by Bret Harte
perspiring; but more striking than this was theevident restraint he had put upon himself, pressing his broad-brimmedsombrero with both of his trembling yellow hands against his breast. Theyoung girl cast a hurried glance at the open window and at the gun whichstood in the corner, and then confronted him with clear and steady eyes,but a paler cheek.
Ah, he began in Spanish, which he himself had taught her as a child,it was a strange thing, his coming there to-night; but, then, mother ofGod! it was a strange, a terrible thing that she had done to him--oldMiguel, her uncle's servant: he that had known her as a muchacha; hethat had lived all his life at the ranch--ay, and whose fathers beforehim had lived there all THEIR lives and driven the cattle over the veryspot where she now stood, before the thieving Americans came here! Buthe would be calm; yes, the senora should find him calm, even as shewas when she told him to go. He would not speak. No, he--Miguel--wouldcontain himself; yes, he HAD mastered himself, but could he restrainothers? Ah, yes, OTHERS--that was it. Could he keep Manuel and Pepe andDominguez from talking to the milkman--that leaking sieve, that gabblingbrute of a Shipley, for whose sake she had cast off her old servant thatvery day?
She looked at him with cold astonishment, but without fear. Was he drunkwith aguardiente, or had his jealousy turned his brain? He continuedgasping, but still pressing his hat against his breast.
Ah, he saw it all! Yes, it was to-day, the day he left. Yes, she hadthought it safe to cast Miguel off now--now that HE was gone!
Without in the least understanding him, the color had leaped to hercheek, and the consciousness of it made her furious.
"How dare you?" she said, passionately. "What has that stranger to dowith my affairs or your insolence?"
He stopped and gazed at her with a certain admiring loyalty. "Ah! so,"he said, with a deep breath, "the senora is the niece of her uncle. Shedoes well not to fear HIM--a dog,"--with a slight shrug,--"who is morethan repaid by the senora's condescension. HE dare not speak!"
"Who dare not speak? Are you mad?" She stopped with a sudden terribleinstinct of apprehension. "Miguel," she said in her deepest voice,"answer me, I command you! Do you know anything of this man?"
It was Miguel's turn to recoil from his mistress. "Ah, my God! is itpossible the senora has not suspect?"
"Suspect!" said Josephine, haughtily, albeit her proud heart was beatingquickly. "I SUSPECT nothing. I command you to tell me what you KNOW."
Miguel turned with a rapid gesture and closed the door. Then, drawingher away from the window, he said in a hurried whisper,--
"I know that that man has not the name of Baxter! I know that he hasthe name of Randolph, a young gambler, who have won a large sum atSacramento, and, fearing to be robbed by those he won of, have walkto himself through the road in disguise of a miner. I know that yourbrother Esteban have decoyed him here, and have fallen on him."
"Stop!" said the young girl, her eyes, which had been fixed with theagony of conviction, suddenly flashing with the energy of despair. "Andyou call yourself the servant of my uncle, and dare say this of hisnephew?"
"Yes, senora," broke out the old man, passionately. "It is because I amthe servant of your uncle that I, and I ALONE, dare say it to you! Itis because I perjured my soul, and have perjured my soul to deny itelsewhere, that I now dare to say it! It is because I, your servant,knew it from one of my countrymen, who was of the gang,--because I,Miguel, knew that your brother was not far away that night, and becauseI, whom you would dismiss, have picked up this pocket-book of Randolph'sand your brother's ring which he have dropped, and I have found beneaththe body of the man you sent me to fetch."
He drew a packet from his bosom, and tossed it on the desk before her.
"And why have you not told me this before?" said Josephine,passionately.
Miguel shrugged his shoulders.
"What good? Possibly this dog Randolph would die. Possibly he wouldlive--as a lunatic. Possibly would happen what has happened! The senorais beautiful. The American has eyes. If the Dona Josephine's beautyshall finish what the silly Don Esteban's arm have begun--what matter?"
"Stop!" cried Josephine, pressing her hands across her shuddering eyes.Then, uncovering her white and set face, she said rapidly, "Saddle myhorse and your own at once. Then take your choice! Come with me andrepeat all that you have said in the presence of that man, or leave thisranch forever. For if I live I shall go to him tonight, and tell thewhole story."
The old man cast a single glance at his mistress, shrugged hisshoulders, and, without a word, left the room. But in ten minutes theywere on their way to the county town.
Day was breaking over the distant Burnt Ridge--a faint, ghostly level,like a funeral pall, in the dim horizon--as they drew up before thegaunt, white-painted pile of the hospital building. Josephine uttereda cry. Dr. Duchesne's buggy was before the door. On its very thresholdthey met the doctor, dark and irritated. "Then you heard the news?" hesaid, quickly.
Josephine turned her white face to the doctor's. "What news?" she asked,in a voice that seemed strangely deep and resonant.
"The poor fellow had another attack last night, and died of exhaustionabout an hour ago. I was too late to save him."
"Did he say anything? Was he conscious?" asked the girl, hoarsely.
"No; incoherent! Now I think of it, he harped on the same string as hedid the night of the operation. What was it he said? you remember."
"'You'll have to kill me first,'" repeated Josephine, in a chokingvoice.
"Yes; something about his dying before he'd tell. Well, he came back toit before he went off--they often do. You seem a little hoarse with yourmorning ride. You should take care of that voice of yours. By the way,it's a good deal like your brother's."
*****
The Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge never married.
