mouth. Chewing and swallowing around his words, he explained for Matthew's benefit, 'Now me? I seldom require the pleasures of the flesh. I save my strength for the crusade I have been chosen to lead. But I am a mere mortal, a son of man, and I admit that I sometimes feel a powerful urge for that spiritual relief that only a chunk of poontang can bring. But I would never, never permit myself to use that Chinee or that nigger gal.' He washed down the biscuit with the last of his coffee and held out his cup for Matthew to refill. 'I could never be a party to the mongrel mixing of the races. Did you ever see a dog mount a cat? Of course not! And why? 'Cause the mixing of races is both unnatural and unholy. Don't you agree, Mr. Delanny?'
The gambler didn't respond.
'No, boy,' Lieder continued, 'I would never let my good American seed fall upon alien ground, but pretty soon I'm going to have to let it fall somewhere. What I'm looking for is a beautiful young virgin to serve as a vessel for my seed. Upon her body I shall produce a manchild to complete my work on this earth, and she will be accounted blessed among women. But in the meantime… ' He cocked a mischievous eye and grinned as Matthew felt a wave of relief that Ruth Lillian was safely out of town. '… while I'm waiting for my virgin vessel, I sure could use a piece of standard, all-purpose poontang. It's been a long, long time! And it ain't healthy for a man to go dry too long 'cause all that pent-up sap clogs his mind and messes up his thinking. I've been considering that Swede girl that brings the food from the boardinghouse. Now, she ain't no oil painting, that's for damn sure, but she's got nice thick hair to get your fingers into, and big udders to rest your weary head on. All in all, I believe she'd make pretty fair utility-grade poontang. Tell me, boy, have you ever stuck that Swede girl? What's she like?'
Matthew shrugged his shoulders and muttered negatively as he busied himself with filling cups around.
'Yes, I better look into that. Just a little something to hold me over until Fate delivers unto me the immaculate virgin destined to carry my seed. Hey, how about some more biscuits? Come on, everybody! Eat, drink, and make merry. Hey, wouldn't it be funny if that Chink's name was Mary? Eh? Eh?'
'You already cracked that one,' Tiny said.
Lieder wheeled on him. 'Don't tell me what I already cracked and what I ain't! Don't you ever do that again! You hear me?'
Matthew was washing dishes in the kitchen when Frenchy slipped in without a word and took a drying rag to help. He began to speak to her, but she shook her head curtly, so he continued swishing the cold water with the wooden-handled wire basket filled with left-over slivers of soap. Frenchy reached through the meager froth he had raised and drew out the slim boning knife he had used to slice the bacon. She slipped it into the waistband of her camisole, then settled her yellow eyes on him with icy calm. He didn't say a word.
From the barroom, they heard Lieder's voice. 'Well, as I live and breathe! The schoolmaster's come to pay his respects!'
Matthew followed Frenchy into the barroom, feeling a quickening excitement because B. J.'s arrival meant that he had spotted Coots coming around Shinbone Cut, and had come to occupy Lieder's attention while Coots worked his way down to the donkey meadow.
Lieder was sitting with his chair tipped back against the wall, smiling brightly at B. J., who stood in the doorway, holding the bat-winged doors open. 'Come on in, schoolmaster! Boy, fetch our guest a cup of coffee.'
'I don't want any coffee,' B. J. said curtly.
'Well, if you haven't come to be neighborly, then to what do I owe the honor of your august presence? Or maybe I should put it this way-what the hell you want?'
Tiny and Bobby-My-Boy grinned to their gums. Ain't he a card, though!
'I've come to talk a little sense into you.'
'Have you, now? Well, so long as it's only a little sense, go ahead. Give her a try.'
'There's no way in the world you're going to get that silver.'
'And who's going to stop me? You? That Jew storekeeper? Everybody else in town seems happy to have me here. I bring color into their drab lives.'
'But sixty armed miners might slow you down some. And the train doesn't come down until Saturday. That's five days away.'
'I'm a patient man. And if I get bored, well, don't you worry. I'll find something to amuse myself.'
'But why just sit here for five days, when you know perfectly well that the law's on your trail and has probably found that prospector by now? You could get down the track to Destiny in half a day.'
'Half a day, eh? I see. So you're advising us to walk down the railroad track, right into the arms of a whole townful of men with guns.' He rocked back on the legs of his chair and looked up at the ceiling, as though he were giving this option serious consideration. 'Well now, I suppose we might do that. On the other hand, we might just stay right here having our meals served regular, drinking free whiskey from Mr. Delanny's hospitality, and ripping off a chunk of poontang whenever we feel the urge. Gee Whitakers, it's hard to choose between getting shot by a whole townful of angry men, and sitting around here loafing and having fun. Tell me, schoolmaster. Which would you choose, if you were in my place?'
Something occurred to B. J. for the first time. 'How do you see the silver that's coming on that train? The silver you mean to finance your 'struggle' with?'
'How do I see it?'
'Are you envisioning bars of silver? Bags of coins? Well, it's nothing like that. It's just ore. Ore that's been crushed and dressed for smelting down in Destiny. There's no treasure of silver for you on that train. There's only sixty miners with guns.'
The darkening of Lieder's face revealed his disappointment at learning that his treasure of precious metal was just… crushed rock! He glared at B. J. as his mind ransacked the possibilities. 'All right! All right! But… but maybe the treasure I seek is the miners themselves! Eh? You didn't think about that, did you, schoolteacher? No! Maybe I'll talk to those miners. Make them see the Light and the Way. And they'll join me in driving the foreigners back to where they came from!'
'And if you can't convince them?'
'Well, then… then there'll be one hell of a battle! It'll be Armageddon with spurs on! Just picture it! On one side, there's me and my apostles, the defenders of everything that made these United States great. And on the other side, those miners of yours, men who make their livings raping this country of ours, ripping the gold and silver out of her womb to line the pockets of Wall Street bankers! If I win, I get a whole trainload of silver ore!'
'And if you lose?'
'Lose? Lose? Well then… just think of the stories they'll tell about me! And the songs they'll sing! They'll be slapping up three-color posters about my martyrdom from Maine to California! Generations yet unborn will glorify my struggle against a corrupt government!' His eyes narrowed, and he asked, 'You're a book man, Mr. Stone. What do you know about a book called The Revelation of the Forbidden Truth?'
'Never heard of it.'
'No? Well, The Revelation of the Forbidden Truth was written by a man who only dared call himself The Warrior, because The International Conspiracy was trying to assassinate him for turning the spotlight of truth onto their plans. He had to print his book privately because all the publishers are in on The Conspiracy. And clever? He even misspelled some words to throw his enemies off the track by making them think his book was nothing but ignorant trash. By the time I'd read half a dozen pages I knew-I could feel in the marrow of my bones-that this book had been destined to come into my hands. I read it till the words flowed in my blood and echoed in my brain. It wasn't always easy to understand what The Warrior was trying to tell me. There were mysteries. Some things didn't seem to make sense although I read them over and over. But then one night… one night I was lying on the floor of my prison cell, reading by the light that came in under the door, and suddenly… there was this… ' His voice softened with awe. '… it was like a blaze of blue light in my brain! All at once I understood everything. Everything. I saw how The International Conspiracy was jealous because America has become the greatest Aryan nation on earth, and so they've all gotten together to destroy us, not by facing us on the battlefield! No! They're too cowardly for that! Instead, they're sending the scum of their gutters and ghettos to weaken our national spirit, to dilute our pure stock with their diseased blood! With every immigrant those countries send, they grow stronger and richer by ridding themselves of their vermin, while we grow weaker and poorer with every one we take! You see how it works? You see how it works?'
B. J. closed his eyes and shook his head, as though in pity.
'The Revelation of the Forbidden Truth tells how the majority of stupid, trusting Americans have never even heard of The International Conspiracy, because all the newspapers are being blackmailed and don't dare print the
