The Girl of the Golden West

by David Belasco

  E-text prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.

  THE GIRL OF THE GOLDEN WEST

  by

  DAVID BELASCO

  1911

  "In those strange days, people coming from God knows where, joined forces in that far Western land, and, according to the rude custom of the camp, their very names were soon lost and unrecorded, and here they struggled, laughed, gambled, cursed, killed, loved and worked out their strange destinies in a manner incredible to us of to-day. Of one thing only are we sure--they lived!"

  _Early History of California_

  I.

  It was when coming back to the mines, after a trip to Monterey, that theGirl first met him. It happened, too, just at a time when her mind wasripe to receive a lasting impression. But of all this the boys of CloudyMountain Camp heard not a word, needless to say, until long afterwards.

  Lolling back on the rear seat of the stage, her eyes half closed,--thesole passenger now, and with the seat in front piled high with boxesand baskets containing _rebozos_, silken souvenirs, and other finerypurchased in the shops of the old town,--the Girl was mentally reviewingand dreaming of the delights of her week's visit there,--a visit thathad been a revelation to one whose sole experience of the world haduntil now been derived from life in a rough mining camp. Before herhalf-closed eyes still shimmered a vista of strange, exotic scenes andpeople, the thronging crowds of carnivals and fetes; the Mexican girlsswaying through the movements of the fandango to the music of guitarsand castanets; the great _rodeo_ with its hundreds of _vaqueros_, whichwas held at one of the ranchos just outside the town; and, lastly, andmost vividly of all, the never-to-be-forgotten thrill of her firstbull-fight.

  Still ringing in her ears was the piercing note of the bugle whichinstantly silenced the expectant throng; the hoarse roar that greetedthe entrance of the bull, and the thunder of his hoofs when he made hisfirst mad charge. She saw again, with marvellous fidelity, the wholecolour-scheme just before the death of the big, brave beast: the hugearena in its unrivalled setting of mountain, sea and sky; the eagermultitude, tense with expectancy; the silver-mounted bridles andtrappings of the horses; the many-hued capes of the _capadors_; thegaily-dressed _banderilleros_, poising their beribboned barbs; the redflag and long, slender, flashing sword of the cool and ever watchful_matador_; and, most prominent of all to her eyes, the brilliant,gold-laced packets of the gentlemen-_picadors_, who, after the Mexicanfashion,--so she had been told,--deemed it in nowise beneath them toenter the arena in person.

  And so it happened that now, as the stage swung round a corner, and ahorseman suddenly appeared at a point where two roads converged, andwas evidently spurring his horse with the intent of coming up with thestage, it was only natural that, even before he was near enough to beidentified, the _caballero_ should already have become a part of thepageant of her mental picture.

  Up to the moment of the stranger's appearance, nothing had happened tobreak the monotony of her long return journey towards Cloudy MountainCamp. Far back in the distance now lay the Mission where the passengersof the stage had been hospitably entertained the night before; stillfurther back the red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls of the littlepueblo of San Jose,--a veritable bower of roses; and remotest of all,the crosses of San Carlos and the great pines, oaks and cypresses, whichbordered her dream-memory of the white-beach crescent formed by thewaves of Monterey Bay.

  The dawn of each day that swept her further from her week in wonderlandhad ushered in the matchless spring weather of California,--thebrilliant sunshine, the fleecy clouds, the gentle wind with just atang in it from the distant mountains; and as the stage rolled slowlynorthward through beautiful valleys, bright with yellow poppies andsilver-white lupines, every turn of the road varied her view of thehills lying under an enchantment unlike that of any other land. Yetstrange and full of interest as every mile of the river country shouldhave been to a girl accustomed to the great forest of the Sierras,she had gazed upon it for the most part with unseeing eyes, whileher thoughts turned, magnet-like, backward to the delights and thebewilderment of the old Mexican town. So now, as the pursuing horsemanswept rapidly nearer, each swinging stride of the powerful horse, eachrhythmic movement of the graceful rider brought nearer and more vividthe vision of a handsome _picador_ holding off with his lance athoroughly maddened bull until the crowd roared forth its appreciation.

  "See, Senorita," said the horseman, at last galloping close to the coachand lifting his sombrero, "A beautiful bunch of syringa," and then, withhis face bent towards her and his voice full of appeal, he added inlower tone: "for you!"

  For a brief second, the Girl was too much taken back to find theadequate words with which to accept the stranger's offering.Notwithstanding that in his glance she could read, as plainly as thoughhe had spoken: "I know I am taking a liberty, but please don't be angrywith me," there was something in his sweeping bow and grace of mannerthat, coupled with her vague sense of his social advantage, disconcertedher. A second more, however, and the embarrassment had passed, for onlifting her eyes to his again she saw that her memory had not playedher false; beyond all chance of a mistake, he was the man who, ten daysearlier, had peered into the stage, as she was nearing Monterey, andlater, at the bull-fight, had found time to shoot admiring glancesat her between his daring feats of horsemanship. Therefore, genuineadmiration was in her eyes and extreme cordiality in her voice when,after a word or two of thanks, she added, with great frankness:

  "But it strikes me sort o' forcible that I've seen you before." Then,with growing enthusiasm: "My, but that bull-fight was jest grand! Youwere fine! I'm right glad to know you, sir."

  The _caballero's_ face flushed with pleasure at her free-and-easyreception of him, while an almost inaudible "_Gracias_" fell from hislips. At once he knew that his first surmise, that the Girl was anAmerican, had been correct. Not that his experience in life hadfurnished him with any parallel, for the Girl constituted a new andunique type. But he was well aware that no Spanish lady would havereceived the advances of a stranger in like fashion. It was inevitable,therefore, that for the moment he should contrast, and not wholly to heradvantage, the Girl's unconventionality with the enforced reserve of the_dulcineas_ who, custom decrees, may not be courted save in the presenceof _duennas_. But the next instant he recalled that there were, inSacramento, young women whose directness it would never do to mistakefor boldness; and,--to his credit be it said,--he was quick to perceivethat, however indifferent the Girl seemed to the customary formality ofintroduction, there was no suggestion of indelicacy about her. All thather frank and easy manner suggested was that she was a child of nature,spontaneous and untrammelled by the dictates of society, and normallyand healthily at home in the company of the opposite sex.

  "And she is even more beautiful than I supposed," was the thought thatwent through his mind.

  And yet, the Girl was not beautiful, at least if judged by Spanish orCalifornian standards. Unlike most of their women, she was fair, and hertype purely American. Her eyes of blue were lightly but clearly browedand abundantly fringed; her hair of burnished gold was luxuriant andwavy, and framed a face of singularly frank and happy expression, eventhough the features lacked regularity. But it was a face, so he toldhimself, that any man would trust,--a face that would make a man thebetter for looking at it,--a face which reflected a soul that noenvironment could make other than pure and spotless. And so there was,perhaps, a shade more of respect and a little less assurance in hismanner when he asked:

  "And you like Monterey?"

  "I love it! Ain't it romantic--an', my, what a fine time the girls theremust have!"

  The man laughed; the Girl's enthusiasm amused him.r />
  "Have you had a fine trip so far?" he asked, for want of somethingbetter to say.

  "Mercy, yes! This 'ere stage is a pokey ol' thing, but we've made notbad time, considerin'."

  "I thought you were never going to get here!"

  The Girl shot a coquettish glance at him.

  "How did you know I was comin' on this 'ere stage?"

  "I did not know,"--the stranger broke off and thought a moment. He mayhave been asking himself whether it were best for him to be as frankas she had been and admit his admiration for her; at last, encouragedperhaps by a look in the Girl's blue eyes, he ventured: "But I've beenriding along this road every day since I saw you. I felt that I must seeyou again."

  "You must like me powerful well . . .?" This remark, far from being aquestion, was accompanied with all the physiognomical evidences of anassertion.

  The stranger shot a surprised glance at her, out of the corner of hiseye. Then he admitted, in all truthfulness:

  "Of course I do. Who could help . . .?"

  "Have you tried not to?" questioned the Girl, smiling in his face now,and enjoying in the full this stolen intimacy.

  "Ah, Senorita, why should I . . .? All I know is that I do."

  The Girl became reflective; presently she observed:

  "How funny it seems, an' yet, p'r'aps not so strange after all. Theboys--all my boys at the camp like me--I'm glad you do, too."

  Meanwhile the good-natured and loquaciously-inclined driver had turnedhis head and was subjecting the man cantering alongside of his stage toa rigid inspection. With his knowledge of the various types of men inCalifornia at that time, he had no difficulty in placing the statusof this straight-limbed, broad-shouldered, young fellow as a nativeCalifornian. Moreover, it made no difference to him whether hispassenger had met an old acquaintance or not; it was sufficient for himto observe that the lady, as well as himself--for the expression on herface could by no means be described as bored or scornful--liked thestranger's appearance; and so the better to take in all the pointsof the magnificent horse which the young Californian was riding, notto mention a commendable desire to give his only passenger a bit ofpleasant diversion on the long journey, he slowed his horse down to awalk.

  "But where do you live? You have a rancho near here?" the Girl was nowasking.

  "My father has--I live with him."

  "Any sisters?"

  "No,--no sisters or brothers. My mother was an American; she died a fewyears ago." And so saying, his glance sought and obtained an answeringone full of sympathy.

  "I'm downright sorry for you," said the Girl with feeling; and then inthe next breath she added:

  "But I'm pleased you're--you're half American."

  "And you, Senorita?"

  "I'm an orphan--my family are all dead," replied the Girl in a lowvoice. "But I have my boys," she went on more cheerfully, "an' what moredo I need?" And then before he had time to ask her to explain what shemeant by the boys, she cried out: "Oh, jest look at them wonderfulberries over yonder! La, how I wish I could pick 'em!"

  "Perhaps you may," the stranger hastened to say, and instantly with hisfree hand he made a movement to assist her to alight, while with theother he checked his horse; then, with his eyes resting appealingly uponthe driver, he inquired: "It is possible, is it not, Senor?"

  Curiously enough, this apparently proper request was responsible forchanging the whole aspect of things. For, keenly desirous to obligehim, though she was, there was something in the stranger's eyes as theynow rested upon her that made her feel suddenly shy; a flood of newimpressions assailed her: she wanted to evade the look and yet fosterit; but the former impulse was the stronger, and for the first time shewas conscious of a growing feeling of restraint. Indeed, some innervoice told her that it would not be quite right for her to leave thestage. True, she belonged to Cloudy Mountain Camp where the conventionswere unknown and where a rough, if kind, comradery existed between theminers and herself; nevertheless, she felt that she had gone far enoughwith a new acquaintance, whose accent, as well as the timbre of hisvoice, gave ample evidence that he belonged to another order of societythan her own and that of the boys. So, hard though it was not to accedeto his request and, at the same time, break the monotony of her journeywith a few minutes of berry-picking with him in the fields, she madeno move to leave the stage but answered the questioning look of theobliging driver with a negative one. Whereupon, the latter, afterdeclaring to the young Californian that the stage was late as it was,called to his horses to show what they could do in the way of gettingover the ground after their long rest.

  The young man's face clouded with disappointment. For two hundred yardsor more he spoke not a word, though he spurred his horse in order tokeep up with the now fast-moving stage. Then, all of a sudden, as thesilence between them was beginning to grow embarrassing, the Girl madeout the figure of a man on horseback a short distance ahead, and utteredan exclamation of surprise. The stranger followed the direction of theGirl's eyes and, almost instantly, it was borne in upon them that thehorseman awaited their coming. The Girl turned to speak, but the tender,sorrowful expression that she saw on the young man's face kept hersilent.

  "That is one of my father's men," he said, somewhat solemnly. "Hispresence here may mean that I must leave you. The road to our ranchbegins there. I fear that something may be wrong."

  The Girl shot him a look of sympathetic inquiry, though she saidnothing. To tell the truth, the first thought that entered her mindat his words was one of concern that their companionship was likelyto cease abruptly. During the silence that preceded his outspokenpremonition of trouble, she had been studying him closely. She foundherself admiring his aquiline features, his olive-coloured skin with itshealthful pallor, the lazy, black Spanish eyes behind which, howevertranquil they generally were, it was easy for her to discern, when hesmiled, that reckless and indomitable spirit which appeals to women allthe world over.

  As the stage approached the motionless horseman, the young man cried outto the _vaquero_, for such he was, and asked in Spanish whether he had amessage for him; an answer came back in the same language, the meaningof which the Girl failed to comprehend. A moment later her companionturned to her and said:

  "It is as I feared."

  Once more a silence fell upon them. For a half-mile or so, apparentlydeep in thought, he continued to canter at her side; at last he spokewhat was in his mind.

  "I hate to leave you, Senorita," he said.

  In an instant the light went out of the Girl's eyes, and her face was asserious as his own when she replied:

  "Well, I guess I ain't particularly crazy to have you go neither."

  The unmistakable note of regret in the Girl's voice flattered as well asencouraged him to go further and ask:

  "Will you think of me some time?"

  The Girl laughed.

  "What's the good o' my thinkin' o' you? I seen you talkin' with themgran' Monterey ladies an' I guess you won't be thinkin' often o' me.Like 's not by to-morrow you'll 'ave clean forgot me," she said withforced carelessness.

  "I shall never forget you," declared the young man with the intensefervour that comes so easily to the men of his race.

  At that a half-mistrustful, half-puzzled look crossed the Girl's face.Was this handsome stranger finding her amusing? There was almost aresentful glitter in her eyes when she cried out:

  "I 'mos' think you're makin' fun o' me!"

  "No, I mean every word that I say," he hastened to assure her, lookingstraight into her eyes where he could scarcely have failed to readsomething which the Girl had not the subtlety to conceal.

  "Oh, I guess I made you say that!" she returned, making a child-likeeffort to appear to disbelieve him.

  The stranger could not suppress a smile; but the next moment he wasserious, and asked:

  "And am I never going to see you again? Won't you tell me where I canfind you?"

  Once more the Girl was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment. Not thatshe was at all ashamed
of being "The Girl of The Polka Saloon," for thatnever entered her mind; but she suddenly realised that it was one thingto converse pleasantly with a young man on the highway and another tolet him come to her home on Cloudy Mountain. Only too well could sheimagine the cool reception, if it stopped at that, that the boys of thecamp there would accord to this stylish stranger. As a consequence, shewas torn by conflicting emotions: an overwhelming desire to see himagain, and a dread of what might happen to him should he descend uponCloudy Mountain with all his fine airs and graces.

  "I guess I'm queer--" she began uncertainly and then stopped in suddensurprise. Too long had she delayed her answer. Already the stage hadleft him some distance behind. Unperceived by her a shade of annoyancehad passed over the Californian's face at her seeming reluctance totell him where she lived. The quick of his Spanish pride was touched;and with a wave of his sombrero he had pulled his horse down on hishaunches. Of no avail now was her resolution to let him know thewhereabouts of the camp at any cost, for already his "_Adios, Senorita_"was sounding faintly in her ears.

  With a little cry of vexation, scarcely audible, the young woman flungherself back on the seat. She was only a girl with all a girl's ways,and like most of her sex, however practical her life thus far, shewas not without dreams of a romance. This meeting with the handsome_caballero_ was the nearest she had come to having one. True, there wasscarcely a man at Cloudy but what had tried at one time or another to gobeyond the stage of good comradeship; but none of them had approachedthe idealistic vision of the hero that was all the time lying dormant inher mind. Of course, being a girl, and almost a queen in her own littlesphere, she accepted their rough homage in a manner that was befittingto such an exalted personage, and gave nothing in return. But nowsomething was stirring within her of which she knew nothing; a feelingwas creeping over her that she could not analyse; she was conscious onlyof the fact that with the departure of this attractive stranger, who hadtaken no pains to conceal his admiration for her, her journey had beenrobbed of all its joy.

  A hundred yards further on, therefore, she could not resist thetemptation to put her head out of the stage and look back at the placewhere she had last seen him.

  He was still sitting quietly on his horse at the place where they hadparted so unceremoniously, his face turned in her direction--horse andrider silhouetted against the western sky which showed a crimson huebelow a greenish blue that was sapphire farther from the horizon.