menu_book Chapter 8

Two Hearts That Beat Is One by Frank Norris. Which it puts it up as how you ain't never heard about that time that Hardenburg and Stroker, the Anglisher, had a friendly go with bare knuckles, ten rounds it was, all along a female woman. It is a small world, and I had just found out that my friend, Bunt MacBride, horse-rankler, miner, farrow-dealer, and bone-gatherer, whose world was the plains

and ranges of the great southwest, was known of the three black crows, Hardenburg, Stroker, and Ali-Bazan, and had even foregathered with them on more than one of their ventures for Cyrus Ryder's Exploitation Agency, ventures that had nothing of the desert in them, but that involved the sea and the schooner and the taste of the great lunged Canaris trades. You ain't never crossed the trail of that mournful history.

I professed my ignorance and said, They fought? Mr. Mann, repurred Bunt soberly, as one broaching a subject not to be trifled with, They sure did, friendly-like, you know, like as how two high-stippin' sassy gents figures out how to settle any little strained relations, friendly-like, but considerable, keen.

He took a pinch of tobacco from his pouch and a bit of paper, and rolled a cigarette in the twinkling of an eye, using only one hand, in true Mexican style. Now, he said, as he drew the first lung puff to the very bottom of the leathern valves he calls his lungs. Now, I'm a-goin' for to relate that same painful proceeding to you, just so as you can get a line on the consumin' and devourin' foolishness of male humans when they's a woman

in the wind. Woman, said Bunt, wagglin' his head thoughtfully at the water, woman is a weather breeder. Mr. Dixon, there is three things I'm scared of. The last two I don't just rightly call to mind at this moment, but the first is woman. When I meets up with a female woman on my trail, I shears off some prompt, Mr. Dixon, I shears off. And Hartnberg, he added irrelevantly,

woulda took and married this woman, so he would. Yes, and Stroker would, too. Was there another man, I asked. No, said Bunt. Then he began to chuckle behind his mustaches. Yes, there was. He smote a thigh. They sure was another man for fair. Well now, Mr. Mann, let me tell you the whole how.

It began with me being took into a wild-eyed scheme that that maverick, sot rider, had cooked up for the three crows. They was a row-down gordemaller wife. Some gazobby named Palachi, Barretto Palachi, finding times dull, and the boys, some off their feed, ups and says to his self, exercise is what I needs. I will now take an overthrow to blame government. Well, the same Palachi rounds up a bunch of inserectos and

begins pestering and badgering and hectoring the government, and raring round and bellaring and making a procession of his self till he sure pervades the landscape. And before you knows what, lo and behold, here's a real, live, revolution thing, cah eudolin in the scenery, and the government is plum-bothered. They rounds up the gazobby, at last, at a place on the coast, but he escapes as easy as how do you do. He can't, how some ever, get back to his inserectos.

The blame government being in possession of all the trails leading into the hinterland. So says he, what for a game would it be for me to hack up to Frisco and get in touch with my financial backers and conspire it to smuggle down a load of arms? Which the same he does, and there's where the three black crows and me begin to take a hand. Sire Ryder gives us the job of taking the schooner down to a certain point on the Gordomalder coast, and they are delivering to the agent of the gazobbo

3000 stand of 48 Winchesters. When we gets this far into the game, Ryder ups and says, boys, here's where I cashes right in. You sets right to me for the schooner and the cargo, but you goes to Palachi's agent over crossed the bay for instructions and directions. But, says the Englisher, Stroker, this bit in a blind play don't suit our hand. Why not, says he, make right up to Mr. Palachi himself? No, says Ryder, no, boys, you can't. The senor

is lying as low as a toad in a wheel track these days because of the prying and meddling disposition of the local authorities. No, he says, ye must have your palaver with the agent, which is a woman. And thereon I groans low and despairing. So soon as he mentions female, I knowed trouble was in the atmosphere, and right there is where I sure loses my presence of mind. What I should have done was to say, Mr. Ryder, Hardenburg, and gents, all, you're good boys,

and you drinks and deals fair, and I loves you all with a love that can never, never die for the terms of your natural lives. And may God have mercy on your souls. But I ain't keepin' case on this here game no longer. Woman and me is mules and music. We ain't never made to ride in the same go-kart. Good-bye. That all is what I should have said. But I didn't. I walked right plum into the slew, like the mudhead that I was, and got mired for fairer, just as I might a knowed I

would. Well, Ryder gives us a dress over across the bay, and we fair hikes over there all along, oh, as cruel a rain as ever killed crops. We finds the place after a while, a lodge and house, all lorn and loony, set down all by itself in the middle of some real estate extension, like a teepee and a barren, a crazy modern house, all jim-crack and woodwork and frostin', with never another place in so far as you could hear a coyote yelp. Well, we bucks right up and

asks of the party at the door if the senorita Esperanza, Olivari, that was who Ryder had told us to ask for, might be concealed upon the premises, and we shows Cy Ryder's note. The party that opened the door was a greaser, the worst-looking I ever clapped eyes on, looked like the kind what'd steal the coppers off his dead grandmother's eyes. Anyhow, he says to come in, gruff-like, and to wait, poco tiempo. Well, we waited, mucho tiempo, muy mucho, all

a-setin' on the edge of the sofa with her hats on her knees, like filly-loo birds on a rail, and a countenance of the patterns in the wallpaper to pass the time along. And Hardenburg, who's got to do the talkin', gets the fidgets by and by, and because he's only restin' the toes of his feet on the floor, his knees begin jiggerin', and along, a-watchin' him, my knees begin to go, and then strokers, and then alibisons. And there we sat, all in a row, and jiggered and jiggered. Great snakes,

it makes me sick to the stomach to think of the idiots we were. Then, after a long time, we hears a rustle of silk petticoats, and we all grabs hold of one another, and looks scared like, out from under our eyebrows. And then, then, Mr. Mann, they walks into that bunkhouse parlor, the loveliest lookin' young female woman that ever wore hair. She was lovelier than Mary Anderson. She was lovelier than Lotta. She was tall and black-haired, and had a eye, well, I dunno, when she gave you the

littlest flicker of that same eye, you felt it was about time to take and lie right down and say, I would esteem it, ma'am, a sure smart favor, if you was to take and wipe your boots on my waistcoat. Just so you could hear my heart a-beaten. That's the kind of female woman she was. Well, when Hardenburg had caught his second wind, he begins to talk business. And you ought to take a passenger back with you, says Esperanza after a while. What for a passenger might it be, says Hardenburg? She

fished out her calling card at bat, and tore it in two, and gave Hardenburg one half. It's the party, she says, that'll come aboard off San Diego on your way down, and who will show up the other half of the card, the half I have here, and which the same I'm going to mail to him, and you be sure the half's bit before you let him come aboard. And when that part comes aboard, she says, he's to take over charge. Very good, says Hardenburg, mincing and silly like a cheesy cat lapping cream. Very good, ma'am,

your orders shall be obeyed. He sure said it just like that, as if he spoke out of a storybook, and I kicked him under the table for it. Then we plovers a whole lot, and settles the way the thing is to be run. And finally, when we'd got as far as could be that day, the senorita stood up and says, now me good fellows, towards Spanish, she spoke, now me good fellows, you must drink a drink with me. She herds us all up into the dining room and fetches out, not whiskey, mind you, but a great

fat green and gold bottle of champagne. And when alibazan has fired it off, she fills our glasses, dinky little flat glasses that look like flower vases. Then she stands up there before us, fine and tall, all in black silk, and puts her glass up high and sings out, to the revolution! And we, all solid black, says, to the revolution! And crooks our elbows. When we all comes to, about half an hour later, we're in the street outside, haven't just said good-bye to the

senorita. We all are some quiet, the first block or so. And then Hardenberg says, stopping dead in his tracks. I'll posit to a remark that when a certain young female party, having black hair and a killing eye, gets good and ready to travel up the centre aisle of a church, I know the gent to show her the way. Which he is six feet one, in his stocking feet, some freckled across the nose, and shoots with both hands. Which the same observations,

speaks of Stroker, twirling his yeller lady killer, which the same observations, he says, has my hearty endorsement and cooperation, saving in the particular the description of the gent. The gent is five foot eleven high, three feet thick, is the only son of my mother, and has yeller mustaches and a buck tooth. He don't qualify, puts in Hardenberg, first because he's a Englisher, and second because he's up again a American. And besides,

he has a tooth that's bucked. Buck or no buck, flares out Stroker, what might be the meaning of that remark concerning being an Englisher? The fact that his being English, says Hardenberg, is only half the whole handle, the other half being the fact that the first-name gent is all American. No yank ain't never took no dust from oft a Englisher, whether it were war, walking-matches, or women. But they's a Englisher, sings out Stroker,

not forty miles from here as can nick the nose of a freckled gank, if so be occasion require. Now ain't that plum foolish like, observed Bunt philosophically, ain't it plum foolish like of them, two gissabes, to go flying up in the air like two he-hens on a hot plate for nothing in the world, but because a neat-looking female woman has looked at them some soft? Well, naturally, we others, Ali Bazzan and me, we others, throws it into them pretty strong about being more kinds

of blame fools than a pup with a bug. And they simmer down some. But along the way, home, I can see as how they're a-glaring at each other, and a-drawn theirselves up proud, like an presumptuous, and a-gruns again, not loud but deep, as the Good Book says. We has two or three more palavers with the Senorita Esperanza, and stacks the deck to beat the harbor police and the customs people and all, and to nip down the coast with our contraband. And each time we chins with the Senorita,

there's them two locos steppin' and sidlin' around her, actin' that silly like that me and Ali Bazzan takes and beats our heads again the walls so soon as we're alone just because we're that pisin' mortified. Finally comes the last talky-talk, and we're to sail away next day and maybe snatch the little joker through, or be took and hung by the Costa Gardis. And goodbye, says Hardenburg to Esperanza in a fainting, die-way voice, like a kitten with a cold. And ain't we goin' to meet no

more? Ah, sure, hopes as much, puts in Stroker, smirkin', so's you'd think he was a he-milliner sellin' a bonnet. Ah, hope, says he, our delightful acquaintance ship. Ain't a goin' for to end, abrupt this away. Oh, you nice big Mr. Men, pipes up the Senorita in English, we will meet down there in Guatemala soon again, yes, because I go down by the vapor carriages to Marm. Unprotected too, says Hardenburg, waggin' his fool head, and so young. Holy Geronimo, I don't know what more fool

drivelin' they had, but they finally comes away. Alibizan and me rounds them up and conducts them to the boat and puts them to bed like as if they was little or drunk. And the next day, or next night, rather, about one o'clock, we slips the heel ropes and hobbles out the schooner, quiet, as a mountain lion stalkin' a buck and catches the out-tide through the gate of the bay. Lord, we was some keyed up, l'amitalien, and Alibizan and Hardenburg was at the fore end of the boat,

with their guns ready in case of bein' asked impertinent questions by the patrol boats. Well, how some ever, we nips out with the little jokers. They was writ in the manifest as minin' pumps and starts south. This earpass here, down to Gordomala, is the first time I goes a gallon about on what the three crows calls blue water. And when that schooner hit the bar, I begins to remember that my stomach and inside arrangements ain't made of no chilled steel, nor yet a rawhide.

First I gets plum sad and shivery, and I feels as mean and poor as a prairie dog which has eat a hornet-toed backerds. I goes to Alibizan and gives it out as how I'm goin' forward to die, and I puts it up that I'm sure sad and depressed like, and don't care much about life know how, and that present surroundings lack that certain undescribable charm. I tells him that I knows the ship is goin' to sink afore we get over the bar. Waves! They was higher in the mass,

and I rode some fair lively sunfishers in my time, but I ain't never struck anything like the rarin' and buckin' and high and lofty tumblin' that that same boat went through with those first few hours after we had come out. But Alibizan tells me to go downstairs in the boat and lie up quiet, and by and by I too feel better. But next day I can sit up and take solid food again, and then's when I take special notice of the everlasting foolishness of Stroker and Hardenburg. You'd

have thought each one of them two mush heads was tryin' to act the part of an old cow which has had her calf took. They goes a-moonin' about the boat that mournful it'd make it yell just out of sheer nervousness. First one'd up and hold his head on his hand and lean on the fence rail that ran around the boat, and sigh till he'd raise his pants, clean out of the top of his boots, and then the other'd go off in another part of the boat, and he'd sigh and moon and take on fit to sicken a coyote.

But by and by, or maybe six days to the good old frisco, by and by, they too gets kinda sassy along each tether, and they has a heart-to-heart talk and puts it up as how either one of them would stand to win so only the tether was out of the game. It's double or nothin', says Hardenburg, who is somethin' o' a cart chart for either you or me. Stroke, and if you're agreeable, I'll play you a round of jacks for the chance at the sanderita. The loser to pull out o' the

runnin' for good and all. No, Stroker don't come in on no such game, he says. He wins her, he says, as a man, and not as no poker player. No, nor he won't throw no dice for the chance of winnin' Esperanza, nor he won't flip no coin, nor yet rassle. But, says he, all of a sudden, I'll tell you which I'll do. You're a big thick strappin' hulk of a tooth-fisted tray-horse, Hardy, and I ain't no a feet and degenerate run-lunger myself. Here's what I propose, that we all takes and lays

out a sixteen-foot ring on the quarter-deck, and that the raw-boned yank and the stodgy Englisher strips to the waist and, all friendly-like, settles the question by Queensbury rules, and may the best man win. Hardenburg looks him over. And what might be your weight, says he, I don't figure on hurtin' of you, is so be your below my class.

I fight at a hundred and seventy, says Stroker. And me, says Hardenburg, at a hundred and seventy-five. We're matched. Is it a go? inquires Stroker. You bet your great grand mammy's tortoise-shelled chesty cat it's a go, says Hardenburg, prompt as a hop-frog catchin' flies. We don't lose no time trying to reason

with them, for they is sure keen on havin' the go. So we lays out a ring by the rear end of the deck, and runs the schooner in till we're in the lee of the land, and she ridin' steady on her pins. Then, along about four o'clock on a fine still day, we lays the boat to, as they say, and folds up the sail, and havin' scattered resin in the ring, which it ain't no ring, but a square of ropes on posts. We says all is ready.

Alibazan, he's referee, and me, I'm the timekeeper, which I has to ring the ship's bell every three minutes to let him know to quit, and that the round is over. We gets him into the ring, each in his own corner, squattin' on a bucket, the timekeeper bein' second to Hardenburg, and the referee bein' second to Stroker. And then, after they has shook hands, I climbs up on the chicken-coop, and hollers, Time! and they begins. Mr. Mann, I saw Tim Hennet at his best, and I saw Sairs when he

was a top notcher, and likewise several other irregular boxin' sharps that were sure tough terriers. Also, I saw two short-horned bulls arguing about a question of leadership, but so helped me Bob. The fight I saw that day made the others look like a young lady's quadrille. Oh, I ain't gonna tell all that mill in detail, nor by rounds. Rounds? After the first five minutes, they won't know rounds. I rung the bling bell till I rung her loose, and Alibazan yells,

Break away! and Time's up! till he is black in the face. But you could no more separate them, too, than you could put the brakes on a blame earthquake. At about suppertime, we pulled them apart. We could do it by then. They was both so gone, and jammed each one of them down in their corners. I rings my bell good and plenty, and Alibazan stands up on a bucket in the middle of the ring and says, I declare this year's glove contest a draw. And draw it sure was. They fit

for two hours steady, and never a one got no better than the other. They gave each other lick for lick as fast and as steady as they could stand to it. Rasslin', borin' in', boxin', all was alike. The one was just as good as the other, and both willin' to the very last. When Alibazan calls it a draw, they gets up and wobbles toward each other and shakes hands. And Hardenburg, he says, Stroke, I thanks you a whole lot for as neat a go as ever I mixed in. And Stroker answers up,

Hardy, I loves you better than ever. You's the first man I've met up with which I couldn't do for, and I've met up with some scraggly propositions in my town, too. Well, they, too, is a sorry-lookin' pair of birds by the time we runs into San Diego harbor next night. They was fine-lookin' objects for fare, all bruises and bumps. You remember now we was to take on a party at San Diego. We was to show to other half of Esperanza's card, and thereafterward to boss the job. Well, we waits

till nightfall, and then slides in and lays two off a certain pile of stone, and shows two green lights and one white every three and a half minutes for half an hour, this being the signal. They is a moon, and we can see pretty well. After we'd signaled about an hour, maybe, we gets the answer, a one-minute green flare, and thereafterward we makes out a rowboat putting out and coming towards us. There is two people in the boat. One is the Casabe at the oars, and the other a party

sitting in the hindern end. Alibisana and me, and Stroker and Hardenburg, we's all leaning over the fence a-watchin'. When all to once I ups and groaned some sad, the party in the hindern end of the boat being female. Ain't we never going to get shut of them, says I, but the words ain't no-mornin' off my teeth, when Stroker pipes up. It's she, says he, gasping as though shot hard. What, cries Hardenburg, sort of mystified. Oh, I'm sure a dreamin', he says, just that silly like. And the mugs we got,

says Stroker, and they both sets to swearing and cussin' to beat all I ever heard. I can't let her see me so bunged up, says Hardenburg, doleful like. Oh, whatever is to be done. And I look like a real genuine blown-in-a-bottle pug, whimpers Stroker. Never mind, says he, we must face the music. We'll tell her these are sure honourable scars. Got, because we fit for her. Well, the boat comes up, and the female party jumps out and comes up the let-down stairway onto

the deck. Without saying a word, she hands Hardenburg the half of the card, and he fishes out his half and matches the two by the let- oh, a lantern. By this time, the rowboat has gone a little ways off, and then, at last, Hardenburg says, welcome aboard, Zenderita. And Stroker cuts in with, we thought it was to be a man that adjoined us here to take command, but you, he says. And oh, butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth, but you, he says, is always our mistress.

Very right, bueno, me good fellows, says the Zenderita, but don't you be afraid that there's no man is at the head of this business. And with that, the party chucks off hat and skirts, and I'll be Mexican if it won't a man after all. I'm the Senor Barrito Palachi, gentlemen, says he. The gringo police, who wanted for to arrest me, made the disguise necessary. Gentlemen, I regret to have been obliged to deceive such gallant compadres, but war knows no law.

Hardenburg and Stroker gives one look at the Senor and another at their own spout faces. Then, come back here with the boat, roars Hardenburg over the side. And with that, upon me word, you'd have thought they two both were moved with the same spring. Over they goes into the water and struck out hands over hands for the boat, as hard as ever they can lay to it. The boat meets him. Lord knows what the party at the oars thought. They climbs in, and the last

I see of them, they was puttin' for sure, each havin' taken a oar from the boatman, and it sure was makin' that boat hum. Well, we sails away eventually without him. And a year or more afterward I crosses their trail again inside Ryder's office in Frisco. Did you ask them about it all, said I. Mr. Mann, observed Bunt, I'm several kinds of a fool, I know it, but sometimes I'm wise. I wish as for it to live as long as I can and die when I can't

help it. I does not, neither there nor there afterward, ever make no joke nor yet no illusion about or concerning this senorita Esperanza, Palachi, in the hair and all Hardenburg and Stroker. I've seen, ye remember, both those boys use their fists, and likewise Hardenburg, as he says himself, shoots with both hands. End of Two Hearts That Beat His One by Frank Norris