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diff --git a/39995-h/39995-h.htm b/39995-h/39995-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e3071ce --- /dev/null +++ b/39995-h/39995-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12857 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of For the Soul of Rafael by Marah Ellis Ryan. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +/* Eric Meyer's CSS Reset, as documented at + http://meyerweb.com/eric/tools/css/reset/ + Different browsers have different style defaults + and this makes them all the same. */ +/* v1.0 | 20080212 with some non-PG items removed */ + +html, body, div, span, +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6, p, blockquote, pre, +a, abbr, acronym, address, big, cite, code, +del, dfn, em, font, img, ins, kbd, q, s, samp, +small, strike, strong, sub, sup, tt, var, +b, u, i, center, dl, dt, dd, ol, ul, li, +table, caption, tbody, tfoot, thead, tr, th, td { + margin: 0; + padding: 0; + border: 0; + outline: 0; + font-size: 100%; + vertical-align: baseline; + background: transparent; +} +body { line-height: 1; } +ol, ul { list-style: none; } +blockquote, q { quotes: none; } +blockquote:before, blockquote:after, +q:before, q:after {content: ''; content: none;} +ins {text-decoration: none;} +del {text-decoration: line-through;} +table {border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0;} +/* End Eric Meyer CSS Reset */ +body { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 4em; +} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} +h1 { + font-size:200%; + margin:1em auto 0.25em auto; +} +h2 { + font-size:150%; + letter-spacing:3px; + margin:2em auto 1em; +} + /* wrap a decorative frame around the top and sides of a head or music */ +div.framed { + margin: 1.5em auto 1.5em auto; + width: 635px; + background-image:url(images/chaptertop.png); + background-position:center top; + background-repeat:no-repeat; + padding-top:150px; + padding-right: 30px; + padding-bottom: 5px; +} +p { /* make the spacing and leading approximately like the original */ + margin-top: 0.25em; + line-height: 1.5em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 2em; + margin-bottom: 0; +} +div.dropcap { /* fancy drop-caps start each chapter */ + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 0; + margin-right: 3px; + padding-right: 4px; +} +div.dropcap + p {text-indent:-1em; /* pull first line after dropcap left */ } +span.smcap { font-variant:small-caps; } +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} +hr.chapter { width:66%; + visibility:hidden;/* PM prefers no rule between chapters */ } +div.blkquote { margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; } +table { + margin: auto; +} +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + right: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ +/* Images */ +div.figcenter { /* main figures */ + margin: 1em auto 1em auto; + text-align: center; + border: none; /* thin brown solid; */ + /* background-color: #ffe6aa; sepia look? */ + padding-top: 1em; + padding-bottom: 1em; +} +div.figcenter p { /* p in a figcenter is a caption */ + text-align: center; + font-variant:small-caps; +} +div.figmusic { /* music at top of chapter */ + margin:2em auto 2em auto;text-align:center; +} +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + border: thin black double; + padding-top: 6px; + margin-bottom: 2em; +} +/* Poetry */ +div.poem { + text-align: left; +} +.figmusic .poem { +/* force the poem div to be centered within the figmusic div */ +/* The following does not work, contra stackoverflow: */ +/* width:80%; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; */ +/* The following works in modern browsers but not in IE6 and before */ +display: inline-block; +} +.poem br {display: none;} +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} +.poem span.i0 { +display: block;margin-left: 0em;padding-left: 3em;text-indent: -3em; } +.poem span.i2 { +display: block;margin-left: 1.5em;padding-left: 3em;text-indent: -3em; } +.poem span.i4 { +display: block;margin-left: 3em;padding-left: 3em;text-indent: -3em; } +.poem span.i8 { +display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of For the Soul of Rafael, by Marah Ellis Ryan + +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: For the Soul of Rafael + +Author: Marah Ellis Ryan + +Release Date: June 14, 2012 [EBook #39995] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOR THE SOUL OF RAFAEL *** + + + + +Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, tallforasmurf and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div style='border:2px solid silver;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;padding:8px;'> +<h3>Transcriber's Note</h3> +<p style='text-indent:0;'> +This etext differs from the original only in that a few minor +typographical errors have been corrected. +</p><p style='text-indent:0;'> +The original includes photographic illustrations which are +reproduced here at two resolutions. Images within the +text are sized for online viewing. +Click on an image to open a +version of higher resolution. This larger version is +scaled for printing at 240 pixels per inch (95 pixels/cm). +</p><p style='text-indent:0;'> +The songs and musical fragments throughout the text +are linked to midi files. Click on a musical passage to hear +the notes played.</p><p style='text-indent:0;'> +The original pages were framed in elegant decorative borders. +A part of the chapter-head border is used here to frame chapter titles. +Borders for other pages could not be used in an etext, but sample pages +showing the five border styles are appended at the end of the file. +</p> +</div> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/coverp.jpg'> +<img src='images/coverw.jpg' id='coverpage' + title='Cover image' alt='Cover image' /> +</a> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/frontispiecep.jpg'> + <img src='images/frontispiecew.jpg' + title='“Because of One Little White Vampire”' + alt='“Because of One Little White Vampire”' +/> +</a> +<p>“Because of One Little White Vampire”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + +<div class='titlepage'> +<h1 style='font-size:400%;'>FOR THE SOUL OF RAFAEL</h1> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h1>MARAH ELLIS RYAN</h1> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF “TOLD IN THE HILLS” +“THE BONDWOMAN” ETC.</h4> + +<h4 style='margin-top:2em;'>WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS FROM<br /> +PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN EXPRESSLY FOR THIS BOOK<br /> +BY<br /> +<span style='font-size:larger;'>HAROLD A. TAYLOR</span></h4> + +<h4 style='margin-top:2em;'>DECORATIVE DESIGNS BY<br /> +RALPH FLETCHER SEYMOUR</h4> + +<h4 style='margin-top:2em;'>ELEVENTH EDITION</h4> +<p style='text-align:center;'><img src='images/colophon.png' +title='decorative colophon' alt='decorative colophon' /></p> + +<h4 style='margin-top:3em;'>CHICAGO<br /> +<span style='font-size:larger;'>A.C. McCLURG & CO.</span><br /> +1920</h4> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<p style='text-align:center;'><br /> +<span class="smcap">Copyright</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">A.C. McClurg & Co.</span><br /> +1906</p> +<hr style='width:10%;' /> +<p style='text-align:center;'> +Entered at Stationers Hall, London</p><br /> +<p style='text-align:center;'> +Photographs by <span class="smcap">Harold A. Taylor</span>, +by permission of<br /> +The Hallett-Taylor Company</p> + +<p style='text-align:center;'> +The Author is indebted to the Southwest Society of the<br /> +Archæological Institute of America for the<br /> +Spanish Music contained in<br /> +this volume +</p> +<p style='text-align:center;'> +Published May 12, 1906<br /> +Second Edition, Sept. 15, 1906<br /> +Third Edition, Oct. 1, 1906<br /> +Fourth Edition, Dec. 5, 1906<br /> +Fifth Edition, Dec. 15, 1906<br /> +Sixth Edition, Feb. 11, 1907<br /> +7th Edition, Aug. 31, 1907<br /> +8th Edition, Jan. 12, 1909<br /> +9th Edition, April 30, 1909<br /> +10th Edition, Oct. 15, 1910<br /> +11th Edition, Nov. 10, 1914 +</p> + +<p style='text-align:center;font-size:smaller;'> +M.A. DONOHUE & CO., PRINTERS AND BINDERS, CHICAGO +</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<div style='width:90%; margin:auto;'> +<div class="poem" style='margin-left:8em; font-size:larger;margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:4em;'> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Á MIS AMIGOS DE CALIFORNIA</i><br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>que siempre me han prestado su ayuda con</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>aquella bonded que les es caracteristica.</i><br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8"><i>M.E.R.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<div class='framed'> +<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +</div> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="4" summary="Illustrations" style='width:60%;line-height:1.5em;'> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><span class='smcap'>Page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">“Because of One Little White Vampire”</span></td><td align='right'><i><a href='#Page_2'>Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Doña Angela</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_32'>32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Raquel Estevan</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_56'>56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Keith Bryton</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_63'>62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“Never on Any Other Shore”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_128'>128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“You Lied to Me—All of You!”</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_166'>166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“Rũelas Me Fecit: Me Llama San Juan. 1796”</span>.”</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_176'>176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“Then I Heard Your Voice”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_240'>240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“Here among the Ruins Consecrated”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_262'>260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“There is No Forgetting”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_278'>278</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Aliso Tree</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_294'>294</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">An Inner Court</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_299'>302</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Serenade</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_313'>312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“After the Very Gay Supper”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_316'>316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“Their Hostess had Arrived”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_320'>320</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“And—He was an Arteaga!”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_334'>334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“Each Way He Turned He Met an Altar or a Priest”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_353'>352</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“One Wordless Minute”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_369'>368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">“Things Known and Never Told”</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_373'>372</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> +<div class='figmusic' style='margin-top:2em;'> +<a href='music/m009.mid'> +<img src='images/mu009.png' + title='Music: La Calandria' + alt='Music: La Calandria' +/> +</a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/p009.png' title='decoration' alt='decoration' /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents" style='width:60%;line-height:1.5em;'> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><span class='smcap'>Page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER I</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_11'>11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER II</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_21'>21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER III</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_55'>55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER IV</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_65'>65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER V</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_81'>81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER VI</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_91'>91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER VII</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_127'>127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER VIII</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_147'>147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER IX</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_165'>165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER X</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_185'>185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XI</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_199'>199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XII</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_209'>209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XIII</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_239'>239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XIV</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_248'>248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XV</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_263'>263</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XVI</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_293'>293</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XVII</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_305'>305</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XVIII</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_319'>319</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XIX</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_330'>330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XX</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_350'>350</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XXI</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_355'>355</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER XXII</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_377'>377</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m010.mid'> +<img src='images/mu010.png' + title='Music: Capitan de un Barco' + alt='Music: Capitan de un Barco' +/></a> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Capitan de un barco<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me escribio un papel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Que si ne queria<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Casarme con el.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<div class='framed'> +<h1 style='margin:1.5em auto 1.5em auto;'>FOR THE SOUL OF RAFAEL</h1> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc011.png' title='O' alt='O' /> +</div> +<p>Over the valley of the Mission +of the Tragedies, the grass was +knee-deep in March that year. +The horses galloping from the +mesa trail down to Boca de la +Playa (the mouth of the ocean) +were fat and sleek and tricky as +they ran neck and neck past the corral of the little +plain, and splashed in glee through the San Juan +River, where it ends its short run from the Sierras to +the Pacific.</p> + +<p>Where the west trail hugged the hill, two men sat +their broncos, watching that no strays break for the +mesa above; and beyond the cross on Avila's hill, other +vaqueros guarded El Camino Real (the road royal), +lest in the whirl and dash of the round-up rebels +might break for the open and a stampede undo all the +riding since dawn of day.</p> + +<p>High above on the western cliff a giant head of +cactus reared infernal arms and luminous bloom. +One immense clump threw a shadow across the cliff +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +road where it leaves the river plain and winds along the +cañon to the mesa above the sea,—the road over +which in the old days the Mission Indians bore hides +to the ships and flung them from the cliffs to the +waiting boats below.</p> + +<p>A man stood back of the cactus watching with tireless +eyes the dividing of the herds and the quick +work of the vaqueros as their excited mustangs raced +for a stray or a rebel from the ranks. A dark serape +was at his feet, the dust of the roads on his face, and +when he removed his sombrero to light a cigarro in its +shelter, there was disclosed a great shock of black hair +worn unusually long, and matching in unkemptness +the full beard covering his face almost to his black +velvety eyes.</p> + +<p>They were the one youthful feature in an otherwise +weather-worn visage, and at the sound of horse hoofs +on the road, they opened wider, listening, alert, yet he +did not turn to look whence the sounds came. Instead, +he dropped silently to the serape, crushed the end of +the cigarro against a cactus leaf, and waited, as still and +as safe from detection as a lizard of the mesa in a sage +thicket.</p> + +<p>He could see clearly the face of Don Antonio, the +major-domo, and instinctively his right hand reached +for his gun. Then he shrugged his shoulders at his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +own folly, and bent his head to listen. Don Antonio +was speaking Americano to a man riding beside him, +and the man behind the cactus frowned impatiently,—the +villanous tongue was an added grievance. A few +rebellious animals had made a dash for the cliff, and +Don Antonio waved his sombrero and ranged his +horse across the road. His companion did the same, +and to give the vaqueros time to cross the river after +them, the two stood guard in the shadow of the +cactus, and rolled cigarros and smoked leisurely, while +the horsemen, in jingling spurs and all the bravery of +the Mexican riders' outfit, circled and lassoed the pick +of the herd for the Apache work of the government +in the desert lands.</p> + +<p>"It is quicker done than it was a year ago," the +American remarked approvingly, "and the horses are +in better condition. If you can let us have the five +hundred from the La Paz ranges, there should be no +trouble about making up the other five hundred from +the San Mateo."</p> + +<p>"Not any, señor," agreed Don Antonio, "I send +a man down to have them round-up for next week. +You no want that they begin sooner than that?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," returned the other with smiling +decision.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow! Holy Maria and José! You will +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +cut out the fiesta and the barbecue always given for +the army men? Señor Bryton, the Don Miguel and +Don Rafael Arteaga will feel offend if you refuse their +hospitality except for the little—little while, the horse +herd is arranged for."</p> + +<p>"Sorry to offend the young men," observed the +other. "But since Don Miguel is ranging in some +other part of California, and your Don Rafael is in +Mexico getting married or making love,—which is +it?—I reckon they will not miss us much."</p> + +<p>"No, señor, it is not to marry down there, only to +make it all arrange. His mother, the Doña Luisa, is +there in Mexico since San Pascual; but Doña Luisa +will be more old and crippled than she is now, before +she lets Don Rafael be marry outside her own Mission."</p> + +<p>"So they come back here for the ceremony?"</p> + +<p>"Sure! Doña Luisa she marry Don Vicente, here +in San Juan Capistrano. It is here he have the big +trouble with the padre, and the padre put the curse +on him that long time ago. It is here that he is +brought back dead from San Pascual. And now when +the sons have make much trouble, all are dead but +two, and when Doña Luisa, who was so proud, has +only Indian grandchildren, she wants to marry Rafael +to a señorita who is half a nun, that the curse may be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +lifted. She think that girl do more to keep him +from walking in Miguel's shoes than prayers to the +saints can do; and it may be,—who knows? I hear +you talking of the padre's curse to the Alcalde, so I +know you hearing the story."</p> + +<p>"Um—something of church property south of +here, wasn't it?" remarked the American. "Yes, I +remember. There goes a mare that is a beauty for a +mustang."</p> + +<p>"Some few years, and you no getting that strong, +wild stock some more," he observed. "Miguel and +Rafael want English stallions and such other breeds. +They will have English stock and American customs. +The saints keep Doña Luisa from hearing them all. I +mean no discourtesy, señor, but she is an old woman +now, and left her home because she would not live in +your government. She comes back for duty and the +marriage; but the old never change, señor, and she is +hating it till she die."</p> + +<p>The American cast his eyes northward where the +heights of San Jacinto stood guard over the beautiful +valley. Willows marked the course of Trabuco Creek +and San Juan River, and on the plateau between them +gleamed the ruined dome of the old mission, a remnant +of beauty such as the ranging American meets +with in Latin lands, seldom in his own, and admires, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +and wonders if it was worth while, and drifts away +again, but never quite forgets.</p> + +<p>Yellow-white it gleamed like an opal in a setting of +velvety ranges under turquoise skies. About its walls +were the clustered adobes of the Mexicans, like children +creeping close to the feet of the one mother; and +beyond that the illimitable ranges of mesa and valley, +of live-oak groves and knee-deep meadows, of countless +springs and cañons of mystery, whence gold was +washed in the freshets; and over all, eloquent, insistent, +appealing, the note of the meadow-lark cutting clearly +through the hoof-beats of the herd and the calls of the +vaqueros.</p> + +<p>"I think I should hate it, too," he said at last. +"They lived like kings and made their own laws in +those days. After being a queen of all this, it would +be hard to be subject to new forms."</p> + +<p>"That is it, señor, she never get used to like the +American flag. That why she want always that Don +Rafael marry South, a good Catholic, and a señorita +of Mexico. She only living for that, they say. Now +when it is done she die in peace."</p> + +<p>"And Rafael, how will he manage his American +deals when—"</p> + +<p>Don Antonio shrugged his shoulders doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Who knows? I glad I living my young life in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +other days. The fences have make ruin of the country +in the north; after a while it is down here all the same. +All cut up in little gardens. Who knows?"</p> + +<p>The American restrained a smile as he thought of +the sixty-five miles they had ridden across, and only one +little German colony where fence or hedges were in +evidence. For the rest all was fenced on the east by +the mountains and on the west by the sea. On the +north the Santa Barbara range would perhaps serve as +a barricade, and south even the Mexican line raised +no obstacle to roving herds.</p> + +<p>"The fences will not come in our day, and it is all +now to be a pleasure ground for your gay Don Rafael."</p> + +<p>"Not so much of a pleasure ground as it looks, +señor," observed Don Antonio dryly. "The same +curse works still. It is good he marries a convent +girl; it takes the prayers of Doña Luisa, and a saint +besides, to clear these ranges of Barto Nordico, el +Capitan."</p> + +<p>The man on the serape shrugged his shoulders and +lifted his head, resting it on his hands to listen better.</p> + +<p>"Nordico? Oh, yes! the man with an eye for +good horses."</p> + +<p>"If it were only an eye," grumbled Don Antonio, +"but the devil seems to have a hundred hands, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +his reata touches only the first stock on the Arteaga +ranches."</p> + +<p>"Not only the Arteagas', I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you not hearing that?" and the older man's +tone expressed surprise. "It going with the curse, +maybe, we not knowing. Old Don Vicente have the +brother Ramon, but Vicente buy up all Ramon's +land some way. Ramon goes crazy mad, <i>loco</i>, on that +account. And then his son, Barto, he study for the +priest, that is when the war comes, and he is only little +yet. He running away from school to fight; but all +he can do is to carry the letters, he is so little and can +ride so like the devil. He never is content to the +American flags, no more than Doña Luisa, so he just +keeping on to fight, and the government no getting +him."</p> + +<p>"Do they try?" asked the American.</p> + +<p>"Do they—do they try? Since he joined Juan +Flores, one dozen men in Capistrano have the sword +cut or the bullet mark, who have gone to try for that +reward. It is good money, but no one getting it. He +is a devil."</p> + +<p>"But I don't understand. You make him out an +Arteaga, yet he is called Nordico?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he hating the Arteagas, so he taking his +mother's name. He take the government mail +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +sometimes, and he takes the Arteaga horses always, +and no one ever finds him any place. While men +follow his trail for the mountains, he is out in a boat +on the sea. The saints send that he does not meet +the marriage gifts of Don Rafael."</p> + +<p>The man behind the cactus fairly held his breath.</p> + +<p>"Whew! would he attack the Mission or the town?"</p> + +<p>"It would not be the first time," returned Antonio, +"but it is of the bride-chests on the journey that I +speak. Sixty miles of land they must cover from San +Diego, and they cost more than a herd of horses."</p> + +<p>"Rafael can replace the gifts," observed the American, +"so long as his bandit cousin does not kidnap +the bride; but even that, I suppose, might be done in +this land of lonely ranges."</p> + +<p>The man under the cactus nodded and showed his +teeth in an appreciative smile. He had met good fortune +for his long vigil; it was a day of luck, and he +crossed himself.</p> + +<p>The vaqueros had circled the rebellious animals, +and headed them back.</p> + +<p>"It is true, the horses are in better condition this +year," conceded the major-domo as they watched the +horses loping along the river side. "Do you send +them all together, or by the five hundred, across the +range, Señor Bryton?" +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +</p> + +<p>"By the five hundred, I think the lieutenant +said," replied Bryton. "It is not easy to feed more +in one bunch on the journey."</p> + +<p>The man behind the cactus arose stealthily and +stretched his arms as the hoof-beats grew more faint.</p> + +<p>"Señor Bryton—eh?" and he shrugged his +shoulders contentedly. "The clever Bryton who put +us off the track last year and took the stock by the +north! This time he will not be so clever. Still, he +gives a man ideas in the head,—may he have an easy +death for that! Rafael's good friend who picks the +good horses for the good government!" +</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m021.mid'> +<img src='images/mu021.png' + title='Music: La Viuda.' + alt='Music: La Viuda.' +/></a> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Corre muchacho a la yglesia,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dile al sacristan mayor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Que repique las campanas, tan! tan!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> +<h2> +<a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc021.png' title='W' alt='W' /> +</div> +<p>"Men make plans, and the devil +makes other plans—and the +devil's plan has always the luck +with it."</p> + +<p>Don Antonio had expressed +himself thus to the army men, +who fumed and fretted at delays +incident to the funeral ceremonies of Miguel Arteaga, +for whom the Mission bells clanged in the gray of a +morning, and the word went out that he lay trampled +into the dust of the Santa Ana ranch. A thousand +head of stampeding cattle had gone over him, and the +younger brother—the handsome Rafael—was now +the head of the Arteaga family. And with half the +horses selected for the government, the work had +stopped short. There was no head to anything +now until Rafael arrived. In vain the army men +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +swore, and went farther south to secure mounts for the +regiment. They had to come back to San Juan, and +then it was that Keith Bryton, with his knowledge of +the people and of the country, came to their aid.</p> + +<p>He heard that the debonair Rafael had landed at San +Pedro the day of the death, and had quietly lost himself +from the dismal ceremonies awaiting him in his +own province. Miguel could not be seen; what use +was it to witness the howling mob of Indian retainers?</p> + +<p>Bryton, knowing something and surmising more of +the situation, held the army men with some promise to +"fix things," and secretly despatched a trusted vaquero +with a letter to San Pedro, allowing the new heir for +his return just the time necessary for the next ship +to come into the harbor, and the extra day's drive +from Los Angeles. In the meantime a personal letter +giving orders to Don Antonio to hand over the stock +as per contract was needed badly in San Juan, if Don +Rafael ever cared again for government favors.</p> + +<p>The vaquero rode back in forty-eight hours with the +order. The work of rounding-up began over again, +and only Keith Bryton and Don Antonio knew how +it had come about.</p> + +<p>Slowly affairs began to assume their usual routine. +People began to talk of other things; and only Doña +Teresa, the widow of Miguel, continued to go daily to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +the dark old chapel back of the Mission dining-room, +and kneel in prayer before the wooden saints in the +niches. She sat in the patio of Juan Alvara's house, +and stared listlessly from one square of tiling in the +pavement to another. The priest had just left her after +the perfunctory words of solace, and was refreshing +himself with a glass of brandy preparatory to a game +of <i>malilla</i>. The week had been one of trial; it always is +so when the death is one of accident—no one is ready.</p> + +<p>The Doña Teresa had been a pretty girl in the days +when Miguel Arteaga serenaded her endlessly, and her +family had insisted that the marriage should not be +postponed to add to their sleepless nights. One year—two +years, and the serenades were a thing of a former +life, and so was fat Teresa's beauty. From the willows +was brought again the Indian girl whose two children +had been christened in his name. She looked after +the servants who cooked for the vaqueros. Her manner +was ever quiet and submissive to Doña Teresa, who +accepted her as better than any of the others of the +same class. Doña Teresa had no children, and envied +though she was not jealous of Aguada of the smoke-black +eyes and the babies. And it was Aguada who +came to Doña Teresa in the patio, undid her bonnet-strings, +and bathed her face and hands with cool water.</p> + +<p>Past the veranda of Juan Alvara, at San Juan, all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +the world of Southern California found its way. +There was a tavern down the street, where the stages +stopped between Los Angeles and San Diego, but Juan +Alvara's house was the one dwelling where distinguished +travellers were entertained, after the hospitality +of the padres at the Mission was a thing of the past. +It was up to this veranda Keith Bryton rode from the +second round-up at Boca de la Playa. He was tired +and dusty, and accepted gratefully the wine for which +the old man sent when he saw his guest approaching.</p> + +<p>Alvara did not usually like "Gringos"; but at the +time the Juan Flores bandits were holding up the town +for ransom, it was Keith Bryton who had gathered a posse +of men, including the sheriff, and headed them again +for San Juan. Grain-sacks were piled along the roof +of the Mission as a barricade, and behind them some +riflemen guarded, as best they could, the several families +who had fled to the walls of the church for protection.</p> + +<p>Only one store had been burned, and one store-keeper +killed, when the help came—thanks to Bryton, +and that one ride broke down all barriers for the +young Gringo in San Juan. He now never rode past +Alvara's veranda without a halt for a glass of wine, or +a chat, or even that best test of understanding, a rest +in silence together, looking out across the river to the +blue shadows of the hills.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +This day as the young man sat smoking in such +silence, viewing idly the passing Indians whose dark +faces were lit by the rosy glow of the lowering sun, +and watching the circling doves whose white wings +caught flashes of pink from pink clouds above, the +older man, regarding his thoughtful face, asked after +a quiet interval, "What is it, my friend?"</p> + +<p>The handsome bronzed young fellow stretched +wide his arms with a great sigh, and laughed shortly.</p> + +<p>"Foolishness, Don Juan, much foolishness. I was +homesick for a something I never knew, so I left Los +Angeles and came here to find it. Can you understand +so crazy a thing as that?"</p> + +<p>The old man nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>"It is a girl—no?"</p> + +<p>The young man laughed again, without mirth.</p> + +<p>"Which of them?" and Bryton made a gesture +toward a group of dark faces across the plaza. +"There is pretty Lizetta, Teresa; and if one wants +the other sort, there is Chola Martina staring at us +both under her mantilla."</p> + +<p>"It is you she stares at. The Lieutenant danced +with her last night. He is just off the ranges, so she +is to-day crazy over the Americanos. No—it is not +any of such girls you are for."</p> + +<p>"I reckon not," agreed the young fellow. "I think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +it is just the atmosphere, and perhaps the old monastery. +The pictures of Mexican towns paint themselves +on the memory and stay there. Were you +ever in Old Mexico, Don Juan?"</p> + +<p>"Not I; never have I been a travelled man. But you—?"</p> + +<p>"I was down there a year ago," answered Bryton, +looking hard at the hills. "I found a town in a valley +like this,—there were just the same sort of 'dobes, and +the same sort of big church walls,—only it was a nuns' +cloister, instead of a deserted monastery."</p> + +<p>"And—?"</p> + +<p>"I'll never go back, but—I'll never forget it! +That old broken wall, and Moorish chimney, and +the doves—they all belong to the same sort of picture. +I come here to sit and moon over them once +in a while, that's all!"</p> + +<p>The old man regarded him with shrewd, kindly +eyes. He had the strain of Spanish blood, condoning +many follies of youth.</p> + +<p>"So!" he said, kindly. "Thou comest here to +dance with the girls of San Juan, that the other girl +may be forgotten? Ai—yi!—these other sweethearts +are fellows who make much trouble!—so?"</p> + +<p>"It is something more than a sweetheart keeps +me away," remarked the young fellow after a slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +pause. "A mere sweetheart is not such a barricade; +most of us are perverse enough to think it rather an +incentive."</p> + +<p>"You too, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows?"</p> + +<p>The old man puffed out another cigaretto and +threw the stump away before he spoke.</p> + +<p>"The wives of other men it is wise to go clear of, +my friend."</p> + +<p>Keith laughed more than the remark called for; in +fact, his amusement dispelled the murky thoughts by +which he had been driven to the hospitable veranda.</p> + +<p>"True—very true; but which of us is always wise?"</p> + +<p>Alvara made no reply to this, only shook his head, +and the other, noting the perplexity of it, chuckled.</p> + +<p>"Don't lose sleep over my depravity," he suggested. +"I am no blacker than the rest of the sheep."</p> + +<p>"Even then thou wouldst fall far short of whiteness," +remarked the older man. "The padre swears +that San Juan will have worse than earthquakes if +there is no reform."</p> + +<p>"That is bad," said Keith, with owl-like gravity.</p> + +<p>"It is bad, señor—and it is true. I heard him say +it but an hour ago. He was playing <i>malilla</i> with old +Henrico and won three pesos. He says it is wrong to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +race horses on Sunday, since José went under and had +his neck broke. José, like Miguel, had not confessed, +and the padre wants money for a mass."</p> + +<p>"Will he get it?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. The boys will not see him stay in purgatory +for thirty pesos. They are throwing dice at +Don Eduardo's now, to see who will pay."</p> + +<p>"If it was the horse of Don Eduardo, and José had +ridden for him ten years, why cannot Don Eduardo +pay?"</p> + +<p>"Don Eduardo is English. The Englishmen are +used to going to hell."</p> + +<p>"They would deserve to go for that, if for nothing +else," commented Bryton, as the report of a blast +shook the ground, and across the plaza the air was +filled with flying rock and brick and plaster; and then +a great cloud of dust drifted upward as the Mexican +workmen strolled back to their task of tearing down +the old church of San Juan Capistrano, whose massive +stone walls it had taken the padres and their +neophytes so many years of toil to complete.</p> + +<p>"Not a church equal to it in the Californias; not a +church equal to it dreamed of in the States when it +was being built!" and the young fellow stared moodily +at the devastation of it. "Can't the bishop stop +that?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +"Ten years the Church fight to get it back. They +must win some day—oh, yes—sure!"</p> + +<p>"But what will they have when the suit is won, if +this is allowed to go on?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" queried Alvara, placidly. "We +may be in our graves, señor, and not here to see it. +When Eduardo wants foundation for an adobe, he +blows down a stone wall; when he wants walls for a +well, he blows down the arches of the patio, until bricks +enough fall. It is quicker than to burn new ones."</p> + +<p>"But the padre?"</p> + +<p>"There is the man who is padre of San Juan +Capistrano in these days," said Juan Alvara, briefly.</p> + +<p>A man was coming up the middle of the road, his +boots wet and muddy from irrigating-ditches, a short +black pipe between his teeth. He halted to chaffer +with an Indian woman who carried a basket of fish +from the sea.</p> + +<p>Contemptuously viewing the modest sea bass, he +said: "Fish only a foot long—what good are they? +Who is fool enough to buy such?"</p> + +<p>"It is not to sell, father. Tia Concepcion, who is +much sick, ask for these; they are to give, for she is +sick."</p> + +<p>"Humph! a sick woman to eat ten fish! They +will be sending for me in the middle of the night for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +prayers. You go to my cook, and leave seven of +these with him in the kitchen for my supper."</p> + +<p>The Indian lowered her head and passed on to the +Mission. The padre crossed the plaza to where the +group of girls stood chatting at the open gate of a +patio. At his approach they fell silent, but a few brief +words scattered them quickly toward their several +homes, and the man of the church tramped on, the +dust of the road sticking to his wet boots.</p> + +<p>"All what brings a price and is overlooked by the +Englishmen, this padre will dig up," said Juan +Alvara. "He is getting rich from many fields."</p> + +<p>"Many fields?"</p> + +<p>"Many fields—the church, the little ranch he has +picked up, and the game of <i>monte</i> or <i>malilla</i>. He is +the new sort of priest they send these days from +Catalonia. No one in San Juan confesses now until +Padre Sanchez comes past. If the church wins, the +Mission will be blown down all the same, so long +while some one pay four bits a load for brick. All is +much changed. Father Sanchez is another kind—a +holy man and of God."</p> + +<p>Alvara lifted his sombrero reverently.</p> + +<p>"The vaqueros coming with the band of horses +from the beach soon," he observed. "We will go to +the corrals, and help you to forget the girl—no?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +"I'm not so anxious to forget, I reckon—the girl +is only a sort of dream girl. This trip was not so +much to forget a girl as to—you remember Teddy, +my half-brother?"</p> + +<p>"Don Teddy? Sure—he was the life of the +valley when he came to San Juan."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Well, Teddy's married; he has married the +woman who, you said, had the face of some angel."</p> + +<p>"Not Angela, the señora who is Don Eduardo's +English cousin?"</p> + +<p>The other nodded his head grimly.</p> + +<p>"But—" the old man stared at him sharply, and +then suddenly recovered himself.</p> + +<p>"Teddy says his wife wants to come down here +while he is in Mexico," grunted Bryton. "What the +devil can I do with her if she comes now?"</p> + +<p>"You are a relative now—is it not so?" asked +the old man, with an affectionate smile. "She is your +sister."</p> + +<p>"Sister be—" If he meant blessed, he did not look +it as he tramped the veranda. "I start just the +same for the south ranch to-morrow. If she comes, +she can go to Mac's tavern, or to the Mission with +the ghosts!"</p> + +<p>"That would not be good to do," said Alvara +seriously. "The wife of your brother must come +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +to my house. Teresa, the widow of Miguel, is here; +her English is not anything, but it is good that your +sister have a lady with her in the house. Teresa, she +feel very bad. Don Teddy's wife was once a widow; +she will understand."</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p032p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p032w.jpg' + title='Doña Angela' alt='Doña Angela' /> +</a> +<p>Doña Angela</p> +</div> + +<p>"Will it make many changes in the business—his +death?" asked Bryton.</p> + +<p>"It will lose the ranches more quickly to the +English and the Americans," stated the older man. +"Rafael will have all the money now, and—it is good +that he gets married quick. The girl—she is Estevan's +daughter—she likes no English—so they say."</p> + +<p>"Oh!—Estevan's daughter—Estevan's! I heard a +queer story of that name once—a queer story!"</p> + +<p>"He left when the Americanos came to California. +Always he fought against the Americanos. He was a +strong soldier, and he die there in Mexico, and all his +money is for the girl if she marry; for the convent if +she not marry at all."</p> + +<p>"It was another Estevan," said Keith. "It was a +story of an old Aztec temple that would make your +hair curl! Might have been a relation of your soldier +Estevan."</p> + +<p>"There may be the same name in Mexico, but +Felipe Estevan had no brothers."</p> + +<p>Keith rolled a cigarro, and did not notice that the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +old man's hand trembled as he did the same, and that +his eyes were striving in vain to appear careless.</p> + +<p>"My Spanish was pretty queer those days, and I +did not grasp the details of the story. You find all +sorts of half-buried towns and temples and palaces in +the country—queer places no one on earth can tell +who built. But the temple was a plain fact. Stonework +cut for all the world like that," he added, +pointing to the gray Mission ruin. "Zig-zags on +the cornices and Aztec suns just the same over the +portals. There were great old walls left, but no roof. +Trees grew all through it, and right in the open +was something like a bench covered with queer +Indian figures of fight, and sacrifices, and the only +one I ever saw down there carved out of marble."</p> + +<p>"Yes—a bench of marble!" Alvara was listening +intently, nodding his head, and forgetting to smoke.</p> + +<p>"Well, an old miner down there told me a lurid +story of the last Indian sacrifice offered up on that +altar. He found the body and helped to bury it—the +name was Estevan."</p> + +<p>"It is a good name," said the old man.</p> + +<p>"Fine! but wherever he had lived he was used to a +different sort of woman from the one he met at the +old temple. She was of pure Spanish and Aztec stock. +The women in those temples don't usually appear to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +count, but she came of a long line of Aztec priests. +After the Catholic Church got hold of them, they +became Catholic priests instead of Aztec ones, and +served the same God under a different name."</p> + +<p>"So?" remarked Alvara.</p> + +<p>"It seems Estevan drifted into the country with considerable +money—cattle-man, I think; anyway, he had a +ranch of some sort—and fell dead in love with the sister +of one of these hereditary priests, and they were married. +The old miner said a lot of queer old Indians gathered +from the Lord only knew where, and had a great bonfire +and crazy dances and ceremonies at the temple the +night she was married. They were waiting for a new +priest of their own old religion to be born some day +and every marriage in that family was of interest."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well—I don't know how to make clear that there +are wives in the world to whom brown girls in the +willows are—well—they are absolutely taboo to the +husbands—understand?"</p> + +<p>Alvara nodded silently.</p> + +<p>"This Estevan was not used to women like that. +He was crazy over the priest's sister till he got her, and +then he was like many other men—he went back to +the brown girls."</p> + +<p>"And then?" +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +"Then that old Aztec tribe seemed to hear of it on +the wind—no one knows. A brown girl was caught +by the Indians one night, her long hair cut short to her +head; and the next day Estevan was found tied on that +altar with the same hair plaited into ropes. The heart +had been cut from the body and rested in a little urn or +vase carved in the stone of the wall. There were no +other mutilations or signs of cruelty—it was more like a +pagan ceremony than anything else. The girl's hair +was the only clue as to what the cause might have been."</p> + +<p>"And the wife and the child—what did the man +tell you of them?"</p> + +<p>"Child?" Keith stared at the old man. "I did not +mention a child; never heard there was one. The +widow of Estevan entered a convent and was never +heard of again. The old miner said the priest took +charge of the property—for the Church, he supposed! +I think of that old temple every time I see the cactus +and Aztec sun cut in this gray-green stone of your +church here; but I had forgotten the name of Estevan +until you mentioned it."</p> + +<p>"It is a good name," added Alvara again. "Felipe +Estevan was wild and a fighter, but he was not a bad +man in California. He had no wife, and the girls all +wore beads he bought—but why not? He knew +we have only one life to live here!" +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +"True, señor; and the story of the tragedy made +me forget poor Teddy's comedy—one I can't laugh +at yet."</p> + +<p>"Some day you ask us to a wedding, and you will +forget that marriage is a madness," said Alvara.</p> + +<p>And then Doña Teresa came slowly out on the +veranda in her many folds of black. There was a +hard glitter in her little black eyes, but her lips curved +ever so slightly in a courteous greeting as Keith +Bryton bent over her hand.</p> + +<p>"I hear how you telling that story, señor," she +remarked, pleasantly. "You think that it is good to +tie a gentleman on a bench, and put his heart on a +shelf—no?"</p> + +<p>"Good? Why, it was the most ghastly heathenish +thing I ever heard of. But—"</p> + +<p>"But you Americanos think most of the women who +do such things," she persisted; "you think it better +than to let him live where there are the brown girls."</p> + +<p>"Oh—señora?"</p> + +<p>He saw that he had irrevocably damned himself in +her eyes. She might speak to him courteously through +a long lifetime, but one of the institutions of their +pastoral life—an institution ignored by the usual guest +in the land—had been referred to in a sarcastic manner, +and he knew that never again could he expect the good +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +will of Teresa Arteaga. The allusion had been the +most distant, the most unintentional, but at the first +word the blood of the Mexican was arrayed against +the Gringo.</p> + +<p>"You think it well when that wife put the knife in +the heart of the husband?" she continued. "(Yes, +Aguada, I will have a cup of orange juice, and you +may bring wine for the gentlemen.) You think your +American ladies do that same thing—no?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—the old miner never suggested that it was +the woman did it—the wife!" he protested. "It was +thought to be the work of the old hill tribe of Indians."</p> + +<p>"It was not alone the Indians," stated Doña Teresa, +with sudden insight. "Men would not think to tie +him with girl's hair. No, it was the wife."</p> + +<p>Alvara looked at her warningly over his glass.</p> + +<p>"If there are such wives in Mexico, we hope they +stay there," he said. "Our own Indians make trouble +enough for the padre and the alcalde. The kind you +tell of are best left with their tribes in the hills."</p> + +<p>For a little longer they talked of the new horses +needed for the frontier warfare, and touched upon the +chance of the Capitan's stealing them before they got +across the divide.</p> + +<p>"But there is no danger even of El Capitan now, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +when the Señor Don Bryton have put himself to help +guard," remarked Teresa, eyeing him with a cat-like +glance to discover if her sarcasm was appreciated. +"We all feel very safe now in San Juan valley."</p> + +<p>"With those brilliant army officers in town, you +certainly should," he remarked, easily. "The women +have always been the Capitan's best friends, and the +officers are cutting him out!"</p> + +<p>"He see too much—and he talk too much," said +Teresa, as Bryton left them and walked leisurely down +the road toward the inn and post-office.</p> + +<p>"He means no harm," remarked Alvara. "The +ways of the Americano are not our ways, but I like +him better than the army men. He makes no +scandals."</p> + +<p>"If the army men make love to the girls, they keep +quiet about it," returned Teresa. "But this man—he +thinks himself too good for the 'brown girls' he +talks of. Men who are too good should go to stay +in the church and pray for the sinners!"</p> + +<p>Alvara knew that no remark of Bryton's had been +meant to reflect in the least on social conditions in +San Juan. But what use to argue with an angry, +jealous woman hunting for a grievance?</p> + +<p>The widow of Miguel had gone through the years +of jealous bitterness, the shock of Miguel's death, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +knowledge that she would inherit but a widow's share, +the nerve-wrenching strain of a Mexican funeral, the +sight of her husband's Indian children beside the +bier; but that had all been in the midst of the people +who understood—where house-servants were often +legacies to the estate from brother, or uncle, or cousin. +But this man, who told of a wife that revenged herself, +had unconsciously flung in her face a new standard; she +hated him, and hated the sort of women he knew in +his own country,—the white-faced women who had +snow in their blood and did not understand!</p> + +<p>Bryton tried in vain to think what he had said to +annoy Teresa so exceedingly; could it have been +his inquiring as to the estate? Surely, she must know +that many persons were asking the same questions. +Her brother-in-law, Rafael Arteaga, was such an +uncertain quantity that wagers were plentiful as to his +management of the several ranches. If he left them +as Miguel had done, principally to the lawyers, it +might not be so bad, but Rafael's disposition to make +his own bargains made older people shake their heads. +His mother, Doña Luisa, was old and ill. He could +have time to make very bad bargains before she could +make the journey from Mexico; and even then would +she be physically able to take note of business details? +All those questions Bryton had heard talked over and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +over. Also, the matter of the wedding,—would it be +postponed because of the funeral? No one knew +whether Doña Luisa and the bride were not on the way +when the death occurred. Rafael had, it was understood, +come ahead that he might make the preparations +for their reception. A letter had also arrived +saying that all things must be put in order at the +dwelling-rooms of the Mission; it stated that the +"donas"—the bride gifts—he had selected in Mexico +might arrive any day. They had come by sea to San +Pedro, and San Juan was in quite a flutter of excitement +over its most important wedding in a generation.</p> + +<p>The alcalde met Bryton, and incidentally mentioned +that it was a pity the horse deal had not been held +over for the week of the wedding; there would be barbecues +and horse races for the latter part of the week.</p> + +<p>"Sorry I can't stay," observed Bryton. "I'm keeping +tab for the contractor on those cavalry horses, and +must stay with the bunch, at least until they reach Los +Angeles. Teddy has gone down into Mexico; if he +stays, I may follow."</p> + +<p>"Now that one of you boys is married, you should +settle down and be a permanent citizen of some district,—what +is the matter with this place?"</p> + +<p>"It's the most beautiful valley I ever saw," agreed +Bryton. "But for getting Teddy to locate sixty +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +miles from town—never! And as to the lady in the +case, she will insist always on an audience more—"</p> + +<p>What more it would have to be was interrupted by +the clatter of the stage down the street, and on the +seat beside the driver was a little woman in pale blue +flounces thick with dust, and a white hat with pink rosebuds +dancing and swaying with the rock of the stage.</p> + +<p>"God—" began Bryton, and then checked himself.</p> + +<p>The alcalde smiled.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Ordway—or Mrs. Teddy Bryton now—looks +pretty well satisfied with this as a temporary +audience," he remarked, as he sauntered across the +street to his own abode. Bryton's exclamation showed +that he was by no means pleased to see her, and the +alcalde did not care to witness a family reunion of +that sort, so he walked away smiling.</p> + +<p>The lady waved her hand and flung a bright smile +toward the half-brother of her husband. He lifted his +hat, but did not move from his tracks until the horses +came to a halt, brought suddenly to their haunches by +the driver, who was making a showy entrance into the +village for the gratification of the lady.</p> + +<p>"I've had a delightful trip from Los Angeles—thanks +to Don Rafael," she called, gaily. "I never—never +expect to drive so fast again. Come and help +me down!" +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +But the slender, handsome Mexican beside her +had leaped to the ground, and, sombrero in hand, was +ready to perform that service before the American +reached the stage.</p> + +<p>"You are always the day after the fair, Keith," she +remarked, her eyes narrowing in a smile. "I am +a thousand times obliged to Señor Arteaga!"</p> + +<p>"It is I who am honored, señora," he returned with +a sweep of the sombrero, and one brief yet steady +look into her eyes. Mrs. Bryton turned away with +a pleased little smile, and proceeded to shake the +dust from the ruffles of her sleeve.</p> + +<p>Keith Bryton saw both the look and the smile, and +it gave a tinge of coldness to his greeting.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Señor Arteaga?" he remarked. +"Thank you for looking after Mrs."—the word +seemed hard to say—"Bryton. Are you adding +stage-driving to your other accomplishments?"</p> + +<p>Rafael Arteaga had caused too much jealousy in his +day not to suspect he recognized it in the attitude +of the American, whom it was something of a victory +to outrival.</p> + +<p>"Only when there is extra precious cargo on board," +he said, meaningly. "American ladies are rare in San +Juan. I was the only one present to show our appreciation +of such a visit." +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +"But I am not an American—never in this world!" +she insisted. "It was only the accident of marriage +took me to your Mexican America. I was born +in London, and am a subject of the Queen! Don't +ever fancy me an American!"</p> + +<p>"Few people will make that mistake," said Bryton, +dryly. "I suppose you know that your cousin and +his wife are not here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I discovered that through Señor Arteaga +when I was part way down. But he tells me the army +men are here, and that there are always dances, horse +races, and a general festival while they stay. I thought +it might be worth while. Señor Arteaga will look +after me if you are too busy."</p> + +<p>"With many thanks for the honor, señora."</p> + +<p>"The barbecues are over," said Bryton; "they +were rather subdued this time, because of the funeral +of Don Rafael's brother. I leave with the army men +to-morrow for a trip farther north, and you had +best return to Los Angeles, or go to your cousin in +San Diego."</p> + +<p>She pretended to busy herself concerning a bandbox +on which the cord had broken, but her little white +teeth bit into her lip. Rafael had entered the post-office +with the driver of the stage.</p> + +<p>"I am not interested in San Diego," she observed. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +"There must be somewhere in this row of adobes a +place where a lady could stay."</p> + +<p>"There is the tavern kept by Mac. You may be +able to retain a room there alone, if no other women +stop over."</p> + +<p>"Share a room with strangers? But Don Rafael +offered—"</p> + +<p>"Don Rafael has only several adobes here, where +the vaqueros eat and sleep—neither he nor his brother +has lived here as a regular thing; when they do, +they share the house of the major-domo, who has +an Indian wife. The only privacy Don Rafael could +assure you of would be to give you the key of the +Mission."</p> + +<p>"That graveyard! I must say you are not very +brotherly, amigo—I learned some more words of +Spanish on the way down! Well, if I must go to +the awful tavern, I must! Do you suppose that +villanous-looking black-and-tan in the serape will +carry my boxes into the hotel? You've not said +one civil word, Keith! Are Teddy and I to do +the best we can without your blessing?" she asked, +mockingly.</p> + +<p>He looked at her slowly from head to foot, and +back to her innocent wide-open blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you," he said, briefly. "I will see +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +that your belongings are taken to your room. The +gentleman in the serape chances to be a Mexican +Don, not accustomed to carting bandboxes."</p> + +<p>"You are not very cordial in your congratulations," +she observed, as if determined to break down his cold +unconcern,—to make him <i>say</i> something.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not," he agreed, tersely. "If Teddy +had given me any idea of it, you know he would not +have been a married man now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I knew you would be jealous, no matter whom +he married," she replied; "I told him so!"</p> + +<p>"So I supposed. But if you want to secure a room +alone, you'd better not delay. Apartments are rather +at a premium in San Juan."</p> + +<p>He walked with her past the admiring group of +prominent citizens toward the patio of the inn. +Several of the men swept sombreros to the earth +as she passed. The cousin of Don Eduardo was a +lady they must show special deference to, even if +she had been ugly, which she certainly was not.</p> + +<p>Most of them envied the tall, rather good-looking +fellow swinging along by her side, but he did not seem +as happy in the privilege as others would have been. +Alvara, seeing himself forgotten for Don Eduardo's +pretty blonde cousin, smiled a little, and continued his +walk alone to the corral. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +"She make him forget,—but she is not the woman," +he said, shrewdly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bryton surveyed the coarse furnishings of the +adobe with disgust as she was led to the one room +where she could secure sleeping accommodation. It +contained three beds with as many different-colored +spreads, queer little pillows, and drawn-work on one +towel hanging on a nail. The floor had once been tiled +with square Mission bricks; but many were broken, +some were gone, and the empty spaces were so many +traps for unwary feet. Names of former occupants +were scratched in the whitewashed wall. There was no +window, and but one door opening on the patio and +to be fastened from within by a wooden bar.</p> + +<p>"But this—there must be something better than +this!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"It is the one home where you could make yourself +understood. The proprietor chances to speak +English. If you come without notifying your—relatives, +you must take what you find, or go on to +San Diego. Your cousin is there—also his wife."</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders, and dropped wearily +to a wooden bench.</p> + +<p>"I can't ride another mile—I'm dead tired. But +you don't ask why I came!"</p> + +<p>"That is your husband's affair, not mine," he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +returned. "If there is nothing else I can do for you, +I will go and look after my own affairs. I start south +in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Because I came?" she demanded, with a slight +smile. At sight of it his face flushed, and then the +color receded while he regarded her steadily.</p> + +<p>"Don't make any mistake about that," he suggested. +"I did leave town out of impatience with +another friend of mine, who was wasting his time +with you. Of course he would not listen to me, +and he has evidently told you. I liked him, and +did not want to see him made a fool of."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are a silly!" she replied, unfastening +her hat-string and glancing at him strangely. "It +never was that man for one little minute; you, of all +the men, ought to know."</p> + +<p>"I, of all the men, have been the one who did not +guess that it was Teddy," he retorted. "But since +it is, there is one thing to remember,—Teddy is the +best fellow in the world, and the easiest mark, and +you are not to forget it!"</p> + +<p>"I did not promise to honor and obey you!" she +retorted, petulantly.</p> + +<p>"But if you don't in this case—" he halted abruptly +and walked away. Her high, sweet voice called after +him, but he did not turn his head. He evidently +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +realized that he had come very near threatening her; +and, after all, if Teddy chose to make a fool of himself +for a pretty doll—</p> + +<p>For she was undeniably pretty, and she had created +quite a flurry a year before when she reached San +Pedro by steamer from Mexico, a girlish widow with +one child, and waited there until the English cousin +of her husband, Eduardo Downing, had been notified +and came up in state from his ranches, with his Mexican +wife, to receive her.</p> + +<p>One child more or less never made any difference +on the ranch of Eduardo, and his wife rather liked the +little white doll that was alive, for her own brown-skinned +grandchildren to play with. It was better +than an Indian baby—more of a novelty, so that the +family affairs of the young widow were easily adjusted. +She accepted invitations to visit friends of her cousin +on ranches and in town. For a year she had earned +the reputation of being a rather gay flirt, and she could +have married several times. Keith Bryton's friends +had more than hinted that she was waiting for him, +and when the word went abroad that it was his half-brother, +eyes were opened wide in Los Angeles. +There were lifted brows, and smiles. Keith knew +how the marriage would be commented upon, and he +was filled with rage that she should assume at once +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +her care-free attitude, and fraternize with Rafael +Arteaga, as she evidently had done on the ride down. +And Teddy trusted her absolutely—good old Teddy, +who had been infatuated from the first sight of her, and +had loved without hope until lately, very lately indeed!</p> + +<p>They had been married on the eve of his trip to +Mexico. His letter, written that night, and given her +to mail, had been held back by the bride until she was +ready to follow it on the next stage. What mad idea +had she in thus coming to the last village likely to +be attractive to her? Was it to enjoy her victory?—to +show him that his years of devotion to Teddy +went for nothing when she chose to turn the light +of her countenance his way?</p> + +<p>Something like that it must have been,—the freakish +defiance of a spoiled child. Not innocent, despite the +big baby-blue eyes, but too ignorant of social conditions +in this Mexican town for him to leave her to the guardianship +of Rafael Arteaga when he should ride away +to-morrow. The only American men in the place were +unmarried. For Teddy's sake he must see that she +went too. For Teddy's sake—that was the devil of it!</p> + +<p>Rafael was lounging in the door of the post-office +smoking, when Bryton emerged from the patio. +There was a smile in his eyes as he noted the annoyed +face of the American. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +"I was waiting for you, amigo," he said, walking +beside him. "I have no wish to object to the hotel +of our friend Mac; but I believe it may be possible +to secure a better place for señora, your sister. +The widow of my brother is still here, Mac has just +told me. I can turn over to them a house of plenty +of room to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Many thanks to you, Don Rafael; but the lady +will probably remain only until the next stage passes. +It will not be necessary to inconvenience any of your +people."</p> + +<p>He nodded good-naturedly and left Rafael at the +gate of Alvara. Teresa was yet on the veranda, interested +in the one event of the day, the arrival of +the stage, and the lady who was its most noticeable +passenger. Alvara did not think it could have been +Don Eduardo's cousin, for if so, surely Señor Bryton +would have brought her at once to the Alvara home. +Teresa, on the other hand, insisted that it was the +English cousin; she had seen her once, and was sure +that no other white woman would look so much like +a white doll.</p> + +<p>They at once appealed to Rafael to settle the +question. Teresa pushed a chair toward him and +suggested a glass of wine.</p> + +<p>"Thou art tired, of course, and choked with the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +dust; a desert wind blew to-day! And who was your +pretty señorita? Don Juan Alvara and I could not +agree; he said it could not be the cousin of Don +Eduardo, or she would certainly have accepted the +very kind invitation he gave her to live here while +waiting for her relations."</p> + +<p>"Invitation?" Rafael looked quickly from one to +the other. "I am very sure Señora Bryton failed to receive +your invitation. She confessed herself in despair +if her cousin should not be here on her arrival."</p> + +<p>"But Señor? Bryton was told to bring her here."</p> + +<p>"Oh—h!" He was silent a moment and then he +smiled reassuringly. "I see how it is! He thinks +she will remain over only one day and does not like +to put you to trouble; but the poor lady down there +alone is no doubt very uncomfortable—perhaps unhappy. +If your daughters could call and see her—I +would accompany them. In fact, for the cousin of Don +Eduardo I will do anything I may be allowed to do."</p> + +<p>"Sure," agreed Alvara; "it is the right thing for +a lady to ask her;—if only Dolores and Madalena +have not ridden to the beach—"</p> + +<p>He went into the house to see, and Teresa looked +at Rafael and shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Thou hast told a part, but not all, my Rafael," +she said, quietly. "Is the so good Señor Bryton not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +so good at last? Does he want his brother's wife to +see only himself?"</p> + +<p>"You don't like him?" he said, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Well—if not?"</p> + +<p>"Then we could play him a fine trick—fine! He +is jealous, that is all. She rode down with me, and of +course, when I learned who she was, we talked—you +saw! Well, our Americano likes to be the only man. +He means to send her away to-morrow,—he is so +angry because she marry his brother! Of course she +goes, unless we keep her. It would be a good trick +to play if we could walk down there, and—"</p> + +<p>"We will go," decided Teresa, promptly; "at +once we will go before he comes back from the corral. +His brother's wife—eh? I ask myself if those people—the +Americanos—are so much better than our +own men, Rafael. I want no scandal and will help +you with none; but if you take from him the woman +he wants, I will make you a present—a fine one."</p> + +<p>"It is a bargain!" he agreed. "I promise to earn +the gift. He is a good enough fellow, but much too +conceited; we will cure him!"</p> + +<p>As Alvara came out on the veranda to tell them +Dolores and Madalena were away, and to ask Teresa +to call on the stranger in their stead, Teresa and +Rafael were on the street. +</p> + +<p>$1 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +"It is a good thing to do," he thought, contentedly +rolling a cigarro and looking after them. "It is a +kindness to Don Eduardo's cousin, and it is good for +Teresa. For the first time since the death of Miguel +she is smiling. Yes, it is a good thing."</p> + +<p>When Bryton left the corrals, the evening had +come; the afterglow was flooding the hills with pale +rose, and Indian boys were driving home cows +through the village street. The more time he had to +consider the matter, the more impatient he grew at +the reckless disregard of his new sister-in-law for the +conventionalities.</p> + +<p>Since she had married Teddy, she might at least +have remained decently and quietly where he had left +her. Or she might have continued her journey and +joined her cousin at San Diego; but to do so mad a +thing as to stop off here—he determined she should +go either north or south to-morrow, if he had to carry +her to the stage. He would tell her so at once.</p> + +<p>He had arrived at that determination as he crossed +the plaza and heard her laugh through the door of +Alvara's house. The door was open; she was trying +to teach Alvara English, at which his daughters +laughed very much. It was the sharp eyes of Teresa +that caught sight of Bryton first, as he involuntarily +halted in the road. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +"Yes, Señor Bryton, it is all true; we have robbed +the Señor Mac's hotel of your sister!" she called to +him with a new air of elation,—of victory.</p> + +<p>Alvara appeared and invited him to supper, which +he declined for a previous engagement with Don +Antonio. His sister-in-law came out and listened to +his excuses, and smiled quietly at him with the baby-blue +eyes, in which he read a certain defiance.</p> + +<p>"I would have smothered in that awful cell you +took me to!" she pouted. "These people are charming +to me; they are friends of Cousin Edward's. It +was Don Rafael took them to me. He looks like a +hero in a picture-book! How does it come I never +met him before?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps because during your last visit down here +he was in Mexico, making love to the girl he is to +marry very soon."</p> + +<p>"Oh! is <i>that</i> why you are guarding him so carefully?" +she said, laughingly. "Well, since I am +married, I am willing to stay and dance at his wedding; +but, Keith, if I had seen him first—"</p> + +<p>She broke off, laughing at the quick anger in his eyes.</p> + +<p>And Teresa, listening, understood the game of +Rafael and the mocking laughter, and the anger of +Bryton, and was as happy as she was likely to be, +with Miguel under the ground.</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m055.mid'> +<img src='images/mu055.png' + title='Music:Danza Mexicana.' + alt='Music: Danza Mexicana.' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc055.png' title='M' alt='M' /> +</div> +<p>Many things had happened, and +it had been a bad day. "A +day cursed of God!" said Pedro +Gallardo, the driver; and against +such ill fortune the carriage of +Señora Luisa Arteaga made such +progress as might be, from San +Luis Rey to San Juan.</p> + +<p>Clouds had drifted along the mountains each night +for a week, and never the ranges a bit the better for +it, until the cavalcade of Doña Luisa had started +north from San Diego; and then—well, it was not +what you would call a rain, it was a torrent came +down. The skies had opened, and a deluge followed.</p> + +<p>Then, after leaving San Luis Rey, a carriage-pole +must break in an attempt at a runaway, and two +horses were lost over that, to say nothing of the off +leader, whose "sire had been the devil, and whose +dam had been a witch thrice accursed in the foaling!" +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +Their joint offspring had demonstrated his infernal +lineage by breaking his own leg as well as the carriage-pole, +and another untamed beast had to be roped on +the range—hog-tied, and blindfolded to get the harness +on him; and because of him Pedro's throat was +fairly blistered with curses.</p> + +<p>As the wheels sank into the sands or plunged from +one ravine into another, Doña Luisa prayed and +trusted to the saints that she might see her own valley +again, and her companion, Doña Jacoba, protested, and +forgetting to pray, waxed argumentative.</p> + +<p>"Raquel was right, Luisa," she repeated for the +twentieth time between her groans; "we had been +wise to wait at San Diego for Rafael. She has an old +head on her shoulders—you will have a wise daughter +when the day comes."</p> + +<p>"Wise! Yes—yes!" moaned Doña Luisa, shaking +her head. "I thank the Virgin for that, every day, +for Rafael is young, Jacoba; a baby of a wife would +be his ruin. Yet—a baby might love him!"</p> + +<p>"Our boys get love enough!" grunted Jacoba, +thinking of her own sons, and her own troubles. +"They need wives with sense; and our girls all go +wild these days about the Americanos, so—"</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p056p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p056w.jpg' + title='Raquel Estevan' alt='Raquel Estevan' /> +</a> +<p>Raquel Estevan</p> +</div> + +<p>"The girls, too!" and Doña Luisa's tones were +strident with censure. "It is bad enough when men +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +must buy and sell with the Americanos in the markets; +but the girls,—the women of California,—it is in +their hands to shut the door when the Americano +knocks—is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, of course—yes—it is as you say," +agreed Jacoba, weakly, as she thought of the many +girls of their relationship, who had opened doors very +wide indeed for the Americanos, and of not a few who +were to open also the door of the Church. But who +could tell Doña Luisa that?</p> + +<p>"Rafael is all I have left, now that Miguel is killed," +continued the mother. "My only grandchildren are +half-breeds, and only Rafael is left. Ai! it is hard to +grow old,—to let go all lines. But you know what +makes me happy, Jacoba? No? It is this one big +thing. Raquel will be what I was. She may suffer, +but she will stand square on her feet; and she will fight +as her father fought—and it will be for California."</p> + +<p>"You think so?" asked Jacoba, doubtfully. "It +may be so, but—do you expect strong fights from +a girl who was half a nun? I say she knows too little +of the world to fight it."</p> + +<p>"You take from me my one hope when you say +that!" and the older woman put out her hand +appealingly. "Our men are wild—always! It is the +women's work to save them. The death of Miguel +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +is making me think much and quick. Rafael must +be marry. There must be no more Indio women and +children."</p> + +<p>Jacoba glanced doubtfully at her friend. These +five years, while Rafael had been learning California +ranch life, Jacoba had lived near enough to hear much +that she never could repeat to the old mother, whose +life was so nearly spent, whose weakness and prejudices +could never cope with the new life in the +changed land—and of what use to torture her with +the truth? She wished with all her heart the exile +had elected to stop over at San Diego or San Luis +Rey, until some little glimmer of present conditions +should enlighten her.</p> + +<p>"It is well the <i>donas</i> came by water," she remarked, +eager to find some straw of comfort in the situation. +"Even extra baggage would be a care, with these roads +and troubles, to say nothing of the temptation to El +Capitan! Thanks to God, he never yet has had +record of troubling women on the road."</p> + +<p>"He was a fine boy," said Doña Luisa, musingly. +"It is not his fault that he is an outlaw to these States. +It means only that he is patriot to California. He +was a fine boy."</p> + +<p>"Ask thy son how fine he thinks El Capitan!" +remarked Jacoba. "Rafael has paid him a heavy tax +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +in his best stock. They have long ago forgotten they +are cousins."</p> + +<p>"Raquel will make him remember," said the older +woman, with certainty. "Did he not fight as he was +able beside her father? Ai! he fought for California +when only a boy. Do Californians forget?"</p> + +<p>"He does not let them do so," remarked Jacoba +dryly. "Much has changed, Luisa."</p> + +<p>"I see no change, only the Indios more poor. +The hills are green, as always after the rains. All +these ranges are the same like we rode over them forty +years ago. The hills and the sea never change, only +the people. It is good to hear there is one of the +young left who thinks in the old way."</p> + +<p>"But—holy Maria!—we were never robbers, +Luisa!"</p> + +<p>"Well, we did not need to be," returned her +friend. "But I tell you truly, Jacoba, I could find +it in my heart to forgive a son who fought the Americanos +as he does, even if they made him outlaw. He +could not be outlaw to the Church, nor to me."</p> + +<p>Jacoba said no more. Of what use was it to tell +her that a few such women would be firebrands in the +land if they had youth, and that the American soldiers, +instead of coming peacefully to buy stock and pay +good prices, would come from Los Angeles +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +shooting,—would come with torches to burn each town where +rebels hid. It was no longer little internal wars, such +as they used to have in the days they both remembered, +when the men who smoked or played together one +month would fight under different leaders the next.</p> + +<p>There were no faction fights now. It was one +great ugly pale nation to the east, trailing slowly over +the ranges and planting itself like the live-oak in the +cañons. The Mexicans might hate, might curse; but +the curses made no difference against the heretics. +They had no churches, and they laughed at the beautiful +wooden saints in the old chapel. Had not some +of them snuffed out candles on the graves with their +accursed rifles, last All Souls' Day? Yet the sky +had not fallen, and no earthquake had come! What +would even prayers or holy Church do against a people +so ignored by God?</p> + +<p>But Jacoba knew there was no use to fight. She +remembered what that meant in the other days. In +an old adobe of San Juan's one street she had helped +as a girl to nurse the wounded of San Pascual. It +was years ago, but she had not forgotten the cruel +wounds, or the young Americano who died in her +arms there. She had never mentioned to any +the reason of her hatred for war; for even with +revenge in reach, on whom would she seek it?—on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +her brother who had killed a stranger forcing their +gates?</p> + +<p>"You do not forget how the blessed Junípero Serra +himself spoke from the altar of San Juan in the old +days, Luisa; our grandfather telling us that many +times,—how, when the Spanish guard was hard with +the Indios, he stood on the altar and say that a new +people will come and put the foot on the neck of the +Mexican like the Mexican tramp on the Indios. +He say it, and cry—cry for the reason that the good +God no can make their hearts more soft to the Indios. +I think of that when I see the Americanos come. They +not put the foot on the neck—but they are here!"</p> + +<p>"Father Junípero was old then—very old—like +a child, and would make of the Indios babies to be +petted," returned Doña Luisa, leniently. "He was a +saint—not a man; only the saints could have the +patience with those Indios—I remember! One of +the old scares of the padre's was that the water would +fail us; yet San Juan still has its river!"</p> + +<p>Jacoba nodded. They were likely to find the river +a difficulty after the rainfall. The ford was not a +good one in high water; but the thought of getting +across the ford was a trifle compared to the difficulty +of impressing Doña Luisa with any idea of the +change she would find in the land she had known. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +In sheer despair she returned once more to a safer +subject, Raquel Estevan,—Raquel the wise, who was +to marry with Rafael and forever build a wall about +him from American influence; Raquel, who might not +love, because of that dark shadow of the cloister, but +who would be all the more wise for that! Still, who +could tell?</p> + +<p>"When one is young like that, one never can be +sure until the right man comes," said Jacoba; "and +she is handsome, your Raquel. But is it true what +they say, that there was the blood of the old Mexican +Indios in her mother?"</p> + +<p>Doña Luisa did not commit herself; yet she realized +that Raquel Estevan might have a few battles to fight +along the line of race, as well as against the Americanos; +for of course Rafael was a favorite; of course +there would be burning hearts and jealousy at first.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p062p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p062w.jpg' + title='Keith Bryton' alt='Keith Bryton' /> +</a> +<p>Keith Bryton</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m064.mid'> +<img src='images/mu064.png' + title='Music: Esta Noche.' + alt='Music: Esta Noche.' +/></a> +<br /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Esta noche voy a verte,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Al otro lado del rio<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Te encargo que estes despierta ay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Para quando te haga (<i>se silva</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay! Paloma, daca el pico De ese rico manantial,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay! Paloma, daca el pico De ese rico manantial!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m065.mid'> +<img src='images/mu065.png' + title='Music' + alt='Music' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc065.png' title='F' alt='F' /> +</div> + +<p>From Las Flores, where the Indian +village still held together in +a shiftless sort of way, Raquel +Estevan and her friend Ana +Mendez galloped north mile +on mile over the mesa above +the sea.</p> + +<p>"Art never tired, Raquel?" demanded the older +and darker of the two as they halted to let their animals +drink where a rivulet ran full from the foothills. +"Since we left the ranch house thou hast never +lessened the gallop."</p> + +<p>"Tired? I should shame to acknowledge that, +when Doña Luisa never rests on the way. She +endures it all, while only the young ones complain."</p> + +<p>"Endures! What would she not endure for her +beloved Rafael—now your beloved Rafael?"</p> + +<p>Ana was not malicious, but there was a touch of +mockery in her tone and questioning glance.</p> + +<p>"Why should he not be beloved?" asked the other, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +smoothing carefully the mane of her horse and bending +low to conceal the slight flush of cheek. "Is he +not handsome and good?"</p> + +<p>"It is not easy to be good when a man is so handsome," +laughed Ana; "still, I will take your word +for it! But, Raquel, you always get clear of the +question; not once have you said that you find him +beloved. Are you going to be coquette to the +wedding-day?"</p> + +<p>"You talk to amuse yourself," and the violet dark +eyes were lifted an instant. "You learn to coquette +when you marry, and cannot forget; but the nuns +never teach us that."</p> + +<p>"What need?" and Ana showed her white teeth in +a laugh. "They did not teach us we must breathe +to live; yet some way we learned it! But confess! +You outride all the party to reach San Juan, and +Rafael; yet how are we sure what urges you?"</p> + +<p>"My promise."</p> + +<p>"But why the promise, if the man is not beloved? +You have had no harsh guardian, as I had; you were +all free."</p> + +<p>"Free? Oh yes, I had always the choice between +some husband and the veil of a nun. And then—then +Doña Luisa came with her love and her son, +and her great plans of good work I could do out in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +the world. And so—and so we are riding to meet +him, and I outride you!"</p> + +<p>"I never hasten to trouble," remarked Ana Mendez; +"and if we should meet him on the way, you +would send me at once to the carriage. I should put +in hours listening to the virtues of Rafael Arteaga and +peril my soul pretending to agree with his mother."</p> + +<p>"Why should you do that?"</p> + +<p>"Raquel, do you really see how little the ideas of +Don Rafael and his mother agree? I know little +enough—thanks to California, which keeps its girls +from education; but I do see that every thought of +Rafael Arteaga is for the new ways, the ways of the +Americano."</p> + +<p>The younger girl drew up her horse with a cruel +jerk, and faced her friend.</p> + +<p>"Anita, beloved," she said, sadly, "you have said +the thing I felt, but did not know. Why not let some +less dear one tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Holy Maria! Who else would? You are going +among strangers, but you are no more a stranger to +the California of to-day than is Doña Luisa. I hope +all the time some one tell you at San Diego, or at San +Luis Rey, but no one does; and Rafael does not meet +us; and—"</p> + +<p>"The letter did not reach him, or else he has gone +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +by boat," said the other, steadily. "Anita, why do +you sometimes seem not quite friendly to Rafael? +Your words—"</p> + +<p>"Never think it!" cried Ana. "We are friends +enough, but—I know him better than his mother—that +is all! He has turned the heads of many girls, +but I do not think he has turned yours, Raquelita!"</p> + +<p>The other girl made no reply.</p> + +<p>"I do not think so," continued her friend, "because +you have never once lost sight of duty,—the +duty Doña Luisa and the padre have taught you to +see. You are good, Raquel,—when you are not in a +temper; but about Rafael you do not think your own +thoughts. You dream of the life of your father and +Doña Luisa when all this land was theirs. But the +dream is gone, and to-day we wake up."</p> + +<p>"I see—the old world was too slow. You wake +up to be all Americano—no?"</p> + +<p>"Raquel, do you hate them as much as Doña +Luisa?"</p> + +<p>The girl from Mexico turned her face toward the +sea, and did not answer at once. Then she said:</p> + +<p>"Only once in my life have I spoken with an +Americano, and I did not hate him."</p> + +<p>"A young man?"</p> + +<p>"He—he was not old," she confessed. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +"On my soul, I believe you have had a lover!" +cried Ana. "Oho! you can play Rafael at his own +game, after all! Santa Maria! I thought you were +too pretty to be the saint they think you. Tell me!"</p> + +<p>"There is not anything to tell," said the younger +girl, quietly, though the color crept to her cheek; and +then after a little she added, "He died. I never saw +him but once; the padre said I was wrong to—to—oh, +they said things to me about heretics! I never +knew any other, and I promised not to. But if he +had lived I should not have promised; that is all."</p> + +<p>"All! Rafael would think it enough! On my +soul, I am glad you are so human—though I have no +love myself for heretics!"</p> + +<p>"Human!" mused Raquel. "Is it human to remember, +when one should forget and cannot?"</p> + +<p>She did not say it aloud, and refused to discuss the +matter further.</p> + +<p>"He is dead," she said; "Rafael cannot be jealous +of a man I saw but once; it was only the dream of a +girl—like a picture in a book—and the page is closed. +I shall marry Rafael, and work in the world instead +of in the convent. It is for Mother Church and—it +is right!"</p> + +<p>At San Onofre the surf was breaking against the +cliffs. It was high tide, and the beach road was deep +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +enough for a horse to swim. Raquel had ridden far +ahead, and now stood on the brink of a torrent cutting +its way down from the hills to the sea.</p> + +<p>The girl glanced back at the swaying chariot-like +carriage on a far hill, and wondered what would be +expected of their broncos in this crisis.</p> + +<p>The animal she herself rode danced and fretted with +fright at the roar of the surf and the dash of the hill +stream, but she sat the saddle with ease, answering +to every curve or side leap as lightly as a gull that +floated on the incoming wave.</p> + +<p>Her face held something of the power suggested by +her strong right hand. The eyes were so soft, yet +steady, and of darkest violet. The black lashes touching +her cheeks gave them tender shadows, and the +hair, in two thick braids reaching to her waist, framed +a face of youthful curves and charm. But what was +it made every man, and many women, turn to look +again at the face of Raquel Estevan?</p> + +<p>Many girls were as beautiful, but something beyond +the beauty of feature or color was in her strange half-Egyptian +face,—a certain barbaric note held in check +by the steady eyes and the mouth firm yet tender. It +was a mouth made for love; yet—was it the shadow +of the dark veil she had so nearly worn? Was it a +hint of regret for the cloistered life left behind? Or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +was it the shadow of some future—a prophecy of +the years to come?</p> + +<p>Ana paused at the edge of the stream, in terror at +the volume of water barring their way on every side.</p> + +<p>"Ai! ai! And Aunt Jacoba but a moment ago +declaring that she will have her supper in the refectory +of the San Juan Mission. Neither Mission nor supper +can we see this night—and no Rafael!"</p> + +<p>She turned dismayed though roguish eyes on Raquel.</p> + +<p>"He did not expect us when the rains came," said +Raquel with quiet certainty. "If he received Doña +Luisa's letter, he has gone by sea to San Diego. Did +she not say so, Anita?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he can do much, your handsome Rafael," +agreed Ana, "but he cannot yet stop the tide, or dam +La Christienita! Such a dry bed in Summer! and +now it is a river."</p> + +<p>"But not deep?" hazarded Raquel. "Not so deep +as the carriage bed."</p> + +<p>"Deep? There is one ford that is safe if one +knows it; but, Holy Maria! on each side are pits of +a depth to drown us all!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if there is a good ford to be found—" The +rest of Raquel's sentence was drowned in Ana's shrieks +of protest, as her horse was spurred into the torrent +in search of the roadway safe for a carriage. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +Ana was right; there were pits, and there were great +round bowlders on the edges of them. The horse +stumbled on one, recovered, and stumbled again where +the current swung into a whirlpool; and then, as +the water roaring in her ears almost drowned Ana's +screams, a sharp authoritative voice sounded from the +bank—</p> + +<p>"Loose the stirrup!"</p> + +<p>Raquel did so mechanically, just as a rope circled +about her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides, +and with a quick, cruel jerk she was wrenched from +the saddle; and as her horse, relieved of her weight, +swam straight for the opposite shore, she felt herself +caught by a strong arm and lifted across another saddle. +The man with the reata had caught her first, +lest she be dragged downward into the whirlpool, but +it was another man who dashed through the whirl of +waters and bore her to the shore, where half a dozen +men waited. They were evidently vaqueros; one of +them had thrown the reata, and hastened now to loosen +it, to lift her from her rescuer and stand her on her +feet. She swayed a trifle, and reaching blindly for +support, she caught the arm of a man beside her, +the one who had lifted her from the water. Then for +the first time she noticed that he wore the garb of a +priest, evidently a secular priest, for he wore a beard, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +and even then it struck her as strange that he looked +so bronzed and rugged. His grasp was that of a rider +of the range, rather than a priest of the Church.</p> + +<p>"Father, the Virgin have you in her keeping! +You saved my life then. I shall always—always—"</p> + +<p>Then she could no longer distinguish priest from +vaquero; the earth seemed to meet the sky, and between +them she was extinguished.</p> + +<p>When she awoke she no longer could hear the +screams of Ana, and the red rays of the lowering +sun touched the face of the priest as he bent over her. +It had more of youth than she had at first perceived.</p> + +<p>"Lie you still," he said, as one used to command. +"The water was rough with you, and the reata rougher. +Swallow some of this wine; it came from your own +carriage, and is better than ours."</p> + +<p>"From the carriage?" The carriage was on the +opposite side of the stream, but her horse had followed +her and was tied near, shaking himself like a +great dog.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I sent one of the boys—the vaqueros—across. +Your friends know you are safe, but the carriage +cannot come over—not yet; you have had good +fortune to get out."</p> + +<p>"The good fortune was to find you here, father," she +said, and catching his hand she kissed it reverently. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +"It is a good omen and shows me a blessing is on +my journey to my father's land. You may have +known him by name. I am Raquel Estevan, and +it was my father Felipe who once owned this land +from mountain to sea."</p> + +<p>"Felipe Estevan—you! But that cannot be. He +is dead, and his one child is in religion—I was told +so—I—"</p> + +<p>The color came back to her face, and she raised +herself on her elbow.</p> + +<p>"It is true—I was for the Church—but I will tell +you all—some time!"</p> + +<p>"Go on," said the priest, authoritatively, "tell me +now!"</p> + +<p>"I was told it was better to work for God out in +the world," she said, softly, "and so I am coming +with my Aunt Luisa, father's cousin, and—"</p> + +<p>"And—" he looked at her strangely. "Then it +is you—you they bring to marry with Rafael Arteaga. +Holy Mary! And it is Felipe's daughter—Felipe +Estevan—who sold for a song rather than live under +the Americanos; and it is for his daughter I wait here +by San Onofre—for his daughter!"</p> + +<p>Raquel stared at his evident agitation, not understanding. +The sentences of the padre sank to muttering +beneath the black beard, as he turned and strode +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +away. The vaqueros, standing together holding their +horses as if eager to be gone, exchanged wondering +glances and eyed the girl curiously. Directly he came +striding back and halted beside her.</p> + +<p>"Yet you marry with Rafael Arteaga," he said, accusingly. +"You are Felipe's daughter, yet you are +much Americano—eh? You are of the States, is it +not so? Between you two, old California will no +longer have foot-room from San Jacinto to the water +out there. God!" and he ground his heel into the +turf. "Yet are you Felipe's daughter, and we must +let you go!"</p> + +<p>"No!" she cried as vehemently as he. "I go +nowhere from the rules of my father in this land. +The things he loved I love; the things he fought for +I will guard! It is for that, father, I marry with +Rafael. He is—he is not so much for old California, +I know—I hear! His mother is afraid; she +grieves over that much! But the two of us—the +two of us, with your prayers to help, and we keep +him always for our father's country—always till +he die—with your help!"</p> + +<p>"With my—help?"</p> + +<p>"Your prayers, father! You will see I am Felipe +Estevan's daughter, even while I am born in Mexico. +I will do what a son would do for our land and our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +Church. You will see—you will see! It is a blessing +from God that you meet me here like this at the +edge of the land. Always I have thought these +thoughts in my heart, but only to you—a priest—could +I say them in words, and it is well you meet me +here like this. Your words are the words I needed +to make me see what I want to do. It is like a baptism +that I went under that water a girl, and your +hand lift me out a woman! The Virgin sent me here +this day that I meet you. You have opened the gate +of the land for Felipe Estevan's daughter."</p> + +<p>He leaned against the trunk of a young live-oak +and stared at her with a derisive smile in the smoke-black +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the Virgin sent me," he said at last, "and +she came near sending me too late. The trail is bad +along La Christienita for the night-time, and the +night is close. The man will take you back to your +friends."</p> + +<p>"But you, father? You come to the carriage and +see the mother of Rafael—no? They wait for us. +Doña Luisa is so very old; she will be anxious till she +speak with me—and with you."</p> + +<p>She arose and held out her hand. He regarded +her strangely, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"The men have other work than to camp with a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +pleasure party. I stay on this side and have far to +travel before sunrise. This once I talk with you—maybe +nevermore, and to San Juan you take one +message for Rafael Arteaga."</p> + +<p>"A message? Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Tell him Felipe Estevan's daughter has saved to +him this once a treasure; but no woman can guard +him always, for—El Capitan is never too far to come +quickly!"</p> + +<p>"Oh—Capitan?" she said with sudden comprehension. +"I was told at San Luis Rey how much he is +the enemy of Rafael. But it must not be, father. +Cannot we help that? I have heard of Capitan from +an old soldier of the wars, who told me all I know +of my father: he was a brave boy and—he fought +beside my father. I remembered that when I passed +his mother's grave at San Luis Rey—it will never +be bare and forgotten again—never! I planted it +thick with the passion-vine. Doña Luisa tells me +she was a great woman. She prays that some day +the two cousins may be friends."</p> + +<p>"Doña Luisa prays for what only the good God +could make happen," said the priest, grimly. "But of +course all things are possible to the good God, even +in the land which God forgot. Fidele is waiting."</p> + +<p>He made a movement toward the Mexican holding +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +her horse, and without further words mounted another +animal himself, and galloped away along the fringe +of trees skirting the cañon. Several of the others followed. +Only three remained to watch Fidele pilot his +charge across the ford, where the ford was safe though +deep; and once her animal's feet touched the opposite +bank, her attendant, with a sweep of sombrero, but no +words, wheeled his own horse and fell in line after his +comrades, who were disappearing one by one toward +the mountains.</p> + +<p>Raquel Estevan sat her horse at the edge of the +stream and stared after them, giving little heed to the +shrill calls and exclamations of the women. Even +after they had stripped her of the soaked riding-dress +and wrapped her in serapes for the night, she maintained +a thoughtful silence, and all Ana's hints of +romances went for nought, so far as gaining replies +or special notice.</p> + +<p>What treasure had Felipe Estevan's daughter saved +for Rafael Arteaga? And why—why—that strange +intensity of the priest? These questions were turned +again and again in her mind as she lay there in +the light of the camp-fire watching the stars move +across the high blue. The other three women were +sleeping as best they could in the carriage, smothered +in serapes. Jacoba lamented every waking moment, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +because of much-feared rheumatism,—she was so certain +it would mean a camp at the hot springs for +a month, just at the time of the wedding!</p> + +<p>Doña Luisa made no complaint. When told the +carriage could not by any means cross safely, she +braced herself for the ordeal of the night, and Raquel, +glancing toward her, could see her face gray-white +in the gathering dusk. All the night that gray profile +met her eyes, for she slept not at all.</p> + +<p>The driver had stretched himself where his horses +were tethered, but the two Indian boys who rode with +the carriage kept a fire of aliso boughs burning. +They would nod at times with sleepiness, but the +whispered command of the girl ever wakened them +quickly, and the dying fire would blaze again. There +was no conversation, only brief commands and prompt +obedience; and thus the girl passed the first night in +the land of her father, the roar of the sea and the +wild calls of the coyotes keeping silence from the +night.</p> + +<p>When the coyotes ceased and the birds heralded +dawn, one Indian boy rode across at the ford and +gauged the depth of the water on his cow-pony's legs. +It was "muy bueno"—very good indeed, the water +had gone down a foot, and before the dawn broke, +the whole cavalcade was again under way. There was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +breakfast to ride for, and it was several miles across +the hills.</p> + +<p>Pedro was of the opinion that there was a round-up +in the cañon of La Paz, about half-way to San Juan. +If so, there might be "carne oeco" and coffee to be +had—perhaps tortillas. The vaqueros would be +eating by dawn, but if it was possible to drive fast, +there might be hope of coffee at least.</p> + +<p>So Raquel rode ahead, alert at the coming day and +the promise of it. Ana was glad to stay in the carriage +with the older women, complaining that she had +caught cold from the sea-damp. At one bend of the +road she noticed Raquel far ahead, bending low over +the neck of her horse, scanning the ground. Then +she turned out of sight under the live-oaks in a narrow +cañon, and came galloping back to the main trail as +the carriage came up.</p> + +<p>"One would think you were searching the sand for +grains of gold washed down from the mountains!" +called Ana; but the girl shook her head, and rode +thoughtfully up the incline to the mesa above. She +had been noting the curious fact that the party of +vaqueros and the priest had left the trail one by one, +heading toward the hills wrapped still in the mist +of the morning.</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m081.mid'> +<img src='images/mu081.png' + title='Music: El Charro.' + alt='Music: El Charro.' +/></a> +<div class='poem'> +<div class='stanza'> +<span class="i0">Nescesito buen caballo<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buena Silla, y buen gaban.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc081.png' title='A' alt='A' /> +</div> + +<p>At La Paz they were in time for +coffee, and Raquel, who had +ridden ahead with an Indian +boy, was told a strange story +by the Mexican cook.</p> + +<p>A good breakfast had been +cooked, but the devil had got +among the horses in the night; there had been a +stampede—or something. Every one had got into +the saddle and ridden that way—up the river,—no +one had come back to tell him what it meant or to +eat the breakfast that was ready. It was cold now, +all but the coffee, but they were welcome to it.</p> + +<p>He was a newcomer in the land, and had never +heard of the Doña Luisa. To the cholo the lady or +the lord of the land is often an unknown personality; +their representative, the major-domo, is the centre of +their little universe. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +But as the carriage came lurching down from the +mesa, the oldest of the vaqueros, a very black +Indian, rode back to camp, and at sight of Doña +Luisa's face white and drawn in the morning light, +he slid from his bronco, and ignoring the cook's +impatient questions stood with bent head uncovered, +until the old mistress noticed him and spoke.</p> + +<p>"You are Benito, are you not?" she asked, as she +brought him to the carriage with a gesture, and rested +her hand on his to alight.</p> + +<p>"Yes, señora," said the old man with grave +courtesy, though trembling with pleasure at the honor +she chose to bestow; "I am Benito. I used to break +all the horses you rode. No one else was let put a +hand on them. You do not forget; I thank you."</p> + +<p>"I could not forget the things of my home. Is +there coffee? I am very glad."</p> + +<p>She held her left hand against her side, and the +women exchanged frightened glances at her pallor and +the strange weakness of her voice. While she drank +the hot coffee Jacoba deftly drew the old vaquero +aside to look at a bit of broken carriage harness which +Pedro was mending with rawhide.</p> + +<p>"Benito, is there no boy here to ride fast to the +Mission?" she demanded when out of hearing of the +others. "Our Doña Luisa is a sick woman, and no +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +one dare say it. Some one must go and have a bed +ready—everything!"</p> + +<p>"There is no boy here. The horses were run off +last night by Juan Flores or Capitan—no one knows +how many. All the men have gone that way. I +ride to the Mission. Don Rafael, he go to San +Diego to-day."</p> + +<p>"To-day? Santa Maria! he may have gone! Ride +fast!"</p> + +<p>"He not go yet," and the old man shrugged his +shoulders. "Too early. Army men going away. +Don Rafael make barbecue yesterday, and last night +he have a big dance for the Americanos in the +Mission."</p> + +<p>"Hush! Ride fast! We will drive as slow as she +will let us. But tell Don Rafael Arteaga I say for +him to meet his mother on the road."</p> + +<p>Raquel noticed the old man cantering slowly along +the level green, and heard the sound of his horse +galloping rapidly once he was out of sight past the +fringe of sycamores and low growths along the river.</p> + +<p>"For what is that, Jacoba?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, some bandits have run off some horses—they +may send more vaqueros," she replied as easily +as she could with the girl watching her like that.</p> + +<p>Raquel looked as though she thought all the truth +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +might not be in the reply, but she turned quietly away.</p> + +<p>"I would have ridden with him if I had known," +she said, and went back to Doña Luisa, who was so +eager to continue the journey that she would wait for +no breakfast but the coffee.</p> + +<p>"Cut another strap of the harness and take time to +mend it," muttered Jacoba to Pedro; "we are not all +so near to being angels that we can live without eating."</p> + +<p>Thus was a little more time gained.</p> + +<p>Benito made the second crossing where the river +bends around the mesa, and there met one of the boys +from the village looking for a pair of strayed mules.</p> + +<p>"The Don Rafael—he has started for San Diego?" +demanded Benito. "Turn and ride with me, José."</p> + +<p>The boy did so, grinning.</p> + +<p>"When Don Rafael wake up to-day he much too +late to go to San Diego," he said, and the old man +uttered a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>"He sleeping, then?"</p> + +<p>"No one sleep in San Juan last night," said José. +"There was the supper, and some girls stay. The +army men they all start north an hour ago, but +maybe the others still dance in the Mission, Don +Rafael say he go to get married, this is his last night—no +one must sleep, or be sober!" +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +José thought it a great joke, but Benito muttered, +"Jesus and San Vicente!" and ordered the boy to go +back for the mules, and rode on down the valley +alone.</p> + +<p>It took José some time to find the mules, and +when he did find them they were even more perverse +than usual; he had got them so near home as the hill +above San Juan, when one of them went careering +along the mesa as though heading for San Jacinto +mountain.</p> + +<p>By the time he had secured it and got back near the +road an astonishing sight met his eyes—something +one was not used to seeing at sunrise in San Juan.</p> + +<p>A carriage came down the valley road from La Paz +cañon. There were only women in it, and two Indian +boys rode in the rear. Where could a carriage +like that come from at such an hour? No one who +rode in carriages lived up those valleys!</p> + +<p>In staring at the carriage he failed at first to +notice the girl on horseback, who had ridden alone in +advance of the carriage, and had halted in the road, +on the brow of the hill, looking down across the +old pueblo to the sea.</p> + +<p>She was so motionless, he was very close before +he noticed her, close enough to hear her indrawn +breath of delight, to see the soft flush of emotion +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +touch her face. Almost he thought there were tears +in her eyes; he thought her the most beautiful lady +he had ever seen alive,—though one picture of the +Virgin in the chapel was as fine.</p> + +<p>José stopped at the sight of her and stood very +still. He could not drive mules into the road ahead +of a lady who was more lovely than even the wooden +saints with the gold painted around the border of their +gowns; and that is how he chanced to see a strange +meeting on that hill.</p> + +<p>No one knew why the English señora had elected +to take a pleasure ride alone that morning, when the +message of Benito, shouted as he galloped past, had +effectually banished from the minds of Dolores and +Madalena their intended picnic at the hot springs in +the mountain, for which they were all ready, and had +actually started. But when they tumbled with delighted +exclamations from the new American buggy, +and straightway forgot all their plans for the day, +including the entertainment of their English guest, +she stared in ill-concealed irritation from one to the +other as they chattered in Spanish, scarcely enlightening +her as to the reason of the sudden change in +their plans.</p> + +<p>When she finally gathered the idea that it was the +unexpected proximity of Rafael's bride-to-be, and that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +all the other social lights of the valley must expect to +be extinguished in her honor, the red lips of the +Englishwoman straightened a trifle, and the baby-blue +eyes took on a shade of coldness; for since her arrival +in California she had been made the centre of many +social affairs. In San Juan her one week, managed +by Teresa and Rafael, had been enough of a triumph +to cause Keith Bryton inward rage and to hold him +there as long as an excuse to stay had offered.</p> + +<p>Once she said in a burst of irritated frankness:</p> + +<p>"For mercy's sake, let me be happy once! You are +a dog in the manger, that's all! These people really +live! There is an empire here for the right woman, +and you need not tug at my chains to remind me that +I was fool enough to marry before I found it!"</p> + +<p>And now the real ruler of the empire was about to +enter into possession, and the temporary one was +frankly forgotten! Whatever her thoughts were, she +did not mean to assist at the royal entry of those two +women whose rule meant the ignoring of the English-speaking +people.</p> + +<p>Only Teresa, watching her out of beady black eyes, +comprehended and was content. Rafael had earned +the gift she had promised, but it had gone quite far +enough; it was as well Doña Luisa was coming with +the other girl!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +So, when Bryton's sister-in-law looked rather blank +and did not descend from the carriage, it was Teresa +who agreed that it <i>was</i> a morning too beautiful to +stay indoors, and of course if Doña Angela cared to +drive alone—and would excuse them—</p> + +<p>Doña Angela would. She leaned back languidly, +a picture of carelessness, and motioned the driver to +go on, but her lips still held their straight hard line +as they passed the great dome of the ruined chancel, +where the birds held sovereign sway.</p> + +<p>"It looks like a place for a throne," she thought, +enviously; "and a black creature from Mexico is +coming to rule it!"</p> + +<p>They were crossing the bridge at the streamlet, +when an exclamation from the driver caused her to +glance ahead and see the erect slender figure on the +dark horse silhouetted against the yellow flood of +sunrise.</p> + +<p>No girl of San Juan rode alone like that on the +mesa, and certainly not one would have paused like +that, transfixed by the beauty before her; there was +not one that would not rather have admired the +beautiful new buggy and the pretty hat of the fair +lady in it.</p> + +<p>But the girl on the horse did not appear to notice +either any more than she had noticed José. Her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +horse had halted straight across the middle of the +road. The driver of the buggy had turned aside +before she brought her gaze back from the sea cliffs +to rest for an instant on the fair indignant face of +the Englishwoman.</p> + +<p>The road was miles wide really—since one could +drive anywhere on the mesa, but the Mrs. Teddy +Bryton had heretofore seen every native step aside +from the beaten trail when she drove abroad, and she +was furious at the driver for turning his horses an iota +out of his way for that girl who looked like—what +did she look like?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bryton could not have put into words the +idea of the girl's face; but her own angry blue eyes +were caught and held for an instant by strange +fathomless violet ones—held until she shrank suddenly, +and the color left her face. Yet—as the carriage +paused, her head was still turned toward the +stranger, and José saw her put her hands suddenly +across her eyes with a gesture of repulsion or pain, +and sink back on the cushions.</p> + +<p>The girl on the horse had not moved a muscle. +She might have been carved from marble, for any sign +she made after she read the angry insolence of the +blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don Felipe Estevan's daughter," said the Mexican +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +driver, "and here ahead of the carriage of the Señora +Luisa—it must be so."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bryton gave no sign that she heard, neither +did she glance at the occupants of the carriage as +they whirled past; her mind held only one hateful +picture.</p> + +<p>"Felipe Estevan's daughter" meant that she had +looked into the eyes of the "black woman from +Mexico" who had come back to her father's land to +rule, and the Mexican woman had proven not so +black as she had fancied, and had sat there on the +crest of the hill with a pride that was half regal,—and +almost half barbaric,—as though the highway was her +very own—as though the centre of it belonged to +her by divine right. Mrs. Bryton's vain soul was +fired by a momentary wild temptation to test that +divine right, to show her there was one man in San +Juan not to be ruled by anyone else if she, Angela +Bryton, cared to call him to her side and keep him +there. Should she—or should she not?</p> + +<p>Teresa was quite right in her fancy that the trick +against the Americano had been quite successful +enough; it was time the other girl came to claim her own!</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m091.mid'> +<img src='images/mu091.png' + title='Music: La Noche Fatal.' + alt='Music: La Noche Fatal.' +/></a> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">En la noche fatal que a tus ojos<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dirigi una mirida ardoro-sa<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comprendi que la dicha amorosa,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No me es dada en el mundo gozar.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc091.png' title='I' alt='I' /> +</div> +<p>It was quite true that no one was +allowed to sleep that night of +Rafael's last bachelor supper. +Because of Miguel's death, there +could be no dancing, but the +hours passed merrily enough, +for all that. The army men +stayed until the faint gray shone in the east, when +they mounted and rode north after the horses, started +a day ahead.</p> + +<p>Keith Bryton had ridden with the herd as far as +Santa Ana, and then, to Angela's amusement, returned +to San Juan. She was certain that his return +had not been for Rafael's supper, but to see that she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +did not by some manœuvre manage that it be a +ladies' supper and graced by her attendance. She +had in jest threatened to suggest it, and Keith felt +very much as Teresa felt—it was quite time the bride +were at hand to stop a flirtation bordering on the +dangerous.</p> + +<p>But, after all, the ladies of San Juan were not +included. It was a carouse instead of an entertainment. +Girls were there, and guitars; and the big +Mission doors and wooden shutters inside the deep +windows barred the outer world from the hilarity, the +songs, the shrieks of laughter over toasts of the old +men to the groom-elect.</p> + +<p>At earliest dawn the army men, with promises and +gold pieces to the girls, and an extra glass to Rafael +and his bride, mounted their horses and rode north to +catch up with the herd before it reached Los Angeles. +One of the girls wept lest the one who had made her +favorite might never ride that way again, and the +wilder spirits marched around her with lighted candles, +singing a funeral dirge, ending in a wild fandango.</p> + +<p>Don Antonio was there, and old Ricardo Ruiz, and +they sat through the night playing with the dice, and +emptying each other's pockets in turn, and comparing +the old entertainment with the new, between the drinks.</p> + +<p>The fandango ended by Concha, the weeping one, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +doing the maddest dancing of all, and Fernando +Mendez poured out goblets of wine to drink luck +to her next lover.</p> + +<p>"It is good luck for himself he wants, Concha!" +called Rafael across the room. "Fernando is a coyote, +always awake for young chickens!"</p> + +<p>"Concha mia, he is jealous; never heed him, but +drink wine with me to the next lover!"</p> + +<p>"He offers her a glass of wine, Antonio," grunted +old Don Ricardo. "Huh!—that is the love-making +of California to-day!"</p> + +<p>"True, Ricardo; at his age you or I would have +been at her feet and our jewels on her breast."</p> + +<p>"Fernando has no jewels left."</p> + +<p>"I should say not. His father made love after our +fashion, hence—"</p> + +<p>"The deluge!"</p> + +<p>"The deluge of poverty and Americanos," assented +Antonio. "A plague on them both! They have +changed the land!"</p> + +<p>A burst of laughter from Rafael's end of the table +drowned the grumblings of the old men. Rafael had +told a story so very funny that the girls had shrieked +and giggled and protested behind their fans.</p> + +<p>"Fie, Don Rafael! and you to be a married man +in a week!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +"But a week is seven nights away, and all of them +your own, Merced mia!"</p> + +<p>"Merced!" called another man from a game of <i>malia</i> +at an old table once used for altar service—"Merced, +darling, never listen to a word he says! A paltry seven +nights! My heart is at your feet for a lifetime!"</p> + +<p>"Of nights or days, señor?" asked the girl, +laughingly.</p> + +<p>"She caught you there, Señor Gonzales," observed +Bryton, who was dealing the cards. "Don Rafael, +after all, makes the only definite offer."</p> + +<p>"You are right, Don Keith," returned the other. +"With the help of the Americanos, Don Rafael +is learning to be a good maker of bargains."</p> + +<p>"The sooner the rest of you learn the same trick, +the better for California!" retorted Rafael.</p> + +<p>"You hear?" said Don Ricardo.</p> + +<p>"Sure," assented the major-domo. "What if his +mother heard?"</p> + +<p>"All the saints! There would be murder!"</p> + +<p>"Por Dios!" exclaimed Rafael, as a servant opened +a window because of the thick tobacco smoke; "it +is daylight, and I must start for San Diego. My +last bachelor carouse is ended, and none of us under +the table!"</p> + +<p>"How sad that we are still able to stand on our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +own feet!" laughed Merced. "See!" and she sprang +to the top of a beautiful silver-decorated chest against +the wall; "one of us is even able to dance good-bye +to your last night of freedom! Good-bye, O free heart +of Don Rafael! On some to-morrow the bride comes!"</p> + +<p>"Holy Maria!" ejaculated Don Antonio, putting +his glass down; "she is dancing on the <i>donas</i> of the +bride!"</p> + +<p>"The <i>donas</i>!" echoed Don Ricardo, aghast; "and +the bride a young saint stolen from the Church!—the +<i>donas</i>!"</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked Bryton, while the rest +applauded the dancer. "<i>Donas?"</i></p> + +<p>"The gifts of the groom to the bride,—the gown, +the wedding veil, the—holy God! it's sacrilege!"</p> + +<p>"Is it?" asked the American; "then we'll stop it. +Come to coffee, Merced!"</p> + +<p>Without further ceremony he picked the girl up +in his arms, and carried her, laughing and struggling, +into the great refectory, where the Indian servants +were placing breakfast on the table.</p> + +<p>"That was quick work, Antonio," observed Don +Ricardo, with a breath of relief.</p> + +<p>"Sure; he is the best of all the Americanos. Ai! +even more like the caballeros of other days than our +own sons!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +Don Ricardo did not care to commit himself so +far as that. He contented himself with grumbling +at Rafael's indifference.</p> + +<p>"And the girl a young saint—meant to live in +religion!"</p> + +<p>Bryton rejoined them with a cup of coffee, and +both the men hastened to assure him that it was not +Rafael who was in fault, but the many glasses he +had emptied.</p> + +<p>"Sure, it was the glasses," affirmed Don Ricardo. +"No man of California would let a girl of pleasure +dance on the things sacred to the woman of his +family; eh, Antonio?"</p> + +<p>"Of course; at any other time Rafael would have +thrown the girl through a window; truly, he would!"</p> + +<p>"No doubt of it," agreed Bryton.</p> + +<p>"Doña Luisa has given the boy a long rope. It +must be that she has learned that it is too long—she +comes back after the years to steady him with a wife,—and +such a wife! Young, wealthy, beautiful!"</p> + +<p>"And a young nun, all but the veil!"</p> + +<p>"That seems rather a joke—or a tragedy—after all +this," and Bryton motioned to the remainders of the +night's carouse.</p> + +<p>"If there is a joke, it is the devil playing it on the +saints."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +"Sure; and the devil wins," agreed Don Antonio. +"It is all settled. The Doña Luisa is a wise woman. +Her son wins a wife, and the convent loses a fortune +and a nun at the same time."</p> + +<p>"Had the good son nothing to do with the +arrangement?" asked the American, dryly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, señor. Three times he have gone +to Mexico, where Felipe Estevan's daughter visit +with his mother. He has time to sing many dozens +of serenades,—all of the burning hearts and torment +of love, and lost souls, to make a girl have pity. +Maybe she have never before talked with one young +man, one minute of her life; who knows?"</p> + +<p>"It is good time she comes," observed Don +Ricardo. "One year—two years, and Rafael, like +Miguel, would be content with half-breed children +and their mother. Little Marta's child is born, and +they say she will not stay at Las Flores, where he +sent her—not for the best house there!"</p> + +<p>A peal of laughter reached them from the other room.</p> + +<p>"Bravo!" called Rafael; "I take you at your word, +Merced. A kiss to seal the compact!"</p> + +<p>"Keep it for your wedding-day, Don Rafael," she +retorted, and ran from him through the door into the +room where the three men were talking. But Rafael +caught her inside the portal, and dragged her back, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +his face flushed and his beautiful eyes glowing.</p> + +<p>"I will have it!" he muttered, with his lips against +her own. "You pretty devil, I will!"</p> + +<p>"And this is the home your young nun will come +to from her convent," Bryton remarked. "Some one +said there was Indian blood in her family; it may +prove fortunate, for she will need war-clubs instead +of religion to quell this sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"But with the help of her saints—"</p> + +<p>"Of course," agreed Bryton; "with the help of her +saints all things may happen."</p> + +<p>An Indian servant came in from the plaza, and +closed the door and stood with his back against it.</p> + +<p>"The Doña Madalena, and Doña Dolores, and the +Señora Bryton, stop in the calesha," he announced, +stoically; "they come in!"</p> + +<p>"Bar that door! they sha'n't; they must not!" +called Bryton, but it was too late. The side door +opened, and the three appeared—the two girls plainly +frightened, but Mrs. Bryton beautifully audacious.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Doña Teresa will not scold; we will +stop only a minute. Your uncle and cousin are here—it +is all right!" Then she saw Bryton, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"I told you I would at least see inside," she +observed, "and it is quite worth while. What a +magnificent chest!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +Bryton walked directly to her.</p> + +<p>"I will see you to your carriage," he said, laying +his hand on her arm. "What the devil did you +mean by this bravado?"</p> + +<p>She wrenched her arm free and regarded him coolly.</p> + +<p>"Thanks. I came because I said I would come, +and you said not to dare. 'Dare' is a risky word, +amigo. We will go directly. We are going to the +hills, and only halted to wish good luck to Rafael."</p> + +<p>"Malediction!" muttered Don Antonio. "He +can't be seen—he—"</p> + +<p>A burst of laughter came from the dining-room, +and the two girls retreated toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Women!" breathed Dolores; "if Doña Teresa +hears this—"</p> + +<p>"It is the servants—only the servants," said Don +Antonio. "Don Rafael has perhaps started on his +journey; he will be disconsolate that—"</p> + +<p>But at that moment Rafael and Fernando came in +from the dining-room, one smoothing his hair and +one arranging his cravat. Rafael was the less sober +of the two, but he managed to bow with a certain +grace as he took Mrs. Bryton's hand.</p> + +<p>"My poor house is at your service, madama," he +murmured, "and I am at your feet. I hastened to +you as soon as—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +—"As soon as he could get the other girls out +the back door," remarked Fernando, aside to Bryton.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bryton was horribly cross to me for coming +in; he thinks it too unconventional; he thinks I do +not know the Spanish customs, and—"</p> + +<p>"I offer myself as your teacher," said Rafael, +looking straight into the blue eyes. "Believe me, +señora, there are many delightful things to be learned +in old California!"</p> + +<p>"I shall remember your offer," she returned, smilingly. +"See how sulky Mr. Bryton looks! He +never takes time to be gallant himself."</p> + +<p>"That is true," assented Rafael. "He never looks +at the girls, or speaks except to tell them to keep quiet."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she replied, with a little malicious smile, +"there is always a girl excepted!"</p> + +<p>Bryton looked at her with impatient wonder; he was +about to speak, when an Indian came in with a tray +of coffee, and Rafael offered a cup to Mrs. Bryton.</p> + +<p>"Honor me, madama, and let us hear of the girl +who is an exception."</p> + +<p>"Bravo! The exceptions are always of interest. +Don Keith is forever a reproach to the rest of us; he +has no vices."</p> + +<p>"Or conceals them better!" put in Rafael, with a +touch of malice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +"You are to be unmasked, señor," murmured +Dolores, with lenient eyes.</p> + +<p>Bryton glanced at his watch and then with +impatience at his sister-in-law.</p> + +<p>"I have not the slightest idea of the lady's +meaning," he said, coldly; "and if you want to make +an early start for the hot springs—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bryton shut her teeth together with a little +click, at his palpable ignoring of herself.</p> + +<p>"Oh—short memory of man!" she said, chidingly; +"He has forgotten in a year!"</p> + +<p>"A year?" Bryton stared at her with a puzzled +frown, and a slight motion of his hand toward the door. +That, with its little suggestion of authority, decided her.</p> + +<p>"I shall tell it," she announced. "How many of +you believe in love at first sight?"</p> + +<p>"All of us, after meeting you!" declared Rafael, +with an exaggerated bow.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" agreed Don Ricardo.</p> + +<p>"My husband, you know, is an engineer, and goes on +long journeys into queer corners of the mining world."</p> + +<p>"Bad habit for husbands with pretty wives," +remarked Don Antonio.</p> + +<p>"Last Winter," continued she, slowly sipping her +coffee and watching Bryton; "last Winter he went to +Mexico."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +"Pardon! We do not ask for the love affairs of +your lucky husband, but—"</p> + +<p>"But last Winter Don Keith went along; yes—he +went along to look up some mining property in the +Indian hills, and when he came back—Have +any of you noticed the peculiar ring Mr. Bryton +wears?"</p> + +<p>"Angela!" said Keith, sharply; but she looked at +him with smiling insolence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know your little romance of Doña +Espiritu; Teddy told me."</p> + +<p>"Damn Teddy!" he remarked, while the rest +shouted with laughter at the color flaming in his face.</p> + +<p>"Doña Espiritu!" repeated Don Ricardo. "The +lady of the Spirit—let us hope it was a good spirit, +Don Keith—and that she was kind!"</p> + +<p>"To her health!" cried Rafael. "Pour brandy, +Fernando; we drink our last toast of this meeting to +the love of Don Keith—to the Doña Espiritu!"</p> + +<p>"I would rather see the ring than drink the toast," +said Dolores. "May I, señor?"</p> + +<p>"There is nothing remarkable about it, except +that it is very, very old," and he held out his hand for +her inspection. "An onyx engraved with the Aztec +eagle—now the Mexican eagle."</p> + +<p>"But given him by—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +"By a lady who was of service to my brother, to +an old priest, and to me."</p> + +<p>"See how he drags in the others," laughed Mrs. +Bryton. "Teddy and the priest got no ring; Ted +had a knife-thrust, and the priest a black eye. Keith +had some hurt on the head, from which he had a long +and interesting case of fever."</p> + +<p>"Let us hope Doña Espiritu nursed him through +it, and the priest did not watch them too closely," +remarked Rafael, with a meaning glance at Bryton. +The last drink of brandy had been the one too many, +and his smile was not nice.</p> + +<p>"Did she nurse him through the illness?" whispered +Madalena in Angela's ear.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I could tell," said the latter, demurely; "but +Keith evidently resents his romances being made +public."</p> + +<p>"Señorita, there is no more to tell," remarked Keith, +coldly; "not even so much as Angela would suggest. +My brother and an old priest and I lost our way in +the hills; and seeing a light, we chanced on some +religious meeting of a strange hill tribe of Indians. +They thought we were spies of the Church or the +government, and there was trouble. A lady, whom +the Indians and the priest called by the name you +heard, saved us all that night. She was the one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +person of the Catholic Church they would allow +to know them well, and she was a nun or a novice."</p> + +<p>"Santa Maria! and she gave you rings?"</p> + +<p>"The ring was some talisman respected by the +tribe. She put it on my finger after I had been struck +down and—well—used up. It stopped them when +words were of no use. We made a litter for the old +priest, and tied Teddy on a burro,—he had a leg +wound,—and we walked beside them over the wilderness +trail until dawn came, and we met help. +I fainted from loss of blood about that time, and +Teddy and I recuperated in the house of the old +priest. We never saw the lady again."</p> + +<p>"You never saw her again after an adventure like +that!" cried Fernando in amaze. "That is cold blood +for you!"</p> + +<p>"It may be that she was ugly—or old," suggested +Rafael.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, she was so charming that he +shouted for her in the delirium of the fever; that is +how Teddy learned that she was the one exception +among girls! But all their scheming could not learn +her name from the priest or the Mexicans. 'Doña +Espiritu' was all they ever heard. Teddy fancied they +had shipped her to Spain for the adventure with a +heretic that one night."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +"Is it all true, señor?" asked Dolores. "Doña +Angela laughs at it, and you frown; and between the +two, how are we to know how serious it may all be +to you?"</p> + +<p>"Serious enough to make him bare his head at +every old battered shrine for her sake," said Angela, +with a little shrug; "and an old ring of his mother's +was lost from his finger on that wilderness trail, while +the Mexican eagle took its place. Oh, nuns are +only women after all, and much can happen in the +length of a Mexican night!"</p> + +<p>"Well, señor," said Dolores, with sudden courage, +"I am a good Catholic, thank God! and I see no +sacrilege in the sort of love for which a man bares his +head at a shrine. Señor Bryton, the story will make +us of California more than ever your friends!"</p> + +<p>"Sure," agreed Don Antonio.</p> + +<p>"I am at your feet, señorita," said Bryton, with +kindly deference. "Now, Mrs. Bryton, if you have +no other—romances—to elaborate and embellish, +perhaps you will allow me to see you to your carriage, +before I start for Los Angeles. Don Rafael is detained +by us when he should be on his way south, +and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh—I beg—" began Rafael, but Madalena +interrupted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +"Not another moment must we stay. Aunt +Teresa will scold us well for this!"</p> + +<p>"For taking pity on a lonely bachelor?" asked +Rafael.</p> + +<p>"Lonely?" repeated Dolores. "We will come +again when the bride comes. Until then we leave +you to prepare your soul with this—and this!"</p> + +<p>She motioned to the decanter, and picked up the +scarlet fan of Mercedes.</p> + +<p>"You cruel one! You would make Doña Angela +think—but do not think it, madama! I assure you, +it is my mother's—or my aunt's—or—"</p> + +<p>"He never had an aunt," laughed Madalena. +"Come, Uncle Ricardo, Doña Maxima wants you +at home; she is at our house saying things to make +your ears burn."</p> + +<p>"Sure!" said Don Ricardo, getting on his feet and +taking the cane offered him. "But it is in honor +of Doña Luisa Arteaga I am here. When her son +makes gay company, it is the time for the steady +friends of the family to stay by. So I am here, Madalena +mia; and I shall say to my wife I was here all +the evening, right here at this table as a respectable +friend, and won seventy pesos!"</p> + +<p>"Sure, he did," assented Don Antonio. "But it is +over! The sun is up, it is good time to go home."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +Rafael managed in the farewells to kiss the hand +of Mrs. Bryton twice, and to be observed by Bryton +only once. That was enough of victory for the moment, +and when the door was closed he flung himself +into a chair and reached again for the decanter.</p> + +<p>"Ai! she is delicious—the madama whose husband +plans mines and goes on long voyages! How +she makes our women look tame!"</p> + +<p>"Tah! She is insolent, that is all. We would +lock up our women if they had the American way. +Drink coffee—not more brandy."</p> + +<p>"To the devil with your coffee! And it is not an +American way—she is English—the delicious lady!"</p> + +<p>"Worse still!" grunted Fernando.</p> + +<p>"How?" roared Rafael, straightening up in his chair. +"You forget, señor! She is my friend—my very illustrious +friend—she is—no matter what she is. Her husband +goes on long voyages—and you must apologize +to me—you hear? I have the admiration for her—I—"</p> + +<p>"You are drunk; that is what ails you, Rafael," +said his friend, bluntly. "You think that you are +in love with that woman, but you are only drunk."</p> + +<p>"Drunk—I? And you call her—call the illustrious +lady who is a friend of mine, 'that woman!' Señor, +there are two swords on the wall. You take your +choice—you—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +Fernando tried to avoid him, but he wrenched the +sword from the wall and lunged at him wickedly.</p> + +<p>But for a girl who shrieked and rushed from a +shadowy doorway, and flung herself on the arm of +Rafael, it would have gone ill with Fernando.</p> + +<p>"Rafael mio!" she cried, clinging to him, "for the +love of God!"</p> + +<p>"Marta!" he cried, and dropped the weapon. "I—did +I not tell you—"</p> + +<p>He broke off vaguely, and avoided Fernando's +eyes; that young man laughed good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>"Another illustrious friend whose husband goes on +long voyages!" he said, lightly. "I leave you, my +friend, until you are sober. Señorita, adios."</p> + +<p>Rafael stared moodily at the girl. She was a pretty +bit of bronze flesh with passionate eyes.</p> + +<p>"I told you to stay on the ranch," he said at last; +but she broke into tears and caught his hands.</p> + +<p>"I could not! They all know—the old woman +and the priest. They thought I was dying, and he +came and I had to tell him the name of the child's +father; and—and when my own father comes back +from the herding he will beat me, and I will not +stay! I will not! He is not a fine gentleman, +Rafael; he is only a herder who was a soldier in +Mexico. Fine words would not count with him, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +unless it would be words before the priest, and you +promised—"</p> + +<p>"Jesus, Maria, and Joseph!" burst out Rafael. +"What an hour to come with a list of a man's promises! +I've been up all night, and I'd fight with the +saints if they came my way. Go, Marta; I will tell +Antonio to make a home for you away from the crazy +herder. I—I am very busy; I start south in an +hour."</p> + +<p>"But, Rafael—"</p> + +<p>"Well—well?"</p> + +<p>"They say you are to marry an illustrious señorita—that +you—"</p> + +<p>"They say a lot there is no sense in saying!" he +burst out angrily. "If you had stayed on the ranch, +you would not have heard their lies or—"</p> + +<p>"Ai! I am happy that it is not true. But that +one lady—whose hands you kissed—Rafael—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, for the love of God, go!" he said. "You +women drive a man mad! You—"</p> + +<p>Fernando rushed in, interrupting him:</p> + +<p>"Rafael! Your mother—she is here!"</p> + +<p>"My mother?"</p> + +<p>"On the hill—her carriage—a man brings the +news."</p> + +<p>"Damnation! Coming here—now? And my head—Yes, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +it's true, Fernando; I was drunk. Help me +to think! Make them clear all this away!" and he +pointed to the tables and the dice and the cards on +the floor. "Por Dios, how my head swims! And +my mother is no fool—she will see! Think, Fernando! +Help me to plan something. And you, +Marta, let yourself not be seen!"</p> + +<p>The frightened girl was only too glad to slip away, +while the rest of the group stripped the rooms of evidences +of the night's orgy.</p> + +<p>"Mount a horse and ride to the beach," decided +Fernando. "You will be gone on business, to see +about—eh—to see if the vessel for hides has come +in. Make yourself decent, and I will send a messenger +after you. Don't be too easily found—you are +likely to be drunker in an hour than you are now."</p> + +<p>"Curse the brandy! And Bryton was to come back +to see me about—oh, God knows what! But don't +let my mother see him—an accursed heretic Americano, +you know! Dios! If I could only sleep for +an hour!"</p> + +<p>Fernando fairly pushed him out at the door.</p> + +<p>"Take a sea bath; drink black coffee; get out of +sight while I receive the bride!"</p> + +<p>Then, after the door was closed on the groom-elect, +he took a quick survey of the room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +"That is right, open all the windows. Some one +cut lilies—the white ones—quick! Hide this fan for +Merced. Light those candles on the Virgin's shrine, +and put the lilies there and on the table. Whose pipe +is this under the edge of our lady's lace robe? It +smells vilely—take it away! Where is the key of +the chest of the <i>donas</i>? Here it is in the chest, and +that is unlocked—only Rafael could do that. Let us +hope he has not let Merced try on the wedding-dress! +Are there no more flowers? Get some for the room +of the señorita. Tell some one to make French coffee. +Manuel, put out the light."</p> + +<p>Dolores and Madalena ran through the open door, +breathless.</p> + +<p>"Fernando, she is here—the Señora Arteaga, +and—"</p> + +<p>"Already! Aunt Teresa told us to run and help; +she will come also. Don Rafael?"</p> + +<p>"Has ridden to the harbor."</p> + +<p>"More likely to bed," remarked Madalena, skeptically.</p> + +<p>"Señorita!"</p> + +<p>"Sh—h!" whispered Dolores, with lifted hand. +"The carriage; they are in the plaza!"</p> + +<p>She rushed out, and the others followed. Teresa +was there greeting Doña Luisa; but all fell suddenly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +silent as they noticed the gray-white of the old face, +and the frail figure as she descended from the carriage +with the help of Fernando Mendez and Ana—his +cousin's widow.</p> + +<p>Fernando cast one glance at the girl who sat her +horse and glanced over their heads for the face she +did not see.</p> + +<p>A wizened old Indian woman alighted from a cart +and came to her and touched her foot on the stirrup.</p> + +<p>"It is your new land, little mistress," she said, in a +tongue not understood by the others, "the land of +your handsome lover."</p> + +<p>The girl looked again across the many faces gathering +in the plaza, and then accepted the help of Don +Antonio to alight.</p> + +<p>"But he is not here, Polonia—the handsome lover," +she returned, and then walked past all the others and +slipped her hand under the arm of Doña Luisa.</p> + +<p>"A thousand welcomes, señora," said Fernando, +at the portal. "The town will rejoice to-day."</p> + +<p>"One welcome I had a right to expect at this door," +the old lady answered, "and he is not here."</p> + +<p>"He will be heart-broken. He did not think you +had yet reached San Diego. To-day he was to start +for there. Will it please you to have this seat?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet," she said. "Raquelita!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +Raquel Estevan gently disengaged her other hand +from Dolores, and the frail old woman led her to the +little shrine of the Virgin, where the candles glimmered. +The others halted at the door, but Fernando +and Dolores and Ana knelt also as the old woman +and the girl from Mexico clasped hands and bent +heads before the statue in the niche.</p> + +<p>The old woman rose first and kissed the girl's +forehead.</p> + +<p>"My daughter," she said, faintly, "I welcome you +for my son and for myself, to the land where you are +mistress. Now, señor!"</p> + +<p>Fernando placed a chair for her, and she sank into +it wearily.</p> + +<p>"My last journey, my children! You are the son +of Manuel Mendez?—we called ourselves cousins +once. I present you—all of you—to my daughter—Doña +Raquel Estevan."</p> + +<p>"At your feet, señorita!" said Fernando.</p> + +<p>"I appreciate the honor of your acquaintance, +señor," replied Raquel, in the conventional greeting +of the day and land. Then the others crowded about, +and spoke many pretty things of welcome. But in the +midst of it all Doña Luisa arose, and leaning on +Jacoba's arm, passed into the room prepared for her. +The group left behind stared into each other's eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +"How frail! How could any creature like that +make the journey?" asked Fernando. "She has +been very ill."</p> + +<p>"She <i>is</i> ill; we dare not mention it to her!"</p> + +<p>"But Rafael—her son—"</p> + +<p>"Must not be told, so she says; not until the +wedding is over. All at once she has gone like that. +It is the heart, señor, and she is old. It may be +months—may be days—may be only hours, and +we can do nothing but keep her quiet and happy."</p> + +<p>"Santa Maria!" muttered Dolores, "and Rafael—"</p> + +<p>"His heart it will break—no? To not see him +at the door is like a bad omen. She likes not the +new Americanos' way of business—to be gone at +breakfast time to look at ships! But of course he +is very good!"</p> + +<p>"You are very good," replied Dolores. "Have +they sent for Rafael?"</p> + +<p>"I will see," said Fernando, and went away muttering, +"The so good Rafael!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! we have a thousand things to ask you, +Raquel," said Madalena. "Could you have been a +nun and been happy if—Rafael had not found you?"</p> + +<p>"To work for Mother Church—is not that of +happiness?"</p> + +<p>"Never to dance! Never to hear a serenade! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +Never to watch on moonlight nights for a handsome +caballero!"</p> + +<p>"I would as soon live in a tomb," confessed +Dolores.</p> + +<p>"But if you had never seen a dance, would you +miss dancing? My mother's people were priests; +she was to have been a nun. My blood and my +teaching have been of the church. My life has been +lived in one little narrow strip of the world. All at +once the world changed. Sometimes it bewilders me, +this change. You say 'happy,' but I don't think +I know that word as you know it. Maybe I never +shall learn it—who knows? But I can find work for +the Church even here in the world, and you will all +be my good friends, and—I shall be content."</p> + +<p>Doña Luisa had entered the room while she was +speaking, and nodded her approval.</p> + +<p>"Content? You will be happy, my child; you will +be with Rafael! Have you seen the chest of the +<i>donas</i>? Is it not handsome? If we only had the +key!"</p> + +<p>"There is a little silver key on the shrine," said +Dolores, and ran to get it.</p> + +<p>"Aha! On the shrine of the Virgin!" said Doña +Luisa. "Is that not love, Raquelita?"</p> + +<p>"I am willing to believe it," she said, and took the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +little key, only to hand it back to Dolores. "You +open it—and may you be the next happy bride!"</p> + +<p>Dolores rushed to unlock the chest, and Madalena +to lift the lid, and Ana, as well as the older women, +exclaimed at the richness of the contents.</p> + +<p>"Ai! Raquel Estevan, thou happy one!" cried +Ana; "you have more luck than a queen!"</p> + +<p>They pulled out embroideries and laces and jewels, +with little shrieks of ecstasy at the beauty and fineness +of them. Raquel looked on, smiling at their delight.</p> + +<p>"Aha! is not that a lover, Raquelita?" repeated +Doña Luisa. "Bring me the mantillas. Those two +are for the bridesmaids; see how they look on +Madalena and Dolores—fine—fine! And here is the +wedding-veil—and the shoes, and the rosary—not +anything is forgotten! He is so dear, so good—my +Rafael!"</p> + +<p>The girls insisted on placing the wreath and veil +on Raquel's head, but she broke from them at sight +of a silken scarf of green and red and white.</p> + +<p>"Ah! more than all the jewels!" she cried, and +clasped it to her bosom. "The flag of my own +Mexico! I will love him for that—I will love him +with all my heart!"</p> + +<p>"Ah! thou hast said it at last," said Doña Luisa, +in triumph; "never forget thou hast said it!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +"When I say it," whispered Dolores to Ana, "it +will be to the man, not to his mother."</p> + +<p>"Come to me, daughter," said Doña Luisa, sinking +back into a chair. "The heart feels—feels almost +too happy! My dear Raquel—my dear Rafael!"</p> + +<p>"The Americanos will be crazy to see this wedding +in the old California fashion," said Madalena, adjusting +Raquel's veil caressingly. "Señora Bryton would +give her two ears—ouch! Doña Ana, you break my +arm!"</p> + +<p>"Give thanks it is not your neck, babbler!" muttered +Ana. Doña Luisa looked at the two intently +a moment.</p> + +<p>"Who is the American señora of the two ears?" +she inquired; "and why should the wedding of my +son have interest for such—persons?"</p> + +<p>"She—she was a cousin of Don Eduardo, and now +she is married again—and she visits us, and her +husband is some kind of engineer to make railroads, +and mines, and—"</p> + +<p>A pinch from Dolores stopped her this time, but it +was very clumsily done, Doña Luisa saw it.</p> + +<p>"Ah," she said, quietly; "and when is he to bring +the railroad of the Americanos to the Californias, eh?"</p> + +<p>The women and girls stared at each other.</p> + +<p>"I—I cannot tell her," murmured Madalena to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +Jacoba; "you speak! Of course it is not Doña +Angela's husband who does it, but—the railroad does +come—so they say."</p> + +<p>"Why do you whisper, and not speak aloud?" +demanded Doña Luisa, putting aside the hand of +Raquel, who tried to quiet her rising resentment. +"Is there not anyone here to speak plainly, and the +truth? What is it you try to hide from me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Luisa," begged Jacoba, tearfully, "do not +make of this a thing to trouble you! No one tries +really to hide things; it is not here the railroad is to +be first; it is only talk; it may never happen—it +may—"</p> + +<p>"Where?" demanded Doña Luisa. And Jacoba, +with tears in her eyes, confessed having heard of the +impertinence of the Americanos, who meant to +build a new road of their own instead of the wagon +trail to San Antonio.</p> + +<p>"That was good enough for our fathers. What is +now wrong with the San Antonio road?"</p> + +<p>"Not anything, of course; but the government—"</p> + +<p>"Ah ha!" and the old voice lifted to a shrill note +of triumph in having at last found the key of the +question. "The American government! I thought +that would be it. What new crime do they plan +against the Californias? This it is to grow old and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +lame—they would hide it from me! Speak, and tell +me all! Does the fine new government want my +home to quarter their pigs of soldiers in, as they did +in the Mission in other days? And would my +friends have hidden it from me until these upstarts +were across my door?"</p> + +<p>"Luisa—chulita—you were not well. Rafael said +you were not to be told; but since you think we mean +to speak falsely, or deceive you—"</p> + +<p>"Where is it to come? How near?" Doña Luisa +was not to be led an iota from the main question. +But at her demand, Jacoba tried to speak, and failed, +and could only weep noisily at the hardness in her old +cousin's tones.</p> + +<p>"Why do you make Aunt Jacoba weep like that?" +demanded Ana, resentfully. "What has she to do +with the railroads—she or her family? Your good +Rafael does more to bring them than any one else. +He sells them land; he and Don Eduardo help them +to get the rights to go where they please. Aunt +Jacoba would not do that; her father and her husband +would be burned at the stake before they would +help these new people to use the graves of the holy +fathers at San Gabriel as a road-bed!"</p> + +<p>"Mother of God!"</p> + +<p>Doña Luisa arose, as though to annihilate the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +daring speaker; but Raquel caught her and she sank +back in her chair with one tremulous hand extended +to the frightened Ana.</p> + +<p>"Go on!" she said, hoarsely. "Go on! Perjure +thy soul with lies, since thou lovest them so,—lies +against a son of Mother Church. Go on!"</p> + +<p>Ana shrank, and faltered, but the accusation +brought back her courage.</p> + +<p>"If the truth is shameful, the shame is not mine," +she retorted. "Through two of the Arteaga ranches +in the north has Rafael sold the right of way for the +American railroad to Monterey. That it might come +closer to his ranch-houses, he has let it be built across +the forgotten graves of the Mission fathers. Beneath +the feet of the Americanos will lie the holy apostles +of our Mother Church! The Protestant heretics will +wheel their pigs to market across the gardens where +Ava Marias have sounded all the years of religion in +California!"</p> + +<p>Doña Luisa stared at her with white face, and her +lips moved stiffly when she tried to speak. The +other women and girls were clinging together in tears, +and Raquel stood with her strong young arms about +her, as though to guard her against the world.</p> + +<p>Bryton, who had strolled back through the patio +for a final word with Rafael, had heard nothing of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +arrivals; he pushed open the door at the back, and +then halted at the sight of the group there,—the +women and girls frightened and weeping, the scattered +wealth of silks and laces flung across chairs and tables, +and the three girls with bride-like veils.</p> + +<p>"Is it—a witchcraft?" half whispered Doña Luisa +at last; but the whisper was plainly heard above the +sobs of the girls, who scarcely dared to breathe. "It +is a work of the fiends to snare his soul for hell +Immaculate Mother, let it not be!"</p> + +<p>Raquel bent above her with murmured assurances +of divine help, and the old woman suddenly caught +the hands of the girl in her own and held her, staring +in her face with questioning eyes; then she spoke +eagerly, fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Your wish but a moment ago! You wished for +some great work for Mother Church—to fight evil +out in the world; your guardian angel heard the wish +and has sent you a soul to save from the heretics,—the +soul of the man you love!"</p> + +<p>Raquel stared at her, but did not speak. Her eyes +looked a bit frightened, but she rested her cheek on +the frail old hands, and caressed them reassuringly.</p> + +<p>Doña Luisa lifted the gold and ebony crucifix, +and held it above her head.</p> + +<p>"Kneel!" she said; and the girls and women did +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +so. Bryton, in the doorway, caught sight of the girl +in the bride's veil, and made a movement toward her, +but was checked by the voice of the mother.</p> + +<p>"It is for the soul of the man you love, Raquel +mia. Never forget that—never forget!"</p> + +<p>"I will not forget," said the girl, gently; and at the +sound of the voice Keith Bryton's jaw set in a tense, +ugly way, and he stepped back into the shadow.</p> + +<p>"Then swear by the Holy Mother of God!" said +the old voice, and the crucifix above the head of the +kneeling girl was held rigidly steady.</p> + +<p>"I swear by the Holy Mother of God!"</p> + +<p>"Swear by the blood of Christ crucified!"</p> + +<p>"I swear by the blood of Christ crucified!"</p> + +<p>"To stand as a guard over the soul of Rafael!" +The old voice had a faintness, despite the steady +words; the end of her strength had come.</p> + +<p>The eyes of Raquel widened ever so little as she +realized what she was promising. There was an +involuntary pause before she spoke again, and then +the absolute despair of the mother, and her one hope, +swept over the girl's consciousness, and a spark +of the martyr fire lit her own soul.</p> + +<p>"To stand as guard over the soul of Rafael," +said she, steadily.</p> + +<p>"So long as you both shall live!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +"So long as—we both—shall—live."</p> + +<p>Then the crucifix fell to the tiled floor, and the +old face looked very gray, as she sank back on the +chair; and Jacoba smothered a shriek at sight of +her eyes; and Raquel, still on her knees, clasped her +about the waist and whispered:</p> + +<p>"Doña Luisa, Doña Luisa!"</p> + +<p>The staring eyes regained a momentary glimmer of +consciousness at the sound of the girl's voice, and she +lifted her hand again as though it still held the crucifix.</p> + +<p>"Until—the day—of—" and then the sentence +trailed along into the eternal silences of the unseen +land.</p> + +<p>"Señora!" called Raquel, appealingly; but Ana +caught her by the shoulder and looked in her face, +and said:</p> + +<p>"God help you, Raquel Estevan! To the recording +angel she has taken that oath."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Keith Bryton closed the door on the weeping +women, and walked out through the old refectory to +the inner court, where he met Fernando.</p> + +<p>"What is it, señor?" he asked. Bryton looked at +him much as though he had not been there.</p> + +<p>"I—I scarcely know," he said, dully. "You had better—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +"But you have the face of a ghost!" interrupted +Fernando. "Something has happened—in there?"</p> + +<p>"I think so," agreed the American, recovering under +Fernando's curious gaze. "Some one is ill—or—"</p> + +<p>Fernando ran past him, and Bryton walked slowly +along the inner court to where the one-time baptistry +lay roofless to the sky. Through an old doorway +with the Aztec sun cut in the coping, he passed +into the old graveyard of the padres, and thence to +the great altar-place of the old earthquake ruin. +Even there the cries of the girls came to him through +an open window—a wailing chorus of tragedy. Then +an old Indian untied the ropes of the belfry, and +the toll of death sounded along the valley. But +it seemed very far away. He stared at the half-pagan +decorations of the old stonework—never the +cross of Christ anywhere on them—and sat so still +that two linnets lit almost at his feet and were not +afraid.</p> + +<p>"I wondered why I should stray back to this little +corner of the world," he said at last, "and now—now +I reckon I'm finding out. God! I feel like a +bad dream. And my hands tied!"</p> + +<p>He paced back and forth on the old altar-place, +until the mad clatter of hoofs coming from the sea +cut across the tolling of the bells and told him the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +lost bridegroom—the man she said she loved and +would never forget—had been found.</p> + +<p>He swore softly as he crossed the plaza to the +veranda of Juan Alvara. The old man, rolling his +first cigarro of the day, was sitting there on the bench +in the early sunlight.</p> + +<p>"Don Juan," he said, holding out his hand, +"I ride to catch up with the officers and go with +them into the Indian country, and I may not see +San Juan again for a long time. Your home has +always been a pleasant place, and I thank you for +many courtesies."</p> + +<p>The old man shook his hand gravely.</p> + +<p>"Adios! You come back to San Juan—no?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," said Bryton. "If there is anything +I can do for you in Los Angeles—"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, señor; there is nothing. My daughters +go there in a week with the wedding party. For +whom think you old Tomás tolls the bell?"</p> + +<p>When informed, he stared vaguely at the Americano. +Alvara was growing old. Teresa had warned them +all that no one should tell him until his breakfast +was over and he had had his smoke.</p> + +<p>"Luisa! the Doña Luisa! Dead, you say?—before +the wedding-day? No, señor, pardon, but you have +not understood. I know Luisa Arteaga when she is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +still a little girl—and always. She not dying before +she have marry the boy like she want."</p> + +<p>Still, his hand trembled as he reached for his cane. +Across the plaza Indians and Mexicans were moving +toward the Mission. It was early for San Juan to be +astir in the street. Old Matia, who had been nurse +to Miguel and Rafael, went past, not seeing the two +men for the tears in her eyes. Yes—after all, there +was trouble—but Doña Luisa!</p> + +<p>In his perturbation he turned, and again held out +his hand.</p> + +<p>"Adios, señor," he repeated; "but you coming +back for sure. To San Juan all people coming back +some time. You go with the horses across the +deserts?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am going across the deserts. Adios!"</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m127.mid'> +<img src='images/mu127.png' + title='Music: El Corazon.' + alt='Music: El Corazon.' +/></a> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yo te he de amar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">te he de amar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hasta muerte,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Y si pudiera—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yo te a maria despues.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc127.png' title='M' alt='M' /> +</div> + +<p>He had crossed the ranges twice +and returned, but the City of the +Angels had lost its old witchery.</p> + +<p>The rose-tinted dawns, and +the amethystine dusks were +beautiful as ever, but to banish +the memories he had once +dreamed over there, he galloped alone to the harbor +called "The Hell of California," and lay all one +day on the beach, and stared moodily at the waves +whipping the yellow sands of San Pedro.</p> + +<p>To the south there, far beyond the prosaic stretch +of grazing-lands bordered by the sea, beyond all the +tame levels where the water was green or yellow in +the shallows, beyond all the jutting points, veiled in +the miles of mists, he could follow in his mind each +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +curve, until the one valley of beauty would gleam +like a green jewel seen from the cliffs of San Juan.</p> + +<p>And at the foot of those cliffs there were no flat +stretches of color such as make weary the eye; the +water there held all the shimmering, bewitching, +iridescence of a peacock's feathers,—the gold and +purple, the greens and the blues ever changing,—the +strange touch of pink making it all glorious in certain +glints of the sunlight; and at the edge of it all, the +fringe of foam—a string of pearls shattered on the +brown cliffs or sandy beach, and gathered up to be +dashed again and again and again—the endless garniture +of old Ocean's robe.</p> + +<p>Never on any other shore had mere waves, running +to the sand, the same witchery. Alvara had said that +all men came back some day to San Juan. What +witchery was it by which its mesa and its valley and +its wonderful shore were forever set apart from other +shores of California? Some mystery of life brooded +there from sea to mountain, suggesting so much which +was left for poor humanity to solve; it was only a +whispered suggestion, dim and delightful, as the music +of the waves heard from the Mission plaza, or as dreamy +as the high film of fog, drifting high up and tempering +the sun's rays until they fell softly as a benediction +on the valley between blue sea and blue summit.</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p128p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p128w.jpg' + title='Never on Any Other Shore' alt='Never on Any Other Shore' /> +</a> +<p>“Never on Any Other Shore”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +His own life stretched before him like the brown +levels and yellow flatness of San Pedro; and there to +the south, miles across the ranges, was the heart of the +dreamland he must not enter: another man had that +claim under fence. He gave voice to some self-condemnation +of a sort reserved for men who go <i>loco</i> +over a woman who forgets, and after hours of brooding +there alone by the shore, arrived at only one +decision—the California of the south ranges was no +longer his own. All the width of it was now narrowed +to one little valley, where the poppies flamed over +forgotten graves and adobe walls, and the doves circled +above a ruined chancel.</p> + +<p>He rode into town, where some kind friends +mentioned that Don Rafael Arteaga and his bride +were being <i>fêted</i> by the leading Spanish families of +Los Angeles, and he was invited to a dinner in their +honor a week hence.</p> + +<p>"I go to Mexico—I start to-day," he answered, +briefly. Ten minutes before, he had not thought of it.</p> + +<p>"To Mexico? You cover ground fast these days, +Don Keith. On the new road of iron they mean to +make, you could not go so much faster than on the +horses you ride; you have the good American luck in +the pick of them."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the good American luck!" said Keith Bryton, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +with a touch of bitterness. "May your saints send +you a better!"</p> + +<p>A man who stood near, and who much desired the +invitation Bryton had refused, shrugged his shoulders +as the Americano mounted his horse and rode away.</p> + +<p>"What better luck could a man have, than a +chance to meet Doña Raquel Estevan de Arteaga?" he +queried of any who might care to answer. "The +bishop himself shows her honor, and they say she +is working for the Church against Downing, the +Englishman, who holds the Mission lands under +Pico's sale. Sixteen years has the Church fought for +those lands in the courts; if she gets them back, +she deserves the pope's blessing. And the fool boy +of an Americano rides south when he could meet +her—perhaps touch her hand!"</p> + +<p>But the fool Americano rode south and kept on riding +south for many dusty days. He crossed a corner +of the Yaqui country, and then across the ranges +to the old mine, called the Mine of the Temple—the +one of which he had told Don Juan Alvara—was +it so few weeks ago? It might have been years +instead of weeks, by his own feeling and attitude +of mind. He was riding back a different man. +He evaded the few Mexicans as he neared the mine; +no turn of the trail was lonely for him. Memory +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +kept pace, and the murmur of one girl's voice spoke +through the rustling leaves of the mountains.</p> + +<p>A travelling priest, jubilant at the idea of comradeship, +hailed him in one of the mountain passes, and +found him but a sorry companion.</p> + +<p>"This is a country," said the padre, "where the +sight of a white face is most welcome. Six months +since I was sent to this parish, and few of them +have I seen. Now, I ride out of my way just to talk +with an American who works a mine up here. Your +brother, is it? Well, he has a good name with the +brown folks. A lot of pagans they are! It is not +a priest they need here; it is a missionary the bishop +should send to teach them their religion anew. +If ever they had any, it has been lost."</p> + +<p>But it was evidently the opinion of the padre +that they had never really secured any to lose. +He discoursed at some length on the failure of the +Church to impress upon them the advantage of marriage. +Few were the wedding fees to be obtained +from the Mexicans, while the heathen Indians had +some form of their own, arranged by the head of their +clan, and it was a disgrace to a land held under cross +and crown for two centuries—an endless shame!</p> + +<p>Keith assented, without heeding the list of Indian +iniquities. He was rather glad, after all, that Teddy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +had a civilized neighbor, willing to be companionable. +Teddy liked people too well to exile himself from +them but for the one thing—to go back north, +able to cover one white throat with pearls, or two +white hands with diamonds.</p> + +<p>His greeting of his half-brother was a bit shy, +though wholly glad, and the padre served to bridge +over the first few awkward moments. Both men +recognized the fact of a change in each since the +Los Angeles days. Teddy thought it due only to his +clandestine marriage, and Keith felt guilty as he +realized how little, how very little, Teddy's marriage +meant to him now. While the padre was getting +acquainted with the Mexican, the two brothers walked +apart, and talked of the chances of the mine's success, +and the failure of the backers to see the necessity of +using money more freely on the enterprise.</p> + +<p>"It's there, you know," insisted Teddy; "all this +district is flooded with stories of the ore taken out of +it in the first days of the Spaniards; then the Indians +descended upon them, and there was a slaughter, and +no Spaniard dared venture into these hills for a +century."</p> + +<p>"Yes. We put in a good many fruitless days +trailing those old legends," assented Keith, "but +only the Indian superstition tends to show that this +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +is the real mine of that history. The rich one may +not have been on this side of the mountain, since you +have not yet struck the lode."</p> + +<p>"Don't let's talk about it, if you feel that way," +suggested Teddy, "I hear plenty of that from the +others; and you didn't really come all the way down +here to talk mines. Say, old chap, you acted like +a prince over the—well, the wedding. I felt pretty +nearly three inches higher when I got your letter. I—I +know I acted like a kid, but Angela wanted it arranged +so; and—as she about filled the whole horizon—"</p> + +<p>"Cut out the explanation, Teddy. A man is never +sure of himself until the right woman crosses his +trail—or the wrong one. God knows I'm not fit for +alcalde in the case. At least, you married your wife."</p> + +<p>Teddy stared at him an instant, and then shouted +with laughter.</p> + +<p>"Married my wife? Well, rather! How else +could she be my wife?"</p> + +<p>Keith avoided the frank boyish blue eyes of +Teddy, and turned away, seating himself on a great +bowlder and staring across the little semicircle of the +cañon basin, to where gnarled century-old trees reached +grotesque arms above some old stone ruins and fragments +of marble. Teddy looked at him an instant, +and then whistled softly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +"If it were any other man than you, Keith, I'd +think—but it's too ridiculous!"</p> + +<p>"Say it," suggested Keith.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd say the wrong woman had crossed <i>your</i> +trail."</p> + +<p>"Not the wrong one."</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! you don't mean that by any chance +it is at last the right one?"</p> + +<p>"At last—the right woman."</p> + +<p>"And you sit there looking as solemn over it as +a wooden Mexican god! Wake up, old fellow, and +tell about her."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to tell. She is the right woman, +and I shall never see her again."</p> + +<p>"Keith!"</p> + +<p>"And I've come back here to tell myself so," +continued Keith, doggedly; "to say it over and over, +and beat it into my brain, if I have any left. The +desert didn't help me—I thought this might."</p> + +<p>"This?"</p> + +<p>"These hills, and—speaking of it."</p> + +<p>His brother said nothing, only looked at him in +wonder, as he rose with hands thrust in pockets +and walked the length of the little terrace formed +by the refuse of the mine. The two brothers had +changed places. It was now Keith, the cool, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +indifferent, who had crossed some line of emotional +experience where speech was a relief—Keith, of all +men! Teddy wondered who the woman could be; +she would be worth seeing.</p> + +<p>"So you see, Ted," observed the other, with a +forced laugh, "you need not explain things to me. +When the woman comes, none of us cares much +what the other fellow thinks."</p> + +<p>"If she is the right woman, I'm mighty sorry, old +man, that it's going to be as you say—that you are +not going to see her again."</p> + +<p>"Don't waste good sorrow! I'm the only fool in +the case—she doesn't care."</p> + +<p>"That's not so easy to believe," declared Teddy, +loyally. "You probably only asked her once, and +then hit the trail before she could change her mind."</p> + +<p>"Ask her. When people care, words are not so +necessary."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, but girls do expect words; though +the right girl—"</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know that she was the right girl; I +may not have made it clear. I was a fool who +dreamed dreams and believed them true. Talking +about it doesn't help. I thought it might; that's all."</p> + +<p>He continued to walk the terrace, as though with a +certain impatience at having let go of himself. Teddy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +regarded him for a few moments of awkward silence. +Keith had never been demonstrative, and this sudden +confidence caught Teddy unprepared. He felt ill at +ease, realizing that it was no light sentiment, causing +him to let go of himself and speak.</p> + +<p>"I reckon this particular mountain must be bewitched," +he said at last. "The only other time you +talked of a girl—any special girl—was after we were +led across yon range by that girl of the convent. +Even then you talked of her only when the knock on +your head sent you luny. What was the name they +called her? Spirit—Doña Spirit—Doña Espiritu! +That is it! I really thought for a few days of your +ravings that we were going to have a nun in the family; +and now it's a new girl!"</p> + +<p>Keith regarded him for a moment, then in silence +took out tobacco and made a cigarette. Of what use +were words?</p> + +<p>"I always wondered who that girl was and what +became of her," continued Teddy. "The old padre +was as dumb as an oyster on the subject. Did you +learn more than her name?"</p> + +<p>"Not much," said Keith, briefly.</p> + +<p>"I always meant to. Funny how those crack-brained +Indians let up on the attack that night, when +she slipped that ring on your finger and held up your +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +hand for them to see. It was the last thing I noted +before I keeled over. Those Indians have not forgotten +that. They knew when I came back here, and +they seemed to watch either the mine or me,—I don't +know which it is. Once they asked an old Mexican +for you; he speaks their lingo. They described you +as 'the man of the ring.'"</p> + +<p>"That's queer."</p> + +<p>"Did the girl tell you what the ring meant?"</p> + +<p>"Meant?" repeated Keith, questioningly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. To the tribe, it means more than a mere +ring. The old Mexican gathered that much. It had +something the significance of a sceptre, and was worn +only by one of the rulers in the old days. When that +girl put it on your finger, the tribe thought it meant +that she had picked you out for marriage. She didn't +tell you?"</p> + +<p>"No, she didn't tell me."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's all that saved our lives that night. You +know the old padre is dead. It was he did the sleight-of-hand +work in getting the girl out of sight before +you got on your feet again. With some threat of +eternal flames, he shut the lips of every Mexican I +tried to bribe to find her."</p> + +<p>Keith took the cigarette from his lips, and looked +at him without speaking. Teddy smiled and nodded.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +"Yes, I looked for her without your knowing it. +You came nearer going 'over the range' in that +fever than you ever realized. The English doctor +down there asked me who the devil 'Espiritu' was, +and said that she could probably do more to lower +your temperature than his drugs. I tried to locate +her, as soon as I could hobble on a crutch, but it was +no use. The padre said she had taken the black veil: +that shut us out."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," assented Keith, absently.</p> + +<p>"You never mentioned her name after you got on +your feet, so I figured that it did not really mean +anything. Girls never did mean much to you, individually, +Keith,—until now."</p> + +<p>"Until now."</p> + +<p>"And now it's no use, since you can't see her +again."</p> + +<p>Keith puffed away in thoughtful silence before +he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. Yet—<i>quien sabe</i>? A sentiment +may be like a sunrise, lifting clouds for you and making +you see things—things within yourself you never +suspected were there. Our trail in these hills followed +the light of the morning star once, and we got out +of the wilderness to safety: that star has meant +something to me ever since. I can't possess it, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +but the meaning of it is mine. I can't give myself +to the right woman,"—and he held out his hand +and looked at it,—"but no conventions of the world, +no man-made walls can prevent the thought of me +from going to her—the thought which, after all, +is the real me. When that is so, who can say that +even an unknown love has not its own uses? It may +prove the illumination of a whole lifetime."</p> + +<p>Teddy, with wonder in his eyes, laid his hand on his +brother's shoulder. "Old man, that kind of feeling is +beyond me. I want my girl with me, and I want her +mighty bad. I've lived beside you all my life, and +never dreamed it was in you to care like that for any +woman. It only shows how little we know, after all."</p> + +<p>"Yes; how little, after all, until the right woman +crosses the trail."</p> + +<p>"The chances are that we can never talk of it again. +I know you <i>that</i> much! I told you this old hill +of the temple was uncanny—bewitched,—and it is. +You never would have mentioned this to me in +civilized places."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," agreed Keith. "And you're +right—I could never speak of it again."</p> + +<p>They never did. That night they talked only +of Teddy's enterprise, and covered much paper with +many figures, and made fine plans for the future.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +The next day it was that Keith, hunting in the +hills, heard an unusual blast from the mine, felt +the ground tremble from the shock, and turning +back on the trail, met a Mexican with a bleeding +hand and a cut face, who urged him to hasten. It +was the word of the padre!</p> + +<p>He reached Teddy's side only in time to accept +"Angela—poor little Angela—" as a life-long +legacy. There had been an explosion. Graves were +made for the young engineer and three of his Mexican +miners on the side of the mountain. When +it was all over, Keith Bryton climbed to the heights +above, where the broken walls of stone showed white +and gray among forest growth on the temple terrace. +Below, and beyond the ranges, lay the world. In +his isolation of grief, he felt as alone as the solitary +mountain rising from the plain below, through which +a river ran. Far down the river, miles away, gleamed +a cross on the chapel of a convent. It was the old +Mexican pueblo of which he had told Alvara. He +remembered saying to the old man that he would +never come back; yet here he was. How useless +to say what one will or will not do in this world! +One must make allowance for the moves fate insists +upon in the game of life.</p> + +<p>Back of him, on a slight elevation, stood some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +broken columns, and half an arch yet showed where +an entrance had been, and under a dwarfed and +twisted oak half covered with tropical vines a bench +of marble gleamed. Two birds fluttered to the +ground near him and turned inquisitive eyes on the +intruder. He watched them carelessly, until one of +them perched on a fallen block of stone ornamented +with the sculptured sun of the Aztecs. It brought +back like a flash that other day when he went from +the presence of death to a ruined altar-place, where +the Aztec sun and the cactus commemorated some +unknown Mexican sculptor who cut the symbol +of the faith of his people into the walls of a Christian +church.</p> + +<p>He closed his eyes, and the vision of that other day +was only intensified. The wind in the oaks back of +him sounded like the surf on San Juan's beach; and +through it the slow, fateful words of a girl kneeling +in her wedding-veil echoed in his ears as it had done +a thousand times:</p> + +<p>"So long—as—we—both—shall live!"</p> + +<p>There were no weeping girls here, and no bells +to toll out the death message; but otherwise the +atmosphere of the place, and the illusion, were +perfect. How—how had he chanced to enter into +this half-pagan atmosphere of death? Unconsciously, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +automatically, he turned and re-turned on his finger +the onyx ring at which Angela had laughed.</p> + +<p>He was still seated there when the miners who had +filled the graves came up the path, and with them +the priest from the plains below. The Mexicans +halted outside the broken walls. Only one Indian, +who had followed at a distance, crossed the line of +entrance, and stood apart, watching and listening +in a furtive way—watching the American especially.</p> + +<p>"Many times I have heard of this place," said the +priest, "but never before have I been so far into the +mountain. There are strange old traditions of it in +the accounts some of the early padres left. Their +king or chief became Christian and gave his sons to +the Church, but the main body of the people kept to +many of their pagan rites. And this was their temple. +The men ask me if you continue with the mining, +señor."</p> + +<p>He noticed they all listened for the answer, and +looked relieved when he said, "No."</p> + +<p>"They are all very glad, señor. They ask me to +tell you they have no ill will, but they say not any of +their men will go into the mine of the temple."</p> + +<p>"Some superstition?"</p> + +<p>"It seems so. They say one man always dies +when outsiders meddle with the mountain, but never +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +before have three men died at once. They ask you +to let the company know that none of them will +come back."</p> + +<p>"Very good," and Bryton arose and picked up the +sombrero he had dropped beside him. "I will tell +them to bring foreigners if they mean to keep on; but +I doubt it. The cave-in down there means a fortune +to dig out. I don't think they have the capital."</p> + +<p>He was turning away, when he noticed the Indian.</p> + +<p>"Is he a workman?"</p> + +<p>The others exchanged glances, and then one of +them stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"No, señor. He is one of the mountain people. +No one knows where they live. I know a little of +their talk. He says for us all to go away, or worse +things will always happen. He—he wants to speak +to you."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>The man hesitated, and then said a few words, +and the Indian replied in a strange jargon with peculiar +aspirated syllables.</p> + +<p>"He says," continued the interpreter, hesitatingly, +"to ask if she is to come back."</p> + +<p>"She?"</p> + +<p>Bryton's face flushed, as the priest looked at him +curiously.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +"You have known those people before?"</p> + +<p>"I—my brother and I were lost once in the forest +here. We—well, we were made to feel we had trespassed; +but some one—a sort of missionary among +them—made them lead us to the plain. It would have +been better if my brother had never come back."</p> + +<p>"And—?"</p> + +<p>The priest noticed Bryton's hesitation; so did the +Indian, for he walked direct to him, and pointed +to the ring he wore, and looked from the ring to +Bryton's face.</p> + +<p>"Tell him," said the American, "that she is a +man's wife, and lives in a lovely land."</p> + +<p>"You see her—some day?" asked the Indian.</p> + +<p>"No—not ever again—perhaps."</p> + +<p>The Indian bent his head, and with a slight +gesture as of farewell, turned and walked swiftly +away from them, around the bend of the mountain.</p> + +<p>"Your words have an unusual interest," said the +priest, as they walked down toward the plain. "They +suggest that the missionary might be the one they +spoke of here as the Indian nun."</p> + +<p>"This lady was not Indian," said Keith, decidedly. +"Her skin was whiter than either yours or mine. +The Indians called her Doña Espiritu! It was the +only name they knew her by."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +"It was the same, and her father's name was +Estevan," said the priest, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know now. His name was Estevan, but—"</p> + +<p>"And he was the man who died the awful death +up there." And he pointed back to the temple.</p> + +<p>"No!" Bryton stopped on the path and faced +the priest, thus halting the entire procession at a +point where a yawning gulf of a cañon reached to +unseen depths below.</p> + +<p>"For the love of Christ—señor!" screamed the +priest, while the Mexicans in the rear clung to their +burros and swore.</p> + +<p>"The man who was killed left no child," persisted +Bryton. "I heard the story."</p> + +<p>"A daughter was born six months after his death—after +the wife had taken the black veil of eternal +renunciation of the world," declared the priest, +solemnly. "Now, señor, for the love of God, will +you let us find safer footing?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. Pardon me!" and Bryton continued +thoughtfully along the trail to the plain below. +When they reached a broader road where it was +possible to ride abreast, he asked one more question.</p> + +<p>"Father, does she know?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless some in the world have told her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +Here, the old priest, her uncle, had power enough +over the wild tribe to make them promise they +would not tell her until she had lived twenty years. +He died ten years ago, but they kept faith. There +are some people in the world who had to know,—the +lawyers and judges who settled the estate,—for +Estevan was a man of wealth. He carried wounds +here from the war for California. The child thought +he died from the effects of those. Out in the world +where she has gone, that wild barbaric outbreak of her +mother's people will never be known; and of the few +who have learned it who would tell her?"</p> + +<p>"True, father: who would?"</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> + +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m147.mid'> +<img src='images/mu147.png' + title='Music: La Passion Funesta.' + alt='Music: La Passion Funesta.' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc147.png' title='H' alt='H' /> +</div> + +<p>He did not go north for a month. +His letter to Angela contained +a check, which she at once +invested in very becoming +mourning, for which she of +course had to journey to Los +Angeles.</p> + +<p>With her went Don Eduardo Downing and his +wife, Doña Maria, who, with Rafael, had unpleasant +business to transact with the bishop, and were irritable +in consequence. Bryton called upon them at the +home of the ex-Governor of California. After +Angela's first emotional outburst at the details of +Teddy's death and burial,—and regret that a Protestant +clergyman was not to be had,—she managed to +come back to subjects nearer home, and retail a few +of the changes since the death of Doña Luisa.</p> + +<p>There had not been time for many. Yet—well—there +had been the marriage, of course; and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +relations who thought it so fine a thing that Rafael +married an heiress and a saint were not so sure now. +The tone of Angela and her slight shrug of contempt +showed that she shared their doubts.</p> + +<p>Raquel Estevan de Arteaga was in the city. She +had ridden the sixty miles on horseback, and all the +old Spanish families were entertaining her in a style +magnificent as their means would allow; but all who +cared to have her must invite no heretic Americans, +and it was understood to be a promise to Doña Luisa. +She did not wish to meet the English-speaking people; +not one had yet crossed her threshold; even +Don Eduardo, sharing some business interests with +her husband, was not welcomed, because he held fields +of the old Mission, for which the Church was fighting +in the courts of law.</p> + +<p>The bishop himself had set the pace for courtesy +toward Raquel. He had called on her personally, had +a long private interview (Angela's opinion of clerical +private interviews with young wives was expressed by +another shrug), and he made a point of calling on +several families where she visited.</p> + +<p>Doña Maria was of course justly offended. Her +estates had been greater than those of the Arteagas, +and her family name was older in the land than Estevan, +which after all was only Spanish for Stevens. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +On this subject it was easy to see Angela agreed +perfectly with the wife of her cousin. Each had +built her own plan for certain social supremacies in +the little kingdom of San Juan, but neither had +reckoned with the fact that the girl from a convent +in Mexico would assume a rule there such as no one +else had ever dared attempt, and emphasize it by +barring out heretics, even when married into Catholic +families.</p> + +<p>What Rafael thought of it no one yet knew. He +hated the old Mission, above all places. The only +time it was worth while was when the dances were +held in the old dining-room; and when his mother +died he thought of course no woman would ever wish +to live there. A town residence was assured, and thus +closer connection with the new, progressive people. +But the bride of a day had decided differently: when +a home befitting their station was built for her in San +Juan, she would move to it; until then the Mission +rooms would serve, and they must arrange it with the +bishop.</p> + +<p>To tell her that the bishop no longer had jurisdiction +over the property was of no use whatever. She +had listened quietly to the legal details of the auction +sale, when it had all been bought by Eduardo Downing +and Miguel Arteaga.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +"That is right, to buy it when the place was sold +for debt; any son of the Church should do that," she +conceded; "but to hold it,—to treat it as a quarry +from which to mine bricks and blocks of stone,—may +the saints intercede for your brother in his grave, who +did such wickedness! If your mother had known that +a son of hers was fighting in the courts of law against +the Church, it would have killed her the day the word +reached her. If you people value money more than +the blessing of God, I will give you money for it—to +you and your English partner; but not another +blast of powder must shatter the place of the altar."</p> + +<p>It was in vain they told her Doña Maria had a +pious plan to blow down the stonework—the most +magnificent monument of such Indian labor ever +erected in that part of Mexico which is now United +States,—and to build on its site an adobe chapel of +her own design. Raquel Estevan de Arteaga listened +quietly to all the plans, but shook her head.</p> + +<p>"It is sacrilege; it shall not be," she repeated. +"Since gold is the god of the English people, we +will give them gold."</p> + +<p>"But you forget, beloved," put in Rafael. "Doña +Maria is Catholic—is Spanish—is—"</p> + +<p>"Rafael," said his bride, quietly, "will you listen a +little? Then it will be no need to speak of those +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +things again—we will both understand. The padre +comes a stranger to San Juan as I do, but he comes +from a strange land, and cares not anything for these +different races. But I have all the names of those +people from your mother, that I know whom to avoid +in this life—and in the next."</p> + +<p>"My mother was one of the old Spanish people; +they were slow. Times change."</p> + +<p>"Yes, times did change when men like Alvarado +were pushed aside and a quadroon ruled the politics +and the Mission property. Thus California paved +the way for American rule. In politics and business +men must meet unpleasant people often, but it is not +ever necessary for the ladies of any family to do so; +and, Rafael, here before your padre, two things I must +say. The heretics I have promised never to meet +except as God sends them in our path. As for the +Spanish ladies you mention, if you do not know that +there is not a woman of noble Spanish blood in the +length of this valley, then you shut your eyes very +tight when you might see. The daughters of Don +Juan Alvara have one Spanish strain in them; +the others are mixed people of Mexican, Indian, +and negro, and few of them care to remember their +grandmothers. When you bring into my house +Spanish ladies of good breeding, I shall be glad +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +to make them welcome, but I do not care for the +substitutes. The Indios by the river are of more +interest, for they need to be taught."</p> + +<p>This conversation had been repeated by Padre +Andros to Doña Maria over a game of <i>malilla</i> and a +glass of the new American drink called whiskey,—a +gift from the army officers, and enjoyed very +much by the ladies of San Juan; it suggested a drink +made of chilis, because of the appetizing burn it +gave the throat.</p> + +<p>Padre Andros was frightened when he saw the +effect of his recital. Doña Maria was not so stout as +most of the women of the mixed races; but as he saw +the dark color mount luridly to her face, and her eyes +look almost bloodshot with sudden fury, he set down +the glass of whiskey to cross himself, and dropped an +ace in his perturbation.</p> + +<p>"For the love of God! señora," he exclaimed; and +then it was Angela entered the room and found +her cousin's wife ill with a fury she durst express +only in prayers and maledictions against this girl +brought to San Juan by Doña Luisa to ruin them all!</p> + +<p>Only fragments of the cause of her fury reached +Angela, despite all her sudden sympathetic interest +in the wife of her cousin, to whom she had heretofore +been rather indifferent. But she pieced the fragments +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +together, and as she told them to Bryton he could, +with his own knowledge of the early racial mixtures +in the land, get a very fair idea of the situation. +The girl from Mexico had dared open the closet +of a forgotten skeleton.</p> + +<p>"Of course she rules Rafael just now, to a certain +extent," conceded Angela, carelessly. "He sees the +Church and half the town at her feet here; she is +a novelty, and he sees everyone turn to look at her. +But at San Juan she will find no one at her feet, +and her churchmen will be far enough away. The +padre there detests her; she stopped him from selling +bricks from the cloister pillars."</p> + +<p>"The padre and Doña Maria should make a +strong team," observed Bryton. "The woman need +be strong to win against them—is she?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know? I've never spoken to her. She +has nasty eyes. That's all I can remember of her."</p> + +<p>"Nasty?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is the expression. I saw them once, and +she made me nervous. Perhaps it was because she +divined that I was one of the 'accursed heretics.' +I understand that is the way the lower order speak +of Protestants!"</p> + +<p>"But she cannot be quite of the lower order, +can she? Her father was of the best Spanish and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +American blood ever joined on this coast, far above +the Arteagas."</p> + +<p>"Oh! So you also look up pedigrees here; I +wonder why."</p> + +<p>"It is a country where you hear of them without +question," he returned, indifferently. "The people +are always sparring among themselves and referring +to their ancestors—if they dare. Doña Luisa was a +pure-blood Spanish woman, but the Arteagas had a +bad Indian and Mexican streak. She saw it develop +in her own children, and it gave her a bad fright. +She counted on this marriage bringing the last of +them back to the old conservative manner of life."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously; +"but you forget that Raquel, the present +Señora Arteaga, has also a Mexican streak."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't forget; but there are high class and +low of every race. Noble Indians and high-class +Mexicans have gone into history. The American +makes a great mistake when he judges the high +classes by the masses. In this land one has to dig +out the facts of each individual line, if he wants to +know the truth of a pedigree. But the lady from +Mexico seems to have drawn her distinctions very +closely, and realizing her own superiority, she dares +dictate."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +"Even to her—husband?" There was just the +slightest possible hesitation at the title.</p> + +<p>"Why not, if she is the superior?"</p> + +<p>"But—oh, can't you see how all these marriages +are a barter-and-sale family affair,—money that is +married, instead of people? If she was in love with +him as a—a real woman would be, she never would +know she was superior, never! Not that I believe +she is," she added with a shrug; "to me she looks +as wooden as the saints on her own altar."</p> + +<p>He arose and walked to the window, staring out +over the heads of the people.</p> + +<p>"She may not be wooden to those she cares +for," he said at last.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not; but I'm certain of one thing: if +she ever cared for any one, it is not the man she +married. If she cared, she would forget that rigid +fanatic sense of duty sometimes."</p> + +<p>"I came to talk of your affairs," he said, abruptly. +"Teddy left some mining shares; they may pan out +later on. I have talked with a lawyer about them; +this is his address," and he handed her a slip of paper. +"Whatever funds are procurable he will turn over to +you quarterly. Is there anything else I can do for +you at present?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she returned; "you might be a bit human +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +and sympathetic. You seem to forget," and her red +lip quivered in self-pity, "how utterly alone I am +among these Mexicans, and all their women jealous +as fiends."</p> + +<p>He regarded her with a long, steady stare, and then +smiled as he rose.</p> + +<p>"I don't blame them," he observed, quietly. "You +have given more attention to several of their men +than you ever gave to poor Ted. Where's your +baby?"</p> + +<p>"Heavens! Do you suppose I could drag her +on this trip, and a Mexican or Indian nurse?" she +demanded, impatiently. "That's so like a man! +They think a woman with a child should be merely +a domestic animal, like those dunces of Spanish +women. I feel as if I were in jail, hedged around +with all their conventions. I don't dare walk on +the street alone, or with a man; I don't dare ride in +a carriage with a man, and it's no pleasure to go with +those empty-headed women. Doña Maria is as bad +as the rest since I'm in mourning; it is a sort of +prison, forbidding the wearer a free breath!"</p> + +<p>"Take it off," he suggested, so quietly that he +quite deceived her, and she uttered a little cry of +shocked appeal.</p> + +<p>"Keith! And poor Teddy—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +"Angela!" and his hand fell heavy on her shoulder, +"listen to me just once. When Ted was alive I +could bear to hear you mention his name, but now +that he is dead I—can't. He belongs to me now, +and I forbid it."</p> + +<p>"Keith!" She gasped again, but this time in +sheer fright. "And the money—the shares you—"</p> + +<p>He laughed mirthlessly, and took his hand from +her shoulder. His moment of feeling gave place +to amused appreciation of the real woman poor Ted +had never known.</p> + +<p>"Who says women are inconsistent?" he queried. +"You are a living illustration of the contrary. I +have never seen you vary a hair's-breadth from my +first instinctive feeling concerning you, you pretty +baby kitten! You needn't look so frightened; you +will get whatever money is in reach. Now, don't go +to whimpering! Get on your bonnet, if Doña Maria +may think it allowable for me to take you both for +a carriage drive. I promised Ted to do things for +you, and I must make a beginning."</p> + +<p>"Is that the only reason?" she began, with righteous +indignation.</p> + +<p>"That is the only reason, my lady," he returned. +"Are you coming?"</p> + +<p>A little later they were rolling along Spring Street, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +past the plaza, and many heads turned to look at the +golden-haired girlish little figure in mourning, drooping +beside Doña Maria, whose rigid, unsmiling, dark +features were the best possible foil. Keith Bryton, +sitting opposite, noticed the admiration she aroused. +The caballeros who had swept sombreros to the ground +at the passage of the carriage in which Raquel and +the bishop were riding did so as a matter of reverence +to a devotee; but the rule of the woman whom Keith +had called a baby kitten would always be one of childish +appeal, personal to a degree.</p> + +<p>Looking at her cynically, he tried to fancy her +twenty years ahead,—the mother of a grown daughter,—but +failed. The daughter would have to be +guardian; the mother would always need one. She +was watching him furtively to see the effect this open +admiration might have upon him. He was the +one man of them all who had ever dared treat her +so carelessly. His attitude had piqued her to the +point where she had a brief tigerish desire to rend +his heart—his affections—if he had any! And +Teddy was the weapon.</p> + +<p>Of course she had regretted it all—there were +other men with so much more money. Still, +as it had turned out, it was not so bad. She was +installed as a member of his family, and that was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +better than to depend entirely on the cousinship to the +Mexican Doña Maria. She was really a little afraid +of the swarthy black-browed women of the country. +To be sure, they sat around in fat content, with their +bits of embroidery or drawn work, and seemed to see +nothing else; but she had seen Doña Maria whip an +Indian servant with her own hands one day, and the +blind rage in the dark face had ever after made Angela +a trifle more respectful. It was not nice to be entirely +at the mercy of ignorant power. Don Eduardo was +always ready with gold pieces for a pretty woman, but +even the distant cousinhood might not be all the +protection required for a lady of Angela's beauty, if +any animosity should ever take root in Doña Maria's +mind.</p> + +<p>So it was all well as things stood. Keith Bryton +would, she knew, keep to both letter and spirit of any +promise he had made poor Teddy, and she felt sure +the fond boy had exacted much of the brother who +he thought could accomplish all things.</p> + +<p>Thus she decided, as she watched and weighed his +apparent amused indifference to the admiration she +excited. Fair women were at a premium in the City +of the Angels. He had just arrived from the dusky +tribes of Mexico; before that he had ranged the +desert land; but she realized with resentment that no +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +beauty of hers would ever make an oasis for him. +The men who did admire her he regarded as fools.</p> + +<p>He saw her glance from him, and she set her white +teeth together with a little click of absolute frustration. +She had accepted his ungracious invitation in order to +show him the admiration her mere appearance on the +drive would excite, and it all weighed not an iota. +Would he ever really care for any one? Had he ever +cared?</p> + +<p>Then he moved his hand, and the sun gleamed on the +ring he wore, the Mexican onyx with the Aztec eagle. +It recalled the adventure over which she had laughed +at the Mission. She had never believed Teddy when +he declared that Keith's attraction for that queer +Mexican nun was a serious fact. Teddy knew so +little, so very little, of the real feelings of either men +or women. He had gone to his death buoyed for +any sort of adventure by the absolute conviction that +his wife adored him. Poor Teddy! Never would +any woman be able to fool Keith Bryton like that,—not +even the woman he would care for, if she ever did +appear.</p> + +<p>While she thought so, and watched him, his face +grew suddenly rigid and colorless. The carriage of +the bishop came down the street, the palomentos with +their golden coats and silver manes and tails shining +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +like satin in the sunlight. Rafael sat with his back to +the horses, looking very much bored indeed, but +beside the bishop sat the woman who had faced her +on the hill of San Juan, and who had held her horse +in the middle of the road.</p> + +<p>She was prepared for the sudden light of appreciation +in Rafael's beautiful eyes, as he lifted his hat and +let his glance linger and meet hers for one swift instant +of comprehension, but she was not prepared for the +sudden leaning forward of his dark-browed bride, and +the quick look with which she took in the two women +in the carriage, and then the colorless face of their +escort.</p> + +<p>He looked at her levelly as he lifted his hat in +acknowledgment of her husband's salutation. If his +glance held ever so slight a suggestion of warning, it +was unheeded by her. Her dark eyes glowed, her +red lips parted and lost their color as she rested one +slender jewelled hand on the carriage frame, and stared +at him with incredulous eyes; one could see that she +did not even breathe as the carriages whirled past each +other; at least Angela noted it.</p> + +<p>By turning her head she saw Rafael put out his +hand suddenly to his wife, who had sunk back on the +cushions beside the bishop. His manner suggested +that he thought her ill. Keith could see the same +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +without turning his head. But even after he observed +the lace-draped shoulders straighten themselves, and +the head held again proudly erect under the mantilla, +he continued to gaze after them, unconscious that the +blue eyes opposite him were alive with curiosity.</p> + +<p>"One would think you were a long-lost brother, +from the way that woman stared," she remarked. +"One would think she would show more restraint +when riding in state beside the bishop, and with her +husband opposite."</p> + +<p>Keith recovered himself and turned his attention +to her.</p> + +<p>"Was that Rafael Arteaga's wife?" he asked, carelessly. +"I supposed it was, but have not had the +honor of being presented."</p> + +<p>"Well, they told me she would not notice heretics, +but one heretic was the only person she noticed in this +carriage. How she looked at you! I told you she +had nasty staring eyes, like augers boring through one. +Did you see, Doña Maria? Did you not fear she +would disgrace us all by leaping into the carriage?"</p> + +<p>Doña Maria's black, bead-like eyes were regarding +the young man curiously.</p> + +<p>"It may be a custom of Mexico for ladies to show +attention to strange men in that way," she observed, +guardedly. "It may be so. I had never heard of it. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +The new lady of the Mission is teaching San Juan +many new things, but I do not think she will teach it +that sort of manners. They do not compare well with +the American ladies' manners—no?"</p> + +<p>"I fancy it was only as your escort she was gracious +enough to turn and look at me; she might have fancied +I was known to her. She looks very young."</p> + +<p>"You would forget she was young if you heard her +talk to the padre," returned Doña Maria, significantly. +"It was enough to bring a malediction on all our heads +to listen to it!"</p> + +<p>"The bishop has forgiven her; at least it looks so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she is clever! He thinks she is a saint, this +bishop. But the padre knows!"</p> + +<p>She did not add, "and I know," but her thin cold +lips with their satisfied smile suggested as much, and +Bryton, observing it, felt anew that the girl from +Mexico had a strong team to fight in Doña Maria and +the padre.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +</p> + +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m164.mid'> +<img src='images/mu164.png' + title="Music: The Magpie's Reveille (Indian Gambling Song)." + alt="Music: The Magpie's Reveille (Indian Gambling Song)." +/></a> +<br /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A'a'a'i-ne! A'a'a'i-ne!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ta'a'-ni-aine! Ta'a'-ni-aine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bita alkaigi dike yiska ne.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gayelka'! Gayelka'!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">TRANSLATION.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The magpie, the magpie, here underneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the white of his wings are the footsteps of the morning.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It dawns! It dawns!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> + +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m165.mid'> +<img src='images/mu165.png' + title='Music.' + alt='Music.' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc165.png' title='M' alt='M' /> +</div> + +<p>When the night was old, and +others slept, Raquel Arteaga +crept in silence to the bedside +of the old Indian woman of the +hill tribe who had been her +nurse, who was still her maid, +and who was the one link she +kept near her of the old life.</p> + +<p>"Tia Polonia, awake!" she said, briefly; and as the +woman did so, frightened and full of questions, her +mistress held up her hand and rested herself on the +side of the pallet, regarding the dark old face with +doubt.</p> + +<p>"Thy husband, beloved,—he has—"</p> + +<p>"It is not my husband this time, Polonia. He is +quite safe at the gaming-table, and will come in at +sunrise with empty pockets. It is not my husband. +It is—" She paused a long time, scrutinizing every +feature of the old woman, who grew gray of visage +under those smouldering eyes, and her hands shook.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +"Darling, little one, thou art so like thy mother; +more than ever when angry, and it is night; and I—Holy +God! It is like a ghost comes to my bed to—to—ah, +Doña Espiritu—mia!—what is the anger in thine +eyes?"</p> + +<p>"Can a dead woman be angry?" demanded her +mistress drearily, the beautiful curved mouth quivering +for an instant. "And it is a dead woman they +have made of me—all of you! You lied to me, +Polonia, when you brought word to me he had died +there in Mexico!"</p> + +<p>The old woman covered her face with her hands, +and sank back whimpering on the pallet.</p> + +<p>"I trusted you, and you lied to me, all of you!" +the girl repeated in a hopeless tone of finality. "All +these months he has been alive, and I have not +known. You liars—liars—liars accursed!"</p> + +<p>The old woman uttered a smothered shriek, and +buried her face in the blankets.</p> + +<p>"Not the curse, beloved, not the curse!" she +begged, tremulously, "the curse of your people. It +means—it means—Ai! not the curse, little one! +Thou hast only meant to frighten me to tell you +how it was, and I will—I will! Only, child of the +spirits, Doña Espiritu, bring not the curse!"</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p166p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p166w.jpg' + title='You Lied to me—All of You!' alt='Doña Angela' /> +</a> +<p>“You Lied to me—All of You!”</p> +</div> + +<p>She cowered and mumbled in a sort of palsied +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +fear, but the girl sat there untouched by her misery, +looking at her drearily. Perhaps she had some slight +hope of denial, but Polonia's gray face put that out +of her reach.</p> + +<p>"Sit up," she commanded, and the old woman +hastily scrambled into a sitting posture, but with +her hands over her eyes, her body still rocking with +fear. "Why did you do it?"</p> + +<p>Never before had Tia Polonia heard those hard +cold tones from her "querida"—her little one—her +nursling of other days. This girl sitting there erect +in the glimmering light of the candle was really Doña +Espiritu of the tribe of the kings.</p> + +<p>"Excellencia," she muttered, "it is true; I did sin. +But the padre gave me the word. He said your soul +was lost; that the man had bewitched you as—as your +little mother had been bewitched when she—when she +left religion for your father, and in the end they both +died—and so soon!—and—and I wanted you to +live, Excellencia! and I wanted your soul to live; and—so +it was I took the word of the padre to you, and +told you he was dead—and wished that he was dead—but +it was all no use at all! On his hand when the +fever burned was your ring—it kept him alive and +he could not die, and all day and all night he said, +'Doña Espiritu! Doña Espiritu!' The padre heard, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +and I heard. The American brother, he heard too, +and asked the Indios who was Doña Espiritu, and +where did she live, that he might send for her. But +it was no use. The padre made them all afraid for +your soul, so that I told you the lie. Now it is all +said, and my life is going out of my body at the curse +of your anger."</p> + +<p>In fact, the fear in the old creature had worked on +her own nerves, so that her final words were very +faint. She spoke as one half swooning, and put out +her hand in pitiful plea for help.</p> + +<p>"Ah—the good padre," said the girl, bitterly. +"Well, you see how it has all ended. The padre +died, and has gone to God to answer for the lie; and +the man he wished dead is alive—alive—alive, and +oh—Mother of God! is happy with—with—"</p> + +<p>Her cold self-control melted in a flood of tears, +and she flung herself face down on the pallet beside +the frightened Indian woman, her form shaken with +shuddering sobs of absolute despair.</p> + +<p>The dawn was near. All the night she had walked +in her room alone, stunned and wordless over this +thing she could not fight, or reason, or pray away; +and now, having heard it all,—even of his calls for +her when unconscious,—she had let fall for the first +time the cold mask she had worn since the death +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +of Doña Luisa, and since the significance of her vow +had been revealed to her by the days and nights of +Rafael's life.</p> + +<p>She wept in a wild abandonment of grief at the +hopeless vista of years reaching on to the edge of the +world where death is. It had all been dreary enough +before; but now—</p> + +<p>When the birds began their welcome of the day +she was still lying prone, but silent. The tempest +of feeling had passed, and her Indian woman stroked +her hair softly, and waited, and did not speak. At +last she rose, and looked out on the yellowing light +touching the purple of the mountains.</p> + +<p>"This is only a dream of the night, Polonia," she +said, with a great sigh; "sleep again, and forget it all."</p> + +<p>But the old woman clung with trembling hands to +the folds of the girl's gown, and rested her cheek on +the silken slippers.</p> + +<p>"And the curse, darling? what of the curse of the +lie?"</p> + +<p>"Curses come home to the people who utter them," +said the girl, drearily. "On my head they all lie—the +curse by which I was made blind for a little, little +while of life, and which now allows me to see when +it is too late. The curse of God has followed our +people; no blessing of the Church can wipe it out."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +"But I—I—beloved?"</p> + +<p>"The sin that is for love is not so black a sin, and +it was your love the padre trusted to—your fear +that I was bewitched and lost. But it is all over; +we are in a new land, and this is a new life."</p> + +<p>"And—he is happy—without thee?"</p> + +<p>"I have seen his wife; people call her beautiful. I +saw him almost touching her, yet I did not scream."</p> + +<p>"Mother of God! his wife!"</p> + +<p>"I heard her name,—it was enough. His I did not +need to ask; I remembered."</p> + +<p>"But—dear one—it is better that he is married. +Pardon, beloved—I am at thy feet, and I feel thy +heartache. But, after all, is it not to thank the +saints that he is married?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. Otherwise, he might say to me some +day, 'Come!' And the witchcraft of the ring might +hold, and—"</p> + +<p>"Holy Mother! and then—"</p> + +<p>"And I—God knows what I might do, Polonia."</p> + +<p>And then the old Indian woman was left alone, +mumbling prayers and crossing herself.</p> + +<p>Later she got up and went to the priest of Our +Lady of the Angels and brought a bottle of holy +water to sprinkle on the threshold of the street door, +and all sides of Doña Raquel's room, that no curse +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +of witchcraft or bad dream of the night might have +power over the days.</p> + +<p>It was broad daylight when Rafael came home +whistling gayly a dance of melody. He had been +gifted with unusual good luck, and his pockets were +full of gold pieces. He threw a buckskin sack of +coin on his wife's bed before he noticed that she was +not lying there.</p> + +<p>"Hola! Raquelita mia! There is plenty to pay +for masses; your priests always want money for that +sort of thing. Since you look after my soul, I pay +for the prayers when I have good luck."</p> + +<p>Raquel arose from where she knelt at the little +altar in the corner.</p> + +<p>"Oh, is that where you are? What need to pay +the priests when you do enough praying for an +army?"</p> + +<p>She smiled absently, but did not speak. He stood +watching her as she brushed her mass of dark, slightly +waving hair.</p> + +<p>"Let your woman do that," he said at last, with +perfunctory solicitude. "It tires your arm, and I +don't want you tired to-day. There is a picnic, and +we should go."</p> + +<p>"Which of our friends make it?"</p> + +<p>"It is Doña Maria Downing, who, as our one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +neighbor down the country, wants to add to the +entertainment Los Angeles gives you. It is to make +peace with the bishop, I think; at least, so it looks. +He is invited. You can help them to be friends. Is +that not the duty of us both as good Catholics?"</p> + +<p>She halted in her task and looked at him quietly. +He was plainly set on being very agreeable, for some +reason; too seldom had he mentioned their faith but +to scoff at the rigid rules of his mother and his wife.</p> + +<p>"You want it very much," she said; "but why? +You do not care at all for Doña Maria's personal +peace with the bishop. That can be arranged without +a picnic to the hills. It only needs that they give +back, of their own free will, that which belongs to the +Church, and make a confession that it was wrongly +held."</p> + +<p>"If you would only talk to her of this graciously, +instead of demanding it," persisted Rafael, gently, +"much could be effected. Doña Angela thinks for +certain—"</p> + +<p>"Doña Angela?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I mean her—the relative who is with her +now—the Mrs. Bryton who drove with her yesterday. +The bishop asked who she was—you remember?"</p> + +<p>"I remember," she said, quietly, though a little +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +shudder touched her. "But I am tired of this town, +Rafael. I meant to tell you so this morning. I want +to ride home to-day. Doña Maria's merry-makings +do not attract me. Our business here is over; let +us go."</p> + +<p>"Holy God! but you are a wife for a man!" he +cried in sudden fury. "I weigh you down with jewels +and silks and laces, and you would bury them all +with yourself in that old rat-hole of a Mission. I +wish to God the padre and Doña Maria had blown +down every brick of it before you saw the accursed +place!"</p> + +<p>"Accursed? The Church of God? Rafael!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, accursed, since you will know!" he repeated. +"Every old Indian of San Juan can tell you that."</p> + +<p>"Some Indian, perhaps, who has had to be whipped +by the padres," she remarked, with quiet scorn.</p> + +<p>"You don't believe me?" he cried. "Well, you +shall! Sit down—sit down and listen for once, and +you will be glad to keep out of the curse-haunted +place."</p> + +<p>She regarded him with a little tolerant smile, and +drew a serape of blue around her, and curled herself +on the foot of the bed and waited.</p> + +<p>"It is early for stories," she observed; "but since +it is your pleasure—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +"Not any pleasure has any of it been to me from +first to last," he retorted, "nor any pleasure will it be +to whoever holds it! You think you are strong, your +saints will help you! But no saint ever put on an +altar—not even that of the Virgin herself—can take +off the curse from San Juan till the altar is bathed in +human blood, as the tiles of the floor have been +bathed—that is the curse of Sahirit."</p> + +<p>She stared at him with wide eyes and blanching +face.</p> + +<p>"Until the altar is bathed in human blood, as the +tiles of the floor have been," she whispered. "Rafael! +That—that is of a religion older than the life +of Christianity in Mexico. God of Gods! Does it +follow me here?"</p> + +<p>"Follow <i>you</i>!" and he laughed contemptuously; +"it is a story older than our grandfathers. Only the +old Indians whisper it now each time ill luck comes +to any of us—and I've had enough! When they +picked up Miguel tramped into the earth by the +cattle, only the white men would help—no Indian; +they knew it was the curse coming true."</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she said, briefly. Her lips were white, +and she shuddered with cold, and drew the serape +close.</p> + +<p>"You'd rather hear some old Indian tell it," he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +answered; "they make one chill when they count on +their fingers and toes the things the curse has brought. +We had a curse of our own in the Arteaga family: +my mother was always in prayer because of that; she +never knew that Miguel had bought an interest in +another."</p> + +<p>"Go on—tell me! How comes the rule of the +Aztec altar to this Christian temple?"</p> + +<p>"Aztec? I did not say Aztec. I know nothing +of their mummeries. But it can't be that—there +have been no Aztecs since the time of Cortez and +the priests."</p> + +<p>"I—I have heard there is one hill tribe still refusing +the saints, and giving the sun worship," she said, +slowly. "But go on; tell me!"</p> + +<p>"Sun-worship! yes, that's the thing!" he cried. +"A man, who was a heretic of Mexico and a great +builder of stone, killed a priest and a woman down +there. Some say the woman was his wife. He was +to have his head cut off for it, but word went down +from here that such a man was needed by the priests +of San Juan; they wished to build a stone church +instead of adobe brick, as all the others were, if only a +master mason could be sent to them. They had +soldiers to guard him, even if the man chanced to be +a convict, as many of the guards had been, and they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +got the viceroy to help; and in the end the heretic +who had killed a priest was sent to San Juan. The +old Indios say he looked as big as two men, and he +worked as he pleased. When the padres interfered +he sat down and looked at the piles of stone and +did nothing, and nothing could move him. They +could have shot and buried him, but that would not +build their church, which was to be the finest in the +Californias. So they had to let him alone, and he +built it as pleased himself. Their ground plan only +he accepted. It was like a cross, as you see it now, +but on no other part of the church was any symbol +of Christianity—only stars and other things which +some say are flowers and some say are suns and +moons, and on the corner-stone and key-stone of the +high altar is carved a thing no Christian can read, not +even the padres—and somewhere in those symbols is +held the curse."</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p176p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p176w.jpg' + title='Rũelas me fecit. Me Llama San Juan. 1796.' + alt='Rũelas me fecit. Me Llama San Juan. 1796.' /> +</a> +<p>“Rũelas me fecit.</p><p>Me Llama San Juan. 1796.”</p> +</div> + +<p>"Who says? Did he?"</p> + +<p>"He? No; he died laughing, and refused the +blessing of the priest. One thing only he said when +he read the words on the oldest bell, as he built a +place in the tower for it. The name of the maker is +on the bell; you can see it yet; it is Ruelas. 'So +Ruelas made you—iron-tongue,' a soldier heard him +say, 'and your name is San Juan. Well, Señor +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +Ruelas, you only have your name in this work. The +good padres will see that my name is forgotten, but +instead of a name, I will leave myself, and so long as +stone stands on stone I will call louder and farther +than your iron tongue when rung your loudest! +When the storms of centuries shall beat out every +star and moon and sun in the stone of the temple, +the man from Culiacan will be remembered here in +Sahirit.'"</p> + +<p>"Sahirit?"</p> + +<p>"The Indian name for the valley was 'Quanis Savit +Sahirit'; you can see it on the church records."</p> + +<p>"And it means?"</p> + +<p>"No one knows, and no one cares; it may mean +another curse, for all I know. The Indios either do +not know or will not tell."</p> + +<p>"But—" and she drew in a long breath of relief—"what +the man from Culiacan said to the bell—the +thing the soldier heard—was not a curse; it was +only that the beautiful work should be remembered."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, that! But there was a prophecy years +before, when the corner-stone was set in its place +and blessed by the padres, and the Indios were all +there on their knees saying a rosary, and the viceroy +and all the dignitaries. An Indian hunter was also +there from the south, and he was a stranger. He +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +looked at the thing carved on the corner-stone, and +he looked at the builder, who leaned against the wall +and laughed when the holy water touched it; and the +stranger crossed himself, for his mother was a convert; +but to the captain of the guard he said the thing I +told you, and the captain of the guard was of my +father's family. So it was repeated down to our time."</p> + +<p>"But the words—he said what of a prophecy?"</p> + +<p>"He said human blood, and not holy water, must +baptize the stones and the altar of a temple with those +signs. He was afraid the padre would put malediction +on him if he told him that the blessing of a +Christian saint was not so strong as the gods of the +Indians, but he would not stand or kneel beside +the lines where the church was to be, and he would +not tell why he was afraid. He said he did not know +what would happen there: it might be a tidal wave +from the sea in sight, or it might be a pestilence, for +the people were very wicked and very dirty, but it +was marked with a sign for evil, and it would be well +if the walls never went higher."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"They tried to get him to tell the padre, so that +the builder might be whipped, but the stranger Indian +was afraid. He said he wanted to live to see his +children again, and they lived south in the hill country; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +and he ran away when they tried to keep him, but he +had warned some old Indios, and when the first earthquake +cracked the walls, they all remembered."</p> + +<p>"And—?"</p> + +<p>"The mason laughed, but mended the cracked walls +and went on at work, always singing, always working, +even before sunrise. The old Indios who helped said +it was at sunrise hour only that he worked on the keystones +with the suns and star things, but they maybe +lied. And after the dedication of the church he died +as he lived, laughing and a heretic; and when the +earthquake came and the tower of the bells fell, and +the tiles of the floor were wet with the blood of the +thirty-nine lives crushed out there, then the old Indios +whispered and remembered many things; for the +prophecy of the strange learned Indian of the south +had come true."</p> + +<p>"And—the altar? Did—some one—"</p> + +<p>Her lips were stiff as with cold, and she could +scarcely articulate.</p> + +<p>"Holy God! how white you are, Raquel!" he +exclaimed. "I thought you were not a coward like +the other women. Take this wine—take it! Por +Dios, but you gave me a fright!"</p> + +<p>She swallowed the wine, and smiled absently at his +excitement, and drew the serape closer. She did not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +speak again for a long time, just sat staring out toward +the blue of the hills.</p> + +<p>"Are you in a trance?" he demanded. "Santa +Maria, but you are a wife to come home to! If I +interest you at all, I have to talk to you of things bad +enough to scare the devil. Now you see why Doña +Maria blows down the walls—they were accursed +from the beginning. She thinks maybe she is doing +a pious thing, who knows?"</p> + +<p>"Selling to others the stone that is accursed?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is a side issue. But I think truly, Raquelita, +she is afraid of the bishop now, since you +have come. I even think she wants to be friends; +Doña Angela told me. She has promised that she +will build a chapel there of adobe, if the bishop will +give his benediction. Much of bad luck is coming +to them, and she is growing afraid."</p> + +<p>"Yes; she has no sense of justice in her; she has +only fear," returned Raquel. "Let her build chapels +if she likes, but the blessing of God was put on those +stone walls, as well as the curse of a heretic, and what +she has done is sacrilege. I will do nothing to countenance +it, or allow it to continue."</p> + +<p>"But, at least, you will do one thing," he said, +emphatically. "You have heard enough of the curse +to show you why it is no place for human beings to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +live. Only half the curse is carried out. The tiles +have been baptized by human blood—but not the +altar. You will stay here with live people, and let +the old ruin wait alone for the curse to be lifted."</p> + +<p>"I will go back," she said, with sudden decision, +dropping the serape from around her shoulders and +beginning to braid her hair. "No, you need not +swear like that, Rafael; God would shut His ears if +He heard you. You have told me a fine story of fear, +and some of it may be true, but our duty lies there. +We may lift the curse; we can go back and try."</p> + +<p>Her husband sprang to his feet and flung his chair +crashing into the low window opening on a veranda. +The shattered glass fell in a glittering heap, but +the noise of it did not drown his oaths.</p> + +<p>"It is no use at all to break the windows of our +friends, Rafael," observed his wife; "and neither the +saints nor Our Lady the Virgin will allow such +curses as yours to be heard. There are dangers +here for—for both of us, perhaps,—dangers more +to be afraid of than the walls of the good padres. +I ride back to-day."</p> + +<p>"You think of it as all past, that curse?" he demanded, +threateningly. "Well, you think so! Priests +have gone mad there, though the Church keeps it +quiet. Since the year Don Eduardo and Doña Maria +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +bought it, what has happened? All their land is +slipping away. To-day she is building an adobe on +the old Mission ranch, to hold one hundred and sixty +acres in case they lose all the rest of their thirty miles +of ranches. Two of her sons have been killed in the +streets—one by a woman. All that remains is slipping +slowly through their fingers. It is like a handful +of wheat: the closer they try to hold it, the less +they have in their hands. All they try is of no +use. When they first bought those old walls of the +Mission at Pico's auction, they were masters of +the land, but what of that?"</p> + +<p>"If it is a curse, they earned it by tearing down the +temple consecrated to God, that is all!"</p> + +<p>"All? Miguel, my brother, blew down no walls; +he did no harm to anything at all. He only bought an +interest in the Mission lands, and claimed some living-rooms +as his share, and he is struck like the others by +the curse, and does not die in his bed either, but is +trampled into the earth until no one can see him!"</p> + +<p>"But that may be the other curse working—the +curse on the Arteagas. You people seem to have +earned a great many! Is it not time some of the +family should try to live for blessings?"</p> + +<p>He did not answer, only stared at her with angry +eyes and lips twitching in wrath he could not express. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +She looked at him an instant, and stretched out her +arms wearily. All the glorious world of love about +them, yet never aught of harmony in their two lives +linked together. She had never seen the life domestic +of young people. She did not know what it might +mean to other women, but there were days when she +grew sick with the dread of future years, the endless +prison of her vow, the—</p> + +<p>Suddenly she turned to him with a little gesture +of appeal, almost tremulous. It was such weary +work to battle constantly; and his mother—</p> + +<p>"Rafael," she said, gently, "the blessings are in +the world somewhere—shall not we try to find them? +The old lives of the maledictions are gone. Ours is +the new life, and we have done no wrong to expiate. +And it may be, if we live as—as your mother would +have wanted us to live, that the saints—"</p> + +<p>"To the bottom of the sea with your saints!" +he broke in, angrily. "Por Dios! you are always +dragging the dead out of their graves to make the +days like a funeral. I prefer most the picnic in the +hills, and I go to-day."</p> + +<p>"So do I," she answered; "but it will be to the +hills of the south by the sea. To-night the moon +shines, and the ride will be better than a picnic of +your political friends."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +"By—"</p> + +<p>"It is no sort of use for you to make empty oaths, +Rafael. I leave this town to-day; with you if you +are wise, without you if you are not. But I myself—I +go!"</p> + +<p>He went out and slammed the door, and directly +she heard him tell Juan Castillas that he had married +one of the wooden saints of the Mission come to life.</p> + +<p>"I am glad it is not one with the broken glass eyes +and the missing fingers," laughed Juan. "Doña +Raquel is the most beautiful woman in the Californias +to-day."</p> + +<p>She turned from the window and looked at herself +in the mirror. The most beautiful woman in the +Californias! Was that so? Could it be? Yet what +was beauty, after all, if—</p> + +<p>Between herself and the glass another face seemed +to arise,—the blue-eyed childish face for which she +had been forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Holy Mother!" she moaned, and covered her +own with her hands. "Of what use is beauty to a +woman who is not beloved?"</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> + +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m185.mid'> +<img src='images/mu185.png' + title='Music: El Tormento de Amor.' + alt='Music: El Tormento de Amor.' +/></a> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tormento de amor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">passion que devora,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tu marchi taste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">la fuente de mi vida.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc185.png' title='I' alt='I' /> +</div> + +<p>"I wasted the holy water on +the doorway of the sala and +the bedroom," grumbled old +Polonia, ensconced among the +serapes on the carreta; "I +should have kept it for the +road to the sea. She rides +away from him alone; but it is a witchcraft, all the +same."</p> + +<p>Secretly the old woman gave sympathy to the +handsome Rafael, who loved women of gaiety and fine +clothes. The town was a very good place to stay, +and the band played, and there was a good circus; +and to choose instead a nasty old Mission where +a cross priest scolded, and smoked, and drank himself +stupid each dinner-time! What kind of a girl +would go back there?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +Still, the old Indian knew that she was not of wood, +like the statues in the old church, let the husband +think as he might! Last night had proven she could +be her mother's own child in a storm of passion. It +was perhaps for the best that she did not love her +husband so madly; for if he should ever prove untrue,—and +men of course were so—what might not +happen?</p> + +<p>She thought of the witchcraft of the mother, and +crossed herself.</p> + +<p>The moon, the beautiful moon of the month +of Mary! shone round and silvered in the blue above +the mountains, as the blaze of the sun sank into the +western sea. South lay the ranch of San Joaquin, and +Raquel, for all her thirty-mile ride, was sorry. She +would have no excuse to ride past; it was the one +slight of the country to pass the house of an acquaintance, +and this family was one deserving of +honor. The soft dusk of warm lands had stretched +over the level. The sweet clover along the road had +a deeper note of perfume, and the patches of mustard +bloom added its own spicy fragrance. Gladly she +would have ridden on alone in the perfect night, but +it would not do. She cared little for the herd of +people, but she always tried to keep in mind what the +Doña Luisa would have done in the little duties +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +toward the opinion of the valley, and she had no idea +of making a scandal, or of appearing to ride in secret +from the town where her husband was still detained.</p> + +<p>So, when the dogs barked, she galloped forward +to the ranch-house, and was met with excited welcome +from the mistress and her two vivacious daughters +and their cousin Ana Mendez. All the news of the +town they asked for. They had heard wonderful +things of the courtesy shown her by the new bishop, +who was not given to showing much pronounced +attention to even the devout of the faith. They had +rejoiced each day to hear of the honors showered on +her by the families of the city. It was as if a queen +had arrived in their valley—and to leave it all and +ride alone in the night!</p> + +<p>Ana cut their queries short and bade them see to old +Polonia, that she might be fed and rested well, and +the driver also, and then carried her guest to her own +room, where she put her hands on Raquel's shoulders +and looked into her eyes, and then without a word led +her to the shrine in the corner, where they both knelt.</p> + +<p>When the prayer was over and she had seen her +guest supplied with bread, and red wine, and olives, +and sliced beef, she regarded her sadly a moment, +noting that only the wine was swallowed, and that the +girl looked pale in the candle-light.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +"Poor little dear," she said, softly, and patted her +shoulder and spoke with the tenderness of intimacy. +"I think now thou wert only a child that morning in +the wedding-veil, when she gave thee that vow and +died. Thou hast such strength in looks, my Raquelita, +no one remembers how young in life thou art. But I +see now how it is. Rafael is the son of my mother's +cousin, and I know that blood! You but give the +word, and my uncle shall ride to Los Angeles in the +morning and say what is right to be said to Rafael. +We know those boys—Miguel too," and she crossed +herself. "My uncle always look himself to the door-key +when that Miguel Arteaga come with a serenade. +Oh, we know those boys in this valley better than +their mother, who thought to guard Rafael from the +heretics. Holy Mary! No heretic in the land lived +worse than the life on Miguel Arteaga's ranches!"</p> + +<p>"That does not make any difference at all," said +the girl, wearily. "I took the vow, '<i>So long as we +both shall live</i>.' That seems a long time, my dear +Ana, but I must have not one other thought in this +life."</p> + +<p>"And he sends thee home?"</p> + +<p>"No; this is not his fault—do not think it," +and she evaded the eyes of Ana. "He will follow, +now that I have come; I am most certain of that; but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +he was in a rage, of course, and if I would live there +in the town he would do anything to please me, +almost. But I feel weak some days. I—I am +not strong enough to fight the people there whom +his mother was afraid of. In my own house they +will not come. In my own valley I may keep my +promise."</p> + +<p>"Poor little dear," moaned Ana again. It was a +good hope, and the girl did not seem to have much +else to live for; but Ana had known the Arteaga men +for many years, and had her doubts.</p> + +<p>"It is time that Rafael were at home," she conceded. +"Juan Flores is around the range again; +some say El Capitan is with him, and they are on +this side. Last night they had supper at Trabuco +ranch; they did no harm there, but that does not +mean that he will do no harm elsewhere. Avila let +him have horses once when the marshal was close +behind; since that time Avila's house is safe, and +his herds as well."</p> + +<p>"And Capitan?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Ana's tone was carefully careless. "No +one seems certain he is along. He does not so often +come this way; for a year he has been somewhere in +Sonora—only when the horses are picked for the +government, or the Arteagas have a fine lot broken, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +does he cross to this country. There is where Rafael +needs guarding more than from heretics."</p> + +<p>"From Capitan? He—he—would not kill—"</p> + +<p>"No," said Ana, slowly; "I never think he wants +Rafael to die; he only wants him not to be happy; +always he wants Rafael to remember he is not so far +away but he can do him harm. Rafael hates the +lonely Mission valley on account of that. In a town +Capitan never can make him afraid so much."</p> + +<p>"Rafael is not a coward, I think," returned Raquel.</p> + +<p>"No, but he knows Capitan does not forget—there +was a girl between them once. Rafael is the +handsomer, so he got her. Oh, that is long ago. +But Rafael was foolish and laughed too loud, and so +he has to pay!"</p> + +<p>"But I think that is a mistake. I heard all about +the trouble; his mother told me. Capitan fights the +government only, and takes horses from the Arteagas +because they go with the Americanos as friends; that +is all. We heard it all at San Luis Rey as we drove +north—you remember?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I am not forgetting that," and Ana +laughed. "I listen all the time to what his mother +thinks she knows about that; and it is true, too, but +not all the truth. I could tell you—"</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly, not certain it was wise to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +tell the girl the thing causing her amusement, for, after +all, it was not really funny; it was serious enough in +itself, it might frighten the girl very much. No +other in her place would live one hour in the valley, +or ride at night with only one man and an old Indian +woman as guard.</p> + +<p>"If you know that I have been told lies, you had +better tell me the truth," said Raquel. "It may cost +me more to find it out alone than to hear it from a +friend."</p> + +<p>"That is true," agreed Ana, after a moment of +thought. She went to the door and looked in the +outer room to be sure no curious ears were there. +She could hear ecstatic cries from the girls, who were +giving old Polonia good things to eat, and plying her +with endless questions. She was recounting the brilliant +worldly scenes her old eyes had lately witnessed, +and pitying herself a little that she could not remain; +for each day had been finer than the day before. +And the horse-races, and the fine cavaliers, and Doña +Raquel always in the finest carriage—Holy Mary! +but it was a thing to see!</p> + +<p>Ana closed the door tightly and came back and sat +down beside Raquel and took her hand.</p> + +<p>"My aunt and the girls are over their heads in delight +out there," she remarked, dryly; "and I will tell +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +you a thing no one has been told concerning that ride +from San Luis Rey. Rafael lost some fine horses +that night—do you remember?"</p> + +<p>Raquel did not; she might have heard—but Doña +Luisa's death, all that sorrow, all the many and quick +changes, had blotted out the fainter records of that +day.</p> + +<p>"Well, when we stopped for coffee at the camp the +cook told us; you may not have heard. However, +they were taken after you went into the river. You +have not forgotten that?"</p> + +<p>"How could I? Oh, yes, I remember! The priest +told me that night. How strange it should have all +been crowded out of my mind! He told me to give +Rafael a message of warning. What was it? What +was it?"</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands over her brows and tried to +remember. Her first meeting with Rafael beside the +dead body of his mother had driven out of her mind +the message she was to have delivered. It was a +warning, a warning of some sort; that much she was +sure of, and—what was it about her father—her +father's name?</p> + +<p>"I think," said Ana, speaking softly and watching +her, "that he told you Felipe Estevan's daughter had +saved Rafael Arteaga a treasure that night."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +"Anita! So he did; and you know the words, the +very words he spoke to me!"</p> + +<p>"I know more, Raquel mia; I know what the treasure +was."</p> + +<p>"And—?"</p> + +<p>"It is not nice to tell," and Ana hesitated. "But +he saw you there that evening with his own eyes."</p> + +<p>"The priest?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the priest. He saved you from being carried +to the hills by the Juan Flores robbers, while Capitan +took others of the men and secured the chests of +wedding gifts from the old Mission. Oh, it was all +planned for the one big revenge on Rafael Arteaga. +But he saw you, and so—"</p> + +<p>"And that priest saved me from them, Anita?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he saved you—the priest—and sent you back +to your friends, and sent the men across the mesas—because +you were Estevan's daughter. But he did not +try to save Rafael's horses; that night many of the +finest were headed eastward and never came back."</p> + +<p>"And if—if the padre had not been there at the +right moment, I—"</p> + +<p>"It is not a nice story, at all," acknowledged Ana. +"They are rough men. One of them would have married +you, and you would never have cared to see your +friends again, and Rafael never would have found you."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +"Mother of God! He hates Rafael like that, yet +lets him live?"</p> + +<p>Ana laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Capitan is like that," she observed. "No one is +like him. If Rafael's life were in danger this hour, +Capitan would ride to save him. Oh, he does not +mean that he shall die while young, and handsome, +and rich, and beloved!"</p> + +<p>Her tone had a little hard ring for a moment; her +eyes were sparkling with a certain admiration for the +character she was describing. The story had brought +the color back to Raquel's face, and she listened feverishly. +What strange, strange things could be possible +in the smiling valleys of San Juan! For the moment +she forgot the dull ache in her heart which had driven +her to ride alone back to sanctuary.</p> + +<p>"And you know all this, Anita; even the words of +the padre! How?"</p> + +<p>She caught Ana's hands in hers impetuously, and +made her look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"He told me," said her friend, simply.</p> + +<p>"Then you know him? You see him sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"And he is called—?"</p> + +<p>"Libertad."</p> + +<p>"Padre Libertad—the Liberated? I never have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +heard him spoken of. Where can I find him? +Anita, I will go alone, but this feud shall be ended. +He will help me. And I—I never knew what he +saved me from that night. I scarcely thanked him. +He was so strange, so abrupt, so masterful, I accepted +all he did, and never knew! Tell me. Anita. I will +go to him—I will—"</p> + +<p>"No one goes to him," said Ana. "He never stays +in one place. If you see him, you see him—but—"</p> + +<p>"But he comes to San Juan?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, he comes to San Juan once a year at +least, so they will not forget him."</p> + +<p>Ana's lips curled in a little smile, quickly suppressed.</p> + +<p>"But, Anita, that he tells you all these things, so +that you know the reasons of Capitan—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Capitan is a sort of cousin of our family. +Even when he is outcast, I do not want him to lose +his soul; so I—my people do not know—but always +I pay for a mass when I hear that the robbers have +killed a man. I never think that Capitan would like +to kill; still, it might happen. So I remember—as +I remembered him when I was a little girl, and when I +was married—and I pay for a mass, that is all."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to-night, very glad you tell me all this, +Anita. Not glad that it is so, but, thanks to God, it +is something to do—to do—to do!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +"And what?" asked Ana, regarding her curiously. +Heretofore the wife of Rafael had appeared to her +self-restrained and cold, but to-night—</p> + +<p>Raquel caught her hand and pressed it, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"You are saving me to-night, Anita, and you do +not know it," she said, with feverish intensity. "I was +unhappy when I rode to your door; so tired of all the +world that I could think of nothing sweeter than to ride +on and on to the sea, and into it, and go to sleep there."</p> + +<p>"Raquel! That is a mortal sin!"</p> + +<p>"So it is, but I shall do penance, and when the +padre comes again, O my dear Ana, you alone will not +pay for the masses; we can do many things for good +together, you and I. You must come to me to the +Mission; you must! I have had many things to fight +alone, Anita, and I never can tell you what they are. +But this new thing we can fight together, darling—you +for your relation and I for my husband and my +promise; and, the saints helping us, we shall win, +Anita, and it will all come right; and thanks to God I +came to you this night!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes were alight with excitement, her cheeks +flushed and burning. Once or twice she shivered +slightly; and Ana, who had been reassured by the +beautiful color so quickly replacing the pallor of the +cheeks, grew all at once apprehensive, as she noticed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +that the hands of Raquel were very cold indeed, and +that her laugh was nervous, and that her teeth chattered, +and that the words she tried to utter grew indistinct.</p> + +<p>"Holy Mary! I have given her a fever," gasped +Ana. "That my tongue had been blistered, before I +babbled all that to her! Raquel, for the love of God +don't shake like that, and don't laugh at me! Stop +it! The laugh is the worst of all! Raquel—Raquelita—darling +mine!"</p> + +<p>But Ana's frenzy of fear was so irresistibly funny, +that Raquel continued to laugh, and the laughter grew +louder after the other women were called in, and helped +to undress her and wrap her in blankets to smother the +chill. That night, candles never went out in the house, +and Ana knelt before the altar with prayers to the saints +that they might undo the folly of her tongue. But +old Polonia knelt instead by the couch of Raquel and +cursed the American, that he had not died there in +Mexico.</p> + +<p>In the early dawn Polonia crept unseen to the aquia, +and of soft clay made an image of him, and thrust pins +through every vital portion of it, that there might be +no chance left of life in the man it represented; then, +having finished her work, she left it where the sun +would dry it, and crept back to the room and curled up +on a rug, and slept the sleep of the content.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +The good holy water she had paid money for had +failed. But there are always two ways. If the saints +refuse to help, there is always the devil left. If the +padres did not get more effective holy water, whose +fault was it that poor souls had to seek help elsewhere? +She would do penance, of course, after the man died, +and perhaps pay for a mass, and that would make it all +right for everybody, and was so easy! She went to sleep +wondering if he would die from a slow lingering disease, +or how it would be. It was inconvenient that one was +not allowed to select the very way the end must come. +But the devil would know what she would like best,—that +the foot of his horse might go down in a gopher-hole +and pitch him on his head just so that the neck +would break, quick, like the snapping of a finger. And +no one would ever guess how it had been brought +about!</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> + +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m199.mid'> +<img src='images/mu199.png' + title='Music: El Sueño.' + alt='Music: El Sueño.' +/></a> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">En el sueno dichoso prové——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delicias, rodear mi existencia.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc199.png' title='T' alt='T' /> +</div> +<p>Tea made of Castillian rose petals, +and all the other little helps of +the herb family, were brewed +and steamed in the kitchen of +the ranch for the saving of Raquel +from the grasp of a strength-sapping +fever.</p> + +<p>Conscience-stricken, Ana fought and argued against +sending for Rafael. Every hour of the day and night +she was willing to watch and work, if only Raquel's +illness might pass without the cause of it being known; +and she was certain that the cause was the shock of +learning how narrowly she had escaped kidnapping at +the hands of Rafael's enemy.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, indeed, Raquel did murmur in her sleep +of "Padre Libertad" and the water surging over her +head; and then again it was "the altar—the altar—and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +the blood on the tiles of the temple"; then "the +ring—the ring—the ring." Sometimes she would +moan that the beautiful one with the happiness must +not receive the ring—never the ring of Aztec witchery! +Then her words would trail along in inarticulate +whispers, and sink into brief periods of slumber.</p> + +<p>Old Polonia, listening and watching, heard all. Of +Padre Libertad and the dream of the water she cared +not anything. Of the ring she understood, and was +afraid lest a name be uttered. But when the girl +moaned of the blood on the altar and on the floor of +the temple, the old creature dropped in a cowering +heap and screamed with fear, and begged with tears +that the husband would come, and that a padre must +come, for it was all of no use to do any more of anything; +and that the mother of Doña Raquel had come +from—from death, to tell of hidden things to her +daughter, and it meant that death was in the home +with them, and that Doña Raquel would never again +sing with the birds, or gallop across the mesas!</p> + +<p>Ana, trembling with fright and this assurance, almost +smothered old Polonia, that the others might not hear +the wild prophecy, but without further delay she sent +a letter to Rafael, and the man who bore it was to +spare neither horses nor himself on the errand.</p> + +<p>The man rode well, and made only one halt to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +change a horse at a ranch. The sheriff of Los Angeles +County, and many owners of ranches, were there. +The sheriff looked at the rider and his reeking horse +carefully.</p> + +<p>"From where do you come?" he asked, and the +man jerked his thumb toward the south.</p> + +<p>"San Joaquin."</p> + +<p>"What's up there?"</p> + +<p>"Not anything, señor."</p> + +<p>It never entered his head that a woman sick at the +San Joaquin ranch would have interest for a party of +horsemen who looked as if out for a hunt. But the +party exchanged glances. One of them, a farmer who +knew him, stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"Where do you ride in such haste, if nothing is +up?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I take a letter to Don Rafael; his wife is sick."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"At San Joaquin ranch, señor. Adios!"</p> + +<p>He had his foot in the stirrup, when the sheriff laid +his hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Wait a bit," he said, quietly. "I think it is said +that a picnic is given to-day by Señora Downing for +Doña Raquel Arteaga who is visiting in Los Angeles. +How can she be at the same time at the San Joaquin +ranch?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +"I know not anything of the picnic, señor, but I +know a woman rode her horse into the ranch at dark +last night, and they say it is Doña Raquel Arteaga; and +she has a fever, and screams and laughs all night in the +room of Doña Ana. I know, for I am called after I +am asleep, to get wood for a fire. No one sleeps, and +outside the window I hear all what she screams, and it +is enough to freeze the blood,—all of altars where blood +is, and a ring that she cries for; and I am glad to get +away and ride for Rafael Arteaga."</p> + +<p>"Rather thin, isn't it, all of that story?" remarked +one of the ranchmen. "Bryton, when we asked you +to join us didn't you stop to send word to the Downings +that you couldn't attend their little celebration +in the hills?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Bryton had turned from the others and was rolling +a cigarro. He replied without looking up from his +task.</p> + +<p>"And it was given in honor of Doña Raquel Arteaga +and the bishop?"</p> + +<p>"I understood so."</p> + +<p>"Understood? Why, that was the reason Arteaga +gave for refusing to come along," broke in one of the +other men. "I heard him."</p> + +<p>"That's so; I did too, and I thought at the time a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +picnic for a woman and a priest was a mighty small +excuse to give for evading—"</p> + +<p>"Careful!" And the sheriff shot a warning glance at +the speaker. "A newly married man was excused, even +in Bible times, from going to the wars, so Arteaga's +reason is all right."</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," said Bryton. "I am as certain as +it is possible to be of anything one does not see, that +the boy tells the truth. She is there, and she is ill. Let +him take the message."</p> + +<p>"What makes you think so?" and the sheriff eyed +him carefully. Bryton's jaw set stolidly, though his +face flushed.</p> + +<p>"I know it; that's all," he said, briefly, as he turned away.</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"The boy is speaking the truth; I know it!"</p> + +<p>The sheriff looked after him a moment, and then +spoke to one of the others.</p> + +<p>"Just keep the boy here a bit until I can see clearer," +he said, "if Bryton knows."</p> + +<p>He tramped after Bryton, who was going for his own +horse tied in the shadow of a pepper tree.</p> + +<p>"Bryton, tell me <i>how</i> you know!"</p> + +<p>"I can't do it. Take my word or ignore it, as you like."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +"But, hell, man! it is not your word; it is only your +impression! Give me your word as to how you know +it, and I'll take it quick. I suppose it's some inside +family history you've dropped on; but the lady is at +Los Angeles, and it is some other woman they are +nursing at the ranch and deceiving the servants about. +That is my theory. There are some women mixed +up with that Flores outfit, and I happen to know that +El Capitan, who is the brain of the gang, is related to +the folks at that ranch. Now, is it reasonable to think +that Arteaga's wife would ride at dark, alone, over this +country where hold-ups are so common? Would he +let her? Would not the Downings have known?"</p> + +<p>"They probably did know, and Rafael Arteaga +certainly did," returned Bryton, impatiently. "Their +picnic was more a matter of policy than a pleasure party. +They wanted the bishop there, to put an end to that +church fight. They wanted Doña Raquel Arteaga to +serve as an attraction and help them. She has absolutely +refused all along to assist with any compromise; +and to avoid it this time she has evidently ridden quietly +out of Los Angeles, and her husband, who wanted the +picnic very much, has kept her absence a secret."</p> + +<p>"But if she is as sick as this boy says, how could +she take a thirty-mile ride on horseback?"</p> + +<p>Bryton made a gesture of impatience.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +"She is there!" he insisted. "I—I feel that she is +there. The sooner you let the boy ride for Arteaga +and the doctor, the less likely she is to die."</p> + +<p>"Doctor! Did he say anything about a doctor?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You see, if the woman was very ill, the fellow +would say it was a doctor he was riding for."</p> + +<p>"No; it would be a priest. These women do their +own doctoring. If herb teas and prayers can't save a +life, it is let die. Good God! She may be dying now +while we talk. Let the boy go!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be damned!"</p> + +<p>The sheriff was staring at Bryton, whose face was +white and set. He was untying his horse, with quick +decided movements, and cinching up the girth.</p> + +<p>"If you don't send the boy on that errand, I'll go +myself," he said, curtly.</p> + +<p>"Well—I'll be—" The sheriff broke his sentence +midway, to stare at Bryton in amazement. "What the +devil is it to you?" he demanded. "Arteaga is no +bosom friend of yours, is he?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I know of. If the boy doesn't go, I go! +The girl may be dying, and the help she wants, she's +going to get. Speak up!"</p> + +<p>He was in the saddle, and the sheriff, with one look +at him, walked back to the group.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +"Boy, do you carry only a message to Don Rafael +Arteaga?" he demanded, "or is it a written letter?"</p> + +<p>"A letter," said he, sullenly, "and Doña Ana raise +the hell if you don't let me take it."</p> + +<p>"Ah! The Doña Ana! I thought so. Doña Ana +is an interesting little lady. Let me see the letter."</p> + +<p>The man hesitated, but finally pulled the letter from +his pocket. The sheriff took it and walked back to +Bryton.</p> + +<p>"I'm humoring your queer notion all I know how," +he observed; "for I want you south with us instead of +taking the back trail. You read Spanish; the letter is +not sealed. Read it."</p> + +<p>Bryton read it aloud, slowly. Ana had not minced +her words.</p> +<div class='blkquote'> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Rafael Arteaga</span>:—</p> + +<p>"For the love of God, come quick to Raquel. +Among us, some way, I think we have killed her. +That she is too good for you is no reason that +you should let her ride alone with a heart-break. +I think myself she does not want to live any more,—and +no medicine cures that. Maybe you cannot +cure it either, but it is your place to be here if she +dies.</p> +<p style='margin-left:6em;'>"Your cousin,</p> +<p style='margin-left:9em;'>"Ana Carmencita Mendez."</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +"You see," said Bryton, handing it back. "I told you."</p> + +<p>"I see," conceded the sheriff. "It reads all right, +but there is always a chance of—" He folded the +paper thoughtfully, and stared hard at the ground. +"This is all a ticklish business, Bryton, and if +Flores's friends have got wind of this little <i>pasear</i> +of ours, they may send all sorts of scare messages +where they will do most good. These greasers have +tricks of their own, and most of them are cousins—see?"</p> + +<p>"I see; but that is not a message of that sort. +Does the boy take it, or do I?"</p> + +<p>"The boy takes it, and I'll send a man with him +to be sure he takes that message and no other; and +you, if you are so keen for the road, can ride south +and investigate before Cousin Ana can expect any +reply to her message."</p> + +<p>"I—ride alone to San Joaquin ranch?"</p> + +<p>"That's it! You've got the best horse in the +bunch. If the whole outfit rides in, they'll get scared, +but one man alone on his way to San Juan, that +looks all right. You may chance on things worth +while, when we finally catch up."</p> + +<p>"But there are other men—men who know the family better."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +"Not one would be so apt to note the points we +need. The family is square, but of Cousin Ana there +have been some curious things said. She is the one +of the lot who openly claims El Capitan as cousin. +That's all we really know, but keep your eyes open."</p> + +<p>"Let me see the letter again."</p> + +<p>The sheriff handed it to him and looked at him +curiously as he half turned away to read it, and his +eyes sought out the one statement: "I think myself +she does not want to live any more, and no medicine +cures that. Maybe you cannot cure it either, but it +is your place to be here if she dies."</p> + +<p>He pulled his hat low over his eyes and gathered +up the reins.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said, briefly. "I will go. Adios!"</p> + +<p>A little later, and only a cloud of dust marked the +way in the south that he had gone; and the mist in +his eyes, hidden so well from the sheriff, was dashed +away by his hand, but came back again and again.</p> + +<p>"It is your place to be here if she dies," he +repeated, grimly,—"my Doña Espiritu—my beloved! +The message was written to him, but fate sent it first +to me, and I—I will be with you to-night. You will +not be again alone with the heart-break."</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m209.mid'> +<img src='images/mu209.png' + title='Music: Indian Torture Chant.' + alt='Music: Indian Torture Chant.' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc209.png' title='T' alt='T' /> +</div> + +<p>Toward evening Raquel grew +more quiet, and Ana, seeing +that the fever was abating, gave +herself much blame for sending +in such haste for Rafael; and +what she had written to him +only the good saints could +tell, for she had been so frightened she had possibly +told him unpleasant things!</p> + +<p>However, all things could be endured if only +Raquel would open her eyes in reason once more, +and lift the load of self-blame from the heart of Ana.</p> + +<p>Not only the young girls, but the mistress as +well, kept a respectful distance from the room where +Raquel lay, adjoining the hall. Her moans and +strange words had filled them with dread, but no +more so than had the grovelling fear of the old +Indian woman. All day she had crouched at the door +like a patient animal, waiting the end. Sometimes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +she muttered to herself in queer Indian words, sometimes +she crept to the couch of Doña Raquel for a +little while, and then back again to the door, always +mumbling or praying, and always insisting that the +mother of Raquel had come from the grave to tell +things, and that the last of the kings was gone now +for always!</p> + +<p>Any attempt at a question, any interpretation of +her mutterings, would arouse her to a realization +that she was among new people in a strange land, +and her lips would shut in a straight line, to be kept +shut so long as she was conscious of their presence.</p> + +<p>The Indian servants crept past the door, with +fearful eyes fixed in dread. She was of another race +and another tongue than their own forebears, straight +and slender even in her old age; darkest reddish-bronze +in color, while a San Juan grandmother was +always fat, and nearly always black. Beside them, +Polonia looked almost Caucasian. Yet she proudly +denied any white blood; she was an Indian of a hill +tribe of the south, the name of which she would not +utter.</p> + +<p>All this, and her mutterings, and the wild words +of her mistress, put terror into the heart of the San +Joaquin household. The girls huddled together and +whispered tales of witches and ghosts, and thought +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +she looked like each in turn; and Doña Ana got +great credit for courage in staying in the room with +her in the night-time.</p> + +<p>But all their vague fears were changed to a +definite terror when one of the Indian children +found the clay image by the aquia, and in its yet +moist members all the pins, for the stealing of which +half the children around the ranch had that morning +received a taste of the rope's end.</p> + +<p>Such a gray-faced, wailing lot as scampered up +from the aquia! Girls screaming, old women wailing, +and the mothers herding the children out of +reach of the accursed thing!</p> + +<p>All was explained now, about the sudden awful +sickness of the Doña Raquel! The Indian woman +from the south was a very devil! Doña Raquel +had perhaps had to whip her some time, and she had +waited until she was with her in a strange house to +do this thing: that was why she crouched at the door +as if on guard; she was afraid some one might +enter to pray, or with holy water, or any of the +helps of the saints. And after the life had gone from +Doña Raquel, who could tell that she might not kill +others, even all of them on the ranch? Since she had +in one hour's time changed her mistress from a well +woman to a crazy woman who laughed, how long +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +would it take to do the same for a dozen? Not a +day! In a week she could kill them all!</p> + +<p>Panic seized the entire herd. They raced in terror +for the ranch-house and overwhelmed the mistress +with their fears. Her daughters clung together, white-faced +at the frenzy facing them. The men were out +on the ranch and ranges; Don Enrico was with them, +and there was no one to control the dark mob of +fanatic faces, any more than one could head a stampeding +herd of cattle: that was what terror developed +in them—the mad, unreasoning rush of animals to +trample underfoot, or tear to pieces, the thing they +feared.</p> + +<p>The mistress could only gasp, "Pray to God—pray +to God!" but her voice was lost in the tumult +of the wild chorus. It was too late for prayers; +prayers were no good after a devil had got hold +of any one! Then there was only one thing to do, +and they had the knife for the meat and the axe +for the wood! A devil could be burned out, or +drowned out, and there was not water enough this +side of the sea for the drowning; therefore—</p> + +<p>In vain their mistress screamed, and her daughters +clung to the bare brown arms of their serving-women. +They were thrown aside in the stampede of the savage +herd. Let the lady say what should be done with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +white blood; but this was an Indian, and an Indian +of a strange tribe and country!</p> + +<p>Even in their panic the bovine cowardly herd +remembered that fact; there would be no Indian +relatives of the witch to wreak vengeance on them; +she was the devil's own, and she had no other +kindred!</p> + +<p>They tore across the hall, sacred at other times to +the family, and Ana, rising in wonder at the tumult, +was met at the door by the mob. She retreated to the +couch of Raquel, with outstretched arms to protect +her guest, as she commanded that they be gone.</p> + +<p>Her words were scarcely heard. At the door, +crouching, and with covered head, they found her +they wanted, and dragged her unresisting through the +hall and out into the open.</p> + +<p>The mistress, sick and half fainting, stumbled to +her own room, and cowered at the altar, with one +daughter clinging to her and sobbing, while the other +stood at the portal of the patio and called for some +of the boys, or a man, or horse for any one who could +ride for help and stop the horror.</p> + +<p>"Mother of God! They make the fire!" she screamed.</p> + +<p>It was true. They were dragging the wood and +making ready for a fire. Children followed their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +mothers, gathering leaves and straw. One black-skinned +creature had brought a shovel of coals, and +was lying prone on the ground beside it, blowing it +with her breath until it glowed and sent demoniac +lights into her heavy-lidded eyes. One old hag held +the devil's witness, the clay image, before the accused, +and after one brief look Polonia made no struggle. +It was fate; she had known from the feverish words +of Doña Raquel that some one must die as sacrifice.</p> + +<p>Then she began to croon a strange whining chant, +and the hands of those holding her fell away in sudden +terror of even the touch of her. Slowly she +stumbled to her feet, and looked at the sun, and +raising her old hands toward its lowering light, waved +them to and fro in weird salutation, never checking +the strange song or chant.</p> + +<p>Ana had a pistol, and stood in wavering uncertainty +as to whether she should run out, or stay on +guard beside Raquel; but to the final adjuration she +responded as one suddenly aroused from a stupor of +fear, and rushing to the little plaza she screamed +loudly and then fired two shots in quick succession; +then after a deliberate little pause she fired once +more, and with pale cheeks turned toward the door, +trembling, and waiting.</p> + +<p>"God be praised! See, help is coming," gasped +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +Juanita, pointing northward. "Good! The dust—the +man on the horse—and how he rides—how he +rides!"</p> + +<p>Ana watched the rider, fascinated and weak with +terror. Juanita was laughing and crying with joy, but +her cousin stood pale and motionless, and said not a +word as the horseman swept past the garden to the +back of the house, where smoke was rolling up in a +white cloud.</p> + +<p>He was none too soon. The fire was leaping in +long tongues from the crackling sycamore boughs. +The dark faces of the fanatics were alight with frenzied +eagerness for their pious task of destroying a witch +before they might be interfered with. They had +heard the screams and shots, and knew what they +meant, and the log they were tying the witch to was +held upright by many willing hands.</p> + +<p>Her hands were already tied together; there was +nothing left to do but fasten a rope around her at the +waist, and toss both log and witch into the hottest +corner.</p> + +<p>And then Juanita ran screaming toward the group, +and back of her rode a man on a fiend of a horse, +knocking the pious devotees right and left, and caught +up the limp figure of old Polonia and flung it on the +saddle in front of him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +She opened her eyes and looked at him once as he +raised her from the ground, and then closed them +and looked no more. It was all of no use—neither +the holy water to keep away the thought of him, +nor the witchcraft to take the life from him. It +was the accursed Americano, and the charm had only +served to bring him more quickly!</p> + +<p>After the first staggering blow from the stranger's +horse, some of the stronger spirits rallied, and lunged +forward to drag the woman from her rescuer, while +others lashed his horse that it might become uncontrollable. +Two able-bodied wenches held on like +grim death, despite the quirt which he brought down +across their shoulders again and again, while he held +the horse and Polonia with one arm.</p> + +<p>The animal, between the lashing of the mob and +the roaring of the flames, was leaping madly, and the +rider had all he could do to control its terror. Any +moment a shot, or a club, or a stone thrown at his +own head might give them two victims instead of one. +That was Juanita's one wild fear. She screamed for +Ana with the pistol, but Ana had sunk down, white +and trembling on the doorstep, as she saw a black +form suddenly appear in the midst of the howling mob +of savages. An instant she saw him on the outer +edge of the leaping, struggling circle, and the next he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +was by the head of the horse, and a strong arm struck +right and left until there was space enough to show +he was a bronzed, bearded man in a priest's habit.</p> + +<p>"Back to your kennels, dogs!" he cried, sharply. +"Since when have ye dared strike at gentlemen? On +your knees, every one of you! On your knees!"</p> + +<p>The younger girls and children dropped in the dust, +but some of the older were less willing to give up.</p> + +<p>"She is a witch, father; she is killing a woman," +cried one; "it is right a devil be put in the fire!"</p> + +<p>"Then how hot must the fire be made when your +day comes!" he replied, and raised his hand and spoke +slowly, solemnly, "Thrice heated will that fire be +for the thrice-accursed! To your knees, in the name +of God!"</p> + +<p>With sullen, shamed, disappointed faces, they +obeyed. A white man who is a stranger they dared +attack, if enough of them were together, but not a +priest—a priest who could hit hard enough to knock +a bull down.</p> + +<p>"That was a close shave, padre," observed the +American, with a breath of relief. "They had this +poor old wretch almost pulled in two—will you take +her?"</p> + +<p>The priest made a step forward, and then halted +and smiled, as in vague perplexity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +"I have not the pleasure of understanding English," +he said, gently.</p> + +<p>Ana arose and came forward; she was still very +pale and still trembling; she looked at the priest +and tried to speak, but the words were smothered in +a half sob.</p> + +<p>"My daughter," he said, quietly, "take courage." +Then he glanced at the pistol still in her hand. "It +was you who fired? That was right. I was on the +hill in the edge of the wood, and it is well you sent +that warning. Your American friend said—?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I speak a little Spanish too," remarked Bryton, +in that tongue; "it is the woman with the tied +hands I wanted you to take."</p> + +<p>The padre did so, untying the rope deftly, and +steadying her wavering figure, while Bryton slipped +from the saddle, and spoke to Juanita, who had the +one welcoming face he had seen.</p> + +<p>"I know you," she said, eagerly. "Did I not see +you at San Juan Capistrano, at Alvara's and at the +Mission? I was sure of it. This is my cousin +Doña Ana and Father—"</p> + +<p>"Libertad," the padre interrupted, briefly, and spoke +directly to Bryton, "from Mexico."</p> + +<p>"You will think us all savages to allow this, +father," and she pointed to the huddled Indians +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +and the leaping flames; "but it was all so quick—like +that—no one could think! My mother is in +hiding from it, and—"</p> + +<p>"Father," said Ana, speaking for the first time, "a +priest is needed in the house. We have a woman +who may be dying. Will you come quickly?"</p> + +<p>She was eager to separate the priest from the others, +and, her speech was nervous and eager.</p> + +<p>"Dying?" he repeated, "is that what they meant +when they said the Indian had killed a woman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," broke in the quavering tones of old +Altagrazia, "here it is—the devil she made!" and she +held up the clay image, from which the head had been +broken in the <i>mêlée</i>. "One day ago the lady is well +and rides like a caballero, and this day the sun goes +down and she dies. The Indian from Mexico put on +the curse!"</p> + +<p>Old Polonia understood, and screamed denials in +her native tongue, and then turned to the padre and +pointed to the American.</p> + +<p>"It is that man!" she cried, shrilly, "he is a +devil! He does not die—not for anything! And +while he lives he breaks the heart of my mistress. It +is he; that is the man! Put on him the curse of the +Church, father! Put on him the curse to send him +to a desert where he never can find a road again!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +The padre smiled grimly. "That is all they use +their religion for after a century of Christianity," he +observed. "They still stick to their devil-worship, +and call on the Church only when they want maledictions +or absolution. Woman, you talk like a fool. +Did you do this?"</p> + +<p>He took the headless clay pin-cushion and held it +before him. Polonia flashed one vindictive glance at +him and then nodded her head sullenly. It was bad +luck to lie to a padre.</p> + +<p>"It was to save her," she muttered, "but the Americano +is a devil, and nothing kills him."</p> + +<p>She turned one glance of hate and fear upon her +rescuer, and moved toward the house.</p> + +<p>"She means you?" asked the padre.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she is crazy, that old Indian," cried Juanita; +"always she makes me afraid. The Señor Bryton +she never perhaps has seen until this minute. That +is her thanks that he pull her from the fire!"</p> + +<p>The padre turned for one level look at the pale +face of Ana.</p> + +<p>"Your name is Bryton?" he then said, quietly. +"Will you, Señor Bryton, see that these savages do +not attempt another roasting, while I look to the +woman who is dying?"</p> + +<p>Bryton turned to Juanita.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +"Is it so bad as that?" he asked. "The Doña +Raquel—"</p> + +<p>"We think she is better this evening; still, it may +be a fever coming; one never knows. Ah! there are +my father and the men."</p> + +<p>Don Enrico Cordoba and some vaqueros rode +madly through the corral and into the place of the +huge bonfire and the still kneeling Indians. Now +that their white heat of passion was over, they remembered +only the beating they would get, and crouched +doggedly where the padre had bidden them; the +younger ones wept with fear when Juanita told her +father the story.</p> + +<p>"Holy God!" he shouted in a rage, breaking in +on her recital. "In my house to trample on my +family and drag a woman to the fire! Tomás, count +every head and remember every name. In three +days every one shall be tied to a tree and whipped; if +one runs away, she shall be caught and whipped twice,—once +here on the ranch, and once on the Mission +plaza of San Juan, on a Sunday after mass. You +cattle, you dogs, you devils, begone from my sight!"</p> + +<p>He struck right and left with the green-hide reata, +spurring his horse after those who stumbled along too +slowly to suit him, striking old and young alike as +they ran wailing with terror at the promises he had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +made them, and which they knew would be kept. +The Mexican master was quite as prone as the Indian +servants to find acute methods of torture or punishment.</p> + +<p>When all were despatched he rode back, puffing +and laughing, to his daughters and guest, with whom +he shook hands heartily.</p> + +<p>"Holy saints! but we did ride when we saw the +smoke; it looked like the house on fire. It winds a +man, a ride like that at my age," and he shook his fat +sides with laughter. "Come inside and have a glass +of whiskey, Señor Bryton. We met at the alcalde's +last year when the army officers were in San Juan? +Yes, I thought so. I am glad you have come to +my house, and—who knows—you maybe saved my +wife and my daughters as well as the old woman. +When these savages get the taste of blood, they +are crazy wolves, never fighters in the open, brave +only when there is a mob like that. Come in, come +in! Juanita, go tell your mother we have a guest +who has saved you all. What was it you said of +a padre? where is he?"</p> + +<p>"With Doña Raquel, father."</p> + +<p>"She is worse?"</p> + +<p>"We do not know, but thanks to the Virgin, she +no longer laughs or cries. Ana is there. If she live +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +or die, we all feel the padre has come if the husband +do not."</p> + +<p>"Humph! Oh, yes, yes, always the priests!" he +grunted. "Women can't keep house without the +padres. I think I build a chapel for my women; +then they can pray all the time to be sure they save +my soul," and he laughed skeptically; then he tossed +aside his sombrero, and brought bottles and glasses to +a little table of marble on the veranda. "Will you +have whiskey, or the bottle of wine?"</p> + +<p>"I prefer your own wine of the ranch, Don Enrico," +and Bryton poured out the white moselle, of +which the Cordoba family was justly proud; "I think +the padre was also off a journey, señor; perhaps a +swallow of this fine wine—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, let the women alone to look after the wants +of the padre," laughed his host. "They own my +house when they are in it, though sometimes I never +see them. 'How much money do you want?' I +say when they come, and that ends my business with +the padres! I buy and sell with them and get beaten +at <i>monte</i> or <i>malilla</i>, but I let women do the praying +with them! Here comes my wife. Refugia, this +is the preserver of your house, the Señor Bryton. +Have some whiskey, dear; you are still pale."</p> + +<p>"Pale! Never shall I get over this day. Think +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +of the shame of it! Doña Raquel Arteaga has been +entertained like a queen by the bishop, and when she +honors our home, her servant is dragged out to be +burned! The word will go out that we are savages. +Enrico, never so long as you live do you leave this +house again without a man in it!"</p> + +<p>"Surely not. Drink the whiskey, dear, and be +composed."</p> + +<p>Doña Refugia drank the fiery liquor, and appeared +to enjoy it very much, but it had not a quieting +influence. It rather helped her to remember and +recount all the details of her own stages of fear during +the stampede of the self-appointed executioners.</p> + +<p>"After the night we all had," she lamented, "to +have it followed by such a day! God grant that +Doña Raquel slept or was unconscious through it all. +Had she seen those fiends, it might have killed her +or brought back the fever. Juanita says a padre has +come, which is the one lucky thing."</p> + +<p>"Señor Bryton came first, which was a more lucky +thing," said her husband; "all the saints could not +have saved the woman from the fire if he had not +come when he did. Such a thing has not happened +here in this valley since I was a boy. Have some +more of the wine; it will give you an appetite for +supper."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +At the mention of supper his wife remembered that +all the help of the kitchen might have deserted the +premises under the scourging of Don Enrico's reata, +and calling the girls to help, she left the gentlemen to +their glasses.</p> + +<p>At the hall she halted to ask after Raquel, and in the +shadow saw her niece and the padre talking softly. +Ana's head was bent as though weeping, and the hand +of the padre was smoothing her hair, and his words +were reassuring.</p> + +<p>"There, there! it is not so bad, after all," he was +saying. "You did the best you knew; and now that +I am here, there is nothing to do but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know," broke in Ana; "you say all this so +I will not blame myself. You would do the same +if the worst, the very worst, happened."</p> + +<p>"It is not going to happen," he said, quietly; +then, as he saw Doña Refugia in the hall, "Your +friend is surely not so dangerously ill as you fear; +by to-morrow—"</p> + +<p>Ana looked up quickly at his change of tone, and +arose to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Here is my aunt," she said. "Aunt Refugia, +this is a padre journeying south to Mexico. He—he +came at the right moment to help Señor Bryton, +and I have asked him to stay—and—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +"Of course," said Doña Refugia, promptly. "Thanks +to God you are here this night! Show him to the +padre's room, Ana, while I see to supper. Is she +sleeping?" she asked, nodding toward the couch.</p> + +<p>They did not know; she lay with closed eyes most +of the time, and they received no replies to queries, +but Ana felt that she only slept fitfully, and then +her own muttered words were certain to arouse her +to a sort of half wakefulness in which she was simply +conscious of the presence of some one without caring +in the least who it was. The entrance of the mob +had not impressed her mind more clearly than the +visionary pictures of the night before.</p> + +<p>Old Polonia had again crouched outside the door, in +the hall, wordless as before, and, except for some slight +disarrangement of her clothing, showing less sign than +might have been expected of the horrid scene she had +been a part of. She had gone in to look at her mistress, +had swallowed some wine offered her by Juanita, and +with a short guttural laugh had settled herself outside +the door as a sentinel—or near enough to hear the +slightest call from Raquel.</p> + +<p>The priest regarded her sharply and turned to Ana.</p> + +<p>"You are certain it was not Estevan's daughter she +meant to harm?" he asked, quietly, but not so low but +that the sharp ears of the Indian caught the name. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +She pulled a corner of the mantilla from across her eyes +and looked at him.</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Ana, "why, she was her nurse, and +the nurse of her mother before her. She would make +a carpet of herself for Raquel's feet."</p> + +<p>"The nurse of her mother before her," said the +priest, slowly. "Then she is of that strange hill +tribe of the temple mountain, and she herself is +not a common Indian. To have been nurse to +that family of the priests, means that her own family +was entitled to notice. Yet she has followed, in her +old age, to a strange land. Yes, it must mean devotion. +But why does she dislike the American?"</p> + +<p>"God knows! She could not have ever seen him +before. I thought she lied."</p> + +<p>"The hate in her eyes was no lie," observed the +padre. "His presence here was lucky, but it is not +explained, any more than is my own. To me it +looks—well, as I said, he is in with the officers."</p> + +<p>"And it is my fault he has seen you—my fault," +murmured Ana. "If you would only go at once—"</p> + +<p>"I think not; it is a good chance to watch the +gentleman. If I were sure that old woman meant +her hate for him—"</p> + +<p>He stared at Polonia a moment, and then nodded +his head.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +"I'll take the chance," he decided, and went alone +to her and pulled the cover entirely from her face.</p> + +<p>"Friend of a daughter of many kings," he said, +slowly.</p> + +<p>She stared at him, and stumbled to her feet in salutation.</p> + +<p>"It is true, my father, but the kings of the hills are +dead; and now," pointing toward Raquel, "there will +be no more in the land."</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" said the strange padre. "There +still lives a daughter; guard her better than you did +her mother when I carried love messages from +Estevan."</p> + +<p>"Ai! I know you now. You have become padre, +and you guard her from the heretics—the heretics, +father," and she pointed toward the veranda where +Don Enrico and his guest could be heard in conversation. +"That accursed Americano—"</p> + +<p>"Sh—h! quiet, you!" and he placed a hand on her +arm authoritatively; "make no noise, say no words, +but watch him all the time—every time when I am +out of sight. Understand?"</p> + +<p>She glanced from the padre to Ana, who nodded +her head, and at once the dark old face was illuminated; +at last she was not alone in this strange land! Others +were here who hated the Americano, and that made +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +them her kindred. She caught the hand of the padre +and pressed it to her forehead.</p> + +<p>"I watch always," she promised, fervently; and +to herself she thought, "After all, we get him killed +some way, if the padre, who was a soldier, helps."</p> + +<p>They left her in her chosen place, crouched in the +hall just outside the door of Raquel, content at last +that she was not alone in her hatred of the man whom +she blamed for the weary hours of wretchedness lived +through by her mistress.</p> + +<p>Ana showed the padre to the room set aside always +for the use of such priests as travelled from San Gabriel +to San Juan. They were not so many of late years, +but in this house they were always honored guests, no +matter what their order, or land, or language.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid—afraid!" said Ana, as she opened the +door; "if some one should come who knows—"</p> + +<p>"No one will," he said, reassuringly, "and this may +be a good chance to learn much. Go, help your aunt, +and forget to fear."</p> + +<p>Ana sighed, but went as he bade, to the kitchen, +where Doña Refugia was doing her best to make +amends for the distraction of the cooks. They were +like big, fat, frightened children, not one of them of +any use that night.</p> + +<p>Still, there chanced to be enchilladas made the day +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +before, and the tortillas took but a little while to bake, +and the bonfire in the yard had settled to a bed of +gleaming coals where the beef could be barbecued with +no delay but the sending of some girls to the creek for +spears of peeled willow. Ana glanced out and saw +them squatted peacefully around the red heap, turning +the poles on which the strips of beef were hung, as +phlegmatic as though they had not howled for a human +roasting there not an hour ago.</p> + +<p>Juanita had made the table look very nice, in honor +of the strange American guest who had followed her +call and saved the family from the disgrace of such a +killing.</p> + +<p>He filled her girlish ideal of the heroic, and she +was not like some women who thought that California +girls should marry only their own race: a big American +husband seemed the finest thing in the world to +Juanita.</p> + +<p>So there were red geraniums on the table, and yellow +poppies, and the best new plates brought from a +steamer at San Pedro but a month before; they were +a bright blue, and Juanita thought the color combination +very fine indeed. She ran to put on a new dress, +that the stranger might not think they all looked as if +the house had been wrecked. Ana, for a wonder, was +indifferent to her own personal appearance, and kept +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +on an old black dress with not even a collar of lace to +break its severity.</p> + +<p>Don Enrico showed Bryton to a room where he +could wash and brush a bit, but so interested was he in +his chance guest, that he remained at the door chatting +affably, and recounting the word he had received that +day that Flores and his men had made a big fight with +some cattle people over in Sonora, and had either got +a boat at San Onofre and gone out to sea, or else they +were somewhere in the San Juan mountains, and of +course had spies on the outlook for the marshal or the +army men. Don Enrico himself thought it time for +the army men to interfere—there were many army men +in Los Angeles, and this was no longer a county affair.</p> + +<p>"But the devil of a trouble in this country is that +too many Mexican men, and women too, will help to +hide Flores's men because of Capitan, who has never +yet taken a peso from a Mexican, except the Arteagas, +and who never fails to strip an American if he starts +on his trail. They like that, these Mexicans, whose +men fought the Americanos; they are not strong +enough to fight in the open, but they like to help +this vagabond Capitan, who should have been priest +instead of bandit, and who keeps up their fight for +them under cover."</p> + +<p>He had entered the dining-room while talking, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +so interested was he in his pet complaint against the +troublesome outlaws, that he did not notice the tall +black figure by the side of his wife.</p> + +<p>"Uncle, this is Padre Libertad," said Ana, almost +timidly. Don Enrico did not like priests in general; +he made the mistake of classing them all with the +Catalonian padre of San Juan, whom he disliked so +much that he would not eat at the same table. His +women folks never knew how he would receive a man +of the Church until he was proven to his taste.</p> + +<p>However, the good American whiskey had put him +in a cordial mood, and he nodded amiably as he took +his seat.</p> + +<p>"A good day to you, padre," he said. "You tramped +a long way in the dust to find trouble, did you? Well, +the women are thanking the saints you came at the +right time, you and Señor Bryton. So it is all very +well, and God send that the fight gave you an appetite."</p> + +<p>And evidently something did, for the priest ate like +a vaquero off the ranges. Don Enrico felt a growing +respect for the man who could eat more barbecued meat +than himself, and drink as much red wine. In fact, +all did ample justice to the beef of the bonfire built for +old Polonia,—all except Ana,—who still looked pale +and uneasy, and Bryton, who made a pretence of eating, +but who refused a second glass of wine, a thing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +the padre noticed with a smile, and their host commented +on vigorously.</p> + +<p>"You can't drink—you Americans," he insisted; +"and look at your plate,—not half empty! It takes +students and brain-workers like the padre and me +to spoil a side of beef! You are Spanish and of +Mexico, padre?"</p> + +<p>"No, not even my grandfather came from Spain; so +I cannot claim to be Spanish," said the padre. "I +claim only to be Mexican."</p> + +<p>"And good enough too! Across the line, do these +bandits of ours make much trouble these days?"</p> + +<p>"No one has complained to me of them. You +say they take most from the Americano, but in our +country there are no Americano ranches yet; we do +not expect to find them there for many years."</p> + +<p>"Well, Capitan does go down there sometimes," +insisted Don Enrico; "I've heard of it. His family +meant him for the Church, but the young devil ran +away and joined the army with his elder brother. +The Americans shot Roberto; this one was only a +boy then, light-weight to ride, and he carried despatches, +and never went back to the Church. Oh, +he is Californian, all right,—is cousin to half the +country. He is—what relation should he be to us, +Refugia?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +"He is second cousin to me," said Ana.</p> + +<p>"So if you hear of him being in trouble for his soul, +say a prayer for him, padre, on account of his loyal +cousin," said Juanita, and laughed teasingly; but Ana +lifted troubled, dark eyes to the padre's face.</p> + +<p>"Do so, father," she said, simply; "for the sake +of his soul, remember me!"</p> + +<p>"These women!" laughed her uncle; "they are +always troubling us about our souls, padre. Don't +let them spoil your supper with a list of prayers!"</p> + +<p>"And what would become of some of your souls if +we women did not say the prayers?" retorted his +wife. "God knows, Capitan needs them."</p> + +<p>"We all need them," said the priest, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Still, I always have understood that he is the +whitest of the bunch," observed Bryton.</p> + +<p>"There are, then, different shades of blackness?" +asked the padre. "I believe the law holds all equally +guilty."</p> + +<p>"El Capitan's motives, at least, have been different, +and it has come to be understood that when +extremely brutal things have occurred on their raids, +Capitan is never of the party."</p> + +<p>"Is it so? I did not know you Americanos gave +Mexicans credit for such negative virtues?"</p> + +<p>Bryton looked up quickly. There was a mocking +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +light in the eyes of the padre, and he was smiling +across the table. The smile puzzled Bryton as much +as the quick alarm in the eyes of Ana. Was she +afraid of controversy over the still warm question of +Mexican and United States rights?</p> + +<p>"I think that, individually, we give each other +credit," he replied, "especially to the fighters. It is +only the political schemers who make the troubles +between the two factions. As for Capitan, he has too +much daring not to force admiration even from the +people he dislikes."</p> + +<p>Ana flashed a grateful glance at him, and a slight +flush crept to the forehead of the padre; he gulped +down the contents of his glass, and pushed back his +chair.</p> + +<p>"Do you fear any trouble with those Indians +to-night?" he asked, abruptly. "Had I better speak +with them?"</p> + +<p>"It is better, perhaps, that we say a rosary, and +bring them together that way," observed Doña +Refugia; "it is the best way. I will have Pedro ring +the bell—"</p> + +<p>Ana slipped out of the dining-room beside the padre.</p> + +<p>"You will?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Surely; a rosary is easy. Why do you look so +frightened? Your Americano will not eat me."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +"But you don't like him?"</p> + +<p>"What does that matter? At least, he says no +harm of a man behind his back, and it is true what he +says of the politicians. Oh, if he keeps up the compliments, +who knows but that we may be good friends +yet—after he has paid for the horses he took +north? Chut!—that is only jest! Smile a little and +help to corral the Indians."</p> + +<p>Bryton, with Juanita beside him, had sauntered +again to the veranda. Passing the door of the hall, +he noticed Polonia still crouched there, and Juanita +shuddered and drew away.</p> + +<p>"I am always frightened at her," she confessed; +"not alone would I go in a room where she is at dark +for all the gold they say there is in Trabuco Mountain. +It is not so strange to me that the poor +creatures were afraid and thought her a witch. If +you had heard the Doña Raquel all last night, you +also would have thought only witchcraft could make +her so suddenly fall sick with a heart-ache for a ring +that would save her, and a temple where a sacrifice +was. Truly, it was pitiful—her cries. I pulled the +pillow over my ears. Only Ana was brave enough to +stay close to her,—Ana and the old mummy."</p> + +<p>"And Doña Ana—she thought what of it all—the +madness—the—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +"Oh, Ana has no love for Rafael; she blames +him in some way; and it may be that he does make +trouble for his wife—he would not be an Arteaga +else. But she never mentioned his name in all her +cries, never once. She called always—always for the +ring, and laughed that some one who wore the ring +was again alive. Oh, it was all of queer crazy things +like that—ghostly things—she made laments for. +It was like purgatory to hear her, yet Ana was not +afraid. She has courage, that girl!"</p> + +<p>"She is asleep now?" he asked, suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Who—Ana? why—"</p> + +<p>"No, no, I mean Doña—I mean the sick lady. +She is better—or—how?"</p> + +<p>"She notices nothing, and says nothing, but she +does not scream for some one who was dead and is +now alive, as she did last night, when she laughed +and wept; so I think that means the herb teas have +checked the fever. Do not you?"</p> + +<p>Just then the bell rang in the patio for the rosary, +and Juanita, with a word of apology, slipped away, +saying diffidently, "Though you are welcome to come +and pray with us,"—divided between her wish to have +him, and her reluctance to make it obligatory on a +heretical guest to attend their services.</p> + +<p>"I shall pray with you," he said, simply, "but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +I shall remain here. My presence might not have +a soothing effect on your servants. I shall smoke a +cigar here on the terrace until you return."</p> + +<p>Juanita blushed. She would rather have lingered +there herself than joined the others. The dusk was +coming on; a few last bars of red lay along the sky +line to the west where the sea was, and at that hour +there was no corner so delightfully appealing as the +great veranda where the gold-of-Ophir roses made +a lattice of green and yellow against the warm sky.</p> + +<p>Ana entered and lit a candle in the hall and another +in the room of Raquel, and went out again with a quiet +nod to the American guest pacing the veranda aimlessly, +and smoking one of Don Enrico's prime cigarros.</p> + +<p>When she had disappeared, he sauntered as aimlessly +through the hall to the patio where the dark +people were gathered with bent heads, murmuring +responses sullenly, scarcely daring to lift their eyes +to the group on the veranda.</p> + +<p>A few candles had been lit along the wall where +the shadows were deepening, and in their soft light +Bryton could see Don Enrico and all the men of +the ranch—vaqueros and ploughmen alike—kneeling +back of the women, and the red light yet showing +through the gray of the ashes where the flames had +leaped so lately.</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m239.mid'> +<img src='images/mu239.png' + title='Music: El Campo.' + alt='Music: El Campo.' +/></a> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ya me voy de esta campo querida,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Donde tiernas caricias gocé<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Y me voy con el alma partida,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Campo ingrata por ti llovaré!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc239.png' title='O' alt='O' /> +</div> + +<p>Only an instant he gave to it all, +but in that instant he made certain +that every man and woman +on the place was at prayers, +except the old Indian woman, +who squatted with covered head +in the hall, and himself. His +movements were no longer aimless. He retreated +swiftly to the veranda, and tossed the cigarro into +the garden. One glance he gave the wooden-like +figure of the old Indian. Only as a last resort would +he attempt to pass that way, but if the windows +were not barred—</p> + +<p>They were not. Ana had gone against her aunt's +Mexican rule, which was that all fresh air should +be excluded from a sick-room; and while that lady +and all her servants exclaimed against the admission +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +of air, they let the blame lie on the shoulders of Ana, +and no one closed the window. It swung wide to the +wind of the west, and on the couch within, Bryton +could see Raquel's face.</p> + +<p>The lids were closed over the violet eyes, and the +lips were apart, showing the white teeth. It was still +so light that he could see the little flush on the cheeks +against the white pillow, and on her right hand one +little old ring of plain gold. On the left hand shone +the red gold of her new wedding-ring.</p> + +<p>She looked so pathetically young and so utterly +alone, as she lay there, that all the man in him arose +in protest, and a mist of tears blinded him for a +moment to the beauty of her face.</p> + +<p>"Poor little one," he whispered, "my poor little +broken Doña Espiritu—my one lady of the spirit!"</p> + +<p>The sound of the words did not wake her, but +the sense of them reached her some way; for she +opened her eyes suddenly, and without any shadow +of wonder they rested on his face.</p> + +<p>"I waited a long time," she said at last, "then I +heard your voice, and I knew you were coming +to me."</p> + +<p>He set his lips tightly, and nodded, but did +not speak.</p> + +<p>"I waited a long time," she repeated, as a child +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +appealing for understanding. "Did they tell you +I thought you were dead?"</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p240p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p240w.jpg' + title='Then I Heard Your Voice' alt='Then I Heard Your Voice' /> +</a> +<p>“Then I Heard Your Voice”</p> +</div> + +<p>He nodded assent. No one had told him so, but +the words explained much.</p> + +<p>"You said you would come back if you lived, +and you never came, and they told me—the padre +told me—that you were dead!"</p> + +<p>"So I am," he said, gently; "and they told me, +my lady of the spirit, that you had taken the final +vow of the convent—that the night, our one night, +was a thing you were forgetting under a black veil. +Child, child! they lied to us, and now—"</p> + +<p>"Forgetting?" she said, slowly. "How does one +forget a night like that, when we walked out of the +wilderness into the day together? You never came +back; and I—I wanted to be in the world where +you had been, so I—"</p> + +<p>"I know," he whispered, gently; "I know, my +doña of the spirit."</p> + +<p>He had not meant to touch her,—only to look +at her and speak to her once, and then ride wherever +fate might take him.</p> + +<p>But she reached her hands to him, and with a +smothered groan he knelt by her couch and his arms +were around her.</p> + +<p>"Don't weep like that!" she whispered, and laid +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +her hand on his head. "I have wept enough for two, +since our carriages passed and I found you had not +died. And you—you knew all the time."</p> + +<p>"I knew when I saw you kneel in your wedding-veil +and take that oath—not until then. I heard his +mother say that he was the man you loved; and, soul +of mine! you had not said as much as that in words +to me. So I—"</p> + +<p>"You heard that? Then you know the life I have +to live." He nodded, without lifting his head from +the pillow of her arm. There are some things hard to +face with open eyes, but she felt the shudder that +passed over him. Through the opened window came +the rise and fall of many murmuring voices repeating +the rosary. In the gold-of-Ophir rose-tree two birds +fluttered and called to each other in the very whisper +of bird notes. The soft lavender-grays of a Californian +nightfall were sifting through the warm light of +the afterglow, and away there in the west stretched bars +of blood red, the last trace of the dying day. All the +sequestration of the hour was about them, all the hush +of the pause, before the final plunge of their day into +the shadows, and the two souls were enveloped by +the atmosphere of that ever-recurring tragedy of the +hours, and of lives.</p> + +<p>How long he knelt there he did not know. She felt +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +his lips on her wrist, and felt rather than heard the +broken words he was whispering—the wild, mad words +he had meant not to say, as he had meant not to touch +her; then her eyes grew bright as the stars picking their +way through the vault of blue, and the golden-haired +woman of the carriage belonged to a feverish phantasy +of the past hours. She might exist, that golden-haired +creature of beauty, but the real life of the man who +knelt there in the dusk belonged only to her, to her always, +through the bond of one starlit Mexican night +of witchery, and this last hour of the California day.</p> + +<p>Nothing made any difference now; though she lived +in a hell of purgatory all her waking life, the bonds of +their dream life would be closer than all else—always, +always!</p> + +<p>She felt suddenly well and strong. Ah, there was +so much in the world to live for! Though they never +met, never spoke again, this hour of the tryst would +be his through all her life—her hour of a rosary of +the heart.</p> + +<p>A girl's voice in the patio came softly through the +dark in an old Spanish hymn. It was Juanita, and the +service of prayer was ending in the usual duo; one of +the vaqueros with a fine barytone voice was singing +the echoing stanzas of praise.</p> + +<p>It was the signal for dispersing, but the man at the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +couch did not know that. Neither did he know that +the crouched form of the Indian was no longer in +the hall. She was waiting in the dusk at the door, +and she was clutching with a claw-like hand at the +robe of the padre, and muttering, "He is there—it +is true. He is there—and she is again bewitched. +Now you will help me to kill the American?"</p> + +<p>The padre looked at her sharply, and then motioned +to Ana, who was close behind.</p> + +<p>"Remain with the others. Make some excuse to +keep them there—another hymn—anything. And +be quick—quick!"</p> + +<p>Startled though she was, Ana obeyed, and from the +door of the hall he heard again the voice of Juanita; +this time it was in a favorite known to all, and the volume +of sound told him that Don Enrico himself was +joining in the refrain, and that no one would leave the +patio until the finale was reached.</p> + +<p>No candle burned now in the hall. Polonia had +blown it out, that no ray might enter the half-open +door of the inner room. She would have gone with +the padre, but the sudden vigorous grasp of his hand +on her shoulder stopped her where she stood, and +without a word being spoken, she knew better than +to follow.</p> + +<p>Quickly as a cat of the hills, the padre crossed the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +hall and stood where he could see the open window +and the kneeling man, and the hand of Raquel on his +bent head.</p> + +<p>"Every night when the dusk comes it will be our +time of the day," she was saying. "They told me +you were dead, else—but you know. I think the +mad hours have gone by for me; I can go on living +if—if you do not forget."</p> + +<p>The listening priest could not hear what the man +said, but she heard, and smiled, and sighed.</p> + +<p>"There is one thing," she said, hesitatingly: "the +ring, you have worn it a year—and—"</p> + +<p>"I know," and he lifted his head. "We need no +visible emblem, you and I. I put it back on your finger, +my lady of the spirit,—Doña Espiritu;—a pledge of +renunciation, and a reminder of the rosary of the dusk."</p> + +<p>She took from her right hand the little gold band +and gave it to him, and in its place he slipped the +onyx ring of the Aztec eagle and serpent.</p> + +<p>"I did not tell you what that ring means to my people," +she said, as he kissed it in its new resting-place. +"Maybe I never can tell you. I—I thought I could +be stronger if I wore it on my own hand, for—for the +reason that my heart went out of my bosom to follow +it, and—and I rode my horse as fast and as far as I +could from you, because I—was afraid."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +"Good God!" whispered the man. "You don't +know what you are saying. Remember that I dare +not touch your lips, and that I love you—love you—love +you!"</p> + +<p>Then the nestling birds in the gold-of-Ophir rose +were startled from their repose by the man who +strode through the open window and walked blindly +out into the garden.</p> + +<p>The padre watched the girl's face on the pillow for +a moment, and heard her sobs, and retreated softly to +the hall, where he met the others; and at Doña Ana, +when they were alone a moment, he smiled with a +certain elation.</p> + +<p>"Look distressed no longer, little one," he said, +reassuringly. "You have helped me to a good day's +work, very good. Listen! I like your new American +friend very much, and when you go to San Juan I +count on you to help to make him welcome there. +He is going to do me a good turn with Rafael +Arteaga, and I forgive him all the horses he helped +to save for the army men. He does not know it, +but he is going to be my good friend, that fine +Americano. He is so fine and so strong, Ana, that +he thinks he can put a woman he loves in a niche of +the memory, as we put statues of the saints in the +niches of the altar-places."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +"What do you say?" she queried, perplexed by his +smile and words.</p> + +<p>"And that though the woman loves him so much +that she kisses her own hands where his lips have +been, and though he loves her so much that he is half +mad at denial, yet he will leave her always there in +the little niche of the altar,—just above his head, but +in reach of his hands; and the hands will never try to +lift her down, Anita. He will only look at her as he +rides past, and leave her there to remember."</p> + +<p>"I think you have gone mad," said Ana, sharply. +"What did the Indian witch tell you in the hall?"</p> + +<p>"Ask her!" he suggested. But when Ana did so, +she met only scowls and gutturals. And even the +sound sleep of Raquel, and the absolute freedom from +delirium, brought nothing but suspicion to the heart +of old Polonia. It was witchcraft, like all the rest, +and the padre should have put the malediction on the +Americano when he had so good a chance. Above +all, he should not have let him ride away in safety.</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m248.mid'> +<img src='images/mu248.png' + title='Music: Indian Reveille.' + alt='Music: Indian Reveille.' +/></a> +</div> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc248.png' title='T' alt='T' /> +</div> + +<p>The padre himself rode away +very early. Don Enrico lent +him a horse to ride to San Juan, +and wondered a little that the +San Gabriel people had not +done as much; but times were +changing in the land. One +could not expect the old customs to live when so +many strangers were crowding into the country.</p> + +<p>The offered horse was accepted gratefully, and the +padre breakfasted with the vaqueros, and left for the +south before the family were astir. Bryton watched +him go, but lingered for a sight of Ana, that he might +hear how the night had passed inside the window of +the golden rose.</p> + +<p>And Ana was the last to join the party at breakfast, +but was a very happy creature, compared with the +nervous, pale woman of the night before. All were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +astonished at the fact that Raquel announced that she +had slept like a child and all the illness and fever were +forgotten. She was not sure but that she could ride +to San Juan, and above all things she was grateful to +Ana, and wished both the girls to go with her and +visit in the old Mission.</p> + +<p>The servants were again the quiet listless folk they +had been before the finding of the witch charm. But +as Bryton rode out of the patio after many farewells +and blessings from Doña Refugia, and cordial invitations +from Don Enrico to ride back that way, and +consider the place as his own home, there were sullen +scowls among the dark people.</p> + +<p>On the veranda Juanita stood alone and waved an +adios to him. Back of her was the open window of the +golden rose, and a slender girlish figure swayed toward +him for an instant and then stood erect, and their eyes +met and lingered, while he swept his sombrero to the +stirrup.</p> + +<p>Juanita wondered, since he saluted so gallantly and +rode with his face turned toward her veranda until the +hedge intervened, why he did not smile; she was +accustomed to gayer caballeros. She realized that she +must have looked very pretty in her pink gown +framed in the blossoming vines, and she turned away +with a pout and a shrug. After all, Fernando was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +right: American men did not know how to make +love.</p> + +<p>Raquel was rather pale and very quiet that morning, +but insisted upon staying up; she even remembered +to ask what the loud calling and running of many feet +had meant the evening before; or had she dreamed it? +She supposed it was a stampede of horses—was +it? Was any one hurt? She had heard the voices +of women.</p> + +<p>Ana told her it was only the breaking loose of part +of a wild herd, but that no one was injured. Old +Polonia heard, and blinked and scowled at Ana, but +said nothing.</p> + +<p>It was noon when Rafael reached the ranch and +caught sight of Raquel in a porch-chair under the +vines. She paled slightly at sight of him, and turned +the onyx ring so that the carving did not show, and +by the time he had crossed the patio and walked to +join them, her face was a serene mask. The only +surprise she betrayed was at the dark look he cast on +Ana.</p> + +<p>"Are you two in a politician's pay, that you bring +me from Los Angeles in a fright of life and death, +when I am needed every minute there for the business +matters?" he demanded, and saw in a moment +that his wife did not understand. Ana only laughed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +"I did it," she acknowledged. "I sent the boy +with some truths for you. Your wife was like to die +the first night she came. It is by the grace of God +she has been saved from a siege of fever. She does +not know in the least how ill she was, but if you had +heard her gabbling of blood-stained altars and strange +wedding-rings, and floods sweeping over her until she +screamed to be saved from them,—well, Don Rafael, +you might well have forgotten to spare your horse. +Three hours would have brought a lover here, but it +takes thirty for the husband."</p> + +<p>"Why do you two quarrel always?" asked Raquel, +indifferently. "I did not know she had sent for you. +I was very tired, and the hot sun—something—oh +yes, I was ill, and wakened myself screaming. But it +is all gone. I can go home."</p> + +<p>Rafael tramped the veranda and sulked.</p> + +<p>"A fine laugh you have made for me in Los Angeles! +They will think you were sick, that I follow +my wife!" he said, frowning at Ana. "God of my +soul! Why do you not get another husband to +worry into the grave, and let your neighbors alone?"</p> + +<p>She only laughed again, and bent over her embroidery +frame, where white butterflies were being +woven on the drawn threads of linen.</p> + +<p>"Because no fine, manly, handsome caballero like +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +yourself rides this way to ask me," she retorted. +"All the most desirable men are always married."</p> + +<p>"The Señor Bryton was here for the night," remarked +Juanita.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he was? Alone?" asked Rafael.</p> + +<p>Juanita nodded. "And a priest," she added. +"They both rode south."</p> + +<p>"Bryton alone?" mused Rafael. "I thought perhaps—Did +any strangers ride south last night,—a +large party?"</p> + +<p>No one had heard of any one passing.</p> + +<p>"Doña Maria comes in a carriage by this morning," +he remarked, "and Mrs. Bryton. I suppose +they will want you to travel in their carriage, if you +feel equal to the drive to San Juan."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she must not go to-day—not for anything!" +decided Doña Refugia, who had come from the hall +and overheard. "Doña Maria and her friend can +stop here a few days, and then perhaps if your wife is +strong enough—"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, that is the best, the very best," assented +Rafael, with a smile of relief. Doña Refugia +was making it necessary that Raquel should at least +meet the friends of Doña Maria. All was turning +out well, after all.</p> + +<p>Raquel made no remark, only looked out idly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +across the garden to the fields, yellow where the mustard +bloom glowed. She knew she could not bear it +just yet. Later, perhaps, she could grow strong +enough to see Bryton's wife, and hear her voice cut +across the days and the dusks here, where his whispers +had awakened her to life—some day, perhaps; +but she knew it could not be either to-day or to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Her husband watched her curiously. If she would +only give some sign of what she felt, as another +woman would do! How was a man to read a woman +who stared out on life like a sphinx, seeing nothing +and hearing nothing?</p> + +<p>In the same way, she had seemed a bit of wood +over that old legend of the curse on San Juan: it had +not changed in the least her determination to go back +there; yet, since she had screamed of it in a fever, +who was to know what feeling it had awakened back +of those fathomless violet eyes?</p> + +<p>Rafael turned this theory over in his mind, and +smoked several cigarros to help to solve the problem, +but it was of no use. It had been a very fine marriage +for him. Her visit to Los Angeles had further +emphasized that fact; but he had the galling feeling of +being only prince-consort to the queen, and it was not +so pleasant to a man who had been shown favor of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +different sort by many women who would have been +glad to give him the king's place.</p> + +<p>To marry a girl who is like a wooden saint in a +church may be a victory; it may be even romantic +when she is half a nun; but it is not comforting to +a husband who expects only a wife, a home.</p> + +<p>Then across his thoughts came the blue eyes and +yellow hair of the woman he had said a reluctant +good-bye to in Los Angeles. There was a woman +who would have met all his friends half-way, would +have promoted his interests, instead of closing doors +and refusing to entertain any but the slow old Spanish, +who were letting all the money slip out of their +hands. In a few years their names would be forgotten +in the new world of commerce building, through +the Americanos in Los Angeles,—the Americanos +whom his wife disdained, but whom the clever little +woman of the blue eyes would have won to his interests +in so many ways that her influence would have +weighed down all the gold of the Estevan heiress, +who did not know how to use it. It is only a trick +of fate that the money always goes to the wrong people.</p> + +<p>So he thought, and smoked, and looked at Raquel +Estevan de Arteaga, and wondered by what manœvre +or stratagem he could break down her prejudices; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +he wondered, also, how a woman with such eyes and +such lips could be so cold. He supposed it was inherited +from the nun, her mother.</p> + +<p>Rafael had never heard the story of the love, and +revenge, and widowhood of that nun. One or two of +the older people of San Juan had heard of it at the +time of Estevan's death, but none knew how true it +was. It seemed too much a bit out of the dark ages +of the Indian records to be true of the debonair +Felipe, who had ridden and fought to the admiration +of all Californian Mexico, who had found women +wherever he rode, and had made love as a caballero's +duty. It seemed scarcely credible that he, of all men, +should have met death in that way on the far southern +mountain; and the older men crossed themselves and +tried to forget it, and the younger ones never heard +of it.</p> + +<p>Rafael, smoking on the veranda and watching the +serene face of his wife, and ascribing her coldness to +the chill of convent walls, understood her no more +than had Felipe Estevan understood the nun who had +stepped down from her saint's niche for him; and old +Polonia, sitting in the shadow, watched them both, +and in her dull brain was also a query: Would he +ever discover that she was not cold? And would +he find out in the same way? Both God and the devil +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +would be needed to help them all on that day, for +California was not the hill of the temple, where the +Indian still ruled!</p> + +<p>Rafael at last rode out to the range to see Don +Enrico about several matters. He did not care to +alarm the women concerning the rumors of the bandits, +but now, since he had left Los Angeles behind, he +would just as soon ride with the vigilantes as not, and +Don Enrico could be trusted. It would be five long +hours before the carriage with Doña Maria and her +bewitching guest reached the ranch, and one must kill +time some way.</p> + +<p>He killed more time than he had counted upon. +As the sun began to lower, and he and Don Enrico +turned their horses for the ranch-house, the dogs +started a coyote, and with one accord the Don, his +guest, and his vaqueros, took up the trail, following +the howls with hue and cry over mesa and along +creeks, and by the time the dark had fallen, they were +far toward Trabuco. They rode back laughing and +singing, and making little dashes at racing, under the +early stars.</p> + +<p>But their laughter was changed when they rode into +the corral. News had come from the south, and a +bad thing had happened there. The sheriff from Los +Angeles had been ambushed by the Flores men at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +Niguel Rancho, and nine men were lying dead there. +Carts were on the way to take them to San Juan for +Christian burial, and Bryton had sent a messenger to +Los Angeles with the word; the man had only checked +his horse at San Joaquin ranch to shout out the news; +that was hours ago. The Indian who had searched +the ranges for Don Enrico had come back and said +he was not to be found. Doña Refugia had thought +it possible that they had heard the word on the ranges +and ridden direct to San Juan, and thanked God they +had not done so.</p> + +<p>She went on to recount to Rafael her terror of the +night before, and the awful scene from which she had +by no means recovered, and now for this horror to +follow so close, and the dread that they might be left +alone on the ranch—well, she was having chills at +the thought. Ana was the only one not afraid, but +with Ana gone to San Juan Capistrano—</p> + +<p>Rafael grasped her arm so tightly that she gasped.</p> + +<p>"To San Juan?" he demanded. "Alone?" But +he was certain of the answer before she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Holy Maria! What a grip you have! No. Did +I not tell you? Well, we are crazy over it all; we +forget. No; she went with your wife, and wild horses +could not have held either one of them."</p> + +<p>"A malediction on the pair of them!" burst out +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +Rafael. "God curse the horses they ride, that they +break their necks on the way!"</p> + +<p>"Rafael, for Jesus' sake, not so loud!" and Doña +Refugia tried to put her hand over his mouth, but he +dashed it aside in fury.</p> + +<p>"Loud! Holy God! What do I care?" he demanded, +wrathfully. "Do you know why they go +like that? It is all a lie, that ambush story. That +devil Ana Mendez has schemed to have some one +ride past and call that out to you, so that they could +pretend an excuse to ride anywhere away from here; +and do you know why?"</p> + +<p>Doña Refugia was past speech, and could only +shake her head dumbly.</p> + +<p>"Well, I will tell you. It is because Raquel +Estevan did not mean to meet the friends you said +you would be pleased to entertain on their arrival +from Los Angeles. Doña Maria she will speak to, +but Doña Angela is one of the heretics she vows her +doors will not open to. That is the reason."</p> + +<p>"But, Rafael—"</p> + +<p>"Now listen to me," and he turned his fierce stride +across the hall, "and God curse me if I do not keep +my word!"</p> + +<p>"Rafael!" she gasped, frightened at the white fury +of his face; but he held up his hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +"I swear she shall open her door to admit the +women she slighted, first at Los Angeles and again +in your home. She will find she has an Arteaga for a +master. She shall open her door; she shall receive +her; she shall make up for the insult to your home. +By God, she shall make up, with interest!"</p> + +<p>Then he strode out of the door, leaving Doña +Refugia in a cold terror lest the guest of whom he +spoke had heard his words through the closed door +of Ana's room. It had been given to Mrs. Bryton +on the arrival of the party an hour before, and though +the door was closed, who could tell that his words +might not have been heard there?</p> + +<p>But the window on the veranda was open, and +Doña Refugia breathed a sigh of relief when, a few +minutes later, she saw Mrs. Bryton's fair face emerge +from a bower of clematis in the garden. She had +been admiring the beauty of the lilies out there, and +looked like one herself,—so cool, so sweetly childish +in her little appeals for admiration of the beautiful +blooms she loved. Rafael met her there, and was +enslaved anew by the blue eyes, as he bent over her +tiny hand and kissed it furtively, and walked with her +to show her Doña Refugia's carnation-beds, and +under the starlight help her to see the beauties of +the San Joaquin garden.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +But old Polonia, who had heard his words to Doña +Refugia, and who watched the two walking in the +starlight, muttered in her Indian jargon, "Have a +care, Don Rafael; have a care!"</p> + +<p>Despite Rafael's doubt, it was all true about the +ambush. It was quite true, and very awful. It had +occurred in the morning, and Bryton had missed it +only by his stay that night at the ranch. But he was +also quite right when he said the two girls had left +the ranch for other reasons. Raquel was quietly preparing +to leave, when the word came warranting her +in taking Ana. The two rode south with few words, +each so wrapped in her own reasons for going that she +gave no thought to the reasons of the other.</p> + +<p>They found the town panic-stricken. Don Juan +Alvara was ill, and Padre Andros absent at San Luis +Rey. Raquel rode into the plaza white and weak +from the long ride, but sat erect to hear of the things +done and the things needed for the dead.</p> + +<p>It was almost dark. While Ysadora the cook prepared +supper, Ana questioned concerning a padre who +had ridden a San Joaquin horse to San Juan that +morning, but no one had seen him. Later, the animal +was found grazing along Trabuco Creek. Evidently, +some one had passed with a wagon or a herd going +south, and had given the padre help on the way; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +beyond that, no one thought, except Ana, and what +she thought she did not say.</p> + +<p>Raquel walked through the little hall of the +Mission into what had once been the garden of the +padres, the little enclosed bit at the back of the belfry +built after the falling of the tower. It was the one +little corner from which the world seemed shut out. +Under the carved doorway she passed into the old +domed vestry with its stone centre cut, or worn +by the dripping water, into the semblance of a leering +face; "the devil's face," it was called, and people +looked from its queer smile to the twisted serpent-like +carving over what had once been the arch to the +church itself, and wondered what the strange carvings +meant, and found no one to answer. They were +only a sign left by an unknown Mexican sculptor a +half-century ago.</p> + +<p>Raquel glanced at them and shuddered, and passed +out into the great unroofed, beautiful place of fluted +pillars and carven cornices.</p> + +<p>The pink reflection of the sunset yet lingered on +the mesa and the highlands above the sea. The +world of the strange new town to the north was left +behind. Here among the ruins consecrated, she +breathed the air of home-coming, and paced the old +altar-place with noiseless step, and with closed eyes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +and hands clasped she murmured prayers not in the +book, taught by the good nuns; and she drew great +breaths of strength from the wine-like air, and +knew that somewhere, riding the mesa, a man was +remembering this hour of the rosary.</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p260p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p260w.jpg' + title='Here among the Ruins Consecrated' + alt='Here among the Ruins Consecrated' /> +</a> +<p>“Here among the Ruins Consecrated”</p> +</div> + +<p>Ana found her later on the altar steps, with +head bowed over her knees. Gaining no reply to +questions, Ana felt that she had been weeping. She +undressed her and put her to bed in the little chamber +of the barred window facing the sea, and gave her all +the care a devoted friend could in the grim isolation +of the old walls.</p> + +<p>And that was the home-coming of Raquel after her +half-royal reception in the City of the Angels.</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m263.mid'> +<img src='images/mu263.png' + title='Music: El Capotin.' + alt='Music: El Capotin.' +/></a> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Con el capotin, tin, tin, tin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">que es ta noche va llover.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Con el capotin, tin, tin, tin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">que sera al amanecer!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc263.png' title='W' alt='W' /> +</div> + +<p>When Andres Pico and his men +rode into San Juan with the +doubtful decoration of necklaces +of human ears strung on rawhide +strings, there was a breath +of relief from the natives: it +meant that the bandits had been +"confessed," according to the General's naive explanation +of the absence of prisoners they knew he had +taken; the backbone of the bandit gang was broken.</p> + +<p>The vigilantes were the heroes of the hour. As +the band of outlaws divided and fled in various directions, +they were waited for at every pass and hewn +down by the dozen. Only two—Fontez, who had +shot the sheriff, and El Capitan, who had not been +seen by any one at any time of the raid—were still +missing. One of the prisoners, on being questioned, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +stated that Fontez had taken his share of the plunder +and started for Lower California; and when questioned +as to El Capitan, swore wrathfully, because El Capitan +had disagreed with Flores over the raid, refused to be +counted in, and in consequence they would all go to +hell! If El Capitan had helped, things would have +been different, very different. He had voted against +starting out with fifty men to drive the gringos from +Southern California; he had fought them before in the +open, and knew them. He had told Flores he was a +fool, and left them in Santiago Cañon, and ridden +away, and after the slaughter of the sheriff and his +men he had ridden out of the mustard on a horse of +the San Joaquin brand, and told them to ride south +and stop for nothing; and no one had seen him since. +They had not taken his advice—and now it was all +over! A little later, it certainly was over for that particular +unfortunate, and his ears were added to a string +decorating a swarthy ranchman, who was especially +lionized because of his gruesome trophies.</p> + +<p>In the plaza of San Juan Mission, Ana listened to +the hero of the necklace reciting all the glories of the +campaign, and shuddered at the ghastly witness of its +veracity. Raquel, standing beside her horse, listened +also and felt a loathing of it all. Regular war, such +as she had heard of, had never appeared so awful as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +this series of slaughters from ambush, where the victors +of either side decked themselves like savages.</p> + +<p>"It is bad that we have no soldiers left who are +hidalgos," she remarked. "The wild Indians carry +scalps at their belts; I did not know people did so +who had learned their religion from the padres."</p> + +<p>She mounted and rode toward the sea, the only +woman who dared venture alone out of sight of the +protecting walls of the Mission in those days. The +man with the necklace looked after her, and then up at +the line of grain-sacks still left as a barricade along +the roofs of the corridor. Behind them, men with +rifles had lain through the days and nights when the +panic was at its worst, and women and children had +huddled in dread of massacre in the inner court.</p> + +<p>"Does the señora forget all that," he asked, "or is +there a caballero to guard her where she rides?"</p> + +<p>Ana turned on the hero, glad of an outlet for her +pent-up anger. "You—you butcher!" she said between +her little white teeth. "You know Rafael +Arteaga is not here. What other man would ride +with his wife?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" he laughed, easily. "The lady is +not afraid, that is clear; and El Capitan is somewhere +in the hills, or the willows."</p> + +<p>She said nothing, realizing that he was watching her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +closely, for all his apparent carelessness. When she +continued silent, he laughed and swept his sombrero +to the ground and sauntered away. She knew then +that he had simply tried her, to see if by any chance +she showed knowledge of, or fear for, the outlaw she +had never disowned as cousin.</p> + +<p>Teresa, seated beside her, saw her changing color, +and reached over, patting her hand.</p> + +<p>"Even when thou wert little the Capitan made a +pet of thee," she said, kindly; "and now every friend +he ever had is being watched. If—if—in any way +you could warn him—"</p> + +<p>"Warn him? How can we, when no one +knows? I would walk barefoot across San Juan +Mountain if I knew where he was hidden. He may +be dying, or dead."</p> + +<p>"That is so," decided Teresa, placidly; "and it +would be better. They will always hunt him if he is +alive."</p> + +<p>There was silence between them for a little while, +and then she added, "Well, there will be no mourning +for him in the Arteaga family. Rafael will be glad."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he!" muttered Ana, with impatience. "He +is hanging on the skirts of Doña Maria these days, +when he should be here with these other fine gentlemen." +She pointed to the plaza where the vigilantes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +and their friends were gathered preparatory to starting +on a new trail suggested by an Indian who had seen a +white man without a horse somewhere in the hills.</p> + +<p>"On the skirts of Doña Maria," repeated Teresa, +her little eyes twinkling with interest. "It is true, +then—it is that English woman still?"</p> + +<p>"Still? How you talk! Is it so long since Los +Angeles?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was long, long before that! I was—Santa +Maria!—I had a fright for a while! I thought there +would be no wedding. He was crazy as a boy over +her. It started, oh, with only a pin-point of a chance; +for the Americano Bryton was here, and her eyes were +for him! And then—Basta! All at once things +changed, and Doña Angela and Don Rafael were never +apart; and if she had not been married, I think always +Raquel Estevan would have had no husband here in +San Juan Capistrano."</p> + +<p>"Raquel—does she know?"</p> + +<p>"Raquel Estevan is too proud to show if she knows, +just as she is now! Never will she go along or follow +him when he rides abroad, but if she knew his time +was with that heretic—she hates the heretics!"</p> + +<p>"She is patient with him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure; she is a good wife. But if she cared +more, would she do as she did when the girl Marta +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +came to the Mission with her child? On my soul, I +think Rafael was afraid when she gave to Marta the +bed and the clothes, and counted out how many +cattle she could have,—to say no word as to how +she stood herself as godmother at the baptism! The +padre laughs over that!"</p> + +<p>"And Rafael—?"</p> + +<p>"Rafael—God knows what he said to her! He +tried to make her send some one else as godmother, and +she would not. Ysadora heard her say 'It is for your +soul's sake, and the souls of your children, Rafael,' +and he turned white and walked away."</p> + +<p>"Poor Rafael," mocked Ana, "I do not think that +he has much of a soul. It is as when a man sees +he is beloved for his bravery, and all the time he +is afraid of his own shadow, and hopes the one who +loves him will not discover his weakness: that is +how Rafael feels when his wife does penance, and +prays for the soul he has not."</p> + +<p>"How you talk! We have all a soul; the padre +says so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the padre! The soul of our padre is also +like a grain of mustard seed—so small, and no soil +to grow in! Never could I confess to him. I wait +until Padre Sanchez comes; no one but a Franciscan +priest do I believe in."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +"Ai! and if you should get sick and die, and Padre +Sanchez on some other side of the world? He is +always travelling; never will he settle and gather +'dobe dollars like our padre. Suppose he should not +come; you would die without confession?"</p> + +<p>"No; I would hang on to the edge of life by some +thread of prayer until he came."</p> + +<p>"Padre Pedro of the north was here last month: +that man makes me afraid. He tries to be a saint, +and is so often under vows. This time it was a vow +not to speak, and Padre Andros was glad when he +took to the road. It was like a black ghost to see +him walk the plaza with a black hood over his head, +and never a word or look up from the ground. +You would think the saints he prayed to lived somewhere +in the roads. We thanked God and emptied +some bottles with the padre when he was out of +sight."</p> + +<p>"But he is a good man."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is a saint; but we can't feel easy with saints +in San Juan. That is why your Raquel Estevan will +always be outside."</p> + +<p>"You mean above," retorted Ana. "The devil's +face in the stone of the Mission dome fits better this +place of the necklace of ears."</p> + +<p>Teresa shuddered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +"It is bad luck to say things of that face," she +warned. "Some think maybe it was an Indian god,—I +heard an old Indio say so once. Never will I go +under the dome of that old vestry since that day."</p> + +<p>"How would an Indian god be put in a Christian +church?"</p> + +<p>"No one knows," and Teresa crossed herself. +"The old Indios say it is bad luck to talk about it; +so whatever the story is, it has been forgotten, and +that is better. When I was a little child the +old Indios told strange ghost and curse stories, and +we were all much afraid; now the old Indios are +mostly dead, and no one else remembers, only all are +still afraid of the earthquake ruin at night."</p> + +<p>"They are sheep; they are afraid of their shadows +at night," retorted Ana; "that is why Raquel will +always be, as you say, 'outside'!"</p> + +<p>"Well, she goes against the padre, and that is +always bad. It is bad luck to fight a padre; he can +refuse absolution."</p> + +<p>Ana made no reply. She was very weary of the +endless, endless stories of Raquel's unlikeness to the +other women; and what they did not understand they +would like to condemn. She knew so well that in +Mexico the Doña Luisa and the Doña Raquel had +met only the hidalgos when they went for a brief visit +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +to the world of people, but in San Juan there were +no hidalgos; only the mixed races without pride of +birth or distinction, apart from the lands and cattle +around them on the ranges. Ana could feel, better +than any other, why the wife of Rafael rode alone to +the cliffs above the sea, seeking kinship there in the +isolation.</p> + +<p>In vain Ana had tried to solve the problem +given her by the padre at the San Joaquin ranch +that strange evening: his quick change of attitude +toward the Americano,—even asking her friendliness +and her welcome for him if he crossed her path. The +queer idea of the Americano's love affairs was the +most puzzling of all: it never occurred to her that he +meant Raquel—Raquel, who avoided all heretics! +Still, it was strange that she never thought of the +Americano's love affair without involuntarily trying +to picture a woman who would look like Raquel. And +she did not dream those two had ever met.</p> + +<p>As Pico and his men got into the saddles and +started north she heard him mention Bryton's name. +The latter had evidently tired quickly of vigilante +work; at any rate he had disappeared as effectually +as El Capitan,—no one had seen him for over a week. +And of course no one had time to hunt him up.</p> + +<p>At Trabuco Creek the vigilantes passed an Indian +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +boy loping easily along the valley road. When +stopped and questioned, he stated he was going to the +Mission from San Joaquin ranch. The brand on the +bronco corroborated his story, and he was let pass +with slight attention; yet they would have found him +quite worth while.</p> + +<p>Ana had gone with Teresa to make a little visit to +Don Juan Alvara, who was still ill, and very impatient +at being housed up when all the world of San Juan +was astir to see the cavalcade of avengers. He was +asking sharply why Rafael Arteaga was following his +English partner's example, and keeping out of the +work of search or battle. It was to be expected that +Don Eduardo Downing, after being forced by El +Capitan to pay over a thousand dollars as tribute to +the Flores bandits, would feel that he was exempt +from active service in pursuit of them; they had cost +him quite enough. And of course he had never anything +but an alien's interest in the country, the interest +of dollars; but with Rafael Arteaga it was different. +What was he doing these days, when every man who +held stock and could fight rode abroad?</p> + +<p>The women exchanged glances. Of what use to +tell Alvara it was a woman? He would only be more +disgusted, and might say things to Doña Raquel, and +that would never do.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +Teresa's curiosity as to results led her very close to +it, for her new sister-in-law was a thorn in the side +of the bovine ponderous Californian, by whom the +"brown girls" had been accepted as a part of domestic +life. Ever since she had listened that day to the story +of vengeance in Old Mexico, she had resented everything +about it, even the child of that strange marriage, +the child who had inherited—who knew how +much?—of the blood and instincts of that saintly, +half-Indian nun.</p> + +<p>Yes, Teresa would have dearly loved to watch +Raquel Estevan when the story was told; also the +story of Rafael's latest infatuation; yet, all the Arteaga +boys had died violent deaths, and she had no wish to +see the last one of them murdered. She was certain +that if it did happen, the ghost of Doña Luisa would +be at the foot of her bed every night, and she would +have to pay a lot for masses. They cost thirty-five +dollars since the padre was building new fences around +his orchards. So she contented herself with wishing +as much as she dared without being held liable by the +ghost of Doña Luisa in case of accidents. And then +Ana was always there with her eyes, and if any one +did tell Alvara, Ana would ferret it out, and she had +such a tongue!</p> + +<p>While they reassured the old man, and told him +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +the troublous days of San Juan were nearly over, the +Indian boy from the San Joaquin ranch stopped at +the gate.</p> + +<p>"There is a letter for Doña Ana Mendez," he +said. "It came last night. Doña Refugia sent it."</p> + +<p>"Doña Refugia?" Ana knew that her aunt could +not write, and that the accomplishments of her daughters +in that line extended to the ability to inscribe +their own names. She glanced at the message, and +her lips grew suddenly white as she noted the writing.</p> + +<p>It was in pencil, written very plainly. The envelope +was folded from a page of letter-paper and sealed +with gum of some sort. When she opened it, she +found the written page was a communication to Mr. +Bryton concerning saddle-horses. But a pencil was +drawn through the lines, and around the Bryton letter +was written the real message, and it was very brief:</p> + +<p><i>"A man is hurt here. Can you in quiet help him +to San Juan?"</i></p> + +<p>An arrow and a cross were the only signature.</p> + +<p>Teresa watched Ana questioningly. Letters to +women were rare in San Juan, where few women could +read; it must be of a death, or something of great importance.</p> + +<p>But Ana told nothing, only ordered the boy to go +to Ysadora for some lunch before he started back, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +to tell Doña Refugia that all was well at San Juan. +Though Doña Teresa listened closely, that was all +she could hear that was said, and then she knew, of +course, that Ana did not intend to remain a widow. +She had a lover who wrote letters, an Americano perhaps; +the Mexicans did not trouble themselves with +such useless learning, now that the old padres were gone.</p> + +<p>Ana sat quietly on the veranda for a little while, +speaking of matters in general, and then arose languidly +and confessed she wished she had gone with +Raquel. A ride to the beach was better than to stay +shut up in the town. Now that the vigilantes had +gone, women would dare ride abroad without growing +gray with fear.</p> + +<p>"Ai! it is not far you would ride, Ana Mendez. +You are like other women when it comes to riding +alone these days."</p> + +<p>"Raquel rides alone."</p> + +<p>"Her mother was not of this country, or she would +not be so bold," returned Teresa, tartly. "Men have +little liking for women as strong as themselves."</p> + +<p>"Alas for me!" laughed Ana, "for I tell you now +I am going to copy after her. She makes the other +women look like sheep. If she would go with me, I +would ride to the San Joaquin ranch this night and +have no fear."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +Teresa shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"You grow like a child, Ana, as you get more years. +Your letter makes you young again—so?"</p> + +<p>But Ana was out of the gate, and crossing the plaza +with a light springy step, as if indeed the days of girlhood +had come back. In her eyes was a smile, but +back of the smile was a light of new determination. +All at once she seemed to have found herself: he was +in danger, and had called her.</p> + +<p>At the Mission she found the Indian boy with a +dish of frijolles.</p> + +<p>"How did the letter come?" she asked, but he did +not know. It was found under the door, and it had +frightened Doña Refugia, and she wanted it out of +the house when the men were away. She thought it, +maybe, was a demand for money, such as the outlaws +had sent Señor Eduardo Downing, and she asked Ana +for the love of God to send word back quick what +it meant.</p> + +<p>"It is only from the padre who borrowed the +horse, and he thanks her," said Ana, coolly. "Ride +straight home, and talk to no one, or you will get a +reata instead of frijolles."</p> + +<p>The Indian boy nodded silently. He knew the +Doña Ana always kept her promises of that sort.</p> + +<p>A little later, Teresa looked out at the sound of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +horse-hoofs thundering by, and saw Ana on the road +to the sea.</p> + +<p>She let her horse have his head until she came to +the Rancho de la Playa, when she halted to scan the +meadow and sand of the shore, and then bent her +attention to the ground, and paced slowly along until +she found the tracks of Raquel's horse turning to the +right. There was only one road to be followed to +the right; she had gone through the little cañon of +the cactus and up to the heights above. More than +once Doña Ana halted to examine the ground, to be +sure that no later tracks had been made on a return +trip. Then, away across the mesa she saw Raquel's +horse browsing among the sage-brush on the cliff +above the sea. Raquel was nowhere in sight; but, +knowing she was near, Ana rode quietly along the +bluff, until right at the edge of the cliff she saw her +stretched at full length in the odorous grasses, +her chin propped on her hands, staring down the +steeps where yellow poppies nodded to the surf below. +A cluster of the blossoms was beside her, and her +skirt was torn. She had evidently been down there +after them, and was resting after her climb.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Anita?" she asked after a brief +upward glance. "Is there a spirit of unrest with you +also? Some say there is sleep and forgetfulness in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +these little cups of gold. I have gathered some and +lain here a long time, but it is not true, Anita. There +is no forgetting."</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p278p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p278w.jpg' + title='There is No Forgetting' alt='There is No Forgetting' /> +</a> +<p>“There is No Forgetting”</p> +</div> + +<p>Ana slipped from the saddle and came closer. +Never before had so much of confession been heard +from Raquel Arteaga.</p> + +<p>"What, then, do you try to forget, my darling?" +she asked, caressingly. "Your love and happiness?"</p> + +<p>"Love is not happiness," said Raquel, and laid her +cheek against the sheaf of poppies. "Why do people +say so? Do they wish to lie, or do they not know? +The heart does not laugh with love; it aches. The +light and the glory of it comes, and after that comes +the earthquake; and the life is shaken out of us, and +all we can do is to make ourselves a sacrifice."</p> + +<p>"Holy saints! I never knew love was all that!" +acknowledged Ana. "It means also to dance, to +listen to your lover's songs in the night under your +window, and to go to sleep satisfied that he is not with +some other girl. It means stolen looks like kisses. I +never am sure but that they are sweeter than the +kisses themselves, though they do not make one +mad."</p> + +<p>Raquel looked at her, and smiled strangely, and +rose to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Ai! you are right, Anita; it is without doubt +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +more wise to love like that. All the girls in the +willows think so." As she saw Ana's face flush, she +turned in quick contrition. "Ah, forgive me! You +do not love as they do, I am sure—those fat brown +animals; but, Anita darling, I am a tired soul, and +rest is somewhere far beyond the ranges, and—ah, +well,—forgive me!"</p> + +<p>Ana smiled and shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Why should I not?" she asked; "for, after all, you +are right. All human things are much alike when +they love—the brown girls in the willows also. They +nurse their babies and thank the Virgin they are not +childless, as I am."</p> + +<p>"And you—?"</p> + +<p>"I am thankful to be as I am. When I have children, +I want to love the father of them. My people +did not ask if I loved my husband. They made the +marriage, and God made me a widow. I thank God +always that when I marry again I can do my own +choosing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, when you marry again! Good! When is it +to be?"</p> + +<p>Ana laughed and then grew grave.</p> + +<p>"You may help me to decide," she said, a trifle +nervously. "I am going to elope to-night. Will +you ride along?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +"Anita!"</p> + +<p>"It is up there," and Ana waved her hand toward +the blue mountains above Trabuco. "It is a long +ride, but the moon shines, and—I am trusting you!"</p> + +<p>"And the man?"</p> + +<p>"Your husband hates him, and will find fault +if you go."</p> + +<p>"And he does not come to you?"</p> + +<p>"He is—I think he is hurt," said Ana. "And I +am going, though I go alone."</p> + +<p>"You shall not go alone," and Raquel whistled +to her horse. "Come! I needed something of this +sort to rouse me from poppy dreams. I ride with +you, my Anita; and the man, whoever he is, has +my blessing."</p> + +<p>They galloped together through the sweet-smelling +grasses, and a load was lifted from Ana's heart. +With Raquel beside her, she could ride care-free from +danger to the man who had called her.</p> + +<p>"I have not been told to take any one along," +she confessed, "so I cannot mention names; but +there is a man hurt, and we must manage to get extra +horses away from the Mission, and things to eat, +perhaps, for we go where no people live; and—I—that +is all I dare tell you."</p> + +<p>"It is enough, my Anita. We will ride together +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +like nobles of old Spain seeking adventures, only +we will storm no castles, and wear no colors to denote +our caballeros!"</p> + +<p>She was elated as a child over the secret journey +they were to take over unknown roads. The poppy +dreams were left at the edge of the cliff, and she +rode lightly across the divide, where at other times +she ever halted for the picture of ocean and valley +stretching from San Mateo at the sea to San Jacinto +of the ranges.</p> + +<p>"I knew it was love in thy heart for some one, +Anita," she said, smiling. "Religion alone does not +make a woman comprehend heartaches for other +women. You are the only one of all of them who +asks no questions, yet you put your arms around me +that crazy night when I rode from Los Angeles, +and all at once I felt that I need not hold with tired +hands a mask to my face for you."</p> + +<p>"Holy Mary! I know, and why not? My family +married me to the wrong man," said Ana, easily. +"But I was lucky in one thing, and I know enough +now to thank the saints for it,—I had not learned +what love meant, so the other man had not come."</p> + +<p>"And if he had?"</p> + +<p>They had checked their speed to descend the steep +ravine cut in the heart of the mesa, and giving outlet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +to the blue sea. Raquel was intent, apparently, on +finding the best footing for her horse, and did not +look up at once, but when no reply came she tried +to laugh, and repeated the question.</p> + +<p>"I did not answer," said Ana, after a moment, +"because, Raquelita, when you made me think of it, +truly it seemed as if my heart stopped beating that +minute. Poor José, my husband! It would have +gone hard with him, and my relatives would have +cursed me."</p> + +<p>"And why?"</p> + +<p>"I think I should have risked the purgatory they +would have sent me to, but I would ride as we are +riding now, straight to the man—the one man."</p> + +<p>"And suppose—suppose, Anita, you were bound +by a vow to the dead—could you ride away from +that? Suppose that so long as you lived you were +set to guard one living soul—that each day when +you awoke, your prayers were to keep worthy for the +task; suppose—"</p> + +<p>"No, no! I will not suppose. A woman can +endure just so much, no more. I know you are +doing all this, my Raquel, and I see that it is forever +one big fight and sacrifice, and all your life it will be +the same. But, Raquel, when you awake and pray +each morning, thank the Virgin at the same time that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +the other man has not yet ridden into your heart. I +know you do not think of men—that it is to live ever +in cloisters! But pray God that the man may never +come, Raquel—for a girl is only a girl, after all!"</p> + +<p>"Of course, but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you would argue, because you do not +know!" burst out Ana, with impatience. "Raquel, +you are so good you are always beautiful; but I +tell you truly, that if it should happen—all the +saints could not help you. Between your vow for +the soul of Rafael and your love for the one man—"</p> + +<p>"Well, my Anita?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you could not live through it and remain +what you are. Any woman would go mad—any +woman."</p> + +<p>Raquel touched her horse and galloped up the +steep hill ahead of Ana. Down the longer one to +Boca de la Playa she rode in the same reckless way, +and it was not until they had reached El Camino +Real that she pulled her horse in, and allowed Ana +to come alongside.</p> + +<p>"Jesusita! how you ride away from me!" gasped +her friend. "Wait until I braid up my hair. Look +at it—all the new pins lost, the pretty ones you +brought me from Los Angeles. We will send a boy +back to hunt them."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +Raquel sat silent on her panting horse, looking +out on the wide sea and saying nothing. Ana +glanced at her white face while braiding her hair, +and thought it looked cold and determined, almost +angry; and as they started on once more, she reached +across and touched her hand.</p> + +<p>"Do not make your eyes like cold agates of violet," +she entreated. "Truly, I meant not to anger you, and +I know you are good always, and think only of your +vows. But even the saints have known temptation, +my Raquel, and some who might have been saints +have lost souls for a man or a woman."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my own soul!" and Raquel shrugged her +shoulders with a dreary smile. "It is the soul of +Rafael I am set to guard. Only that must I think of +every day of my life. My own! Only Mother +Mary knows what my own may become."</p> + +<p>"His mother knew the power of the heretics; it +was not fair, Raquelita."</p> + +<p>"It is judgment," said Raquel, steadily. "I asked +God to give me some work for the Church in the +world, instead of within the convent walls. It was +brought to me; I accepted it on my knees. What +any of us think now does not change that in the least. +I must live till I die with that thought."</p> + +<p>"So I know," conceded Ana, "and so I thank God +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +the other man does not come. You would know +then how to feel sympathy for the women who fail, +or the women who do mad things such as I mean to +do to-night."</p> + +<p>"Do I not understand? Do I not go with you? +Yes, ahead of you, for my horse beats yours," replied +Raquel; and from that to the Mission plaza there +was only the sound of hoof-beats on the hard road, +and no more words of love or lovers.</p> + +<p>A man had come from San Diego with a message +from Rafael Arteaga. He would be at San Juan in a +few days, and was bringing guests for a barbecue. +Strange word had come from the vigilantes of the disappearance +of Bryton, the Americano. It had been +learned that he had not returned to Los Angeles, +neither had he gone south. To free Mrs. Bryton +from anxiety, Rafael and Don Eduardo meant to find +him and make a holiday while doing it.</p> + +<p>Raquel Arteaga listened, and Ana noticed all at +once how white and tired she looked from the little +gallop.</p> + +<p>"Get down from the saddle, my dear," she said, +appealingly. "Lift her, you, Victorio. Mother +Mary! Do not faint, Raquel!"</p> + +<p>Raquel did not faint. She thanked the muscular +Victorio, who lifted her from the saddle as though +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +she had been but a little child, and placed her on one +of the long seats of brick, while Ana ran for water, +and old Polonia crouched beside her and looked up in +her face, but did not speak. She had heard the name +of the hated Americano, and she had no need to ask +questions. It was the witchcraft come over her again; +even the sound of his name could bring it!</p> + +<p>"No, I am not ill, Ana. I really am not," she +persisted. "You say I turn white. Well, it may be I +had no dinner—I think I forgot it, or those heroes +the vigilantes took my appetite. See! I can stand; +I am quite well. I am ready for the San Joaquin +ride when the sun goes down."</p> + +<p>"But, if harm should come?"</p> + +<p>"Never fear. To go will not harm me. I am +very strong—stronger than you think. Ai! I +shall live long—a long, long time, Anita!"</p> + +<p>She arose and passed through the door of the +carved Aztec sun and little half-crescents, and Ana +looked after her doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"It is the Americana?" said Victorio, with a shrug +and lifted brows. "Rafael Arteaga is mad after that +baby woman—just mad. I think it makes Doña +Maria afraid. It would not be well to have the +wrong things happen in her house; so they jump at +the chance to ride north together, for any reason at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +all, and bring Don Rafael to his own wife. That is +all the reason they come: Doña Maria is afraid."</p> + +<p>"But to bring them here! The Doña Raquel is +not fond of heretics."</p> + +<p>"I think myself it is the woman and not the +religion she will think of when they come," said +Victorio; "and she must have heard something,—what +else made her look like that?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows? A woman may be tired, may she +not? You talk a great deal for a man of your years!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is only to you, Señora. It is as well some +one knows who is a friend,—that pretty white baby +of a woman has the 'money eye.' Some one should +warn Doña Raquel, for who knows where it will end? +You know the Arteaga men."</p> + +<p>Ana nodded her head.</p> + +<p>"We all know them; but, thanks to God, the +right woman has come into the family. I do not +know what she will do—Estevan's daughter; but +Rafael will learn what a curb-bit means if he go too +far. Women who do not care whether they live or +die are more reckless than the wildest man, Victorio; +and Rafael will do well to say good-bye to heretic +pets."</p> + +<p>Victorio shrugged his shoulders, and did not quite +believe. Of course a woman could do a lot with a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +man if he was not so foolish as to marry her, but +after that what could she do but keep the home and +obey? Some of them found other amusements when +their husbands rode abroad, but what more could they +do than that, even the most powerful?</p> + +<p>Of course if Doña Raquel were not his wife, Rafael +might be faithful: Victorio acknowledged he knew +how that was himself. There was a woman who kept +his house, and now after four years of content, the +padre was at him for a marriage fee, and was putting +the devil in the woman's head, and there was discord. +All had been content for all those years, but when +the marriage was even talked of, there was trouble; +and Victorio had no use for it except, of course, if the +woman was dying, or if he was—then the padre could +get the marriage made. The money was saved up in +case of such need for absolution, but otherwise—</p> + +<p>Ana interrupted him angrily, though she knew he +voiced the masculine opinion of the valley. She had +heard the padre complain that the women had also +refused marriage for the same reason; so there was +little could be done, and she knew that if Rafael +Arteaga should fail openly within the year of his +marriage, there would be laughs and shrugs, and the +marriage fees would be fewer than ever. The example +of their superiors was all that was needed to break all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +the little invisible bonds told of in the prayer-books, +but remembered so little in the everyday life.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you need not rail at me, Doña Ana," protested +Victorio; "I am only one—and I feed my +children! You do not believe so much in Rafael +Arteaga yourself; and, after all, it may come right. +It depends most on the woman."</p> + +<p>"Doña Raquel Arteaga?"</p> + +<p>"Never! She is only a wife; it is the other who is +still <i>the</i> woman."</p> + +<p>Ana flung an angry look at the pessimistic, philosophic +vaquero, and followed Raquel, slamming the +door after her to emphasize her impatience with his +all-too-true statements.</p> + +<p>She checked her tempestuous entrance at sight of +the wife they were discussing, kneeling at the little +altar in the corner of her own room. The tall candles +were lit, and before the shrine of the Virgin Raquel +was prostrate.</p> + +<p>Ana crossed herself and went out softly, half afraid +that the argument in the corridor had been heard +through the thick adobe walls. This new sign of +Raquel's disfavor at every mention of the Americanos +gave Ana several unpleasant moments. The letter +now in her pocket had belonged to the Americano +whom they were coming to search for: dare she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +mention it to the girl kneeling there at the shrine? +Or did not the news brought by Victorio Lopez make +more imperative the need for secrecy? In riding the +hills for Bryton, what others hidden there might be +discovered for death?</p> + +<p>Ana sent an Indian with a pack-mule of provisions +to the sheep-herders' cabin in Trabuco cañon, with +instructions to wait there until the men came for it, +and in every way made smooth the details for the +journey of the night.</p> + +<p>Don Antonio, the major-domo for the Arteagas, +had ridden north with the vigilantes, so there was no +one to oppose or question the order of Ana, given in +the name of Doña Raquel.</p> + +<p>Teresa shrugged her shoulders and said some +things when the two mounted and rode gaily northward. +She hoped Doña Refugia would say some things +to them for the good of their souls when they reached +the ranch. Ana had always been a little rebel; it was +well they married her when they did! No one gave +much heed to Ana's vagaries or strange whims, but +with Raquel it was different. The opinions of Doña +Luisa concerning the convent novice secured as a +daughter were well known in the San Juan valley: +she was a saint, no less. But Teresa watched the +slender girlish form riding away on the black horse, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +and hated the grace and daring of her as only gross +creatures can hate refined ones, and had her own +ideas of two women who were young, riding like +that toward darkness,—the darkness where even men +scarcely dared ride alone these days. One might be +saintly in soul, yet do indiscreet things in this +mundane world. And Teresa wished them a lesson, +from the centre of her fat heart.</p> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m292.mid'> +<img src='images/mu292.png' + title='Music: Mi Memoria.' + alt='Music: Mi Memoria.' +/></a> +<br /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mi memoria en ti se ocupa<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No te olvida un solo instante,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Y mi mente delirante En ti piensa,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">en ti piensa sin cesar.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m293.mid'> +<img src='images/mu293.png' + title='Music' + alt='Music' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc293.png' title='T' alt='T' /> +</div> + +<p>The dark was falling when the two +girls reached the sheep-herders' +cabin in Trabuco. José, the +boy with the pack-mules and +the led horse, had arrived before +them, and, shaking with fear, +had built a fire with which to +banish the threatening shadows. No herders were +there, and to stay in the isolated cañon with the mule +and mustang was not to his taste. José belonged to +the Mission garden work, or the driving of the cows to +pasture, and had little relish for the adventurous life +of the ranges. He appreciated not at all the confidence +placed in him by the laughing Doña Ana.</p> + +<p>But Ana had no desire to trust an older man, +even an Indian, and when they reached the cabin she +delighted his soul by giving him a gold piece, the first +he had ever earned, and telling him to go straight +back to San Juan; and unless he wanted his own ears +to wear on a string around his neck, he was to utter +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +no word of having seen any one at the sheep-herders' +cabin. His task was over when he left the provisions +and extra horses there.</p> + +<p>Glad enough to escape so easily from the prospect +of a night where wild cats and mountain lions were no +strangers, José not only promised, but swore by the +Virgin and Jesusita that no one at San Juan should +be the wiser for his having seen the ladies in that devil +of a cañon. If they never came out alive, he would +confess to the padre before All Souls' Day, but until +then not a word would they get from him even by +whippings and salt water!</p> + +<p>Despite the fervor of his protestations, Ana rode up +the terrace of the mesa, and sat there watching the +trail along the creek until she saw him cross far below, +a moving dot against the yellow stretch of sand, and +knew that he was indeed moved by winged fear and +had none of the courage for spy's work.</p> + +<p>Raquel watched the first star break through the +blue, and knew that, if he was alive, somewhere in +the width of California a man watched it also, and +shut out for one brief instant any crowding humanity +surrounding him. It seemed a very far-away thing, +this tryst of the star, and never—never, any day of +her life, durst she dream of bringing it closer.</p> + +<p>Ana found her huddled in the crooked white arm +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +of a great aliso tree, and regarded with dismay the +quivering shoulders and face hidden against the white +bark.</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p295p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p295w.jpg' + title='The Aliso Tree' alt='The Aliso Tree' /> +</a> +<p>The Aliso Tree.</p> +</div> + +<p>"Raquelita!" she said, in quick contrition. "I +have asked too much of you, to ride with me blindfold +into the wilderness. Say so, and ride back while +it is yet light to reach the road. It was wrong to ask +you to share burdens of others. I am at your feet, +darling. Do not blame me too much, for—"</p> + +<p>Raquel lifted her head and looked at her, and +smiled through tears.</p> + +<p>"Anita mia, you cannot send me back, for I will +not go. Do not fancy me unhappy because—oh—because +of anything. I feel, here in the open, more +at home than any moment since I came to California. +We were of the hill folk, my mother's people, and +out under the stars in the night all their old buried +instincts awake in me—the pagan gladness of the +wilderness."</p> + +<p>"You do not look glad," said Ana, doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Child, child! who of us is glad with unmixed +gladness, after the door has been closed on our youth +and the dreams of youth?"</p> + +<p>She slid from her perch and slipped her hand +through her friend's arm.</p> + +<p>"But to-night, beloved, we will close other +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +doors—the doors of the world of people. This tree shall be +the last landmark; beyond this we ride over enchanted +ground, and fancy all wild sweet things of our destination. +You go to—to your lover, perhaps; and I—I +ride to dream dreams in the open."</p> + +<p>"But, Raquelita—"</p> + +<p>"Never fear they will lead us too far astray, the +harmless dreams," she laughed. "If they do, I shall +do heavy penance; be sure of that!"</p> + +<p>"You look like a witch, instead of a devotee, in +this half-light," observed Ana. "Your eyes are like +stars; and—what has wakened in you this wild +mood? Is it the wilderness alone?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite," acknowledged Raquel, demurely. +"Since you will have a definite cause, I will confess, +Anita mia, that it was the white, strong arms of—of—never +look so frightened, dear,—of my friend the +aliso tree!"</p> + +<p>They both laughed, but Ana sat a moment by the +little camp-fire and stared at her.</p> + +<p>"That is all very well, and you have your good +fun with me," she said; "but out here you are a +different person from the lady of your cloisters. Yet +nothing has happened to make you different—nothing, +except that we are in the open."</p> + +<p>"Nothing? O thou wise one!" mocked Raquel. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +"But a star shone out, and its rays bewitch people +sometimes, when it shines down into the heart until +the radiance there is too great for one little bosom to +hold; and it trembles to the lips, and all the eager +longings of the world are understood, and one feels +very, very close to one's own soul; and one feels that +just beyond that star, or just beyond the bend of the +trail up here, one might find it. So, let us ride hard +and fast, my Anita,—I to my bewitched fancies, and +you to your lover."</p> + +<p>"And I—I thought you did not understand!" +muttered Ana. "That was because never before +have I seen you without the hedges of people about +you. God forgive Rafael Arteaga, who has known +and ridden away!"</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said Raquel; "our outer world is on the +other side of the aliso tree. That is our plaza, and +this the inner court. Life itself has the same divisions: +all the world may cross the plaza, but the +inner court of one's own soul is the sanctuary, where +only one may kneel beside us; it is the tabernacle of +the heart, and no word of Church or your own will +can give to anyone the key, or—Santa Maria!—take +it out of the hands to which it is given by divine +right!"</p> + +<p>"Raquel, beloved!" cried Ana, in dismay, "you + + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +are not laughing at me now. You make my heart +ache with your words and your smile,—more with the +smile, I think. And what you say is—is almost +sacrilege. No Spanish mother teaches her daughter +that the sacrament of the Church is not, above all +things, binding. Those who break it are taught the +sin of it."</p> + +<p>"But I had no Spanish mother to teach me; only +a priest and an old Indian woman. The nuns never +spoke of the worldly ties, they were so sure I should +never know them."</p> + +<p>"But, Raquelita, you rode gladly north to Rafael; you—"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I was more a devotee than I ever shall be +again," acknowledged Raquel, with a sigh. "I remember +the elated, half-dreamlike way in which I rode +over those mesas to meet him. I was riding to help +to guard a wonderful soul and a wonderful life for the +Church. I was upheld by the conviction that God +desired it. If, instead of asking me to marry a +husband for the good of a soul, they had asked me to +ride my horse into the sea and wait for the rising tide, +and given as convincing a churchly reason, I should +have ridden into the sea and waited, I suppose. It is +bad for one when the dreams go, and the clear vision +begins."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +"But Rafael—"</p> + +<p>"Rafael, beloved, is contented with the life of the +plaza. He will always be; and—the inner court is +forever this side of the aliso tree. Come! The stars +are thick now, and if we have far to ride—"</p> + +<p>Doña Ana untied the mule and the mustang.</p> + +<p>"I think they will follow; but it is best, perhaps, to +keep a rope on the mustang. I will lead him, and I +have a bell I will tie later to his neck; it may help in +the dark if we should go wide of the trail."</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p302p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p302w.jpg' + title='An Inner Court' alt='An Inner Court' /> +</a> +<p>An Inner Court.</p> +</div> + +<p>The wilder mood of Raquel in the great out-of-doors, +where she became something besides the girl of +the cloisters, had a sobering effect on Ana herself. A +girl who would sacrifice herself through a temporary +religious fervor was not one to look with favor on any +sacrifice or risk for heretics. Again and again she +thought of the letter to the Americano on which that +message had been pencilled. She thought also of the +words of friendship uttered by Padre Libertad for +the same American, at the San Joaquin ranch. Was +it that the latter was dead, and thus his letters accessible? +Or was there a chance that the man whom Don +Eduardo and his guests were to start in search of was +held either by a friend or an enemy in the hills they +were riding to?</p> + +<p>She had felt sure, without hearing it put into words, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +that Raquel rode from the ranch that night to avoid +Mrs. Bryton. What other reason could there be? +Therefore, was it fair to lead her blindfold to meet +another of that heretic family, to whom she would not +open her door even to please her husband? They +had mounted their horses when the certainty that it +was not fair came upon Ana, and she slipped from the +saddle and stirred up the sulking embers of the little +fire until it broke into a blaze.</p> + +<p>"Raquel, it is no use! I must tell you before we +start. The man I go to see is the friend of a heretic +whom you bar out from your knowledge. The message +sent me is written on a letter of Bryton's. You +heard them say Señor Bryton cannot be found; and +there is a chance—only a chance—that he may be in +the mountain where we are going."</p> + +<p>Raquel stared at her, and did not speak. In the +flickering light Ana could see that her eyes grew +large—with dread, or anger, or what? Even her lips +grew pale, and she almost seemed to sway in the saddle.</p> + +<p>"Raquelita mia, I was wrong, I know it was wrong +to bring you; but oh, my beloved—"</p> + +<p>"You—did not know—he—was here?"</p> + +<p>"I did not think. The devil put mud where my +brain should be! It is only when we are on the road +it commences to trouble me; and now your +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +words—your—Oh, I know that of all women in California, +you hate the heretics most; and now it is I +who—"</p> + +<p>"Tell me what the letter says," interrupted Raquel, +who now sat erect in the saddle, rigid and white. +"You said your friend was hurt and—"</p> + +<p>"Some one is hurt; I do not know who. You can +read the letter if you bend down here. Who knows? +It may be his American friend."</p> + +<p>"Mother mia! It may be, it may be!"</p> + +<p>She covered her face with her hands, and Ana, +looking at her, thought she was praying for strength +to remember humanity ahead of the creeds. At last +she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Anita mia, never feel so badly about it. We did +not plan this, you and I, but it happens—it happens! +There is only one straight thing to do: I can ride +back to San Juan when you learn the truth. If it is +the Americano, the word shall go to his wife quickly. +I need not see the man, but I can carry a message, +and I will; God helping me to the strength, I will!"</p> + +<p>"His wife? Santa Maria! The man has no wife. +Half the girls of Los Angeles county try to marry +him, but it is never any use."</p> + +<p>"Anita!"</p> + +<p>"How you stare at me, Raquel! You think I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +mean some other American, maybe. No? I speak +of Don Keith Bryton. You hate them all so; no +one ever speaks of them to you; but he is not bad. +He saved your Indian woman at the ranch while you +slept. You did not know it all."</p> + +<p>"Stop, and let me think," said Raquel, imperatively. +"Some one has lied. Who is the fair woman with +the blue eyes—the Mrs. Bryton—the Doña Angela +he drove with—the—"</p> + +<p>"She is the widow of his half-brother; that is all."</p> + +<p>"All? Then how—why should Teresa say this +thing? Yesterday I heard her say that Doña Angela +made a flirtation with Rafael only to make Señor +Bryton jealous. I heard it, though she did not know. +Why should that be, if it is only his brother's wife?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, God alone knows the heart of a woman, +Raquel! It may be all a lie. Our people do not +understand the gringo women. They look love to so +many men, and mean it, perhaps, for none. But it +was thought, yes, plainly said, when she first came to +Los Angeles, that Keith Bryton was the one man she +wanted to marry. But that is all over now; no one +thinks—"</p> + +<p>"Teresa thinks."</p> + +<p>"Teresa had better be at her prayers! I could tell +you something strange of Keith Bryton,—only you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +are not interested in gringos,—something of a love +of his, and I feel sure it is never the pretty Doña +Angela."</p> + +<p>"Tell me," said Raquel, coldly.</p> + +<p>"A man—a priest—learned it from him some +way. I thought the Americanos had no saints; but +something like a love for a saint keeps Keith Bryton +from caring much for any one else. It is as if a +woman, instead of a wooden saint, should be in one +of the niches of the old altar-place, and he said +prayers there. Whoever she is, she seems to be very +far above him—like the star he cannot reach."</p> + +<p>"The men who cannot reach the stars content +themselves with picking flowers, do they not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, God alone knows how they content themselves! +I only tell you this thing to show you that +Señor Bryton has not anywhere in the land a woman to +go to him if he were dying alone in the hills; his saint +would not step down from the niche of the altar-place."</p> + +<p>"Anita mia, you forget," she said, in a strange, +mocking tone. "If Keith Bryton is a friend of yours, +you should wish him better fortune than to kneel at a +place like our old altar. Do you forget that of the +eleven niches still left in the old ruin, only one holds +a saint,—a saint where no one openly kneels,—that +of the Maria Madalena?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +"Raquel, what things you do fancy! Now that +you know whom you may have to meet, will you ride +with me, or back to the road?"</p> + +<p>"Back to the plaza?" asked Doña Raquel. "Anita +mia, all this has come to me in the inner court of +the aliso portal: it does not belong to the outer world; +neither do we, I think, to-night. Whatever the +shadows of the cañon cover for us, I think, we must +ride upward to meet them. Your friend's saint, the +Madalena of the niche, will watch over us. When we +go back she shall have candles and roses—red ones, +Anita!"</p> + +<p>Ana was voluble in her delight, and rode up the +valley with a great load lifted from her heart.</p> + +<p>But the witching spell of the aliso portal had lost +its gay charm for Raquel, or else it had sent her another +more potent, for she rode in silence under the stars, +without gladness, yet so steadily, so recklessly, that +Ana more than once had to complain that only a deer +or a coyote could keep ahead of her.</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m305.mid'> +<img src='images/mu305.png' + title='Music: Ella No Me Ama.' + alt='Music: Ella No Me Ama.' +/></a> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ella vierte la copa de amargura<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gota, gota en mi pobre corozon.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc305.png' title='T' alt='T' /> +</div> + +<p>That same evening a gay party +from the south rode along the +sea to San Juan Capistrano. +Doña Maria and Don Eduardo +rode in a carriage, but the +Doña Angela had received riding +lessons from Rafael, and +disdained now the lounging ease of the cushioned seats. +She and Rafael galloped far ahead at times, and then +loitered idly among the odorous grasses and chaparral, +and watched the waves roll in, and said the gay, foolish +things that sometimes mean only courtesy, and +sometimes mean the ripples of thought fringing pools +of unsounded depths. There was little doubt of the +quality of Rafael's thought. Whatever it had been +in the commencement, there was little now within +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +his power to accomplish which he would not have +done at the bidding of her smiling childish lips.</p> + +<p>"If we had a boat out there where the whitecaps +are, we could go even faster than the horses," she was +saying. "I always wanted a boat; I always wanted to +live near the ocean, if only the right people could +be with me."</p> + +<p>"You shall have a boat, any day you want it," he +said, eagerly. "They make them at San Pedro; that +is not far to send. A boat, and a house by the sea! +Why not wish for a more difficult thing? Would you +like that bluff above the river's mouth? Or Dana's +Point, beyond there? You could watch the whales +spouting from the quay, and all the sea and valley +could be yours at a glance, and—"</p> + +<p>"And a fine view, also, of your monastery walls, far, +far away, Don Rafael."</p> + +<p>"I should never be far away, only as far as you bid +me go."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that sounds very submissive," she replied; +"but you are not really so, not really. I—I want +to say to you that my cousin's wife reproves me for +your—your—"</p> + +<p>Her hesitation was very pretty. It delighted the +man, who caught her hand and kissed it.</p> + +<p>"My—my—you can find no word, madama, for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +my madness; is that it?" he asked, softly. "You are +right; there are no words ever coined to cover it. I +make myself a carpet for your feet, mi corazon!"</p> + +<p>"I don't want a carpet for my feet,—at least I +think I do not," she said, doubtfully, "not in the +face of all the frowns of California; and we perhaps +go to-day where we see many frowns from my cousin. +She says she may not visit your wife. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she does not like a home where there are +endless prayers," he said, briefly; "but, such as it is, +it is for you, madama. You would light up even the +shadows there. As for the Doña Maria, she is—ah, +well, she is old, and forgets many things. She has +had her own romances, and they should teach her +charity! The plans she makes in San Diego and on the +road are all right for those places, but when we reach +San Juan you all go to my home. I sent word ahead."</p> + +<p>"Your wife expects us to-night?"</p> + +<p>"She does not know what night, or what day, but +she will expect you."</p> + +<p>"She does not care at all for people, does she?" +and Angela's eyes were turned from him to the sea. +"All this wonderful principality of a place, and a +home like a ruined castle, and the boxes of jewels they +say she never looks at! She must be a marvellous +woman,—the Doña Raquel Arteaga. I shall feel a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +little afraid, I think, of the magnificence she disdains."</p> + +<p>"A finer castle will go up on those bluffs when you +say the word, madama mia; and the jewels—one can +always find more pearls in the sea!"</p> + +<p>"How often shall I have to tell you that you must +not make those foolish promises to me? You, a +married man!"</p> + +<p>"Just so often as you make me forget the marriage—and +that—"</p> + +<p>"Adam!" she laughed. "Of course it is to be the +woman's fault,—'She tempted me!'"</p> + +<p>She sprang to her feet and ran to her horse as the +carriage came in sight over the mesa. He was by her +side in an instant.</p> + +<p>"And that, madama, is every time I hear your voice, +or look in your eyes, or feel the touch of your hand! +Ah, beloved!"</p> + +<p>"If you kiss me, Don Rafael, remember I cannot go +to the house of your wife!"</p> + +<p>He released her with a groan, and stared at her as +she leaned panting against her horse.</p> + +<p>"You put a man in purgatory, madama," he +said, between shut teeth. "But it must end—only +Christ knows how! It must end one of these +days."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +He lifted her to the saddle and kept his arms about +her, looking up into her face.</p> + +<p>"Was that about the boat all a jest? Once before +you spoke of a boat—and us two. Perhaps it was +only your woman's way to torture a man by helping +him to think of that sort of heaven! But, after all, +what is all this life here to you? You care nothing +for the people; you will go away somewhere, some day, +and no one will ever hear of you again. What better +way, after all, than the boat? It leaves no tracks; +there would be all the world before us."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" she said, with a little smile. "Who +is now the tempter? You are quite mad, Don +Rafael."</p> + +<p>"God!" he muttered. "If I could only have the +happiness of knowing it <i>was</i> a temptation to you!"</p> + +<p>She smiled again, and touched her horse with the +quirt; and though he caught his horse and mounted +quickly, she was a considerable distance ahead of him, +and perversely insisted on keeping a wide space between +them, or else lagging beside the carriage for +conversation with Doña Maria, whom Rafael knew +she loved little.</p> + +<p>For the rest of the ride there was no chance of a +word alone with her. Only as they turned from the +beach to the river valley she checked her horse for an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +instant, and with a little flash of a glance toward him, +she flung a kiss from the tips of her fingers to the +bluffs above San Juan River.</p> + +<p>"Adios, O castle of the air in which Love might +have lived! Adios, O boat of beautiful dreams, for +which there is no harbor! Don Rafael, you sing so +well—could you not put the castle and the boat in a +Spanish song! It would sound pretty in a love-song, +and it is much too romantic for every-day life; for, +after all, there is no harbor here."</p> + +<p>He devoured her with sombre eyes of desire, and a +glint of rage showing through their ardent depths.</p> + +<p>"There will be a harbor, madama mia," he muttered. +"By the God and all the saints, there will be a harbor +here on the San Juan shore, and there will be an embarcodera! +And the boat will—will not be a boat in +a song or a dream, madama mia! I swear it, I swear +it, I swear it!"</p> + +<p>He dug his spurs viciously into his mount to +emphasize the words, and the animal reared and +plunged, and gave him a chance to vent his feelings +somewhat, while the Doña Angela tried to laugh, and +failed. A passion like that was a very masterful force, +and there had been times when she dared not treat it +as a jest.</p> + +<p>The shrewd, red-faced ranchman, riding in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +carriage beside his swarthy wife, noted the little pantomime +and nodded to Doña Maria.</p> + +<p>"It is as you say, dear. It is better that Don +Rafael be with his own wife. If anything should +happen—"</p> + +<p>"If one thing should happen, we should be +blamed; even the bishop might blame us," said Doña +Maria, fretfully. "She could marry with other men: +what white devil in her turns her to that mad Rafael? +The Arteaga men always have their own way. She +should be married."</p> + +<p>Her husband grunted assent, and regarded the fair +figure of his kinswoman riding sedately along the +green. She was such a fragile, childlike creature, +he thought of her as a little yellow canary, pretty to +see around the home after the many years lived +among the dark people; but he never was certain in +the least that he knew her, and he was beginning to +consider some arrangement by which, for the good of +the doll-like child asleep on the carriage cushions, he +could suggest that she return to the land of the +Briton and abide there—with, of course, a comfortable +little sum for maintenance. Don Eduardo was too +much of a politician not to see the wisdom of buying +off embarrassing friends; the Doña Angela in her +amusements might prove not only embarrassing, but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +dangerous. He had plans concerning certain Arteaga +holdings, and could not have even a charming woman +enter into his scheme of things, if she suggested +discord. And watching Rafael Arteaga's face and the +reckless passion in it, Don Eduardo decided that his +fair countrywoman not only suggested discord, she +was a living, breathing, alluring promise of it!</p> + +<p>A sunset in San Juan is truly worth crossing either +a continent or an ocean to witness, when the ranges +toward La Paz are purple where the sage-brush is, and +rose-color where the rains have washed the steep +places to the clay, and over all of mesa and mountain +the soft glory of golden haze. All that radiance +touched the land and sea as the carriage of Don +Eduardo, preceded by Rafael and Doña Angela, and +followed by Fernando and Juanita, who had been a +guest of Doña Maria, and back of all the rest the +Indian servants and the nurse for the child on the +carriage cushion. Amid the shrill calls of greeting, +and gay exchange of words and laughter, the cavalcade +passed the Casa Grande of Don Juan Alvara, and +drew up before the portal of the great white Mission. +Rafael lifted Angela Bryton from the saddle first of +all, and then with his own hand opened the door of the +carriage for Doña Maria.</p> + +<p>"My house is your own, señora," he said, with the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +debonair grace so charmingly his own. "I claim the +privilege of carrying the child through the door myself. +Doña Raquel will be here on the instant, and—"</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p313p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p313w.jpg' + title='Vengo a tu ventana' alt='Vengo a tu ventana' /> +</a> + <div class='figmusic'> + <a href='music/p312.mid'> + <img src='images/mu313.png' + title='Music: Vengo a tu ventana.' + alt='Music: Vengo a tu ventana.' + /> + </a> +<br /> + <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + <span class="i0">Vengo a tu ventana para<br /></span> + <span class="i0">decirte mi amore!<br /></span> + </div></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>The padre, pipe in mouth, had been watching the +arrival from his own door, but he drew nearer, and +smiled grimly at Doña Maria as he interrupted +the young man.</p> + +<p>"Not quite on the instant, Don Rafael," he +remarked. "The Doña Raquel is well on her way to +San Joaquin ranch with Doña Ana Mendez. They +rode good horses, and they started this evening, a few +minutes before my own return."</p> + +<p>The child in Rafael's arms uttered a little cry. He +had suddenly gripped her very tightly indeed, and a +strange Spanish oath broke from his lips. The priest +smiled, and the florid face of Don Eduardo flushed +angrily.</p> + +<p>"You—you sent Victorio Lopez—" he began, +but Rafael gave him one silencing look, and stepped +forward, offering his hand to Doña Maria.</p> + +<p>"Will you honor my house by accepting it during +your stay, señora?" he asked, smilingly. "My +wife has not received the message that you would +arrive this week. Sickness at the ranch, or some +accident, has no doubt called the Doña Ana there, +and Raquel would not let her go alone. But our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> +house and my service are at your feet. Will you +enter?"</p> + +<p>There was not a moment's hesitation on the part +of Doña Maria. Let her English husband feel as he +might, she meant to enter the doors where only the +most exclusive had been entertained, since the day of +the new chatelaine had dawned. Raquel Estevan de +Arteaga was too well bred to make a scene when she +returned and found them there, and Doña Maria had +too much of the blood of Mexican gamblers in her +veins not to be willing to take all chances when +she wanted a thing very much.</p> + +<p>As to the fact that her host and her charmingly +troublesome guest would be thrown together even +more than in the south, it did not trouble her in the +least. Even the bishop could not blame her for what +occurred in the house of Raquel Arteaga! Let that +lady stay at home and guard her own husband. And +if she failed,—well, it might be well to have some of +that cold, Indian-like pride of hers lowered.</p> + +<p>The Doña Angela said nothing, only smiled a little, +and pretended to understand none of the Spanish +spoken, but the padre, watching her wide childish +blue eyes, and her rosebud of a mouth, noticed also +the one quick birdlike glance she flung toward Rafael, +and felt, like Doña Maria, that the stubborn pride of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> +Raquel Arteaga was at last to be lowered a little. She +had been as an eagle swimming in the blue above all +their heads, but this petite, golden-headed ladybird +would sip more of honey from the blossoms of life, +and touch more closely an Arteaga!</p> + +<p>And when, after the very gay supper in the old +refectory, Rafael brought a mantilla for Doña Angela, +that its lacy film might protect her from the soft air of +the starlight, the padre poured an extra glass of wine +for the Doña Maria, the Don Eduardo, and himself, +and held them in discussion. Fernando and Juanita +and the other young people could go along and show +the Doña Angela how beautiful were the arches and +corridors after the sun was gone, but they, the older +people, were content with the shelter of adobe walls +after the night fell.</p> + +<p>So they wandered forth, Fernando with a guitar, +that the end of a perfect day should be celebrated in +love-songs; and as he protested that they sounded +better at a distance, he and Juanita strayed off into +the night.</p> + +<p>Doña Angela and Don Rafael, from a throne of +sculptured stars and circles, suns and crescents,—all +the Aztec symbols of light,—listened to the passion +expressed in "El Tormento de Amor" floating +down to them from the tiled roof of the corridors, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> +and later, when the doors were closed on the girls for +the night, those two still listened together to the +musical cadence of "Vengo à tu Ventana" sung under +barred windows, and to other harmonies never written +in music, but known as a compelling power to the +tempestuous heart of the Mexican. Under the stars +of that night, the butterfly was made to feel that the +beautiful tiger she had at first paraded as a trophy +was not to be laughed at,—never any more! And +even when the dawn broke, she lay wide-eyed behind +the iron bars of her window, wordless and frightened,—a +magician who had raised a spirit stronger +than her power to subdue. What a trifle it had been +at first,—a mere flirtation for the sake of his handsome +eyes, and now—</p> + +<p>She told herself over and over that it was Keith +Bryton's fault, and that wooden Mexican woman's +fault. Why had she barred her out and raised the +aggressive spirit in her? It was not in the beginning +that she really meant to take her husband. And why +should Keith betray his indifference in the way he +did? It was so easy to show him that other men were +not indifferent. And oh, the awful dismal tragedy of +it! To think that by such a little, little chance she +had missed being legitimate queen over this most +royal domain!</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p316p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p316w.jpg' + title='After the Very Gay Supper' alt='After the Very Gay Supper' /> +</a> +<p>“After the Very Gay Supper”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +But that other woman, the Mexican, would hold it +all, always! Another woman might win Rafael's smile +and his love-songs, but the acres, the herds, the coin, +and the jewels (he had allowed Doña Maria to show +the latter to her guests that evening), all those things +would be held always in the slender strong hand of +Raquel Arteaga—Raquel Arteaga, who stood guard +over even his soul, lest the heretics—</p> + +<p>Then she smiled a little to herself, an involuntary +smile of triumph. Had he not said in the dusk of +the corridor last night that his soul was at her feet? +With that battle won from the intolerant Mexican +girl, were the jewels and the coin out of reach? Had +he not said a boat left no track on the ocean,—the +boat he had sworn to find a harbor for,—sworn to?</p> + +<p>Of course it was only a fleeting fancy, but it drifted +across her brain as a sort of solace for her fretful, +feverish rebellings against the uneven division of +things, and it served its purpose, for she was at last +lulled into slumber by the dream, though of course +it was only a dream.</p> + +<p>But dreams, when dreamed by two, suggest such +alluring possibilities!</p> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> + +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m318.mid'> +<img src='images/mu318.png' + title='Music: Mi Corazon de Fuego.' + alt='Music: Mi Corazon de Fuego.' +/></a> +<br /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mujer! Mujer! Mi corazon de fuego,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Te adore con delirio y con ternura,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Porque eres bella angelical criatura,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Como los flores que adoran a' Dios;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lejos de ti no me importa la existencia<br /></span> +<span class="i0">El mundo todo y sus mentidas glorias.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lejos de ti la vida es ilusoria,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Porque tu eres mi vida,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tu eres mi amada,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tu eres mi Dios!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m319.mid'> +<img src='images/mu319.png' + title='Music' + alt='Music' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc319.png' title='I' alt='I' /> +</div> + +<p>It was two days later, before the +sun was high, that Raquel Arteaga +rode into the plaza, and, +slipping from her horse, walked +directly into the little private +chapel and closed the door. +From the other wing of the corridor +Doña Maria and Doña Angela saw her, and exchanged +startled glances. Their hostess had arrived, +and had not even cast her eyes in their direction. +They were both relieved when Rafael and Señor +Downing emerged from the portal of the patio.</p> + +<p>"Ah, she has arrived—my wife," remarked Rafael +as he noticed her saddle-horse nibbling at the geraniums. +"I sent an Indian messenger this morning. +He has been quick; and, Santa Maria! so has she. +Look at the horse!"</p> + +<p>The animal was dripping, and as an Indian boy removed +the saddle the water ran down his sides and +made little pools in the dust.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +"That will do him good," said Rafael. "Rub him +well, and he will look like black satin. And the +Doña Raquel is—"</p> + +<p>"Your wife went to her own chapel; she saw no +one," observed Doña Maria. "I should go in, but if +she is at prayers—"</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p320p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p320w.jpg' + title='Their Hostess had Arrived' alt='Their Hostess had Arrived' /> +</a> +<p>“Their Hostess had Arrived”</p> +</div> + +<p>If she had been, her prayers were ended, for as they +spoke she opened the door and came out on the corridor. +She was more pale than Rafael had ever seen +her, and without greeting to anyone, she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Rafael, two men have been hurt in the mountain, +a priest and—the American who was missing from the +vigilantes. I think—I understand that he saved the +life of the padre—and both were hurt, and—they are +bringing him here."</p> + +<p>"The American? You mean Keith Bryton?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I mean Keith Bryton," she said, steadily. +"I rode ahead. Ana is coming with them; she thinks +he is very ill—and the padre also was hurt—and—"</p> + +<p>"Keith!" cried Doña Angela, sharply. "He is +hurt—and coming here—<i>here</i>?"</p> + +<p>"There was no place else to send them," said +Raquel, quietly. "There has always been room in the +Mission for the sick or wounded—and in this case—"</p> + +<p>"That is right," exclaimed Rafael, with nervous +approval; "that is all right. Where should Señor +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> +Bryton go but where his friends are? This is his +sister, Señora Bryton. It is well she is here; sick men +need their own women folks about them. Raquelita, +thou art white as the lilies in the garden! Get you +some wine while I see to beds for the sick. It was +lucky you and Ana chanced to meet them. When +did Tomás reach you with the letter?"</p> + +<p>She did not reply. Doña Maria was also asking +questions, and telling her the Padre Andros had gone +again to San Luis Rey for a week, and the three +women entered the dining-room, leaving Rafael's +question unanswered. He supposed that Raquel +and Ana had ridden south at his bidding, and was +elated that she had received the Doña Maria and her +guest as she had—without gladness, of course, but +without signs of displeasure. He divined there was +a white devil of rage under her calm exterior, but that +made no difference so long as she showed no outward +sign of it. Evidently she had accepted the fact that +he meant to be master; after that, life would be easier +in Capistrano. He had always been a bit resentful of +Keith Bryton's attitude toward himself. Never since +that dictatorial letter to San Pedro had he felt easy +with him, and there was no doubt whatever that Bryton +had avoided him since his marriage. But he forgot all +that in the satisfaction of the news Raquel brought.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +With Bryton ill in the house, there was every reason +why the one woman of his family should remain under +the same roof indefinitely. It would mean the breaking +down of barriers against heretic invaders, and so +well content was Rafael over all this that he meant to +nurse Keith Bryton as the most valuable friend the +fates could send him. Elated with this idea, he called +Don Eduardo, and together they rode out to meet +them, and at sight of them wondered that even +Raquel's cool exterior had not been more ruffled at the +situation: she had given them no idea of what to expect.</p> + +<p>"Your wife, in the cause of humanity, will allow +dying space for a heretic," observed Don Eduardo, +dryly, "but she evidently thinks them worth little +attention. The man looks worse than she led us to +think. We should have brought Indios and a litter +to meet them."</p> + +<p>Keith Bryton, with his head bound up so as to be +almost unrecognizable, was tied on his horse and supported +by the left arm of a bearded priest who rode on +one side; while Doña Ana rode on the other, white-faced +and tremulous, as she recognized the two men +approaching.</p> + +<p>"For the love of God, be cautious—cautious!" she +whispered to the priest. And the latter drew the hood +of his habit lower over his brows, to shut out the sun.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> +"Softly, Anita mia! From this moment I am under +a vow of silence. This heretic and I have come out of +the shadow of death together, he with a broken head +and I with a broken arm. You can send your friends +to see where three men are still unburied in the +Trabuco hills. I ask of the Mission only time for +silent meditation until my preserver, here, is better—or +dead. I leave the words of it to you. From the +moment help comes I have vowed silence. Come, +come, Anita, girl. When we have blinded a woman +like Raquel Arteaga for two days and nights, we need +fear no eyes of men."</p> + +<p>And it was so. The condition of the two men was +warrant of Ana's recital that three refugees of Flores's +bandits had assaulted the priest, with the idea that he +was of the vigilantes. When the Americano, by some +chance, had taken a short cut across the ranges, and, +hearing shots, had gone to the rescue, he found one +man with a broken arm keeping his enemies at a +distance with one of their own guns. He had +stumbled on their camp while they slept. For the +rest, Ana asked Rafael to send some one to bury +the three bodies. They were too near the trail to be +left like that, and would frighten horses when one +rode that way.</p> + +<p>Of the padre, who, relieved of his burden, had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> +quietly fallen in the rear, Doña Ana told that he was +a travelling monk from Mexico, who had been +entertained at the San Joaquin ranch, and had assisted +the Don Keith to quell a crazy uprising there. He +was under a vow of silence from the moment God +sent help; and—and of course there was room for +him at the Mission, not with the crusty old Padre +Andros, but if Rafael and Raquel would allow him a +private corner, undisturbed! He did not appear to +be the sort of man for Padre Andros's game-cocks +and monte games.</p> + +<p>Rafael, glancing at the sallow, bearded face under +the monk's hood, decided that she was right. The +padre looked like a man given to vigils and fasts, one +living the life of renunciation such as one heard of +from the older records of the valley, before the secular +priests had been let loose upon the land to fatten, +while the parish drifted from faith.</p> + +<p>"Padre Andros has been called to San Luis Rey; +it will be a week until he returns. This man—what +is his name? Libertad? That is very Mexican. +Well, the Mission is his; he can pray where he +chooses. God send he prays Don Keith well again. +Santa Maria! but he has a fever! Does he know +one?"</p> + +<p>Ana shook her head. He certainly did not know +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> +her, and he did not know the padre, and she felt a +hesitation in telling him that the only one whose voice +or hand quieted the occasional ravings of the American +was that of his own wife. If she had done so, Rafael +would have only thought it a great joke on Raquel, +who avoided heretics. All the hours of the days and +nights in the hills, Raquel Arteaga had moved like a +woman in a dream, walking alone when she was not +praying beside Keith Bryton's couch of pine boughs. +While Ana slept the sleep of exhaustion that first +night, the silent priest had gone again and again to +see Bryton and hear if there was aught to do, and +each time that girl was crouching there, white-faced as +a spirit in the light of the waning moon, while the +man on the couch moaned "Espiritu! Doña Espiritu +mia!"</p> + +<p>That was the one moan he had made since the +fever had struck him, and there had been no way of +quieting him. But that night, when the moans grew +into cries, the silent priest saw the girl listen until she +could bear it no longer, and then she went closer to +him and knelt there, her hands clasped tightly behind +her, and in them the golden beads of a rosary shone +against her black dress.</p> + +<p>"I am here, close beside you," she said, lowly, +"always beside you in spirit—always!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> +"Espiritu mia!" he muttered, and then with a +great sigh of relief sank into slumber.</p> + +<p>The priest watched the girl to see what manner of +woman might be this daughter of a nun, whose father +had been the gay, lawless, debonair Felipe Estevan, +of whom wild stories had been told in the old days. +When had he ever resisted a love appealing? The +man watching her knew the girls of Mexican California +too well to doubt what the result would be: the +lover first, and the rosary and the prayers afterwards.</p> + +<p>But the night waned, and the pale moon, facing the +morning star, saw her still crouching there against +the tree trunk. Ana thought she slept, but her +husband's enemy, who had watched her through the +night, knew better. He drew Ana aside, and gave +her warning.</p> + +<p>"Tell Felipe Estevan's daughter nothing. I am +the priest; that is all. She is not the woman to think +this justified," and he touched the monk's robe. +"This night I heard her prayers when she thought +no one listened; and, Anita, girl, forget all crazy +things I said about Rafael's wife helping me to +revenge."</p> + +<p>"You said nothing about Rafael's wife," and Ana +faced him with startled eyes. "You said—what was +it you said? Oh, that Keith Bryton should help +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> +you—Keith Bryton, and his love for a woman who was a +saint."</p> + +<p>As she spoke, the full meaning of his words burst +upon her, and she uttered a low cry of dismay.</p> + +<p>"Barto! Holy God!—<i>Barto</i>!" she whispered.</p> + +<p>But he caught her wrist, and his voice had a note +of command in it.</p> + +<p>"Silence! She may hear you. Forget the fool +things I said there at the San Joaquin ranch. I +thought I knew something of Keith Bryton, but +I was mistaken. I thought I knew much of woman, +but one girl at her prayers last night changed all that. +We will nurse him well again, if your friends do not +murder me, and then I will get him away. Some day +when you and I have left all this behind us, I may +tell you what I thought I knew, but not now."</p> + +<p>"But Raquel—"</p> + +<p>"Raquel will always be first of all the wife of +Rafael Arteaga; after that she may show kindness to +other human things, even the heretics. But this one +heretic we will take the care of off her hands all that +we can, Anita. She is not the girl to drag into a +man's schemes of revenge."</p> + +<p>"I think she bewitches you each time she comes +near you," flashed Ana, resentfully. "On all other +things you talk to me sense, but when it is Raquel, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> +my one friend, you talk riddles always, and you make +me feel as if I were walking beside her in the dark or +blindfold. What is it you mean? That Bryton +thinks of her? How could that be, when they have +not met? She thought until last night that he was +married, so little interest in him has she. How do +you get such crazy things in your head?"</p> + +<p>"That is true. I find they are crazy things; I +confess it to you, and ask you to give no heed to my +mistakes."</p> + +<p>"It was a mistake, then, that he cared?" persisted +Ana. "You were so sure—"</p> + +<p>"It was another woman," broke in the priest, +curtly. "Oh yes, there was a woman; but I was the +fool when I thought I knew who the woman was; +that is all."</p> + +<p>"And Raquel is not—"</p> + +<p>"Raquel Estevan de Arteaga is a woman men +should cross themselves when they mention," he said, +quietly. "She has a strength in her that is of God or +the devil; she brings it from her Indian hills of +Mexico, and I for one will be on the safe side and +treat it with respect."</p> + +<p>"She has bewitched you, that is all," declared Ana; +but the man in the priest's robe drew her behind a +giant aliso tree and kissed her on the mouth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +"Perhaps so," he agreed; "but, my Anita, it is +only enough to make me pity the man she would +bewitch in a different way. God! If he knew that +she cared like that, his life would be a hell."</p> + +<p>"Why not a heaven?" asked Ana, turning to the +care of the breakfast. "Raquel spoke beautifully of +a love like that last night,—a love in the inner court +of life, in sanctuary, where only one other soul could +kneel beside one; it was a love spiritual only."</p> + +<p>"Only!" said the man, glancing toward the girlish +figure in the serape curled against the white bark of +the tree. "Only! Anita, girl, let us get the breakfast +and leave love to people who have not a price set +against their heads. As for that love of the inner +court of life, the sanctuary, Raquel still dreams the +dreams of a nun. Men and women of California are +of flesh and blood, and they do not love in that way."</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m330.mid'> +<img src='images/mu330.png' + title='Music: La Tempestad.' + alt='Music: La Tempestad.' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc330.png' title='T' alt='T' /> +</div> + +<p>Three days later, Keith Bryton +opened his eyes within the white +walls of a little room in the Mission. +The wooden shutters of +the barred window were open, +and all was still. A meadow-lark +called somewhere without, +and he could hear down the valley the beat of the surf +against the cliffs. A bearded priest sat in the window +reading a book, and a woman coming from the dining-room, +through the quaint old Moorish doorway stopped +suddenly with a quick-caught breath of fear as +his eyes opened at the rustle of her dress, and he +smiled at her with a great sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>"Doña Espiritu!" he murmured. "I knew you +would come if I waited. Such a bad dream has been +with me! I thought I was back in California, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> +you—ah! there were higher barriers around you than +the convent walls, and—"</p> + +<p>Doña Raquel stood motionless, with the little +earthen olla of spring water in her two hands. Her +face grew white, and she glanced at the man in the +window-seat. He raised a finger of warning to his +lips, and arose and came forward.</p> + +<p>"You must not talk, Don Keith," he said, quietly. +"One cup of water, since the lady brings it to you, +and then to sleep again. Sleep is best."</p> + +<p>"You were of the dream, too," muttered Bryton, +fretfully, "the bad dream. Espiritu mia! tell me it is +not true. I cannot think; my head—"</p> + +<p>"Tell him, Doña Espiritu," said the man with the +book. Then he gave her a glance of warning and +touched his temple significantly. She crossed the +room and placed the water beside him.</p> + +<p>"What shall I tell you, Don Keith?" she asked, +softly. "I am sorry you have been so ill and the bad +dreams have come. This is Padre Libertad; he has +nursed you very well. We must all obey him and let +you sleep."</p> + +<p>"But not to dream again," he protested. "Be +kind, as you were in the hills of the temple,—give me +your hand again,—then I will sleep without the hell +of dreams."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> +At the command of the padre, she obeyed, and he +took her one hand in both of his and drew it across +his lips. A shudder passed over her at his touch, +and she rested her other hand against the whitewashed +wall for support.</p> + +<p>"Courage, my daughter," said the man with the +book, gently; and the man on the bed looked at him +and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Courage?" he said. "You should have seen her +when she faced that mob of Indians and saved us. +We had not meant to spy on their ceremonies, and +we paid dearly for getting lost in the wilderness. +Still, it was worth it, Doña mia! It was worth going +through it all, even the hell of dreams, to find you +again like this, and your hand in mine."</p> + +<p>She did not speak, only turned imploring eyes on +the padre.</p> + +<p>"You need not mind him," continued Bryton. "I +like him better than the old padre, and he shall marry +us when I come back. Now I can go to sleep."</p> + +<p>He held her hand in his, and when she tried to draw +it away, he smiled with closed eyes, and whispered, +"You remember how we watched all the stars cross +the sky? And then the morning star, the star of the +Holy Spirit, that was yours, Doña mia; and then—then—you +remember all—all of our one night?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> +"All of it—always!"</p> + +<p>He smiled with his eyes still closed, and released +her hand, and did not see her as she swayed toward +the door and was caught in the strong arms of the +man she called Padre Libertad. When she knew +where she was again, she found her face and hair wet +with cold water, and all the women about with cordials +and cures.</p> + +<p>"It is a fever; she will get it next," prophesied +Doña Maria. "A woman who neither eats nor sleeps +gets ready for the graveyard."</p> + +<p>But Raquel waved aside all their cures and sent for +Padre Libertad.</p> + +<p>"You broke your vow of silence there just now for +him," she said, abruptly. "Break it now for me. You +know?"</p> + +<p>"God help you, Raquel Estevan! I know. No one +else ever shall, and whatever you want done shall be +done."</p> + +<p>"God help me, indeed!" Raquel moaned. "To +the soul of Rafael I am bound all the days of my life. +I want nothing done. I dare want nothing."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Raquel went no more into the room where Keith +Bryton awoke to a hold on life and reason,—that was the +one thing perplexing to the man in the priest's gown; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> +and not even Ana was allowed to hear the constant +demands for Doña Espiritu, or the girl of the temple, +or the lady who had led him out of the wilderness +under the light of the morning star! All those things +would have seemed like maddest ravings to any but +Padre Libertad, who carefully excluded all visitors +from the room, despite the protests of Doña Angela, +who claimed the privilege of relationship,—a claim +denied by a shake of the head of the silent, book-reading +padre.</p> + +<p>Raquel moved almost as silently about the corridors +of the Mission, serene, quiet, and busy, always busy +with the entertainment of her numerous guests. The +people of the country rode on any pretext to San Juan +in those days, to meet the Downings and talk by the +hour in the cool shadows of the patio concerning the +tragedies of the bandits. The beautiful old Mission +town had gained a new sort of fame through them.</p> + +<p>Rafael arranged barbecues and picnics to the cañons, +where the wild-rose thickets were yet odorous with +bloom. Even a dance was arranged by some of the +gentlemen in the old wing of the Mission, called the +travellers' room,—a Spanish dance at which only +those wearing the old Spanish costumes dared keep +time to the music, and the Mexican serape was discarded +for the velvet cloak or cape of grander days.</p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p334p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p334w.jpg' + title='And—He was an Arteaga!' alt='And—He was an Arteaga!' /> +</a> +<p>“And—He was an Arteaga!”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> +The younger men rode fifty miles for costumes. +Don Juan Alvara, who still wore knee-breeches, +stockings, and buckled shoes, had promised to go to +bed earlier that night because of the demand on his +wardrobe. Raquel delved in old chests of Doña +Luisa Arteaga's belongings, and brought out treasures +of embroideries and brocades enough to turn the heart +of Angela Bryton bitter with envy. She knew +Raquel would look a barbaric queen in the jewelled +bodices where topazes formed the hearts of yellow +roses, or real pearl-embroidered lilies, and in laces—laces +to wrap her like a mummy, leaving only those +great violet eyes of hers visible to gaze in that serene +haughty way at one, and through one!</p> + +<p>But once having been forced by circumstances to +take the hand of a guest in hers, Raquel Arteaga +raised no material barriers to hospitality.</p> + +<p>"They are at your pleasure, Señora Bryton," she +said, graciously. "After you have selected what you +would like, Carmella and Juanita may care for some +of them. The white brocade of the lilies would +become you. There is a white mantilla of lace to go +with it, and pearls—plenty of pearls."</p> + +<p>Doña Maria and Teresa Arteaga exchanged glances. +They had never objected to the favorites of their +husbands,—no good wife did,—but even the most +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> +devoted of Mexican wives had never opened her +jewel-box for her rival.</p> + +<p>However, they decided in confidence that Raquel +had appeared strange and indifferent since the day of +the fainting spell. She was more kind and gentle, if +anything, to Rafael himself, even tender in little cares +for his comfort, as his own mother might have been. +But beyond the tender, conciliating, half-maternal +attitude toward her husband, she walked as in a dream +of indifference toward the rest of the world. Full of +care as a hostess, she yet spent no moment alone with +any guest except the silent padre, who paced the +corridors, his eyes on a book, and always on guard at +the door of the American, who had almost given his +life that an unknown priest might live.</p> + +<p>Rafael himself did not understand Raquel's gentle, +devoted attitude. Once, as he smoked in the corridor +facing the sea and commented aloud on the charms +of a pretty girl who crossed the plaza, some man, +standing there, took up the subject and spoke of his +wife—Rafael's—and the lucky fellow he was to get +her,—that girl of the South with her strange, alluring +beauty not to be defined, but so surely felt by all +who had the happiness to meet her. As Rafael +listened, he, for a moment, felt again a delight in the +barbaric sense of possession of her. It was true; she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> +was of strange beauty, and he knew every man envied +him. The thought of it brought back the remembrance +of the fitful passion she had aroused in him +there in Mexico, where the bars of the convent had +made more keen his desire for victory. Some echo +of that fitful passion sent him from the man in the +plaza to the door of her room. It was not love; +but she was his, and—he was an Arteaga!</p> + +<p>The shadowy room was lit by the soft glow of +candles on the altar of the Virgin. She had knelt +there until some wave of feeling swept over her, +leaving her prostrate at the feet of the serene, tender, +changeless Mother of Sorrows. For a moment he +halted, but the brandy he had been drinking was +of the best. The Doña Angela had gone bathing +with the others on the beach, while he had been kept +in the town by some business, and a man must console +himself. He remembered that he had won this girl, +whom others found beautiful, from one altar there in +the South; it gave a certain zest to his present determination. +A woman could pray at any time; but +just now—well, she should remember she was his!</p> + +<p>What he said he did not clearly remember afterwards; +but he was strong, and he had been silent, and +she was gathered in his arms and lifted to her feet, +and he was seeking her lips with his, when, with a cry +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> +that was terrible in its smothered rage, she wrenched +herself free and darted to the table where the jewel-box +lay open, and on the top of strings of pearls +shone the glittering steel of a dagger. What she said +to him turned him, sullen and cowed, toward the door. +But there she stopped him.</p> + +<p>"Your child, and the mother of it there in the +willows, are my care, Rafael Arteaga, as they would +have been the care of your mother, had she lived. I +have sworn to that dying mother to live beside you, +and guard you from what harm I can, but if you still +take your marriage vows to the willows, you put aside +the sacrament of your marriage to me. Never again, +while you choose to live like that, must you cross to +me where this altar is. I guard your soul for your +mother, but by the Virgin, and by this cross on the +dagger, I will send you to account there where she is, if +you come to me like that again! I give my life to keep +my vow; but if you drive me to it, my soul may yet +have to pay in the other life for the loss of your own!"</p> + +<p>As he stumbled out of the door he met the Padre +Libertad pacing the corridor, as usual, with his book. +He did not lift his eyes or speak, and Rafael passed +on sullenly, muttering an oath: each way he turned +in the Mission he met an altar or a priest!</p> + +<p>Ana, coming through the portal of the inner court, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> +met him there, and heard the oath, and was filled with +fear of a discovery so appalling that her woman's wit +left her, and she blundered and caught his arm and +questioned.</p> + +<p>"But, Rafael, he has done nothing. That he was +at the door of Raquel is not—"</p> + +<p>"Sure, it is not," he agreed, scoffingly. "But when +a man has a wife of his own,—even Raquel Estevan +de Arteaga,—he does not want a black gown and a +monk's cowl forever as her shadow."</p> + +<p>They were outside the window of Keith Bryton, +and the words reached the ears of the man on the bed +there, and brought him reeling but determined to his +feet.</p> + +<p>It was the first word reaching him by which he +could grasp at the reality of the life about him; all +the vague dreams were dashed aside by that name, +"Raquel Estevan de Arteaga." It cleared the visions +of the fever his nurse had feared to dispel too quickly, +and in one staggering flash he saw the truth: the +"dream" of the California life was no dream, it was +the real life to be met and fought again. Where was +he, that the voice of Rafael Arteaga dared ring with +such imperious directions? He reached the barred +window dizzily and leaned his head against the high +ledge. The world whirled about him for a moment, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> +and when it stopped and stood still, he again heard +the voice of Rafael, irritated this time into more +intolerant speech by some eager protest of Ana.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho! That is the man, is it? And he saved +her from Juan Flores that night? That is news—God +curse him!"</p> + +<p>"Rafael!" and the woman's voice was full of horror. +"You are crazy with brandy; you do not know how +you speak. Go to your bed and sleep. That man +saved your name and your wife from disgrace, and +you have only curses for him in your mouth!"</p> + +<p>"Basta! He may win seven heavens for aught I +care. But, name of God! sing no praises of him for +saving Raquel Estevan for me! She is not a woman, +Anita! Never a woman for a man who wants a wife. +By God, I think she is the devil turned saint; and +the man who carries her to the hills is my friend and +earns a herd of horses!"</p> + +<p>"Santa Maria! You are mad over that other +woman, Rafael Arteaga. Every one sees it but Raquel; +and when she does see it—"</p> + +<p>"She! she sees nothing but her saints on the altar! +She has only the heart of a nun in that white breast +of hers. Don't you put your devil of a tongue in +this business, Ana Mendez, or—"</p> + +<p>"You are drunk, Rafael," said Ana, untouched by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> +the personal remark. "You are drunk. Go to +bed."</p> + +<p>No other words came to the ears of Keith Bryton. +He heard the departing steps, and the rustle of Ana's +silken gown on the tiling, and then someway he found +himself back in the bed, with all the cobwebs cleared +from his brain. He knew where he was now—in a +room of the Mission, where he had not dared set a +foot since the day when he heard her vow made to +the dying woman. He was in her home, then, the +home of her husband. And that silent padre who +had shielded him from knowing it—what did his +devoted guardianship mean? What did it mean that +he had approved that once she had come there and +stood by the bed with her hands in his? That she +had listened to his words, and—— Or was that also a +fancy born of the fever?</p> + +<p>But when the silent padre came in and closed the +door, and heard the direct rapid questions, the replies +were just as direct. Padre Libertad observed that +the shock of the truth had come, and there was no +reason for further illusion. The American was weak, +but alert to all the padre told him; and he told him +all the truth.</p> + +<p>"So you see, Señor Bryton, you saved my life, and +there is a good price set against it. I am here in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> +home of my cousin, who will make a fiesta of the day +I am hung or shot. You know it, and the girl I love +knows it. It has been a good place to hide: they think +me in Mexico. I start there to-night, unless you—"</p> + +<p>"Wait: to-morrow I can perhaps go with you. +God! To think I have been helpless here in his +home!"</p> + +<p>The other man said nothing, only watched him +with the dark velvety eyes full now of the spirit +of comradeship.</p> + +<p>"It is strange it should be you I trust," he said, +at last. "I remember days when I planned which +way I would have you killed when my men found +you. You saved the government their horses last +year. I shot at you once as you rode from Santa +Ana ranch."</p> + +<p>"Was that you?" observed the other. "Yes, I +remember." Then, after another silence, he asked +with careful indifference:</p> + +<p>"Doña Raquel Arteaga—she was in here, and I +said things I—well—you heard! Does she know +the truth about you?"</p> + +<p>"Not even does she suspect. No one here has +ever seen me since this beard is over my face. I pass +the men on the plaza who hunted me with hounds +and guns to the water's edge a year ago, and they bow +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> +their heads and lower their voices not to disturb my +devotions. Madre de Dios! it has been great sport, +but for the thought of—of a woman whose heart +has been shown to me as a priest! The thing I have +done is a sacrilege, and Father Andros would scorch +me well for it—but I would rather burn than have +her ever know the truth—I who am the lover of +another woman!"</p> + +<p>Keith Bryton reached out his hand to the outlaw, +and there were no more words spoken between them +of the matter.</p> + +<p>Later Doña Angela returned, and hearing from +Ana that Bryton was again conscious of his whereabouts, +insisted on seeing him; and this time the +silent padre of the prayers offered no protest, only +sat in the window-seat, and did not lift his eyes, +and listened.</p> + +<p>"I've been wild—just that, Keith, ever since they +brought you back. Who? oh, Doña Raquel and +Ana, and, of course, the padre. My! You looked +awful. I'm glad you are better. There is to be +a really great Spanish dance, and I should have hated +to go unless you were out of danger. They would +not allow me inside this door before, and I—Keith, +there are a thousand things I want to say +to you, and—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> +The priest arose and made a quiet movement toward +the door. The interview was evidently terminated. +Keith had not had a chance to say anything, and +Doña Angela whisked out of the room in a temper. +She sought Rafael, but could not find him, for the +reason that he had taken Ana's advice and tumbled +into bed. She finally found Ana and Raquel in the +dining-room, and smiled tolerantly at the fact that +the latter, covered with a great apron of linen, was +attending personally to the moulding of candles, and +not a servant, not even Ana, was allowed to help.</p> + +<p>The days of Doña Angela's stay had brought +her face to face with many self-satisfying little scenes +of that sort. Remembering that first meeting of the +two as strangers, it was comforting to Angela to be +able to look down in some way on the wife of Rafael +Arteaga; and since she chose to make of herself a +servant—— It seemed so incredible to the woman who +had never, never, had all she wanted of luxury, that +this other girl, young, and many said handsome, +had not the natural woman's vanity for decking +herself with the gorgeous things stacked in those +old chests. To her it seemed a warrant to Rafael +to seek companionship elsewhere. A woman who +could claim a throne lessened her value by stooping +to the cares of the kitchen. It argued low tastes; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> +it emphasized the uneven division of things. It was +a constant reminder to Angela Bryton that she, the +woman who appreciated it all, who would have held +a half-regal Court of Love in the old walls where +only endless prayers were whispered,—she was the +woman to whom it should belong by right. For her, +Rafael Arteaga would have spread carpets of velvet on +the tiled floors and cast himself, happy, at her feet.</p> + +<p>All these thoughts had given her a sort of insolent +courage to comment on the girl who trod the +Mission-made bricks, and whose eyes looked out so +often over one's head.</p> + +<p>"Of all the Indian servants, have you none trained +in so laborious a task as this?" she asked, sinking +into one of the rawhide-seated chairs at the table. +"It is horrid work. I wonder you spoil your hands."</p> + +<p>Ana flashed a glance of resentment at the languid +blossom of a woman, always a shimmer of lacy ruffles, +a picture of alluring, half-childish helplessness. It +was for such a white kitten Rafael was losing all +his sense.</p> + +<p>"I should be proud to use my hands for the +same work, instead of this endless embroidery," she +observed; "but Doña Raquel will not hear of it."</p> + +<p>"To mould the candles for the altar, each woman +of each house should make her own," returned +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> +Raquel, quietly. "You have not that custom in +your land—no?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. We are not taught that extra +pounds of beef tallow will help to save our souls +if burned in silver holders."</p> + +<p>"No? What, then, does it take to save souls +in your country?"</p> + +<p>"Those who come here leave their souls at home +for safe-keeping," declared Ana, thrusting her needle +viciously into the embroideries of lawn; "they only +bring their long purses to be filled."</p> + +<p>For one moment the snapping black eyes of Ana met +the childish blue ones of Angela and carried in their +glance an accusation and understanding. Angela's pretty +teeth closed with a vicious click under her red lips, +then she shrugged her dimpled shoulders, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you see of course only the merchants here," +she conceded, "the people who buy hides, and tallow, +and herds of horses."</p> + +<p>Then she turned again to Raquel, who had seen +some of the little byplay.</p> + +<p>"And those candles of purest white, packed in scented +cotton, for what especial purpose are they reserved?"</p> + +<p>"They are the candles for the dead."</p> + +<p>Angela shuddered, as with a passing chill.</p> + +<p>"How constantly you people keep before you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> +remembrance of the tomb!" she exclaimed. "One +needs to get out in the sun often to remember that +the old Mission is not really a vault."</p> + +<p>"It is," said Ana; "there are padres of the old +days buried under some of the floors."</p> + +<p>"How perfectly horrid! And you make all those +dozens of immaculate candles to be used for whoever +comes first," she continued, addressing herself to +Raquel, with a slight smile of disdain as at a childish +pastime; "and they are all duly blessed, I suppose, +and duly insured to light the souls from the path +of the inferno."</p> + +<p>For the first time Raquel perceived the touch of +malice under the smiling query.</p> + +<p>"You are right," she said, quietly; "those are of the +first I ever made with my own hands here in San Juan +Capistrano. Padre Sanchez bestowed on them his +blessing, and the thought of so holy a man is in +itself a blessing."</p> + +<p>"But think," persisted the soft little malicious +tones, "is it not often the story of the pearls and the +swine? Any sodden drunken Indian beast is likely +to be laid in state with those emblems of purity burning +in his honor."</p> + +<p>Raquel paused with the last handful of them, and the +violet eyes, dark with indignation, met the blue ones.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> +"That is true," she said, coldly. "We are taught +that souls are all alike before God. These in my hand +may be lit for any one—for a sodden beast that dies +in sin, for a murderer, for me perhaps, or it may be +they burn even for you, señora!"</p> + +<p>"Ugh! how ghastly!" The blue eyes wavered, and +she arose with a little shiver. "But I don't think I +would want them, really," she added, as she was leaving +the room, "any more than I would want masses +said if I should go under a breaker some day when +bathing, and never come up again. The fashion of +the living praying for the dead seems a bit incongruous +and amusing. Save the candles for those of +the faith, Doña Raquel."</p> + +<p>Her little mocking laugh made more pointed her +intention of ridicule. The face of Raquel was still and +expressionless, as she slowly placed the last of the +candles in the perfumed box and closed the lid. Ana +flung down her embroidery, and said to Raquel, with +blazing eyes:</p> + +<p>"Raquelita! Some day I shall choke that pretty +little white devil, you will see! How and why we +endure her mocking I don't know. That she is of +Keith Bryton's family is something, but it is not +enough. When he is able I shall tell him some +things—I shall tell Don Eduardo things! She makes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> +a mock of our women, and I keep quiet; she makes +her love to your husband, and I say nothing; but, +Raquel, she makes mockery of your religion in your +own house. Can you stand that too?"</p> + +<p>Raquel put her hands over her eyes an instant in a +tired way.</p> + +<p>"Quiet, you, Anita mia," she said after a little. +"Words are not so much use. They will go away +soon now—after the dance to-morrow night. And I +do not think it is true of Rafael. He is her caballero, +as he would be yours or Juanita's; that is all. +There is that other woman in the willows. She—"</p> + +<p>"Raquelita, how little you know men! Pretty +Marta by the river is only a servant; but our men go +mad for these white women of blue eyes—mad!"</p> + +<p>"A few days more, and that will be forgotten as he +would forget the brown girls. Have patience. At +least, she will not mock our religion to him; and +the rest—it is only one day and two nights more, +Anita, and you will help me."</p> + +<p>"At least you will find a way to keep those pearls +from her," insisted Ana, stubbornly. "How could you +offer them to her? Oh, I could have screamed at you!"</p> + +<p>"The pearls are but a trifle to let go for a night, +dear. Help me with the candles to the altar-place. +Oh, yes, she may have the pearls."</p> + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m350.mid'> +<img src='images/mu350.png' + title='Music: La Viuda.' + alt='Music: La Viuda.' +/></a> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Porque tu eres mi vida,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tu eres mia mada,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tu eres mi Dios!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc350.png' title='A' alt='A' /> +</div> + +<p>Angela Bryton sought until +she found Rafael asleep in a corner +of the travellers' room.</p> + +<p>"Ana Mendez knows; she +has told your wife," she said, +abruptly. "Two nights and a +day we have; that is all. Raquel +says I am not more to you than a brown girl in the +willows. You make her pay for that!"</p> + +<p>"Pay?" He rubbed the sleep of the brandy from +his eyes and sat up, then caught her to him in the +instinct of possession.</p> + +<p>Quickly she drew aside and eluded him.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," she said, with the glint of steel in +her eyes. "Not until you make her pride pay, +Rafael mio! She tosses a string of pearls to me as a +queen would to a waiting-maid, to show how trifling +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> +a thing it is to her. One string! Rafael, where now +is that boat?"</p> + +<p>"The boat?" He stumbled to his feet and stared +at her.</p> + +<p>"The boat! You said it. Not even my hand +shall you touch until it is in the harbor. Cousin +Eduardo and Keith Bryton will send me away when +she tells them; they will never let you see me again."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" He flung back his head contemptuously. +He had never quite gotten away from Teresa's +conviction that Keith Bryton's impatience with Angela +was born of jealousy. So it was Keith Bryton again!</p> + +<p>"He gets you when he has killed me, not sooner," +he muttered. "And they all know, eh? How is that?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, but they will. It is that Mendez +woman and your wife! I will <i>not</i> be sent like a pauper +back to England! Cousin Edward spoke yesterday +of that; of an allowance for Dolly and me. Now +I know what it means! If I go, I will go in a manner +they don't dream of,—alone in that boat! You can +join me anywhere you say, on the coast. How you +stare! It is not so difficult, and there will never, +never, never be any other way we can be together."</p> + +<p>"That is true; we will go."</p> + +<p>"You want all the coin; you want the jewels; you +want—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> +"I want only you," he said.</p> + +<p>"If you want me, you must give me what I ask. +Those women must not—"</p> + +<p>"To hell with the women! We will go, and no +one need guess we have gone together. I will send +Victorio with a letter to San Pedro for a boat. +Your lips for that promise!"</p> + +<p>"When the boat is in the harbor, and the jewels in +my hand, Rafael," she replied, and darted like a bird +through the door, and out into the garden. Later +she came into the refectory with an armful of lilies,—symbols +of innocence,—and asked Ana for an olla for +them, and was very demure and sweetly appealing for +the rest of the day.</p> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span></p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p352p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p352w.jpg' + title='Each Way He Turned He Met an Altar or a Priest' alt='Each Way He Turned He Met an Altar or a Priest' /> +</a> +<p>“Each Way He Turned He Met an Altar or a Priest”</p> +</div> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span></p> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m354.mid'> +<img src='images/mu354.png' + title='Music: La Noche esta Serena.' + alt='Music: La Noche esta Serena.' +/></a> +<br /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">La noche 'sta serena, tranquillo el aquilon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tu dulce sentinella, te guarda il corazon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Y en alas de los zefiros,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">que vagan por doquier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Volando van mis suplicas, a ti bella mujer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Volando van mis suplicas, a ti bella mujer!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">De un corazon que te ama, recibe el tier no amor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No anmentes mas la llama, Piedad a un trobadour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Y si te mueve a lastima,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mi eterno padecer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Como te amo amame, bellisima mujer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Como te amo amame, bellisima mujer!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m355.mid'> +<img src='images/mu355.png' + title='Music' + alt='Music' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> + +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc355.png' title='W' alt='W' /> +</div> + +<p>What Padre Libertad saw or +heard he did not particularize. +But when Keith Bryton, the +day of the Spanish dance, had +arisen and dressed, and talked a +little with all those known to +him in the Mission, except the +mistress of it, the bearded priest closed the door on +them all, and came and sat beside him.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, my friend, we go," he said.</p> + +<p>"Can I—will she speak to me—once?"</p> + +<p>"What is there to say to a woman like that? God! +To think that such a one should be Rafael Arteaga's +wife!"</p> + +<p>"No," agreed the other; "there is nothing to be +said. Only I would like to see her face once, even +though she should not know it. Could that be?"</p> + +<p>"It is not wise; it sends you away with more of +a heartache; but there is one place she goes each +evening as the stars come out. There is one saint +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> +left in one niche of the old ruin. Since she rode +with us from the hills, flowers are always there, +and she goes from her own chapel there—to pray, +perhaps. She has not said so, but—"</p> + +<p>"I can see her there. Will you—will you try to +manage that no one else comes? Oh, it will be brief +enough, even if we speak. But the statue in the +niche—I can't remember."</p> + +<p>"It is in the shadow. The draperies of red are +very faded, and so is the gilt of the embroideries now. +Once it was very gorgeous, and it is called Maria +Madalena."</p> + +<p>Keith turned on the speaker with flaming eyes.</p> + +<p>"She kneels there to pray—<i>she</i>? What mad +fanaticism is that? Good God, man! <i>she</i> is the +soul of innocence!"</p> + +<p>"What she knows of her own heart, she knows, +my friend. This is not the thing to tell a man who +is to her what you are; but there is—there may be +some day, a thing that will leave her free; and if it +come—"</p> + +<p>Keith had covered his face with his hands. The +weakness of the illness was still on him; he durst not +leave his eyes unguarded. But after a little he looked +up.</p> + +<p>"You know something more?" he said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> +"I know there is another woman who has Rafael +tied hand and foot; I know she will take him away; +the only thing I do not know is how long it will last. +The bishop himself would help such a separation."</p> + +<p>"God himself could not," said Keith, "unless he +kill Rafael Arteaga. When I heard what he said of +her outside the window, I was tempted to kill him +with my own hand. Nothing else would free her; I +heard the oath she took!"</p> + +<p>"To send to eternity the soul she is vowed to guard +would not free her from the idea. If he should die +suddenly, unshriven, it is a lost soul, just the same."</p> + +<p>"It is the maddest fanaticism to bind a child like +that to such a hell; and she accepts it, as—as her +people in the past accepted the order for sacrifices."</p> + +<p>"What do you know of her people?"</p> + +<p>"What do you?"</p> + +<p>The two men looked into each other's eyes for a +moment, and then Padre Libertad spoke:</p> + +<p>"I saw her mother years ago in Mexico. I was +only a boy, and I adored Estevan. I carried letters +for their love-making. That helps me to understand +their daughter. It is true; it is in the blood, and +you must go, my friend, before worse happens. And +if ever she should be free—"</p> + +<p>Keith put out his hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> +"Don't tempt me with a hope like that! I want +to be sane when I do see her!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He saw Doña Angela first, a delightful vision of +brocades and white mantilla. She had dressed early, +that she might help to receive the guests.</p> + +<p>She flinched a little under his keen glance as his +eyes wandered from the pearl-trimmed bodice to the +fair face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course it is not mourning," she exclaimed, +"if that is what you are thinking of! But at least I +wear no color, and it is only for one night. I have +not the least intention of dancing. The whole affair +is only to show off the old costumes."</p> + +<p>"You succeed very well," he remarked. "Let +Dolly come around to see me when she has had +supper. I leave early in the morning, and can't see +her then to say good-bye."</p> + +<p>"So soon—going?" She tried to keep the delight +from her tone of surprise. He was the most unmanageable +man she had ever known. His indifference +had attracted her, even infatuated her, a year ago, but +there were days since when she thought she hated +him. "Yes, I will send Dolly. She loves you dearly, +more even than she did poor Ted."</p> + +<p>"We will not discuss my brother," he said, coldly. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> +"But that will not prevent me caring for the child as +he would have done."</p> + +<p>"Irrespective of her mother?" she asked, halting +in the door and looking over her shoulder at him.</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Or—or of anything I might offend you in?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing you choose to do will affect my promise +to my brother," he said, impatient at her persistence.</p> + +<p>"I may remind you of that some day," she said, +gathering up her brocades. "If you do go, I hope +that ghoul of a man, your padre, goes too. His +silence makes him more like a spook than a man. +The people have a holy horror of his piety."</p> + +<p>After she had disappeared, Padre Libertad entered +from an inner room and smiled grimly at Bryton.</p> + +<p>"You are the sort of lover to be unhappy," he +observed. "You can't console yourself with the other +women. Half the men in the valley are mad over +that woman, who would coquette with you if you +did not turn ice when she comes near."</p> + +<p>Keith stared out of the window toward the hills +of the sea, tinged with the warm rose of the sunset. +And the man in a priest's robe tried to laugh, and +ended with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"I admire your strength, though I doubt if I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> +could emulate it," he confessed. "One pretty woman +in sight is worth a dozen goddesses over the hill."</p> + +<p>"Talk sense if you can!"</p> + +<p>"I can. I shall leave to-night instead of to-morrow. +I find I can go to Mexico, or South America if I +choose, without touching land. I shall be running +away with the property of a relative, and you might +not care to mix up with it."</p> + +<p>"An hour ago you had no such plan."</p> + +<p>"An hour ago I had not confessed Victorio Lopez! +I know an old record of his, and he thinks it is witchcraft. +There is a lot of coin going along,—a matter +of several rawhide sacks of it,—but it will be donated +by a man who can afford gifts. Let me have your +address two months ahead, and I can tell you how it +all turns out."</p> + +<p>"You should be glad to get away alive, without +weighting yourself with coin. There is a woman here +who would care if things went entirely wrong."</p> + +<p>"Ana? It is for her I take the chance. I know +a corner down the coast where fifty thousand will last +forever. She is free, and she is of California—no +snow of the hills in her blood! She will come to me +after the chase is over."</p> + +<p>"She knows?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet. Women's fears upset things sometimes. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> +If I do not tell her, it will be better. I need only +tell that I am going; she is waiting eagerly for that."</p> + +<p>"And Victorio Lopez?"</p> + +<p>"He is paralyzed by the fear that I may give some +old proofs of things to the alcalde. Oh, Victorio is all +right. He knows two Indian sailors who will say +nothing. They need to get away, and want a chance. +We will bind and gag the others and put them ashore. +It is all settled. The saints be thanked that I know +boats and the coast!"</p> + +<p>Bryton scarcely knew whether to think the plan a +wild fancy or an actual fact. The whole scheme of +life those days was so filled with the strange and +tragic, that all the echoes of laughter and the tinkle +of guitars in the corridors could not even temper it.</p> + +<p>At sunset Rafael Arteaga rode a dripping horse into +the plaza, and shouted cordial responses to the chorus +of greetings awaiting him. All the day he had been in +the saddle. "On business," was the only explanation +to Don Eduardo and Doña Maria. To his wife he had +offered none, nor spoken since the scene in the chapel. +But he was in high good spirits, gay and eager.</p> + +<p>He came direct to Bryton's room with a fine air of +delight that he was on his feet again. Even to Padre +Libertad, whom he had so fervently cursed the day +before, he was at last gracious. When told by Ana +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> +that the padre was on his journey south either at once +or early in the morning, he gave her some gold pieces +to bestow upon him for his church or his order: priests +always had all sorts of ways to use money. Padre +Libertad accepted the alms gratefully, and exchanged +for them a blessing.</p> + +<p>The sun was gone, and men, and women too, were +riding in from outlying ranches. The Indians and +Mexicans were trooping to the plaza to watch the gay +caballeros and dark-eyed ladies in the dresses of their +grandparents. Raquel Arteaga, dressed in simple black, +with white undersleeves and white chemisette of silk, +stood in the corridor for a while and greeted her earlier +guests, while her husband dressed. All the people were +on the west side of the plaza, where the dancing was to +be. Bryton could see her there surrounded by the gay +people, almost nunlike with the strings of black pearls +around her throat as sole ornament, and in the braids +of her hair the white stars of the odorous jasmine, +thrust there by Ana, to break the severity of her garb. +Her eyes burned like purple stars, and the pink color +crept, in spite of herself, to her cheeks, and stayed there. +Somewhere, she knew, one man was watching her, and +each moment the terror grew that some of their many +friends would bring him to her and make it impossible +for him to refuse to come.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> +Several times she caught the eyes of Ana regarding +her curiously. It was the first time she had ever seen +Raquel surrounded by men and bandying compliments, +and looking, for all her nunlike white and black, like a +royal creature at a puppet show. And Ana had a sort +of triumph in noting that the eyes of Doña Angela also +wandered to her hostess in a sort of petulant amaze at +the supremacy of her, when she chose to unbend and +radiate graciousness in that manner. For Raquel jested +and laughed at the pretty phrases of caballeros murmured +in her ear. She refused a brooch of emerald for +the Virgin in the chapel, in exchange for the jasmine in +her hair. She promised two men to say a rosary for +their aching hearts, and she allowed the older men to +kiss her hands. One looking at her said:</p> + +<p>"You are Mexico come to life to-night, señora. +Always I have thought it. But to-night I see it with +my own eyes. Mexico has always that glory of the opal +fires at the heart."</p> + +<p>Angela Bryton saw and heard, and her own childish +appeal appeared all at once cheap and of tinsel. The +pearls and brocades of the woman she hated seemed to +scorch her flesh, and she felt the truth of the petulant +words she had said to Rafael: that the pearls had been +tossed to her with the indifference of a queen. The +owner of the casket could afford to stand serene and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> +gemless, with only the jasmine flower in her hair, and +yet dominate.</p> + +<p>A cold rage filled her as she realized what Raquel +could mean to men if she cared. It would be as it was +when they met first on the hill, always she would hold +the middle of the road, if she was aroused to care. Up +to that moment there had been a wild fancy of perhaps +sailing away alone with the hastily gathered coin, and +of stopping at no port for Rafael. She was half afraid +of him and after all what could he do if she did elude +him like that? But the sight of Raquel and her little +court of admirers changed all that. The proud eyes +should know all the humiliation one woman could +cause another—all!</p> + +<p>She looked for Rafael; at once she would tell him,—now, +while the glory of the Mexican opal eclipsed the +woman of the royal pearls! She was blind with anger +to every other thing. But he had not yet appeared. +He was dressing, and a gentleman came to claim her for +a dance. The guitars were already sending harmonies +through the open doors, and the people were gathering +thick along the western corridors. The rest of +the plaza and the inner court were deserted. Not +even a pair of lovers strayed from the crowd as yet. +Later, when the moon came up, they would gather +courage, but the shadows of the corridors seemed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> +eerie retreats at night to any but souls oblivious to the +world.</p> + +<p>It was not night yet. The first star glimmered in +the western sky, and to the east a soft radiance over +San Juan Mountain marked the path where the moon +would come. In the warm dusk the woman with the +opal fires of Mexico in her heart slipped away from the +gay groups and through the stillness of the padres' +garden, under the sculptured face and serpent, and then +to the place of the altar, where the shadows were always +softest. She came swiftly, silently; she had an odd +feeling of being followed by his thoughts. The altar +was the one place of refuge surely—the altar!</p> + +<p>But it was not. He stood there leaning against +the pillar. She carried a tiny candle and a rosary. +He watched her light other candles in the niche, thus +outlining the carved saint with the long hair over her +shoulders, and the draperies of crimson. Flowers +were there, blood-red roses, and he saw it all in the +soft glimmer of the candles; then, as she was about +to kneel before them, he strode forward and caught +her arm.</p> + +<p>The golden rosary fell on the tiled floor between +them, and she placed her other hand over his, in +mute appeal.</p> + +<p>"You shall not kneel at that altar," he commanded, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> +his voice scarcely raised above a whisper; "that much +of you belongs to me. I will not go away from you +with that memory of you in my mind; I will not!"</p> + +<p>She was trembling, and dared not lift her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You should not have touched me," she said, +brokenly. "All those hours on the hill I did not +touch you even once. Must the two of us be weaker +than one?"</p> + +<p>"Weak? Oh yes, I am weak to-night, or I should +not be here—the weakness of a sick man who cannot +help himself. It is the last time, Espiritu mia, so +long as we live—so long as we live!"</p> + +<p>She slipped the Aztec ring from her finger and gave +it to him.</p> + +<p>"I thought perhaps it was the ring that gave you +power over my thoughts," she said, simply; "but +it was not. Your heart beats here in my breast, +and will till I die, or till you do. Take it back, +keep it. After all, it was not the ring!"</p> + +<p>Her voice was so low, so even, that he, hearing his +own heart-beats at the mere sight of her, felt the +sudden resentment of a sick man at what appeared +to be her cold control of herself.</p> + +<p>"Is it so easy for you, then?" he asked. "Like +slipping a ring from your finger or a bracelet from +your wrist, and putting it aside to wear no more? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> +Oh, God! If but for one minute you could know +aught but the sweet cool love of the girl, or the nun, +or the devotee!"</p> + +<p>She caught her breath in a little shudder at the +heart-call in his words, then put out her hand and +looked at him as he had never seen her look.</p> + +<p>"Don't touch me," she said, her tones tense with +a final decision. "You think that I do not know—that +I do not understand; yet you see me kneel +<i>there</i>!" and she flung one eloquent hand to the +Madalena of the roses. "It is the thought—the +thought! That we live on different sides of the world +will not change the fact that you live in me, and I in +you. And it will be always—always! I do not +understand? Yet I have locked my door at night +and flung the key through the bars of the window, +that I could not follow my heart and go to you +wherever you were! I do not understand? Yet +there have been days when I feared to mount my +horse to ride alone, for fear the wild wish for you +would grow stronger than I could bear, and I should +ride to you, to you only, and—oh, Mother of God!—ask +you to keep me there!"</p> + +<p>Her voice broke in shuddering sobs, and she +covered her face with her hands, sinking on her knees +before the Madalena of the altar, the last crowned +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> +saint left in the ruin. Her one hand was still extended +to ward him off, but he caught it, held it, and +drew her to him.</p> + +<p>"You are mine by all that!" he muttered, scarce +knowing what he said. "Do you think I shall leave +you here after knowing the truth? Espiritu! The +Indians named you rightly. Spirit of mine, there are +no bonds of earth strong enough to keep me from +you now. Come! Our world is together; the nights +of the evil dreams have been lived through. Somewhere +we shall find the sunshine."</p> + +<p>The hand clasping hers she caught to her lips, but +when he would have clasped her, she broke from him +with a low moan of protest.</p> + +<p>"I tell you this that you go away knowing that +the real life of me is with you always," she said, +and stood leaning against the altar of the saint. "Go +now, and go quickly; for I tell you truly, if the day +ever come again when I find myself like to follow +you, I will come where I am now, and this will +end it all."</p> + +<p>From the bodice of her gown she drew the little +dagger she had taken from the jewel-casket the day +before.</p> + +<p>"My life is not my own to live in my own way; +it is bound by an oath to the dead, and there is no +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> +release, none—none! Go now. You know my heart +and the madness of it. Forget me if you can,—but +oh, beloved, not too quickly!"</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p368p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p368w.jpg' + title='One Wordless Minute.' alt='One Wordless Minute.' /> +</a> +<p>“One Wordless Minute.”</p> +</div> + +<p>He caught her to him and held her there. The +world reeled about them for one wordless minute, +and then he released her and walked out across where +the tower of the temple had once been, and he knew +he was leaving her forever. A horse was waiting. +He had said he could ride best in the moonlight, +and a little later the hoof-beats sounded through the +strumming guitars, and she knew it was over! It was +her sacrifice for the oath to the dead, and she sank +prostrate in the shadow of the altar. The tiny +candles glimmered and went out, yet still she lay +there. The moon in its soft yellow light flooded the +open space without, but did not touch her. She had +found the rosary and clasped it, her lips against +the cold pearl figure of the sculptured Christ.</p> + +<p>And then two persons came toward her through +the arch of the old sacristy, one in the velvet and +gold lace of a Spanish grandee, and the other a shimmer +of brocade and pearl-gemmed lilies.</p> + +<p>"No, I will not go without it," the woman's voice +was saying, petulantly, "not though a dozen boats +waited! Yes, I can slip away after the dance. Have +a horse ready. Dolly will be sleeping; she is the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> +greatest risk. But we can be out of sight of land +long before the dawn breaks."</p> + +<p>The man murmured some plea in her ear, and she +turned away, shrugging her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"The jewels first!" she said, with pretty decision. +"The coin is a matter of course; we shall need that to +live on. But the jewels—why not? Half of them +belonged to your own family, and for the rest—well, +you leave her enough to give the Church; that is all +she lives for. Bring me the jewels at once: when I +see them in my own hand, I am ready to promise +everything."</p> + +<p>"You are not afraid to wait here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a little," she acknowledged. "It's a horrid, +creepy place, but it's the one corner where no one +else will come. I will wait for them here."</p> + +<p>The woman prostrate before the Madalena arose +to her feet and stood motionless in the shadow. Her +hands were crossed unconsciously on her heart to +quiet its beating. Her own sacrifice, then, was to go +for nothing; the vow she had sworn to live for was to +count for naught because of one little white vampire +of a creature whose god was gold and jewels!</p> + +<p>The crossed hands held the rosary and the dagger.</p> + +<p>"They are here," said Rafael, returning after a few +minutes, "all but the few the girls wear to-night. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> +There! They are at last in your own hands, and +now—"</p> + +<p>She slipped her white arm about his throat and +kissed him on the mouth.</p> + +<p>"And you will live in my way—not hers?" she +said, with clinging sweetness. "You are not to be +even Catholic with me? You have promised!"</p> + +<p>"Thou art my only god, O little white one!" he +said, and pressed her to his breast. "All the world +can go to hell, so I have you! My soul I give into +these little hands; my heart is under these little feet, +which I kiss thus; and thus, and thus! Though +Christ himself stood in the way, I would have you +for myself!"</p> + +<p>She laughed softly in her triumph.</p> + +<p>"We shall be missed," she said at last. "Go that +way to the plaza, and I will go by the old garden. +These I will wrap up and carry in my own hands. +Go,—oh, there will be other nights for kisses,—go +now, quickly!"</p> + +<p>She pushed him from her, and he obeyed, walking +across the tiled floor in the moonlight, and out into +the plaza, as Bryton had walked so short a time +before. The woman with the casket stood an instant +looking after him, and then raised the lid and lifted +a handful of the gems, holding them up that the soft +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span> +light of the moon might add to the glow of rubies +and the white fire of diamonds.</p> + +<p>"All these, and his very soul besides!" she murmured, +holding a necklace aloft to the moon's rays,—"his +soul besides!"</p> + +<p>And then a low strangled cry escaped her as the +woman of the rosary and dagger came silently to her +from the shadows and halted a moment beside her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A little later the Padre Libertad was stopped in +the corridor by Raquel. He had been watching the +dancers, and was about to start south. Like Bryton, +he meant to ride at night, instead of in the hot sun.</p> + +<p>"Wait," she said, imperatively; "the chapel is +open; I would confess before you go."</p> + +<p>"But to-morrow—your own padre—"</p> + +<p>"To-night," she said; "and I want no other padre."</p> + +<p>"If you have remembered a sin—" he began, hesitatingly; +but she interrupted.</p> + +<p>"I think it is neither sin nor remorse," she said, +quietly; "but it is you that must listen to me."</p> + +<p>He closed the door behind them. Old Polonia +crouched unnoticed beside it, and in perhaps ten +minutes he came out again, and started to walk +the road to the sea. Rafael saw him, and laughed at +the queer crack-brained padre who preferred walking +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span> +to riding a good horse. Others laughed also, and the +dance went on, until the partners of Doña Angela grew +impatient, and a gay party with guitars started to +encircle the plaza for her, singing love-songs of appeal +as they went.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/p372p.jpg'> + <img src='images/p372w.jpg' + title='Things Known and Never Told' alt='Things Known and Never Told' /> +</a> +<p>“Things Known and Never Told”</p> +</div> + +<p>The white gleam of the brocaded gown caught the +eyes of the singers, and then a great cry went up +in the night, and the music of the dance ceased, +and the people crowded about the dead woman on the +altar steps, and the old Indios crossed themselves, +and said in their own tongue:</p> + +<p>"It has come, after all,—the sacrifice of blood on +the altar of the temple,—the thing our fathers told +us has come to pass."</p> + +<p>The strings of pearls and other jewels were +scattered on the diamond-shaped tiles of the floor, +and many were red with blood.</p> + +<p>"Some one has tried to steal the jewels while we +all danced there," suggested one of the guests, "and +she has died defending them. Rafael, she has given +her life to save the jewels of your wife!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Rafael said, at last, and stared at the speaker +in a dazed way; "my wife. I—I will go to my wife."</p> + +<p>He strode through the crowd toward the living-rooms, +and flung wide the door of her chamber. She +was on her knees where Padre Libertad had left her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> +"Raquel!"</p> + +<p>His voice sounded hollow and strange in his own +ears. A strange buzzing in his head blurred speech +and thought, and when she arose and faced him with +clear eyes and quiet face, he leaned against the chair +and looked at her strangely—helplessly.</p> + +<p>"She is dead," he said, thickly; "Angela Bryton +is found dead—and your jewels—"</p> + +<p>"Wait," she said, "and I will go with you."</p> + +<p>And turning, she lifted the lid from the perfumed +box of candles.</p> + +<p>"She did not believe in these," she said, quietly, +"but we will light them for her, just the same. None +of us knew whom they would burn for; perhaps she +knows now, Rafael."</p> + +<p>He made no answer, but moved like a man stunned +mentally. Out beside her he walked to the altar-place, +and the people made way for them.</p> + +<p>It was the hour of dawn when a fisherman rode +from the beach to tell how he had found two sailors +beaten and bound at the landing-place. They had +a story of a sailing-vessel and sacks of coin, and a +bearded man who looked like El Capitan; but it must +have been his ghost, for it was thought Capitan was +dead, as well as Juan Flores. At any rate, the vessel +was gone, and the sailors were left tied on the shore. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> +They were afraid to face Rafael Arteaga, because +of the coin he had trusted them with, and the good +boat, gone now straight out of sight—the saints and +the devil only knew where!</p> + +<p>But they needed not to fear Rafael. The coin, +for which he had exchanged all the cattle and horses +possible to sell in two days' time, was a forgotten +thing to him, or uncared for. He sat apart and silent, +as though paralyzed by a great fear, and he ever followed +Raquel Arteaga with his eyes, and said nothing.</p> + +<p>The people wondered much that the robbers who +would kill a woman and steal a boat had not stopped +also to gather up the scattered jewels strewn about +her. But they had not. Not even a diamond was +missing. They were gathered from the tiles, and the +blood was washed from them, and the casket was taken +to Raquel by Ana, who was almost as silent as Rafael. +On that subject, never in their lives would they gain +courage to speak. Raquel took the casket, and looked +at the gems, but did not touch them.</p> + +<p>"And for such trifles she lost her life, perhaps her +soul—who knows?" she said, in the same colorless +quiet way, and handed the casket to her husband. +"Rafael, have these put away for her child, when +she becomes a woman. They were paid for by +the mother!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> +From that night Rafael Arteaga was a changed man. +Some said he had gone mad at the death of the +woman there; others said that it was not the death of +the woman, but the curse of the Arteagas had fallen +upon him. No one ever heard him laugh or sing +again; and when his wife brought pretty Marta's +little boy from the willows, and had him educated +to inherit after his father, the father accepted him +almost without notice.</p> + +<p>Keith Bryton never came back. Letters concerning +the child of Doña Angela were exchanged with Don +Eduardo, who remained her guardian, and after that +there were long years of silence. Only one man, far +down the coast of South America, guessed what +Raquel Arteaga lived through. Even to Ana, who +had left her own land to join him, there were some +things known to him of the old Mission days, and +never told.</p> + + +<hr class='chapter' /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span></p> +<div class='framed'> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m377.mid'> +<img src='images/mu377.png' + title='Music: Al Fin.' + alt='Music: Al Fin.' +/></a> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +</div> +<div class='dropcap'> +<img src='images/dc377.png' title='R' alt='R' /> +</div> +<p>Raquel knelt no more at the +shrine of the Madalena, but +she went there nightly as the +afterglow flooded the valley. +Sometimes she rode her horse +alone up the dusk shadows of +Trabuco, past the portal of the +aliso tree and into the inner court of memory. But +always she kept the tryst of the first star of nightfall.</p> + +<p>When the years of the great war of the East came, +she knew he was there. And when, after a battle +called "Chickamauga," there came a tiny package +from that far-away place, she stood in the dusk of the +old temple, and slipped the ring of the Aztec eagle +again on her finger. Then she knew that the end +of the separation had come.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"If it were any other woman than you, Raquel +Arteaga, men would say you rode to meet a lover,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> +when you gallop like that in the night, and come back +looking as if you had just been kissed," said Teresa, +with watchful malice. "The old Indios say that you +bathe in the night dews as a charm to keep young +always. But why do you ride alone?"</p> + +<p>"Alone?" The woman who the old courtier had +said held the opal fires of Mexico in her heart smiled +on her sister-in-law at that question, and the dusk +shadows of night and mystery were in her violet +eyes. "I am never alone now, Teresa. It is a +long time since I felt alone, a very long time."</p> + + +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;'>THE END</p> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span></p> +<div class='figmusic'> +<a href='music/m379.mid'> +<img src='images/mu379.png' + title='Music' + alt='Music' +/></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter' style='border:none;'> +<img src='images/p379.png' + title='Decorative graphic' alt='Decorative graphic' /> +</div> +<hr style='width:66%' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/frame1p.jpg'> +<img src='images/frame1w.jpg' title='decorative frame' alt='decorative frame' /> +</a> +<p>Example chapter decorative border and large capital.</p> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/frame3p.jpg'> +<img src='images/frame3w.jpg' title='decorative frame' alt='decorative frame' /> +</a> +<p>Example decorative border.</p> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/frame2p.jpg'> +<img src='images/frame2w.jpg' title='decorative frame' alt='decorative frame' /> +</a> +<p>Example decorative border.</p> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/frame5p.jpg'> +<img src='images/frame5w.jpg' title='decorative frame' alt='decorative frame' /> +</a> +<p>Example decorative border.</p> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/frame4p.jpg'> +<img src='images/frame4w.jpg' title='decorative frame' alt='decorative frame' /> +</a> +<p>Example decorative border.</p> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a href='images/endpapersp.jpg'> +<img src='images/endpapersw.jpg' title='decorative frame' alt='decorative frame' /> +</a> +<p>End-papers (inside covers).</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's For the Soul of Rafael, by Marah Ellis Ryan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOR THE SOUL OF RAFAEL *** + +***** This file should be named 39995-h.htm or 39995-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/9/9/39995/ + +Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, tallforasmurf and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +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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