Tigre and Isola

by Will H. Thompson

TIGRE and ISOLA

by Will H. Thompson

Author of “The High Tide at Gettysburg”

It seldom rains in Arizona. The narrow valleys that drain southward into Mexico are the most arid in America. But, on the night old Nuñez Pico died, a black cloud rolled over the ragged rim of the Canille Mountains, dragged itself slowly along, was ripped by the granite teeth, collapsed, and fell in a deluge of rain. The bare stone shoulders of the mountain heaved the floods into the canyons, from whose monstrous throats it came bellowing into the valley. The river-bed was overbrimmed and the lowland became a sea.

Far into the night we sat about the long table upon which lay the shrouded form of the old Spaniard. The solemnity of the vigil, the feeble light, and the tumult of the storm depressed our minds and caused our speech to be low and infrequent, and it was a distinct relief to me when Major Blanchard said:

“Twenty years ago to-night we had just such a storm as this.”

Something in the tone of his voice, and in the introspective eyes of the old soldier, moved me to say: “Major, if there is a story waiting to be told, it would be kind of you to give it to us now. This watch is going to be heavy and long.”

He mused for a moment, then said:

“It is hardly a story, yet more than an episode. It was the finest tragedy I ever witnessed.”