Beggars of Life by Jim Tully Page B

other Chinks got at me after I dropped a couple more. I was darn near all in myself, but I shot out my arm at a half-breed and another guy zipped it off with a long crooked knife. The blood spurted, an’ my girl got away and run to me, and some other Chink grabbed her, while her old dad stood back shoutin’ orders not to kill me, as that would of got him in hot water.
    â€œI darn near bled to death, but the old Chink doctor stopped the blood, while I slept like a baby through it all.
    â€œMy three years was up in the Army in four months, and by that time my arm was all well, so they shipped me back to Frisco on a transport. The Chinks shipped the little girl away some-wheres, as I never saw her after the fight.”
    He paused, and felt his empty sleeve, and resumed, “I came near gettin’ the guard house, but the Captain wasn’t a bad guy and I guess he thought losin’ an arm was bad enough after losin’ such a purty little gal. The Captain was a good judge of woman flesh, so he let me down easy. Anyhow, I think I’ll beat it to Frisco and ship over there and look around.”
    â€œShe must have been a peach,” said the watchman. “I used to have a good lookin’ little trick in Manila, and I often think about her. I’ve got a wife and three kids over in Boone now, but I wish to thunder I was a single guy again. Damned if I don’t. To hell with married life.”
    A yellow meat train thundered across the viaduct, as though carrying supplies to a starving army.
    All four stood up. “This train’ll run fifty miles without a stop,” said the watchman. “If you make her outta here, you’re good for that far any-how.”
    A man waved a lantern from the caboose, and then disappeared inside.
    With a hasty, “So long,” to the watchman, and, “Good luck,” in return, we boarded the train.

CHAPTER VI
A RIVER BAPTISM
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    CHAPTER VI
A RIVER BAPTISM
    W E reached Omaha in the early morning. The one-armed man went on to San Francisco, bound for the Philippine Islands where his dream woman lived. We stayed with him until he boarded a Union Pacific freight for the west.
    As tramps’ minds veer quickly, we suddenly decided to go to St. Louis. A drifter in Omaha had told us that wages were high in the harvest fields near there. We wanted the wages of course, but we did not care much about the work.
    A swift ride on a mail train found us on the levee front of a small town near St. Louis by the afternoon of the next day, which was Sunday.
    A throng of negroes chanted hymns in a half circle near the river. A negro preacher with a heavy paunch, a lame leg, and a bullet head, stood on the bank of the Mississippi, which they faced. He kept time with a song book, which was held in both hands. As his hands made the downward motion they struck a heavy watch chain from which dangled two large charms attached to the ends of a brass horse shoe.
    As we approached the gathering in the company of a derelict we had met, the words of the song became more distinct:
    â€œO, de joy dat fills de moment.
    O, de happiness I know,
    Seek no longer to detain me——”
    and then in voices of thunder accompanied by wild movements,
    â€œLoose de cable—le-t m-e g-o.”
    This was followed by shouting and the clapping of hands, and verses of another song——
    â€œIt’s de old time religion,
    It’s de old time religion,
    It’s de old time religion——
    An’ it’s good enough for me.
    It was good for our old mammy,
    It was good for our old mammy,
    It was good for our old daddy,
    An’ it’s good enough for me.
    It makes de Methodis lube the Baptis’
    It makes de Methodis lube the Baptis’,
    It makes de Methodis lube the Baptis’,
    An’ it’s good enough for me.”
    At the ending of the song, two ropes were fastened to posts in the bank. A negro then waded out into the yellow river