The Valley of the Moon Jack London

insisted on two dances more than she had allotted him. And she

  was pleased, as well as angered, when she chanced to overhear two

  of the strapping young cannery girls. "The way that little

  sawed-off is monopolizin' him," said one. And the other: "You'd

  think she might have the good taste to run after somebody of her

  own age." "Cradle-snatcher," was the final sting that sent the

  angry blood into Saxon's cheeks as the two girls moved away,

  unaware that they had been overheard.

  Billy saw her home, kissed her at the gate, and got her consent

  to go with him to the dance at Germania Hall on Friday night.

  "I wasn't thinkin' of goin'," he sald. "But if you'll say the

  word . . . Bert's goin' to be there."

  Next day, at the ironing boards, Mary told her that she and Bert

  were dated for Germania Hall.

  "Are you goin'?" Mary asked.

  Saxon nodded.

  "Billy Roberts?"

  The nod was repeated, and Mary, with suspended iron, gave her a

  long and curions look.

  "Say, an' what if Charley Long butts in?"

  Saxon shrugged her shoulders.

  They ironed swiftly and silently for a quarter of an hour.

  "Well," Mary decided, "if he does butt in maybe he'll get his.

  I'd like to see him get it--the big stiff! It all depends how

  Billy feels--about you, I mean."

  "I'm no Lily Sanderson," Saxon answered indignantly. "I'll never

  give Billy Roberts a chance to turn me down."

  "You will, if Charley Long butts in. Take it from me, Saxon, he

  ain't no gentleman. Look what he done to Mr. Moody. That was a

  awful beatin'. An' Mr. Moody only a quiet little man that

  wouldn't harm a fly. Well, he won't find Billy Roberts a sissy by

  a long shot."

  That night, outside the laundry entrance, Saxon found Charley

  Long waiting. As he stepped forward to greet her and walk

  alongside, she felt the sickening palpitation that he had so

  thoroughly taught her to know. The blood ebbed from her face with

  the apprehension and fear his appearance caused. She was afraid

  of the rough bulk of the man; of the heavy brown eyes, dominant

  and confident; of the big blacksmith-hands and the thick strong

  fingers with the hair-pads on the back to every first joint. He

  was unlovely to the eye, and he was unlovely to all her finer

  sensibilities. It was not his strength itself, but the quality of

  it and the misuse of it, that affronted her. The beating he had

  given the gentle Mr. Moody had meant half-hours of horror to her

  afterward. Always did the memory of it come to her accompanied by

  a shudder. And yet, without shock, she had seen Billy fight at

  Weasel Park in the same primitive man-animal way. But it had been

  different. She recognized, but could not analyze, the difference.

  She was aware only of the brutishness of this man's hands and

  mind.

  "You're lookin' white an' all beat to a frazzle," he was saying.

  "Why don't you cut the work? You got to some time, anyway. You

  can't lose me, kid."

  "I wish I could," she replied.

  He laughed with harsh joviality. "Nothin' to it, Saxon. You're

  just cut out to be Mrs. Long, an' you're sure goin' to be."

  "I wish I was as certain about all things as you are," she said

  with mild sarcasm that missed.

  "Take it from me," he went on, "there's just one thing you can be

  certain of--an' that is that I am certain." He was pleased with

  the cleverness of his idea and laughed approvingly. "When I go

  after anything I get it, an' if anything gets in between it gets

  hurt. D'ye get that? It's me for you, an' that's all there is to

  it, so you might as well make up your mind and go to workin' in

  my home instead of the laundry. Why, it's a snap. There wouldn't

  be much to do. I make good money, an' you wouldn't want for

  anything. You know, I just washed up from work an' skinned over

  here to tell it to you once more, so you wouldn't forget. I ain't

  ate yet, an' that shows how much I think of you."

  "You'd better go and eat then," she advised, though she knew the

  futility of attempting to get rid of him.

  She scarcely heard what he said. It had come upon her suddenly

  that she was very tired and very small and very weak alongside

  this colossus of a man. Would he dog her always? she asked

  despairingly, and seemed to glimpse a vision of all her future

  life stretched out before her, with always the form and face of

  the burly blacksmith pursuing her.

  "Come on, kid, an' kick in," he continued. "It's the good old

  summer time, an' that's the time to get married."

  "But I'm not going to marry you," she protested. "I've told you a

  thousand times already."

  "Aw, forget it. You want to get them ideas out of your think-box.

  Of course, you're goin' to marry me. It's a pipe. An' I'll tell

  you another pipe. You an' me's goin' acrost to Frisco Friday

  night. There's goin' to be big doin's with the Horseshoers."

  "Only I'm not," she contradicted.

  "Oh, yes you are," he asserted with absolute assurance. "We'll

  catch the last boat back, an' you'll have one fine time. An' I'll

  put you next to some of the good dancers. Oh, I ain't a pincher,

  an' I know you like dancin'."

  "But I tell you I can't," she reiterated.

  He shot a glance of suspicion at her from under the black thatch

  of brows that met above his nose and were as one brow.

  "Why can't you?"

  "A date," she said.

  "Who's the bloke?"

  "None of your business, Charley Long. I've got a date, that's

  all."

  "I'll make it my business. Remember that lah-de-dah bookkeeper

  rummy? Well, just keep on rememberin' him an' what he got."

  "I wish you'd leave me alone," she pleaded resentfully. "Can't

  you be kind just for once?"

  The blacksmith laughed unpleasantly.

  "If any rummy thinks he can butt in on you an' me, he'll learn

  different, an' I'm the little boy that'll learn 'm.--Friday

  night, eh? Where?"

  "I won't tell you."

  "Where?" he repeated.

  Her lips were drawn in tight silence, and in her cheeks were

  little angry spots of blood.

  "Huh!--As if I couldn't guess! Germania Hall. Well, I'll be

  there, an' I'll take you home afterward. D'ye get that? An' you'd

  better tell the rummy to beat it unless you want to see'm get his

  face hurt."

  Saxon, hurt as a prideful woman can be hurt by cavalier

  treatment, was tempted to cry out the name and prowess of her

  new-found protector. And then came fear. This was a big man, and

  Billy was only a boy. That was the way he affected her. She

  remembered her first impression of his hands and glanced quickly

  at the hands of the man beside her. They seemed twice as large as

  Billy's, and the mats of hair seemed to advertise a terrible

  strength. No, Billy could not fight this big brute. He must not.

  And then to Saxon came a wicked little hope that by the

  mysterious and unthinkable ability that prizefighters possessed,

  Billy might be able to whip this bully and rid her
of him. With

  the next glance doubt came again, for her eye dwelt on the

  blacksmith's broad shoulders, the cloth of the coat

  muscle-wrinkled and the sleeves bulging above the biceps.

  "If you lay a hand on anybody I'm going with again---" she began.

  "Why, they'll get hurt, of course," Long grinned. "And they'll

  deserve it, too. Any rummy that comes between a fellow an' his

  girl ought to get hurt."

  "But I'm not your girl, and all your saying so doesn't make it

  so."

  "That's right, get mad," he approved. "I like you for that, too.

  You've got spunk an' fight. I like to see it. It's what a man

  needs in his wife--and not these fat cows of women. They're the

  dead ones. Now you're a live one, all wool, a yard long and a

  yard wide."

  She stopped before the house and put her hand on the gate.

  "Good-bye," she said. "I'm going in."

  "Come on out afterward for a run to Idora Park," he suggested.

  "No, I'm not feeling good, and I'm going straight to bed as soon

  as I eat supper."

  "Huh!" he sneered. "Gettin' in shape for the fling to-morrow

  night, eh?"

  With an impatient movement she opened the gate and stepped

  inside.

  "I've given it to you straight," he went on. "If you don't go

  with me to-morrow night somebody'll get hurt."

  "I hope it will be you," she cried vindictively.

  He laughed as he threw his head back, stretched his big chest,

  and half-lifted his heavy arms. The action reminded her

  disgustingly of a great ape she had once seen in a circus.

  "Well, good-bye," he said. "See you to-morrow night at Germania

  Hall."

  "I haven't told you it was Germania Hall."

  "And you haven't told me it wasn't. All the same, I'll be there.

  And I'll take you home, too. Be sure an' keep plenty of round

  dances open fer me. That's right. Get mad. It makes you look

  fine."

  CHAPTER VIII

  The music stopped at the end of the waltz, leaving Billy and

  Saxon at the big entrance doorway of the ballroom. Her hand

  rested lightly on his arm, and they were promenading on to find

  seats, when Charley Long, evidently just arrived, thrust his way

  in front of them.

  "So you're the buttinsky, eh?" he demanded, his face malignant

  with passion and menace.

  "Who?--me?" Billy queried gently. "Some mistake, sport. I never

  butt in."

  "You're goin' to get your head beaten off if you don't make

  yourself scarce pretty lively."

  "I wouldn't want that to happen for the world," Billy drawled.

  "Come on, Saxon. This neighborhood's unhealthy for us."

  He started to go on with her, but Long thrust in front again.

  "You're too fresh to keep, young fellow," he snarled. "You need

  saltin' down. D'ye get me?"

  Billy scratched his head, on his face exaggerated puzzlement.

  "No, I don't get you," he said. "Now just what was it you said?"

  But the big blacksmith turned contemptuously away from him to

  Saxon.

  "Come here, you. Let's see your program."

  "Do you want to dance with him?" Billy asked.

  She shook her head.

  "Sorry, sport, nothin' doin'," Billy said, again making to start

  on.

  For the third time the blacksmith blocked the way.

  "Get off your foot," said Billy. "You're standin' on it."

  Long all but sprang upon him, his hands clenched, one arm just

  starting back for the punch while at the same instant shoulders

  and chest were coming forward. But he restrained himself at sight

  of Billy's unstartled body and cold and cloudy ayes. He had made

  no move of mind or muscle. It was as if he were unaware of the

  threatened attack. All of which constituted a new thing in Long's

  experience.

  "Maybe you don't know who I am," he bullied.

  "Yep, I do," Billy answered airily. "You're a recordbreaker at

  rough-housin'." (Here Long's face showed pleasure.) "You ought to

  have the Police Gazette diamond belt for rough-bousin' baby

  buggies'. I guess there ain't a one you're afraid to tackle."

  "Leave 'm alone, Charley," advised one of the young men who had

  crowded about them. "He's Bill Roberts, the fighter. You know'm.

  Big Bill."

  "I don't care if he's Jim Jeffries. He can't butt in on me this

  way."

  Nevertheless it was noticeable, even to Saxon, that the fire had

  gone out of his fierceness. Billy's name seemed to have a quieting

  effect on obstreperous males.

  "Do you know him?" Billy asked her.

  She signified yes with her eyes, though it seemed she must cry

  out a thousand things against this man who so steadfastly

  persecuted her. Billy turned to the blacksmith.

  "Look here, sport, you don't want trouble with me. I've got your

  number. Besides, what do we want to fight for? Hasn't she got a

  say so in the matter?"

  "No, she hasn't. This is my affair an' yourn."

  Billy shook his head slowly. "No; you're in wrong. I think she

  has a say in the matter."

  "Well, say it then," Long snarled at Saxon. "who're you goin' to

  go with?--me or him? Let's get it settled."

  For reply, Saxon reached her free hand over to the hand that

  rested on Billy's arm.

  "Nuff said," was Billy's remark.

  Long glared at Saxon, then transferred the glare to her

  protector.

  "I've a good mind to mix it with you anyway," Long gritted

  through his teeth.

  Saxon was elated as they started to move away. Lily Sanderson's

  fate had not been hers, and her wonderful man-boy, without the

  threat of a blow, slow of speech and imperturbable, had conquered

  the big blacksmith.

  "He's forced himself upon me all the time," she whispered to

  Billy. "He's tried to run me, and beaten up every man that came

  near me. I never want to see him again."

  Billy halted immediately. Long, who was reluctantly moving to get

  out of the way, also halted.

  "She says she don't want anything more to do with you," Billy

  said to him. "An' what she says goes. If I get a whisper any time

  that you've been botherin' her, I'll attend to your case. D'ye

  get that?"

  Long glowered and remained silent.

  "D'ye get that?" Billy repeated, more imperatively.

  A growl of assent came from the blacksmith

  "All right, then. See you remember it. An' now get outa the way

  or I'll walk over you."

  Long slunk back, muttering inarticulate threats, and Saxon moved

  on as in a dream. Charley Long had taken water. He had been

  afraid of this smooth-skinned, blue-eyed boy. She was quit of

  him--something no other man had dared attempt for her. And Billy

  had liked her better than Lily Sanderson.

  Twice Saxon tried to tell Billy the details of her acquaintance

  with Long, but each time was put off.

  "I don't care a rap about it," Billy said the second time.

  "You're here, ain't you?"

  But she insisted, and when, worked up and angry by the recital,

  she had finished, he patted her hand soothingly.

  "It
's all right, Saxon," he said. "He's just a big stiff. I took

  his measure as soon as I looked at him. He won't bother you

  again. I know his kind. He's a dog. Roughhouse? He couldn't

  rough-house a milk wagon."

  "But how do you do it?" she asked breathlessly. "Why are men so

  afraid of you? You're just wonderful."

  He smiled in an embarrassed way and changed the subject.

  "Say," he said, "I like your teeth. They're so white an' regular,

  an' not big, an' not dinky little baby's teeth either. They're

  . . . they're just right, an' they fit you. I never seen such fine

  teeth on a girl yet. D'ye know, honest, they kind of make me

  hungry when I look at 'em. They're good enough to eat."

  At midnight, leaving the insatiable Bert and Mary still dancing,

  Billy and Saxon started for home. It was on his suggestion that

  they left early, and he felt called upon to explain.

  "It's one thing the fightin' game's taught me," he said. "To take

  care of myself. A fellow can't work all day and dance all night

  and keep in condition. It's the same way with drinkin'--an' not

  that I'm a little tin angel. I know what it is. I've been soused

  to the guards an' all the rest of it. I like my beer--big

  schooners of it; but I don't drink all I want of it. I've tried,

  but it don't pay. Take that big stiff to-night that butted in on

  us. He ought to had my number. He's a dog anyway, but besides he

  had beer bloat. I sized that up the first rattle, an' that's the

  difference about who takes the other fellow's number. Condition,

  that's what it is."

  "But he is so big," Saxon protested. "Why, his fists are twice as

  big as yours."

  "That don't mean anything. What counts is what's behind the

  fists. He'd turn loose like a buckin' bronco. If I couldn't drop

  him at the start, all I'd do is to keep away, smother up, an'

  wait. An' all of a sudden he'd blow up--go all to pieces, you

  know, wind, heart, everything, and then I'd have him where I

  wanted him. And the point is he knows it, too."

  "You're the first prizefighter I ever knew," Saxon said, after a

  pause.

  "I'm not any more," he disclaimed hastily. "That's one thing the

  fightin' game taught me--to leave it alone. It don't pay. A

  fellow trains as fine as silk--till he's all silk, his skin,

  everything, and he's fit to live for a hundred years; an' then he

  climbs through the ropes for a hard twenty rounds with some tough

  customer that's just as good as he is, and in those twenty rounds

  he frazzles out all his silk an' blows in a year of his life.

  Yes, sometimes he blows in five years of it, or cuts it in half,

  or uses up all of it. I've watched 'em. I've seen fellows strong

  as bulls fight a hard battle and die inside the year of

  consumption, or kidney disease, or anything else. Now what's the

  good of it? Money can't buy what they throw away. That's why I

  quit the game and went back to drivin' team. I got my silk, an'

  I'm goin' to keep it, that's all."

  "It must make you feel proud to know you are the master of other

  men," she said softly, aware herself of pride in the strength and

  skill of him.

  "It does," he admitted frankly. "I'm glad I went into the

  game--just as glad as I am that I pulled out of it. . . . Yep, it's

  taught me a lot--to keep my eyes open an' my head cool. Oh, I've

  got a temper, a peach of a temper. I get scared of myself

  sometimes. I used to be always breakin' loose. But the fightin'

  taught me to keep down the steam an' not do things I'd be sorry

  for afterward."

  "Why, you're the sweetest, easiest tempered man I know," she

  interjected.

  "Don't you believe it. Just watch me, and sometime you'll see me

  break out that bad that I won't know what I'm doin' myself. Oh,

  I'm a holy terror when I get started!"