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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2574-0.txt b/2574-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..20adb72 --- /dev/null +++ b/2574-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5184 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Frontier, by Bret Harte + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: On the Frontier + +Author: Bret Harte + +Release Date: May 18, 2006 [EBook #2574] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE FRONTIER *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson + + + + + +ON THE FRONTIER + +By Bret Harte + + + + +CONTENTS + + +AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL + +A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE + +LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN + + + + +AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +It was noon of the 10th of August, 1838. The monotonous coast line +between Monterey and San Diego had set its hard outlines against the +steady glare of the Californian sky and the metallic glitter of +the Pacific Ocean. The weary succession of rounded, dome-like hills +obliterated all sense of distance; the rare whaling vessel or still +rarer trader, drifting past, saw no change in these rusty undulations, +barren of distinguishing peak or headland, and bald of wooded crest or +timbered ravine. The withered ranks of wild oats gave a dull procession +of uniform color to the hills, unbroken by any relief of shadow in their +smooth, round curves. As far as the eye could reach, sea and shore met +in one bleak monotony, flecked by no passing cloud, stirred by no sign +of life or motion. Even sound was absent; the Angelus, rung from the +invisible Mission tower far inland, was driven back again by the steady +northwest trades, that for half the year had swept the coast line and +left it abraded of all umbrage and color. + +But even this monotony soon gave way to a change and another monotony as +uniform and depressing. The western horizon, slowly contracting before +a wall of vapor, by four o'clock had become a mere cold, steely strip of +sea, into which gradually the northern trend of the coast faded and was +lost. As the fog stole with soft step southward, all distance, space, +character, and locality again vanished; the hills upon which the sun +still shone bore the same monotonous outlines as those just wiped into +space. Last of all, before the red sun sank like the descending host, +it gleamed upon the sails of a trading vessel close in shore. It was the +last object visible. A damp breath breathed upon it, a soft hand passed +over the slate, the sharp pencilling of the picture faded and became a +confused gray cloud. + +The wind and waves, too, went down in the fog; the now invisible and +hushed breakers occasionally sent the surf over the sand in a quick +whisper, with grave intervals of silence, but with no continuous murmur +as before. In a curving bight of the shore the creaking of oars in their +rowlocks began to be distinctly heard, but the boat itself, although +apparently only its length from the sands, was invisible. + +“Steady, now; way enough.” The voice came from the sea, and was low, as +if unconsciously affected by the fog. “Silence!” + +The sound of a keel grating the sand was followed by the order, “Stern +all!” from the invisible speaker. + +“Shall we beach her?” asked another vague voice. + +“Not yet. Hail again, and all together.” + +“Ah hoy--oi--oi--oy!” + +There were four voices, but the hail appeared weak and ineffectual, like +a cry in a dream, and seemed hardly to reach beyond the surf before +it was suffocated in the creeping cloud. A silence followed, but no +response. + +“It's no use to beach her and go ashore until we find the boat,” said +the first voice, gravely; “and we'll do that if the current has brought +her here. Are you sure you've got the right bearings?” + +“As near as a man could off a shore with not a blasted pint to take his +bearings by.” + +There was a long silence again, broken only by the occasional dip of +oars, keeping the invisible boat-head to the sea. + +“Take my word for it, lads, it's the last we'll see of that boat again, +or of Jack Cranch, or the captain's baby.” + +“It DOES look mighty queer that the painter should slip. Jack Cranch +ain't the man to tie a granny knot.” + +“Silence!” said the invisible leader. “Listen.” + +A hail, so faint and uncertain that it might have been the +long-deferred, far-off echo of their own, came from the sea, abreast of +them. + +“It's the captain. He hasn't found anything, or he couldn't be so far +north. Hark!” + +The hail was repeated again faintly, dreamily. To the seamen's trained +ears it seemed to have an intelligent significance, for the first voice +gravely responded, “Aye, aye!” and then said softly, “Oars.” + +The word was followed by a splash. The oars clicked sharply and +simultaneously in the rowlocks, then more faintly, then still fainter, +and then passed out into the darkness. + +The silence and shadow both fell together; for hours sea and shore were +impenetrable. Yet at times the air was softly moved and troubled, the +surrounding gloom faintly lightened as with a misty dawn, and then was +dark again; or drowsy, far-off cries and confused noises seemed to grow +out of the silence, and, when they had attracted the weary ear, sank +away as in a mocking dream, and showed themselves unreal. Nebulous +gatherings in the fog seemed to indicate stationary objects that, even +as one gazed, moved away; the recurring lap and ripple on the shingle +sometimes took upon itself the semblance of faint articulate laughter +or spoken words. But towards morning a certain monotonous grating on the +sand, that had for many minutes alternately cheated and piqued the ear, +asserted itself more strongly, and a moving, vacillating shadow in the +gloom became an opaque object on the shore. + +With the first rays of the morning light the fog lifted. As the undraped +hills one by one bared their cold bosoms to the sun, the long line of +coast struggled back to life again. Everything was unchanged, except +that a stranded boat lay upon the sands, and in its stern sheets a +sleeping child. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The 10th of August, 1852, brought little change to the dull monotony +of wind, fog, and treeless coast line. Only the sea was occasionally +flecked with racing sails that outstripped the old, slow-creeping +trader, or was at times streaked and blurred with the trailing smoke of +a steamer. There were a few strange footprints on those virgin sands, +and a fresh track, that led from the beach over the rounded hills, +dropped into the bosky recesses of a hidden valley beyond the coast +range. + +It was here that the refectory windows of the Mission of San Carmel had +for years looked upon the reverse of that monotonous picture presented +to the sea. It was here that the trade winds, shorn of their fury and +strength in the heated, oven-like air that rose from the valley, lost +their weary way in the tangled recesses of the wooded slopes, and +breathed their last at the foot of the stone cross before the Mission. +It was on the crest of those slopes that the fog halted and walled +in the sun-illumined plain below; it was in this plain that limitless +fields of grain clothed the fat adobe soil; here the Mission garden +smiled over its hedges of fruitful vines, and through the leaves of fig +and gnarled pear trees: and it was here that Father Pedro had lived for +fifty years, found the prospect good, and had smiled also. + +Father Pedro's smile was rare. He was not a Las Casas, nor a Junipero +Serra, but he had the deep seriousness of all disciples laden with the +responsible wording of a gospel not their own. And his smile had an +ecclesiastical as well as a human significance, the pleasantest object +in his prospect being the fair and curly head of his boy acolyte and +chorister, Francisco, which appeared among the vines, and his sweetest +pastoral music, the high soprano humming of a chant with which the boy +accompanied his gardening. + +Suddenly the acolyte's chant changed to a cry of terror. Running rapidly +to Father Pedro's side, he grasped his sotana, and even tried to hide +his curls among its folds. + +“'St! 'st!” said the Padre, disengaging himself with some impatience. +“What new alarm is this? Is it Luzbel hiding among our Catalan vines, or +one of those heathen Americanos from Monterey? Speak!” + +“Neither, holy father,” said the boy, the color struggling back into his +pale cheeks, and an apologetic, bashful smile lighting his clear eyes. +“Neither; but oh! such a gross, lethargic toad! And it almost leaped +upon me.” + +“A toad leaped upon thee!” repeated the good father with evident +vexation. “What next? I tell thee, child, those foolish fears are most +unmeet for thee, and must be overcome, if necessary, with prayer and +penance. Frightened by a toad! Blood of the Martyrs! 'Tis like any +foolish girl!” + +Father Pedro stopped and coughed. + +“I am saying that no Christian child should shrink from any of God's +harmless creatures. And only last week thou wast disdainful of poor +Murieta's pig, forgetting that San Antonio himself did elect one his +faithful companion, even in glory.” + +“Yes, but it was so fat, and so uncleanly, holy father,” replied the +young acolyte, “and it smelt so.” + +“Smelt so?” echoed the father doubtfully. “Have a care, child, that this +is not luxuriousness of the senses. I have noticed of late you gather +overmuch of roses and syringa, excellent in their way and in moderation, +but still not to be compared with the flower of Holy Church, the lily.” + +“But lilies don't look well on the refectory table, and against the +adobe wall,” returned the acolyte, with a pout of a spoilt child; “and +surely the flowers cannot help being sweet, any more than myrrh or +incense. And I am not frightened of the heathen Americanos either NOW. +There was a small one in the garden yesterday, a boy like me, and he +spoke kindly and with a pleasant face.” + +“What said he to thee, child?” asked Father Pedro, anxiously. + +“Nay, the matter of his speech I could not understand,” laughed the boy, +“but the manner was as gentle as thine, holy father.” + +“'St, child,” said the Padre impatiently. “Thy likings are as +unreasonable as thy fears. Besides, have I not told thee it ill becomes +a child of Christ to chatter with those sons of Belial? But canst thou +not repeat the words--the WORDS he said?” he continued suspiciously. + +“'Tis a harsh tongue the Americanos speak in their throat,” replied the +boy. “But he said 'Devilishnisse' and 'pretty-as-a-girl,' and looked at +me.” + +The good father made the boy repeat the words gravely, and as gravely +repeated them after him with infinite simplicity. “They are but +heretical words,” he replied in answer to the boy's inquiring look; +“it is well you understand not English. Enough. Run away, child, and be +ready for the Angelus. I will commune with myself awhile under the pear +trees.” + +Glad to escape so easily, the young acolyte disappeared down the alley +of fig trees, not without a furtive look at the patches of chickweed +around their roots, the possible ambuscade of creeping or saltant +vermin. The good priest heaved a sigh and glanced round the darkening +prospect. The sun had already disappeared over the mountain wall that +lay between him and the sea, rimmed with a faint white line of outlying +fog. A cool zephyr fanned his cheek; it was the dying breath of the +vientos generales beyond the wall. As Father Pedro's eyes were raised to +this barrier, which seemed to shut out the boisterous world beyond, he +fancied he noticed for the first time a slight breach in the parapet, +over which an advanced banner of the fog was fluttering. Was it an omen? +His speculations were cut short by a voice at his very side. + +He turned quickly and beheld one of those “heathens” against whom he +had just warned his young acolyte; one of that straggling band of +adventurers whom the recent gold discoveries had scattered along the +coast. Luckily the fertile alluvium of these valleys, lying parallel +with the sea, offered no “indications” to attract the gold seekers. +Nevertheless to Father Pedro even the infrequent contact with the +Americanos was objectionable; they were at once inquisitive and +careless; they asked questions with the sharp perspicacity of +controversy; they received his grave replies with the frank indifference +of utter worldliness. Powerful enough to have been tyrannical +oppressors, they were singularly tolerant and gentle, contenting +themselves with a playful, good-natured irreverence, which tormented +the good father more than opposition. They were felt to be dangerous and +subversive. + +The Americano, however, who stood before him did not offensively suggest +these national qualities. A man of middle height, strongly built, +bronzed and slightly gray from the vicissitudes of years and exposure, +he had an air of practical seriousness that commended itself to Father +Pedro. To his religious mind it suggested self-consciousness; expressed +in the dialect of the stranger it only meant “business.” + +“I'm rather glad I found you out here alone,” began the latter; “it +saves time. I haven't got to take my turn with the rest, in there”--he +indicated the church with his thumb--“and you haven't got to make an +appointment. You have got a clear forty minutes before the Angelus +rings,” he added, consulting a large silver chronometer, “and I reckon +I kin git through my part of the job inside of twenty, leaving you ten +minutes for remarks. I want to confess.” + +Father Pedro drew back with a gesture of dignity. The stranger, however, +laid his hand upon the Padre's sleeve with the air of a man anticipating +objection, but never refusal, and went on. + +“Of course, I know. You want me to come at some other time, and in +THERE. You want it in the reg'lar style. That's your way and your time. +My answer is: it ain't MY way and MY time. The main idea of confession, +I take it, is gettin' at the facts. I'm ready to give 'em if you'll +take 'em out here, now. If you're willing to drop the Church and +confessional, and all that sort o' thing, I, on my side, am willing +to give up the absolution, and all that sort o' thing. You might,” he +added, with an unconscious touch of pathos in the suggestion, “heave in +a word or two of advice after I get through; for instance, what YOU'D do +in the circumstances, you see! That's all. But that's as you please. It +ain't part of the business.” + +Irreverent as this speech appeared, there was really no trace of such +intention in his manner, and his evident profound conviction that +his suggestion was practical, and not at all inconsistent with +ecclesiastical dignity, would alone have been enough to touch the Padre, +had not the stranger's dominant personality already overridden him. He +hesitated. The stranger seized the opportunity to take his arm, and lead +him with the half familiarity of powerful protection to a bench beneath +the refectory window. Taking out his watch again, he put it in the +passive hands of the astonished priest, saying, “Time me,” cleared his +throat, and began:-- + +“Fourteen years ago there was a ship cruisin' in the Pacific, jest off +this range, that was ez nigh on to a Hell afloat as anything rigged kin +be. If a chap managed to dodge the cap'en's belayin-pin for a time, +he was bound to be fetched up in the ribs at last by the mate's boots. +There was a chap knocked down the fore hatch with a broken leg in the +Gulf, and another jumped overboard off Cape Corrientes, crazy as a loon, +along a clip of the head from the cap'en's trumpet. Them's facts. The +ship was a brigantine, trading along the Mexican coast. The cap'en +had his wife aboard, a little timid Mexican woman he'd picked up at +Mazatlan. I reckon she didn't get on with him any better than the men, +for she ups and dies one day, leavin' her baby, a year-old gal. One of +the crew was fond o' that baby. He used to get the black nurse to put it +in the dingy, and he'd tow it astern, rocking it with the painter like +a cradle. He did it--hatin' the cap'en all the same. One day the black +nurse got out of the dingy for a moment, when the baby was asleep, +leavin' him alone with it. An idea took hold on him, jest from +cussedness, you'd say, but it was partly from revenge on the cap'en and +partly to get away from the ship. The ship was well inshore, and the +current settin' towards it. He slipped the painter--that man--and set +himself adrift with the baby. It was a crazy act, you'd reckon, for +there wasn't any oars in the boat; but he had a crazy man's luck, and +he contrived, by sculling the boat with one of the seats he tore out, to +keep her out of the breakers, till he could find a bight in the shore +to run her in. The alarm was given from the ship, but the fog shut down +upon him; he could hear the other boats in pursuit. They seemed to close +in on him, and by the sound he judged the cap'en was just abreast of +him in the gig, bearing down upon him in the fog. He slipped out of the +dingy into the water without a splash, and struck out for the breakers. +He got ashore after havin' been knocked down and dragged in four times +by the undertow. He had only one idea then, thankfulness that he had not +taken the baby with him in the surf. You kin put that down for him: it's +a fact. He got off into the hills, and made his way up to Monterey.” + +“And the child?” asked the Padre, with a sudden and strange asperity +that boded no good to the penitent; “the child thus ruthlessly +abandoned--what became of it?” + +“That's just it, the child,” assented the stranger, gravely. “Well, if +that man was on his death-bed instead of being here talking to you, +he'd swear that he thought the cap'en was sure to come up to it the +next minit. That's a fact. But it wasn't until one day that he--that's +me--ran across one of that crew in Frisco. 'Hallo, Cranch,' sez he to +me, 'so you got away, didn't you? And how's the cap'en's baby? Grown a +young gal by this time, ain't she?' 'What are you talkin about,' ez I; +'how should I know?' He draws away from me, and sez, 'D--- it,' sez he, +'you don't mean that you' . . . I grabs him by the throat and makes him +tell me all. And then it appears that the boat and the baby were never +found again, and every man of that crew, cap'en and all, believed I had +stolen it.” + +He paused. Father Pedro was staring at the prospect with an +uncompromising rigidity of head and shoulder. + +“It's a bad lookout for me, ain't it?” the stranger continued, in +serious reflection. + +“How do I know,” said the priest harshly, without turning his head, +“that you did not make away with this child?” + +“Beg pardon.” + +“That you did not complete your revenge by--by--killing it, as your +comrade suspected you? Ah! Holy Trinity,” continued Father Pedro, +throwing out his hands with an impatient gesture, as if to take the +place of unutterable thought. + +“How do YOU know?” echoed the stranger coldly. + +“Yes.” + +The stranger linked his fingers together and threw them over his knee, +drew it up to his chest caressingly, and said quietly, “Because you DO +know.” + +The Padre rose to his feet. + +“What mean you?” he said, sternly fixing his eyes upon the speaker. +Their eyes met. The stranger's were gray and persistent, with hanging +corner lids that might have concealed even more purpose than they +showed. The Padre's were hollow, open, and the whites slightly brown, as +if with tobacco stains. Yet they were the first to turn away. + +“I mean,” returned the stranger, with the same practical gravity, “that +you know it wouldn't pay me to come here, if I'd killed the baby, unless +I wanted you to fix things right with me up there,” pointing skywards, +“and get absolution; and I've told you THAT wasn't in my line.” + +“Why do you seek me, then?” demanded the Padre, suspiciously. + +“Because I reckon I thought a man might be allowed to confess something +short of a murder. If you're going to draw the line below that--” + +“This is but sacrilegious levity,” interrupted Father Pedro, turning as +if to go. But the stranger did not make any movement to detain him. + +“Have you implored forgiveness of the father--the man you +wronged--before you came here?” asked the priest, lingering. + +“Not much. It wouldn't pay if he was living, and he died four years +ago.” + +“You are sure of that?” + +“I am.” + +“There are other relations, perhaps?” + +“None.” + +Father Pedro was silent. When he spoke again, it was with a changed +voice. “What is your purpose, then?” he asked, with the first indication +of priestly sympathy in his manner. “You cannot ask forgiveness of the +earthly father you have injured, you refuse the intercession of holy +Church with the Heavenly Father you have disobeyed. Speak, wretched man! +What is it you want?” + +“I want to find the child.” + +“But if it were possible, if she were still living, are you fit to seek +her, to even make yourself known to her, to appear before her?” + +“Well, if I made it profitable to her, perhaps.” + +“Perhaps,” echoed the priest, scornfully. “So be it. But why come here?” + +“To ask your advice. To know how to begin my search. You know this +country. You were here when that boat drifted ashore beyond that +mountain.” + +“Ah, indeed. I have much to do with it. It is an affair of the +alcalde--the authorities--of your--your police.” + +“Is it?” + +The Padre again met the stranger's eyes. He stopped, with the snuff box +he had somewhat ostentatiously drawn from his pocket still open in his +hand. + +“Why is it not, Senor?” he demanded. + +“If she lives, she is a young lady by this time, and might not want the +details of her life known to any one.” + +“And how will you recognize your baby in this young lady?” asked Father +Pedro, with a rapid gesture, indicating the comparative heights of a +baby and an adult. + +“I reckon I'll know her, and her clothes too; and whoever found her +wouldn't be fool enough to destroy them.” + +“After fourteen years! Good! you have faith, Senor--” + +“Cranch,” supplied the stranger, consulting his watch. “But time's up. +Business is business. Good-by; don't let me keep you.” + +He extended his hand. + +The Padre met it with a dry, unsympathetic palm, as sere and yellow +as the hills. When their hands separated, the father still hesitated, +looking at Cranch. If he expected further speech or entreaty from him he +was mistaken, for the American, without turning his head, walked in +the same serious, practical fashion down the avenue of fig trees, and +disappeared beyond the hedge of vines. The outlines of the mountain +beyond were already lost in the fog. Father Pedro turned into the +refectory. + +“Antonio.” + +A strong flavor of leather, onions, and stable preceded the entrance of +a short, stout vaquero from the little patio. + +“Saddle Pinto and thine own mule to accompany Francisco, who will +take letters from me to the Father Superior at San Jose to-morrow at +daybreak.” + +“At daybreak, reverend father?” + +“At daybreak. Hark ye, go by the mountain trails and avoid the highway. +Stop at no posada nor fonda, but if the child is weary, rest then awhile +at Don Juan Briones' or at the rancho of the Blessed Fisherman. Have no +converse with stragglers, least of all those gentile Americanos. +So . . .” + +The first strokes of the Angelus came from the nearer tower. With a +gesture Father Pedro waved Antonio aside, and opened the door of the +sacristy. + +“Ad Majorem Dei Gloria.” + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The hacienda of Don Juan Briones, nestling in a wooded cleft of the +foot-hills, was hidden, as Father Pedro had wisely reflected, from +the straying feet of travelers along the dusty highway to San Jose. As +Francisco, emerging from the canada, put spurs to his mule at the sight +of the whitewashed walls, Antonio grunted. + +“Oh aye, little priest! thou wast tired enough a moment ago, and though +we are not three leagues from the Blessed Fisherman, thou couldst +scarce sit thy saddle longer. Mother of God! and all to see that little +mongrel, Juanita.” + +“But, good Antonio, Juanita was my play-fellow, and I may not soon again +chance this way. And Juanita is not a mongrel, no more than I am.” + +“She is a mestiza, and thou art a child of the Church, though this +following of gypsy wenches does not show it.” + +“But Father Pedro does not object,” urged the boy. + +“The reverend father has forgotten he was ever young,” replied Antonio, +sententiously, “or he wouldn't set fire and tow together.” + +“What sayest thou, good Antonio?” asked Francisco quickly, opening his +blue eyes in frank curiosity; “who is fire, and who is tow?” + +The worthy muleteer, utterly abashed and confounded by this display +of the acolyte's direct simplicity, contented himself by shrugging his +shoulders, and a vague “Quien sabe?” + +“Come,” said the boy, gayly, “confess it is only the aguardiente of the +Blessed Fisherman thou missest. Never fear, Juanita will find thee some. +And see! here she comes.” + +There was a flash of white flounces along the dark brown corridor, the +twinkle of satin slippers, the flying out of long black braids, and with +a cry of joy a young girl threw herself upon Francisco as he entered the +patio, and nearly dragged him from his mule. + +“Have a care, little sister,” laughed the acolyte, looking at Antonio, +“or there will be a conflagration. Am I the fire?” he continued, +submitting to the two sounding kisses the young girl placed upon either +cheek, but still keeping his mischievous glance upon the muleteer. + +“Quien sabe?” repeated Antonio, gruffly, as the young girl blushed under +his significant eyes. “It is no affair of mine,” he added to himself, as +he led Pinto away. “Perhaps Father Pedro is right, and this young twig +of the Church is as dry and sapless as himself. Let the mestiza burn if +she likes.” + +“Quick, Pancho,” said the young girl, eagerly leading him along the +corridor. “This way. I must talk with thee before thou seest Don Juan; +that is why I ran to intercept thee, and not as that fool Antonio would +signify, to shame thee. Wast thou ashamed, my Pancho?” + +The boy threw his arm familiarly round the supple, stayless little +waist, accented only by the belt of the light flounced saya, and said, +“But why this haste and feverishness, 'Nita? And now I look at thee, +thou hast been crying.” + +They had emerged from a door in the corridor into the bright sunlight of +a walled garden. The girl dropped her eyes, cast a quick glance around +her, and said,-- + +“Not here, to the arroyo,” and half leading, half dragging him, made her +way through a copse of manzanita and alder until they heard the faint +tinkling of water. “Dost thou remember,” said the girl, “it was here,” + pointing to an embayed pool in the dark current, “that I baptized thee, +when Father Pedro first brought thee here, when we both played at being +monks? They were dear old days, for Father Pedro would trust no one with +thee but me, and always kept us near him.” + +“Aye and he said I would be profaned by the touch of any other, and so +himself always washed and dressed me, and made my bed near his.” + +“And took thee away again, and I saw thee not till thou camest with +Antonio, over a year ago, to the cattle branding. And now, my Pancho, I +may never see thee again.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed +aloud. + +The little acolyte tried to comfort her, but with such abstraction of +manner and inadequacy of warmth that she hastily removed his caressing +hand. + +“But why? What has happened?” he asked eagerly. + +The girl's manner had changed. Her eyes flashed, and she put her brown +fist on her waist and began to rock from side to side. + +“But I'll not go,” she said viciously. + +“Go where?” asked the boy. + +“Oh, where?” she echoed, impatiently. “Hear me, Francisco; thou knowest +I am, like thee, an orphan; but I have not, like thee, a parent in the +Holy Church. For, alas,” she added, bitterly, “I am not a boy, and +have not a lovely voice borrowed from the angels. I was, like thee, a +foundling, kept by the charity of the reverend fathers, until Don Juan, +a childless widower, adopted me. I was happy, not knowing and caring who +were the parents who had abandoned me, happy only in the love of him who +became my adopted father. And now--” She paused. + +“And now?” echoed Francisco, eagerly. + +“And now they say it is discovered who are my parents.” + +“And they live?” + +“Mother of God! no,” said the girl, with scarcely filial piety. “There +is some one, a thing, a mere Don Fulano, who knows it all, it seems, who +is to be my guardian.” + +“But how? tell me all, dear Juanita,” said the boy with a feverish +interest, that contrasted so strongly with his previous abstraction that +Juanita bit her lips with vexation. + +“Ah! How? Santa Barbara! an extravaganza for children. A necklace of +lies. I am lost from a ship of which my father--Heaven rest him--is +General, and I am picked up among the weeds on the sea-shore, like Moses +in the bulrushes. A pretty story, indeed.” + +“Oh, how beautiful!” exclaimed Francisco, enthusiastically. “Ah, +Juanita, would it had been me.” + +“THEE!” said the girl bitterly,--“thee! No!--it was a girl wanted. +Enough, it was me.” + +“And when does the guardian come?” persisted the boy, with sparkling +eyes. + +“He is here even now, with that pompous fool the American alcalde from +Monterey, a wretch who knows nothing of the country or the people, but +who helped the other American to claim me. I tell thee, Francisco, like +as not it is all a folly, some senseless blunder of those Americanos +that imposes upon Don Juan's simplicity and love for them.” + +“How looks he, this Americano who seeks thee?” asked Francisco. + +“What care I how he looks,” said Juanita, “or what he is? He may have +the four S's, for all I care. Yet,” she added with a slight touch of +coquetry, “he is not bad to look upon, now I recall him.” + +“Had he a long moustache and a sad, sweet smile, and a voice so gentle +and yet so strong that you felt he ordered you to do things with out +saying it? And did his eye read your thoughts?--that very thought that +you must obey him?” + +“Saints preserve thee, Pancho! Of whom dost thou speak?” + +“Listen, Juanita. It was a year ago, the eve of Natividad, he was in the +church when I sang. Look where I would, I always met his eye. When the +canticle was sung and I was slipping into the sacristy, he was beside +me. He spoke kindly, but I understood him not. He put into my hand gold +for an aguinaldo. I pretended I understood not that also, and put it +into the box for the poor. He smiled and went away. Often have I seen +him since, and last night, when I left the Mission, he was there again +with Father Pedro.” + +“And Father Pedro, what said he of him?” asked Juanita. + +“Nothing.” The boy hesitated. “Perhaps--because I said nothing of the +stranger.” + +Juanita laughed. “So thou canst keep a secret from the good father when +thou carest. But why dost thou think this stranger is my new guardian?” + +“Dost thou not see, little sister? he was even then seeking thee,” said +the boy with joyous excitement. “Doubtless he knew we were friends and +playmates--may be the good father has told him thy secret. For it is no +idle tale of the alcalde, believe me. I see it all! It is true!” + +“Then thou wilt let him take me away,” exclaimed the girl bitterly, +withdrawing the little hand he had clasped in his excitement. + +“Alas, Juanita, what avails it now? I am sent to San Jose, charged with +a letter to the Father Superior, who will give me further orders. What +they are, or how long I must stay, I know not. But I know this: the good +Father Pedro's eyes were troubled when he gave me his blessing, and +he held me long in his embrace. Pray Heaven I have committed no fault. +Still it may be that the reputation of my gift hath reached the Father +Superior, and he would advance me.” And Francisco's eyes lit up with +youthful pride at the thought. + +Not so Juanita. Her black eyes snapped suddenly with suspicion, she +drew in her breath, and closed her little mouth firmly. Then she began a +crescendo. + +Mother of God! was that all? Was he a child, to be sent away for such +time or for such purpose as best pleased the fathers? Was he to know +no more than that? With such gifts as God had given him, was he not at +least to have some word in disposing of them? Ah! SHE would not stand +it. + +The boy gazed admiringly at the piquant energy of the little figure +before him, and envied her courage. “It is the mestizo blood,” he +murmured to himself. Then aloud, “Thou shouldst have been a man, 'Nita.” + +“And thou a woman.” + +“Or a priest. Eh, what is that?” + +They had both risen, Juanita defiantly, her black braids flying as she +wheeled and suddenly faced the thicket, Francisco clinging to her with +trembling hands and whitened lips. A stone, loosened from the hillside, +had rolled to their feet; there was a crackling in the alders on the +slope above them. + +“Is it a bear, or a brigand?” whispered Francisco, hurriedly, sounding +the uttermost depths of his terror in the two words. + +“It is an eavesdropper,” said Juanita, impetuously; “and who and why, I +intend to know,” and she started towards the thicket. + +“Do not leave me, good Juanita,” said the young acolyte, grasping the +girl's skirt. + +“Nay; run to the hacienda quickly, and leave me to search the thicket. +Run!” + +The boy did not wait for a second injunction, but scuttled away, his +long coat catching in the brambles, while Juanita darted like a +kitten into the bushes. Her search was fruitless, however, and she was +returning impatiently when her quick eye fell upon a letter lying amidst +the dried grass where she and Francisco had been seated the moment +before. It had evidently fallen from his breast when he had risen +suddenly, and been overlooked in his alarm. It was Father Pedro's letter +to the Father Superior of San Jose. + +In an instant she had pounced upon it as viciously as if it had been the +interloper she was seeking. She knew that she held in her fingers the +secret of Francisco's sudden banishment. She felt instinctively that +this yellowish envelope, with its red string and its blotch of red seal, +was his sentence and her own. The little mestiza had not been brought up +to respect the integrity of either locks or seals, both being unknown +in the patriarchal life of the hacienda. Yet with a certain feminine +instinct she looked furtively around her, and even managed to dislodge +the clumsy wax without marring the pretty effigy of the crossed keys +impressed upon it. Then she opened the letter and read. + +Suddenly she stopped and put back her hair from her brown temples. Then +a succession of burning blushes followed each other in waves from her +neck up, and died in drops of moisture in her eyes. This continued until +she was fairly crying, dropping the letter from her hands and rocking +to and fro. In the midst of this she quickly stopped again; the clouds +broke, a sunshine of laughter started from her eyes, she laughed shyly, +she laughed loudly, she laughed hysterically. Then she stopped again as +suddenly, knitted her brows, swooped down once more upon the letter, and +turned to fly. But at the same moment the letter was quietly but firmly +taken from her hand, and Mr. Jack Cranch stood beside her. + +Juanita was crimson, but unconquered. She mechanically held out her hand +for the letter; the American took her little fingers, kissed them, and +said:-- + +“How are you again?” + +“The letter,” replied Juanita, with a strong disposition to stamp her +foot. + +“But,” said Cranch, with business directness, “you've read enough to +know it isn't for you.” + +“Nor for you either,” responded Juanita. + +“True. It is for the Reverend Father Superior of San Jose Mission. I'll +give it to him.” + +Juanita was becoming alarmed, first at this prospect, second at +the power the stranger seemed to be gaining over her. She recalled +Francisco's description of him with something like superstitious awe. + +“But it concerns Francisco. It contains a secret he should know.” + +“Then you can tell him it. Perhaps it would come easier from you.” + +Juanita blushed again. “Why?” she asked, half dreading his reply. + +“Because,” said the American, quietly, “you are old playmates; you are +attached to each other.” + +Juanita bit her lips. “Why don't you read it yourself?” she asked +bluntly. + +“Because I don't read other people's letters, and if it concerns me +you'll tell me.” + +“What if I don't?” + +“Then the Father Superior will.” + +“I believe you know Francisco's secret already,” said the girl, boldly. + +“Perhaps.” + +“Then, Mother of God! Senor Crancho, what do you want?” + +“I do not want to separate two such good friends as you and Francisco.” + +“Perhaps you'd like to claim us both,” said the girl, with a sneer that +was not devoid of coquetry. + +“I should be delighted.” + +“Then here is your occasion, Senor, for here comes my adopted father, +Don Juan, and your friend, Senor Br--r--own, the American alcalde.” + +Two men appeared in the garden path below them. The stiff, glazed, +broad-brimmed black hat, surmounting a dark face of Quixotic gravity +and romantic rectitude, indicated Don Juan Briones. His companion, lazy, +specious, and red-faced, was Senor Brown, the American alcalde. + +“Well, I reckon we kin about call the thing fixed,” said Senor Brown, +with a large wave of the hand, suggesting a sweeping away of all trivial +details. “Ez I was saying to the Don yer, when two high-toned gents like +you and him come together in a delicate matter of this kind, it ain't no +hoss trade nor sharp practice. The Don is that lofty in principle that +he's willin' to sacrifice his affections for the good of the gal; and +you, on your hand, kalkilate to see all he's done for her, and go your +whole pile better. You'll make the legal formalities good. I reckon that +old Injin woman who can swear to the finding of the baby on the shore +will set things all right yet. For the matter o' that, if you want +anything in the way of a certificate, I'm on hand always.” + +“Juanita and myself are at your disposition, caballeros,” said Don Juan, +with a grave exaltation. “Never let it be said that the Mexican nation +was outdone by the great Americanos in deeds of courtesy and affection. +Let it rather stand that Juanita was a sacred trust put into my hands +years ago by the goddess of American liberty, and nurtured in the +Mexican eagle's nest. Is it not so, my soul?” he added, more humanly, to +the girl, when he had quite recovered from the intoxication of his own +speech. “We love thee, little one, but we keep our honor.” + +“There's nothing mean about the old man,” said Brown, admiringly, with a +slight dropping of his left eyelid; “his head is level, and he goes with +his party.” + +“Thou takest my daughter, Senor Cranch,” continued the old man, carried +away by his emotion; “but the American nation gives me a son.” + +“You know not what you say, father,” said the young girl, angrily, +exasperated by a slight twinkle in the American's eye. + +“Not so,” said Cranch. “Perhaps one of the American nation may take him +at his word.” + +“Then, caballeros, you will, for the moment at least, possess yourselves +of the house and its poor hospitality,” said Don Juan, with time-honored +courtesy, producing the rustic key of the gate of the patio. “It is +at your disposition, caballeros,” he repeated, leading the way as his +guests passed into the corridor. + +Two hours passed. The hills were darkening on their eastern slopes; the +shadows of the few poplars that sparsedly dotted the dusty highway were +falling in long black lines that looked like ditches on the dead level +of the tawny fields; the shadows of slowly moving cattle were mingling +with their own silhouettes, and becoming more and more grotesque. A keen +wind rising in the hills was already creeping from the canada as from +the mouth of a funnel, and sweeping the plains. Antonio had forgathered +with the servants, had pinched the ears of the maids, had partaken of +aguardiente, had saddled the mules,--Antonio was becoming impatient. + +And then a singular commotion disturbed the peaceful monotony of the +patriarchal household of Don Juan Briones. The stagnant courtyard was +suddenly alive with peons and servants, running hither and thither. The +alleys and gardens were filled with retainers. A confusion of questions, +orders, and outcrys rent the air, the plains shook with the galloping of +a dozen horsemen. For the acolyte Francisco, of the Mission San Carmel, +had disappeared and vanished, and from that day the hacienda of Don Juan +Briones knew him no more. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +When Father Pedro saw the yellow mules vanish under the low branches +of the oaks beside the little graveyard, caught the last glitter of the +morning sun on Pinto's shining headstall, and heard the last tinkle of +Antonio's spurs, something very like a mundane sigh escaped him. To +the simple wonder of the majority of early worshipers--the half-breed +converts who rigorously attended the spiritual ministrations of the +Mission, and ate the temporal provisions of the reverend fathers--he +deputed the functions of the first mass to a coadjutor, and, breviary in +hand, sought the orchard of venerable pear trees. Whether there was +any occult sympathy in his reflections with the contemplation of their +gnarled, twisted, gouty, and knotty limbs, still bearing gracious and +goodly fruit, I know not, but it was his private retreat, and under one +of the most rheumatic and misshapen trunks there was a rude seat. Here +Father Pedro sank, his face towards the mountain wall between him and +the invisible sea. The relentless, dry, practical Californian sunlight +falling on his face grimly pointed out a night of vigil and suffering. +The snuffy yellow of his eyes was injected yet burning, his temples were +ridged and veined like a tobacco leaf; the odor of desiccation which +his garments always exhaled was hot and feverish, as if the fire had +suddenly awakened among the ashes. + +Of what was Father Pedro thinking? + +He was thinking of his youth, a youth spent under the shade of those +pear trees, even then venerable as now. He was thinking of his youthful +dreams of heathen conquest, emulating the sacrifices and labors of +Junipero Serra; a dream cut short by the orders of the archbishop, that +sent his companion, Brother Diego, north on a mission to strange lands, +and condemned him to the isolation of San Carmel. He was thinking of +that fierce struggle with envy of a fellow creature's better fortune +that, conquered by prayer and penance, left him patient, submissive, and +devoted to his humble work; how he raised up converts to the faith, even +taking them from the breast of heretic mothers. + +He recalled how once, with the zeal of propagandism quickening in the +instincts of a childless man, he had dreamed of perpetuating his work +through some sinless creation of his own; of dedicating some virgin +soul, one over whom he could have complete control, restricted by no +human paternal weakness, to the task he had begun. But how? Of all the +boys eagerly offered to the Church by their parents there seemed none +sufficiently pure and free from parental taint. He remembered how one +night, through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin herself, as he +firmly then believed, this dream was fulfilled. An Indian woman brought +him a Waugee child--a baby-girl that she had picked up on the sea-shore. +There were no parents to divide the responsibility, the child had no +past to confront, except the memory of the ignorant Indian woman, who +deemed her duty done, and whose interest ceased in giving it to the +Padre. The austere conditions of his monkish life compelled him to the +first step in his adoption of it--the concealment of its sex. This was +easy enough, as he constituted himself from that moment its sole nurse +and attendant, and boldly baptized it among the other children by the +name of Francisco. No others knew its origin, nor cared to know. Father +Pedro had taken a muchacho foundling for adoption; his jealous seclusion +of it and his personal care was doubtless some sacerdotal formula at +once high and necessary. + +He remembered with darkening eyes and impeded breath how his close +companionship and daily care of this helpless child had revealed to him +the fascinations of that paternity denied to him; how he had deemed it +his duty to struggle against the thrill of baby fingers laid upon his +yellow cheeks, the pleading of inarticulate words, the eloquence of +wonder-seeing and mutely questioning eyes; how he had succumbed +again and again, and then struggled no more, seeing only in them the +suggestion of childhood made incarnate in the Holy Babe. And yet, even +as he thought, he drew from his gown a little shoe, and laid it beside +his breviary. It was Francisco's baby slipper, a duplicate to those worn +by the miniature waxen figure of the Holy Virgin herself in her niche in +the transept. + +Had he felt during these years any qualms of conscience at this +concealment of the child's sex? None. For to him the babe was sexless, +as most befitted one who was to live and die at the foot of the altar. +There was no attempt to deceive God; what mattered else? Nor was he +withholding the child from the ministrations of the sacred sisters; +there was no convent near the Mission, and as each year passed, the +difficulty of restoring her to the position and duties of her sex became +greater and more dangerous. And then the acolyte's destiny was sealed +by what again appeared to Father Pedro as a direct interposition of +Providence. The child developed a voice of such exquisite sweetness and +purity that an angel seemed to have strayed into the little choir, and +kneeling worshipers below, transported, gazed upwards, half expectant of +a heavenly light breaking through the gloom of the raftered ceiling. +The fame of the little singer filled the valley of San Carmel; it was a +miracle vouchsafed the Mission; Don Jose Peralta remembered, ah yes, to +have heard in old Spain of boy choristers with such voices! + +And was this sacred trust to be withdrawn from him? Was this life which +he had brought out of an unknown world of sin, unstained and pure, +consecrated and dedicated to God, just in the dawn of power and promise +for the glory of the Mother Church, to be taken from his side? And at +the word of a self-convicted man of sin--a man whose tardy repentance +was not yet absolved by the Holy Church. Never! never! Father Pedro +dwelt upon the stranger's rejection of the ministrations of the Church +with a pitiable satisfaction; had he accepted it, he would have had a +sacred claim upon Father Pedro's sympathy and confidence. Yet he rose +again, uneasily and with irregular steps returned to the corridor, +passing the door of the familiar little cell beside his own. The window, +the table, and even the scant toilette utensils were filled with the +flowers of yesterday, some of them withered and dry; the white gown of +the little chorister was hanging emptily against the wall. Father Pedro +started and trembled; it seemed as if the spiritual life of the child +had slipped away with its garments. + +In that slight chill, which even in the hottest days in California +always invests any shadow cast in that white sunlight, Father Pedro +shivered in the corridor. Passing again into the garden, he followed +in fancy the wayfaring figure of Francisco, saw the child arrive at +the rancho of Don Juan, and with the fateful blindness of all dreamers +projected a picture most unlike the reality. He followed the pilgrims +even to San Jose, and saw the child deliver the missive which gave +the secret of her sex and condition to the Father Superior. That the +authority at San Jose might dissent with the Padre of San Carmel, +or decline to carry out his designs, did not occur to the one-idea'd +priest. Like all solitary people, isolated from passing events, he made +no allowances for occurrences outside of his routine. Yet at this moment +a sudden thought whitened his yellow cheek. What if the Father Superior +deemed it necessary to impart the secret to Francisco? Would the child +recoil at the deception, and, perhaps, cease to love him? It was the +first time, in his supreme selfishness, he had taken the acolyte's +feelings into account. He had thought of him only as one owing implicit +obedience to him as a temporal and spiritual guide. + +“Reverend Father!” + +He turned impatiently. It was his muleteer, Jose. Father Pedro's sunken +eye brightened. + +“Ah, Jose! Quickly, then; hast thou found Sanchicha?” + +“Truly, your reverence! And I have brought her with me, just as she is; +though if your reverence make more of her than to fill the six-foot hole +and say a prayer over her, I'll give the mule that brought her here for +food for the bull's horns. She neither hears nor speaks, but whether +from weakness or sheer wantonness, I know not.” + +“Peace, then! and let thy tongue take example from hers. Bring her with +thee into the sacristy and attend without. Go!” + +Father Pedro watched the disappearing figure of the muleteer and +hurriedly swept his thin, dry hand, veined and ribbed like a brown +November leaf, over his stony forehead, with a sound that seemed almost +a rustle. Then he suddenly stiffened his fingers over his breviary, +dropped his arms perpendicularly before him, and with a rigid step +returned to the corridor and passed into the sacristy. + +For a moment in the half-darkness the room seemed to be empty. Tossed +carelessly in the corner appeared some blankets topped by a few +straggling black horse tails, like an unstranded riata. A trembling +agitated the mass as Father Pedro approached. He bent over the heap +and distinguished in its midst the glowing black eyes of Sanchicha, +the Indian centenarian of the Mission San Carmel. Only her eyes lived. +Helpless, boneless, and jelly-like, old age had overtaken her with a +mild form of deliquescence. + +“Listen, Sanchicha,” said the father, gravely. “It is important that +thou shouldst refresh thy memory for a moment. Look back fourteen years, +mother; it is but yesterday to thee. Thou dost remember the baby--a +little muchacha thou broughtest me then--fourteen years ago?” + +The old woman's eyes became intelligent, and turned with a quick look +towards the open door of the church, and thence towards the choir. + +The Padre made a motion of irritation. “No, no! Thou dost not +understand; thou dost not attend me. Knowest thou of any mark of +clothing, trinket, or amulet found upon the babe?” + +The light of the old woman's eyes went out. She might have been dead. +Father Pedro waited a moment, and then laid his hand impatiently on her +shoulder. + +“Dost thou mean there are none?” + +A ray of light struggled back into her eyes. + +“None.” + +“And thou hast kept back or put away no sign nor mark of her parentage? +Tell me, on this crucifix.” + +The eyes caught the crucifix, and became as empty as the orbits of the +carven Christ upon it. + +Father Pedro waited patiently. A moment passed; only the sound of the +muleteer's spurs was heard in the courtyard. + +“It is well,” he said at last, with a sigh of relief. “Pepita shall +give thee some refreshment, and Jose will bring thee back again. I will +summon him.” + +He passed out of the sacristy door, leaving it open. A ray of sunlight +darted eagerly in, and fell upon the grotesque heap in the corner. +Sanchicha's eyes lived again; more than that, a singular movement came +over her face. The hideous caverns of her toothless mouth opened--she +laughed. The step of Jose was heard in the corridor, and she became +again inert. + +The third day, which should have brought the return of Antonio, was +nearly spent. Father Pedro was impatient but not alarmed. The good +fathers at San Jose might naturally detain Antonio for the answer, which +might require deliberation. If any mischance had occurred to Francisco, +Antonio would have returned or sent a special messenger. At sunset he +was in his accustomed seat in the orchard, his hands clasped over the +breviary in his listless lap, his eyes fixed upon the mountain between +him and that mysterious sea that had brought so much into his life. He +was filled with a strange desire to see it, a vague curiosity hitherto +unknown to his preoccupied life; he wished to gaze upon that strand, +perhaps the very spot where she had been found; he doubted not his +questioning eyes would discover some forgotten trace of her; under his +persistent will and aided by the Holy Virgin, the sea would give up its +secret. He looked at the fog creeping along the summit, and recalled the +latest gossip of San Carmel; how that since the advent of the Americanos +it was gradually encroaching on the Mission. The hated name vividly +recalled to him the features of the stranger as he had stood before him +three nights ago, in this very garden; so vividly that he sprang to +his feet with an exclamation. It was no fancy, but Senor Cranch himself +advancing from under the shadow of a pear tree. + +“I reckoned I'd catch you here,” said Mr. Cranch, with the same dry, +practical business fashion, as if he was only resuming an interrupted +conversation, “and I reckon I ain't going to keep you a minit longer +than I did t'other day.” He mutely referred to his watch, which he +already held in his hand, and then put it back in his pocket. “Well! we +found her!” + +“Francisco,” interrupted the priest with a single stride, laying his +hand upon Cranch's arm, and staring into his eyes. + +Mr. Cranch quietly removed Father Pedro's hand. “I reckon that wasn't +the name as I caught it,” he returned dryly. “Hadn't you better sit +down?” + +“Pardon me--pardon me, Senor,” said the priest, hastily sinking back +upon his bench, “I was thinking of other things. You--you--came upon me +suddenly. I thought it was the acolyte. Go on, Senor! I am interested.” + +“I thought you'd be,” said Cranch, quietly. “That's why I came. And then +you might be of service too.” + +“True, true,” said the priest, with rapid accents; “and this girl, +Senor, this girl is--” + +“Juanita, the mestiza, adopted daughter of Don Juan Briones, over on +the Santa Clare Valley,” replied Cranch, jerking his thumb over his +shoulder, and then sitting down upon the bench beside Father Pedro. + +The priest turned his feverish eyes piercingly upon his companion for a +few seconds, and then doggedly fixed them upon the ground. Cranch drew +a plug of tobacco from his pocket, cut off a portion, placed it in his +cheek, and then quietly began to strap the blade of his jack-knife upon +his boot. Father Pedro saw it from under his eyelids, and even in his +preoccupation despised him. + +“Then you are certain she is the babe you seek?” said the father, +without looking up. + +“I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything. Her age tallies; +she was the only foundling girl baby baptized by you, you know,”--he +partly turned round appealingly to the Padre,--“that year. Injin woman +says she picked up a baby. Looks like a pretty clear case, don't it?” + +“And the clothes, friend Cranch?” said the priest, with his eyes still +on the ground, and a slight assumption of easy indifference. + +“They will be forthcoming, like enough, when the time comes,” said +Cranch; “the main thing at first was to find the girl; that was MY job; +the lawyers, I reckon, can fit the proofs and say what's wanted, later +on.” + +“But why lawyers,” continued Padre Pedro, with a slight sneer he could +not repress, “if the child is found and Senor Cranch is satisfied?” + +“On account of the property. Business is business!” + +“The property?” + +Mr. Cranch pressed the back of his knife-blade on his boot, shut it up +with a click, and putting it in his pocket said calmly,-- + +“Well, I reckon the million of dollars that her father left when he +died, which naturally belongs to her, will require some proof that she +is his daughter.” + +He had placed both his hands in his pockets, and turned his eyes full +upon Father Pedro. The priest arose hurriedly. + +“But you said nothing of this before, Senor Cranch,” said he, with a +gesture of indignation, turning his back quite upon Cranch, and taking a +step towards the refectory. + +“Why should I? I was looking after the girl, not the property,” returned +Cranch, following the Padre with watchful eyes, but still keeping his +careless, easy attitude. + +“Ah, well! Will it be said so, think you? Eh! Bueno. What will the world +think of your sacred quest, eh?” continued the Padre Pedro, forgetting +himself in his excitement, but still averting his face from his +companion. + +“The world will look after the proofs, and I reckon not bother if the +proofs are all right,” replied Cranch, carelessly; “and the girl won't +think the worse of me for helping her to a fortune. Hallo! you've +dropped something.” He leaped to his feet, picked up the breviary which +had fallen from the Padre's fingers, and returned it to him with a +slight touch of gentleness that was unsuspected in the man. + +The priest's dry, tremulous hand grasped the volume without +acknowledgment. + +“But these proofs?” he said hastily; “these proofs, Senor?” + +“Oh, well, you'll testify to the baptism, you know.” + +“But if I refuse; if I will have nothing to do with this thing! If I +will not give my word that there is not some mistake,” said the priest, +working himself into a feverish indignation. “That there are not slips +of memory, eh? Of so many children baptized, is it possible for me to +know which, eh? And if this Juanita is not your girl, eh?” + +“Then you'll help me to find who is,” said Cranch, coolly. + +Father Pedro turned furiously on his tormentor. Overcome by his vigil +and anxiety. He was oblivious of everything but the presence of the man +who seemed to usurp the functions of his own conscience. “Who are +you, who speak thus?” he said hoarsely, advancing upon Cranch with +outstretched and anathematizing fingers. “Who are you, Senor Heathen, +who dare to dictate to me, a Father of Holy Church? I tell you, I +will have none of this. Never! I will not. From this moment, you +understand--nothing. I will never . . .” + +He stopped. The first stroke of the Angelus rang from the little tower. +The first stroke of that bell before whose magic exorcism all human +passions fled, the peaceful bell that had for fifty years lulled the +little fold of San Carmel to prayer and rest, came to his throbbing +ear. His trembling hands groped for the crucifix, carried it to his +left breast; his lips moved in prayer. His eyes were turned to the cold, +passionless sky, where a few faint, far-spaced stars had silently +stolen to their places. The Angelus still rang, his trembling ceased, he +remained motionless and rigid. + +The American, who had uncovered in deference to the worshiper rather +than the rite, waited patiently. The eyes of Father Pedro returned +to the earth, moist as if with dew caught from above. He looked half +absently at Cranch. + +“Forgive me, my son,” he said, in a changed voice. “I am only a worn +old man. I must talk with thee more of this--but not to-night--not +to-night;--to-morrow--to-morrow--to-morrow.” + +He turned slowly and appeared to glide rather than move under the trees, +until the dark shadow of the Mission tower met and encompassed him. +Cranch followed him with anxious eyes. Then he removed the quid of +tobacco from his cheek. + +“Just as I reckoned,” remarked he, quite audibly. “He's clean gold on +the bed rock after all!” + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +That night Father Pedro dreamed a strange dream. How much of it was +reality, how long it lasted, or when he awoke from it, he could not +tell. The morbid excitement of the previous day culminated in a febrile +exaltation in which he lived and moved as in a separate existence. + +This is what he remembered. He thought he had risen at night in a sudden +horror of remorse, and making his way to the darkened church had fallen +upon his knees before the high altar, when all at once the acolyte's +voice broke from the choir, but in accents so dissonant and unnatural +that it seemed a sacrilege, and he trembled. He thought he had confessed +the secret of the child's sex to Cranch, but whether the next morning +or a week later he did not know. He fancied, too, that Cranch had also +confessed some trifling deception to him, but what, or why, he could not +remember; so much greater seemed the enormity of his own transgression. +He thought Cranch had put in his hands the letter he had written to the +Father Superior, saying that his secret was still safe, and that he +had been spared the avowal and the scandal that might have ensued. But +through all, and above all, he was conscious of one fixed idea: to +seek the seashore with Sanchicha, and upon the spot where she had found +Francisco, meet the young girl who had taken his place, and so part from +her forever. He had a dim recollection that this was necessary to some +legal identification of her, as arranged by Cranch, but how or why he +did not understand; enough that it was a part of his penance. + +It was early morning when the faithful Antonio, accompanied by Sanchicha +and Jose, rode forth with him from the Mission of San Carmel. Except +on the expressionless features of the old woman, there was anxiety +and gloom upon the faces of the little cavalcade. He did not know how +heavily his strange abstraction and hallucinations weighed upon their +honest hearts. As they wound up the ascent of the mountain he noticed +that Antonio and Jose conversed with bated breath and many pious +crossings of themselves, but with eyes always wistfully fixed upon him. +He wondered if, as part of his penance, he ought not to proclaim his sin +and abase himself before them; but he knew that his devoted followers +would insist upon sharing his punishment; and he remembered his promise +to Cranch, that for HER sake he would say nothing. Before they reached +the summit he turned once or twice to look back upon the Mission. How +small it looked, lying there in the peaceful valley, contrasted with the +broad sweep of the landscape beyond, stopped at the further east only +by the dim, ghost-like outlines of the Sierras. But the strong breath of +the sea was beginning to be felt; in a few moments more they were facing +it with lowered sombreros and flying serapes, and the vast, glittering, +illimitable Pacific opened out beneath them. + +Dazed and blinded, as it seemed to him, by the shining, restless +expanse, Father Pedro rode forward as if still in a dream. Suddenly he +halted, and called Antonio to his side. + +“Tell me, child, didst thou not say that this coast was wild and +desolate of man, beast, and habitation?” + +“Truly I did, reverend father.” + +“Then what is that?” pointing to the shore. + +Almost at their feet nestled a cluster of houses, at the head of an +arroyo reaching up from the beach. They looked down upon the smoke of a +manufactory chimney, upon strange heaps of material and curious engines +scattered along the sands, with here and there moving specks of human +figures. In a little bay a schooner swung at her cables. + +The vaquero crossed himself in stupefied alarm. “I know not, your +reverence; it is only two years ago, before the rodeo, that I was here +for strayed colts, and I swear by the blessed bones of San Antonio that +it was as I said.” + +“Ah! it is like these Americanos,” responded the muleteer. “I have it +from my brother Diego that he went from San Jose to Pescadero two months +ago, across the plains, with never a hut nor fonda to halt at all the +way. He returned in seven days, and in the midst of the plain there were +three houses and a mill, and many people. And why was it? Ah! Mother of +God! one had picked up in the creek where he drank that much of gold;” + and the muleteer tapped one of the silver coins that fringed his jacket +sleeves in place of buttons. + +“And they are washing the sands for gold there now,” said Antonio, +eagerly pointing to some men gathered round a machine like an enormous +cradle. “Let us hasten on.” + +Father Pedro's momentary interest had passed. The words of his +companions fell dull and meaningless upon his dreaming ears. He was +conscious only that the child was more a stranger to him as an outcome +of this hard, bustling life, than when he believed her borne to him over +the mysterious sea. It perplexed his dazed, disturbed mind to think that +if such an antagonistic element could exist within a dozen miles of +the Mission, and he not know it, could not such an atmosphere have been +around him, even in his monastic isolation, and he remain blind to it? +Had he really lived in the world without knowing it? Had it been in his +blood? Had it impelled him to--He shuddered and rode on. + +They were at the last slope of the zigzag descent to the shore, when he +saw the figures of a man and woman moving slowly through a field of wild +oats, not far from the trail. It seemed to his distorted fancy that the +man was Cranch. The woman! His heart stopped beating. Ah! could it be? +He had never seen her in her proper garb: would she look like that? +Would she be as tall? He thought he bade Jose and Antonio go on slowly +before with Sanchicha, and dismounted, walking slowly between the high +stalks of grain, lest he should disturb them. They evidently did not +hear his approach, but were talking earnestly. It seemed to Father Pedro +that they had taken each other's hands, and as he looked Cranch slipped +his arm round her waist. With only a blind instinct of some dreadful +sacrilege in this act, Father Pedro would have rushed forward, when +the girl's voice struck his ear. He stopped, breathless. It was not +Francisco, but Juanita, the little mestiza. + +“But are you sure you are not pretending to love me now, as you +pretended to think I was the muchacha you had run away with and lost? +Are you sure it is not pity for the deceit you practiced upon me--upon +Don Juan--upon poor Father Pedro?” + +It seemed as if Cranch had tried to answer with a kiss, for the girl +drew suddenly away from him with a coquettish fling of the black braids, +and whipped her little brown hands behind her. + +“Well, look here,” said Cranch, with the same easy, good-natured, +practical directness which the priest remembered, and which would have +passed for philosophy in a more thoughtful man, “put it squarely, then. +In the first place, it was Don Juan and the alcalde who first suggested +you might be the child.” + +“But you have said you knew it was Francisco all the time,” interrupted +Juanita. + +“I did; but when I found the priest would not assist me at first, and +admit that the acolyte was a girl, I preferred to let him think I +was deceived in giving a fortune to another, and leave it to his own +conscience to permit it or frustrate it. I was right. I reckon it was +pretty hard on the old man, at his time of life, and wrapped up as he +was in the girl; but at the moment he came up to the scratch like a +man.” + +“And to save him you have deceived me? Thank you, Senor,” said the girl +with a mock curtsey. + +“I reckon I preferred to have you for a wife than a daughter,” said +Cranch, “if that's what you mean. When you know me better, Juanita,” he +continued, gravely, “you'll know that I would never have let you believe +I sought in you the one if I had not hoped to find in you the other.” + +“Bueno! And when did you have that pretty hope?” + +“When I first saw you.” + +“And that was--two weeks ago.” + +“A year ago, Juanita. When Francisco visited you at the rancho. I +followed and saw you.” + +Juanita looked at him a moment, and then suddenly darted at him, caught +him by the lapels of his coat and shook him like a terrier. + +“Are you sure that you did not love that Francisco? Speak!” (She shook +him again.) “Swear that you did not follow her!” + +“But--I did,” said Cranch, laughing and shaking between the clenching of +the little hands. + +“Judas Iscariot! Swear you do not love her all this while.” + +“But, Juanita!” + +“Swear!” + +Cranch swore. Then to Father Pedro's intense astonishment she drew the +American's face towards her own by the ears and kissed him. + +“But you might have loved her, and married a fortune,” said Juanita, +after a pause. + +“Where would have been my reparation--my duty?” returned Cranch, with a +laugh. + +“Reparation enough for her to have had you,” said Juanita, with that +rapid disloyalty of one loving woman to another in an emergency. This +provoked another kiss from Cranch, and then Juanita said demurely,-- + +“But we are far from the trail. Let us return, or we shall miss Father +Pedro. Are you sure he will come?” + +“A week ago he promised to be here to see the proofs to-day.” + +The voices were growing fainter and fainter; they were returning to the +trail. + +Father Pedro remained motionless. A week ago! Was it a week ago +since--since what? And what had he been doing here? Listening! He! +Father Pedro, listening like an idle peon to the confidences of two +lovers. But they had talked of him, of his crime, and the man had pitied +him. Why did he not speak? Why did he not call after them? He tried +to raise his voice. It sank in his throat with a horrible choking +sensation. The nearest heads of oats began to nod to him, he felt +himself swaying backwards and forwards. He fell--heavily, down, down, +down, from the summit of the mountain to the floor of the Mission +chapel, and there he lay in the dark. + +***** + +“He moves.” + +“Blessed Saint Anthony preserve him!” + +It was Antonio's voice, it was Jose's arm, it was the field of wild +oats, the sky above his head,--all unchanged. + +“What has happened?” said the priest feebly. + +“A giddiness seized your reverence just now, as we were coming to seek +you.” + +“And you met no one?” + +“No one, your reverence.” + +Father Pedro passed his hand across his forehead. + +“But who are these?” he said, pointing to two figures who now appeared +upon the trail. + +Antonio turned. + +“It is the Americano, Senor Cranch, and his adopted daughter, the +mestiza Juanita, seeking your reverence, methinks.” + +“Ah!” said Father Pedro. + +Cranch came forward and greeted the priest cordially. “It was kind of +you, Father Pedro,” he said, meaningly, with a significant glance at +Jose and Antonio, “to come so far to bid me and my adopted daughter +farewell. We depart when the tide serves, but not before you partake of +our hospitality in yonder cottage.” + +Father Pedro gazed at Cranch and then at Juanita. + +“I see,” he stammered. “But she goes not alone. She will be strange at +first. She takes some friend, perhaps--some companion?” he continued, +tremulously. + +“A very old and dear one, Father Pedro, who is waiting for us now.” + +He led the way to a little white cottage, so little and white and +recent, that it seemed a mere fleck of sea foam cast on the sands. +Disposing of Jose and Antonio in the neighboring workshop and +outbuildings, he assisted the venerable Sanchicha to dismount, and, +together with Father Pedro and Juanita, entered a white palisaded +enclosure beside the cottage, and halted before what appeared to be a +large, folding trap-door, covering a slight, sandy mound. It was locked +with a padlock; beside it stood the American alcalde and Don Juan +Briones. Father Pedro looked hastily around for another figure, but it +was not there. + +“Gentlemen,” began Cranch, in his practical business way, “I reckon +you all know we've come here to identify a young lady, who”--he +hesitated--“was lately under the care of Father Pedro, with a foundling +picked up on this shore fifteen years ago by an Indian woman. How this +foundling came here, and how I was concerned in it, you all know. I've +told everybody here how I scrambled ashore, leaving that baby in the +dingy, supposing it would be picked up by the boat pursuing me. I've +told some of you,” he looked at Father Pedro, “how I first discovered, +from one of the men, three years ago, that the child was not found by +its father. But I have never told any one, before now, I KNEW it was +picked up here. + +“I never could tell the exact locality where I came ashore, for the fog +was coming on as it is now. But two years ago I came up with a party of +gold hunters to work these sands. One day, digging near this creek, I +struck something embedded deep below the surface. Well, gentlemen, it +wasn't gold, but something worth more to me than gold or silver. Here it +is.” + +At a sign the alcalde unlocked the doors and threw them open. They +disclosed an irregular trench, in which, filled with sand, lay the +half-excavated stern of a boat. + +“It was the dingy of the Trinidad, gentlemen; you can still read her +name. I found hidden away, tucked under the stern sheets, mouldy and +water-worn, some clothes that I recognized to be the baby's. I knew +then that the child had been taken away alive for some purpose, and +the clothes were left so that she should carry no trace with her. +I recognized the hand of an Indian. I set to work quietly. I found +Sanchicha here, she confessed to finding a baby, but what she had done +with it she would not at first say. But since then she has declared +before the alcalde that she gave it to Father Pedro, of San Carmel, and +that here it stands--Francisco that was! Francisca that it is!” + +He stepped aside to make way for a tall girl, who had approached from +the cottage. + +Father Pedro had neither noticed the concluding words nor the movement +of Cranch. His eyes were fixed upon the imbecile Sanchicha,--Sanchicha, +on whom, to render his rebuke more complete, the Deity seemed to have +worked a miracle, and restored intelligence to eye and lip. He passed +his hand tremblingly across his forehead, and turned away, when his eye +fell upon the last comer. + +It was she. The moment he had longed for and dreaded had come. She stood +there, animated, handsome, filled with a hurtful consciousness in +her new charms, her fresh finery, and the pitiable trinkets that had +supplanted her scapulary, and which played under her foolish fingers. +The past had no place in her preoccupied mind; her bright eyes were +full of eager anticipation of a substantial future. The incarnation of a +frivolous world, even as she extended one hand to him in half-coquettish +embarrassment she arranged the folds of her dress with the other. At +the touch of her fingers, he felt himself growing old and cold. Even +the penance of parting, which he had looked forward to, was denied him; +there was no longer sympathy enough for sorrow. He thought of the empty +chorister's robe in the little cell, but not now with regret. He only +trembled to think of the flesh that he had once caused to inhabit it. + +“That's all, gentlemen,” broke in the practical voice of Cranch. +“Whether there are proofs enough to make Francisca the heiress of her +father's wealth, the lawyers must say. I reckon it's enough for me that +they give me the chance of repairing a wrong by taking her father's +place. After all, it was a mere chance.” + +“It was the will of God,” said Father Pedro, solemnly. + +They were the last words he addressed them. For when the fog had begun +to creep inshore, hastening their departure, he only answered their +farewells by a silent pressure of the hand, mute lips, and far-off eyes. + +When the sound of their laboring oars grew fainter, he told Antonio to +lead him and Sanchicha again to the buried boat. There he bade her kneel +beside him. “We will do penance here, thou and I, daughter,” he said +gravely. When the fog had drawn its curtain gently around the strange +pair, and sea and shore were blotted out, he whispered, “Tell me, it was +even so, was it not, daughter, on the night she came?” When the distant +clatter of blocks and rattle of cordage came from the unseen vessel, now +standing out to sea, he whispered again, “So, this is what thou didst +hear, even then.” And so during the night he marked, more or less +audibly to the half-conscious woman at his side, the low whisper of the +waves, the murmur of the far-off breakers, the lightening and thickening +of the fog, the phantoms of moving shapes, and the slow coming of the +dawn. And when the morning sun had rent the veil over land and sea, +Antonio and Jose found him, haggard, but erect, beside the trembling +old woman, with a blessing on his lips, pointing to the horizon where a +single sail still glimmered:-- + +“Va Usted con Dios.” + + + + + +A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +She was barely twenty-three years old. It is probable that up to that +age, and the beginning of this episode, her life had been uneventful. +Born to the easy mediocrity of such compensating extremes as a small +farmhouse and large lands, a good position and no society, in that vast +grazing district of Kentucky known as the “Blue Grass” region, all the +possibilities of a Western American girl's existence lay before her. +A piano in the bare-walled house, the latest patented mower in the +limitless meadows, and a silk dress sweeping the rough floor of +the unpainted “meeting-house” were already the promise of those +possibilities. Beautiful she was, but the power of that beauty was +limited by being equally shared with her few neighbors. There were +small, narrow, arched feet besides her own that trod the uncarpeted +floors of outlying log-cabins with equal grace and dignity; bright, +clearly opened eyes that were equally capable of looking unabashed +upon princes and potentates, as a few later did, and the heiress of the +county judge read her own beauty without envy in the frank glances and +unlowered crest of the blacksmith's daughter. Eventually she had married +the male of her species, a young stranger, who, as schoolmaster in +the nearest town, had utilized to some local extent a scant capital +of education. In obedience to the unwritten law of the West, after +the marriage was celebrated the doors of the ancestral home cheerfully +opened, and bride and bridegroom issued forth, without regret and +without sentiment, to seek the further possibilities of a life beyond +these already too familiar voices. With their departure for California +as Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Tucker, the parental nest in the Blue Grass +meadows knew them no more. + +They submitted with equal cheerfulness to the privations and excesses of +their new conditions. Within three years the schoolmaster developed into +a lawyer and capitalist, the Blue Grass bride supplying a grace and ease +to these transitions that were all her own. She softened the abruptness +of sudden wealth, mitigated the austerities of newly acquired power, and +made the most glaring incongruity picturesque. Only one thing seemed +to limit their progress in the region of these possibilities. They +were childless. It was as if they had exhausted the future in their own +youth, leaving little or nothing for another generation to do. + + +A southwesterly storm was beating against the dressing-room windows +of their new house in one of the hilly suburbs of San Francisco, and +threatening the unseasonable frivolity of the stucco ornamentation of +cornice and balcony. Mrs. Tucker had been called from the contemplation +of the dreary prospect without by the arrival of a visitor. On +entering the drawing-room she found him engaged in a half-admiring, +half-resentful examination of its new furniture and hangings. Mrs. +Tucker at once recognized Mr. Calhoun Weaver, a former Blue Grass +neighbor; with swift feminine intuition she also felt that his slight +antagonism was likely to be transferred from her furniture to herself. +Waiving it with the lazy amiability of Southern indifference, she +welcomed him by the familiarity of a Christian name. + +“I reckoned that mebbee you opined old Blue Grass friends wouldn't +naturally hitch on to them fancy doins,” he said, glancing around the +apartment to avoid her clear eyes, as if resolutely setting himself +against the old charm of her manner as he had against the more recent +glory of her surroundings, “but I thought I'd just drop in for the sake +of old times.” + +“Why shouldn't you, Cal?” said Mrs. Tucker with a frank smile. + +“Especially as I'm going up to Sacramento to-night with some influential +friends,” he continued, with an ostentation calculated to resist the +assumption of her charms and her furniture. “Senator Dyce of Kentucky, +and his cousin Judge Briggs; perhaps you know 'em, or may be Spencer--I +mean Mr. Tucker--does.” + +“I reckon,” said Mrs. Tucker smiling; “but tell me something about the +boys and girls at Vineville, and about yourself. YOU'RE looking well, +and right smart too.” She paused to give due emphasis to this latter +recognition of a huge gold chain with which her visitor was somewhat +ostentatiously trifling. + +“I didn't know as you cared to hear anything about Blue Grass,” he +returned, a little abashed. “I've been away from there some time +myself,” he added, his uneasy vanity taking fresh alarm at the faint +suspicion of patronage on the part of his hostess. “They're doin' well, +though; perhaps as well as some others.” + +“And you're not married yet,” continued Mrs. Tucker, oblivious of the +innuendo. “Ah, Cal,” she added archly, “I am afraid you are as fickle as +ever. What poor girl in Vineville have you left pining?” + +The simple face of the man before her flushed with foolish gratification +at this old-fashioned, ambiguous flattery. “Now look yer, Belle,” he +said, chuckling, “if you're talking of old times and you think I bear +malice agin Spencer, why--” + +But Mrs. Tucker interrupted what might have been an inopportune +sentimental retrospect with a finger of arch but languid warning. “That +will do! I'm dying to know all about it, and you must stay to dinner and +tell me. It's right mean you can't see Spencer too; but he isn't back +from Sacramento yet.” + +Grateful as a tete-a-tete with his old neighbor in her more prosperous +surroundings would have been, if only for the sake of later gossiping +about it, he felt it would be inconsistent with his pride and his +assumption of present business. More than that, he was uneasily +conscious that in Mrs. Tucker's simple and unaffected manner there was +a greater superiority than he had ever noticed during their previous +acquaintance. He would have felt kinder to her had she shown any +“airs and graces,” which he could have commented upon and forgiven. He +stammered some vague excuse of preoccupation, yet lingered in the hope +of saying something which, if not aggressively unpleasant, might at +least transfer to her indolent serenity some of his own irritation. +“I reckon,” he said, as he moved hesitatingly towards the door, “that +Spencer has made himself easy and secure in them business risks he's +taking. That 'ere Alameda ditch affair they're talking so much about +is a mighty big thing, rather TOO big if it ever got to falling back on +him. But I suppose he's accustomed to take risks?” + +“Of course he is,” said Mrs. Tucker gayly. “He married ME.” + +The visitor smiled feebly, but was not equal to the opportunity offered +for gallant repudiation. “But suppose you ain't accustomed to risks?” + +“Why not? I married HIM,” said Mrs. Tucker. + +Mr. Calhoun Weaver was human, and succumbed to this last charming +audacity. He broke into a noisy but genuine laugh, shook Mrs. Tucker's +hand with effusion, said, “Now that's regular Blue Grass and no +mistake!” and retreated under cover of his hilarity. In the hall he +made a rallying stand to repeat confidentially to the servant who had +overheard them: “Blue Grass, all over, you bet your life,” and, opening +the door, was apparently swallowed up in the tempest. + +Mrs. Tucker's smile kept her lips until she had returned to her room, +and even then languidly shone in her eyes for some minutes after, as +she gazed abstractedly from her window on the storm-tossed bay in the +distance. Perhaps some girlish vision of the peaceful Blue Glass plain +momentarily usurped the prospect; but it is to be doubted if there was +much romance in that retrospect, or that it was more interesting to her +than the positive and sharply cut outlines of the practical life she now +held. Howbeit she soon forgot this fancy in lazily watching a boat that, +in the teeth of the gale, was beating round Alcatraz Island. Although +at times a mere blank speck on the gray waste of foam, a closer scrutiny +showed it to be one of those lateen-rigged Italian fishing boats that so +often flecked the distant bay. Lost in the sudden darkening of rain, +or reappearing beneath the lifted curtain of the squall, she watched +it weather the island, and then turn its laboring but persistent course +towards the open channel. A rent in the Indian-inky sky, that showed the +narrowing portals of the Golden Gate beyond, revealed, as unexpectedly, +the destination of the little craft, a tall ship that hitherto lay +hidden in the mist of the Saucelito shore. As the distance lessened +between boat and ship, they were again lost in the downward swoop of +another squall. When it lifted, the ship was creeping under the headland +towards the open sea, but the boat was gone. Mrs. Tucker in vain rubbed +the pane with her handkerchief; it had vanished. Meanwhile the ship, +as she neared the Gate, drew out from the protecting headland, stood +outlined for a moment with spars and canvas hearsed in black against +the lurid rent in the horizon, and then seemed to sink slowly into the +heaving obscurity beyond. A sudden onset of rain against the windows +obliterated the remaining prospect; the entrance of a servant completed +the diversion. + +“Captain Poindexter, ma'am!” + +Mrs. Tucker lifted her pretty eyebrows interrogatively. Captain +Poindexter was a legal friend of her husband, and had dined there +frequently; nevertheless she asked: “Did you tell him Mr. Tucker was not +at home?” + +“Yes, 'm.” + +“Did he ask for ME?” + +“Yes, 'm.” + +“Tell him I'll be down directly.” + +Mrs. Tucker's quiet face did not betray the fact that this second +visitor was even less interesting than the first. In her heart she did +not like Captain Poindexter. With a clever woman's instinct she had +early detected the fact that he had a superior, stronger nature than +her husband; as a loyal wife, she secretly resented the occasional +unconscious exhibition of this fact on the part of his intimate friend +in their familiar intercourse. Added to this slight jealousy, there was +a certain moral antagonism between herself and the captain which none +but themselves knew. They were both philosophers, but Mrs. Tucker's +serene and languid optimism would not tolerate the compassionate and +kind-hearted pessimisms of the lawyer. “Knowing what Jack Poindexter +does of human nature,” her husband had once said, “it's mighty fine in +him to be so kind and forgiving. You ought to like him better, Belle.” + “And qualify myself to be forgiven,” said the lady pertly. “I don't see +what you're driving at, Belle; I give it up,” had responded the puzzled +husband. Mrs. Tucker kissed his high but foolish forehead tenderly, and +said: “I'm glad you don't, dear.” + +Meanwhile her second visitor had, like the first, employed the interval +in a critical survey of the glories of the new furniture, but with +apparently more compassion than resentment in his manner. Once only had +his expression changed. Over the fireplace hung a large photograph of +Mr. Spencer Tucker. It was retouched, refined, and idealized in the +highest style of that polite and diplomatic art. As Captain Poindexter +looked upon the fringed hazel eyes, the drooping raven moustache, the +clustering ringlets, and the Byronic full throat and turned-down collar +of his friend, a smile of exhausted humorous tolerance and affectionate +impatience curved his lips. “Well, you ARE a fool, aren't you?” he +apostrophized it half-audibly. + +He was standing before the picture as she entered. Even in the +trying contiguity of that peerless work he would have been called a +fine-looking man. As he advanced to greet her, it was evident that +his military title was not one of the mere fanciful sobriquets of the +locality. In his erect figure and the disciplined composure of limb and +attitude there were still traces of the refined academic rigors of West +Point. The pliant adaptability of Western civilization which enabled +him, three years before, to leave the army and transfer his executive +ability to the more profitable profession of the law, had loosed sash +and shoulder-strap, but had not entirely removed the restraint of the +one, or the bearing of the other. + +“Spencer is in Sacramento,” began Mrs. Tucker in languid explanation, +after the first greetings were over. + +“I knew he was not here,” replied Captain Poindexter gently, as he drew +the proffered chair towards her, “but this is business that concerns +you both.” He stopped and glanced upwards at the picture. “I suppose +you know nothing of his business? Of course not,” he added reassuringly, +“nothing, absolutely nothing, certainly.” He said this so kindly, and +yet so positively, as if to promptly dispose of that question before +going further, that she assented mechanically. “Well, then, he's taken +some big risks in the way of business, and--well, things have gone bad +with him, you know. Very bad! Really, they couldn't be worse! Of course +it was dreadfully rash and all that,” he went on, as if commenting +upon the amusing waywardness of a child; “but the result is the usual +smash-up of everything, money, credit, and all!” He laughed and +added: “Yes, he's got cut off--mules and baggage regularly routed and +dispersed! I'm in earnest.” He raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly, +as if to deprecate any corresponding hilarity on the part of Mrs. +Tucker, or any attempt to make TOO light of the subject, and then +rising, placed his hands behind his back, beamed half-humorously upon +her from beneath her husband's picture, and repeated: “That's so.” + +Mrs. Tucker instinctively knew that he spoke the truth, and that it was +impossible for him to convey it in any other than his natural manner; +but between the shock and the singular influence of that manner she +could at first only say, “You don't mean it!” fully conscious of +the utter inanity of the remark, and that it seemed scarcely less +cold-blooded than his own. + +Poindexter, still smiling, nodded. + +She arose with an effort. She had recovered from the first shock, and +pride lent her a determined calmness that more than equaled Poindexter's +easy philosophy. + +“Where is he?” she asked. + +“At sea, and I hope by this time where he can not be found or followed.” + +Was her momentary glimpse of the outgoing ship a coincidence, or only +a vision? She was confused and giddy, but, mastering her weakness, she +managed to continue in a lower voice: + +“You have no message for me from him? He told you nothing to tell me?” + +“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” replied Poindexter. “It was as much as he +could do, I reckon, to get fairly away before the crash came.” + +“Then you did not see him go?” + +“Well, no,” said Poindexter. “I'd hardly have managed things in this +way.” He checked himself and added, with a forgiving smile, “But he was +the best judge of what he needed, of course.” + +“I suppose I will hear from him,” she said quietly, “as soon as he is +safe. He must have had enough else to think about, poor fellow.” + +She said this so naturally and quietly that Poindexter was deceived. +He had no idea that the collected woman before him was thinking only of +solitude and darkness, of her own room, and madly longing to be there. +He said, “Yes, I dare say,” in quite another voice, and glanced at the +picture. But as she remained standing, he continued more earnestly, +“I didn't come here to tell you what you might read in the newspapers +to-morrow morning, and what everybody might tell you. Before that time +I want you to do something to save a fragment of your property from +the ruin; do you understand? I want you to make a rally, and bring off +something in good order.” + +“For him?” said Mrs. Tucker, with brightening eyes. + +“Well, yes, of course--if you like--but as if for yourself. Do you know +the Rancho de los Cuervos?” + +“I do.” + +“It's almost the only bit of real property your husband hasn't sold, +mortgaged, or pledged. Why it was exempt, or whether only forgotten, I +can't say.” + +“I'll tell you why,” said Mrs. Tucker, with a slight return of color. +“It was the first land we ever bought, and Spencer always said it should +be mine and he would build a new house on it.” + +Captain Poindexter smiled and nodded at the picture. “Oh, he did say +that, did he? Well, THAT'S evidence. But you see he never gave you the +deed, and by sunrise to-morrow his creditors will attach it--unless--” + +“Unless--” repeated Mrs. Tucker, with kindling eyes. + +“Unless,” continued Captain Poindexter, “they happen to find YOU in +possession.” + +“I'll go,” said Mrs. Tucker. + +“Of course you will,” returned Poindexter, pleasantly; “only, as it's +a big contract to take, suppose we see how you can fill it. It's forty +miles to Los Cuervos, and you can't trust yourself to steamboat or +stage-coach. The steamboat left an hour ago.” + +“If I had only known this then!” ejaculated Mrs. Tucker. + +“I knew it, but you had company then,” said Poindexter, with ironical +gallantry, “and I wouldn't disturb you.” Without saying how he knew it, +he continued, “In the stage-coach you might be recognized. You must go +in a private conveyance and alone; even I can not go with you, for I +must go on before and meet you there. Can you drive forty miles?” + +Mrs. Tucker lifted up her abstracted pretty lids. “I once drove +fifty--at home,” she returned simply. + +“Good! and I dare say you did it then for fun. Do it now for something +real and personal, as we lawyers say. You will have relays and a plan of +the road. It's rough weather for a pasear, but all the better for that. +You'll have less company on the road.” + +“How soon can I go?” she asked. + +“The sooner the better. I've arranged everything for you already,” he +continued with a laugh. “Come now, that's a compliment to you, isn't +it?” He smiled a moment in her steadfast, earnest face, and then said, +more gravely, “You'll do. Now listen.” + +He then carefully detailed his plan. There was so little of excitement +or mystery in their manner that the servant, who returned to light the +gas, never knew that the ruin and bankruptcy of the house was being told +before her, or that its mistress was planning her secret flight. + +“Good afternoon; I will see you to-morrow then,” said Poindexter, +raising his eyes to hers as the servant opened the door for him. + +“Good afternoon,” repeated Mrs. Tucker quietly answering his look. “You +need not light the gas in my room, Mary,” she continued in the same +tone of voice as the door closed upon him; “I shall lie down for a few +moments, and then I may run over to the Robinsons for the evening.” + +She regained her room composedly. The longing desire to bury her head +in her pillow and “think out” her position had gone. She did not +apostrophize her fate, she did not weep; few real women do in the access +of calamity, or when there is anything else to be done. She felt that +she knew it all; she believed she had sounded the profoundest depths +of the disaster, and seemed already so old in her experience that she +almost fancied she had been prepared for it. Perhaps she did not fully +appreciate it; to a life like hers it was only an incident, the mere +turning of a page of the illimitable book of youth; the breaking up of +what she now felt had become a monotony. In fact, she was not quite sure +she had ever been satisfied with their present success. Had it brought +her all she expected? She wanted to say this to her husband, not only +to comfort him, poor fellow, but that they might come to a better +understanding of life in the future. She was not perhaps different +from other loving women who, believing in this unattainable goal +of matrimony, have sought it in the various episodes of fortune or +reverses, in the bearing of children, or the loss of friends. In her +childless experience there was no other life that had taken root in her +circumstances and might suffer transplantation; only she and her husband +could lose or profit by the change. The “perfect” understanding would +come under other conditions than these. + +She would have gone superstitiously to the window to gaze in the +direction of the vanished ship, but another instinct restrained her. +She would put aside all yearning for him until she had done something to +help him, and earned the confidence he seemed to have withheld. Perhaps +it was pride--perhaps she never really believed his exodus was distant +or complete. + +With a full knowledge that to-morrow the various ornaments and pretty +trifles around her would be in the hands of the law, she gathered only a +few necessaries for her flight and some familiar personal trinkets. I +am constrained to say that this self-abnegation was more fastidious than +moral. She had no more idea of the ethics of bankruptcy than any other +charming woman; she simply did not like to take with her any contagious +memory of the chapter of the life just closing. She glanced around the +home she was leaving without a lingering regret; there was no sentiment +of tradition or custom that might be destroyed; her roots lay too near +the surface to suffer from dislocation; the happiness of her childless +union had depended upon no domestic centre, nor was its flame sacred to +any local hearthstone. It was without a sigh that, when night had fully +fallen, she slipped unnoticed down the staircase. At the door of the +drawing-room she paused and then entered with the first guilty feeling +of shame she had known that evening. Looking stealthily around she +mounted a chair before her husband's picture, kissed the irreproachable +moustache hurriedly, said, “You foolish darling, you!” and slipped +out again. With this touching indorsement of the views of a rival +philosopher, she closed the door softly and left her home forever. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The wind and rain had cleared the unfrequented suburb of any observant +lounger, and the darkness, lit only by far-spaced, gusty lamps, hid +her hastening figure. She had barely crossed the second street when she +heard the quick clatter of hoofs behind her; a buggy drove up to the +curbstone, and Poindexter leaped out. She entered quickly, but for a +moment he still held the reins of the impatient horse. “He's rather +fresh,” he said, eying her keenly; “are you sure you can manage him?” + +“Give me the reins,” she said simply. + +He placed them in the two firm, well-shaped hands that reached from the +depths of the vehicle, and was satisfied. Yet he lingered. + +“It's rough work for a lone woman,” he said, almost curtly. “I can't +go with you, but, speak frankly, is there any man you know whom you can +trust well enough to take? It's not too late yet; think a moment!” + +He paused over the buttoning of the leather apron of the vehicle. + +“No, there is none,” answered the voice from the interior; “and it's +better so. Is all ready?” + +“One moment more.” He had recovered his half-bantering manner. “You HAVE +a friend and countryman already with you, do you know? Your horse is +Blue Grass. Good night.” + +With these words ringing in her ears she began her journey. The horse, +as if eager to maintain the reputation which his native district had +given his race, as well as the race of the pretty woman behind him, +leaped impatiently forward. But pulled together by the fine and firm +fingers that seemed to guide rather than check his exuberance, he +presently struck into the long, swinging pace of his kind, and kept it +throughout without “break” or acceleration. Over the paved streets the +light buggy rattled, and the slender shafts danced around his smooth +barrel, but when they touched the level high-road, horse and vehicle +slipped forward through the night, a swift and noiseless phantom. Mrs. +Tucker could see his graceful back dimly rising and falling before her +with tireless rhythm, and could feel the intelligent pressure of his +mouth until it seemed the responsive grasp of a powerful but kindly +hand. The faint glow of conquest came to her cold cheek; the slight +stirrings of pride moved her preoccupied heart. A soft light filled her +hazel eyes. A desolate woman, bereft of husband and home, and flying +through storm and night, she knew not where, she still leaned forward +towards her horse. “Was he Blue Grass, then, dear old boy?” she gently +cooed at him in the darkness. He evidently WAS, and responded by blowing +her an ostentatious equine kiss. “And he would be good to his own +forsaken Belle,” she murmured caressingly, “and wouldn't let any one +harm her?” But here, overcome by the lazy witchery of her voice, he +shook his head so violently that Mrs. Tucker, after the fashion of her +sex, had the double satisfaction of demurely restraining the passion she +had evoked. + +To avoid the more traveled thoroughfare, while the evening was still +early, it had been arranged that she should at first take a less direct +but less frequented road. This was a famous pleasure-drive from San +Francisco, a graveled and sanded stretch of eight miles to the sea and +an ultimate “cocktail,” in a “stately pleasure-dome decreed” among the +surf and rocks of the Pacific shore. It was deserted now, and left to +the unobstructed sweep of the wind and rain. Mrs. Tucker would not have +chosen this road. With the instinctive jealousy of a bucolic inland race +born by great rivers, she did not like the sea; and again the dim and +dreary waste tended to recall the vision connected with her husband's +flight, upon which she had resolutely shut her eyes. But when she had +reached it the road suddenly turned, following the trend of the beach, +and she was exposed to the full power of its dread fascinations. The +combined roar of sea and shore was in her ears; as the direct force of +the gale had compelled her to furl the protecting hood of the buggy +to keep the light vehicle from oversetting or drifting to leeward, she +could no longer shut out the heaving chaos on the right from which the +pallid ghosts of dead and dying breakers dimly rose and sank as if in +awful salutation. At times through the darkness a white sheet appeared +spread before the path and beneath the wheels of the buggy, which, when +withdrawn with a reluctant hiss, seemed striving to drag the exhausted +beach seaward with it. But the blind terror of her horse, who swerved at +every sweep of the surge, shamed her own half-superstitious fears, +and with the effort to control his alarm she regained her own +self-possession, albeit with eyelashes wet not altogether with the salt +spray from the sea. This was followed by a reaction, perhaps stimulated +by her victory over the beaten animal, when for a time, she knew not how +long, she felt only a mad sense of freedom and power; oblivious of +even her sorrows, her lost home and husband, and with intense feminine +consciousness she longed to be a man. She was scarcely aware that the +track turned again inland until the beat of the horse's hoofs on the +firm ground and an acceleration of speed showed her she had left the +beach and the mysterious sea behind her, and she remembered that she was +near the end of the first stage of her journey. Half an hour later the +twinkling lights of the roadside inn where she was to change horses rose +out of the darkness. + +Happily for her, the ostler considered the horse, who had a local +reputation, of more importance than the unknown muffled figure in the +shadow of the unfurled hood, and confined his attention to the animal. +After a careful examination of his feet and a few comments addressed +solely to the superior creation, he led him away. Mrs. Tucker would have +liked to part more affectionately from her four-footed compatriot, and +felt a sudden sense of loneliness at the loss of her new friend, but a +recollection of certain cautions of Captain Poindexter's kept her mute. +Nevertheless, the ostler's ostentatious adjuration of “Now then, aren't +you going to bring out that mustang for the Senora?” puzzled her. It was +not until the fresh horse was put to, and she had flung a piece of gold +into the attendant's hand, that the “Gracias” of his unmistakable Saxon +speech revealed to her the reason of the lawyer's caution. Poindexter +had evidently represented her to these people as a native Californian +who did not speak English. In her inconsistency her blood took fire at +this first suggestion of deceit, and burned in her face. Why should he +try to pass her off as anybody else? Why should she not use her own, her +husband's name? She stopped and bit her lip. + +It was but the beginning of an uneasy train of thought. She suddenly +found herself thinking of her visitor, Calhoun Weaver, and not +pleasantly. He would hear of their ruin tomorrow, perhaps of her own +flight. He would remember his visit, and what would he think of her +deceitful frivolity? Would he believe that she was then ignorant of the +failure? It was her first sense of any accountability to others than +herself, but even then it was rather owing to an uneasy consciousness of +what her husband must feel if he were subjected to the criticisms of +men like Calhoun. She wondered if others knew that he had kept her +in ignorance of his flight. Did Poindexter know it, or had he only +entrapped her into the admission? Why had she not been clever enough +to make him think that she knew it already? For the moment she hated +Poindexter for sharing that secret. Yet this was again followed by a +new impatience of her husband's want of insight into her ability to help +him. Of course the poor fellow could not bear to worry her, could +not bear to face such men as Calhoun, or even Poindexter (she added +exultingly to herself), but he might have sent her a line as he fled, +only to prepare her to meet and combat the shame alone. It did not occur +to her unsophisticated singleness of nature that she was accepting as an +error of feeling what the world would call cowardly selfishness. + +At midnight the storm lulled and a few stars trembled through the rent +clouds. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and her country +instincts, a little overlaid by the urban experiences of the last few +years, came again to the surface. She felt the fresh, cool radiation +from outlying, upturned fields, the faint, sad odors from dim stretches +of pricking grain and quickening leaf, and wondered if at Los Cuervos +it might be possible to reproduce the peculiar verdure of her native +district. She beguiled her fancy by an ambitious plan of retrieving +their fortunes by farming; her comfortable tastes had lately rebelled +against the homeless mechanical cultivation of these desolate but +teeming Californian acres, and for a moment indulged in a vision of +a vine-clad cottage home that in any other woman would have been +sentimental. Her cramped limbs aching, she took advantage of the +security of the darkness and the familiar contiguity of the fields to +get down from the vehicle, gather her skirts together, and run at the +head of the mustang, until her chill blood was thawed, night drawing a +modest veil over this charming revelation of the nymph and woman. But +the sudden shadow of a coyote checked the scouring feet of this swift +Camilla, and sent her back precipitately to the buggy. Nevertheless, +she was refreshed and able to pursue her journey, until the cold gray of +early morning found her at the end of her second stage. + +Her route was changed again from the main highway, rendered dangerous by +the approach of day and the contiguity of the neighboring rancheros. The +road was rough and hilly, her new horse and vehicle in keeping with the +rudeness of the route--by far the most difficult of her whole journey. +The rare wagon tracks that indicated her road were often scarcely +discernible; at times they led her through openings in the half-cleared +woods, skirted suspicious morasses, painfully climbed the smooth, +dome-like hills, or wound along perilous slopes at a dangerous angle. +Twice she had to alight and cling to the sliding wheels on one of those +treacherous inclines, or drag them from impending ruts or immovable +mire. In the growing light she could distinguish the distant, low-lying +marshes eaten by encroaching sloughs and insidious channels, and beyond +them the faint gray waste of the Lower Bay. A darker peninsula in the +marsh she knew to be the extreme boundary of her future home: the Rancho +de los Cuervos. In another hour she began to descend to the plain, and +once more to approach the main road, which now ran nearly parallel +with her track. She scanned it cautiously for any early traveler; it +stretched north and south in apparent unending solitude. She struck +into it boldly, and urged her horse to the top of his speed, until she +reached the cross road that led to the rancho. But here she paused and +allowed the reins to drop idly on the mustang's back. A singular and +unaccountable irresolution seized her. The difficulties of her journey +were over; the rancho lay scarcely two miles away; she had achieved +the most important part of her task in the appointed time, but she +hesitated. What had she come for? She tried to recall Poindexter's +words, even her own enthusiasm, but in vain. She was going to take +possession of her husband's property, she knew, that was all. But the +means she had taken seemed now so exaggerated and mysterious for that +simple end that she began to dread an impending something, or some vague +danger she had not considered, that she was rushing blindly to meet. +Full of this strange feeling she almost mechanically stopped her horse +as she entered the cross road. + +From this momentary hesitation a singular sound aroused her. It seemed +at first like the swift hurrying by of some viewless courier of the +air, the vague alarm of some invisible flying herald, or like the +inarticulate cry that precedes a storm. It seemed to rise and fall +around her as if with some changing urgency of purpose. Raising her eyes +she suddenly recognized the two far-stretching lines of telegraph wire +above her head, and knew the aeolian cry of the morning wind along its +vibrating chords. But it brought another and more practical fear to her +active brain. Perhaps even now the telegraph might be anticipating her! +Had Poindexter thought of that? She hesitated no longer, but laying the +whip on the back of her jaded mustang again hurried forward. + +As the level horizon grew more distinct, her attention was attracted by +the white sail of a small boat lazily threading the sinuous channel of +the slough. It might be Poindexter arriving by the more direct route +from the steamboat that occasionally lay off the ancient embarcadero of +the Los Cuervos Rancho. But even while watching it her quick ear caught +the sound of galloping hoofs behind her. She turned quickly and saw she +was followed by a horseman. But her momentary alarm was succeeded by +a feeling of relief as she recognized the erect figure and square +shoulders of Poindexter. Yet she could not help thinking that he looked +more like a militant scout, and less like a cautious legal adviser, than +ever. + +With unaffected womanliness she rearranged her slightly disordered hair +as he drew up beside her. “I thought you were in yonder boat,” she said. + +“Not I,” he laughed; “I distanced you by the high road two hours, and +have been reconnoitring, until I saw you hesitate at the cross roads.” + +“But who is in the boat?” asked Mrs. Tucker, partly to hide her +embarrassment. + +“Only some early Chinese market gardener, I dare say. But you are safe +now. You are on your own land. You passed the boundary monument of the +rancho five minutes ago. Look! All you see before you is yours from the +embarcadero to yonder Coast Range.” + +The tone of half-raillery did not, however, cheer Mrs. Tucker. She +shuddered slightly and cast her eyes over the monotonous sea of tule and +meadow. + +“It doesn't look pretty, perhaps,” continued Poindexter, “but it's the +richest land in the State, and the embarcadero will some day be a town. +I suppose you'll call it Blue Grassville. But you seem tired!” he said, +suddenly dropping his voice to a tone of half-humorous sympathy. + +Mrs. Tucker managed to get rid of an impending tear under the pretense +of clearing her eyes. “Are we nearly there?” she asked. + +“Nearly. You know,” he added with the same half-mischievous, +half-sympathizing gayety, “it's not exactly a palace you're coming +to. Hardly. It's the old casa that has been deserted for years, but I +thought it better you should go into possession there than take up your +abode at the shanty where your husband's farm-hands are. No one will +know when you take possession of the casa, while the very hour of +your arrival at the shanty would be known; and if they should make any +trouble--” + +“If they should make any trouble?” repeated Mrs. Tucker, lifting her +frank, inquiring eyes to Poindexter. + +His horse suddenly rearing from an apparently accidental prick of the +spur, it was a minute or two before he was able to explain. “I mean if +this ever comes up as a matter of evidence, you know. But here we are!” + +What had seemed to be an overgrown mound rising like an island out of +the dead level of the grassy sea now resolved itself into a collection +of adobe walls, eaten and incrusted with shrubs and vines, that +bore some resemblance to the usual uninhabited-looking exterior of a +Spanish-American dwelling. Apertures that might have been lance-shaped +windows or only cracks and fissures in the walls were choked up with +weeds and grass, and gave no passing glimpse of the interior. Entering +a ruinous corral they came to a second entrance, which proved to be the +patio or courtyard. The deserted wooden corridor, with beams, rafters, +and floors whitened by the eternal sun and wind, contained a few +withered leaves, dryly rotting skins, and thongs of leather, as if +undisturbed by human care. But among these scattered debris of former +life and habitation there was no noisome or unclean suggestion of decay. +A faint, spiced odor of desiccation filled the bare walls. There was +no slime on stone or sun-dried brick. In place of fungus or discolored +moisture the dust of efflorescence whitened in the obscured corners. The +elements had picked clean the bones of the crumbling tenement ere they +should finally absorb it. + +A withered old peon woman, who in dress, complexion, and fibrous hair +might have been an animated fragment of the debris, rustled out of a low +vaulted passage and welcomed them with a feeble crepitation. Following +her into the dim interior Mrs. Tucker was surprised to find some slight +attempt at comfort and even adornment in the two or three habitable +apartments. They were scrupulously clean and dry, two qualities which in +her feminine eyes atoned for poverty of material. + +“I could not send anything from San Bruno, the nearest village, without +attracting attention,” explained Poindexter; “but if you can manage to +picnic here for a day longer, I'll get one of our Chinese friends here,” + he pointed to the slough, “to bring over, for his return cargo from +across the bay, any necessaries you may want. There is no danger of his +betraying you,” he added, with an ironical smile; “Chinamen and Indians +are, by an ingenious provision of the statute of California, incapable +of giving evidence against a white person. You can trust your handmaiden +perfectly--even if she can't trust YOU. That is your sacred privilege +under the constitution. And now, as I expect to catch the up boat ten +miles from hence, I must say 'good-by' until to-morrow night. I hope +to bring you then some more definite plans for the future. The worst is +over.” He held her hand for a moment, and with a graver voice continued, +“You have done it very well--do you know--very well!” + +In the slight embarrassment produced by his sudden change of manner she +felt that her thanks seemed awkward and restrained. “Don't thank me,” he +laughed, with a prompt return of his former levity, “that's my trade. I +only advised. You have saved yourself like a plucky woman--shall I say +like Blue Grass? Good-by!” He mounted his horse, but, as if struck by an +after-thought, wheeled and drew up by her side again. “If I were you I +wouldn't see many strangers for a day or two, and listen to as +little news as a woman possibly can.” He laughed again, waved her a +half-gallant, half-military salute, and was gone. The question she had +been trying to frame, regarding the probability of communication with +her husband, remained unasked. At least she had saved her pride before +him. + +Addressing herself to the care of her narrow household, she mechanically +put away the few things she had brought with her, and began to readjust +the scant furniture. She was a little discomposed at first at the +absence of bolts, locks, and even window-fastenings until assured, by +Concha's evident inability to comprehend her concern, that they were +quite unknown at Los Cuervos. Her slight knowledge of Spanish was barely +sufficient to make her wants known, so that the relief of conversation +with her only companion was debarred her, and she was obliged to content +herself with the sapless, crackling smiles and withered genuflexions +that the old woman dropped like dead leaves in her path. It was staring +noon when, the house singing like an empty shell in the monotonous +wind, she felt she could stand the solitude no longer, and, crossing the +glaring patio and whistling corridor, made her way to the open gateway. + +But the view without seemed to intensify her desolation. The broad +expanse of the shadowless plain reached apparently to the Coast Range, +trackless and unbroken save by one or two clusters of dwarfed oaks, +which at that distance were but mossy excrescences on the surface, +barely raised above the dead level. On the other side the marsh took +up the monotony and carried it, scarcely interrupted by undefined +water-courses, to the faintly marked out horizon line of the remote bay. +Scattered and apparently motionless black spots on the meadows that gave +a dreary significance to the title of “the Crows” which the rancho bore, +and sudden gray clouds of sand-pipers on the marshes, that rose and +vanished down the wind, were the only signs of life. Even the white sail +of the early morning was gone. + +She stood there until the aching of her straining eyes and the +stiffening of her limbs in the cold wind compelled her to seek the +sheltered warmth of the courtyard. Here she endeavored to make friends +with a bright-eyed lizard, who was sunning himself in the corridor; a +graceful little creature in blue and gold, from whom she felt at other +times she might have fled, but whose beauty and harmlessness solitude +had made known to her. With misplaced kindness she tempted it with +bread-crumbs, with no other effect than to stiffen it into stony +astonishment. She wondered if she should become like the prisoners +she had read of in books, who poured out their solitary affections on +noisome creatures, and she regretted even the mustang, which with the +buggy had disappeared under the charge of some unknown retainer on her +arrival. Was she not a prisoner? The shutterless windows, yawning doors, +and open gate refuted her suggestion, but the encompassing solitude and +trackless waste still held her captive. Poindexter had told her it was +four miles to the shanty; she might walk there. Why had she given her +word that she would remain at the rancho until he returned? + +The long day crept monotonously away, and she welcomed the night +which shut out the dreary prospect. But it brought no cessation of +the harassing wind without, nor surcease of the nervous irritation its +perpetual and even activity wrought upon her. It haunted her pillow even +in her exhausted sleep, and seemed to impatiently beckon her to rise and +follow it. It brought her feverish dreams of her husband, footsore and +weary, staggering forward under its pitiless lash and clamorous outcry; +she would have gone to his assistance, but when she reached his side and +held out her arms to him it hurried her past with merciless power, and, +bearing her away, left him hopelessly behind. It was broad day when she +awoke. The usual night showers of the waning rainy season had left no +trace in sky or meadow; the fervid morning sun had already dried the +patio; only the restless, harrying wind remained. + +Mrs. Tucker arose with a resolve. She had learned from Concha on the +previous evening that a part of the shanty was used as a tienda or shop +for the laborers and rancheros. Under the necessity of purchasing some +articles, she would go there and for a moment mingle with those people, +who would not recognize her. Even if they did, her instinct told her it +would be less to be feared than the hopeless uncertainty of another day. +As she left the house the wind seemed to seize her as in her dream, and +hurry her along with it, until in a few moments the walls of the low +casa sank into the earth again and she was alone, but for the breeze on +the solitary plain. The level distance glittered in the sharp light, a +few crows with slant wings dipped and ran down the wind before her, +and a passing gleam on the marsh was explained by the far-off cry of a +curlew. + +She had walked for an hour, upheld by the stimulus of light and morning +air, when the cluster of scrub oaks, which was her destination, opened +enough to show two rambling sheds, before one of which was a wooden +platform containing a few barrels and bones. As she approached nearer, +she could see that one or two horses were tethered under the trees, that +their riders were lounging by a horse-trough, and that over an open door +the word Tienda was rudely painted on a board, and as rudely illustrated +by the wares displayed at door and window. Accustomed as she was to the +poverty of frontier architecture, even the crumbling walls of the old +hacienda she had just left seemed picturesque to the rigid angles of the +thin, blank, unpainted shell before her. One of the loungers, who was +reading a newspaper aloud as she advanced, put it aside and stared at +her; there was an evident commotion in the shop as she stepped upon the +platform, and when she entered, with breathless lips and beating heart, +she found herself the object of a dozen curious eyes. Her quick pride +resented the scrutiny and recalled her courage, and it was with a slight +coldness in her usual lazy indifference that she leaned over the counter +and asked for the articles she wanted. + +The request was followed by a dead silence. Mrs. Tucker repeated it with +some hauteur. + +“I reckon you don't seem to know this store is in the hands of the +sheriff,” said one of the loungers. + +Mrs. Tucker was not aware of it. + +“Well, I don't know any one who's a better right to know than Spence +Tucker's wife,” said another with a coarse laugh. The laugh was echoed +by the others. Mrs. Tucker saw the pit into which she had deliberately +walked, but did not flinch. + +“Is there any one to serve here?” she asked, turning her clear eyes full +upon the bystanders. + +“You'd better ask the sheriff. He was the last one to SARVE here. +He sarved an attachment,” replied the inevitable humorist of all +Californian assemblages. + +“Is he here?” asked Mrs. Tucker, disregarding the renewed laughter which +followed this subtle witticism. + +The loungers at the door made way for one of their party, who was half +dragged, half pushed into the shop. “Here he is,” said half a dozen +eager voices, in the fond belief that his presence might impart +additional humor to the situation. He cast a deprecating glance at Mrs. +Tucker and said, “It's so, madam! This yer place is attached; but if +there's anything you're wanting, why I reckon, boys,”--he turned half +appealingly to the crowd,--“we could oblige a lady.” There was a vague +sound of angry opposition and remonstrance from the back door of +the shop, but the majority, partly overcome by Mrs. Tucker's beauty, +assented. “Only,” continued the officer explanatorily, “ez these yer +goods are in the hands of the creditors, they ought to be represented by +an equivalent in money. If you're expecting they should be charged--” + +“But I wish to PAY for them,” interrupted Mrs. Tucker, with a slight +flush of indignation; “I have the money.” + +“Oh, I bet you have!” screamed a voice, as, overturning all opposition, +the malcontent at the back door, in the shape of an infuriated woman, +forced her way into the shop. “I'll bet you have the money! Look at her, +boys! Look at the wife of the thief, with the stolen money in diamonds +in her ears and rings on her fingers. SHE'S got money if WE'VE none. +SHE can pay for what she fancies, if we haven't a cent to redeem the bed +that's stolen from under us. Oh yes, buy it all, Mrs. Spencer Tucker! +buy the whole shop, Mrs. Spencer Tucker, do you hear? And if you ain't +satisfied then, buy my clothes, my wedding ring, the only things your +husband hasn't stolen.” + +“I don't understand you,” said Mrs. Tucker coldly, turning towards the +door. But with a flying leap across the counter her relentless adversary +stood between her and retreat. + +“You don't understand! Perhaps you don't understand that your husband +not only stole the hard labor of these men, but even the little money +they brought here and trusted to his thieving hands. Perhaps you don't +know that he stole my husband's hard earnings, mortgaged these very +goods you want to buy, and that he is to-day a convicted thief, a +forger, and a runaway coward. Perhaps, if you can't understand ME, +you can read the newspaper. Look!” She exultingly opened the paper the +sheriff had been reading aloud, and pointed to the displayed headlines. +“Look! there are the very words, 'Forgery, Swindling, Embezzlement!' Do +you see? And perhaps you can't understand this. Look! 'Shameful Flight. +Abandons his Wife. Runs off with a Notorious--'” + +“Easy, old gal, easy now. D--n it! Will you dry up? I say. STOP!” + +It was too late! + +The sheriff had dashed the paper from the woman's hand, but not until +Mrs. Tucker had read a single line, a line such as she had sometimes +turned from with weary scorn in her careless perusal of the daily +shameful chronicle of domestic infelicity. Then she had coldly wondered +if there could be any such men and women; and now! The crowd fell back +before her; even the virago was silenced as she looked at her face. +The humorist's face was as white, but not as immobile, as he gasped, +“Christ! if I don't believe she knew nothin' of it!” + +For a moment the full force of such a supposition, with all its +poignancy, its dramatic intensity, and its pathos, possessed the crowd. +In the momentary clairvoyance of enthusiasm they caught a glimpse of the +truth, and by one of the strange reactions of human passion they only +waited for a word of appeal or explanation from her lips to throw +themselves at her feet. Had she simply told her story they would have +believed her; had she cried, fainted, or gone into hysterics, they would +have pitied her. She did neither. Perhaps she thought of neither, or +indeed of anything that was then before her eyes. She walked erect to +the door and turned upon the threshold. “I mean what I say,” she said +calmly. “I don't understand you. But whatever just claims you have upon +my husband will be paid by me, or by his lawyer, Captain Poindexter.” + +She had lost the sympathy but not the respect of her hearers. They made +way for her with sullen deference as she passed out on the platform. But +her adversary, profiting by the last opportunity, burst into an ironical +laugh. + +“Captain Poindexter, is it? Well, perhaps he's safe to pay YOUR bill, +but as for your husband's--” + +“That's another matter,” interrupted a familiar voice with the greatest +cheerfulness; “that's what you were going to say, wasn't it? Ha! ha! +Well, Mrs. Patterson,” continued Poindexter, stepping from his buggy, +“you never spoke a truer word in your life. One moment, Mrs. Tucker. Let +me send you back in the buggy. Don't mind ME. I can get a fresh horse of +the sheriff. I'm quite at home here. I say, Patterson, step a few paces +this way, will you? A little further from your wife, please. That'll +do. You've got a claim of five thousand dollars against the property, +haven't you?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, that woman just driving away is your one solitary chance of +getting a cent of it. If your wife insults her again, that chance is +gone. And if YOU do--” + +“Well?” + +“As sure as there is a God in Israel and a Supreme Court of the State of +California, I'll kill you in your tracks! . . . Stay!” + +Patterson turned. The irrepressible look of humorous tolerance of all +human frailty had suffused Poindexter's black eyes with mischievous +moisture. “If you think it quite safe to confide to your wife this +prospect of her improvement by widowhood, you may!” + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Mr. Patterson did not inform his wife of the lawyer's personal threat +to himself. But he managed, after Poindexter had left, to make her +conscious that Mrs. Tucker might be a power to be placated and feared. +“You've shot off your mouth at her,” he said argumentatively, “and +whether you've hit the mark or not you've had your say. Ef you think +it's worth a possible five thousand dollars and interest to keep on, +heave ahead. Ef you rather have the chance of getting the rest in cash, +you'll let up on her.” “You don't suppose,” returned Mrs. Patterson +contemptuously, “that she's got anything but what that man of +hers--Poindexter--lets her have?” “The sheriff says,” retorted Patterson +surlily, “that she's notified him that she claims the rancho as a gift +from her husband three years ago, and she's in POSSESSION now, and was +so when the execution was out. It don't make no matter,” he added, with +gloomy philosophy, “who's got a full hand as long as WE ain't got the +cards to chip in. I wouldn't 'a' minded it,” he continued meditatively, +“ef Spence Tucker had dropped a hint to me afore he put out.” “And I +suppose,” said Mrs. Patterson angrily, “you'd have put out too?” “I +reckon,” said Patterson simply. + +Twice or thrice during the evening he referred, more or less directly, +to this lack of confidence shown by his late debtor and employer, and +seemed to feel it more keenly than the loss of property. He confided his +sentiments quite openly to the sheriff in possession, over the whiskey +and euchre with which these gentlemen avoided the difficulties of their +delicate relations. He brooded over it as he handed the keys of the shop +to the sheriff when they parted for the night, and was still thinking of +it when the house was closed, everybody gone to bed, and he was fetching +a fresh jug of water from the well. The moon was at times obscured by +flying clouds, the avant-couriers of the regular evening shower. He +was stooping over the well, when he sprang suddenly to his feet again. +“Who's there?” he demanded sharply. + +“Hush!” said a voice so low and faint it might have been a whisper of +the wind in the palisades of the corral. But, indistinct as it was, it +was the voice of the man he was thinking of as far away, and it sent a +thrill of alternate awe and pleasure through his pulses. + +He glanced quickly around. The moon was hidden by a passing cloud, and +only the faint outlines of the house he had just quitted were visible. +“Is that you, Spence?” he said tremulously. + +“Yes,” replied the voice, and a figure dimly emerged from the corner of +the corral. + +“Lay low, lay low, for God's sake,” said Patterson, hurriedly throwing +himself upon the apparition. “The sheriff and his posse are in there.” + +“But I must speak to you a moment,” said the figure. + +“Wait,” said Patterson, glancing towards the building. Its blank, +shutterless windows revealed no inner light; a profound silence +encompassed it. “Come quick,” he whispered. Letting his grasp slip down +to the unresisting hand of the stranger, he half-dragged, half-led him, +brushing against the wall, into the open door of the deserted bar-room +he had just quitted, locked the inner door, poured a glass of whiskey +from a decanter, gave it to him, and then watched him drain it at a +single draught. The moon came out, and, falling through the bare windows +full upon the stranger's face, revealed the artistic but slightly +disheveled curls and moustache of the fugitive, Spencer Tucker. + +Whatever may have been the real influence of this unfortunate man upon +his fellows, it seemed to find expression in a singular unanimity of +criticism. Patterson looked at him with a half-dismal, half-welcoming +smile. “Well, you are a h-ll of a fellow, ain't you?” + +Spencer Tucker passed his hand through his hair and lifted it from his +forehead, with a gesture at once emotional and theatrical. “I am a man +with a price on me!” he said bitterly. “Give me up to the sheriff, +and you'll get five thousand dollars. Help me, and you'll get nothing. +That's my d----d luck, and yours too, I suppose.” + +“I reckon you're right there,” said Patterson gloomily. “But I thought +you got clean away. Went off in a ship--” + +“Went off in a boat to a ship,” interrupted Tucker savagely; “went off +to a ship that had all my things on board--everything. The cursed boat +capsized in a squall just off the Heads. The ship, d--n her, sailed +away, the men thinking I was drowned, likely, and that they'd make a +good thing off my goods, I reckon.” + +“But the girl, Inez, who was with you, didn't she make a row?” + +“Quien sabe?” returned Tucker, with a reckless laugh. “Well, I hung +on like grim death to that boat's keel until one of those Chinese +fishermen, in a 'dug-out,' hauled me in opposite Saucelito. I chartered +him and his dug-out to bring me down here.” + +“Why here?” asked Patterson, with a certain ostentatious caution that +ill-concealed his pensive satisfaction. + +“You may well ask,” returned Tucker, with an equal ostentation of +bitterness, as he slightly waved his companion away. “But I reckoned I +could trust a white man that I'd been kind to, and who wouldn't go back +on me. No, no, let me go! Hand me over to the sheriff!” + +Patterson had suddenly grasped both the hands of the picturesque scamp +before him, with an affection that for an instant almost shamed the man +who had ruined him. But Tucker's egotism whispered that this affection +was only a recognition of his own superiority, and felt flattered. He +was beginning to believe that he was really the injured party. + +“What I HAVE and what I have HAD is yours, Spence,” returned Patterson, +with a sad and simple directness that made any further discussion a +gratuitous insult. “I only wanted to know what you reckoned to do here.” + +“I want to get over across the Coast Range to Monterey,” said Tucker. +“Once there, one of those coasting schooners will bring me down to +Acapulco, where the ship will put in.” + +Patterson remained silent for a moment. “There's a mustang in the corral +you can take--leastways, I shan't know that it's gone--until to-morrow +afternoon. In an hour from now,” he added, looking from the window, +“these clouds will settle down to business. It will rain; there will +be light enough for you to find your way by the regular trail over the +mountain, but not enough for any one to know you. If you can't push +through to-night, you can lie over at the posada on the summit. Them +greasers that keep it won't know you, and if they did they won't go back +on you. And if they did go back on you, nobody would believe them. It's +mighty curious,” he added, with gloomy philosophy, “but I reckon it's +the reason why Providence allows this kind of cattle to live among white +men and others made in his image. Take a piece of pie, won't you?” He +continued, abandoning this abstract reflection and producing half a flat +pumpkin pie from the bar. Spencer Tucker grasped the pie with one hand +and his friend's fingers with the other, and for a few moments was +silent from the hurried deglutition of viand and sentiment. “YOU'RE a +white man, Patterson, anyway,” he resumed. “I'll take your horse, and +put it down in our account, at your own figure. As soon as this cursed +thing is blown over, I'll be back here and see you through, you bet. I +don't desert my friends, however rough things go with me.” + +“I see you don't,” returned Patterson, with an unconscious and serious +simplicity that had the effect of the most exquisite irony. “I was only +just saying to the sheriff that if there was anything I could have done +for you, you wouldn't have cut away without letting me know.” Tucker +glanced uneasily at Patterson, who continued, “Ye ain't wanting anything +else?” Then observing that his former friend and patron was roughly but +newly clothed, and betrayed no trace of his last escapade, he added, “I +see you've got a fresh harness.” + +“That d----d Chinaman bought me these at the landing; they're not +much in style or fit,” he continued, trying to get a moonlight view of +himself in the mirror behind the bar, “but that don't matter here.” He +filled another glass of spirits, jauntily settled himself back in his +chair, and added, “I don't suppose there are any girls around, anyway.” + +“'Cept your wife; she was down here this afternoon,” said Patterson +meditatively. + +Mr. Tucker paused with the pie in his hand. “Ah, yes!” He essayed a +reckless laugh, but that evident simulation failed before Patterson's +melancholy. With an assumption of falling in with his friend's manner, +rather than from any personal anxiety, he continued, “Well?” + +“That man Poindexter was down here with her. Put her in the hacienda to +hold possession afore the news came out.” + +“Impossible!” said Tucker, rising hastily. “It don't belong--that is--” + he hesitated. + +“Yer thinking the creditors 'll get it, mebbe,” returned Patterson, +gazing at the floor. “Not as long as she's in it; no sir! Whether +it's really hers, or she's only keeping house for Poindexter, she's a +fixture, you bet. They're a team when they pull together, they are!” + +The smile slowly faded from Tucker's face, that now looked quite rigid +in the moonlight. He put down his glass and walked to the window as +Patterson gloomily continued, “But that's nothing to you. You've got +ahead of 'em both, and had your revenge by going off with the +gal. That's what I said all along. When folks--especially women +folks--wondered how you could leave a woman like your wife, and go off +with a scallawag like that gal, I allers said they'd find out there was +a reason. And when your wife came flaunting down here with Poindexter +before she'd quite got quit of you, I reckon they began to see the whole +little game. No sir! I knew it wasn't on account of the gal! Why, when +you came here to-night and told me quite nat'ral-like and easy how +she went off in the ship, and then calmly ate your pie and drank your +whiskey after it, I knew you didn't care for her. There's my hand, +Spence; you're a trump, even if you are a little looney, eh? Why, what's +up?” + +Shallow and selfish as Tucker was, Patterson's words seemed like a +revelation that shocked him as profoundly as it might have shocked a +nobler nature. The simple vanity and selfishness that made him unable to +conceive any higher reason for his wife's loyalty than his own personal +popularity and success, now that he no longer possessed that eclat, +made him equally capable of the lowest suspicions. He was a dishonored +fugitive, broken in fortune and reputation--why should she not desert +him! He had been unfaithful to her from wildness, from caprice, from the +effect of those fascinating qualities; it seemed to him natural that she +should be disloyal from more deliberate motives, and he hugged himself +with that belief. Yet there was enough doubt, enough of haunting +suspicion that he had lost or alienated a powerful affection, to make +him thoroughly miserable. He returned his friend's grasp convulsively +and buried his face upon his shoulder. But he was not above feeling +a certain exultation in the effect of his misery upon the dog-like, +unreasoning affection of Patterson, nor could he entirely refrain from +slightly posing his affliction before that sympathetic but melancholy +man. Suddenly he raised his head, drew back, and thrust his hand into +his bosom with a theatrical gesture. + +“What's to keep me from killing Poindexter in his tracks?” he said +wildly. + +“Nothin' but HIS shooting first,” returned Patterson, with dismal +practicality. “He's mighty quick, like all them army men. It's about +even, I reckon, that he don't get ME first,” he added in an ominous +voice. + +“No!” returned Tucker, grasping his hand again. “This is not your +affair, Patterson; leave him to me when I come back.” + +“If he ever gets the drop on me, I reckon he won't wait,” continued +Patterson lugubriously. “He seems to object to my passin' criticism on +your wife, as if she was a queen or an angel.” + +The blood came to Spencer's cheek, and he turned uneasily to the window. +“It's dark enough now for a start,” he said hurriedly, “and if I could +get across the mountain without lying over at the summit, it would be a +day gained.” + +Patterson arose without a word, filled a flask of spirit, handed it to +his friend, and silently led the way through the slowly falling rain and +the now settled darkness. The mustang was quickly secured and saddled, a +heavy poncho afforded Tucker a disguise as well as a protection from the +rain. With a few hurried, disconnected words, and an abstracted air, he +once more shook his friend's hand and issued cautiously from the corral. +When out of earshot from the house he put spurs to the mustang, and +dashed into a gallop. + +To intersect the mountain road he was obliged to traverse part of the +highway his wife had walked that afternoon, and to pass within a mile of +the casa where she was. Long before he reached that point his eyes were +straining the darkness in that direction for some indication of the +house which was to him familiar. Becoming now accustomed to the even +obscurity, less trying to the vision than the alternate light and +shadow of cloud or the full glare of the moonlight, he fancied he +could distinguish its low walls over the monotonous level. One of +those impulses which had so often taken the place of resolution in his +character suddenly possessed him to diverge from his course and approach +the house. Why, he could not have explained. It was not from any feeling +of jealous suspicion or contemplated revenge--that had passed with the +presence of Patterson; it was not from any vague lingering sentiment for +the woman he had wronged--he would have shrunk from meeting her at that +moment. But it was full of these and more possibilities by which he +might or might not be guided, and was at least a movement towards +some vague end, and a distraction from certain thoughts he dared not +entertain and could not entirely dismiss. Inconceivable and inexplicable +to human reason, it might have been acceptable to the Divine omniscience +for its predestined result. + +He left the road at a point where the marsh encroached upon the meadow, +familiar to him already as near the spot where he had embarked from +the Chinaman's boat the day before. He remembered that the walls of the +hacienda were distinctly visible from the tules where he had hidden all +day, and he now knew that the figures he had observed near the building, +which had deterred his first attempts at landing, must have been his +wife and his friend. He knew that a long tongue of the slough filled +by the rising tide followed the marsh, and lay between him and the +hacienda. The sinking of his horse's hoofs in the spongy soil determined +its proximity, and he made a detour to the right to avoid it. In doing +so, a light suddenly rose above the distant horizon ahead of him, +trembled faintly, and then burned with a steady lustre. It was a light +at the hacienda. Guiding his horse half abstractedly in this direction, +his progress was presently checked by the splashing of the animal's +hoofs in the water. But the turf below was firm, and a salt drop that +had spattered to his lips told him that it was only the encroaching of +the tide in the meadow. With his eyes on the light, he again urged his +horse forward. The rain lulled, the clouds began to break, the landscape +alternately lightened and grew dark; the outlines of the crumbling +hacienda walls that enshrined the light grew more visible. A strange +and dreamy resemblance to the long blue-grass plain before his wife's +paternal house, as seen by him during his evening rides to courtship, +pressed itself upon him. He remembered, too, that she used to put a +light in the window to indicate her presence. Following this retrospect, +the moon came boldly out, sparkled upon the overflow of silver at his +feet, seemed to show the dark, opaque meadow beyond for a moment, and +then disappeared. It was dark now, but the lesser earthly star still +shone before him as a guide, and pushing towards it, he passed in the +all-embracing shadow. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As Mrs. Tucker, erect, white, and rigid, drove away from the tienda, +it seemed to her to sink again into the monotonous plain, with all its +horrible realities. Except that there was now a new and heart-breaking +significance to the solitude and loneliness of the landscape, all that +had passed might have been a dream. But as the blood came back to her +cheek, and little by little her tingling consciousness returned, it +seemed as if her life had been the dream, and this last scene the +awakening reality. With eyes smarting with the moisture of shame, the +scarlet blood at times dyeing her very neck and temples, she muffled +her lowered crest in her shawl and bent over the reins. Bit by bit she +recalled, in Poindexter's mysterious caution and strange allusions, the +corroboration of her husband's shame and her own disgrace. This was why +she was brought hither--the deserted wife, and abandoned confederate! +The mocking glitter of the concave vault above her, scoured by the +incessant wind, the cold stare of the shining pools beyond, the hard +outlines of the Coast Range, and the jarring accompaniment of her +horse's hoofs and rattling buggy wheels alternately goaded and +distracted her. She found herself repeating “No! no! no!” with the +dogged reiteration of fever. She scarcely knew when or how she reached +the hacienda. She was only conscious that as she entered the patio the +dusty solitude that had before filled her with unrest now came to her +like balm. A benumbing peace seemed to fall from the crumbling walls; +the peace of utter seclusion, isolation, oblivion, death! Nevertheless, +an hour later, when the jingle of spurs and bridle were again heard in +the road, she started to her feet with bent brows and a kindling eye, +and confronted Captain Poindexter in the corridor. + +“I would not have intruded upon you so soon again,” he said gravely, +“but I thought I might perhaps spare you a repetition of the scene +of this morning. Hear me out, please,” he added, with a gentle, +half-deprecating gesture, as she lifted the beautiful scorn of her eyes +to his. “I have just heard that your neighbor, Don Jose Santierra, of +Los Gatos, is on his way to this house. He once claimed this land, and +hated your husband, who bought of the rival claimant, whose grant was +confirmed. I tell you this,” he added, slightly flushing as Mrs. Tucker +turned impatiently away, “only to show you that legally he has no +rights, and you need not see him unless you choose. I could not stop his +coming without perhaps doing you more harm than good; but when he does +come, my presence under this roof as your legal counsel will enable you +to refer him to me.” He stopped. She was pacing the corridor with short, +impatient steps, her arms dropped, and her hands clasped rigidly before +her. “Have I your permission to stay?” + +She suddenly stopped in her walk, approached him rapidly, and fixing her +eyes on his, said,-- + +“Do I know ALL, now--everything?” + +He could only reply that she had not yet told him what she had heard. + +“Well,” she said scornfully, “that my husband has been cruelly imposed +upon--imposed upon by some wretched woman, who has made him sacrifice +his property, his friends, his honor--everything but me?” + +“Everything but whom?” gasped Poindexter. + +“But ME!” + +Poindexter gazed at the sky, the air, the deserted corridor, the stones +of the patio itself, and then at the inexplicable woman before him. Then +he said gravely, “I think you know everything.” + +“Then if my husband has left me all he could--this property,” she went +on rapidly, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers, “I can do +with it what I like, can't I?” + +“You certainly can.” + +“Then sell it,” she said, with passionate vehemence. “Sell it--all! +everything! And sell these.” She darted into her bedroom, and returned +with the diamond rings she had torn from her fingers and ears when she +entered the house. “Sell them for anything they'll bring, only sell them +at once.” + +“But for what?” asked Poindexter, with demure lips but twinkling eyes. + +“To pay the debts that this--this--woman has led him into; to return the +money she has stolen!” she went on rapidly, “to keep him from sharing +her infamy! Can't you understand?” + +“But, my dear madam,” began Poindexter, “even if this could be done--” + +“Don't tell me 'if it could'--it MUST be done. Do you think I could +sleep under this roof, propped up by the timbers of that ruined tienda? +Do you think I could wear those diamonds again, while that termagant +shop-woman can say that her money bought them? No. If you are my +husband's friend you will do this--for--for his sake.” She stopped, +locked and interlocked her cold fingers before her, and said, hesitating +and mechanically, “You meant well, Captain Poindexter, in bringing me +here, I know! You must not think that I blame you for it, or for the +miserable result of it that you have just witnessed. But if I have +gained anything by it, for God's sake let me reap it quickly, that I may +give it to these people and go! I have a friend who can aid me to get to +my husband or to my home in Kentucky, where Spencer will yet find me, +I know. I want nothing more.” She stopped again. With another woman +the pause would have been one of tears. But she kept her head above the +flood that filled her heart, and the clear eyes fixed upon Poindexter, +albeit pained, were undimmed. + +“But this would require time,” said Poindexter, with a smile of +compassionate explanation; “you could not sell now, nobody would buy. +You are safe to hold this property while you are in actual possession, +but you are not strong enough to guarantee it to another. There may +still be litigation; your husband has other creditors than these people +you have talked with. But while nobody could oust you--the wife who +would have the sympathies of judge and jury--it might be a different +case with any one who derived title from you. Any purchaser would know +that you could not sell, or if you did, it would be at a ridiculous +sacrifice.” + +She listened to him abstractedly, walked to the end of the corridor, +returned, and without looking up, said,-- + +“I suppose you know her?” + +“I beg your pardon?” + +“This woman. You have seen her?” + +“Never, to my knowledge.” + +“And you are his friend! That's strange.” She raised her eyes to his. +“Well,” she continued impatiently, “who is she? and what is she? You +know that surely?” + +“I know no more of her than what I have said,” said Poindexter. “She is +a notorious woman.” + +The swift color came to Mrs. Tucker's face as if the epithet had been +applied to herself. “I suppose,” she said in a dry voice, as if she +were asking a business question, but with an eye that showed her rising +anger,--“I suppose there is some law by which creatures of this kind can +be followed and brought to justice--some law that would keep innocent +people from suffering for their crimes?” + +“I am afraid,” said Poindexter, “that arresting her would hardly help +these people over in the tienda.” + +“I am not speaking of them,” responded Mrs. Tucker, with a sudden +sublime contempt for the people whose cause she had espoused: “I am +talking of my husband.” + +Poindexter bit his lip. “You'd hardly think of bringing back the +strongest witness against him,” he said bluntly. + +Mrs. Tucker dropped her eyes and was silent. A sudden shame suffused +Poindexter's cheek; he felt as if he had struck that woman a blow. “I +beg your pardon,” he said hastily, “I am talking like a lawyer to a +lawyer.” He would have taken any other woman by the hand in the honest +fullness of his apology, but something restrained him here. He only +looked down gently on her lowered lashes, and repeated his question if +he should remain during the coming interview with Don Jose: “I must beg +you to determine quickly,” he added, “for I already hear him entering +the gate.” + +“Stay,” said Mrs. Tucker, as the ringing of spurs and clatter of hoofs +came from the corral. “One moment.” She looked up suddenly, and said, +“How long had he known her?” But before he could reply there was a step +in the doorway, and the figure of Don Jose Santierra emerged from the +archway. + +He was a man slightly past middle age, fair and well shaven, wearing a +black broadcloth serape, the deeply embroidered opening of which formed +a collar of silver rays around his neck, while a row of silver buttons +down the side seams of his riding trousers, and silver spurs, completed +his singular equipment. Mrs. Tucker's swift feminine glance took in +these details, as well as the deep salutation, more formal than the +exuberant frontier politeness she was accustomed to, with which he +greeted her. It was enough to arrest her first impulse to retreat. She +hesitated and stopped as Poindexter stepped forward, partly interposing +between them, acknowledging Don Jose's distant recognition of himself +with an ironical accession of his usual humorous tolerance. The Spaniard +did not seem to notice it, but remained gravely silent before Mrs. +Tucker, gazing at her with an expression of intent and unconscious +absorption. + +“You are quite right, Don Jose,” said Poindexter, with ironical concern, +“it is Mrs. Tucker. Your eyes do NOT deceive you. She will be glad to do +the honors of her house,” he continued, with a simulation of appealing +to her, “unless you visit her on business, when I need not say I shall +be only too happy, to attend you, as before.” + +Don Jose, with a slight lifting of the eyebrows, allowed himself to +become conscious of the lawyer's meaning. “It is not of business that +I come to kiss the Senora's hand to-day,” he replied, with a melancholy +softness; “it is as her neighbor, to put myself at her disposition. Ah! +the what have we here for a lady?” he continued, raising his eyes in +deprecation of the surroundings; “a house of nothing, a place of winds +and dry bones, without refreshments, or satisfaction, or delicacy. The +Senora will not refuse to make us proud this day to send her of that +which we have in our poor home at Los Gatos, to make her more complete. +Of what shall it be? Let her make choice. Or if she would commemorate +this day by accepting of our hospitality at Los Gatos, until she shall +arrange herself the more to receive us here, we shall have too much +honor.” + +“The Senora would only find it the more difficult to return to this +humble roof again, after once leaving it for Don Jose's hospitality,” + said Poindexter, with a demure glance at Mrs. Tucker. But the innuendo +seemed to lapse equally unheeded by his fair client and the stranger. +Raising her eyes with a certain timid dignity which Don Jose's presence +seemed to have called out, she addressed herself to him. + +“You are very kind and considerate, Mister Santierra, and I thank you. I +know that my husband”--she let the clear beauty of her translucent eyes +rest full on both men--“would thank you too. But I shall not be here +long enough to accept your kindness in this house or in your own. I have +but one desire and object now. It is to dispose of this property, and +indeed all I possess, to pay the debt of my husband. It is in your +power, perhaps, to help me. I am told that you wish to possess Los +Cuervos,” she went on, equally oblivious of the consciousness that +appeared in Don Jose's face, and a humorous perplexity on the brow of +Poindexter. “If you can arrange it with Mr. Poindexter, you will find +me a liberal vendor. That much you can do, and I know you will believe +I shall be grateful. You can do no more, unless it be to say to your +friends that Mrs. Belle Tucker remains here only for that purpose, +and to carry out what she knows to be the wishes of her husband.” She +paused, bent her pretty crest, dropped a quaint curtsey to the superior +age, the silver braid, and the gentlemanly bearing of Don Jose, and with +the passing sunshine of a smile disappeared from the corridor. + +The two men remained silent for a moment, Don Jose gazing abstractedly +on the door through which she had vanished, until Poindexter, with a +return of his tolerant smile, said, “You have heard the views of Mrs. +Tucker. You know the situation as well as she does.” + +“Ah, yes; possibly better.” + +Poindexter darted a quick glance at the grave, sallow face of Don Jose, +but detecting no unusual significance in his manner, continued, “As you +see, she leaves this matter in my hands. Let us talk like business men. +Have you any idea of purchasing this property?” + +“Of purchasing, ah, no.” + +Poindexter bent his brows, but quickly relaxed them with a smile of +humorous forgiveness. “If you have any other idea, Don Jose, I ought to +warn you, as Mrs. Tucker's lawyer, that she is in legal possession here, +and that nothing but her own act can change that position.” + +“Ah, so.” + +Irritated at the shrug which accompanied this, Poindexter continued +haughtily, “If I am to understand, you have nothing to say--” + +“To say, ah, yes, possibly. But”--he glanced toward the door of Mrs. +Tucker's room--“not here.” He stopped, appeared to recall himself, +and with an apologetic smile and a studied but graceful gesture of +invitation, he motioned to the gateway, and said, “Will you ride?” + +“What can the fellow be up to?” muttered Poindexter, as with an +assenting nod he proceeded to remount his horse. “If he wasn't an old +hidalgo, I'd mistrust him. No matter! here goes!” + +The Don also remounted his half-broken mustang; they proceeded in solemn +silence through the corral, and side by side emerged on the open plain. +Poindexter glanced around; no other being was in sight. It was not until +the lonely hacienda had also sunk behind them that Don Jose broke the +silence. + +“You say just now we shall speak as business men. I say no, Don Marco; I +will not. I shall speak, we shall speak, as gentlemen.” + +“Go on,” said Poindexter, who was beginning to be amused. + +“I say just now I will not purchase the rancho from the Senora. And why? +Look you, Don Marco;” he reined in his horse, thrust his hand under his +serape, and drew out a folded document: “this is why.” + +With a smile, Poindexter took the paper from his hand and opened it. But +the smile faded from his lips as he read. With blazing eyes he spurred +his horse beside the Spaniard, almost unseating him, and said sternly, +“What does this mean?” + +“What does it mean?” repeated Don Jose, with equally flashing eyes, +“I'll tell you. It means that your client, this man Spencer Tucker, is +a Judas, a traitor! It means that he gave Los Cuervos to his mistress +a year ago, and that she sold it to me--to me, you hear!--ME, Jose +Santierra, the day before she left! It means that the coyote of a +Spencer, the thief, who bought these lands of a thief, and gave them +to a thief, has tricked you all. Look,” he said, rising in his saddle, +holding the paper like a baton, and defining with a sweep of his arm the +whole level plain, “all these lands were once mine, they are mine again +to-day. Do I want to purchase Los Cuervos? you ask, for you will speak +of the BUSINESS. Well, listen. I HAVE purchased Los Cuervos, and here is +the deed.” + +“But it has never been recorded,” said Poindexter, with a carelessness +he was far from feeling. + +“Of a verity, no. Do you wish that I should record it?” asked Don Jose, +with a return of his simple gravity. + +Poindexter bit his lip. “You said we were to talk like gentlemen,” he +returned. “Do you think you have come into possession of this alleged +deed like a gentleman?” + +Don Jose shrugged his shoulders. “I found it tossed in the lap of a +harlot. I bought it for a song. Eh, what would you?” + +“Would you sell it again for a song?” asked Poindexter. + +“Ah! what is this?” said Don Jose, lifting his iron-gray brows; “but a +moment ago we would sell everything, for any money. Now we would buy. Is +it so?” + +“One moment, Don Jose,” said Poindexter, with a baleful light in his +dark eyes. “Do I understand that you are the ally of Spencer Tucker and +his mistress, that you intend to turn this doubly betrayed wife from the +only roof she has to cover her?” + +“Ah, I comprehend not. You heard her say she wished to go. Perhaps it +may please ME to distribute largess to these cattle yonder, I do not say +no. More she does not ask. But YOU, Don Marco, of whom are you advocate? +You abandon your client's mistress for the wife, is it so?” + +“What I may do you will learn hereafter,” said Poindexter, who had +regained his composure, suddenly reining up his horse. “As our paths +seem likely to diverge, they had better begin now. Good morning.” + +“Patience, my friend, patience! Ah, blessed St. Anthony, what these +Americans are! Listen. For what YOU shall do, I do not inquire. The +question is to me what I”--he emphasized the pronoun by tapping himself +on the breast--“I, Jose Santierra, will do. Well, I shall tell you. +To-day, nothing. To-morrow, nothing. For a week, for a month, nothing! +After, we shall see.” + +Poindexter paused thoughtfully. “Will you give your word, Don Jose, that +you will not press the claim for a month?” + +“Truly, on one condition. Observe! I do not ask you for an equal +promise, that you will not take this time to defend yourself.” He +shrugged his shoulders. “No! It is only this. You shall promise that +during that time the Senora Tucker shall remain ignorant of this +document.” + +Poindexter hesitated a moment. “I promise,” he said at last. + +“Good. Adios, Don Marco.” + +“Adios, Don Jose.” + +The Spaniard put spurs to his mustang and galloped off in the direction +of Los Gatos. The lawyer remained for a moment gazing on his retreating +but victorious figure. For the first time the old look of humorous +toleration with which Mr. Poindexter was in the habit of regarding all +human infirmity gave way to something like bitterness. “I might have +guessed it,” he said, with a slight rise of color. “He's an old +fool; and she--well, perhaps it's all the better for her!” He glanced +backwards almost tenderly in the direction of Los Cuervos, and then +turned his head towards the embarcadero. + +As the afternoon wore on, a creaking, antiquated ox-cart arrived at +Los Cuervos, bearing several articles of furniture, and some tasteful +ornaments from Los Gatos, at the same time that a young Mexican girl +mysteriously appeared in the kitchen, as a temporary assistant to the +decrepit Concha. These were both clearly attributable to Don Jose, whose +visit was not so remote but that these delicate attentions might have +been already projected before Mrs. Tucker had declined them, and she +could not, without marked discourtesy, return them now. She did not wish +to seem discourteous; she would like to have been more civil to this +old gentleman, who still retained the evidences of a picturesque +and decorous past, and a repose so different from the life that was +perplexing her. Reflecting that if he bought the estate these things +would be ready to his hand, and with a woman's instinct recognizing +their value in setting off the house to other purchasers' eyes, she +took a pleasure in tastefully arranging them, and even found herself +speculating how she might have enjoyed them herself had she been able +to keep possession of the property. After all, it would not have been +so lonely if refined and gentle neighbors, like this old man, would have +sympathized with her; she had an instinctive feeling that, in their own +hopeless decay and hereditary unfitness for this new civilization, they +would have been more tolerant of her husband's failure than his own +kind. She could not believe that Don Jose really hated her husband for +buying of the successful claimant, as there was no other legal title. +Allowing herself to become interested in the guileless gossip of the new +handmaiden, proud of her broken English, she was drawn into a sympathy +with the grave simplicity of Don Jose's character, a relic of that true +nobility which placed this descendant of the Castilians and the daughter +of a free people on the same level. + +In this way the second day of her occupancy of Los Cuervos closed, with +dumb clouds along the gray horizon, and the paroxysms of hysterical +wind growing fainter and fainter outside the walls; with the moon rising +after nightfall, and losing itself in silent and mysterious confidences +with drifting scud. She went to bed early, but woke past midnight, +hearing, as she thought, her own name called. The impression was so +strong upon her that she rose, and, hastily enwrapping herself, went +to the dark embrasures of the oven-shaped windows, and looked out. The +dwarfed oak beside the window was still dropping from a past shower, but +the level waste of marsh and meadow beyond seemed to advance and recede +with the coming and going of the moon. Again she heard her name called, +and this time in accents so strangely familiar that with a slight cry +she ran into the corridor, crossed the patio, and reached the open gate. +The darkness that had, even in this brief interval, again fallen upon +the prospect she tried in vain to pierce with eye and voice. A blank +silence followed. Then the veil was suddenly withdrawn; the vast plain, +stretching from the mountain to the sea, shone as clearly as in the +light of day; the moving current of the channel glittered like black +pearls, the stagnant pools like molten lead; but not a sign of life nor +motion broke the monotony of the broad expanse. She must have surely +dreamed it. A chill wind drove her back to the house again; she entered +her bedroom, and in half an hour she was in a peaceful sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The two men kept their secret. Mr. Poindexter convinced Mrs. Tucker that +the sale of Los Cuervos could not be effected until the notoriety of her +husband's flight had been fairly forgotten, and she was forced to accept +her fate. The sale of her diamonds, which seemed to her to have realized +a singularly extravagant sum, enabled her to quietly reinstate the +Pattersons in the tienda and to discharge in full her husband's +liabilities to the rancheros and his humbler retainers. + +Meanwhile the winter rains had ceased. It seemed to her as if the clouds +had suddenly one night struck their white tents and stolen away, leaving +the unvanquished sun to mount the vacant sky the next morning alone, +and possess it thenceforward unchallenged. One afternoon she thought +the long sad waste before her window had caught some tint of gayer +color from the sunset; a week later she found it a blazing landscape of +poppies, broken here and there by blue lagoons of lupine, by pools of +daisies, by banks of dog-roses, by broad outlying shores of dandelions +that scattered their lavish gold to the foot of the hills, where the +green billows of wild oats carried it on and upwards to the darker crest +of pines. For two months she was dazzled and bewildered with color. She +had never before been face to face with this spendthrift Californian +Flora, in her virgin wastefulness, her more than goddess-like +prodigality. The teeming earth seemed to quicken and throb beneath +her feet; the few circuits of a plough around the outlying corral were +enough to call out a jungle growth of giant grain that almost hid the +low walls of the hacienda. In this glorious fecundity of the earth, +in this joyous renewal of life and color, in this opulent youth and +freshness of soil and sky, it alone remained, the dead and sterile Past, +left in the midst of buoyant rejuvenescence and resurrection, like an +empty churchyard skull upturned on the springing turf. Its bronzed adobe +walls mocked the green vine that embraced them, the crumbling dust of +its courtyard remained ungerminating and unfruitful; to the thousand +stirring voices without, its dry lips alone remained mute, unresponsive +and unchanged. + +During this time Don Jose had become a frequent visitor at Los Cuervos, +bringing with him at first his niece and sister in a stately precision +of politeness that was not lost on the proud Blue Grass stranger. +She returned their visit at Los Gatos, and there made the formal +acquaintance of Don Jose's grandmother, a lady who still regarded the +decrepit Concha as a giddy muchacha, and who herself glittered as with +the phosphorescence of refined decay. Through this circumstance she +learned that Don Jose was not yet fifty, and that his gravity of +manner and sedateness was more the result of fastidious isolation and +temperament than years. She could not tell why the information gave +her a feeling of annoyance, but it caused her to regret the absence of +Poindexter, and to wonder, also somewhat nervously, why he had lately +avoided her presence. The thought that he might be doing so from a +recollection of the innuendoes of Mrs. Patterson caused a little tremor +of indignation in her pulses. “As if--” but she did not finish the +sentence even to herself, and her eyes filled with bitter tears. + +Yet she had thought of the husband who had so cruelly wronged her less +feverishly, less impatiently than before. For she thought she loved him +now the more deeply, because, although she was not reconciled to his +absence, it seemed to keep alive the memory of what he had been before +his one wild act separated them. She had never seen the reflection of +another woman's eyes in his; the past contained no haunting recollection +of waning or alienated affection; she could meet him again, and, +clasping her arms around him, awaken as if from a troubled dream without +reproach or explanation. Her strong belief in this made her patient; +she no longer sought to know the particulars of his flight, and never +dreamed that her passive submission to his absence was partly due to +a fear that something in his actual presence at that moment would have +destroyed that belief forever. + +For this reason the delicate reticence of the people at Los Gatos, and +their seclusion from the world which knew of her husband's fault, had +made her encourage the visits of Don Jose, until from the instinct +already alluded to she one day summoned Poindexter to Los Cuervos, on +the day that Don Jose usually called. But to her surprise the two men +met more or less awkwardly and coldly, and her tact as hostess was tried +to the utmost to keep their evident antagonism from being too apparent. +The effort to reconcile their mutual discontent, and some other feeling +she did not quite understand, produced a nervous excitement which called +the blood to her cheek and gave a dangerous brilliancy to her eyes, two +circumstances not unnoticed nor unappreciated by her two guests. But +instead of reuniting them, the prettier Mrs. Tucker became, the more +distant and reserved grew the men, until Don Jose rose before the usual +hour, and with more than usual ceremoniousness departed. + +“Then my business does not seem to be with HIM?” said Poindexter, +with quiet coolness, as Mrs. Tucker turned her somewhat mystified face +towards him. “Or have you anything to say to me about him in private?” + +“I am sure I don't know what you both mean,” she returned with a slight +tremor of voice. “I had no idea you were not on good terms. I thought +you were! It's very awkward.” Without coquetry and unconsciously she +raised her blue eyes under her lids until the clear pupils coyly and +softly hid themselves in the corners of the brown lashes, and added, +“You have both been so kind to me.” + +“Perhaps that is the reason,” said Poindexter, gravely. But Mrs. Tucker +refused to accept the suggestion with equal gravity, and began to laugh. +The laugh, which was at first frank, spontaneous, and almost child-like, +was becoming hysterical and nervous as she went on, until it was +suddenly checked by Poindexter. + +“I have had no difficulties with Don Jose Santierra,” he said, somewhat +coldly ignoring her hilarity, “but perhaps he is not inclined to be as +polite to the friend of the husband as he is to the wife.” + +“Mr. Poindexter!” said Mrs. Tucker quickly, her face becoming pale +again. + +“I beg your pardon!” said Poindexter, flushing; “but--” + +“You want to say,” she interrupted coolly, “that you are not friends, I +see. Is that the reason why you have avoided this house?” she continued +gently. + +“I thought I could be of more service to you elsewhere,” he replied +evasively. “I have been lately following up a certain clue rather +closely. I think I am on the track of a confidante of--of--that woman.” + +A quick shadow passed over Mrs. Tucker's face. “Indeed!” she said +coldly. “Then I am to believe that you prefer to spend your leisure +moments in looking after that creature to calling here?” + +Poindexter was stupefied. Was this the woman who only four months ago +was almost vindictively eager to pursue her husband's paramour! There +could be but one answer to it--Don Jose! Four months ago he would have +smiled compassionately at it from his cynical pre-eminence. Now he +managed with difficulty to stifle the bitterness of his reply. + +“If you do not wish the inquiry carried on,” he began, “of course--” + +“I? What does it matter to me?” she said coolly. “Do as you please.” + +Nevertheless, half an hour later, as he was leaving, she said, with a +certain hesitating timidity, “Do not leave me so much alone here, and +let that woman go.” + +This was not the only unlooked-for sequel to her innocent desire to +propitiate her best friends. Don Jose did not call again upon his usual +day, but in his place came Dona Clara, his younger sister. When Mrs. +Tucker had politely asked after the absent Don Jose, Dona Clara wound +her swarthy arms around the fair American's waist and replied, “But why +did you send for the abogado Poindexter when my brother called?” + +“But Captain Poindexter calls as one of my friends,” said the amazed +Mrs. Tucker. “He is a gentleman, and has been a soldier and an officer,” + she added with some warmth. + +“Ah, yes, a soldier of the law, what you call an oficial de policia, +a chief of gendarmes, my sister, but not a gentleman--a camarero to +protect a lady.” + +Mrs. Tucker would have uttered a hasty reply, but the perfect and +good-natured simplicity of Dona Clara withheld her. Nevertheless, she +treated Don Jose with a certain reserve at their next meeting, until +it brought the simple-minded Castilian so dangerously near the point of +demanding an explanation which implied too much that she was obliged to +restore him temporarily to his old footing. Meantime she had a brilliant +idea. She would write to Calhoun Weaver, whom she had avoided since that +memorable day. She would say she wished to consult him. He would come to +Los Cuervos; he might suggest something to lighten this weary waiting; +at least she would show them all that she had still old friends. Yet she +did not dream of returning to her Blue Grass home; her parents had died +since she left; she shrank from the thought of dragging her ruined life +before the hopeful youth of her girlhood's companions. + +Mr. Calhoun Weaver arrived promptly, ostentatiously, oracularly, and +cordially, but a little coarsely. He had--did she remember?--expected +this from the first. Spencer had lost his head through vanity, and +had attempted too much. It required foresight and firmness, as he +himself--who had lately made successful “combinations” which she might +perhaps have heard of--well knew. But Spencer had got the “big head.” + “As to that woman--a devilish handsome woman too!--well, everybody knew +that Spencer always had a weakness that way, and he would say--but if +she didn't care to hear any more about her--well, perhaps she was right. +That was the best way to take it.” Sitting before her, prosperous, +weak, egotistical, incompetent, unavailable, and yet filled with a vague +kindliness of intent, Mrs. Tucker loathed him. A sickening perception of +her own weakness in sending for him, a new and aching sense of her utter +isolation and helplessness, seemed to paralyze her. + +“Nat'rally you feel bad,” he continued, with the large air of a profound +student of human nature. “Nat'rally, nat'rally you're kept in an +uncomfortable state, not knowing jist how you stand. There ain't but one +thing to do. Jist rise up, quiet like, and get a divorce agin Spencer. +Hold on! There ain't a judge or jury in California that wouldn't give it +to you right off the nail, without asking questions. Why, you 'ld get it +by default if you wanted to; you 'ld just have to walk over the course! +And then, Belle,” he drew his chair still nearer her, “when you've +settled down again--well!--I don't mind renewing that offer I once made +ye, before Spencer ever came round ye--I don't mind, Belle, I swear I +don't! Honest Injin! I'm in earnest, there's my hand!” + +Mrs. Tucker's reply has not been recorded. Enough that half an hour +later Mr. Weaver appeared in the courtyard with traces of tears on his +foolish face, a broken falsetto voice, and other evidence of mental and +moral disturbance. His cordiality and oracular predisposition remained +sufficiently to enable him to suggest the magical words “Blue Grass” + mysteriously to Concha, with an indication of his hand to the erect +figure of her pale mistress in the doorway, who waved to him a silent +but half-compassionate farewell. + +At about this time a slight change in her manner was noticed by the few +who saw her more frequently. Her apparently invincible girlishness of +spirit had given way to a certain matronly seriousness. She applied +herself to her household cares and the improvement of the hacienda with +a new sense of duty and a settled earnestness, until by degrees she +wrought into it not only her instinctive delicacy and taste, but part +of her own individuality. Even the rude rancheros and tradesmen who were +permitted to enter the walls in the exercise of their calling began to +speak mysteriously of the beauty of this garden of the almarjal. She +went out but seldom, and then accompanied by the one or the other of her +female servants, in long drives on unfrequented roads. On Sundays she +sometimes drove to the half-ruined mission church of Santa Inez, and +hid herself, during mass, in the dim monastic shadows of the choir. +Gradually the poorer people whom she met in these journeys began to +show an almost devotional reverence for her, stopping in the roads with +uncovered heads for her to pass, or making way for her in the tienda +or plaza of the wretched town with dumb courtesy. She began to feel a +strange sense of widowhood, that, while it at times brought tears to +her eyes, was, not without a certain tender solace. In the sympathy and +simpleness of this impulse she went as far as to revive the mourning she +had worn for her parents, but with such a fatal accenting of her beauty, +and dangerous misinterpreting of her condition to eligible bachelors +strange to the country, that she was obliged to put it off again. Her +reserve and dignified manner caused others to mistake her nationality +for that of the Santierras, and in “Dona Bella” the simple Mrs. +Tucker was for a while forgotten. At times she even forgot it herself. +Accustomed now almost entirely to the accents of another language and +the features of another race, she would sit for hours in the corridor, +whose massive bronzed inclosure even her tasteful care could only make +an embowered mausoleum of the Past, or gaze abstractedly from the dark +embrasures of her windows across the stretching almarjal to the shining +lagoon beyond that terminated the estuary. She had a strange fondness +for this tranquil mirror, which under sun or stars always retained the +passive reflex of the sky above, and seemed to rest her weary eyes. She +had objected to one of the plans projected by Poindexter to redeem the +land and deepen the water at the embarcadero, as it would have drained +the lagoon, and the lawyer had postponed the improvement to gratify +her fancy. So she kept it through the long summer unchanged save by the +shadows of passing wings or the lazy files of sleeping sea-fowl. + +On one of these afternoons she noticed a slowly moving carriage leave +the high road and cross the almarjal skirting the edge of the lagoon. If +it contained visitors for Los Cuervos they had evidently taken a shorter +cut without waiting to go on to the regular road which intersected the +highway at right angles a mile farther on. It was with some sense of +annoyance and irritation that she watched the trespass, and finally saw +the vehicle approach the house. A few moments later the servant informed +her that Mr. Patterson would like to see her alone. When she entered the +corridor, which in the dry season served as a reception hall, she +was surprised to see that Patterson was not alone. Near him stood +a well-dressed handsome woman, gazing about her with good-humored +admiration of Mrs. Tucker's taste and ingenuity. + +“It don't look much like it did two years ago,” said the stranger +cheerfully. “You've improved it wonderfully.” + +Stiffening slightly, Mrs. Tucker turned inquiringly to Mr. Patterson. +But that gentleman's usual profound melancholy appeared to be +intensified by the hilarity of his companion. He only sighed deeply and +rubbed his leg with the brim of his hat in gloomy abstraction. + +“Well! go on, then,” said the woman, laughing and nudging him. “Go +on--introduce me--can't you? Don't stand there like a tombstone. You +won't? Well, I'll introduce myself.” She laughed again, and then, with +an excellent imitation of Patterson's lugubrious accents, said, “Mr. +Spencer Tucker's wife that IS, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Spencer +Tucker's sweetheart that WAS! Hold on! I said THAT WAS. For true as +I stand here, ma'am--and I reckon I wouldn't stand here if it wasn't +true--I haven't set eyes on him since the day he left you.” + +“It's the Gospel truth, every word,” said Patterson, stirred into a +sudden activity by Mrs. Tucker's white and rigid face. “It's the frozen +truth, and I kin prove it. For I kin swear that when that there young +woman was sailin' outer the Golden Gate, Spencer Tucker was in my bar +room; I kin swear that I fed him, lickered him, give him a hoss and set +him in his road to Monterey that very night.” + +“Then, where is he now?” said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly facing them. + +They looked at each other, and then looked at Mrs. Tucker. +Then both together replied slowly and in perfect unison, +“That's--what--we--want--to--know.” They seemed so satisfied +with this effect that they as deliberately repeated, +“Yes--that's--what--we--want--to--know.” + +Between the shock of meeting the partner of her husband's guilt and +the unexpected revelation to her inexperience, that in suggestion and +appearance there was nothing beyond the recollection of that guilt that +was really shocking in the woman--between the extravagant extremes +of hope and fear suggested by their words, there was something so +grotesquely absurd in the melodramatic chorus that she with difficulty +suppressed a hysterical laugh. + +“That's the way to take it,” said the woman, putting her own +good-humored interpretation upon Mrs. Tucker's expression. “Now, look +here! I'll tell you all about it.” She carefully selected the most +comfortable chair, and sitting down, lightly crossed her hands in her +lap. “Well, I left here on the 13th of last January on the ship Argo, +calculating that your husband would join the ship just inside the Heads. +That was our arrangement, but if anything happened to prevent him, he +was to join me in Acapulco. Well! He didn't come aboard, and we sailed +without him. But it appears now he did attempt to join the ship, but his +boat was capsized. There, now, don't be alarmed! he wasn't drowned, as +Patterson can swear to--no, catch HIM! not a hair of him was hurt; but +I--I was bundled off to the end of the earth in Mexico, alone, without a +cent to bless me. For true as you live, that hound of a captain, when he +found, as he thought, that Spencer was nabbed, he just confiscated all +his trunks and valuables and left me in the lurch. If I hadn't met a man +down there that offered to marry me and brought me here, I might have +died there, I reckon. But I did, and here I am. I went down there as +your husband's sweetheart, I've come back as the wife of an honest man, +and I reckon it's about square!” + +There was something so startlingly frank, so hopelessly self-satisfied, +so contagiously good-humored in the woman's perfect moral +unconsciousness, that even if Mrs. Tucker had been less preoccupied her +resentment would have abated. But her eyes were fixed on the gloomy face +of Patterson, who was beginning to unlock the sepulchres of his memory +and disinter his deeply buried thoughts. + +“You kin bet your whole pile on what this Mrs. Capting Baxter--ez used +to be French Inez of New Orleans--hez told ye. Ye kin take everything +she's unloaded. And it's only doin' the square thing to her to say, she +hain't done it out o' no cussedness, but just to satisfy herself, now +she's a married woman and past such foolishness. But that ain't neither +here nor there. The gist of the whole matter is that Spencer Tucker was +at the tienda the day after she sailed and after his boat capsized.” He +then gave a detailed account of the interview, with the unnecessary but +truthful minutiae of his class, adding to the particulars already known +that the following week he visited the Summit House and was surprised +to find that Spencer had never been there, nor had he ever sailed from +Monterey. + +“But why was this not told to me before?” said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly. +“Why not at the time? Why,” she demanded almost fiercely, turning from +the one to the other, “has this been kept from me?” + +“I'll tell ye why,” said Patterson, sinking with crushed submission into +a chair. “When I found he wasn't where he ought to be, I got to lookin' +elsewhere. I knew the track of the hoss I lent him by a loose shoe. I +examined; and found he had turned off the high road somewhere beyond the +lagoon, jist as if he was makin' a bee line here.” + +“Well,” said Mrs. Tucker, breathlessly. + +“Well,” said Patterson, with the resigned tone of an accustomed martyr, +“mebbe I'm a God-forsaken idiot, but I reckon he DID come yer. And mebbe +I'm that much of a habitooal lunatic, but thinking so, I calkilated +you'ld know it without tellin'.” + +With their eyes fixed upon her, Mrs. Tucker felt the quick blood rush +to her cheeks, although she knew not why. But they were apparently +satisfied with her ignorance, for Patterson resumed, yet more +gloomily:-- + +“Then if he wasn't hidin' here beknownst to you, he must have changed +his mind agin and got away by the embarcadero. The only thing wantin' to +prove that idea is to know how he got a boat, and what he did with the +hoss. And thar's one more idea, and ez that can't be proved,” continued +Patterson, sinking his voice still lower, “mebbe it's accordin' to God's +laws.” + +Unsympathetic to her as the speaker had always been and still was, Mrs. +Tucker felt a vague chill creep over her that seemed to be the result of +his manner more than his words. “And that idea is . . . ?” she suggested +with pale lips. + +“It's this! Fust, I don't say it means much to anybody but me. I've +heard of these warnings afore now, ez comin' only to folks ez hear them +for themselves alone, and I reckon I kin stand it, if it's the will o' +God. The idea is then--that--Spencer Tucker--WAS DROWNDED in that boat; +the idea is”--his voice was almost lost in a hoarse whisper--“that it +was no living man that kem to me that night, but a spirit that kem out +of the darkness and went back into it! No eye saw him but mine--no ears +heard him but mine. I reckon it weren't intended it should.” He paused, +and passed the flap of his hat across his eyes. “The pie, you'll say, is +agin it,” he continued in the same tone of voice,--“the whiskey is agin +it--a few cuss words that dropped from him, accidental like, may have +been agin it. All the same they mout have been only the little signs and +tokens that it was him.” + +But Mrs. Baxter's ready laugh somewhat rudely dispelled the infection +of Patterson's gloom. “I reckon the only spirit was that which you and +Spencer consumed,” she said, cheerfully. “I don't wonder you're a little +mixed. Like as not you've misunderstood his plans.” Patterson shook +his head. “He'll turn up yet, alive and kicking! Like as not, then, +Poindexter knows where he is all the time.” + +“Impossible! He would have told me,” said Mrs. Tucker, quickly. + +Mrs. Baxter looked at Patterson without speaking. Patterson replied by a +long lugubrious whistle. + +“I don't understand you,” said Mrs. Tucker, drawing back with cold +dignity. + +“You don't?” returned Mrs. Baxter. “Bless your innocent heart! Why was +he so keen to hunt me up at first, shadowing my friends and all that, +and why has he dropped it now he knows I'm here, if he didn't know where +Spencer was?” + +“I can explain that,” interrupted Mrs. Tucker, hastily, with a blush of +confusion. “That is--I--” + +“Then mebbe you kin explain too,” broke in Patterson with gloomy +significance, “why he has bought up most of Spencer's debts himself, and +perhaps you're satisfied it ISN'T to hold the whip hand of him and keep +him from coming back openly. Pr'aps you know why he's movin' heaven and +earth to make Don Jose Santierra sell the ranch, and why the Don don't +see it all.” + +“Don Jose sell Los Cuervos! Buy it, you mean?” said Mrs. Tucker. “I +offered to sell it to him.” + +Patterson arose from the chair, looked despairingly around him, passed +his hand sadly across his forehead, and said: “It's come! I knew it +would. It's the warning! It's suthing betwixt jim-jams and doddering +idjiocy. Here I'd hev been willin' to swear that Mrs. Baxter here told +me SHE had sold this yer ranch nearly two years ago to Don Jose, and now +you--” + +“Stop!” said Mrs. Tucker, in a voice that chilled them. + +She was standing upright and rigid, as if stricken to stone. “I command +you to tell me what this means!” she said, turning only her blazing eyes +upon the woman. + +Even the ready smile faded from Mrs. Baxter's lips as she replied +hesitatingly and submissively: “I thought you knew already that Spencer +had given this ranch to me. I sold it to Don Jose to get the money for +us to go away with. It was Spencer's idea--” + +“You lie!” said Mrs. Tucker. + +There was a dead silence. The wrathful blood that had quickly mounted +to Mrs. Baxter's cheek, to Patterson's additional bewilderment, faded as +quickly. She did not lift her eyes again to Mrs. Tucker's, but, slowly +raising herself from her seat, said, “I wish to God I did lie; but it's +true. And it's true that I never touched a cent of the money, but gave +it all to him!” She laid her hand on Patterson's arm, and said, “Come! +let us go,” and led him a few steps towards the gateway. But here +Patterson paused, and again passed his hand over his melancholy brow. +The necessity of coherently and logically closing the conversation +impressed itself upon his darkening mind. “Then you don't happen to have +heard anything of Spencer?” he said sadly, and vanished with Mrs. Baxter +through the gate. + +Left alone to herself, Mrs. Tucker raised her hands above her head with +a little cry, interlocked her rigid fingers, and slowly brought her +palms down upon her upturned face and eyes, pressing hard as if to crush +out all light and sense of life before her. She stood thus for a moment +motionless and silent, with the rising wind whispering without and +flecking her white morning dress with gusty shadows from the arbor. +Then, with closed eyes, dropping her hands to her breast, still pressing +hard, she slowly passed them down the shapely contours of her figure to +the waist, and with another cry cast them off as if she were stripping +herself of some loathsome garment. Then she walked quickly to the +gateway, looked out, returned to the corridor, unloosening and taking +off her wedding-ring from her finger as she walked. Here she paused, +then slowly and deliberately rearranged the chairs and adjusted the +gay-colored rugs that draped them, and quietly re-entered her chamber. + + +Two days afterwards the sweating steed of Captain Poindexter was +turned loose in the corral, and a moment later the captain entered the +corridor. Handing a letter to the decrepit Concha, who seemed to be +utterly disorganized by its contents, and the few curt words with which +it was delivered, he gazed silently upon the vacant bower, still fresh +and redolent with the delicacy and perfume of its graceful occupant, +until his dark eyes filled with unaccustomed moisture. But his reverie +was interrupted by the sound of jingling spurs without, and the old +humor struggled back in his eyes as Don Jose impetuously entered. The +Spaniard started back, but instantly recovered himself. + +“So I find you here. Ah! it is well!” he said passionately, producing a +letter from his bosom. “Look! Do you call this honor? Look how you keep +your compact!” + +Poindexter coolly took the letter. It contained a few words of gentle +dignity from Mrs. Tucker, informing Don Jose that she had only that +instant learned of his just claims upon Los Cuervos, tendering him her +gratitude for his delicate intentions, but pointing out with respectful +firmness that he must know that a moment's further acceptance of his +courtesy was impossible. + +“She has gained this knowledge from no word of mine,” said Poindexter, +calmly. “Right or wrong, I have kept my promise to you. I have as much +reason to accuse you of betraying my secret in this,” he added coldly, +as he took another letter from his pocket and handed it to Don Jose. + +It seemed briefer and colder, but was neither. It reminded Poindexter +that as he had again deceived her she must take the government of her +affairs in her own hands henceforth. She abandoned all the furniture and +improvements she had put in Los Cuervos to him, to whom she now knew +she was indebted for them. She could not thank him for what his habitual +generosity impelled him to do for any woman, but she could forgive him +for misunderstanding her like any other woman, perhaps she should say, +like a child. When he received this she would be already on her way to +her old home in Kentucky, where she still hoped to be able by her own +efforts to amass enough to discharge her obligations to him. + +“She does not speak of her husband, this woman,” said Don Jose, scanning +Poindexter's face. “It is possible she rejoins him, eh?” + +“Perhaps in one way she has never left him, Don Jose,” said Poindexter, +with grave significance. + +Don Jose's face flushed, but he returned carelessly, “And the rancho, +naturally you will not buy it now?” + +“On the contrary, I shall abide by my offer,” said Poindexter, quietly. + +Don Jose eyed him narrowly, and then said, “Ah, we shall consider of +it.” + +He did consider it, and accepted the offer. With the full control of the +land, Captain Poindexter's improvements, so indefinitely postponed, were +actively pushed forward. The thick walls of the hacienda were the first +to melt away before them; the low lines of corral were effaced, and the +early breath of the summer trade winds swept uninterruptedly across the +now leveled plain to the embarcadero, where a newer structure arose. A +more vivid green alone marked the spot where the crumbling adobe walls +of the casa had returned to the parent soil that gave it. The channel +was deepened, the lagoon was drained, until one evening the magic mirror +that had so long reflected the weary waiting of the Blue Grass Penelope +lay dull, dead, lustreless, an opaque quagmire of noisome corruption +and decay to be put away from the sight of man forever. On this spot +the crows, the titular tenants of Los Cuervos, assembled in tumultuous +congress, coming and going in mysterious clouds, or laboring in thick +and writhing masses, as if they were continuing the work of improvement +begun by human agency. So well had they done the work that by the end +of a week only a few scattered white objects remained glittering on +the surface of the quickly drying soil. But they were the bones of the +missing outcast, Spencer Tucker! + +***** + +The same spring a breath of war swept over a foul, decaying quagmire of +the whole land, before which such passing deeds as these were blown as +vapor. It called men of all rank and condition to battle for a nation's +life, and among the first to respond were those into whose boyish +hands had been placed the nation's honor. It returned the epaulets to +Poindexter's shoulder with the addition of a double star, carried him +triumphantly to the front, and left him, at the end of a summer's +day and a hard-won fight, sorely wounded, at the door of a Blue Grass +farmhouse. And the woman who sought him out and ministered to his wants +said timidly, as she left her hand in his, “I told you I should live to +repay you.” + + + + + +LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +There was little doubt that the Lone Star claim was “played out.” Not +dug out, worked out, washed out, but PLAYED out. For two years its +five sanguine proprietors had gone through the various stages of mining +enthusiasm; had prospected and planned, dug and doubted. They had +borrowed money with hearty but unredeeming frankness, established a +credit with unselfish abnegation of all responsibility, and had borne +the disappointment of their creditors with a cheerful resignation which +only the consciousness of some deep Compensating Future could give. +Giving little else, however, a singular dissatisfaction obtained with +the traders, and, being accompanied with a reluctance to make further +advances, at last touched the gentle stoicism of the proprietors +themselves. The youthful enthusiasm which had at first lifted the +most ineffectual trial, the most useless essay, to the plane of actual +achievement, died out, leaving them only the dull, prosaic record of +half-finished ditches, purposeless shafts, untenable pits, abandoned +engines, and meaningless disruptions of the soil upon the Lone Star +claim, and empty flour sacks and pork barrels in the Lone Star cabin. + +They had borne their poverty, if that term could be applied to a +light renunciation of all superfluities in food, dress, or ornament, +ameliorated by the gentle depredations already alluded to, with +unassuming levity. More than that: having segregated themselves from +their fellow-miners of Red Gulch, and entered upon the possession of the +little manzanita-thicketed valley five miles away, the failure of their +enterprise had assumed in their eyes only the vague significance of the +decline and fall of a general community, and to that extent relieved +them of individual responsibility. It was easier for them to admit +that the Lone Star claim was “played out” than confess to a personal +bankruptcy. Moreover, they still retained the sacred right of criticism +of government, and rose superior in their private opinions to their own +collective wisdom. Each one experienced a grateful sense of the entire +responsibility of the other four in the fate of their enterprise. + +On December 24, 1863, a gentle rain was still falling over the length +and breadth of the Lone Star claim. It had been falling for several +days, had already called a faint spring color to the wan landscape, +repairing with tender touches the ravages wrought by the proprietors, or +charitably covering their faults. The ragged seams in gulch and canyon +lost their harsh outlines, a thin green mantle faintly clothed the torn +and abraded hillside. A few weeks more, and a veil of forgetfulness +would be drawn over the feeble failures of the Lone Star claim. The +charming derelicts themselves, listening to the raindrops on the roof +of their little cabin, gazed philosophically from the open door, and +accepted the prospect as a moral discharge from their obligations. Four +of the five partners were present. The Right and Left Bowers, Union +Mills, and the Judge. + +It is scarcely necessary to say that not one of these titles was the +genuine name of its possessor. The Right and Left Bowers were two +brothers; their sobriquets, a cheerful adaptation from the favorite game +of euchre, expressing their relative value in the camp. The mere fact +that Union Mills had at one time patched his trousers with an old flour +sack legibly bearing that brand of its fabrication, was a tempting +baptismal suggestion that the other partners could not forego. The +Judge, a singularly inequitable Missourian, with no knowledge whatever +of the law, was an inspiration of gratuitous irony. + +Union Mills, who had been for some time sitting placidly on the +threshold with one leg exposed to the rain, from a sheer indolent +inability to change his position, finally withdrew that weather-beaten +member, and stood up. The movement more or less deranged the attitudes +of the other partners, and was received with cynical disfavor. It was +somewhat remarkable that, although generally giving the appearance of +healthy youth and perfect physical condition, they one and all simulated +the decrepitude of age and invalidism, and after limping about for a few +moments, settled back again upon their bunks and stools in their former +positions. The Left Bower lazily replaced a bandage that he had worn +around his ankle for weeks without any apparent necessity, and the Judge +scrutinized with tender solicitude the faded cicatrix of a scratch upon +his arm. A passive hypochondria, born of their isolation, was the last +ludicrously pathetic touch to their situation. + +The immediate cause of this commotion felt the necessity of an +explanation. + +“It would have been just as easy for you to have stayed outside with +your business leg, instead of dragging it into private life in that +obtrusive way,” retorted the Right Bower; “but that exhaustive +effort isn't going to fill the pork barrel. The grocery man at Dalton +says--what's that he said?” he appealed lazily to the Judge. + +“Said he reckoned the Lone Star was about played out, and he didn't want +any more in his--thank you!” repeated the Judge with a mechanical effort +of memory utterly devoid of personal or present interest. + +“I always suspected that man, after Grimshaw begun to deal with him,” + said the Left Bower. “They're just mean enough to join hands against +us.” It was a fixed belief of the Lone Star partners that they were +pursued by personal enmities. + +“More than likely those new strangers over in the Fork have been paying +cash and filled him up with conceit,” said Union Mills, trying to dry +his leg by alternately beating it or rubbing it against the cabin wall. +“Once begin wrong with that kind of snipe and you drag everybody down +with you.” + +This vague conclusion was received with dead silence. Everybody had +become interested in the speaker's peculiar method of drying his leg, +to the exclusion of the previous topic. A few offered criticism, no one +assistance. + +“Who did the grocery man say that to?” asked the Right Bower, finally +returning to the question. + +“The Old man,” answered the Judge. + +“Of course,” ejaculated the Right Bower sarcastically. + +“Of course,” echoed the other partners together. “That's like him. The +Old Man all over!” + +It did not appear exactly what was like the Old Man, or why it was like +him, but generally that he alone was responsible for the grocery man's +defection. It was put more concisely by Union Mills. + +“That comes of letting him go there! It's just a fair provocation to +any man to have the Old Man sent to him. They can't, sorter, restrain +themselves at him. He's enough to spoil the credit of the Rothschilds.” + +“That's so,” chimed in the Judge. “And look at his prospecting. Why, he +was out two nights last week, all night, prospecting in the moonlight +for blind leads, just out of sheer foolishness.” + +“It was quite enough for me,” broke in the Left Bower, “when the other +day, you remember when, he proposed to us white men to settle down to +plain ground sluicing, making 'grub' wages just like any Chinaman. It +just showed his idea of the Lone Star claim.” + +“Well, I never said it afore,” added Union Mills, “but when that one +of the Mattison boys came over here to examine the claim with an eye to +purchasin', it was the Old Man that took the conceit out of him. He just +as good as admitted that a lot of work had got to be done afore any pay +ore could be realized. Never even asked him over to the shanty here to +jine us in a friendly game; just kept him, so to speak, to himself. And +naturally the Mattisons didn't see it.” + +A silence followed, broken only by the rain monotonously falling on +the roof, and occasionally through the broad adobe chimney, where it +provoked a retaliating hiss and splutter from the dying embers of the +hearth. The Right Bower, with a sudden access of energy, drew the empty +barrel before him, and taking a pack of well-worn cards from his pocket, +began to make a “solitaire” upon the lid. The others gazed at him with +languid interest. + +“Makin' it for anythin'?” asked Mills. + +The Right Bower nodded. + +The Judge and Left Bower, who were partly lying in their respective +bunks, sat up to get a better view of the game. Union Mills slowly +disengaged himself from the wall and leaned over the “solitaire” player. +The Right Bower turned the last card in a pause of almost thrilling +suspense, and clapped it down on the lid with fateful emphasis. + +“It went!” said the Judge in a voice of hushed respect. “What did you +make it for?” he almost whispered. + +“To know if we'd make the break we talked about and vamose the ranch. +It's the FIFTH time today,” continued the Right Bower in a voice of +gloomy significance. “And it went agin bad cards too.” + +“I ain't superstitious,” said the Judge, with awe and fatuity beaming +from every line of his credulous face, “but it's flyin' in the face of +Providence to go agin such signs as that.” + +“Make it again, to see if the Old Man must go,” suggested the Left +Bower. + +The suggestion was received with favor, the three men gathering +breathlessly around the player. Again the fateful cards were shuffled +deliberately, placed in their mysterious combination, with the same +ominous result. Yet everybody seemed to breathe more freely, as if +relieved from some responsibility, the Judge accepting this manifest +expression of Providence with resigned self-righteousness. + +“Yes, gentlemen,” resumed the Left Bower, serenely, as if a calm legal +decision had just been recorded, “we must not let any foolishness or +sentiment get mixed up with this thing, but look at it like business +men. The only sensible move is to get up and get out of the camp.” + +“And the Old Man?” queried the Judge. + +“The Old Man--hush! he's coming.” + +The doorway was darkened by a slight lissome shadow. It was the absent +partner, otherwise known as “the Old Man.” Need it be added that he was +a BOY of nineteen, with a slight down just clothing his upper lip! + +“The creek is up over the ford, and I had to 'shin' up a willow on the +bank and swing myself across,” he said, with a quick, frank laugh; “but +all the same, boys, it's going to clear up in about an hour, you bet. +It's breaking away over Bald Mountain, and there's a sun flash on a bit +of snow on Lone Peak. Look! you can see it from here. It's for all the +world like Noah's dove just landed on Mount Ararat. It's a good omen.” + +From sheer force of habit the men had momentarily brightened up at +the Old Man's entrance. But the unblushing exhibition of degrading +superstition shown in the last sentence recalled their just severity. +They exchanged meaning glances. Union Mills uttered hopelessly to +himself: “Hell's full of such omens.” + +Too occupied with his subject to notice this ominous reception, the Old +Man continued: “I reckon I struck a fresh lead in the new grocery man +at the Crossing. He says he'll let the Judge have a pair of boots on +credit, but he can't send them over here; and considering that the Judge +has got to try them anyway, it don't seem to be asking too much for the +Judge to go over there. He says he'll give us a barrel of pork and a bag +of flour if we'll give him the right of using our tail-race and clean +out the lower end of it.” + +“It's the work of a Chinaman, and a four days' job,” broke in the Left +Bower. + +“It took one white man only two hours to clean out a third of it,” + retorted the Old Man triumphantly, “for I pitched in at once with a pick +he let me have on credit, and did that amount of work this morning, and +told him the rest of you boys would finish it this afternoon.” + +A slight gesture from the Right Bower checked an angry exclamation from +the Left. The Old Man did not notice either, but, knitting his smooth +young brow in a paternally reflective fashion, went on: “You'll have +to get a new pair of trousers, Mills, but as he doesn't keep clothing, +we'll have to get some canvas and cut you out a pair. I traded off the +beans he let me have for some tobacco for the Right Bower at the other +shop, and got them to throw in a new pack of cards. These are about +played out. We'll be wanting some brushwood for the fire; there's a heap +in the hollow. Who's going to bring it in? It's the Judge's turn, isn't +it? Why, what's the matter with you all?” + +The restraint and evident uneasiness of his companions had at last +touched him. He turned his frank young eyes upon them; they glanced +helplessly at each other. Yet his first concern was for them, his first +instinct paternal and protecting. He ran his eyes quickly over them; +they were all there and apparently in their usual condition. “Anything +wrong with the claim?” he suggested. + +Without looking at him the Right Bower rose, leaned against the open +door with his hands behind him and his face towards the landscape, and +said, apparently to the distant prospect: “The claim's played out, the +partnership's played out, and the sooner we skedaddle out of this the +better. If,” he added, turning to the Old Man, “if YOU want to stay, if +you want to do Chinaman's work at Chinaman's wages, if you want to hang +on to the charity of the traders at the Crossing, you can do it, and +enjoy the prospects and the Noah's doves alone. But we're calculatin' to +step out of it.” + +“But I haven't said I wanted to do it ALONE,” protested the Old Man with +a gesture of bewilderment. + +“If these are your general ideas of the partnership,” continued the +Right Bower, clinging to the established hypothesis of the other +partners for support, “it ain't ours, and the only way we can prove it +is to stop the foolishness right here. We calculated to dissolve the +partnership and strike out for ourselves elsewhere. You're no longer +responsible for us, nor we for you. And we reckon it's the square thing +to leave you the claim and the cabin, and all it contains. To prevent +any trouble with the traders, we've drawn up a paper here--” + +“With a bonus of fifty thousand dollars each down, and the rest to be +settled on my children,” interrupted the Old Man, with a half-uneasy +laugh. “Of course. But--” he stopped suddenly, the blood dropped from +his fresh cheek, and he again glanced quickly round the group. “I don't +think--I--I quite sabe, boys,” he added, with a slight tremor of voice +and lip. “If it's a conundrum, ask me an easier one.” + +Any lingering doubt he might have had of their meaning was dispelled by +the Judge. “It's about the softest thing you kin drop into, Old Man,” + he said confidentially; “if I hadn't promised the other boys to go with +them, and if I didn't need the best medical advice in Sacramento for my +lungs, I'd just enjoy staying with you.” + +“It gives a sorter freedom to a young fellow like you, Old Man, like +goin' into the world on your own capital, that every Californian boy +hasn't got,” said Union Mills, patronizingly. + +“Of course it's rather hard papers on us, you know, givin' up +everything, so to speak; but it's for your good, and we ain't goin' back +on you,” said the Left Bower, “are we, boys?” + +The color had returned to the Old Man's face a little more quickly and +freely than usual. He picked up the hat he had cast down, put it on +carefully over his brown curls, drew the flap down on the side towards +his companions, and put his hands in his pockets. “All right,” he said, +in a slightly altered voice. “When do you go?” + +“To-day,” answered the Left Bower. “We calculate to take a moonlight +pasear over to the Cross Roads and meet the down stage at about twelve +to-night. There's plenty of time yet,” he added, with a slight laugh; +“it's only three o'clock now.” + +There was a dead silence. Even the rain withheld its continuous patter, +a dumb, gray film covered the ashes of the hushed hearth. For the first +time the Right Bower exhibited some slight embarrassment. + +“I reckon it's held up for a spell,” he said, ostentatiously examining +the weather, “and we might as well take a run round the claim to see +if we've forgotten nothing. Of course, we'll be back again,” he added +hastily, without looking at the Old Man, “before we go, you know.” + +The others began to look for their hats, but so awkwardly and with such +evident preoccupation of mind that it was not at first discovered that +the Judge had his already on. This raised a laugh, as did also a clumsy +stumble of Union Mills against the pork barrel, although that gentleman +took refuge from his confusion and secured a decent retreat by a gross +exaggeration of his lameness, as he limped after the Right Bower. The +Judge whistled feebly. The Left Bower, in a more ambitious effort to +impart a certain gayety to his exit, stopped on the threshold and said, +as if in arch confidence to his companions, “Darned if the Old Man +don't look two inches higher since he became a proprietor,” laughed +patronizingly, and vanished. + +If the newly-made proprietor had increased in stature, he had not +otherwise changed his demeanor. He remained in the same attitude until +the last figure disappeared behind the fringe of buckeye that hid the +distant highway. Then he walked slowly to the fire-place, and, leaning +against the chimney, kicked the dying embers together with his foot. +Something dropped and spattered in the film of hot ashes. Surely the +rain had not yet ceased! + +His high color had already fled except for a spot on either cheek-bone +that lent a brightness to his eyes. He glanced around the cabin. It +looked familiar and yet strange. Rather, it looked strange BECAUSE +still familiar, and therefore incongruous with the new atmosphere that +surrounded it--discordant with the echo of their last meeting, and +painfully accenting the change. There were the four “bunks,” or sleeping +berths, of his companions, each still bearing some traces of the +individuality of its late occupant with a dumb loyalty that seemed to +make their light-hearted defection monstrous. In the dead ashes of the +Judge's pipe, scattered on his shelf, still lived his old fire; in +the whittled and carved edges of the Left Bower's bunk still were the +memories of bygone days of delicious indolence; in the bullet-holes +clustered round a knot of one of the beams there was still the record of +the Right Bower's old-time skill and practice; in the few engravings +of female loveliness stuck upon each headboard there were the proofs of +their old extravagant devotion--all a mute protest to the change. + +He remembered how, a fatherless, truant schoolboy, he had drifted into +their adventurous, nomadic life, itself a life of grown-up truancy like +his own, and became one of that gypsy family. How they had taken the +place of relations and household in his boyish fancy, filling it with +the unsubstantial pageantry of a child's play at grown-up existence, +he knew only too well. But how, from being a pet and protege, he had +gradually and unconsciously asserted his own individuality and taken +upon his younger shoulders not only a poet's keen appreciation of that +life, but its actual responsibilities and half-childish burdens, he +never suspected. He had fondly believed that he was a neophyte in their +ways, a novice in their charming faith and indolent creed, and they had +encouraged it; now their renunciation of that faith could only be an +excuse for a renunciation of HIM. The poetry that had for two years +invested the material and sometimes even mean details of their existence +was too much a part of himself to be lightly dispelled. The lesson of +those ingenuous moralists failed, as such lessons are apt to fail; their +discipline provoked but did not subdue; a rising indignation, stirred by +a sense of injury, mounted to his cheek and eyes. It was slow to come, +but was none the less violent that it had been preceded by the benumbing +shock of shame and pride. + +I hope I shall not prejudice the reader's sympathies if my duty as a +simple chronicler compels me to state, therefore, that the sober second +thought of this gentle poet was to burn down the cabin on the spot with +all its contents. This yielded to a milder counsel--waiting for the +return of the party, challenging the Right Bower, a duel to the death, +perhaps himself the victim, with a crushing explanation in extremis, +“It seems we are ONE too many. No matter; it is settled now. Farewell!” + Dimly remembering, however, that there was something of this in the last +well-worn novel they had read together, and that his antagonist might +recognize it, or even worse, anticipate it himself, the idea was quickly +rejected. Besides, the opportunity for an apotheosis of self-sacrifice +was past. Nothing remained now but to refuse the proffered bribe of +claim and cabin by letter, for he must not wait their return. He tore a +leaf from a blotted diary, begun and abandoned long since, and essayed +to write. Scrawl after scrawl was torn up, until his fury had cooled +down to a frigid third personality. “Mr. John Ford regrets to inform his +late partners that their tender of house, of furniture,” however, seemed +too inconsistent with the pork-barrel table he was writing on; a more +eloquent renunciation of their offer became frivolous and idiotic from a +caricature of Union Mills, label and all, that appeared suddenly on the +other side of the leaf; and when he at last indited a satisfactory and +impassioned exposition of his feelings, the legible addendum of “Oh, +ain't you glad you're out of the wilderness!”--the forgotten first line +of a popular song, which no scratching would erase--seemed too like an +ironical postscript to be thought of for a moment. He threw aside his +pen and cast the discordant record of past foolish pastime into the dead +ashes of the hearth. + +How quiet it was. With the cessation of the rain the wind too had gone +down, and scarcely a breath of air came through the open door. He walked +to the threshold and gazed on the hushed prospect. In this listless +attitude he was faintly conscious of a distant reverberation, a mere +phantom of sound--perhaps the explosion of a distant blast in the +hills--that left the silence more marked and oppressive. As he turned +again into the cabin a change seemed to have come over it. It already +looked old and decayed. The loneliness of years of desertion seemed to +have taken possession of it; the atmosphere of dry rot was in the +beams and rafters. To his excited fancy the few disordered blankets +and articles of clothing seemed dropping to pieces; in one of the bunks +there was a hideous resemblance in the longitudinal heap of clothing to +a withered and mummied corpse. So it might look in after years when some +passing stranger--but he stopped. A dread of the place was beginning +to creep over him; a dread of the days to come, when the monotonous +sunshine should lay bare the loneliness of these walls; the long, long +days of endless blue and cloudless, overhanging solitude; summer days +when the wearying, incessant trade winds should sing around that empty +shell and voice its desolation. He gathered together hastily a few +articles that were especially his own--rather that the free communion +of the camp, from indifference or accident, had left wholly to him. He +hesitated for a moment over his rifle, but, scrupulous in his wounded +pride, turned away and left the familiar weapon that in the dark days +had so often provided the dinner or breakfast of the little household. +Candor compels me to state that his equipment was not large nor +eminently practical. His scant pack was a light weight for even his +young shoulders, but I fear he thought more of getting away from the +Past than providing for the Future. + +With this vague but sole purpose he left the cabin, and almost +mechanically turned his steps towards the creek he had crossed +that morning. He knew that by this route he would avoid meeting his +companions; its difficulties and circuitousness would exercise his +feverish limbs and give him time for reflection. He had determined to +leave the claim, but whence he had not yet considered. He reached the +bank of the creek where he had stood two hours before; it seemed to him +two years. He looked curiously at his reflection in one of the broad +pools of overflow, and fancied he looked older. He watched the rush and +outset of the turbid current hurrying to meet the South Fork, and +to eventually lose itself in the yellow Sacramento. Even in his +preoccupation he was impressed with a likeness to himself and his +companions in this flood that had burst its peaceful boundaries. In +the drifting fragments of one of their forgotten flumes washed from the +bank, he fancied he saw an omen of the disintegration and decay of the +Lone Star claim. + +The strange hush in the air that he had noticed before--a calm so +inconsistent with that hour and the season as to seem portentous--became +more marked in contrast to the feverish rush of the turbulent +water-course. A few clouds lazily huddled in the west apparently had +gone to rest with the sun on beds of somnolent poppies. There was a +gleam as of golden water everywhere along the horizon, washing out the +cold snowpeaks, and drowning even the rising moon. The creek caught it +here and there, until, in grim irony, it seemed to bear their broken +sluice-boxes and useless engines on the very Pactolian stream they had +been hopefully created to direct and carry. But by some peculiar trick +of the atmosphere, the perfect plenitude of that golden sunset glory +was lavished on the rugged sides and tangled crest of the Lone Star +mountain. That isolated peak, the landmark of their claim, the gaunt +monument of their folly, transfigured in the evening splendor, kept its +radiance unquenched long after the glow had fallen from the encompassing +skies, and when at last the rising moon, step by step, put out the fires +along the winding valley and plains, and crept up the bosky sides of +the canyon, the vanishing sunset was lost only to reappear as a golden +crown. + +The eyes of the young man were fixed upon it with more than a momentary +picturesque interest. It had been the favorite ground of his prospecting +exploits, its lowest flank had been scarred in the old enthusiastic days +with hydraulic engines, or pierced with shafts, but its central position +in the claim and its superior height had always given it a commanding +view of the extent of their valley and its approaches, and it was this +practical pre-eminence that alone attracted him at that moment. He knew +that from its crest he would be able to distinguish the figures of his +companions, as they crossed the valley near the cabin, in the growing +moonlight. Thus he could avoid encountering them on his way to the high +road, and yet see them, perhaps, for the last time. Even in his sense of +injury there was a strange satisfaction in the thought. + +The ascent was toilsome, but familiar. All along the dim trail he was +accompanied by gentler memories of the past, that seemed, like the faint +odor of spiced leaves and fragrant grasses wet with the rain and crushed +beneath his ascending tread, to exhale the sweeter perfume in his effort +to subdue or rise above them. There was the thicket of manzanita, where +they had broken noonday bread together; here was the rock beside their +maiden shaft, where they had poured a wild libation in boyish enthusiasm +of success; and here the ledge where their first flag, a red shirt +heroically sacrificed, was displayed from a long-handled shovel to +the gaze of admirers below. When he at last reached the summit, the +mysterious hush was still in the air, as if in breathless sympathy with +his expedition. In the west, the plain was faintly illuminated, but +disclosed no moving figures. He turned towards the rising moon, and +moved slowly to the eastern edge. Suddenly he stopped. Another step +would have been his last! He stood upon the crumbling edge of a +precipice. A landslip had taken place on the eastern flank, leaving +the gaunt ribs and fleshless bones of Lone Star mountain bare in the +moonlight. He understood now the strange rumble and reverberation he had +heard; he understood now the strange hush of bird and beast in brake and +thicket! + +Although a single rapid glance convinced him that the slide had taken +place in an unfrequented part of the mountain, above an inaccessible +canyon, and reflection assured him his companions could not have reached +that distance when it took place, a feverish impulse led him to descend +a few rods in the track of the avalanche. The frequent recurrence of +outcrop and angle made this comparatively easy. Here he called aloud; +the feeble echo of his own voice seemed only a dull impertinence to the +significant silence. He turned to reascend; the furrowed flank of the +mountain before him lay full in the moonlight. To his excited fancy, a +dozen luminous star-like points in the rocky crevices started into +life as he faced them. Throwing his arm over the ledge above him, he +supported himself for a moment by what appeared to be a projection of +the solid rock. It trembled slightly. As he raised himself to its level, +his heart stopped beating. It was simply a fragment detached from the +outcrop, lying loosely on the ledge but upholding him by ITS OWN WEIGHT +ONLY. He examined it with trembling fingers; the encumbering soil fell +from its sides and left its smoothed and worn protuberances glistening +in the moonlight. It was virgin gold! + +Looking back upon that moment afterwards, he remembered that he was not +dazed, dazzled, or startled. It did not come to him as a discovery or an +accident, a stroke of chance or a caprice of fortune. He saw it all in +that supreme moment; Nature had worked out their poor deduction. What +their feeble engines had essayed spasmodically and helplessly against +the curtain of soil that hid the treasure, the elements had achieved +with mightier but more patient forces. The slow sapping of the winter +rains had loosened the soil from the auriferous rock, even while the +swollen stream was carrying their impotent and shattered engines to the +sea. + +What mattered that his single arm could not lift the treasure he had +found! What mattered that to unfix those glittering stars would still +tax both skill and patience! The work was done, the goal was reached! +even his boyish impatience was content with that. He rose slowly to his +feet, unstrapped his long-handled shovel from his back, secured it in +the crevice, and quietly regained the summit. + +It was all his own! His own by right of discovery under the law of the +land, and without accepting a favor from THEM. He recalled even the fact +that it was HIS prospecting on the mountain that first suggested the +existence of gold in the outcrop and the use of the hydraulic. HE had +never abandoned that belief, whatever the others had done. He dwelt +somewhat indignantly to himself on this circumstance, and half +unconsciously faced defiantly towards the plain below. But it was +sleeping peacefully in the full sight of the moon, without life or +motion. He looked at the stars; it was still far from midnight. His +companions had no doubt long since returned to the cabin to prepare for +their midnight journey. They were discussing him, perhaps laughing at +him, or worse, pitying him and his bargain. Yet here was his bargain! A +slight laugh he gave vent to here startled him a little, it sounded +so hard and so unmirthful, and so unlike, as he oddly fancied, what he +really THOUGHT. But WHAT did he think? + +Nothing mean or revengeful; no, they never would say THAT. When he had +taken out all the surface gold and put the mine in working order, he +would send them each a draft for a thousand dollars. Of course, if they +were ever ill or poor he would do more. One of the first, the very first +things he should do would be to send them each a handsome gun and tell +them that he only asked in return the old-fashioned rifle that once was +his. Looking back at the moment in after years, he wondered that, with +this exception, he made no plans for his own future, or the way he +should dispose of his newly acquired wealth. This was the more singular +as it had been the custom of the five partners to lie awake at night, +audibly comparing with each other what they would do in case they made +a strike. He remembered how, Alnaschar-like, they nearly separated once +over a difference in the disposal of a hundred thousand dollars that +they never had, nor expected to have. He remembered how Union Mills +always began his career as a millionnaire by a “square meal” at +Delmonico's; how the Right Bower's initial step was always a trip home +“to see his mother”; how the Left Bower would immediately placate the +parents of his beloved with priceless gifts (it may be parenthetically +remarked that the parents and the beloved one were as hypothetical +as the fortune); and how the Judge would make his first start as a +capitalist by breaking a certain faro bank in Sacramento. He himself had +been equally eloquent in extravagant fancy in those penniless days, +he who now was quite cold and impassive beside the more extravagant +reality. + +How different it might have been! If they had only waited a day longer! +if they had only broken their resolves to him kindly and parted in good +will! How he would long ere this have rushed to greet them with the +joyful news! How they would have danced around it, sung themselves +hoarse, laughed down their enemies, and run up the flag triumphantly on +the summit of the Lone Star Mountain! How they would have crowned him +“the Old Man,” “the hero of the camp!” How he would have told them the +whole story; how some strange instinct had impelled him to ascend the +summit, and how another step on that summit would have precipitated him +into the canyon! And how--but what if somebody else, Union Mills or the +Judge, had been the first discoverer? Might they not have meanly kept +the secret from him; have selfishly helped themselves and done-- + +“What YOU are doing now.” + +The hot blood rushed to his cheek, as if a strange voice were at his +ear. For a moment he could not believe that it came from his own pale +lips until he found himself speaking. He rose to his feet, tingling with +shame, and began hurriedly to descend the mountain. + +He would go to them, tell them of his discovery, let them give him his +share, and leave them forever. It was the only thing to be done, strange +that he had not thought of it at once. Yet it was hard, very hard and +cruel to be forced to meet them again. What had he done to suffer this +mortification? For a moment he actually hated this vulgar treasure that +had forever buried under its gross ponderability the light and careless +past, and utterly crushed out the poetry of their old, indolent, happy +existence. + +He was sure to find them waiting at the Cross Roads where the coach +came past. It was three miles away, yet he could get there in time if he +hastened. It was a wise and practical conclusion of his evening's work, +a lame and impotent conclusion to his evening's indignation. No matter. +They would perhaps at first think he had come to weakly follow them, +perhaps they would at first doubt his story. No matter. He bit his lips +to keep down the foolish rising tears, but still went blindly forward. + +He saw not the beautiful night, cradled in the dark hills, swathed in +luminous mists, and hushed in the awe of its own loveliness! Here and +there the moon had laid her calm face on lake and overflow, and gone +to sleep embracing them, until the whole plain seemed to be lifted +into infinite quiet. Walking on as in a dream, the black, impenetrable +barriers of skirting thickets opened and gave way to vague distances +that it appeared impossible to reach, dim vistas that seemed +unapproachable. Gradually he seemed himself to become a part of the +mysterious night. He was becoming as pulseless, as calm, as passionless. + +What was that? A shot in the direction of the cabin! yet so faint, so +echoless, so ineffective in the vast silence, that he would have thought +it his fancy but for the strange instinctive jar upon his sensitive +nerves. Was it an accident, or was it an intentional signal to him? He +stopped; it was not repeated, the silence reasserted itself, but this +time with an ominous death-like suggestion. A sudden and terrible +thought crossed his mind. He cast aside his pack and all encumbering +weight, took a deep breath, lowered his head and darted like a deer in +the direction of the challenge. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The exodus of the seceding partners of the Lone Star claim had been +scarcely an imposing one. For the first five minutes after quitting the +cabin, the procession was straggling and vagabond. Unwonted exertion had +exaggerated the lameness of some, and feebleness of moral purpose had +predisposed the others to obtrusive musical exhibition. Union Mills +limped and whistled with affected abstraction; the Judge whistled and +limped with affected earnestness. The Right Bower led the way with some +show of definite design; the Left Bower followed with his hands in +his pockets. The two feebler natures, drawn together in unconscious +sympathy, looked vaguely at each other for support. + +“You see,” said the Judge, suddenly, as if triumphantly concluding +an argument, “there ain't anything better for a young fellow than +independence. Nature, so to speak, points the way. Look at the animals.” + +“There's a skunk hereabouts,” said Union Mills, who was supposed to be +gifted with aristocratically sensitive nostrils, “within ten miles +of this place; like as not crossing the Ridge. It's always my luck +to happen out just at such times. I don't see the necessity anyhow of +trapesing round the claim now, if we calculate to leave it to-night.” + +Both men waited to observe if the suggestion was taken up by the Right +and Left Bower moodily plodding ahead. No response following, the Judge +shamelessly abandoned his companion. + +“You wouldn't stand snoopin' round instead of lettin' the Old Man get +used to the idea alone? No; I could see all along that he was takin' it +in, takin' it in, kindly but slowly, and I reckoned the best thing for +us to do was to git up and git until he'd got round it.” The Judge's +voice was slightly raised for the benefit of the two before him. + +“Didn't he say,” remarked the Right Bower, stopping suddenly and facing +the others, “didn't he say that that new trader was goin' to let him +have some provisions anyway?” + +Union Mills turned appealingly to the Judge; that gentleman was forced +to reply, “Yes; I remember distinctly he said it. It was one of the +things I was particular about on his account,” responded the Judge, +with the air of having arranged it all himself with the new trader. “I +remember I was easier in my mind about it.” + +“But didn't he say,” queried the Left Bower, also stopping short, +“suthin' about it's being contingent on our doing some work on the +race?” + +The Judge turned for support to Union Mills, who, however, under the +hollow pretense of preparing for a long conference, had luxuriously +seated himself on a stump. The Judge sat down also, and replied, +hesitatingly, “Well, yes! Us or him.” + +“Us or him,” repeated the Right Bower, with gloomy irony. “And you ain't +quite clear in your mind, are you, if YOU haven't done the work already? +You're just killing yourself with this spontaneous, promiscuous, and +premature overwork; that's what's the matter with you.” + +“I reckon I heard somebody say suthin' about it's being a Chinaman's +three-day job,” interpolated the Left Bower, with equal irony, “but I +ain't quite clear in my mind about that.” + +“It'll be a sorter distraction for the Old Man,” said Union Mills, +feebly--“kinder take his mind off his loneliness.” + +Nobody taking the least notice of the remark, union Mills stretched out +his legs more comfortably and took out his pipe. He had scarcely done so +when the Right Bower, wheeling suddenly, set off in the direction of the +creek. The Left Bower, after a slight pause, followed without a word. +The Judge, wisely conceiving it better to join the stronger party, +ran feebly after him, and left Union Mills to bring up a weak and +vacillating rear. + +Their course, diverging from Lone Star Mountain, led them now directly +to the bend of the creek, the base of their old ineffectual operations. +Here was the beginning of the famous tail-race that skirted the new +trader's claim, and then lost its way in a swampy hollow. It was choked +with debris; a thin, yellow stream that once ran through it seemed to +have stopped work when they did, and gone into greenish liquidation. + +They had scarcely spoken during this brief journey, and had received no +other explanation from the Right Bower, who led them, than that afforded +by his mute example when he reached the race. Leaping into it without a +word, he at once began to clear away the broken timbers and driftwood. +Fired by the spectacle of what appeared to be a new and utterly +frivolous game, the men gayly leaped after him, and were soon engaged +in a fascinating struggle with the impeded race. The Judge forgot his +lameness in springing over a broken sluice-box; Union Mills forgot his +whistle in a happy imitation of a Chinese coolie's song. Nevertheless, +after ten minutes of this mild dissipation, the pastime flagged; Union +Mills was beginning to rub his leg when a distant rumble shook the +earth. The men looked at each other; the diversion was complete; a +languid discussion of the probabilities of its being an earthquake or a +blast followed, in the midst of which the Right Bower, who was working +a little in advance of the others, uttered a warning cry and leaped from +the race. His companions had barely time to follow before a sudden and +inexplicable rise in the waters of the creek sent a swift irruption of +the flood through the race. In an instant its choked and impeded channel +was cleared, the race was free, and the scattered debris of logs and +timber floated upon its easy current. Quick to take advantage of this +labor-saving phenomenon, the Lone Star partners sprang into the water, +and by disentangling and directing the eddying fragments completed their +work. + +“The Old Man oughter been here to see this,” said the Left Bower; “it's +just one o' them climaxes of poetic justice he's always huntin' up. It's +easy to see what's happened. One o' them high-toned shrimps over in the +Excelsior claim has put a blast in too near the creek. He's tumbled the +bank into the creek and sent the back water down here just to wash out +our race. That's what I call poetical retribution.” + +“And who was it advised us to dam the creek below the race and make it +do the thing?” asked the Right Bower, moodily. + +“That was one of the Old Man's ideas, I reckon,” said the Left Bower, +dubiously. + +“And you remember,” broke in the Judge with animation, “I allus said, +'Go slow, go slow. You just hold on and suthin' will happen.' And,” he +added, triumphantly, “you see suthin' has happened. I don't want to take +credit to myself, but I reckoned on them Excelsior boys bein' fools, and +took the chances.” + +“And what if I happen to know that the Excelsior boys ain't blastin' +to-day?” said the Right Bower, sarcastically. + +As the Judge had evidently based his hypothesis on the alleged fact of +a blast, he deftly evaded the point. “I ain't saying the Old Man's head +ain't level on some things; he wants a little more sabe of the world. +He's improved a good deal in euchre lately, and in poker--well! he's got +that sorter dreamy, listenin'-to-the-angels kind o' way that you can't +exactly tell whether he's bluffin' or has got a full hand. Hasn't he?” + he asked, appealing to Union Mills. + +But that gentleman, who had been watching the dark face of the Right +Bower, preferred to take what he believed to be his cue from him. “That +ain't the question,” he said virtuously; “we ain't takin' this step to +make a card sharp out of him. We're not doin' Chinamen's work in this +race to-day for that. No, sir! We're teachin' him to paddle his own +canoe.” Not finding the sympathetic response he looked for in the Right +Bower's face, he turned to the Left. + +“I reckon we were teachin' him our canoe was too full,” was the Left +Bower's unexpected reply. “That's about the size of it.” + +The Right Bower shot a rapid glance under his brows at his brother. +The latter, with his hands in his pockets, stared unconsciously at the +rushing waters, and then quietly turned away. The Right Bower followed +him. “Are you goin' back on us?” he asked. + +“Are you?” responded the other. + +“No!” + +“NO, then it is,” returned the Left Bower quietly. The elder brother +hesitated in half-angry embarrassment. + +“Then what did you mean by saying we reckoned our canoe was too full?” + +“Wasn't that our idea?” returned the Left Bower, indifferently. +Confounded by this practical expression of his own unformulated good +intentions, the Right Bower was staggered. + +“Speakin' of the Old Man,” broke in the Judge, with characteristic +infelicity, “I reckon he'll sort o' miss us, times like these. We were +allers runnin' him and bedevilin' him, after work, just to get him +excited and amusin', and he'll kinder miss that sort o' stimulatin'. I +reckon we'll miss it too, somewhat. Don't you remember, boys, the night +we put up that little sell on him and made him believe we'd struck it +rich in the bank of the creek, and got him so conceited, he wanted to go +off and settle all our debts at once?” + +“And how I came bustin' into the cabin with a pan full of iron pyrites +and black sand,” chuckled Union Mills, continuing the reminiscences, +“and how them big gray eyes of his nearly bulged out of his head. Well, +it's some satisfaction to know we did our duty by the young fellow even +in those little things.” He turned for confirmation of their general +disinterestedness to the Right Bower, but he was already striding away, +uneasily conscious of the lazy following of the Left Bower, like a +laggard conscience at his back. This movement again threw Union Mills +and the Judge into feeble complicity in the rear, as the procession +slowly straggled homeward from the creek. + +Night had fallen. Their way lay through the shadow of Lone Star +Mountain, deepened here and there by the slight, bosky ridges that, +starting from its base, crept across the plain like vast roots of its +swelling trunk. The shadows were growing blacker as the moon began to +assert itself over the rest of the valley, when the Right Bower halted +suddenly on one of these ridges. The Left Bower lounged up to him, and +stopped also, while the two others came up and completed the group. + +“There's no light in the shanty,” said the Right Bower in a low voice, +half to himself and, half in answer to their inquiring attitude. The men +followed the direction of his finger. In the distance the black outline +of the Lone Star cabin stood out distinctly in the illumined space. +There was the blank, sightless, external glitter of moonlight on its two +windows that seemed to reflect its dim vacancy, empty alike of light, +and warmth, and motion. + +“That's sing'lar,” said the Judge in an awed whisper. + +The Left Bower, by simply altering the position of his hands in his +trousers' pockets, managed to suggest that he knew perfectly the meaning +of it, had always known it; but that being now, so to speak, in the +hands of Fate, he was callous to it. This much, at least, the elder +brother read in his attitude. But anxiety at that moment was the +controlling impulse of the Right Bower, as a certain superstitious +remorse was the instinct of the two others, and without heeding the +cynic, the three started at a rapid pace for the cabin. + +They reached it silently, as the moon, now riding high in the heavens, +seemed to touch it with the tender grace and hushed repose of a tomb. +It was with something of this feeling that the Right Bower softly pushed +open the door; it was with something of this dread that the two others +lingered on the threshold, until the Right Bower, after vainly trying +to stir the dead embers on the hearth into life with his foot, struck a +match and lit their solitary candle. Its flickering light revealed the +familiar interior unchanged in aught but one thing. The bunk that +the Old Man had occupied was stripped of its blankets; the few cheap +ornaments and photographs were gone; the rude poverty of the bare boards +and scant pallet looked up at them unrelieved by the bright face and +gracious youth that had once made them tolerable. In the grim irony +of that exposure, their own penury was doubly conscious. The little +knapsack, the teacup and coffee-pot that had hung near his bed, were +gone also. The most indignant protest, the most pathetic of the letters +he had composed and rejected, whose torn fragments still littered the +floor, could never have spoken with the eloquence of this empty space! +The men exchanged no words: the solitude of the cabin, instead of +drawing them together, seemed to isolate each one in selfish distrust of +the others. Even the unthinking garrulity of Union Mills and the Judge +was checked. A moment later, when the Left Bower entered the cabin, his +presence was scarcely noticed. + +The silence was broken by a joyous exclamation from the Judge. He had +discovered the Old Man's rifle in the corner, where it had been at first +overlooked. “He ain't gone yet, gentlemen--for yer's his rifle,” he +broke in, with a feverish return of volubility, and a high excited +falsetto. “He wouldn't have left this behind. No! I knowed it from the +first. He's just outside a bit, foraging for wood and water. No, sir! +Coming along here I said to Union Mills--didn't I?--'Bet your life the +Old Man's not far off, even if he ain't in the cabin.' Why, the moment I +stepped foot--” + +“And I said coming along,” interrupted Union Mills, with equally +reviving mendacity, “Like as not he's hangin' round yer and lyin' low +just to give us a surprise.' He! ho!” + +“He's gone for good, and he left that rifle here on purpose,” said the +Left Bower in a low voice, taking the weapon almost tenderly in his +hands. + +“Drop it, then!” said the Right Bower. The voice was that of his +brother, but suddenly changed with passion. The two other partners +instinctively drew back in alarm. + +“I'll not leave it here for the first comer,” said the Left Bower, +calmly, “because we've been fools and he too. It's too good a weapon for +that.” + +“Drop it, I say!” said the Right Bower, with a savage stride towards +him. + +The younger brother brought the rifle to a half charge with a white face +but a steady eye. + +“Stop where you are!” he said collectedly. “Don't row with ME, because +you haven't either the grit to stick to your ideas or the heart to +confess them wrong. We've followed your lead, and--here we are! The +camp's broken up--the Old Man's gone--and we're going. And as for the +d----d rifle--” + +“Drop it, do you hear!” shouted the Right Bower, clinging to that one +idea with the blind pertinacity of rage and a losing cause. “Drop it!” + +The Left Bower drew back, but his brother had seized the barrel +with both hands. There was a momentary struggle, a flash through the +half-lighted cabin, and a shattering report. The two men fell back from +each other; the rifle dropped on the floor between them. + +The whole thing was over so quickly that the other two partners had not +had time to obey their common impulse to separate them, and consequently +even now could scarcely understand what had passed. It was over so +quickly that the two actors themselves walked back to their places, +scarcely realizing their own act. + +A dead silence followed. The Judge and Union Mills looked at each other +in dazed astonishment, and then nervously set about their former habits, +apparently in that fatuous belief common to such natures, that they were +ignoring a painful situation. The Judge drew the barrel towards him, +picked up the cards, and began mechanically to “make a patience,” + on which Union Mills gazed with ostentatious interest, but with eyes +furtively conscious of the rigid figure of the Right Bower by the +chimney and the abstracted face of the Left Bower at the door. Ten +minutes had passed in this occupation, the Judge and Union Mills +conversing in the furtive whispers of children unavoidably but +fascinatedly present at a family quarrel, when a light step was heard +upon the crackling brushwood outside, and the bright panting face of +the Old Man appeared upon the threshold. There was a shout of joy; in +another moment he was half-buried in the bosom of the Right Bower's +shirt, half-dragged into the lap of the Judge, upsetting the barrel, +and completely encompassed by the Left Bower and Union Mills. With the +enthusiastic utterance of his name the spell was broken. + +Happily unconscious of the previous excitement that had provoked this +spontaneous unanimity of greeting, the Old Man, equally relieved, at +once broke into a feverish announcement of his discovery. He painted the +details, with, I fear, a slight exaggeration of coloring, due partly +to his own excitement, and partly to justify their own. But he was +strangely conscious that these bankrupt men appeared less elated with +their personal interest in their stroke of fortune than with his own +success. “I told you he'd do it,” said the Judge, with a reckless +unscrupulousness of statement that carried everybody with it; “look at +him! the game little pup.” “Oh no! he ain't the right breed, is he?” + echoed Union Mills with arch irony, while the Right and Left Bower, +grasping either hand, pressed a proud but silent greeting that was half +new to him, but wholly delicious. It was not without difficulty that he +could at last prevail upon them to return with him to the scene of +his discovery, or even then restrain them from attempting to carry +him thither on their shoulders on the plea of his previous prolonged +exertions. Once only there was a momentary embarrassment. “Then you +fired that shot to bring me back?” said the Old Man, gratefully. In the +awkward silence that followed, the hands of the two brothers sought +and grasped each other, penitently. “Yes,” interposed the Judge, with +delicate tact, “ye see the Right and Left Bower almost quarreled to see +which should be the first to fire for ye. I disremember which did”--“I +never touched the trigger,” said the Left Bower, hastily. With a hurried +backward kick, the Judge resumed, “It went off sorter spontaneous.” + +The difference in the sentiment of the procession that once more issued +from the Lone Star cabin did not fail to show itself in each individual +partner according to his temperament. The subtle tact of Union Mills, +however, in expressing an awakened respect for their fortunate partner +by addressing him, as if unconsciously, as “Mr. Ford” was at first +discomposing, but even this was forgotten in their breathless excitement +as they neared the base of the mountain. When they had crossed the creek +the Right Bower stopped reflectively. + +“You say you heard the slide come down before you left the cabin?” he +said, turning to the Old Man. + +“Yes; but I did not know then what it was. It was about an hour and a +half after you left,” was the reply. + +“Then look here, boys,” continued the Right Bower with superstitious +exultation; “it was the SLIDE that tumbled into the creek, overflowed +it, and helped US clear out the race!” + +It seemed so clear that Providence had taken the partners of the +Lone Star directly in hand that they faced the toilsome ascent of the +mountain with the assurance of conquerors. They paused only on the +summit to allow the Old Man to lead the way to the slope that held their +treasure. He advanced cautiously to the edge of the crumbling cliff, +stopped, looked bewildered, advanced again, and then remained white and +immovable. In an instant the Right Bower was at his side. + +“Is anything the matter? Don't--don't look so, Old Man, for God's sake!” + +The Old Man pointed to the dull, smooth, black side of the mountain, +without a crag, break, or protuberance, and said with ashen lips:-- + +“It's gone!” + +***** + +And it was gone! A SECOND slide had taken place, stripping the flank of +the mountain, and burying the treasure and the weak implement that had +marked its side deep under a chaos of rock and debris at its base. + +“Thank God!” The blank faces of his companions turned quickly to the +Right Bower. “Thank God!” he repeated, with his arm round the neck of +the Old Man. “Had he stayed behind he would have been buried too.” He +paused, and, pointing solemnly to the depths below, said, “And thank God +for showing us where we may yet labor for it in hope and patience like +honest men.” + +The men silently bowed their heads and slowly descended the mountain. +But when they had reached the plain one of them called out to the others +to watch a star that seemed to be rising and moving towards them over +the hushed and sleeping valley. + +“It's only the stage coach, boys,” said the Left Bower, smiling; “the +coach that was to take us away.” + +In the security of their new-found fraternity they resolved to wait +and see it pass. As it swept by with flash of light, beat of hoofs, and +jingle of harness, the only real presence in the dreamy landscape, the +driver shouted a hoarse greeting to the phantom partners, audible only +to the Judge, who was nearest the vehicle. + +“Did you hear--DID you hear what he said, boys?” he gasped, turning to +his companions. “No! Shake hands all round, boys! God bless you all, +boys! To think we didn't know it all this while!” + +“Know what?” + +“Merry Christmas!” + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Frontier, by Bret Harte + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE FRONTIER *** + +***** This file should be named 2574-0.txt or 2574-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/7/2574/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/2574-0.zip b/2574-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf695bf --- /dev/null +++ b/2574-0.zip diff --git a/2574-h.zip b/2574-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d7cd3e --- /dev/null +++ b/2574-h.zip diff --git a/2574-h/2574-h.htm b/2574-h/2574-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..74eb93e --- /dev/null +++ b/2574-h/2574-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6019 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + On the Frontier, by Bret Harte + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Frontier, by Bret Harte + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: On the Frontier + +Author: Bret Harte + +Release Date: May 18, 2006 [EBook #2574] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE FRONTIER *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + ON THE FRONTIER + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Bret Harte + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL</b></big> + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PROL"> PROLOGUE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> <big><b>A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> <big><b>LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN.</b></big> + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PROL" id="link2H_PROL"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROLOGUE + </h2> + <p> + It was noon of the 10th of August, 1838. The monotonous coast line between + Monterey and San Diego had set its hard outlines against the steady glare + of the Californian sky and the metallic glitter of the Pacific Ocean. The + weary succession of rounded, dome-like hills obliterated all sense of + distance; the rare whaling vessel or still rarer trader, drifting past, + saw no change in these rusty undulations, barren of distinguishing peak or + headland, and bald of wooded crest or timbered ravine. The withered ranks + of wild oats gave a dull procession of uniform color to the hills, + unbroken by any relief of shadow in their smooth, round curves. As far as + the eye could reach, sea and shore met in one bleak monotony, flecked by + no passing cloud, stirred by no sign of life or motion. Even sound was + absent; the Angelus, rung from the invisible Mission tower far inland, was + driven back again by the steady northwest trades, that for half the year + had swept the coast line and left it abraded of all umbrage and color. + </p> + <p> + But even this monotony soon gave way to a change and another monotony as + uniform and depressing. The western horizon, slowly contracting before a + wall of vapor, by four o'clock had become a mere cold, steely strip of + sea, into which gradually the northern trend of the coast faded and was + lost. As the fog stole with soft step southward, all distance, space, + character, and locality again vanished; the hills upon which the sun still + shone bore the same monotonous outlines as those just wiped into space. + Last of all, before the red sun sank like the descending host, it gleamed + upon the sails of a trading vessel close in shore. It was the last object + visible. A damp breath breathed upon it, a soft hand passed over the + slate, the sharp pencilling of the picture faded and became a confused + gray cloud. + </p> + <p> + The wind and waves, too, went down in the fog; the now invisible and + hushed breakers occasionally sent the surf over the sand in a quick + whisper, with grave intervals of silence, but with no continuous murmur as + before. In a curving bight of the shore the creaking of oars in their + rowlocks began to be distinctly heard, but the boat itself, although + apparently only its length from the sands, was invisible. + </p> + <p> + “Steady, now; way enough.” The voice came from the sea, and was low, as if + unconsciously affected by the fog. “Silence!” + </p> + <p> + The sound of a keel grating the sand was followed by the order, “Stern + all!” from the invisible speaker. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we beach her?” asked another vague voice. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. Hail again, and all together.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah hoy—oi—oi—oy!” + </p> + <p> + There were four voices, but the hail appeared weak and ineffectual, like a + cry in a dream, and seemed hardly to reach beyond the surf before it was + suffocated in the creeping cloud. A silence followed, but no response. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use to beach her and go ashore until we find the boat,” said the + first voice, gravely; “and we'll do that if the current has brought her + here. Are you sure you've got the right bearings?” + </p> + <p> + “As near as a man could off a shore with not a blasted pint to take his + bearings by.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence again, broken only by the occasional dip of oars, + keeping the invisible boat-head to the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Take my word for it, lads, it's the last we'll see of that boat again, or + of Jack Cranch, or the captain's baby.” + </p> + <p> + “It DOES look mighty queer that the painter should slip. Jack Cranch ain't + the man to tie a granny knot.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” said the invisible leader. “Listen.” + </p> + <p> + A hail, so faint and uncertain that it might have been the long-deferred, + far-off echo of their own, came from the sea, abreast of them. + </p> + <p> + “It's the captain. He hasn't found anything, or he couldn't be so far + north. Hark!” + </p> + <p> + The hail was repeated again faintly, dreamily. To the seamen's trained + ears it seemed to have an intelligent significance, for the first voice + gravely responded, “Aye, aye!” and then said softly, “Oars.” + </p> + <p> + The word was followed by a splash. The oars clicked sharply and + simultaneously in the rowlocks, then more faintly, then still fainter, and + then passed out into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + The silence and shadow both fell together; for hours sea and shore were + impenetrable. Yet at times the air was softly moved and troubled, the + surrounding gloom faintly lightened as with a misty dawn, and then was + dark again; or drowsy, far-off cries and confused noises seemed to grow + out of the silence, and, when they had attracted the weary ear, sank away + as in a mocking dream, and showed themselves unreal. Nebulous gatherings + in the fog seemed to indicate stationary objects that, even as one gazed, + moved away; the recurring lap and ripple on the shingle sometimes took + upon itself the semblance of faint articulate laughter or spoken words. + But towards morning a certain monotonous grating on the sand, that had for + many minutes alternately cheated and piqued the ear, asserted itself more + strongly, and a moving, vacillating shadow in the gloom became an opaque + object on the shore. + </p> + <p> + With the first rays of the morning light the fog lifted. As the undraped + hills one by one bared their cold bosoms to the sun, the long line of + coast struggled back to life again. Everything was unchanged, except that + a stranded boat lay upon the sands, and in its stern sheets a sleeping + child. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + The 10th of August, 1852, brought little change to the dull monotony of + wind, fog, and treeless coast line. Only the sea was occasionally flecked + with racing sails that outstripped the old, slow-creeping trader, or was + at times streaked and blurred with the trailing smoke of a steamer. There + were a few strange footprints on those virgin sands, and a fresh track, + that led from the beach over the rounded hills, dropped into the bosky + recesses of a hidden valley beyond the coast range. + </p> + <p> + It was here that the refectory windows of the Mission of San Carmel had + for years looked upon the reverse of that monotonous picture presented to + the sea. It was here that the trade winds, shorn of their fury and + strength in the heated, oven-like air that rose from the valley, lost + their weary way in the tangled recesses of the wooded slopes, and breathed + their last at the foot of the stone cross before the Mission. It was on + the crest of those slopes that the fog halted and walled in the + sun-illumined plain below; it was in this plain that limitless fields of + grain clothed the fat adobe soil; here the Mission garden smiled over its + hedges of fruitful vines, and through the leaves of fig and gnarled pear + trees: and it was here that Father Pedro had lived for fifty years, found + the prospect good, and had smiled also. + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro's smile was rare. He was not a Las Casas, nor a Junipero + Serra, but he had the deep seriousness of all disciples laden with the + responsible wording of a gospel not their own. And his smile had an + ecclesiastical as well as a human significance, the pleasantest object in + his prospect being the fair and curly head of his boy acolyte and + chorister, Francisco, which appeared among the vines, and his sweetest + pastoral music, the high soprano humming of a chant with which the boy + accompanied his gardening. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the acolyte's chant changed to a cry of terror. Running rapidly + to Father Pedro's side, he grasped his sotana, and even tried to hide his + curls among its folds. + </p> + <p> + “'St! 'st!” said the Padre, disengaging himself with some impatience. + “What new alarm is this? Is it Luzbel hiding among our Catalan vines, or + one of those heathen Americanos from Monterey? Speak!” + </p> + <p> + “Neither, holy father,” said the boy, the color struggling back into his + pale cheeks, and an apologetic, bashful smile lighting his clear eyes. + “Neither; but oh! such a gross, lethargic toad! And it almost leaped upon + me.” + </p> + <p> + “A toad leaped upon thee!” repeated the good father with evident vexation. + “What next? I tell thee, child, those foolish fears are most unmeet for + thee, and must be overcome, if necessary, with prayer and penance. + Frightened by a toad! Blood of the Martyrs! 'Tis like any foolish girl!” + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro stopped and coughed. + </p> + <p> + “I am saying that no Christian child should shrink from any of God's + harmless creatures. And only last week thou wast disdainful of poor + Murieta's pig, forgetting that San Antonio himself did elect one his + faithful companion, even in glory.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it was so fat, and so uncleanly, holy father,” replied the young + acolyte, “and it smelt so.” + </p> + <p> + “Smelt so?” echoed the father doubtfully. “Have a care, child, that this + is not luxuriousness of the senses. I have noticed of late you gather + overmuch of roses and syringa, excellent in their way and in moderation, + but still not to be compared with the flower of Holy Church, the lily.” + </p> + <p> + “But lilies don't look well on the refectory table, and against the adobe + wall,” returned the acolyte, with a pout of a spoilt child; “and surely + the flowers cannot help being sweet, any more than myrrh or incense. And I + am not frightened of the heathen Americanos either NOW. There was a small + one in the garden yesterday, a boy like me, and he spoke kindly and with a + pleasant face.” + </p> + <p> + “What said he to thee, child?” asked Father Pedro, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, the matter of his speech I could not understand,” laughed the boy, + “but the manner was as gentle as thine, holy father.” + </p> + <p> + “'St, child,” said the Padre impatiently. “Thy likings are as unreasonable + as thy fears. Besides, have I not told thee it ill becomes a child of + Christ to chatter with those sons of Belial? But canst thou not repeat the + words—the WORDS he said?” he continued suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a harsh tongue the Americanos speak in their throat,” replied the + boy. “But he said 'Devilishnisse' and 'pretty-as-a-girl,' and looked at + me.” + </p> + <p> + The good father made the boy repeat the words gravely, and as gravely + repeated them after him with infinite simplicity. “They are but heretical + words,” he replied in answer to the boy's inquiring look; “it is well you + understand not English. Enough. Run away, child, and be ready for the + Angelus. I will commune with myself awhile under the pear trees.” + </p> + <p> + Glad to escape so easily, the young acolyte disappeared down the alley of + fig trees, not without a furtive look at the patches of chickweed around + their roots, the possible ambuscade of creeping or saltant vermin. The + good priest heaved a sigh and glanced round the darkening prospect. The + sun had already disappeared over the mountain wall that lay between him + and the sea, rimmed with a faint white line of outlying fog. A cool zephyr + fanned his cheek; it was the dying breath of the vientos generales beyond + the wall. As Father Pedro's eyes were raised to this barrier, which seemed + to shut out the boisterous world beyond, he fancied he noticed for the + first time a slight breach in the parapet, over which an advanced banner + of the fog was fluttering. Was it an omen? His speculations were cut short + by a voice at his very side. + </p> + <p> + He turned quickly and beheld one of those “heathens” against whom he had + just warned his young acolyte; one of that straggling band of adventurers + whom the recent gold discoveries had scattered along the coast. Luckily + the fertile alluvium of these valleys, lying parallel with the sea, + offered no “indications” to attract the gold seekers. Nevertheless to + Father Pedro even the infrequent contact with the Americanos was + objectionable; they were at once inquisitive and careless; they asked + questions with the sharp perspicacity of controversy; they received his + grave replies with the frank indifference of utter worldliness. Powerful + enough to have been tyrannical oppressors, they were singularly tolerant + and gentle, contenting themselves with a playful, good-natured + irreverence, which tormented the good father more than opposition. They + were felt to be dangerous and subversive. + </p> + <p> + The Americano, however, who stood before him did not offensively suggest + these national qualities. A man of middle height, strongly built, bronzed + and slightly gray from the vicissitudes of years and exposure, he had an + air of practical seriousness that commended itself to Father Pedro. To his + religious mind it suggested self-consciousness; expressed in the dialect + of the stranger it only meant “business.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm rather glad I found you out here alone,” began the latter; “it saves + time. I haven't got to take my turn with the rest, in there”—he + indicated the church with his thumb—“and you haven't got to make an + appointment. You have got a clear forty minutes before the Angelus rings,” + he added, consulting a large silver chronometer, “and I reckon I kin git + through my part of the job inside of twenty, leaving you ten minutes for + remarks. I want to confess.” + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro drew back with a gesture of dignity. The stranger, however, + laid his hand upon the Padre's sleeve with the air of a man anticipating + objection, but never refusal, and went on. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I know. You want me to come at some other time, and in THERE. + You want it in the reg'lar style. That's your way and your time. My answer + is: it ain't MY way and MY time. The main idea of confession, I take it, + is gettin' at the facts. I'm ready to give 'em if you'll take 'em out + here, now. If you're willing to drop the Church and confessional, and all + that sort o' thing, I, on my side, am willing to give up the absolution, + and all that sort o' thing. You might,” he added, with an unconscious + touch of pathos in the suggestion, “heave in a word or two of advice after + I get through; for instance, what YOU'D do in the circumstances, you see! + That's all. But that's as you please. It ain't part of the business.” + </p> + <p> + Irreverent as this speech appeared, there was really no trace of such + intention in his manner, and his evident profound conviction that his + suggestion was practical, and not at all inconsistent with ecclesiastical + dignity, would alone have been enough to touch the Padre, had not the + stranger's dominant personality already overridden him. He hesitated. The + stranger seized the opportunity to take his arm, and lead him with the + half familiarity of powerful protection to a bench beneath the refectory + window. Taking out his watch again, he put it in the passive hands of the + astonished priest, saying, “Time me,” cleared his throat, and began:— + </p> + <p> + “Fourteen years ago there was a ship cruisin' in the Pacific, jest off + this range, that was ez nigh on to a Hell afloat as anything rigged kin + be. If a chap managed to dodge the cap'en's belayin-pin for a time, he was + bound to be fetched up in the ribs at last by the mate's boots. There was + a chap knocked down the fore hatch with a broken leg in the Gulf, and + another jumped overboard off Cape Corrientes, crazy as a loon, along a + clip of the head from the cap'en's trumpet. Them's facts. The ship was a + brigantine, trading along the Mexican coast. The cap'en had his wife + aboard, a little timid Mexican woman he'd picked up at Mazatlan. I reckon + she didn't get on with him any better than the men, for she ups and dies + one day, leavin' her baby, a year-old gal. One of the crew was fond o' + that baby. He used to get the black nurse to put it in the dingy, and he'd + tow it astern, rocking it with the painter like a cradle. He did it—hatin' + the cap'en all the same. One day the black nurse got out of the dingy for + a moment, when the baby was asleep, leavin' him alone with it. An idea + took hold on him, jest from cussedness, you'd say, but it was partly from + revenge on the cap'en and partly to get away from the ship. The ship was + well inshore, and the current settin' towards it. He slipped the painter—that + man—and set himself adrift with the baby. It was a crazy act, you'd + reckon, for there wasn't any oars in the boat; but he had a crazy man's + luck, and he contrived, by sculling the boat with one of the seats he tore + out, to keep her out of the breakers, till he could find a bight in the + shore to run her in. The alarm was given from the ship, but the fog shut + down upon him; he could hear the other boats in pursuit. They seemed to + close in on him, and by the sound he judged the cap'en was just abreast of + him in the gig, bearing down upon him in the fog. He slipped out of the + dingy into the water without a splash, and struck out for the breakers. He + got ashore after havin' been knocked down and dragged in four times by the + undertow. He had only one idea then, thankfulness that he had not taken + the baby with him in the surf. You kin put that down for him: it's a fact. + He got off into the hills, and made his way up to Monterey.” + </p> + <p> + “And the child?” asked the Padre, with a sudden and strange asperity that + boded no good to the penitent; “the child thus ruthlessly abandoned—what + became of it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it, the child,” assented the stranger, gravely. “Well, if + that man was on his death-bed instead of being here talking to you, he'd + swear that he thought the cap'en was sure to come up to it the next minit. + That's a fact. But it wasn't until one day that he—that's me—ran + across one of that crew in Frisco. 'Hallo, Cranch,' sez he to me, 'so you + got away, didn't you? And how's the cap'en's baby? Grown a young gal by + this time, ain't she?' 'What are you talkin about,' ez I; 'how should I + know?' He draws away from me, and sez, 'D—- it,' sez he, 'you don't + mean that you' . . . I grabs him by the throat and makes him tell me all. + And then it appears that the boat and the baby were never found again, and + every man of that crew, cap'en and all, believed I had stolen it.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Father Pedro was staring at the prospect with an uncompromising + rigidity of head and shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “It's a bad lookout for me, ain't it?” the stranger continued, in serious + reflection. + </p> + <p> + “How do I know,” said the priest harshly, without turning his head, “that + you did not make away with this child?” + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “That you did not complete your revenge by—by—killing it, as + your comrade suspected you? Ah! Holy Trinity,” continued Father Pedro, + throwing out his hands with an impatient gesture, as if to take the place + of unutterable thought. + </p> + <p> + “How do YOU know?” echoed the stranger coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger linked his fingers together and threw them over his knee, + drew it up to his chest caressingly, and said quietly, “Because you DO + know.” + </p> + <p> + The Padre rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What mean you?” he said, sternly fixing his eyes upon the speaker. Their + eyes met. The stranger's were gray and persistent, with hanging corner + lids that might have concealed even more purpose than they showed. The + Padre's were hollow, open, and the whites slightly brown, as if with + tobacco stains. Yet they were the first to turn away. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” returned the stranger, with the same practical gravity, “that + you know it wouldn't pay me to come here, if I'd killed the baby, unless I + wanted you to fix things right with me up there,” pointing skywards, “and + get absolution; and I've told you THAT wasn't in my line.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you seek me, then?” demanded the Padre, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Because I reckon I thought a man might be allowed to confess something + short of a murder. If you're going to draw the line below that—” + </p> + <p> + “This is but sacrilegious levity,” interrupted Father Pedro, turning as if + to go. But the stranger did not make any movement to detain him. + </p> + <p> + “Have you implored forgiveness of the father—the man you wronged—before + you came here?” asked the priest, lingering. + </p> + <p> + “Not much. It wouldn't pay if he was living, and he died four years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure of that?” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “There are other relations, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro was silent. When he spoke again, it was with a changed voice. + “What is your purpose, then?” he asked, with the first indication of + priestly sympathy in his manner. “You cannot ask forgiveness of the + earthly father you have injured, you refuse the intercession of holy + Church with the Heavenly Father you have disobeyed. Speak, wretched man! + What is it you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to find the child.” + </p> + <p> + “But if it were possible, if she were still living, are you fit to seek + her, to even make yourself known to her, to appear before her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I made it profitable to her, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” echoed the priest, scornfully. “So be it. But why come here?” + </p> + <p> + “To ask your advice. To know how to begin my search. You know this + country. You were here when that boat drifted ashore beyond that + mountain.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, indeed. I have much to do with it. It is an affair of the alcalde—the + authorities—of your—your police.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” + </p> + <p> + The Padre again met the stranger's eyes. He stopped, with the snuff box he + had somewhat ostentatiously drawn from his pocket still open in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Why is it not, Senor?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “If she lives, she is a young lady by this time, and might not want the + details of her life known to any one.” + </p> + <p> + “And how will you recognize your baby in this young lady?” asked Father + Pedro, with a rapid gesture, indicating the comparative heights of a baby + and an adult. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I'll know her, and her clothes too; and whoever found her + wouldn't be fool enough to destroy them.” + </p> + <p> + “After fourteen years! Good! you have faith, Senor—” + </p> + <p> + “Cranch,” supplied the stranger, consulting his watch. “But time's up. + Business is business. Good-by; don't let me keep you.” + </p> + <p> + He extended his hand. + </p> + <p> + The Padre met it with a dry, unsympathetic palm, as sere and yellow as the + hills. When their hands separated, the father still hesitated, looking at + Cranch. If he expected further speech or entreaty from him he was + mistaken, for the American, without turning his head, walked in the same + serious, practical fashion down the avenue of fig trees, and disappeared + beyond the hedge of vines. The outlines of the mountain beyond were + already lost in the fog. Father Pedro turned into the refectory. + </p> + <p> + “Antonio.” + </p> + <p> + A strong flavor of leather, onions, and stable preceded the entrance of a + short, stout vaquero from the little patio. + </p> + <p> + “Saddle Pinto and thine own mule to accompany Francisco, who will take + letters from me to the Father Superior at San Jose to-morrow at daybreak.” + </p> + <p> + “At daybreak, reverend father?” + </p> + <p> + “At daybreak. Hark ye, go by the mountain trails and avoid the highway. + Stop at no posada nor fonda, but if the child is weary, rest then awhile + at Don Juan Briones' or at the rancho of the Blessed Fisherman. Have no + converse with stragglers, least of all those gentile Americanos. So . . .” + </p> + <p> + The first strokes of the Angelus came from the nearer tower. With a + gesture Father Pedro waved Antonio aside, and opened the door of the + sacristy. + </p> + <p> + “Ad Majorem Dei Gloria.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The hacienda of Don Juan Briones, nestling in a wooded cleft of the + foot-hills, was hidden, as Father Pedro had wisely reflected, from the + straying feet of travelers along the dusty highway to San Jose. As + Francisco, emerging from the canada, put spurs to his mule at the sight of + the whitewashed walls, Antonio grunted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh aye, little priest! thou wast tired enough a moment ago, and though we + are not three leagues from the Blessed Fisherman, thou couldst scarce sit + thy saddle longer. Mother of God! and all to see that little mongrel, + Juanita.” + </p> + <p> + “But, good Antonio, Juanita was my play-fellow, and I may not soon again + chance this way. And Juanita is not a mongrel, no more than I am.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a mestiza, and thou art a child of the Church, though this + following of gypsy wenches does not show it.” + </p> + <p> + “But Father Pedro does not object,” urged the boy. + </p> + <p> + “The reverend father has forgotten he was ever young,” replied Antonio, + sententiously, “or he wouldn't set fire and tow together.” + </p> + <p> + “What sayest thou, good Antonio?” asked Francisco quickly, opening his + blue eyes in frank curiosity; “who is fire, and who is tow?” + </p> + <p> + The worthy muleteer, utterly abashed and confounded by this display of the + acolyte's direct simplicity, contented himself by shrugging his shoulders, + and a vague “Quien sabe?” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the boy, gayly, “confess it is only the aguardiente of the + Blessed Fisherman thou missest. Never fear, Juanita will find thee some. + And see! here she comes.” + </p> + <p> + There was a flash of white flounces along the dark brown corridor, the + twinkle of satin slippers, the flying out of long black braids, and with a + cry of joy a young girl threw herself upon Francisco as he entered the + patio, and nearly dragged him from his mule. + </p> + <p> + “Have a care, little sister,” laughed the acolyte, looking at Antonio, “or + there will be a conflagration. Am I the fire?” he continued, submitting to + the two sounding kisses the young girl placed upon either cheek, but still + keeping his mischievous glance upon the muleteer. + </p> + <p> + “Quien sabe?” repeated Antonio, gruffly, as the young girl blushed under + his significant eyes. “It is no affair of mine,” he added to himself, as + he led Pinto away. “Perhaps Father Pedro is right, and this young twig of + the Church is as dry and sapless as himself. Let the mestiza burn if she + likes.” + </p> + <p> + “Quick, Pancho,” said the young girl, eagerly leading him along the + corridor. “This way. I must talk with thee before thou seest Don Juan; + that is why I ran to intercept thee, and not as that fool Antonio would + signify, to shame thee. Wast thou ashamed, my Pancho?” + </p> + <p> + The boy threw his arm familiarly round the supple, stayless little waist, + accented only by the belt of the light flounced saya, and said, “But why + this haste and feverishness, 'Nita? And now I look at thee, thou hast been + crying.” + </p> + <p> + They had emerged from a door in the corridor into the bright sunlight of a + walled garden. The girl dropped her eyes, cast a quick glance around her, + and said,— + </p> + <p> + “Not here, to the arroyo,” and half leading, half dragging him, made her + way through a copse of manzanita and alder until they heard the faint + tinkling of water. “Dost thou remember,” said the girl, “it was here,” + pointing to an embayed pool in the dark current, “that I baptized thee, + when Father Pedro first brought thee here, when we both played at being + monks? They were dear old days, for Father Pedro would trust no one with + thee but me, and always kept us near him.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye and he said I would be profaned by the touch of any other, and so + himself always washed and dressed me, and made my bed near his.” + </p> + <p> + “And took thee away again, and I saw thee not till thou camest with + Antonio, over a year ago, to the cattle branding. And now, my Pancho, I + may never see thee again.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed + aloud. + </p> + <p> + The little acolyte tried to comfort her, but with such abstraction of + manner and inadequacy of warmth that she hastily removed his caressing + hand. + </p> + <p> + “But why? What has happened?” he asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + The girl's manner had changed. Her eyes flashed, and she put her brown + fist on her waist and began to rock from side to side. + </p> + <p> + “But I'll not go,” she said viciously. + </p> + <p> + “Go where?” asked the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, where?” she echoed, impatiently. “Hear me, Francisco; thou knowest I + am, like thee, an orphan; but I have not, like thee, a parent in the Holy + Church. For, alas,” she added, bitterly, “I am not a boy, and have not a + lovely voice borrowed from the angels. I was, like thee, a foundling, kept + by the charity of the reverend fathers, until Don Juan, a childless + widower, adopted me. I was happy, not knowing and caring who were the + parents who had abandoned me, happy only in the love of him who became my + adopted father. And now—” She paused. + </p> + <p> + “And now?” echoed Francisco, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “And now they say it is discovered who are my parents.” + </p> + <p> + “And they live?” + </p> + <p> + “Mother of God! no,” said the girl, with scarcely filial piety. “There is + some one, a thing, a mere Don Fulano, who knows it all, it seems, who is + to be my guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “But how? tell me all, dear Juanita,” said the boy with a feverish + interest, that contrasted so strongly with his previous abstraction that + Juanita bit her lips with vexation. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! How? Santa Barbara! an extravaganza for children. A necklace of lies. + I am lost from a ship of which my father—Heaven rest him—is + General, and I am picked up among the weeds on the sea-shore, like Moses + in the bulrushes. A pretty story, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how beautiful!” exclaimed Francisco, enthusiastically. “Ah, Juanita, + would it had been me.” + </p> + <p> + “THEE!” said the girl bitterly,—“thee! No!—it was a girl + wanted. Enough, it was me.” + </p> + <p> + “And when does the guardian come?” persisted the boy, with sparkling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “He is here even now, with that pompous fool the American alcalde from + Monterey, a wretch who knows nothing of the country or the people, but who + helped the other American to claim me. I tell thee, Francisco, like as not + it is all a folly, some senseless blunder of those Americanos that imposes + upon Don Juan's simplicity and love for them.” + </p> + <p> + “How looks he, this Americano who seeks thee?” asked Francisco. + </p> + <p> + “What care I how he looks,” said Juanita, “or what he is? He may have the + four S's, for all I care. Yet,” she added with a slight touch of coquetry, + “he is not bad to look upon, now I recall him.” + </p> + <p> + “Had he a long moustache and a sad, sweet smile, and a voice so gentle and + yet so strong that you felt he ordered you to do things with out saying + it? And did his eye read your thoughts?—that very thought that you + must obey him?” + </p> + <p> + “Saints preserve thee, Pancho! Of whom dost thou speak?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Juanita. It was a year ago, the eve of Natividad, he was in the + church when I sang. Look where I would, I always met his eye. When the + canticle was sung and I was slipping into the sacristy, he was beside me. + He spoke kindly, but I understood him not. He put into my hand gold for an + aguinaldo. I pretended I understood not that also, and put it into the box + for the poor. He smiled and went away. Often have I seen him since, and + last night, when I left the Mission, he was there again with Father + Pedro.” + </p> + <p> + “And Father Pedro, what said he of him?” asked Juanita. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” The boy hesitated. “Perhaps—because I said nothing of the + stranger.” + </p> + <p> + Juanita laughed. “So thou canst keep a secret from the good father when + thou carest. But why dost thou think this stranger is my new guardian?” + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou not see, little sister? he was even then seeking thee,” said + the boy with joyous excitement. “Doubtless he knew we were friends and + playmates—may be the good father has told him thy secret. For it is + no idle tale of the alcalde, believe me. I see it all! It is true!” + </p> + <p> + “Then thou wilt let him take me away,” exclaimed the girl bitterly, + withdrawing the little hand he had clasped in his excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Alas, Juanita, what avails it now? I am sent to San Jose, charged with a + letter to the Father Superior, who will give me further orders. What they + are, or how long I must stay, I know not. But I know this: the good Father + Pedro's eyes were troubled when he gave me his blessing, and he held me + long in his embrace. Pray Heaven I have committed no fault. Still it may + be that the reputation of my gift hath reached the Father Superior, and he + would advance me.” And Francisco's eyes lit up with youthful pride at the + thought. + </p> + <p> + Not so Juanita. Her black eyes snapped suddenly with suspicion, she drew + in her breath, and closed her little mouth firmly. Then she began a + crescendo. + </p> + <p> + Mother of God! was that all? Was he a child, to be sent away for such time + or for such purpose as best pleased the fathers? Was he to know no more + than that? With such gifts as God had given him, was he not at least to + have some word in disposing of them? Ah! SHE would not stand it. + </p> + <p> + The boy gazed admiringly at the piquant energy of the little figure before + him, and envied her courage. “It is the mestizo blood,” he murmured to + himself. Then aloud, “Thou shouldst have been a man, 'Nita.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Or a priest. Eh, what is that?” + </p> + <p> + They had both risen, Juanita defiantly, her black braids flying as she + wheeled and suddenly faced the thicket, Francisco clinging to her with + trembling hands and whitened lips. A stone, loosened from the hillside, + had rolled to their feet; there was a crackling in the alders on the slope + above them. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a bear, or a brigand?” whispered Francisco, hurriedly, sounding the + uttermost depths of his terror in the two words. + </p> + <p> + “It is an eavesdropper,” said Juanita, impetuously; “and who and why, I + intend to know,” and she started towards the thicket. + </p> + <p> + “Do not leave me, good Juanita,” said the young acolyte, grasping the + girl's skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Nay; run to the hacienda quickly, and leave me to search the thicket. + Run!” + </p> + <p> + The boy did not wait for a second injunction, but scuttled away, his long + coat catching in the brambles, while Juanita darted like a kitten into the + bushes. Her search was fruitless, however, and she was returning + impatiently when her quick eye fell upon a letter lying amidst the dried + grass where she and Francisco had been seated the moment before. It had + evidently fallen from his breast when he had risen suddenly, and been + overlooked in his alarm. It was Father Pedro's letter to the Father + Superior of San Jose. + </p> + <p> + In an instant she had pounced upon it as viciously as if it had been the + interloper she was seeking. She knew that she held in her fingers the + secret of Francisco's sudden banishment. She felt instinctively that this + yellowish envelope, with its red string and its blotch of red seal, was + his sentence and her own. The little mestiza had not been brought up to + respect the integrity of either locks or seals, both being unknown in the + patriarchal life of the hacienda. Yet with a certain feminine instinct she + looked furtively around her, and even managed to dislodge the clumsy wax + without marring the pretty effigy of the crossed keys impressed upon it. + Then she opened the letter and read. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she stopped and put back her hair from her brown temples. Then a + succession of burning blushes followed each other in waves from her neck + up, and died in drops of moisture in her eyes. This continued until she + was fairly crying, dropping the letter from her hands and rocking to and + fro. In the midst of this she quickly stopped again; the clouds broke, a + sunshine of laughter started from her eyes, she laughed shyly, she laughed + loudly, she laughed hysterically. Then she stopped again as suddenly, + knitted her brows, swooped down once more upon the letter, and turned to + fly. But at the same moment the letter was quietly but firmly taken from + her hand, and Mr. Jack Cranch stood beside her. + </p> + <p> + Juanita was crimson, but unconquered. She mechanically held out her hand + for the letter; the American took her little fingers, kissed them, and + said:— + </p> + <p> + “How are you again?” + </p> + <p> + “The letter,” replied Juanita, with a strong disposition to stamp her + foot. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Cranch, with business directness, “you've read enough to know + it isn't for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor for you either,” responded Juanita. + </p> + <p> + “True. It is for the Reverend Father Superior of San Jose Mission. I'll + give it to him.” + </p> + <p> + Juanita was becoming alarmed, first at this prospect, second at the power + the stranger seemed to be gaining over her. She recalled Francisco's + description of him with something like superstitious awe. + </p> + <p> + “But it concerns Francisco. It contains a secret he should know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you can tell him it. Perhaps it would come easier from you.” + </p> + <p> + Juanita blushed again. “Why?” she asked, half dreading his reply. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said the American, quietly, “you are old playmates; you are + attached to each other.” + </p> + <p> + Juanita bit her lips. “Why don't you read it yourself?” she asked bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Because I don't read other people's letters, and if it concerns me you'll + tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “What if I don't?” + </p> + <p> + “Then the Father Superior will.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you know Francisco's secret already,” said the girl, boldly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Mother of God! Senor Crancho, what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not want to separate two such good friends as you and Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'd like to claim us both,” said the girl, with a sneer that + was not devoid of coquetry. + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted.” + </p> + <p> + “Then here is your occasion, Senor, for here comes my adopted father, Don + Juan, and your friend, Senor Br—r—own, the American alcalde.” + </p> + <p> + Two men appeared in the garden path below them. The stiff, glazed, + broad-brimmed black hat, surmounting a dark face of Quixotic gravity and + romantic rectitude, indicated Don Juan Briones. His companion, lazy, + specious, and red-faced, was Senor Brown, the American alcalde. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon we kin about call the thing fixed,” said Senor Brown, with + a large wave of the hand, suggesting a sweeping away of all trivial + details. “Ez I was saying to the Don yer, when two high-toned gents like + you and him come together in a delicate matter of this kind, it ain't no + hoss trade nor sharp practice. The Don is that lofty in principle that + he's willin' to sacrifice his affections for the good of the gal; and you, + on your hand, kalkilate to see all he's done for her, and go your whole + pile better. You'll make the legal formalities good. I reckon that old + Injin woman who can swear to the finding of the baby on the shore will set + things all right yet. For the matter o' that, if you want anything in the + way of a certificate, I'm on hand always.” + </p> + <p> + “Juanita and myself are at your disposition, caballeros,” said Don Juan, + with a grave exaltation. “Never let it be said that the Mexican nation was + outdone by the great Americanos in deeds of courtesy and affection. Let it + rather stand that Juanita was a sacred trust put into my hands years ago + by the goddess of American liberty, and nurtured in the Mexican eagle's + nest. Is it not so, my soul?” he added, more humanly, to the girl, when he + had quite recovered from the intoxication of his own speech. “We love + thee, little one, but we keep our honor.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing mean about the old man,” said Brown, admiringly, with a + slight dropping of his left eyelid; “his head is level, and he goes with + his party.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou takest my daughter, Senor Cranch,” continued the old man, carried + away by his emotion; “but the American nation gives me a son.” + </p> + <p> + “You know not what you say, father,” said the young girl, angrily, + exasperated by a slight twinkle in the American's eye. + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” said Cranch. “Perhaps one of the American nation may take him at + his word.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, caballeros, you will, for the moment at least, possess yourselves + of the house and its poor hospitality,” said Don Juan, with time-honored + courtesy, producing the rustic key of the gate of the patio. “It is at + your disposition, caballeros,” he repeated, leading the way as his guests + passed into the corridor. + </p> + <p> + Two hours passed. The hills were darkening on their eastern slopes; the + shadows of the few poplars that sparsedly dotted the dusty highway were + falling in long black lines that looked like ditches on the dead level of + the tawny fields; the shadows of slowly moving cattle were mingling with + their own silhouettes, and becoming more and more grotesque. A keen wind + rising in the hills was already creeping from the canada as from the mouth + of a funnel, and sweeping the plains. Antonio had forgathered with the + servants, had pinched the ears of the maids, had partaken of aguardiente, + had saddled the mules,—Antonio was becoming impatient. + </p> + <p> + And then a singular commotion disturbed the peaceful monotony of the + patriarchal household of Don Juan Briones. The stagnant courtyard was + suddenly alive with peons and servants, running hither and thither. The + alleys and gardens were filled with retainers. A confusion of questions, + orders, and outcrys rent the air, the plains shook with the galloping of a + dozen horsemen. For the acolyte Francisco, of the Mission San Carmel, had + disappeared and vanished, and from that day the hacienda of Don Juan + Briones knew him no more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + When Father Pedro saw the yellow mules vanish under the low branches of + the oaks beside the little graveyard, caught the last glitter of the + morning sun on Pinto's shining headstall, and heard the last tinkle of + Antonio's spurs, something very like a mundane sigh escaped him. To the + simple wonder of the majority of early worshipers—the half-breed + converts who rigorously attended the spiritual ministrations of the + Mission, and ate the temporal provisions of the reverend fathers—he + deputed the functions of the first mass to a coadjutor, and, breviary in + hand, sought the orchard of venerable pear trees. Whether there was any + occult sympathy in his reflections with the contemplation of their + gnarled, twisted, gouty, and knotty limbs, still bearing gracious and + goodly fruit, I know not, but it was his private retreat, and under one of + the most rheumatic and misshapen trunks there was a rude seat. Here Father + Pedro sank, his face towards the mountain wall between him and the + invisible sea. The relentless, dry, practical Californian sunlight falling + on his face grimly pointed out a night of vigil and suffering. The snuffy + yellow of his eyes was injected yet burning, his temples were ridged and + veined like a tobacco leaf; the odor of desiccation which his garments + always exhaled was hot and feverish, as if the fire had suddenly awakened + among the ashes. + </p> + <p> + Of what was Father Pedro thinking? + </p> + <p> + He was thinking of his youth, a youth spent under the shade of those pear + trees, even then venerable as now. He was thinking of his youthful dreams + of heathen conquest, emulating the sacrifices and labors of Junipero + Serra; a dream cut short by the orders of the archbishop, that sent his + companion, Brother Diego, north on a mission to strange lands, and + condemned him to the isolation of San Carmel. He was thinking of that + fierce struggle with envy of a fellow creature's better fortune that, + conquered by prayer and penance, left him patient, submissive, and devoted + to his humble work; how he raised up converts to the faith, even taking + them from the breast of heretic mothers. + </p> + <p> + He recalled how once, with the zeal of propagandism quickening in the + instincts of a childless man, he had dreamed of perpetuating his work + through some sinless creation of his own; of dedicating some virgin soul, + one over whom he could have complete control, restricted by no human + paternal weakness, to the task he had begun. But how? Of all the boys + eagerly offered to the Church by their parents there seemed none + sufficiently pure and free from parental taint. He remembered how one + night, through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin herself, as he + firmly then believed, this dream was fulfilled. An Indian woman brought + him a Waugee child—a baby-girl that she had picked up on the + sea-shore. There were no parents to divide the responsibility, the child + had no past to confront, except the memory of the ignorant Indian woman, + who deemed her duty done, and whose interest ceased in giving it to the + Padre. The austere conditions of his monkish life compelled him to the + first step in his adoption of it—the concealment of its sex. This + was easy enough, as he constituted himself from that moment its sole nurse + and attendant, and boldly baptized it among the other children by the name + of Francisco. No others knew its origin, nor cared to know. Father Pedro + had taken a muchacho foundling for adoption; his jealous seclusion of it + and his personal care was doubtless some sacerdotal formula at once high + and necessary. + </p> + <p> + He remembered with darkening eyes and impeded breath how his close + companionship and daily care of this helpless child had revealed to him + the fascinations of that paternity denied to him; how he had deemed it his + duty to struggle against the thrill of baby fingers laid upon his yellow + cheeks, the pleading of inarticulate words, the eloquence of wonder-seeing + and mutely questioning eyes; how he had succumbed again and again, and + then struggled no more, seeing only in them the suggestion of childhood + made incarnate in the Holy Babe. And yet, even as he thought, he drew from + his gown a little shoe, and laid it beside his breviary. It was + Francisco's baby slipper, a duplicate to those worn by the miniature waxen + figure of the Holy Virgin herself in her niche in the transept. + </p> + <p> + Had he felt during these years any qualms of conscience at this + concealment of the child's sex? None. For to him the babe was sexless, as + most befitted one who was to live and die at the foot of the altar. There + was no attempt to deceive God; what mattered else? Nor was he withholding + the child from the ministrations of the sacred sisters; there was no + convent near the Mission, and as each year passed, the difficulty of + restoring her to the position and duties of her sex became greater and + more dangerous. And then the acolyte's destiny was sealed by what again + appeared to Father Pedro as a direct interposition of Providence. The + child developed a voice of such exquisite sweetness and purity that an + angel seemed to have strayed into the little choir, and kneeling + worshipers below, transported, gazed upwards, half expectant of a heavenly + light breaking through the gloom of the raftered ceiling. The fame of the + little singer filled the valley of San Carmel; it was a miracle vouchsafed + the Mission; Don Jose Peralta remembered, ah yes, to have heard in old + Spain of boy choristers with such voices! + </p> + <p> + And was this sacred trust to be withdrawn from him? Was this life which he + had brought out of an unknown world of sin, unstained and pure, + consecrated and dedicated to God, just in the dawn of power and promise + for the glory of the Mother Church, to be taken from his side? And at the + word of a self-convicted man of sin—a man whose tardy repentance was + not yet absolved by the Holy Church. Never! never! Father Pedro dwelt upon + the stranger's rejection of the ministrations of the Church with a + pitiable satisfaction; had he accepted it, he would have had a sacred + claim upon Father Pedro's sympathy and confidence. Yet he rose again, + uneasily and with irregular steps returned to the corridor, passing the + door of the familiar little cell beside his own. The window, the table, + and even the scant toilette utensils were filled with the flowers of + yesterday, some of them withered and dry; the white gown of the little + chorister was hanging emptily against the wall. Father Pedro started and + trembled; it seemed as if the spiritual life of the child had slipped away + with its garments. + </p> + <p> + In that slight chill, which even in the hottest days in California always + invests any shadow cast in that white sunlight, Father Pedro shivered in + the corridor. Passing again into the garden, he followed in fancy the + wayfaring figure of Francisco, saw the child arrive at the rancho of Don + Juan, and with the fateful blindness of all dreamers projected a picture + most unlike the reality. He followed the pilgrims even to San Jose, and + saw the child deliver the missive which gave the secret of her sex and + condition to the Father Superior. That the authority at San Jose might + dissent with the Padre of San Carmel, or decline to carry out his designs, + did not occur to the one-idea'd priest. Like all solitary people, isolated + from passing events, he made no allowances for occurrences outside of his + routine. Yet at this moment a sudden thought whitened his yellow cheek. + What if the Father Superior deemed it necessary to impart the secret to + Francisco? Would the child recoil at the deception, and, perhaps, cease to + love him? It was the first time, in his supreme selfishness, he had taken + the acolyte's feelings into account. He had thought of him only as one + owing implicit obedience to him as a temporal and spiritual guide. + </p> + <p> + “Reverend Father!” + </p> + <p> + He turned impatiently. It was his muleteer, Jose. Father Pedro's sunken + eye brightened. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Jose! Quickly, then; hast thou found Sanchicha?” + </p> + <p> + “Truly, your reverence! And I have brought her with me, just as she is; + though if your reverence make more of her than to fill the six-foot hole + and say a prayer over her, I'll give the mule that brought her here for + food for the bull's horns. She neither hears nor speaks, but whether from + weakness or sheer wantonness, I know not.” + </p> + <p> + “Peace, then! and let thy tongue take example from hers. Bring her with + thee into the sacristy and attend without. Go!” + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro watched the disappearing figure of the muleteer and hurriedly + swept his thin, dry hand, veined and ribbed like a brown November leaf, + over his stony forehead, with a sound that seemed almost a rustle. Then he + suddenly stiffened his fingers over his breviary, dropped his arms + perpendicularly before him, and with a rigid step returned to the corridor + and passed into the sacristy. + </p> + <p> + For a moment in the half-darkness the room seemed to be empty. Tossed + carelessly in the corner appeared some blankets topped by a few straggling + black horse tails, like an unstranded riata. A trembling agitated the mass + as Father Pedro approached. He bent over the heap and distinguished in its + midst the glowing black eyes of Sanchicha, the Indian centenarian of the + Mission San Carmel. Only her eyes lived. Helpless, boneless, and + jelly-like, old age had overtaken her with a mild form of deliquescence. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Sanchicha,” said the father, gravely. “It is important that thou + shouldst refresh thy memory for a moment. Look back fourteen years, + mother; it is but yesterday to thee. Thou dost remember the baby—a + little muchacha thou broughtest me then—fourteen years ago?” + </p> + <p> + The old woman's eyes became intelligent, and turned with a quick look + towards the open door of the church, and thence towards the choir. + </p> + <p> + The Padre made a motion of irritation. “No, no! Thou dost not understand; + thou dost not attend me. Knowest thou of any mark of clothing, trinket, or + amulet found upon the babe?” + </p> + <p> + The light of the old woman's eyes went out. She might have been dead. + Father Pedro waited a moment, and then laid his hand impatiently on her + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou mean there are none?” + </p> + <p> + A ray of light struggled back into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou hast kept back or put away no sign nor mark of her parentage? + Tell me, on this crucifix.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes caught the crucifix, and became as empty as the orbits of the + carven Christ upon it. + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro waited patiently. A moment passed; only the sound of the + muleteer's spurs was heard in the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + “It is well,” he said at last, with a sigh of relief. “Pepita shall give + thee some refreshment, and Jose will bring thee back again. I will summon + him.” + </p> + <p> + He passed out of the sacristy door, leaving it open. A ray of sunlight + darted eagerly in, and fell upon the grotesque heap in the corner. + Sanchicha's eyes lived again; more than that, a singular movement came + over her face. The hideous caverns of her toothless mouth opened—she + laughed. The step of Jose was heard in the corridor, and she became again + inert. + </p> + <p> + The third day, which should have brought the return of Antonio, was nearly + spent. Father Pedro was impatient but not alarmed. The good fathers at San + Jose might naturally detain Antonio for the answer, which might require + deliberation. If any mischance had occurred to Francisco, Antonio would + have returned or sent a special messenger. At sunset he was in his + accustomed seat in the orchard, his hands clasped over the breviary in his + listless lap, his eyes fixed upon the mountain between him and that + mysterious sea that had brought so much into his life. He was filled with + a strange desire to see it, a vague curiosity hitherto unknown to his + preoccupied life; he wished to gaze upon that strand, perhaps the very + spot where she had been found; he doubted not his questioning eyes would + discover some forgotten trace of her; under his persistent will and aided + by the Holy Virgin, the sea would give up its secret. He looked at the fog + creeping along the summit, and recalled the latest gossip of San Carmel; + how that since the advent of the Americanos it was gradually encroaching + on the Mission. The hated name vividly recalled to him the features of the + stranger as he had stood before him three nights ago, in this very garden; + so vividly that he sprang to his feet with an exclamation. It was no + fancy, but Senor Cranch himself advancing from under the shadow of a pear + tree. + </p> + <p> + “I reckoned I'd catch you here,” said Mr. Cranch, with the same dry, + practical business fashion, as if he was only resuming an interrupted + conversation, “and I reckon I ain't going to keep you a minit longer than + I did t'other day.” He mutely referred to his watch, which he already held + in his hand, and then put it back in his pocket. “Well! we found her!” + </p> + <p> + “Francisco,” interrupted the priest with a single stride, laying his hand + upon Cranch's arm, and staring into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cranch quietly removed Father Pedro's hand. “I reckon that wasn't the + name as I caught it,” he returned dryly. “Hadn't you better sit down?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me—pardon me, Senor,” said the priest, hastily sinking back + upon his bench, “I was thinking of other things. You—you—came + upon me suddenly. I thought it was the acolyte. Go on, Senor! I am + interested.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you'd be,” said Cranch, quietly. “That's why I came. And then + you might be of service too.” + </p> + <p> + “True, true,” said the priest, with rapid accents; “and this girl, Senor, + this girl is—” + </p> + <p> + “Juanita, the mestiza, adopted daughter of Don Juan Briones, over on the + Santa Clare Valley,” replied Cranch, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, + and then sitting down upon the bench beside Father Pedro. + </p> + <p> + The priest turned his feverish eyes piercingly upon his companion for a + few seconds, and then doggedly fixed them upon the ground. Cranch drew a + plug of tobacco from his pocket, cut off a portion, placed it in his + cheek, and then quietly began to strap the blade of his jack-knife upon + his boot. Father Pedro saw it from under his eyelids, and even in his + preoccupation despised him. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are certain she is the babe you seek?” said the father, without + looking up. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything. Her age tallies; she + was the only foundling girl baby baptized by you, you know,”—he + partly turned round appealingly to the Padre,—“that year. Injin + woman says she picked up a baby. Looks like a pretty clear case, don't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “And the clothes, friend Cranch?” said the priest, with his eyes still on + the ground, and a slight assumption of easy indifference. + </p> + <p> + “They will be forthcoming, like enough, when the time comes,” said Cranch; + “the main thing at first was to find the girl; that was MY job; the + lawyers, I reckon, can fit the proofs and say what's wanted, later on.” + </p> + <p> + “But why lawyers,” continued Padre Pedro, with a slight sneer he could not + repress, “if the child is found and Senor Cranch is satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “On account of the property. Business is business!” + </p> + <p> + “The property?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cranch pressed the back of his knife-blade on his boot, shut it up + with a click, and putting it in his pocket said calmly,— + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon the million of dollars that her father left when he died, + which naturally belongs to her, will require some proof that she is his + daughter.” + </p> + <p> + He had placed both his hands in his pockets, and turned his eyes full upon + Father Pedro. The priest arose hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “But you said nothing of this before, Senor Cranch,” said he, with a + gesture of indignation, turning his back quite upon Cranch, and taking a + step towards the refectory. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I? I was looking after the girl, not the property,” returned + Cranch, following the Padre with watchful eyes, but still keeping his + careless, easy attitude. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well! Will it be said so, think you? Eh! Bueno. What will the world + think of your sacred quest, eh?” continued the Padre Pedro, forgetting + himself in his excitement, but still averting his face from his companion. + </p> + <p> + “The world will look after the proofs, and I reckon not bother if the + proofs are all right,” replied Cranch, carelessly; “and the girl won't + think the worse of me for helping her to a fortune. Hallo! you've dropped + something.” He leaped to his feet, picked up the breviary which had fallen + from the Padre's fingers, and returned it to him with a slight touch of + gentleness that was unsuspected in the man. + </p> + <p> + The priest's dry, tremulous hand grasped the volume without + acknowledgment. + </p> + <p> + “But these proofs?” he said hastily; “these proofs, Senor?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, you'll testify to the baptism, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I refuse; if I will have nothing to do with this thing! If I will + not give my word that there is not some mistake,” said the priest, working + himself into a feverish indignation. “That there are not slips of memory, + eh? Of so many children baptized, is it possible for me to know which, eh? + And if this Juanita is not your girl, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll help me to find who is,” said Cranch, coolly. + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro turned furiously on his tormentor. Overcome by his vigil and + anxiety. He was oblivious of everything but the presence of the man who + seemed to usurp the functions of his own conscience. “Who are you, who + speak thus?” he said hoarsely, advancing upon Cranch with outstretched and + anathematizing fingers. “Who are you, Senor Heathen, who dare to dictate + to me, a Father of Holy Church? I tell you, I will have none of this. + Never! I will not. From this moment, you understand—nothing. I will + never . . .” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. The first stroke of the Angelus rang from the little tower. + The first stroke of that bell before whose magic exorcism all human + passions fled, the peaceful bell that had for fifty years lulled the + little fold of San Carmel to prayer and rest, came to his throbbing ear. + His trembling hands groped for the crucifix, carried it to his left + breast; his lips moved in prayer. His eyes were turned to the cold, + passionless sky, where a few faint, far-spaced stars had silently stolen + to their places. The Angelus still rang, his trembling ceased, he remained + motionless and rigid. + </p> + <p> + The American, who had uncovered in deference to the worshiper rather than + the rite, waited patiently. The eyes of Father Pedro returned to the + earth, moist as if with dew caught from above. He looked half absently at + Cranch. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, my son,” he said, in a changed voice. “I am only a worn old + man. I must talk with thee more of this—but not to-night—not + to-night;—to-morrow—to-morrow—to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + He turned slowly and appeared to glide rather than move under the trees, + until the dark shadow of the Mission tower met and encompassed him. Cranch + followed him with anxious eyes. Then he removed the quid of tobacco from + his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Just as I reckoned,” remarked he, quite audibly. “He's clean gold on the + bed rock after all!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + That night Father Pedro dreamed a strange dream. How much of it was + reality, how long it lasted, or when he awoke from it, he could not tell. + The morbid excitement of the previous day culminated in a febrile + exaltation in which he lived and moved as in a separate existence. + </p> + <p> + This is what he remembered. He thought he had risen at night in a sudden + horror of remorse, and making his way to the darkened church had fallen + upon his knees before the high altar, when all at once the acolyte's voice + broke from the choir, but in accents so dissonant and unnatural that it + seemed a sacrilege, and he trembled. He thought he had confessed the + secret of the child's sex to Cranch, but whether the next morning or a + week later he did not know. He fancied, too, that Cranch had also + confessed some trifling deception to him, but what, or why, he could not + remember; so much greater seemed the enormity of his own transgression. He + thought Cranch had put in his hands the letter he had written to the + Father Superior, saying that his secret was still safe, and that he had + been spared the avowal and the scandal that might have ensued. But through + all, and above all, he was conscious of one fixed idea: to seek the + seashore with Sanchicha, and upon the spot where she had found Francisco, + meet the young girl who had taken his place, and so part from her forever. + He had a dim recollection that this was necessary to some legal + identification of her, as arranged by Cranch, but how or why he did not + understand; enough that it was a part of his penance. + </p> + <p> + It was early morning when the faithful Antonio, accompanied by Sanchicha + and Jose, rode forth with him from the Mission of San Carmel. Except on + the expressionless features of the old woman, there was anxiety and gloom + upon the faces of the little cavalcade. He did not know how heavily his + strange abstraction and hallucinations weighed upon their honest hearts. + As they wound up the ascent of the mountain he noticed that Antonio and + Jose conversed with bated breath and many pious crossings of themselves, + but with eyes always wistfully fixed upon him. He wondered if, as part of + his penance, he ought not to proclaim his sin and abase himself before + them; but he knew that his devoted followers would insist upon sharing his + punishment; and he remembered his promise to Cranch, that for HER sake he + would say nothing. Before they reached the summit he turned once or twice + to look back upon the Mission. How small it looked, lying there in the + peaceful valley, contrasted with the broad sweep of the landscape beyond, + stopped at the further east only by the dim, ghost-like outlines of the + Sierras. But the strong breath of the sea was beginning to be felt; in a + few moments more they were facing it with lowered sombreros and flying + serapes, and the vast, glittering, illimitable Pacific opened out beneath + them. + </p> + <p> + Dazed and blinded, as it seemed to him, by the shining, restless expanse, + Father Pedro rode forward as if still in a dream. Suddenly he halted, and + called Antonio to his side. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, child, didst thou not say that this coast was wild and desolate + of man, beast, and habitation?” + </p> + <p> + “Truly I did, reverend father.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what is that?” pointing to the shore. + </p> + <p> + Almost at their feet nestled a cluster of houses, at the head of an arroyo + reaching up from the beach. They looked down upon the smoke of a + manufactory chimney, upon strange heaps of material and curious engines + scattered along the sands, with here and there moving specks of human + figures. In a little bay a schooner swung at her cables. + </p> + <p> + The vaquero crossed himself in stupefied alarm. “I know not, your + reverence; it is only two years ago, before the rodeo, that I was here for + strayed colts, and I swear by the blessed bones of San Antonio that it was + as I said.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is like these Americanos,” responded the muleteer. “I have it from + my brother Diego that he went from San Jose to Pescadero two months ago, + across the plains, with never a hut nor fonda to halt at all the way. He + returned in seven days, and in the midst of the plain there were three + houses and a mill, and many people. And why was it? Ah! Mother of God! one + had picked up in the creek where he drank that much of gold;” and the + muleteer tapped one of the silver coins that fringed his jacket sleeves in + place of buttons. + </p> + <p> + “And they are washing the sands for gold there now,” said Antonio, eagerly + pointing to some men gathered round a machine like an enormous cradle. + “Let us hasten on.” + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro's momentary interest had passed. The words of his companions + fell dull and meaningless upon his dreaming ears. He was conscious only + that the child was more a stranger to him as an outcome of this hard, + bustling life, than when he believed her borne to him over the mysterious + sea. It perplexed his dazed, disturbed mind to think that if such an + antagonistic element could exist within a dozen miles of the Mission, and + he not know it, could not such an atmosphere have been around him, even in + his monastic isolation, and he remain blind to it? Had he really lived in + the world without knowing it? Had it been in his blood? Had it impelled + him to—He shuddered and rode on. + </p> + <p> + They were at the last slope of the zigzag descent to the shore, when he + saw the figures of a man and woman moving slowly through a field of wild + oats, not far from the trail. It seemed to his distorted fancy that the + man was Cranch. The woman! His heart stopped beating. Ah! could it be? He + had never seen her in her proper garb: would she look like that? Would she + be as tall? He thought he bade Jose and Antonio go on slowly before with + Sanchicha, and dismounted, walking slowly between the high stalks of + grain, lest he should disturb them. They evidently did not hear his + approach, but were talking earnestly. It seemed to Father Pedro that they + had taken each other's hands, and as he looked Cranch slipped his arm + round her waist. With only a blind instinct of some dreadful sacrilege in + this act, Father Pedro would have rushed forward, when the girl's voice + struck his ear. He stopped, breathless. It was not Francisco, but Juanita, + the little mestiza. + </p> + <p> + “But are you sure you are not pretending to love me now, as you pretended + to think I was the muchacha you had run away with and lost? Are you sure + it is not pity for the deceit you practiced upon me—upon Don Juan—upon + poor Father Pedro?” + </p> + <p> + It seemed as if Cranch had tried to answer with a kiss, for the girl drew + suddenly away from him with a coquettish fling of the black braids, and + whipped her little brown hands behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, look here,” said Cranch, with the same easy, good-natured, + practical directness which the priest remembered, and which would have + passed for philosophy in a more thoughtful man, “put it squarely, then. In + the first place, it was Don Juan and the alcalde who first suggested you + might be the child.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have said you knew it was Francisco all the time,” interrupted + Juanita. + </p> + <p> + “I did; but when I found the priest would not assist me at first, and + admit that the acolyte was a girl, I preferred to let him think I was + deceived in giving a fortune to another, and leave it to his own + conscience to permit it or frustrate it. I was right. I reckon it was + pretty hard on the old man, at his time of life, and wrapped up as he was + in the girl; but at the moment he came up to the scratch like a man.” + </p> + <p> + “And to save him you have deceived me? Thank you, Senor,” said the girl + with a mock curtsey. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I preferred to have you for a wife than a daughter,” said + Cranch, “if that's what you mean. When you know me better, Juanita,” he + continued, gravely, “you'll know that I would never have let you believe I + sought in you the one if I had not hoped to find in you the other.” + </p> + <p> + “Bueno! And when did you have that pretty hope?” + </p> + <p> + “When I first saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “And that was—two weeks ago.” + </p> + <p> + “A year ago, Juanita. When Francisco visited you at the rancho. I followed + and saw you.” + </p> + <p> + Juanita looked at him a moment, and then suddenly darted at him, caught + him by the lapels of his coat and shook him like a terrier. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure that you did not love that Francisco? Speak!” (She shook him + again.) “Swear that you did not follow her!” + </p> + <p> + “But—I did,” said Cranch, laughing and shaking between the clenching + of the little hands. + </p> + <p> + “Judas Iscariot! Swear you do not love her all this while.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Juanita!” + </p> + <p> + “Swear!” + </p> + <p> + Cranch swore. Then to Father Pedro's intense astonishment she drew the + American's face towards her own by the ears and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + “But you might have loved her, and married a fortune,” said Juanita, after + a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Where would have been my reparation—my duty?” returned Cranch, with + a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Reparation enough for her to have had you,” said Juanita, with that rapid + disloyalty of one loving woman to another in an emergency. This provoked + another kiss from Cranch, and then Juanita said demurely,— + </p> + <p> + “But we are far from the trail. Let us return, or we shall miss Father + Pedro. Are you sure he will come?” + </p> + <p> + “A week ago he promised to be here to see the proofs to-day.” + </p> + <p> + The voices were growing fainter and fainter; they were returning to the + trail. + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro remained motionless. A week ago! Was it a week ago since—since + what? And what had he been doing here? Listening! He! Father Pedro, + listening like an idle peon to the confidences of two lovers. But they had + talked of him, of his crime, and the man had pitied him. Why did he not + speak? Why did he not call after them? He tried to raise his voice. It + sank in his throat with a horrible choking sensation. The nearest heads of + oats began to nod to him, he felt himself swaying backwards and forwards. + He fell—heavily, down, down, down, from the summit of the mountain + to the floor of the Mission chapel, and there he lay in the dark. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “He moves.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessed Saint Anthony preserve him!” + </p> + <p> + It was Antonio's voice, it was Jose's arm, it was the field of wild oats, + the sky above his head,—all unchanged. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened?” said the priest feebly. + </p> + <p> + “A giddiness seized your reverence just now, as we were coming to seek + you.” + </p> + <p> + “And you met no one?” + </p> + <p> + “No one, your reverence.” + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro passed his hand across his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “But who are these?” he said, pointing to two figures who now appeared + upon the trail. + </p> + <p> + Antonio turned. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Americano, Senor Cranch, and his adopted daughter, the mestiza + Juanita, seeking your reverence, methinks.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Father Pedro. + </p> + <p> + Cranch came forward and greeted the priest cordially. “It was kind of you, + Father Pedro,” he said, meaningly, with a significant glance at Jose and + Antonio, “to come so far to bid me and my adopted daughter farewell. We + depart when the tide serves, but not before you partake of our hospitality + in yonder cottage.” + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro gazed at Cranch and then at Juanita. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he stammered. “But she goes not alone. She will be strange at + first. She takes some friend, perhaps—some companion?” he continued, + tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “A very old and dear one, Father Pedro, who is waiting for us now.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way to a little white cottage, so little and white and recent, + that it seemed a mere fleck of sea foam cast on the sands. Disposing of + Jose and Antonio in the neighboring workshop and outbuildings, he assisted + the venerable Sanchicha to dismount, and, together with Father Pedro and + Juanita, entered a white palisaded enclosure beside the cottage, and + halted before what appeared to be a large, folding trap-door, covering a + slight, sandy mound. It was locked with a padlock; beside it stood the + American alcalde and Don Juan Briones. Father Pedro looked hastily around + for another figure, but it was not there. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” began Cranch, in his practical business way, “I reckon you + all know we've come here to identify a young lady, who”—he hesitated—“was + lately under the care of Father Pedro, with a foundling picked up on this + shore fifteen years ago by an Indian woman. How this foundling came here, + and how I was concerned in it, you all know. I've told everybody here how + I scrambled ashore, leaving that baby in the dingy, supposing it would be + picked up by the boat pursuing me. I've told some of you,” he looked at + Father Pedro, “how I first discovered, from one of the men, three years + ago, that the child was not found by its father. But I have never told any + one, before now, I KNEW it was picked up here. + </p> + <p> + “I never could tell the exact locality where I came ashore, for the fog + was coming on as it is now. But two years ago I came up with a party of + gold hunters to work these sands. One day, digging near this creek, I + struck something embedded deep below the surface. Well, gentlemen, it + wasn't gold, but something worth more to me than gold or silver. Here it + is.” + </p> + <p> + At a sign the alcalde unlocked the doors and threw them open. They + disclosed an irregular trench, in which, filled with sand, lay the + half-excavated stern of a boat. + </p> + <p> + “It was the dingy of the Trinidad, gentlemen; you can still read her name. + I found hidden away, tucked under the stern sheets, mouldy and water-worn, + some clothes that I recognized to be the baby's. I knew then that the + child had been taken away alive for some purpose, and the clothes were + left so that she should carry no trace with her. I recognized the hand of + an Indian. I set to work quietly. I found Sanchicha here, she confessed to + finding a baby, but what she had done with it she would not at first say. + But since then she has declared before the alcalde that she gave it to + Father Pedro, of San Carmel, and that here it stands—Francisco that + was! Francisca that it is!” + </p> + <p> + He stepped aside to make way for a tall girl, who had approached from the + cottage. + </p> + <p> + Father Pedro had neither noticed the concluding words nor the movement of + Cranch. His eyes were fixed upon the imbecile Sanchicha,—Sanchicha, + on whom, to render his rebuke more complete, the Deity seemed to have + worked a miracle, and restored intelligence to eye and lip. He passed his + hand tremblingly across his forehead, and turned away, when his eye fell + upon the last comer. + </p> + <p> + It was she. The moment he had longed for and dreaded had come. She stood + there, animated, handsome, filled with a hurtful consciousness in her new + charms, her fresh finery, and the pitiable trinkets that had supplanted + her scapulary, and which played under her foolish fingers. The past had no + place in her preoccupied mind; her bright eyes were full of eager + anticipation of a substantial future. The incarnation of a frivolous + world, even as she extended one hand to him in half-coquettish + embarrassment she arranged the folds of her dress with the other. At the + touch of her fingers, he felt himself growing old and cold. Even the + penance of parting, which he had looked forward to, was denied him; there + was no longer sympathy enough for sorrow. He thought of the empty + chorister's robe in the little cell, but not now with regret. He only + trembled to think of the flesh that he had once caused to inhabit it. + </p> + <p> + “That's all, gentlemen,” broke in the practical voice of Cranch. “Whether + there are proofs enough to make Francisca the heiress of her father's + wealth, the lawyers must say. I reckon it's enough for me that they give + me the chance of repairing a wrong by taking her father's place. After + all, it was a mere chance.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the will of God,” said Father Pedro, solemnly. + </p> + <p> + They were the last words he addressed them. For when the fog had begun to + creep inshore, hastening their departure, he only answered their farewells + by a silent pressure of the hand, mute lips, and far-off eyes. + </p> + <p> + When the sound of their laboring oars grew fainter, he told Antonio to + lead him and Sanchicha again to the buried boat. There he bade her kneel + beside him. “We will do penance here, thou and I, daughter,” he said + gravely. When the fog had drawn its curtain gently around the strange + pair, and sea and shore were blotted out, he whispered, “Tell me, it was + even so, was it not, daughter, on the night she came?” When the distant + clatter of blocks and rattle of cordage came from the unseen vessel, now + standing out to sea, he whispered again, “So, this is what thou didst + hear, even then.” And so during the night he marked, more or less audibly + to the half-conscious woman at his side, the low whisper of the waves, the + murmur of the far-off breakers, the lightening and thickening of the fog, + the phantoms of moving shapes, and the slow coming of the dawn. And when + the morning sun had rent the veil over land and sea, Antonio and Jose + found him, haggard, but erect, beside the trembling old woman, with a + blessing on his lips, pointing to the horizon where a single sail still + glimmered:— + </p> + <p> + “Va Usted con Dios.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + She was barely twenty-three years old. It is probable that up to that age, + and the beginning of this episode, her life had been uneventful. Born to + the easy mediocrity of such compensating extremes as a small farmhouse and + large lands, a good position and no society, in that vast grazing district + of Kentucky known as the “Blue Grass” region, all the possibilities of a + Western American girl's existence lay before her. A piano in the + bare-walled house, the latest patented mower in the limitless meadows, and + a silk dress sweeping the rough floor of the unpainted “meeting-house” + were already the promise of those possibilities. Beautiful she was, but + the power of that beauty was limited by being equally shared with her few + neighbors. There were small, narrow, arched feet besides her own that trod + the uncarpeted floors of outlying log-cabins with equal grace and dignity; + bright, clearly opened eyes that were equally capable of looking unabashed + upon princes and potentates, as a few later did, and the heiress of the + county judge read her own beauty without envy in the frank glances and + unlowered crest of the blacksmith's daughter. Eventually she had married + the male of her species, a young stranger, who, as schoolmaster in the + nearest town, had utilized to some local extent a scant capital of + education. In obedience to the unwritten law of the West, after the + marriage was celebrated the doors of the ancestral home cheerfully opened, + and bride and bridegroom issued forth, without regret and without + sentiment, to seek the further possibilities of a life beyond these + already too familiar voices. With their departure for California as Mr. + and Mrs. Spencer Tucker, the parental nest in the Blue Grass meadows knew + them no more. + </p> + <p> + They submitted with equal cheerfulness to the privations and excesses of + their new conditions. Within three years the schoolmaster developed into a + lawyer and capitalist, the Blue Grass bride supplying a grace and ease to + these transitions that were all her own. She softened the abruptness of + sudden wealth, mitigated the austerities of newly acquired power, and made + the most glaring incongruity picturesque. Only one thing seemed to limit + their progress in the region of these possibilities. They were childless. + It was as if they had exhausted the future in their own youth, leaving + little or nothing for another generation to do. + </p> + <p> + A southwesterly storm was beating against the dressing-room windows of + their new house in one of the hilly suburbs of San Francisco, and + threatening the unseasonable frivolity of the stucco ornamentation of + cornice and balcony. Mrs. Tucker had been called from the contemplation of + the dreary prospect without by the arrival of a visitor. On entering the + drawing-room she found him engaged in a half-admiring, half-resentful + examination of its new furniture and hangings. Mrs. Tucker at once + recognized Mr. Calhoun Weaver, a former Blue Grass neighbor; with swift + feminine intuition she also felt that his slight antagonism was likely to + be transferred from her furniture to herself. Waiving it with the lazy + amiability of Southern indifference, she welcomed him by the familiarity + of a Christian name. + </p> + <p> + “I reckoned that mebbee you opined old Blue Grass friends wouldn't + naturally hitch on to them fancy doins,” he said, glancing around the + apartment to avoid her clear eyes, as if resolutely setting himself + against the old charm of her manner as he had against the more recent + glory of her surroundings, “but I thought I'd just drop in for the sake of + old times.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't you, Cal?” said Mrs. Tucker with a frank smile. + </p> + <p> + “Especially as I'm going up to Sacramento to-night with some influential + friends,” he continued, with an ostentation calculated to resist the + assumption of her charms and her furniture. “Senator Dyce of Kentucky, and + his cousin Judge Briggs; perhaps you know 'em, or may be Spencer—I + mean Mr. Tucker—does.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon,” said Mrs. Tucker smiling; “but tell me something about the + boys and girls at Vineville, and about yourself. YOU'RE looking well, and + right smart too.” She paused to give due emphasis to this latter + recognition of a huge gold chain with which her visitor was somewhat + ostentatiously trifling. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know as you cared to hear anything about Blue Grass,” he + returned, a little abashed. “I've been away from there some time myself,” + he added, his uneasy vanity taking fresh alarm at the faint suspicion of + patronage on the part of his hostess. “They're doin' well, though; perhaps + as well as some others.” + </p> + <p> + “And you're not married yet,” continued Mrs. Tucker, oblivious of the + innuendo. “Ah, Cal,” she added archly, “I am afraid you are as fickle as + ever. What poor girl in Vineville have you left pining?” + </p> + <p> + The simple face of the man before her flushed with foolish gratification + at this old-fashioned, ambiguous flattery. “Now look yer, Belle,” he said, + chuckling, “if you're talking of old times and you think I bear malice + agin Spencer, why—” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Tucker interrupted what might have been an inopportune + sentimental retrospect with a finger of arch but languid warning. “That + will do! I'm dying to know all about it, and you must stay to dinner and + tell me. It's right mean you can't see Spencer too; but he isn't back from + Sacramento yet.” + </p> + <p> + Grateful as a tete-a-tete with his old neighbor in her more prosperous + surroundings would have been, if only for the sake of later gossiping + about it, he felt it would be inconsistent with his pride and his + assumption of present business. More than that, he was uneasily conscious + that in Mrs. Tucker's simple and unaffected manner there was a greater + superiority than he had ever noticed during their previous acquaintance. + He would have felt kinder to her had she shown any “airs and graces,” + which he could have commented upon and forgiven. He stammered some vague + excuse of preoccupation, yet lingered in the hope of saying something + which, if not aggressively unpleasant, might at least transfer to her + indolent serenity some of his own irritation. “I reckon,” he said, as he + moved hesitatingly towards the door, “that Spencer has made himself easy + and secure in them business risks he's taking. That 'ere Alameda ditch + affair they're talking so much about is a mighty big thing, rather TOO big + if it ever got to falling back on him. But I suppose he's accustomed to + take risks?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he is,” said Mrs. Tucker gayly. “He married ME.” + </p> + <p> + The visitor smiled feebly, but was not equal to the opportunity offered + for gallant repudiation. “But suppose you ain't accustomed to risks?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I married HIM,” said Mrs. Tucker. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Calhoun Weaver was human, and succumbed to this last charming + audacity. He broke into a noisy but genuine laugh, shook Mrs. Tucker's + hand with effusion, said, “Now that's regular Blue Grass and no mistake!” + and retreated under cover of his hilarity. In the hall he made a rallying + stand to repeat confidentially to the servant who had overheard them: + “Blue Grass, all over, you bet your life,” and, opening the door, was + apparently swallowed up in the tempest. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker's smile kept her lips until she had returned to her room, and + even then languidly shone in her eyes for some minutes after, as she gazed + abstractedly from her window on the storm-tossed bay in the distance. + Perhaps some girlish vision of the peaceful Blue Glass plain momentarily + usurped the prospect; but it is to be doubted if there was much romance in + that retrospect, or that it was more interesting to her than the positive + and sharply cut outlines of the practical life she now held. Howbeit she + soon forgot this fancy in lazily watching a boat that, in the teeth of the + gale, was beating round Alcatraz Island. Although at times a mere blank + speck on the gray waste of foam, a closer scrutiny showed it to be one of + those lateen-rigged Italian fishing boats that so often flecked the + distant bay. Lost in the sudden darkening of rain, or reappearing beneath + the lifted curtain of the squall, she watched it weather the island, and + then turn its laboring but persistent course towards the open channel. A + rent in the Indian-inky sky, that showed the narrowing portals of the + Golden Gate beyond, revealed, as unexpectedly, the destination of the + little craft, a tall ship that hitherto lay hidden in the mist of the + Saucelito shore. As the distance lessened between boat and ship, they were + again lost in the downward swoop of another squall. When it lifted, the + ship was creeping under the headland towards the open sea, but the boat + was gone. Mrs. Tucker in vain rubbed the pane with her handkerchief; it + had vanished. Meanwhile the ship, as she neared the Gate, drew out from + the protecting headland, stood outlined for a moment with spars and canvas + hearsed in black against the lurid rent in the horizon, and then seemed to + sink slowly into the heaving obscurity beyond. A sudden onset of rain + against the windows obliterated the remaining prospect; the entrance of a + servant completed the diversion. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Poindexter, ma'am!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker lifted her pretty eyebrows interrogatively. Captain Poindexter + was a legal friend of her husband, and had dined there frequently; + nevertheless she asked: “Did you tell him Mr. Tucker was not at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, 'm.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he ask for ME?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, 'm.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him I'll be down directly.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker's quiet face did not betray the fact that this second visitor + was even less interesting than the first. In her heart she did not like + Captain Poindexter. With a clever woman's instinct she had early detected + the fact that he had a superior, stronger nature than her husband; as a + loyal wife, she secretly resented the occasional unconscious exhibition of + this fact on the part of his intimate friend in their familiar + intercourse. Added to this slight jealousy, there was a certain moral + antagonism between herself and the captain which none but themselves knew. + They were both philosophers, but Mrs. Tucker's serene and languid optimism + would not tolerate the compassionate and kind-hearted pessimisms of the + lawyer. “Knowing what Jack Poindexter does of human nature,” her husband + had once said, “it's mighty fine in him to be so kind and forgiving. You + ought to like him better, Belle.” “And qualify myself to be forgiven,” + said the lady pertly. “I don't see what you're driving at, Belle; I give + it up,” had responded the puzzled husband. Mrs. Tucker kissed his high but + foolish forehead tenderly, and said: “I'm glad you don't, dear.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile her second visitor had, like the first, employed the interval in + a critical survey of the glories of the new furniture, but with apparently + more compassion than resentment in his manner. Once only had his + expression changed. Over the fireplace hung a large photograph of Mr. + Spencer Tucker. It was retouched, refined, and idealized in the highest + style of that polite and diplomatic art. As Captain Poindexter looked upon + the fringed hazel eyes, the drooping raven moustache, the clustering + ringlets, and the Byronic full throat and turned-down collar of his + friend, a smile of exhausted humorous tolerance and affectionate + impatience curved his lips. “Well, you ARE a fool, aren't you?” he + apostrophized it half-audibly. + </p> + <p> + He was standing before the picture as she entered. Even in the trying + contiguity of that peerless work he would have been called a fine-looking + man. As he advanced to greet her, it was evident that his military title + was not one of the mere fanciful sobriquets of the locality. In his erect + figure and the disciplined composure of limb and attitude there were still + traces of the refined academic rigors of West Point. The pliant + adaptability of Western civilization which enabled him, three years + before, to leave the army and transfer his executive ability to the more + profitable profession of the law, had loosed sash and shoulder-strap, but + had not entirely removed the restraint of the one, or the bearing of the + other. + </p> + <p> + “Spencer is in Sacramento,” began Mrs. Tucker in languid explanation, + after the first greetings were over. + </p> + <p> + “I knew he was not here,” replied Captain Poindexter gently, as he drew + the proffered chair towards her, “but this is business that concerns you + both.” He stopped and glanced upwards at the picture. “I suppose you know + nothing of his business? Of course not,” he added reassuringly, “nothing, + absolutely nothing, certainly.” He said this so kindly, and yet so + positively, as if to promptly dispose of that question before going + further, that she assented mechanically. “Well, then, he's taken some big + risks in the way of business, and—well, things have gone bad with + him, you know. Very bad! Really, they couldn't be worse! Of course it was + dreadfully rash and all that,” he went on, as if commenting upon the + amusing waywardness of a child; “but the result is the usual smash-up of + everything, money, credit, and all!” He laughed and added: “Yes, he's got + cut off—mules and baggage regularly routed and dispersed! I'm in + earnest.” He raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly, as if to deprecate + any corresponding hilarity on the part of Mrs. Tucker, or any attempt to + make TOO light of the subject, and then rising, placed his hands behind + his back, beamed half-humorously upon her from beneath her husband's + picture, and repeated: “That's so.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker instinctively knew that he spoke the truth, and that it was + impossible for him to convey it in any other than his natural manner; but + between the shock and the singular influence of that manner she could at + first only say, “You don't mean it!” fully conscious of the utter inanity + of the remark, and that it seemed scarcely less cold-blooded than his own. + </p> + <p> + Poindexter, still smiling, nodded. + </p> + <p> + She arose with an effort. She had recovered from the first shock, and + pride lent her a determined calmness that more than equaled Poindexter's + easy philosophy. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “At sea, and I hope by this time where he can not be found or followed.” + </p> + <p> + Was her momentary glimpse of the outgoing ship a coincidence, or only a + vision? She was confused and giddy, but, mastering her weakness, she + managed to continue in a lower voice: + </p> + <p> + “You have no message for me from him? He told you nothing to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” replied Poindexter. “It was as much as he + could do, I reckon, to get fairly away before the crash came.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you did not see him go?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” said Poindexter. “I'd hardly have managed things in this way.” + He checked himself and added, with a forgiving smile, “But he was the best + judge of what he needed, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I will hear from him,” she said quietly, “as soon as he is + safe. He must have had enough else to think about, poor fellow.” + </p> + <p> + She said this so naturally and quietly that Poindexter was deceived. He + had no idea that the collected woman before him was thinking only of + solitude and darkness, of her own room, and madly longing to be there. He + said, “Yes, I dare say,” in quite another voice, and glanced at the + picture. But as she remained standing, he continued more earnestly, “I + didn't come here to tell you what you might read in the newspapers + to-morrow morning, and what everybody might tell you. Before that time I + want you to do something to save a fragment of your property from the + ruin; do you understand? I want you to make a rally, and bring off + something in good order.” + </p> + <p> + “For him?” said Mrs. Tucker, with brightening eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, of course—if you like—but as if for yourself. Do + you know the Rancho de los Cuervos?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “It's almost the only bit of real property your husband hasn't sold, + mortgaged, or pledged. Why it was exempt, or whether only forgotten, I + can't say.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you why,” said Mrs. Tucker, with a slight return of color. “It + was the first land we ever bought, and Spencer always said it should be + mine and he would build a new house on it.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Poindexter smiled and nodded at the picture. “Oh, he did say that, + did he? Well, THAT'S evidence. But you see he never gave you the deed, and + by sunrise to-morrow his creditors will attach it—unless—” + </p> + <p> + “Unless—” repeated Mrs. Tucker, with kindling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Unless,” continued Captain Poindexter, “they happen to find YOU in + possession.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” said Mrs. Tucker. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will,” returned Poindexter, pleasantly; “only, as it's a + big contract to take, suppose we see how you can fill it. It's forty miles + to Los Cuervos, and you can't trust yourself to steamboat or stage-coach. + The steamboat left an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had only known this then!” ejaculated Mrs. Tucker. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it, but you had company then,” said Poindexter, with ironical + gallantry, “and I wouldn't disturb you.” Without saying how he knew it, he + continued, “In the stage-coach you might be recognized. You must go in a + private conveyance and alone; even I can not go with you, for I must go on + before and meet you there. Can you drive forty miles?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker lifted up her abstracted pretty lids. “I once drove fifty—at + home,” she returned simply. + </p> + <p> + “Good! and I dare say you did it then for fun. Do it now for something + real and personal, as we lawyers say. You will have relays and a plan of + the road. It's rough weather for a pasear, but all the better for that. + You'll have less company on the road.” + </p> + <p> + “How soon can I go?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better. I've arranged everything for you already,” he + continued with a laugh. “Come now, that's a compliment to you, isn't it?” + He smiled a moment in her steadfast, earnest face, and then said, more + gravely, “You'll do. Now listen.” + </p> + <p> + He then carefully detailed his plan. There was so little of excitement or + mystery in their manner that the servant, who returned to light the gas, + never knew that the ruin and bankruptcy of the house was being told before + her, or that its mistress was planning her secret flight. + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon; I will see you to-morrow then,” said Poindexter, raising + his eyes to hers as the servant opened the door for him. + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon,” repeated Mrs. Tucker quietly answering his look. “You + need not light the gas in my room, Mary,” she continued in the same tone + of voice as the door closed upon him; “I shall lie down for a few moments, + and then I may run over to the Robinsons for the evening.” + </p> + <p> + She regained her room composedly. The longing desire to bury her head in + her pillow and “think out” her position had gone. She did not apostrophize + her fate, she did not weep; few real women do in the access of calamity, + or when there is anything else to be done. She felt that she knew it all; + she believed she had sounded the profoundest depths of the disaster, and + seemed already so old in her experience that she almost fancied she had + been prepared for it. Perhaps she did not fully appreciate it; to a life + like hers it was only an incident, the mere turning of a page of the + illimitable book of youth; the breaking up of what she now felt had become + a monotony. In fact, she was not quite sure she had ever been satisfied + with their present success. Had it brought her all she expected? She + wanted to say this to her husband, not only to comfort him, poor fellow, + but that they might come to a better understanding of life in the future. + She was not perhaps different from other loving women who, believing in + this unattainable goal of matrimony, have sought it in the various + episodes of fortune or reverses, in the bearing of children, or the loss + of friends. In her childless experience there was no other life that had + taken root in her circumstances and might suffer transplantation; only she + and her husband could lose or profit by the change. The “perfect” + understanding would come under other conditions than these. + </p> + <p> + She would have gone superstitiously to the window to gaze in the direction + of the vanished ship, but another instinct restrained her. She would put + aside all yearning for him until she had done something to help him, and + earned the confidence he seemed to have withheld. Perhaps it was pride—perhaps + she never really believed his exodus was distant or complete. + </p> + <p> + With a full knowledge that to-morrow the various ornaments and pretty + trifles around her would be in the hands of the law, she gathered only a + few necessaries for her flight and some familiar personal trinkets. I am + constrained to say that this self-abnegation was more fastidious than + moral. She had no more idea of the ethics of bankruptcy than any other + charming woman; she simply did not like to take with her any contagious + memory of the chapter of the life just closing. She glanced around the + home she was leaving without a lingering regret; there was no sentiment of + tradition or custom that might be destroyed; her roots lay too near the + surface to suffer from dislocation; the happiness of her childless union + had depended upon no domestic centre, nor was its flame sacred to any + local hearthstone. It was without a sigh that, when night had fully + fallen, she slipped unnoticed down the staircase. At the door of the + drawing-room she paused and then entered with the first guilty feeling of + shame she had known that evening. Looking stealthily around she mounted a + chair before her husband's picture, kissed the irreproachable moustache + hurriedly, said, “You foolish darling, you!” and slipped out again. With + this touching indorsement of the views of a rival philosopher, she closed + the door softly and left her home forever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The wind and rain had cleared the unfrequented suburb of any observant + lounger, and the darkness, lit only by far-spaced, gusty lamps, hid her + hastening figure. She had barely crossed the second street when she heard + the quick clatter of hoofs behind her; a buggy drove up to the curbstone, + and Poindexter leaped out. She entered quickly, but for a moment he still + held the reins of the impatient horse. “He's rather fresh,” he said, eying + her keenly; “are you sure you can manage him?” + </p> + <p> + “Give me the reins,” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + He placed them in the two firm, well-shaped hands that reached from the + depths of the vehicle, and was satisfied. Yet he lingered. + </p> + <p> + “It's rough work for a lone woman,” he said, almost curtly. “I can't go + with you, but, speak frankly, is there any man you know whom you can trust + well enough to take? It's not too late yet; think a moment!” + </p> + <p> + He paused over the buttoning of the leather apron of the vehicle. + </p> + <p> + “No, there is none,” answered the voice from the interior; “and it's + better so. Is all ready?” + </p> + <p> + “One moment more.” He had recovered his half-bantering manner. “You HAVE a + friend and countryman already with you, do you know? Your horse is Blue + Grass. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + With these words ringing in her ears she began her journey. The horse, as + if eager to maintain the reputation which his native district had given + his race, as well as the race of the pretty woman behind him, leaped + impatiently forward. But pulled together by the fine and firm fingers that + seemed to guide rather than check his exuberance, he presently struck into + the long, swinging pace of his kind, and kept it throughout without + “break” or acceleration. Over the paved streets the light buggy rattled, + and the slender shafts danced around his smooth barrel, but when they + touched the level high-road, horse and vehicle slipped forward through the + night, a swift and noiseless phantom. Mrs. Tucker could see his graceful + back dimly rising and falling before her with tireless rhythm, and could + feel the intelligent pressure of his mouth until it seemed the responsive + grasp of a powerful but kindly hand. The faint glow of conquest came to + her cold cheek; the slight stirrings of pride moved her preoccupied heart. + A soft light filled her hazel eyes. A desolate woman, bereft of husband + and home, and flying through storm and night, she knew not where, she + still leaned forward towards her horse. “Was he Blue Grass, then, dear old + boy?” she gently cooed at him in the darkness. He evidently WAS, and + responded by blowing her an ostentatious equine kiss. “And he would be + good to his own forsaken Belle,” she murmured caressingly, “and wouldn't + let any one harm her?” But here, overcome by the lazy witchery of her + voice, he shook his head so violently that Mrs. Tucker, after the fashion + of her sex, had the double satisfaction of demurely restraining the + passion she had evoked. + </p> + <p> + To avoid the more traveled thoroughfare, while the evening was still + early, it had been arranged that she should at first take a less direct + but less frequented road. This was a famous pleasure-drive from San + Francisco, a graveled and sanded stretch of eight miles to the sea and an + ultimate “cocktail,” in a “stately pleasure-dome decreed” among the surf + and rocks of the Pacific shore. It was deserted now, and left to the + unobstructed sweep of the wind and rain. Mrs. Tucker would not have chosen + this road. With the instinctive jealousy of a bucolic inland race born by + great rivers, she did not like the sea; and again the dim and dreary waste + tended to recall the vision connected with her husband's flight, upon + which she had resolutely shut her eyes. But when she had reached it the + road suddenly turned, following the trend of the beach, and she was + exposed to the full power of its dread fascinations. The combined roar of + sea and shore was in her ears; as the direct force of the gale had + compelled her to furl the protecting hood of the buggy to keep the light + vehicle from oversetting or drifting to leeward, she could no longer shut + out the heaving chaos on the right from which the pallid ghosts of dead + and dying breakers dimly rose and sank as if in awful salutation. At times + through the darkness a white sheet appeared spread before the path and + beneath the wheels of the buggy, which, when withdrawn with a reluctant + hiss, seemed striving to drag the exhausted beach seaward with it. But the + blind terror of her horse, who swerved at every sweep of the surge, shamed + her own half-superstitious fears, and with the effort to control his alarm + she regained her own self-possession, albeit with eyelashes wet not + altogether with the salt spray from the sea. This was followed by a + reaction, perhaps stimulated by her victory over the beaten animal, when + for a time, she knew not how long, she felt only a mad sense of freedom + and power; oblivious of even her sorrows, her lost home and husband, and + with intense feminine consciousness she longed to be a man. She was + scarcely aware that the track turned again inland until the beat of the + horse's hoofs on the firm ground and an acceleration of speed showed her + she had left the beach and the mysterious sea behind her, and she + remembered that she was near the end of the first stage of her journey. + Half an hour later the twinkling lights of the roadside inn where she was + to change horses rose out of the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Happily for her, the ostler considered the horse, who had a local + reputation, of more importance than the unknown muffled figure in the + shadow of the unfurled hood, and confined his attention to the animal. + After a careful examination of his feet and a few comments addressed + solely to the superior creation, he led him away. Mrs. Tucker would have + liked to part more affectionately from her four-footed compatriot, and + felt a sudden sense of loneliness at the loss of her new friend, but a + recollection of certain cautions of Captain Poindexter's kept her mute. + Nevertheless, the ostler's ostentatious adjuration of “Now then, aren't + you going to bring out that mustang for the Senora?” puzzled her. It was + not until the fresh horse was put to, and she had flung a piece of gold + into the attendant's hand, that the “Gracias” of his unmistakable Saxon + speech revealed to her the reason of the lawyer's caution. Poindexter had + evidently represented her to these people as a native Californian who did + not speak English. In her inconsistency her blood took fire at this first + suggestion of deceit, and burned in her face. Why should he try to pass + her off as anybody else? Why should she not use her own, her husband's + name? She stopped and bit her lip. + </p> + <p> + It was but the beginning of an uneasy train of thought. She suddenly found + herself thinking of her visitor, Calhoun Weaver, and not pleasantly. He + would hear of their ruin tomorrow, perhaps of her own flight. He would + remember his visit, and what would he think of her deceitful frivolity? + Would he believe that she was then ignorant of the failure? It was her + first sense of any accountability to others than herself, but even then it + was rather owing to an uneasy consciousness of what her husband must feel + if he were subjected to the criticisms of men like Calhoun. She wondered + if others knew that he had kept her in ignorance of his flight. Did + Poindexter know it, or had he only entrapped her into the admission? Why + had she not been clever enough to make him think that she knew it already? + For the moment she hated Poindexter for sharing that secret. Yet this was + again followed by a new impatience of her husband's want of insight into + her ability to help him. Of course the poor fellow could not bear to worry + her, could not bear to face such men as Calhoun, or even Poindexter (she + added exultingly to herself), but he might have sent her a line as he + fled, only to prepare her to meet and combat the shame alone. It did not + occur to her unsophisticated singleness of nature that she was accepting + as an error of feeling what the world would call cowardly selfishness. + </p> + <p> + At midnight the storm lulled and a few stars trembled through the rent + clouds. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and her country + instincts, a little overlaid by the urban experiences of the last few + years, came again to the surface. She felt the fresh, cool radiation from + outlying, upturned fields, the faint, sad odors from dim stretches of + pricking grain and quickening leaf, and wondered if at Los Cuervos it + might be possible to reproduce the peculiar verdure of her native + district. She beguiled her fancy by an ambitious plan of retrieving their + fortunes by farming; her comfortable tastes had lately rebelled against + the homeless mechanical cultivation of these desolate but teeming + Californian acres, and for a moment indulged in a vision of a vine-clad + cottage home that in any other woman would have been sentimental. Her + cramped limbs aching, she took advantage of the security of the darkness + and the familiar contiguity of the fields to get down from the vehicle, + gather her skirts together, and run at the head of the mustang, until her + chill blood was thawed, night drawing a modest veil over this charming + revelation of the nymph and woman. But the sudden shadow of a coyote + checked the scouring feet of this swift Camilla, and sent her back + precipitately to the buggy. Nevertheless, she was refreshed and able to + pursue her journey, until the cold gray of early morning found her at the + end of her second stage. + </p> + <p> + Her route was changed again from the main highway, rendered dangerous by + the approach of day and the contiguity of the neighboring rancheros. The + road was rough and hilly, her new horse and vehicle in keeping with the + rudeness of the route—by far the most difficult of her whole + journey. The rare wagon tracks that indicated her road were often scarcely + discernible; at times they led her through openings in the half-cleared + woods, skirted suspicious morasses, painfully climbed the smooth, + dome-like hills, or wound along perilous slopes at a dangerous angle. + Twice she had to alight and cling to the sliding wheels on one of those + treacherous inclines, or drag them from impending ruts or immovable mire. + In the growing light she could distinguish the distant, low-lying marshes + eaten by encroaching sloughs and insidious channels, and beyond them the + faint gray waste of the Lower Bay. A darker peninsula in the marsh she + knew to be the extreme boundary of her future home: the Rancho de los + Cuervos. In another hour she began to descend to the plain, and once more + to approach the main road, which now ran nearly parallel with her track. + She scanned it cautiously for any early traveler; it stretched north and + south in apparent unending solitude. She struck into it boldly, and urged + her horse to the top of his speed, until she reached the cross road that + led to the rancho. But here she paused and allowed the reins to drop idly + on the mustang's back. A singular and unaccountable irresolution seized + her. The difficulties of her journey were over; the rancho lay scarcely + two miles away; she had achieved the most important part of her task in + the appointed time, but she hesitated. What had she come for? She tried to + recall Poindexter's words, even her own enthusiasm, but in vain. She was + going to take possession of her husband's property, she knew, that was + all. But the means she had taken seemed now so exaggerated and mysterious + for that simple end that she began to dread an impending something, or + some vague danger she had not considered, that she was rushing blindly to + meet. Full of this strange feeling she almost mechanically stopped her + horse as she entered the cross road. + </p> + <p> + From this momentary hesitation a singular sound aroused her. It seemed at + first like the swift hurrying by of some viewless courier of the air, the + vague alarm of some invisible flying herald, or like the inarticulate cry + that precedes a storm. It seemed to rise and fall around her as if with + some changing urgency of purpose. Raising her eyes she suddenly recognized + the two far-stretching lines of telegraph wire above her head, and knew + the aeolian cry of the morning wind along its vibrating chords. But it + brought another and more practical fear to her active brain. Perhaps even + now the telegraph might be anticipating her! Had Poindexter thought of + that? She hesitated no longer, but laying the whip on the back of her + jaded mustang again hurried forward. + </p> + <p> + As the level horizon grew more distinct, her attention was attracted by + the white sail of a small boat lazily threading the sinuous channel of the + slough. It might be Poindexter arriving by the more direct route from the + steamboat that occasionally lay off the ancient embarcadero of the Los + Cuervos Rancho. But even while watching it her quick ear caught the sound + of galloping hoofs behind her. She turned quickly and saw she was followed + by a horseman. But her momentary alarm was succeeded by a feeling of + relief as she recognized the erect figure and square shoulders of + Poindexter. Yet she could not help thinking that he looked more like a + militant scout, and less like a cautious legal adviser, than ever. + </p> + <p> + With unaffected womanliness she rearranged her slightly disordered hair as + he drew up beside her. “I thought you were in yonder boat,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” he laughed; “I distanced you by the high road two hours, and have + been reconnoitring, until I saw you hesitate at the cross roads.” + </p> + <p> + “But who is in the boat?” asked Mrs. Tucker, partly to hide her + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Only some early Chinese market gardener, I dare say. But you are safe + now. You are on your own land. You passed the boundary monument of the + rancho five minutes ago. Look! All you see before you is yours from the + embarcadero to yonder Coast Range.” + </p> + <p> + The tone of half-raillery did not, however, cheer Mrs. Tucker. She + shuddered slightly and cast her eyes over the monotonous sea of tule and + meadow. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't look pretty, perhaps,” continued Poindexter, “but it's the + richest land in the State, and the embarcadero will some day be a town. I + suppose you'll call it Blue Grassville. But you seem tired!” he said, + suddenly dropping his voice to a tone of half-humorous sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker managed to get rid of an impending tear under the pretense of + clearing her eyes. “Are we nearly there?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nearly. You know,” he added with the same half-mischievous, + half-sympathizing gayety, “it's not exactly a palace you're coming to. + Hardly. It's the old casa that has been deserted for years, but I thought + it better you should go into possession there than take up your abode at + the shanty where your husband's farm-hands are. No one will know when you + take possession of the casa, while the very hour of your arrival at the + shanty would be known; and if they should make any trouble—” + </p> + <p> + “If they should make any trouble?” repeated Mrs. Tucker, lifting her + frank, inquiring eyes to Poindexter. + </p> + <p> + His horse suddenly rearing from an apparently accidental prick of the + spur, it was a minute or two before he was able to explain. “I mean if + this ever comes up as a matter of evidence, you know. But here we are!” + </p> + <p> + What had seemed to be an overgrown mound rising like an island out of the + dead level of the grassy sea now resolved itself into a collection of + adobe walls, eaten and incrusted with shrubs and vines, that bore some + resemblance to the usual uninhabited-looking exterior of a + Spanish-American dwelling. Apertures that might have been lance-shaped + windows or only cracks and fissures in the walls were choked up with weeds + and grass, and gave no passing glimpse of the interior. Entering a ruinous + corral they came to a second entrance, which proved to be the patio or + courtyard. The deserted wooden corridor, with beams, rafters, and floors + whitened by the eternal sun and wind, contained a few withered leaves, + dryly rotting skins, and thongs of leather, as if undisturbed by human + care. But among these scattered debris of former life and habitation there + was no noisome or unclean suggestion of decay. A faint, spiced odor of + desiccation filled the bare walls. There was no slime on stone or + sun-dried brick. In place of fungus or discolored moisture the dust of + efflorescence whitened in the obscured corners. The elements had picked + clean the bones of the crumbling tenement ere they should finally absorb + it. + </p> + <p> + A withered old peon woman, who in dress, complexion, and fibrous hair + might have been an animated fragment of the debris, rustled out of a low + vaulted passage and welcomed them with a feeble crepitation. Following her + into the dim interior Mrs. Tucker was surprised to find some slight + attempt at comfort and even adornment in the two or three habitable + apartments. They were scrupulously clean and dry, two qualities which in + her feminine eyes atoned for poverty of material. + </p> + <p> + “I could not send anything from San Bruno, the nearest village, without + attracting attention,” explained Poindexter; “but if you can manage to + picnic here for a day longer, I'll get one of our Chinese friends here,” + he pointed to the slough, “to bring over, for his return cargo from across + the bay, any necessaries you may want. There is no danger of his betraying + you,” he added, with an ironical smile; “Chinamen and Indians are, by an + ingenious provision of the statute of California, incapable of giving + evidence against a white person. You can trust your handmaiden perfectly—even + if she can't trust YOU. That is your sacred privilege under the + constitution. And now, as I expect to catch the up boat ten miles from + hence, I must say 'good-by' until to-morrow night. I hope to bring you + then some more definite plans for the future. The worst is over.” He held + her hand for a moment, and with a graver voice continued, “You have done + it very well—do you know—very well!” + </p> + <p> + In the slight embarrassment produced by his sudden change of manner she + felt that her thanks seemed awkward and restrained. “Don't thank me,” he + laughed, with a prompt return of his former levity, “that's my trade. I + only advised. You have saved yourself like a plucky woman—shall I + say like Blue Grass? Good-by!” He mounted his horse, but, as if struck by + an after-thought, wheeled and drew up by her side again. “If I were you I + wouldn't see many strangers for a day or two, and listen to as little news + as a woman possibly can.” He laughed again, waved her a half-gallant, + half-military salute, and was gone. The question she had been trying to + frame, regarding the probability of communication with her husband, + remained unasked. At least she had saved her pride before him. + </p> + <p> + Addressing herself to the care of her narrow household, she mechanically + put away the few things she had brought with her, and began to readjust + the scant furniture. She was a little discomposed at first at the absence + of bolts, locks, and even window-fastenings until assured, by Concha's + evident inability to comprehend her concern, that they were quite unknown + at Los Cuervos. Her slight knowledge of Spanish was barely sufficient to + make her wants known, so that the relief of conversation with her only + companion was debarred her, and she was obliged to content herself with + the sapless, crackling smiles and withered genuflexions that the old woman + dropped like dead leaves in her path. It was staring noon when, the house + singing like an empty shell in the monotonous wind, she felt she could + stand the solitude no longer, and, crossing the glaring patio and + whistling corridor, made her way to the open gateway. + </p> + <p> + But the view without seemed to intensify her desolation. The broad expanse + of the shadowless plain reached apparently to the Coast Range, trackless + and unbroken save by one or two clusters of dwarfed oaks, which at that + distance were but mossy excrescences on the surface, barely raised above + the dead level. On the other side the marsh took up the monotony and + carried it, scarcely interrupted by undefined water-courses, to the + faintly marked out horizon line of the remote bay. Scattered and + apparently motionless black spots on the meadows that gave a dreary + significance to the title of “the Crows” which the rancho bore, and sudden + gray clouds of sand-pipers on the marshes, that rose and vanished down the + wind, were the only signs of life. Even the white sail of the early + morning was gone. + </p> + <p> + She stood there until the aching of her straining eyes and the stiffening + of her limbs in the cold wind compelled her to seek the sheltered warmth + of the courtyard. Here she endeavored to make friends with a bright-eyed + lizard, who was sunning himself in the corridor; a graceful little + creature in blue and gold, from whom she felt at other times she might + have fled, but whose beauty and harmlessness solitude had made known to + her. With misplaced kindness she tempted it with bread-crumbs, with no + other effect than to stiffen it into stony astonishment. She wondered if + she should become like the prisoners she had read of in books, who poured + out their solitary affections on noisome creatures, and she regretted even + the mustang, which with the buggy had disappeared under the charge of some + unknown retainer on her arrival. Was she not a prisoner? The shutterless + windows, yawning doors, and open gate refuted her suggestion, but the + encompassing solitude and trackless waste still held her captive. + Poindexter had told her it was four miles to the shanty; she might walk + there. Why had she given her word that she would remain at the rancho + until he returned? + </p> + <p> + The long day crept monotonously away, and she welcomed the night which + shut out the dreary prospect. But it brought no cessation of the harassing + wind without, nor surcease of the nervous irritation its perpetual and + even activity wrought upon her. It haunted her pillow even in her + exhausted sleep, and seemed to impatiently beckon her to rise and follow + it. It brought her feverish dreams of her husband, footsore and weary, + staggering forward under its pitiless lash and clamorous outcry; she would + have gone to his assistance, but when she reached his side and held out + her arms to him it hurried her past with merciless power, and, bearing her + away, left him hopelessly behind. It was broad day when she awoke. The + usual night showers of the waning rainy season had left no trace in sky or + meadow; the fervid morning sun had already dried the patio; only the + restless, harrying wind remained. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker arose with a resolve. She had learned from Concha on the + previous evening that a part of the shanty was used as a tienda or shop + for the laborers and rancheros. Under the necessity of purchasing some + articles, she would go there and for a moment mingle with those people, + who would not recognize her. Even if they did, her instinct told her it + would be less to be feared than the hopeless uncertainty of another day. + As she left the house the wind seemed to seize her as in her dream, and + hurry her along with it, until in a few moments the walls of the low casa + sank into the earth again and she was alone, but for the breeze on the + solitary plain. The level distance glittered in the sharp light, a few + crows with slant wings dipped and ran down the wind before her, and a + passing gleam on the marsh was explained by the far-off cry of a curlew. + </p> + <p> + She had walked for an hour, upheld by the stimulus of light and morning + air, when the cluster of scrub oaks, which was her destination, opened + enough to show two rambling sheds, before one of which was a wooden + platform containing a few barrels and bones. As she approached nearer, she + could see that one or two horses were tethered under the trees, that their + riders were lounging by a horse-trough, and that over an open door the + word Tienda was rudely painted on a board, and as rudely illustrated by + the wares displayed at door and window. Accustomed as she was to the + poverty of frontier architecture, even the crumbling walls of the old + hacienda she had just left seemed picturesque to the rigid angles of the + thin, blank, unpainted shell before her. One of the loungers, who was + reading a newspaper aloud as she advanced, put it aside and stared at her; + there was an evident commotion in the shop as she stepped upon the + platform, and when she entered, with breathless lips and beating heart, + she found herself the object of a dozen curious eyes. Her quick pride + resented the scrutiny and recalled her courage, and it was with a slight + coldness in her usual lazy indifference that she leaned over the counter + and asked for the articles she wanted. + </p> + <p> + The request was followed by a dead silence. Mrs. Tucker repeated it with + some hauteur. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you don't seem to know this store is in the hands of the + sheriff,” said one of the loungers. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker was not aware of it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know any one who's a better right to know than Spence + Tucker's wife,” said another with a coarse laugh. The laugh was echoed by + the others. Mrs. Tucker saw the pit into which she had deliberately + walked, but did not flinch. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any one to serve here?” she asked, turning her clear eyes full + upon the bystanders. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better ask the sheriff. He was the last one to SARVE here. He + sarved an attachment,” replied the inevitable humorist of all Californian + assemblages. + </p> + <p> + “Is he here?” asked Mrs. Tucker, disregarding the renewed laughter which + followed this subtle witticism. + </p> + <p> + The loungers at the door made way for one of their party, who was half + dragged, half pushed into the shop. “Here he is,” said half a dozen eager + voices, in the fond belief that his presence might impart additional humor + to the situation. He cast a deprecating glance at Mrs. Tucker and said, + “It's so, madam! This yer place is attached; but if there's anything + you're wanting, why I reckon, boys,”—he turned half appealingly to + the crowd,—“we could oblige a lady.” There was a vague sound of + angry opposition and remonstrance from the back door of the shop, but the + majority, partly overcome by Mrs. Tucker's beauty, assented. “Only,” + continued the officer explanatorily, “ez these yer goods are in the hands + of the creditors, they ought to be represented by an equivalent in money. + If you're expecting they should be charged—” + </p> + <p> + “But I wish to PAY for them,” interrupted Mrs. Tucker, with a slight flush + of indignation; “I have the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I bet you have!” screamed a voice, as, overturning all opposition, + the malcontent at the back door, in the shape of an infuriated woman, + forced her way into the shop. “I'll bet you have the money! Look at her, + boys! Look at the wife of the thief, with the stolen money in diamonds in + her ears and rings on her fingers. SHE'S got money if WE'VE none. SHE can + pay for what she fancies, if we haven't a cent to redeem the bed that's + stolen from under us. Oh yes, buy it all, Mrs. Spencer Tucker! buy the + whole shop, Mrs. Spencer Tucker, do you hear? And if you ain't satisfied + then, buy my clothes, my wedding ring, the only things your husband hasn't + stolen.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you,” said Mrs. Tucker coldly, turning towards the + door. But with a flying leap across the counter her relentless adversary + stood between her and retreat. + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand! Perhaps you don't understand that your husband not + only stole the hard labor of these men, but even the little money they + brought here and trusted to his thieving hands. Perhaps you don't know + that he stole my husband's hard earnings, mortgaged these very goods you + want to buy, and that he is to-day a convicted thief, a forger, and a + runaway coward. Perhaps, if you can't understand ME, you can read the + newspaper. Look!” She exultingly opened the paper the sheriff had been + reading aloud, and pointed to the displayed headlines. “Look! there are + the very words, 'Forgery, Swindling, Embezzlement!' Do you see? And + perhaps you can't understand this. Look! 'Shameful Flight. Abandons his + Wife. Runs off with a Notorious—'” + </p> + <p> + “Easy, old gal, easy now. D—n it! Will you dry up? I say. STOP!” + </p> + <p> + It was too late! + </p> + <p> + The sheriff had dashed the paper from the woman's hand, but not until Mrs. + Tucker had read a single line, a line such as she had sometimes turned + from with weary scorn in her careless perusal of the daily shameful + chronicle of domestic infelicity. Then she had coldly wondered if there + could be any such men and women; and now! The crowd fell back before her; + even the virago was silenced as she looked at her face. The humorist's + face was as white, but not as immobile, as he gasped, “Christ! if I don't + believe she knew nothin' of it!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the full force of such a supposition, with all its poignancy, + its dramatic intensity, and its pathos, possessed the crowd. In the + momentary clairvoyance of enthusiasm they caught a glimpse of the truth, + and by one of the strange reactions of human passion they only waited for + a word of appeal or explanation from her lips to throw themselves at her + feet. Had she simply told her story they would have believed her; had she + cried, fainted, or gone into hysterics, they would have pitied her. She + did neither. Perhaps she thought of neither, or indeed of anything that + was then before her eyes. She walked erect to the door and turned upon the + threshold. “I mean what I say,” she said calmly. “I don't understand you. + But whatever just claims you have upon my husband will be paid by me, or + by his lawyer, Captain Poindexter.” + </p> + <p> + She had lost the sympathy but not the respect of her hearers. They made + way for her with sullen deference as she passed out on the platform. But + her adversary, profiting by the last opportunity, burst into an ironical + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Poindexter, is it? Well, perhaps he's safe to pay YOUR bill, but + as for your husband's—” + </p> + <p> + “That's another matter,” interrupted a familiar voice with the greatest + cheerfulness; “that's what you were going to say, wasn't it? Ha! ha! Well, + Mrs. Patterson,” continued Poindexter, stepping from his buggy, “you never + spoke a truer word in your life. One moment, Mrs. Tucker. Let me send you + back in the buggy. Don't mind ME. I can get a fresh horse of the sheriff. + I'm quite at home here. I say, Patterson, step a few paces this way, will + you? A little further from your wife, please. That'll do. You've got a + claim of five thousand dollars against the property, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that woman just driving away is your one solitary chance of getting + a cent of it. If your wife insults her again, that chance is gone. And if + YOU do—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “As sure as there is a God in Israel and a Supreme Court of the State of + California, I'll kill you in your tracks! . . . Stay!” + </p> + <p> + Patterson turned. The irrepressible look of humorous tolerance of all + human frailty had suffused Poindexter's black eyes with mischievous + moisture. “If you think it quite safe to confide to your wife this + prospect of her improvement by widowhood, you may!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Patterson did not inform his wife of the lawyer's personal threat to + himself. But he managed, after Poindexter had left, to make her conscious + that Mrs. Tucker might be a power to be placated and feared. “You've shot + off your mouth at her,” he said argumentatively, “and whether you've hit + the mark or not you've had your say. Ef you think it's worth a possible + five thousand dollars and interest to keep on, heave ahead. Ef you rather + have the chance of getting the rest in cash, you'll let up on her.” “You + don't suppose,” returned Mrs. Patterson contemptuously, “that she's got + anything but what that man of hers—Poindexter—lets her have?” + “The sheriff says,” retorted Patterson surlily, “that she's notified him + that she claims the rancho as a gift from her husband three years ago, and + she's in POSSESSION now, and was so when the execution was out. It don't + make no matter,” he added, with gloomy philosophy, “who's got a full hand + as long as WE ain't got the cards to chip in. I wouldn't 'a' minded it,” + he continued meditatively, “ef Spence Tucker had dropped a hint to me + afore he put out.” “And I suppose,” said Mrs. Patterson angrily, “you'd + have put out too?” “I reckon,” said Patterson simply. + </p> + <p> + Twice or thrice during the evening he referred, more or less directly, to + this lack of confidence shown by his late debtor and employer, and seemed + to feel it more keenly than the loss of property. He confided his + sentiments quite openly to the sheriff in possession, over the whiskey and + euchre with which these gentlemen avoided the difficulties of their + delicate relations. He brooded over it as he handed the keys of the shop + to the sheriff when they parted for the night, and was still thinking of + it when the house was closed, everybody gone to bed, and he was fetching a + fresh jug of water from the well. The moon was at times obscured by flying + clouds, the avant-couriers of the regular evening shower. He was stooping + over the well, when he sprang suddenly to his feet again. “Who's there?” + he demanded sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said a voice so low and faint it might have been a whisper of the + wind in the palisades of the corral. But, indistinct as it was, it was the + voice of the man he was thinking of as far away, and it sent a thrill of + alternate awe and pleasure through his pulses. + </p> + <p> + He glanced quickly around. The moon was hidden by a passing cloud, and + only the faint outlines of the house he had just quitted were visible. “Is + that you, Spence?” he said tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the voice, and a figure dimly emerged from the corner of + the corral. + </p> + <p> + “Lay low, lay low, for God's sake,” said Patterson, hurriedly throwing + himself upon the apparition. “The sheriff and his posse are in there.” + </p> + <p> + “But I must speak to you a moment,” said the figure. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” said Patterson, glancing towards the building. Its blank, + shutterless windows revealed no inner light; a profound silence + encompassed it. “Come quick,” he whispered. Letting his grasp slip down to + the unresisting hand of the stranger, he half-dragged, half-led him, + brushing against the wall, into the open door of the deserted bar-room he + had just quitted, locked the inner door, poured a glass of whiskey from a + decanter, gave it to him, and then watched him drain it at a single + draught. The moon came out, and, falling through the bare windows full + upon the stranger's face, revealed the artistic but slightly disheveled + curls and moustache of the fugitive, Spencer Tucker. + </p> + <p> + Whatever may have been the real influence of this unfortunate man upon his + fellows, it seemed to find expression in a singular unanimity of + criticism. Patterson looked at him with a half-dismal, half-welcoming + smile. “Well, you are a h-ll of a fellow, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + Spencer Tucker passed his hand through his hair and lifted it from his + forehead, with a gesture at once emotional and theatrical. “I am a man + with a price on me!” he said bitterly. “Give me up to the sheriff, and + you'll get five thousand dollars. Help me, and you'll get nothing. That's + my d——d luck, and yours too, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you're right there,” said Patterson gloomily. “But I thought you + got clean away. Went off in a ship—” + </p> + <p> + “Went off in a boat to a ship,” interrupted Tucker savagely; “went off to + a ship that had all my things on board—everything. The cursed boat + capsized in a squall just off the Heads. The ship, d—n her, sailed + away, the men thinking I was drowned, likely, and that they'd make a good + thing off my goods, I reckon.” + </p> + <p> + “But the girl, Inez, who was with you, didn't she make a row?” + </p> + <p> + “Quien sabe?” returned Tucker, with a reckless laugh. “Well, I hung on + like grim death to that boat's keel until one of those Chinese fishermen, + in a 'dug-out,' hauled me in opposite Saucelito. I chartered him and his + dug-out to bring me down here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why here?” asked Patterson, with a certain ostentatious caution that + ill-concealed his pensive satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “You may well ask,” returned Tucker, with an equal ostentation of + bitterness, as he slightly waved his companion away. “But I reckoned I + could trust a white man that I'd been kind to, and who wouldn't go back on + me. No, no, let me go! Hand me over to the sheriff!” + </p> + <p> + Patterson had suddenly grasped both the hands of the picturesque scamp + before him, with an affection that for an instant almost shamed the man + who had ruined him. But Tucker's egotism whispered that this affection was + only a recognition of his own superiority, and felt flattered. He was + beginning to believe that he was really the injured party. + </p> + <p> + “What I HAVE and what I have HAD is yours, Spence,” returned Patterson, + with a sad and simple directness that made any further discussion a + gratuitous insult. “I only wanted to know what you reckoned to do here.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to get over across the Coast Range to Monterey,” said Tucker. + “Once there, one of those coasting schooners will bring me down to + Acapulco, where the ship will put in.” + </p> + <p> + Patterson remained silent for a moment. “There's a mustang in the corral + you can take—leastways, I shan't know that it's gone—until + to-morrow afternoon. In an hour from now,” he added, looking from the + window, “these clouds will settle down to business. It will rain; there + will be light enough for you to find your way by the regular trail over + the mountain, but not enough for any one to know you. If you can't push + through to-night, you can lie over at the posada on the summit. Them + greasers that keep it won't know you, and if they did they won't go back + on you. And if they did go back on you, nobody would believe them. It's + mighty curious,” he added, with gloomy philosophy, “but I reckon it's the + reason why Providence allows this kind of cattle to live among white men + and others made in his image. Take a piece of pie, won't you?” He + continued, abandoning this abstract reflection and producing half a flat + pumpkin pie from the bar. Spencer Tucker grasped the pie with one hand and + his friend's fingers with the other, and for a few moments was silent from + the hurried deglutition of viand and sentiment. “YOU'RE a white man, + Patterson, anyway,” he resumed. “I'll take your horse, and put it down in + our account, at your own figure. As soon as this cursed thing is blown + over, I'll be back here and see you through, you bet. I don't desert my + friends, however rough things go with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you don't,” returned Patterson, with an unconscious and serious + simplicity that had the effect of the most exquisite irony. “I was only + just saying to the sheriff that if there was anything I could have done + for you, you wouldn't have cut away without letting me know.” Tucker + glanced uneasily at Patterson, who continued, “Ye ain't wanting anything + else?” Then observing that his former friend and patron was roughly but + newly clothed, and betrayed no trace of his last escapade, he added, “I + see you've got a fresh harness.” + </p> + <p> + “That d——d Chinaman bought me these at the landing; they're + not much in style or fit,” he continued, trying to get a moonlight view of + himself in the mirror behind the bar, “but that don't matter here.” He + filled another glass of spirits, jauntily settled himself back in his + chair, and added, “I don't suppose there are any girls around, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “'Cept your wife; she was down here this afternoon,” said Patterson + meditatively. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Tucker paused with the pie in his hand. “Ah, yes!” He essayed a + reckless laugh, but that evident simulation failed before Patterson's + melancholy. With an assumption of falling in with his friend's manner, + rather than from any personal anxiety, he continued, “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “That man Poindexter was down here with her. Put her in the hacienda to + hold possession afore the news came out.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” said Tucker, rising hastily. “It don't belong—that is—” + he hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Yer thinking the creditors 'll get it, mebbe,” returned Patterson, gazing + at the floor. “Not as long as she's in it; no sir! Whether it's really + hers, or she's only keeping house for Poindexter, she's a fixture, you + bet. They're a team when they pull together, they are!” + </p> + <p> + The smile slowly faded from Tucker's face, that now looked quite rigid in + the moonlight. He put down his glass and walked to the window as Patterson + gloomily continued, “But that's nothing to you. You've got ahead of 'em + both, and had your revenge by going off with the gal. That's what I said + all along. When folks—especially women folks—wondered how you + could leave a woman like your wife, and go off with a scallawag like that + gal, I allers said they'd find out there was a reason. And when your wife + came flaunting down here with Poindexter before she'd quite got quit of + you, I reckon they began to see the whole little game. No sir! I knew it + wasn't on account of the gal! Why, when you came here to-night and told me + quite nat'ral-like and easy how she went off in the ship, and then calmly + ate your pie and drank your whiskey after it, I knew you didn't care for + her. There's my hand, Spence; you're a trump, even if you are a little + looney, eh? Why, what's up?” + </p> + <p> + Shallow and selfish as Tucker was, Patterson's words seemed like a + revelation that shocked him as profoundly as it might have shocked a + nobler nature. The simple vanity and selfishness that made him unable to + conceive any higher reason for his wife's loyalty than his own personal + popularity and success, now that he no longer possessed that eclat, made + him equally capable of the lowest suspicions. He was a dishonored + fugitive, broken in fortune and reputation—why should she not desert + him! He had been unfaithful to her from wildness, from caprice, from the + effect of those fascinating qualities; it seemed to him natural that she + should be disloyal from more deliberate motives, and he hugged himself + with that belief. Yet there was enough doubt, enough of haunting suspicion + that he had lost or alienated a powerful affection, to make him thoroughly + miserable. He returned his friend's grasp convulsively and buried his face + upon his shoulder. But he was not above feeling a certain exultation in + the effect of his misery upon the dog-like, unreasoning affection of + Patterson, nor could he entirely refrain from slightly posing his + affliction before that sympathetic but melancholy man. Suddenly he raised + his head, drew back, and thrust his hand into his bosom with a theatrical + gesture. + </p> + <p> + “What's to keep me from killing Poindexter in his tracks?” he said wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' but HIS shooting first,” returned Patterson, with dismal + practicality. “He's mighty quick, like all them army men. It's about even, + I reckon, that he don't get ME first,” he added in an ominous voice. + </p> + <p> + “No!” returned Tucker, grasping his hand again. “This is not your affair, + Patterson; leave him to me when I come back.” + </p> + <p> + “If he ever gets the drop on me, I reckon he won't wait,” continued + Patterson lugubriously. “He seems to object to my passin' criticism on + your wife, as if she was a queen or an angel.” + </p> + <p> + The blood came to Spencer's cheek, and he turned uneasily to the window. + “It's dark enough now for a start,” he said hurriedly, “and if I could get + across the mountain without lying over at the summit, it would be a day + gained.” + </p> + <p> + Patterson arose without a word, filled a flask of spirit, handed it to his + friend, and silently led the way through the slowly falling rain and the + now settled darkness. The mustang was quickly secured and saddled, a heavy + poncho afforded Tucker a disguise as well as a protection from the rain. + With a few hurried, disconnected words, and an abstracted air, he once + more shook his friend's hand and issued cautiously from the corral. When + out of earshot from the house he put spurs to the mustang, and dashed into + a gallop. + </p> + <p> + To intersect the mountain road he was obliged to traverse part of the + highway his wife had walked that afternoon, and to pass within a mile of + the casa where she was. Long before he reached that point his eyes were + straining the darkness in that direction for some indication of the house + which was to him familiar. Becoming now accustomed to the even obscurity, + less trying to the vision than the alternate light and shadow of cloud or + the full glare of the moonlight, he fancied he could distinguish its low + walls over the monotonous level. One of those impulses which had so often + taken the place of resolution in his character suddenly possessed him to + diverge from his course and approach the house. Why, he could not have + explained. It was not from any feeling of jealous suspicion or + contemplated revenge—that had passed with the presence of Patterson; + it was not from any vague lingering sentiment for the woman he had wronged—he + would have shrunk from meeting her at that moment. But it was full of + these and more possibilities by which he might or might not be guided, and + was at least a movement towards some vague end, and a distraction from + certain thoughts he dared not entertain and could not entirely dismiss. + Inconceivable and inexplicable to human reason, it might have been + acceptable to the Divine omniscience for its predestined result. + </p> + <p> + He left the road at a point where the marsh encroached upon the meadow, + familiar to him already as near the spot where he had embarked from the + Chinaman's boat the day before. He remembered that the walls of the + hacienda were distinctly visible from the tules where he had hidden all + day, and he now knew that the figures he had observed near the building, + which had deterred his first attempts at landing, must have been his wife + and his friend. He knew that a long tongue of the slough filled by the + rising tide followed the marsh, and lay between him and the hacienda. The + sinking of his horse's hoofs in the spongy soil determined its proximity, + and he made a detour to the right to avoid it. In doing so, a light + suddenly rose above the distant horizon ahead of him, trembled faintly, + and then burned with a steady lustre. It was a light at the hacienda. + Guiding his horse half abstractedly in this direction, his progress was + presently checked by the splashing of the animal's hoofs in the water. But + the turf below was firm, and a salt drop that had spattered to his lips + told him that it was only the encroaching of the tide in the meadow. With + his eyes on the light, he again urged his horse forward. The rain lulled, + the clouds began to break, the landscape alternately lightened and grew + dark; the outlines of the crumbling hacienda walls that enshrined the + light grew more visible. A strange and dreamy resemblance to the long + blue-grass plain before his wife's paternal house, as seen by him during + his evening rides to courtship, pressed itself upon him. He remembered, + too, that she used to put a light in the window to indicate her presence. + Following this retrospect, the moon came boldly out, sparkled upon the + overflow of silver at his feet, seemed to show the dark, opaque meadow + beyond for a moment, and then disappeared. It was dark now, but the lesser + earthly star still shone before him as a guide, and pushing towards it, he + passed in the all-embracing shadow. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + As Mrs. Tucker, erect, white, and rigid, drove away from the tienda, it + seemed to her to sink again into the monotonous plain, with all its + horrible realities. Except that there was now a new and heart-breaking + significance to the solitude and loneliness of the landscape, all that had + passed might have been a dream. But as the blood came back to her cheek, + and little by little her tingling consciousness returned, it seemed as if + her life had been the dream, and this last scene the awakening reality. + With eyes smarting with the moisture of shame, the scarlet blood at times + dyeing her very neck and temples, she muffled her lowered crest in her + shawl and bent over the reins. Bit by bit she recalled, in Poindexter's + mysterious caution and strange allusions, the corroboration of her + husband's shame and her own disgrace. This was why she was brought hither—the + deserted wife, and abandoned confederate! The mocking glitter of the + concave vault above her, scoured by the incessant wind, the cold stare of + the shining pools beyond, the hard outlines of the Coast Range, and the + jarring accompaniment of her horse's hoofs and rattling buggy wheels + alternately goaded and distracted her. She found herself repeating “No! + no! no!” with the dogged reiteration of fever. She scarcely knew when or + how she reached the hacienda. She was only conscious that as she entered + the patio the dusty solitude that had before filled her with unrest now + came to her like balm. A benumbing peace seemed to fall from the crumbling + walls; the peace of utter seclusion, isolation, oblivion, death! + Nevertheless, an hour later, when the jingle of spurs and bridle were + again heard in the road, she started to her feet with bent brows and a + kindling eye, and confronted Captain Poindexter in the corridor. + </p> + <p> + “I would not have intruded upon you so soon again,” he said gravely, “but + I thought I might perhaps spare you a repetition of the scene of this + morning. Hear me out, please,” he added, with a gentle, half-deprecating + gesture, as she lifted the beautiful scorn of her eyes to his. “I have + just heard that your neighbor, Don Jose Santierra, of Los Gatos, is on his + way to this house. He once claimed this land, and hated your husband, who + bought of the rival claimant, whose grant was confirmed. I tell you this,” + he added, slightly flushing as Mrs. Tucker turned impatiently away, “only + to show you that legally he has no rights, and you need not see him unless + you choose. I could not stop his coming without perhaps doing you more + harm than good; but when he does come, my presence under this roof as your + legal counsel will enable you to refer him to me.” He stopped. She was + pacing the corridor with short, impatient steps, her arms dropped, and her + hands clasped rigidly before her. “Have I your permission to stay?” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly stopped in her walk, approached him rapidly, and fixing her + eyes on his, said,— + </p> + <p> + “Do I know ALL, now—everything?” + </p> + <p> + He could only reply that she had not yet told him what she had heard. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said scornfully, “that my husband has been cruelly imposed + upon—imposed upon by some wretched woman, who has made him sacrifice + his property, his friends, his honor—everything but me?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything but whom?” gasped Poindexter. + </p> + <p> + “But ME!” + </p> + <p> + Poindexter gazed at the sky, the air, the deserted corridor, the stones of + the patio itself, and then at the inexplicable woman before him. Then he + said gravely, “I think you know everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if my husband has left me all he could—this property,” she + went on rapidly, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers, “I can do + with it what I like, can't I?” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly can.” + </p> + <p> + “Then sell it,” she said, with passionate vehemence. “Sell it—all! + everything! And sell these.” She darted into her bedroom, and returned + with the diamond rings she had torn from her fingers and ears when she + entered the house. “Sell them for anything they'll bring, only sell them + at once.” + </p> + <p> + “But for what?” asked Poindexter, with demure lips but twinkling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “To pay the debts that this—this—woman has led him into; to + return the money she has stolen!” she went on rapidly, “to keep him from + sharing her infamy! Can't you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear madam,” began Poindexter, “even if this could be done—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell me 'if it could'—it MUST be done. Do you think I could + sleep under this roof, propped up by the timbers of that ruined tienda? Do + you think I could wear those diamonds again, while that termagant + shop-woman can say that her money bought them? No. If you are my husband's + friend you will do this—for—for his sake.” She stopped, locked + and interlocked her cold fingers before her, and said, hesitating and + mechanically, “You meant well, Captain Poindexter, in bringing me here, I + know! You must not think that I blame you for it, or for the miserable + result of it that you have just witnessed. But if I have gained anything + by it, for God's sake let me reap it quickly, that I may give it to these + people and go! I have a friend who can aid me to get to my husband or to + my home in Kentucky, where Spencer will yet find me, I know. I want + nothing more.” She stopped again. With another woman the pause would have + been one of tears. But she kept her head above the flood that filled her + heart, and the clear eyes fixed upon Poindexter, albeit pained, were + undimmed. + </p> + <p> + “But this would require time,” said Poindexter, with a smile of + compassionate explanation; “you could not sell now, nobody would buy. You + are safe to hold this property while you are in actual possession, but you + are not strong enough to guarantee it to another. There may still be + litigation; your husband has other creditors than these people you have + talked with. But while nobody could oust you—the wife who would have + the sympathies of judge and jury—it might be a different case with + any one who derived title from you. Any purchaser would know that you + could not sell, or if you did, it would be at a ridiculous sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + She listened to him abstractedly, walked to the end of the corridor, + returned, and without looking up, said,— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you know her?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon?” + </p> + <p> + “This woman. You have seen her?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, to my knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are his friend! That's strange.” She raised her eyes to his. + “Well,” she continued impatiently, “who is she? and what is she? You know + that surely?” + </p> + <p> + “I know no more of her than what I have said,” said Poindexter. “She is a + notorious woman.” + </p> + <p> + The swift color came to Mrs. Tucker's face as if the epithet had been + applied to herself. “I suppose,” she said in a dry voice, as if she were + asking a business question, but with an eye that showed her rising anger,—“I + suppose there is some law by which creatures of this kind can be followed + and brought to justice—some law that would keep innocent people from + suffering for their crimes?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said Poindexter, “that arresting her would hardly help + these people over in the tienda.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not speaking of them,” responded Mrs. Tucker, with a sudden sublime + contempt for the people whose cause she had espoused: “I am talking of my + husband.” + </p> + <p> + Poindexter bit his lip. “You'd hardly think of bringing back the strongest + witness against him,” he said bluntly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker dropped her eyes and was silent. A sudden shame suffused + Poindexter's cheek; he felt as if he had struck that woman a blow. “I beg + your pardon,” he said hastily, “I am talking like a lawyer to a lawyer.” + He would have taken any other woman by the hand in the honest fullness of + his apology, but something restrained him here. He only looked down gently + on her lowered lashes, and repeated his question if he should remain + during the coming interview with Don Jose: “I must beg you to determine + quickly,” he added, “for I already hear him entering the gate.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” said Mrs. Tucker, as the ringing of spurs and clatter of hoofs + came from the corral. “One moment.” She looked up suddenly, and said, “How + long had he known her?” But before he could reply there was a step in the + doorway, and the figure of Don Jose Santierra emerged from the archway. + </p> + <p> + He was a man slightly past middle age, fair and well shaven, wearing a + black broadcloth serape, the deeply embroidered opening of which formed a + collar of silver rays around his neck, while a row of silver buttons down + the side seams of his riding trousers, and silver spurs, completed his + singular equipment. Mrs. Tucker's swift feminine glance took in these + details, as well as the deep salutation, more formal than the exuberant + frontier politeness she was accustomed to, with which he greeted her. It + was enough to arrest her first impulse to retreat. She hesitated and + stopped as Poindexter stepped forward, partly interposing between them, + acknowledging Don Jose's distant recognition of himself with an ironical + accession of his usual humorous tolerance. The Spaniard did not seem to + notice it, but remained gravely silent before Mrs. Tucker, gazing at her + with an expression of intent and unconscious absorption. + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right, Don Jose,” said Poindexter, with ironical concern, + “it is Mrs. Tucker. Your eyes do NOT deceive you. She will be glad to do + the honors of her house,” he continued, with a simulation of appealing to + her, “unless you visit her on business, when I need not say I shall be + only too happy, to attend you, as before.” + </p> + <p> + Don Jose, with a slight lifting of the eyebrows, allowed himself to become + conscious of the lawyer's meaning. “It is not of business that I come to + kiss the Senora's hand to-day,” he replied, with a melancholy softness; + “it is as her neighbor, to put myself at her disposition. Ah! the what + have we here for a lady?” he continued, raising his eyes in deprecation of + the surroundings; “a house of nothing, a place of winds and dry bones, + without refreshments, or satisfaction, or delicacy. The Senora will not + refuse to make us proud this day to send her of that which we have in our + poor home at Los Gatos, to make her more complete. Of what shall it be? + Let her make choice. Or if she would commemorate this day by accepting of + our hospitality at Los Gatos, until she shall arrange herself the more to + receive us here, we shall have too much honor.” + </p> + <p> + “The Senora would only find it the more difficult to return to this humble + roof again, after once leaving it for Don Jose's hospitality,” said + Poindexter, with a demure glance at Mrs. Tucker. But the innuendo seemed + to lapse equally unheeded by his fair client and the stranger. Raising her + eyes with a certain timid dignity which Don Jose's presence seemed to have + called out, she addressed herself to him. + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind and considerate, Mister Santierra, and I thank you. I + know that my husband”—she let the clear beauty of her translucent + eyes rest full on both men—“would thank you too. But I shall not be + here long enough to accept your kindness in this house or in your own. I + have but one desire and object now. It is to dispose of this property, and + indeed all I possess, to pay the debt of my husband. It is in your power, + perhaps, to help me. I am told that you wish to possess Los Cuervos,” she + went on, equally oblivious of the consciousness that appeared in Don + Jose's face, and a humorous perplexity on the brow of Poindexter. “If you + can arrange it with Mr. Poindexter, you will find me a liberal vendor. + That much you can do, and I know you will believe I shall be grateful. You + can do no more, unless it be to say to your friends that Mrs. Belle Tucker + remains here only for that purpose, and to carry out what she knows to be + the wishes of her husband.” She paused, bent her pretty crest, dropped a + quaint curtsey to the superior age, the silver braid, and the gentlemanly + bearing of Don Jose, and with the passing sunshine of a smile disappeared + from the corridor. + </p> + <p> + The two men remained silent for a moment, Don Jose gazing abstractedly on + the door through which she had vanished, until Poindexter, with a return + of his tolerant smile, said, “You have heard the views of Mrs. Tucker. You + know the situation as well as she does.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes; possibly better.” + </p> + <p> + Poindexter darted a quick glance at the grave, sallow face of Don Jose, + but detecting no unusual significance in his manner, continued, “As you + see, she leaves this matter in my hands. Let us talk like business men. + Have you any idea of purchasing this property?” + </p> + <p> + “Of purchasing, ah, no.” + </p> + <p> + Poindexter bent his brows, but quickly relaxed them with a smile of + humorous forgiveness. “If you have any other idea, Don Jose, I ought to + warn you, as Mrs. Tucker's lawyer, that she is in legal possession here, + and that nothing but her own act can change that position.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, so.” + </p> + <p> + Irritated at the shrug which accompanied this, Poindexter continued + haughtily, “If I am to understand, you have nothing to say—” + </p> + <p> + “To say, ah, yes, possibly. But”—he glanced toward the door of Mrs. + Tucker's room—“not here.” He stopped, appeared to recall himself, + and with an apologetic smile and a studied but graceful gesture of + invitation, he motioned to the gateway, and said, “Will you ride?” + </p> + <p> + “What can the fellow be up to?” muttered Poindexter, as with an assenting + nod he proceeded to remount his horse. “If he wasn't an old hidalgo, I'd + mistrust him. No matter! here goes!” + </p> + <p> + The Don also remounted his half-broken mustang; they proceeded in solemn + silence through the corral, and side by side emerged on the open plain. + Poindexter glanced around; no other being was in sight. It was not until + the lonely hacienda had also sunk behind them that Don Jose broke the + silence. + </p> + <p> + “You say just now we shall speak as business men. I say no, Don Marco; I + will not. I shall speak, we shall speak, as gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Poindexter, who was beginning to be amused. + </p> + <p> + “I say just now I will not purchase the rancho from the Senora. And why? + Look you, Don Marco;” he reined in his horse, thrust his hand under his + serape, and drew out a folded document: “this is why.” + </p> + <p> + With a smile, Poindexter took the paper from his hand and opened it. But + the smile faded from his lips as he read. With blazing eyes he spurred his + horse beside the Spaniard, almost unseating him, and said sternly, “What + does this mean?” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” repeated Don Jose, with equally flashing eyes, “I'll + tell you. It means that your client, this man Spencer Tucker, is a Judas, + a traitor! It means that he gave Los Cuervos to his mistress a year ago, + and that she sold it to me—to me, you hear!—ME, Jose + Santierra, the day before she left! It means that the coyote of a Spencer, + the thief, who bought these lands of a thief, and gave them to a thief, + has tricked you all. Look,” he said, rising in his saddle, holding the + paper like a baton, and defining with a sweep of his arm the whole level + plain, “all these lands were once mine, they are mine again to-day. Do I + want to purchase Los Cuervos? you ask, for you will speak of the BUSINESS. + Well, listen. I HAVE purchased Los Cuervos, and here is the deed.” + </p> + <p> + “But it has never been recorded,” said Poindexter, with a carelessness he + was far from feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Of a verity, no. Do you wish that I should record it?” asked Don Jose, + with a return of his simple gravity. + </p> + <p> + Poindexter bit his lip. “You said we were to talk like gentlemen,” he + returned. “Do you think you have come into possession of this alleged deed + like a gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + Don Jose shrugged his shoulders. “I found it tossed in the lap of a + harlot. I bought it for a song. Eh, what would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you sell it again for a song?” asked Poindexter. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! what is this?” said Don Jose, lifting his iron-gray brows; “but a + moment ago we would sell everything, for any money. Now we would buy. Is + it so?” + </p> + <p> + “One moment, Don Jose,” said Poindexter, with a baleful light in his dark + eyes. “Do I understand that you are the ally of Spencer Tucker and his + mistress, that you intend to turn this doubly betrayed wife from the only + roof she has to cover her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I comprehend not. You heard her say she wished to go. Perhaps it may + please ME to distribute largess to these cattle yonder, I do not say no. + More she does not ask. But YOU, Don Marco, of whom are you advocate? You + abandon your client's mistress for the wife, is it so?” + </p> + <p> + “What I may do you will learn hereafter,” said Poindexter, who had + regained his composure, suddenly reining up his horse. “As our paths seem + likely to diverge, they had better begin now. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Patience, my friend, patience! Ah, blessed St. Anthony, what these + Americans are! Listen. For what YOU shall do, I do not inquire. The + question is to me what I”—he emphasized the pronoun by tapping + himself on the breast—“I, Jose Santierra, will do. Well, I shall + tell you. To-day, nothing. To-morrow, nothing. For a week, for a month, + nothing! After, we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + Poindexter paused thoughtfully. “Will you give your word, Don Jose, that + you will not press the claim for a month?” + </p> + <p> + “Truly, on one condition. Observe! I do not ask you for an equal promise, + that you will not take this time to defend yourself.” He shrugged his + shoulders. “No! It is only this. You shall promise that during that time + the Senora Tucker shall remain ignorant of this document.” + </p> + <p> + Poindexter hesitated a moment. “I promise,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Good. Adios, Don Marco.” + </p> + <p> + “Adios, Don Jose.” + </p> + <p> + The Spaniard put spurs to his mustang and galloped off in the direction of + Los Gatos. The lawyer remained for a moment gazing on his retreating but + victorious figure. For the first time the old look of humorous toleration + with which Mr. Poindexter was in the habit of regarding all human + infirmity gave way to something like bitterness. “I might have guessed + it,” he said, with a slight rise of color. “He's an old fool; and she—well, + perhaps it's all the better for her!” He glanced backwards almost tenderly + in the direction of Los Cuervos, and then turned his head towards the + embarcadero. + </p> + <p> + As the afternoon wore on, a creaking, antiquated ox-cart arrived at Los + Cuervos, bearing several articles of furniture, and some tasteful + ornaments from Los Gatos, at the same time that a young Mexican girl + mysteriously appeared in the kitchen, as a temporary assistant to the + decrepit Concha. These were both clearly attributable to Don Jose, whose + visit was not so remote but that these delicate attentions might have been + already projected before Mrs. Tucker had declined them, and she could not, + without marked discourtesy, return them now. She did not wish to seem + discourteous; she would like to have been more civil to this old + gentleman, who still retained the evidences of a picturesque and decorous + past, and a repose so different from the life that was perplexing her. + Reflecting that if he bought the estate these things would be ready to his + hand, and with a woman's instinct recognizing their value in setting off + the house to other purchasers' eyes, she took a pleasure in tastefully + arranging them, and even found herself speculating how she might have + enjoyed them herself had she been able to keep possession of the property. + After all, it would not have been so lonely if refined and gentle + neighbors, like this old man, would have sympathized with her; she had an + instinctive feeling that, in their own hopeless decay and hereditary + unfitness for this new civilization, they would have been more tolerant of + her husband's failure than his own kind. She could not believe that Don + Jose really hated her husband for buying of the successful claimant, as + there was no other legal title. Allowing herself to become interested in + the guileless gossip of the new handmaiden, proud of her broken English, + she was drawn into a sympathy with the grave simplicity of Don Jose's + character, a relic of that true nobility which placed this descendant of + the Castilians and the daughter of a free people on the same level. + </p> + <p> + In this way the second day of her occupancy of Los Cuervos closed, with + dumb clouds along the gray horizon, and the paroxysms of hysterical wind + growing fainter and fainter outside the walls; with the moon rising after + nightfall, and losing itself in silent and mysterious confidences with + drifting scud. She went to bed early, but woke past midnight, hearing, as + she thought, her own name called. The impression was so strong upon her + that she rose, and, hastily enwrapping herself, went to the dark + embrasures of the oven-shaped windows, and looked out. The dwarfed oak + beside the window was still dropping from a past shower, but the level + waste of marsh and meadow beyond seemed to advance and recede with the + coming and going of the moon. Again she heard her name called, and this + time in accents so strangely familiar that with a slight cry she ran into + the corridor, crossed the patio, and reached the open gate. The darkness + that had, even in this brief interval, again fallen upon the prospect she + tried in vain to pierce with eye and voice. A blank silence followed. Then + the veil was suddenly withdrawn; the vast plain, stretching from the + mountain to the sea, shone as clearly as in the light of day; the moving + current of the channel glittered like black pearls, the stagnant pools + like molten lead; but not a sign of life nor motion broke the monotony of + the broad expanse. She must have surely dreamed it. A chill wind drove her + back to the house again; she entered her bedroom, and in half an hour she + was in a peaceful sleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + The two men kept their secret. Mr. Poindexter convinced Mrs. Tucker that + the sale of Los Cuervos could not be effected until the notoriety of her + husband's flight had been fairly forgotten, and she was forced to accept + her fate. The sale of her diamonds, which seemed to her to have realized a + singularly extravagant sum, enabled her to quietly reinstate the + Pattersons in the tienda and to discharge in full her husband's + liabilities to the rancheros and his humbler retainers. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the winter rains had ceased. It seemed to her as if the clouds + had suddenly one night struck their white tents and stolen away, leaving + the unvanquished sun to mount the vacant sky the next morning alone, and + possess it thenceforward unchallenged. One afternoon she thought the long + sad waste before her window had caught some tint of gayer color from the + sunset; a week later she found it a blazing landscape of poppies, broken + here and there by blue lagoons of lupine, by pools of daisies, by banks of + dog-roses, by broad outlying shores of dandelions that scattered their + lavish gold to the foot of the hills, where the green billows of wild oats + carried it on and upwards to the darker crest of pines. For two months she + was dazzled and bewildered with color. She had never before been face to + face with this spendthrift Californian Flora, in her virgin wastefulness, + her more than goddess-like prodigality. The teeming earth seemed to + quicken and throb beneath her feet; the few circuits of a plough around + the outlying corral were enough to call out a jungle growth of giant grain + that almost hid the low walls of the hacienda. In this glorious fecundity + of the earth, in this joyous renewal of life and color, in this opulent + youth and freshness of soil and sky, it alone remained, the dead and + sterile Past, left in the midst of buoyant rejuvenescence and + resurrection, like an empty churchyard skull upturned on the springing + turf. Its bronzed adobe walls mocked the green vine that embraced them, + the crumbling dust of its courtyard remained ungerminating and unfruitful; + to the thousand stirring voices without, its dry lips alone remained mute, + unresponsive and unchanged. + </p> + <p> + During this time Don Jose had become a frequent visitor at Los Cuervos, + bringing with him at first his niece and sister in a stately precision of + politeness that was not lost on the proud Blue Grass stranger. She + returned their visit at Los Gatos, and there made the formal acquaintance + of Don Jose's grandmother, a lady who still regarded the decrepit Concha + as a giddy muchacha, and who herself glittered as with the phosphorescence + of refined decay. Through this circumstance she learned that Don Jose was + not yet fifty, and that his gravity of manner and sedateness was more the + result of fastidious isolation and temperament than years. She could not + tell why the information gave her a feeling of annoyance, but it caused + her to regret the absence of Poindexter, and to wonder, also somewhat + nervously, why he had lately avoided her presence. The thought that he + might be doing so from a recollection of the innuendoes of Mrs. Patterson + caused a little tremor of indignation in her pulses. “As if—” but + she did not finish the sentence even to herself, and her eyes filled with + bitter tears. + </p> + <p> + Yet she had thought of the husband who had so cruelly wronged her less + feverishly, less impatiently than before. For she thought she loved him + now the more deeply, because, although she was not reconciled to his + absence, it seemed to keep alive the memory of what he had been before his + one wild act separated them. She had never seen the reflection of another + woman's eyes in his; the past contained no haunting recollection of waning + or alienated affection; she could meet him again, and, clasping her arms + around him, awaken as if from a troubled dream without reproach or + explanation. Her strong belief in this made her patient; she no longer + sought to know the particulars of his flight, and never dreamed that her + passive submission to his absence was partly due to a fear that something + in his actual presence at that moment would have destroyed that belief + forever. + </p> + <p> + For this reason the delicate reticence of the people at Los Gatos, and + their seclusion from the world which knew of her husband's fault, had made + her encourage the visits of Don Jose, until from the instinct already + alluded to she one day summoned Poindexter to Los Cuervos, on the day that + Don Jose usually called. But to her surprise the two men met more or less + awkwardly and coldly, and her tact as hostess was tried to the utmost to + keep their evident antagonism from being too apparent. The effort to + reconcile their mutual discontent, and some other feeling she did not + quite understand, produced a nervous excitement which called the blood to + her cheek and gave a dangerous brilliancy to her eyes, two circumstances + not unnoticed nor unappreciated by her two guests. But instead of + reuniting them, the prettier Mrs. Tucker became, the more distant and + reserved grew the men, until Don Jose rose before the usual hour, and with + more than usual ceremoniousness departed. + </p> + <p> + “Then my business does not seem to be with HIM?” said Poindexter, with + quiet coolness, as Mrs. Tucker turned her somewhat mystified face towards + him. “Or have you anything to say to me about him in private?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I don't know what you both mean,” she returned with a slight + tremor of voice. “I had no idea you were not on good terms. I thought you + were! It's very awkward.” Without coquetry and unconsciously she raised + her blue eyes under her lids until the clear pupils coyly and softly hid + themselves in the corners of the brown lashes, and added, “You have both + been so kind to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that is the reason,” said Poindexter, gravely. But Mrs. Tucker + refused to accept the suggestion with equal gravity, and began to laugh. + The laugh, which was at first frank, spontaneous, and almost child-like, + was becoming hysterical and nervous as she went on, until it was suddenly + checked by Poindexter. + </p> + <p> + “I have had no difficulties with Don Jose Santierra,” he said, somewhat + coldly ignoring her hilarity, “but perhaps he is not inclined to be as + polite to the friend of the husband as he is to the wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Poindexter!” said Mrs. Tucker quickly, her face becoming pale again. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon!” said Poindexter, flushing; “but—” + </p> + <p> + “You want to say,” she interrupted coolly, “that you are not friends, I + see. Is that the reason why you have avoided this house?” she continued + gently. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I could be of more service to you elsewhere,” he replied + evasively. “I have been lately following up a certain clue rather closely. + I think I am on the track of a confidante of—of—that woman.” + </p> + <p> + A quick shadow passed over Mrs. Tucker's face. “Indeed!” she said coldly. + “Then I am to believe that you prefer to spend your leisure moments in + looking after that creature to calling here?” + </p> + <p> + Poindexter was stupefied. Was this the woman who only four months ago was + almost vindictively eager to pursue her husband's paramour! There could be + but one answer to it—Don Jose! Four months ago he would have smiled + compassionately at it from his cynical pre-eminence. Now he managed with + difficulty to stifle the bitterness of his reply. + </p> + <p> + “If you do not wish the inquiry carried on,” he began, “of course—” + </p> + <p> + “I? What does it matter to me?” she said coolly. “Do as you please.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, half an hour later, as he was leaving, she said, with a + certain hesitating timidity, “Do not leave me so much alone here, and let + that woman go.” + </p> + <p> + This was not the only unlooked-for sequel to her innocent desire to + propitiate her best friends. Don Jose did not call again upon his usual + day, but in his place came Dona Clara, his younger sister. When Mrs. + Tucker had politely asked after the absent Don Jose, Dona Clara wound her + swarthy arms around the fair American's waist and replied, “But why did + you send for the abogado Poindexter when my brother called?” + </p> + <p> + “But Captain Poindexter calls as one of my friends,” said the amazed Mrs. + Tucker. “He is a gentleman, and has been a soldier and an officer,” she + added with some warmth. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, a soldier of the law, what you call an oficial de policia, a + chief of gendarmes, my sister, but not a gentleman—a camarero to + protect a lady.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker would have uttered a hasty reply, but the perfect and + good-natured simplicity of Dona Clara withheld her. Nevertheless, she + treated Don Jose with a certain reserve at their next meeting, until it + brought the simple-minded Castilian so dangerously near the point of + demanding an explanation which implied too much that she was obliged to + restore him temporarily to his old footing. Meantime she had a brilliant + idea. She would write to Calhoun Weaver, whom she had avoided since that + memorable day. She would say she wished to consult him. He would come to + Los Cuervos; he might suggest something to lighten this weary waiting; at + least she would show them all that she had still old friends. Yet she did + not dream of returning to her Blue Grass home; her parents had died since + she left; she shrank from the thought of dragging her ruined life before + the hopeful youth of her girlhood's companions. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Calhoun Weaver arrived promptly, ostentatiously, oracularly, and + cordially, but a little coarsely. He had—did she remember?—expected + this from the first. Spencer had lost his head through vanity, and had + attempted too much. It required foresight and firmness, as he himself—who + had lately made successful “combinations” which she might perhaps have + heard of—well knew. But Spencer had got the “big head.” “As to that + woman—a devilish handsome woman too!—well, everybody knew that + Spencer always had a weakness that way, and he would say—but if she + didn't care to hear any more about her—well, perhaps she was right. + That was the best way to take it.” Sitting before her, prosperous, weak, + egotistical, incompetent, unavailable, and yet filled with a vague + kindliness of intent, Mrs. Tucker loathed him. A sickening perception of + her own weakness in sending for him, a new and aching sense of her utter + isolation and helplessness, seemed to paralyze her. + </p> + <p> + “Nat'rally you feel bad,” he continued, with the large air of a profound + student of human nature. “Nat'rally, nat'rally you're kept in an + uncomfortable state, not knowing jist how you stand. There ain't but one + thing to do. Jist rise up, quiet like, and get a divorce agin Spencer. + Hold on! There ain't a judge or jury in California that wouldn't give it + to you right off the nail, without asking questions. Why, you 'ld get it + by default if you wanted to; you 'ld just have to walk over the course! + And then, Belle,” he drew his chair still nearer her, “when you've settled + down again—well!—I don't mind renewing that offer I once made + ye, before Spencer ever came round ye—I don't mind, Belle, I swear I + don't! Honest Injin! I'm in earnest, there's my hand!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tucker's reply has not been recorded. Enough that half an hour later + Mr. Weaver appeared in the courtyard with traces of tears on his foolish + face, a broken falsetto voice, and other evidence of mental and moral + disturbance. His cordiality and oracular predisposition remained + sufficiently to enable him to suggest the magical words “Blue Grass” + mysteriously to Concha, with an indication of his hand to the erect figure + of her pale mistress in the doorway, who waved to him a silent but + half-compassionate farewell. + </p> + <p> + At about this time a slight change in her manner was noticed by the few + who saw her more frequently. Her apparently invincible girlishness of + spirit had given way to a certain matronly seriousness. She applied + herself to her household cares and the improvement of the hacienda with a + new sense of duty and a settled earnestness, until by degrees she wrought + into it not only her instinctive delicacy and taste, but part of her own + individuality. Even the rude rancheros and tradesmen who were permitted to + enter the walls in the exercise of their calling began to speak + mysteriously of the beauty of this garden of the almarjal. She went out + but seldom, and then accompanied by the one or the other of her female + servants, in long drives on unfrequented roads. On Sundays she sometimes + drove to the half-ruined mission church of Santa Inez, and hid herself, + during mass, in the dim monastic shadows of the choir. Gradually the + poorer people whom she met in these journeys began to show an almost + devotional reverence for her, stopping in the roads with uncovered heads + for her to pass, or making way for her in the tienda or plaza of the + wretched town with dumb courtesy. She began to feel a strange sense of + widowhood, that, while it at times brought tears to her eyes, was, not + without a certain tender solace. In the sympathy and simpleness of this + impulse she went as far as to revive the mourning she had worn for her + parents, but with such a fatal accenting of her beauty, and dangerous + misinterpreting of her condition to eligible bachelors strange to the + country, that she was obliged to put it off again. Her reserve and + dignified manner caused others to mistake her nationality for that of the + Santierras, and in “Dona Bella” the simple Mrs. Tucker was for a while + forgotten. At times she even forgot it herself. Accustomed now almost + entirely to the accents of another language and the features of another + race, she would sit for hours in the corridor, whose massive bronzed + inclosure even her tasteful care could only make an embowered mausoleum of + the Past, or gaze abstractedly from the dark embrasures of her windows + across the stretching almarjal to the shining lagoon beyond that + terminated the estuary. She had a strange fondness for this tranquil + mirror, which under sun or stars always retained the passive reflex of the + sky above, and seemed to rest her weary eyes. She had objected to one of + the plans projected by Poindexter to redeem the land and deepen the water + at the embarcadero, as it would have drained the lagoon, and the lawyer + had postponed the improvement to gratify her fancy. So she kept it through + the long summer unchanged save by the shadows of passing wings or the lazy + files of sleeping sea-fowl. + </p> + <p> + On one of these afternoons she noticed a slowly moving carriage leave the + high road and cross the almarjal skirting the edge of the lagoon. If it + contained visitors for Los Cuervos they had evidently taken a shorter cut + without waiting to go on to the regular road which intersected the highway + at right angles a mile farther on. It was with some sense of annoyance and + irritation that she watched the trespass, and finally saw the vehicle + approach the house. A few moments later the servant informed her that Mr. + Patterson would like to see her alone. When she entered the corridor, + which in the dry season served as a reception hall, she was surprised to + see that Patterson was not alone. Near him stood a well-dressed handsome + woman, gazing about her with good-humored admiration of Mrs. Tucker's + taste and ingenuity. + </p> + <p> + “It don't look much like it did two years ago,” said the stranger + cheerfully. “You've improved it wonderfully.” + </p> + <p> + Stiffening slightly, Mrs. Tucker turned inquiringly to Mr. Patterson. But + that gentleman's usual profound melancholy appeared to be intensified by + the hilarity of his companion. He only sighed deeply and rubbed his leg + with the brim of his hat in gloomy abstraction. + </p> + <p> + “Well! go on, then,” said the woman, laughing and nudging him. “Go on—introduce + me—can't you? Don't stand there like a tombstone. You won't? Well, + I'll introduce myself.” She laughed again, and then, with an excellent + imitation of Patterson's lugubrious accents, said, “Mr. Spencer Tucker's + wife that IS, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Spencer Tucker's sweetheart + that WAS! Hold on! I said THAT WAS. For true as I stand here, ma'am—and + I reckon I wouldn't stand here if it wasn't true—I haven't set eyes + on him since the day he left you.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the Gospel truth, every word,” said Patterson, stirred into a sudden + activity by Mrs. Tucker's white and rigid face. “It's the frozen truth, + and I kin prove it. For I kin swear that when that there young woman was + sailin' outer the Golden Gate, Spencer Tucker was in my bar room; I kin + swear that I fed him, lickered him, give him a hoss and set him in his + road to Monterey that very night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, where is he now?” said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly facing them. + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other, and then looked at Mrs. Tucker. Then both + together replied slowly and in perfect unison, “That's—what—we—want—to—know.” + They seemed so satisfied with this effect that they as deliberately + repeated, “Yes—that's—what—we—want—to—know.” + </p> + <p> + Between the shock of meeting the partner of her husband's guilt and the + unexpected revelation to her inexperience, that in suggestion and + appearance there was nothing beyond the recollection of that guilt that + was really shocking in the woman—between the extravagant extremes of + hope and fear suggested by their words, there was something so grotesquely + absurd in the melodramatic chorus that she with difficulty suppressed a + hysterical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way to take it,” said the woman, putting her own good-humored + interpretation upon Mrs. Tucker's expression. “Now, look here! I'll tell + you all about it.” She carefully selected the most comfortable chair, and + sitting down, lightly crossed her hands in her lap. “Well, I left here on + the 13th of last January on the ship Argo, calculating that your husband + would join the ship just inside the Heads. That was our arrangement, but + if anything happened to prevent him, he was to join me in Acapulco. Well! + He didn't come aboard, and we sailed without him. But it appears now he + did attempt to join the ship, but his boat was capsized. There, now, don't + be alarmed! he wasn't drowned, as Patterson can swear to—no, catch + HIM! not a hair of him was hurt; but I—I was bundled off to the end + of the earth in Mexico, alone, without a cent to bless me. For true as you + live, that hound of a captain, when he found, as he thought, that Spencer + was nabbed, he just confiscated all his trunks and valuables and left me + in the lurch. If I hadn't met a man down there that offered to marry me + and brought me here, I might have died there, I reckon. But I did, and + here I am. I went down there as your husband's sweetheart, I've come back + as the wife of an honest man, and I reckon it's about square!” + </p> + <p> + There was something so startlingly frank, so hopelessly self-satisfied, so + contagiously good-humored in the woman's perfect moral unconsciousness, + that even if Mrs. Tucker had been less preoccupied her resentment would + have abated. But her eyes were fixed on the gloomy face of Patterson, who + was beginning to unlock the sepulchres of his memory and disinter his + deeply buried thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “You kin bet your whole pile on what this Mrs. Capting Baxter—ez + used to be French Inez of New Orleans—hez told ye. Ye kin take + everything she's unloaded. And it's only doin' the square thing to her to + say, she hain't done it out o' no cussedness, but just to satisfy herself, + now she's a married woman and past such foolishness. But that ain't + neither here nor there. The gist of the whole matter is that Spencer + Tucker was at the tienda the day after she sailed and after his boat + capsized.” He then gave a detailed account of the interview, with the + unnecessary but truthful minutiae of his class, adding to the particulars + already known that the following week he visited the Summit House and was + surprised to find that Spencer had never been there, nor had he ever + sailed from Monterey. + </p> + <p> + “But why was this not told to me before?” said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly. “Why + not at the time? Why,” she demanded almost fiercely, turning from the one + to the other, “has this been kept from me?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell ye why,” said Patterson, sinking with crushed submission into a + chair. “When I found he wasn't where he ought to be, I got to lookin' + elsewhere. I knew the track of the hoss I lent him by a loose shoe. I + examined; and found he had turned off the high road somewhere beyond the + lagoon, jist as if he was makin' a bee line here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mrs. Tucker, breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Patterson, with the resigned tone of an accustomed martyr, + “mebbe I'm a God-forsaken idiot, but I reckon he DID come yer. And mebbe + I'm that much of a habitooal lunatic, but thinking so, I calkilated you'ld + know it without tellin'.” + </p> + <p> + With their eyes fixed upon her, Mrs. Tucker felt the quick blood rush to + her cheeks, although she knew not why. But they were apparently satisfied + with her ignorance, for Patterson resumed, yet more gloomily:— + </p> + <p> + “Then if he wasn't hidin' here beknownst to you, he must have changed his + mind agin and got away by the embarcadero. The only thing wantin' to prove + that idea is to know how he got a boat, and what he did with the hoss. And + thar's one more idea, and ez that can't be proved,” continued Patterson, + sinking his voice still lower, “mebbe it's accordin' to God's laws.” + </p> + <p> + Unsympathetic to her as the speaker had always been and still was, Mrs. + Tucker felt a vague chill creep over her that seemed to be the result of + his manner more than his words. “And that idea is . . . ?” she suggested + with pale lips. + </p> + <p> + “It's this! Fust, I don't say it means much to anybody but me. I've heard + of these warnings afore now, ez comin' only to folks ez hear them for + themselves alone, and I reckon I kin stand it, if it's the will o' God. + The idea is then—that—Spencer Tucker—WAS DROWNDED in + that boat; the idea is”—his voice was almost lost in a hoarse + whisper—“that it was no living man that kem to me that night, but a + spirit that kem out of the darkness and went back into it! No eye saw him + but mine—no ears heard him but mine. I reckon it weren't intended it + should.” He paused, and passed the flap of his hat across his eyes. “The + pie, you'll say, is agin it,” he continued in the same tone of voice,—“the + whiskey is agin it—a few cuss words that dropped from him, + accidental like, may have been agin it. All the same they mout have been + only the little signs and tokens that it was him.” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Baxter's ready laugh somewhat rudely dispelled the infection of + Patterson's gloom. “I reckon the only spirit was that which you and + Spencer consumed,” she said, cheerfully. “I don't wonder you're a little + mixed. Like as not you've misunderstood his plans.” Patterson shook his + head. “He'll turn up yet, alive and kicking! Like as not, then, Poindexter + knows where he is all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible! He would have told me,” said Mrs. Tucker, quickly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baxter looked at Patterson without speaking. Patterson replied by a + long lugubrious whistle. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you,” said Mrs. Tucker, drawing back with cold + dignity. + </p> + <p> + “You don't?” returned Mrs. Baxter. “Bless your innocent heart! Why was he + so keen to hunt me up at first, shadowing my friends and all that, and why + has he dropped it now he knows I'm here, if he didn't know where Spencer + was?” + </p> + <p> + “I can explain that,” interrupted Mrs. Tucker, hastily, with a blush of + confusion. “That is—I—” + </p> + <p> + “Then mebbe you kin explain too,” broke in Patterson with gloomy + significance, “why he has bought up most of Spencer's debts himself, and + perhaps you're satisfied it ISN'T to hold the whip hand of him and keep + him from coming back openly. Pr'aps you know why he's movin' heaven and + earth to make Don Jose Santierra sell the ranch, and why the Don don't see + it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Don Jose sell Los Cuervos! Buy it, you mean?” said Mrs. Tucker. “I + offered to sell it to him.” + </p> + <p> + Patterson arose from the chair, looked despairingly around him, passed his + hand sadly across his forehead, and said: “It's come! I knew it would. + It's the warning! It's suthing betwixt jim-jams and doddering idjiocy. + Here I'd hev been willin' to swear that Mrs. Baxter here told me SHE had + sold this yer ranch nearly two years ago to Don Jose, and now you—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” said Mrs. Tucker, in a voice that chilled them. + </p> + <p> + She was standing upright and rigid, as if stricken to stone. “I command + you to tell me what this means!” she said, turning only her blazing eyes + upon the woman. + </p> + <p> + Even the ready smile faded from Mrs. Baxter's lips as she replied + hesitatingly and submissively: “I thought you knew already that Spencer + had given this ranch to me. I sold it to Don Jose to get the money for us + to go away with. It was Spencer's idea—” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” said Mrs. Tucker. + </p> + <p> + There was a dead silence. The wrathful blood that had quickly mounted to + Mrs. Baxter's cheek, to Patterson's additional bewilderment, faded as + quickly. She did not lift her eyes again to Mrs. Tucker's, but, slowly + raising herself from her seat, said, “I wish to God I did lie; but it's + true. And it's true that I never touched a cent of the money, but gave it + all to him!” She laid her hand on Patterson's arm, and said, “Come! let us + go,” and led him a few steps towards the gateway. But here Patterson + paused, and again passed his hand over his melancholy brow. The necessity + of coherently and logically closing the conversation impressed itself upon + his darkening mind. “Then you don't happen to have heard anything of + Spencer?” he said sadly, and vanished with Mrs. Baxter through the gate. + </p> + <p> + Left alone to herself, Mrs. Tucker raised her hands above her head with a + little cry, interlocked her rigid fingers, and slowly brought her palms + down upon her upturned face and eyes, pressing hard as if to crush out all + light and sense of life before her. She stood thus for a moment motionless + and silent, with the rising wind whispering without and flecking her white + morning dress with gusty shadows from the arbor. Then, with closed eyes, + dropping her hands to her breast, still pressing hard, she slowly passed + them down the shapely contours of her figure to the waist, and with + another cry cast them off as if she were stripping herself of some + loathsome garment. Then she walked quickly to the gateway, looked out, + returned to the corridor, unloosening and taking off her wedding-ring from + her finger as she walked. Here she paused, then slowly and deliberately + rearranged the chairs and adjusted the gay-colored rugs that draped them, + and quietly re-entered her chamber. + </p> + <p> + Two days afterwards the sweating steed of Captain Poindexter was turned + loose in the corral, and a moment later the captain entered the corridor. + Handing a letter to the decrepit Concha, who seemed to be utterly + disorganized by its contents, and the few curt words with which it was + delivered, he gazed silently upon the vacant bower, still fresh and + redolent with the delicacy and perfume of its graceful occupant, until his + dark eyes filled with unaccustomed moisture. But his reverie was + interrupted by the sound of jingling spurs without, and the old humor + struggled back in his eyes as Don Jose impetuously entered. The Spaniard + started back, but instantly recovered himself. + </p> + <p> + “So I find you here. Ah! it is well!” he said passionately, producing a + letter from his bosom. “Look! Do you call this honor? Look how you keep + your compact!” + </p> + <p> + Poindexter coolly took the letter. It contained a few words of gentle + dignity from Mrs. Tucker, informing Don Jose that she had only that + instant learned of his just claims upon Los Cuervos, tendering him her + gratitude for his delicate intentions, but pointing out with respectful + firmness that he must know that a moment's further acceptance of his + courtesy was impossible. + </p> + <p> + “She has gained this knowledge from no word of mine,” said Poindexter, + calmly. “Right or wrong, I have kept my promise to you. I have as much + reason to accuse you of betraying my secret in this,” he added coldly, as + he took another letter from his pocket and handed it to Don Jose. + </p> + <p> + It seemed briefer and colder, but was neither. It reminded Poindexter that + as he had again deceived her she must take the government of her affairs + in her own hands henceforth. She abandoned all the furniture and + improvements she had put in Los Cuervos to him, to whom she now knew she + was indebted for them. She could not thank him for what his habitual + generosity impelled him to do for any woman, but she could forgive him for + misunderstanding her like any other woman, perhaps she should say, like a + child. When he received this she would be already on her way to her old + home in Kentucky, where she still hoped to be able by her own efforts to + amass enough to discharge her obligations to him. + </p> + <p> + “She does not speak of her husband, this woman,” said Don Jose, scanning + Poindexter's face. “It is possible she rejoins him, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps in one way she has never left him, Don Jose,” said Poindexter, + with grave significance. + </p> + <p> + Don Jose's face flushed, but he returned carelessly, “And the rancho, + naturally you will not buy it now?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I shall abide by my offer,” said Poindexter, quietly. + </p> + <p> + Don Jose eyed him narrowly, and then said, “Ah, we shall consider of it.” + </p> + <p> + He did consider it, and accepted the offer. With the full control of the + land, Captain Poindexter's improvements, so indefinitely postponed, were + actively pushed forward. The thick walls of the hacienda were the first to + melt away before them; the low lines of corral were effaced, and the early + breath of the summer trade winds swept uninterruptedly across the now + leveled plain to the embarcadero, where a newer structure arose. A more + vivid green alone marked the spot where the crumbling adobe walls of the + casa had returned to the parent soil that gave it. The channel was + deepened, the lagoon was drained, until one evening the magic mirror that + had so long reflected the weary waiting of the Blue Grass Penelope lay + dull, dead, lustreless, an opaque quagmire of noisome corruption and decay + to be put away from the sight of man forever. On this spot the crows, the + titular tenants of Los Cuervos, assembled in tumultuous congress, coming + and going in mysterious clouds, or laboring in thick and writhing masses, + as if they were continuing the work of improvement begun by human agency. + So well had they done the work that by the end of a week only a few + scattered white objects remained glittering on the surface of the quickly + drying soil. But they were the bones of the missing outcast, Spencer + Tucker! + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The same spring a breath of war swept over a foul, decaying quagmire of + the whole land, before which such passing deeds as these were blown as + vapor. It called men of all rank and condition to battle for a nation's + life, and among the first to respond were those into whose boyish hands + had been placed the nation's honor. It returned the epaulets to + Poindexter's shoulder with the addition of a double star, carried him + triumphantly to the front, and left him, at the end of a summer's day and + a hard-won fight, sorely wounded, at the door of a Blue Grass farmhouse. + And the woman who sought him out and ministered to his wants said timidly, + as she left her hand in his, “I told you I should live to repay you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + There was little doubt that the Lone Star claim was “played out.” Not dug + out, worked out, washed out, but PLAYED out. For two years its five + sanguine proprietors had gone through the various stages of mining + enthusiasm; had prospected and planned, dug and doubted. They had borrowed + money with hearty but unredeeming frankness, established a credit with + unselfish abnegation of all responsibility, and had borne the + disappointment of their creditors with a cheerful resignation which only + the consciousness of some deep Compensating Future could give. Giving + little else, however, a singular dissatisfaction obtained with the + traders, and, being accompanied with a reluctance to make further + advances, at last touched the gentle stoicism of the proprietors + themselves. The youthful enthusiasm which had at first lifted the most + ineffectual trial, the most useless essay, to the plane of actual + achievement, died out, leaving them only the dull, prosaic record of + half-finished ditches, purposeless shafts, untenable pits, abandoned + engines, and meaningless disruptions of the soil upon the Lone Star claim, + and empty flour sacks and pork barrels in the Lone Star cabin. + </p> + <p> + They had borne their poverty, if that term could be applied to a light + renunciation of all superfluities in food, dress, or ornament, ameliorated + by the gentle depredations already alluded to, with unassuming levity. + More than that: having segregated themselves from their fellow-miners of + Red Gulch, and entered upon the possession of the little + manzanita-thicketed valley five miles away, the failure of their + enterprise had assumed in their eyes only the vague significance of the + decline and fall of a general community, and to that extent relieved them + of individual responsibility. It was easier for them to admit that the + Lone Star claim was “played out” than confess to a personal bankruptcy. + Moreover, they still retained the sacred right of criticism of government, + and rose superior in their private opinions to their own collective + wisdom. Each one experienced a grateful sense of the entire responsibility + of the other four in the fate of their enterprise. + </p> + <p> + On December 24, 1863, a gentle rain was still falling over the length and + breadth of the Lone Star claim. It had been falling for several days, had + already called a faint spring color to the wan landscape, repairing with + tender touches the ravages wrought by the proprietors, or charitably + covering their faults. The ragged seams in gulch and canyon lost their + harsh outlines, a thin green mantle faintly clothed the torn and abraded + hillside. A few weeks more, and a veil of forgetfulness would be drawn + over the feeble failures of the Lone Star claim. The charming derelicts + themselves, listening to the raindrops on the roof of their little cabin, + gazed philosophically from the open door, and accepted the prospect as a + moral discharge from their obligations. Four of the five partners were + present. The Right and Left Bowers, Union Mills, and the Judge. + </p> + <p> + It is scarcely necessary to say that not one of these titles was the + genuine name of its possessor. The Right and Left Bowers were two + brothers; their sobriquets, a cheerful adaptation from the favorite game + of euchre, expressing their relative value in the camp. The mere fact that + Union Mills had at one time patched his trousers with an old flour sack + legibly bearing that brand of its fabrication, was a tempting baptismal + suggestion that the other partners could not forego. The Judge, a + singularly inequitable Missourian, with no knowledge whatever of the law, + was an inspiration of gratuitous irony. + </p> + <p> + Union Mills, who had been for some time sitting placidly on the threshold + with one leg exposed to the rain, from a sheer indolent inability to + change his position, finally withdrew that weather-beaten member, and + stood up. The movement more or less deranged the attitudes of the other + partners, and was received with cynical disfavor. It was somewhat + remarkable that, although generally giving the appearance of healthy youth + and perfect physical condition, they one and all simulated the decrepitude + of age and invalidism, and after limping about for a few moments, settled + back again upon their bunks and stools in their former positions. The Left + Bower lazily replaced a bandage that he had worn around his ankle for + weeks without any apparent necessity, and the Judge scrutinized with + tender solicitude the faded cicatrix of a scratch upon his arm. A passive + hypochondria, born of their isolation, was the last ludicrously pathetic + touch to their situation. + </p> + <p> + The immediate cause of this commotion felt the necessity of an + explanation. + </p> + <p> + “It would have been just as easy for you to have stayed outside with your + business leg, instead of dragging it into private life in that obtrusive + way,” retorted the Right Bower; “but that exhaustive effort isn't going to + fill the pork barrel. The grocery man at Dalton says—what's that he + said?” he appealed lazily to the Judge. + </p> + <p> + “Said he reckoned the Lone Star was about played out, and he didn't want + any more in his—thank you!” repeated the Judge with a mechanical + effort of memory utterly devoid of personal or present interest. + </p> + <p> + “I always suspected that man, after Grimshaw begun to deal with him,” said + the Left Bower. “They're just mean enough to join hands against us.” It + was a fixed belief of the Lone Star partners that they were pursued by + personal enmities. + </p> + <p> + “More than likely those new strangers over in the Fork have been paying + cash and filled him up with conceit,” said Union Mills, trying to dry his + leg by alternately beating it or rubbing it against the cabin wall. “Once + begin wrong with that kind of snipe and you drag everybody down with you.” + </p> + <p> + This vague conclusion was received with dead silence. Everybody had become + interested in the speaker's peculiar method of drying his leg, to the + exclusion of the previous topic. A few offered criticism, no one + assistance. + </p> + <p> + “Who did the grocery man say that to?” asked the Right Bower, finally + returning to the question. + </p> + <p> + “The Old man,” answered the Judge. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” ejaculated the Right Bower sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” echoed the other partners together. “That's like him. The Old + Man all over!” + </p> + <p> + It did not appear exactly what was like the Old Man, or why it was like + him, but generally that he alone was responsible for the grocery man's + defection. It was put more concisely by Union Mills. + </p> + <p> + “That comes of letting him go there! It's just a fair provocation to any + man to have the Old Man sent to him. They can't, sorter, restrain + themselves at him. He's enough to spoil the credit of the Rothschilds.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” chimed in the Judge. “And look at his prospecting. Why, he + was out two nights last week, all night, prospecting in the moonlight for + blind leads, just out of sheer foolishness.” + </p> + <p> + “It was quite enough for me,” broke in the Left Bower, “when the other + day, you remember when, he proposed to us white men to settle down to + plain ground sluicing, making 'grub' wages just like any Chinaman. It just + showed his idea of the Lone Star claim.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never said it afore,” added Union Mills, “but when that one of + the Mattison boys came over here to examine the claim with an eye to + purchasin', it was the Old Man that took the conceit out of him. He just + as good as admitted that a lot of work had got to be done afore any pay + ore could be realized. Never even asked him over to the shanty here to + jine us in a friendly game; just kept him, so to speak, to himself. And + naturally the Mattisons didn't see it.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed, broken only by the rain monotonously falling on the + roof, and occasionally through the broad adobe chimney, where it provoked + a retaliating hiss and splutter from the dying embers of the hearth. The + Right Bower, with a sudden access of energy, drew the empty barrel before + him, and taking a pack of well-worn cards from his pocket, began to make a + “solitaire” upon the lid. The others gazed at him with languid interest. + </p> + <p> + “Makin' it for anythin'?” asked Mills. + </p> + <p> + The Right Bower nodded. + </p> + <p> + The Judge and Left Bower, who were partly lying in their respective bunks, + sat up to get a better view of the game. Union Mills slowly disengaged + himself from the wall and leaned over the “solitaire” player. The Right + Bower turned the last card in a pause of almost thrilling suspense, and + clapped it down on the lid with fateful emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “It went!” said the Judge in a voice of hushed respect. “What did you make + it for?” he almost whispered. + </p> + <p> + “To know if we'd make the break we talked about and vamose the ranch. It's + the FIFTH time today,” continued the Right Bower in a voice of gloomy + significance. “And it went agin bad cards too.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't superstitious,” said the Judge, with awe and fatuity beaming from + every line of his credulous face, “but it's flyin' in the face of + Providence to go agin such signs as that.” + </p> + <p> + “Make it again, to see if the Old Man must go,” suggested the Left Bower. + </p> + <p> + The suggestion was received with favor, the three men gathering + breathlessly around the player. Again the fateful cards were shuffled + deliberately, placed in their mysterious combination, with the same + ominous result. Yet everybody seemed to breathe more freely, as if + relieved from some responsibility, the Judge accepting this manifest + expression of Providence with resigned self-righteousness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, gentlemen,” resumed the Left Bower, serenely, as if a calm legal + decision had just been recorded, “we must not let any foolishness or + sentiment get mixed up with this thing, but look at it like business men. + The only sensible move is to get up and get out of the camp.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Old Man?” queried the Judge. + </p> + <p> + “The Old Man—hush! he's coming.” + </p> + <p> + The doorway was darkened by a slight lissome shadow. It was the absent + partner, otherwise known as “the Old Man.” Need it be added that he was a + BOY of nineteen, with a slight down just clothing his upper lip! + </p> + <p> + “The creek is up over the ford, and I had to 'shin' up a willow on the + bank and swing myself across,” he said, with a quick, frank laugh; “but + all the same, boys, it's going to clear up in about an hour, you bet. It's + breaking away over Bald Mountain, and there's a sun flash on a bit of snow + on Lone Peak. Look! you can see it from here. It's for all the world like + Noah's dove just landed on Mount Ararat. It's a good omen.” + </p> + <p> + From sheer force of habit the men had momentarily brightened up at the Old + Man's entrance. But the unblushing exhibition of degrading superstition + shown in the last sentence recalled their just severity. They exchanged + meaning glances. Union Mills uttered hopelessly to himself: “Hell's full + of such omens.” + </p> + <p> + Too occupied with his subject to notice this ominous reception, the Old + Man continued: “I reckon I struck a fresh lead in the new grocery man at + the Crossing. He says he'll let the Judge have a pair of boots on credit, + but he can't send them over here; and considering that the Judge has got + to try them anyway, it don't seem to be asking too much for the Judge to + go over there. He says he'll give us a barrel of pork and a bag of flour + if we'll give him the right of using our tail-race and clean out the lower + end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the work of a Chinaman, and a four days' job,” broke in the Left + Bower. + </p> + <p> + “It took one white man only two hours to clean out a third of it,” + retorted the Old Man triumphantly, “for I pitched in at once with a pick + he let me have on credit, and did that amount of work this morning, and + told him the rest of you boys would finish it this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + A slight gesture from the Right Bower checked an angry exclamation from + the Left. The Old Man did not notice either, but, knitting his smooth + young brow in a paternally reflective fashion, went on: “You'll have to + get a new pair of trousers, Mills, but as he doesn't keep clothing, we'll + have to get some canvas and cut you out a pair. I traded off the beans he + let me have for some tobacco for the Right Bower at the other shop, and + got them to throw in a new pack of cards. These are about played out. + We'll be wanting some brushwood for the fire; there's a heap in the + hollow. Who's going to bring it in? It's the Judge's turn, isn't it? Why, + what's the matter with you all?” + </p> + <p> + The restraint and evident uneasiness of his companions had at last touched + him. He turned his frank young eyes upon them; they glanced helplessly at + each other. Yet his first concern was for them, his first instinct + paternal and protecting. He ran his eyes quickly over them; they were all + there and apparently in their usual condition. “Anything wrong with the + claim?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + Without looking at him the Right Bower rose, leaned against the open door + with his hands behind him and his face towards the landscape, and said, + apparently to the distant prospect: “The claim's played out, the + partnership's played out, and the sooner we skedaddle out of this the + better. If,” he added, turning to the Old Man, “if YOU want to stay, if + you want to do Chinaman's work at Chinaman's wages, if you want to hang on + to the charity of the traders at the Crossing, you can do it, and enjoy + the prospects and the Noah's doves alone. But we're calculatin' to step + out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven't said I wanted to do it ALONE,” protested the Old Man with a + gesture of bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “If these are your general ideas of the partnership,” continued the Right + Bower, clinging to the established hypothesis of the other partners for + support, “it ain't ours, and the only way we can prove it is to stop the + foolishness right here. We calculated to dissolve the partnership and + strike out for ourselves elsewhere. You're no longer responsible for us, + nor we for you. And we reckon it's the square thing to leave you the claim + and the cabin, and all it contains. To prevent any trouble with the + traders, we've drawn up a paper here—” + </p> + <p> + “With a bonus of fifty thousand dollars each down, and the rest to be + settled on my children,” interrupted the Old Man, with a half-uneasy + laugh. “Of course. But—” he stopped suddenly, the blood dropped from + his fresh cheek, and he again glanced quickly round the group. “I don't + think—I—I quite sabe, boys,” he added, with a slight tremor of + voice and lip. “If it's a conundrum, ask me an easier one.” + </p> + <p> + Any lingering doubt he might have had of their meaning was dispelled by + the Judge. “It's about the softest thing you kin drop into, Old Man,” he + said confidentially; “if I hadn't promised the other boys to go with them, + and if I didn't need the best medical advice in Sacramento for my lungs, + I'd just enjoy staying with you.” + </p> + <p> + “It gives a sorter freedom to a young fellow like you, Old Man, like goin' + into the world on your own capital, that every Californian boy hasn't + got,” said Union Mills, patronizingly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it's rather hard papers on us, you know, givin' up everything, + so to speak; but it's for your good, and we ain't goin' back on you,” said + the Left Bower, “are we, boys?” + </p> + <p> + The color had returned to the Old Man's face a little more quickly and + freely than usual. He picked up the hat he had cast down, put it on + carefully over his brown curls, drew the flap down on the side towards his + companions, and put his hands in his pockets. “All right,” he said, in a + slightly altered voice. “When do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “To-day,” answered the Left Bower. “We calculate to take a moonlight + pasear over to the Cross Roads and meet the down stage at about twelve + to-night. There's plenty of time yet,” he added, with a slight laugh; + “it's only three o'clock now.” + </p> + <p> + There was a dead silence. Even the rain withheld its continuous patter, a + dumb, gray film covered the ashes of the hushed hearth. For the first time + the Right Bower exhibited some slight embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon it's held up for a spell,” he said, ostentatiously examining the + weather, “and we might as well take a run round the claim to see if we've + forgotten nothing. Of course, we'll be back again,” he added hastily, + without looking at the Old Man, “before we go, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The others began to look for their hats, but so awkwardly and with such + evident preoccupation of mind that it was not at first discovered that the + Judge had his already on. This raised a laugh, as did also a clumsy + stumble of Union Mills against the pork barrel, although that gentleman + took refuge from his confusion and secured a decent retreat by a gross + exaggeration of his lameness, as he limped after the Right Bower. The + Judge whistled feebly. The Left Bower, in a more ambitious effort to + impart a certain gayety to his exit, stopped on the threshold and said, as + if in arch confidence to his companions, “Darned if the Old Man don't look + two inches higher since he became a proprietor,” laughed patronizingly, + and vanished. + </p> + <p> + If the newly-made proprietor had increased in stature, he had not + otherwise changed his demeanor. He remained in the same attitude until the + last figure disappeared behind the fringe of buckeye that hid the distant + highway. Then he walked slowly to the fire-place, and, leaning against the + chimney, kicked the dying embers together with his foot. Something dropped + and spattered in the film of hot ashes. Surely the rain had not yet + ceased! + </p> + <p> + His high color had already fled except for a spot on either cheek-bone + that lent a brightness to his eyes. He glanced around the cabin. It looked + familiar and yet strange. Rather, it looked strange BECAUSE still + familiar, and therefore incongruous with the new atmosphere that + surrounded it—discordant with the echo of their last meeting, and + painfully accenting the change. There were the four “bunks,” or sleeping + berths, of his companions, each still bearing some traces of the + individuality of its late occupant with a dumb loyalty that seemed to make + their light-hearted defection monstrous. In the dead ashes of the Judge's + pipe, scattered on his shelf, still lived his old fire; in the whittled + and carved edges of the Left Bower's bunk still were the memories of + bygone days of delicious indolence; in the bullet-holes clustered round a + knot of one of the beams there was still the record of the Right Bower's + old-time skill and practice; in the few engravings of female loveliness + stuck upon each headboard there were the proofs of their old extravagant + devotion—all a mute protest to the change. + </p> + <p> + He remembered how, a fatherless, truant schoolboy, he had drifted into + their adventurous, nomadic life, itself a life of grown-up truancy like + his own, and became one of that gypsy family. How they had taken the place + of relations and household in his boyish fancy, filling it with the + unsubstantial pageantry of a child's play at grown-up existence, he knew + only too well. But how, from being a pet and protege, he had gradually and + unconsciously asserted his own individuality and taken upon his younger + shoulders not only a poet's keen appreciation of that life, but its actual + responsibilities and half-childish burdens, he never suspected. He had + fondly believed that he was a neophyte in their ways, a novice in their + charming faith and indolent creed, and they had encouraged it; now their + renunciation of that faith could only be an excuse for a renunciation of + HIM. The poetry that had for two years invested the material and sometimes + even mean details of their existence was too much a part of himself to be + lightly dispelled. The lesson of those ingenuous moralists failed, as such + lessons are apt to fail; their discipline provoked but did not subdue; a + rising indignation, stirred by a sense of injury, mounted to his cheek and + eyes. It was slow to come, but was none the less violent that it had been + preceded by the benumbing shock of shame and pride. + </p> + <p> + I hope I shall not prejudice the reader's sympathies if my duty as a + simple chronicler compels me to state, therefore, that the sober second + thought of this gentle poet was to burn down the cabin on the spot with + all its contents. This yielded to a milder counsel—waiting for the + return of the party, challenging the Right Bower, a duel to the death, + perhaps himself the victim, with a crushing explanation in extremis, “It + seems we are ONE too many. No matter; it is settled now. Farewell!” Dimly + remembering, however, that there was something of this in the last + well-worn novel they had read together, and that his antagonist might + recognize it, or even worse, anticipate it himself, the idea was quickly + rejected. Besides, the opportunity for an apotheosis of self-sacrifice was + past. Nothing remained now but to refuse the proffered bribe of claim and + cabin by letter, for he must not wait their return. He tore a leaf from a + blotted diary, begun and abandoned long since, and essayed to write. + Scrawl after scrawl was torn up, until his fury had cooled down to a + frigid third personality. “Mr. John Ford regrets to inform his late + partners that their tender of house, of furniture,” however, seemed too + inconsistent with the pork-barrel table he was writing on; a more eloquent + renunciation of their offer became frivolous and idiotic from a caricature + of Union Mills, label and all, that appeared suddenly on the other side of + the leaf; and when he at last indited a satisfactory and impassioned + exposition of his feelings, the legible addendum of “Oh, ain't you glad + you're out of the wilderness!”—the forgotten first line of a popular + song, which no scratching would erase—seemed too like an ironical + postscript to be thought of for a moment. He threw aside his pen and cast + the discordant record of past foolish pastime into the dead ashes of the + hearth. + </p> + <p> + How quiet it was. With the cessation of the rain the wind too had gone + down, and scarcely a breath of air came through the open door. He walked + to the threshold and gazed on the hushed prospect. In this listless + attitude he was faintly conscious of a distant reverberation, a mere + phantom of sound—perhaps the explosion of a distant blast in the + hills—that left the silence more marked and oppressive. As he turned + again into the cabin a change seemed to have come over it. It already + looked old and decayed. The loneliness of years of desertion seemed to + have taken possession of it; the atmosphere of dry rot was in the beams + and rafters. To his excited fancy the few disordered blankets and articles + of clothing seemed dropping to pieces; in one of the bunks there was a + hideous resemblance in the longitudinal heap of clothing to a withered and + mummied corpse. So it might look in after years when some passing stranger—but + he stopped. A dread of the place was beginning to creep over him; a dread + of the days to come, when the monotonous sunshine should lay bare the + loneliness of these walls; the long, long days of endless blue and + cloudless, overhanging solitude; summer days when the wearying, incessant + trade winds should sing around that empty shell and voice its desolation. + He gathered together hastily a few articles that were especially his own—rather + that the free communion of the camp, from indifference or accident, had + left wholly to him. He hesitated for a moment over his rifle, but, + scrupulous in his wounded pride, turned away and left the familiar weapon + that in the dark days had so often provided the dinner or breakfast of the + little household. Candor compels me to state that his equipment was not + large nor eminently practical. His scant pack was a light weight for even + his young shoulders, but I fear he thought more of getting away from the + Past than providing for the Future. + </p> + <p> + With this vague but sole purpose he left the cabin, and almost + mechanically turned his steps towards the creek he had crossed that + morning. He knew that by this route he would avoid meeting his companions; + its difficulties and circuitousness would exercise his feverish limbs and + give him time for reflection. He had determined to leave the claim, but + whence he had not yet considered. He reached the bank of the creek where + he had stood two hours before; it seemed to him two years. He looked + curiously at his reflection in one of the broad pools of overflow, and + fancied he looked older. He watched the rush and outset of the turbid + current hurrying to meet the South Fork, and to eventually lose itself in + the yellow Sacramento. Even in his preoccupation he was impressed with a + likeness to himself and his companions in this flood that had burst its + peaceful boundaries. In the drifting fragments of one of their forgotten + flumes washed from the bank, he fancied he saw an omen of the + disintegration and decay of the Lone Star claim. + </p> + <p> + The strange hush in the air that he had noticed before—a calm so + inconsistent with that hour and the season as to seem portentous—became + more marked in contrast to the feverish rush of the turbulent + water-course. A few clouds lazily huddled in the west apparently had gone + to rest with the sun on beds of somnolent poppies. There was a gleam as of + golden water everywhere along the horizon, washing out the cold snowpeaks, + and drowning even the rising moon. The creek caught it here and there, + until, in grim irony, it seemed to bear their broken sluice-boxes and + useless engines on the very Pactolian stream they had been hopefully + created to direct and carry. But by some peculiar trick of the atmosphere, + the perfect plenitude of that golden sunset glory was lavished on the + rugged sides and tangled crest of the Lone Star mountain. That isolated + peak, the landmark of their claim, the gaunt monument of their folly, + transfigured in the evening splendor, kept its radiance unquenched long + after the glow had fallen from the encompassing skies, and when at last + the rising moon, step by step, put out the fires along the winding valley + and plains, and crept up the bosky sides of the canyon, the vanishing + sunset was lost only to reappear as a golden crown. + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the young man were fixed upon it with more than a momentary + picturesque interest. It had been the favorite ground of his prospecting + exploits, its lowest flank had been scarred in the old enthusiastic days + with hydraulic engines, or pierced with shafts, but its central position + in the claim and its superior height had always given it a commanding view + of the extent of their valley and its approaches, and it was this + practical pre-eminence that alone attracted him at that moment. He knew + that from its crest he would be able to distinguish the figures of his + companions, as they crossed the valley near the cabin, in the growing + moonlight. Thus he could avoid encountering them on his way to the high + road, and yet see them, perhaps, for the last time. Even in his sense of + injury there was a strange satisfaction in the thought. + </p> + <p> + The ascent was toilsome, but familiar. All along the dim trail he was + accompanied by gentler memories of the past, that seemed, like the faint + odor of spiced leaves and fragrant grasses wet with the rain and crushed + beneath his ascending tread, to exhale the sweeter perfume in his effort + to subdue or rise above them. There was the thicket of manzanita, where + they had broken noonday bread together; here was the rock beside their + maiden shaft, where they had poured a wild libation in boyish enthusiasm + of success; and here the ledge where their first flag, a red shirt + heroically sacrificed, was displayed from a long-handled shovel to the + gaze of admirers below. When he at last reached the summit, the mysterious + hush was still in the air, as if in breathless sympathy with his + expedition. In the west, the plain was faintly illuminated, but disclosed + no moving figures. He turned towards the rising moon, and moved slowly to + the eastern edge. Suddenly he stopped. Another step would have been his + last! He stood upon the crumbling edge of a precipice. A landslip had + taken place on the eastern flank, leaving the gaunt ribs and fleshless + bones of Lone Star mountain bare in the moonlight. He understood now the + strange rumble and reverberation he had heard; he understood now the + strange hush of bird and beast in brake and thicket! + </p> + <p> + Although a single rapid glance convinced him that the slide had taken + place in an unfrequented part of the mountain, above an inaccessible + canyon, and reflection assured him his companions could not have reached + that distance when it took place, a feverish impulse led him to descend a + few rods in the track of the avalanche. The frequent recurrence of outcrop + and angle made this comparatively easy. Here he called aloud; the feeble + echo of his own voice seemed only a dull impertinence to the significant + silence. He turned to reascend; the furrowed flank of the mountain before + him lay full in the moonlight. To his excited fancy, a dozen luminous + star-like points in the rocky crevices started into life as he faced them. + Throwing his arm over the ledge above him, he supported himself for a + moment by what appeared to be a projection of the solid rock. It trembled + slightly. As he raised himself to its level, his heart stopped beating. It + was simply a fragment detached from the outcrop, lying loosely on the + ledge but upholding him by ITS OWN WEIGHT ONLY. He examined it with + trembling fingers; the encumbering soil fell from its sides and left its + smoothed and worn protuberances glistening in the moonlight. It was virgin + gold! + </p> + <p> + Looking back upon that moment afterwards, he remembered that he was not + dazed, dazzled, or startled. It did not come to him as a discovery or an + accident, a stroke of chance or a caprice of fortune. He saw it all in + that supreme moment; Nature had worked out their poor deduction. What + their feeble engines had essayed spasmodically and helplessly against the + curtain of soil that hid the treasure, the elements had achieved with + mightier but more patient forces. The slow sapping of the winter rains had + loosened the soil from the auriferous rock, even while the swollen stream + was carrying their impotent and shattered engines to the sea. + </p> + <p> + What mattered that his single arm could not lift the treasure he had + found! What mattered that to unfix those glittering stars would still tax + both skill and patience! The work was done, the goal was reached! even his + boyish impatience was content with that. He rose slowly to his feet, + unstrapped his long-handled shovel from his back, secured it in the + crevice, and quietly regained the summit. + </p> + <p> + It was all his own! His own by right of discovery under the law of the + land, and without accepting a favor from THEM. He recalled even the fact + that it was HIS prospecting on the mountain that first suggested the + existence of gold in the outcrop and the use of the hydraulic. HE had + never abandoned that belief, whatever the others had done. He dwelt + somewhat indignantly to himself on this circumstance, and half + unconsciously faced defiantly towards the plain below. But it was sleeping + peacefully in the full sight of the moon, without life or motion. He + looked at the stars; it was still far from midnight. His companions had no + doubt long since returned to the cabin to prepare for their midnight + journey. They were discussing him, perhaps laughing at him, or worse, + pitying him and his bargain. Yet here was his bargain! A slight laugh he + gave vent to here startled him a little, it sounded so hard and so + unmirthful, and so unlike, as he oddly fancied, what he really THOUGHT. + But WHAT did he think? + </p> + <p> + Nothing mean or revengeful; no, they never would say THAT. When he had + taken out all the surface gold and put the mine in working order, he would + send them each a draft for a thousand dollars. Of course, if they were + ever ill or poor he would do more. One of the first, the very first things + he should do would be to send them each a handsome gun and tell them that + he only asked in return the old-fashioned rifle that once was his. Looking + back at the moment in after years, he wondered that, with this exception, + he made no plans for his own future, or the way he should dispose of his + newly acquired wealth. This was the more singular as it had been the + custom of the five partners to lie awake at night, audibly comparing with + each other what they would do in case they made a strike. He remembered + how, Alnaschar-like, they nearly separated once over a difference in the + disposal of a hundred thousand dollars that they never had, nor expected + to have. He remembered how Union Mills always began his career as a + millionnaire by a “square meal” at Delmonico's; how the Right Bower's + initial step was always a trip home “to see his mother”; how the Left + Bower would immediately placate the parents of his beloved with priceless + gifts (it may be parenthetically remarked that the parents and the beloved + one were as hypothetical as the fortune); and how the Judge would make his + first start as a capitalist by breaking a certain faro bank in Sacramento. + He himself had been equally eloquent in extravagant fancy in those + penniless days, he who now was quite cold and impassive beside the more + extravagant reality. + </p> + <p> + How different it might have been! If they had only waited a day longer! if + they had only broken their resolves to him kindly and parted in good will! + How he would long ere this have rushed to greet them with the joyful news! + How they would have danced around it, sung themselves hoarse, laughed down + their enemies, and run up the flag triumphantly on the summit of the Lone + Star Mountain! How they would have crowned him “the Old Man,” “the hero of + the camp!” How he would have told them the whole story; how some strange + instinct had impelled him to ascend the summit, and how another step on + that summit would have precipitated him into the canyon! And how—but + what if somebody else, Union Mills or the Judge, had been the first + discoverer? Might they not have meanly kept the secret from him; have + selfishly helped themselves and done— + </p> + <p> + “What YOU are doing now.” + </p> + <p> + The hot blood rushed to his cheek, as if a strange voice were at his ear. + For a moment he could not believe that it came from his own pale lips + until he found himself speaking. He rose to his feet, tingling with shame, + and began hurriedly to descend the mountain. + </p> + <p> + He would go to them, tell them of his discovery, let them give him his + share, and leave them forever. It was the only thing to be done, strange + that he had not thought of it at once. Yet it was hard, very hard and + cruel to be forced to meet them again. What had he done to suffer this + mortification? For a moment he actually hated this vulgar treasure that + had forever buried under its gross ponderability the light and careless + past, and utterly crushed out the poetry of their old, indolent, happy + existence. + </p> + <p> + He was sure to find them waiting at the Cross Roads where the coach came + past. It was three miles away, yet he could get there in time if he + hastened. It was a wise and practical conclusion of his evening's work, a + lame and impotent conclusion to his evening's indignation. No matter. They + would perhaps at first think he had come to weakly follow them, perhaps + they would at first doubt his story. No matter. He bit his lips to keep + down the foolish rising tears, but still went blindly forward. + </p> + <p> + He saw not the beautiful night, cradled in the dark hills, swathed in + luminous mists, and hushed in the awe of its own loveliness! Here and + there the moon had laid her calm face on lake and overflow, and gone to + sleep embracing them, until the whole plain seemed to be lifted into + infinite quiet. Walking on as in a dream, the black, impenetrable barriers + of skirting thickets opened and gave way to vague distances that it + appeared impossible to reach, dim vistas that seemed unapproachable. + Gradually he seemed himself to become a part of the mysterious night. He + was becoming as pulseless, as calm, as passionless. + </p> + <p> + What was that? A shot in the direction of the cabin! yet so faint, so + echoless, so ineffective in the vast silence, that he would have thought + it his fancy but for the strange instinctive jar upon his sensitive + nerves. Was it an accident, or was it an intentional signal to him? He + stopped; it was not repeated, the silence reasserted itself, but this time + with an ominous death-like suggestion. A sudden and terrible thought + crossed his mind. He cast aside his pack and all encumbering weight, took + a deep breath, lowered his head and darted like a deer in the direction of + the challenge. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The exodus of the seceding partners of the Lone Star claim had been + scarcely an imposing one. For the first five minutes after quitting the + cabin, the procession was straggling and vagabond. Unwonted exertion had + exaggerated the lameness of some, and feebleness of moral purpose had + predisposed the others to obtrusive musical exhibition. Union Mills limped + and whistled with affected abstraction; the Judge whistled and limped with + affected earnestness. The Right Bower led the way with some show of + definite design; the Left Bower followed with his hands in his pockets. + The two feebler natures, drawn together in unconscious sympathy, looked + vaguely at each other for support. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the Judge, suddenly, as if triumphantly concluding an + argument, “there ain't anything better for a young fellow than + independence. Nature, so to speak, points the way. Look at the animals.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a skunk hereabouts,” said Union Mills, who was supposed to be + gifted with aristocratically sensitive nostrils, “within ten miles of this + place; like as not crossing the Ridge. It's always my luck to happen out + just at such times. I don't see the necessity anyhow of trapesing round + the claim now, if we calculate to leave it to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Both men waited to observe if the suggestion was taken up by the Right and + Left Bower moodily plodding ahead. No response following, the Judge + shamelessly abandoned his companion. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't stand snoopin' round instead of lettin' the Old Man get used + to the idea alone? No; I could see all along that he was takin' it in, + takin' it in, kindly but slowly, and I reckoned the best thing for us to + do was to git up and git until he'd got round it.” The Judge's voice was + slightly raised for the benefit of the two before him. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't he say,” remarked the Right Bower, stopping suddenly and facing + the others, “didn't he say that that new trader was goin' to let him have + some provisions anyway?” + </p> + <p> + Union Mills turned appealingly to the Judge; that gentleman was forced to + reply, “Yes; I remember distinctly he said it. It was one of the things I + was particular about on his account,” responded the Judge, with the air of + having arranged it all himself with the new trader. “I remember I was + easier in my mind about it.” + </p> + <p> + “But didn't he say,” queried the Left Bower, also stopping short, “suthin' + about it's being contingent on our doing some work on the race?” + </p> + <p> + The Judge turned for support to Union Mills, who, however, under the + hollow pretense of preparing for a long conference, had luxuriously seated + himself on a stump. The Judge sat down also, and replied, hesitatingly, + “Well, yes! Us or him.” + </p> + <p> + “Us or him,” repeated the Right Bower, with gloomy irony. “And you ain't + quite clear in your mind, are you, if YOU haven't done the work already? + You're just killing yourself with this spontaneous, promiscuous, and + premature overwork; that's what's the matter with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I heard somebody say suthin' about it's being a Chinaman's + three-day job,” interpolated the Left Bower, with equal irony, “but I + ain't quite clear in my mind about that.” + </p> + <p> + “It'll be a sorter distraction for the Old Man,” said Union Mills, feebly—“kinder + take his mind off his loneliness.” + </p> + <p> + Nobody taking the least notice of the remark, union Mills stretched out + his legs more comfortably and took out his pipe. He had scarcely done so + when the Right Bower, wheeling suddenly, set off in the direction of the + creek. The Left Bower, after a slight pause, followed without a word. The + Judge, wisely conceiving it better to join the stronger party, ran feebly + after him, and left Union Mills to bring up a weak and vacillating rear. + </p> + <p> + Their course, diverging from Lone Star Mountain, led them now directly to + the bend of the creek, the base of their old ineffectual operations. Here + was the beginning of the famous tail-race that skirted the new trader's + claim, and then lost its way in a swampy hollow. It was choked with + debris; a thin, yellow stream that once ran through it seemed to have + stopped work when they did, and gone into greenish liquidation. + </p> + <p> + They had scarcely spoken during this brief journey, and had received no + other explanation from the Right Bower, who led them, than that afforded + by his mute example when he reached the race. Leaping into it without a + word, he at once began to clear away the broken timbers and driftwood. + Fired by the spectacle of what appeared to be a new and utterly frivolous + game, the men gayly leaped after him, and were soon engaged in a + fascinating struggle with the impeded race. The Judge forgot his lameness + in springing over a broken sluice-box; Union Mills forgot his whistle in a + happy imitation of a Chinese coolie's song. Nevertheless, after ten + minutes of this mild dissipation, the pastime flagged; Union Mills was + beginning to rub his leg when a distant rumble shook the earth. The men + looked at each other; the diversion was complete; a languid discussion of + the probabilities of its being an earthquake or a blast followed, in the + midst of which the Right Bower, who was working a little in advance of the + others, uttered a warning cry and leaped from the race. His companions had + barely time to follow before a sudden and inexplicable rise in the waters + of the creek sent a swift irruption of the flood through the race. In an + instant its choked and impeded channel was cleared, the race was free, and + the scattered debris of logs and timber floated upon its easy current. + Quick to take advantage of this labor-saving phenomenon, the Lone Star + partners sprang into the water, and by disentangling and directing the + eddying fragments completed their work. + </p> + <p> + “The Old Man oughter been here to see this,” said the Left Bower; “it's + just one o' them climaxes of poetic justice he's always huntin' up. It's + easy to see what's happened. One o' them high-toned shrimps over in the + Excelsior claim has put a blast in too near the creek. He's tumbled the + bank into the creek and sent the back water down here just to wash out our + race. That's what I call poetical retribution.” + </p> + <p> + “And who was it advised us to dam the creek below the race and make it do + the thing?” asked the Right Bower, moodily. + </p> + <p> + “That was one of the Old Man's ideas, I reckon,” said the Left Bower, + dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “And you remember,” broke in the Judge with animation, “I allus said, 'Go + slow, go slow. You just hold on and suthin' will happen.' And,” he added, + triumphantly, “you see suthin' has happened. I don't want to take credit + to myself, but I reckoned on them Excelsior boys bein' fools, and took the + chances.” + </p> + <p> + “And what if I happen to know that the Excelsior boys ain't blastin' + to-day?” said the Right Bower, sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + As the Judge had evidently based his hypothesis on the alleged fact of a + blast, he deftly evaded the point. “I ain't saying the Old Man's head + ain't level on some things; he wants a little more sabe of the world. He's + improved a good deal in euchre lately, and in poker—well! he's got + that sorter dreamy, listenin'-to-the-angels kind o' way that you can't + exactly tell whether he's bluffin' or has got a full hand. Hasn't he?” he + asked, appealing to Union Mills. + </p> + <p> + But that gentleman, who had been watching the dark face of the Right + Bower, preferred to take what he believed to be his cue from him. “That + ain't the question,” he said virtuously; “we ain't takin' this step to + make a card sharp out of him. We're not doin' Chinamen's work in this race + to-day for that. No, sir! We're teachin' him to paddle his own canoe.” Not + finding the sympathetic response he looked for in the Right Bower's face, + he turned to the Left. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon we were teachin' him our canoe was too full,” was the Left + Bower's unexpected reply. “That's about the size of it.” + </p> + <p> + The Right Bower shot a rapid glance under his brows at his brother. The + latter, with his hands in his pockets, stared unconsciously at the rushing + waters, and then quietly turned away. The Right Bower followed him. “Are + you goin' back on us?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Are you?” responded the other. + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “NO, then it is,” returned the Left Bower quietly. The elder brother + hesitated in half-angry embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Then what did you mean by saying we reckoned our canoe was too full?” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't that our idea?” returned the Left Bower, indifferently. Confounded + by this practical expression of his own unformulated good intentions, the + Right Bower was staggered. + </p> + <p> + “Speakin' of the Old Man,” broke in the Judge, with characteristic + infelicity, “I reckon he'll sort o' miss us, times like these. We were + allers runnin' him and bedevilin' him, after work, just to get him excited + and amusin', and he'll kinder miss that sort o' stimulatin'. I reckon + we'll miss it too, somewhat. Don't you remember, boys, the night we put up + that little sell on him and made him believe we'd struck it rich in the + bank of the creek, and got him so conceited, he wanted to go off and + settle all our debts at once?” + </p> + <p> + “And how I came bustin' into the cabin with a pan full of iron pyrites and + black sand,” chuckled Union Mills, continuing the reminiscences, “and how + them big gray eyes of his nearly bulged out of his head. Well, it's some + satisfaction to know we did our duty by the young fellow even in those + little things.” He turned for confirmation of their general + disinterestedness to the Right Bower, but he was already striding away, + uneasily conscious of the lazy following of the Left Bower, like a laggard + conscience at his back. This movement again threw Union Mills and the + Judge into feeble complicity in the rear, as the procession slowly + straggled homeward from the creek. + </p> + <p> + Night had fallen. Their way lay through the shadow of Lone Star Mountain, + deepened here and there by the slight, bosky ridges that, starting from + its base, crept across the plain like vast roots of its swelling trunk. + The shadows were growing blacker as the moon began to assert itself over + the rest of the valley, when the Right Bower halted suddenly on one of + these ridges. The Left Bower lounged up to him, and stopped also, while + the two others came up and completed the group. + </p> + <p> + “There's no light in the shanty,” said the Right Bower in a low voice, + half to himself and, half in answer to their inquiring attitude. The men + followed the direction of his finger. In the distance the black outline of + the Lone Star cabin stood out distinctly in the illumined space. There was + the blank, sightless, external glitter of moonlight on its two windows + that seemed to reflect its dim vacancy, empty alike of light, and warmth, + and motion. + </p> + <p> + “That's sing'lar,” said the Judge in an awed whisper. + </p> + <p> + The Left Bower, by simply altering the position of his hands in his + trousers' pockets, managed to suggest that he knew perfectly the meaning + of it, had always known it; but that being now, so to speak, in the hands + of Fate, he was callous to it. This much, at least, the elder brother read + in his attitude. But anxiety at that moment was the controlling impulse of + the Right Bower, as a certain superstitious remorse was the instinct of + the two others, and without heeding the cynic, the three started at a + rapid pace for the cabin. + </p> + <p> + They reached it silently, as the moon, now riding high in the heavens, + seemed to touch it with the tender grace and hushed repose of a tomb. It + was with something of this feeling that the Right Bower softly pushed open + the door; it was with something of this dread that the two others lingered + on the threshold, until the Right Bower, after vainly trying to stir the + dead embers on the hearth into life with his foot, struck a match and lit + their solitary candle. Its flickering light revealed the familiar interior + unchanged in aught but one thing. The bunk that the Old Man had occupied + was stripped of its blankets; the few cheap ornaments and photographs were + gone; the rude poverty of the bare boards and scant pallet looked up at + them unrelieved by the bright face and gracious youth that had once made + them tolerable. In the grim irony of that exposure, their own penury was + doubly conscious. The little knapsack, the teacup and coffee-pot that had + hung near his bed, were gone also. The most indignant protest, the most + pathetic of the letters he had composed and rejected, whose torn fragments + still littered the floor, could never have spoken with the eloquence of + this empty space! The men exchanged no words: the solitude of the cabin, + instead of drawing them together, seemed to isolate each one in selfish + distrust of the others. Even the unthinking garrulity of Union Mills and + the Judge was checked. A moment later, when the Left Bower entered the + cabin, his presence was scarcely noticed. + </p> + <p> + The silence was broken by a joyous exclamation from the Judge. He had + discovered the Old Man's rifle in the corner, where it had been at first + overlooked. “He ain't gone yet, gentlemen—for yer's his rifle,” he + broke in, with a feverish return of volubility, and a high excited + falsetto. “He wouldn't have left this behind. No! I knowed it from the + first. He's just outside a bit, foraging for wood and water. No, sir! + Coming along here I said to Union Mills—didn't I?—'Bet your + life the Old Man's not far off, even if he ain't in the cabin.' Why, the + moment I stepped foot—” + </p> + <p> + “And I said coming along,” interrupted Union Mills, with equally reviving + mendacity, “Like as not he's hangin' round yer and lyin' low just to give + us a surprise.' He! ho!” + </p> + <p> + “He's gone for good, and he left that rifle here on purpose,” said the + Left Bower in a low voice, taking the weapon almost tenderly in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Drop it, then!” said the Right Bower. The voice was that of his brother, + but suddenly changed with passion. The two other partners instinctively + drew back in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “I'll not leave it here for the first comer,” said the Left Bower, calmly, + “because we've been fools and he too. It's too good a weapon for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Drop it, I say!” said the Right Bower, with a savage stride towards him. + </p> + <p> + The younger brother brought the rifle to a half charge with a white face + but a steady eye. + </p> + <p> + “Stop where you are!” he said collectedly. “Don't row with ME, because you + haven't either the grit to stick to your ideas or the heart to confess + them wrong. We've followed your lead, and—here we are! The camp's + broken up—the Old Man's gone—and we're going. And as for the d——d + rifle—” + </p> + <p> + “Drop it, do you hear!” shouted the Right Bower, clinging to that one idea + with the blind pertinacity of rage and a losing cause. “Drop it!” + </p> + <p> + The Left Bower drew back, but his brother had seized the barrel with both + hands. There was a momentary struggle, a flash through the half-lighted + cabin, and a shattering report. The two men fell back from each other; the + rifle dropped on the floor between them. + </p> + <p> + The whole thing was over so quickly that the other two partners had not + had time to obey their common impulse to separate them, and consequently + even now could scarcely understand what had passed. It was over so quickly + that the two actors themselves walked back to their places, scarcely + realizing their own act. + </p> + <p> + A dead silence followed. The Judge and Union Mills looked at each other in + dazed astonishment, and then nervously set about their former habits, + apparently in that fatuous belief common to such natures, that they were + ignoring a painful situation. The Judge drew the barrel towards him, + picked up the cards, and began mechanically to “make a patience,” on which + Union Mills gazed with ostentatious interest, but with eyes furtively + conscious of the rigid figure of the Right Bower by the chimney and the + abstracted face of the Left Bower at the door. Ten minutes had passed in + this occupation, the Judge and Union Mills conversing in the furtive + whispers of children unavoidably but fascinatedly present at a family + quarrel, when a light step was heard upon the crackling brushwood outside, + and the bright panting face of the Old Man appeared upon the threshold. + There was a shout of joy; in another moment he was half-buried in the + bosom of the Right Bower's shirt, half-dragged into the lap of the Judge, + upsetting the barrel, and completely encompassed by the Left Bower and + Union Mills. With the enthusiastic utterance of his name the spell was + broken. + </p> + <p> + Happily unconscious of the previous excitement that had provoked this + spontaneous unanimity of greeting, the Old Man, equally relieved, at once + broke into a feverish announcement of his discovery. He painted the + details, with, I fear, a slight exaggeration of coloring, due partly to + his own excitement, and partly to justify their own. But he was strangely + conscious that these bankrupt men appeared less elated with their personal + interest in their stroke of fortune than with his own success. “I told you + he'd do it,” said the Judge, with a reckless unscrupulousness of statement + that carried everybody with it; “look at him! the game little pup.” “Oh + no! he ain't the right breed, is he?” echoed Union Mills with arch irony, + while the Right and Left Bower, grasping either hand, pressed a proud but + silent greeting that was half new to him, but wholly delicious. It was not + without difficulty that he could at last prevail upon them to return with + him to the scene of his discovery, or even then restrain them from + attempting to carry him thither on their shoulders on the plea of his + previous prolonged exertions. Once only there was a momentary + embarrassment. “Then you fired that shot to bring me back?” said the Old + Man, gratefully. In the awkward silence that followed, the hands of the + two brothers sought and grasped each other, penitently. “Yes,” interposed + the Judge, with delicate tact, “ye see the Right and Left Bower almost + quarreled to see which should be the first to fire for ye. I disremember + which did”—“I never touched the trigger,” said the Left Bower, + hastily. With a hurried backward kick, the Judge resumed, “It went off + sorter spontaneous.” + </p> + <p> + The difference in the sentiment of the procession that once more issued + from the Lone Star cabin did not fail to show itself in each individual + partner according to his temperament. The subtle tact of Union Mills, + however, in expressing an awakened respect for their fortunate partner by + addressing him, as if unconsciously, as “Mr. Ford” was at first + discomposing, but even this was forgotten in their breathless excitement + as they neared the base of the mountain. When they had crossed the creek + the Right Bower stopped reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “You say you heard the slide come down before you left the cabin?” he + said, turning to the Old Man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I did not know then what it was. It was about an hour and a half + after you left,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Then look here, boys,” continued the Right Bower with superstitious + exultation; “it was the SLIDE that tumbled into the creek, overflowed it, + and helped US clear out the race!” + </p> + <p> + It seemed so clear that Providence had taken the partners of the Lone Star + directly in hand that they faced the toilsome ascent of the mountain with + the assurance of conquerors. They paused only on the summit to allow the + Old Man to lead the way to the slope that held their treasure. He advanced + cautiously to the edge of the crumbling cliff, stopped, looked bewildered, + advanced again, and then remained white and immovable. In an instant the + Right Bower was at his side. + </p> + <p> + “Is anything the matter? Don't—don't look so, Old Man, for God's + sake!” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man pointed to the dull, smooth, black side of the mountain, + without a crag, break, or protuberance, and said with ashen lips:— + </p> + <p> + “It's gone!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + And it was gone! A SECOND slide had taken place, stripping the flank of + the mountain, and burying the treasure and the weak implement that had + marked its side deep under a chaos of rock and debris at its base. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God!” The blank faces of his companions turned quickly to the Right + Bower. “Thank God!” he repeated, with his arm round the neck of the Old + Man. “Had he stayed behind he would have been buried too.” He paused, and, + pointing solemnly to the depths below, said, “And thank God for showing us + where we may yet labor for it in hope and patience like honest men.” + </p> + <p> + The men silently bowed their heads and slowly descended the mountain. But + when they had reached the plain one of them called out to the others to + watch a star that seemed to be rising and moving towards them over the + hushed and sleeping valley. + </p> + <p> + “It's only the stage coach, boys,” said the Left Bower, smiling; “the + coach that was to take us away.” + </p> + <p> + In the security of their new-found fraternity they resolved to wait and + see it pass. As it swept by with flash of light, beat of hoofs, and jingle + of harness, the only real presence in the dreamy landscape, the driver + shouted a hoarse greeting to the phantom partners, audible only to the + Judge, who was nearest the vehicle. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear—DID you hear what he said, boys?” he gasped, turning + to his companions. “No! Shake hands all round, boys! God bless you all, + boys! To think we didn't know it all this while!” + </p> + <p> + “Know what?” + </p> + <p> + “Merry Christmas!” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Frontier, by Bret Harte + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE FRONTIER *** + +***** This file should be named 2574-h.htm or 2574-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/7/2574/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: On the Frontier + +Author: Bret Harte + +Release Date: May 18, 2006 [EBook #2574] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE FRONTIER *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson + + + + + +ON THE FRONTIER + +By Bret Harte + + + + +CONTENTS + + +AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL + +A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE + +LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN + + + + +AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +It was noon of the 10th of August, 1838. The monotonous coast line +between Monterey and San Diego had set its hard outlines against the +steady glare of the Californian sky and the metallic glitter of +the Pacific Ocean. The weary succession of rounded, dome-like hills +obliterated all sense of distance; the rare whaling vessel or still +rarer trader, drifting past, saw no change in these rusty undulations, +barren of distinguishing peak or headland, and bald of wooded crest or +timbered ravine. The withered ranks of wild oats gave a dull procession +of uniform color to the hills, unbroken by any relief of shadow in their +smooth, round curves. As far as the eye could reach, sea and shore met +in one bleak monotony, flecked by no passing cloud, stirred by no sign +of life or motion. Even sound was absent; the Angelus, rung from the +invisible Mission tower far inland, was driven back again by the steady +northwest trades, that for half the year had swept the coast line and +left it abraded of all umbrage and color. + +But even this monotony soon gave way to a change and another monotony as +uniform and depressing. The western horizon, slowly contracting before +a wall of vapor, by four o'clock had become a mere cold, steely strip of +sea, into which gradually the northern trend of the coast faded and was +lost. As the fog stole with soft step southward, all distance, space, +character, and locality again vanished; the hills upon which the sun +still shone bore the same monotonous outlines as those just wiped into +space. Last of all, before the red sun sank like the descending host, +it gleamed upon the sails of a trading vessel close in shore. It was the +last object visible. A damp breath breathed upon it, a soft hand passed +over the slate, the sharp pencilling of the picture faded and became a +confused gray cloud. + +The wind and waves, too, went down in the fog; the now invisible and +hushed breakers occasionally sent the surf over the sand in a quick +whisper, with grave intervals of silence, but with no continuous murmur +as before. In a curving bight of the shore the creaking of oars in their +rowlocks began to be distinctly heard, but the boat itself, although +apparently only its length from the sands, was invisible. + +"Steady, now; way enough." The voice came from the sea, and was low, as +if unconsciously affected by the fog. "Silence!" + +The sound of a keel grating the sand was followed by the order, "Stern +all!" from the invisible speaker. + +"Shall we beach her?" asked another vague voice. + +"Not yet. Hail again, and all together." + +"Ah hoy--oi--oi--oy!" + +There were four voices, but the hail appeared weak and ineffectual, like +a cry in a dream, and seemed hardly to reach beyond the surf before +it was suffocated in the creeping cloud. A silence followed, but no +response. + +"It's no use to beach her and go ashore until we find the boat," said +the first voice, gravely; "and we'll do that if the current has brought +her here. Are you sure you've got the right bearings?" + +"As near as a man could off a shore with not a blasted pint to take his +bearings by." + +There was a long silence again, broken only by the occasional dip of +oars, keeping the invisible boat-head to the sea. + +"Take my word for it, lads, it's the last we'll see of that boat again, +or of Jack Cranch, or the captain's baby." + +"It DOES look mighty queer that the painter should slip. Jack Cranch +ain't the man to tie a granny knot." + +"Silence!" said the invisible leader. "Listen." + +A hail, so faint and uncertain that it might have been the +long-deferred, far-off echo of their own, came from the sea, abreast of +them. + +"It's the captain. He hasn't found anything, or he couldn't be so far +north. Hark!" + +The hail was repeated again faintly, dreamily. To the seamen's trained +ears it seemed to have an intelligent significance, for the first voice +gravely responded, "Aye, aye!" and then said softly, "Oars." + +The word was followed by a splash. The oars clicked sharply and +simultaneously in the rowlocks, then more faintly, then still fainter, +and then passed out into the darkness. + +The silence and shadow both fell together; for hours sea and shore were +impenetrable. Yet at times the air was softly moved and troubled, the +surrounding gloom faintly lightened as with a misty dawn, and then was +dark again; or drowsy, far-off cries and confused noises seemed to grow +out of the silence, and, when they had attracted the weary ear, sank +away as in a mocking dream, and showed themselves unreal. Nebulous +gatherings in the fog seemed to indicate stationary objects that, even +as one gazed, moved away; the recurring lap and ripple on the shingle +sometimes took upon itself the semblance of faint articulate laughter +or spoken words. But towards morning a certain monotonous grating on the +sand, that had for many minutes alternately cheated and piqued the ear, +asserted itself more strongly, and a moving, vacillating shadow in the +gloom became an opaque object on the shore. + +With the first rays of the morning light the fog lifted. As the undraped +hills one by one bared their cold bosoms to the sun, the long line of +coast struggled back to life again. Everything was unchanged, except +that a stranded boat lay upon the sands, and in its stern sheets a +sleeping child. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The 10th of August, 1852, brought little change to the dull monotony +of wind, fog, and treeless coast line. Only the sea was occasionally +flecked with racing sails that outstripped the old, slow-creeping +trader, or was at times streaked and blurred with the trailing smoke of +a steamer. There were a few strange footprints on those virgin sands, +and a fresh track, that led from the beach over the rounded hills, +dropped into the bosky recesses of a hidden valley beyond the coast +range. + +It was here that the refectory windows of the Mission of San Carmel had +for years looked upon the reverse of that monotonous picture presented +to the sea. It was here that the trade winds, shorn of their fury and +strength in the heated, oven-like air that rose from the valley, lost +their weary way in the tangled recesses of the wooded slopes, and +breathed their last at the foot of the stone cross before the Mission. +It was on the crest of those slopes that the fog halted and walled +in the sun-illumined plain below; it was in this plain that limitless +fields of grain clothed the fat adobe soil; here the Mission garden +smiled over its hedges of fruitful vines, and through the leaves of fig +and gnarled pear trees: and it was here that Father Pedro had lived for +fifty years, found the prospect good, and had smiled also. + +Father Pedro's smile was rare. He was not a Las Casas, nor a Junipero +Serra, but he had the deep seriousness of all disciples laden with the +responsible wording of a gospel not their own. And his smile had an +ecclesiastical as well as a human significance, the pleasantest object +in his prospect being the fair and curly head of his boy acolyte and +chorister, Francisco, which appeared among the vines, and his sweetest +pastoral music, the high soprano humming of a chant with which the boy +accompanied his gardening. + +Suddenly the acolyte's chant changed to a cry of terror. Running rapidly +to Father Pedro's side, he grasped his sotana, and even tried to hide +his curls among its folds. + +"'St! 'st!" said the Padre, disengaging himself with some impatience. +"What new alarm is this? Is it Luzbel hiding among our Catalan vines, or +one of those heathen Americanos from Monterey? Speak!" + +"Neither, holy father," said the boy, the color struggling back into his +pale cheeks, and an apologetic, bashful smile lighting his clear eyes. +"Neither; but oh! such a gross, lethargic toad! And it almost leaped +upon me." + +"A toad leaped upon thee!" repeated the good father with evident +vexation. "What next? I tell thee, child, those foolish fears are most +unmeet for thee, and must be overcome, if necessary, with prayer and +penance. Frightened by a toad! Blood of the Martyrs! 'Tis like any +foolish girl!" + +Father Pedro stopped and coughed. + +"I am saying that no Christian child should shrink from any of God's +harmless creatures. And only last week thou wast disdainful of poor +Murieta's pig, forgetting that San Antonio himself did elect one his +faithful companion, even in glory." + +"Yes, but it was so fat, and so uncleanly, holy father," replied the +young acolyte, "and it smelt so." + +"Smelt so?" echoed the father doubtfully. "Have a care, child, that this +is not luxuriousness of the senses. I have noticed of late you gather +overmuch of roses and syringa, excellent in their way and in moderation, +but still not to be compared with the flower of Holy Church, the lily." + +"But lilies don't look well on the refectory table, and against the +adobe wall," returned the acolyte, with a pout of a spoilt child; "and +surely the flowers cannot help being sweet, any more than myrrh or +incense. And I am not frightened of the heathen Americanos either NOW. +There was a small one in the garden yesterday, a boy like me, and he +spoke kindly and with a pleasant face." + +"What said he to thee, child?" asked Father Pedro, anxiously. + +"Nay, the matter of his speech I could not understand," laughed the boy, +"but the manner was as gentle as thine, holy father." + +"'St, child," said the Padre impatiently. "Thy likings are as +unreasonable as thy fears. Besides, have I not told thee it ill becomes +a child of Christ to chatter with those sons of Belial? But canst thou +not repeat the words--the WORDS he said?" he continued suspiciously. + +"'Tis a harsh tongue the Americanos speak in their throat," replied the +boy. "But he said 'Devilishnisse' and 'pretty-as-a-girl,' and looked at +me." + +The good father made the boy repeat the words gravely, and as gravely +repeated them after him with infinite simplicity. "They are but +heretical words," he replied in answer to the boy's inquiring look; +"it is well you understand not English. Enough. Run away, child, and be +ready for the Angelus. I will commune with myself awhile under the pear +trees." + +Glad to escape so easily, the young acolyte disappeared down the alley +of fig trees, not without a furtive look at the patches of chickweed +around their roots, the possible ambuscade of creeping or saltant +vermin. The good priest heaved a sigh and glanced round the darkening +prospect. The sun had already disappeared over the mountain wall that +lay between him and the sea, rimmed with a faint white line of outlying +fog. A cool zephyr fanned his cheek; it was the dying breath of the +vientos generales beyond the wall. As Father Pedro's eyes were raised to +this barrier, which seemed to shut out the boisterous world beyond, he +fancied he noticed for the first time a slight breach in the parapet, +over which an advanced banner of the fog was fluttering. Was it an omen? +His speculations were cut short by a voice at his very side. + +He turned quickly and beheld one of those "heathens" against whom he +had just warned his young acolyte; one of that straggling band of +adventurers whom the recent gold discoveries had scattered along the +coast. Luckily the fertile alluvium of these valleys, lying parallel +with the sea, offered no "indications" to attract the gold seekers. +Nevertheless to Father Pedro even the infrequent contact with the +Americanos was objectionable; they were at once inquisitive and +careless; they asked questions with the sharp perspicacity of +controversy; they received his grave replies with the frank indifference +of utter worldliness. Powerful enough to have been tyrannical +oppressors, they were singularly tolerant and gentle, contenting +themselves with a playful, good-natured irreverence, which tormented +the good father more than opposition. They were felt to be dangerous and +subversive. + +The Americano, however, who stood before him did not offensively suggest +these national qualities. A man of middle height, strongly built, +bronzed and slightly gray from the vicissitudes of years and exposure, +he had an air of practical seriousness that commended itself to Father +Pedro. To his religious mind it suggested self-consciousness; expressed +in the dialect of the stranger it only meant "business." + +"I'm rather glad I found you out here alone," began the latter; "it +saves time. I haven't got to take my turn with the rest, in there"--he +indicated the church with his thumb--"and you haven't got to make an +appointment. You have got a clear forty minutes before the Angelus +rings," he added, consulting a large silver chronometer, "and I reckon +I kin git through my part of the job inside of twenty, leaving you ten +minutes for remarks. I want to confess." + +Father Pedro drew back with a gesture of dignity. The stranger, however, +laid his hand upon the Padre's sleeve with the air of a man anticipating +objection, but never refusal, and went on. + +"Of course, I know. You want me to come at some other time, and in +THERE. You want it in the reg'lar style. That's your way and your time. +My answer is: it ain't MY way and MY time. The main idea of confession, +I take it, is gettin' at the facts. I'm ready to give 'em if you'll +take 'em out here, now. If you're willing to drop the Church and +confessional, and all that sort o' thing, I, on my side, am willing +to give up the absolution, and all that sort o' thing. You might," he +added, with an unconscious touch of pathos in the suggestion, "heave in +a word or two of advice after I get through; for instance, what YOU'D do +in the circumstances, you see! That's all. But that's as you please. It +ain't part of the business." + +Irreverent as this speech appeared, there was really no trace of such +intention in his manner, and his evident profound conviction that +his suggestion was practical, and not at all inconsistent with +ecclesiastical dignity, would alone have been enough to touch the Padre, +had not the stranger's dominant personality already overridden him. He +hesitated. The stranger seized the opportunity to take his arm, and lead +him with the half familiarity of powerful protection to a bench beneath +the refectory window. Taking out his watch again, he put it in the +passive hands of the astonished priest, saying, "Time me," cleared his +throat, and began:-- + +"Fourteen years ago there was a ship cruisin' in the Pacific, jest off +this range, that was ez nigh on to a Hell afloat as anything rigged kin +be. If a chap managed to dodge the cap'en's belayin-pin for a time, +he was bound to be fetched up in the ribs at last by the mate's boots. +There was a chap knocked down the fore hatch with a broken leg in the +Gulf, and another jumped overboard off Cape Corrientes, crazy as a loon, +along a clip of the head from the cap'en's trumpet. Them's facts. The +ship was a brigantine, trading along the Mexican coast. The cap'en +had his wife aboard, a little timid Mexican woman he'd picked up at +Mazatlan. I reckon she didn't get on with him any better than the men, +for she ups and dies one day, leavin' her baby, a year-old gal. One of +the crew was fond o' that baby. He used to get the black nurse to put it +in the dingy, and he'd tow it astern, rocking it with the painter like +a cradle. He did it--hatin' the cap'en all the same. One day the black +nurse got out of the dingy for a moment, when the baby was asleep, +leavin' him alone with it. An idea took hold on him, jest from +cussedness, you'd say, but it was partly from revenge on the cap'en and +partly to get away from the ship. The ship was well inshore, and the +current settin' towards it. He slipped the painter--that man--and set +himself adrift with the baby. It was a crazy act, you'd reckon, for +there wasn't any oars in the boat; but he had a crazy man's luck, and +he contrived, by sculling the boat with one of the seats he tore out, to +keep her out of the breakers, till he could find a bight in the shore +to run her in. The alarm was given from the ship, but the fog shut down +upon him; he could hear the other boats in pursuit. They seemed to close +in on him, and by the sound he judged the cap'en was just abreast of +him in the gig, bearing down upon him in the fog. He slipped out of the +dingy into the water without a splash, and struck out for the breakers. +He got ashore after havin' been knocked down and dragged in four times +by the undertow. He had only one idea then, thankfulness that he had not +taken the baby with him in the surf. You kin put that down for him: it's +a fact. He got off into the hills, and made his way up to Monterey." + +"And the child?" asked the Padre, with a sudden and strange asperity +that boded no good to the penitent; "the child thus ruthlessly +abandoned--what became of it?" + +"That's just it, the child," assented the stranger, gravely. "Well, if +that man was on his death-bed instead of being here talking to you, +he'd swear that he thought the cap'en was sure to come up to it the +next minit. That's a fact. But it wasn't until one day that he--that's +me--ran across one of that crew in Frisco. 'Hallo, Cranch,' sez he to +me, 'so you got away, didn't you? And how's the cap'en's baby? Grown a +young gal by this time, ain't she?' 'What are you talkin about,' ez I; +'how should I know?' He draws away from me, and sez, 'D--- it,' sez he, +'you don't mean that you' . . . I grabs him by the throat and makes him +tell me all. And then it appears that the boat and the baby were never +found again, and every man of that crew, cap'en and all, believed I had +stolen it." + +He paused. Father Pedro was staring at the prospect with an +uncompromising rigidity of head and shoulder. + +"It's a bad lookout for me, ain't it?" the stranger continued, in +serious reflection. + +"How do I know," said the priest harshly, without turning his head, +"that you did not make away with this child?" + +"Beg pardon." + +"That you did not complete your revenge by--by--killing it, as your +comrade suspected you? Ah! Holy Trinity," continued Father Pedro, +throwing out his hands with an impatient gesture, as if to take the +place of unutterable thought. + +"How do YOU know?" echoed the stranger coldly. + +"Yes." + +The stranger linked his fingers together and threw them over his knee, +drew it up to his chest caressingly, and said quietly, "Because you DO +know." + +The Padre rose to his feet. + +"What mean you?" he said, sternly fixing his eyes upon the speaker. +Their eyes met. The stranger's were gray and persistent, with hanging +corner lids that might have concealed even more purpose than they +showed. The Padre's were hollow, open, and the whites slightly brown, as +if with tobacco stains. Yet they were the first to turn away. + +"I mean," returned the stranger, with the same practical gravity, "that +you know it wouldn't pay me to come here, if I'd killed the baby, unless +I wanted you to fix things right with me up there," pointing skywards, +"and get absolution; and I've told you THAT wasn't in my line." + +"Why do you seek me, then?" demanded the Padre, suspiciously. + +"Because I reckon I thought a man might be allowed to confess something +short of a murder. If you're going to draw the line below that--" + +"This is but sacrilegious levity," interrupted Father Pedro, turning as +if to go. But the stranger did not make any movement to detain him. + +"Have you implored forgiveness of the father--the man you +wronged--before you came here?" asked the priest, lingering. + +"Not much. It wouldn't pay if he was living, and he died four years +ago." + +"You are sure of that?" + +"I am." + +"There are other relations, perhaps?" + +"None." + +Father Pedro was silent. When he spoke again, it was with a changed +voice. "What is your purpose, then?" he asked, with the first indication +of priestly sympathy in his manner. "You cannot ask forgiveness of the +earthly father you have injured, you refuse the intercession of holy +Church with the Heavenly Father you have disobeyed. Speak, wretched man! +What is it you want?" + +"I want to find the child." + +"But if it were possible, if she were still living, are you fit to seek +her, to even make yourself known to her, to appear before her?" + +"Well, if I made it profitable to her, perhaps." + +"Perhaps," echoed the priest, scornfully. "So be it. But why come here?" + +"To ask your advice. To know how to begin my search. You know this +country. You were here when that boat drifted ashore beyond that +mountain." + +"Ah, indeed. I have much to do with it. It is an affair of the +alcalde--the authorities--of your--your police." + +"Is it?" + +The Padre again met the stranger's eyes. He stopped, with the snuff box +he had somewhat ostentatiously drawn from his pocket still open in his +hand. + +"Why is it not, Senor?" he demanded. + +"If she lives, she is a young lady by this time, and might not want the +details of her life known to any one." + +"And how will you recognize your baby in this young lady?" asked Father +Pedro, with a rapid gesture, indicating the comparative heights of a +baby and an adult. + +"I reckon I'll know her, and her clothes too; and whoever found her +wouldn't be fool enough to destroy them." + +"After fourteen years! Good! you have faith, Senor--" + +"Cranch," supplied the stranger, consulting his watch. "But time's up. +Business is business. Good-by; don't let me keep you." + +He extended his hand. + +The Padre met it with a dry, unsympathetic palm, as sere and yellow +as the hills. When their hands separated, the father still hesitated, +looking at Cranch. If he expected further speech or entreaty from him he +was mistaken, for the American, without turning his head, walked in +the same serious, practical fashion down the avenue of fig trees, and +disappeared beyond the hedge of vines. The outlines of the mountain +beyond were already lost in the fog. Father Pedro turned into the +refectory. + +"Antonio." + +A strong flavor of leather, onions, and stable preceded the entrance of +a short, stout vaquero from the little patio. + +"Saddle Pinto and thine own mule to accompany Francisco, who will +take letters from me to the Father Superior at San Jose to-morrow at +daybreak." + +"At daybreak, reverend father?" + +"At daybreak. Hark ye, go by the mountain trails and avoid the highway. +Stop at no posada nor fonda, but if the child is weary, rest then awhile +at Don Juan Briones' or at the rancho of the Blessed Fisherman. Have no +converse with stragglers, least of all those gentile Americanos. +So . . ." + +The first strokes of the Angelus came from the nearer tower. With a +gesture Father Pedro waved Antonio aside, and opened the door of the +sacristy. + +"Ad Majorem Dei Gloria." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The hacienda of Don Juan Briones, nestling in a wooded cleft of the +foot-hills, was hidden, as Father Pedro had wisely reflected, from +the straying feet of travelers along the dusty highway to San Jose. As +Francisco, emerging from the canada, put spurs to his mule at the sight +of the whitewashed walls, Antonio grunted. + +"Oh aye, little priest! thou wast tired enough a moment ago, and though +we are not three leagues from the Blessed Fisherman, thou couldst +scarce sit thy saddle longer. Mother of God! and all to see that little +mongrel, Juanita." + +"But, good Antonio, Juanita was my play-fellow, and I may not soon again +chance this way. And Juanita is not a mongrel, no more than I am." + +"She is a mestiza, and thou art a child of the Church, though this +following of gypsy wenches does not show it." + +"But Father Pedro does not object," urged the boy. + +"The reverend father has forgotten he was ever young," replied Antonio, +sententiously, "or he wouldn't set fire and tow together." + +"What sayest thou, good Antonio?" asked Francisco quickly, opening his +blue eyes in frank curiosity; "who is fire, and who is tow?" + +The worthy muleteer, utterly abashed and confounded by this display +of the acolyte's direct simplicity, contented himself by shrugging his +shoulders, and a vague "Quien sabe?" + +"Come," said the boy, gayly, "confess it is only the aguardiente of the +Blessed Fisherman thou missest. Never fear, Juanita will find thee some. +And see! here she comes." + +There was a flash of white flounces along the dark brown corridor, the +twinkle of satin slippers, the flying out of long black braids, and with +a cry of joy a young girl threw herself upon Francisco as he entered the +patio, and nearly dragged him from his mule. + +"Have a care, little sister," laughed the acolyte, looking at Antonio, +"or there will be a conflagration. Am I the fire?" he continued, +submitting to the two sounding kisses the young girl placed upon either +cheek, but still keeping his mischievous glance upon the muleteer. + +"Quien sabe?" repeated Antonio, gruffly, as the young girl blushed under +his significant eyes. "It is no affair of mine," he added to himself, as +he led Pinto away. "Perhaps Father Pedro is right, and this young twig +of the Church is as dry and sapless as himself. Let the mestiza burn if +she likes." + +"Quick, Pancho," said the young girl, eagerly leading him along the +corridor. "This way. I must talk with thee before thou seest Don Juan; +that is why I ran to intercept thee, and not as that fool Antonio would +signify, to shame thee. Wast thou ashamed, my Pancho?" + +The boy threw his arm familiarly round the supple, stayless little +waist, accented only by the belt of the light flounced saya, and said, +"But why this haste and feverishness, 'Nita? And now I look at thee, +thou hast been crying." + +They had emerged from a door in the corridor into the bright sunlight of +a walled garden. The girl dropped her eyes, cast a quick glance around +her, and said,-- + +"Not here, to the arroyo," and half leading, half dragging him, made her +way through a copse of manzanita and alder until they heard the faint +tinkling of water. "Dost thou remember," said the girl, "it was here," +pointing to an embayed pool in the dark current, "that I baptized thee, +when Father Pedro first brought thee here, when we both played at being +monks? They were dear old days, for Father Pedro would trust no one with +thee but me, and always kept us near him." + +"Aye and he said I would be profaned by the touch of any other, and so +himself always washed and dressed me, and made my bed near his." + +"And took thee away again, and I saw thee not till thou camest with +Antonio, over a year ago, to the cattle branding. And now, my Pancho, I +may never see thee again." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed +aloud. + +The little acolyte tried to comfort her, but with such abstraction of +manner and inadequacy of warmth that she hastily removed his caressing +hand. + +"But why? What has happened?" he asked eagerly. + +The girl's manner had changed. Her eyes flashed, and she put her brown +fist on her waist and began to rock from side to side. + +"But I'll not go," she said viciously. + +"Go where?" asked the boy. + +"Oh, where?" she echoed, impatiently. "Hear me, Francisco; thou knowest +I am, like thee, an orphan; but I have not, like thee, a parent in the +Holy Church. For, alas," she added, bitterly, "I am not a boy, and +have not a lovely voice borrowed from the angels. I was, like thee, a +foundling, kept by the charity of the reverend fathers, until Don Juan, +a childless widower, adopted me. I was happy, not knowing and caring who +were the parents who had abandoned me, happy only in the love of him who +became my adopted father. And now--" She paused. + +"And now?" echoed Francisco, eagerly. + +"And now they say it is discovered who are my parents." + +"And they live?" + +"Mother of God! no," said the girl, with scarcely filial piety. "There +is some one, a thing, a mere Don Fulano, who knows it all, it seems, who +is to be my guardian." + +"But how? tell me all, dear Juanita," said the boy with a feverish +interest, that contrasted so strongly with his previous abstraction that +Juanita bit her lips with vexation. + +"Ah! How? Santa Barbara! an extravaganza for children. A necklace of +lies. I am lost from a ship of which my father--Heaven rest him--is +General, and I am picked up among the weeds on the sea-shore, like Moses +in the bulrushes. A pretty story, indeed." + +"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed Francisco, enthusiastically. "Ah, +Juanita, would it had been me." + +"THEE!" said the girl bitterly,--"thee! No!--it was a girl wanted. +Enough, it was me." + +"And when does the guardian come?" persisted the boy, with sparkling +eyes. + +"He is here even now, with that pompous fool the American alcalde from +Monterey, a wretch who knows nothing of the country or the people, but +who helped the other American to claim me. I tell thee, Francisco, like +as not it is all a folly, some senseless blunder of those Americanos +that imposes upon Don Juan's simplicity and love for them." + +"How looks he, this Americano who seeks thee?" asked Francisco. + +"What care I how he looks," said Juanita, "or what he is? He may have +the four S's, for all I care. Yet," she added with a slight touch of +coquetry, "he is not bad to look upon, now I recall him." + +"Had he a long moustache and a sad, sweet smile, and a voice so gentle +and yet so strong that you felt he ordered you to do things with out +saying it? And did his eye read your thoughts?--that very thought that +you must obey him?" + +"Saints preserve thee, Pancho! Of whom dost thou speak?" + +"Listen, Juanita. It was a year ago, the eve of Natividad, he was in the +church when I sang. Look where I would, I always met his eye. When the +canticle was sung and I was slipping into the sacristy, he was beside +me. He spoke kindly, but I understood him not. He put into my hand gold +for an aguinaldo. I pretended I understood not that also, and put it +into the box for the poor. He smiled and went away. Often have I seen +him since, and last night, when I left the Mission, he was there again +with Father Pedro." + +"And Father Pedro, what said he of him?" asked Juanita. + +"Nothing." The boy hesitated. "Perhaps--because I said nothing of the +stranger." + +Juanita laughed. "So thou canst keep a secret from the good father when +thou carest. But why dost thou think this stranger is my new guardian?" + +"Dost thou not see, little sister? he was even then seeking thee," said +the boy with joyous excitement. "Doubtless he knew we were friends and +playmates--may be the good father has told him thy secret. For it is no +idle tale of the alcalde, believe me. I see it all! It is true!" + +"Then thou wilt let him take me away," exclaimed the girl bitterly, +withdrawing the little hand he had clasped in his excitement. + +"Alas, Juanita, what avails it now? I am sent to San Jose, charged with +a letter to the Father Superior, who will give me further orders. What +they are, or how long I must stay, I know not. But I know this: the good +Father Pedro's eyes were troubled when he gave me his blessing, and +he held me long in his embrace. Pray Heaven I have committed no fault. +Still it may be that the reputation of my gift hath reached the Father +Superior, and he would advance me." And Francisco's eyes lit up with +youthful pride at the thought. + +Not so Juanita. Her black eyes snapped suddenly with suspicion, she +drew in her breath, and closed her little mouth firmly. Then she began a +crescendo. + +Mother of God! was that all? Was he a child, to be sent away for such +time or for such purpose as best pleased the fathers? Was he to know +no more than that? With such gifts as God had given him, was he not at +least to have some word in disposing of them? Ah! SHE would not stand +it. + +The boy gazed admiringly at the piquant energy of the little figure +before him, and envied her courage. "It is the mestizo blood," he +murmured to himself. Then aloud, "Thou shouldst have been a man, 'Nita." + +"And thou a woman." + +"Or a priest. Eh, what is that?" + +They had both risen, Juanita defiantly, her black braids flying as she +wheeled and suddenly faced the thicket, Francisco clinging to her with +trembling hands and whitened lips. A stone, loosened from the hillside, +had rolled to their feet; there was a crackling in the alders on the +slope above them. + +"Is it a bear, or a brigand?" whispered Francisco, hurriedly, sounding +the uttermost depths of his terror in the two words. + +"It is an eavesdropper," said Juanita, impetuously; "and who and why, I +intend to know," and she started towards the thicket. + +"Do not leave me, good Juanita," said the young acolyte, grasping the +girl's skirt. + +"Nay; run to the hacienda quickly, and leave me to search the thicket. +Run!" + +The boy did not wait for a second injunction, but scuttled away, his +long coat catching in the brambles, while Juanita darted like a +kitten into the bushes. Her search was fruitless, however, and she was +returning impatiently when her quick eye fell upon a letter lying amidst +the dried grass where she and Francisco had been seated the moment +before. It had evidently fallen from his breast when he had risen +suddenly, and been overlooked in his alarm. It was Father Pedro's letter +to the Father Superior of San Jose. + +In an instant she had pounced upon it as viciously as if it had been the +interloper she was seeking. She knew that she held in her fingers the +secret of Francisco's sudden banishment. She felt instinctively that +this yellowish envelope, with its red string and its blotch of red seal, +was his sentence and her own. The little mestiza had not been brought up +to respect the integrity of either locks or seals, both being unknown +in the patriarchal life of the hacienda. Yet with a certain feminine +instinct she looked furtively around her, and even managed to dislodge +the clumsy wax without marring the pretty effigy of the crossed keys +impressed upon it. Then she opened the letter and read. + +Suddenly she stopped and put back her hair from her brown temples. Then +a succession of burning blushes followed each other in waves from her +neck up, and died in drops of moisture in her eyes. This continued until +she was fairly crying, dropping the letter from her hands and rocking +to and fro. In the midst of this she quickly stopped again; the clouds +broke, a sunshine of laughter started from her eyes, she laughed shyly, +she laughed loudly, she laughed hysterically. Then she stopped again as +suddenly, knitted her brows, swooped down once more upon the letter, and +turned to fly. But at the same moment the letter was quietly but firmly +taken from her hand, and Mr. Jack Cranch stood beside her. + +Juanita was crimson, but unconquered. She mechanically held out her hand +for the letter; the American took her little fingers, kissed them, and +said:-- + +"How are you again?" + +"The letter," replied Juanita, with a strong disposition to stamp her +foot. + +"But," said Cranch, with business directness, "you've read enough to +know it isn't for you." + +"Nor for you either," responded Juanita. + +"True. It is for the Reverend Father Superior of San Jose Mission. I'll +give it to him." + +Juanita was becoming alarmed, first at this prospect, second at +the power the stranger seemed to be gaining over her. She recalled +Francisco's description of him with something like superstitious awe. + +"But it concerns Francisco. It contains a secret he should know." + +"Then you can tell him it. Perhaps it would come easier from you." + +Juanita blushed again. "Why?" she asked, half dreading his reply. + +"Because," said the American, quietly, "you are old playmates; you are +attached to each other." + +Juanita bit her lips. "Why don't you read it yourself?" she asked +bluntly. + +"Because I don't read other people's letters, and if it concerns me +you'll tell me." + +"What if I don't?" + +"Then the Father Superior will." + +"I believe you know Francisco's secret already," said the girl, boldly. + +"Perhaps." + +"Then, Mother of God! Senor Crancho, what do you want?" + +"I do not want to separate two such good friends as you and Francisco." + +"Perhaps you'd like to claim us both," said the girl, with a sneer that +was not devoid of coquetry. + +"I should be delighted." + +"Then here is your occasion, Senor, for here comes my adopted father, +Don Juan, and your friend, Senor Br--r--own, the American alcalde." + +Two men appeared in the garden path below them. The stiff, glazed, +broad-brimmed black hat, surmounting a dark face of Quixotic gravity +and romantic rectitude, indicated Don Juan Briones. His companion, lazy, +specious, and red-faced, was Senor Brown, the American alcalde. + +"Well, I reckon we kin about call the thing fixed," said Senor Brown, +with a large wave of the hand, suggesting a sweeping away of all trivial +details. "Ez I was saying to the Don yer, when two high-toned gents like +you and him come together in a delicate matter of this kind, it ain't no +hoss trade nor sharp practice. The Don is that lofty in principle that +he's willin' to sacrifice his affections for the good of the gal; and +you, on your hand, kalkilate to see all he's done for her, and go your +whole pile better. You'll make the legal formalities good. I reckon that +old Injin woman who can swear to the finding of the baby on the shore +will set things all right yet. For the matter o' that, if you want +anything in the way of a certificate, I'm on hand always." + +"Juanita and myself are at your disposition, caballeros," said Don Juan, +with a grave exaltation. "Never let it be said that the Mexican nation +was outdone by the great Americanos in deeds of courtesy and affection. +Let it rather stand that Juanita was a sacred trust put into my hands +years ago by the goddess of American liberty, and nurtured in the +Mexican eagle's nest. Is it not so, my soul?" he added, more humanly, to +the girl, when he had quite recovered from the intoxication of his own +speech. "We love thee, little one, but we keep our honor." + +"There's nothing mean about the old man," said Brown, admiringly, with a +slight dropping of his left eyelid; "his head is level, and he goes with +his party." + +"Thou takest my daughter, Senor Cranch," continued the old man, carried +away by his emotion; "but the American nation gives me a son." + +"You know not what you say, father," said the young girl, angrily, +exasperated by a slight twinkle in the American's eye. + +"Not so," said Cranch. "Perhaps one of the American nation may take him +at his word." + +"Then, caballeros, you will, for the moment at least, possess yourselves +of the house and its poor hospitality," said Don Juan, with time-honored +courtesy, producing the rustic key of the gate of the patio. "It is +at your disposition, caballeros," he repeated, leading the way as his +guests passed into the corridor. + +Two hours passed. The hills were darkening on their eastern slopes; the +shadows of the few poplars that sparsedly dotted the dusty highway were +falling in long black lines that looked like ditches on the dead level +of the tawny fields; the shadows of slowly moving cattle were mingling +with their own silhouettes, and becoming more and more grotesque. A keen +wind rising in the hills was already creeping from the canada as from +the mouth of a funnel, and sweeping the plains. Antonio had forgathered +with the servants, had pinched the ears of the maids, had partaken of +aguardiente, had saddled the mules,--Antonio was becoming impatient. + +And then a singular commotion disturbed the peaceful monotony of the +patriarchal household of Don Juan Briones. The stagnant courtyard was +suddenly alive with peons and servants, running hither and thither. The +alleys and gardens were filled with retainers. A confusion of questions, +orders, and outcrys rent the air, the plains shook with the galloping of +a dozen horsemen. For the acolyte Francisco, of the Mission San Carmel, +had disappeared and vanished, and from that day the hacienda of Don Juan +Briones knew him no more. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +When Father Pedro saw the yellow mules vanish under the low branches +of the oaks beside the little graveyard, caught the last glitter of the +morning sun on Pinto's shining headstall, and heard the last tinkle of +Antonio's spurs, something very like a mundane sigh escaped him. To +the simple wonder of the majority of early worshipers--the half-breed +converts who rigorously attended the spiritual ministrations of the +Mission, and ate the temporal provisions of the reverend fathers--he +deputed the functions of the first mass to a coadjutor, and, breviary in +hand, sought the orchard of venerable pear trees. Whether there was +any occult sympathy in his reflections with the contemplation of their +gnarled, twisted, gouty, and knotty limbs, still bearing gracious and +goodly fruit, I know not, but it was his private retreat, and under one +of the most rheumatic and misshapen trunks there was a rude seat. Here +Father Pedro sank, his face towards the mountain wall between him and +the invisible sea. The relentless, dry, practical Californian sunlight +falling on his face grimly pointed out a night of vigil and suffering. +The snuffy yellow of his eyes was injected yet burning, his temples were +ridged and veined like a tobacco leaf; the odor of desiccation which +his garments always exhaled was hot and feverish, as if the fire had +suddenly awakened among the ashes. + +Of what was Father Pedro thinking? + +He was thinking of his youth, a youth spent under the shade of those +pear trees, even then venerable as now. He was thinking of his youthful +dreams of heathen conquest, emulating the sacrifices and labors of +Junipero Serra; a dream cut short by the orders of the archbishop, that +sent his companion, Brother Diego, north on a mission to strange lands, +and condemned him to the isolation of San Carmel. He was thinking of +that fierce struggle with envy of a fellow creature's better fortune +that, conquered by prayer and penance, left him patient, submissive, and +devoted to his humble work; how he raised up converts to the faith, even +taking them from the breast of heretic mothers. + +He recalled how once, with the zeal of propagandism quickening in the +instincts of a childless man, he had dreamed of perpetuating his work +through some sinless creation of his own; of dedicating some virgin +soul, one over whom he could have complete control, restricted by no +human paternal weakness, to the task he had begun. But how? Of all the +boys eagerly offered to the Church by their parents there seemed none +sufficiently pure and free from parental taint. He remembered how one +night, through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin herself, as he +firmly then believed, this dream was fulfilled. An Indian woman brought +him a Waugee child--a baby-girl that she had picked up on the sea-shore. +There were no parents to divide the responsibility, the child had no +past to confront, except the memory of the ignorant Indian woman, who +deemed her duty done, and whose interest ceased in giving it to the +Padre. The austere conditions of his monkish life compelled him to the +first step in his adoption of it--the concealment of its sex. This was +easy enough, as he constituted himself from that moment its sole nurse +and attendant, and boldly baptized it among the other children by the +name of Francisco. No others knew its origin, nor cared to know. Father +Pedro had taken a muchacho foundling for adoption; his jealous seclusion +of it and his personal care was doubtless some sacerdotal formula at +once high and necessary. + +He remembered with darkening eyes and impeded breath how his close +companionship and daily care of this helpless child had revealed to him +the fascinations of that paternity denied to him; how he had deemed it +his duty to struggle against the thrill of baby fingers laid upon his +yellow cheeks, the pleading of inarticulate words, the eloquence of +wonder-seeing and mutely questioning eyes; how he had succumbed +again and again, and then struggled no more, seeing only in them the +suggestion of childhood made incarnate in the Holy Babe. And yet, even +as he thought, he drew from his gown a little shoe, and laid it beside +his breviary. It was Francisco's baby slipper, a duplicate to those worn +by the miniature waxen figure of the Holy Virgin herself in her niche in +the transept. + +Had he felt during these years any qualms of conscience at this +concealment of the child's sex? None. For to him the babe was sexless, +as most befitted one who was to live and die at the foot of the altar. +There was no attempt to deceive God; what mattered else? Nor was he +withholding the child from the ministrations of the sacred sisters; +there was no convent near the Mission, and as each year passed, the +difficulty of restoring her to the position and duties of her sex became +greater and more dangerous. And then the acolyte's destiny was sealed +by what again appeared to Father Pedro as a direct interposition of +Providence. The child developed a voice of such exquisite sweetness and +purity that an angel seemed to have strayed into the little choir, and +kneeling worshipers below, transported, gazed upwards, half expectant of +a heavenly light breaking through the gloom of the raftered ceiling. +The fame of the little singer filled the valley of San Carmel; it was a +miracle vouchsafed the Mission; Don Jose Peralta remembered, ah yes, to +have heard in old Spain of boy choristers with such voices! + +And was this sacred trust to be withdrawn from him? Was this life which +he had brought out of an unknown world of sin, unstained and pure, +consecrated and dedicated to God, just in the dawn of power and promise +for the glory of the Mother Church, to be taken from his side? And at +the word of a self-convicted man of sin--a man whose tardy repentance +was not yet absolved by the Holy Church. Never! never! Father Pedro +dwelt upon the stranger's rejection of the ministrations of the Church +with a pitiable satisfaction; had he accepted it, he would have had a +sacred claim upon Father Pedro's sympathy and confidence. Yet he rose +again, uneasily and with irregular steps returned to the corridor, +passing the door of the familiar little cell beside his own. The window, +the table, and even the scant toilette utensils were filled with the +flowers of yesterday, some of them withered and dry; the white gown of +the little chorister was hanging emptily against the wall. Father Pedro +started and trembled; it seemed as if the spiritual life of the child +had slipped away with its garments. + +In that slight chill, which even in the hottest days in California +always invests any shadow cast in that white sunlight, Father Pedro +shivered in the corridor. Passing again into the garden, he followed +in fancy the wayfaring figure of Francisco, saw the child arrive at +the rancho of Don Juan, and with the fateful blindness of all dreamers +projected a picture most unlike the reality. He followed the pilgrims +even to San Jose, and saw the child deliver the missive which gave +the secret of her sex and condition to the Father Superior. That the +authority at San Jose might dissent with the Padre of San Carmel, +or decline to carry out his designs, did not occur to the one-idea'd +priest. Like all solitary people, isolated from passing events, he made +no allowances for occurrences outside of his routine. Yet at this moment +a sudden thought whitened his yellow cheek. What if the Father Superior +deemed it necessary to impart the secret to Francisco? Would the child +recoil at the deception, and, perhaps, cease to love him? It was the +first time, in his supreme selfishness, he had taken the acolyte's +feelings into account. He had thought of him only as one owing implicit +obedience to him as a temporal and spiritual guide. + +"Reverend Father!" + +He turned impatiently. It was his muleteer, Jose. Father Pedro's sunken +eye brightened. + +"Ah, Jose! Quickly, then; hast thou found Sanchicha?" + +"Truly, your reverence! And I have brought her with me, just as she is; +though if your reverence make more of her than to fill the six-foot hole +and say a prayer over her, I'll give the mule that brought her here for +food for the bull's horns. She neither hears nor speaks, but whether +from weakness or sheer wantonness, I know not." + +"Peace, then! and let thy tongue take example from hers. Bring her with +thee into the sacristy and attend without. Go!" + +Father Pedro watched the disappearing figure of the muleteer and +hurriedly swept his thin, dry hand, veined and ribbed like a brown +November leaf, over his stony forehead, with a sound that seemed almost +a rustle. Then he suddenly stiffened his fingers over his breviary, +dropped his arms perpendicularly before him, and with a rigid step +returned to the corridor and passed into the sacristy. + +For a moment in the half-darkness the room seemed to be empty. Tossed +carelessly in the corner appeared some blankets topped by a few +straggling black horse tails, like an unstranded riata. A trembling +agitated the mass as Father Pedro approached. He bent over the heap +and distinguished in its midst the glowing black eyes of Sanchicha, +the Indian centenarian of the Mission San Carmel. Only her eyes lived. +Helpless, boneless, and jelly-like, old age had overtaken her with a +mild form of deliquescence. + +"Listen, Sanchicha," said the father, gravely. "It is important that +thou shouldst refresh thy memory for a moment. Look back fourteen years, +mother; it is but yesterday to thee. Thou dost remember the baby--a +little muchacha thou broughtest me then--fourteen years ago?" + +The old woman's eyes became intelligent, and turned with a quick look +towards the open door of the church, and thence towards the choir. + +The Padre made a motion of irritation. "No, no! Thou dost not +understand; thou dost not attend me. Knowest thou of any mark of +clothing, trinket, or amulet found upon the babe?" + +The light of the old woman's eyes went out. She might have been dead. +Father Pedro waited a moment, and then laid his hand impatiently on her +shoulder. + +"Dost thou mean there are none?" + +A ray of light struggled back into her eyes. + +"None." + +"And thou hast kept back or put away no sign nor mark of her parentage? +Tell me, on this crucifix." + +The eyes caught the crucifix, and became as empty as the orbits of the +carven Christ upon it. + +Father Pedro waited patiently. A moment passed; only the sound of the +muleteer's spurs was heard in the courtyard. + +"It is well," he said at last, with a sigh of relief. "Pepita shall +give thee some refreshment, and Jose will bring thee back again. I will +summon him." + +He passed out of the sacristy door, leaving it open. A ray of sunlight +darted eagerly in, and fell upon the grotesque heap in the corner. +Sanchicha's eyes lived again; more than that, a singular movement came +over her face. The hideous caverns of her toothless mouth opened--she +laughed. The step of Jose was heard in the corridor, and she became +again inert. + +The third day, which should have brought the return of Antonio, was +nearly spent. Father Pedro was impatient but not alarmed. The good +fathers at San Jose might naturally detain Antonio for the answer, which +might require deliberation. If any mischance had occurred to Francisco, +Antonio would have returned or sent a special messenger. At sunset he +was in his accustomed seat in the orchard, his hands clasped over the +breviary in his listless lap, his eyes fixed upon the mountain between +him and that mysterious sea that had brought so much into his life. He +was filled with a strange desire to see it, a vague curiosity hitherto +unknown to his preoccupied life; he wished to gaze upon that strand, +perhaps the very spot where she had been found; he doubted not his +questioning eyes would discover some forgotten trace of her; under his +persistent will and aided by the Holy Virgin, the sea would give up its +secret. He looked at the fog creeping along the summit, and recalled the +latest gossip of San Carmel; how that since the advent of the Americanos +it was gradually encroaching on the Mission. The hated name vividly +recalled to him the features of the stranger as he had stood before him +three nights ago, in this very garden; so vividly that he sprang to +his feet with an exclamation. It was no fancy, but Senor Cranch himself +advancing from under the shadow of a pear tree. + +"I reckoned I'd catch you here," said Mr. Cranch, with the same dry, +practical business fashion, as if he was only resuming an interrupted +conversation, "and I reckon I ain't going to keep you a minit longer +than I did t'other day." He mutely referred to his watch, which he +already held in his hand, and then put it back in his pocket. "Well! we +found her!" + +"Francisco," interrupted the priest with a single stride, laying his +hand upon Cranch's arm, and staring into his eyes. + +Mr. Cranch quietly removed Father Pedro's hand. "I reckon that wasn't +the name as I caught it," he returned dryly. "Hadn't you better sit +down?" + +"Pardon me--pardon me, Senor," said the priest, hastily sinking back +upon his bench, "I was thinking of other things. You--you--came upon me +suddenly. I thought it was the acolyte. Go on, Senor! I am interested." + +"I thought you'd be," said Cranch, quietly. "That's why I came. And then +you might be of service too." + +"True, true," said the priest, with rapid accents; "and this girl, +Senor, this girl is--" + +"Juanita, the mestiza, adopted daughter of Don Juan Briones, over on +the Santa Clare Valley," replied Cranch, jerking his thumb over his +shoulder, and then sitting down upon the bench beside Father Pedro. + +The priest turned his feverish eyes piercingly upon his companion for a +few seconds, and then doggedly fixed them upon the ground. Cranch drew +a plug of tobacco from his pocket, cut off a portion, placed it in his +cheek, and then quietly began to strap the blade of his jack-knife upon +his boot. Father Pedro saw it from under his eyelids, and even in his +preoccupation despised him. + +"Then you are certain she is the babe you seek?" said the father, +without looking up. + +"I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything. Her age tallies; +she was the only foundling girl baby baptized by you, you know,"--he +partly turned round appealingly to the Padre,--"that year. Injin woman +says she picked up a baby. Looks like a pretty clear case, don't it?" + +"And the clothes, friend Cranch?" said the priest, with his eyes still +on the ground, and a slight assumption of easy indifference. + +"They will be forthcoming, like enough, when the time comes," said +Cranch; "the main thing at first was to find the girl; that was MY job; +the lawyers, I reckon, can fit the proofs and say what's wanted, later +on." + +"But why lawyers," continued Padre Pedro, with a slight sneer he could +not repress, "if the child is found and Senor Cranch is satisfied?" + +"On account of the property. Business is business!" + +"The property?" + +Mr. Cranch pressed the back of his knife-blade on his boot, shut it up +with a click, and putting it in his pocket said calmly,-- + +"Well, I reckon the million of dollars that her father left when he +died, which naturally belongs to her, will require some proof that she +is his daughter." + +He had placed both his hands in his pockets, and turned his eyes full +upon Father Pedro. The priest arose hurriedly. + +"But you said nothing of this before, Senor Cranch," said he, with a +gesture of indignation, turning his back quite upon Cranch, and taking a +step towards the refectory. + +"Why should I? I was looking after the girl, not the property," returned +Cranch, following the Padre with watchful eyes, but still keeping his +careless, easy attitude. + +"Ah, well! Will it be said so, think you? Eh! Bueno. What will the world +think of your sacred quest, eh?" continued the Padre Pedro, forgetting +himself in his excitement, but still averting his face from his +companion. + +"The world will look after the proofs, and I reckon not bother if the +proofs are all right," replied Cranch, carelessly; "and the girl won't +think the worse of me for helping her to a fortune. Hallo! you've +dropped something." He leaped to his feet, picked up the breviary which +had fallen from the Padre's fingers, and returned it to him with a +slight touch of gentleness that was unsuspected in the man. + +The priest's dry, tremulous hand grasped the volume without +acknowledgment. + +"But these proofs?" he said hastily; "these proofs, Senor?" + +"Oh, well, you'll testify to the baptism, you know." + +"But if I refuse; if I will have nothing to do with this thing! If I +will not give my word that there is not some mistake," said the priest, +working himself into a feverish indignation. "That there are not slips +of memory, eh? Of so many children baptized, is it possible for me to +know which, eh? And if this Juanita is not your girl, eh?" + +"Then you'll help me to find who is," said Cranch, coolly. + +Father Pedro turned furiously on his tormentor. Overcome by his vigil +and anxiety. He was oblivious of everything but the presence of the man +who seemed to usurp the functions of his own conscience. "Who are +you, who speak thus?" he said hoarsely, advancing upon Cranch with +outstretched and anathematizing fingers. "Who are you, Senor Heathen, +who dare to dictate to me, a Father of Holy Church? I tell you, I +will have none of this. Never! I will not. From this moment, you +understand--nothing. I will never . . ." + +He stopped. The first stroke of the Angelus rang from the little tower. +The first stroke of that bell before whose magic exorcism all human +passions fled, the peaceful bell that had for fifty years lulled the +little fold of San Carmel to prayer and rest, came to his throbbing +ear. His trembling hands groped for the crucifix, carried it to his +left breast; his lips moved in prayer. His eyes were turned to the cold, +passionless sky, where a few faint, far-spaced stars had silently +stolen to their places. The Angelus still rang, his trembling ceased, he +remained motionless and rigid. + +The American, who had uncovered in deference to the worshiper rather +than the rite, waited patiently. The eyes of Father Pedro returned +to the earth, moist as if with dew caught from above. He looked half +absently at Cranch. + +"Forgive me, my son," he said, in a changed voice. "I am only a worn +old man. I must talk with thee more of this--but not to-night--not +to-night;--to-morrow--to-morrow--to-morrow." + +He turned slowly and appeared to glide rather than move under the trees, +until the dark shadow of the Mission tower met and encompassed him. +Cranch followed him with anxious eyes. Then he removed the quid of +tobacco from his cheek. + +"Just as I reckoned," remarked he, quite audibly. "He's clean gold on +the bed rock after all!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +That night Father Pedro dreamed a strange dream. How much of it was +reality, how long it lasted, or when he awoke from it, he could not +tell. The morbid excitement of the previous day culminated in a febrile +exaltation in which he lived and moved as in a separate existence. + +This is what he remembered. He thought he had risen at night in a sudden +horror of remorse, and making his way to the darkened church had fallen +upon his knees before the high altar, when all at once the acolyte's +voice broke from the choir, but in accents so dissonant and unnatural +that it seemed a sacrilege, and he trembled. He thought he had confessed +the secret of the child's sex to Cranch, but whether the next morning +or a week later he did not know. He fancied, too, that Cranch had also +confessed some trifling deception to him, but what, or why, he could not +remember; so much greater seemed the enormity of his own transgression. +He thought Cranch had put in his hands the letter he had written to the +Father Superior, saying that his secret was still safe, and that he +had been spared the avowal and the scandal that might have ensued. But +through all, and above all, he was conscious of one fixed idea: to +seek the seashore with Sanchicha, and upon the spot where she had found +Francisco, meet the young girl who had taken his place, and so part from +her forever. He had a dim recollection that this was necessary to some +legal identification of her, as arranged by Cranch, but how or why he +did not understand; enough that it was a part of his penance. + +It was early morning when the faithful Antonio, accompanied by Sanchicha +and Jose, rode forth with him from the Mission of San Carmel. Except +on the expressionless features of the old woman, there was anxiety +and gloom upon the faces of the little cavalcade. He did not know how +heavily his strange abstraction and hallucinations weighed upon their +honest hearts. As they wound up the ascent of the mountain he noticed +that Antonio and Jose conversed with bated breath and many pious +crossings of themselves, but with eyes always wistfully fixed upon him. +He wondered if, as part of his penance, he ought not to proclaim his sin +and abase himself before them; but he knew that his devoted followers +would insist upon sharing his punishment; and he remembered his promise +to Cranch, that for HER sake he would say nothing. Before they reached +the summit he turned once or twice to look back upon the Mission. How +small it looked, lying there in the peaceful valley, contrasted with the +broad sweep of the landscape beyond, stopped at the further east only +by the dim, ghost-like outlines of the Sierras. But the strong breath of +the sea was beginning to be felt; in a few moments more they were facing +it with lowered sombreros and flying serapes, and the vast, glittering, +illimitable Pacific opened out beneath them. + +Dazed and blinded, as it seemed to him, by the shining, restless +expanse, Father Pedro rode forward as if still in a dream. Suddenly he +halted, and called Antonio to his side. + +"Tell me, child, didst thou not say that this coast was wild and +desolate of man, beast, and habitation?" + +"Truly I did, reverend father." + +"Then what is that?" pointing to the shore. + +Almost at their feet nestled a cluster of houses, at the head of an +arroyo reaching up from the beach. They looked down upon the smoke of a +manufactory chimney, upon strange heaps of material and curious engines +scattered along the sands, with here and there moving specks of human +figures. In a little bay a schooner swung at her cables. + +The vaquero crossed himself in stupefied alarm. "I know not, your +reverence; it is only two years ago, before the rodeo, that I was here +for strayed colts, and I swear by the blessed bones of San Antonio that +it was as I said." + +"Ah! it is like these Americanos," responded the muleteer. "I have it +from my brother Diego that he went from San Jose to Pescadero two months +ago, across the plains, with never a hut nor fonda to halt at all the +way. He returned in seven days, and in the midst of the plain there were +three houses and a mill, and many people. And why was it? Ah! Mother of +God! one had picked up in the creek where he drank that much of gold;" +and the muleteer tapped one of the silver coins that fringed his jacket +sleeves in place of buttons. + +"And they are washing the sands for gold there now," said Antonio, +eagerly pointing to some men gathered round a machine like an enormous +cradle. "Let us hasten on." + +Father Pedro's momentary interest had passed. The words of his +companions fell dull and meaningless upon his dreaming ears. He was +conscious only that the child was more a stranger to him as an outcome +of this hard, bustling life, than when he believed her borne to him over +the mysterious sea. It perplexed his dazed, disturbed mind to think that +if such an antagonistic element could exist within a dozen miles of +the Mission, and he not know it, could not such an atmosphere have been +around him, even in his monastic isolation, and he remain blind to it? +Had he really lived in the world without knowing it? Had it been in his +blood? Had it impelled him to--He shuddered and rode on. + +They were at the last slope of the zigzag descent to the shore, when he +saw the figures of a man and woman moving slowly through a field of wild +oats, not far from the trail. It seemed to his distorted fancy that the +man was Cranch. The woman! His heart stopped beating. Ah! could it be? +He had never seen her in her proper garb: would she look like that? +Would she be as tall? He thought he bade Jose and Antonio go on slowly +before with Sanchicha, and dismounted, walking slowly between the high +stalks of grain, lest he should disturb them. They evidently did not +hear his approach, but were talking earnestly. It seemed to Father Pedro +that they had taken each other's hands, and as he looked Cranch slipped +his arm round her waist. With only a blind instinct of some dreadful +sacrilege in this act, Father Pedro would have rushed forward, when +the girl's voice struck his ear. He stopped, breathless. It was not +Francisco, but Juanita, the little mestiza. + +"But are you sure you are not pretending to love me now, as you +pretended to think I was the muchacha you had run away with and lost? +Are you sure it is not pity for the deceit you practiced upon me--upon +Don Juan--upon poor Father Pedro?" + +It seemed as if Cranch had tried to answer with a kiss, for the girl +drew suddenly away from him with a coquettish fling of the black braids, +and whipped her little brown hands behind her. + +"Well, look here," said Cranch, with the same easy, good-natured, +practical directness which the priest remembered, and which would have +passed for philosophy in a more thoughtful man, "put it squarely, then. +In the first place, it was Don Juan and the alcalde who first suggested +you might be the child." + +"But you have said you knew it was Francisco all the time," interrupted +Juanita. + +"I did; but when I found the priest would not assist me at first, and +admit that the acolyte was a girl, I preferred to let him think I +was deceived in giving a fortune to another, and leave it to his own +conscience to permit it or frustrate it. I was right. I reckon it was +pretty hard on the old man, at his time of life, and wrapped up as he +was in the girl; but at the moment he came up to the scratch like a +man." + +"And to save him you have deceived me? Thank you, Senor," said the girl +with a mock curtsey. + +"I reckon I preferred to have you for a wife than a daughter," said +Cranch, "if that's what you mean. When you know me better, Juanita," he +continued, gravely, "you'll know that I would never have let you believe +I sought in you the one if I had not hoped to find in you the other." + +"Bueno! And when did you have that pretty hope?" + +"When I first saw you." + +"And that was--two weeks ago." + +"A year ago, Juanita. When Francisco visited you at the rancho. I +followed and saw you." + +Juanita looked at him a moment, and then suddenly darted at him, caught +him by the lapels of his coat and shook him like a terrier. + +"Are you sure that you did not love that Francisco? Speak!" (She shook +him again.) "Swear that you did not follow her!" + +"But--I did," said Cranch, laughing and shaking between the clenching of +the little hands. + +"Judas Iscariot! Swear you do not love her all this while." + +"But, Juanita!" + +"Swear!" + +Cranch swore. Then to Father Pedro's intense astonishment she drew the +American's face towards her own by the ears and kissed him. + +"But you might have loved her, and married a fortune," said Juanita, +after a pause. + +"Where would have been my reparation--my duty?" returned Cranch, with a +laugh. + +"Reparation enough for her to have had you," said Juanita, with that +rapid disloyalty of one loving woman to another in an emergency. This +provoked another kiss from Cranch, and then Juanita said demurely,-- + +"But we are far from the trail. Let us return, or we shall miss Father +Pedro. Are you sure he will come?" + +"A week ago he promised to be here to see the proofs to-day." + +The voices were growing fainter and fainter; they were returning to the +trail. + +Father Pedro remained motionless. A week ago! Was it a week ago +since--since what? And what had he been doing here? Listening! He! +Father Pedro, listening like an idle peon to the confidences of two +lovers. But they had talked of him, of his crime, and the man had pitied +him. Why did he not speak? Why did he not call after them? He tried +to raise his voice. It sank in his throat with a horrible choking +sensation. The nearest heads of oats began to nod to him, he felt +himself swaying backwards and forwards. He fell--heavily, down, down, +down, from the summit of the mountain to the floor of the Mission +chapel, and there he lay in the dark. + +***** + +"He moves." + +"Blessed Saint Anthony preserve him!" + +It was Antonio's voice, it was Jose's arm, it was the field of wild +oats, the sky above his head,--all unchanged. + +"What has happened?" said the priest feebly. + +"A giddiness seized your reverence just now, as we were coming to seek +you." + +"And you met no one?" + +"No one, your reverence." + +Father Pedro passed his hand across his forehead. + +"But who are these?" he said, pointing to two figures who now appeared +upon the trail. + +Antonio turned. + +"It is the Americano, Senor Cranch, and his adopted daughter, the +mestiza Juanita, seeking your reverence, methinks." + +"Ah!" said Father Pedro. + +Cranch came forward and greeted the priest cordially. "It was kind of +you, Father Pedro," he said, meaningly, with a significant glance at +Jose and Antonio, "to come so far to bid me and my adopted daughter +farewell. We depart when the tide serves, but not before you partake of +our hospitality in yonder cottage." + +Father Pedro gazed at Cranch and then at Juanita. + +"I see," he stammered. "But she goes not alone. She will be strange at +first. She takes some friend, perhaps--some companion?" he continued, +tremulously. + +"A very old and dear one, Father Pedro, who is waiting for us now." + +He led the way to a little white cottage, so little and white and +recent, that it seemed a mere fleck of sea foam cast on the sands. +Disposing of Jose and Antonio in the neighboring workshop and +outbuildings, he assisted the venerable Sanchicha to dismount, and, +together with Father Pedro and Juanita, entered a white palisaded +enclosure beside the cottage, and halted before what appeared to be a +large, folding trap-door, covering a slight, sandy mound. It was locked +with a padlock; beside it stood the American alcalde and Don Juan +Briones. Father Pedro looked hastily around for another figure, but it +was not there. + +"Gentlemen," began Cranch, in his practical business way, "I reckon +you all know we've come here to identify a young lady, who"--he +hesitated--"was lately under the care of Father Pedro, with a foundling +picked up on this shore fifteen years ago by an Indian woman. How this +foundling came here, and how I was concerned in it, you all know. I've +told everybody here how I scrambled ashore, leaving that baby in the +dingy, supposing it would be picked up by the boat pursuing me. I've +told some of you," he looked at Father Pedro, "how I first discovered, +from one of the men, three years ago, that the child was not found by +its father. But I have never told any one, before now, I KNEW it was +picked up here. + +"I never could tell the exact locality where I came ashore, for the fog +was coming on as it is now. But two years ago I came up with a party of +gold hunters to work these sands. One day, digging near this creek, I +struck something embedded deep below the surface. Well, gentlemen, it +wasn't gold, but something worth more to me than gold or silver. Here it +is." + +At a sign the alcalde unlocked the doors and threw them open. They +disclosed an irregular trench, in which, filled with sand, lay the +half-excavated stern of a boat. + +"It was the dingy of the Trinidad, gentlemen; you can still read her +name. I found hidden away, tucked under the stern sheets, mouldy and +water-worn, some clothes that I recognized to be the baby's. I knew +then that the child had been taken away alive for some purpose, and +the clothes were left so that she should carry no trace with her. +I recognized the hand of an Indian. I set to work quietly. I found +Sanchicha here, she confessed to finding a baby, but what she had done +with it she would not at first say. But since then she has declared +before the alcalde that she gave it to Father Pedro, of San Carmel, and +that here it stands--Francisco that was! Francisca that it is!" + +He stepped aside to make way for a tall girl, who had approached from +the cottage. + +Father Pedro had neither noticed the concluding words nor the movement +of Cranch. His eyes were fixed upon the imbecile Sanchicha,--Sanchicha, +on whom, to render his rebuke more complete, the Deity seemed to have +worked a miracle, and restored intelligence to eye and lip. He passed +his hand tremblingly across his forehead, and turned away, when his eye +fell upon the last comer. + +It was she. The moment he had longed for and dreaded had come. She stood +there, animated, handsome, filled with a hurtful consciousness in +her new charms, her fresh finery, and the pitiable trinkets that had +supplanted her scapulary, and which played under her foolish fingers. +The past had no place in her preoccupied mind; her bright eyes were +full of eager anticipation of a substantial future. The incarnation of a +frivolous world, even as she extended one hand to him in half-coquettish +embarrassment she arranged the folds of her dress with the other. At +the touch of her fingers, he felt himself growing old and cold. Even +the penance of parting, which he had looked forward to, was denied him; +there was no longer sympathy enough for sorrow. He thought of the empty +chorister's robe in the little cell, but not now with regret. He only +trembled to think of the flesh that he had once caused to inhabit it. + +"That's all, gentlemen," broke in the practical voice of Cranch. +"Whether there are proofs enough to make Francisca the heiress of her +father's wealth, the lawyers must say. I reckon it's enough for me that +they give me the chance of repairing a wrong by taking her father's +place. After all, it was a mere chance." + +"It was the will of God," said Father Pedro, solemnly. + +They were the last words he addressed them. For when the fog had begun +to creep inshore, hastening their departure, he only answered their +farewells by a silent pressure of the hand, mute lips, and far-off eyes. + +When the sound of their laboring oars grew fainter, he told Antonio to +lead him and Sanchicha again to the buried boat. There he bade her kneel +beside him. "We will do penance here, thou and I, daughter," he said +gravely. When the fog had drawn its curtain gently around the strange +pair, and sea and shore were blotted out, he whispered, "Tell me, it was +even so, was it not, daughter, on the night she came?" When the distant +clatter of blocks and rattle of cordage came from the unseen vessel, now +standing out to sea, he whispered again, "So, this is what thou didst +hear, even then." And so during the night he marked, more or less +audibly to the half-conscious woman at his side, the low whisper of the +waves, the murmur of the far-off breakers, the lightening and thickening +of the fog, the phantoms of moving shapes, and the slow coming of the +dawn. And when the morning sun had rent the veil over land and sea, +Antonio and Jose found him, haggard, but erect, beside the trembling +old woman, with a blessing on his lips, pointing to the horizon where a +single sail still glimmered:-- + +"Va Usted con Dios." + + + + + +A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +She was barely twenty-three years old. It is probable that up to that +age, and the beginning of this episode, her life had been uneventful. +Born to the easy mediocrity of such compensating extremes as a small +farmhouse and large lands, a good position and no society, in that vast +grazing district of Kentucky known as the "Blue Grass" region, all the +possibilities of a Western American girl's existence lay before her. +A piano in the bare-walled house, the latest patented mower in the +limitless meadows, and a silk dress sweeping the rough floor of +the unpainted "meeting-house" were already the promise of those +possibilities. Beautiful she was, but the power of that beauty was +limited by being equally shared with her few neighbors. There were +small, narrow, arched feet besides her own that trod the uncarpeted +floors of outlying log-cabins with equal grace and dignity; bright, +clearly opened eyes that were equally capable of looking unabashed +upon princes and potentates, as a few later did, and the heiress of the +county judge read her own beauty without envy in the frank glances and +unlowered crest of the blacksmith's daughter. Eventually she had married +the male of her species, a young stranger, who, as schoolmaster in +the nearest town, had utilized to some local extent a scant capital +of education. In obedience to the unwritten law of the West, after +the marriage was celebrated the doors of the ancestral home cheerfully +opened, and bride and bridegroom issued forth, without regret and +without sentiment, to seek the further possibilities of a life beyond +these already too familiar voices. With their departure for California +as Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Tucker, the parental nest in the Blue Grass +meadows knew them no more. + +They submitted with equal cheerfulness to the privations and excesses of +their new conditions. Within three years the schoolmaster developed into +a lawyer and capitalist, the Blue Grass bride supplying a grace and ease +to these transitions that were all her own. She softened the abruptness +of sudden wealth, mitigated the austerities of newly acquired power, and +made the most glaring incongruity picturesque. Only one thing seemed +to limit their progress in the region of these possibilities. They +were childless. It was as if they had exhausted the future in their own +youth, leaving little or nothing for another generation to do. + + +A southwesterly storm was beating against the dressing-room windows +of their new house in one of the hilly suburbs of San Francisco, and +threatening the unseasonable frivolity of the stucco ornamentation of +cornice and balcony. Mrs. Tucker had been called from the contemplation +of the dreary prospect without by the arrival of a visitor. On +entering the drawing-room she found him engaged in a half-admiring, +half-resentful examination of its new furniture and hangings. Mrs. +Tucker at once recognized Mr. Calhoun Weaver, a former Blue Grass +neighbor; with swift feminine intuition she also felt that his slight +antagonism was likely to be transferred from her furniture to herself. +Waiving it with the lazy amiability of Southern indifference, she +welcomed him by the familiarity of a Christian name. + +"I reckoned that mebbee you opined old Blue Grass friends wouldn't +naturally hitch on to them fancy doins," he said, glancing around the +apartment to avoid her clear eyes, as if resolutely setting himself +against the old charm of her manner as he had against the more recent +glory of her surroundings, "but I thought I'd just drop in for the sake +of old times." + +"Why shouldn't you, Cal?" said Mrs. Tucker with a frank smile. + +"Especially as I'm going up to Sacramento to-night with some influential +friends," he continued, with an ostentation calculated to resist the +assumption of her charms and her furniture. "Senator Dyce of Kentucky, +and his cousin Judge Briggs; perhaps you know 'em, or may be Spencer--I +mean Mr. Tucker--does." + +"I reckon," said Mrs. Tucker smiling; "but tell me something about the +boys and girls at Vineville, and about yourself. YOU'RE looking well, +and right smart too." She paused to give due emphasis to this latter +recognition of a huge gold chain with which her visitor was somewhat +ostentatiously trifling. + +"I didn't know as you cared to hear anything about Blue Grass," he +returned, a little abashed. "I've been away from there some time +myself," he added, his uneasy vanity taking fresh alarm at the faint +suspicion of patronage on the part of his hostess. "They're doin' well, +though; perhaps as well as some others." + +"And you're not married yet," continued Mrs. Tucker, oblivious of the +innuendo. "Ah, Cal," she added archly, "I am afraid you are as fickle as +ever. What poor girl in Vineville have you left pining?" + +The simple face of the man before her flushed with foolish gratification +at this old-fashioned, ambiguous flattery. "Now look yer, Belle," he +said, chuckling, "if you're talking of old times and you think I bear +malice agin Spencer, why--" + +But Mrs. Tucker interrupted what might have been an inopportune +sentimental retrospect with a finger of arch but languid warning. "That +will do! I'm dying to know all about it, and you must stay to dinner and +tell me. It's right mean you can't see Spencer too; but he isn't back +from Sacramento yet." + +Grateful as a tete-a-tete with his old neighbor in her more prosperous +surroundings would have been, if only for the sake of later gossiping +about it, he felt it would be inconsistent with his pride and his +assumption of present business. More than that, he was uneasily +conscious that in Mrs. Tucker's simple and unaffected manner there was +a greater superiority than he had ever noticed during their previous +acquaintance. He would have felt kinder to her had she shown any +"airs and graces," which he could have commented upon and forgiven. He +stammered some vague excuse of preoccupation, yet lingered in the hope +of saying something which, if not aggressively unpleasant, might at +least transfer to her indolent serenity some of his own irritation. +"I reckon," he said, as he moved hesitatingly towards the door, "that +Spencer has made himself easy and secure in them business risks he's +taking. That 'ere Alameda ditch affair they're talking so much about +is a mighty big thing, rather TOO big if it ever got to falling back on +him. But I suppose he's accustomed to take risks?" + +"Of course he is," said Mrs. Tucker gayly. "He married ME." + +The visitor smiled feebly, but was not equal to the opportunity offered +for gallant repudiation. "But suppose you ain't accustomed to risks?" + +"Why not? I married HIM," said Mrs. Tucker. + +Mr. Calhoun Weaver was human, and succumbed to this last charming +audacity. He broke into a noisy but genuine laugh, shook Mrs. Tucker's +hand with effusion, said, "Now that's regular Blue Grass and no +mistake!" and retreated under cover of his hilarity. In the hall he +made a rallying stand to repeat confidentially to the servant who had +overheard them: "Blue Grass, all over, you bet your life," and, opening +the door, was apparently swallowed up in the tempest. + +Mrs. Tucker's smile kept her lips until she had returned to her room, +and even then languidly shone in her eyes for some minutes after, as +she gazed abstractedly from her window on the storm-tossed bay in the +distance. Perhaps some girlish vision of the peaceful Blue Glass plain +momentarily usurped the prospect; but it is to be doubted if there was +much romance in that retrospect, or that it was more interesting to her +than the positive and sharply cut outlines of the practical life she now +held. Howbeit she soon forgot this fancy in lazily watching a boat that, +in the teeth of the gale, was beating round Alcatraz Island. Although +at times a mere blank speck on the gray waste of foam, a closer scrutiny +showed it to be one of those lateen-rigged Italian fishing boats that so +often flecked the distant bay. Lost in the sudden darkening of rain, +or reappearing beneath the lifted curtain of the squall, she watched +it weather the island, and then turn its laboring but persistent course +towards the open channel. A rent in the Indian-inky sky, that showed the +narrowing portals of the Golden Gate beyond, revealed, as unexpectedly, +the destination of the little craft, a tall ship that hitherto lay +hidden in the mist of the Saucelito shore. As the distance lessened +between boat and ship, they were again lost in the downward swoop of +another squall. When it lifted, the ship was creeping under the headland +towards the open sea, but the boat was gone. Mrs. Tucker in vain rubbed +the pane with her handkerchief; it had vanished. Meanwhile the ship, +as she neared the Gate, drew out from the protecting headland, stood +outlined for a moment with spars and canvas hearsed in black against +the lurid rent in the horizon, and then seemed to sink slowly into the +heaving obscurity beyond. A sudden onset of rain against the windows +obliterated the remaining prospect; the entrance of a servant completed +the diversion. + +"Captain Poindexter, ma'am!" + +Mrs. Tucker lifted her pretty eyebrows interrogatively. Captain +Poindexter was a legal friend of her husband, and had dined there +frequently; nevertheless she asked: "Did you tell him Mr. Tucker was not +at home?" + +"Yes, 'm." + +"Did he ask for ME?" + +"Yes, 'm." + +"Tell him I'll be down directly." + +Mrs. Tucker's quiet face did not betray the fact that this second +visitor was even less interesting than the first. In her heart she did +not like Captain Poindexter. With a clever woman's instinct she had +early detected the fact that he had a superior, stronger nature than +her husband; as a loyal wife, she secretly resented the occasional +unconscious exhibition of this fact on the part of his intimate friend +in their familiar intercourse. Added to this slight jealousy, there was +a certain moral antagonism between herself and the captain which none +but themselves knew. They were both philosophers, but Mrs. Tucker's +serene and languid optimism would not tolerate the compassionate and +kind-hearted pessimisms of the lawyer. "Knowing what Jack Poindexter +does of human nature," her husband had once said, "it's mighty fine in +him to be so kind and forgiving. You ought to like him better, Belle." +"And qualify myself to be forgiven," said the lady pertly. "I don't see +what you're driving at, Belle; I give it up," had responded the puzzled +husband. Mrs. Tucker kissed his high but foolish forehead tenderly, and +said: "I'm glad you don't, dear." + +Meanwhile her second visitor had, like the first, employed the interval +in a critical survey of the glories of the new furniture, but with +apparently more compassion than resentment in his manner. Once only had +his expression changed. Over the fireplace hung a large photograph of +Mr. Spencer Tucker. It was retouched, refined, and idealized in the +highest style of that polite and diplomatic art. As Captain Poindexter +looked upon the fringed hazel eyes, the drooping raven moustache, the +clustering ringlets, and the Byronic full throat and turned-down collar +of his friend, a smile of exhausted humorous tolerance and affectionate +impatience curved his lips. "Well, you ARE a fool, aren't you?" he +apostrophized it half-audibly. + +He was standing before the picture as she entered. Even in the +trying contiguity of that peerless work he would have been called a +fine-looking man. As he advanced to greet her, it was evident that +his military title was not one of the mere fanciful sobriquets of the +locality. In his erect figure and the disciplined composure of limb and +attitude there were still traces of the refined academic rigors of West +Point. The pliant adaptability of Western civilization which enabled +him, three years before, to leave the army and transfer his executive +ability to the more profitable profession of the law, had loosed sash +and shoulder-strap, but had not entirely removed the restraint of the +one, or the bearing of the other. + +"Spencer is in Sacramento," began Mrs. Tucker in languid explanation, +after the first greetings were over. + +"I knew he was not here," replied Captain Poindexter gently, as he drew +the proffered chair towards her, "but this is business that concerns +you both." He stopped and glanced upwards at the picture. "I suppose +you know nothing of his business? Of course not," he added reassuringly, +"nothing, absolutely nothing, certainly." He said this so kindly, and +yet so positively, as if to promptly dispose of that question before +going further, that she assented mechanically. "Well, then, he's taken +some big risks in the way of business, and--well, things have gone bad +with him, you know. Very bad! Really, they couldn't be worse! Of course +it was dreadfully rash and all that," he went on, as if commenting +upon the amusing waywardness of a child; "but the result is the usual +smash-up of everything, money, credit, and all!" He laughed and +added: "Yes, he's got cut off--mules and baggage regularly routed and +dispersed! I'm in earnest." He raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly, +as if to deprecate any corresponding hilarity on the part of Mrs. +Tucker, or any attempt to make TOO light of the subject, and then +rising, placed his hands behind his back, beamed half-humorously upon +her from beneath her husband's picture, and repeated: "That's so." + +Mrs. Tucker instinctively knew that he spoke the truth, and that it was +impossible for him to convey it in any other than his natural manner; +but between the shock and the singular influence of that manner she +could at first only say, "You don't mean it!" fully conscious of +the utter inanity of the remark, and that it seemed scarcely less +cold-blooded than his own. + +Poindexter, still smiling, nodded. + +She arose with an effort. She had recovered from the first shock, and +pride lent her a determined calmness that more than equaled Poindexter's +easy philosophy. + +"Where is he?" she asked. + +"At sea, and I hope by this time where he can not be found or followed." + +Was her momentary glimpse of the outgoing ship a coincidence, or only +a vision? She was confused and giddy, but, mastering her weakness, she +managed to continue in a lower voice: + +"You have no message for me from him? He told you nothing to tell me?" + +"Nothing, absolutely nothing," replied Poindexter. "It was as much as he +could do, I reckon, to get fairly away before the crash came." + +"Then you did not see him go?" + +"Well, no," said Poindexter. "I'd hardly have managed things in this +way." He checked himself and added, with a forgiving smile, "But he was +the best judge of what he needed, of course." + +"I suppose I will hear from him," she said quietly, "as soon as he is +safe. He must have had enough else to think about, poor fellow." + +She said this so naturally and quietly that Poindexter was deceived. +He had no idea that the collected woman before him was thinking only of +solitude and darkness, of her own room, and madly longing to be there. +He said, "Yes, I dare say," in quite another voice, and glanced at the +picture. But as she remained standing, he continued more earnestly, +"I didn't come here to tell you what you might read in the newspapers +to-morrow morning, and what everybody might tell you. Before that time +I want you to do something to save a fragment of your property from +the ruin; do you understand? I want you to make a rally, and bring off +something in good order." + +"For him?" said Mrs. Tucker, with brightening eyes. + +"Well, yes, of course--if you like--but as if for yourself. Do you know +the Rancho de los Cuervos?" + +"I do." + +"It's almost the only bit of real property your husband hasn't sold, +mortgaged, or pledged. Why it was exempt, or whether only forgotten, I +can't say." + +"I'll tell you why," said Mrs. Tucker, with a slight return of color. +"It was the first land we ever bought, and Spencer always said it should +be mine and he would build a new house on it." + +Captain Poindexter smiled and nodded at the picture. "Oh, he did say +that, did he? Well, THAT'S evidence. But you see he never gave you the +deed, and by sunrise to-morrow his creditors will attach it--unless--" + +"Unless--" repeated Mrs. Tucker, with kindling eyes. + +"Unless," continued Captain Poindexter, "they happen to find YOU in +possession." + +"I'll go," said Mrs. Tucker. + +"Of course you will," returned Poindexter, pleasantly; "only, as it's +a big contract to take, suppose we see how you can fill it. It's forty +miles to Los Cuervos, and you can't trust yourself to steamboat or +stage-coach. The steamboat left an hour ago." + +"If I had only known this then!" ejaculated Mrs. Tucker. + +"I knew it, but you had company then," said Poindexter, with ironical +gallantry, "and I wouldn't disturb you." Without saying how he knew it, +he continued, "In the stage-coach you might be recognized. You must go +in a private conveyance and alone; even I can not go with you, for I +must go on before and meet you there. Can you drive forty miles?" + +Mrs. Tucker lifted up her abstracted pretty lids. "I once drove +fifty--at home," she returned simply. + +"Good! and I dare say you did it then for fun. Do it now for something +real and personal, as we lawyers say. You will have relays and a plan of +the road. It's rough weather for a pasear, but all the better for that. +You'll have less company on the road." + +"How soon can I go?" she asked. + +"The sooner the better. I've arranged everything for you already," he +continued with a laugh. "Come now, that's a compliment to you, isn't +it?" He smiled a moment in her steadfast, earnest face, and then said, +more gravely, "You'll do. Now listen." + +He then carefully detailed his plan. There was so little of excitement +or mystery in their manner that the servant, who returned to light the +gas, never knew that the ruin and bankruptcy of the house was being told +before her, or that its mistress was planning her secret flight. + +"Good afternoon; I will see you to-morrow then," said Poindexter, +raising his eyes to hers as the servant opened the door for him. + +"Good afternoon," repeated Mrs. Tucker quietly answering his look. "You +need not light the gas in my room, Mary," she continued in the same +tone of voice as the door closed upon him; "I shall lie down for a few +moments, and then I may run over to the Robinsons for the evening." + +She regained her room composedly. The longing desire to bury her head +in her pillow and "think out" her position had gone. She did not +apostrophize her fate, she did not weep; few real women do in the access +of calamity, or when there is anything else to be done. She felt that +she knew it all; she believed she had sounded the profoundest depths +of the disaster, and seemed already so old in her experience that she +almost fancied she had been prepared for it. Perhaps she did not fully +appreciate it; to a life like hers it was only an incident, the mere +turning of a page of the illimitable book of youth; the breaking up of +what she now felt had become a monotony. In fact, she was not quite sure +she had ever been satisfied with their present success. Had it brought +her all she expected? She wanted to say this to her husband, not only +to comfort him, poor fellow, but that they might come to a better +understanding of life in the future. She was not perhaps different +from other loving women who, believing in this unattainable goal +of matrimony, have sought it in the various episodes of fortune or +reverses, in the bearing of children, or the loss of friends. In her +childless experience there was no other life that had taken root in her +circumstances and might suffer transplantation; only she and her husband +could lose or profit by the change. The "perfect" understanding would +come under other conditions than these. + +She would have gone superstitiously to the window to gaze in the +direction of the vanished ship, but another instinct restrained her. +She would put aside all yearning for him until she had done something to +help him, and earned the confidence he seemed to have withheld. Perhaps +it was pride--perhaps she never really believed his exodus was distant +or complete. + +With a full knowledge that to-morrow the various ornaments and pretty +trifles around her would be in the hands of the law, she gathered only a +few necessaries for her flight and some familiar personal trinkets. I +am constrained to say that this self-abnegation was more fastidious than +moral. She had no more idea of the ethics of bankruptcy than any other +charming woman; she simply did not like to take with her any contagious +memory of the chapter of the life just closing. She glanced around the +home she was leaving without a lingering regret; there was no sentiment +of tradition or custom that might be destroyed; her roots lay too near +the surface to suffer from dislocation; the happiness of her childless +union had depended upon no domestic centre, nor was its flame sacred to +any local hearthstone. It was without a sigh that, when night had fully +fallen, she slipped unnoticed down the staircase. At the door of the +drawing-room she paused and then entered with the first guilty feeling +of shame she had known that evening. Looking stealthily around she +mounted a chair before her husband's picture, kissed the irreproachable +moustache hurriedly, said, "You foolish darling, you!" and slipped +out again. With this touching indorsement of the views of a rival +philosopher, she closed the door softly and left her home forever. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The wind and rain had cleared the unfrequented suburb of any observant +lounger, and the darkness, lit only by far-spaced, gusty lamps, hid +her hastening figure. She had barely crossed the second street when she +heard the quick clatter of hoofs behind her; a buggy drove up to the +curbstone, and Poindexter leaped out. She entered quickly, but for a +moment he still held the reins of the impatient horse. "He's rather +fresh," he said, eying her keenly; "are you sure you can manage him?" + +"Give me the reins," she said simply. + +He placed them in the two firm, well-shaped hands that reached from the +depths of the vehicle, and was satisfied. Yet he lingered. + +"It's rough work for a lone woman," he said, almost curtly. "I can't +go with you, but, speak frankly, is there any man you know whom you can +trust well enough to take? It's not too late yet; think a moment!" + +He paused over the buttoning of the leather apron of the vehicle. + +"No, there is none," answered the voice from the interior; "and it's +better so. Is all ready?" + +"One moment more." He had recovered his half-bantering manner. "You HAVE +a friend and countryman already with you, do you know? Your horse is +Blue Grass. Good night." + +With these words ringing in her ears she began her journey. The horse, +as if eager to maintain the reputation which his native district had +given his race, as well as the race of the pretty woman behind him, +leaped impatiently forward. But pulled together by the fine and firm +fingers that seemed to guide rather than check his exuberance, he +presently struck into the long, swinging pace of his kind, and kept it +throughout without "break" or acceleration. Over the paved streets the +light buggy rattled, and the slender shafts danced around his smooth +barrel, but when they touched the level high-road, horse and vehicle +slipped forward through the night, a swift and noiseless phantom. Mrs. +Tucker could see his graceful back dimly rising and falling before her +with tireless rhythm, and could feel the intelligent pressure of his +mouth until it seemed the responsive grasp of a powerful but kindly +hand. The faint glow of conquest came to her cold cheek; the slight +stirrings of pride moved her preoccupied heart. A soft light filled her +hazel eyes. A desolate woman, bereft of husband and home, and flying +through storm and night, she knew not where, she still leaned forward +towards her horse. "Was he Blue Grass, then, dear old boy?" she gently +cooed at him in the darkness. He evidently WAS, and responded by blowing +her an ostentatious equine kiss. "And he would be good to his own +forsaken Belle," she murmured caressingly, "and wouldn't let any one +harm her?" But here, overcome by the lazy witchery of her voice, he +shook his head so violently that Mrs. Tucker, after the fashion of her +sex, had the double satisfaction of demurely restraining the passion she +had evoked. + +To avoid the more traveled thoroughfare, while the evening was still +early, it had been arranged that she should at first take a less direct +but less frequented road. This was a famous pleasure-drive from San +Francisco, a graveled and sanded stretch of eight miles to the sea and +an ultimate "cocktail," in a "stately pleasure-dome decreed" among the +surf and rocks of the Pacific shore. It was deserted now, and left to +the unobstructed sweep of the wind and rain. Mrs. Tucker would not have +chosen this road. With the instinctive jealousy of a bucolic inland race +born by great rivers, she did not like the sea; and again the dim and +dreary waste tended to recall the vision connected with her husband's +flight, upon which she had resolutely shut her eyes. But when she had +reached it the road suddenly turned, following the trend of the beach, +and she was exposed to the full power of its dread fascinations. The +combined roar of sea and shore was in her ears; as the direct force of +the gale had compelled her to furl the protecting hood of the buggy +to keep the light vehicle from oversetting or drifting to leeward, she +could no longer shut out the heaving chaos on the right from which the +pallid ghosts of dead and dying breakers dimly rose and sank as if in +awful salutation. At times through the darkness a white sheet appeared +spread before the path and beneath the wheels of the buggy, which, when +withdrawn with a reluctant hiss, seemed striving to drag the exhausted +beach seaward with it. But the blind terror of her horse, who swerved at +every sweep of the surge, shamed her own half-superstitious fears, +and with the effort to control his alarm she regained her own +self-possession, albeit with eyelashes wet not altogether with the salt +spray from the sea. This was followed by a reaction, perhaps stimulated +by her victory over the beaten animal, when for a time, she knew not how +long, she felt only a mad sense of freedom and power; oblivious of +even her sorrows, her lost home and husband, and with intense feminine +consciousness she longed to be a man. She was scarcely aware that the +track turned again inland until the beat of the horse's hoofs on the +firm ground and an acceleration of speed showed her she had left the +beach and the mysterious sea behind her, and she remembered that she was +near the end of the first stage of her journey. Half an hour later the +twinkling lights of the roadside inn where she was to change horses rose +out of the darkness. + +Happily for her, the ostler considered the horse, who had a local +reputation, of more importance than the unknown muffled figure in the +shadow of the unfurled hood, and confined his attention to the animal. +After a careful examination of his feet and a few comments addressed +solely to the superior creation, he led him away. Mrs. Tucker would have +liked to part more affectionately from her four-footed compatriot, and +felt a sudden sense of loneliness at the loss of her new friend, but a +recollection of certain cautions of Captain Poindexter's kept her mute. +Nevertheless, the ostler's ostentatious adjuration of "Now then, aren't +you going to bring out that mustang for the Senora?" puzzled her. It was +not until the fresh horse was put to, and she had flung a piece of gold +into the attendant's hand, that the "Gracias" of his unmistakable Saxon +speech revealed to her the reason of the lawyer's caution. Poindexter +had evidently represented her to these people as a native Californian +who did not speak English. In her inconsistency her blood took fire at +this first suggestion of deceit, and burned in her face. Why should he +try to pass her off as anybody else? Why should she not use her own, her +husband's name? She stopped and bit her lip. + +It was but the beginning of an uneasy train of thought. She suddenly +found herself thinking of her visitor, Calhoun Weaver, and not +pleasantly. He would hear of their ruin tomorrow, perhaps of her own +flight. He would remember his visit, and what would he think of her +deceitful frivolity? Would he believe that she was then ignorant of the +failure? It was her first sense of any accountability to others than +herself, but even then it was rather owing to an uneasy consciousness of +what her husband must feel if he were subjected to the criticisms of +men like Calhoun. She wondered if others knew that he had kept her +in ignorance of his flight. Did Poindexter know it, or had he only +entrapped her into the admission? Why had she not been clever enough +to make him think that she knew it already? For the moment she hated +Poindexter for sharing that secret. Yet this was again followed by a +new impatience of her husband's want of insight into her ability to help +him. Of course the poor fellow could not bear to worry her, could +not bear to face such men as Calhoun, or even Poindexter (she added +exultingly to herself), but he might have sent her a line as he fled, +only to prepare her to meet and combat the shame alone. It did not occur +to her unsophisticated singleness of nature that she was accepting as an +error of feeling what the world would call cowardly selfishness. + +At midnight the storm lulled and a few stars trembled through the rent +clouds. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and her country +instincts, a little overlaid by the urban experiences of the last few +years, came again to the surface. She felt the fresh, cool radiation +from outlying, upturned fields, the faint, sad odors from dim stretches +of pricking grain and quickening leaf, and wondered if at Los Cuervos +it might be possible to reproduce the peculiar verdure of her native +district. She beguiled her fancy by an ambitious plan of retrieving +their fortunes by farming; her comfortable tastes had lately rebelled +against the homeless mechanical cultivation of these desolate but +teeming Californian acres, and for a moment indulged in a vision of +a vine-clad cottage home that in any other woman would have been +sentimental. Her cramped limbs aching, she took advantage of the +security of the darkness and the familiar contiguity of the fields to +get down from the vehicle, gather her skirts together, and run at the +head of the mustang, until her chill blood was thawed, night drawing a +modest veil over this charming revelation of the nymph and woman. But +the sudden shadow of a coyote checked the scouring feet of this swift +Camilla, and sent her back precipitately to the buggy. Nevertheless, +she was refreshed and able to pursue her journey, until the cold gray of +early morning found her at the end of her second stage. + +Her route was changed again from the main highway, rendered dangerous by +the approach of day and the contiguity of the neighboring rancheros. The +road was rough and hilly, her new horse and vehicle in keeping with the +rudeness of the route--by far the most difficult of her whole journey. +The rare wagon tracks that indicated her road were often scarcely +discernible; at times they led her through openings in the half-cleared +woods, skirted suspicious morasses, painfully climbed the smooth, +dome-like hills, or wound along perilous slopes at a dangerous angle. +Twice she had to alight and cling to the sliding wheels on one of those +treacherous inclines, or drag them from impending ruts or immovable +mire. In the growing light she could distinguish the distant, low-lying +marshes eaten by encroaching sloughs and insidious channels, and beyond +them the faint gray waste of the Lower Bay. A darker peninsula in the +marsh she knew to be the extreme boundary of her future home: the Rancho +de los Cuervos. In another hour she began to descend to the plain, and +once more to approach the main road, which now ran nearly parallel +with her track. She scanned it cautiously for any early traveler; it +stretched north and south in apparent unending solitude. She struck +into it boldly, and urged her horse to the top of his speed, until she +reached the cross road that led to the rancho. But here she paused and +allowed the reins to drop idly on the mustang's back. A singular and +unaccountable irresolution seized her. The difficulties of her journey +were over; the rancho lay scarcely two miles away; she had achieved +the most important part of her task in the appointed time, but she +hesitated. What had she come for? She tried to recall Poindexter's +words, even her own enthusiasm, but in vain. She was going to take +possession of her husband's property, she knew, that was all. But the +means she had taken seemed now so exaggerated and mysterious for that +simple end that she began to dread an impending something, or some vague +danger she had not considered, that she was rushing blindly to meet. +Full of this strange feeling she almost mechanically stopped her horse +as she entered the cross road. + +From this momentary hesitation a singular sound aroused her. It seemed +at first like the swift hurrying by of some viewless courier of the +air, the vague alarm of some invisible flying herald, or like the +inarticulate cry that precedes a storm. It seemed to rise and fall +around her as if with some changing urgency of purpose. Raising her eyes +she suddenly recognized the two far-stretching lines of telegraph wire +above her head, and knew the aeolian cry of the morning wind along its +vibrating chords. But it brought another and more practical fear to her +active brain. Perhaps even now the telegraph might be anticipating her! +Had Poindexter thought of that? She hesitated no longer, but laying the +whip on the back of her jaded mustang again hurried forward. + +As the level horizon grew more distinct, her attention was attracted by +the white sail of a small boat lazily threading the sinuous channel of +the slough. It might be Poindexter arriving by the more direct route +from the steamboat that occasionally lay off the ancient embarcadero of +the Los Cuervos Rancho. But even while watching it her quick ear caught +the sound of galloping hoofs behind her. She turned quickly and saw she +was followed by a horseman. But her momentary alarm was succeeded by +a feeling of relief as she recognized the erect figure and square +shoulders of Poindexter. Yet she could not help thinking that he looked +more like a militant scout, and less like a cautious legal adviser, than +ever. + +With unaffected womanliness she rearranged her slightly disordered hair +as he drew up beside her. "I thought you were in yonder boat," she said. + +"Not I," he laughed; "I distanced you by the high road two hours, and +have been reconnoitring, until I saw you hesitate at the cross roads." + +"But who is in the boat?" asked Mrs. Tucker, partly to hide her +embarrassment. + +"Only some early Chinese market gardener, I dare say. But you are safe +now. You are on your own land. You passed the boundary monument of the +rancho five minutes ago. Look! All you see before you is yours from the +embarcadero to yonder Coast Range." + +The tone of half-raillery did not, however, cheer Mrs. Tucker. She +shuddered slightly and cast her eyes over the monotonous sea of tule and +meadow. + +"It doesn't look pretty, perhaps," continued Poindexter, "but it's the +richest land in the State, and the embarcadero will some day be a town. +I suppose you'll call it Blue Grassville. But you seem tired!" he said, +suddenly dropping his voice to a tone of half-humorous sympathy. + +Mrs. Tucker managed to get rid of an impending tear under the pretense +of clearing her eyes. "Are we nearly there?" she asked. + +"Nearly. You know," he added with the same half-mischievous, +half-sympathizing gayety, "it's not exactly a palace you're coming +to. Hardly. It's the old casa that has been deserted for years, but I +thought it better you should go into possession there than take up your +abode at the shanty where your husband's farm-hands are. No one will +know when you take possession of the casa, while the very hour of +your arrival at the shanty would be known; and if they should make any +trouble--" + +"If they should make any trouble?" repeated Mrs. Tucker, lifting her +frank, inquiring eyes to Poindexter. + +His horse suddenly rearing from an apparently accidental prick of the +spur, it was a minute or two before he was able to explain. "I mean if +this ever comes up as a matter of evidence, you know. But here we are!" + +What had seemed to be an overgrown mound rising like an island out of +the dead level of the grassy sea now resolved itself into a collection +of adobe walls, eaten and incrusted with shrubs and vines, that +bore some resemblance to the usual uninhabited-looking exterior of a +Spanish-American dwelling. Apertures that might have been lance-shaped +windows or only cracks and fissures in the walls were choked up with +weeds and grass, and gave no passing glimpse of the interior. Entering +a ruinous corral they came to a second entrance, which proved to be the +patio or courtyard. The deserted wooden corridor, with beams, rafters, +and floors whitened by the eternal sun and wind, contained a few +withered leaves, dryly rotting skins, and thongs of leather, as if +undisturbed by human care. But among these scattered debris of former +life and habitation there was no noisome or unclean suggestion of decay. +A faint, spiced odor of desiccation filled the bare walls. There was +no slime on stone or sun-dried brick. In place of fungus or discolored +moisture the dust of efflorescence whitened in the obscured corners. The +elements had picked clean the bones of the crumbling tenement ere they +should finally absorb it. + +A withered old peon woman, who in dress, complexion, and fibrous hair +might have been an animated fragment of the debris, rustled out of a low +vaulted passage and welcomed them with a feeble crepitation. Following +her into the dim interior Mrs. Tucker was surprised to find some slight +attempt at comfort and even adornment in the two or three habitable +apartments. They were scrupulously clean and dry, two qualities which in +her feminine eyes atoned for poverty of material. + +"I could not send anything from San Bruno, the nearest village, without +attracting attention," explained Poindexter; "but if you can manage to +picnic here for a day longer, I'll get one of our Chinese friends here," +he pointed to the slough, "to bring over, for his return cargo from +across the bay, any necessaries you may want. There is no danger of his +betraying you," he added, with an ironical smile; "Chinamen and Indians +are, by an ingenious provision of the statute of California, incapable +of giving evidence against a white person. You can trust your handmaiden +perfectly--even if she can't trust YOU. That is your sacred privilege +under the constitution. And now, as I expect to catch the up boat ten +miles from hence, I must say 'good-by' until to-morrow night. I hope +to bring you then some more definite plans for the future. The worst is +over." He held her hand for a moment, and with a graver voice continued, +"You have done it very well--do you know--very well!" + +In the slight embarrassment produced by his sudden change of manner she +felt that her thanks seemed awkward and restrained. "Don't thank me," he +laughed, with a prompt return of his former levity, "that's my trade. I +only advised. You have saved yourself like a plucky woman--shall I say +like Blue Grass? Good-by!" He mounted his horse, but, as if struck by an +after-thought, wheeled and drew up by her side again. "If I were you I +wouldn't see many strangers for a day or two, and listen to as +little news as a woman possibly can." He laughed again, waved her a +half-gallant, half-military salute, and was gone. The question she had +been trying to frame, regarding the probability of communication with +her husband, remained unasked. At least she had saved her pride before +him. + +Addressing herself to the care of her narrow household, she mechanically +put away the few things she had brought with her, and began to readjust +the scant furniture. She was a little discomposed at first at the +absence of bolts, locks, and even window-fastenings until assured, by +Concha's evident inability to comprehend her concern, that they were +quite unknown at Los Cuervos. Her slight knowledge of Spanish was barely +sufficient to make her wants known, so that the relief of conversation +with her only companion was debarred her, and she was obliged to content +herself with the sapless, crackling smiles and withered genuflexions +that the old woman dropped like dead leaves in her path. It was staring +noon when, the house singing like an empty shell in the monotonous +wind, she felt she could stand the solitude no longer, and, crossing the +glaring patio and whistling corridor, made her way to the open gateway. + +But the view without seemed to intensify her desolation. The broad +expanse of the shadowless plain reached apparently to the Coast Range, +trackless and unbroken save by one or two clusters of dwarfed oaks, +which at that distance were but mossy excrescences on the surface, +barely raised above the dead level. On the other side the marsh took +up the monotony and carried it, scarcely interrupted by undefined +water-courses, to the faintly marked out horizon line of the remote bay. +Scattered and apparently motionless black spots on the meadows that gave +a dreary significance to the title of "the Crows" which the rancho bore, +and sudden gray clouds of sand-pipers on the marshes, that rose and +vanished down the wind, were the only signs of life. Even the white sail +of the early morning was gone. + +She stood there until the aching of her straining eyes and the +stiffening of her limbs in the cold wind compelled her to seek the +sheltered warmth of the courtyard. Here she endeavored to make friends +with a bright-eyed lizard, who was sunning himself in the corridor; a +graceful little creature in blue and gold, from whom she felt at other +times she might have fled, but whose beauty and harmlessness solitude +had made known to her. With misplaced kindness she tempted it with +bread-crumbs, with no other effect than to stiffen it into stony +astonishment. She wondered if she should become like the prisoners +she had read of in books, who poured out their solitary affections on +noisome creatures, and she regretted even the mustang, which with the +buggy had disappeared under the charge of some unknown retainer on her +arrival. Was she not a prisoner? The shutterless windows, yawning doors, +and open gate refuted her suggestion, but the encompassing solitude and +trackless waste still held her captive. Poindexter had told her it was +four miles to the shanty; she might walk there. Why had she given her +word that she would remain at the rancho until he returned? + +The long day crept monotonously away, and she welcomed the night +which shut out the dreary prospect. But it brought no cessation of +the harassing wind without, nor surcease of the nervous irritation its +perpetual and even activity wrought upon her. It haunted her pillow even +in her exhausted sleep, and seemed to impatiently beckon her to rise and +follow it. It brought her feverish dreams of her husband, footsore and +weary, staggering forward under its pitiless lash and clamorous outcry; +she would have gone to his assistance, but when she reached his side and +held out her arms to him it hurried her past with merciless power, and, +bearing her away, left him hopelessly behind. It was broad day when she +awoke. The usual night showers of the waning rainy season had left no +trace in sky or meadow; the fervid morning sun had already dried the +patio; only the restless, harrying wind remained. + +Mrs. Tucker arose with a resolve. She had learned from Concha on the +previous evening that a part of the shanty was used as a tienda or shop +for the laborers and rancheros. Under the necessity of purchasing some +articles, she would go there and for a moment mingle with those people, +who would not recognize her. Even if they did, her instinct told her it +would be less to be feared than the hopeless uncertainty of another day. +As she left the house the wind seemed to seize her as in her dream, and +hurry her along with it, until in a few moments the walls of the low +casa sank into the earth again and she was alone, but for the breeze on +the solitary plain. The level distance glittered in the sharp light, a +few crows with slant wings dipped and ran down the wind before her, +and a passing gleam on the marsh was explained by the far-off cry of a +curlew. + +She had walked for an hour, upheld by the stimulus of light and morning +air, when the cluster of scrub oaks, which was her destination, opened +enough to show two rambling sheds, before one of which was a wooden +platform containing a few barrels and bones. As she approached nearer, +she could see that one or two horses were tethered under the trees, that +their riders were lounging by a horse-trough, and that over an open door +the word Tienda was rudely painted on a board, and as rudely illustrated +by the wares displayed at door and window. Accustomed as she was to the +poverty of frontier architecture, even the crumbling walls of the old +hacienda she had just left seemed picturesque to the rigid angles of the +thin, blank, unpainted shell before her. One of the loungers, who was +reading a newspaper aloud as she advanced, put it aside and stared at +her; there was an evident commotion in the shop as she stepped upon the +platform, and when she entered, with breathless lips and beating heart, +she found herself the object of a dozen curious eyes. Her quick pride +resented the scrutiny and recalled her courage, and it was with a slight +coldness in her usual lazy indifference that she leaned over the counter +and asked for the articles she wanted. + +The request was followed by a dead silence. Mrs. Tucker repeated it with +some hauteur. + +"I reckon you don't seem to know this store is in the hands of the +sheriff," said one of the loungers. + +Mrs. Tucker was not aware of it. + +"Well, I don't know any one who's a better right to know than Spence +Tucker's wife," said another with a coarse laugh. The laugh was echoed +by the others. Mrs. Tucker saw the pit into which she had deliberately +walked, but did not flinch. + +"Is there any one to serve here?" she asked, turning her clear eyes full +upon the bystanders. + +"You'd better ask the sheriff. He was the last one to SARVE here. +He sarved an attachment," replied the inevitable humorist of all +Californian assemblages. + +"Is he here?" asked Mrs. Tucker, disregarding the renewed laughter which +followed this subtle witticism. + +The loungers at the door made way for one of their party, who was half +dragged, half pushed into the shop. "Here he is," said half a dozen +eager voices, in the fond belief that his presence might impart +additional humor to the situation. He cast a deprecating glance at Mrs. +Tucker and said, "It's so, madam! This yer place is attached; but if +there's anything you're wanting, why I reckon, boys,"--he turned half +appealingly to the crowd,--"we could oblige a lady." There was a vague +sound of angry opposition and remonstrance from the back door of +the shop, but the majority, partly overcome by Mrs. Tucker's beauty, +assented. "Only," continued the officer explanatorily, "ez these yer +goods are in the hands of the creditors, they ought to be represented by +an equivalent in money. If you're expecting they should be charged--" + +"But I wish to PAY for them," interrupted Mrs. Tucker, with a slight +flush of indignation; "I have the money." + +"Oh, I bet you have!" screamed a voice, as, overturning all opposition, +the malcontent at the back door, in the shape of an infuriated woman, +forced her way into the shop. "I'll bet you have the money! Look at her, +boys! Look at the wife of the thief, with the stolen money in diamonds +in her ears and rings on her fingers. SHE'S got money if WE'VE none. +SHE can pay for what she fancies, if we haven't a cent to redeem the bed +that's stolen from under us. Oh yes, buy it all, Mrs. Spencer Tucker! +buy the whole shop, Mrs. Spencer Tucker, do you hear? And if you ain't +satisfied then, buy my clothes, my wedding ring, the only things your +husband hasn't stolen." + +"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Tucker coldly, turning towards the +door. But with a flying leap across the counter her relentless adversary +stood between her and retreat. + +"You don't understand! Perhaps you don't understand that your husband +not only stole the hard labor of these men, but even the little money +they brought here and trusted to his thieving hands. Perhaps you don't +know that he stole my husband's hard earnings, mortgaged these very +goods you want to buy, and that he is to-day a convicted thief, a +forger, and a runaway coward. Perhaps, if you can't understand ME, +you can read the newspaper. Look!" She exultingly opened the paper the +sheriff had been reading aloud, and pointed to the displayed headlines. +"Look! there are the very words, 'Forgery, Swindling, Embezzlement!' Do +you see? And perhaps you can't understand this. Look! 'Shameful Flight. +Abandons his Wife. Runs off with a Notorious--'" + +"Easy, old gal, easy now. D--n it! Will you dry up? I say. STOP!" + +It was too late! + +The sheriff had dashed the paper from the woman's hand, but not until +Mrs. Tucker had read a single line, a line such as she had sometimes +turned from with weary scorn in her careless perusal of the daily +shameful chronicle of domestic infelicity. Then she had coldly wondered +if there could be any such men and women; and now! The crowd fell back +before her; even the virago was silenced as she looked at her face. +The humorist's face was as white, but not as immobile, as he gasped, +"Christ! if I don't believe she knew nothin' of it!" + +For a moment the full force of such a supposition, with all its +poignancy, its dramatic intensity, and its pathos, possessed the crowd. +In the momentary clairvoyance of enthusiasm they caught a glimpse of the +truth, and by one of the strange reactions of human passion they only +waited for a word of appeal or explanation from her lips to throw +themselves at her feet. Had she simply told her story they would have +believed her; had she cried, fainted, or gone into hysterics, they would +have pitied her. She did neither. Perhaps she thought of neither, or +indeed of anything that was then before her eyes. She walked erect to +the door and turned upon the threshold. "I mean what I say," she said +calmly. "I don't understand you. But whatever just claims you have upon +my husband will be paid by me, or by his lawyer, Captain Poindexter." + +She had lost the sympathy but not the respect of her hearers. They made +way for her with sullen deference as she passed out on the platform. But +her adversary, profiting by the last opportunity, burst into an ironical +laugh. + +"Captain Poindexter, is it? Well, perhaps he's safe to pay YOUR bill, +but as for your husband's--" + +"That's another matter," interrupted a familiar voice with the greatest +cheerfulness; "that's what you were going to say, wasn't it? Ha! ha! +Well, Mrs. Patterson," continued Poindexter, stepping from his buggy, +"you never spoke a truer word in your life. One moment, Mrs. Tucker. Let +me send you back in the buggy. Don't mind ME. I can get a fresh horse of +the sheriff. I'm quite at home here. I say, Patterson, step a few paces +this way, will you? A little further from your wife, please. That'll +do. You've got a claim of five thousand dollars against the property, +haven't you?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, that woman just driving away is your one solitary chance of +getting a cent of it. If your wife insults her again, that chance is +gone. And if YOU do--" + +"Well?" + +"As sure as there is a God in Israel and a Supreme Court of the State of +California, I'll kill you in your tracks! . . . Stay!" + +Patterson turned. The irrepressible look of humorous tolerance of all +human frailty had suffused Poindexter's black eyes with mischievous +moisture. "If you think it quite safe to confide to your wife this +prospect of her improvement by widowhood, you may!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Mr. Patterson did not inform his wife of the lawyer's personal threat +to himself. But he managed, after Poindexter had left, to make her +conscious that Mrs. Tucker might be a power to be placated and feared. +"You've shot off your mouth at her," he said argumentatively, "and +whether you've hit the mark or not you've had your say. Ef you think +it's worth a possible five thousand dollars and interest to keep on, +heave ahead. Ef you rather have the chance of getting the rest in cash, +you'll let up on her." "You don't suppose," returned Mrs. Patterson +contemptuously, "that she's got anything but what that man of +hers--Poindexter--lets her have?" "The sheriff says," retorted Patterson +surlily, "that she's notified him that she claims the rancho as a gift +from her husband three years ago, and she's in POSSESSION now, and was +so when the execution was out. It don't make no matter," he added, with +gloomy philosophy, "who's got a full hand as long as WE ain't got the +cards to chip in. I wouldn't 'a' minded it," he continued meditatively, +"ef Spence Tucker had dropped a hint to me afore he put out." "And I +suppose," said Mrs. Patterson angrily, "you'd have put out too?" "I +reckon," said Patterson simply. + +Twice or thrice during the evening he referred, more or less directly, +to this lack of confidence shown by his late debtor and employer, and +seemed to feel it more keenly than the loss of property. He confided his +sentiments quite openly to the sheriff in possession, over the whiskey +and euchre with which these gentlemen avoided the difficulties of their +delicate relations. He brooded over it as he handed the keys of the shop +to the sheriff when they parted for the night, and was still thinking of +it when the house was closed, everybody gone to bed, and he was fetching +a fresh jug of water from the well. The moon was at times obscured by +flying clouds, the avant-couriers of the regular evening shower. He +was stooping over the well, when he sprang suddenly to his feet again. +"Who's there?" he demanded sharply. + +"Hush!" said a voice so low and faint it might have been a whisper of +the wind in the palisades of the corral. But, indistinct as it was, it +was the voice of the man he was thinking of as far away, and it sent a +thrill of alternate awe and pleasure through his pulses. + +He glanced quickly around. The moon was hidden by a passing cloud, and +only the faint outlines of the house he had just quitted were visible. +"Is that you, Spence?" he said tremulously. + +"Yes," replied the voice, and a figure dimly emerged from the corner of +the corral. + +"Lay low, lay low, for God's sake," said Patterson, hurriedly throwing +himself upon the apparition. "The sheriff and his posse are in there." + +"But I must speak to you a moment," said the figure. + +"Wait," said Patterson, glancing towards the building. Its blank, +shutterless windows revealed no inner light; a profound silence +encompassed it. "Come quick," he whispered. Letting his grasp slip down +to the unresisting hand of the stranger, he half-dragged, half-led him, +brushing against the wall, into the open door of the deserted bar-room +he had just quitted, locked the inner door, poured a glass of whiskey +from a decanter, gave it to him, and then watched him drain it at a +single draught. The moon came out, and, falling through the bare windows +full upon the stranger's face, revealed the artistic but slightly +disheveled curls and moustache of the fugitive, Spencer Tucker. + +Whatever may have been the real influence of this unfortunate man upon +his fellows, it seemed to find expression in a singular unanimity of +criticism. Patterson looked at him with a half-dismal, half-welcoming +smile. "Well, you are a h-ll of a fellow, ain't you?" + +Spencer Tucker passed his hand through his hair and lifted it from his +forehead, with a gesture at once emotional and theatrical. "I am a man +with a price on me!" he said bitterly. "Give me up to the sheriff, +and you'll get five thousand dollars. Help me, and you'll get nothing. +That's my d----d luck, and yours too, I suppose." + +"I reckon you're right there," said Patterson gloomily. "But I thought +you got clean away. Went off in a ship--" + +"Went off in a boat to a ship," interrupted Tucker savagely; "went off +to a ship that had all my things on board--everything. The cursed boat +capsized in a squall just off the Heads. The ship, d--n her, sailed +away, the men thinking I was drowned, likely, and that they'd make a +good thing off my goods, I reckon." + +"But the girl, Inez, who was with you, didn't she make a row?" + +"Quien sabe?" returned Tucker, with a reckless laugh. "Well, I hung +on like grim death to that boat's keel until one of those Chinese +fishermen, in a 'dug-out,' hauled me in opposite Saucelito. I chartered +him and his dug-out to bring me down here." + +"Why here?" asked Patterson, with a certain ostentatious caution that +ill-concealed his pensive satisfaction. + +"You may well ask," returned Tucker, with an equal ostentation of +bitterness, as he slightly waved his companion away. "But I reckoned I +could trust a white man that I'd been kind to, and who wouldn't go back +on me. No, no, let me go! Hand me over to the sheriff!" + +Patterson had suddenly grasped both the hands of the picturesque scamp +before him, with an affection that for an instant almost shamed the man +who had ruined him. But Tucker's egotism whispered that this affection +was only a recognition of his own superiority, and felt flattered. He +was beginning to believe that he was really the injured party. + +"What I HAVE and what I have HAD is yours, Spence," returned Patterson, +with a sad and simple directness that made any further discussion a +gratuitous insult. "I only wanted to know what you reckoned to do here." + +"I want to get over across the Coast Range to Monterey," said Tucker. +"Once there, one of those coasting schooners will bring me down to +Acapulco, where the ship will put in." + +Patterson remained silent for a moment. "There's a mustang in the corral +you can take--leastways, I shan't know that it's gone--until to-morrow +afternoon. In an hour from now," he added, looking from the window, +"these clouds will settle down to business. It will rain; there will +be light enough for you to find your way by the regular trail over the +mountain, but not enough for any one to know you. If you can't push +through to-night, you can lie over at the posada on the summit. Them +greasers that keep it won't know you, and if they did they won't go back +on you. And if they did go back on you, nobody would believe them. It's +mighty curious," he added, with gloomy philosophy, "but I reckon it's +the reason why Providence allows this kind of cattle to live among white +men and others made in his image. Take a piece of pie, won't you?" He +continued, abandoning this abstract reflection and producing half a flat +pumpkin pie from the bar. Spencer Tucker grasped the pie with one hand +and his friend's fingers with the other, and for a few moments was +silent from the hurried deglutition of viand and sentiment. "YOU'RE a +white man, Patterson, anyway," he resumed. "I'll take your horse, and +put it down in our account, at your own figure. As soon as this cursed +thing is blown over, I'll be back here and see you through, you bet. I +don't desert my friends, however rough things go with me." + +"I see you don't," returned Patterson, with an unconscious and serious +simplicity that had the effect of the most exquisite irony. "I was only +just saying to the sheriff that if there was anything I could have done +for you, you wouldn't have cut away without letting me know." Tucker +glanced uneasily at Patterson, who continued, "Ye ain't wanting anything +else?" Then observing that his former friend and patron was roughly but +newly clothed, and betrayed no trace of his last escapade, he added, "I +see you've got a fresh harness." + +"That d----d Chinaman bought me these at the landing; they're not +much in style or fit," he continued, trying to get a moonlight view of +himself in the mirror behind the bar, "but that don't matter here." He +filled another glass of spirits, jauntily settled himself back in his +chair, and added, "I don't suppose there are any girls around, anyway." + +"'Cept your wife; she was down here this afternoon," said Patterson +meditatively. + +Mr. Tucker paused with the pie in his hand. "Ah, yes!" He essayed a +reckless laugh, but that evident simulation failed before Patterson's +melancholy. With an assumption of falling in with his friend's manner, +rather than from any personal anxiety, he continued, "Well?" + +"That man Poindexter was down here with her. Put her in the hacienda to +hold possession afore the news came out." + +"Impossible!" said Tucker, rising hastily. "It don't belong--that is--" +he hesitated. + +"Yer thinking the creditors 'll get it, mebbe," returned Patterson, +gazing at the floor. "Not as long as she's in it; no sir! Whether +it's really hers, or she's only keeping house for Poindexter, she's a +fixture, you bet. They're a team when they pull together, they are!" + +The smile slowly faded from Tucker's face, that now looked quite rigid +in the moonlight. He put down his glass and walked to the window as +Patterson gloomily continued, "But that's nothing to you. You've got +ahead of 'em both, and had your revenge by going off with the +gal. That's what I said all along. When folks--especially women +folks--wondered how you could leave a woman like your wife, and go off +with a scallawag like that gal, I allers said they'd find out there was +a reason. And when your wife came flaunting down here with Poindexter +before she'd quite got quit of you, I reckon they began to see the whole +little game. No sir! I knew it wasn't on account of the gal! Why, when +you came here to-night and told me quite nat'ral-like and easy how +she went off in the ship, and then calmly ate your pie and drank your +whiskey after it, I knew you didn't care for her. There's my hand, +Spence; you're a trump, even if you are a little looney, eh? Why, what's +up?" + +Shallow and selfish as Tucker was, Patterson's words seemed like a +revelation that shocked him as profoundly as it might have shocked a +nobler nature. The simple vanity and selfishness that made him unable to +conceive any higher reason for his wife's loyalty than his own personal +popularity and success, now that he no longer possessed that eclat, +made him equally capable of the lowest suspicions. He was a dishonored +fugitive, broken in fortune and reputation--why should she not desert +him! He had been unfaithful to her from wildness, from caprice, from the +effect of those fascinating qualities; it seemed to him natural that she +should be disloyal from more deliberate motives, and he hugged himself +with that belief. Yet there was enough doubt, enough of haunting +suspicion that he had lost or alienated a powerful affection, to make +him thoroughly miserable. He returned his friend's grasp convulsively +and buried his face upon his shoulder. But he was not above feeling +a certain exultation in the effect of his misery upon the dog-like, +unreasoning affection of Patterson, nor could he entirely refrain from +slightly posing his affliction before that sympathetic but melancholy +man. Suddenly he raised his head, drew back, and thrust his hand into +his bosom with a theatrical gesture. + +"What's to keep me from killing Poindexter in his tracks?" he said +wildly. + +"Nothin' but HIS shooting first," returned Patterson, with dismal +practicality. "He's mighty quick, like all them army men. It's about +even, I reckon, that he don't get ME first," he added in an ominous +voice. + +"No!" returned Tucker, grasping his hand again. "This is not your +affair, Patterson; leave him to me when I come back." + +"If he ever gets the drop on me, I reckon he won't wait," continued +Patterson lugubriously. "He seems to object to my passin' criticism on +your wife, as if she was a queen or an angel." + +The blood came to Spencer's cheek, and he turned uneasily to the window. +"It's dark enough now for a start," he said hurriedly, "and if I could +get across the mountain without lying over at the summit, it would be a +day gained." + +Patterson arose without a word, filled a flask of spirit, handed it to +his friend, and silently led the way through the slowly falling rain and +the now settled darkness. The mustang was quickly secured and saddled, a +heavy poncho afforded Tucker a disguise as well as a protection from the +rain. With a few hurried, disconnected words, and an abstracted air, he +once more shook his friend's hand and issued cautiously from the corral. +When out of earshot from the house he put spurs to the mustang, and +dashed into a gallop. + +To intersect the mountain road he was obliged to traverse part of the +highway his wife had walked that afternoon, and to pass within a mile of +the casa where she was. Long before he reached that point his eyes were +straining the darkness in that direction for some indication of the +house which was to him familiar. Becoming now accustomed to the even +obscurity, less trying to the vision than the alternate light and +shadow of cloud or the full glare of the moonlight, he fancied he +could distinguish its low walls over the monotonous level. One of +those impulses which had so often taken the place of resolution in his +character suddenly possessed him to diverge from his course and approach +the house. Why, he could not have explained. It was not from any feeling +of jealous suspicion or contemplated revenge--that had passed with the +presence of Patterson; it was not from any vague lingering sentiment for +the woman he had wronged--he would have shrunk from meeting her at that +moment. But it was full of these and more possibilities by which he +might or might not be guided, and was at least a movement towards +some vague end, and a distraction from certain thoughts he dared not +entertain and could not entirely dismiss. Inconceivable and inexplicable +to human reason, it might have been acceptable to the Divine omniscience +for its predestined result. + +He left the road at a point where the marsh encroached upon the meadow, +familiar to him already as near the spot where he had embarked from +the Chinaman's boat the day before. He remembered that the walls of the +hacienda were distinctly visible from the tules where he had hidden all +day, and he now knew that the figures he had observed near the building, +which had deterred his first attempts at landing, must have been his +wife and his friend. He knew that a long tongue of the slough filled +by the rising tide followed the marsh, and lay between him and the +hacienda. The sinking of his horse's hoofs in the spongy soil determined +its proximity, and he made a detour to the right to avoid it. In doing +so, a light suddenly rose above the distant horizon ahead of him, +trembled faintly, and then burned with a steady lustre. It was a light +at the hacienda. Guiding his horse half abstractedly in this direction, +his progress was presently checked by the splashing of the animal's +hoofs in the water. But the turf below was firm, and a salt drop that +had spattered to his lips told him that it was only the encroaching of +the tide in the meadow. With his eyes on the light, he again urged his +horse forward. The rain lulled, the clouds began to break, the landscape +alternately lightened and grew dark; the outlines of the crumbling +hacienda walls that enshrined the light grew more visible. A strange +and dreamy resemblance to the long blue-grass plain before his wife's +paternal house, as seen by him during his evening rides to courtship, +pressed itself upon him. He remembered, too, that she used to put a +light in the window to indicate her presence. Following this retrospect, +the moon came boldly out, sparkled upon the overflow of silver at his +feet, seemed to show the dark, opaque meadow beyond for a moment, and +then disappeared. It was dark now, but the lesser earthly star still +shone before him as a guide, and pushing towards it, he passed in the +all-embracing shadow. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As Mrs. Tucker, erect, white, and rigid, drove away from the tienda, +it seemed to her to sink again into the monotonous plain, with all its +horrible realities. Except that there was now a new and heart-breaking +significance to the solitude and loneliness of the landscape, all that +had passed might have been a dream. But as the blood came back to her +cheek, and little by little her tingling consciousness returned, it +seemed as if her life had been the dream, and this last scene the +awakening reality. With eyes smarting with the moisture of shame, the +scarlet blood at times dyeing her very neck and temples, she muffled +her lowered crest in her shawl and bent over the reins. Bit by bit she +recalled, in Poindexter's mysterious caution and strange allusions, the +corroboration of her husband's shame and her own disgrace. This was why +she was brought hither--the deserted wife, and abandoned confederate! +The mocking glitter of the concave vault above her, scoured by the +incessant wind, the cold stare of the shining pools beyond, the hard +outlines of the Coast Range, and the jarring accompaniment of her +horse's hoofs and rattling buggy wheels alternately goaded and +distracted her. She found herself repeating "No! no! no!" with the +dogged reiteration of fever. She scarcely knew when or how she reached +the hacienda. She was only conscious that as she entered the patio the +dusty solitude that had before filled her with unrest now came to her +like balm. A benumbing peace seemed to fall from the crumbling walls; +the peace of utter seclusion, isolation, oblivion, death! Nevertheless, +an hour later, when the jingle of spurs and bridle were again heard in +the road, she started to her feet with bent brows and a kindling eye, +and confronted Captain Poindexter in the corridor. + +"I would not have intruded upon you so soon again," he said gravely, +"but I thought I might perhaps spare you a repetition of the scene +of this morning. Hear me out, please," he added, with a gentle, +half-deprecating gesture, as she lifted the beautiful scorn of her eyes +to his. "I have just heard that your neighbor, Don Jose Santierra, of +Los Gatos, is on his way to this house. He once claimed this land, and +hated your husband, who bought of the rival claimant, whose grant was +confirmed. I tell you this," he added, slightly flushing as Mrs. Tucker +turned impatiently away, "only to show you that legally he has no +rights, and you need not see him unless you choose. I could not stop his +coming without perhaps doing you more harm than good; but when he does +come, my presence under this roof as your legal counsel will enable you +to refer him to me." He stopped. She was pacing the corridor with short, +impatient steps, her arms dropped, and her hands clasped rigidly before +her. "Have I your permission to stay?" + +She suddenly stopped in her walk, approached him rapidly, and fixing her +eyes on his, said,-- + +"Do I know ALL, now--everything?" + +He could only reply that she had not yet told him what she had heard. + +"Well," she said scornfully, "that my husband has been cruelly imposed +upon--imposed upon by some wretched woman, who has made him sacrifice +his property, his friends, his honor--everything but me?" + +"Everything but whom?" gasped Poindexter. + +"But ME!" + +Poindexter gazed at the sky, the air, the deserted corridor, the stones +of the patio itself, and then at the inexplicable woman before him. Then +he said gravely, "I think you know everything." + +"Then if my husband has left me all he could--this property," she went +on rapidly, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers, "I can do +with it what I like, can't I?" + +"You certainly can." + +"Then sell it," she said, with passionate vehemence. "Sell it--all! +everything! And sell these." She darted into her bedroom, and returned +with the diamond rings she had torn from her fingers and ears when she +entered the house. "Sell them for anything they'll bring, only sell them +at once." + +"But for what?" asked Poindexter, with demure lips but twinkling eyes. + +"To pay the debts that this--this--woman has led him into; to return the +money she has stolen!" she went on rapidly, "to keep him from sharing +her infamy! Can't you understand?" + +"But, my dear madam," began Poindexter, "even if this could be done--" + +"Don't tell me 'if it could'--it MUST be done. Do you think I could +sleep under this roof, propped up by the timbers of that ruined tienda? +Do you think I could wear those diamonds again, while that termagant +shop-woman can say that her money bought them? No. If you are my +husband's friend you will do this--for--for his sake." She stopped, +locked and interlocked her cold fingers before her, and said, hesitating +and mechanically, "You meant well, Captain Poindexter, in bringing me +here, I know! You must not think that I blame you for it, or for the +miserable result of it that you have just witnessed. But if I have +gained anything by it, for God's sake let me reap it quickly, that I may +give it to these people and go! I have a friend who can aid me to get to +my husband or to my home in Kentucky, where Spencer will yet find me, +I know. I want nothing more." She stopped again. With another woman +the pause would have been one of tears. But she kept her head above the +flood that filled her heart, and the clear eyes fixed upon Poindexter, +albeit pained, were undimmed. + +"But this would require time," said Poindexter, with a smile of +compassionate explanation; "you could not sell now, nobody would buy. +You are safe to hold this property while you are in actual possession, +but you are not strong enough to guarantee it to another. There may +still be litigation; your husband has other creditors than these people +you have talked with. But while nobody could oust you--the wife who +would have the sympathies of judge and jury--it might be a different +case with any one who derived title from you. Any purchaser would know +that you could not sell, or if you did, it would be at a ridiculous +sacrifice." + +She listened to him abstractedly, walked to the end of the corridor, +returned, and without looking up, said,-- + +"I suppose you know her?" + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"This woman. You have seen her?" + +"Never, to my knowledge." + +"And you are his friend! That's strange." She raised her eyes to his. +"Well," she continued impatiently, "who is she? and what is she? You +know that surely?" + +"I know no more of her than what I have said," said Poindexter. "She is +a notorious woman." + +The swift color came to Mrs. Tucker's face as if the epithet had been +applied to herself. "I suppose," she said in a dry voice, as if she +were asking a business question, but with an eye that showed her rising +anger,--"I suppose there is some law by which creatures of this kind can +be followed and brought to justice--some law that would keep innocent +people from suffering for their crimes?" + +"I am afraid," said Poindexter, "that arresting her would hardly help +these people over in the tienda." + +"I am not speaking of them," responded Mrs. Tucker, with a sudden +sublime contempt for the people whose cause she had espoused: "I am +talking of my husband." + +Poindexter bit his lip. "You'd hardly think of bringing back the +strongest witness against him," he said bluntly. + +Mrs. Tucker dropped her eyes and was silent. A sudden shame suffused +Poindexter's cheek; he felt as if he had struck that woman a blow. "I +beg your pardon," he said hastily, "I am talking like a lawyer to a +lawyer." He would have taken any other woman by the hand in the honest +fullness of his apology, but something restrained him here. He only +looked down gently on her lowered lashes, and repeated his question if +he should remain during the coming interview with Don Jose: "I must beg +you to determine quickly," he added, "for I already hear him entering +the gate." + +"Stay," said Mrs. Tucker, as the ringing of spurs and clatter of hoofs +came from the corral. "One moment." She looked up suddenly, and said, +"How long had he known her?" But before he could reply there was a step +in the doorway, and the figure of Don Jose Santierra emerged from the +archway. + +He was a man slightly past middle age, fair and well shaven, wearing a +black broadcloth serape, the deeply embroidered opening of which formed +a collar of silver rays around his neck, while a row of silver buttons +down the side seams of his riding trousers, and silver spurs, completed +his singular equipment. Mrs. Tucker's swift feminine glance took in +these details, as well as the deep salutation, more formal than the +exuberant frontier politeness she was accustomed to, with which he +greeted her. It was enough to arrest her first impulse to retreat. She +hesitated and stopped as Poindexter stepped forward, partly interposing +between them, acknowledging Don Jose's distant recognition of himself +with an ironical accession of his usual humorous tolerance. The Spaniard +did not seem to notice it, but remained gravely silent before Mrs. +Tucker, gazing at her with an expression of intent and unconscious +absorption. + +"You are quite right, Don Jose," said Poindexter, with ironical concern, +"it is Mrs. Tucker. Your eyes do NOT deceive you. She will be glad to do +the honors of her house," he continued, with a simulation of appealing +to her, "unless you visit her on business, when I need not say I shall +be only too happy, to attend you, as before." + +Don Jose, with a slight lifting of the eyebrows, allowed himself to +become conscious of the lawyer's meaning. "It is not of business that +I come to kiss the Senora's hand to-day," he replied, with a melancholy +softness; "it is as her neighbor, to put myself at her disposition. Ah! +the what have we here for a lady?" he continued, raising his eyes in +deprecation of the surroundings; "a house of nothing, a place of winds +and dry bones, without refreshments, or satisfaction, or delicacy. The +Senora will not refuse to make us proud this day to send her of that +which we have in our poor home at Los Gatos, to make her more complete. +Of what shall it be? Let her make choice. Or if she would commemorate +this day by accepting of our hospitality at Los Gatos, until she shall +arrange herself the more to receive us here, we shall have too much +honor." + +"The Senora would only find it the more difficult to return to this +humble roof again, after once leaving it for Don Jose's hospitality," +said Poindexter, with a demure glance at Mrs. Tucker. But the innuendo +seemed to lapse equally unheeded by his fair client and the stranger. +Raising her eyes with a certain timid dignity which Don Jose's presence +seemed to have called out, she addressed herself to him. + +"You are very kind and considerate, Mister Santierra, and I thank you. I +know that my husband"--she let the clear beauty of her translucent eyes +rest full on both men--"would thank you too. But I shall not be here +long enough to accept your kindness in this house or in your own. I have +but one desire and object now. It is to dispose of this property, and +indeed all I possess, to pay the debt of my husband. It is in your +power, perhaps, to help me. I am told that you wish to possess Los +Cuervos," she went on, equally oblivious of the consciousness that +appeared in Don Jose's face, and a humorous perplexity on the brow of +Poindexter. "If you can arrange it with Mr. Poindexter, you will find +me a liberal vendor. That much you can do, and I know you will believe +I shall be grateful. You can do no more, unless it be to say to your +friends that Mrs. Belle Tucker remains here only for that purpose, +and to carry out what she knows to be the wishes of her husband." She +paused, bent her pretty crest, dropped a quaint curtsey to the superior +age, the silver braid, and the gentlemanly bearing of Don Jose, and with +the passing sunshine of a smile disappeared from the corridor. + +The two men remained silent for a moment, Don Jose gazing abstractedly +on the door through which she had vanished, until Poindexter, with a +return of his tolerant smile, said, "You have heard the views of Mrs. +Tucker. You know the situation as well as she does." + +"Ah, yes; possibly better." + +Poindexter darted a quick glance at the grave, sallow face of Don Jose, +but detecting no unusual significance in his manner, continued, "As you +see, she leaves this matter in my hands. Let us talk like business men. +Have you any idea of purchasing this property?" + +"Of purchasing, ah, no." + +Poindexter bent his brows, but quickly relaxed them with a smile of +humorous forgiveness. "If you have any other idea, Don Jose, I ought to +warn you, as Mrs. Tucker's lawyer, that she is in legal possession here, +and that nothing but her own act can change that position." + +"Ah, so." + +Irritated at the shrug which accompanied this, Poindexter continued +haughtily, "If I am to understand, you have nothing to say--" + +"To say, ah, yes, possibly. But"--he glanced toward the door of Mrs. +Tucker's room--"not here." He stopped, appeared to recall himself, +and with an apologetic smile and a studied but graceful gesture of +invitation, he motioned to the gateway, and said, "Will you ride?" + +"What can the fellow be up to?" muttered Poindexter, as with an +assenting nod he proceeded to remount his horse. "If he wasn't an old +hidalgo, I'd mistrust him. No matter! here goes!" + +The Don also remounted his half-broken mustang; they proceeded in solemn +silence through the corral, and side by side emerged on the open plain. +Poindexter glanced around; no other being was in sight. It was not until +the lonely hacienda had also sunk behind them that Don Jose broke the +silence. + +"You say just now we shall speak as business men. I say no, Don Marco; I +will not. I shall speak, we shall speak, as gentlemen." + +"Go on," said Poindexter, who was beginning to be amused. + +"I say just now I will not purchase the rancho from the Senora. And why? +Look you, Don Marco;" he reined in his horse, thrust his hand under his +serape, and drew out a folded document: "this is why." + +With a smile, Poindexter took the paper from his hand and opened it. But +the smile faded from his lips as he read. With blazing eyes he spurred +his horse beside the Spaniard, almost unseating him, and said sternly, +"What does this mean?" + +"What does it mean?" repeated Don Jose, with equally flashing eyes, +"I'll tell you. It means that your client, this man Spencer Tucker, is +a Judas, a traitor! It means that he gave Los Cuervos to his mistress +a year ago, and that she sold it to me--to me, you hear!--ME, Jose +Santierra, the day before she left! It means that the coyote of a +Spencer, the thief, who bought these lands of a thief, and gave them +to a thief, has tricked you all. Look," he said, rising in his saddle, +holding the paper like a baton, and defining with a sweep of his arm the +whole level plain, "all these lands were once mine, they are mine again +to-day. Do I want to purchase Los Cuervos? you ask, for you will speak +of the BUSINESS. Well, listen. I HAVE purchased Los Cuervos, and here is +the deed." + +"But it has never been recorded," said Poindexter, with a carelessness +he was far from feeling. + +"Of a verity, no. Do you wish that I should record it?" asked Don Jose, +with a return of his simple gravity. + +Poindexter bit his lip. "You said we were to talk like gentlemen," he +returned. "Do you think you have come into possession of this alleged +deed like a gentleman?" + +Don Jose shrugged his shoulders. "I found it tossed in the lap of a +harlot. I bought it for a song. Eh, what would you?" + +"Would you sell it again for a song?" asked Poindexter. + +"Ah! what is this?" said Don Jose, lifting his iron-gray brows; "but a +moment ago we would sell everything, for any money. Now we would buy. Is +it so?" + +"One moment, Don Jose," said Poindexter, with a baleful light in his +dark eyes. "Do I understand that you are the ally of Spencer Tucker and +his mistress, that you intend to turn this doubly betrayed wife from the +only roof she has to cover her?" + +"Ah, I comprehend not. You heard her say she wished to go. Perhaps it +may please ME to distribute largess to these cattle yonder, I do not say +no. More she does not ask. But YOU, Don Marco, of whom are you advocate? +You abandon your client's mistress for the wife, is it so?" + +"What I may do you will learn hereafter," said Poindexter, who had +regained his composure, suddenly reining up his horse. "As our paths +seem likely to diverge, they had better begin now. Good morning." + +"Patience, my friend, patience! Ah, blessed St. Anthony, what these +Americans are! Listen. For what YOU shall do, I do not inquire. The +question is to me what I"--he emphasized the pronoun by tapping himself +on the breast--"I, Jose Santierra, will do. Well, I shall tell you. +To-day, nothing. To-morrow, nothing. For a week, for a month, nothing! +After, we shall see." + +Poindexter paused thoughtfully. "Will you give your word, Don Jose, that +you will not press the claim for a month?" + +"Truly, on one condition. Observe! I do not ask you for an equal +promise, that you will not take this time to defend yourself." He +shrugged his shoulders. "No! It is only this. You shall promise that +during that time the Senora Tucker shall remain ignorant of this +document." + +Poindexter hesitated a moment. "I promise," he said at last. + +"Good. Adios, Don Marco." + +"Adios, Don Jose." + +The Spaniard put spurs to his mustang and galloped off in the direction +of Los Gatos. The lawyer remained for a moment gazing on his retreating +but victorious figure. For the first time the old look of humorous +toleration with which Mr. Poindexter was in the habit of regarding all +human infirmity gave way to something like bitterness. "I might have +guessed it," he said, with a slight rise of color. "He's an old +fool; and she--well, perhaps it's all the better for her!" He glanced +backwards almost tenderly in the direction of Los Cuervos, and then +turned his head towards the embarcadero. + +As the afternoon wore on, a creaking, antiquated ox-cart arrived at +Los Cuervos, bearing several articles of furniture, and some tasteful +ornaments from Los Gatos, at the same time that a young Mexican girl +mysteriously appeared in the kitchen, as a temporary assistant to the +decrepit Concha. These were both clearly attributable to Don Jose, whose +visit was not so remote but that these delicate attentions might have +been already projected before Mrs. Tucker had declined them, and she +could not, without marked discourtesy, return them now. She did not wish +to seem discourteous; she would like to have been more civil to this +old gentleman, who still retained the evidences of a picturesque +and decorous past, and a repose so different from the life that was +perplexing her. Reflecting that if he bought the estate these things +would be ready to his hand, and with a woman's instinct recognizing +their value in setting off the house to other purchasers' eyes, she +took a pleasure in tastefully arranging them, and even found herself +speculating how she might have enjoyed them herself had she been able +to keep possession of the property. After all, it would not have been +so lonely if refined and gentle neighbors, like this old man, would have +sympathized with her; she had an instinctive feeling that, in their own +hopeless decay and hereditary unfitness for this new civilization, they +would have been more tolerant of her husband's failure than his own +kind. She could not believe that Don Jose really hated her husband for +buying of the successful claimant, as there was no other legal title. +Allowing herself to become interested in the guileless gossip of the new +handmaiden, proud of her broken English, she was drawn into a sympathy +with the grave simplicity of Don Jose's character, a relic of that true +nobility which placed this descendant of the Castilians and the daughter +of a free people on the same level. + +In this way the second day of her occupancy of Los Cuervos closed, with +dumb clouds along the gray horizon, and the paroxysms of hysterical +wind growing fainter and fainter outside the walls; with the moon rising +after nightfall, and losing itself in silent and mysterious confidences +with drifting scud. She went to bed early, but woke past midnight, +hearing, as she thought, her own name called. The impression was so +strong upon her that she rose, and, hastily enwrapping herself, went +to the dark embrasures of the oven-shaped windows, and looked out. The +dwarfed oak beside the window was still dropping from a past shower, but +the level waste of marsh and meadow beyond seemed to advance and recede +with the coming and going of the moon. Again she heard her name called, +and this time in accents so strangely familiar that with a slight cry +she ran into the corridor, crossed the patio, and reached the open gate. +The darkness that had, even in this brief interval, again fallen upon +the prospect she tried in vain to pierce with eye and voice. A blank +silence followed. Then the veil was suddenly withdrawn; the vast plain, +stretching from the mountain to the sea, shone as clearly as in the +light of day; the moving current of the channel glittered like black +pearls, the stagnant pools like molten lead; but not a sign of life nor +motion broke the monotony of the broad expanse. She must have surely +dreamed it. A chill wind drove her back to the house again; she entered +her bedroom, and in half an hour she was in a peaceful sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The two men kept their secret. Mr. Poindexter convinced Mrs. Tucker that +the sale of Los Cuervos could not be effected until the notoriety of her +husband's flight had been fairly forgotten, and she was forced to accept +her fate. The sale of her diamonds, which seemed to her to have realized +a singularly extravagant sum, enabled her to quietly reinstate the +Pattersons in the tienda and to discharge in full her husband's +liabilities to the rancheros and his humbler retainers. + +Meanwhile the winter rains had ceased. It seemed to her as if the clouds +had suddenly one night struck their white tents and stolen away, leaving +the unvanquished sun to mount the vacant sky the next morning alone, +and possess it thenceforward unchallenged. One afternoon she thought +the long sad waste before her window had caught some tint of gayer +color from the sunset; a week later she found it a blazing landscape of +poppies, broken here and there by blue lagoons of lupine, by pools of +daisies, by banks of dog-roses, by broad outlying shores of dandelions +that scattered their lavish gold to the foot of the hills, where the +green billows of wild oats carried it on and upwards to the darker crest +of pines. For two months she was dazzled and bewildered with color. She +had never before been face to face with this spendthrift Californian +Flora, in her virgin wastefulness, her more than goddess-like +prodigality. The teeming earth seemed to quicken and throb beneath +her feet; the few circuits of a plough around the outlying corral were +enough to call out a jungle growth of giant grain that almost hid the +low walls of the hacienda. In this glorious fecundity of the earth, +in this joyous renewal of life and color, in this opulent youth and +freshness of soil and sky, it alone remained, the dead and sterile Past, +left in the midst of buoyant rejuvenescence and resurrection, like an +empty churchyard skull upturned on the springing turf. Its bronzed adobe +walls mocked the green vine that embraced them, the crumbling dust of +its courtyard remained ungerminating and unfruitful; to the thousand +stirring voices without, its dry lips alone remained mute, unresponsive +and unchanged. + +During this time Don Jose had become a frequent visitor at Los Cuervos, +bringing with him at first his niece and sister in a stately precision +of politeness that was not lost on the proud Blue Grass stranger. +She returned their visit at Los Gatos, and there made the formal +acquaintance of Don Jose's grandmother, a lady who still regarded the +decrepit Concha as a giddy muchacha, and who herself glittered as with +the phosphorescence of refined decay. Through this circumstance she +learned that Don Jose was not yet fifty, and that his gravity of +manner and sedateness was more the result of fastidious isolation and +temperament than years. She could not tell why the information gave +her a feeling of annoyance, but it caused her to regret the absence of +Poindexter, and to wonder, also somewhat nervously, why he had lately +avoided her presence. The thought that he might be doing so from a +recollection of the innuendoes of Mrs. Patterson caused a little tremor +of indignation in her pulses. "As if--" but she did not finish the +sentence even to herself, and her eyes filled with bitter tears. + +Yet she had thought of the husband who had so cruelly wronged her less +feverishly, less impatiently than before. For she thought she loved him +now the more deeply, because, although she was not reconciled to his +absence, it seemed to keep alive the memory of what he had been before +his one wild act separated them. She had never seen the reflection of +another woman's eyes in his; the past contained no haunting recollection +of waning or alienated affection; she could meet him again, and, +clasping her arms around him, awaken as if from a troubled dream without +reproach or explanation. Her strong belief in this made her patient; +she no longer sought to know the particulars of his flight, and never +dreamed that her passive submission to his absence was partly due to +a fear that something in his actual presence at that moment would have +destroyed that belief forever. + +For this reason the delicate reticence of the people at Los Gatos, and +their seclusion from the world which knew of her husband's fault, had +made her encourage the visits of Don Jose, until from the instinct +already alluded to she one day summoned Poindexter to Los Cuervos, on +the day that Don Jose usually called. But to her surprise the two men +met more or less awkwardly and coldly, and her tact as hostess was tried +to the utmost to keep their evident antagonism from being too apparent. +The effort to reconcile their mutual discontent, and some other feeling +she did not quite understand, produced a nervous excitement which called +the blood to her cheek and gave a dangerous brilliancy to her eyes, two +circumstances not unnoticed nor unappreciated by her two guests. But +instead of reuniting them, the prettier Mrs. Tucker became, the more +distant and reserved grew the men, until Don Jose rose before the usual +hour, and with more than usual ceremoniousness departed. + +"Then my business does not seem to be with HIM?" said Poindexter, +with quiet coolness, as Mrs. Tucker turned her somewhat mystified face +towards him. "Or have you anything to say to me about him in private?" + +"I am sure I don't know what you both mean," she returned with a slight +tremor of voice. "I had no idea you were not on good terms. I thought +you were! It's very awkward." Without coquetry and unconsciously she +raised her blue eyes under her lids until the clear pupils coyly and +softly hid themselves in the corners of the brown lashes, and added, +"You have both been so kind to me." + +"Perhaps that is the reason," said Poindexter, gravely. But Mrs. Tucker +refused to accept the suggestion with equal gravity, and began to laugh. +The laugh, which was at first frank, spontaneous, and almost child-like, +was becoming hysterical and nervous as she went on, until it was +suddenly checked by Poindexter. + +"I have had no difficulties with Don Jose Santierra," he said, somewhat +coldly ignoring her hilarity, "but perhaps he is not inclined to be as +polite to the friend of the husband as he is to the wife." + +"Mr. Poindexter!" said Mrs. Tucker quickly, her face becoming pale +again. + +"I beg your pardon!" said Poindexter, flushing; "but--" + +"You want to say," she interrupted coolly, "that you are not friends, I +see. Is that the reason why you have avoided this house?" she continued +gently. + +"I thought I could be of more service to you elsewhere," he replied +evasively. "I have been lately following up a certain clue rather +closely. I think I am on the track of a confidante of--of--that woman." + +A quick shadow passed over Mrs. Tucker's face. "Indeed!" she said +coldly. "Then I am to believe that you prefer to spend your leisure +moments in looking after that creature to calling here?" + +Poindexter was stupefied. Was this the woman who only four months ago +was almost vindictively eager to pursue her husband's paramour! There +could be but one answer to it--Don Jose! Four months ago he would have +smiled compassionately at it from his cynical pre-eminence. Now he +managed with difficulty to stifle the bitterness of his reply. + +"If you do not wish the inquiry carried on," he began, "of course--" + +"I? What does it matter to me?" she said coolly. "Do as you please." + +Nevertheless, half an hour later, as he was leaving, she said, with a +certain hesitating timidity, "Do not leave me so much alone here, and +let that woman go." + +This was not the only unlooked-for sequel to her innocent desire to +propitiate her best friends. Don Jose did not call again upon his usual +day, but in his place came Dona Clara, his younger sister. When Mrs. +Tucker had politely asked after the absent Don Jose, Dona Clara wound +her swarthy arms around the fair American's waist and replied, "But why +did you send for the abogado Poindexter when my brother called?" + +"But Captain Poindexter calls as one of my friends," said the amazed +Mrs. Tucker. "He is a gentleman, and has been a soldier and an officer," +she added with some warmth. + +"Ah, yes, a soldier of the law, what you call an oficial de policia, +a chief of gendarmes, my sister, but not a gentleman--a camarero to +protect a lady." + +Mrs. Tucker would have uttered a hasty reply, but the perfect and +good-natured simplicity of Dona Clara withheld her. Nevertheless, she +treated Don Jose with a certain reserve at their next meeting, until +it brought the simple-minded Castilian so dangerously near the point of +demanding an explanation which implied too much that she was obliged to +restore him temporarily to his old footing. Meantime she had a brilliant +idea. She would write to Calhoun Weaver, whom she had avoided since that +memorable day. She would say she wished to consult him. He would come to +Los Cuervos; he might suggest something to lighten this weary waiting; +at least she would show them all that she had still old friends. Yet she +did not dream of returning to her Blue Grass home; her parents had died +since she left; she shrank from the thought of dragging her ruined life +before the hopeful youth of her girlhood's companions. + +Mr. Calhoun Weaver arrived promptly, ostentatiously, oracularly, and +cordially, but a little coarsely. He had--did she remember?--expected +this from the first. Spencer had lost his head through vanity, and +had attempted too much. It required foresight and firmness, as he +himself--who had lately made successful "combinations" which she might +perhaps have heard of--well knew. But Spencer had got the "big head." +"As to that woman--a devilish handsome woman too!--well, everybody knew +that Spencer always had a weakness that way, and he would say--but if +she didn't care to hear any more about her--well, perhaps she was right. +That was the best way to take it." Sitting before her, prosperous, +weak, egotistical, incompetent, unavailable, and yet filled with a vague +kindliness of intent, Mrs. Tucker loathed him. A sickening perception of +her own weakness in sending for him, a new and aching sense of her utter +isolation and helplessness, seemed to paralyze her. + +"Nat'rally you feel bad," he continued, with the large air of a profound +student of human nature. "Nat'rally, nat'rally you're kept in an +uncomfortable state, not knowing jist how you stand. There ain't but one +thing to do. Jist rise up, quiet like, and get a divorce agin Spencer. +Hold on! There ain't a judge or jury in California that wouldn't give it +to you right off the nail, without asking questions. Why, you 'ld get it +by default if you wanted to; you 'ld just have to walk over the course! +And then, Belle," he drew his chair still nearer her, "when you've +settled down again--well!--I don't mind renewing that offer I once made +ye, before Spencer ever came round ye--I don't mind, Belle, I swear I +don't! Honest Injin! I'm in earnest, there's my hand!" + +Mrs. Tucker's reply has not been recorded. Enough that half an hour +later Mr. Weaver appeared in the courtyard with traces of tears on his +foolish face, a broken falsetto voice, and other evidence of mental and +moral disturbance. His cordiality and oracular predisposition remained +sufficiently to enable him to suggest the magical words "Blue Grass" +mysteriously to Concha, with an indication of his hand to the erect +figure of her pale mistress in the doorway, who waved to him a silent +but half-compassionate farewell. + +At about this time a slight change in her manner was noticed by the few +who saw her more frequently. Her apparently invincible girlishness of +spirit had given way to a certain matronly seriousness. She applied +herself to her household cares and the improvement of the hacienda with +a new sense of duty and a settled earnestness, until by degrees she +wrought into it not only her instinctive delicacy and taste, but part +of her own individuality. Even the rude rancheros and tradesmen who were +permitted to enter the walls in the exercise of their calling began to +speak mysteriously of the beauty of this garden of the almarjal. She +went out but seldom, and then accompanied by the one or the other of her +female servants, in long drives on unfrequented roads. On Sundays she +sometimes drove to the half-ruined mission church of Santa Inez, and +hid herself, during mass, in the dim monastic shadows of the choir. +Gradually the poorer people whom she met in these journeys began to +show an almost devotional reverence for her, stopping in the roads with +uncovered heads for her to pass, or making way for her in the tienda +or plaza of the wretched town with dumb courtesy. She began to feel a +strange sense of widowhood, that, while it at times brought tears to +her eyes, was, not without a certain tender solace. In the sympathy and +simpleness of this impulse she went as far as to revive the mourning she +had worn for her parents, but with such a fatal accenting of her beauty, +and dangerous misinterpreting of her condition to eligible bachelors +strange to the country, that she was obliged to put it off again. Her +reserve and dignified manner caused others to mistake her nationality +for that of the Santierras, and in "Dona Bella" the simple Mrs. +Tucker was for a while forgotten. At times she even forgot it herself. +Accustomed now almost entirely to the accents of another language and +the features of another race, she would sit for hours in the corridor, +whose massive bronzed inclosure even her tasteful care could only make +an embowered mausoleum of the Past, or gaze abstractedly from the dark +embrasures of her windows across the stretching almarjal to the shining +lagoon beyond that terminated the estuary. She had a strange fondness +for this tranquil mirror, which under sun or stars always retained the +passive reflex of the sky above, and seemed to rest her weary eyes. She +had objected to one of the plans projected by Poindexter to redeem the +land and deepen the water at the embarcadero, as it would have drained +the lagoon, and the lawyer had postponed the improvement to gratify +her fancy. So she kept it through the long summer unchanged save by the +shadows of passing wings or the lazy files of sleeping sea-fowl. + +On one of these afternoons she noticed a slowly moving carriage leave +the high road and cross the almarjal skirting the edge of the lagoon. If +it contained visitors for Los Cuervos they had evidently taken a shorter +cut without waiting to go on to the regular road which intersected the +highway at right angles a mile farther on. It was with some sense of +annoyance and irritation that she watched the trespass, and finally saw +the vehicle approach the house. A few moments later the servant informed +her that Mr. Patterson would like to see her alone. When she entered the +corridor, which in the dry season served as a reception hall, she +was surprised to see that Patterson was not alone. Near him stood +a well-dressed handsome woman, gazing about her with good-humored +admiration of Mrs. Tucker's taste and ingenuity. + +"It don't look much like it did two years ago," said the stranger +cheerfully. "You've improved it wonderfully." + +Stiffening slightly, Mrs. Tucker turned inquiringly to Mr. Patterson. +But that gentleman's usual profound melancholy appeared to be +intensified by the hilarity of his companion. He only sighed deeply and +rubbed his leg with the brim of his hat in gloomy abstraction. + +"Well! go on, then," said the woman, laughing and nudging him. "Go +on--introduce me--can't you? Don't stand there like a tombstone. You +won't? Well, I'll introduce myself." She laughed again, and then, with +an excellent imitation of Patterson's lugubrious accents, said, "Mr. +Spencer Tucker's wife that IS, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Spencer +Tucker's sweetheart that WAS! Hold on! I said THAT WAS. For true as +I stand here, ma'am--and I reckon I wouldn't stand here if it wasn't +true--I haven't set eyes on him since the day he left you." + +"It's the Gospel truth, every word," said Patterson, stirred into a +sudden activity by Mrs. Tucker's white and rigid face. "It's the frozen +truth, and I kin prove it. For I kin swear that when that there young +woman was sailin' outer the Golden Gate, Spencer Tucker was in my bar +room; I kin swear that I fed him, lickered him, give him a hoss and set +him in his road to Monterey that very night." + +"Then, where is he now?" said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly facing them. + +They looked at each other, and then looked at Mrs. Tucker. +Then both together replied slowly and in perfect unison, +"That's--what--we--want--to--know." They seemed so satisfied +with this effect that they as deliberately repeated, +"Yes--that's--what--we--want--to--know." + +Between the shock of meeting the partner of her husband's guilt and +the unexpected revelation to her inexperience, that in suggestion and +appearance there was nothing beyond the recollection of that guilt that +was really shocking in the woman--between the extravagant extremes +of hope and fear suggested by their words, there was something so +grotesquely absurd in the melodramatic chorus that she with difficulty +suppressed a hysterical laugh. + +"That's the way to take it," said the woman, putting her own +good-humored interpretation upon Mrs. Tucker's expression. "Now, look +here! I'll tell you all about it." She carefully selected the most +comfortable chair, and sitting down, lightly crossed her hands in her +lap. "Well, I left here on the 13th of last January on the ship Argo, +calculating that your husband would join the ship just inside the Heads. +That was our arrangement, but if anything happened to prevent him, he +was to join me in Acapulco. Well! He didn't come aboard, and we sailed +without him. But it appears now he did attempt to join the ship, but his +boat was capsized. There, now, don't be alarmed! he wasn't drowned, as +Patterson can swear to--no, catch HIM! not a hair of him was hurt; but +I--I was bundled off to the end of the earth in Mexico, alone, without a +cent to bless me. For true as you live, that hound of a captain, when he +found, as he thought, that Spencer was nabbed, he just confiscated all +his trunks and valuables and left me in the lurch. If I hadn't met a man +down there that offered to marry me and brought me here, I might have +died there, I reckon. But I did, and here I am. I went down there as +your husband's sweetheart, I've come back as the wife of an honest man, +and I reckon it's about square!" + +There was something so startlingly frank, so hopelessly self-satisfied, +so contagiously good-humored in the woman's perfect moral +unconsciousness, that even if Mrs. Tucker had been less preoccupied her +resentment would have abated. But her eyes were fixed on the gloomy face +of Patterson, who was beginning to unlock the sepulchres of his memory +and disinter his deeply buried thoughts. + +"You kin bet your whole pile on what this Mrs. Capting Baxter--ez used +to be French Inez of New Orleans--hez told ye. Ye kin take everything +she's unloaded. And it's only doin' the square thing to her to say, she +hain't done it out o' no cussedness, but just to satisfy herself, now +she's a married woman and past such foolishness. But that ain't neither +here nor there. The gist of the whole matter is that Spencer Tucker was +at the tienda the day after she sailed and after his boat capsized." He +then gave a detailed account of the interview, with the unnecessary but +truthful minutiae of his class, adding to the particulars already known +that the following week he visited the Summit House and was surprised +to find that Spencer had never been there, nor had he ever sailed from +Monterey. + +"But why was this not told to me before?" said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly. +"Why not at the time? Why," she demanded almost fiercely, turning from +the one to the other, "has this been kept from me?" + +"I'll tell ye why," said Patterson, sinking with crushed submission into +a chair. "When I found he wasn't where he ought to be, I got to lookin' +elsewhere. I knew the track of the hoss I lent him by a loose shoe. I +examined; and found he had turned off the high road somewhere beyond the +lagoon, jist as if he was makin' a bee line here." + +"Well," said Mrs. Tucker, breathlessly. + +"Well," said Patterson, with the resigned tone of an accustomed martyr, +"mebbe I'm a God-forsaken idiot, but I reckon he DID come yer. And mebbe +I'm that much of a habitooal lunatic, but thinking so, I calkilated +you'ld know it without tellin'." + +With their eyes fixed upon her, Mrs. Tucker felt the quick blood rush +to her cheeks, although she knew not why. But they were apparently +satisfied with her ignorance, for Patterson resumed, yet more +gloomily:-- + +"Then if he wasn't hidin' here beknownst to you, he must have changed +his mind agin and got away by the embarcadero. The only thing wantin' to +prove that idea is to know how he got a boat, and what he did with the +hoss. And thar's one more idea, and ez that can't be proved," continued +Patterson, sinking his voice still lower, "mebbe it's accordin' to God's +laws." + +Unsympathetic to her as the speaker had always been and still was, Mrs. +Tucker felt a vague chill creep over her that seemed to be the result of +his manner more than his words. "And that idea is . . . ?" she suggested +with pale lips. + +"It's this! Fust, I don't say it means much to anybody but me. I've +heard of these warnings afore now, ez comin' only to folks ez hear them +for themselves alone, and I reckon I kin stand it, if it's the will o' +God. The idea is then--that--Spencer Tucker--WAS DROWNDED in that boat; +the idea is"--his voice was almost lost in a hoarse whisper--"that it +was no living man that kem to me that night, but a spirit that kem out +of the darkness and went back into it! No eye saw him but mine--no ears +heard him but mine. I reckon it weren't intended it should." He paused, +and passed the flap of his hat across his eyes. "The pie, you'll say, is +agin it," he continued in the same tone of voice,--"the whiskey is agin +it--a few cuss words that dropped from him, accidental like, may have +been agin it. All the same they mout have been only the little signs and +tokens that it was him." + +But Mrs. Baxter's ready laugh somewhat rudely dispelled the infection +of Patterson's gloom. "I reckon the only spirit was that which you and +Spencer consumed," she said, cheerfully. "I don't wonder you're a little +mixed. Like as not you've misunderstood his plans." Patterson shook +his head. "He'll turn up yet, alive and kicking! Like as not, then, +Poindexter knows where he is all the time." + +"Impossible! He would have told me," said Mrs. Tucker, quickly. + +Mrs. Baxter looked at Patterson without speaking. Patterson replied by a +long lugubrious whistle. + +"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Tucker, drawing back with cold +dignity. + +"You don't?" returned Mrs. Baxter. "Bless your innocent heart! Why was +he so keen to hunt me up at first, shadowing my friends and all that, +and why has he dropped it now he knows I'm here, if he didn't know where +Spencer was?" + +"I can explain that," interrupted Mrs. Tucker, hastily, with a blush of +confusion. "That is--I--" + +"Then mebbe you kin explain too," broke in Patterson with gloomy +significance, "why he has bought up most of Spencer's debts himself, and +perhaps you're satisfied it ISN'T to hold the whip hand of him and keep +him from coming back openly. Pr'aps you know why he's movin' heaven and +earth to make Don Jose Santierra sell the ranch, and why the Don don't +see it all." + +"Don Jose sell Los Cuervos! Buy it, you mean?" said Mrs. Tucker. "I +offered to sell it to him." + +Patterson arose from the chair, looked despairingly around him, passed +his hand sadly across his forehead, and said: "It's come! I knew it +would. It's the warning! It's suthing betwixt jim-jams and doddering +idjiocy. Here I'd hev been willin' to swear that Mrs. Baxter here told +me SHE had sold this yer ranch nearly two years ago to Don Jose, and now +you--" + +"Stop!" said Mrs. Tucker, in a voice that chilled them. + +She was standing upright and rigid, as if stricken to stone. "I command +you to tell me what this means!" she said, turning only her blazing eyes +upon the woman. + +Even the ready smile faded from Mrs. Baxter's lips as she replied +hesitatingly and submissively: "I thought you knew already that Spencer +had given this ranch to me. I sold it to Don Jose to get the money for +us to go away with. It was Spencer's idea--" + +"You lie!" said Mrs. Tucker. + +There was a dead silence. The wrathful blood that had quickly mounted +to Mrs. Baxter's cheek, to Patterson's additional bewilderment, faded as +quickly. She did not lift her eyes again to Mrs. Tucker's, but, slowly +raising herself from her seat, said, "I wish to God I did lie; but it's +true. And it's true that I never touched a cent of the money, but gave +it all to him!" She laid her hand on Patterson's arm, and said, "Come! +let us go," and led him a few steps towards the gateway. But here +Patterson paused, and again passed his hand over his melancholy brow. +The necessity of coherently and logically closing the conversation +impressed itself upon his darkening mind. "Then you don't happen to have +heard anything of Spencer?" he said sadly, and vanished with Mrs. Baxter +through the gate. + +Left alone to herself, Mrs. Tucker raised her hands above her head with +a little cry, interlocked her rigid fingers, and slowly brought her +palms down upon her upturned face and eyes, pressing hard as if to crush +out all light and sense of life before her. She stood thus for a moment +motionless and silent, with the rising wind whispering without and +flecking her white morning dress with gusty shadows from the arbor. +Then, with closed eyes, dropping her hands to her breast, still pressing +hard, she slowly passed them down the shapely contours of her figure to +the waist, and with another cry cast them off as if she were stripping +herself of some loathsome garment. Then she walked quickly to the +gateway, looked out, returned to the corridor, unloosening and taking +off her wedding-ring from her finger as she walked. Here she paused, +then slowly and deliberately rearranged the chairs and adjusted the +gay-colored rugs that draped them, and quietly re-entered her chamber. + + +Two days afterwards the sweating steed of Captain Poindexter was +turned loose in the corral, and a moment later the captain entered the +corridor. Handing a letter to the decrepit Concha, who seemed to be +utterly disorganized by its contents, and the few curt words with which +it was delivered, he gazed silently upon the vacant bower, still fresh +and redolent with the delicacy and perfume of its graceful occupant, +until his dark eyes filled with unaccustomed moisture. But his reverie +was interrupted by the sound of jingling spurs without, and the old +humor struggled back in his eyes as Don Jose impetuously entered. The +Spaniard started back, but instantly recovered himself. + +"So I find you here. Ah! it is well!" he said passionately, producing a +letter from his bosom. "Look! Do you call this honor? Look how you keep +your compact!" + +Poindexter coolly took the letter. It contained a few words of gentle +dignity from Mrs. Tucker, informing Don Jose that she had only that +instant learned of his just claims upon Los Cuervos, tendering him her +gratitude for his delicate intentions, but pointing out with respectful +firmness that he must know that a moment's further acceptance of his +courtesy was impossible. + +"She has gained this knowledge from no word of mine," said Poindexter, +calmly. "Right or wrong, I have kept my promise to you. I have as much +reason to accuse you of betraying my secret in this," he added coldly, +as he took another letter from his pocket and handed it to Don Jose. + +It seemed briefer and colder, but was neither. It reminded Poindexter +that as he had again deceived her she must take the government of her +affairs in her own hands henceforth. She abandoned all the furniture and +improvements she had put in Los Cuervos to him, to whom she now knew +she was indebted for them. She could not thank him for what his habitual +generosity impelled him to do for any woman, but she could forgive him +for misunderstanding her like any other woman, perhaps she should say, +like a child. When he received this she would be already on her way to +her old home in Kentucky, where she still hoped to be able by her own +efforts to amass enough to discharge her obligations to him. + +"She does not speak of her husband, this woman," said Don Jose, scanning +Poindexter's face. "It is possible she rejoins him, eh?" + +"Perhaps in one way she has never left him, Don Jose," said Poindexter, +with grave significance. + +Don Jose's face flushed, but he returned carelessly, "And the rancho, +naturally you will not buy it now?" + +"On the contrary, I shall abide by my offer," said Poindexter, quietly. + +Don Jose eyed him narrowly, and then said, "Ah, we shall consider of +it." + +He did consider it, and accepted the offer. With the full control of the +land, Captain Poindexter's improvements, so indefinitely postponed, were +actively pushed forward. The thick walls of the hacienda were the first +to melt away before them; the low lines of corral were effaced, and the +early breath of the summer trade winds swept uninterruptedly across the +now leveled plain to the embarcadero, where a newer structure arose. A +more vivid green alone marked the spot where the crumbling adobe walls +of the casa had returned to the parent soil that gave it. The channel +was deepened, the lagoon was drained, until one evening the magic mirror +that had so long reflected the weary waiting of the Blue Grass Penelope +lay dull, dead, lustreless, an opaque quagmire of noisome corruption +and decay to be put away from the sight of man forever. On this spot +the crows, the titular tenants of Los Cuervos, assembled in tumultuous +congress, coming and going in mysterious clouds, or laboring in thick +and writhing masses, as if they were continuing the work of improvement +begun by human agency. So well had they done the work that by the end +of a week only a few scattered white objects remained glittering on +the surface of the quickly drying soil. But they were the bones of the +missing outcast, Spencer Tucker! + +***** + +The same spring a breath of war swept over a foul, decaying quagmire of +the whole land, before which such passing deeds as these were blown as +vapor. It called men of all rank and condition to battle for a nation's +life, and among the first to respond were those into whose boyish +hands had been placed the nation's honor. It returned the epaulets to +Poindexter's shoulder with the addition of a double star, carried him +triumphantly to the front, and left him, at the end of a summer's +day and a hard-won fight, sorely wounded, at the door of a Blue Grass +farmhouse. And the woman who sought him out and ministered to his wants +said timidly, as she left her hand in his, "I told you I should live to +repay you." + + + + + +LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +There was little doubt that the Lone Star claim was "played out." Not +dug out, worked out, washed out, but PLAYED out. For two years its +five sanguine proprietors had gone through the various stages of mining +enthusiasm; had prospected and planned, dug and doubted. They had +borrowed money with hearty but unredeeming frankness, established a +credit with unselfish abnegation of all responsibility, and had borne +the disappointment of their creditors with a cheerful resignation which +only the consciousness of some deep Compensating Future could give. +Giving little else, however, a singular dissatisfaction obtained with +the traders, and, being accompanied with a reluctance to make further +advances, at last touched the gentle stoicism of the proprietors +themselves. The youthful enthusiasm which had at first lifted the +most ineffectual trial, the most useless essay, to the plane of actual +achievement, died out, leaving them only the dull, prosaic record of +half-finished ditches, purposeless shafts, untenable pits, abandoned +engines, and meaningless disruptions of the soil upon the Lone Star +claim, and empty flour sacks and pork barrels in the Lone Star cabin. + +They had borne their poverty, if that term could be applied to a +light renunciation of all superfluities in food, dress, or ornament, +ameliorated by the gentle depredations already alluded to, with +unassuming levity. More than that: having segregated themselves from +their fellow-miners of Red Gulch, and entered upon the possession of the +little manzanita-thicketed valley five miles away, the failure of their +enterprise had assumed in their eyes only the vague significance of the +decline and fall of a general community, and to that extent relieved +them of individual responsibility. It was easier for them to admit +that the Lone Star claim was "played out" than confess to a personal +bankruptcy. Moreover, they still retained the sacred right of criticism +of government, and rose superior in their private opinions to their own +collective wisdom. Each one experienced a grateful sense of the entire +responsibility of the other four in the fate of their enterprise. + +On December 24, 1863, a gentle rain was still falling over the length +and breadth of the Lone Star claim. It had been falling for several +days, had already called a faint spring color to the wan landscape, +repairing with tender touches the ravages wrought by the proprietors, or +charitably covering their faults. The ragged seams in gulch and canyon +lost their harsh outlines, a thin green mantle faintly clothed the torn +and abraded hillside. A few weeks more, and a veil of forgetfulness +would be drawn over the feeble failures of the Lone Star claim. The +charming derelicts themselves, listening to the raindrops on the roof +of their little cabin, gazed philosophically from the open door, and +accepted the prospect as a moral discharge from their obligations. Four +of the five partners were present. The Right and Left Bowers, Union +Mills, and the Judge. + +It is scarcely necessary to say that not one of these titles was the +genuine name of its possessor. The Right and Left Bowers were two +brothers; their sobriquets, a cheerful adaptation from the favorite game +of euchre, expressing their relative value in the camp. The mere fact +that Union Mills had at one time patched his trousers with an old flour +sack legibly bearing that brand of its fabrication, was a tempting +baptismal suggestion that the other partners could not forego. The +Judge, a singularly inequitable Missourian, with no knowledge whatever +of the law, was an inspiration of gratuitous irony. + +Union Mills, who had been for some time sitting placidly on the +threshold with one leg exposed to the rain, from a sheer indolent +inability to change his position, finally withdrew that weather-beaten +member, and stood up. The movement more or less deranged the attitudes +of the other partners, and was received with cynical disfavor. It was +somewhat remarkable that, although generally giving the appearance of +healthy youth and perfect physical condition, they one and all simulated +the decrepitude of age and invalidism, and after limping about for a few +moments, settled back again upon their bunks and stools in their former +positions. The Left Bower lazily replaced a bandage that he had worn +around his ankle for weeks without any apparent necessity, and the Judge +scrutinized with tender solicitude the faded cicatrix of a scratch upon +his arm. A passive hypochondria, born of their isolation, was the last +ludicrously pathetic touch to their situation. + +The immediate cause of this commotion felt the necessity of an +explanation. + +"It would have been just as easy for you to have stayed outside with +your business leg, instead of dragging it into private life in that +obtrusive way," retorted the Right Bower; "but that exhaustive +effort isn't going to fill the pork barrel. The grocery man at Dalton +says--what's that he said?" he appealed lazily to the Judge. + +"Said he reckoned the Lone Star was about played out, and he didn't want +any more in his--thank you!" repeated the Judge with a mechanical effort +of memory utterly devoid of personal or present interest. + +"I always suspected that man, after Grimshaw begun to deal with him," +said the Left Bower. "They're just mean enough to join hands against +us." It was a fixed belief of the Lone Star partners that they were +pursued by personal enmities. + +"More than likely those new strangers over in the Fork have been paying +cash and filled him up with conceit," said Union Mills, trying to dry +his leg by alternately beating it or rubbing it against the cabin wall. +"Once begin wrong with that kind of snipe and you drag everybody down +with you." + +This vague conclusion was received with dead silence. Everybody had +become interested in the speaker's peculiar method of drying his leg, +to the exclusion of the previous topic. A few offered criticism, no one +assistance. + +"Who did the grocery man say that to?" asked the Right Bower, finally +returning to the question. + +"The Old man," answered the Judge. + +"Of course," ejaculated the Right Bower sarcastically. + +"Of course," echoed the other partners together. "That's like him. The +Old Man all over!" + +It did not appear exactly what was like the Old Man, or why it was like +him, but generally that he alone was responsible for the grocery man's +defection. It was put more concisely by Union Mills. + +"That comes of letting him go there! It's just a fair provocation to +any man to have the Old Man sent to him. They can't, sorter, restrain +themselves at him. He's enough to spoil the credit of the Rothschilds." + +"That's so," chimed in the Judge. "And look at his prospecting. Why, he +was out two nights last week, all night, prospecting in the moonlight +for blind leads, just out of sheer foolishness." + +"It was quite enough for me," broke in the Left Bower, "when the other +day, you remember when, he proposed to us white men to settle down to +plain ground sluicing, making 'grub' wages just like any Chinaman. It +just showed his idea of the Lone Star claim." + +"Well, I never said it afore," added Union Mills, "but when that one +of the Mattison boys came over here to examine the claim with an eye to +purchasin', it was the Old Man that took the conceit out of him. He just +as good as admitted that a lot of work had got to be done afore any pay +ore could be realized. Never even asked him over to the shanty here to +jine us in a friendly game; just kept him, so to speak, to himself. And +naturally the Mattisons didn't see it." + +A silence followed, broken only by the rain monotonously falling on +the roof, and occasionally through the broad adobe chimney, where it +provoked a retaliating hiss and splutter from the dying embers of the +hearth. The Right Bower, with a sudden access of energy, drew the empty +barrel before him, and taking a pack of well-worn cards from his pocket, +began to make a "solitaire" upon the lid. The others gazed at him with +languid interest. + +"Makin' it for anythin'?" asked Mills. + +The Right Bower nodded. + +The Judge and Left Bower, who were partly lying in their respective +bunks, sat up to get a better view of the game. Union Mills slowly +disengaged himself from the wall and leaned over the "solitaire" player. +The Right Bower turned the last card in a pause of almost thrilling +suspense, and clapped it down on the lid with fateful emphasis. + +"It went!" said the Judge in a voice of hushed respect. "What did you +make it for?" he almost whispered. + +"To know if we'd make the break we talked about and vamose the ranch. +It's the FIFTH time today," continued the Right Bower in a voice of +gloomy significance. "And it went agin bad cards too." + +"I ain't superstitious," said the Judge, with awe and fatuity beaming +from every line of his credulous face, "but it's flyin' in the face of +Providence to go agin such signs as that." + +"Make it again, to see if the Old Man must go," suggested the Left +Bower. + +The suggestion was received with favor, the three men gathering +breathlessly around the player. Again the fateful cards were shuffled +deliberately, placed in their mysterious combination, with the same +ominous result. Yet everybody seemed to breathe more freely, as if +relieved from some responsibility, the Judge accepting this manifest +expression of Providence with resigned self-righteousness. + +"Yes, gentlemen," resumed the Left Bower, serenely, as if a calm legal +decision had just been recorded, "we must not let any foolishness or +sentiment get mixed up with this thing, but look at it like business +men. The only sensible move is to get up and get out of the camp." + +"And the Old Man?" queried the Judge. + +"The Old Man--hush! he's coming." + +The doorway was darkened by a slight lissome shadow. It was the absent +partner, otherwise known as "the Old Man." Need it be added that he was +a BOY of nineteen, with a slight down just clothing his upper lip! + +"The creek is up over the ford, and I had to 'shin' up a willow on the +bank and swing myself across," he said, with a quick, frank laugh; "but +all the same, boys, it's going to clear up in about an hour, you bet. +It's breaking away over Bald Mountain, and there's a sun flash on a bit +of snow on Lone Peak. Look! you can see it from here. It's for all the +world like Noah's dove just landed on Mount Ararat. It's a good omen." + +From sheer force of habit the men had momentarily brightened up at +the Old Man's entrance. But the unblushing exhibition of degrading +superstition shown in the last sentence recalled their just severity. +They exchanged meaning glances. Union Mills uttered hopelessly to +himself: "Hell's full of such omens." + +Too occupied with his subject to notice this ominous reception, the Old +Man continued: "I reckon I struck a fresh lead in the new grocery man +at the Crossing. He says he'll let the Judge have a pair of boots on +credit, but he can't send them over here; and considering that the Judge +has got to try them anyway, it don't seem to be asking too much for the +Judge to go over there. He says he'll give us a barrel of pork and a bag +of flour if we'll give him the right of using our tail-race and clean +out the lower end of it." + +"It's the work of a Chinaman, and a four days' job," broke in the Left +Bower. + +"It took one white man only two hours to clean out a third of it," +retorted the Old Man triumphantly, "for I pitched in at once with a pick +he let me have on credit, and did that amount of work this morning, and +told him the rest of you boys would finish it this afternoon." + +A slight gesture from the Right Bower checked an angry exclamation from +the Left. The Old Man did not notice either, but, knitting his smooth +young brow in a paternally reflective fashion, went on: "You'll have +to get a new pair of trousers, Mills, but as he doesn't keep clothing, +we'll have to get some canvas and cut you out a pair. I traded off the +beans he let me have for some tobacco for the Right Bower at the other +shop, and got them to throw in a new pack of cards. These are about +played out. We'll be wanting some brushwood for the fire; there's a heap +in the hollow. Who's going to bring it in? It's the Judge's turn, isn't +it? Why, what's the matter with you all?" + +The restraint and evident uneasiness of his companions had at last +touched him. He turned his frank young eyes upon them; they glanced +helplessly at each other. Yet his first concern was for them, his first +instinct paternal and protecting. He ran his eyes quickly over them; +they were all there and apparently in their usual condition. "Anything +wrong with the claim?" he suggested. + +Without looking at him the Right Bower rose, leaned against the open +door with his hands behind him and his face towards the landscape, and +said, apparently to the distant prospect: "The claim's played out, the +partnership's played out, and the sooner we skedaddle out of this the +better. If," he added, turning to the Old Man, "if YOU want to stay, if +you want to do Chinaman's work at Chinaman's wages, if you want to hang +on to the charity of the traders at the Crossing, you can do it, and +enjoy the prospects and the Noah's doves alone. But we're calculatin' to +step out of it." + +"But I haven't said I wanted to do it ALONE," protested the Old Man with +a gesture of bewilderment. + +"If these are your general ideas of the partnership," continued the +Right Bower, clinging to the established hypothesis of the other +partners for support, "it ain't ours, and the only way we can prove it +is to stop the foolishness right here. We calculated to dissolve the +partnership and strike out for ourselves elsewhere. You're no longer +responsible for us, nor we for you. And we reckon it's the square thing +to leave you the claim and the cabin, and all it contains. To prevent +any trouble with the traders, we've drawn up a paper here--" + +"With a bonus of fifty thousand dollars each down, and the rest to be +settled on my children," interrupted the Old Man, with a half-uneasy +laugh. "Of course. But--" he stopped suddenly, the blood dropped from +his fresh cheek, and he again glanced quickly round the group. "I don't +think--I--I quite sabe, boys," he added, with a slight tremor of voice +and lip. "If it's a conundrum, ask me an easier one." + +Any lingering doubt he might have had of their meaning was dispelled by +the Judge. "It's about the softest thing you kin drop into, Old Man," +he said confidentially; "if I hadn't promised the other boys to go with +them, and if I didn't need the best medical advice in Sacramento for my +lungs, I'd just enjoy staying with you." + +"It gives a sorter freedom to a young fellow like you, Old Man, like +goin' into the world on your own capital, that every Californian boy +hasn't got," said Union Mills, patronizingly. + +"Of course it's rather hard papers on us, you know, givin' up +everything, so to speak; but it's for your good, and we ain't goin' back +on you," said the Left Bower, "are we, boys?" + +The color had returned to the Old Man's face a little more quickly and +freely than usual. He picked up the hat he had cast down, put it on +carefully over his brown curls, drew the flap down on the side towards +his companions, and put his hands in his pockets. "All right," he said, +in a slightly altered voice. "When do you go?" + +"To-day," answered the Left Bower. "We calculate to take a moonlight +pasear over to the Cross Roads and meet the down stage at about twelve +to-night. There's plenty of time yet," he added, with a slight laugh; +"it's only three o'clock now." + +There was a dead silence. Even the rain withheld its continuous patter, +a dumb, gray film covered the ashes of the hushed hearth. For the first +time the Right Bower exhibited some slight embarrassment. + +"I reckon it's held up for a spell," he said, ostentatiously examining +the weather, "and we might as well take a run round the claim to see +if we've forgotten nothing. Of course, we'll be back again," he added +hastily, without looking at the Old Man, "before we go, you know." + +The others began to look for their hats, but so awkwardly and with such +evident preoccupation of mind that it was not at first discovered that +the Judge had his already on. This raised a laugh, as did also a clumsy +stumble of Union Mills against the pork barrel, although that gentleman +took refuge from his confusion and secured a decent retreat by a gross +exaggeration of his lameness, as he limped after the Right Bower. The +Judge whistled feebly. The Left Bower, in a more ambitious effort to +impart a certain gayety to his exit, stopped on the threshold and said, +as if in arch confidence to his companions, "Darned if the Old Man +don't look two inches higher since he became a proprietor," laughed +patronizingly, and vanished. + +If the newly-made proprietor had increased in stature, he had not +otherwise changed his demeanor. He remained in the same attitude until +the last figure disappeared behind the fringe of buckeye that hid the +distant highway. Then he walked slowly to the fire-place, and, leaning +against the chimney, kicked the dying embers together with his foot. +Something dropped and spattered in the film of hot ashes. Surely the +rain had not yet ceased! + +His high color had already fled except for a spot on either cheek-bone +that lent a brightness to his eyes. He glanced around the cabin. It +looked familiar and yet strange. Rather, it looked strange BECAUSE +still familiar, and therefore incongruous with the new atmosphere that +surrounded it--discordant with the echo of their last meeting, and +painfully accenting the change. There were the four "bunks," or sleeping +berths, of his companions, each still bearing some traces of the +individuality of its late occupant with a dumb loyalty that seemed to +make their light-hearted defection monstrous. In the dead ashes of the +Judge's pipe, scattered on his shelf, still lived his old fire; in +the whittled and carved edges of the Left Bower's bunk still were the +memories of bygone days of delicious indolence; in the bullet-holes +clustered round a knot of one of the beams there was still the record of +the Right Bower's old-time skill and practice; in the few engravings +of female loveliness stuck upon each headboard there were the proofs of +their old extravagant devotion--all a mute protest to the change. + +He remembered how, a fatherless, truant schoolboy, he had drifted into +their adventurous, nomadic life, itself a life of grown-up truancy like +his own, and became one of that gypsy family. How they had taken the +place of relations and household in his boyish fancy, filling it with +the unsubstantial pageantry of a child's play at grown-up existence, +he knew only too well. But how, from being a pet and protege, he had +gradually and unconsciously asserted his own individuality and taken +upon his younger shoulders not only a poet's keen appreciation of that +life, but its actual responsibilities and half-childish burdens, he +never suspected. He had fondly believed that he was a neophyte in their +ways, a novice in their charming faith and indolent creed, and they had +encouraged it; now their renunciation of that faith could only be an +excuse for a renunciation of HIM. The poetry that had for two years +invested the material and sometimes even mean details of their existence +was too much a part of himself to be lightly dispelled. The lesson of +those ingenuous moralists failed, as such lessons are apt to fail; their +discipline provoked but did not subdue; a rising indignation, stirred by +a sense of injury, mounted to his cheek and eyes. It was slow to come, +but was none the less violent that it had been preceded by the benumbing +shock of shame and pride. + +I hope I shall not prejudice the reader's sympathies if my duty as a +simple chronicler compels me to state, therefore, that the sober second +thought of this gentle poet was to burn down the cabin on the spot with +all its contents. This yielded to a milder counsel--waiting for the +return of the party, challenging the Right Bower, a duel to the death, +perhaps himself the victim, with a crushing explanation in extremis, +"It seems we are ONE too many. No matter; it is settled now. Farewell!" +Dimly remembering, however, that there was something of this in the last +well-worn novel they had read together, and that his antagonist might +recognize it, or even worse, anticipate it himself, the idea was quickly +rejected. Besides, the opportunity for an apotheosis of self-sacrifice +was past. Nothing remained now but to refuse the proffered bribe of +claim and cabin by letter, for he must not wait their return. He tore a +leaf from a blotted diary, begun and abandoned long since, and essayed +to write. Scrawl after scrawl was torn up, until his fury had cooled +down to a frigid third personality. "Mr. John Ford regrets to inform his +late partners that their tender of house, of furniture," however, seemed +too inconsistent with the pork-barrel table he was writing on; a more +eloquent renunciation of their offer became frivolous and idiotic from a +caricature of Union Mills, label and all, that appeared suddenly on the +other side of the leaf; and when he at last indited a satisfactory and +impassioned exposition of his feelings, the legible addendum of "Oh, +ain't you glad you're out of the wilderness!"--the forgotten first line +of a popular song, which no scratching would erase--seemed too like an +ironical postscript to be thought of for a moment. He threw aside his +pen and cast the discordant record of past foolish pastime into the dead +ashes of the hearth. + +How quiet it was. With the cessation of the rain the wind too had gone +down, and scarcely a breath of air came through the open door. He walked +to the threshold and gazed on the hushed prospect. In this listless +attitude he was faintly conscious of a distant reverberation, a mere +phantom of sound--perhaps the explosion of a distant blast in the +hills--that left the silence more marked and oppressive. As he turned +again into the cabin a change seemed to have come over it. It already +looked old and decayed. The loneliness of years of desertion seemed to +have taken possession of it; the atmosphere of dry rot was in the +beams and rafters. To his excited fancy the few disordered blankets +and articles of clothing seemed dropping to pieces; in one of the bunks +there was a hideous resemblance in the longitudinal heap of clothing to +a withered and mummied corpse. So it might look in after years when some +passing stranger--but he stopped. A dread of the place was beginning +to creep over him; a dread of the days to come, when the monotonous +sunshine should lay bare the loneliness of these walls; the long, long +days of endless blue and cloudless, overhanging solitude; summer days +when the wearying, incessant trade winds should sing around that empty +shell and voice its desolation. He gathered together hastily a few +articles that were especially his own--rather that the free communion +of the camp, from indifference or accident, had left wholly to him. He +hesitated for a moment over his rifle, but, scrupulous in his wounded +pride, turned away and left the familiar weapon that in the dark days +had so often provided the dinner or breakfast of the little household. +Candor compels me to state that his equipment was not large nor +eminently practical. His scant pack was a light weight for even his +young shoulders, but I fear he thought more of getting away from the +Past than providing for the Future. + +With this vague but sole purpose he left the cabin, and almost +mechanically turned his steps towards the creek he had crossed +that morning. He knew that by this route he would avoid meeting his +companions; its difficulties and circuitousness would exercise his +feverish limbs and give him time for reflection. He had determined to +leave the claim, but whence he had not yet considered. He reached the +bank of the creek where he had stood two hours before; it seemed to him +two years. He looked curiously at his reflection in one of the broad +pools of overflow, and fancied he looked older. He watched the rush and +outset of the turbid current hurrying to meet the South Fork, and +to eventually lose itself in the yellow Sacramento. Even in his +preoccupation he was impressed with a likeness to himself and his +companions in this flood that had burst its peaceful boundaries. In +the drifting fragments of one of their forgotten flumes washed from the +bank, he fancied he saw an omen of the disintegration and decay of the +Lone Star claim. + +The strange hush in the air that he had noticed before--a calm so +inconsistent with that hour and the season as to seem portentous--became +more marked in contrast to the feverish rush of the turbulent +water-course. A few clouds lazily huddled in the west apparently had +gone to rest with the sun on beds of somnolent poppies. There was a +gleam as of golden water everywhere along the horizon, washing out the +cold snowpeaks, and drowning even the rising moon. The creek caught it +here and there, until, in grim irony, it seemed to bear their broken +sluice-boxes and useless engines on the very Pactolian stream they had +been hopefully created to direct and carry. But by some peculiar trick +of the atmosphere, the perfect plenitude of that golden sunset glory +was lavished on the rugged sides and tangled crest of the Lone Star +mountain. That isolated peak, the landmark of their claim, the gaunt +monument of their folly, transfigured in the evening splendor, kept its +radiance unquenched long after the glow had fallen from the encompassing +skies, and when at last the rising moon, step by step, put out the fires +along the winding valley and plains, and crept up the bosky sides of +the canyon, the vanishing sunset was lost only to reappear as a golden +crown. + +The eyes of the young man were fixed upon it with more than a momentary +picturesque interest. It had been the favorite ground of his prospecting +exploits, its lowest flank had been scarred in the old enthusiastic days +with hydraulic engines, or pierced with shafts, but its central position +in the claim and its superior height had always given it a commanding +view of the extent of their valley and its approaches, and it was this +practical pre-eminence that alone attracted him at that moment. He knew +that from its crest he would be able to distinguish the figures of his +companions, as they crossed the valley near the cabin, in the growing +moonlight. Thus he could avoid encountering them on his way to the high +road, and yet see them, perhaps, for the last time. Even in his sense of +injury there was a strange satisfaction in the thought. + +The ascent was toilsome, but familiar. All along the dim trail he was +accompanied by gentler memories of the past, that seemed, like the faint +odor of spiced leaves and fragrant grasses wet with the rain and crushed +beneath his ascending tread, to exhale the sweeter perfume in his effort +to subdue or rise above them. There was the thicket of manzanita, where +they had broken noonday bread together; here was the rock beside their +maiden shaft, where they had poured a wild libation in boyish enthusiasm +of success; and here the ledge where their first flag, a red shirt +heroically sacrificed, was displayed from a long-handled shovel to +the gaze of admirers below. When he at last reached the summit, the +mysterious hush was still in the air, as if in breathless sympathy with +his expedition. In the west, the plain was faintly illuminated, but +disclosed no moving figures. He turned towards the rising moon, and +moved slowly to the eastern edge. Suddenly he stopped. Another step +would have been his last! He stood upon the crumbling edge of a +precipice. A landslip had taken place on the eastern flank, leaving +the gaunt ribs and fleshless bones of Lone Star mountain bare in the +moonlight. He understood now the strange rumble and reverberation he had +heard; he understood now the strange hush of bird and beast in brake and +thicket! + +Although a single rapid glance convinced him that the slide had taken +place in an unfrequented part of the mountain, above an inaccessible +canyon, and reflection assured him his companions could not have reached +that distance when it took place, a feverish impulse led him to descend +a few rods in the track of the avalanche. The frequent recurrence of +outcrop and angle made this comparatively easy. Here he called aloud; +the feeble echo of his own voice seemed only a dull impertinence to the +significant silence. He turned to reascend; the furrowed flank of the +mountain before him lay full in the moonlight. To his excited fancy, a +dozen luminous star-like points in the rocky crevices started into +life as he faced them. Throwing his arm over the ledge above him, he +supported himself for a moment by what appeared to be a projection of +the solid rock. It trembled slightly. As he raised himself to its level, +his heart stopped beating. It was simply a fragment detached from the +outcrop, lying loosely on the ledge but upholding him by ITS OWN WEIGHT +ONLY. He examined it with trembling fingers; the encumbering soil fell +from its sides and left its smoothed and worn protuberances glistening +in the moonlight. It was virgin gold! + +Looking back upon that moment afterwards, he remembered that he was not +dazed, dazzled, or startled. It did not come to him as a discovery or an +accident, a stroke of chance or a caprice of fortune. He saw it all in +that supreme moment; Nature had worked out their poor deduction. What +their feeble engines had essayed spasmodically and helplessly against +the curtain of soil that hid the treasure, the elements had achieved +with mightier but more patient forces. The slow sapping of the winter +rains had loosened the soil from the auriferous rock, even while the +swollen stream was carrying their impotent and shattered engines to the +sea. + +What mattered that his single arm could not lift the treasure he had +found! What mattered that to unfix those glittering stars would still +tax both skill and patience! The work was done, the goal was reached! +even his boyish impatience was content with that. He rose slowly to his +feet, unstrapped his long-handled shovel from his back, secured it in +the crevice, and quietly regained the summit. + +It was all his own! His own by right of discovery under the law of the +land, and without accepting a favor from THEM. He recalled even the fact +that it was HIS prospecting on the mountain that first suggested the +existence of gold in the outcrop and the use of the hydraulic. HE had +never abandoned that belief, whatever the others had done. He dwelt +somewhat indignantly to himself on this circumstance, and half +unconsciously faced defiantly towards the plain below. But it was +sleeping peacefully in the full sight of the moon, without life or +motion. He looked at the stars; it was still far from midnight. His +companions had no doubt long since returned to the cabin to prepare for +their midnight journey. They were discussing him, perhaps laughing at +him, or worse, pitying him and his bargain. Yet here was his bargain! A +slight laugh he gave vent to here startled him a little, it sounded +so hard and so unmirthful, and so unlike, as he oddly fancied, what he +really THOUGHT. But WHAT did he think? + +Nothing mean or revengeful; no, they never would say THAT. When he had +taken out all the surface gold and put the mine in working order, he +would send them each a draft for a thousand dollars. Of course, if they +were ever ill or poor he would do more. One of the first, the very first +things he should do would be to send them each a handsome gun and tell +them that he only asked in return the old-fashioned rifle that once was +his. Looking back at the moment in after years, he wondered that, with +this exception, he made no plans for his own future, or the way he +should dispose of his newly acquired wealth. This was the more singular +as it had been the custom of the five partners to lie awake at night, +audibly comparing with each other what they would do in case they made +a strike. He remembered how, Alnaschar-like, they nearly separated once +over a difference in the disposal of a hundred thousand dollars that +they never had, nor expected to have. He remembered how Union Mills +always began his career as a millionnaire by a "square meal" at +Delmonico's; how the Right Bower's initial step was always a trip home +"to see his mother"; how the Left Bower would immediately placate the +parents of his beloved with priceless gifts (it may be parenthetically +remarked that the parents and the beloved one were as hypothetical +as the fortune); and how the Judge would make his first start as a +capitalist by breaking a certain faro bank in Sacramento. He himself had +been equally eloquent in extravagant fancy in those penniless days, +he who now was quite cold and impassive beside the more extravagant +reality. + +How different it might have been! If they had only waited a day longer! +if they had only broken their resolves to him kindly and parted in good +will! How he would long ere this have rushed to greet them with the +joyful news! How they would have danced around it, sung themselves +hoarse, laughed down their enemies, and run up the flag triumphantly on +the summit of the Lone Star Mountain! How they would have crowned him +"the Old Man," "the hero of the camp!" How he would have told them the +whole story; how some strange instinct had impelled him to ascend the +summit, and how another step on that summit would have precipitated him +into the canyon! And how--but what if somebody else, Union Mills or the +Judge, had been the first discoverer? Might they not have meanly kept +the secret from him; have selfishly helped themselves and done-- + +"What YOU are doing now." + +The hot blood rushed to his cheek, as if a strange voice were at his +ear. For a moment he could not believe that it came from his own pale +lips until he found himself speaking. He rose to his feet, tingling with +shame, and began hurriedly to descend the mountain. + +He would go to them, tell them of his discovery, let them give him his +share, and leave them forever. It was the only thing to be done, strange +that he had not thought of it at once. Yet it was hard, very hard and +cruel to be forced to meet them again. What had he done to suffer this +mortification? For a moment he actually hated this vulgar treasure that +had forever buried under its gross ponderability the light and careless +past, and utterly crushed out the poetry of their old, indolent, happy +existence. + +He was sure to find them waiting at the Cross Roads where the coach +came past. It was three miles away, yet he could get there in time if he +hastened. It was a wise and practical conclusion of his evening's work, +a lame and impotent conclusion to his evening's indignation. No matter. +They would perhaps at first think he had come to weakly follow them, +perhaps they would at first doubt his story. No matter. He bit his lips +to keep down the foolish rising tears, but still went blindly forward. + +He saw not the beautiful night, cradled in the dark hills, swathed in +luminous mists, and hushed in the awe of its own loveliness! Here and +there the moon had laid her calm face on lake and overflow, and gone +to sleep embracing them, until the whole plain seemed to be lifted +into infinite quiet. Walking on as in a dream, the black, impenetrable +barriers of skirting thickets opened and gave way to vague distances +that it appeared impossible to reach, dim vistas that seemed +unapproachable. Gradually he seemed himself to become a part of the +mysterious night. He was becoming as pulseless, as calm, as passionless. + +What was that? A shot in the direction of the cabin! yet so faint, so +echoless, so ineffective in the vast silence, that he would have thought +it his fancy but for the strange instinctive jar upon his sensitive +nerves. Was it an accident, or was it an intentional signal to him? He +stopped; it was not repeated, the silence reasserted itself, but this +time with an ominous death-like suggestion. A sudden and terrible +thought crossed his mind. He cast aside his pack and all encumbering +weight, took a deep breath, lowered his head and darted like a deer in +the direction of the challenge. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The exodus of the seceding partners of the Lone Star claim had been +scarcely an imposing one. For the first five minutes after quitting the +cabin, the procession was straggling and vagabond. Unwonted exertion had +exaggerated the lameness of some, and feebleness of moral purpose had +predisposed the others to obtrusive musical exhibition. Union Mills +limped and whistled with affected abstraction; the Judge whistled and +limped with affected earnestness. The Right Bower led the way with some +show of definite design; the Left Bower followed with his hands in +his pockets. The two feebler natures, drawn together in unconscious +sympathy, looked vaguely at each other for support. + +"You see," said the Judge, suddenly, as if triumphantly concluding +an argument, "there ain't anything better for a young fellow than +independence. Nature, so to speak, points the way. Look at the animals." + +"There's a skunk hereabouts," said Union Mills, who was supposed to be +gifted with aristocratically sensitive nostrils, "within ten miles +of this place; like as not crossing the Ridge. It's always my luck +to happen out just at such times. I don't see the necessity anyhow of +trapesing round the claim now, if we calculate to leave it to-night." + +Both men waited to observe if the suggestion was taken up by the Right +and Left Bower moodily plodding ahead. No response following, the Judge +shamelessly abandoned his companion. + +"You wouldn't stand snoopin' round instead of lettin' the Old Man get +used to the idea alone? No; I could see all along that he was takin' it +in, takin' it in, kindly but slowly, and I reckoned the best thing for +us to do was to git up and git until he'd got round it." The Judge's +voice was slightly raised for the benefit of the two before him. + +"Didn't he say," remarked the Right Bower, stopping suddenly and facing +the others, "didn't he say that that new trader was goin' to let him +have some provisions anyway?" + +Union Mills turned appealingly to the Judge; that gentleman was forced +to reply, "Yes; I remember distinctly he said it. It was one of the +things I was particular about on his account," responded the Judge, +with the air of having arranged it all himself with the new trader. "I +remember I was easier in my mind about it." + +"But didn't he say," queried the Left Bower, also stopping short, +"suthin' about it's being contingent on our doing some work on the +race?" + +The Judge turned for support to Union Mills, who, however, under the +hollow pretense of preparing for a long conference, had luxuriously +seated himself on a stump. The Judge sat down also, and replied, +hesitatingly, "Well, yes! Us or him." + +"Us or him," repeated the Right Bower, with gloomy irony. "And you ain't +quite clear in your mind, are you, if YOU haven't done the work already? +You're just killing yourself with this spontaneous, promiscuous, and +premature overwork; that's what's the matter with you." + +"I reckon I heard somebody say suthin' about it's being a Chinaman's +three-day job," interpolated the Left Bower, with equal irony, "but I +ain't quite clear in my mind about that." + +"It'll be a sorter distraction for the Old Man," said Union Mills, +feebly--"kinder take his mind off his loneliness." + +Nobody taking the least notice of the remark, union Mills stretched out +his legs more comfortably and took out his pipe. He had scarcely done so +when the Right Bower, wheeling suddenly, set off in the direction of the +creek. The Left Bower, after a slight pause, followed without a word. +The Judge, wisely conceiving it better to join the stronger party, +ran feebly after him, and left Union Mills to bring up a weak and +vacillating rear. + +Their course, diverging from Lone Star Mountain, led them now directly +to the bend of the creek, the base of their old ineffectual operations. +Here was the beginning of the famous tail-race that skirted the new +trader's claim, and then lost its way in a swampy hollow. It was choked +with debris; a thin, yellow stream that once ran through it seemed to +have stopped work when they did, and gone into greenish liquidation. + +They had scarcely spoken during this brief journey, and had received no +other explanation from the Right Bower, who led them, than that afforded +by his mute example when he reached the race. Leaping into it without a +word, he at once began to clear away the broken timbers and driftwood. +Fired by the spectacle of what appeared to be a new and utterly +frivolous game, the men gayly leaped after him, and were soon engaged +in a fascinating struggle with the impeded race. The Judge forgot his +lameness in springing over a broken sluice-box; Union Mills forgot his +whistle in a happy imitation of a Chinese coolie's song. Nevertheless, +after ten minutes of this mild dissipation, the pastime flagged; Union +Mills was beginning to rub his leg when a distant rumble shook the +earth. The men looked at each other; the diversion was complete; a +languid discussion of the probabilities of its being an earthquake or a +blast followed, in the midst of which the Right Bower, who was working +a little in advance of the others, uttered a warning cry and leaped from +the race. His companions had barely time to follow before a sudden and +inexplicable rise in the waters of the creek sent a swift irruption of +the flood through the race. In an instant its choked and impeded channel +was cleared, the race was free, and the scattered debris of logs and +timber floated upon its easy current. Quick to take advantage of this +labor-saving phenomenon, the Lone Star partners sprang into the water, +and by disentangling and directing the eddying fragments completed their +work. + +"The Old Man oughter been here to see this," said the Left Bower; "it's +just one o' them climaxes of poetic justice he's always huntin' up. It's +easy to see what's happened. One o' them high-toned shrimps over in the +Excelsior claim has put a blast in too near the creek. He's tumbled the +bank into the creek and sent the back water down here just to wash out +our race. That's what I call poetical retribution." + +"And who was it advised us to dam the creek below the race and make it +do the thing?" asked the Right Bower, moodily. + +"That was one of the Old Man's ideas, I reckon," said the Left Bower, +dubiously. + +"And you remember," broke in the Judge with animation, "I allus said, +'Go slow, go slow. You just hold on and suthin' will happen.' And," he +added, triumphantly, "you see suthin' has happened. I don't want to take +credit to myself, but I reckoned on them Excelsior boys bein' fools, and +took the chances." + +"And what if I happen to know that the Excelsior boys ain't blastin' +to-day?" said the Right Bower, sarcastically. + +As the Judge had evidently based his hypothesis on the alleged fact of +a blast, he deftly evaded the point. "I ain't saying the Old Man's head +ain't level on some things; he wants a little more sabe of the world. +He's improved a good deal in euchre lately, and in poker--well! he's got +that sorter dreamy, listenin'-to-the-angels kind o' way that you can't +exactly tell whether he's bluffin' or has got a full hand. Hasn't he?" +he asked, appealing to Union Mills. + +But that gentleman, who had been watching the dark face of the Right +Bower, preferred to take what he believed to be his cue from him. "That +ain't the question," he said virtuously; "we ain't takin' this step to +make a card sharp out of him. We're not doin' Chinamen's work in this +race to-day for that. No, sir! We're teachin' him to paddle his own +canoe." Not finding the sympathetic response he looked for in the Right +Bower's face, he turned to the Left. + +"I reckon we were teachin' him our canoe was too full," was the Left +Bower's unexpected reply. "That's about the size of it." + +The Right Bower shot a rapid glance under his brows at his brother. +The latter, with his hands in his pockets, stared unconsciously at the +rushing waters, and then quietly turned away. The Right Bower followed +him. "Are you goin' back on us?" he asked. + +"Are you?" responded the other. + +"No!" + +"NO, then it is," returned the Left Bower quietly. The elder brother +hesitated in half-angry embarrassment. + +"Then what did you mean by saying we reckoned our canoe was too full?" + +"Wasn't that our idea?" returned the Left Bower, indifferently. +Confounded by this practical expression of his own unformulated good +intentions, the Right Bower was staggered. + +"Speakin' of the Old Man," broke in the Judge, with characteristic +infelicity, "I reckon he'll sort o' miss us, times like these. We were +allers runnin' him and bedevilin' him, after work, just to get him +excited and amusin', and he'll kinder miss that sort o' stimulatin'. I +reckon we'll miss it too, somewhat. Don't you remember, boys, the night +we put up that little sell on him and made him believe we'd struck it +rich in the bank of the creek, and got him so conceited, he wanted to go +off and settle all our debts at once?" + +"And how I came bustin' into the cabin with a pan full of iron pyrites +and black sand," chuckled Union Mills, continuing the reminiscences, +"and how them big gray eyes of his nearly bulged out of his head. Well, +it's some satisfaction to know we did our duty by the young fellow even +in those little things." He turned for confirmation of their general +disinterestedness to the Right Bower, but he was already striding away, +uneasily conscious of the lazy following of the Left Bower, like a +laggard conscience at his back. This movement again threw Union Mills +and the Judge into feeble complicity in the rear, as the procession +slowly straggled homeward from the creek. + +Night had fallen. Their way lay through the shadow of Lone Star +Mountain, deepened here and there by the slight, bosky ridges that, +starting from its base, crept across the plain like vast roots of its +swelling trunk. The shadows were growing blacker as the moon began to +assert itself over the rest of the valley, when the Right Bower halted +suddenly on one of these ridges. The Left Bower lounged up to him, and +stopped also, while the two others came up and completed the group. + +"There's no light in the shanty," said the Right Bower in a low voice, +half to himself and, half in answer to their inquiring attitude. The men +followed the direction of his finger. In the distance the black outline +of the Lone Star cabin stood out distinctly in the illumined space. +There was the blank, sightless, external glitter of moonlight on its two +windows that seemed to reflect its dim vacancy, empty alike of light, +and warmth, and motion. + +"That's sing'lar," said the Judge in an awed whisper. + +The Left Bower, by simply altering the position of his hands in his +trousers' pockets, managed to suggest that he knew perfectly the meaning +of it, had always known it; but that being now, so to speak, in the +hands of Fate, he was callous to it. This much, at least, the elder +brother read in his attitude. But anxiety at that moment was the +controlling impulse of the Right Bower, as a certain superstitious +remorse was the instinct of the two others, and without heeding the +cynic, the three started at a rapid pace for the cabin. + +They reached it silently, as the moon, now riding high in the heavens, +seemed to touch it with the tender grace and hushed repose of a tomb. +It was with something of this feeling that the Right Bower softly pushed +open the door; it was with something of this dread that the two others +lingered on the threshold, until the Right Bower, after vainly trying +to stir the dead embers on the hearth into life with his foot, struck a +match and lit their solitary candle. Its flickering light revealed the +familiar interior unchanged in aught but one thing. The bunk that +the Old Man had occupied was stripped of its blankets; the few cheap +ornaments and photographs were gone; the rude poverty of the bare boards +and scant pallet looked up at them unrelieved by the bright face and +gracious youth that had once made them tolerable. In the grim irony +of that exposure, their own penury was doubly conscious. The little +knapsack, the teacup and coffee-pot that had hung near his bed, were +gone also. The most indignant protest, the most pathetic of the letters +he had composed and rejected, whose torn fragments still littered the +floor, could never have spoken with the eloquence of this empty space! +The men exchanged no words: the solitude of the cabin, instead of +drawing them together, seemed to isolate each one in selfish distrust of +the others. Even the unthinking garrulity of Union Mills and the Judge +was checked. A moment later, when the Left Bower entered the cabin, his +presence was scarcely noticed. + +The silence was broken by a joyous exclamation from the Judge. He had +discovered the Old Man's rifle in the corner, where it had been at first +overlooked. "He ain't gone yet, gentlemen--for yer's his rifle," he +broke in, with a feverish return of volubility, and a high excited +falsetto. "He wouldn't have left this behind. No! I knowed it from the +first. He's just outside a bit, foraging for wood and water. No, sir! +Coming along here I said to Union Mills--didn't I?--'Bet your life the +Old Man's not far off, even if he ain't in the cabin.' Why, the moment I +stepped foot--" + +"And I said coming along," interrupted Union Mills, with equally +reviving mendacity, "Like as not he's hangin' round yer and lyin' low +just to give us a surprise.' He! ho!" + +"He's gone for good, and he left that rifle here on purpose," said the +Left Bower in a low voice, taking the weapon almost tenderly in his +hands. + +"Drop it, then!" said the Right Bower. The voice was that of his +brother, but suddenly changed with passion. The two other partners +instinctively drew back in alarm. + +"I'll not leave it here for the first comer," said the Left Bower, +calmly, "because we've been fools and he too. It's too good a weapon for +that." + +"Drop it, I say!" said the Right Bower, with a savage stride towards +him. + +The younger brother brought the rifle to a half charge with a white face +but a steady eye. + +"Stop where you are!" he said collectedly. "Don't row with ME, because +you haven't either the grit to stick to your ideas or the heart to +confess them wrong. We've followed your lead, and--here we are! The +camp's broken up--the Old Man's gone--and we're going. And as for the +d----d rifle--" + +"Drop it, do you hear!" shouted the Right Bower, clinging to that one +idea with the blind pertinacity of rage and a losing cause. "Drop it!" + +The Left Bower drew back, but his brother had seized the barrel +with both hands. There was a momentary struggle, a flash through the +half-lighted cabin, and a shattering report. The two men fell back from +each other; the rifle dropped on the floor between them. + +The whole thing was over so quickly that the other two partners had not +had time to obey their common impulse to separate them, and consequently +even now could scarcely understand what had passed. It was over so +quickly that the two actors themselves walked back to their places, +scarcely realizing their own act. + +A dead silence followed. The Judge and Union Mills looked at each other +in dazed astonishment, and then nervously set about their former habits, +apparently in that fatuous belief common to such natures, that they were +ignoring a painful situation. The Judge drew the barrel towards him, +picked up the cards, and began mechanically to "make a patience," +on which Union Mills gazed with ostentatious interest, but with eyes +furtively conscious of the rigid figure of the Right Bower by the +chimney and the abstracted face of the Left Bower at the door. Ten +minutes had passed in this occupation, the Judge and Union Mills +conversing in the furtive whispers of children unavoidably but +fascinatedly present at a family quarrel, when a light step was heard +upon the crackling brushwood outside, and the bright panting face of +the Old Man appeared upon the threshold. There was a shout of joy; in +another moment he was half-buried in the bosom of the Right Bower's +shirt, half-dragged into the lap of the Judge, upsetting the barrel, +and completely encompassed by the Left Bower and Union Mills. With the +enthusiastic utterance of his name the spell was broken. + +Happily unconscious of the previous excitement that had provoked this +spontaneous unanimity of greeting, the Old Man, equally relieved, at +once broke into a feverish announcement of his discovery. He painted the +details, with, I fear, a slight exaggeration of coloring, due partly +to his own excitement, and partly to justify their own. But he was +strangely conscious that these bankrupt men appeared less elated with +their personal interest in their stroke of fortune than with his own +success. "I told you he'd do it," said the Judge, with a reckless +unscrupulousness of statement that carried everybody with it; "look at +him! the game little pup." "Oh no! he ain't the right breed, is he?" +echoed Union Mills with arch irony, while the Right and Left Bower, +grasping either hand, pressed a proud but silent greeting that was half +new to him, but wholly delicious. It was not without difficulty that he +could at last prevail upon them to return with him to the scene of +his discovery, or even then restrain them from attempting to carry +him thither on their shoulders on the plea of his previous prolonged +exertions. Once only there was a momentary embarrassment. "Then you +fired that shot to bring me back?" said the Old Man, gratefully. In the +awkward silence that followed, the hands of the two brothers sought +and grasped each other, penitently. "Yes," interposed the Judge, with +delicate tact, "ye see the Right and Left Bower almost quarreled to see +which should be the first to fire for ye. I disremember which did"--"I +never touched the trigger," said the Left Bower, hastily. With a hurried +backward kick, the Judge resumed, "It went off sorter spontaneous." + +The difference in the sentiment of the procession that once more issued +from the Lone Star cabin did not fail to show itself in each individual +partner according to his temperament. The subtle tact of Union Mills, +however, in expressing an awakened respect for their fortunate partner +by addressing him, as if unconsciously, as "Mr. Ford" was at first +discomposing, but even this was forgotten in their breathless excitement +as they neared the base of the mountain. When they had crossed the creek +the Right Bower stopped reflectively. + +"You say you heard the slide come down before you left the cabin?" he +said, turning to the Old Man. + +"Yes; but I did not know then what it was. It was about an hour and a +half after you left," was the reply. + +"Then look here, boys," continued the Right Bower with superstitious +exultation; "it was the SLIDE that tumbled into the creek, overflowed +it, and helped US clear out the race!" + +It seemed so clear that Providence had taken the partners of the +Lone Star directly in hand that they faced the toilsome ascent of the +mountain with the assurance of conquerors. They paused only on the +summit to allow the Old Man to lead the way to the slope that held their +treasure. He advanced cautiously to the edge of the crumbling cliff, +stopped, looked bewildered, advanced again, and then remained white and +immovable. In an instant the Right Bower was at his side. + +"Is anything the matter? Don't--don't look so, Old Man, for God's sake!" + +The Old Man pointed to the dull, smooth, black side of the mountain, +without a crag, break, or protuberance, and said with ashen lips:-- + +"It's gone!" + +***** + +And it was gone! A SECOND slide had taken place, stripping the flank of +the mountain, and burying the treasure and the weak implement that had +marked its side deep under a chaos of rock and debris at its base. + +"Thank God!" The blank faces of his companions turned quickly to the +Right Bower. "Thank God!" he repeated, with his arm round the neck of +the Old Man. "Had he stayed behind he would have been buried too." He +paused, and, pointing solemnly to the depths below, said, "And thank God +for showing us where we may yet labor for it in hope and patience like +honest men." + +The men silently bowed their heads and slowly descended the mountain. +But when they had reached the plain one of them called out to the others +to watch a star that seemed to be rising and moving towards them over +the hushed and sleeping valley. + +"It's only the stage coach, boys," said the Left Bower, smiling; "the +coach that was to take us away." + +In the security of their new-found fraternity they resolved to wait +and see it pass. As it swept by with flash of light, beat of hoofs, and +jingle of harness, the only real presence in the dreamy landscape, the +driver shouted a hoarse greeting to the phantom partners, audible only +to the Judge, who was nearest the vehicle. + +"Did you hear--DID you hear what he said, boys?" he gasped, turning to +his companions. "No! Shake hands all round, boys! God bless you all, +boys! To think we didn't know it all this while!" + +"Know what?" + +"Merry Christmas!" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Frontier, by Bret Harte + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE FRONTIER *** + +***** This file should be named 2574.txt or 2574.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/7/2574/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com. + + + + + +ON THE FRONTIER + +by Bret Harte + + + + +CONTENTS + + +AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL + +A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE + +LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN + + + + +AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL + + +PROLOGUE + + +It was noon of the 10th of August, 1838. The monotonous coast line +between Monterey and San Diego had set its hard outlines against +the steady glare of the Californian sky and the metallic glitter of +the Pacific Ocean. The weary succession of rounded, dome-like +hills obliterated all sense of distance; the rare whaling vessel or +still rarer trader, drifting past, saw no change in these rusty +undulations, barren of distinguishing peak or headland, and bald of +wooded crest or timbered ravine. The withered ranks of wild oats +gave a dull procession of uniform color to the hills, unbroken by +any relief of shadow in their smooth, round curves. As far as the +eye could reach, sea and shore met in one bleak monotony, flecked +by no passing cloud, stirred by no sign of life or motion. Even +sound was absent; the Angelus, rung from the invisible Mission +tower far inland, was driven back again by the steady northwest +trades, that for half the year had swept the coast line and left it +abraded of all umbrage and color. + +But even this monotony soon gave way to a change and another +monotony as uniform and depressing. The western horizon, slowly +contracting before a wall of vapor, by four o'clock had become a +mere cold, steely strip of sea, into which gradually the northern +trend of the coast faded and was lost. As the fog stole with soft +step southward, all distance, space, character, and locality again +vanished; the hills upon which the sun still shone bore the same +monotonous outlines as those just wiped into space. Last of all, +before the red sun sank like the descending host, it gleamed upon +the sails of a trading vessel close in shore. It was the last +object visible. A damp breath breathed upon it, a soft hand passed +over the slate, the sharp pencilling of the picture faded and +became a confused gray cloud. + +The wind and waves, too, went down in the fog; the now invisible +and hushed breakers occasionally sent the surf over the sand in a +quick whisper, with grave intervals of silence, but with no +continuous murmur as before. In a curving bight of the shore the +creaking of oars in their rowlocks began to be distinctly heard, +but the boat itself, although apparently only its length from the +sands, was invisible. + +"Steady, now; way enough." The voice came from the sea, and was +low, as if unconsciously affected by the fog. "Silence!" + +The sound of a keel grating the sand was followed by the order, +"Stern all!" from the invisible speaker. + +"Shall we beach her?" asked another vague voice. + +"Not yet. Hail again, and all together." + +"Ah hoy--oi--oi--oy!" + +There were four voices, but the hail appeared weak and ineffectual, +like a cry in a dream, and seemed hardly to reach beyond the surf +before it was suffocated in the creeping cloud. A silence +followed, but no response. + +"It's no use to beach her and go ashore until we find the boat," +said the first voice, gravely; "and we'll do that if the current +has brought her here. Are you sure you've got the right bearings?" + +"As near as a man could off a shore with not a blasted pint to take +his bearings by." + +There was a long silence again, broken only by the occasional dip +of oars, keeping the invisible boat-head to the sea. + +"Take my word for it, lads, it's the last we'll see of that boat +again, or of Jack Cranch, or the captain's baby." + +"It DOES look mighty queer that the painter should slip. Jack +Cranch ain't the man to tie a granny knot." + +"Silence!" said the invisible leader. "Listen." + +A hail, so faint and uncertain that it might have been the long- +deferred, far-off echo of their own, came from the sea, abreast of +them. + +"It's the captain. He hasn't found anything, or he couldn't be so +far north. Hark!" + +The hail was repeated again faintly, dreamily. To the seamen's +trained ears it seemed to have an intelligent significance, for the +first voice gravely responded, "Aye, aye!" and then said softly, +"Oars." + +The word was followed by a splash. The oars clicked sharply and +simultaneously in the rowlocks, then more faintly, then still +fainter, and then passed out into the darkness. + +The silence and shadow both fell together; for hours sea and shore +were impenetrable. Yet at times the air was softly moved and +troubled, the surrounding gloom faintly lightened as with a misty +dawn, and then was dark again; or drowsy, far-off cries and +confused noises seemed to grow out of the silence, and, when they +had attracted the weary ear, sank away as in a mocking dream, and +showed themselves unreal. Nebulous gatherings in the fog seemed to +indicate stationary objects that, even as one gazed, moved away; +the recurring lap and ripple on the shingle sometimes took upon +itself the semblance of faint articulate laughter or spoken words. +But towards morning a certain monotonous grating on the sand, that +had for many minutes alternately cheated and piqued the ear, +asserted itself more strongly, and a moving, vacillating shadow in +the gloom became an opaque object on the shore. + +With the first rays of the morning light the fog lifted. As the +undraped hills one by one bared their cold bosoms to the sun, the +long line of coast struggled back to life again. Everything was +unchanged, except that a stranded boat lay upon the sands, and in +its stern sheets a sleeping child. + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The 10th of August, 1852, brought little change to the dull +monotony of wind, fog, and treeless coast line. Only the sea was +occasionally flecked with racing sails that outstripped the old, +slow-creeping trader, or was at times streaked and blurred with the +trailing smoke of a steamer. There were a few strange footprints +on those virgin sands, and a fresh track, that led from the beach +over the rounded hills, dropped into the bosky recesses of a hidden +valley beyond the coast range. + +It was here that the refectory windows of the Mission of San Carmel +had for years looked upon the reverse of that monotonous picture +presented to the sea. It was here that the trade winds, shorn of +their fury and strength in the heated, oven-like air that rose from +the valley, lost their weary way in the tangled recesses of the +wooded slopes, and breathed their last at the foot of the stone +cross before the Mission. It was on the crest of those slopes that +the fog halted and walled in the sun-illumined plain below; it was +in this plain that limitless fields of grain clothed the fat adobe +soil; here the Mission garden smiled over its hedges of fruitful +vines, and through the leaves of fig and gnarled pear trees: and it +was here that Father Pedro had lived for fifty years, found the +prospect good, and had smiled also. + +Father Pedro's smile was rare. He was not a Las Casas, nor a +Junipero Serra, but he had the deep seriousness of all disciples +laden with the responsible wording of a gospel not their own. And +his smile had an ecclesiastical as well as a human significance, +the pleasantest object in his prospect being the fair and curly +head of his boy acolyte and chorister, Francisco, which appeared +among the vines, and his sweetest pastoral music, the high soprano +humming of a chant with which the boy accompanied his gardening. + +Suddenly the acolyte's chant changed to a cry of terror. Running +rapidly to Father Pedro's side, he grasped his sotana, and even +tried to hide his curls among its folds. + +"'St! 'st!" said the Padre, disengaging himself with some +impatience. "What new alarm is this? Is it Luzbel hiding among +our Catalan vines, or one of those heathen Americanos from +Monterey? Speak!" + +"Neither, holy father," said the boy, the color struggling back +into his pale cheeks, and an apologetic, bashful smile lighting his +clear eyes. "Neither; but oh! such a gross, lethargic toad! And +it almost leaped upon me." + +"A toad leaped upon thee!" repeated the good father with evident +vexation. "What next? I tell thee, child, those foolish fears are +most unmeet for thee, and must be overcome, if necessary, with +prayer and penance. Frightened by a toad! Blood of the Martyrs! +'Tis like any foolish girl!" + +Father Pedro stopped and coughed. + +"I am saying that no Christian child should shrink from any of +God's harmless creatures. And only last week thou wast disdainful +of poor Murieta's pig, forgetting that San Antonio himself did +elect one his faithful companion, even in glory." + +"Yes, but it was so fat, and so uncleanly, holy father," replied +the young acolyte, "and it smelt so." + +"Smelt so?" echoed the father doubtfully. "Have a care, child, +that this is not luxuriousness of the senses. I have noticed of +late you gather overmuch of roses and syringa, excellent in their +way and in moderation, but still not to be compared with the flower +of Holy Church, the lily." + +"But lilies don't look well on the refectory table, and against the +adobe wall," returned the acolyte, with a pout of a spoilt child; +"and surely the flowers cannot help being sweet, any more than +myrrh or incense. And I am not frightened of the heathen +Americanos either NOW. There was a small one in the garden +yesterday, a boy like me, and he spoke kindly and with a pleasant +face." + +"What said he to thee, child?" asked Father Pedro, anxiously. + +"Nay, the matter of his speech I could not understand," laughed the +boy, "but the manner was as gentle as thine, holy father." + +"'St, child," said the Padre impatiently. "Thy likings are as +unreasonable as thy fears. Besides, have I not told thee it ill +becomes a child of Christ to chatter with those sons of Belial? +But canst thou not repeat the words--the WORDS he said?" he +continued suspiciously. + +"'Tis a harsh tongue the Americanos speak in their throat," replied +the boy. "But he said 'Devilishnisse' and 'pretty-as-a-girl,' and +looked at me." + +The good father made the boy repeat the words gravely, and as +gravely repeated them after him with infinite simplicity. "They +are but heretical words," he replied in answer to the boy's +inquiring look; "it is well you understand not English. Enough. +Run away, child, and be ready for the Angelus. I will commune with +myself awhile under the pear trees." + +Glad to escape so easily, the young acolyte disappeared down the +alley of fig trees, not without a furtive look at the patches of +chickweed around their roots, the possible ambuscade of creeping or +saltant vermin. The good priest heaved a sigh and glanced round +the darkening prospect. The sun had already disappeared over the +mountain wall that lay between him and the sea, rimmed with a faint +white line of outlying fog. A cool zephyr fanned his cheek; it was +the dying breath of the vientos generales beyond the wall. As +Father Pedro's eyes were raised to this barrier, which seemed to +shut out the boisterous world beyond, he fancied he noticed for the +first time a slight breach in the parapet, over which an advanced +banner of the fog was fluttering. Was it an omen? His speculations +were cut short by a voice at his very side. + +He turned quickly and beheld one of those "heathens" against whom +he had just warned his young acolyte; one of that straggling band +of adventurers whom the recent gold discoveries had scattered along +the coast. Luckily the fertile alluvium of these valleys, lying +parallel with the sea, offered no "indications" to attract the gold +seekers. Nevertheless to Father Pedro even the infrequent contact +with the Americanos was objectionable; they were at once +inquisitive and careless; they asked questions with the sharp +perspicacity of controversy; they received his grave replies with +the frank indifference of utter worldliness. Powerful enough to +have been tyrannical oppressors, they were singularly tolerant and +gentle, contenting themselves with a playful, good-natured +irreverence, which tormented the good father more than opposition. +They were felt to be dangerous and subversive. + +The Americano, however, who stood before him did not offensively +suggest these national qualities. A man of middle height, strongly +built, bronzed and slightly gray from the vicissitudes of years and +exposure, he had an air of practical seriousness that commended +itself to Father Pedro. To his religious mind it suggested self- +consciousness; expressed in the dialect of the stranger it only +meant "business." + +"I'm rather glad I found you out here alone," began the latter; "it +saves time. I haven't got to take my turn with the rest, in +there"--he indicated the church with his thumb--"and you haven't +got to make an appointment. You have got a clear forty minutes +before the Angelus rings," he added, consulting a large silver +chronometer, "and I reckon I kin git through my part of the job +inside of twenty, leaving you ten minutes for remarks. I want to +confess." + +Father Pedro drew back with a gesture of dignity. The stranger, +however, laid his hand upon the Padre's sleeve with the air of a +man anticipating objection, but never refusal, and went on. + +"Of course, I know. You want me to come at some other time, and in +THERE. You want it in the reg'lar style. That's your way and your +time. My answer is: it ain't MY way and MY time. The main idea of +confession, I take it, is gettin' at the facts. I'm ready to give +'em if you'll take 'em out here, now. If you're willing to drop +the Church and confessional, and all that sort o' thing, I, on my +side, am willing to give up the absolution, and all that sort o' +thing. You might," he added, with an unconscious touch of pathos +in the suggestion, "heave in a word or two of advice after I get +through; for instance, what YOU'D do in the circumstances, you see! +That's all. But that's as you please. It ain't part of the +business." + +Irreverent as this speech appeared, there was really no trace of +such intention in his manner, and his evident profound conviction +that his suggestion was practical, and not at all inconsistent with +ecclesiastical dignity, would alone have been enough to touch the +Padre, had not the stranger's dominant personality already +overridden him. He hesitated. The stranger seized the opportunity +to take his arm, and lead him with the half familiarity of powerful +protection to a bench beneath the refectory window. Taking out his +watch again, he put it in the passive hands of the astonished +priest, saying, "Time me," cleared his throat, and began:-- + +"Fourteen years ago there was a ship cruisin' in the Pacific, jest +off this range, that was ez nigh on to a Hell afloat as anything +rigged kin be. If a chap managed to dodge the cap'en's belayin-pin +for a time, he was bound to be fetched up in the ribs at last by +the mate's boots. There was a chap knocked down the fore hatch +with a broken leg in the Gulf, and another jumped overboard off +Cape Corrientes, crazy as a loon, along a clip of the head from the +cap'en's trumpet. Them's facts. The ship was a brigantine, +trading along the Mexican coast. The cap'en had his wife aboard, a +little timid Mexican woman he'd picked up at Mazatlan. I reckon +she didn't get on with him any better than the men, for she ups and +dies one day, leavin' her baby, a year-old gal. One of the crew +was fond o' that baby. He used to get the black nurse to put it in +the dingy, and he'd tow it astern, rocking it with the painter like +a cradle. He did it--hatin' the cap'en all the same. One day the +black nurse got out of the dingy for a moment, when the baby was +asleep, leavin' him alone with it. An idea took hold on him, jest +from cussedness, you'd say, but it was partly from revenge on the +cap'en and partly to get away from the ship. The ship was well +inshore, and the current settin' towards it. He slipped the +painter--that man--and set himself adrift with the baby. It was a +crazy act, you'd reckon, for there wasn't any oars in the boat; but +he had a crazy man's luck, and he contrived, by sculling the boat +with one of the seats he tore out, to keep her out of the breakers, +till he could find a bight in the shore to run her in. The alarm +was given from the ship, but the fog shut down upon him; he could +hear the other boats in pursuit. They seemed to close in on him, +and by the sound he judged the cap'en was just abreast of him in +the gig, bearing down upon him in the fog. He slipped out of the +dingy into the water without a splash, and struck out for the +breakers. He got ashore after havin' been knocked down and dragged +in four times by the undertow. He had only one idea then, +thankfulness that he had not taken the baby with him in the surf. +You kin put that down for him: it's a fact. He got off into the +hills, and made his way up to Monterey." + +"And the child?" asked the Padre, with a sudden and strange +asperity that boded no good to the penitent; "the child thus +ruthlessly abandoned--what became of it?" + +"That's just it, the child," assented the stranger, gravely. +"Well, if that man was on his death-bed instead of being here +talking to you, he'd swear that he thought the cap'en was sure to +come up to it the next minit. That's a fact. But it wasn't until +one day that he--that's me--ran across one of that crew in Frisco. +'Hallo, Cranch,' sez he to me, 'so you got away, didn't you? And +how's the cap'en's baby? Grown a young gal by this time, ain't +she?' 'What are you talkin about,' ez I; 'how should I know?' He +draws away from me, and sez, 'D--- it,' sez he, 'you don't mean +that you' . . . I grabs him by the throat and makes him tell me +all. And then it appears that the boat and the baby were never +found again, and every man of that crew, cap'en and all, believed I +had stolen it." + +He paused. Father Pedro was staring at the prospect with an +uncompromising rigidity of head and shoulder. + +"It's a bad lookout for me, ain't it?" the stranger continued, in +serious reflection. + +"How do I know," said the priest harshly, without turning his head, +"that you did not make away with this child?" + +"Beg pardon." + +"That you did not complete your revenge by--by--killing it, as your +comrade suspected you? Ah! Holy Trinity," continued Father Pedro, +throwing out his hands with an impatient gesture, as if to take the +place of unutterable thought. + +"How do YOU know?" echoed the stranger coldly. + +"Yes." + +The stranger linked his fingers together and threw them over his +knee, drew it up to his chest caressingly, and said quietly, +"Because you DO know." + +The Padre rose to his feet. + +"What mean you?" he said, sternly fixing his eyes upon the speaker. +Their eyes met. The stranger's were gray and persistent, with +hanging corner lids that might have concealed even more purpose +than they showed. The Padre's were hollow, open, and the whites +slightly brown, as if with tobacco stains. Yet they were the first +to turn away. + +"I mean," returned the stranger, with the same practical gravity, +"that you know it wouldn't pay me to come here, if I'd killed the +baby, unless I wanted you to fix things right with me up there," +pointing skywards, "and get absolution; and I've told you THAT +wasn't in my line." + +"Why do you seek me, then?" demanded the Padre, suspiciously. + +"Because I reckon I thought a man might be allowed to confess +something short of a murder. If you're going to draw the line +below that--" + +"This is but sacrilegious levity," interrupted Father Pedro, +turning as if to go. But the stranger did not make any movement to +detain him. + +"Have you implored forgiveness of the father--the man you wronged-- +before you came here?" asked the priest, lingering. + +"Not much. It wouldn't pay if he was living, and he died four +years ago." + +"You are sure of that?" + +"I am." + +"There are other relations, perhaps?" + +"None." + +Father Pedro was silent. When he spoke again, it was with a +changed voice. "What is your purpose, then?" he asked, with the +first indication of priestly sympathy in his manner. "You cannot +ask forgiveness of the earthly father you have injured, you refuse +the intercession of holy Church with the Heavenly Father you have +disobeyed. Speak, wretched man! What is it you want?" + +"I want to find the child." + +"But if it were possible, if she were still living, are you fit to +seek her, to even make yourself known to her, to appear before +her?" + +"Well, if I made it profitable to her, perhaps." + +"Perhaps," echoed the priest, scornfully. "So be it. But why come +here?" + +"To ask your advice. To know how to begin my search. You know +this country. You were here when that boat drifted ashore beyond +that mountain." + +"Ah, indeed. I have much to do with it. It is an affair of the +alcalde--the authorities--of your--your police." + +"Is it?" + +The Padre again met the stranger's eyes. He stopped, with the +snuff box he had somewhat ostentatiously drawn from his pocket +still open in his hand. + +"Why is it not, Senor?" he demanded. + +"If she lives, she is a young lady by this time, and might not want +the details of her life known to any one." + +"And how will you recognize your baby in this young lady?" asked +Father Pedro, with a rapid gesture, indicating the comparative +heights of a baby and an adult. + +"I reckon I'll know her, and her clothes too; and whoever found her +wouldn't be fool enough to destroy them." + +"After fourteen years! Good! you have faith, Senor--" + +"Cranch," supplied the stranger, consulting his watch. "But time's +up. Business is business. Good-by; don't let me keep you." + +He extended his hand. + +The Padre met it with a dry, unsympathetic palm, as sere and yellow +as the hills. When their hands separated, the father still +hesitated, looking at Cranch. If he expected further speech or +entreaty from him he was mistaken, for the American, without +turning his head, walked in the same serious, practical fashion +down the avenue of fig trees, and disappeared beyond the hedge of +vines. The outlines of the mountain beyond were already lost in +the fog. Father Pedro turned into the refectory. + +"Antonio." + +A strong flavor of leather, onions, and stable preceded the +entrance of a short, stout vaquero from the little patio. + +"Saddle Pinto and thine own mule to accompany Francisco, who will +take letters from me to the Father Superior at San Jose to-morrow +at daybreak." + +"At daybreak, reverend father?" + +"At daybreak. Hark ye, go by the mountain trails and avoid the +highway. Stop at no posada nor fonda, but if the child is weary, +rest then awhile at Don Juan Briones' or at the rancho of the +Blessed Fisherman. Have no converse with stragglers, least of all +those gentile Americanos. So . . ." + +The first strokes of the Angelus came from the nearer tower. With +a gesture Father Pedro waved Antonio aside, and opened the door of +the sacristy. + +"Ad Majorem Dei Gloria." + + +CHAPTER II + + +The hacienda of Don Juan Briones, nestling in a wooded cleft of the +foot-hills, was hidden, as Father Pedro had wisely reflected, from +the straying feet of travelers along the dusty highway to San Jose. +As Francisco, emerging from the canada, put spurs to his mule at +the sight of the whitewashed walls, Antonio grunted. + +"Oh aye, little priest! thou wast tired enough a moment ago, and +though we are not three leagues from the Blessed Fisherman, thou +couldst scarce sit thy saddle longer. Mother of God! and all to +see that little mongrel, Juanita." + +"But, good Antonio, Juanita was my play-fellow, and I may not soon +again chance this way. And Juanita is not a mongrel, no more than +I am." + +"She is a mestiza, and thou art a child of the Church, though this +following of gypsy wenches does not show it." + +"But Father Pedro does not object," urged the boy. + +"The reverend father has forgotten he was ever young," replied +Antonio, sententiously, "or he wouldn't set fire and tow together." + +"What sayest thou, good Antonio?" asked Francisco quickly, opening +his blue eyes in frank curiosity; "who is fire, and who is tow?" + +The worthy muleteer, utterly abashed and confounded by this display +of the acolyte's direct simplicity, contented himself by shrugging +his shoulders, and a vague "Quien sabe?" + +"Come," said the boy, gayly, "confess it is only the aguardiente of +the Blessed Fisherman thou missest. Never fear, Juanita will find +thee some. And see! here she comes." + +There was a flash of white flounces along the dark brown corridor, +the twinkle of satin slippers, the flying out of long black braids, +and with a cry of joy a young girl threw herself upon Francisco as +he entered the patio, and nearly dragged him from his mule. + +"Have a care, little sister," laughed the acolyte, looking at +Antonio, "or there will be a conflagration. Am I the fire?" he +continued, submitting to the two sounding kisses the young girl +placed upon either cheek, but still keeping his mischievous glance +upon the muleteer. + +"Quien sabe?" repeated Antonio, gruffly, as the young girl blushed +under his significant eyes. "It is no affair of mine," he added to +himself, as he led Pinto away. "Perhaps Father Pedro is right, and +this young twig of the Church is as dry and sapless as himself. +Let the mestiza burn if she likes." + +"Quick, Pancho," said the young girl, eagerly leading him along the +corridor. "This way. I must talk with thee before thou seest Don +Juan; that is why I ran to intercept thee, and not as that fool +Antonio would signify, to shame thee. Wast thou ashamed, my +Pancho?" + +The boy threw his arm familiarly round the supple, stayless little +waist, accented only by the belt of the light flounced saya, and +said, "But why this haste and feverishness, 'Nita? And now I look +at thee, thou hast been crying." + +They had emerged from a door in the corridor into the bright +sunlight of a walled garden. The girl dropped her eyes, cast a +quick glance around her, and said,-- + +"Not here, to the arroyo," and half leading, half dragging him, +made her way through a copse of manzanita and alder until they +heard the faint tinkling of water. "Dost thou remember," said the +girl, "it was here," pointing to an embayed pool in the dark +current, "that I baptized thee, when Father Pedro first brought +thee here, when we both played at being monks? They were dear old +days, for Father Pedro would trust no one with thee but me, and +always kept us near him." + +"Aye and he said I would be profaned by the touch of any other, and +so himself always washed and dressed me, and made my bed near his." + +"And took thee away again, and I saw thee not till thou camest with +Antonio, over a year ago, to the cattle branding. And now, my +Pancho, I may never see thee again." She buried her face in her +hands and sobbed aloud. + +The little acolyte tried to comfort her, but with such abstraction +of manner and inadequacy of warmth that she hastily removed his +caressing hand. + +"But why? What has happened?" he asked eagerly. + +The girl's manner had changed. Her eyes flashed, and she put her +brown fist on her waist and began to rock from side to side. + +"But I'll not go," she said viciously. + +"Go where?" asked the boy. + +"Oh, where?" she echoed, impatiently. "Hear me, Francisco; thou +knowest I am, like thee, an orphan; but I have not, like thee, a +parent in the Holy Church. For, alas," she added, bitterly, "I am +not a boy, and have not a lovely voice borrowed from the angels. I +was, like thee, a foundling, kept by the charity of the reverend +fathers, until Don Juan, a childless widower, adopted me. I was +happy, not knowing and caring who were the parents who had +abandoned me, happy only in the love of him who became my adopted +father. And now--" She paused. + +"And now?" echoed Francisco, eagerly. + +"And now they say it is discovered who are my parents." + +"And they live?" + +"Mother of God! no," said the girl, with scarcely filial piety. +"There is some one, a thing, a mere Don Fulano, who knows it all, +it seems, who is to be my guardian." + +"But how? tell me all, dear Juanita," said the boy with a feverish +interest, that contrasted so strongly with his previous abstraction +that Juanita bit her lips with vexation. + +"Ah! How? Santa Barbara! an extravaganza for children. A +necklace of lies. I am lost from a ship of which my father--Heaven +rest him--is General, and I am picked up among the weeds on the +sea-shore, like Moses in the bulrushes. A pretty story, indeed." + +"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed Francisco, enthusiastically. "Ah, +Juanita, would it had been me." + +"THEE!" said the girl bitterly,--"thee! No!--it was a girl wanted. +Enough, it was me." + +"And when does the guardian come?" persisted the boy, with +sparkling eyes. + +"He is here even now, with that pompous fool the American alcalde +from Monterey, a wretch who knows nothing of the country or the +people, but who helped the other American to claim me. I tell +thee, Francisco, like as not it is all a folly, some senseless +blunder of those Americanos that imposes upon Don Juan's simplicity +and love for them." + +"How looks he, this Americano who seeks thee?" asked Francisco. + +"What care I how he looks," said Juanita, "or what he is? He may +have the four S's, for all I care. Yet," she added with a slight +touch of coquetry, "he is not bad to look upon, now I recall him." + +"Had he a long moustache and a sad, sweet smile, and a voice so +gentle and yet so strong that you felt he ordered you to do things +with out saying it? And did his eye read your thoughts?--that very +thought that you must obey him?" + +"Saints preserve thee, Pancho! Of whom dost thou speak?" + +"Listen, Juanita. It was a year ago, the eve of Natividad, he was +in the church when I sang. Look where I would, I always met his +eye. When the canticle was sung and I was slipping into the +sacristy, he was beside me. He spoke kindly, but I understood him +not. He put into my hand gold for an aguinaldo. I pretended I +understood not that also, and put it into the box for the poor. He +smiled and went away. Often have I seen him since, and last night, +when I left the Mission, he was there again with Father Pedro." + +"And Father Pedro, what said he of him?" asked Juanita. + +"Nothing." The boy hesitated. "Perhaps--because I said nothing of +the stranger." + +Juanita laughed. "So thou canst keep a secret from the good father +when thou carest. But why dost thou think this stranger is my new +guardian?" + +"Dost thou not see, little sister? he was even then seeking thee," +said the boy with joyous excitement. "Doubtless he knew we were +friends and playmates--may be the good father has told him thy +secret. For it is no idle tale of the alcalde, believe me. I see +it all! It is true!" + +"Then thou wilt let him take me away," exclaimed the girl bitterly, +withdrawing the little hand he had clasped in his excitement. + +"Alas, Juanita, what avails it now? I am sent to San Jose, charged +with a letter to the Father Superior, who will give me further +orders. What they are, or how long I must stay, I know not. But I +know this: the good Father Pedro's eyes were troubled when he gave +me his blessing, and he held me long in his embrace. Pray Heaven I +have committed no fault. Still it may be that the reputation of my +gift hath reached the Father Superior, and he would advance me." +And Francisco's eyes lit up with youthful pride at the thought. + +Not so Juanita. Her black eyes snapped suddenly with suspicion, +she drew in her breath, and closed her little mouth firmly. Then +she began a crescendo. + +Mother of God! was that all? Was he a child, to be sent away for +such time or for such purpose as best pleased the fathers? Was he +to know no more than that? With such gifts as God had given him, +was he not at least to have some word in disposing of them? Ah! +SHE would not stand it. + +The boy gazed admiringly at the piquant energy of the little figure +before him, and envied her courage. "It is the mestizo blood," he +murmured to himself. Then aloud, "Thou shouldst have been a man, +'Nita." + +"And thou a woman." + +"Or a priest. Eh, what is that?" + +They had both risen, Juanita defiantly, her black braids flying as +she wheeled and suddenly faced the thicket, Francisco clinging to +her with trembling hands and whitened lips. A stone, loosened from +the hillside, had rolled to their feet; there was a crackling in +the alders on the slope above them. + +"Is it a bear, or a brigand?" whispered Francisco, hurriedly, +sounding the uttermost depths of his terror in the two words. + +"It is an eavesdropper," said Juanita, impetuously; "and who and +why, I intend to know," and she started towards the thicket. + +"Do not leave me, good Juanita," said the young acolyte, grasping +the girl's skirt. + +"Nay; run to the hacienda quickly, and leave me to search the +thicket. Run!" + +The boy did not wait for a second injunction, but scuttled away, +his long coat catching in the brambles, while Juanita darted like a +kitten into the bushes. Her search was fruitless, however, and she +was returning impatiently when her quick eye fell upon a letter +lying amidst the dried grass where she and Francisco had been +seated the moment before. It had evidently fallen from his breast +when he had risen suddenly, and been overlooked in his alarm. It +was Father Pedro's letter to the Father Superior of San Jose. + +In an instant she had pounced upon it as viciously as if it had +been the interloper she was seeking. She knew that she held in her +fingers the secret of Francisco's sudden banishment. She felt +instinctively that this yellowish envelope, with its red string and +its blotch of red seal, was his sentence and her own. The little +mestiza had not been brought up to respect the integrity of either +locks or seals, both being unknown in the patriarchal life of the +hacienda. Yet with a certain feminine instinct she looked +furtively around her, and even managed to dislodge the clumsy wax +without marring the pretty effigy of the crossed keys impressed +upon it. Then she opened the letter and read. + +Suddenly she stopped and put back her hair from her brown temples. +Then a succession of burning blushes followed each other in waves +from her neck up, and died in drops of moisture in her eyes. This +continued until she was fairly crying, dropping the letter from her +hands and rocking to and fro. In the midst of this she quickly +stopped again; the clouds broke, a sunshine of laughter started +from her eyes, she laughed shyly, she laughed loudly, she laughed +hysterically. Then she stopped again as suddenly, knitted her +brows, swooped down once more upon the letter, and turned to fly. +But at the same moment the letter was quietly but firmly taken from +her hand, and Mr. Jack Cranch stood beside her. + +Juanita was crimson, but unconquered. She mechanically held out +her hand for the letter; the American took her little fingers, +kissed them, and said:-- + +"How are you again?" + +"The letter," replied Juanita, with a strong disposition to stamp +her foot. + +"But," said Cranch, with business directness, "you've read enough +to know it isn't for you." + +"Nor for you either," responded Juanita. + +"True. It is for the Reverend Father Superior of San Jose Mission. +I'll give it to him." + +Juanita was becoming alarmed, first at this prospect, second at the +power the stranger seemed to be gaining over her. She recalled +Francisco's description of him with something like superstitious +awe. + +"But it concerns Francisco. It contains a secret he should know." + +"Then you can tell him it. Perhaps it would come easier from you." + +Juanita blushed again. "Why?" she asked, half dreading his reply. + +"Because," said the American, quietly, "you are old playmates; you +are attached to each other." + +Juanita bit her lips. "Why don't you read it yourself?" she asked +bluntly. + +"Because I don't read other people's letters, and if it concerns me +you'll tell me." + +"What if I don't?" + +"Then the Father Superior will." + +"I believe you know Francisco's secret already," said the girl, +boldly. + +"Perhaps." + +"Then, Mother of God! Senor Crancho, what do you want?" + +"I do not want to separate two such good friends as you and +Francisco." + +"Perhaps you'd like to claim us both," said the girl, with a sneer +that was not devoid of coquetry. + +"I should be delighted." + +"Then here is your occasion, Senor, for here comes my adopted +father, Don Juan, and your friend, Senor Br--r--own, the American +alcalde." + +Two men appeared in the garden path below them. The stiff, glazed, +broad-brimmed black hat, surmounting a dark face of Quixotic +gravity and romantic rectitude, indicated Don Juan Briones. His +companion, lazy, specious, and red-faced, was Senor Brown, the +American alcalde. + +"Well, I reckon we kin about call the thing fixed," said Senor +Brown, with a large wave of the hand, suggesting a sweeping away of +all trivial details. "Ez I was saying to the Don yer, when two +high-toned gents like you and him come together in a delicate +matter of this kind, it ain't no hoss trade nor sharp practice. +The Don is that lofty in principle that he's willin' to sacrifice +his affections for the good of the gal; and you, on your hand, +kalkilate to see all he's done for her, and go your whole pile +better. You'll make the legal formalities good. I reckon that old +Injin woman who can swear to the finding of the baby on the shore +will set things all right yet. For the matter o' that, if you want +anything in the way of a certificate, I'm on hand always." + +"Juanita and myself are at your disposition, caballeros," said Don +Juan, with a grave exaltation. "Never let it be said that the +Mexican nation was outdone by the great Americanos in deeds of +courtesy and affection. Let it rather stand that Juanita was a +sacred trust put into my hands years ago by the goddess of American +liberty, and nurtured in the Mexican eagle's nest. Is it not so, +my soul?" he added, more humanly, to the girl, when he had quite +recovered from the intoxication of his own speech. "We love thee, +little one, but we keep our honor." + +"There's nothing mean about the old man," said Brown, admiringly, +with a slight dropping of his left eyelid; "his head is level, and +he goes with his party." + +"Thou takest my daughter, Senor Cranch," continued the old man, +carried away by his emotion; "but the American nation gives me a +son." + +"You know not what you say, father," said the young girl, angrily, +exasperated by a slight twinkle in the American's eye. + +"Not so," said Cranch. "Perhaps one of the American nation may +take him at his word." + +"Then, caballeros, you will, for the moment at least, possess +yourselves of the house and its poor hospitality," said Don Juan, +with time-honored courtesy, producing the rustic key of the gate of +the patio. "It is at your disposition, caballeros," he repeated, +leading the way as his guests passed into the corridor. + +Two hours passed. The hills were darkening on their eastern +slopes; the shadows of the few poplars that sparsedly dotted the +dusty highway were falling in long black lines that looked like +ditches on the dead level of the tawny fields; the shadows of +slowly moving cattle were mingling with their own silhouettes, and +becoming more and more grotesque. A keen wind rising in the hills +was already creeping from the canada as from the mouth of a funnel, +and sweeping the plains. Antonio had forgathered with the +servants, had pinched the ears of the maids, had partaken of +aguardiente, had saddled the mules,--Antonio was becoming +impatient. + +And then a singular commotion disturbed the peaceful monotony of +the patriarchal household of Don Juan Briones. The stagnant +courtyard was suddenly alive with peons and servants, running +hither and thither. The alleys and gardens were filled with +retainers. A confusion of questions, orders, and outcrys rent the +air, the plains shook with the galloping of a dozen horsemen. For +the acolyte Francisco, of the Mission San Carmel, had disappeared +and vanished, and from that day the hacienda of Don Juan Briones +knew him no more. + + +CHAPTER III + + +When Father Pedro saw the yellow mules vanish under the low +branches of the oaks beside the little graveyard, caught the last +glitter of the morning sun on Pinto's shining headstall, and heard +the last tinkle of Antonio's spurs, something very like a mundane +sigh escaped him. To the simple wonder of the majority of early +worshipers--the half-breed converts who rigorously attended the +spiritual ministrations of the Mission, and ate the temporal +provisions of the reverend fathers--he deputed the functions of the +first mass to a coadjutor, and, breviary in hand, sought the +orchard of venerable pear trees. Whether there was any occult +sympathy in his reflections with the contemplation of their +gnarled, twisted, gouty, and knotty limbs, still bearing gracious +and goodly fruit, I know not, but it was his private retreat, and +under one of the most rheumatic and misshapen trunks there was a +rude seat. Here Father Pedro sank, his face towards the mountain +wall between him and the invisible sea. The relentless, dry, +practical Californian sunlight falling on his face grimly pointed +out a night of vigil and suffering. The snuffy yellow of his eyes +was injected yet burning, his temples were ridged and veined like a +tobacco leaf; the odor of desiccation which his garments always +exhaled was hot and feverish, as if the fire had suddenly awakened +among the ashes. + +Of what was Father Pedro thinking? + +He was thinking of his youth, a youth spent under the shade of +those pear trees, even then venerable as now. He was thinking of +his youthful dreams of heathen conquest, emulating the sacrifices +and labors of Junipero Serra; a dream cut short by the orders of +the archbishop, that sent his companion, Brother Diego, north on a +mission to strange lands, and condemned him to the isolation of San +Carmel. He was thinking of that fierce struggle with envy of a +fellow creature's better fortune that, conquered by prayer and +penance, left him patient, submissive, and devoted to his humble +work; how he raised up converts to the faith, even taking them from +the breast of heretic mothers. + +He recalled how once, with the zeal of propagandism quickening in +the instincts of a childless man, he had dreamed of perpetuating +his work through some sinless creation of his own; of dedicating +some virgin soul, one over whom he could have complete control, +restricted by no human paternal weakness, to the task he had begun. +But how? Of all the boys eagerly offered to the Church by their +parents there seemed none sufficiently pure and free from parental +taint. He remembered how one night, through the intercession of +the Blessed Virgin herself, as he firmly then believed, this dream +was fulfilled. An Indian woman brought him a Waugee child--a baby- +girl that she had picked up on the sea-shore. There were no +parents to divide the responsibility, the child had no past to +confront, except the memory of the ignorant Indian woman, who +deemed her duty done, and whose interest ceased in giving it to the +Padre. The austere conditions of his monkish life compelled him to +the first step in his adoption of it--the concealment of its sex. +This was easy enough, as he constituted himself from that moment +its sole nurse and attendant, and boldly baptized it among the +other children by the name of Francisco. No others knew its +origin, nor cared to know. Father Pedro had taken a muchacho +foundling for adoption; his jealous seclusion of it and his +personal care was doubtless some sacerdotal formula at once high +and necessary. + +He remembered with darkening eyes and impeded breath how his close +companionship and daily care of this helpless child had revealed to +him the fascinations of that paternity denied to him; how he had +deemed it his duty to struggle against the thrill of baby fingers +laid upon his yellow cheeks, the pleading of inarticulate words, +the eloquence of wonder-seeing and mutely questioning eyes; how he +had succumbed again and again, and then struggled no more, seeing +only in them the suggestion of childhood made incarnate in the Holy +Babe. And yet, even as he thought, he drew from his gown a little +shoe, and laid it beside his breviary. It was Francisco's baby +slipper, a duplicate to those worn by the miniature waxen figure of +the Holy Virgin herself in her niche in the transept. + +Had he felt during these years any qualms of conscience at this +concealment of the child's sex? None. For to him the babe was +sexless, as most befitted one who was to live and die at the foot +of the altar. There was no attempt to deceive God; what mattered +else? Nor was he withholding the child from the ministrations of +the sacred sisters; there was no convent near the Mission, and as +each year passed, the difficulty of restoring her to the position +and duties of her sex became greater and more dangerous. And then +the acolyte's destiny was sealed by what again appeared to Father +Pedro as a direct interposition of Providence. The child developed +a voice of such exquisite sweetness and purity that an angel seemed +to have strayed into the little choir, and kneeling worshipers +below, transported, gazed upwards, half expectant of a heavenly +light breaking through the gloom of the raftered ceiling. The fame +of the little singer filled the valley of San Carmel; it was a +miracle vouchsafed the Mission; Don Jose Peralta remembered, ah +yes, to have heard in old Spain of boy choristers with such voices! + +And was this sacred trust to be withdrawn from him? Was this life +which he had brought out of an unknown world of sin, unstained and +pure, consecrated and dedicated to God, just in the dawn of power +and promise for the glory of the Mother Church, to be taken from +his side? And at the word of a self-convicted man of sin--a man +whose tardy repentance was not yet absolved by the Holy Church. +Never! never! Father Pedro dwelt upon the stranger's rejection of +the ministrations of the Church with a pitiable satisfaction; had +he accepted it, he would have had a sacred claim upon Father +Pedro's sympathy and confidence. Yet he rose again, uneasily and +with irregular steps returned to the corridor, passing the door of +the familiar little cell beside his own. The window, the table, +and even the scant toilette utensils were filled with the flowers +of yesterday, some of them withered and dry; the white gown of the +little chorister was hanging emptily against the wall. Father +Pedro started and trembled; it seemed as if the spiritual life of +the child had slipped away with its garments. + +In that slight chill, which even in the hottest days in California +always invests any shadow cast in that white sunlight, Father Pedro +shivered in the corridor. Passing again into the garden, he +followed in fancy the wayfaring figure of Francisco, saw the child +arrive at the rancho of Don Juan, and with the fateful blindness of +all dreamers projected a picture most unlike the reality. He +followed the pilgrims even to San Jose, and saw the child deliver +the missive which gave the secret of her sex and condition to the +Father Superior. That the authority at San Jose might dissent with +the Padre of San Carmel, or decline to carry out his designs, did +not occur to the one-idea'd priest. Like all solitary people, +isolated from passing events, he made no allowances for occurrences +outside of his routine. Yet at this moment a sudden thought +whitened his yellow cheek. What if the Father Superior deemed it +necessary to impart the secret to Francisco? Would the child +recoil at the deception, and, perhaps, cease to love him? It was +the first time, in his supreme selfishness, he had taken the +acolyte's feelings into account. He had thought of him only as one +owing implicit obedience to him as a temporal and spiritual guide. + +"Reverend Father!" + +He turned impatiently. It was his muleteer, Jose. Father Pedro's +sunken eye brightened. + +"Ah, Jose! Quickly, then; hast thou found Sanchicha?" + +"Truly, your reverence! And I have brought her with me, just as +she is; though if your reverence make more of her than to fill the +six-foot hole and say a prayer over her, I'll give the mule that +brought her here for food for the bull's horns. She neither hears +nor speaks, but whether from weakness or sheer wantonness, I know +not." + +"Peace, then! and let thy tongue take example from hers. Bring her +with thee into the sacristy and attend without. Go!" + +Father Pedro watched the disappearing figure of the muleteer and +hurriedly swept his thin, dry hand, veined and ribbed like a brown +November leaf, over his stony forehead, with a sound that seemed +almost a rustle. Then he suddenly stiffened his fingers over his +breviary, dropped his arms perpendicularly before him, and with a +rigid step returned to the corridor and passed into the sacristy. + +For a moment in the half-darkness the room seemed to be empty. +Tossed carelessly in the corner appeared some blankets topped by a +few straggling black horse tails, like an unstranded riata. A +trembling agitated the mass as Father Pedro approached. He bent +over the heap and distinguished in its midst the glowing black eyes +of Sanchicha, the Indian centenarian of the Mission San Carmel. +Only her eyes lived. Helpless, boneless, and jelly-like, old age +had overtaken her with a mild form of deliquescence. + +"Listen, Sanchicha," said the father, gravely. "It is important +that thou shouldst refresh thy memory for a moment. Look back +fourteen years, mother; it is but yesterday to thee. Thou dost +remember the baby--a little muchacha thou broughtest me then-- +fourteen years ago?" + +The old woman's eyes became intelligent, and turned with a quick +look towards the open door of the church, and thence towards the +choir. + +The Padre made a motion of irritation. "No, no! Thou dost not +understand; thou dost not attend me. Knowest thou of any mark of +clothing, trinket, or amulet found upon the babe?" + +The light of the old woman's eyes went out. She might have been +dead. Father Pedro waited a moment, and then laid his hand +impatiently on her shoulder. + +"Dost thou mean there are none?" + +A ray of light struggled back into her eyes. + +"None." + +"And thou hast kept back or put away no sign nor mark of her +parentage? Tell me, on this crucifix." + +The eyes caught the crucifix, and became as empty as the orbits of +the carven Christ upon it. + +Father Pedro waited patiently. A moment passed; only the sound of +the muleteer's spurs was heard in the courtyard. + +"It is well," he said at last, with a sigh of relief. "Pepita +shall give thee some refreshment, and Jose will bring thee back +again. I will summon him." + +He passed out of the sacristy door, leaving it open. A ray of +sunlight darted eagerly in, and fell upon the grotesque heap in the +corner. Sanchicha's eyes lived again; more than that, a singular +movement came over her face. The hideous caverns of her toothless +mouth opened--she laughed. The step of Jose was heard in the +corridor, and she became again inert. + +The third day, which should have brought the return of Antonio, was +nearly spent. Father Pedro was impatient but not alarmed. The +good fathers at San Jose might naturally detain Antonio for the +answer, which might require deliberation. If any mischance had +occurred to Francisco, Antonio would have returned or sent a +special messenger. At sunset he was in his accustomed seat in the +orchard, his hands clasped over the breviary in his listless lap, +his eyes fixed upon the mountain between him and that mysterious +sea that had brought so much into his life. He was filled with a +strange desire to see it, a vague curiosity hitherto unknown to his +preoccupied life; he wished to gaze upon that strand, perhaps the +very spot where she had been found; he doubted not his questioning +eyes would discover some forgotten trace of her; under his +persistent will and aided by the Holy Virgin, the sea would give up +its secret. He looked at the fog creeping along the summit, and +recalled the latest gossip of San Carmel; how that since the advent +of the Americanos it was gradually encroaching on the Mission. The +hated name vividly recalled to him the features of the stranger as +he had stood before him three nights ago, in this very garden; so +vividly that he sprang to his feet with an exclamation. It was no +fancy, but Senor Cranch himself advancing from under the shadow of +a pear tree. + +"I reckoned I'd catch you here," said Mr. Cranch, with the same +dry, practical business fashion, as if he was only resuming an +interrupted conversation, "and I reckon I ain't going to keep you a +minit longer than I did t'other day." He mutely referred to his +watch, which he already held in his hand, and then put it back in +his pocket. "Well! we found her!" + +"Francisco," interrupted the priest with a single stride, laying +his hand upon Cranch's arm, and staring into his eyes. + +Mr. Cranch quietly removed Father Pedro's hand. "I reckon that +wasn't the name as I caught it," he returned dryly. "Hadn't you +better sit down?" + +"Pardon me--pardon me, Senor," said the priest, hastily sinking +back upon his bench, "I was thinking of other things. You--you-- +came upon me suddenly. I thought it was the acolyte. Go on, +Senor! I am interested." + +"I thought you'd be," said Cranch, quietly. "That's why I came. +And then you might be of service too." + +"True, true," said the priest, with rapid accents; "and this girl, +Senor, this girl is--" + +"Juanita, the mestiza, adopted daughter of Don Juan Briones, over +on the Santa Clare Valley," replied Cranch, jerking his thumb over +his shoulder, and then sitting down upon the bench beside Father +Pedro. + +The priest turned his feverish eyes piercingly upon his companion +for a few seconds, and then doggedly fixed them upon the ground. +Cranch drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket, cut off a portion, +placed it in his cheek, and then quietly began to strap the blade +of his jack-knife upon his boot. Father Pedro saw it from under +his eyelids, and even in his preoccupation despised him. + +"Then you are certain she is the babe you seek?" said the father, +without looking up. + +"I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything. Her age +tallies; she was the only foundling girl baby baptized by you, you +know,"--he partly turned round appealingly to the Padre,--"that +year. Injin woman says she picked up a baby. Looks like a pretty +clear case, don't it?" + +"And the clothes, friend Cranch?" said the priest, with his eyes +still on the ground, and a slight assumption of easy indifference. + +"They will be forthcoming, like enough, when the time comes," said +Cranch; "the main thing at first was to find the girl; that was MY +job; the lawyers, I reckon, can fit the proofs and say what's +wanted, later on." + +"But why lawyers," continued Padre Pedro, with a slight sneer he +could not repress, "if the child is found and Senor Cranch is +satisfied?" + +"On account of the property. Business is business!" + +"The property?" + +Mr. Cranch pressed the back of his knife-blade on his boot, shut it +up with a click, and putting it in his pocket said calmly,-- + +"Well, I reckon the million of dollars that her father left when he +died, which naturally belongs to her, will require some proof that +she is his daughter." + +He had placed both his hands in his pockets, and turned his eyes +full upon Father Pedro. The priest arose hurriedly. + +"But you said nothing of this before, Senor Cranch," said he, with +a gesture of indignation, turning his back quite upon Cranch, and +taking a step towards the refectory. + +"Why should I? I was looking after the girl, not the property," +returned Cranch, following the Padre with watchful eyes, but still +keeping his careless, easy attitude. + +"Ah, well! Will it be said so, think you? Eh! Bueno. What will +the world think of your sacred quest, eh?" continued the Padre +Pedro, forgetting himself in his excitement, but still averting his +face from his companion. + +"The world will look after the proofs, and I reckon not bother if +the proofs are all right," replied Cranch, carelessly; "and the +girl won't think the worse of me for helping her to a fortune. +Hallo! you've dropped something." He leaped to his feet, picked up +the breviary which had fallen from the Padre's fingers, and +returned it to him with a slight touch of gentleness that was +unsuspected in the man. + +The priest's dry, tremulous hand grasped the volume without +acknowledgment. + +"But these proofs?" he said hastily; "these proofs, Senor?" + +"Oh, well, you'll testify to the baptism, you know." + +"But if I refuse; if I will have nothing to do with this thing! If +I will not give my word that there is not some mistake," said the +priest, working himself into a feverish indignation. "That there +are not slips of memory, eh? Of so many children baptized, is it +possible for me to know which, eh? And if this Juanita is not your +girl, eh?" + +"Then you'll help me to find who is," said Cranch, coolly. + +Father Pedro turned furiously on his tormentor. Overcome by his +vigil and anxiety. He was oblivious of everything but the presence +of the man who seemed to usurp the functions of his own conscience. +"Who are you, who speak thus?" he said hoarsely, advancing upon +Cranch with outstretched and anathematizing fingers. "Who are you, +Senor Heathen, who dare to dictate to me, a Father of Holy Church? +I tell you, I will have none of this. Never! I will not. From +this moment, you understand--nothing. I will never . . ." + +He stopped. The first stroke of the Angelus rang from the little +tower. The first stroke of that bell before whose magic exorcism +all human passions fled, the peaceful bell that had for fifty years +lulled the little fold of San Carmel to prayer and rest, came to +his throbbing ear. His trembling hands groped for the crucifix, +carried it to his left breast; his lips moved in prayer. His eyes +were turned to the cold, passionless sky, where a few faint, far- +spaced stars had silently stolen to their places. The Angelus +still rang, his trembling ceased, he remained motionless and rigid. + +The American, who had uncovered in deference to the worshiper +rather than the rite, waited patiently. The eyes of Father Pedro +returned to the earth, moist as if with dew caught from above. He +looked half absently at Cranch. + +"Forgive me, my son," he said, in a changed voice. "I am only a +worn old man. I must talk with thee more of this--but not to- +night--not to-night;--to-morrow--to-morrow--to-morrow." + +He turned slowly and appeared to glide rather than move under the +trees, until the dark shadow of the Mission tower met and +encompassed him. Cranch followed him with anxious eyes. Then he +removed the quid of tobacco from his cheek. + +"Just as I reckoned," remarked he, quite audibly. "He's clean gold +on the bed rock after all!" + + +CHAPTER IV + + +That night Father Pedro dreamed a strange dream. How much of it +was reality, how long it lasted, or when he awoke from it, he could +not tell. The morbid excitement of the previous day culminated in +a febrile exaltation in which he lived and moved as in a separate +existence. + +This is what he remembered. He thought he had risen at night in a +sudden horror of remorse, and making his way to the darkened church +had fallen upon his knees before the high altar, when all at once +the acolyte's voice broke from the choir, but in accents so +dissonant and unnatural that it seemed a sacrilege, and he +trembled. He thought he had confessed the secret of the child's +sex to Cranch, but whether the next morning or a week later he did +not know. He fancied, too, that Cranch had also confessed some +trifling deception to him, but what, or why, he could not remember; +so much greater seemed the enormity of his own transgression. He +thought Cranch had put in his hands the letter he had written to +the Father Superior, saying that his secret was still safe, and +that he had been spared the avowal and the scandal that might have +ensued. But through all, and above all, he was conscious of one +fixed idea: to seek the seashore with Sanchicha, and upon the spot +where she had found Francisco, meet the young girl who had taken +his place, and so part from her forever. He had a dim recollection +that this was necessary to some legal identification of her, as +arranged by Cranch, but how or why he did not understand; enough +that it was a part of his penance. + +It was early morning when the faithful Antonio, accompanied by +Sanchicha and Jose, rode forth with him from the Mission of San +Carmel. Except on the expressionless features of the old woman, +there was anxiety and gloom upon the faces of the little cavalcade. +He did not know how heavily his strange abstraction and +hallucinations weighed upon their honest hearts. As they wound up +the ascent of the mountain he noticed that Antonio and Jose +conversed with bated breath and many pious crossings of themselves, +but with eyes always wistfully fixed upon him. He wondered if, as +part of his penance, he ought not to proclaim his sin and abase +himself before them; but he knew that his devoted followers would +insist upon sharing his punishment; and he remembered his promise +to Cranch, that for HER sake he would say nothing. Before they +reached the summit he turned once or twice to look back upon the +Mission. How small it looked, lying there in the peaceful valley, +contrasted with the broad sweep of the landscape beyond, stopped at +the further east only by the dim, ghost-like outlines of the +Sierras. But the strong breath of the sea was beginning to be +felt; in a few moments more they were facing it with lowered +sombreros and flying serapes, and the vast, glittering, illimitable +Pacific opened out beneath them. + +Dazed and blinded, as it seemed to him, by the shining, restless +expanse, Father Pedro rode forward as if still in a dream. +Suddenly he halted, and called Antonio to his side. + +"Tell me, child, didst thou not say that this coast was wild and +desolate of man, beast, and habitation?" + +"Truly I did, reverend father." + +"Then what is that?" pointing to the shore. + +Almost at their feet nestled a cluster of houses, at the head of an +arroyo reaching up from the beach. They looked down upon the smoke +of a manufactory chimney, upon strange heaps of material and +curious engines scattered along the sands, with here and there +moving specks of human figures. In a little bay a schooner swung +at her cables. + +The vaquero crossed himself in stupefied alarm. "I know not, your +reverence; it is only two years ago, before the rodeo, that I was +here for strayed colts, and I swear by the blessed bones of San +Antonio that it was as I said." + +"Ah! it is like these Americanos," responded the muleteer. "I have +it from my brother Diego that he went from San Jose to Pescadero +two months ago, across the plains, with never a hut nor fonda to +halt at all the way. He returned in seven days, and in the midst +of the plain there were three houses and a mill, and many people. +and why was it? Ah! Mother of God! one had picked up in the creek +where he drank that much of gold;" and the muleteer tapped one of +the silver coins that fringed his jacket sleeves in place of +buttons. + +"And they are washing the sands for gold there now," said Antonio, +eagerly pointing to some men gathered round a machine like an +enormous cradle. "Let us hasten on." + +Father Pedro's momentary interest had passed. The words of his +companions fell dull and meaningless upon his dreaming ears. He +was conscious only that the child was more a stranger to him as an +outcome of this hard, bustling life, than when he believed her +borne to him over the mysterious sea. It perplexed his dazed, +disturbed mind to think that if such an antagonistic element could +exist within a dozen miles of the Mission, and he not know it, +could not such an atmosphere have been around him, even in his +monastic isolation, and he remain blind to it? Had he really lived +in the world without knowing it? Had it been in his blood? Had it +impelled him to-- He shuddered and rode on. + +They were at the last slope of the zigzag descent to the shore, +when he saw the figures of a man and woman moving slowly through a +field of wild oats, not far from the trail. It seemed to his +distorted fancy that the man was Cranch. The woman! His heart +stopped beating. Ah! could it be? He had never seen her in her +proper garb: would she look like that? Would she be as tall? He +thought he bade Jose and Antonio go on slowly before with +Sanchicha, and dismounted, walking slowly between the high stalks +of grain, lest he should disturb them. They evidently did not hear +his approach, but were talking earnestly. It seemed to Father +Pedro that they had taken each other's hands, and as he looked +Cranch slipped his arm round her waist. With only a blind instinct +of some dreadful sacrilege in this act, Father Pedro would have +rushed forward, when the girl's voice struck his ear. He stopped, +breathless. It was not Francisco, but Juanita, the little mestiza. + +"But are you sure you are not pretending to love me now, as you +pretended to think I was the muchacha you had run away with and +lost? Are you sure it is not pity for the deceit you practiced +upon me--upon Don Juan--upon poor Father Pedro?" + +It seemed as if Cranch had tried to answer with a kiss, for the +girl drew suddenly away from him with a coquettish fling of the +black braids, and whipped her little brown hands behind her. + +"Well, look here," said Cranch, with the same easy, good-natured, +practical directness which the priest remembered, and which would +have passed for philosophy in a more thoughtful man, "put it +squarely, then. In the first place, it was Don Juan and the +alcalde who first suggested you might be the child." + +"But you have said you knew it was Francisco all the time," +interrupted Juanita. + +"I did; but when I found the priest would not assist me at first, +and admit that the acolyte was a girl, I preferred to let him think +I was deceived in giving a fortune to another, and leave it to his +own conscience to permit it or frustrate it. I was right. I +reckon it was pretty hard on the old man, at his time of life, and +wrapped up as he was in the girl; but at the moment he came up to +the scratch like a man." + +"And to save him you have deceived me? Thank you, Senor," said the +girl with a mock curtsey. + +"I reckon I preferred to have you for a wife than a daughter," said +Cranch, "if that's what you mean. When you know me better, +Juanita," he continued, gravely, "you'll know that I would never +have let you believe I sought in you the one if I had not hoped to +find in you the other." + +"Bueno! And when did you have that pretty hope?" + +"When I first saw you." + +"And that was--two weeks ago." + +"A year ago, Juanita. When Francisco visited you at the rancho. I +followed and saw you." + +Juanita looked at him a moment, and then suddenly darted at him, +caught him by the lapels of his coat and shook him like a terrier. + +"Are you sure that you did not love that Francisco? Speak!" (She +shook him again.) "Swear that you did not follow her!" + +"But--I did," said Cranch, laughing and shaking between the +clenching of the little hands. + +"Judas Iscariot! Swear you do not love her all this while." + +"But, Juanita!" + +"Swear!" + +Cranch swore. Then to Father Pedro's intense astonishment she drew +the American's face towards her own by the ears and kissed him. + +"But you might have loved her, and married a fortune," said +Juanita, after a pause. + +"Where would have been my reparation--my duty?" returned Cranch, +with a laugh. + +"Reparation enough for her to have had you," said Juanita, with +that rapid disloyalty of one loving woman to another in an +emergency. This provoked another kiss from Cranch, and then +Juanita said demurely,-- + +"But we are far from the trail. Let us return, or we shall miss +Father Pedro. Are you sure he will come?" + +"A week ago he promised to be here to see the proofs to-day." + +The voices were growing fainter and fainter; they were returning to +the trail. + +Father Pedro remained motionless. A week ago! Was it a week ago +since--since what? And what had he been doing here? Listening! +He! Father Pedro, listening like an idle peon to the confidences of +two lovers. But they had talked of him, of his crime, and the man +had pitied him. Why did he not speak? Why did he not call after +them? He tried to raise his voice. It sank in his throat with a +horrible choking sensation. The nearest heads of oats began to nod +to him, he felt himself swaying backwards and forwards. He fell-- +heavily, down, down, down, from the summit of the mountain to the +floor of the Mission chapel, and there he lay in the dark. + + . . . . . . + +"He moves." + +"Blessed Saint Anthony preserve him!" + +It was Antonio's voice, it was Jose's arm, it was the field of wild +oats, the sky above his head,--all unchanged. + +"What has happened?" said the priest feebly. + +"A giddiness seized your reverence just now, as we were coming to +seek you." + +"And you met no one?" + +"No one, your reverence." + +Father Pedro passed his hand across his forehead. + +"But who are these?" he said, pointing to two figures who now +appeared upon the trail. + +Antonio turned. + +"It is the Americano, Senor Cranch, and his adopted daughter, the +mestiza Juanita, seeking your reverence, methinks." + +"Ah!" said Father Pedro. + +Cranch came forward and greeted the priest cordially. "It was kind +of you, Father Pedro," he said, meaningly, with a significant +glance at Jose and Antonio, "to come so far to bid me and my +adopted daughter farewell. We depart when the tide serves, but not +before you partake of our hospitality in yonder cottage." + +Father Pedro gazed at Cranch and then at Juanita. + +"I see," he stammered. "But she goes not alone. She will be +strange at first. She takes some friend, perhaps--some companion?" +he continued, tremulously. + +"A very old and dear one, Father Pedro, who is waiting for us now." + +He led the way to a little white cottage, so little and white and +recent, that it seemed a mere fleck of sea foam cast on the sands. +Disposing of Jose and Antonio in the neighboring workshop and +outbuildings, he assisted the venerable Sanchicha to dismount, and, +together with Father Pedro and Juanita, entered a white palisaded +enclosure beside the cottage, and halted before what appeared to be +a large, folding trap-door, covering a slight, sandy mound. It was +locked with a padlock; beside it stood the American alcalde and Don +Juan Briones. Father Pedro looked hastily around for another +figure, but it was not there. + +"Gentlemen," began Cranch, in his practical business way, "I reckon +you all know we've come here to identify a young lady, who"--he +hesitated--"was lately under the care of Father Pedro, with a +foundling picked up on this shore fifteen years ago by an Indian +woman. How this foundling came here, and how I was concerned in +it, you all know. I've told everybody here how I scrambled ashore, +leaving that baby in the dingy, supposing it would be picked up by +the boat pursuing me. I've told some of you," he looked at Father +Pedro, "how I first discovered, from one of the men, three years +ago, that the child was not found by its father. But I have never +told any one, before now, I KNEW it was picked up here. + +"I never could tell the exact locality where I came ashore, for the +fog was coming on as it is now. But two years ago I came up with a +party of gold hunters to work these sands. One day, digging near +this creek, I struck something embedded deep below the surface. +Well, gentlemen, it wasn't gold, but something worth more to me +than gold or silver. Here it is." + +At a sign the alcalde unlocked the doors and threw them open. They +disclosed an irregular trench, in which, filled with sand, lay the +half-excavated stern of a boat. + +"It was the dingy of the Trinidad, gentlemen; you can still read +her name. I found hidden away, tucked under the stern sheets, +mouldy and water-worn, some clothes that I recognized to be the +baby's. I knew then that the child had been taken away alive for +some purpose, and the clothes were left so that she should carry no +trace with her. I recognized the hand of an Indian. I set to work +quietly. I found Sanchicha here, she confessed to finding a baby, +but what she had done with it she would not at first say. But +since then she has declared before the alcalde that she gave it to +Father Pedro, of San Carmel, and that here it stands--Francisco +that was! Francisca that it is!" + +He stepped aside to make way for a tall girl, who had approached +from the cottage. + +Father Pedro had neither noticed the concluding words nor the +movement of Cranch. His eyes were fixed upon the imbecile +Sanchicha,--Sanchicha, on whom, to render his rebuke more complete, +the Deity seemed to have worked a miracle, and restored intelligence +to eye and lip. He passed his hand tremblingly across his forehead, +and turned away, when his eye fell upon the last comer. + +It was she. The moment he had longed for and dreaded had come. +She stood there, animated, handsome, filled with a hurtful +consciousness in her new charms, her fresh finery, and the pitiable +trinkets that had supplanted her scapulary, and which played under +her foolish fingers. The past had no place in her preoccupied +mind; her bright eyes were full of eager anticipation of a +substantial future. The incarnation of a frivolous world, even as +she extended one hand to him in half-coquettish embarrassment she +arranged the folds of her dress with the other. At the touch of +her fingers, he felt himself growing old and cold. Even the +penance of parting, which he had looked forward to, was denied him; +there was no longer sympathy enough for sorrow. He thought of the +empty chorister's robe in the little cell, but not now with regret. +He only trembled to think of the flesh that he had once caused to +inhabit it. + +"That's all, gentlemen," broke in the practical voice of Cranch. +"Whether there are proofs enough to make Francisca the heiress of +her father's wealth, the lawyers must say. I reckon it's enough +for me that they give me the chance of repairing a wrong by taking +her father's place. After all, it was a mere chance." + +"It was the will of God," said Father Pedro, solemnly. + +They were the last words he addressed them. For when the fog had +begun to creep inshore, hastening their departure, he only answered +their farewells by a silent pressure of the hand, mute lips, and +far-off eyes. + +When the sound of their laboring oars grew fainter, he told Antonio +to lead him and Sanchicha again to the buried boat. There he bade +her kneel beside him. "We will do penance here, thou and I, +daughter," he said gravely. When the fog had drawn its curtain +gently around the strange pair, and sea and shore were blotted out, +he whispered, "Tell me, it was even so, was it not, daughter, on +the night she came?" When the distant clatter of blocks and rattle +of cordage came from the unseen vessel, now standing out to sea, he +whispered again, "So, this is what thou didst hear, even then." +And so during the night he marked, more or less audibly to the +half-conscious woman at his side, the low whisper of the waves, the +murmur of the far-off breakers, the lightening and thickening of +the fog, the phantoms of moving shapes, and the slow coming of the +dawn. And when the morning sun had rent the veil over land and +sea, Antonio and Jose found him, haggard, but erect, beside the +trembling old woman, with a blessing on his lips, pointing to the +horizon where a single sail still glimmered:-- + + "Va Usted con Dios." + + + +A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE + + +CHAPTER I + + +She was barely twenty-three years old. It is probable that up to +that age, and the beginning of this episode, her life had been +uneventful. Born to the easy mediocrity of such compensating +extremes as a small farmhouse and large lands, a good position and +no society, in that vast grazing district of Kentucky known as the +"Blue Grass" region, all the possibilities of a Western American +girl's existence lay before her. A piano in the bare-walled house, +the latest patented mower in the limitless meadows, and a silk +dress sweeping the rough floor of the unpainted "meeting-house" +were already the promise of those possibilities. Beautiful she +was, but the power of that beauty was limited by being equally +shared with her few neighbors. There were small, narrow, arched +feet besides her own that trod the uncarpeted floors of outlying +log-cabins with equal grace and dignity; bright, clearly opened +eyes that were equally capable of looking unabashed upon princes +and potentates, as a few later did, and the heiress of the county +judge read her own beauty without envy in the frank glances and +unlowered crest of the blacksmith's daughter. Eventually she had +married the male of her species, a young stranger, who, as +schoolmaster in the nearest town, had utilized to some local extent +a scant capital of education. In obedience to the unwritten law of +the West, after the marriage was celebrated the doors of the +ancestral home cheerfully opened, and bride and bridegroom issued +forth, without regret and without sentiment, to seek the further +possibilities of a life beyond these already too familiar voices. +With their departure for California as Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Tucker, +the parental nest in the Blue Grass meadows knew them no more. + +They submitted with equal cheerfulness to the privations and +excesses of their new conditions. Within three years the +schoolmaster developed into a lawyer and capitalist, the Blue Grass +bride supplying a grace and ease to these transitions that were all +her own. She softened the abruptness of sudden wealth, mitigated +the austerities of newly acquired power, and made the most glaring +incongruity picturesque. Only one thing seemed to limit their +progress in the region of these possibilities. They were +childless. It was as if they had exhausted the future in their own +youth, leaving little or nothing for another generation to do. + + +A southwesterly storm was beating against the dressing-room windows +of their new house in one of the hilly suburbs of San Francisco, +and threatening the unseasonable frivolity of the stucco +ornamentation of cornice and balcony. Mrs. Tucker had been called +from the contemplation of the dreary prospect without by the +arrival of a visitor. On entering the drawing-room she found him +engaged in a half-admiring, half-resentful examination of its new +furniture and hangings. Mrs. Tucker at once recognized Mr. Calhoun +Weaver, a former Blue Grass neighbor; with swift feminine intuition +she also felt that his slight antagonism was likely to be +transferred from her furniture to herself. Waiving it with the +lazy amiability of Southern indifference, she welcomed him by the +familiarity of a Christian name. + +"I reckoned that mebbee you opined old Blue Grass friends wouldn't +naturally hitch on to them fancy doins," he said, glancing around +the apartment to avoid her clear eyes, as if resolutely setting +himself against the old charm of her manner as he had against the +more recent glory of her surroundings, "but I thought I'd just drop +in for the sake of old times." + +"Why shouldn't you, Cal?" said Mrs. Tucker with a frank smile. + +"Especially as I'm going up to Sacramento to-night with some +influential friends," he continued, with an ostentation calculated +to resist the assumption of her charms and her furniture. "Senator +Dyce of Kentucky, and his cousin Judge Briggs; perhaps you know +'em, or may be Spencer--I mean Mr. Tucker--does." + +"I reckon," said Mrs. Tucker smiling; "but tell me something about +the boys and girls at Vineville, and about yourself. YOU'RE +looking well, and right smart too." She paused to give due +emphasis to this latter recognition of a huge gold chain with which +her visitor was somewhat ostentatiously trifling. + +"I didn't know as you cared to hear anything about Blue Grass," he +returned, a little abashed. "I've been away from there some time +myself," he added, his uneasy vanity taking fresh alarm at the +faint suspicion of patronage on the part of his hostess. "They're +doin' well, though; perhaps as well as some others." + +"And you're not married yet," continued Mrs. Tucker, oblivious of +the innuendo. "Ah, Cal," she added archly, "I am afraid you are as +fickle as ever. What poor girl in Vineville have you left pining?" + +The simple face of the man before her flushed with foolish +gratification at this old-fashioned, ambiguous flattery. "Now look +yer, Belle," he said, chuckling, "if you're talking of old times +and you think I bear malice agin Spencer, why--" + +But Mrs. Tucker interrupted what might have been an inopportune +sentimental retrospect with a finger of arch but languid warning. +"That will do! I'm dying to know all about it, and you must stay +to dinner and tell me. It's right mean you can't see Spencer too; +but he isn't back from Sacramento yet." + +Grateful as a tete-a-tete with his old neighbor in her more +prosperous surroundings would have been, if only for the sake of +later gossiping about it, he felt it would be inconsistent with his +pride and his assumption of present business. More than that, he +was uneasily conscious that in Mrs. Tucker's simple and unaffected +manner there was a greater superiority than he had ever noticed +during their previous acquaintance. He would have felt kinder to +her had she shown any "airs and graces," which he could have +commented upon and forgiven. He stammered some vague excuse of +preoccupation, yet lingered in the hope of saying something which, +if not aggressively unpleasant, might at least transfer to her +indolent serenity some of his own irritation. "I reckon," he said, +as he moved hesitatingly towards the door, "that Spencer has made +himself easy and secure in them business risks he's taking. That +'ere Alameda ditch affair they're talking so much about is a mighty +big thing, rather TOO big if it ever got to falling back on him. +But I suppose he's accustomed to take risks?" + +"Of course he is," said Mrs. Tucker gayly. "He married ME." + +The visitor smiled feebly, but was not equal to the opportunity +offered for gallant repudiation. "But suppose you ain't accustomed +to risks?" + +"Why not? I married HIM," said Mrs. Tucker. + +Mr. Calhoun Weaver was human, and succumbed to this last charming +audacity. He broke into a noisy but genuine laugh, shook Mrs. +Tucker's hand with effusion, said, "Now that's regular Blue Grass +and no mistake!" and retreated under cover of his hilarity. In the +hall he made a rallying stand to repeat confidentially to the +servant who had overheard them: "Blue Grass, all over, you bet your +life," and, opening the door, was apparently swallowed up in the +tempest. + +Mrs. Tucker's smile kept her lips until she had returned to her +room, and even then languidly shone in her eyes for some minutes +after, as she gazed abstractedly from her window on the storm- +tossed bay in the distance. Perhaps some girlish vision of the +peaceful Blue Glass plain momentarily usurped the prospect; but it +is to be doubted if there was much romance in that retrospect, or +that it was more interesting to her than the positive and sharply +cut outlines of the practical life she now held. Howbeit she soon +forgot this fancy in lazily watching a boat that, in the teeth of +the gale, was beating round Alcatraz Island. Although at times a +mere blank speck on the gray waste of foam, a closer scrutiny +showed it to be one of those lateen-rigged Italian fishing boats +that so often flecked the distant bay. Lost in the sudden +darkening of rain, or reappearing beneath the lifted curtain of the +squall, she watched it weather the island, and then turn its +laboring but persistent course towards the open channel. A rent in +the Indian-inky sky, that showed the narrowing portals of the +Golden Gate beyond, revealed, as unexpectedly, the destination of +the little craft, a tall ship that hitherto lay hidden in the mist +of the Saucelito shore. As the distance lessened between boat and +ship, they were again lost in the downward swoop of another squall. +When it lifted, the ship was creeping under the headland towards +the open sea, but the boat was gone. Mrs. Tucker in vain rubbed +the pane with her handkerchief; it had vanished. Meanwhile the +ship, as she neared the Gate, drew out from the protecting +headland, stood outlined for a moment with spars and canvas hearsed +in black against the lurid rent in the horizon, and then seemed to +sink slowly into the heaving obscurity beyond. A sudden onset of +rain against the windows obliterated the remaining prospect; the +entrance of a servant completed the diversion. + +"Captain Poindexter, ma'am!" + +Mrs. Tucker lifted her pretty eyebrows interrogatively. Captain +Poindexter was a legal friend of her husband, and had dined there +frequently; nevertheless she asked: "Did you tell him Mr. Tucker +was not at home?" + +"Yes, 'm." + +"Did he ask for ME?" + +"Yes, 'm." + +"Tell him I'll be down directly." + +Mrs. Tucker's quiet face did not betray the fact that this second +visitor was even less interesting than the first. In her heart she +did not like Captain Poindexter. With a clever woman's instinct +she had early detected the fact that he had a superior, stronger +nature than her husband; as a loyal wife, she secretly resented the +occasional unconscious exhibition of this fact on the part of his +intimate friend in their familiar intercourse. Added to this +slight jealousy, there was a certain moral antagonism between +herself and the captain which none but themselves knew. They were +both philosophers, but Mrs. Tucker's serene and languid optimism +would not tolerate the compassionate and kind-hearted pessimisms of +the lawyer. "Knowing what Jack Poindexter does of human nature," +her husband had once said, "it's mighty fine in him to be so kind +and forgiving. You ought to like him better, Belle." "And qualify +myself to be forgiven," said the lady pertly. "I don't see what +you're driving at, Belle; I give it up," had responded the puzzled +husband. Mrs. Tucker kissed his high but foolish forehead +tenderly, and said: "I'm glad you don't, dear." + +Meanwhile her second visitor had, like the first, employed the +interval in a critical survey of the glories of the new furniture, +but with apparently more compassion than resentment in his manner. +Once only had his expression changed. Over the fireplace hung a +large photograph of Mr. Spencer Tucker. It was retouched, refined, +and idealized in the highest style of that polite and diplomatic +art. As Captain Poindexter looked upon the fringed hazel eyes, the +drooping raven moustache, the clustering ringlets, and the Byronic +full throat and turned-down collar of his friend, a smile of +exhausted humorous tolerance and affectionate impatience curved his +lips. "Well, you ARE a fool, aren't you?" he apostrophized it +half-audibly. + +He was standing before the picture as she entered. Even in the +trying contiguity of that peerless work he would have been called a +fine-looking man. As he advanced to greet her, it was evident that +his military title was not one of the mere fanciful sobriquets of +the locality. In his erect figure and the disciplined composure of +limb and attitude there were still traces of the refined academic +rigors of West Point. The pliant adaptability of Western +civilization which enabled him, three years before, to leave the +army and transfer his executive ability to the more profitable +profession of the law, had loosed sash and shoulder-strap, but had +not entirely removed the restraint of the one, or the bearing of +the other. + +"Spencer is in Sacramento," began Mrs. Tucker in languid +explanation, after the first greetings were over. + +"I knew he was not here," replied Captain Poindexter gently, as he +drew the proffered chair towards her, "but this is business that +concerns you both." He stopped and glanced upwards at the picture. +"I suppose you know nothing of his business? Of course not," he +added reassuringly, "nothing, absolutely nothing, certainly." He +said this so kindly, and yet so positively, as if to promptly +dispose of that question before going further, that she assented +mechanically. "Well, then, he's taken some big risks in the way of +business, and--well, things have gone bad with him, you know. Very +bad! Really, they couldn't be worse! Of course it was dreadfully +rash and all that," he went on, as if commenting upon the amusing +waywardness of a child; "but the result is the usual smash-up of +everything, money, credit, and all!" He laughed and added: "Yes, +he's got cut off--mules and baggage regularly routed and dispersed! +I'm in earnest." He raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly, as +if to deprecate any corresponding hilarity on the part of Mrs. +Tucker, or any attempt to make TOO light of the subject, and then +rising, placed his hands behind his back, beamed half-humorously +upon her from beneath her husband's picture, and repeated: "That's +so." + +Mrs. Tucker instinctively knew that he spoke the truth, and that it +was impossible for him to convey it in any other than his natural +manner; but between the shock and the singular influence of that +manner she could at first only say, "You don't mean it!" fully +conscious of the utter inanity of the remark, and that it seemed +scarcely less cold-blooded than his own. + +Poindexter, still smiling, nodded. + +She arose with an effort. She had recovered from the first shock, +and pride lent her a determined calmness that more than equaled +Poindexter's easy philosophy. + +"Where is he?" she asked. + +"At sea, and I hope by this time where he can not be found or +followed." + +Was her momentary glimpse of the outgoing ship a coincidence, or +only a vision? She was confused and giddy, but, mastering her +weakness, she managed to continue in a lower voice: + +"You have no message for me from him? He told you nothing to tell +me?" + +"Nothing, absolutely nothing," replied Poindexter. "It was as much +as he could do, I reckon, to get fairly away before the crash +came." + +"Then you did not see him go?" + +"Well, no," said Poindexter. "I'd hardly have managed things in +this way." He checked himself and added, with a forgiving smile, +"But he was the best judge of what he needed, of course." + +"I suppose I will hear from him," she said quietly, "as soon as he +is safe. He must have had enough else to think about, poor +fellow." + +She said this so naturally and quietly that Poindexter was +deceived. He had no idea that the collected woman before him was +thinking only of solitude and darkness, of her own room, and madly +longing to be there. He said, "Yes, I dare say," in quite another +voice, and glanced at the picture. But as she remained standing, +he continued more earnestly, "I didn't come here to tell you what +you might read in the newspapers to-morrow morning, and what +everybody might tell you. Before that time I want you to do +something to save a fragment of your property from the ruin; do you +understand? I want you to make a rally, and bring off something in +good order." + +"For him?" said Mrs. Tucker, with brightening eyes. + +"Well, yes, of course--if you like--but as if for yourself. Do you +know the Rancho de los Cuervos?" + +"I do." + +"It's almost the only bit of real property your husband hasn't +sold, mortgaged, or pledged. Why it was exempt, or whether only +forgotten, I can't say." + +"I'll tell you why," said Mrs. Tucker, with a slight return of +color. "It was the first land we ever bought, and Spencer always +said it should be mine and he would build a new house on it." + +Captain Poindexter smiled and nodded at the picture. "Oh, he did +say that, did he? Well, THAT'S evidence. But you see he never +gave you the deed, and by sunrise to-morrow his creditors will +attach it--unless--" + +"Unless--" repeated Mrs. Tucker, with kindling eyes. + +"Unless," continued Captain Poindexter, "they happen to find YOU in +possession." + +"I'll go," said Mrs. Tucker. + +"Of course you will," returned Poindexter, pleasantly; "only, as +it's a big contract to take, suppose we see how you can fill it. +It's forty miles to Los Cuervos, and you can't trust yourself to +steamboat or stage-coach. The steamboat left an hour ago." + +"If I had only known this then!" ejaculated Mrs. Tucker. + +"I knew it, but you had company then," said Poindexter, with +ironical gallantry, "and I wouldn't disturb you." Without saying +how he knew it, he continued, "In the stage-coach you might be +recognized. You must go in a private conveyance and alone; even I +can not go with you, for I must go on before and meet you there. +Can you drive forty miles?" + +Mrs. Tucker lifted up her abstracted pretty lids. "I once drove +fifty--at home," she returned simply. + +"Good! and I dare say you did it then for fun. Do it now for +something real and personal, as we lawyers say. You will have +relays and a plan of the road. It's rough weather for a pasear, +but all the better for that. You'll have less company on the +road." + +"How soon can I go?" she asked. + +"The sooner the better. I've arranged everything for you already," +he continued with a laugh. "Come now, that's a compliment to you, +isn't it?" He smiled a moment in her steadfast, earnest face, and +then said, more gravely, "You'll do. Now listen." + +He then carefully detailed his plan. There was so little of +excitement or mystery in their manner that the servant, who +returned to light the gas, never knew that the ruin and bankruptcy +of the house was being told before her, or that its mistress was +planning her secret flight. + +"Good afternoon; I will see you to-morrow then," said Poindexter, +raising his eyes to hers as the servant opened the door for him. + +"Good afternoon," repeated Mrs. Tucker quietly answering his look. +"You need not light the gas in my room, Mary," she continued in the +same tone of voice as the door closed upon him; "I shall lie down +for a few moments, and then I may run over to the Robinsons for the +evening." + +She regained her room composedly. The longing desire to bury her +head in her pillow and "think out" her position had gone. She did +not apostrophize her fate, she did not weep; few real women do in +the access of calamity, or when there is anything else to be done. +She felt that she knew it all; she believed she had sounded the +profoundest depths of the disaster, and seemed already so old in +her experience that she almost fancied she had been prepared for +it. Perhaps she did not fully appreciate it; to a life like hers +it was only an incident, the mere turning of a page of the +illimitable book of youth; the breaking up of what she now felt had +become a monotony. In fact, she was not quite sure she had ever +been satisfied with their present success. Had it brought her all +she expected? She wanted to say this to her husband, not only to +comfort him, poor fellow, but that they might come to a better +understanding of life in the future. She was not perhaps different +from other loving women who, believing in this unattainable goal of +matrimony, have sought it in the various episodes of fortune or +reverses, in the bearing of children, or the loss of friends. In +her childless experience there was no other life that had taken +root in her circumstances and might suffer transplantation; only +she and her husband could lose or profit by the change. The +"perfect" understanding would come under other conditions than +these. + +She would have gone superstitiously to the window to gaze in the +direction of the vanished ship, but another instinct restrained +her. She would put aside all yearning for him until she had done +something to help him, and earned the confidence he seemed to have +withheld. Perhaps it was pride--perhaps she never really believed +his exodus was distant or complete. + +With a full knowledge that to-morrow the various ornaments and +pretty trifles around her would be in the hands of the law, she +gathered only a few necessaries for her flight and some familiar +personal trinkets. I am constrained to say that this self- +abnegation was more fastidious than moral. She had no more idea of +the ethics of bankruptcy than any other charming woman; she simply +did not like to take with her any contagious memory of the chapter +of the life just closing. She glanced around the home she was +leaving without a lingering regret; there was no sentiment of +tradition or custom that might be destroyed; her roots lay too near +the surface to suffer from dislocation; the happiness of her +childless union had depended upon no domestic centre, nor was its +flame sacred to any local hearthstone. It was without a sigh that, +when night had fully fallen, she slipped unnoticed down the +staircase. At the door of the drawing-room she paused and then +entered with the first guilty feeling of shame she had known that +evening. Looking stealthily around she mounted a chair before her +husband's picture, kissed the irreproachable moustache hurriedly, +said, "You foolish darling, you!" and slipped out again. With this +touching indorsement of the views of a rival philosopher, she +closed the door softly and left her home forever. + + +CHAPTER II + + +The wind and rain had cleared the unfrequented suburb of any +observant lounger, and the darkness, lit only by far-spaced, gusty +lamps, hid her hastening figure. She had barely crossed the second +street when she heard the quick clatter of hoofs behind her; a +buggy drove up to the curbstone, and Poindexter leaped out. She +entered quickly, but for a moment he still held the reins of the +impatient horse. "He's rather fresh," he said, eying her keenly; +"are you sure you can manage him?" + +"Give me the reins," she said simply. + +He placed them in the two firm, well-shaped hands that reached from +the depths of the vehicle, and was satisfied. Yet he lingered. + +"It's rough work for a lone woman," he said, almost curtly. "I +can't go with you, but, speak frankly, is there any man you know +whom you can trust well enough to take? It's not too late yet; +think a moment!" + +He paused over the buttoning of the leather apron of the vehicle. + +"No, there is none," answered the voice from the interior; "and +it's better so. Is all ready?" + +"One moment more." He had recovered his half-bantering manner. +"You HAVE a friend and countryman already with you, do you know? +Your horse is Blue Grass. Good night." + +With these words ringing in her ears she began her journey. The +horse, as if eager to maintain the reputation which his native +district had given his race, as well as the race of the pretty +woman behind him, leaped impatiently forward. But pulled together +by the fine and firm fingers that seemed to guide rather than check +his exuberance, he presently struck into the long, swinging pace of +his kind, and kept it throughout without "break" or acceleration. +Over the paved streets the light buggy rattled, and the slender +shafts danced around his smooth barrel, but when they touched the +level high-road, horse and vehicle slipped forward through the +night, a swift and noiseless phantom. Mrs. Tucker could see his +graceful back dimly rising and falling before her with tireless +rhythm, and could feel the intelligent pressure of his mouth until +it seemed the responsive grasp of a powerful but kindly hand. The +faint glow of conquest came to her cold cheek; the slight stirrings +of pride moved her preoccupied heart. A soft light filled her +hazel eyes. A desolate woman, bereft of husband and home, and +flying through storm and night, she knew not where, she still +leaned forward towards her horse. "Was he Blue Grass, then, dear +old boy?" she gently cooed at him in the darkness. He evidently +WAS, and responded by blowing her an ostentatious equine kiss. +"And he would be good to his own forsaken Belle," she murmured +caressingly, "and wouldn't let any one harm her?" But here, +overcome by the lazy witchery of her voice, he shook his head so +violently that Mrs. Tucker, after the fashion of her sex, had the +double satisfaction of demurely restraining the passion she had +evoked. + +To avoid the more traveled thoroughfare, while the evening was +still early, it had been arranged that she should at first take a +less direct but less frequented road. This was a famous pleasure- +drive from San Francisco, a graveled and sanded stretch of eight +miles to the sea and an ultimate "cocktail," in a "stately +pleasure-dome decreed" among the surf and rocks of the Pacific +shore. It was deserted now, and left to the unobstructed sweep of +the wind and rain. Mrs. Tucker would not have chosen this road. +With the instinctive jealousy of a bucolic inland race born by +great rivers, she did not like the sea; and again the dim and +dreary waste tended to recall the vision connected with her +husband's flight, upon which she had resolutely shut her eyes. But +when she had reached it the road suddenly turned, following the +trend of the beach, and she was exposed to the full power of its +dread fascinations. The combined roar of sea and shore was in her +ears; as the direct force of the gale had compelled her to furl the +protecting hood of the buggy to keep the light vehicle from +oversetting or drifting to leeward, she could no longer shut out +the heaving chaos on the right from which the pallid ghosts of dead +and dying breakers dimly rose and sank as if in awful salutation. +At times through the darkness a white sheet appeared spread before +the path and beneath the wheels of the buggy, which, when withdrawn +with a reluctant hiss, seemed striving to drag the exhausted beach +seaward with it. But the blind terror of her horse, who swerved at +every sweep of the surge, shamed her own half-superstitious fears, +and with the effort to control his alarm she regained her own self- +possession, albeit with eyelashes wet not altogether with the salt +spray from the sea. This was followed by a reaction, perhaps +stimulated by her victory over the beaten animal, when for a time, +she knew not how long, she felt only a mad sense of freedom and +power; oblivious of even her sorrows, her lost home and husband, +and with intense feminine consciousness she longed to be a man. +She was scarcely aware that the track turned again inland until the +beat of the horse's hoofs on the firm ground and an acceleration of +speed showed her she had left the beach and the mysterious sea +behind her, and she remembered that she was near the end of the +first stage of her journey. Half an hour later the twinkling +lights of the roadside inn where she was to change horses rose out +of the darkness. + +Happily for her, the ostler considered the horse, who had a local +reputation, of more importance than the unknown muffled figure in +the shadow of the unfurled hood, and confined his attention to the +animal. After a careful examination of his feet and a few comments +addressed solely to the superior creation, he led him away. Mrs. +Tucker would have liked to part more affectionately from her four- +footed compatriot, and felt a sudden sense of loneliness at the +loss of her new friend, but a recollection of certain cautions of +Captain Poindexter's kept her mute. Nevertheless, the ostler's +ostentatious adjuration of "Now then, aren't you going to bring out +that mustang for the Senora?" puzzled her. It was not until the +fresh horse was put to, and she had flung a piece of gold into the +attendant's hand, that the "Gracias" of his unmistakable Saxon +speech revealed to her the reason of the lawyer's caution. +Poindexter had evidently represented her to these people as a +native Californian who did not speak English. In her inconsistency +her blood took fire at this first suggestion of deceit, and burned +in her face. Why should he try to pass her off as anybody else? +Why should she not use her own, her husband's name? She stopped +and bit her lip. + +It was but the beginning of an uneasy train of thought. She +suddenly found herself thinking of her visitor, Calhoun Weaver, and +not pleasantly. He would hear of their ruin tomorrow, perhaps of +her own flight. He would remember his visit, and what would he +think of her deceitful frivolity? Would he believe that she was +then ignorant of the failure? It was her first sense of any +accountability to others than herself, but even then it was rather +owing to an uneasy consciousness of what her husband must feel if +he were subjected to the criticisms of men like Calhoun. She +wondered if others knew that he had kept her in ignorance of his +flight. Did Poindexter know it, or had he only entrapped her into +the admission? Why had she not been clever enough to make him +think that she knew it already? For the moment she hated +Poindexter for sharing that secret. Yet this was again followed by +a new impatience of her husband's want of insight into her ability +to help him. Of course the poor fellow could not bear to worry +her, could not bear to face such men as Calhoun, or even Poindexter +(she added exultingly to herself), but he might have sent her a +line as he fled, only to prepare her to meet and combat the shame +alone. It did not occur to her unsophisticated singleness of +nature that she was accepting as an error of feeling what the world +would call cowardly selfishness. + +At midnight the storm lulled and a few stars trembled through the +rent clouds. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and +her country instincts, a little overlaid by the urban experiences +of the last few years, came again to the surface. She felt the +fresh, cool radiation from outlying, upturned fields, the faint, +sad odors from dim stretches of pricking grain and quickening leaf, +and wondered if at Los Cuervos it might be possible to reproduce +the peculiar verdure of her native district. She beguiled her +fancy by an ambitious plan of retrieving their fortunes by farming; +her comfortable tastes had lately rebelled against the homeless +mechanical cultivation of these desolate but teeming Californian +acres, and for a moment indulged in a vision of a vine-clad cottage +home that in any other woman would have been sentimental. Her +cramped limbs aching, she took advantage of the security of the +darkness and the familiar contiguity of the fields to get down from +the vehicle, gather her skirts together, and run at the head of the +mustang, until her chill blood was thawed, night drawing a modest +veil over this charming revelation of the nymph and woman. But the +sudden shadow of a coyote checked the scouring feet of this swift +Camilla, and sent her back precipitately to the buggy. Nevertheless, +she was refreshed and able to pursue her journey, until the cold +gray of early morning found her at the end of her second stage. + +Her route was changed again from the main highway, rendered +dangerous by the approach of day and the contiguity of the +neighboring rancheros. The road was rough and hilly, her new horse +and vehicle in keeping with the rudeness of the route--by far the +most difficult of her whole journey. The rare wagon tracks that +indicated her road were often scarcely discernible; at times they +led her through openings in the half-cleared woods, skirted +suspicious morasses, painfully climbed the smooth, dome-like hills, +or wound along perilous slopes at a dangerous angle. Twice she had +to alight and cling to the sliding wheels on one of those +treacherous inclines, or drag them from impending ruts or immovable +mire. In the growing light she could distinguish the distant, low- +lying marshes eaten by encroaching sloughs and insidious channels, +and beyond them the faint gray waste of the Lower Bay. A darker +peninsula in the marsh she knew to be the extreme boundary of her +future home: the Rancho de los Cuervos. In another hour she began +to descend to the plain, and once more to approach the main road, +which now ran nearly parallel with her track. She scanned it +cautiously for any early traveler; it stretched north and south in +apparent unending solitude. She struck into it boldly, and urged +her horse to the top of his speed, until she reached the cross road +that led to the rancho. But here she paused and allowed the reins +to drop idly on the mustang's back. A singular and unaccountable +irresolution seized her. The difficulties of her journey were +over; the rancho lay scarcely two miles away; she had achieved the +most important part of her task in the appointed time, but she +hesitated. What had she come for? She tried to recall Poindexter's +words, even her own enthusiasm, but in vain. She was going to take +possession of her husband's property, she knew, that was all. But +the means she had taken seemed now so exaggerated and mysterious for +that simple end that she began to dread an impending something, or +some vague danger she had not considered, that she was rushing +blindly to meet. Full of this strange feeling she almost +mechanically stopped her horse as she entered the cross road. + +From this momentary hesitation a singular sound aroused her. It +seemed at first like the swift hurrying by of some viewless courier +of the air, the vague alarm of some invisible flying herald, or +like the inarticulate cry that precedes a storm. It seemed to rise +and fall around her as if with some changing urgency of purpose. +Raising her eyes she suddenly recognized the two far-stretching +lines of telegraph wire above her head, and knew the aeolian cry of +the morning wind along its vibrating chords. But it brought +another and more practical fear to her active brain. Perhaps even +now the telegraph might be anticipating her! Had Poindexter +thought of that? She hesitated no longer, but laying the whip on +the back of her jaded mustang again hurried forward. + +As the level horizon grew more distinct, her attention was +attracted by the white sail of a small boat lazily threading the +sinuous channel of the slough. It might be Poindexter arriving by +the more direct route from the steamboat that occasionally lay off +the ancient embarcadero of the Los Cuervos Rancho. But even while +watching it her quick ear caught the sound of galloping hoofs +behind her. She turned quickly and saw she was followed by a +horseman. But her momentary alarm was succeeded by a feeling of +relief as she recognized the erect figure and square shoulders of +Poindexter. Yet she could not help thinking that he looked more +like a militant scout, and less like a cautious legal adviser, than +ever. + +With unaffected womanliness she rearranged her slightly disordered +hair as he drew up beside her. "I thought you were in yonder +boat," she said. + +"Not I," he laughed; "I distanced you by the high road two hours, +and have been reconnoitring, until I saw you hesitate at the cross +roads." + +"But who is in the boat?" asked Mrs. Tucker, partly to hide her +embarrassment. + +"Only some early Chinese market gardener, I dare say. But you are +safe now. You are on your own land. You passed the boundary +monument of the rancho five minutes ago. Look! All you see before +you is yours from the embarcadero to yonder Coast Range." + +The tone of half-raillery did not, however, cheer Mrs. Tucker. She +shuddered slightly and cast her eyes over the monotonous sea of +tule and meadow. + +"It doesn't look pretty, perhaps," continued Poindexter, "but it's +the richest land in the State, and the embarcadero will some day be +a town. I suppose you'll call it Blue Grassville. But you seem +tired!" he said, suddenly dropping his voice to a tone of half- +humorous sympathy. + +Mrs. Tucker managed to get rid of an impending tear under the +pretense of clearing her eyes. "Are we nearly there?" she asked. + +"Nearly. You know," he added with the same half-mischievous, half- +sympathizing gayety, "it's not exactly a palace you're coming to. +Hardly. It's the old casa that has been deserted for years, but I +thought it better you should go into possession there than take up +your abode at the shanty where your husband's farm-hands are. No +one will know when you take possession of the casa, while the very +hour of your arrival at the shanty would be known; and if they +should make any trouble--" + +"If they should make any trouble?" repeated Mrs. Tucker, lifting +her frank, inquiring eyes to Poindexter. + +His horse suddenly rearing from an apparently accidental prick of +the spur, it was a minute or two before he was able to explain. "I +mean if this ever comes up as a matter of evidence, you know. But +here we are!" + +What had seemed to be an overgrown mound rising like an island out +of the dead level of the grassy sea now resolved itself into a +collection of adobe walls, eaten and incrusted with shrubs and +vines, that bore some resemblance to the usual uninhabited-looking +exterior of a Spanish-American dwelling. Apertures that might have +been lance-shaped windows or only cracks and fissures in the walls +were choked up with weeds and grass, and gave no passing glimpse of +the interior. Entering a ruinous corral they came to a second +entrance, which proved to be the patio or courtyard. The deserted +wooden corridor, with beams, rafters, and floors whitened by the +eternal sun and wind, contained a few withered leaves, dryly +rotting skins, and thongs of leather, as if undisturbed by human +care. But among these scattered debris of former life and +habitation there was no noisome or unclean suggestion of decay. A +faint, spiced odor of desiccation filled the bare walls. There was +no slime on stone or sun-dried brick. In place of fungus or +discolored moisture the dust of efflorescence whitened in the +obscured corners. The elements had picked clean the bones of the +crumbling tenement ere they should finally absorb it. + +A withered old peon woman, who in dress, complexion, and fibrous +hair might have been an animated fragment of the debris, rustled +out of a low vaulted passage and welcomed them with a feeble +crepitation. Following her into the dim interior Mrs. Tucker was +surprised to find some slight attempt at comfort and even adornment +in the two or three habitable apartments. They were scrupulously +clean and dry, two qualities which in her feminine eyes atoned for +poverty of material. + +"I could not send anything from San Bruno, the nearest village, +without attracting attention," explained Poindexter; "but if you +can manage to picnic here for a day longer, I'll get one of our +Chinese friends here," he pointed to the slough, "to bring over, +for his return cargo from across the bay, any necessaries you may +want. There is no danger of his betraying you," he added, with an +ironical smile; "Chinamen and Indians are, by an ingenious +provision of the statute of California, incapable of giving +evidence against a white person. You can trust your handmaiden +perfectly--even if she can't trust YOU. That is your sacred +privilege under the constitution. And now, as I expect to catch +the up boat ten miles from hence, I must say 'good-by' until to- +morrow night. I hope to bring you then some more definite plans +for the future. The worst is over." He held her hand for a +moment, and with a graver voice continued, "You have done it very +well--do you know--very well!" + +In the slight embarrassment produced by his sudden change of manner +she felt that her thanks seemed awkward and restrained. "Don't +thank me," he laughed, with a prompt return of his former levity, +"that's my trade. I only advised. You have saved yourself like a +plucky woman--shall I say like Blue Grass? Good-by!" He mounted +his horse, but, as if struck by an after-thought, wheeled and drew +up by her side again. "If I were you I wouldn't see many strangers +for a day or two, and listen to as little news as a woman possibly +can." He laughed again, waved her a half-gallant, half-military +salute, and was gone. The question she had been trying to frame, +regarding the probability of communication with her husband, +remained unasked. At least she had saved her pride before him. + +Addressing herself to the care of her narrow household, she +mechanically put away the few things she had brought with her, and +began to readjust the scant furniture. She was a little +discomposed at first at the absence of bolts, locks, and even +window-fastenings until assured, by Concha's evident inability to +comprehend her concern, that they were quite unknown at Los +Cuervos. Her slight knowledge of Spanish was barely sufficient to +make her wants known, so that the relief of conversation with her +only companion was debarred her, and she was obliged to content +herself with the sapless, crackling smiles and withered +genuflexions that the old woman dropped like dead leaves in her +path. It was staring noon when, the house singing like an empty +shell in the monotonous wind, she felt she could stand the solitude +no longer, and, crossing the glaring patio and whistling corridor, +made her way to the open gateway. + +But the view without seemed to intensify her desolation. The broad +expanse of the shadowless plain reached apparently to the Coast +Range, trackless and unbroken save by one or two clusters of +dwarfed oaks, which at that distance were but mossy excrescences on +the surface, barely raised above the dead level. On the other side +the marsh took up the monotony and carried it, scarcely interrupted +by undefined water-courses, to the faintly marked out horizon line +of the remote bay. Scattered and apparently motionless black spots +on the meadows that gave a dreary significance to the title of "the +Crows" which the rancho bore, and sudden gray clouds of sand-pipers +on the marshes, that rose and vanished down the wind, were the only +signs of life. Even the white sail of the early morning was gone. + +She stood there until the aching of her straining eyes and the +stiffening of her limbs in the cold wind compelled her to seek the +sheltered warmth of the courtyard. Here she endeavored to make +friends with a bright-eyed lizard, who was sunning himself in the +corridor; a graceful little creature in blue and gold, from whom +she felt at other times she might have fled, but whose beauty and +harmlessness solitude had made known to her. With misplaced +kindness she tempted it with bread-crumbs, with no other effect +than to stiffen it into stony astonishment. She wondered if she +should become like the prisoners she had read of in books, who +poured out their solitary affections on noisome creatures, and she +regretted even the mustang, which with the buggy had disappeared +under the charge of some unknown retainer on her arrival. Was she +not a prisoner? The shutterless windows, yawning doors, and open +gate refuted her suggestion, but the encompassing solitude and +trackless waste still held her captive. Poindexter had told her it +was four miles to the shanty; she might walk there. Why had she +given her word that she would remain at the rancho until he +returned? + +The long day crept monotonously away, and she welcomed the night +which shut out the dreary prospect. But it brought no cessation of +the harassing wind without, nor surcease of the nervous irritation +its perpetual and even activity wrought upon her. It haunted her +pillow even in her exhausted sleep, and seemed to impatiently +beckon her to rise and follow it. It brought her feverish dreams +of her husband, footsore and weary, staggering forward under its +pitiless lash and clamorous outcry; she would have gone to his +assistance, but when she reached his side and held out her arms to +him it hurried her past with merciless power, and, bearing her +away, left him hopelessly behind. It was broad day when she awoke. +The usual night showers of the waning rainy season had left no +trace in sky or meadow; the fervid morning sun had already dried +the patio; only the restless, harrying wind remained. + +Mrs. Tucker arose with a resolve. She had learned from Concha on +the previous evening that a part of the shanty was used as a tienda +or shop for the laborers and rancheros. Under the necessity of +purchasing some articles, she would go there and for a moment +mingle with those people, who would not recognize her. Even if +they did, her instinct told her it would be less to be feared than +the hopeless uncertainty of another day. As she left the house the +wind seemed to seize her as in her dream, and hurry her along with +it, until in a few moments the walls of the low casa sank into the +earth again and she was alone, but for the breeze on the solitary +plain. The level distance glittered in the sharp light, a few +crows with slant wings dipped and ran down the wind before her, and +a passing gleam on the marsh was explained by the far-off cry of a +curlew. + +She had walked for an hour, upheld by the stimulus of light and +morning air, when the cluster of scrub oaks, which was her +destination, opened enough to show two rambling sheds, before one +of which was a wooden platform containing a few barrels and bones. +As she approached nearer, she could see that one or two horses were +tethered under the trees, that their riders were lounging by a +horse-trough, and that over an open door the word Tienda was rudely +painted on a board, and as rudely illustrated by the wares +displayed at door and window. Accustomed as she was to the poverty +of frontier architecture, even the crumbling walls of the old +hacienda she had just left seemed picturesque to the rigid angles +of the thin, blank, unpainted shell before her. One of the +loungers, who was reading a newspaper aloud as she advanced, put it +aside and stared at her; there was an evident commotion in the shop +as she stepped upon the platform, and when she entered, with +breathless lips and beating heart, she found herself the object of +a dozen curious eyes. Her quick pride resented the scrutiny and +recalled her courage, and it was with a slight coldness in her +usual lazy indifference that she leaned over the counter and asked +for the articles she wanted. + +The request was followed by a dead silence. Mrs. Tucker repeated +it with some hauteur. + +"I reckon you don't seem to know this store is in the hands of the +sheriff," said one of the loungers. + +Mrs. Tucker was not aware of it. + +"Well, I don't know any one who's a better right to know than +Spence Tucker's wife," said another with a coarse laugh. The laugh +was echoed by the others. Mrs. Tucker saw the pit into which she +had deliberately walked, but did not flinch. + +"Is there any one to serve here?" she asked, turning her clear eyes +full upon the bystanders. + +"You'd better ask the sheriff. He was the last one to SARVE here. +He sarved an attachment," replied the inevitable humorist of all +Californian assemblages. + +"Is he here?" asked Mrs. Tucker, disregarding the renewed laughter +which followed this subtle witticism. + +The loungers at the door made way for one of their party, who was +half dragged, half pushed into the shop. "Here he is," said half a +dozen eager voices, in the fond belief that his presence might +impart additional humor to the situation. He cast a deprecating +glance at Mrs. Tucker and said, "It's so, madam! This yer place is +attached; but if there's anything you're wanting, why I reckon, +boys,"--he turned half appealingly to the crowd,--"we could oblige +a lady." There was a vague sound of angry opposition and +remonstrance from the back door of the shop, but the majority, +partly overcome by Mrs. Tucker's beauty, assented. "Only," +continued the officer explanatorily, "ez these yer goods are in the +hands of the creditors, they ought to be represented by an +equivalent in money. If you're expecting they should be charged--" + +"But I wish to PAY for them," interrupted Mrs. Tucker, with a +slight flush of indignation; "I have the money." + +"Oh, I bet you have!" screamed a voice, as, overturning all +opposition, the malcontent at the back door, in the shape of an +infuriated woman, forced her way into the shop. "I'll bet you have +the money! Look at her, boys! Look at the wife of the thief, with +the stolen money in diamonds in her ears and rings on her fingers. +SHE'S got money if WE'VE none. SHE can pay for what she fancies, +if we haven't a cent to redeem the bed that's stolen from under us. +Oh yes, buy it all, Mrs. Spencer Tucker! buy the whole shop, Mrs. +Spencer Tucker, do you hear? And if you ain't satisfied then, buy +my clothes, my wedding ring, the only things your husband hasn't +stolen." + +"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Tucker coldly, turning towards +the door. But with a flying leap across the counter her relentless +adversary stood between her and retreat. + +"You don't understand! Perhaps you don't understand that your +husband not only stole the hard labor of these men, but even the +little money they brought here and trusted to his thieving hands. +Perhaps you don't know that he stole my husband's hard earnings, +mortgaged these very goods you want to buy, and that he is to-day a +convicted thief, a forger, and a runaway coward. Perhaps, if you +can't understand ME, you can read the newspaper. Look!" She +exultingly opened the paper the sheriff had been reading aloud, and +pointed to the displayed headlines. "Look! there are the very +words, 'Forgery, Swindling, Embezzlement!' Do you see? And +perhaps you can't understand this. Look! 'Shameful Flight. +Abandons his Wife. Runs off with a Notorious--'" + +"Easy, old gal, easy now. D--n it! Will you dry up? I say. +STOP!" + +It was too late! + +The sheriff had dashed the paper from the woman's hand, but not +until Mrs. Tucker had read a single line, a line such as she had +sometimes turned from with weary scorn in her careless perusal of +the daily shameful chronicle of domestic infelicity. Then she had +coldly wondered if there could be any such men and women; and now! +The crowd fell back before her; even the virago was silenced as she +looked at her face. The humorist's face was as white, but not as +immobile, as he gasped, "Christ! if I don't believe she knew +nothin' of it!" + +For a moment the full force of such a supposition, with all its +poignancy, its dramatic intensity, and its pathos, possessed the +crowd. In the momentary clairvoyance of enthusiasm they caught a +glimpse of the truth, and by one of the strange reactions of human +passion they only waited for a word of appeal or explanation from +her lips to throw themselves at her feet. Had she simply told her +story they would have believed her; had she cried, fainted, or gone +into hysterics, they would have pitied her. She did neither. +Perhaps she thought of neither, or indeed of anything that was then +before her eyes. She walked erect to the door and turned upon the +threshold. "I mean what I say," she said calmly. "I don't +understand you. But whatever just claims you have upon my husband +will be paid by me, or by his lawyer, Captain Poindexter." + +She had lost the sympathy but not the respect of her hearers. They +made way for her with sullen deference as she passed out on the +platform. But her adversary, profiting by the last opportunity, +burst into an ironical laugh. + +"Captain Poindexter, is it? Well, perhaps he's safe to pay YOUR +bill, but as for your husband's--" + +"That's another matter," interrupted a familiar voice with the +greatest cheerfulness; "that's what you were going to say, wasn't +it? Ha! ha! Well, Mrs. Patterson," continued Poindexter, stepping +from his buggy, "you never spoke a truer word in your life. One +moment, Mrs. Tucker. Let me send you back in the buggy. Don't +mind ME. I can get a fresh horse of the sheriff. I'm quite at +home here. I say, Patterson, step a few paces this way, will you? +A little further from your wife, please. That'll do. You've got a +claim of five thousand dollars against the property, haven't you?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, that woman just driving away is your one solitary chance of +getting a cent of it. If your wife insults her again, that chance +is gone. And if YOU do--" + +"Well?" + +"As sure as there is a God in Israel and a Supreme Court of the +State of California, I'll kill you in your tracks! . . . Stay!" + +Patterson turned. The irrepressible look of humorous tolerance of +all human frailty had suffused Poindexter's black eyes with +mischievous moisture. "If you think it quite safe to confide to +your wife this prospect of her improvement by widowhood, you may!" + + +CHAPTER III + + +Mr. Patterson did not inform his wife of the lawyer's personal +threat to himself. But he managed, after Poindexter had left, to +make her conscious that Mrs. Tucker might be a power to be placated +and feared. "You've shot off your mouth at her," he said +argumentatively, "and whether you've hit the mark or not you've had +your say. Ef you think it's worth a possible five thousand dollars +and interest to keep on, heave ahead. Ef you rather have the +chance of getting the rest in cash, you'll let up on her." "You +don't suppose," returned Mrs. Patterson contemptuously, "that she's +got anything but what that man of hers--Poindexter--lets her have?" +"The sheriff says," retorted Patterson surlily, "that she's +notified him that she claims the rancho as a gift from her husband +three years ago, and she's in POSSESSION now, and was so when the +execution was out. It don't make no matter," he added, with gloomy +philosophy, "who's got a full hand as long as WE ain't got the +cards to chip in. I wouldn't 'a' minded it," he continued +meditatively, "ef Spence Tucker had dropped a hint to me afore he +put out." "And I suppose," said Mrs. Patterson angrily, "you'd +have put out too?" "I reckon," said Patterson simply. + +Twice or thrice during the evening he referred, more or less +directly, to this lack of confidence shown by his late debtor and +employer, and seemed to feel it more keenly than the loss of +property. He confided his sentiments quite openly to the sheriff +in possession, over the whiskey and euchre with which these +gentlemen avoided the difficulties of their delicate relations. He +brooded over it as he handed the keys of the shop to the sheriff +when they parted for the night, and was still thinking of it when +the house was closed, everybody gone to bed, and he was fetching a +fresh jug of water from the well. The moon was at times obscured +by flying clouds, the avant-couriers of the regular evening shower. +He was stooping over the well, when he sprang suddenly to his feet +again. "Who's there?" he demanded sharply. + +"Hush!" said a voice so low and faint it might have been a whisper +of the wind in the palisades of the corral. But, indistinct as it +was, it was the voice of the man he was thinking of as far away, +and it sent a thrill of alternate awe and pleasure through his +pulses. + +He glanced quickly around. The moon was hidden by a passing cloud, +and only the faint outlines of the house he had just quitted were +visible. "Is that you, Spence?" he said tremulously. + +"Yes," replied the voice, and a figure dimly emerged from the +corner of the corral. + +"Lay low, lay low, for God's sake," said Patterson, hurriedly +throwing himself upon the apparition. "The sheriff and his posse +are in there." + +"But I must speak to you a moment," said the figure. + +"Wait," said Patterson, glancing towards the building. Its blank, +shutterless windows revealed no inner light; a profound silence +encompassed it. "Come quick," he whispered. Letting his grasp +slip down to the unresisting hand of the stranger, he half-dragged, +half-led him, brushing against the wall, into the open door of the +deserted bar-room he had just quitted, locked the inner door, +poured a glass of whiskey from a decanter, gave it to him, and then +watched him drain it at a single draught. The moon came out, and, +falling through the bare windows full upon the stranger's face, +revealed the artistic but slightly disheveled curls and moustache +of the fugitive, Spencer Tucker. + +Whatever may have been the real influence of this unfortunate man +upon his fellows, it seemed to find expression in a singular +unanimity of criticism. Patterson looked at him with a half- +dismal, half-welcoming smile. "Well, you are a h-ll of a fellow, +ain't you?" + +Spencer Tucker passed his hand through his hair and lifted it from +his forehead, with a gesture at once emotional and theatrical. "I +am a man with a price on me!" he said bitterly. "Give me up to the +sheriff, and you'll get five thousand dollars. Help me, and you'll +get nothing. That's my d----d luck, and yours too, I suppose." + +"I reckon you're right there," said Patterson gloomily. "But I +thought you got clean away. Went off in a ship--" + +"Went off in a boat to a ship," interrupted Tucker savagely; "went +off to a ship that had all my things on board--everything. The +cursed boat capsized in a squall just off the Heads. The ship, +d--n her, sailed away, the men thinking I was drowned, likely, +and that they'd make a good thing off my goods, I reckon." + +"But the girl, Inez, who was with you, didn't she make a row?" + +"Quien sabe?" returned Tucker, with a reckless laugh. "Well, I +hung on like grim death to that boat's keel until one of those +Chinese fishermen, in a 'dug-out,' hauled me in opposite Saucelito. +I chartered him and his dug-out to bring me down here." + +"Why here?" asked Patterson, with a certain ostentatious caution +that ill-concealed his pensive satisfaction. + +"You may well ask," returned Tucker, with an equal ostentation of +bitterness, as he slightly waved his companion away. "But I +reckoned I could trust a white man that I'd been kind to, and who +wouldn't go back on me. No, no, let me go! Hand me over to the +sheriff!" + +Patterson had suddenly grasped both the hands of the picturesque +scamp before him, with an affection that for an instant almost +shamed the man who had ruined him. But Tucker's egotism whispered +that this affection was only a recognition of his own superiority, +and felt flattered. He was beginning to believe that he was really +the injured party. + +"What I HAVE and what I have HAD is yours, Spence," returned +Patterson, with a sad and simple directness that made any further +discussion a gratuitous insult. "I only wanted to know what you +reckoned to do here." + +"I want to get over across the Coast Range to Monterey," said +Tucker. "Once there, one of those coasting schooners will bring me +down to Acapulco, where the ship will put in." + +Patterson remained silent for a moment. "There's a mustang in the +corral you can take--leastways, I shan't know that it's gone--until +to-morrow afternoon. In an hour from now," he added, looking from +the window, "these clouds will settle down to business. It will +rain; there will be light enough for you to find your way by the +regular trail over the mountain, but not enough for any one to know +you. If you can't push through to-night, you can lie over at the +posada on the summit. Them greasers that keep it won't know you, +and if they did they won't go back on you. And if they did go back +on you, nobody would believe them. It's mighty curious," he added, +with gloomy philosophy, "but I reckon it's the reason why +Providence allows this kind of cattle to live among white men and +others made in his image. Take a piece of pie, won't you?" He +continued, abandoning this abstract reflection and producing half a +flat pumpkin pie from the bar. Spencer Tucker grasped the pie with +one hand and his friend's fingers with the other, and for a few +moments was silent from the hurried deglutition of viand and +sentiment. "YOU'RE a white man, Patterson, anyway," he resumed. +"I'll take your horse, and put it down in our account, at your own +figure. As soon as this cursed thing is blown over, I'll be back +here and see you through, you bet. I don't desert my friends, +however rough things go with me." + +"I see you don't," returned Patterson, with an unconscious and +serious simplicity that had the effect of the most exquisite irony. +"I was only just saying to the sheriff that if there was anything I +could have done for you, you wouldn't have cut away without letting +me know." Tucker glanced uneasily at Patterson, who continued, "Ye +ain't wanting anything else?" Then observing that his former +friend and patron was roughly but newly clothed, and betrayed no +trace of his last escapade, he added, "I see you've got a fresh +harness." + +"That d----d Chinaman bought me these at the landing; they're not +much in style or fit," he continued, trying to get a moonlight view +of himself in the mirror behind the bar, "but that don't matter +here." He filled another glass of spirits, jauntily settled +himself back in his chair, and added, "I don't suppose there are +any girls around, anyway." + +"'Cept your wife; she was down here this afternoon," said Patterson +meditatively. + +Mr. Tucker paused with the pie in his hand. "Ah, yes!" He essayed +a reckless laugh, but that evident simulation failed before +Patterson's melancholy. With an assumption of falling in with his +friend's manner, rather than from any personal anxiety, he +continued, "Well?" + +"That man Poindexter was down here with her. Put her in the +hacienda to hold possession afore the news came out." + +"Impossible!" said Tucker, rising hastily. "It don't belong--that +is--" he hesitated. + +"Yer thinking the creditors 'll get it, mebbe," returned Patterson, +gazing at the floor. "Not as long as she's in it; no sir! Whether +it's really hers, or she's only keeping house for Poindexter, she's +a fixture, you bet. They're a team when they pull together, they +are!" + +The smile slowly faded from Tucker's face, that now looked quite +rigid in the moonlight. He put down his glass and walked to the +window as Patterson gloomily continued, "But that's nothing to you. +You've got ahead of 'em both, and had your revenge by going off +with the gal. That's what I said all along. When folks-- +especially women folks--wondered how you could leave a woman like +your wife, and go off with a scallawag like that gal, I allers said +they'd find out there was a reason. And when your wife came +flaunting down here with Poindexter before she'd quite got quit of +you, I reckon they began to see the whole little game. No sir! I +knew it wasn't on account of the gal! Why, when you came here to- +night and told me quite nat'ral-like and easy how she went off in +the ship, and then calmly ate your pie and drank your whiskey after +it, I knew you didn't care for her. There's my hand, Spence; +you're a trump, even if you are a little looney, eh? Why, what's +up?" + +Shallow and selfish as Tucker was, Patterson's words seemed like a +revelation that shocked him as profoundly as it might have shocked +a nobler nature. The simple vanity and selfishness that made him +unable to conceive any higher reason for his wife's loyalty than +his own personal popularity and success, now that he no longer +possessed that eclat, made him equally capable of the lowest +suspicions. He was a dishonored fugitive, broken in fortune and +reputation--why should she not desert him! He had been unfaithful +to her from wildness, from caprice, from the effect of those +fascinating qualities; it seemed to him natural that she should be +disloyal from more deliberate motives, and he hugged himself with +that belief. Yet there was enough doubt, enough of haunting +suspicion that he had lost or alienated a powerful affection, to +make him thoroughly miserable. He returned his friend's grasp +convulsively and buried his face upon his shoulder. But he was not +above feeling a certain exultation in the effect of his misery upon +the dog-like, unreasoning affection of Patterson, nor could he +entirely refrain from slightly posing his affliction before that +sympathetic but melancholy man. Suddenly he raised his head, drew +back, and thrust his hand into his bosom with a theatrical gesture. + +"What's to keep me from killing Poindexter in his tracks?" he said +wildly. + +"Nothin' but HIS shooting first," returned Patterson, with dismal +practicality. "He's mighty quick, like all them army men. It's +about even, I reckon, that he don't get ME first," he added in an +ominous voice. + +"No!" returned Tucker, grasping his hand again. "This is not your +affair, Patterson; leave him to me when I come back." + +"If he ever gets the drop on me, I reckon he won't wait," continued +Patterson lugubriously. "He seems to object to my passin' +criticism on your wife, as if she was a queen or an angel." + +The blood came to Spencer's cheek, and he turned uneasily to the +window. "It's dark enough now for a start," he said hurriedly, +"and if I could get across the mountain without lying over at the +summit, it would be a day gained." + +Patterson arose without a word, filled a flask of spirit, handed it +to his friend, and silently led the way through the slowly falling +rain and the now settled darkness. The mustang was quickly secured +and saddled, a heavy poncho afforded Tucker a disguise as well as a +protection from the rain. With a few hurried, disconnected words, +and an abstracted air, he once more shook his friend's hand and +issued cautiously from the corral. When out of earshot from the +house he put spurs to the mustang, and dashed into a gallop. + +To intersect the mountain road he was obliged to traverse part of +the highway his wife had walked that afternoon, and to pass within +a mile of the casa where she was. Long before he reached that +point his eyes were straining the darkness in that direction for +some indication of the house which was to him familiar. Becoming +now accustomed to the even obscurity, less trying to the vision +than the alternate light and shadow of cloud or the full glare of +the moonlight, he fancied he could distinguish its low walls over +the monotonous level. One of those impulses which had so often +taken the place of resolution in his character suddenly possessed +him to diverge from his course and approach the house. Why, he +could not have explained. It was not from any feeling of jealous +suspicion or contemplated revenge--that had passed with the +presence of Patterson; it was not from any vague lingering +sentiment for the woman he had wronged--he would have shrunk from +meeting her at that moment. But it was full of these and more +possibilities by which he might or might not be guided, and was at +least a movement towards some vague end, and a distraction from +certain thoughts he dared not entertain and could not entirely +dismiss. Inconceivable and inexplicable to human reason, it might +have been acceptable to the Divine omniscience for its predestined +result. + +He left the road at a point where the marsh encroached upon the +meadow, familiar to him already as near the spot where he had +embarked from the Chinaman's boat the day before. He remembered +that the walls of the hacienda were distinctly visible from the +tules where he had hidden all day, and he now knew that the figures +he had observed near the building, which had deterred his first +attempts at landing, must have been his wife and his friend. He +knew that a long tongue of the slough filled by the rising tide +followed the marsh, and lay between him and the hacienda. The +sinking of his horse's hoofs in the spongy soil determined its +proximity, and he made a detour to the right to avoid it. In doing +so, a light suddenly rose above the distant horizon ahead of him, +trembled faintly, and then burned with a steady lustre. It was a +light at the hacienda. Guiding his horse half abstractedly in this +direction, his progress was presently checked by the splashing of +the animal's hoofs in the water. But the turf below was firm, and +a salt drop that had spattered to his lips told him that it was +only the encroaching of the tide in the meadow. With his eyes on +the light, he again urged his horse forward. The rain lulled, the +clouds began to break, the landscape alternately lightened and grew +dark; the outlines of the crumbling hacienda walls that enshrined +the light grew more visible. A strange and dreamy resemblance to +the long blue-grass plain before his wife's paternal house, as seen +by him during his evening rides to courtship, pressed itself upon +him. He remembered, too, that she used to put a light in the +window to indicate her presence. Following this retrospect, the +moon came boldly out, sparkled upon the overflow of silver at his +feet, seemed to show the dark, opaque meadow beyond for a moment, +and then disappeared. It was dark now, but the lesser earthly star +still shone before him as a guide, and pushing towards it, he +passed in the all-embracing shadow. + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As Mrs. Tucker, erect, white, and rigid, drove away from the +tienda, it seemed to her to sink again into the monotonous plain, +with all its horrible realities. Except that there was now a new +and heart-breaking significance to the solitude and loneliness of +the landscape, all that had passed might have been a dream. But as +the blood came back to her cheek, and little by little her tingling +consciousness returned, it seemed as if her life had been the +dream, and this last scene the awakening reality. With eyes +smarting with the moisture of shame, the scarlet blood at times +dyeing her very neck and temples, she muffled her lowered crest in +her shawl and bent over the reins. Bit by bit she recalled, in +Poindexter's mysterious caution and strange allusions, the +corroboration of her husband's shame and her own disgrace. This +was why she was brought hither--the deserted wife, and abandoned +confederate! The mocking glitter of the concave vault above her, +scoured by the incessant wind, the cold stare of the shining pools +beyond, the hard outlines of the Coast Range, and the jarring +accompaniment of her horse's hoofs and rattling buggy wheels +alternately goaded and distracted her. She found herself repeating +"No! no! no!" with the dogged reiteration of fever. She scarcely +knew when or how she reached the hacienda. She was only conscious +that as she entered the patio the dusty solitude that had before +filled her with unrest now came to her like balm. A benumbing +peace seemed to fall from the crumbling walls; the peace of utter +seclusion, isolation, oblivion, death! Nevertheless, an hour +later, when the jingle of spurs and bridle were again heard in the +road, she started to her feet with bent brows and a kindling eye, +and confronted Captain Poindexter in the corridor. + +"I would not have intruded upon you so soon again," he said +gravely, "but I thought I might perhaps spare you a repetition of +the scene of this morning. Hear me out, please," he added, with a +gentle, half-deprecating gesture, as she lifted the beautiful scorn +of her eyes to his. "I have just heard that your neighbor, Don +Jose Santierra, of Los Gatos, is on his way to this house. He once +claimed this land, and hated your husband, who bought of the rival +claimant, whose grant was confirmed. I tell you this," he added, +slightly flushing as Mrs. Tucker turned impatiently away, "only to +show you that legally he has no rights, and you need not see him +unless you choose. I could not stop his coming without perhaps +doing you more harm than good; but when he does come, my presence +under this roof as your legal counsel will enable you to refer him +to me." He stopped. She was pacing the corridor with short, +impatient steps, her arms dropped, and her hands clasped rigidly +before her. "Have I your permission to stay?" + +She suddenly stopped in her walk, approached him rapidly, and +fixing her eyes on his, said,-- + +"Do I know ALL, now--everything?" + +He could only reply that she had not yet told him what she had +heard. + +"Well," she said scornfully, "that my husband has been cruelly +imposed upon--imposed upon by some wretched woman, who has made him +sacrifice his property, his friends, his honor--everything but me?" + +"Everything but whom?" gasped Poindexter. + +"But ME!" + +Poindexter gazed at the sky, the air, the deserted corridor, the +stones of the patio itself, and then at the inexplicable woman +before him. Then he said gravely, "I think you know everything." + +"Then if my husband has left me all he could--this property," she +went on rapidly, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers, "I +can do with it what I like, can't I?" + +"You certainly can." + +"Then sell it," she said, with passionate vehemence. "Sell it-- +all! everything! And sell these." She darted into her bedroom, +and returned with the diamond rings she had torn from her fingers +and ears when she entered the house. "Sell them for anything +they'll bring, only sell them at once." + +"But for what?" asked Poindexter, with demure lips but twinkling +eyes. + +"To pay the debts that this--this--woman has led him into; to +return the money she has stolen!" she went on rapidly, "to keep him +from sharing her infamy! Can't you understand?" + +"But, my dear madam," began Poindexter, "even if this could be +done--" + +"Don't tell me 'if it could'--it MUST be done. Do you think I +could sleep under this roof, propped up by the timbers of that +ruined tienda? Do you think I could wear those diamonds again, +while that termagant shop-woman can say that her money bought them? +No. If you are my husband's friend you will do this--for--for his +sake." She stopped, locked and interlocked her cold fingers before +her, and said, hesitating and mechanically, "You meant well, +Captain Poindexter, in bringing me here, I know! You must not +think that I blame you for it, or for the miserable result of it +that you have just witnessed. But if I have gained anything by it, +for God's sake let me reap it quickly, that I may give it to these +people and go! I have a friend who can aid me to get to my husband +or to my home in Kentucky, where Spencer will yet find me, I know. +I want nothing more." She stopped again. With another woman the +pause would have been one of tears. But she kept her head above +the flood that filled her heart, and the clear eyes fixed upon +Poindexter, albeit pained, were undimmed. + +"But this would require time," said Poindexter, with a smile of +compassionate explanation; "you could not sell now, nobody would +buy. You are safe to hold this property while you are in actual +possession, but you are not strong enough to guarantee it to +another. There may still be litigation; your husband has other +creditors than these people you have talked with. But while nobody +could oust you--the wife who would have the sympathies of judge and +jury--it might be a different case with any one who derived title +from you. Any purchaser would know that you could not sell, or if +you did, it would be at a ridiculous sacrifice." + +She listened to him abstractedly, walked to the end of the +corridor, returned, and without looking up, said,-- + +"I suppose you know her?" + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"This woman. You have seen her?" + +"Never, to my knowledge." + +"And you are his friend! That's strange." She raised her eyes to +his. "Well," she continued impatiently, "who is she? and what is +she? You know that surely?" + +"I know no more of her than what I have said," said Poindexter. +"She is a notorious woman." + +The swift color came to Mrs. Tucker's face as if the epithet had +been applied to herself. "I suppose," she said in a dry voice, as +if she were asking a business question, but with an eye that showed +her rising anger,--"I suppose there is some law by which creatures +of this kind can be followed and brought to justice--some law that +would keep innocent people from suffering for their crimes?" + +"I am afraid," said Poindexter, "that arresting her would hardly +help these people over in the tienda." + +"I am not speaking of them," responded Mrs. Tucker, with a sudden +sublime contempt for the people whose cause she had espoused: "I am +talking of my husband." + +Poindexter bit his lip. "You'd hardly think of bringing back the +strongest witness against him," he said bluntly. + +Mrs. Tucker dropped her eyes and was silent. A sudden shame +suffused Poindexter's cheek; he felt as if he had struck that woman +a blow. "I beg your pardon," he said hastily, "I am talking like a +lawyer to a lawyer." He would have taken any other woman by the +hand in the honest fullness of his apology, but something +restrained him here. He only looked down gently on her lowered +lashes, and repeated his question if he should remain during the +coming interview with Don Jose: "I must beg you to determine +quickly," he added, "for I already hear him entering the gate." + +"Stay," said Mrs. Tucker, as the ringing of spurs and clatter of +hoofs came from the corral. "One moment." She looked up suddenly, +and said, "How long had he known her?" But before he could reply +there was a step in the doorway, and the figure of Don Jose +Santierra emerged from the archway. + +He was a man slightly past middle age, fair and well shaven, +wearing a black broadcloth serape, the deeply embroidered opening +of which formed a collar of silver rays around his neck, while a +row of silver buttons down the side seams of his riding trousers, +and silver spurs, completed his singular equipment. Mrs. Tucker's +swift feminine glance took in these details, as well as the deep +salutation, more formal than the exuberant frontier politeness she +was accustomed to, with which he greeted her. It was enough to +arrest her first impulse to retreat. She hesitated and stopped as +Poindexter stepped forward, partly interposing between them, +acknowledging Don Jose's distant recognition of himself with an +ironical accession of his usual humorous tolerance. The Spaniard +did not seem to notice it, but remained gravely silent before Mrs. +Tucker, gazing at her with an expression of intent and unconscious +absorption. + +"You are quite right, Don Jose," said Poindexter, with ironical +concern, "it is Mrs. Tucker. Your eyes do NOT deceive you. She +will be glad to do the honors of her house," he continued, with a +simulation of appealing to her, "unless you visit her on business, +when I need not say I shall be only too happy, to attend you, as +before." + +Don Jose, with a slight lifting of the eyebrows, allowed himself to +become conscious of the lawyer's meaning. "It is not of business +that I come to kiss the Senora's hand to-day," he replied, with a +melancholy softness; "it is as her neighbor, to put myself at her +disposition. Ah! the what have we here for a lady?" he continued, +raising his eyes in deprecation of the surroundings; "a house of +nothing, a place of winds and dry bones, without refreshments, or +satisfaction, or delicacy. The Senora will not refuse to make us +proud this day to send her of that which we have in our poor home +at Los Gatos, to make her more complete. Of what shall it be? Let +her make choice. Or if she would commemorate this day by accepting +of our hospitality at Los Gatos, until she shall arrange herself +the more to receive us here, we shall have too much honor." + +"The Senora would only find it the more difficult to return to this +humble roof again, after once leaving it for Don Jose's hospitality," +said Poindexter, with a demure glance at Mrs. Tucker. But the +innuendo seemed to lapse equally unheeded by his fair client and +the stranger. Raising her eyes with a certain timid dignity which +Don Jose's presence seemed to have called out, she addressed herself +to him. + +"You are very kind and considerate, Mister Santierra, and I thank +you. I know that my husband"--she let the clear beauty of her +translucent eyes rest full on both men--"would thank you too. But +I shall not be here long enough to accept your kindness in this +house or in your own. I have but one desire and object now. It is +to dispose of this property, and indeed all I possess, to pay the +debt of my husband. It is in your power, perhaps, to help me. I +am told that you wish to possess Los Cuervos," she went on, equally +oblivious of the consciousness that appeared in Don Jose's face, +and a humorous perplexity on the brow of Poindexter. "If you can +arrange it with Mr. Poindexter, you will find me a liberal vendor. +That much you can do, and I know you will believe I shall be +grateful. You can do no more, unless it be to say to your friends +that Mrs. Belle Tucker remains here only for that purpose, and to +carry out what she knows to be the wishes of her husband." She +paused, bent her pretty crest, dropped a quaint curtsey to the +superior age, the silver braid, and the gentlemanly bearing of Don +Jose, and with the passing sunshine of a smile disappeared from the +corridor. + +The two men remained silent for a moment, Don Jose gazing +abstractedly on the door through which she had vanished, until +Poindexter, with a return of his tolerant smile, said, "You have +heard the views of Mrs. Tucker. You know the situation as well as +she does." + +"Ah, yes; possibly better." + +Poindexter darted a quick glance at the grave, sallow face of Don +Jose, but detecting no unusual significance in his manner, +continued, "As you see, she leaves this matter in my hands. Let us +talk like business men. Have you any idea of purchasing this +property?" + +"Of purchasing, ah, no." + +Poindexter bent his brows, but quickly relaxed them with a smile of +humorous forgiveness. "If you have any other idea, Don Jose, I +ought to warn you, as Mrs. Tucker's lawyer, that she is in legal +possession here, and that nothing but her own act can change that +position." + +"Ah, so." + +Irritated at the shrug which accompanied this, Poindexter continued +haughtily, "If I am to understand, you have nothing to say--" + +"To say, ah, yes, possibly. But"--he glanced toward the door of +Mrs. Tucker's room--"not here." He stopped, appeared to recall +himself, and with an apologetic smile and a studied but graceful +gesture of invitation, he motioned to the gateway, and said, "Will +you ride?" + +"What can the fellow be up to?" muttered Poindexter, as with an +assenting nod he proceeded to remount his horse. "If he wasn't an +old hidalgo, I'd mistrust him. No matter! here goes!" + +The Don also remounted his half-broken mustang; they proceeded in +solemn silence through the corral, and side by side emerged on the +open plain. Poindexter glanced around; no other being was in +sight. It was not until the lonely hacienda had also sunk behind +them that Don Jose broke the silence. + +"You say just now we shall speak as business men. I say no, Don +Marco; I will not. I shall speak, we shall speak, as gentlemen." + +"Go on," said Poindexter, who was beginning to be amused. + +"I say just now I will not purchase the rancho from the Senora. +And why? Look you, Don Marco;" he reined in his horse, thrust his +hand under his serape, and drew out a folded document: "this is +why." + +With a smile, Poindexter took the paper from his hand and opened +it. But the smile faded from his lips as he read. With blazing +eyes he spurred his horse beside the Spaniard, almost unseating +him, and said sternly, "What does this mean?" + +"What does it mean?" repeated Don Jose, with equally flashing eyes, +"I'll tell you. It means that your client, this man Spencer +Tucker, is a Judas, a traitor! It means that he gave Los Cuervos +to his mistress a year ago, and that she sold it to me--to me, you +hear!--ME, Jose Santierra, the day before she left! It means that +the coyote of a Spencer, the thief, who bought these lands of a +thief, and gave them to a thief, has tricked you all. Look," he +said, rising in his saddle, holding the paper like a baton, and +defining with a sweep of his arm the whole level plain, "all these +lands were once mine, they are mine again to-day. Do I want to +purchase Los Cuervos? you ask, for you will speak of the BUSINESS. +Well, listen. I HAVE purchased Los Cuervos, and here is the deed." + +"But it has never been recorded," said Poindexter, with a +carelessness he was far from feeling. + +"Of a verity, no. Do you wish that I should record it?" asked Don +Jose, with a return of his simple gravity. + +Poindexter bit his lip. "You said we were to talk like gentlemen," +he returned. "Do you think you have come into possession of this +alleged deed like a gentleman?" + +Don Jose shrugged his shoulders. "I found it tossed in the lap of +a harlot. I bought it for a song. Eh, what would you?" + +"Would you sell it again for a song?" asked Poindexter. + +"Ah! what is this?" said Don Jose, lifting his iron-gray brows; +"but a moment ago we would sell everything, for any money. Now we +would buy. Is it so?" + +"One moment, Don Jose," said Poindexter, with a baleful light in +his dark eyes. "Do I understand that you are the ally of Spencer +Tucker and his mistress, that you intend to turn this doubly +betrayed wife from the only roof she has to cover her?" + +"Ah, I comprehend not. You heard her say she wished to go. +Perhaps it may please ME to distribute largess to these cattle +yonder, I do not say no. More she does not ask. But YOU, Don +Marco, of whom are you advocate? You abandon your client's +mistress for the wife, is it so?" + +"What I may do you will learn hereafter," said Poindexter, who had +regained his composure, suddenly reining up his horse. "As our +paths seem likely to diverge, they had better begin now. Good +morning." + +"Patience, my friend, patience! Ah, blessed St. Anthony, what +these Americans are! Listen. For what YOU shall do, I do not +inquire. The question is to me what I"--he emphasized the pronoun +by tapping himself on the breast--"I, Jose Santierra, will do. +Well, I shall tell you. To-day, nothing. To-morrow, nothing. For +a week, for a month, nothing! After, we shall see." + +Poindexter paused thoughtfully. "Will you give your word, Don +Jose, that you will not press the claim for a month?" + +"Truly, on one condition. Observe! I do not ask you for an equal +promise, that you will not take this time to defend yourself." He +shrugged his shoulders. "No! It is only this. You shall promise +that during that time the Senora Tucker shall remain ignorant of +this document." + +Poindexter hesitated a moment. "I promise," he said at last. + +"Good. Adios, Don Marco." + +"Adios, Don Jose." + +The Spaniard put spurs to his mustang and galloped off in the +direction of Los Gatos. The lawyer remained for a moment gazing on +his retreating but victorious figure. For the first time the old +look of humorous toleration with which Mr. Poindexter was in the +habit of regarding all human infirmity gave way to something like +bitterness. "I might have guessed it," he said, with a slight rise +of color. "He's an old fool; and she--well, perhaps it's all the +better for her!" He glanced backwards almost tenderly in the +direction of Los Cuervos, and then turned his head towards the +embarcadero. + +As the afternoon wore on, a creaking, antiquated ox-cart arrived at +Los Cuervos, bearing several articles of furniture, and some +tasteful ornaments from Los Gatos, at the same time that a young +Mexican girl mysteriously appeared in the kitchen, as a temporary +assistant to the decrepit Concha. These were both clearly +attributable to Don Jose, whose visit was not so remote but that +these delicate attentions might have been already projected before +Mrs. Tucker had declined them, and she could not, without marked +discourtesy, return them now. She did not wish to seem +discourteous; she would like to have been more civil to this old +gentleman, who still retained the evidences of a picturesque and +decorous past, and a repose so different from the life that was +perplexing her. Reflecting that if he bought the estate these +things would be ready to his hand, and with a woman's instinct +recognizing their value in setting off the house to other +purchasers' eyes, she took a pleasure in tastefully arranging them, +and even found herself speculating how she might have enjoyed them +herself had she been able to keep possession of the property. +After all, it would not have been so lonely if refined and gentle +neighbors, like this old man, would have sympathized with her; she +had an instinctive feeling that, in their own hopeless decay and +hereditary unfitness for this new civilization, they would have +been more tolerant of her husband's failure than his own kind. She +could not believe that Don Jose really hated her husband for buying +of the successful claimant, as there was no other legal title. +Allowing herself to become interested in the guileless gossip of +the new handmaiden, proud of her broken English, she was drawn into +a sympathy with the grave simplicity of Don Jose's character, a +relic of that true nobility which placed this descendant of the +Castilians and the daughter of a free people on the same level. + +In this way the second day of her occupancy of Los Cuervos closed, +with dumb clouds along the gray horizon, and the paroxysms of +hysterical wind growing fainter and fainter outside the walls; with +the moon rising after nightfall, and losing itself in silent and +mysterious confidences with drifting scud. She went to bed early, +but woke past midnight, hearing, as she thought, her own name +called. The impression was so strong upon her that she rose, and, +hastily enwrapping herself, went to the dark embrasures of the +oven-shaped windows, and looked out. The dwarfed oak beside the +window was still dropping from a past shower, but the level waste +of marsh and meadow beyond seemed to advance and recede with the +coming and going of the moon. Again she heard her name called, and +this time in accents so strangely familiar that with a slight cry +she ran into the corridor, crossed the patio, and reached the open +gate. The darkness that had, even in this brief interval, again +fallen upon the prospect she tried in vain to pierce with eye and +voice. A blank silence followed. Then the veil was suddenly +withdrawn; the vast plain, stretching from the mountain to the sea, +shone as clearly as in the light of day; the moving current of the +channel glittered like black pearls, the stagnant pools like molten +lead; but not a sign of life nor motion broke the monotony of the +broad expanse. She must have surely dreamed it. A chill wind +drove her back to the house again; she entered her bedroom, and in +half an hour she was in a peaceful sleep. + + +CHAPTER V + + +The two men kept their secret. Mr. Poindexter convinced Mrs. +Tucker that the sale of Los Cuervos could not be effected until the +notoriety of her husband's flight had been fairly forgotten, and +she was forced to accept her fate. The sale of her diamonds, which +seemed to her to have realized a singularly extravagant sum, +enabled her to quietly reinstate the Pattersons in the tienda and +to discharge in full her husband's liabilities to the rancheros and +his humbler retainers. + +Meanwhile the winter rains had ceased. It seemed to her as if the +clouds had suddenly one night struck their white tents and stolen +away, leaving the unvanquished sun to mount the vacant sky the next +morning alone, and possess it thenceforward unchallenged. One +afternoon she thought the long sad waste before her window had +caught some tint of gayer color from the sunset; a week later she +found it a blazing landscape of poppies, broken here and there by +blue lagoons of lupine, by pools of daisies, by banks of dog-roses, +by broad outlying shores of dandelions that scattered their lavish +gold to the foot of the hills, where the green billows of wild oats +carried it on and upwards to the darker crest of pines. For two +months she was dazzled and bewildered with color. She had never +before been face to face with this spendthrift Californian Flora, +in her virgin wastefulness, her more than goddess-like prodigality. +The teeming earth seemed to quicken and throb beneath her feet; the +few circuits of a plough around the outlying corral were enough to +call out a jungle growth of giant grain that almost hid the low +walls of the hacienda. In this glorious fecundity of the earth, in +this joyous renewal of life and color, in this opulent youth and +freshness of soil and sky, it alone remained, the dead and sterile +Past, left in the midst of buoyant rejuvenescence and resurrection, +like an empty churchyard skull upturned on the springing turf. Its +bronzed adobe walls mocked the green vine that embraced them, the +crumbling dust of its courtyard remained ungerminating and +unfruitful; to the thousand stirring voices without, its dry lips +alone remained mute, unresponsive and unchanged. + +During this time Don Jose had become a frequent visitor at Los +Cuervos, bringing with him at first his niece and sister in a +stately precision of politeness that was not lost on the proud Blue +Grass stranger. She returned their visit at Los Gatos, and there +made the formal acquaintance of Don Jose's grandmother, a lady who +still regarded the decrepit Concha as a giddy muchacha, and who +herself glittered as with the phosphorescence of refined decay. +Through this circumstance she learned that Don Jose was not yet +fifty, and that his gravity of manner and sedateness was more the +result of fastidious isolation and temperament than years. She +could not tell why the information gave her a feeling of annoyance, +but it caused her to regret the absence of Poindexter, and to +wonder, also somewhat nervously, why he had lately avoided her +presence. The thought that he might be doing so from a recollection +of the innuendoes of Mrs. Patterson caused a little tremor of +indignation in her pulses. "As if--" but she did not finish the +sentence even to herself, and her eyes filled with bitter tears. + +Yet she had thought of the husband who had so cruelly wronged her +less feverishly, less impatiently than before. For she thought she +loved him now the more deeply, because, although she was not +reconciled to his absence, it seemed to keep alive the memory of +what he had been before his one wild act separated them. She had +never seen the reflection of another woman's eyes in his; the past +contained no haunting recollection of waning or alienated +affection; she could meet him again, and, clasping her arms around +him, awaken as if from a troubled dream without reproach or +explanation. Her strong belief in this made her patient; she no +longer sought to know the particulars of his flight, and never +dreamed that her passive submission to his absence was partly due +to a fear that something in his actual presence at that moment +would have destroyed that belief forever. + +For this reason the delicate reticence of the people at Los Gatos, +and their seclusion from the world which knew of her husband's +fault, had made her encourage the visits of Don Jose, until from +the instinct already alluded to she one day summoned Poindexter to +Los Cuervos, on the day that Don Jose usually called. But to her +surprise the two men met more or less awkwardly and coldly, and her +tact as hostess was tried to the utmost to keep their evident +antagonism from being too apparent. The effort to reconcile their +mutual discontent, and some other feeling she did not quite +understand, produced a nervous excitement which called the blood to +her cheek and gave a dangerous brilliancy to her eyes, two +circumstances not unnoticed nor unappreciated by her two guests. +But instead of reuniting them, the prettier Mrs. Tucker became, the +more distant and reserved grew the men, until Don Jose rose before +the usual hour, and with more than usual ceremoniousness departed. + +"Then my business does not seem to be with HIM?" said Poindexter, +with quiet coolness, as Mrs. Tucker turned her somewhat mystified +face towards him. "Or have you anything to say to me about him in +private?" + +"I am sure I don't know what you both mean," she returned with a +slight tremor of voice. "I had no idea you were not on good terms. +I thought you were! It's very awkward." Without coquetry and +unconsciously she raised her blue eyes under her lids until the +clear pupils coyly and softly hid themselves in the corners of the +brown lashes, and added, "You have both been so kind to me." + +"Perhaps that is the reason," said Poindexter, gravely. But Mrs. +Tucker refused to accept the suggestion with equal gravity, and +began to laugh. The laugh, which was at first frank, spontaneous, +and almost child-like, was becoming hysterical and nervous as she +went on, until it was suddenly checked by Poindexter. + +"I have had no difficulties with Don Jose Santierra," he said, +somewhat coldly ignoring her hilarity, "but perhaps he is not +inclined to be as polite to the friend of the husband as he is to +the wife." + +"Mr. Poindexter!" said Mrs. Tucker quickly, her face becoming pale +again. + +"I beg your pardon!" said Poindexter, flushing; "but--" + +"You want to say," she interrupted coolly, "that you are not +friends, I see. Is that the reason why you have avoided this +house?" she continued gently. + +"I thought I could be of more service to you elsewhere," he replied +evasively. "I have been lately following up a certain clue rather +closely. I think I am on the track of a confidante of--of--that +woman." + +A quick shadow passed over Mrs. Tucker's face. "Indeed!" she said +coldly. "Then I am to believe that you prefer to spend your +leisure moments in looking after that creature to calling here?" + +Poindexter was stupefied. Was this the woman who only four months +ago was almost vindictively eager to pursue her husband's paramour! +There could be but one answer to it--Don Jose! Four months ago he +would have smiled compassionately at it from his cynical pre- +eminence. Now he managed with difficulty to stifle the bitterness +of his reply. + +"If you do not wish the inquiry carried on," he began, "of course--" + +"I? What does it matter to me?" she said coolly. "Do as you +please." + +Nevertheless, half an hour later, as he was leaving, she said, with +a certain hesitating timidity, "Do not leave me so much alone here, +and let that woman go." + +This was not the only unlooked-for sequel to her innocent desire to +propitiate her best friends. Don Jose did not call again upon his +usual day, but in his place came Dona Clara, his younger sister. +When Mrs. Tucker had politely asked after the absent Don Jose, Dona +Clara wound her swarthy arms around the fair American's waist and +replied, "But why did you send for the abogado Poindexter when my +brother called?" + +"But Captain Poindexter calls as one of my friends," said the +amazed Mrs. Tucker. "He is a gentleman, and has been a soldier and +an officer," she added with some warmth. + +"Ah, yes, a soldier of the law, what you call an oficial de +policia, a chief of gendarmes, my sister, but not a gentleman--a +camarero to protect a lady." + +Mrs. Tucker would have uttered a hasty reply, but the perfect and +good-natured simplicity of Dona Clara withheld her. Nevertheless, +she treated Don Jose with a certain reserve at their next meeting, +until it brought the simple-minded Castilian so dangerously near +the point of demanding an explanation which implied too much that +she was obliged to restore him temporarily to his old footing. +Meantime she had a brilliant idea. She would write to Calhoun +Weaver, whom she had avoided since that memorable day. She would +say she wished to consult him. He would come to Los Cuervos; he +might suggest something to lighten this weary waiting; at least she +would show them all that she had still old friends. Yet she did +not dream of returning to her Blue Grass home; her parents had died +since she left; she shrank from the thought of dragging her ruined +life before the hopeful youth of her girlhood's companions. + +Mr. Calhoun Weaver arrived promptly, ostentatiously, oracularly, +and cordially, but a little coarsely. He had--did she remember?-- +expected this from the first. Spencer had lost his head through +vanity, and had attempted too much. It required foresight and +firmness, as he himself--who had lately made successful +"combinations" which she might perhaps have heard of--well knew. +But Spencer had got the "big head." "As to that woman--a devilish +handsome woman too!--well, everybody knew that Spencer always had a +weakness that way, and he would say--but if she didn't care to hear +any more about her--well, perhaps she was right. That was the best +way to take it." Sitting before her, prosperous, weak, +egotistical, incompetent, unavailable, and yet filled with a vague +kindliness of intent, Mrs. Tucker loathed him. A sickening +perception of her own weakness in sending for him, a new and aching +sense of her utter isolation and helplessness, seemed to paralyze +her. + +"Nat'rally you feel bad," he continued, with the large air of a +profound student of human nature. "Nat'rally, nat'rally you're +kept in an uncomfortable state, not knowing jist how you stand. +There ain't but one thing to do. Jist rise up, quiet like, and get +a divorce agin Spencer. Hold on! There ain't a judge or jury in +California that wouldn't give it to you right off the nail, without +asking questions. Why, you 'ld get it by default if you wanted to; +you 'ld just have to walk over the course! And then, Belle," he +drew his chair still nearer her, "when you've settled down again-- +well!--I don't mind renewing that offer I once made ye, before +Spencer ever came round ye--I don't mind, Belle, I swear I don't! +Honest Injin! I'm in earnest, there's my hand!" + +Mrs. Tucker's reply has not been recorded. Enough that half an +hour later Mr. Weaver appeared in the courtyard with traces of +tears on his foolish face, a broken falsetto voice, and other +evidence of mental and moral disturbance. His cordiality and +oracular predisposition remained sufficiently to enable him to +suggest the magical words "Blue Grass" mysteriously to Concha, with +an indication of his hand to the erect figure of her pale mistress +in the doorway, who waved to him a silent but half-compassionate +farewell. + +At about this time a slight change in her manner was noticed by the +few who saw her more frequently. Her apparently invincible +girlishness of spirit had given way to a certain matronly +seriousness. She applied herself to her household cares and the +improvement of the hacienda with a new sense of duty and a settled +earnestness, until by degrees she wrought into it not only her +instinctive delicacy and taste, but part of her own individuality. +Even the rude rancheros and tradesmen who were permitted to enter +the walls in the exercise of their calling began to speak +mysteriously of the beauty of this garden of the almarjal. She +went out but seldom, and then accompanied by the one or the other +of her female servants, in long drives on unfrequented roads. On +Sundays she sometimes drove to the half-ruined mission church of +Santa Inez, and hid herself, during mass, in the dim monastic +shadows of the choir. Gradually the poorer people whom she met in +these journeys began to show an almost devotional reverence for +her, stopping in the roads with uncovered heads for her to pass, or +making way for her in the tienda or plaza of the wretched town with +dumb courtesy. She began to feel a strange sense of widowhood, +that, while it at times brought tears to her eyes, was, not without +a certain tender solace. In the sympathy and simpleness of this +impulse she went as far as to revive the mourning she had worn for +her parents, but with such a fatal accenting of her beauty, and +dangerous misinterpreting of her condition to eligible bachelors +strange to the country, that she was obliged to put it off again. +Her reserve and dignified manner caused others to mistake her +nationality for that of the Santierras, and in "Dona Bella" the +simple Mrs. Tucker was for a while forgotten. At times she even +forgot it herself. Accustomed now almost entirely to the accents +of another language and the features of another race, she would sit +for hours in the corridor, whose massive bronzed inclosure even her +tasteful care could only make an embowered mausoleum of the Past, +or gaze abstractedly from the dark embrasures of her windows across +the stretching almarjal to the shining lagoon beyond that +terminated the estuary. She had a strange fondness for this +tranquil mirror, which under sun or stars always retained the +passive reflex of the sky above, and seemed to rest her weary eyes. +She had objected to one of the plans projected by Poindexter to +redeem the land and deepen the water at the embarcadero, as it +would have drained the lagoon, and the lawyer had postponed the +improvement to gratify her fancy. So she kept it through the long +summer unchanged save by the shadows of passing wings or the lazy +files of sleeping sea-fowl. + +On one of these afternoons she noticed a slowly moving carriage +leave the high road and cross the almarjal skirting the edge of the +lagoon. If it contained visitors for Los Cuervos they had +evidently taken a shorter cut without waiting to go on to the +regular road which intersected the highway at right angles a mile +farther on. It was with some sense of annoyance and irritation +that she watched the trespass, and finally saw the vehicle approach +the house. A few moments later the servant informed her that Mr. +Patterson would like to see her alone. When she entered the +corridor, which in the dry season served as a reception hall, she +was surprised to see that Patterson was not alone. Near him stood +a well-dressed handsome woman, gazing about her with good-humored +admiration of Mrs. Tucker's taste and ingenuity. + +"It don't look much like it did two years ago," said the stranger +cheerfully. "You've improved it wonderfully." + +Stiffening slightly, Mrs. Tucker turned inquiringly to Mr. +Patterson. But that gentleman's usual profound melancholy appeared +to be intensified by the hilarity of his companion. He only sighed +deeply and rubbed his leg with the brim of his hat in gloomy +abstraction. + +"Well! go on, then," said the woman, laughing and nudging him. "Go +on--introduce me--can't you? Don't stand there like a tombstone. +You won't? Well, I'll introduce myself." She laughed again, and +then, with an excellent imitation of Patterson's lugubrious +accents, said, "Mr. Spencer Tucker's wife that IS, allow me to +introduce you to Mr. Spencer Tucker's sweetheart that WAS! Hold +on! I said THAT WAS. For true as I stand here, ma'am--and I +reckon I wouldn't stand here if it wasn't true--I haven't set eyes +on him since the day he left you." + +"It's the Gospel truth, every word," said Patterson, stirred into a +sudden activity by Mrs. Tucker's white and rigid face. "It's the +frozen truth, and I kin prove it. For I kin swear that when that +there young woman was sailin' outer the Golden Gate, Spencer Tucker +was in my bar room; I kin swear that I fed him, lickered him, give +him a hoss and set him in his road to Monterey that very night." + +"Then, where is he now?" said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly facing them. + +They looked at each other, and then looked at Mrs. Tucker. Then +both together replied slowly and in perfect unison, "That's--what-- +we--want--to--know." They seemed so satisfied with this effect +that they as deliberately repeated, "Yes--that's--what--we--want-- +to--know." + +Between the shock of meeting the partner of her husband's guilt and +the unexpected revelation to her inexperience, that in suggestion +and appearance there was nothing beyond the recollection of that +guilt that was really shocking in the woman--between the +extravagant extremes of hope and fear suggested by their words, +there was something so grotesquely absurd in the melodramatic +chorus that she with difficulty suppressed a hysterical laugh. + +"That's the way to take it," said the woman, putting her own good- +humored interpretation upon Mrs. Tucker's expression. "Now, look +here! I'll tell you all about it." She carefully selected the +most comfortable chair, and sitting down, lightly crossed her hands +in her lap. "Well, I left here on the 13th of last January on the +ship Argo, calculating that your husband would join the ship just +inside the Heads. That was our arrangement, but if anything +happened to prevent him, he was to join me in Acapulco. Well! He +didn't come aboard, and we sailed without him. But it appears now +he did attempt to join the ship, but his boat was capsized. There, +now, don't be alarmed! he wasn't drowned, as Patterson can swear +to--no, catch HIM! not a hair of him was hurt; but I--I was bundled +off to the end of the earth in Mexico, alone, without a cent to +bless me. For true as you live, that hound of a captain, when he +found, as he thought, that Spencer was nabbed, he just confiscated +all his trunks and valuables and left me in the lurch. If I hadn't +met a man down there that offered to marry me and brought me here, +I might have died there, I reckon. But I did, and here I am. I +went down there as your husband's sweetheart, I've come back as the +wife of an honest man, and I reckon it's about square!" + +There was something so startlingly frank, so hopelessly self- +satisfied, so contagiously good-humored in the woman's perfect +moral unconsciousness, that even if Mrs. Tucker had been less +preoccupied her resentment would have abated. But her eyes were +fixed on the gloomy face of Patterson, who was beginning to unlock +the sepulchres of his memory and disinter his deeply buried +thoughts. + +"You kin bet your whole pile on what this Mrs. Capting Baxter--ez +used to be French Inez of New Orleans--hez told ye. Ye kin take +everything she's unloaded. And it's only doin' the square thing to +her to say, she hain't done it out o' no cussedness, but just to +satisfy herself, now she's a married woman and past such +foolishness. But that ain't neither here nor there. The gist of +the whole matter is that Spencer Tucker was at the tienda the day +after she sailed and after his boat capsized." He then gave a +detailed account of the interview, with the unnecessary but +truthful minutiae of his class, adding to the particulars already +known that the following week he visited the Summit House and was +surprised to find that Spencer had never been there, nor had he +ever sailed from Monterey. + +"But why was this not told to me before?" said Mrs. Tucker, +suddenly. "Why not at the time? Why," she demanded almost +fiercely, turning from the one to the other, "has this been kept +from me?" + +"I'll tell ye why," said Patterson, sinking with crushed submission +into a chair. "When I found he wasn't where he ought to be, I got +to lookin' elsewhere. I knew the track of the hoss I lent him by a +loose shoe. I examined; and found he had turned off the high road +somewhere beyond the lagoon, jist as if he was makin' a bee line +here." + +"Well," said Mrs. Tucker, breathlessly. + +"Well," said Patterson, with the resigned tone of an accustomed +martyr, "mebbe I'm a God-forsaken idiot, but I reckon he DID come +yer. And mebbe I'm that much of a habitooal lunatic, but thinking +so, I calkilated you'ld know it without tellin'." + +With their eyes fixed upon her, Mrs. Tucker felt the quick blood +rush to her cheeks, although she knew not why. But they were +apparently satisfied with her ignorance, for Patterson resumed, +yet more gloomily:-- + +"Then if he wasn't hidin' here beknownst to you, he must have +changed his mind agin and got away by the embarcadero. The only +thing wantin' to prove that idea is to know how he got a boat, +and what he did with the hoss. And thar's one more idea, and ez +that can't be proved," continued Patterson, sinking his voice +still lower, "mebbe it's accordin' to God's laws." + +Unsympathetic to her as the speaker had always been and still +was, Mrs. Tucker felt a vague chill creep over her that seemed +to be the result of his manner more than his words. "And that +idea is . . . ?" she suggested with pale lips. + +"It's this! Fust, I don't say it means much to anybody but me. +I've heard of these warnings afore now, ez comin' only to folks ez +hear them for themselves alone, and I reckon I kin stand it, if +it's the will o' God. The idea is then--that--Spencer Tucker--WAS +DROWNDED in that boat; the idea is"--his voice was almost lost in a +hoarse whisper--"that it was no living man that kem to me that +night, but a spirit that kem out of the darkness and went back into +it! No eye saw him but mine--no ears heard him but mine. I reckon +it weren't intended it should." He paused, and passed the flap of +his hat across his eyes. "The pie, you'll say, is agin it," he +continued in the same tone of voice,--"the whiskey is agin it--a +few cuss words that dropped from him, accidental like, may have +been agin it. All the same they mout have been only the little +signs and tokens that it was him." + +But Mrs. Baxter's ready laugh somewhat rudely dispelled the +infection of Patterson's gloom. "I reckon the only spirit was that +which you and Spencer consumed," she said, cheerfully. "I don't +wonder you're a little mixed. Like as not you've misunderstood his +plans." Patterson shook his head. "He'll turn up yet, alive and +kicking! Like as not, then, Poindexter knows where he is all the +time." + +"Impossible! He would have told me," said Mrs. Tucker, quickly. + +Mrs. Baxter looked at Patterson without speaking. Patterson +replied by a long lugubrious whistle. + +"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Tucker, drawing back with cold +dignity. + +"You don't?" returned Mrs. Baxter. "Bless your innocent heart! +Why was he so keen to hunt me up at first, shadowing my friends and +all that, and why has he dropped it now he knows I'm here, if he +didn't know where Spencer was?" + +"I can explain that," interrupted Mrs. Tucker, hastily, with a +blush of confusion. "That is--I--" + +"Then mebbe you kin explain too," broke in Patterson with gloomy +significance, "why he has bought up most of Spencer's debts +himself, and perhaps you're satisfied it ISN'T to hold the whip +hand of him and keep him from coming back openly. Pr'aps you know +why he's movin' heaven and earth to make Don Jose Santierra sell +the ranch, and why the Don don't see it all." + +"Don Jose sell Los Cuervos! Buy it, you mean?" said Mrs. Tucker. +"I offered to sell it to him." + +Patterson arose from the chair, looked despairingly around him, +passed his hand sadly across his forehead, and said: "It's come! I +knew it would. It's the warning! It's suthing betwixt jim-jams +and doddering idjiocy. Here I'd hev been willin' to swear that +Mrs. Baxter here told me SHE had sold this yer ranch nearly two +years ago to Don Jose, and now you--" + +"Stop!" said Mrs. Tucker, in a voice that chilled them. + +She was standing upright and rigid, as if stricken to stone. "I +command you to tell me what this means!" she said, turning only her +blazing eyes upon the woman. + +Even the ready smile faded from Mrs. Baxter's lips as she replied +hesitatingly and submissively: "I thought you knew already that +Spencer had given this ranch to me. I sold it to Don Jose to get +the money for us to go away with. It was Spencer's idea--" + +"You lie!" said Mrs. Tucker. + +There was a dead silence. The wrathful blood that had quickly +mounted to Mrs. Baxter's cheek, to Patterson's additional +bewilderment, faded as quickly. She did not lift her eyes again to +Mrs. Tucker's, but, slowly raising herself from her seat, said, "I +wish to God I did lie; but it's true. And it's true that I never +touched a cent of the money, but gave it all to him!" She laid her +hand on Patterson's arm, and said, "Come! let us go," and led him a +few steps towards the gateway. But here Patterson paused, and +again passed his hand over his melancholy brow. The necessity of +coherently and logically closing the conversation impressed itself +upon his darkening mind. "Then you don't happen to have heard +anything of Spencer?" he said sadly, and vanished with Mrs. Baxter +through the gate. + +Left alone to herself, Mrs. Tucker raised her hands above her head +with a little cry, interlocked her rigid fingers, and slowly +brought her palms down upon her upturned face and eyes, pressing +hard as if to crush out all light and sense of life before her. +She stood thus for a moment motionless and silent, with the rising +wind whispering without and flecking her white morning dress with +gusty shadows from the arbor. Then, with closed eyes, dropping her +hands to her breast, still pressing hard, she slowly passed them +down the shapely contours of her figure to the waist, and with +another cry cast them off as if she were stripping herself of some +loathsome garment. Then she walked quickly to the gateway, looked +out, returned to the corridor, unloosening and taking off her +wedding-ring from her finger as she walked. Here she paused, then +slowly and deliberately rearranged the chairs and adjusted the gay- +colored rugs that draped them, and quietly re-entered her chamber. + + +Two days afterwards the sweating steed of Captain Poindexter was +turned loose in the corral, and a moment later the captain entered +the corridor. Handing a letter to the decrepit Concha, who seemed +to be utterly disorganized by its contents, and the few curt words +with which it was delivered, he gazed silently upon the vacant +bower, still fresh and redolent with the delicacy and perfume of +its graceful occupant, until his dark eyes filled with unaccustomed +moisture. But his reverie was interrupted by the sound of jingling +spurs without, and the old humor struggled back in his eyes as Don +Jose impetuously entered. The Spaniard started back, but instantly +recovered himself. + +"So I find you here. Ah! it is well!" he said passionately, +producing a letter from his bosom. "Look! Do you call this honor? +Look how you keep your compact!" + +Poindexter coolly took the letter. It contained a few words of +gentle dignity from Mrs. Tucker, informing Don Jose that she had +only that instant learned of his just claims upon Los Cuervos, +tendering him her gratitude for his delicate intentions, but +pointing out with respectful firmness that he must know that a +moment's further acceptance of his courtesy was impossible. + +"She has gained this knowledge from no word of mine," said +Poindexter, calmly. "Right or wrong, I have kept my promise to +you. I have as much reason to accuse you of betraying my secret in +this," he added coldly, as he took another letter from his pocket +and handed it to Don Jose. + +It seemed briefer and colder, but was neither. It reminded +Poindexter that as he had again deceived her she must take the +government of her affairs in her own hands henceforth. She +abandoned all the furniture and improvements she had put in Los +Cuervos to him, to whom she now knew she was indebted for them. +She could not thank him for what his habitual generosity +impelled him to do for any woman, but she could forgive him for +misunderstanding her like any other woman, perhaps she should say, +like a child. When he received this she would be already on her +way to her old home in Kentucky, where she still hoped to be able +by her own efforts to amass enough to discharge her obligations to +him. + +"She does not speak of her husband, this woman," said Don Jose, +scanning Poindexter's face. "It is possible she rejoins him, eh?" + +"Perhaps in one way she has never left him, Don Jose," said +Poindexter, with grave significance. + +Don Jose's face flushed, but he returned carelessly, "And the +rancho, naturally you will not buy it now?" + +"On the contrary, I shall abide by my offer," said Poindexter, +quietly. + +Don Jose eyed him narrowly, and then said, "Ah, we shall consider +of it." + +He did consider it, and accepted the offer. With the full control +of the land, Captain Poindexter's improvements, so indefinitely +postponed, were actively pushed forward. The thick walls of the +hacienda were the first to melt away before them; the low lines of +corral were effaced, and the early breath of the summer trade winds +swept uninterruptedly across the now leveled plain to the +embarcadero, where a newer structure arose. A more vivid green +alone marked the spot where the crumbling adobe walls of the casa +had returned to the parent soil that gave it. The channel was +deepened, the lagoon was drained, until one evening the magic +mirror that had so long reflected the weary waiting of the Blue +Grass Penelope lay dull, dead, lustreless, an opaque quagmire of +noisome corruption and decay to be put away from the sight of man +forever. On this spot the crows, the titular tenants of Los +Cuervos, assembled in tumultuous congress, coming and going in +mysterious clouds, or laboring in thick and writhing masses, as if +they were continuing the work of improvement begun by human agency. +So well had they done the work that by the end of a week only a few +scattered white objects remained glittering on the surface of the +quickly drying soil. But they were the bones of the missing +outcast, Spencer Tucker! + + . . . . . . + +The same spring a breath of war swept over a foul, decaying +quagmire of the whole land, before which such passing deeds as +these were blown as vapor. It called men of all rank and condition +to battle for a nation's life, and among the first to respond were +those into whose boyish hands had been placed the nation's honor. +It returned the epaulets to Poindexter's shoulder with the addition +of a double star, carried him triumphantly to the front, and left +him, at the end of a summer's day and a hard-won fight, sorely +wounded, at the door of a Blue Grass farmhouse. And the woman who +sought him out and ministered to his wants said timidly, as she +left her hand in his, "I told you I should live to repay you." + + + +LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN. + + +CHAPTER I + + +There was little doubt that the Lone Star claim was "played out." +Not dug out, worked out, washed out, but PLAYED out. For two years +its five sanguine proprietors had gone through the various stages +of mining enthusiasm; had prospected and planned, dug and doubted. +They had borrowed money with hearty but unredeeming frankness, +established a credit with unselfish abnegation of all responsibility, +and had borne the disappointment of their creditors with a cheerful +resignation which only the consciousness of some deep Compensating +Future could give. Giving little else, however, a singular +dissatisfaction obtained with the traders, and, being accompanied +with a reluctance to make further advances, at last touched the +gentle stoicism of the proprietors themselves. The youthful +enthusiasm which had at first lifted the most ineffectual trial, the +most useless essay, to the plane of actual achievement, died out, +leaving them only the dull, prosaic record of half-finished +ditches, purposeless shafts, untenable pits, abandoned engines, and +meaningless disruptions of the soil upon the Lone Star claim, and +empty flour sacks and pork barrels in the Lone Star cabin. + +They had borne their poverty, if that term could be applied to a +light renunciation of all superfluities in food, dress, or +ornament, ameliorated by the gentle depredations already alluded +to, with unassuming levity. More than that: having segregated +themselves from their fellow-miners of Red Gulch, and entered upon +the possession of the little manzanita-thicketed valley five miles +away, the failure of their enterprise had assumed in their eyes +only the vague significance of the decline and fall of a general +community, and to that extent relieved them of individual +responsibility. It was easier for them to admit that the Lone Star +claim was "played out" than confess to a personal bankruptcy. +Moreover, they still retained the sacred right of criticism of +government, and rose superior in their private opinions to their +own collective wisdom. Each one experienced a grateful sense of +the entire responsibility of the other four in the fate of their +enterprise. + +On December 24, 1863, a gentle rain was still falling over the +length and breadth of the Lone Star claim. It had been falling for +several days, had already called a faint spring color to the wan +landscape, repairing with tender touches the ravages wrought by the +proprietors, or charitably covering their faults. The ragged seams +in gulch and canyon lost their harsh outlines, a thin green mantle +faintly clothed the torn and abraded hillside. A few weeks more, +and a veil of forgetfulness would be drawn over the feeble failures +of the Lone Star claim. The charming derelicts themselves, +listening to the raindrops on the roof of their little cabin, gazed +philosophically from the open door, and accepted the prospect as a +moral discharge from their obligations. Four of the five partners +were present. The Right and Left Bowers, Union Mills, and the +Judge. + +It is scarcely necessary to say that not one of these titles was +the genuine name of its possessor. The Right and Left Bowers were +two brothers; their sobriquets, a cheerful adaptation from the +favorite game of euchre, expressing their relative value in the +camp. The mere fact that Union Mills had at one time patched his +trousers with an old flour sack legibly bearing that brand of its +fabrication, was a tempting baptismal suggestion that the other +partners could not forego. The Judge, a singularly inequitable +Missourian, with no knowledge whatever of the law, was an +inspiration of gratuitous irony. + +Union Mills, who had been for some time sitting placidly on the +threshold with one leg exposed to the rain, from a sheer indolent +inability to change his position, finally withdrew that weather- +beaten member, and stood up. The movement more or less deranged +the attitudes of the other partners, and was received with cynical +disfavor. It was somewhat remarkable that, although generally +giving the appearance of healthy youth and perfect physical +condition, they one and all simulated the decrepitude of age and +invalidism, and after limping about for a few moments, settled back +again upon their bunks and stools in their former positions. The +Left Bower lazily replaced a bandage that he had worn around his +ankle for weeks without any apparent necessity, and the Judge +scrutinized with tender solicitude the faded cicatrix of a scratch +upon his arm. A passive hypochondria, born of their isolation, was +the last ludicrously pathetic touch to their situation. + +The immediate cause of this commotion felt the necessity of an +explanation. + +"It would have been just as easy for you to have stayed outside +with your business leg, instead of dragging it into private life in +that obtrusive way," retorted the Right Bower; "but that exhaustive +effort isn't going to fill the pork barrel. The grocery man at +Dalton says--what's that he said?" he appealed lazily to the Judge. + +"Said he reckoned the Lone Star was about played out, and he didn't +want any more in his--thank you!" repeated the Judge with a +mechanical effort of memory utterly devoid of personal or present +interest. + +"I always suspected that man, after Grimshaw begun to deal with +him," said the Left Bower. "They're just mean enough to join hands +against us." It was a fixed belief of the Lone Star partners that +they were pursued by personal enmities. + +"More than likely those new strangers over in the Fork have been +paying cash and filled him up with conceit," said Union Mills, +trying to dry his leg by alternately beating it or rubbing it +against the cabin wall. "Once begin wrong with that kind of snipe +and you drag everybody down with you." + +This vague conclusion was received with dead silence. Everybody +had become interested in the speaker's peculiar method of drying +his leg, to the exclusion of the previous topic. A few offered +criticism, no one assistance. + +"Who did the grocery man say that to?" asked the Right Bower, +finally returning to the question. + +"The Old man," answered the Judge. + +"Of course," ejaculated the Right Bower sarcastically. + +"Of course," echoed the other partners together. "That's like him. +The Old Man all over!" + +It did not appear exactly what was like the Old Man, or why it was +like him, but generally that he alone was responsible for the +grocery man's defection. It was put more concisely by Union Mills. + +"That comes of letting him go there! It's just a fair provocation +to any man to have the Old Man sent to him. They can't, sorter, +restrain themselves at him. He's enough to spoil the credit of the +Rothschilds." + +"That's so," chimed in the Judge. "And look at his prospecting. +Why, he was out two nights last week, all night, prospecting in the +moonlight for blind leads, just out of sheer foolishness." + +"It was quite enough for me," broke in the Left Bower, "when the +other day, you remember when, he proposed to us white men to settle +down to plain ground sluicing, making 'grub' wages just like any +Chinaman. It just showed his idea of the Lone Star claim." + +"Well, I never said it afore," added Union Mills, "but when that +one of the Mattison boys came over here to examine the claim with +an eye to purchasin', it was the Old Man that took the conceit out +of him. He just as good as admitted that a lot of work had got to +be done afore any pay ore could be realized. Never even asked him +over to the shanty here to jine us in a friendly game; just kept +him, so to speak, to himself. And naturally the Mattisons didn't +see it." + +A silence followed, broken only by the rain monotonously falling on +the roof, and occasionally through the broad adobe chimney, where +it provoked a retaliating hiss and splutter from the dying embers +of the hearth. The Right Bower, with a sudden access of energy, +drew the empty barrel before him, and taking a pack of well-worn +cards from his pocket, began to make a "solitaire" upon the lid. +The others gazed at him with languid interest. + +"Makin' it for anythin'?" asked Mills. + +The Right Bower nodded. + +The Judge and Left Bower, who were partly lying in their respective +bunks, sat up to get a better view of the game. Union Mills slowly +disengaged himself from the wall and leaned over the "solitaire" +player. The Right Bower turned the last card in a pause of almost +thrilling suspense, and clapped it down on the lid with fateful +emphasis. + +"It went!" said the Judge in a voice of hushed respect. "What did +you make it for?" he almost whispered. + +"To know if we'd make the break we talked about and vamose the +ranch. It's the FIFTH time today," continued the Right Bower in a +voice of gloomy significance. "And it went agin bad cards too." + +"I ain't superstitious," said the Judge, with awe and fatuity +beaming from every line of his credulous face, "but it's flyin' in +the face of Providence to go agin such signs as that." + +"Make it again, to see if the Old Man must go," suggested the Left +Bower. + +The suggestion was received with favor, the three men gathering +breathlessly around the player. Again the fateful cards were +shuffled deliberately, placed in their mysterious combination, with +the same ominous result. Yet everybody seemed to breathe more +freely, as if relieved from some responsibility, the Judge +accepting this manifest expression of Providence with resigned +self-righteousness. + +"Yes, gentlemen," resumed the Left Bower, serenely, as if a calm +legal decision had just been recorded, "we must not let any +foolishness or sentiment get mixed up with this thing, but look at +it like business men. The only sensible move is to get up and get +out of the camp." + +"And the Old Man?" queried the Judge. + +"The Old Man--hush! he's coming." + +The doorway was darkened by a slight lissome shadow. It was the +absent partner, otherwise known as "the Old Man." Need it be added +that he was a BOY of nineteen, with a slight down just clothing his +upper lip! + +"The creek is up over the ford, and I had to 'shin' up a willow on +the bank and swing myself across," he said, with a quick, frank +laugh; "but all the same, boys, it's going to clear up in about an +hour, you bet. It's breaking away over Bald Mountain, and there's +a sun flash on a bit of snow on Lone Peak. Look! you can see it +from here. It's for all the world like Noah's dove just landed on +Mount Ararat. It's a good omen." + +From sheer force of habit the men had momentarily brightened up at +the Old Man's entrance. But the unblushing exhibition of degrading +superstition shown in the last sentence recalled their just +severity. They exchanged meaning glances. Union Mills uttered +hopelessly to himself: "Hell's full of such omens." + +Too occupied with his subject to notice this ominous reception, the +Old Man continued: "I reckon I struck a fresh lead in the new +grocery man at the Crossing. He says he'll let the Judge have a +pair of boots on credit, but he can't send them over here; and +considering that the Judge has got to try them anyway, it don't +seem to be asking too much for the Judge to go over there. He says +he'll give us a barrel of pork and a bag of flour if we'll give him +the right of using our tail-race and clean out the lower end of it." + +"It's the work of a Chinaman, and a four days' job," broke in the +Left Bower. + +"It took one white man only two hours to clean out a third of it," +retorted the Old Man triumphantly, "for I pitched in at once with a +pick he let me have on credit, and did that amount of work this +morning, and told him the rest of you boys would finish it this +afternoon." + +A slight gesture from the Right Bower checked an angry exclamation +from the Left. The Old Man did not notice either, but, knitting +his smooth young brow in a paternally reflective fashion, went on: +"You'll have to get a new pair of trousers, Mills, but as he +doesn't keep clothing, we'll have to get some canvas and cut you +out a pair. I traded off the beans he let me have for some tobacco +for the Right Bower at the other shop, and got them to throw in a +new pack of cards. These are about played out. We'll be wanting +some brushwood for the fire; there's a heap in the hollow. Who's +going to bring it in? It's the Judge's turn, isn't it? Why, +what's the matter with you all?" + +The restraint and evident uneasiness of his companions had at last +touched him. He turned his frank young eyes upon them; they +glanced helplessly at each other. Yet his first concern was for +them, his first instinct paternal and protecting. He ran his eyes +quickly over them; they were all there and apparently in their +usual condition. "Anything wrong with the claim?" he suggested. + +Without looking at him the Right Bower rose, leaned against the +open door with his hands behind him and his face towards the +landscape, and said, apparently to the distant prospect: "The +claim's played out, the partnership's played out, and the sooner we +skedaddle out of this the better. If," he added, turning to the +Old Man, "if YOU want to stay, if you want to do Chinaman's work at +Chinaman's wages, if you want to hang on to the charity of the +traders at the Crossing, you can do it, and enjoy the prospects and +the Noah's doves alone. But we're calculatin' to step out of it." + +"But I haven't said I wanted to do it ALONE," protested the Old Man +with a gesture of bewilderment. + +"If these are your general ideas of the partnership," continued the +Right Bower, clinging to the established hypothesis of the other +partners for support, "it ain't ours, and the only way we can prove +it is to stop the foolishness right here. We calculated to +dissolve the partnership and strike out for ourselves elsewhere. +You're no longer responsible for us, nor we for you. And we reckon +it's the square thing to leave you the claim and the cabin, and all +it contains. To prevent any trouble with the traders, we've drawn +up a paper here--" + +"With a bonus of fifty thousand dollars each down, and the rest to +be settled on my children," interrupted the Old Man, with a half- +uneasy laugh. "Of course. But--" he stopped suddenly, the blood +dropped from his fresh cheek, and he again glanced quickly round +the group. "I don't think--I--I quite sabe, boys," he added, with +a slight tremor of voice and lip. "If it's a conundrum, ask me an +easier one." + +Any lingering doubt he might have had of their meaning was +dispelled by the Judge. "It's about the softest thing you kin drop +into, Old Man," he said confidentially; "if I hadn't promised the +other boys to go with them, and if I didn't need the best medical +advice in Sacramento for my lungs, I'd just enjoy staying with +you." + +"It gives a sorter freedom to a young fellow like you, Old Man, +like goin' into the world on your own capital, that every +Californian boy hasn't got," said Union Mills, patronizingly. + +"Of course it's rather hard papers on us, you know, givin' up +everything, so to speak; but it's for your good, and we ain't goin' +back on you," said the Left Bower, "are we, boys?" + +The color had returned to the Old Man's face a little more quickly +and freely than usual. He picked up the hat he had cast down, put +it on carefully over his brown curls, drew the flap down on the +side towards his companions, and put his hands in his pockets. +"All right," he said, in a slightly altered voice. "When do you +go?" + +"To-day," answered the Left Bower. "We calculate to take a +moonlight pasear over to the Cross Roads and meet the down stage at +about twelve to-night. There's plenty of time yet," he added, with +a slight laugh; "it's only three o'clock now." + +There was a dead silence. Even the rain withheld its continuous +patter, a dumb, gray film covered the ashes of the hushed hearth. +For the first time the Right Bower exhibited some slight +embarrassment. + +"I reckon it's held up for a spell," he said, ostentatiously +examining the weather, "and we might as well take a run round the +claim to see if we've forgotten nothing. Of course, we'll be back +again," he added hastily, without looking at the Old Man, "before +we go, you know." + +The others began to look for their hats, but so awkwardly and with +such evident preoccupation of mind that it was not at first +discovered that the Judge had his already on. This raised a laugh, +as did also a clumsy stumble of Union Mills against the pork +barrel, although that gentleman took refuge from his confusion and +secured a decent retreat by a gross exaggeration of his lameness, +as he limped after the Right Bower. The Judge whistled feebly. +The Left Bower, in a more ambitious effort to impart a certain +gayety to his exit, stopped on the threshold and said, as if in +arch confidence to his companions, "Darned if the Old Man don't +look two inches higher since he became a proprietor," laughed +patronizingly, and vanished. + +If the newly-made proprietor had increased in stature, he had not +otherwise changed his demeanor. He remained in the same attitude +until the last figure disappeared behind the fringe of buckeye that +hid the distant highway. Then he walked slowly to the fire-place, +and, leaning against the chimney, kicked the dying embers together +with his foot. Something dropped and spattered in the film of hot +ashes. Surely the rain had not yet ceased! + +His high color had already fled except for a spot on either cheek- +bone that lent a brightness to his eyes. He glanced around the +cabin. It looked familiar and yet strange. Rather, it looked +strange BECAUSE still familiar, and therefore incongruous with the +new atmosphere that surrounded it--discordant with the echo of +their last meeting, and painfully accenting the change. There were +the four "bunks," or sleeping berths, of his companions, each still +bearing some traces of the individuality of its late occupant with +a dumb loyalty that seemed to make their light-hearted defection +monstrous. In the dead ashes of the Judge's pipe, scattered on his +shelf, still lived his old fire; in the whittled and carved edges +of the Left Bower's bunk still were the memories of bygone days of +delicious indolence; in the bullet-holes clustered round a knot of +one of the beams there was still the record of the Right Bower's +old-time skill and practice; in the few engravings of female +loveliness stuck upon each headboard there were the proofs of their +old extravagant devotion--all a mute protest to the change. + +He remembered how, a fatherless, truant schoolboy, he had drifted +into their adventurous, nomadic life, itself a life of grown-up +truancy like his own, and became one of that gypsy family. How +they had taken the place of relations and household in his boyish +fancy, filling it with the unsubstantial pageantry of a child's +play at grown-up existence, he knew only too well. But how, from +being a pet and protege, he had gradually and unconsciously +asserted his own individuality and taken upon his younger shoulders +not only a poet's keen appreciation of that life, but its actual +responsibilities and half-childish burdens, he never suspected. He +had fondly believed that he was a neophyte in their ways, a novice +in their charming faith and indolent creed, and they had encouraged +it; now their renunciation of that faith could only be an excuse +for a renunciation of HIM. The poetry that had for two years +invested the material and sometimes even mean details of their +existence was too much a part of himself to be lightly dispelled. +The lesson of those ingenuous moralists failed, as such lessons are +apt to fail; their discipline provoked but did not subdue; a rising +indignation, stirred by a sense of injury, mounted to his cheek and +eyes. It was slow to come, but was none the less violent that it +had been preceded by the benumbing shock of shame and pride. + +I hope I shall not prejudice the reader's sympathies if my duty as +a simple chronicler compels me to state, therefore, that the sober +second thought of this gentle poet was to burn down the cabin on +the spot with all its contents. This yielded to a milder counsel-- +waiting for the return of the party, challenging the Right Bower, a +duel to the death, perhaps himself the victim, with a crushing +explanation in extremis, "It seems we are ONE too many. No matter; +it is settled now. Farewell!" Dimly remembering, however, that +there was something of this in the last well-worn novel they had +read together, and that his antagonist might recognize it, or even +worse, anticipate it himself, the idea was quickly rejected. +Besides, the opportunity for an apotheosis of self-sacrifice was +past. Nothing remained now but to refuse the proffered bribe of +claim and cabin by letter, for he must not wait their return. He +tore a leaf from a blotted diary, begun and abandoned long since, +and essayed to write. Scrawl after scrawl was torn up, until his +fury had cooled down to a frigid third personality. "Mr. John Ford +regrets to inform his late partners that their tender of house, of +furniture," however, seemed too inconsistent with the pork-barrel +table he was writing on; a more eloquent renunciation of their +offer became frivolous and idiotic from a caricature of Union +Mills, label and all, that appeared suddenly on the other side of +the leaf; and when he at last indited a satisfactory and +impassioned exposition of his feelings, the legible addendum of +"Oh, ain't you glad you're out of the wilderness!"--the forgotten +first line of a popular song, which no scratching would erase-- +seemed too like an ironical postscript to be thought of for a +moment. He threw aside his pen and cast the discordant record of +past foolish pastime into the dead ashes of the hearth. + +How quiet it was. With the cessation of the rain the wind too had +gone down, and scarcely a breath of air came through the open door. +He walked to the threshold and gazed on the hushed prospect. In +this listless attitude he was faintly conscious of a distant +reverberation, a mere phantom of sound--perhaps the explosion of a +distant blast in the hills--that left the silence more marked and +oppressive. As he turned again into the cabin a change seemed to +have come over it. It already looked old and decayed. The +loneliness of years of desertion seemed to have taken possession of +it; the atmosphere of dry rot was in the beams and rafters. To his +excited fancy the few disordered blankets and articles of clothing +seemed dropping to pieces; in one of the bunks there was a hideous +resemblance in the longitudinal heap of clothing to a withered and +mummied corpse. So it might look in after years when some passing +stranger--but he stopped. A dread of the place was beginning to +creep over him; a dread of the days to come, when the monotonous +sunshine should lay bare the loneliness of these walls; the long, +long days of endless blue and cloudless, overhanging solitude; +summer days when the wearying, incessant trade winds should sing +around that empty shell and voice its desolation. He gathered +together hastily a few articles that were especially his own-- +rather that the free communion of the camp, from indifference or +accident, had left wholly to him. He hesitated for a moment over +his rifle, but, scrupulous in his wounded pride, turned away and +left the familiar weapon that in the dark days had so often +provided the dinner or breakfast of the little household. Candor +compels me to state that his equipment was not large nor eminently +practical. His scant pack was a light weight for even his young +shoulders, but I fear he thought more of getting away from the Past +than providing for the Future. + +With this vague but sole purpose he left the cabin, and almost +mechanically turned his steps towards the creek he had crossed that +morning. He knew that by this route he would avoid meeting his +companions; its difficulties and circuitousness would exercise his +feverish limbs and give him time for reflection. He had determined +to leave the claim, but whence he had not yet considered. He +reached the bank of the creek where he had stood two hours before; +it seemed to him two years. He looked curiously at his reflection +in one of the broad pools of overflow, and fancied he looked older. +He watched the rush and outset of the turbid current hurrying to +meet the South Fork, and to eventually lose itself in the yellow +Sacramento. Even in his preoccupation he was impressed with a +likeness to himself and his companions in this flood that had burst +its peaceful boundaries. In the drifting fragments of one of their +forgotten flumes washed from the bank, he fancied he saw an omen of +the disintegration and decay of the Lone Star claim. + +The strange hush in the air that he had noticed before--a calm so +inconsistent with that hour and the season as to seem portentous-- +became more marked in contrast to the feverish rush of the +turbulent water-course. A few clouds lazily huddled in the west +apparently had gone to rest with the sun on beds of somnolent +poppies. There was a gleam as of golden water everywhere along the +horizon, washing out the cold snowpeaks, and drowning even the +rising moon. The creek caught it here and there, until, in grim +irony, it seemed to bear their broken sluice-boxes and useless +engines on the very Pactolian stream they had been hopefully +created to direct and carry. But by some peculiar trick of the +atmosphere, the perfect plenitude of that golden sunset glory was +lavished on the rugged sides and tangled crest of the Lone Star +mountain. That isolated peak, the landmark of their claim, the +gaunt monument of their folly, transfigured in the evening +splendor, kept its radiance unquenched long after the glow had +fallen from the encompassing skies, and when at last the rising +moon, step by step, put out the fires along the winding valley and +plains, and crept up the bosky sides of the canyon, the vanishing +sunset was lost only to reappear as a golden crown. + +The eyes of the young man were fixed upon it with more than a +momentary picturesque interest. It had been the favorite ground of +his prospecting exploits, its lowest flank had been scarred in the +old enthusiastic days with hydraulic engines, or pierced with +shafts, but its central position in the claim and its superior +height had always given it a commanding view of the extent of their +valley and its approaches, and it was this practical pre-eminence +that alone attracted him at that moment. He knew that from its +crest he would be able to distinguish the figures of his companions, +as they crossed the valley near the cabin, in the growing moonlight. +Thus he could avoid encountering them on his way to the high road, +and yet see them, perhaps, for the last time. Even in his sense of +injury there was a strange satisfaction in the thought. + +The ascent was toilsome, but familiar. All along the dim trail he +was accompanied by gentler memories of the past, that seemed, like +the faint odor of spiced leaves and fragrant grasses wet with the +rain and crushed beneath his ascending tread, to exhale the sweeter +perfume in his effort to subdue or rise above them. There was the +thicket of manzanita, where they had broken noonday bread together; +here was the rock beside their maiden shaft, where they had poured +a wild libation in boyish enthusiasm of success; and here the ledge +where their first flag, a red shirt heroically sacrificed, was +displayed from a long-handled shovel to the gaze of admirers below. +When he at last reached the summit, the mysterious hush was still +in the air, as if in breathless sympathy with his expedition. In +the west, the plain was faintly illuminated, but disclosed no +moving figures. He turned towards the rising moon, and moved +slowly to the eastern edge. Suddenly he stopped. Another step +would have been his last! He stood upon the crumbling edge of a +precipice. A landslip had taken place on the eastern flank, +leaving the gaunt ribs and fleshless bones of Lone Star mountain +bare in the moonlight. He understood now the strange rumble and +reverberation he had heard; he understood now the strange hush of +bird and beast in brake and thicket! + +Although a single rapid glance convinced him that the slide had +taken place in an unfrequented part of the mountain, above an +inaccessible canyon, and reflection assured him his companions +could not have reached that distance when it took place, a feverish +impulse led him to descend a few rods in the track of the +avalanche. The frequent recurrence of outcrop and angle made this +comparatively easy. Here he called aloud; the feeble echo of his +own voice seemed only a dull impertinence to the significant +silence. He turned to reascend; the furrowed flank of the mountain +before him lay full in the moonlight. To his excited fancy, a +dozen luminous star-like points in the rocky crevices started into +life as he faced them. Throwing his arm over the ledge above him, +he supported himself for a moment by what appeared to be a +projection of the solid rock. It trembled slightly. As he raised +himself to its level, his heart stopped beating. It was simply a +fragment detached from the outcrop, lying loosely on the ledge but +upholding him by ITS OWN WEIGHT ONLY. He examined it with +trembling fingers; the encumbering soil fell from its sides and +left its smoothed and worn protuberances glistening in the +moonlight. It was virgin gold! + +Looking back upon that moment afterwards, he remembered that he was +not dazed, dazzled, or startled. It did not come to him as a +discovery or an accident, a stroke of chance or a caprice of +fortune. He saw it all in that supreme moment; Nature had worked +out their poor deduction. What their feeble engines had essayed +spasmodically and helplessly against the curtain of soil that hid +the treasure, the elements had achieved with mightier but more +patient forces. The slow sapping of the winter rains had loosened +the soil from the auriferous rock, even while the swollen stream +was carrying their impotent and shattered engines to the sea. + +What mattered that his single arm could not lift the treasure he +had found! What mattered that to unfix those glittering stars +would still tax both skill and patience! The work was done, the +goal was reached! even his boyish impatience was content with that. +He rose slowly to his feet, unstrapped his long-handled shovel from +his back, secured it in the crevice, and quietly regained the +summit. + +It was all his own! His own by right of discovery under the law of +the land, and without accepting a favor from THEM. He recalled +even the fact that it was HIS prospecting on the mountain that +first suggested the existence of gold in the outcrop and the use of +the hydraulic. HE had never abandoned that belief, whatever the +others had done. He dwelt somewhat indignantly to himself on this +circumstance, and half unconsciously faced defiantly towards the +plain below. But it was sleeping peacefully in the full sight of +the moon, without life or motion. He looked at the stars; it was +still far from midnight. His companions had no doubt long since +returned to the cabin to prepare for their midnight journey. They +were discussing him, perhaps laughing at him, or worse, pitying him +and his bargain. Yet here was his bargain! A slight laugh he gave +vent to here startled him a little, it sounded so hard and so +unmirthful, and so unlike, as he oddly fancied, what he really +THOUGHT. But WHAT did he think? + +Nothing mean or revengeful; no, they never would say THAT. When he +had taken out all the surface gold and put the mine in working +order, he would send them each a draft for a thousand dollars. Of +course, if they were ever ill or poor he would do more. One of the +first, the very first things he should do would be to send them +each a handsome gun and tell them that he only asked in return the +old-fashioned rifle that once was his. Looking back at the moment +in after years, he wondered that, with this exception, he made no +plans for his own future, or the way he should dispose of his newly +acquired wealth. This was the more singular as it had been the +custom of the five partners to lie awake at night, audibly +comparing with each other what they would do in case they made a +strike. He remembered how, Alnaschar-like, they nearly separated +once over a difference in the disposal of a hundred thousand +dollars that they never had, nor expected to have. He remembered +how Union Mills always began his career as a millionnaire by a +"square meal" at Delmonico's; how the Right Bower's initial step +was always a trip home "to see his mother"; how the Left Bower +would immediately placate the parents of his beloved with priceless +gifts (it may be parenthetically remarked that the parents and the +beloved one were as hypothetical as the fortune); and how the Judge +would make his first start as a capitalist by breaking a certain +faro bank in Sacramento. He himself had been equally eloquent in +extravagant fancy in those penniless days, he who now was quite +cold and impassive beside the more extravagant reality. + +How different it might have been! If they had only waited a day +longer! if they had only broken their resolves to him kindly and +parted in good will! How he would long ere this have rushed to +greet them with the joyful news! How they would have danced around +it, sung themselves hoarse, laughed down their enemies, and run up +the flag triumphantly on the summit of the Lone Star Mountain! How +they would have crowned him "the Old Man," "the hero of the camp!" +How he would have told them the whole story; how some strange +instinct had impelled him to ascend the summit, and how another +step on that summit would have precipitated him into the canyon! +And how--but what if somebody else, Union Mills or the Judge, had +been the first discoverer? Might they not have meanly kept the +secret from him; have selfishly helped themselves and done-- + +"What YOU are doing now." + +The hot blood rushed to his cheek, as if a strange voice were at +his ear. For a moment he could not believe that it came from his +own pale lips until he found himself speaking. He rose to his +feet, tingling with shame, and began hurriedly to descend the +mountain. + +He would go to them, tell them of his discovery, let them give him +his share, and leave them forever. It was the only thing to be +done, strange that he had not thought of it at once. Yet it was +hard, very hard and cruel to be forced to meet them again. What +had he done to suffer this mortification? For a moment he actually +hated this vulgar treasure that had forever buried under its gross +ponderability the light and careless past, and utterly crushed out +the poetry of their old, indolent, happy existence. + +He was sure to find them waiting at the Cross Roads where the coach +came past. It was three miles away, yet he could get there in time +if he hastened. It was a wise and practical conclusion of his +evening's work, a lame and impotent conclusion to his evening's +indignation. No matter. They would perhaps at first think he had +come to weakly follow them, perhaps they would at first doubt his +story. No matter. He bit his lips to keep down the foolish rising +tears, but still went blindly forward. + +He saw not the beautiful night, cradled in the dark hills, swathed +in luminous mists, and hushed in the awe of its own loveliness! +Here and there the moon had laid her calm face on lake and +overflow, and gone to sleep embracing them, until the whole plain +seemed to be lifted into infinite quiet. Walking on as in a dream, +the black, impenetrable barriers of skirting thickets opened and +gave way to vague distances that it appeared impossible to reach, +dim vistas that seemed unapproachable. Gradually he seemed himself +to become a part of the mysterious night. He was becoming as +pulseless, as calm, as passionless. + +What was that? A shot in the direction of the cabin! yet so faint, +so echoless, so ineffective in the vast silence, that he would have +thought it his fancy but for the strange instinctive jar upon his +sensitive nerves. Was it an accident, or was it an intentional +signal to him? He stopped; it was not repeated, the silence +reasserted itself, but this time with an ominous death-like +suggestion. A sudden and terrible thought crossed his mind. He +cast aside his pack and all encumbering weight, took a deep breath, +lowered his head and darted like a deer in the direction of the +challenge. + + +CHAPTER II + + +The exodus of the seceding partners of the Lone Star claim had been +scarcely an imposing one. For the first five minutes after +quitting the cabin, the procession was straggling and vagabond. +Unwonted exertion had exaggerated the lameness of some, and +feebleness of moral purpose had predisposed the others to obtrusive +musical exhibition. Union Mills limped and whistled with affected +abstraction; the Judge whistled and limped with affected +earnestness. The Right Bower led the way with some show of +definite design; the Left Bower followed with his hands in his +pockets. The two feebler natures, drawn together in unconscious +sympathy, looked vaguely at each other for support. + +"You see," said the Judge, suddenly, as if triumphantly concluding +an argument, "there ain't anything better for a young fellow than +independence. Nature, so to speak, points the way. Look at the +animals." + +"There's a skunk hereabouts," said Union Mills, who was supposed to +be gifted with aristocratically sensitive nostrils, "within ten +miles of this place; like as not crossing the Ridge. It's always +my luck to happen out just at such times. I don't see the +necessity anyhow of trapesing round the claim now, if we calculate +to leave it to-night." + +Both men waited to observe if the suggestion was taken up by the +Right and Left Bower moodily plodding ahead. No response +following, the Judge shamelessly abandoned his companion. + +"You wouldn't stand snoopin' round instead of lettin' the Old Man +get used to the idea alone? No; I could see all along that he was +takin' it in, takin' it in, kindly but slowly, and I reckoned the +best thing for us to do was to git up and git until he'd got round +it." The Judge's voice was slightly raised for the benefit of the +two before him. + +"Didn't he say," remarked the Right Bower, stopping suddenly and +facing the others, "didn't he say that that new trader was goin' to +let him have some provisions anyway?" + +Union Mills turned appealingly to the Judge; that gentleman was +forced to reply, "Yes; I remember distinctly he said it. It was +one of the things I was particular about on his account," responded +the Judge, with the air of having arranged it all himself with the +new trader. "I remember I was easier in my mind about it." + +"But didn't he say," queried the Left Bower, also stopping short, +"suthin' about it's being contingent on our doing some work on the +race?" + +The Judge turned for support to Union Mills, who, however, under +the hollow pretense of preparing for a long conference, had +luxuriously seated himself on a stump. The Judge sat down also, +and replied, hesitatingly, "Well, yes! Us or him." + +"Us or him," repeated the Right Bower, with gloomy irony. "And you +ain't quite clear in your mind, are you, if YOU haven't done the +work already? You're just killing yourself with this spontaneous, +promiscuous, and premature overwork; that's what's the matter with +you." + +"I reckon I heard somebody say suthin' about it's being a +Chinaman's three-day job," interpolated the Left Bower, with equal +irony, "but I ain't quite clear in my mind about that." + +"It'll be a sorter distraction for the Old Man," said Union Mills, +feebly--"kinder take his mind off his loneliness." + +Nobody taking the least notice of the remark, union Mills stretched +out his legs more comfortably and took out his pipe. He had +scarcely done so when the Right Bower, wheeling suddenly, set off +in the direction of the creek. The Left Bower, after a slight +pause, followed without a word. The Judge, wisely conceiving it +better to join the stronger party, ran feebly after him, and left +Union Mills to bring up a weak and vacillating rear. + +Their course, diverging from Lone Star Mountain, led them now +directly to the bend of the creek, the base of their old +ineffectual operations. Here was the beginning of the famous tail- +race that skirted the new trader's claim, and then lost its way in +a swampy hollow. It was choked with debris; a thin, yellow stream +that once ran through it seemed to have stopped work when they did, +and gone into greenish liquidation. + +They had scarcely spoken during this brief journey, and had +received no other explanation from the Right Bower, who led them, +than that afforded by his mute example when he reached the race. +Leaping into it without a word, he at once began to clear away the +broken timbers and driftwood. Fired by the spectacle of what +appeared to be a new and utterly frivolous game, the men gayly +leaped after him, and were soon engaged in a fascinating struggle +with the impeded race. The Judge forgot his lameness in springing +over a broken sluice-box; Union Mills forgot his whistle in a happy +imitation of a Chinese coolie's song. Nevertheless, after ten +minutes of this mild dissipation, the pastime flagged; Union Mills +was beginning to rub his leg when a distant rumble shook the earth. +The men looked at each other; the diversion was complete; a languid +discussion of the probabilities of its being an earthquake or a +blast followed, in the midst of which the Right Bower, who was +working a little in advance of the others, uttered a warning cry +and leaped from the race. His companions had barely time to follow +before a sudden and inexplicable rise in the waters of the creek +sent a swift irruption of the flood through the race. In an +instant its choked and impeded channel was cleared, the race was +free, and the scattered debris of logs and timber floated upon its +easy current. Quick to take advantage of this labor-saving +phenomenon, the Lone Star partners sprang into the water, and by +disentangling and directing the eddying fragments completed their +work. + +"The Old Man oughter been here to see this," said the Left Bower; +"it's just one o' them climaxes of poetic justice he's always +huntin' up. It's easy to see what's happened. One o' them high- +toned shrimps over in the Excelsior claim has put a blast in too +near the creek. He's tumbled the bank into the creek and sent the +back water down here just to wash out our race. That's what I call +poetical retribution." + +"And who was it advised us to dam the creek below the race and make +it do the thing?" asked the Right Bower, moodily. + +"That was one of the Old Man's ideas, I reckon," said the Left +Bower, dubiously. + +"And you remember," broke in the Judge with animation, "I allus +said, 'Go slow, go slow. You just hold on and suthin' will +happen.' And," he added, triumphantly, "you see suthin' has +happened. I don't want to take credit to myself, but I reckoned on +them Excelsior boys bein' fools, and took the chances." + +"And what if I happen to know that the Excelsior boys ain't +blastin' to-day?" said the Right Bower, sarcastically. + +As the Judge had evidently based his hypothesis on the alleged fact +of a blast, he deftly evaded the point. "I ain't saying the Old +Man's head ain't level on some things; he wants a little more sabe +of the world. He's improved a good deal in euchre lately, and in +poker--well! he's got that sorter dreamy, listenin'-to-the-angels +kind o' way that you can't exactly tell whether he's bluffin' or +has got a full hand. Hasn't he?" he asked, appealing to Union +Mills. + +But that gentleman, who had been watching the dark face of the +Right Bower, preferred to take what he believed to be his cue from +him. "That ain't the question," he said virtuously; "we ain't +takin' this step to make a card sharp out of him. We're not doin' +Chinamen's work in this race to-day for that. No, sir! We're +teachin' him to paddle his own canoe." Not finding the sympathetic +response he looked for in the Right Bower's face, he turned to the +Left. + +"I reckon we were teachin' him our canoe was too full," was the +Left Bower's unexpected reply. "That's about the size of it." + +The Right Bower shot a rapid glance under his brows at his brother. +The latter, with his hands in his pockets, stared unconsciously at +the rushing waters, and then quietly turned away. The Right Bower +followed him. "Are you goin' back on us?" he asked. + +"Are you?" responded the other. + +"No!" + +"NO, then it is," returned the Left Bower quietly. The elder +brother hesitated in half-angry embarrassment. + +"Then what did you mean by saying we reckoned our canoe was too +full?" + +"Wasn't that our idea?" returned the Left Bower, indifferently. +Confounded by this practical expression of his own unformulated +good intentions, the Right Bower was staggered. + +"Speakin' of the Old Man," broke in the Judge, with characteristic +infelicity, "I reckon he'll sort o' miss us, times like these. We +were allers runnin' him and bedevilin' him, after work, just to get +him excited and amusin', and he'll kinder miss that sort o' +stimulatin'. I reckon we'll miss it too, somewhat. Don't you +remember, boys, the night we put up that little sell on him and +made him believe we'd struck it rich in the bank of the creek, and +got him so conceited, he wanted to go off and settle all our debts +at once?" + +"And how I came bustin' into the cabin with a pan full of iron +pyrites and black sand," chuckled Union Mills, continuing the +reminiscences, "and how them big gray eyes of his nearly bulged out +of his head. Well, it's some satisfaction to know we did our duty +by the young fellow even in those little things." He turned for +confirmation of their general disinterestedness to the Right Bower, +but he was already striding away, uneasily conscious of the lazy +following of the Left Bower, like a laggard conscience at his back. +This movement again threw Union Mills and the Judge into feeble +complicity in the rear, as the procession slowly straggled homeward +from the creek. + +Night had fallen. Their way lay through the shadow of Lone Star +Mountain, deepened here and there by the slight, bosky ridges that, +starting from its base, crept across the plain like vast roots of +its swelling trunk. The shadows were growing blacker as the moon +began to assert itself over the rest of the valley, when the Right +Bower halted suddenly on one of these ridges. The Left Bower +lounged up to him, and stopped also, while the two others came up +and completed the group. + +"There's no light in the shanty," said the Right Bower in a low +voice, half to himself and, half in answer to their inquiring +attitude. The men followed the direction of his finger. In the +distance the black outline of the Lone Star cabin stood out +distinctly in the illumined space. There was the blank, sightless, +external glitter of moonlight on its two windows that seemed to +reflect its dim vacancy, empty alike of light, and warmth, and +motion. + +"That's sing'lar," said the Judge in an awed whisper. + +The Left Bower, by simply altering the position of his hands in his +trousers' pockets, managed to suggest that he knew perfectly the +meaning of it, had always known it; but that being now, so to +speak, in the hands of Fate, he was callous to it. This much, at +least, the elder brother read in his attitude. But anxiety at that +moment was the controlling impulse of the Right Bower, as a certain +superstitious remorse was the instinct of the two others, and +without heeding the cynic, the three started at a rapid pace for +the cabin. + +They reached it silently, as the moon, now riding high in the +heavens, seemed to touch it with the tender grace and hushed repose +of a tomb. It was with something of this feeling that the Right +Bower softly pushed open the door; it was with something of this +dread that the two others lingered on the threshold, until the +Right Bower, after vainly trying to stir the dead embers on the +hearth into life with his foot, struck a match and lit their +solitary candle. Its flickering light revealed the familiar +interior unchanged in aught but one thing. The bunk that the Old +Man had occupied was stripped of its blankets; the few cheap +ornaments and photographs were gone; the rude poverty of the bare +boards and scant pallet looked up at them unrelieved by the bright +face and gracious youth that had once made them tolerable. In the +grim irony of that exposure, their own penury was doubly conscious. +The little knapsack, the teacup and coffee-pot that had hung near +his bed, were gone also. The most indignant protest, the most +pathetic of the letters he had composed and rejected, whose torn +fragments still littered the floor, could never have spoken with +the eloquence of this empty space! The men exchanged no words: the +solitude of the cabin, instead of drawing them together, seemed to +isolate each one in selfish distrust of the others. Even the +unthinking garrulity of Union Mills and the Judge was checked. A +moment later, when the Left Bower entered the cabin, his presence +was scarcely noticed. + +The silence was broken by a joyous exclamation from the Judge. He +had discovered the Old Man's rifle in the corner, where it had been +at first overlooked. "He ain't gone yet, gentlemen--for yer's his +rifle," he broke in, with a feverish return of volubility, and a +high excited falsetto. "He wouldn't have left this behind. No! I +knowed it from the first. He's just outside a bit, foraging for +wood and water. No, sir! Coming along here I said to Union Mills-- +didn't I?--'Bet your life the Old Man's not far off, even if he +ain't in the cabin.' Why, the moment I stepped foot--" + +"And I said coming along," interrupted Union Mills, with equally +reviving mendacity, 'Like as not he's hangin' round yer and lyin' +low just to give us a surprise.' He! ho!" + +"He's gone for good, and he left that rifle here on purpose," said +the Left Bower in a low voice, taking the weapon almost tenderly in +his hands. + +"Drop it, then!" said the Right Bower. The voice was that of his +brother, but suddenly changed with passion. The two other partners +instinctively drew back in alarm. + +"I'll not leave it here for the first comer," said the Left Bower, +calmly, "because we've been fools and he too. It's too good a +weapon for that." + +"Drop it, I say!" said the Right Bower, with a savage stride +towards him. + +The younger brother brought the rifle to a half charge with a white +face but a steady eye. + +"Stop where you are!" he said collectedly. "Don't row with ME, +because you haven't either the grit to stick to your ideas or the +heart to confess them wrong. We've followed your lead, and--here +we are! The camp's broken up--the Old Man's gone--and we're going. +And as for the d----d rifle--" + +"Drop it, do you hear!" shouted the Right Bower, clinging to that +one idea with the blind pertinacity of rage and a losing cause. +"Drop it!" + +The Left Bower drew back, but his brother had seized the barrel +with both hands. There was a momentary struggle, a flash through +the half-lighted cabin, and a shattering report. The two men fell +back from each other; the rifle dropped on the floor between them. + +The whole thing was over so quickly that the other two partners had +not had time to obey their common impulse to separate them, and +consequently even now could scarcely understand what had passed. +It was over so quickly that the two actors themselves walked back +to their places, scarcely realizing their own act. + +A dead silence followed. The Judge and Union Mills looked at each +other in dazed astonishment, and then nervously set about their +former habits, apparently in that fatuous belief common to such +natures, that they were ignoring a painful situation. The Judge +drew the barrel towards him, picked up the cards, and began +mechanically to "make a patience," on which Union Mills gazed with +ostentatious interest, but with eyes furtively conscious of the +rigid figure of the Right Bower by the chimney and the abstracted +face of the Left Bower at the door. Ten minutes had passed in this +occupation, the Judge and Union Mills conversing in the furtive +whispers of children unavoidably but fascinatedly present at a +family quarrel, when a light step was heard upon the crackling +brushwood outside, and the bright panting face of the Old Man +appeared upon the threshold. There was a shout of joy; in another +moment he was half-buried in the bosom of the Right Bower's shirt, +half-dragged into the lap of the Judge, upsetting the barrel, and +completely encompassed by the Left Bower and Union Mills. With the +enthusiastic utterance of his name the spell was broken. + +Happily unconscious of the previous excitement that had provoked +this spontaneous unanimity of greeting, the Old Man, equally +relieved, at once broke into a feverish announcement of his +discovery. He painted the details, with, I fear, a slight +exaggeration of coloring, due partly to his own excitement, and +partly to justify their own. But he was strangely conscious that +these bankrupt men appeared less elated with their personal interest +in their stroke of fortune than with his own success. "I told you +he'd do it," said the Judge, with a reckless unscrupulousness of +statement that carried everybody with it; "look at him! the game +little pup." "Oh no! he ain't the right breed, is he?" echoed Union +Mills with arch irony, while the Right and Left Bower, grasping +either hand, pressed a proud but silent greeting that was half new +to him, but wholly delicious. It was not without difficulty that he +could at last prevail upon them to return with him to the scene of +his discovery, or even then restrain them from attempting to carry +him thither on their shoulders on the plea of his previous prolonged +exertions. Once only there was a momentary embarrassment. "Then +you fired that shot to bring me back?" said the Old Man, gratefully. +In the awkward silence that followed, the hands of the two brothers +sought and grasped each other, penitently. "Yes," interposed the +Judge, with delicate tact, "ye see the Right and Left Bower almost +quarreled to see which should be the first to fire for ye. I +disremember which did"--"I never touched the trigger," said the Left +Bower, hastily. With a hurried backward kick, the Judge resumed, +"It went off sorter spontaneous." + +The difference in the sentiment of the procession that once more +issued from the Lone Star cabin did not fail to show itself in each +individual partner according to his temperament. The subtle tact +of Union Mills, however, in expressing an awakened respect for +their fortunate partner by addressing him, as if unconsciously, as +"Mr. Ford" was at first discomposing, but even this was forgotten +in their breathless excitement as they neared the base of the +mountain. When they had crossed the creek the Right Bower stopped +reflectively. + +"You say you heard the slide come down before you left the cabin?" +he said, turning to the Old Man. + +"Yes; but I did not know then what it was. It was about an hour +and a half after you left," was the reply. + +"Then look here, boys," continued the Right Bower with superstitious +exultation; "it was the SLIDE that tumbled into the creek, overflowed +it, and helped US clear out the race!" + +It seemed so clear that Providence had taken the partners of the +Lone Star directly in hand that they faced the toilsome ascent of +the mountain with the assurance of conquerors. They paused only on +the summit to allow the Old Man to lead the way to the slope that +held their treasure. He advanced cautiously to the edge of the +crumbling cliff, stopped, looked bewildered, advanced again, and +then remained white and immovable. In an instant the Right Bower +was at his side. + +"Is anything the matter? Don't--don't look so, Old Man, for God's +sake!" + +The Old Man pointed to the dull, smooth, black side of the +mountain, without a crag, break, or protuberance, and said with +ashen lips:-- + +"It's gone!" + + . . . . . . + +And it was gone! A SECOND slide had taken place, stripping the +flank of the mountain, and burying the treasure and the weak +implement that had marked its side deep under a chaos of rock and +debris at its base. + +"Thank God!" The blank faces of his companions turned quickly to +the Right Bower. "Thank God!" he repeated, with his arm round the +neck of the Old Man. "Had he stayed behind he would have been +buried too." He paused, and, pointing solemnly to the depths +below, said, "And thank God for showing us where we may yet labor +for it in hope and patience like honest men." + +The men silently bowed their heads and slowly descended the +mountain. But when they had reached the plain one of them called +out to the others to watch a star that seemed to be rising and +moving towards them over the hushed and sleeping valley. + +"It's only the stage coach, boys," said the Left Bower, smiling; +"the coach that was to take us away." + +In the security of their new-found fraternity they resolved to wait +and see it pass. As it swept by with flash of light, beat of +hoofs, and jingle of harness, the only real presence in the dreamy +landscape, the driver shouted a hoarse greeting to the phantom +partners, audible only to the Judge, who was nearest the vehicle. + +"Did you hear--DID you hear what he said, boys?" he gasped, turning +to his companions. "No! Shake hands all round, boys! God bless +you all, boys! To think we didn't know it all this while!" + +"Know what?" + +"Merry Christmas!" + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of On the Frontier, by Bret Harte + diff --git a/old/frntr10.zip b/old/frntr10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cedb646 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/frntr10.zip |