CHAPTER XIV
MANUEL TO THE RESCUE
Valencia Valdes did not conform closely to the ideal her preceptress atthe Washington finishing school had held as to what constitutes aperfect lady. Occasionally her activities shocked Manuel, who held tothe ancient view that maidens should come to matrimony with theinnocence born of conventual ignorance. He would have preferred his wifeto be a clinging vine, but in the case of Valencia this would beimpossible.
No woman in New Mexico could ride better than the heiress of the RioChama. She could throw a rope as well as some of her _vaqueros_. Atleast one bearskin lay on the floor of her study as a witness to herprowess as a Diana. Many a time she had fished the river in waders andbrought back with her to the ranch a creel full of trout. Years in theuntempered sun and wind of the southwest had given her a sturdiness ofbody unusual in a girl so slenderly fashioned. The responsibility oflarge affairs had added to this an independence of judgment that wouldhave annoyed Don Manuel if he had been less in love.
Against the advice of both Pesquiera and her foreman she had about ayear before this time largely increased her holdings in cattle, at thesame time investing heavily in improved breeding stock. Herjustification had been that the cost of beef, based on the law of supplyand demand, was bound to continue on the rise.
"But how do you know, _Dona_?" her perplexed major domo had asked."Twenty--fifteen years ago everybody had cattle and lost money. Pricesare high to-day, but _manana_----"
"To-morrow they will be higher. It's just a matter of arithmetic,Fernando. There are seventeen million less cattle in the country thanthere were eight years ago. The government reports say so. Ourpopulation is steadily increasing. The people must eat. Since there arefewer cattle they must pay more for their meat. We shall have meat tosell. Is that not simple?"
"_Si, Dona_, but----"
"But in the main we have always been sheep-herders, so we ought alwaysto be? We'll run cattle and sheep, too, Fernando. We'll make this ranchpay as it never has before."
"But the feed--the winter feed, _Senorita_?"
"We'll have to raise our feed. I'm going to send for engineers and findwhat it will cost to impound, water in the _cordilleras_ and run ditchesinto the valley. We ought to be watering thousands of acres for alfalfaand grain that now are dry."
"It never has been done--not in the time of Don Alvaro or even in thatof Don Bartolome."
"And so you think it never can?" she asked, with a smile.
"The Rio Chama Valley is grazing land. It is not for agriculture.Everybody knows that," he insisted doggedly.
"Everybody knows we were given two legs with which to walk, but it is aneconomy to ride. So we use horses."
Fernando shrugged his shoulders. Of what use to argue with the _dona_when her teeth were set? She was a Valdes, and so would have her way.
That had been a year ago. Now the ditches were built. Fields had beenplanted to alfalfa and grain. Soon the water would be running throughthe laterals to irrigate the growing crops. Quietly the young woman atthe head of things was revolutionizing the life of the valley bytransforming it from a pastoral to a farming community.
This morning, having arranged with the major domo the work of the day,Valencia appeared on the porch dressed for riding. She was going to seethe water turned on to the new ditches from the north lateral.
The young mistress of the ranch swung astride the horse that had justbeen brought from the stables, for she rode man-fashion after thesensible custom of the West. Before riding out of the plaza she stoppedto give Pedro some directions about a bunch of yearlings in the corral.
The mailman in charge of the R.F.D. route drove into the yard and handedValencia a bunch of letters and papers. One of the pieces given her wasa rather fat package for which she had to sign a registry receipt.
She handed the mail to Juan and told him to put it on the desk in heroffice library; then she changed her mind, moved by an impulse offeminine curiosity.
"Give me back that big letter, Juan. I'll just see what it is before Igo."
Five minutes later she descended to the porch. "I'm not going ridingjust now. Keep the horse saddled, Pedro." She had read Dick Gordon'snote and the letter marked Exhibit A. Even careless Juan noticed thathis mistress was much agitated. Pedro wondered savagely whether thatsplendid devil _Americano_ had done something fresh to annoy the dearsaint he worshiped.
Gordon had not overemphasized the effect upon her of his action. Herpride had clung to a belief in his unworthiness as the justification forwhat she had said and done. Now, with a careless and mocking laugh, hehad swept aside all the arguments she had nursed. He had sent to her, sothat she might destroy it, the letter that would have put her case outof court. If he had wanted a revenge for her bitter words the Americanhad it now. He had repaid her scorn and contempt with magnanimity. Hehad heaped coals of fire upon her head, had humiliated her by provingthat he was more generous of spirit than she.
Valencia paced the floor of her library in a stress of emotion. It wasnot her pride alone that had been touched, but the fine instincts ofjustice and fair play and good will. She had outraged hospitality andsent him packing. She had let him take the long tramp in spite of hisbad knee. Her dependents had attempted to murder him. Her best friendhad tried to fasten a duel upon him. All over the valley his name hadbeen bandied about as that of one in league with the devil. As an answerto all this outrage that had been heaped upon him he refused to takeadvantage of this chance-found letter of Bartolome merely because it washer letter and not his. Her heart was bowed down with shame and yet waslifted in a warm glow of appreciation of his quality. Something in herblood sang with gladness. She had known all along that the hatefulthings she had said to him could not be true. He was her enemy, but--thebrave spirit of her went out in a rush to thank God for this proof ofhis decency.
The girl was all hot for action. She wanted to humble herself inapology. She wanted to show him that she could respond to hisgenerosity. But how? Only one way was open just now.
She sat down and wrote a swift, impulsive letter of contrition. For thewrong she had done him Valencia asked forgiveness. As for the letter hehad so generously sent, she must beg him to keep it and use it at theforthcoming trial. It would be impossible for her to accept such asacrifice of his rights. In the meantime she could assure him that shewould always be sorry for the way in which she had misjudged him.
The young woman called for her horse again and rode to Corbett's, whichwas the nearest post-office. In the envelope with her letter was alsothe one of her grandfather marked "Exhibit A." She, too, carefullyregistered the contents before mailing.
As she stood on the porch drawing up her gauntlets a young man canteredinto sight. He wore puttees, riding breeches, and a neat corduroy coat.One glance told her it was Manuel. No other rider in the valley hadquite the same easy seat in the saddle as the young Spaniard. He drew upsharply in front of Valencia and landed lightly on his feet beside her.
"_Buenos, Senorita_."
"_Buenos,_ cousin." Her shining eyes went eagerly to his. "Manuel, whatdo you think Mr. Gordon has done?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "How can I guess? That mad American might doanything but show the white feather."
In four sentences she told him.
Manuel clapped his hands in approval. "Bravo! Done like a man. He is atleast neither a spy nor a thief."
Valencia smiled with pleasure. Manuel, too, had come out of the testwith flying colors. He and Gordon were foes, but he accepted at facevalue what the latter had done, without any sneers or any sign ofjealousy.
"And what shall I do with the letter?" his cousin asked.
"Do with it? Put it in the first fire you see. Shall I lend you amatch?"
She shook her head, still with the gleam of a smile on her vivid face."Too late, Manuel. I have disposed of the dangerous evidence."
"So? Good. You took my advice before I gave it, then."
"Not quite. I couldn't be less generous than our enemy.
So I have sentthe letter back to him and told him to use it."
The young man gave her his best bow. "Magnificent, but not war. I mighthave trusted the daughter of Don Alvaro to do a thing so royal. Mycousin, I am proud of you."
"What else could I have done and held my self-respect? I had insultedhim gratuitously and my people had tried to kill him. The least I coulddo now was to meet him in a spirit like his own."
"Honors are easy. Let us see what Mr. Gordon will now do."
The sound of a light footfall came to them. A timid voice broke intotheir conversation.
"May I see _Dona_ Valencia--alone--for just a minute?"
Miss Valdes turned. A girl was standing shyly in the doorway. Her softbrown eyes begged pardon for the intrusion.
"You are Juanita, are you not?" the young woman asked.
"_Si, Dona_."
Pesquiera eliminated himself by going in to get his mail.
"What is it that I can do for you?" asked Valencia.
The Mexican girl broke into an emotional storm. She caught one of herhands in the brown palm of the other with a little gesture of despair.
"They have gone to kill him. Dona. I know it. Something tells me. Hewill never come back alive." The feeling she had repressed was findingvent in long, irregular sobs.
Valencia felt as if she were being drowned in icy water. The colorwashed from her cheeks. She had no need to ask who it was that wouldnever come back alive, but she did.
"Who, child? Whom is it that they have gone to kill?"
"The American--_Senor_ Gordon."
"Who has gone? And when did they go? Tell me quick."
"Sebastian and Pablo--maybe others--I do not know."
Miss Valdes thought quickly. It might be true. Both the men mentionedhad asked for a holiday to go to Santa Fe. What business had they thereat this time of the year? Could it be Pablo who had shot at Gordon fromambush? If so, why was he so bitter against the common enemy?
"Juanita, tell me everything. What is it that you know?"
The sobs of the girl increased. She leaned against the door jamb andburied her face in the crook of her arm.
The older girl put an arm around the quivering shoulders and spokegently. "But listen, child. Tell me all. It may be we can save him yet."
A name came from the muffled lips. It was "Pablo."
Valencia's brain was lit by a flash of understanding. "Pablo is yourlover. Is it not so, _nina_?"
The dark crown of soft hair moved up and down in assent. "Oh, _Dona_, hewas, but--"
"You have quarreled with him?"
Miss Valdes burned with impatience, but some instinct told her she couldnot hurry the girl.
"_Si, Senorita_. He quarreled. He said--"
"Yes?"
"----that ... that _Senor_ Gordon ..."
Again, groping for the truth, Valencia found it swiftly.
"You mean that Pablo was jealous?"
"Because I had nursed _Senor_ Gordon, because he was kind to me,because----" Juanita had lifted her face to answer. As she spoke thecolor poured into her cheeks even to her throat, convicting evidence ofthe cruel embarrassment she felt.
Valencia's hand dropped to her side. When she spoke again the warmth hadbeen banished from her voice. "I see. You nursed Mr. Gordon, did you?"
Juanita's eyes fell before the cold accusation in those of Miss Valdes."_Si, Senorita._"
"And he was kind to you? In what way kind?"
The slim Mexican girl, always of the shyest, was bathed in blushes. "Hecalled me ... _nina_. He ..."
"----made love to you."
A sensation as if the clothes were being torn from her afflictedJuanita. Why did the _Dona_ drag her heart out to look at it? Nor didthe girl herself know how much or how little Richard Gordon's gay_camaraderie_ meant. She was of that type of women who love all that arekind to them. No man had ever been so considerate as this handsomecurly-headed American. So dumbly her heart went out to him and made themost of his friendliness. Had he not once put his arm around hershoulder and told her to "buck up" when he came upon her crying becauseof Pedro? Had he not told her she was the prettiest girl in theneighborhood? And had he not said, too, that she was a little angel fornursing him so patiently?
"_Dona_, I--do--not--know." The words came out as if they were beingdragged from her. Poor Juanita would have liked the ground to open upand swallow her.
"Don't you know, you little stupid, that he is playing with you, that hewill not marry you?"
"If _Dona_ Valencia says so," murmured the Mexican submissively.
"Men are that way, heartless ... selfish ... vain. But I suppose you ledhim on," concluded Valencia cruelly.
With a little flare of spirit Juanita looked up. Her courage was for herfriend, not for herself.
"_Senor_ Gordon is good. He is kind."
"A lot you know about it, child. Have nothing to do with him. His lovecan only hurt a girl like you. Go back to your Pablo and forget theAmerican. I will see he does not trouble you again."
Juanita began to cry again. She did not want _Senorita_ Valdes oranybody else interfering between her and the friend she had nursed. Butshe knew she could not stop this imperative young woman from doing asshe pleased.
"Now tell me how you know that Pablo has gone to injure the American.Did he tell you so?"
"No-o."
"Well, what did he say? What is it that you know?" Valencia's shoetapped the floor impatiently. "Tell me--tell me!"
"He--Pablo--met me at the corral the day he left. I was in the kitchenand he whistled to me." Juanita gave the information sullenly. Whyshould _Senorita_ Valdes treat her so harshly? She had done no wrong.
"Yes. Go on!"
If she had had the force of character Juanita would have turned on herheel and walked away. But all her life it had been impressed upon herthat the will of a Valdes was law to her and her class.
"I do not know ... Pablo told me nothing ... but he laughed at me, oh,so cruelly! He asked if I ... had any messages for my Gringo lover."
"Is that all?"
"All ... except that he would show me what happened to foreign devilswho stole my love from him. Oh, _Senorita_, do you think he will killthe American?"
Valencia, her white lips pressed tightly together, gave no answer. Shewas thinking.
"I hate Pablo. He is wicked. I will never speak to him again," moanedJuanita helplessly.
Manuel, coming out of the post-office with his mail, looked at theweeping girl incuriously. It was, he happened to know, a habit of thesex to cry over trifles.
Juanita found in a little nod from Miss Valdes permission to leave. Sheturned and walked hurriedly away to the adobe cabin where she slept.Before she reached it the walk had become a run.
"Has the young woman lost a ribbon or a lover?" commented Pesquiera,with a smile.
"Manuel, I am worried," answered Valencia irrelevantly.
"What about, my cousin?"
"It's this man Gordon again. Juanita says that Pablo and Sebastian havegone to kill him."
"Gone where?"
"To Santa Fe. They asked for a leave of absence. You know how sullen andsuspicious Sebastian is. It is fixed firmly in his head that Mr. Gordonis going to take away his farm."
Manuel's black eyes snapped. He did not propose to let any peons stealfrom him the punishment he owed this insolent Gordon.
"But Pablo is not a fool. Surely he knows he cannot do such a madthing."
"Pablo is jealous--and hot-headed." The angry color mounted to thecheeks of the young woman. "He is in love with Juanita and he found outthis stranger has been philandering with her. It is abominable. ThisGordon has made the silly little fool fall in love with him."
"Oh, if Pablo is jealous----" Pesquiera gave a little shrug of hisshoulders. He understood pretty well the temperament of the ignorantMexican. The young lover was likely to shoot first and think afterward.
Valencia was still thinking of the American. Beneath the olive of hercheeks two angry spots still bur
ned. "I detest that sort of thing. Ithought he was a gentleman--and he is only a male flirt ... or worse."
"Perhaps--and perhaps not, my cousin. Did Juanita tell you----?"
"She told me enough. All I need to know."
Again the young man's shoulders lifted in a little gesture of humorousresignation. He knew the uncompromising directness of Miss Valdes andthe futility of arguing with her. After all, the character of Gordon wasnone of his business. The man might have made love to Juanita, though hedid not look like that kind of a person. In any case the important thingwas to save his life.
After a moment's thought he announced a decision. "I shall take thestage for Santa Fe this afternoon. When I have warned the American I'llround up your man-hunters and bring them back to you."
His lady's face thanked him, though her words did not. "You may tellthem I said they were to come back at once."
At her cousin's urgent request Miss Valdes stayed to eat luncheon withhim at Corbett's, which was a half-way station for the stage andmaintained a public eating-house. Even Valencia hesitated a little atthis, though she was at heart an emancipated American girl and not amuch-chaperoned Spanish maid. But she wanted to repay him for theservice he was undertaking so cheerfully, and therefore sacrificed herscruples.
As they were being served by Juanita the stage rolled up and disgorgedits passengers. They poured into the dining-room--a mine-owner and hissuperintendent, a storekeeper from the village at the other end of thevalley, a young woman school-teacher from the Indian reservation, acattleman, and two Mexican sheepmen.
While the fresh horses were being hitched to the stage Pesquiera and hisguest stood back a little apart from the others. Corbett brought out asack containing mail and handed it to the driver. The passengers foundagain their places.
Pesquiera shook hands with Valencia. His gaze rested for a moment in herdark eyes.
"_Adios, linda_," he said, in a low voice.
The color deepened in her cheeks. She understood that he was telling herhow very much he was her lover now and always. "Good-bye, _amigo_," sheanswered lightly.
Pesquiera took his place on the back seat. The whip of the drivercracked. In a cloud of white dust the stage disappeared around a bend inthe road.
Valencia ordered her horse brought, and left for the ranch. Havingdispatched Manuel to the scene of action, it might be supposed that shewould have awaited the issue without farther activity. But on the wayhome she began to reflect that her cousin would not reach Santa Fe untilnext morning, and there was always a chance that this would be too late.As soon as she reached the ranch she called up the station where thestage connected with the train. To the operator she dictated a messageto be wired to Richard Gordon. The body of it ran thus:
"Have heard that attack may be made upon your life. Please do not go out alone or at night at all. Answer."
She gave urgent instructions that if necessary to reach Gordon hertelegram be sent to every hotel in the city and to his lawyer, Thomas M.Fitt.
Now that she had done all she could the young woman tried to put thematter out of her mind by busying herself with the affairs of the ranch.She had a talk with a cattle buyer, after which she rode out to see theengineer who had charge of the building of the irrigation system she hadinstalled. An answer would, she was sure, be awaiting her upon herreturn home.
Her anticipation was well founded. One of the housemaids told her thatthe operator at San Jacinto had twice tried to get her on the telephone.The mistress of the ranch stepped at once to the receiver.
"Give me San Jacinto," she said to the operator.
As soon as she was on the wire with the operator he delivered themessage he had for her. It was from Santa Fe and carried the signatureof Stephen Davis:
"Gordon has been missing since last night. I fear the worst. For God's sake, tell me what you know."
Valencia leaned against the telephone receiver and steadied herself. Shefelt strangely faint. The wall opposite danced up and down and the floorswayed like the deck of a vessel in a heavy sea. She set her teeth hardto get a grip on herself. Presently the wave of light-headedness passed.
She moved across the room and sank down into a chair in front of herdesk. They had then murdered him after all. She and her people wereresponsible for his death. There was nothing to be done now--nothing atall.
Then, out of the silence, a voice seemed to call to her--the voice ofRichard Gordon, faint and low, but clear. She started to her feet andlistened, shaken to the soul by this strange summons from that worldwhich lay beyond the reach of her physical senses. What could it mean?She had the body of a healthy young animal. Her nerves never played herany tricks. But surely there had come to her a call for help not born ofher own excited fancy.
In an instant she had made up her mind. Her finger pressed an electricbutton beside the desk, and almost simultaneously a second one. The maidwho appeared in the doorway in answer to the first ring found hermistress busily writing.
Valencia looked up. "Rosario, pack a suitcase for me with clothes for aweek. Put in my light brown dress and a couple of shirt-waists. I'll beup presently." Her gaze passed to the major domo who now stood besidethe maid. "I'm going to Santa Fe to-night, Fernando. Order the grays tobe hitched to the buggy."
"To-night! But, _Senorita_, the train has gone."
"Juan will go with me. We'll drive right through. My business isimportant."
"But it is seventy miles to Santa Fe, and part of the way over mountainroads," he protested.
"Yes. We should reach there by morning. I mean to travel all night. Makethe arrangements, please, and tell Juan. Then return here. I want totalk over with you the ranch affairs. You will have charge of theditches, too, during my absence. Don't argue, Fernando, but do as Isay."
The old man had opened his mouth to object, but he closed it withoutvoicing his views. A little smile, born of his pride in her wilfulness,touched his lips and wrinkled the parchment skin. Was she not a Valdes?He had served her father and her grandfather. To him, therefore, shecould do no wrong.
A Daughter of the Dons: A Story of New Mexico Today Page 14
