by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER VII
THE LORD OF THE VALLEY
Scattered, grazing herds of wild, long-horned cattle that ran fromtheir approach gave place to feeding mustangs with the mark of thesaddle upon them. Later, an adobe wall confronted them; and this theyfollowed through a grove of great live oaks and up a grassy slopebeyond, to where the long, low adobe house sat solidly upon a naturalterrace, with the valley lying before and the hills at its back;a wide-armed, wide-porched, red-roofed adobe such as the Spanisharistocracy loved to build for themselves. The sun shone warmly uponthe great, latticed porch, screened by the passion vines that hidone end completely from view. To the left, a wing stretched outgenerously, with windows curtained primly with some white stuff thatflapped desultorily in the fitful breeze from the south. At the right,so close that they came near being a part of the main structure andhelped to give the general effect of a hollow, open-sided square,stood a row of small adobe huts; two of them were tiled like thehouse, and the last, at the outer end, was thatched with tules.
Into the immaculate patio thus formed before the porch, Dade led theway boldly, as one sure of his welcome. Behind the vines a girl'svoice, speaking rapidly and softly with a laugh running all throughthe tones, hushed as suddenly as does a wild bird's twitter whenstrange steps approach. And just as suddenly did Dade's nostrilsflare with the quick breath he drew; for tones, if one listensunderstandingly, may tell a great deal. Even Jack knew instinctivelythat a young man sat with the girl behind the vines.
After the hush they heard the faint swish of feminine movement. Shecame and stood demurely at the top of the wide steps, a little hoopoverflowing soft, white embroidered stuff in her hands.
"Welcome home, Senor Hunter," she said, and made him a courtesy thatwas one-third politeness and the rest pure mockery. "My father willbe relieved in his mind when he sees you. I think he slept badly lastnight on your account."
Wistfulness was in Dade's eyes when he looked at her; as though hewanted to ask if she also were relieved at seeing him. But there wasthe man behind the lattice where the vines were thickest; the man whowas young and whom she had found a pleasant companion. Also there wasJack, who was staring with perfect frankness, his eyes a fullshade darker as he looked at her. And there was the peon scamperingbarefooted across from one of the huts to take their horses. Dadetherefore confined himself to conventional phrases.
"Senorita, let me present to you my friend, Jack Allen," he said."Jack, this is the Senorita Teresa Picardo."
His nostrils widened again when he looked casually at Jack; for Jack'ssombrero was swept down to his knees in salute--though it was notthat; it was the look in his face that sent Dade's glance seekingTeresita's eyes for answer.
But Teresita only showed him how effectively black lashes contrastwith the faint flush of cheeks just hinting at dimples, and he got noanswer there.
She made another little courtesy, lifting her lashes unexpectedlyfor a swift glance at Jack, as he dismounted hastily and went up twosteps, his hand outstretched to her.
"We Americanos like to shake hands upon a new friendship," he saidboldly.
The senorita laughed a little, changed her embroidery hoop from herright hand to her left, laid her fingers in his palm, blushed when hishand closed upon them eagerly, and laughed again when her gold thimbleslipped and rolled tinkling down the steps.
Dade picked the thimble out of a matted corner of a violet bed, andreturned it to her unsmilingly; got a flash of her eyes and a littlenod for his reward, and stood back, waiting her further pleasure.
"You have had adventures, Senor, since yesterday morning," she saidto him lightly. "Truly, you Americanos do very wonderful things!Jose, here is Senor Hunter and his friend whom he stole away from theVigilantes yesterday! Did you have the invisible cap, Senor? It wastruly a miracle such as the padres tell of, that the blessed saintsperformed in the books. Jose told us what he heard--but when I havecalled my mother, you yourself must tell us every little bit of it."
While she was talking she was also pulling forward two of the easiestchairs, playing the hostess prettily and stealing a lash-hidden glancenow and then at the tall senor with such blue eyes and hair the likeof which she had never seen, and the mouth curved like the lips of awoman.
The young man whom she addressed as Jose rose negligently and greetedthem punctiliously; seated himself again, picked up a guitar andstrummed a minor chord lazily.
"Don Andres is busy at the corrals," Jose volunteered, when the girlhad gone. "He will return soon. You had a disagreeable experience,Senor? One of my vaqueros heard the story in town. There was a rumorthat the Vigilantes were sending out parties to search for you whenCarlos started home. Senor Allen is lucky to get off so easily."
Jack held a match unlighted in his fingers while he studied the faceof Jose. The tone of him had jarred, but his features were wiped cleanof any expression save faint boredom; and his fingers, plucking aplaintive fragment of a fandango from the strings, belied the sarcasmJack had suspected. Don Andres himself, at that moment coming eagerlyacross from the hut at the end of the row, saved the necessity ofreplying.
"Welcome home, amigo mio!" cried the don, hurrying up the steps,sombrero in hand. "Never has sight of a horse pleased me as when Diegoled yours to the stable. Thrice welcome--since you bring your friendto honor my poor household with his presence."
No need to measure guardedly those tones, or that manner. Don AndresPicardo was as clean, as honest, and as kindly as the sunshine thatmellowed the dim distances behind him. The two came to their feetunconsciously and received his handclasp with inner humility.Don Andres held Dade's hand a shade longer than the most gracioushospitality demanded, while his eyes dwelt solicitously upon his face,browned near to the shade of a native son of those western slopes.
"I heard of your brave deed, Senor--of how you rode into the midst ofthe Vigilantes and snatched your friend from under the very shadow ofthe oak. I did not hear that you escaped their vengeance afterwards,and I feared greatly lest harm had befallen you. Dios! It wasgallantly done, like a knight of olden times--"
"Oh, no. I didn't rescue any lady, Don Andres. Just Jack--and he wasin a fair way to rescue himself, by the way. It wasn't anything much,but I suppose the story did grow pretty big by the time it got toyou."
"And does your friend also call it a little thing?" The don turnedquizzically to Jack.
"He does not," Jack returned promptly, although his ears werelistening attentively for a nearer approach of the girl-voice he heardwithin the house. "He calls it one of the big things Dade is alwaysdoing for his friends." He dropped a hand on Dade's shoulder andshook him with an affectionate make-believe of disfavor. "He's alwaysrisking his valuable neck to save my worthless one, Don Andres. Hemeans well, but he doesn't know any better. He packed me out of a nestof Indians once, just as foolishly; we were coming out from Texas atthe time. You'd be amazed at some of the things I could tell you abouthim--"
"And about himself, if he would," drawled Dade. "If he ever tells youabout the Indian scrape, Don Andres, ask him how he happened to getinto the nest. As to yesterday, perhaps you heard how it came thatJack got so close to the oak!"
"No--I heard merely of the danger you were in. Jose's head vaquerowas in town when the Vigilantes returned with their Captain and thoseothers, and there were many rumors. This morning I sent Valencia tolearn the truth, and if you were in danger--Perhaps I could have donelittle, but I should have tried to save you," he added simply. "Ishould not like a clash with the gringos--pardon, Senors; I speak ofthe class whom you also despise."
Jose laughed and swept the strings harshly with his thumb. "The clashwill come, Don Andres, whether you like it or not," he said. "Thismorning I saw one more unasked tenant on your meadow, near the groveof alders. What they call a 'prairie schooner.' A big, red-toppedhombre, and his woman--gringos of the class I despise; whichincludes"--again he flung his thumb across the guitar string--"allgringos!"
Jack's lips opened for hot answer, but Don Andres fo
restalled himquietly.
"One more tenant does not harm me, Jose. When the American governmentputs its seal upon the seal of Spain and restores my land to me, theseunasked tenants will go the way they came. There will be no clash."But he sighed even while he made the statement, as if the subject wereneither new nor pleasant to dwell upon.
"Why," demanded Jose bitterly, "should the Americanos presume toquestion our right to our land? You and my father made the valley whatit is; your shiploads of hides and tallow that you sent from YerbaBuena made the town prosper, and called adventurers this way; and nowthey steal your cattle and lands, and their government is the biggestthief of all, for it tells them to steal more. They will make youpoor, Don Andres, while you wait for them to be just. No, I permitno 'prairie schooner' to stop, even that their oxen may drink. Myvaqueros ride beside them till they have crossed the boundary. You,Don Andres, if you would permit your vaqueros to do likewise, insteadof shaking hands with the gringos and bidding them welcome--"
"But I do not permit it; nor do I seek counsel from the children Ihave tossed on my foot to the tune of a nursery rhyme." He shookhis white-crowned head reprovingly. "He was always screaming at hisduenna, one child that I recollect," he smiled.
"Art thou scolding Jose again, my Andres? He loves to play that thouand Teresita are children still, Jose; it serves to beguile him intoforgetting the years upon his head! Welcome, Senors. Teresita but toldme this moment that you had come. She is bringing the wine--"
On their feet they greeted the Senora Picardo. Like the don, herhusband, honest friendliness was in her voice, her smile, the warmclasp of her plump hand. The sort of woman who will mother you atsight, was the senora. Purple silk--hastily put on for the guests, onemight suspect--clothed her royally. Golden hoops hung from her ears,a diamond brooch held together the lace beneath her cushiony chin; acomfortable woman who smiled much, talked much and worried more lestshe leave some little thing undone for those about her.
"And this is the poor senor who was in such dreadful danger!" shewent on commiseratingly. "Ah, the wicked times that have come upon us!Presently we shall fear to sleep in our beds--Senor Hunter, you havebeen hurt! The mark of blood is on your sleeve, the stain is on yourside! A-ah, my poor friend! Come instantly and I will--"
"Gracias, Senora; it is nothing. Besides, Manuel put on a poultice ofherbs. It's only a scratch, but it bled a little while I rode to thehut of Manuel." If blushes could have shown through the tan, Dademight have looked as uncomfortable as he felt at that moment.
The senorita was already in the doorway, convoying a sloe-eyed maidwho bore wine and glasses upon a tray of beaten silver; and the smileof the senorita was disturbing to a degree, brief though it was.
Behind the wine came cakes, and the senorita pointed tragically tothe silver dish that held them. "Madre mia, those terrible childrenof Margarita have stolen half the cakes! I ran after them in theorchard--but they swallow fast, those ninos! Now the senors muststarve!"
Up went the hand of the senora in dismay, and down went the head ofthe senorita to hide how she was biting the laughter from her lips."I ran," she murmured pathetically, "and I caught Angelo--but at thatmoment he popped the cake into his mouth and it was gone! Then I ranafter Maria--and she swallowed--"
"Teresita mia! The senors will think--" What they would think shedid not stipulate, but her eyes implored them to judge leniently theirrepressibility of her beautiful one. There were cakes sufficient--ahasty glance reassured her upon that point--and Teresita was in one ofher mischievous moods. The mother who had reared her sighed resignedlyand poured the wine into the small glasses with a quaint designcut into their sides, perfectly unconscious of the good the littlediversion had done.
For a half-hour there was peaceful converse; of the adventure whichhad brought the two gringos to the ranch as to a sanctuary, of theland which lay before them, and of the unsettled conditions thatfilled the days with violence.
Jose still strummed softly upon the guitar, a pleasant undertone tothe voices. And because he said very little, he saw and thought themore; seeing glances and smiles between a strange man and the maidwhom he loved desirefully, bred the thought which culminated in asudden burst of speech against the gringos who had come into thepeaceful land and brought with them strife. Who stole the cattle ofthe natives, calmly appropriated the choicest bits of valley landwithout so much as a by-your-leave, and who treated the rightfulowners with contempt and as though they had no right to live in thevalley where they were born.
"Last week," he went on hotly, "an evil gringo with the clay of hisburrowings still upon his garments cursed me and called me greaserbecause I did not give him all the road for his burro. I, JosePacheco! They had better have a care, or the 'greasers' will drivethem back whence they came, like the cattle they are. When I, a don,must give the road to a gringo lower than the peons whom I flog forless impertinence, it is time we ceased taking them by the hand asthough they were our equals!" His eyes went accusingly to the face ofthe girl.
She flung up her head and met the challenge in her own way, which waswith the knife-thrust of her light laughter. "Ah, the poor Americanos!Not the prayers of all the padres can save them from the blackness oftheir fate, since Don Jose Pacheco frowns and will not take theirhand in friendship! How they will gnash the teeth when they hear theterrible tidings--Jose Pacheco, don and son of a don, will have noneof them, nor will he give way to their poor burros on the highway!"She shook her head as she had done over the tragedy of the littlecakes. "Pobre gringos! Pobre gringos!" she murmured mockingly.
"Children, have done!" The hand of the senora went chidingly tothe shoulder of her incorrigible daughter. "This is foolish andunseemly--though all thy quarreling is that, the saints know well. Ourguests are Americanos; our guests, who are our friends," she statedgently, looking at Jose. "Not all Spaniards are good, Jose; not allgringos are bad. They are as we are, good and bad together. Speak notlike a child, amigo mio."
The guitar which Jose flung down upon a broad stool beside him hummedresonant accompaniment to his footsteps as he left the veranda. "Thyhouse, Senora, has been as my mother's house since I can remember.Until thy gringo guests have made room for me, I leave it!"
"Senor Allen, would you like to see my birds?" invited Teresitawickedly, her glance flicking scornfully the reproachful face of Jose,as he turned it towards her, and dwelling with a smile upon Jack.
"Wicked one!" murmured the senora, in her heart more than halfapproving the discipline.
Jose had humiliation as well as much bitterness to carry away withhim; for he saw the senor with the bright blue eyes follow gladly thelaughing Teresita to her rose garden, and as he went jingling acrossthe patio without waiting to summon a peon to bring him his horse, heheard the voice of Don Andres making apology to Dade for the rudenessof him, Jose.