Part 2

There was a rat in the cart as well, and the maddening fumes of it surged through Choc's brain, but he did not lose his reason or his self-command and held his place, crouching beside his master, though shivering in every muscle and thrilling in every nerve.

The driver managed to unload his passengers in a back yard unobserved, and Jacques, with Choc at his heels, found himself in the streets of Oran with nothing but the sea between himself and freedom.

He had little fear of detection in these bustling streets where every imaginable sort of business seemed going forward to the clatter of every European tongue.

Tall, white-clad Arabs stalked along and bare-legged Arab women with faces veiled; negro porters with glistening skins and red fez caps, Spaniards, Portuguese, Frenchmen, Italians, Spahis back from Senegal, sailors up from the warships in the harbour and English travellers just arrived, formed the crowd through which Jacques made his way with Choc at his heels and not the faintest notion in his head as to what course he was going to pursue.

The obvious course was the mail boat that runs between Oran and Marseilles, but there were difficulties in the way. The boats were sure to be watched for deserters. Mail boats and railway trains were simply roads to arrest. He had known and heard of numerous cases of escaped men caught either at the Oran railway station or on board the _General Chanzy_, or one of the other boats of the Algerian line.

He had an idea in his head of boarding some small trading vessel and either stowing himself away or making friends with the captain, and he was taking his way towards the harbour with a view to this when at a street corner he ran into the arms of Casmir. It was Casmir who recognized him and not he Casmir. For Casmir had dyed his face with walnut juice, and the suit of grey jean that he wore being too large for him, he had stuffed himself out at the waist with old newspapers, giving himself a corporation that was the very best disguise in the world. He looked like a disreputable old Spaniard.

"_Mon Dieu!_" said Jacques. "Casmir!"

Then he burst into a laugh. Only such a short time ago he had been warning Casmir on the parade ground of the Legion against running away!

They walked along the street together and Casmir explained matters.

He had run away, it seemed, on the same night that Jacques had made his evasion, had boldly taken the train for Oran, and with the good luck that comes with daring had found the matter perfectly easy.

"I was never stopped or questioned once," said he. "But here it is different. I cannot get across. It seems that they are watching the boats. I went down to the steamboat quay yesterday and there was an official at the gangway of the boat for Marseilles. He was demanding the papers of all the passengers--the men. To leave this place one must be either a fish or a sea bird, it seems, and I am neither."

"Come into this café and let us talk," said Jacques.

They entered a shabby café that was close by and Jacques called for coffee and food for them both.

"How much money have you?" said he.

"A hundred francs," replied Casmir. "I had a hundred and twenty to start with. I had received a money order from a relation for two hundred francs the morning I was talking to you. It cost me eighty francs to get this rig-out. It was that money order that fixed me in my idea of bolting, and I am beginning to wish now that I had never received it."

"Courage," said Jacques.

He said nothing for a few minutes and then he began to disclose his plan. There were ships always leaving Oran for the French and Spanish ports. Ship captains of the lesser mercantile marine were venal folk, for eighty francs, say, the pair of them might be able to get a passage on some barque, a place in the hold on top of the cargo would do.

"Ah," said Casmir, brightening up. "Now you are talking. If any man can do the trick you can, you have the gift of the gab and a way with you that I have not."

"Well, then," said Jacques, "let's go down to the wharves now, straight away, and try and fix up the business."

But Casmir demurred.

"There is no use in our going about the streets together," said he, "for if one is caught the other will be nabbed too. I'll meet you here in an hour if you will go and try and do the business. The café won't run away and you may be very sure that I won't either."

Jacques saw at once the reason of this and off he started, leaving Choc with Casmir.

Choc was fond of Casmir, who had often fed him with scraps; all the same, Jacques borrowed a piece of string from the dingy waiter and tied the end of it round the dog's neck.

"That will give you something to hold him by," said he, "in case he's up to any of his tricks."

Then he paid the bill and started off, leaving Casmir seated and holding the dog by the string.

There are two harbours at Oran. An outer anchorage not very good in rough weather, unless the wind is off the land, and a small inner harbour, a little hole of a place, always full because of its small size.

Jacques came along the quay-side, walking in a leisurely manner and smoking a cigarette. Beside the warships in the harbour there were two small barque-rigged vessels, one discharging grain, the other with closed hatches and evidently a full cargo.

Jacques was walking towards the gangplank of the latter when a hand fell on his arm and, turning, he found himself face to face with Sergeant Pelletier of the military police of Sidi-bel-Abbès.

"_That's_ all right," said the sergeant, releasing Jacques' arm, and placing his hand on his shoulder in a fatherly way. "And you may be thankful your uniform was returned. Whoever sold you that rig-out sent it back, left it at the barrack gates done up in a parcel. _Mon Dieu_! Jacques, but I would never have thought it of you, to play a fool's game like this! A smart légionnaire like you, time nearly expired and all. What made you?"

Jacques laughed.

The game had gone against him and there was no use in grumbling.

His mind was engaged less on the business of arrest than on the problem of what he should do about Casmir and Choc.

To regain possession of Choc he would have to give Casmir away, and Choc was condemned to death, so there was no use in regaining possession of him. So he did nothing.

He lit another cigarette and, walking side by side with Pelletier, he went to the station, and twenty minutes later he was in the train returning to Sidi-bel-Abbès.

At the barracks he was placed promptly under arrest, and he marched off to his cell with that terrible lightheartedness which is a legacy of the Legion inherited from Crime.

As no single item of his uniform was lost he only received a month's imprisonment, and at the end of the month the Legion was marched off south where the Arabs were kicking up a dust, and hard fighting helped him to work off the stiffness caused by imprisonment.

He seemed to have forgotten Casmir, who had not been recaptured, and the dog, which was never heard of again, yet in the great battle that was fought that month near the Oasis of the Five Palms, an old légionnaire--the same who told me this story--fighting beside Jacques, was amazed, even in the heat of battle, at the fury of the latter.

"He was working off the dog," said the old fellow. "It is always so with the Legion, and that is what makes the Legion so terrible in battle--They are not so much fighting with the enemy, monsieur, they are bayoneting the Past, and what the Past has done to them."

QUITS

I

In Mustapha Street, which lies in the Moslem quarter of Sidi-bel-Abbès, there was some years ago a little hole of a restaurant run by a French girl. It is now a curio shop kept by Abdesslem, a gentleman with a beard of burnt-up black, long finger-nails, and a profound knowledge of the psychology of tourists, but the original use of the place still remains in evidence in the half scratched-out drawings and songs scribbled by légionnaires on the walls. There is also a vague scent of caporal tobacco which persists like a memory.

Mademoiselle Tricot was the name of the girl, she had come from who knows where, planted herself in the little shop and bloomed. She had wonderful hair, coils and coils of hair black as night and bright as polished ebony, eyes black as sloes and a face too practical to be pretty--hard, in fact, with that business hardness one finds so often amongst the women of the small shop-keeping class in France.

But she fascinated the légionnaires, sold them coffee and hideous non-alcoholic drinks made up with syrup of gum, and gave them credit occasionally for cigarettes.

Corporal Jacques of the 10th Company of the second regiment of the Foreign Legion was one of her warmest admirers. Jacques, towards the end of his fifth year's service, had fallen foul of the authorities over the matter of Choc, attempted escape, failed, and lost his discharge. He was now in his seventh year of service and had been promoted to the rank of corporal owing to his bravery and splendid fighting qualities. He had started in life as an Apache and he was still an Apache though of an improved order. A good-humoured scoundrel, brown now as a Brazil-nut and always in his spare time on the look out for profitable plunder. It was said that he had trained his famous dog to thieve for him. He did not want any assistant in that matter, however, if one were to believe the stories about him. But whether he got it by theft or whether he got it by honest means, one thing was certain: he generally had money to spend--and spent it. Spent it in the canteen of the Legion and at Mimi Tricot's "Restaurant"--but more especially of late at the latter place.

He was in love with the lady, yet he kept his passion so well concealed that no one guessed it, except Corporal Zeiss. Zeiss was a German from somewhere near Munich, a good-looking man and Jacques' best friend.

Jacques it was who introduced Zeiss to Mimi Tricot's, and a couple of months later, in the expansion of mind produced by a bottle of heavy Algerian wine, he told Zeiss of the terrible condition his heart was in, and Zeiss being a temperamental German, understood and sympathized and quoted Schiller. Zeiss was a scamp who had left his country to escape the law, but he had rich relations who sent him a good deal of money--as money is reckoned in the Legion. He put most of it by, hid it in some hole or corner, and sponged on Jacques and anyone else who would stand him drinks.

This fact did not alter Jacques' friendliness towards Zeiss. He knew him to be mean and looked on his meanness more in the light of a humorous sort of infirmity than anything else. Zeiss was his friend--and that was enough. Zeiss wore gold earrings. Things quite inconspicuous yet all the same objects of jest among his friends. The only other man in the regiment so adorned was an Italian named Bretano who had once been a Neapolitan fisherman. No one noticed them in the case of Bretano, but Zeiss was a German and that made all the difference.

One day Jacques received a call to the hospital, where a man of his company, Pelletan by name, lay dying.

Pelletan had developed rapid consumption as a result of his life in the Legion acting on an hereditary tendency to the disease. Jacques had been kind to him. This scoundrel of a Jacques had one great quality: he was a man. A bad man, but still a man. Cruel as death to a slacker, his instinct told him that when Pelletan fell out on a march, or when his accoutrements were not absolutely spick and span, the fault was not in the soul of Pelletan but in his body. It was he who had marched Pelletan off to the doctor and he stood before him now, looking down on him and asking what he wanted.

"You see, it's this way, corporal," said the dying man. "By yesterday morning's post I received a money order for six hundred francs. It seems that my father died last month. He had a little vineyard down there by Tarascon, and when everything was sold up and settled six hundred francs was all that was left of his property. I have no mother, brother, sister, or aunt--so you see----"

His breath failed him for a moment. Then he went on: "You see, I have no one to leave the money to. I had the order changed last night and they got me gold at the Crédit Lyonnais for the notes. I'm near done out--and the money is yours."

He put a thin and claw-like hand under his pillow and produced one of the little paper bags of the Crédit Lyonnais. It chinked as he handled it. Then he turned the money out on the quilt.

There was a screen round the bed so that no one saw what was going forward, and a beam of sunlight through the high window lit the thirty gold coins as Pelletan played with them lovingly, whilst Jacques stood fascinated by the sight.

"You will take them?"

"Oh, ay," said Jacques. "I'll take them right enough if you have no one better to give them to. Money is money, and there's no use throwing it away."

Pelletan called out for the hospital orderly, and the man came.

"I've got some money here," said he, holding up the bag in which he had replaced the coins. "It's the money you got me yesterday for that order. I'm just off the hooks as you very well know and I have no one to give the stuff to except my friend here. He has used me well and I give it to him. You are witness."

"Yes," replied the man.

Pelletan handed the bag to Jacques. It was his last act. As though the gold coins had been his last drops of blood he fell back on the pillows and in five minutes he was no longer a soldier of the Legion.

Jacques gave the orderly a louis and marched off with the little bag in his pocket.

He was rich enough now to attempt his escape again from Algeria and to have a fair sum left over with which to begin life in some foreign country, but he was not thinking of escape. He was thinking of Mimi Tricot.

Mimi was always bewailing the fact that she had not enough money to start in a bigger business.

"Even a few hundred francs," she had said, "would help to get credit with and with credit one can get anything--but what can one do with customers like you légionnaires?"

This speech was in his memory as he went back to barracks, and all through the afternoon drill he was thinking of Mimi.

He was greatly torn in his mind, the gold pulling one way and Mimi the other.

The gold meant a lot to him. Twenty-nine pieces of gold, an unthinkable treasure, hauled upon the rope at the other end of which pulled Mimi.

He made two mistakes at drill that day and got reprimanded for the first time since wearing the insignia of corporal. The gold was already beginning to bring him into trouble, but he did not think of this, or take warning.

At six o'clock, when the work of the day was over and the Légionnaires starting off to the town, Jacques left the barracks.

He took his way with the others till he reached the Place Sadi Carnot, where the band of the Legion was already occupying the bandstand, around which the townsfolk and visitors were collecting.

It was a superb evening, the warm wind blowing from the Thessala Mountains and a great moon rising in the east against the setting sun.

Jacques, his pocket bulging with gold, turned from the Place into a narrow lane. It was the Ghetto of Sidi-bel-Abbès.

Sidi-bel-Abbès has its Spanish quarter, its negro quarter--outside the gates--its Arab quarter and its Jewish quarter. It was through the latter that Jacques took his way till he reached Mustapha Street and the café of the charmer.

A half tipsy Spahi was talking to her across the little counter and Jacques took a seat and called for a cup of coffee. He noted with approval how well she kept the Spahi at a distance and at the same time as a customer. Then, the Spahi having taken his departure, he rose, came to the counter and plunged into the business on hand. There was no time to waste as more customers might arrive at any moment.

"Mimi," said Jacques, "you've always been saying how well you could get on but for the want of a few francs. Well, here's something. Open it and see."

He placed the little bag on the counter. Mimi opened it and shook out the coins.

There were twenty-five louis in the bag. He had kept back four for himself, which, with the one he had given to the hospital orderly, made up the six hundred francs of Pelletan's gift.

"_Mon Dieu!_" cried Mimi. "What bank have you been robbing?"

Jacques laughed, then he explained, and as he explained Mimi counted the money, dropping it back into the little paper bag coin by coin.

"So you see," finished Jacques, "it's yours; and since you are mine, ma mie--it's mine. Take it and use it. In three years I will be a free man, and if you care for me as you say you do, and if you have any luck with the business you start in, we may do well together, you and I. There's not a man knows more of the ins and outs of Sidi-bel-Abbès than myself."

Mimi leaning her arms comfortably on the counter, they began to talk. It was more like the conversation of two business people than two lovers, but it ended in a kiss given across the counter as a seal of the compact.

Jacques had confessed that he had kept four louis back for his own private use. Three of these he handed to Mimi, at her request, to keep for him.

"I will be your banker," said she.

Jacques returned to barracks that night in high good spirits. Strangely enough, the money had weighed on him, making him irritable; he had been afraid of losing it, afraid of being robbed, a hundred plans for spending it had fought with another only to be conquered by the plan he had just carried through. His mind was easy now, and he had the satisfaction not only of knowing that Mimi was now his for certain, but also of the surety that he had made a very good deal in a business way.

With Mimi waiting for him till he came out of the Legion he would have something to live for, and all the time he was serving the completion of his term she would be building up their business. No man knew better than Jacques what possibilities for making money lay in Sidi-bel-Abbès. As cunning as a monkey and as sharp as a weasel, Jacques had plumbed all the depths of the town.

Though the pay of the Legion is only a half-penny a day there is money in the Legion. Nearly every légionnaire who has a friend or a relative in any part of the world becomes a beggar-man, money orders are constantly arriving and the money when it arrives is spent at once. He reckoned on the Legion as a good customer for the new business. Then there was the possibility of money-lending in the town, beginning very small, of course, and increasing by degrees; and there were things to be bought and sold in illicit ways, visitors to be fleeced and natives to be plundered.

Before he went asleep that night he was driving in his automobile through Sidi-bel-Abbès with Mimi at his side.

For a fortnight after that he lived on his twenty francs and in a state of complete happiness, presenting the picture, unnatural and against all reason, of a contented légionnaire; every evening he would call in on Mimi, drink her vile coffee, smoke cigarettes, dream of fortune, and make love to her as well as he could in the presence of the other customers. She would give him no appointment outside for a walk on the ramparts or through the great boulevards and he did not grumble; her strictness and propriety pleased him almost as much as her black coiled hair; this was a proper woman, a woman a man could trust, if not, _nom de Dieu!_ whom could one trust?

One evening at the end of the fortnight, having spent his last copper, he called on this trustworthy woman to draw five francs of his money.

Jacques felt rather shamefaced over the business, but, putting a bold face on the matter, he entered the little café, only to find the bar deserted. It was early in the evening, a bit before the hour when légionnaires might be expected, and the space before the counter, with its rickety chairs and stained marble-topped tables, was also empty.

From the little room at the back of the bar came voices in amicable conversation, Mimi's voice and another--the voice of Corporal Zeiss!

Jacques stood for a moment like a man petrified, then he knocked on the counter with one of the glass cigarette-ash trays and the lady appeared.

Seeing Jacques, she closed the door of the little room and came forward smiling and quite unruffled, and he, white under his sunburning, but showing nothing of his feelings, made his request for the five francs.

She gave it to him without a murmur and he took it, paid for a drink, chatted for a few minutes, and then, saying that he had some business on hand in the town, took his departure.

Outside he hid in the shadow of a doorway. He had not long to wait. Some customers went into the café and almost as soon as they entered out came Zeiss, walking with a light step and with the jaunty air of a man very well satisfied with himself.

He passed so close to Jacques that the latter could see his earrings, or at least the right earring.

Then Zeiss vanished round a corner and Jacques returned to the barracks.

He wanted to be alone, a most dangerous sign in a man of Jacques' mentality and character. He knew that at this hour the barracks would be empty of all but the sentries and the men under sentence of confinement to barracks, and he found no one in the big bedroom where he slept and where now he lay down on his bed to think.

He was thinking of how he should kill Zeiss.

All sorts of tempting ways occurred to him and were played with by his mind, but they had all one fault--they would also inevitably kill Jacques.

He was a very brave man, but he had no fancy at all for facing the firing-squad.

His love for Mimi was not of the nature that makes a man regardless of all things should he be betrayed, but it was strong enough to raise the Apache in him.

His dreams of wealth and motor-cars had been smashed by this scoundrel Zeiss; that fact was almost more powerful with him than the fact that Zeiss had stolen Mimi from him, and more potent than either of these was the fact that Zeiss, his friend, had betrayed him.

Twenty minutes passed and then Jacques, rising from his bed, went off downstairs to the canteen. He had discovered a way to revenge himself, clean and without danger.

Firing practice on the range took place once every three weeks or so, and Jacques had to wait a week till one fine morning when, led by the buglers, his company started out for the butts.

During the whole of that week he had not seen Mimi nor heard from her, nor thought of her, so deeply was his mind engaged with Zeiss. But out here on the firing-ground this blazing morning, just as he had taken a loaded rifle from one of the new recruits to explain its mechanism, the thought of Mimi shot up in his mind like an imp as if to give energy to his purpose.

He was bringing the muzzle of the rifle round in the direction of Zeiss' broad back, whilst Zeiss, all unconscious of the fact, was receiving orders from the captain of the company, when Sergeant Terrail, with a glance at the German, said:

"Have you heard how Zeiss has been let down by that woman at the coffee-shop--Black Mimi--she's bolted with all his savings, _nom d'un pétard_, what a fool. Savigny met him last night crying for his money. He blurted the whole thing out. She has cleared off. He had close on a thousand francs saved up. He lent it to her to improve her business. Well, he was always a mean pig, close-fisted, but she managed to open his fist. Trust a woman for that."