Over the Border Part 42

As he sat down on the running-board the figure looked up, then moved closer. "It is thee, senor?"

Peering, Bull made out the face. It was the sentry who had spoken to him at Valles's door. As his mind a.s.sociated what the "dean" had said with the recognition he spoke quickly. "The senor Benson? Didst thou see-"

"Si, senor." His head moved in the gloom. In the rambling _peon_ fashion he ran on: "'The close mouth admits no flies,' said Matador. 'Keep thine shut and we shall make thee a captain to-morrow.'"

"A captain of what, senor? Of ghosts? For I was not deceived. He that was sentry when they killed the German? He became a captain? Also they that helped to roast the Spaniard till he told where he had hidden his gold? And the three that killed el presidente for Huerta? Captains and majors and colonels were they-of the dead. Si, among the _revueltosos_ it is become a saying, 'Be not a captain till thou hast grown lieutenant's spurs.' Si, I knew that I should be dead before the eve of another 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 crude thought into confusion by interruption. While the train ambled along he let the narrative take its own course.

"'A captain?' said Matador!" His eloquent shoulders quivered in the gloom. "Better to be a live mozo at the tail of Don Miguel's horses in Las Bocas."

From a second pause he ran on: "He came to the cuartel general, the senor Benson, while I was sentry of the second watch at the door of my general. He was in there, Valles, with a girl. I had seen her go in-such a girl! tall and straight, with eyes misty as twin nights, teeth white as bleached bone, hair thick and black as the pine forests that clothe the Sierra Madras! Santisimo, senor! such a girl as one may have when he has combed a country and taken first pick of its women! I could hear her laughing in there when the senor Benson came striding up the stairs.

"I saw, when he drew near, that his face was flushed, but there was no smell of liquor upon him. 'Twas the red of the great anger that burned in his veins, kept his head shaking like that of a tormented bull. When I barred the way he looked at me with eyes that snapped like living sparks, 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 at play with the girl!

"El Matador himself had warned me, 'Let no man pa.s.s!' But when I had picked myself out of the corner and followed in, there he stood in front of Valles, who had dropped the girl and leaped to his feet. Surprise and fear showed on his face-the fear of bullet, knife, and poison that dogs him everywhere. But it changed at once to a grin-the terrible grin his people fear. His glance at me said, 'Stay!' and as I stood, waiting in fear 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. Even el 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. Yet that 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, without even a 'my general'-'I came to tell you that I do not take my answers from secretaries. The offer I made you this morning was fair and square and 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 cut their throats. If you want them, say so-yes or no.'

"He got it, the 'no,' quick and hard. Then the great anger that was in him burst forth like a river in flood. Like bear and tiger they quarreled, the senor threatening Valles with the power and vengeance of his government, Valles snarling defiance, their pa.s.sions feeding each other as brands burn together in a fire.

"One other thing, and you will have a picture of it, senor-the two at their furious talk, the girl against the wall behind Valles, one hand held out, fear in her great eyes, and a fourth; for as they wrangled there came a stir behind me. So quietly that I, whom he touched in pa.s.sing, did not hear, el Matador came into the room. One second he stood, watching them from narrow eyes, then, slowly and quietly as a snake slipping through gra.s.s, he drew up behind the senor. I have shot men in this war. At home in Las Bocas I have drawn the knife in pa.s.sion.

But the cold glittering of his eyes, slow snake crawl, chilled the blood of 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 such generals whipped on my place! General? A bandit _peon_ who steals horses in place of the chickens with which he began his thieveries!'

"'Bandit _peon_? Stealer of chickens?' This, senor, to Valles that had killed a hundred men with his own hand before the wars ever began? The yellow eyes of him seemed to leap out of his face. At the sight of him, frothing like a mad tiger in l.u.s.t to kill, the girl screamed, hiding her face! 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 to his knife.

"They say that the senor tried to kill him. It is a lie! Even when the knife flashed in his eyes he still stood at his distance, shaking his big 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; screamed aloud as the knife pa.s.sed, 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 born story-teller he stopped. For a moment the flash of a match lifted the brown, hard face from the gloom under a tattered _sombrero_, lighting the 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 I saw. Across the body el Matador looked at me, and I chilled with the sure 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 the girl into the next room.

"Between us, el Matador and I, we rolled the senor in serapes, binding them with cords so that the face should not be seen by them that carried him out to the secret place; and it was then that he spoke of my captaincy.

"'Go now to thy quarters, senor.' He clapped me on both shoulders. 'And dream 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 cars racked on through the night. Then he spoke. "There is one in El Oro, the consul Ingles, that would have given many pesos-not the currency of Valles, but real pesos of silver and gold-for thee to set thy name to this!"

"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 of girls? When the taste of good food is gone from the mouth, the feel of warm liquor from the throat? He that betrays Valles will have no more use of these."

"But in El Paso," Bull urged, "one would be beyond the reach of his hand. 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 soft laughter of girls; one's children watching at dusk for the return-these are not to be bought with pesos. One's pais is one's pais. To it one always returns."

"Si," Bull acknowledged the call, the most powerful in the feeling of a Mexican. "But from El Paso one could go by the ferrocarril Americano. In one day he could cross from El Paso to Nogales, thence south to Las Bocas and live in plenty beyond the reach of Valles. And one's woman and ninas-would smile the sweeter at the sight of a bulging pocket."

The cigarette glowed again, this time without the shrug. "There is something in that. Si, senor, I will do it!-go to the consul Ingles in El Paso."

Just then the Chinaman called for Bull to come down to supper. He was not 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 the train racked slowly along the chain of fires, each a station that lay like red beads on the desert's dark breast, Bull lay suffering agonies of shame and remorse that grew more vivid as the miles lessened between him and home.

It was long after midnight before he fell into troubled sleep. When he woke, at gray dawn, the revolutionist was gone.

"Homesick and scared out!" Bull shrugged-and what did it matter? That which was done was done!

Nor was he the only deserter. All through the night the train had dribbled away its evil freight in trickles that would spread through the land till it was inundated with a flood of carnage, robbery, rape. Of the cl.u.s.tering brown swarm on the roof there remained only a few dozens scattered 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 and gray under the dawn. Bull saw, with the distinctness of vision, the sheet across Lee's doorway quiver under the breath of dawn. Then it faded, gave place to the Mills _rancho_, equally still, equally silent; its warm gold walls pale gray, the cl.u.s.tering bougainvilleas dark as clotted blood.

That feeling a.n.a.logous to the chill of death which envelops a sleeping house held him in thrall. While he gazed, there appeared on the veranda the familiar vision. But he shut it out, tightly closing the eyes of his mind. 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 pa.s.sed through the Chinaman's kitchen into the car.

It was still dusk in there, but he could hear the deep breathing of correspondents, sleeping heavily after the exhaustion of the hot night.

Quietly he gathered his belongings, had shoved open the door sufficiently to pa.s.s 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 as they shook hands. "Try again. If it wasn't for this"-he tapped his knee-"I'd have helped you to get out your girl. But you'll make it all right. Only don't dally. There's going to be h.e.l.l to pay."

The engine was whistling for the station. Though it did not stop, Bull jumped and, if a bit shaken, landed unhurt. He was watching the train recede, his hand still tingling, heart warmed by the strong pressure of his 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 the doorway of his box-car station. Anxiety and fear shadowed his face.

"Wicked times, senor. Up and down the line they are robbing and murdering, Valles's defeated soldados. Many gringos have been slain.

Early in the night a company of fifty dropped off here and are gone, mad with hate, to loot the gringo haciendas."