“Just now we saw him, but we lost him—”
“He’s down there,” someone added.
“He is an animal! He has to be shot!” Chávez cried out.
“¡Sí!” the men agreed.
“Now wait a moment—” It was my father who spoke. I do not know what he said because of the shouting. In the meantime I searched the dark of the river for Lupito. I finally saw him. He was about forty feet away, crouched in the reeds as before. The muddy waters of the river lapped and gurgled savagely around him. Before the night had been only cool, now it turned cold and I shivered. I was torn between a fear that made my body tremble, and a desire to help the poor man. But I could not move, I could only watch like a chained spectator.
“Márez is right!” I heard a booming voice on the bridge. In the lights I could make out the figure of Narciso. There was only one man that big and with that voice in town. I knew that Narciso was one of the old people from Las Pasturas, and that he was a good friend to my father. I knew they often drank together on Saturdays, and once or twice he had been to our house.
“¡Por Dios, hombres!” he shouted. “Let us act like men! That is not an animal down there, that is a man. Lupito. You all know Lupito. You know that the war made him sick—” But the men would not listen to Narciso. I guess it was because he was the town drunk, and they said he never did anything useful.
“Go back to your drinking and leave this job to men,” one of them jeered at him.
“He killed the sheriff in cold blood,” another added. I knew that the sheriff had been greatly admired.
“I am not drinking,” Narciso persisted, “it is you men who are drunk for blood. You have lost your reason—”
“Reason!” Chávez countered. “What reason did he have for killing my brother. You know,” he addressed the men, “my brother did no one harm. Tonight a mad animal crawled behind him and took his life. You call that reason! That animal has to be destroyed!”
“¡Sí! ¡Sí!” the men shouted in unison.
“At least let us try to talk to him,” Narciso begged. I knew that it was hard for a man of the llano to beg.
“Yes,” Vigil added, “perhaps he will give himself up—”
“Do you think he’ll listen to talk!” Chávez jumped forward. “He’s down there, and he still has the pistol that killed my brother! Go down and talk to him!” I could see Chávez shouting in Vigil’s face, and Vigil said nothing. Chávez laughed. “This is the only talk he will understand—” he turned and fired over the railing of the bridge. His shots roared then whined away down the river. I could hear the bullets make splashing noises in the water.
“Wait!” Narciso shouted. He took Chávez’ rifle and with one hand held it up. Chávez struggled against him but Narciso was too big and strong. “I will talk to him,” Narciso said. He pushed Chávez back. “I understand your sorrow Chávez,” he said, “but one killing is enough for tonight—” The men must have been impressed by his sincerity because they stood back and waited.
Narciso leaned over the concrete railing and shouted down into the darkness. “Hey Lupito! It is me, Narciso. It is me, hombre, your compadre. Listen my friend, a very bad business has happened tonight, but if we act like men we can settle it—Let me come down and talk to you, Lupito. Let me help you—”
I looked at Lupito. He had been watching the action on the bridge, but now as Narciso talked to him I saw his head slump on his chest. He seemed to be thinking. I prayed that he would listen to Narciso and that the angry and frustrated men on the bridge would not commit mortal sin. The night was very quiet. The men on the bridge awaited an answer. Only the lapping water of the river made a sound.
“¡Amigo!” Narciso shouted, “You know I am your friend, I want to help you, hombre—” He laughed softly. “Hey, Lupito, you remember just a few years ago, before you went to the war, you remember the first time you came into the Eight Ball to gamble a little. Remember how I taught you how Juan Botas marked the aces with a little tobacco juice, and he thought you were green, but you beat him!” He laughed again. “Those were good times, Lupito, before the war came. Now we have this bad business to settle. But we are friends who will help you—”
I saw Lupito’s tense body shake. A low, sad mournful cry tore itself from his throat and mixed into the lapping sound of the waters of the river. His head shook slowly, and I guess he must have been thinking and fighting between surrendering or remaining free, and hunted. Then like a coiled spring he jumped up, his pistol aimed straight up. There was a flash of fire and the loud report of the pistol. But he had not fired at Narciso or at any of the men on the bridge! The spotlights found him.