The letter said:
“I realize it would be a serious mistake for you to elope with me as we planned. Using your own words, your father might disinherit you; and I have nothing to offer but my great love. By all means marry Ramon. What will there be to prevent us from being the same to each other as we have been in the past? I love you too much to ask you to take the great risk of turning your father against you. Believe me, always yours.
“P———.”
Chiquita trembled with anger. She was in such mental agitation that her body quivered. Marry Ramon! Indeed! Climbing quickly from her bed she began to dress.
No sooner was Suzanna back than she ordered her to tell Don Diego that she wished to see him at once in her apartment.
She was pacing impatiently up and down her room when Don Diego entered. She had had a few minutes in which to get control of herself, and her conduct showed that she was not without a certain finesse at chicanery.
Instead of letting loose a torrent of angry words, she went up to the man whom she had always addressed as father and placed her arm about his neck and kissed him.
Don Diego was delighted.
“What is it, little one?” he asked affectionately.
Chiquita mustered a tantalizing pout to her lips, and gazing at Don Diego from the corners of her eyes, she said in gentle, pensive tones:
“Father, must we remain here?”
“Do you find life so dull?” Don Diego asked sympathetically.
Chiquita nodded her head.
“I know that I shall wither and die if I have to remain here,” she murmured plaintively.
“But you will soon become accustomed to this new order of life, my child. Before long you and Ramon will be getting married; you will find that that alone will bring many new interests to you. In the end, you will not trade California for Mexico City. My fortune is invested here, it is my home. And I love this broad land. You will, too, when the glamour of city life wears off.”
“But I shan’t, father,” Chiquita protested. “I shall never like it here. Please, father, won’t—won’t you let me return to Mexico City?”
Don Diego was astounded. He could not believe that he had heard aright.
“What?” he demanded. “You go back to Mexico City alone? Are you mad to suggest such a thing? Do you think that I would allow you, a girl of your age, to commit such folly?”
Don Diego’s voice had risen as the enormity of Chiquita’s request mounted before his eyes. The mask had fallen from the girl’s face as his anger blazed forth.
“I am old enough to know what I want to do!” she retorted. “I will not remain here!”
“But you will!” Don Diego exclaimed. “And I warn you, do not humble me by communicating your desire to Ramon’s family.”
“Ramon?” Chiquita echoed contemptuously. “I have been here three days and he has not been in my company a second, save for meeting me at table.”
“You forget,” Don Diego protested in kindlier tone, “that the boy is no dandy. But what skill he lacks on the guitar, he more than makes up in his ability to manage his father’s hacienda. If I had a son of my own I would not ask to have him more worthy than Ramon.”
“I question only his interest in me,” Chiquita pursued. “If you ask, I hold as little attraction for him as he does for me. I have heard whispers enough since my return. Why was Don Fernando sending this girl Suzanna away? Surely, you do not believe this fiction about educating her?”
“You do not mean to say that you are jealous of little Suzanna, do you?” Don Diego asked. “You know the pet Don Fernando made of her. She and Ramon grew up together. It is only natural that the boy should have an interest in her. I hold it to his credit; but your tone implies something that I do not want to hear on my daughter’s lips. Banish such evil thoughts, and rest assured that the boy’s intentions are honorable. And remember, too, that it is well to be suspicious of those who are too well versed in love.”
Chiquita turned away with a sarcastic smile, and as she did so, Suzanna came in with the announcement that Ramon was downstairs.
Don Diego bowed her out of the room. There was a smile of happiness on his face as he turned to Chiquita.
“See!” he grinned. “The boy is fond of you. He is like his father; he is not to be hurried. Put on your prettiest smile, little one, and you will see how he will reward you.”
Ramon was going to Monterey for the day and Doña Luz was responsible for his being at Don Diego’s home this early in the morning. The boy’s mother had insisted that he offer to do whatever errands he could for Chiquita. It was a gentlemanly thing to do, and one which he could not refuse, even though he resented placing himself in a position which seemed to give encouragement to his father’s plans in regard to Chiquita.
Suzanna had lingered with Ramon as long as she had dared when he arrived, and once out of Chiquita’s room, she promptly returned for another minute with him. Even though being near to him filled her with happiness, she was not able to conceal the fact from the boy that she was far from being the carefree girl she had been.
“You are unhappy here, aren’t you, muchachita?” Ramon said softly. “There’s no one to make excuses for you, now, is there?”
Suzanna shook her head as she looked away, afraid to meet his eyes.
“My father sold you as though you were a slave,” the boy went on bitterly. “’Twere a million times better that you had gone to San Luis Bautista than to serve the woman you do. She was ever a haughty, ill-tempered person, and it is easy to see she has not changed her ways.”
“Hush,” Suzanna begged.
“The injusice of it burns me,” the boy persisted in saying. “It makes me envy Pérez his freedom. If I had the courage I, too, would turn outlaw. But you mark it well—the day will come when these things will not be tolerated in California. I am a free-man, the son of a don, and yet I am ordered about even as you are. I have seen this day coming a long while since, and yet two weeks ago I was happy, satisfied to wait for others to act. I’m done with dreaming, now.”
Ramon saw Suzanna tremble as she stiffled a sob. Reaching out, he placed his hands upon her shoulders and wheeled her around so that she faced him.
“Suzanna,” he murmured, “I beg of you, don’t despair. I trust I have been a dutiful son: it is my wish to remain one. But I shall not become a traitor to myself even for the love I bear my parents.”
“Your words are very virtuous,” interrupted Chiquita. She had entered the room in time to catch Ramon’s last statement and to see the tender regard for Suzanna in his eyes.
Ramon faced her rather truculently, feeling that she had contrived to steal into the room. Chiquita read the look in his eyes and deliberately set out to exasperate him by asking:
“Did you come to see me, or my maid?”
The boy did not answer at once. Instead he sursurveyed her coldly. Then:
“Maids are so new a luxury in California that I recognize one with difficulty, especially when I am in the presence of two persons, one of whom I am pledged to wed, and the other, my playmate since childhood.”
The reprimand in his words forced a grudgingly given nod of apology from Chiquita. This clash of wills opened her eyes to the mettle of the man. Not quite sure of herself, she heard Ramon say:
“As for the statement which you overheard, I can but say again that it is the truth. But I do beg you not to misinterpret my interest in this girl. My regard for her is honorable.”
“And evidently most intimate,” Chiquita added with biting sarcasm.
“Happily, yes,” Ramon answered boldly.
“Then why do you announce yourself to me?”
“I am going to Monterey for the day. My mother thought that you might have need of something from the city.”
“Your mother is most kind,” Chiquita said condescendingly. “Please convey my thanks to her. My needs, though, are better served by one who deems it an honor, and not a duty, to administer to them.”
Ramon took his dismissal gracefully. Chiquita bade Suzanna to open the door for him, but the boy sprang ahead of her, and bowing courteously, threw the door open and passed out. The next minute they heard him riding away.
Chiquita, unable to control herself longer, raised her clenched hands to her breasts as she confronted Suzanna.
“Go, you devil’s whelp!” she stormed wrathfully. “Do not let me see your hateful face again tis day. And if I ever find you in that man’s company you shall be publicly flogged.”
Suzanna was more than glad to do as she was ordered, and as she left the room she murmured to herself:
“O, Holy Mother, if this be a lady, then I am glad that I am a peon.”
Her thought but echoed Ramon’s. The impression of his bride-to-be which the boy had carried away with him was little calculated to make him look on her with less antipathy. From childhood, he had ever found Chiquita cold, haughty, and domineering. The traits which she had given evidence of possessing as a girl were in full bloom now, and Ramon’s spirit revolted at the thought of giving the best years of his life to her.
“I am the chattel, not the peon,” he mused as he raced his horse toward Monterey. “By what right of God or man does my father compel me to marry this woman? She has the shrewish temper of a crone, even though she is held up to me for an aristocrat. I’ll have none of her; I am a free man, and I swear that my self respect shall not be taken from me. ‘My maid,’ “he quoted contemptuously. “Truth were better served if their positions were reversed.”
CHAPTER XV
ALVAREZ HAS A VISITOR
ALVAREZ, the attorney, made a habit of arising with the sun. That very morning he had been wandering about the dew-laden patio of his modest home when his mozo brought him word of a visitor. The earliness of the hour prompted the thought that this client came on urgent business. He gave a thought to his person, and although he wore only a serape which barely came to his knees, leaving his bony shanks exposed, he decided to see his visitor at once. Ordering his servant to show the man into the patio, Alvarez paced back and forth nervously. He was a tall, angular man, fairly bald, and his present attire only served to make him more grotesque than usual. His surprise, when Ruiz was shown in, can be imagined.
“What brings you here at this hour of the day?” he demanded anxiously.
The peon’s eyes were bloodshot; his thin face more wrinkled than ever. He had come the distance from the hacienda since midnight. His body quivered nervously, his hands clenching and unclenching as he stood before the lawyer.
Ruiz had tortured himself for hours with the thought that his secret was out at last. He cursed the impulse which had led him to tell Chiquita the truth. What if she should unwittingly betray him to Don Diego? His life would be forfeited without doubt. If she kept his secret, she would have him done away with to protect herself. His conduct had been unforgivable. In fancy, he saw every man’s hand raised against him.
Ruiz was singularly human in his worry. As old age had crept on him he had become obsessed with the desire to tell his secret to some one. But now that he had, he would have sold his soul to have been able to recall his words. Worst of all for him, the conviction that he would have to confide in one of his betters and seek advice, had grown on him. He could not tum to Don Fernando or Don Diego, and so Alvarez, the lawyer, had seemed the next best friend. The desire to tell another, once acknowledged, Ruiz found himself done with sleep, and pursued by devils of his own conjuring, he had set off in the middle of the night for Monterey.
“I am in great trouble, Señor Alvarez,” he muttered miserably in answer to the lawyer’s question.
“You, Ruiz?” Alvarez exclaimed, surprised that the man came about his own affairs, and not Don Fernando’s. The lawyer immediately dismissed from his mind the thought that anything serious impended. “I am sorry to hear you say so, Ruiz,” he continued in lighter vein. “But what would happen to me if people did not encounter trouble once in a while? Come into the house and tell me your woes.”
Only after considerable hemming and hawing did Señor Alvarez succeed in drawing the man’s story from him. The attorney’s shrewd eyes showed, as Ruiz continued, that he had reversed his opinion about this affair being a matter of no importance. By the time the peon had finished, he was keenly alive to his opportunity. And had Ruiz had a proper knowledge of men he would have seen the cunning in the lawyer’s eyes as Alvarez spread his hands and said:
“This is a very, very serious matter, Ruiz. It involves my dearest friends. With all my legal knowledge, I am still constrained to say that there is nothing in law to right this wrong. The deception of a lifetime is not undone so easily. Don Diego is a hot, tempestuous gentleman. I do not doubt that your life would be in danger if he heard a word of what you have told me. Your master would be hardly less severe, for he has set his mind on Ramon’s marrying Chiquita.”
“What am I to do?” Ruiz groaned aloud.
“Keep your tongue in your head! Let no man know a word of this. I will give the matter my earnest attention, and when I have arrived at a solution I will notify you. It is a terrible thing to conceal, and may Heaven forgive me for advising you to seal your lips. But many times these matters work out their own solution. I want you to promise me, though, come what may, that you will never reveal the fact that you have consulted me.”
Ruiz made the sign of the cross as he sank to his knees and pressed the lawyer’s hand to his lips.
“Oh, Señor Alvarez,” he promised, “I shall do as you say. I am only a poor, ignorant man; you have the wisdom of the world at your finger tips. I should have come to you months ago.”
“Well, see that you return to the hacienda with some speed or else Don Fernando will wonder what strange business has brought you to town. Be careful of whom you meet. I will be at the hacienda for the fiesta. If I have anything to communicate to you, I shall do so then.”
But Ruiz had no sooner passed through the patio gate than the attorney dropped his mournful pose and rushing into the room where his son, Miguel, slept, he cried:
“Awaken! Arise at once!”
Miguel groaned, muttered an inarticulate word, and then turned over to woo sleep again.
His father caught him by the arm and half-pulled him out of his bed. The boy opened his blurred eyes in astonishment in answer to this violent treatment.
“What is it?—what is the matter?” he gasped.
“Matter enough,” Alvarez retorted. “I want you to dress at once, and as soon as you have had your coffee, take yourself to Don Diego’s hacienda. There is legal work awaiting me there which you can manage. Let that be your excuse. My real reason for sending you is that I want you where you can pay every attention to little Suzanna.”
“Suzanna?” Miguel questioned in surprise.
“It is my wish that you marry her as speedily as you can manage it.”
“You, my father, advise me to marry a peon?”
“Do not be troubled about that. She is a remarkable girl. I want you to move swiftly, and as you regard your well-being—with success. You can trust me for being no fool. Ask no questions; but do as I command.”
The hazing which he had received at Suzanna’s hands had not inspired Miguel with any desire to wed her. He shivered to think how she would receive his love-making. And although he feared his father, the boy stood in greater dread of Suzanna’s sharp tongue.
“But I have no desire to wed Suzanna,” he cried.
“Your desires are not to be considered,” his father answered sharply. “I warn you—do not come running back to me with the word that she will have none of you. I know the girl; she is of a fine temper and a sharp tongue. If you fail to win her I shall disinherit you if it is the last act of my life.”
Dumbfounded, the boy set about preparing for the journey. He knew his father to be a stern, severe man; what he did, he did cautiously, and usually with wisdom. But what was there of caution or wisdom in this mad move? And Suzanna?—thought of her made the b
oy move even more reluctantly. Didn’t his father know that she would laugh him to scorn if he attempted to woo her? Only the sound of his father returning to see how he got on made the boy hasten.
A half-hour later, his guitar thrown over his shoulder, Miguel set forth for the hacienda. But if ever a sadder or more hopeless knight set forth in quest of fair lady, history does not record it.
CHAPTER XVI
CROSS PURPOSES
CHIQUITA lost little time in dispatching a note to Montesoro, once Ramon had left. The customs of the country allowed her liberties she never would have known in a more urban atmosphere. Her note to Pancho requested him to accompany her on horseback that afternoon.
Pancho had greeted the new day with mind quite made up as to his future conduct. The note from Chiquita came as no great surprise. He resolved to take advantage of the opportunity the ride would afford, and come to a definite break with her. He was early in keeping his appointment; this by design, too. He had hoped to find chance for a word with Suzanna, and in this he was not disappointed.
“Your memory is very poor, señor,” Suzanna answered caustically to his compliments.
“But my eyes are not,” Pancho grinned. “They see that thou art as beautiful as ever.”
“’Twere best you saved your word for her whose company you so enjoyed last night,” Suzanna retorted.
“Thou art not jealous?” Pancho said teasingly.
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