by Bret Harte
CHAPTER IV
As Mrs. Tucker, erect, white, and rigid, drove away from the tienda,it seemed to her to sink again into the monotonous plain, with all itshorrible realities. Except that there was now a new and heart-breakingsignificance to the solitude and loneliness of the landscape, all thathad passed might have been a dream. But as the blood came back to hercheek, and little by little her tingling consciousness returned, itseemed as if her life had been the dream, and this last scene theawakening reality. With eyes smarting with the moisture of shame, thescarlet blood at times dyeing her very neck and temples, she muffledher lowered crest in her shawl and bent over the reins. Bit by bit sherecalled, in Poindexter's mysterious caution and strange allusions, thecorroboration of her husband's shame and her own disgrace. This was whyshe was brought hither--the deserted wife, and abandoned confederate!The mocking glitter of the concave vault above her, scoured by theincessant wind, the cold stare of the shining pools beyond, the hardoutlines of the Coast Range, and the jarring accompaniment of herhorse's hoofs and rattling buggy wheels alternately goaded anddistracted her. She found herself repeating "No! no! no!" with thedogged reiteration of fever. She scarcely knew when or how she reachedthe hacienda. She was only conscious that as she entered the patio thedusty solitude that had before filled her with unrest now came to herlike balm. A benumbing peace seemed to fall from the crumbling walls;the peace of utter seclusion, isolation, oblivion, death! Nevertheless,an hour later, when the jingle of spurs and bridle were again heard inthe road, she started to her feet with bent brows and a kindling eye,and confronted Captain Poindexter in the corridor.
"I would not have intruded upon you so soon again," he said gravely,"but I thought I might perhaps spare you a repetition of the sceneof this morning. Hear me out, please," he added, with a gentle,half-deprecating gesture, as she lifted the beautiful scorn of her eyesto his. "I have just heard that your neighbor, Don Jose Santierra, ofLos Gatos, is on his way to this house. He once claimed this land, andhated your husband, who bought of the rival claimant, whose grant wasconfirmed. I tell you this," he added, slightly flushing as Mrs. Tuckerturned impatiently away, "only to show you that legally he has norights, and you need not see him unless you choose. I could not stop hiscoming without perhaps doing you more harm than good; but when he doescome, my presence under this roof as your legal counsel will enable youto refer him to me." He stopped. She was pacing the corridor with short,impatient steps, her arms dropped, and her hands clasped rigidly beforeher. "Have I your permission to stay?"
She suddenly stopped in her walk, approached him rapidly, and fixing hereyes on his, said,--
"Do I know ALL, now--everything?"
He could only reply that she had not yet told him what she had heard.
"Well," she said scornfully, "that my husband has been cruelly imposedupon--imposed upon by some wretched woman, who has made him sacrificehis property, his friends, his honor--everything but me?"
"Everything but whom?" gasped Poindexter.
"But ME!"
Poindexter gazed at the sky, the air, the deserted corridor, the stonesof the patio itself, and then at the inexplicable woman before him. Thenhe said gravely, "I think you know everything."
"Then if my husband has left me all he could--this property," she wenton rapidly, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers, "I can dowith it what I like, can't I?"
"You certainly can."
"Then sell it," she said, with passionate vehemence. "Sell it--all!everything! And sell these." She darted into her bedroom, and returnedwith the diamond rings she had torn from her fingers and ears when sheentered the house. "Sell them for anything they'll bring, only sell themat once."
"But for what?" asked Poindexter, with demure lips but twinkling eyes.
"To pay the debts that this--this--woman has led him into; to return themoney she has stolen!" she went on rapidly, "to keep him from sharingher infamy! Can't you understand?"
"But, my dear madam," began Poindexter, "even if this could be done--"
"Don't tell me 'if it could'--it MUST be done. Do you think I couldsleep under this roof, propped up by the timbers of that ruined tienda?Do you think I could wear those diamonds again, while that termagantshop-woman can say that her money bought them? No. If you are myhusband's friend you will do this--for--for his sake." She stopped,locked and interlocked her cold fingers before her, and said, hesitatingand mechanically, "You meant well, Captain Poindexter, in bringing mehere, I know! You must not think that I blame you for it, or for themiserable result of it that you have just witnessed. But if I havegained anything by it, for God's sake let me reap it quickly, that I maygive it to these people and go! I have a friend who can aid me to get tomy husband or to my home in Kentucky, where Spencer will yet find me,I know. I want nothing more." She stopped again. With another womanthe pause would have been one of tears. But she kept her head above theflood that filled her heart, and the clear eyes fixed upon Poindexter,albeit pained, were undimmed.
"But this would require time," said Poindexter, with a smile ofcompassionate explanation; "you could not sell now, nobody would buy.You are safe to hold this property while you are in actual possession,but you are not strong enough to guarantee it to another. There maystill be litigation; your husband has other creditors than these peopleyou have talked with. But while nobody could oust you--the wife whowould have the sympathies of judge and jury--it might be a differentcase with any one who derived title from you. Any purchaser would knowthat you could not sell, or if you did, it would be at a ridiculoussacrifice."
She listened to him abstractedly, walked to the end of the corridor,returned, and without looking up, said,--
"I suppose you know her?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"This woman. You have seen her?"
"Never, to my knowledge."
"And you are his friend! That's strange." She raised her eyes to his."Well," she continued impatiently, "who is she? and what is she? Youknow that surely?"
"I know no more of her than what I have said," said Poindexter. "She isa notorious woman."
The swift color came to Mrs. Tucker's face as if the epithet had beenapplied to herself. "I suppose," she said in a dry voice, as if shewere asking a business question, but with an eye that showed her risinganger,--"I suppose there is some law by which creatures of this kind canbe followed and brought to justice--some law that would keep innocentpeople from suffering for their crimes?"
"I am afraid," said Poindexter, "that arresting her would hardly helpthese people over in the tienda."
"I am not speaking of them," responded Mrs. Tucker, with a suddensublime contempt for the people whose cause she had espoused: "I amtalking of my husband."
Poindexter bit his lip. "You'd hardly think of bringing back thestrongest witness against him," he said bluntly.
Mrs. Tucker dropped her eyes and was silent. A sudden shame suffusedPoindexter's cheek; he felt as if he had struck that woman a blow. "Ibeg your pardon," he said hastily, "I am talking like a lawyer to alawyer." He would have taken any other woman by the hand in the honestfullness of his apology, but something restrained him here. He onlylooked down gently on her lowered lashes, and repeated his question ifhe should remain during the coming interview with Don Jose: "I must begyou to determine quickly," he added, "for I already hear him enteringthe gate."
"Stay," said Mrs. Tucker, as the ringing of spurs and clatter of hoofscame from the corral. "One moment." She looked up suddenly, and said,"How long had he known her?" But before he could reply there was a stepin the doorway, and the figure of Don Jose Santierra emerged from thearchway.
He was a man slightly past middle age, fair and well shaven, wearing ablack broadcloth serape, the deeply embroidered opening of which formeda collar of silver rays around his neck, while a row of silver buttonsdown the side seams of his riding trousers, and silver spurs, completedhis singular equipment. Mrs. Tucker's swift feminine glance took inthese details, as well as the deep salutation, more formal than th
eexuberant frontier politeness she was accustomed to, with which hegreeted her. It was enough to arrest her first impulse to retreat. Shehesitated and stopped as Poindexter stepped forward, partly interposingbetween them, acknowledging Don Jose's distant recognition of himselfwith an ironical accession of his usual humorous tolerance. The Spaniarddid not seem to notice it, but remained gravely silent before Mrs.Tucker, gazing at her with an expression of intent and unconsciousabsorption.
"You are quite right, Don Jose," said Poindexter, with ironical concern,"it is Mrs. Tucker. Your eyes do NOT deceive you. She will be glad to dothe honors of her house," he continued, with a simulation of appealingto her, "unless you visit her on business, when I need not say I shallbe only too happy, to attend you, as before."
Don Jose, with a slight lifting of the eyebrows, allowed himself tobecome conscious of the lawyer's meaning. "It is not of business thatI come to kiss the Senora's hand to-day," he replied, with a melancholysoftness; "it is as her neighbor, to put myself at her disposition. Ah!the what have we here for a lady?" he continued, raising his eyes indeprecation of the surroundings; "a house of nothing, a place of windsand dry bones, without refreshments, or satisfaction, or delicacy. TheSenora will not refuse to make us proud this day to send her of thatwhich we have in our poor home at Los Gatos, to make her more complete.Of what shall it be? Let her make choice. Or if she would commemoratethis day by accepting of our hospitality at Los Gatos, until she shallarrange herself the more to receive us here, we shall have too muchhonor."
"The Senora would only find it the more difficult to return to thishumble roof again, after once leaving it for Don Jose's hospitality,"said Poindexter, with a demure glance at Mrs. Tucker. But the innuendoseemed to lapse equally unheeded by his fair client and the stranger.Raising her eyes with a certain timid dignity which Don Jose's presenceseemed to have called out, she addressed herself to him.
"You are very kind and considerate, Mister Santierra, and I thank you. Iknow that my husband"--she let the clear beauty of her translucent eyesrest full on both men--"would thank you too. But I shall not be herelong enough to accept your kindness in this house or in your own. I havebut one desire and object now. It is to dispose of this property, andindeed all I possess, to pay the debt of my husband. It is in yourpower, perhaps, to help me. I am told that you wish to possess LosCuervos," she went on, equally oblivious of the consciousness thatappeared in Don Jose's face, and a humorous perplexity on the brow ofPoindexter. "If you can arrange it with Mr. Poindexter, you will findme a liberal vendor. That much you can do, and I know you will believeI shall be grateful. You can do no more, unless it be to say to yourfriends that Mrs. Belle Tucker remains here only for that purpose,and to carry out what she knows to be the wishes of her husband." Shepaused, bent her pretty crest, dropped a quaint curtsey to the superiorage, the silver braid, and the gentlemanly bearing of Don Jose, and withthe passing sunshine of a smile disappeared from the corridor.
The two men remained silent for a moment, Don Jose gazing abstractedlyon the door through which she had vanished, until Poindexter, with areturn of his tolerant smile, said, "You have heard the views of Mrs.Tucker. You know the situation as well as she does."
"Ah, yes; possibly better."
Poindexter darted a quick glance at the grave, sallow face of Don Jose,but detecting no unusual significance in his manner, continued, "As yousee, she leaves this matter in my hands. Let us talk like business men.Have you any idea of purchasing this property?"
"Of purchasing, ah, no."
Poindexter bent his brows, but quickly relaxed them with a smile ofhumorous forgiveness. "If you have any other idea, Don Jose, I ought towarn you, as Mrs. Tucker's lawyer, that she is in legal possession here,and that nothing but her own act can change that position."
"Ah, so."
Irritated at the shrug which accompanied this, Poindexter continuedhaughtily, "If I am to understand, you have nothing to say--"
"To say, ah, yes, possibly. But"--he glanced toward the door of Mrs.Tucker's room--"not here." He stopped, appeared to recall himself,and with an apologetic smile and a studied but graceful gesture ofinvitation, he motioned to the gateway, and said, "Will you ride?"
"What can the fellow be up to?" muttered Poindexter, as with anassenting nod he proceeded to remount his horse. "If he wasn't an oldhidalgo, I'd mistrust him. No matter! here goes!"
The Don also remounted his half-broken mustang; they proceeded in solemnsilence through the corral, and side by side emerged on the open plain.Poindexter glanced around; no other being was in sight. It was not untilthe lonely hacienda had also sunk behind them that Don Jose broke thesilence.
"You say just now we shall speak as business men. I say no, Don Marco; Iwill not. I shall speak, we shall speak, as gentlemen."
"Go on," said Poindexter, who was beginning to be amused.
"I say just now I will not purchase the rancho from the Senora. And why?Look you, Don Marco;" he reined in his horse, thrust his hand under hisserape, and drew out a folded document: "this is why."
With a smile, Poindexter took the paper from his hand and opened it. Butthe smile faded from his lips as he read. With blazing eyes he spurredhis horse beside the Spaniard, almost unseating him, and said sternly,"What does this mean?"
"What does it mean?" repeated Don Jose, with equally flashing eyes,"I'll tell you. It means that your client, this man Spencer Tucker, isa Judas, a traitor! It means that he gave Los Cuervos to his mistressa year ago, and that she sold it to me--to me, you hear!--ME, JoseSantierra, the day before she left! It means that the coyote of aSpencer, the thief, who bought these lands of a thief, and gave themto a thief, has tricked you all. Look," he said, rising in his saddle,holding the paper like a baton, and defining with a sweep of his arm thewhole level plain, "all these lands were once mine, they are mine againto-day. Do I want to purchase Los Cuervos? you ask, for you will speakof the BUSINESS. Well, listen. I HAVE purchased Los Cuervos, and here isthe deed."
"But it has never been recorded," said Poindexter, with a carelessnesshe was far from feeling.
"Of a verity, no. Do you wish that I should record it?" asked Don Jose,with a return of his simple gravity.
Poindexter bit his lip. "You said we were to talk like gentlemen," hereturned. "Do you think you have come into possession of this allegeddeed like a gentleman?"
Don Jose shrugged his shoulders. "I found it tossed in the lap of aharlot. I bought it for a song. Eh, what would you?"
"Would you sell it again for a song?" asked Poindexter.
"Ah! what is this?" said Don Jose, lifting his iron-gray brows; "but amoment ago we would sell everything, for any money. Now we would buy. Isit so?"
"One moment, Don Jose," said Poindexter, with a baleful light in hisdark eyes. "Do I understand that you are the ally of Spencer Tucker andhis mistress, that you intend to turn this doubly betrayed wife from theonly roof she has to cover her?"
"Ah, I comprehend not. You heard her say she wished to go. Perhaps itmay please ME to distribute largess to these cattle yonder, I do not sayno. More she does not ask. But YOU, Don Marco, of whom are you advocate?You abandon your client's mistress for the wife, is it so?"
"What I may do you will learn hereafter," said Poindexter, who hadregained his composure, suddenly reining up his horse. "As our pathsseem likely to diverge, they had better begin now. Good morning."
"Patience, my friend, patience! Ah, blessed St. Anthony, what theseAmericans are! Listen. For what YOU shall do, I do not inquire. Thequestion is to me what I"--he emphasized the pronoun by tapping himselfon the breast--"I, Jose Santierra, will do. Well, I shall tell you.To-day, nothing. To-morrow, nothing. For a week, for a month, nothing!After, we shall see."
Poindexter paused thoughtfully. "Will you give your word, Don Jose, thatyou will not press the claim for a month?"
"Truly, on one condition. Observe! I do not ask you for an equalpromise, that you will not take this time to defend yourself." Heshrugged his shoulders. "No! It is only this. Yo
u shall promise thatduring that time the Senora Tucker shall remain ignorant of thisdocument."
Poindexter hesitated a moment. "I promise," he said at last.
"Good. Adios, Don Marco."
"Adios, Don Jose."
The Spaniard put spurs to his mustang and galloped off in the directionof Los Gatos. The lawyer remained for a moment gazing on his retreatingbut victorious figure. For the first time the old look of humoroustoleration with which Mr. Poindexter was in the habit of regarding allhuman infirmity gave way to something like bitterness. "I might haveguessed it," he said, with a slight rise of color. "He's an oldfool; and she--well, perhaps it's all the better for her!" He glancedbackwards almost tenderly in the direction of Los Cuervos, and thenturned his head towards the embarcadero.
As the afternoon wore on, a creaking, antiquated ox-cart arrived atLos Cuervos, bearing several articles of furniture, and some tastefulornaments from Los Gatos, at the same time that a young Mexican girlmysteriously appeared in the kitchen, as a temporary assistant to thedecrepit Concha. These were both clearly attributable to Don Jose, whosevisit was not so remote but that these delicate attentions might havebeen already projected before Mrs. Tucker had declined them, and shecould not, without marked discourtesy, return them now. She did not wishto seem discourteous; she would like to have been more civil to thisold gentleman, who still retained the evidences of a picturesqueand decorous past, and a repose so different from the life that wasperplexing her. Reflecting that if he bought the estate these thingswould be ready to his hand, and with a woman's instinct recognizingtheir value in setting off the house to other purchasers' eyes, shetook a pleasure in tastefully arranging them, and even found herselfspeculating how she might have enjoyed them herself had she been ableto keep possession of the property. After all, it would not have beenso lonely if refined and gentle neighbors, like this old man, would havesympathized with her; she had an instinctive feeling that, in their ownhopeless decay and hereditary unfitness for this new civilization, theywould have been more tolerant of her husband's failure than his ownkind. She could not believe that Don Jose really hated her husband forbuying of the successful claimant, as there was no other legal title.Allowing herself to become interested in the guileless gossip of the newhandmaiden, proud of her broken English, she was drawn into a sympathywith the grave simplicity of Don Jose's character, a relic of that truenobility which placed this descendant of the Castilians and the daughterof a free people on the same level.
In this way the second day of her occupancy of Los Cuervos closed, withdumb clouds along the gray horizon, and the paroxysms of hystericalwind growing fainter and fainter outside the walls; with the moon risingafter nightfall, and losing itself in silent and mysterious confidenceswith drifting scud. She went to bed early, but woke past midnight,hearing, as she thought, her own name called. The impression was sostrong upon her that she rose, and, hastily enwrapping herself, wentto the dark embrasures of the oven-shaped windows, and looked out. Thedwarfed oak beside the window was still dropping from a past shower, butthe level waste of marsh and meadow beyond seemed to advance and recedewith the coming and going of the moon. Again she heard her name called,and this time in accents so strangely familiar that with a slight cryshe ran into the corridor, crossed the patio, and reached the open gate.The darkness that had, even in this brief interval, again fallen uponthe prospect she tried in vain to pierce with eye and voice. A blanksilence followed. Then the veil was suddenly withdrawn; the vast plain,stretching from the mountain to the sea, shone as clearly as in thelight of day; the moving current of the channel glittered like blackpearls, the stagnant pools like molten lead; but not a sign of life normotion broke the monotony of the broad expanse. She must have surelydreamed it. A chill wind drove her back to the house again; she enteredher bedroom, and in half an hour she was in a peaceful sleep.