XXXIII: THE DEATH IN THE NIGHT
During the rest of the day, while the train rolled and rattled andjolted its slow way over the heated face of the desert, thecorrespondents stewed with Bull in their own juices in semi-darkness. Atintervals there would come a stop. With the mad, blind selfishness ofpanic the _brigada_ Gonzales had burned the watering-tanks as theypassed. So those that followed had to draw for the engine with bucketsfrom wells. Also there were occasional rails to be replaced which, withequal selfishness, they tore up again the moment the train passed over.
When the sun finally set in a fiery conflagration and dusk brought somecess of the heat the conductor came in with tales of wholesaledesertions from the _brigada_ Gonzales, and shortly thereafter began thedispersion of their own men. As they approached familiar country, ortempted by tales of rich loot to be taken from near-by _haciendas_, theybegan to drop off in fives, fifties, tens. Of those that had kept thecorrugated-iron roof beating like a drum with their stampings andshufflings throughout the afternoon, there remained only a singlesolitary figure when, after dark, Bull climbed up on top to air hischoked lungs.
As he sat down on the running-board the figure looked up, then movedcloser. "It is thee, senor?"
Peering, Bull made out the face. It was the sentry who had spoken to himat Valles's door. As his mind associated what the "dean" had said withthe recognition he spoke quickly. "The senor Benson? Didst thou see--"
"Si, senor." His head moved in the gloom. In the rambling _peon_ fashionhe ran on: "'The close mouth admits no flies,' said Matador. 'Keep thineshut and we shall make thee a captain to-morrow.'"
"A captain of what, senor? Of ghosts? For I was not deceived. He thatwas sentry when they killed the German? He became a captain? Also theythat helped to roast the Spaniard till he told where he had hidden hisgold? And the three that killed el presidente for Huerta? Captains andmajors and colonels were they--of the dead. Si, among the _revueltosos_it is become a saying, 'Be not a captain till thou hast grownlieutenant's spurs.' Si, I knew that I should be dead before the eve ofanother day, so I fled my guard, senor, and came straight to thee."
Though he was on fire to hear, Bull knew better than to bring his crudethought into confusion by interruption. While the train ambled along helet the narrative take its own course.
"'A captain?' said Matador!" His eloquent shoulders quivered in thegloom. "Better to be a live mozo at the tail of Don Miguel's horses inLas Bocas."
From a second pause he ran on: "He came to the cuartel general, thesenor Benson, while I was sentry of the second watch at the door of mygeneral. He was in there, Valles, with a girl. I had seen her goin--such a girl! tall and straight, with eyes misty as twin nights,teeth white as bleached bone, hair thick and black as the pine foreststhat clothe the Sierra Madras! Santisimo, senor! such a girl as one mayhave when he has combed a country and taken first pick of its women! Icould hear her laughing in there when the senor Benson came striding upthe stairs.
"I saw, when he drew near, that his face was flushed, but there was nosmell of liquor upon him. 'Twas the red of the great anger that burnedin his veins, kept his head shaking like that of a tormented bull. WhenI barred the way he looked at me with eyes that snapped like livingsparks, shoved me aside into the corner with one sweep of his arm,before I could stop him had opened the door and walked in--walked in,senor, through the anteroom into the private office where Valles was atplay with the girl!
"El Matador himself had warned me, 'Let no man pass!' But when I hadpicked myself out of the corner and followed in, there he stood in frontof Valles, who had dropped the girl and leaped to his feet. Surprise andfear showed on his face--the fear of bullet, knife, and poison that dogshim everywhere. But it changed at once to a grin--the terrible grin hispeople fear. His glance at me said, 'Stay!' and as I stood, waiting infear and trembling, he spoke with a voice that cut like a knife.
"'It is my amigo, the senor Benson.'
"Senor, I have seen his generals tremble when he spoke like that. Evenel Matador, tiger that he is, would slink before him like a whipped cat.For all the pesos in all the world I would not have taken his place. Yetthat great Englishman stood before him solid and square as a stone;answered with a voice of a hacendado in speech with a _peon_.
"'I came to tell you, Valles'--just like that he spoke, senor, withouteven a 'my general'--'I came to tell you that I do not take my answersfrom secretaries. The offer I made you this morning was fair and squareand good business for both of us. It deserved more than a threat of'requisitions.' You'll never get my horses that way--if I have to cuttheir throats. If you want them, say so--yes or no.'
"He got it, the 'no,' quick and hard. Then the great anger that was inhim burst forth like a river in flood. Like bear and tiger theyquarreled, the senor threatening Valles with the power and vengeance ofhis government, Valles snarling defiance, their passions feeding eachother as brands burn together in a fire.
"One other thing, and you will have a picture of it, senor--the two attheir furious talk, the girl against the wall behind Valles, one handheld out, fear in her great eyes, and a fourth; for as they wrangledthere came a stir behind me. So quietly that I, whom he touched inpassing, did not hear, el Matador came into the room. One second hestood, watching them from narrow eyes, then, slowly and quietly as asnake slipping through grass, he drew up behind the senor. I have shotmen in this war. At home in Las Bocas I have drawn the knife in passion.But the cold glittering of his eyes, slow snake crawl, chilled the bloodof me.
"He had gained knifing distance when the senor roared in disgust. 'Bah!Why do I waste words on a _peon_? My general, is it? I have had suchgenerals whipped on my place! General? A bandit _peon_ who steals horsesin place of the chickens with which he began his thieveries!'
"'Bandit _peon_? Stealer of chickens?' This, senor, to Valles that hadkilled a hundred men with his own hand before the wars ever began? Theyellow eyes of him seemed to leap out of his face. At the sight of him,frothing like a mad tiger in lust to kill, the girl screamed, hiding herface! At his belt hung pearl-jeweled pistols, the best of their kind.But with the instinct of his old trade the hand of the butcher flew tohis knife.
"They say that the senor tried to kill him. It is a lie! Even when theknife flashed in his eyes he still stood at his distance, shaking hisbig fist, growling his threats, angry but unafraid; so big, strong,masterful, that Valles, even in his fury, hesitated. But not el Matador!Looking back as she ran out of the room, the girl saw as I saw; screamedaloud as the knife passed, once! twice! with a hiss and 'heigh!splitting the backbone, piercing the heart."
With that strong sense of the dramatic which makes the _peon_ a bornstory-teller he stopped. For a moment the flash of a match lifted thebrown, hard face from the gloom under a tattered _sombrero_, lightingthe faded red of his blanket serape. Then they faded again into a dim,huddled figure that swayed with the rack and swing of the cars.
Bull had unconsciously suspended his breath. Now it expired in a sigh."His disposal. Know you aught of that?"
The shrug quivered again in the darkness. "There is little more that Isaw. Across the body el Matador looked at me, and I chilled with thesure knowledge that I should never see my ninas again. He even stepped,then Valles spoke.
"'This is a good hombre. He will help thee with--that!' He followed thegirl into the next room.
"Between us, el Matador and I, we rolled the senor in serapes, bindingthem with cords so that the face should not be seen by them that carriedhim out to the secret place; and it was then that he spoke of mycaptaincy.
"'Go now to thy quarters, senor.' He clapped me on both shoulders. 'Anddream of the stars the morning sun will see flashing here.'
"But lest I sleep too well, senor, I came from the cuartel here."
For a full minute, while Bull chewed the bitter cud of remorse, the carsracked on through the night. Then he spoke. "There is one in El Oro, theconsul Ingles, that would have given many pesos--not the currency ofValles, but real pesos of silver and g
old--for thee to set thy name tothis!"
"Si!" His cigarette glowed in the midst of a shrug. "Of what use pesos,even silver and gold, when the sight is darkened and the mouth shut?When one may no longer see the ninas at play, watch the dancing ofgirls? When the taste of good food is gone from the mouth, the feel ofwarm liquor from the throat? He that betrays Valles will have no moreuse of these."
"But in El Paso," Bull urged, "one would be beyond the reach of hishand. There, also, is a consul Ingles."
"One's pais? The rise and set of sun across the desert beyond Las Bocas;the chatter of the women at their washing by the stream; the softlaughter of girls; one's children watching at dusk for the return--theseare not to be bought with pesos. One's pais is one's pais. To it onealways returns."
"Si," Bull acknowledged the call, the most powerful in the feeling of aMexican. "But from El Paso one could go by the ferrocarril Americano. Inone day he could cross from El Paso to Nogales, thence south to LasBocas and live in plenty beyond the reach of Valles. And one's woman andninas--would smile the sweeter at the sight of a bulging pocket."
The cigarette glowed again, this time without the shrug. "There issomething in that. Si, senor, I will do it!--go to the consul Ingles inEl Paso."
Just then the Chinaman called for Bull to come down to supper. He wasnot hungry, but he had food handed up for the man, who, after eating it,rolled up in his serape and went to sleep. Then, while he snored and thetrain racked slowly along the chain of fires, each a station that laylike red beads on the desert's dark breast, Bull lay suffering agoniesof shame and remorse that grew more vivid as the miles lessened betweenhim and home.
It was long after midnight before he fell into troubled sleep. When hewoke, at gray dawn, the revolutionist was gone.
"Homesick and scared out!" Bull shrugged--and what did it matter? Thatwhich was done was done!
Nor was he the only deserter. All through the night the train haddribbled away its evil freight in trickles that would spread through theland till it was inundated with a flood of carnage, robbery, rape. Ofthe clustering brown swarm on the roof there remained only a few dozensscattered in heavy sleep throughout the train's length.
Across the brightening east the mountains now laid a familiar pattern.Beyond--the _patio_ and compound of Los Arboles were lying still andgray under the dawn. Bull saw, with the distinctness of vision, thesheet across Lee's doorway quiver under the breath of dawn. Then itfaded, gave place to the Mills _rancho_, equally still, equally silent;its warm gold walls pale gray, the clustering bougainvilleas dark asclotted blood.
That feeling analogous to the chill of death which envelops a sleepinghouse held him in thrall. While he gazed, there appeared on the verandathe familiar vision. But he shut it out, tightly closing the eyes of hismind. He turned his face to a dark dot, walls of the burned station,that appeared to be moving toward him across the desert's grays.Climbing down over the end, he passed through the Chinaman's kitcheninto the car.
It was still dusk in there, but he could hear the deep breathing ofcorrespondents, sleeping heavily after the exhaustion of the hot night.Quietly he gathered his belongings, had shoved open the doorsufficiently to pass out, when a whisper came from behind:
"Adios, Diogenes!"
Turning, he saw the correspondent leaning out of his bunk.
"Don't take that little slip too seriously, old man," he whispered asthey shook hands. "Try again. If it wasn't for this"--he tapped hisknee--"I'd have helped you to get out your girl. But you'll make it allright. Only don't dally. There's going to be hell to pay."
The engine was whistling for the station. Though it did not stop, Bulljumped and, if a bit shaken, landed unhurt. He was watching the trainrecede, his hand still tingling, heart warmed by the strong pressure ofhis friend's hand, when his name was called.
"It is you, senor Perrin?"
Drowsy and heavy-eyed from lost sleep, the Mexican agent stood in thedoorway of his box-car station. Anxiety and fear shadowed his face.
"Wicked times, senor. Up and down the line they are robbing andmurdering, Valles's defeated soldados. Many gringos have been slain.Early in the night a company of fifty dropped off here and are gone, madwith hate, to loot the gringo haciendas."
Appalled, Bull stared at the distant mountains.
Over the Border: A Novel Page 33