Pérez paused before he replied. The crowd had caught the question and waited for the answer.
“Perhaps your guest will enlighten you,” he drawled provokingly. And then, stiffly erect, he marched to the gate and was gone.
CHAPTER XI
A HOUSE IS PUT IN ORDER
THE effect of this affair was to cast a shadow over the heretofore smiling hacienda. Suzanna refused—absolutely—to tell Ramon what had happened, and his guest not volunteering any information, the boy felt constrained not to insist.
Don Fernando had received a very unsatisfactory account of the bandit’s visit, and he sensed that something moved under the surface in connection with the episode.
Suspicion is always an excellent instrument of torture, and it proved itself so in this instance. Fortunately, the following day brought news of great moment to all at the Rancho de Gutierrez,—Don Diego, his daughter and their retinue of servants were returning!
They were but a day’s journey away to the south at present. The post-rider who brought word from them had passed their coach at Santa Barbara.
Don Fernando and Doña Luz could not have received more agreeable information. A hundred tasks presented themselves immediately. Their friend’s house must be put in order after these years of accumulating dust. Delicacies must be purchased in Monterey for the sumptuous dinner with which their friends should be greeted. Their own house, though spotless now, must needs be gone over painstakingly, for such is the way of human beings.
Those things pertaining to her own home, the flowers, and foods to be prepared, Doña Luz saw to. Ruiz, as major-domo of the hacienda, transmitted Don Fernando’s orders to his servants.
Ruiz received the news of their neighbors’ return with a sour face. He had been quite in accord with his master regarding Suzanna’s education and her enforced absence from the hacienda. The old man was not blind to Ramon’s interest in the girl, and he half-suspected the real reason lying beneath Don Fernando’s magnanimous offer to Suzanna. The unexpected return of Don Diego and his daughter was very likely to upset these plans.
Immediately after giving his orders in the scullery and truck garden, Ruiz sought Suzanna. He found her watching Ramon, who was busily engaged in braiding a horsehair reata. The old man bowed to his young master and then spoke to the girl.
“Get a jug and brooms,” he ordered, “and follow me.”
“But why, father?” Suzanna demanded, loth to leave.
“Ask no questions,” Ruiz answered sharply, annoyed at this impertinence before the boy. “There is work in plenty to be done before to-morrow.”
Some half-dozen servants laden with brooms and other utensils entered the compound at this instant, and catching sight of them, Suzanna’s eyes widened.
“What are we to do?” she asked.
“Don Diego and his family return to-morrow,” Ruiz replied sharply. “His house is to be cleaned and aired. Come, we have little time to waste.”
Suzanna and Ramon stared at each other in mute surprise at this news. The boy’s face fell as comprehension came to him. Something akin to terror filled Suzanna’s eyes.
“Coming home—to-morrow!” she gasped.
Ruiz ignored her and said to Ramon:
“Your father had word by post-rider not half an hour ago. The news must fill you with happiness.”
“Why?” Ramon snapped sullenly.
“La Señorita de Sola, your betrothed—”
“A good servant minds his own business, Ruiz,” Ramon warned.
Ruiz took the rebuff in silence. Turning to the waiting servants, he waved them on, and then said to Suzanna:
“See that you follow us immediately.”
The boy and the girl looked at each other dumbly when they were alone. Both felt that they had reached a crisis in their lives. As the days had passed without further word of her going to San Luis Bautista, Suzanna had allowed the ultimatum to rest lightly upon her head. Woman-like she had been able to distill rare pleasure from the embroglio in which Ramon and Pancho had confronted Pérez. She realized now that golden days had slipped by her which she could have shared with the boy. She berated herself for having cast eyes at Montesoro. Pérez, she was forced to admit, interested her, but it was not because of love for him.
Love? What a strange thing it was! She had looked forward to love as a rightful heritage of her sex. Love to her had meant happiness, a gladness of heart and body; yet misery, such as she had heard dogs voice, was in her soul. And yet, with womanly instinct she knew this thing was love. The thought crushed her and dimmed her eyes with tears. The Holy Mother’s name escaped her lips as she asked herself why she had been born; the tragedy of life spreading out before her endlessly.
In a flash of understanding the girl saw just how wide was the gulf which separated this man from her. To-morrow, a woman who was his equal in everything the world set store by, would come to take her place at his side. What chance had she, a poor, uneducated peon, beside her?
Ramon almost followed her train of thought, and the hot blood of youth flaring up in him, he was minded to take her and flee. Chiquita de Sola was less than the dust to him. Suzanna held the culmination of every desire he had known. What did riches and caste matter? This was a new world,—a new land—men were done with the cant of kings and friars. California was the land of opportunity, of freedom,—a man’s future was what he wished to make it.
Answering this urge, Ramon stepped toward Suzanna, eyes flashing, his arms outstretched.
“O, Blessed Mother of God,” she muttered in despair as she sensed the meaning of those outstretched arms. The desire to rest within their embrace but for a second overcame her, but even as she made her decision, Don Fernando walked into the compound.
Ramon’s teeth sank into his lips as he saw her turn away without a word and enter the house. His arms fell to his sides, as he stood there stunned.
Don Fernando preferred not to recognize the meaning of the scene he had interrupted. As though he were conveying a surprise, he acquainted his son with the fact of Don Diego’s return.
“Yes, yes, Ruiz informed me,” the boy replied, going back to his task dejectedly.
“Your mother wants you to go to Monterey for certain dainties,” his father continued. “Do you prefer to leave now, or this afternoon?”
“As mother prefers,” Ramon answered. “I shall be through with this in a few minutes.”
Suzanna came out and trudged across the road in the wake of the other servants as father and son talked. Their brief conversation at an end, Don Fernando followed her.
His face was severe as he entered the house of his friend. A sadness, which wholly obliterated the joy that Don Diego’s home-coming had brought, rested upon him. How stupid he had been not to have packed off Suzanna at once to San Luis Bautista. Well, she should go before Chiquita arrived, train or not.
Ruiz had busied himself in the kitchen, leaving part of the servants to put the other rooms of the large house in order. When Suzanna entered, she had found them more intent on play than work. For once, she had no desire to abet them. The merriment ended most abruptly as Señor Gutierrez strode into the living-room, his face red with rage. Suzanna saw him glance at her, and knowing that from past experience he would blame her for this loitering, she got to her feet and ran toward the altar-room. There Don Fernando found her.
The girl had heard him follow her, and realizing that his wrath was to be visited on her, she sank to her knees and assumed an attitude of penitent prayer.
Don Fernando waited for her to finish her devotions. Suzanna exhausted her words of prayer before she arose to face him.
“Child,” he said sternly. “I am weary of your pranks. We have little enough time to arrange for my friend’s arrival, and yet you countenance—and I vow instigated—such conduct as greeted me when I entered this house. You are demoralizing every servant on the hacienda.”
“I have been guilty so often that my innocence this once is unbelievable, I know,�
� Suzanna said sadly. “You have been too indulgent.”
Don Fernando looked at her shrewdly. Truly this was a new Suzanna. Overjoyed to find her so tractable, he made to inform her at once that she went to the Mission at sunrise.
Amazed, Suzanna heard him out. Horror transfixed her face as he finished.
“But I have no desire for an education,” she said with choking voice. “Please—I do not want to leave here, Don Fernando. I should die were you to send me away from this hacienda where I know every flower and blade of grass. I have been so happy here. I will work, oh, so hard,—you will have no cause to find fault with me if you will but let me stay. Please, I beg you.”
Suzanna’s emotion engulfed her. With a sob she sank to her knees, her tears blinding her as she looked up at her master.
“Don’t send me away from you, from Doña Luz, from Ramon—from my father,” she implored. “Oh, oh,—I cannot go. Everything that I know and—and—love is here. I—I won’t go! I can’t!”
“But you must,” Don Fernando declared firmly, but not unkindly. “The time will pass quickly enough. You be ready to go at sunrise. Guara, the Indian, shall accompany you.”
Suzanna continued to plead with him, but the determined old man remained firm in his decision. Don Fernando left her to compose herself in the quietness of this holy room. Upon leaving, he pulled the door to, and Suzanna, alone with her grief, threw herself upon the cold flagging before the altar and sobbed piteously.
An hour later she dragged herself to her room. She had stopped her tears. Her anger, too, had subsided. Resignation, hopeless and cold had taken its place. It took but a short time to gather her meager belongings and make them ready against the morrow’s journey. Saying good-by to Timoteo, and Chichi, the bear, proved a much harder task.
Chichi had an affectionate disposition and he hugged her with his hairy paws as Suzanna petted him and whispered little love words in his ears.
The girl saw much alike in their situations. She was Don Fernando’s chattel just as Chichi was hers. The bear was petted and humored; but a steel chain around his neck marked his movements for him. The sight of the chain filled Suzanna with rage. Within her blazed a sudden hatred for all that was tyrannical and oppressive.
Dropping to her knees, she unfastened the chain, and led the bear to a field in back of the barns.
“Run, Chichi,” she exclaimed. “Go back to your hills and your woods. Far better that some chance hunter should kill you than that you stay here to be ordered about as I am ordered. Go, jovencito, before my father catches you.”
The bear showed no disposition to embrace his freedom, and although Suzanna beat him with a stick, he but circled round and round her feet. The girl shook her head sadly as she realized that the poor brute’s affection for her outweighed his desire to return to the wild.
Suzanna had heard her father calling her, and he approached now. He saw enough of her purpose with the bear to anger him. Grabbing the chain from her, he snapped it around the animal’s neck.
Don Fernando had communicated his wishes to Ruiz, and the girl’s father had readily agreed to his master’s plans. The peon was a good servant and he never questioned the orders of his superiors. In this instance, however, he saw the calamity that he had feared, safely averted by what his master proposed. And that, too, for reasons which would have surprised Don Fernando.
Suzanna knew better than to hope that Ruiz would go counter to Don Fernando’s wishes. When she spoke to her father it was only to ask him if he had been informed of what the morrow held.
“Of course. Have you packed your things?”
“I have,” Suzanna answered dully. “Does Ramon know that I am leaving?”
“He is on his way to Monterey. I do not know whether his father informed him or not. You give your question a pointing which implies that your leaving is of importance to our young master. Again I tell you that you presume. You would do well to keep your eyes to your own kind. Doña Luz has set out some clothes and trinkets for you. Go to her and thank her as she deserves. And if it pleases you, give a hand in the kitchen until the bell rings, for I know you have some skill with cakes.”
Suzanna found that the news of her departure for San Luis Bautista was common property in the kitchen. Caridad and the other women saw in it but another manifestation of the great goodness of their master, and were frankly jealous of the grand journey ahead of Suzanna.
The girl looked at them hopelessly. What better could one expect from such fools, she asked herself. Suzanna was glad when Doña Luz sent for her. Better it was to be misunderstood by your superiors than by your equals!
With an armful of things from la señora’s precious store, Suzanna crossed the patios to her quarters as the evening bell sounded. As she did so, Pancho Montesoro rode in. He had been away from the house since early morning, and Suzanna’s old spirit flamed for a brief second as she beheld the man. Naturally, he could not know that Chiquita de Sola was returning to-morrow. Suzanna resolved that he should be informed immediately, and by her in a manner best suited to embarrass him.
Montesoro swung to the ground in front of her a minute later.
“Well,” he grinned. “What is the meaning of this? Art getting married?”
“From what do you infer that?” Suzanna answered saucily, “——my face or this armful of clothes?”
“I but jested,” Pancho said ingratiatingly. “For the first time, I find you looking sad and blue. Meet me to-night and let me put a smile upon your pretty face.”
“You are so sure you could?”
“Don’t taunt me,” he muttered dramatically. “You know that my heart and soul are yours alone. I should die were you to he taken away from me.”
Miserable though she was, Suzanna could smile at this bald lying.
“Death hovers near you, then, my dashing lord,” she assured him. “I leave for San Luis Bautista at sunrise.”
“Oh, no—no!” the rascal exclaimed, still the actor.
“It is all too true,” Suzanna replied firmly. “But”—and mischief fairly twinkled in her eyes—“do not pine. One arrives to-morrow who will busily engage thee.”
“Yes?” Pancho queried.
“Your friend, Chiquita de Sola! She arrives at noon.”
The man staggered, so great was his surprise. Suzanna felt well repaid. Peon she might be, but she had thrown the name of a lady of high degree into this man’s face when his words of love to her were still warm upon his lips.
Montesoro saw that she had played with him, and he hated her for it.
“What is it that you insinuate?” he demanded hotly. “La Señorita de Sola has my most profound respect.”
Suzanna mocked him with a courtesy.
“I wonder,” she murmured pointedly, “if you have her father’s.”
The girl continued across the patio without waiting for an answer. She knew she had drawn blood. The man’s face was livid as her trailing laugh floated across the garden. Impotent, he stood there and cursed her beneath his breath. With pleasure, he could have shaken the life out of her.
Suzanna’s elation was short-lived. Supper proved a grim jest, and to escape from those who sought to fill her with advice, she sought refuge in her room. Sleep, however, was impossible. Later, when she did doze off, a great ogre chased her in her dreams. Round and round the rancho, he pursued her. Her cries for help went unanswered, until at last, the ogre forced her into his cave. There, she saw Ramon, but his hands were chained. Soon, the ogre had her a captive likewise, and then he removed his masque. It was Don Fernando! With a cruel laugh he turned and left them. Suzanna heard the giant stones in the entrance falling into place and knew that nothing but slow, lingering death faced them.
The girl tossed on her bed as her tortured brain continued to plumb the horrors of the ogre’s cave. Wet with perspiration, she sat up in answer to her father’s summons. The first hint of dawn was in the sky.
“Come,” Ruiz repeated. “It is morning. Time for a bi
te, and Guara will be ready with the horses.”
Ruiz descended to the kitchen and prepared a scant repast. The Indian joined him, and when Suzanna came down, the three sat in silence and ate. The great kitchen was still dark. Shadows clothed the master’s house. In the patios the flowers and vines were wet with dew. Everything was still; even the birds. Fresh, pungent, earthy odors and aromas filled the nostrils. The new-born day was pregnant with the riches the night had stored up for it.
But it was strange, unreal to Suzanna. This stillness, which made one talk in whispers; this lethargy, which held even the leaves motionless, had no part in the hacienda she knew. Dumbly she followed her father and the Indian to where the horses stood.
Ruiz was not an emotional man, but he caressed the girl before he lifted her into the saddle. Affection from him was so unlooked for that it un-nerved Suzanna. As from a distance she heard Ruiz telling her not to cry. The horses were moving, then. Her father opened the gate, and Guara and she passed from the patio to the highroad.
Less than a mile away they came to the hills. The Indian, mindful of the cool hours still at hand, urged his horses down the descent into the next valley.
“Hold!” Suzanna cried to him. “From this spot I take my last look for two years at the Hacienda de Gutierrez. Do not be impatient, Guara. I want to wait here until the sun touches the caserio. It will be but a minute.”
The Indian grunted a grudging consent. And so, from her saddle, Suzanna said farewell to the only home she had ever known.
CHAPTER XII
THE PADRINO
GUARA pushed the horses without let up during the early morning. Don Fernando had given him most definite instructions as to his conduct. The Indian intended reaching Los Pinos by high-noon for a short siesta. Evening should find them at Paso Robles. An early start the following morning, then, would see them at the Mission by noon. Guara had no mind to be absent from the fiesta which would most certainly follow the return of Don Diego to his hacienda. When once Suzanna was off his hands, the Indian knew that he could ride, without pause, the intervening miles between himself and the caserio, excepting the minute or two in which to water his pony.
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