DeSalius reached toward his pen and briefcase. “Then you accept?”
“No.”
“Mr. Vogelin, you must be reasonable. This is your last chance.”
“You said that before.”
“Sir, we’re not bluffing now, we’re not bluffing. We mean business. That you must understand.”
“Don’t fret, DeSalius, I believe you.”
“Will you reconsider?”
“No.”
DeSalius lapsed into stillness. He stared at the floor. The concavity of his chest, the slump of his shoulders, suggested a man driven beyond mere exasperation. “Mr. Vogelin,” he said, speaking slowly and quietly to the floor, “we have done everything we could to spare you embarrassment, to compensate you fully, to allow you plenty of time, to help you under stand why this removal is necessary. You have refused to cooperate. Mr. Vogelin, we cannot permit you to defy the Court any longer. If you refuse this final offer, sir, the Government will have no recourse but to fall back upon the direct instruments of the law.”
“Direct instruments? That sounds like what I’ve been expecting,” the old man said. “You mean that marshal, I suppose. You better tell him, DeSalius, to bring plenty of help when he comes. He’ll need it”
“He will get all that he needs, sir. And I must warn you that not only will you be evicted by force, if necessary, but you will also be subject to such charges as contempt of court, resisting an officer of the law and trespassing on Government property. You must realize what that can mean. You’re rather old for prison life, sir, if I may say so.”
The old man smiled. “Don’t bother trying to scare me, Colonel. I’m too old for that too. No sir, we’ll settle the whole business right here under the trees. Send your marshal around. I’m ready.”
Again DeSalius fell silent, staring out of the verandah shade toward the awful brute glare of the desert. Far off on the shimmering waves of heat and light Thieves’ Mountain drifted to the north, fifty miles, apparently, from its usual anchorage.
“You know, Mr. Vogelin,” DeSalius said after a while, “this will be the first time in my career as a trial attorney for the Corps of Engineers that I will have had to resort to force to carry out legal procedures. Unless you change your mind. The first time in over fifteen years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
DeSalius shifted about in his chair. He finished his glass of ice water and put his hat on, picked up his briefcase and stood up. He held out his right hand to Grandfather; Grandfather ignored the gesture.
“I want to thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Vogelin. You’ve been kind. Thank you, Billy, for the ice water, which was a great relief on a day like this. Sir,” he went on, addressing Grandfather, “I’ll see you again soon. Very soon. And under somewhat different conditions.”
“How soon?” Grandfather asked.
“I’m not prepared to reveal that, sir. But it will be soon. Very soon indeed. Perhaps within a few days. Perhaps within a few hours. The Government is going to take steps, sir, that you will be able to understand.”
“About time,” Grandfather said, not in mockery of the man but in genuine relief.
Suddenly DeSalius seemed on the verge of losing his temper. Maybe the heat was getting him. “Sir, don’t you—” he burst out, but he halted himself at once.
He turned sullenly away from us, stepped off the porch and out into the naked blaze of the sun, where his skin and straw hat withered perceptibly.
“Good God, this is a horrible place,” we heard him say, as he walked toward his car. He sounded half-delirious, muttering to himself as he shambled through the dust. I nearly pitied him—his beautiful new suit rumpled and stained with sweat, his hat wilting, his sharp shoes coated with dust, his shoulders rounded in defeat.
But when he reached the car, before getting in, he faced us with his old fake smile. “Goodbye, Mr. Vogelin. I’ve really enjoyed our little conversation. Goodbye, Billy. Be a good boy, help your grandfather all you can. See you again.”
He climbed with difficulty into the low-slung car, started the motor and drove violently away, sweeping in a wide U-turn around our pickup, under the trees and up the road past corral and barn and sheds toward the bluffs of clay that gleamed like fired iron under the sun.
When he was out of sight Grandfather and I stared at each other without speaking a word.
In the evening after supper came Lee Mackie with our mail, with fresh provisions, with news and advice and good cheer.
We celebrated—something. The rum gurgled from the gallon jug. The ice tinkled in the glasses. When the old man wasn’t looking, I sneaked some rum into my Coke, lacing it good.
We sat on the verandah and watched the spectacular death of a day in the sky beyond the mountain range: cloudy islands of auburn, purple and whisky-tinted snow, swan-necked birds with fiery wings as long as the mountains, golden lakes, seas of silver and green. Nighthawks plunged for supper in the foreground, black darts against the radiant light, the wind roaring through their wings. Bats flickered here and there, the horned owl sounded from his tree across the wash, and the horses stamped and shuffled at the water trough in the corral. From the mountains miles away came another sound which only I could hear—the scream of the lion.
“Now old horse, he’s right: it’s a fair offer; you should take it. It’s your last chance.”
Lee clutched his drink with his right hand and beat on the arm of his chair with the left. “Yes, John, you’re a fool to turn this down. Can’t you see it’s a victory for you? They’re giving in. They never made a deal like this with anyone else. You got ’em buffaloed, you old buzzard. If you turn this deal down, why I won’t know what to think. About you. Why I might begin to think you’re turning into a … a wild-eyed fanatic. Yeah, that’s the word, a fanatic. Would anything like this happen in Russia? Why they’d simply put a bullet through your neck. My God, John, you can’t expect the whole United States Government to give in to you completely. They’ve got face to save too.”
He stopped for a drink.
Grandfather, silent and unsmiling, highball in hand and the shotgun still on his lap, made no reply but continued to stare darkly into the west.
I saw a scorpion, stinger aloft, race across the boards and slip into a black crack.
Lee poured himself a fresh drink and rambled on, his face glowing with good humor and good intentions, his eyes bright with alcohol:
“I’ve talked this over with Annie, John, and she feels the same way I do. That this is a great offer, the best you’ll ever get, and you should accept it. In fact everybody in town has heard about it by now, don’t ask me how but you know how the word gets around, and they all think you’re a fool for turning it down. A fool—or something worse. I tell you, there’s not a man in New Mexico could agree with you now. If you reject this deal why there won’t be any sympathy for you at all any more. None at all.”
“I think Grandfather is right,” I said.
“You hush up,” Lee said, smiling briefly.
“Billy’s still with me,” Grandfather said. “You’re still with me, Lee.”
“That’s right, of course, we’re still with you. You can count on that. But my God—”
“As long as you two are with me I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks.”
“All right,” Lee said, “that makes three of us.” He drank, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and confronted us with his handsome, eager dark face. “Three of us against the whole United States Government and about a hundred and eighty million other Americans.”
“Three’s enough,” the old man said. “Might even be … too many. What do they say about three?”
“Now don’t talk that way. What do you mean?” Lee did not wait for an answer but rushed onward. “John, what more do you want? They’ll let you keep your house. You got that sixty-five thousand-dollar check waiting for you at District Court. Enough for a down payment on lots of far better cattle outfits than this ever was or e
ver could be.”
“I wouldn’t touch their money with a shovel.”
“You ought to think of other people, old horse. Think of your daughters. They could sure use some of that money. Think of the boy here. You could set him up good with a wad like that.”
“I wouldn’t touch it either,” I said.
“You keep out of this,” Grandfather said. Gently.
“Yes sir.” I sipped on my rum Coke.
“Listen, John,” Lee said, “I wonder if it ever occurred to you that you might be acting kind of selfish about all this. For the sake of some mysterious kind of—point of honor, you are losing your home, depriving your kin of considerable benefits, and maybe risking your own liberty. Because you know damn well if you keep this up you’re going to wind up in jail. In a Federal prison. Maybe worse, if you shoot some poor soldier boy who’s only trying to do his duty. Did you ever think of that?”
“I’ve thought of it.”
“Well think about it some more. And think hard. You don’t have much time left. Maybe only a few days.”
“Maybe only a few hours,” I volunteered.
Lee looked at me. “Why don’t you go for a ride, shorty? Those horses need some work.” His white smile shone through the twilight; that mouthful of perfect teeth.
“Will you go with me?”
He hesitated. The smile weakened, returned. “Yes! Let’s go. Right now.” He emptied his glass and jumped up. “Come on, Billy, we’ll have a race.”
“I’ll race you,” I said, feeling high and glorious myself. I finished my drink and stood up.
“You two be careful,” the old man said. “Don’t pitch into some gopher hole in the dark and break your fool necks. Think of the horses.”
“We’ll think of the horses, John. You think of Billy and your daughters. Come on, Billy.”
I jumped off the porch and started at a run toward the corral. Lee came running after and caught me halfway. Putting his arm around my shoulders he slowed me to a walk. He was panting a little. “Now you listen to me.” Panting. “Billy, you listen. You have some influence over your crazy grandfather. Right? He loves you. He might listen to what you say. You understand?”
I nodded.
“All right. You should try to use this influence you have—in a sensible way. Don’t keep on encouraging the old man. You understand? Try to make him listen to reason. You understand me?”
“No.” I said. “No I don’t, Lee.”
“What’s the use—you’re just like him.”
We reached the corral, climbed through, and bridled old Blue and Grandfather’s big sorrel. Skilletfoot as usual would be left out. I threw myself up on Blue’s back and struggled to a sitting position, clutching the mane. Lee vaulted onto the back of the stallion.
“Go ahead, Billy. I’ll give you a ten-second start.”
“Where we going?”
“Twice around the pasture. Close to the corners. Go ahead. One—two—”
I kicked Blue with my heels and he leaped forward, through the open gateway of the corral and into the field of twilight. At a dead run I bore straight for the southeast corner, counting to myself. When I reached the number eleven I heard a wild whoop from Lee and knew he’d started.
Reins loose in my right hand, left hand twisting the wiry hairs of the mane, I beat my heels on Blue’s flanks and watched the fence come toward us. At the corner we pivoted sharply and raced toward the south-west. In my rear I heard the sod-muted thunder of the stallion’s hooves.
“Let’s go, Blue,” I shouted, my body forward over his neck, my chin between his ears. The wind rushed by, the gloom parted wonderfully before us, I felt the beating of my mount’s great heart between my knees, the surge of his muscles under my body.
The corner rose before us, we turned and galloped north, along the fence and the ledge of the river. Iron clashed on stone, sparks flashed in the velvet air. “Come on, Blue, come on,” I panted in his ear. But old Blue was doing his best already; there was no further response. Sucking wind like a steam engine, he neared the northwest corner, swung right and galloped heavily upslope toward the ranch buildings. Halfway there Lee came alongside on the slick-gaited Rocky and bellowed at me:
“Shag him, Billy!”
The sorrel flowed steadily past us in a gleam of sweat and silken strength, pulled ahead, and created a gap which grew wider at every pace. When we turned at the northeast corner by the corral Lee was three lengths ahead and old Blue was beginning to falter. We were licked but he kept on running. I couldn’t have stopped him if I’d tried.
Lee was waiting for me inside the corral, brushing his horse, when Blue and I trotted in.
I slid off, removed the bridle and sloughed the gobs of lather off Blue’s trembling shoulders and chest. “Some race,” I said in disgust.
“Old Blue did pretty good,” Lee said. “He’s a big-hearted old brute. Here.” He gave me the brush.
“Next time I’ll ride the stud,” I said.
“Why sure, Billy. And we’ll hang a sack of grain under his belly. And you’ll give me a bigger start.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You did pretty good. Don’t get mad.”
“I’ll race you back to the house,” I said. “On foot.”
“You win already. Let’s walk.”
We gave the horses each a double handful of grain, turned them loose and walked back to the ranch-house, toward the red glow of the old man’s cigar. Again Lee tried to sweet-talk me into compromise. Arm over my shoulders, he said,
“Billy, old buddy, I want you to do me a favor. Will you do me a favor?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Talk to your grandfather. Tell him not to go on with his crazy idea. Tell him to use his head.”
I was silent.
“Will you, Billy? It’s for his own good. You don’t want the old man to get shot, do you? Or locked up in prison for the rest of his life?”
“No.”
“Fine. Now we’re getting somewhere. Will you ask him to take DeSalius up on that last offer?”
I hesitated.
“Will you?”
“No.”
“My God, you sound just like the old man.”
“I think he’s in the right, Lee. Don’t you?”
After a moment Lee said, “I don’t really know, Billy. To tell the truth I don’t really know.”
“You’re going to help him, aren’t you?”
The tall man squeezed my arm. “Don’t worry about that. That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.”
Gratefully I smiled up at Lee.
“Who won?” the old man shouted as we approached the house. The owl behind the wash echoed his call.
“We did,” Lee answered, hugging me close.
“Lee won,” I explained as we climbed the porch steps, “But he was riding Rocky.”
We sat beside the old man and listened to the owl. The darkness was settling in fast, the lights fading over the mountains and the stars emerging, one by one, from the violet sky.
After some talk about the horses, the dry spell and the falling water table, Lee and Grandfather returned to the subject of real interest. This time Lee pursued it farther and with a greater intensity than ever before, as if with the knowledge that this might be the final opportunity to drive a wedge of logic and sense into the old man’s bitter mind.
“It’s not only the practical side of the thing,” Lee was saying, as I half-dozed, half-listened nearby, “you also have to think about the question of justice. Now you never before reared up on your hind legs and defied the law, the country and the Constitution. As long as you weren’t personally affected by what was going on, you seemed to consent to the laws and customs and so on. Many other people have to go through what’s happening to you, John, and you never protested against it before.”
“They have their choice,” the old man said.
“All right. It’s easy to say that now. But maybe the Government is really in th
e right here. If they need your land for the sake of the national security shouldn’t you give it up? Which is more important, your property or the national safety?”
“Nobody’s safe when the Government can take away his home.”
“Nobody would be safe in a world run by the Soviet Union.”
“All right,” Grandfather said, “there’s no safety anywhere. I don’t want safety. I want to die on my father’s ranch.” Grandfather puffed on his cigar: the red coal flared and faded, casting a dim transient light over the tough features of his face.
I smuggled more rum into my soda pop.
“Sometimes we have to make a choice between evils,” Lee said. “Maybe in a case like this military necessity is more important than your private desires. Am I right or wrong?”
“Wrong,” I said, lifting my glass.
“You be quiet, child,” the old man said to me. Quietly. To Lee he said, “I can see the sense in your argument. Not much but some. But all my feelings go against it. This is my home. I was born here. My father worked and fought all his life for this place. He died here. My mother died here. My wife almost died here. Now I want to die here, when I’m ready to die. I will not live here part-time as some sort of charity ward of the Government, while they think up new ways to wedge me off completely. No, by God, I can’t do that. I’ll fight it out with bullets before I’ll do that.”
Lee was silent for a while, as he stared with his good earnest eyes at the old man, at the floor, at me, at the old man again. “I know how you feel. I share that feeling. Didn’t I spend ten years of my own life on this place? But look, John—” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Does the land really belong to you? Is it really yours? Does the land belong to anybody? A hundred years ago the Apaches had it, it was all theirs. Your father and other men like him stole it from the Apaches. The railroad company and the big cattle companies and the banks tried to steal it from your father and from you. Now the Government is going to steal it from you. This land has always been crawling with thieves. How do you suppose that mountain over there got its name? A hundred years from now, when we’re all dead and buried and forgotten, the land will still be here, will still be the same worthless dried-out burnt-up parcel of sand and cactus it is now. And some other fool of a thief will be stringing a fence around it and hollering that he owns it, that it belongs to him, and telling everybody else to keep out.”