The Western Romance MEGAPACK ®: 20 Classic Tales

by Zane Grey

  Madre Moreno dressed peculiarly; she wore when I first remember her, a short black skirt and waist; a little cape of red woolen cloth hung over her shoulders, about her neck was a white ruff which set off her peaked face and made it look even more withered and yellow; her hair was short, and over a silk skull cap was drawn a black reboso, the ends of which were embroidered in colour with odd designs. Her whole person was the perfection of neatness, and she was welcome from Bolinas to San Rafael for the good she did, as her knowledge of herb and even mineral medicines was extensive.

  At my christening it was thought that the curse would be removed, as Madre Moreno was invited to the ceremonies, and from that time was a constant visitor at the rancho for some years, always received with a welcome, mingled, perhaps, with a little fear, by all save Catalina, who, despite her dread of the queer woman, never could conceal her hatred for her, and when the sudden death of my father was closely followed by that of my mother, she forbade Madre Moreno the house. To this I could say nothing, as I have always a reverence for the woman who rules at home, and Catalina now was my housekeeper, in charge of broom and wash tub, and grand almoner of my dinners and luncheons.

  CHAPTER II.

  Madre Moreno never came again to my house, but always seemed to take an interest in me, who, when I reached an age when I could be trusted away from the garden, would wander with her through the woods while she was gathering her herbs, and from her I learned much that was of great benefit to me in after years. After my return from Mexico, we greeted in friendly manner, and she seemed to take great pleasure in my company.

  I never approached the ruin without a strange foreboding of something terrible about to happen, which always disappeared after I had been there a while and the charming beauty of the quiet spot had turned my thoughts into pleasanter channels; perhaps the feeling of fear was attributable to the stories I had heard during childhood, and had never outgrown.

  One day I saw Madre Moreno’s red cloak showing out brightly from behind the rank growths of nightshade, the tenderer leaves of which she seemed to be carefully gathering. She was muttering to herself words unintelligible to me, and did not seem to notice me, although I stood for a long time very near where she was at work.

  “Good morning, Madre; you are very busy to-day,” I said, after a while. She looked up, nodding in a friendly way, but not answering, while she continued her jargon as she carefully laid in the basket the oval-shaped, pointed leaves. As I drew nearer I noticed for the first time that it was not the common nightshade, which grew wild about the country, but was the atropa, a plant not indigenous to California. It was in flower; the bell-shaped blossoms, of a dead, violet-brown colour, with the green leaves about them, made a disagreeable combination seldom seen in any of nature’s pictures.

  When she had completely filled her basket she turned to me and spoke: “I am glad to see thee, Carlos, for it has been long since we have met, and I began to think that thou hadst forgotten thy old friend, or, perhaps, hadst learned all about flowers and herbs, so that she could teach thee no more.”

  “No, Madre; I shall never know so much about them as you do. I can learn their names and values only, while you put them all to so many good uses,” I answered. “What do you do with the leaves you have just gathered? They are very poisonous, and you should wash your hands well after touching them, and especially after getting the juice on your fingers!”

  “But thou knowest poison makes little difference with one like me, who hath a charmed life,” replied Madre Moreno, as she handed me the basket to carry while she nimbly stepped from stone to stone and climbed out of the hollow, here and there startling a snake or lizard that lay in the sunshine.

  “It is well done!” she abruptly said, and looking at me, burst into a fit of laughter which was so spontaneous and hearty that I joined with her, though I knew not at what I was laughing. My own laugh sounded strangely, however, and seemed to me to echo with another tone from the vine-covered walls as if some one were there, and like Madre Moreno, were also laughing at me. I stopped suddenly, and I felt my face change colour, and the same awe which I so often felt when about the ruined house came upon me with a force I had never known before; I trembled as I stood there beside this strange woman, who laughed louder and louder, striking her little hands together in seeming ecstacy, while the sounds echoed and re-echoed among the fig trees and heaps of stones, yet seeming all the time less like echoes than like the voices of innumerable, invisible creatures darting everywhere about the grove. The place grew darker, for clouds just then obscured the sun and covered the hills beyond Tamalpais. Madre Moreno came nearer to me and touched my forehead.… Suddenly the sun shown bright as ever upon the fig and olive trees and gleamed from thousands of silver drops hanging from every leaf; the snakes and lizards lay quietly upon the steaming rocks and half burnt beams, while the rank vegetation sent forth a sweet scent of green life.

  “Why do you laugh at me, Madre?” I asked.

  “Only, Carlos,” she answered, “because it is so odd to see thee carrying the old witch’s basket with all the charms and thou knowing nothing about it all; oh it is very odd!” and the Madre laughed again. “The storm has gone over,” she continued, “I feared it would last long, but winter is almost gone, and it passed without much rain falling here.”

  “What storm?” I asked.

  “The storm which has just passed, hast thou not noted it?”

  “I saw no storm, you must be dreaming Madre, or trying some of your spells upon me. There has been no storm for the sun has been shining brightly, except when that cloud passed for a moment,” I answered as I handed her the basket.

  “Whence came the drops of water which lie upon the leaves, Señor Carlos, if not from the clouds which thou canst still see passing over the hills toward San Anselmo? Thou knowest not all the power Ambrosia Moreno, thy little madre, hath. So thou hast held the basket with the flat green leaves.”

  “Oh! Madre Moreno, I can never understand you, but you must be careful of the leaves you have just gathered, for they contain a most powerful poison. I am more afraid, since the plant is rare or even unknown in the Californias, that you do not know its power; you surely can never have found it before, and how it came to be growing here is incomprehensible to me.”

  The witch bent her head and looking into my face from under her overhanging reboso, raised her finger and shook it before me saying as she did so, “Thou art a learned señorito, Carlos Sotos, but although Ambrosia Moreno hath never been in the college, she knows more of the little flowers and bright leaves of this plant thou speakest of than all the Jesuits or thy people shall ever learn. The very plant growing here among these fallen stones is as old as thou art, Carlos Sotos, and that almost to a year. It has ever grown on, season after season, and shall live until its duty is performed, then let it wither when it shall no longer be needed here. Thou must come down and see me, Carlos,” she continued in an altered voice, “for I have some new flowers which thou shalt have; come for I am lonely and like young company, though I be a witch as they say. Where goest thou to-day?”

  “Above on the divide where I hope to find some of the Indian pinks for my new collection.”

  “When doest thou return, before sundown?” asked Madre Moreno as she prepared to go.

  “Before that, surely,” I answered, “I shall be back here at the ruin by four o’clock, though I had no idea that the time had gone so fast, it is almost noon; I must hurry or I shall have Catalina very hot waiting with a cold supper. By the way Madre, she sent her best respects to you and hopes that you will not bewitch any more of her poultry, for if you do, they will be a headless lot in a short time.”

  Madre Moreno nodded knowingly, and closed one eye slyly as she answered, “Thou art the cleverest señorito in these parts, but little as thou believest in my influence with el bueno Diablo, as the old women call him, I could disclos
e to thee many strange events which shall come after this day, and from this meeting thou shall date thy future.” She started but turned and said, “My son, I have learned to love thee, yet I have a duty beyond love; say that thou believest that my sainted father was unjustly treated, and thy life shall be blessed.”

  “I cannot, Madre Moreno, I am sorry for the sad result of the case at court, but as you know, it was only justice.”

  She said no more, but with a laugh, half broken by a sigh, the little woman walked briskly under the olives and down over the brow of the hill.

  The grass and trees were all wet, the great laurels by the path shown as if varnished, the huge madroño leaves each held a jewel on its tip; all evidences of a heavy rain were about me, yet I had not been aware of it falling. In a short time I was deep in the redwood forest, away from the world in companionship with God.

  CHAPTER III

  It was nearly five o’clock when I approached the ruin on my return; the sun was now low enough to throw long shadows over the place, and made an effect of gloom which formed a good setting for the wall, with its green drapery standing out shining and warm in a glorious flood of golden sunshine.

  As I sat down to enjoy the picture, I became aware of some one walking behind the great clumps of nightshade, and presently a young woman stepped from behind the atropa where Madre Moreno had that morning been picking the poisonous leaves, and walked across the hollow, stepping gracefully from stone to stone till she came to the bright spot where the sun was shining, and seating herself at the foot of the wall, opened a book and began to read aloud. Beautiful as the scene had been before, it was now enhanced, and I did not stir, lest I should dispel the lovely vision.

  For fully half an hour I must have remained there before she became aware of my presence; when she saw me, she started a little, but regaining her composure quickly, closed her book, and rose to leave the place. In crossing the hollow she stumbled and fell, uttering a sharp cry of pain; I ran immediately to her assistance. Supporting the fainting girl, I helped, or rather carried, her to the bank where I had been sitting. By the time I reached the place, she had recovered consciousness, and in answer to my inquiry said that her ankle had been sprained by the fall, and that the pain was severe. As she spoke the tears came to her eyes, and she gave a cry when she tried to rise.

  “Do you live near here?” I asked, for she was a stranger to me, though I knew all the people for many miles around.

  “I should not call it far, under usual circumstances,” she answered, “but now it is a long way. I live with my aunt, Ambrosia Moreno. Oh, I can never get there.”

  “You must bathe the ankle here; there is a pool, and the rock beside it makes a good seat,” and gently lifting her, I placed her beside the stream, which ran clear and cold from under the broad leaves. Without any show of false modesty, she did as I directed, and having saturated my handkerchief, I bound it about the sprain, and wrapping her long cloak of wool around her, put her shoe and stocking in my pocket, and then lifting her to my shoulder, started down the road to Madre Moreno’s cottage.

  In appearance, the young woman was of small figure, delicately formed and graceful; her face full of life, with finely marked eyebrows of the same brown shade as her hair; her eyes were blue—a rare colour among us Californians—unusually full and brilliant, and to-day suffused with tears. I noticed that the pupils were remarkably large, sometimes covering the greater part, if not all, of the iris.

  Small and light as she was, I had to rest often, for the distance was nearly a mile, and the surface of the road was much broken. When reaching the top of the last rise of the road before arriving at Madre Moreno’s I rested for the last time.

  “I am very sorry that this accident has occurred, and I can never thank you sufficiently for the kindness you have shown me; had you not come to the ruin I could never have reached home, and the thought of spending a night there makes me shudder even now,” she said as she sat by the roadside.

  “I am sorry that we have to delay so long on the way, for your aunt will be much worried,” I replied.

  “Aunt Ambrosia ought surely to make some use of her power and come out and carry me home on her broomstick steed,” she answered, looking up at me with a smile.

  “I was much surprised to see you at the ruins this afternoon, and indeed almost thought that you were some spirit of the place, for I have never seen any woman but Madre Moreno there, as they are so afraid of the snakes and lizards which abound, and they also say that there is a curse upon the spot which is liable to affect any one who may stop there long enough. How did you find the ruin? It is so hidden from view by the trees that a stranger could scarcely have found it except by the merest chance.”

  “Aunt Ambrosia told me of it, and said that the sun effects were beautiful there in the afternoon, and that I had better go to-day between four and five, as it was at the best then, when half of the ruin would be in shadow and the one standing wall receive the full sunlight. I was pleased with the picture, but had I known of the snakes this accident never could have happened. You were looking so intently at me when I discovered your presence that I was startled and even thought of Aunt Ambrosia’s skill in the black art, and that you might be some supernatural friend of hers, hence my hasty retreat and consequent disaster.”

  “It is a pity that I should have been the cause of the mishap,” I answered; though truthfully I was much pleased at our novel meeting, and I knew the sprain was but slight. I again took her in my arms and started off at a brisk walk down the hill. It was dusk when we approached the house, and passed along the narrow path, and knocked at the open door of Madre Moreno’s little house.

  I placed my fair burden in an arm chair, which stood on the veranda and, while waiting for an answer to my knock, looked into her beautiful face which was turned partly away from me, but even in the shadow where she was sitting, the wonderful brilliancy of her eyes was noticeable and seemed to illumine her whole face.

  Madre Moreno came to the door; she held a lighted candle, and as she recognized me, looked surprised and said, “Hast thou seen no one on the road Carlos? I have been waiting long for my niece, she went to the ruin this afternoon and has not yet returned; she must have lost her way, for she surely would not stay so late otherwise. I shall go out to search for her; I hope she has met with no accident. Help me search, Carlos.”

  Madre Moreno seemed very anxious, and to have lost all the happy spirits and buoyancy she had shown in the morning.

  “I am here, Aunt Ambrosia, and thanks to this gentleman or I should still be out on the hill, in the moonlight with all the lizards and snakes, and perhaps some of your good friends also,” spoke out the girl in a laughing voice.

  “That is good, good, good!” exclaimed Madre Moreno. “How didst thou, Ysidria, come to find our friend Carlos de Soto and he to take thee home?” and the Madre began to laugh boisterously. “Stay to sup with us Carlos,” she said, when she had enough recovered from her fit of laughter to speak, “or perhaps thou art afraid of the old witch.”

  In as few words as possible the accident was explained to Madre Moreno, and I again lifted her niece and placed her on a lounge in the house. “The Madre can bring you out all right, if anyone can,” I said as I left the room, “I will take the liberty of inquiring for you in the morning.”

  As I walked down the path to the gate, I spoke aloud, “What beautiful, beautiful eyes!”

  “Yes, that they are, Master Carlos!” said a voice seemingly beside me. I turned, the voice sounded like that of the Madre, but no one was to be seen, however, the large black cat which had followed me, put up her back to be stroked and purred and rubbed against my leg. As I closed the gate the same voice sounded again but more faintly. “Beautiful eyes hath Ysidria; beautiful eyes!”

  CHAPTER IV

  When I returned home, Catalina had a hot supper ready, and
I sat down, forgetting, for the moment, the events of the day, in the odour of the good things on the table.

  “What success, Don Carlos, have you found the flowers you were searching for?”

  “Yes, Catalina, I found the plants just where I expected to find them, and I also found at the old adobe what I did not look for.” I then gave an account of the day, however, making as modest enumeration of the charms of Madre Moreno’s niece, as I was able, for fear of exciting Catalina’s suspicions.

  I began to feel that I was much interested in the beautiful Ysidria, and hated to have old Catalina discover it, for the girls relationship to the Madre would, I knew, be the cause of much disquiet to the good woman.

  I sat before the door long after supper, building air castles, in all of which the fair stranger held a place. Her brilliant eyes were always before my mind, as I had first seen them that afternoon, sometimes of a deep blue colour, and then in a moment black as jet, when the dilated pupil covered the iris, and then her pretty smile and graceful form each had a great and wonderful charm for me.

  The only thing that troubled me, and I tried to laugh it out of my thoughts, was the connection with the reputed witch, but foolish as I knew such notions to be, I was, however, unable to banish them, and I often wished that the beautiful Ysidria was any one in the world but the niece of Ambrosia Moreno. Not that I had any dislike for the Madre, or that I bore her any ill will for the various misfortunes which had come to my family through her agency, as the country people believed, but it was unpleasant to me to think of this young creature living under the same roof with and under the influence of such a woman as I knew the Moreno to be, aside from her connection with el bueno Diablo, at which I could only laugh, and a story which I knew to be encouraged by the Madre herself, simply for the notoriety it gave her, and the power she was enabled through this belief to exercise over the people.