Americans -- Philippines -- Fiction; Short stories
The following evening, as in the moonlight the Sergeant rode out to
inspect the outposts, a shot rang near and a bullet wailed overhead.
Pedro, through the bush screening him, saw the great horse shy and rear,
saw the Sergeant's graceful, almost lazy recover. Then man and beast
stood still, black, statuesque in the sheen of moon, the horse with ears
cocked forward, trembling beneath the compelling reining hand, the man
erect and proud on the high-pommelled saddle. There was a silence long
as infinity. The horse champed resoundingly at the heavy Mexican bit.
Pedro panted. Slowly the Sergeant turned his head, from the thicket to
the right, to the golden ribbon of road ahead, then smoothly, in
imperceptible movement, to the left. His eyes were upon Pedro; they
seemed to pierce the screen of brush to halt penetratingly upon the
assassin. And upon the face, clear in the moonlight, appeared the smile.
A sense of immense helplessness whelmed Pedro; he crouched lower; his
hands, flaccid, dropped their hold upon the gun which sank softly in
the high cogon. There was a long, throbbing silence. Then the tinkle of
spur rang out in silvery note. With an elastic bound the horse leaped
forward, immediately to be checked by the powerful guiding hand; and
slowly they moved down the moonlit road, horse and man, huge, black,
granite-hewn--unconquerable.
But Pedro, sneaking back, low behind the thicket, pressed both hands to
his breast as if to hold there the germ of an idea he felt within; and
with feverish haste hiding his gun, he crouched down at his accustomed
place to face it. It was a dolorous process. The thing sparked, flamed,
wavered, went out completely, sparked anew. He contemplated it fixedly,
encouraged it, fanned it; and finally for a moment it blazed, vivid,
calm, unforgettable.
"Alipusta!" he shouted triumphantly; "alipusta--contempt!" "Alipusta,"
he repeated slowly, contemplatively, the triumph of discovery sinking
into the ashes of realisation. Yes, that was it; it was contempt, that
smile, the smile of his caybigan; contempt, thorough, tranquil,
absolute.
II
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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