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Updated: June 25, 2025
Presley and Vanamee had arranged to spend the day in each other's company, lunching at Solotari's and taking a long tramp in the afternoon. For the moment they sat back in their chairs, their meal all but finished. Solotari brought black coffee and a small carafe of mescal, and retiring to a corner of the room, went to sleep.
Vanamee is crazy in the head. Some morning he will turn up missing again, and drop out of sight for another three years. Best let him alone, Sarria. He's a crank. How is that greaser of yours up on Osterman's stock range?" "Ah, the poor fellow the poor fellow," returned the other, the tears coming to his eyes.
Concentrating his mind upon the one object with which it had so long been filled, Vanamee, his eyes closed, his face buried in his arms, exclaimed: "Come to me Angele don't you hear? Come to me." But the Answer was not in the Grave.
But it's broken. Got my property such as it was all back in a neat little parcel two weeks ago. That's why I quit friend Vanamee you ought to have known from that." "Did, I suppose, only I hoped it wasn't. I'm damn sorry, Ollie. "Thanks, Ted." They shake hands, but not theatrically. "Oh well oh hell oh dammit, you know how blasted sorry I am. That's all I can say, I guess "
He found his horse, and, tightening the girths, mounted and rode home under the sheen of the stars, thoughtful, his head bowed. Upon leaving Presley, Vanamee, his thumbs hooked into his empty cartridge belt, strode swiftly down from the hills of the Los Muertos stock-range and on through the silent town of Guadalajara.
"No," he cried, "I know I am sincere, and to prove it to you, I will publish my poem, as you say, in the daily press, and I will accept no money for it." They talked on for about an hour, while the evening wore away. Presley very soon noticed that Vanamee was again preoccupied. More than ever of late, his silence, his brooding had increased.
It was a veritable barbecue, a crude and primitive feasting, barbaric, homeric. But in all this scene Vanamee saw nothing repulsive. Presley would have abhorred it this feeding of the People, this gorging of the human animal, eager for its meat. Vanamee, simple, uncomplicated, living so close to nature and the rudimentary life, understood its significance.
They were within whispering distance. Vanamee, trembling, kept his head buried in his arm. The sounds, at length, paused definitely. The Vision could come no nearer. He raised his head and looked. The moon had risen. Its great shield of gold stood over the eastern horizon. Within six feet of Vanamee, clear and distinct, against the disk of the moon, stood the figure of a young girl.
It was of a vault-like stillness, and the closing of the door behind Vanamee reechoed from corner to corner with a prolonged reverberation of thunder. However, Father Sarria was not in the church. Vanamee took a couple of turns the length of the aisle, looking about into the chapels on either side of the chancel. But the building was deserted.
Never had Vanamee seen this more clearly than when leaving Presley on the stock range of Los Muertos, he had come across to the Mission garden by way of the Quien Sabe ranch. It was the same night in which Annixter out-watched the stars, coming, at last, to himself.
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