Maruja

by Bret Harte

  CHAPTER III

  Breakfast, usually a movable feast at La Mision Perdida, had beenprolonged until past midday; the last of the dance guests had flown,and the home party--with the exception of Captain Carroll, who hadreturned to duty at his distant post--were dispersing; some as ridingcavalcades to neighboring points of interest; some to visit certainnotable mansions which the wealth of a rapid civilization had erectedin that fertile valley. One of these in particular, the work of abreathless millionaire, was famous for the spontaneity of its growthand the reckless extravagance of its appointments.

  "If you go to Aladdin's Palace," said Maruja, from the top step of thesouth porch, to a wagonette of guests, "after you've seen the stableswith mahogany fittings for one hundred horses, ask Aladdin to show youthe enchanted chamber, inlaid with California woods and paved with goldquartz."

  "We would have a better chance if the Princess of China would only gowith us," pleaded Garnier, gallantly.

  "The Princess will stay at home with her mother, like a good girl,"returned Maruja, demurely.

  "A bad shot of Garnier's this time," whispered Raymond to Buchanan, asthe vehicle rolled away with them. "The Princess is not likely tovisit Aladdin again."

  "Why?"

  "The last time she was there, Aladdin was a little too Persian in hisextravagance: offered her his house, stables, and himself."

  "Not a bad catch--why, he's worth two millions, I hear."

  "Yes; but his wife is as extravagant as himself."

  "His WIFE, eh? Ah, are you serious; or must you say somethingderogatory of the lassie's admirers too?" said Buchanan, playfullythreatening him with his cane. "Another word, and I'll throw you fromthe wagon."

  After their departure, the outer shell of the great house fell into aprofound silence, so hollow and deserted that one might have thoughtthe curse of Koorotora had already descended upon it. Dead leaves ofroses and fallen blossoms from the long line of vine-wreathed columnslay thick on the empty stretch of brown veranda, or rustled and creptagainst the sides of the house, where the regular breath of theafternoon "trades" began to arise. A few cardinal flowers fell likedrops of blood before the open windows of the vacant ball-room, inwhich the step of a solitary servant echoed faintly. It was Maruja'smaid, bringing a note to her young mistress, who, in a flounced morningdress, leaned against the window. Maruja took it, glanced at itquietly, folded it in a long fold, and put it openly in her belt.Captain Carroll, from whom it came, might have carried one of hisdespatches as methodically. The waiting-woman noticed the act, and wasmoved to suggest some more exciting confidences.

  "The Dona Maruja has, without doubt, noticed the bouquet on herdressing-room table from the Senor Garnier?"

  The Dona Maruja had. The Dona Maruja had also learned with pain that,bribed by Judas-like coin, Faquita had betrayed the secrets of herwardrobe to the extent of furnishing a ribbon from a certain yellowdress to the Senor Buchanan to match with a Chinese fan. This wasintolerable!

  Faquita writhed in remorse, and averred that through this solitary actshe had dishonored her family.

  The Dona Maruja, however, since it was so, felt that the only thingleft to do was to give her the polluted dress, and trust that the Devilmight not fly away with her.

  Leaving the perfectly consoled Faquita, Maruja crossed the large hall,and, opening a small door, entered a dark passage through the thickadobe wall of the old casa, and apparently left the present centurybehind her. A peaceful atmosphere of the past surrounded her not onlyin the low vaulted halls terminating in grilles or barred windows; notonly in the square chambers whose dark rich but scanty furniture wasonly a foil to the central elegance of the lace-bordered bed andpillows; but in a certain mysterious odor of dried and desiccatedreligious respectability that penetrated everywhere, and made thegrateful twilight redolent of the generations of forgotten Guitierrezwho had quietly exhaled in the old house. A mist as of incense andflowers that had lost their first bloom veiled the vista of the longcorridor, and made the staring blue sky, seen through narrow windowsand loopholes, glitter like mirrors let into the walls. The chamberassigned to the young ladies seemed half oratory and halfsleeping-room, with a strange mingling of the convent in the bare whitewalls, hung only with crucifixes and religious emblems, and of theseraglio in the glimpses of lazy figures, reclining in the deshabilleof short silken saya, low camisa, and dropping slippers. In a broadangle of the corridor giving upon the patio, its balustrade hung withbrightly colored serapes and shawls, surrounded by voluble domesticsand relations, the mistress of the casa half reclined in a hammock andgave her noonday audience.

  Maruja pushed her way through the clustered stools and cushions to hermother's side, kissed her on the forehead, and then lightly perchedherself like a white dove on the railing. Mrs. Saltonstall, a dark,corpulent woman, redeemed only from coarseness by a certain softness ofexpression and refinement of gesture, raised her heavy brown eyes toher daughter's face.

  "You have not been to bed, Mara?"

  "No, dear. Do I look it?"

  "You must lie down presently. They tell me that Captain Carrollreturned suddenly this morning."

  "Do you care?"

  "Who knows? Amita does not seem to fancy Jose, Esteban, Jorge, or anyof her cousins. She won't look at Juan Estudillo. The Captain is notbad. He is of the government. He is--"

  "Not more than ten leagues from here," said Maruja, playing with theCaptain's note in her belt. "You can send for him, dear little mother.He will be glad."

  "You will ever talk lightly--like your father! She was not thengrieved--our Amita--eh?"

  "She and Dorotea and the two Wilsons went off with Raymond and yourScotch friend in the wagonette. She did not cry--to Raymond."

  "Good," said Mrs. Saltonstall, leaning back in her hammock. "Raymond isan old friend. You had better take your siesta now, child, to bebright for dinner. I expect a visitor this afternoon--Dr. West."

  "Again! What will Pereo say, little mother?"

  "Pereo," said the widow, sitting up again in her hammock, withimpatience, "Pereo is becoming intolerable. The man is as mad as DonQuixote; it is impossible to conceal his eccentric impertinence andinterference from strangers, who can not understand his confidentialposition in our house or his long service. There are no moremayordomos, child. The Vallejos, the Briones, the Castros, do withoutthem now. Dr. West says, wisely, they are ridiculous survivals of thepatriarchal system."

  "And can be replaced by intelligent strangers," interrupted Maruja,demurely.

  "The more easily if the patriarchal system has not been able topreserve the respect due from children to parents. No, Maruja! No; Iam offended. Do not touch me! And your hair is coming down, and youreyes have rings like owls. You uphold this fanatical Pereo because heleaves YOU alone and stalks your poor sisters and their escorts likethe Indian, whose blood is in his veins. The saints only can tell ifhe did not disgust this Captain Carroll into flight. He believeshimself the sole custodian of the honor of our family--that he has asacred mission from this Don Fulano of Koorotora to avert its fate.Without doubt he keeps up his delusions with aguardiente, and passesfor a prophet among the silly peons and servants. He frightens thechildren with his ridiculous stories, and teaches them to decorate thatheathen mound as if it were a shrine of Our Lady of Sorrows. He wasalmost rude to Dr. West yesterday."

  "But you have encouraged him in his confidential position here," saidMaruja. "You forget, my mother, how you got him to 'duena' Euriquetawith the Colonel Brown; how you let him frighten the young Englishmanwho was too attentive to Dorotea; how you set him even upon poorRaymond, and failed so dismally that I had to take him myself in hand."

  "But if I choose to charge him with explanations that I can not makemyself without derogating from the time-honored hospitality of thecasa, that is another thing. It is not," said Dona Maria, with acertain massive dignity, that, inconsistent as it was with the weaknessof her argument, was not without impressiveness, "it is not yet,Bles
sed Santa Maria, that we are obliged to take notice ourself of thepretensions of every guest beneath our roof like the match-making,daughter-selling English and Americans. And THEN Pereo had tact anddiscrimination. Now he is mad! There are strangers and strangers.The whole valley is full of them--one can discriminate, since the oldfamilies year by year are growing less."

  "Surely not," said Maruja, innocently. "There is the excellentRamierrez, who has lately almost taken him a wife from the singing-hallin San Francisco; he may yet be snatched from the fire. There is theyouthful Jose Castro, the sole padrono of our national bull-fight atSoquel, the famous horse-breaker, and the winner of I know not how manyraces. And have we not Vincente Peralta, who will run, it is said, forthe American Congress. He can read and write--truly I have a letterfrom him here." She turned back the folded slip of Captain Carroll'snote and discovered another below.

  Mrs. Saltonstall tapped her daughter's hand with her fan. "You jest atthem, yet you uphold Pereo! Go, now, and sleep yourself into a betterframe of mind. Stop! I hear the Doctor's horse. Run and see thatPereo receives him properly."

  Maruja had barely entered the dark corridor when she came upon thevisitor,--a gray, hard-featured man of sixty,--who had evidentlyentered without ceremony. "I see you did not wait to be announced,"she said, sweetly. "My mother will be flattered by your impatience.You will find her in the patio."

  "Pereo did not announce me, as he was probably still under the effectof the aguardiente he swallowed yesterday," said the Doctor, dryly. "Imet him outside the tienda on the highway the other night, talking to apair of cut-throats that I would shoot on sight."

  "The mayordomo has many purchases to make, and must meet a great manypeople," said Maruju. "What would you? We can not select HISacquaintances; we can hardly choose our own," she added, sweetly.

  The Doctor hesitated, as if to reply, and then, with a grim"Good-morning," passed on towards the patio. Maruja did not followhim. Her attention was suddenly absorbed by a hitherto unnoticedmotionless figure, that seemed to be hiding in the shadow of an angleof the passage, as if waiting for her to pass. The keen eyes of thedaughter of Joseph Saltonstall were not deceived. She walked directlytowards the figure, and said, sharply, "Pereo!"

  The figure came hesitatingly forward into the light of the gratedwindow. It was that of an old man, still tall and erect, though thehair had disappeared from his temples, and hung in two or threestraight, long dark elf-locks on his neck. His face, over which one ofthe bars threw a sinister shadow, was the yellow of a driedtobacco-leaf, and veined as strongly. His garb was a strange minglingof the vaquero and the ecclesiastic--velvet trousers, open from theknee down, and fringed with bullion buttons; a broad red sash aroundhis waist, partly hidden by a long, straight chaqueta; with a circularsacerdotal cape of black broadcloth slipped over his head through aslit-like opening braided with gold. His restless yellow eyes fellbefore the young girl's; and the stiff, varnished, hard-brimmedsombrero he held in his wrinkled hands trembled.

  "You are spying again, Pereo," said Maruja, in another dialect than theone she had used to her mother. "It is unworthy of my father's trustedservant."

  "It is that man--that coyote, Dona Maruja, that is unworthy of yourfather, of your mother, of YOU!" he gesticulated, in a fierce whisper."I, Pereo, do not spy. I follow, follow the track of the prowling,stealing brute until I run him down. Yes, it was I, Pereo, who warnedyour father he would not be content with the half of the land he stole!It was I, Pereo, who warned your mother that each time he trod the soilof La Mision Perdida he measured the land he could take away!" Hestopped pantingly, with the insane abstraction of a fixed ideaglittering in his eyes.

  "And it was YOU, Pereo," she said, caressingly, laying her soft hand onhis heaving breast, "YOU who carried me in your arms when I was achild. It was you, Pereo, who took me before you on your pinto horseto the rodeo, when no one knew it but ourselves, my Pereo, was it not?"He nodded his head violently. "It was you who showed me the gallantcaballeros, the Pachecos, the Castros, the Alvarados, the Estudillos,the Peraltas, the Vallejos." His head kept time with each name as thefire dimmed in his wet eyes. "You made me promise I would not forgetthem for the Americanos who were here. Good! That was years ago! Iam older now. I have seen many Americans. Well, I am still free!"

  He caught her hand, and raised it to his lips with a gesture almostdevotional. His eyes softened; as the exaltation of passion passed,his voice dropped into the querulousness of privileged age. "Ah,yes!--you, the first-born, the heiress--of a verity, yes! You wereever a Guitierrez. But the others? Eh, where are they now? And it wasalways: 'Eh, Pereo, what shall we do to-day? Pereo, good Pereo, we areasked to ride here and there; we are expected to visit the new peoplein the valley--what say you, Pereo? Who shall we dine to-day?' Or:'Enquire me of this or that strange caballero--and if we may speak.'Ah, it is but yesterday that Amita would say: 'Lend me thine own horse,Pereo, that I may outstrip this swaggering Americano that clings everto my side,' ha! ha! Or the grave Dorotea would whisper: 'Convey tothis Senor Presumptuous Pomposo that the daughters of Guitierrez do notride alone with strangers!' Or even the little Liseta would say, he!he! 'Why does the stranger press my foot in his great hand when hehelps me into the saddle? Tell him that is not the way, Pereo.' Ha!ha!" He laughed childishly, and stopped. "And why does Senorita Amitanow--look--complain that Pereo, old Pereo, comes between her and thisSenor Raymond---this maquinista? Eh, and why does SHE, the ladymother, the Castellana, shut Pereo from her councils?" he went on, withrising excitement. "What are these secret meetings, eh?--what theseappointments, alone with this Judas--without the family--without ME!"

  "Hearken, Pereo," said the young girl, again laying her hand on the oldman's shoulder; "you have spoken truly--but you forget--the years pass.These are no longer strangers; old friends have gone--these have takentheir place. My father forgave the Doctor--why can not you? For therest, believe in me--me--Maruja"--she dramatically touched her heartover the international complications of the letters of Captain Carrolland Peralta. "I will see that the family honor does not suffer. Andnow, good Pereo, calm thyself. Not with aguardiente, but with a bottleof old wine from the Mision refectory that I will send to thee. It wasgiven to me by thy friend, Padre Miguel, and is from the old vines thatwere here. Courage, Pereo! And thou sayest that Amita complains thatthou comest between her and Raymond. So! What matter? Let it cheerthy heart to know that I have summoned the Peraltas, the Pachecos, theEstudillos, all thy old friends, to dine here to-day. Thou wilt hearthe old names, even if the faces are young to thee. Courage! Do thyduty, old friend; let them see that the hospitality of La MisionPerdida does not grow old, if its mayordomo does. Faquita will bringthee the wine. No; not that way; thou needest not pass the patio, normeet that man again. Here, give me thy hand. I will lead thee. Ittrembles, Pereo! These are not the sinews that only two years agopulled down the bull at Soquel with thy single lasso! Why, look! Ican drag thee; see!" and with a light laugh and a boyish gesture, shehalf pulled, half dragged him along, until their voices were lost inthe dark corridor.

  Maruja kept her word. When the sun began to cast long shadows alongthe veranda, not only the outer shell of La Mision Perdida, but thedark inner heart of the old casa, stirred with awakened life. Singlehorsemen and carriages began to arrive; and, mingled with the modernturnouts of the home party and the neighboring Americans, were a few ofthe cumbrous vehicles and chariots of fifty years ago, drawn by gaylytrapped mules with bizarre postilions, and occasionally an outrider.Dark faces looked from the balcony of the patio, a light cloud ofcigarette-smoke made the dark corridors the more obscure, and mingledwith the forgotten incense. Bare-headed pretty women, with rosesstarring their dark hair, wandered with childish curiosity along thebroad veranda and in and out of the French windows that opened upon thegrand saloon. Scrupulously shaved men with olive complexion, stout menwith accurately curving whiskers meeting at their dimpled chins,lounged about with a certain u
nconscious dignity that made themcontentedly indifferent to any novelty of their surroundings. For awhile the two races kept mechanically apart; but, through the tactfulgallantry of Garnier, the cynical familiarity of Raymond, and theimpulsive recklessness of Aladdin, who had forsaken his enchantedPalace on the slightest of invitations, and returned with the party inthe hope of again seeing the Princess of China, an interchange ofcivilities, of gallantries, and even of confidences, at last tookplace. Jovita Castro had heard (who had not?) of the wonders ofAladdin's Palace, and was it of actual truth that the ladies had abouquet and a fan to match their dress presented to them every morning,and that the gentlemen had a champagne cocktail sent to their roomsbefore breakfast? "Just you come, Miss, and bring your father and yourbrothers, and stay a week and you'll see," responded Aladdin,gallantly. "Hold on! What's your father's first name? I'll send ateam over there for you to-morrow." "And is it true that youfrightened the handsome Captain Carroll away from Amita?" said DoloresBriones, over the edge of her fan to Raymond. "Perfectly," saidRaymond, with ingenuous frankness. "I made it a matter of life ordeath. He was a soldier, and naturally preferred the former as givinghim a better chance for promotion." "Ah! we thought it was Maruja youliked best." "That was two years ago," said Raymond, gravely. "Andyou Americanos can change in that time?" "I have just experienced thatit can be done in less," he responded, over the fan, with bewilderingsignificance. Nor were these confidences confined to only onenationality. "I always thought you Spanish gentlemen were very dark,and wore long mustaches and a cloak," said pretty little Miss Walker,gazing frankly into the smooth round face of the eldest Pacheco--"why,you are as fair as I am," "Eaf I tink that, I am for ever mizzarable,"he replied, with grave melancholy. In the dead silence that followedhe was enabled to make his decorous point. "Because I shall not ezcapeze fate of Narcissus." Mr. Buchanan, with the unrestrained andirresponsible enjoyment of a traveler, entered fully into the spirit ofthe scene. He even found words of praise for Aladdin, whoseextravagance had at first seemed to him almost impious. "Eh, but I'mnot prepared to say he is a fool, either," he remarked to his friendthe San Francisco banker. "Those who try to pick him up for one,"returned the banker, "will find themselves mistaken. His is theprodigality that loosens others' purse-strings besides his own,Everybody contents himself with criticising his way of spending money,but is ready to follow his way of making it."

  The dinner was more formal, and when the mistress of the house, massivein black silk, velvet and gold embroidery, moved like a pageant to thehead of her table, where she remained like a sacerdotal effigy, noteven the presence of the practical Scotchman at her side could removethe prevailing sense of restraint. For a while the conversation of therelatives might have been brought with them in their antique vehiclesof fifty years ago, so faded, so worn, and so springless it was.General Pico related the festivities at Monterey, on the occasion ofthe visit of Sir George Simpson early in the present century, of whichhe was an eyewitness, with great precision of detail. Don JuanEstudillo was comparatively frivolous, with anecdotes of LouisPhilippe, whom he had seen in Paris. Far-seeing Pedro Guitierrez wasgloomily impressed with a Mongolian invasion of California by theChinese, in which the prevailing religion would be supplanted byheathen temples, and polygamy engrafted on the Constitution. Everybodyagreed however, that the vital question of the hour was the settlementof land titles--Americans who claimed under preemption and the nativeholders of Spanish grants were equally of the opinion.

  In the midst of this the musical voice of Maruja was heard saying,"What is a tramp?"

  Raymond, on her right, was ready but not conclusive.

  A tramp, if he could sing, would be a troubadour; if he could pray,would be a pilgrim friar--in either case a natural object of womanlysolicitude. But as he could do neither, he was simply a curse.

  "And you think that is not an object of womanly solicitude? But thatdoes not tell me WHAT he is."

  A dozen gentlemen, swept in the radius of those softly-inquiring eyes,here started to explain. From them it appeared that there was no suchthing in California as a tramp, and there were also a dozen varietiesof tramp in California.

  "But is he always very uncivil?" asked Maruja.

  Again there were conflicting opinions. You might have to shoot him onsight, and you might have him invariably run from you. When thequestion was finally settled, Maruja was found to have become absorbedin conversation with some one else.

  Amita, a taller copy of Maruja, and more regularly beautiful, had builtup a little pile of bread crumbs between herself and Raymond, and waslistening to him with a certain shy, girlish interest that was asinconsistent with the serene regularity of her face as Maruja'sself-possessed, subtle intelligence was incongruous to her youthfulfigure. Raymond's voice, when he addressed Amita, was low and earnest;not from any significance of matter, but from its frank confidentialquality.

  "They are discussing the new railroad project, and your relations areall opposed to it; to-morrow they will each apply privately to Aladdinfor the privilege of subscribing."

  "I have never seen a railroad," said Amita, slightly coloring; "but youare an engineer, and I know they must be some thing very clever."

  Notwithstanding the coolness of the night, a full moon drew the gueststo the veranda, where coffee was served, and where, mysteriouslymuffled in cloaks and shawls, the party took upon itself the appearanceof groups of dominoed masqueraders, scattered along the veranda and onthe broad steps of the porch in gypsy-like encampments, from whosecloaked shadow the moonlight occasionally glittered upon a varnishedboot or peeping satin slipper. Two or three of these groups hadresolved themselves into detached couples, who wandered down the acaciawalk to the sound of a harp in the grand saloon or the occasionaluplifting of a thin Spanish tenor. Two of these couples were Marujaand Garnier, followed by Amita and Raymond.

  "You are restless to-night, Maruja," said Amita, shyly endeavoring tomake a show of keeping up with her sister's boyish stride, in spite ofRaymond's reluctance. "You are paying for your wakefulness to-day."

  The same idea passed through the minds of both men. She was missingthe excitement of Captain Carroll's presence.

  "The air is so refreshing away from the house," responded Maruja, witha bright energy that belied any suggestion of fatigue or moraldisquietude. "I'm tired of running against those turtle-doves in thewalks and bushes. Let us keep on to the lane. If you are tired, Mr.Raymond will give you his arm."

  They kept on, led by the indomitable little figure, who, for once, didnot seem to linger over the attentions, both piquant and tender, withwhich Garnier improved his opportunity. Given a shadowy lane, alovers' moon, a pair of bright and not unkindly eyes, a charming andnot distant figure--what more could he want? Yet he wished she hadn'twalked so fast. One might be vivacious, audacious, brilliant, at anIndian trot; but impassioned--never! The pace increased; they wereactually hurrying. More than that, Maruja had struck into a littletrot; her lithe body swaying from side to side, her little feetstraight as an arrow before her; accompanying herself with a quaintmusical chant, which she obligingly explained had been taught her as achild by Pereo. They stopped only at the hedge, where she had thatmorning encountered the tramp.

  There is little doubt that the rest of the party was disconcerted:Amita, whose figure was not adapted to this Camilla-like exercise;Raymond, who was annoyed at the poor girl's discomfiture; and Garnier,who had lost a golden opportunity, with the faint suspicion of havinglooked ridiculous. Only Maruja's eyes, or rather the eyes of herlamented father, seemed to enjoy it.

  "You are too effeminate," she said, leaning against the fence, andshading her eyes with her fan, as she glanced around in the staringmoonlight. "Civilization has taken away your legs. A man ought to beable to trust to his feet all day, and to nothing else."

  "In fact--a tramp," suggested Raymond.

  "Possibly. I think I should like to have been a gypsy, and to havewandered about, finding a new home every ni
ght."

  "And a change of linen on the early morning hedges," said Raymond. "Butdo you think seriously that you and your sister are suitably clad tocommence to-night. It is bitterly cold," he added, turning up hiscollar. "Could you begin by showing a pal the nearest haystack orhen-roost?"

  "Sybarite!" She cast a long look over the fields and down the lane.Suddenly she started. "What is that?"

  She pointed to a tall erect figure slowly disappearing on the otherside of the hedge.

  "It's Pereo, only Pereo. I knew him by his long serape," said Garnier,who was nearest the hedge, complacently. "But what is surprising, hewas not there when we came, nor did he come out of that open field. Hemust have been walking behind us on the other side of the hedge."

  The eyes of the two girls sought each other simultaneously, but notwithout Raymond's observant glance. Amita's brow darkened as she movedto her sister's side, and took her arm with a confidential pressurethat was returned. The two men, with a vague consciousness of somecontretemps, dropped a pace behind, and began to talk to each other,leaving the sisters to exchange a few words in a low tone as theyslowly returned to the house.

  Meanwhile, Pereo's tall figure had disappeared in the shrubbery, toemerge again in the open area by the summer-house and the oldpear-tree. The red sparks of two or three cigarettes in the shadow ofthe summer-house, and the crouching forms of two shawled women cameforward to greet him.

  "And what hast thou heard, Pereo?" said one of the women.

  "Nothing," said Pereo, impatiently. "I told thee I would answer forthis little primogenita with my life. She is but leading thisFrenchman a dance, as she has led the others, and the Dona Amita andher Raymond are but wax in her hands. Besides, I have spoken with thelittle 'Ruja to-day, and spoke my mind, Pepita, and she says there isnothing."

  "And whilst thou wert speaking to her, my poor Pereo, the devil of anAmerican Doctor was speaking to her mother, thy mistress--our mistress,Pereo! Wouldst thou know what he said? Oh, it was nothing."

  "Now, the curse of Koorotora on thee, Pepita!" said Pereo, excitedly."Speak, fool, if thou knowest anything!"

  "Of a verity, no. Let Faquita, then, speak: she heard it." Shereached out her hand, and dragged Maruja's maid, not unwilling, beforethe old man.

  "Good! 'Tis Faquita, daughter of Gomez, and a child of the land.Speak, little one. What said this coyote to the mother of thymistress?"

  "Truly, good Pereo, it was but accident that befriended me."

  "Truly, for thy mistress's sake, I hoped it had been more. But letthat go. Come, what said he, child?"

  "I was hanging up a robe behind the curtain in the oratory when Pepitaushered in the Americano. I had no time to fly."

  "Why shouldst thou fly from a dog like this?" said one of thecigarette-smokers who had drawn near.

  "Peace!" said the old man.

  "When the Dona Maria joined him they spoke of affairs. Yes, Pereo,she, thy mistress, spoke of affairs to this man--ay, as she might havetalked to THEE. And, could he advise this? and could he counsel that?and should the cattle be taken from the lower lands, and the fieldsturned to grain? and had he a purchaser for Los Osos?"

  "Los Osos! It is the boundary land--the frontier--the line of thearroyo--older than the Mision," muttered Pereo.

  "Ay, and he talked of the--the--I know not what it is!--ther-r-rail-r-road."

  "The railroad," gasped the old man. "I will tell thee what it is! Itis the cut of a burning knife through La Mision Perdida--as long aseternity, as dividing as death. On either side of that gash life isblasted; wherever that cruel steel is laid the track of it is livid andbarren; it cuts down all barriers; leaps all boundaries, be they canadaor canyon; it is a torrent in the plain, a tornado in the forest; itsvery pathway is destruction to whoso crosses it--man or beast; it isthe heathenish God of the Americanos; they build temples for it, andflock there and worship it whenever it stops, breathing fire and flamelike a very Moloch."

  "Eh! St. Anthony preserve us!" said Faquita, shuddering; "and yet theyspoke of it as 'shares' and 'stocks,' and said it would double theprice of corn."

  "Now, Judas pursue thee and thy railroad, Pereo," said Pepita,impatiently. "It is not such bagatela that Faquita is here to relate.Go on, child, and tell all that happened."

  "And then," continued Faquita, with a slight affectation of maidenbashfulness, in the closer-drawing circle of cigarettes, "and then theytalked of other things and of themselves; and, of a verity, thisgray-bearded Doctor will play the goat and utter gallant speeches, andspeak of a lifelong devotion and of the time he should have a right toprotect--"

  "The right, girl! Didst thou say the right? No, thou didst mistake.It was not THAT he meant?"

  "Thy life to a quarter peso that the little Faquita does not mistake,"said the evident satirist of the household. "Trust to Gomez' muchachato understand a proposal."

  When the laugh was over, and the sparks of the cigarette, cleverlywhipped out of the speaker's lips by Faquita's fan, had disappeared inthe darkness, she resumed, pettishly, "I know not what you call it whenhe kissed her hand and held it to his heart."

  "Judas!" gasped Pereo. "But," he added, feverishly, "she, the DonaMaria, thy mistress, SHE summoned thee at once to call me to cast outthis dust into the open air; thou didst fly to her assistance? What!thou sawest this, and did nothing--eh?" He stopped, and tried to peerinto the girl's face. "No! Ah, I see; I am an old fool. Yes; it wasMaruja's own mother that stood there. He! he! he!" he laughedpiteously; "and she smiled and smiled and broke the coward's heart, asMaruja might. And when he was gone, she bade thee bring her water towash the filthy Judas stain from her hand."

  "Santa Ana!" said Faquita, shrugging her shoulders. "She did what theveriest muchacha would have done. When he had gone, she sat down andcried."

  The old man drew back a step, and steadied himself by the table. Then,with a certain tremulous audacity, he began: "So! that is all you haveto tell--nothing! Bah! A lazy slut sleeps at her duty, and dreamsbehind a curtain! Yes, dreams!--you understand--dreams! And for thisshe leaves her occupations, and comes to gossip here! Come," hecontinued, steadily working himself into a passion, "come, enough ofthis! Get you gone!--you, and Pepita, and Andreas, and Victor--all ofyou--back to your duty. Away! Am I not master here? Off! I say!"

  There was no mistaking the rising anger of his voice. The cowed grouprose in a frightened way and disappeared one by one silently throughthe labyrinth. Pereo waited until the last had vanished, and then,cramming his stiff sombrero over his eyes with an ejaculation, brushedhis way through the shrubbery in the direction of the stables.

  Later, when the full glory of the midnight moon had put out everystraggling light in the great house; when the long veranda slept inmassive bars of shadow, and even the tradewinds were hushed to repose,Pereo silently issued from the stable-yard in vaquero's dress, mountedand caparisoned. Picking his way cautiously along the turf-borderededge of the gravel path, he noiselessly reached a gate that led to thelane. Walking his spirited mustang with difficulty until the house hadat last disappeared in the intervening foliage, he turned with an easycanter into a border bridle-path that seemed to lead to the canada. Ina quarter of an hour he had reached a low amphitheatre of meadows, shutin a half circle of grassy treeless hills.

  Here, putting spurs to his horse, he entered upon a singular exercise.Twice he made a circuit of the meadow at a wild gallop, with flyingserape and loosened rein, and twice returned. The third time his speedincreased; the ground seemed to stream from under him; in the distancethe limbs of his steed became invisible in their furious action, and,lying low forward on his mustang's neck, man and horse passed like anarrowy bolt around the circle. Then something like a light ring ofsmoke up-curved from the saddle before him, and, slowly uncoilingitself in mid air, dropped gently to the ground as he passed. Again,and once again, the shadowy coil sped upward and onward, slowlydetaching its snaky rings with a weird deliberation that was in strangecontrast to the
impetuous onset of the rider, and yet seemed a part ofhis fury. And then turning, Pereo trotted gently to the centre of thecircle.

  Here he divested himself of his serape, and, securing it in acylindrical roll, placed it upright on the ground and once more spedaway on his furious circuit. But this time he wheeled suddenly beforeit was half completed and bore down directly upon the unconsciousobject. Within a hundred feet he swerved slightly; the long detachingrings again writhed in mid air and softly descended as he thunderedpast. But when he had reached the line of circuit again, he turned andmade directly for the road he had entered. Fifty feet behind hishorse's heels, at the end of a shadowy cord, the luckless serape wasdragging and bounding after him!

  "The old man is quiet enough this morning," said Andreas, as he groomedthe sweat-dried skin of the mustang the next day. "It is easy to see,friend Pinto, that he has worked off his madness on thee."