IXINITIATION
Theycrossed the Border at Nogales, Cal riding old Chester, Slim on his ‘Indian’ and Elbert astride.
‘Yes, Elbert,’ said Cal that first afternoon in Mexico, ‘she’s shore an indulgence for the eyes.’
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.
The moment of fastening the horses at the hitching-rack in the sleepy sandy street, before the little cantina in Cienaga, was memorable from all others in life. There was a dust cloud in the low dobe doorway. Such was the stillness and deep ease in the air, that each grain of dust hung in enticing suspense, a meaning and purpose Elbert was sure of, and needn’t try to think out.
‘Tequila,’ said Slim, as they entered the shadows.
‘Same here,’ said Cal.
It was like the hold of a ship in a way; the smell of dried orange-peel; a range of barrels with Spanish writing on them, a breath of coolness; shelves of canned and bottled goods, wines and catsup and pickles resting together in dusty composure.
‘I will, too,’ Elbert said.
The little fat man of the place had been trimming his oil lamp, pouring in coal oil from a large glass jar. He drew out a second piece of glassware from under the counter, slightly smaller, but of similar shape to the first. The contents of the two jars were of identical color.
‘Here goes,’ said Slim, and the three small glasses were raised.
For a second Elbert thought he had been shot in the neck. Out of the pandemonium of his faculties then formed the suspicion that either they burned tequila in the lamps, or else that was the Mexican name for kerosene.
‘The first one always hits me where I ain’t lookin’,’ Cal remarked. ‘Suppose we go through the formalities of three more.’
Elbert braced to do it again. He felt himself standing very straight, only there was a curious illusion that his spine extended clear through tothe top of his head. The reverberations of the second shot having died away, Elbert was conscious of a faint aroma, as if all the dried fruits and tubers and woodwork had blent in enticing fragrance. A horse nickered from afar down the street and their three ponies at the hitching-rail raised their heads—Mamie’s instant answer being ramified by Chester’s dignified head-tones, and a shrill broken pipe from the ‘Indian.’ A kind of union and interplay in all things—glint of drift and daring in Cal Monroid’s eyes. The little fat man was shaking his match box. It really wouldn’t do for the lamp to be lighted just yet. Elbert spoke up:
‘We might risk one more,’ he said with slow care.
Now Cal and Slim took his invitation in a queer way. They pawed each other and kept saying: ‘I told you so.’ Could they mean they weren’t regretting they had let him come?
‘I like it here,’ said Slim.
‘I feel like stayin’,’ said Cal. ‘I could eat some of these here dried herrin’ and pickles standin’ up, but I suggests we saunter to a table somewhere and feed on somethin’ firm. I could stay all night—’
Elbert, standing very straight, turned away to the doorway that last moment before the lamp was lighted, and there he beheld his CrimsonFoam—the whole West over the horses’ heads, shot with Indian red. It was worth the beginning at Heaslep’s, the struggle with Fortitude, the leather-store and even the years of Eastern schooling. Only he mustn’t fall to telling how joyous he was. Meanwhile Slim and the little fat man were having words. The former turned to Cal with his wronged look:
‘What you goin’ to do with a fellow like this? He keeps hornin’ in with English. Says I called him a horse. Says I mean caballero, not caballo. Wants to know if we’ll have our chickens boiled or fried.’
‘Quickest for me,’ said Cal. ‘Only tell him I ain’t broke off with beans.’
After supper, Cal suggested that they go out to the corral to see if the horses were making out as well as they were. Elbert sat back against a stone. The straw smelled dry and clean; the sky was close and velvety; the three horses were grinding sun-parched corn, a soothing sound; everything expansive and exactly right, only a persistent tendency to be reminiscent, which Elbert checked. Finally at his right, a chuckle from Cal:
‘Slim—’
‘Yep?’
‘For a tenderfoot, I’m sayin’ our young friend Elbert holds his fire-water aloft some successful, don’t you think?’
Slim allowed that, and Elbert’s face turned away to the dark, so his exultation might not be seen. He felt on the eve of a mysterious graduation ceremony....
Toward mid-afternoon two days later they entered the pueblo of Nacimiento, and two thin dogs skulked across the road ahead of their horses. An old man, beyond human speech, was sitting in the sun against a wall, and a little farther on, another. That seemed the end of life, as they paused before a fonda marked ‘El Cajon.’ The sandy road at this point was beaten with many pony tracks.
‘Looks as if a troop of cavalry had halted here,’ Slim said in a hushed tone.
A moment of rich promise to Elbert, except that he wished he didn’t feel so played out. They entered the deserted wine-room. Slim drew a finger over the bar-board and left his mark in the dust. A scared lame boy finally came out from the shadows behind. No mistake about his gestures; they were urged to move on.
‘What do you think we’re up against?’ Cal inquired. ‘Yellow fever or just war?’
‘Can’t say,’ said Slim, ‘only far from home—far from home.’
‘We might keep on going to Burton’s oil wells at San Pasquali. Can’t be more than eighteenmiles from here, but it would take the edge off the horses; also what little nape of Elbert’s, as ain’t wore off already.’
‘Oh, I’m all right,’ Elbert hastened to say, ‘whatever you think best.’
At the end of town they heard a phonograph, the twisty piping tones of ‘El Chocolo.’ In a doorway presently appeared a barefooted old woman with a broom in one hand and a pair of castanets in the other. Slim uncorked his Spanish. It sounded to Elbert as if he were asking for rooms with bath. The Señora’s mouth opened, but no sound came. She raised one foot and clucked the castanets, finally coördinating:
‘No sabe, Señor.’
Slim repeated.
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. Mamie now relaxed,and Elbert was the last to enter a flowered patio, where the Señora brought pans of water for them to wash, and then began stirring in the ashes of the ancient fireplace.
‘I’m takin’ on hope,’ Cal breathed. ‘She’s fixin’ to boil something, if it’s only grool.’
‘Frijoles,’ lightly called Slim. ‘Also, huevos, Señora, also tortillas tom bien.’
Her back was toward them, her face still bent over the fireplace, but her hand shot up, registering the orders on the castanets.
At this instant something began to be wrong in the air. A far-off sound took the heart out of Elbert; hatefully familiar, it was, spoiling at once all the mysterious warnings of deserted Nacimiento—the chug-chug of an earth-eater, high-powered, and coming fast.
A small, square, vined window in the patio faced the road. Elbert moved to it, Cal and Slim following. The three heads looked out, a hush fallen upon them. A cherry-colored sedan, dust of Mexico unable to cover its incredible modernity, halted before the Señora’s door, and three queer boyish figures hopped out.