A thousand deaths by Jack London

71

“Oh, look what I’ve found!” Miss Drexel called from the lead.

“First machine that ever tackled this road,” was young Drexel’s judgment, as they

halted to stare at the tire-tracks.

“But look at the tracks,” his sister urged. “The machine must have come right out

of the bananas and climbed the bank.”

“Some machine to climb a bank like that,” was Davies’ comment. “What it did do

was to go down the bank—take a scout after it, Charley, while Wemple and I get

Mrs. Morgan off her fractious mount. No machine ever built could travel far

through those bananas.”

The flea-bitten roan, on its four legs up-standing, continued bravely to stand until

the lady was removed, whereupon, with a long sigh, it sank down on the ground.

Mrs. Morgan likewise sighed, sat down, and regarded her tiny feet mournfully.

“Go on, boys,” she said. “Maybe you can find something at the river and send

back for me.”

But their indignant rejection of the plan never attained speech, for, at that instant,

from the green sea of banana trees beneath them, came the sudden purr of an

engine. A minute later the splutter of an exhaust told them the silencer had been

taken off. The huge-fronded banana trees were violently agitated as by the

threshing of a hidden Titan. They could identify the changing of gears and the

reversing and going ahead, until, at the end of five minutes, a long low, black car

burst from the wall of greenery and charged the soft earth bank, but the earth was

too soft, and when, two-thirds of the way up, beaten, Charley Drexel braked the

car to a standstill, the earth crumbled from under the tires, and he ran it down and

back, the way he had come, until half-buried in the bananas.

“‘A Merry Oldsmobile!”‘ Miss Drexel quoted from the popular song, clapping her

hands. “Now, Martha, your troubles are over.”

“Six-cylinder, and sounds as if it hadn’t been out of the shop a week, or may I

never ride in a machine again,” Wemple remarked, looking to Davies for

confirmation.

Davies nodded.

“It’s Allison’s,” he said. “Campos tried to shake him down for a private loan,

and—well, you know Allison. He told Campos to go to. And Campos, in revenge,

commandeered his new car. That was two days ago, before we lifted a hand at

Vera Cruz. Allison told me yesterday the last he’d heard of the car it was on a

steamboat bound up river. And here’s where they ditched it—but let’s get a hustle

on and get her into the running.”

DUTCH COURAGE AND OTHER STORIES

72

Three attempts they made, with young Drexel

at the wheel; but the soft earth and the pitch of

the grade baffled.

“She’s got the power all right,” young Drexel

protested. “But she can’t bite into that mush.”

So far, they had spread on the ground the robes

found in the car. The men now added their

coats, and Wemple, for additional traction,

unsaddled the roan, and spread the cinches,

stirrup leathers, saddle blanket, and bridle in

the way of the wheels. The car took the

treacherous slope in a rush, with churning

wheels biting into the woven fabrics; and, with

no more than a hint of hesitation, it cleared the

crest and swung into the road.

“Isn’t she the spunky devil!” Drexel exulted.

“Say, she could climb the side of a house if she

could get traction.”

“Better put on that silencer again, if you don’t want to play tag with every soldier

in the district,” Wemple ordered, as they helped Mrs. Morgan in.

The road to the Dutch gusher compelled them to go through the outskirts of

Panuco town. Indian and half breed women gazed stolidly at the strange vehicle,

while the children and barking dogs clamorously advertised its progress. Once,

passing long lines of tethered federal horses, they were challenged by a sentry; but

at Wemple’s “Throw on the juice!” the car took the rutted road at fifty miles an

hour. A shot whistled after them. But it was not the shot that made Mrs. Morgan

scream. The cause was a series of hog-wallows masked with mud, which nearly

tore the steering wheel from Drexel’s hands before he could reduce speed.

“Wonder it didn’t break an axle,” Davies growled. “Go on and take it easy,

Charley. We’re past any interference.”

They swung into the Dutch camp and into the beginning of their real troubles. The

refugee steamboat had departed down river from the Asphodel camp; Chill II had

disappeared, the superintendent knew not how, along with the body of Peter

Tonsburg; and the superintendent was dubious of their remaining.

“I’ve got to consider the owners,” he told them. “This is the biggest well in

Mexico, and you know it—a hundred and eighty-five thousand barrels daily flow.

I’ve no right to risk it. We have no trouble with the Mexicans. It’s you Americans.

If you stay here, I’ll have to protect you. And I can’t protect you, anyway. We’ll all

DUTCH COURAGE AND OTHER STORIES

73

lose our lives and they’ll destroy the well in the bargain. And if they fire it, it

means the entire Eba&ncedilla;o oil field. The strata’s too broken. We’re flowing

twenty thousand barrels now, and we can’t pinch down any further. As it is, the

oil’s coming up outside the pipe. And we can’t have a fight. We’ve got to keep the

oil moving.”

The men nodded. It was cold-blooded logic; but there was no fault to it.

The harassed expression eased on the superintendent’s face, and he almost

beamed on them for agreeing with him.

“You’ve got a good machine there,” he continued. “The ferry’s at the bank at

Panuco, and once you’re across, the rebels aren’t so thick on the north shore. Why,

you can beat the steamboat back to Tampico by hours. And it hasn’t rained for

days. The road won’t be at all bad.”

“Which is all very good,” Davies observed to Wemple as they approached

Panuco, “except for the fact that the road on the other side was never built for

automobiles, much less for a long-bodied one like this. I wish it were the Four

instead of the Six.”

“And it would bother you with a Four to negotiate that hill at Aliso where the road

switchbacks above the river.”

“And we’re going to do it with a Six or lose a perfectly good Six in trying,” Beth

Drexel laughed to them.

Avoiding the cavalry camp, they entered Panuco with all the speed the ruts

permitted, swinging dizzy corners to the squawking of chickens and barking of

dogs. To gain the ferry, they had to pass down one side of the great plaza which

was the heart of the city. Peon soldiers, drowsing in the sun or clustering around

the cantinas, stared stupidly at them as they flashed past. Then a drunken major

shouted a challenge from the doorway of a cantina and began vociferating orders,

and as they left the plaza behind they could hear rising the familiar mob-cry “Kill

the Gringos!”

“If any shooting begins, you women get down in the bottom of the car,” Davies

commanded. “And there’s the ferry all right. Be careful, Charley.”

The machine plunged directly down the bank through a cut so deep that it was

more like a chute, struck the gangplank with a terrific bump, and seemed fairly to

leap on board. The ferry was scarcely longer than the machine, and Drexel,

visibly shaken by the closeness of the shave, managed to stop only when six

inches remained between the front wheels and overboard.

DUTCH COURAGE AND OTHER STORIES

74

It was a cable ferry, operated by gasoline, and, while Wemple cast off the

mooring lines, Davies was making swift acquaintance with the engine. The third

turn-over started it, and he threw it into gear with the windlass that began winding

up the cable from the river’s bottom.

By the time they were in midstream a score of horsemen rode out on the bank

they had just left and opened a scattering fire. The party crowded in the shelter of

the car and listened to the occasional ricochet of a bullet. Once, only, the car was

struck.

“Here!—what are you up to?” Wemple demanded suddenly of Drexel, who had

exposed himself to fish a rifle out of the car.

“Going to show the skunks what shooting is,” was his answer.

“No, you don t,” Wemple said. “We’re not here to fight, but to get this party to

Tampico.” He remembered Peter Tonsburg’s remark. “Whose business is to live,

Charley—that’s our business. Anybody can get killed. It’s too easy these days.”

Still under fire, they moored at the north shore, and when Davies had tossed

overboard the igniter from the ferry engine and commandeered ten gallons of its

surplus gasoline, they took the steep, soft road up the bank in a rush.

“Look at her climb,” Drexel uttered gleefully. “That Aliso hill won’t bother us at

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