Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-03-27


a bow string. Hardy was Xix
that-short, 1.-THE, sunburned
~ vivid. Into the lives of Jarrick
Hill and myself, old claSsmate
of his, he came and went in the fash
ion of one OF those winds that on {
sultry day blow Unexpectedly out o.
nowhere. His comings excited us: hi:
goings left US refreshed and a littlt
vaguely discontinued. SO many people
ere gray. Hardy gave one a shock OF
color, as do the deserts and the noun
tains he inhabited. 1t was not particu
larly what he said-he didn't talk
much--it was his appearance, the
sense of mysterious lands that per
vaded him. One. never knew when he
was coming to New York, and one
never knew how long he was going to
stay. He appeared, was busy with
mining companies for while, sat
about clubs in the later afternoon,
and then one day he was gone.
Sometimes he came twice in a year
Oftener not for two or three years at
a stretch. When he did come we gave
him a dinner; that is, Jarrick, Hill
and myself. Then we would try to
make him tell about his experiences.
Usually he wouldn't.
But five years ago-no, it was six
self. We had dined at Lambs. and
we had been discussing bravery and
conscience and cowardice and original
sin and that sort of business. Hardy
was enjoying himself hugely.
Hill, against the combined attack of
Jarrick and myself, was maintaining
the argument.
There is no such thing as instinc-
tive bravery" he affirmed. among
intelligent men. Every one of us is
naturally a coward. The more tmagi-
nation we've got, the more we can
realize how pleasant life is, after all,
and how rotten the adjuncts of sud
den death. It's reason that does the
trick-reason and tradition. DO you
know of any one who is brave when
he is alone, except, that is, when it is
a case OF Self-preservation? No! Or
course not. Did you ever hear OF any
one choosing to go along dangerous
road or to ford a dangerous river un-
less he had to; that is, any one of our
class, any man of education or lmigl-
nation? It's the greater fear OF being
thought afraid that makes us brave.
ITS condition." said JarTick dog
gediy: condition entirely. All has
to do with your liver and digestion.
I know fox-hunt, and when | was
younger I rode jumping races. When
you're fit there isn't horse awe
that bothers you, or fence, for that
matter, or a bit of water"
Hardy lit his cigarette and inhaled
a puff thoughtfully.
"You don't understand. When you
get down to brass tacks it's instinct
at the last gasp it's instinct. You
can't get away from it. Look at the
difference between a Thoroughbred and
q ld.blooded horse There you are
That's true. It's the fashion now to
discount instinct, ] know. Weil--Dut
YOU can't get away from It. I've
thought about the thing lot Men
are brave against their better reason,
against their conscience It's mixed
M thing. It's confusing. and-and
sor+ of foolish" he concluded lamely.
you've got a concrete instance back
OF that" / ventured.
Hardy removed his gaze from the
ceiling. "Er-" he stammered. why,
yes-yes. That's true.
YOU'D better tell it." suggested
Hill: otherwise your argument is not
very conclusive"
HARDY furnbled with the spoon Of
.'Iyell---" he began. II don't know.
Perhaps. did know man, though.
who saved another mans life when he
didn't want to. when there was every
excuse for him not to. when he had II
all reasoned out that 1t was wrong,
the very wrongest possible thing to do,
and he saved him because he couldn't
help it, saved him at the risk OF his
own life. too"
"He did, urged. was aware that
we were on the edge of a revelation.
Hardy looked down at the spoon in
his hand. then up and into my eyes.
IT'S such queer place to tell II,
ne said. do you know Los Pinos?
Well. you wouldn't. 1t was just a few
shacks when / saw it. Maybe it isn't
there any more at all. You know
those places, People build them and
then go away. In a year there isn't
thing, Just desert again and shifting
sand" He swept the tablecloth with
his hand, as II sweeping something
into oblivion. ITS queer. that bust
ness. Men and women go out to lone
" places and build houses. and every
things goes on in miniature. just as 1t
does here-daily bread and hating and
then something hap
pens, the gold gives out. or the fields
won't pay. and in no time nature is
back again. It's big fight. You lose
track OF it in crowded places.
"I wasn't there for any particular
purpose. I'd been on job In Colo
RADIO and was rather done up, and,
as there We're some prospects In New
Mexico / wanted to see. ! hit south,
drifting through Santa Fe and Silver
City, until ] found myself way down
he nf AFfZ0nA
was about the 1st of September.
at knew chap that had a cattle
outfit near the Mexican border. so
dropned in on him one day and stayed
Two weeks. When i decided to start
north again. he said: IF you go
trife out of your way. youn strike
Los Pinos, and wish you would. It's
a little bit of dump OF the United
fsouper Co.'S. No good. I'm thinking,
but the fellow in charge is friend OF
mine. He's got his wife there. They're
nice people--or used to be. ! haven't
seen them for 10 years. They say
he drinks a little-well. we all do.
Maybe you could write me how she-I
mean. how he is getting on. Ana ne
turned red. I saw how the lana ray
and ! said would.
ut was so miles away, and drlIted
In there one night at shutdown. you
know how purple-violet. really
those desert evenings are. There was
,Iolet stretching away az far as /
Gould see. from the faint violet at my
stirrups to the deep, almost black vio-
LEI OF the horizon. Way of to the
north could make out the shadow OF
some big hills that had been ahead OF
me all day. The town, what there was
OF IL. Law in little gully.
ct asked my way Of a Mexican. ana
he showed me Ire, TO where the Whit
neys-that name will do as well as
any-lived, in a decent enough sort
OF bungalow, ii would seem. above the
gully. ] went forward and raped AT
81 49,. ;1bt cboDe from between