"What you want to do with him?"
"I want to send him back to high school so no more kids with rifles will come out."
Jim sat on the mattress and watched. Mac said, "Jim, you gave me hell about losing my head a little while ago. I'm not losing it now."
"It's O.K. if you're cold," said Jim.
"I'm a sharpshooter," Mac said. "You feeling sorry for the kid, Jim?"
"No, he's not a kid, he's an example."
"That's what I thought. Now listen, kid. We can throw you out to the guys there, but they'll probably kill you. Or we can work you over in here."
The one open eye glared with fear.
"O.K. with you, London?"
"Don't hurt him too much."
"I want a billboard," said Mac, "Not a corpse. All right, kid. I guess you're for it." The boy tried to retreat. He bent down, trying to cower. Mac took him firmly by the shoulder. His right fist worked in quick, short hammer blows, one after another. The nose cracked flat, the other eye closed, and the dark bruises formed on the cheeks. The boy jerked about wildly to escape the short, precise strokes. Suddenly the torture stopped. "Untie him," Mac said. He wiped his bloody fist on the boy's leather jacket. "It didn't hurt much," he said. "You'll show up pretty in high school. Now shut up your bawling. Tell the kids in town what's waitin' for 'em."
"Shall I wash his face?" London asked.
"Hell, no! I do a surgeon's job, and you want to spoil it. You think I liked it?"
"I don't know," said London.
The prisoner's hands were free now. He sobbed softly. Mac said, "Listen to me, kid. You aren't hurt bad. Your nose is busted, but that's all. If anybody here but me did it, you'd of been hurt bad. Now you tell your little playmates that the next one gets his leg broke, and the next one after that gets both his legs broke. Get me----? I said, did you get me?"
"Yes."
"O.K. Take him down the road and turn him loose." The guards took the boy under the arms and helped him out of the tent. Mac said, "London, maybe you better put out patrols to see if there's any more kiddies with cannons."
"I'll do it," said London. He had kept his eyes on Mac the whole time, watching him with horror. "Jesus, you're a cruel bastard, Mac. I can unda'stand a guy gettin' mad an' doin' it, but you wasn't mad."
"I know," Mac said wearily. "That's the hardest part." He stood still, smiling his cold smile, until London went out of the tent; and then he walked to the mattress and sat down and clutched his knees. All over his body the muscles shuddered. His face was pale and grey. Jim put his good hand over and took him by the wrist. Mac said wearily, "I couldn't of done it if you weren't here, Jim. Oh, Jesus, you're hard-boiled. You just looked. You didn't give a damn."
Jim tightened his grip on Mac's wrist. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly. "It wasn't a scared kid, it was a danger to the cause. It had to be done, and you did it right. No hate, no feeling, just a job. Don't worry."
"If I could only of let his hands go, so he could take a pop at me once in a while, or cover up a little."
"Don't think of it," Jim said. "It's just a little part of the whole thing. Sympathy is as bad as fear. That was like a doctor's work. It was an operation, that's all. I'd done it for you if I wasn't bunged up. S'pose the guys outside had him?"
"I know," Mac agreed. "They'd butchered him. I hope they don't catch anybody else; I couldn't do it again."
"You'd have to do it again," said Jim.
Mac looked at him with something of fear in his eyes. "You're getting beyond me, Jim. I'm getting scared of you. I've seen men like you before. I'm scared of 'em. Jesus, Jim, I can see you changing every day. I know you're right. Cold thought to fight madness, I know all that. God Almighty, Jim, it's not human. I'm scared of you."
Jim said softly, "I wanted you to use me. You wouldn't because you got to like me too well." He stood up and walked to a box and sat down on it. "That was wrong. Then I got hurt. And sitting here waiting, I got to know my power. I'm stronger than you, Mac. I'm stronger than anything in the world, because I'm going in a straight line. You and all the rest have to think of women and tobacco and liquor and keeping warm and fed." His eyes were as cold as wet river stones. "I wanted to be used. Now I'll use you, Mac. I'll use myself and you. I tell you, I feel there's strength in me."
"You're nuts," said Mac. "How's your arm feel? Any swelling? Maybe the poison got into your system."
"Don't think it, Mac," Jim said quietly. "I'm not crazy. This is real. It has been growing and growing. Now it's all here. Go out and tell London I want to see him. Tell him to come in here. I'll try not to make him mad, but he's got to take orders."
Mac said, "Jim, maybe you're not crazy. I don't know. But you've got to remember London is the chairman of this strike, elected. He's bossed men all his life. You start telling him what to do, and he'll throw you to the lions." He looked uneasily at Jim.
"Better go and tell him," said Jim.
"Now listen----'
"Mac, you want to obey. You better do it."
They heard a low wail, and then the rising scream of a siren, and then another and another, rising and falling, far away. "It's Sam," Mac cried. "He's set his fire."
Jim scrambled up. Mac said, "You better stay there. You're too weak, Jim."
Jim laughed mirthlessly. "You're going to find out how weak I am." He walked to the entrance and went out, and Mac followed him.
To the north the starred sky was black over the trees. In the direction of Torgas the city lights threw a pale glow into the sky. To the left of the town, over the high rampart of trees, the new fire put a dome of red light over itself. Now the sirens screamed together, and now one was up while another sunk its voice to a growl. "They don't waste any time now," Mac said.
The men came tumbling out of the tents and stood looking at the rising fire. The flames broke over the trees, and the dome of light spread and climbed. "A good start," Mac said. "If they put it out now, the house'll be ruined anyway. They can't use anything but chemicals out that far."
London hurried over to them. "He done it!" London cried. "Christ, he's a mean guy. I knew he'd do it. He wasn't scared of nothing."
Jim said calmly, "We can use him, if he comes back."
"Use him?" London asked.
"Yes, a man who could give a fire that good a start could do other things. It's burning fine. London, come into the tent. We've got to figure some things out."
Mac broke in, "What he means, London----"
"I'll tell him what I mean. Come into the tent, London." Jim led the way inside and seated himself on a box.
"What's the idear?" London demanded. "What's this you're talkin' about."
Jim said, "This thing is being lost because there's no authority. Anderson's barn was burned because we couldn't trust the guards to obey orders. Doc got snatched because his bodyguard wouldn't stick with him."
"Sure. An' what we goin' to do about it?"
"We're going to create authority," said Jim. "We're going to give orders that stick. The men elected you, didn't they? Now they've got to take it whether they like it or not."
Mac cried, "For Christ's sake, Jim! It won't work. They'll just fade out. They'll be in the next county in no time."
"We'll police 'em, Mac. Where's that rifle?"
"Over there. What do you want with it?"
"That's authority," said Jim. "I'm damn sick of this circle-running. I'm going to straighten it out."
London stepped up to him. "Say, what the hell is this 'I'm goin' to straighten things out'? You're goin' to jump in the lake."
Jim sat still. His young face was carven, his eyes motionless; his mouth smiled a little at the corners. He looked steadily and confidently at London. "Sit down, London, and put on your shirt," he said gently.
London looked uneasily at Mac. "Is this guy gone screwy?"
Mac missed his eyes. "I don't know."
"Might as well sit down," said Jim. "You will sooner or later."
"Sure, I'll sit dow
n."
"O.K. Now you can kick me out of the camp if you want to. They'll make room for me in jail. Or you can let me stay. But if I stay, I'm going to put this over, and I can do it."
London sighed. "I'm sick of it. Nothin' but trouble. I'd give you the job in a minute, even if you ain't nothing but a kid. I'm the boss."
"That's why," Jim broke in. "I'll put out the orders through you. Don't get me wrong, London; it isn't authority I want, it's action. All I want is to put over the strike."
London asked helplessly, "What d'you think, Mac? What's this kid puttin' over?"
"I don't know. I thought it might be poison from that shot, but he seems to talk sense," Mac laughed, and his laugh dropped heavily into silence.
"The whole thing sounds kind of Bolshevik," London said.
"What do you care what it sounds like, if it works?" Jim replied. "You ready to listen?"
"I don't know. Oh, sure, shoot."
"All right, tomorrow morning we're going to smack those scabs. I want you to pick the best fighters. Give the men clubs. I want two cars to go together, always in pairs. The cops'll probably patrol the roads, and put up barricades. Now we can't let 'em stop us. If they put up barricades, let the first car knock 'em off the road, and the second pick up the men from the wreck and go on through. Understand? Anything we start goes through. If we don't succeed; we're farther back than when we started."
"I'm goin' to have a hell of a time with the guys if you give orders," London said.
"I don't want to give orders. I don't want to show off. The guys won't know. I'll tell you, and you tell them. Now the first thing is to send out some men to see how that fire's getting on. We're going to get a dose of trouble tomorrow. I wish Sam hadn't set it; but it's done now. We've got to have this camp plenty guarded tonight, too. There's going to be reprisals, and don't forget it. Put out two lines of guards and have them keep in touch. Then I want a police committee of five to beat hell out of any guy that goes to sleep or sneaks away. Get me five tough ones."
London shook his head. "I don't know if I ought to smack you down or let you go ahead. The whole thing's so damn much trouble."
"Well, put out guards while you think it over. I'm afraid we're going to have plenty of trouble before morning."
"O.K., kid. I'll give it a try."
After he had gone out, Mac still stood beside the box where Jim sat. "How's your arm feel, Jim?" he asked.
"I can't feel it at all. Must be about well."
"I don't know what's happened to you," Mac went on. "I could feel it happen."
Jim said, "It's something that grows out of a fight like this. Suddenly you feel the great forces at work that create little troubles like this strike of ours. And the sight of those forces does something to you, picks you up and makes you act. I guess that's where authority comes from." He raised his eyes.
Mac cried, "What makes your eyes jump like that?"
"A little dizzy," Jim said, and he fainted and fell off the box.
Mac dragged him to the mattress and brought a box for his feet. In the camp there was a low murmur of voices, constant and varying and changing tone like the voice of a little stream. Men passed back and forth in front of the tent. The sirens raised their voices again, but this time there was no excitement in them, for the trucks were going home. Mac unbuttoned Jim's shirt. He brought a bucket of water that stood in a corner of the tent, and splashed water on Jim's head and throat.
Jim opened his eyes and looked up into Mac's face. "I'm dizzy," he said plaintively. "I wish Doc would come back and give me something. Do you think he'll come back, Mac?"
"I don't know. How do you feel now?"
"Just dizzy. I guess I've shot my wad until I rest."
"Sure. You ought to go to sleep. I'm going out and try to rustle some of the soup that meat was cooked in. That'll be good for you. You just lie still until I bring it."
When he was gone, Jim looked, frowning, at the top of the tent. He said aloud, "I wonder if it passed off. I don't think it did, but maybe." And then his eyes closed, and he went to sleep.
When Mac came in with the soup, he set it on the ground. He took the box from under Jim's legs and then sat down on the edge of the mattress and watched the drawn, sleeping face.
The face was never still. The lips crept back until the teeth were exposed, until the teeth were dry; and then the lips drew down and covered them. The cheeks around the eyes twitched nervously. Once, as though striving against weight, Jim's lips opened to speak and worked on a word, but only a growling mumble was said. Mac pulled the old coverlets over Jim's body.
Suddenly the lamp flame was sucked down, the wick and darkness crept in toward the center of the tent. Mac jumped up and found a spout-can of kerosene. He unscrewed the lantern cap and filled the reservoir. Slowly the flame grew up again, and its edges spread out like a butterfly's wings.
Outside, the slow footsteps of patrolling men went by. In the distance there could be heard the grumble of the great night cargo trucks on the highway. Mac took down the lantern from the tent-pole and carried it to the mattress and set it on the ground. From his hip pocket he brought out a packet of folded papers and a mussy stamped envelope and a broken piece of pencil. With the paper on his knee he wrote slowly, in large, round letters:
Dear Harry:
Christ sake get some help down here. Doc Burton was snatched last night. I think he was. Doc was not a man to run out on us, but he is gone. This valley is organized like Italy. The vigilantes are raising hell. We need food and medicine and money. Dick is doing fine, only if we don't get some outside help I am afraid we are sunk. I never ran into a place that was so God damn organized. About three men control the situation. For all I know Dick may be in the can now.
Jim is sure coming through. He makes me look like a pin. Tomorrow I expect that we will get kicked out of this place. The V's. burned the owner's barn, and he is awfully sore. With Doc Burton gone, the county health officers will bounce us. So try to think of something. They are after Jim's and my scalp all the time. There ought to be somebody down here in case they get us.
I am howling for help, Harry. The sympathizers are scared, but that's not the worst.
He picked up a new piece of paper.
The men are touchy. You know how they get. Tomorrow morning they might go down and burn the city hall, or they might bolt for the mountains and hide for six months. So for Christ's sake, Harry, tell everybody we have to have help. If they run us out of here, we'll have trouble finding a spot. We are going to picket in trucks. We can't find out much that's going on.
Well, so long. Jack will hand this to you. And for the love of God try to get some help here.
Mac
He read the letter over, crossed a neglected t, folded the paper and put it in the dirty envelope. This he addressed to John H. Weaver, esq.
Outside he heard a challenge. "Who is it?"
"London."
"O.K."
London came into the tent. He looked at Mac, and at the sleeping Jim. "Well, I got the guards out like he said."
"That's good. He's all in. I wish Doc was here. I'm scared of that shoulder. He says it don't hurt, but he's a fool for punishment." Mac turned the lantern back to the tent-pole and hung it on its nail.
London sat down on a box. "What got into him?" he asked softly. "One minute he's a blabber-mouth kid, and the next minute, by Christ, he just boots me out and takes over."
Mac's eyes were proud. "I don't know. I've saw guys get out of theirself before, but not like that. Jesus, you had to do what he said. At first I thought he was off his nut. I still don't know if he was. Where's the girl, London?"
"I bedded her and my kid down in an empty tent."
Mac looked up sharply. "Where did you get an empty tent?"
"Some of the guys scrammed, I guess, in the dark."
"Maybe it's only the guards."
"No," London said. "I figured on them. I guess some of the guys run off."
Mac rub
bed his eyes hard with his knuckles. "I thought it was about time. Some of 'em just can't take it. Listen, London, I got to sneak in an' try to get a letter in the mailbox. I want to take a look around, too."
"Whyn't you let me send one of the guys?"
"Well, this letter's got to get there. I better go myself. I been watched before. They won't catch me."
London regarded his thick hands. "Is--is it a red letter?" he asked.
"Well, I guess so. I'm trying to get some help, so this strike won't flop."
London spoke constrainedly. "Mac--like I said, you always hear about reds is a bunch of son-of-bitches. I guess that ain't true, is it, Mac?"
Mac chuckled softly. "Depends on how you look at it. If you was to own thirty thousand acres of land and a million dollars, they'd be a bunch of sons-of-bitches. But if you're just London, a workin' stiff, why they're a bunch of guys that want to help you live like a man, and not like a pig, see? 'Course you get your news from the papers, an' the papers is owned by the guys with land and money, so we're sons-of-bitches, see? Then you come acrost us, an' we ain't. You got to make up your own mind which it is."
"Well, could a guy like I work in with you guys? I been doin' kind o' like that, lookin' out for the guys that travel with me."
"Damn right," said Mac eagerly. "You're damn right. You got leadership, London. You're a workin' stiff, but you're a leader, too."
London said simply, "Guys always done what I told 'em. All my life they done it."
Mac lowered his voice. He moved close and put his hand on London's knee. "Listen," he said. "I guess we're goin' to lose this strike. But we raised enough hell so maybe there won't be a strike in the cotton. Now the papers say we're just causing trouble. But we're getting the stiffs used to working together; getting bigger and bigger bunches working together all the time, see? It doesn't make any difference if we lose. Here's nearly a thousand men who've learned how to strike. When we get a whole slough of men working together, maybe--maybe Torgas Valley, most of it, won't be owned by three men. Maybe a guy can get an apple for himself without going to jail for it, see? Maybe they won't dump apples in the river to keep up the price. When guys like you and me need a apple to keep our God damn bowels open, see? You've got to look at the whole thing, London, not just this little strike."
London was staring painfully at Mac's mouth, as though he tried to see the words as they came out. "That's kind of reva--revolution, ain't it?"