VIII. El Capitan
Stillwell's interest in the revolution across the Mexican line hadmanifestly increased with the news that Gene Stewart had achieveddistinction with the rebel forces. Thereafter the old cattleman sentfor El Paso and Douglas newspapers, wrote to ranchmen he knew on the bigbend of the Rio Grande, and he would talk indefinitely to any onewho would listen to him. There was not any possibility of Stillwell'sfriends at the ranch forgetting his favorite cowboy. Stillwell alwaysprefaced his eulogy with an apologetic statement that Stewart had goneto the bad. Madeline liked to listen to him, though she was not alwayssure which news was authentic and which imagination.
There appeared to be no doubt, however, that the cowboy had performedsome daring feats for the rebels. Madeline found his name mentioned inseveral of the border papers. When the rebels under Madero stormed andcaptured the city of Juarez, Stewart did fighting that won him thename of El Capitan. This battle apparently ended the revolution. Thecapitulation of President Diaz followed shortly, and there was a feelingof relief among ranchers on the border from Texas to California. Nothingmore was heard of Gene Stewart until April, when a report reachedStillwell that the cowboy had arrived in El Cajon, evidently huntingtrouble. The old cattleman saddled a horse and started post-haste fortown. In two days he returned, depressed in spirit. Madeline happened tobe present when Stillwell talked to Alfred.
"I got there too late, Al," said the cattleman. "Gene was gone. An' whatdo you think of this? Danny Mains hed jest left with a couple of burrospacked. I couldn't find what way he went, but I'm bettin' he hit thePeloncillo trail."
"Danny will show up some day," replied Alfred. "What did you learn aboutStewart? Maybe he left with Danny."
"Not much," said Stillwell, shortly. "Gene's hell-bent fer election! Nomountains fer him."
"Well tell us about him."
Stillwell wiped his sweaty brow and squared himself to talk.
"Wal, it's sure amazin' strange about Gene. Its got me locoed. Hearrived in El Cajon a week or so ago. He was trained down like as ifhe'd been ridin' the range all winter. He hed plenty of money--Mex, theysaid. An' all the Greasers was crazy about him. Called him El Capitan.He got drunk an' went roarin' round fer Pat Hawe. You remember thatGreaser who was plugged last October--the night Miss Majesty arrived?Wal, he's daid. He's daid, an' people says thet Pat is a-goin' to laythet killin' onto Gene. I reckon thet's jest talk, though Pat is meanenough to do it, if he hed the nerve. Anyway, if he was in El Cajon hekept mighty much to hisself. Gene walked up an' down, up an' down, allday an' night, lookin' fer Pat. But he didn't find him. An', of course,he kept gettin' drunker. He jest got plumb bad. He made lots of trouble,but there wasn't no gun-play. Mebbe thet made him sore, so he went an'licked Flo's brother-in-law. Thet wasn't so bad. Jack sure needed a goodlickin'. Wal, then Gene met Danny an' tried to get Danny drunk. An'he couldn't! What do you think of that? Danny hedn't beendrinkin'--wouldn't touch a drop. I'm sure glad of thet, but it's amazin'strange. Why, Danny was a fish fer red liquor. I guess he an' Gene hadsome pretty hard words, though I'm not sure about thet. Anyway, Genewent down to the railroad an' he got on an engine, an' he was in theengine when it pulled out. Lord, I hope he doesn't hold up the train! Ifhe gets gay over in Arizona he'll go to the pen at Yuma. An' thet penis a graveyard fer cowboys. I wired to agents along the railroad to lookout fer Stewart, an' to wire back to me if he's located."
"Suppose you do find him, Stillwell, what can you do?" inquired Alfred.
The old man nodded gloomily.
"I straightened him up once. Mebbe I can do it again." Then, brighteningsomewhat, he turned to Madeline. "I jest hed an idee, Miss Majesty. IfI can get him, Gene Steward is the cowboy I want fer my foreman. Hecan manage this bunch of cow-punchers thet are drivin' me dotty. What'smore, since he's fought fer the rebels an' got that name El Capitan,all the Greasers in the country will kneel to him. Now, Miss Majesty, wehevn't got rid of Don Carlos an' his vaqueros yet. To be sure, he soldyou his house an' ranch an' stock. But you remember nothin' was putin black and white about when he should get out. An' Don Carlos ain'tgettin' out. I don't like the looks of things a little bit. I'll tellyou now thet Don Carlos knows somethin' about the cattle I lost, an'thet you've been losin' right along. Thet Greaser is hand an' glove withthe rebels. I'm willin' to gamble thet when he does get out he an'his vaqueros will make another one of the bands of guerrillas thetare harassin' the border. This revolution ain't over' yet. It's jestcommenced. An' all these gangs of outlaws are goin' to take advantageof it. We'll see some old times, mebbe. Wal, I need Gene Stewart. Ineed him bad. Will you let me hire him, Miss Majesty, if I can get himstraightened up?"
The old cattleman ended huskily.
"Stillwell, by all means find Stewart, and do not wait to straighten himup. Bring him to the ranch," replied Madeline.
Thanking her, Stillwell led his horse away.
"Strange how he loves that cowboy!" murmured Madeline.
"Not so strange, Majesty," replied her brother. "Not when you know.Stewart has been with Stillwell on some hard trips into the desertalone. There's no middle course of feeling between men facing deathin the desert. Either they hate each other or love each other. I don'tknow, but I imagine Stewart did something for Stillwell--saved us life,perhaps. Besides, Stewart's a lovable chap when he's going straight.I hope Stillwell brings him back. We do need him, Majesty. He's a bornleader. Once I saw him ride into a bunch of Mexicans whom we suspectedof rustling. It was fine to see him. Well, I'm sorry to tell you that weare worried about Don Carlos. Some of his vaqueros came into my yard theother day when I had left Flo alone. She had a bad scare. These vaqueroshave been different since Don Carlos sold the ranch. For that matter,I never would have trusted a white woman alone with them. But they arebolder now. Something's in the wind. They've got assurance. They canride off any night and cross the border."
During the succeeding week Madeline discovered that a good deal ofher sympathy for Stillwell in his hunt for the reckless Stewart hadinsensibly grown to be sympathy for the cowboy. It was rather a paradox,she thought, that opposed to the continual reports of Stewart's wildnessas he caroused from town to town were the continual expressions of goodwill and faith and hope universally given out by those near her at theranch. Stillwell loved the cowboy; Florence was fond of him; Alfredliked and admired him, pitied him; the cowboys swore their regard forhim the more he disgraced himself. The Mexicans called him El GranCapitan. Madeline's personal opinion of Stewart had not changed in theleast since the night it had been formed. But certain attributes of his,not clearly defined in her mind, and the gift of his beautiful horse,his valor with the fighting rebels, and all this strange regard for him,especially that of her brother, made her exceedingly regret the cowboy'spresent behavior.
Meanwhile Stillwell was so earnest and zealous that one not familiarwith the situation would have believed he was trying to find and reclaimhis own son. He made several trips to little stations in the valley, andfrom these he returned with a gloomy face. Madeline got the details fromAlfred. Stewart was going from bad to worse--drunk, disorderly, savage,sure to land in the penitentiary. Then came a report that hurriedStillwell off to Rodeo. He returned on the third day, a crushed man. Hehad been so bitterly hurt that no one, not even Madeline, could getout of him what had happened. He admitted finding Stewart, failing toinfluence him; and when the old cattleman got so far he turned purple inthe face and talked to himself, as if dazed: "But Gene was drunk. He wasdrunk, or he couldn't hev treated old Bill like thet!"
Madeline was stirred with an anger toward the brutal cowboy that wasas strong as her sorrow for the loyal old cattleman. And it was whenStillwell gave up that she resolved to take a hand. The persistent faithof Stillwell, his pathetic excuses in the face of what must have beenStewart's violence, perhaps baseness, actuated her powerfully, gaveher new insight into human nature. She honored a faith that remainedunshaken. And the strange thought came to her that Stewart must somehowbe worthy of such a faith, or he never c
ould have inspired it. Madelinediscovered that she wanted to believe that somewhere deep down in themost depraved and sinful wretch upon earth there was some grain of good.She yearned to have the faith in human nature that Stillwell had inStewart.
She sent Nels, mounted upon his own horse, and leading Majesty, to Rodeoin search of Stewart. Nels had instructions to bring Stewart back to theranch. In due time Nels returned, leading the roan without a rider.
"Yep, I shore found him," replied Nels, when questioned. "Found him halfsobered up. He'd been in a scrap, an' somebody hed put him to sleep, Iguess. Wal, when he seen thet roan hoss he let out a yell an' grabbedhim round the neck. The hoss knowed him, all right. Then Gene hugged thehoss an' cried--cried like--I never seen no one who cried like he did. Iwaited awhile, an' was jest goin' to say somethin' to him when he turnedon me red-eyed, mad as fire. 'Nels,' he said, 'I care a hell of a lotfer thet boss, an' I liked you pretty well, but if you don't take himaway quick I'll shoot you both.' Wal, I lit out. I didn't even git tosay howdy to him."
"Nels, you think it useless--any attempt to see him--persuade him?"asked Madeline.
"I shore do, Miss Hammond," replied Nels, gravely. "I've seen a fewsun-blinded an' locoed an' snake-poisoned an' skunk-bitten cow-punchersin my day, but Gene Stewart beats 'em all. He's shore runnin' wild ferthe divide."
Madeline dismissed Nels, but before he got out of earshot she heard himspeak to Stillwell, who awaited him on the porch.
"Bill, put this in your pipe an' smoke it--none of them scraps Gene hashed was over a woman! It used to be thet when he was drank he'd scrapover every pretty Greaser girl he'd run across. Thet's why Pat Hawethinks Gene plugged the strange vaquero who was with little Bonita thetnight last fall. Wal, Gene's scrappin' now jest to git shot up hisself,for some reason thet only God Almighty knows."
Nels's story of how Stewart wept over his horse influenced Madelinepowerfully. Her next move was to persuade Alfred to see if he could notdo better with this doggedly bent cowboy. Alfred needed only a wordof persuasion, for he said he had considered going to Rodeo of his ownaccord. He went, and returned alone.
"Majesty, I can't explain Stewart's singular actions," said Alfred. "Isaw him, talked with him. He knew me, but nothing I said appeared to getto him. He has changed terribly. I fancy his once magnificent strengthis breaking. It--it actually hurt me to look at him. I couldn't havefetched him back here--not as he is now. I heard all about him, andif he isn't downright out of his mind he's hell-bent, as Bill says, ongetting killed. Some of his escapades are--are not for your ears.Bill did all any man could do for another. We've all done our best forStewart. If you'd been given a chance perhaps you could have saved him.But it's too late. Put it out of mind now, dear."
Madeline, however, did not forget nor give it up. If she had forgottenor surrendered, she felt that she would have been relinquishinginfinitely more than hope to aid one ruined man. But she was at a lossto know what further steps to take. Days passed, and each one broughtadditional gossip of Stewart's headlong career toward the Yumapenitentiary. For he had crossed the line into Cochise County, Arizona,where sheriffs kept a stricter observance of law. Finally a letter camefrom a friend of Nels's in Chiricahua saying that Stewart had been hurtin a brawl there. His hurt was not serious, but it would probablykeep him quiet long enough to get sober, and this opportunity, Nels'sinformant said, would be a good one for Stewart's friends to take himhome before he got locked up. This epistle inclosed a letter to Stewartfrom his sister. Evidently, it had been found upon him. It told a storyof illness and made an appeal for aid. Nels's friend forwarded thisletter without Stewart's knowledge, thinking Stillwell might care tohelp Stewart's family. Stewart had no money, he said.
The sister's letter found its way to Madeline. She read it, tears inher eyes. It told Madeline much more than its brief story of illness andpoverty and wonder why Gene had not written home for so long. It told ofmotherly love, sisterly love, brotherly love--dear family ties that hadnot been broken. It spoke of pride in this El Capitan brother who hadbecome famous. It was signed "your loving sister Letty."
Not improbably, Madeline revolved in mind, this letter was one reasonfor Stewart's headstrong, long-continued abasement. It had been receivedtoo late--after he had squandered the money that would have meant somuch to mother and sister. Be that as it might, Madeline immediatelysent a bank-draft to Stewart's sister with a letter explaining thatthe money was drawn in advance on Stewart's salary. This done, sheimpulsively determined to go to Chiricahua herself.
The horseback-rides Madeline had taken to this little Arizona hamlet hadtried her endurance to the utmost; but the journey by automobile, exceptfor some rocky bits of road and sandy stretches, was comfortable, anda matter of only a few hours. The big touring-car was still a kind ofseventh wonder to the Mexicans and cowboys; not that automobiles werevery new and strange, but because this one was such an enormous machineand capable of greater speed than an express-train. The chauffeur whohad arrived with the car found his situation among the jealous cowboyssomewhat far removed from a bed of roses. He had been induced to remainlong enough to teach the operating and mechanical technique of the car.And choice fell upon Link Stevens, for the simple reason that of all thecowboys he was the only one with any knack for mechanics. Now Linkhad been a hard-riding, hard-driving cowboy, and that winter he hadsustained an injury to his leg, caused by a bad fall, and was unable tosit his horse. This had been gall and wormwood to him. But when the bigwhite automobile came and he was elected to drive it, life was once moreworth living for him. But all the other cowboys regarded Link and hismachine as some correlated species of demon. They were deathly afraid ofboth.
It was for this reason that Nels, when Madeline asked him to accompanyher to Chiricahua, replied, reluctantly, that he would rather follow onhis horse. However, she prevailed over his hesitancy, and with Florencealso in the car they set out. For miles and miles the valley roadwas smooth, hard-packed, and slightly downhill. And when speeding wasperfectly safe, Madeline was not averse to it. The grassy plain sailedbackward in gray sheets, and the little dot in the valley grew largerand larger. From time to time Link glanced round at unhappy Nels, whoseeyes were wild and whose hands clutched his seat. While the car wascrossing the sandy and rocky places, going slowly, Nels appearedto breathe easier. And when it stopped in the wide, dusty street ofChiricahua Nels gladly tumbled out.
"Nels, we shall wait here in the car while you find Stewart," saidMadeline.
"Miss Hammond, I reckon Gene'll run when he sees us, if he's able torun," replied Nels. "Wal, I'll go find him an' make up my mind then whatwe'd better do."
Nels crossed the railroad track and disappeared behind the low, flathouses. After a little time he reappeared and hurried up to the car.Madeline felt his gray gaze searching her face.
"Miss Hammond, I found him," said Nels. "He was sleepin'. I woke him.He's sober an' not bad hurt; but I don't believe you ought to see him.Mebbe Florence--"
"Nels, I want to see him myself. Why not? What did he say when you toldhim I was here?"
"Shore I didn't tell him that. I jest says, 'Hullo, Gene!' an' he says,'My Gawd! Nels! mebbe I ain't glad to see a human bein'.' He asked mewho was with me, an' I told him Link an' some friends. I said I'd fetchthem in. He hollered at thet. But I went, anyway. Now, if you reallywill see him, Miss Hammond, it's a good chance. But shore it's a touchymatter, an' you'll be some sick at sight of him. He's layin' in aGreaser hole over here. Likely the Greasers hev been kind to him. Butthey're shore a poor lot."
Madeline did not hesitate a moment.
"Thank you, Nels. Take me at once. Come, Florence."
They left the car, now surrounded by gaping-eyed Mexican children,and crossed the dusty space to a narrow lane between red adobe walls.Passing by several houses, Nels stopped at the door of what appeared tobe an alleyway leading back. It was filthy.
"He's in there, around thet first corner. It's a patio, open an' sunny.An', Miss Hammond, if you don't mind, I'll wait her
e for you. I reckonGene wouldn't like any fellers around when he sees you girls."
It was that which made Madeline hesitate then and go forward slowly.She had given no thought at all to what Stewart might feel when suddenlysurprised by her presence.
"Florence, you wait also," said Madeline, at the doorway, and turned inalone.
And she had stepped into a broken-down patio littered with alfalfa strawand debris, all clear in the sunlight. Upon a bench, back toward her,sat a man looking out through the rents in the broken wall. He hadnot heard her. The place was not quite so filthy and stifling as thepassages Madeline had come through to get there. Then she saw that ithad been used as a corral. A rat ran boldly across the dirt floor.The air swarmed with flies, which the man brushed at with weary hand.Madeline did not recognize Stewart. The side of his face exposed to hergaze was black, bruised, bearded. His clothes were ragged and soiled.There were bits of alfalfa in his hair. His shoulders sagged. He made awretched and hopeless figure sitting there. Madeline divined somethingof why Nels shrank from being present.
"Mr. Stewart. It is I, Miss Hammond, come to see you," she said.
He grew suddenly perfectly motionless, as if he had been changed tostone. She repeated her greeting.
His body jerked. He moved violently as if instinctively to turn and facethis intruder; but a more violent movement checked him.
Madeline waited. How singular that this ruined cowboy had pride whichkept him from showing his face! And was it not shame more than pride?
"Mr. Stewart, I have come to talk with you, if you will let me."
"Go away," he muttered.
"Mr. Stewart!" she began, with involuntary hauteur. But instantly shecorrected herself, became deliberate and cool, for she saw that shemight fail to be even heard by this man. "I have come to help you. Willyou let me?"
"For God's sake! You--you--" he choked over the words. "Go away!"
"Stewart, perhaps it was for God's sake that I came," said Madeline,gently. "Surely it was for yours--and your sister's--" Madeline bit hertongue, for she had not meant to betray her knowledge of Letty.
He groaned, and, staggering up to the broken wall, he leaned there withhis face hidden. Madeline reflected that perhaps the slip of speech hadbeen well.
"Stewart, please let me say what I have to say?"
He was silent. And she gathered courage and inspiration.
"Stillwell is deeply hurt, deeply grieved that he could not turn youback from this--this fatal course. My brother is also. They wanted tohelp you. And so do I. I have come, thinking somehow I might succeedwhere they have failed. Nels brought your sister's letter. I--I read it.I was only the more determined to try to help you, and indirectlyhelp your mother and Letty. Stewart, we want you to come to the ranch.Stillwell needs you for his foreman. The position is open to you, andyou can name your salary. Both Al and Stillwell are worried about DonCarlos, the vaqueros, and the raids down along the border. My cowboysare without a capable leader. Will you come?"
"No," he answered.
"But Stillwell wants you so badly."
"No."
"Stewart, I want you to come."
"No."
His replies had been hoarse, loud, furious. They disconcerted Madeline,and she paused, trying to think of a way to proceed. Stewart staggeredaway from the wall, and, falling upon the bench, he hid his face in hishands. All his motions, like his speech, had been violent.
"Will you please go away?" he asked.
"Stewart, certainly I cannot remain here longer if you insist upon mygoing. But why not listen to me when I want so much to help you? Why?"
"I'm a damned blackguard," he burst out. "But I was a gentleman once,and I'm not so low that I can stand for you seeing me here."
"When I made up my mind to help you I made it up to see you wherever youwere. Stewart, come away, come back with us to the ranch. You are in abad condition now. Everything looks black to you. But that will pass.When you are among friends again you will get well. You will be yourold self. The very fact that you were once a gentleman, that you come ofgood family, makes you owe so much more to yourself. Why, Stewart, thinkhow young you are! It is a shame to waste your life. Come back with me."
"Miss Hammond, this was my last plunge," he replied, despondently. "It'stoo late."
"Oh no, it is not so bad as that."
"It's too late."
"At least make an effort, Stewart. Try!"
"No. There's no use. I'm done for. Please leave me--thank you for--"
He had been savage, then sullen, and now he was grim. Madeline all butlost power to resist his strange, deadly, cold finality. No doubt heknew he was doomed. Yet something halted her--held her even as she tooka backward step. And she became conscious of a subtle change in her ownfeeling. She had come into that squalid hole, Madeline Hammond, earnestenough, kind enough in her own intentions; but she had been almostimperious--a woman habitually, proudly used to being obeyed. She divinedthat all the pride, blue blood, wealth, culture, distinction, all theimpersonal condescending persuasion, all the fatuous philanthropy onearth would not avail to turn this man a single hair's-breadth from hisdownward career to destruction. Her coming had terribly augmentedhis bitter hate of himself. She was going to fail to help him. Sheexperienced a sensation of impotence that amounted almost to distress.The situation assumed a tragic keenness. She had set forth to reversethe tide of a wild cowboy's fortunes; she faced the swift wasting of hislife, the damnation of his soul. The subtle consciousness of change inher was the birth of that faith she had revered in Stillwell. And all atonce she became merely a woman, brave and sweet and indomitable.
"Stewart, look at me," she said.
He shuddered. She advanced and laid a hand on his bent shoulder. Underthe light touch he appeared to sink.
"Look at me," she repeated.
But he could not lift his head. He was abject, crushed. He dared notshow his swollen, blackened face. His fierce, cramped posture revealedmore than his features might have shown; it betrayed the torturing shameof a man of pride and passion, a man who had been confronted in hisdegradation by the woman he had dared to enshrine in his heart. Itbetrayed his love.
"Listen, then," went on Madeline, and her voice was unsteady. "Listen tome, Stewart. The greatest men are those who have fallen deepest intothe mire, sinned most, suffered most, and then have fought their evilnatures and conquered. I think you can shake off this desperate mood andbe a man."
"No!" he cried.
"Listen to me again. Somehow I know you're worthy of Stillwell's love.Will you come back with us--for his sake?"
"No. It's too late, I tell you."
"Stewart, the best thing in life is faith in human nature. I have faithin you. I believe you are worth it."
"You're only kind and good--saying that. You can't mean it."
"I mean it with all my heart," she replied, a sudden rich warmthsuffusing her body as she saw the first sign of his softening. "Will youcome back--if not for your own sake or Stillwell's--then for mine?"
"What am I to such a woman as you?"
"A man in trouble, Stewart. But I have come to help you, to show myfaith in you."
"If I believed that I might try," he said.
"Listen," she began, softly, hurriedly. "My word is not lightly given.Let it prove my faith in you. Look at me now and say you will come."
He heaved up his big frame as if trying to cast off a giant's burden,and then slowly he turned toward her. His face was a blotched andterrible thing. The physical brutalizing marks were there, and at thatinstant all that appeared human to Madeline was the dawning in dead,furnace-like eyes of a beautiful light.
"I'll come," he whispered, huskily. "Give me a few days to straightenup, then I'll come."