Chapter 9

The Wildcat expanded in the sunlight of Lady Luck's smile.

"Lady Luck, how come I doubt you? Police folks, good-bye. Lily, 'tenshun! Come on heah. Us is a Pullman poteh. Ah craves mah rest. Le's go."

Surrounded by an escort of Potent Nobles of the Mysterious Mecca, the Wildcat marched from the portals of the Chicago police station, headed for a west-bound train wherein he aimed to do the best he could in the role of porter for his carload of nobles.

At the train gates the party was delayed five minutes to permit the entrance of a motley crew of manacled aliens.

"How come them boys festooned with so much jinglin' hardware?"

One of the Potent Nobles made reply.

"Bad actors."

"Cap'n, suh, who's dat black boy wid de straight hair and his head tied up in de white rag?"

"Hindoo."

"Some boy sho' must ob busted his head open, to need tyin' up so bad."

Following the line of undesirables headed away from the land of the free, Lily, the Wildcat, and the Potent Nobles filtered through the gates into the train shed. They made their way down a long string of coaches, arriving finally at the Mazeppa.

"Here's the car."

"Car, howdy. Lily, git aboa'd."

"Slip out and get me a box of cigars before we leave."

A Potent Noble shoved a banknote at the Wildcat.

"Cap'n, yessuh. Would you mind tyin' Lily on de front vegetable ob de car till I gits back?"

Twelve minutes later, carrying in his hand a box of cigars, the Wildcat's second entrance was blocked by a ticket chopper who had a square jaw and a sense of duty.

"Where's your ticket?"

"Ain't got no ticket. I's de poteh wid de Mysterious Mecca gen'men. Le' me by."

"Don't try to pull none o' that stuff around me."

"Man, leave me by!"

Armed with the conviction of authority and clad in a parade-leading Prince Albert whose brass buttons reassured him, the Wildcat violated one of the first principles of his life, which was never to oppose a white man. He slid past the ticket chopper, ducked into the gate, and boarded the train wherein rolled the Mazeppa. He caught a tourist Pullman three cars apart from the rolling residence of the Mysterious Mecca delegation and landed breathless in the open vestibule.

"Fust thing old Backslid, what learned me de po'teh bizness, said to do was to close up de vegetable."

This he proceeded to do. He turned and entered the car. For a second time he slid past blue-coated authority, in the form of a United States Deputy Marshal who was temporarily chaperoning the departing aliens.

"Hold on, there: where you headed for?"

"I's de poteh what takes care ob de Noble Fezant boys in de blue pants."

The deputy marshal temporarily on guard had a fixed official rule of conduct: never take a chance. The Wildcat's words sounded crazy enough to entitle him to a membership card in the Traveling Nut Club.

"Git in that car and sit down before I blow your head off! Where's your handcuffs?"

"Cap'n, how come? Handcuffs seems so confidential."

Here, for some reason unknown to the Wildcat, was the hand of the law. Inside of his parade-leading Prince Albert the Wildcat shivered and shrunk three sizes. His brow wrinkled in perplexity beneath the velvet hat, and the bright yellow plumes thereon dropped in sudden melancholy.

"Lady Luck, whah at is you?"

"Mumblin' to himself and wearing the craziest rig in the car--good thing I rounded up that bird."

The deputy marshal added another star to his crown. "Plumb bughouse."

He cast his eye over the occupants of the car. "Back to Russia. Try some of your ideas on them Bullshevik birds."

He again addressed the Wildcat.

"Cut out that mumblin'. All you got to do is keep still."

"Cap'n, yessuh." The Wildcat removed his velvet hat and subsided in a seat beside the Hindoo agitator.

"How come you got your head all tied up, boy?" he asked the Hindoo.

The Anarchist didn't see fit to reply.

At Omaha the guards from the western division relieved their homesick eastern brothers.

"Twenty-three of them," announced the man who had captured the Wildcat. "Watch that rag-head Hindoo and that nigger in the fourth seat. He's gittin' bad, all the time mumblin' to himself about Lady Luck and Lily; he believes he's a porter."

Over the miles official carelessness rode in the carload of bad actors. Only when the train stopped were the guards vigilant.

Sagged down in his seat beside the Hindoo, the Wildcat reviewed a tolerably measly past.

"How come?"

There was no accounting for what white men would do to a boy, but somewhere in the jumble the Wildcat sensed that he had been the victim of a mistake.

"Mebbe I's headed fo' jail 'count o' runnin' past de man at de gates."

After a thirty-minute delay at Granger the Wildcat saw a train leave the yards. On the platform of the observation car, surrounded by half a dozen Blue Fezant Nobles of the Mysterious Mecca, he saw Lily speeding away into an isolated future.

"Lily, you hoodoo, good-bye. Lady Luck, here I is."