by Rex Beach
IV
AN EVENING AT LAS PALMAS
Although the lower counties of southwest Texas are flat and badlywatered, they possess a rich soil. They are favored, too, by a kindlyclimate, subtropic in its mildness. The days are long and bright andbreezy, while night brings a drenching dew that keeps the grassesgreen. Of late years there have been few of those distressing droughtsthat gave this part of the state an evil reputation, and there has beena corresponding increase in prosperity. The Rio Grande, jaundiced,erratic as an invalid, wrings its saffron blood from the clay bluffsand gravel canons of the hill country, but near its estuary windsquietly through a low coastal plain which the very impurities of thatblood have richened. Here the river's banks are smothered in thicketsof huisache, ebony, mesquite, oak, and alamo.
Railroads, those vitalizing nerve-fibers of commerce, are so scarcealong this division of the border that even in this day when we boast,or lament, that we no longer have a frontier, there remain in Texassections larger than some of our Eastern states which hear the sound ofiron wheels only on their boundaries. To travel from Brownsville northalong the international line one must, for several hundred miles, availoneself of horses, mules, or motor-cars, since rail transportation isalmost lacking. And on his way the traveler will traverse wholecounties where the houses are jacals, where English is a foreigntongue, and where peons plow their fields with crooked sticks as didthe ancient Egyptians.
That part of the state which lies below the Nueces River was for a timedisputed territory, and long after Texans had given their lives todrive the Eagle of Mexico across the Rio Grande much of it remained aforbidden land. Even to-day it is alien. It is a part of our Southland,but a South different to any other that we have. Within it there are noblacks, and yet the whites number but one in twenty. The rest areswarthy, black-haired men who speak the Spanish tongue and whosecitizenship is mostly a matter of form.
The stockmen, pushing ahead of the nesters and the tillers of the soil,were the first to invade the lower Rio Grande, and among these "Old Ed"Austin was a pioneer. Out of the unmapped prairie he had hewed afoothold, and there, among surroundings as Mexican as Mexico, he hadlaid the beginnings of his fortune.
Of "Old Ed's" early life strange stories are told; like the othercattle barons, he was hungry for land and took it where or how hecould. There are tales of fertile sections bought for ten cents anacre, tales of Mexican ranchers dispossessed by mortgage, by monte, orby any means that came to hand; stories even of some, more stubbornthan the rest, who refused to feed the Austin greed for land, and whoremained on their farms to feed the buzzards instead. Those were crudeold days; the pioneers who pushed their herds into the far pastureswere lawless fellows, ruthless, acquisitive, mastered by theempire-builder's urge for acres and still more acres. They were theReclaimers, the men who seized and held, and then seized more,concerning themselves little or not at all with the moral law asapplicable to both Mexican and white, and leaving it to the secondgeneration to justify their acts, if ever justification were required.
As other ranches grew under the hands of such unregenerate owners, soalso under "Old Ed" Austin's management did Las Palmas increase andprosper. The estate took its name from a natural grove of palms inwhich the house was built; it comprised an expanse of rich river-landbacked by miles of range where "Box A" cattle lived and bred. In hislater years the old man sold much land, and some he leased; but when hehanded Las Palmas to his son, "Young Ed," as a wedding gift, the ranchstill remained a property to be proud of, and one that was known farand wide for its size and richness. Leaving his boy to work out of it afortune for himself and his bride, the father retired to San Antonio,whither the friends and cronies of his early days were drifting. Therehe settled down and proceeded to finish his allotted span exactly assuited him best. The rancher's ideal of an agreeable old age comprisedthree important items--to wit, complete leisure, unlimited freedom ofspeech, and two pints of rye whisky daily. He enjoyed them allimpartially, until, about a year before this story opens, he diedprofanely and comfortably. He had a big funeral, and was sincerelymourned by a coterie of gouty old Indian-fighters.
Las Palmas had changed greatly since Austin, senior, painfully scrawledhis slanting signature to the deed. It was a different ranch now towhat the old man had known; indeed, it was doubtful if he would haverecognized it, for even the house was new.
Alaire had some such thought in mind as she rode up to the gate on theafternoon following her departure from the water-hole, and she felt athrill of pride at the acres of sprouting corn, the dense green fieldsof alfalfa so nicely fitted between their fences. They were like clean,green squares of matting spread for the feet of summer.
A Mexican boy came running to care for her horse, a Mexican womangreeted her as she entered the wide, cool hall and went to her room.Alaire had ridden far. Part of the night had been spent at the Balligoat-ranch, the remainder of the journey had been hot and dusty, andeven yet she was not wholly recovered from her experience of theoutward trip.
The house servants at Las Palmas were, on the whole, well trained, andMrs. Austin's periodic absences excited no comment; in the presentinstance, Dolores fixed a bath and laid out clean clothes with no morethan a running accompaniment of chatter concerned with householdaffairs. Dolores, indeed, was superior to the ordinary servant; she wasa woman of some managerial ability, and she combined the duties ofpersonal maid with those of housekeeper. She was a great gossip, andpossessed such a talent for gaining information that through herhusband, Benito, the range boss, she was able to keep her mistress infairly intimate touch with ranch matters.
Alaire, however, was at this moment in no mood to resume the tiresomedetails of management; she quickly dismissed her servitor and proceededto revel in the luxury of a cool bath, after which she took a nap.Later, as she leisurely dressed herself, she acknowledged that it wasgood to feel the physical comforts of her own house, even though herhome-coming gave her no especial joy. She made it a religious practiceto dress for dinner, regardless of Ed's presence, though often forweeks at a time she sat in solitary state, presiding over an emptytable. Nevertheless, she kept to her custom, for not only did theformality help her to retain her own self-respect, but it had itsinfluence upon the servants. Without companionship one needs to be everupon guard to retain the nice refinements of gentle breeding, and anyone who has exercised authority in savage countries soon learns theimportance of leaving unbridged the gulf of color and of class.
But Alaire looked forward to no lonely dinner to-night, for Ed was athome. It was with a grave preoccupation that she made herself ready tomeet him.
Dolores bustled in for a second time and straightway launched herselfinto a tirade against Juan, the horse-boy.
"Devil take me if there was ever such a shameless fellow," she cried,angrily. "He delights in tormenting me, and--Dios!--he is lazier than asnake. Work? Bah! He abhors it. All day long he snaps his revolver andpretends to be a bandido, and when he is not risking hell's fire inthat way he is whirling his riata and jumping through it. Uselesscapers! He ropes the dog, he ropes the rose-bushes, he ropes fatVictoria, the cook, carrying a huge bowl of hot water to scald theants' nest. Victoria's stomach is boiled red altogether, and so painfulthat when she comes near the stove she curses in a way to chill yourblood. What does he do this morning but fling his wicked loop over acalf's head and break off one of its little horns. It was terrible; butSenor Austin only laughed and told him he was a fine vaquero."
"Has Mr. Austin been here all the time?"
"Yes."
"Has he--drunk much?"
"Um-m. No more than common. He is on the gallery now with hiscocktails."
"He knows I am at home?"
"I told him."
Alaire went on dressing. After a little she asked: "Has Benito finishedbranding the calves in the south pasture?"
"He finished yesterday and sent the remuda to the Six Mile. JoseSanchez will have completed the rodeo by this afternoon. Benito rode inlast night to see you."
"By the way, you know Jose's cousin, Panfilo?"
"Si."
"Why did he leave Las Palmas?"
Dolores hesitated so long that her mistress turned upon her with a lookof sharp inquiry.
"He went to La Feria, senora." Then, in a lowered tone: "Mr. Austinordered it. Suddenly, without warning, he sent him away, though Panfilodid not wish to go, Benito told me all about it."
"Why was he transferred? Come! What ails your tongue, Dolores?"
"Well, I keep my eyes open and my ears, too. I am no fool--" Dolorespaused doubtfully.
"Yes, yes!"
Dolores drew closer. "Rosa Morales--you know the girl? Her father worksthe big pump-engine at the river. Well, he is not above anything, thatman; not above selling his own flesh and blood, and the girl is nobetter. She thinks about nothing except men, and she attends all thebailes for miles around, on both sides of the river. Panfilo loved her;he was mad about her. That's why he came here to work."
"They were engaged, were they not?"
"Truly. And Panfilo was jealous of any man who looked at Rosa. Now youcan understand why--he was sent away." Dolores's sharp eyes narrowedmeaningly. "Senor Ed has been riding toward the river every day,lately. Panfilo was furious, so--"
"I see! That is all I care to hear." Alone, Alaire stood motionless forsome time, her face fixed, her eyes unseeing; but later, when she mether husband in the dining-room, her greeting was no less civil thanusual.
Ed acknowledged his wife's entrance with a careless nod, but did nottrouble to remove his hands from his pockets. As he seated himselfheavily at the table and with unsteady fingers shook the folds from hisnapkin, he said:
"You stayed longer than you intended. Um-m--you were gone three days,weren't you?"
"Four days," Alaire told him, realizing with a little inward start howvery far apart she and Ed had drifted. She looked at him curiously foran instant, wondering if he really could be her husband, or--if he werenot some peculiarly disagreeable stranger.
Ed had been a handsome boy, but maturity had vitiated his good looks.He was growing fat from drink and soft from idleness; his face was toofull, his eyes too sluggish; there was an unhealthy redness in hischeeks. In contrast to his wife's semi-formal dress, he wasunkempt--unshaven and soiled. He wore spurred boots and a soft shirt;his nails were grimy. When in the city he contrived to garb himselfimmaculately; he was in fact something of a dandy; but at home he was asloven, and openly reveled in a freedom of speech and a coarseness ofmanner that were sad trials to Alaire. His preparations for dinner thisevening had been characteristically simple; he had drunk three drycocktails and flung his sombrero into a corner.
"I've been busy while you were gone," he announced. "Been down to thepump-house every day laying that new intake. It was a nasty job, too. Ihad Morales barbecue a cabrito for my lunch, and it was good, but I'mhungry again." Austin attacked his meal with an enthusiasm strange inhim, for of late his appetite had grown as errant as his habits. Edboasted, in his clubs, that he was an outdoor man, and he was wont totell his friends that the rough life was the life for him; but as amatter of fact he spent much more time in San Antonio than he did athome, and each of his sojourns at Las Palmas was devoted principally tosobering up from his last visit to the city and to preparing foranother. Nor was he always sober even in his own house; Ed was a heavyand a constant drinker at all times. What little exercise he took wasupon the back of a horse, and, as no one knew better than his wife, thephysical powers he once had were rapidly deteriorating.
By and by he inquired, vaguely: "Let's see, ... Where did you go thistime?"
"I went up to look over that Ygnacio tract."
"Oh yes. How did you find it?"
"Not very promising. It needs a lot of wells."
"I haven't been out that way since I was a boy. Think you'll lease it?"
"I don't know. I must find some place for those La Feria cattle."
Austin shook his head. "Better leave 'em where they are, until therebels take that country. I stand mighty well with them."
"That's the trouble," Alaire told him. "You stand too well--so wellthat I want to get my stock out of Federal territory as soon aspossible."
Ed shrugged carelessly. "Suit yourself; they're your cows."
The meal went on with a desultory flow of small talk, during which thehusband indulged his thirst freely. Alaire told him about the accidentto her horse and the unpleasant ordeal she had suffered in the mesquite.
"Lucky you found somebody at the water-hole," Ed commented. "Who wasthis Ranger? Never heard of the fellow," he commented on the name. "TheRangers are nothing like they used to be."
"This fellow would do credit to any organization." As Alaire describedhow expeditiously Law had made his arrest and handled his man, herhusband showed interest.
"Nicolas Anto, eh?" said he, "Who was his companero?"
"Panfilo Sanchez."
Ed started. "That's strange! They must have met accidentally."
"So they both declared. Why did you let Panfilo go?"
"We didn't need him here, and he was too good a man to lose, so--" Edfound his wife's eyes fixed upon him, and dropped his own. "I knew youwere short-handed at La Feria." There was an interval of silence, thenEd exclaimed, testily, "What are you looking at?"
"I wondered what you'd say."
"Eh? Can't I fire a man without a long-winded explanation?" Somethingin Alaire's expression warned him of her suspicion; therefore he tookrefuge behind an assumption of anger. "My God! Don't I have a word tosay about my own ranch? Just because I've let you run things to suityourself--"
"Wait! We had our understanding." Alaire's voice was low and vibrant."It was my payment for living with you, and you know it. You gave methe reins to Las Palmas so that I'd have something to do, something tolive for and think about, except--your actions. The ranch has doubledin value, every penny is accounted for, and you have more money tospend on yourself than ever before. You have no reason to complain."
Austin crushed his napkin into a ball and flung it from him; with ascowl he shoved himself back from the table.
"It was an idiotic arrangement, just the same. I agreed because I wassick. Dad thought I was all shot to pieces. But I'm all right now andable to run my own business."
"Nevertheless, it was a bargain, and it will stand. If your father werealive he'd make you live up to it."
"Hell! You talk as if I were a child," shouted her husband; and hisplump face was apoplectic with rage. "The title is in my name. Howcould he make me do anything?"
"Nobody could force you," his wife said, quietly. "You are still enoughof a man to keep your word, I believe, so long as I observe my part ofour bargain?"
Ed, slightly mollified, agreed. "Of course I am; I never welched. But Iwon't be treated as an incompetent, and I'm tired of these eternalwrangles and jangles."
"You HAVE welched."
"Eh?" Austin frowned belligerently.
"You agreed to go away when you felt your appetite coming on, and youpromised to live clean, at least around home."
"Well?"
"Have you done it?"
"Certainly. I never said I'd cut out the booze entirely."
"What about your carousals at Brownsville?"
Austin subsided sullenly. "Other men have got full in Brownsville."
"No doubt. But you made a scandal. You have been seen with--women, in agood many places where we are known."
"Bah! There's nothing to it."
Alaire went on in a lifeless tone that covered the seething emotionswithin her. "I never inquire into your actions at San Antonio or otherlarge cities, although of course I have ears and I can't help hearingabout them; but these border towns are home to us, and people know me.I won't be humiliated more than I am; public pity is--hard enough tobear. I've about reached the breaking-point."
"Indeed?" Austin leaned forward, his eyes inflamed. His tone wasraised, heedless of possible eavesdroppers. "Then why don't you end it?Why don't you
divorce me? God knows I never see anything of you. Youhave your part of the house and I have mine; all we share in common ismeal-hours, and--and a mail address. You're about as much my wife asDolores is."
Alaire turned upon him eyes dark with misery. "You know why I don'tdivorce you. No, Ed, we're going to live out our agreement, and theseBrownsville episodes are going to cease." Her lips whitened. "So areyour visits to the pumping-station."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You transferred Panfilo because he was growing jealous of you andRosa."
Ed burst into sudden laughter. "Good Lord! There's no harm in a littleflirtation. Rosa's a pretty girl."
His wife uttered a breathless, smothered exclamation; her hands, asthey lay on the table-cloth, were tightly clenched. "She's yourtenant--almost your servant. What kind of a man are you? Haven't youany decency left?"
"Say! Go easy! I guess I'm no different to most men." Austin'sunpleasant laughter had been succeeded by a still more unpleasantscowl. "I have to do SOMETHING. It's dead enough around here--"
"You must stop going there."
"Humph! I notice YOU go where YOU please. Rosa and I never spent anight together in the chaparral--"
"Ed!" Alaire's exclamation was like the snap of a whip. She rose andfaced her husband, quivering as if the lash had stung her flesh.
"That went home, eh? Well, I'm no fool! I've seen something of theworld, and I've found that women are about like men. I'd like to have alook at this David Law, this gunman, this Handsome Harry who waits atwater-holes for ladies in distress." Ed ignored his wife's outflunghand, and continued, mockingly: "I'll bet he's all that's manly andsplendid, everything that I'm NOT."
"You'd--better stop," gasped the woman. "I can't stand everything."
"So? Well, neither can I."
"After--this, I think you'd better go--to San Antonio. Maybe I'llforget before you come back."
To this "Young Ed" agreed quickly enough. "Good!" said he. "That suitsme. It's hell around Las Palmas, anyhow, and I'll at least get a littlepeace at my club." He glowered after his wife as she left the room.Then, still scowling, he lurched out to the gallery where the breezewas blowing, and flung himself into a chair.