Will Levington Comfort

“ It was like a tunnel of clay they entered, wide and high enough for a horseman to ride in, with a narrow door leading to the barracks on one side and to an office on the other. Elbert smelled the earthiness of the dried clay walls, as he passed through at the spurred heels of Ramon Bistula. The suggestions of underground began to haunt him—the presence of condemned men—this very day—the blank wall!
The passage opened to a large patio with low cells on all sides. The cells were open, the prisoners and Cordano’s soldiers moving freely together. ”

“ There was a gray wooden horse in the leather-store, fragile but full height, on which Elbert was accustomed to show bridles, saddles, blankets, and pack-gear, talking to customers a lot wiser than he felt, for he still resented life’s conspiracy which had kept him from sitting a live horse where he belonged.
In the evening he would go out and lounge in the Plaza under the dusty palms and sycamores. It was better than Heaslep’s in a way—the Mexicans had a friendly feel, and sometimes when the band played, he could imagine himself down in the City of Mexico, or in the heart of Sonora at least. ”

“ Meanwhile Cal and Slim had entered the lamp-lit quarters, and Elbert followed, meeting the eyes of Mary Gertling. Still those eyes hadn’t broken into tears; still that inexplicable stillness around her—the same faint trace of a smile, as in the first moment in Nacimiento.
Now ‘Mexicali’ Burton and Cal Monroid were facing each other, like two chiefs—one instantaneous look. All they had seemed to need was this one look in the lamplight. Each knew a man. It was a moment of romantic fulfillment to Elbert. ”

“ Tobacco was as good to them as ever; peace was abroad ... one boyish voice sang, but Elbert remembered the underground smell of the long clay arch.
No American save himself in the prison court—no troubled thoughts save his own apparently. He moved from knot to knot among the fires, Ramon Bistula having excused himself to enter the office. The faces turned up to him from the cards, from the interminable little match boxes and papers of tobacco. The one with his guitar looked up with a gray thin smile as he hummed, but did not lose a beat of his song.... ”

“ She had been penned-in for altogether too many days and darted out of the corral gate with a suddenness that jerked the man’s body and arm back to keep his place. Mamie’s head flung upward in utter dismay, and the awfulness of having put weight like that on her tender mouth, uncentered Elbert entirely for the time. It was like clashing gears in a fine machine that has been desperately hard to obtain—only ten times—infinitely worse—this, a living thing, cherished from a baby by an old man who had been a horseman all his days. ”

“ A curious look came into Bart’s eyes—a trace [Pg 208] of deep rest. ‘You see, a horse knows when a man’s afraid. He smells fear, or feels it. He gets afraid, too, or confused—loses what little head he’s got. He begins to look out through a sheet of blood, if you drive him deeper into fear. If pushed far, he goes crazy, and that’s what they call a bad horse. Sometimes they are ten times as strong as a horse in his right senses—just like a man-maniac—’
Elbert had so much to say it was hard to keep still.
‘You see, I wanted that old gray so badly for my own,’ Bart went on. ”

“ The other foot vanished; the castanets vibrated and a single word shot forth: ‘Baños,’ was the nature of it, the Señora pointing to a tin wash-tub under the eaves. At this point Elbert had to attend to Mamie, who wasn’t taking to the Señora and her castanets. Her feet were planted firmly against advance to the hitching-rack, and a long, tremulous wheeze poured out of her nostrils, signifying distrust, alarm.
‘I’ll love up the Señora,’ said Slim, confidently. He dismounted and bowed low. The Mexican woman couldn’t resist and turned into the doorway, bidding them follow. ”

“ He remembered Bob Leadley’s story of when he was a little chap, leaving the supper table where there was a fight on between his father and mother, and going out into the barnyard where the cattle ruminated, and there was peace. Yes, he must have listened deeply to all Bob Leadley’s words. It was almost as if he had been that little boy; almost as familiar to him as that night of tequila in Cienaga, in his own experience, when he had sat with Cal and Slim (Chester and the Indian and Mamie grinding at their sun-parched corn) . ”

“ Only the rurales carried that outfit. He moved back and circled among the scented vine-tangles of the grounds, at length drawing near an unglazed window of an empty room, which was just across a corridor from the little room where Bart lay. Faint reflection of the candle-light came from there, careless strumming of a guitar and laughter of the Mexicans from the front of the house.
A light step at his left, a movement of white, visible as he turned—Valencia, alone in the grounds. Softly he called her name.
‘Oh, I prayed you would come, Señor! The rurales are here. They have seen him! ”

“ Heaslep’s ranch, when Cal and Slim asked him to join them in a ride south, where he was going anyway. Exquisite ease in the very fatigue that closed in, delight of relaxation complete for the first time in his life.
The next day they didn’t stir far from the claim, only moving about the different patches of sun and shade to stretch out in the deep languor that followed days of strain.
‘Pretty near everything a man could want here—don’t you think?’ said Bart.
‘Pretty near,’ said Elbert.
‘The old man made it all to suit himself, didn’t he?’ the voice drawled on. ”

“ The miners couldn’t give much play to their contempt before those pleasant gray eyes of Bob’s, which might inquire their meaning, and look into it. Men weren’t mind-readers in Bismo. They saw the steady eyes, the whimsical smile, but no one knew what was going on; not even Mort Cotton, who had punched cattle, skinned mules, and washed for gold with Bob Leadley for ten years; not even the Mexican woman and her daughter who brought Bart up. But it was all a matter of how you gave advice. Bismo found out gradually that Bob wasn’t set up very high in his idea of being a successful parent. ”

“ A few minutes before sundown they entered the small pueblo of Cienaga. Six hours in the saddle; Elbert was tired, athirst; the early May sunlight had been burning, but except for the occasional oppressive doubt as to his power to carry on without his two friends finding out his real mission, and the fear that his tenderfoot ways might slow up their adventuring, Elbert was possessed by an extraordinary elation; as if part of his lungs that had never known air before, had quietly opened, alive at last. ”

“ About ten minutes after first call, the mare stopped feeding and came toward him, her hind feet lifting high and quickly, like a race horse, under the big blanket. Suddenly she stopped, blatted her loudest toward Elbert’s partly covered head, but wheeled on the instant and was cropping again.... Fearless and winsome, a walk-trot mare, ready to go, ready to keep on, invariably increasing the pace as his hand idled at the reins, or his thoughts roamed away. Often Elbert would come to himself finding Mamie in a full ten-mile trot, when he had not been paying attention for several minutes. ”

“ No need to ask the way to Mort Cotton’s place. Mamie veered to the left, at the end of San Forenso’s main street, following the wagon tracks at a show-trot to the wide gateway, where she was welcomed from all quarters at once. Mort Cotton called his greeting from the doorway of the ranch house, as Elbert let himself down, steadying himself before letting go of the pommel. Mort approached. What was left of the younger man withered as those eyes, under the white bushy brows, fixed upon the mare. This was far more severe than being appraised himself. ”

“ Then it was northward among the foothills—the north star for Elbert’s eyes. At any moment he half expected to hear, ‘No, I’m not going to fall, Mister,’ but to-night it was: ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m sittin’ easy.’
Before daybreak they followed a little stream up higher—less volume but more noise all the way, and came to rest in the deep privacy of a sunless ravine. ”

“ Was Bart more Mexican than American? Was he regarded as a native, pure and simple, by his fellow-bandits and the rurales, or had he left Sonora altogether? These questions continually hammered through Elbert’s consciousness. Meanwhile, since compliments were the order in all conversation, he was with difficulty trying to convey to Ramon Bistula how enthusiastic the trooper he had ridden with in the afternoon, had expressed himself toward his captain.
‘Do all your men feel the same toward you?’ he inquired. ”

“ The moonlight felt cold, a creeping cold on the stone floor.... The same song from the patio—guitar and corn-dust maiden—but so different, coming to him through the bars. El capitan was at the door, the sentry unlocking the cell.
‘I have brought blankets of my own for you, Señor. Very soft and warm blankets. I am grieved; but it is only for the present—this interesting mare of yours—a puzzle to the soldiers of Cordano.... A very good night, Señor—’
He had actually dozed, for the plaza was empty. ”

“ A wonder took him as to what Los Angeles used to be like when there were empty hills all around and how ‘La Paloma’ would have sounded in those days. ‘Carved out of starlight,’ he whispered.
The next day in the window of an old leather-store near the Plaza, he saw a cardboard sign reading: ‘Young man wanted.’ Elbert didn’t suppose they would take on one without experience, but the impulse grew upon him to try his luck. The thought of going East so soon hadn’t become any easier, nor did he consider with relish the idea of asking his father for money to stay away with. ”

“ I Bob Leadley moved toward the sound of guitars. The strumming came from over the stream where the Mexicans had their own little cantina and their dobe huts. Back from the ‘Damask Cheek,’ which was the palpitating core of the white settlement, voices of the miners reached him, not loud to-night, not uproarious. Things were seldom duller than now on the Rio Brava, shrunken to a trickle at this time of year. The eke of gold had been at its lowest for days on the placers. A hot, still August night in Bismo, Arizona—the night that changed one white man all around. ”

“ A hundred times a day, the flick of a lizard over leaf or pebble or twig called his eye; that was the only continual distraction. The days were mainly silent, though the nights were full of sound; the coyotes sometimes a maddening chorus that stirred up unheard-of deeps in the listener, and once as he lay awake at night a muffle-winged owl swept past so close as to fan his face. That shook him like the sounds during his first night out in White Stone Flats. ”

“ His hand shot down to shut off her breath, but the nicker broke out in spite of him.
An answer in kind from under the bridge. Then a volley from the same source, Elbert’s second experience under rifle fire that night—venomous roaring of slugs in the air. He never [Pg 172] could have dreamed how utterly malignant the sounds. That instant at his right hand (Bart was still at his left) it was as if the picture unfolded for his eyes alone—an upturned face, then a crumpled, falling body, horse leaping aside—empty saddle—one of the four released from the prison at Arecibo. ”

“ The old señora had been a friend of Bart’s mother and loved the white man’s boy; also her daughter loved him. But Bart was growing up more Mexican than white; talked Spanish in preference to English; was more often seen across the stream than on this side, and running with the Mexican boys, one Palto especially, than with the four or five white boys of his age in town. Bart’s whole business was horses, but Mexican words having to do with them were too easy on his tongue—hondos, latigos, reatas, conchos, yakimas. A slim, black-haired youth, slow to rouse, not cruel or a fool ”

“ Elbert kept still with effort. He knew the story of the rat-tail from Bob Leadley’s telling, almost as well as Bart did, but the latter got to talking too rarely to be interrupted.
‘A bad name, that horse had, but he wasn’t really bad. A horse isn’t like a man; he isn’t like a dog. A horse is more like a woman—he goes by feeling, not by his head. A dog will dope a thing out; a mule will, but a horse feels his way. Why, that mare of yours—I’ll bet she doesn’t miss much that’s goin’ on, even if her back’s turned. You’re not foolin’ her a lot, even if you think you are. ”

“ We might use a man on the chuck wagon—I wonder if you could drive old Fortitude?’
‘A mule?’ said Elbert. ‘I’m sure I could learn—’
‘Mule, hell, motor truck—can’t you hear her?’
‘I’m afraid I can,’ Elbert said wearily. His father had been right.
One distinct value about Heaslep and Company, however—no women in the establishment. Even the cooking staff was Chinese. But the rest was hard to bear. Efficiency and trade had settled down as unromantically as upon a tannery. Heaslep’s was a stock farm, a beef factory, anything but the cattle ranch of dreams. ”