Ambrose Bierce

Ambrose Bierce

Bierce is best remembered for his ‘Devil’s Dictionary’, which was a cynical and very funny book of political criticism. His journalism was also quite sharp and he made many enemies in the world of politics. He disappeared at the age of 71, when he was sent to Mexico in 1913 to report on the war there. He never returned.

The Stranger

A man stepped out of the darkness into the little circle of light around our dying camp-fire and sat on a rock.

“You are not the first men to explore here,” he said seriously.

Nobody argued with him. He was there and so it must be true because he was not one of us and must be staying somewhere near the Ambrose Bierce was the tenth of thirteen children born to poor but literary parents in Indiana, USA, in 1842. He left home at fifteen and never studied at high school or university but is now seen as a master of English writing. Many of his short stories are based on his experience in the American Civil War from 1861 to 1865. He joined the Union Army as a soldier but, because of his bravery, he left at the end of the war as a major.

place where we were camping. What was more important, he must have friends not far away; it was not a place where anyone could live or travel alone. For more than a week we had seen only snakes and toads. In an Arizona desert, nobody can live alone with only animals like these: there must be horses or donkeys, food, guns. And all of these meant the stranger must have friends too. We did not know what kind of men this stranger's friends were. There was something dangerous in his words that made every one of our half dozen friends sit up and put his hand on his gun – like we were waiting for something to happen. The stranger paid no attention and again began to speak in the same deliberate, slow monotone:

“Thirty years ago, Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and Berry Davis, all from Arizona, crossed the Santa Catalina mountains and travelled west. We were looking for gold and it was our plan, if we found nothing, to carry on to the Gila River, somewhere near Big Bend, where we understood there was a small town. We had horses, food and guns, but nobody to show us the way – just Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and Berry Davis.”

The man repeated the names slowly and clearly, like he wanted us to remember them. Every one of us was now watching him carefully, but we were less worried about his friends somewhere in the darkness. There was nothing about this story teller that made us think he was unfriendly. His behaviour was more like a harmless madman’s than an enemy. We knew that the lonely lives of many people in this empty country made them strange and it was not always clear who was just lonely and who was mad. A man is like a tree: in a forest, he will grow as straight as his friends and family; but alone he can grow in many different directions. I was thinking this as I watched the man from the shadow of my hat, pulled down on my face to shut out the firelight. A strange man, certainly, but what was he doing there in the heart of a desert?

Now that I am telling this story, I want to describe the man's appearance; that would be the usual thing to do. Unfortunately, and quite strangely, I find that I can’t, because later none of us agreed about what he was wearing and how he looked; and when I try to write my own ideas, they escape me. Anyone can tell a story but description is a skill.

Nobody broke the silence and the visitor went on to say:

“Then this country was not like it is now. There was no ranch, just emptiness. There were a few animals here and there in the mountains and, near the very few water-holes, there was enough grass to keep our animals alive. If we did not meet any Indians, we could get to the next town. But a week later, the reason for our journey changed from finding riches to staying alive. We had gone too far to go back, because what was in front of us couldn’t be worse than what was behind; so we went on, riding at night to avoid Indians and the terrible heat, and hiding in the daytime. Sometimes, because we had finished our meat and emptied our bottles, we were days without food or drink; then we would find a water-hole and so got our strength back. And we could shoot some of the wild animals that came to the water-hole too. Sometimes it was a bear, sometimes an antelope, a coyote – they were all food.

“One morning as we looked up at a mountain, trying to find a way round it, we were attacked by some Apaches who had followed us – it is not far from here. Knowing that they outnumbered us ten to one, they didn’t even think, but ran at us on their horses, firing their guns and shouting. We could not fight: it was impossible: we forced our tired horses as far as they could go, then threw ourselves on the ground and ran up the hill, leaving everything we had to the enemy. But we kept our guns, every man - Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and Berry Davis.”

“The same old crowd,” said the joker of our party. A look of anger from our leader silenced him, and the stranger continued his story:

“The Apaches also got off their horses and some of them ran up the hill so that we could not get over the top. Twenty metres further were vertical mountains, but, directly in front of us, was a narrow opening. We ran into that, finding ourselves in a cave about as large as an ordinary room in a house. Here for a time we were safe: a single man with a gun could stop all the Apaches in the whole country. But we could not fight against hunger and thirst. We still had bravery, but hope was a memory.

“We never saw one of those Indians again, but from the smoke of their fires we knew that by day and by night they watched with guns ready – we knew that if we tried to leave the cave, not one of us would live to take three steps. For three days, watching, we waited before our hunger and thirst became impossible. Then – it was the morning of the fourth day – Ramon Gallegos said:

'"Sorry, gentlemen, if I shock you, but for me the time has come to end the Apaches’ game."

'He sat on the floor of the cave and put his gun against his head.

'And so he left us - William Shaw, George W. Kent and Berry Davis.

'I was the leader: it was for me to speak.

'"He was a brave man," I said, "he knew when to die and how. It is stupid to go mad from thirst or be skinned alive. Let’s join Ramon Gallegos."

'"That’s right," said William Shaw.

'"That’s right," said George W. Kent.

'I straightened Ramon Gallegos’ arms and legs and put a handkerchief over his face. Then William Shaw said: "I would like to look like that.” And George W. Kent said he felt that way, too.

'"I will do it," I said: "The devils will wait a week. William Shaw and George W. Kent, sit down."

'They did so and I stood in front of them.

'I put them beside Ramon Gallegos and covered their faces.'

There was a quick movement on the opposite side of the camp-fire: one of our group had jumped up, a gun in his hand.

“And you!” he shouted, “You escaped? You dog, I'll send you to join them!”

But like a lion, our captain was on him, holding his wrist. “Hold it, Sam, hold it!”

We were now all standing – except the stranger, who sat motionless and paid no attention. Someone took Sam's other arm.

“Captain,” I said, “there’s something wrong here. He’s either a madman or a liar – just a plain liar that Sam has no reason to kill. If this man was there, then there were five people, one of them – probably him! – he’s not named.”

“Yes,” said the captain, “there is something – unusual. Years ago, four dead bodies of white men were found at that cave. They are buried there; I have seen the graves – we shall all see them tomorrow.”

The stranger got up, standing tall in the light of the dying fire, which we had forgotten to keep going.

“There were four,” he said – “Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and Berry Davis.”

With this naming of the dead, he walked into the darkness and we saw him no more. At that moment, one of us, who had been on guard, walked in, a gun in his hand and looking excited.

“Captain,” he said, “for the last half-hour three men have stood out there on the mountain.” He pointed in the direction where the stranger had gone. “I could see them clearly, because the moon is up but, as they had no guns and I had mine, I waited. They have done nothing, but they have made me very nervous.”

“Go back and stay there till you see them again,” said the captain. “The rest of you lie down again, or I'll kick you all into the fire.”

The guard went away again and did not return. As we were making our beds, Sam said: “Sorry, Captain, but who were they? “

“Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, and George W. Kent.”

“But how about Berry Davis? Why did you stop me shooting him?”

“He was already dead. Go to sleep.”