Lady Luck Part 28

The n.o.ble was quick to take up the deception. "We beat 'em to death with those clubs. If you get a small blue golf, you beat him with an iron club. For the savage red ones you use that club with the piece of bra.s.s on it. The whisky golf is the worst, though; he sort of sneaks up on you. You use those little clubs for them. They're called putters.

They're shorter so you can use 'em in close places. Short and deadly."

The quartette were presently seated in an automobile which was retrieved from Powell Street. On the way to the Lincoln Park golf course the party detoured through Golden Gate Park. The car drove past the enclosure wherein leaped a dozen full grown kangaroos. One of the Potent n.o.bles pointed to the awkward animals. "There's some golfs now if you boys never seen any."

A restless kangaroo made a thirty-foot leap. "Lawd Gawd, Cap'n, does you kill dem debbils wid clubs? I craves a cannon an' forty miles'

range, or else one o' them airplane flyin' things."

"All you have to do is to stand right close behind me and you'll be safe."

The Wildcat's training had taught him to trust the word of a white man.

"Cap'n, yes, suh." As far as he was concerned, the conversation was ended, but in spite of the Potent n.o.ble's rea.s.suring words, a feeling of uneasiness seemed to undermine him.

At the hunting preserves in Lincoln Park it became evident that luck was not with the two golf-killing n.o.bles of the Mysterious Mecca, because about all these two gentlemen did was to continue the monotonous business of knocking a couple of innocent looking white b.a.l.l.s across the landscape. Every now and then they would come upon a gra.s.s lawn with an iron cup in the centre of it, and then each Potent n.o.ble would waste a lot of time urging his ball into the cup with the short and deadly putter which was normally used for slaughtering whisky golfs which sneaked up on you.

After the first mile or two the zest of the chase was dulled by the Wildcat's habitual languor. He edged over towards the Mud Turtle. "Mud Turtle, 'spec' dese gen'men gwine to give us fo' bits, mebbe, fo'

he'pin 'em hunt dese golfs what we ain't seed. Ah feels dismal. Every time dey shoots 'at ball, s'posin' you an' me shoots ten cents?"

"How come, Wilecat? You knows us cain't monkey wid dis huntin' game."

"I don't mean monkey wid de huntin'," the Wildcat returned. "Is you got a lead pencil? 'Sposin' us marks de li'l white b.a.l.l.s wid de dice freckles an' reads 'em when dey drops. Fust you take one time, den I takes anotheh. Us plays some mountain dominoes. Got to do sumpin', else us goes to sleep. Den like as not some ragin' golf sneak up an' eat yo'

innards fo' you has a chance to wake up. Le's try shootin' some sevens at de scenery."

Action followed the Wildcat's words, and presently the two golf b.a.l.l.s then in use were marked with a pattern of black dots running from the gentle ace to the belligerent six spot. Thereafter the two Potent n.o.bles had reason to wonder at the sudden industry exhibited by their caddies, who leaped after each ball almost before the club had touched it.

"Bam! Look at that boy go, Jim! I wish we could get caddies like that in Chicago; the lazy devils never would go after a ball. These fellows are bears."

"They're all good,--the best caddies I ever had were n.i.g.g.e.rs in the south,--after you get 'em woke up, that is."

Meanwhile, out at the destination of the golf ball the Wildcat and the Mud Turtle were inspecting it where it lay. "Three up." The pair raced to the point where the other ball had fallen. "She reads fo'. Fo' an'

three is seven. Wilecat, doggone you, you wins again."

"Sho' I wins! Didn' dem Blue Fezant boys say dis heah mascot goat ob mine was roustin' roun' out heah? Whaheveh dat goat is, so is Lady Luck. Fo' long I meets up wid Lily, an' den I shows you some winnin'

what is."

The two Potent n.o.bles holed out at the ninth, and the party crossed the road under the trees to the tenth tee. "Cap'n, suh," the Wildcat asked, "what's 'at rock oveh dah, widout no roof an' de rock wall?"

The Potent n.o.ble looked over at the Chinese tomb. "That's where some Chinaman is buried," he said. "That's a Chinese tomb."

"Tomb! Some dead boy layin' in it?"

"I'll say so--maybe a dozen of 'em. This whole golf pasture is built over a graveyard."

The Wildcat stiffened and looked at the Mud Turtle. "Lawd Gawd, Mud Turtle! Us cravin' to meet Lady Luck an' walkin' 'roun' in a graveyard!

Sho' makes me dwindle up inside! No wondeh dem man-eatin' golfs is so ragin' out heah. Wish I could fin' dat doggone Lily Goat." He turned to one of the Potent n.o.bles. "Ain't we startin' down town, Cap'n, fo' it gits dark?"

"It'll be two hours yet before it gets dark. We've got time to hunt another golf or two. Shut up while I drive."

"Cap'n, yessuh."

At the sixteenth tee the Potent n.o.ble looked down at the heavy fog which was rolling in through the Golden Gate. He addressed the ball. He jumbled around on his feet and took a couple of practice swings.

Perfection was in every movement. Then, as he drove, the Wildcat sneezed. There followed a blast of profanity whose equal the Wildcat had not heard since his army days. He edged over towards the Mud Turtle. "Neveh seed a boy change so quick. Heah he is, pleasant one minnit, an' den he hits dat ball an' goes hog wild. Seems like--"

He was interrupted by the Potent n.o.ble, who had calmed down. "Git the h.e.l.l out in the rough there and find that ball I sliced."

"Yes, suh." The Wildcat started out through the fog to find the freckled white sphere. He threshed around in the trees and underbrush for a while, and then to his mind came a memory of the horrible words which the Potent n.o.ble had spoken. "This place was a graveyard!" The Wildcat shuddered extensively and abandoned the search for the golf ball.

He looked up, and there before him was a tombstone!

"Lawd Gawd, Lady Luck, whah is you?" Automatically his feet began to work, and they were aided an instant later by his racing legs. He went away from there through the fog. The next thing he knew, he had made a forty-foot dive over a sand bank. He rolled for a moment in the s.h.i.+fting sand before he brought up against a stunted cedar.

"Whah at is I?"

The fog cleared, and the Wildcat saw the sand dunes stretching below him. At the edge of the slope were the waves of the Golden Gate. Then the fog closed in again, and everything about him faded out of the picture. Above his head, out of the drifting fog, a flight of sea gulls started a little gossip. To the Wildcat's ears came their shrieking remarks. He stopped his wild shuddering and began to moan.

"'At's dem ghost boys! I know 'em! Lady Luck, take dem boys away. I ain't talkin' wid no ghosts." He turned and started up the bank. He began throwing sand out from under his feet like a record-busting rotary snow plough. His legs ran for ten minutes, but his wind was crippled, and in the s.h.i.+fting sand he covered a s.p.a.ce of less than twenty feet. Exhausted with his effort, he flopped down on the sloping bank. "Dey's got me," he moaned, "dey's got me! I knowed it. I knowed dem graveyard ghosts would git me, once I gits divo'ced f'um dat mascot goat. Lady Luck, here I is!" The Wildcat curled up and covered his head with his arms.

He lay in repose for less than ten seconds; for suddenly, out of the fog in mid channel, came the booming siren whistle of a liner, heading out of the Golden Gate. "Whoom! Wha-om!"

The Wildcat moaned. "I heahs you, Gabriel, I heahs you! Heah I is, Lawd--heah I is."

"Whooom! We-ow-oom!"

"It's me. It's ol' Wilecat. What fo' you askin' who? You knows who!

Ghosts got me, Gabriel! Here I is! Lady Luck--Good-bye!"

Then from Fort Miley crashed the report of the evening gun that marked retreat, and a moment later the clear notes of a bugle floated out of the fog. For a moment life on earth again claimed the Wildcat, and instinctively he responded to his army training. He got to his feet and stood rigidly at attention. Into the fog to an unseen company he yelled a series of commands. "Come to 'tenshun! Silence in de ranks! Shut up an' stan' up! 'Tenshun! Lily, come to 'tenshun! Cap'n Jack, suh, de company is fo'med."

He saluted and made an about-face as perfectly as he could in the s.h.i.+fting sand beneath his feet.

As he did so he felt his brain rattle. Ten feet above him, tangible as iron, real as gold, festooned with hair and horns, stood Lily the mascot goat.

The Wildcat stood fixed for an instant looking with incredulous eyes at the mascot. Then he made an excess demand on the motor muscles of his legs, and in six wild leaps he had gained the goat's side.

"Lily, is you back? Goat, hot dam! Lady Luck sho' heard me!" The Wildcat grabbed the leading string which dangled from the mascot's neck. "Come heah--I aims to git me some han'-cuffs an' lock one end 'roun yo' neck an' de otheh roun' mah laig. Goat, us sho' is proud to meet up wid you! Does you leave me once mo' nex' time I knocks yo'

hawns down yo' throat."

Lily evidently approved the arrangement. She looked at the Wildcat, and then from her skinny throat a faint bleat sounded.

"Say dat again! You sounds n.o.ble!"

"Blaaa," answered Lily.

The Wildcat looked around him. His fear of the shrieking ghostly voices from the sky overhead had melted into the fog. No longer did the howling devils of mid channel disturb him. No longer did he fear the raging golf. With his mascot goat at his side, no evil luck could touch him. Courage returned, and with it extravagant language. "Lily, no doggone ghos' better git uppity wid me. I'd bus' a ol' ghos' in de haid did I ketch one."

With Lily beside him, he gained the level ground of the fairway. Then, over a wide expanse of golf links, the fog had lifted clear. The Wildcat saw the two Blue Fezant n.o.bles poking around near the Chinese tomb in search of the ball which had been lost a little while before.

"Come on heah, Lily." He dragged the mascot to the Chinese tomb, near which the Mud Turtle was halted.

"Ain't you foun' 'at little white ball yit, Mud Turtle?"