CHAPTER XIII
A GIRL'S TEARS
At the girl's outburst Stephens was completely taken aback. Tears, awoman's tears, were a novelty to him, and he felt the quick leap of hisheart in response. But it was ten years since he had heard a woman sob,and his practical sympathy, or at least the power of expressing it, hadbecome blunted. He did not know what to say; half a dozen phrasesstruggled to be born in his throat; he wanted to explain at once to thepretty creature that it was all right; to tell her that there wasnothing to cry about; to say there was no use in getting into a fussover it; that after all a man had to take his chances; and that anyhowthe milk wasn't spilt yet; that it would be time enough to begin to crywhen something really happened. But he felt the brutal stupidity of suchremarks, and they remained unspoken, while there arose in him at thesame instant the urgent desire to do something; to take her by the handlike a frightened child; to smooth her ruffled hair and staunch hertears; to console her, and, by some means or other, stay the sobs thatshook the slender body. But he had no right to do any such thing, and hehesitated to intrude himself on her grief, which, moreover, appeared tohim, like a child's, a trifle exaggerated. To him who had lived so manyyears on the frontier, a violent death had come to seem almost thenatural end. Few pioneers expected to die in their beds. Along thetrails and around the mining-camps were many mounds, each one of whichmarked a six-by-two claim that was the last that the holder would everoccupy, one that he needed no ever-ready Winchester to defend. Namelessgraves they were for the most part, or if there slanted at the head somerude board with a name and date roughly scribbled to say who laybeneath, the brief legend that gave all that would ever be known of howhe came there repeated with monotonous regularity the tale ofmisadventure or of wrong. "Shot, stabbed, stripped and mangled byThugs," "Killed by Indians," "Murdered by road-agents," "Lynched byVigilantes," "Blown up by dynamite", "Crushed by a fall of rock," "Diedof starvation," "Died of thirst," "Died of cold,"--these and such asthey were the forms of death with which his Odyssey of toils had madehim familiar. Small wonder, then, if he who had lived so long face toface with the possibility of such an end, taking the chances of itfreely himself, and seeing them taken as freely by others, now felt asif the young man Don Andres was a trifle overpitied. He was sorry forhim himself, he was trying to help him all he knew, and he was ready toturn out and fight for him at any minute, but he could not see whyanybody should want to cry about it. And yet here was this startlinglyagitating, insistent noise of a girl sobbing beside him that gripped hisheart with an emotion he hardly knew the meaning of.
"Don't you fret yourself," he repeated; "we'll see him through,senorita, never fear."
Instinctively he had risen to his feet and was standing by her; andpresently she recovered herself and began to speak, though brokenly atfirst.
"It is very foolish of me, I know, but I cannot help it. It makes methink how my two uncles were killed by the Indians eight years ago up inthe mountain. My grandfather found them both lying dead in the trail;the cruel Navajos had shot them both with arrows from an ambush. My poorgrandfather was alone, so he could not carry them down; he had to leavethem there, while he came back to San Gabriel for help. He cried so muchthat he grew blind and could hardly find his way to San Gabriel. Andthen their bodies were brought down here; I was only a child likeAltagracia, but I remember it so well, and indeed this was a house ofmourning; and now if they kill my brother too, I don't know what I shalldo."
Again Stephens felt the odd sense of surprise at the strength of herfeelings. Don Andres was a fine young fellow enough in his way, but whyall this display of emotion because he was now to run rather more riskthan usual? Dimly he became conscious that her trouble was due to familyaffection, and that he himself had forgotten what it was like. His mindfled back to his boyhood, when he and a brother and sister, from whom hehad now been long parted, used to play together; memories of that earlyfondness came back with a curious vividness. A hard crust had formedover the gentler side of his nature during the years of isolation andseverance from those natural ties; it seemed ready now to dissolve in amoment at a few tears shed by a girl for a brother's peril. Habituatedas he was to hold himself firmly in hand, he was half angry with himselffor minding anything so much as he minded her sobs.
"Why, how fond you must be of him!" he remarked crudely; and withouthis intending it, his secret surprise showed itself in his tone.
"But he is my brother," she returned, and her wet eyes met his halfindignantly; "don't you understand that I must care for him very muchindeed?"
"Surely yes," he rejoined. "Of course I understand that"; but in hisheart came a denial that he did really understand it, or had any rightto understand it. "If I had been clubbed to death for witchcraft in theditch yesterday by those Santiago idiots," he thought, "not one humansoul would have cared like this about me." Yes; it was quite true. Therewas no one now who cared for him in this way, with this warmth offeeling, and there was no one for whom he cared or could care. Thencecame a new sense of something lacking in his life; even supposing thatall his hopes deferred were to be realised at last, supposing thatto-morrow, for instance, he became master of a mine worth a million, whowould rejoice? No one, unless it were Rocky, his old pard, who reallywasn't a bad-hearted sort of fellow, though he could play the fool attimes to such exasperating effect. But now he felt a sudden vacancy inhis heart; the need of a comradeship that should be entire, absolute,and inalienable.
"And have you no family, Don Estevan?" she asked; "no brother orsister?"
"Yes," he answered, "I have both, but I haven't seen them in ten years.They are married and settled down away back there in the States; theymust have half forgotten me by this time; I was no more than a boy whenI started for the West, and I've never been back." And at therecollection his lips parted, and his breast heaved gently. Aninvoluntary sigh escaped him before he knew what it was. The sighingmood had not been much in his line. Manuelita looked at him with aquestion in her eyes.
"But you love them still?" she said.
"Well, yes," he replied, "I suppose I do, if it comes to that. But it isa long time since I saw them, and much water has run under the bridgesbetween then and now."
"Have the Americans no feelings?" she said; "perhaps it is a good thingfor some people to have the heart hard."
"Oh, I guess we've got our feelings right enough," he replied, with anuneasy smile, "but it isn't our way to say much about them; at least,with us, the men don't like to show them. As for the American women, Ithink they show theirs freely enough; but upon my word it is so longsince I have seen any of them that I hardly know. No, senorita, ourhearts are not hard."
At this moment, Don Nepomuceno entered, bringing with him one of thethree Mexicans who had been sitting with him outside. "Here is mybrother-in-law, Don Estevan," he began, "who says that he will gladlylet me have the pony that ate poison-weed. He says, too, that theNavajos have gone over to the store, and that he suspects the Texan willsell them whiskey. It is very wrong of him, for whiskey makes them verydangerous."
"It's dead against the law," said Stephens bluntly.
"I know," rejoined the other, "but it is not easy to prove it. But youhave eaten no breakfast, my friend. Sit down and have your meal." At theentrance of her father, Manuelita had retired to the kitchen, leavingthe sitting-room to the men.
"Thank you," answered Stephens, "I will, then, by your leave"; and hesat down and helped himself, while he continued to discuss with theothers the conduct of Mr. Backus and the chances of coming to anarrangement with Mahletonkwa. The conversation went on after he hadfinished his meal, when the sudden sharp report of a rifle-shot washeard not far away. All stopped and listened; a minute or two later itwas followed by a second, and then at pretty regular intervals by anumber of others.
"It sounds like somebody practising at a mark," said the American; "doyou suppose it's Mr. Backus?" He had risen to his feet and stood intent.
"Who knows?" said his host. "For my part I know not much abo
ut thisTexan. It may be so; they are unaccountable people." To throw awaypowder and bullets on practice seemed to him a piece of wantonextravagance.
Stephens caught up his rifle into the hollow of his arm. "I think," saidhe, "I'll just step across and get that paper and envelopes, and I'll beable to see what they're up to over there as well." The Mexicansaccompanied him to the big door, which was carefully unbarred to allowof his departure.
The occasional shots continued as the American walked down towards thestage station, and he presently discerned Mr. Backus and the Navajos ina group behind the store. He went up and joined them. They had set up anempty box against a blank wall, and fastened a piece of white cardboardagainst it with a nail through the centre, and several black circles indifferent parts of the cardboard showed where bullets had struck. TheIndians were laughing and chaffing one another freely about theirshooting; their manner had noticeably altered from the moody and sullenattitude they had exhibited at the pow-wow.
Mahletonkwa came close up to Stephens excitedly.
"Now, then, Don Americano, let's see you take a shot."
Stephens smelt him; there was whiskey in his breath. "Not at present,thank you," said he shortly. "Mr. Backus," and he turned abruptly on thestorekeeper, "this Indian has had something to drink. I presume you knowit is against the law."
"Well, if he has nobody knows where he got it," said the storekeeperdefiantly, "nor nobody need know."
He knew very well himself that there were now two beautiful Navajoblankets rolled up in his store which had not been there an hour ago;also that his stock was diminished to the extent of two bottles ofwhiskey. The whiskey stood him in exactly one dollar. The pair of Navajoblankets were cheap at ten. Nine hundred per cent. profit was goodenough business for any man.
It was a good enough profit, at all events, to tempt Mr. Backus; and itneeded to be a good one, for he was not ignorant of the risk that heran. To give, trade, or sell spirituous liquor to an Indian is apenitentiary offence in the United States. The law is a wise one, and,what is more, is approved by popular feeling. A drunken Indian is aboutas pleasant to meet with as a mad wolf; he is possessed by a demon thatprompts him to fly at the throat of any white man, woman, or child hecomes across; and an Indian who has tasted liquor will go any lengthtill he has obtained enough of it to throw him into this horriblefrenzy, if he can by any means procure it. Trading whiskey to an Indianis like playing with a tiger. Up to a certain point it is pleasantlyexciting. Go one step beyond it and his fangs are in your jugular. Mr.Backus was not a novice at the game; he had been there before. For ninehundred per cent. he would let them have just enough to whet theirappetites. Two bottles of whiskey to eleven Indians was about the rightdose; while half a dozen would send them crazy, he knew.
"I'm just letting them have a few shots at the mark with my rifle," hecontinued. "It tickles them to death to shoot with a breech-loader; theyaint hardly got any themselves, and it's mighty well worth my while tokeep in with them." He winked deliberately. "I've been talking withthem, and they know all about this mine upon the Cerro de las Viboras,just as well as those stingy Santiago folks. I believe I'll get 'em toshow it me. I tell you I understand Indians, I'm an old hand at dealingwith them"; he gave a self-satisfied chuckle.
"I should say that last statement of yours was highly probable,"returned the prospector. "Personally, I should have said that with thisunsettled difficulty on hand with Don Nepomuceno the very worst thingpossible was to let them have any drink, and the next worst was toencourage them to go letting off a gun like this right close to where helives."
"And why the deuce should I be so cursedly particular about the Don?"replied the storekeeper; "he's an uncommon close-fisted old hunks, if itcomes to that; he does most of his trading in Santa Fe anyway, and don'tencourage local talent. And I'll warrant you he's got a thumping bighoard of silver dollars buried under the floor somewhere in that old_casa_ of his. I don't see why he shouldn't pay a decent compensation tothis Mahletonkwa here." The chance of some of those silver dollarspassing from Mahletonkwa's hands over his counter had considerablyquickened Mr. Backus's sense of "justice for the poor Indian" in thismatter. Also he had had a couple of drinks as well as Mahletonkwa, andthey had loosened his tongue a little.
"Well, sir," replied Stephens, "I don't propose to argue the matter withyou here, but if you can afford to leave those precious customers ofyours I should like to have you come into the store and supply me withsome paper and envelopes."
He hated to have to ask this man for anything, but he must procure thesethings, and there was no other house in San Remo where he could getthem. There would not be time before the mail passed to return to thepueblo and get them from his own stock.
At this moment Mahletonkwa fired again with Backus's rifle, and atriumphant exclamation followed the shot. The Indians ran to the target,pointing with pride to a bullet-hole within half an inch of the centralnail. Mahletonkwa swaggered up to the American. "Now, you shoot," heexclaimed familiarly, "and show us what you can do."
Stephens had not intended to do anything of the sort. He thought theIndian's familiarity, due to the couple of drinks he had taken, mostoffensive, and he had meant to leave them to their sport with the leastpossible delay; but there was something irritating about his swaggerthat put the American on his mettle. He swung himself half round andtook a good look at the target, which stood there in a strong light,beautifully distinct, at some five-and-twenty paces distance.
Up came the rifle to his shoulder; for one instant it remained there,poised level, as he glanced down the sights and got a bead on thecentre; "bang!" came the report, and down fell the piece of cardboard.He had driven up the nail.
The Navajos dashed in eagerly to pick up the paper, and were loud intheir expression of wonder and admiration. But Mahletonkwa's eyes werestill fixed on the Winchester; he came forward and touched it lightlywith his hand, and turned with a loud laugh to the others who camecrowding round them. Mahletonkwa told them a story in the Navajolanguage which produced roars of laughter from them all, and Stephens'scuriosity was excited.
"What's the joke, Mahletonkwa?" said he. "Why can't you tell it inSpanish so the rest of us may have a chance to join in the fun?" Thedrinks had made the Indian reckless, and he needed but little urging torepeat the story.
"Once there was a man out in the mountains over yonder," said he,pointing to the west, "and he had a 'heap-shoot' gun like this."
"What sort of a man do you mean?" asked Stephens; "an American?"
The Indian looked at him with eyes that were both bold and cunning. "Ididn't ask him," said he; "he was just a man."
"I'll bet he was a lone American prospector," returned Stephens.
The Navajo laughed, and there was insolence in his laugh. "He wasalone," he continued, "and the people there got after him----"
"What people do you mean?" asked Stephens; "the Navajos?"
The Indian laughed the same laugh as before.
"Oh, leave him finish," interjected Backus in English. "You can bet hemeans Navajos. Probably he was there himself."
"The people got after him," repeated the redskin, "and he fired away atthem a long time with his 'heap-shoot' gun; but he couldn't do them anyharm." An insolent chuckle accompanied this last remark.
"Couldn't he!" rejoined Stephens. "If he was an American prospector, andthere's no other sort of man ever went there with a Winchester, I'll bethe laid some of them out."
"And then," continued Mahletonkwa, "one of the people shot him with acommon rifle here across the face," he drew his hand across hisforehead, "and the blood ran into his eyes and he couldn't see, and theblow of the bullet made him stupid, and then the people went up to himand he was a prisoner. And they took his gun and looked at it with muchawe, for they had never seen a 'heap-shoot' gun before. But they did notunderstand how to make it work. So they gave him some water, and wipedthe blood from his face so that he could see, and they asked him to showthem the secret of the 'heap-shoot' gun. And he was ver
y happy then, andthought that they were going to make friends with him, so he told themhow to work the gun, and showed them how to load it and unload it. Andthen, when they had found out all they wanted to know about it, one ofthem took the 'heap-shoot' gun and loaded it just as the Amer-- the manhad shown them how to do, and pointed it at him and pulled the trigger,and it killed him quite dead." He exploded again in a great roar oflaughter, and the rest of the party roared in chorus with equal mirth.
Stephens flushed a dark red, and swore under his breath. "They were ad----d treacherous, sneaking lot of coyotes, that's what they were," hesaid defiantly to Mahletonkwa, who only laughed the more. "A pretty lotof friends you seem to have been making, Mr. Backus. I wish you joy ofthem."
The latter looked rather uncomfortable. "It was a low-down, dirty meantrick to play," he said, starting to go towards the store, "butMahletonkwa aint said as he had any hand in it himself."
"I reckon he was there, though," retorted Stephens, "for it was thesight of my Winchester that set him off to tell it. Rifles like thataint quite as common as blackberries around this country. I wish I knewwho that prospector was that they murdered," he added meditatively, ashe moved off to the store after Backus; "I'd go and bury him decently,anyway, if I could find the place. I hope he laid out a score of thembefore they got him, the mean hounds. And that's their idea of a funnystory!" He ground his teeth in his anger.
In the store Mr. Backus soon supplied the prospector with writingmaterials, and promised to bring over the post-office stamp presently tostamp Don Andres's affidavit. He seemed nervously anxious now toconciliate Stephens, and to rub out, if possible, the bad impression hisconduct with regard to the Navajos had left. He fetched round CaptainJinks from the stable with profuse thanks for the loan, and evenreclaimed his rifle from the Navajos and put a stop to their targetpractice on the ground that he could not spare any more cartridges.
"Mahletonkwa," said Stephens, gathering up the lariat of his mule andaddressing the chief, "I give you notice that I'm going to have you putback on the reservation. Take my advice and lose no time in acceptingDon Nepomuceno's offer."
"I want a thousand dollars," said the Indian doggedly.
"And I very much doubt your getting it," said Stephens, turning on hisheel and walking off.
But as the prospector made his way towards the Sanchez house the thoughtof Manuelita's tears came back to him. After all, what was a thousanddollars? It was a lot of money to be sure, but if it would guaranteeyoung Andres's safety, and put an end to her anxiety, it might be worthwhile to part with it. The brutal laughter of the Indians over the crueldeception they had so cunningly practised on the wounded American whohad the ill fortune to fall into their hands had angered him deeply. Hehad from the first kicked against the idea of paying them anything, butif some blackmail was to be paid to them, he saw no difference inprinciple between a thousand dollars and a hundred and twenty-five. Andit came into his head Rocky had just offered to repay him the thousanddollars he had lent him in Montana. The idea occurred to him, why notpass it on? He might lend it to Don Nepomuceno to pay off the Navajoswith, and the Mexican might repay him at his leisure, or pass it onagain on a fitting occasion to some other man in a bad strait. Backus'sidea of Don Nepomuceno possessing a great hoard of buried silver dollarsseemed to him a wild and improbable conjecture, considering what a stewhe was in about raising a hundred and twenty-five.
He stabled his mule alongside the mare, and, after knocking, wasadmitted to the _casa_ with the same precaution as before. A table andink were set before him, and a full statement of the case written forthe benefit of the governor and also of the general at Santa Fe. Anaffidavit by Don Andres was duly drawn up in Spanish and English, andaccording to his promise Mr. Backus arrived with the stamp of the SanRemo post-office to stamp it. Stephens sealed up the letters, andaccompanied him to the door and put them in his hands to be forwarded.
"Them Indians have gone off down the river a mile, to where there'sgrass, to let their horses feed, and to eat a bite themselves," said thestorekeeper; "and I reckon likely they'll be more amiable when they getback here again later on. Anyways, I hope as they will. I told thatMahletonkwa as he'd orter be reasonable." All the time Backus had beenin the house he had fawned on Don Nepomuceno in a way that had madeStephens sick when he remembered how he had called him a "close-fistedold hunks" an hour before, and he watched the storekeeper returning tohis own abode with a feeling of absolute disgust.
Turning back into the patio he found himself in the presence ofManuelita, who was crossing it on some errand. As all the doors gave onthe patio, it acted, so to speak, as the passage by which everybody wentfrom any one room to any other, except where two or three rooms openedinto each other _en suite_. "Senorita," he said, "one word with you, ifI may. It would really make you very happy, it would make your heartquite free of sorrow, if this money were paid and things settled in thatway?"
"Oh, _Madre de Dios_!" she exclaimed, "but can you doubt it for aninstant? I would dance for joy"; and her eyes grew brighter on theinstant with the thought.
"Very well," answered Stephens cautiously, "I'll see what can be done.I'll promise you to do my best to bring about a peaceful settlement. Ican't say more."
He went back into the sitting-room and wrote a third letter to thecashier of the First National Bank at Santa Fe, where he kept a smallbalance. He asked the cashier to telegraph to Rockyfeller at Denver tosay that he, Stephens, was unavoidably detained at Santiago, and to askRockyfeller to send the thousand dollars to his account at the Santa Febank, and he likewise wrote a cordial answer to Rocky's letter,explaining matters at length. As soon as he had finished these hehastened with them to the post-office. The ambulance which brought themail from Fort Wingate stood before the door, and a fresh team was beingharnessed to it, while Mr. Backus was in the act of bringing out thelittle San Remo mail-bag, and at sight of Stephens stowed it hastilyinside.
For the little San Remo mail-bag was all but empty. The two fat lettersStephens had entrusted to him for the governor and the general were notinside it; their thin papery ashes lay amid the glowing coals of thecedar-wood fire on Mr. Backus's kitchen hearth, and had helped to cookthe stage-driver's dinner. The impeccable United States postmaster hadopened and read them; decided on the spot that he did not want theseNavajos interfered with just at present; and had taken this summarymethod of blocking the game.
"Here's a couple more letters," exclaimed Stephens, running up. "Can'tyou put them in?" and he held them out to Backus in total ignorance ofhis perfidy.
"Bag's sealed up now," said the postmaster officially. "Contrary to U.S.regulations to open it again."
Stephens turned instantly to the mail-driver. "I wish you'd oblige meby posting these for me when you get to Santa Fe. They're stamped allright."
The driver held out his hand for the letters and shoved them carelesslyinto the pocket of his overcoat.
"Mind you don't forget to post them," repeated Stephens; "they'reimportant." At this instant there came into his mind a thing that he hadforgotten, so absorbed had he become in the troubles of the Sanchezfamily. Some stage-driver had libelled him to Sam Argles, and he hadintended to find out who it was. Probably this was the man. "Say," hebegan, "do you remember driving a man named Sam Argles, a miner fromPrescott, over this line a month or two back?"
"Can't say, I'm sure," replied the driver, who was shortening a tracewith some difficulty. "You don't suppose as I can remember the names ofall the passengers I take?"
"Well, Argles was over this line recently," said Stephens, "and hereports that a driver on it told him something about me."
"Likely he did," said the driver unconcernedly; "like as not, too, 'twarn't me. I aint the only driver on this line."
"Then you deny having told him I was a squawman?" said Stephens.
"Dunno nawthin' about it," replied the driver, gathering up the linesand climbing to his perch. "It's no concern of mine." But he avoidedmeeting Stephens's eye.
"Wel
l, so long," said the latter; "I'm obliged to you about theletters," and without further comment on the matter he started backtowards the Sanchez house.
"A d----d highfalutin, tonified cuss he is," said Backus as soon as theprospector was out of earshot. "If you was to drop them letters in theRio Grande it'd serve him right for bouncing you like that."
"He dursn't say nuthin' to me," said the driver, "or I'd mash his facein a minute. What do I know about his Sam Argleses? I reckon he is asquawman, aint he?"
"Wal', if he aint, what does he live with them Injuns for? That's what Isay," said Backus with an evil laugh. "And I think, if I was you," headded, "I'd be apt to have an accident with them letters crossing theRio Grande."
"There's a chance for it anyway," said the stage-driver; "the river wasrising fast day before yesterday, and I judge 't will be booming by now.I've got to rustle around, for I'm going straight across to San Miguel.I can cross there with the mail, anyway. Get up there, mules." He raisedthe reins, cracked his whip and departed.
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