Maruja

by Bret Harte

  CHAPTER IV

  The Rancho of San Antonio might have been a characteristic asylum forits blessed patron, offering as it did a secure retreat fromtemptations for the carnal eye, and affording every facility foruninterrupted contemplation of the sky above, unbroken by tree orelevation. Unlike La Mision Perdida, of which it had been part, it wasa level plain of rich adobe, half the year presenting a billowy sea oftossing verdure breaking on the far-off horizon line, half the yearpresenting a dry and dusty shore, from which the vernal sea had ebbed,to the low sky that seemed to mock it with a visionary sea beyond. Arow of rough, irregular, and severely practical sheds and buildingshoused the machinery and the fifty or sixty men employed in thecultivation of the soil, but neither residential mansion nor farmhouseoffered any nucleus of rural comfort or civilization in the midst ofthis wild expanse of earth and sky. The simplest adjuncts of countrylife were unknown: milk and butter were brought from the nearest town;weekly supplies of fresh meat and vegetables came from the same place;in the harvest season, the laborers and harvesters lodged and boardedin the adjacent settlement and walked to their work. No cultivatedflower bloomed beside the unpainted tenement, though the fields werestarred in early spring with poppies and daisies; the humblest gardenplant or herb had no place in that prolific soil. The serried ranks ofwheat pressed closely round the straggling sheds and barns and hid thelower windows. But the sheds were fitted with the latest agriculturalmachinery; a telegraphic wire connected the nearest town with an officein the wing of one of the buildings, where Dr. West sat, and in themidst of the wilderness severely checked his accounts with nature.

  Whether this strict economy of domestic outlay arose from anostentatious contempt of country life and the luxurious habits of theformer landholders, or whether it was a purely business principle ofDr. West, did not appear. Those who knew him best declared that it wasboth. Certain it was that unqualified commercial success crowned anddignified his method. A few survivors of the old native families cameto see his strange machinery, that did the work of so many idle men andhorses. It is said that he offered to "run" the distant estate ofJoaquin Padilla from his little office amidst the grain of San Antonio.Some shook their heads, and declared that he only sucked the juices ofthe land for a few brief years to throw it away again; that in hisfierce haste he skimmed the fatness of ages of gentle cultivation on asoil that had been barely tickled with native oaken plowshares.

  His own personal tastes and habits were as severe and practical as hisbusiness: the little wing he inhabited contained only his office, hisliving room or library, his bedroom, and a bath-room. This lastinconsistent luxury was due to a certain cat-like cleanliness which waspart of his nature. His iron-gray hair--a novelty in this country ofyoung Americans--was always scrupulously brushed, and his linenspotless. A slightly professional and somewhat old-fashionedrespectability in his black clothes was also characteristic. His oneconcession to the customs of his neighbors was the possession of two orthree of the half-broken and spirited mustangs of the country, which herode with the fearlessness, if not the perfect security and ease, of anative. Whether the subjection of this lawless and powerful survivalof a wild and unfettered nature around him was part of his plan, orwhether it was only a lingering trait of some younger prowess, no oneknew; but his grim and decorous figure, contrasting with thepicturesque and flowing freedom of the horse he bestrode, was afrequent spectacle in road and field.

  It was the second day after his visit to La Mision Perdida. He wassitting by his desk, at sunset, in the faint afterglow of the westernsky, which flooded the floor through the open door. He was writing,but presently lifted his head, with an impatient air, and called out,"Harrison!"

  The shadow of Dr. West's foreman appeared at the door.

  "Who's that you're talking to?"

  "Tramp, Sir."

  "Hire him, or send him about his business. Don't stand gabbling there."

  "That's just it, sir. He won't hire for a week or a day. He sayshe'll do an odd job for his supper and a shakedown, but no more."

  "Pack him off! ... Stay.... What's he like?"

  "Like the rest of 'em, only a little lazier, I reckon."

  "Umph! Fetch him in."

  The foreman disappeared, and returned with the tramp already known tothe reader. He was a little dirtier and grimier than on the morning hehad addressed Maruja at La Mision Perdida; but he wore the same air ofsullen indifference, occasionally broken by furtive observation. Hislaziness--or weariness--if the term could describe the lassitude ofperfect physical condition, seemed to have increased; and he leanedagainst the door as the Doctor regarded him with slow contempt. Thesilence continuing, he deliberately allowed himself to slip down into asitting position in the doorway, where he remained.

  "You seem to have been born tired," said the Doctor, grimly.

  "Yes."

  "What have you got to say for yourself?"

  "I told HIM," said the tramp, nodding his head towards the foreman,"what I'd do for a supper and a bed. I don't want anything but that."

  "And if you don't get what you want on your own conditions, what'll youdo?" asked the Doctor, dryly.

  "Go."

  "Where did you come from?"

  "States."

  "Where are you going?"

  "On."

  "Leave him to me," said Dr. West to his foreman. The man smiled, andwithdrew.

  The Doctor bent his head again over his accounts. The tramp, sittingin the doorway, reached out his hand, pulled a young wheat-stalk thathad sprung up near the doorstep, and slowly nibbled it. He did notraise his eyes to the Doctor, but sat, a familiar culprit awaitingsentence, without fear, without hope, yet not without a certainphilosophical endurance of the situation.

  "Go into that passage," said the Doctor, lifting his head as he turneda page of his ledger, "and on the shelf you'll find some clothingstores for the men. Pick out something to fit you."

  The tramp arose, moved towards the passage, and stopped. "It's for thejob only, you understand?" he said.

  "For the job," answered the Doctor.

  The tramp returned in a few moments with overalls and woolen shirthanging on his arm and a pair of boots and socks in his hand. TheDoctor had put aside his pen. "Now go into that room and change. Stop!First wash the dust from your feet in that bath-room."

  The tramp obeyed, and entered the room. The Doctor walked to the door,and looked out reflectively on the paling sky. When he turned again henoticed that the door of the bath-room was opened, and the tramp, whohad changed his clothes by the fading light, was drying his feet. TheDoctor approached, and stood for a moment watching him.

  "What's the matter with your foot?"[1] he asked, after a pause.

  "Born so."

  The first and second toe were joined by a thin membrane.

  "Both alike?" asked the Doctor.

  "Yes," said the young man, exhibiting the other foot.

  "What did you say your name was?"

  "I didn't say it. It's Henry Guest, same as my father's."

  "Where were you born?"

  "Dentville, Pike County, Missouri."

  "What was your mother's name?"

  "Spalding, I reckon."

  "Where are your parents now?"

  "Mother got divorced from father, and married again down South,somewhere. Father left home twenty years ago. He's somewhere inCalifornia--if he ain't dead."

  "He isn't dead."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I am Henry Guest, of Dentville, and"--he stopped, and, shadinghis eyes with his hand as he deliberately examined the tramp, addedcoldly--"your father, I reckon."

  There was a slight pause. The young man put down the boot he had takenup. "Then I'm to stay here?"

  "Certainly not. Here my name is only West, and I have no son. You'llgo on to San Jose, and stay there until I look into this thing. Youhaven't got any money, of course?" he asked, with a scarcely suppressedsneer.

  "I've got a l
ittle," returned the young man.

  "How much?"

  The tramp put his hand into his breast, and drew out a piece of foldedpaper containing a single gold coin.

  "Five dollars. I've kept it a month; it doesn't cost much to live as Ido," he added, dryly.

  "There's fifty more. Go to some hotel in San Jose, and let me knowwhere you are. You've got to live, and you don't want to work. Well,you don't seem to be a fool; so I needn't tell you that if you expectanything from me, you must leave this matter in my hands. I havechosen to acknowledge you to-day of my own free will: I can as easilydenounce you as an impostor to-morrow, if I choose. Have you told yourstory to any one in the valley?"

  "No."

  "See that you don't, then. Before you go, you must answer me a fewmore questions."

  He drew a chair to his table, and dipped a pen in the ink, as if totake down the answers. The young man, finding the only chair thusoccupied, moved the Doctor's books aside, and sat down on the tablebeside him.

  The questions were repetitions of those already asked, but more indetail, and thoroughly practical in their nature. The answers weregiven straightforwardly and unconcernedly, as if the subject was notworth the trouble of invention or evasion. It was difficult to saywhether questioner or answerer took least pleasure in theinterrogation, which might have referred to the concerns of a thirdparty. Both, however, spoke disrespectfully of their common family,with almost an approach to sympathetic interest.

  "You might as well be going now," said the Doctor, finally rising. "Youcan stop at the fonda, about two miles further on, and get your supperand bed, if you like."

  The young man slipped from the table, and lounged to the door. TheDoctor put his hands in his pockets and followed him. The young man,as if in unconscious imitation, had put HIS hands in his pockets also,and looked at him.

  "I'll hear from you, then, when you are in San Jose?" said Dr. West,looking past him into the grain, with a slight approach to constraintin his indifference.

  "Yes--if that's agreed upon," returned the young man, pausing on thethreshold. A faint sense of some purely conventional responsibility intheir position affected them both. They would have shaken hands ifeither had offered the initiative. A sullen consciousness ofgratuitous rectitude in the selfish mind of the father; an equallysullen conviction of twenty years of wrong in the son, withheld themboth. Unpleasantly observant of each other's awkwardness, they partedwith a feeling of relief.

  Dr. West closed the door, lit his lamp, and, going to his desk, foldedthe paper containing the memoranda he had just written and placed it inhis pocket. Then he summoned his foreman. The man entered, andglanced around the room as if expecting to see the Doctor's guest stillthere.

  "Tell one of the men to bring round 'Buckeye.'"

  The foreman hesitated. "Going to ride to-night, sir?"

  "Certainly; I may go as far as Saltonstall's. If I do, you needn'texpect me back till morning."

  "Buckeye's mighty fresh to-night, boss. Regularly bucked his saddleclean off an hour ago, and there ain't a man dare exercise him."

  "I'll bet he don't buck his saddle off with me on it," said the Doctor,grimly. "Bring him along."

  The man turned to go. "You found the tramp pow'ful lazy, didn't ye?"

  "I found a heap more in him than in some that call themselves smart,"said Dr. West, unconsciously setting up an irritable defense of theabsent one. "Hurry up that horse!"

  The foreman vanished. The Doctor put on a pair of leather leggings,large silver spurs, and a broad soft-brimmed hat, but made no otherchange in his usual half-professional conventional garb. He then wentto the window and glanced in the direction of the highway. Now thathis son was gone, he felt a faint regret that he had not prolonged theinterview. Certain peculiarities in his manner, certain suggestions ofexpression in his face, speech, and gesture, came back to him now withunsatisfied curiosity. "No matter," he said to himself; "he'll turn upsoon again--as soon as I want him, if not sooner. He thinks he's got amighty soft thing here, and he isn't going to let it go. And there'sthat same d--d sullen dirty pride of his mother, for all he doesn'tcotton to her. Wonder I didn't recognize it at first. And hoarding upthat five dollars! That's Jane's brat, all over! And, of course," headded, bitterly, "nothing of ME in him. No; nothing! Well, well,what's the difference?" He turned towards the door, with a certainsullen defiance in his face so like the man he believed he did notresemble, that his foreman, coming upon him suddenly, might have beenstartled at the likeness. Fortunately, however, Harrison was too muchengrossed with the antics of the irrepressible Buckeye, which theostler had just brought to the door, to notice anything else. Thearrival of the horse changed the Doctor's expression to one of morepractical and significant resistance. With the assistance of two menat the head of the restive brute, he managed to vault into the saddle.A few wild plunges only seemed to settle him the firmer in hisseat--each plunge leaving its record in a thin red line on the animal'sflanks, made by the cruel spurs of its rider. Any lingering desire offollowing his son's footsteps was quickly dissipated by Buckeye, whopromptly bolted in the opposite direction, and, before Dr. West couldgain active control over him, they were half a mile on their way to LaMision Perdida.

  Dr. West did not regret it. Twenty years ago he had voluntarilyabandoned a legal union of mutual unfaithfulness and misconduct, andallowed his wife to get the divorce he might have obtained for equalcause. He had abandoned to her the issue of that union--an infant son.Whatever he chose to do now was purely gratuitous; the only hold whichthis young stranger had on his respect was that HE also recognized thatfact with a cold indifference equal to his own. At present thehalf-savage brute he bestrode occupied all his attention. Yet he couldnot help feeling his advancing years tell upon him more heavily thatevening; fearless as he was, his strength was no longer equal whenmeasured with the untiring youthful malevolence of his unbrokenmustang. For a moment he dwelt regretfully on the lazy half-developedsinews of his son; for a briefer instant there flashed across him thethought that those sinews ought to replace his own; ought to be HIS tolean upon--that thus, and thus only, could he achieve the old miracleof restoring his lost youth by perpetuating his own power in his ownblood; and he, whose profound belief in personality had rejected allhereditary principle, felt this with a sudden exquisite pain. But hishorse, perhaps recognizing a relaxing grip, took that opportunity to"buck." Curving his back like a cat, and throwing himself into the airwith an unexpected bound, he came down with four stiff, inflexiblelegs, and a shock that might have burst the saddle-girths, had not thewily old man as quickly brought the long rowels of his spurs togetherand fairly locked his heels under Buckeye's collapsing barrel. It wasthe mustang's last rebellions struggle. The discomfited brute gave in,and darted meekly and apologetically forward, and, as it were, left allits rider's doubts and fears far behind in the vanishing distance.

  [1] This apparent classical plagiarism is actually a fact ofidentification on record in the California Law Reports. It istherefore unnecessary for me to add that the attendant circumstancesand characters are purely fictitious.--B. H.