The Stranger

by Ambrose Bierce

　　

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A man stepped out of the darkness into the little illuminated circleabout our failing camp-fire and seated himself upon a rock.'You are not the first to explore this region,' he said gravely.Nobody controverted his statement; he was himself proof of itstruth, for he was not of our party and must have been somewhere nearwhen we camped. Moreover, he must have companions not far away; it wasnot a place where one would be living or travelling alone. For more thana week we had seen, besides ourselves and our animals, only such livingthings as rattlesnakes and horned toads. In an Arizona desert one doesnot long coexist with only such creatures as these: one must have packanimals, supplies, arms -- 'an outfit.' And all these imply comrades. Itwas perhaps a doubt as to what manner of men this unceremoniousstranger's comrades might be, together with something in his wordsinterpretable as a challenge that caused every man of our half-dozen'gentlemen adventurers' to rise to a sitting posture and lay his handupon a weapon -- an act signifying, in that time and place, a policy ofexpectation. The stranger gave the matter no attention and began againto speak in the same deliberate, uninflected monotone in which he haddelivered his first sentence:'Thirty years ago Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent, andBerry Davis, all of Tucson, crossed the Santa Catalina mountains andtravelled due west, as nearly as the configuration of the countrypermitted. We were prospecting and it was our intention, if we foundnothing, to push through to the Gila river at some point near Big Bend,where we understood there was a settlement. We had a good outfit, but noguide -- just Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent, and BerryDavis.'The man repeated the names slowly and distinctly, as if to fix themin the memories of his audience, every member of which was nowattentively observing him, but with a slackened apprehension regardinghis possible companions somewhere in the darkness that seemed to encloseus like a black wall; in the manner of this volunteer historian was nosuggestion of an unfriendly purpose. His act was rather that of aharmless lunatic than an enemy. We were not so new to the country as notto know that the solitary life of many a plainsman had a tendency todevelop eccentricities of conduct and character not always easilydistinguishable from mental aberration. A man is like a tree: in aforest of his fellows he will grow as straight as his generic andindividual nature permits; alone in the open, he yields to the deformingstresses and tortions that environ him. Some such thoughts were in mymind as I watched the man from the shadow of my hat, pulled low to shutout the firelight. A witless fellow, no doubt, but what could he bedoing there in the heart of a desert?Having undertaken to tell this story, I wish that I could describethe man's appearance; that would be a natural thing to do.Unfortunately, and somewhat strangely, I find myself unable to do sowith any degree of confidence, for afterward no two of us agreed as towhat he wore and how he looked; and when I try to set down my ownimpressions they elude me. Anyone can tell some kind of story; narrationis one of the elemental powers of the race. But the talent fordescription is a gift.Nobody having broken silence the visitor went on to say:'This country was not then what it is now. There was not a ranchbetween the Gila and the Gulf. There was a little game here and there inthe mountains, and near the infrequent water-holes grass enough to keepour animals from starvation. If we should be so fortunate as toencounter no Indians we might get through. But within a week the purposeof the expedition had altered from discovery of wealth to preservationof life. We had gone too far to go back, for what was ahead could be noworse than what was behind; so we pushed on, riding by night to avoidIndians and the intolerable heat, and concealing ourselves by day asbest we could. Sometimes, having exhausted our supply of wild meat andemptied our casks, we were days without food or drink; then a water-holeor a shallow pool in the bottom of an arroyo so restored our strengthand sanity that we were able to shoot some of the wild animals thatsought it also. Sometimes it was a bear, sometimes an antelope, acoyote, a cougar-that was as God pleased; all were food.'One morning as we skirted a mountain range, seeking a practicablepass, we were attacked by a band of Apaches who had followed our trailup a gulch -- it is not far from here. Knowing that they outnumbered usten to one, they took none of their usual cowardly precautions, butdashed upon us at a gallop, firing and yelling. Fighting was out of thequestion: we urged our feeble animals up the gulch as far as there wasfooting for a hoof, then threw ourselves out of our saddles and took tothe chaparral on one of the slopes, abandoning our entire outfit to theenemy. But we retained our rifles, every man -- Ramon Gallegos, WilliamShaw, George W. Kent, and Berry Davis.''Same old crowd,' said the humorist of our party. He was an Easternman, unfamiliar with the decent observances of social intercourse. Agesture of disapproval from our leader silenced him, and the strangerproceeded with his tale:'The savages dismounted also, and some of them ran up the gulchbeyond the point at which we had left it, cutting off further retreat inthat direction and forcing us on up the side. Unfortunately thechaparral extended only a short distance up the slope, and as we cameinto the open ground above we took the fire of a dozen rifles; butApaches shoot badly when in a hurry, and God so willed it that none ofus fell. Twenty yards up the slope, beyond the edge of the brush, werevertical cliffs, in which, directly in front of us, was a narrowopening. Into that we ran, finding ourselves in a cavern about as largeas an ordinary room in a house. Here for a time we were safe: a singleman with a repeating rifle could defend the entrance against all theApaches in the land. But against hunger and thirst we had no defence.Courage we still had, but hope was a memory.'Not one of those Indians did we afterward see, but by the smokeand glare of their fires in the gulch we knew that by day and by nightthey watched with ready rifles in the edge of the bush -- knew that ifwe made a sortie not a man of us would live to take three steps into theopen. For three days, watching in turn, we held out before our sufferingbecame insupportable. Then -- It was the morning of the fourth day --Ramon Gallegos said:'"Senores, I know not well of the good God and what please Him. Ihave live without religion, and I am not acquaint with that of you.Pardon, senores, if I shock you, but for me the time is come to beat thegame of the Apache."'He knelt upon the rock floor of the cave and pressed his pistolagainst his temple. "Madre de Dios," he said, "comes now the soul ofRamon Gallegos."'And so he left us -- William Shaw, George W. Kent, and Berry Davis.'I was the leader: it was for me to speak.'"He was a brave man," I said --"he knew when to die, and how. Itis foolish to go mad from thirst and fall by Apache bullets, or beskinned alive -- it is in bad taste. Let us join Ramon Gallegos."'"That is right," said William Shaw.'"That is right," said George W. Kent.'I straightened the limbs of Ramon Gallegos and put a handkerchiefover his face. Then William Shaw said: "I should like to look like that-- a little while."'And George W. Kent said that he felt that way, too.'"It shall be so," I said: "the red devils will wait a week.William Shaw and George W. Kent, draw and kneel."'They did so and I stood before them.'" Almighty God, our Father," said I.'"Almighty God, our Father," said William Shaw.'"Almighty God, our Father," said George W. Kent.'"Forgive us our sins," said I.'"Forgive us our sins," said they.'"And receive our souls."'"And receive our souls."'"Amen!"'"Amen!"'I laid them beside Ramon Gallegos and covered their faces.'There was a quick commotion on the opposite side of the camp-fire:one of our party had sprung to his feet, pistol in hand.'And you!' he shouted -- 'you dared to escape? -- you dare to bealive? You cowardly hound, I'll send you to join them if I hang for it!'But with the leap of a panther the captain was upon him, graspinghis wrist. 'Hold it in, Sam Yountsey, hold it in!'We were now all upon our feet -- except the stranger, who satmotionless and apparently inattentive. Some one seized Yountsey's otherarm.'Captain,' I said, 'there is something wrong here. This fellow iseither a lunatic or merely a liar -- just a plain, everyday liar whomYountsey has no call to kill. If this man was of that party it had fivemembers, one of whom -- probably himself -- he has not named.''Yes,' said the captain, releasing the insurgent, who sat down,'there is something -- unusual. Years ago four dead bodies of white men,scalped and shamefully mutilated, were found about the mouth of thatcave. They are buried there; I have seen the graves -- we shall all seethem tomorrow.'The stranger rose, standing tall in the light of the expiring fire,which in our breathless attention to his story we had neglected to keepgoing.'There were four,' he said -- 'Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, GeorgeW. Kent, and Berry Davis.'With this reiterated roll-call of the dead he walked into thedarkness and we saw him no more. At that moment one of our party, whohad been on guard, strode in among us, rifle in hand and somewhat excited.'Captain,' he said, 'for the last half-hour three men have beenstanding out there on the mesa.' He pointed in the direction taken bythe stranger. 'I could see them distinctly, for the moon is up, but asthey had no guns and I had them covered with mine I thought it was theirmove. They have made none, but damn it! they have got on to my nerves.''Go back to your post, and stay till you see them again,' said thecaptain. 'The rest of you lie down again, or I'll kick you all into thefire.'The sentinel obediently withdrew, swearing, and did not return. Aswe were arranging our blankets the fiery Yountsey said: 'I beg yourpardon, Captain, but who the devil do you take them to be? ''Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, and George W. Kent.''But how about Berry Davis? I ought to have shot him.''Quite needless; you couldn't have made him any deader. Go to sleep.'

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The Stranger was featured as TheShort Story of the Day on Mon, May 16, 2016

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