Heart of the Sunset

by Rex Beach

  XX

  SUPERSTITIONS AND CERTAINTIES

  The sensation caused by Ricardo Guzman's disappearance was as nothingto that which followed the recovery of his body. By the next afternoonit was known from Mexico to the Canadian border that the old ranchmanhad been shot by Mexican soldiers in Romero. It was reported that aparty of Americans had invaded foreign soil and snatched Ricardo'sremains from under the nose of General Longorio. But there all reliableinformation ceased. Just how the rescue had been effected, by whom ithad been done, what reasons had prompted it, were a mystery. With thefirst story the newspapers printed a terse telegram, signed by CaptainEvans and addressed to the Governor of Texas, which read:

  "Ranger force crossed Rio Grande and brought back the body of RicardoGuzman."

  This message created tremendous enthusiasm, for the Texas Rangers haveever stood for prompt and decisive action; but two hours after thepublication of this despatch there came a sharp inquiry fromWashington, and on the heels of that the State House at Austin deniedthe receipt of any such message.

  When this denial was in turn made public, the newspapers demanded toknow who had performed this sensational exploit. One rumor had it thatthe sons of Ricardo Guzman had risked their lives to insure theirfather Christian burial. This was amplified by a touching pen-pictureof the rancher's weeping family waiting at the bank of the Rio Grande,and an affecting account of the grief of the beautiful Guzman girls. Itmattered not that there were no daughters.

  In other quarters the expedition was credited to members of a secretorder to which Ricardo had belonged; from a third source came astatement that the Guzman family had hired a band of Mexicans to exhumethe body, so that proof of death might be sufficient to satisfy aninsurance company in which the rancher had held a policy. Even atJonesville there were conflicting rumors.

  But, whatever the facts of the rescue, it was generally recognized thatthe result had been to bring on a crisis in the affairs of the twonations. People declared that since the outrage was now proven the nextmove was the duty of the State Department at Washington. Therefore,when several days passed and nothing was done, a wide-spread feeling ofindignation grew. What mattered these diplomatic communications betweenthe two governments? it was asked. Why wait for another investigationby General Longorio?

  Strong influences, however, were at work to prevent that very outcomefor which the people of Texas prayed. During the delay there arose areport that Ricardo Guzman had borne an evil reputation, and that hehad been so actively associated with the Rebel cause as to warrantpunishment by the Federal government. Moreover, a legal question as tohis American citizenship was raised--a question which seemed to haveimportant bearing upon the case.

  Public interest is short-lived; few living men can hold it more than aday or two, and it reckons no dead man worthy of more than an obituarynotice. Other Mexican offenses, equally grave, had failed to stir theAdministration to definite action; the death of this obscure borderranchman did not seem to weigh very heavily in Washington. Thus in thecourse of time the Guzman incident was in a fair way of beingofficially forgotten and forgiven.

  Of course the people of Texas did not forget, nor did those who hadpersonally known Ricardo forgive. Dave Law, for instance, felt bitterover the matter, for he had counted upon prompt and definite results. Alittle pressure, properly applied, would have wrung the truth fromColonel Blanco and fastened some measure of guilt upon the men who hadactually arranged the murder. Dave did not doubt Tad Lewis's part init, but there was only one source from which pressure could be brought,and when this failed he found his further efforts blocked. Thereremained to him only the consolation of knowing that he had in ameasure squared his account with old Ricardo.

  But there were several persons who felt intense relief at the courseevents had taken, and among these was Alaire Austin. In the daysfollowing that midnight expedition she had had ample time in which tomeditate upon her husband's actions, "Young Ed" had taken advantage ofthe confusion to slip out of the crowd and escape in his roadster, andwhen Alaire arrived at Las Palmas she had found that he was gone,leaving behind no word as to when he would return. It seemed probablethat he had fled to San Antonio, there to remain until interest in theGuzman matter had abated. If Ed was relieved to escape the immediateconsequences of his connection with the affair, his wife was no lessthankful for his absence, since it left her free to think and to plan.Their relations were becoming constantly more difficult; she realizedthat it was impossible for her to go on in this way much longer. Beforeleaving Ed had again rifled the safe, thus disregarding for a secondtime his explicit agreement with his wife. Of course, he was welcome towhatever money he needed, even in excess of his allowance; but his actshowed his weak sense of honor and strengthened Alaire's convictionthat he was in every way rapidly deteriorating. As yet she could notbelieve him really wicked at heart--he had many qualities which wereabove the average--nor could she convince herself that he had beencriminally involved in Tad Lewis's schemes. And yet, what otherexplanation could there be? Ed's behavior had been extraordinary; hisevident terror at news of Dave Law's expedition, his conversation withTad Lewis over the telephone, his subsequent actions at the river, allseemed to indicate that he had some vital interest in maintaining themystery of Guzman's death. What could it be?

  Suspicions like these were extremely disturbing. In spite of herselfAlaire began to think more seriously about that separation which Ed hadso frequently offered her. Her whole nature, it is true, recoiled atthe thought of divorce; it was a thing utterly repugnant to hersentiment and her creed--a thing that stood for notoriety, gossip,scandal. Deep in her heart she felt that divorce was wicked, formarriage to her had always meant a sacred and unbreakable bond. And yetthere seemed to be no alternative. She wished Ed would go away--leaveher quietly and for ever, so that she might live out her empty life inseclusion--but that, of course, he would never do.

  Such longings were not strangers to Alaire; they were old andpersistent enemies; but of late the prospect of a loveless, childlessfuture was growing more and more unbearable. Even her day dreams failedto give their customary relief; those imaginary figures with whom shetook counsel were strangely unresponsive.

  She had told Paloma Jones about her dream-children, but she had notconfessed the existence of another and a far more intimate creature ofher brain--one who occupied the place Ed Austin should have held. Therewas such a person, however, and Alaire called him her dream husband.Now this man's physical aspect was never long the same; it alteredaccording to her changing ideals or to the impression left by newacquaintances; nevertheless, he was in some ways the most real and themost tangible of all her pale romantic fancies. No one who has watcheda solitary child at play can doubt that it sees and hears playmatesinvisible to others. Alaire Austin, in the remotest depths of herbeing, was still a child. Of late her prince had assumed newcharacteristics and a new form. He was no longer any one of the manyshapes he had been; he was more like the spirit of the out-of-doors--astrong-limbed, deep-chested, sun-bronzed creature, with a strain ofgipsy blood that called to hers. He was moody, yet tender, roughlymasculine, and yet possessed of the gentleness and poetry of a girl. Hewas violent tempered; he was brave; he rode a magnificent bay mare thatworshiped him, as did all animals.

  During one of these introspective periods Alaire telephoned Dave Law,arguing to herself that she must learn more about her husband'sconnection with the Lewis gang. Dave arrived even sooner than she hadexpected. She made him dine with her, and they spent the evening on thedim-lit gallery. In the course of their conversation Alaire discoveredthat Dave, too, had a hidden side of his nature; that he possessed animagination, and with it a quaint, whimsical, exploratory turn of mindwhich enabled him to talk interestingly of many things and many places.On this particular evening he was anything but the man of iron she hadknown--until she ventured to speak of Ed. Then he closed up like atrap. He was almost gruff in his refusal to say a word about herhusband.

  Because of Ed's appropriation of th
e ranch cash, Alaire found itnecessary a few days later to go to the bank, and, feeling the need ofexercise, she rode her horse Montrose. When her errands had beenattended to, she suddenly decided to call on Paloma Jones. It was yearssince she had voluntarily done such a thing; the very impulse surprisedher.

  Paloma, it happened, was undergoing that peculiar form of femininetorture known as a "fitting"; but insecurely basted, pinned, and tuckedas she was, she came flying down to the gate to meet her visitor.

  Alaire was introduced to Mrs. Strange, the dressmaker, a large,acidulous brunette, with a mouthful of pins; and then, when Paloma hadgiven herself once more into the seamstress's hands, the two friendsgossiped.

  Since Mrs. Strange was the first capable dressmaker who had ever cometo Jonesville, Paloma had closed her eyes and plunged with recklessextravagance. Now the girl insisted upon a general exhibition of hernew wardrobe, a sort of grand fashion review, for the edification ofher caller, in the course of which she tried on all her dresses.

  Paloma was petite and well proportioned, and the gowns were altogethercharming. Alaire was honest in her praise, and Paloma's response wasone of whole-hearted pleasure. The girl beamed. Never before had shebeen so admired, never until this moment had she adored a person as sheadored Mrs. Austin, whose every suggestion as to fit and style wasacted upon, regardless of Mrs. Strange.

  "I don't know what Dad will say when he gets the bill for thesedresses," Paloma confessed.

  "Your father is a mighty queer man," Mrs. Strange observed. "I haven'tso much as laid eyes on him."

  Paloma nodded. "Yes. And he's getting more peculiar all the time; Ican't make out what ails him."

  "Where is he now?" asked Alaire.

  "Heaven knows! Out in the barn or under the house." Taking advantage ofthe dressmaker's momentary absence from the room, Paloma continued in awhisper: "I wish you'd talk to Dad and see what you make of him. He'sabsolutely--queer. Mrs. Strange seems to have a peculiar effect on him.Why, it's almost as if--"

  "What?"

  "Well, I suppose I'm foolish, but--I'm beginning to believe in spells.You know, Mrs. Strange's husband is a sort of--necromancer."

  "How silly!"

  There was no further opportunity for words, as the woman reappeared atthat instant; but a little later Alaire went in search of Blaze, stillconsiderably mystified. As she neared the farm buildings she glimpsed aman's figure hastily disappearing into the barn. The figure bore asuspicious resemblance to Blaze Jones, yet when she followed he wasnowhere to be seen. Now this was curious, for Texas barns are lesspretentious than those of the North, and this one was little more thana carriage-house and a shelter for agricultural implements.

  "Mr. Jones!" Alaire called. She repeated Blaze's name several times;then something stirred. The door of a harness closet opened cautiously,and out of the blackness peered Paloma's father. He looked more owlishthan ever behind his big, gold-rimmed spectacles. "What in the worldare you doing in there?" she cried.

  Blaze emerged, blinking. He was dusty and perspiring.

  "Hello, Miz Austin!" he saluted her with a poor assumption ofbreeziness. "I was fixin' some harness, but I'm right glad to see you."

  Alaire regarded him quizzically. "What made you hide?" she asked.

  "Hide? Who, me?"

  "I saw you dodge in here like a--gopher."

  Blaze confessed. "I reckon I've got the willies. Every woman I seelooks like that dam' dressmaker."

  "Paloma was telling me about you. Why do you hate her so?"

  "I don't know's I hate her, but her and her husband have put a jinx onme. They're the worst people I ever see, Miz Austin."

  "You don't really believe in such things?"

  Blaze dusted off a seat for his visitor, saying: "I never did tilllately, but now I'm worse than a plantation nigger. I tell you there'sthings in this world we don't sabe. I wish you'd get Paloma to fireher. I've tried and failed. I wish you'd tell her those dresses arerotten."

  "But they're very nice; they're lovely; and I've just beencomplimenting her. Now what has this woman done to you?"

  It seemed impossible that a man of Blaze Jones's character couldactually harbor crude superstitions, and yet there was no mistaking hisearnestness when he said:

  "I ain't sure whether she's to blame, or her husband, but misfortunehas folded me to herself."

  "How?"

  "Well, I'm sick."

  "You don't look it."

  "I don't exactly feel it, either, but I am. I don't sleep good, myheart's actin' up, I've got rheumatism, my stomach feels like I'dswallowed something alive--"

  "You're smoking too much," Alaire affirmed, with conviction.

  But skepticism aroused Blaze's indignation. With elaborate sarcasm heretorted: "I reckon that's why my best team of mules run away anddragged me through a ten-acre patch of grass burrs--on my belly, eh?It's a wonder I wasn't killed. I reckon I smoked so much that I give atobacco heart to the best three-year-old bull in my pasture! Well, Ismoked him to death, all right. Probably it was nicotine poisonin' thatkilled twenty acres of my cotton, too; and maybe if I'd cut out BullDurham I'd have floated that bond issue on the irrigation ditch. But Iwas wedded to cigarettes, so my banks are closin' down on me. Sure!That's what a man gets for smokin'."

  "And do you attribute all these misfortunes to Paloma's dressmaker?"

  The man nodded gloomily. "That ain't half! Everything goes wrong. I'mscared to pack a weapon for fear I'll injure myself. Why, I've carrieda bowie-knife in my bootleg ever since I was a babe in arms, you mightsay; but the other day I jabbed myself with it and nearly gotblood-poisonin'. The very first time I ever laid eyes on this man andhis wife a great misfortune overtook me, and ever since they come toJonesville I've had a close squeeze to make a live of it. This fellowStrange, with his fortune-tellin' and his charms and his conjures, hashocus-pocussed the whole neighborhood. He's gettin' rich off of theMexicans. He knows more secrets than a priest; he tells 'em whethertheir sweethearts love 'em, whether a child is goin' to be a boy or agirl, and how to invest their money."

  "He is nothing more than a circus fakir, Mr. Jones."

  "Yes'm! Just the same, these Greasers'd vote him into the legislatureif he asked 'em. Why, he knows who fetched back Ricardo Guzman's body!He told me so."

  "Really?" Alaire looked up quickly, then the smile left her face. Aftera moment she said, "Perhaps he could tell me something that I want toknow?"

  "Now don't you get him started," Blaze cautioned, hastily, "or he'llput a spell on you like he did on me."

  "I want to know what Ed had to do with the Guzman affair."

  Blaze shook his head slowly. "Well, he's mixed up somehow with Lewis.Dave thinks Tad was at the bottom of the killin', and he hoped to proveit on him; but our government won't do anything, and he's stumped forthe time bein'. I don't know any more about Ed's dealin's than you do,Miz Austin: all I know is that I got a serpent in my household and Ican't get shed of her. I've got a lapful of troubles of my own. I'veordered Paloma to let that woman go, but, pshaw! It's like a bowleggedman drivin' a shoat--there ain't any headin' Paloma off when her mind'smade up. You mark what I say, that female spider'll sew venom intothose dresses. I never seen a woman with a mustache that was any good.Look here!" Blaze drew a well-thumbed pack of playing-cards from hispocket. "Shuffle 'em, and I'll prove what I say. If I don't turn up adark woman three times out of five I'll eat that saddle-blanket, dry."

  Alaire shuffled the deck, and Blaze cut the cards. Sure enough, heexposed the queen of spades.

  "What did I tell you? There's the bearded lady herself! Now I'llshuffle and you cut."

  Alaire smilingly followed directions; she separated the deck into threepiles, after which Jones interpreted the oracle.

  "You got a good fortune, Miz Austin. There's a light man comin' to yourhouse, danger, and--marriage. You're goin' to marry a light man."

  Alaire's laughter rang out unaffectedly. "Now you see how utterlyabsurd it is."

  "Maybe it is, and maybe i
t ain't." From another pocket Jones drew asmall volume entitled The Combination Fortune-Teller and CompleteDictionary of Dreams. Alaire reached to take it, and the book droppedto the floor; then, as she stooped, Blaze cried: "Wait! Hit it threetimes on the floor and say, 'Money! Money! Money!'"

  As Alaire was running over the pages of the book, one of Blaze'sranch-hands appeared in the door to ask him a question. When the fellowhad gone his employer rose and tiptoed after him; then he spat throughhis crossed fingers in the direction the man had taken.

  "Now what does that mean?" Alaire inquired.

  "Didn't you see? He's cross-eyed."

  "This is too occult for me," she declared, rising. "But--I'm interestedin what you say about Mr. Strange. If the Mexicans tell him so much,perhaps he can tell me something. I do hope you have no moremisfortunes."

  "You stay to supper," Blaze urged, hospitably. "I'll be in as soon asthat tarantula's gone."

  But Alaire declined. After a brief chat with Paloma she remountedMontrose and prepared for the homeward ride. At the gate, however, shemet Dave Law on his new mare, and when Dave had learned the object ofher visit to Jonesville he insisted upon accompanying her.

  "You have enough money in those saddle-bags to tempt some of our verybest citizens," he told her. "If you don't mind, I'll just be yourbodyguard."

  "Very well," she smiled; "but to make perfectly sure of our safety,cross your fingers and spit."

  "Eh?" Seeing the amusement in her eyes, he declared: "You've beentalking to Blaze. Well, last night I dreamed I was eating chestnuts,and he told me I was due for a great good fortune. You see, there'ssomething in it, after all."

  "And you must be the 'light man' I discovered in the cards. Blazedeclared you were coming to my house." They jogged along side by side,and Law thanked his lucky stars for the encounter.

  "Did Blaze tell you how he came to meet the Stranges?"

  "No. He only said they had brought him bad luck from the start."

  Dave grinned; then, in treacherous disregard of his promise to Jones,he recounted the tale of that disastrous defeat on the beach atGalveston. When he had finished the story, which he ingeniouslyelaborated, Alaire was doubled over her saddle. It was the firstspontaneous laugh she had had for days, and it seemed to banish herworries magically. Alaire was not of a melancholy temperament; gaietywas natural to her, and it had required many heartaches, manydisappointments, to darken her blithe spirit.

  Nor was Dave Law a person of the comic type; yet he was agloom-dispeller, and now that Alaire was beginning to know him bettershe felt a certain happy restfulness in his company.

  The ride was long, and the two proceeded leisurely, stopping now andthen to talk or to admire the banks of wild flowers beside the road. Nocountry is richer in spring blooms than is South Texas. The cactus hadnearly done blooming now, and its ever-listening ears were absurdlywarted with fruit; gorgeous carpets of bluebonnets were spread besidethe ditches, while the air above was filled with thousands of yellowbutterflies, like whirling, wind-blown petals of the prickly-pearblossom. Montrose and Montrosa enjoyed the journey also; it was justthe mode of traveling to please equine hearts, for there were plenty ofopportunities to nibble at the juicy grass and to drink at the littlepools. Then, too, there were mad, romping races during which the riderslaughed and shouted.

  It was Law who finally discovered that they had somehow taken the wrongroad. The fact that Alaire had failed to notice this gave him a suddenthrill. It aroused in his mind such a train of dizzy, drunkenspeculations that for some time following the discovery he joggedsilently at his companion's side.

  It was early dusk when they reached Las Palmas; it was nearly midnightwhen Dave threw his leg across his saddle and started home.

  Alaire's parting words rang sweetly in his ears: "This has been thepleasantest day I can remember."

  The words themselves meant little, but Dave had caught a wistfulundertone in the speaker's voice, and fancied he had seen in her eyes aqueer, half-frightened expression, as of one just awakened.

  Jose Sanchez had beheld Dave Law at the Las Palmas table twice within afew days. He spent this evening laboriously composing a letter to hisfriend and patron, General Luis Longorio.