by Bret Harte
CHAPTER II
The hacienda of Don Juan Briones, nestling in a wooded cleft of thefoot-hills, was hidden, as Father Pedro had wisely reflected, fromthe straying feet of travelers along the dusty highway to San Jose. AsFrancisco, emerging from the canada, put spurs to his mule at the sightof the whitewashed walls, Antonio grunted.
"Oh aye, little priest! thou wast tired enough a moment ago, and thoughwe are not three leagues from the Blessed Fisherman, thou couldstscarce sit thy saddle longer. Mother of God! and all to see that littlemongrel, Juanita."
"But, good Antonio, Juanita was my play-fellow, and I may not soon againchance this way. And Juanita is not a mongrel, no more than I am."
"She is a mestiza, and thou art a child of the Church, though thisfollowing of gypsy wenches does not show it."
"But Father Pedro does not object," urged the boy.
"The reverend father has forgotten he was ever young," replied Antonio,sententiously, "or he wouldn't set fire and tow together."
"What sayest thou, good Antonio?" asked Francisco quickly, opening hisblue eyes in frank curiosity; "who is fire, and who is tow?"
The worthy muleteer, utterly abashed and confounded by this displayof the acolyte's direct simplicity, contented himself by shrugging hisshoulders, and a vague "Quien sabe?"
"Come," said the boy, gayly, "confess it is only the aguardiente of theBlessed Fisherman thou missest. Never fear, Juanita will find thee some.And see! here she comes."
There was a flash of white flounces along the dark brown corridor, thetwinkle of satin slippers, the flying out of long black braids, and witha cry of joy a young girl threw herself upon Francisco as he entered thepatio, and nearly dragged him from his mule.
"Have a care, little sister," laughed the acolyte, looking at Antonio,"or there will be a conflagration. Am I the fire?" he continued,submitting to the two sounding kisses the young girl placed upon eithercheek, but still keeping his mischievous glance upon the muleteer.
"Quien sabe?" repeated Antonio, gruffly, as the young girl blushed underhis significant eyes. "It is no affair of mine," he added to himself, ashe led Pinto away. "Perhaps Father Pedro is right, and this young twigof the Church is as dry and sapless as himself. Let the mestiza burn ifshe likes."
"Quick, Pancho," said the young girl, eagerly leading him along thecorridor. "This way. I must talk with thee before thou seest Don Juan;that is why I ran to intercept thee, and not as that fool Antonio wouldsignify, to shame thee. Wast thou ashamed, my Pancho?"
The boy threw his arm familiarly round the supple, stayless littlewaist, accented only by the belt of the light flounced saya, and said,"But why this haste and feverishness, 'Nita? And now I look at thee,thou hast been crying."
They had emerged from a door in the corridor into the bright sunlight ofa walled garden. The girl dropped her eyes, cast a quick glance aroundher, and said,--
"Not here, to the arroyo," and half leading, half dragging him, made herway through a copse of manzanita and alder until they heard the fainttinkling of water. "Dost thou remember," said the girl, "it was here,"pointing to an embayed pool in the dark current, "that I baptized thee,when Father Pedro first brought thee here, when we both played at beingmonks? They were dear old days, for Father Pedro would trust no one withthee but me, and always kept us near him."
"Aye and he said I would be profaned by the touch of any other, and sohimself always washed and dressed me, and made my bed near his."
"And took thee away again, and I saw thee not till thou camest withAntonio, over a year ago, to the cattle branding. And now, my Pancho, Imay never see thee again." She buried her face in her hands and sobbedaloud.
The little acolyte tried to comfort her, but with such abstraction ofmanner and inadequacy of warmth that she hastily removed his caressinghand.
"But why? What has happened?" he asked eagerly.
The girl's manner had changed. Her eyes flashed, and she put her brownfist on her waist and began to rock from side to side.
"But I'll not go," she said viciously.
"Go where?" asked the boy.
"Oh, where?" she echoed, impatiently. "Hear me, Francisco; thou knowestI am, like thee, an orphan; but I have not, like thee, a parent in theHoly Church. For, alas," she added, bitterly, "I am not a boy, andhave not a lovely voice borrowed from the angels. I was, like thee, afoundling, kept by the charity of the reverend fathers, until Don Juan,a childless widower, adopted me. I was happy, not knowing and caring whowere the parents who had abandoned me, happy only in the love of him whobecame my adopted father. And now--" She paused.
"And now?" echoed Francisco, eagerly.
"And now they say it is discovered who are my parents."
"And they live?"
"Mother of God! no," said the girl, with scarcely filial piety. "Thereis some one, a thing, a mere Don Fulano, who knows it all, it seems, whois to be my guardian."
"But how? tell me all, dear Juanita," said the boy with a feverishinterest, that contrasted so strongly with his previous abstraction thatJuanita bit her lips with vexation.
"Ah! How? Santa Barbara! an extravaganza for children. A necklace oflies. I am lost from a ship of which my father--Heaven rest him--isGeneral, and I am picked up among the weeds on the sea-shore, like Mosesin the bulrushes. A pretty story, indeed."
"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed Francisco, enthusiastically. "Ah,Juanita, would it had been me."
"THEE!" said the girl bitterly,--"thee! No!--it was a girl wanted.Enough, it was me."
"And when does the guardian come?" persisted the boy, with sparklingeyes.
"He is here even now, with that pompous fool the American alcalde fromMonterey, a wretch who knows nothing of the country or the people, butwho helped the other American to claim me. I tell thee, Francisco, likeas not it is all a folly, some senseless blunder of those Americanosthat imposes upon Don Juan's simplicity and love for them."
"How looks he, this Americano who seeks thee?" asked Francisco.
"What care I how he looks," said Juanita, "or what he is? He may havethe four S's, for all I care. Yet," she added with a slight touch ofcoquetry, "he is not bad to look upon, now I recall him."
"Had he a long moustache and a sad, sweet smile, and a voice so gentleand yet so strong that you felt he ordered you to do things with outsaying it? And did his eye read your thoughts?--that very thought thatyou must obey him?"
"Saints preserve thee, Pancho! Of whom dost thou speak?"
"Listen, Juanita. It was a year ago, the eve of Natividad, he was in thechurch when I sang. Look where I would, I always met his eye. When thecanticle was sung and I was slipping into the sacristy, he was besideme. He spoke kindly, but I understood him not. He put into my hand goldfor an aguinaldo. I pretended I understood not that also, and put itinto the box for the poor. He smiled and went away. Often have I seenhim since, and last night, when I left the Mission, he was there againwith Father Pedro."
"And Father Pedro, what said he of him?" asked Juanita.
"Nothing." The boy hesitated. "Perhaps--because I said nothing of thestranger."
Juanita laughed. "So thou canst keep a secret from the good father whenthou carest. But why dost thou think this stranger is my new guardian?"
"Dost thou not see, little sister? he was even then seeking thee," saidthe boy with joyous excitement. "Doubtless he knew we were friends andplaymates--may be the good father has told him thy secret. For it is noidle tale of the alcalde, believe me. I see it all! It is true!"
"Then thou wilt let him take me away," exclaimed the girl bitterly,withdrawing the little hand he had clasped in his excitement.
"Alas, Juanita, what avails it now? I am sent to San Jose, charged witha letter to the Father Superior, who will give me further orders. Whatthey are, or how long I must stay, I know not. But I know this: the goodFather Pedro's eyes were troubled when he gave me his blessing, andhe held me long in his embrace. Pray Heaven I have committed no fault.Still it may be that the reputation of my gift hath reached th
e FatherSuperior, and he would advance me." And Francisco's eyes lit up withyouthful pride at the thought.
Not so Juanita. Her black eyes snapped suddenly with suspicion, shedrew in her breath, and closed her little mouth firmly. Then she began acrescendo.
Mother of God! was that all? Was he a child, to be sent away for suchtime or for such purpose as best pleased the fathers? Was he to knowno more than that? With such gifts as God had given him, was he not atleast to have some word in disposing of them? Ah! SHE would not standit.
The boy gazed admiringly at the piquant energy of the little figurebefore him, and envied her courage. "It is the mestizo blood," hemurmured to himself. Then aloud, "Thou shouldst have been a man, 'Nita."
"And thou a woman."
"Or a priest. Eh, what is that?"
They had both risen, Juanita defiantly, her black braids flying as shewheeled and suddenly faced the thicket, Francisco clinging to her withtrembling hands and whitened lips. A stone, loosened from the hillside,had rolled to their feet; there was a crackling in the alders on theslope above them.
"Is it a bear, or a brigand?" whispered Francisco, hurriedly, soundingthe uttermost depths of his terror in the two words.
"It is an eavesdropper," said Juanita, impetuously; "and who and why, Iintend to know," and she started towards the thicket.
"Do not leave me, good Juanita," said the young acolyte, grasping thegirl's skirt.
"Nay; run to the hacienda quickly, and leave me to search the thicket.Run!"
The boy did not wait for a second injunction, but scuttled away, hislong coat catching in the brambles, while Juanita darted like akitten into the bushes. Her search was fruitless, however, and she wasreturning impatiently when her quick eye fell upon a letter lying amidstthe dried grass where she and Francisco had been seated the momentbefore. It had evidently fallen from his breast when he had risensuddenly, and been overlooked in his alarm. It was Father Pedro's letterto the Father Superior of San Jose.
In an instant she had pounced upon it as viciously as if it had been theinterloper she was seeking. She knew that she held in her fingers thesecret of Francisco's sudden banishment. She felt instinctively thatthis yellowish envelope, with its red string and its blotch of red seal,was his sentence and her own. The little mestiza had not been brought upto respect the integrity of either locks or seals, both being unknownin the patriarchal life of the hacienda. Yet with a certain feminineinstinct she looked furtively around her, and even managed to dislodgethe clumsy wax without marring the pretty effigy of the crossed keysimpressed upon it. Then she opened the letter and read.
Suddenly she stopped and put back her hair from her brown temples. Thena succession of burning blushes followed each other in waves from herneck up, and died in drops of moisture in her eyes. This continued untilshe was fairly crying, dropping the letter from her hands and rockingto and fro. In the midst of this she quickly stopped again; the cloudsbroke, a sunshine of laughter started from her eyes, she laughed shyly,she laughed loudly, she laughed hysterically. Then she stopped again assuddenly, knitted her brows, swooped down once more upon the letter, andturned to fly. But at the same moment the letter was quietly but firmlytaken from her hand, and Mr. Jack Cranch stood beside her.
Juanita was crimson, but unconquered. She mechanically held out her handfor the letter; the American took her little fingers, kissed them, andsaid:--
"How are you again?"
"The letter," replied Juanita, with a strong disposition to stamp herfoot.
"But," said Cranch, with business directness, "you've read enough toknow it isn't for you."
"Nor for you either," responded Juanita.
"True. It is for the Reverend Father Superior of San Jose Mission. I'llgive it to him."
Juanita was becoming alarmed, first at this prospect, second atthe power the stranger seemed to be gaining over her. She recalledFrancisco's description of him with something like superstitious awe.
"But it concerns Francisco. It contains a secret he should know."
"Then you can tell him it. Perhaps it would come easier from you."
Juanita blushed again. "Why?" she asked, half dreading his reply.
"Because," said the American, quietly, "you are old playmates; you areattached to each other."
Juanita bit her lips. "Why don't you read it yourself?" she askedbluntly.
"Because I don't read other people's letters, and if it concerns meyou'll tell me."
"What if I don't?"
"Then the Father Superior will."
"I believe you know Francisco's secret already," said the girl, boldly.
"Perhaps."
"Then, Mother of God! Senor Crancho, what do you want?"
"I do not want to separate two such good friends as you and Francisco."
"Perhaps you'd like to claim us both," said the girl, with a sneer thatwas not devoid of coquetry.
"I should be delighted."
"Then here is your occasion, Senor, for here comes my adopted father,Don Juan, and your friend, Senor Br--r--own, the American alcalde."
Two men appeared in the garden path below them. The stiff, glazed,broad-brimmed black hat, surmounting a dark face of Quixotic gravityand romantic rectitude, indicated Don Juan Briones. His companion, lazy,specious, and red-faced, was Senor Brown, the American alcalde.
"Well, I reckon we kin about call the thing fixed," said Senor Brown,with a large wave of the hand, suggesting a sweeping away of all trivialdetails. "Ez I was saying to the Don yer, when two high-toned gents likeyou and him come together in a delicate matter of this kind, it ain't nohoss trade nor sharp practice. The Don is that lofty in principle thathe's willin' to sacrifice his affections for the good of the gal; andyou, on your hand, kalkilate to see all he's done for her, and go yourwhole pile better. You'll make the legal formalities good. I reckon thatold Injin woman who can swear to the finding of the baby on the shorewill set things all right yet. For the matter o' that, if you wantanything in the way of a certificate, I'm on hand always."
"Juanita and myself are at your disposition, caballeros," said Don Juan,with a grave exaltation. "Never let it be said that the Mexican nationwas outdone by the great Americanos in deeds of courtesy and affection.Let it rather stand that Juanita was a sacred trust put into my handsyears ago by the goddess of American liberty, and nurtured in theMexican eagle's nest. Is it not so, my soul?" he added, more humanly, tothe girl, when he had quite recovered from the intoxication of his ownspeech. "We love thee, little one, but we keep our honor."
"There's nothing mean about the old man," said Brown, admiringly, with aslight dropping of his left eyelid; "his head is level, and he goes withhis party."
"Thou takest my daughter, Senor Cranch," continued the old man, carriedaway by his emotion; "but the American nation gives me a son."
"You know not what you say, father," said the young girl, angrily,exasperated by a slight twinkle in the American's eye.
"Not so," said Cranch. "Perhaps one of the American nation may take himat his word."
"Then, caballeros, you will, for the moment at least, possess yourselvesof the house and its poor hospitality," said Don Juan, with time-honoredcourtesy, producing the rustic key of the gate of the patio. "It isat your disposition, caballeros," he repeated, leading the way as hisguests passed into the corridor.
Two hours passed. The hills were darkening on their eastern slopes; theshadows of the few poplars that sparsedly dotted the dusty highway werefalling in long black lines that looked like ditches on the dead levelof the tawny fields; the shadows of slowly moving cattle were minglingwith their own silhouettes, and becoming more and more grotesque. A keenwind rising in the hills was already creeping from the canada as fromthe mouth of a funnel, and sweeping the plains. Antonio had forgatheredwith the servants, had pinched the ears of the maids, had partaken ofaguardiente, had saddled the mules,--Antonio was becoming impatient.
And then a singular commotion disturbed the peaceful monotony of thepatriarchal household of D
on Juan Briones. The stagnant courtyard wassuddenly alive with peons and servants, running hither and thither. Thealleys and gardens were filled with retainers. A confusion of questions,orders, and outcrys rent the air, the plains shook with the galloping ofa dozen horsemen. For the acolyte Francisco, of the Mission San Carmel,had disappeared and vanished, and from that day the hacienda of Don JuanBriones knew him no more.