A Daughter of the Dons: A Story of New Mexico Today
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CHAPTER XXI
WHEN THE WIRES WERE CUT
Don Manuel rode into the moonlit plaza of the Valdes ranch, dismounted,and flung the reins to the boy that came running. Pesquiera nodded acareless greeting and passed into the house. He did not ask of anyonewhere Valencia was, nor did he send in a card of announcement. A lover'sinstinct told him that he would find her in the room that served both asan office and a library for her, seated perhaps before the leapingfireglow she loved or playing softly on the piano in the darkness.
The door was open, and he stood a moment on the threshold to getaccustomed to the dim light.
A rich, low-pitched voice came across the room to him.
"It is you, Manuel?"
He stepped swiftly forward to the lounge upon which she was lying andknelt on one knee beside her, lifting her hand to his lips. "It is I,_corazon mia_, even Manuel the lucky."
She both smiled and sighed at that. A chord in her responded to theextravagance of his speech, even though vaguely it did not quitesatisfy. A woman of the warm-blooded south and no plaster saint, sheanswered presently with shy, reluctant lips the kisses of her lover. Whyshould she not? Had he not won her by meeting the test she had givenhim? Was he not a gallant gentleman, of her own race and caste, bound toher by ties of many sorts, in every way worthy to be the father of herchildren? If she had to stifle some faint, indefinable regret, was itnot right that she should? Her bridges were burned behind her. He wasthe man of her choice. She listened, eyes a little wistful, while hepoured out ardently the tale of his devotion.
"You do love me, don't you, Manuel?" she demanded, a little fiercely. Itwas as if she wanted to drown any doubts she might have of her ownfeeling in the certainty of his.
"More than life itself, I do believe," he cried in a low voice.
Her lithe body turned, so that her shining eyes were close to his.
"Dear Manuel, I am glad. You don't know how worried I've been ... stillam. Perhaps if I were a man it would be different, but I don't want mypeople to take the life of this stranger. But they mean himharm--especially since he has come back and intends to punish Pablo andSebastian. I want them to let the law take its course. Something tellsme that we shall win in the end. I've talked to them--and talked--butthey say nothing except 'Si, dona.' But with you to help me----"
"They'd better not touch him again," broke in her lover swiftly.
"It's a great comfort to me, Manuel, that you have blotted out your ownquarrel with him. It was magnanimous, what I should expect of you."
He said nothing, but the hand that lay on hers seemed suddenly tostiffen. A kind of fear ran shivering through her. Quickly she rose fromthe couch.
"Manuel, tell me that I am right, that you don't mean to ... hurt him?"Her dark eyes searched his unflinchingly. "You don't mean ... you can'tmean ... that----?"
"Let us forget the American and remember only that we love, my beloved,"he pleaded.
"No ... No!" The voice of the girl was sharp and imperative. "I want thetruth. Is it that you are still thinking of murdering him, Manuel?"
The sting of her words brought a flush to his cheeks. "I fight fair,Valencia. I set against his life my own, with all the happiness that hascome flooding it. Nor is it that I seek the man's life. For me he mightlive a thousand years--and welcome. But my honor----"
"No, Manuel. No--no--no! I will not have it. If you are betrothed to meyour life is mine. You shall not risk it in a barbarous duel."
"Let us change the subject, dear heart."
"Not till I hear you say that you have given up this wicked intention ofyours."
He gave up the attempt to evade her and met her fairly as one man doesanother.
"I can't say that, Valencia, not even for you. This quarrel lies betweenhim and me. I have suffered humiliation and disgrace. Until those arewiped out there must be war between me and the American."
"Since the day I first wore your ring, Manuel, I have asked nothing ofyou. I ask now that you will forget the slight this man has put upon you... because I ask it of you with all my heart."
A slight tremor ran through his blood. He felt himself slipping from hisplace with her.
"I can't, Valencia. You don't know what you ask, how impossible it isfor me--a Pesquiera, son of my honored fathers--to grant such arequest." He stretched his hands toward her imploringly.
"Yet you say you love me?"
"Heaven knows whether it is not true, my cousin."
"You want me to believe that, even though you refuse the first realrequest I ever made of you?"
"Anything else in the world that is in my power."
"It is easy to say that, Manuel, when it isn't something else I want.Give me this American's life. I shall know, then, that you love me."
"You know now," he answered quietly.
"Is love all sighs and vows?" she cried impatiently. "Will it notsacrifice pride and vanity for the object of its devotion?"
"Everything but honor," answered the man steadfastly.
She made a gesture of despair.
"What is this honor you talk so much about? It is neither Christian norlawful nor right."
"It is a part of me, Valencia."
"Then your ideas are archaic. The duel was for a time when every man hadto seek his personal redress. There is law in this twentieth century."
"Not as between man and man in the case of a personal indignity--atleast, not for Manuel Pesquiera."
"But it is so needless. We know you are brave; he knows it, too. Surelyyour vanity----"
He smiled a little sadly.
"I think it is not vanity, but something deeper. None of my ancestorscould have tolerated this stigma, nor can their son. My will has nothingto do with it, and my desire still less. It is kismet."
"Then you must know the truth--that if you kill this man I cannever----"
"Never what?"
"Never marry you."
"Why?"
"His blood would stand between us."
"Do you mean that you--love him?"
Her dark eyes met his steadily.
"I don't think I mean that, Manuel. How could I mean that, since I loveyou and am betrothed to you? Sometimes I hate him. He is so insolent inhis daring. Then, too, he is my enemy, and he has come here to set thishappy valley to hate and evil. Yet, if I should hurt him, it would standbetween us forever."
"I am sorry."
"Only sorry, Manuel?"
He clamped his teeth on the torrent of protest that rose within him whenshe handed him back his ring. It would do no good to speak more. Theimmutable fact stood between them.
"I did not know life could be so hard--and cruel," she cried out in aburst of passion.
She went to the open window and looked out upon the placid, peacefulvalley. She had a swift, supple way of moving, as if her musclesresponded with effortless ease to her volition; but the young mannoticed that to-night there was a drag to her motions.
His heart yearned toward her. He longed mightily to take her in his armsand tell her that he would do as she wished. But, as he had said,something in him more potent than vanity, than pride, than his will,held him to the course he had set for himself. His views of honor mightbe archaic and ridiculous, but he lived by his code as tenaciously ashad his fathers. Gordon had insulted and humiliated him publicly. Hemust apologize or give him satisfaction. Until he had done one or theother Manuel could not live at peace with himself. He had put a powerfulcurb upon his desire to wait as long as he had. Circumstances had for atime taken the matter out of his hands, but the time had come when hemeant to press his claims. The American might refuse the duel; he couldnot refrain from defending himself when Pesquiera attacked.
A step sounded in the doorway, and almost simultaneously a voice.
"_Dona,_ are you here?"
The room was lighted only by the flickering fire; but Valencia, her eyesaccustomed to the darkness, recognized the boy as Juan Gardiez.
"Yes, I am here, Juan. What have you to tell me?" she
said quickly.
"I do not know, _senorita_. But the men--Pablo, Sebastian; all ofthem--are gone."
"Gone where?" she breathed.
"I do not know. To-day I drove a cow and calf to Willow Springs. I ambut returned. The houses are empty. Senor Barela's wife says she saw menriding up the hill toward Corbett's--eight, nine, ten of them."
"To Corbett's?" She stared whitely at him without moving. "How longago?"
"An hour ago--or more."
"Saddle Billy at once and bring him round," the girl ordered crisply.
She turned as she spoke and went lightly to the telephone. With the needof action, of decision, her hopelessness was gone. There was a hard,bright light in her eyes that told of a resolution inflexible astempered steel when once aroused.
"Give me Corbett's--at once, please. Hallo, Central--Corbett's----"
No answer came, though she called again and again.
"There must be something wrong with the telephone," suggested DonManuel.
She dropped the receiver and turned quietly to him.
"The wires have been cut."
"But, why? What is it all about?"
"Merely that my men are anticipating you. They have gone to murder theAmerican. Deputy sheriffs from Santa Fe to-day came here to arrest Pabloand Sebastian. The men suspected and were hidden. Now they have gone topunish Mr. Gordon for sending the officers."
She could not have touched him more nearly. He came to her with burningeyes.
"How do you know? What makes you think so?"
She told him, briefly and simply, giving more detailed reasons.
Without a word, he turned and left her. She could hear him rushingthrough the hall, traced his progress by the slamming of the door, andpresently caught sight of him running toward the corral. He did nothear, or heed, her call for him to wait.
The girl hurried out of the house after him, in time to see him slap asaddle on his bronco, swing to his seat lightly, and gallop in a cloudof dust to the road.
Valencia waited for no more. Quickly running to her room, she slipped ona khaki riding-skirt. Her deft, tapering fingers moved swiftly, so thatshe was ready, crop in hand, booted and spurred, by the time Juanbrought round her horse.
It took but an instant to lift herself to the saddle and send Billygalloping forward.
Already her cousin had disappeared in great clouds of dust over the browof the hill.