Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 81: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CROSSROADS. Juarez was pure Indian; Diaz was seven- eighths Indian. And in Onate there lived the instinct which made his ancestors take prisoners in order to sacrifice them at the altar of a heathen god, or torture them to a lingering, hideous death for his . own pleasure. It was for this reason that he sought the outlawry of Dix Van Dyck. Men have lived long years as outlaws in the South- west, but in the end they are sure to fall. They may leave their haunts and flee far away to escape the heavy_hand of the law, but in the end an instinct as inevitable as the homing sense of the carrier-pigeon makes them circle back, and they are caught. Moreover, from the date on which their outlawry begins they are followed by the consciousness that their capture is pre- doomed. They sever themselves from friends, for the best of friends may betray them for the price. Every stir of dead leaves may be the approaching footfalls of the captors. Every shadowy night may be the screen by which the trailers will stalk up to their prey. The mouth of every cave is like the yawning throat of a cannon; the head-hunters may lurk there. Every day is a lingering death. All of this Senor Onate knew perfectly. It was for this reason that he rubbed his fat hands together as he left the office of the governor; his heart was at peace with the world. Still, he was not utterly content. No sooner did he know that a price would be laid on the head of Dix Van Dyck than he was beset with a mighty fear lest some one else might collect that thousand dollars. Not that he cared deeply for the money itself. ‘There was little of the Jew in Onate. He loved money for the power it gave him rather than for the coin itself. In this case, however, the money meant more than gold. It would be a symbol of his victory; a memory of the crushing of Dix Van Dyck. Moreover, and above all, Dix Van Dyck must know, when he fell, what hand broughtghim down. Half the sweetness of revenge would be lost if some other hand accomplished it. He himself would net the outlaw. He him- 391 self would take the thousand dollars. He would cash the reward in fifty twenty-dollar gold-pieces. Five neat piles that would make, Five handfuls. In the evening when he sat on his veranda drinking tequila and nibbling the slices of lemon, he would. carry the gold in his pocket. He would count it with one hand, letting the heavy coins fall together in chiming showers. And he would call out his son, Rodriguez, a tall*and handsome youth, and tell him how a gringo dared to insult an Onate within the hearing of many men, and how that Onate took revenge, carefully, without danger to himself, which made the revenge trebly sweet. And at last he would take the gold from” his pocket and pour it from one hand to the other for the admiration of his son. At the thought of these things the mouth of Senor Onate moistened, and his eyes filled with tears of delight—for his was a simple soul which could be filled to over- flowing by little things, the burning of an enemy’s house or the death of a gringo. It was one thing to determine that Dix Van Dyck should fall by his direct power. It was quite another to accomplish this feat. He might, of course, hire a posse of noted gunmen to take the trail of the outlaw from Double Bend, where he had been last seen. But the noted gunmen were mostly white, and they would have little enthusiasm for trailing one of their kind. There was another alternative. It came to Senor that night while he sat on his veranda sipping his tequila and letting the white-hot poison trickle, drop’ by drop, down his grateful throat. His house sat on the outskirts of Guada- lupe, and while the sheriff sat there on the veranda he saw a tall figure of a-man swing ~ up the slope of the nearest hill, pause beside @ great Spanish dagger, and then plunge into the gloom on the further side. He knew by the gait of the runner, even at that distance, that it was El Tigre. At that the inspiration came to him. He stamped violently on the floor of the ve- randa. Instantly a house-servant stood re- spectfully behind his chair. ‘“ Bring one of the Indians to me,” com- manded Onate, “‘ and quickly.” COMICLDOOLX (C@