Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Western stories
These many meetings could not be made perfect without help from the
saloon-keeper, who ran his thriving trade conveniently at hand in the
office of the San Xavier. Our group remained near him, and I silently
resolved to sleep here at the hotel, away from the tempting confusion of
army hospitality upon this eve of our trial. We were expected, however,
to dine at the post, and that I was ready to do. Indeed, I could
scarcely have got myself out of it without rudeness, for the ambulance
was waiting us guests at the gate. We went to it along a latticed
passage at the edge of a tropical garden, only a few square yards in
all, but how pretty! and what an oasis of calm in the midst of this
teeming desolation of unrest! It had upon one side the railway station,
wooden, sordid, congesting with malodorous packed humanity; on the next
the rails themselves and the platform, with steam and bells and baggage
trucks rolling and bumping; the hotel stood on the third, a confusion
of tongues and trampings; while a wide space of dust, knee-deep, and
littered with manoeuvring vehicles, hemmed in this silent garden on
the fourth side. A slender slow little fountain dropped inaudibly among
some palms, a giant cactus, and the broad-spread shade of trees I did
not know. This was the whole garden, and a tame young antelope was its
inhabitant. He lay in the unchanging shade, his large eyes fixed
remotely upon the turmoil of this world, and a sleepy charm touched my
senses as I looked at his domain. Instead of going to dinner, or going
anywhere, I should have liked to recline indefinitely beneath those
palms and trail my fingers in the cool fountain. Such enlightened
languor, however, could by no happy chance be the lot of an important
witness in a Western robbery trial, and I dined and wined with the
jovial officers, at least talking no business.
With business I was sated. Pidcock and the attorney for the United
States--I can remember neither his name nor the proper title of his
office, for he was a nobody, and I had forgotten his features each new
time that we met--had mapped out the trial to me, preparing and
rehearsing me in my testimony until they had pestered me into a hatred
of them both. And when word was brought me here, dining at Lowell
Barracks, where I had imagined myself safe from justice, that this same
attorney was waiting to see me, I rose and I played him a trick.
Possibly I should not have done it but for the saloon-keeper in the
afternoon and this sustained dining now; but I sent him word I should be
with him directly--and I wandered into Tucson by myself!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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