When God Laughs Read online

  Jim did not like this, and betrayed it in his eyes, while Matt did not like what he saw in his partner's eyes.

  "Understand?" Matt repeated, almost menacingly.

  "Ain't we always ben square?" the other replied, on the defensive because of the treachery already whispering in him.

  "It don't cost nothin', bein' square in hard times," Matt retorted. "It's bein' square in prosperity that counts. When we ain't got nothin', we can't help bein' square. We're prosperous now, an' we've got to be business men-honest business men. Understand?"

  "That's the talk for me," Jim approved, but deep down in the meagre soul of him,-and in spite of him,-wanton and lawless thoughts were stirring like chained beasts.

  Matt stepped to the food shelf behind the two-burner kerosene cooking stove. He emptied the tea from a paper bag, and from a second bag emptied some red peppers. Returning to the table with the bags, he put into them the two sizes of small diamonds. Then he counted the large gems and wrapped them in their tissue paper and chamois skin.

  "Hundred an' forty-seven good-sized ones," was his inventory; "twenty real big ones; two big boys and one whopper; an' a couple of fistfuls of teeny ones an' dust."

  He looked at Jim.

  "Correct," was the response.

  He wrote the count out on a slip of memorandum paper, and made a copy of it, giving one slip to his partner and retaining the other.

  "Just for reference," he said.

  Again he had recourse to the food shelf, where he emptied the sugar from a large paper bag. Into this he thrust the diamonds, large and small, wrapped it up in a bandanna handkerchief, and stowed it away under his pillow. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes.

  "An' you think they're worth a hundred thousan'?" Jim asked, pausing and looking up from the unlacing of his shoe.

  "Sure," was the answer. "I seen a dance-house girl down in Arizona once, with some big sparklers on her. They wasn't real. She said if they was she wouldn't be dancin'. Said they'd be worth all of fifty thousan', an' she didn't have a dozen of 'em all told."

  "Who'd work for a livin'?" Jim triumphantly demanded. "Pick an' shovel work!" he sneered. "Work like a dog all my life, an' save all my wages, an' I wouldn't have half as much as we got tonight."

  "Dish washin's about your measure, an' you couldn't get more'n twenty a month an' board. Your figgers is 'way off, but your point is well taken. Let them that likes it, work. I rode range for thirty a month when I was young an' foolish. Well, I'm older, an' I ain't ridin' range."

  He got into bed on one side. Jim put out the light and followed him in on the other side.

  "How's your arm feel?" Jim queried amiably.

  Such concern was unusual, and Matt noted it, and replied-

  "I guess there's no danger of hydrophoby. What made you ask?"

  Jim felt in himself a guilty stir, and under his breath he cursed the other's way of asking disagreeable questions; but aloud he answered-

  "Nothin', only you seemed scared of it at first. What are you goin' to do with your share, Matt?"

  "Buy a cattle ranch in Arizona an' set down an' pay other men to ride range for me. There's some several I'd like to see askin' a job from me, damn them! An' now you shut your face, Jim. It'll be some time before I buy that ranch. Just now I'm goin' to sleep."

  But Jim lay long awake, nervous and twitching, rolling about restlessly and rolling himself wide awake every time he dozed. The diamonds still blazed under his eyelids, and the fire of them hurt. Matt, in spite of his heavy nature, slept lightly, like a wild animal alert in its sleep; and Jim noticed, every time he moved, that his partner's body moved sufficiently to show that it had received the impression and that it was trembling on the verge of awakening. For that matter, Jim did not know whether or not, frequently, the other was awake. Once, quietly, betokening complete consciousness, Matt said to him: "Aw, go to sleep, Jim. Don't worry about them jools. They'll keep." And Jim had thought that at that particular moment Matt had been surely asleep.

  In the late morning Matt was awake with Jim's first movement, and thereafter he awoke and dozed with him until midday, when they got up together and began dressing.

  "I'm goin' out to get a paper an' some bread," Matt said. "You boil the coffee."

  As Jim listened, unconsciously his gaze left Matt's face and roved to the pillow, beneath which was the bundle wrapped in the bandanna handkerchief. On the instant Matt's face became like a wild beast's.

  "Look here, Jim," he snarled. "You've got to play square. If you do me dirt, I'll fix you. Understand? I'd eat you, Jim. You know that. I'd bite right into your throat an' eat you like that much beefsteak."

  His sunburned skin was black with the surge of blood in it, and his tobacco-stained teeth were exposed by the snarling lips. Jim shivered and involuntarily cowered. There was death in the man he looked at. Only the night before that black-faced man had killed another with his hands, and it had not hurt his sleep. And in his own heart Jim was aware of a sneaking guilt, of a train of thought that merited all that was threatened.

  Matt passed out, leaving him still shivering. Then a hatred twisted his own face, and he softly hurled savage curses at the door. He remembered the jewels, and hastened to the bed, feeling under the pillow for the bandanna bundle. He crushed it with his fingers to make certain that it still contained the diamonds. Assured that Matt had not carried them away, he looked toward the kerosene stove with a guilty start. Then he hurriedly lighted it, filled the coffee-pot at the sink, and put it over the flame.

  The coffee was boiling when Matt returned, and while the latter cut the bread and put a slice of butter on the table, Jim poured out the coffee. It was not until he sat down and had taken a few sips of the coffee, that Matt pulled out the morning paper from his pocket.

  "We was way off," he said. "I told you I didn't dast figger out how fat it was. Look at that."

  He pointed to the head-lines on the first page.

  "SWIFT NEMESIS ON BUJANNOFF'S TRACK," they read. "MURDERED IN HIS SLEEP AFTER ROBBING HIS PARTNER."

  "There you have it!" Matt cried. "He robbed his partner-robbed him like a dirty thief."

  "Half a million of jewels missin'," Jim read aloud. He put the paper down and stared at Matt.

  "That's what I told you," the latter said. "What in hell do we know about jools? Half a million!-an' the best I could figger it was a hundred thousan'. Go on an' read the rest of it."

  They read on silently, their heads side by side, the untouched coffee growing cold; and ever and anon one or the other burst forth with some salient printed fact.

  "I'd like to seen Metzner's face when he opened the safe at the store this mornin'," Jim gloated.

  "He hit the high places right away for Bujannoff's house," Matt explained. "Go on an' read."

  "Was to have sailed last night at ten on the Sajoda for the South Seas -steamship delayed by extra freight-"

  "That's why we caught 'm in bed," Matt interrupted. "It was just luck-like pickin' a fifty-to-one winner."

  "Sajoda sailed at six this mornin'-"

  "He didn't catch her," Matt said. "I saw his alarm-clock was set at five. That'd given 'm plenty of time… only I come along an' put the kibosh on his time. Go on."

  "Adolph Metzner in despair-the famous Haythorne pearl necklace-magnificently assorted pearls-valued by experts at from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars."

  Jim broke off to swear vilely and solemnly, concluding with, "Those damn oyster-eggs worth all that money!"

  He licked his lips and added, "They was beauties an' no mistake."

  "Big Brazilian gem," he read on. "Eighty thousan' dollars-many valuable gems of the first water-several thousan' small diamonds well worth forty thousan'."

  "What you don't know about jools is worth knowin'," Matt smiled good-humouredly.

  "Theory of the sleuths," Jim read. "Thieves must have known-cleverly kept watch on Bujannoff's actions-must have learned his plan and trailed him to his house with the
fruits of his robbery-"

  "Clever-hell!" Matt broke out. "That's the way reputations is made… in the noospapers. How'd we know he was robbin' his pardner?"

  "Anyway, we've got the goods," Jim grinned. "Let's look at 'em again."

  He assured himself that the door was locked and bolted, while Matt brought out the bundle in the bandanna and opened it on the table.

  "Ain't they beauties, though!" Jim exclaimed at sight of the pearls; and for a time he had eyes only for them. "Accordin' to the experts, worth from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars."

  "An' women like them things," Matt commented. "An' they'll do everything to get 'em-sell themselves, commit murder, anything."

  "Just like you an' me."

  "Not on your life," Matt retorted. "I'll commit murder for 'em, but not for their own sakes, but for sake of what they'll get me. That's the difference. Women want the jools for themselves, an' I want the jools for the women an' such things they'll get me."

  "Lucky that men an' women don't want the same things," Jim remarked.

  "That's what makes commerce," Matt agreed; "people wantin' different things."

  In the middle of the afternoon Jim went out to buy food. While he was gone, Matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before and putting them under the pillow. Then he lighted the kerosene stove and started to boil water for coffee. A few minutes later, Jim returned.

  "Most surprising," he remarked. "Streets, an' stores, an' people just like they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me walking along through it all a millionaire. Nobody looked at me an' guessed it."

  Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehension of the lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagination.

  "Did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded.

  "Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it."

  He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. Then he made the coffee and set the table, while Matt fried the steak.

  "Don't put on too much of them red peppers," Jim warned. "I ain't used to your Mexican cookin'. You always season too hot."

  Matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. Jim poured out the coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he emptied a powder he had carried in his vest pocket wrapped in a rice-paper. He had turned his back for the moment on his partner, but he did not dare to glance around at him. Matt placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set the hot frying-pan. He cut the steak in half, and served Jim and himself.

  "Eat her while she's hot," he counselled, and with knife and fork set the example.

  "She's a dandy," was Jim's judgment, after his first mouthful. "But I tell you one thing straight. I'm never goin' to visit you on that Arizona ranch, so you needn't ask me."

  "What's the matter now?" Matt asked.

  "Hell's the matter," was the answer. "The Mexican cookin' on your ranch'd be too much for me. If I've got hell a-comin' in the next life, I'm not goin' to torment my insides in this one. Damned peppers!"

  He smiled, expelled his breath forcibly to cool his burning mouth, drank some coffee, and went on eating the steak.

  "What do you think about the next life anyway, Matt?" he asked a little later, while secretly he wondered why the other had not yet touched his coffee.

  "Ain't no next life," Matt answered, pausing from the steak to take his first sip of coffee. "Nor heaven nor hell, nor nothin'. You get all that's comin' right here in this life."

  "An' afterward?" Jim queried out of his morbid curiosity, for he knew that he looked upon a man that was soon to die. "An' afterward?" he repeated.

  "Did you ever see a man two weeks dead?" the other asked.

  Jim shook his head.

  "Well, I have. He was like this beefsteak you an' me is eatin'. It was once steer cavortin' over the landscape. But now it's just meat. That's all, just meat. An' that's what you an' me an' all people come to-meat."

  Matt gulped down the whole cup of coffee, and refilled the cup.

  "Are you scared to die?" he asked.

  Jim shook his head. "What's the use? I don't die anyway. I pass on an' live again-"

  "To go stealin', an' lyin' an' snivellin' through another life, an' go on that way forever an' ever an' ever?" Matt sneered.

  "Maybe I'll improve," Jim suggested hopefully. "Maybe stealin' won't be necessary in the life to come."

  He ceased abruptly, and stared straight before him, a frightened expression on his face.

  "What's the matter!" Matt demanded.

  "Nothin'. I was just wonderin'"-Jim returned to himself with an effort-"about this dyin', that was all."

  But he could not shake off the fright that had startled him. It was as if an unseen thing of gloom had passed him by, casting upon him the intangible shadow of its presence. He was aware of a feeling of foreboding. Something ominous was about to happen. Calamity hovered in the air. He gazed fixedly across the table at the other man. He could not understand. Was it that he had blundered and poisoned himself? No, Matt had the nicked cup, and he had certainly put the poison in the nicked cup.

  It was all his own imagination, was his next thought. It had played him tricks before. Fool! Of course it was. Of course something was about to happen, but it was about to happen to Matt. Had not Matt drunk the whole cup of coffee?

  Jim brightened up and finished his steak, sopping bread in the gravy when the meat was gone.

  "When I was a kid-" he began, but broke off abruptly.

  Again the unseen thing of gloom had fluttered, and his being was vibrant with premonition of impending misfortune. He felt a disruptive influence at work in the flesh of him, and in all his muscles there was a seeming that they were about to begin to twitch. He sat back suddenly, and as suddenly leaned forward with his elbows on the table. A tremor ran dimly through the muscles of his body. It was like the first rustling of leaves before the oncoming of wind. He clenched his teeth. It came again, a spasmodic tensing of his muscles. He knew panic at the revolt within his being. His muscles no longer recognized his mastery over them. Again they spasmodically tensed, despite the will of him, for he had willed that they should not tense. This was revolution within himself, this was anarchy; and the terror of impotence rushed up in him as his flesh gripped and seemed to seize him in a clutch, chills running up and down his back and sweat starting on his brow. He glanced about the room, and all the details of it smote him with a strange sense of familiarity. It was as though he had just returned from a long journey. He looked across the table at his partner. Matt was watching him and smiling. An expression of horror spread over Jim's face.

  "My God, Matt!" he screamed. "You ain't doped me?"

  Matt smiled and continued to watch him. In the paroxysm that followed, Jim did not become unconscious. His muscles tensed and twitched and knotted, hurting him and crushing him in their savage grip. And in the midst of it all, it came to him that Matt was acting queerly. He was travelling the same road. The smile had gone from his face, and there was on it an intent expression, as if he were listening to some inner tale of himself and trying to divine the message. Matt got up and walked across the room and back again, then sat down.

  "You did this, Jim," he said quietly.

  "But I didn't think you'd try to fix ME," Jim answered reproachfully.

  "Oh, I fixed you all right," Matt said, with teeth close together and shivering body. "What did you give me?"

  "Strychnine."

  "Same as I gave you," Matt volunteered. "It's a hell of a mess, ain't it?"

  "You're lyin', Matt," Jim pleaded. "You ain't doped me, have you?"

  "I sure did, Jim; an' I didn't overdose you, neither. I cooked it in as neat as you please in your half the porterhouse.-Hold on! Where're you goin'?"

  Jim had made a dash for the door, and was throwing back the bolts. Matt sprang in between and shoved him away.

  "Drug store," Jim panted. "Drug store."

  "No you don't. You'll stay right here. There ain't goin' to be any runnin'
out an' makin' a poison play on the street-not with all them jools reposin' under the pillow. Savve? Even if you didn't die, you'd be in the hands of the police with a whole lot of explanations comin'. Emetics is the stuff for poison. I'm just as bad bit as you, an' I'm goin' to take a emetic. That's all they'd give you at a drug store, anyway."

  He thrust Jim back into the middle of the room and shot the bolts into place. As he went across the floor to the food shelf, he passed one hand over his brow and flung off the beaded sweat. It spattered audibly on the floor. Jim watched agonizedly as Matt got the mustard-can and a cup and ran for the sink. He stirred a cupful of mustard and water and drank it down. Jim had followed him and was reaching with trembling hands for the empty cup. Again Matt shoved him away. As he mixed a second cupful, he demanded-

  "D'you think one cup'll do for me? You can wait till I'm done."

  Jim started to totter toward the door, but Matt checked him.

  "If you monkey with that door, I'll twist your neck. Savve? You can take yours when I'm done. An' if it saves you, I'll twist your neck, anyway. You ain't got no chance, nohow. I told you many times what you'd get if you did me dirt."

  "But you did me dirt, too," Jim articulated with an effort.

  Matt was drinking the second cupful, and did not answer. The sweat had got into Jim's eyes, and he could scarcely see his way to the table, where he got a cup for himself. But Matt was mixing a third cupful, and, as before, thrust him away.

  "I told you to wait till I was done," Matt growled. "Get outa my way."

  And Jim supported his twitching body by holding on to the sink, the while he yearned toward the yellowish concoction that stood for life. It was by sheer will that he stood and clung to the sink. His flesh strove to double him up and bring him to the floor. Matt drank the third cupful, and with difficulty managed to get to a chair and sit down. His first paroxysm was passing. The spasms that afflicted him were dying away. This good effect he ascribed to the mustard and water. He was safe, at any rate. He wiped the sweat from his face, and, in the interval of calm, found room for curiosity. He looked at his partner.