The Passing of Black Eagle

by O. Henry

For some months of a certain year a grim bandit infested the Texasborder along the Rio Grande. Peculiarly striking to the optic nervewas this notorious marauder. His personality secured him the title of"Black Eagle, the Terror of the Border." Many fearsome tales are onrecord concerning the doings of him and his followers. Suddenly, inthe space of a single minute, Black Eagle vanished from earth. He wasnever heard of again. His own band never even guessed the mystery ofhis disappearance. The border ranches and settlements feared he wouldcome again to ride and ravage the mesquite flats. He never will. It isto disclose the fate of Black Eagle that this narrative is written. The initial movement of the story is furnished by the foot of abartender in St. Louis. His discerning eye fell upon the form ofChicken Ruggles as he pecked with avidity at the free lunch. Chickenwas a "hobo." He had a long nose like the bill of a fowl, aninordinate appetite for poultry, and a habit of gratifying it withoutexpense, which accounts for the name given him by his fellow vagrants. Physicians agree that the partaking of liquids at meal times is not ahealthy practice. The hygiene of the saloon promulgates the opposite.Chicken had neglected to purchase a drink to accompany his meal. Thebartender rounded the counter, caught the injudicious diner by the earwith a lemon squeezer, led him to the door and kicked him into thestreet. Thus the mind of Chicken was brought to realize the signs of comingwinter. The night was cold; the stars shone with unkindly brilliancy;people were hurrying along the streets in two egotistic, jostlingstreams. Men had donned their overcoats, and Chicken knew to an exactpercentage the increased difficulty of coaxing dimes from thosebuttoned-in vest pockets. The time had come for his annual exodus tothe south. A little boy, five or six years old, stood looking with covetous eyesin a confectioner's window. In one small hand he held an empty two-ounce vial; in the other he grasped tightly something flat and round,with a shining milled edge. The scene presented a field of operationscommensurate to Chicken's talents and daring. After sweeping thehorizon to make sure that no official tug was cruising near, heinsidiously accosted his prey. The boy, having been early taught byhis household to regard altruistic advances with extreme suspicion,received the overtures coldly. Then Chicken knew that he must make one of those desperate, nerve-shattering plunges into speculation that fortune sometimes requires ofthose who would win her favour. Five cents was his capital, and thishe must risk against the chance of winning what lay within the closegrasp of the youngster's chubby hand. It was a fearful lottery,Chicken knew. But he must accomplish his end by strategy, since he hada wholesome terror of plundering infants by force. Once, in a park,driven by hunger, he had committed an onslaught upon a bottle ofpeptonized infant's food in the possession of an occupant of a babycarriage. The outraged infant had so promptly opened its mouth andpressed the button that communicated with the welkin that helparrived, and Chicken did his thirty days in a snug coop. Wherefore hewas, as he said, "leary of kids." Beginning artfully to question the boy concerning his choice ofsweets, he gradually drew out the information he wanted. Mamma said hewas to ask the drug store man for ten cents' worth of paregoric in thebottle; he was to keep his hand shut tight over the dollar; he mustnot stop to talk to anyone in the street; he must ask the drug-storeman to wrap up the change and put it in the pocket of his trousers.Indeed, they had pockets--two of them! And he liked chocolate creamsbest. Chicken went into the store and turned plunger. He invested his entirecapital in C.A.N.D.Y. stocks, simply to pave the way to the greaterrisk following. He gave the sweets to the youngster, and had the satisfaction ofperceiving that confidence was established. After that it was easy toobtain leadership of the expedition; to take the investment by thehand and lead it to a nice drug store he knew of in the same block.There Chicken, with a parental air, passed over the dollar and calledfor the medicine, while the boy crunched his candy, glad to berelieved of the responsibility of the purchase. And then thesuccessful investor, searching his pockets, found an overcoat button--the extent of his winter trousseau--and, wrapping it carefully, placedthe ostensible change in the pocket of confiding juvenility. Settingthe youngster's face homeward, and patting him benevolently on theback--for Chicken's heart was as soft as those of his featherednamesakes--the speculator quit the market with a profit of 1,700 percent. on his invested capital. Two hours later an Iron Mountain freight engine pulled out of therailroad yards, Texas bound, with a string of empties. In one of thecattle cars, half buried in excelsior, Chicken lay at ease. Beside himin his nest was a quart bottle of very poor whisky and a paper bag ofbread and cheese. Mr. Ruggles, in his private car, was on his tripsouth for the winter season. For a week that car was trundled southward, shifted, laid over, andmanipulated after the manner of rolling stock, but Chicken stuck toit, leaving it only at necessary times to satisfy his hunger andthirst. He knew it must go down to the cattle country, and SanAntonio, in the heart of it, was his goal. There the air wassalubrious and mild; the people indulgent and long-suffering. Thebartenders there would not kick him. If he should eat too long or toooften at one place they would swear at him as if by rote and withoutheat. They swore so drawlingly, and they rarely paused short of theirfull vocabulary, which was copious, so that Chicken had often gulped agood meal during the process of the vituperative prohibition. Theseason there was always spring-like; the plazas were pleasant atnight, with music and gaiety; except during the slight and infrequentcold snaps one could sleep comfortably out of doors in case theinteriors should develop inhospitability. At Texarkana his car was switched to the I. and G.N. Then stillsouthward it trailed until, at length, it crawled across the Coloradobridge at Austin, and lined out, straight as an arrow, for the run toSan Antonio. When the freight halted at that town Chicken was fast asleep. In tenminutes the train was off again for Laredo, the end of the road. Thoseempty cattle cars were for distribution along the line at points fromwhich the ranches shipped their stock. When Chicken awoke his car was stationary. Looking out between theslats he saw it was a bright, moonlit night. Scrambling out, he sawhis car with three others abandoned on a little siding in a wild andlonesome country. A cattle pen and chute stood on one side of thetrack. The railroad bisected a vast, dim ocean of prairie, in themidst of which Chicken, with his futile rolling stock, was ascompletely stranded as was Robinson with his land-locked boat. A white post stood near the rails. Going up to it, Chicken read theletters at the top, S. A. 90. Laredo was nearly as far to the south.He was almost a hundred miles from any town. Coyotes began to yelp inthe mysterious sea around him. Chicken felt lonesome. He had lived inBoston without an education, in Chicago without nerve, in Philadelphiawithout a sleeping place, in New York without a pull, and in Pittsburgsober, and yet he had never felt so lonely as now. Suddenly through the intense silence, he heard the whicker of a horse.The sound came from the side of the track toward the east, and Chickenbegan to explore timorously in that direction. He stepped high alongthe mat of curly mesquit grass, for he was afraid of everything theremight be in this wilderness--snakes, rats, brigands, centipedes,mirages, cowboys, fandangoes, tarantulas, tamales--he had read of themin the story papers. Rounding a clump of prickly pear that reared highits fantastic and menacing array of rounded heads, he was struck toshivering terror by a snort and a thunderous plunge, as the horse,himself startled, bounded away some fifty yards, and then resumed hisgrazing. But here was the one thing in the desert that Chicken did notfear. He had been reared on a farm; he had handled horses, understoodthem, and could ride. Approaching slowly and speaking soothingly, he followed the animal,which, after its first flight, seemed gentle enough, and secured theend of the twenty-foot lariat that dragged after him in the grass. Itrequired him but a few moments to contrive the rope into an ingeniousnose-bridle, after the style of the Mexican /borsal/. In another hewas upon the horse's back and off at a splendid lope, giving theanimal free choice of direction. "He will take me somewhere," saidChicken to himself. It would have been a thing of joy, that untrammelled gallop over themoonlit prairie, even to Chicken, who loathed exertion, but that hismood was not for it. His head ached; a growing thirst was upon him;the "somewhere" whither his lucky mount might convey him was full ofdismal peradventure. And now he noted that the horse moved to a definite goal. Where theprairie lay smooth he kept his course straight as an arrow's towardthe east. Deflected by hill or arroyo or impractical spinous brakes,he quickly flowed again into the current, charted by his unerringinstinct. At last, upon the side of a gentle rise, he suddenlysubsided to a complacent walk. A stone's cast away stood a little mottof coma trees; beneath it a /jacal/ such as the Mexicans erect--a one-room house of upright poles daubed with clay and roofed with grass ortule reeds. An experienced eye would have estimated the spot as theheadquarters of a small sheep ranch. In the moonlight the ground inthe nearby corral showed pulverized to a level smoothness by the hoofsof the sheep. Everywhere was carelessly distributed the paraphernaliaof the place--ropes, bridles, saddles, sheep pelts, wool sacks, feedtroughs, and camp litter. The barrel of drinking water stood in theend of the two-horse wagon near the door. The harness was piled,promiscuous, upon the wagon tongue, soaking up the dew. Chicken slipped to earth, and tied the horse to a tree. He halloedagain and again, but the house remained quiet. The door stood open,and he entered cautiously. The light was sufficient for him to seethat no one was at home. The room was that of a bachelor ranchman whowas content with the necessaries of life. Chicken rummagedintelligently until he found what he had hardly dared hope for--asmall, brown jug that still contained something near a quart of hisdesire. Half an hour later, Chicken--now a gamecock of hostile aspect--emergedfrom the house with unsteady steps. He had drawn upon the absentranchman's equipment to replace his own ragged attire. He wore a suitof coarse brown ducking, the coat being a sort of rakish bolero,jaunty to a degree. Boots he had donned, and spurs that whirred withevery lurching step. Buckled around him was a belt full of cartridgeswith a big six-shooter in each of its two holsters. Prowling about, he found blankets, a saddle and bridle with which hecaparisoned his steed. Again mounting, he rode swiftly away, singing aloud and tuneless song. * * * * * Bud King's band of desperadoes, outlaws and horse and cattle thieveswere in camp at a secluded spot on the bank of the Frio. Theirdepredations in the Rio Grande country, while no bolder than usual,had been advertised more extensively, and Captain Kinney's company ofrangers had been ordered down to look after them. Consequently, BudKing, who was a wise general, instead of cutting out a hot trail forthe upholders of the law, as his men wished to do, retired for thetime to the prickly fastnesses of the Frio valley. Though the move was a prudent one, and not incompatible with Bud'swell-known courage, it raised dissension among the members of theband. In fact, while they thus lay ingloriously /perdu/ in the brush,the question of Bud King's fitness for the leadership was argued, withclosed doors, as it were, by his followers. Never before had Bud'sskill or efficiency been brought to criticism; but his glory waswandering (and such is glory's fate) in the light of a newer star. Thesentiment of the band was crystallizing into the opinion that BlackEagle could lead them with more lustre, profit, and distinction. This Black Eagle--sub-titled the "Terror of the Border"--had been amember of the gang about three months. One night while they were in camp on the San Miguel water-hole asolitary horseman on the regulation fiery steed dashed in among them.The newcomer was of a portentous and devastating aspect. A beak-likenose with a predatory curve projected above a mass of bristling, blue-black whiskers. His eye was cavernous and fierce. He was spurred,sombreroed, booted, garnished with revolvers, abundantly drunk, andvery much unafraid. Few people in the country drained by the Rio Bravowould have cared thus to invade alone the camp of Bud King. But thisfell bird swooped fearlessly upon them and demanded to be fed. Hospitality in the prairie country is not limited. Even if your enemypass your way you must feed him before you shoot him. You must emptyyour larder into him before you empty your lead. So the stranger ofundeclared intentions was set down to a mighty feast. A talkative bird he was, full of most marvellous loud tales andexploits, and speaking a language at times obscure but nevercolourless. He was a new sensation to Bud King's men, who rarelyencountered new types. They hung, delighted, upon his vaingloriousboasting, the spicy strangeness of his lingo, his contemptuousfamiliarity with life, the world, and remote places, and theextravagant frankness with which he conveyed his sentiments. To their guest the band of outlaws seemed to be nothing more than acongregation of country bumpkins whom he was "stringing for grub" justas he would have told his stories at the back door of a farmhouse towheedle a meal. And, indeed, his ignorance was not without excuse, forthe "bad man" of the Southwest does not run to extremes. Thosebrigands might justly have been taken for a little party of peaceablerustics assembled for a fish-fry or pecan gathering. Gentle of manner,slouching of gait, soft-voiced, unpicturesquely clothed; not one ofthem presented to the eye any witness of the desperate records theyhad earned. For two days the glittering stranger within the camp was feasted.Then, by common consent, he was invited to become a member of theband. He consented, presenting for enrollment the prodigious name of"Captain Montressor." This name was immediately overruled by the band,and "Piggy" substituted as a compliment to the awful and insatiateappetite of its owner. Thus did the Texas border receive the most spectacular brigand thatever rode its chaparral. For the next three months Bud King conducted business as usual,escaping encounters with law officers and being content withreasonable profits. The band ran off some very good companies ofhorses from the ranges, and a few bunches of fine cattle which theygot safely across the Rio Grande and disposed of to fair advantage.Often the band would ride into the little villages and Mexicansettlements, terrorizing the inhabitants and plundering for theprovisions and ammunition they needed. It was during these bloodlessraids that Piggy's ferocious aspect and frightful voice gained him arenown more widespread and glorious than those other gentle-voiced andsad-faced desperadoes could have acquired in a lifetime. The Mexicans, most apt in nomenclature, first called him The BlackEagle, and used to frighten the babes by threatening them with talesof the dreadful robber who carried off little children in his greatbeak. Soon the name extended, and Black Eagle, the Terror of theBorder, became a recognized factor in exaggerated newspaper reportsand ranch gossip. The country from the Nueces to the Rio Grande was a wild but fertilestretch, given over to the sheep and cattle ranches. Range was free;the inhabitants were few; the law was mainly a letter, and the piratesmet with little opposition until the flaunting and garish Piggy gavethe band undue advertisement. Then McKinney's ranger company headedfor those precincts, and Bud King knew that it meant grim and suddenwar or else temporary retirement. Regarding the risk to beunnecessary, he drew off his band to an almost inaccessible spot onthe bank of the Frio. Wherefore, as has been said, dissatisfactionarose among the members, and impeachment proceedings against Bud werepremeditated, with Black Eagle in high favour for the succession. BudKing was not unaware of the sentiment, and he called aside CactusTaylor, his trusted lieutenant, to discuss it. "If the boys," said Bud, "ain't satisfied with me, I'm willing to stepout. They're buckin' against my way of handlin' 'em. And 'speciallybecause I concludes to hit the brush while Sam Kinney is ridin' theline. I saves 'em from bein' shot or sent up on a state contract, andthey up and says I'm no good." "It ain't so much that," explained Cactus, "as it is they're plumlocoed about Piggy. They want them whiskers and that nose of his tosplit the wind at the head of the column." "There's somethin' mighty seldom about Piggy," declared Bud, musingly."I never yet see anything on the hoof that he exactly grades up with.He can shore holler a plenty and he straddles a hoss from where youlaid the chunk. But he ain't never been smoked yet. You know, Cactus,we ain't had a row since he's been with us. Piggy's all right forskearin' the greaser kids and layin' waste a cross-roads store. Ireckon he's the finest canned oyster buccaneer and cheese pirate thatever was, but how's his appetite for fightin'? I've knowed somecitizens you'd think was starvin' for trouble get a bad case ofdyspepsy the first dose of lead they had to take." "He talks all spraddled out," said Cactus, "'bout the rookuses he'sbeen in. He claims to have saw the elephant and hearn the owl." "I know," replied Bud, using the cowpuncher's expressive phrase ofskepticism, "but it sounds to me!" This conversation was held one night in camp while the other membersof the band--eight in number--were sprawling around the fire,lingering over their supper. When Bud and Cactus ceased talking theyheard Piggy's formidable voice holding forth to the others as usualwhile he was engaged in checking, though never satisfying, hisravening appetite. "Wat's de use," he was saying, "of chasin' little red cowses andhosses 'round for t'ousands of miles? Dere ain't nuttin' in it.Gallopin' t'rough dese bushes and briers, and gettin' a t'irst dat abrewery couldn't put out, and missin' meals! Say! You know what I'd doif I was main finger of dis bunch? I'd stick up a train. I'd blow deexpress car and make hard dollars where you guys get wind. Youse makesme tired. Dis sook-cow kind of cheap sport gives me a pain." Later on, a deputation waited on Bud. They stood on one leg, chewedmesquit twigs and circumlocuted, for they hated to hurt his feelings.Bud foresaw their business, and made it easy for them. Bigger risksand larger profits was what they wanted. The suggestion of Piggy's about holding up a train had fired theirimagination and increased their admiration for the dash and boldnessof the instigator. They were such simple, artless, and custom-boundbush-rangers that they had never before thought of extending theirhabits beyond the running off of live-stock and the shooting of suchof their acquaintances as ventured to interfere. Bud acted "on the level," agreeing to take a subordinate place in thegang until Black Eagle should have been given a trial as leader. After a great deal of consultation, studying of time-tables, anddiscussion of the country's topography, the time and place forcarrying out their new enterprise was decided upon. At that time therewas a feedstuff famine in Mexico and a cattle famine in certain partsof the United States, and there was a brisk international trade. Muchmoney was being shipped along the railroads that connected the tworepublics. It was agreed that the most promising place for thecontemplated robbery was at Espina, a little station on the I. andG.N., about forty miles north of Laredo. The train stopped there oneminute; the country around was wild and unsettled; the stationconsisted of but one house in which the agent lived. Black Eagle's band set out, riding by night. Arriving in the vicinityof Espina they rested their horses all day in a thicket a few milesdistant. The train was due at Espina at 10.30 P.M. They could rob the train andbe well over the Mexican border with their booty by daylight the nextmorning. To do Black Eagle justice, he exhibited no signs of flinching from theresponsible honours that had been conferred upon him. He assigned his men to their respective posts with discretion, andcoached them carefully as to their duties. On each side of the trackfour of the band were to lie concealed in the chaparral. Gotch-EarRodgers was to stick up the station agent. Bronco Charlie was toremain with the horses, holding them in readiness. At a spot where itwas calculated the engine would be when the train stopped, Bud Kingwas to lie hidden on one side, and Black Eagle himself on the other.The two would get the drop on the engineer and fireman, force them todescend and proceed to the rear. Then the express car would be looted,and the escape made. No one was to move until Black Eagle gave thesignal by firing his revolver. The plan was perfect. At ten minutes to train time every man was at his post, effectuallyconcealed by the thick chaparral that grew almost to the rails. Thenight was dark and lowering, with a fine drizzle falling from theflying gulf clouds. Black Eagle crouched behind a bush within fiveyards of the track. Two six-shooters were belted around him.Occasionally he drew a large black bottle from his pocket and raisedit to his mouth. A star appeared far down the track which soon waxed into the headlightof the approaching train. It came on with an increasing roar; theengine bore down upon the ambushing desperadoes with a glare and ashriek like some avenging monster come to deliver them to justice.Black Eagle flattened himself upon the ground. The engine, contrary totheir calculations, instead of stopping between him and Bud King'splace of concealment, passed fully forty years farther before it cameto a stand. The bandit leader rose to his feet and peered through the bush. Hismen all lay quiet, awaiting the signal. Immediately opposite BlackEagle was a thing that drew his attention. Instead of being a regularpassenger train it was a mixed one. Before him stood a box car, thedoor of which, by some means, had been left slightly open. Black Eaglewent up to it and pushed the door farther open. An odour came forth--adamp, rancid, familiar, musty, intoxicating, beloved odour stirringstrongly at old memories of happy days and travels. Black Eaglesniffed at the witching smell as the returned wanderer smells of therose that twines his boyhood's cottage home. Nostalgia seized him. Heput his hand inside. Excelsior--dry, springy, curly, soft, enticing,covered the floor. Outside the drizzle had turned to a chilling rain. The train bell clanged. The bandit chief unbuckled his belt and castit, with its revolvers, upon the ground. His spurs followed quickly,and his broad sombrero. Black Eagle was moulting. The train startedwith a rattling jerk. The ex-Terror of the Border scrambled into thebox car and closed the door. Stretched luxuriously upon the excelsior,with the black bottle clasped closely to his breast, his eyes closed,and a foolish, happy smile upon his terrible features Chicken Rugglesstarted upon his return trip. Undisturbed, with the band of desperate bandits lying motionless,awaiting the signal to attack, the train pulled out from Espina. Asits speed increased, and the black masses of chaparral went whizzingpast on either side, the express messenger, lighting his pipe, lookedthrough his window and remarked, feelingly: "What a jim-dandy place for a hold-up!"

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