Part 66 (1/2)
Saxon did not breathe easily till they rejoined her at the fire. One glance at Billy told her that he was exceedingly disgusted with himself.
”You'll do, for a beginner,” Hall cried, slapping him jovially on the bare shoulder. ”That climb is a stunt of mine. Many's the brave lad that's started with me and broken down before we were half way out. I've had a dozen balk at that big jump. Only the athletes make it.”
”I ain't ashamed of admittin' I was scairt,” Billy growled. ”You're a regular goat, an' you sure got my goat half a dozen times. But I'm mad now. It's mostly trainin', an' I'm goin' to camp right here an' train till I can challenge you to a race out an' around an' back to the beach.”
”Done,” said Hall, putting out his hand in ratification. ”And some time, when we get together in San Francisco, I'll lead you up against Bierce--the one this cove is named after. His favorite stunt, when he isn't collecting rattlesnakes, is to wait for a forty-mile-an-hour breeze, and then get up and walk on the parapet of a skysc.r.a.per--on the lee side, mind you, so that if he blows off there's nothing to fetch him up but the street. He sprang that on me once.”
”Did you do it?” Billy asked eagerly.
”I wouldn't have if I hadn't been on. I'd been practicing it secretly for a week. And I got twenty dollars out of him on the bet.”
The tide was now low enough for mussel gathering and Saxon accompanied the men out the north wall. Hall had several sacks to fill. A rig was coming for him in the afternoon, he explained, to cart the mussels back to Carmel. When the sacks were full they ventured further among the rock crevices and were rewarded with three abalones, among the sh.e.l.ls of which Saxon found one coveted blister-pearl. Hall initiated them into the mysteries of pounding and preparing the abalone meat for cooking.
By this time it seemed to Saxon that they had known him a long time. It reminded her of the old times when Bert had been with them, singing his songs or ranting about the last of the Mohicans.
”Now, listen; I'm going to teach you something,” Hall commanded, a large round rock poised in his hand above the abalone meat. ”You must never, never pound abalone without singing this song. Nor must you sing this song at any other time. It would be the rankest sacrilege. Abalone is the food of the G.o.ds. Its preparation is a religious function. Now listen, and follow, and remember that it is a very solemn occasion.”
The stone came down with a thump on the white meat, and thereafter arose and fell in a sort of tom-tom accompaniment to the poet's song:
”Oh! some folks boast of quail on toast, Because they think it's tony; But I'm content to owe my rent And live on abalone.
”Oh! Mission Point's a friendly joint Where every crab's a crony, And true and kind you'll ever find The clinging abalone.
”He wanders free beside the sea Where 'er the coast is stony; He flaps his wings and madly sings--The plaintive abalone.
”Some stick to biz, some flirt with Liz Down on the sands of Coney; But we, by h.e.l.l, stay in Carmel, And whang the abalone.”
He paused with his mouth open and stone upraised. There was a rattle of wheels and a voice calling from above where the sacks of mussels had been carried. He brought the stone down with a final thump and stood up.
”There's a thousand more verses like those,” he said. ”Sorry I hadn't time to teach you them.” He held out his hand, palm downward. ”And now, children, bless you, you are now members of the clan of Abalone Eaters, and I solemnly enjoin you, never, no matter what the circ.u.mstances, pound abalone meat without chanting the sacred words I have revealed unto you.”
”But we can't remember the words from only one hearing,” Saxon expostulated.
”That shall be attended to. Next Sunday the Tribe of Abalone Eaters will descend upon you here in Bierce's Cove, and you will be able to see the rites, the writers and writeresses, down even to the Iron Man with the basilisk eyes, vulgarly known as the King of the Sacerdotal Lizards.”
”Will Jim Hazard come?” Billy called, as Hall disappeared into the thicket.
”He will certainly come. Is he not the Cave-Bear Pot-Walloper and Gridironer, the most fearsome, and, next to me, the most exalted, of all the Abalone Eaters?”
Saxon and Billy could only look at each other till they heard the wheels rattle away.
”Well, I'll be doggoned,” Billy let out. ”He's some boy, that. Nothing stuck up about him. Just like Jim Hazard, comes along and makes himself at home, you're as good as he is an' he's as good as you, an' we're all friends together, just like that, right off the bat.”
”He's old stock, too,” Saxon said. ”He told me while you were undressing. His folks came by Panama before the railroad was built, and from what he said I guess he's got plenty of money.”
”He sure don't act like it.”
”And isn't he full of fun!” Saxon cried.
”A regular josher. An' HIM!--a POET!”