CHAPTER VI
JUANITA
The fifth day marked the crisis of Gordon's illness. After that he beganslowly to mend.
One morning he awoke to a realization that he had been very ill. Hisbody was still weak, but his mind was coherent again. A slender youngwoman moved about the room setting things in order.
"Aren't you Juanita?" he asked.
Her heart gave a leap. This was the first time he had recognized her.Sometimes in his delirium he had caught at her hand ind tried to kissit, but always under the impression that she was Miss Valdes.
"_Si, senor_," she answered quietly.
"I thought so." He added after a moment, with the childlike innocence asick person has upon first coming back to sanity: "There couldn't be twogirls as pretty as you in this end of the valley, could there?"
Under her soft brown skin the color flooded Juanita's face. "I--I don'tknow." She spoke in a flame of embarrassment, so abrupt had been hiscompliment and so sincere.
"I've been very sick, haven't I?"
She nodded. "Oh, _senor_, we have been--what you call--worried."
"Good of you, Juanita. Who has been taking care of me?"
"Mrs. Corbett."
"And Juanita?"
"Sometimes."
"Ah! That's good of you, too, _amiga_."
She recalled a phrase she had often heard an American rancher's daughtersay. "I loved to do it, _senor_."
"But why? I'm your enemy, you know. You ought to hate me. Do you?"
Once again the swift color poured into the dark cheeks, even to theround birdlike throat.
"No, _senor_."
He considered this an instant before he accused her whimsically. "Thenyou're not a good girl. You should hate the devil, and I'm his agent.Any of your friends will tell you that."
"_Senor_ Gordon is a joke."
He laughed weakly. "Am I? I'll bet I am, the fool way I acted."
"I mean a--what you call--a joker," she corrected.
"But ain't I your enemy, my little good Samaritan? Isn't that what allyour people are saying?"
"I not care what they say."
"If I'm not your enemy, what am I?"
She made a great pretense of filling the ewer with water and gatheringup the soiled towels.
"How about that, _nina_?" he persisted, turning toward her on the pillowwith his unshaven face in his hand, a gentle quizzical smile in hiseyes.
"I'm your ... servant, _senor_," she flamed, after the embarrassment ofsilence had grown too great.
"No, no! Nothing like that. What do you say? Will you take me for afriend, even though I'm an enemy to the whole valley?"
Her soft, dark eyes flashed to meet his, timidly and yet with an effectof fine spirit.
"_Si, senor_."
"Good. Shake hands on it, little partner."
She came forward reluctantly, as if she were pushed toward him by someinner compulsion. Her shy embarrassment, together with the sweetness ofthe glad emotion that trembled in her filmy eyes, lent her a rare charm.
For just an instant her brown fingers touched his, then she turned andfled from the room.
Mrs. Corbett presently bustled in, fat, fifty, and friendly.
"I can't hardly look you in the face," he apologized, with his mostwinning smile. "I reckon I've been a nuisance a-plenty, getting sick onyour hands like a kid."
Mrs. Corbett answered his smile as she arranged the coverlets.
"You'll just have to be good for a spell to make up for it. No moreten-mile walks, Mr. Muir, till the knee is all right."
"I reckon you better call me Gordon, ma'am." His mind passed to what shehad said about his walk. "Ce'tainly that was a fool _pasear_ for a manto take. Comes of being pig-headed, Mrs. Corbett. And Doc Watson hadtold me not to use that game leg much. But, of course, I knew best," hesighed ruefully.
"Well, you've had your lesson. And you've worried all of us. Miss Valdeshas called up two or three times a day on the phone and sent a messengerover every evening to find out how you were."
Dick felt the blood flush his face. "She has?" Then, after a little:"That's very kind of Miss Valdes."
"Yes. Everybody has been kind. Mr. Pesquiera has called up every day toinquire about you. He has been very anxious for you to recover."
A faint sardonic smile touched the white lips. "A fellow never knows howmany friends he has till he needs them. So Don Manuel is in a hurry tohave me get on my feet. That's surely right kind of him."
He thought he could guess why that proud and passionate son of Spainfretted to see him ill. The humiliation to which he had been subjectedwas rankling in his heart and would oppress him till he could wipe itout in action.
"You've got other friends, too, that have worried a lot," said Mrs.Corbett, as she took up some knitting.
"More friends yet? Say, ain't I rich? I didn't know how blamed popular Iwas till now," returned the invalid, with derisive irony. "Who is itthis time I've got to be grateful for?"
"Mr. Davis."
"Steve Davis--from Cripple Creek, Colorado, God's Country?"
"Yes."
"Been writing about me, has he?"
Mrs. Corbett smiled. She had something up her sleeve. "First writing,then wiring."
"He's a kind of second dad to me. Expect the old rooster got anxious."
"Looks that way. Anyhow, he reached here last night."
Gordon got up on an elbow in his excitement. "Here? Here now? OldSteve?"
She nodded her head and looked over her shoulder toward the dining-room."In there eating his breakfast. He'll be through pretty soon. You see,he doesn't know you're awake."
Presently Davis came into the room. He walked to the bed and took bothof his friend's hands in his. Tears were shining in his eyes.
"You darned old son-of-a-gun, what do you mean by scaring us like this?I've lost two years' growth on account of your foolishness, boy."
"Did Mrs. Corbett send for you?"
"No, I sent for myself soon as I found out how sick you was. Now hustleup and get well."
"I'm going to do just that"
Dick kept his word. Within a few days he was promoted to a rocking-chairon the porch. Here Juanita served his meals and waited on his demandswith the shy devotion that characterized a change in her attitude tohim. She laughed less than she did. His jokes, his claim upon her as his"little partner," his friendly gratitude, all served to embarrass her,and at the same time to fill her with a new and wonderful delight.
A week ago, when he had been lying before her asleep one day, she hadrun her little finger through one of his tawny curls and admired itscrisp thickness. To her maiden fancy something of his strong virilityhad escaped even to this wayward little lock of hair. She had wonderedthen how the _Senorita_ Valdes could keep from loving this splendidfellow if he cared for her. All the more she wondered now, for hertruant heart was going out to him with the swift ardent passion of herrace. It was as a sort of god she looked upon him, as a hero of romancefar above her humble hopes. She found herself longing for chances towait upon him, to do little services that would draw the approving smileto his eyes.
Gordon was still in the porch-dwelling stage of convalescence when aMexican rider swung from his saddle one afternoon with a letter fromManuel Pesquiera. The note was a formal one, written in the thirdperson, and it wasted no words.
After reading it Dick tossed the sheet of engraved stationery across tohis companion.
"Nothing like having good, anxious friends in a hurry to have you well,Steve," he said, with a smile.
The old miner read the communication. "Well, what's the matter with hishoping you'll be all right soon?"
"No reason why he shouldn't. It only shows what a Christian, forgivingdisposition he's got. You see, that day I most walked my leg off Isoused Mr. Pesquiera in a ditch."
"You--what?"
"Just what I say. I picked him up and dropped the gentleman in thenearest ditch. That's why he's so anxious to get me well."
"B
ut--why for, boy?"
Dick laughed. "Can't you see, you old moss-back? He wants me well enoughto call out for a duel."
"A duel." Davis stared at him dubiously. He did not know whether or nothis friend was making game of him.
"Yes, sir. Pistols and coffee for two, waiter. That sort of thing."
"But folks don't fight duels nowadays," remonstrated the puzzled miner."Anyhow, what's he want to fight about? I reckon you didn't duck him fornothing, did you? What was it all about?"
Dick told his tale of adventures, omitting only certain emotions thatwere his private property. He concluded with an account of theirrigating-ditch episode. "It ain't the custom in this part of thecountry to duck the blue bloods. Shouldn't wonder but what he's some hotunder the collar. Writes like he sees red, don't you think, but aims tobe polite and keep his shirt on."
Davis refused to treat the matter as a joke.
"I told you to let your lawyers 'tend to this, Dick, and for you not topoke your nose into this neck of the woods. But you had to come, andright hot off the reel you hand one to this Pesky fellow, or whateveryou call him. Didn't I tell you that you can't bat these greasers overthe head the way you can the Poles in the mines?"
"Sure you told me. You're always loaded with good advice, Steve. Butwhat do you expect me to do when a fellow slaps my face?"
"They won't stand fooling with, these greasers. This Pesky fellow isplaying squarer than most would if he gives you warning to be ready withyour six-gun. You take my advice, and you'll burn the wind out of thiscountry. If you git this fellow, the whole pack of them will be on topof you, and don't you forget it, son."
"So you advise me to cut and run, do you?" said Dick.
"You bet."
"That's what you'd do, is it?"
"Sure thing. You can't clean out the whole of New Mexico."
"Quit your lying, Steve, you old war-horse. You'd see it out, just likeI'm going to."
Davis scratched his grizzled poll and grinned, but continued to dispensegood advice.
"You ain't aiming to mix with this whole blamed country, are you?"
The man in the chair sat up, his lean jaw set and his eyes gleaming.
"I've been called the scum o' the earth. I've been kicked out of herhouse as a fellow not decent enough to mix with honest folks. Onlyyesterday I got a letter from some of her people warning me to leave thecountry while I was still alive. This Pesquiera is camping on my trail."
"Maybe he ain't. You've only guessed that."
"Guess nothing. It's a cinch."
"What you going to do about it?"
"Nothing."
"But if he lays for you."
"Good enough. Let him go to it. I'm going through with this thing. I'mgoing to show them who's the best man. And when I've beat them to astandstill I've got a revenge ready that will make Miss Valdes eathumble pie proper. Yes, sir. I'm tied to this country till this thing'ssettled."
"Then there ain't any use saying any more about it. You always was awillful son-of-a-gun," testified his partner, with a grin. "And I reckonI'll have to stay with you to pack you home after the greasers have shotyou up."
"Don't you ever think it, Steve," came back the cheerful retort. "I'vegot a hunch this is my lucky game. I'm sitting in to win, old hoss."
"What's your first play, Dick?"
"I made it last week, within twenty minutes of the time I got back here.Wired my lawyers to bring suit at once, and to push it for all it wasworth."
"You can't settle it by the courts inside of a year, or mebbe two."
"I ain't aiming to settle it by the courts. All I want is they shouldknow I've got them beat to a fare-ye-well in the courts. Their lawyerswill let them know that mighty early, just as soon as they look thefacts up. There ain't any manner of doubt about my legal claim. I guessMiss Valdes knows that already, but I want her to know it good and sure.Then I'll paddle my own canoe. The law's only a bluff to make my handbetter. I'm calling for that extra card for the looks of it, but my handis full up without it"
"What's in your hand, anyhow, outside of your legal right? Looks to methey hold them all from ace down."
Dick laughed.
"You wait and see," he said.
A Daughter of the Dons: A Story of New Mexico Today Page 6