by Zane Grey
“The señorita sent for me?”
“Yes. Come in, Juan. Take that chair.”
Now, though Juan had often sat down in the kitchen, he had never before been invited to seat himself in this room. Wherefore, the warm smile that now met him, and went with the invitation, filled him with a more than mild surprise. Gingerly he perched himself on the edge of a chair, twirling his dusty sombrero round and round as a relief to his embarrassment.
“I am sorry, Juan, that you don’t like me or trust me any longer,” his mistress began.
“But, doña, I do,” exclaimed the boy, nearly falling from his chair in amazement.
She shook her head.
“No; I can see you don’t. None of you do. You keep secrets from me. You whisper and hide things.”
“But, no, señorita—”
“Yes. I can see it plainly. My people do not love me. I must go away from them, since—”
Juan, having in his tender boyish heart a great love for his doña, could not stand this.
“No, no, no, señorita! It is not so. I do assure you it is a mistake. There is nothing about the cattle, nothing about the sheep you do not know. It is all told—all.”
“Muy bien. Yet you conceal what happened yesterday to Pedro.”
“He was thrown—”
She stopped him with a gesture.
“I don’t want to know that again. Tell me what is in the air; what is planned for Señor Gordon; what Pedro has to do with it? Tell me, or leave me to know my people no longer love me.”
The boy shook his head and let his eyes fall before her clear gaze.
“I can tell nothing.”
“Look at me, Juan,” she commanded, and waited till he obeyed. “Pedro it was that shot at this man Gordon. Is it not so?”
His eyes grew wide.
“Some one has told?” he said questioningly.
“No matter. It was he. Yesterday the American saved his life. Surely Pedro does not still—”
She did not finish in words, but her eyes chiseled into his stolid will to keep silent.
“The stranger invites evil. He would rob the señorita and us all. He has said he would horsewhip Pedro. He rides up and down the valley, taunting us with his laugh. Is he a god, and are we slaves?”
“He said he would horsewhip Pedro, did he?”
“Si señorita; when Pedro told him to take his life, since it was his.”
“And this was after Pedro had been thrown?”
“Directly after. The American is a devil, doña. He rode that man-killer like Satan. Did he not already know that it was Pedro who shot at him? Is not Pedro a sure shot, and did he not miss twice? Twice, señorita; which makes it certain that this Señor Gordon is a devil.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Juan. I want to know how he came to tell Pedro that he would whip him.”
“He came up to the piazza when he had broken the heart of that other devil, the man-killer, and Pedro was sitting there. Then Pedro told him that he was the one who had shot at him, but he only laughed. He always laughs, this fiend. He knew it already, just as he knows everything. Then it was he said he had saved the boy to whip him.”
“And that is all?”
“Por Dios—all” shrugged the lad.
“Are there others beside you that believe this nonsense about the American being in league with evil?”
“It is not nonsense, señorita, begging your pardon,” protested Juan earnestly. “And Ferdinand and Pablo and Sebastian, they all believe it.”
Valencia knew this complicated the situation. These simple peons would do, under the impulsion of blind bigotry, what they would hesitate to do otherwise. Let them think him a devil, and they would stick at nothing to remove him.
Her first thought was that she must keep informed of the movements of her people. Otherwise she would not be able to frustrate them.
“Juan, if this man is really what you think, he will work magic to destroy those who oppose him. It will not be safe for any of my people to set themselves against him. I know a better way to attack him. I want to talk with Pablo and Sebastian. You must work with me. If they try to do anything, let me know at once; otherwise they will be in great danger. Do you understand?”
“Si, señorita.”
“And will you let me know, quietly, without telling them?”
“Si, señorita.”
“That is good. Now, I know my Juan trusts and loves his mistress. You have done well. Go, now.”
From the point of view of her people the girl knew it was all settled. If the stranger whipped Pedro, the boy would kill him unless he used magic to prevent it. If he did use it, they must contrive to nullify his magic. There was, too, Don Manuel, who would surely strike soon, and however the encounter might terminate, it was a thing to dread miserably.
But, though her misery was acute, she was of a temperament too hopeful and impulsive to give up to despair so long as action was possible. While she did not yet know what she could do, she was not one to sit idle while events hurried to a crisis.
Meantime she had her majordomo order a horse saddled for her to ride over to Corbett’s for the mail.
CHAPTER X
MR. AINSA DELIVERS A MESSAGE
Back to Davis, who had stopped to tighten his saddle-girth, came Dick Gordon’s rather uncertain tenor in rollicking song:
“Bloomin’ idol made o’ mud—
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd—
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I
Kissed ’er where she stud!”
“There he goes, advertising himself for a target to every greaser in the county. Pity he can’t ride along decent, if he’s got to ride at all in these hills, where every gulch may be a trap,” grumbled the old miner.
He jerked the leather strap down with a final tug, pulled himself to the saddle, and cantered after his friend.
“Elephints a pilin’ teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence ’ung that ’eavy you
Was ’arf afraid to speak!”
“No danger of the silence hanging heavy here while you’re around trying to be a whole opery troupe all by your lonesome,” suggested Davis. “Seems to me if you got to trapse round this here country hunting for that permanent residence, it ain’t necessary to disturb the Sabbath calm so on-feelin’. I don’t seem to remember hearing any great demand for an encore after the rendering of the first verse.”
“You do ce’tainly remind me of a lien with one chick, Steve,” laughed Dick.
“I ain’t worrying about you none. It’s my own scalp kinder hangs loose every time you make one of your fool-plays,” explained the other.
“Go pipe that up to your granny. Think I ain’t learned my ABC’s about my dry-nurse yet?”
“I’m going back to the gold camp to-morrow.”
“You been saying that ever since you came here. Why don’t you go, old Calamity Prophet?”
“Well, I am. Going to-morrow.”
“You’ve hollered wolf too often, Steve. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Well, why don’t you behave? What’s the use of making a holy Caruso of yourself? Nobody ain’t ever pined to hear you tune up, anyhow.”
“All right. Mum’s the word, old hoss. I’ll be as solemn as if I was going to my own funeral.”
“I ain’t persuaded yet you’re not.”
“I’m right fully persuaded. Hallo! Stranger visiting at Corbett’s. Guess I’ll unlimber the artillery.”
They dismounted, and, before turning over his horse to Yeager, Dick unstrapped from the saddle his rifle. Nowadays he never for a moment was separated from some weapon of defense. For he knew that an attack upon his life was a
lmost a certainty in the near future. Though his manner was debonair, he saw to it that nobody got a chance to tamper with his guns.
“Make you acquainted with Mr. Ramon Ainsa, gentlemen. Mr. Gordon—Mr. Davis,” said Corbett, standing in the doorway in his shirt-sleeves.
Mr. Ainsa, a very young man with the hint of a black mustache over his boyish mouth, clicked his heels together and bowed deeply. He expressed himself as delighted, but did not offer to shake hands. He was so stiff that Dick wanted to ask him whether the poker he had swallowed was indigestible.
“I am the bearer of a message to Mr. Richard Muir Gordon,” he said with another bow.
“My name,” acknowledged its owner. “You ain’t missed a letter of it. Must have been at the christening, I expect.”
“A message from Don Manuel Pesquiera.”
“Good enough. That’s right friendly of him. How’s the don?”
And Dick, the sparkle of malicious humor gleaming in his eye, shook Mr. Ainsa warmly by the hand, in spite of that gentleman’s effort to escape.
The messenger sidestepped as soon as he could, and began again, very red:
“Don Manuel considers himself deeply insulted, and desires through me, his friend, to present this note.”
Dick looked at the envelope, and back at the youth who had handed it to him, after which he crowded in and pump-handled the other’s arm again.
“That’s awfully good of him, Mr. ’Tain’t-so.”
“My name is Ainsa, at your service,” corrected the New Mexican.
“Beg pardon—Ainsa. I expect I hadn’t ought to have irrigated the don so thorough, but it’s real good of him to overlook it and write me a friendly note. It’s uncommon handsome of him after I disarranged his laundry so abrupt.”
“If the señor will read the letter—” interrupted the envoy desperately.
“Certainly. But let me offer you something to drink first, Mr. Ain’t-so.”
“Ainsa.”
“Ainsa, I should say. A plain American has to go some to round up and get the right brand on some of these blue-blooded names of yours. What’ll it be?”
“Thank you. I am not thirsty. I prefer not.” With which Mr. Ainsa executed another bow.
“Just as you say, colonel. But you’ll let me know if you change your mind.”
Dick indicated a chair to his visitor, and took another himself; then leisurely opened the epistle and read it. After he had done so he handed it to Davis.
“This is for you, too, Steve. The don is awfully anxious to have you meet Mr. Ainsa and have a talk with him,” chuckled Gordon.
“‘To arrange a meeting with your friend,’ Why, it’s a duel he means, Dick.”
“That’s what I gathered. We’re getting right up in society. A duel’s more etiquettish than bridge-whist, Steve. Ain’t you honored, being invited to one. You’re to be my second, you see.”
“I’m hanged if I do,” exploded the old miner promptly.
“Sho! It ain’t hard, when you learn the steps.”
“I ain’t going to have nothing to do with it. Tommyrot! That’s what I call it.”
“Don’t say it so loud, Steve, or you’ll hurt Mr. Ainsa’s feelings,” chided his partner.
“Think I’m going to make a monkey of myself at my age?”
Dick turned mournfully to the messenger of war.
“I’m afraid it’s off, Mr. Ainsa. My second says he won’t play.”
“We shall be very glad to furnish you a second, sir.”
“All right, and while you’re at it furnish a principal, too. I’m an American. I write my address Cripple Creek, Colorado, U.S.A. We don’t fight duels in my country any more. They’ve gone out with buckled shoes and knee-pants, Mr. Ainsa.”
“Do I understand that Mr. Gordon declines to meet my friend on the field of honor?”
“That’s the size of it.”
“I am then instruct’ to warn you to go armed, as my friend will punish your insolence at sight informally.”
It was just at this moment that Mrs. Corbett, flushed with the vain chase of her fleeing brood of chickens, came perspiring round the house. Her large, round person, not designed by nature for such arduous exercise, showed signs of fatigue.
“I declare, if them chickens ain’t got out, and me wanting two for supper,” she panted, arms on her ample hips.
“That’s too bad. Let me chase them,” volunteered Dick.
He grasped his rifle, took a quick, careless aim, and fired. A long-legged, flying cockerel keeled over and began to kick.
“Gracious me!” ejaculated the woman.
“Two, did you say?” asked the man behind the gun.
“I said two.”
Again the rifle cracked. A second chicken flopped down, this one with its head shot off at the neck.
The eyes of the minister of war were large with amazement. The distance had been seventy yards, if it had been a step. When little Jimmie Corbett came running forward with the two dead cockerels a slight examination showed that the first had also been shot through the neck.
Dick smiled.
“Shall I shoot another and send it for a present to Don Manuel, Jimmie?” he pleasantly inquired.
Mr. Ainsa met his persiflage promptly.
“I do assure you, señor, it will not be at all necesair. Don Manuel can shoot chickens for himself—and larger game.”
“I’m sure he’ll find good hunting,” the other gave him back, looking up genially.
“He is a good hunter, señor.”
“Don’t doubt it a bit,” granted the cordial Anglo-Saxon. “Trouble is that even the best hunters can’t tell whether they are going to bring back the bear, or Mr. Bear is going to get them. That’s what makes it exciting, I reckon.”
“Is Don Manuel going bear-hunting?” asked Jimmie, with a newly aroused boy interest.
“Yes, Jimmie. One’s been bothering him right considerable, and he’s going gunning for it,” explained Dick.
“Gee! I hope he gets it.”
“And I hope he don’t,” laughed Gordon. “Must you really be going, colonel? Can’t I do a thing for you in the refreshment line first? Well, so long. Good hunting for your friend. See him later.”
Thus cheerfully did the irrepressible Gordon speed Mr. Ainsa on his way.
That young man had somehow the sense of having been too youthful to cope with the gay Gordon.
* * * *
Valencia Valdés had not ridden far when she met Ramon Ainsa returning from his mission. He was a sunny young fellow, whom she had known since they had been children together.
It occurred to her that he bore himself in a manner that suggested something important on hand. His boyish mouth was set severely, and he greeted her with a punctilio quite unusual. At once she jumped shrewdly to a conclusion.
“Did you bring our mail back with you from Corbett’s?” she innocently inquired.
“Yes, señorita.”
“Since when have I been ‘señorita’ to you, Ramon?”
“Valencia, I should say.” He blushed.
“Indeed, I should think so. It hasn’t been so long since you called me Val.”
“Ah! Those happy days!” he sighed.
“Fiddlesticks!” she promptly retorted. “Don’t be a goose. You’re not in the sere and yellow yet. Don’t forget you’ll not be twenty-one till next month.”
“One counts time not by years, but by its fullness,” he said, in the manner of one who could tell volumes if he would.
“I see. And what has been happening of such tremendous importance?”
Mr. Ainsa attempted to twirl his mustache, and was as silent as honor demanded.
“Pooh! It’s no secret. Did you fin
d Mr. Gordon at home?”
“At home?” he gasped.
“Well, at Corbett’s, then?”
“I didn’t know— Who told you—er—”
“I’m not blind and deaf and dumb, you know.”
“But you certainly have a great deal of imagination,” he said, recovering himself.
“Not a bit of it. You carried a challenge to this American from Don Manuel. Now, I want to know the answer.”
“Really, my dear girl—”
“You needn’t try to evade me. I’m going to know, if I stay here all night.”
“It’s a hold-up, as the Americans say,” he joked.
“I don’t care what you call it. You have got to tell me, you know.”
“But I can’t tell you, niña. It isn’t mine to tell.”
“Anyhow, you can’t keep me from guessing,” she said, with an inspiration.
“No, I don’t see how I can very well,” he admitted.
“The American accepted the challenge immediately.”
“But he didn’t,” broke out the young man.
“Then he refused?”
“That’s a little obvious now,” replied Ramon, with a touch of chagrin.
“He was very angry about it, and threatened to call the law to his aid.”
Her friend surrendered at discretion, and broke into a laugh of delight.
“I never saw such a fellow, Val. He seemed to think it was all a joke. He must have known why I was there, but before I could get in a word he got hold of my hand and shook it till I wanted to shriek with the pain. He’s got a grip like a bear. And he persisted in assuming we were the best of friends. Wouldn’t read the letter at all.”
“But after he did?”
“Said duels were not fashionable among his people any more.”
“He is very sensible, but I’m afraid Manuel won’t rest satisfied with that,” the girl sighed.
“I hinted as much, and told him to go armed. What do you think the madman did then?”
“I can never guess.”
Ramon retailed the chicken-shooting episode.
