The Vanquished

by Brian Garfield

  The meeting broke up in the late afternoon. McCoun went away disgruntled and dissatisfied. Holliday and McDowell left together, talking together with evident concern. The other officers drifted back to their companies and in a short while, with the sun half an hour above the horizon, Sus found himself alone with Crabb. Crabb nodded to him and said, “Get out a pen and some paper, Sus. I want to dictate a letter to you. You’ll translate it into Spanish.”

  Sus walked across a part of the camp to get to his traveling bag. Inside he found a quill pen, a sheaf of paper, an ink jar. He took these back with him toward Crabb. On the way he heard men talking earnestly among themselves. Word was already out; talk spread fast. An aura of excitement permeated the camp. Sus squatted down and balanced the paper on his knee. He uncapped the inkwell, dipped the pen, and said, “All right.”

  “Sir,” Crabb began, speaking slowly as he thought out his words. “In accordance with the colonization laws of Mexico and with several definite invitations from the most influential citizens of Sonora, I have entered the boundaries of your state with one hundred followers and in advance of many others, expecting to make happy homes among you.”

  Sus wrote quickly: “De conformidad con las leyes de la Colonizatión de México ….” When he finished he looked up.

  Crabb went on:

  “I have come with the intention of hurting no one, with no intrigues either public or private.”

  Sus smiled but kept writing.

  “Since my arrival,” Crabb said, “I have given no indication of evil designs, but on the contrary I have made peaceful overtures. It is true that I am equipped with weapons and powder, but you will know that it is not customary for Americans or any other civilized people to travel without them; furthermore we are about to travel where the Apache Indians are always committing depredations.”

  Sus wrote busily, now and then chewing the quill while he chose a word. Once he said, “Wait one minute, hermano,” and caught up. “All right,” he said. “Go on from there.”

  “But bear in mind, sir,” Crabb said, “whatever we may be forced to endure shall fall on the heads of you and your followers.”

  “Let us pray,” Sus murmured while he wrote. The sun was dropping into the clouds to the west. The sky grew dim and Sus had to bend over his writing.

  Crabb went on dictating: “I have come to your land because I have the right to come, as I have shown, expecting to be greeted with open arms; but now I see that I am to meet death among enemies who are destitute of decency. I protest against any hostile act toward my companions here and about to arrive. You have your own path to follow, but keep this in mind: should blood be shed, it will be on your head, and not on mine. Nonetheless you are free to proceed with your evil preparations. As for me, I shall lose no time in advancing to the place where I have intended to go for some time, and I am now only awaiting my party. I am the leader and my intention is to obey the dictates of the laws of self-preservation and nature.”

  Crabb nodded. “Close it and I’ll affix my signature.”

  When the letter was sealed, Crabb said, “Give it to this town warden—what’s his name?”

  “Redondo.”

  “Yes. I wonder if he’s related to the Redondo who’s the prefect of the Altar district? At any rate, give the letter to him and have him send it without delay. Give him some money to pay a messenger.”

  “I think,” Sus suggested, “that this letter will not be received with great joy.”

  “I’ve stated my position,” Crabb answered. “In view of that, they can hardly claim we invaded them under false pretenses, or that we sneaked up on them. The letter will give us a certain measure of protection if any of this ever comes to court.”

  “I suppose it will,” Sus admitted. “But I get the feeling that Pesquiera and his crew of cutthroats—Gabilondo and the rest—are not of the sort to be inclined toward courtroom victories.”

  “Just the same, it covers us from one direction, and states our intent plainly enough.”

  “Perhaps it does.” Sus got up, feeling the taut bunching of his leg muscles, and turned away into the gathering twilight.

  In town, he gave up the letter to Redondo and made every effort to impress the slow, fat alcalde that the letter must be delivered without delay. Redondo displayed no reaction until Sus produced a number of gold coins, whereupon Redondo’s eyes opened a little wider and he nodded, promising to see to it that the letter was dispatched in haste. Redondo went to the door, swept the plaza with his gaze, and expanded his chest to shout: “Luis!”

  A young man with a thin black mustache came up from the well, spurs making small sounds in the dusk. “Sí, jefe?”

  Redondo handed him the letter, mentioned the name and address of the officer to whom it was to be delivered for transfer into the governor’s hands, and put coins in the young man’s palm. Sus had to grin when he saw that the number of coins Redondo gave to Luis was not the same number of coins that Sus had given to the alcalde. Redondo said briskly, “Ride immediately, Luis. The message is important. You can change horses at San Perfecto and Soquete.”

  “Sí, jefe,” Luis said, and strode away toward the stable.

  Redondo turned to Sus and nodded. “The letter will be delivered with all possible haste, señor.”

  “Mil gracias,” Sus murmured, and went outside. Clouds still hung tantalizingly on the western rim of the earth; they did not seem to have advanced at all. Sus thought with anticipatory pleasure of the possibility of rain—rain to cool the air, to cleanse it, to muffle the stinging dust and pack the ground hard.

  When he arrived back in camp, Crabb was eating by himself under the shade of the mesquite tree so that he was hardly visible in the deep shadows there. Crabb had saved an extra plate; Sus sat down to eat with him. The clouds were painted brilliant shades of crimson and yellow. As he watched and ate, they dimmed visibly, and by the time his plate was emptied the only hue still distinguishable in the west was a paling pink that soon disappeared. He thought with amusement of the fat, self-important alcalde who seemed so busy trying to please all sides at once. He took Crabb’s utensils and his own, and scrubbed them clean with sand before he turned them in to the kitchen detail. When he was walking back to Crabb, he saw Norval Douglas sitting off by himself in the shadows smoking a pipe. Douglas’s hatbrim rose, indicating his interest in Sus, and Sus waved. Douglas nodded and kept his solitary vigil. A hard and lonely man, Sus reflected.

  The stars winked into visibility as a chipped cloudy whitewash on the sky’s inverted surface. There was an endlessness about desert nights; the sky, never black, was usually a kind of deep substance of cobalt such as one might see looking into a gem-stone or a pool of still water. Crisply traced were the silhouettes of desert brush and cactus. The earth was pale cream in color and stretched away like a stilled ocean. At night there was almost always a gentle wind that brushed cheeks and ears with dry coolness.

  When the camp’s after-supper chores were done, Crabb called for a meeting. Men built a single fire up until, huge and crimson, it dominated the desert and illuminated a wide area of expectant faces. The entire command stood around in a tightly bunched semicircle. Crabb stood so near the fire that he seemed in danger of being singed; the flames lit up one side of his face and clothing so that he appeared like a strange kind of bearded beast, one-half livid Mephistopheles and the other half a man in shadow. The round jut of his cheek glistened redly. He seemed to have planned it all for a calculated effect. He began to speak, mildly at first, then with increasing energy. Sus stood on the fringe of the companies, hands in his pockets, watching with his customary detached irony, but the power of Crabb’s ascending fervor caught him up just as it caught up every soul in the crowd. The general’s deep round voice boomed across the plains and slapped against the men like a prodding, searching fist, seeking out the points of leverage from which men’s emotions might be turned, pressing gently enough but boosting every man to a peak of enthusiastic spirit. It was, Sus admit
ted, as inspired a rhetoric as Crabb had ever displayed; it was not colored or dampened by his usual spray of meaningless phrases, nor was it weakened by any of the contradictions with which his speeches had sometimes been hedged. It wheeled and darted, picking out facts and myths and molding them together so that one was indistinguishable from the other. It built, ignited, and fed a fire of resolution and trust—a fire that leaped in men as this great bonfire danced on the desert. It lifted men and made them stretch tall in their boots. It dashed to earth and shattered any residue of uncertainty or reluctance or fear that might have settled in men’s hearts. It condemned betrayal and made a scapegoat of Pesquiera; it called for honor and courage and fortitude. It demanded loyalty, and got it. It demanded unconditional affirmation, and got that too. And when Crabb was finished, his eyes gleaming and sweat pouring from his face, his arms finally subsiding, his tongue moistening cracked lips, then the command roared as with the giant voice of one giant man. It was a great cheer that rang across the desert night. And that, Sus knew, was exactly what Crabb had hoped for and calculated toward. He had the men now, as he had never had them before. They were his now; they were in his hands and he could make of them what he wished.

  It had to be that way, Sus knew. It was the only way Crabb could maintain the expedition and fling it forward in the face of mounting adversities. After tonight, and for some time to come, men would remember the fire of the flame-painted orator, and no man would question him or the acts of his leadership.

  Sus went with Crabb back to the mesquite tree by the arroyo. He spread his blankets and sat down, and saw that Crabb was trembling in all his joints. That much the speech had taken out of him. Crabb borrowed a cigar from him and lit it, and puffed furiously, presently lying back. The cigar shook violently in his fingers; he looked at his hand and smiled. “That was a great moment, Sus. I don’t think you know what it can feel like to hold the spirits of threescore men in your palm.”

  “I think I can get an idea of it,” Sus said.

  “It was a high point of my life,” Crabb said. “I don’t think I’ve ever made a more stunning speech.” He grinned; he was like a gleeful child at this moment. He smoked the cigar busily until it grew a tall ash; he flicked the ash away and poked the cigar into a corner of his mouth, and talked slurringly around it. “A fine moment. A fine, fine moment, Sus.”

  “Yes.”

  A nocturnal bird, perhaps a cactus owl, flapped by not far overhead. Sus wondered idly if the Evans boy had swept the camp for snakes, as he was supposed to do each night. He saw the outline of Norval Douglas’s lean shape stalking the night; Douglas, supremely self-sufficient, was nonetheless a lonely and restless man. Sus wondered what had made the scout choose the kind of life he led. What, for that matter, caused anyone’s choice of a course? Was it chance, or will?

  “We can’t stay here long,” Crabb was saying. Sus dragged his mind back and nodded in answer. Crabb said, “If McKinney and his party do not appear within forty-eight hours, we’ll have to go on to the Conception without them.” He paused, and added slowly, “If that happens, I shall leave you behind to tell McKinney to come along after me with all possible haste. Those men who are absolutely unfit to travel will have to remain here. You will stay and watch over them.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  Sus frowned. Crabb ground his cigar into the earth with his bootheel. Sus said, “What do you mean? Anyone could stay behind and act as nurse. Why choose me?”

  “Because,” Crabb said bleakly, “I have a strange feeling about what’s ahead of us.”

  “Tontería,” Sus said, and swore. “Foolishness.”

  “No doubt it is. Just the same, you will stay.”

  “You are ordering me?”

  “I am,” Crabb said.

  “What if I refuse to obey?”

  “Do you refuse?” the general countered.

  Sus grumbled. “I shall have to think about it.”

  “Do that,” Crabb said. He lay back with his elbows bent, hands under his head and one knee uplifted. Across the camp drifted the wail of the harmonica. “That’s a sign of spirit,” Crabb said. “I haven’t heard that harmonica in weeks. I thought we’d lost it.”

  “What makes you think my skin is so valuable?” Sus said.

  Crabb’s answer was a long time coming. The moon appeared with startling abruptness in the east, over the peak called Baboquivari, and spread a pale glow across the desert surface. Presently Crabb spoke. “All the officers in this expedition can be classified into two groups. Unemployed politicians and unemployed soldiers. They joined this expedition out of greed, or out of boredom, or perhaps out of a foolish delusion that by clinging to the tails of my coat they might rise to positions of power in a new state. To a man they possess a single opinion of me: that I am a misguided, disgruntled idealist with vast illusions. Well, so be it. Perhaps I am. At moments I look upon myself as a grand fool. But at least I am a fool with a purpose. I have a dream. I own a great sweep of imagination—I can visualize this continent as it should be, and as it will be one day. All one great nation, from Panama to the Arctic. It is the American destiny. I’m not uttering political stupidities now, Sus. I mean what I say to you. In my lifetime I’ve spoken many a lie, when I thought it would gain a proper goal. But tonight you have the privilege of hearing an old sour politician give vent to the truth. I have my dreams and, even if they may be unattainable to me, I will at least have given my body and my soul toward the fulfillment of them. That much, my young friend, can be said for none of the others here. Their cause celebre, whatever it may be, is a selfish one. Their dreams encompass no more of a scope than can be held in the hand or chalked up in an account book. In short, they deserve whatever befalls them. I refuse to make myself responsible for their folly simply because they have elected to follow my leadership.”

  Sus allowed a moment of respectful silence to intervene before he said, “All that may be true, hermano, although I confess it seems to me that you take a somewhat cynical view of some of our companions. Still, supposing it is true, what makes me any different from the others? Why single me out to remain behind?”

  “Because,” Crabb said, “you are the only one who means anything to me. Your own dream is not a great one. I know that. You simply hope to restore your family’s name to its rightful position of respect, and regain a number of properties in the bargain. Even that much is a more honest end than what the rest of them seek. But the truth is that both of us know you are, underneath all your youthful insolence and lovemaking and good humor, a man of good heart. In truth I’m fond of you, Sus. It’s more than I can say for any other man on this trip.”

  “And so,” Sus said, “you choose to leave behind you the only man whose company you enjoy.”

  “The trip henceforth will be more lonely for me,” Crabb conceded.

  “Then why leave me here?”

  “I’m not in a mood for arguments. Not even friendly ones.”

  “This is more than a friendly argument, hermano.”

  “Very well,” said Crabb. “You wish to know my reason?”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t want you to die.”

  “Do you expect to die?”

  “In truth, I don’t know what to expect. I know only that I’ll feel better if you do as I say, and if you stop questioning my instructions.”

  “I shall have to think about it,” Sus said again, and rolled up in his blankets, troubled and pensive.

  CHAPTER 16

  Morning; the camp stirred, came alive. It would be a day of waiting. After breakfast old Edmonson sat by his folded blanket making repairs in a bridle; Charley watched him work.

  A roadrunner popped into sight not twenty feet distant and stood staring alertly at the two men. It was a big bird, almost two feet long from beak to the long heavy balance of straight tail feathers. Drab gray shot with streaks of black, it had two bright spots of color under its eyes. It blinked, cocked its head, and uttered a sou
nd like a pigeon. “That’s a strange bird,” Edmonson said. When he spoke the bird hopped away rapidly. “You’d think on this desert, a bird that couldn’t fly wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “They can fly,” Charley said.

  “Not more than a few yards,” Edmonson said. “I’ve watched that one all morning. I think he lives here. He’s a little angry with us for squatting on his property. Every few minutes he comes back to see if we’ve gone.” Edmonson sighed and changed position. “He’s impatient to get rid of us. We’re not welcome here, you see. It gives a man a sad feeling.”

  Charley shaded his eyes with his hatbrim and swept the camp with an idle glance. Some men were playing poker in the miserly shade of a paloverde. By himself on the slope sat Carl Chapin, against whose young pallid flesh no amount of sun could throw a tan; Chapin bent over the gun he was cleaning and coughed once or twice, spitting beside him. The rasp of his cough reached Charley. General Crabb was at the lip of the arroyo, watching the camp and stroking his brown beard in thought.

  Edmonson put the bridle aside and began to pack his awl and lacings away in their kit. “That should hold,” he said in a satisfied way. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. Charley caught him staring sadly toward the mountain peaks, hazed in violet distance. Edmonson said, “I was thinking of the general’s speech last night. It’s frightening, the effect one man’s will can have.” The old man patted his pockets. “Have you seen my pipe?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps I dropped it by the campfire.” He got up and walked away, his back a little stooped.

  Charley settled back to enjoy the day’s ease, but just then a corner of his vision detected movement, and some distance to the west along the bank of the arroyo he saw a tan-gray jackrab-bit humping away as though on coil springs. Charley rolled around to reach his rifle, but the rabbit bounded out of sight down into the arroyo.