CHAPTER VI
NIGHT VISIONS
When the tension of waiting was becoming intolerable, and Mrs. Trent wasalready rising to seek her daughter, Jessica reappeared in the doorway.Her white face and frightened eyes told her story without words, but hermother forced herself to ask:
"Did you find it, darling?"
"Mother, it is gone!"
"Gone!"
"Gone. Yet it was only that dear, last day when he was with us, in themorning, before he set out for the mines, that he showed it to me, safeand sound in its place. He was to tell you, too, that night--but----"
"It was that, then, which was on his mind, and I could not understand.I--Antonio Bernal, he entrusted you and you must know; where is thatmissing deed?"
"Deed, senora? This day, just ended, is it not that I have been overall the records and there is none of any deed to Sobrante later than myown--or that proves my claim. In truth, the honorable Dona Gabriella isright, indeed. I was the trusted friend of the dead senor, and if anysuch precious document existed, would I not have known it? _Si._ WhatI do know is the worry, the trouble, the impossibility of such a paperbroke the senor's heart. It does not exist. Sobrante is mine. He knewthat this was so--I had often spoken----"
The untruth he was about to utter did not pass his lips. There wasthat in the white face of Gabriella Trent which arrested his words,as, clasping her boy in her arms, she glided into the darkened halland entered her own rooms beyond.
The "boys" had not moved, nor Jessica followed, and she now firmlyconfronted the manager, saying:
"I am sorry to tell you, Antonio Bernal, that you are not acting square.My father did have that title deed, and I believe you know it. Somebodyhas taken it from the place where his own hands put it, but I will findit. This home is ours, is all my mother's. Nobody shall ever take itfrom her. Nobody. You hear me say that, Senor Antonio Bernal, and you,dear 'boys?'"
"Ay, ay," echoed her friends, heartily; but the superintendent regardedher as he might have done some amusing little insect.
"Very pretty, senorita. The filial devotion, almost beautiful. Butthe facts--well, am I not merciful and generous, I? There is no haste.Indeed, no. A month----"
"Before a month is out I will have found that deed and placed it inmy darling mother's hands. I may be too young to understand the'business' you talk about so much, but I am not too young to save mymother's happiness. I can see that paper now, in my mind, and Iremember exactly how it looked inside and out. It seemed such a littlething to be worth a whole, great ranch. I don't know how nor where,but somehow and somewhere, I shall find that paper. 'Boys,' will youhelp me?"
"To the last drop of our hearts' blood!" cried John Benton, and theothers echoed, "Ay, ay!"
Antonio thought it time to end this scene and walked toward the porch, atthe further end of which was another long window opening into his ownapartments. But he was not permitted to leave so easily. Great Samsonplaced himself in the manager's path and remarked:
"There's no call to lose sight of the main business 'count o' thislittle side-play of yours. We boys come up here to-night to quit youremploy and hire out to Our Lady Jess. We're all agreed, every man jackof us. Your day's over. Account of Mrs. Trent and the kids, we'dlike things done quiet and decent. There's a good horse of yours inthe stable and though there isn't any moon, you know the roads well.If you tarry for breakfast, likely you won't have much appetite toeat it. More'n that, the senora, as you call her, has waited on yourwhelpship for just the last time. Before you start you might as wellpay up some of our back wages, and hand over to the mistress the fundsyou've been keeping from her."
"Insolent! Stand aside. How dare you? Let me pass."
"I'm not quite through yet. There's no real call to have talk withsuch as you, but we 'boys' kind of resent being set down as plumbfools. We've seen through you, though we've kept our mouths shut. Nowthey're open; leastways, mine is. This here notion of yours aboutownin' Sobrante is a bird of recent hatchin'. 'Tisn't full-fledgedyet, and 's likely never to be. Your first idea was to run the ranchdown till your mistress had to give it up out of sheer bad luck. Fail,mortgage, or such like. Oranges didn't sell for what they ought; oliveswasn't worth shucks; some little varmint got to eating the raisingrapes; mine petered out; feathers growing poorer every plucking, thoughthe birds are getting valuabler. Never had accounts quite ready--you,that was a master hand at figures when the boss took you in and made you,You----"
Antonio strode forward, furious, and with uplifted hand.
"You rascal! This to me--I, Antonio Bernal, descendant of--Master ofSobrante and Paraiso, I----"
"Master? Humph! Owner? Fiddlesticks! Why, that little tacker there,asleep on the floor," pointing to Luis, "is likelier heir to this oldranch than you. The country's full of Garcias and always has been, Pedrosays. Garcia himself, when all's told. As for Bernals, who ever heardof more'n one o' them? That's you, you skunk! Now, usin' your ownfine, highfalutin' language: 'Go. _Vamos._ Depart. Clear out. _Get!_'"
"I go--because it so suits me, I, myself. But I return. New servantswill be with me and your quarters must be empty. Let me pass."
"Certain. Anything to oblige. But don't count on them quarters. Wecouldn't leave them if we would 'cause we've all took root. Beengrowing so long; become indigenous to the soil, like the boss'experiments. Thrive so well might have been born here and certainlymean to die on the spot. Going? Well, good-night. Call again. _Adios._"
By this time Jessica was laughing, as her old friend had meant she shouldbe. In his contemptuous harangue of the man he disliked and mistrusted,there had been more humor than anger.
"Well, my lady, that did me good. Haven't had such a thoroughhousecleaning of my mean thoughts in quite a spell. Feel all ready fora fresh voyage under the new captain. You rest run along and find thatlong sufferin' mother of yours and tell her the coast's clear of thatpirate craft. We've all shipped men-o'-war, now, and run up theold flag of truth and love. That was the banner your father floatedfrom his masthead, and the colors that'll never dip to lying orcheating. Wait. I'll pack this baby Luis to his bed. Poor littlecastaway, that your good father picked up in the canyon and fetchedhome in his arms, to share the best with his own. Well, needn'ttell me that the family of a man as good as he was'll ever come towant. Heave ahead, captain. Show me the track to sail."
Jessica stopped to bid the other ranchmen good-night, then led the sailorto the little bedroom which the lads shared in common, and where Nedwas already asleep, tucked in his white cot by his mother, who let nopersonal grief interfere with her care for others.
"Good-night, dear Samson. I must find that paper. You must help me. Mymother must not, shall not, lose her home."
"Never. Good-night, captain. You've a good crew on deck and we'll makehappy haven yet."
That was Jessica Trent's first wakeful night. Though she tried to liequietly in her own little bed, lest she should disturb her mother whoseroom she shared, she fancied all sorts of strange sounds, both in-doorsand out; and whenever she dropped into a doze, dreamed of the missingpaper and of searching for it.
One dream was so vivid that she woke, exclaiming:
"Oh, mother! I've found it. The black tin box under the three sharprocks!"
But her eyes opened upon vacancy, and there was no response from thelarger bed where her anxious parent had, at last, fallen asleep. Yet thevision remained, painted upon the darkness, as it were, a sun-lightedglowing spot, with three pyramidal rocks and a clump of scraggly liveoaks. A spot she had never seen, indeed, but felt that she shouldinstantly recognize, should she come upon it anywhere.
Then she curled back upon her pillows and again shut her eyes.
Could it be possible that she, a healthy little girl, was growingfidgety, like Aunt Sally Benton, who sometimes came to visit her son andhelp with the sewing? For she surely was hearing things. Movements,hushed footfalls, softly closing doors, creaking floors, at an hour whenall the household should be at rest.
"How silly!
It may be somebody is ill! Wun Lung's hand may hurt him,though it seemed so nearly well, and nobody else would have minded it.That stranger! Yes, I fancy it's he. He may need something that I canget him, and I'll go inquire."
Slipping a little wrapper over her gown, but in her bare feet, the girlnoiselessly left the room and followed the sound she had heard. Theseled her to a small apartment which her father had used as an office andwhere stood the desk in whose secret drawer she had expected to findthe title deed. A small fireproof safe was in this office. It was anold-fashioned affair, with a simple, but heavy key, which the Sobrantechildren had played with in their infancy. She remembered her fatherremarking, with a laugh, that a safe was the most useless thing hepossessed, for he never had anything worth putting in it; but it hadbeen a belonging of old "Forty-niner" Marsh, a gift to his employer,and therefore accorded a place of honor.
Before this safe now bent a man whom Jessica recognized with surpriseand relief.
"Why, Mr. Marsh! Is it you? What in the world are you doing here at thishour? Are you ill? Do you want something?"
"No, dearie. I'm not ill; and I'm not robbing you. And I've got allI want. That's one more look at your bonny face, God bless it!"
It was close to his shoulder now, that face he loved, and he kissed ittenderly; though with equal tenderness, if less emotion, the little maidreturned his caress and clasped his neck with those strong, young armsthat so yearned to protect and comfort everybody.
"That's funny. Should think you'd be tired of it, sometimes, Idisappoint you so. But never mind. I'm getting handier with my newrifle every day, I think, and I mean to do yet what Samson claims Ishould--just beat the world. Have you finished looking at your things?"For it was Mr. Marsh himself who had always used the safe, even aftergiving it away. "Can't I get you something to eat, so you can sleepbetter?"
"No, dearie, no, just one more good kiss--to remember. Good-by. Good-by.It--it might have been done kinder, maybe, but--her heart is sad, I know,and her first thought is for you. She must save for you. Here, Lady,take the key. Some time you--you might want to look in that safe foryourself. Good-night."
Jessica went with him to the outer door, wondering much at thisoddly-timed visit. Yet the ranchman walked erect, still carrying hislighted candle quite openly, as one who had done nothing of which to beashamed; and when he had departed the girl returned to her own bedstill more wakeful because of this queer incident.
Ten minutes later, it may have been, she heard the limping footfall ofa slowly-moving horse, the echoes growing fainter continually.
Again she sat up and listened.
"That's Mr. Marsh's 'Stiffleg!' What should send him off riding now?Oh! I do wish mother was awake, things seem so queer. Yet I don't reallywish it. She has so many wakeful nights and just this one is more thanI want. Now, Jessica Trent, don't be foolish any longer. Go straight tosleep or you'll be late in the morning."
Nature acted upon this good advice, and Our Lady knew no more till a pairof chubby hands were pulling her curls and Ned's voice was screeching inher ear:
"Wake up, Jessie Trent. We had our breakfast hours ago, and the 'boys'is all out-doors, can't go to work 'ithout their captain. That's _me_,Jessie Trent, 'cause I'm the 'heir.' Samson said so."
"I's the heir, Samson said so!" echoed Luis from the floor wherehe was trying the fit of Jessica's new "buckskins"--the comfortablemoccasin-like footgear which Pedro made for her--upon his own stubby toes.
"He, he! What's the heir Samson said? You're a stupid, Luis Garcia."
"Stupid Garcia!" laughed the little mimic, not in the least offended.
"Well, run away then, laddies, and I'll be ready in a jiffy. Poormother. To think that I should have left her to do so much alone."
As she threw open the sash of the rear window, Jessica started back,surprised; for there, reined close to the porch, was Nero's black form,with the dark face of his master bending low over the saddle.
"Good-morning, senorita, and good fortune. Those who hid may find. Ikiss your hand in farewell, and may it rule in peace till I return, Imyself, the master. One month hence I come, bringing my servants withme. _Adios._ Ah! but what did you and the old sharpshooter at the officesafe at midnight? _When the senora would seek her title, seek him._ Itis farewell."
Jessica Trent: Her Life on a Ranch Page 6