportions of the interloper. The latter went on:

"I saw that you knew your business, and--I was hoping you'd manage to
find something I had missed."

Mr. Hyde breathed deep with relief; his expression altered. "You been
through ahead of me?" he inquired.

"Oh, several times; daily, in fact." The speaker tossed a bunch of
keys upon the berth, saying: "Glance through the steamer-trunk while
you're here and declare me in on anything-you find."

Mr. Hyde rose to his feet and retreated a step; his look of relief was
replaced by one of dark suspicion. As always, in moments of extremity,
he began to laugh.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I? Why, I live here. That's my baggage. I've been through it, as
I told you, but--" The young man frowned whimsically and lit a
cigarette. "It doesn't diagnose. I can't find a solitary symptom of
anything worth while. Sit down, won't you?"

Mr. Hyde's manner changed for a second time. He was embarrassed,
apologetic, crestfallen. "_Your_ cabin? Why, then--it's my mistake!"
he declared. "I must 'a' got in the wrong flat. Mac sent me up for a
deck of cards, but--Say, that's funny, ain't it?"

He began to see the joke upon himself, and the youth echoed his
laughter.

"It _is_ funny," the latter agreed. "For Heaven's sake, don't spoil
it. Sit down and have a smoke; I'm not going to eat you."

"See here! You don't mean--? D'you think for a minute--?" Mr.
Hyde began with rotund dignity, but the other waved his cigarette
impatiently, saying:

"Oh, drop that stuff or I'll page your friend 'Mac' and show you up."

In assuming his air of outraged innocence Laughing Bill had arched
his hollow chest and inhaled deeply. As a result he began to cough,
whereupon his new acquaintance eyed him keenly, saying:

"That's a bad bark. What ails you?"

"Con," said Laughing Bill.

"Pardon me. I wouldn't have smoked if I'd known." The speaker dropped
his cigarette and placed a heel upon it. "What are you doing here?
Alaska's no place for weak lungs."

Gingerly seating himself upon the narrow settee Mr. Hyde murmured,
wonderingly: "Say! You're a regular guy, ain't you?" He began to laugh
again, but now there was less of a metallic quality to his merriment.
"Yes sir, dam' if you ain't." He withdrew from his pocket a
silver-mounted hair-brush and comb, and placed them carefully upon the
washstand. "I don't aim to quit winner on a sport like you."

"Thanks, awfully!" smiled the young man. "I'd have fought you for that
comb and brush. Girl stuff, you understand? That's she." He pointed to
a leather-framed photograph propped against the mirror.

Laughing Bill leaned forward and studied the picture approvingly.
"Some queen, all right. Blonde, I reckon."

"Sure. You like blondes?"

"Who, me? I ain't strong for no kind of women. You hate her, don't
you?"

The young man smiled more widely, his whole face lit up. "I hate her
so much that I kissed her good-by and sailed away to make a quick
fortune. I hope Alaska's unhealthy."

"Yeah?"

"You see, I'm a doctor. I'm a good doctor, too, but it takes a long
time to prove it, out in the States, and I can't wait a long time."

Mr. Hyde pondered briefly. "I don't see's you got much on me, Doc," he
said. "I frisk 'em while they're good and healthy, and you 'take' 'em
when they're feeble. I don't see no difference to speak of."

"It's an interesting viewpoint," the physician agreed, seriously
enough, "and I respect every man's opinion. Tell me, how did you
acquire that cough?"

"Livin' in a ground-floor apartment."

"What's your business?"

"Harness-maker."

"Hm-m! You'll do well up here." The doctor was highly entertained. "I
understand there's a horse at Nome."

"_A_ horse!"

"Alaska isn't a stock country."

Laughing Bill was genuinely surprised. "No horses!" he murmured. "How
the hell do you get away?"

"You don't. You stay and face the music."

"Now what do you know about that?" There was a brief silence. "Well, I
bet I'll turn my hand to something."

"No doubt. You impress me as a man of resource." The doctor's eyes
twinkled and Bill smiled. A bond of friendly understanding had already
sprung up between the two men. "Now then, I'm interested in your case.
I've a notion to try to cure you."

"Nothing doin' on the fees. I'm a dead card."

"Oh, I won't charge you anything! I'm merely interested in obscure
ailments, and, if I'm not mistaken, you suffer from more than
one--well, disease. I think you need curing about as badly as any man
I ever saw."

Now Laughing Bill was not skilled in subtleties, and his relief at
extricating himself from a trying predicament banished any resentment
he might have felt at the doctor's double meaning. Since the latter
was a good-natured, harmless individual he decided to humor him, and
so, after they had visited for an hour or more, Mr. Hyde discreetly
withdrew. But, oddly enough, during the days immediately following,
Laughing Bill grew to like the young fellow immensely. This in itself
was a novel experience, for the ex-convict had been a "loner" all
his-life, and had never really liked any one. Dr. Evan Thomas,
however, seemed to fill some long-felt want in Hyde's hungry make-up.
He fitted in smoothly, too, and despite the latter's lifelong habit of
suspicion, despite his many rough edges, he could not manage to hold
the young man at a distance.

Thomas was of a type strange to the wanderer, he was educated, he had
unfamiliar airs and accomplishments, but he was human and natural
withal. He was totally ignorant of much that Mr. Hyde deemed
fundamental, and yet he was mysteriously superior, while his
indifferent good nature, his mild amusement at the antics of the world
about him covered a sincere and earnest nature. He knew his business,
moreover, and he revolutionized Bill's habits of hygiene in spite of
the latter's protests.

But the disease which ravaged Mr. Hyde's constitution had its toes dug
in, and when the steamer touched at St. Michaels he suffered a severe
hemorrhage. For the first time in his life Laughing Bill stood face to
face with darkness. He had fevered memories of going over side on a
stretcher; he was dimly aware of an appalling weakness, which grew
hourly, then an agreeable indifference enveloped him, and for a long
time he lived in a land of unrealities, of dreams. The day came when
he began to wonder dully how and why he found himself in a freezing
cabin with Doctor Thomas, in fur cap and arctic overshoes, tending
him. Bill pondered the phenomenon for a week before he put his query
into words.

"I've had a hard fight for you, old man," the doctor explained. "I
couldn't leave you here to die."

"I guess I must 'a' been pretty sick."

"Right! There's no hospital here, so I took this cabin--borrowed it
from the Company. We don't burn much fuel, and expenses aren't high."

"You been standin' off the landlord?"

"Yes."

There was a considerable silence, then Bill said, fervently: "You're a
regular guy, like I told you! But you got your pill business to attend
to. I'm all right now, so you better blow."

Thomas smiled dubiously. "You're a long way from all right, and
there's no place to 'blow' to. The last boat sailed two weeks ago."

"Last boat for where?"

"For anywhere. We're here for the winter, unless the mail-carrier will
take us to Nome, or up the Yukon, after the trails open."

"I bet you'll do a good business right here, when folks see what you
done for me," Bill ventured.

"Just wait till you look at the town--deserted warehouses, some young
and healthy watchmen, and a Siwash village. You're the only possible
patient in all of St. Michaels."

Bill lay silent for an hour, staring through the open cabin window
at a gray curtain of falling snowflakes; then he shook his head and
muttered:

"Well, I be danged!"

"Anything you want?" Thomas inquired, quickly.

"I was just thinking about that gal." Bill indicated the
leather-framed photograph which was prominently featured above the
other bunk. "You ain't gettin' ahead very fast, are you?"

This time the young medical man smiled with his lips only--his eyes
were grave and troubled. "I've written her all the circumstances, and
she'll understand. She's that sort of a girl." He turned cheerfully
back to his task. "I found that I had a few dollars left, so we won't
starve."

Mr. Hyde felt impelled to confess that in his war-bag there was a roll
of some seven hundred dollars, title to which had vested in him on the
northward trip, together with certain miscellaneous objects of virtu,
but he resisted the impulse, fearing that an investigation by his
nurse might lead the latter to believe that he, Bill, was not a
harness-maker at all, but a jewelry salesman. He determined to spring
that roll at a later date, and to present the doctor with a very thin,
very choice gold watch out of State-room 27. Bill carried out this
intention when he had sufficiently recovered to get about.

Later, when his lungs had healed, Bill hired the mail-man to take him
and his nurse to Nome. Since he was not yet altogether strong, he rode
the sled most of the way, while the doctor walked. It was a slow and
tiresome trip, along the dreary shores of Behring Sea, over timberless
tundras, across inlets where the new ice bent beneath their weight and
where the mail-carrier cautiously tested the footing with the head of
his ax. Sometimes they slept in their tent, or again in road-houses
and in Indian villages.

Every hour Laughing Bill grew stronger, and with his strength of
body grew his strength of affection for the youthful doctor. Bill
experienced a dog-like satisfaction in merely being near him; he
suffered pangs when Thomas made new friends; he monopolized him
jealously. The knowledge that he had a pal was new and thrilling; it
gave Bill constant food for thought and speculation. Thomas was always
gentle and considerate, but his little services, his unobtrusive
sacrifices never went unnoticed, and they awoke in the bandit an
ever-increasing wonderment. Also, they awoke a fierce desire to square
the obligation.

The two men laid over at one of the old Russian towns, and Thomas, as
was his restless custom, made investigation of the native village.
Of course Bill went with him. They had learned by this time to enter
Indian houses without knocking, so, therefore, when they finally came
to a cabin larger and cleaner than the rest they opened the door and
stepped inside, quite like experienced travelers.

A squaw was bent over a tub of washing, another stood beside the tiny
frosted window staring out. Neither woman answered the greeting of the
white men.

"Must be the chief's house," Thomas observed.

"Must be! I s'pose the old bird is out adding up his reindeer.
'Sapolio Sue' is prob'ly his head wife." Laughing Bill ran an
interested eye over the orderly interior. "Some shack, but--I miss the
usual smell."

Neither woman paid them the least attention, so they continued to talk
with each other.

"I wonder what she is washing," Doctor Thomas said, finally.

The figure at the window turned, exposing the face of a comely young
Indian girl. Her features were good, her skin was light. She eyed the
intruders coolly, then in a well-modulated voice, and in excellent
English, she said:

"She is washing a pair of sealskin pants."

Both men removed their caps in sudden embarrassment. Thomas exclaimed:

"I beg your pardon! We thought this was just an ordinary native house,
or we wouldn't have intruded."

"You haven't intruded. This is 'Reindeer Mary's' house." The girl had
again turned her back.

"Are you Reindeer Mary?"

"No, I am Ponatah. Mary befriended me; she lets me live with her."

"Allow me to introduce Mr. Hyde. I am Doctor Thomas. We were very
rude--"

"Oh, everybody comes here." The men recognized instantly in the
speaker's face, as well as in her voice, that education had set its
stamp. "Will you sit down and wait for her?"

"You overwhelm us." After an awkward moment the physician queried,
"How in the world did you learn to speak such good English?"

"A missionary took an interest in me when I was a little girl. He sent
me to Carlisle."

Laughing Bill had been an attentive listener, now he ventured to say:
"I know this Carlisle. He's a swell football player, or something."

Ponatah smiled, showing a row of small, white teeth. "Carlisle is an
Indian school."

"What made you come back?" Thomas inquired, curiously.

Ponatah shrugged her shoulders. "There was an end to the money. What
could I do? At first I thought I'd be able to help my people, but--I
couldn't. They will learn from the white people, but not from one of
their own kind."

"Your parents--?"

"They died when I was a baby. Mary took me in." The girl spoke in a
flat, emotionless tone.

"It must be tough to come back to this, now that you know what life
really is," said Thomas, after a time.

Ponatah's eyes were dark with tragedy when she turned them to the
speaker. "_God!_" she cried, unexpectedly, then abruptly she faced
the window once more. It was a moment before she went on in fierce
resentment:

"Why didn't they leave me as they found me? Why did they teach me
their ways, and then send me back to this--this dirt and ignorance and
squalor? Sometimes I think I can't stand it. But what can I do? Nobody
understands. Mary can't see why I'm different from her and the others.
She has grown rich, with her reindeer; she says if this is good enough
for her it should be good enough for me. As for the white men who come
through, they can't, or they won't, understand. They're hateful to me.
Petersen, the mail-carrier, for instance! I don't know why I'm telling
you this. You're strangers. You're probably just like Petersen."

"I know why you're telling us," Thomas said, slowly. "It's because
I--because we're _not_ like Petersen and the others; it's because
I--we can help you."

"Help me?" sneered the girl. "How?"

"I don't know, yet. But you're out of place here. There's a place for
you somewhere; I'll find it."

Ponatah shook her head wearily. "Mary says I belong here, with my
people."

"No. You belong with white people--people who will treat you well."

This time the girl smiled bitterly. "They have treated me worse than
my own people have. I know them, and--I hate them."

"Ain't you the sore-head, now?" Laughing Bill murmured. "You got a
hundred-per-cent. grouch, but if the old medicine-man says he'll put
you in right, you bet your string of beads he'll do it. He's got a
gift for helpin' down-and-outers. You got class, Kid; you certainly
rhinestone this whole bunch of red men. Why, you belong in French
heels and a boodwar cap; that's how I dope you."

"There must be a chance for a girl like you in Nome," Thomas
continued, thoughtfully. "You'd make a good hand with children.
Suppose I try to find you a place as governess?"

"_Would_ you?" Ponatah's face was suddenly eager. "Children? Oh yes!
I'd work my fingers to the bone. I--I'd do _anything_--"

"Then I'll do what I can."

For some time longer the three of them talked, and gradually into the
native girl's eyes there came a light, for these men were not like the
others she had met, and she saw the world begin to unfold before her.
When at last they left she laid a hand upon the doctor's arm and said,
imploringly:

"You won't forget. You--promise?"

"I promise," he told her.

"He don't forget nothing," Bill assured her, "and if he does I'll see
that he don't."

After they had gone Ponatah stood motionless for a long time, then she
whispered, breathlessly:

"Children! Little white children! I'll be very good to them."

"She's a classy quilt," Laughing Bill said, on the way back to the
road-house.

"She's as pretty as a picture, and little more than a child," the
doctor admitted.

"You made a hit. She'd do 'most anything for you." The doctor
muttered, absent-mindedly. "She's stood off Petersen and these
red-necks, but she'd fall for you." Mr. Hyde was insinuating.

Thomas halted; he stared at his partner curiously, coldly. "Say! Do
you think that's why I offered to help her?" he inquired.

"Come clean!" The invalid winked meaningly. "You're a long ways from
home, and I've knew fellers to do a lot worse. You can grab her, easy.
And if you do--"

Thomas grunted angrily. "I've put up with a lot from you," he said,
then he strode on.

"And if you do," the other resumed, falling into step with him, "I'll
bust you right where you're thickest."

"Eh?"

"I'll bust you wide open. Oh, me 'n' that gal in the leather frame had
a long talk while I was sick in St. Mikes, and she asked me to keep
you in the middle of the trail. Well, I'm the little guy that can do
it."

"Bill!" Evan Thomas's eyes were twinkling. "I believe I'm going to
cure you, after all," said he.

Late that afternoon Mr. Hyde disappeared; he did not show up until
after dark.

"I been to see Lo, the poor squaw," he readily confessed. "She ain't
the pure domestic leaf, she's a blend--part Rooshian, or something.
Seems there was a gang of Rooshians or Swedes or Dagoes of some sort
used to run this country. She says they horned into some of the best
Injun families, and she's one of the 'overs.'"

"They were Russians."

"Rooshians is a kind of white people, ain't they? Well, that's how she
come so light-complected. You remember she said our folks had treated
her bad? It's a fact, Doc. She spilled the story, and it made a
mouthful. It's like this: when Nome was struck a Swede feller she
had knew staked her a claim, but she couldn't hold it, her bein' a
squab--under age, savvy? There's something in the law that prevents
Injuns gettin' in on anything good, too; I don't rightly recollect
what it is, but if it's legal you can bet it's crooked. Anyhow, Uncle
Sam lets up a squawk that she's only eighteen, goin' on nineteen, and
a noble redskin to boot, and says his mining claims is reserved for
Laps and Yaps and Japs and Wops, and such other furrin' slantheads of
legal age as declare their intention to become American citizens if
their claims turn out rich enough so's it pays 'em to do so.

"Well, Ponatah's Swede friend gets himself froze, somehow, so she has
to pass the buck. Naturally, she turns to her pals, the missionaries.
There's a he-missionary here--head mug of the whole gang. He's a godly
walloper, and he tears into Satan bare-handed every Sunday. He slams
the devil around something shameful, and Ponatah thinks he's a square
guy if ever they come square, so she asks him to re-locate her claim,
on shares, and hold it for the joint account. Old Doctor M.E. Church
agrees to split fifty-fifty, half to her and half to heaven, then he
vamps to Nome and chalks his monaker over the Kid's. Now get me: the
claim turns out good, and Ponatah's heavenly pilot makes a Mexican
divvy--he takes the money and gives her his best wishes. He grabs
everything, and says he never knew nobody by the name of Ponatah--he
gets so he can't even pronounce it. He allows her face is familiar,
but he can't place her, and the partnership idea allus was repugnant
to him. He never was partners with nobody, understand? He blows the
show; he bows out and leaves the Kid flat. He forsakes the Milky Way
for the Great White one, and he's out there now, smokin' Coronas and
wearin' a red vest under his black coat, with a diamond horseshoe
in his tie. It looks to me like the James boys could 'a' learned
something from this gospel hold-up."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20