Ŀ
THE STRANGER                                                                 
                                                                             
A MAN stepped out of the darkness into the little                            
illuminated circle about our failing camp-fire and                           
seated himself upon a rock.                                                  
  'You are not the first to explore this region,' he                         
said gravely.                                                                
  Nobody controverted his statement; he was him-                             
self proof of its truth, for he was not of our party and                     
must have been somewhere near when we camped.                                
Moreover, he must have companions not far away;                              
it was not a place where one would be living or trav-                        
elling alone. For more than a week we had seen, be-                          
sides ourselves and our animals, only such living                            
things as rattlesnakes and horned toads. In an Ari-                          
zona desert one does not long coexist with only such                         
creatures as these: one must have pack animals, sup-                         
plies, arms--'an outfit.' And all these imply com-                           
rades. It was perhaps a doubt as to what manner                              
of men this unceremonious stranger's comrades                                
might be, together with something in his words in-                           
terpretable as a challenge that caused every man                             
of our half-dozen 'gentlemen adventurers' to rise                            
to a sitting posture and lay his hand upon a weapon                          
--an act signifying, in that time and place, a policy                        
of expectation. The stranger gave the matter no                              
attention and began again to speak in the same                               
deliberate, uninflected monotone in which he had                             
delivered his first sentence:                                                
  'Thirty years ago Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw,                            
George W. Kent, and Berry Davis, all of Tucson,                              
crossed the Santa Catalina mountains and travelled                           
due west, as nearly as the configuration of the coun-                        
try permitted. We were prospecting and it was our                            
intention, if we found nothing, to push through to the                       
Gila river at some point near Big Bend, where we                             
understood there was a settlement. We had a good                             
outfit, but no guide--just Ramon Gallegos, William                           
Shaw, George W. Kent, and Berry Davis.'                                      
  The man repeated the names slowly and distinctly,                          
as if to fix them in the memories of his audience,                           
every member of which was now attentively observ-                            
ing him, but with a slackened apprehension regard-                           
ing his possible companions somewhere in the dark-                           
ness that seemed to enclose us like a black wall; in                         
the manner of this volunteer historian was no sug-                           
gestion of an unfriendly purpose. His act was rather                         
that of a harmless lunatic than an enemy. We were                            
not so new to the country as not to know that the                            
solitary life of many a plainsman had a tendency                             
to develop eccentricities of conduct and character                           
not always easily distinguishable from mental aber-                          
ration. A man is like a tree: in a forest of his fellows                     
he will grow as straight as his generic and individual                       
nature permits; alone in the open, he yields to the                          
deforming stresses and tortions that environ him.                            
Some such thoughts were in my mind as I watched                              
the man from the shadow of my hat, pulled low to                             
shut out the firelight. A witless fellow, no doubt, but                      
what could he be doing there in the heart of a                               
desert?                                                                      
  Having undertaken to tell this story, I wish that                          
I could describe the man's appearance; that would                            
be a natural thing to do. Unfortunately, and some-                           
what strangely, I find myself unable to do so with                           
any degree of confidence, for afterward no two of                            
us agreed as to what he wore and how he looked;                              
and when I try to set down my own impressions they                           
elude me. Anyone can tell some kind of story;                                
narration is one of the elemental powers of the race.                        
But the talent for description is a gift.                                    
  Nobody having broken silence the visitor went on                           
to say:                                                                      
  'This country was not then what it is now. There                           
was not a ranch between the Gila and the Gulf.                               
There was a little game here and there in the moun-                          
tains, and near the infrequent water-holes grass                             
enough to keep our animals from starvation. If we                            
should be so fortunate as to encounter no Indians we                         
might get through. But within a week the purpose of                          
the expedition had altered from discovery of wealth                          
to preservation of life. We had gone too far to go                           
back, for what was ahead could be no worse than                              
what was behind; so we pushed on, riding by night                            
to avoid Indians and the intolerable heat, and con-                          
cealing ourselves by day as best we could. Some-                             
times, having exhausted our supply of wild meat                              
and emptied our casks, we were days without food                             
or drink; then a water-hole or a shallow pool in                             
the bottom of an arroyo so restored our strength                             
and sanity that we were able to shoot some of the                            
wild animals that sought it also. Sometimes it was                           
a bear, sometimes an antelope, a coyote, a cougar--                          
that was as God pleased; all were food.                                      
  'One morning as we skirted a mountain range,                               
seeking a practicable pass, we were attacked by a                            
band of Apaches who had followed our trail up a                              
gulch--it is not far from here. Knowing that they                            
outnumbered us ten to one, they took none of their                           
usual cowardly precautions, but dashed upon us                               
at a gallop, firing and yelling. Fighting was out of                         
the question: we urged our feeble animals up the                             
gulch as far as there was footing for a hoof, then                           
threw ourselves out of our saddles and took to the                           
chaparral on one of the slopes, abandoning our en-                           
tire outfit to the enemy. But we retained our rifles,                        
every man--Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw,                                     
George W. Kent, and Berry Davis.'                                            
  'Same old crowd,' said the humorist of our party.                          
He was an Eastern man, unfamiliar with the decent                            
observances of social intercourse. A gesture of dis-                         
approval from our leader silenced him, and the                               
stranger proceeded with his tale:                                            
  'The savages dismounted also, and some of them                             
ran up the gulch beyond the point at which we had                            
left it, cutting off further retreat in that direction and                   
forcing us on up the side. Unfortunately the chapar-                         
ral extended only a short distance up the slope, and                         
as we came into the open ground above we took                                
the fire of a dozen rifles; but Apaches shoot badly                          
when in a hurry, and God so willed it that none of us                        
fell. Twenty yards up the slope, beyond the edge                             
of the brush, were vertical cliffs, in which, directly                       
in front of us, was a narrow opening. Into that we                           
ran, finding ourselves in a cavern about as large                            
as an ordinary room in a house. Here for a time we                           
were safe: a single man with a repeating rifle could                         
defend the entrance against all the Apaches in                               
the land. But against hunger and thirst we had                               
no defence. Courage we still had, but hope was a                             
memory.                                                                      
  'Not one of those Indians did we afterward see,                            
but by the smoke and glare of their fires in the gulch                       
we knew that by day and by night they watched                                
with ready rifles in the edge of the bush--knew that                         
if we made a sortie not a man of us would live to                            
take three steps into the open. For three days, watch-                       
ing in turn, we held out before our suffering became                         
insupportable. Then--It was the morning of the                               
fourth day--Ramon Gallegos said:                                             
  '"Senores, I know not well of the good God and                             
what please Him. I have live without religion, and                           
I am not acquaint with that of you. Pardon, senores,                         
if I shock you, but for me the time is come to beat                          
the game of the Apache."                                                     
  'He knelt upon the rock floor of the cave and                              
pressed his pistol against his temple. "Madre de                             
Dios," he said, "comes now the soul of Ramon                                 
Gallegos."                                                                   
  'And so he left us--William Shaw, George W.                                
Kent, and Berry Davis.                                                       
  'I was the leader: it was for me to speak.                                 
  '"He was a brave man," I said--"he knew                                    
when to die, and how. It is foolish to go mad from                           
thirst and fall by Apache bullets, or be skinned                             
alive--it is in bad taste. Let us join Ramon                                 
Gallegos."                                                                   
  '"That is right," said William Shaw.                                       
  '"That is right," said George W. Kent.                                     
  'I straightened the limbs of Ramon Gallegos and                            
put a handkerchief over his face. Then William                               
Shaw said: "I should like to look like that--a little                        
while."                                                                      
  'And George W. Kent said that he felt that way,                            
too.                                                                         
  '"It shall be so," I said: "the red devils will                            
wait a week. William Shaw and George W. Kent,                                
draw and kneel."                                                             
  'They did so and I stood before them.                                      
  '" Almighty God, our Father," said I.                                      
  '"Almighty God, our Father," said William                                  
Shaw.                                                                        
  '"Almighty God, our Father," said George W.                                
Kent.                                                                        
  '"Forgive us our sins," said I.                                            
  '"Forgive us our sins," said they.                                         
  '"And receive our souls."                                                  
  '"And receive our souls."                                                  
  '"Amen!"                                                                   
  '"Amen!"                                                                   
  'I laid them beside Ramon Gallegos and covered                             
their faces.'                                                                
  There was a quick commotion on the opposite                                
side of the camp-fire: one of our party had sprung                           
to his feet, pistol in hand.                                                 
  'And you!' he shouted--'you dared to escape?                               
--you dare to be alive? You cowardly hound, I'll                             
send you to join them if I hang for it!'                                     
  But with the leap of a panther the captain was                             
upon him, grasping his wrist. 'Hold it in, Sam                               
Yountsey, hold it in!'                                                       
  We were now all upon our feet--except the                                  
stranger, who sat motionless and apparently inat-                            
tentive. Some one seized Yountsey's other arm.                               
  'Captain,' I said, 'there is something wrong here.                         
This fellow is either a lunatic or merely a liar--just                       
a plain, everyday liar whom Yountsey has no call                             
to kill. If this man was of that party it had five                           
members, one of whom--probably himself--he                                   
has not named.'                                                              
  'Yes,' said the captain, releasing the insur-                              
gent, who sat down, 'there is something--unusual.                            
Years ago four dead bodies of white men, scalped                             
and shamefully mutilated, were found about the                               
mouth of that cave. They are buried there; I                                 
have seen the graves--we shall all see them to-                              
morrow.'                                                                     
  The stranger rose, standing tall in the light of the                       
expiring fire, which in our breathless attention to                          
his story we had neglected to keep going.                                    
  'There were four,' he said--'Ramon Gallegos,                               
William Shaw, George W. Kent, and Berry Davis.'                              
  With this reiterated roll-call of the dead he                              
walked into the darkness and we saw him no more.                             
At that moment one of our party, who had been                                
on guard, strode in among us, rifle in hand and                              
somewhat excited.                                                            
  'Captain,' he said, 'for the last half-hour three                          
men have been standing out there on the mesa.'                               
He pointed in the direction taken by the stranger.                           
'I could see them distinctly, for the moon is up,                            
but as they had no guns and I had them covered                               
with mine I thought it was their move. They have                             
made none, but damn it! they have got on to my                               
nerves.'                                                                     
  'Go back to your post, and stay till you see them                          
again,' said the captain. 'The rest of you lie down                          
again, or I'll kick you all into the fire.'                                  
  The sentinel obediently withdrew, swearing, and                            
did not return. As we were arranging our blankets                            
the fiery Yountsey said: 'I beg your pardon, Cap-                            
tain, but who the devil do you take them to be? '                            
  'Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, and George W.                               
Kent.'                                                                       
  'But how about Berry Davis? I ought to have shot                           
him.'                                                                        
  'Quite needless; you couldn't have made him any                            
deader. Go to sleep.'                                                        
                                                                             
***                                                                          
Public Domain By Abrose Bierce                                               
July 1993 Edition Of Can Such Things Be, Internet Wirings                    
                                                                             

