The Gringos

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER V

  HOSPITALITY

  If you would enjoy that fine hospitality which gives gladly tostrangers and to friends alike of its poverty or plenty, and for thegiving asks nothing in return, you should seek the far frontiers;but if you would see hospitality glorified into something more than asimple virtue, then you should find, if you can, one of the old-timehaciendas that were the pride of early California.

  Time was when the wild-eyed cattle which bore upon their fat-cushionedhaunches the seared crescent that proclaimed them the property of oldDon Andres Picardo (who owned, by grant of the king, all the upperhalf of the valley of Santa Clara) were free to any who hungered. Timewas when a traveler might shoot a fat yearling and feast his fill,unquestioned by the don or the don's dark-eyed vaqueros.

  Don Andres Picardo was a large-hearted gentleman; and to deny any manmeat would bring to his cheeks a blush for his niggardliness. That wasin the beginning, when he reigned in peace over the peninsula. Whenthe vaqueros, jingling indignantly into the patio of his home, firsttold of carcasses slaughtered wantonly and left to rot upon the rangewith only the loin and perhaps a juicy haunch missing, their mastersmiled deprecatingly and waved them back whence they came. There werecattle in plenty. What mattered one steer, or even a fat cow, slainwastefully? Were not thousands left?

  But when tales reached him of cattle butchered by the hundred, and ofbeef that was being sold for an atrocious price in San Francisco, theold Spaniard was shocked into laying aside the traditions and placingsome check upon the unmannerly "gringos" who so abused his generosity.

  He established a camp just within the northern boundary of his land;and there he stationed his most efficient watch-dog, Manuel Sepulveda,with two vaqueros whose business it was to stop the depredations.

  Meat for all who asked for meat, paid they in gold or ingratitude--that was their "patron's" order. But they must ask. Andthe vaqueros rode diligently from bay to mountain slopes, and each daytheir hatred of the Americanos grew deeper, as they watched over theherds of their loved patron, that the gringos might not steal thatwhich they might, if they were not wolves, have for the asking.

  The firelight in the tule-thatched hut of Manuel Sepulveda winkedfacetiously at the black fog that peered in at the open door. A nightwind from the north crept up, parted the fog like a black curtain andwhispered something which set the flames a-dancing as they listened.The fog swung back jealously to hear what it was, and the wind wentaway to whisper its wonder-tale to the trees that rustled astonishmentand nodded afterward to one another in approval, like the arrantgossips they were. The chill curtain fell straight and heavy againbefore the door, so that the firelight shone dimly through its folds;but not before Dade, riding at random save for the trust he put in thesure homing instinct of his horse, caught the brief gleam of light andsighed thankfully.

  "We'll stop with old Manuel to-night," he announced cheerfully."Here's his cabin, just ahead."

  "And who's old Manuel?" asked Jack petulantly, because of the pain inhis feet and his own unpleasant memories of that day.

  "Don Andres Picardo's head vaquero. He camps here to keep an eye onthe cattle. Some fellows from town have been butchering them rightand left and doing a big business in beef, according to all accounts.Manuel hates gringos like centipedes, but I happened to get on thegood side of him--partly because my Spanish is as good as his own. AnAmericano who has black hair and can talk Spanish like the don himselfisn't an Americano, in Manuel's eyes."

  While they were unsaddling under the oak tree, where the vaqueros kepttheir riding gear in front of the cabin, Manuel himself came to thedoor and stood squinting into the fog, while he flapped a tortilladexterously between his brown palms.

  "Is it you, Valencia??" he called out in Spanish, giving the tortillaa deft, whirling motion to even its edges.

  Dade led the way into the zone of light, and Manuel stepped back witha series of welcoming nods. His black eyes darted curiously to thestranger, who, in Manuel's opinion, looked unpleasantly like a gringo,with his coppery hair waving crisply under his sombrero, and hiseyes that were blue as the bay over there to the east. But when Dadeintroduced him, Jack greeted his squat host with a smile that wasdisarming in its boyish good humor, and with language as liquidlySpanish as Manuel's best Castilian, which he reserved for his talkswith the patron on the porch when the senora and the young senoritawere by.

  The distrust left Manuel's eyes as he trotted across the hard-troddendirt floor and laid the tortilla carefully upon a hot rock, wherethree others crisped and curled their edges in delectable promise offuture toothsomeness.

  He stood up and turned to Dade amiably, his knuckles pressing lightlyupon his hips that his palms might be saved immaculate for the nextlittle corn cake which he would presently slap into thin symmetry.

  "Madre de Dios!" he cried suddenly, quite forgetting the hospitablething he had meant to say about his supper. "You are hurt, Senor! Theblood is on your sleeve and your hand."

  Dade looked down at his hand and laughed. "I did get a scratch. I'lllet you see what it's like."

  "You never told me you got shot!" accused Jack sharply, from where hehad thrown himself down on a bundle of blankets covered over with abullock hide dressed soft as chamois.

  "Never thought of it," retorted Dade in Spanish, out of regard for hishost.

  "We had some trouble with the gringos," he explained to Manuel. "Therewas a little shooting, and a bullet grazed my arm. It doesn't amountto much, but I'll let you look at it."

  "Ah, the gringos!" Manuel spat after the hated name. "The patron istoo good, too generous! They steal the cattle of the patron, thoughthey might have all they need for the asking. Like the green wormsupon the live oaks, they would strip the patron's herds to the last,lean old bull that is too tough even for their wolf teeth! Me, Ishould like to lasso and drag to the death every gringo who comessneaking in the night for the meat which tastes sweeter when it isstolen. To-day Valencia rode down to the bayou--"

  While he told indignantly the tale of the latest pillage, he bared thewounded arm. Jack got stiffly upon his swollen feet to look. It wasnot a serious wound, as wounds go; a deep gash in the bicep, where abullet meant for Dade's heart had plowed under his upraised arm fourinches wide of its mark. It must have been painful, though he hadnot once mentioned it; and a shamed flush stung Jack's cheeks when heremembered his own complaints because of his feet.

  "You never told me!" he accused again, this time in the language ofhis host.

  "The Senor Hunter has the brave heart of a Spaniard, though his bloodis light," said Manuel rebukingly. "The Senor Hunter would not cryover a bigger hurt than this!"

  Jack sat down again upon the bull-hide seat and dropped his facebetween his palms. Old Manuel spoke truer than he knew. Dade Hunterwas made of the stuff that will suffer much for a friend and saynothing about it, and to-day was not the first time when Jack had allunwittingly given that friendship the test supreme.

  Manuel carefully inspected the wound and murmured his sympathy. Hepulled a bouquet of dry herbs from where it hung in a corner, underthe low ceiling, and set a handful brewing in water, where the coalswere golden-yellow with heat. He tore a strip of linen off Valencia'sbest shirt which he was saving for fiestas, and prepared a bandage,interrupting himself now and then to dart over and inspect thetortillas baking on the hot rock. For a fat man he moved withextraordinary briskness, and so managed to do three things at one timeand do them all thoroughly; he washed and dressed the wound with theherbs squeezed into a poultice, rescued the tortillas from scorching,and spake his mind concerning the gringos who, he declared, weredespoiling this his native land. Then he lifted certain pots andplatters to the center of the hut and cheerfully announced supper; andsquatted on the floor, facing his guests over the food.

  "There's another thing that bothers me, Manuel," Dade announcedhumorously, when they three were seated around the pot of frijoles,the earthen pan of smoking carne-seco (which is meat flavored hotlyafter the Spanish style
) and a stack of the tortillas Manuel's fathands had created while he talked.

  Manuel, bending a tortilla into a scoop wherewith to help himselfto the brown beans, raised his black eyes anxiously. "But is therefurther hurt?" he asked, and glanced wistfully at the tortilla beforelaying it down that he might minister further to the senor.

  "No--go on with your supper. There's a buckskin horse out therethat the gringos may say I stole. I don't want the beast; he's aboutfourteen years old and he's got a Roman nose to beat Caesar himself,and a bad eye and a wicked heart."

  "Dios!" murmured Manuel over the list of equine shortcomings and tooka large, relieved bite of tortilla and beans. The senor was pleasedto jest with a poor vaquero, but the senor would doubtless explain. Hechewed luxuriously and waited, his black eyes darting from this facewhich he knew and liked, to that strange one of the blue eyes and thehair that was like the dullest of dull California gold.

  "I don't like that caballo," went on Dade, helping himself to meat,"and so I'd hate like the deuce to be hung for stealing him; sabe?"

  Manuel licked a finger before he spread his hands to show howcompletely he failed to understand. "But if the caballo does notplease the senor, why then did the senor steal--"

  "You see, I wanted to bring my partner--Senor Jack Allen--down herewith me. And he was riding the caballo, and he couldn't get off--"

  Manuel swore a Spanish oath politely, to please his guest who wishedto amaze him.

  "Because he was tied on." Dade failed just there to keep a betrayinghardness out of his voice. "The Viligantes were--going to--hang him."The last two words were cut short off with the click of his jawscoming together.

  Manuel thereupon swore more sincerely and spilled beans from histortilla scoop. He knew the ways of the Committee. Four monthsago--when the Committee was newer and more just--they had hanged thethird cousin of his half-sister's husband. It is true, the man hadkilled a woman with a knife; yet Manuel's black beard bristled when hethought of the affront to his hypothetical kinship.

  "I had to take the two together," Dade explained, trying with bettersuccess to speak lightly. "And now, if I turn the buckskin loose, hemay go back--and he may not. I was wondering--"

  Manuel cut him short. "To-morrow I ride to town," he said. "I willtake the caballo back with me, if that pleases the senors. I will turnhim loose near the Mission, and he will go to his stable.

  "The senor," he added, "was very brave. _Madre de Dios!_ To run awaywith a prisoner of the Vigilantes! But they will surely kill the senorfor that; the taking of the horse, that is nothing." His teeth shonebriefly under his black mustache. "One can die but once," he pointedout, and emphasized his meaning by a swift glance at Jack, moodilynibbling the edge of a corn cake. "But if the horse does not pleasethe senor--"

  Dade caught his meaning and laughed a little over it. "The horse," hesaid, "belongs to the Committee; my friend does not."

  "Si, Senor--but surely that is true. Only--" he stroked his crispbeard thoughtfully--"the senors would better go to-morrow to thepatron. There the gringos dare not come. In this poor hut the senorsmay not be safe--for we are but three poor vaqueros when all are here.We will do our best--"

  "Three vaqueros," declared Dade with fine diplomacy, "as brave as thethree who live here, would equal twenty of the Committee. But we willnot let it come to that."

  Manuel took the flattery with a glimpse of white teeth and adeprecatory wave of the hand, and himself qualified it modestlyafterward.

  "With the knife--perhaps. But the gringos have guns which speak fast.Still, we would do our best--"

  "Say, if he's going back to town to-morrow," spake Jack suddenly,from where he reclined in the shadow "why can't I write a note to BillWilson and have him send down my guns? The Captain took them away,you know; but he won't object to giving them back now!" His voice wasbitter.

  "The rest of them might. You seem to think that when you killedPerkins you wiped out the whole delegation--which you didn't. What wasthe row about; if you don't mind telling me?"

  "I thought you knew," said Jack quite sincerely, which proved morethan anything how absorbed he was in his own part in the affair. Heshifted his head upon his clasped hands so that his eyes might restupon the waning firelight, where the pot of frijoles, set back fromsupper, was still steaming languidly in the hot ashes.

  "You started it yourself, two weeks ago," he announced whimsically,to lighten a little the somber tale. "If you hadn't bought that whitehorse from that drunken Spaniard, I'd be holding a handful of acesand kings to-night, most likely, in Bill Wilson's place. And my legswouldn't be aching like the devil," he added, reminded anew of histroubles, when he shifted his position. "It's all your fault, boughtthe horse."

  Dade grinned and bent to hold a twig in the coals, that he mightlight a cigarette. "All right, I'm the guilty party. Let's have theconsequences of my evil deed," he advised, settling back on his heelsand lowering an eyelid at Manuel in behalf of this humorous partner ofhis.

  "You bought the horse and broke the Spaniard's heart and ruined histemper. And he and Sandy had a fight, and--So," he went on, aftera two-minute break in the argument, "when I heard Swift sneeringsomething about Sandy, last night, I rose up in meeting and toldhim and some others what I thought of 'em. I was not," he explained,"thinking nice thoughts at the time. You see, Perkins, since he gotthe lead, has gathered a mighty scaly bunch around him, and they'vebeen running things to suit themselves.

  "Then, Swift and two or three others held up a boy from the minesto-day, and I happened to see it. I interfered; fact is, I killeda couple of them. So they arrested both of us, went through a farcetrial, and were trying to hurry me into Kingdom Come before BillWilson got a rescue party together, when you come along. That's all.They let the kid go--which was a good thing. I don't think they'll bedown here after me. In fact, I've been thinking maybe I'd go back, ina day or so, and have it out with them."

  "Yes, that's about what you'd be thinking, all right," retorted Dadeunemotionally. "Sounds perfectly natural." The tone of him, beingunsympathetic, precipitated an argument which flung crisp Englishsentences back and forth across the cabin. Manuel, when the wordsgrew strange and took on a harsh tang which to his ear meant anger,diplomatically sought his blankets and merged into the shadow of thecorner farthest from the fire and nearest the door. The senors werepleased to disagree; if they fought, he had but to dodge out intothe night and neutrality. The duties of hospitality weighed hard uponManuel during that half-hour or so.

  Dade's cigarette stub, flung violently into the heart of the fireglow, seemed to Manuel a crucial point in the quarrel; he slipped backthe blankets, ready to retreat at the first lunge of open warfare. Hebreathed relief, however, when Dade got up and stretched his armsto the dried tules overhead, and laughed a lazy surrender of theargument, if not of his opinion upon the subject.

  "You're surely the most ambitious trouble-hunter I ever saw," he said,returning to his habitual humorous drawl, with the twinkle in his eyesthat went with it. "Just the same, we'll not go back to the mine justyet. Till the dust settles, we're both better off down here withDon Andres Picardo. I don't want to be hung for the company I keep.Besides--"

  "I'll bet ten ounces there's a senorita," hazarded. Jack maliciously."You're like Bill Wilson; but you can preach caution till your jawsache; you can't fool me into believing you're afraid to go back to themine. Is there a senorita?"

  "You shut up and go to sleep," snapped Dade, and afterward would notspeak at all.

  Manuel, in the shadow, frowned over the only words he understood--DonAndres Picardo and senorita. The senors were agreeable companions, andthey were his guests. But they were gringos, after all. And ifthey should presume to lift desireful eyes to the little SenoritaTeresa--Teresita, they called her fondly who knew her--Manuel'smustache lifted suddenly at one side at the bare possibility.