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OVERLAND TALES
by
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD.
San Francisco:A. L. Bancroft & Co.1877.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, byJosephine Clifford,in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
J. FAGAN & SON, STEREOTYPERS, PHILAD'A.]
COLLINS, PRINTER.
Dedicated
TO MY KINDEST
AND
_MOST CONSTANT READER_,
MOTHER.
PREFACE.
In the book I now lay before the reader, I have collected a series ofstories and sketches of journeyings through California, Arizona, and NewMexico. There is little of fiction, even in the stories; and thesketches, I flatter myself, are true to life--as I saw it, at the time Ivisited the places.
A number of these stories first appeared in the OVERLAND MONTHLY, butsome of them are new, and have never been published. I bespeak for themall the attentive perusal and undivided interest of the kind reader.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PAGE_LA GRACIOSA_, 13
_JUANITA_, 53
_HETTY'S HEROISM_, 68
_A WOMAN'S TREACHERY_, 87
_THE GENTLEMAN FROM SISKIYOU_, 101
_SOMETHING ABOUT MY PETS_, 119
_POKER-JIM_, 137
_THE TRAGEDY AT MOHAWK STATION_, 153
_LONE LINDEN_, 161
_MANUELA_, 188
_THE ROMANCE OF GILA BEND_, 204
_A LADY IN CAMP_, 219
_THE GOLDEN LAMB_, 237
_IT OCCURRED AT TUCSON_, 260
_A BIT OF "EARLY CALIFORNIA"_, 274
_HER NAME WAS SYLVIA_, 282
_CROSSING THE ARIZONA DESERTS_, 296
_DOWN AMONG THE DEAD LETTERS_, 310
_MARCHING WITH A COMMAND_, 321
_TO TEXAS, AND BY THE WAY_, 354
_MY FIRST EXPERIENCE IN NEW MEXICO_, 367
OVERLAND TALES.
_LA GRACIOSA._
It was a stolid Indian face, at the first casual glance, but lighting upwonderfully with intelligence and a genial smile, when the little darkman, with the Spanish bearing, was spoken to. Particularly whenaddressed by one of the fairer sex, did a certain native grace ofdemeanor, an air of chivalrous gallantry, distinguish him from the morecold-blooded, though, perhaps, more fluent-spoken, Saxon peoplesurrounding him.
Among the many different eyes fixed upon him now and again, in thecrowded railroad-car, was one pair, of dark luminous gray, that dweltthere longer, and returned oftener, than its owner chose to have the manof the olive skin know. Still, he must have felt the magnetism of thoseeyes; for, conversing with this, disputing with that, and greeting thethird man, he advanced, slowly but surely, to where a female figure,shrouded in sombre black, sat close by the open window. There wassomething touching in the young face that looked from out the heavywidow's veil, which covered her small hat, and almost completelyenveloped the slender form. The face was transparently pale, thefaintest flush of pink tinging the cheeks when any emotion swayed thebreast; the lips were full, fresh, and cherry-red in color, and thehair, dark-brown and wavy, was brushed lightly back from the temples.
The breeze at the open window was quite fresh, for the train in itsflight was nearing the spot where the chill air from the ocean drawsthrough the Salinos Valley. Vainly the slender fingers tried to move theobstinate spring that held aloft the upper part of the window. The colorcrept faintly into the lady's cheeks, for suddenly a hand, hardly largerthan her's, though looking brown beside it, gently displaced her fingersand lowered the window without the least trouble. The lady's gloves haddropped; her handkerchief had fluttered to the floor; a small basket wasdisplaced; all these things were remedied and attended to by theSpaniard, who had surely well-earned the thanks she graciously bestowed.
"Excuse me," he said, with unmistakable Spanish pronunciation; "but youdo not live in our Valley--do you?"
"This is my first visit," she replied; "but I shall probably live herefor the future."
"Ah! that makes me so happy," he said, earnestly, laying his hand on hisheart.
The lady looked at him in silent astonishment. "Perhaps that is the wayof the Spanish people," she said to herself. "At any rate, he has veryfine eyes, and--it may be tedious living in Salinos."
Half an hour's conversation brought out the fact that a married sister'shouse was to be the home of the lady for a while; that the sister didnot know of her coming just to-day, and that her ankle was so badlysprained that walking was very painful to her.
From the other side it was shown that his home was in the neighborhoodof the town ("one of those wealthy Spanish rancheros," she thought);that he was slightly acquainted with her brother-in-law; that he was awidower, and that his two sons would be at the depot to receive him.These sons would bring with them, probably, a light spring-wagon fromthe ranch, but could easily be sent back for the comfortable carriage,if the lady would allow him the pleasure of seeing her safely under hersister's roof. She said she would accept a seat in the spring-wagon, andSenor Don Pedro Lopez withdrew, with a deep bow, to look after hisluggage.
"Poor lady!" he explained to a group of his inquiring friends, "poorlady! She is deep in mourning, and she has much sorrow in her heart."And he left them quickly, to assist his _protege_ with her wraps. Thenthe train came to a halt, and Don Pedro's new acquaintance, leaning onhis arm, approached the light vehicle, at either side of which stood thetwo sons, bending courteously, in acknowledgment of the lady's greeting.When Don Pedro himself was about to mount to the seat beside her, shewaved him back, with a charmingly impetuous motion of the hand. "I amsafe enough with your sons," she laughed, pleasantly. "Do you stop at mybrother-in-law's office, pray, and tell him I have come."
Sister Anna was well pleased to greet the new arrival--"without anattachment." Her sister Nora's "unhappy marriage" had been a source ofconstant trouble and worry to her; and here she came at last--alone.Brother-in-law Ben soon joined them, and Nora's first evening passedwithout her growing seriously lonesome or depressed. Sister Anna, to besure, dreaded the following days. Her sister's unhappy marriage, sheconfided to her nearest neighbor, had so tried the poor girl's nerves,that she should not wonder if she sank into a profound melancholy. Shedid all she could to make the days pass pleasantly; but what can you doin a small town when you have neither carriage nor horses?
Fortunately, Don Pedro came to the rescue. He owned many finehorses and a number of vehicles--from an airy, open buggy to acomfortably-cushioned carriage. He made his appearance a day or twoafter Nora's arrival, mounted on a prancing black steed, to whose everystep jingled and clashed the heavy silver-mounted trappings, which theolder Spaniards are fond of decking out their horses with. He cameonly, like a well-bred man, to inquire after the sprained ankle; butbefore he left he had made an engagement to call the very next morning,with his easiest carriage, to take both ladies out to drive.
And he appeared, punctual to the minute, sitting stiffly in thebarouche-built carriage, on the front seat beside the drive
r, who, toNora's unpractised eye, seemed a full Indian, though hardly darker thanhis master. True, the people of pure Spanish descent did say that thissame master had a slight admixture of Indian blood in his veins, too;but Don Pedro always denied it. He was from Mexico, he said, but hisparents had come from Spain. However this might be, Nora stood in mutedismay a moment, when the outfit drew up at the door; and she cast aquestioning glance at her sister, even after they were seated in thecarriage; but Sister Anna's eyes seemed repeating an old admonition toNora--"Be patient, poor child; be still." And Nora, passing her handacross her face, heeded the admonition, gathered courage, and gaveherself up to the perfect enjoyment of the scene and the novelty of theexpedition.
It was a late spring day--the Valley still verdant with the growinggrain, the mountains mottled with spots of brown where the rain of thewhole winter had failed to make good the ravages of thousands of sheep,or where, perhaps, a streak of undiscovered mineral lay sleeping in theearth. Scant groups of trees dotted the Valley at far intervals, rangedthemselves in rows where a little river ran at the foot of the Gabilan,and stood in lonely grandeur on the highest ridge of the mountain. Wherethe mountain sloped it grew covered with redwood, and where the hillsshrank away they left a wide gap for the ocean breeze and the ocean fogto roll in.
Across the Valley was another mountain, dark and grand, with flecks ofblack growing _chemasal_ in clefts and crevices, and sunny slopes andgreen fields lying at its base. And oh! the charm of these mountains. Inthe Valley there might be the fog and the chill of the North, but on themountains lay the warmth and the dreaminess of the South.
Keenly the dark eyes of the Spaniard studied the lovely face, flushed,as it seemed, with the pleasure derived from the drive in the pure airand the golden sunshine.
"You like our Valley?" he asked, as eagerly as though she were acapitalist to whom he intended selling the most worthless portion of hisranch at the highest possible figure.
"Not the Valley so much as the mountains," she returned. "We have hadfogs two days out of the week I have spent here, and I fancy I couldescape that if I could get to the top of the mountains."
"Ah! you like the sunshine and the warm air. You must go farther Souththen--far South. I have thought a great deal of going there myself.There is a beautiful rancho which I can buy--you would like it, Iknow,--far down and close by the sea. And the sea is so blue there--justlike the heavens. Oh! you would like it, I know, if you could only seeit," he concluded, enthusiastically, as though this were another ranchhe was trying to sell her.
But the thought of traffic or gain was very far from his heart justthen, though Don Pedro was known to be an exceptionally good businessman and a close financier. Many of his Spanish compeers looked up to himwith a certain awe on this account. Most of them had parted with theirbroad acres, their countless herds, all too easily, to gratify theirtaste for lavish display and easy living, with its attendant cost underthe new American _regime_; or had lost them through confiding, withtheir generous heart, their guileless nature, to the people whosethoughts were bent on securing, by usury and knaves' tricks, thepossessions of the very men whose hospitable roof afforded themshelter. "He can cope with any American," they would say, proudly,speaking of Don Pedro; and Don Pedro would show his appreciation of thecompliment by exercising his business qualifications towards them, aswell as towards "los Americanos."
But the haughty Don was well-mannered and agreeable; and after securingfrom Nora an indefinite promise that she would some time, when her anklegot strong, ride his own saddle-horse, he left the ladies safely attheir door and retired, his heart and brain filled with a thousand happydreams. He had only once during the ride pointed carelessly across thevalley to where his ranch lay; but Nora had gained no definite idea ofits extent.
One pleasant afternoon the two sons of Don Pedro stopped at the door.Their father had encouraged them to call, they said; perhaps the ladyand her sister would bestow upon them the honor of driving out with themfor an hour. Both lads spoke English with elegance and fluency (let thegood fathers of the Santa Clara College alone for that), but amongthemselves their mother-tongue still asserted itself; and in theirbehavior a touch of the Spanish punctilio distinguished them favorablyfrom the uncouth flippancy of some of their young American neighbors.
Nora cheerfully assented, and in a few minutes the whole party wasbowling along,--the eldest brother driving, the younger explaining anddescribing the country and its peculiarities. Pablo and Roberto had bothbeen born on their ranch, though not in the large white house they sawin the distance. That had been finished only a little while when theirmother died. The _adobe_ which had been their birthplace stood severalmiles farther back, and could not be seen from here.
"It is not on this ranch, then?" queried Nora.
"Pardon, yes; on this ranch, but several miles nearer the foothills; inthat direction--there."
"And is the land we are passing over all one ranch?" Nora continued,persistently.
"We have been driving over our own land almost since we left town,"replied Pablo, a little proudly. "San Jacinto is one of the largestranchos in the county, and the Americans have not yet succeeded incutting it up into building-lots and homestead blocks," he added,laughing a frank, boyish laugh, which seemed to say, "you are as one ofus, and will not take it amiss."
Sister Anna looked stealthily at Nora, but her eyes, with a strangelight in them, were fixed on the horizon, far off, where they seemed toread something that made her brow contract and lower a little while, andthen clear off, as, with an effort, she turned to the boy and brought upsome other topic of conversation. But her heart was not in what shesaid, and Sister Anna exerted herself to cover the deficiencies thatNora's drooping spirits left in the entertainment.
It was sunset when they reached home, and standing on the rose-coveredveranda of the little cottage a moment, Nora looked across to where thelingering gleams of the sun were kissing the black-looming crown of theLoma Prieta, with floods of pink and soft violet, and covering all itsbase with shades of dark purple and heavy gray. She raised her claspedhands to the mountain top.
"How glad, how thankful I could be, if from the wreck and the ruins Icould gather light and warmth enough to cover my past life and itsmiseries, as the pink and the purple of the sunset cover the blackdreariness of yon mountain."
"Come in, Nora, it is getting cold," interrupted Sister Anna; "or thenext thing after having your nerves wrought up so will be a fit ofhysterics."
"Which, you will say, is one more of the bad effects of Nora's unhappymarriage."
If Nora's wilfulness and Nora's unhappy marriage had been ever sodeeply deplored by her, the loss of Sister Anna's love, or Anna'ssisterly kindness, could not be counted among its many bad effects.Brother-in-law Ben, too, was whole-souled and affectionate; morepractical, and a trifle more far-seeing than Anna; but he never said, "Itold you so." He quietly did all he could to bind up bleeding wounds.
It soon came to be looked upon as quite a matter of course that DonPedro should be seen in his carriage with the two sisters; or, that hisblack steed should be led up and down before the cottage door, by one ofhis servants, dark of skin, fiery-eyed, and of quiet demeanor, like hismaster. Then, again, the sons were seen at the cottage, alwayscourteous, attentive, and scrupulously polite. If in the privacy oftheir most secret communings the "Gringa" was ever spoken of _as_ theGringa, it was only in the strictest privacy. Neither to Nora, nor toany of their servants, did ever look or word betray but that in the fairyoung American they saw all that their widowed father desired theyshould see.
The retinue of the Whitehead family consisted of but a single Chinaman,who was cook, laundress, maid-of-all-work; but during Nora's stay shewas never aware but that she had half-a-dozen slaves to do her bidding,so careful, yet so delicate was Don Pedro in bestowing his attentions.He soon hovered about the whole family like one of the _genii_. If Norajust breathed to herself, "How pleasant the day is--if we only hadcarriage and horses"--before the hour was over the
Don, with hiscarriage, or Don Pedro's boys, or an invitation to ride from the Don,was at hand. Before she had quite concluded that fruits were not soabundant or fine in the country as in the city markets, the Don hadcontracted a pleasant habit of sending his servants with the choicest ofall his fields and store-houses contained to the little cottage in town.Fish, fresh from the Bay of Monterey, and game, that plain and mountainafforded, came in the run of time, quite as a matter of course, to thekitchen and larder of Don Pedro's dear friend Whitehead. It was not tobe refused. Don Pedro had a hundred points of law that he wishedexplained; had so much advice to ask in regard to some tracts of land hemeant to purchase, that Brother-in-law Ben always seemed the oneconferring the greatest favor.
It was a little singular, too, this friendship of the Don's for LawyerWhitehead. As a general thing, the Spanish population of California lookupon our lawyers with distrust, and have a wholesome horror of the law.Don Pedro, though liberal-minded and enlightened, was not backward inexpressing the contempt he felt for many of our American views andopinions; but above all he abominated our most popular institution--theDivorce Court. Not as a Catholic only, was it an abomination to him, hesaid. He had often declared to see a divorced woman gave him the sameshuddering sensation that was caused by looking upon a poisonous snake.
When her ankle had grown quite strong, Don Pedro solicited for Rosa thehonor of carrying Nora for a short ride through the country. And Nora,mounted high on the shapely animal's back, had seemed in such pleasantmood when they left her sister's door, that she quite bewildered herescort by the sudden sharp tone with which she replied to the questionhe asked: what feature she admired most in the landscape before them?
"Those many little lakes," she said. "They have an enticing look ofquiet and rest, and hold out a standing invitation to 'come and getdrowned,' to weary mortals like myself."
He was too delicate to allow his shocked glance to rise to her face, butto himself he repeated, "Poor lady! she has much sorrow in her heart,"and aloud he said:
"You are homesick, Leonora?" How much prettier it seemed to hear thesonorous voice frame the word "Leonora," than the stiff appellation of"Mrs. Rutherford," which the Don could hardly ever bring himself toutter. It was so long, he excused himself, and not the custom of hiscountry--though, in direct contradiction to the first part of theexcuse, he would slyly smuggle in an addition--Blanca, Graciosa,Querida--trusting for safety in her lack of acquaintance with theSpanish tongue.
"No," she answered honestly to his question, "I have no place to behomesick for. I am glad to be here; but--"
"Ah! but you must see the Southern country first," he interrupted,eagerly. "I am going South this winter to purchase a ranch, on which Ishall make my home. I leave this ranch here to my two boys. Their motherdied here, and the ranch will be theirs. But my ranch in the South willbe very fine; the land is so fair--like a beautiful woman, almost."
"I shall miss you, if you leave us; particularly through the rainywinter months," she said.
"How happy that makes me!" he exclaimed, as once before; and he did nowwhat had been in his heart to do then--he bent over her hand and kissedit warmly, heedless of the swarthy Mexican who rode behind his master.
All through the summer, with its dust and its fog and its glaring sun,did Don Pedro still find a pleasant hour, early after the fog had risen,or late after the sun had set, to spend, on horseback or in carriage,with "the one fair woman" who seemed to fill his whole heart. Sometimes,when returning from an expedition on which Sister Anna had notaccompanied them, she would greet them on the veranda with uneasy,furtive eyes; and the Don, blind to everything but his passion for Nora,still did not observe the impatient answering glance.
Don Pedro was delicacy and chivalry itself. Bending low over her whitefingers one day, he asked, "And how long was Mr. Rutherford blessedwith the possession of this most sweet hand?"
"I was married but a year," she answered, with her teeth set, andquickly drawing back her hand.
On reaching home she reported to her sister. "Aha," she commented, "hewants to know how long you have been a widow, and whether it is too soonto make more decided proposals."
Then came the early rains, and for Nora fits of passionate crying,alternating with fits of gloomy depression. Don Pedro was in despair.Her varying moods did not escape him, and when, to crown all, her ankle,still weak from the sprain, began to swell with rheumatism, she took nopains to hide her fretfulness or sadness either from her sister Anna orthe Don. In the midst of the gloom and the rain came Don Pedro one dayto announce that he was about to set out for the South, to conclude thepurchase of the ranch he had so long spoken of.
"And you are going, too?" she said, lugubriously.
"I beg you to give me permission to go. I am the slave of Leonora, LaGraciosa, and will return soon. I will not go, if you grant me notpermission; but I beg you let me go for a short time." He had sunk onhis knees by the couch on which she rested, and his eyes flashed fireinto hers for a brief moment; but he conquered himself, and veiled themunder their heavy lashes. "Let me go," he pleaded, humbly, "and give mepermission to return to you, Leonora. In my absence my sons will do allyour bidding. They know the will of their father."
Nora had extended her hand, and motioned him to a chair beside hercouch, and listened with a smile on her lips to all the arrangements hehad made for her comfort during his absence.
"Since I have allowed you your own way in everything, I must have minein one particular. Of course, you will take a saddle-horse for yourselfbesides the spring-wagon. Now you shall not leave Rosa here for me, butshall take her along for your own use. It is absurd for you to insistthat no one shall use her since I have ridden her; I shall not keep herhere while you are struggling over heavy roads, in the wagon, or on someother horse."
It was, perhaps, the longest speech she had ever made to him, and it wasall about himself too, and full of consideration for him--oh! it wasdelicious. With fervent gratitude he kissed her hand, called herPreciosa, Banita, till she declared that he should not say hard thingsof her in Spanish any more. He desisted for the time, on her promisethat she would try to be cheerful while he was away, and not gethomesick, unless it were for him; and they became quite gay and sociableover a cup of tea which Sister Anna brought them into thesitting-room--so sociable, that Nora said of the Don, after hisdeparture:
"If any one were to tell me that a church-steeple could unbendsufficiently to roll ten-pins of a Sunday afternoon, I should believe itafter this."
But in a little while the fits of dejection and the fits of crying cameback again. Sister Anna did her best to break them up; she rallied heron breaking her heart for the absent Don; she tried to interest her inher surroundings, so that she should see the sungleams that flashedthrough the winter's gloom.
"See this beautiful cala that has just opened in the garden," she wouldsay, with an abortive attempt at making her believe that her ankle wasstrong and well.
"I cannot get up, miserable creature that I am," came back the dismalresponse.
"Oh, that lovely cloth-of-gold has grown a shoot full half a yard longsince yesterday; come and see."
"I cannot."
"Yes, you can; come lean on me. Now, isn't this sunshine delightful forDecember?"
Nora drew a deep breath; after a week's steady rain, the sky was clearas crystal, and the sun laughed down on hill and valley, blossoming roseand budding bush.
"See how the violets are covered with blue, and the honeysuckle has justreached the farthest end of the porch. Oh, Nora, how can any one beunhappy with flowers to tend, and a home to keep?"
"Ah! yes. You are right, sister; but it is your home--not mine."
Anna laid her arm around her as though to support her. She knew hersister's proud spirit and yearning heart, and she only whispered, as shehad so often done, "Be patient, poor child; be still."
But that short, passionate plaint had lightened Nora's heart; after aweek's sunshine the roads were dry enough to ride out once more with
DonPedro's sons, and when steady rain set in once more after that, shetried to show her sister that she could take an interest in"home"--though it was not her own.
A month had worn away, and as long as the weather permitted the regularrunning of the mails, Pablo and Roberto brought greetings from theirfather once a week; but when the roads grew impassable, they too wereleft without news. Not an iota did they fail of their attention to Nora,however; whatever dainties the ranch afforded were still laid at herfeet, or rather on her sister's kitchen table; and the roads were neverso bad but that they paid their respects at least twice a week.
"You have no cause to complain," said Sister Anna.
"No," replied Nora, with a yawn; "but I wish the Don would come back."
And he did come back.
"I am so glad you have come," she said, frankly, meeting him on thethreshold.
"I can read it in your eyes," he exclaimed, rapturously. "Oh, how happythat makes me!" And if Sister Anna's head had not appeared behind Nora'sshoulder, there is no telling what might have happened.
He had brought the spring with him; mountain and valley both had clotheditself in brightest green, in which the bare brown spots on the GabilanRange were really a relief to the satiated eye. In the deep clefts ofthe Loma Prieta lay the blackish shade of the _chemasal_, and only onedegree less sombre appeared the foliage of the live-oak against thetender green of the fresh grass. Again did Nora all day long watch thesun lying on the mountains--a clear golden haze in the daytime; pink andviolet, and purplish gray in the evening mist.
"Is it not beautiful?" she asked of Brother-in-law Ben, one evening, ashe came up the street and entered the gate.
"You are just growing to like our Valley, I see; it is a pity that youshould now be 'borne away to foreign climes.'"
"And who's to bear me away?" she asked, laughing, as they entered thehouse.
"Let me call Anna," he said; "we will have to hold family council overthis."
In council he commenced: "Don Pedro has this day requested that I, hislegal adviser, go South with him, to see that all papers are properlymade out, all preliminaries settled, before he fairly takes possessionof his land."
"Well?" queried Anna.
"Well, my dear, so much for his counsellor Whitehead. But to his friendBenjamin's family he has extended an invitation to accompany us on thistrip, presuming that his friend's wife and sister-in-law would bepleased to see this much-praised Southern country."
"We'll go, of course," assented Anna, artlessly.
"Certainly, my dear--of course;" affirmed easy-going Ben. "But, my dear,I hope you both understand all the bearings of this case."
Nora's head drooped, and a flush of pain overspread her face, as sheanswered, chokingly, "I do."
"Then, my dear, since Don Pedro has never mentioned Nora's name to me,except to send message or remembrance, had I not better tell him--"
"No, no!" cried Nora, in sudden terror. "Oh, please not; leave it all tome."
"Certainly, Mrs. Rutherford," he assented, still more slowly; "I am notthe man to meddle with other people's affairs--unasked," he added,remembering, perhaps, his business and calling.
"Don't be angry with me, Ben," she pleaded; "you have always been sokind to me. What should I have done without you two? But you know how Ifeel about this--this miserable affair."
"All right, child," he said, pressing her hand. "I should like togive you a piece of advice, but my lawyer's instinct tells me thatyou will not take it, so that I am compelled to keep my mouthshut--emphatically."
They set out on their Southern trip, a grand cavalcade; Don Pedro on acharger a little taller, a little blacker than Nora's horse; in thelight wagon Anna and her husband, and behind them a heavier wagoncontaining all that a leisurely journey through a thinly populatedcountry made desirable. For attendance they had Domingi, the Don'sfavorite servant, two _vaqueros_, and an under-servant, all mounted onhardy mustangs. Never did picnic party, intent on a day's pleasuring,leave home in higher spirits. The fresh morning air brought the color toNora's cheeks, and her musical laugh rang out through the Valley; andwhen they passed one of the little lakes, all placid and glistening inthe bright sun, Nora turned to her companion with a smile: "I don'tthink those lakes were meant to drown one's self in, at all; they weremade to cast reflections. See?" and she pointed to herself, graceful anderect, mirrored in the clear water.
"Oh, Graciosa," murmured the Spaniard.
How bright the world looked, to be sure; flowers covered the earth, notscattered in niggardly manner, as in the older, colder Eastern States,but covering the ground for miles, showing nothing but a sea of blue, anocean of crimson, or a wilderness of yellow. Then came patches where allshades and colors were mixed; delicate tints of pink and mauve, of purewhite and deep red, and over all floated a fragrance that was neverequalled by garden-flowers or their distilled perfume.
When twilight fell, and Don Pedro informed them that they would spendthe night under the hospitable roof of his friend, Don PamfilioRodriguez, Nora was almost sorry that, for the complete "romance of thething," they could not camp out.
"We will come to that, too," the Don consoled her, "before the journeyis over. But my friend would never forgive me, if I passed his door anddid not enter."
"But so many of us," urged Nora, regarding, if the truth must be told,the small low-roofed _adobe_ house with considerable disfavor.
"There would be room in my friend's house for my friends and myself,even though my friend himself should lie across the threshold."
Nora bowed her head. She knew of the proverbial hospitality of theSpanish--a hospitality that led them to impoverish themselves for thesake of becomingly entertaining their guests.
Of course, only Don Pedro could lift Nora from her horse; but SisterAnna found herself in the hands of the host, who conducted her, withthe air of a prince escorting a duchess, to the threshold, where hiswife, Donna Carmel, and another aged lady, received them. Conversationwas necessarily limited--neither Don Pamfilio nor Donna Carmel speakingEnglish, and Brother Ben alone being conversant with Spanish.
The ladies were shown into a low, clean-swept room, in which a bed,draped and trimmed with a profusion of Spanish needlework and soft redcalico, took up the most space. Chairs ranged along one wall, and agay-colored print of Saint Mary of the Sacred Heart, over thefire-place, completed the furnishing. Nora pleasantly returned thesalutation of the black-bearded man who entered with coals of fire on abig garden-spade. Directly after him came a woman, with a shawl over herhead and fire-wood in her arms. She, too, offered the respectful"_buenos dias_," and she had hardly left when a small girl entered, witha broken-nosed pitcher containing hot-water, and after her came anotherdark-faced man, the _mayordomo_, with a tray of refreshments andinquiries as to whether the ladies were comfortable.
Nora dropped her arms by her side. "I have counted four servantsnow, and Don Pedro told me particularly that his friend,Pam--what's-his-name--was very poor."
"Spanish style," answered Anna, with a shrug of the shoulder. "But it isvery comfortable. How cold it has grown out-doors, and how dark it is. Iwonder if we shall be afraid?"
"Hush! Don't make me nervous," cried Nora, sharply, shivering with thesudden terror that sometimes came over her.
"Be still," said Anna, soothingly; "there is nothing to be afraid ofhere."
After a while they were called to supper, where, to their surprise, theyfound quite a little gathering. Neighbors who spoke English had beensummoned to entertain them, and after supper, which was a marvel ofdishes, in which onions, sugar, raisins, and red pepper were softlyblended, and which was served by three more servants, they got up an_impromptu_ concert, on three guitars, and later an _impromptu_ ball, atwhich Nora chiefly danced with the Don.
In spite of the biting cold next morning, all the male members of lastnight's company insisted on escorting our friends over the first fewmiles of the road. They came to a stream which they must cross, and ofwhich Don Pamfilio had warned them, an
d the Don insisted on Nora'sgetting into the wagon with her sister. The _vaqueros_ with their horseswere brought into requisition, and Nora opened her eyes wide when,dashing up, they fastened their long _riattas_ to the tongue of thewagon, wound the end of the rope around the horn of the saddle, and withthis improvised four-horse team got up the steep bank on the other sidein the twinkling of an eye.
Reaching San Luis Obispo directly, they delayed one whole day, as Noraexpressed herself charmed with what she saw of the old mission church,and what remained of the old mission garden. A group of fig-trees hereand there, a palm-tree sadly out of place, in a dirty, dusty yard, anagave standing stiff and reserved among its upstart neighbors, thepea-vine and potato.
"Oh! it is pitiful," cried Nora, hardly aware of the quotation. "Eventhis proud avenue of olives, towering so high above all, has been cut upand laid out in building-lots."
"The advance of civilization," Brother Ben informed her; and, in reply,Nora pointed silently into a yard, where a half-grown palm-tree stoodamong heaps of refuse cigar-ends and broken bottles. The house to whichthe yard belonged was occupied as a bar-room, and one of its patrons, ason of Old Erin, to all appearances, lay stretched near the palm,sleeping off the fumes of the liquor imbibed at the bar.
They laughed at Nora's illustration, and decided to move from sountoward a spot that very afternoon, even if they should have to usetheir tent and camp out all night.
More flowers, and brighter they grew as our friend travelled fartherSouth. On the plain the meadow-lark sang its song in the dew and thechill of the morning, and high on the mountain, in the still noonday,the lone cry of the hawk came down from where the bird lived in solitarygrandeur. Wherever our friends went they were made welcome. Not aSpanish house dare the Don pass without stopping, at least forrefreshments. He had _compadres_ and _comadres_ everywhere, and whetherthey approved of his intimate relations with the "Gringas" or not, theyshowed always the greatest respect, extended always the most cheerfulhospitality.
At last they approached Santa Barbara, its white, sun-kissed missiongleaming below them in the valley as they descended the Santa InezMountains. Stately business houses and lovely country-seats, hidden intrees and vines--the wide sea guarding all. But they tarried not. DonPedro announced that he had promised to make a stay of several weeks athis particular friend's, Don Enrico del Gada. He was proud to introducethem to this family, he said. They would become acquainted with trueCastilians--would be witness to how Spanish people lived in the Southerncountry; rich people--that is--. They had always been rich, but throughsome mismanagement (through the knavery of some American, Norainterpreted it), they were greatly in danger of losing their wholeestate. A small portion of their rancho had been sold to a company ofland-speculators, and now they were trying to float the title to thisportion over the whole of the Tappa Rancho.
"Pure Castilian blood," the Don affirmed; "fair of skin, hair lighterthan Nora's tresses, and eyes blue as the sky. Such the male part of thefamily. The female portion--mother and daughter--were black-eyed, andjust a trifle darker; but beauties, both. The daughter, Narcissa (Norafancied that a sudden twinge distorted the Don's features as he spokethe name), was lovely and an angel; not very strong, though--a littleweak in the chest."
All the evening the Del Gadas formed the subject of conversation, sothat it is hardly surprising that morning found Nora arrayed with morecare than usual, if possible, and looking handsome enough to gratify theheart of the most fastidious lover.
A two hours' ride brought them to the immediate enclosure of thecomfortable ranch house, and with a sonorous "_buenos dias caballeros!_"the Don had led his party into the midst of a ring formed by the host,his son, and other invited guests. Some of them had just dismounted, andthe spurs were still on their boots; some had red silk scarfs tiedgracefully around the hips, and all were handsome, chivalrous,picturesque-looking men. Don Enrico advanced to assist Anna, while DonManuel, his son, strode toward Leonora's horse and had lifted her fromthe saddle before Don Pedro could tell what he was about. Such clearblue eyes as he had! All the sunshine of his native Spain seemed caughtin them; and his hand was so white! Nora's own could hardly vie with it.
His head was uncovered when he conducted her to the veranda, where theladies were assembled. His mother, a beauty still, dark-eyed,full-throated, and with the haughty look and turn of the head that isfound among the Spanish people; the sister a delicate, slender being,large-eyed, with hectic roses on her cheeks. Nora detected a strangeglimmer in her eye and a convulsive movement of the lips as sheaddressed a question in a low tone to her brother, after the formalintroduction was over.
"You must excuse my sister," he apologized to Nora, "she speaks noEnglish. She wanted to know whether you had ridden Rosa. Long ago shetried to ride the horse, but could not, as she is not strong. When DonPedro was here last she wanted to try again; but he would not consent. Isuppose she is astonished at your prowess."
Nora watched the darkened, uneasy eyes of the girl; she thought she knewbetter than the unsuspecting brother what had prompted the question.
The Del Gada family, their house, their style of living, was all the Donhad claimed for them. The first day or two were devoted mainly toout-of-door entertainments; the orange-groves, the vineyards, thealmond-plantation on the ranch were visited, and a ride to the missionof Santa Barbara, whose Moorish bell-towers haunted Nora's brain, wasplanned and undertaken.
The warm light of the spring-day shed a soft glimmer over crumblingremnants of the monuments that the patient labor of the mission fathershave left behind them--monuments of rock and stone, shaped by the handsof the docile aborigines into aqueducts and fountains, reservoirs andmill-house; monuments, too, of living, thriving trees, swaying gently inthe March wind, many of them laden with promises of a harvest ofluscious apricot or honey-flavored pear. The hands that planted themhave long fallen to dust; the humble _adobe_ that gave shelter to thepatient toiler is empty and in ruins, but the trees he planted flourish,and bear fruit, year after year; and from the shrine where he once kneltto worship his new-found Saviour, there echoes still the Ave and theVesper-bell, though a different race now offers its devotion.
A day or two later, winter seemed to have returned in all its fury; therain poured ceaselessly, and swelled the creeks till their narrow bankscould hold the flood no longer; the wind tore at the roses, hanging inclusters of creamy white and dark crimson, on trellises and high-growingbush, and scattered showers of snow from almond and cherry trees. Thefireplaces in the Del Gada mansion were once more alive and cheerfulwith a sparkling fire. It made little difference to the companyassembled at the ranch; it gave Nora and Sister Anna an opportunity ofseeing more of the home-life of the family, and impressed them with theexcellence of the haughty-looking woman at the head of theestablishment. No New England matron could be a more systematichousekeeper, could be more religiously devoted to the welfare of herfamily and servants. "And the romance of it all," Nora often repeated.Night and morning the far-sounding bell on the little chapel in thegarden called the members of the house to worship; and DonnaIncarnacion, kneeling, surrounded by her family and servants, read inclear tones the litanies and prayers. Once a week the priest from theneighboring mission visited the house, and then the large drawing-roomwas fitted up with altar and lights and flowers, and neighbors, high andlow, of all degrees, attended worship.
This, however, did not prevent the family from being as jolly as Spanishpeople can well be, in this same drawing-room, when Mass was over, and"the things cleared away." Of cold or rainy nights the company resortedto this room, where they had music, conversation, refreshments. Buteverything had a dash of romance to Nora's unbounded delight.Refreshments were brought in on large trays, borne by dusk, dark-cladwomen; trays loaded with oranges, pomegranates, figs, the product of theorchards surrounding the house; and wine, sparkling red and clear amber,pressed from grapes gathered in the vineyard that crept close up to thedoor. It was not only California, but the South, of which Don Pedro hadalways s
poken with such enthusiasm.
"And how enthusiastic he does grow sometimes," said Nora one evening, inthe large drawing-room where they were all assembled.
Manuel, who performed on the piano as well as the flute, had justfinished a piece of music which Nora had taken from her trunk for him toplay, and she had insisted on turning the leaves for him. Don Pedro satnear, and Nora looking up, had caught his eye. "See the enthusiasm inhis face," she said to Manuel. "How fond all of you Spaniards are ofmusic."
"You are mistaken in two points, Donna Leonora," the young man replied."Don Pedro is no Spaniard, he is a Mexican; and he has not grownenthusiastic over the music--he has seen and has been thinking only ofyou."
Nora's cheeks burned at something in Manuel's voice; but a gratefulfeeling stole into her heart. To tell the truth, she had felt a pang ofsomething like jealousy of late, when Narcissa, who, from speaking noEnglish, was thrown on Don Pedro's hands, seemed to take up more of hisattention than necessary.
When the weather cleared off, our party began to talk of moving on; DonPedro's new possession was only one or two days' journey from here,below San Buenaventura. There was to be a Rodeo on the Del Gada ranch,not so much for the purpose of branding young cattle, as to give thedifferent rancheros an opportunity of selecting their own that mighthave strayed into the mountains and found their way into the Del Gadaherds. Nora was for attending the Rodeo; she could hardly form an ideaof what it was; but she was sure, as usual, that it must be something"highly romantic."
They were warned that they must get up early in the morning, and seveno'clock found them already on the ground--a little valley, shut in bymountains more or less steep. A small creek, made turbulent by therains, ran through the valley, where an ocean of stock seemed to roll inuneasy billows. It was all as romantic as Nora's heart could wish. Thecountless herds of cattle gathered together and kept from dispersing bynumbers of _vaqueros_, who darted here and there on their well-trainedhorses, leaped ditches, flew up the steep mountain-sides after anescaping steer, dashed through the foaming torrent to gather one more tothe fold, and seemed so perfectly one with their horse that from heremight have sprung the fable of the old Centaurs.
Eyes sharper than eagles had these people, master and man alike; out ofthe thousands of that moving herd could they single the mighty steerthat bore their brand, or the wild-eyed cow whose yearling calf had notyet felt the searing-iron. Into the very midst of the seething masswould a _vaquero_ dart, single out his victim without a moment's halt,drive the animal to the open space, and throw his lasso with unerringaim, if a close inspection was desirable--a doubt as to the brand to beset aside. If a steer proved fractious, two of the Centaurs would dividethe labor; and while one dexterously threw the rope around his horns,the other's lasso had quickly caught the hind foot, and together theybrought him to the earth, that he had spurned in his strength and pridebut a moment before.
Manuel himself could not resist the temptation of exhibiting his skill;and when his father and one of the neighbors--of about fifty milesaway--both claimed a large black bull, almost in the centre of the herd,he dashed in among the cattle, drove his prey out on a gallop, flung hislasso around the animal's hind feet, and brought him to the ground asneatly as any _vaquero_ could have done.
He saw Nora clap her hands; he saw, too, how every ranchero of thecounty had his eyes fixed on her, as she sat proudly, yet so lightly, onthe showy black horse; and sadly he owned to himself that he would risklife and limb any time, to gain the little hand that wafted him a kiss.But what was he? A beggar, perhaps, to-morrow, if the suit went againstthem.
Meantime the sun grew hot, and they all dismounted and left the wagons,and lunch was discussed; the _elite_, Americans and Spaniards alike,assembling around the Del Gada provision wagon, while the _vaqueros_were well satisfied with a chunk of bread, a handful of olives, and adraught of wine, as they leisurely drove the cattle separated from theDel Gada herd to their respective territory.
Then came the parting day. Donna Incarnacion stood on the veranda, as onthe day of their arrival, proudly erect, conscious of herself and thedignity she must maintain. Beside her stood her daughter, the spots onher cheeks larger and brighter, but a pained, restless expression in theeager eyes, and printing itself sharply in the lines about the mouth.Her mother seemed not to note the girl's evident distress.
Nora, Mr. and Mrs. Whitehead, and the Don had made their adieux; andManuel, mounted and ready to escort them, together with some half dozenothers, turned once more to the veranda to ask his sister some question.Like a flash the truth broke on him as he caught the eager, strainingglance that followed Don Pedro's form, and with a little passionate cryhe urged his animal close to Nora's side.
"It is not my heart alone you have left desolate behind you, Leonora. Mysister's, too--oh! my poor Narcissa! Now I know why my mother said thatshe would not live to see spring again; now I know why she prays to thesaints for a 'still heart,' night and morning. Oh, Leonora, think nomore of the dagger you have planted in my breast; think of poorNarcissa, and pray for her as you would for one already dead--for thelove of a Spanish girl is deep and abiding, and cannot be outweighed bygold and leagues of land and fine clothes."
It was well that Don Pedro came up; Nora was almost fainting in hersaddle. He did not catch the import of Don Manuel's words, but, if neverbefore, he recognized in him now a bold and dangerous rival. Theconfusion attending a general breaking-up had covered this littleby-scene, and when the party escorting them turned back, it would havebeen impossible to discover that one or two hearts throbbed wildly atthe parting words.
When they rode into San Buenaventura, with its dingy little missionchurch fronting on the main street, Nora was not half so much interestedas she had been. They were right in the midst of the mission garden. Theobtrusive frame houses of the fast-crowding American population had beenset up in it; the streets had been laid out through it; the ugly,brick-built court-house stood away down in the lower part of it, wherethe blue ocean washed the shore, and murmured all day of times long pastto the tall-growing palms, that stood desolate and alone.
It made her sad, she said to the Don, when he expressed his surprise ather silence, to see the stately olives of a century's growth spreadtheir great branches over flimsy little shops; to see the neglectedvines trailing their unpruned lengths over rubbish-piled open lots,which a paper placard announced "for sale."
When night came, she retired to her up-stairs room at the hotel, put thelight out, and gazed long hours on the placid ocean.
"Let us get on as soon as possible," said Sister Anna, in confidence, toher husband the next morning. "This place seems to have a singulareffect on Nora. She says she could not sleep last night, for thinkingwhether she had a right to barter herself away, body and soul, truth andhonor, perhaps, for a grand home and a great deal of money."
So they "got on." Don Pedro was happy to gratify every wish of theladies, and very willing to enter upon his own territory, which lay sonear. The earth looked so smiling to Don Pedro when, together with Nora,a little in advance of the wagons, he crossed the border of his owndomain. All the morning they had passed droves of cattle on the road,and flocks of sheep, and the _vaqueros_ tending them had still salutedDon Pedro as their master. Shortly they encountered the _mayordomo_ ofthe new ranch, and after a short parley with him, the Don turned to Norawith an apology for discussing business affairs in an unfamiliar tonguein her presence.
"Let us make a compromise," suggested Nora; "do you take me down yonderto that piece of white pebble-beach, by the gray rock, and you may comeback and talk to all the _vaqueros_ and _mayordomos_ in the land."
The _mayordomo_ wended his way to where he saw the wagons halting in agrove, and Nora and the Don pursued their own way. It was quite adistance before they had reached the exact spot that Nora said she hadmeant--they were out of sight of the rest. The ocean, grand and solemn,lay before them, grassy plains around them, groups of trees and slopinghills in the near distance, and far off the mount
ains in theirnever-changing rest.
Lightly Don Pedro sprang to the ground, and detaining Nora one moment inher saddle, he said, impressively: "Now you set foot upon your own land,a territory named after you, 'La Graciosa.'"
Then he lifted her tenderly to the ground, and she sprang lightly awayfrom him, and lavishly praised the beauty of his new possession.
"And it is all like this," he continued, "for miles and miles, good andbeautiful, like the one for whom I named it."
"What a flatterer you are," she said, forced at last to take notice ofthe name. He clasped her hand, but she uttered a little shriek, "Oh!that wicked horse of yours has bitten my poor Rosa." A snort from theblack mare seemed to corroborate the accusation, and Nora had gainedtime--to fight her battle out, and make peace with herself.
"Please get rid of that tiresome _mayordomo_ of yours, and come back tome. I want to stay here alone with Rosa and decide whether your ranchhas been well named." She could not prevent the kiss he imprinted on herslender hand, but she drew it back impatiently.
"You will stay here till I return, Leonora?" he asked, earnestly.
"Yes, yes," she said, a little fretfully, and waved him off.
He had made fast her horse to the stump of a scrub-oak, that had livedits short, mistaken life here close by the sea; and Nora, when the soundof the other horse's hoofs had died away, stroked the animal's maneapprovingly, and patted her neck. Then she turned and walked slowlyaround the abrupt gray crag, and stopped; she was alone at last. Sheraised her hand, and looked from under it out on the sunlit sea. Thewaves came up with a long, gentle swirl, till the light foam splashedagainst the foot of the crag, then receded, leaving a strip of white,glistening pebble exposed. She watched it silently, then turned her faceto let her eyes sweep the plain, the clumps of trees, and the rollinghills.
"'For miles and miles,' he said," she soliloquized, "and that is not allhis fortune. And _he_ has nothing if the suit goes against them.American cunning matched against Spanish recklessness. But what have Ito do with that boy? All I have wanted and prayed for is a home and anhonored name; it is within my reach now; why should I let an idle dreamstand in my way?"
She stood where the ocean washed up to her feet, and when she lookeddown she thought she saw two deep-blue eyes, wild with suppressedpassion, flashing up from there. She turned, for she thought she heardbehind her, in the sighing of the wind and the shriek of the sea-mews,the cry of a tortured heart. But she banished these fancies and forcedher thoughts into other channels. She thought of her past life, of thewish she had had, even as a child, to travel--to see strange lands. Shethought of the Pyramids of Egypt, and that her wish to see them couldnow, perhaps, be gratified--in his company. Well, was it not romantic,after all, to marry the dark-eyed Don, with the haughty bearing and theenormous wealth? She had a lady friend once, a city acquaintance, whohad married a wealthy Spaniard. But she had been divorced after a year'stime. Divorced! what an ugly sound the word had. Was Don Pedro near? Hadhis ear caught the sound? No; thank God, she was alone.
And then her thoughts strayed again to the old Gada mansion, and thebroken-hearted girl she had left there. "She will die," he had said; andshe fell to wondering whether Father Moreno would anoint those wistfuleyes with the consecrated oil, in her last hour, and mutter that "theyhad looked upon unholy things," and touch the little waxen ears "becausethey had listened to unchaste speech." What a mockery it seemed, in thecase of the young innocent girl. "When _I_ die--" She stooped suddenlyto dip her hand into the water, and dashed it into her face and over herhair. "_Mea culpa!_" she murmured, striking her breast, "_mea culpa! meamaxima culpa!_"
And once more she pressed her hand across her face, for the gallop ofapproaching hoofs fell on her ear, and directly "Leonora!" rang out insharp, uneasy tone.
She answered the call, and Don Pedro, panting, but with a happy smile,reached out his hand to draw her away from the wet sand.
"I felt as though I had lost you. What would life be without you,Graciosa?"
"You would have my god-child left," she replied, laughing.
"It would be worthless without the sponsor. I have acquired it for you.Do you accept it?"
"With you into the bargain?" she smiled gayly as she said it. She hatedromance and sentimentality all at once, and when the Don kneeled at herfeet to kiss both her hands, she said, with a laugh:
"There will be but one Graciosa, after all, unless you take me to myfriends and the lunch-basket. I am almost starved."
"I am your slave," he avowed; "you have but to command."
He lifted her into the saddle, with trembling hands and beaming eyes."Oh, Graciosa! Rightly named," he cried.
"Meaning me or the ranch?" asked Nora, mischievously; and, with a touchof the whip, she urged Rosa ahead, and threw a kiss over her shoulder tothe Don. His eyes followed her proudly awhile, ere he spurred his horseto overtake her, and they joined Sister Anna laughing and happy as shecould wish to see them.
They camped out that night, as there was no house on that part of theranch, though there was one to be erected near the spot where they hadjoined Sister Anna, for Nora said she liked the view there. Early nextmorning they left camp, expecting to reach Los Angeles before sunset.
All day the road led along the mountain-chain, in the San FernandoValley--a soft, warm day, made to dream and reflect. The clear blue hazehung, as ever, on the mountain-ridge, and the plain at the foot waswhite and odorous with the wild "Forget-me-not" of California. Theylooked to Nora as though passionate eyes had been raining tears on themtill the color had been blanched out; and when Don Pedro gathered ahandful and brought them to her, she said, "Don't, please; it hurts meto see you break them off. Throw them away."
"How strange you are," he said, but he obeyed, and did not assert hisauthority till some hours later, when they reached the crossing of theLos Angeles River.--Had he not said he would be her slave?
The river rushed by them muddy and wild, spread far beyond its allottedlimits--an ugly, treacherous-looking piece of water. It was deep, too;and while Don Pedro was giving orders in regard to arranging thecontents of the baggage wagon, Sister Anna was trying to persuade Norato come into their wagon while fording the stream. Nora demurred; butthe Don riding up decided the question at once.
"You must go in the wagon, Leonora," he announced, with somewhat pompousauthority. "I will not have you exposed to such danger. The river iswide at present, and your head will get light. Mr. Whitehead and I willgo on horseback, but you must go in the wagon."
A rebellious gleam shot from Nora's eye, but Sister Anna listened withflushed face, as to something new, but very pleasant to hear. It provedan ugly crossing, and while the servants were rearranging the baggage,the Don strayed a little apart with Nora, and found a seat under a clumpof willows.
"It _is_ hard to go down into the floods when there is so much of lifeand sunshine all around," and with a little nervous shiver she nestledcloser to the Don's side. Impelled by a feeling of tenderness he couldnot control, the stately Don threw his arms around the supple form andpressed the first kiss on her pale lips.
She shrank from him; had any one seen them? There was no need to springup; she knew he would not attempt to repeat the caress.
The City of the Angels lay before them--a dream realized.
Whatever there was unlovely about the older, _adobe_ built portion ofthe place was toned down by the foliage of waving trees, and warmed intotropical beauty by the few isolated palms, which some blessed hand setout long years ago. Our friends did not pass through the heart of thecity, but wended their way to the house of a wealthy Spanish family,which lay among the gay villas and stately residences of the modernportion of the city. Large gardens enclosed them, in many casessurrounded by evergreen hedges of supple willow and bristly osage. Tallspires arising from a sea of green, and imposing edifices, marked theplaces where the Lord could be worshipped in style. The American elementis strong in Los Angeles.
Senor Don Jose Maria Carillo had been looking
for his guests, and metthem with much state and ceremony on the highway, conducting themgrandly to the gate-posts of his garden, where they were received byDonna Clotilda and a retinue of servants. Even the children, with theirgoverness, were summoned from the school-room to greet the guests, andSpanish courtesy and Californian hospitality were never betterexemplified than in the case of our friends.
"Oh, Annie, only look!" exclaimed Nora, clasping her hands inadmiration, and pointing through the French window at the back of thedouble parlors.
The house was an _adobe_, two stories high, which the father of thepresent inmate had built, and of which the son was properly proud. Hewould not have it torn down for the world, but it had been modernized tosuch an extent as to rival in comfort and elegance any of the newerAmerican houses, though the Spanish features were still predominant. Theparticular feature that had attracted Nora so strongly as to lead herinto making the hasty, unceremonious exclamation, was a _remada_, a kindof open roof built of heavy timber beams, at the back of the house, andextending over several hundred feet of the ground. It was covered withthe grape, among whose shading leaves and graceful tendrils the sunlightglinted in and out, playing in a thousand colors on clustering vineswith bright flowers, that clung to the pillars supporting the roof.Beyond stretched an orange-grove, where yellow fruit and snowy blossomsglanced through the glossy leaves.
"It is beautiful, is it not?" asked a voice at her side. She had steppedto the open French window, regardless of all etiquette, and Don Pedroled her across the sill into the covered garden.
"Your own home shall be like this, Leonora, only finer and grander; youshall have everything that your heart can wish."
"You are very good." It was not the conventional phrase with her; shemeant what she said, for her eyes were raised to his, and tears trembledin the lashes.
It was a charming retreat. Donna Clotilda spoke English, though none ofthe servants did, except a ten-year old Indian girl, who was detailed towait on the guests. There was a round of visiting and going through thecity, where every one admired Nora, and looked from her to the littleDon. And Don Pedro was proud and happy, and always sought newopportunities of passing through the crowded thoroughfares, on foot, onhorseback, or in carriage.
"My dear," he said, one day, "I would know how handsome you are fromlooking at the people who meet us, even though I had never seen yourface."
"Yes?" said Nora, a little absent and dispirited, as she sometimes was.
"Yes; one man, standing at the corner there, behind those boxes--you didnot see him--opened his eyes very wide and looked hard at you, and thenpushed his hat back till it fell to the ground. Then he saw me, and feltashamed, and turned quick to pick up his hat."
"What a striking appearance mine must be!" laughed Nora, restored togood-humor, for the time.
It has often seemed to me that all Spanish people, of whatever degree,throughout California, are either related or intimately acquainted witheach other. Thus Nora heard from the Del Gadas occasionally; nay, evenfrom the Rodriguez, away back in the Salinas Valley, did they hear newsand greeting once. Narcissa del Gada was dying, the Don told her; andthe twinge that had distorted his features when he first mentioned hername again passed over them.
But all the time of our friends was not given to pleasuring; many a longmorning did Brother Ben and the Don pass together at the Court-House,the Hall of Records, and other places where titles are examined and therecords kept. A ranch of twenty or thirty thousand acres is well worthsecuring, so that through no loophole can adverse claimant creep, orsharp-witted land-shark, with older title, spring on the unwarypurchaser.
In the meantime spring was growing into summer; the sun began to burnmore fierce, and Nora, always fond of out-doors, had made the _remada_her special camping-ground. She sat there one morning, after havingdeclined to go on a shopping expedition with Sister Anna. It had seemedrather ungracious, too; but Brother Ben had come to the rescue, asusual, and had taken Nora's place. Now she sat here, pale and listless,her hands idly folded, her eyes wandering among the shadows of theorange grove.
There had been an arrival at the house, she thought, for she heard thetramp of a horse as it was led around to the stables; but she took noheed. After a while she heard the noise of one of the long windowsopening, and soon she heard steps behind her. Then a low voice said"Leonora!" and Manuel, pale and haggard, stood before her.
All her listlessness vanished in an instant, and she would have flowninto his arms, but for something that seemed to make him unapproachable.
"Narcissa is dead," he said, monotonously, "and since coming to town Ihave learned that I am a beggar; we are all homeless--outcasts."
"Oh, Manuel!" she cried, laying her hand on his arm, "my poor, poor boy.Come with me into the open air--this place chokes me. And now tell meabout Narcissa." She drew him out into the sunshine, and back again tothe fragrant shadows of the orange grove. She sought a rustic seat forthem, but he threw himself on the sod beside it.
"Wrecked and lost and lonely," he groaned, "it is well that Narcissa isdead; and yet she was our only comfort."
"Poor Manuel!" she repeated, softly; "my poor boy." Her fingers werestraying among the sunny waves of his hair, and he caught her handsuddenly, and covered it with a frenzy of kisses.
"Leonora!" he cried, all the reckless fire of his nation breaking intoflames, "come with me, and we will be happy. You do not love yourwealthy affianced, you love me. Be mine; I will work and toil for you,and you shall be my queen. Oh, Nora, I love you--I love you--I loveyou."
Poor Nora! why should stern reality be so bitter? "Foolish boy," shesaid, disengaging her hand, "you are mad. What if Don Pedro--"
"Ah, true; I had forgotten--you are an American. Go, then, be happy withyour wealthy husband; Manuel will never cross your path again."
"Manuel!" she cried, and she stretched out her arms towards the spotwhere he had just stood, "come back, for I love you, and you alone." Buta rustling in the willow-hedge only answered to her passionate cry, andshe cowered on the garden-bench, sobbing and moaning out her helplessgrief.
The rustling in the willow-hedge behind her grew louder, so that evenshe was startled by the noise.
"Ho, Nell!" The words fell on her ears like the crack of doom, her facegrew white to the very lips, and a great horror crept into her eyes. Sheturned as if expecting to meet the engulfing jaws of some dread monster,and her eyes fell upon the form of a man, whose slovenly dress andbloated features spoke of a life of neglect and dissipation--perhapsworse.
"Why, Nell, old girl," he continued, familiarly, "this is a prettyreception to give your husband. I'm not a ghost; don't be afraid of me."
"Wretch!" she cried, trembling with fear and excitement. "How dare youcome here? Go at once, or I shall call for help."
"No, you won't. I'm not afraid. Come, you can get rid of me in a minute.The truth is, I'm d----d hard up; got into two or three littleunpleasantnesses, and got out only by a scratch. I want to get away fromhere--it's unhealthy here for me--but I've got no money. Saw you downtown with that pompous Greaser the other day; know him well; he's gotlots of money; and I thought that, for love and affection, as they sayin the law, and in consideration of our former relations, you might helpme to some of his spare coin."
"You miserable man," she cried, beside herself, "is it not enough thatyou blasted my life's happiness? Must I be dragged down to the verylowest degradation with you? Oh, Charlie," she added, in changed,softened tones, "what would your mother say to all this?"
"And my daddy the parson," he laughed, hoarsely. "Yes, we know all that.But here, Nell," he went on, while a last glimmer of shame or contritionpassed over his once handsome face, "I don't want to hurt you, my girl;you've always been a trump, by G----; I am willing you should become therespected wife of Don Pedro Lopez, but I must have money, or money'sworth. That cluster-diamond on your finger; tell the Greaser you lostit. Or pull out your purse; I know it is full."
"Nothing," she said, slowly and determine
dly, "nothing shall you havefrom me--a woman you have so wronged and deceived--"
"Stop, Nell; I haven't time to wait for a sermon. Give me what you'vegot-- Oh, here's h---- to pay and no pitch hot," he interrupted himself;"there's the Don, and he's heard it all."
He spoke true; Don Pedro stood beside them, frozen into a statue. Atlast he breathed.
"Yes, heard all. And I would have made you my wife--you a divorcedwoman. Oh, Santa Maria! She divorced of such a man--for I know you,Randal," he continued, lashing himself into a fury--"horse-thief,stage-robber, gambler. It was you who killed my friend Mariano Anzarafter robbing him at cards--murderer! You shall not escape me as youescaped the officers of the law. _Hombres!_ catch the murderer!" heshouted towards the house, as he made a dart at the man, who turned atbay, but halted when he saw that the Don was not armed.
"Stop your infernal shouting and don't touch me," he said, in a low,threatening voice. But the Don was brave, and his blood was up; hesprang upon the man, shouting again; they closed and struggled, and whenthe man heard footsteps swiftly approaching, he drew back with aneffort, and hissing, "You _would_ have it so, idiot," he raised hispistol and fired.
Before the smoke cleared away he had vanished, and the people who camefound Don Pedro stretched on the ground. His life was almost spent, buthis energy had not deserted him. He gave what information and directionswere necessary for the prosecution of his murderer, and Manuel, who wasamong the excited throng, threw himself on his horse to head thefugitive off. The others lifted the wounded man tenderly from theground, bore him gently into the house, and frowned with hostile eyesupon Nora; it had taken possession of their minds at once that, in someunexplained manner, the Gringa was the cause of all this woe.
Nora followed them like an automaton; she saw them carry him throughthe open door-window into the back parlor, and lay the helpless figureon a lounge. A messenger had already been despatched for priest anddoctor, and the servants, who were not admitted into the room, lay ontheir knees outside.
Then the priest came, and Nora, in a strange, dazed way, could followall his movements after he went into the room. The odor of burningincense crept faintly through the closed doors, and she wonderedagain--did the priest touch the white lips and say, "for they haveuttered blasphemies." The fingers were stiffening, she thought; wouldthe priest murmur now--"for with their hands do men steal;" the eyelidswere fluttering over the glazed eyes; the cleansing oil was dropped uponthem, for "they had looked upon unholy things."
She saw it all before her, and heard it, though her eyes were fastclosed, and her ears were muffled, for she had fallen, face down, by oneof the pillars supporting the _remada_, and the thick-growing tropicalvine, with its bright, crimson flowers, had buried her head in itsluxuriant foliage, and seemed raining drops of blood upon the wavy darkbrown hair.
Thus Manuel found her when he returned from the pursuit of the fugitive.He raised her head, and looked into large, bewildered eyes. "What isit?" she asked; "have I been asleep? Oh, is he dead?"
"The wretched man I followed? Yes; but my hand did not lay him low. Thesheriff and his men had been hunting him; he attempted to swim the riverat the ford; the sheriff fired, and he went down into the flood."
Nora's eyes had closed again during the recital, and Manuel held alifeless form in his arms, when Sister Anna and her husband came atlast. They had heard of the shooting of Don Pedro in the city, and thecarriage they came in bore Nora away to the hotel. Manuel did notrelinquish his precious burden till he laid the drooping form gently onthe bed at the hotel. Then the doctor came, and said brain-fever wasimminent, and the room was darkened, and people went about on tip-toe.And when the news of the death of Don Pedro Lopez was brought down tothe hotel, Nora was already raving in the wildest delirium of the fever.
Weeks have passed, and Nora has declared herself not only well, but ableto return home. Manuel has been an invaluable friend to them all, duringthese weeks of trial, and Nora has learned to look for his coming as shelooks for the day and the sunshine.
To him, too, was allotted the task to impart to Nora what it was thoughtnecessary for her to know--the death of Don Pedro and the finding of thebody of the other, caught against the stump of an old willow, where thewater had washed it, covered with brush and floating _debris_. But hehad glad news to impart, too; the report of an adverse decision fromWashington on the Del Gada suit had been false, and circulated by theopposing party in order to secure better terms for withdrawal.
One morning Nora expressed her wish to leave Los Angeles, and Mr.Whitehead did not hesitate to gratify her wish. An easy conveyance wassecured, the trunks sent by stage, and a quick journey anticipated.Manuel went with them only as far as San Buenaventura, he said, for itwas on his way home. But when they got there, he said he must go toSanta Barbara, and no one objected. At Santa Barbara Nora held out herhand to him, with a saucy smile:
"This is the place at which you were to leave us; good-by."
"Can you tolerate me no longer, Nora?"
"You said at San Buenaventura you would try my patience only till here.How long do you want me to tolerate you, then?"
"As long as I live. Why should we ever part? Be my wife, Nora," and hedrew her close to him, pressing his lips on hers; and she did not shrinkaway from him, but threw her arm around his neck, to bend his head downfor another kiss.
"But you would never have married me--a poor man," he says, bantering.
"Nor would you have married me--a divorced woman," she returns,demurely.
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